Oft on the vilest, riches are bestow’d,
    To shew their meanness in the sight of God. 
    High from a dung-hill, see a Dives rise,
    And, Titan-like, insult th’ avenging skies: 
    The crowd, in adulation, calls him Lord,
    By thousands courted, flatter’d, and ador’d: 
    In riot plung’d, and drunk with earthly joys,
    No higher thought his grov’ling foul employs: 
    The poor he scourges with an iron rod,
    And from his bosom banishes his God. 
    But oft in height of wealth, and beauty’s bloom,
    Deluded man is fated to the tomb! 
    For, lo! he sickens, swift his colour flies,
    And rising mists obscure his swimming eyes: 
    Around his bed his weeping friends bemoan,
    Extort th’ unwilling tear, and wish him gone;
    His sorrowing heir augments the tender show’r,
    Deplores his death—­yet hails the dying hour. 
    Ah bitter comfort!  Sad relief, to die! 
    Tho’ sunk in down, beneath the canopy! 
    His eyes no more shall see the cheerful light,
    Weigh’d down by death in everlasting night: 
    “And when with age thy head is silver’d o’er,
    “And cold in death thy bosom beats no more,
    “Thy foul exulting shall desert its clay,
    “And mount, triumphant, to eternal day.” 
    But to improve the intellectual mind,
    Reading should be to contemplation join’d. 
    First I’d collect from the Parnassian spring,
    What muses dictate, and what poets sing.—­
    Virgil, as Prince, shou’d wear the laurel’d crown,
    And other bards pay homage to his throne;
    The blood of heroes now effus’d so long,
    Will run forever purple thro’ his song. 
    See! how he mounts toward the blest abodes,
    On planets rides, and talks with demi-gods! 
    How do our ravish’d spirits melt away,
    When in his song Sicilian shepherds play! 
    But what a splendor strikes the dazzled eye,
    When Dido shines in awful majesty! 
    Embroider’d purple clad the Tyrian queen,
    Her motion graceful, and august her mein;
    A golden zone her royal limbs embrac’d,
    A golden quiver rattled by her waist. 
    See her proud steed majestically prance,
    Contemn the trumpet, and deride the lance! 
    In crimson trappings, glorious to behold,
    Confus’dly gay with interwoven gold! 
    He champs the bitt, and throws the foam around,
    Impatient paws, and tears the solid ground. 
    How stern AEneas thunders thro’ the field! 
    With tow’ring helmet, and refulgent shield! 
    Coursers o’erturn’d, and mighty warriors slain,
    Deform’d with gore, lie welt’ring on the plain. 
    Struck thro’ with wounds, ill-fated chieftains lie,
    Frown e’en in death, and threaten as they die. 
    Thro’ the thick squadrons see the Hero bound,
    (His helmet flashes, and his