"Till every sprightly hour and blooming scene
Of life's gay morn unheeded glides away,
And clouds of tempests mount the blue serene,
And storm and ruin close the troublous day.

"Thou still exult to hail the present joy,

Thine be the boon that comes unearn'd by toil; No froward vain desire thy bliss annoy,

No flattering hope thy longing hours beguile.

"Ah! why should man pursue the charms of Fame, For ever luring, yet for ever coy?

Light as the gaudy rainbow's pillar'd gleam,
That melts illusive from the wondering boy!

"What though her throne irradiate many a clime,
If hung loose-tottering o'er th' unfathom'd tomb?
What though her mighty clarion, rear'd sublime,
Display the imperial wreath and glittering plume?

"Can glittering plume, or can the imperial wreath
Redeem from unrelenting fate the brave?
What note of triumph can her clarion breathe,
T' alarm th' eternal midnight of the grave?

"That night draws on: nor will the vacant hour Of expectation linger as it flies;

Nor Fate one moment unenjoy'd restore:

Each moment's flight how precious to the wise!

"Oh, shun th' annoyance of the bustling throng,
That haunt with zealous turbulence the great;
Their coward Office boasts th' unpunish'd wrong,
And sneaks secure in insolence of state.

"O'er fancy'd injury Suspicion pines,

And in grim silence gnaws the festering wound; Deceit the rage-embitter'd smile refines,

And Censure spreads the viperous hiss around.

"Hope not, fond prince, though Wisdom guard thy throne,
Though Truth and Bounty prompt each generous aim,
Though thine the palm of peace, the victor's crown,
The Muse's rapture, and the patriot's flame :

"Hope not, though all that captivates the wise,
All that endears the good exalt thy praise;
Hope not to taste repose; for Envy's eyes
At fairest worth still point their deadly rays.

"Envy, stern tyrant of the flinty heart,

Can aught of Virtue, Truth, or Beauty charm? Can soft Compassion thrill with pleasing smart, Repentance melt, or Gratitude disarm?

"Ah no. Where Winter Scythia's waste enchains,
And monstrous shapes roar to the ruthless storm,
Not Phoebus' smile can cheer the dreadful plains,
Or soil accursed with balmy life inform..

"Then, Envy, then is thy triumphant hour, When mourns Benevolence his baffled scheme; When Insult mocks the clemency of Power,

And loud Dissension's livid firebrands gleam ;

"When squint-eyed Slander plies th' unhallow'd tongue, From poison'd maw when Treason weaves his line, And Muse apostate (infamy to song!)

Grovels, low-muttering, at Sedition's shrine.

"Let not my prince forego the peaceful shade,

The whispering grove, the fountain, and the plain : Power, with th' oppressive weight of pomp array'd, Pants for simplicity and ease in vain.

"The yell of frantic Mirth may stun his ear,
But frantic Mirth soon leaves the heart forlorn;
And Pleasure flies that high tempestuous sphere;
Far different scenes her lucid paths adorn.

"She loves to wander on th' untrodden lawn,
Or the green bosom of reclining hill,
Soothed by the careless warbler of the dawn,
Or the lone plaint of ever-murmuring rill.

"Or from the mountain-glade's aërial brow,
While to her song a thousand echoes call,
Marks the wild woodland wave remote below,
Where shepherds pipe unseen, and waters fall.

"Her influence oft the festive hamlet proves,
Where the high carol cheers th' exulting ring;
And oft she roams the maze of wildering groves,
Listening th' unnumber'd melodies of spring.

"Or to the long and lonely shore retires ;

What time, loose-glimmering to the lunar beam, Faint heaves the slumberous wave, and starry fires Gild the blue deep with many a lengthening gleam.

"Then, to the balmy bower of Rapture borne, While strings self-warbling breathe Elysian rest, Melts in delicious vision, till the morn

Spangle with twinkling dew the flowery waste.