Page images

ut if through genuine tenderness of heart, His vacant fancy most: the toil you hate r secret want of relish for the game,

Fatigues you soon, and scarce improves your limbs. ou shun the glories of the chase, nor care

As beauty still has blemish, and the mind o haunt the peopled stream ; the garden yields The most accomplish'd its imperfect side, soft amusement, an humane delight.

Few bodies are there of that happy mould o raise th' insipid nature of the ground;

But some one part is weaker than the rest : 'r tame its savage genius to the grace

The legs, perhaps, or arms refuse their load, of careless sweet rusticity, that seems

Or the chest labours. These assiduously, The amiable result of happy chance,

But gently, in their proper arts employ'd, s to create ; and gives a god-like joy,

Acquire a vigour and springy activity, Vhich every year improves. Nor thou disdain To which they were not born.

But weaker parts 'o check the lawless riot of the trees,

Abhor fatigue and violent discipline. 'o plant the grove, or turn the barren mould. Begin with gentle toils; and as your nerves ) happy he! whom, when his years decline, Grow firm, to hardier by just steps aspire ; His fortune and his fame by worthy means .The prudent, even in every moderate walk, ittain'd, and equal to his moderate mind; At first but saunter, and by slow degrees lis life approv'd by all the wise and good, Increase their pace. This doctrine of the wise Cven envied by the vain,) the peaceful groves Well knows the master of the Aying steed. Df Epicurus, from this stormy world,

First from the goal the manag'd coursers play {eceive to rest ; of all ungrateful cares

On bended reins; as yet the skilful youth Ibsolv'd, and sacred from the selfish crowd. Repress their foamy pride ; but every breath lappiest of men ! if the same soil invites

The race grows warmer, and the tempest swells, I chosen few, companions of his youth,

Till all the fiery mettle has its way,
Once fellow-rakes perhaps, now rural friends; And the thick thunder hurries o'er the plain.
With whom in easy commerce to pursue

When all at once from indolence to toil
Nature's free charms, and vie for sylvan fame : You spring, the fibres by the hasty shock
I fair ambition ; void of strife or guile,

Are tir'd and crack'd, before their unctuous coats, Or jealousy, or pain to be outdone.

Compress'd, can pour the lubricating balm. Who plans th' enchanted garden, who directs Besides, collected in the passive veins, The vista best, and best conducts the stream: The purple mass a sudden torrent rolls, Whose groves the fastest thicken and ascend; O’erpowers the heart, and deluges the lungs, Whom first the welcome Spring salutes ; who shows With dangerous inundation ; oft the source The earliest bloom, the sweetest proudest charms Of fatal woes; a cough that foams with blood, Of Flora ; who best gives Pomona's juice

Asthma, and feller peripneumony t, To match the sprightly genius of champagne. Or the slow minings of the hectic fire. Thrice happy days! in rural business past :

Th’ athletic fool, to whom what Heaven deny'd Blest winter nights! when, as the genial fire Of soul is well compensated in Jimbs, Cheers the wide hall, his cordial family

Oft from his rage, or brainless frolic, feels With soft domestic arts the hours beguile,

His vegetation and brute force decay. And pleasing talk that starts no timorous fame, The men of better clay and finer mould With witless wantonness to hunt it down :

Know nature, feel the human dignity, Or through the fairy-land of tale or song

And scorn to vie with oxen or with apes. Delighted wander, in fictitious fates

Pursu'd prolixly, even the gentlest toil Engag'd, and all that strikes humanity :

Is waste of health: repose by small fatigue Till lost in fable, they the stealing hour

Is earn'd, and (where your habit is not prone
Of timely rest forget. Sometimes, at eve

To thaw) by the first moisture of the brows.
His neighbours lift the latch, and bless unbid The fine and subtle spirits cost too much
His festal roof; while, o'er the light repast, To be profus'd, too much the roscid balm.
And sprightly cups, they mix in social joy ; But when the hard varieties of life
And, through the maze of conversation, trace You toil to learn, or try the dusty chase,
Whate'er amuses or improves the mind.

Or the warm deeds of some important day :
Sometimes at eve (for I delight to taste

Hot from the field, indulge not yet your limbs The native zest and flavour of the fruit,

In wish'd repose ; nor court the fanning gale, Where sense grows wild and tastes of no manure) Nor taste the spring. O! by the sacred tears The decent, honest, cheerful husbandman

Of widows, orphans, mothers, sisters, sires, Should drown his labour in my friendly bowl ; Forbear! no other pestilence has driven And at my table find himself at home.

Such myriads o'er th' irremeable deep. Whate'er you study, in whate'er you sweat, Why this so fatal, the sagacious Muse Indulge your taste. Some love the manly foils; Through nature's cunning labyrinths could trace : The tennis some; and some the graceful dance. But there are secrets which who knows not now, Others, more hardy, range the purple heath, Must, ere he reach them, climb the heapy Alps Or naked stubble; where, from field to field, Of science; and devote seven years to toil. The sounding coveys urge their labouring flight ; Besides, I would not stun your patient ears Eager amid the rising cloud to pour

With what it little boots you to attain. The gun's unerring thunder : and there are He knows enough, the mariner, who knows Whom still the meed of the green archer charms. Where lurk the shelves, and where the whirlpools He chooses best, whose labour entertains


What signs portend the storm : to subtler minds • This word is much used by some of the old English poets, and signifies reward or nrire

+ The inflammation of the lungs.

He leaves to scan, from what mysterious cause He not the safe vicissitudes of life
Charybdis rages in th’ Ionian wave;

Without some shock endures; ill-fitted be
Whence those impetuous currents in the main To want the known, or bear unusual things
Which neither oar nor sail can stem; and why Besides, the powerful remedies of pain
The roughening deep expects the storm, as sure (Since pain in spite of all our care will come
As red Orion mounts the shrouded Heaven. Should never with your prosperous days of hea

In ancient times, when Rome with Athens vied Grow too familiar : for by frequent urse For polish'd luxury and useful arts ;

The strongest medicines lose their healing pore, All hot and reeking from th' Olympic strife, And even the surest poisons theirs to kill. And warm Palestra, in the tepid bath

Let those who from the frozen Arctos reach Th' athletic youth relax'd their weary limbs. Parch'd Mauritania, or the sultry West, Soft oils bedew'd them, with the grateful pow'rs Or the wide flood that laves rich Indostan, Of nard and cassia fraught, to soothe and heal Plunge thrice a day, and in the tepid wave The cherish'd nerves. Our less voluptuous clime Untwist their stubborn pores; that full and free Not much invites us to sucb arts as these.

Th' evaporation through the soften'd skin "T is not for those, whom gelid skies embrace, May bear proportion to the swelling blood. And chilling fogs; whose perspiration feels So may they 'scape the fever's rapid flames; Such frequent bars from Eurus and the North ; So feel untainted the hot breath of Hell. 'T is not for those to cultivate a skin

With us, the man of no complaint demands
Too soft : or teach the recremental fume

The warm ablution just enough to clear
Too fast to crowd through such precarious ways. The sluices of the skin, enough to keep
For through the small arterial mouths, that pierce The body sacred from indecent soil.
In endless millions the close-woven skin,

Still to be pure, ev'n did it not conduce
The baser fluids in a constant stream

(As much it does) to health, were greatly worth Escape, and viewless melt into the winds.

Your daily pains. ”T is this adorns the rich; While this eternal, this most copious waste The want of this is poverty's worst woe; Of blood, degenerates into vapid brine,

With this external virtue, age maintains Maintains its wonted measure, all the powers A decent grace ; without it, youth and charms Of health befriend you, all the wheels of life Are loathsome. This the venal graces know; With ease and pleasure move: but this restrain'd So doubtless do your wives: for married sites, Or more or less, so more or less you feel

As well as lovers, still pretend to taste ; The functions labour : from this fatal source Nor is it less (all prudent wives can tell) What woes descend is never to be sung.

To lose a husband's than a lover's heart To take their numbers, were to count the sands But now the hours and seasons when to toi That ride in whirlwind the parch'd Libyan air ; From foreign themes recall my wandering song. Or waves that, when the blustering North embroils Some labour fasting, or but slightly fed The Baltic, thunder on the German shore. To lull the grinding stomach's hungry rage. Subject not then, by soft emollient arts,

Where nature feeds too corpulent a frame This grand expense, on which your fates depend, 'Tis wisely done: for while the thirsty veins, To every caprice of the sky; nor thwart

Impatient of lean penury, devour
The genius of your clime : for from the blood The treasur'd oil, then is the happiest time
Least fickle rise the recremental steams,

To shake the lazy balsam from its cells
And least obnoxious to the styptic air,

Now while the stomach from the full repast Which breathe through straiter and more callous Subsides, but ere returning hunger gnaws, pores.

Ye leaner habits, give an hour to toil; The temper'd Scythian hence, half-naked treads And ye whom no luxuriancy of growth His boundless snows, nor rues th' inclement Heaven; Oppresses yet, or threatens to oppress. And hence our painted ancestors defied

But from the recent meal no labours please, The east; nor curs'd, like us, their fickle sky. Of limbs or mind. For now the cordial powers

The body, moulded by the clime, endures Claim all the wandering spirits to a work The equator heats or hyperborean frost :

Of strong and subtle toil, and great event: Except by habits foreign to its turn,

A work of time ; and you may rue the day Unwise you counteract its forming pow'r.

You hurried, with untimely exercise, Rude at the first, the winter shocks you less A half-concocted chyle into the blood By long acquaintance : study then your sky, The body overcharged with unctuous phlegm Form to its manners your obsequious frame, Much toil demands: the lean elastic less And learn to suffer what you cannot shun. While winter chills the blood and binds the veins, Against the rigors of a damp cold heav'n

No labours are too hard : by those you 'scape To fortify their bodies, some frequent

The slow diseases of the torpid year; The gelid cistern; and, where nought forbids, Endless to name ; to one of which alone, I praise their dauntless heart : a frame so steel'd To that which tears the nerves, the toil of slave Dreads not the cough, nor those ungenial blasts Is pleasure : Oh! from such inhuman pains That breathe the tertian or fell rheumatism; May all be free who merit not the wheel ! The nerves so temper'd never quit their tone, But from the burning Lion when the Sun No chronic languors haunt such hardy breasts, Pours down his sultry wrath ; now while the blood But all things have their bounds; and he who | Too much already maddens in the veins makes

And all the finer Auids through the skin By daily use the kindest regimen

Explore their flight; me, near the cool cascade Essential to his health, should never mix

Reclin'd, or saunt'ring in the lofty grore, With human kind nor art nor tudo


pant and sweat beneath the fiery noon.

O shame! O pity! nipt with pale quadrille, w the fresh morn alone and mellow eve

And inidnight cares, the bloom of Albion dien ! shady walks and active rural sports

By toil subdu'd, the warrior and the hind vite. But, while the chilling dews descend, Sleep fast and deep: their active functions soon ay nothing tempt you to the cold embrace With generous streams the subtle tubes supply; humid skies; though 't is no vulgar joy

And soon the tonic irritable nerves trace the horrours of the solemn wood

Feel the fresh impulse and awake the soul. hile the soft evening saddens into night:

The sons of indolence with long repose ough the sweet poet of the vernal groves Grow torpid; and, with slowest Lethe drunk, elts all the night in strains of am'rous woe. Feebly and ling'ringly return to life, The shades descend, and midnight o'er the world Blunt every sense and powerless every limb. spands her sable wings. Great nature droops Ye, prone to sleep (whom sleeping most annoys) trough all her works. Now happy he whose toil On the hard mattress or elastic couch is o'er his languid powerless limbs diffus'd Extend your limbs, and wean yourselves from sloth; pleasing lassitude: he not in vain

Nor grudge the lean projector, of dry brain vokes the gentle deity of dreams.

And springy nerves, the blandishments of down: is powers the most voluptuously dissolve

Nor envy while the buried Bacchanal soft repose : on him the balmy dews

Exhales his surfeit in prolixer dreams. sleep with double nutriment descend.

He without riot, in the balmy feast it would you sweetly waste the blank of night Of life, the wants of nature has supply'd, deep oblivion ; or on Fancy's wings

Who rises, cool, serene, and full of soul. sit the paradise of happy dreams,

But pliant nature more or less demands, nd waken cheerful as the lively morn;

As custom forms her; and all sudden change ppress not nature sinking down to rest

She hates of habit, even from bad to good. ith feasts too late, too solid, or too full :

If faults in life, or new emergencies, it be the first concoction half-matur’d

From habits urge you by long time confirm’d, re you to mighty indolence resign

Slow may the change arrive, and stage by stage ; pur passive faculties. He from the toils

Slow as the shadow o'er the dial moves, nd troubles of the day to heavier toil

Slow as the stealing progress of the year. etires, whom trembling from the tower that rocks Observe the circling year. How unperceiv'd mid the clouds, or Calpe's hideous height, Her seasons change! Behold! by slow degrees, he busy demons hurl; or in the main

Stern Winter tam'd into a ruder Spring; 'erwhelm; or bury struggling under ground. The ripen'd Spring a milder Summer's glows; ot all a monarch's luxury the woes

The parting Summer sheds Pomona's store, an counterpoise of that most wretched man, And aged Autumn brews the winter storm. Those nights are shaken with the frantic fits Slow as they come, these changes come not void of wild Orestes ; whose delirious brain,

Of mortal shocks : the cold and torrid reigns, tung by the furies, works with poison'd thought; The two great periods of the important year, Thile pale and monstrous painting shocks the soul; Are in their first approaches seldom safe; nd mangled consciousness bemoans itself Funeral Autumn all the sickly dread; or ever torn; and chaos floating round.

And the black fates deform the lovely Spring. Vhat dreams presage, what dangers these or those He well advis'd who taught our wiser sires 'ortend to sanity, though prudent seers

Early to borrow Muscovy's warm spoils, {eveal'd of old, and men of deathless fame, Ere the first frost has touch'd the tender blade; Ve would not to the superstitious mind

And late resign them, though the wanton Spring Suggest new throbs, new vanities of fear.

Should deck her charms with all her sister's rays T is ours to teach you from the peaceful night For while the effluence of the skin maintains to banish omens and all restless woes.

Its native measure, the pleuritic Spring In study some protract the silent hours,

Glides harmless by; and Autumn, sick to death Which others consecrate to mirth and wine ; With sallow quartans, no contagion breathes. And sleep till noon, and hardly live till night. I in prophetic numbers could unfold But surely this redeems not from the shades The omens of the year : what seasons teem One hour of life. Nor does it nought avail With what diseases; what the humid South What season you to drowsy Morpheus give Prepares, and what the demon of the East: Of th' ever-varying circle of the day ;

But you perhaps refuse the tedious song. Or whether, through the tedious winter gloom, Besides, whatever plagues in heat, or cold, You tempt the midnight or the morning damps. Or drought, or moisture dwell, they hurt not you, The body, fresh and vigorous from repose,

Skill'd to correct the vices of the sky, Defies the early fogs : but, by the toils

And taught already how to each extreme Of wakeful day exhausted and unstrung,

To bend your life. But should the public bane Weakly resists the night's unwholesome breath. Infect you ; or some trespass of your own, The grand discharge, th' effusion of the skin, Or flaw of nature, hint mortality; Slowly impair'd, the languid maladies

Soon as a not unpleasing horrour glides Creep on, and through the sick’ning functions steal. Along the spine, through all your torpid limbs ; As, when the chilling east invades the Spring, When first the head throbs, or the stomach feels The delicate narcissus pines away

A sickly load, a weary pain the loins; In hectic languor, and a slow disease

Be Celsus callid: the fates come rushing on; Taints all the family of flowers, condemn'd The rapid fates admit of no delay. To cruel heav'ns. But why, already prone While wilful you. : nd fatally secure,

L.Lichana ?

rynent tomorron

[ocr errors]

The growing pest, whose infancy was weak

Of many thousands, few untainted 'scap'd; And easy vanquish’d, with triumphant sway Of those infected, fewer 'scap'd alive: O'erpow'rs your life. For want of timely care, Of those who liv'd, some felt a second blor: Millions have died of medicable wounds.

And whom the second spar'd, a third destul Ah! in what perils is vain life engag'd!

Frantic with fear, they sought by flight to stran What slight neglects, what trivial faults destroy The fierce contagion. O'er the mournful laai The hardiest frame! of indolence, of toil,

Th' infected city pour'd her hurrying swarms: We die; of want, of superfluity :

Rous’d by the flames that fir'd her seats avand, The all-surrounding Heaven, the vital air, Th’ infected country rush'd into the town. Is big with death. And, though the putrid South Some, sad at home, and in the desert some, Be shut; though no convulsive agony

Abjur'd the fatal commerce of mankind : Shake, from the deep foundations of the world, In vain : where'er they fled, the fates pursu'd Th' imprison'd plagues ; a secret venom oft Others, with hopes more specious, crossid the present Corrupts the air, the water, and the land.

To seek protection in far distant skies; What livid deaths has sad Byzantium seen! But none they found. It seem'd the general How oft has Cairo, with a mother's woe,

From pole to pole, from Atlas to the east

, Wept o'er her slaughter'd sons and lonely streets ! Was then at enmity with English blood. Even Albion, girt with less malignant skies, For, but the race of England, all were safe Albion the poison of the gods has drank,

In foreign climes ; nor did this fury taste And felt the sting of monsters all her own. The foreign blood which England then contenu Ere yet the fell Plantagenets had spent

Where should they fly? The circumambient Hesta Their ar.cient rage, at Bosworth's purple field; Involv'd them still; and every breeze was bane. While, for which tyrant England should receive, Where find relief? The salutary art Her legions in incestuous murders mix'd,

Was mute; and, startled at the new disease, And daily horrours; till the fates were drunk In fearful whispers hopeless omens gare. With kindred blood by kindred hands profus'd: To Heaven with suppliant rites they sat L. Another plague of more gigantic arm

pray'rs; Arose, a monster, never known before,

Heav'n heard them not. Of every hoppe deparis', Rear'd from Cocytus its portentous head.

Fatigued with vain resources; and subdued This rapid fury not, like other pests,

With woes resistless and enfeebling fear; Pursu'd a gradual course, but in a day

Passive they sunk beneath the weighty blo. Rush'd as a storm o'er half the astonish'd isle, Nothing but lamentable sounds was heard, And strew'd with sudden carcasses the land. Nor aught was seen but ghastly views of death

First, through the shoulders, or whatever part Infectious horrour ran from face to face, Was seiz'd the first, a fervid vapour sprung. And pale despair. 'T was all the business tha With rash combustion thence, the quivering spark To tend the sick, and in their turns to die. Shot to the heart, and kindled all within;

In heaps they fell: and oft one bed, they sj, And soon the surface caught the spreading fires. The sick’ning, dying, and the dead contain'd Through all the yielded pores, the melted blood Ye guardian gods, on whom the fates depend Gush'd out in smoky sweats; but nought assuag'd of tottering Albion! ye eternal fires The torrid heat within, nor aught reliev'd

That lead through Heav'n the wandering year! * The stomach's anguish. With incessant toil, That o'er th' encircling elements preside! Desperate of ease, impatient of their pain,

May nothing worse than what this age has seta They toss'd from side to side. In vain the stream Arrive! Enough abroad, enough at home Ran full and clear, they burnt and thirsted still. Has Albion bled. Here a distemper'd heaven The restless arteries with rapid blood

Has thinn'd her cities, from those lofty eliffs Beat strong and frequent. Thick and pantingly That awe proud Gaul, to Thulé's wintry riga; The breath was fetch'd, and with huge lab'rings While in the west, beyond the Atlantie foar, heay'd.

Her bravest sons, keen for the fight, have dy'd At last a heavy pain oppress'd the head,

The death of cowards and of common men : A wild delirium came; their weeping friends Sunk void of wounds, and fall’n without renori Were strangers now, and this no home of theirs,

But from these views the weeping Muses tuning
Harass'd with toil on toil, the sinking powers And other themes invite my wandering song,
Lay prostrate and o'erthrown; a ponderous sleep
Wrapt all the senses up: they slept and died.
In some a gentle horrour crept at first

Book IV.
O'er all the limbs; the sluices of the skin
Withheld their moisture, till by art provok'd

The sweats o'erflow'd; but in a clammy tide :
Now free and copious, now restrain'd and slow; The choice of aliment, the choice of air,
Of tinctures various, as the temperature

The use of toil, and all external things,
Had mix'd the blood; and rank with fetid steams : Already sung; it now remains to trace
As if the pent-up humours by delay

What good, what evil, from ourselves procents: Were grown more fell, more putrid, and malign. And how the subtle principle within

decay Here lay their hopes (though little hope remain'd) Inspires with health, or mines with strange With full effusion of perpetual sweats

The passive body. Ye poetic shades
To drive the venom out. And here the fates Who know the secrets of the world unseen,
Were kind, that long they lingcr'd not in pain; Assist my song! for, in a doubtful theme
For who surviv'd the Sun's diurnal race

Engag'd, I wander through mysterious ways
Rose from the dreary gates of Hell redeem'd: There is, they say, (and I believe there is)
Some the sixth hour oppress'd, and soine the third. | A spark within us of th' immortal fire,

[ocr errors][ocr errors][ocr errors]

That animates and inoulds the grosser frame; To lean for ever, cramps the vital parts,
And when the body sinks, escapes to Heaven, And robs the fine machinery of its play.
Its native seat, and mixes with the gods.

'T is the great art of life to manage well leanwhile this heavenly particle pervades

The restless mind. For ever on pursuit De mortal elements; in every nerve

Of knowledge bent, it starves the grosser powers : It ta rills with pleasure, or grows mad with pain. Quite unemployed, against its own repose And, in its secret conclave, as it feels

It turns its fatal edge, and sharper pangs The bo'v's woes and joys, this ruling power Than what the body knows embitter life. Wields as its will the dull material world,

Chiefly where solitude, sad nurse of care, And is the ody's health or malady.

To sickly musing gives the pensive mind, By its own toil the gross corporeal frame There madness enters ; and the dim-ey'd fiend, Fatigues, exten lates, or destroys itself.

Sour Melancholy, night and day provokes Nor less the labor rs of the mind corrode

Iler own eternal wound.

The Sun grows pale; The solid fabric: fo: by subtle parts

A mournful visionary light o'erspreads And viewless atoms, secret Nature moves

The cheerful face of Nature: Earth becomes The mighty wheels of tiis stupendous world. A dreary desert, and Heaven frowns above. By subtie fluids pour'd through subtle tubes Then various shapes of curs'd illusion rise : The natural vital functions are perform’d.

Whate'er the wretched fears, creating fear By these the stubborn aliments are tam’d;

Forms out of nothing, and with monsters teems The toiling heart distributes life and strength; Unknown in Hell. The prostrate soul beneath These the still-crumbling frame rebuild; and these A load of huge imagination heaves; Are lost in thinking, and dissolve in air.

And all the horrours that the murderer feels But 't is not thought, (for still the soul 's em- With anxious flutterings wake the guiltless breast. ploy’d,)

Such phantoms pride in solitary scenes,
T is painful thinking that corrodes our clay. Or fear, or delicate self-love creates.
All day the vacant eye without fatigue

From other cares absolv'd, the busy mind
Strays o'er the Heaven and Earth ; but long intent Finds in yourself a theme to pore upon;
On microscopic arts, its vigour fails.

It finds you miserable, or makes you so. Just so the mind, with various thought amus’d, For while yourself you anxiously explore, Nor aches itself, nor gives the body pain.

Timorous self-love, with sick’ning fancy's aid, But anxious study, discontent, and care,

Presents the danger that you dread the most, Love without hope, and hate without revenge, And ever galls you in your tender part. And fear, and jealousy, fatigue the soul,

Hence some for love, and some for jealousy, Engross the subtle ministers of life,

For grim religion some, and some for pride, And spoil the labʼring functions of their share, Have lost their reason : some for fear of want, Hence the lean gloom that melancholy wears; Want all their lives ; and others every day The lover's paleness; and the sallow hue

For fear of dying sufler worse than death. Of envy, jealousy; the meagre stare

Ah! from your bosoms banish if you can Of sore revenge : the canker'd body hence

Those fatal guests; and first the demon Fear, Betrays each fretful motion of the inind.

That trembles at impossible events; The strong-built pedant, who both night and day Lest aged Atlas should resign his load, Feeds on the coarsest fare the schools bestow, And Heaven's eternal baitlements rush down. And crudely fattens at gross Burman's stall; Is there an evil worse than fear itself? O’erwhelm'd with phlegm lies in a dropsy drown'd, And what avails it that indulgent Heaven Or sinks in lethargy before his time.

From mortal eyes has wrapt the woes to come, With useful studies you, and arts that please If we, ingenious to torment ourselves, Employ your mind; amuse, but not gue. Grow pale at hideous fictions of our own ? Peace to each drowsy metaphysic sage !

Enjoy the present: nor with needless cares, (womb, And ever may all heavy systems rest!

Of what may spring from blind misfortune's Yet some there are, even of elastic parts,

Appal the surest hour that life bestows. Whom strong and obstinate ambition leads Serene, and master of yourself, prepare Through all the rugged roads of barren lore, For what may come ; and leave the rest to Heaven. And gives to relish what their generous taste

Oft from the body, by long ails mis-tun'd, Would else refuse. But may not thirst of fame, These evils sprung, the most important health, Nor love of knowledge, urge you to fatigue That of the mind, destroy : and when the mind With constant drudgery the liberal soul.

They first invade, the conscious body soon
Toy with your books; and, as the various fits In sympathetic languishment declines.
Of humour seize you, from philosophy

These chronic passions, while from real woes
To fable shift: from serious Antonine

They rise, and yet without the body's fault To Rabelais' ravings, and from prose to song.

Infest the soul, admit one only cure; While reading pleases, but no longer, read; Diversion, hurry, and a restless life. And read aloud resounding Homer's strain, Vain are the consolations of the wise; And wield the thunder of Demosthenes.

In vain your friends would reason down your pain. The chest so exercis'd improves its strength; Oye, whose souls relentless love has tam'd And quick vibrations through the bowels drive To soft distress, or friends untimely fall’n! The restless blood, which in unactive days

Court not the luxury of tender thought; Would loiter else through unelastic tubes.

Nor deem it impious to forget those pains Deem it not trifling while I recommend

That hurt the living, nought avail the dead. What posture suits: to stand and sit by turns, Go, soft enthusiast ! quit the cypress groves,

« ՆախորդըՇարունակել »