And friendship, which a faint affection breeds,
Without regard of good, dies like ill-grounded seeds.
SPENSER'S Fairy Queen.
Ut matrona meretrici dispar erit, atque
Discolor, infido scurræ distabit amicus.-HORAT. Epist.
MILD was the air, serene the night,
The moon beam'd forth her tranquil light,
No stormy dæmon roused the blast,
As o'er the hills in haste I past,
To chill my frame or cramp my speed-
But oh! my heart was cold indeed.
The look of scorn, the shameless stare,
Had curdled e'en the life-blood there,
For friends had strangely gazed on me:
I marr'd, perchance, the social glee.
Yet once they bade my spirits glow—
My crime was then the same as now.
Too quickly summer's beauty dies!
The moral's plain-" In time be wise."
The winter's rage prepared to brave,
No shock we feel, though tempests rave;
But friendship I too fondly thought
Would last for ever, if unbought,
Life's constant sunshine; to the breast
An Eden, nay, a heaven of rest,
Where, when the world's vexations tire,
It might, to soothe its pangs, retire.
I was deceived: the bitter truth
Proves confidence is nought in youth.
Such change, alas! was not foreseen,
Yet oft before such change has been.
How the bright arch that spans the sky
In childhood caught my eager eye:
The beauteous curve appear'd to stand
Substantial on yon rising land.
How rich its hues! each hue alone
Betray'd a link of precious stone.
The glorious prize within my view
One luckless day I must pursue;
From hill to hill it quickly fled,
Through bush and brake my steps it led
Then, as it mock'd my further stay,
It fainter gleam'd-it died away.
Home I return'd, ashamed, yet smiled,
In seeming scorn, on chase so wild.
Thus 'tis with friendship; many claim
A portion of her hallow'd flame,
Yet friendship scarce exists on earth,
Few seek, still fewer find, her worth.
The maid unseen, we love to chase
Some airy vision in her place.
But soon we mourn the shadow lost,
Youth will despair when hopes are crost;
Then bitterly we rue the time
When confidence appear'd no crime.
Will Wisdom soothe us? 'tis too late,
Love was abused-then welcome Hate.
Majestic, though in ruins.-MILTON.
MOULDERING away in desolated pride,
Thy glory past, thy majesty remains ;
Though time has torn thy pillar'd porches wide,
Where Echo sleeps, and horrid Silence reigns.
Thus onwards all things to destruction glide,
Whatever pageantries this world contains—
Decaying, not o'erthrown! thou still art seen
A monumental wreck of what thou erst hast been!
Still let me contemplate thy wasting walls,
Thy topless columns whence the owlet screams: Those grass-worn mounds were once baronial halls, Whose pristine worth surpasseth Fancy's dreams; There Chivalry presided o'er the balls,
The sun of beauty there shed forth its beams: Now all is loneliness! Reflection, say,
How long the works of man outlive man's little day!
Such as are ambitious are incited by the greatness of their power to attempt great matters; and the most sottish or lazy may discharge themselves of cares, and hope that others will be more easily hired to take the burden of business upon them while they lie at ease.
SIDNEY on Government, p. 165.
THAT master-vice, Ambition, has its course;
It wakens Hope,-it promises success :
Can Wisdom, Reason, Justice break the force
Of those bold passions that o'erlook distress?
Not Fear itself their vigour can repress.
Hence Pride attempts what Fancy had design'd,
Betraying often its own littleness;
Fortune unbalances the strongest mind,
And vanities beset the mightiest of mankind.
These truths experience, history ever taught,
And many a moral tale in childhood loved;
But men by splendid wickedness are caught,
They laud those acts which erst they disapproved;
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