THE PINE-APPLE AND THE BEE. THE pine-apples, in triple row, And searched for crannies in the frame, To every pane his trunk applied; And only pervious to the light: Thus having wasted half the day, He trimmed his flight another way. Methinks, I said, in thee I find The sin and madness of mankind. To joys forbidden man aspires, Consumes his soul with vain desires; Folly the spring of his pursuit, And disappointment all the fruit, While Cynthio ogles, as she passes, The nymph between two chariot glasses, The silly unsuccessful bee. The maid, who views with pensive air Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets, But ah, the cruel glass between! Our dear delights are often such, Exposed to view, but not to touch; The sight our foolish heart inflames, We long for pine-apples in frames; With hopeless wish one looks and lingers; One breaks the glass, and cuts his fingers; But they whom truth and wisdom lead, Can gather honey from a weed. HORACE. Book the 2d. ODE the 10th. I. RECEIVE, dear friend, the truths I teach, So shalt thou live beyond the reach Of adverse Fortune's power; Not always tempt the distant deep, Along the treacherous shore. II. He that holds fast the golden mean, And lives contentedly between The little and the great, Feels not the wants, that pinch the poor, Nor plagues, that haunt the rich man's door, Imbittering all his state. III. The tallest pines feel most the power Of wintry blasts; the loftiest tower Comes heaviest to the ground; The bolts, that spare the mountain's side, His cloud-capt eminence divide, And spread the ruin round. IV. The well informed philosopher And hopes, in spite of pain; If winter bellow from the north, Soon the sweet spring comes dancing forth, And nature laughs again. V. What if thine heaven be overcast, The dark appearance will not last; Expect a brighter sky. The God, that strings the silver bow, Awakes sometimes the muses too, And lays his arrows by. VI. If hindrances obstruct thy way, Thy magnanimity display, And let thy strength be seen; But oh! if Fortune fill thy sail Take half thy canvass in. A REFLECTION ON THE FOREGOING ODE. AND is this all? Can reason do no more Than bid me shun the deep, and dread the shore? Sweet moralist! afloat on life's rough sea, The Christian has an art unknown to thee. He holds no parley with unmanly fears; Faces a thousand dangers at her call, And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all. |