Poetical Works of Johnson, Parnell, Gray, and Smollett Part 15

Thus with the G.o.ds debate began, On such a trivial cause as Man.

And can celestial tempers rage?

(Quoth Virgil in a later age.)

As thus they wrangled, Time came by; (There's none that paint him such as I, 50 For what the fabling ancients sung Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.) As yet his winters had not shed Their silver honours on his head; He just had got his pinions free From his old sire Eternity.

A serpent girdled round he wore, The tail within the mouth before; By which our almanacs are clear That learned Egypt meant the year. 60 A staff he carried, where on high A gla.s.s was fix'd to measure by, As amber boxes made a show For heads of canes an age ago.

His vest, for day and night, was pied, A bending sickle arm'd his side, And Spring's new months his train adorn; The other Seasons were unborn.

Known by the G.o.ds, as near he draws, They make him umpire of the cause. 70 O'er a low trunk his arm he laid, (Where since his Hours a dial made;) Then, leaning, heard the nice debate, And thus p.r.o.nounced the words of Fate:

Since Body from the parent Earth, And Soul from Jove received a birth, Return they where they first began; But since their union makes the Man, Till Jove and Earth shall part these two, To Care, who join'd them, Man is due. 80

He said, and sprung with swift career To trace a circle for the year, Where ever since the Seasons wheel, And tread on one another's heel.

'Tis well, said Jove, and for consent Thundering he shook the firmament; Our umpire Time shall have his way, With Care I let the creature stay: Let business vex him, avarice blind, Let doubt and knowledge rack his mind, 90 Let error act, opinion speak, And want afflict, and sickness break, And anger burn, dejection chill, And joy distract, and sorrow kill, Till, arm'd by Care, and taught to mow, Time draws the long destructive blow; And wasted Man, whose quick decay, Comes hurrying on before his day, Shall only find, by this decree, The Soul flies sooner back to me. 100

AN IMITATION OF SOME FRENCH VERSES.

Relentless Time! destroying power Whom stone and bra.s.s obey, Who giv'st to every flying hour To work some new decay; Unheard, unheeded, and unseen, Thy secret saps prevail, And ruin Man, a nice machine By Nature form'd to fail.

My change arrives; the change I meet, Before I thought it nigh. 10 My spring, my years of pleasure fleet, And all their beauties die.

In age I search, and only find A poor unfruitful gain, Grave Wisdom stalking slow behind, Oppress'd with loads of pain.

My ignorance could once beguile, And fancied joys inspire; My errors cherish'd hope to smile On newly-born desire. 20 But now experience shows the bliss, For which I fondly sought, Not worth the long impatient wish, And ardour of the thought.

My youth met Fortune fair array'd; In all her pomp she shone, And might perhaps have well essay'd To make her gifts my own: But when I saw the blessings shower On some unworthy mind, 30 I left the chase, and own'd the power Was justly painted blind.

I pa.s.s'd the glories which adorn The splendid courts of kings, And while the persons moved my scorn.

I rose to scorn the things.

My manhood felt a vigorous fire, By love increased the more; But years with coming years conspire To break the chains I wore. 40 In weakness safe, the s.e.x I see With idle l.u.s.tre s.h.i.+ne; For what are all their joys to me, Which cannot now be mine?

But hold--I feel my gout decrease, My troubles laid to rest, And truths which would disturb my peace, Are painful truths at best.

Vainly the time I have to roll In sad reflection flies; 50 Ye fondling pa.s.sions of my soul!

Ye sweet deceits! arise.

I wisely change the scene within, To things that used to please; In pain, philosophy is spleen, In health, 'tis only ease.

A NIGHT-PIECE ON DEATH.

By the blue taper's trembling light, No more I waste the wakeful night, Intent with endless view to pore The schoolmen and the sages o'er: Their books from wisdom widely stray, Or point at best the longest way.

I'll seek a readier path, and go Where wisdom's surely taught below.

How deep yon azure dyes the sky, Where orbs of gold unnumber'd lie, 10 While through their ranks in silver pride The nether crescent seems to glide!

The slumbering breeze forgets to breathe, The lake is smooth and clear beneath, Where once again the spangled show Descends to meet our eyes below.

The grounds which on the right aspire, In dimness from the view retire: The left presents a place of graves, Whose wall the silent water laves. 20 That steeple guides thy doubtful sight, Among the livid gleams of night.

There pa.s.s, with melancholy state, By all the solemn heaps of fate, And think, as softly-sad you tread Above the venerable dead, 'Time was, like thee they life possess'd, And time shall be, that thou shalt rest.'

Those graves, with bending osier bound, That nameless heave the crumbled ground, 30 Quick to the glancing thought disclose Where Toil and Poverty repose.

The flat smooth stones that bear a name, The chisel's slender help to fame, Which, e'er our set of friends decay, Their frequent steps may wear away, A middle race of mortals own, Men half-ambitious, all unknown.

The marble tombs that rise on high, Whose dead in vaulted arches lie, 40 Whose pillars swell with sculptured stones, Arms, angels, epitaphs, and bones;-- These (all the poor remains of state) Adorn the rich, or praise the great; Who while on earth in fame they live, Are senseless of the fame they give.

Ha! while I gaze, pale Cynthia fades, The bursting earth unveils the shades!

All slow, and wan, and wrapp'd with shrouds, They rise in visionary crowds, 50 And all with sober accent cry, 'Think, mortal, what it is to die!'

Now from yon black and funeral yew, That bathes the charnal-house with dew, Methinks I hear a voice begin; (Ye ravens, cease your croaking din, Ye tolling clocks, no time resound O'er the long lake and midnight ground!) It sends a peal of hollow groans, Thus speaking from among the bones: 60

'When men my scythe and darts supply, How great a king of fears am I!

They view me like the last of things: They make, and then they dread, my stings.

Fools! if you less provoked your fears, No more my spectre-form appears.

Death's but a path that must be trod, If man would ever pa.s.s to G.o.d: A port of calms, a state of ease From the rough rage of swelling seas. 70

Why, then, thy flowing sable stoles, Deep pendent cypress, mourning poles, Loose scarfs to fall athwart thy weeds, Long palls, drawn hea.r.s.es, cover'd steeds, And plumes of black, that, as they tread, Nod o'er the 'scutcheons of the dead?

Nor can the parted body know, Nor wants the soul these forms of woe: As men who long in prison dwell, With lamps that glimmer round the cell, 80 Whene'er their suffering years are run, Spring forth to greet the glittering sun: Such joy, though far transcending sense, Have pious souls at parting hence.

On earth, and in the body placed, A few, and evil years, they waste: But when their chains are cast aside, See the glad scene unfolding wide, Clap the glad wing and tower away, And mingle with the blaze of day!' 90

A HYMN TO CONTENTMENT.

Lovely, lasting peace of mind!

Sweet delight of human kind!

Heavenly born, and bred on high, To crown the favourites of the sky With more of happiness below, Than victors in a triumph know!

Whither, oh! whither art thou fled, To lay thy meek, contented head?

What happy region dost thou please To make the seat of calm and ease? 10

Ambition searches all its sphere Of pomp and state, to meet thee there.

Increasing Avarice would find Thy presence in its gold enshrined.

The bold adventurer ploughs his way, Through rocks amidst the foaming sea, To gain thy love; and then perceives Thou wert not in the rocks and waves.

The silent heart which grief a.s.sails, Treads soft and lonesome o'er the vales, 20 Sees daisies open, rivers run, And seeks (as I have vainly done) Amusing thought; but learns to know That Solitude's the nurse of Woe.

No real happiness is found In trailing purple o'er the ground; Or in a soul exalted high, To range the circuit of the sky, Converse with stars above, and know All Nature in its forms below; 30 The rest it seeks, in seeking dies, And doubts at last for knowledge rise.

Lovely, lasting peace appear!

This world itself, if thou art here, Is once again with Eden bless'd, And Man contains it in his breast.

'Twas thus, as under shade I stood, I sung my wishes to the wood, And, lost in thought, no more perceived The branches whisper as they waved: 40 It seem'd as all the quiet place Confess'd the presence of the Grace, When thus she spoke:--'Go, rule thy will; Bid thy wild pa.s.sions all be still; Know G.o.d--and bring thy heart to know The joys which from Religion flow: Then every Grace shall prove its guest, And I'll be there to crown the rest.'

Oh! by yonder mossy seat, In my hours of sweet retreat; 50 Might I thus my soul employ, With sense of grat.i.tude and joy!

Raised as ancient prophets were, In heavenly vision, praise, and prayer; Pleasing all men, hurting none, Pleased and bless'd with G.o.d alone: Then, while the gardens take my sight With all the colours of delight; While silver waters glide along, To please my ear, and court my song: 60 I'll lift my voice, and tune my string, And Thee, Great Source of Nature! sing.

The sun, that walks his airy way, To light the world, and give the day; The moon, that s.h.i.+nes with borrow'd light; The stars, that gild the gloomy night; The seas, that roll unnumber'd waves; The wood, that spreads its shady leaves; The field, whose ears conceal the grain, The yellow treasure of the plain;-- 70 All of these, and all I see, Should be sung, and sung by me: They speak their Maker as they can, But want, and ask, the tongue of man.

Go, search among your idle dreams, Your busy, or your vain extremes; And find a life of equal bliss, Or own the next begun in this!