CHAPTER.
117
After many illustrations of Envy, in which his contemporaries figure, the "Discourse" concludes thus:—
"How grand, how sweet 'tis, to one's self to say,
'I have no enemies'! My rivals? Nay,
Their good, their ill, their honour's mine in part,
Their triumphs, too, for we are kin through Art.
Thus folds the gracious earth to bosom wide
These oaks, these pines, that flourish side by side;
With equal sap impels the grove to rise,
Rooting in Hades, branching to the skies,
Their trunks unmoved, their heads, as in disdain,
Bent back, defying all the tempest's strain;
Whom brotherhood makes time-proof. And, the while,
Under their spreading shade do serpents vile
Hiss, venting each on each a poison-flood,
And stain the roots with their detested blood."
'I have no enemies'! My rivals? Nay,
Their good, their ill, their honour's mine in part,
Their triumphs, too, for we are kin through Art.
Thus folds the gracious earth to bosom wide
These oaks, these pines, that flourish side by side;
With equal sap impels the grove to rise,
Rooting in Hades, branching to the skies,
Their trunks unmoved, their heads, as in disdain,
Bent back, defying all the tempest's strain;
Whom brotherhood makes time-proof. And, the while,
Under their spreading shade do serpents vile
Hiss, venting each on each a poison-flood,
And stain the roots with their detested blood."
The Discourse on "Moderation" contains much excellent though not very original advice, besides a lament that his own too-unrestrained desire to rise in the world should have led him to waste his time in courts. He thus lectures the Sybarites of Paris:—
"Ye who in pleasure's quest your hours employ,
Learn both to recognise it and enjoy!
Pleasures are flowers, which our Master's care
'Mid the world's briers makes to blossom fair;
Each has its season, and a later bloom
May still survive to cheer our winter's gloom.
In gathering them the touch should lightly rest,
Their fleeting beauty fades too eager pressed.
Do not, upon the palled sense, lavish cast
All Flora's sweets in one voluptuous blast!
Somewhat the wise still leave unfelt, unknown,
And, by abstaining, hold the joy their own.
Luckless the drone, with leisure's load oppressed,
Learn both to recognise it and enjoy!
Pleasures are flowers, which our Master's care
'Mid the world's briers makes to blossom fair;
Each has its season, and a later bloom
May still survive to cheer our winter's gloom.
In gathering them the touch should lightly rest,
Their fleeting beauty fades too eager pressed.
Do not, upon the palled sense, lavish cast
All Flora's sweets in one voluptuous blast!
Somewhat the wise still leave unfelt, unknown,
And, by abstaining, hold the joy their own.
Luckless the drone, with leisure's load oppressed,
