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How beautiful upon the wave
The vessel sails that comes to save;
See how before the wind she goes,
Scattering the waves like melting snows!
Her course with glory fills
The sea for many a league. Descending,
She stoopeth now into the vale,
Now, as more freshly blows the gale,
She mounts in triumph o'er the watery hills.
Oh! whither is she tending? Professor Wilson.
Lo! yonder barks that from the calm bay glide,
Buoyant they ride over the deep abyss,
The swift winds follow their white sails to kiss; Prancing like steeds, they spurn the purple tide. But whither do they go, or when return.
Unlimited to me their course appears,
Too wide the space to be devoid of fears, Though for their guide in heaven a star should burn. As one by one majestic they advance,
In vain the waves their bounding strength oppose, On, on, her country's pride, the vessel goes; Light as the breezes that around her dance; So like a thing of hope she leaves the bay, A spirit passing from our world away.
Morn on the waters! and purple and bright,
Bursts on the billows the flashing of light;}
O'er the glad waves, like a child in the sun,
See the tall vessel goes gallantly on;
Full on the breeze she unbosoms her sail,
And her pennon streams onward like hope in the gale.
'Tis thus with our life as it passes along,
Like a vessel at sea amid sunshine and song!
Gaily we glide in the gaze of the world,
With streamers afloat, and with canvass unfurled;
All gladness and glory to wandering eyes,
Yet freighted with sorrow, and chartered with sighs.
T. K. Hervey.
THERE is no vice so simple, but assumes
Some marks of virtue on its outward parts.
Vice never doth her just hate so provoke
As when she rageth under virtue's cloak.-Chapman.
Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen;
But, seen too oft, familiar to the face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.
Ah me! from real happiness we stray,
By vice bewilder'd; vice, which always leads,
However fair at first, to wilds of wo.
Should vice expect to 'scape rebuke
Because its owner is a duke?
For transient vice bequeaths a lingering pain,
Which transient virtue seeks to cure in vain.
Is there a place save one the poet sees,
A land of life, of liberty, and ease;
Where labour wearies not, nor cares oppress
Th' eternal flow of rustic happiness;
Where no proud mansion frowns in awful state,
To keep the sunshine from the cottage gate;
Where young and old intent on pleasure throng,
And half man's life is holiday and song?
Vain search for scenes like these! no view appears
By sighs unruffled, or unstain'd by tears;
Since vice the world subdued, and waters drowned,
Auburn and Eden can no more be found.
Ah, Vice! how soft are thy voluptuous ways! While boyish blood is mantling, who can 'scape The fascination of thy magic_gaze?
A cherub-hydra round us dost thou gape, And mould to every taste thy dear, delusive shape!
Then, if by gathering woes oppressed
Thou seest fair virtue here encumbered,
Or vice upborne with haughty crest
Amid the sons of glory numbered,
Oh, never lend impatient lips
To question or complaint unholy,
But wait the great Apocalypse
With humble hope and reverence lowly.
While virtue lends a zest to joy,
And bliss to rapture warms,
Our very tears she turns to smiles,
And every pang
But vice her foul Circean cup
May medicate in vain:
E'en in her mirth some sorrow lurks,
In all her pleasures, pain.
Since this, with voice from heaven, proclaims
That He that rules above
Doth on the side of virtue stand,
Let fear be lost in love.
Он, sad vicissitude
Of earthly things! to what untimely end
Are all the fading glories that attend
Upon the state of greatest monarchs brought!
What safety can by policy be wrought,
Or rest be found in fortune's restless wheel.
But there's a sure vicissitude below,
Of light and darkness, happiness and woe;
The dawn of day is an approach to night,
And grief is the conclusion of delight.
Verse sweetens toil, however rude the sound;
All at her work the village maiden sings;
Nor, as she turns the giddy wheel around,
Revolves the sad vicissitude of things.
'Tis not victory to win the field,
Unless we make our enemies to yield
More to our justice, than our force; and so
As well instruct, as overcome our foe.
"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout:
But what they kill'd each other for,
I could not well make out.
But every body said," quoth he,
"That 't was a famous victory.
They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won;
For many thousand bodies here
Lay rotting in the sun;
But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory."
I LIKE not fair terms, and a villain's mind.
Calm, thinking villains, whom no faith could fix,
Of crooked counsels and dark politics.
THESE violent delights have violent ends,
And in their triumph die; like fire and powder,
Which as they meet consume. The sweetest honey
Is loathsome in its own deliciousness,
And in the taste confounds the appetite.-Shakspere.
He does mainly vary from my sense,
Who thinks the empire gain'd by violence
More absolute and durable than that
Which gentleness and friendship do create.
I'LL leave my son my virtuous deeds behind;
And would my father had left me no more!
For all the rest is held at such a rate,
As brings a thousand fold more care to keep,
Than in possession any jot of pleasure. Shakspere.
Forgive me this my virtue:
For, in the fatness of these pursy times,
Virtue itself of vice must pardon beg;
Yea, curb, and woo, for leave to do him good.
Virtue's a solid rock, whereat being aim'd
The keenest darts of envy, yet unhurt
Her marble hero stands, built of such basis,
While they recoil and wound the shooter's face.
Mortals, that would follow me,
Love virtue: she alone is free:
She can teach you how to climb
Higher than the sphery clime;
Or if virtue feeble were,
Heaven itself would stoop to her.
Virtue may be assail'd, but never hurt;
Surpris'd by unjust force, but not enthrall'd;
Yet even that, which mischief meant most harm,
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory.
For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds,
And though a late, a sure reward succeeds.
Shall ignorance of good and ill
Dare to direct th' eternal will?
Seek virtue; and, of that possess'd,
To Providence resign the rest.
Each must in virtue strive for to excel;
The man lives twice who lives the first life well.