Thro' flow'ry meadows, and thro' dreary wastes,
One bustling, and one dancing, into death.
There's not a day, but, to the man of thought,
Betrays some secret, that throws new reproach
On life, and makes him sick of seeing more.
The scenes of bus'ness tell us-" What are men;"
The scenes of pleasure—“" What is all beside;"
There, Others we despise; and Here, ourselves.
Amid disgust eternal, dwells delight?
'Tis approbation strikes the string of joy.
What wond'rous prize has kindled this career,
Stuns with the din, and choaks us with the dust,
On life's gay stage, one inch above the grave?
The proud run up and down in quest of eyes;
The sensual, in pursuit of something worse;
The grave, of gold; the politic, of power;
And all, of other butterflies, as vain!
As eddies draw things frivolous, and light,
How is man's heart by vanity drawn in;
On the swift circle of returning toys,
Whirl'd, straw-like, round and round, and then ingulph'd,
Where gay delusion darkens to despair!
"This is a beaten track."-Is this a track,
Should not be beaten? Never beat enough,
Till enough learnt the truths it would inspire.
Shall Truth be silent, because Folly frowns?
Turn the world's history; what find we there,
But fortune's sports, or nature's cruel claims,
Or woman's artifice, or man's revenge,
Kayr ardent opens heaven, lets down a stream.
Of Glory on the consecrated hour
Of. Man, in audience with the Deity
London: Published Nov 1797 by Vernor & Hood & the other Proprietors
And endless inhumanities on man?
Fame's trumpet seldom sounds, but, like the knell,
It brings bad tidings: How it hourly blows
Man's misadventures.round the list'ning world!
Man is the tale of narrative old time;
Sad tale; which high as Paradise begins;
As if, the toil of travel to delude,
From stage to stage, in his eternal round,
The days, his daughters, as they spin our hours
On fortune's wheel, where accident unthought
Oft, in a moment, snaps life's strongest thread,
Each, in her turn, some tragic story tells,
With, now-and-then, a wretched farce between ;
And fills his chronicle with human woes.
Time's daughters, true as those of men, deceive
Not one, but puts some cheat on all mankind :
While in their father's bosom, not yet ours,
They flatter our fond hopes; and promise much
Of amiable; but hold him not o'erwise,
Who dares to trust them; and laugh round the year
At still-confiding, still-confounded, man,
Confiding, tho' confounded; hoping on,
Untaught by trial, unconvinc'd by proof,
And ever-looking for the never-seen.
Life to the last, like harden'd felons, lyės;
Nor owns itself a cheat, till it expires,
Its little joys go out by One and One,
And leave poor man, at length, in perfect night;
Night darker, than what, now, involves the pole..
O THOU, who dost permit these ills to fall,
For gracious ends, and would'st that man should mourn!
O THOU, whose hands this goodly fabric fram'd,
Who know'st it best, and would'st that man should know!
What is this sublunary world? A vapour;
A vapour all it holds itself, a vapour;
From the damp bed of chaos, by Thy beam.
Exhal'd, ordain'd to swim its destin'd hour
In ambient air, then melt, and disappear.
Earth's days are number'd, nor remote her doom;
As mortal, tho' less transient, than her sons;
Yet they doat on her, as the world and they
Were both eternal, solid; THOU, a dream.
They doat! on What? Immortal views apart,
A region of outsides! a land of shadows!
A fruitful field of flow'ry promises !
A wilderness of joys! perplext with doubts,
And sharp with thorns! a troubled ocean, spread
With bold adventurers, their all on board!
No second hope, if here their fortune frowns;
Frown soon it must. Of various rates they sail,
Of ensigns various; All alike in This,
All restless, anxious; tost with hopes, and fears,
In calmest skies; obnoxious All to storm;
And stormy the most gen'ral blast of life :
All bound for happiness; yet few provide
The chart of knowledge, pointing where it lies;
Or virtue's helm, to shape the course design'd:
All, more or less, capricious fate lament,
Now lifted by the tide, and now resorb'd,
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