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« Art thou not man, and dar'st thou find
Presumptuous thought and vain!
is weak unless employ'd
~ Shall light and shade, and warmth and air, With those exalted joys compare,
Which active Virtue feels !
At her triumphant wheels?
66 As rest and labour still succeeds
Employ his toilsome day;
To sooth him on his way.
« Enthusiast, go, unstring thy lyre, In vain thou sing'st, if none admire,
How sweet soe'er the strain. And is not thy o'erflowing mind, Unless thou mixest with thy kind,
Benevolent in vain ?
Enthusiast, go, try every sense,
Thou yet hast learn’d to scan;
That man was made for man."
THE MAN OF SORROW.
BY MR. GREVILLE.
Ah! what avails the lengthening mead, By Nature's kindest bounty spread
Along the vale of flowers! Ah! what avails the darkening grove, Or Philomel's melodious love,
That glads the midnight hours !
For me (alas !) the god of day
Nor night her comfort brings :
Nor Philomela sings.
See how the sturdy peasants stride,
In cheerful ignorance blest !
By gay Contentment drest,
Content, fair daughter of the skies,
Her choice divinely free:
Of Avarice and me.
But see—or is it Fancy's dream ?
Shot sudden thro' the groves ;
More mild than Paphian doves !
Welcome, O! welcome, Pleasure's queen!
The jocund train advance :
Plays in the sportive dance.
Ah! baneful grant of angry Heaven
A soul alive to joy!
To cares, that Peace destroy.
And see, with visionary haste,
Reality remains !
And slackens still the reins.
Ten thousand beauties round me throng:
To the distemper'd soul?
With groans the waters roll.
Ye gilded roofs, Palladian domes,
Ye were for misery made-
Along th’unhallow'd shade.