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85. 'Tis pleasant, by the cheerful hearth, to hear Of tempests and the dangers of the deep, And pause at times, and feel that we are safe; Then listen to the perilous tale again, And, with an eager and suspended soul, Woo terror to delight us. But to hear The roaring of the raging elements; To know all human skill, all human strength, Avail not; to look round, and only see The mountain-wave incumbent, with its weight Of bursting waters o'er the reeling bark— O God! this is, indeed, a dreadful thing! And he who hath endur'd the horror, once, Of such an hour, doth never hear the storm Howl round his home, but he remembers it, And thinks upon the suffering mariner. 86. There is a Pow'r Unseen, that rules th' illimitable world, That guides its motions from the brightest star To the least dust of this sin-tainted mould; While man, who madly deems himself the lord Of all, is nought but weakness and dependence. This sacred truth, by sure experience taught, Thou must have learned when wandering all alone, Each bird, each insect, flitting through the sky, Was more sufficient for itself than thou.
87. Reflect that life and death, affecting sounds, Are only varied modes of endless being. Reflect that life, like every other blessing, Derives its value from its use alone; Nor for itself, but for a nobler end, Th' Eternal gave it, and that end is virtue. When inconsistent with a greater good, Reason commands to cast the less away; Thus life, with loss of wealth, is well preserved, And virtue cheaply saved with loss of life.
88. What does not fade? The tower that long had stood
Till the great FATHER, through the lifeless gloom,
And bid new planets roll by other laws.
89. Oh, it is excellent to have a giant's strength; But it is tyrannous to use it like a giant.
Could great men thunder
As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet;
For every pelting, petty officer,
Would use his heaven for thunder; nothing but thunder.
Thou rather, with thy sharp and sulphurous bolt,
Than the soft myrtle: O, but man, proud man!
Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
90. As on thy mother's knee a new-born child,
91. So work the honey bees;
Who, busied in his majesty, surveys
92. I have liv'd long enough; my way of life
Wilt weep ? Wilt fight? Wilt fast? Wilt tear thyself?
And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw
Singeing his pate against the burning zone,
Make Ossa like a wart!
94. And is this all? Can reason do no more Than bid me shun the deep, and dread the shore? Sweet moralist! afloat on life's rough sea, The Christian has an art unknown to thee; He holds no parley with unmanly fears, Where duty bids he confidently steers; Faces a thousand dangers at her call, And trusting in his God surmounts them all. 95. She never told her love, But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought; And, with a green and yellow melancholy, She sat like Patience on a monument,
Smiling at grief.
96. Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed. The breath of night's destructive to the hue Of every flower that blows. Go to the field, And ask the humble daisy why it sleeps, Soon as the sun departs: Why close the eyes Of blossoms infinite, ere the still moon Her oriental veil puts off? Think why, Nor let the sweetest blossom be exposed That nature boasts, to night's unkindly damp. Well may it droop, and all its freshness lose. Compelled to taste the rank and poisonous steam Of midnight theatre, and morning ball. Give to repose the solemn hours she claims ; And from the forehead of the morning, steal The sweet occasion. Oh! there is a charm That morning has that gives the brow of age A smack of youth, and makes the life of youth Breathe perfumes exquisite. Expect it not, Ye who till morn upon a down bed lie, Indulging feverish sleep, or wakeful, dream Of happiness no mortal heart has felt, But in the regions of romance.
97. Oh, how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which nature to her votaries yields? The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves and garniture of fields; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, And all that echoes to the song of even;
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
And all the dread magnificence of heaven
Oh, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven? 98. It wins my admiration
To view the structure of that little work
A bird's nest. Mark it well within, without;
No tool had he that wrought; no knife to cut;
No glue to join; his little beak was all;
And yet how nicely finish'd. What nice hand,
99. The liquid lake that works below,
Of herb, leaf, fruit, and flower, from end to end