« PreviousContinue »
Seeking a real friend, we seem
T'adopt the chemist's golden dream
With still less hope of thriving.
Then judge, or ere you choose your man,
As circumspectly as you can,
And, having made election,
See that no disrespect of yours,
Such as a friend but ill endures,
Enfeeble his affection.
It is not timber, lead, and stone,
An architect requires alone,
To finish a great building ;
The palace were but half complete,
Could he by any chance forget
The carving and the gilding,
As similarity of mind,
Or something not to be defined,
First rivets our attention ;
So manners decent and polite,
The same we practised at first sight,
Must save it from declension.
The man who hails you Tom-or Jack,
And proves by thumping on your back,
is sense of your great merit,
Is such a friend, that one had need
Be very much his friend indeed,
To pardon, or to bear it.
Some friends make this their prudent plan—
“Say little, and hear all you can ; ”
Safe policy, but hateful;
So barren sands imbibe the show'r,
But render neither fruit nor flow'r,
Unpleasant and ungrateful.
They whisper trivial things, and small;
But, to communicate at all
Things serious, deem improper;
Their feculence and froth they show,
But keep the best contents below,
Just like a simm'ring copper.
These samples (for alas ! at last
These are but samples, and a taste
Of evils yet unmention'd)
May prove the task, a task indeed,
In which 'tis much, if we succeed,
Pursue the theme, and you shall find
A disciplined and furnish'd mind
To be at least expedient,
And, after summing all the rest,
Religion ruling in the breast
A principal ingredient.
True friendship has, in short, a grace,
More than terrestrial in its face,
That proves it Heav'n-descended :
Man's love of woman not so pure,
Nor, when sincerest, so secure
To last till life is ended,
ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE.
written when THE NEws ARRIVED, SEPTEMBER 1782
OLL for the bravel
The brave that are no more I
All sunk beneath the wave,
Fast by their native shore l
Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel,
And laid her on her side.
A land breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset;
Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete.
Toll for the brave
Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His last sea-fight is fought;
His work of glory done.
It was not in the battle ;
No tempest gave the shock :
She sprang no fatal leak;
She ran upon no rock.
His sword was in its sheath;
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down,
With twice four hundred men.
Weigh the vessel up,
Once dreaded by our foes
And mingle with our cup
The tear that England owes.
Who all within is peace,
How Nature seems to smile !
Delights that never cease,
The livelong day beguile.
From morn to dewy eve,
With open hand she showers
Fresh blessings, to deceive
And soothe the silent hours.
It is content of heart
Gives Nature power to please;
The mind that feels no smart,
Enlivens all it sees ;
Can make a wintry sky
Seem bright as smiling May,
And evening's closing eye,
As peep of early day.
The vast majestic globe,
So beauteously array'd
In Nature's various robe,
With wondrous skill display'd,
Is to a mourner's heart
A dreary wild at best ;
It flutters to depart,
And longs to be at rest,
188 OAW Z HE SAIOR TWESS OF LIFE.
Th; rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a show'r,
Which Mary to Anna convey'd ;
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower,
And weigh’d down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem’d, to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret
On the flourishing bush where it grew.
I hastily seized it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay so dripping and drown'd,
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas !
I snapped it, it fell to the ground.
And such, I exclaimed, is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart,
Already to sorrow resigned.
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile ;
And the tear, that is wiped with a little address,
May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE.
UNS that set and moons that wane,
Rise, and are restored again,
Stars that orient day subdues,
Night at her return renews.