Classic Poem

Letters, from absent friends, extinguish fear ,
Unite division , and draw distance near ,
Their magic force each silent wish conveys,
And wafts embody'd thought, a thousand ways:
Cou'd souls to bodies , write, death's power were mean ,
For minds cou'd, then, meet minds, with heaven, between.

Order ! thou eye of action! wanting thee ,
Wisdom works, hoodwink'd , in perplexity:
Entangled reason trips, at every pace ,
And truth , bespotted, puts on error's face

T ENDER - banded stroke a nettle ,
And it stings you, for your pains:
Grasp it, like a man of mettle ,
And it soft as silk , remains.

'T IS the same , with common natures,
Use 'em kindly , they rebel :
But, be rough as Nutmeg-graters ,
And the rogues obey you well.

H OW is the world deceiv'd, by noise , and show!
Alas! how diff'rent , to pretend and know!
Like a poor, high-way brook , pretence runs loud
Bust'ling, but shallow , dirty, weak, and proud:
While, like some nobler stream, true knowledge glides,
Silently strong, and its deep bottom hides.

W HIG and Tory scratch and bite,
Just , as hungry dogs we see:
Toss a bone 'twixt two, they fight ,
Throw a couple , they agree.

Women talk of love for fashion ,
So they do, of Spirit's walking:
But no more they feel the passion ,
Than they see the ghost of which they're talking .

Have a care, gay, young, and wanton,
Give no ground, for love to plant on;
Guard against the fair deceiver,
See and hear , but don't believe her:
Or, if nothing seems unjuster ,
Than to love , and yet distrust her:
On your side to turn the laughter ,
Try her, first , and trust her, after .

Here, in wet , and windy , weather,
Muse , and I , two mopes , together,
Far, from friends and short of pleasure ,
Wanting every thing, but leisure:
Scarce content, in any one sense,
Tell the showers , and scrible nonsense .

Where'er the diamond's busy point could pass,
See! what deep wounds have pierc'd the middle glass !
While partial and untouching , all the rest,
Highest and lowest panes , shine, unimpress'd :
No wonder, this! — For, e'en in life , 'tis so;
High fortunes stand, unreach'd — unseen the low ,
But middle states are marks, for every blow .
As, in a journey , just begun,
We think the distance, vast ,
Yet, while we travel, gayly, on,
Insensibly, 'tis past.

So, in our youth , we measure slow,
Long views of promis'd breath:
'Till, like a shadow , out we go,
And vanish , into death .

Were Women wise , their names on glass ,
Light froth of empty fashion!
Wou'd, to their lovers sorrow, pass
For proofs of brittle passion .

Love should, in secret , like the sun ,
Burn, tho' a world should shade it,
But shows it source of heat, to none,
Except that God , who made it.

Whisp'ring close a maid , long courted,
Thus, cry'd Drone , by touch transported ;
Prithee, tell me, gentle Dolly !
Is not loving long a folly ?
Yes, said she with smile reproving ,
Loving long, and only loving.