University of Virginia Library

Thus truths, not unimportant to the wise,
From unsuspected sources may arise.
On the bare lonely strand, or rocky height,
A costly diamond oft arrests the sight;
On mountains wild, or desert-tracts below,
Herbs of inestimable virtues grow.
Let none pronounce the subject barren then,
Trees may be taught sometimes to lecture men;
The vegetable world those thoughts inspire
That love from poring sages to retire;
Deride the vaunted knowledge of the age,
Learn'd from conceit, not Nature's sacred page.
These, taught in some sublime didactic lay,
Might mend our manners by the surest way;
Force our tumultuous passions to subside,
And humble the aspiring brow of pride.

But though enrich'd by these, still in the gross
Our profit's nearly balanc'd by the loss.
No more the youth, by love of science smit,
Shall under thy leaf-wove umbrella sit;
Charm'd with the wide diffusion of thy sprays,
Impervious to the noontide-pointed rays;
No care-form'd wrinkles on his brow imprest,
That mark the anxious thoughts estrang'd to rest;
That mark the inward bias disinclin'd
To study, and the pursuits of the mind;
Those objects that assimilate the taste
To Nature's standard, ever rightly plac'd;
Stamp on the passive heart each soft impress,
And bounds prescribe to ev'ry wrong excess;
Render the thoughts capacious, to extend
Not merely to existence, but the end;
Not to a moment's unsubstantial good,
But lasting, as by Virtue understood.
Distinguish'd thus, the studious youth no more
Shall here advance in Wisdom's hallow'd lore.
No more consult each deeply-labour'd page,
The well-collected knowledge of an age;
Where Nature's grand arcanas lie explain'd,
Where manners glow depicted as they reign'd;
Mark'd all the changes of this lower ball,
While in succession empires rise or fall;
Kings are dethron'd, or slaves to monarchs rais'd,
Those lights extinguish'd that superiour blaz'd;
Lights of the church, the cabinet, and field,
Immortal names, that only once could yield!
Lights, far remov'd from Fame's illustrious strife,
That shone in circles of domestic life;
Though fainter their restricted radiance glows,
These not less glorious to a state than those.
No more, with eye elate, and kindled thought,
To relish beauties by example taught,
Shall he in thy romantic gloom peruse
The fine descriptions of the moral muse;
Where wit and humour charm with native ease,
By stealth surprise us, and by magic please;
Where delicately sketch'd each object looks
As drawn from living nature, not from books;
Where fancy's gay ideal pictures shine,
And manly sense inspirits ev'ry line:
While taste, as eyes illuminate the face,
Throws over all an elegance and grace.

In such a shade, still sacred to the Nine,
Was wont the Mantuan poet to recline;
While Fancy round spread her aëreal wings,
Fancy to view that earth's each beauty brings,
Howe'er dispers'd, beneath whatever suns,
As each soft smiling month its progress runs.
To shepherds and their flocks his lute he strung,
Of sylvan scenes, of groves, and fountains sung.
Taught husbandmen, in highly-polish'd strains,
How to improve the culture of their plains;
Behold their lusty herds innumerous thrive,
And whence Autumnal treasures to derive.
In such a shade the Caledonian fam'd
Was early by the partial Muses nam'd,
To paint the Seasons, that in turns appear,
To sing the glories of the circling year.
From his fine pen what apt descriptions flow!
What finish'd landscapes from his pencil glow!
The charms of Nature were but rudely known,
Till graceful in his matchless numbers shown:
Scarce fairer they our naked eyes attract,
Than in his soft embellishments when deck'd.

What noble themes the silent gloom inspires,
Genius awake with all her kindred fires!
What visions prompt the bard ecstatic laid
Beneath some full-spread oak's umbrageous shade,
Like that the Muse has now essay'd to sing,
No more the boast of Culture and of Spring.

No more to thee, at Evening's wish'd return,
While sacred ardours in her bosom burn,
Shall rapt Philosophy her footsteps bend,
Intent on man, his origin and end;
The glories of his intellectual frame,
Transcendent as that Being whence they came;
That point him out, his fetters left behind,
For Heaven and immortality design'd;
His senses, all the wonders of his make,
That of a nature less sublime partake;
Yet not less necessary, as they tend
To one just, sapient, well-adapted end:
Why sent below, a moment or an age,
To act his part on life's oft-trodden stage;
The appetites and passions in his train,
With dignity the drama to sustain;
With dignity, while Virtue over-rules,
And their internal fire excites or cools;
Then steal behind the scene from human eyes,
The gaze of fools, or wonder of the wise:
What renders him with reptiles on a par,
Reason to instinct oft inferiour far;
Or lifts him in the scale of beings high,
Angels his kindred, his retreat the sky,
Fain to secure the harbour of the grave,
Toss'd to and fro on life's tempestuous wave.
Such objects, by thy gloom inspiring caught,
No more rush boundless on her crouded thought.

No more night's solemn birds, at twilight gloom,
Amid thy boughs their doleful notes resume;
That give an irksome melancholy joy
To whom lone Solitude's still cares employ.
Such, musing, as disconsolate deplore
A parent, or a consort, ah! no more;
Or, with remembrance that surpasses all
Distress, a bosom friend's untimely fall!
Whose hopes, pursuits, and wishes were the same,
Honest alike in mutual praise, or blame;
Whose kindred souls bore one impressive stamp,
No sordid strife their social joys to damp;
To disunite that union, which below
None but sublime congenial spirits know.

When, on his mid-day throne, the sun displays
His centre-felt refulgency of blaze,
Attracted by thy moist expanse of shade,
No more beneath the poet shall be laid.
To celebrate his Maker's glorious praise,
Whose consummate design each scene displays,
Whether the contemplation-wafted glance
Traverses earth, or yonder blue expanse;
Whose wisdom, goodness, and resistless pow'r,
Shine worthy of the Godhead ev'ry hour;
And all for man, fair offspring styl'd his own,
His image, the free subject of his throne.
No more each season's mild approach to sing,
The sheaf-crown'd Autumn, or the flow'r-wreath'd Spring,
With all the gay attendants in their train,
That jocund trip the cowslip-broider'd plain.
No more, if Love's heart-kindled passion warms,
Inspir'd by Beauty's fascinating charms,
To paint the exquisite sensation felt,
Sigh in soft measure, or in numbers melt.
Hail gen'rous ardour of the soften'd heart,
Which more implies than language can impart;
From whose kind impulse rather than be free,
We had at once much better cease to be;
Relinquish all that mortals good define,
Fame's circling laurel, and the golden mine.

Henceforth no painter, on some hillock plac'd,
Shall view the landscape by thy presence grac'd;
In deep-green majesty of foliage drest,
On humbler shoots a kind protection cast.
No more his pencil guide the glossy ink,
Hills here to raise, and valleys there to sink;
Transfer thy beauties to his fine-sketch'd view,
To wave in miniature, and bloom anew.
Uncouth would now appear his objects drawn,
Absent thy shades, the glory of the lawn.

Thus, to depaint the manners of the times,
Diversify'd by virtues and by crimes;
Figures in ev'ry attitude beheld,
Persons and things, that variously excell'd,
Assum'd new faces, acted different parts,
Fashions, and humours, policies, and arts;
How naked, how impoverish'd would appear
The awkward portrait of each busy year,
If that fine character which Virtue draws,
Stamp'd with a nation's suffrage of applause,
Did not within the artist's compass fall,
To throw a glow of beauty over all?
For he, the good, the wise, the godlike man,
Who from a worthy, settled, vigorous plan,
Not merely to be popularly great,
Promotes the native welfare of a state;
He casts a charm o'er the historic page,
A lustre that reflects on every age;
As once these branches venerable threw
A certain grace o'er the surrounding view,

Soon as abroad, the softer season past,
Forth issues winter's unauspicious blast,
The tender shrubs their orphan state bemoan,
Deny'd their wonted shelter round them thrown;
Deny'd thy genial moisture shed about,
When heat unsufferably glows without;
When vegetable life seems half destroy'd,
No cooling breeze, no lenient show'rs enjoy'd.

So mourns the man, with sorrow-streaming eyes,
When his much-honour'd benefactor dies;
Whose bounty, with no mean restrictions shown,
Soften'd his cares scarce sufferable grown;
Bade Plenty smile, each pleasing comfort felt,
Where Want before emaciated dwelt.
Oh! sad reverse! each species of distress
Assails him, now, despairing of redress;
Save from an equal virtuous calm within,
A peaceful conscience unalarm'd by sin.
Nor sinks the noble soul beneath his load,
On whom such liberal blessings are bestow'd.
An accident may him of wealth deprive,
But not of hopes immortal, still alive.
He ne'er repines for ease enjoy'd erewhile,
But turns the frown of fortune to a smile.

Man seldom with consistent thought attends,
Still on himself how much through life depends,
To find that happiness he would attain;
Hence his laborious search so often vain.
Ten thousand schemes invention fond employs,
We range life's circle of phantastic joys;
Immerge in cares, to distant climates roam,
To seek that treasure, only found at home.
Would you be happy, nor oblig'd to pelf?
Forsake the croud, and live within yourself.
There you a world in miniature will find,
Though not exact in bulk, exact in kind;
The various passions, bred in Wisdom's school,
Or Errour's, that the multitude o'er-rule.
From these then disciplin'd your peace derive,
Nor other means of happiness contrive.
Men take indeed, but rarely men bestow,
As rivers to their springs ne'er backward flow.
From home-set graftures your contentment shoots,
Tho' flourish trees sometimes from borrow'd roots;
Not so our sturdy oak, aloft it grew,
Nor juices save from native tendrils drew.

Each season, as it runs its destin'd race,
Passing shall miss thee in thy wonted place;
Spring to prepare thy verdant suit, anon
Presented thee by Summer to put on;
Autumn thy little progeny to bid
Cling to each suckling branch, in embryo hid;
Winter, attended by his blasts, to throw
Around thy naked arms his sheets of snow.
The ivy, late thy waist fond clasp'd around,
Shall unambitious creep along the ground,
Till, in her progress, some majestic tree
She haply meets; of tow'ring growth like thee;
To tell, if such her happy fortune spies,
How low reduc'd, and seek his aid to rise.

Thus merit, elevated once on high,
Attracting the fond gaze of every eye;
When by inextricable causes thrown
From that superiour rank where late she shone;
(For errour, doubt, and accident involve
The noblest purpose, and the best resolve)
Passes her days in some sequester'd spot,
Despis'd her former grandeur, or forgot;
Obscure her home, which trees in friendship hide,
Far from the insolent approach of Pride;
Perhaps beneath the pressure of distress,
Till some reverse of Fortune make it less;
Some cast thrown up on her fantastic wheel,
Whence mortals half their joys and sorrows feel,
Sets her reluctant in her pristine state,
Not likely then more happy, though more great.

But now the Muse too much protracts her song,
To simple themes thoughts simply turn'd belong;
And while on such we brevity preserve,
Haply from critic's precepts less we swerve.
Yet if instruction points the tedious lay,
Why not for once uncensur'd disobey?
If such strict laws utility condemn,
Say, why not decently dissent from them?
Unauthoriz'd by use, though pride of schools,
What merit boasts a set of formal rules?
A clock, with all the workman's finest art,
Finish'd in ev'ry nice-adjusted part,
Without the pendulum, to make it go,
Were but a school-boy's toy, a rareeshow.
To touch the heart's more glorious, reason says,
Than set to work ten learn'd heads in our praise.
That source of tender feeling, friendship, love,
Where Life's quick subtile springs concenter'd move,
Could but the numbers, with soft impulse, make
To melt in sorrow, or to rapture wake;
Critics unnoted should dispute the causes,
In Learning's court, of syllables and pauses.
From thee then, Oak, though long in ruins sunk,
A sapless, bare, unanimated trunk,
Mankind, with admiration and surprise,
To bind my brows, should see the laurel rise.

Henceforward, at the soft return of Spring,
With frequent chirp, and rapture-quiver'd wing,
No birds conven'd shall croud thy naked boughs,
To interchange their hymeneal vows;
All eager with their fellow-mates to pair,
One common fortune through the year to shate;
In sweet domestic cares, and scenes of joy,
Their task-appointed moments to employ;
No cool reserve, no loud contentious strife,
To mar the comforts of their quiet life.

And shall the feather'd tribe examples prove
To those made one by wedlock—not by love?
Shall such o'erspread the virgin's cheek with shame,
Conscious her words or actions merit blame?
Shall sullen frowns becloud that beauteous face,
Where we should ever the soft sun-beam trace?
Shall wrath distort those features, moulded smooth
By Nature's hand, to soften and to soothe?
Shall fragrant cherry lips dispart, to show
Teeth clos'd with rage in double ivory row?
Shall eyes, which meekly radiant should be found,
Sparkle with ire, or flash the lightning round?
Shall that inchanting tongue o'erflow with gall,
Whence honey should alone effusive fall?
That dove-like bosom with commotions swell,
Where peace, and joy, and hope should only dwell?
That graceful presence, that angelic form,
Be furious toss'd in passion's self-rais'd storm?

With all the gentle virtues in her train,
That love to give delight, but never pain;
With all the modest ornaments of pride,
Nor to expose her beauties, nor to hide;
With all her charms of manner, form, and mien,
To gain respect, not barely to be seen;
Her sweetness, candour, delicacy, ease,
And graces inexpressible to please;
Woman seems Heaven's first fairest gift to man,
The consummation of her Maker's plan.
But when fierce passions in her breast engage,
With ev'ry burst of agitated rage;
Throw into ferment her serener frame,
Nor redden once her cheek with conscious shame,
(The maid grown bold to run pert Folly's range)
What bosom sighs not at the striking change?
Now, she appears than mortal somewhat more,
And smiles, that we may Indian-like adore;
Now, in our wonder something less she seems,
While all may pity, but not one esteems.
Would female hearts with true ambition glow,
Know Nature, and still practise what you know.
This will Ardelia's boasted art outvie,
And charm beyond the twinkle of an eye;
This Livia's cheek with finer red will flush,
Than the vain carmine's artificial blush;
This will give native grace to Celia's air,
And make Aminta something more than fair.
To all the charms of person and of face,
Interiour sweetness, and external grace;
Did but the fair endeavour to excell
By thinking justly, whence flows acting well;
How would each youth low paltry pelf contemu,
Possess'd of more than gold, possess'd of them!
This Lucia finds, a pattern to the fair,
And this will all who her discretion share.

Nor do harsh frowns become his lofty brow
Who fond with her partakes the nuptial vow.
His temper, less by gentle methods rul'd,
Should by reflection be discreetly cool'd.
With headstrong passions, Nature gave him too
Reason their rage licentious to subdue.
Else things inadequate had she bestow'd,
And goodness less than wanton malice show'd.
Though styl'd the lord of earth, with haughty claim,
Of both the just authority's the same;
A right to rule he boasts on no pretence,
Unless from knowledge or superiour sense;
And who would not with promptitude obey,
When wisdom or when virtue bears the sway?

Hail sacred state! where each a treasure finds,
Marriage, thou cement of congenial minds!
Hail fate-tied knot, death can alone undo!
Hail rite mysterious to make one of two!
Pleas'd would the Muse thy mystic charms define,
If not digressive from her main design;
The gloomy Muse, whom elegy detains
In joyless numbers and lugubrious strains.

Nor tears alone o'erflow her grief-swoln eyes,
When worth deceases, or a Stella dies;
An insect crush'd presented to her eye,
Can lift her tender bosom to a sigh;
The fate untimely of a new-blown flow'r,
Or tree luxuriant that was wont to tow'r.

Ill-fated Oak! could not thy matchless size,
So vast an object to admiring eyes,
Thy knotty firmness opportune have sav'd
Thy form with such pre-eminence that wav'd?
Thou, whose hard sides can forceful balls repel,
Brave the rough wintry surge and tempest fell;
Support the mighty palace, yet at length
Ages to view thee unimpair'd in strength;
What shall a hatchet's momentary blow
Lay all thy proud display of grandeur low?

So have we seen an impious monarch pale,
His courage faint, his limbs beneath him fail;
Seen his teeth chatter, swim his troubled sight,
His looks aghast, his hair on end with fright,
His countenance in dumb amazement fall,
When he beheld the writing on the wall:
The haughty look fled from his princely brow,
His meanest slave seems scarce beneath him now.
Yet danger he could face, superiour far,
And plunge amid the thickest storms of war;
Without a shrink see Death tremendous slay
His thousands and ten thousands in a day;
The spear extended to destroy oppose,
And meet the arrow pointed by his foes.
But through his vitals dire dismay now reigns,
A gelid torpor creeps along his veins;
Though spirit erst through all his actions ran,
Now he appears an object less than man.

Whate'er the previous trials that befall,
Death, in approach, is terrible to all.
With great or less dismay his arrows strike,
Haply the dread but in degree unlike.
Nature recoils at the severe decree,
Howe'er incurr'd, by which we cease to be;
The brain thought and sensation to convey,
The lungs to vibrate, and the heart to play.

How startled vitious minds with shrouds and urns!
Death the vain boaster to a coward turns.
The impulse of an agitated vein,
Supply'd with sudden transports from the brain;
The start of vengeance, or the flash of ire,
May temporary courage oft inspire;
When danger lessens to the blinded eye,
And the impassive soul could bear to die:
But let the temper's partial warmth abate,
And coolly gain its ordinary state;
Let the swoln passion's ebulitions sink,
Give leisure to remonstrate, time to think;
Let Silence seem to listen with dread awe,
And Darkness round her midnight curtain draw:
Let Virtue her affronted rights assert,
And conscious guilt sting his detected heart;
How like a poltroon looks the hero fam'd,
His manhood vanish'd, his proud spirit tam'd!

Valour, that no mean diminution knows,
Whate'er camps boast, alone from Virtue flows;
Fix'd, unappal'd, beneath habitual rule,
Ardent as noon, yet as the twilight cool;
Which instant dangers render more alert,
And no cross accidents can disconcert.
No task too complicated to surmount,
Hardships and toils esteem'd of no account;
Or if esteem'd, the prize but to enhance,
Not to retreat incentives, but advance.
Such valour like some wave-unshaken rock,
Bears the approach unmov'd of every shock.
Firm against fate, in each terrific form,
As forest-oak that scorns the rushing storm.
Ah such wert thou, unrival'd of thy kind,
Whose loss now mourns the flock-entrusted hind,
As by thy ruins he directs his way,
Join'd by the Muse's sympathetic lay!

Thus, in some silent solitary shade,
When moonlight shadows croud the lonely glade,
Bewails the bard, invited by the gloom,
His darling maid cut off in early bloom;
Cut off, her faded honours round her thrown,
Ere youth's fair-opening blossom fully blown;
As yonder lily fades, unkind the skies,
Declines her head, shrinks, languishes, and dies.
Nor let his tears of anguish cease to flow,
His bosom cease from the big swell of wo.
For who would give his gen'rous sorrows o'er,
The first, the best of womankind, no more?
The first in station; but her praise ascends
Above what to the vilest chance intends.
The first in merit, from the heart deriv'd!
Merit, her death seal'd eye-lid that surviv'd!
Merit, by Truth's own signature imprest,
Which few sepulchral honours dare attest!
Merit, alone by Him distinctly seen,
Who objects views, no medium false between!
Merit, that labours brighter to appear,
As closing life's momentous scene draws near;
Like stars the eye increas'd in lustre sees,
The darker night advances by degrees!

Like yon smooth stream that uniformly glides,
Yon noontide ray no watery medium hides,
Her temper in one happy tenour flow'd,
Her breast with every gentle virtue glow'd;
No sudden flight, beyond cool reason's curb,
Her settled calm of spirit to disturb;
No twitch of envy, no false sting of pride,
Between extremes her passions to divide;
Criterions of a soul ignobly born,
An object, or of pity, or of scorn.
Her heart love's tenderest ardours ever felt,
Form'd exquisitely sensible to melt,
When gentle Nature touch'd, with impulse kind,
Its soften'd springs, to action still inclin'd.
Whom obloquy herself could seldom tax
With vanity, the foible of her sex;
Unless her acts of bounty made her vain,
To soothe affliction, and alleviate pain;
Vain, that the blessing heart, and grateful eye,
Could ne'er divine whence each well-tim'd supply.
Can limits grief for such a maid require,
While mankind virgin excellence admire?
Shall Female Virtue draw her latest breath!
Shall Beauty languish in the arms of Death!
Shall Innocence descend to grace the urn!
Shall blooming youth to vulgar dust return!
Shall with Amanda all that's sweet depart!
Nor yet one pang of sorrow pierce the heart!
Yet Elegy the stroke afflictive bear,
With cruel eyes scarce moisten'd with a tear?

What horrours crouded to the lover's thought!
How did he gaze, as to a statue wrought!
What pangs endure, too mighty for relief!
What feelings of unutterable grief!
When, trembling, he her clay-pale cheek beheld,
That once the rose-bud's painted blush excell'd!
Saw her lips fetch the last returns of breath,
And quiver in the agonies of death!
Saw (his full soul elapsive in a sigh)
The heav'nly beam leave her benighted eye!
Expression falters to describe his wo,
Which those who ever felt can only know.

But whither has the Muse digress'd so long
On subjects that seem foreign to her song?
But why digress'd? thy fate, O luckless tree,
And fair Amanda's, ah too well agree!
Thy fall, by the fix'd mandate of the skies,
Though undiscern'd by superficial eyes,
Is emblematic of that final hour,
When Death exerts—no spot-restricted power,
But universal as existence runs,
Where-ever worlds roll round their central suns.
—But here the thought must not subsist too long,
Again resum'd to close the plaintive song.

Here, of its wonted shade superb bereav'd,
To molehills shall the sordid earth be heav'd;
That earth whose juices, by attraction soft,
Once rose meand'ring to thy stems aloft;
Now to give many a foul production birth,
While Sorrow smooths the dimpled cheek of Mirth;
For thus in dust dissolves the human frame,
Congenial dust, whence it but lately came;
Their fatness hence impov'rish'd soils derive,
Hence worms regale, and vegetables thrive.
Blush, blush! ye sons of levity and mirth!
The monarch's death is but the reptile's birth,

No plant shall henceforth here her balm bestow,
No herb arise, no root salubrious grow;
No May-flowers, dress'd in suits of virgin gold,
With conscious pride their dew-dropt leaves unfold;
No cowslip ope her bosom to the gale,
No primrose her ambrosial sweets exhale.
From these cut veins shall short-liv'd mushrooms sprout,
Toads loathsome creep, and bloated snails crawl out.
The russian spider here shall fell reside,
With subtile guise along his lines to glide.
Thy sacred root, whence sap concocted flow'd,
And verdure to thy graceful form bestow'd,
Hither from surly Winter to withdraw,
Emmets shall pierce with unrelenting gnaw:
While he, whom vagrant Fancy leads this way,
Shall, with a sudden burst of anguish, say,
“Ah! what a change! how desolate the place,
“Where flourish'd one of Nature's tallest race,
“In verdant Summer's silken livery clad,
“And by the Seasons periodic fed!
“Beneath the covert of whose outstretch'd arms,
“Suckled by Spring in green display of charms,
“Earth's smaller-statur'd sons spontaneous grew,
“Catch'd the live breeze, or sipt the dulcet dew!
“But whither ah! those lovely objects gone,
“All now a naked waste I tread upon?
“This spot no trace of beauty now retains!
“Nought save the juiceless barren trunk remains,
“Which, with quick lapse, a prey to vermin, must
“Fall to decay, and mix with putrid dust!
“Such characters of death just Heav'n inscribes,
“With deep impress, on all earth's various tribes;
“Such the almighty Fiat of the sky,
“Let all things live in turn, let all things die.”

Thus men, in nonage, infancy, or prime,
By quick disease, or slow-consuming time,
Howe'er high-plac'd on Fortune's partial wheel,
Must Fate's decisive stroke promiscuous feel.
Grandeur's gay plume, the native bloom of health,
The charm of beauty, and the bribe of wealth,
In vain, with all soft eloquence can say,
Solicit Death to turn his dart away.
Monarchs themselves, tho' prostrate at their throne
Obsequious millions their allegiance own;
Though distant regions tremble at their name,
And Parian statues eternize their fame;
From all their arrogated height of pow'r
Must fall, when Heav'n appoints the destin'd hour.
Nor kings alone; empires that fix'd we deem,
Beyond Time's utmost reach that vainly seem,
Shall by some hidden spring be overturn'd,
Their basis shaken, and their lords inurn'd.

But why on trifles dwells the local Muse,
Why stoops she small comparisons to use,
As thy misfortune typify'd alone
The downfal of a kingdom, or a throne?
These, though momentous in the lists of Fame,
Of lofty import, of high-sounding name;
Though haughtily enlarg'd from pole to pole,
Are nothing, when contrasted with the whole.
Like thee—no narrow despicable spot,
Seiz'd by Ambition, parcell'd out by lot;
But all Creation shall be overthrown,
And Nature's self heave her expiring groan.

See! from the bosom of a mantling cloud,
A seraph, cloth'd in light, procaims aloud,
Myriads of spirits round, a radiant band,
And Fate's dread book extended in his hand;
“Be life with all its various labours o'er,
“Henceforth for ever time shall be no more.
“Let yonder sun's proud glory cease to blaze,
“In night extinguish'd his officious rays.
“Cease yonder silver moon full-orb'd to rise,
“Cease every star to twinkle through the skies.
“Beneath my feet, contracted like a scroll,
“Let these expanded heavens together roll.
“To ruin be earth's mighty fabrics hurl'd,
“And raz'd the pillars that support the world.”

Thus, from her silent offsprings, Nature, fond
Her works with human acts should correspond,
With them, our duty fitly understood,
Would teach the truest wisdom, being good,
Or bless'd, for though dissimilar in name,
Wisdom and happiness are still the same;
Nought can divide what Heav'n's fix'd laws connect,
That as the cause, or this as the effect;
Titles or epithets can never change
Objects and things, though they may disarrange:
Not in some fine-spun theory it consists,
Which varies as the writer's fancy lists,
As interest or caprice directs his pen,
The smiles or frowns of fallible, mere men;
Not in the senseless pedantry of schools,
Where men the knack of trifling learn by rules;
Find out the glorious path, with much expense
Of time and brains, that leads from common sense;
Not in the idle subtilties of law,
That oft from equity and Nature draw,
The bounds of right and wrong explain away,
Though obvious and distinct as night and day;
Not politics, where most deserve to rise,
That is, rear'd on a gallows, to the skies,
While each, through villany, black crimes, and sins,
Almost a traitor, his fell purpose wins:
But, to comprise the sum of human good,
In Virtue, Virtue rightly understood;
Virtue, not as proud states or courts devise,
But stamp'd with the broad signet of the skies;
Or, as the moon shines by imputed light,
In fair Religion's unstain'd glory bright.

But say what Virtue's sacred name implies,
So much esteem'd and valued by the wise.
A treasure, all should study to obtain,
Rather without it than a sceptre gain;
A treasure riches seldom can procure,
Grandeur monopolize, or fame ensure;
A treasure that outweighs the regal gem,
By clowns possess'd, though kings look down on them;
A treasure, whose intrinsic value lies
Less obvious oft to learn'd, than vulgar eyes.
Contentment, that forsakes the cloyster'd cell,
With artless pure Simplicity to dwell.
A cordial, that supports us in distress,
Beyond the pride-swoln philosophic guess.
A temper, at each crisis of our fate,
We fond would purchase, whatsoe'er the rate.
A friend, that with us through Life's morning stays,
Nor leaves us in the evening of our days;
But, though of Earth's resplendent orb bereft,
Bids brighter suns arise than that we left,
Kindly from death's surrounding gloom to save,
And gild the dreary mansions of the grave.
A secret, sages never could unfold,
That turns each baser metal into gold;
That sets in motion. Pleasure's finest springs,
Or casts a shade on all sublunar things.

Labour, then, all true Virtue to acquire,
That or to Heaven or happiness aspire.
Thus may a falling tree those rules comprise,
That make us humble, while they make us wise.
Thus shall the Muse attain her noblest aim,
Howe'er low-station'd in the rolls of Fame;
Visit no more with Elegy the urn,
But her sad song to panegyric turn.