In vain! in vain! no efforts can controul Still as declining Reason veil'd his rays, Rose like the queen of heaven with brow serene, And threw a trembling radiance o'er the scene, No more shines forth amid the clouds of night; Or sheds a broken, melancholy light. Welcome then, Sunday! to the wretched given; To raise his drooping head, surcharg'd with years, And hears her soothing, soft, maternal voice Whence the strain'd eye with wonder stoops to trace FREE IMITATION OF PERSICOS ODI." DINNERS of form, I vote a bore, Cramm'd close as mackerel in their places, Drink healths, and talk, with sapient faces, Thrice blest, who at an inn unbends Mirth and good humour round him sees, VOL. IV. R MERCUTIO A PICTURE. AH who art thou of more than mortal birth, Whom heaven adorns with beauty's brightest beam, On wings of speed why spurn'st thou thus the earth? "Known but to few, OCCASION is my name. "No rest I find, for underneath my feet "The eternal circle rolls that speeds my way; "Not the strong eagle wings her course so fleet; "And these my glittering pinions I display, "That from the dazzling sight thine eyes may turn away; "In full luxuriance o'er my angel face "Float my thick tresses, free and unconfin'd, "That through the veil my features few may trace; "But not one lock adorns my head behind. "Once past, for ever gone, no mortal might "Shall bid the circling wheel return again." But who is she, companion of thy flight? "REPENTANCE!" if thou grasp at me in vain, "Then must thou in thine arms her loathsome form retain." And now while heedless of the truths I sing, Vain thoughts and fond desires thy time employ; Ah, seest thou not-on swift but silent wing The form that smiled so fair has glided by. THE CHEVALIER DE LILLE'S PROPHECY WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1777. TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH. LONG live the lights of human kind, Ye formers of the Gallic mind, Reason and Wit ye well employ From no old musty books ye steal The wisdom which ye preach us: Your own capacious minds can deal New stores of sense to teach us. Talk as you will of old Colbert, Of Sully, and such prosers, Those dunces no one can compare With our great state composers. Soon shall ye see all ranks of men The wretch, who lies on straw-bed, then Into one mass our wealth we'll throw, Then draw a lottery, and shew How each shall have a prize. Then, friendly walking side by side, Shall prove that Frenchmen take a pride Then farewel laws, and such old things, When by Philosophy we're grown When old Devotion's pack'd away, And Heav'n no more we dream on, Frenchmen shall adoration pay To their own type, some dæmon. Then will our jolly days begin, Our loves will be in common; Concubinage will be no sin, Nor modest any woman. With cap of Liberty so red Each drunken dad will vapour, Dance carmagnols upon his head, Fat, lazy, droning Monks no more Each pale-fac'd Nun a blooming bride, |