Part 16 (1/2)

Who wisely would for his retreat Build a secure and lasting seat, Where stov'd in silence he may sleep Beneath the wind, above the deep; Let him th' high hills leave on one hand, And on the other the false sand.

The first to winds lies plain and even, From all the bl.u.s.t'ring points of heaven; The other, hollow and unsure, No weight of building will endure.

Avoiding then the envied state Of buildings bravely situate, Remember thou thyself to lock Within some low neglected rock.

There when fierce heaven in thunder chides, And winds and waves rage on all sides, Thou happy in the quiet sense Of thy poor cell, with small expense Shall lead a life serene and fair, And scorn the anger of the air.

METRUM V.

Happy that first white age! when we Lived by the Earth's mere charity.

No soft luxurious diet then Had effeminated men, No other meat, nor wine had any Than the coa.r.s.e mast, or simple honey, And by the parents' care laid up Cheap berries did the children sup.

No pompous wear was in those days Of gummy silks, or scarlet baize, Their beds were on some flow'ry brink, And clear spring-water was their drink.

The shady pine in the sun's heat Was their cool and known retreat, For then 'twas not cut down, but stood The youth and glory of the wood.

The daring sailor with his slaves Then had not cut the swelling waves, Nor for desire of foreign store Seen any but his native sh.o.r.e.

No stirring drum had scarr'd that age, Nor the shrill trumpet's active rage, No wounds by bitter hatred made With warm blood soil'd the s.h.i.+ning blade; For how could hostile madness arm An age of love, to public harm?

When common justice none withstood, Nor sought rewards for spilling blood.

O that at length our age would raise Into the temper of those days!

But--worse than aetna's fires!--debate And avarice inflame our State.

Alas! who was it that first found Gold, hid of purpose under ground, That sought our pearls, and div'd to find Such precious perils for mankind!

METRUM VII.

He that thirsts for glory's prize, Thinking that the top of all, Let him view th' expansed skies, And the earth's contracted ball; 'Twill shame him then: the name he wan Fills not the short walk of one man.

2.

O why vainly strive you then To shake off the bands of Fate, Though Fame through the world of men Should in all tongues your names relate, And with proud t.i.tles swell that story: The dark grave scorns your brightest glory.

3.

There with n.o.bles beggars sway, And kings with commons share one dust.

What news of Brutus at this day, Or Fabricius the just?

Some rude verse, cut in stone, or lead, Keeps up the names, but they are dead.

4.

So shall you one day--past reprieve-- Lie--perhaps--without a name.

But if dead you think to live By this air of human fame, Know, when Time stops that posthume breath, You must endure a second death.