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George

[From Edward Shore.]
THE PERILS OF GENIUS.

Genius! thou gift of Heaven! thou

light divine! Amid what dangers art thou doomed

to shine!

Oft will the body's weakness check

thy force, Oft damp thy vigor, and impede thy

course;

And trembling nerves compel thee to restrain

Thy nobler efforts, to contend with pain:

Or Want (sad guest!) will in thy presence come,

And breathe around her melancholy gloom:

To life's low cares will thy proud thought confine,

And make her sufferings, her impatience thine. Evil and strong, seducing passions prey

On soaring minds, and win them from

their way, Who then to vice the subject spirits

give, [live: And in the service of the conqueror Like captive Samson making sport

for all,

Who feared their strength, and glory in their fall. Genius, with virtue, still may lack the aid

Implored by humble minds, and

hearts afraid: May leave to timid souls the shield

and sword Of the tried Faith and the resistless

Word;

Amid a world of dangers venturing forth.

Frail, but yet fearless, proud in conscious worth,

Till strong temptation, in some fatal time,

assails the heart, and wins the soul to crime;

CRABBE.

When left by honor, and by sorrow

spent,

Unused to pray, unable to repent, The nobler powers that once exalted high

Th' aspiring man shall then degraded lie:

Reason, through anguish, shall her

throne forsake, And strength of mind but stronger

madness make.

[From Edward Shore.]

SLEEP THE DETRACTOR OF
BEAUTY.

We indeed have heard Of sleeping beauty, and it has appeared:

"Tis seen in infants — there indeed we find,

The features softened by the slumbering mind;

But other beauties, when disposed to sleep,

Should from the eye of keen inspector keep:

The lovely nymph who would her swain surprise,

May close her mouth, but not conceal her eyes;

Sleep from the fairest face some

beauty takes, And all the homely features homelier

makes.

[From Edward Shore.]
THE VACILLATING PURPOSE.

Who often reads will sometimes wish to write,

And Shore would yield instruction

and delight; A serious drama he designed, but

found

'Twas tedious travelling in that gloomy ground;

A deep and solemn story he would try,

But grew ashamed of ghosts, and laid it by;

Sermons he wrote, but they who knew

his creed, Or knew it not, were ill disposed to

read;

And he would lastly be the nation's guide,

But, studying, failed to fix upon a

side;

Fame he desired, and talents he possessed,

But loved not labor, though he could not rest,

Nor firmly fix the vacillating mind, That, ever working, could no centre find.

[From Schools.]
THE TEACHER.

He, while his troop light-hearted leap

and play. Is all intent on duties of the day; No more the tyrant stern or judge

severe,

He feels the father's and the husband's fear. Ah! little think the timid, trembling crowd,

That one so wise, so powerful, and so proud,

Should feel himself, and dread the

humble ills Of rent-day charges and of coalmen's

bills;

That while they mercy from their

judge implore, He fears himself — a knocking at the

door:

And feels the burden as his neighbor states

His humble portion to the parishrates.

They sit the allotted hours, then eager run, Rushing to pleasure when the duty's

done;

His hour of pleasure is of different kind,

Then cares domestic rush upon his mind.

And half the ease and comfort he

enjoys,

Is when surrounded by slates, books, and boys.

[From Schools.]
LEARNING IS LABOR

To learning's second seats we now proceed,

Where humming students gilded

primers read; Or books with letters large and pictures gay, To make their reading but a kind of

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ig made Easy," so the titles tell:

But they who read must first begin to spell;

There may be profit in these arts, but still.

Learning is labor, call it what you will;

Upon the youthful mind a heavy load, Nor must we hope to find the royal road.

Some will their easy steps to science show,

And some to heaven itself their byway know;

Ah! trust them not, — who fame or bliss would share.

Must learn by labor, and must live*by care.

[From the Gentleman Farmer.]
FOLLY OF LITIGATION.

Who would by law regain his plandered store.

Would pick up fallen mercury from the floor;

If he pursue it, here and there it

slides,

He would collect it, but it more divides;

This part and this he stops, but still in vain,

It slips aside, and breaks in parts again;

Till, after time and pains, and care

and cost, He finds his labor and his object lost.

{From The Gentleman Farmer.]

AGAINST RASH OPINIONS.

When men in health against physicians rail, They should consider that their

nerves may fail, who calls a lawyer rogue, may find, too late,

On one of these depends his whole estate:

Nay, when the world can nothing

more produce. The priest, the insulted priest, may

have his use; ease, health, and comfort lift a man so high,

These powers are dwarfs that he can

scarcely spy: Pain, sickness, languor, keep a man so low,

That these neglected dwarfs to giants grow:

Happy is he who through the medium

sees

Of clear good sense.

[From The ParUh Register.]
THE AWFUL VACANCY.

Arrived at home, how then they

gazed around, In every place, — where she — no

more was found; — The seat at table she was wont to fill: The fireside chair, still set, but vacant

still:

The garden-walks, a labor all her own: The latticed bower, with trailing shrubs o'ergrown;

The Sunday pew she filled with all

her race, — each place of hers was now a sacred

place,

That, while it called up sorrows in the eyes,

Pierced the full heart and forced them still to rise. O sacred Sorrow! by whom souls are tried,

Sent not to punish mortals, but to guide;

If thou art mine, (and who shall

proudly dare To tell his Maker he has had his

share ?)

Still let me feel for what thy pangs were sent,

And be my guide and not my punishment!

[From The Dumb Orators.]

MAN'S dislike TO BE LED.

Man will not follow where a rule is shown,

But loves to take a method of his own;

Explain the way with all your care and skill,

This will he quit, if but to prove he will.

[From The Village.]

APOSTROPHE TO THE WHIMSICAL.

Say, ye opprest by some fantastic woes,

Some jarring nerve that baffles your repose;

Who press the downy couch while

slaves advance With timid eye to read the distant

glance;

Who with sad prayers the weary doctor tease,

To name the nameless ever-new disease;

Who with mock patience dire complaints endure, Which real pain, and that alone can

cure;

How would ye bear in real pain to lie, Despised, neglected, left alone to die? How would ye bear to draw your

latest breath, Where all that's wretched paves the

way for death?

[From Prieons.]

THE CONDEMNED, HIS DREAM AND ITS AWAKENING.

Still I behold him, every thought

employed On one dire view! — all others are

destroyed; This makes his features ghastly, gives

the tone

Of his few words resemblance to a

groan;

He takes his tasteless food, and when 'tis done,

Counts up his meals, now lessened by that one;

For expectation is on time intent,

Whether he brings us joy or punishment.

Yes! e'en in sleep the impressions

all remain, He hears the sentence and he feels

the chain; He sees the judge and jury, when he

shakes,

And loudly cries, "Not guilty," and awakes;

Then chilling tremblings o'er his

body creep. Till worn-out nature is compelled to

sleep.

Now comes the dream again: it

shows each scene, With each small circumstance that

comes between — The call to suffering and the very

deed —

There crowds go with him, follow,

and precede; Some heartless shout, some pity, all

condemn,

While he in fancied envy looks at them:

He seems the place for that sad act to

see,

And dreams the very thirst which

then will be: A priest attends — it seems, the one

he knew

In his best days, beneath whose care he grew.

At this his terrors take a sudden flight,

He sees his native village with delight:

The house, the chamber, where he

once arrayed His youthful person; where he knelt

and prayed; Then too the comforts he enjoyed at

home,

The days of joy: the joys themselves

are come; — The hours of innocence; — the timid

look

Of his loved maid, when first her hand he took,

And told his hope; her trembling joy appears,

Her forced reserve, and his retreating fears. All now is present; — 'tis a moment's gleam

Of former sunshine — stay, delightful dream!

Let him within his pleasant garden walk,

Give him her arm; of blessings let them talk. Yes! all are with him now, and all the while

Life's early prospects and his Fanny's smile:

Then come his sister, and his villagefriend,

And he will now the sweetest moments spend

Life has to yield;—No! never will he find

Again on earth such pleasures in his mind:

He goes through shrubby walks these

friends among, Love in their looks and honor on

their tongue:

Nay, there's a charm beyond what

nature shows, The bloom is softer and more sweetly

glows; — Pierced by no crime, and urged by

no desire For more than true and honest hearts

require,

They feel the calm delight, and thus proceed,

Through the green lane, — then linger in the mead, — Stray o'er the heath in all its purple

bloom, — And pluck the blossoms where the

wild bees hum; Then through the broomy bound with

ease they pass, And press the sandy sheepwalk's

slender grass Where dwarfish flowers among the

gorse are spread, And the lamb browses by the linnet's

bed;

Then 'cross the bounding brook they make their way

O'er its rough bridge and there behold the bay!—

The ocean smiling to the fervid sun —

The waves that faintly fall and slowly run — •

The ships at distance and the boats at hand;

And now they walk upon the seaside sand,

Counting the number and what kind they be,

Ships softly sinking in the sleepy sea: Now arm in arm, now parted, they behold

The glittering waters on the shingles rolled:

The timid girls, half dreading their design.

Dip the small foot in the retarded brine,

And search for crimson weeds, which

spreading flow, Or lie like pictures on the sand below: With all those bright red pebbles,

that the sun Through the small waves so softly

shines upon;

And those live lucid jellies which the eye

Delights to trace as they swim glittering by:

Pearl-shells and rubied star-fish they admire,

And will arrange above the parlor fire, —

Tokens of bliss! —"Oh! horrible! a wave

Roars as it rises — save me, Edward! save!"

She cries:— Alas! the watchman on his way

Calls, and lets in — truth, terror, and the dayI

[From The Lotrr't Journey.]

EXTERNAL IMPRESSIONS DEPENDENT ON THE SOUL'S MOODS.

It is the Soul that sees: the outward eyes Present the object, but the Mind descries;

And thence delight, disgust, or cool

indifference rise: When minds are joyful, then we look

around,

And what is seen is all on fairy ground;

Again they sicken, and on every view Cast their own dull and melancholy hue;

Or, if absorbed by their peculiar cares, The vacant eye on viewless matter glares,

Our feelings still upon our views attend,

And their own natures to the objects lend; [sure, Sorrow and joy are in their influence Long as the passion reigns th' effects endure:

But Love in minds his various changes makes,

And clothes each object with the

change he,t .ikes; His light and shade on every view

he throws, And on each object, what he feels,

bestows.

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