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Is it not treason, to the soul immortal,
Will toys amuse, when medicines cannot cure?
Redeem we time? Its loss we dearly buy. What pleads Lorenzo for his high-priz'd sports? He pleads time's numerous blanks; he loudly pleads The straw-like trifles on life's common stream. From whom those blanks and trifles, but from thee? No blank, no trifle, nature made, or meant. Virtue, or propos'd virtue, still be thine! This cancels thy complaint at once; this leaves In act no trifle, and no blank in time. This greatens, fills, immortalizes all; This, the blest art of turning all to gold; This, the good heart's prerogative to raise A royal tribute from the poorest hours; Immense revenue! every moment pays. If nothing more than purpose in thy power; Thy purpose firm, is equal to the deed: Who does the best his circumstance allows, Does well, acts nobly; angels could no more. Our outward act indeed, admits restraint; "Tis not in things o'er thought to domineer; Guard well thy thought; our thoughts are heard in heaven. On all important time, through every age,
Though much, and warm, the wise have urg'd; the man Is yet unborn, who duly weighs an hour.
"I've lost a day" the prince who nobly cry'd,
Had been an emperor without his crown;
Of Rome, say rather,,Lord of human race:
He spoke, as if deputed by mankind.
So should all speak: So reason speaks in all;
Time the supreme!
Time is eternity;
Pregnant with all eternity can give;
Pregnant with all, that makes archangels smile,
Ah! how unjust to nature, and himself,
That span too short, we tax as tedious too;
To lash the lingering moments into speed,
And whirl us (happy riddance!) from ourselves.
Drives headlong towards the precipice of death;.
Death, most our dread; death thus more dreadful made;
Leisure is pain; takes off our chariot wheels;
Leave to thy foes these errors and these ills;
We waste, not use our time; we breathe, not live,
And bare existence, man, to live ordain'd,
Life's cares are comforts; such by heaven design'd;
Here, then, the riddle, mark'd above, unfolds;
Lavish of lustrums, and yet fond of life;
Life we think long, and short; death seek, and shun;" Body and soul, like peevish man and wife,
United jar, and yet are loth to part.
Oh the dark days of vanity! while here,
How tasteless! and how terrible, when gone!
The spirit walks of every day deceas'd;
If time past,
And smiles an angel, or a fury frowns.
Time us'd. The man who consecrates his hours
At once he draws the sting of life and death;
He walks with nature; and her paths are peace.
MAL LE T.
Biographische und literarische Nachrichten von diesem Manne enthält der erste Theil dieses Handbuchs, S. 211. Man findet seine Gedichte bei Johnson im 53sten, bei Bell im 101sten und bei Anderson im gten Bande. Johnson und Anderson haben auch sein Leben erzählt. i
1) WILLIAM AND MARGARET.
was at the silent, solemn hour,
So shall the fairest face appear,
When youth and years are flown:
Her bloom was like the springing flower,
Just opening to the view. b..
But love had, like the canker-worm, 5uro )
The rose grew pale, and left her cheek;
She dy'd before her time.
Awake! she cry'd, thy true-love calls,
Come from her midnight-grave;'
Now let thy pity hear the maid,; 5.
This is the dumb and dreary hour,
When injur'd ghosts complain;
When yawning graves give up their dead,
Bethink thee, William, of thy fault,
And give me back
Why did you promise love to me,
And not that promise keep?
Why did you swear, my eyes were bright, Yet leave those eyes to weep?
How could you say, my face was fair,
And yet that face forsake?
How could you win my virgin- heart,
Why did you say, my lip was sweet,
That face, alas! no more is fair,
Dark are my eyes, now clos'd in death,
The hungry worm my sister is;
This winding-sheet I wear:
And cold and weary lasts our night,
Till that last morn appear.
But, hark! the 'cock has warn'd me hence; A long and late adieu!"
Come, see, false man, how low she lies,
Who dy'd for love of you.
The lark sung loud; the morning smil'd,
Pale William quak'd in every limb,
And raving left his bed,
He hy'd him to the fatal place
Where Margaret's body lay;
And stretch'd him on the green-grass turf, That wrapp'd her, breathless, clay,