Poems on Several Occasions :: :: University of Virginia Library

Life, like a Play-thing, humours us a-while;
We prize the Bauble, at its Trinkets smile;
Each glitt'ring Trifle stills us for a Day,
Then, Children-like, we throw that Toy away;
With froward Minds we long for something new,
And still a vain Variety pursue.
The distant Object which we covet most,
If once enjoy'd, is in Possession lost:
Those Hills from far, with seeming Verdure crown'd,
A closer View has bleak and barren found.
Led on by Hope, we tread the Fairy Maze,
And eager grasp at something still to please:
A dear-bought Wisdom Disappointment shews;
In Life's blank Lott'ry all may fear to lose.

The Miser, anxious for his hoarded Gold,
Starves in Abundance, and in Want grows old;
With squeezing Palm he gripes his Mammon fast,
And clinches closer as he breathes his last;
For Strangers hoards his Piles of mouldy Pelf,
Who soon shall waste what he denies himself:

Penurious Madman, anxious for his Heap,
Lab'ring to sow what other Hands must reap.

By Midnight Lamps the poring Sage has past
His painful Life, and is deceiv'd at last;
Huge Volumes from his teeming Thoughts he draws,
Imagin'd Monuments of vast Applause,
Which shall to distant Years transmit him down,
And teach Posterity his great Renown;
Pleas'd with the Prospect, he resigns his Breath,
And fondly triumphs over Time and Death;
When, lo! his Works, an useless Lumber, rot,
And are, with him, in half an Age forgot.

Through Foes for Fame the Soldier hews his Way,
Provoking Fate, and Fame shall be his Pay;
For this young Ammon seeks to scale the Skies,
And frantic Charles impartial Fate defies:
'Twas this made Heroes in all Ages bleed,
That Men unborn might envy every Deed.

Deluded Mortals labour oft in vain,
By Death prevented ere they count their Gain:
What Gain, alas! can be expected here,
Where all Things fail, and nothing's found sincere?
Yet human Vanity asserts her Claim,
And courts an empty Echo for a Name.
This Passion prone to lowest Ranks descends,
The coarsest Clown for clumsey Fame contends;
Ambition ebbing to its Vulgar Lee,
Ferments in Dregs, and warms each base Degree.

Since Life's Enjoyments weigh not half its Ill,
And nothing here the human Soul can fill,
To distant Objects she must turn her Eye,
And present Wants by future Hopes supply;
Such Hopes, well grounded, speak her truly wise,
And lift her Wishes to their native Skies,
Above the Reach of Rumour's feeble Sounds,
And Fame that circles in surviving Rounds.

To grasp at Happiness is all our View,
Through diff'rent Tracks her Footsteps we pursue;
Whilst each his own fallacious Path approves,
As Int'rest leads, or Inclination moves:
Yet most through Error lose their wish'd-for Way,
Who sets out wrong, must wander far astray.

Some, plung'd in Riot, seek their sov'reign Good
From tilting Spirits, and tumultuous Blood;
With large Potations Reason's Voice depress,
And drown her Clamours in the deep Excess;
'Midst reeking Fumes exhale their Lives away,
Whilst late Repentance and a swift Decay,
Pursuing close at Pleasure's lawless Heels,
Bring all the Woes despairing Frenzy feels:
When Lungs decay'd, and Nerves convulsive shake,
Each pungent Pang confirms the mad Mistake:
Reflection then on Reason's Aid shall call,
Bid Prudence prop what Folly dooms to fall.
In vain much Wealth for Happiness we try;
Soft Pleasures pall, and soon as tasted die.
Ambition giddy on its Summit grows;
And Crowns sit heavy on the Monarch's Brows:

Our Knowledge too, in narrow Bounds confin'd,
Defrauds our Hopes, and disappoints the Mind:
Lo! all Enjoyments are imperfect here,
And Pleasure's Cup is ever mix'd with Care.
Since all Conditions their own Wants proclaim,
Is then this Happiness an empty Name?
A meer Delusion in our warm Embrace?
A flitting Phantom which we fondly chace?
Can nothing here the eager Mind sustain?
Is Health a Shadow, or is Virtue vain?
The one in Absence we too late regard;
The other fails, nor is its own Reward:
Continu'd Health's true Value's seldom known,
And Virtue's strangely out of Fashion grown.

As they who sail by India's fragrant Shore,
Relax their Speed, and ev'ry Gale devour;
Bask in the Breezes breath'd from Spicey Lands,
Yet found the Rocks and shun the shelving Sands;
To their intended Coast they slowly steer,
Enjoy the Passage, but not anchor there.

So we through Life with calm Content should roam,
Endure the Journey, not mistake our Home.
What here we reap is for Refreshment giv'n;
Convenient Stages in our Way to Heav'n:
What Taste of Happiness we find below,
Must from Religion's sacred Fountain flow;
When gentle Passions move obedient still,
And Reason rules, and Wisdom guides the Will.
This Soul-felt calm can ev'ry Ill remove,
And gives an Earnest of the Joys above,

Draws the bright Scene, unfolds the Gates of Bliss,
A Life celestial, and begun in this.