The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop ... To Which are Prefixed, Memoirs of the Life of the Author By the Rev. Thomas Clare |
 | I. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VIII. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
|
THE DAY-FLY. |
|
| II. |
|
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
| XXXII. |
| XXXIII. |
| XXXIV. |
| XXXV. |
| XXXVI. |
| XXXVII. |
| XXXVIII. |
| XXXIX. |
| XL. |
| XLI. |
| XLII. |
| XLIII. |
| XLIV. |
| XLV. |
| XLVI. |
| XLVII. |
| XLVIII. |
| XLIX. |
| L. |
| LI. |
| LII. |
| LIII. |
| LIV. |
| LV. |
| LVI. |
| LVII. |
| LVIII. |
| LIX. |
| LX. |
| LXI. |
| LXII. |
| LXIII. |
| LXIV. |
| LXV. |
| LXVI. |
| LXVII. |
| LXVIII. |
| LXIX. |
| LXX. |
| LXXI. |
| LXXII. |
| LXXIII. |
| LXXIV. |
| LXXV. |
| LXXVI. |
| LXXVII. |
| LXXVIII. |
| LXXIX. |
| LXXX. |
| LXXXI. |
| LXXXII. |
| LXXXIII. |
| LXXXIV. |
| LXXXV. |
| LXXXVI. |
| LXXXVII. |
| LXXXVIII. |
| LXXXIX. |
| XC. |
| XCI. |
| XCII. |
| XCIII. |
| XCIV. |
| XCV. |
| XCVI. |
| XCVII. |
| XCVIII. |
| XCIX. |
| C. |
| CI. |
| CII. |
| CIII. |
| CIV. |
| CV. |
| CVI. |
| CVII. |
| CVIII. |
| CIX. |
| CX. |
| CXI. |
| CXII. |
| CXIII. |
| CXIV. |
| CXV. |
| CXVI. |
| CXVII. |
| CXVIII. |
| CXIX. |
| CXX. |
| CXXI. |
| CXXII. |
| CXXIII. |
| CXXIV. |
| CXXV. |
| CXXVI. |
| CXXVII. |
| CXXVIII. |
| CXXIX. |
| CXXX. |
| CXXXI. |
| CXXXII. |
| CXXXIII. |
| CXXXIV. |
| CXXXV. |
| CXXXVI. |
| CXXXVII. |
| CXXXVIII. |
| CXXXIX. |
| CXL. |
| CXLI. |
| CXLII. |
| CXLIII. |
| CXLIV. |
| CXLV. |
| CXLVI. |
| CXLVII. |
| CXLVIII. |
| CXLIX. |
| CL. |
| CLI. |
| CLII. |
| CLIII. |
| CLIV. |
| CLV. |
| CLVI. |
| CLVII. |
| CLVIII. |
| CLIX. |
| CLX. |
| CLXI. |
| CLXII. |
| CLXIII. |
| CLXIV. |
| CLXV. |
| CLXVI. |
| CLXVII. |
| CLXVIII. |
| CLXIX. |
| CLXX. |
| CLXXI. |
| CLXXII. |
| CLXXIII. |
| CLXXIV. |
| CLXXV. |
| CLXXVI. |
| CLXXVII. |
| CLXXVIII. |
| CLXXIX. |
| CLXXX. |
| CLXXXI. |
| CLXXXII. |
| CLXXXIII. |
| CLXXXIV. |
| CLXXXV. |
| CLXXXVI. |
| CLXXXVII. |
| CLXXXVIII. |
| CLXXXIX. |
| CXC. |
| CXCI. |
| CXCII. |
| CXCIII. |
| CXCIII. |
| CXCIV. |
| CXCV. |
| CXCVI. |
| CXCVII. |
| CXCVIII. |
| CXCIX. |
| CC. |
| CCI. |
| CCII. |
| CCIII. |
| CCIV. |
| CCV. |
| CCVI. |
| CCVII. |
| CCVIII. |
| CCIX. |
| CCX. |
| CCXI. |
| CCXII. |
| CCXIII. |
| CCXIV. |
| CCXV. |
| CCXVI. |
| CCXVII. |
| CCXVIII. |
| CCXIX. |
| CCXX. |
| CCXXI. |
| CCXXII. |
| CCXXIII. |
| CCXXIV. |
| CCXXV. |
| CCXXVI. |
| CCXXVII. |
| CCXXVIII. |
| CCXXIX. |
| CCXXX. |
| CCXXXI. |
| CCXXXIII. |
| CCXXXIV. |
| CCXXXV. |
| CCXXXVI. |
| CCXXXVII. |
| CCXXXVIII. |
| CCXXXIX. |
| CCXL. |
| CCXLI. |
| CCXLII. |
| CCXLIII. |
| CCXLIV. |
| CCXLV. |
| CCXLVI. |
| CCXLVII. |
| CCXLVIII. |
| CCXLIX. |
| CCL. |
| CCLI. |
| CCLII. |
| CCLIII. |
| CCLIV. |
| CCLV. |
| CCLVI. |
| CCLVII. |
| CCLVIII. |
| CCLIX. |
| CCLX. |
| CCLXI. |
| CCLXII. |
| CCLXIII. |
| CCLXIV. |
| CCLXV. |
| CCLXVI. |
| CCLXVII. |
| CCLXVIII. |
| CCLXIX. |
| CCLXX. |
| CCLXXI. |
| CCLXXII. |
| CCLXXIII. |
| CCLXXIV. |
| CCLXXV. |
| CCLXXVI. |
| CCLXXVII. |
| CCLXXVIII. |
| CCLXXIX. |
| CCLXXX. |
| CCLXXXI. |
| CCLXXXII. |
| CCLXXXIII. |
| CCLXXXIV. |
| CCLXXXV. |
| CCLXXXVI. |
| CCLXXXVII. |
| CCLXXXVIII. |
| CCLXXXIX. |
| CCXC. |
| CCXCI. |
| CCXCII. |
| CCXCIII. |
| CCXCIV. |
| CCXCV. |
| CCXCVI. |
| CCXCVII. |
 | The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop |  |
262
THE DAY-FLY.
To guess what actual properties, feelings, pow'rs,
Fill animal life, where life but fills five hours,
Were toil, if not as impious, quite as vain,
As modern mad philosophers sustain;
Who reason's light, with rash assumptions shade,
And hide their God—behind the works he made.
Fill animal life, where life but fills five hours,
Were toil, if not as impious, quite as vain,
As modern mad philosophers sustain;
Who reason's light, with rash assumptions shade,
And hide their God—behind the works he made.
But why despair?—Altho' th' Emphemeral Fly
So scanty scope for positive hints supply,
Tho' what it is, description scarce can say,
Still what it seems, may prompt the abundant lay.
So scanty scope for positive hints supply,
Tho' what it is, description scarce can say,
Still what it seems, may prompt the abundant lay.
It seems then, palpably, where'er 'tis trac'd,
An individual, among millions plac'd;
A member in a free community, free;
Born to no rights, except the right to be;
Yet in the space, thro' which 'tis doom'd to go,
Still on the wing, and still alertly so;
Unharm'd and harmless, in incessant play;
By none impeded, and in no one's way!—
Say, politicians, where on earth beside,
Does independance, so complete, abide?
An individual, among millions plac'd;
263
Born to no rights, except the right to be;
Yet in the space, thro' which 'tis doom'd to go,
Still on the wing, and still alertly so;
Unharm'd and harmless, in incessant play;
By none impeded, and in no one's way!—
Say, politicians, where on earth beside,
Does independance, so complete, abide?
The Day-Fly's brief existence we suppose,
With evening to commence, with night to close;
Form'd, as it is, no rough assault to bear,
No sun's excess, no turbulence of air;
Proof of th' Omnipotent Goodness, which assign'd
The calmest period to the weakest kind!
See this! ye fools! at nature's laws who rail,
And weigh out Deity, in presumption's scale!
See this! and conscious of a truth so clear,
Say, is not moral fitness perfect here?
With evening to commence, with night to close;
Form'd, as it is, no rough assault to bear,
No sun's excess, no turbulence of air;
Proof of th' Omnipotent Goodness, which assign'd
The calmest period to the weakest kind!
See this! ye fools! at nature's laws who rail,
And weigh out Deity, in presumption's scale!
See this! and conscious of a truth so clear,
Say, is not moral fitness perfect here?
264
Short as the Day-Fly's vital range may seem,
'Tis, while it lasts, enjoyment in th' extreme!
Life, without peril, pain, or care, sustain'd;
Strength undiminish'd; frolic unrestrain'd!
Could we, proud Men, from our own length of years,
Expunge our wants, our sorrows, and our fears;
Folly's disgustful, sloth's insipid, hour;
All memory's bitter, all ill-humour's sour;
Whoe'er the real residue should state,
Would find that residue, a mere Day-Fly's date.
'Tis, while it lasts, enjoyment in th' extreme!
Life, without peril, pain, or care, sustain'd;
Strength undiminish'd; frolic unrestrain'd!
Could we, proud Men, from our own length of years,
Expunge our wants, our sorrows, and our fears;
Folly's disgustful, sloth's insipid, hour;
All memory's bitter, all ill-humour's sour;
Whoe'er the real residue should state,
Would find that residue, a mere Day-Fly's date.
Such is humanity's regular routine.—
If madness more eccentric fill the scene;
If Guilt howe'er successful gnaw the heart;
If Conscience at her own suggestions start;
If coward Jealousy's ever-restless eyes,
Anticipate torture, while they watch surmise;
Who, but must choose, if wisdom's voice he hear,
A Day-Fly's hour, before a villain's year?
If madness more eccentric fill the scene;
If Guilt howe'er successful gnaw the heart;
If Conscience at her own suggestions start;
If coward Jealousy's ever-restless eyes,
Anticipate torture, while they watch surmise;
Who, but must choose, if wisdom's voice he hear,
A Day-Fly's hour, before a villain's year?
265
Wherein, you'll say, wherein, if this be true,
Does Man the pettiest animal outdo?
Or rather (measuring life by pleasure's span)
Is not the pettiest animal more than Man?
—No—trust me, No.—For him things future wait—
There is the being, which decides his fate!
'Tis his, if due attention he employ,
To make the present, innocence, if not joy:
Sure for that innocence, deathless bliss to share!—
Fly of a Day—but Immortality's Heir!
Does Man the pettiest animal outdo?
Or rather (measuring life by pleasure's span)
Is not the pettiest animal more than Man?
—No—trust me, No.—For him things future wait—
There is the being, which decides his fate!
'Tis his, if due attention he employ,
To make the present, innocence, if not joy:
Sure for that innocence, deathless bliss to share!—
Fly of a Day—but Immortality's Heir!
| The Poetical Works of The Rev. Samuel Bishop | |