Written by
Thomas Moore |
"What! still those two infernal questions,
That with our meals our slumbers mix --
That spoil our tempers and digestions --
Eternal Corn and Catholics!
Gods! were there ever two such bores?
Nothing else talk'd of night or morn --
Nothing in doors, or out of doors,
But endless Catholics and Corn!
Never was such a brace of pests --
While Ministers, still worse than either,
Skill'd but in feathering their nests,
Plague us with both, and settle neither.
So addled in my cranium meet
Popery and Corn, that oft I doubt,
Whether this year, 'twas bonded Wheat
Or bonded Papists, they let out.
Here, landlords, here, polemics nail you,
Arm'd with all rubbish they can rake up;
Prices and Texts at once assail you --
From Daniel these, and those from Jacob.
And when you sleep, with head still torn
Between the two, their shapes you mix,
Till sometimes Catholics seem Corn --
Then Corn again seems Catholics.
Now, Dantzic wheat before you floats --
Now, Jesuits from California --
Now, Ceres, link'd with Titus Oats,
Comes dancing through the "Porta Cornea.
"
Oft, too, the Corn grows animate,
And a whole crop of heads appears,
Like Papists, bearding Church and State --
Themselves, together by the ears!
In short, these torments never cease;
And oft I wish myself transferr'd off
To some far, lonely land of peace,
Where Corn or Papists ne'er were heard of.
Yes, waft me, Parry, to the Pole,
For -- if my fate is to be chosen
'Twixt bores and icebergs -- on my soul,
I'd rather, of the two, be frozen!
|
Written by
Friedrich von Schiller |
What wonder this?--we ask the lympid well,
O earth! of thee--and from thy solemn womb
What yieldest thou?--is there life in the abyss--
Doth a new race beneath the lava dwell?
Returns the past, awakening from the tomb?
Rome--Greece!--Oh, come!--Behold--behold! for this!
Our living world--the old Pompeii sees;
And built anew the town of Dorian Hercules!
House upon house--its silent halls once more
Opes the broad portico!--Oh, haste and fill
Again those halls with life!--Oh, pour along
Through the seven-vista'd theatre the throng!
Where are ye, mimes?--Come forth, the steel prepare
For crowned Atrides, or Orestes haunt,
Ye choral Furies, with your dismal chant!
The arch of triumph!--whither leads it?--still
Behold the forum!--on the curule chair
Where the majestic image? Lictors, where
Your solemn fasces?--Place upon his throne
The Praetor--here the witness lead, and there
Bid the accuser stand
--O God! how lone
The clear streets glitter in the quiet day--
The footpath by the doors winding its lifeless way!
The roofs arise in shelter, and around
The desolate Atrium--every gentle room
Wears still the dear familiar smile of home!
Open the doors--the shops--on dreary night
Let lusty day laugh down in jocund light!
See the trim benches ranged in order!--See
The marble-tesselated floor--and there
The very walls are glittering livingly
With their clear colors.
But the artist, where!
Sure but this instant he hath laid aside
Pencil and colors!--Glittering on the eye
Swell the rich fruits, and bloom the flowers!--See all
Art's gentle wreaths still fresh upon the wall!
Here the arch Cupid slyly seems to glide
By with bloom-laden basket.
There the shapes
Of genii press with purpling feet the grapes,
Here springs the wild Bacchante to the dance,
And there she sleeps [while that voluptuous trance
Eyes the sly faun with never-sated glance]
Now on one knee upon the centaur-steeds
Hovering--the Thyrsus plies.
--Hurrah!--away she speeds!
Come--come, why loiter ye?--Here, here, how fair
The goodly vessels still! Girls, hither turn,
Fill from the fountain the Etruscan urn!
On the winged sphinxes see the tripod.
-- Ho!
Quick--quick, ye slaves, come--fire!--the hearth prepare!
Ha! wilt thou sell?--this coin shall pay thee--this,
Fresh from the mint of mighty Titus!--Lo!
Here lie the scales, and not a weight we miss
So--bring the light! The delicate lamp!--what toil
Shaped thy minutest grace!--quick pour the oil!
Yonder the fairy chest!--come, maid, behold
The bridegroom's gifts--the armlets--they are gold,
And paste out-feigning jewels!--lead the bride
Into the odorous bath--lo! unguents still--
And still the crystal vase the arts for beauty fill!
But where the men of old--perchance a prize
More precious yet in yon papyrus lies,
And see ev'n still the tokens of their toil--
The waxen tablets--the recording style.
The earth, with faithful watch, has hoarded all!
Still stand the mute penates in the hall;
Back to his haunts returns each ancient god.
Why absent only from their ancient stand
The priests?--waves Hermes his Caducean rod,
And the winged victory struggles from the hand.
Kindle the flame--behold the altar there!
Long hath the god been worshipless--to prayer.
|
Written by
Isaac Watts |
Holiness and grace.
Titus 2:10-13.
O let our lips and lives express
The holy gospel we profess;
So let our works and virtues shine,
To prove the doctrine all divine.
Thus shall we best proclaim abroad
The honors of our Savior God;
When the salvation reigns within,
And grace subdues the power of sin.
Our flesh and sense must be denied,
Passion and envy, lust and pride;
While justice, temp'rance, truth, and love,
Our inward piety approve.
Religion bears our spirits up,
While we expect that blessed hope,
The bright appearance of the Lord,
And faith stands leaning on his word.
|
Written by
Isaac Watts |
Salvation by grace.
Titus 3:3-7.
[Lord, we confess our num'rous faults,
How great our guilt has been!
Foolish and vain were all our thoughts,
And all our lives were sin.
But, O my soul! for ever praise,
For ever love his name,
Who turns thy feet from dangerous ways
Of folly, sin, and shame.
]
['Tis not by works of righteousness
Which our own hands have done;
But we are saved by sovereign grace
Abounding through his Son.
]
'Tis from the mercy of our God
That all our hopes begin;
'Tis by the water and the blood
Our souls are washed from sin.
'Tis through the purchase of his death
Who hung upon the tree,
The Spirit is sent down to breathe
On such dry bones as we.
Raised from the dead we live anew;
And, justified by grace,
We shall appear in glory too,
And see our Father's face.
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