 | A Collection Of Poems |  |
The 6th Epistle in Horace,
Imitated, as far as —Numa quo devenit, et Ancus.
By the Same.
With steady Wing between extremes to soar,
Not proudly Vain, nor despicably Poor;
Our even Soul in Virtues Scale to poise,
Nor sunk by Cares, nor buoy'd by idle Joys:
In a calm Medium to secure our State,
Deaf to uneasy Love, and restless Hate,
Above the smiles of Life, or frowns of Fate.
Not proudly Vain, nor despicably Poor;
Our even Soul in Virtues Scale to poise,
Nor sunk by Cares, nor buoy'd by idle Joys:
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Deaf to uneasy Love, and restless Hate,
Above the smiles of Life, or frowns of Fate.
This Golden Lesson antient Sages taught,
What Tully practis'd, and what Horace thought.
Cato for this disdain'd Rome's little Pride,
And Scipio threw his worthless wreaths aside.
These Rules alone insure untainted Bliss,
And point the easy Path to Happiness.
Stay thy fixt Breast by flatt'ring Scenes unbent,
Fond Admiration dwells not with Content.
Some lurking Ills the gaz'd-at Pomp destroy,
Delights fatigue, tumultuous Pleasures cloy.
While abject Crouds are ruffled with surprize,
And Ideot wonder stares from Vulgar Eyes;
No sudden turn the settled Thought can move,
Philosophers admire not, but approve.
No glaring Meteors can disturb their Soul,
Nor all the starry Worlds above that roll:
Since what the Dastard Populace affright,
A Newton, or a Derham may Delight.
They trace unmov'd the Comet's dread Career,
Tho' Monarchs shudder, and tho' Nations fear;
Can view the countless Terrors of the Sky,
With cool Reflection, and thro' Reason's Eye.
And shan't we humbler Glories here despise,
Think Honours trifles, Diadems but toys?
Shall the Mind lie unhing'd by each mad flight,
And gaudy Objects catch the giddy Sight?
Our foolish bliss from Paint and Stone receive,
Hang o'er a Statue, on a Picture live?
What Tully practis'd, and what Horace thought.
Cato for this disdain'd Rome's little Pride,
And Scipio threw his worthless wreaths aside.
These Rules alone insure untainted Bliss,
And point the easy Path to Happiness.
Stay thy fixt Breast by flatt'ring Scenes unbent,
Fond Admiration dwells not with Content.
Some lurking Ills the gaz'd-at Pomp destroy,
Delights fatigue, tumultuous Pleasures cloy.
While abject Crouds are ruffled with surprize,
And Ideot wonder stares from Vulgar Eyes;
No sudden turn the settled Thought can move,
Philosophers admire not, but approve.
213
Nor all the starry Worlds above that roll:
Since what the Dastard Populace affright,
A Newton, or a Derham may Delight.
They trace unmov'd the Comet's dread Career,
Tho' Monarchs shudder, and tho' Nations fear;
Can view the countless Terrors of the Sky,
With cool Reflection, and thro' Reason's Eye.
And shan't we humbler Glories here despise,
Think Honours trifles, Diadems but toys?
Shall the Mind lie unhing'd by each mad flight,
And gaudy Objects catch the giddy Sight?
Our foolish bliss from Paint and Stone receive,
Hang o'er a Statue, on a Picture live?
Go, get thee Play things; and thy Hours beguile,
Doat on a Snuff-Box, languish for a Seal.
The rifled East its Rarities shall bring,
And India's Womb be tortur'd for a Ring.
To glut thy sight, lo! Persia sends a Screen,
And Commerce wafts a Tea-Board from Japan.
Doat on a Snuff-Box, languish for a Seal.
The rifled East its Rarities shall bring,
And India's Womb be tortur'd for a Ring.
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And Commerce wafts a Tea-Board from Japan.
Can such poor Gew-Gaws all our Heart possess,
Wrap in amazement, and distract with bliss?
A broken Urn, or half a Bust has struck
The poring Antiquaries stedfast Look.
Another's earnest Thoughts enamour'd dwell
On Butterflies, a Pebble, or a Shell.
For Dress vain Florio levels his pursuit,
Pants for Embroid'ry, and a Birth-Day Suit;
Happy to shine distinguish'd at a Ball,
To glare at Courts, or flutter in the Mall.
Wrap in amazement, and distract with bliss?
A broken Urn, or half a Bust has struck
The poring Antiquaries stedfast Look.
Another's earnest Thoughts enamour'd dwell
On Butterflies, a Pebble, or a Shell.
For Dress vain Florio levels his pursuit,
Pants for Embroid'ry, and a Birth-Day Suit;
Happy to shine distinguish'd at a Ball,
To glare at Courts, or flutter in the Mall.
Yet know, what e'er thou art; whom pleasures bait
Tempts to Delight, or Grandeur prompts to State:
Whether for Trifles of a higher Sphere
You long—perhaps a Coronet to wear,
Or thy vain Breast beats fondly for a Star:
Pleas'd from thy gilded Chariot to bestow
A Look on bending Crouds that gaze below;
Or, more exalted, e'en at Courts preside,
And cringing Levies feed thy swelling Pride:
Tho' you at Senates ev'ry Taste cou'd hit,
With Compton's Eloquence, and Stanhope's Wit,
Know thy gay Sun-shine swiftly hasts to set.
Thou to the Common fatal Goal must run,
As all thy mighty Ancestors have done,
Where Tudors, and Plantagenets are gone.
Tempts to Delight, or Grandeur prompts to State:
215
You long—perhaps a Coronet to wear,
Or thy vain Breast beats fondly for a Star:
Pleas'd from thy gilded Chariot to bestow
A Look on bending Crouds that gaze below;
Or, more exalted, e'en at Courts preside,
And cringing Levies feed thy swelling Pride:
Tho' you at Senates ev'ry Taste cou'd hit,
With Compton's Eloquence, and Stanhope's Wit,
Know thy gay Sun-shine swiftly hasts to set.
Thou to the Common fatal Goal must run,
As all thy mighty Ancestors have done,
Where Tudors, and Plantagenets are gone.
| A Collection Of Poems | |