In vain the Flute soft blows his am’rous breath, The strepent Trumpet speaks the sounds of death; Vainly they strive to move the feeling soul, Till heaven-born Harmony conduct the whole. For _me_ one _note_ does all my power confine, Employ’d for others’ uses, not for mine; And yet, however small my compass be, Harmonic _Union_ you must owe to me; For still by me, whene’er you sound alone, Or mix in concerts, must be fix’d your _tone_. Then strive no more but fix on _me_ your choice, Who save from discord, strife, confusion, noise; So shall the powers of music matchless reign, Nor has divine Cecilia come from heaven in vain.” He said, and straight his tone, tho’ simple sound, Conviction follow’d, and himself was crown’d. ’Tis thus, my friend, that in the human soul The various movements _Reason_ should controul, While headlong sallies Prudence should restrain, And fancy yield to Judgment’s shady reign; If the kind muse poetic rage inspire, Or glows the breast with patriotic fire, If wit, that seldomer does good than harm ’Midst social scenes, shall teach the tongue to charm, If love with sweet sensations fills the mind, Or sacred friendship mutual bosoms bind, Howe’er with _genius_, _fancy_, _feeling_ blest, ’Tis Prudence must direct, or vain are all the rest. ❦ [Sidenote: Reflection.] Let none imagine that the bare letter of duty or even the reputation of good resolutions will bear them with “golden opinions” through a life of action, despising those means which, like the farmer’s heavy rollers, smoothen the ground they are compelled to crush. Let such persons neglect that amenity, that considerate bearing, so essential in the intercourse of life, and infallibly the return will be found a bitter harvest of aversion. ❦ [Sidenote: Poverty.] Print this in thy thought, that whatever virtue thou hast, be it never so manifold, if thou be poor withal thou and thy qualities shall be despised: besides Poverty is a shame amongst men, an imprisonment of the mind, a vexation of every worthy spirit. Thou shalt neither help thyself or others, thou shalt drown thee in all thy virtues, having no means to show them; thou shalt be a burthen and an eyesore to thy friends; every one will fear thy company. ❦ If you are wretched, the world will mock your wretchedness--if you are poor, you will be insulted and contemned--and if proud, you will be exposed to hourly mortification. ❦ Though nothing can be more galling to a generous spirit than to be placed under obligation by meanness, it is purely delightful to be beholden to one of its own calibre. Charity _is_ then indeed twice blessed, when the giver and the receiver are equally elevated above the selfish and sordid feelings of vulgar humanity. ❦ [Sidenote: Portrait of Charles I.]