Page images
PDF
EPUB
[graphic]
[graphic]

5)

THE PROGRESS OF ERROR
Prepares for meals as jocszes tazas
Oh, nauseous !-an emere for a st!
Will Providence oerlook the wsz!
Temperance were no virtue if he

That pleasures, thereiste, ki so al
Are hurtful, is a truth confeita:
And some, that seem to threxsen viral
Still hurtful, in the abuse, or other

Is man then only for his turniast pace
The centre of delights he may not asa?
Like fabled Tantalus, condemnei to za
The precious stream still purling in his ezz,
Lip-deep in what he longs for, and yet und
With prohibition, and perpetual thirst?
No wrangler – destitute of shame ai sus,
The precept, that enjoins him abstines,
Forbids him none but the licentious jos,
Whose fruit, though fair, terpts only to tam
Remorse, the fatal egg by Pleasure bait
In every bosom where her test is mala,
Hatch'd by the beams of Truth, desta
And proves a raging scorpion in his tas
No pleasure ? Are domestic comiats de
Are all the mannelesa sweets of friendskasta
Kas time worn out, or fashion put to shane (tems!
Good sense, good health, good ZIP, pod
All these belong to virtue, ai ilgore
That virtue has a title to your love
Have you no touch of pity, that the pas
Stand starved at your inhesablamat

scantly

[graphic]

away. ey.

пе

e,
C
ciest.
ruth,
outh,

ice, rice,

on; zine own!

[graphic]

51

THE PROGRESS OF ERROR
Prepares for meals as jockeys take a sweat,
Oh, nauseous!-an emetic for a whet!
Will Providence o'erlook the wasted good?
Temperance were no virtue if he could.

That pleasures, therefore, or what such we call
Are hurtful, is a truth confess'd by all;
And some, that seem to threaten virtue less,
Still hurtful, in the abuse, or by the excess.

Is man then only for his torment placed
The centre of delights he may not taste?
Like fabled Tantalus, condemned to hear
The precious stream still purling in his ear,
Lip-deep in what he longs for, and yet curs'd
With prohibition, and perpetual thirst?
No wrangler—destitute of shame and sense,
The precept, that enjoins him abstinence,
Forbids him none but the licentious joy,
Whose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy
Remorse, the fatal egg by Pleasure laid
In every bosom where her nest is made,
Hatch'd by the beams of Truth, denies him test,
And proves a raging scorpion in his breast,
No pleasure? Are domestic comforts dead?
Are all the nameless sweets of friendship ted!
Has time worn out, or fashion put to shame [fame?
Good sense, good healtli, good conscience, md good
All these belong to virtue, and all prove
That virtue has a title to your love.
Have you no touch of pity, that the post
Stand starved at your inhospitable door?

scantily supplied

[graphic]
« PreviousContinue »