THE VANITY OF THE WISH FOR WEALTH.
BUT Avarice wider spreads her deadly snare,
And hoards of wealth, amassed with ceaseless care,
Hoards which o'er all paternal fortunes rise,
As o'er the dolphin towers the whale in size.
Hence, in these dreadful times, by Nero's word,
The ruffian bands unsheathed the murderous sword,
Rushed to the sweltering coffers of the great,
And seized the rich domain and lordly seat;
While sweetly in their cock loft slept the poor,
And heard no soldier thundering at the door.
The traveler, freighted with a little wealth,
Sets forth at night, and wins his way by stealth:
Even then he fears the bludgeon and the blade,
And starts and trembles at a rush's shade;
While void of care, the beggar trips along,
And in the spoiler's presence trolls his song.
The first great wish we all with rapture own,
The general cry, to every temple known,
Is still for wealth: "And let, all-gracious Powers,
The largest chest the Forum boasts be ours!"
Yet none from earthen bowls destruction sip.
Dread, then, the baneful draught, when at your lip
The goblet mantles, graced with gems divine,
And the broad gold inflames the ruby wine.
THE WISH FOR POWER.- SEJANUS.
CROWN all your doors with bay, triumphant bay! Sacred to Jove, the milk-white victim slay;
For lo! where great Sejanus by the throng
A joyful spectacle — is dragged along.
"What lips! what cheeks! ha, traitor! For my part,
I never loved this fellow in my heart.
But tell me, why was he adjudged to bleed?
And who discovered and who proved the deed?"
"Proved! A verbose epistle came to-day
From Capua."-"Good! what think the people?"—"They,
They followed Fortune, as of old, and hate,
With their whole souls, the victims of the State.
Yet would the herd, thus zealous, thus on fire,
Had Nurcia met the Tuscan's fond desire,
And crushed the unwary prince, have all combined,
And hailed Sejanus Master of Mankind!
For since their votes have been no longer bought,
All public care has vanished from their thought;
And those who once, with unresisted sway,
Gave armies, empire, everything, away,
For two poor claims have long renounced the whole, And only ask the Circus and the Dole."
"But are there more to suffer?".
A fire so fierce for one was scarcely made.
I met my friend Brutidius, and I fear,
From his pale looks, he thinks there's danger near.
What if this Ajax, in his frenzy strike,
As doubtful of our zeal, at all alike?
Swift let us fly, our loyalty to show,
And trample on the carcass of his foe.
But mark me: lest our slaves the fact forswear,
And drag us to the bar, let them be there."
Thus of the favorite's fall the converse ran,
And thus the whisper passed from man to man.
You grant me, then, Sejanus grossly erred,
Nor knew what prayer his folly had preferred;
For when he begged for too much wealth and power,
Stage above stage he raised a tottering tower,
And higher still and higher to be thrown
With louder crash and wider ruin down.
What wrought the Crassis, what the Pompeys' doom,
And his, who bowed the stubborn neck of Rome ?
What but the wild, the unbounded wish to rise,
Heard in malignant kindness by the skies? -
Few kings, few tyrants, find a natural end,
Or to the grave without a wound descend.
THE WISH FOR GLORY. — HANNIBAL.
PRODUCE the urn that Hannibal contains,
And weigh the mighty dust that yet remains.
And is this all? Yet this was once the bold,
The aspiring chief whom Afric could not hold.
Afric, outstretched from where the Atlantic roars
To Nilus; from the Line to Libya's shores.
Spain conquered, o'er the Pyrenees he bounds.
Nature opposed her everlasting mounds,
Her Alps and snows. O'er these, with torrent force, He pours, and rends through rocks his dreadful course.
Yet thundering on, "Think nothing done," he cries,
"Till o'er Rome's prostrate walls I lead my powers,
And plant my standard on her hated towers!"
Big words? But view his figure, view his face!
Ah for some master-hand the lines to trace,
As through the Etrurian swamps, by floods increased,
The one-eyed chief urged his Getulian beast!
But what ensued? Illusive Glory, say:
Subdued on Zama's memorable day,
He flies in exile to a petty state,
With headlong haste; and at a despot's gate
Sits, mighty suppliant! of his life in doubt,
Till the Bithynian's morning nap be out.
Nor swords, nor spears, nor stones from engines hurled, Shall quell the man whose frowns alarmed the world.
The vengeance due to Canna's fatal field,
And floods of human gore, a ring shall yield!
Go, madman, go! at toil and danger mock,
Pierce the deep snow, and scale the eternal rock,
To please the rhetoricians, and become
A declamation for the boys of Rome.
THE WISH FOR LENGTH OF LIFE.
"LIFE! length of life!" For this with earnest cries,
Or sick or well, we supplicate the skies.
Pernicious prayer! for mark what ills attend
Still on the old, as to the grave they bend:
A ghastly visage to themselves unknown;
For a smooth skin a hide with scurf o'ergrown;
And such a flabby cheek as an old ape,
In Tabraca's thick woods, might haply scrape.
But other ills, and worse, succeed to those :
His limbs long since were gone; his memory goes.
Poor driveler! he forgets his servants quite;
Forgets at morn with whom he supped last night;
Forgets the children he begot and bred,
And makes a strumpet heiress in their stead;
So much avails it the rank arts to use,
Gained by long practice in the loathsome stews.
But grant his senses unimpaired remain,
Still woes on woes succeed a mournful train!
He sees his sons, his daughters, all expire,
His faithful consort on the funeral pyre;
Sees brothers, sisters, friends, to ashes turn,
And all he loved, or loved him, in their urn. —
Lo! here the dreadful fine we ever pay
For life protracted to a distant day:
To see our house by sickness, pain, pursued,
And scenes of death incessantly renewed;
In sable weeds to waste the joyless years,
And drop at last 'mid solitude and tears.
THE WISH FOR BEAUTIFUL OFFSPRING. WHENE'ER the fame of Venus meets her eye, The anxious mother breathes a secret sigh For handsome boys; but asks, with bolder prayer, That all her girls be exquisitely fair. "And wherefore not? Latona in the sight Of Dian's beauty took exquisite delight."True; but Lucretia cursed her fatal charms, When spent with struggling in a Tarquin's arms; And poor Virginia would have changed her grace For Rutila's crooked back and homely face. "But boys may still be fair!"-No, they destroy Their parents' peace, and murder all their joy; For rarely do we meet, in one combined,
A beauteous body and a virtuous mind,
Though through the rugged house, from sire to son, A Sabine sanctity of manners run.
THE ONLY WISE HUMAN WISH.
"SAY, then, shall man, deprived all power of choice, Ne'er raise to Heaven the supplicating voice?"— Not so, but to the gods his fortunes trust:
Their thoughts are wise, their dispensations just.
What best may profit or delight they know,
And real good for fancied bliss bestow.
With eyes of pity they our frailties scan;
More dear to them than to himself is man.
By blind desire, by headlong passion driven,
For wife and heirs we daily weary Heaven;
Yet still 'tis Heaven's prerogative to know
If heirs or wife will bring us bliss or woe.
But that thou may'st (for still 'tis good to prove
Our humble hope) ask something from above;
Thy pious offerings to the temple bear,
And, while the altars blaze, be this thy prayer:
"O Thou, who know'st the wants of human kind,
Vouchsafe me health of body, health of mind;
A soul prepared to meet the frowns of Fate,
And look undaunted on a future state;
That reckons death a blessing, yet can bear
Existence nobly, with its weight of care;
That anger and desire alike restrains,
And counts Alcides's toils and cruel pains
Superior far to banquets, wanton nights,
And all Sardanapalus's soft delights."
Here bound at length thy wishes. I but teach What blessings man by his own powers may reach. The path to Peace is Virtue. We should see,
If wise, O Fortune, naught divine in thee.
But we have deified a name alone,
And fixed in heaven thy visionary throne.
AN INVITATION TO A FRUGAL DINNER.
ENOUGH! to-day my Persicus shall see
Whether my precepts with my life agree;
Whether, with feigned austerity, I prize
The spare repast — a glutton in disguise;
Bawl for coarse pottage, that my friend may hear,
But whisper "sweetmeats!" in my servant's ear.
For since, by promise, you are now my guest,
Know, I invite you to no sumptuous feast,
But to such simple fare, as long, long since,
The good Evander bade the Trojan Prince.
Come, then, my friend, you will not sure despise
The food that pleased the offspring of the skies;
Come, and while fancy brings past times to view,
I'll think myself the king, the hero you.
Take now your bill of fare. My simple board Is with no dainties from the market stored, But dishes all my own. From Tibur's stock A kid shall come the fattest of the flock, The tenderest, too, and yet too young to browse The thistle's shoots, the willow's watery boughs, With more of milk than blood; and pullets drest With new-laid eggs, yet tepid from the nest, And 'sparage wild, which from the mountain's side My housemaid left her spindle to provide; And grapes, long kept, yet pulpy still and fair; And the rich Signian and the Syrian pear,
|