While Hope pursues some favorite theme,
As oft when Night o'er Heaven is spread,
Round this maternal seat you tread,
Where far from splendour, far from riot,
In silence wrapt sleeps careless quiet.
'Tis thine with fancy oft to talk,
And thine the peaceful evening walk;
And what to thee the sweetest are-
The setting sun, the evening star—
The tints, which live along the sky,
And Moon that meets thy raptur'd eye,
Where oft the tear shall grateful start,
Dear silent pleasures of the Heart!
Ah! Being blest, for Heaven shall lend
To share thy simple joys a friend!
Ah! doubly blest, if Love supply
His influence to complete thy joy,
If chance some lovely maid thou find
To read thy visage in thy mind.
"One blessing more demands thy care:Once more to Heaven address the prayer: For humble independence pray
The guardian genius of thy way;
Whom (sages say) in days of yore
Meek competence to wisdom bore,
So shall thy little vessel glide
With a fair breeze adown the tide,
And Hope, if e'er thou 'ginst to sorrow
Remind thee of some fair to-morrow,
Till death shall close thy tranquil eye
While Faith proclaims "thou shalt not die!"
TELL me, on what holy ground
May Domestic Peace be found-
Halcyon Daughter of the skies!
Far on fearful wings she flies,
From the pomp of sceptered State,
From the Rebel's noisy hate,
In a cottaged vale She dwells
Listening to the Sabbath bells!
Still around her steps are seen
Spotless Honour's meeker mien,
Love, the sire of pleasing fears,
Sorrow smiling through her tears,
And conscious of the past employ
Memory, bosom-spring of joy.
WHEN Youth his faery reign began
Ere sorrow had proclaimed me man ;
While Peace the present hour beguiled,
And all the lovely Prospect smiled;
Then Mary! 'mid my lightsome glee
I heav'd the painless Sigh for thee.
And when, along the waves of woe,
My harassed Heart was doomed to know
The frantic burst of Outrage keen,
And the slow Pang that gnaws unseen;
Then shipwrecked on Life's stormy sea
I heaved an anguished Sigh for thee!
But soon Reflection's power imprest
A stiller sadness on my breast;
And sickly hope with waning eye
Was well content to droop and die :
I yielded to the stern decree,
Yet heaved a languid Sigh for thee!
And though in distant climes to roam,
A wanderer from my native home,
I fain would soothe the sense of Care,
And lull to sleep the Joys that were,
Thy Image may not banished be-
Still, Mary! still I sigh for thee.
June, 1794.
ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, Death came with friendly care; The opening bud to Heaven conveyed, And bade it blossom there.
ALL are not born to soar-and ah! how few
In tracks, where Wisdom leads, their paths pursue!
Contagious when to wit or wealth allied,
Folly and Vice diffuse their venom wide.
On Folly every fool his talent tries;
It asks some toil to imitate the wise e;
Tho' few like Fox can speak-like Pitt can think—
Yet all like Fox can game-like Pitt can drink.
O, Curas hominum! O, quantum est in rebus inane!
THE fervid Sun had more than halv'd the day,
When gloomy on his couch Philedon lay;
His feeble frame consumptive as his purse,
His aching head did wine and women curse;
His fortune ruin'd and his wealth decay'd,
Clamorous his Duns, his gaming debts unpaid,
The youth indignant seiz'd his tailor's bill,
And on its back thus wrote with moral quill:
"Various as colors in the rainbow shown,
Or similar in emptiness alone,
How false, how vain are Man's pursuits below!
Wealth, Honor, Pleasure-what can ye bestow?
Yet see, how high and low, and young and old
Pursue the all delusive power of Gold.
Fond man! should all Peru thy empire own,
For thee tho' all Golconda's jewels shone,
What greater bliss could all this wealth supply?
What, but to eat and drink and sleep and die?
Go, tempt the stormy sea, the burning soil-
Go, waste the night in thought, the day in toil,
Dark frowns the rock, and fierce the tempests rave-
Thy ingots go the unconscious deep to pave!
Or thunder at thy door the midnight train,
Or death shall knock that never knocks in vain.
Next Honor's sons come bustling on amain;
I laugh with pity at the idle train.
Infirm of soul! who think'st to lift thy name
Upon the waxen wings of human fame,—
Who for a sound, articulated breath-
Gazest undaunted in the face of death!
What art thou but a Meteor's glaring light—
Blazing a moment and then sunk in night?
Caprice which rais'd thee high shall hurl thee low
Or
envy blast the laurels on thy brow.
To such poor joys could ancient Honor lead
When empty fame was toiling Merit's mead;
To Modern Honor other lays belong;
Profuse of joy and Lord of right and wrong,
Honor can game, drink, riot in the stew,
Cut a friend's throat ;-what cannot Honor do?
Ah me-the storm within can Honor still
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