Contrast to figure, motion, life, and light,
There may'st thou vent thy spite,
For ever cursing, and for ever curs'd,
Of all th’infernal crew the worst;
The worst in genius, measure, and decree;
For envy, hatred, malice, are but parts of thee.
Or, wouldst thou change the scene, and quit thy den,
Behold the heaven-deserted fen,
Where Spleen, by vapours dense begot and bred,
Hardness of heart, and heaviness of head,
Have rais'd their darksome walls, and plac'd their
thorny bed; There may’st thou all thy bitterness unload,
There may'st thou croak, in concert with the toad. With thee the hollow howling winds shall join,
Nor shall the bittern her base throat deny ; The querulous frogs shall mix their dirge with thine,
Th' ear piercing hern, and plover screaming high, While million humming gnats fit oestrum shall supply.
Away-away-behold an hideous band,
An herd of all thy minions are at hand :
Suspicion first with jealous caution stalks,
And ever looks around her as she walks,
With bibulous ear imperfect sounds to catch,
And prompt to listen at her neighbour's latch.
Next Scandal's meagre shade,
Foe to the virgins, and the Poet's fame,
A wither'd, time-deflower'd old maid,
That ne'er enjoy'd Love's ever sacred flame.
Hypocrisy succeeds with saint-like look,
And elevates her hands, and plods upon her book.
Next comes illiberal scambling Avarice,
Then Vanity and Affectation nice-
See, she salutes her shadow with a bow,
As in short Gallic trips she minces by,
Starting Antipathy is in her eye,
And squeamishly she knits her scornful brow.
To thee, Ill-nature, all the numerous group
With lowly reverence stoop-
They wait thy call, and mourn thy long delay:
Away—thou art infectious-haste away.
BY SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL. D.
No more, thus brooding o'er yon heap,
With Avarice painful vigils keep,
Still unenjoy'd the present store,
Still endless sighs are breath'd for more.
O quit the shadow, catch the prize,
Which not all India's treasure buys !
To purchase Heaven has gold the power?
Can gold remove the mortal hour ?
In life can Love be bought with gold?
Are Friendship's pleasures to be sold ?
No-all that's worth a wish, a thought,
Fair Virtue gives, unbrib’d, unbought.
Cease then on trash thy hopes to bind,
Let nobler views engage thy mind.
With Science tread the wondrous way,
Or learn the Muse's moral lay ;
In social hours indulge thy soul,
Where Mirth and Temperance mix the bowl;
To virtuous Love resign thy breast,
And be by blessing Beauty blest.
Thus taste the feast by Nature spread, Ere Youth and all its joys are Aed; Come, taste with me the balm of life, Secure from pomp, and wealth, and strife. I boast, whate'er for man was meant, In health, and Stella, and content; And scorn! oh! let that scorn be thine! Mere things of clay, that dig the mine.
HAPPINESS OF A MODERATE FORTUNE,
FROM THE FRENCH OF MR. GRESSET.
O Goddess of the golden mean,
Whom still misjudging folly flies,
Seduc'd by each delusive scene;
Thy only subjects are the wise.
These seek thy paths with nobler aim,
And trace them to the gates of Fame.
See, foster'd in thy fav’ring shade,
Each tender bard of verse divine !
Who, lur'd by fortune's vain parade,
Had never form’d the tuneful line;
By fortune lur'd or want confin'd,
Whose cold hand chills the genial mind.
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