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Behold, ye fair, your lovely Queen!
'Tis not her jewels but her mind; A meeker, purer, ne'er was seen;
It is her virtue charms mankind!
VIRTUE AND PLEASURE.
BY THE SAME.
INFORM me, Virtue! is it true!
The sons of sense say, No.
And every joy forego.
They say, and openly maintain,
And while on heav'n you preach,
And heav'n shall never reach.
Or tell me, Pleasure! what you feel;
The matter is of weight,
I seek the happiest state.
Pleasure replies with modest smile, “Let not a name thy leart beguile; :
My name the sons of sense
'Tis all a mere pretence.
“To me they boast alliance near;
If you will them believe. Meanwhile they are of Circe's crew, Wretched, defil'd; with painted hue,
Weak mortals to deceive.
“Cince, my rival, harlot base!
To phrensy can inflame:
Lead on to guilt and shame.
« Mine is a purer, nobler rise,
Came down to bless the earth
And here of highest worth!
"Virtue, I grant, is often tried
Nor is ashani'd to mourn.
Assaults to vict'ry turn.
“Of active life the hard turmoils,
In brighter triumphs end.
While all the good commend.
“But who can paint the heartfelt glow
Of prayer the rapt'rous tear?
"Nor deem such bliss an empty form; 'Tis solid, will defy the storm,
And keep the breast serene; When all the merrlment of Vice, A low-born vapour sudden flies,
And leaves a void within.
* An aching void where nought can come,
Earnest of future woe!
True heart they do not know.
“They dare not face rich Folly's frown; To saucy Greatness they bow down.:
Held fast in Passion's chain They talk of liberty: 'tis prate. The slaves of appetite and fate,
They start at every pain.
"Lest Death their trembling souls should seize, Their blood with mortal horrors freeze,
And all their prospects end.
An everlasting Friend!
: In life, in death, I follow her;
To fill the human heart:
And never, never part!”
BY DR. JOHNSON.
Forbears the long-continued strife;
Delights to catch the gales of life.
Now o'er the rural kingdom roves
Soft Pleasure with her laughing train, Love warbles in the vocal groves,
And Vegetation plants the plain.,
Unhappy! whom to beds of pain
Arthritic tyranny consigns;
Though Rapture sings and Beauty shines.
Yet though my limbs disease invades,
Her wings Imagination tries,
Where - 's humble turrets rise,
Here stop, my soul, thy rapid flight,
Nor from the pleasing groves de part, Where first great Nature charm'd my sight,
Where Wisdom first inform’d my heart,