Now rushing in, the furious chief appears,
Gloomy as night! and shakes two shining spears;
A dreadful gleam from his bright armor came,
And from his eye-balls flash'd the living flame.
He moves a god, resistless in his course,
And seems a match for more than mortal force.
POPE'S HOMER.
Full in the midst, high tow'ring o'er the rest,
His limbs in arms divine Achilles drest;
Arms which the father of the fire bestow'd,
Forg'd on th' eternal anvils of the god.
Grief and revenge his furious breast inspire,
His glowing eye-balls roll with living fire;
He grinds his teeth, and furious with delay
O'erlooks th' embattled host, and hopes the bloody
day.
The silver cuishes first his thigh infold;
Then o'er his breast was brac'd the hollow gold;
The brazen sword a various baldrick ty'd,
That, starr'd with gems, hung glitt'ring at his
And like the moon, the broad refulgent shield Blaz'd with long rays, and gleam'd athwart the field.
Next, his high head the helmet grac'd: behind
The sweepy crest hung floating in the wind,
Like the red star, that from his flaming hair
Shakes down diseases, pestilence, and war;
So stream'd the golden honours from his head,
Trembled the sparkling plumes, and the loose
glories shed.
The Girdle of Venus.
With awe divine the queen of love
Obey'd the sister and the wife of Jove:
And from her fragrant breast the zone unbrac'd,
With various skill, and high embroid❜ry grac'd.
In this was ev'ry art, and ev'ry charm,
To win the wisest, and the coldest warm;
Fond love, the gentle yow, the gay desire,
The kind deceit, the still reviving fire,
Persuasive speech, and more persuasive sighs,
Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes.
This on her hand the Cyprian goddess laid;
Take this, and with it all thy wish, she said.
With smiles she took the charm, and smiling, prest
The pow'rful cestus to her snowy breast.
Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere,
'Tis no where to be found, or ev'ry where; "Tis never to be bought, but always free,
And fled from monarchs, St. John! dwells with
Ask of the learn'd the way? the learn'd are blind;
This bids to serve, and that to shun mankind;
Some place the bliss in action, some in ease,
Those call it pleasure, and contentment these.
Some sunk to beasts, find pleasure end in pain,
Some swell'd to gods confess e'en virtue vain;
Or indolent, to each extreme they fall,
To trust in ev'ry thing, or doubt of all,
Who thus define it, say they more or less
Than this, that happiness is happiness?
Order is heav'n's first law; and this confest,
Some are and must be, greater than the rest,
More rich, more wise; but who infers from hence That such are happier, shocks all common sense. Heav'n to mankind impartial we confess,
If all are equal in their happiness:
But mutual wants this happiness increase:
All nature's diff'rence keeps all nature's peace.
Condition, circumstance is not the thing;
Bliss is the same in subject or in king,
In who obtain defence, or who defend,
In him who is, or him who finds a friend:
Heav'n breathes through ev'ry member of the
One common blessing, as one common soul.
But fortune's gifts if each alike possess❜d,
And each were equal; must not all contest?
If then to all men happiness was meant,
God in externals could not place content.
Fortune her gifts may variously dispose,
And these be happy call'd, unhappy those;
But heav'n's just balance equal will appear,
While those are plac'd in hope, and these in fear
Not present good or ill, the joy or curse,
But future views of better, or of worse.
Know all the good that individuals find,
Or God and nature meant to mere mankind,
Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense,
Lie in three words, health, peace, and competence.
But health consists with temperance alone;
And peace, oh virtue! peace is all thy own.
The true Reward of Virtue.
What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy,
The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy,
Is virtue's prize: a better would you fix,
Then give humility a coach and six,
Justice a conqueror's sword, or truth a gown,
Or public spirit its great cure, a crown.
Weak, foolish man! will heaven reward us there,
With the same trash mad mortals wish for here?
The boy and man an individual makes,
Yet sigh'st thou now for apples and for cakes?
Go, like the Indian, in another life
Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife:
As well as dream such trifles are assign'd
As toys and empires for a godlike mind.
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