Silent he walks the road of life along,
And views the aims of its tumultuous throng:
He finds what shapes the Proteus-passions take,
And what strange waste of life and joy they make,
And loves to show them in their varied ways,
With honest blame or with unflattering praise :
'Tis good to know, 'tis pleasant to impart,
These turns and movements of the human heart:
The stronger features of the soul to paint,
And make distinct the latent and the faint;
MAN AS HE is, to place in all men's view,
Yet none with rancour, none with scorn pursue :
Nor be it ever of my Portraits told—
"Here the strong lines of malice we behold."
SWEET
was the morning's breath, the inland tide,
And our boat gliding, where alone could glide
Small craft and they oft touch'd on either side.
It was my first-born joy. I heard them say,
"Let the child go; he will enjoy the day."
For children ever feel delighted when
They take their portion, and enjoy with men.
Give him the pastime that the old partake,
And he will quickly top and taw forsake.
The linnet chirp'd upon the furze as well,
To my young sense, as sings the nightingale.
Without was paradise-because within
Was a keen relish, without taint of sin.
A town appear'd,—and where an infant went, Could they determine, on themselves intent? I lost my way, and my companions me, And all, their comforts and tranquillity. Mid-day it was, and, as the sun declined, The good, found early, I no more could find : The men drank much, to whet the appetite; And, growing heavy, drank to make them light; Then drank to relish joy, then further to excite.
Their cheerfulness did but a moment last;
Something fell short, or something overpast.
The lads play'd idly with the helm and oar,
And nervous women would be set on shore,
Till "civil dudgeon" grew, and peace would smile no
Now on the colder water faintly shone
The sloping light-the cheerful day was gone;
Frown'd every cloud, and from the gather'd frown
The thunder burst, and rain came pattering down.
Now, all the freshness of the morning fled,
My spirits burden'd, and my heart was dead;
And when, at length, the dreaded storm went past,
And there was peace and quietness at last,
'Twas not the morning's quiet-it was not
Pleasure revived, but Misery forgot:
It was not Joy that now commenced her reign,
But mere relief from wretchedness and Pain.
So many a day, in life's advance, I knew; So they commenced, and so they ended too. The promised joy, that like this morning rose, Broke on my view, then clouded at its close; E'en Love himself, that promiser of bliss, Made his best days of pleasure end like this: He mix'd his bitters in the cup of joy,
Nor gave a bliss uninjured by alloy.
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