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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345266" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>All Is Vanity</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How vain is Life! which rightly we compare<br>To flying Posts, that haste away;<br>To Plants, that fade with the declining Day;<br>To Clouds, that sail amidst the yielding Air;<br>Till by Extention into that they flow,<br>Or, scatt'ring on the World below,<br>Are lost and gone, ere we can say they were;<br>To Autumn-leaves, which every Wind can chace;<br>To rising Bubbles, on the Waters Face;<br>To fleeting Dreams, that will not stay, <br>Nor in th' abused Fancy dance,<br>When the returning Rays of Light,<br>Resuming their alternate Right,<br>Break on th' ill-order'd Scene on the fantastick Trance:<br>As weak is Man, whilst Tenant to the Earth;<br>As frail and as uncertain all his Ways,<br>From the first moment of his weeping Birth,<br>Down to the last and best of his few restless Days;<br>When to the Land of Darkness he retires<br>From disappointed Hopes, and frustrated Desires;<br>Reaping no other Fruit of all his Pain<br>Bestow'd whilst in the vale of Tears below,<br>But this unhappy Truth, at last to know,<br>That Vanity's our Lot, and all Mankind is Vain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">II</div><div style="margin:10px 0">If past the hazard of his tendrest Years,<br>Neither in thoughtless Sleep opprest,<br>Nor poison'd with a tainted Breast,<br>Loos'd from the infant Bands and female Cares, <br>A studious Boy, advanc'd beyond his Age,<br>Wastes the dim Lamp, and turns the restless Page;<br>For some lov'd Book prevents the rising Day,<br>And on it, stoln aside, bestows the Hours of Play;<br>Him the observing Master do's design<br>For search of darkned Truths and Mysteries Divine;<br>Bids him with unremitted Labour trace<br>The Rise of Empires, and their various Fates,<br>The several Tyrants o'er the several States,<br>To Babel's lofty Towers, and warlike Nimrod's Race;<br>Bids him in Paradice the Bank survey,<br>Where Man, new-moulded from the temper'd Clay, <br>(Till fir'd with Breath Divine) a helpless Figure lay:<br>Could he be led thus far--What were the Boast,<br>What the Reward of all the Toil it cost,<br>What from that Land of ever-blooming Spring,<br>For our Instruction could he bring,<br>Unless, that having Humane Nature found<br>Unseparated from its Parent Ground, <br>(Howe'er we vaunt our Elevated Birth)<br>The Epicure in soft Array,<br>The lothsome Beggar, that before<br>His rude unhospitable Door,<br>Unpity'd but by Brutes, a broken Carcass lay,<br>Were both alike deriv'd from the same common Earth?<br>But ere the Child can to these Heights attain,<br>Ere he can in the Learned Sphere arise;<br>A guilding Star, attracting to the Skies,<br>A fever, seizing the o'er labour'd Brain,<br>Sends him, perhaps, to Death's concealing Shade;<br>Where, in the Marble Tomb now silent laid,<br>He better do's that useful Doctrine show,<br>(Which all the sad Assistants ought to know,<br>Who round the Grave his short continuance mourn)<br>That first from Dust we came, and must to Dust return. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">III</div><div style="margin:10px 0">A bolder Youth, grown capable of Arms,<br>Bellona courts with her prevailing Charms; <br>Bids th' inchanting Trumpet sound,<br>Loud as Triumph, soft as Love,<br>Striking now the Poles above,<br>Then descending from the Skies,<br>Soften every falling Note;<br>As the harmonious Lark that sings and flies,<br>When near the Earth, contracts her narrow Throat,<br>And warbles on the Ground:<br>Shews the proud Steed, impatient of the Check,<br>'Gainst the loudest Terrors Proof,<br>Pawing the Valley with his steeled Hoof,<br>With Lightning arm'd his Eyes, with Thunder cloth'd his Neck;<br>Who on the th' advanced Foe, (the Signal giv'n)<br>Flies, like a rushing Storm by mighty Whirlwinds driv'n;<br>Lays open the Records of Fame,<br>No glorious Deed omits, no Man of mighty Name;<br>Their Stratagems, their Tempers she'll repeat,<br>From Alexander's, (truly stil'd the GREAT) <br>From Cæsar's on the World's Imperial Seat, <br>To Turenne's Conduct, and to Conde's Heat.<br>'Tis done! and now th' ambitious Youth disdains<br>The safe, but harder Labours of the Gown,<br>The softer pleasures of the Courtly Town,<br>The once lov'd rural Sports, and Chaces on the Plains;<br>Does with the Soldier's Life the Garb assume,<br>The gold Embroid'ries, and the graceful Plume;<br>Walks haughty in a Coat of Scarlet Die,<br>A Colour well contriv'd to cheat the Eye,<br>Where richer Blood, alas! may undistinguisht lye. <br>And oh! too near that wretched Fate attends;<br>Hear it ye Parents, all ye weeping Friends!<br>Thou fonder Maid! won by these gaudy Charms,<br>(The destin'd Prize of his Victorious Arms)<br>Now fainting Dye upon the mournful Sound,<br>That speaks his hasty Death, and paints the fatal Wound! <br>Trail all your Pikes, dispirit every Drum, <br>March in a slow Procession from afar,<br>Ye silent, ye dejected Men of War!<br>Be still the Hautboys, and the Flute be dumb!<br>Display no more, in vain, the lofty Banner;<br>For see! where on the Bier before ye lies<br>The pale, the fall'n, th' untimely Sacrifice<br>To your mistaken Shrine, to your false Idol Honour! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">IV</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As Vain is Beauty, and as short her Power;<br>Tho' in its proud, and transitory Sway,<br>The coldest Hearts and wisest Heads obey<br>That gay fantastick Tyrant of an Hour.<br>On Beauty's Charms, (altho' a Father's Right,<br>Tho' grave Seleucus! to thy Royal Side<br>By holy Vows fair Stratonice be ty'd)<br>With anxious Joy, with dangerous Delight,<br>Too often gazes thy unwary Son,<br>Till past all Hopes, expiring and undone, <br>A speaking Pulse the secret Cause impart;<br>The only time, when the Physician's Art<br>Could ease that lab'ring Grief, or heal a Lover's Smart.<br>See Great Antonius now impatient stand,<br>Expecting, with mistaken Pride,<br>On Cydnus crowded Shore, on Cydnus fatal Strand,<br>A Queen, at his Tribunal to be try'd,<br>A Queen that arm'd in Beauty, shall deride<br>His feeble Rage, and his whole Fate command:<br>O'er the still Waves her burnisht Galley moves,<br>Row'd by the Graces, whilst officious Loves<br>To silken Cords their busie Hands apply,<br>Or gathering all the gentle Gales that fly,<br>To their fair Mistress with these Spoils repair,<br>And from their purple Wings disperse the balmy Air.<br>Hov'ring Perfumes ascend in od'rous Clouds,<br>Curl o'er the Barque, and play among the Shrouds; <br>Whilst gently dashing every Silver Oar,<br>Guided by the Rules of Art,<br>With tuneful Instruments design'd<br>To soften, and subdue the stubborn Mind,<br>A strangely pleasing and harmonious Part<br>In equal Measures bore.<br>Like a new Venus on her native Sea,<br>In midst of the transporting Scene,<br>(Which Pen or Pencil imitates in vain)<br>On a resplendent and conspicuous Bed,<br>With all the Pride of Persia loosely spread,<br>The lovely Syrene lay. <br>Which but discern'd from the yet distant Shore,<br>Th' amazed Emperor could hate no more;<br>No more a baffled Vengeance could pursue;<br>But yielding still, still as she nearer drew,<br>When Cleopatra anchor'd in the Bay,<br>Where every Charm cou'd all its Force display,<br>Like his own Statue stood, and gaz'd the World away. <br>Where ends alas! this Pageantry and State; <br>Where end the Triumphs of this conqu'ring Face,<br>Envy'd of Roman Wives, and all the Female Race? <br>Oh swift Vicissitude of Beauty's Fate! <br>Now in her Tomb withdrawn from publick Sight,<br>From near Captivity and Shame,<br>The vanquish'd, the abandon'd Dame<br>Proffers the Arm, that held another's Right,<br>To the destructive Snake's more just Embrace,<br>And courts deforming Death, to mend his Leaden Pace. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">V</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Wit shall last (the vaunting Poet cries)<br>Th' immortal Streams that from Parnassus flow,<br>Shall make his never-fading Lawrels grow,<br>Above this mouldring Earth to flourish in the Skies: <br>'And when his Body falls in Funeral Fire,<br>When late revolving Ages shall consume<br>The very Pillars, that support his Tomb,<br>'His name shall live, and his best Part aspire.<br>Deluded Wretch! grasping at future Praise,<br>Now planting, with mistaken Care,<br>Round thy enchanted Palace in the Air,<br>A Grove, which in thy Fancy time shall raise,<br>A Grove of soaring Palms, and everlasting Bays;<br>Could'st Thou alas! to such Reknown arrive,<br>As thy Imagination wou'd contrive;<br>Should numerous Cities, in a vain contest,<br>Struggle for thy famous Birth;<br>Should the sole Monarch of the conquer'd Earth,<br>His wreathed Head upon thy Volume rest;<br>Like Maro, could'st thou justly claim,<br>Amongst th' inspired tuneful Race,<br>The highest Room, the undisputed Place;<br>And after near Two Thousand Years of Fame, <br>Have thy proud Work to a new People shown;<br>Th' unequal'd Poems made their own,<br>In such a Dress, in such a perfect Stile<br>As on his Labours Dryden now bestows,<br>As now from Dryden's just Improvement flows,<br>In every polish'd Verse throughout the British Isle;<br>What Benefit alas! would to thee grow?<br>What Sense of Pleasure wou'dst thou know?<br>What swelling Joy? what Pride? what Glory have,<br>When in the Darkness of the abject Grave,<br>Insensible, and Stupid laid below,<br>No Atom of thy Heap, no Dust wou'd move,<br>For all the airy Breath that form'd thy Praise above? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VI</div><div style="margin:10px 0">True, says the Man to Luxury inclin'd;<br>Without the Study of uncertain Art,<br>Without much Labour of the Mind,<br>Meer uninstructed Nature will impart, <br>That Life too swiftly flies, and leaves all good behind. <br>Sieze then, my Friends, (he cries) the present Hour;<br>The Pleasure which to that belongs,<br>The Feasts, th' o'erflowing Bowls, the Mirth, the Songs,<br>The Orange-Bloom, that with such Sweetness blows,<br>Anacreon's celebrated Rose,<br>The Hyacinth, with every beauteous Flower,<br>Which just this happy Moment shall disclose,<br>Are out of Fortune's reach, and all within our Power.<br>Such costly Garments let our Slaves prepare,<br>As for the gay Demetrius were design'd;<br>Where a new Sun of radiant Diamonds shin'd,<br>Where the enamel'd Earth, and scarce-discerned Air,<br>With a transparent Sea were seen,<br>A Sea composed of the Em'rald's Green, <br>And with a golden Shore encompass'd round;<br>Where every Orient Shell, of wondrous shape was found. <br>The whole Creation on his Shoulders hung,<br>The whole Creation with his Wish comply'd,<br>Did swiftly, for each Appetite provide,<br>And fed them all when Young. <br>No less, th' Assyrian Prince enjoy'd,<br>Of Bliss too soon depriv'd, but never cloy'd,<br>Whose Counsel let us still pursue,<br>Whose Monument, did this Inscription shew<br>To every Passenger, that trod the way,<br>Where, with a slighting Hand, and scornful Smile<br>The proud Effigies, on th' instructive Pile, <br>A great Example lay. <br>I, here Entomb'd, did mighty Kingdoms sway,<br>Two Cities rais'd in one prodigious Day: <br>Thou wand'ring Traveller, no longer gaze,<br>No longer dwell upon this useless Place;<br>Go Feed, and Drink, in Sports consume thy Life;<br>For All that else we gain's not worth a Moment's Strife.<br>Thus! talks the Fool, whom no Restraint can bound,<br>When now the Glass has gone a frequent round;<br>When soaring Fancy lightly swims,<br>Fancy, that keeps above, and dances o'er the Brims;<br>Whilst weighty Reason sinks, and in the bottom's drown'd;<br>Adds to his Own, an artificial Fire,<br>Doubling ev'ry hot Desire,<br>Till th' auxiliary Spirits, in a Flame,<br>The Stomach's Magazine defy,<br>That standing Pool, that helpless Moisture nigh,<br>Thro' every Vital part impetuous fly,<br>And quite consume the Frame;<br>When to the Under-world despis'd he goes,<br>A pamper'd Carcase on the Worms bestows, <br>Who rioting on the unusual Chear,<br>As good a Life enjoy, as he could boast of here. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">VII</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But hold my Muse! thy farther Flight restrain, <br>Exhaust not thy declining Force,<br>Nor in a long, pursu'd, and breathless Course,<br>Attempt, with slacken'd speed, to run<br>Through ev'ry Vanity beneath the Sun,<br>Lest thy o'erweary'd Reader, should complain,<br>That of all Vanities beside, <br>Which thine, or his Experience e'er have try'd,<br>Thou art, too tedious Muse, most frivolous and vain;<br>Yet, tell the Man, of an aspiring Thought,<br>Of an ambitious, restless Mind,<br>That can no Ease, no Satisfaction find,<br>Till neighb'ring States are to Subjection brought,<br>Till Universal Awe, enslav'd Mankind is taught; <br>That, should he lead an Army to the Field,<br>For whose still necessary Use,<br>Th' extended Earth cou'd not enough produce,<br>Nor Rivers to their Thirst a full Contentment yield;<br>Yet, must their dark Reverse of Fate<br>Roll round, within that Course of Years,<br>Within the short, the swift, and fleeting Date<br>Prescrib'd by Xerxes, when his falling Tears<br>Bewail'd those Numbers, which his Sword employ'd,<br>And false, Hyena-like, lamented and destroy'd.<br>Tell Him, that does some stately Building raise,<br>A Windsor or Versailles erect,<br>And thorough all Posterity expect, <br>With its unshaken Base, a firm unshaken Praise;<br>Tell Him, Judea's Temple is no more,<br>Upon whose Splendour, Thousands heretofore <br>Spent the astonish'd Hours, forgetful to Adore:<br>Tell him, into the Earth agen is hurl'd,<br>That most stupendious Wonder of the World,<br>Justly presiding o'er the boasted Seven,<br>By humane Art and Industry design'd,<br>This! the rich Draught of the Immortal Mind,<br>The Architect of Heaven.<br>Remember then, to fix thy Aim on High,<br>Project, and build on t'other side the Sky,<br>For, after all thy vain Expence below, <br>Thou canst no Fame, no lasting Pleasure know;<br>No Good, that shall not thy Embraces fly;<br>Or thou from that be in a Moment caught,<br>Thy Spirit to new Claims, new Int'rests brought,<br>Whilst unconcern'd thy secret Ashes lye, <br>Or stray about the Globe, O Man ordain'd to Dye!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Kingsmill+Finch">Anne Kingsmill Finch</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345266" data-title="All Is Vanity de Anne Kingsmill Finch" data-description="I

How vain is Life! which rightly we compare
To flying Posts, that haste away;
To Plants, that fade with the declining Day;
To Clouds, that sail amidst the yielding Air;
Till by Extention into that they flow,
Or, scatt'ring on the World below,
Ar..."></div>
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