'O, well is he!' for life is lost, Then why, dear Jack, should man, Why should he from his country run, Serener hours to find? Was never man in this wild chase For, wing'd with all the lightning's speed, Nor Barca's heat nor Zembla's cold They whom no anxious thoughts annoy, Something must ever be amiss- Lives only in the brain : We cannot all have what we want; Wolfe rush'd on death in manhood's bloom, Paulet crept slowly to the tomb; Here breath, there fame was given : And that wise Power who weighs our lives By contras and by pros contrives To keep the balance even. To thee she gave two piercing eyes, To me one eye not over good, Two sides that, to their cost, have stood Aches, stitches, all the numerous ills A coat more bare than thine; a soul Spirits above affliction's power; W. GIFFORD. ON THE FOURTH OF NOVEMBER, The Anniversary of the Revolution, 1688. IN IMITATION OF ALCEUS. WHAT constitutes the Bard? Not the sweet witchery of Fancy's spell, The captive sense, and bid the charmed soul No-but an energy that spurns control, That, fann'd by Freedom, to sublimest heights And from base earth the spirit disunites: Then in the shouts that 'ring from side to side' The Muse's hail! which at this season wide May pour the patriot rage: She, Freedom's best ally, whose voice alone, Through every clime and age Prevailing, mocks the thunders of the throne! DR. T. PERCY. |