In dreadful pomp he takes his way

O'er ruin'd crowns, demolish'd thrones:
Pale tyrants shrink before his blaze-
Round him terrific lightnings play;

With eyes of fire he looks them through,
Crushes the vile despotic crew,

And Pride in ruin lays.

20

1795.

ON A HONEY BEE

DRINKING FROM A GLASS OF WINE AND DROWNED THEREIN

Thou born to sip the lake or spring,
Or quaff the waters of the stream,
Why hither come on vagrant wing?
Does Bacchus tempting seem-
Did he for you this glass prepare?
Will I admit you to a share?

Did storms harrass or foes perplex,
Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay,
Did wars distress or labours vex,
Or did you miss your way?
A better seat you could not take
Than on the margin of this lake.

Welcome! I hail you to my glass;
All welcome here you find:
Here let the cloud of trouble pass,
Here be all care resigned.
This fluid never fails to please,

And drown the griefs of men or bees.

5

ΙΟ

15

20

25

ROBERT TREAT PAINE

FROM

THE RULING PASSION

Life is a print-shop, where the eye may trace
A different outline mark'd in every face:
From chiefs who laurels reap in fields of blood,
Down to the hind who tills those fields for food;
From the lorn nymph in cloister'd abbey pent,
Whose friars teach to love and to repent,
To the young captive in the HARAM's bower,
Blest for a night, and empress of an hour;
From ink's retailers perch'd in garret high,
Cobweb'd around with many a mouldy lie,
Down to the pauper's brat who, luckless wight,
Deep in the cellar first receiv'd the light;
All, all impell'd, as various passions move,
To write, to starve, to conquer, or to love!
All join to shift life's versicolor'd scenes,
Priests, poets, fiddlers, courtesans, and queens.
And be it pride or dress or wealth or fame,
The acting principle is ne'er the same;
Each takes a different rout, o'er hill or vale,
The tangled forest or the greensward dale.

But they who chiefly crowd the field are those
Who live by fashion-CONSTABLES and BEAUS.
The first, I ween, are men of high report,
The LAW's staff-officers, and known at court.
The last, sweet elves, whose rival graces vie
To wield the snuff-box or enact a sigh,
To Fashion's gossamer their lives devote,
The frize, the cane, the cravat, and the coat;
In taste unpolish'd, yet in ton precise,
They sleep at theatres and wake at dice,
While, like the pilgrim's scrip or soldier's pack,

25

30

They carry all their fortune on their back.

From FOPS we turn to PEDANTS-deep and dull,
Grave without sense, o'erflowing yet not full.
See the lank BOOK-WORM, pil'd with lumbering lore,
Wrinkled in Latin and in Greek fourscore,

35

With toil incessant thumbs the ancient page,
Now blots a hero, now turns down a sage.
O'er learning's field with leaden eye he strays,
Mid busts of fame and monuments of praise;
With Gothic foot he treads on flowers of taste,
Yet stoops to pick the pebbles from the waste.
Profound in trifles, he can tell how short
Were Æsop's legs, how large was TULLY'S wart;
And scal'd by GUNTER, marks with joy absurd
The cut of HOMER'S cloak and EUCLID'S beard.
Thus through the weary watch of sleepless night
This learned ploughman plods in piteous plight;
Till the dim taper takes French leave to doze,
And the fat folio tumbles on his toes.
1797.

40

45

50

1797.