Sermons Practical and Occasional Dissertations, Translations, Including New Versions of Virgil's Bucolica, and of Milton's Defensio Secunda, Seaton Poems, &c. &c. By the Rev. Francis Wrangham ... In Three Volumes |
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 | Sermons Practical and Occasional |  |
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SMALLER POEMS, &c.
Ταλικα τριβει Νεοτης τα κομψα
Καρδιας ποικιλμαθ'.
(Tweddell, Prolus. viii.)
Καρδιας ποικιλμαθ'.
(Tweddell, Prolus. viii.)
Tempore quo primùm vestis mihi tradita pura est,
Jucundum cùm ætas florida ver ageret,
Multa satis lusi: non est Dea nescia nostrî,
Quæ dulcem curis miscet amaritiem.
(Catull. Ixvi. 15.)
Jucundum cùm ætas florida ver ageret,
Multa satis lusi: non est Dea nescia nostrî,
Quæ dulcem curis miscet amaritiem.
(Catull. Ixvi. 15.)
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[Father of All!]
Father of All! in every age,
In every clime adored;
By saint, by savage, and by sage;
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
In every clime adored;
By saint, by savage, and by sage;
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
Thou Great First Cause, least understood!
Who all my sense confined
To know but this, that Thou art good,
And that myself am blind:
Who all my sense confined
To know but this, that Thou art good,
And that myself am blind:
Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To know the good from ill;
And binding nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.
To know the good from ill;
And binding nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.
What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do;
This teach me more than hell to shun,
That more than heaven pursue.
Or warns me not to do;
This teach me more than hell to shun,
That more than heaven pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives,
Let me not cast away;
For God is paid, when man receives:
T' enjoy is to obey.
Let me not cast away;
For God is paid, when man receives:
T' enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound:
Or think Thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round.
Thy goodness let me bound:
Or think Thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round.
Let not this weak unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw;
And deal damnation 'round the land,
On each I judge thy foe.
Presume thy bolts to throw;
And deal damnation 'round the land,
On each I judge thy foe.
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If I am right, thy grace impart
Still in the right to stay:
If I am wrong, O teach my heart
To find that better way.
Still in the right to stay:
If I am wrong, O teach my heart
To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent
At aught thy wisdom has denied,
Or aught thy goodness lent.
Or impious discontent
At aught thy wisdom has denied,
Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
Mean though I am, not wholly so,
Since quicken'd by my breath;
O lead me, whereso'er I go,
Through this day's life or death.
Since quicken'd by my breath;
O lead me, whereso'er I go,
Through this day's life or death.
This day be bread and peace my lot:
All else beneath the sun
Thou know'st if best bestow'd, or not;
And let thy will be done.
All else beneath the sun
Thou know'st if best bestow'd, or not;
And let thy will be done.
To Thee, whose temple is all space,
Whose altar earth, sea, skies;
One chorus let all beings raise,
All nature's incense rise!
Whose altar earth, sea, skies;
One chorus let all beings raise,
All nature's incense rise!
(Pope.)
[Come here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be]
Come here, fond youth, whoe'er thou be
That boast'st to love as well as me;
And, if thy breast have felt so wide a wound,
Come hither and thy flame approve:
I'll teach thee what it is to love,
And by what marks true passion may be found.
That boast'st to love as well as me;
And, if thy breast have felt so wide a wound,
Come hither and thy flame approve:
I'll teach thee what it is to love,
And by what marks true passion may be found.
It is to be all bath'd in tears,
To live upon a smile for years,
To lie whole ages at a beauty's feet;
To kneel, to languish, to implore,
And still—though she disdain—adore:
It is to do all this, and think thy sufferings sweet.
To live upon a smile for years,
To lie whole ages at a beauty's feet;
To kneel, to languish, to implore,
And still—though she disdain—adore:
It is to do all this, and think thy sufferings sweet.
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It is to gaze upon her eyes
With eager joy and fond surprise—
Yet temper'd with such chaste and aweful fear,
As wretches feel who wait their doom;
Nor must one ruder thought presume,
Though but in whispers breathed, to meet her ear.
With eager joy and fond surprise—
Yet temper'd with such chaste and aweful fear,
As wretches feel who wait their doom;
Nor must one ruder thought presume,
Though but in whispers breathed, to meet her ear.
It is to hope, though hope were lost,
Though heaven and earth thy wishes cross'd:
Though she were bright as sainted queens above,
And thou the least and meanest swain
That folds his flock upon the plain,
Yet if thou darest not hope, thou dost not love.
Though heaven and earth thy wishes cross'd:
Though she were bright as sainted queens above,
And thou the least and meanest swain
That folds his flock upon the plain,
Yet if thou darest not hope, thou dost not love.
It is to quench thy joy in tears,
To nurse strange thoughts and groundless fears:
If pangs of jealousy thou hast not proved,
Though she were fonder and more true
Than any nymph old poets drew,
O never dream again that thou hast loved.
To nurse strange thoughts and groundless fears:
If pangs of jealousy thou hast not proved,
Though she were fonder and more true
Than any nymph old poets drew,
O never dream again that thou hast loved.
If, when the darling maid is gone,
Thou dost not seek to be alone
Rapt in a pleasing trance of tender woe;
And muse and fold thy languid arms,
Feeding thy fancy on her charms,
Thou dost not love—for love is nourish'd so.
Thou dost not seek to be alone
Rapt in a pleasing trance of tender woe;
And muse and fold thy languid arms,
Feeding thy fancy on her charms,
Thou dost not love—for love is nourish'd so.
If any hopes thy bosom share,
But those which love has planted there,
Or any cares but his thy breast enthral;
Thou never yet his power hast known:
Love sits on a despotic throne,
And reigns a tyrant—if he reigns at all.
But those which love has planted there,
Or any cares but his thy breast enthral;
Thou never yet his power hast known:
Love sits on a despotic throne,
And reigns a tyrant—if he reigns at all.
Now, if thou art so lost a thing,
Hither thy tender sorrows bring;
And prove, whose patience longest can endure:
We'll strive whose fancy shall be tost
In dreams of fondest passion most—
For, if thou thus hast loved, oh! never hope a cure.
Hither thy tender sorrows bring;
And prove, whose patience longest can endure:
We'll strive whose fancy shall be tost
In dreams of fondest passion most—
For, if thou thus hast loved, oh! never hope a cure.
(Mrs. Barbauld.)
Shakspeare has given us similar characteristics of this passion:
It is to be made all of sighs and tears;—
It is to be all made of faith and service:—
It is to be made all of fantasy,
All made of passion, and all made of wishes;
All adoration, duty, and observance;
All humbleness, all patience and impatience;
All purity, all trial, all observance.
It is to be all made of faith and service:—
It is to be made all of fantasy,
All made of passion, and all made of wishes;
All adoration, duty, and observance;
All humbleness, all patience and impatience;
All purity, all trial, all observance.
(As You Like It, V. 2.)
In a French writer we find a parallel description:
Par son respect l' amour vrai se declare;
C' est lui qui craint, qui se fuit, qui s' égare;
Qui d' un regard fait son suprême bien,
Désire tout, prétend peu, n' ose rien.
Of which the last line is borrowed from Tasso's
C' est lui qui craint, qui se fuit, qui s' égare;
Qui d' un regard fait son suprême bien,
Désire tout, prétend peu, n' ose rien.
Brama assai, poco spera, nulla chiede.
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