LITMIR.BIZ

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such a pathless course

      But endless doubts, his ignorance the source?

      He seeks, proposes, argues, thinking vain.

      The ignorance that knew to raise, must fain

      Be able to resolve them. Hast thou seen

      Attempts that e’er have more audacious been?

      What! shall an atom such as he excel

      To comprehend the Incomprehensible?

      Without more light than reason him assign’d,

      The limits of immensity to find?

      Infinity’s beginning, middle, end?

      Dost Thou, Eternal Lord, then condescend

      To admit man to Thy councils, or to be

      With his poor reason in Thy sanctuary?

      A task so great as this dost Thou confide

      To his weak soul? ’Tis not so, be relied,

      My friend. To know God in His works above,

      To adore Him, melt in gratitude and love;

      The blessings o’er thee lavish’d to confess,

      To sing His glory, and His name to bless;—

      Such be thy study, duty and employ;

      And of thy life and reason such the joy.

      Such is the course that should the wise essay,

      While only fools will from it turn away.

      Wouldst thou attain it? easy the emprise;

      Perfect thy being, and thou wilt be wise:

      Inform thy reason, that its aid impart

      Thee truth eternal: purify thy heart,

      To love and follow it: thy study make

      Thyself, but seek thy Maker’s light to take:

      There is high Wisdom’s fountain found alone:

      There thou thy origin wilt find thee shown;

      There in His glorious work to find the place

      ’Tis thine to occupy: there thou mayst trace

      Thy lofty destiny, the crown declared

      Of endless life, for virtue that’s prepared.

      Bermudo, there ascend: there seek to find

      That truth and virtue in the heavenly mind,

      Which from His love and wisdom ever flow.

      If elsewhere thou dost seek to find them, know,

      That darkness only thou wilt have succeed,

      In ignorance and error to mislead.

      Thou of this love and wisdom mayst the rays

      Discern in all His works, His power and praise

      That tell around us, in the wondrous scale

      Of high perfection which they all detail;

      

      The order which they follow in the laws,

      That bind and keep them, and that show their cause,

      The ends of love and pity in their frame:

      These their Creator’s goodness all proclaim.

      Be this thy learning, this thy glory’s view;

      If virtuous, thou art wise and happy too.

      Virtue and truth are one, and in them bound

      Alone may ever happiness be found.

      And they can only, with a conscience pure,

      Give to thy soul to enjoy it, peace secure;

      True liberty in moderate desires,

      And joy in all to do thy work requires;

      To do well in content, and calmly free:

      All else is wind and misery, vanity.

       TO GALATEA’S BIRD.

      O silly little bird! who now

      On Galatea’s lap hast got,

      My unrequited love allow

      To envy thee thy lot.

      Of the same lovely mistress both

      Alike the captives bound are we;

      But thou for thy misfortune loth,

      Whilst I am willingly.

      Thou restless in thy prison art,

      Complaining ever of thy pains;

      While I would kisses, on my part,

      Ev’n lavish on my chains.

      But, ah! how different treating us,

      Has scornful Fate the lot assign’d!

      With me she’s always tyrannous,

      But with thee just as kind.

      A thousand nights of torment borne,

      A thousand days of martyrdom,

      By thousand toils and pains, her scorn

      I cannot overcome.

      Inestimable happiness,

      A mere caprice for thee has got;

      So bathed in tears, in my distress,

      I envy thee thy lot.

      And there the while, with daring heel,

      Thou tread’st in arrant confidence,

      Without a heart or hope to feel,

      Or instinct’s common sense.

      In the embraces, which my thought,

      

      Not even in its boldest vein,

      Could scarce to hope for have been brought,

      Presumptuous to attain.

       TO ENARDA.—I.

      Lovely Enarda! young and old

      All quarrel with me daily:

      Because I write to thee they scold,

      Perhaps sweet verses gaily.

      “A judge should be more grave,” they say,

      As each my song accuses;

      “From such pursuits should turn away

      As trifling with the Muses.”

      “How wofully you waste your time!”

      Preach others; but, all slighting,

      The more they scold, the more I rhyme;

      Still I must keep on writing.

      Enarda’s heart and mind to praise,

      All others far excelling,

      My rustic pipe its note shall raise,

      In well-toned measures telling.

      I wish, extolling

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