But him the least the dull or painful hours
Of life oppress, whom sober Sense conducts,
And Virtue thro' this labyrinth we tread.
Virtue and Sense I mean not to disjoin;
Virtue and Sense are one: and trust me, he
Who has not virtue is not truly wife.
Virtue (for mere good-nature is a fool)
Is sense and spirit, with humanity:
'Tis sometimes angry, and its frown confounds;
'Tis even vindictive, but in veng
Knaves fain would laugh at it; fome great ones dare;
But at his heart the most undaunted fon
Of fortune dreads its name and awful charms.
To nobleft uses this determines wealth:
This is the folid pomp of prosperous days;
The peace and shelter of adverfity.
And if you pant for glory, build your fame
On this foundation, which the secret shock
Defies of Envy and all-fapping Time.
The gaudy glofs of Fortune only strikes
The vulgar eye: The fuffrage of the wife,
The praise that's worth ambition, is attain'd
By sense alone, and dignity of mind.
Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul,
Is the best gift of heaven: a happiness
That even above the smiles and frowns of fate
Exalts great Nature's favourites: a wealth
That ne'er encumbers, nor to baser hands
Can be transferr'd: it is the only good
Man justly boasts of, or can call his own.
Riches are oft by guilt and baseness earn'd;
Or dealt by chance, to shield a lucky knave,
Or
Or throw a cruel fun-shine on a fool.
But for one end, one much-neglected use,
Are riches worth your care (for Nature's wants
Are few, and without opulence supplied)
This noble end is, to produce the Soul:
To shew the virtues in their fairest light;
To make Humanity the Minister
Of bounteous Providence; and teach the breaft
That generous luxury the Gods enjoy.
Thus, in his graver vein, the friendly Sage
Sometimes declaim'd. Of Right and Wrong he taught
Truths as refin'd as ever Athens heard;
And (strange to tell!) he practis'd what he preach'd.
N frolick's hour, ere serious thought had birth,
There was a time, my dear CORNWALLIS, when
The Muse would take me on her airy wing
And waft to views romantic; there present
Some motley vision, shade and fun: the cliff
O'erhanging, sparkling brooks, and ruins grey:
Bade me meanders trace, and catch the form
Of varying clouds, and rainbows learn to paint.
Sometimes ambition, brushing by, would twitch
My mantle, and with winning look fublime
Allure to follow. What tho' steep the track,
Her mountain's top would overpay, when climb'd,
The scaler's toil; her temple there was fine,
And lovely thence the prospects. She cou'd tell
Where laurels grew, whence many a wreath antique;
But more advis'd to shun the barren twig,
(What is immortal verdure without fruit?)
And woo some thriving art: her num'rous mines
Were open to the searcher's skill and pains.
Caught by th' harangue, heart beat, and flutt'ring pulse
Sounded irregular marches to be gone-
What, pause a moment when Ambition calls ?
No, the blood gallops to the distant goal,
And throbs to reach it. Let the lame fit still.
When Fortune gentle, at the hill's verge extreme,
Array'd in decent garb, but somewhat thin,
Smiling approach'd; and what occafion, ask'd,
Of climbing; She already provident
Had cater'd well, if stomach cou'd digeft
Her viands, and a palate not too nice:
Unfit she said, for perilous attempt;
That manly limb requir'd, and finew tough.
She took, and laid me in a vale remote,
Amid the gloomy scene of fir and yew,
On poppy beds, where Morpheus strew'd the ground;
Obscurity her curtain round me drew,
And Syren Sloth a dull quietus sung.
Sithence no fairy lights, no quick'ning ray,
No stir of pulse, nor objects to entice
Abroad the spirits: but the cloyster'd heart
Sits squat at home, like pagod in a nitch
Obscure, or grandees with nod-watching eye,
And folded arms, in presence of the throne,
Turk, or Indoftan. -Cities, forums, courts
And prating sanhedrims and drumming wars,
Affect
Affect no more than stories told to bed
Lethargic, which at intervals the fick
Hears and forgets, and wakes to doze again.
Instead of converse and variety,
The fame trite round, the same stale filent scene:
Such are thy comforts, blessed Solitude!
But Innocence is there, but Peace all kind,
And fimple quiet with her downy couch,
Meads lowing, tune of birds, and lapfe of streams,
And faunter with a book, and warbling Muse
In praife of hawthorns-Life's whole business this!
Is it to bask i' th' fan? if so a snail
Were happy crawling on a fouthern wall.
Why fits content upon a cottage-fill
At eventide, and blesseth the coarse meal
In footy corner? why sweet slumber wait
Th' hard pallet? not because from haunt remote
Sequester'd in a dingle's bushy lap:
"Tis labour makes the peasant's fav'ry fare,
And works out his repose: for ease must ask
The leave of diligence to be enjoy'd.
Oh! liften not to that enchantress Eafe
With feeming smile; her palatable cup
By standing grows infipid; and beware
The bottom, for there's poifon in the lees.
What health impair'd, and crowds inactive maim'd!
What daily martyrs to her fluggish caufe!
Less strict devoir the Rufs and Perfian claim
Despotic; and as fubjects long inur'd
To fervile burthen, grow fupine and tame,
So fares it with our sov'reign and her train.
What tho' with lure fallacious she pretend
From worldly bondage to fet free, what gain
Her votaries? What avails from iron chains
Exempt, if rofy fetters bind as fast?
Bestir, and answer your creation's end.
Think we that man with vig'rous pow'r endow'd
And room to stretch, was destin'd to fit still?
Sluggards are Nature's rebels, flight her laws,
Nor live up to the terms on which they hold
Their vital lease. Laborious terms and hard;
But fuch the tenure of our earthly state!
Riches and fame are Industry's reward;
The nimble runner courses Fortune down,
And then he banquets, for she feeds the bold.
Think what you owe your country, what yourself.
If splendor charm not, yet avoid the scorn
That treads on lowly stations. Think of some
Affiduous booby mounting o'er your head,
And thence with saucy grandeur looking down:
Think of (Reflection's stab !) the pitying friend
With shoulder shrugg'd and sorry. Think that Time
Has golden minutes, if discreetly seiz'd:
And if some fad example, indolent,
To warn and scare be wanting - think of me.
ELEGY то A YOUNG NOBLEMAN LEAVING THE UNIVERSITY.
'ER yet, ingenuous Youth, thy steps retire
From Cam's smooth margin, and the peaceful vale,
Where Science call'd thee to her studious quire,
And met thee musing in her cloysters pale;
O! let thy friend (and may he boast the name)
Breathe from his artless reed one parting lay !
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