THE MEANING OF LIFE. HEN I behold thee, blameless Williamson, My busy fancy calls thy thread mis-spun : Till Faith instructs me the deceit to shun While thus she speaks, 'Those wings that from the store Of virtue were not lent, howe'er they bore In this gross air, will melt when near the sun. Benjamin Stillingfleet. TO DAMPIER. HRICE worthy guardian of that sacred spring, land, When Cæsar taught our nobles to command, Till Fashion, stealing with unheeded wing Into this realm, with touch of foreign hand, Our girls emboldened, and our boys unmanned, Yet shalt not thou be backward in thy sphere To thwart a sickly world; the sceptre given To merit titles they were born to bear: Thou know'st that every sceptre is from Heaven That guides mankind to virtue and to truth. BENJAMIN STILLINGFLEET. N vain to me the smiling mornings shine, THOMAS GRAY. ANNIVERSARY. PLAINTIVE sonnet flowed from Milton's pen year : Say shall not I then shed one tuneful tear Robbed by the thief of three-score years and ten? No! for the foes of all life-lengthened men, Which musing Gratitude delights to sing, Still to thy sapphire throne shall Faith convey, WILLIAM Mason. ? ON BATHING. HEN late the trees were stript by winter pale, On airy uplands met the piercing gale ; THOMAS Warton. |