"O when shall that eternal morn appear, These dreadful forms to chase, this chaos dark to clear! "O Thou, at whose creative smile, yon heaven, "In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light, 66 86 Rose from th' abyss; when dark confusion, driven "Down down the bottomless profound of night, Fled, where he ever flies Thy piercing sight; "O glance on these sad shades one pitying ray, "To blast the fury of oppressive might; "Melt the hard heart to love and mercy's sway, "And cheer the wandering soul, and light him on the way." 66 Stanza 40. Fancy enervates, while it soothes the heart, And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight: "To joy each heightening charm it can impart, "But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night, "And often, where no real ills affright, "Its visionary fiends, an endless train, "Assail with equal or superior might, "And through the throbbing heart, and dizzy brain, "And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than mortal pain. "And yet, alas, the real ills of life "Claim the full vigour of a mind prepared, "Prepared for patient, long, laborious strife, "Its guide Experience, and Truth its guard. "We fare on earth as other men have fared: "Were they successful? Let not us despair. "Was disappointment oft their sole reward? Yet shall their tale instruct, if it declare, "How they have borne the load ourselves are doom'd to bear. 66 DR. COTTON. THE FIRESIDE. DEAR Cloe, while the busy crowd, Be call'd our choice, we'll step aside, From the gay world we'll oft retire Where Love our hours employs ; If solid happiness we prize, And they are fools who roam; Of rest was Noah's dove bereft, Tho' fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers, That marriage, rightly understood, Our babes shall richest comforts bring; Whence pleasures ever rise; While they our wisest hours engage, ; They'll grow in virtue every day, No borrow'd joys! they're all our own, Our portion is not large, indeed, In this the art of living lies, We'll therefore relish with content, To be resign'd when ills betide, And pleas'd with favours given; Whose fragrance smells to heaven. We'll ask no long-protracted treat, Since winter-life is seldom sweet; But, when our feast is o'er, Nor grudge our sons, with envious eyes, Thus hand in hand thro' life we'll go, With cautious steps we'll tread ; While Conscience, like a faithful friend, TO-MORROW. Pereunt et imputantur. TO-MORROW, didst thou say; Against thy plenty-who takes thy ready cash, And pays thee nought but wishes, hopes, and promises, The currency of idiots.—Injurious bankrupt, It is a period nowhere to be found In all the hoary registers of time, Unless, perchance, in the fool's calendar. But soft, my friend-arrest the present moments; Than all the crimson treasures of life's fountain! The good old patriarch upon record, COWPER. FROM RETIREMENT. FRIENDS (for I cannot stint, as some have done, Too rigid in my view, that name to one ;) Friends, not adopted with a school-boy's haste, But chosen with a nice discerning taste, Well-born, well-disciplined, who, placed apart From vulgar minds, have honour much at heart; And, though the world may think the ingredients odd, The love of virtue, and the fear of GOD! Such friends prevent what else would soon succeed, A temper rustic as the life we lead, |