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" 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, “ 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."
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.
DEAR Cloe, while the busy crowd,
In Folly's maze advance;
Nor join the giddy dance.
Where Love our hours employs ;
To spoil our heart-felt joys.
And they are fools who roam ; The world hath nothing to bestow, From our own selves our bliss must flow,
And that dear hut our home. Of rest was Noah's dove bereft, When with impatient wing she left That safe retreat, the
ark ; Giving her vain excursions o'er, The disappointed bird once more
Explor'd the sacred bark. Tho' fools spurn Hymen's gentle powers, We, who improve his golden hours,
By sweet experience know, That marriage, rightly understood, Gives to the tender and the good,
A paradise below. Our babes shall richest comforts bring; If tutor'd right, they'll prove a spring
Whence pleasures ever rise; We'll form their minds with studious care To all that's manly, good, and fair,
And train them for the skies., While they our wisest hours engage, They'll joy our youth, support our age,
And crown our hoary hairs;
And recompense our cares.
Or by the world forgot;
And bless our humble lot.
For Nature's calls are few !
And make that little do.
Nor aim beyond our power;
Nor lose the present hour. To be resign'd when ills betide, Patient when favours are denied,
And pleas'd with favours given; Dear Cloe, this is wisdom's part, This is that incense of the heart
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,
The relics of our store.
With cautious steps we'll tread;
And mingle with the dead.
And cheer our dying breath ;
And smooth the bed of death,
Pereunt et imputantur.
TO-MORROW, didst thou say ;
. Go to- I will not hear of it.-To-morrow! 'Tis a sharper, who stakes his penury Against thy plenty-who takes thy ready cash, And pays thee nought but wishes, hopes, and pro
mises, The currency of idiots.--Injurious bankrupt, That gulls the easy creditor!-To-morrow! It is a period nowhere to be found In all the hoary registers of time, Unless, perchance, in the fool's calendar. Wisdom disclaims the word, nor holds society With those who own it. No, my Horatio, 'Tis Fancy's child, and Folly is its father; Wrought of such stuff as dreams are, and baseless As the fantastic visions of the evening.
But soft, my friend-arrest the present moments;
FRIENDS (for I cannot stint, as some have done,