V.

Life is a blank to those whom Fancy blest
E'en in their infancy; for why? they scorn,
When Pleasure, warmly sought, has lost her zest,
Those social duties for which man is born :—

A long, long night succeeds their lovely morn!
Where shall the luckless child of Nature turn,
Baffled by hope, by fiercer passions torn?

He dares the wisdom of the world to spurn,
Yet by the world misled, for ever doom'd to mourn!

VI.

Be then utility alone the aim

Of all thy actions; ere it be too late
The doubtful meed of poesy disclaim;
Let nobler hopes thy glowing soul elate,
With honest zeal uphold the sinking state:
Be this the penance for thy follies past.
Far better than in maudlin verse to prate
Of what in days of revelry thou wast:
Shall self-recorded vice its acted time outlast?

VII.

Invention too must cease to yield delight;
For pleasure has its limits: then refrain
Awhile from courting Fancy's aid-poor wight!
Thoughts too intense will prey upon thy brain :-

Since e'en an o'er-fraught memory brings pain.
Nature's unbounded realms would'st thou explore?
She views thy puny efforts with disdain:

The learned are but idlers on her shore;

So deem'd that wondrous man best skill'd in Nature's lore.

te

tate:

ist!

wight!

brain:

tom!

VIII.

Thy brethren in distress demand thy care,
Whose only bed is now the cold damp earth;
Go these relieve;-far sweeter is the prayer
For thee, for thine, that gratitude pours forth,
Than heartless praises, which the sons of mirth,
Madd'ning with lust and wine, on thee bestow.
Shall they to-morrow still proclaim thy worth,
Who with o'erflowing zeal to-night do glow?
Fond liberal fool! I fear 'twill not indeed be so?

IX.

O Howard, Reynolds! names to man more dear
Than those of heroes who have fought and died!
You follow'd well our Saviour's footsteps here,
While dove-eyed Charity-celestial guide-
Scatter'd unnumber'd blessings by your side!
To save the soul oppress'd by guilt, to give
To virtuous industry an honest pride;

This your ambition-may it ever live

Fresh with the dews of heaven its boundless laurels

thrive.

NOTE

ON

"THE LAMENT OF ALTAMONT.”

P. 397, 1. 5.

So deem'd that wondrous man, &c.

"It is related of Sir Isaac Newton, that, in speaking on some

occasion of his discoveries, he compared himself to a boy collecting pebbles on the sea-shore."

Crowns are scatter'd at her feet;

Power now bends unto her will,
Nature's sons her presence greet.

How she mocks the pride of kings! How she scorns the idle show!

"Now," she cries, "on eagle wings, 'Gainst the thankless tribe I'll go."

Virtue, Wisdom, you alone

Just pre-eminence deserve; Attributes to that high throne Which the freest love to serve.

Break the prison gates, behold
Men of intellect divine

Forced by things of coarser mould

In the dungeon's gloom to pine!

See the tyrant raises high,

Girt with battlements around,

Towers, that seem to brave the sky :

His strength is nought-his hopes unsound.

Be he robed in purple pall,

Death shall seize the gorgeous prize!

Though before him thousands fall,

Freemen shout "Revenge ”—he dies !

THE STORM.

LOUD howl the winds around, the sea on high
Bandies its giant waves against the sky.
Now the red lightnings run along the ground:
Trees snapp'd asunder from the earth rebound,
The sweeping tempest hurries on its way,
Ocean and earth, and heaven, alike its prey.