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(As by the impious thou art feen),
With thundering voice and threatening mien,
With screaming horror's fun'ral cry,
Despair, and fell disease, and ghasily poverty.
Thy form benign, ah goddess, wear,
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philofophic train be there,
To soften, not to wound my heart. The generous fpark extinct revive, Teach me to love and to forgive, Exact my own defects to fcan, What others are, to feel, and know myself a man.
CUPID BENIGHTED. THE sable night had spread around
This nether world a gloom profound; No silver moon nor stars appear The lonely traveller to cheer: The race of man, with toils oppreft, Enjoy’d the balmy sweets of rest! When from the heav'nly court of Jove, Descended swift the god of love, (Ah me! I tremble to relate) Ànd loudly thunder'd' at my gate. " Who's there?” I cried - who breaks my door, “ At this unfeasonable hour?” The god, with well-dissembled fighs, And inoan insidious, thus replies: “ Pray ope the door, dear firm'tis I, “ A harmless miferable boy: “ Benumb’d with cold and rain, I ftray “ A long, uncomfortable way“ The winds with bluti’ring horror roar“ 'Tis dismal dark-pray ope the door.” Quite unsuspicious of a foe, I listen'd to the tale of woe,
Compassion touch'd my breast, and strait
I struck a light, unbarr'd the gate ;
When lo! a winged boy I spy'd,
With bow and quiver at his side :
I wonder'd at his strange attire ;
Then friendly plac'd him near the fire.
My heart was bounteous and benign,
I warm’d his little hands in mine;
Cheer'd him with kind assiduous care,
And wrung the water from his hair.
Soon as the fraudful youth was warm,
“ Let's try,” says he, “ if any harm,
“ Has chanc'd my bow this stormy night;
“ I fear the wet has spoil'd it quite.”
With that he bent the fatal yew,
And to the head an arrow drew;
Loud twang'd the founding string, the dart
Pierc'd through my bosom to my heart :
Then laugh'd amain the wanton boy,
And “ Friend,” he cried, “ I wish thee joy!
“ Undamag'd is my bow, I fee,
“ But what a wretch I've made of thee!”
TO THE PEREMPTORY, ILL-NATURED, AND
THOU faucy malapert! away!
Thy name, ah! may I never hear,
Nor blafts malignant, e'er convey
Thy mandate to my startled ear;
May winds disperse the found in air,
E'er on the trembling nerve impreft;
(The sound that fills with grief the breast,
And gives the heart to dire despair.)
All hateful! may the maid I love renounce thee,
And never, with averted look, pronounce thee.
Full many a heart, oppress’d with woe,
Has cause to mourn thy baleful pow'rs,
That bid the stream of forrow flow,
Full fast adown in briny show'rs.
For sweetmeats teazing, many a boy,
Struck with the heart-appalling found,
Has weeping roll'd along the ground,
His little bofom dead to joy;
Or fled, to vent the grief that rends his soul,
In some dark corner, or some gloomy hole.
Thou offspring vile of tyrant pride,
Thou lordelt o’er the weak and poor;
Like furly porter, or four mastiff try'd,
Doft spurn the suppliant from the door-
To wand'ring mendicants well known,
Thy dreaded name gives little care;
But' finks the wretch, who seeks a gown,
In lowest depths of dark despair.
The pliant courtier, at my lord's levee,
More than the devil, dreads the fight of thee.
In all its gorgon terrors deck'd,
Thy form the trembling poet scares;
Who long, in spite of cold neglect,
Has worry d patronage with pray’rs,
The wretched scribbler llow retires,
Dejected, all his wishes crost,
All hopes of future fortune's lost,
And quench'd the muse's ardent fires;
Full well, his lengthen'd face, and hollow cheek,
The poignant anguish of his foul befpeak.
The fighing lover, too, poor wight!
By thee (hard cafe!) expell'd from heav'n,
Muit quit his dear-lov'd fair one's fight,
And fly, to lonely deserts driv’n:
Wild-larting, still he feems to hear,
Re-echo'd ʼmidst the gloom profound,
The dreadful, hope-destroying sound,
All fad vibrating on his ear;
And lonely wand'ring o'er the wild, diftreft,
He strays forlorn, and weeping beats his breaft.
Ah! ne'er with rigor ftern oppose
The gentle wishes of a genial flame,
Nor give, a prey to hopeless woes,
The heart a better meed may claim.
But, when with wild, unbridled force,
Heedless of REASON's high behest,
Rude passion fways the ardent breast,
Restrain us in our headlong course;
When we, forgetful, cease to act as men,
Step refolute between, and check us then.
PLEASURES ARISING FROM VICISSITUDE.
NOW the golden morn aloft
Waves her dew-bespangled wing,
With vermil cheek, and whisper soft,
She wooes the tardy spring :
Till April starts, and calls around
The Neeping fragrance from the ground;
And lightly o’er the living scene
Scatters his freshest, tenderest green.
New-born flocks, in rustic dance,
Frisking ply their feeble feet;
Forgetful of their wint’ry trance
The birds his presence greet:
But chief, the sky-lark warbles high
His trembling thrilling ecstasy;
And, lessening from the dazzled light,
Melts into air and liquid light.
Yesterday the fullen year
Saw the snowy whirlwind fly;
Mute was the music of the air,
The herd stood drooping by:
Their raptures now that wildly flow,
No yesterday, nor morrow know;
'Tis man alone that joy descries
With forward and reverted eyes.
Smiles on paft misfortune's brow,
Soft reflection's hand can trace;
And o'er the cheek of sorrow throw
A melancholy grace: While hope prolongs our happier hour; Or deepest shades, that dimly lower And blacken round our weary way, Gilds with a gleam of diftant day. Still, where rofy pleasure leads,
See a kindred grief pursue;
Behind the steps that misery treads
Approaching comfort view:
The hues of bliss more brightly glow,
Chastis'd by fabler tints of woe;
And blended firm, with artful ftrife,
For strength and harmony of life.
See the wretch, that long has tost
On the thorny bed of pain,
At length repair his vigour lost,
And breathe, and walk again:
The meanest floweret of the vale,
The simplest note that swells the gale,
The common sun, the air, the skies,
To him are opening paradise.
Humble quiet builds her cell
Near the course where pleasure flows; She eyes the clear chrystalline well,
And tastes it as it goes.