III.

Say, why should Art conspire to trim
The velvet slope, the tufted rim,

Whose shrubs the waters kiss,
Unless to teach how small a scope
Might limit ev'ry mortal hope,

Yet hold a world of bliss?

IV.

Here might not playful Fancy trace

The Empire of a Pigmy race,

Or Lilliputian Rule?

Here mark a puny nation's pride,

Their armies march, their navies ride,

The tyrants of a pool?

V.

Beneath yon willow's weeping shade

A towering city boasts her trade,

Her opulence, and laws;

Where cits grow proud, and lawyers prate,

And little Senates hold debate,

And Patriots court applause.

VI.

Where Prelates arm in worldly fights,

And Slaves grow jealous of their rights,
And Faction wields the law;

Where Ministers the Public drain,

And millions waste in one campaign,

To litigate a straw.

VII.

May no such guilt your haunts defile,
Sweet Genii of the Rural Isle,

Nor courts nor traffic stain;

For Men in islands great or small,
When Int'rest and Ambition call,

Become Creation's bane.

VIII.

Still be your shades with virtue blest,
And freedom, innocence, and rest

Adorn your harmless realm:

Still may your banks in peace survey
The little skiff, that steers her way,

Where youth directs the helm.

THE SUICIDE,

LATIN

FROM THE LATIN OF V. BOURNE.

-Quis enim invitum servare laboret?

I.

AROUND in many a flutt'ring maze,
Lur'd by the lamp's attractive rays,
That shoot athwart the gloom,

And idly buzzing with surprise,
The silly Moth disporting flies,

Unconscious of his doom.

HOR.

II.

Still as he skims the faithless light,

Oft I avert his giddy flight,

And pitying oft exclaim:

Why would'st thou thus forestall the date

Of Death, that never comes too late

To light the funeral flame?”

III.

Headlong amid the torturing fires,
Behold, the heedless fool expires,

A self-devoted prey:

E'en thus the wretch unpitied dies,

Who deaf to Friendship's warning cries, Persists in danger's way.

THE WILD HYACINTH.

Tel en un secret vallon

Sur le bord d'une onde pure,

Croit à l'abri de l'aquilon

Un jeune lis, l'amour de la nature.

I.

RACINE.

IN the deep-bosom'd forest that wraps the lone valley, Where the Sun scant'ly glimmering checkers the green, Scarce wav'd by the gales with her clusters that dally, Though veil'd, the wild Hyacinth lurks not unseen.

II.

Not unseen, nor uncherish'd; for who, that of Nature Delights philosophic the moral to trace,

E'er priz'd the proud Oak, though majestic of stature, So dear as the flow'ret that springs at his base ?

III.

Though firm are his roots to the centre descending, Though his boughs to the welkin imperiously tower: Yet his are the frowns on Ambition attending;

But grace and humility blush in the flower.