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I remember that I loved her as I ne'er may love And cool their water is, – yea, cool and sweet;again,
But you must come to draw. And my heart's quick pulses vibrate to the patter They hoard not, yet they rest in calm content, of the rain.
And not unsought will give;
They can be quiet with their wealth unspent, There is naught in art's bravuras that can work
So self-contained they live. with such a spell, In the spirit's pure, deep fountains, whence the And there are some like springs, that bubbling holy passions swell,
burst As that melody of nature, - that subdued, sub
To follow dusty ways, duing strain,
And run with offered cup to quench his thirst Which is played upon the shingles by the patter
Where the tired traveller strays; of the rain.
That never ask the meadows if they want
What is their joy to give ;-
So self-bestowed they live !
And ONE is like the ocean, deep and wide,
Wherein all waters fall; A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow; That girdles the broad earth, and draws the tide, Long had I watched the glory moving on
Feeding and bearing all ; O'er the still radiance of the lake below. That broods the mists, that sends the clouds Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow!
abroad, Even in its very motion there was rest;
That takes, again to give ;While every breath of eve that chanced to blow Even the great and loving heart of God, Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west.
Whereby all love doth live.
To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given
FREEDOM IN DRESS.
Still to be neat, still to be drest,
Lady, it is to be presumed,
Though art's hid causes are not found,
All is not sweet, all is not sound.
Give me a look, give me a face,
That makes simplicity a grace ; But only to consume the corn,
Robes loosely flowing, hair as free, — Devour the cattle, fowl, and fish,
Such sweet neglect more taketh me And leave behind an empty dish.
Than all the adulteries of art; The crows and ravens do the same,
They strike mine eyes, but not my heart. Unlucky birds of hateful name;
BEN JONSON. Ravens or crows might fill their place, And swallow corn and carcasses, Then if their tombstone, when they die, Be n't taught to flatter and to lie,
A SWEET DISORDER IN THE DRESS --There's nothing better will be said
A SWEET disorder in the dress Than that “they 've eat up all their bread,
Kindles in clothes a wantonness :
A lawn about the shoulders thrown
An erring lace, which here and there
Inthralls the crimson stomacher ;
A cuff neglectful, and thereby THERE are some hearts like wells, green-mossed
Ribbons to flow confusedly ;
A winning wave, deserving note,
In the tempestuous petticoat;
A careless shoe-string, in whose tie | Asseveration blustering in your face
Makes contradiction such a hopeless case;
Well known, or such as no mån ever knew,
With oaths like rivets forced into the brain ;
And even when sober truth prevails throughout, CONTRADICTION.
They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt. FROM “CONVERSATION.”
A Persian, humble servant of the sun,
Who, though devout, yet bigotry had none, YE powers who rule the tongue, if such there
Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address, are,
With adjurations every word impress, And make colloquial happiness your care,
Supposed the man a bishop, or, at least, Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate,
God's name so much upon his lips, a priest; A duel in the form of a debate.
Bowed at the close with all his graceful airs, The clash of arguments and jar of words,
| And begged an interest in his frequent prayers, Worse than the mortal blunt of rival swords,
WILLIAM COWPER. Decide no question with their tedious length, For opposition gives opinion strength. Divert the champions prodigal of breath ; And put the peaceably disposed to death.
FAME. 0, thwart me not, Sir Soph, at every turn,
FROM THE "ESSAY ON MAN."
What's fame?- a fancied life in others' breath, I am not surely always in the wrong;
A thing beyond us, e'en before our death. 'T is hard if all is false that I advance,
Just what you hear, you have, and what's unA fool must now and then be right by chance.
known Not that all freedom of dissent I blame; The same (my lord) if Tully's, or your own. No, – there I grant the privilege I claim. All that we feel of it begins and ends A disputable point is no man's ground;
In the small circle of our foes or friends; Rove where you please, 't is common all around. To all beside as much an empty shade Discourse may want an animated No,
A Eugene living as a Cæsar dead; To brush the surface, and to make it flow; Alike or when or where they shone or shine, But still remember, if you mean to please, | Or on the Rubicon, or on the Rhine. To press your point with modesty and ease. A wit 's a feather, and a chief a rod; The mark at which my juster aim I take, An honest man's the noblest work of God. Is contradiction for its own dear sake.
Fame but from death a villain's name can save, Set your opinion at whatever pitch,
As justice tears his body from the grave; Knots and impediments make something hitch; When what to oblivion better were resigned Adopt his own, 't is equally in vain,
Is hung on high, to poison half mankind. Your thread of argument is snapped again. All fame is foreign, but of true desert ; The wrangler, rather than accord with you, Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart: Will judge himself deceived and prove it too. One self-approving hour whole years outweighs Vociferated logic kills me quite,
Of stupid starers and of loud huzzas;
And more true joy Marcellus exiled feels
FROM THE "ESSAY ON MAN."
“What differ more (you cry) than crown and
REASON AND INSTINCT.
I'll tell you, friend ! a wise man and a fool.
FROM THE "ESSAY ON MAN.” You 'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,
WHETHER with reason or with instinct blest, Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk,
Know all enjoy that power which suits them best; Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow;
To bliss alike by that direction tend, The rest is all but leather or prunella.
And find the means proportioned to their end. Stuck o'er with titles, and hung round with
Say, where full instinct is the unerring guide, strings,
What pope or council can they need beside ? That thou mayst be by kings, or whores of kings;
Reason, however able, cool at best, Boast the pure blood of an illustrious race,
Cares not for service, or but serves when prest, In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece ;
Stays till we call, and then not often near; But by your fathers' worth if yours you rate,
But honest instinct comes a volunteer, Count me those only who were good and great.
Sure never to o'ershoot, but just to hit; Go ! if your ancient but ignoble blood
While still too wide or short is human wit, Has crept through scoundrels ever since the
Sure by quick nature happiness to gain, flood.
Which heavier reason labors at in vain. Go! and pretend your family is young,
This too serves always, reason never long; Nor own your fathers have been fools so long.
One must go right, the other may go wrong. What can ennoble sots or slaves or cowards ?
See then the acting and comparing powers Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.
One in their nature, which are two in ours; Look next on greatness ! say where greatness
And reason raise o'er instinct as you can, lies?
In this 't is God directs, in that 't is man. “Where, but among the heroes and the wise ?"
Who taught the nations of the field and wood Heroes are much the same, the point 's agreed, To shun their poison and to choose their food ? From Macedonia's madman to the Swede;
Prescient, the tides or tempests to withstand, The whole strange purpose of their lives, to find
Build on the wave, or arch beneath the sand ? Or make an enemy of all mankind!.
Who made the spider parallels design, Not one looks backward, onward still he goes,
Sure as De Moivre, without rule or line? Yet ne'er looks forward farther than his nose.
Who bid the stork, Columbus-like, explore No less alike the politic and wise ;
Heavens not his own, and worlds unknown before ? All sly slow things, with circumspective eyes : Who calls the council, states the certain day, Men in their loose unguarded hours they take,
| Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way! Not that themselves are wise, but others weak.
ALEXANDER POPE. But grant that those can conquer, these can
cheat; 'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great : Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave,
ABUSE OF AUTHORITY.
FROM “MEASURE FOR MEASURE."
Oh! it is excellent Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed, To have a giant's strength ; but it is tyrannous Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. To use it like a giant.
Could great men thunder
Would use his heaven for thunder, -
Nothing but thunder. Merciful Heaven !
Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,
Split'st the unwedgeable and gnarled oak, THERE is a tide in the affairs of men,
Than the soft myrtle : but man, proud man ! Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; Drest in a little brief authority, — Omitted, all the voyage of their life
Most ignorant of what he 's most assured, Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.
His glassy essence, — like an angry ape, On such a full sea are we now afloat ;
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven, And we must take the current when it serves, As make the angels weep; who, with our spleens, Or lose our ventures.
Would all themselves laugh mortal.
THE SEASIDE WELL.
| When sore thy hand doth press, and waves of
thine "Waters flowed over mine head; then I said, I am cut off.”
Afflict me like a sea, — -LAM. iii. 54
Deep calling deep, — infuse from source divine ONE day I wandered where the salt sea-tide
Thy peace in me!
And when death's tide, as with a brimful cup, And found a spring as sweet as e'er hillside
Over my soul doth pour,
Let hope survive, - & well that springeth up Freshly it sparkled in the sun's bright look,
Above my head the waves may come and go,
Long brood the deluge dire, But soon the heavy sea's resistless swell
But life lies hidden in the depths below
Till waves retire, —
Till death, that reigns with overflowing flood,
At length withdraw its sway, Like a fair star thick buried in a cloud,
And life rise sparkling in the sight of God
And endless day..
Sunk to its tomb.
As one who by the beach roams far and wide,
FROM THE “ PROLOGUE TO THE SATIRES."
CURSED be the verse, how well soe'er it flow, And there, unchanged, no taint in all its sweet, That tends to make one worthy man my foe, No anger in its tone,
Give virtue scandal, innocence a fear,
Or from the soft-eyed virgin steal a tear !
But he who hurts a harmless neighbor's peace,
Insults fallen worth, or beauty in distress,
Who loves a lie, lame slander helps about,
Who writes a libel, or who copies out;
That fop whose pride affects a patron's name, As in a sleep.
Yet absent wounds an author's honest fame : Till when the ocean loosed his heavy chain,
Who can your merit selfishly approve,
And show the sense of it without the love ; Calmly it turned to its own life again
Who has the vanity to call you friend,
Yet wants the honor, injured, to defend ;
Who tells whate'er you think, whate'er you say, Happy, I thought, that which can draw its life Deep from the nether springs,
| And, if he lie not, must at least betray ;
Who to the Dean and silver bell can swear, Safe 'neath the pressure, tranquil 'mid the strife, Of surface things.
| And sees at Canons what was never there ;
Who reads but with a lust to misapply,
Make satire a lampoon, and fiction lie ;
A lash like mine no honest man shall dread,
But all such babbling blockheads in his stead. brings Down from the sky.
So, should temptations threaten, and should sin
Roll in its whelming flood,
FROM "MORAL ESSAYS."
At Timon's villa let us pass a day, From secret wells let sweetness rise, nor change Where all cry out, “What sums are thrown my heart to gall !