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Pretty in amber to observe the forms
| Know then this truth, enough for man to know, Of hair, or straws, or dirt, or grubs, or worms :
| Virtue alone is happiness below. The things, we know, are neither rich nor rare, But wonder how the mischief they got there!
Happier as kinder in whate'er degree,
And height of bliss but height of charity. Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
| If then to all men happiness was meant, He who, still wanting, though he lives on theft, God in externals conld not place content. Steals much, spends little, yet has nothing left.
Order is Heaven's first law, and, this confest, All nature is but art, unknown to thee,
Some are, and must be, greater than the rest. All chance, direction which thou canst not see.
That secret rare between the extremes to move,
“What then is the reward of virtue, - bread ? Ye little stars, hide your diminished rays.
That vice may merit, 't is the price of toil,
The knave deserves it when he tills the soil." Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name.
What nothing earthly gives or can destroy, 'Tis strange the music should his cares employ
The soul's calm sunshine, and the heartfelt joy. To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy.
| As heaven's blest beam turns vinegar more sour. Something there is more needful than expense, And something previous e'en to taste, - 't is sense.
Lust through some certain strainers well refined
Is gentle love, and charms all womankind.
| Vice is a monster of such hideous mien Let not each beauty everywhere be spied,
That to be hated needs but to be seen ; Where half the skill is decently to hide.
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace. 'T is use alone that sanctifies expense, And splendor borrows all her rays from sense. Behold the child, by Nature's kindly law,
Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw ; And knows where faith, law, morals, all began, Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, All end, - in love of God and love of man. | A little louder, but as empty quite.
POEMS OF FANCY.
Whose candid bosom the refining love
Of nature warms; 0, listen to my song, FROM "THE VISION OF DELIGHT."
And I will guide thee to her favorite walks, Break, Fantasy, from thy cave of cloud, And teach thy solitude her voice to hear, And spread thy purple wings,
And point her loveliest features to thy view. Now all thy figures are allowed,
And various shapes of things ;
HALLO, MY FANCY.
In melancholic fancy,
Out of myself,
In the vulcan dancy,
All the world surveying,
Just like a fairy elf ;
Out o'er the tops of highest mountains skipping, DELIGHTS OF FANCY.
Out o'er the hills, the trees and valleys tripping, FROM "THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION." Outo'er the ocean seas, without an oar or shipping.
Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go ? As Memnon's marble harp renowned of old By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch
Amidst the misty vapors, Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string
Fain would I know Consenting, sounded through the warbling air
What doth cause the tapers ; Unbidden strains ; e'en so did Nature's hand
Why the clouds benight us To certain species of external things
And affright us, Attune the finer organs of the mind ;
While we travel here below. So the glad impulse of congenial powers, Fain would I know what makes the roaring thunOr of sweet sound, or fair-proportioned form,
der, The grace of motion, or the bloom of light, And what these lightnings be that rend the Thrills through imagination's tender frame,
clouds asunder, From nerve to nerve ; all naked and alive And what these comets are on which we gaze They catch the spreading rays ; till now the soul
and wonder. At length discloses every tuneful spring,
Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? To that harmonious movement from without, Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain
Fain would I know the reason Diffuses its enchantment ; Fancy dreams
Why the little ant, Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves,
All the summer season, And vales of bliss ; the Intellectual Power
Layeth up provision, Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear,
On condition And smiles ; the passions gently soothed away,
To know no winter's want : Sink to divine repose, and love and joy
And how housewives, that are so good and Alone are waking ; love and joy serene
painful, As airs that fan the summer. O attend, Do unto their husbands prove so good and gainWhoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch,
Withali walh w mme Through the sosten pelain
And why the lazy drones to them do prove dis- | And fully upon one his desire hath founded, dainful.
Whom nothing else could please though the world Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?
Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?
To know this world's centre,
Height, depth, breadth, and length,
Fain would I adventure
To search the hid attractions
Of magnetic actions,
And adamantine strength. And he that is above, him that's below despiseth, Fain would I know it
desniseth Fain would I know if in some lofty mountain, So every man his plot and counter-plot deviseth. Where the morn sojourns, if there be trees or Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?
If there be beasts of prey, or yet be fields to Look, look, what bustling
Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?
Hallo, my fancy, hallo,
Stay, stay at home with me,
I can thee no longer follow,
For thou hast betrayed me, Another hangs his head because he's out of fashion,
And bewrayed me ; A third is fully bent on sport and recreation.
It is too much for thee. Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go?
Stay, stay at home with me ; leave off thy lofty
soaring; Fain would I be resolved
Stay thou at home with me, and on thy books be How things are done ;
poring; And where the bull was calved
For he that goes abroad lays little up in storing : Of bloody Phalaris,
Thou 'rt welcome home, my fancy, welcome home And where the tailor is
to me. That works to the man i' the moon ! Fain would I know how Cupid aims so sightly; And how these little fairies do dance and leap so lightly ;
From the seas and the streams;
I bear light shade for the leaves when laid
In their noonday dreams.
From my wings are shaken the dews that waken
The sweet birds every one,
When rocked to rest on their mother's breast,
As she dances about the sun.
And laugh as I pass in thunder.
Fain also would I prove this,
I sift the snow on the mountains below,
And their great pines groan aghast ;
While I sleep in the arms of the blast.
Sublime on the towers of my skyey bowers
Lightning, my pilot, sits :
It struggles and howls by fits.