Though faction's scorn at first did shun With coldness thy inspired song, Though clouds of malice pa.s.sed thy sun, They could not hide it long; Its brightness soon exhaled away Dank night, and gained eternal day.

The critics' wrath did darkly frown Upon thy muse's mighty lay; But blasts that break the blossom down Do only stir the bay; And thine shall flourish, green and long, With the eternity of song.

Thy genius saw, in quiet mood, Gilt fashion's follies pa.s.s thee by, And, like the monarch of the wood, Towered oer it to the sky, Where thou couldst sing of other spheres, And feel the fame of future years.

Though bitter sneers and stinging scorns Did throng the muse's dangerous way, Thy powers were past such little thorns, They gave thee no dismay; The scoffer's insult pa.s.sed thee by, Thou smild'st and mad'st him no reply.

Envy will gnaw its heart away To see thy genius gather root; And as its flowers their sweets display Scorn's malice shall be mute; Hornets that summer warmed to fly, Shall at the death of summer die.

Though friendly praise hath but its hour.

And little praise with thee hath been; The bay may lose its summer flower, But still its leaves are green; And thine, whose buds are on the shoot, Shall only fade to change to fruit.

Fame lives not in the breath of words, In public praises' hue and cry; The music of these summer birds Is silent in a winter sky, When thine shall live and flourish on, Oer wrecks where crowds of fames are gone.

The ivy shuns the city wall, When busy clamorous crowds intrude, And climbs the desolated hall In silent solitude; The time-worn arch, the fallen dome, Are roots for its eternal home.

The bard his glory neer receives Where summer's common flowers are seen, But winter finds it when she leaves The laurel only green; And time from that eternal tree, Shall weave a wreath to honour thee;

A sunny wreath for poets meet, From Helicon's immortal soil, Where sacred Time with pilgrim feet Walks forth to worship, not to spoil, A wreath which Fame creates and bears, And deathless genius only heirs.

Nought but thy ashes shall expire; Thy genius, at thy obsequies, Shall kindle up its living fire And light the muse's skies; Ay, it shall rise, and shine, and be A sun in song's posterity.

_The Vanities of Life_

Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.--_Solomon_

What are life's joys and gains?

What pleasures crowd its ways, That man should take such pains To seek them all his days?

Sift this untoward strife On which thy mind is bent: See if this chaff of life Is worth the trouble spent.

Is pride thy heart's desire?

Is power thy climbing aim?

Is love thy folly's fire?

Is wealth thy restless game?

Pride, power, love, wealth, and all Time's touchstone shall destroy, And, like base coin, prove all Vain subst.i.tutes for joy.

Dost think that pride exalts Thyself in other's eyes, And hides thy folly's faults, Which reason will despise?

Dost strut, and turn, and stride, Like walking weatherc.o.c.ks?

The shadow by thy side Becomes thy ape, and mocks.

Dost think that power's disguise Can make thee mighty seem?

It may in folly's eyes, But not in worth's esteem, When all that thou canst ask, And all that she can give, Is but a paltry mask Which tyrants wear and live.

Go, let thy fancies range And ramble where they may; View power in every change, And what is the display?

--The country magistrate, The meanest shade in power, To rulers of the state, The meteors of an hour.

View all, and mark the end Of every proud extreme, Where flattery turns a friend, And counterfeits esteem; Where worth is aped in show, That doth her name purloin, Like toys of golden glow That's sold for copper coin.

Ambition's haughty nod With fancies may deceive, Nay, tell thee thou'rt a G.o.d, And wilt thou such believe?

Go, bid the seas be dry; Go, hold earth like a ball, Or throw thy fancies by, For G.o.d can do it all.

Dost thou possess the dower Of laws to spare or kill?

Call it not heavenly power When but a tyrant's will.

Know what a G.o.d will do, And know thyself a fool, Nor, tyrant-like, pursue Where He alone should rule.

O put away thy pride, Or be ashamed of power That cannot turn aside The breeze that waves a flower.

Or bid the clouds be still: Though shadows, they can brave Thy poor power mocking will: Then make not man a slave.

Dost think, when wealth is won, Thy heart has its desire?

Hold ice up to the sun, And wax before the fire; Nor triumph oer the reign Which they so soon resign; In this world's ways they gain, Insurance safe as thine.

Dost think life's peace secure In house and in land?

Go, read the fairy lure To twist a cord in sand; Lodge stones upon the sky, Hold water in a sieve, Nor give such tales the lie, And still thine own believe.

Whoso with riches deals, And thinks peace bought and sold, Will find them slipping eels, That slide the firmest hold: Though sweet as sleep with health Thy lulling luck may be, Pride may oerstride thy wealth, And check prosperity.

Dost think that beauty's power Life sweetest pleasure gives?

Go, pluck the summer flower, And see how long it lives: Behold, the rays glide on Along the summer plain Ere thou canst say "they're gone,"

And measure beauty's reign.

Look on the brightest eye, Nor teach it to be proud; View but the clearest sky, And thou shalt find a cloud; Nor call each face ye meet An angel's, cause it's fair, But look beneath your feet, And think of what they are.

Who thinks that love doth live In beauty's tempting show, Shall find his hopes ungive, And melt in reason's thaw.

Who thinks that pleasure lies In every fairy bower, Shall oft, to his surprise, Find poison in the flower.

Dost lawless pa.s.sions grasp?

Judge not thou deal'st in joy: Its flowers but hide the asp, Thy revels to destroy.

Who trusts an harlot's smile, And by her wiles are led, Plays, with a sword the while Hung dropping oer his head.

Dost doubt my warning song?

Then doubt the sun gives light, Doubt truth to teach thee wrong, And wrong alone as right; And live as lives the knave, Intrigue's deceiving guest; Be tyrant, or be slave, As suits thy ends the best.

Or pause amid thy toils For visions won and lost, And count the fancied spoils, If eer they quit the cost: And if they still possess Thy mind, as worthy things, Plat straws with bedlam Bess, And call them diamond rings.

Thy folly's past advice, Thy heart's already won, Thy fall's above all price, So go, and be undone; For all who thus prefer The seeming great for small Shall make wine vinegar, And sweetest honey gall.

Wouldst heed the truths I sing, To profit wherewithal, Clip folly's wanton wing, And keep her within call.

I've little else to give, What thou canst easy try; The lesson how to live Is but to learn to die.

_Death_

Why should man's high aspiring mind Burn in him with so proud a breath, When all his haughty views can find In this world yields to death?

The fair, the brave, the vain, the wise, The rich, the poor, the great, and small, Are each but worm's anatomies To strew his quiet hall.

Power may make many earthly G.o.ds, Where gold and bribery's guilt prevails, But death's unwelcome, honest odds Kick o'er the unequal scales.

The flattered great may clamours raise Of power, and their own weakness hide, But death shall find unlooked-for ways To end the farce of pride,