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O’er midnight glass, or by the Fair

In dalliance soft caress’d:
Without a thought, without a care

To discompose their rest,
The meaner herd exulting pant to rove
The flowery paths of pleasure's fairy grove.

While more determin'd bosoms glow

With high Ambition's fires:
Source of whate'er is great below,

The grave of mean desires :
Adieu for them the pleasure-winged hour,
Adieu the bed of ease, the Paphian bower!

Tho'rough the paths that lead to Fame,

Their steps no toils dismay;
Ambition aids the generous aim,

And smooths the rugged way :
With all its lustre bids bright Virtue shine,
And into action wakes the big design.

What breakes th' aspiring statesman's rest?

What gives the Muse to sing? Ambition wakes his anxious breast,

And plumes her towering wing: Instrućts the feeble Monarch how to bear The crown, and all the thorns that fasten there.

The General's wakeful bosom fires,

And guards the jealous camp;
The scholar's flattering hope inspires,

And trims the midnight lamp ;
The pride of arts from fair Ambition springs,
And blooms secure beneath her fostering wings.

Oft, Goddess, as thy genial ray

Pervades the feeling heart,
Love trembling quits his sensual sway,

And drops his feeble dart :
The flowers, that in the Paphian garden grow,
Fade in the wreath that rounds the hero's brow,

Pleasure retreats with wanton smiles,

And Strength-unnerving eyes;
Hoping in vain by Parthian wiles

To conquer as she Aies :
Sloth with reluctance quits her foul embrace,
Rough Care and manly Toil assume her place.

Virtue with firm quaternion band

His eager steps precedes ;
A flambeau grasping in her hand,

To light to glorious deeds:
The sister-train his toils with glory crown,
And point the arduous paths to fair renown.

By these inspir'd young Scipio trod

To Fame th' adventurous way;
“ By Love,” he cry'd, “ let Paphos' god

The softer soul betray ;
A nobler quarry lures the hero's eye :'
He spoke, and bade th' unconquer'd eagle fly.

Hence then, ye Slaves, whom Ease delights,

To yon lone cloyster stray,
Where monkish apathy invites

To dose tame life away :
True Worth, that spurns the hermit's sluggard cell,
In Glory's active courts delights to dwell.

ODE II.

ON

AMBITION.

BY SIR JAMES MARRIOT, BART.

The mariner, when first he sails,
While his bold oars the sparkling surface sweep,

With new delight, transported hails
The blue expanded skies, and level deep.

Such young Ambition's fearless aim,
Pleas'd with the gorgeous scene of wealth and power,

In the gay morn of early fame,
Nor thinks of evening's storm and gloomy hour.

Life's opening views bright charms reveal, Feed the fond wish, and fan the youthful fire ;

But woes unknown those charms conceal, And fair illusions cheat our fierce desire.

There Envy shows her sullen mien,
With changeful colour, grinning smiles of hate :

There malice stabs, with rage serene :
In deadly silence, treacherous Friendships wait.

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