LITMIR.BIZ

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and in virtue thy asylum seek

      To make thee happy: trust the words I speak.

      There is no purer happiness to gain

      Than the sweet calm the just from her attain.

      If in prosperity their fortunes glide,

      She makes them free from arrogance and pride;

      In mid estate be tranquil and content;

      In adverse be resign’d whate’er the event:

      Implacable, if Envy’s hurricane

      O’erwhelm them in misfortunes, even then

      She hastes to save them, and its rage control;

      With lofty fortitude the nobler soul

      Enduing faithful; and if raised to sight,

      At length they find the just reward requite,

      Say is there aught to hope for prize so great

      As the immortal crown for which they wait?

      But is this feeling then, I hear thee cry,

      That elevates my soul to virtue high,

      This anxious wish to investigate and know,

      Is it blameworthy as those passions low?

      Why not to that for happiness repair?

      Wilt thou condemn it? No, who would so dare,

      That right would learn his origin and end?

      Knowledge and Virtue, sisters like, descend

      From heaven to perfect man in nobleness;

      And far removing him, Bermudo, yes!

      From vice and error, they will make him free,

      Approaching even to the Deity.

      But seek them not, in that false path to go

      Which cunning Fortune will to others show.

      Where then? to Wisdom’s temple only haste;

      There thou wilt find them. Her invoke; and traced,

      See how she smiles! press forward; learn to use

      The intercession of the kindly Muse

      To make her be propitious. But beware,

      That in her favour thou escape the snare,

      The worship, which the vain adorer pays.

      She never him propitiously surveys,

      Who insolently seeking wealth or fame,

      Burns impure incense on her altar’s flame.

      Dost thou not see how many turn aside

      From her of learning void, but full of pride?

      Alas for him, who seeking truth, for aid

      Embraces only a delusive shade!

      In self conceit who venturing to confide,

      Nor virtue gain’d, nor reason for his guide,

      Leaves the right path, precipitate to stray

      Where error’s glittering phantoms lead the way!

      Can then the wise hope happiness to feel

      In the chimæras sought with so much zeal?

      Ah, no! they all are vanities and cheats!

      See him, whom anxious still the morning greets,

      Measuring the heavens, and of the stars that fly

      The shining orbits! With a sleepless eye,

      Hasty the night he reckons, and complains

      Of the day’s light his labour that detains;

      Again admires night’s wonders, but reflects

      Ne’er on the hand that fashion’d and directs.

      Beyond the moons of Uranus he bends

      His gaze; beyond the Ship, the Bear, ascends:

      But after all this, nothing more feels he:

      He measures, calculates, but does not see

      The heavens obeying their great Author’s will,

      Whirling around all silent; robbing still

      The hours from life, ungratefully so gone,

      Till one to undeceive him soon draws on.

      Another, careless of the stars, descries

      The humble dust, to scan and analyse.

      His microscope he grasps, and sets, and falls

      On some poor atom; and a triumph calls,

      If should the fool the magic instrument

      Of life or motion slightest sign present,

      Its form to notice, in the glass to pore,

      What his deluded fancy saw before;

      Yields to the cheat, and gives to matter base

      The power, forgot the Lord of all to trace.

      Thus raves the ingrate.

      Another the meanwhile

      To scrutinize pretends, in learning’s style,

      The innate essence of the soul sublime.

      How he dissects it, regulates in time!

      As if it were a subtile fluid, known

      To him its action, functions, strength and tone;

      But his own weakness shows in this alone.

      ’Twas given to man to view the heavens on high,

      But not in them the mysteries of the sky;

      Yet boldly dares his reason penetrate

      The darksome chaos, o’er it to dilate.

      With staggering step, thus scorning heavenly light,

      In error’s paths he wanders, lost in night.

      Confused, but not made wise, he pores about,

      Betwixt opinion wavering and doubt.

      Seeking for light, and shadows doom’d to feel,

      He ponders, studies, labours to unseal

      The secret, and at length finds his advance;

      The more he learns, how great his ignorance.

      Of matter, form, or motion, or the soul,

      Or moments that away incessant roll,

      Or the unfathomable sea of space,

      Without a sky, without a shore to trace,

      Nothing he reaches, nothing comprehends,

      Nor finds its origin, nor where it tends;

      But only sinking, all absorb’d may see

      In the abysses of eternity.

      Perhaps, thence stepping more disorder’d yet,

      He rushes his presumptuous flight to set

      Ev’n to the throne of God! with his dim eyes

      The Great Inscrutable to scrutinize;

      Sounding the gulf immense, that circles round

      The Deity, he ventures o’er its bound.

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