20
POEMS.
To be Man and no more Man should limit his care,
And hold the mid station 'twixt Angel and Brute,
Active Virtue composing his every-day's wear,
And harmless Enjoyment his holiday's suit.
But while Moderation despising, we strive
In pleasure or virtue perfection to gain,
From excess to excess on life's ocean we drive,
And the harbour of happiness seldom attain.
And hold the mid station 'twixt Angel and Brute,
Active Virtue composing his every-day's wear,
And harmless Enjoyment his holiday's suit.
But while Moderation despising, we strive
In pleasure or virtue perfection to gain,
From excess to excess on life's ocean we drive,
And the harbour of happiness seldom attain.
Some, holding that Man but exists to enjoy,
Bid their days winged with rapture voluptuously fly;
Others, finding that libertine pleasures soon cloy,
Reject the delights, which their senses supply.
Like Maniacs the First wildly riot along,
Forlorn to the Last seems their earthly abode:
Both fly to extremes, find too late they were wrong,
And have mist the true blessings, which chequer life's road.
Bid their days winged with rapture voluptuously fly;
Others, finding that libertine pleasures soon cloy,
Reject the delights, which their senses supply.
Like Maniacs the First wildly riot along,
Forlorn to the Last seems their earthly abode:
Both fly to extremes, find too late they were wrong,
And have mist the true blessings, which chequer life's road.
