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And mortgag'd states their grandsires wreaths regret,
On what foundation stands the warrior's pride,
vain : *Think nothing gain'd,' he cries, 'till nought remain; On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly, And all be mine beneath the polar sky.' The march begins in military state, And nations on his eye suspended wait; Stern Famine guards the solitary coast, And Winter barricades the realms of Frost; He comes, not want and cold his course delay;Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day: The vanquish'd hero leaves his broken bands, And shows his miseries in distant lands; Condemn'd a needy supplicant to wait ; While ladies interpose, and slaves debate. But did not Chance at length her error mend? Did no subverted empire mark his end? Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound? Or hostile millions press him to the ground? His fall was destin'd to a barren strand, A petty fortress, and a dubious hand; He left the name, at which the world grew pale, To point a moral, or adorn a tale.
All times their scenes of pompous woes afford, From Persia's tyrant, to Bavaria's lord,
In gay hostility, and barbarous pride,
The bold Bavarian, in a luckless hour,
* Enlarge my life with multitude of days,' In health, in sickness, thus the suppliant prays; Hides from himself his state, and shuns to know, That life protracted, is protracted woe. Time hovers o'er, impatient to destroy, And shuts up all the passages of joy : In vain their gifts the bounteous Seasons pour, The fruit autumnal, and the vernal flow'r, With listless eyes the dotard views the store, He views, and wonders that they please no more ;
Now pall the tasteless meats, and joyless wines,,
Unnumber'd maladies his joints invade,
But grant, the virtues of a temperate prime
Yet ev'n on this her load Misfortune flings,
Year chases year, decay pursues decay,
But few there are whom hours like these await,
The teeming mother, anxious for her race, Begs for each birth the fortune of a face : Yet Vane could tell what ills from beauty springs And Sedly curs'd the form that pleas'd a king. Ye nymphs of rosy lips and radiant eyes ! Whom pleasure keeps too busy to be wise, Whom joys with soft varieties invite, By day the frolic, and the dance by night, Who frown with vanity, who smile with art, And ask the latest fashion of the heart, What care, what rules your heedless charms shall
save, Each nymph your rival, and each youth your slave? Against your fame with fondness hate combines, The rival batters, and the lover mines. With distant voice neglected Virtue calls, Less heard and less, the faint remonstrance falls; Tir'd with contempt, she quits the slippery reign, And Pride and Prudence take her seat in vain. In crowd at once, where none the pass defend, The harmless Freedom, and the private Friend. The guardians yield, by force superior ply'd; By Interest, Prudence; and by Flattery, Pride. Now Beauty falls betray'd, despis'd, distress'd, And hissing Infamy proclaims the rest.
Where then shall Hope and Fear their objects find? Must dull Suspense corrupt the stagnánt mind ? Must helpless man, in ignorance sedate, Roll darkling down the torrent of his fate? Must no dislike alarm, no wishes rise, No cries attempt the mercies of the skies? Inquirer, cease! petitions yet remain, Which Heav'n may hear, nor deem religion vain. Still raise for good the supplicating voice, But leave to Heav'n the measure and the choice, Safe in His pow's, whose eyės discern afar The secret ambush of a specious pray’r. Implore his aid, in his decisions rest, Secure whate'er he gives, he gives the best. Yet when the sense of sacred presence fires, And strong devotion to the skies aspires, Pour forth thy fervors for a healthful mind, Obedient passions, and a will resign'd; For love, which scarce collective man can fill; For patience, sovereign o'er transmuted ill; For faith, that panting for a happier seat, Counts death kind Nature's signal of retreat : These goods for man the laws of Heav'n ordain, These goods he grants, who grants the pow'r to gain; With these celestial Wisdom calms the mind, And makes the happiness she does not find.
ON THE DEATH OF DR. ROBERT LEVET. CONDEMN’D to Hope's delusive mine,
As on we toil from day to day,
Our social comforts drop away.
See Levet to the grave descend,
Of every friendless name the friend.