SMOLLET. O listen from thy calm abode, TIXALL'S POETRY. The following beautiful Latin epigram on Sleep, has been generally attributed to T. Warton: the reader will be amused with the original, and with the various ingenious translations given below: IN SOMNUM. Somne levis! quanquam certissima mortis imago, Alma quies, optata, veni! nam sic, sine vitâ TRANSLATIONS. Come sleep, death's image, to thy arms I fly, O sleep profound! though near allied To death's still state, which we must dread, To be the partner of my bed. Embrac'd by thee, soft, gentle rest! For lifeless thus to live, how blest! ANON. REV. MR. COLE. Come, gentle sleep, attend thy vot'ry's pray'r, DR WOLCOTT. Though death's strong likeness in thy form we trace, Come, gentle sleep! to thee I sing, Soft rest! oh! wave thy downy wing, What, though the true resemblance thine, The shadows of the dead, For thee I wish, for thee 1 pine, To share my humble bed. How sweet to draw the vital breath, Yet thus from life to fly; And thus, without a real death, ANON. MRS. BRADFORD. Emblem of death! come, soothing, balmy sleep! MRS. MEYLER. Sleep! though death thou dost resemble, Then, while on my pillow lying, REV. E. CARTWRIGHT. ANON. ANON. Death's truest image, sorrow's surest friend, Sleep, like a bride, upon my couch attend! For oh! what charm thy lenient pow'r applies To him, who dying lives, yet living dies! Come, death's soft image, on my pillow rest, And me, kind sleep, of care and thought divest : How sweet to die, while still retaining breath, To live, thus folded in the arms of death! The following is from the German of Herder :"Among the innumerable genii whom Jupiter had created to amuse and delight the short-timed laborious lives of men, was found also dark Sleep. To what purpose am I here, (said he, contemplating his own form,) here, among my more splendid and attractive brothers? How melancholy do I appear, in the chorus of the sports, the joys, and the wanton caprices of love! What boots it that I am desired by the unhappy, the burden of whose sufferings I take away, and whom I relieve by gentle oblivion; but as to them who never tire, who know nought of the cares of wretchedness, the circle of their delights I only interrupt.' Thou errest, (said the fatl.er of genii and men;) in thy dark form wilt thou become the beloved genius of all mankind, for dost thou not believe that joys and sports fatigue? In reality they tire sooner than care and wretchedness, and transform themselves for the satiated in bliss into the most wearisome satiety. Neither shalt thou be without delight, (he continued ;) thou shalt even oft surpass all thy brothers in them.' With these words he presented to him the silver-gray horn of pleasant dreams : Scatter out of this (said he) thy seeds of slumber, and the happy as well as unhappy shall love and wish for thee more than for all thy brothers. The hopes, the loves, and the joys which are in it, have been gathered by thy sisters, the graces, with enchanted hand, out of our most blissful gardens. The ethereal dew which shines upon them, will animate with his own wish, every one whom thou meanest to render happy; and as the goddess of love has besprinkled them with our immortal nectar, hence the delight they give to mortals will be more graceful and delicate, than all the poor realities which the earth can afford. Out of the chorus of the most blooming sports and joys, they will gladly hasten into thy arms: poets will sing thee, and in their songs strive to imitate the enchantment of thy art: even the innocent maiden will wish for thee, and thou wilt rest on her eyes, a sweet and blissful deity.' The complaint of sleep was changed to triumphant thanks, and he was united with the most beautiful of the graces, Pasithea." But the pleasures of Sleep are not equally enjoyed by all. In order to enjoy them, the mind should be tranquil, not ruffled by contending emotions, nor disturbed by the pangs of a guilty conscience. Shakspeare has finely contrasted the sweets of a sound sleep and the horrors of a restless night, in this soliloquy of King Henry the Fourth : How many thousands of my poorest subjects And hush'd with busy night-flies to thy slumbers, And lull'd with sounds of sweetest melody? Curling their monstrous heads, and hanging them And in the calmest and the stillest night, Deny it to a king ?-then happy low lie down! Horace tells us, that Sleep disdains not to dwell with the poor : Sleep is a god too proud to waste in palaces; The meanest country cottages: 'Tis not enough that he does find The hour in which we dispose ourselves to enjoy the sweet influence of Sleep, should be always preceded by thanksgivings to our heavenly Father. Let us not only thank him because the days happily succeed each other, but always because sleep is ordained for our comfort and refreshment. Let reflections like these be the last which take place before sleep surprises and locks up our soul in silken fetters; and when morning dissolves the charm, let love and gratitude to God be the first emotion of our heart. CHAP. XXI. TOWN. Towns are nurs'ries of the arts, In which they flourish most; where, in the beams Of public note, they reach their perfect size. |