But trust me, Gould, 'tis lawful pride
To rise above the mean control
Of flesh and sense, to which we're tied;
This is ambition that becomes a soul.
We steer our course up through the skies;
Farewell this barren land:
We ken the heavenly shore with longing eyes,
There the dear wealth of spirits lies,
And beckoning angels stand.
SWIFT as the sun revolves the day,
We hasten to the dead;
Slaves to the wind we puff away,
And to the ground we tread.
Tis air that lends us life, when first
The vital bellows heave:
Our flesh we borrow of the dust;
And when a mother's care has nurst
The babe to manly size, we must
With usury pay the grave.
Rich juleps, drawn from precious ore,
Still tend the dying flame;
And plants, and roots, of barbarous name,
Torn from the Indian shore:
Thus we support our tottering flesh,
Our cheeks resume the rose afresh,
When bark and steel play well their game
VOL. XXIII.
To save our sinking breath; And Gibson, with his awful power, Rescues the poor precarious hour From the demands of death.
But art and nature, powers and charms,
And drugs, and recipes, and forms,
Yield us, at last, to greedy worms
A despicable prey ;
I'd have a life to call my own,
That shall depend on Heaven alone;
Nor air, nor earth, nor sea,
Mix their base essences with mine,
Nor claim dominion so divine,
To give me leave to be.
Sure there's a mind within, that reigns
O'er the dull current of my veins;
I feel the inward pulse beat high
With vigorous immortality.
Let earth resume the flesh it gave,
And breath dissolve amongst the winds;
Gibson, the things that fear a grave,
That I can lose, or you can save,
Are not akin to minds.
We claim acquaintance with the skies,
Upward our spirits hourly rise,
And there our thoughts employ:
When Heaven shall sign our grand release, We are no strangers to the place,
The business, or the joy.
MYLO, forbear to call him bless'd
That only boasts a large estate,
Should all the treasures of the west
Meet, and conspire to make him great:
I know thy better thoughts, I know
Thy reason can't descend so low.
Let a broad stream, with golden sands,
Through all his meadows roll,
He's but a wretch, with all his lands,
That wears a narrow soul.
He swells amidst his wealthy store,
And proudly poising what he weighs,
In his own scale he fondly lays
Huge heaps of shining ore:
He spreads the balance wide, to hold
His manors and his farms,
And cheats the beam with loads of gold
He hugs between his arms.
So might the plough-boy climb a tree,
When Croesus mounts his throne,
And both stand up, and smile to see,
How long their shadow's grown :
Alas! how vain their fancies be,
To think that shape their own!
Thus mingled still with wealth and state,
Cræsus himself can never know;
His true dimensions and his weight
Are far inferior to their show.
Were I so tall to reach the pole,
Or grasp the ocean with my span,
I must be measur'd by my soul:
The mind's the standard of the man.
BEAR Up, Sarissa, through the ruffling storms
Of a vain vexing world: tread down the cares,
Those rugged thorns that lie across the road,
Nor spend a tear upon them. Trust the Muse,
She sings experienc'd truth: this briny dew,
This rain of eyes, will make the briars grow.
We travel through a desert, and our feet
Have measur'd a fair space, have left behind
A thousand dangers, and a thousand snares
Well 'scap'd. Adieu! ye horrors of the dark,
Ye finish'd labours, and ye tedious toils
Of days and hours: the twinge of real smart,
And the false terrors of ill-boding dreams,
Vanish together, be alike forgot,
For ever blended in one common grave.
Farewell, ye waxing and ye waning moons, That we have watch'd behind the flying clouds On Night's dark hill, or setting or ascending, Or in meridian height: then silence reign'd O'er half the world; then ye beheld our tears, Ye witness'd our complaints, our kindred groans, (Sad harmony!) while with your beamy horns Cr richer orb ye silver'd o'er the green Where trod our feet, and lent a feeble light
To mourners. Now, ye have fulfill'd your round, Those hours are fled, farewell! Months that are
Are gone for ever, and have borne away
Each his own load. Our woes and sorrows past,
Mountainous woes, still lessen as they fly
Far off. So billows in a stormy sea,
Wave after wave (a long succession) roll
Beyond the ken of sight: the sailors safe,
Look far a-stern till they have lost the storm,
And shout their boisterous joys. A gentler Muse
Sings thy dear safety, and commands thy cares
To dark oblivion buried deep in night.
Loose them, Sarissa, and assist my song.
Awake thy voice, sing how the slender line
Of Fate's immortal Now divides the past
From all the future, with eternal bars
Forbidding a return. The past temptations
No more shall vex us; every grief we feel
Shortens the destin'd number; every pulse
Beats a sharp monent of the pain away,
And the last stroke will come. By swift degrees
Time sweeps us off, and we shall soon arrive
At life's sweet period: O celestial point,
That ends this mortal story!
But if a glimpse of light, with flattering ray,
Breaks through the clouds of life, or wandering fire,
Amidst the shades invite your doubtful feet,
Beware the dancing meteor; faithless guide,
That leads the lonesome pilgrim wide astray
To bogs, and fens, and pits, and certain death!
Should vicious pleasure take an angel-form
And at a distance rise, by slow degrees,
Treacherous, to wind herself into your heart,
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