HYMN TO THE NAIADS.
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HYMN TO THE NAIADS.
BY DR. AKENSIDE
a. MDCCXLVI.
[]ARGUMENT.
The Nymphs who preſide over ſprings and rivulets are addreſſed at day-break in honour of their ſeveral functions, and of the relations which they bear to the natural and to the moral world. Their origin is deduced from the firſt allegorical dei⯑ties, or powers of nature; according to the doctrine of the old mythological poets, concerning the generation of the Gods and the riſe of things. They are then ſucceſſively conſidered, as giving motion to the air and exciting ſummer-breezes; as nouriſhing and beautifying the vegetable world; as contributing to the fulneſs of navigable rivers, and conſequently to the main⯑tenance of commerce, and by that means to the maritime part of military power. Next is repreſented their favourable influence upon health, when aſſiſted by rural exerciſe; which introduces their connection with the art of phyſic, and the happy effects of mineral, medicinal ſprings. Laſtly, they are celebrated for the friendſhip which the Muſes bear them, and for the true inſpira⯑tion which temperance only can receive; in oppoſition to the enthuſiaſm of the more licentious poets.
O'ER yonder eaſtern hill the twilight throws
Her duſky mantle; and the God of day,
With bright Aſtraea ſeated by his ſide,
Waits yet to leave the ocean. Tarry, Nymphs,
Ye Nymphs, ye blue-ey'd progeny of Thames,
Who now the mazes of this rugged heath
Trace with your fleeting ſteps; who all night long
Repeat, amid the cool and tranquil air,
[4]Your lonely murmurs, tarry: and receive
My offer'd lay. To pay you homage due,
I leave the gates of ſleep; nor ſhall my lyre
Too far into the ſplendid hours of morn
Ingage your audience: my obſervant hand
Shall cloſe the ſtrain ere any ſultry beam
Approach you. To your ſubterranean haunts
Ye then may timely ſteal; to pace with care
The humid ſands; to looſen from the ſoil
The bubbling ſources; to direct the rills
To meet in wider channels, or beneath
Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon
To ſlumber, ſhelter'd from the burning heaven.
Where ſhall my ſong begin, ye Nymphs? or end?
Wide is your praiſe and copious—Firſt of things,
Firſt of the lonely powers, ere Time aroſe,
Were Love
a and Chaos
b Love, the ſire of Fate
c;
[8]Elder than Chaos. Born of Fate was Time
d,
Who many ſons
e and many comely births
Devour'd, relentleſs father: 'till the child
Of Rhea
f drow him from the upper ſky
gAnd quell'd his deadly might. Then ſocial reign'd
h[9]The kindred powers, Tethys, and reverend Ops,
And ſpotleſs Veſta; while ſupreme of ſway
Remain'd the cloud-compeller. From the couch
Of Tethys ſprang the ſedgy-crowned race
i,
Who from a thouſand urns, o'er every clime,
Send tribute to their parent; and from them
Are ye, O Naiads
k: Arethuſa fair,
And tuneful Aganippe; that ſweet name,
Banduſia; that ſoft family which dwelt
[10]With Syrian Daphne
l; and the honour'd tribes
Belov'd of Paeon
m. Liſten to my ſtrain,
Daughters of Tethys: liſten to your praiſe.
You, Nymphs, the winged offspring
n, which of old
Aurora to divine Aſtraeus bore,
Owns, and your aid beſeecheth. When the might
Of Hyperion
o, from his noontide throne,
Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you
They aſk: Favonius and the mild South-weſt
From you relief implore. Your ſallying ſtreams
pFreſh vigour to their weary limbs impart.
[11]Again they fly, diſporting from their mead
Half-ripen'd and the tender blades of corn,
To ſweep the noxious mildew; or diſpel
Contagious ſteams, which oft the parched earth
Breathes on her fainting ſons. From noon to eve,
Along the river and the paved brook,
Aſcend the cheerful breezes: hail'd of bards
Who, faſt by learned Cam, the Mantuan lyre
Sollicit; nor unwelcome to the youth
Who on the heights of Tybur, all inclin'd
O'er ruſhing Anio, with a pious hand
The reverend ſcene delineates, broken fanes,
Or tombs, or pillar'd aqueducts, the pomp
Of ancient Time; and haply, while he ſcans
The ruins, with a ſilent tear revolves
The fame and fortune of imperious Rome.
You too, O Nymphs, and your unenvious aid
The rural powers confeſs; and ſtill prepare
For you their grateful treaſures. Pan commands,
Oft as the Delian king
q with Sirius holds
The central heavens, the father of the grove
Commands his Dryads over your abodes
To ſpread their deepeſt umbrage. Well the God
Remembereth how indulgent ye ſupplied
Your genial dews to nurſe them in their prime.
[12]Pales, the paſture's queen, where'er ye ſtray,
Purſues your ſteps, delighted; and the path
With living verdure clothes. Around your haunts
The laughing Chloris
r, with profuſeſt hand,
Throws wide her blooms, her odours. Still with you
Pomona ſeeks to dwell: and o'er the lawns,
And o'er the vale of Richmond, where with Thames
Ye love to wander, Amalthea
s pours
[13]Well-pleas'd the wealth of that Ammonian horn,
Her dower; unmindful of the fragrant iſles
Nyſaean or Atlantic. Nor canſt thou,
(Albeit oft, ungrateful, thou doſt mock
The beverage of the ſober Naiad's urn,
O Bromius, O Lenaean) nor canſt thou
Diſown the powers whoſe bounty, ill repaid,
With nectar feeds thy tendrils. Yet from me,
Yet, blameleſs Nymphs, from my delighted lyre,
Accept the rites your bounty well may claim;
Nor heed the ſcoffings of the Edonian band
t.
Far better praiſe awaits you. Thames, your ſire,
As down the verdant ſlope your duteous rills
Deſcend, the tribute ſtately Thames receives,
Delighted; and your piety applauds;
And bids his copious tide roll on ſecure,
For faithful are his daughters; and with words
Auſpicious gratulates the bark which, now
[14]His banks forſaking, her adventurous wings
Yields to the breeze, with Albion's happy gifts
Extremeſt iſles to bleſs. And oft at morn,
When Hermes
u, from Olympus bent o'er earth
To bear the words of Jove, on yonder hill
Stoops lightly-ſailing; oft intent your ſprings
He views: and waving o'er ſome new-born ſtream
His bleſt pacific wand, "And yet," he cries,
"Yet," cries the ſon of Maia, "though recluſe
"And ſilent be your ſtores, from you, fair Nymphs,
"Flows wealth and kind ſociety to men.
"By you my function and my honour'd name
"Do I poſſeſs; while o'er the Boetic vale,
"Or through the towers of Memphis, or the palms
"By ſacred Ganges water'd, I conduct
"The Engliſh merchant: with the buxom fleece
"Of fertile Ariconium while I clothe
"Sarmatian kings; or to the houſehold Gods
"Of Syria, from the bleak Cornubian ſhore,
"Diſpenſe the mineral treaſure
x which of old
[15]"Sidonian pilots ſought, when this fair land
"Was yet unconſcious of thoſe generous arts
"Which wiſe Phoenicia from their native clime
"Tranſplanted to a more indulgent heaven."
Such are the words of Hermes: ſuch the praiſe,
O Naiads, which from tongues coeleſtial waits
Your bounteous deeds. From bounty iſſueth power:
And thoſe who, ſedulous in prudent works,
Relieve the wants of nature, Jove repays
With generous wealth and his own ſeat on earth,
Fit judgments to pronounce, and curb the might
Of wicked men. Your kind unfailing urns
Not vainly to the hoſpitable arts
Of Hermes yield their ſtore. For, O ye Nymphs,
yHath he not won the unconquerable queen
Of arms to court your friendſhip? You ſhe owns
The fair aſſociates who extend her ſway
Wide o'er the mighty deep; and grateful things
Of you ſhe uttereth, oft as from the ſhore
Of Thames, or Medway's vale, or the green banks
Of Vecta, ſhe her thundering navy leads
[16]To Calpe's
z foaming channel, or the rough
Cantabrian coaſt; her auſpices divine
Imparting to the ſenate and the prince
Of Albion, to diſmay barbaric kings,
The Iberian, or the Celt. The pride of kings
Was ever ſcorn'd by Pallas: and of old
Rejoic'd the virgin, from the brazen prow
Of Athens o'er
a Aegina's gloomy ſurge,
To drive her clouds and ſtorms; o'erwhelming all
The Perſian's promis'd glory, when the realms
Of Indus and the ſoft Ionian clime,
When Libya's torrid champain and the rocks
Of cold In [...]aüs join'd their ſervile bands,
To ſweep the ſons of liberty from earth.
In vain: Minerva on the brazen prow
Of Athens ſtood, and with the thunder's voice
Denounc'd her terrours on their impious heads,
And ſhook her burning Aegis. Xerxes ſaw
b:
From Heracleum, on the mountain's height
Thron'd in his golden car, he knew the ſign
[17]Coeleſtial; felt unrighteous hope forſake
His faltering heart, and turn'd his face with ſhame.
Hail, ye who ſhare the ſtern Minerva's power;
Who arm the hand of liberty for war;
And give, in ſecret, the Britannic name
To awe contending monarchs: yet benign,
Yet mild of nature, to the works of peace
More prone, and lenient of the many ills
Which wait on human life. Your gentle aid
Hygeia well can witneſs; ſhe who ſaves,
From poiſonous cares and cups of pleaſing bane,
The wretch devoted to the entangling ſnares
Of Bacchus and of Comus. Him ſhe leads
To Cynthia's lonely haunts. To ſpread the toils,
To beat the coverts, with the jovial horn
At dawn of day to ſummon the loud hounds,
She calls the lingering ſluggard from his dreams;
And where his breaſt may drink the mountain breeze,
And where the fervour of the ſunny vale
May beat upon his brow, through devious paths
Beckons his rapid courſer. Nor when eaſe,
Cool eaſe and welcome ſlumbers have becalm'd
His eager boſom, does the queen of health
Her pleaſing care withhold. His decent board
She guards, preſiding; and the frugal powers
With joy ſedate leads in: and while the brown
Ennaean dame with Pan preſents her ſtores;
While changing ſtill, and comely in the change,
[18]Vertumnus and the Hours before him ſpread
The garden's banquet; you to crown his feaſt,
To crown his feaſt, O Naiads, you the fair
Hygeia calls: and from your ſhelving ſeats,
And grove of poplar, plenteous cups ye bring,
To ſlake his veins: 'till ſoon a purer tide
Flows down thoſe loaded channels; waſheth off
The dregs of luxury, the lurking ſeeds
Of crude diſeaſe; and through the abodes of life
Sends vigour, ſends repoſe. Hail, Naiads: hail,
Who give, to labour, health; to ſtooping age,
The joys which youth had ſquander'd. Oft your urns
Will I invoke; and, frequent in your praiſe,
Abaſh the frantic Thyrſus
c with my ſong.
For not eſtrang'd from your benignant arts
Is he, the God, to whoſe myſterious ſhrine
My youth was ſacred, and my votive cares
Are due; the learned Paeon. Oft when all
His cordial treaſures he hath ſearch'd in vain;
When herbs, and potent trees, and drops of balm
Rich with the genial influence of the ſun,
(To rouze dark fancy from her plaintive dreams,
To brace the nerveleſs arm, with food to win
Sick appetite, or huſh the unquiet breaſt
Which pines with ſilent paſſion) he in vain
[19]Hath prov'd; to your deep manſions he deſcends.
Your gates of humid rock, your dim arcades,
He entereth; where impurpled veins of ore
Gleam on the roof; where through the rigid mine
Your trickling rills inſinuate. There the God
From your indulgent hands the ſtreaming bowl
Wafts to his pale-ey'd ſuppliants; wafts the ſeeds
Metallic and the elemental ſalts
Waſh'd from the pregnant glebe. They drink: and ſoon
Flies pain; flies inauſpicious care: and ſoon
The ſocial haunt or unfrequented ſhade
Hears Io, Io Paean
d; as of old,
When Python fell. And, O propitious Nymphs,
Oft as for hapleſs mortals I implore
Your ſalutary ſprings, through every urn
O ſhed ſelected atoms, and with all
Your healing powers inform the recent wave.
My lyre ſhall pay your bounty. Nor diſdain
That humble tribute. Though a mortal hand
Excite the ſtrings to utterance, yet for themes
Not unregarded of coeleſtial powers,
I frame their language: and the Muſes deign
To guide the pious tenour of my lay.
The Muſes (ſacred by their gifts divine)
In early days did to my wondering ſenſe
[20]Their ſecrets oft reveal: oft my rais'd ear
In ſlumber felt their muſic: oft at noon
Or hour of ſunſet, by ſome lonely ſtream,
In field or ſhady grove, they taught me words
Of power from death and envy to preſerve
The good man's name. Whence yet with grateful mind,
And offerings unprofan'd by ruder eye,
My vows I ſend, my homage, to the ſeats
Of rocky Cirrha
e, where with you they dwell:
Where you their chafte companions they admit
Through all the hallow'd ſcene: where oft intent,
And leaning o'er Caſtalia's moſſy verge,
They mark the cadence of your confluent urns,
How tuneful, yielding gratefulleſt repoſe
To their conſorted meaſure: 'till again,
With emulation all the ſounding choir,
And bright Apollo, leader of the ſong,
Their voices through the liquid air exalt,
And ſweep their lofty ſtrings: thoſe aweful ſtrings,
That charm the minds of Gods
f: that fill the courts
Of wide Olympus with oblivion ſweet
Of evils, with immortal reſt from cares;
[21]Aſſuage the terrours of the throne of Jove;
And quench the formidable thunderbolt
Of unrelenting fire. With ſlacken'd wings,
While now the ſolemn concert breathes around,
Incumbent o'er the ſceptre of his lord,
Sleeps the ſtern eagle; by the number'd notes,
Poſſes'd; and ſatiate with the melting tone:
Sovereign of birds. The furious God of war,
His darts forgetting and the rapid wheels
That bear him vengeful o'er the embattled plain,
Relents, and ſooths his own fierce heart to eaſe,
Unwonted eaſe. The fire of Gods and men,
In that great moment of divine delight,
Looks down on all that live; and whatſoe'er
He loves not, o'er the peopled earth, and o'er
The interminated ocean, he beholds
Curs'd with abhorrence by his doom ſevere,
And troubled at the ſound. Ye, Naiads, ye
With raviſh'd ears the melody attend
Worthy of ſacred ſilence. But the ſlaves
Of Bacchus with tempeſtuous clamours ſtrive
To drown the heavenly ſtrains; of higheſt Jove,
Irreverent; and by mad preſumption fir'd
Their own diſcordant raptures to advance
With hoſtile emulation. Down they ruſh
From Nyſa's vine-impurpled cliff, the dames
Of Thrace, the Satyrs, and the unruly Fauns,
[22]With old Silenus, through the midnight gloom
Toſſing the torch impure, and high in air
The brandiſh'd Thyrſus, to the Phrygian pipe's
gShrill voice, and to the claſhing cymbals, mix'd
With ſhrieks and frantic uproar, May the Gods
From every unpolluted ear avert
Their orgies! If within the ſeats of men,
Within the ſeats of men, the walls, the gates
Which Pallas rules
h, if haply there be found
Who loves to mingle with the revel-band
And hearken to their accents; who aſpires
From ſuch inſtructers to inform his breaſt
With verſe; let him, fit votariſt, implore
Their inſpiration. He perchance the gifts
Of young Lyaeus, and the dread exploits,
May ſing in apteſt numbers: he the fate
Of ſober Pentheus
i, he the Paphian rites,
And naked Mars with Cytheraea chain'd,
[23]And ſtrong Aleides in the ſpinſter's robe,
May celebrate, applauded. But with you,
O Naiads, far from that unhallow'd rout,
Muſt dwell the man whoe'er to praiſed themes
Invokes the immortal Muſe. The immortal Muſe
To your calm habitations, to the cave
Corycian
k or the Delphic mount
l, will guide
His footſteps: and with your unſullied ſtreams
His lips will bathe: whether the eternal lore
Of Themis, or the majeſty of Jove,
To mortals he reveal; or teach his lyre
The unenvied guerdon of the patriot's toils,
In thoſe unfading iſlands of the bleſt,
Where Sacred bards abide. Hail, honour'd Nymphs;
[24]Thrice hail. For you the Cyrenaïc
m ſhell,
Behold, I touch, revering. To my ſongs
Be preſent ye with favourable feet,
And all profaner audience far remove.
ODE TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE FRANCIS EARL OF HUNTINGDON. MDCCXLVII.
[25]BY THE SAME.
I. 1.
THE wiſe and great of every clime,
Through all the ſpacious walks of Time,
Where'er the Muſe her power diſplay'd,
With joy have liſten'd and obey'd.
For, taught of heaven, the ſacred Nine
Perſuaſive numbers, forms divine,
To mortal ſenſe impart:
They beſt the ſoul with glory fire;
They nobleſt counſels, boldeſt deeds inſpire;
And high o'er Fortune's rage inthrone the fixed heart.
[26]I. 2.
Nor leſs prevailing is their charm,
The vengeful boſom to diſarm;
To melt the proud with human woe,
And prompt unwilling tears to flow.
Can wealth a power like this afford?
Can Cromwell's art, or Marlborough's ſword,
An equal empire claim?
No, HASTINGS. Thou my words wilt own:
Thy breaſt the gifts of every Muſe hath known;
Nor ſhall the giver's love diſgrace thy noble name.
I. 3.
The Muſe's aweful art,
And the fair function of the poet's tongue,
Ne'er ſhalt thou bluſh to honour; to aſſert
From all that ſcorned vice or ſlaviſh fear hath ſung.
Nor ſhall the blandiſhment of Tuſcan ſtrings
Warbling at will in pleaſure's myrtle bower;
Nor ſhall the baſer notes to Celtic kings
By lying minſtrels paid in evil hour;
Move Thee to ſpurn the heavenly Muſe's reign.
A different ſtrain,
And other Themes,
From her prophetic ſhades and hallow'd ſtreams
(Thou well canſt witneſs) meet the purged ear:
Such, as when Greece to her immortal ſhell
Rejoicing liſten'd, godlike ſounds to hear;
To hear the ſweet inſtructreſs tell
[27](While men and heroes throng'd around)
How life its nobleſt uſe may find,
How beſt for freedom be reſign'd;
And how, by glory, virtue ſhall be crown'd.
II. 1.
Such was the
a Chian father's ſtrain
To many a kind domeſtic train,
Whoſe pious hearth, and genial bowl,
Had cheer'd the reverend pilgrim's ſoul:
When, every hoſpitable rite
With equal bounty to requite,
He ſtruck his magic ſtrings;
And pour'd ſpontaneous numbers forth,
And ſeiz'd their ears with tales of ancient worth,
And fill'd their muſing hearts with vaſt heroic things.
II. 2.
Now oft, where happy ſpirits dwell,
Where yet he tunes his charming ſhell,
Oft near him, with applauding hands,
The genius of his country ſtands.
To liſtening gods he makes him known,
That man divine, by whom were ſown
The ſeeds of Graecian fame:
Who firſt the race with freedom fir'd;
From whom Lycurgus Sparta's ſons inſpir'd
b;
From whom Plataean palms and Cyprian trophies came.
[29]II. 3.
O nobleſt, happieſt age!
When Ariſtides rul'd, and Cimon fought;
When all the generous fruits of Homer's page
Exulting Pindar
c ſaw to full perfection brought.
[30]O Pindar, oft ſhalt thou be hail'd of me:
Not that Apollo fed thee from his ſhrine;
Not that thy lips drank ſweetneſs from the bee;
Nor yet that, ſtudious of thy notes divine,
Pan danc'd their meaſure with the ſylvan throng:
But that thy ſong
Was proud to unfold
What thy baſe rulers trembled to behold;
Amid corrupted Thebes was proud to tell
The deeds of Athens and the Perſian ſhame:
Hence on thy head their impious vengeance fell.
But thou, O faithful to thy fame,
The Muſe's law didſt rightly know;
That who would animate his lays,
And other minds to virtue raiſe,
Muſt feel his own with all her ſpirit glow.
III. 1.
Are there, approv'd of later times,
Whoſe verſe adorn'd a
d tyrant's crimes?
Who ſaw majeſtic Rome betray'd,
And lent the imperial ruffian aid?
[31]Alas! not one polluted bard,
No, not the ſtrains that Mincius heard,
Or Tibur's hills reply'd,
Dare to the Muſe's ear aſpire;
Save that, inſtructed by the Grecian lyre,
With freedom's ancient notes their ſhameful taſk they hide.
III. 2.
Mark, how the dread Pantheon ſtands,
Amid the domes of modern hands:
Amid the toys of idle ſtate,
How ſimply, how ſeverely great!
Then turn, and, while each weſtern clime
Preſents her tuneful ſons to Time,
So mark thou Milton's name:
And add, "Thus differs from the throng
"The ſpirit which inform'd thy aweful ſong,
"Which bade thy potent voice protect thy country's fame."
III. 3.
Yet hence barbaric zeal
His memory with unholy rage purſues;
While from theſe arduous cares of public weal
She bids each bard be gone, and reſt him with his Muſe.
O fool! to think the man, whoſe ample mind
Muſt graſp at all that yonder ſtars ſurvey;
Muſt join the nobleſt forms of every kind,
The world's moſt perfect image to diſplay,
Can e'er his country's majeſty behold,
Unmov'd or cold!
[32]O fool! to deem
That He, whoſe thought muſt viſit every theme,
Whoſe heart muſt every ſtrong emotion know
By nature planted, or by fortune taught;
That He, if haply ſome preſumptuous foe,
With falſe ignoble ſcience fraught,
Shall ſpurn at freedom's faithful band:
That He, their dear defence will ſhun,
Or hide their glories from the ſun,
Or deal their vengeance with a woman's hand
e!
IV. 1.
I care not that in Arno's plain,
Or on the ſportive banks of Seine,
From public themes the Muſe's quire
Content with poliſh'd eaſe retire.
Where prieſts the ſtudious head command,
Where tyrants bow the warlike hand
To vile ambition's aim,
Say, what can public themes afford,
Save venal honours to an hateful lord,
Reſerv'd for angry heaven, and ſcorn'd of honeſt fame?
IV. 2.
But here, where freedom's equal throne
To all her valiant ſons is known;
[33]Where all are conſcious of her cares,
And each the power, that rules him, ſhares;
Here let the bard, whoſe daſtard tongue
Leaves public arguments unſung,
Bid public praiſe farewel:
Let him to fitter climes remove,
Far from the heroe's and the patriot's love,
And lull myſterious monks to ſlumber in their cell.
IV. 3.
O Haſtings, not to all
Can ruling heav'n the ſame endowments lend:
Yet ſtill doth nature to her offspring call,
That to one general weal their different powers they bend,
Unenvious. Thus alone, though ſtrains divine
Inform the boſom of the Muſe's ſon;
Though with new honours the patrician's line
Advance from age to age; yet thus alone
They win the ſuffrage of impartial fame.
The poet's name
He beſt ſhall prove,
Whoſe lays the ſoul with nobleſt paſſions move.
But thee, O progeny of heroes old,
Thee to ſeverer toils thy fate requires:
The fate which form'd thee in a choſen mould,
The grateful country of thy ſires,
[34]Thee to ſublimer paths demand;
Sublimer than thy ſires could trace,
Or thy own EDWARD
e teach his race,
Though Gaul's proud genius ſank beneath his hand.
V. 1.
From rich domains and ſubject farms,
They led the ruſtic youth to arms;
And kings their ſtern atchievements fear'd;
While private ſtrife their banners rear'd.
But loftier ſcenes to thee are ſhown,
Where empire's wide-eſtabliſh'd throne
No private maſter fills:
Where, long foretold, The People reigns:
Where each a vaſſal's humble heart diſdains;
And judgeth what he ſees; and, as he judgeth, wills.
V. 2.
Here be it thine to calm and guide
The ſwelling democratic tide;
To watch the ſtate's uncertain frame,
And baffle faction's partial aim:
But chiefly, with determin'd zeal,
To quell that ſervile band, who kneel
To freedom's baniſh'd foes;
That monſter, which is daily found
Expert and bold thy country's peace to wound;
Yet dreads to handle arms, nor manly counſel knows.
[35]V. 3.
'Tis higheſt heaven's command,
That guilty aims ſhould ſordid paths purſue:
That what enſnares the heart ſhould curb the hand,
And virtue's worthleſs foes be falſe to glory to [...].
But look on freedom. See, through every age,
What labours, perils, griefs, hath ſhe diſdain'd!
What arms, what regal pride, what prieſtly rage,
Have her dread offspring conquer'd or ſuſtain'd!
For Albion well have conquer'd. Let the ſtrains
Of happy ſwains,
Which now reſound
Where Scarſdale's cliffs the ſwelling paſtures bound,
Bear witneſs. There, oft let the farmer hail
The ſacred orchard which imbowers his gate,
And ſhew to ſtrangers paſſing down the vale,
Where Candiſh, Booth, and Oſborne ſate
f;
When burſting from their country's chain,
Even in the midſt of deadly harms,
Of papal ſnares and lawleſs arms,
They plann'd for freedom this her aweful reign.
[36]VI. 1.
This reign, theſe laws, this publice care,
Which Naſſau gave us all to ſhare,
Had ne'er adorn'd the Engliſh name,
Could fear have ſilenc'd freedom's claim.
But fear in vain attempts to bind
Thoſe lofty efforts of the mind
Which ſocial good inſpires;
Where men, for this, aſſault a throne,
Each adds the common welfare to his own;
And each unconquer'd heart the ſtrength of all acquires.
VI. 2.
Say, was it thus, when late we view'd
Our fields in civil blood imbrued?
When fortune crown'd the barbarous hoſt,
And half the aſtoniſh'd iſle was loſt?
Did one of all that vaunting train,
Who dare affront a peaceful reign,
Durſt one in arms appear?
Durſt one in counſels pledge his life?
Stake his luxurious fortunes in the ſtrife?
Or lend his boaſted name his vagrant friends to cheer?
VI. 3.
Yet, HASTINGS, theſe are they,
Who challenge to themſelves thy country's love:
The true; the conſtant: who alone can weigh
What glory ſhould demand, or liberty approve!
[37]But let their works declare them. Thy free powers,
The generous powers of thy prevailing mind,
Not for the taſks of their confederate hours,
Lewd brawls and lurking ſlander, were deſign'd.
Be thou thy own approver. Honeſt praiſe
Oft nobly ſways
Ingenuous youth:
But, ſought from cowards and the lying mouth,
Praiſe is reproach. Eternal GOD alone
For mortals fixeth that ſublime award.
He, from the faithful records of his throne,
Bids the hiſtorian and the bard
Diſpoſe of honour and of ſcorn;
Diſcern the patriot from the ſlave;
And write the good, the wiſe, the brave,
For leſſons to the multitude unborn.
THE ARBOUR: AN ODE TO CONTENTMENT.
[105]TO theſe lone ſhades, where Peace delights to dwell,
May Fortune oft permit me to retreat:
Here bid the world, with all its cares, farewel,
And leave its pleaſures to the rich and great.
Oft as the ſummer's ſun ſhall cheer this ſcene
With that mild gleam which points his parting ray,
Here let my ſoul enjoy each eve ſerene,
Here ſhare its calm, 'till life's declining day.
No gladſome image then ſhould 'ſcape my ſight,
From theſe gay flowers, which border near my eye,
To yon bright cloud, that decks, with richeſt light,
The gilded mantle of the weſtern ſky.
With ample gaze I'd trace that ridge remote,
Where opening cliffs diſcloſe the boundleſs main;
With earneſt ken from each low hamlet note
The ſteeple's ſummit peeping o'er the plain.
What various works that rural landſcape fill,
Where mingling hedge-rows beauteous fields incloſe;
And prudent Culture, with induſtrious ſkill,
Her chequer'd ſcene of crops and fallows ſhows!
[106]How ſhould I love to mark that riv'let's maze,
Through which it works its untaught courſe along;
Whilſt near its graſſy banks the herd ſhall graze,
And blithſome milkmaid chaunt her thoughtleſs ſong!
Still would I note the ſhades of length'ning ſheep,
As ſcatter'd o'er the hill's ſlant brow they rove;
Still note the day's laſt glimm'ring luſtre creep
From off the verge of yonder upland grove.
Nor ſhould my leiſure ſeldom wait to view
The ſlow-wing'd rooks in homeward train ſucceed;
Nor yet forbear the ſwallow to purſue,
With quicker glance, cloſe ſkimming o'er the mead.
But moſtly here ſhould I delight t' explore
The bounteous laws of Nature's myſtic power;
Then muſe on Him who bleſſeth all her ſtore,
And give to ſolemn thoughts the ſober hour.
Let mirth unenvy'd laugh with proud diſdain,
And deem it ſpleen one moment thus to waſte;
If ſo ſhe keep far hence her noiſy train,
Nor interrupt thoſe joys ſhe cannot taſte.
Far ſweeter ſtreams ſhall flow from Wiſdom's ſpring,
Than ſhe receives from Folly's coſtlieſt bowl;
And what delights can her chief dainties bring,
Like thoſe which feaſt the heavenly-penſive ſoul?
[107]Hail, Silence, then! be thou my frequent gueſt;
For thou art wont my gratitude to raiſe,
As high as wonder can the theme ſuggeſt,
Whene'er I meditate my Maker's praiſe.
What joy for tutor'd Piety to learn
All that my Chriſtian ſolitude can teach,
Where weak-ey'd Reaſon's ſelf may well diſcern
Each clearer truth the goſpel deigns to preach?
No object here but may convince the mind
Of more than thoughtful honeſty ſhall need;
Nor can Suſpenſe long queſtion here to find
Sufficient evidence to fix its creed.
'Tis God that gives this bower its aweful gloom;
His arched verdure does its roof inveſt;
He breathes the life of fragrance on its bloom;
And with his kindneſs makes its owner bleſt.
Oh, may the guidance of thy grace attend
The uſe of all thy bounty ſhall beſtow;
Leſt folly ſhould miſtake its ſacred end,
Or vice convert it into means of woe.
Incline and aid me ſtill my life to ſteer,
As conſcience dictates what to ſhun or chuſe;
Nor let my heart feel anxious hope or fear,
For aught this world can give me or refuſe.
[108]Then ſhall not wealth's parade one wiſh excite,
For wretched ſtate to barter peace away;
Nor vain ambition's lure my pride invite,
Beyond Contentment's humble path to ſtray.
What though thy wiſdom may my lot deny,
The treaſur'd plenty freely to diſpenſe;
Yet well thy goodneſs can that want ſupply
With larger portions of benevolence.
And ſure the heart that wills the gen'rous deed
May all the joys of Charity command;
For ſhe beſt loves from notice to recede,
And deals her unſought gifts with ſecret hand.
Then will I ſometimes bid my fancy ſteal
That unclaim'd wealth no property reſtrains;
Soothe with fictitious aid my friendly zeal,
And realize each godly act ſhe feigns.
So ſhall I gain the gold without alloy;
Without oppreſſion, toil, or treach'rous ſnares;
So ſhall I know its uſe, its power employ,
And yet avoid its dangers and its cares.
And, ſpite of all that boaſtful wealth can do,
In vain would Fortune ſtrive the rich to bleſs,
Were they not flatter'd with ſome diſtant view
Of what ſhe ne'er can give them to poſſeſs.
[109]E'en Wiſdom's high conceit great wants would feel,
If not ſupply'd from Fancy's boundleſs ſtore;
And nought but ſhame makes power itſelf conceal,
That ſhe, to ſatisfy, muſt promiſe more.
But though experience will not fail to ſhow,
Howe'er its truth man's weakneſs may upbraid,
That what he moſtly values here below,
Owes half its reliſh to kind Fancy's aid;
Yet ſhould not Prudence her light wing command,
She may too far extend her heedleſs flight;
For Pleaſure ſoon ſhall quit her fairy-land
If Nature's regions are not held in ſight.
From Truth's abode, in ſearch of kind deceit,
Within due limits ſhe may ſafely roam;
If roving does not make her hate retreat,
And with averſion ſhun her proper home.
But thanks to thoſe, whoſe fond parental care
To Learning's paths my youthful ſteps confin'd,
I need not ſhun a ſtate which lets me ſhare
Each calm delight that ſoothes the ſtudious mind.
While genius laſts, his fame ſhall ne'er decay,
Whoſe artful hand firſt caus'd its fruits to ſpread;
In laſting volumes ſtampt the printed lay,
And taught the Muſes to embalm the dead.
[110]To him I owe each fair inſtructive page,
Where Science tells me what her ſons have known;
Collects their choiceſt works from every age,
And makes me wiſe with knowledge not my own.
Books rightly us'd may every ſtate ſecure,
From fortune's evils may our peace defend;
May teach us how to ſhun, or to endure,
The foe malignant, and the faithleſs friend.
Should rigid Want withdraw all outward aid,
Kind ſtores of inward comfort they can bring;
Should keen Diſeaſe life's tainted ſtream invade,
Sweet to the ſoul from them pure health may ſpring.
Should both at once man's weakly frame infeſt,
Some letter'd charm may ſtill relief ſupply;
'Gainſt all events prepare his patient breaſt,
And make him quite reſign'd to live, or die.
For though no words can time or fate reſtrain;
No ſounds ſuppreſs the call of Nature's voice;
Though neither rhymes, nor ſpells, can conquer pain,
Nor magic's ſelf make wretchedneſs our choice;
Yet reaſon, while it forms the ſubtile plan,
Some purer ſource of pleaſure to explore,
Muſt deem it vain for that poor pilgrim, man,
To think of reſting till his journey's o'er;
[111]Muſt deem each fruitleſs toil, by heaven deſign'd
To teach him where to look for real bliſs;
Elſe why ſhould heaven excite the hope to find
What balk'd purſuit muſt here for ever miſs?
THE PICTURE OF HUMAN LIFE. TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK OF CEBES THE THEBAN. BY MR. T. SCOTTa.
‘Et vitae monſtrata via eſt. HOR.’
WHILE
Saturn's b fane with ſolemn ſtep we trod,
And view'd the
c votive honours of the God,
[115]A pictur'd tablet, o'er the portal rais'd,
Attach'd our eye: in wonder loſt, we gaz'd.
The pencil there ſome ſtrange device had wrought,
And fables, all its own, diſguis'd the thought.
Nor camp it ſeem'd, nor city: the deſign,
Whoſe moral mock'd our labour to divine,
Was a wall'd court, where roſe another bound,
And, higher ſtill, a third ſtill leſs'ning ground.
The nether area open'd at a gate
Where a vaſt crowd impatient ſeem'd to wait.
Within, a group of female figures ſtood,
In motley dreſs, a ſparkling multitude.
Without, in ſtation at the porch, was ſeen
A venerable form, in act and mien
Like ſome great teacher, who with urgent tongue,
Authoritative, warn'd the ruſhing throng.
From doubt to doubt we wander'd; when appear'd
A fire, who thus the hard ſolution clear'd:
Strangers, that allegorie ſcene, I gueſs,
Conquers your ſkill, your home-born wits no leſs.
A foreigner, long ſince, whoſe nobler mind
Learning's beſt culture to ſtrong genius join'd,
Here liv'd, convers'd, and ſhew'd th' admiring age
Another Samian or Elean ſage.
He rear'd this dome to Saturn's aweful name,
And gave that portrait to eternal fame.
He reaſon'd much, high argument he choſe,
High as his theme his great conceptions roſe.
[116]Such wiſdom flowing from a mouth but young
I heard aſtoniſh'd, and enjoy'd it long:
Him oft I heard this moral piece expound,
With nervous eloquence and ſenſe profound.
Father, if leiſure with thy will conſpire,
Yield, yield that comment to our warm deſire.
Free to beſtow, I warn you firſt, beware:
Danger impends, which ſummons all your care.
Wiſe, virtuous, bleſt, whoſe heart our precepts gain;
dAbandon'd, blind, and wretched, who diſdain.
For know, our purpos'd theme reſembles beſt
The fam'd Enigma of the Theban peſt:
Th' interpreter a plighted crown enjoy'd,
The ſtupid periſh'd, by the Sphinx deſtroy'd.
Count Folly as a Sphinx to all mankind,
Her problem, How is Good and Ill defin'd?
Misjudging here, by Folly's law we die,
Not inſtant victims of her cruelty;
From day to day our reaſoning part ſhe wounds,
Devours its ſtrength, its nobleſt powers confounds▪
Awakes the laſh of
e Puniſhment, and tears
The mind with pangs which guilty life prepares,
With oppoſite effect, where thoughtful ſkill
Diſcerns the boundaries of Good and Ill,
Folly muſt periſh; and th' illumin'd breaſt
To Virtue ſav'd, is like th' immortals bleſt.
[117]Give audience, then, with no unheeding ear.
O haſte, no heedleſs auditors ſtand here,
With ſtrong deſire, in dread ſuſpence we wait,
So great the bleſſing, and the bane ſo great.
Inſtant, he rais'd his oratorial hand,
And ſaid (our eye he guided with a wand)
Behold life's pencil'd ſcene, the natal gate,
The numbers thronging into mortal ſtate.
Which danger's path, and which to ſafety bears,
That ancient, Genius of mankind, declares.
See him aloft, benevolent he bends,
One hand is pointing, one a roll extends
Reaſon's imperial code; by heav'n impreſt
In living letters on the human breaſt.
Oppos'd to him, Deluſion plies her part,
With ſkin of borrow'd ſnow, and bluſh of art,
With hypocritic fawn, and eyes aſkance
Whence ſoft infection ſteals in every glance.
Her faithleſs hand preſents a cryſtal bowl,
Whoſe pois'nous draught intoxicates the ſoul.
Error and ignorance infus'd, compoſe
The fatal beverage which her fraud beſtows.
Is that the hard condition of our birth?
Muſt all drink Error who appear on earth?
All; yet in ſome their meaſure drowns the mind,
Others but taſte, leſs erring and leſs blind.
[118]fTh'
Opinions, and
Deſires, and
Pleaſures riſe
Behind the gate, thick-glitt'ring on our eyes;
Thick as bright atoms in the ſolar ray,
Diverſe their drap'ry and profuſely gay.
Theſe tempting forms, each like a miſtreſs dreſt,
Our early ſteps with powerful charms arreſt:
Soon as we enter life, with various art
Of dalliance they aſſail th' unguarded heart.
All promiſe joy, we ruſh to their embrace;
To bliſs or ruin, here begins our race.
Happy, thrice happy, who intruſt their youth
To right Opinions, and aſcend to Truth:
Whom Wiſdom tutors, whom the Virtues hail,
And with their own ſubſtantial feaſt regale,
The reſt are harlots: by their flatt'ries won,
In chaſe of empty ſciences we run:
Or Fortune's vanities purſue, and ſtray
With ſenſual Pleaſure in more dangerous way.
See the mad round their giddy followers tread,
Deluſion's cup ſtrong-working in their head.
Faſt as one ſhoal of fools have delug'd through,
Succeeding ſhoals the buſy farce renew.
Who on that globe ſtands ſtretching to her flight?
Wild ſeems her aſpect, and bereav'd of ſight.
Fortune, blind, frantic, deaf. With reſtleſs wings
The world ſhe ranges, and her favours flings:
[119]Flings and reſumes, and plunders and beſtows,
Caprice divides the bleſſings and the woes.
Her grace unſtable as her tott'ring ball,
Whene'er ſhe ſmiles, ſhe meditates our fall.
When moſt we truſt her, we are cheated moſt,
In diſolating loſs we mourn our boaſt:
Her cruel blaſt invades our haſty fruit,
And withers all our glory at the root.
What mean thoſe multitudes around her? Why
Such motley attitudes perplex our eye?
Some, in the act of wildeſt raptures, leap;
In agony ſome wring their hands, and weep.
Th' unreas'ning crowd; to paſſion's ſequel blind,
By paſſion fir'd, and impotent of mind;
Competitors in clamorous ſuit, to ſhare
The toys ſhe toſſes with regardleſs air;
Trifles, for ſolid worth by moſt purſu'd,
Bright-colour'd vapours and fantaſtic good:
The pageantry of wealth, the blaze of fame,
Titles, an offspring to extend the name,
Huge ſtrength, or beauty which the ſtrong obey,
The victor's laurel, and deſpotic ſway.
Theſe, humour'd in their vows, with laviſh praiſe
The glory of the gracious goddeſs raiſe:
Thoſe other, loſers in her chance-full game,
Shorn of their all, or fruſtrate in their aim,
In murmurs of their hard miſhap complain,
And curſe her partial and malignant reign.
[120]Now, further ſtill in this low ſenſual ground,
Traverſe yon flowery mount's ſequeſter'd bound.
In the green center of thoſe citron ſhades,
'Mong gardens, fountains, flowery walks, and glades,
Voluptuous Sin her powerful ſpells employs,
Souls to ſeduce, ſeducing ſhe deſtroys.
See! Lewdneſs, looſely zon'd, her boſom bares,
See! Riot her luxurious bowl prepares:
There ſtands Avidity, with ardent eye,
There dimpling Adulation ſmooths her lye.
There ſtation'd to what end?
In watch for prey,
Fortune's infatuate favourites of a day.
Theſe they careſs, they flatter, they entreat
To try the pleaſures of their ſoft retreat,
Life diſencumber'd, frolickſome, and free,
All eaſe, all mirth, and high felicity.
Whome'er by their inveigling arts they win,
To tread that magic paradiſe of Sin,
In airy dance his jocund hours ſkim round,
Sparkles the bowl, the feſtal ſongs reſound:
His blood ferments, fir'd by the wanton glance,
And his looſe ſoul diſſolves in am'rous trance.
While circulating joys to joys ſucceed,
While new delights the ſweet delirium feed;
The prodigal, in raptur'd fancy, roves
O'er fairy fields, and through Elyſian groves:
[121]Sees glittering viſions in ſucceſſion riſe,
And laughs at Socrates the chaſte and wiſe.
'Till, ſober'd by diſtreſs, awake, confus'd,
Amaz'd, he knows himſelf a wretch abus'd;
A ſhort illuſion his imagin'd feaſt,
Himſelf the game, himſelf the ſlaughter'd beaſt,
Now, raving for his ſquander'd wealth in vain,
Slave to thoſe tyrant jilts he drags their chain:
Compell'd to ſuffer hard and hungry need,
Compell'd to dare each foul and deſp'rate deed.
Villain, or knave, he joins the ſharping tribe,
Robs altars, or is perjur'd for a bribe:
Stabs for a purſe, his country pawns for gold,
To every crime of blackeſt horror ſold.
Shiftleſs at length, of all reſource bereft,
In the dire gripe of Puniſhment he's left.
Obſerve this ſtrait-mouth'd cave: th' unwilling light
Juſt ſhews the diſmal deep deſcent to night.
In centry ſee theſe haggard crones, whoſe brows
Rude locks o'erhang, a frown their forehead plows:
Swarthy and foul their ſhrivell'd ſkin behold,
And flutt'ring ſhreds their vile defence from cold.
High-brandiſhing her laſh, with ſtern regard,
Stands Puniſhment, an ever-waking ward;
While ſullen Melancholy mopes behind,
Fix'd, with her head upon her knees reclin'd:
And, frantic, with remorſeful fury, there
Fierce Anguiſh ſtamps, and rends her ſhaggy hair,
[122] Who that ill-featur'd ſpectre of a man,
Shiv'ring in nakedneſs, ſo ſpare and wan?
And ſhe, whoſe eye aghaſt with horror ſtares,
Whoſe meagre form a ſiſter's likeneſs bears?
Loud Lamentation, wild Deſpair. All theſe,
Fell vultures, the devoted caitiff ſeize.
Ah dreadful durance! with theſe fiends to dwell!
What tongue the terrors of his ſoul can tell!
Worry'd by theſe fould fiends, the wretch begins
Sharp penance, wages of remember'd ſins:
Then deeper ſinks, plung'd in the pit of Woe,
Worſe ſuff'rings in worſe hell to undergo:
Unleſs, rare gueſt, Repentance o'er the gloom
Diffuſe her radiance, and repeal his doom.
She comes! meek-ey'd, array'd in grave attire,
See Right Opinion, join'd with Good Deſire,
Handmaids of Truth: with thoſe, an adverſe pair
(Falſe Wiſdom's minions, that deceiving fair)
Attend her ſolemn ſtep: the furies flee.
Come forth, ſhe calls, come forth to liberty,
Guilt-harraſs'd thrall: thy future lot decide,
And, pondering well, elect thy future guide.
Momentous option! chooſing right, he'll find
A ſov'reign med'cine for his ulcer'd mind;
Led to True Wiſdom, whoſe cathartic bowl
Recovers and beatifies the ſoul.
Miſguided elſe, a counterfeit he'll gain,
Whoſe art is only to amuſe the brain:
[123]From vice to ſtudious folly now he flies,
From bliſs ſtill erring, ſtill betray'd by lyes.
O heavens! where end the riſks we mortals run?
How dreadful this, and yet how hard to ſhun!
Say, father, what diſtinctive marks declare
That counterfeit of Wiſdom?
At yonder gate, with decent port, ſhe ſtands,
Her ſpotleſs form that ſecond court commands:
Styl'd Wiſdom by the crowd, the thinking few
Know her diſguiſe, the phantom of the true:
Skill'd in all learning, ſkill'd in every art
To grace the head, not meliorate the heart.
The ſav'd, who meditate their noble flight
From a bad world, to Wiſdom's lofty height,
Juſt touching at this inn, for ſhort repaſt,
Then ſpeed their journey forward to its laſt.
This the ſole path?
Another path there lies,
The plain man's path, without proud Science wiſe.
Who they, which traverſe this deluder's bound?
A buſy ſcene, all thought or action round.
Her lovers, whom her ſpecious beauty warms,
Who graſp, in viſion, Truth's immortal charms,
Vain of the glory of a falſe embrace:
Fierce ſyllogiſtic tribes, a wrangling race,
[124]Bards rapt beyond the moon on Fancy's wings,
And mighty maſters of the vocal ſtrings:
Thoſe who on labour'd ſpeeches waſte their oil,
Thoſe who in crabbed calculations toil,
Who meaſure earth, who climb the ſtarry road,
And human fates by heav'nly ſigns forebode,
Pleaſure's philoſophers, Lyceum's pride,
Diſdainful ſoaring up to heights untry'd.
All who in learned trifles ſpin their wit,
Or comment on the works by triflers writ.
Who are yon active females, like in face
To the lewd harlots, in the nether ſpace,
Vile agents of voluptuous, Sin?
The ſame.
Admitted here?
Ev'n here, eternal ſhame!
They boaſt ſome rarer leſs ignoble ſpoils,
Art, wit, and reaſon, tangled in their toils.
And Fancy, with th' Opinions in her rear,
Enjoys theſe ſtudious walks, no ſtranger here:
Where wild hypotheſis, and learn'd romance
Too oft lead up the philoſophic dance.
Still theſe ingenious heads, alas! retain
Deluſion's doſe, ſtill the vile dregs remain
Of ignorance with madding folly join'd,
And a ſoul heart pollutes th' embelliſh'd mind.
Nor will preſumption from their ſouls recede,
Nor will they from one vicious plague be freed.
[125]'Till, weary of theſe vanities, they've found
Th' exalted way to Truth's enlighten'd ground,
Quaff'd her cathartic, and all cleans'd within,
By that ſtrong energy, from pride and ſin,
Are heal'd and ſav'd. But loit'ring here they ſpend
Life's precious hours in thinking to no end:
From ſcience up to ſcience let them riſe,
And arrogate the ſwelling ſtyle of wiſe;
Their wiſdom's folly, impotent and blind,
Which cures not one diſtemper of the mind.
Enough. Diſcover now the faithful road,
Which mounts us to the joys of Truth's abode.
Survey this ſolitary waſte, which rears
Nor buſh nor herb, nor cottage there appears.
At diſtance ſee yon ſtrait and lonely gate
(No crowds at the forbidding entrance wait)
Its avenue a rugged rocky ſoil,
Travell'd with painful ſtep and tedious toil.
Beyond the wicket, tow'ring in the ſkies
See Difficulty's cragged mountain riſe,
Narrow and ſharp th' aſcent; each edge a brink,
Whence to vaſt depth dire precipices ſink.
Is that the way to Wiſdom? Dreadful way!
The landſkip frowns with danger and diſmay.
Yet higher ſtill, around the mountain's brow
Winds yon huge rock, whoſe ſteep ſmooth ſides allow
No track. Its top two ſiſter figures grace,
Health's roſy habit glowing in their face.
[126]With arms protended o'er the verge they lean,
The promptitude of friendſhip in their mien.
The powers of Continence and Patience, there
Station'd by Wiſdom, her commiſſion bear
To rouze the ſpirit of her fainting ſon
Thus far advanc'd, and urge and urge him on.
Courage! they call, the coward's ſloth diſdain:
Yet, yet awhile, the noble toil ſuſtain:
A lovely path ſoon opens to your ſight.
But ah! how climb'd that rock's bare ſlipp'ry height?
Theſe generous guides, who Virtue's courſe befriend,
In ſuccour of her pilgrim ſwift deſcend,
Draw up their trembling charge; then, ſmiling, greet
With kind command to reſt his weary feet.
With their own force his panting breaſt they arm,
And with their own intrepid ſpirit warm:
Next, plight their guidance in his future way
To Wiſdom, and in rapt'rous view diſplay
The bliſsful road (there it invites your eyes)
How ſmooth and eaſy to the foot it lies,
Through beauteous land, from all annoyance clear,
Of thorny evil and perplexing fear.
hYon lofty grove's delicious bowers to gain,
You croſs th' expanſe of this enamell'd plain;
A meadow with eternal beauty bright,
Beneath a purer heav'n, o'erflow'd with light.
[127]Full in the center of the plain, behold
A court far-flaming with its wall of gold
And gate of diamond, where the righteous reſt;
This clime their home, the country of the bleſt:
Here all the Virtues dwell, communion ſweet!
With Happineſs, who rules the peaceful ſeat.
In ſtation at th' effulgent portal, ſee
A beauteous form of mildeſt majeſty.
Her eyes how piercing! how ſedate her mien!
Mature in life, her countenance ſerene:
Spirit and ſolid thought each feature ſhows,
And her plain robe with ſtate unſtudy'd flows.
She ſtands upon a cube of marble, fix'd
As the firm rock, two lovely nymphs betwixt,
Her daughters, copies of her looks and air,
Her candid Truth, and ſweet Perſuaſion there:
She, ſhe is Wiſdom. In her ſtedfaſt eye
Behold th' expreſſive type of certainty:
Certain her way, and permanent the deed
Of gift ſubſtantial to her friends decreed.
She gives magnanimous contempt of fear,
She gives the confidence erect and clear,
And bids th' invulnerable mind to know
Her ſafety from the future ſhafts of woe.
O treaſure, richer than the ſea or land!
But why without the walls her deſtin'd ſtand?
There ſtanding, ſhe preſents her potent bowl,
Divine cathartic, which reſtores the ſoul.
[128] This aſks a comment.
In ſome dire diſeaſe,
Macbaon's ſkill firſt purges off the lees:
Then clear and ſtrong the purple current flows,
And life renew'd in every member glows:
But if the patient all controul deſpiſe,
Juſt victim of his ſtubborn will he dies.
So Wiſdom, by her rules, with healing art
Expels Deluſion's miſchiefs from the heart;
Blindneſs, and error, and high-boaſting pride,
Intemp'rance, luſt, fierce wrath's impetuous tide,
Hydropic avarice, all the plagues behind
Which in the firſt mad court oppreſs'd the mind.
Thus purg'd, her pupil through the gate ſhe brings,
The Virtues hail their gueſt, the gueſt enraptur'd ſings.
Behold the ſpotleſs band, celeſtial charms!
Scene that with awe chaſtiſes whom it warms:
No harlotry, no paint, no gay exceſs,
But beauty unaffected as their dreſs.
See Knowledge graſping a refulgent ſtar,
See Fortitude in panoply of war:
Juſtice her equal ſcale aloft diſplays,
And rights both human and divine ſhe weighs.
There Moderation, all the pleaſures bound
In brazen chains her dreaded feet ſurround.
There bounteous Liberality expands
To want, to worth, her ever-loaded hands.
[129]The florid hue of Temperance, her ſide
Adorn'd by Health, a nymph in blooming pride.
Lo, ſoft-ey'd Meekneſs holds a curbing rein,
Anger's high-mettled ſpirit to reſtrain:
While Moral Order tunes her golden lyre,
And white-rob'd Probity compleats the choir.
O faireſt of all fair! O bliſsful ſtate!
What hopes ſublime our raviſh'd ſoul dilate!
Subſtantial hopes, if, by the doctrine taught,
The faſhion'd manners are to habit wrought.
Yes; 'tis reſolv'd. Well every nerve employ.
Live, then, reſtor'd; and reap the promis'd joy.
But whither do the Virtues lead their truſt?
To Happineſs, rewarder of the juſt.
Look upward to the hill beyond the grove,
A ſovereign pile extends its front above:
Stately and ſtrong, the lofty caſtle ſtands,
Its boundleſs proſpect all the courts commands.
Within the porch, high on the jaſper throne,
Th' Imperial Mother by her form is known;
Bright as the morn, when ſmiling on the hills,
Earth, air, and ſea, with vernal joy ſhe fills.
Rich without laviſh coſt her veſt behold
In colours of the ſky, and fring'd with gold:
A tiar, wreath'd with every flow'r that blows
Of livelieſt tints, around her temples glows:
Eternal bloom her ſnowy temples binds,
Fearleſs of burning ſuns and blaſting winds.
[130]Now, with a crown of wond'rous power, her hand
(Aſſiſtant, round her, all the virtues ſtand)
Adorns her hero, honourable meed
Of conqueſts won by many a valiant deed.
What conqueſts?
Formidable beaſts ſubdu'd:
Lab'ring he fought, he routed, he purſu'd.
Once, a weak prey, beneath their force he cowr'd,
O'erthrown, and worry'd, and well-nigh devour'd:
Till rouz'd with his inglorious ſloth, poſſeſt
With generous ardour kindling in his breaſt,
Lord of himſelf, the victor now conſtrains
Thoſe hoſtile monſters in his powerful chains.
Explain thoſe ſavage beaſts at war with man.
Error and Ignorance, which head the van,
Heart-gnawing Grief, and loud-lamenting Woe,
Incontinence, a wild-deſtroying foe,
Rapacious Avarice; cruel numbers more:
O'er all he triumphs now, their ſlave before.
O great atchievements! more illuſtrious far
Theſe triumphs, than the bloody wreaths of war.
But, ſay; what ſalutary power is ſhed
By the fair crown, which decks the hero's head?
Moſt beatific. For poſſeſſing this
He lives, rich owner of man's proper bliſs:
Bliſs independent or on wealth or power,
Fame, birth, or beauty, or voluptuous hour.
[131]His hopes divorc'd from all exterior things,
Within himſelf the fount of pleaſure ſprings;
Springs ever in the ſelf approving breaſt,
And his own honeſt heart's a conſtant feaſt.
Where, next, his ſteps?
He meaſures back his way,
Conducted by the Virtues, to ſurvey
His firſt abode. The giddy crowd, below,
Waſting their wretched ſpan in crime, they ſhow;
How in the whirl of paſſions they are toſt,
And, ſhipwreck'd on the lurking ſhelves, are loſt;
Here fierce Ambition haling in her chain
The mighty, there a deſpicable train
Impure in Luſts inglorious fetter bound,
And ſlaves of Avarice rooting up the ground:
Thralls of Vain-glory, thralls of ſwelling Pride,
Unnumber'd fools, unnumber'd plagues beſide.
All-powerleſs they to burſt the galling band,
To ſpring aloft, and reach yon happy land,
Entangled, impotent the way to find,
The clear inſtruction blotted from their mind
Which the Good Genius gave; Guilt's gloomy fears
Becloud their ſuns and ſadden all their years.
I ſtand convinc'd, but yet perplex'd in thought
Why to review a well-known ſcene he's brought.
Scene rudely known. Uncertain and confus'd,
His judgement by illuſions was abus'd.
[132]His evil was not evil, nor his good
Aught elſe but vanity miſunderſtood.
Confounding good and evil, like the throng,
His life, like theirs, was action always wrong.
Enlighten'd now in the true bliſs of man,
He ſhapes his alter'd courſe by Wiſdom's plan:
And, bleſt himſelf, beholds with weeping eyes
The madding world an hoſpital of ſighs.
This retroſpection ended, where ſucceeds
His courſe?
Where'er his wiſe volition leads.
Where'er it leads, ſafety attends him ſtill:
Not ſafer, ſhould he on Apollo's hill,
Among the Nymphs, among the vocal Powers,
Dwell in the Sanctum of Corycian bowers:
Honour'd by all, the friend of human-kind,
Belov'd phyſician of the ſin-ſick mind;
Not Eſculapius more, whoſe power to ſave
Redeems his patient from the yawning grave.
But never more ſhall his old reſtleſs foes
Awake his fears, nor trouble his repoſe?
Never. In righteous habitude inur'd,
From Paſſion's baneful anarchy ſecur'd,
In each enticing ſcene, each inſtant hard,
That ſovereign antidote his mind will guard:
Like him, who, of ſome virtuous drug poſſeſt,
Graſps the fell viper coil'd within her neſt,
[133]Hears her dire hiſſings, ſees her terrors riſe,
And, unappall'd, deſtruction's tooth defies.
Yon troops in motion from the mount explain,
Various to view; for there a goodly train,
With garlands crown'd, advance with comely pace,
Noble their port, and in each tranquil face
Joy Sparkles: others, a bare-headed throng,
Batter'd and gaſh'd, drag their ſlow ſteps along,
Captives of ſome ſtrange female crew.
The crown'd,
Long ſeeking, ſafe arriv'd at Wiſdom's bound,
Exult in her imparted grace. The reſt
i,
Thoſe on whom Wiſdom, unprevailing, preſt
Her healing aid; rejected from her care,
In evil plight their wicked days they wear:
Thoſe too, who Difficulty's hill had gain'd,
There baſely ſtopp'd, by daſtard ſloth detain'd:
Apoſtate now, in thorny wilds they rove,
Purſuing furies ſcourge the caitiff drove:
Sorrows which gnaw, remorſeful Thoughts which tear,
Blindneſs of mind, and heart-oppreſſing Fear,
With all the contumelious rout of Shame,
And every ill, and every hateful name.
Relaps'd to Lewdneſs, and her ſenſual Queen,
Unbluſhing at themſelves, but drunk with ſpleen,
Wiſdom's high worth their canker'd tongues diſpraiſe,
Revile her children, and blaſpheme her ways.
[134]Deluded wretches, (thus their madneſs cries)
Dull mopes, weak dupes of philoſophic lyes,
Uncomforted, unjoyous, and unbleſt,
Loſt from the pleaſures here at large poſſeſt.
What pleaſures boaſt they?
Pleaſures of the ſtews,
Pleaſures which Riot's frantic bowls infuſe.
Theſe high fruition their groſs ſouls repute,
And man's chief good to ſink into a brute.
But who that lovely bevy, blithe and gay,
So ſmoothly gliding down the hilly way?
kThoſe are th'
Opinions, who have guided right
The unexperienc'd to the plain of light:
Returning, new adventurers to bring,
The bleſſings of the laſt-arriv'd they ſing.
Why ingreſs yielded to their favour'd ward
Among the Virtues, to themſelves debarr'd?
Opinion's foot is never never found
Where Knowledge dwells, 'tis interdicted ground,
At Wiſdom's gate th' Opinions muſt reſign
Their charge, thoſe limits their employ confine.
Thus trading barks, ſkill'd in the watery road,
To diſtant climes convey their precious load,
Then turn their prow, light bounding o'er the main,
And with new traffic ſtore their keels again.
Thus far is clear. But yet untold remains
What the Good Genius to the crowd ordains,
[135] Just on the verge of life.
A ſpirit with erected courage bold.
Never (he calls) on Fortune's faith rely,
Nor graſp her dubious gifts as property.
Let not her ſmile tranſport, her frown diſmay,
Nor praiſe nor blame, nor wonder at her ſway
Which reaſon never guides: 'tis fortune ſtill,
Capricious chance and arbitrary will:
Bad bankers, vain of treaſure not their own,
With fooliſh rapture hug the truſted loan;
Impatient, when the powerful bond demands
Its unremember'd cov'nant from their hands.
Unlike to ſuch, without a ſigh reſtore
What Fortune lends: anon ſhe'll laviſh more:
Repenting of her bounty ſnatch away,
Yea ſeize your patrimonial fund for prey.
Embrace her proffer'd boon, but inſtant riſe,
Spring upward, and ſecure a laſting prize,
The gift which Wiſdom to her ſons divides;
Knowledge, whoſe beam the doubting judgement guides,
Scatters the ſenſual fog, and clear to view
Diſtinguiſhes falſe intereſt from the true.
Flee, flee to this, with unabating pace,
Nor parly for a moment at the place
Where Pleaſure and her Harlots tempt, nor reſt,
But at Falſe Wiſdom's inn, a tranſient gueſt:
[136]For ſhort refection, at her table ſit,
And taſte what ſcience may your palate hit:
Then wing your journey forward till you reach
True Wiſdom, and imbibe the truths ſhe'll teach.
Such is th' advice the friendly Genius gives:
He periſhes who ſcorns; who follows, lives.
And thus this moral piece inſtructs; if aught
Is myſtic ſtill, reveal your doubting thought.
Thanks, generous Sire; tell, then, the tranſient bait,
The Genius grants us at Falſe Wiſdom's gate.
mWhate'er in arts or ſciences is found
Of ſolid uſe, in their capacious round,
Theſe, Plato reaſons, like a curbing rein,
Unruly youth from devious ſtarts reſtrain.
Muſt we, ſolicitous our ſouls to ſave,
Aſſiſtance from theſe previous ſtudies crave?
Neceſſity there's none. We'll not deny
Their merit in ſome leſs utility;
But they contribute, we aver, no part
To heal the manners and amend the heart.
An author's meaning, in a tongue unknown,
May glimmer through tranſlation in our own:
Yet, maſters of his language, we might gain
Some trivial purpoſes by tedious pain.
So in the ſciences, though rudely taught,
We may attain the little that we ought;
[137]Yet, accurately known, they might convey
More light, not wholly uſeleſs in its way.
But virtue may be reach'd, through all her rules,
Without the curious ſubtleties of ſchools.
How! not the learn'd excel the common ſhoal,
In powerful aids to meliorate the ſoul?
Blind as the crowd, alas! to good and ill,
Intangled by the like corrupted will,
What boaſts the man of letters o'er the reſt?
Skill'd in all tongues, of all the arts poſſeſt,
What hinders but he ſink into a ſot,
A libertine, or villain in a plot,
Miſer, or knave, or whatſoe'er you'll name
Of moral lunacy and reaſon's ſhame?
Scandals too rife!
How, then, for living right
Avail thoſe ſtudies, and their vaunted light
Beyond the vulgar?
Nothing, But diſcloſe
The cauſe from whence this ſtrange appearance grows.
Held by a potent charm in this retreat
They dwell, content with nearneſs to the ſeat
Of Virtuous Wiſdom.
Near, methinks, in vain:
Since numbers, oft, from out the nether plain,
'Scap'd from the ſnares of Lewdneſs and Exceſs,
Undevious to her lofty ſtation preſs,
Yet paſs theſe letter'd clans,
[138]What, then, are theſe
In moral things advantag'd o'er the lees
Of human race? in moral things, we find
Theſe duller, or leſs tractable of mind.
Decypher that.
Pride, pride averts their eyes
From offer'd light: in ſelf-ſufficience wiſe,
Although unknowing, they preſume to know:
Clogg'd with that vain conceit they creep below,
Nor can mount up to yon exalted bound,
True Wiſdom's manſion, by the humble found.
Not found by theſe, till the vain viſions ſpread,
By Falſe Opinion, in the learned head,
Repentance ſcatter; and deceiv'd no more,
They own th' illuſion which deceiv'd before,
That for True Wiſdom they embrac'd her ſhade,
And hence the healing of their ſouls delay'd.
Strangers, theſe leſſons, oft revolving, hold
Faſt to your hearts, and into habit mould:
To this high ſcope life's whole attention bend,
Deſpiſe aught elſe as erring from your end.
Do thus, or unavailing is my care,
And all th' inſtruction dies away in air.
To the Right Hon. Sir ROBERT WALPOLE.
—Quod cenſet amiculus, ut ſi
Coecus iter monſtrare velit.—
HOR.
By the Hon. Mr. DODINGTON, afterwards Lord MELCOMBE.
THO' ſtrength of genius, by experience taught,
Gives thee to ſound the depth of human thought,
To trace the various workings of the mind,
And rule the ſecret ſprings that rule mankind;
Rare gift! yet, Walpole, wilt thou condeſcend
To liſten, if thy unexperienc'd friend
Can aught of uſe impart, though void of ſkill,
And raiſe attention by ſincere good will:
[144]For friendſhip ſometimes want of parts ſupplies,
The heart may furniſh what the head denies.
As, when the rapid Rhine o'er ſwelling tides,
To grace old Ocean's coaſt, in triumph rides,
Though rich in ſource, he drains a thouſand ſprings,
Nor ſcorns the tribute each ſmall riv'let brings:
So thou ſhalt hence abſorb each feeble ray,
Each dawn of meaning in thy brighter day;
Shalt like, or, where thou canſt not like, excuſe,
Since no mean intereſt ſhall prophane the Muſe;
No malice wrapt in truth's diſguiſe offend,
No flattery taint the freedom of a friend.
When firſt a generous mind ſurveys the great,
And views the crowds that on their fortune wait,
Pleas'd with the ſhew, (though little underſtood,)
He only ſeeks the power, to do the good:
Thinks, till he tries, 'tis godlike to diſpoſe,
And gratitude ſtill ſprings, when bounty flows;
That every grant ſincere affection wins,
And where our wants have end, our love begins.
But they who long the paths of ſtate have trod,
Learn from the clamours of the murm'ring crowd,
Which cramm'd, yet craving, ſtill their gates beſiege,
'Tis eaſier far to give, than to oblige.
This of thy conduct ſeems the niceſt part.
The chief perfection of the ſtateſman's art,
To give to fair aſſent a fairer face,
Or foften a refuſal into grace.
[145]But few there are, that can be freely kind,
Or know to fix the favours on the mind;
Hence ſome whene'er they would oblige, offend,
And while they make the fortune loſe the friend:
Still give unthank'd; ſtill ſquander, not beſtow;
For great men want not what to give, but how.
The race of men that follow courts, 'tis true,
Think all they get, and more than all, their due;
Still aſk, but ne'er conſult their own deſerts,
And meaſure by their intereſt, not their parts.
From this miſtake ſo many men we ſee
But ill become the thing they wiſh to be:
Hence diſcontent and freſh demands ariſe,
More power, more favour in the great man's eyes:
All feel a want, though none the cauſe ſuſpects,
But hate their patron for their own defects.
Such none can pleaſe, but who reforms their hearts,
And when he gives them places, gives them parts.
As theſe o'erprize their worth, ſo ſure the great
May ſell their favours at too dear a rate.
When merit pines while clamour is preferr'd,
And long attachment waits among the herd;
When no diſtinction, where diſtinction's due,
Marks from the many the ſuperior few:
When ſtrong cabal conſtrains them to be juſt,
And makes them give at laſt, becauſe they muſt;
What hopes that men of real worth ſhould prize
What neither friendſhip gives, nor merit buys?
[146]The man who juſtly o'er the whole preſides,
His well-weigh'd choice with wiſe affection guides;
Knows when to ſtop with grace, and when advance,
Nor gives from importunity, or chance:
But thinks how little gratitude is ow'd,
When favours are extorted, not beſtow'd.
When ſafe on ſhore ourſelves, we ſee the crowd
Surround the great, importunate and loud:
Through ſuch a tumult 'tis no eaſy taſk
To drive the man of real worth to aſk;
Surrounded thus, and giddy with the ſhew,
'Tis hard for great men rightly to beſtow;
From hence ſo few are ſkill'd in either caſe,
To aſk with dignity, or give with grace.
Sometimes the great, ſeduc'd by love of parts,
Conſult our genius, but neglect our hearts;
Pleas'd with the glittering ſparks that genius flings,
They lift us tow'ring on the eagle's wings;
Mark out the flights by which themſelves begun,
And teach our dazzled eyes to bear the ſun,
Till we forget the hand that made us great,
And grow to envy, not to emulate.
To emulate a generous warmth implies,
To reach the virtues that make great men riſe;
But envy wears a mean malignant face,
And aims not at their virtues, but their place.
Such to oblige, how vain is the pretence!
When every favour is a freſh offence,
[147]By which ſuperior power is ſtill imply'd,
And while it helps the fortune, hurts the pride.
Slight is the hate neglect or hardſhips breed;
But thoſe who hate from envy, hate indeed.
Since ſo perplex'd the choice, whom ſhall we truſt?
Methinks, I hear thee cry, the brave, the juſt:
The man by no mean fears or hopes controul'd,
Who ſerves thee from affection, not for gold!
We love the honeſt, and eſteem the brave,
Deſpiſe the coxcomb, but deteſt the knave.
No ſhew of parts the truly wiſe ſeduce,
To think that knaves can be of real uſe.
The man who contradicts the public voice,
And ſtrives to dignify a worthleſs choice,
Attempts a taſk that on the choice reflects,
And lends us light to point out new defects.
One worthleſs man that gains what he pretends,
Diſguſts a thouſand unpretending friends:
And ſince no art can make a counter paſs,
Or add the weight of gold to mimic braſs,
When princes to bad ore their image join,
They more debaſe the ſtamp than raiſe the coin.
Be thine that care, true merit to reward,
And gain that good; nor will the taſk be hard.
Souls found alike ſo quick by nature blend,
An honeſt man is more than half thy friend:
Him no mere views, no haſte to riſe, ſhall ſway,
Thy choice to ſully, or thy truſt betray.
[148]Ambition here ſhall at due diſtance ſtand;
Nor is wit dangerous in an honeſt hand:
Beſides, if failings at the bottom lie,
He views thoſe failings with a lover's eye.
Though ſmall his genius, let him do his beſt,
Our wiſhes and belief ſupply the reſt:
Let others barter ſervile faith for gold,
His friendſhip is not to be bought or ſold.
Fierce oppoſition he unmov'd ſhall face,
Modeſt in favour, daring in diſgrace:
To ſhare thy adverſe fate alone pretend,
In power a ſervant, out of power a friend.
Here pour thy favours in an ample flood,
Indulge thy boundleſs thirſt of doing good.
Nor think that good alone to him confin'd;
Such to oblige is to oblige mankind.
If thus thy mighty maſter's ſteps thou trace,
The brave to cheriſh, and the good to grace,
Long ſhalt thou ſtand from rage and faction free,
And teach us long to love the king and thee;
Or fall a victim dangerous to the foe,
And make him tremble when he ſtrikes the blow;
While honour, gratitude, affection join,
To deck thy cloſe, and brighten thy decline.
Illuſtrious doom! the great when thus diſplac'd,
With friendſhip guarded, and with virtue grac'd,
In aweful ruin, like Rome's ſenate, fall
The prey and worſhip of the wond'ring Gaul.
[149]No doubt to genius ſome reward is due
(Excluding that were ſatirizing you):
But yet believe thy undeſigning friend;
When truth and genius for thy choice contend,
Though both have weight, when in the balance caſt,
Let probity be firſt, and parts the laſt.
On theſe foundations if thou dar'ſt be great,
And check the growth of folly and deceit,
When party rage ſhall drop through length of days,
And calumny be ripen'd into praiſe,
Then future times ſhall to thy worth allow
That fame, which envy would call flattery now,
Thus far my zeal, though for the taſk unfit,
Has pointed out the rocks where others ſplit:
By that inſpir'd, though ſtranger to the Nine,
And negligent of any fame but thine,
I take that friendly, but ſuperfluous part,
That acts from nature what I teach from art.
TO HIS FRIEND AND NEIGHBOUR DR. THOMAS TAYLOR. 1744.
[157]BY THE SAME.
—FRench pow'r, and weak allies, and war, and want—
No more of that, my friend; you touch a ſtring
That hurts my ear. All politics apart,
Except a gen'rous wiſh, a glowing pray'r
For Britiſh welfare, commerce, glory, peace.
Give party to the winds: it is a word,
A phantom ſound, by which the cunning great
Whiſtle to their dependents: a decoy,
To gull th' unwary: where the maſter ſtands
Encouraging his minions, his train'd birds,
Fed and careſs'd, their ſpecies to betray.
See, with what hollow blandiſhment and art
They lead the winged captives to the ſnare;
Fools! that in open aether might have ſoar'd,
Free as the air they cut; ſipt pureſt rills;
Din'd with the Thames, or bath'd in cryſtal lakes.
Heav'n knows, it is not inſolence that ſpeaks!
The tribute of reſpect, to greatneſs due,
Not the brib'd ſycophant more willing pays.
[158]Still, ſtill as much of party be retain'd,
As principle requires, and ſenſe directs;
Elſe our vain bark, without a rudder, floats,
The ſcorn and paſtime of each veering gale.
This gentle evening let the ſun deſcend
Untroubled; while it paints your ambient hills
With faded luſtre, and a ſweet farewell:
Here is our ſeat. That
a caſtle oppoſite,
Proud of its woody creſt, adorns the ſcene.
Dictate, O vers'd in books, and juſt of taſte,
Dictate the pleaſing theme of our diſcourſe.
Shall we trace ſcience from her Eaſtern home
Chaldean? or the banks of Nile? where Thebes,
Nurſing her daughter arts, majeſtic ſtood,
And pour'd forth knowledge from an hundred gates.
There firſt the marble learn'd to mimic form;
The pillar'd temple roſe; and pyramids,
Whoſe undecaying grandeur laughs at Time.
Birth-place of letters; where the ſun was ſhewn
His radiant way, and heavens were taught to roll.
There too the Muſes tun'd their earlieſt lyre,
Warbling ſoft numbers to Serapis' ear;
'Till, chas'd by tyrants, or a milder clime
Inviting, they remov'd with pilgrim harp,
And all their band of melody to Greece.
[159]As when a flock of linnets, if perchance
Deliver'd from the falcon's talon, fly
With trembling wing to covert, and their notes
Renew, tell every buſh of their eſcape,
And trill their merry thanks to Liberty.
The tuneful tribe, pleas'd with their new abode,
Poliſh'd the rude inhabitants; whence tales
Of liſt'ning woods, and rocks that danc'd to ſound,
Hear the full chorus lifting hymns to Jove!
Linus and Orpheus catch the ſtrain; and all
The raptur'd audience utter loud applauſe!
A ſong, believe me, was no trifle Then:
Weighty the Muſe's taſk, and wide her ſway:
Her's was Religion; the reſounding Fanes
Echo'd her language; Polity was her's;
And the world bow'd to legiſlative verſe.
As ſtates increas'd, and governments were form'd,
Her aid leſs uſeful, ſhe retir'd to grots
And ſhady bow'rs, content to teach and pleaſe.
Under her laurel frequent bards repos'd;
Voluble Pindar troll'd his rapid ſong,
And Sappho breath'd her ſpirited complaint.
Hence ſprung the tragic rage, the lyric charm,
And Homer's genuine thunder.—Happy Greece!
Bleſs'd in her offspring! Seat of eloquence,
Of arms and reaſon; patriot-virtue's ſeat!
Did the ſun thither dart uncommon rays!
[160]Did ſome preſiding genius hover o'er
That animated ſoil with brooding wings!
The ſad reverſe might ſtart a gentle tear.
Go, ſearch for Athens; her deſerted ports
Enter, a noiſeleſs ſolitary ſhore,
Where commerce crouded the Piraean ſtrand.
Trace her dark ſtreets, her wall-embarraſs'd ſhrines
b;
And penſive wonder, where her glories beam'd.
Where are her orators, her ſages, now?—
Shatter'd her mould'ring arcs, her tow'rs in duſt,—
But far leſs ruin'd, than her ſoul decay'd.
The ſtone, inſcrib'd to Socrates, debas'd
To prop a reeling cot.—Minerva's dome
Poſſeſs'd by thoſe, who never kiſs'd her ſhield.
—Upon the mount where old Muſaeus ſung,
Sits the gruff turban'd captain, and exacts
Harſh tribute!—In the grove, where Plato taught
His poliſh'd ſtrain ſublime, a ſtupid Turk
Is preaching ignorance and Mahomet.
(Where
He c, whom only dauntleſs Philip fear'd,
Shook the aſtoniſh'd throng;— here holy Paul
Harangu'd the Pagan multitude, and brought
To ſtaring human wiſdom news from heav'n.)
Turn next to Rome:—Is that the clime, the place,
Where, on his laurel'd throne, with tuneful choirs
Of arts ſurrounded, great Auguſtus reign'd?
[161]And (greater far) the venerable band
Of elder heroes (fame's eternal theme!)
In ſplendid huts, and noble poverty,
Brave for their country liv'd, and fought, and died.
Heav'n! what firm Souls! who knew not gold had price,
Nor perfidy, nor baſeneſs knew.—They, they,
The demi-gods of Rome! whoſe maſter voice,
Whoſe awe-commanding eye, more terror ſtruck,
Than rods, and lictors, and Praetorian bands.
Could the pure crimſon tide, the nobleſt blood,
In all the world, to ſuch pollution turn:
Like Jordan's river, pouring his clear flood
Into the black Aſphaltus' ſlimy lake?
Patrons of wit, and victors of mankind,
Bards, warriors, worthies, (revolution ſtrange!)
Are pimps, and fidlers, mountebanks, and monks.
In Tully's hive, rich magazine of ſweets!
The lazy drones are buzzing, or aſleep.
But we forgive the living for the dead;
Indebted more to Rome than we can pay:
Of a long dearth prophetic, ſhe laid in
A feaſt for ages.—O thou banquet nice!
Where the ſoul riots with ſecure exceſs.
What heart-felt bliſs! what pleaſure-winged hours
Tranſported owe we to her-letter'd ſons!—
We, by their favour, Tyber's banks enjoy,
Their temples trace, and ſhare their noble games;
[162]Enter the crowded theatre at will;
March to the forum; hear the conſul plead;
Are preſent in the thund'ring Capitol
When Tully ſpeaks.—At ſofter hours, attend
Harmonious Virgil to his Mantuan farm,
Or Baia's ſhore:—how often drink his ſtrains,
Rural, or epic, ſweet!—how often rove
With Horace, bard and moraliſt benign!
With happy Horace rove, in fragrant paths
Of myrtle bowers, by Tivoli's caſcade.
Hail, precious pages! that amuſe and teach,
Exalt the genius, and improve the breaſt.
Ye ſage hiſtorians, all your ſtores unfold,
Reach your clear ſteady mirror;—in that glaſs
The forms of good and ill are well pourtray'd.
But chiefly thou, ſupreme Philoſophy!
Shed thy bleſt influence; with thy train appear
Of graces mild: far be the Stoic boaſt,
The Cynics ſnarl, and churliſh pedantry.
Bright viſitant, if not too high my wiſh,
Come in the lovely dreſs you wore, a gueſt
At Plato's table; or in ſtudious walks,
In green Freſcati's academic groves,
The Roman feaſting his ſelected friends.
Tamer of pride! at thy ſerene rebuke
See crouching inſolence, ſpleen, and revenge
Before thy ſhining taper diſappear.
[163]Tutor of human life! auſpicious guide!
Whoſe faithful clue unravels every maze:
Whoſe ſkill can diſengage the tangled thorn,
And ſmooth the rock to down! whoſe magic powers
Controul each ſtorm, and bid the roar be ſtill.
VACATION.
By —, Eſq.
HENCE ſage, myſterious Law,
That ſitt'ſt with rugged brow, and crabbed look
O'er thy black-letter'd book,
And the night-watching ſtudent ſtrik'ſt with awe;
Away with thy dull train,
Slow-pac'd Advice, Surmiſe, and ſquint-ey'd Doubt;
Dwell with the noiſy rout
Of buſy men, 'mid cities and throng'd halls,
Where Clamour ceaſeleſs bawls,
And Enmity and Strife thy ſtate ſuſtain.
But on me thy bleſſings pour,
Sweet Vacation. Thee, of yore,
In all her youth and beauty's prime,
Summer bore to aged Time,
As he one ſunny morn beheld her
Tending a field of corn: the elder
There 'mid poppies red and blue,
Unſuſpected nearer drew,
[164]And, with ſoftly-ſliding pace
Haſt'ning to a ſtol'n embrace,
Fill'd her with thee; and joy and mirth
Hung on thy auſpicious birth.
Come, ſweet goddeſs; full of play,
Ever unconfin'd and gay,
Bring the leiſure Hours with thee
Leading on the Graces three
Dancing; nor let aught detain
The Holidays, a ſmiling train:
Whoſe fair brows let Peace ſerene
Crown with olive-branches green.
Bring too Health with ruddy cheek,
Lively air, and count'nance ſleek,
Attended, as ſhe's wont to be,
With all her jolly company
Of exerciſes, chace, and flight,
Active ſtrength, and cunning ſleight,
Nimble feats, and playful bouts,
Leaps of joy▪ and cheerful ſhouts,
Tricks and pranks, and ſports and games
Such as youthful Fancy frames.
And, O kind goddeſs, add to theſe
Cheerful Content, and placid Eaſe;
Not her who fondly fitteth near,
Dull Indolence in elbow'd chair;
But Eaſe who aids th' harmonious Nine,
Tuning their inſtruments divine,
[165]And without whom, in lofty ſtrain,
Phoebus' client tries in vain
To raiſe the feeble voice above
The crowd, and catch the ear of Jove.
And do thou, Vacation, deign
To let me paſs among thy train;
So may I, thy vot'ry true,
All thy flow'ry paths purſue,
Pleaſed ſtill with thee to meet
In ſome friendly rural ſeat;
Where I gladſome oft' ſurvey
Nature in her beſt array,
Woods and lawns and lakes between,
Fields of corn and hedges green,
Fallow grounds of tawny hue,
Diſtant hills, and mountains blue;
On whoſe ridge far off appears
A wood (the growth of many years)
Of aweful oak, or gloomy pine,
Above th' horizon's level line
Riſing black: ſuch thoſe of old
Where Britiſh druids wont to hold
Solemn aſſemblies, and to keep
Their rites, unfolding myſt'ries deep,
Such that fam'd Dodona's grove,
Sacred to prophetic Jove.
Oft I admire the verdant ſteep,
Spotted white with many a ſheep,
[166]While, in paſtures rich below
Among the grazing cattle, ſlow
Moves the bull with heavy tread
Hanging down his lumpiſh head,
And the proud ſteed neigheth oft'
Shaking his wanton mane aloft.
Or, traverſing the wood about,
The jingling packhorſe-bells remote
I hear, amid the noontide ſtillneſs,
Sing through the air with braſſy ſhrillneſs;
What time the waggon's cumbrous load
Grates along the grav'lly road:
There onward, dreſs'd in homely guiſe,
Some unregarded maiden hies.
Unleſs by chance a trav'lling 'ſquire,
Of baſe intent and foul deſire,
Stops to inſnare, with ſpeech beguiling,
Sweet innocence and beauty ſmiling.
Nor fail I joyful to partake
The lively ſports of country wake,
Where many a lad and many a laſs
Foot it on the cloſe-trod graſs.
There nimble Marian of the green
Matchleſs in the jig is ſeen,
Allow'd beyond compare by all
The beauty of the ruſtic ball:
While the tripping damſels near,
Stands a lout with waggiſh leer;
[167]He, if Marian chance to ſhew
Her taper leg and ſtocking blue,
Winks and nods and laughs aloud,
Among the merry-making crowd,
Utt'ring forth, in aukward jeer,
Words unmeet for virgin's ear.
Soon as ev'ning clouds have ſhed
Their wat'ry ſtore on earth's ſoft bed,
And through their flowing mantles thin,
Clear azure ſpots of ſky are ſeen,
I quit ſome oak's cloſe-cover'd bow'r,
To taſte the boon of new-fall'n ſhow'r,
To pace the corn-field's graſſy edge
Cloſe by a freſh-blown ſweet-briar hedge;
While at every green leaf's end
Pearly drops of rain depend,
And an earthy fragrance 'round
Riſes from the moiſten'd ground.
Sudden a ſun-beam darting out,
Brightens the landſkip all about,
With yellow light the grove o'erſpreads,
And tips with gold the haycocks' heads:
Then as mine eye is eaſtward led,
Some fair caſtle rears its head,
Whoſe height the country round commands,
Well known mark to diſtant lands,
There the windows glowing bright
Blaze from afar with ruddy light,
[168]Borrow'd from clouds of ſcarlet dye,
Juſt as the ſun hath left the ſky.
But if chill Eurus cut the air
With keener wing, I then repair
To park or woodland, ſhelter meet,
Near ſome noble's ancient ſeat,
Where long winding walks are ſeen
Stately oaks and elms between,
Whoſe arms promiſcuous form above
High over-arch'd a green alcove;
While the hoarſe-voic'd hungry rook
Near her ſtick-built neſt doth croak,
Waving on the topmaſt bough;
And the maſter ſtag below
Bellows loud with ſavage roar,
Stalking all his hinds before.
Thus muſing, night with even pace
Steals on, o'erſhad'wing nature's face;
While the bat with duſky wings
Flutters round in giddy rings,
And the buzzing chaffers come
Cloſe by mine ear with ſolemn hum.
Homeward now my ſteps I guide
Some riſing graſſy bank beſide,
Studded thick with ſparks of light
Iſſuing from many a glow-worm bright;
While village-cur with minute bark
Alarms the pilf'rer in the dark,
[169]Save what light the ſtars convey,
Cluſter'd in the milky way,
Or ſcatter'd numberleſs on high
Twinkling all o'er the boundleſs ſky.
Then within doors let me meet
The viol touch'd by finger neat,
Or, ſoft ſymphonies among
Wrap me in the ſacred ſong,
Attun'd by Handel's matchleſs ſkill,
While Attention mute and ſtill
Fixes all my ſoul to hear
The voice harmonious, ſweet and clear.
Nor let ſmooth-tongu'd Converſe fail,
With many a well-deviſed tale,
And ſtories link'd, to twiſt a chain
That may awhile old Time detain,
And make him reſt upon his ſcythe
Pleas'd to ſee the hours ſo blithe:
While, with ſweet attractive grace,
The beauteous houſewife of the place
Wins the heart of every gueſt
By courteous deeds, and all conteſt
Which ſhall readieſt homage ſhew
To ſuch ſov'reign ſweetneſs due.
Theſe delights, Vacation, give,
And I with thee will chooſe to live.
LETTER from SMYRNA to his Siſters at CRUX-EASTON, 1733.
BY THE SAME.
THE hero who to Smyrna bay
From Eaſton, Hants, purſu'd his way,
Who travers'd ſeas, and hills and vales,
To fright his ſiſters with his tales,
Sing, heavenly muſe; for what befel
Thou ſaw'ſt, and only thou canſt tell.
Say firſt (but one thing I premiſe,
I'll not be chid for telling lyes;
Beſides, my grannum us'd to ſay
I always had a knack that way;
[183]So, if the love of truth be in ye,
Read Strabo, Diodorus, Pliny—
But like ſome authors I could name,
Wrapt in myſelf I loſe my theme.)
Say firſt, thoſe very rocks we ſpy'd,
But left 'em on the ſtarboard ſide,
Where Juno urg'd the Trojan's fate:
Shield us, ye Gods! from female hate!
Then how precarious was the doom
Of Caeſar's line, and mighty Rome,
Snatch'd from the very jaws of ruin,
And ſav'd, poor
a Die, for thy undoing.
What ſaw we on Sicilian ground?
(A ſoil in ancient verſe renown'd.)
The ſelf-ſame ſpot, or Virgil ly'd,
On which the good Anchiſes dy'd:
The fields where Ceres' daughter ſported,
And where the pretty Cyclops courted.
The nymph, hard-hearted as the rocks,
Refus'd the monſter, ſcorn'd his flocks,
And took a ſhepherd in his ſtead,
With nought but love and mirth to plead;
An inſtance of a generous mind
That does much honour to your kind,
But in an age of fables grew,
So poſſibly it mayn't be true.
[184]While on the ſummit Aetna glows,
His ſhivering ſides are chill'd with ſnows.
Beneath, the painted landſkip charms;
Here infant Spring in Winter's arms
Wantons ſecure: in youthful pride
Stands Summer laughing by her ſide;
Ev'n Autumn's yellow robes appear,
And one gay ſcene diſcloſes all the year.
Hence to rude Cerigo we came,
Known once by Cytherea's name;
When Ocean firſt the goddeſs bore,
She ro [...]e on this diſtinguiſh'd ſhore.
Here firſt the happy Paris ſtopp'd,
When Helen from her lord elop'd.
With pleas'd reflection I ſurvey'd
Each ſecret grott, each conſcious ſhade;
Envy'd his choice, approv'd his flame,
And fondly wiſh'd my lot the ſame.
O were the cauſe reviv'd again!
For charming Queenſbury liv'd not then,
The radiant fruit, had ſhe been there,
Would ſcarce have fall'n to Venus' ſhare;
Saturnia's ſel [...] had wav'd her claim,
And modeſt Pallas bluſh'd for ſhame;
All had been right: the Phrygian ſwain
Had ſigh'd for her, but figh'd in vain;
[185]The fair Oenone joy'd to find
The pains ſhe felt repaid in kind;
No rape reveng'd, no room for ſtrife,
Atrides might have kept his wife,
Old Troy in peace and plenty ſmil'd—
But the
b beſt poem had been ſpoil'd.
How did my heart with joy run o'er,
When to the fam'd Cecropian ſhore,
Wafted by gentle breezes, we
Came gliding through the ſmooth ſtill ſea!
While backward rov'd my buſy thought
On deeds in diſtant ages wrought;
On tyrants gloriouſly withſtood;
On ſeas diſtain'd with Perſian blood;
On trophies rais'd o'er hills of ſtain
In Marathon's unrival'd plain.
Then, as around I caſt my eye,
And view'd the pleaſing proſpect nigh,
The land for arms and arts renown'd,
Where wit was honour'd, poets crown'd;
Whoſe manners and whoſe rules refin'd
Our ſouls, and civiliz'd mankind;
Or (yet a loftier pitch to raiſe
Our wonder, and complete its praiſe)
The land that
c Plato's maſter bore—
How did my heart with joy run o'er!
[186]Now coaſting on the eaſtern ſide,
We peep'd where Peneus rolls his tide:
Where Arethuſa came t' appeaſe
The ſhepherd that had loſt his bees,
And led him to Cyrene's grott;
'Tis a long tale, and matters not.
Dryden will tell you all that paſt;
See Virgil's Georgics, book the laſt.
I ſpeak on't, but to let you know
This grott ſtill ſtands in ſtatu quo;
Of which, if any doubt remain,
I've proof, as follows, clear and plain.
Here, ſiſters, we ſuch honours met!
Such honours I ſhall ne'er forget.
The Goddeſs (no uncommon caſe),
Proud, I ſuppoſe, to ſhew her place,
Or piqu'd perhaps at your renown,
Sent Boreas to invite us down;
And he ſo preſs'd it, that we us'd
Some pains to get ourſelves excus'd.
My brother ſhipmates, all in haſte,
Declar'd, that ſhells were not their taſte;
And I had
d ſomewhere ſeen, you know,
A finer grott than ſhe could ſhew.
Hence let the Muſe to Delos roam,
Or Nio, fam'd for Homer's tomb;
[187]To Naxos, known in ancient time
For Bacchus' love, for Theſeus' crime.
Can ſhe the Leſbian vine forget
Whence Horace reinforc'd his wit?
Where the fam'd harp Arion ſtrung,
Nor play'd more ſweet than Sappho ſung?
Could the old bards revive again,
How would they mourn th' inverted ſcene!
Scarce with the barren waſte acquainted,
They once ſo beautifully painted.
And here, 'twixt friends, I needs muſt ſay,
But let it go no farther, pray,
Theſe ſung-up, cry'd-up countries are
Diſpleaſing, rugged, black, and bare▪
And all I've yet beheld or known
Serve only to endear my own.
The matters I ſhall next diſcloſe,
'Tis likely, may be wrapp'd in proſe;
But verſe methought would ſuit theſe better,
Beſides, it lengthens out my letter.
Read then, dear girls, with kind regard,
What comes ſo far, what comes ſo hard;
And to our mother too make known,
How travelling has improv'd her ſon.
Let not malicious critics join
Pope's homeſpun rhymes in rank with mine,
Form'd on that very ſpot of earth,
Where Homer's ſelf receiv'd his birth;
[188]Add, as I ſaid, t' enhance their worth,
The pains they coſt in bringing forth;
While his, as all mankind agrees,
Though wrote with care, are wrote with eaſe.
A PANEGYRIC ON ALE.
[279]—Mea nec Falernae
Temperant vites, neque Formiani
Pocula colles.
HOR.
BY T. WARTON.
BALM of my cares, ſweet ſolace of my toils,
Hail, juice benignant! o'er the coſtly cups
Of riot-ſtirring wine, unwholſome draught,
Let pride's looſe ſons prolong the waſteful night:
My ſober evening let the tankard bleſs,
With toaſt imbrown'd, and fragrant nutmeg fraught,
While the rich draught, with oft repeated whiffs,
Tobacco mild improves: divine repaſt!
Where no crude ſurfeit, or intemperate joys
Of lawleſs Bacchus reign: but o'er my ſoul
A calm Lethean creeps: in drowſy trance
Each thought ſubſides, and ſweet oblivion wraps
My peaceful brain, as if the magic rod
Of leaden Morpheus o'er mine eyes had ſhed
Its opiate influence. What though ſore ills
Oppreſs, dire want of chill-diſpelling coals,
Or cheerful candle, ſave the makeweight's gleam
Hap'ly remaining; heart-rejoicing ale
Cheers the ſad ſcene, and every want ſupplies.
[280]Meantime not mindleſs of the daily taſk
Of tutor ſage, upon the learned leaves
Of deep Smiglecius much I meditate;
While ale inſpires, and lends her kindred aid
The thought-perplexing labour to purſue,
Sweet Helicon of logic!—But if friends
Congenial call me from the toilſome page,
To pot-houſe I repair, the ſacred haunt,
[...], Ale, thy votaries in full reſort
Ho [...] rites nocturnal. In capacious chair
Or monumental oak, and antique mould,
That long has ſtood the rage of conquering Time
Inviolate, (not in more ample [...]eat
Smokes roſy Juſtice, when th' important cauſe,
Whether of hen-rooſt or of mirthful rape,
In all the majeſty of paunch, he tries,)
Studious of eaſe, and provident I place
My gladſome limbs, while in repeated round
Returns repleniſh'd the ſucceſſive cup,
And the briſk fire conſpires to genial joy.
Nor ſeldom to relieve the ling'ring hours
In innocent delight, amuſive putt,
On ſmooth joint-ſtool in emblematic play,
The vain viſſitudes of fortune ſhews.
Nor reck'ning, name tremendous, me diſturbs,
Nor, call'd-for, chills my breaſt with ſudden ſear,
While on the wonted door (expreſſive mark!)
[281]The frequent penny ſtands deſcrib'd to view
In ſnowy characters, a graceful row.
Hail, Ticking! ſureſt guardian of diſtreſs,
Beneath thy ſhelter pennyleſs I quaff
The cheering cup: though much the poet's friend,
Ne'er yet attempted in poetic ſtrain,
Accept this humble tribute of my praiſe.
Nor proctor thrice with vocal heel alarms
Our joys ſecure, nor deigns the lowly roof
Of pot-houſe ſnug to viſit: wiſer he
The ſplendid tavern haunts, or coffee-houſe
Of James or Juggins, where the grateful breath
Of mild Tobacco ne'er diffus'd its balm;
But the lewd ſpendthrift, falſely deem'd polite,
While ſteams around the fragrant Indian bowl,
Oft damns the vulgar ſons of humbler Ale:
In vain—the proctor's voice alarms their joy:
Juſt fate of wanton pride, and vain exceſs!
Nor leſs by day delightful is thy draught,
Heart-eaſing Ale, whoſe ſorrow-ſoothing ſweets
Oft I repeat in vacant afternoon,
When tatter'd ſtockings aſk my mending hand
Not unexperienc'd, while the tedious toil
Slides unreguarded. Let the tender ſwain
Each morn regale on nerve-relaxing tea,
Companion meet of languor-loving nymph:
Be mine each morn with eager appetite
[282]And hunger undiſſembled, to repair
To friendly butt'ry, there on ſmoaking cruſt
And foaming Ale to banquet unreſtrain'd,
Material breakfaſt! Thus in ancient times
Our anceſtors robuſt with liberal cups
Uſher'd the morn, unlike the languid ſons
Of modern days; nor ever had the might
Of Britons brave decay'd, had thus they fed,
With Engliſh Ale improving Engliſh worth.
With Ale irriguous, undiſmay'd I hear
The frequent dun aſcend my lofty dome
Importunate: whether the plaintive voice
Of laundreſs ſhrill awake my ſtartled ear,
Or taylor with obſequious bow advance;
Or groom invade me with defying look
And fierce demeanor, whoſe emaciate ſteeds
Had panted oft beneath my goring ſteel:
In vain they plead or threat; all-powerful Ale
Excuſes new ſupplies, and each deſcends
With joyleſs pace and debt-deſpairing looks.
E'en Sp—y with indignant bow retires,
Sterneſt of duns! and conquer'd quits the field.
Why did the gods ſuch various bleſſings pour
On helpleſs mortals, from their grateful hands
So ſoon the ſhort-lived bounty to recall?
Thus while, improvident of future ill,
I quaff the luſcious tank [...]d unreſtrain'd,
And thoughtleſs riot in ambroſial bliſs,
[283]Sudden (dire fate of all things excellent!)
Th' unpitying burſar's croſs-affixing hand
Blaſts all my joys, and ſtops my glad career.
Nor now the friendly pot-houſe longer yields
A ſure retreat when ev'ning ſhades the ſkies,
Nor
a Sheppard, ruthleſs widow, now vouchſafes
The wonted truſt, and
a Winter ticks no more.
Thus Adam exil'd from the bliſsful ſcenes
Of Eden griev'd, no more in hallow'd bow'r
On nect [...]rine fruits to feaſt, freſh ſhade or vale
No more to viſit, or vine-mantled grot;
But all forlorn the naked wilderneſs,
And unrejoicing ſolitudes to trace.
Thus too the matchleſs bard, whoſe lay reſounds
The Splendid Shilling's praiſe, in nightly gloom
Of loneſome garret pin'd for cheerful Ale:
Whoſe ſteps in verſe Miltonic I purſue,
Mean follower! like him with honeſt love
Of Ale divine inſpir'd, and love of ſong.
But long may bounteous Heav'n with watchful care,
Avert his hapleſs fate! enough for me,
That, burning with congenial flame, I dar'd
His guiding ſteps at diſtance to purſue,
And ſing his fav'rite theme in kindred ſtrains.
An ODE to SCULPTURE.
[300]By JAMES SCOT, D. D.
LED by the Muſe, my ſtep pervades
The ſacred haunts, the peaceful ſhades
Where Art and Sculpture reign:
I ſee, I ſee, at their command,
The living ſtones in order ſtand,
And marble breathe through every vein!
Time breaks his hoſtile ſcythe; he ſighs
To find his pow'r malignant fled;
"And what avails my dart, he cries,
"Since theſe can animate the dead?
"Since wak'd to mimic life again in ſtone
"The patriot ſeems to ſpeak, the hero frown."
There Virtue's ſilent train are ſeen,
Faſt fix'd their looks, erect their mien,
Lo! while with more than ſtoic ſoul,
The
a Attic ſage exhauſts the bowl,
A pale ſuffuſion ſhades his eyes,
'Till by degrees the marble dies!
[301]See there the injur'd
b poet bleed!
Ah! ſee he droops his languid head!
What ſtarting nerves, what dying pain,
What horror freezes every vein!
Theſe are thy works, O Sculpture! thine to ſhew
In rugged rock a feeling ſenſe of woe.
Yet not alone ſuch themes demand
The Phydian ſtroke, the Daedal hand;
I view with melting eyes
A ſofter ſcene of grief diſplay'd,
While from her breaſt the duteous maid
Her infant ſire with food ſupplies.
In pitying ſtone ſhe weeps, to ſee
His ſqualid hair, and galling chains:
And trembling, on her bended knee,
His hoary head her hand ſuſtains;
While every look and ſorrowing feature prove
How ſoft her breaſt, how great her filial love.
Lo! there the wild
c Aſſyrian queen,With threat'ning brow, and frantic mien!
[302]Revenge! revenge! the marble cries,
While fury ſparkles in her eyes.
Thus was her aweful form beheld,
When Babylon's proud ſons rebell'd;
She left the woman's vainer care,
And flew with looſe diſhevell'd hair;
She ſtretch'd her hand, imbru'd in blood,
While pale Sedition trembling ſtood;
In ſudden ſilence, the mad crowd obey'd
Her aweful voice, and Stygian Diſcord fled!
With hope, or fear, or love, by turns,
The marble leaps, or ſhrinks, or burns,
As Sculpture waves her hand;
The varying paſſions of the mind
Her faithful handmaids are aſſign'd,
And riſe and fall by her command.
When now life's waſted lamps expire,
When ſinks to duſt this mortal frame,
She, like Prometheus, graſps the fire;
Her touch revives the lambent flame;
While, phoenix-like, the ſtateſman, bard, or ſage,
Spring freſh to life, and breathe through every age,
Hence, where the organ full and clear,
With loud hoſannas charms the ear,
Behold (a priſm within his hands)
Abſorb'd in thought, great
d Newton ſtands;
[303]Such was his ſolemn wonted ſtate,
His ſerious brow, and muſing gait,
When, taught on eagle-wings to fly,
He trac'd the wonders of the ſky;
The chambers of the ſun explor'd,
Where tints of thouſand hues are ſtor'd;
Whence every flower in painted robes is dreſt,
And varying Iris ſteals her gaudy veſt.
Here, as Devotion, heavenly queen,
Conducts her beſt, her fav'rite train,
At Newton's ſhrine they bow!
And, while with raptur'd eyes they gaze,
With Virtue's pureſt veſtal rays,
Behold their ardent boſoms glow!
Hail, mighty Mind! hail, aweful name!
I feel inſpir'd my lab'ring breaſt;
And lo! I pant, I burn for fame!
Come, Science, bright etherial gueſt,
Oh come, and lead thy meaneſt, humbleſt ſon,
Through Wiſdom's arduous paths to fair renown.
Could I to one ſaint ray aſpire,
One ſpark of that celeſtial fire,
The leading cynoſure, that glow'd
While Smith explor'd the dark abode,
Where Wiſdom ſate on Nature's ſhrine,
How great my boaſt! what praiſe were mine!
Illuſtrious ſage! who firſt could'ſt tell
Wherein the powers of Muſic dwell;
[304]And every magic chain untie,
That binds the ſoul of Harmony!
To thee, when mould'ring in the duſt,
To thee ſhall ſwell the breathing buſt:
Shall here (for this reward thy merits claim)
"Stand next to place in Newton, as in fame."
An EPISTLE from the King of PRUSSIA to Monſieur VOLTAIRE. 1757.
CROYEZ que ſi j'etois, Voltaire,
Particulier aujourdhui,
Me contentant du neceſſaire,
Je verrois envoler la Fortune legere,
Et m'en mocquerois comme lui.
Je connois l' ennui des grandeurs,
Le fardeau des devoirs, le jargon des flateurs,
Et tout l' amas des petiteſſes,
Et leurs genres et leurs eſpeces,
Dont il faut s' occuper dans le ſein des honneurs.
Je mepriſe la vaine glorie,
Quoique Poëte et Sonverain,
Quand du ciſeau fatal retranchant mon d [...]ſti [...]
Atropos m' aura vu plonge dans la nuit noire,
Que m' importe l' honneur incertain
[306]De vivre apres ma mort au temple de Memoire:
Un inſtant de bonheur vaut mille ans dans I'hiſtoire.
Nos deſtins ſont ils donc ſi beaux?
Le doux Plaiſir et la Molleſſe,
La vive et naïve Allegreſſe
Ont toujours fui des grands, la pompe, et les faiſceaux,
Nes pour la liberté leurs troupes enchantreſſes
Preferent l' aimable pareſſe
Aux auſteres devoirs guides de nos travaux.
Auſſi la Fortune volage
N' a jamais cauſe mes ennuis,
Soit qu' elle m' agaçe, ou qu' elle m' outrage.
Je dormirai toutes les nuits
En lui refuſant mon hommage.
Mais notre etat nous fait loi,
Il nous oblige, il nous engage
A meſurer notre courage,
Sur ce qu' exige notre emploi.
Voltaire dans ſon hermitage,
Dans un païs dont l' heritage
Eſt ſon antique bonne foi,
Peut s' addonner en paix a la vertu du ſage
Dont Platon nous marque la loi.
Pour moi menacé du naufrage,
Je dois, en affrontant l' orage,
Penſer, vivre, et mourir en Roi.
Tranſlated into Engliſh
[307]By JOHN GILBERT COOPER, Eſq.
VOLTAIRE, believe me, were I now
In private life's calm ſtation plac'd,
Let Heav'n for nature's wants allow,
With cold indiff'rence would I view
Changing Fortune's winged haſte,
And laugh at her caprice like you.
Th' inſipid farce of tedious ſtate,
Imperial duty's real weight,
The faithleſs courtier's ſupple bow,
The fickle multitude's careſs,
And the great Vulgar's Littleneſs,
By long experience well I know:
And, though a Prince and Poet born,
Vain blandiſhments of glory ſcorn.
For when the ruthleſs ſhears of Fate
Have cut my life's precarious thread,
And rank'd me with th' unconſcious dead,
What will't avail that I was great,
Or that th' uncertain tongue of Fame
In Mem'ry's temple chaunts my name?
[308]One bliſsful moment whilſt we live
Weighs more than ages of renown;
What then do Potentates receive
Of good, peculiarly their own?
Sweet Eaſe and unaffected Joy,
Domeſtic Peace, and ſportive Pleaſure,
The regal throne and palace fly,
And, born for liberty, prefer
Soft ſilent ſcenes of lovely leiſure,
To, what we Monarchs buy ſo dear,
The thorny pomp of ſcepter'd care.
My pain or bliſs ſhall ne'er depend
On fickle Fortune' caſual flight,
For, whether ſhe's my foe or friend,
In calm repoſe I'll paſs the night;
And ne'er by watchful homage own
I court her ſmile, or fear her frown.
But from our ſtations we derive
Unerring precepts how to live,
And certain deeds each rank calls forth,
By which is meaſur'd human worth.
Voltaire, within his private cell,
In realms where ancient honeſty
Is patrimonial property,
And ſacred Freedom loves to dwell,
[309]May give up all his peaceful mind,
Guided by Plato's deathleſs page,
In ſilent ſolitude reſign'd
To the mild virtues of a Sage;
But I, 'gainſt whom wild whirlwinds wage
Fierce war with wreck-denouncing wing,
Muſt be, to face the tempeſt's rage,
In thought, in life, in death a king.