Ev'n Lust, the master of a harden'd face, To Darkness' curtains he retires; In sympathizing night he rolls his smoky fires. When, Goddess! thou lift'st up thy waken'd head, Out of the morning's purple bed, Thy quire of birds about thee play, And all the joyful world salutes the rising day. The ghosts, and monster-spirits, that did presume A body's privilege to assume, Vanish again invisibly, And bodies gain again their visibility. All the world's bravery, that delights our eyes, Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st, Thy nimble pencil paints this landscape as thou go'st. Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light. Girt in thy purple swaddling-bands: Thou cloth'st it in a gay and parti-colour'd coat. Flora herself envies to see Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she. Ah, Goddess! would thou couldst thy hand withhold, And be less liberal to gold! Didst thou less value to it give, Of how much care, alas! might'st thou poor man relieve! To me the sun is more delightful far, And all fair days much fairer are. But few, ah! wondrous few, there be, Who do not gold prefer, O Goddess! ev'n to thee. Through the soft ways of heaven, and air, and sea, Which open all their pores to thee, Like a clear river thou dost glide, And with thy living stream through the close channels slide. But, where firm bodies thy free course oppose, Takes there possession, and does make, In th' empyræan heaven does stay. Thy rivers, lakes, and springs, below, From thence took first their rise, thither at last must flow. LIFE AND FAME. OH, Life! thou Nothing's younger brother! So like, that one might take one for the other! In all the cobwebs of the schoolmen's trade, As 't is "to be," or "not to be." Vain, weak-built isthmus, which dost proudly rise Yet canst nor wave nor wind sustain, But, broken and o'erwhelm'd, the endless oceans meet again. And with what rare inventions do we strive Wise, subtle arts, and such as well befit That Nothing Man's no wit Some with vast costly tombs would purchase it, And by the proofs of death pretend to live. "Here lies the great"-false marble! where? Nothing but small and sordid dust lies there.Some build enormous mountain-palaces, The fools and architects to please; A lasting life in well-hewn stone they rear: Was slain so many hundred years before, Lives in the dropping ruins of his amphitheatre. His father-in-law an higher place does claim He, since that toy his death, Does fill all mouths, and breathes in all men's breath. What essence, what existence, this, What substance, what subsistence, what hypostasis, In those alone does the great Cæsar live, Think we not only have, but give, eternity. Who his to-morrow would bestow, HAIL ODE. OF SOLITUDE. old patrician trees, so great and good! Hail, ye plebeian underwood! Where the poetic birds rejoice, And for their quiet nests and plenteous food Pay, with their grateful voice. Hail, the poor Muses' richest manor-seat; Which all the happy gods so love, That for you oft they quit their bright and great Here Nature does a house for me erect, Who those fond artists does despise Here let me, careless and unthoughtful lying, A silver stream shall roll his waters near, And see how prettily they smile, and hear Ah wretched and too solitary he, Who loves not his own company ! To help to bear 't away. Oh Solitude, first state of human kind! As soon as two, alas together join'd, Though God himself, through countless ages, thee His sole companion chose to be, Thee, sacred Solitude, alone, Before the branchy head of number's tree Sprang from the trunk of one. Thou (though men think thine an unactive part) Thou the faint beams of reason's scatter'd light And fortify the strength, till thou dost bright Whilst this hard truth I teach, methinks, I see Let but thy wicked men from out thee go, ODE UPON LIBERTY. FREEDOM with Virtue takes her seat; Her proper place, her only scene, Is in the golden mean, She lives not with the poor nor with the great. And they're in Fortune's bridewell whipt To the laborious task of bread; These are by various tyrants captive led. Rides, reins, and spurs, them, like th' unruly horse; Like toilsome oxen, to the plough; |