Eager, for these contending pilots strove,
And catch'd them,careless how their vessels drove:
Then, with their trophies dress'd each gaudy sail,
While humming drones, in swarms, their fortunes
Record past leaps, foretell their next essays,
And buzz, melodious, in the fly-men's praise.
Warm'd and misled by this false fire of fame,
His beaming eyes with emulation flame;
And have I, recreant, thus renounced a field,
Where baffled danger can such glory yield.
Lives there a catch-fly, of yon venturous press,
More brave than I am? or who fears them less?
Show me the warring wasp, whose threatening
I dare not strike at, and provoke his sting! [wing
Swans! give me way-your shoreless islands keep,
Too safe your clime is, and too calm your deep;
I choose a rapid glory, not a slow: [grow.
Shoals are sought harbours, where these jewels
He said, and rising, push'd with liquid sweep
The' inverted helm, and gored the groaning deep:
Flaming erect, resought the surgy side,
And bounded, threatening, o'er the foaming tide:
Sailing athwart the swarms, and, skipping high,
He snatch'd, triumphant, every tempting fly:
Gave his loose rudder to the current's claim,
And drove, disdainful, through his rivals' game;
Press'd by invaded wasps' excited stings,
He warr'd, revengeful, on the falling wings:
Through dust of slaughter'd gnats, he fought in
[made;
And squeezed them, deathful, on the wounds they
Fleets of cold opposites, from all sides, join
And wedged, against this general foe combine:
Vainly, indignant, they resist his sway,
Yet block his passage, and obstruct his way :
Still, though he stagnates, he the fight maintains,
While drones,applausive, with their ductile strains,
Homage the rising hero's new renown,
And prince of fly-catchers the champion crown.
The swans, meanwhile, which from the calmer
Forsaken, saw him trust the fatal tide, [side,
Mournful, with pendent wing, his triumph grieved,
And wished his wasted vigour less deceived:
Trembling, they marked his vessel, downward bent,
Hang o'er the' engulphing ocean's dark descent,
While he, regardless, still new trophies won,
And, bent to conquer, saw not what to shun.
Fancy, still busied, still enamour'd, staid,
And, still concurring, lent his rashness aid;
To her, far distant, touch'd Alexis cried,
And, with strain'd voice, to reach her notice tried:
'O, save him! warn him, bid him turn and think;
Let not his bark in yon black ocean sink!
Teach me to call him by his powerful name,
Point out his danger, quench his devious flame;
Rash spleen of heart, that could such war advise!
Blind rage! to lose himself, and catch but flies!
O,teach my tongue his name.'-Then Fancy heard,
And, smiling, at her chariot's side appear'd-
'Why dost thou ask (she cried) what nations know,
E'en all, whom wit or worth inspire below?
His is a name that dwells on every mind,
Tunes every tongue, and sails with every wind!
Not surer is that river life's extent,
Or by those oceans birth and death are meant,
Not surer Fortune is that dark power's name,
That left, oblivion, and that right side, fame,
Than that no son of wit dares justly hope
Fame dwells in folly's paths, but thou, O Pope !'
Alexis, starting, heard his own loved name,
Felt his pride shrink, and blush'd with conscious
shame!
Pitch'd from the chariot, lost to Fancy's call,
And, had not waiting Judgment broke the fall,
Contempt's cold vale had caught him, waked and
stunn'd,
And deep intomb'd him in his own PROFUND.
SEEST thou yon mountain, so immensely high,
Around whose sky-crown'd head raw tempests fly!
How, louring darkly o'er the shadow'd plain,
It hangs the genuine seat of horror's reign!
Its craggy sides hold thin a sterile soil,
Which, promising no harvest, tempts no toil!
No grazing cattle crop subsistence there,
Nor flower-fed breezes feast the hungry air!
No soft meandering current glides along,
To court the meadows with its murmuring song;
No lofty spires a wandering glance invite,
Nor wind-shook woods arrest the ravish'd sight!
All rough and wild, it rears its rocky head,
Severely awful, and unlovely spread:
From its cold top, soil-sweeping torrents flow,
Form'd by unfruitful floods of native snow!
Sorrow sits brooding on its furrow'd face,
And desolation covers all the place. [state?
Seest thou all this, fond youth? so charm'd with
Such is the envied bliss that gilds the great :
Such are the barren honours they enjoy;
For such distinction they their cares employ.
They move our pity, while they tempt our sight;
High above all indeed, but fruitless in their height.
TO A LADY,
Desiring to know what Love was like.
LOVE is a treacherous heat, a smothering spark, Blown up by children's breath who shun the dark: At first, the fire is innocently bright,
Glows gently gay, and scatters warm delight; But left neglected and unquench'd too long, The nourish'd flame grows terrible and strong; Till, blazing fierce, it spreads on every side, And burns its kindler with ungrateful pride,
ALONE IN AN INN AT SOUTHAMPTON.
TWENTY lost have stolen their hours away,
years
Since in this inn, e'en in this room, I lay:
How changed! what then was rapture, fire, and air
Seems now sad silence all, and blank despair!
Is it that youth paints every view too bright,
And, life advancing, fancy fades her light?
Ah, no!-nor yet is day so far declined,
Nor can time's creeping coldness reach the mind.
"Tis that I miss the' inspirer of that youth; Her, whose soft smile was love, whose soul was truth:
Her, from whose pain I never wish'd relief, And for whose pleasure I could smile at grief. Prospects that, view'd with her, inspired before, Now seen without her, can delight no more: Death snatch'd my joys, by cutting off her share, But left her griefs to multiply my care.
Pensive and cold, this room in each changed part I view, and, shock'd, from every object start! There hung the watch, that beating hours from day, Told its sweet owner's lessening life away:
There her dear diamond taught the sash my name :
'Tis gone! frail image of love, life, and fame.
That glass she dress'd at keeps her form no more;
Not one dear footstep tunes the' unconscious floor;
There sat she-yet those chairs no sense retain,
And busy recollection smarts in vain.
Sullen and dim, what faded scenes are here!
I wonder, and retract a starting tear;
Gaze in attentive doubt-with anguish swell,
And o'er and o'er on each weigh'd object dwell.
Then to the window rush, gay views invite,
And tempt idea to permit delight:
But unimpressive, all in sorrow drown'd,
One void forgetful desert glooms around.
Oh life!-deceitful lure of lost desires!
How short thy period, yet how fierce thy fires!
Scarce can a passion start (we change so fast)
Ere new lights strike us, and the old are pass'd.
Schemes following schemes, so long life's taste
explore,
That ere we learn to live, we live no more.
Who then can think-yet sigh, to part with
Or shun the healing hand of friendly Death?
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