The Household Book of Poetry

Till conquest unresisted ceased to please,
And rights submitted left him none to seize;
At length his sovereign frowns-the train of

state

Yet should thy soul indulge the generous heat
Till captive science yields her last retreat;
Should reasor guide thee with her brightest

ray,

Mark the keen glance, and watch the sign to And pour on misty doubt resistless day;

hate;
Where'er he turns, he meets a stranger's eye,
His suppliants scorn him, and his followers
fly;

Now drops at once the pride of awful state,
The golden canopy, the glittering plate,
The regal palace, the luxurious board,
The fiveried army, and the menial lord;
With age, with cares, with maladies oppressed,
He seeks the refuge of monastic rest;
Grief aids disease, remembered folly stings,
And his last sighs reproach the faith of kings.

Should no false kindness lure to loose delight
Nor praise relax, nor difficulty fright;
Should tempting novelty thy cell refrain,
And sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain;
Should beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart,
Nor claim the triumph of a lettered heart;
Should no disease the torpid veins invade,
Nor melancholy's phantoms haunt thy shade;
Yet hope not life from grief or danger free,
Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee.
Deign on the passing world to turn thine

eyes,

And pause awhile from letters to be wise; Speak, thou whose thoughts at humble There mark what ills the scholar's life assail, Toil, envy, want, the patron, and the jail. Shall Wolsey's wealth with Wolsey's end be See nations, slowly wise and meanly just,

peace repine,

thine?

Or liv'st thou now, with safer pride content,
The wisest justice on the banks of Trent?
For why did Wolsey, near the steeps of fate,
On weak foundations raise the enormous
weight?

Why but to sink beneath misfortune's blow,
With louder ruin to the gulfs below?

To buried merit raise the tardy bust.
If dreams yet flatter, yet again attend,
Hear Lydiat's life, and Galileo's end.

Nor deem, when learning her last prize

bestows,

The glittering eminence exempt from foes: See, when the vulgar 'scapes, despised or awed,

What gave great Villiers to the assassin's Rebellion's vengeful talons seize on Laud. knife,

And fixed disease on Harley's closing life?
What murdered Wentworth, and what exiled
Hyde,

By kings protected, and to kings allied?

From meaner minds though smaller fines

content,

The plundered palace or sequestered rent, Marked out by dangerous parts, he meets the shock,

What but their wish indulged in courts to And fatal learning leads him to the block;

THE VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES.

This power has praise, that virtue scarce can

warm

Till fame supplies the universal charm.
Yet reason frowns on war's unequal game,
Where wasted nations raise a single name;
And mortgaged states their grandsire's wreaths
regret,

From age to age in everlasting debt;

688

All times their scenes of pompous woes afford,

From Persia's tyrant to Bavaria's lord.
In gay hostility and barbarous pride,
With half mankind embattled at his side,
Great Xerxes comes to seize the certain
prey,

And starves exhausted regions in his way;

Wreaths which at last the dear-bought right Attendant flattery counts his myriads o'er,

convey

To rust on medals, or on stones decay.

On what foundation stands the warrior's pride,

How just his hopes, let Swedish Charles decide:

A frame of adamant, a soul of fire,

No dangers fright him, and no labors tire; O'er love, o'er fear, extends his wide domain, Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain; No joys to him pacific sceptres yield,

War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field; Behold surrounding kings their powers combine,

And one capitulate, and one resign; Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain;

"Think nothing gained," he cries, "till naught

remain,

On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly,
And all be mine beneath the polar sky!"
The march begins in military state,
And nations on his eye suspended wait;
Stern famine guards the solitary coast,
And winter barricades the realms of frost;
He comes, nor want nor cold his course de-
lay ;-

Hide, blushing glory, hide Pultowa's day:
The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands,
And shows his miseries in distant lands;
Condemned a needy suppliant to wait,
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate.
But did not chance at length her error mend?
Did no subverted empire mark his end?
Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound?
Or hostile millions press him to the ground?
His fall was destined to a barren strand,
A petty fortress, and a dubious hand;
He left the name, at which the world grew
pale,

To point a moral, or adorn a tale.

Till counted myriads soothe his pride nc

more;

Fresh praise is tried till madness fires his mind,

The waves he lashes, and enchains the wind,

New powers he claims, new powers are still bestowed,

Till rude resistance lops the spreading god. The daring Greeks deride the martial show, And heap their valleys with the gaudy foe; The insulted sea with humbler thought he gains,

A single skiff to speed his flight remains; The encumbered oar scarce leaves the dreaded

coast

Through purple billows and a floating host.

The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour, Tries the dread summits of Cæsarean power, With unexpected legions bursts away, . And sees defenceless realms receive his sway, Short sway! fair Austria spreads her mournful charms,

The queen, the beauty, sets the world in arms; From hill to hill the beacon's rousing blaze Spreads wide the hope of plunder and of

praise;

The fierce Croatian and the wild Hussar,
With all the sons of ravage crowd the war;
The baffled prince, in honor's flattering bloom
Of hasty greatness, finds the fatal doom,
His foes' derision, and his subjects' blame,
And steals to death from anguish and from
shame.

"Enlarge my life with multitude of days! In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays;

Hides from himself its state, and shuns to know

That life protracted is protracted woe.

Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy,
And shuts up all the passages of joy.
In vain their gifts the bounteous seasons pour,
The fruit autumnal and the vernal flower;
With listless eyes the dotard views the store,
He views, and wonders that they please no
more;

The general favorite as the general friend;
Such age there is, and who shall wish its end?

Yet even on this her load misfortune flings,
To press the weary minutes' flagging wings;
New sorrow rises as the day returns,
A sister sickens, or a daughter mourns;

Now pall the tasteless meats, and joyless Now kindred merit fills the sable bier,

wines,

And luxury with sighs her slave resigns. Approach, ye minstrels, try the soothing strain,

Diffuse the tuneful lenitives of pain;

No sounds, alas! would touch the impervious ear,

Now lacerated friendship claims a tear;
Year chases year, decay pursues decay,
Still drops some joy from withering life

away;

New forms arise, and different views en

gage,

Superfluous lags the veteran on the stage, Though dancing mountains witnessed Or- Till pitying nature signs the last release, And bids afflicted worth retire to peace.

pheus near;

Nor lute nor lyre his feebler powers attend,
Nor sweeter music of a virtuous friend;
But everlasting dictates crowd his tongue,
Perversely grave, or positively wrong.
The still returning tale, and lingering jest
Perplex the fawning niece and pampered
guest,

But few there are whom hours like these await,

Who set unclouded in the gulfs of fate. From Lydia's monarch should the search descend,

By Solon cautioned to regard his end,

While growing hopes scarce awe the gather- In life's last scene what prodigies surprise,

ing sneer,

And scarce a legacy can bribe to hear;
The watchful guests still hint the last offence;
The daughter's petulance, the son's expense;
Improve his heady rage with treacherous skill,
And mould his passions till they make his
will.

Unnumbered maladies his joints invade,
Lay siege to life, and press the dire blockade;
But unextinguished avarice still remains,
And dreaded losses aggravate his pains;

Fears of the brave, and follies of the wise: From Marlborough's eyes the streams of dotage flow,

And Swift expires a driveler and a show!

The teeming mother, anxious for her race, Begs for each birth the fortune of a face; Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty spring;

And Sedley cursed the form that pleased a king.

Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes,

He turns, with anxious heart and crippled Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise;

hands,

His bonds of debt, and mortgages of lands;
Or views his coffers with suspicious eyes,
Unlocks his gold, and counts it till he dies.

But grant, the virtues of a temperate prime Bless with an age exempt from scorn or crime;

An age that melts with unperceived decay,
And glides in modest innocence away;
Whose peaceful day benevolence endears,
Whose night congratulating conscience
cheers;

Whom joys with soft varieties invite,
By day the frolic, and the dance by night;
Who frown with vanity, who smile with
art,

And ask the latest fashion of the heart;
What care, what rules, your heedless charms

shall save,

Each nymph your rival, and each 'youth your slave?

Against your fame with fondness hate com

bines,

The rival batters, and the lover mines:

DOWN LAY IN A NOOK.

With distant voice neglected virtue calls,

Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls;

Tired with contempt, she quits the slippery reign,

And pride and prudence take her seat in

vain.

In crowd at once, where none the pass de

fend,

The harmless freedom, and the private friend; The guardians yield, by force superior plied: To interest, prudence; and to flattery, pride. Here beauty falls betrayed, despised, distressed,

And hissing infamy proclaims the rest.

Where then shall hope and fear their objects find?

Must dull suspense corrupt the stagnant mind?

Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate,
Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate?
Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise,
No cries invoke the mercies of the skies?
Inquirer, cease; petitions yet remain
Which heaven may hear, nor deem religion
vain.

Still raise for good the supplicating voice,
But leave to heaven the measure and the

choice.

Safe in His power whose eyes discern afar
The secret ambush of a specious prayer,
Implore His aid, in His decisions rest,
Secure, whate'er He gives, He gives the best.
Yet, when the sense of secret presence fires,
And strong devotion to the skies aspires,
Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind,
Obedient passions, and a will resigned;
For love, which scarce collective man can
fill:

For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill;
For faith, that, panting for a happier seat,
Counts death kind nature's signal of retreat.
Fucse goods for man the laws of heaven or-
dain;

These goods he grants, who grants the power

to gain;

With these celestial wisdom calms the mind, And makes the nappiness she does not find.

SAMUEL JOHNSON.

685

HENCE ALL YOU VAIN DELIGHTS.

HENCE all you vain delights,

As short as are the nights

Wherein you spend your folly!
There's naught in this life sweet,
If man were wise to see 't,
But only melancholy;

Oh sweetest melancholy!
Welcome folded arms and fixed eyes,
A sigh that, piercing, mortifies,

A look that 's fastened to the ground,
A tongue chained up without a sound!
Fountain heads and pathless groves;
Places which pale passion loves;
Moonlight walks, when all the fowls
Are warmly housed, save bats and owls;
A midnight bell, a parting groan—
These are the sounds we feed upon;
Then stretch our bones in a still gloomy
valley.

Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

SONG.

Down lay in a nook my lady's brach
And said, my feet are sore;

I cannot follow with the pack
A-hunting of the boar.

And though the horn sounds never so clear,
With the hounds in loud uproar,
Yet I must stop and lie down here,
Because my feet are sore.

The huntsman, when he heard the same,
What answer did he give?
The dog that 's lame is much to blame,
He is not fit to live.

HENRY TAYLOR

DEJECTION: AN ODE,

Late, late yestreen I saw the new moon,
With the old moon in her arm;
And I fear, I fear, my master dear!
We shall have a deadly storm.

BALLAD OF SIR PATRICK SPENCE.

And those thin clouds above, in flakes and

bars,

That give away their motion to the starsThose stars, that glide behind them or between,

Now sparkling, now bedimmed, but alwa

seen

Yon crescent moon, as fixed as if it grew
In its own cloudless, starless lake of blue:

WELL! if the bard was weather-wise, who I see them all so excellently fair

made

The grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence, This night, so tranquil now, will not go

hence

Unroused by winds that ply a busier trade

I see, not feel, how beautiful they are!

III.

My genial spirits fail; And what can these avail

Than those which mould yon cloud in lazy To lift the smothering weight from off my

flakes,

Or the dull sobbing draft that moans and rakes

Upon the strings of the Eolian lute, Which better far were mute. For lo! the new-moon, winter-bright, And overspread with phantom light— With swimming phantom light o'erspread, But rimmed and circled by a silver thread! 1 see the old moon in her lap, foretelling

The coming on of rain and squally blast. And oh! that even now the gust were swelling,

And the slant night-shower driving loud and fast!

Those sounds, which oft have raised me whilst they awed,

And sent my soul abroad,

Might now perhaps their wonted impulse give

Might startle this dull pain, and make it move and live.

breast?

It were a vain endeavor,

Though I should gaze forever

On that green light that lingers in the west; I may not hope from outward forms to win The passion and the life whose fountains are within.

IV.

O lady! we receive but what we give,
And in our life alone does nature live;
Ours is her wedding-garment, ours her
shroud!

And would we aught behold of higher

worth

Than that inanimate cold world allowed
To the poor, loveless, ever-anxious crowd-

Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth A light, a glory, a fair luminous cloud Enveloping the earth;

And from the soul itself must there be sent A sweet and potent voice of its own birth Of all sweet sounds the life and element!

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