Oman, thy kingdom is departing from thee;
And, while it lafts, is emptier than my fhade.'
Its filent language fuch: nor need'st thou call
Thy Magi, to decypher what it means.
Know, like the Median, fate is in thy walls:
Doft afk, How? whence? Belshazzar like, amaz'd?
Man's make enclofes the fure feeds of death;
Life feeds the murderer: ingrate! he thrives
On her own meal, and then his nurfe devours.
But, here, Lorenzo, the delufion lies:
That folar fhadow, as it measures life,
It life resembles too: life fpeeds away
From point to point, though feeming to stand still.
The cunning fugitive is fwift by ftealth:
Too fubtle is the movement to be feen;
Yet foon man's hour is up, and we are gone.
Warnings point out our danger; gnomons, time:
As these are useless when the fun is fet;
So thofe, but when more glorious reason shines.
Reafon fhould judge in all; in reason's eye,
That fedentary shadow travels hard.
But fuch our gravitation to the wrong,
So prone our hearts to whifper what we wish,
'Tis later with the wife, than he's aware:
A Wilmington goes flower than the fun;
And all mankind mistake their time of day;
Ev'n age itself. Fresh hopes are hourly fown
In furrow'd brows. So gentle life's descent,
We shut our eyes, and think it is a plain.
We take fair days in winter, for the fpring;
And turn our bleffings into bane. Since oft
Man must compute that age he cannot feel,
He scarce believes he's older for his years.
Thus, at life's latest eve, we keep in store
One disappointment fure, to crown the rest;
The difappointment of a promis'd hour.
On this, or fimilar, Philander! thou
Whofe mind was moral, as the preacher's tongue;
And strong, to weild all science, worth the name;
How often we talk'd down the fummer's fun,
And cool'd our paffions by the breezy stream!
How often thaw'd, and fhorten'd winter's eve,
By conflict kind, that struck our latent truth,
Best found, fo fought; to the reclufe more coy!
Thoughts difintangle paffing o'er the lip;
Clean runs the thread; if not, 'tis thrown away,
Or kept to tye up nonfenfe for a fong;
Song, fashionably fruitlefs; fuch as stains
The fancy, and unhallow'd paffion fires;
Chiming her faints to Cytherea's fane.
Know'ft thou, Lorenzo! what a friend contains?
As bees mixt nectar draw from fragrant flow'rs,
So men from FRIENDSHIP, wifdom and delight;
Twins ty'd by nature, if they part they die.
Haft thou no friend to fet thy mind abroach?
Good fenfe will ftagnate. Thoughts fhut up, want air,
And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the fun.
Had thought been all, fweet fpeech had been deny'd; Speech, thought's canal! fpeech, thought's criterion too! Thought in the mine, may come forth gold or drofs;
When coin'd in word, we know its real worth.
If fterling, ftore it for thy future ufe;
'Twill buy thee benefit; perhaps, renown.
Thought, too, deliver'd, is the more poffeft;
Teaching, we learn; and giving, we retain
The births of intelle&t; when dumb, forgot.
Speech ventilates our intellectual fire;
Speech burnishes our mental magazine;
Brightens, for ornament; and whets, for use.
What numbers, fheath'd in erudition, lye,
Plung'd to the hilts in venerable tomes,
And rufted in; who might have borne an edge,
And play'd a fprightly beam, if born to fpeech;
If born bleft heirs of half their mother's tongue?
'Tis thought's exchange, which, like th' alternate pufh
Of waves conflicting, breaks the learned fcum,
And defecates the student's standing pool.
In contemplation is his proud refource?
'Tis poor, as proud, by converfe unfuftain'd.
Rude thought runs wild in contemplation's field;
Converse, the menage, breaks it to the bit
Of due restraint; and emulation's fpur
Gives graceful energy, by rivals aw'd.
'Tis converfe qualifies for folitude;
As exercise, for falutary rest.
By that untutor❜d, contemplation raves;
And nature's fool, by wifdom is outdone.
Wisdom, tho' richer than Peruvian mines,
And sweeter than the fweet ambrofial hive,
What is the, but the means of happiness?
And turn our bleflings into bane. Since oft
Man must compute that age he cannot feel,
He fcarce believes he's older for his years.
Thus, at life's lateft eve, we keep in store.
One difappointment fure, to crown the reft;
The difappointment of a promis'd hour.
On this, or fimilar, Philander! thou
Whofe mind was moral, as the preacher's tongue;
And strong, to weild all fcience, worth the name;
How often we talk'd down the fummer's fun,
And cool'd our paffions by the breezy stream!
How often thaw'd, and fhorten'd winter's eve,
By conflict kind, that ftruck our latent truth,
Beft found, fo fought; to the reclufe more coy!
Thoughts difintangle paffing o'er the lip;
Clean runs the thread; if not, 'tis thrown away,
Or kept to tye up nonfenfe for a fong;
Song, fashionably fruitlefs; fuch as stains
The fancy, and unhallow'd passion fires;
Chiming her faints to Cytherea's fane.
Know'ft thou, Lorenzo! what a friend contains
As bees mixt nectar draw from fragrant flow'rs,
So men from FRIENDSHIP, wifdom and delight;
Twins ty'd by nature, if they part they die.
Haft thou no friend to fet thy mind abroach?
Good fenfe will ftagnate. Thoughts fhut up, want
And fpoil, like bales unopen'd to the fun.
Had thought been all, sweet speech had been der Speech, thought's canal! fpeech, thought's criterior Thought in the mine, may come forth gold or dro
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