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.

High on a mountain's lofty brow,

'Mid clouds and storms, has glory fix'd her seat; Rock'd by the roaring winds that blow,

The lightnings blast it, and the tempests beat.

Within the sun-gilt vale beneath,

More moderate Hope with sweet Contentment dwells;
While gentler breezes round them breathe,
And softer showers refresh their peaceful cells.

To better genius ever blind,

That points to each in varied life his share,
Man quits the path by heaven design'd,
To search for bliss among the thorns of care,

Our native powers we scorn to know; With stedfast error still the wrong pursue; Instruct our forward ills to grow ; While sad successes but our pain renew.

In vain heaven tempers life with sweet, With flowers the way, that leads us home, bestrews, If dupes to passion, and deceit, We drink the bitter, and the rugged choose.

Few can on Grandeur's stage appear, Each lofty part with true applause sustain, No common virtue safe can steer

Where rocks unnumber'd lurk beneath the main.

Then happiest he, whose timely hand To cool Discretion has the helm resign'd;

Enjoys the calm, in sight of land,

From changing tides secure, and trustless wind.

AND wilt thou, Romeo, still maintain That Beauty holds a boundless reign? Soft power, by all confest!

See'st thou the coward and the brave, The free-born Briton and the slave, With equal rapture blest?

The Gods, indulgent to mankind,
The tenderest passions of the mind
With frugal hands dispense;
For faithless I can ne'er believe
That rude untutor❜d hearts perceive
The finer joys of sense.

Mark but the ruthless Indian's soul,
Which no ingenuous thoughts control,
Where pity never dwelt ;

By Beauty, Fancy's loveliest child,
'Mid lorn savannahs waste and wild,
With human feelings melt!

Behold the powerful charm assuage
The hoary lion's lawless rage:
He owns the wanton fire;
And lordly roaming o'er the plain,
Singles the fairest of his train

To feed the loose desire !

But wouldst thou feel a purer flame Than ev'n the warmest wish can frame,

By much too fine to cloy;

Far, far beyond that aching breast, With which the village hind's opprest,

Who idly terms it joy?

Has heaven, indulgent to thy make,
Form'd thee to every sense awake,
Blith hope, or frantic fear?
Can human miseries steal a sigh,
Or from thy soft consenting eye
Can pity draw the tear?