Elegy X. To Fortune, Suggesting His Motive for Repining at Her Dispensations
Ask not the cause why this rebellious tongue
Loads with fresh curses thy detested sway!
Ask not, thus branded in my softest song,
Why stands the flatter'd name, which all obey!
'Tis not, that in my shed I lurk forlorn,
Nor see my roof on Parian columns rise;
That, on this breast, no mimic star is borne,
Revered, ah! more than those that light the skies.
'Tis not, that on the turf supinely laid,
I sing or pipe but to the flocks that graze;
And, all inglorious, in the lonesome shade
My finger stiffens, and my voice decays.
Not, that my fancy mourns thy stern command,
When many an embryo dome is lost in air;
While guardian Prudence checks my eager hand,
And, ere the turf is broken, cries, 'Forbear:
'Forbear, vain Youth! be cautious, weigh thy gold,
Nor let yon rising column more aspire:
Ah! better dwell in ruins, than behold
Thy fortunes mouldering, and thy domes entire.
'Honorio built, but dared my laws defy;
He planted, scornful of my sage commands;
The peach's vernal bud regaled his eye,
The fruitage ripen'd for more frugal hands.'
See the small stream, that pours its murmuring tide
O'er some rough rock, that would its wealth display;
Displays it aught but penury and pride?
Ah! construe wisely what such murmurs say.
How would some flood, with ampler treasures blest,
Disdainful view the scantling drops distil!
How must Velino shake his reedy crest!
How every cygnet mock the boastive rill!
Fortune! I yield; and see, I give the sign;
At noon the poor mechanic wanders home,
Collects the square, the level, and the line,
And, with retorted eye, forsakes the dome.
Yes, I can patient view the shadeless plains;
Can unrepining leave the rising wall;
Check the fond love of art that fired my veins,
And my warm hopes, in full pursuit, recall.
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poem by William Shenstone
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