Statesman, yet friend to truth of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end, Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend.
Statesman, yet friend to truth of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end, Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend.
Hope springs eternal in the human breast:
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
Ere such a soul regains its peaceful state,
How often must it love, how often hate!
Heav'n first taught letters for some wretch's aid,
Some banish'd lover, or some captive maid;
They live, they speak, they breathe what love inspires,
Warm from the soul, and faithful to its fires,
The virgin's wish without her fears impart,
Excuse the blush, and pour out all the heart,
Speed the soft intercourse from soul to soul,
And waft a sigh from Indus to the Pole.
Then all for Death, that Opiate of the soul!
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
There St John mingles with my friendly bowl; The feast of reason and the flow of soul.
To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each Seene, and be what they behold For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage.
All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul.
The soul, uneasy and confined from home, Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
See my lips tremble, and my eye-balls roll, Suck my last breath, and catch my flying soul.
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?
The dear ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rise in the grove, before the altar rise,
Stain all my soul, and wanton in my eyes.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories