boundless whole, avert those ills?We richly merit: purge away?The sins which on our vitals prey;?Protect, with Thine almighty shield?Our conquering arms by flood and field,?Wheel round the time when Peace shall smile?O'er Britain's highly-favoured Isle;?When all shall loud hosannas sing?To Thee, the great Eternal King!
But hark! the bleak, loud whistling wind!?Its crushing blast recalls to mind?The dangers of the troubled deep;?Where, with a fierce and thundering sweep,?The winds in wild distraction rave,?And push along the mountain wave?With dreadful swell and hideous curl!?Whilst hung aloft in giddy whirl,?Or drop beneath the ocean's bed,?The leaky bark without a shred?Of rigging sweeps through dangers dread.?The flaring beacon points the way,?And fast the pumps loud clanking play:?It 'vails not--hark! with crashing shock?She's shivered 'gainst the solid rock,?Or by the fierce, incessant waves?Is beaten to a thousand staves;?Or bilging at her crazy side,?Admits the thundering hostile tide,?And down she sinks!--triumphant rave?The winds, and close her wat'ry grave!
The merchant's care and toil are vain,?His hopes He buried in the main--?In vain the mother's tearful eye?Looks for its sole remaining joy--?In vain fair Susan walks the shore,?And sighs for him she'll see no more--?For deep they lie in ocean's womb,?And fester in a wat'ry tomb.
Now, from the frothy, thundering main,?My meditations seek the plain,?Where, with a swift fantastic flight,?They scour the regions of the night,?Free as the winds that wildly blow?O'er hill and dale the blinding snow,?Or, through the woods, their frolics play,?And whirling, sweep the dusty way,?When summer shines with burning glare,?And sportive breezes skim the air,?And Ocean's glassy breast is fanned?To softest curl by Zephyr bland.
But Summer's gone, and Winter's here--?With iron sceptre rules the year--?Beneath this dark inclement sky?How many wanderers faint and die!?One, flouncing o'er the treacherous snow,?Sinks in the pit that yawns below!?Another numbed, with panting lift?Inhales the suffocating drift!?And creeping cold, with stiffening force,?Extends a third, a pallid corse!
Thus death, in varied dreadful form,?Triumphant rides along the storm:?With shocking scenes assails the sight,?And makes more sad the dismal night!?How blest the man, whose lot is free?From such distress and misery;?Who, sitting by his blazing fire,?Is closely wrapt in warm attire;?Whose sparkling glasses blush with wine?Of mirthful might and flavour fine;?Whose house, compact and strong, defies?The rigour of the angry skies!?The ruffling winds may blow their last,?And snows come driving on the blast;?And frosts their icy morsels fling,?But all within is mild as spring!
How blest is he!--blest did I say??E'en sorrow here oft finds its way.?The senses numbed by frequent use,?Of criminal, absurd abuse?Of heaven's blessings, listless grow,?And life is but a dream of woe.
Oft fostered on the lap of ease,?Grow racking pain and foul disease,?And nervous whims, a ghastly train,?Inflicting more than corp'ral pain:?Oft gold and shining pedigree?Prove only splendid misery.?The king who sits upon his throne,?And calls the kneeling world his own,?Has oft of cares a greater load?Than he who feels his iron rod.
No state is free from care and pain?Where fiery passions get the rein,?Or soft indulgence, joined with ease,?Begets a thousand ills to tease:?Where fair Religion, heavenly maid,?Has slighted still her offered aid.?Her matchless power the will subdues,?And gives the judgment clearer views:?Denies no source of real pleasure,?And yields us blessings out of measure;?Our prospect brightens, proves our stay,?December turns to smiling May;?Conveys us to that peaceful shore,?By raging billows lashed no more,?Where endless happiness remains,?And one eternal summer reigns.
VERSES SENT TO A LADY ON HER?BIRTHDAY.
The joyous day illumes the sky?That bids each care and sorrow fly
To shades of endless night:?E'en frozen age, thawed in the fires?Of social mirth, feels young desires,
And tastes of fresh delight.
In thoughtful mood your parents dear,?Whilst joy smiles through the starting tear,
Give approbation due.?As each drinks deep in mirthful wine?Your rosy health, and looks benign
Are sent to heaven for you.
But let me whisper, lovely fair,?This joy may soon give place to care,
And sorrow cloud this day;?Full soon your eyes of sparkling blue,?And velvet lips of scarlet hue,
Discoloured, may decay.
As bloody drops on virgin snows,?So vies the lily with the rose
Full on your dimpled cheek;?But ah! the worm in lazy coil?May soon prey on this putrid spoil,
Or leap in loathsome freak.
Fond wooers come with flattering tale,?And load with sighs the passing gale,
And love-distracted rave:?But hark, fair maid! whate'er they say,?You're but a breathing mass of clay,
Fast ripening for the grave.
Behold how thievish Time has been!?Full eighteen summers you have seen,
And yet they seem a day??Whole years, collected in Time's glass,?In silent lapse how soon they pass,
And steal your life away!
The flying hour none can arrest,?Nor yet recall one moment past,
And what more dread must seem?Is, that to-morrow's not your own--?Then haste! and ere your life has flown
The subtle hours redeem.
Attend with care to what I sing:?Know time is ever on the wing;
None can its flight detain;?Then, like a pilgrim passing by,?Take home this hint, as time does fly,
"All earthly things are vain."
Let nothing here
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