James Beattie ( 10 of 21 )
At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
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At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove.
Old age come on apace to ravage all the clime.
Old age come on apace to ravage all the clime.
On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,
And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb.
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
I dare not hope to please a Cinna's ear.
Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear;
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I dare not hope to please a Cinna's ear.
Or sing what Varus might vouchsafe to hear;
Harsh are the sweetest lays that I can bring,
So screams a goose where swans melodious sing.
From labour health, from health contentment spring;
Contentment opes the source of every joy.
From labour health, from health contentment spring;
Contentment opes the source of every joy.
Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;
Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms;
Inflexible in faith; invincible in read more
Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;
Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms;
Inflexible in faith; invincible in arms.
Let those deplore their doom,
Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn:
But lofty souls, who read more
Let those deplore their doom,
Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn:
But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb,
Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.
Changed to a lapwing by th' avenging god,
He made the barren waste his lone abode,
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Changed to a lapwing by th' avenging god,
He made the barren waste his lone abode,
And oft on soaring pinions hover'd o'er
The lofty palace then his own no more.
