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With some, 'tis pouring water through a sieve,
An endless folly, an excessive waste:

To feed their drones, these lordlings rob the hive; They waste their wealth on fools or dames unchaste; On gems, or jewels rare-these children "have a taste.”


DIVES had feasts at home, and many came
To see the strange inventions of the night;
Minstrels were in his halls, resembling flame-
The colour of their garments was as bright;
Ladies were clad in silk, all lily white:
While Burgundy, from golden goblets pour'd,
Freshen'd the heart of man with new delight,
And boon companions gather'd round his board,
Pledging the frequent health of their all-liberal lord.


But what is DIVES now?-a misanthrope

A snarling cynic, basking in the sun :

O'ercharged with lust, he gave his passion scope;
A self-tormentor, now his course is run,

Mingling with fellow-men, yet loving none.

Divine Charissa calls on him in vain


Though fools have robb'd thee, do not therefore shun The sad retreat of penury and pain!"

Sullen he stalks apart, and eyes her with disdain.


"What wert thou born for, denizen of earth?
To laugh and grieve as suits thy wayward will?
Scoffer!-the soul will have a second birth :-
Awake the song-the sparkling goblet fill-
Drown, in thy wine, all thoughts of future ill.
There is another world!" "Then be it so-
Of this already have I had my fill !”—

"This will not save thee-this fantastic woe:

Thou knowest not, wretched man, where thou art doom'd to go!"


A DREARY waste of snows around
O'er-spread the inhospitable ground;-
The storm-blast scarce had ceased to roar,
There lay two corpses on the shore.
Thou, pamper'd lecher, come and see

These shapes, so oft embraced by thee!—
What does it shame thee?-look again-
and vain ;

These were once women, ay,

Rock-bruised and mangled now, they seem
More horrid than a ghastly dream.
Now kiss their livid lips, and bless
Their fragrant stench, sweet rottenness.
The gay gold rings bemock their fingers,
Where not one trait of beauty lingers;
But, like the shrivell'd star-fish, lie
Their hands in sand, all witheringly.
We start to see this loathsome clay,
Uncoffin'd, rotting fast away;
Yet, we can bear the noisome pest,
Vice, gathering, blackening in the breast.



'Tis sweet on Truth's high vantage-ground to stand And gaze on men below, in mazes lost

Of error; sweet it is to break the wand Of juggling Comus, battling 'gainst a host Of frightful passions; or when tempest-tost To reach, by unexpected chance, the port; Sweet 'tis to have a Claude, though much it costSweet to the honest heart's the rural sport; Sweetest is woman's love when 'tis of good report.


To share each other's joys, to live indeed
In our own little world of happiness,
With interchange of thought as time may need
To brighten fancy; make our troubles less;
To give and to return the kind caress;
To visit distant realms, not both unknown;

To be each other's helpmates in distress;

To laugh through mutual aid at fortune's frown;

Such were a bliss, indeed, which few can call their own.



THE spoils of nations here collected seem
To realize an Eastern poet's dream :
Gold, gems, and ivory with rich inlay,
Urns, vases, books, magnificently gay,
Embroider'd couches, golden lamps, and all
That pride would choose for beauty's festival.
With intermingling hues fatigue the sight,
And "dazzle with their luxury of light."*
Nursed in the sunshine, orange-trees unfold
Their leaves of emerald, and their fruit of gold;

* See Gray's Epistle to Bentley, in Mason's edition of his works.

"As when conspiring in the diamond's blaze

The ineaner gems, that singly charm the sight, Together dart their intermingling rays

And dazzle with a luxury of light!"

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