English

A SOLILOQUY OF OTHER TIMES .

The clock had struck — the wish'd-for hour was past,
And many a longing look had C ELIA cast:
The scanty ringlets o'er her shoulders flow'd —
No more her head sustain'd the pleasing load;
No more the curls, in tow'ring heaps aspir'd,
Nor vain delusive hopes her bosom fir'd.
The treach'rous Frizeur had forgot the time, —
And what could ere excuse so black a crime?
The hopeless C ELIA , on a couch reclin'd,
Thus spoke the tortures of her restless mind: —

A FABLE

As Charity, the other day,
Unheeded took her secret way;
Her face was mask'd, her air serene —
She stole so softly o'er the green,
No human creature cou'd have heard her;
Even Malice wou'd have thought her further.
Cautious of treach'ry seem'd the maid,
Of her own shadow half afraid;
She often look'd behind her too,
That none her footsteps might pursue.
Thus as she walk'd with cautious feet,
Hypocrisy she chanc'd to meet,
Who wore a face so like her own,

Why shoulde we feare to dye?
Or seeke from Death to flye,
When Death the way doth make,
Eche worldly woe to slake,
By whome we passe to ioye,
Where neuer comes annoye.

Our tryflying tryumphs heere,
Though we esteeme them deere,
Are like to vapours vayne,
That waste with little rayne,
Deluding Dreames in deede,
Whereon our fancies feede.

What yeelde our pleasures all,
But sweetenesse mixt with Gall,
Their pryme of chiefest pride,
Vnwares away doth slide,
Whose shewe of sweete delight,

On hopes of his Recovery, after being dangerously wounded in a Duel

Since still the vital flame is left to burn,
And life's gay flatt'ring prospects to return;
Oh! may the hours of pain a blessing prove,
And Custom's fatal prejudice remove.
Pain, that recalls faint Reason in her flight —
Displays fair Truth in all her dazzling light —
Expells proud Passion — clears the minds deceit,
And shews 'tis oft its own most dangerous cheat,
Oh! may it check the ardour of thy Soul,
Where vile Revenge the mask of Honour stole.

— Sunt ipsa pericula tanti.

Her Viceroy now had Ireland 's Coast
Survey'd with his last parting Eye:
And now the less'ning Land was lost,
And all was only Sea and Sky;

When round the watr'y Mountains rise,
Rolling aloft in proud Array,
Roar the rough Winds, the Lightning flies,
And black'ning Clouds exclude the Day.

The lab'ring Bark no Stay nor Rest,
No Help or knows, or hopes to find;

When P HEBVS bright was setled in the West,
And darknesse dimme, the earth had ouerspread:
When sylent night, that moues eche thing to rest,
With quyet pawse, had plaste me in my bed,
In slombring Dreame, me thought I heard a wyght,
His woes bewayle, that grewe through loues despyght.

Whose wearing weede and vestures all were greene,
Saue that his loynes with black were girded rounde:
And on his brest a badge of blewe was seene,
In signe his fayth and truth remayned sounde.
He sighed oft and said, O blissul hier,

Though P ARIS prayse, Apollos Impe gan stayne,
When change of choyce his fickle humor fedde,
And C ARTHAGE cryes, with strayned voyce complayne,
On periurde Prince, by night that faithlesse fledde.
Though I ASONS heste M EDEA founde vntrue,
And others mo there be whose fancye past:
That skorne the olde still haunting after newe,
Wythin whose hartes no leeking long may last,
Yet tyll syr P HEBVS beames shall lose their light,
And Ocean Seas doe cease to ebbe and flowe:
Vntill the day shall turne to perfite night,

For future Fame when anxious we prepare,
How false our Views, how fruitless is our Care!
In vain Ambition hopes, or Virtue claims;
'Tis Fate, imperious Fate controuls our Aims.
See what a glorious Trophy Cotton rears!
The learned Spoils of twice a thousand Years;
From Goths and Vandals 'scap'd, and what we feel
Than these more dreadful, from Reforming Zeal;
From ev'ry Foe the Muses us'd to fear,
Sacred and safe preserv'd—to perish Here!
 So Philadelphus through the World explor'd,
And Learning's copious Works insatiate stor'd;

He that hes no will to wirk;
And luifs not God, nor haly kirk;
And hes no lands, [furth] for to spend;
Nor yit hes freynds, his needs to mend;
And hes na rent, quhairon to leif;
And will not beg, thoch men wald geif;
And with that is trym, fat, and fair —
How sall he byde the justice-ayr?

Queen of all Virtues! for whate'er we call
Godlike and Great, 'tis Thou obtain'st it all.
No Task too arduous for thy strong Essay,
And Art and Nature own thy potent Sway.
Inspir'd by Thee to each superior Aim,
We press with Ardour thro' the Paths of Fame
Up to the sacred Top, and leave behind
Th'inglorious Croud, the Herd of Humankind;
Whilst Wisdom round us pours her heav'nly Ray,
And old Experience guides our steady Way.
No anxious Cares, no furious Lusts controul
The free habitual Vigour of the Soul.