Remember, if He guard thee and secure, 700 Whoe'er assails thee, thy success is sure; But if He leave thee, though the skill and pow'r Of nations sworn to spoil thee and devour, Were all collected in thy single arm, And thou could'st laugh away the fear of harın, 705 Say not, (and if the thought of such defence 710 715 Through the dry leaves and pants upon the strings, A nation scourg'd, yet tardy to repent. I know the warning song is sung in vain ; 720 'That few will hear, and fewer heed the strain; 725 But if a sweeter voice, and one design'd A blessing to my country and mankind, Reclaim the wand'ring thousands, and bring home A flock so scatter'd and so wont to roam, Then place it once again between my knees; 730 In scenes of plenty, or the pining waste, Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last. HOPE. doceas iter, et sacra ostea pandas. VIRG. En, 6. ASK what is human life-the sage replies, And no where, but in feign'd Arcadian scenes, Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means. 10 Riches are pass'd away from hand to hand, As fortune, vice, or foily may command; As in a dance, the pair that take the lead Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed, So shifting and so various is the plan, 15 By which Heav'n rules the mix'd affairs of man; The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud; 20 Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much. By repetition pall'd, by age obtuse. fouth lost in dissipation, we deplore, Through life's sad remnant, what no sighs restore : ur years a fruitless race without a prize, Too many, yet too few to make us wise. Dangling his cane about, and taking snuff, Lothario cries, What philosophick stuff O querulous and weak !-whose useless brain 25 Once thought of nothing, and now thinks in vain; 30 Whose eye reverted weeps o'er all the past, Whose prospect shows thee a disheart'ning waste: 35 40 She spreads the morning over eastern hills, To fling his glories o'er the robe she wears; Banks cloth'd with flow'rs, groves fill'd with sprightly sounds, 45 The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rising grounds, Streams edg'd with osiers, fatt'ning ev'ry field, Where'er they flow, now seen, and now conceal'd; From the blue rim, where skies and mountains meet, Down to the very turf bencath thy feet, 50 Ten thousand charms, that only fools despise, Or Pride can look at with indiff'rent eyes, All speak one language, all with one sweet voice Cry to her universal realm, Rejoice! Man feels the spur of passions and desires; 55 And she gives largely more than he requires; Not that his hours devoted all to Care, Hollow-ey'd Abstinence, and lean Despair, The wretch may pine, while to his smell, taste, sight, She holds a paradise of 1ich delight; But gently to rebuke his awkward fear, To prove that what she gives, she gives sincere. To banish hesitation, and proclaim His happiness, her dear, her only aim. "Tis grave philosophy's absurdest dream, 65 That Heav'n's intentions are not what they seem That only shadows are dispens'd below, And earth has no reality but wo. Thus things terrestrial wear a different hue, As youth or age persuades; and neither true. 70 So Flora's wreath through colour'd crystal seen, The rose or lily appears blue or green, But still th' imputed tints are those alone To rise at noon, sit slipshod and undress'd, To read the news or fiddle as seems best, 75 Till half the world comes rattling at his door, To fill the dull vacuity till four ; And, just when ev'ning turns the blue vault gray, To spend two hours in dressing for the day: 80 Who bids him shine, or if he shine or not; Through mere necessity to close his eyes 85 Just when the larks and when the shepherds rise: Is such a life, so tediously the same, So void of all utility or aim, That poor Jonquil, with almost ev'ry breath, Sighs for his exit, vulgarly call'd death: 90 For he, with all his follies, has a mind Not yet so blank, or fashionably bl.nd, But now and then perhaps a feeble ray Of distant wisdom shoots across his way; By which he reads, that life without a plan, 95 Serves merely as a soil for discontent To thrive in ; an incumbrance cre half spent. ————— O weariness beyond what asses feel, That tread the circuit of the cistern wheel; 100 A dull rotation, never at a stay, 105 For truth self-evident, with pomp impress'd, 110 That remedy, not hid in deeps profound, Life is his gift, from whom whate'er life needs, 115 With ev'ry good and perfect gift proceeds; 120 Its value what no thought can ascertain, 125 Nor all an angel's eloquence explain. Men deal with life as children with their play, Who first misuse, then cast their toys away; Live to no sober purpose, and contend 130 When God and man stand opposite in view, Man's disappointment must of course ensue. His names of wisdom, goodness, pow'r, and love, 135 |