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VANITY OF WEALTH.
BY SAMUEL JOHNSON, LL. D.
No more, thus brooding o'er yon heap,
With Science tread the wondrous way,
Thus taste the feast by Nature spread, Ere Youth and all its joys are fled; 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.
Written in M DCC LX.
BY JOHN LANGHORNE, D.D.
O GODdess of the golden mean,
Whom still misjudging folly flies,
Thy only subjects are the wise.
See, foster'd in thy fav'ring shade,
Each tender bard of verse divine !
Had never form'd the tuneful line;
In vain you slight the flowery crown,
That fame wreaths round the favour'd head! Whilst laurel’d victory and renown
Their heroes from thy shades have led; There form’d, from courtly softness free, By rigid virtue and by theę.
By thee were form’d, from cities far,
FABRICIUS just; CAMILLUS wise, Those philosophic sons of war,
That from imperial dignities Returning, plough'd their native plain, And plac'd their laurels in thy fane.
Thrice happy he, on whose calm breast
The smiles of peaceful wisdom play, With all thy sober charms possest,
Whose wishes never learnt to stray. Whom truth, of pleasures pure but grave, And pensive thoughts, froin folly save.
Far from the crowd's low-thoughted strife,
From all that bounds fair freedom's aim, He envies not the pomp
A length of rent-roll, or of name : For safe he views the vale-grown elm, While thunder-sounding storms the mountain
Of censure's frown he feels no dread,
No fear he knows of vulgar eyes, Whose thought to nobler objects led,
Far, far o'er their horizon Alies: With reason's suff'rage at his side, Whose firm heart rests self-satisfied,
And while alternate conquest sways
The northern, or the southern shore, He smiles at Fortune's giddy maze,
And calmly hears the wild storm roar. Ev'n Nature's groans, unmov'd with fear, And bursting worlds, he'd calmly hear.
Such are the faithful hearts you love,
O FRIENDSHIP fair, immortal maid; The few caprice could never move,
The few whom interest never sway'd; Nor shed unseen, with hate refin'd, The pale cares o'er the gloomy mind.
Soft sleep, that lov'st the peaceful cell,
On these descends thy balmy power ; While no terrific dreams dispel
The slumbers of the sober hour; Which oft, array'd in darkness drear, Wake the wild eye of pride to fear.