How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!
How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends
His desolate domain. Behold, fond man!
See here thy pictured life! Pass some few years
Thy flowering spring, thy summer's ardent strength,
And sober autumn fading into age,
The pale concluding winter comes at last
The shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled
Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes
Of happiness? those longings after fame?
Those restless cares? those busy bustling days?
Those gay-spent festive nights? those veering thoughts,
Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life?
All now are vanish'd; virtue sole survives,
Immortal, never-failing friend of man--
His guide to happiness on high.
THOMSON.
[Illustration: WINTER.]
[Illustration: AND PALE CONCLUDING WINTER COMES AT LAST, AND SHUTS THE
SCENE.]
* * * * *
ON MUSIC.
[Illustration: Letter T.]
There are few who have not felt the charms of music, and acknowledged
its expressions to be intelligible to the heart. It is a language of
delightful sensations, that is far more eloquent than words: it breathes
to the ear the clearest intimations; but how it was learned, to what
origin we owe it, or what is the meaning of some of its most affecting
strains, we know not.
Pages:
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353