When from mount Ida ''cloud--compelling Jove''
Cast round his eye of universal love,
And saw mankind with various ills oppress'd,
A heaving sigh came labouring from his breast;
Not e'en can Jove the ills of life restrain,
Nor his the power to free poor man from pain;
E'en he submits to Fate's all--powerful sway,
And the three Sisters all the gods obey;
The web of life keeps them in close employ,
Yet the fair web they weave but to destroy;
In vain the spindle from the distaff whirls,
Lengthens by fits, and as it lengthens twirls;
The chequer'd warp, for longer days begun,
With changeful shades is in succession run;
In the soft loom the silken tissue flows,
And brighter hues succeed the cloud of woes.
But oft as the gay shuttle glides along,
Skimming with ease the lighter shades among,
The fatal shears the fragile threads untie,
And the cropt rose gives up her crimson dye;
The distant views that dawn'd with early morn
Shut up their vistas e'er the eve's return;
Or sullen night her sable mantle shows,
And round the world her long dark curtain throws;
Such is the lot of man by Fate's decree,
Nor Jove himself can set the prisoner free.

But still compassion touch'd the mighty mind,
And thus he sorrow'd for oppress'd mankind:
''Shall these poor mortals, tenants of a day,
In life's rude path but tread the thorny way?
Gay fluttering insects that beneath the sky
Bask in the sun, and the next moment die!
A short--liv'd being, whom, so proud of breath,
A weaker insect stings to instant death!
The sport of winds, of sky, and varying showers,
The jest and pity of superior powers!
Shall these who're doom'd a thousand ills to meet,
And seldom see one growing wish complete,
Shall they all comfortless the journey take,
As onward wandering to the Stygian lake,
Without the aid of some benignant power--
Some heavenly hand to sooth the ruffl'd hour!
Ye blisful Synod who on Ida's height
Taste but one round of interchang'd delight,
Is there not one of all your blissful train
Prone to arrest the flying shafts of pain?
If such compassion touch th' immortal breast,
Be now the generous sentiment confess'd;
Descend to earth, and our protecting eye
Shall look with pleasure as your task ye ply!''
He said: while Pity round her forehead drew
Her filmy veil drench'd with her sacred dew;
But yet the filmy veil, so soft, so clear,
Gave to the sight the meek retiring tear;
The half--tun'd voice in trembling cadence fell,
And the long sigh on a half word would dwell.
She thus, whilst kneeling to almighty Jove,
Whose mind and essence is eternal love:
''Permit me, sire, to quit the blest abodes,
For what from Pity want the happy gods?
Not so with Man; deceiv'd by gilded show,
And painting happiness on scenes below,
Gives a clear sky, till the long prospect ends,
And plants a paradise for thousand friends;
But scarce the 'dawn unbars the gates of light,'
And meek Aurora dries the tears of night,
(Yet blushing dries them, lest the god of Day
Should rudely brush the trembling drops away--
E'en those soft drops his absence caus'd to rise,
And fall from Night's too fond despairing eyes,)
Till the storm gathers, and the sun retires
Muffl'd in clouds, extinguishing his fires;
E'er his blest heat the breast had taught to glow,
Or the young buds, just cherish'd, bolder grow;
Then breaking forth in all his former pride,
Hope, like a rainbow, brightens by his side;
Thus, thus deluded Man from day to day
Hopes and despairs his lingering life away!
But as a respite for his labouring cares,
And the slow growth of intermingl'd years,
Shall I not call forth every latent power
That knows to heal the sad distemper'd hour?
Yes; balmy Friendship knows to cure the wound,
And press the bosom till it's firmly sound!
I've trac'd her footsteps many a summer's morn,
And seen her tears augment the dropping thorn;
Have seen her wander by the lonely brook,
The world forsaking, by the world forsook;
Unknown her worth, they melancholy deem
This lone companion of the lonely stream;
To me be't given to show her matchless worth,
And softly draw her hidden virtues forth;
To teach mankind the only good they share
Is Friendship strengthen'd by a soul sincere.''

Thus said; she lightly left the blessed abodes,
And Earth received the handmaid of the gods.
Friendship she sought amid her lonely bowers--
Her silent musings and her pensive hours,
Her tender feelings to herself best known,
And the heart--bleedings that are all her own.
''Why on these banks,'' she said, ''o'erhung with yew
And weeping willows, shedding nightly dew,--
Why o'er this stream, that deep and black appears,
Drops the meek pearl, which some call trickling tears?''
''They fall to see you willow bend so low,
A lifeless picture of heart--rending woe!''
''Are not the ills to human life confined
Enow to load thy melancholy mind,
That thus imagin'd Sorrow claims her part,
And half divides thy far too tender heart?
Haste, haste to where thy sympathy may ease
The secret minings of a slow disease;
Where patient suffering makes no plaintive moan,
Or pain extracts more than a smother'd groan;
There watch each cloud that labours through the sky,
And the blue mist that rolls his damps on high;
Blame that or this for every growing pain,
The sunbeam's sultry heat, or cooling rain;
Marking each wish the weak voice cannot frame,
And feel a want before it takes a name:
But, above all, the drooping spirits raise,
And talk with certainty of better days;
Nor seem to doubt, or else the nerve will start,
Spreading its tremour to the trembling heart;
The trembling heart cold faintness shall surprise,
And, for a moment, close the sinking eyes.

''But to preserve the needful balm of rest,
Of all Health's cordials still the last and best,
Haste to sweet Slumber; softly at her gate
Tap with thy finger, and admittance wait;
Quick is her ear, for e'en the softest tread
Wakes every nerve, and thunders through the head;
Whilst startling Dreams their fluttering pinions lend,
Till vapoury visions in strange forms descend;
Sometimes a fairy land invites the sight,
And glow--worm prospects brighten in the night;
Sometimes she wanders through the world alone,
Or from the towering precipice is thrown;
Or wades through waters where no shore is near,
And feels a death in every deadly fear;
Demons and goblins point the dire abode,
And hissing snakes entwine the hideous road;
Lions and tigers stand with open jaw,
And flashing eyes, to fix the eager claw;
Till cheerful Health, with all her airy train,
Dispels the mists that settle on the brain,--
Removes the poppies on her temples spread,
And from translucent springs refreshment sheds.
The droning beetle, whose deep--booming horn
Deaden'd the soft voice of the whispering morn,
Wheels off in haste, nor lets his bugle sound
When Day's sweet concert wakes the world around;
The murmuring stream, that kept a dying fall,
No more complains, but from the mansion all
In secret channels hides from cheerful day,
And silent works his subterraneous way;
The mournful evergreens that crowd the door,
And wander all the gloomy garden o'er,
All creep about where cheering light should stray
And boldly venture into open day;
Through whose dark shades the lulling winds would sound,
Kiss the tall grass, and sigh along the ground;
The early bird, that rises with the day,
Rock'd by soft zephyrs slept the morn away;
And drizzling rain left such a weight on air,
That owls at midnight nod in ivy chair;
These Health destroy'd; for, from their bending boughs,
Nightly the noxious dew distils, and throws
Its baneful influence o'er the powers of rest,
For those who sleep but little sleep the best:
Not drowsy beings that, till noon--tide pours
His sultry steam, and drinks the breath of flowers,
Know the full vigour of a nerve unstrung,
Or, while in youth--as ought the being young--
Know not that breezes rising with the morn
Make them as light as dew--drops on the thorn,--
As gay as larks that, warbling as they fly,
Bear the first message to the morning sky;--
Fleet as the roe, that o'er the mountain bounds
When first his ear is threaten'd by the hounds;--
Cheerful as sunbeams that with lilies play,
Tinging with gold their paler looks away.

Thus, when weak mortals feel thy power to charm,
And the cold bosom grows a little warm,
'Tis then thy influence the mind must share,
Moulding to virtue, and the bliss of prayer,--
To moral duties by Religion taught,
Till the blest man becomes the man he ought.
This is thy charge, by Jove himself design'd;
Thou, next the gods, the good of all mankind;
Soothing thy manners, yet thy words sincere,
Speaking all truths the sickly soul can bear.
Nor ruffle thou the spirit of the proud,
Who never yet have to instruction bow'd;
But wind about their errors as you may,
And with sweet counsel weed their faults away;
By slow degrees Perfection must be wrought,
For slow's the growth of weak bewilder'd Thought;
Nor will one manner work alike with all,
Some in soft whispers thou must gently call;
Nor censure harsh, nor mark with critic eye
Those little faults that under virtues lie.
Others, again, thy freer speech demand,
And the correction of a bolder hand,--
Must have their vices marshall'd in their view,
And every error plainly pointed to;
Others, from seeming love, will hear thy voice,
And fondly think that virtue is their choice;
But should'st thou thwart them with a word more hard,
Or seem t'abate thy tender, warm regard,
Rage would run back to all the follies past,
And every day grow faultier than the last;
Such is thy task, congenial to thy mind,
The Friend, the Lover, of forlorn Mankind!