The baffled prince in honour's flattering bloom
Of hasty greatness finds the fatal doom,

His foes' derision and his subjects' blame,

And steals to death from anguish and from shame.
Enlarge my life with multitude of days!

In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays:
Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know,
That life protracted is protracted woe.
Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy,
And shuts up all the passages of joy ;

In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour,
The fruit autumnal and the vernal flower:
With listless eyes the dotard views the store;
He views and wonders that they please no more.
Now palls the tasteless meats and joyless wines,
And Luxury with sighs her slave resigns.
Approach, ye minstrels, by the soothing strain,
Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain:

No sounds, alas! would touch the impervious ear,
Though dancing mountains witnessed Orpheus near:
No lute nor lyre his feeble powers attend,
Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend :
But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue,
Perversely grave, or positively wrong.
The still returning tale and lingering jest
Perplex the fawning niece and pampered guest,
While growing hopes scarce awe the gathering sneer,

And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear;

The watchful guests still hint the last offence,

The daughter's petulance, the son's expense,

Improve his heady rage with treacherous skill,
And mould his passions till they make his will.
Unnumbered maladies his joints invade,
Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade;
But unextinguished Avarice still remains,
And dreaded losses aggravate his pains;
He turns with anxious heart and crippled hands,
His bonds of debt and mortgages of lands;
Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes,
Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies.

But grant, the virtues of a temperate prime,
Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime;
An age that melts with unperceived decay,
And glides in modest innocence away;
Whose peaceful day Benevolence endears,
Whose night congratulating Conscience cheers:
The general favourite as the general friend;
Such age there is, and who shall wish its end?

Yet even on this her load misfortune flings To press the weary minutes' flagging wings; New sorrow rises as the day returns, A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns. Now kindred merit fills the sable bier, Now lacerated friendship claims a tear. Year chases year, decay pursues decay, Still drops some joy from withering life away; New forms arise and different views engage, Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage, Till pitying Nature signs the last release, And bids afflicted worth retire to peace.

But few there are whom hours like these await,
Who set unclouded in the gulfs of fate.

From Lydia's monarch should the search descend,
By Solon cautioned to regard his end,

In life's last scene what prodigies surprise—
Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise!

From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage flow,
And Swift expires a driveller and a show.

Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects find? Must dull Suspense corrupt the stagnant mind? Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise,

No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?

Enquirer cease; petitions yet remain,

Which heaven may hear: nor deem religion vain.
Still raise for good the supplicating voice,

But leave to Heaven the measure and the choice;

Safe in His power, whose eyes discern afar

The secret ambush of a specious prayer.
Implore His aid, in His decisions rest,
Secure, whate'er He gives, He gives the best.
Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires
And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
Pour forth thy fervours for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will resigned;
For love, which scarce collective man can fill;
For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill:
For faith, that panting for a happier seat,
Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat;

These goods for man the laws of Heaven ordain :

These goods he grants, who grants the power to gain ;
With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind,
And makes the happiness she does not find.

BURKE.

EDMUND BURKE. Born 1729; Died 1797.

Born in Dublin, Burke came to push his fortune in the career of law at London, in 1750. Ten years later he returned to Ireland as private Secretary to Chief Secretary Hamilton. In 1766 he entered Parliament.

Before this had been published, among other works, his treatise on the Sublime and Beautiful; and from this year until his death a constant series of political writings came from his pen, which have secured to him one of the chief places in our literature. While opposed, altogether, to mere speculative and theoretic politics, Burke, at the same time, strove to give to practical politics a philosophical basis; to throw light upon political action from every possible point of view.

CRITICISM OF GOVERNMENT A DUTY.

Ir is an undertaking of some degree of delicacy to examine into the cause of public disorders. If a man happens not to succeed in such an inquiry, he will be thought weak and visionary; if he touches the true grievance, there is a danger that he may come near to persons of weight and consequence, who will rather be exasperated at the discovery of their errors, than thankful for the occasion of correcting them. If he should be obliged to blame the favourites of the people,

he will be considered as the tool of power; if he censures those in power, he will be looked on as an instrument of faction. But in all exertions of duty something is to be hazarded. In cases of tumult and disorder, our law has invested every man, in some sort, with the authority of a magistrate. When the affairs of the nation are distracted, private people are, by the spirit of that law, justified in stepping a little out of their ordinary sphere. They enjoy a privilege, of somewhat more dignity and effect, than that of idle lamentation over the calamities of their country. They may look into them narrowly; they may reason upon them liberally; and if they should be so fortunate as to discover the true source of the mischief, and to suggest any probable method of removing it, though they may displease the rulers for the day, they are certainly of service to the cause of Government. Government is deeply interested in everything which, even through the medium of some temporary uneasiness, may tend finally to compose the minds of the subject, and to conciliate their affections. I have nothing to do here with the abstract value of the voice of the people. But as long as reputation, the most precious possession of every individual, and as long as opinion, the great support of the State, depend entirely upon that voice, it can never be considered as a thing of little consequence either to individuals or to Government. Nations are not primarily ruled by laws; less by violence. Whatever original energy may be supposed either in force or regulation; the operation of both is, in truth, merely instrumental. Nations are