In search of bliss consume their days,
Nor taste her genuine draught at Nature's spring.
Ye such the men who lead the gay,
The pride and patterns of the day,
Whose high-priz'd friendship fools and strangers boast-
Blush, thou! to court their barren fame;
Let HOME, Sweet HOME, thy presence claim,
And those enjoy thy smiles who love thee most!
The SAUNTERER.
[From the same.]
ULL of the dream of keen delight,
In youth a thousand toils we prove.
We climb ambition's fearful height,
And seek, thro' midnight gloom, the bow'r of love:
But with th' ensuing morn
The proffer'd bliss we scorn,
And throbs of new desire our rest annoy;
Distemper fires the veins,
The fev'rish thirst remains,
And passion's bitter dregs pollute the cup of joy.
Then happier far, in life's decay,
If neither gout nor stone assail,
If conscience, at the close of day,
With angel visitation bid us hail;
When frantic hopes are past,
We taste repose at last,
And reap sincere delight from homely cheer;
For, by the mossy cell,
Where quiet loves to dwell,
The streams of comfort rise, and run for ever clear.
Assembled round the social hearth,
When Winter holds his rigid sway,
We share the fruits of temp'rate mirth,
Nor fail to charm the dreary hours away-
And O! the joy that streams
Amid the coming gleams,
When blossoms ope, and birds are on the wing;
What time by music led,
The garden path I tread,
And meet the balmy breath of renovating Spring.
But not to formal walks confin'd,
While yet the jocund seasons reign,
I leave the garden wall behind,
With all the green enclosures of the plain :
And sights, and sounds of joy,
My wand'ring steps decoy
Still farther on, in quest of something new;
Till, past the bushy rill,
I mount yon shelving hill,
Where distant spires are kenn'd, and Ocean rolls in view.
There, as on Rapture's dazzled eye
The wonders of creation throng,
Devotion wakes, and wafts a sigh
To tracts beyond the limits of my song;
Till, forc'd by growing heat,
And hide me from the sun's meridian glare,
Down in some elfin nook,
Beside the pebbly brook,
Whose sound incessant brings forgetfulness of care.
Let sullen fools for ever hide-
At ev'n I gain the peopled road;
Or, led by friendship, turn aside,
To greet my neighbour in his thatch'd abode.
With him I pace the fields,
Learn what his harvest yields,
And see his children pass in playful drove;
I know the urchins all-
On me by name they call,
And flatter wrinkled age with many a mark of love.
As thus my daily rounds I
Still some kind office breeds delay
My mite with pleasure I bestow,
To cheer the wand'ring beggar on his way:
And should the buxom lass
Of yonder hamlet pass,
Fresh, blooming, and of harmless favours free;
Safe from her roguish smile,
I hand her o'er the stile,
And pray that she may meet with livelier lads than me.
[From Mr. HUDDESFORD'S WICCAMICAL CHAPLET.]
F Life, like a Bubble, evaporates fast,
You must take off your wine, if you wish it to last;
For a Bubble may soon be destroy'd with a puff,
If it is not kept floating in liquor enough.
If Life's like a Flow'r, as grave moralists say,
"Tis a very good thing, understood the right way;
For, if Life is a Flow'r, ev'ry blockhead can tell,
If you'd have it look fresh, you must water it well.
That Life is a Journey no mortal disputes,
Then we'll liquor our brains, boys, instead of our boots,
And each toper shall own, on Life's road as he reels,
That a spur in the head is worth two on the heels.
If Life's like a Lamp, then to make it shine brighter,
We'll assign to Madeira the post of Lamp-lighter,
We'll cherish the flame with Oporto so stout,
And drink Brandy-punch till we're fairly burnt out.
The World to a Theatre liken'd has been,
Where each one around bears his part in the scene;
If 'tis ours to be tipsy, 'tis matter of fact
That the more you all drink, boys, the better you'll act.
Life fleets like a Dream, like a vision appears,
Some laugh in their slumbers and others shed tears;
But of us, when we wake from our Dream, 'twill be said,
That the tears of the Tankard were all that we shed.
MUSE, the Conquest of Canadia tell
Oh tell how many gallant warriors died-
In climbing up that rugged mountain's side,
Ere they their post on Abraham's heights could gain!
And tell-how many of the French were slain!
The French on top resistance had prepar'd,
And block'd the passage with-a Captain's Guard:
1804.
Undauntedly the English forc'd the trench,
Undauntedly-and slow retir'd the French:
So Victors on the mountain's top we stood,
We bought our passage, and the price was Blood.
There to the silent moon the British hosts
Pale gleam'd, and dreadful as the midnight ghosts:
Then form'd the General his van and rear-
Here the dragoon, and there the grenadier-
Told them how Johnson, and how Amherst, fought,
And gave each man a quartern of gin hot.
One single cannon in the front they bore,
One; for the British army had no more :
Thus were the regiments rank'd in firm array,
And stood in order by the break of day.
Dark to the view a distant thicket rose,
Under the gloomy covert of whose boughs
Some ambuscade our prudent Leader fear'd,
Perhaps an Indian chicf-or Indian bird;
Each bush, each leafy brake, he boldly swore,
His Aide-du-camp should carefully explore.
When lo! the standards of the French appear,
Streaming like meteors to the troubled air:
Regiments on regiment to the plain they bring,
Aloof grim Horror beats his iron wing.
Last, from a delve in flank, two Chiefs advance
Potent allies of the Monarque of France:
One Atacullaculla, fam'd in war,
By Britons nam'd the Little Carpenter;
T'other, of giant port and tawny hue,
Was call'd the Raven King of Toogaloo;
On his rough brow Deliberation sate,
And each slow word he spake seem'd fix'd as Fate *.
"Stern warrior, Atacullaculla brave,
Whose sword can conquer, and whose arm can save,
Say, 'mid the battle's fury shall we rush-
Or sit conceal'd behind this shady bush?
Here we might fight, secure of dire alarms,
Why should we run then into danger's arms?
Yet think not, mighty chief, I mean to fly,
I laugh at danger-for I can but die ;-
A phrase in a letter of Norborne Berkeley, Lord Bottetourt, much ridiculed
But never be that brutal bravery mine
To offer Prudence up at Valour's shrine;
Full well I know my country. claims my life ;-
So do my little children and my wife."
The Chief no longer could his wrath resist,
But clench'd the brawny terrors of his fist:
Degen'rate Prince," he cried, " speak thus again,
This arm shall stretch thee breathless on the plain.
Tempt me not, coward, in my strength to rise,
Nought will avail thee thy disdainful eyes,
Thy limbs in thunder cloth'd and more than mortal size.
Ye Gods! how idle doth appear your art,
So huge a case for such a little heart!
Why doth the oker stain thy bosom red,
Why nods the sable plumage o'er thy head?
Why, 'midst thy bold companions, dost thou boast
With loudest yell to animate the host?
Why do the hoary scalps adorn thy wall,
Frequent as Fox-heads round the hunter's hall? -
If thou dost tremble to behold the foe,
To send the poison'd arrow from the bow,
With red right-hand the tomahawk to wield,
To scalp the warriors gasping in the field?
Go, formidable giant, rouse thy might
rage in forests, and with beasts to fight;
Go try thy prowess on the fearful hare;
Thou durst not combat in the walks of war.
Fly, prudent coward, save that worthless life,
Fly to thy little children and thy wife;
That wife shall groan beneath her husband's shame,
Those children blush to hear their father's name."
Imperious Chief," the Raven King replied, "I scorn thy menace as I hate thy pride.
'Tis not thine arm, with nervous valour strung,
No, nor the thunder of thy braver tongue,
Can shake the firm resolve that I pursue;
Here will I stand and fight-and so shall you.
Yet, Atacullaculla, wisely hear
The voice of Reason whisper in thine ear.
Say, should the fury of the whistling lead
From thy broad shoulders strike thy painted head,
What would it boot thee that, with ceaseless yell,
Thy friends shall howl around thy narrow cell;
Shall idly lay the wampum by thy side,
And ask in solemn sadness, Why you died?"
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