John Armstrong (poet)

“’Tis not for mortals always to be blest.”

“Your friends avoid you, brutishly transform’dThey hardly know you, or if one remainsTo wish you well, he wishes you in heaven.”

“What avails it that indulgent HeavenFrom mortal eyes has wrapt the woes to come,If we, ingenious to torment ourselves,Grow pale at hideous fictions of our own?Enjoy the present; nor with needless caresOf what may spring from blind misfortune’s womb,Appal the surest hour that life bestows.Serene, and master of yourself, prepareFor what may come; and leave the rest to Heaven.”

“Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul,Is the best gift of heaven; a happinessThat, even above the smiles and frowns of fate,Exalts great Nature’s favorites; a wealthThat ne’er encumbers, nor can be transferr’d.”

“Virtue and sense are one; and trust me stillA faithless heart betrays the head unsound.Virtue (for mere good nature is a fool)Is sense and spirit with humanity.’Tis sometimes angry, and its frown confounds;’Tis even vindictive, but in vengeance just,Knaves fain would laugh at it; some great ones dareBut at his heart the most undaunted sonOf Fortune dreads its name and awful charms.”

“Toil, and be strong; by toil the flaccid nervesGrow firm, and gain a more compacted tone:The greener juices are by toil subdued,Mellow’d, and subtilis’d; the vapid oldExpell’d, and all the rancor of the blood.”

“’Tis chiefly taste, or blunt, or gross, or fine,Makes life insipid, bestial, or divine.Better be born with taste to little rentThan the dull monarch of a continent;Without this bounty which the gods bestow,Can Fortune make one favorite happy? No.”

“Time shakes the stable tyranny of thrones,And tottering empires rush by their own weight.”

“There is, they say, (and I believe there is),A spark within us of th’ immortal fire,That animates and moulds the grosser frame;And when the body sinks, escapes to heaven;Its native seat, and mixes with the gods.”

“The body * * *Much toil demands; the lean elastic less.While winter chills the blood and binds the veins,No labors are too hard; by those you ’scapeThe slow diseases of the torpid year,Endless to name.”

“Riches are oft by guilt and baseness earn’d;Or dealt by chance to shield a lucky knave,Or throw a cruel sunshine on a fool.But for one end, one much-neglected use,Are riches worth your care; (for nature’s wantsAre few, and without opulence supplied;)This noble end is, to produce the soul;To show the virtues in their fairest light;To make humanity the ministerOf bounteous Providence; and teach the breastThe generous luxury the gods enjoy.”

“Of right and wrong he taughtTruths as refined as ever Athens heard;And (strange to tell!) he practised what he preach’d.”

“Music exalts each joy, allays each grief,Expels diseases, softens every pain,Subdues the rage of poison and of plague.”

“How happy he whose toilHas o’er his languid pow’rless limbs diffus’dA pleasing lassitude; he not in vainInvokes the gentle Deity of dreams.His pow’rs the most voluptuously dissolveIn soft repose; on him the balmy dewsOf Sleep with double nutriment descend.”

“He knows enough, the mariner, who knowsWhere lurk the shelves, and where the whirlpools boil,What signs portend the storm: to subtler mindsHe leaves to scan, from what mysterious causeCharybdis rages in the Ionian wave;Whence those impetuous currents in the mainWhich neither oar nor sail can stem; and whyThe roughening deep expects the storm, as sureAs red Orion mounts the shrouded heaven.”

“He chooses best, whose labor entertainsHis vacant fancy most; the toil you hateFatigues you soon, and scarce improves your limbs.”

“Good native Taste, tho’ rude, is seldom wrong,Be it in music, painting, or in song:But this, as well as other faculties,Improves with age and ripens by degrees.”

“For pale and trembling anger rushes inWith faltering speech, and eyes that wildly stare,Fierce as the tiger, madder than the seas,Desperate and armed with more than human strength.”

“Music exalts each joy, allays each grief,Expels diseases, softens every pain,Subdues the rage of poison, and the plague.”

“Of right and wrong he taughtTruths as refined as ever Athens heard;And (strange to tell) he practis'd what he preach'd.”