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To whom can riches give repute, or trust,
Content, or pleasure, but the good and just?
Judges and senates have been bought for gold;
Esteem and love were never to be sold :
Oh fool! to think God hates the worthy mind,
The lover and the love of human kind,
Whose life is healthful, and whose conscience clear,
Because he wants a thousand pounds a year.
Honour and shame from no condition rise ;
Act well your part, there all the honour lies.
Fortune in men has some small difference made,
One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade ;
The cobler aproned, and the parson gowned,
The friar hooded, and the monarch crowned.
“What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl!"
I 'll tell you, friend ! a wise man and a fool.
You 'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk,
Or, cobler-like, the parson will be drunk,
Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow :
The rest is all but leather or prunella.
Go! if your ancient, but ignoble blood
Has crept through scoundrels ever since the flood,
Go! and pretend your family is young;
Nor own your fathers have been fools so long.
What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards ?
Alas! not all the blood of all the Howards.
POPE.-[From the “Essay on Man."]
Abou Ben Adhew and the Angel.
ABOU BEN ADHEM (may his tribe increase)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An Angel, writing in a book of gold :-
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
“What writest thou ?” — The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, " The names of those who love the Lord.”
“And is mine one ?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, “I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.”
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
When I was a dweller in Cloudland,
I dwelt in a rich and a proud land;
I was lord of the clime,
I was king of the time ;
And the sun and the shower,
The leaf and the flower,
All came to my bidding in Cloudland.
I was monarch supreme in my Cloudland,
I was master of fate in that proud land;
I would not endure
That a grief without cure,
A love that could end,
Or a false-hearted friend,
Should dwell for an instant in Cloudland.
My Cloudland, my beautiful Cloudland,
I made thee a great and a proud land;
With skies ever bright,
And with hearts ever light;
Neither sorrow nor sin
Found a harbour within,
And Love was the law of my Cloudland.
But, alas for myself and my proud land!
There came Revolution in Cloudland;
My people, untrue,
Broke my sceptre in two,
And, false to their vow,
Took the crown from my brow,
And banished me far from my Cloudland.
My Cloudland, my beautiful Cloudland,
How happy was I in that proud land!
All the wisdom I've won
Since my realm was undone,
Is but poor to repay
What I lost in the day
When I turned my last looks upon Cloudland.
Oh, ye thoughts and ye feelings of Cloudland !
Ye died when I quitted that proud land !
I wander discrowned,
On a bare chilly ground;
An exile forlorn,
Weary, weary, and worn,
Never more to revisit my Cloudland.
GATHER ye Rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying:
And this same flower that smiles to-day,
Tomorrow will be dying.
The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,
The higher he's a getting; The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best, which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times, still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time;
And while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry.