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AST thou a friend ? Thou hast indeed
A rich and large supply,
Treasure to serve your every need,
Well manag'd, till you die.
ON PEDIG REE.
Y mother l if thou love me, name no more
My noble birth | Sounding at every breath
My noble birth, thou kill'st me. Thither fly,
As to their only refuge, all from whom
Nature withholds all good besides; they boast
Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs
Of their forefathers, and from age to age
Ascending, trumpet their illustrious race :
But whom hast thou beheld, or canst thou name,
Derived from no forefather ? Such a man
Lives not; for how could such be born at all?
And if it chance, that native of a land
Far distant, or in infancy deprived
Of all his kindred, one, who cannot trace
His origin, exist, why deem him sprung
From baser ancestry than theirs, who can f
My mother he, whom Nature at his birth
Endow’d with virtuous qualities, although
An AEthiop and a slave, is nobly born.
HEY call thee rich—I deem thee poor,
Since, if thou dar'st not use thy store,
But sav'st it only for thine heirs,
The treasure is not thine, but theirs.
ICH, thou hadst many lovers—poor, hast none, So surely want extinguishes the flame, And she, who call'd thee once her pretty one, And her Adonis, now inquires thy name.
Where wast thou born, Sosicrates, and where,
In what strange country can thy parents live,
Who seem'st, by thy complaints, not yet aware
That want's a crime no woman can forgive
OU give your cheeks a rosy stain,
With washes dye your hair,
But paint and washes both are vain
To give a youthful air.
Those wrinkles mock your daily toil,
No labour will efface 'em,
You wear a mask of smoothest oil,
Yet still with ease we trace 'em.
An art so fruitless then forsake,
Which though you much excel in,
You never can contrive to make
Old Hecuba Young Helen.
ITY, says the Theban bard,
From my wishes I discard;
Envy, let me rather be,
Rather, far, a theme for thee .
Pity to distress is shown ;
Envy to the great alone—
So the Theban—But to shine
Less conspicuous be mine !
I prefer the golden mean
Pomp and penury between,
For alarm and peril wait
Ever on the loftiest state,
And the lowest, to the end,
Obloquy and scorn attend.
FT we enhance our ills by discontent,
And give them bulk, beyond what Nature meant
A parent, brother, friend deceased, to cry—
40 É. dead indeed, but he was born to die”—
Such temperate grief is suited to the size
And burthen of the loss; is just and wise,
But to exclaim—“Ah ! wherefore was I born,
Thus to be left, for ever thus forlorn ?”
Who thus laments his loss invites distress, And magnifies a woe that might be less, Through dull despondence to his lot resign'd, And leaving reason's remedy behind.
Translated from the Latin of Owen.
ON ONE IGNORANT AND ARROGANT.
THou mayst of double ign'rance boast,
Who know'st not that thou nothing know'st.
THAT thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be,
And serpent-like, that none may injure thee I
TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS. I wish thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend; For when at worst, they say, things always mend.
WHEN little more than boy in age,
I deem'd myself almost a sage;
But now seem worthier to be styled,
For ignorance—almost a child.
SUNSET AND SUNRISE.
CoNTEMPLATE, when the sun declines,
Thy death, with deep reflection 1
And when again he rising shines,
Thy day of resurrection 1
Translations from the French of Madame De La Mothe Guyon.
LOVE FAITH FUL IN THE ABSENCE OF THE BELOWED.
Is vain ye woo me to your harmless joys,
Ye pleasant bowers, remote from strife and
Your shades, the witnesses of many a vow,
Breathed forth in happier days, are irksome now ;
Denied that smile ’twas once my heaven to see,
Such scenes, such pleasures, are all past with me.
In vain he leaves me, I shall love him still ;
And, though I mourn, not murmur at his will ;
I have no cause—an object all divine
Might well grow weary of a soul like mine;
Yet pity me, great God —forlorn, alone,
Heartless and hopeless, life and love all gone.
EACE has unveil'd her smiling face,
And woos thy soul to her embrace,
Enjoy'd with ease, if thou refrain
From earthly love, else sought in vain;
She dwells with all who truth prefer,
But seeks not them who seek not her.
Yield to the Lord, with simple heart,
All that thou hast, and all thou art;