What is this World? a term which men have got To fignify, not one in ten knows what ;
A term, which with no more precifion passes
To point out herds of men than herds of asses;
In common ufe no more it means, we find,
Than many fools in fame opinions join'd.
Can numbers then change Nature's stated laws?
Can numbers make the worse the better cause ?
Vice must be vice, virtue be virtue still,
Tho' thousands rail at good, and practise ill.
Wouldst thou defend the Gaul's deftructive rage
Becaufe vaft nations on his part engage?
Tho' to fupport the rebel Cæfar's cause,
Tumultuous legions arm against the laws;
Tho' Scandal would our Patriot's name impeach,
And rails at virtues which the cannot reach,
What honeft man but would with joy submit
To bleed with Cato, and retire with PITT?
Stedfaft and true to Virtue's facred laws,
Unmov'd by vulgar cenfure or applause,
Let the world talk, my friend; that world, we know,
Which calls us guilty, cannot make us fo.
Unaw'd by numbers, follow Nature's plan,
Affert the rights, or quit the name of Man.
Confider well, weigh ftrictly right and wrong;
Refolve not quick, but once refolv'd be strong.
In spite of dulnefs, and in spite of wit,
If to thyself thou canft thyself acquit,
* We may change the names, but shall never be able to alter the nature of virtue or vice, call them by what names we
Rather ftand up affur'd with confcious pride
Alone, than err with millions on thy fide.
ON THE HAPPINESS OF AN ACTIVE LIFE
HAPPY! ye fons of busy life,
Who, equal to the bustling ftrife,
No other view regard!
Ev'n when the wifhed end's deny'd,
Yet while the busy means are ply'd
They bring their own reward:
Whilft I, a hope-abandon'd wight,
Unfitted with an aim,
Meet ev'ry fad returning night
And joyless morn the same.
You, bustling and justling,
Forget each grief and pain :
I, listless, yet restless,
Find ev'ry profpect vain.
AN INSCRIPTION UPON THOMSON'S MONUMENT; AND
ANOTHER UNDER THE MONUMENTS OF MILTON
AND GRAY, IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY.
TUTOR'D by thee, fweet Poetry exalts
Her voice to ages; and informs the page
With mufic, image, fentiment, and thought
Never to die!
NO more the Grecian Mufe unrival'd reigns,
To Briton let the nations homage pay;
She finds a Homer's fire in Milton's ftrains,
A Pindar's rapture in the lyre of Gray.
AN ADDRESS TO THE DEITY, IN THE VIEW OF
DISSOLUTION.
THOU unknown, Almighty Caufe
Of all my hope and fear!
In whofe dread prefence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I muft appear!
If I have wander'd in those paths
Of life I ought to shun;
As fomething, loudly, in my breast
Remonftrates I have done;
Thou know'ft that Thou haft formed me
With paffions wild and ftrong;
And lift'ning to their witching voice
Has often led me wrong.
Where human weakness has come short,
Or frailty stept afide,
Do Thou, All-Good! for fuch Thou art,
In fhades of darkness hide.
Where with intention I have err'd,
No other plea I have,
But Thou art good; and Goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.
ON THE INFLUENCE OF GLOOMY AND STORMY WEA
THER ON THE AUTHOR'S MIND.
THE fweeping blaft, the sky o'ercast,
The joyless winter day
Let others fear, to me more dear
Than all the pride of May.
The tempeft's howl, it foothes my foul,
My griefs it seems to join;
The leaflefs trees my fancy pleafe,
Their fate resembles mine.
Thou Pow'r Supreme, whose mighty scheme
These woes of mine fulfil,
Here firm I reft: they must be best,
Because they are thy will.
Then all I want (Oh, do Thou grant
This one requeft of mine) Since to enjoy Thou doft deny, Affift me to refign.
DESCRIPTION OF A SCHOOL-BOY PASSING THROUGN A CHURCH-YARD AT NIGHT.
FT in the lone church-yard at night I've seen
By glimpse of moon-fhine, chequ'ring thro' the
The school-boy, with his satchel in his hand,
Whistling aloud to bear his courage up,
And lightly tripping o'er the long flat stones
(With nettles skirted, and with mofs o'ergrown)
That tell in homely phrase who lie below.
Sudden he starts! and hears, or thinks he hears,
The found of something purring at his heel:
Full faft he flies, and dares not look behind him,
Till out of breath he overtakes his fellows;
Who gather round, and wonder at the tale
Of horrid apparition, tall and ghaftly,
That walks at dead of night, or takes his stand
O'er fome new-open'd grave; and, ftrange to tell!
Evanishes at crowing of the cock.
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