 spring,
  Or the pied daisy smile below the ling,
  They shall new charms, at thy command, disclose,
  And none shall miss the myrtle or the rose.
  The wiry moss, that whitens all the hill,
  Shall live a beauty by thy matchless skill;
  Gale[26] from the bog shall yield Arabian balm,                    310
  And the grey willow wave a golden palm.
    "I see thee smiling in the pictured room,
  Now breathing beauty, now reviving bloom;
  There, each immortal name 'tis thine to give
  To graceless forms, and bid the lumber live.
  Should'st thou coarse boors or gloomy martyrs see,
  These shall thy Guidos those thy Teniers' be;
  There shalt thou Raphael's saints and angels trace,                  }
  There make for Rubens and for Reynolds place,                        }
  And all the pride of art [shalt] find in her disgrace.           320 }
    "Delight of either sex! thy reign commence;                       }
  With balmy sweetness soothe the weary sense,                        }
  And to the sickening soul thy cheering aid dispense.                }
  Queen of the mind! thy golden age begin;                             }
  In mortal bosoms varnish shame and sin;                              }
  Let all be fair without, let all be calm within."                    }

    The Vision fled; the happy mother rose,
  Kiss'd the fair infant, smiled at all her foes,
  And FLATTERY made her name:--her reign began,
  Her own dear sex she ruled, then vanquish'd man;                   330
  A smiling friend, to every class, she spoke,
  Assumed their manners, and their habits took;
  Her, for her humble mien, the modest loved;
  Her cheerful looks the light and gay approved;
  The just beheld her, firm; the valiant, brave;
  Her mirth the free, her silence pleased the grave;
  Zeal heard her voice, and, as he preach'd aloud,
  Well-pleased he caught her whispers from the crowd--
  (Those whispers, soothing-sweet to every ear,
  Which some refuse to pay, but none to hear);                       340
  Shame fled her presence; at her gentle strain,
  Care softly smiled, and guilt forgot its pain;
  The wretched thought, the happy found her true;
  The learn'd confess'd that she their merits knew;
  The rich--could they a constant friend condemn?
  The poor believed--for who should flatter them?

    Thus on her name though all disgrace attend,
  In every creature she beholds a friend.

FOOTNOTES:

  [26] "Myrica gale," a shrub growing in boggy and fenny grounds.


REFLECTIONS

UPON THE SUBJECT----


          Quid juvat errores, mersa jam puppe, fateri?
          Quid lacrymae delicta juvant commissa secutae?

          _Claudian. in Eutrop._ lib. ii. lin. 7


     What avails it, when shipwrecked, that error appears?
     Are the crimes we commit wash'd away by our tears?


  When all the fiercer passions cease
    (The glory and disgrace of youth);
  When the deluded soul, in peace,
    Can listen to the voice of truth;
  When we are taught in whom to trust,
    And how to spare, to spend, to give,
  (Our prudence kind, our pity just)--
    'Tis then we rightly learn to live.

  Its weakness when the body feels,
    Nor danger in contempt defies;                                    10
  To reason when desire appeals,
    When on experience hope relies;
  When every passing hour we prize,
    Nor rashly on our follies spend;
  But use it, as it quickly flies,
    With sober aim to serious end;
  When prudence bounds our utmost views,
    And bids us wrath and wrong forgive;
  When we can calmly gain or lose--
    'Tis then we rightly learn to live.                               20
  Yet thus, when we our way discern,
    And can upon our care depend,
  To travel safely when we learn,
    Behold! we're near our journey's end.
  We've trod the maze of error round,
    Long wand'ring in the winding glade;
  And now the torch of truth is found,
    It only shows us where we stray'd:
  Light for ourselves, what is it worth,
    When we no more our way can choose?                               30
  For others when we hold it forth,
    They, in their pride, the boon refuse.

  By long experience taught, we now
    Can rightly judge of friends and foes,
  Can all the worth of these allow,
    And all their faults discern in those;
  Relentless hatred, erring love,
    We can for sacred truth forego;
  We can the warmest friend reprove,
    And bear to praise the fiercest foe:                              40
  To what effect? Our friends are gone,
    Beyond reproof, regard, or care;
  And of our foes remains there one,
    The mild relenting thoughts to share?

  Now 'tis our boast that we can quell
    The wildest passions in their rage;
  Can their destructive force repel,
    And their impetuous wrath assuage:
  Ah! Virtue, dost thou arm, when now
    This bold rebellious race are fled;                               50
  When all these tyrants rest, and thou
    Art warring with the mighty dead?
  Revenge, ambition, scorn, and pride,
    And strong desire and fierce disdain,
  The giant-brood, by thee defied,
    Lo! Time's resistless strokes have slain.
  Yet Time, who could that race subdue,
    (O'erpow'ring strength, appeasing rage,)
  Leaves yet a persevering crew,
    To try the failing powers of age.                                 60
  Vex'd by the constant call of these,
    Virtue awhile for conquest tries,
  But weary grown and fond of ease,
    She makes with them a compromise:
  Av'rice himself she gives to rest,
    But rules him with her strict commands;
  Bids Pity touch his torpid breast,
    And Justice hold his eager hands.

  Yet is there nothing men can do,
    When chilling Age comes creeping on?                              70
  Cannot we yet some good pursue?
    Are talents buried? genius gone?
  If passions slumber in the breast,
    If follies from the heart be fled:
  Of laurels let us go in quest,
    And place them on the poet's head.

  Yes, we'll redeem the wasted time,
    And to neglected studies flee;
  We'll build again the lofty rhyme,
    Or live, Philosophy, with thee;                                   80
  For reasoning clear, for flight sublime,
    Eternal fame reward shall be;
  And to what glorious heights we'll climb,
    Th' admiring crowd shall envying see.

  Begin the song! begin the theme!--
    Alas! and is Invention dead?
  Dream we no more the golden dream?
    Is Mem'ry with her treasures fled?
  Yes, 'tis too late--now Reason guides
    The mind, sole judge in all debate;                               90
  And thus th' important point decides,
    For laurels, 'tis, alas! too late.
      What is possess'd we may retain,
      But for new conquests strive in vain.
  Beware then, Age, that what was won,
    [In] life's past labours, studies, views,
  Be lost not, now the labour's done,
    When all thy part is--not to lose:
      When thou canst toil or gain no more,
      Destroy not what was gain'd before.                            100

  For, all that's gain'd of all that's good,
    When time shall his weak frame destroy,
  (Their use then rightly understood,)
    Shall man, in happier state, enjoy.
  Oh! argument for truth divine,
    For study's cares, for virtue's strife:
  To know th' enjoyment will be thine,
    In that renew'd, that endless life!


SIR EUSTACE GREY.


_SCENE_--A MAD-HOUSE.

_PERSONS_--VISITOR, PHYSICIAN, AND PATIENT.

          Veris miscens falsa.--

                            _Seneca in Herc. furente_ [Act IV. V. 1070].


VISITOR.

  I'll know no more;--the heart is torn
    By views of