 | The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse |  |
101
BENEVOLENCE.
AN ODE. Inscribed to my Friends.
Let others boast Palladian skill
The sculptur'd dome to raise;
To scoop the vale, to swell the hill,
Or lead the smooth meand'ring rill
In ever-varying maze;
To strike the lyre
With Homer's fire,
Or Sappho's tender art;
Or Handel's notes with sweeter strains inspire,
O'er Phidias' chisel to preside,
Or Titian's glowing pencil guide
Through ev'ry living part.
The sculptur'd dome to raise;
To scoop the vale, to swell the hill,
Or lead the smooth meand'ring rill
In ever-varying maze;
To strike the lyre
With Homer's fire,
Or Sappho's tender art;
Or Handel's notes with sweeter strains inspire,
O'er Phidias' chisel to preside,
Or Titian's glowing pencil guide
Through ev'ry living part.
Ah! what avails it thus to shine,
By ev'ry art refin'd;
Except Benevolence combine
To humanize the mind!
The Parian floor,
Or vivid cieling, fresco'd o'er,
With glaring charms the gazing eye may fire;
Yet may their lords, like statues cold,
Devoid of sympathy, behold
Fair worth with want repine,
Or indigence expire;
Nor ever know the noblest use of gold.
By ev'ry art refin'd;
Except Benevolence combine
To humanize the mind!
The Parian floor,
Or vivid cieling, fresco'd o'er,
With glaring charms the gazing eye may fire;
Yet may their lords, like statues cold,
Devoid of sympathy, behold
Fair worth with want repine,
Or indigence expire;
Nor ever know the noblest use of gold.
'Tis yours, with sympathetic breast
To stop the rising sigh,
And wipe the tearful eye,
Nor let repining merit sue unblest:
This is a more applausive taste
Than spending wealth
In gorgeous waste,
Or with dire luxury destroying health;
It sweetens life with ev'ry virtuous joy,
And wings the conscious hours with gladness as they fly.
To stop the rising sigh,
And wipe the tearful eye,
Nor let repining merit sue unblest:
This is a more applausive taste
Than spending wealth
In gorgeous waste,
Or with dire luxury destroying health;
It sweetens life with ev'ry virtuous joy,
And wings the conscious hours with gladness as they fly.
| The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse | |