"The clearness and brilliancy of the heavens, the serenity of the air, and the soft tranquillity in which Nature reposes, contribute to harmonise the mind, and to produce calm and delightful sensations."-EDWARDS'S West Indies, vol. i. page 10.
How lovely was that eve, the moon shone clear,
Not e'en a vapoury cloud was sailing near!
The fire-flies swarm'd around with fitful glare,
Like magic gems they sparkled through the air.
Now glow'd the stars, in such a bright array,
They seem'd to lighten forth a milder day:
There might the exulting soul aspire to be
Mingled with light through all eternity!
WRITTEN AFTER SEEING "TIMON OF ATHENS AT DRURY LANE
GENIUS of fallen Babylon-behold
In London, mart of opulence and vice,
Thy scenes of former luxury unroll'd!
Here everything, e'en woman, has its price:
Here Mammon plies his subtle trade with dice:
Bevies of dainty damsels here abound,
With Levi's tribe the unwary to entice,
Till fortune, mind, and body be unsound:
Corruption's fatal gulfs here menace all around!
Much is allow'd to youth, to feelings strong,
To Pleasure's tempting look, companions gay;
He who would scorn the soul-awakening song,
Whose heart is shut 'gainst beauty's genial ray,
He would despise the loveliness of May ;-
Not outward, no, nor inward sunshine warms
His soul, himself a moving mass of clay.
The goodliest prospect has for him no charms;
He never, never felt the lover's sweet alarms.
Awake to life!- -no more of harlot's smiles
Dream, nor the noisy merriment of knaves!
How many losels perish by the wiles
Of sweet Aspasias, Timon's grateful slaves!
Lo! the trim yacht rides buoyant o'er the waves,
Fairer in show, more fragile than the rest
Of meaner barks: the sudden tempest raves
Amidst the ignoble craft she rolls distrest,
It nought avails her now to be so gaily drest.
'Tis vain to mourn-yet oft remorse will tear
The breast, from which all virtues are not wrung
By Wantonness, false witch! whose aspect fair
Blinds doating eld, and fascinates the young,
Till by her arts their sinews are unstrung,
Their strength exhausted ;-wasted in their prime,
They mar those hopes to which their parents clung;
Fame, fortune, genius sacrificed to crime-
And all these lessons learn'd in boyhood's happier time!
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 !
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?
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.
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 ?
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;
your ambition-may it ever live
Fresh with the dews of heaven its boundless laurels
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