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Condition, circumstance, is not the thing; Bliss is the same in subject or in king, In who obtain defence or who defend,

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But fortune's gifts if each alike possessed, And all were equal, must not all con

test?.

If then to all men happiness was meant, God in externals could not place content.

Fortune her gifts may variously dis

pose,

And these be happy called, unhappy those;

But Heaven's just balance equal will ap

pear,

While those are placed in hope, and these in fear;

Not present good or ill, the joy or curse,
But future views of better or of worse.
O sons of earth, attempt ye still to
rise,

By mountains piled on mountains, to the skies?

Heaven still with laughter the vain toil

surveys,

And buries madmen in the heaps they

raise.

Know, all the good that individuals

find,

Or God and nature meant to mere mankind,

Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of

sense,

Lie in three words, health, peace, and competence.

ALLAN RAMSAY.

[1685-1758.]

SONG.

FAREWELL to Lochaber, farewell to my Jean,

Where heartsome with thee I have mony a day been:

To Lochaber no more, to Lochaber no

more,

We'll maybe return to Lochaber no

more.

These tears that I shed they are a' for my dear,

In him who is or him who finds a friend; | And not for the dangers attending on Heaven breathes through every member

of the whole

One common blessing, as one common soul.

weir:

Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore,

Maybe to return to Lochaber no more!

Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind,

No tempest can equal the storm in my mind;

Though loudest of thunders on louder

waves roar,

That's naething like leaving my love on

the shore.

To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained,

But by ease that's inglorious no fame can be gained:

And beauty and love's the reward of the brave;

And I maun deserve it before I can crave.

Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my

excuse;

Since honor commands me, how can I refuse?

Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee,

And losing thy favor I'd better not be. I gae then, my lass, to win honor and fame,

And if I should chance to come glorious hame,

I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er,

And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber

no more.

JOHN GAY.

[1688-1732.]

THE PAINTER WHO PLEASED NOBODY AND EVERYBODY.

LEST men suspect your tale untrue,
Keep probability in view.

The traveller, leaping o'er those bounds,
The credit of his book confounds.
Who with his tongue hath armies routed
Makes even his real courage doubted:
But flattery never seems absurd;
The flattered always takes your word:
Impossibilities seein just ;

They take the strongest praise on trust.
Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,
Will still come short of self-conceit.

So very like a painter drew,
That every eye the picture knew;
He hit complexion, feature, air,

So just, the life itself was there.
No flattery with his colors laid,
To bloom restored the faded maid;
He gave each muscle all its strength,
The mouth, the chin, the nose's length.
His honest pencil touched with truth,
And marked the date of age and youth.
He lost his friends, his practice failed;
Truth should not always be revealed;
In dusty piles his pictures lay,
For no one sent the second pay.
Two bustos, fraught with every grace,
A Venus' and Apollo's face,
He placed in view; resolved to please,
Whoever sat, he drew from these,
From these corrected every feature,
And spirited each awkward creature.
All things were set; the hour was

come,

His pallet ready o'er his thumb.
My lord appeared; and seated right
In proper attitude and light,
The painter looked, he sketched the
piece,

Then dipped his pencil, talked of Greece,
Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air;

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Those eyes, my lord, the spirit there Might well a Raphael's hand require, To give them all their native fire; The features fraught with sense and wit,

You'll grant are very hard to hit;
But yet with patience you shall view
As much as paint and art can do.
Observe the work." My lord replied:
"Till now I thought my mouth was
wide;

Besides, my nose is somewhat long;
Dear sir, for me, 't is far too young."

"Oh! pardon me," the artist cried, "In this the painters must decide. The piece even common eyes must strike, I warrant it extremely like."

My lord examined it anew;
No looking-glass seemed half so true.

A lady came; with borrowed grace
He from his Venus formed her face.
Her lover praised the painter's art;
So like the picture in his heart!
To every age some charm he lent;
Even beauties were almost content.
Through all the town his art they praised;
His custom grew, his price was raised.
Had he the real likeness shown,
Would any man the picture own?
But when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness in his thought.

JOHN BYROM.

JOHN BYROM.

[1691-1763.]

CARELESS CONTENT.

I AM Content, I do not care,

Wag as it will the world for me; When fuss and fret was all my fare, It got no ground as I could see: So when away my caring went, I counted cost, and was content.

With more of thanks and less of thought,
I strive to make my matters meet;
To seek what ancient sages sought,

Physic and food in sour and sweet:
To take what passes in good part,
And keep the hiccups from the heart.

With good and gentle-humored hearts,
I choose to chat where'er I come,
Whate'er the subject be that starts;
But if I get among the glum,
I hold my tongue to tell the truth,
And keep my breath to cool my broth.

For chance or change of peace or pain,
For Fortune's favor or her frown,
For lack or glut, for loss or gain,

I never dodge nor up nor down;
But swing what way the ship shall swim,
Or tack about with equal trim.

I suit not where I shall not speed,
Nor trace the turn of every tide;
If simple sense will not succeed,

I make no bustling, but abide;
For shining wealth or scaring woe,
I force no friend, I fear no foe.

-JAMES THOMSON.

Of ups and downs, of ins and outs,
Of they're i' the wrong, and we're
i' the right,

I shun the rancors and the routs;
And wishing well to every wight,
Whatever turn the matter takes,
I deem it all but ducks and drakes.

With whom I feast I do not fawn,
Nor if the folks should flont me, faint;
If wonted welcome be withdrawn,

I cook no kind of a complaint:
With none disposed to disagree,
But like them best who best like me.

Not that I rate myself the rule

How all my betters should behave;

But fame shall find me no man's fool,
Nor to a set of men a slave:
I love a friendship free and frank,
And hate to hang upon a hank.

Fond of a true and trusty tie,
I never loose where'er I link;
Though if a business budges by,

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I talk thereon just as I think;
My word, my work, my heart, my hand,
Still on a side together stand.

If names or notions make a noise,
Whatever hap the question hath,
The point impartially I poise,

And read or write, but without wrath; For should I burn, or break my brains, Pray, who will pay me for my pains?

I love my neighbor as myself,

Myself like him too, by his leave; Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf

Came I to crouch, as I conceive: Dame Nature doubtless has designed A man the monarch of his mind.

Now taste and try this temper, sirs; Mood it and brood it in your breast; Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs,

That man does right to mar his rest, I am content, I do not care. Let me be deft, and debonair,

JAMES THOMSON.

[1700-1748.]

FROM THE "CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.”

IN lowly dale, fast by a river's side, With woody hill o'er hill encompassed round,

A most enchanting wizard did abide, Than whom a friend more fell is no

where found.

It was, I ween, a lovely spot of ground: And there a season atween June and

May,

Half pranked with spring, with summer half imbrowned,

A listless climate made, where, sooth

to say,

No living wight could work, nor caréd even for play.

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streamlets played,

And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,

Forever flushing round a summer sky: There eke the soft delights, that witchingly

Instil a wanton sweetness through the breast,

And the calm pleasures, always hovered nigh;

But whate'er smacked of noyance or unrest

And hurled everywhere their waters Was far, far off expelled from this deli

sheen;

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