Wide, and more wide, the floating rings advance, Fill all the watery plain, and to the margin dance: Thus every voice and sound, when first they break, On neighbouring air a soft impression make; Another ambient circle then they move; That, in its turn, impels the next above; Through undulating air the sounds are sent, And spread o'er all the fluid element.
There various news I heard of love and strife, Of peace and war, health, sickness, death, and life, Of loss and gain, of famine and of store,
Of storms at sea, and travels on the shore, Of prodigies, and portents seen in air,
Of fires and plagues, and stars with blazing hair, Of turns of fortune, changes in the state, The falls of favourites, projects of the great, Of old mismanagements, taxations new; All neither wholly false, nor wholly true.
Above, below, without, within, around, Confused, unnumber'd multitudes are found, Who pass, repass, advance, and glide away, Hosts raised by fear, and phantoms of a day: Astrologers, that future fates foreshow, Projectors, quacks, and lawyers not a few; And priests, and party zealots, numerous bands, With home-born lies, or tales from foreign lands; Each talk'd aloud, or in some secret place, And wild impatience stared in every face. The flying rumours gather'd as they roll'd, Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told; And all who told it added something new, And all who heard it made enlargements too; In every ear it spread, on every tongue it grew.
Thus flying east and west, and north and south, News travell'd with increase from mouth to mouth. So from a spark, that kindled first by chance, With gathering force the quickening flames advance; Till to the clouds their curling heads aspire, And towers and temples sink in floods of fire. When thus ripe lies are to perfection sprung, Full grown, and fit to grace a mortal tongue, Through thousand vents, impatient, forth they flow, And rush in millions on the world below:
Fame sits aloft, and points them out their course, Their date determines, and prescribes their force; Some to remain, and some to perish soon, Or wane and wax alternate like the moon. Around a thousand winged wonders fly,
Borne by the trumpet's blast, and scatter'd through the sky.
There, at one passage, oft you might survey
A lie and truth contending for the way;
And long 'twas doubtful, both so closely pent, Which first should issue through the narrow vent; At last agreed, together out they fly, Inseparable now the truth and lie:
The strict companions are for ever join'd, And this or that, unmix'd, no mortal e'er shall find While thus I stood, intent to see and hear, One came, methought, and whisper'd in my ear: What could thus high thy rash ambition raise? Art thou, fond youth, a candidate for praise?'
''Tis true,' said I, 'not void of hopes I came, For who so fond as youthful bards of fame ? But few, alas! the casual blessing boast, So hard to gain, so easy to be lost.
How vain that second life in others' breath, The estate which wits inherit after death!
Ease, health, and life, for this they must resign, (Unsure the tenure, but how vast the fine!)
The great man's curse, without the gains, endure; Be envied, wretched; and be flatter'd, poor; All luckless wits their enemies profess'd, And all successful, jealous friends at best. Nor fame I slight, nor for her favours call; She comes unlook'd for, if she comes at all. But if the purchase costs so dear a price, As soothing folly, or exalting vice; O! if the Muse must flatter lawless sway, And follow still where fortune leads the way; Or if no basis bear my rising name,
But the fallen ruins of another's fame;
Then teach me, Heaven! to scorn the guilty bays; Drive from my breast that wretched lust of praise; Unblemish'd let me live, or die unknown: O grant an honest fame, or grant me none!'
THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.
VITAL spark of heavenly flame! Quit, O quit this mortal frame! Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying; O the pain, the bliss of dying! Cease, fond Nature! cease thy strife, And let me languish into life.
Hark! they whisper; angels say, Sister spirit, come away. What is this absorbs me quite, Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? Tell me, my soul! can this be death?
The world recedes! it disappears! Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring:
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O grave! where is thy victory? O death! where is thy sting?
WHAT are the falling rills, the pendent shades, The morning bowers, the evening colonnades, But soft recesses for the uneasy mind, To sigh unheard in, to the passing wind? So the struck deer, in some sequester'd part, Lies down to die (the arrow in his heart); There hid in shades, and wasting day by day, Inly he bleeds, and pants his soul away.
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