T^ibrarg. \h 
 
 IR, ESQ. 
 
 ^ 
 
 LGH ; AND 
 lASGOW.
 
 Ex Libris 
 C. K. OGDEN 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 University of California 
 
 SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 
 
 Return this material to the library 
 
 from which it was borrowed. 
 
 ^, AUG 27 i()9R 
 •6+^ Moan's C»XU|^ 
 
 DUE2WKSFR0lViU«lthtCEIVED 
 
 f: 

 
 i
 
 WHIL.IL2AM C DWPUli 1^^ Q 
 
 ^9 
 
 1^- 
 
 •HxRir-y 
 
 I iii.s^vir K. 
 
 PKIJfTKn KV l.irHITTUVUliAM 
 
 o i>LD BY K JiEKNINr.^ AKWEWUAN* (- TTK|:i: 
 
 JAJrr .-.'n. Iol.<.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ. 
 
 OF THE INNER TEJIl'LE. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 CHTSWICK : 
 
 jfrom tlje Jpre^^ of €. tmjittingTjam, 
 
 COI-LEGE HOUSE. 
 
 SOLD UY R. JENNINGS, POULTRY; T. TEGG, CHEAPSIUE; 
 
 A. K. NEWMAN AND CO. LEADENHALL STREET, LONDON; 
 
 J. SUTHERLAND, EDINBURGH ; 
 
 AND RICHARD GRIFFIN AND CO. GLASGOW. 
 
 1821.
 
 CONTENTS. /\2^ 
 
 VOLUME THE FIRST. 
 
 Page 
 
 Table Talk 1 
 
 Progress of Error 22 
 
 Truth . 39 
 
 Expostulation 55 
 
 Hope 75 
 
 Charity 96 
 
 Conversation 113 
 
 Ketirenient 137 
 
 Yardlej Oak 159 
 
 On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture .... 164 
 
 Heroism 167 
 
 Friendship 170 
 
 Ode to Peace 176 
 
 Boadicea 177 
 
 Ode to Apollo 178 
 
 Horace, Book n. Ode X. 179 
 
 A Reilection on the foregoing Ode 181 
 
 The Rose ib. 
 
 The Winter Nosegay 182 
 
 To the Nightingale 183 
 
 The Poplar Field 184 
 
 The Shrubbery ib. 
 
 Human Frailty 185 
 
 A Comparison 186 
 
 Another, Addressed to a Young Lady .... 187 
 
 Song on Peace ib. 
 
 Song 188 
 
 On the Loss of the Royal George 189 
 
 Sonnet to William Wilberforce, Esq 190 
 
 ■ Henry Cowper, Esq 191 
 
 John Johnson ib. 
 
 William Hayley, E.sq 192 
 
 Dr. Austin ib. 
 
 .^O'-^-i.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 
 Sonnet to George Romnej, Esq 1^3 
 
 ]Mr». Lnwin 194 
 
 To Mary ib. 
 
 On the Death of Mrs, Tlirockmorton's Biillfmcli . 196 
 
 The Poet's New-Yoar's Gift 198 
 
 To Mrs. TIn-ockmorton, on her beautiful Transcript 
 
 oi Horacii' a Ode, Ad Lihrttm suinn 199 
 
 Catharina 'JOO 
 
 Second Part L^Ol 
 
 Gratitude. Addressed to Ladj Hesketh . . . 202 
 
 To luv Cousin, Anne Bodham 1^04 
 
 To Mrs. King. On her kind Present to the Author, 20.S 
 
 To Lady Austen ^ 2^06 
 
 On Mrs. Montagu's Feather Hangings .... 209 
 To an atflicled Protestant Lady in France . . .211 
 
 To Joseph Hill, Esq 213 
 
 To the Rev. Mr. Newton. An Invitation . . . 215 
 Ditto. On his return from Rainsgate . . . .216 
 
 To the Rev. W. Cawthorne Unwia ib. 
 
 To a Young Friend on his arriving at Cambridge 
 
 wet, when no Rain had fallen there .... 217 
 On the Burning of Lord Manslield's Library . . 218 
 
 On the same ib. 
 
 On the Promotion of Edward Thurlow, Esq. . .219 
 The diverting History of John Gilpin . . . .220 
 The Yearly l3istress : or, Tithing-Time at Stock . 227 
 
 On the Queen's Visit to London 229 
 
 Annus Memorabilis, 1789 232 
 
 Tlie Morning Dream 234 
 
 The lletircd Cat 2.35 
 
 Mutual Forbeaiance 238 
 
 Love Abused 240 
 
 Pairing Time Anticipated 241 
 
 The Moralizer Corrected 243 
 
 A Fal)le 245 
 
 The Pineapple and Bee 246 
 
 The Poet, the 03ster, and Sensitive Plant . . . 247 
 
 The Nightingale and Glowworm 249 
 
 The Dog and the Water Lily 250 
 
 The Doves '.^51
 
 POEMS. 
 
 TABLE TALK. 
 
 Si le foit^ meae gravis iiret sarcina chartas, 
 Abjicito Hot. Lib. i. Epist. IX 
 
 A. You told me, I remember, glory, built 
 On selfish principles, is shame and guilt ; 
 I'he deeds that men admire as half divine, 
 Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. 
 Strange doctrine this ! that without scruple tears 
 The laurel that the very lightning spares ; 
 Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, 
 And eats into his bloody sword like rust. 
 
 B. I grant that, men continuing what they are. 
 Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war; 
 And never meant the rule should be applied 
 
 To him that fights with justice on his side. 
 
 Let laurels, drejichd in pure Parnassian dews. 
 Reward his memory, dear to every Muse, 
 Who, with a courage of unshaken root. 
 In Honour's field advancing his firm foot. 
 Plants it upon the line that Justice draws, 
 And will prevail or perish in her cause. 
 'Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes 
 His portion in the good, that Heaven bestows. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 TABLE TALK. 
 
 And when recording History displays 
 Feats of renown, thou«rli wrought in ancient days. 
 Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died, 
 Where duty placed them, at their country's side ; 
 The man, that is not moved with what he reads. 
 That takes not fire at their heroic deeds, 
 Unworthy of the blessings of the brave, 
 Is base in kind, and born to be a slave. 
 
 But let eternal infamy pursue 
 The wretch to nought but his ambition true, 
 Who, for the sake of filling with one blast 
 The post-horns of all Euroj)e, lays her waste. 
 Think yourself station'd on a towering rock. 
 To see a people scatter'd like a Hock, 
 Some royal mastill" panting at their heels. 
 With all the savage thirst a tiger feels ; 
 Then view him self-proclaim'd in a gazette 
 Chief monster, that has plagued the nations yet : 
 The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced. 
 Those ensigns of dominion, how disgraced I 
 The glass, that bids man mark the ileeting hour, 
 And Death's own scythe would better speak hispower 
 Then grace the bony jiliantom in their stead 
 ''S\ ith the king's shoulder-knot and gay cockade ; 
 Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress. 
 The same their occupation and success. 
 
 A. Tis your belief the world was made for man ; 
 Kings do but reason on the self-same plan : 
 Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn, 
 Who think, or seem to think, man made for them. 
 
 B. Seldom, alas ! the power of logic reigns 
 With much sulHcienoy in royal brains ; 
 
 Such reasoning ialls like an inverted cone. 
 Wanting its proper base to stand upon. 
 Man made for kings! those optics are but dim. 
 That tell you so — say, rather, they for him. 
 That were indeed a king-ennobling thought, 
 Could they, or would they, reason us they ought.
 
 TACLli TALK. J 
 
 The diadem, with mighty projects lined 
 
 To catch renown hy ruining mankind, 
 
 Is worth, with all its gold and glittering store, 
 
 Jast what the toy will sell for, and no more. 
 
 Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good. 
 
 How seldom used, how little understood ! 
 
 To pour in A irtue's lap her just reward ; 
 
 Keep A'ice restrain'd behind a double guard ; 
 
 To quell the faction, that aftVouts the throne, 
 
 By silent magnanimity alone ; 
 
 To nnrse with tender care the thriving arts; 
 
 Watch every beam Philosojihy imparts; 
 
 To give Religion her unbridled scope, 
 
 Nor judge by statute a believer's hope ; 
 
 With close lidelity and love unfeign'd 
 
 To keep the matrimonial bond unstain'd ; 
 
 Covetous only of a virtuous praise ; 
 
 His life a lesson to the land he sways ; 
 
 To touch the sword with conscientious awe. 
 
 Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw; 
 
 To sheath it in the peace-restoring close 
 
 With joy beyond what victory bestows ; 
 
 Bless'd country, where these kingly glories shine ! 
 
 Bless'd England, if this happiness be thine ! 
 
 A, Guard what you say; the patriotic tribe 
 Will sneer, and charge you with a bribe. — B. A bribe.'' 
 The worth of his three kingdoms I defy, 
 To lure me to the liaseness of a lie : 
 And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast), 
 The lie that ilatters 1 abhor the most. 
 Those arts be theirs who hate his gentle reign. 
 But he that loves him has no need to feign. 
 
 A. Your smooth eulogium to one crown address'd 
 Seems to imply a censure on the rest. 
 
 B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, 
 Ask'd, when in Hell, to see the royal gaol ; 
 Approved their method in all other things ; 
 
 ' But where, good sir, do you couline your kings?'
 
 4 TABLE TALK. 
 
 ' There ; (said his gfuide) the group is full iu view.' 
 
 ' Indeed ? (replied the don) there are but few.' 
 
 His black interpreter the charge disdain'd — 
 
 ' Few, fellow ? — there are all that ever reign'd.' 
 
 Wit, undistinguishing, is apt to strike 
 
 The guilty and not guilty both alike. 
 
 I grant the sarcasm is too severe, 
 
 And we can readily refute it here ; 
 
 While Alfred's name, the father of his age, 
 
 And the Sixth Edward's grace the' historic page. 
 
 A . Kings then at last have but the lot of all : 
 By their own conduct they must stand or fall. 
 
 U„ True. While they live the courtly laureat pa3's 
 His quit-rent ode, his peppercorn of praise ; 
 And many a dunce, whose fingers itch to write, 
 Adds, as he can, his tributary mite ; 
 A subject's faults a subject may proclaim, 
 A monarch's errors are forbidden game ! 
 Thus free from censure, overawed by fear, 
 And praised for virtues that they scorn to wear, 
 The fleeting forms of majesty engage 
 Respect, while stalking o'er life's narrow stage ; 
 Then leave their crimes for History to scan, 
 And ask with busy scorn, ' Was this the man ?' 
 
 I pity kings, whom Worship waits upon 
 Obsequious from the cradle to the throne; 
 Before whose infant eyes the flatterer bows. 
 And binds a wreath about their baby brows ; 
 Whom Education stillens into state. 
 And Death awakens from that dream too late. 
 Oh ! if Servility witli supple knees. 
 Whose trade it is to smile, to crouch, to please ; 
 If smooth Dissimulation, skill'd to grace 
 A devil's purpose with an angel's face ; 
 If smiling peeresses, and simpering peers, 
 Encompassing his throne a few short years ; 
 If the gilt carriage and the pamper'd steed, 
 That wants no driving, and disdains the lead ;
 
 TABLE TALK. 5 
 
 If guards, mechanically form'd in ranks. 
 Playing, at beat of drum, their martial pranks, 
 Shouldering and standing as if stuck to stone. 
 While condescending majesty looks on ; 
 If monarchy consist in such base things, 
 Sighing, I say again, I pity kings ! 
 
 To be suspected, thwarted, and withstood, 
 E'en when he labours for his country's good. 
 To see a band, call'd patriot for no cause. 
 But that they catch at popular applause. 
 Careless of all the' anxiety he feels. 
 Hook disappointment on the public wheels ; 
 With all their flippant fluency of tongue, 
 Most confident, when palpably most wrong ; 
 If this be kingly, then farewell for me 
 All kingship ; and may I be poor and free I 
 
 To be the Table Talk of clubs up-stairs. 
 To which the' unwash'd artificer repairs, 
 To' indulge his genius after long fatigue. 
 By diving into cabinet intrigue ; 
 (For what kings deera'd a toil, as well they may, 
 To him is relaxation and mere play) 
 To win no praise when well-wrouglit plans prevail, 
 But to be rudely censured when they fail ; 
 To doubt the love his favourites may pretend, 
 And in reality to find no friend ; 
 If he indulge a cultivated taste. 
 His galleries with the w-orks of art well graced. 
 To hear it cail'd extravagance and waste ; 
 If these attendants, and if such as these. 
 Must follow royalty, then welcome ease ; 
 However humbled and confined the sphere, 
 Happy the state that has not these to fear. 
 
 A. Thus men, whose thoughts contemplative have 
 dwelt 
 On situations that they never felt. 
 Start up sagacious, cover'd with the dust 
 Of dreaming study and pedantic rust,
 
 6 TABLE TALK. 
 
 And prate and preach about what others prove, 
 As if the world and they were hand and ghjve. 
 Leave kingJj backs to cope with kingly cares ; 
 Tliey have their weight to carry, subjects theirs ; 
 Poets, of all men, ever least regret 
 Increasing taxes and the nation's debt. 
 Could you contrive the payment, and rehearse 
 The mighty plan, oracular, in verse, 
 ISo bard, howe'er majestic, old or new, 
 Should claim my fix'd attention more than you. 
 
 B. Tsot Brindley nor Bridgewater would assay 
 To turn the course of Helicon that way ; 
 Nor would the INine consent the sacred tide 
 Should purl amidst the trailic of Cheapside, 
 Or tinkle in Change vVIley, to amuse 
 The leathern ears of stockjol)bers and Jews. 
 
 A. Vouchsafe, at least, to pitch the key of rhyme 
 To themes more pertinent, if less sublime. 
 
 When ministers and ministerial arts ; 
 
 Patriots, who love good places at their hearts ; 
 
 When admirals, extoll'd for standing still, 
 
 Or doing nothing with a deal of skill ; 
 
 Generals, wlio will not conquer when they inaj". 
 
 Firm friends to peace, to pleasure, and good pay ; 
 
 When Freedom, wounded almost to despair, 
 
 Though discontent alone can find out where ; 
 
 When themes like these employ the poet's tongue, 
 
 I hear as mute as if a siren sung. 
 
 Or tell me, if you can, what power maintains 
 
 A Briton's scorn of arbitrary chains ; 
 
 That were a theme might animate the dead. 
 
 And move the lips of poets cast in lead. 
 
 B. The cause, though worth the search, may yet 
 Conjecture and remark, however shrewd. [elude 
 They take perhaps a well-directed aim, 
 
 Who seek it in his climate and his frame. 
 Liberal in all things else, yet Nature here 
 AVith stern severity deals out the year.
 
 TAP.LE TALK. 
 
 Winter invades the spring, and often pours 
 
 A chilling Mood on summer's drooping flowers ; 
 
 Unwelcome vapours quench autumnal beams, 
 
 Ungenial blasts attending curl the streams ; 
 
 The peasants urge their harvest, ply the fork 
 
 With double toil, and shiver at their work; 
 
 Thus with a rigour, for his good design'd. 
 
 She rears her favourite man of all mankind. 
 
 His form robust and of elastic tone, 
 
 Proportioned well, half muscle and half bone. 
 
 Supplies with warm activity and force 
 
 A mind well-lodged, and masculine of course. 
 
 Hence Liberty, sweet Liberty inspires, 
 
 And keeps alive his fierce but noble (ires. 
 
 Patient of constitutional control, 
 
 He bears ii with meek manliness of soul j 
 
 But, if Authority grow wanton, woe 
 
 To him that treads upon his freeborn toe ; 
 
 One step beyond the boundary of the laws 
 
 Fires him at once in Freedom's glorious cause. 
 
 Thus proud Prerogative, not much revered. 
 
 Is seldom felt, though sometimes seen and heard ; 
 
 And in his cage, like parrot Hue and gay. 
 
 Is kept to strut, look big, and talk away. 
 
 Born in a climate softer far than ours, 
 Not form'd like us, with such Herculean povfers, 
 The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk. 
 Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk. 
 Is always happy, reign whoever may, 
 And laughs the sense of misery far away ; 
 He drinks his simple beverage with a gust; 
 And, feasting on an onion and a crust. 
 We never feel the' alacrity and joy 
 With which he shouts and carols Vive h Roil 
 Fill'd with as much true merriment and glee. 
 As if he heard his king say — ' Slave, be free 1' 
 
 Thus happiness depends, as Nature shows, 
 Less on exterior things than most supi>ose.
 
 8 TAliLL TALK. 
 
 Vigilant over all that he has made, 
 Kind Providence attends Avith gracious aid ; 
 Bids equity throughout his works prevail, 
 And weighs the nations in an even scale ; 
 He can encourage Slavery to a smile, 
 And fill with discontent a British isle. 
 
 A. Freeman iind slave then, if the case be such, 
 Stand on a level ; and you prove too much : 
 
 If all men indiscriminately share 
 
 His fostering power, and tutelary care. 
 
 As well be yoked by Despotism's hand, 
 
 As dwell at large in Britain's charter'd land. 
 
 B. No. Freedom has a thousand charms to shov 
 That slaves, howe'er contented, never know. 
 
 The mind attains, beneath her happy reign. 
 The growth that Nature meant she should attain ; 
 The varied fields of science, ever new. 
 Opening and wider opening on her view, 
 She ventures onward with a prosperous force, 
 While no base fear impedes her in her course. 
 Religion, richest favour of the skies, 
 Stands most reveal'd before the freeman's eyes ; 
 No shades of superstition blot the day. 
 Liberty chases all that gloom away ; 
 The soul, emancipated, unoppress'd, 
 Free to prove all things and hold fast the best. 
 Learns much ; and to a thousand listening minds 
 Communicates with joy the good she finds ; 
 Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show 
 His manly forehead to the fiercest foe ; 
 Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace. 
 His spirits rising as his toils increase. 
 Guards well what arts and industry have won, 
 And Freedom claims him for her first-born son. 
 Slaves fight for what were better cast away — 
 The chain that binds them and a tyrant's sway ; 
 But they, that fight for freedom, undertake 
 The noblest cause mankind can have at stake :
 
 TABLE TALK. \) 
 
 Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call 
 
 A blessing — freedom is the pledge of all. 
 
 O Liberty I the prisoner's pleasing dreara, 
 
 The poet's Muse, his passion, and his theme ; 
 
 Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's nurse ; 
 
 Lost without thee the' ennobling powers of verse ; 
 
 Heroic song from thy free touch acquires 
 
 Its clearest tone, the lapture It inspires. 
 
 Place me where Winter breathes his keenest air, 
 
 And I will sing, if Liberty be there ; 
 
 And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet, 
 
 In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat. 
 
 A. Sing where you please ; in such a cause I grant 
 An English poet's privilege to rant ; 
 
 But is not Freedom — at least is not ours 
 Too apt to play the wanton with her powers, 
 Grow freakish, and, o'erleaping every mound, 
 Spread anarchy and terror all around ? 
 
 B. Agreed. But would you sell or slay your horse 
 For bounding and curvetting in his course ? 
 
 Or if, when ridden with a careless rein. 
 
 He break away, and seek the distant plain ; 
 
 No. His high mettle, under good control, 
 
 Gives him Olympic speed, and shoots him to the goal. 
 
 Let Discipline employ her wholesome arts ; 
 Let magistrates alert perform their parts. 
 Not skulk or put on a prudential mask. 
 As if their duty were a desperate task ; 
 Let active Laws apply the needful curb, 
 To guard the Peace, that Riot would disturb ; 
 And Liberty preserved from wild excess, 
 Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress. 
 When Tumult lately burst his prison door, 
 And set plebeian thousands in a roar. 
 When he usurp'd Authority's just place, 
 And dared to look his master in the face ; 
 When the rude rabble's watchword was — destroy, 
 And blazing London seem'd a second Troy ;
 
 10 TADLE TALK. 
 
 Libert}' blusliM, and hung her drooping head, 
 Beheld their progress with the deepest dread ; 
 Blush'd, that effects like these she should produce, 
 Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose. 
 She loses in such storms her very name. 
 And fierce Licentiousness should bear the blame. 
 
 incomparable gem ! thy worth untold ; 
 Cheap, though blood-bought, and thrown away when 
 May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend [sold ; 
 Betray thee, while professing to defend : 
 Prize it, ye ministers ) ye monarchs, spare ; 
 Ye patriots, guard it with a miser's care. 
 
 A. Patriots, alas ! the few that have been found. 
 Where most they llourish, upon English ground, 
 The country's need have scantily supplied. 
 
 And the last left the scene, when Chatham died. 
 
 B. Not so — the virtue still adorns our age. 
 Though the chief actor died upon the stage. 
 In him Demosthenes was heard again ; 
 Liberty taught him her Athenian strain ; 
 
 She clothed him with authority and awe. 
 Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. 
 His speech, his form, his action, full of grace. 
 And all his country beaming in his face, 
 He stood, as some inimitable hand 
 Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand. 
 No sycophant or slave, that dared oppose 
 Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose ; 
 And every venal stickler for the yoke 
 Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke. 
 Such men are raised to station and command. 
 When Providence means mercy to a land. 
 He speaks, and they appear ; to him they owe 
 Skill to direct, and strength to strike the blow; 
 To manage with address, to seize with power 
 The crisis of a dark decisive hour. 
 So Gideon earn'd a victory not his own ; 
 Subserviency his praise, and llial alone.
 
 TABLE TALK. II 
 
 Poor Eiiglaml ! thou art a devoted deer, 
 Beset with every ill but that of fear. 
 Thee nations hunt ; all mark thee for a prej ; 
 They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay. 
 Undaunted still, though wearied and perplex'd, 
 Once Chatham saved thee ; but who saves thee next ? 
 Alas! the tide of pleasure sweeps along- 
 All, that should be the boast of British song. 
 'Tis not the wreath, that once adornd thy brow. 
 The prize of happier times, will serve thee now. 
 Our ancestry, a gallant. Christian race, 
 Patterns of every virtue, every grace, 
 Confess'd a God ; tliey kneel'd before they fought, 
 And praised him in the victories he wrought. 
 Now from the dust of ancient days bring forth 
 The sober zeal, integrity, and worth ; 
 Courage, ungraced by these, aftrouts the skies, 
 Is but the fire without the sacrifice. 
 The stream, that feeds the well-spring of the heart, 
 Not more invigorates life s noblest part. 
 Than Virtue quickens with a warmth divine 
 The powers, that Sin has brought to a decline. 
 
 A. The' inestimable Estimate of Brown 
 Rose like a paper kite, and charra'd the town ; 
 But measures, plann d and executed well, 
 Shifted the wind that raised it, and it fell. 
 
 He trod the very self-same ground you tread. 
 And Victory refuted all he said. 
 
 B. And yet his judgment was not framed amiss ; 
 Its error, if it err'd, was merely this — 
 
 He thought the dying hour already come, 
 And a complete recovery struck him dumb. 
 
 But tliat eiTeminacy, folly, lust, 
 Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must ; 
 And that a nation shamefully debased. 
 Will be despised and trampled on at last, 
 Unless sweet Penitence her powers renew, 
 Is truth, if history itself be true.
 
 12 TABLE TALK. 
 
 There is a time, and Justice marks the date, 
 For long-forbearing Clemency to wait ; 
 That boar elapsed, the' incurable revolt 
 Is punish'd, and down comes the thunderbolt. 
 If Mercy then put bj the threatening lilow. 
 Must she perform the same kind office now ? 
 May she ! and, if ofi'ended Heaven be still 
 Accessible, and prayer prevail, she will. 
 'Tis not, however, insolence and noise, 
 The tempest of tumultuary joys, 
 Nor is it yet despondence and dismay 
 Will win her visits or engage her stay ; 
 Prayer only, and the penitential tear, 
 Can call her smiling down, and fix. her here. 
 
 But when a country (one that I could name) 
 In prostitution sinks the sense of shame ; 
 When infamous Venality, grown bold. 
 Writes on his bosom, To he let or sold; 
 When Perjury, that Heaven-defying vice. 
 Sells oaths by tale, and at the lowest price ; 
 Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made. 
 To turn a penny in the way of trade ; 
 When Avarice starves (and never hides his face) 
 Two or three millions of the human race, 
 And not a tongue inquires, how, where, or when, 
 Though conscience will have twinges now and then; 
 When profanation of the sacred cause, 
 In all its parts, times, ministry, and laws, 
 Bespeaks a land, once Christian, fallen and lost 
 In all, but wars against that title most ; 
 What follows next let cities of great name, 
 And regions long since desolate proclaim. 
 Ninevah, Babylon, and ancient Rome, 
 Speak to the present times, and times to come ; 
 They cry aloud in every careless ear. 
 Stop, while you may ; suspend your mad career ; 
 O learn from our example and our fate. 
 Learn wisdom and repentance ere too late.
 
 T ABLK TALK. lo 
 
 Not only Vice disposes and prepares 
 The mind, that slumbers sweetly in her snares. 
 To stoop to Tyranny's usurp'd command, 
 And bend her poiish'd neck beneath his hand, 
 (A dire effect, by one of Nature's laws 
 Unchangeably connected with its cause :) 
 But Providence himself will intervene, 
 To throw his dark displeasure o'er the scene. 
 All are his instruments ; each form of war. 
 What burns at home, or threatens from afar : 
 Nature in arms, her elements at strife, 
 The storms, that overset the joys of life, 
 Are but his rods to scourge a guilty land, 
 And waste it at the bidding of his hand. 
 He gives the word, and Mutiny soon roars 
 In all her gates, and shakes her distant shores ; 
 The standards of all nations are uufurPd ; 
 She has one foe, and that one foe the World. 
 And, if he doom that people with a frown. 
 And mark them with a seal of wrath press'd down. 
 Obduracy takes place ; callous and tough. 
 The reprobated race grows judgment proof: 
 Earth shakes beneath them, and Heaven roars above 
 But nothing scares them from the course they love : 
 To the lascivious pipe and wanton song, 
 That charm down fear, they frolic it along, 
 With mad rapidity and unconcern, 
 Down to the gulf, from which is no return. 
 They trust in navies, and their navies fail — 
 God's curse can cast away ten thousand sail ! 
 They trust in armies, and their courage dies ; 
 In wisdom, wealth, in fortune, and in lies : 
 But all they trust in withers, as it must. 
 When He commands, in whom they place no trust. 
 Vengeance at last pours down upon their coast 
 A long despised, but now victorious, host ; 
 Tyranny sends the chain, that must abridge 
 The noble sweep of all their privilege ;
 
 14 TABLE TALK. 
 
 Gives Liberty the last, the mortal shock : 
 Slips the slave's collar on, and snaps the lock. 
 
 A. Such lofty strains embellish what yon teach : 
 Mean you to prophesy, or but to preach r 
 
 B. I know the mind, that feels indeed the fire 
 The Muse imparts, and can command the lyre, 
 Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal, 
 Whate'er the theme, that others never feel. 
 
 If human woes her soft attention claim, 
 
 A tender sympathy pervades the frame. 
 
 She pours a sensibility divine 
 
 Along the nerve of every feeling line. 
 
 But if a deed not tamely to be borne 
 
 Fire indignation and a sense of scorn, 
 
 The strings are swept with such a power, so loud. 
 
 The storm of music shakes the' astonished crowd. 
 
 So, wlien remote futurity is brought 
 
 Before the keen inquiry of her thought, 
 
 A terrible sagacity informs 
 
 The poet's heart ; be looks to distant storms ; 
 
 He hears the thunder ere the tempest lowers ; 
 
 And, arm'd with strength surpassing human pow'rs, 
 
 Seizes events as yet unknown to man. 
 
 And darts his soul into tlie dawning plan. 
 
 Hence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name 
 
 Of prophet and of poet was the same ; 
 
 Hence British ])oets too the priesthood shared., 
 
 And every hallow'd druid was a bard. 
 
 ]iut no prophetic lires to me belong ; 
 
 I play with syllables, and sport in song. 
 
 A. At Westminster, where little poets strive, 
 To set a distich upon six and live. 
 Where Disci[)line helps the' oi)ening buds of sense, 
 And makes his pujiils proud with silver pence, 
 I was a jxiet too : but modern taste 
 Is so refined, and delicate, and chaste, 
 That verse, whatever lire the fancy warms, 
 A^'ithout a creamy smoothness has no charms.
 
 TABLE TALK, Jj 
 
 Thus, all success depending on an ear, 
 
 And thinking I might jturchase it too dear. 
 
 If sentiment were sacrificed to sound, 
 
 And truth cat sliort to make a period round, 
 
 I judged a man of sense could scarce do worse, 
 
 Than caper in the morris-dance of verse. 
 
 B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit, 
 And some wits Hag through fear of losing it. 
 Give me the line that ploughs its stately course 
 Like a proud swan, conquering the stream by force ; 
 That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart. 
 Quite unindebted to the tricks of art. 
 When Labour and when Duluess, club in hand, 
 Like the two figures at St. Dunstan's stand, 
 Beating alternately, in measured time. 
 The clockwork tiutinabulum of rh^nie. 
 Exact and regular the sounds will be ; 
 But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me. 
 From him who rears a poem lank and long. 
 To him who strains his all into a song ; 
 Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air, 
 All birks and braes, though he was never there; 
 Or, having wlielp'd a prologue with great pains. 
 
 Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains ; 
 
 A prologue interdash'd with many a stroke — 
 
 An art contrived to advertise a joke. 
 
 So that the jest is clearly to be seen. 
 
 Not in the words — but in the gap between : 
 
 Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ, 
 
 The substitute for genius, sense, and wit. 
 To dally much with subjects mean and low 
 
 Proves that the mind is weak, or makes it so. 
 
 Neglected talents rust into decay. 
 
 And every eiVort ends in pushpin play. 
 
 The man, that means success, should soar above 
 
 A soldier's feather, or a lady's glove ; 
 
 Else, summoning the Muse to such a theme. 
 
 The fruit of ul! her labour is whi])p'd cream.
 
 16 TABLE TAr.rc. 
 
 As if an eagle flew aloft, and then — 
 
 Stoop'd from its highest pitch to pounce a wren, 
 
 As if the poet, purposing to wed, 
 
 Should carve himself a wife in gingerbread. 
 
 Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear'd, 
 And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard : 
 To carry nature lengths unknown before, 
 To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more. 
 Thus genius rose and set at ordered times. 
 And shot a dayspring into distant dimes. 
 Ennobling every region tlmt he chose ; 
 He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose ; 
 And, tedious years of gothic darkness pass'd, 
 Emerged all splendour in our isle at last. 
 Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, 
 Then show far oft' their shining plumes again. 
 
 A. Is genius only found in epic lays ? 
 Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise. 
 Make their heroic powers your own at once, 
 Or candidly confess yourself a dunce. 
 
 B. These were the chief ; each interval of night 
 Was graced with many an undulating light. 
 
 In less illustrious bards his beauty shone 
 A meteor, or a star ; in these, the sun. 
 
 Tlie nightingale may claim the topmost bough, 
 While the poor grasshopper must chirp below. 
 Like him unnoticed, I, and such as I, 
 Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly : 
 Perch'd on the meagre produce of the land, 
 An ell or two of prospect we command ; 
 But never peep beyond the thorny bound, 
 Or oaken fence, that hems the paddock round. 
 
 In Eden, ere yet innocence of heart 
 Had faded, poetry was not an art ; 
 Language, al)ove all teaching, or, if taught. 
 Only by gratitude and glowing thouglit. 
 Elegant as simplicity, and warm 
 As ecstasy, unmanacled by form.
 
 TABLE TALK. 17 
 
 Not prompted, as in our degenerate davs, 
 By low ambition and the tliirst of praise, 
 Was natural as is the llowin^ stream, 
 And yet magnificent — A (iod the theme ! 
 That theme on earth exiiausted, though above 
 'Tis found as everlasting as his love, 
 Man lavish'd all his thoughts on human thlnf^s — 
 The feats of heroes, and the wrath of kings : 
 But still, while \'irtue kindled his delight. 
 The song was moral, and so far was right. 
 'Twas thus till Luxury seduced the mind 
 To joys less innocent, as less refined ; 
 Then Genius danced a bacchanal ; he crown'd 
 The brimming goblet, seized the thyrsus, bound 
 His brows with ivy, rnsh'd into the field 
 Of wild imagination, and there reel'd, 
 The victim of his own lascivious fires, 
 And dizzy with delight, profaned tlie sacred wires. 
 Anacreon, Horace, play'd in Greece and Rome 
 This bedlam part ; and others nearer home. 
 When Cromwell fought for power, and while he reign'd 
 The proud protector of the power he gain"d, 
 Religion harsh, intolerant, austere, 
 Parent of manners like herself severe, 
 Drew a rough copy of the Christian face. 
 Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace ; 
 The dark and sullen humour of the time 
 Judged every eilbrt of the Muse a crime ; 
 Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast, 
 Was lumber in an age so void of taste ; 
 But when the second Ciiarles assumed the sway. 
 And arts revived beneath a softer day. 
 Then, like a bow long forced into a curve. 
 The mind, released from too coustrain'd a nerve. 
 Flew to its first position with a spring, 
 That made the vaulted roofs of Pleasure ring. 
 His court, the dissolute and hateful school 
 Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule, 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 TABLE TALK. 
 
 Swarm'd with a scribbling heid, as deep inlaid 
 With brutal lust as ever Circe made. 
 From these a long succession, in the rftge 
 Of rank obscenity, debauch'd their age : 
 Nor ceased, till, ever anxious to redress 
 The' abuses of her sacred charge, the press, 
 The Muse instructed a well nurtured train 
 Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain, 
 And claim the ])ahn for purity of song. 
 That Lewdness had usurp'd and worn so long. 
 Then decent Pleasantr^s and sterling Sense, 
 That neither gave nor would endure oilence, 
 Whipp'd out of sight, with satire just and keen, 
 The puppy pack that had defiled the scene. 
 In front of these came Addison. In him 
 Humour in holiday and sightly trim. 
 Sublimity, and attic taste, combined. 
 To polish, furnish, and delight the mind. 
 Then Pope, as harmony itself exact. 
 In verse well disciplined, complete, compact, 
 Gave ^ irtue and Morality a grace, 
 That, quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face, 
 Levied a tax of wonder and aj)plause. 
 E'en on tlie fools that trampled on their laws. 
 But he (his musical finesse was such, 
 So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) 
 Made poetry a mere mechanic art ; 
 And every warbler has his tune by heart. 
 Nature imparting her satiric gift, 
 Her serious mirth, to Arliuthnot and Swift, 
 With droll sobriety they raised a smile 
 At Folly's cost, themselves unmoved the while. 
 Tiiat constellation set, the woild in vain 
 Must hope to look upon their like again. 
 
 A. Are we then left — Ji. Not wholly in the dark 
 Wit now and then struck smartly shows a spark, 
 Sufiicient to redeem the modern race 
 From total night and absolute disgrace.
 
 TABLE TALF<. 19 
 
 While servile trick and imitative knack 
 Confine the million in the beaten track, 
 Perhaps some coarser, who disdains the road, 
 Snuffs up the wind and flings himself abroad. 
 
 Contemporaries all surpass'd, see one ; 
 Short his career, indeed, but ably run ; 
 Churchill, himself unconscious of his powers, 
 In penury consumed his idle hours; 
 And, like a scatter'd seed at random sown, 
 Was left to spring by vigour of his own. 
 Lifted at length, by dignity of thought 
 And dint of genius, to an affluent lot, 
 He laid his head in Luxury's soft lap. 
 And took, too often, there his easy nap. 
 If brighter beams tlian all he threw not forth, 
 'Twas negligence in him, not want of worth. 
 Surly, and slovenly, and bold, and coarse, 
 Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force. 
 Spendthrift alike of money and of wit, 
 Alwajs at speed, and never drawing bit, 
 He struck the lyre in such a careless mood, 
 And so disdain'd the rules he understood, 
 The laurel seem'd to wait on his command ; 
 He snatch'd it rudely from the Muses' hand. 
 Nature, exerting an unwearied power, 
 Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower ; 
 Spreads the fresh verdure of the fields, and leads 
 The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads : 
 She fills profuse ten thousand little throats 
 With music, modulating all their notes ; 
 And charms the woodland scenes, and wilds unknown. 
 With artless airs and concerts of her own : 
 But seldom (as if fearful of expense) 
 Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence — 
 Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought. 
 Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought ; 
 Fancy, that from the bow that spans the sky, 
 Brings colours dipp'd in Heaven, that never die ;
 
 20 TABLE TALK. 
 
 A soul, exalted above earth, a mind 
 Skiird in the characters that form mankind ; 
 And, as the Sun in risin^^ beauty dress'd, 
 Looks to the westward from the dappled east, 
 And marks, Avhatever clouds may interpose, 
 Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close ; 
 An eye like his to catch the distant goal : 
 Or, ere the wheels of verse begin to roll, 
 Like his to shed illuminating rays 
 On every scene and subject it surveys : 
 Thus graced, the man asserts a poet's name, 
 And the world cheerfully admits the claim. 
 
 Pity Religion has so seldom found 
 A skilful guide into poetic ground ! 
 The flowers would spring where'er shedeign'dto stray. 
 And ev'ry Muse attend her in her way. 
 Virtue indeed meets manj' a rhyming friend, 
 And many a comjiliment politely penn'd ; 
 But, unattired in that becoming vest 
 Religion weaves for her, and half undress'd, 
 Stands in the desert, shivering and forlorn, 
 A wintry figure, like a wither'd thorn. 
 The shelves are full, all other themes are sped ; 
 Hackney 'd and worn to the last ilimsy thread. 
 Satire has long since done his best ; and curst 
 And loathsome Ril)aldry has done his worst; 
 Fancy has sported all her powers away 
 In tales, in trifles, and in children's play ; 
 And 'tis the sad complaint, and almost true, 
 Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new. 
 'Twere new indeed to see a bard all lire, 
 Touch'd with a coal from IJeaven, assume the lyre. 
 And tell the world, still kindling as he sung. 
 With more than mortal music on his tongue. 
 That Jle, who died below, and reigns above, 
 Inspires the song, and that his name is Love. 
 
 For, after all, if merely to beguile, 
 JJy flowing numbers and a flowery style,
 
 TAP,LE TALK. 21 
 
 The taediuin that tiie la/y rich endure. 
 
 Which now and then sweet poetry may cure ; 
 
 Or, if to see the name of idle self. 
 
 Stamp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf. 
 
 To float a bubble on the breath of Fame, 
 
 Prompt his endeavour, and engage his aim, 
 
 Debased to servile purposes of pride, 
 
 How are the powers of Genius misapplied t 
 
 The gift, whose ofllce is the Giver's praise. 
 
 To trace him in his word, his works, his v.ays ; 
 
 Then spread the rich discovery, and invite 
 
 Mankind to share in the divine delight ; 
 
 Distorted from its use and just design, 
 
 To make the pitiful possessor shine. 
 
 To purchase, at the fool-freqaented fair 
 
 Of Vanity, a wreath for self to wear, 
 
 Is profanation of the basest kind — 
 
 Proof of a trilling and a worthless mind. 
 
 A. Hail, Sternhold, then ; and, Hopkins, hail! B. 
 If flattery, folly, lust, employ the pen ; [Anven. 
 
 If acrimony, slander, and abuse. 
 Give it a charge to blacken and traduce ; 
 Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior'3 ease, 
 Witli all tliat fancy can invent to please, 
 Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall. 
 One madrigal of theirs is worth them all. 
 
 A. 'Twould thin the ranks of the poetic tribe, 
 To dash the pen through all that you proscribe. 
 
 B. No matter — we could shift when they were not ; 
 And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot.
 
 THE 
 PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 ji quid loquar audienduin. Jlor. Lib. iv. ()d. 
 
 Sing, Muse (if such a theme, so dark, so long, 
 May find a Muse to grace it with a song). 
 By what unseen and unsuspected arts 
 The serpent Error twines round human hearts ; 
 Tell where she lurks, beneath what flowery shades. 
 That not a glimpse of genuine light pervades. 
 The poisonous, black, insinuating worm 
 Successfully conceals her loathsome form. 
 Take, if ye can, ye careless and supine. 
 Counsel and caution from a voice like mine ! 
 Truths, that the theorist could never reach, 
 And observation taught me, I would teach. 
 
 Not all, whose eloquence the fancy fills, 
 Musical as the chime of tinkling rills, 
 Weak to perform, though mighty to pretend. 
 Can trace her mazy windings to their end ; 
 Discern the fraud beneath the specious lure. 
 Prevent the danger, or prescribe the cure. 
 The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear. 
 Falls soporific on the listless ear; 
 Like quicksilver, the rhet'ric they display 
 Shines as it runs, but grasp'd at slips away. 
 
 Placed for his trial, on this bustling stage, 
 From thoughtless youth to ruminating age,
 
 TIIR PROGRESS OF £RROR. 23 
 
 Free in bis will to choose or *■> refuse, 
 
 Man may improve the crisis or abuse ; 
 
 Else, on the fatalist's unrighteous plan, 
 
 Say to what bar amenable were man ? 
 
 With nought in charge, he could betray no trust ; 
 
 And, if he fell, would fall because he must ; 
 
 If Love reward him, or if Vengeance strike. 
 
 His recompense is both unjust alike. 
 
 Divine authority within his breast 
 
 Brings every thought, word, action, to the test ; 
 
 Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains, 
 
 As reason, or as passion, takes the reins. 
 
 Heaven from above, and Conscience from within, 
 
 Cries in his startled ear — ' Abstain from sin !' 
 
 The world around solicits his desire. 
 
 And kindles in his soul a treacherous fire ; 
 
 W^hiie, all his purposes and steps to guard, 
 
 Peace follows virtue as its sure reward ; 
 
 And Pleasure brings as surely in her train 
 
 Remorse, and Sorrow, and ^'indictive Pain. 
 
 Man, thus endued with an elective voice. 
 Must be supplied with objects of his choice ; 
 Where'er he turns, enjoyment and delight, 
 Or present, or in prospect, meet his sight ; 
 Those open on the spot their honey'd store ; 
 These call him loudly to pursuit of more, 
 His unexhausted mine the sordid vice 
 Avarice shows, and virtue is the price. 
 Here various motives his ambition raise — 
 Power, pomp, and splendour, and the thirst of praise ; 
 There Beauty wooes him with expanded arms ; 
 E'en bacchanalian madness has its charms. 
 
 Nor these alone, whose pleasures less refined 
 Might well alarm the most unguarded mind. 
 Seek to supplant his inexperienced youth, 
 Or lead him devious from the path of truth ; 
 Hourly allurements on his passions press, 
 Safe in themselves, but dangerous in the' excess.
 
 24 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 Hark ! liow it floats upon tbe dewy air '. 
 O what a dyinj^, dying- close was there ! 
 'Tis harmony from yon sequester'd bower, 
 Sweet harmony, that sooths the midnight hour ! 
 Long ere the charioteer of day had run 
 His morning course, the' enchantment was begun j 
 And he shall gild yon mountain's height again, 
 Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain. 
 
 Is this the rugged path, the steep ascent, 
 That \ irJue points to ". Can a life thus spent 
 Lead to the bliss she promises the wise, 
 Detach the soul from earth, and speed her to the skies? 
 Ye devotees to your adored employ. 
 Enthusiasts, drunk with an unreal joy, 
 I^ove makes the music of the bless'd above. 
 Heaven's harmony is universal love ; 
 And earthly sounds, though sweet and well combined, 
 And lenient as soft opiates to the mind. 
 Leave vice and folly unsubdued behind. 
 
 Gray dawn appears ; the sportsman and his train 
 Speckle the bosom of the distant plain ; 
 'Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighlwuring lairs ; 
 Save that his scent his less acute than theirs, 
 For persevering chase, and headlong leaps. 
 True beagle as the staunchest hound he keep^. 
 Charged with the folly of his life's mad scene, 
 He takes offence and wonders what you mean ; 
 The joy the danger and the toil o'erpays — 
 'Tis exercise, and health, and length of days. 
 Again impetuous to the field he flies ; 
 Leaps every fence but one, there falls and dies ;. 
 Like a slain deer, the tuiDbril brings him home, 
 Unuiiss'd but by his dogs and by his groom. 
 
 Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place. 
 Lights of the world and stars of human race '. 
 But, if eccentiic ye forsake your sphere, 
 Prodigies ominous and view'd with fear ;
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 25 
 
 The comet's baneful influence is a dream ; 
 Yours real and pernicious in the' extreme. 
 What then ! — are appetites and lusts laid down 
 "With the same ease, that man puts on his gown ? 
 Will avarice and concupiscence give place, 
 Charm'd by the sounds — Your Reverence, or jour 
 
 Grace ? 
 No, but his own engagement hinds him fast ; 
 Or, if it does not, brands him to the last 
 What atheists call him — a designing knave, 
 A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and slave. 
 Oh, laugh or mourn with me the rueful jest, 
 A cassock'd huntsman, and a fiddling priest i 
 He from Italian songsters takes his cue : 
 Set Paol to music, he shall quote him too. 
 He takes the field, the master of the pack 
 Cries — ' Well done, saint !" and claps him on the back. 
 Is this tlie path of sanctity ? Is this 
 To stand a waymark in the road to bliss? 
 Himself a wanderer from the narrow way. 
 His silly sheep, what wonder if they stray ? 
 Go, cast your orders at your bishop's feet, 
 Send your dishonour'd gown to Moumouth-street ! 
 The sacred function in your hands is made — 
 Sad sacrilege ! no function, but a trade ! 
 
 Occidaus is a pastor of renown : 
 W'hen he has pray"d and preach'd the sabbath down. 
 With wire and catgut he concludes the day. 
 Quavering and semiquavering care away. 
 The full concerto swells upon your ear ; 
 All elbows shake. Look in, and you would swear 
 The Babylonian tjrant with a nod 
 Had sunimon'd them to serve his golden god. 
 So well that thouglit tlie' employment seems to suit. 
 Psaltery and sackbut, dulcimer and flute, 
 O fie ! 'tis evangelical and pure : 
 Observe each face, how sober and demure !
 
 ^6 TiiE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 Ecstasy sets her stamp on everj- mien ; 
 
 Chins fallen, and not an ej'eball to be seen. 
 
 Still I insist, though music heretofore 
 
 Has charm'd me much (not e'en Occiduus more), 
 
 Love, joy, and peace make harmony more meet 
 
 For sabbath evenings, and perhaps as sweet. 
 
 Will not the sickliest sheep of every Hock 
 Resort to this example as a rock ; 
 There stand, and justify the foul abuse 
 Of sabbath hours with plausible excuse ; 
 If apostolic gravity be free 
 To play the fool on Sundays, why not we ? 
 If he the tinkling harpsichord regards 
 As inoffensive, what offence in cards ? 
 Strike up the fiddles, let us all be gay; 
 Laymen have leave to dance, if parsons play. 
 
 Oh Italy! — thy sabbaths will be soon 
 Our sabbaths, closed with mummery and buffoon. 
 Preaching and pranks will share the motley scene, 
 Ours parcel'd out, as thine have ever been, 
 God's worship and the mountebank between. 
 What says the prophet ? Let that day be bless'd 
 With holiness and consecrated rest. 
 Pastime and business, both it should exclude, 
 And bar the door the moment they intrude ; 
 Nobly distinguish'd above all the six 
 By deeds in which the world must never mix. 
 Hear him again. He calls it a delight, 
 A day of luxury, observed aright, 
 When the glad soul is made Heaven's welcome guest, 
 Sits banqueting, and God provides the feast. 
 But triders are engaged, and cannot come. 
 Their answer to the call is — Not at home. 
 
 O the dear pleasures of the velvet plain. 
 The painted tablets, dealt and dealt again ! 
 Cards, with what rapture, and the polish'd die. 
 The yawning chasm of indolence supply !
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. i.'7 
 
 Then to the dance, and make the sober moon 
 
 Witness of joys, that shun the sight of noon. 
 
 Blame, cynic, if you can, quadrille or ball, 
 
 The snug close party, or the splendid hall, 
 
 Where Night, down-stooping from her ebon throne, 
 
 Views constellations brighter than her own. 
 
 'Tis innocent, and harmless, and refined, 
 
 The balm of care, Elysium of the mind. 
 
 Innocent! Oh if venerable Time 
 
 Slain at the foot of Pleasure be no crime, 
 
 Then, with his silver beard and magic wand, 
 
 Let Comus rise archbishop of the land ; 
 
 Let him your rubric and your feasts prescribe, 
 
 Grand metropolitan of all the tribe. 
 
 Of manners rough, and course athletic cast. 
 The rank debauch suits Clodio's filthy taste. 
 Rusillus, exquisitely form'd by rule. 
 Not of the moral, but the dancing scliool, 
 Wonders at Clodios follies, in a tone 
 As tragical, as others at his own. 
 He cannot drink five bottles, bilk the score. 
 Then kill a constable, and drink five more ; 
 Bat he can draw a pattern, make a tart, 
 And has the ladies etiquette by heart. 
 Go, fool; and, arm in arm with Clodio, plead 
 Your cause before a bar yon little dread ; 
 But know, the law, that bids the drunkard die. 
 Is far too just to pass the tritler by. 
 Both baby-featured, and of infant size, 
 View'd from a distance, and with heedless eyes. 
 Folly and Innocence are so alike, 
 The dift'erence, though essential, fails to strike. 
 Yet Folly ever has a vacant stare, 
 A simpering countenance, and a trifling air; 
 But Innocence, sedate, serene, erect. 
 Delights us, by engaging our respect. 
 Man, Nature's guest by invitation sweet. 
 Receives from her both appetite and treat ;
 
 2i> THE PROGRESS OF ERROR, 
 
 But, if he play the gluttou, and exceed, 
 
 His benefactress blushes at the deed ; 
 
 For Nature, nice, as liberal to dispense, 
 
 Made nothing but a brute the slave of sense. 
 
 Daniel ate pulse by choice — example rare ! 
 
 Heaven bless'd the youth, and made him fresh and fair. 
 
 Gorgonius sits, abdominous and wan, 
 
 Like a fat squab upon a Chinese fan : 
 
 He snufl's far oil" the' anticipated joy ; 
 
 Turtle and venison all his thoughts employ ; 
 
 Prepares for meals as jockeys take a sweat, 
 
 Oh, nauseous ! — an emetic for a whet ! 
 
 Will Providence o'erlook the wasted good ? 
 
 Temperance were no virtue, if he could. 
 
 That pleasures, therefore, or what such we call. 
 Are hurtful, is a truth confess'd by all. 
 And some, that seem to threaten virtue less. 
 Still hurtful in the' abuse, or by the' excess. 
 
 Is man then only for his torment placed 
 The centre of delights he may not taste ? 
 Like fabled Tantalus, condemned to hear 
 The precious stream still purling in his ear. 
 Lip-deep in what he longs for, and yet cursed 
 With prohibition, and perjjetual thirst? 
 TSo, wrangler — destitute of shame and sense. 
 The precept, that enjoins him abstinence, 
 Forbids him none but the licentious joy, 
 Whose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy. 
 Remorse, the fatal egg by Pleasure laid 
 In every bosom where her nest is made, 
 Hatch'd by the beams of truth, denies him rest, 
 And proves a raging scorpion in his breast. 
 No pleasure ? Are domestic comforts dead ? 
 Are all the nameless sweets of friendship lied ? 
 Has time worn out, or fashion put to shame. 
 Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good 
 All these belong to virtue, and all prove, [fame ? 
 
 That virtue has a title to your love.
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. '2-9 
 
 Have you no touch of pity, that the poor 
 Stand starved at your inhospitable door ? 
 Or if yourself, too scantily supplied, 
 Need help, let honest industry provide. 
 Earn, if you want ; if you abound, impart : 
 These both are pleasures to the feeling heart. 
 No pleasure ? Has some sickly eastern waste 
 Sent us a wind to parch us at a blast ? 
 Can British Paradise no scenes allbrd, 
 To please her sated and indirt'erent lord ? 
 Are sweet philosophy's enjoyments run 
 Quite to the lees ? And has religion none ? 
 Brutes capable would tell you 'tis a lie, 
 And judge you from the kennel and the sty. 
 Delights like these, ye sensual and profane, 
 Ye are l)id, begg'd, besought to entertain ; 
 Call'd to these crystal streams, do ye turn ofF 
 Obscene to swill and swallow at a trough ? 
 Envy the beast then, on whom Heaven bestows 
 Your pleasures, with no curses in the close. 
 
 Pleasure admitted in undue degree 
 Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free. 
 'Tis not alone the grape's enticing juice 
 Unnerves the moral powers, and mars their use ; 
 Ambition, avarice, and the lust of fame, 
 And woman, lovely woman, does the same. 
 The heart, surrender'd to the ruling power 
 Of some ungovern'd passion every hour, 
 Finds by degrees the truths, that once bore sway. 
 And all their deep impressions, wear away ; 
 So coin grows smooth, in traffic current pass'd. 
 Till Caesar's image is effaced at last. 
 
 The breach, though small at first, soon opening v»'ide. 
 In rushes folly with a full-moon tide, 
 Then welcome errors of whatever size. 
 To justify it by a thousand lies. 
 As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone, 
 And hides the ruin that it feeds upon ;
 
 30 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 So sophistry cleaves close to and protects 
 Sin's rotten trunk, concealing its defects. 
 Mortals, whose pleasures are their only care, 
 First wish to be imposed on, and then are. 
 And, lest the fuisonie artifice should fail, 
 Themselves will hide its coarseness with a veil. 
 Not more industrious are the just and true. 
 To give to Virtue, what is Virtue's due — 
 The praise of wisdom, comeliness, and worth, 
 And call her charms to public notice forth — 
 Than A'ice's mean and disingenuous race, 
 To hide the shocking features of her face. 
 Her form with dress and lotion they repair ; 
 Then kiss their idol, and pronounce her fair. 
 
 The sacred implement 1 now employ 
 Might prove a mischief, or at best a toy ; 
 A trille if it move but to amuse ; 
 But, if to wrong the judgment and abuse, 
 Worse than a poniard in the basest hand, 
 It stahs at once the morals of a land. 
 
 Ye writers of what none with safety reads, 
 Footing it in the dance that fancy leads : 
 Ye novelists, who mar what ye would mend. 
 Sniveling and driveling folly without end ; 
 Whose corresponding misses fdl the ream 
 With sentimental frippery and dream. 
 Caught in a delicate, soft, silken net 
 By some lewd earl, or rake-hell baronet ; 
 Ye pimps, who, under ^ irtue's fair pretence, 
 Steal to the closet of young Innocence, 
 And teach her, unexperienced yet and green, 
 To scribble as you scribbled at fifteen : 
 Who, kindling a combustion of desire. 
 With sonie cold moral think to (juench the fire ; 
 Though all your engineering proves in vain. 
 The dribbling stream ne'er puts it out again. 
 O that a verse had power and could command 
 Far, far awav, these flesh-Dies of the land.
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 31 
 
 Who fasten without mercy on the fair, 
 And sack, and leave a craving maggot there ! 
 Howe'er disguised the' inllammatory tale. 
 And cover'd with a fine-spun specious veil ; 
 Such writers, and such readers, owe the gust 
 And relish of their pleasure all to lust. 
 
 But the Muse, eagle-pinion'd, has in view 
 A quarry more important still than you ; 
 Down, down the wind she swims and sails away, 
 Now stoops upon it, and now grasps the prey. 
 
 Petronius ! all the Muses weep for thee ; 
 But every tear shall scald thy memory : 
 The Graces too, while Virtue at their shrine 
 Lay bleeding under that soft hand of thine, 
 Felt each a mortal stab in her own breast, 
 Abhorr'd the sacrifice, and cursed the priest. 
 Thou polish'd and higb-finish'd foe to truth, 
 Gray-beard corrupter of our listening youth. 
 To purge and skim away the filth of vice, 
 That so refined it might the more entice. 
 Then pour it on the morals of thj- son ; 
 To taint liis heart, was worthy of thiue own! 
 Now, while the poison all high life pervades, 
 Write, if thou canst, one letter from the shades ; 
 One, and one only, charged with deep regret, 
 . That thy worst part, thy principles, live yet ; 
 One sad epistle thence may cure mankind 
 Of the plague spread by bundles left behind. 
 
 'Tis granted, and no plainer truth appears. 
 Our most important are our earliest years ; 
 The Mind, impressible and soft, with ease 
 Imbibes and copies what she hears and sees. 
 And through life's labyrinth holds fast the clew, 
 That Education gives her, false or true, 
 Plants raised with tenderness are seldom strong ; 
 Man's coltish disposition asks tiie thong ; 
 And, without discipline, the favourite child, 
 Like a neglected forester, runs wild.
 
 o2 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 But we, as if good qualities would grow 
 Spontaneous, take but little pains to sow ; 
 We give some Latin, and a sniatch of Greek ; 
 Teach liim to fence and figure twice a week ; 
 And having done, we think, the best we can, 
 Praise his proficiency, and dub him Man. 
 
 From school to Cam or Isis, and thence home ; 
 And thence with all convenient speed to Rome. 
 With reverend tutor, clad in habit lay, 
 To tease for cash, and quarrel with all day ; 
 With memorandum-book for ever3^ town, 
 And every post, and where the chaise broke down ; 
 His stock a few French phrases got by heart. 
 With much to learn, but nothing to impart ; 
 The youth, obedient to his sire's commands, 
 Sets oil" a wanderer into foreign lands. 
 Surprised at all they meet, the gosling pair, 
 With av.kward gait, stretch'd neck, and silly stare, 
 Discover huge cathedrals built witii stone, 
 And steeples towering high, much like our own ; 
 JJut show peculiar liglit by many a grin 
 At popish practices observed within. 
 
 Ere long some bowing, smirking, smart abbe 
 Remarks two loiterers that have lost their way ; 
 And, being always primed \vii\i politesse 
 For men of their appearance and address, 
 With much compassion undertakes the task, 
 To tell them more than they have wit to ask : 
 Points to inscriptions wheresoe'er they tread. 
 Such as, when legible, were never read, 
 But, being cankerd now and half worn out, 
 ('raze antiquarian brains with endless doubt ; 
 Some headless hero, or some Ca-sar, shows — 
 Defective only in his Roman nose ; 
 Exhiltits elevations, drawings, plans, 
 Models of llerculanean pots and pans ; 
 And sells them medals, which, if neither rare 
 Nor ancient, will be so, preserved with care.
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROI?. S3 
 
 Strange the recital ! from whatever cause 
 His great improvement and new light he draws, 
 The squire, once bashful, is shamefaced no more, 
 But teems with powers he never felt before ; 
 Whether increased momentum, and the force. 
 With which from clime to clime he sped his course 
 (As axles sometimes kindle as they go), 
 Chafed him, and brought dull nature to a glow ; 
 Or whether clearer skies and softer air, 
 That make Italian flpwers so sweet and fair, 
 Freshening his lazy spirits as he ran. 
 Unfolded genially and spread the man ; 
 Returning he proclaims by many a grace. 
 By shrugs and strange contortions of his face. 
 How much a dunce, that has been sent to roam. 
 Excels a dunce, that has been kept at home. 
 
 Accomplishments have taken virtue's place, 
 And wisdom falls before exterior grace; 
 We slight the precious kerne! of the stone. 
 And toil to polish its rough coat alone. 
 A just deportraeiit, manners graced with ease, 
 Elegant phrase, and figure form'd to please. 
 Are qualities that seem to comprehend 
 Whatever parents, guardians, schools intend : 
 Hence an unfurnish'd and a listless mind. 
 Though busy, trifling ; empty, though refined ; 
 Hence all that interferes, and dares to clash 
 With indolence and luxury, is trash : 
 While learning, once the man's exclusive pride, 
 Seems verging fast towards the female side. 
 Learning itself, received into a mind 
 By nature weak, or viciously inclined. 
 Serves but to lead philosophers astray, 
 Where children would with ease discern the way. 
 And of all arts sagacious dupes invent, 
 To cheat themselves and gain the world's assent, 
 The worst is — Scripture warp'd from its intent. 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 54 IIIE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 The carriage bowls along, and all are pleased 
 If Tom be sober and the wheels well greased ; 
 Bat if tlie rogue have gone a cup too far, 
 Left out his linchpin, or forgot his tar. 
 It suffers interruption and delay, 
 And meets with hinderance in the smoothest way. 
 When some hypothesis absurd and vain 
 Has fdl'd with all its fumes a critic's brain, 
 The text, that sorts not with his darling whim, 
 Though plain to others, is obscure to him. 
 The will made subject to a lawless force. 
 All is irregular and oat of course ; 
 And Judgment drunk, and bribed to lose his way. 
 Winks hard, and talks of darkness at noonday. 
 
 A critic on the sacred book should be 
 Candid and learn'd, dispassionate and free ; 
 Tree from the wayward bias bigots feel. 
 From fancy's influence, and intemperate zeal : 
 But above all (or let the wretch refrain. 
 Nor touch the page he cannot but profane). 
 Free from the domineering power of lust :, 
 A lewd interpreter is never just. 
 
 How shall I speak thee or thy power address. 
 Thou god of our idolatry, the press .'' 
 By thee, religion, libeity, and laws, 
 Exert their influence, and advance their cause ; 
 By thee worse plagues than Pharaoh's land befel, 
 Diffused, make earth the vestibule of Hell ; 
 Thou fountain, at which drink the good and wise ; 
 Thou ever bul)bling spring of endless lies ; 
 Like Eden's dread probationary tree. 
 Knowledge of good and evil is from thee. 
 
 No wild enthusiast ever yet could rest. 
 Till half mankind were like himself possess'd. 
 Philoso[)hers, who darken and put out 
 Eternal truth, by everlasting doubt ; 
 (Miurdi (|uacks, vvitli passions under no command, 
 Who fill liie world with doctrines contraband.
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 37 
 
 Discoverers of they know not what, confined 
 
 Within no bounds — the blind that lead the blind ; 
 
 To streams of popular opinion drawn, 
 
 Deposit in those shallows all their spawn. 
 
 The wriggling fry soon fill the creeks around, 
 
 Poisoning the waters where their swarms abound ; 
 
 Scorn'd by the nobler tenants of the flood, 
 
 Minnows and gudgeons gorge the' unwholesome food. 
 
 The propagated myriads spread so fast, 
 
 E'en Leuwenhoeck himself Avoald stand aghast, 
 
 Employ'd to calculate the' enormous sum. 
 
 And own his crab-computing powers o'ercorae. 
 
 Is this hyperbole ? The world well known, 
 
 Your sober thoughts will hardly find it one. 
 
 Fresh confidence the speculatist takes 
 From every hair-brain'd proselyte he makes ; 
 And therefore prints. Himself bat half deceived. 
 Till others have the soothing tale believed. 
 Hence comment after comment, spun as fine 
 As bloated spiders draw the flimsy line : 
 Hence the same word, that bids our lusts obey, 
 Is misapplied to sanctify their sway. 
 If stubborn Greek refuse to be his friend, 
 Hebrev/ or Syriac shall be forced to bend : 
 If languages and copies all cry No — • 
 Somebody proved it centuries ago. 
 Like trout pursued, the critic in despair 
 Darts to the mud, and finds his safety there. 
 Women, whom custom has forbid to fly 
 The scholar's pitch (the scholar best knows why). 
 With all the simple and unletter'd poor. 
 Admire his learning, and almost adore. 
 Whoever errs, the priest can ne'er be wrong. 
 With such fine words familiar to his tongue. 
 
 Ye ladies ! (for indifl'erent in your cause, 
 I should deserve to forfeit all applause) 
 Whatever shocks, or gives the least oiTence 
 To virtue, delicacy, truth, or sense
 
 36 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR, 
 
 (Trj the criterion, 'tis a faithful gnide), 
 Nor Las, nor can have, Scripture on its side. 
 
 None but an author knows an author's cares, 
 Or Fancj's fondness for the child she bears. 
 Committed once into the public arms, 
 The babj seems to smile with added charms. 
 Like something precious ventured far from shore, 
 'Tis valued for the danger's sake the more. 
 He views it with complacency supreme, 
 Solicits kind attention to his dream ; 
 And dailv more enamour'd of the cheat. 
 Kneels, and asks Heaven to bless the dear deceit. 
 So one, whose story serves at least to show 
 Men loved their own productions long ago, 
 Woo'd an unfeeling statue for his wife, 
 Nor rested till the gods had given it life. 
 If some mere driveller suck the sugar'd fib, 
 One that still needs his leading-string and bib, 
 And praise his genius, he is soon repaid 
 In praise applied to the same part — his head ; 
 For 'tis a rule, that holds for ever true. 
 Grant me discernment, and I grant it you. 
 
 Patient of contradiction as a child, 
 Afl'able, humble, diffident, and mild ; 
 Such was Sir Isaac, and such Boyle and Locke : 
 Your blunderer is as sturdy as a rock. 
 The creature is so sure to kick and bite, 
 A muleteer's the man to set him right. 
 First Appetite enlists him Truth's sworn foe, 
 Then obstinate Self-will confirms him so. 
 Tell him he wanders ; that his error leads 
 To fatal ills ; that, though the path he treads 
 Be flowery, and he see no cause of fear, 
 Death and the pains of Hell attend him there : 
 In vain ; the slave of arrogance and pride. 
 He has no hearing on the prudent side. 
 His still refuted quirks he still repeats ; 
 New raised objections with new quibbles meets ;
 
 THE PH0GUE8S OF ERUOK. 37 
 
 Till, sinking in the quicksand he defends, 
 He dies disputing, and the contest ends — 
 But not the mischiefs ; thej, still left behind. 
 Like thistle-seeds, are sown by every wind. 
 
 Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill ; 
 Bend the straight rule to their own crooked wiil ; 
 And with a clear and shining lamp supplied. 
 First put it out, then take it for a guide. 
 Halting on crutches of unequal size, 
 One leg by truth supported, one by lies ; 
 They sidle to the goal with awkward pace. 
 Secure of nothing but to lose the race. 
 
 Faults in the life breed errors in the brain • 
 And these reciprocally those again. 
 The mind and conduct mutually imprint 
 And stamp their image in each other's mint : 
 Each, sire and dam, of an infernal race. 
 Begetting and conceiving all that 's base. 
 
 None sends his arrow to the maik in view. 
 Whose hand is feeble, or his aim untrue. 
 For though, ere yet the shaft is on the wing, 
 Or when it first forsakes the' elastic string, 
 It err but little from the' intended line. 
 It falls at last far wide of his design : 
 So he, who seeks a mansion in the sky. 
 Must watch his purpose with a steadfast eye ; 
 That prize belongs to none but the sincere. 
 The least obliquity is fatal here. 
 
 With caution taste the sweet Circean cup : 
 He that sips often, at last drinks it up. 
 Habits are soon assumed ; but when we strive 
 To strip them off, 'tis being flay'd alive. 
 Call'd to the temple of impure delight, 
 He that abstains, and he alone, does right. 
 If a wish w auder that way, call it hoiue ; 
 He cannot long be safe, whose wishes roam. 
 But, if you pass the threshold, you are caught 5 
 Die then, if power Almighty save you not.
 
 38 THE PROGRESS OF ERROK. 
 
 There haidening by degrees, till double steel'd, 
 Take leave of Nature's God, and God reveal'd ; 
 Then laugh at all you trembled at before ; 
 And, joining the freethinkers' brutal roar, 
 Swallow the two grand nostrums they dispense — 
 That Scripture lies, and blasphemy is sense : 
 If clemency revolted by abuse 
 Be damnable, then damn'd without excuse. 
 
 Some dream, that they can silence, when they \vi 
 The storm of passion, and say. Peace, he still; 
 But Thus far and no farther, when address'd 
 To the wild wave, or wilder human breast. 
 Implies authority, that never can, 
 That never ought to be the lot of man. 
 
 But, Muse, forbear; long llights forebode a full : 
 Strike on the deep-toned chord the sum of all. 
 
 Hear the just law — the judgment of the skies. 
 He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies : 
 And he that tcill be cheated to the last. 
 Delusions strong as Hell shall bind him fast. 
 But if the wanderer his mistake discern. 
 Judge his own ways, and sigh for a return, 
 Bewilder'd once, must he bewail his loss 
 For ever and for ever? No — the cross ! 
 There and there only, (though the deist rave. 
 And atheist, if earth bear so base a slave ;) 
 There and there only is the power to save. 
 There no delusive hope invites despair ; 
 No mockery meets you, no deception there. 
 The spells and charms, that blinded you before. 
 All vanish there, and fascinate no more. 
 
 I am no preacher, let tliis hint suflice — 
 The cross once seen is death to every vice : 
 I'lse he that hung there sufler'd all his pain, 
 Bled, groau'd, and agonized, and died, in vain.
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 Pensantur trutiiia— //./■. Lib. II. Epist. t. 
 
 Man, on the dubious waves of error toss'd, 
 His sbiphalf-founder'd, and his compass Ios(, 
 Sees, far as human optics may command, 
 A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land : 
 Spreads all his canvass, every sinew plies ; 
 Pants for't, aims at it, enters it, and dies ! 
 Then farewell all self-satisfying schemes. 
 His well-built systems, philosophic dreams } 
 Deceitful views of future bliss farewell! 
 He reads his sentence at the flames of Hell. 
 
 Hard lot of man — to toil for the reward 
 Of virtue, and yet lose it ! Wherefore hard ? 
 He that would win the race must guide his horse 
 Obedient to the customs of the course ; 
 Else, though unequal'd to the goal he uies, 
 A meaner than himself shall gain the prize. 
 Grace leads the right way : if 3'ou choose the wrong. 
 Take it and perish ; but restrain your tongue ; 
 Charge not, with light sufficient, and left free, 
 Your wilful suicide on God's decree. 
 
 O how unlike the complex works of man, 
 Heaven's easy, artless, unencuraber'd plan ! 
 No meretricious graces to beguile. 
 No clustering ornaments to clog the pile ; 
 From ostentation as from weakness free. 
 It stands like the cerulean arch we see, 
 Majestic in its own simplicity.
 
 40 TRUTH. 
 
 Inscribed above the portal, from afar 
 
 Conspicuous as the brightness of a star. 
 
 Legible only bj the light (hej give, 
 
 Stand the soul-quickeniug words — BELIEVE AND LIVE. 
 
 Too many, shock'd at what should charm them most, 
 
 Despise the plain direction, and are lost. 
 
 Heaven on such terms ! (they cry with proud disdain) 
 
 Incredible, impossible, and vain ! — 
 
 Rebel, because 'tis easy to obey ; 
 
 And scorn, for its own sake, the gracious way- 
 
 These are the sober, in whose cooler brains 
 
 Some thought of immortality remains ; 
 
 The rest too busy or too gay to wait 
 
 On the sad theme, their everlasting state, 
 
 Sport for a day, and perish in a night. 
 
 The foam upon the waters not so light. 
 
 Who judged the pharisee .'' What odious cause 
 Exposed him to the vengeance of the laws ? 
 Had he seduced a virgin, wrong'd a friend. 
 Or stabb'd a man to serve some private end ? 
 Was blasphemy his sin ? Or did he stray 
 From the strict duties of the sacred day ? 
 Sit long and late at the carousing board ? 
 (Such were the sins with which he charged his Lord) 
 No ; the man's morals were exact — what then ? 
 'Twas his ambition to be seen of men ; 
 His virtues were his pride ; and that one vice 
 JMade all liis virtues gewgaws of no price ; 
 He wore them as fine trappings for a show, 
 A praying, synagogue-frequenting beau. 
 
 The self-applauding bird, the peacock, see — 
 Mark what a sumptuous pharisee is he ! 
 Meridian sunbeams tempt him to unfold 
 His radiant glories, azure, green, and gold : 
 He treads as if, some solemn music near, 
 His measured step wore govern'd by his ear; 
 And seems to say — Ve meaner fowl, give place, 
 1 niu all spleuduur, dignity, and grace !
 
 TRtJTH. 41 
 
 Not so the pheasant on his charms presames, 
 Though he too has a glorj iu his plumes, 
 He, Christiau-like, retreats with modest mien 
 To the close copse, or far sequester'd green, 
 And shines without desiring to be seen. 
 The plea of works, as arrogant and vain. 
 Heaven turns from with abhorrence and disdain ; 
 Not more aflronted by avow'd neglect, 
 Than by the mere dissembler's feign'd respect. 
 What is all righteousness that men devise? 
 What — but a sordid bargain for the skies ? 
 But Christ as soon would abdicate his own, 
 As stoop from Heaven to sell the proud a throne. 
 
 His dwelling a recess in some rude rock, 
 Book, beads, and maple-dish, his meagre stock ; 
 In shirt of hair, and weeds of canvass dress'd, 
 Girt with a bell-rope, that the Pope has bless'd ; 
 Adust with stripes told out for every crime, 
 And sore tormented long before his time; 
 His prayer preferr'd to saints that cannot aid ; 
 His praise postponed, and never to be paid j 
 See the sage hermit, by mankind admired, 
 W^ith all that bigotry adopts inspired, 
 Wearing out life in his religious whim. 
 Till his religious whimsey wears out him. 
 His works, his abstinence, his zeal, allow'd. 
 You thick him humble — God accounts him proud ; 
 High in demand, though lowly in pretence. 
 Of all his conduct this the genuine sense — 
 My penitential stripes, my streaming blood. 
 Have purchased Heaven, and proved my title good. 
 
 Turn eastward now, and Fancy shall apply 
 To your weak sight her telescopic eye. 
 The bramin kindles on his own bare head 
 The sacred fire, seif-torturing his trade ; 
 His voluntary pains, severe and long. 
 Would give a barbarous air to British song ;
 
 42 TIlUTfl. 
 
 No grand inquisitor could worse invent, 
 Than he contrives to sufier, well content. 
 
 Which is the saintlier worthy of the frvvo : 
 Past all dispute, yon anchorite, say you. 
 Your sentence and mine difler. What 's a name ? 
 I say the bramin has the fairer claim. 
 If sufferings, Scripture no where recommends, 
 Devised by self to answer sellish ends, 
 Give saintship, then all Europe must agree 
 Ten starving hermits suffer less than he. 
 The truth is, (if the truth may suit your ear. 
 And prejudice have left a passage clear) 
 Pride has attain'd its most luxuriant growth, 
 And poison'd every virtue, in them both. 
 Pride may be pamper'd while the flesh grows lean ; 
 Humility may clothe an English dean ; 
 That grace was Cowper's — his, coufess'd by all — 
 Though placed in golden Durham's second stall. 
 Not all the plenty of a bishop's board. 
 His palace, and his lackeys, and " My Lord," 
 More nourish pride, that condescending vice, 
 Tlian abstinence, and beggary, and lice ; 
 It thrives in misery, and abundant grows 
 In misery fools upon themselves impose. 
 
 But why before us, Protestants, produce 
 An Indian mystic, or a French recluse? 
 Tlieir sin is plain ; but what have we to fear, 
 Keform'd and well instructed. You shall hear. 
 
 Yon ancient prude, whose wither'd features show 
 Slie might be young some forty years ago. 
 Her elbows pinlon'd close upon her hips, 
 Her head erect, her fan upon her lips. 
 Her eyebrows arch'd, her eyes both gone astray, 
 To watch yon amorous couple in their play, 
 With bony and unkerchiefd neck, defies 
 The rude inclemency of wintry skies, 
 Aud sails with lappet-head, and minciug aiis, 
 Duly at clink of bell to morning prayers.
 
 TRUTH. 43 
 
 To thrift and parsimony much inclined, 
 She yet allows herself that boy behind ; 
 The shivering urchin, bending as he goes. 
 With slipshod heels, and dewdrop at his nos ; 
 His predecessor's coat advanced to wear. 
 Which future pages yet are doora'd to share, 
 Carries her Bible tuck'd beneath his arm, 
 And hides his hands to keep his lingers warm. 
 
 She, half an angel in her own account, 
 Doubts not hereafter with the saints to mount, 
 Though not a grace appears, on strictest search, 
 But that she fasts, and item, goes to church. 
 Conscious of age, she recollects her youth. 
 And tells, not always with an eye to truth. 
 Who spann'd her waist, and who, where'er he came, 
 Scrawl'd upon glass Miss Bridget's lovely name ; 
 W^ho stole her slipper, fill'd it with tokay. 
 And drank the little bumper every day. 
 Of temper as envenom'd as an asp, 
 Censorious, and her every word a wasp ; 
 In faithful memory she records the crimes 
 Or real, or fictitious, of the times ; 
 Laugbs at the reputations she has torn. 
 
 And holds them dangling at arm's length in scorn. 
 Such are the fruits of sanctimonious pride, 
 
 Of malice fed while flesh is mortified ; 
 
 Take, Madam, the reward of all your prayers, 
 
 W^here hermits and where bramins meet with theiii ; 
 
 Your portion is with them — Nay, never frown, 
 
 But, if you please, seme fathoms lower down. 
 Artist, attend — your brushes and your paint — 
 
 Produce them — take a chair — now draw a saiut. 
 
 Oh sorrowful and sad ! the streaming tears 
 
 Channel her cheeks — a Is'iobe appears ! 
 
 Is this a saint? Throw tints and all away — 
 
 True Piety is cheerful as the day ; 
 
 Will weep indeed, and heave a pitying groan, 
 
 For others' woes, but smilps upon her own.
 
 44 TRUTH. 
 
 What purpose has the King of saints in view ? 
 Why falls the Gospel like a gracious dew ? 
 To call up plenty from the teeming earth, 
 Or curse the desert with a tenfold dearth? 
 Is it that Adam's ollspring may be saved 
 From servile fear, or be the more enslaved ? 
 To loose the links that gall'd mankind before, 
 Or bind them faster on, and add still more P 
 The freeborn Christian has no chains to prove, 
 Or, if a chain, the golden one of love : 
 No fear attends to quench his glowing fires, 
 What fear he feels his gratitude inspires. 
 Shall he, for such deliverance freely wrought. 
 Recompense ill ? He trembles at the thought. 
 His master's interest and his own combined 
 Prompt every movement of his heart and mind ; 
 Thought, word, and deed, his liberty evince, 
 His freedom is the freedom of a prince. 
 
 Man's obligations iuiiuite, of course 
 His life should prove, that he perceives their force : 
 His utmost he can render is but small — 
 The principle and motive all in all. 
 You have two servants — Tom, an arch sly rogue. 
 From top to toe the Geta now in vogue. 
 Genteel in iigure, easy in address, 
 Moves without noise, and swift as an express, 
 Reports a message with a pleasing grace. 
 Expert in all the duties of his place ; 
 Say, on what hinge does his obedience move ? 
 Has he a world of gratitude and love ? 
 No, not a spark — 'tis all mere sharper's play ; 
 He likes your house, your housemaid, and your pay; 
 Reduce his wages, or get rid of her, 
 Tom quits you, with — your most obedient, sir. 
 
 The dinner served, Charles takes his usual stand, 
 Watches your eye, anticipates command ; 
 Sighs if perhaps your appetite should fail ! 
 Aud, if he but suspects a frovfii, turns palo ;
 
 TRUTH. 45 
 
 Consults all day your interest and your ease, 
 Richly rewarded if he can but please ; 
 And proud to make his firm attachment known, 
 To save your life, would nobly risk his own. 
 
 Now which stands highest in your serious thought? 
 Charles, without doubt, say you — and so he ought > 
 One act, that from a thankful heart proceeds. 
 Excels ten thousand mercenary deeds. 
 
 Thus Heaven approves as honest and sincere 
 The work of generous love and filial fear ; 
 But with averted eyes the' omniscient Judge 
 Scorns the base hireling, and the slavish drudge. 
 
 Where dwell these matchless saints? old Curio 
 E'en at your side, sir, and before your eyes, [cries. 
 The favour'd few — the enthusiasts you despise ; 
 And pleased at heart because on holy ground 
 Sometimes a canting hypocrite is found, 
 Reproach a people with a single fall. 
 And cast his filthy garment at them all. 
 Attend ! — an apt similitude shall show. 
 Whence springs the conduct that offends you so. 
 
 See where it smokes along the sounding plain, 
 Blown all aslant, a driving, dashing rain, 
 Peal upon peal redoubling all around. 
 Shakes it again and faster to the ground ; 
 Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play, 
 Swift beyond thought the lightnings dart away. 
 Ere yet it came, the traveller urged his steed. 
 And hurried, but with unsuccessful speed ; 
 Now drench'd throughout, and hopeless of bis case. 
 He drops the rein, and leaves him to his pace. 
 Suppose, unlook'd for in a scene so rude. 
 Long hid by interposing hill or wood. 
 Some mansion, neat and elegantly dress'd, 
 By some kind hospitable heart possess'd. 
 Offer him warmth, security, and rest ; 
 Think with what pleasure, safe and at his ease. 
 He hears the tempest howling in the trees ;
 
 4.6 TRUTH. 
 
 V»"riat glowing thanks liis lips and heart employ. 
 While danger past is turn'd to present joy ! 
 So fares it with the sinner, ^vhen he feels 
 A growing dread of vengeance at his heels : 
 His conscience, like a glassy lake before, 
 Lash'd into foaming waves begins to roar ; 
 The law grown clamorous, though silent long, 
 Arraigns him — charges him with every Avrong — 
 Asserts the rights of his ofl'ended Lord, 
 And death or restitution is the word : 
 The last impossible, he fears the first. 
 And, having well deserved, expects the worst. 
 Then welcome refuge, and a peaceful home ; 
 
 for a shelter from the wrath to come ! 
 Crush me, ye rocks ; ye falling mountains, hide 
 Or bury me in ocean's angry tide. — 
 
 The scrutiny of those all-seeing eyes 
 
 1 dare not — and you need not, God replies ; 
 The remedy you want I freely give : 
 
 The book shall teach you — read, believe, and live 
 'Tis done — the raging storm is heard no more, 
 Mercy receives him on her peaceful shore : 
 And Justice, guardian of the dread command, 
 Drops the red vengeance from his willing hand. 
 A soul redeem'd demands a life of praise ; 
 Hence the complexion of his future days. 
 Hence a demeanour holy and unspeck'd, 
 And the world's hatred, as its sure efl'ect. 
 
 Some lead a life unblamable and just. 
 Their own dear virtue their unshaken trust : 
 They never sin — or if (as all oflend) 
 Some trivial slips their daily walk attend, 
 The poor are near at hand, the charge is small, 
 A slight gratuity atones for all. 
 For though tire pope has lost his interest here, 
 And pardons are not sold as once they were. 
 No papist more desirous to comj)ound. 
 Than seme grave sinners npon English ground.
 
 TRUTH. 47 
 
 That plea refuted, other quirks (hey seek — 
 
 Mercy is iufiiiite, and man is weak ; 
 
 The future shall obliterate the past, 
 
 And Heaven no doubt shall be their home at last. 
 
 Come then — a still small whisper in your ear — 
 He has no hope, who never had a fear ; 
 And he that never doubted of his state, 
 He may perhaps — perhaps he may — too late. 
 The path to bliss abounds with many a snare ; 
 Learning is one, and wit, however rare. 
 Vtie Frenchman, first in literary fame, 
 (Mention him if you please. Voltaire ? — The same.) 
 With spirit, genius, eloquence, supplied. 
 Lived long, wrote much, laugh'd heartily, and died ; 
 The Scripture was his jest-book, whence be drew 
 Bon mots to gall the Christian and the Jew ; 
 An infidel in health, but what when sick? 
 O — then a text would touch him at the quick . 
 View him at Paris in his last career. 
 Surrounding throngs the demigod revere ; 
 Exalted on his pedestal of pride, 
 And fumed with frankincense on every side. 
 He begs their flattery with his latest breath, 
 And smother'd in 't at last, is praised to death. 
 
 Yon cottager, who weaves at her own door, 
 Pillow and bobbins all her little store ; 
 Content though mean, and cheerful if not gay, 
 Shuffling her threads about the livelong daj-. 
 Just earns a scanty pittance, and at night 
 Lies down secure, her heart and pocket liglit ; 
 She, for her humble sphere by nature fit, 
 Has little understanding, and no wit, 
 Receives no praise ; but, though her lot be such, 
 (Toilsome and indigent) she renders much ; 
 Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true — 
 A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew ; 
 And in that charter reads with sparkling eyes 
 Her title to a treasure in the skies.
 
 48 TRtTH. 
 
 O happy peasant ! O nnhappy bard ! 
 His the mere tinsel, hers the rich reward ; 
 He praised perhaps for ages yet to come, 
 She never beard of half a mile from home : 
 He lost in errors his vain heart prefers, 
 She safe in the simplicity of hers. 
 
 Not many wise, rich, noble, or profound 
 In science, win one inch of heavenly ground. 
 And is it not a mortifying thought, 
 The poor should gain it, and the rich should not? 
 No — the voluptnaries, who ne'er forget 
 One pleasure lost, lose Heaven without regret ; 
 Regret would rouse them, and give birth to prayer. 
 Prayer would add failii, and faith would fix them there. 
 Not that the Former of us all in this, 
 Or aught he does, is govern'd by caprice : 
 The supposition is replete with sin, 
 And bears the brand of blasphemy burn'd in. 
 Not so — the silver trumpet's heavenly call 
 Sounds for the poor, but sounds alike for all : 
 Kings are invited, and would kings obey, 
 No slaves on earth more welcome were than they : 
 But royalty, nobility, and state. 
 Are such a dead preponderating weiglit. 
 That endless bliss (how strange soe'er it seem), 
 In counterpoise. Hies up and kicks the beam. 
 'Tis open, and ye cannot enter — why ? 
 Because ye will not, Conyers would reply — 
 And he says much, that many may dispute 
 And cavil at with ease, but none refute. 
 O bless'd effect of penury and want. 
 The seed sown there, how vigorous is the plant! 
 No soil like poverty for growth divine, 
 As leanest land supplies the richest wine. 
 Earth gives too little, giving only bread. 
 To nourish pride, or turn the weakest he.id ; 
 To lliem the sounding jargon of the schools 
 .Seems what it is — a cup and bells for fools j
 
 TRL'TH. 49 
 
 The light tbey walk by, kindled from above, 
 Shows them the shortest way to life and love : 
 The}', strangers to the controversial field, 
 Where deists, always foilM, jet scorn to yield, 
 And never check'd by what impedes the wise, 
 Believe, rush forward, and possess the prize. 
 
 Envy, ye great, the doll unletter'd small : 
 Ye have ranch cause for envj- — but not all. 
 We boast some rich ones, whom the Gospel sways. 
 And one who wears a coronet and prays ; 
 Like gleanings of an olive-tree tbey show, 
 Here and there one upon the topmost bough. 
 
 How readily upon the Gospel plan. 
 That question has its answer — What is man ? 
 Sinful and weak, in every sense a wretch : 
 An instrument, who.'e chords upon the stretch, 
 And strain'd to the last screw that he can bear. 
 Yield onlj' discord in his Maker's ear : 
 Once the bless'd residence of truth divine, 
 Glorious as Solyma's interior shrine, 
 W'here, in his own oracular abode. 
 Dwelt visibly the light-creating God ; 
 But made long since, like Babylon of old, 
 A den of mischiefs never to be told : 
 And she once mistress of the realms around, 
 Now scatter'd wide and no where to be found, 
 As soon shall rise and reascend the throne. 
 By native power and energy her own, 
 As Nature at her own peculiar cost. 
 Restore to man the glories he has lost. 
 Go — bid the winter cease to chill the year. 
 Replace the wandering comet in his sphere. 
 Then boast (but wait for that unlioped-for hour) 
 The self-restoring arm of human power. 
 But what is man in his own proud esteem .'' 
 Hear him — himself the poet and the theme : 
 A monarcl> clothed with majesty and awe, 
 His mind his kingdom, and bis will his law, 
 
 VOL. I. IJ
 
 OU TRUTH. 
 
 Grace ju his mien, aiul glory in his eyes, 
 Supreme on earth, and worthy of the skies, 
 Strength in his heart, dominion in his nod, 
 And, thunderbolts excepted, quite a god ! 
 
 So sings he, charm'd with his own mind and form. 
 The song magnificent — the theme a worm ! 
 Himself so much the source of his delight, 
 His Maker has no beauty in his sight. 
 See where he sits contemplative and lix'd, 
 Pleasure and wonder in his features mix'd . 
 His passions tamed and all at his control, 
 How perfect the composure of his soul! 
 Complacency has breatlied a gentle gale 
 O'er all his thoughts, and swell'd his easy sail : 
 His books well trimni'd and in the gayest style. 
 Like regimented coxcombs rank and file, 
 Adorn his intellects as well as shelves. 
 And teach him notions splendid as themselves : 
 The Bible only stands neglected there, 
 Though that of all most worthy of his care ; 
 And, like an infant troublesome awake. 
 Is left to sleep for peace and quiet sake. 
 
 What shall the nian deserve of humankind, 
 Whose happy skill and industry combined 
 Shall pcove (what arguujent could never yet) 
 The Bible an imposture and a cheat ? 
 The praises of the libertine ])rofess'd, 
 The worst of men, and curses of tlie best. 
 Where should the living, weeping o'er his woes, 
 The dying, trembling at the awful close, 
 Where the bctray'd, forsaken, and oppress'd, 
 'i'he thousands whom the world forbids to rest, 
 Where sliould they find, (those comforts at an ml 
 The Scripture yields) or hope to find, a friend ? 
 Sorrow might muse herself to madness then, 
 And seeking exile from the sight of men. 
 Bury herself in .solitude profound, 
 Grow frantic with her pangs, and bite the grotin;!.
 
 51 
 
 Thus often Unbelief, grown sick of life. 
 
 Flies to the tempting pool, or felon knife. 
 
 The jury meet, the coroner is short, 
 
 And lunacy the verdict of the court ; 
 
 Reverse the sentence, let the truth be known. 
 
 Such lunacy is ignorance alone : 
 
 They knew not, what some bishops may not know, 
 
 That Scripture is the only cure of woe : 
 
 That field of promise, how it flings abroad 
 
 Its odour o'er the Christian's thorny road ! 
 
 The soul, reposing on assured relief. 
 
 Feels herself happy amidst all her grief. 
 
 Forgets her labour as she toils along. 
 
 Weeps tears of joy, and bursts into a song. 
 
 But the same word, that, like tlie polish'd share. 
 Ploughs up the roots of a believer's care, 
 Kills too the flowery weeds, where'er they grow, 
 That bind the sinner's Bacchanalian brow. 
 O that unwelcome voice of heavenly love, 
 Sad messenger of mercy from above! 
 How does it grate upon his thankless ear, 
 Crippling his pleasures with the cramp of fear ! 
 His will and judgment at continual strife. 
 That civil war imbitters all his life : 
 In vain he points his powers against the skies. 
 In vain he closes or averts his eyes, 
 Truth will intrude — she bids him yet beware : 
 And shakes the sceptic in the scorner's chair. 
 
 Though various foes against the truth combiue. 
 Pride above all opposes her design ; 
 Pride, of a growth superior to the rest, 
 The subtlest serpent with the loftiest crest. 
 Swells at the thought, and, kindling into rage. 
 Would hiss the cherub Mercy from the stage. 
 
 And is the soul indeed so lost ? — she cries. 
 Fallen from her glory and too weak to rise ? 
 Torpid and dull beneath a frozen zone, 
 Has she no spark that may be deem'd her own ?
 
 52 TRUTH. 
 
 Grant her indebted to what zealots call 
 Grace undeserved, yet surely not for all — 
 Some beams of rectitude she yet displays, 
 Some love of virtue, and some power to praise ; 
 Can lift herself above corporeal things, 
 And, soaring on her own unborrow'd wings. 
 Possess herself of all that 's good or true. 
 Assert the skies, and vindicate her due. 
 Past indiscretion is a venial crime, 
 And if the youth, unmellow'd yet by time. 
 Bore on his branch, luxuriant then and rude, 
 Fruits of a blighted size, austere and crude, 
 Maturer years shall happier stores produce, 
 And meliorate the well concocted juice. 
 Then, conscious of her meritorious zeal. 
 To Justice she may make her bold appeal, 
 And leave to Mercy, with a tranquil mind, 
 The worthless and unfruitful of mankind. 
 Hear then how Mercy, slighted and defied, 
 Retorts the' aftVont against the crown of Pride. 
 
 Perish the virtue, as it ought, abhorr'd, 
 A)id the fool with it, who insults his Lord. 
 The' atonement, a Redeemer's love has wrought, 
 Is not for you — the righteous need it not. 
 Seest thou yon harlot wooing all she meets, 
 The worn-out nuisance of the public streets. 
 Herself from morn to night, from night to morn, 
 Her own abhorrence, and as much your scorn ; 
 The gracious sliower, unlimited and free, 
 Shall fail on her, when Heaven denies it thee. 
 Of all tliat wisdom dictates this the drift. 
 That man is dead in sin, and life a gift. 
 
 Is virtue (hen, unless of Christian growth. 
 Mere fallacy, or foolishness, or both ? 
 Ten thousand sages lost in endless woe, 
 For ignorance of what they could not know ? 
 That speech betrays at once a bigot's tongue, 
 Charge not a God with such oulray^ous wrong.
 
 Truly not I — the partial light men have, 
 
 My creed persuades me, ■well employed may save ; 
 
 While he that scorns the noonday beam, perverse. 
 
 Shall find the blessing unimproved a curse. 
 
 Let heathen worthies, whose exalted mind 
 
 Left sensuality and dross behind, 
 
 Possess for me their undisputed lot, 
 
 And take unenvied the reward they sought; 
 
 But still in virtue of a Saviour's plea, 
 
 Not blind by choice, but destined not to see. 
 
 Their fortitude and wisdom were a flame 
 
 Celestial, though they knew Jiot whence it came, 
 
 Derived from the same source of light and grace, 
 
 Tliat guides the Christian in his swifter race ; 
 
 Their judge was Conscience, and her rule their law. 
 
 That rule, pursued with reverence and with awe. 
 
 Led them, however faltering, faint, and slow. 
 
 From what they knew, to what they wish'd to know. 
 
 But let not him that shares a brighter day, 
 
 Traduce the splendour of a noontide ray. 
 
 Prefer the twilight of a darker time. 
 
 And deem his base stupidity no crime ; 
 
 The wretch, who slights the bounties of the skies, 
 
 And sinks, while favour'd with the means to rise. 
 
 Shall find them rated at their full amount. 
 
 The good he scorn'd all carried to account. 
 
 Marshaling all his terrors as he came. 
 Thunder, and earthquake, and devouring flame. 
 From Sinai's top Jehovah gave the law, 
 Life for obedience, death for every flaw. 
 When the great Sovereign would his will express^ 
 He gives a perfect rule ; what can he less ? 
 And guards it with a sanction as severe 
 As vengeance can inflict; or sinners fear : 
 Else his own glorious rights he would disclaim, 
 And man might safely trifle with his name. 
 He bids him glow with unremitting love 
 To all on earth, and to himself above ;
 
 54 TRUTH. 
 
 Condemns tlie' injurious deed, the slanderous tongue, 
 The thought that meditates a brother's wrong : 
 Brings not aloue the more conspicuous part, 
 His conduct, to the test, but tries his heart. 
 
 Hark ! universal Nature shook and groan'd ; 
 'Tvvas the last trumpet — see the Judge enthroned ! 
 Rouse all your courage at your utmost need. 
 Now summon every virtue, stand and plead. 
 What ! silent ? Is your boasting heard no more ? 
 That self-renouncing wisdom, learn'd before, 
 Had shed immortal glories on your brow, 
 Tliat all your virtues cannot purchase now. 
 
 All joy to the believer! he can speak — 
 Trembling yet happy, confident yet meek. 
 Since the dear hour, that brought me to thy foot, 
 And cut up all my follies by the root, 
 I never trusted in an arm but thine. 
 Nor hoped but in thy righteousness divine : 
 My prayers and alms, imperfect and defiled. 
 Were but the feeble eftbrts of a child ; 
 Howe'erperform'd, it was their brightest part. 
 That they proceeded from a grateful heart ; 
 Cleansed in thine own all-purifying blood. 
 Forgive their evil, and accept their good ; 
 I cast them at thy feet — my only plea 
 Is what it v/as, dependance upon thee ; 
 While struggling in the vale of tears below, 
 That never fail'd, nor shall it fail me now. 
 
 Angelic gratulations rend the skies, 
 Pride falls unpitied, never more to rise. 
 Humility is crown'd, and Faith receives the prize.
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 Tantane tarn patiens, nullo certamine foUi 
 Dona siues.' Firg. 
 
 Why weeps the Muse for England? What appears 
 
 In England's case, to move the Muse to tears ' 
 
 From side to side of her delightful isle 
 
 Is she not clothed with a perpetual smile ? 
 
 Can Nature add a charm, or art confer 
 
 A new-found luxurj not seen in her? 
 
 Where under Heaven is pleasure more pursued? 
 
 Or where does cold reflection less intrude ? 
 
 Her fields a rich expanse of wavy corn, 
 
 Pour'd out from Plenty's overflowing horn ; 
 
 Ambrosial gardens in which Art supplies 
 
 The fervour and the force of Indian skies ; 
 
 Her peaceful shores, where busy Commerce waits, 
 
 To pour his golden tide through all her gates ; 
 
 Whom fiery suns, that scorch the russet spice 
 
 Of eastern groves, and oceans floor'd with ice. 
 
 Forbid in vain to push his daring way 
 
 To darker cliuies, or climes of brighter day ; 
 
 Whom the winds waft where'er the billows roll, 
 
 From the world's girdle to the frozen pde ; 
 
 The chariots bounding in her wheel-worn streets ; 
 
 Her vaults below, where every vintage meets ; 
 
 Her theatres, her revels, and her sports ; 
 
 The scenes to which not youih alone resorts, 
 
 But age, in spite of weakness and of pain, 
 
 .Stilhhannts, io hopre to dream of youth again ;
 
 56 fiXPOSTLLATION. 
 
 All speak her happy : let the Muse look roami 
 
 From East to West, no sorrow can be found : 
 
 Or only what, in cottages confined, 
 
 Sighs unregarded to the passing wind. 
 
 Then wherefore weep for England ? What appears 
 
 In England's case, to move the Muse to tears ? 
 
 The prophet wept for Israel ; wish'd his eyes 
 Were fountains fed with infinite supplies : 
 For Israel dwelt in robbery and wrong : 
 There were the scorner's and the slanderer's tongue; 
 Oaths, tised as playthings or convenient tools, 
 As interest bias'd knaves, or fashion fools ; 
 Adultery, neighing at his neighbour's door; 
 Oppression, labouring hard to grind the poor ; 
 The partial balance, and deceitful weight ; 
 The treacherous smile, a mask for secret hate ; 
 Hypocrisy, formality in prayer, 
 And the dull service of the lip were there. 
 Her women, insolent and self-caress'd. 
 By Vanity's unwearied finger dress'd. 
 Forgot the blush that virgin fears impart 
 To modest cheeks, and borrow'd one from art ; 
 Were just such trilles, without worth or use, 
 As silly pride and idleness produce ; 
 Curl'd, scented, furbelow'd, and flounced around, 
 With feet too delicate to touch the ground. 
 They stretch'd the neck, and roU'd the wanton eye. 
 And sigh'd for every fool that flutter'd by. 
 He saw his people slaves to every lust, 
 Lewd, avaricious, arrogant, unjust; 
 He heard the wheels of an avenging God 
 Groan heavily along the distant road : 
 Saw Babylon set wide her two-leaved brass, 
 To let the military deluge pass ; 
 Jerusalem a prey, her glory soil'd, 
 Her princes captive, and her treasures spoil'd ; 
 Wept till all Israel hoord his bitter cry, 
 Stamp'd with his foot, and smote upon his thigh ;
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 57 
 
 But wept, and stamp'd, and smote Lis thigh in vaiu. 
 Pleasure is deaf when told of future pain. 
 And sounds prophetic are too rough to suit 
 Ears long accustora'd to the pleasing lute ; 
 Thej scorn'd his inspiration and his theme, 
 Pronounced him frantic, and his fears a dream ; 
 With self-indulgence wing'd the fleeting hours. 
 Till the foe found them, and down fell their towers. 
 
 Long time Assyria bound them in her chain, 
 Till penitence had purged the public stain. 
 And Cyrus, -with relenting pity moved, 
 Return'd them happy to the land they loved ; 
 There, proof against prosperity, a while 
 They stood the test of her ensnaring smile, 
 And had the grace in scenes of peace to show 
 The virtues they had learn'd in scenes of woe. 
 But man is frail, and can but ill sustain, 
 A long immunity from grief and pain ; 
 And, after all the joys that Plenty leads, 
 With tiptoe step Vice silently succeeds. 
 
 When he that ruled them with a shepherd's rod. 
 In form a man, in dignity a God, 
 Came, not expected in that humble guise, 
 To sift and search them with unerring eyes. 
 He found, conceal'd beneath a fair outside. 
 The filth of rottenness, and worm of pride ; 
 Their piety a system of deceit. 
 Scripture employ 'd to sanctify the cheat ; 
 The pharisee the dupe of his own art. 
 Self-idolized, and yet a knave at heart. 
 
 When nations are to perish in their sins, 
 'Tis in the church the leprosy begins ; 
 The priest, whose office is with zeal sincere 
 To watch the fountain, and preserve it clear, 
 Carelessly nods and sleeps upon the brink, 
 While others poison what the flock must drink _; 
 Or, waking at the call of lust alone. 
 Infuses lies and errors of his own.
 
 58 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 Ilis unsuspecting sheep believe it pure ; 
 And, tainted by the very moans of cure, 
 Catch from each other a contagious spot, 
 The foul forerunner of a general rot. 
 Then truth is hush'd, that Heresy may preach, 
 And all is trash, that Reason cannot reach : 
 Then God's own image on the soul impress'd 
 Becomes a mockery, and a standing jest ; 
 And faith, the root whence only can arise 
 The graces of a life that v/ins the skies, 
 Loses at once all value and esteem. 
 Pronounced by graybeards a pernicious dream ; 
 Then Ceremony leads her bigots forth, 
 Prepared to figlit for sliadows of no worth ; 
 While truths, on which eternal things depend, 
 Find not, or hardly find, a single friend ; 
 As soldiers watch the signal of command, 
 They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand ; 
 Happy to fill Religion's vacant place 
 With hollow form, and gesture, and gi-imace. 
 
 Such, when the Teacher of his church was there 
 People and priesjt, the sons of Israel were ; 
 Slifl" in the letter, lax in the design 
 And import, of their oracles divine ; 
 Their learning legendary, false, absurd, 
 And yet exalted above God's own word ; 
 Tliey drew a curse from an intended good, 
 Pufl"d up wish gifts they never understood. 
 He judged them with as terrible a frown. 
 As if not love, but wrath, had brought him down : 
 Yet he was gentle as soft summer airs. 
 Had grace for other's sins, but none for theirs ; 
 Through all he spoke a noble plainness ran — 
 Rhetoric is artifice, the work of man ; 
 And tricks and turns, that fancy may devise. 
 Are far too mean for him that rules the skies. 
 The' astonish'd vulgar trembled while he tore 
 The mask from faces never seen l)efore ;
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 59 
 
 lie slripp'd the' impostors in the noonday sun, 
 Show'il that they foUow'd all they seem'd to shun ; 
 Their prayers made public, their excesses kept 
 As private as the chambers where they slept ; 
 The temple and its holy rites profaned 
 By mummeries he that dwelt in it disdaia'd ; 
 Uplifted hands, that at convenient times, 
 Could act extortion and the worst of crimes, 
 Wash'd with a neatness scrupulously nice. 
 And free from every taint but that of vice. 
 Judgment, however tardy, mends her pace 
 When Obstinacy once has conquered Grace. 
 They saw distemper heal'd, and life restored. 
 In answer to the iiat of his word ; 
 Confessed the wonder, and with daring tongue 
 Blasphemed the' authority from which it sprung. 
 They knew, by sure prognostics seen on high, 
 The ^uture tone and temper of the sky ; 
 But, grave dissemblers ! could not understand, 
 That Sin let loose speaks Punishment at hand. 
 
 Ask now of history's authentic page. 
 And call up evidence from every age ; 
 Display with busy and laborious hand 
 Tiie blessings of the most indebted land ; 
 What nation will you find, whose annals prove 
 So rich an interest in almighty love ; 
 Where dwell they now, where dwelt in ancient day, 
 A people planted, water'd, bless'd, as they ? 
 Let Egypt's plagues and Canaan's vv'oes proclaim 
 The favours pour'd upon the Jewish name ; 
 Their freedom purchased for them at the cost 
 Of all their hard oppressors valued most ; 
 Their title to a country not their own 
 Made sure by prodigies till then unknown ; 
 For them the states they left made waste and void ; 
 For them the states, to which they went, destroy'd ; 
 A cloud to measure out their march by day, 
 By night a fire to cheer the gloomy way ;
 
 60 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 That moving signal summoning, when best. 
 Their host to move, and, when it staid, to rest. 
 For them the rocks dissolved into a flood, 
 The dews condensed into angelic food, 
 Their very garments sacred, old yet new. 
 And Time forbid to touch them as he flew ; 
 Streams, swell'd above the bank, enjoin'd to stand, 
 While they pass'd through to their appointed land ; 
 Their leader arm'd with meekness, zeal, and love. 
 And graced with clear credentials from above ; 
 Themselves secured beneath the' Almighty wing ; 
 Their God their captain,* lawgiver, and king ; 
 Crown'd with a thousand victories, and at last 
 Lords of the conquer'd soil, there rooted fast, 
 In peace possessing what they won by war. 
 Their name far publish'd, and revered as far ; 
 Where will you fmd a race like theirs, endow'd 
 With all that man e'er wish'd, or Heaven bestow'd ? 
 
 They, and they only, amongst all mankind 
 Received the transcript of the' Eternal Mind j 
 Were trusted with his own engraven laws, 
 And constituted guardians of his cause ; 
 Theirs were the prophets, theirs the priestly call. 
 And theirs by birth the Saviour of us all. 
 In vain the nations, that had seen them rise 
 With fierce and envious yet admiring eyes. 
 Had souglit to crush them, guarded as they were 
 By power divine and skill that could not err. 
 Had they mainiain'd allegiance firm and sure. 
 And kept the faith immaculate and pure, 
 Then the proud eagles of all-conquering Rome 
 Had found one city not to be o'ercome ; 
 And the twelve standards of the tribes unfurl'd 
 Had bid defiance to the warring world. 
 But grace abused brings forth the foulest deeds, 
 As richest soil the most luxuriant weeds. 
 
 • .$c« Joshua, V. 14.
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 61 
 
 Cured of the golden calves, their fathers' sin, 
 They set up self, that idle god, within ; 
 View'd a Deliverer with disdain and hate. 
 Who left them still a tributary state ; 
 Seized fast his hand, held out to set them free 
 From a worse yoke, and nail'd it to the tree ; 
 There was the consummation and the crown, 
 The flower of Israel's infamy full blown ; 
 Thence date their sad declension and their fall. 
 Their woes, not yet repeal'd, thence date them all. 
 
 Thus fell the best instructed in her day. 
 And the most favour'd land, look where we may. 
 Philosophy indeed on Grecian eyes 
 Had pour'd the day, and clear'd the Roman skies ; 
 In other climes perhaps creative Art, 
 With power surpassing theirs, perform'd her part. 
 Might give more life to marble, or might till 
 The glowing tablets with a juster skill. 
 Might sliine in fable, and grace idle themes 
 With all the' embroidery of poetic dreams ; 
 "Twas theirs alone to dive into the plan. 
 That Truth and Mercy had reveal'd to man ; 
 And while the world beside, that plan unknown, 
 Deified useless wood, or senseless stone, 
 Thej' breathed in faith their well-directed prayers. 
 And the true God, the God of truth, Avas theirs. 
 
 Their glory faded, and their race dispersed. 
 The last of nations now, though once the first ; 
 They warn and teach the proudest, would they learn. 
 Keep wisdom, or meet vengeance in your turn : 
 If we escaped not, if Heaven spared not us, 
 Peel'd, scatter'd, and exterminated thus ; 
 If Vice received her retribution due. 
 When we were visited, what hope for you? 
 When God arises with an awful frown. 
 To punish lust, or pluck presumption down ; 
 When gifts perverted, or not duly prized. 
 Pleasure o'ervalued, and bis grace despised,
 
 C)t EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 Provoke the vengeance of his rif^hleous hand, 
 To pour down wrath upon a thankless land; 
 He will be found impartially severe, 
 Too just to wink, or speak the guilty clear. 
 
 O Israel, of all nations most undone ! 
 Thy diadem displaced, thy sceptre gone ; 
 Thy temple, once thy glory, fallen and rased, 
 And thou a worshipper e'en where thou muyst ; 
 Thy services once only without spot, 
 Mere shadows now, their ancient pomp forgot ; 
 Thy Leviies, once a consecrated host, 
 No longer Levites, and their lineage lost. 
 And, thou thyself o'er every country sown. 
 With none on earth that thou canst call thine own ; 
 Cry aloud thou that sittest in the dust, 
 Cry to the proud, the cruel, and unjust ; 
 Knock at the gates of nations, rouse their fears ; 
 Say wrath is coming, and the storm appears ; 
 But raise the shrillest cry in British ears. 
 
 What ails thee, restless as the waves that ror.r, 
 And fling their foam against thy chalky shore ? 
 Mistress, at least while Providence shall please, 
 And trident-bearing queen of the wide seas — 
 Why, having kept good faith, and often shown 
 Friendship and truth to others, find'st thou none ? 
 Thou tliat hast set the persecuted free, 
 None interposes now to succour thee. 
 Countries indebted to thy power that shiiic 
 Witli light derived from thee, would smother thine : 
 Thy very children watch for thy disgrace — 
 A lawless brood, and curse thee to thy face. 
 Thy rulers load thy credit, year by year. 
 With sums Peruvian mines could never clear ; 
 As if, like arches built with skilful hand, 
 The more 'tv/ere press'd the firmer it would stand. 
 
 The cry in all thy ships is still the same, 
 Speed us uway to battle and to fame.
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 Thy mariners explore the wild expanse, 
 
 Impatient to descry the flaf^s of France : 
 
 But, though they fi;^ht as thine have ever fought, 
 
 Return ashamed without the wreaths they sought. 
 
 Thy senate is a scene of civil jar, 
 
 Chaos of contrarieties at war ; 
 
 Where sharp and solid, phlegmatic and light. 
 
 Discordant atoms meet, ferment, and tight ; 
 
 Where Obstinacy takes his sturdy stand, 
 
 To disconcert what Policy has plann'd ; 
 
 Where Policy is busied all night long 
 
 In setting right what Faction has set wrong ; 
 
 Where ilails of oratory thresh the floor. 
 
 That yields them chall" and dust, and nothing more. 
 
 Thy rack'd inhabitants repine, complain, 
 
 Tax'd till the brow of Labour sweats in vain ; 
 
 War lays a burden on the reeling state. 
 
 And Peace does nothing to relieve the weight ; 
 
 Successive loads succeeding broils impose. 
 
 And sighing millions prophesy the close. 
 
 Is adverse Providence, when ponder'd well, 
 So dimly writ, or difficult to spell. 
 Thou canst not read with readiness and ease 
 Providence adverse in events like these ? 
 Know then that heavenly wisdom on this ball 
 Creates, gives birth to, guides, consummates all ; 
 That, while laborious and quick-thoughted man 
 Snutl's up the praise of what he seems to plan, 
 He first conceives, then perfects his design, 
 As a mere instrument in hands divine: 
 Blind to the working of that secret power, 
 That balances the wings of every hour. 
 The busy tritler dreams himself alone, 
 Frames many a purpose, and God works his own. 
 States thrive or wither as moons wax and wane, 
 E'en as his will and his decrees ordain : 
 W^hile honour, virtue, piety, bear sway. 
 They flourish ; and, as these decline, decoy.
 
 64 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 In jiist resentment of his injared laws, 
 
 He pours contempt on them and on their cause ; 
 
 Strikes the rough thread of error right athwart 
 
 The web of every scheme tliey have at h^art ; 
 
 Bids rottenness invade and bring to dust 
 
 The pilhirs of support, in which they trust. 
 
 And do his errand of disgrace and shame 
 
 On the chief strength and glory of the frame. 
 
 None ever yet impeded what he wrought. 
 
 None bars him out from his most secret thought ; 
 
 Darkness itself before his eye is light, 
 
 And Hell's close mischief naked in his sight. 
 
 Stand now and judge thyself. — Kast thou incurr'd 
 His anger, who can waste thee with a word, 
 Who poises and proportions sea and land, 
 Weighing them in the hollow of his hand. 
 And in whose awful sight ail nations seem 
 As grasshoppers, as dust, a drop, a dream ? 
 Hast thou (a sacrilege his soul abhors) 
 Claim'd all the glory of thy prosperous wars ? 
 Proud of thy fleets and armies, stolen the gem 
 Of his just praise to lavish it on them ? 
 Hast thou not learn'd what thou art often told, 
 A truth still sacred, and believed of old, 
 That no success depends on spears and swords 
 Unbless'd, and that the battle is the Lord's? 
 That Courage is his creature, and Dismay 
 The post that at his bidding speeds away, 
 Gliastly in feature, and his stammering tongue, 
 AV^itii doleful rumour and sad presage himg. 
 To quell the valour of the stoutest heart, 
 And teach the combatant a woman's part? 
 That he bids thousands fly, where none pursue, 
 Saves as he wiii by many or by few, 
 And claims for ever, as his royal right, 
 Tlie' event and sure decision of the light? 
 
 Hast thou, though suckled at fair Freedom's breast, 
 Kxported slavery to the conquer'd East,
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 65 
 
 Puird down the tyrants India served with dread. 
 
 And raised thyself, a greater, in their stead ; 
 
 Gone thither arm'd and liungry, retiirn'd full. 
 
 Fed from the richest veins of the Mogul, 
 
 A despot big with power obtain'd by wealth. 
 
 And that obtain'd by rapine and by stealth ? 
 
 With Asiatic vices stored thy miad. 
 
 But left their virtues and thine own behind ; 
 
 And, having track'd thy soul, brought home the fee, 
 
 To tempt the poor to sell himself to thee ? 
 
 Hast thou by statute shoved from its design 
 
 The Saviour's feast, his own bless'd bread and wine, 
 
 And made the symbols of atoning grace 
 
 An office key, a picklock to a place. 
 
 That infidels may prove their title good 
 
 By an oath dipp'd in sacramental blood ? 
 
 A blot that will be still a blot, in spite 
 
 Of all that grave apologists may write : 
 
 And though a bisliop toil to cleanse the stain, 
 
 He wipes and scours the silver cup in vain. 
 
 And hast thou sworn on every slight pretence, 
 
 Till perjuries are common as bad pence, 
 
 While thousands careless of the damning sin. 
 
 Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er lookd within ? 
 
 Hast thou, when Heaven has clothed thee with dis- 
 And, long provoked, repaid thee to thy face, [grace, 
 (For thou hast known eclipses, and endured 
 Dimness and anguish, all thy beams obscured, 
 When sin has shed dishonour on thy brow ; 
 And never of a sabler hue than now) 
 Hast thou, with heart perverse, and conscience sear'd. 
 Despising all rebuke, still persevered. 
 And, having chosen evil, scorn'd the voice 
 That cried. Repent ! — and gloried in thy choice ? 
 Thy fastings, when calamity at last 
 Suggests the' expedient of a yearly fast. 
 What mean they ? Canst thou dream there is a power 
 In lighter diet at a later hour, 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 i;XI»()STUI.ATION. 
 
 To charm to sleep the threatening of the skies. 
 
 And hide past follj from all-seeing eyes ? 
 
 The fast, that wins deliverance, and suspends 
 
 The stroke, that a vindictive God intends, 
 
 Is to renounce hypocrisy : to draw 
 
 Thy life upon the pattern of the law ; 
 
 To war with pleasure, idolized before; 
 
 To vanquish lust, and wear its yoke no more. 
 
 All fasting else, whate'er be the pretence, 
 
 Is wooing mercy by renew'd oflfence. 
 
 Hast thou within the sin, that in old time 
 
 Brought fire from Heaven, the sex-abusing crime. 
 
 Whose horrid perpetration stamps disgrace. 
 
 Baboons are free from, upon human race? 
 
 Think on the fruitful and well-water'd spot, 
 
 That fed the flocks and herds of wealthy Lot, 
 
 Where Paradise seera'd still vouchsafed on earth. 
 
 Burning and scorch'd into perpetual dearth. 
 
 Or, in his words who damn'd the base desire, 
 
 Suttering the vengeance of eternal fire ; 
 
 Then Nature injured, scandalized, defiled, 
 
 Unveil'd her blushing cheek, look'd on, and smiled ; 
 
 Beheld with joy the lovely scene defaced, 
 
 And praised the wrath that laid her beauties waste. 
 
 Far be the thought from any verse of mine, 
 And farther still the formed and fix'd design, 
 To thrust the charge of deeds that I detest, 
 Against an innocent unconscious breast : 
 The man that dares traduce, because he can 
 With safety to himself, is not a man : 
 An individual is a sacred mark, 
 Not to be pierced in play, or in the dark ; 
 But public censure speaks a public foe. 
 Unless a zeal for virtue guide the blow. 
 
 The priestly brotherhood, devout, sincere, 
 From mean self-interest and ambition clear, 
 Their hope in Heaven, servility their scorn. 
 Prompt to persuade, expostulate, and warn,
 
 EXPOSTULATION-. 67 
 
 Their wisdom pure, and given them from above, 
 Their usefulness ensured by zeal and love, -- 
 
 As meek as the man Moses, and witlial 
 As bold as in Aj^rippa's presence Paul, 
 Should fly the World's contaminating touch. 
 Holy and unpolluted : — are thine such ? 
 Except a few with Eli's spirit bless'd, 
 Hoplini and Phineas may describe the rest. 
 
 Where shall a teacher look, in days like these. 
 For ears and hearts, that he can hope to please ■" 
 Look to the poor — the simple, and the plain 
 Will hear perhaps thy salutary strain : 
 Humility is gentle, apt to learn, 
 Speak but the word, will listen and return. 
 Alas, not so ! the poorest of the Hock 
 Are proud, and set their faces as a rock; 
 Denied that earthly opulence they choose, 
 God's better gift they scoff at and refuse. 
 The rich, the produce of a nobler stem. 
 Are more intelligent at least, try them. 
 O vain inquiry ! they without remorse 
 Are altogether gone a devious course; 
 Where beckoning Pleasure leads them, wildly stray; 
 Have burst the bands, and cast the yoke away. 
 
 Now borne upon the wings of truth sublime. 
 Review thy dim original and prime. 
 This island, spot of unreclaim'd rude earth, 
 The cradle that received thee at thy birth, 
 Was rock'd by many a rough Norwegian blast, 
 And Danish bowlings scared thee as they passd; 
 For thou wast born amid the din of arms. 
 And suck'd a breast that panted with alarms. 
 While yet thou wast a groveling puling chit. 
 Thy bones not fashion'd, and thy joints not knit. 
 The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow. 
 Though twice a Caesar could not bend thee now : 
 His victory was that of orient light, 
 When the sub's shafts disperse the gloom of night.
 
 68 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 TIij language at this distant moment shows 
 How much the country to the conqueror owes ; 
 Expressive, energetic, and refined, 
 It sparkles with the gems he left behind : 
 He brought thy land a blessing when he came, 
 He found thee savage, and he left thee tame ; 
 Taught thee to clothe thy pink'd and painted hide. 
 And grace thy iigure with a soldier's pride ; 
 He sow'd the seeds of order where he went. 
 Improved thee far beyond his own intent. 
 And, while he ruled thee by the sword alone, 
 Made thee at last a warrior like his own. 
 Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, 
 Needs only to be seen to be admired; 
 But thine as dark as witcheries of the night. 
 Was form'd to harden hearts and shock the sight ; 
 Thy Druids struck the well-hung harps they bore 
 With fingers deeply dyed in human gore ; 
 And, while the victim slowly bled to death. 
 Upon the rolling chords rung out his dying breath. 
 
 Who brought the lamp, that with awaking beams 
 Dispell'd thy gloom, and broke away thy dreams, 
 Tradition, now decrepit and worn out. 
 Babbler of ancient fables, leaves a doubt : 
 But still light reach'd thee ; and those gods of thine, 
 Woden and Thor, each tottering in his shrine, 
 Fell broken and defaced at his own door, 
 As Dagon in Philistia long before. 
 But Rome with sorceries and magic wand 
 Soon raised a cloud that darkened every land ; 
 And thine was smotlier'd in the stench and fog 
 Of Tiber's marshes and the papal bog. 
 Then priests with bulls and briefs, and shaven crowns. 
 And griping fists, and unrelenting frowns, 
 Legates and delegates with powers from Hell, 
 Though heavenly in pretension, fleeced thee well; 
 And to this hour, to keep it fresh in mind, 
 Some twigs of that old scourge are left behind*. 
 ♦ Which ni:ty be found at Doctor** Commons.
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 69 
 
 Thy soldiery, the pope's well managed pack, 
 
 Were train'd beneath his lash, aud knew the smack. 
 
 And when he laid them on the scent of blood, 
 
 Would hunt a Saracen through tire and flood. 
 
 Lavish of life to win an empty tomb. 
 
 That proved a mint of wealth, a mine to Rome, 
 
 They left their bones beneath unfriendly skies. 
 
 His worthless absolution all the prize. 
 
 Thou wast the veriest slave in days of yore. 
 
 That ever dragged a chain, or tugg'd an oar ; 
 
 Thy monarchs, arbitrary, fierce, unjust, 
 
 Themselves the slaves of bigotry or lust, 
 
 Disdain'd thy counsels, only in distress 
 
 Found thee a goodly spunge for Power to press. 
 
 Thy chiefs, the lords of many a petty fee. 
 
 Provoked and harassed, in return plagued thee ; 
 
 Call'd thee away from peaceable employ. 
 
 Domestic happiness and rural joy, 
 
 To waste thy life in arms, or lay it down 
 
 In causeless feuds and bickerings of their own. 
 
 Thy parliaments adored on bended knees 
 
 Thy sovereignty, they were convened to please ; 
 
 Whate'er was ask'd, too timid to resist. 
 
 Complied with, aud were graciously dismiss'd ; 
 
 And if some Spartan soul a doubt expressed, 
 
 And blushing at the tameiiess of the rest. 
 
 Dared to suppose the subject had a choice. 
 
 He was a traitor by the general voice. 
 
 O slave ! with powers thou didst not dare exert, 
 
 Verse cannot stoop so low as thy desert ; 
 
 It shakes the sides of splenetic Disdain, 
 
 Thou self-entitled ruler of the main. 
 
 To trace thee to the date when yon fair sea. 
 
 That clips thy shores, had no such charms for thee ; 
 
 When other nations flew from coast to coast. 
 
 And thou hadst neither fleet nor flag to boast. 
 
 Kneel now, and lay thy forehead in the dust ; 
 Blush if thou canst ; not petrified, thou must ;
 
 70 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 Act but an honest and a faithful part ; 
 
 Compare what then thou wast with what thou art ; 
 
 And God's disposing providence confess'd, 
 
 Obduracy itself must yield the rest — 
 
 Then thou art bound to serve him and to prove, 
 
 Hour after hour, thy gratitude and love. 
 
 Has he not hid thee, and thy favoured land. 
 For ages safe beneath his sheltering hand. 
 Given thee his blessing on the clearest proof. 
 Bid nations leagued against thee stand aloof. 
 And charged Hostility and Hale to roar. 
 Where else they would, but not upon thy shore ? 
 His power secured thee, when presumptuous Spain 
 Baptized her fleet, invincible in vain ; 
 Her gloomy monarch, doubtful and resign'd 
 To every pang that racks an anxious mind, 
 Ask'd of the waves^ that broke upon his coast, 
 What tidings ? and the surge replied — All lost ! 
 And when the Stuart leaning on the Scot, 
 Then too much fear'd, and now too much forgot, 
 Pierced to the very centre of the realm. 
 And hoped to seize his abdicated helm, 
 'Twas but to prove, how quickly with a frown 
 He that had raised thee could have pluck'd thee down. 
 Peculiar is the grace by thee possess'd, 
 Thy foes implacable, thy land at rest ; 
 Thy thunders travel over earth and seas. 
 And all at home is pleasure, wealth, and ease. 
 'Tis thus, extending his tempestuous arm, 
 Thy Maker fills the nations with alarm. 
 While his own Heaven surveys the troubled scene, 
 And feels no change, unshaken and serene. 
 Freedom, in other lands scarce known to shine, 
 Pours out a Hood of splendour upon thine ; 
 Thou hast as blight an interest in her rays, 
 As ever Roman had in Rome's best days. 
 True freedom is where no restraint is known, 
 That Scripture, Justice, and good Sense disown,
 
 EXPOSTULATION. Ti 
 
 Where only Vice and Injury are tied, 
 And all from shore to shore is free beside. 
 Such freedom is — and Windsor's hoary towers 
 Stood trembling at the boldness of thy powers, 
 That won a nymph on that immortal plain, 
 Like her the fabled Phoebus woo'd in vain : 
 He found the laurel only — happier you. 
 The' unfading laurel and the virgin too !* 
 
 Now think, if Pleasure have a thought to spaie ; 
 If God himself be not beneath her care ; 
 If Business, constant as the wheels of time, 
 Can pause an hour to read a serious rhyme ; 
 If the new mail thy merchants now receive. 
 Or expectation of the next give leave : 
 O think, if chargeable with deep arrears 
 For such indulgence gilding all thy years. 
 How much, though long neglected, shining yet 
 The beams of heavenly truth have swell'd the Jobt. 
 When persecuting zeal made royal sport 
 With tortured innocence in 3Iary's court, 
 And Bonner, blithe as shepherd at a wake, 
 Enjoy'd the show, and danced about the stake ; 
 The sacred book, its value understood. 
 Received the seal of martyrdom in blood. 
 Those holy men, so full of truth and grace. 
 Seem to reflection of a different race. 
 Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere, 
 Iq such a cause they could not dare to fear ; 
 They could not purchase earth with such a prize. 
 Or spare a life too short to reach the skies. 
 From them to thee convey'd along the tide. 
 Their streaming hearts pour'd freely when they died. 
 Those truths which neither use nor years impair. 
 Invite thee, woo thee, to the bliss they share. 
 What dotage will not Vanity maintain ? 
 What web too weak to catch a modern brain ? 
 
 * Alliidinj; to the grant of Magna Charts, v.liich was extorted 
 from king John liy the barons, at Kiinnynitde, ntar \"> ladswi.
 
 72 EXPOSTLLATION. 
 
 The moles and bats iu full assembly find, 
 
 On special search, the keen-ejed eagle blind. 
 
 And did they dream, and art thou wiser now ! 
 
 Prove it — if better, I submit and bow. 
 
 Wisdom and Goodness are twin born, one heart 
 
 Must hold both sisters, never seen apart. 
 
 So then — as darkness overspread the deep, 
 
 Ere Nature rose from her eternal sleep, 
 
 And this delightful earth, and that fair sky, 
 
 Leap'd out of nothing, call'd by the Most High : 
 
 By such a change thy darkness is made liglit, 
 
 Thy chaos order, and thy weakness might ; 
 
 And He, whose power mere nullity obeys. 
 
 Who found thee nothing, form'd thee for his praise. 
 
 To praise him is to serve him, and fulfil 
 
 Doing and sufiering, his nnquestion'd will ; 
 
 'Tis to believe what men inspired of old. 
 
 Faithful, and faithfully inform'd, unfold ; 
 
 Candid and just, with no false aim in view. 
 
 To take for truth what cannot but be true ; 
 
 To learn in God's own school the Cliristian part, 
 
 And bind the task assign'd thee to thine heart*. 
 
 Happy the man there seeking and there found, 
 
 Happy the nation where such men abound. 
 
 How shall a verse impress thee ; by what name 
 Shall I adjure thee not to court thy shame ? 
 By theirs, whose bright example unimpeach'd 
 Directs thee to that eminence they reach'd. 
 Heroes and worthies of days past, thy sires ? 
 Or his, who toucli'd their hearts with hallow'd fires ? 
 Their names, alas ! in vain reproach an age, 
 AVhom all tlie vanities they scorn'd engage ; 
 And his, that seraphs trembled at, is hung 
 Disgracefully on every trifler's tongue, 
 Or serves the cliampion in forensic war 
 To llouiish and parade with at the bar. 
 Pleasure herself perhaps suggests a plea, 
 If interest move thee, to persuade e'en thee ;
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 73 
 
 By every charm that smiles upon her face, 
 By joys possess'd, and joys still held in chase, 
 If dear society be worth a thought. 
 And if the feast of freedom cloy thee not, 
 Reflect that these, and all that seem thine own. 
 Held by the tenure of his will alone. 
 Like angels in the service of their Lord, 
 Remain with thee, or leave thee at his word ; 
 That gratitude and temperance in our use 
 Of what he gives unsparing and profuse. 
 Secure the favour, and enhance the joy. 
 That thankless waste and wild abuse destroy. 
 But above all reflect, how cheap soe'er 
 Those rights, that millions envy thee, appear. 
 And though resolved to risk them, and swim down 
 The tide of pleasure heedless of His frown. 
 That blessings truly sacred, and, when given, 
 Mark'd with the signature and stamp of Heaven, 
 The word of prophecy, those truths divine, 
 Which make that Heaven, if thou desire it, tiiine, 
 (Awful alternative ! believed, beloved. 
 Thy glory ; and thy shame if unimproved) 
 Are never long vouchsafed, if push'd aside 
 With cold disgust or philosophic pride ; 
 And that judicially withdrawn, disgrace, 
 Error, and darkness, occupy their place. 
 
 A world is up in arms, and thou a spot 
 Not quickly found, if negligently sought. 
 Thy soul as ample as thy bounds are small, 
 Endurest the brunt, and darest defy them all : 
 And wilt thou join to this bold enterprise 
 A bolder still, a contest with the skies ? 
 Remember, if he guard thee, and secure. 
 Whoe'er assails thee, thy success is sure ; 
 But if he leave thee, though the skill and power 
 Of nations, sworn to spoil thee and devour, 
 W ere all collected in thy single arm, 
 And thou couldst laugh away the fear of harm,
 
 74 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 That strength would fail opposed against the piisli 
 And feeble onset of a pigmy rash. 
 
 Say not (and if the thought of such defence 
 Should spring within thy bosoin, drive it thence) 
 What nation amongst all my foes is free 
 From crimes as base as any charged on me ? 
 Their measure fill'd, they too shall pay the debt, 
 Which God, though long forborn, will not forget. 
 But know that Wrath divine, when most severe. 
 Makes justice still the guide of his career, 
 And will not punish, in one mingled crowd, 
 Them without light, and thee without a cloud. 
 
 Muse, hang this harp upon you aged beech, 
 Still murmuring with the solemn truths 1 teach : 
 And while at intervals a cold blast sings 
 Through the dry leaves, and pants upon the strings, 
 My soul shall sigh in secret, and lament 
 A nation scourged, yet tardy to repent. 
 1 know the warning song is sung in vain. 
 That few will hear and fewer heed the strain ; 
 But if a sweeter voice, and one design'd 
 A blessing to my country and mankind, 
 Reclaim the wandering thousands, and bring home 
 A flock so scalter'd and so wont to roam, 
 Tlien place it once again between my knees ; 
 The sound of truth will then be sure to please : 
 And truth alone, where'er my life be cast. 
 In scenes of plenty, or the pining waste. 
 Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last.
 
 HOPE. 
 
 - doceas iter, et sacra ostea pandas. 
 
 f'ir^. £n. 6. 
 
 Ask what is human life — the sage replies, 
 
 With disappointment lowering in his ejes, 
 
 A painful passage o'er a restless ilood, 
 
 A vain pursuit of fugitive false good, 
 
 A scene of fancied bliss and heart-feit care, 
 
 Closing at last in darkness and despair. 
 
 The poor, inured to drudgery and distress. 
 
 Act without aim, think little, and feel less, 
 
 And no where, but in feignd Arcadian scenes, 
 
 Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means. 
 
 Riches are pass'd away from hand to liand. 
 
 As fortune, vice, or folly may command ; 
 
 As in a dance the pair that take the lead 
 
 Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed. 
 
 So shifting and so various is the plan. 
 
 By which Heaven rules the mix'd afl'airs of man : 
 
 Vicissitude wheels round the motley crosvd, 
 
 The rich grow poor, the poor become purse proud j 
 
 Business is labour, and man's weakness such, 
 
 Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much. 
 
 The very sense of it foregoes its use. 
 
 By repetition pall'd, by age obtuse. 
 
 Youth lost in dissipation, we deplore, 
 
 Through life's sad remnant, what no sighs restore , 
 
 Our years, a fruitless race without a prize, 
 
 Too many, yet too few to make us wise.
 
 76 HOPE. 
 
 Dangling liis cane about, and taking sniifl', 
 Lothario cries, What philosophic stall" — 
 O querulous and weak! — whose useless brain 
 Once thought o>f nothing, and now thinks in vain ; 
 Whose eye reverted weeps o'er all the past, 
 Whose prospect shows thee a disheartening waste ; 
 Would age in thee resign his wintry reign, 
 And youth invigorate that frame again, 
 Renew'd desire would grace Avith other speech 
 Joys always prized, when placed within our reach. 
 
 For lift thy palsied head, shake off the gloom 
 That overhangs the borders of thy tomb. 
 See Nature gay, as when she first began 
 With smiles alluring her admirer man ; 
 She spreads the morning over eastern hills, 
 Earth glitters with the drops the night distils : 
 The Sun obedient at her call appears. 
 To fling his glories o'er the robe she wears ; 
 Banks clothed with flowers, groves fiU'd with sprightly 
 
 sounds. 
 The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rising grounds. 
 Streams edged with osiers, fattening every field 
 Where'er they flow, now seen and now conceal'd ; 
 From the blue rim where skies and mountains meet, 
 Down to the very turf beneath thy feet. 
 Ten thousand charms, that only fools despise. 
 Or pride can look at with indiflerent eyes, 
 All speak one language, all with one sweet voice 
 Cry to her universal realm. Rejoice ! 
 Man feels the spur of passions and desires. 
 And she gives largely more than he requires; 
 Not that his hours devoted all to Care, 
 Hollow-eyed Abstinence, and lean Despair, 
 The wretch may pine, while to his smell, taste, sight, 
 She holds a paradise of rich deligiit ; 
 But gently to rebuke his awkward fear. 
 To prove that what she gives, she gives sincere,
 
 77 
 
 To banish hesitation, and proclaim 
 
 His happiness, her dear, her only aim. 
 
 'Tis grave Philosophy's absurdest dream, 
 
 That Heaven's intentions are not what they seem, 
 
 That only shadows are dispensed below, 
 
 And earth has no reality but woe. 
 
 Thus things terrestrial wear a different hue. 
 As youth or age persuades ; and neither true : 
 So Flora's wreath through colour'd crystal seen. 
 The rose or lily appears blue or green. 
 But still the' imputed tints are those alone 
 The medium represents, and not their own. 
 
 To rise at noon, sit slipshod and undress'd. 
 To read the news, or fiddle, as seems best. 
 Till half the world comes rattling at his door, 
 To fill the dull vacuity till four ; 
 And, just when evening turns the blue vault gray. 
 To spend two hours in dressing for the day ; 
 To make the Sun a bauble without use, • 
 Save for the fruits his heavenly beams prodace ; 
 Quite to forget, or deem it worth no thought. 
 Who bids him shine, or if he shine or not ; 
 Through mere necessity to close his eyes 
 Just when the larks and when the shepherds rise ; 
 Is such a life, so tediously the same. 
 So void of all utility or aim. 
 That poor JoNQUlL, with almost every breath 
 Sighs for his exit, vulgarly called death ; 
 For he, with all his follies, has a mind 
 Not 3^et so blank, or fashionably blind, 
 But now and then perhaps a feeble ray 
 Of distant wisdom shoots across his way. 
 By which he reads, that life without a plan, 
 As useless as the moment it began. 
 Serves merely as a soil for discontent 
 To thrive in ; an encumbrance ere half spent. 
 O weariness beyond what asses feel. 
 That tread the circuit of the cistern wheel ;
 
 7^ Hopr. 
 
 AV.uII rotation, never at a stay, 
 Yesterday's face twin image of to-day ; 
 While conversation, an exhausted stock. 
 Grows drowsy at the clicking of a clock. 
 No need, he cries, of gravity stuff'd out 
 With academic dignity devout, 
 To read wise lectures, vanity the text : 
 Proclaim the remedy, ye learned, next ; 
 For truth self-evident, with pomp impress'd, 
 Is vanity surpassing all the rest. 
 
 That remedy, not hid in deeps profound. 
 Yet seldom souglit where only to be found. 
 While passion turns aside from its due scope 
 The' inquirer's aim, that remedy is hope. 
 Life is His gift, from whom whate'er life needs. 
 With every good and perfect gift proceeds ; 
 Bestow'd on man, like all that we partake, 
 Royally, freely, for his bounty's sake ; 
 Transient indeed, as is the fleeting hour. 
 And yet the seed of an immortal flower ; 
 Design'd in honour of his endless love. 
 To fill with fragrance his abode above : 
 No trifle, howsoever short it seem. 
 And, howsoever shadowy, no dream : 
 Its value what no tliought can ascertain, 
 Nor all an angel's eloquence explain. 
 Men deal with life, as children witli their play. 
 Who first misuse, then cast their toys away ; 
 Live to no sober purpose, and contend, 
 That their Creator had no serious end. 
 When God and man stand opposite in view; 
 Man's disappointment must of course ensue. 
 The just Creator condescends to write, 
 In beams of inextinguishable light. 
 His names of wisdom, goodness, power, and love, 
 On all tliat blooms below, or sliines above ; 
 To catch the wandering notice of mankind. 
 And teach the world, if not perversely blind,
 
 79 
 
 His gracious attributes, and prove the sliare 
 His offspring hold in his paternal care. 
 If, led from earthly things to things divine, 
 His creature thwart not his august design. 
 Then praise is heard instead of reasoning pride, 
 And captions cavil and complaint subside. 
 Nature, emploj'd in her allotted place, 
 Is hand-maid to the purposes of Grace ; 
 By good vouchsafed makes known superior good, 
 And bliss not seen by blessings understood : 
 That bliss, reveal'd in Scripture, with a glow 
 Bright as the covenant-ensuring bow, 
 Fires all his feelings with a noble scorn 
 Of sensual evil, and thus Hope is born. 
 Hope sets the stamp of vanity on all 
 That men have deera'd substantial since the fall, 
 Yet has the wondrous virtue to educe 
 From emptiness itself a real use ; 
 And while she takes, as at a father's hand, 
 What health and sober appetite demand. 
 From fading good derives, with chemic art. 
 That lasting happiness, a thankful heart. 
 Hope, with uplifted foot set free from earth, 
 Pants for the place of her etherial birth, 
 On steady wings sails through the' immense abyss. 
 Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss. 
 And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here, 
 With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear. 
 Hope, as an anchor firm and sure, holds fast 
 The Christian vessel, and defies the blast. 
 Hope ! nothing else can nourish and secure 
 His new-born virtues, and preserve him pure. 
 Hope ! let the wretch, once conscious of the joy. 
 Whom now despairing agonies destroy. 
 Speak, for he can, and none so well as he, 
 What treasures centre, what delights in thee. 
 Had he the gems, the spices, and the land, 
 That boasts the treasure, all at his command ;
 
 80 HOPE. 
 
 The fragrant grove, the' inestimable mine, 
 
 Were light, when weigh'd against one smile of thine. 
 
 Though, clasp'd and cradled in his nurse's arms, 
 He shines with all a cherub's artless charms, 
 Man is the genuine oflspring of revolt, 
 Stubborn and sturdy as a wild ass' colt ; 
 His passions, like the watery stores that sleep 
 Beneath the smiling surface of the deep. 
 Wait but the lashes of a wintry storm. 
 To frown and roar, and shake his feeble form. 
 From infancy through childhood's giddy maze, 
 Froward at school, and fretful in his plays. 
 The puny tyrant burns to subjugate 
 The free republic of the whip-gig state. 
 If one, his equal in athletic frame, 
 Or, more provoking still, of nobler name. 
 Dare step across his arbitrary views, 
 An Iliad, only not in verse, ensues : 
 The little Greeks look trembling at the scales, 
 Till the best tongue, or heaviest hand prevails. 
 
 Now see him launch'd into the world at large ; 
 If priest, supinely droning o'er his charge. 
 Their fleece his pillow, and his weekly drawl, 
 Though short, too long, the price he pays for all. 
 If lawyer, loud whatever cause he plead, 
 But proudest of tlie worst, if that succeed. 
 Perhaps a grave physician, gathering fees. 
 Punctually paid for lengthening out disease ; 
 No Cotton, whose humanity sheds rays. 
 That make superior skill his second praise. 
 If arms engage him, he devotes to sport 
 His date of life, so likely to be short; 
 A soldier may be any thing, if brave, 
 So may a tradesman, if not quite a knave. 
 Such stufl'the world is made of; and mankind 
 To passion, interest, pleasure, whim, resign'd. 
 Insist on, as if each were his own pope. 
 Forgiveness and the privilege of hope.
 
 81 
 
 But Conscience, in some awfal silent hour, 
 When captivating lusts have lost their power, 
 Perhaps when sickness, or some fearful dreain, 
 Reminds him of religion, hated theme ! 
 Starts from the down, on which she lately slept, 
 And tells of laws despised, at least not kept: 
 Shows with a pointing finger, but no noise, 
 A pale procession of past sinful joys. 
 All witnesses of blessings foully scorn'd, 
 And life abused, and not to be suborn'd. 
 Mark these, she says ; these, summon'd from afar. 
 Begin their march to meet thee at the bar ; 
 There find a judge, inexorablj'^ just, 
 And perish there, as all presumption must. 
 Peace be to those (such peace as earth can give) 
 Who live in pleasure, (dead e'en while they live) ; 
 Born capable indeed of heavenly truth ; 
 But down to latest age, from earliest youth. 
 Their mind a w ilderness through want of care, 
 The plough of wisdom never entering there. 
 Peace (if insensibility may claim 
 A right to the meek honours of her name) 
 To men of pedigree ; their noble race. 
 Emulous always of the nearest place 
 To any throne, except the throne of grace. 
 Let cottagers and uneulighten'd swains 
 Revere the laws they dream that Heaven ordains ; 
 Resort on Sundays to the house of prayer. 
 And ask, and fancy they find, blessings there. 
 Themselves perhaps, when weary they retreat 
 To' enjoy cool nature in a country seat, 
 To' exchange the centre of a thousand trades. 
 For clumps, and lawns, and temples, and cascades. 
 May now and then their velvet cushions take. 
 And seem to pray for good example sake ; 
 Judging, in charity no doubt, the town 
 Pious enough, and having need of none. 
 VOL. I. a
 
 82 HOPE. 
 
 Kind souls ! to teach their tenantry to prize 
 What ihej themselves, without remorse, despi-se : 
 Nor hope have they, nor fear, of aught to come. 
 As well for them had prophecy been dumb; 
 They could have held the conduct they pursue 
 Had Paul of Tarsus lived and died a Jew. 
 And truth, proposed to reasoners wise as they, 
 Is a pearl cast — completely cast away. 
 
 They die. — Death lends them, pleased and as iu 
 All the grim honours of his ghastly court. [spoit, 
 
 Far other paintings grace the chamber now. 
 Where late we saw the mimic landscape glow : 
 The busy heralds hang the sable scene 
 With mournful scutcheons, and dim lamps between ; 
 Proclaim their titles to the crowd around, 
 But they that wore them move not at the sound ; 
 The coronet, placed idly at their head, 
 Adds nothing now to the degraded dead, 
 And e'en the star, that glitters on the bier, 
 Can only say — Nobility lies here. 
 Peace to all such — 'twere pity to offend, 
 By useless censure, whom we cannot mend ; 
 Life without hope can close but in despair, 
 'Twas there we found them, and must leave them there. 
 
 As, when two pilgrims in a forest stray, 
 Both may be lost, yet each in his own way ; 
 So fares it with the multitudes beguiled 
 In vain Opinion's waste and dangerous wild ; 
 Ten thou.sand rove the brakes and thorns among, 
 Some eastward, and some westward, and all wrong. 
 But here^ alas ! the fatal difference lies, 
 Each man's belief is right in his own eyes ; 
 And he that blames, what they have blindly chose. 
 Incurs resentment for the love he shows. 
 
 Say, botanist, within whose province fall 
 The cedar and the hyssop on the wall. 
 Of all that deck Uie lanes, the fields, the bowers, 
 What parts the kindred tribes of weeds and flowtio ?
 
 Sweet scent, or lovely form, or both combined, 
 
 Distinguish every cultivated kind ; 
 
 The want of both denotes a meaner breed, 
 
 And Chloe from her garland picks the weed. 
 
 Thus hopes of every sort, whatever sect 
 
 Esteem them, sow them, rear them, and protect. 
 
 If wild in nature, and not duly found, 
 
 Gethseraane ! in thy dear hallow'd ground, 
 
 That cannot bear the blaze of Scripture light. 
 
 Nor cheer the spirit, nor refresh the siglit, 
 
 Tsor animate the soul to Christian deeds, 
 
 (^Oh cast them from thee !) are weeds, arrant weeds. 
 
 Ethelred's house, the centre of six ways, 
 Diverging each from each, like equal rays, 
 Himself as bountiful as April rains. 
 Lord paramount of the surrounding plains. 
 Would give relief of bed and board to none, 
 But guests that sought it in the' appointed One, 
 And they might enter at his open door. 
 E'en till his spacious hall would hold no more. 
 He sent a servant forth by every road. 
 To sound his horn, and publish it abroad. 
 That all might mark — knight, menial, high, and low. 
 An ordinance it concern'd them much to know. 
 If after all some headstrong hardy lout. 
 Would disobey, though sure to be shut out, 
 Could he with reason murmur at his case, 
 Himself sole author of his own disgrace ? 
 No ! the decree was just and without flaw , 
 And he that made, had right to make, the law ; 
 His sovereign power and pleasure unrestrain'd, 
 The wrong was his, who wrongfully complaind. 
 
 Yet half mankind maintain a churlish strife 
 With Him, the Donor of eternal life. 
 Because the deed, by which his love confirms 
 The largess he bestows, prescribes the terms. 
 Compliance with his will your lot ensures. 
 Accept it only, and the boon is yours.
 
 84 HOPE. 
 
 And sure it is as kind to smile and give. 
 
 As with a frown to say, Do this, and live. 
 
 Love is not pedlar's trumpery bought and sold : 
 
 He li-'dl give freely, or he %c'dl withhold ; 
 
 His soul abhors a mercenary thought, 
 
 And him as deeply who abhors it not ; 
 
 He stipulates indeed, but merely this, 
 
 That man will freely take an unbought bliss, 
 
 Will trust him for a faithful generous part. 
 
 Nor set a price upon a willing heart. 
 
 Of all the ways that seem to promise fair, 
 
 To place you where his saints his presence share, 
 
 This only can ; for this plain cause, express'd 
 
 In terms as plain, Himself has shut the rest. 
 
 But oh the strife, the bickering, and debate, 
 
 The tidings of unpurchased Heaven create ! 
 
 The flirted fan, the bridle, and the toss. 
 
 All speakers, yet all language at a loss. 
 
 From stuccoed walls smart arguments rebound ; 
 
 And beaus, adepts in every thing profound, 
 
 Die of disdain, or whistle ofl' the sound. 
 
 Such is the clamour of rooks, daws, and kites, 
 
 The' explosion of the level'd tube excites. 
 
 Where mouldering abbey-walls o'erhang the glad< 
 
 And oaks coeval spread a mournful shade. 
 
 The screaming nations, hovering in mid air, 
 
 Loudly resent the stranger's freedom there, 
 
 And seem to warn him never to repeat 
 
 His bold intrusion on their dark retreat. 
 
 Adieu, Vinosa cries, ere yet he sips 
 The purple buniper trembling at his lips. 
 Adieu to all morality ! if Grace 
 JMake works a vain ingredient in the case. 
 The Christian hope is — Waiter, draw the cork — 
 If I mistake not — Blockhead ! with a fork ! 
 Without good works, whatever some may boast, 
 Mere folly and delusion — Sir, your toast.
 
 HOPE. 85 
 
 My firm persuasion is, at least sometimes, 
 
 That Heaveu will weigh man's virtues and his crimes 
 
 With aice attention, in a righteous scale. 
 
 And save or damn as these or those prevail. 
 
 I plant my foot upon this ground of trust, 
 
 And silence every fear with — God is just. 
 
 But if perchance on some dull drizzling day 
 
 A thought intrude, that says, or seems to say, 
 
 If thus the' important cause is to be tried. 
 
 Suppose the beam should dip on the wrong side ; 
 
 I soon recover from these needless frights. 
 
 And God is merciful — sets all to rights. 
 
 Thus, between justice, as my prime support. 
 
 And mercy, fled to as the last resort, 
 
 I glide and steal along with Heaven in view, 
 
 And, — pardon me, the bottle stands with you. 
 
 I never will believe, the colonel cries, 
 The sanguinary schemes that some devise. 
 Who make the good Creator on their plan 
 A being of less equity than man. 
 If appetite, or what divines call lust, 
 W^hich men comply with e'en because they must, 
 Be punish'd with perdition, who is pure ? 
 Then theirs, no doubt, as well as mine, is sure, 
 If sentence of eternal pain belong 
 To every sudden slip and transient wrong. 
 Then Heaven enjoins the fallible and frail 
 A hopeless task, and damns them if they fall. 
 My creed (whatever some creed-makers mean 
 By Athanasian nonsense, or Nicene) 
 My creed is, he is safe, that does his best. 
 And death 's a doom sufficient for the rest. 
 
 Right, says an ensign ; and, for aught I see. 
 Your faith and mine substantially agree ; 
 The best of every man's performance here 
 Is to discharge the duties of his sphere. 
 A lawyer's dealings should be just and fair, 
 Honesty shines with great advantage there.
 
 86 HOPE. 
 
 Fasting and prayer sit weli upon a priest, 
 
 A decent caatiou and reserve at least. 
 
 A soldier's best is courage in the field, 
 
 With nothing here that wants to be conceal'd. 
 
 Manly deportment, gallant, easy, gay ; 
 
 A hand as liberal as the light of day. 
 
 The soldier thus endow'd, who never shrinks, 
 
 Nor closets up his thoughts, whatever he thinks, 
 
 Who scorns to do an injury by stealth, 
 
 Must go to heaven — and I must drink his health. 
 
 Sir Smug, he cries (for lowest at the board, 
 
 Just made tifth chaplain of his patron lord, 
 
 His shoulders witnessing by many a shrug 
 
 How much his feelings sufler'd, sat Sir Smug) 
 
 Your ollice is to winnow false from true ; 
 
 Come, prophet, drink, and tell us. What think you? 
 
 Sighing and smiling as he takes his glass, 
 Which they that woo preferment rarely pass. 
 Fallible man, tlie church-bred youth replies. 
 Is still found fallible, however wise ; 
 And dilferiug judgments serve but to declare 
 That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where. 
 Of all it ever was my lot to read. 
 Of critics now alive, or long since dead ; 
 The book of all the world that charm'd me most 
 Was, well-a-day, the title-page was lost ; 
 The writer well remarks, a heart that knows 
 To take with gratitude what Heaven bestows. 
 With prudence always ready at our call. 
 To guide our use of it, is all in all. 
 Eoubtless it is. — To which of my own store, 
 I superadd a few essentials more ; 
 But these, excuse the liberty I take, 
 I wave just now, for conversation's sake. 
 Spoke like an oracle, they all exclaim, 
 And add Right Reverend to Smug's honour'd name. 
 
 And yet our lot is given us in a land. 
 Where busy arts are never at a stand ;
 
 Where Science points her telescopic eye, 
 
 Familiar with the wonders of the sky; 
 
 Where bold Inquiry, diving out of sight, 
 
 Brings many a precious pearl of truth to light; 
 
 Where nought eludes the persevering quest, 
 
 That fashion, taste, or luxury, suggest. 
 But above all, in her own light array'd, 
 
 See Mercy's grand apocalypse display 'd ! 
 
 The sacred book no longer suffers wrong. 
 
 Bound in the fetters of an unknown tongue ; 
 
 But speaks with plainness art could never mend, 
 
 What simplest minds can soonest comprehend. 
 
 God gives the word, the preachers throng around. 
 
 Live from his lips, and spread the glorious sound : 
 
 That sound bespeaks Salvation on her way ; 
 
 The trumpet of a life-restoring day ; 
 
 'Tis heard where England's eastern glory shines, 
 
 And in the gulfs of her Cornubian mines, 
 
 And still it spreads. See Germany send forth 
 
 Her sons* to pour it on the farthest north ; 
 
 Fired with a zeal peculiar, th^y defy 
 
 The rage and rigour of a polar sky, 
 
 And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose 
 
 On icy plains, and iu eternal snows. 
 
 O bless'd within the' enclosure of your rocks, 
 
 Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks ; 
 
 No fertilizing streams your fields divide, 
 
 That show reversed t!ie villas on their side ; 
 
 No groves have ye ; no cheerful sound of bird, 
 
 Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard ; 
 
 Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell 
 
 Of those, that walk at evening where 3'e dwell : 
 
 But Winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown, 
 
 Sits absolute on his unshaken throne ; 
 
 Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste, 
 
 And bids the mountains he has built stand fast ; 
 
 • The Moravian mi'siomries in Gieenland. See Kntntz.
 
 88 HOPE. 
 
 Beckons the legions of bis storms away 
 From liappier scenes, to make your land a prey ; 
 Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won, 
 And scorns to share it with the distant Sun. 
 
 Yet Truth is yours, remote unenvied isle ! 
 And Peace, the genuine oflspring of her smile j 
 The Pride of letter'd Ignorance, that binds 
 In chains of error our accomplish'd minds. 
 That decks, with all the splendour of the true, 
 A false religion, is unknown to 3'ou. 
 Nature indeed vouchsafes for our delight 
 The sweet vicissitudes of day and night ; 
 Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer 
 Field, fruit, and flower, and every creature here ; 
 But brighter beams than his who fires the skies. 
 Have risen at length on your admiring eyes, 
 That shoot into your darkest caves the day. 
 From which our nicer optics tarn away. 
 
 Here see the' encouragement Grace gives to vice, 
 The dire effect of mercy without price! 
 What were they ? what some fools are made by art. 
 They were by nature, atheists, head and heart. 
 The gross idolatry blind heathens teach 
 Was too refined for them, beyond their reach. 
 Not e'en the glorious Sun, though men revere 
 Tiie monarch most, that seldom will appear, 
 And thongh his beams, that quicken where they shine, 
 May claim some right to be esteem'd divine. 
 Not e'en the Sun, desirable as rare. 
 Could bend one knee, engage one votary there ; 
 Tliey were, what base credulity believes 
 True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards, thieves. 
 The full-gorged savage, at his nauseous feast 
 Spent half tiie darkness, and snored out the rest. 
 Was one, whom justice on an equal plan 
 Denouncing death upon the sins of man. 
 Might almost liave indulged with an escape. 
 Chargeable only with a human shape. 
 
 ^1
 
 HOPE. 89 
 
 What are they now ? — Morality may spare 
 Her grave concern, her kind suspicions there : 
 The wretch, who once sang wildly, danced and langh'd, 
 And suck'd in dizzy madness with his draught. 
 Has wept a silent flood, reversed his ways. 
 Is sober, meek, benevolent, and prays, 
 Feeds sparingly, communicates his store, 
 Abhors the craft he boasted of before, 
 And he that stole has learn'd to steal no more. 
 Well spake the prophet. Let the desert sing, 
 Where sprang the thorn, the spiry fir shall spring, 
 And where unsightly and rank thistles gi"ew, 
 Shall grow the myrtle and luxuriant yew. 
 
 Go now, and with important tone demand 
 On what foundation virtue is to stand. 
 If self-exalting claims be turn'd adrift, 
 And grace be grace indeed, &nd life a gift : 
 Tlie poor reclaira'd inhabitant, his eyes 
 Glistening at once with pity and surprise. 
 Amazed that shadows should obscure the sight 
 Of one, whose birth was in a land of light. 
 Shall answer, Hope, sweet Hope, has set me free, 
 And made all pleasures else mere dross to me. 
 
 These, amidst scenes as waste as if denied 
 The common care that waits on all beside, 
 Wild as if Nature there, void of all good, 
 Play'd only gambols in a frantic mood, 
 (Yet charge not heavenly skill with having plann'd 
 A plaything world, unworthy of his hand ;) 
 Can see his love, though secret evil lurks 
 In all we touch, starap'd plainly on his works ; 
 Deem life a blessing with its numerous woes, 
 Nor spurn away a gift a God bestows. 
 Hard task indeed o'er arctic seas to roam ! 
 Is hope exotic ? grows it not at home ? 
 Yes, but an object, bright as orient morn. 
 May press the eye too closely to be borne ;
 
 90 HOPE. 
 
 A distant virtue we can all confess, 
 It hurts our pride, and moves oar envy, less. 
 Leuconomas (beneath vFell-sounding Greek 
 I slur a name a poet must not speak) 
 Stood pilloried on infamy's hiarh stage. 
 And bore the pelting scorn of half an age ; 
 The very butt of slander, and the blot 
 For every dart that Malice ever shot. 
 The man that raention'd him at once dismiss'd 
 All mercy from his lips, and sneer'd and hiss'd ; 
 His crimes were such as Sodom never knew, 
 And Perjury stood up to swear all true ; 
 His aim was mischief, and his zeal pretence, 
 His speech rebellion against common sense ; 
 A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule. 
 And when by that of reason, a mere fool ; 
 The world's best comfort was, his doom was pass'd j 
 Die when he might, he must be damn'd at last. 
 Now, Truth, perform thine oflice ; waft aside 
 The curtain drawn by Prejudice and Pride, 
 Reveal (the man is dead) to wondering eyes 
 This more than monster in his proper guise. 
 
 He loved tlie world that hated him : the tear 
 Tliat dropp'd upon his Bible was sincere : 
 Assail'd by scandal and the tongue of strife, 
 His only answer was a blameless life ; 
 And he that forged, and he that threw the dart. 
 Had each a brotlier's interest in his heart. 
 Paul's love of Christ, and steadiness unbribed, 
 Were copied close in him, and well transcribed. 
 He follow'd Paul ; his zeal a kindred llame. 
 His apostolic charity the same. 
 Like him, cross'd cheerfully tempestuous seas. 
 Forsaking country, kindred, frier.ds, and ease ; 
 Like him lie labour'd, and like him content 
 To bear it, sull'er'd shame where'er he went. 
 Blush Calumny ; and write upon his tomb, 
 If honest Eulogy can spare thee room,
 
 HOPE. 91 
 
 Tliy deep repentance of thy thousand lies, 
 
 Which, aim'd at hirn.have pierced the' offended skies ; 
 
 And say. Blot out my sin, confess'd, deplored, 
 
 Against thine image in thy saint, O Lord ! 
 
 No blinder bigot, I maintain it still. 
 
 Than he who must have pleasure, come what will : 
 
 He laughs, whatever weapon Truth may draw, 
 
 And deems her sharp artillery mere straw. 
 
 Scripture indeed is plain ; but God and he 
 
 On Scripture ground are sure to disagree ; 
 
 Some wiser rule must teach him how to live, 
 
 Than this his Maker has seen fit to give ; 
 
 Supple and flexible as Indian cane. 
 
 To take the bend his appetites ordain ; 
 
 Contrived to suit frail nature's crazy case. 
 
 And reconcile his lusts with saving grace. 
 
 By this, with nice precision of design, 
 
 He draws upon life's map a ^ig^.ag line. 
 
 That shows how far 'tis safe to follow sin. 
 
 And where his danger and God's wrath begin. 
 
 By this he forms, as pleased lie sports along. 
 
 His well-poised estimate of right and wrong ; 
 
 And finds the modish manners of the day, 
 
 Though loose, as harmless as an infant's play. 
 
 Build by whatever plan caprice decrees, 
 
 With what materials, on what ground you please ; 
 
 Your hope shall stand unblamed, perhaps admired. 
 
 If not that hope the Scripture has required. 
 
 The strange conceits, vain projects, and wild dreams, 
 
 W^ith which hypocrisy for ever teems, 
 
 (Though other follies strike the public eye, 
 
 And raise a laugh) pass unmolested by ; - 
 
 But if, unblamable in word or thought, 
 
 A man arise, a man whom God has taught, 
 
 With all Elijah's dignity of tone, 
 
 And all the love of the beloved John, 
 
 To storm the citadels they build in air, 
 
 And smite the' untemper"d wall ; 'tis death to spare.
 
 92 HOPE. 
 
 To sweep away all refuges of lies 
 
 And place, instead of quirks themselves devise ; 
 
 Lama sabacthani before their eyes ; 
 
 To prove that without Christ all gain is loss, 
 
 All hdpe despair, that stands not on his cross ; 
 
 Except the few his God may have impress'd, 
 
 A tenfold frenzy seizes all the rest. 
 
 Throughout mankind, the Christian kind at least. 
 There dwells a consciousness in every breast, 
 That folly ends where genuine hope begins. 
 And he that finds his Heaven must lose his sins, 
 Nature opposes with her utmost force 
 This riving stroke, this ultimate divorce ; 
 And, while religion seems to be her view. 
 Hates with a deep sincerity the true : 
 For this, of all that ever influenced man, 
 Since Abel worship'd, or the world began. 
 This only spares no lust, admits no plea. 
 But makes him, if at all, completely free : 
 Sounds forth the signal, as she mounts her car. 
 Of an eternal, universal war ; 
 Rejects all treaty, penetrates all wiles. 
 Scorns with the same indiflerence frowns and smiles ; 
 Drives through the realms of Sin, where Riot reels. 
 And grinds his crown beneath her burning wheels ! 
 Hence all that is in man, pride, passion, art, 
 Powers of the mind, and feelings of the heart. 
 Insensible of TrutlTs almighty cliarms. 
 Starts at her first approach, and sounds to arms ! 
 Wliile Bigotry, with well dissembled fears, 
 His eyes shut fast, his fingers in his ears, 
 Mighty to parry and push by God's word 
 With senseless noise, his argument the sword. 
 Pretends a zeal for godliness and grace, 
 And spits abhorrence in the Christian's face. 
 
 Parent of Hope, immortal Truth ! make known 
 Tiiy deathless wreaths, and triumphs all tliine own :
 
 The silent progress of thy power is such, 
 
 Thy means so feeble, and despised so much, 
 
 That few believe the wonders thou hast wrought, 
 
 And none can teach them but whom thou hast taught. 
 
 O see me sworn to serve thee, and command 
 
 A painter's skill into a poet's hand, 
 
 That, while I trembling trace a work divine, 
 
 Fancy may stand aloof from the design, 
 
 And light, and shade, and every stroke be thine. 
 
 If ever thou hast felt another's pain. 
 If ever, when he sigb'd, hast sigh'd again. 
 If ever on thy eyelid stood the tear. 
 That pity had engender'd, drop one here. 
 This man was happy — had the world's good word. 
 And with it every joy it can afford ; 
 Friendship and love seem'd tenderly at strife, 
 Which most should sweeten his untroubled life ; 
 Politely learn'd, and of a gentle race. 
 Good-breeding and good sense gave all a grace, 
 And whether at the toilet of the fair 
 He laugh'd and trifled, made him welcome there ; 
 Or if in masculine debate he shared, 
 Ensured him mute attention and regard. 
 Alas, how changed ! Expressive of his mind. 
 His eyes are sunk, arms folded, head reclined; 
 Those awful syllables. Hell, death, and sin. 
 Though whisper'd, plainly tell what works within ; 
 That Conscience there performs her proper part. 
 And writes a doomsday sentence on his heart j 
 Forsaking, and forsaken of all friends. 
 He now perceives where earthly pleasure ends ; 
 Hard task! for one who lately knew no care. 
 And harder still as learn'd beneath despair; 
 His hours no longer pass unmark'd away, 
 A dark importance saddens every day; 
 He hears the notice of the clock, perplex'd. 
 And cries, perhaps eternity strikes next ;
 
 3t HOPE. 
 
 Sweet music is no longer music here, 
 
 And laughter sounds like madness in his ef\r : 
 
 His grief the world of all her power disarms, 
 
 Wine has no taste, and beauty has no charms : 
 
 God's holy word, once trivial in his view, 
 
 Now by the voice of his experience true, 
 
 Seems as it is, the fountain whence alone 
 
 Must spring that hope he pants to make his own. 
 
 Now let the bright reverse be known abroad ; 
 
 Say man's a worm, and power belongs to God. 
 
 As when a felon, whom his country's laws 
 
 Have justly doom'd for some atrocious cause, 
 
 Expects in darkness and heart-chilling fears, 
 
 The shameful close of all his mispent years ; 
 
 If chance, on heavy pinions slowly borne, 
 
 A tempest usher in the dreaded morn. 
 
 Upon his dungeon walls the lightnings play, 
 
 The thunder seems to summon him away. 
 
 The warder at the door his ke}' applies, 
 
 Siioots back the bolt, and all his courage dies: 
 
 If then, just then, all thoughts of mercy lost. 
 
 When hope, long lingering, at last yields the ghost, 
 
 The sound of pardon pierce his startled ear, 
 
 He drops at once his fetters and his fear; 
 
 A transport glows in all he looks and speaks. 
 
 And the first thankful tears bedew his cheeks. 
 
 Joy, far superior joy, that much outweighs 
 
 The comfort of a few poor added days. 
 
 Invades, possesses, and o'erwhelms the soul 
 
 Of him, whom hope has with a touch made whole. 
 
 'Tis Heaven, all Heaven, descending on the wings 
 
 Of the glad legions of the King of kings ; 
 
 'Tis more — 'tis God dillused tlirough every part, 
 
 'Tis God himself triumphant in his heart. 
 
 O welcome now the sun's once hated light. 
 
 His noonday beams were never half so bright. 
 
 Not kindred minda alone are called to' employ 
 
 Their hours, their days, in listening to his joy ;
 
 Unconscious nature, all that he surveys, 
 
 Rocks, groves, and streams, must join Lim in bis praise. 
 
 Tiiese are thy glorious works, eternal Truth, 
 The scoff of wither'd age and beardless youth ; 
 These move the censure and illiberal grin 
 Of fools, that hate thee and delight in sin: 
 But these shall last when night has quench'd the pole, 
 And Heaven is all departed as a scroll. 
 And when, as Justice has long since decreed, 
 This earth shall blaze, and a new world succeed. 
 Then these thy glorious works, and they who share 
 That hope, which can alone exclude despair, 
 Shall live exempt from weakness and decay, 
 The brightest wonders of an endless day. 
 
 Happy the bard, (if that fair name belong 
 To him, that blends no fable with his song) 
 Whose lines uniting, by an honest art. 
 The faithful monitor's and poet's part. 
 Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind, 
 And while they captivate, inform the mind : 
 Still happier, if he till a thankful soil. 
 And fruit reward his honourable toil; 
 But happier far, who comfort those that wait 
 To hear plain truth at Judah's hallow'd gate : 
 Their language simple, as their manners meek, 
 No shining ornaments have they to seek ; 
 Nor labour they, nor time nor talents waste. 
 In sorting flowers to suit a fickle taste ; 
 But while they speak the wisdom of the skies, 
 Which art can only darken and disguise. 
 The' abundant harvest, recompense divine, 
 Repays their work — the gleaning only mine.
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 Quo nihil rmjiis meliiisve tenis 
 Fata tlonavere, bouiqtie divi : 
 Nee dabimt, qiiamvis redeanl in aurum 
 Tempora priscum. 
 
 Hor. Lib. 4. Od. 
 
 Fairest and foremost of the train that wait 
 
 On man's most dignified and happiest state, 
 
 Whether we name thee Charity or Love, 
 
 Chief grace below, and all in all above. 
 
 Prosper, (I press thee with a powerful plea) 
 
 A task I venture on, impell'd by thee: 
 
 O never seen but in thy bless'd effects, 
 
 Or felt but in the soul that Heaven selects: 
 
 Who seeks to praise thee, and to make thee known 
 
 To other hearts, must have thee in his own. 
 
 Come, pron)pt me with benevolent desires. 
 
 Teach me to kindle at thy gentle fires, 
 
 And though disgraced and slighted, to redeem 
 
 A poet's name, by making thee the theme. 
 
 Goil, working ever on a social plan. 
 By various ties attaches man to man : 
 He made at first, though free and unconfined. 
 One man the common father of the kind. 
 That every tril)e, though placed as he sees best. 
 Where seas or deserts part them from the rest, 
 Difl'ering in language, manners, or in face. 
 Might feel themselves allied to all the race. 
 When Cook — lamented, and with tears as just 
 As ever mingled with heroic dust,
 
 CHARITY. 97 
 
 SteerVl Britain's oak into a world unknown, 
 
 And in his conntrj's glory sought his own. 
 
 Wherever he found man, to nature true, 
 
 The rights of man were sacred in his view ; 
 
 He sooth'd with gifts, and greeted with a smile. 
 
 The simple native of the new found isle ; 
 
 He spurn'd the wretch that slighted or withstood 
 
 The tender argument of kindred blood. 
 
 Nor would endure that any should control 
 
 His freeborn brethren of the southern pole. 
 
 But though some nobler minds a law respect, 
 That none shall with impunity neglect. 
 In baser souls unnuraber'd evils meet. 
 To thwart its influence, and its end defeat. 
 While Cook is loved for savage lives he saved, 
 See Cortez odious for a world enslaved ! 
 Where wast thou then, sweet Charity ? where then. 
 Thou tutelary friend of helpless men? 
 Wast thou in monkish cells and nunneries found, 
 Or building hospitals on English ground ? 
 No. — Mammon makes the world his legatee 
 Through fear, not love ; and Heaven abhors the fee. 
 Wherever found, (and all men need thy care) 
 Nor age nor infancy could find thee there. 
 The hand that slew till it could slay no more. 
 Was glued to the sword-hilt with Indian gore. 
 Their prince, as justly seated on his throne 
 As vain imperial Philip on his own, 
 Trick'd out of all his royalty by art. 
 That stripped him bare, and broke his honest heart, 
 Died by the sentence of a shaven priest, 
 For scorning what they taught him to detest. 
 How dark the veil, that intercepts the blaze 
 Of Heaven's mysterious purposes and ways ; 
 God stood not, though he seem'd to stand, aloof; 
 And at this hour the conqueror feels the proof: 
 The wreath he won drew down an instant curse, 
 The fretting plague is in the public purse, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 CHARITY, 
 
 The canker'd spoil corrodes the pining stale, 
 Starved by that indolence their mines create. 
 
 Oh could their ancient Incas rise again, 
 How would they take up Israel's taunting strain ! 
 Art thou too fallen, Iberia ! Do we see 
 The robber and the murderer weak as we? 
 Thou, that hast wasted earth, and dared despise 
 Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies, 
 Thy pomp is in the grave, thy glory laid 
 Low in the pits thine avarice has made. 
 We come with joy from our eternal rest, 
 To see the' oppressor in his turn oppress'd. 
 Art thou the god, the thunder of whose hand 
 RoU'd over all our desolated land, 
 Shook principalities and kingdoms down. 
 And made the mountains tremble at his frov>n ? 
 The sword shall light upon thy boasted powers, 
 And waste them as thy sword has wasted ours. 
 'Tis thus Omnipotence his law fulfils. 
 And Vengeance executes what Justice wills. 
 
 Again — the band of commerce was design'd 
 To' associate all the branches of mankind ; 
 And if a boundless plenty be the robe, 
 Trade is the golden girdle of the globe. 
 Wise to promote whatever end he means, 
 God opens fruitful nature's various scenes : 
 Each climate needs what other climes produce. 
 And oilers something to the general use ; 
 No land but listens to the common call, 
 And in return receives supply from all. 
 This genial intercourse, and mutual aid. 
 Cheers what were else a universal shade. 
 Calls Nature from her ivy-mantled den. 
 And softens human rock-work into men. 
 Ingenious Art, witli her expressive face, 
 Steps forth to fashion and refine the race ; 
 Not only fills Necessity's demand, 
 But overcharges ber capacious hsinu :
 
 CHARITY. 99 
 
 Capricious taste itself can crave no more, 
 Than she supplies from her abounding store : 
 She strikes out all that luxury can ask, 
 And gains new vigour at her endless task. 
 Hers is the spacious arch, the shapely spire. 
 The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre ; 
 From her the canvass borrows ligbt and shade. 
 And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade. 
 She guides the finger o'er the dancing keys, 
 Gives difficulty all the grace of ease. 
 And pours a torrent of sweet notes around. 
 Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound. 
 
 These are the gifts of Art, and Art thrives most 
 Where Commerce has enrich'd the busy coast; 
 He catches all improvements in his flight. 
 Spreads foreign wonders in bis country's sight, 
 Imports what others have invented well. 
 And stirs his own to match them, or excel. 
 ^Tis thus reciprocating, each with each. 
 Alternately the nations learn and teach ; 
 While Providence enjoins to every soul 
 A union with the vast terraqueous whole. 
 
 Heaven speed the canvass, gallantly unfurl'd 
 To furnish and accommodate a world. 
 To give the pole the produce of the sun. 
 And knit the' unsocial climates into one. — 
 Soft airs and gentle Leavings of the wave 
 Impel the fleet, whose errand is to save. 
 To succour wasted regions, and replace 
 The smile of Opulence in Sorrow's face — 
 Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen. 
 Impede the bark, tliat ploughs the deep serene. 
 Charged with a freight transcending in its worth 
 The gems of India, Nature's rarest birth. 
 That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord's commands, 
 A berald of God's love to pagan lauds. 
 But ah! what wish can prosper, or what prayer, 
 For merchants rich in cargoes of despair,
 
 IflO CHARITY. 
 
 Who drive a loathsome trafiic, gauge and span, 
 
 And buy the muscles and the bones of man ? 
 
 The tender ties of father, husband, friend. 
 
 All bonds of nature in that moment end ; 
 
 And each endures, while jet he draws his breath, 
 
 A stroke as fatal as the scythe of death. 
 
 The sable warrior, frantic with regret 
 
 Of her he loves, and never can forget, 
 
 Loses in tears the far receding shore. 
 
 But not the thought that they must meet no more ; 
 
 Deprived of her and freedom at a blow, 
 
 What has he left that he can yet forego? 
 
 Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resign'd. 
 
 He feels his body's bondage in his mind ; 
 
 Puts off his generous nature; and, to suit 
 
 His manners with his fate, puts on the brute. 
 
 O most degrading of all ills, that wait 
 On man, a mourner in his best estate ! 
 All other sorrows virtue may endure. 
 And find submission more than half a cure ; 
 Grief is itself a medicine, and bestow'd 
 To' improve the fortitude that bears the load. 
 To teach the wanderer, as his woes increase, 
 The path of Wisdom, all whose paths are peace ; 
 But slavery! — Virtue dreads it as her grave: 
 Patience itself is meanness in a slave : 
 Or if the will and sovereignty of God 
 Bid suffer it awhile, and kiss the rod. 
 Wait for the dawning of a brighter day, 
 And snap the chain the moment when you may. 
 Nature imprints upon whateer we see, 
 That has a he!ut and life in it, Be free ; 
 The beasts are cliarter'd — neither age nor force 
 Can quell the love of freedom in a horse : 
 He breaks the cord tliat held him at the rack ; 
 And, conscious of an unencuniber'd back, 
 .Snulls up the morning air, forgets tlie rein, 
 LooiiC fly his forelock and his ample roane ;
 
 CilARlTY. lOl 
 
 Responsive to the distant nei[irh he neighs; 
 
 Nor stops, till, overleaping all delays. 
 
 He finds the pasture where his fellows graze. 
 
 Canst thou, and honourd with a Christian name. 
 Buy what is woman born, and fee! no shame ? 
 Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead 
 Expedience as a wan-ant for the deed? 
 So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold 
 To quit the forest and invade tlie foW : 
 So may the ruflian, who with ghostly glide. 
 Dagger in hand, steals close to your bedside; 
 Not he, but his emergence, forced the door ; 
 He found it inconvenient to be poor. 
 Has God then given its sweetness to the cane, 
 Unless his laws be trampled on — in vain ? 
 Built a brave world, which cannot yet subsist, 
 Unless his right to rule it be dismiss'd ? 
 Impudent blasphemy ! So Folly pleads, 
 And, Avarice being judge, with ease succeeds. 
 
 But grant the plea, and let it stand for just, 
 That man make man liis prey, because he must ; 
 Still there is room for pity to abate, 
 And sooth the sorrows of so sad a state. 
 A Briton knows, or if he knows it not. 
 The Scripture placed within his reach, he ought. 
 That souls have no discriminating hue. 
 Alike important iu their Maker's view ; 
 That none are free from blemish since the fall, 
 And Love divine has paid one price for all. 
 The wretch, that works and weeps without relief, 
 Has one that notices his silent grief, 
 He, from whose hands alone all power proceeds:, 
 Ranks its abuse among the foulost deeds, 
 Considers all injustice with a frown; 
 But marks the man that treads his fellow down. 
 Begone, the whip and bell in that hard hand 
 Are hateful ensigns of usurp'd command.
 
 102 CHARJTY. 
 
 Not Mexico could purchase kings a claim 
 To scourge hira, weariness his only blame. 
 Reiaeraber, Heaven has an avenging rod ; 
 To smite the poor is treason against God. 
 Trouble is grudgingly and hardly brook'd, 
 While life's suhlimest joys are overlook'd : 
 We wander o'er a sunburnt thirsty soil, 
 Murmuring, and weary of our daily toil. 
 Forget to' enjoy the palm tree's offer'd shade, 
 Or taste the fountain in the neighbouring glade : 
 Else who would lose, that had the power to' improve, 
 The' occasion of transmuting fear to love? 
 
 'tis a godlike privilege to save. 
 And he that scorns it is himself a slave. 
 Inform his mind ; one flash of heavenly day 
 Would heal his heart, and melt his chains away. 
 " Beauty for ashes " is a gift indeed, 
 
 And slaves, by truth enlarged, are doubly freed. 
 Then would he say, submissive at thy feet, 
 While gratitude and love made service sweet. 
 My dear deliverer out of hopeless night, 
 Whose bounty bought me but to give me light, 
 
 1 was a bondman on my native plain. 
 
 Sin forged, and Ignorance made fast, the chain ; 
 Thy lips have shed instruction as the dew, 
 Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue ; 
 Farewell my former joys! I sigh no more 
 For Africa's once loved, benighted shore; 
 Serving a benefactor, I am free. 
 At my best home, if not exiled from thee. 
 
 Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds 
 A stream of liberal and heroic deeds ; 
 The swell of pity, not to be confined 
 Within the scanty limits of the mind. 
 Disdains the bank, and throws the goldeh sands, 
 A rich deposit, on tl>e bordering lands ; 
 These have an ear for his paternal call. 
 Who makes some rich for the supply of all ;
 
 CHARITY. IOj 
 
 God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ. 
 And Thornton is familiar with the joy. 
 
 O coald I worship anght bc.ieath the skies, 
 That earth has seen, or fancy can devise, 
 Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand. 
 Built by no mercenary vulgar hand. 
 With fragrant turf, and flowers as v/ild and f.iir, 
 As ever dress'd a back, or scented summer air. 
 Duly, as ever on the mountain's height 
 The peep of Morning shed a dawning light ; 
 Again, when Evening in her sober vest 
 Drev>r the grey curtain of the fading west, 
 Mj soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise, 
 For the chief blessings of ray fairest days : 
 But tliat were sacrilege — praise is not thine, 
 But his, who gave thee, and preserves thee mine : 
 Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly 
 A captive bird into the boundless sky, 
 This triple realm adores thee — thou art come 
 From Sparta hither, and art here at home. 
 We feel thy force still active, at this hour 
 Enjoy immunity from priestly power, 
 While Conscience, happier than in ancient years, 
 Owns no superior but the God she fears. 
 Propitious spirit ! yet expunge a wrong 
 Thy rights have sutt'er'd, and our land, too long. 
 Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts that share 
 The fears and hopes of a commercial care. 
 Prisons expect the wicked, and were built 
 To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt ; 
 But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flooil, 
 Are mighty mischiefs not to be withstood ; 
 And honest Merit stands on slippery ground, 
 Where covert guile and artifice abound. 
 Let just Restraint, for public peace design'd, 
 Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind; 
 The foe of virtue has no claim to thee, 
 But let insolvent innocence go tree.
 
 104 CHARITY, 
 
 Patron of else the most despised of raeu. 
 Accept the tribute of a stranj^jer's pen ; 
 Verse, like the laurel, its immortal meed. 
 Should be the guerdon of a noble deed ; 
 I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame 
 (Charity chosen as my theme and aim) 
 I must incur, forgetting Howard's name. 
 Bless'd with all wealth can give thee, to resign- 
 Joys doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine, 
 To quit the bliss thy rural scenes bestow, 
 To seek a nobler amid se^es of woe. 
 To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring home. 
 Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome, 
 But knowledge such as only dungeons teach, 
 And only sympathy like thine could reach ; 
 That grief, sequester'd from the public stage, 
 Pilight smooth her feathers, and enjoy her cage i 
 Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal 
 The boldest patriot might be proud to feel. 
 O that the voice of clamour and debate, 
 That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state, 
 Were hush'd in favour of thy generous plea. 
 The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy fee ! 
 
 Philosophy, that does not dream or stray. 
 Walks arm in arm with Nature all his way j 
 Compasses earth, dives into it, ascends 
 Whatever step Inquiry recommends. 
 Sees planetary wonders smoothly roll 
 Round other systems under her control. 
 Drinks wisdom at the milky stream of light, 
 That cheers the silent journey of the night, 
 And brings at his return a bosom charged 
 With rich instruction, and a soul enlarged. 
 The treasured sweets of the capacious plan, 
 That Heaven spreads wide before the view of man. 
 All prompt his pleased pursuit, and to pursue 
 Still prompt him, with a pleasure always new ;
 
 CHARITY. 105 
 
 He too has a connecting power, and draws 
 
 Man to the centre of the common cause, 
 
 Aiding a dubious and deficient sight 
 
 With a new medium and a purer light. 
 
 All truth is precious, if not all divine ; 
 
 And what dilates the powers must needs refine* 
 
 He reads the skies, and watching every change. 
 
 Provides the faculties an ample range 5 
 
 And wins mankind, as his attempts prevail, 
 
 A prouder station on the general scale. 
 
 But Reason still, unless divinely taught, 
 
 "NYhate'er she learns, learns nothing as she ought; 
 
 The lamp of revelation only shows. 
 
 What human wisdom cannot but oppose, 
 
 That man, in nature's richest mantle clad. 
 
 And graced with all philosophy can add. 
 
 Though fair without, and luminous within, 
 
 Is still the progeny and heir of sin. 
 
 Thus taught, down falls the plumage of his pride. 
 
 He feels his need of an unerring guide. 
 
 And knows that falling he shall rise no more. 
 
 Unless the power that bade him stand restore. 
 
 This is indeed philosophy; this known 
 
 Makes wisdom, worthy of the name, his own > 
 
 And without this, whatever he discuss; 
 
 Whether the space between the stars and us, 
 
 Whether he measure earth, compute the sea. 
 
 Weigh sunbeams, carve a fly, or split a flea; 
 
 The solemn trifler with his boasted skill 
 
 Toils much, and is a solemn trifler still: 
 
 Blind was he born, and, his misguided eyes 
 
 Grown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies. 
 
 Self-knowledge truly learn'd of course implies 
 
 The rich possession of a nobler prize ; 
 
 For self to self, and God to man reveal'd, 
 
 (Two themes to Nature's eye for ever seal'd) 
 
 Are taught by rays, that fly with equal pace 
 
 From the same centre of enlightening grace.
 
 106 CHARITY. 
 
 Here stay thy foot ; how copious and how clear. 
 
 The' o'erflowing well of Charity springs here! 
 
 Hark ! 'tis the music of a thousand rills, 
 
 Some through the groves, some down the sloping hills. 
 
 Winding a secret or an open course, 
 
 And all supplied from an eternal source. 
 
 The ties of Nature do but feebly bind, 
 
 And Commerce partially reclaims mankind ; 
 
 Philosophy, without his heavenly guide, 
 
 Blay blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride. 
 
 But, while his province is the reasoning part, 
 
 Has still a veil of midnight on his heart : 
 
 'Tis truth divine, exhibited ou earth. 
 
 Gives Charity her being and her birth. 
 
 Suppose (when thought is warm, and fancy Rows, 
 What will not argument sometimes suppose ?) 
 An isle possess'd by creatures of our kind. 
 Endued with reason, yet by nature blind. 
 Let Supposition lend her aid once more. 
 And land some grave optician on the shore: 
 He claps his lens, if haply they may see, 
 Close to the part where vision ought to be ; 
 But finds, that, though his tubes assist the sight. 
 They cannot give it, or make darkness light. 
 He reads wise lectures, and describes aloud 
 A sense they know not, to the wondering crov.d ; 
 He talks of light, and the prismatic hues. 
 As men of depth in erudition use ; 
 
 But all he gains for his harangue is — Well 
 
 What monstrous lies some travellers will tell ! 
 
 The soul, whose sight all-quickening grace renews 
 Takes the resemblance of the good she views, 
 As diamonds, stripp'd of their opaque disguis?. 
 Reflect the noonday glory of the skies. 
 She speaks of liim, her author, guardian, friend. 
 Whose love knew no beginning, knows no end, 
 In language warm as all that love inspires, 
 And in the glow of her intense desires, 
 Pants to communicate her noble fires.
 
 CHARITY. 107 
 
 She sees a world stark blind to what employs 
 Her eager thought, and feeds her flowing joys : 
 Thongh Wisdom hail them, heedless of her call, 
 Flies to save some, and feels a pang for all ; 
 Herself as weak as her support is strong, 
 She feels that frailty she denied so long; 
 And, from a knowledge of her own disease. 
 Learns to compassionate the sick she sees. 
 Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence. 
 The reign of genuine Charity commence. 
 Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears, 
 She still is kind, and still she perseveres ; 
 The truth she loves a sightless world blaspheme, 
 'Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream. 
 The danger they discern not they deny ; 
 Laugh at their only remedy, and die. 
 But still a soul thus touch'd can never cease. 
 Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace. 
 Pure in her aim, and in her temper mild. 
 Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child : 
 She makes excuses where she might condemn. 
 Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them ; 
 Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast. 
 The worst suggested, she believes the best ; 
 Not soon provoked, however stung and teased, 
 And, if perhaps made angry, soon appeased ; 
 She rather waves than will dispute her right. 
 And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight. 
 
 Such was the portrait an apostle drew, 
 The bright original was one he knew ; 
 Heaven held his hand, the likeness must be true. 
 
 When one that holds communion with the skies, 
 Has fiU'd his urn where these pure waters rise, 
 And once more mingles with us meaner things, 
 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings : 
 Immortal fragrance (ills the circuit wide, 
 That tells us whence his' treasures are supplied.
 
 108 CHARITY. 
 
 So when a ship, well freighted with the stores 
 
 The sun matures on India's spicy shores, 
 
 Has dropp'd her anchor, and her canvass furl'd. 
 
 In some safe haven of our western world, 
 
 'Twere vain inquiry to what port she went. 
 
 The gale informs us, laden with the scent. 
 
 Some seekj when queasy conscience has its qualms. 
 To lull tlie painful malady with alms ; 
 But charity not feign'd intends alone 
 Another's good — theirs centres in their own ; 
 And too shortlived to reach the realms of peace, 
 Must cease for ever when the poor shall cease. 
 Flavia, most tender of her own good name. 
 Is rather careless of her sister's fame : 
 Her superlluity the poor supplies. 
 But if she touch a character, it dies. 
 The seeming virtue weigh'd against the vice. 
 She deems all safe, for she has paid the price . 
 No charity but alms aught values she. 
 Except in porcelain on her mantle-tree. 
 How many deeds, with which the world has rung, 
 From Pride, in league with Ignorance, have sprung I 
 But God o'erruies all human follies still, 
 And bends the tough materials to his will. 
 A conflagration, or a wintry Hood, 
 Has left some hundreds without home or food : 
 Extravagance and Avarice shall subscribe. 
 While fame and self-complacence are the bribe. 
 The brief proclaim'd, it visits every pew. 
 But first the squire's, a compliment but due ; 
 AVith slow deliberation he unties 
 His glittering purse, that envy of all eyes, 
 And while the clerk just puzzles out the psalm. 
 Slides guinea behind guinea in his palm ; 
 Till fmding, what he might have found before, 
 A smaller piece amidst the precious store, 
 Pinch'd close between his linger and his thumb. 
 He half exhibits, and then drops, the sum.
 
 CHARITY. 109 
 
 Gold to be sure! — Throughout the town 'tis toltl. 
 How the good squire gives never less than gold. 
 From motives such as his, though not tlie best, 
 Springs in due time supply for the distress'd ; 
 Not less elVectual than what love bestows, 
 Except that office clips it as it goes. 
 
 But lest I seem to sin against a friend. 
 And wound the grace I mean to recommend, 
 (Though vice derided with a just design 
 Implies no trespass against love divine,) 
 Once more I would adopt the graver stvie ; 
 A teacher should be sparing of his smile. 
 Unless a love of virtue light the flame, 
 Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame; 
 He hides behind a magisterial air 
 His own offences, and strips others bare ; 
 Affects indeed a most humane concern, 
 That men, if gently tutor'd, will not learn: 
 The mulish folly not to be reclaim'd 
 By softer methods, must be made ashamed : 
 But (I might instance in St. Patrick's dean) 
 Too often rails to gratify his spleen. 
 Most satirists are indeed a public scourge; 
 Their mildest physic is a farrier's purge; 
 Their acrid temper turns, as soon as stirr'd. 
 The milk of their good purpose all to curd. 
 Tiieir zeal begotten, as their works rehearse, 
 By lean despair upon an empty purse. 
 The wild assassins start into the street, 
 Prepared to poinard whorasoe'er they meet. 
 No skill in swordmanship, however just, 
 Can be secure against a madman's thrust ; 
 And even Virtue, so unfairly match'd. 
 Although immortal, may be prick'd or scratch'd. 
 When Scandal has new-rainted an old lie. 
 Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply, 
 'Tis call'd a satire, and the world appears 
 Gathering around it with erected ears:
 
 110 CHARITY. 
 
 A thousand names are toss'd iuto tlie crowd; 
 Some wliisper'd softly, and some twang'd aloud ; 
 Just as the sapience of an author's brain 
 Suggest it safe or dangerous to be plain. 
 Strange! how the frequent interjected dash 
 Quickens a market, and helps ofl" the trash; 
 The' important letters, that include the rest, 
 Serve as a key to those that are suppress'd ; 
 Conjecture gripes the victims in his paw. 
 The world is charm'd, and Scrib escapes the law. 
 So, when the cold damp shades of night prevail, 
 Worms may be caught by either head or tail; 
 Forcibly drawn from many a close recess. 
 They meet with little pity, no redress; 
 Piuiiged in the stream, they lodge upon the mud, 
 Food for the famish'd rovers of the Hood. 
 All zeal for a reform, that gives oil'ence 
 To peace and charity, is mere pretence : 
 A bold remark, but which, if well applied, 
 Would humble many a towering poet's pride. 
 Perhaps the man was in a sportive fit, 
 And had no other play-place for his wit ; 
 Perhaps, enchanted with the love of fame. 
 He sought the jewel in his neighbour's shame; 
 Perhaps — whatever end he might pursue, 
 I'he cause of virtue could not be his view. 
 At ever}' stroke wit flashes in our eyes ; 
 The turns are quick, the polish'd points surprise, 
 13ut shine with cruel and tremendous charms. 
 That, while they please, possess us with alarms : 
 So have I seen, (and hastened to the sight 
 On all the wings of holiday delight) 
 Where stands that monument of ancient power. 
 Named with emphatic dignity, the Tower, 
 (iui)s, halberts, swords, and pistols, great and small, 
 In starry forms disposed upon the wall; 
 We wonder, as we gazing stand below. 
 That brass and steel should make so fine a show ;
 
 CHAHITY. Ill 
 
 But though we prrJse the' exact designer's skill, 
 Acconnt them implements of mischief still. 
 
 No works shall find acceptance iu that day, 
 When all disguises sliall be rent away, 
 That square not truly with the Scripture plan, 
 Nor spring from love to God, or love to man. 
 As he ordains things sordid in their birth 
 To be resolved into tlieir parent earth ; 
 And though the soul shall seek superior orbs, 
 Whate'er this world produces, it absorbs; 
 So self starts nothing, but v.hat tends apace 
 Home to the goal, where it began the race. 
 Such as our motive is, our aim must be ; 
 If this be servile, that can ne'er be free : 
 If self employ us, v^hatsoe'er is wroi^ght. 
 We glorify that self, not him we ought; 
 Such virtues had need prove their own reward, 
 The judge of all men owes them no regard. 
 True charity, a plant divinely nursed. 
 Fed by the love fiom which it rose at first. 
 Thrives against hope, and in the rudest scene 
 Storms but enliven its unfading green; 
 Exuberant is the shadow it supplies. 
 Its fruits on earth, its growth above the skies. 
 To look at him, who form'd us and redeem'd, 
 So glorious now, though once so disesteem'd, 
 To see a God stretch forth his human hand. 
 To' uphold the boundless scenes of his command ; 
 To recollect, that, iu a form like ours. 
 He bruised beneath his feet the' infernal poweris, 
 Captivity led captive, rose to claim 
 The wreath he won so dearly in our name : 
 That, throned above all height, he condescends 
 To call the few that trust in him his friends ; 
 That, in the Heaven of heavens, that space he deeiijs 
 Too scanty for the' exertion of his beams. 
 And shines, as if impatient to bestow 
 Life and a kingdom upon worms below :
 
 112 CHARITY. 
 
 That sight imparts a never-dying flame, 
 Though feeble in degree, in kind the same. 
 Like him the soul thus kindled from above 
 Spreads wide her arms of universal love ; 
 And still enlarged as sbe receives the grace, 
 Includes creation in her close embrace. 
 Behold a Christian! — and without the fires 
 Tlie founder of that name alone inspires. 
 Though all accomplishment, all knowledge meet, 
 To make the shining prodigy complete. 
 Whoever boasts that name — behold a cheat! 
 Were love, in these the world's last doting years, 
 As frequent as the want of it appears. 
 The churches warm'd, they would no longer hold 
 Such frozen figures, stiff as thej' are cold ; 
 Relenting forms would lose their power, or cease, 
 And e'en the dipp'd and sprinkled live in peace: 
 Eacli heart would quit its prison in the breast. 
 And flow in free communion with the rest. 
 The statesman, skill'd in projects dark and deep, 
 Might burn his useless Machiavel, and sleep; 
 His budget often fiU'd, j^et always poor, 
 Might swing at ease behind his study door. 
 No longer prey upon our annual rents, 
 Or scare the nation with its big contents: 
 Disbanded legions freely might depart. 
 And slaying man would cease to be an art. 
 No learned disputants would take the field, 
 Sure not to conquer, and sure not to yield: 
 Both sides deceived, if rightly understood. 
 Pelting each other for the public good. 
 Did charity jjrevail, the press would prove 
 A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love; 
 And T mi:;ht spare myself the pains to show 
 Wliat few can learn, and all sujipose they know. 
 
 'I'hus have I sought to grace a serious lay 
 With many a wild indeed but flowery spray,
 
 CONVERSATION. Il3 
 
 In hopes to gain, what else 1 mast have lost, 
 
 The' attention pleasure has so much eugross'd. 
 
 Bt:t if uhhappilv deceived I dream, 
 
 And prove too weak for so divine a theme, 
 
 Let Charity forgive me a mistake 
 
 That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to mako. 
 
 And spare the poet for his subject's sake. 
 
 CONVERSATION. 
 
 Nam neqiie me tantmn veiiientis sibiliis Au:-(ri, 
 IMec percussa jiivaut fluodi lain litora, nee qns 
 S.ixosas inter decurrunt fluniina valles. 
 
 Fir3. Ed. 5. 
 
 Though Nature weigh our talents, aad dispense 
 
 To every man his modicum of sense, 
 
 And Conversation in its better part 
 
 May be esteem'd a gift, and not an art. 
 
 Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil, 
 
 On culture, and the sowing of the soil. 
 
 Words learn'd by rote, a parrot may rehearse. 
 
 But talking is not always to converse ; 
 
 Not more distinct from harmony divine. 
 
 The constant creaking of a country sign. 
 
 As Alphabets in ivory emploj'. 
 
 Hour after hour, the yet unletter'd boy. 
 
 Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee 
 
 Those seeds of science call'd his ABC; 
 
 So language in the mouths of the adult, 
 
 Witness its insignificant result, 
 
 VOL. r, I
 
 114 CONVERSATION. 
 
 Too often proves an implement of plaj, 
 A toy to sport with, and pass time away. 
 Collect at evening what the day brought fortb^ 
 Compress the sum into its solid worth, 
 And if it weigh the' importance of a fly, 
 The scales are false, or algebra a lie. 
 Sacred interpreter of human thought. 
 How few respect or use thee as they ought I 
 But all shall give account of every wrong, 
 Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue ; 
 Who prostitute it in the cause of vice, 
 Or sell their glory at the market-price ; 
 Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon. 
 The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap bufToon. 
 
 There is a prurience in the speech of some, 
 Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them dumb : 
 His wise forbearance has their end in view, 
 They fill their measure, and receive their due. 
 The heathen lawgivers of ancient days. 
 Names almost worthy of a Christian's praise, 
 Would drive them forth from the resort of men. 
 And shut up every satyr in his den. 
 O come not ye near innocence and truth, 
 Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth ! 
 Infectious as impure, your blighting power 
 Taints in its rudiments the promised flcwer ; 
 Its odour perish'd and its charming hue. 
 Thenceforth 'tis hateful, for it smells of you. 
 Not e'en the vigorous and headlong rage 
 Of adolescence, or a firmer age, 
 Afl'ords a plea allowable or just 
 For making speech the pamperer of lust; 
 But when the breath of age commits the fault, 
 'Tis nauseous as the vapour of a vault. 
 So wither'd stumps disgrace the silvan scene. 
 No longer fruitful, and no longer green ; 
 The saj)less wood, divested of the bark. 
 Grows fungous, and takes fire at every spark.
 
 CONVERSATION. 115 
 
 Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife — 
 Some men have surely then a peaceful life ; 
 Wliatever subject occupy discourse. 
 The feats of Vestris or the naval force. 
 Asseveration blustering in your face 
 Makes contradiction such a hopeless case : 
 In every tale they tell, or false or true, 
 Well known, or such as no man ever knevv^ 
 They fix attention, heedless of your pain, 
 With oaths like rivets forced into the brain ;■ 
 And e'en when sober truth prevails throuohout,. 
 They swear it, till allirniance breeds a doubtw 
 A Persian, humble servant of the sun, 
 Who though devout, yet bigotr}' had none. 
 Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address, 
 With adjurations every word impress, 
 Supposed the man a bishop, or at least, 
 God's name so much upon his lips, a priest ; 
 Bow'd at the close with all iiis graceful airs. 
 And begg'd an interest in his frequent prayers. 
 
 Go, quit the rank to which ye stood preferr'd^ 
 Henceforth associate in one common herd ; 
 Religion, virtue, reason, common sense. 
 Pronounce your human form a false pretence ; 
 A mere disguise, in which a devil lurks, 
 Who yet betrays his secret by his works. 
 
 Ye powers who rule the tongue, if such there are,. 
 And make colloquial happiness your care. 
 Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, 
 A duel in the form of a debate. 
 The clash of arguments and jar of words. 
 Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords, 
 Decide no question with their tedious leugtii. 
 For opposition gives opinion strength. 
 Divert the champions prodigal of breath, 
 And put the peaceably disposed to death. 
 O thwart me not, sir Soph, at every turn» 
 Nor carp at every flaw you may discern ;,
 
 116 CONVERSATION. 
 
 Tbougb syllogisms hang not on my tongue, 
 
 I am not surely always in the wrong ; 
 
 'Tis hard if all is false that I advance, 
 
 A fool must now and then be right by chance. 
 
 Not that all freedom of dissent I blame; 
 
 No — there I grant the privilege I claim. 
 
 A disputable point is no man's ground ; 
 
 Rove where you please, 'tis common all around. 
 
 Discourse may want an animated — No, 
 
 To brusli the surface, and to make it flow ; 
 
 But still remember, if you mean to please. 
 
 To press your point with modesty and ease. 
 
 The mark, at which my juster aim I take, 
 
 Is contradiction for its own dear sake. 
 
 Set your opinion at whatever pitch, 
 
 Kno-ts and impediments make something hitch : 
 
 Adopt his own, 'tis equally in vain. 
 
 Your thread of argument is snapp'd again; 
 
 The wrangler rather than accord with you, 
 
 Will judge himself deceived, and prove it too. 
 
 Vociferated logic kills me quite, 
 
 A noisy man is always in the right — 
 
 I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair, 
 
 Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare. 
 
 And, when I hope his blunders are all out, 
 
 Reply discreetly — To be sure — no doubt! 
 
 DUBIUS is such a scrupulous good man — 
 Yes — you may catch him tripping, if you can. 
 He would not, with a peremptory tone. 
 Assert the nose upon his face his own ; 
 With hesitation admirably slow, 
 He humbly hopes, — presumes it may be so. 
 His evidence, if he were call'd by law 
 To swear to some enormity he saw. 
 For want of prominence and just relief. 
 Would hang an honest man, and save a thief. 
 Through constant dread of giving truth oHence, 
 He ties up all his hearers in suspense ;
 
 CONVERSATION. Il7 
 
 Knows what he knows, as if he knew it not, 
 
 What he remembers seems to have forgot ; 
 
 His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall. 
 
 Centring at last in having none at all. 
 
 Yet though he tease and balk your listening ear, 
 
 He makes one useful point exceeding clear j 
 
 Howe'er ingenious on his darling theme 
 
 A sceptic in philosophy may seem, 
 
 Reduced to practice, bis beloved rule 
 
 Would only prove him a consummate fool ; 
 
 Useless in him alike both brain and speech, 
 
 Fate having placed all truth above his reach. 
 
 His ambiguities his total sum. 
 
 He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb. 
 
 Where men of judgment creer) and feel their way. 
 The positive pronounce without dismay; 
 Their want of light and intellect supplied 
 By sparks, absurdity strikes out of pride : 
 Without the means of knowing right from wrong. 
 They always are decisive, clear, and strong, 
 W^here others toil with philosophic force. 
 Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course ; 
 Flings at your head conviction in the lump, 
 And gains remote conclusions at a jump; 
 Their own defect, invisible to them, 
 Seen in another, they at once condemn ; 
 And, though self-idolized in every case. 
 Hate their own likeness in a brother's face. 
 The cause is plain, and not to be denied. 
 The proud are always most provoked by pride. 
 Few competitions but engender spite; 
 And those the most where neither has a right. 
 
 The point of honour has been deem'd of use, 
 To teach good manners and to curb abuse ; 
 Admit it true, the consequence is clear, 
 Our polish'd manners are a mask we wear, 
 And at the bottom barbarous still and rude, 
 We are restraiu'd indeed, but not subdued.
 
 118 CONVERSATION. 
 
 The very remedy, however sure, 
 
 Springs from the mischief it intends to cure, 
 
 And savage in its principle appears, 
 
 Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears. 
 
 'Tis hard indeed if nothing will defend 
 
 Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end ; 
 
 That now and then a hero must decease. 
 
 That the surviving world may live in peace. 
 
 Perhaps at last close scrutiny may show 
 
 The practice dastardly, and mean, and low ; 
 
 That men engage in it compelFd by force,* 
 
 And fear, not courage, is its proper source. 
 
 The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear 
 
 Lest fops should censure us, and fools should sneer. 
 
 At least, to trample oa our Maker's laws, 
 
 And hazard life for any or no cause. 
 
 To rush into a fix'd eternal state 
 
 Out of the very iiames of rage and hate, 
 
 Or send another shivering to the bar 
 
 With all the guilt of such unnatural war. 
 
 Whatever Use may urge or Honour plead. 
 
 On Reason's verdict is a madman's deed. 
 
 Am 1 to set my life upon a throw, 
 
 Because a bear is rude and surly? — No — 
 
 A moral, sensible, and well-bred man, 
 
 Will not aU'ront me, and no other can. 
 
 Were I empower'd to regulate the lists. 
 
 They should encounter with well-loaded fists : 
 
 A Trojan combat would be something new ; 
 
 Let Dares beat Entellks black and blue; 
 
 Then each might show, to his admiring friends, 
 
 111 honourable bumps his rich amends, 
 
 And carry, in contusions of his skull, 
 
 A satisfactory receipt in full. 
 
 A story in which native humour reigns, 
 Is often useful, always entertains. 
 A graver fact, enlisted on your side, 
 May furnish illustration, well applied;
 
 COWrRSATION. 119 
 
 But sedentary weavers of long tales 
 
 Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails. 
 
 'Tis the most asinine employ on earth, 
 
 To hear them tell of parentage and birth, 
 
 And eclio conversations, dull and dry, 
 
 Embellish'd with — He said, and so said I. 
 
 At every interview their route the same. 
 
 The repetition makes attention lame ; 
 
 We bustle up with unsuccessful speed, 
 
 And in the saddest part cry — Droll indeed ! 
 
 The path of narrative with care pursue. 
 
 Still making probability your clew ; 
 
 On all the vestiges of truth attend. 
 
 And let them guide you to a decent end. 
 
 Of all ambitions man may entertain, 
 
 The worst, that can invade a sickly brain. 
 
 Is that, which angles hourly for surprise. 
 
 And baits its hook with prodigies and lies. 
 
 Credulous infancy, or age as weak, 
 
 Are fittest auditors for such to seek. 
 
 Who to please others will themselves dlsgrar^e. 
 
 Yet please not, but aftront you to your face. 
 
 A great retailer of this curious ware 
 
 Having unloaded and made many stare. 
 
 Can this be true ? — an arch observer cries, 
 
 Yes, (rather moved) I saw it with these eyes. 
 
 Sir ! I believe it on that ground alone ; 
 
 I could not, had I seen it with my own. 
 
 A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct ; 
 The language plain, and incidents well link'd ; 
 Tell not as new what every body knows, 
 And, new or old, still hasten to a close ; 
 There, centrisg in a focus round and neat, 
 Let all your ravs of information meet. 
 What neither yields us profit nor delight 
 Is like a nurse's lullaby at night ; 
 Guy Earl of Warwick and fair Eleanore, 
 Or giant-killing Jack, would please me luore.
 
 120 CONVERSATION. 
 
 The pipe,wilb solemn interposing pnfl', 
 Makes half a sentence at a time enough ; 
 The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain, 
 Then pause, and puft' — and speak, and pause again. 
 Such often, like the tube thej so admire, 
 Important triilers ! have more smoke than fire. 
 Pernicious weed ! whose scent the fair annoys. 
 Unfriendly to society's chief joys. 
 Thy worst eiTect is banishing for hours 
 The sex, whose presence civilizes ours : 
 Thou art indeed the drug a gardener wants. 
 To poison vermin that infest his plants ; 
 But are we so to wit and beauty blind, 
 As to despise the glory of our kind. 
 And show the softest minds and fairest forms 
 As little mercy, as he grubs and Avorras ? 
 They dare not wait the riotous abuse, 
 Thy thirst-creating steams at length produce. 
 When wine has given indecent language birth, 
 And forced the floodgates of licentious mirth \ 
 For sea-born Venus her attachment shows 
 Still to that element, from which she rose. 
 And with a quiet, -which no fumes disturb, 
 Sips meek infusions of a milder herb. 
 
 The' emphatic speaker dearly loves to' oppose. 
 In contact inconvenient, nose to nose. 
 As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz, 
 Touch'd with a magnet, had attracted his. 
 His whisper'd theme, dilated and at large. 
 Proves after all a windgun's airy charge, 
 An extract of his diary — no more, 
 A tasteless journal of the day before. 
 He walk'd abroad, o'ertaken in the rain, 
 Call'd on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home again. 
 Resumed his j)arpose, had a world of talk 
 With one he stuml)ied on, and lost his walk. 
 I interrupt him with a sudden bow, 
 Adieu, dear sir ! lest you should lose it now.
 
 CONVERSATION. lil 
 
 T cannot talk with civet in the room, 
 A fine puss gentleman that's all perfume ; 
 The sight 's enough — no need to smell a beau — 
 Who thrusts his nose into a rareeshow ? 
 His odoriferous attempts to please 
 Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees ; 
 But Ave that make no honey, though we sting. 
 Poets, are sometimes apt to maul the thing. 
 'Tis wrong to bring into a mix'd resort. 
 What makes some sick, and others a-la-mcrf, 
 An argument of cogence, we may say, 
 Wh}^ snch a one should keep himself away. 
 
 A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see. 
 Quite as absurd, though not so light as he : 
 A shallow brain behind a serious mask, 
 An oracle within an empty cask, 
 The solemn fop : significant and budge ; 
 A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge ; 
 He says but little, and that little said 
 Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. 
 His wit invites yoa by his looks to come, 
 But when you knock it never is at home ; 
 ^Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage. 
 Some handsome present, as your hopes presage ; 
 'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove 
 An absent friend's fidelity and love ; 
 Bat, when unpack'd, your disappointment groans, 
 To find it stuff'd with brickbats, earth, and stones. 
 
 Some men employ their health, an ugly trick. 
 In making known how oft they have been sick. 
 And give us in recitals of disease 
 A doctor's trouble, but without the fees ; 
 Relate how many weeks they kept their bed. 
 How an emetic or cathartic sped ; 
 Nothing is slightly touch'd, much less forgot. 
 Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot. 
 Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill, 
 Victorious seem'd, and now the doctor's skill :
 
 122 CONVERFATIOX. 
 
 And now — alas, for unforeseen misliaps! 
 
 They put on a damp nightcap and relapse ; 
 
 They thought tliey must have died, they were so bad ; 
 
 Their peevish hearers almost wish they had. 
 
 Some fretful tempers wince at every touch. 
 You always do too little, or too much : 
 You speak with life, in hopes to entertain, 
 Your elevated voice goes through the brain ; 
 You fall at once into a lower key, 
 That's worse — the drone-pipe of an bumblebee. 
 The southern sash admits too strong a light. 
 You rise and drop the curtain — now 'tis niglit. 
 He shakes with cold — you stir the fire and strive 
 To make a blaze — that's roasting him alive. 
 Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish ; 
 With soal — that's just the sort he would not wish. 
 He takes what he at first profess'd to loathe, 
 And in due time feeds heartily on both ; 
 Yet still, o'erclouded with a constant frown, 
 He does not swallow, but he gulps it down. 
 Your hope to please him vain on every plan. 
 Himself should work that wonder — if he can — 
 Alas ! his ellbrts double his distress. 
 He likes yours little, and his own still less. 
 Thus always teasing others, always teased, 
 His only j)leasnre is — to be displeased. 
 
 I pity bashful men, who feel the pain 
 Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain. 
 And bear the marks upon a blushing face 
 Of needless shame, and self-imposed disgrace. 
 Our sensibilities are so acute. 
 The fear of being silent makes us mute. 
 We sometimes think we could a speech produce 
 Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose \ 
 But, being tried, it dies upon the lip. 
 Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip : 
 Our wasted oil unprofitably burns, 
 Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.
 
 CONVERSATION. 123 
 
 Few Frenchmen of this evil have complain'd ; 
 
 It seems as if we Britons were ordain'd, 
 
 By way of wholesome curb upon our pride, 
 
 To fear each other, fearing none beside. 
 
 The cause perhaps inquirj' may descry, 
 
 Self-searching with an introverted eye, 
 
 Conceal'd within an unsuspected part, 
 
 The vainest corner of our own vain heart : 
 
 For ever aiming at the World's esteem, 
 
 Our self-importance ruins its own scheme ; 
 
 In other eyes our talents rarely shown. 
 
 Become at length so splendid in our own. 
 
 We dare not risk them into public view, 
 
 Lest they miscarry of what seems their due. 
 
 True modesty is a discerning grace, 
 
 And only blushes in the proper place ; 
 
 But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear. 
 
 Where 'tis a shame to be ashamed to' appear ; 
 
 Humility the parent of the first, 
 
 The last by vanity produced and nursed. 
 
 The circle form'd, we sit in silent state, 
 
 Like figures drawn upon a dial-plate ; 
 
 Yes ma'am, and no ma'am, utter'd softly, show 
 
 Every five minutes how the minutes go ; 
 
 Each individual, sutlering a constraint. 
 
 Poetry may, but colours cannot paint. 
 
 As if in close committee on the sky. 
 
 Reports it hot or cold, or wet or dry ; 
 
 And finds a changing clime a happy source 
 
 Of wise reflection, and well-timed discourse. 
 
 We next inquire, but softly and by stealth, 
 
 Like conservators of the public health. 
 
 Of epidemic throats, if such there are. 
 
 And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh. 
 
 That theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues, 
 
 Fill'd up at last with interesting news. 
 
 Who danced with whom, and who are like to wed. 
 
 And who is hang'd, and who is brought to bed :
 
 124 CONViijRSATlON. 
 
 But fear to call a more important cause, 
 As if 'twere treason against English laws. 
 The visit paid, with ecstasy we come. 
 As from a seven years' transportation, home, 
 And there resume an unembarrass'd brow. 
 Recovering what we lost we know not how, 
 Tlie faculties, that seem'd reduced to nought, 
 Expression and the privilege of thought. 
 
 The reeking, roaring hero of the chase, 
 I give him over as a desperate case. 
 Physicians write in hopes to work a cure. 
 Never, if honest ones, when death is sure ; 
 And though the fox he follows may be tamed, 
 A mere fox-follower never is reclaimed. 
 Some farrier should prescribe his proper course, 
 Whose only fit companion is his horse, 
 Or if, deserving of a better doom, ' 
 The noble beast judge otherwise, his groom. 
 Yet e'en the rogue that serves him, though he stand, 
 To take his honour's orders, cap in hand. 
 Prefers his fellow grooms with much good sense, 
 Their skill a truth, his master's a pretence. 
 If neither horse nor groom affect the squire, 
 Where can at last his jockeyship retire ? 
 Oh to the club, the scene of savage joys, 
 The school of coarse good fellowship and noise ; 
 There, in the sweet society of those. 
 Whose friendsliip from his boyish years he chose. 
 Let him improve his talent if he can. 
 Till none but beasts acknowledge him a man. 
 
 Man's heart had been impenetrably seal'd 
 Like theirs that cleave the Hood or graze the field. 
 Had not his Maker's all-bestowing hand 
 Given him a soul, and bade him understand ; 
 The reasoning power vouchsafed of course inferr'd 
 The power to clothe that reason with his word ; 
 {"'or all is perfect that tfod works on earth. 
 And he, that gives conceptioji, aids the birth.
 
 CONVERSATION. 1^5 
 
 If this be plain, 'tis plainly understood, 
 
 What uses of his boon the giver would. 
 
 The Mind, despatch'd upon her busy toil, 
 
 Should range where Providence has bless'd the soil ; 
 
 Visiting every flower with labour meet. 
 
 And gathering all her treasures sweet by sweet. 
 
 She should irabae the tongue with what she sips, 
 
 And shed the balmy blessing on the lips, 
 
 That good dift'used may more abundant grow. 
 
 And speech may praise the power that bids it How. 
 
 Will the sweet warbler of the livelong night, 
 
 That fills the listening lover with delight. 
 
 Forget his harmony, with rapture heard. 
 
 To learn the twittering of a meaner bird ? 
 
 Or make the parrot's mimicry his choice, 
 
 That odious libel on a human voice ? 
 
 No — Nature, unsophisticate by man. 
 
 Starts not aside from her Creator's plan ; 
 
 The melody, that was at first design'd 
 
 To cheer the rude forefathers of mankind. 
 
 Is note for note deliver'd in our ears. 
 
 In the last scene of her six thousand years : 
 
 Yet Fashion, leader of a chattering train. 
 
 Whom man for his own hurt permits to reign. 
 
 Who shifts and changes all things but his shape. 
 
 And would degrade her votary to an ape. 
 
 The fruitful parent of abuse and wrong. 
 
 Holds an usurp'd dominion o'er his tongue ; 
 
 There sits and prompts him with his own disgrace. 
 
 Prescribes the theme, the tone, and the grimace. 
 
 And, when accomplish'd in her wayward school. 
 
 Calls gentleman whom she has made a fool. 
 
 'Tis an unalterable fix'd decree, 
 
 That none could frame or ratify but she. 
 
 That Heaven and Hell, and righteousness and sin. 
 
 Snares in his path, and foes that lurk within, 
 
 God and his attributes, (a field of day 
 
 Where 'tis an angel's happiness to stray)
 
 l'-?6 CONVERSATION. 
 
 Fruits of his love, and wonders of his might, 
 
 Be never named in ears esteem'd polite. i 
 
 That he who dares, when she forbids, be grave, 
 
 Shall stand proscribed, a madman or a knave, 
 
 A close designer not to be believed. 
 
 Or, if excused that charge, at least deceived. 
 
 Oh folly worthy of the nurse's lap. 
 
 Give it the breast, or stop its mouth with pap ! 
 
 Is it incredible, or can it seem 
 
 A dream to any, except those that dream, 
 
 That man should love his Maker, and that fire. 
 
 Warming his heart, should at his lips transpire ? 
 
 Know then, and modestly let fall your eyes, 
 
 And veil your daring crest that braves the skies j 
 
 That air of insolence affronts your God, 
 
 You need his pardon, and provoke his rod : 
 
 Now, in a posture that becomes you more 
 
 Than that heroic strut assumed before^ 
 
 Know, your arrears with every hour accrue 
 
 For mercy shown, while wrath is justly due. 
 
 The time is short, and there are souls on earth, 
 
 Though future pain may serve for present mirth, 
 
 Acquainted witli the woes, that fear or shame, 
 
 By Fashion taught, forbade them once to name. 
 
 And, having felt the pangs you deem a jest. 
 
 Have proved them truths too big to be express'd. 
 
 (io seek on revelation's hallow'd ground. 
 
 Sure to succeed, the remedy they found : 
 
 Touch'd by that power tiuit you have dared to mock. 
 
 That makes seas stable, antl dissolves the rock. 
 
 Your heart shall yield a life-renewing stream, 
 
 That fools, as you have done, shall call a dream. 
 
 It happen'd on a solemn eventide. 
 Soon after He that was our Surety died. 
 Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined. 
 The scene of all those sorrows left behind. 
 Sought their own village, busied as they went 
 In musings worthy of the great event :
 
 CONVEUSATION. 127 
 
 They spake of him they loved, of him whose life, 
 Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife, 
 Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, 
 A deep memorial graven ou their hearts. 
 The recollection, like a vein of ore, 
 The farther traced, enrich'd them still the more ; 
 They thought him, and they justly thought him, one 
 Sent to do more than he appeared to' have done ; 
 To' exalt a people, and to place them high 
 Above all else, and wonder'd he should die. 
 Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, 
 A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend. 
 And ask'd them, with a kind engaging air, 
 What their affliction was, and beggd a share. 
 Inform'd, he gathered up the broken thread. 
 And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said,. 
 Explaiu'd, illustrated, and search'd so well. 
 The tender theme, on which they chose to dwell, 
 That, reaching home, The night, they said, is near. 
 We must not now be parted, sojourn here — 
 The new acquaintance soon became a guest. 
 And, made so welcome at their simple feast. 
 He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word. 
 And left them, both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord ! 
 Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say. 
 Did they not burn within us by the way ? 
 
 Now theirs was converse, such as it behoves 
 Man to maintain, and such as God approves : 
 Their views indeed were indistinct and dim. 
 But yet successful, being aim'd at him, 
 Christ and his character their only scope. 
 Their object, and their subject, and their hope. 
 They felt what it became them much to feel. 
 And, wanting him to loose the sacred seal. 
 Found him as prompt, as their desire was true. 
 To spread the new-born glories in their view. 
 
 Well — what are ages and the lapse of time 
 Match'd against truths, as lasting as sublime ?
 
 128 CONVERSATION. 
 
 Can length of years on God himself exact ? 
 
 Or make that liction which was once a fact ? 
 
 No — marble and recording brass decay, 
 
 And like the graver's memory pass away ; 
 
 The works of man inherit, as is just, 
 
 Their author's frailty, and return to dust ; 
 
 But truth divine for ever stands secure. 
 
 Its head is guarded as its base is sure ; 
 
 Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years. 
 
 The pillar of the' eternal plan appears. 
 
 The raving storm and dashing wave defies, 
 
 Built by that Architect who built the skies. 
 
 Hearts may be found, that harbour at this hour 
 
 That love of Christ, and all its quickening powers 
 
 And lips unstain'd by folly or by strife, 
 
 Whose wisdom, drawn from the deep well of life, 
 
 Tastes of its healthful origin, and flows 
 
 A Jordan for the' ablution of our woes. 
 
 O days of Heaven and nights of equal praise. 
 
 Serene and peaceful as those heavenly days. 
 
 When souls drawn upwards in communion sweet 
 
 Enjoy the stillness of some close retreat. 
 
 Discourse, as if releasetl and safe at home, 
 
 Of dangers past, and wonders yet to come. 
 
 And spread the sacred treasures of the breast 
 
 Upon the lap of covenanted Rest. 
 
 What, always dreaming over heavenly thing?, 
 Like angel-heads in stone with pigeon-wings ? 
 Canting and whining out all day the word, 
 And half the night ? fanatic and absurd I 
 Mine be the frieiul loss frequent in his prayers, 
 Who makes no bustle with his soul's affairs, 
 W^hose wit can brighten up a wintry day, 
 And chase the splenetic dull hours away : 
 Content on eartii in earthly things to shine, 
 Who waits for Heaven ere he becomes divine. 
 Leaves saints to' enjoy those altitudes they teacli, 
 And plucks the fruit placed more within his reach.
 
 CONVERSATION'. 129 
 
 Well spoken, advocate of sin and sbame, 
 Known by tby bleating, Ignorance thy name. 
 Is sparkling wit the world's exclusive right? 
 The fix'd fee-simple of the vain and light ? 
 Can hopes of Heaven, bright prospects of an hour, 
 That come to waft us out of Sorrow's power, 
 Obscure or quench a faculty, that finds 
 Its happiest soil in the serenest minds ? 
 Religion curbs indeed its wanton play. 
 And brings the trifler nnder rigorous sway, 
 But gives it usefulness unknown before. 
 And, purifying, makes it shine the more. 
 A Christian's wit is inoftensive light, 
 A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight; 
 Vigorous in age as ia the flush of youth, 
 'Tis always active on the side of truth ; 
 Temperance and peace insure its healthful state, 
 And make it brightest at its latest date. 
 Oh I have seen (nor hope perhaps in vain. 
 Ere life go down, to see such sights again) 
 A veteran warrior in the Christian Held, 
 Who never saw the sword he could not wield ; 
 Grave without duluess, learned without pride. 
 Exact, yet not precise, though meek, ki;en eyed ; 
 A man that would have foil'd at their ov.n play 
 A dozen*lvould-be's of the modern day ; 
 W^ho, when occasion justified its use. 
 Had wit as bright as ready to produce ; 
 Could fetch from records of an earlier age. 
 Or from philosophy's enlighten'd page, 
 His rich materials, and regale your ear 
 With strains it was a privilege to hear ; 
 Yet above all his luxury supreme. 
 And his chief glory, was the Gospel theme ; 
 There he was copious as old Greece or Rome, 
 His happy eloquence seem'd there at home. 
 Ambitious not to shine or to excel, 
 But to trerit justly what he loved so well. 
 VOL. I. K
 
 13() CONVERSATION. 
 
 It moves rae more perhaps than follj ought, 
 When some green heads, as void of wit as thought. 
 Suppose themselves monopolists of sense. 
 And wiser men's ability pretence. 
 Though time still wear us, and we mast grow old. 
 Such men are not forgot as soon as cold, 
 Their fragrant memory will outlast their tomb, 
 Embalm'd for ever in its own perfume : 
 And to say truth, though in its early prime, 
 And when unstain'd with any grosser crime, 
 Youth has a sprightliaess and lire to boast, 
 That in the valley of decline are lost. 
 And A'irtue with peculiar charms appears, 
 Crown'd with the garland of life's blooming years ; 
 Yet age, by long experience well inform'd. 
 Well read, well temper'd, with religion warm'd. 
 That fire abated, which impels rash youth, 
 Proud of his speed, to overshoot the trut!). 
 As time improves the grape's authentic juice. 
 Mellows and makes the speech more fit for use, 
 And claims a reverence in its shortening day, 
 That 'tis an honour and a joy to pay. 
 The fruits of age, less fair, are yet more sound 
 Tlian those a brighter season pours around ; 
 And, like the stores autumnal suns mature. 
 Through wintry rigours unimpair'd endure. 
 
 What is fanatic frenzy, scorn'd so much. 
 And dreaded more than a contagious touch ? 
 I grant it dangerous, and approve your fear, 
 Tiiat lire is catching if you draw too near ; 
 But sage observers oft mistake the flauie, 
 And give true piety that odious name. 
 To tremble (as the creature of an hour 
 Ought at the view of an almighty power) 
 Before his presence, at whose awful throne 
 All tremble in all worlds, except our own, 
 To supplicate his mercy, love his ways. 
 And piize them above pleasure, wealth, or pniise,
 
 CONVERSATION. IjJ 
 
 Tbough common sense, allow'd a casting voice. 
 And free from bias, must approve tbe choice, 
 Convicts a man fanatic in the' extreme, 
 And wild as madness in tbe world's esteem. 
 But that disease, when soberly defined, 
 Is the false fire of an o'erheated mind ; 
 It views tbe truth with a distorted eye. 
 And either warps or lays it useless by : 
 'Tis narrow, selfish, arrogant, and draws 
 Its sordid nourishment from man's applause ; 
 And while at heart sin unrelinquisb'd lies. 
 Presumes itself chief favourite of the skies. 
 'Tis such a light as putrefaction breeds 
 In fly-blown flesh, whereon tbe maggot feeds. 
 Shines in tbe dark, but,usber'd into day, 
 The stench remains, tbe lustre dies away. 
 
 True bliss, if man may reach it, is composed 
 Of hearts in union mutually disclosed ; 
 And, farewell else all hope of pure delight, 
 Those hearts should be reclaim'd, renew'd, upright. 
 Bad men, profaning friendship's ballow'd name, 
 Form, iu its stead, a covenant of shame ; 
 A dark confederacy against the laws 
 Of virtue, and religion's glorious cause : 
 They build each other up with dreadful skill, 
 As bastions set point blank against God's will ; 
 Enlarge and fortify the dread redoubt. 
 Deeply resolved to shut a Saviour out ; 
 Call legions up from bell to back the deed ; 
 And, cursed with conquest, finally succeed. 
 But souls, that carry on a bless'd exchange 
 Of joys they meet with in their heavenly range, 
 And with a fearless confidence make known 
 The sorrows sympathy esteems its own. 
 Daily derive increasing light and force 
 From such communion in their pleasant course, 
 Feel less tbe journey's roughness and its length. 
 Meet their opposers with united strength,
 
 132 CONVERSATION. 
 
 And, one in heart, in interest, and design, 
 Gird up each other to the race divine. 
 
 Bat conversation, choose what theme we may, 
 And chieQy when religion leads the way, 
 Should ilovv, like waters after summer showers, 
 Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers. 
 The Christian, in whose soul, though now distressed, 
 Lives the dear thought of joys he once possess'd, 
 When all his glowing language issued forth 
 With God's deep stamp upon its current worth, 
 AVill speak without disguise, and must impart. 
 Sad as it is, his undissembling heart, 
 Abhors constraint, and dares not feign a zeal, 
 Or seem to boast a fire he does not feel. 
 The song of Sion is a tasteless thing. 
 Unless, when rising on a joyful wing. 
 The soul can mix with the celestial bands. 
 And give the strain the compass it demands. 
 
 Strange tidings these to tell a world, who treat 
 All but their own experience as deceit ! 
 VVill they believe, though credulous enough 
 To swallow much upon much weaker proof. 
 That there are bless'd inhabitants on earth, 
 Partakers of a new etherial birth. 
 Their hopes, desires, and purposes estranged 
 From things terrestrial, and divinely changed, 
 Their very language of a kind, that speaks 
 The soul's sure interest in the good she seeks, 
 Who deal with Scripture, its importance felt, 
 As Tully with philosophy once dealt. 
 And in the silent watches of the night, 
 And through the scenes of toil-renewing light, 
 The social walk, or solitary ride. 
 Keep still the dear companion at their side ? 
 No — shame upon a self-disgracing age, 
 God's work may serve an ape upon a stage 
 With such a jest, as fill'd with hellish glee 
 Certain invisibles as shrewd as he ;
 
 CONVERSATION. 1.">S 
 
 But veneration or respect finds none, 
 
 Save from the subjects of that work alone. 
 
 The world grown old, her deep discernment shows. 
 
 Claps spectacles on her sagacious nose, 
 
 Peruses closely the true Christian's face. 
 
 And finds it a mere mask of sly grimace. 
 
 Usurps God's office, lays his bosom bare, 
 
 And finds hypocrisy close lurking there. 
 
 And, serving God herself through mere constraint, 
 
 Concludes his unfeign'd love of him a feint. 
 
 And yet, God knows, look human nature through, 
 
 (And in due time the world shall know it too) 
 
 That, since the flowers of Eden felt the blast 
 
 That after man's defection laid all waste. 
 
 Sincerity towards the heart-searching God 
 
 Has made the new-born creature her abode. 
 
 Nor shall be found in unregenerate souls. 
 
 Till the last fire burn all between the poles. 
 
 Sincerity ! Why 'tis his only pride, 
 
 Weak and imperfect in all grace beside, 
 
 He knows that God demands his heart entire. 
 
 And gives him all his just demands require. 
 
 Without it his pretensions were as vain, 
 
 As having it he deems the world's disdain ; 
 
 That great defect would cost him not alone 
 
 Man's favourable judgment, but his own : 
 
 His birthright shaken, and no longer clear, 
 
 Than while his conduct proves his heart sincere. 
 
 Retort the charge, and let the world be told 
 
 She boasts a confidence she does not hold ; 
 
 That, conscious of her crimes, she feels instead 
 
 A cold misgiving, and a killing dread ; 
 
 That while in health the ground of her support 
 
 Is madly to forget that life is short ; 
 
 That sick she trembles, knowing she must die. 
 
 Her hope presumption, and her faith a lie ; 
 
 That while she dotes, and dreams that she believes. 
 
 She mocks her Maker, and herself deceives,
 
 134 CONVERSATION. 
 
 Her utmost reac!i, historical assent, 
 
 The doctrines warp'd to what they never meant ", 
 
 That truth itselfis iu her head as dull 
 
 And useless as a candle in a skull, 
 
 And all her love of God, a groundless claim, 
 
 A trick upon the canvass, painted ilame. 
 
 Tell her again, the sneer upon her face. 
 
 And all her censures of the work of grace, 
 
 Are insincere, meant only to conceal 
 
 A dread she would not, yet is forced to feel; 
 
 That in her heart the Christian she reveres, 
 
 And, while she seems to scorn him, only fears. 
 
 A poet does not work by square or line, 
 As smiths and joiners perfect a design ; 
 At least we moderns, our attention less. 
 Beyond the' example of our sires digress, 
 And claim a right to scamper and run wide. 
 Wherever chance, caprice, or fancy guide. 
 The world and I fortuitously met, 
 I owed a trifle, and have paid the debt; 
 She did me wrong, I recompensed the deed, 
 And, having struck the balance, now proceed. 
 Perhaps, however, as some years have pass'd 
 Since she and I conversed together last. 
 And I have lived recluse in rural shades. 
 Which seldom a distinct report pervades. 
 Great changes and new manners have occurr'd 
 And bless'd reforms, that I have never heard; 
 And she may now be as discreet and wise, 
 As once absurd in all discerning eyes. 
 Sobriety perhaps may now be found, 
 Where once Intoxication press'd tlie ground ; 
 The subtle and injurious may be just, 
 And he grown chaste, that was the slave of lust; 
 Arts once esteem'd may be with shame dismiss'd 
 Charity may relax the miser's list ; 
 The gamester may have cast his cards away. 
 Forgot to curse, and only kueel to pray.
 
 COnVERSATIOK. 135 
 
 It has iiuleed been told me (with what weight. 
 
 How credibly, 'tis hard for me to state) 
 
 That fables old, that seem'd for ever mate, 
 
 Revived are hastening into fresh repute. 
 
 And gods and goddesses discarded long 
 
 Like useless lumber, or a stroller's song, 
 
 Are bringing into vogue their heathen train. 
 
 And Jupiter bids fair to rule again ; 
 
 That certain feasts are instituted now, 
 
 Where Venus hears the lover's tender vow ; 
 
 That all Olympus through the country roves. 
 
 To consecrate our few remaining groves, 
 
 And Echo learns politely to jepeat 
 
 The praise of names for ages obsolete : 
 
 That having proved the weakness, it should seem, 
 
 Of Revelation's ineffectual beam. 
 
 To bring the passions under sober sway, 
 
 And give the moral springs their proper play. 
 
 They mean to try what may at last be done. 
 
 By stout substantial gods of wood and stone. 
 
 And whether Roman rites may not produce 
 
 The virtues of eld Rome for English use. 
 
 May such success attend the pious plan. 
 
 May Mercury once more embellish man, 
 
 Grace him again with long forgotten arts, 
 
 Reclaim his taste, and brighten up his parts, 
 
 Make him athletic as in days of old, 
 
 Learn'd at the bar, in the palaestra bold. 
 
 Divest the rougher sex of female airs, 
 
 And teach the softer not to copy theirs: 
 
 The change shall please, nor shall it matter aught 
 
 Who works the wonder, if it be but wrought. 
 
 'Tis time, however, if the case stand thus. 
 
 For us plain folks, and all who side with us. 
 
 To build our altar, confident and bold, 
 
 And say as stern Elijah said of old. 
 
 The strife now stands upon a fair award. 
 
 If Israel's Lord be God, then serve the Lord :
 
 136 CONVERSATfON. 
 
 If he be silent, faith is all a whim, 
 Then Baal is the God, and worship him. 
 Digiession is so much ia modern use. 
 Thought is so rare, and fancy so profuse, 
 Some never seem so wide of tlieir intent. 
 As Avheu returning to the theme they meaiit ; 
 As mendicants, whose business is to roam, 
 Make every parish but their own their home. 
 Though such continual zigzags in a book. 
 Such drunken reelings have an awkward look. 
 And I had rather creep to what is true, 
 Than rove and stagger, with no mark in view ; 
 Yet to consult a little, seem'd no crime. 
 The freakish humour of the present time : 
 But now, to gather up what seems dispersed. 
 And touch the subject I design'd at first, 
 May prove, though much beside the rules of art, 
 Best for the public, and my wisest part. 
 And first let no man charge me that I mean 
 To clothe in sable every social scene. 
 And give good company a face severe, 
 As if they met around a father's bier ; 
 For tell some men, that pleasure all their bent. 
 And laughter all their work, is life mispent. 
 Their wisdom bursts into this sage reply. 
 Then mirth is sin, and we should always cry. 
 To find the medium asks some share of wit, 
 And therefore 'tis a mark fools never hit. 
 But though life's valley be a vale of tears, 
 A brighter scene beyond that vale appears. 
 Whose glory with a light, that never fades, 
 Shoots between scatter'd rocks and opening shades. 
 And, while it shows the land the soul desires. 
 The language of the land she seeks inspires. 
 Thus touch'd, the tongue receives a sacred cure 
 Of ail that was absurd, profane, impure ; 
 Held within modest bounds, the tide of speech 
 Pursues the course, that Truth and Nature teach. ;
 
 RETIREMENT. 137 
 
 No longer labours merely to produce 
 
 The pomp of sound, or tinkle without use : 
 
 Where'er it winds, the salutarj' stream, 
 
 Sprightl}'^ and fresh, enriches every theme. 
 
 While ail the happy man possess'd before, 
 
 The gift of nature, or the classic store. 
 
 Is made subservient to the grand design. 
 
 For which Heaven form'd the faculty divine. 
 
 So should an idiot, while at large he strays. 
 
 Find the sweet lyre, on which an artist plays. 
 
 With rash and awkward force the chords he shakes. 
 
 And grins with wonder at the jar he makes ; 
 
 But let the wise and well-instructed hand 
 
 Once take the shell beneath his just command. 
 
 In gentle sounds it seem'd as it complain'd 
 
 Of the rude injuries it late sustain'd, 
 
 Till tuned at length to some immortal song. 
 
 It sounds Jehovah's name, and pours his praise along. 
 
 RETIREMENT. 
 
 stuciiis florenss ignobili? oti. 
 
 Firg. Geoi g. Lib. 4. 
 
 Hackney'd in business, wearied at that oar 
 Which thousands, once fast chaiu'd to, quit no more. 
 But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low. 
 All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego ; 
 The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade, 
 Pants for the refuge of some rural shade,
 
 138 RETIREMENT. 
 
 Where, all his long anxieties forgot 
 
 Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot, 
 
 Or recollected only to gild o'er. 
 
 And add a smile to what was sweet before, 
 
 He may possess the joys he thinks he sees, 
 
 Lay his old age upon the lap of Ease, 
 
 Improve the remnant of his wasted span. 
 
 And, having lived a triller, die a man. 
 
 Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast, 
 
 Though long rebelled against, not yet siippress'd, 
 
 And calls a creature form'd for God alone. 
 
 For Heaven's high purposes, and not his own. 
 
 Calls him away from selfish ends and aims, 
 
 From what debilitates and what inflames. 
 
 From cities humming with a restless crowd, 
 
 Sordid as active, ignorant as loud. 
 
 Whose highest praise is that they live in vain, 
 
 The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain, 
 
 Where works of man are cluster'd close around, 
 
 And works of God are hardly to be found, 
 
 To regions where, in spite of sin and woe, 
 
 Traces of Eden are still seen below. 
 
 Where mountain, river, forest, held, and grove, 
 
 Remind him of his Maker's power and love. 
 
 'Tis well if, look'd for at so late a day, 
 
 In the last scene of such a senseless play. 
 
 True wisdom will attend his feeble call, 
 
 And grace his action ere the curtain fall. 
 
 ►Souls, that have long desi)ised their heavenly birth. 
 
 Their wishes all impregnated with earth, 
 
 For threescore years employ'd with ceaseless ca«-e. 
 
 In catching smoke and feeding upon air, 
 
 Conversant only with the ways of men, 
 
 Rarely redeem the short remaining ten. 
 
 Inveterate habits choke tlie' unfruitful heart, 
 
 Their fibres penetrate its tenderest part, 
 
 And, draining its nutricious powers to feed 
 
 Their noxious growth, starve every better seed.
 
 RETIREMENT. 139 
 
 Happy, if full of days — but happier far, 
 If, ere we yet discern life's evening star, 
 Siclc of the service of a world, tliat feeds 
 Its patient drudg;es with dry chalf and weeds, 
 We can escape from Custom's idiot sway. 
 To serve the Sovereign we were born to' obey. 
 Then sweet to muse upon his skill display'd 
 (Infinite skill) in all that he has made ! 
 To trace in Nature's most minute design 
 The signature and stamp of power divine, 
 Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease. 
 Where unassisted sight no beauty sees. 
 The shapely limb and lubricated joint. 
 Within the small dimensions of a point. 
 Muscle and nerve miraculously spun. 
 His mighty work, who speaks and it is done, 
 The' invisible in things scarce seen reveal'd. 
 To whom an atom is an ample field ; 
 To wonder at a thousand insect forms, 
 These hatch'd, and those resuscitated worms, 
 New life ordaiu'd and brighter scenes to share, 
 Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air. 
 Whose shape would make them, had they bulk and 
 More hideous foes than fanc}' can devise ; [size, 
 
 With helmet-heads and dragon-scales adorn'd. 
 The mighty myriads, now securely scorn'd. 
 Would mock the majesty of man's high birth, 
 Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth : 
 Then with a glance of fancy to survey, 
 Far as the faculty can stretch away. 
 Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command 
 From urns, that never fail, through every land : 
 This like a deluge with impetuous force. 
 Those winding modestly a silent course ; 
 The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales ; 
 Seas, on which every nation spreads her sails ; 
 The sun, a world whence other worlds drink light. 
 The crescent moon, the diadem of night :
 
 110 RETIREMENT. 
 
 Stars countless, each in his appointed place, 
 
 Fast anchor'd in the deep abyss of space — 
 
 At such a sight to catch the poet's flame, 
 
 And with a rapture like his own exclaim, 
 
 These are thy glorious works, thou Source of good. 
 
 How dimly seen, how faintly understood ! 
 
 Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care, 
 
 This universal frame, thus wondrous fair ; 
 
 Thy power divine, and bounty beyond thought 
 
 Adored and praised in all that thou hast wrought. 
 
 Absorb'd in that immensity I see, 
 
 I shrink abased, and yet aspire to thee ; 
 
 Instruct me, guide me to that heavenly day 
 
 Thy words, more clearly than thy works, display. 
 
 That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refine, 
 
 I may resemble thee and call thee mine. 
 
 O bless'd proficiency ! surpassing all 
 That men erroneously their glory call. 
 The recompense that arts or arms can yield, 
 The bar, the senate, or the tented field. 
 Compared with this sublimest life below. 
 Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to show ? 
 Thus studied, used and consecrated thus, 
 On earth what is, seems form'd indeed for us ; 
 Not as the plaything of a froward child. 
 Fretful unless diverted and beguiled, 
 Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires 
 Of pride, ambition, or impure desires. 
 But as a scale, by which the soul ascends 
 From mighty means to more important ends, 
 Securely, though by steps but rarely trod, 
 ]Mounts from inferior beings up to God, 
 And sees, by no fallacious liglit or dim, 
 Earth made for man, and man himself for him. 
 
 Not that I mean to' approve, or would enforce, 
 A superstitious and monastic course : 
 Truth is not local, God alike pervades 
 And fills the world of traflic and the shades,
 
 retire:-iekt. lil 
 
 Aud may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes, 
 
 Or scorn'd where business never intervenes. 
 
 But 'tis not easy, vvith a mind like ours, 
 
 Conscious of weakness in its noblest powers, 
 
 And in a world where, other ills apart, 
 
 The roving eye misleads the careless heart, 
 
 To limit Thought, by Nature prone to stray 
 
 Wherever freakish Fancy points the way ; 
 
 To bid the pleadings of Self-love be still. 
 
 Resign our own, and seek our Maker's will; 
 
 To spread the page of Scripture, and compare 
 
 Our conduct with the laws engiaven there ; 
 
 To measure all that passes in the breast, 
 
 Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test ; 
 
 To dive into the secret deeps within, 
 
 To spare no passion and no favourite sin. 
 
 And search the themes, important above all, 
 
 Ourselves and our recovery from our fall. 
 
 But leisure, silence, and a mind released 
 
 From anxious thoughts how wealth may be increased. 
 
 How to secure, in some propitious hour. 
 
 The point of interest, or the post of power, 
 
 A soul serene, and equally retired 
 
 From objects too much dreaded or desired, 
 
 Safe from the clamours of perverse dispute, 
 
 At least are friendly to the great pursuit. 
 
 Opening the map of God's extensive plan. 
 We find a little isle, this life of man ; 
 Eternity's unknown expanse appears 
 Circling around and limiting his years. 
 The busy race examine and explore 
 Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore, 
 W^ith care collect, what in their eyes excels, 
 Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and sh.ells ; 
 Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great. 
 And happiest he that groans beneath his weight ; 
 The waves o'ertake them in their serious play, 
 And every hour sweeps multitudes av/ay ;
 
 142 RETIREMENT. 
 
 They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep, 
 Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep. 
 A few forsake the throng ; with lifted ejes 
 Ask wealth of Heaven, and gain a real prize. 
 Truth, wisdom, grace, and peace like that above, 
 Seal'd with his signet, whom they serve and love ; 
 Scorn'd by the rest, with patient hope they wait 
 A kind release from their imperfect state. 
 And unregretted are soon snatch'd away 
 From scenes of sorrow into glorious day. 
 
 Now these alone prefer a life recluse, 
 Who seek retirement for its proper use ; 
 The love of change, that lives in every breast. 
 Genius, and temper, and desire of rest. 
 Discordant motives in one centre meet. 
 And each inclines its votary to retreat. 
 Some minds by nature are averse to noise, 
 And hate the tumult half the world enjoys. 
 The lure of avarice, or the pompous prize, 
 That courts display before ambitious eyes ; 
 The fruits, that hang on Pleasure's flowery stem, 
 W hate'er enchants them, are no snares to them. 
 To them the deep recess of dusky groves. 
 Or forest, where the deer securely roves. 
 The fall of waters and the song of birds. 
 And hills, that echo to the distant herds, 
 Are luxuries excelling all the glare 
 The world can boast, and her chief favourites share. 
 With eager step, and carelessly array'd, 
 For such a cause the poet seeks the shade, 
 From all he sees he catches new delight. 
 Pleased Fancy claps her pinions at the sight, 
 The rising or the setting orb of day, 
 The clouds that flit, or slowly float away, 
 Nature in all the various shapes she wears, 
 Frowning in storms, or breathing gentle airs. 
 The snowy robe her wintry state assumes, 
 Her summer heats, her fruits, and her perfwjnes.
 
 RETIREMENT. 113 
 
 All, all alike transport the glowing bard, 
 
 Success iu rhjrae liis glory and reward. 
 
 O Nature ! whose Elysian scenes disclose 
 
 His bright perfections, at whose word they rose, 
 
 Next to that power, who forra'd thee and sustains. 
 
 Be thou the great inspirer of my strains. 
 
 Still, as I touch the lyre, do thou expand 
 
 Thy genuine charms, and guide an artless hand, 
 
 That I may catch a lire but rarely known. 
 
 Give useful light, though 1 should miss renown ; 
 
 And, poring on thy page, whose every line 
 
 Bears proof of an intelligence divine. 
 
 May feel a heart enrich'd by what it pays. 
 
 That builds its glory on its Maker's praise. 
 
 Woe to the man, whose wit disclaims its use, 
 
 Glittering in vain, or only to seduce. 
 
 Who studies nature with a wanton eye. 
 
 Admires the work, but slips the lesson by ; 
 
 His hours of leisure and recess employs 
 
 In drawing pictures of forbidden joys. 
 
 Retires to blazon his own worthless name, 
 
 Or shoot the careless with a surer aim. 
 
 The lover too shuns business and alarms, 
 Tender idolater of absent charms. 
 Saints offer nothing in their warmest prayers, 
 That he devotes not with a zeal like theirs : 
 'Tis consecration of his heart, soul, time. 
 And every thought that wanders is a crime. 
 In sighs he worships his supremely fair, 
 And weeps a sad libation in despair, 
 Adores a creature, and, devout in vain. 
 Wins in return an answer of disdain. 
 As woodbine weds the plant within her reacli. 
 Rough elm, or smooth-graiu'd ash, or glossy beech, 
 In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays 
 Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays. 
 But does a mischief while she lends a grace, 
 ^Straitening its |rrovvlh by such a strict embrace;
 
 144 RETIREMENT. 
 
 So Love, tbat clings around the noblest minds, 
 Forbids the' advancement of the soul he binds ; 
 The suitor's air indeed he soon improves, 
 And forms it to the taste of her he loves, 
 Teaches his ej es a language, and no less 
 Refines his speech, and fashions his address; 
 But farewell promises of happier fruits, 
 Manly designs, and learning's grave pursuits ; 
 Girt with a chain he cannot wish to breaii. 
 His only bliss is sorrow for her sake ; 
 Who will may pant for glory and excel, 
 Her smile his aim, all higher aims farewell ! 
 Thyrsis, Alexis, or whatever name 
 May least offend against so pure a flame. 
 Though sage advice of friends the most sinccie 
 Sounds harshly in so delicate an ear. 
 And lovers, of all creatures tame or wild. 
 Can least brook management, however mild. 
 Yet let a poet (poetry disarms 
 The fiercest animals Avith magic charms) 
 Risk an intrusion on Ihy pensive mood. 
 And woo and win thee to thy proper good. 
 Pastoral images and still retreats, 
 Umbrageous walks and solitary seats, 
 Sweet birds in concert with harmonious streams, 
 Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day dreams, 
 Are all enchantments in a case like thine. 
 Conspire against tliy peace with one design. 
 Sooth thee to make thee but a surer prey. 
 And feed the fire that wastes thy powers away. 
 Up — God has form'd thee with a wiser view, 
 Not to be led in chains, but to subdue, 
 Calls thee to cope with enemies, and first 
 Points out a conflict with thyself, the worst. 
 Woman indeed, a gift he would bestow 
 When he design'd a Paradise below. 
 The richest earthly boon his hands afford, 
 Deserves to be beloved, but not adored.
 
 RETIREMENT. 1 
 
 Post away swiflly to more active scenes, 
 Collect the scafter'd truths that study gleans, 
 Mix with the world, bat with its wiser part. 
 No longer give an image all thine heart ; 
 Its empire is not hers, nor is it thine, 
 'Tis God's just claim, prerogative divine. 
 
 Virtuous and faithful Heberden, whose skill 
 Attempts no task, it cannot well fulfil. 
 Gives melancholy up to Nature's care, 
 And sends the patient into purer air. 
 Look where he comes — in this embower'd alcove 
 Stand close conceal'd, and see a statue move : 
 Lips busy, and eyes fix'd, foot falling slow. 
 Arms hanging idly down, hands clasp'd below, 
 Interpret to the marking eye distress. 
 Such as its symptoms can alone express. 
 That tongue is silent now ; that silent tongue 
 Could argue once, could jest or join the song. 
 Could give advice, could censure or commend, 
 Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend. 
 Renounced alike its office and its sport. 
 Its brisker and its graver strains fall short ; 
 Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway, 
 And like a summer brook are pass'd away. 
 This is a sight for Pity to peruse, 
 Till she resemble faintly what she views, 
 Till Sympathy contract a kindred pain. 
 Pierced with the woes that slie laments ia vaia. 
 This, of all maladies that man infest. 
 Claims most compassion, and receives the least : 
 Job felt it, when he groan'd beneath the rod 
 And the barb'd arrows of a frowning God; 
 And such emollients as his friends could spare. 
 Friends such as his for modern Jobs prepare. 
 Bless'd, rather cursed, with hearts that never fetl, 
 Kept snug in caskets of close hammer'd steel, 
 "With mouths made only to grin wide and eat, 
 And minds, that deem derided pain a treat, 
 VOL, I. L
 
 146 RETIREMENT. 
 
 With limbs of British oak, and nerves of wire, 
 
 And wit, that puppet-prompters might inspire. 
 
 Their sovereign nostrum is a clumsy jolce 
 
 On pangs enforced with God's severest stroke. 
 
 But with a soul, that ever felt the sting 
 
 Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing : 
 
 Not to molest, or irritate, or raise 
 
 A laugh at his expense, is slender praise ; 
 
 He, that has not usurp'd the name of man. 
 
 Does all, and deems too little all, he can, 
 
 To' assuage the throbbings of the fester'd part. 
 
 And stanch the bleedings of a broken heart. 
 
 'Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose, 
 
 Forgery of fancy, and a dream of woes ; 
 
 Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, 
 
 Each yielding harmony disposed aright ; 
 
 The screws reversed (a task which if he please 
 
 God in a moment executes with ease). 
 
 Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose. 
 
 Lost, till he tune them, all their power and use. 
 
 Then neither heathy wilds, nor scenes as fair 
 
 As ever recompensed the peasant's care. 
 
 Nor soft declivities with tufted hills. 
 
 Nor view of waters turning busy mills, 
 
 Parks in which Art preceptress Nature weds. 
 
 Nor gardens interspersed with flowery beds. 
 
 Nor gales, tiiat catch the scent of blooming groves. 
 
 And waft it to the mourner as he roves, 
 
 Can call up life into his faded eye, 
 
 That passes all he sees unheeded by : 
 
 No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels. 
 
 No cure for such till God, who makes tliem, heals : 
 
 And thou, sad sulTerer under nameless ill, 
 
 That yields not to the touch of human skill, 
 
 Improve the kind occasion, understand 
 
 A Father's frown, and kiss his chastening hand : 
 
 To thee the dayspring and the blaze of noon. 
 
 The purple eveniag and resplendent moon.
 
 RETIREMENT. 147 
 
 The stars that, sprinkled o'er the vault of night. 
 
 Seem drops descending in a shower of light, 
 
 Shine not, or undesired and hated shine, 
 
 Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine : 
 
 Yet seek him, in his favour life is found. 
 
 All bliss beside a shadow or a sound : 
 
 Then Heaven, eclipsed so long, and this dull earth. 
 
 Shall seem to start into a second birth ! 
 
 Nature, assuming a more lovelj face, 
 
 Borrowing a beauty from the works of grace. 
 
 Shall be despised and overlook'd no more, 
 
 Shall fill thee with delights unfelt before, 
 
 Impart to things inanimate a voice, 
 
 And bid her mountains and her hills rejoice ; 
 
 The sound shall run along the winding vales. 
 
 And thou enjoy an Eden ere it fails. 
 
 Ye groves (the statesman at his desk exclaim.s. 
 Sick of a thousand disappointed aims,) 
 My patrimonial treasure and my pride, 
 Beneath your shades your gray possessor hide. 
 Receive me languishing for that repose 
 The servant of the public never knows. 
 Ye saw me once (ah those regretted days. 
 When boyish innocence was all my praise !) 
 Hour after hour delightfully allot 
 To studies then familiar, since forgot, 
 And cultivate a taste for ancient song. 
 Catching its ardour as I mused along ; 
 Nor seldom, as propitious Heaven might send. 
 What once I valued and could boast, a friend. 
 Were witnesses how cordially I press'd 
 His undissembliug virtue to my breast : 
 Receive me now not uncorrupt as then, 
 Nor guiltless of corrupting other men. 
 But versed in arts, that, while they seem to stfiy 
 A falling empire, hasten its decay, 
 To the fair haven of my native home. 
 The wreck of what I was, fatigued I come.
 
 143 RETIREMENT. 
 
 For once I can approve the patriot's voice, 
 And make the course he recommends my choice : 
 We meet at last in one sincere desire, 
 His wish and mine both prompt me to retire. 
 'Tis done — he steps into the welcome chaise, 
 Lolls at his ease behind four handsome bays. 
 That whirl away from business and debate 
 The disencumber'd Atlas of the state. 
 Ask not the boy, who, when the breeze of morn 
 First shakes the glittering drops from every thorn. 
 Unfolds his flock, then under bank or bush 
 Sits linking cherry stones, or platting rush. 
 How fair is Freedom ? — he was always free : 
 To carve his rustic name upon a tree. 
 To snare the mole, or with ill-fashioned hook 
 To draw the' incautious minnow from the brook, 
 Are life's prime pleasures in his simple view, 
 His llock the chief concern he ever knew ; 
 She shines but little in his heedless eyes, 
 Tlie good we never miss we rarely prize : 
 But ask the noble drudge in state affairs. 
 Escaped from office and its constant cares. 
 What charms he sees in Freedom's smile express'd. 
 In Freedom lost so long, now repossess'd ; 
 The tongue, whose strains were cogent as commands. 
 Revered at home, and felt in foreign lands. 
 Shall own itself a stammerer in that cause. 
 Or plead its silence as its best applause. 
 He knows indeed, that, whether dress'd or rude. 
 Wild without art, or artfully subdued. 
 Nature in every form inspires delight. 
 But never mark'd her with so just a sight. 
 Her hedge-row shrubs, a variegated store, 
 With woodbine and wild roses, mantled o'er, 
 <*reen balks and furrow'd lands,the stream that spreads 
 Tts cooling vapour o'er the dewy meads. 
 Downs that almost escape the' inquiring eye, 
 That melt and fade into the di.staut sky, .\ 
 
 T;
 
 RETIREMENT. 149 
 
 Beauties he lately slighted as he pass'd, 
 
 Seem all created since he travel'd last. 
 
 Master of all the' enjoyments he desigu'd, 
 
 No rough annoyance rankling in his mind. 
 
 What early philosophic hours he keeps, 
 
 How regular his meals, how sound he sleeps! 
 
 Not sounder he, that, on the mainmast head, 
 
 While morning kindles with a windy red, 
 
 Begins a long look-oat for distant laud, 
 
 Nor quits till evening watch his giddy stand, 
 
 Then, swift descending with a seaman's haste, 
 
 Slips to his hammock, and forgets the blast. 
 
 He chooses company, but not the squire's, 
 
 Whose wit is rudeness, whose good breeding tires ; 
 
 Nor yet the parson's who would gladly come, 
 
 Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home ; 
 
 Nor can he much aft'ect the neighbouring peer. 
 
 Whose toe of emulation treads too near ; 
 
 Bat wisely seeks a more convenient friend, 
 
 With whom dismissing forms he may unbend! 
 
 A man, whom marks of condescending grace 
 
 Teach, while they flatter him, his proper place ; 
 
 Who comes when called, and at a word withdraws, 
 
 Speaks with reserve, and listens with applause ; 
 
 Some plain mechanic, who, without pretence 
 
 To birth or wit, nor gives nor takes offence ; 
 
 On whom he rests well-pleased his weary powers, 
 
 And talks and laughs away his vacant hours. 
 
 The tide of life, swift always in its course, 
 
 May run in cities with a brisker force. 
 
 But no where with a current so serene. 
 
 Or half so clear, as in the rural scene. 
 
 Yet how fallacious is all earthly bliss. 
 
 What obvious truths the wisest heads may miss : 
 
 Some pleasures live a month, and some a year, 
 
 But short the date of all we gather here ; 
 
 No happiness is felt, except the true, 
 
 That does not charm the more for being new.
 
 150 RETIREMENT. 
 
 Tliis observation, as it chanced, not made, 
 
 Or if the thought occurr'd, not duly weigh'd. 
 
 He sighs — for after all by slow degrees 
 
 The spot he loved has lost the power to please ; 
 
 To cross his ambling pony day by day. 
 
 Seems at the best but dreaming life away; 
 
 The prospect, such as might enchant despair, 
 
 He views it not, or sees no beauty there ; 
 
 With aching heart, and discontented looks, 
 
 Returns at noon to billiards or to books, 
 
 But feels, while grasping at his faded joys, 
 
 A secret thirst of his renounced employs. 
 
 He chides the tardiness of every post, 
 
 Pants to he told of battles won or lost, 
 
 Blames his own indolence, observes, though late, 
 
 'Tis criminal to leave a sinking state. 
 
 Flies to the levee, and, received with grace, 
 
 Kneels, kisses hands, and shines again in place. 
 
 Suburban villas, highway-side retreats. 
 That dread the' encroachment of our growing streets, 
 Tight boxes neatly sash'd, and in a blaze 
 \\ ith all a July sun's collected rays. 
 Delight the citizen, who, gasping there, 
 Breathes clouds of dust, and calls it country air. 
 O sweet retirement, who would balk the thought. 
 That could alVord retirement, or could not ? 
 'Tis such an eas}' walk, so smooth and straight. 
 The second milestone fronts the garden gate ; 
 A stej) if Aiir, and, if a shower approach. 
 You find safe shelter in the next stage coach. 
 There, prison'd in a parlour snug and small. 
 Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall, 
 The man of business and his friends compress'd 
 Forget their labours, and yet find no rest ; 
 But still 'tis rural — trees are to be seen 
 From every window, and (he fields are green ; 
 Ducks paddle ' > the pond before the door, 
 And what coulu a remoter scene show more ?
 
 RETIREMENT. 151 
 
 \ sense of elegance we rarely find 
 The portion of a mean or vulgar mind, 
 And ignorance of better things makes man, 
 Who cannot much, rejoice in what he can ; 
 And he, that deems his leisure well bestow'd 
 In contemplation of a turnpike road, 
 Is occupied as well, employs his hours 
 As wisely, and as much improves his powers. 
 As he that slumbers in pavilions graced 
 With all the charms of an accomplish'd taste. 
 Yet hence, alas ! insolvencies ; and hence 
 The' nnpitied victim of ill judged expense, 
 From all his wearisome engagements freed, 
 Shakes hands with business, and retires indeed. 
 Your prudent grand-mammas, ye modern belles, 
 Content with Bristol, Bath, and Tunbridge Wells, 
 When health required it would consent to roam. 
 Else more attach'd to pleasures found at home. 
 But now alike, gay widow, virgin, wife, 
 Ingenious to diversify dull life. 
 In coaches, chaises, caravans, and hoys, 
 Fly to the coast for daily, nightly joys, 
 And all, impatient of dry land, agree 
 W^ith one consent to rush into the sea — 
 Ocean exhibits, fathomless and broad, 
 Much of the power and majesty of God. 
 He swathes aboiit the swelling of the deep, 
 That shines and rests, as infants smile and sleep ; 
 Vast as it is, it answers as it flows 
 The breathings of the lightest air that blows ; 
 Curling and whitening over all the waste. 
 The rising waves obey the' increasing blast, 
 Abrupt and horrid as the tempest roars, 
 Thunder and flash upon the steadfast shores. 
 Till he, that rides the whirlwind, checks the reia, 
 Then all the world of waters sleep again. — 
 Nereids or Dryads, as the fashion leads. 
 Now in the floods, now panting in the meads,
 
 152 RfciTlHEMLNT. 
 
 Votaries of Pleasure still, where'er she dwells. 
 Near barren rocks, in palaces, or cells, 
 
 grant a poet leave to recommend 
 
 (A poet fond of Nature, and jour friend) 
 
 Her slighted works to your admiring view ; 
 
 Her works must needs excel, who fashion'd you. 
 
 Would ye, when rambling in your morning ride, 
 
 With some unmeaning coxcomb at your side. 
 
 Condemn the prattler for his idle pains, 
 
 To waste unheard the music of his strains, 
 
 And, deaf to all the' impertinence of tongue. 
 
 That, while it courts, affronts and does you wro!)g, 
 
 Mark well the finish'd plan without a fault, 
 
 The seas globose and huge, the' o'erarchiug vault, 
 
 Earth's millions daily fed, a world employ'd 
 
 In gathering plenty yet to be enjoy'd, 
 
 Till gratitude grew vocal in the praise 
 
 Of God, beneficent in all his ways : 
 
 Graced with such wisdom, how would beauty shine ! 
 
 Ye want but that to seem indeed divine. 
 
 Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid, 
 Torce many a shining youth into the shade, 
 Not to redeem his time, but his estate. 
 And play tlie fool, but at a cheaper rate. 
 There, hid in loathed obscurity, removed 
 From pleasures left, but never more beloved. 
 He just endures, and with a sickly spleen 
 .Sighs o'er the beauties of the charming scene. 
 Nature indeed looks prettily in rhyme ; 
 Streams tinkle sweetly in poetic chime : 
 The warblings of the blackbird, clear and strong, 
 Are musical enougli in Thomson's song ; 
 And Cobham's groves, and Windsor's green re<rcats, 
 When Pope describes tliem, have a thousand sweets ; 
 He likes the country, but in truth must own. 
 Most likes it when he studios it in town. 
 
 I'oor Jack — no mat'.cr who — for when I blame 
 
 1 pity, and must therefore sink the name.
 
 RETIKLMENT. l.'>3 
 
 Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course, 
 
 And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse. 
 
 The estate his sires had own'd in ancient jears. 
 
 Was quickly distanced, match'd against a peer's. 
 
 Jack vanished, v/as regretted and forgot: 
 
 'Tis wild goodnature's never failing lot. 
 
 At length, when all had long supposed him dead. 
 
 By cold submersion, razor, rope, or lead. 
 
 My lord, alighting at his usual place. 
 
 The Crown, took notice of an ostler's face. 
 
 Jack knew his friend, but hoped in that disguise 
 
 He might escape the most observing eyes. 
 
 And -whistling, as if unconcern'd and gay, 
 
 Curried his nag, and look'd another way. 
 
 Convinced at last upon a nearer view, 
 
 'Twas he, the same, the very Jack he knew, 
 
 O'erwhelm'd at once with wonder, grief, and jov, 
 
 He press'd him much to quit his base employ ; 
 
 His countenance, his purse, his heart, his hand. 
 
 Influence and power, were all at his command : 
 
 Peers are not always generous as well-bred, 
 
 But Granby was, meant truly what he said. 
 
 Jack bow'd, and was obliged — confess'd 'twas strange. 
 
 That so retired he should not wish a change, 
 
 But knew no medium between guzzling beer. 
 
 And his old stint — three thousand pounds a year. 
 
 Thus some retire to nourish hopeless woe ; 
 Some seeking happiness not found below ; 
 Some to comply with humour, and a mind 
 To social scenes by nature disinclined ; 
 Some sway'd by faslnon, some by deep disgust : 
 Some self-impoverihh'd, and because they must ; 
 But few, that c-onrt Retirement, are aware 
 Of half the toils they must encounter there. 
 Lucrative offices aie seldom lost 
 For want of powers proportion'd to the post : 
 Give e'en a dunce the' employment he desires. 
 And he soon finds the talents it requires :
 
 154 RETIREMENT. 
 
 A business with an income at its heels 
 
 Furnishes always oil for its own wheels. 
 
 But in his arduous enterprise, to close 
 
 His active years with indolent repose, 
 
 He finds the labours of that state exceed 
 
 His utmost faculties, severe indeed. \ 
 
 'Tis easy to resign a toilsome place, 
 
 But not to manage leisure with a grace ; 
 
 Absence of occupation is not rest, 
 
 A mind quite vacant is a mind distress'd. 
 
 The veteran steed, excused his task at length. 
 
 In kind compassion of his failing strength, 
 
 And turn'd into the park or mead to graze, 
 
 Exempt from future service all his days. 
 
 There feels a pleasure perfect in its kind, 
 
 Ranges at liberty, and snuffs the wind : 
 
 But when his lord would quit the busy road, 
 
 To taste a joy like that he had bestow'd. 
 
 He proves less happy than his favour'd brute, 
 
 A life of ease a dilHcult pursuit. 
 
 Thought, to the man that never thinks, may seem 
 
 As natural as when asleep to dream ; 
 
 But reveries (for human minds will act) 
 
 Specious in show, impossible in fact. 
 
 Those flimsy webs, that break as soon as wrought, 
 
 Attain not to the dignity of thought : 
 
 Nor yet the swarms, that occupy the brain. 
 
 Where dreams of dress, intrigue, and pleasure reign: 
 
 Nor such as useless conversation breeds, 
 
 Or lust engenders, and indulgence feeds. 
 
 Whence, and what are we ? to what end ordain'd ? 
 
 What means the drama by the world sustain'd .' 
 
 Business or vain amusement, care or mirth, 
 
 Divide the frail inhabitants of earth. 
 
 Is duty a mere sport, or an employ ; 
 
 Life an intrusted talent, or a toy ? 
 
 Is there, as reason, conscience, Scripture, say. 
 
 Cause to provide for a great future day,
 
 IlEllREMENT. 155 
 
 When, earth's assign'd duration at an end, 
 Man shall be sumraon'd and the dead attend ? 
 The trumpet — will it sound ? the curtain rise ? 
 And show the' august tribunal of the skies, 
 Where no prevarication shall avail. 
 Where eloquence and artifice shall fail, 
 The pride of arrogant distinctions fall. 
 And conscience and our conduct judge us all? 
 Pardon me, ye that give the midnight oil 
 To learned cares of philosophic toil. 
 Though I revere your honourable names, 
 Your useful labours and important aims. 
 And hold the world indebted to your aid, 
 Enrich'd with the discoveries ye have made ; 
 Yet let me stand excused, if I esteem 
 A mind employ'd on so sublime a theme. 
 Pushing her bold inquiry to the date 
 And outline of the present transient state, 
 And, after poising her adventurous wings, 
 Settling at last upon eternal things, 
 Far more intelligent, and better taught 
 The strenuous use of profitable thought. 
 Than ye, when happiest^ and enlighten'd most. 
 And highest in renown, can justly boast. 
 
 A mind unnerved, or indisposed to bear 
 The weight of subjects worthiest of her care. 
 Whatever hopes a change of scene inspires. 
 Must change her nature, or in vain retires. 
 An idler is a watch, that wants both hands. 
 As useless if it goes, as when it stands. 
 Books therefore, not the scandal of the shelves. 
 In which lewd sensualists print out themselves ; 
 Nor those in which the stage gives vice a blow. 
 With w hat success let modern manners show ; 
 Nor his, who for the bane of thousands born. 
 Built God a church, and langh'd his word to scorn. 
 Skilful alike to seem devout and just, 
 And stab religion witU a sly side-thrust :
 
 156 RETIREMENT. 
 
 Nor those of learn'd philologists, who chase 
 A panting sj'llable through time and space, 
 Slart it at home, and hunt it in the dark, 
 To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark ; 
 But such as Learning without false pretence, 
 The friend of Truth, the' associate of Good Sense, 
 And such as, in the zeal of good design, 
 Strong Judgment labouring in the Scripture mine, 
 AH such as manly and great souls produce, 
 Worthy to live, and of eternal use : 
 Behold in these what leisure hours demand. 
 Amusement and true knowledge hand in hand. 
 Luxury gives the mind a childish cast, 
 And, while she polishes, pervert's the taste ; 
 Habits of close attention, thinking heads. 
 Become more rare as dissipation spreads, 
 Till authors hear at length one general cry, 
 Tickle and entertain us, or we die. 
 The loud demand, from year to year the same. 
 Beggars Invention, and makes Fancy lame ; 
 Till farce itself, most mournfully jejune, 
 Calls for the kind assistance ofa tune : 
 And novels (witness every month's review) 
 Belie their name, and offer nothing new. 
 The mind, relaxing into needful sport, 
 Should turn to writers of an abler sort; 
 Whose wit well managed, -and whose classi'j st\le, 
 Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile. 
 Friends (for I cannot stint, as some have done, 
 Too rigid in my view, that name to one ; 
 Though one, I grant it, in the generous breast 
 Will stand advanced a step above the rest : 
 Flowers by that name promiscuously we call, 
 But one, the rose, the regent of them all) — 
 Friends, not adopted with a schoolboy's haste, 
 But clioseu with a nice discerning taste. 
 Well-born, well-discipliued, who, placed apart 
 From vulgar minds, have honour much at heart.
 
 RETIRE3IENT. l.)7 
 
 And, though the world may think the' ingredients odd, 
 
 The love of virtue, and the fear of God; 
 
 Such friends prevent what else would soon succeed, 
 
 A temper rustic as the life we lead, 
 
 And keep the polish of the manners clean, 
 
 As theirs who bustle in the busiest scene ; 
 
 For solitude, however some may rave, 
 
 Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave, 
 
 A sepulchre, in which the living lie, 
 
 Where all good qualities grow sick and die. 
 
 I praise the Frenchman*, his remark was shrewd — 
 
 How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude ! 
 
 But grant me still a friend in my retreat. 
 
 Whom 1 may whisper — solitude is sweet. 
 
 Yet neither these delights, nor aught beside, 
 
 That appetite can ask, or wealth provide, 
 
 Can save us always from a tedious day, 
 
 Or shine the dulness of still life away ; 
 
 Divine communion, carefully enjoy'd, 
 
 Or sought with energy, must fill the void. 
 
 O sacred art, to which alone life owes 
 
 Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close, 
 
 Scorn'd in a world, indebted to that scorn 
 
 For evils daily felt and hardly borne. 
 
 Not knowing thee, we reap with bleeding hands 
 
 Flowers of rank odour upon thorny lands. 
 
 And while Experience cautions us in vain, 
 
 Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain. 
 
 Despondence, self-deseited in her grief. 
 
 Lost by abandoning her own relief. 
 
 Murmuring and ungrateful Discontent, 
 
 That scorns afilictions mercifully meant, 
 
 Those humours tart as wine upon the fret, 
 
 Which idleness and weariness beget ; 
 
 These, and a thousand plagues, that haunt the brea.-t. 
 
 Fond of tiie phantom of an earthly rest, 
 
 * Bruvere.
 
 158 RETIREMENT. 
 
 Divine communion chases, as the day 
 
 Drives to their dens the' obedient beasts of prey. 
 
 See Judah's promised king bereft of all, 
 
 Driven out an exile from the face of Saul, 
 
 To distant caves the lonely wanderer flies, 
 
 To seek that peace a tyrant's frown denies. 
 
 Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice. 
 
 Hear him, o'erwhelni'd with sorrow, yet rejoice ; 
 
 No womanish or wailing grief has part, 
 
 No, not a moment, in his ro3'al heart ; 
 
 'Tis manly music, such as martyrs make, 
 
 Suffering with gladness for a Saviour's sake ; 
 
 His soul exults, hope animates his lays, 
 
 The sense of mercy kindles into praise. 
 
 And wilds, familiar with a lion's roar. 
 
 Ring with ecstatic sounds unheard before : 
 
 'Tis love like his, that can alone defeat 
 
 The foes of man, or make a desert sweet. 
 
 Religion does not censure or exclude 
 Unnumber'd pleasures harmlessly pursued ; 
 To study culture, and with artful toil 
 To meliorate and tame the stubborn soil; 
 To give dissimilar yet fruitful lands 
 The grain, or herb, or plant, that each demands; 
 To cherish virtue in an humble state. 
 And share the joys your bounty may create ; 
 To mark the matchless workings of the power, 
 That shuts within its seed the future flower, 
 Bids these in elegance of form excel, 
 In colour these, and those delight the smell, 
 Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies, 
 To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes , 
 To teach the canvass innocent deceit, 
 Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheet — 
 These, these are arts pursued without a crime, 
 That leave no stain upon the wing of time. 
 
 Me poetry (or rather notes that aim 
 Feebly and vainly at poetic fame)
 
 YARDLEY OAK. 159 
 
 Employs, shut out from more important views, 
 Fast by the banks of the slow winding Ouse ; 
 Content if thus sequester'd I may raise 
 A monitor's, though not a poet's praise. 
 And while T teach an art too little known. 
 To close life wisely, may not waste my own. 
 
 YARDLEY OAK. 
 1791. 
 
 Survivor sole, and hardly such, of all 
 That once lived here, thy brethren, at my birth, 
 (Since which I number threescore winters past) 
 A shatter'd veteran, hollow-trunk'd perhaps. 
 As now, and with excoriate forks deform, 
 Relics of ages ! Could a mind, imbued 
 With truth from Heaven, created thing adore, 
 I might with reverence kneel, and worship thee. 
 
 It seems idolatry with some excuse. 
 When our forefather Druids in their oaks 
 Imagined sanctity. The conscience, yet 
 Uupurified by an authentic act 
 Of amnesty, the meed of blood divine, 
 Loved not the light, but, gloomy, into gloom 
 Of thickest shades, like Adam after taste 
 Of fruit proscribed, as to a refuge, fled. 
 
 Thou wast a bauble once ; a cup and ball, 
 Which babes might play with ; and the thievish jay. 
 Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd 
 The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down 
 Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs 
 And all thine embryo vastness at a gulp. 
 But Fate thy growth decreed ; autumnal rains 
 Beneath th.y parent tree mellow'd the soil
 
 160 VARj>LEY OAK. 
 
 Design'd thy cradle ; and a sliippiag deer 
 With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepared 
 The soft receptacle, in which, secure, 
 Thj rudiments should sleep the winter through. 
 
 So Fancy dreams. Disprove it, if ye can. 
 Ye reasoners broad awake, whose busy search 
 Of argument, employ'd too oft amiss, 
 Sifts half the pleasures of short life away! 
 
 Thou fell'st mature ; and in the loamy clod 
 Swelling with vegetative force instinct 
 Didst burst thine egg, as theirs the fabled Twins, 
 Now stars; two lobes, protruding, pair'd exact; 
 A leaf succeeded, and another leaf. 
 And, all the elements thy puny growth 
 Fostering propitious, thou becamest a twig. 
 
 Who lived w^hen thou wast such ? Ob, couldsl thou 
 As in Dodoaa once thy kindred trees [sptak, 
 
 Oracular, I would not curious ask. 
 The future, best unknown, but at thy mouth 
 Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past. 
 
 I3y thee 1 might correct, erroneous oft, 
 The clock of history, facts and events 
 Timing more punctual, unrecorded facts 
 Recovering, and mistated setting right — 
 Desperate attempt, till trees shall speak again ! 
 
 Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods ; 
 And Time hath made thee what thou art — a cave 
 For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading bor.glis 
 O'erhung the cliampaign ; and the numerous flocks, 
 That grazed it, stood beneath that ample cope 
 Uncrowded, yet safe-shelter'd from the storm. 
 No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast out-lived 
 Thy popularity, and art become 
 (Unless verse rescue thee a while) a thing 
 Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth. 
 
 ^V'hile thus through all the stages thou hast pnsh'd 
 Of treeship — first a seedling, hid in grass ; 
 Then twig •, then sapling ; and, as century ro'l'd
 
 YARDLEY OAK. 161 
 
 Slow alter century, a giant-bulk 
 Of girth enormous, with nioss-cushiou'd root 
 Uplieaved above the soil, and sides emboss'd 
 With prominent wens globose — till at the last 
 The rottenness, which time is charged to inflict 
 On other mighty ones, found also thee. 
 
 What exhibitions various hath the world 
 W^itness'd of mutability in all 
 That we account most durable below I 
 Change is the diet on which all subsist, 
 Created changeable, and change at last 
 Destroys them. Skies uncertain now the heat 
 Transmitting cloudless, and the solar beam 
 Now quenching in a boundless sea of clouds — 
 Calm and alternate storm, moisture and drought, 
 Invigorate by tarns the springs of life 
 In all that live, plant, animal, and man, 
 And in conclusion mar them. Natures threads. 
 Fine passing thought, e'en in her coarsest works, 
 Delight in agitation, yet sustain, 
 The force that agitates not unimpali'd ; 
 But, worn by frequent impulse, to the cause 
 Of their best tone their dissolution owe. 
 
 Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still 
 The great and little of thy lot, thy growth 
 From almost nullity into a state 
 Of matchless grandeur, and declension thence, 
 Slow, into such magnificent decay. * 
 
 Time was, when, settling on thy leaf, a fly 
 Could shake thee to the root — and time has been 
 When tempests could not. At thy firmest age 
 Thou hadst within thy bole solid contents, 
 That might have ribb'd the sides and plank'd the 
 
 deck 
 Of some flagg'd admiral ; and tortuous arms. 
 The shipwright's darling treasure, didst present 
 To the four-quarter'd winds, robust and bold, 
 
 VOL. I, yi
 
 162 YARDLEY OAK. 
 
 Warp'd into tough knee-timber, many a load*! 
 Bat the axe spared thee. In those thriftier davs 
 Oaks fell not, hewn by thousands, to supply 
 The bottomless demands of contest, waged 
 For senatorial honours. Thus to Time 
 The task \Yas left to whittle thee away 
 With his sly scythe, whose ever-nibbling edge, 
 Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more, 
 Disjoining from the rest, has, unobserved. 
 Achieved a labour, which had far and wide, 
 By man perform'd, made all the forest ring. 
 
 Embowel'd now, and of thy ancient self 
 Possessing nought but the scoop'd riud, that seems 
 An huge throat, calling to the clouds for drink, 
 Which it would give in rivulets to thy root. 
 Thou teniptest none, but rather much forbidd'st 
 The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill requite. 
 Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, 
 A quarry of stout spurs, and knotted fangs, 
 Which, crook'd into a thousand whimseys, clasp 
 The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect. 
 
 So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet 
 Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid, 
 Though all the superstructure, by the tooth 
 Pulverized of venality, a shell 
 Stands now, and semblance only of itself! [<.fl' 
 
 Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rentth'.ui 
 I/ing since, and rovers of t!ie forest wild 
 With bow and shaft, haveburn"d them. Some have left 
 A splinter'd stump, bleach'd to a snowy white ; 
 And some, memorial none where once they grew. 
 Yet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth 
 Proof not contemptible of what she can. 
 Even where death predominates. The spring 
 
 • Kni^e-tiinber is fonnd in the ciooked arms of o.ik, wliiih, 
 by itason of tlu;ir disloilioii, arc t;asily a<)jnsttil to the ai,L,lo 
 Toi nied wlicrt the deck and llic ship's sidt'8 nice ».
 
 YARDLEY OAK. 163 
 
 Finds tbee not less alive to her sweet fo-v^e, 
 Than yonder upstarts of the neighbouring wood, 
 So much thy juniors, who their birth receiv ed 
 Half a milleniuui since the date of thine. 
 
 But since, although well qualified by age 
 To teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voice 
 May be expected from thee, seated here 
 On thy distorted root, with hearers none, 
 Or prompter, save the scene, I will perform 
 Myself the oracle, and will discourse 
 In my own ear such matter as I may. 
 
 One man alone, the father of us all, 
 Drew not his life from woman; never gazed^ 
 With mute unconsciousness of what he saw. 
 On all around him ; learn'd not by degrees, 
 Nor owed articulation to his ear ; 
 But, moulded by his jMaker into man 
 At once, upstood intelligent, sarvey'd 
 All creatures, with precision understood 
 Their purport, uses, properties, assign'd 
 To each his name significant, and fiU'd 
 With love and wisdom, render'd back to Heaveu 
 In praise harmonious the first air he drew. 
 He was excused the penalties of dull 
 Minority. No tutor charged his baud 
 With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his miiul 
 With problems. History, not wanted yet, 
 Lean'd on her elbow, watching Time, whose course, 
 Eventful, should supply her with a theme.
 
 RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE 
 
 OUT or NORFOLK. 
 
 THE GIFT OF ]\1Y COUSIN ANNE BODIIAM. 
 
 O THAT those lips had language ! Life has pass'd 
 With me but roughly since I heard thee last. 
 Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see, 
 The same that oft in childhood solaced me ; 
 Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, 
 ' Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away !' 
 The meek intelligence of those dear eyes, 
 (Bless'd be the art that can immortalize, 
 The art that baflles Time's tyrannic claim 
 To quench it), here shines on me still the same. 
 Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 
 
 welcome guest, though unexpected here! 
 Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song, 
 Aflectionate, a mother lost so long, 
 
 1 will obey, not willingly alone, 
 
 But gladly, as the precept were her own : 
 And, while that face renews my lilial grief, 
 Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief, 
 Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, 
 A momentary dream, that thou art she. 
 
 My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead. 
 Say, wast thou conscious of the tears 1 shed .'' 
 Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
 W^retch even then, life's journey just begun? 
 Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt a kiss ; 
 Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — 
 Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers — Yes. 
 1 heard the bell toll'd on thy burial day, 
 I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,
 
 ]>IY MOTHER'S PICTURE. \6r) 
 
 And, tornin<T from my nursery window, drew 
 A long, long sigli, and wept a last adieu! 
 But was it such? — It was — where thou art gone. 
 Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
 May I hut meet thee on that peaceful shore. 
 The parting word shall pass my lips no more! 
 Tiiy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern, 
 Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 
 What ardently I vvish'd, I long believed. 
 And, disappointed still, was still deceived. 
 By expectation every day beguiled, 
 Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 
 Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went. 
 Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 
 I learn'd at last submission to my lot, 
 But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. 
 
 Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, 
 Children not thine have trod my nursery floor 5 
 And where the gardener Robin, day by day. 
 Drew me to school along the public way. 
 Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd 
 In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap, 
 'Tis now become a history little known, 
 That once we call'd the pastoral house our own. 
 Short-lived possession! but the record fair 
 That memory keeps of all thy kindness there, 
 Still outlives many a storm, that has efl'aced 
 A thousand other themes less deeply traced. 
 Thy nightly visits to my chamber made. 
 That thou mightst know me safe and warmly laid ; 
 Thy morning bounties ere I left my home. 
 The biscuit, or confectionary plum ; 
 The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd 
 By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd ; 
 All this, and more endearing still than all, 
 Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, 
 Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and breaks. 
 That humour interposed too often makes ;
 
 1GG riY mother's picture. 
 
 A!l this still legible in memory's page, 
 
 And still to be so to ray latest age. 
 
 Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 
 
 Such honours to thee as my numbers may ; 
 
 Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere. 
 
 Not scorn'd in heaven, though little noticed here. 
 
 Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours, 
 When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers, 
 The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 
 I prick'd them into paper with a pin, 
 (And thou wast happier than myself the while, 
 Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile), 
 Could those few pleasant da3's again appear. 
 Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ? 
 I would not trust my heart — the dear delight 
 Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. — 
 But no — what here we call our life is such. 
 So little to be loved, and thou so much. 
 That I should ill requite thee to constrain 
 Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 
 
 Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast, 
 (The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd), 
 Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle. 
 Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile. 
 There sits quiescent on the floods, that show 
 Her beauteous form reflected clear below. 
 While airs impregnated witii incense play 
 Around her, fanning light her streamers gay ; 
 So thou, with sails liow swift! hast reach'd the .shore 
 ' Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,'* 
 And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 
 Of life long since has anchor'd by thy side. 
 But me, scarce hoping to attain tliat rest. 
 Always from port withheld, always distress'd — 
 Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd, 
 Sails ripp'd, seams opening wide, and compass lost.
 
 167 
 
 And day l>y day some curreiit's thwarting foico 
 Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 
 Yet O the thought that thou art safe, and he! 
 That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 
 My boast is not, that I deduce my birth 
 From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth ; 
 But higher far my proud pretensions rise — 
 The son of parents pass'd into the skies. 
 And now farewell — Time unrevoked has run 
 His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done. 
 By Contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
 I seem to' have lived my childhood o'er again ; 
 To have renew'd the joys that once were mine, 
 Without the sin of violating thine ; 
 And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, 
 And I can view this mimic show of thee, 
 Time has but half succeeded in his tlieft — 
 Thyself removed, thy power to sooth me left. 
 
 HEROISM. 
 
 There was a time when Etna's silent fire 
 Slept unperceived, the mountain yet entire: 
 When, conscious of no danger from below. 
 She tower'd a cloud-capp'd pyramid of snow. 
 No thunders shook with deep intestine sound 
 The blooming groves that girdled her around. 
 Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines, 
 (Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines), 
 The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assured, 
 In peace upon her sloping sides matured : 
 When on a day, like that of the last doom, 
 A conflagration labouring in her womb, 
 She teem'd and heaved with an infernal birth 
 That shook the circling seas and solid earth.
 
 168 HEROISM. 
 
 Dark and voluminous the vapours rise, 
 
 And hang their horrors in the neighbouring skies^ 
 
 While through the Stygian veil that blots the day. 
 
 In dazzling streaks the vivid lightnings play. 
 
 But oh ! what Muse, and in what powers of song. 
 
 Can trace the torrent as it burns along ? 
 
 Havoc and devastation in the van. 
 
 It marches o'er the prostrate works of man ; 
 
 Vines, olives, herbage, forests disappear, 
 
 And all the charms of a Sicilian year. 
 
 Revolving seasons, fruitless as they pass. 
 See it an uninform'd and idle mass ; 
 Without a soil to' invite the tiller's care. 
 Or blade that might redeem it from despair. 
 Yet Time at length (what will not Time achieve ?) 
 Clothes it with earth, and bids the produce live. 
 Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade. 
 And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade. 
 O bliss precarious, and unsafe retreats, 
 O charming Paradise of short-lived sweets! 
 The selfsame gale that wafts the fragrance round. 
 Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound : 
 Again the mountain feels the' imprison'd foe. 
 Again pours ruin on the vale below. 
 Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore, 
 Tliat only future ages can restore. 
 
 Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honour draws, 
 Who write in blood the merits of your cause. 
 Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence, 
 Clory your aim, but justice your pretence. 
 Behold in ^Etna's eml)lematic (ires 
 The mischiefs your andiitious pride inspires! 
 Fast by the stream that bounds your just domain.. 
 And tells you where ye have a right to reign, 
 A nation dwells, not envious of your throne, 
 Studious of peace, their neighbours', and their own 
 Ill-fated race! how deeply must they rue 
 Their only crime, vicinity to you !
 
 169 
 
 The trumpet sounds, jour legions swarm abroad, 
 
 Through the ripe harvest lies their destined road ; 
 
 At every step beneath their feet they tread 
 
 The life of multitudes, a nation's bread ! 
 
 Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress 
 
 Before them, and behinel a wilderness. 
 
 Famine, and Pestilence, her first-born son. 
 
 Attend to finish what the sword begun ; 
 
 And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn, 
 
 And Folly pays, resound at your return. 
 
 A calm succeeds — but Plenty, with her train 
 
 Of heart-felt joys, succeeds not soon again. 
 
 And years of pining indigence must show 
 
 What scourges are the gods that rule below. 
 
 Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees 
 (Such is liis thirst of opulence and ease). 
 Plies all the sinews of industrious toil. 
 Gleans up the refuse of the general spoil. 
 Rebuilds the towers that smoked upon the plain, 
 And the sun gilds the shining spires again. 
 
 Increasing commerce and reviving art 
 Renew the quarrel on the conqueror's part ; 
 And the sad lesson must be learn'd once more 
 Tliat wealth within is ruin at the door. 
 What are ye, monarchs, laurel'd heroes, say. 
 But iEluas of the suffering world ye sway ? 
 Sweet Nature, stripp'd of her embroider'd robe. 
 Deplores the wasted regions of her globe ; 
 And stands a witness at Truth's awful bar. 
 To prove you there destroyers as ye are. 
 
 O place me in some heaven-protected isle. 
 Where Peace, and Equity, and Freedom smile; 
 Where no volcano pours his fiery flood. 
 No crested warrior dips his plume in blood ; 
 Where Power secures what Industry has won : 
 Where to succeed is not to be undone ; 
 A land that distant tyrants hate in vain. 
 In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign!
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Aniicitia nisi inter bonos esse non potest. 
 
 Cicero. 
 
 1782. 
 
 What virtue, or wliat mental grace, 
 But men unqualified and base 
 
 Will boast it their possession ? 
 Profusion apes the noble part 
 Of liberality of heart, 
 
 And dulness of discretion. 
 
 If every polish'd gem we find. 
 Illuminating heart or mind, 
 
 Provoke to imitation ; 
 No wonder Friendship does tbe same, 
 That jewel of the purest flame, 
 
 Or rather constellation. 
 No knave but boldly will pretend 
 The requisites that form a friend, 
 
 A real and a sound one ; 
 Nor any fool he would deceive, 
 But prove as ready to believe. 
 
 And dream that he had found one. 
 Candid, and generous, and just. 
 Boys care but little whom'they trust, 
 
 An error soon corrected — 
 For who but learns in riper years. 
 That man, when smoothest he appears, 
 
 Is most to be suspected ?
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 171 
 
 But here again, a danger lies. 
 Lest, having misapplied our eyes, 
 
 And taken trash for treasure, 
 We should nnwarilj conclude 
 Friendship a false ideal good, 
 
 A mere Utopian pleasure. 
 
 An acquisition rather rare 
 Is yet no subject of despair ; 
 
 Nor is it wise complaining, 
 If, either on forbidden ground, 
 Or \vhere it was not to be found, 
 
 We sought without attaining. 
 
 No friendship will abide the test, 
 That stands on sordid interest, 
 
 Or mean self-love erected ; 
 Nor such as may a while subsist 
 Between the sot and sensualist. 
 
 For vicious ends connected. 
 
 Who seeks a friend, should come disposed 
 To' exhibit in full bloom disclosed 
 
 The graces and the beauties 
 That form the character he seeks ; 
 For 'tis a union that bespeaks 
 
 Reciprocated duties. 
 
 Mutual attention is implied. 
 And equal truth on either side, 
 
 And constantly supported : 
 'Tis senseless arrogance to' accuse 
 Another of sinister views. 
 
 Our own as much distorted. 
 
 But will sincerity suflice ? 
 It is indeed above all price, 
 
 And must be made the basis; 
 But every virtue of the soul 
 Must constitute the charming whole, 
 
 All shining in their places.
 
 i7'2 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 A fretful temper will divide 
 
 The closest knot that may be tied. 
 
 By ceaseless sharp corrosion ; 
 A temper passionate and fierce. 
 May suddenly your joys disperse 
 
 At one immense explosion. 
 
 In vain the talkative unite 
 
 In hopes of permanent delight — 
 
 The secret just committed, 
 Forgetting its important weight. 
 They drop through mere desire to prate. 
 
 And by themselves outwitted. 
 
 How bright soe'er the prospect seems. 
 All thoughts of friendship are but dreams. 
 
 If envy chance to creep in ; 
 An envious man, if you succeed. 
 May prove a dangerous foe indeed. 
 
 But not a friend worth keeping. 
 
 As Envy pines at good possess'd. 
 So Jealousy looks forth distress'd 
 
 On good that seems approaching ; 
 And, if success his steps attend. 
 Discerns a rival in a friend. 
 
 And hates him for encroaching. 
 
 Hence authors of illustrious name 
 (Unless belied by common fame,) 
 
 Are sadly prone to quarrel. 
 To deem the >vit a friend displays 
 A tax upon their own just praise. 
 
 And pluck each others laurel. 
 
 A man renown'd for repartee 
 Will seldom scruple to make free 
 
 With Friendsliip's finest feeling. 
 Will thrust a dagger at your breast. 
 And say he wounded you in jest, 
 
 liy way of balm for healing.
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Whoever keeps an open ear 
 For tattlers, will be sure to hear 
 
 The trumpet of Contention : 
 Aspersion is the babbler's trade, 
 To listen is to lend him aid, 
 
 And rush into dissension. 
 
 A friendship that in frequent fits 
 Of controversial rage emits 
 
 The sparks of disputation, 
 Like Hand-in-Hand insurance plates, 
 Most unavoidably creates 
 
 The thought of conflagration. 
 
 Some fickle creatures boast a soul 
 True as the needle to the pole. 
 
 Their humour yet so various — 
 They manifest their whole life through 
 The needle's deviations too. 
 
 Their love is so precarious. 
 
 The great and small but rarely meet 
 On terms of amity complete ; 
 
 Plebeians must surrender 
 And yield so much to noble folk. 
 It is combining fire with smoke. 
 
 Obscurity with splendour. 
 
 Some are so placid and serene, 
 (As Irish bogs are always green), 
 
 They sleep secure from waking; 
 And are indeed a bog that bears 
 Your unparticipated cares 
 
 Unmoved and without quaking. 
 
 Courtier and patriot cannot mix 
 Their heterogeneous politics. 
 
 Without an eflervescence. 
 Like that of salts with lemon juice. 
 Which does not yet like thai produce 
 
 A friendly coalescence. 
 
 173
 
 174 FRIRNDSIIIP. 
 
 Religion should extinguish strife, 
 And make a calm of human life ; 
 
 Bat friends that chance to dilFer 
 On points which God has left at large, 
 How freely will they meet and charge! 
 
 No combatants are stiller. 
 
 To j)roye at last my main intent 
 Needs no expense of argument, 
 
 No cutting and contriving — 
 Seeking a real friend we seem 
 To' adopt the chyniist's golden dream, 
 
 With still less hope of thriving. 
 
 Sometimes the fault is all our own, 
 Some blemish in due time made known 
 
 By trespass or omission ; 
 Sometimes occasion brings to light 
 Our friend's defect long hid from sight. 
 
 And even from suspicion. 
 
 Then judge yourself, and prove your man 
 As circumspectly as you can. 
 
 And having made election, 
 Beware no negligence of yours. 
 Such as a friend but ill endures, 
 
 Enfeeble his adection. 
 
 That secrets are a sacred trust, 
 
 That friends should be sincere and just, 
 
 That constancy befits them. 
 Are observations on the case 
 That savour much of common-place. 
 
 And all the world admits them. 
 
 But 'tis not timber, lead, and stone, 
 An architect requires alone. 
 
 To finish a fine building ; 
 The palace were but half completf 
 If he could possibly forget 
 
 The carving and the gilding.
 
 FRIENDSHIP, 
 
 The man that hails you To:a or Jack, 
 And proves by thumps upon your back 
 
 How he esteems your merit, 
 Is such a friend, that one had need 
 Be very much his friend indeed. 
 
 To pardon or to bear it. 
 
 As similarity of mind. 
 
 Or something not to be defined. 
 
 First fixes our attention ; 
 So manners decent and polite, 
 The same we practised at first sight. 
 
 Must save it from declension. 
 
 Some act upon this prudent plan, 
 * Say little, and hear all you can.' 
 
 Safe policy, but hateful — 
 So barren sands imbibe the shower, 
 But render neither fruit nor flower. 
 
 Unpleasant and ungrateful. 
 
 The man I trust, if shy to me. 
 Shall find me as reserved as he ; 
 
 No subterfuge or pleading 
 Shall win my confidence again, 
 I will by no means entertain 
 
 A spy on my proceeding. 
 
 These samples — for alas! at last 
 These are but samples, and a taste 
 
 Of evils yet unmention'd — 
 May prove the task a task indeed, 
 In which 'tis much if we succeed, 
 
 However well-intention'd. 
 
 Pursue the search, and you will find 
 Good sense and knowledge of maukiiid 
 
 To be at least expedient. 
 And, after summing all the rest. 
 Religion ruling in the breast 
 
 A principal ingredient.
 
 176 ODE TO PEACE. 
 
 Tlie noblest friendship ever shown, 
 The Saviour's history makes known. 
 
 Though some have turn'd and turn'd it ; 
 And whether being crazed or blind, 
 Or seeing with a bias'd mind, 
 
 Have not, it seems, discern'd it. 
 O Friendship! if my soul forego 
 Thy dear delights while here below ; 
 
 To mortify and ijrieve me. 
 May 1 myself at last appear 
 Unworthy, base, and insincere, 
 
 Or may my friend deceive me ! 
 
 ODE TO PEACE. 
 
 Come, peace of mind, delightful guest! 
 Heturn and make thy downy nest 
 
 Once more in this sad heart: 
 Nor riches I nor power pursue, 
 Nor hold forbidden joys in view ; 
 
 We therefore need not part. 
 
 Where will thou dwell, if not with me. 
 From avarice and ambition free. 
 
 And pleasures fatal wiles ? 
 For whom, alas ! dost thou prepare 
 The sweets that I was wont to share, 
 
 The banquet of thy smiles? 
 
 The great, the gay, shall they partake 
 The heaven that thou alone canst make ." 
 
 And wilt thou quit the stream 
 That murmurs through the dewy mead, 
 The grove and the sequester'd shed, 
 
 To be a guest with them .'*
 
 BOADICEA. 177 
 
 For thee I panted, thee I prized, 
 For thee I gladly sacrificed 
 
 Whate'er I loved before ; 
 And shall I see thee start away, 
 And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say — 
 
 Farewell ! we meet no more ? 
 
 BOADICEA. 
 
 When the British warrior queen, 
 Bleeding from the Roman rods, 
 
 Sought, with an indignant mien. 
 Counsel of her country's gods ; 
 
 Sage beneath a spreading oak 
 Sat the Druid, hoary chief; 
 
 Every burning word he spoke 
 Full of rage, and full of grief. 
 
 Princess! if our aged eyes 
 
 Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 
 'Tis because resentment ties 
 
 All the terrors of our tongues. 
 
 Rome shall perish — write that word 
 In the blood that she has spill'd ; 
 
 Perish, hopeless and ahhorr'd. 
 Deep in ruin as in guilt. 
 
 Rome, for empire far renown'd. 
 
 Tramples on a thousand states; 
 Soon her pride shall kiss the ground- 
 Hark I the Gaul is at her gates I 
 OL. I. N
 
 578 ODE TO APOLLO. 
 
 Other Romans shall arise. 
 
 Heedless of a soldier's name ; 
 
 Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize. 
 Harmony the path to fame. 
 
 Then the progen}-^ that springs 
 From the forests of our land, 
 
 Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings. 
 Shall a wider world command. 
 
 Regions Ctesar never knew 
 Thy posterity shall sway; 
 
 Where his eagles never flew. 
 None invincible as they. 
 
 Such the bard's prophetic words. 
 Pregnant with celestial fire, 
 
 Bending as he swept the chords 
 Of his sweet but awful lyre. 
 
 She, with all a monarch's pride, 
 Felt them in her bosom glow; 
 
 Rush'd to battle, fought, and died ; 
 Dying hurl'd them at the foe ; 
 
 Rufiians, pitiless as proud, 
 
 Heaven awards the vengeance due ; 
 Empire is on us bestow'd, 
 
 Shame and ruin wait for you. 
 
 ODE TO APOLLO. 
 
 ON AN INK-GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THK S{i\. 
 
 Patron of all those luckless brains, 
 That, to the wrong side leaning. 
 
 Indite much metre with much pains, 
 And little or no meaning ;
 
 HORACE. BOOK II. ODE X. 179 
 
 Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams. 
 
 That water all the nations. 
 Pay tribute to thj glorious beams. 
 
 In constant exhalations ; 
 Why, stooping from the noon of day. 
 
 Too covetous of drink, 
 Apollo, hast thou stolen away 
 
 A poet's drop of ink? 
 
 Upborne into the viewless air, 
 
 It floats a vapour now, 
 Impell'd through regions dense and rare. 
 
 By all the winds that blow : 
 
 Ordain'd perhaps ere summer flies, 
 
 Combined with millions more, 
 To form an Iris in the skies. 
 
 Though black and foul before. 
 
 Illustrious drop! and happy then 
 
 Beyond the happiest lot. 
 Of all that ever pass'd my pen, 
 
 So soon to be forgot! 
 
 Phoebus, if such be thy design. 
 
 To place it in thy bow. 
 Give wit, that what is left may shine 
 
 With equal grace below, 
 
 HORACE. 
 
 BOOK II. ODE X. 
 
 Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach 
 So shalt thou live beyond the reach 
 
 Of adverse Fortune's power : 
 Not always tempt the distant deep, 
 Nor always timorously creep. 
 Along the treachous shore.
 
 180 HORACE. BOOK II. ODE X. 
 
 He that holds fast the goltlen mean. 
 And lives contentedly between 
 
 The little and the great, 
 Feels not the wants that pinch the poor. 
 Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, 
 
 Imbittering all his state. 
 
 The tallest pines feel most the power 
 Of wintry blasts; the loftiest tower 
 
 Comes heaviest to the ground; 
 The bolts that spare the mountain's side. 
 His cloud-capp'd eminence divide. 
 
 And spread the ruin round. 
 
 The well-iuform'd philosopher 
 Rejoices with a wholesome fear. 
 
 And hopes in spite of pain : 
 If Winter bellow from the north. 
 Soon the sweet Spring comes dancing forth, 
 
 And Nature laughs again. 
 
 What if thine heaven be overcast .'' 
 The dark appearance will not last; 
 
 Expect a brighter sky. 
 The god that strings the silver bow, 
 Awakes sometimes the Muses too, 
 
 And lays his arrows by. 
 
 If hinderances obstruct thy way, 
 Thy magnanimity display, 
 
 And let thy strength be seen ; 
 ButO! if Fortune fill thy sail 
 With more than a propitious gale, 
 
 Take half thy canvass in.
 
 A REFLECTION 
 
 ON 
 
 THE FOREGOING ODE. 
 
 And is this all ? Can Reason do no more 
 Than bid me shun the deep and dread the shore 
 Sweet moralist! alloat on life's rough sea, 
 The Christian has an art unknown to thee. 
 He holds no parley with unmanly fears; 
 Where duty bids he confidently steers, 
 Faces a thousand dangers at her call. 
 And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all. 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 The rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower. 
 
 Which Mary to Anna convey'd, 
 The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower. 
 
 And weigh'd down its beautiful head. 
 
 The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet. 
 
 And it seem'd, to a fanciful view. 
 To weep for the buds it had left with regret 
 
 On the flourishing bush where it grew. 
 
 I hastily seized it, unfit as it was 
 
 For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd, 
 
 And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas! 
 I snapp'd it, it fell to the ground. 
 
 And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part 
 
 Some act by the delicate mind. 
 Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart 
 
 Already to sorrow resigu'd.
 
 182 THE WINTIII NOSEGAY. 
 
 This elegant rose, had I shaken it less, 
 
 Might have bloom'd with its owner a while ; 
 
 And the tear, that is wiped with a little address, 
 May be foUow'd perhaps by a smile. 
 
 THE WINTER NOSEGAY. 
 
 What Nature, alas! has denied 
 
 To the delicate growth of our isle. 
 Art has in a measure supplied. 
 
 And Winter is deck'd with a smile. 
 See, Mary, what beauties I bring 
 
 From the shelter of that sunny shed. 
 Where the flowers have the charms of the spring, 
 
 Though abroad they are frozen and dead. 
 
 'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets. 
 
 Where Flora is still in her prime, 
 A fortress, to which she retreats 
 
 From the cruel assaults of the clime. 
 While Earth wears a mantle of snow, 
 
 These pinks are as fresh and as gay 
 As the fairest and sweetest, tliat blow 
 
 On the beautiful bosom of May. 
 
 See how they have safely survived 
 
 The frowns of a sky so severe ; 
 Such Mary's true love, that has lived 
 
 Through many a turbulent year. 
 The charms of tlie late-blowiug rose 
 
 Seem graced with a livelier hue, 
 And the winter of sorrow best shows 
 
 The truth of a friend such as you.
 
 TO THE NIGHTINGALE 
 
 WHICH THE AUTHOR HEARD SING ON NEW YEAr's 
 DAY. 1792. 
 
 Whence is it, that amazed I hear 
 
 From yonder witber'd spray, 
 This foremost morn of all the year, 
 
 The melody of May ? 
 
 And why, since thousands would be proiul 
 
 Of such a favour shown. 
 Am I selected from the crowd. 
 
 To witness it alone ? 
 
 Sing'st thou, sweet Philomel, to me, 
 
 For that I also Jong 
 Have practised in the groves like thee, 
 
 Though not like thee in song ? 
 
 Or sing'st thou rather under force 
 
 Of some divine command, 
 Commission'd to presage a course 
 
 Of happier days at hand ? 
 
 Thrice welcome then! for many a long 
 
 And joyless year have 1, 
 As thou to-day, put forth my song 
 
 Beneath a wintry sky. 
 
 But thee no wintry skies can harm, 
 
 Who only need'st to sing. 
 To make e'en January charm, 
 
 And every season Spring.
 
 THE POPLAR FIELD. 
 
 The poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade, 
 And the whisperitiff sound of the cool colonnade : 
 The winds play no longer ^nd sing in the leaves. 
 Nor Ouse in his bosom their image receives. 
 
 Twelve years have elapsed since I last took a view 
 Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew; 
 And now in the grass behold they are laid, 
 And the tree is my seat, that once lent me a shade. 
 
 The blackbird has fled to another retreat, 
 Where the hazels aflbrd him a screen from the heat, 
 And the scene where his melody charm'd me before, 
 Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 
 
 My fugitive years are all hasting away, 
 And 1 must ere long lie as lowly as they. 
 With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head, 
 Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 
 
 The change both my heart and my fancy employs, 
 I reflect on the frailty of man, and his joys; 
 Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see. 
 Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. 
 
 THE SHRUBBERY. 
 
 WIIITTLN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTION. 
 
 Oil, happy shades — to me unbless'd ! 
 
 I'riendly to peace, but not to me! 
 Jlow ill the scene that oilers rest. 
 
 And heart that cannot rest, agree !
 
 HUMAN FRAILTY. 185 
 
 This glassy stream, that spreading pine, 
 Those alders quivering to the breeze, 
 
 Might sooth a soul less hurt than mine. 
 And please, if any thing could please. 
 
 But fix'd unalterable Care 
 
 Foregoes not what she feels within, 
 Shows the same sadness every where. 
 
 And slights the season and the scene. 
 
 For all that pleased in wood or lawn, 
 
 While peace possess'd these silent bowers. 
 
 Her animating smile withdrawn, 
 
 Has lost its beauties and its powers. 
 
 The saint or moralist should tread 
 This moss-grown alley musing slow ; 
 
 They seek like me the secret shade, 
 But not like me to nourish woe ! 
 
 Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste 
 
 Alike admonish not to roam ; 
 These tell me of enjoyments past, 
 
 And those of sorrows yet to come. 
 
 HUMAN FRAILTY. 
 
 Weak and irresolute is man ; 
 
 The purpose of to-day. 
 Woven with pains into his plan. 
 
 To-morrow rends away. 
 
 The bow well bent, and smart the spring, 
 
 A'ice seems already slain; 
 But Passion rudely snaps the string, 
 
 And it revives again.
 
 186 A COMPARISON. 
 
 Some foe to Iiis upright intent 
 
 Finds out his weaker part; 
 Virtue engages his assent, 
 
 But pleasure wins his heart. 
 
 'Tis here the folly of the v/ise 
 Through all his heart we view ; 
 
 And, while his tongue the charge denies, 
 His conscience owns it true. 
 
 Bound on a voyage of awful length 
 
 And dangers little known, 
 A stranger to superior strength, 
 
 Man vainly trusts his own. 
 
 But oars alone can ne'er prevail. 
 
 To reach the distant coast : 
 The breath of Heaven mast swell the sail. 
 
 Or all the toil is lost. 
 
 A COMPARISON. 
 
 TilF. lapse of time and rivers is the same. 
 
 Both speed their journey with a restless stream ; 
 
 The silent pace with which they steal away, 
 
 No wealth can bril)e, no prayers persuade to staj ■ 
 
 Alike irrevocable both when pass'd. 
 
 And a wide ocean swallows both at last. 
 
 Though each resemble each in every part, 
 
 A diflercnce strikes at length the musing heart ; 
 
 Streams never flow in vain; wliere streams abound 
 
 How laughs the land with various plenty crown'd ! 
 
 But time, tlial shouM enrich tiie nol)Ier mind, 
 
 Neglected leaves the dreary waste behind.
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 Sweet stream, that winds through yonder gladi 
 
 Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — 
 
 Silent and chaste she steals along, 
 
 Far from the world's gay busy throne; ; 
 
 With gentle yet prevailing force, 
 
 Intent upon her destined course : 
 
 Graceful and useful all she does, 
 
 Blessing and bless'd where'er she goes, 
 
 Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass, 
 
 And Heaven reflected in her face. 
 
 SONG ON PEACE. 
 
 Air- — " My fond shej)herds oflate,'^ ixc. 
 
 No longer I follow a sound ; 
 No longer a dream I pursue ; 
 
 Happiness ! not to be found, 
 Unattainable treasure, adieu ! 
 
 1 have sought thee in splendour and dress, 
 
 In the regions of pleasure and taste; 
 I have sought thee, and seera'd to possess. 
 
 But have proved thee a vision at last. 
 An humble ambition and hope 
 
 The voice of true Wisdom inspires; 
 'Tis suflicient, if Peace be the scope 
 
 And the summit of all oar desires. 
 
 Peace may be the lot of the mind 
 That seeks it in meekness and love : 
 
 But rapture and bliss are conflned 
 To the glorified spirits above.
 
 SONG. 
 
 Air—" The Lass ofPaties Mill.' 
 
 When all within is peace, 
 
 How Nature seems to smile! 
 Delights that never cease. 
 
 The livelong day beguile. 
 From morn to dewy eve, 
 
 With open hand she showers 
 Fresh blessings to deceive 
 
 And sooth the silent hours. 
 
 It is content of heart 
 
 Gives Nature power to please ; 
 1'he mind that feels no smart 
 
 Enlivens all it sees: 
 Can make a wintry sky 
 
 Seem bright as smiling May, 
 And evening's closing eye 
 
 As peep of early daj'. 
 
 The vast majestic globe, 
 
 So beauteously array'd 
 In Nature's various robe, 
 
 With wondrous skill display'd, 
 Is to a mourner's heart 
 
 A dreary wild at best; 
 It flutters to depart, 
 
 And longs to be at rest.
 
 ON THE 
 
 LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. 
 
 WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED, 
 SEPT. 1T82. 
 
 To the March in Scipio. 
 
 Toll for the brave ! 
 
 The brave that are no more! 
 All suuk beneath the wave. 
 
 Fast bj their native shore! 
 
 Eight hundred of the brave, 
 Whose courage well was tried. 
 
 Had made the vessel heel. 
 And laid her on her side. 
 
 A land breeze shook the shrouds. 
 
 And she was overset ; 
 Down went the Royal George, 
 
 With all her crew complete. 
 
 Toll for the brave ' 
 
 Brave Kempeufelt is gone 5 
 His last seafight is fought; 
 
 His work of glory done. 
 
 It was not in the battle; 
 
 No tempest gave the shock ; 
 She sprang no fatal leak ; 
 
 She ran upon no rock. 
 
 His sword was in its sheath : 
 
 His fingers held the pen. 
 When Kempenfelt went down, 
 
 With twice four hundred men.
 
 190 SONNET TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE. 
 Weigh the vessel up, 
 
 Once dreaded by our foes ! 
 And minprle with our cup 
 The tear that England owes. 
 
 Her timbers are yet sound, 
 
 And she may float again, 
 Full charged with England's thunder. 
 
 And plough the distant main. 
 
 But Kempenfelt is gone". 
 
 His victories are o'er; 
 And he and his eight hundred 
 
 Shall plough the wave no more. 
 
 SONNET TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ESQ. 
 1792. 
 
 TllY country, Wilberforce, with just disdain, 
 Hears thee by cruel men and impious call'd 
 Fanatic, lor thy zeal to loose the inthral'd 
 
 From exile, public sale, and slavery's chain. 
 
 Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall'd. 
 
 Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain. 
 
 Thou hast achieved a part; hast gain'd the car 
 
 Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause ; 
 
 Hope smiles, joy springs, and though cold caution pause 
 And weave delay, the better hour is near 
 That shall remunerate thy toils severe 
 
 By peace for Afric, fenced with British laws. 
 
 Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love 
 
 From all the Just on earth, and ail the Bless'd above.
 
 SONNET TO HENRY COWPER, ESQ. 
 
 Oh his emphatical and interesting Delivery of the 
 Defence of Warren Hastings, Esq. in the House of 
 Lords. 
 
 Cow PER, whose silver voice, task'd sometimes hard, 
 
 Legends prolix delivers in the ears 
 
 (Attentive when thoa read'st) of England's peers, 
 Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward. 
 
 Thoa wast not heard with drowsy disregard. 
 Expending late on all that length of plea 
 Thy generous powers, but silence honour'd thee, 
 
 ?-Iute as e'er gazed on orator or bard. 
 
 Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside 
 
 Both heart and head : and couldst with music sweet 
 Of attic phrase and senatorial tone, 
 Like thy renown'd forefathers, far and wide 
 
 Thy fame difluse, praised not for utterance meet 
 Of others' speech, but magic of thg oicn. 
 
 SONNET TO JOHN JOHNSON. 
 
 On his Presenting me with an Antique Bust of Homer 
 1793. 
 
 Kinsman beloved, and as a son, by me! 
 When I behold this fruit of thy regard, 
 The sculptured form of my old favourite bard, 
 
 I reverence feel for him, and love for thee. 
 
 Joy too and grief. Much joy that there should bo 
 Wise men and learn'd, who grudge not to reward 
 With some applause my bold attempt and hard. 
 
 Which others scorn: critics bv courtesv.
 
 192 SONNET TO DR. AUSTIN. 
 
 The grief is this, that, sunk in Homer's mine, 
 I lose my precious years now soon to fail. 
 
 Handling his gold, which howsoe'er it shine. 
 
 Proves dross, when balanced in the Christian scale. 
 
 Be wiser thou — like our forefather Donne, 
 
 Seek heavenly wealth, and work for God alone. 
 
 SONNET TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. 
 1793. 
 
 Dear architect of fine chateaux in air, 
 Worthier to stand for ever if they could. 
 Than any built of stone, or yet of wood. 
 
 For back of royal elephant to bear ! 
 
 O for permission from the skies to share. 
 Much to my own, though little to thy good, 
 With thee, (not subject to the jealous mood!) 
 
 A partnership of literary ware ! 
 
 But I am bankrupt now; and doom'd henceforth 
 To drudge, in descant dry, on others' lays; 
 
 Bards, I acknowledge, of unequal'd worth ! 
 But what is commentators' happiest praise? 
 
 That he has furnish'd liglits for other eyes. 
 
 Which they, who need them, use, and then despise. 
 
 SONNET TO DR. AUSTIN. 
 1792. 
 
 Austin ! accept a grateful verse from me. 
 The poet's treasure, no inglorious fee. 
 Loved by the Muses, thy ingenuous mind 
 Pleasing requital in my verse may find ;
 
 SONNET TO GEORGE RO.MNEY, ESQ. 193 
 
 'N'erse oft has dash'd the scythe of Time aside, 
 Imraortalizing names which else had died. 
 And oh ! could I command the glittering wealth 
 With which sick kings are glad to purchase health j 
 Yet, if extensive fame, and sure to live. 
 Were in the power of verse like mine to give, 
 1 would not recompense his art with less. 
 Who, giving Mary health, heals my distress. 
 
 Friend of my friend* ! I love tbee, though unknown, 
 And boldly call thee, being his, my own. 
 
 SONNET TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ. 
 
 On his Pichire of me in Crayons, drawn at Earthram, 
 in the Sixty-first Year of my Age, in the Months of 
 August and September. 
 
 1792. 
 
 RoMNEY, expert infallibly to trace 
 
 On chart or canvass, not the form alone 
 And semblance, but, however faintly shown, 
 
 The mind's impression too on every face — 
 
 With strokes that time ought never to erase. 
 Thou hast so peucil'd mine, that though I own 
 The subject worthless, I have never known 
 
 The artist shining with superior grace. 
 
 But this I mark — that symptoms none of woe 
 
 In thy incomparable work appear. 
 Well — I am satisfied it should be so. 
 
 Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear; 
 
 For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see 
 When I was Hayley's guest, and sat to Thee ? 
 
 * Ilayley. 
 Vol.. I, O
 
 SONNET TO MRS. UNWIN. 
 1793. 
 
 ]Mary ! I want a 1 jre with other strings, [drew. 
 
 Such aid from Heaven as some have feign'd they 
 An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new 
 
 And undebased by praise of meaner things. 
 
 That ere through age or woe I shed my wings, 
 I may record thy worth with honour due, 
 Tn verse as musical as thou art true, 
 
 And that immortalizes whom it sings. 
 
 But thou hast little need. There is a book 
 By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light, 
 
 On which the eyes of God not rarely look, 
 A chronicle of actions just and bright ; 
 
 There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine. 
 
 And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine. 
 
 TO MARY. 
 
 AUTUMN OF 1793. 
 
 The twentieth year is well nigh pass'd, 
 Since first our sky was overcast, 
 Ah would that this might be the last! 
 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 
 
 I see thee daily weaker grow — 
 
 'Twas my distress that brought thee low. 
 
 My Mary !
 
 TO MARY, 195 
 
 Thy needles, once a shining store. 
 For my sake restless heretofore, 
 Now rust disused, and shine no more, 
 
 My Mary! 
 
 For though Ihoa gladly wouldst fulfil 
 The same kind office for me still, 
 Thy sight now seconds not thy will, 
 
 My Mary ! 
 
 But well thon play'dst the housewife's part, 
 And all thy threads with magic art 
 Have wound themselves about this heart. 
 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy indistinct expressions seem 
 
 Like language utter'd in a dream ; 
 
 Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, 
 
 My Mary! 
 
 Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, 
 Are still more lovely in my sight 
 Than golden beams of orient light. 
 
 My Mary ! 
 
 For could I view nor them nor thee. 
 What sight worth seeing could I see? 
 The sun would rise in vain for me. 
 
 My Mary ! 
 Partakers of thy sad decline. 
 Thy hands their little force resign; 
 Yet, gently press'd, press gently mine. 
 
 My Mary I 
 
 Such feebleness of limbs thou provest. 
 That now at every step thou movest 
 Upheld by two, yet still thou lovest. 
 
 My Mary! 
 
 And still to love, though press'd with ill, 
 In wintry age to feel no chill. 
 With me is to be lovely still, 
 
 My Mary !
 
 196 ON THE DEATH OF A BULLFINCH. 
 
 But ah ! by constant heed I know, 
 How oft the sadness tliat 1 show 
 Transforins thy smiles to looks of woe, 
 
 My Mary ! 
 
 And should my future lot be cast 
 With much resemblance of the past, 
 Thy worn-out heart will break at last, 
 
 My Mary ! 
 
 ON 
 
 THE DEATH 
 
 OF 
 
 MRS. THROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH. 
 
 Ye nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red 
 With tears o'er hapless favourites shed, 
 
 O share Maria's grief! 
 Her favourite, even in his cage, 
 (What will not hunger's cruel rage?) 
 
 Assassin'd by a thief. 
 
 Where Rhenus strays his vine among, 
 The egg was laid from which he sprung, 
 
 And though by Nature mute, 
 Or only with a whistle bless'd, 
 Well-taught he all the sounds express'd 
 
 Of llagelet or flute. 
 
 The honours of his ebon poll 
 
 Were brighter than the sleekest mole, 
 
 His bosom of the hue 
 With which Aurora decks the skies, 
 When piping winds shall soon arise. 
 
 To sweep away the dew.
 
 ON THt; DEATH OF A BULLFIN'CIJ. l'J7 
 
 Above, below, in all the house, 
 Dire foe alike of bird or mouse, 
 
 No cat had leave to dwell; 
 And Bully's cage supported stood 
 On props of smoothest shaven wood, 
 
 Large built and latticed well. 
 
 Well latticed — but the grate, alas! 
 Not rough with wire of steel or brass, 
 
 For Bully's plumage sake. 
 But smooth with wands from Ouse's side, 
 With which, when neatly peel'd and dried, 
 
 The swains their baskets make. 
 Night veil'd the pole : all seera'd secure : 
 When, led by instinct sharp and sure. 
 
 Subsistence to provide, 
 A beast forth sallied on the scout, 
 Long-back'd, long-tail'd, with whisker'd snout, 
 
 And badger-colonr'd hide. 
 
 He, entering at the study door, 
 Its ample area 'gan explore; 
 
 And something in the wind 
 Conjectured, sniffing round and round, 
 Better than all the books he found, 
 
 Food chietly for the mind. 
 
 Just then, by adverse fate impress'd, 
 A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest ; 
 
 In sleep he seem'd to view 
 A rat fast clinging to the cage, 
 And, screaming at the sad presage. 
 
 Awoke and found it true. 
 
 For, aided both by ear and scent, 
 Right to his mark the monster went — 
 
 Ah, Muse ! forbear to speak 
 Minute the horrors that ensued ; 
 His teeth were strong, the cage was wood — 
 
 He left poor Bully's beak.
 
 198 THE poet's new-year's gift. 
 
 O had he made that too his prey ! 
 That beak, whence issued many a lay 
 
 Of such mellifluous tone, 
 Might have repaid him well, I wote. 
 For silencing so sweet a throat. 
 
 Fast stuck within his own. 
 
 Maria weeps — the Muses mourn — 
 So when, by Bacchanalians torn, 
 
 On Thracian IJebrus' side. 
 The tree-enchanter Orpheus fell, 
 His liead alone remain'd to tell 
 
 The cruel death he died. 
 
 THE 
 
 POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT. 
 
 TO MRS. THROCKMORTON. 
 
 Maria! 1 have every good 
 For thee wish'd many a time, 
 
 Both sad and in a clieerful mood. 
 But never yet in rhyme. 
 
 To wish thee fairer is no need, 
 More prudent or more sprightly. 
 
 Or more ingenious, or more freed 
 From temper-flaws unsightly. 
 
 AVhat favour then not yet possessed 
 
 Can I for thee require, 
 In wedded love already blcss'd, 
 
 To thy whole heart's desire? 
 
 None here is happy but in part ; 
 
 Full bliss is bliss divine : 
 There dwells some wish in every heart, 
 
 And doubtless one in thiae.
 
 TO MRS. THROCKMOUTON. 199 
 
 That wish, on some fair future Aay, 
 
 Which Fate shall brightly ^ild 
 ('Tis blameless, be it what it may), 
 
 I wish it all fulfill d. 
 
 TO 
 
 MRS. THROCKMORTON. 
 
 ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE'S ODE 
 
 AD LIBRUM SUUM. 
 
 FEBRUARY, 1790. 
 
 Maria, could Horace have guess'd 
 
 What honour awaited his ode 
 To his own little volume addross'd, 
 
 The honour which yoa have bestow'd : 
 Who have traced it in characters here. 
 
 So elegant, even, and neat, 
 He had laueh'd at the critical sneer 
 
 Which he seems to have trembled to meet. 
 
 And sneer, if yon please, he had said, 
 
 A nymph shall hereafter arise. 
 Who shall give me, when you are all dead, 
 
 The glory your malice denies; 
 Shall dignity give to my lay. 
 
 Although but a mere bagatelle j 
 And even a poet shall say. 
 
 Nothing ever was written so well.
 
 CATHARINA. 
 
 TO MISS STAPLETON (nOW MRS. COURTNAY.) 
 
 She came — she is gone — we bave met — 
 
 And meet perhaps never again ; 
 The sun of that moment is set. 
 
 And seems to have risen in vain, 
 Catharina has fled like a dream — 
 
 (So vanishes pleasure, alas !) 
 But has left a regret and esteem 
 
 That will not so suddenly pass. 
 
 The last evening ramble we made, 
 
 Catharina, Maria, and I, 
 Our progress was often delay'd 
 
 By the nightingale warbling nigh. 
 We paused under many a tree, 
 
 And much she was charm'd with a lone 
 Less sweet to Maria and me. 
 
 Who so lately had witness'd her ovvn. 
 
 My numbers that day she had sung, 
 
 And gave them a grace so divine, 
 As only her musical tongue 
 
 Could infuse into numbers of mino. 
 The longer I heard, I esteem'd 
 
 The work of my fancy the more. 
 And e'en to myself never seem'd 
 
 So tuneful a poet before. 
 
 Though the pleasures of London exceed 
 
 In number the days of the year, 
 Catharina, did nothing impede. 
 
 Would feel herself happier here ; 
 For the close-woven arclies of limes 
 
 On the banks of our river, I know, 
 Are sweeter to her many times 
 
 Tiiaii aught thai tlie city can show.
 
 CATHARINA. 201 
 
 So it is, when the mind is endued 
 
 With a well-judging taste from above, 
 Then, whether embellish'd or rude, 
 
 'Tis Nature alone that we love. 
 The achievements of art may amuse, 
 
 May even our wonder excite, 
 But groves, hills, and valleys diffuse 
 
 A lasting, a sacred delight. 
 Since then in the rural recess 
 
 Catharina alone can rejoice, 
 May it still be her lot to possess 
 
 The scene of her sensible choice ! 
 To' inhabit a mansion remote 
 
 From the clatter of street-pacing steeds, 
 And by Philomel's annual note 
 
 To measure the life tliat she leads. 
 With her book, and her voice, and her lyre. 
 
 To wing all her moments at home ; 
 And with scenes that new rapture inspire, 
 
 As oft as it suits her to roam ; 
 She will have jnst the life she prefers. 
 
 With little to hope or to fear, 
 And ours would be pleasant as hers, 
 
 Might we view her enjoying it here. 
 
 CATHARINA. 
 
 SECOND PART. 
 On her Marriage to George Courtnay, Esq. 1792 
 Believe it or not, as you choose, 
 
 The doctrine is certainly true. 
 That the future is known to the Muse, 
 
 And poets are oracles too, 
 I did but express a desire 
 
 To see Catharina at home, 
 At the side of my friend George's fire, 
 
 And io — she is actually come.
 
 202 GRATITUDE. 
 
 Such prophecy some may despise, 
 
 But the wish of a poet and friend 
 Perhaps is approved in the skies, 
 
 And therefore attains to its end. 
 ^Twas a wish that Hew ardently forth 
 
 From a bosom eftectually warm'd 
 With the talents, the graces, and worth 
 
 Of the person for whom it was form'd. 
 Maria * would leave as, I knew, 
 
 To the grief and regret of us all, 
 But less to our grief, could we view 
 
 Catharina the queen of the hall : 
 And therefore I wish'd as I did. 
 
 And therefore this union of hands ; 
 Not a whisper was heard to forbid, 
 
 But all cry — Amen — to the bans. 
 
 Since therefore I seem to incur 
 
 No danger of wishing in vain. 
 When making good wishes for her, 
 
 I will e'en to my wishes again — 
 With one 1 have made her a wife. 
 
 And now I will try with another. 
 Which I cannot suppress for my life — 
 
 How soon I can make her a mother. 
 
 GRATITUDE. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH. 
 
 IT86. 
 
 This cap, that so stately appears, 
 With ribbon-bound tassel on high, 
 
 Which secm.s by the crest that it rears 
 Ambitious of brushing the sky : 
 
 • Lady Tliioi kinorton.
 
 GIIATITUDE. 203 
 
 This cap to ray cousin I owe ; 
 
 She gave it, and gave rae beside, 
 Wreathed into an elegant bow. 
 
 The ribbon with which it is tied. 
 
 This wheel-footed studying chair. 
 
 Contrived both for toil and repose, 
 Wide-elbow'd, and wadded with hair, 
 
 In which I both scribble and doze, 
 Bright-studded to dazzle the eyes, 
 
 And rival in lustre of that 
 In which, or Astronomy lies. 
 
 Fair Cassiopeia sat : 
 
 These carpets, so soft to the foot, 
 
 Caledonia's traflic and pride ! 
 Oh spare them, ye knights of the boot, 
 
 Escaped from a cross-country ride ! 
 This table and mirror within, 
 
 Secure from collision and dust, 
 At which I oft shave cheek and chin, 
 
 And periwig nicely adjust : 
 
 This moveable structure of shelves. 
 
 For its beauty admired and its use. 
 And charged with octavos and twelves, 
 
 The gayest I had to produce ; 
 Where, flaming in scarlet and gold, 
 
 My poems enchanted I view, 
 And hope, in due time, to behold 
 
 My Iliad and Odyssey too : 
 
 This china, that decks the alcove, 
 
 Which here people call a boufet. 
 But what the gods call it above 
 
 Has ne'er been reveal'd to ug yet: 
 These curtains, that keep the room warm 
 
 Or cool, as the season demands. 
 Those stoves, that for pattern and form. 
 
 Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands -.
 
 204 TO MY COUSIN ANNE BODIIAM. 
 
 All these are not half that I owe 
 
 To one, from our earliest youth 
 To me ever ready to show 
 
 Benignity, friendship, and truth ; 
 For Time, the destroyer declared, 
 
 And foe of our perishing kind. 
 If even ber face he has spared, 
 
 Much less could he alter her mind. 
 
 Thus compass'd about with the goods 
 
 And chatties of leisure and ease, 
 1 indulge my poetical moods 
 
 In many such fancies as these ; 
 And fancies I fear they will seem — 
 
 Poets' goods are not often so line ; 
 The poets will swear that I dream, 
 
 W hen I sing of the splendour of mii 
 
 TO MY COUSIN 
 
 ANNE BODHAM, 
 
 ON RECEIVING FROM HER A NETWORK PURSE, MADE 
 BY HERSELF. 
 
 1793. 
 
 My gentle Anne, whom heretofore, 
 When I was young, and thou no more 
 
 Than plaything for a nurse, 
 I danced and fondled on my knee, 
 A kitten both in size and glee, 
 
 I thank thee fur my purse.
 
 TO MRS. KING. 20.5 
 
 Gold pajs the worth of all things here ; 
 But not of love ; — that gem's too clear 
 
 For richest rogues to win it; 
 I, therefore, as a proof of love, 
 Esteem thy present far above 
 
 The best things kept within it. 
 
 TO MRS. KING, 
 
 On her kind Present to the Author of a Patch-work 
 Counterpane of her own making. 
 
 1790. 
 
 The Bard, if e'er he feel at all, 
 Must sure be qnicken'd by a call 
 
 Both on his heart and head, 
 To paj-^ with tuneful thanks the care 
 And kindness of a lady fair 
 
 Who deigns to deck his bed. 
 
 A bed like this, in ancient time, 
 On Ida's barren top sublime 
 
 (As Homer's epic shows). 
 Composed of sweetest vernal flowers. 
 Without the aid of sun or showers, 
 
 For Jove and Juno rose. 
 
 Less beautiful, however gay. 
 
 Is that which in the scorching day 
 
 Receives the weary swain. 
 Who, laying his long scythe aside. 
 Sleeps on some bank with daisies pied. 
 
 Till roused to toil again.
 
 206 TO LADY AUSTEN. 
 
 What labours of the loom I see! 
 Looms numberless have groan'd for me ! 
 
 Should every maiden come 
 To scramble for the patch that bears 
 The impress of the robe she wears, 
 
 The bell would toll for some. 
 
 And oh, what havoc would ensue! 
 
 This bright display of every hue 
 All in a moment fled ! 
 
 As if a storm should strip the bowers 
 
 Of all their tendrils, leaves, and flowers- 
 Each pocketing a shred. 
 
 Thanks, then, to every gentle fair, 
 Who will not come to peck me bare 
 
 As bird of borrowed feather, 
 And thanks to one, above them all, 
 The gentle fair of Pertenhall, 
 
 Who put the whole together. 
 
 TO LADY AUSTEN. 
 
 1781. 
 
 Dt: AR Anna — between friend and friend. 
 Prose answers every common end ; 
 Serves, in a plain and homely way. 
 To' express the' occurrence of the day ; 
 Our health, the weather, and the news ; 
 What walks we take, what books we choose 
 And all tiie floating thoughts we find 
 Upon the surface of the mind. 
 
 But when a poet takes the pen, 
 Far more alive than other men.
 
 TO LADY AUSTEN. 207 
 
 He feels a gentle tingling come 
 
 Down to his finger and liis thumb, 
 
 Derived from Nature's noblest part, 
 
 The centre of a glowing heart : 
 
 And this is what the world, who knows 
 
 No flights above the pitch of prose, 
 
 His more sublime vagaries slighting, 
 
 Denominates an itch for writing. 
 
 No wonder I, who scribble rhyme 
 
 To catch the triflers of the time, 
 
 And tell them truths divine and clear, 
 
 Which, couch'd in prose, they will not hear ; 
 
 Who labour hard to' allure and draw 
 
 The loiterers 1 never saw, 
 
 Should feel that itching and that tingling 
 
 With all my purpose intermingling, 
 
 To your intrinsic merit true, 
 
 When call'd lo' address myself to you. 
 
 Mysterious are His ways, whose power 
 Brings forth that unexpected hour. 
 When minds, that never met before, 
 Shall meet, unite, and part no more : 
 It is the' allotment of the skies, 
 The hand of the Supremely Wise, 
 That guides and governs our affections, 
 And plans and orders our connexions ; 
 Directs us in our distant road. 
 And marks the bounds of our abode. 
 Thus we were settled when you found us. 
 Peasants and children all around us, 
 Not dreaming of so dear a friend. 
 Deep in the' abyss of Silver-End.* 
 Thus Martha, e'en against her will, 
 Perch'd on the top of yonder hill ; 
 
 * An obscu'.e part of Olney, adjoining to the residence of 
 Cowper, which faced the market-place.
 
 208 TO LVDY AUSTEN. 
 
 And you, though you must needs prefer 
 The fairer scenes of sweet Sancerre,* 
 Are come from distant Loire, to choose 
 A cottage on the banks of Ouse. 
 This page of Providence quite new, 
 And now just opening to our view. 
 Employs our present thoughts and pains, 
 To guess and spell what it contains : 
 But day by day, and year by year. 
 Will make the dark enigma clear ; 
 And furnish us, perhaps, at last, 
 Like other scenes already past. 
 With proof, that we and our affairs 
 Are part of a Jehovah's cares : 
 For God unfolds, by slow degrees, 
 The purport of his deep decrees ; 
 Sheds every hour a clearer light 
 In aid of our defective sight ; 
 And spreads, at length, before the soul, 
 A beautiful and perfect whole. 
 Which busy man's inventive brain 
 Toils to anticipate in vain. 
 
 Say, Anna, had you never know^n 
 The beauties of a rose full blown, 
 Could you, though luminous your eye, 
 Ey looking on the bud, descry. 
 Or guess, witli a prophetic power. 
 The future splendour of the llower ? 
 Just so the' Omnipotent, who turns 
 The system of a world's concerns. 
 From mere minutia; can educe 
 Events of most important use ; 
 And bid a dawning sky display 
 The blaze of a meridian day. 
 Tiie works of man tend, one and all, 
 As needs they must, from great to small ; 
 
 * Lady Austen's residence in France.
 
 TO LADY AUSTEN. 209 
 
 And vauity absorbs at lengtb 
 
 The monuments of human strength. 
 
 But who caa tell how vast the plan 
 
 Which this day's incident began? 
 
 Too small perhaps, the slight occasion 
 
 For our dim-sighted observation j 
 
 It pass'd unnoticed, as the bird 
 
 That cleaves the yielding air unheard, 
 
 And yet may prove, when understood. 
 
 An harbinger of endless good. 
 
 Not that I deem, or mean to cull 
 
 Friendship a blessing cheap or small j 
 
 But merely to remark, that ours, 
 
 Like some of Nature's sweetest flowers, 
 
 Rose from a seed of tiny size, 
 
 That seem'd to promise no such prize; 
 
 A transient visit intervening. 
 
 And made almost without a meaning, 
 
 (Hardly the' eflect of inclination, 
 
 Much less of pleasing expectation,) 
 
 Produced a friendship, then begun, 
 
 That has cemented us in one ; 
 
 And placed it in our power to prove, 
 
 By long fidelity and love. 
 
 That Solomon has wisely spoken ; 
 
 ' A threefold cord is not soon broken/ 
 
 ON 
 
 MRS. MONTAGU'S FEATHER HANGINGS. 
 
 The Birds put off their every hue. 
 To dress a room for Montagu. 
 
 The Peacock sends his heavenly dyes, 
 His rainbows and his slant/ eyes; 
 VOL. I. r
 
 210 FEATHER HANGINGS. 
 
 The Pheasant plumes, which round infoKI 
 His mantling neck with downy gold ; 
 The Cock his arch'd tail's azure show: 
 And, river blanch'd, the Swan his suow. 
 Ail trihes beside of Indian name, 
 That glossy shine, or vivid flame, 
 Where rises and where sets the day, 
 Whate'er they boast of rich and gay, 
 Contribute to the gorgeous plan, 
 Proud to advance it all they can. 
 This plumage neither dashing shower. 
 Nor blasts that shake the dripping bower. 
 Shall drench again or discompose, 
 But, screen'd from every storm that blov/s, 
 It boasts a splendour ever new. 
 Safe with protecting Montagu. 
 
 To the same patroness resort, 
 Secure of favour at her court, 
 Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought 
 Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought, 
 Which, though new-born, with vigour move, 
 Like Pallas springing arm'd from Jove — 
 Imagination scattering round 
 Wild roses over furrow'd ground, 
 Which Labour of his frown beguile, 
 And teach Philosophy a smile — 
 Wit Hashing on Religion's side. 
 Whose fires, to sacred Truth applied. 
 The gem, though luminous before, 
 Obtrudes on human notice more, 
 Like sunbeams on the golden height 
 Of some tall temple playing bright — 
 Well-tutor'd Learning, from his books 
 Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty, looks. 
 Their order on his shelves exact, 
 Not more harmonious or compact 
 Than that, to which he keeps confined 
 The various treasures of his mind —
 
 TO AN AFFLICTED LAD\. 'i i 1 
 
 Ail these to Montagu's repair, 
 Ambitious of a shelter there. 
 There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit, 
 Their ruffled plumage calm relit 
 (For stormy troubles loudest roar 
 Around their flight who highest soar), 
 And in her eye, and by her aid, 
 Shine safe without a fear to fade. 
 She thus maintains divided sway 
 With yon bright regent of the day ; 
 The Plume and Poet both we know, 
 Their lustre to his influence owe ; 
 And she the works of Phcebus aiding. 
 Both Poet saves and Plume from fading. 
 
 TO AN 
 
 AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY 
 IN FRANCE. 
 
 MADAM, 
 
 A stranger's purpose in these lays 
 Is to congratulate and not to praise. 
 To give the creature the Creator's due, 
 W^ere sin in me, and an ofl'ence to you. 
 From man to man, or e'en to woman paid. 
 Praise is the medium of a knavish trade, 
 A coin by Craft for Folly's use designed. 
 Spurious, and only current with the blind. 
 The path of sorrow, and that path alone. 
 Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown : 
 No traveller ever reach'd that bless'd abode, 
 Vv ho found not thorns and briers in his road. 
 The World may dance along the flowery plain, 
 Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain ;
 
 gl2 TO AN AFFLICTED LADY. 
 
 Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread. 
 
 With unshod feet they yet securely tread; 
 
 Admonish'dj scorn the caution and the friend, 
 
 Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end. 
 
 But He, who knew what human hearts would pro^ 
 
 How slow to learn the dictates of his love, 
 
 That, hard by nature and of stubborn will, 
 
 A life of ease would make them harder still, 
 
 In pity to the souls his grace design'd 
 
 To rescue from the ruins of mankind, 
 
 Call'd for a cloud to darken all their years, 
 
 And said. Go spend them in the vale of tears. 
 
 O balmy gales of soul-reviving air! 
 
 O salutary streams that murmur there! 
 
 These flowing from the Fount of Grace above, 
 
 Those breathed from lips of everlasting love. 
 
 The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys. 
 
 Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys, 
 
 An envious world will interpose its frown 
 
 To mar delights superior to its own. 
 
 And many a pang, experienced still within, 
 
 Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin ; 
 
 But ills of every shape and every name, 
 
 Transform'd to blessings, miss their cruel aim ; 
 
 And every moment's calm that sooths the breast. 
 
 Is given in earnest of eternal rest. 
 
 Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast 
 Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste! 
 No shepherd's tents within thy view appear, 
 But the chief Shepherd even there is near ; 
 Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain 
 Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ; 
 Thy tears all issue from a source divine, 
 And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine — 
 So once in Gideon's (leece the dews were found, 
 And drought on all the drooping herl)s around.
 
 TO 
 
 JOSEPH lIiLL, ESQ. 
 
 Dear Joseph — five and twenty years ago — 
 Alas how time escapes! — 'tis even so — 
 With frequent intercourse, and always sweet, 
 And always friendly, we were wont to cheat 
 A tedious hour — and now we never meet ! 
 As some grave gentleman in Terence says 
 ('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days), 
 Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings — 
 Strange fluctuation of all human things! 
 True. Changes will befall, and friends may part, 
 But distance only cannot change the heart; 
 And, were I call'd to prove the' assertion true, 
 One proof should serve — a reference to you. 
 
 "Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life. 
 Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife, 
 We find the friends we fancied we had won. 
 Though numerous once, reduced to few or none? 
 Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch? 
 No ; gold they seem'd, but they were never such. 
 
 Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe. 
 Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge. 
 Dreading a negative, and overawed 
 Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad. 
 Go, fellow! — whither? — turning short about — 
 Nay. Stay at home — you're always going out. 
 'Tis but a step. Sir, just at the street's end. — 
 For what? — An please you, Sir, to see a friend. — 
 A friend! Horatio cried, and seem'd to start — 
 Yea marry shalt thou, and with all ray heart. — 
 And fetch my cloak ; for, though the night be raw, 
 II '11 see him too — the first I ever saw.
 
 214 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 I knew the mau, and knew his nature mild. 
 And was his plaything often when a child ; 
 But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close, 
 Else he was seldom bitter or morose. 
 Perhaps his confidence just then betray'd, 
 His prief might prompt him with the speech he made ; 
 Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth. 
 The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. 
 Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind. 
 Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind. 
 
 But not to moralize too much, and strain 
 To prove an evil of which all complain 
 (I hate long arguments verbosely spun). 
 One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. 
 Once on a time an emperor, a wise man, 
 No matter where, in China or Japan, 
 Decreed, that whosoever should offend 
 Against the well-known duties of a friend, 
 Convicted once, should ever after wear 
 But half a coat, and show his bosom bare. 
 The punishment importing this, no doubt. 
 That all was naught within, and all found out. 
 
 O happy Britain ! we have not to fear 
 Such hard and arbitrary measure here ; 
 Else, could a law, like that which 1 relate. 
 Once have the sanction of our triple state, 
 Some few, that I have known in days of old, 
 Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold ; 
 While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow^. 
 Might traverse England safely to and fro, 
 An honest man, close-button'd to the chin, 
 Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within.
 
 To TUF, 
 
 REV. MR. NEWTON. 
 
 AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY. 
 
 The swallows in their torpid state 
 Compose their useless wing, 
 
 And bees in hives as id! j wait 
 The call of early Spring. 
 
 The keenest frost that binds the stream, 
 The wildest wind that blows, 
 
 Are neither felt nor fear'd by them, 
 Secure of their repose. 
 
 But man, all feelings and awake, 
 The gloomy scene surveys ; 
 
 With present ills his heart mast ache, 
 And pant for brighter days. 
 
 Old Winter, halting o'er the mead. 
 
 Bids me and Mary mourn ; 
 But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head. 
 
 And whispers your return. 
 
 Then April, with her sister May, 
 Shall chase him from the bovvers, 
 
 And weave fresh garlands every da^'. 
 To crown the smiling hours. 
 
 And if a tear, that speaks regret 
 
 Of happier times, appear, 
 A glimpse of joy, that we have met, 
 
 Shall shine, and dry the tear.
 
 TO THE 
 
 REV. MR. NEWTON, 
 
 ON HIS RETURN FROM RAMSGATE. — OCTOBER, 1780 
 
 That ocean yoa have late survey'd, 
 
 Those rocks 1 too have seen, 
 But I, afllicted and dismay'd, 
 
 You tranquil and serene. 
 
 You from the flood-controling steep, 
 
 Saw stretch'd before your view, 
 With conscious joy, the threatening deep. 
 
 No longer such to you. 
 
 To rae, the waves that ceaseless broke 
 
 Upon the dangerous coast, 
 Hoarsely and ominously spoke 
 
 Of all my treasure lost, 
 
 Your sea of troubles you have pass'd, 
 
 And found the peaceful shore ; 
 I, tempest-toss'd, and wreck'd at last. 
 
 Come home to port no more. 
 
 TO 
 THE REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN. 
 
 Unvvin, I should but ill repay 
 
 The kindness of a friend. 
 Whose worth deserves as warm a lay 
 
 As ever Friendship penn'd, 
 Tiiy name omitted in a page. 
 That would reclaim a vicious age.
 
 TO THE REV. W. C. UNWIN. 217 
 
 A union form'd as mine with tliee, 
 
 Not rashly, nor in sport, 
 May be as fervent in degree, 
 
 And faithful in its sort, 
 And may as rich in comfort prove, 
 As that of true fraternal love. 
 
 The bad inserted in the rind. 
 
 The bud of peach or rose. 
 Adorns, though differing in its kind. 
 
 The stock whereon it grows^ 
 With llower as sweet, or fruit as fair, 
 As if produced by Nature there. 
 
 Not rich, I render what I may, 
 
 I seize thy name in haste. 
 And place it in this first essay. 
 
 Lest this should prove the last. 
 'Tis where it should be — in a ])lan 
 That holds in view the good of man. 
 
 The poet's lyre, to fix his fame, 
 
 Should be the poet's heart ; 
 Affection lights a brighter flame 
 
 Than ever blazed by art. 
 No Muses on these lines attend, 
 I sink the poet in the friend. 
 
 TO A 
 
 YOUNG FRIEND, 
 
 ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET, WHEN NO 
 RAIN HAD FALLEN THERE. — 1793. 
 
 If Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dew he found, 
 While moisture none refresh'd the herbs around, 
 Might filly represent the Church, endow'd 
 With heavenly gifts, to Heathens not allow'd ;
 
 218 ON LORD MANfFIELD'S LIBRARY. 
 
 In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high, 
 Thy locks were wet when others' locks were dry 
 Heaven grant us half the omen — may we see 
 Not drouf^ht on others, but much dew on thee ! 
 
 ON THE 
 BURNING OF LORD M7\NSFIELD'S LIBRARY, 
 
 TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS. 
 BY THE MOB, IN THE MjNTH OF JUNE, 1780. 
 
 So then — the Vandals of our isle. 
 
 Sworn foes to sense and law. 
 Have burn'd to dust a nobler pile 
 
 Than ever Roman saw ! 
 
 And Murray sighs o'er Pope and Swift, 
 
 And many a treasure more. 
 The well-judged purchase and the gift. 
 
 That graced his letler'd store. 
 
 Their pages mangled, burn'd, and torn, 
 
 The loss was his alone ; 
 But ages yet to come shall mourn 
 
 The burning: of his own. 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 When Wit and Genius meet their doom, 
 
 In all-devonring flame, 
 They tell us of the fate of Rome, 
 
 And bid us fear the same. 
 
 O'er Murray's loss the Muses wept, 
 
 They felt the rude alarm, 
 Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept 
 
 His sacred head from harm.
 
 ON EDWARD TKURLOW, ESQ. 219 
 
 There Memory, like the bee, that's fed 
 
 From Flora's balmy store. 
 The quintessence of all he read 
 
 Had treasured up before. 
 
 The lawless herd, with fury blind, 
 
 Have done him cruel wrong ; 
 The flowers are gone — but still we fuid 
 
 The honey on his tongue. 
 
 ON THE 
 PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, Esq, 
 
 TO THE 
 LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND. 
 
 Round Thurlow's head iu early youth, 
 
 And in his sportive days. 
 Fair Science pour'd the light of truth, 
 
 And Genius shed his rays. 
 
 Seel with united wonder cried 
 
 The' experienced and the sage, 
 Ambition in a boy supplied 
 
 With all the skill of age! 
 
 Discernment, eloquence, and grace 
 
 Proclaim him born to sway 
 Tlie balance in the highest place, 
 
 And bear the palm away. 
 
 The praise bestow'd was just and wise ; 
 
 He sprang impetuous forth, 
 Secure of conquest, where the prize 
 
 Attends superior worth.
 
 2?0 HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. 
 
 So the best courser on the plain 
 Ere yet lie starts is known, 
 
 And does but at the goal obtain 
 What all had deem'd his own. 
 
 THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF 
 
 JOHN GILPIN; 
 
 SHOWING HOW HE WENT EUriTHER THAN HE 
 TENDED, AND CAME SAFE HOME AGAIN. 
 
 John Gilpin was a citizen 
 
 Of credit and renown, 
 A train-band captain eke was he 
 
 Of famous London town. 
 John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear. 
 
 Though wedded we have been 
 These twice ten tedious 3'ears, yet we 
 
 No holiday have seen. 
 To-morrow is our wedding day, 
 
 And we will then repair 
 Unto the Bell at Edmonton 
 
 All in a chaise and pair. 
 My sister, and my sister's child, 
 
 Myself and children three, 
 Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride 
 
 On horseback after we. 
 He soon replied, I do admire 
 
 Of womankind but one,, 
 And you are she, my dearest dear, 
 
 Therefore it shall be done. 
 I am a linen-draper bold. 
 
 As all the world doth know, 
 And my good friend the calender 
 
 Will lend his horse to go.
 
 HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN, 'J'iii 
 
 Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, That's well said ; 
 
 And for that wine is dear, 
 We will be furnish'd with our own. 
 
 Which is both bright and clear. 
 John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife ; 
 
 O'erjoy'd was he to find, 
 That, though on pleasure she was bent, 
 
 She had a frugal mind. 
 The morning came, the chaise was brought. 
 
 But yet was not allow'd 
 To drive up to the door, lest all 
 
 Should say that she was proud : 
 So three doors off the chaise was stay'd. 
 
 Where they did all get in ; 
 Six precious souls, and all agog 
 
 To dash through thick and thin. 
 Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, 
 
 Were never folk so glad. 
 The stones did rattle underneath, 
 
 As if Cheapside were mad. 
 John Gilpin at his horse's side 
 
 Seized fast the flowing mane, 
 And up he got, in haste to ride, 
 
 But soon came down again ; 
 For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he. 
 
 His journey to begin. 
 When, turning round his head, he saw 
 
 Three customers come in. 
 So down he came ; for loss of time. 
 
 Although it grieved him sore, 
 Yet loss of pence> full well he knew, 
 
 Would trouble him much more. 
 'Twas long before the customers. 
 
 Were suited to their mind. 
 When Betty screaming came down stairs, 
 
 The wine is left behind !
 
 222 HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. 
 
 Good lack! quoth he — yet bring it luc, 
 
 My leathern belt likewise, 
 lu which I bear my trusty sword. 
 
 When I do exercise. 
 Now mistress Gilpin (careful soul!) 
 
 Had two stone bottles found, 
 To hold the liquor that she loved, 
 
 And keep it safe and sound. 
 Each bottle had a curling ear. 
 
 Through which the belt he drew, 
 And hung a bottle on each side, 
 
 To make his balance true. 
 Then over all, that he might be 
 
 Equipp'd from top to toe, 
 Ilis long red cloak, well brush'd and neal, 
 
 He manfully did throw. 
 Now see him mounted once again 
 
 Upon his nimble steed, 
 Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, 
 
 "With caution and good heed. 
 But, finding soon a smoother road 
 
 Beneath his well-shod feet. 
 The snorting benst began to trot, 
 
 Which gall'd him in his seat. 
 So, Fair and softly, John he cried. 
 
 But John he cried in vain ; 
 That trot became a gallop soon, 
 
 In spite of curb and rein. 
 So stooping down, as needs he must 
 
 Who cannot sit upright, 
 He grasp'd the mane with both his hands, 
 
 And eke with all his might. 
 His horse> who never in that sort 
 
 Had handled been before, 
 What thing upon his back had got 
 
 Did wonder more aud more.
 
 lUSTOIlY OF JOHN GILPIN. iiT3 
 
 Away went Gilpin, neck or nought ; 
 
 Awaj went hat and wig ; 
 lie little dream'd, when he set out, 
 
 Of running such a rig. 
 The wind did blow, the cloak did lly, 
 
 Like streamer long and gay, 
 Till, loop and button failing both, 
 
 At last it flew away. 
 Then might all people well discern 
 
 The bottles he had slung; 
 A bottle swinging at each side, 
 
 As hath been said or sung. 
 The dogs did bark, the children screaiu'd. 
 
 Up flew the windows all ; 
 And every soul cried out. Well done ! 
 
 As loud as he could bawl. 
 Away went Gilpin — who but he ; 
 His fame soon spread around ; 
 He carries weight! he rides a race! 
 
 'Tis for a thousand pound ! 
 And still, as fast as he drew near, 
 
 'Twas wonderful to view. 
 How in a trice the turnpike men 
 Their gates wide open threw. 
 And now, as he went bowing down 
 
 His reeking head full low. 
 The bottles twain behind his back 
 
 Were shatter'd at a blow. 
 Down ran the wine into the road. 
 
 Most piteous to be seen, 
 Which made his horse's ilanks to smoke. 
 
 As they had basted been. 
 But still he seem'd to carry weight, 
 
 With leathern girdle braced ; 
 For all might see the bottle-necks 
 Still dangling at his waist.
 
 221 HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. 
 
 Thus all through merr)- Islington 
 
 These gambols he did play, 
 Until he came unto the Wash 
 
 Of Edmonton so gay ; 
 And there he threw the wash about 
 
 On both sides of the way, 
 Just like unto a trundling mop. 
 
 Or a wild goose at play. 
 At Edmonton his loving wife 
 
 From the balcony spied 
 Her tender husband, wondering much 
 
 To see how he did ride. 
 Stop, stoj), John Gilpin ! — Here's the house— 
 
 They all aloud did cry ; 
 The dinner waits, and we are tired : 
 
 Said Gilpin — So am I! 
 But yet his horse was not a whit 
 
 Inclined to tarry there ; 
 For why ?— his owner had a house 
 
 Full ten miles off, at Ware. 
 So like an arrow swift he Hew, 
 
 Shot by an archer strong ; 
 So did he fly — which brings mo (o 
 
 The middle of my song. 
 Away went Gilpin out of breath, 
 
 And sore against his will. 
 Till at his friend the calender's 
 
 His horse at last stood still. 
 The calender amazed to see 
 
 His neighbour in such trim, 
 Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate. 
 
 And thus accosted him : 
 What news ? what news .'' your tidings tell ? 
 
 Tell me you must and shall — 
 Say why bareheaded you are come, 
 
 Or why you cumo at all ?
 
 HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. 
 
 Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, 
 
 And loved a timely joke ; 
 And thus unto the calender 
 
 In merry guise he spoke : 
 I came because your horse would come ; 
 
 And, if I well forebode. 
 My hat and wig will soon be here, 
 
 They are upon the road. 
 The calender, right glad to find 
 
 His friend in merry pin, 
 Return'd him not a single word. 
 
 But to the house went in : 
 When straight he came with hat and wig ; 
 
 A wig that flow'd behind, 
 \ hat not much the worse for wear, 
 
 Each comely in its kind. 
 He held them up, and in his turn 
 
 Thus showd his ready wit — 
 -My head is twice as big as yours, 
 
 They therefore needs must fit. 
 But let me scrape the dirt away 
 
 That hangs upon your face ; 
 And stop and eat, for well you may 
 
 Be in a hungry case. 
 Said John, it is my wedding-day, 
 
 And all the world would stare, 
 If wife should dine at Edmonton, 
 
 And I should dine at Ware. 
 So turning to his horse, he said, 
 
 I am in haste to dine ; 
 "Twas for your pleasure you came here. 
 
 You shall go back for mine. 
 Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast ! 
 
 For which he paid full dear ; 
 For, while he spake, a braying ass 
 
 Did sing most loud and clear ; 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 126 HISTOKY OF JOHN GILPIN. 
 
 Whereat his horse did snort, as he 
 
 Had heard a lion roar, 
 And gallop'd oil' with all his might, 
 
 As he had done before. 
 Away went Gilpin, and away 
 
 Went Gilpin's hat and wig ; 
 He lost thein sooner than at first ; 
 
 For why ? — they were too big. 
 Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw 
 
 Her husband posting down 
 Into the country far away. 
 
 She pull'd out half a crown ; 
 And thus unto the youth she said, 
 
 That drove them to the Bell, 
 This shall be yours, when you bring back 
 
 My husband safe and well. 
 The youth did ride, and soon did meet 
 
 John coming back amain ; 
 W horn in a trice he tried to stop, 
 
 By catching at his rein : 
 But not ])erforming what he meant, 
 
 And gladly would have done. 
 The frighted steed he frighted more. 
 
 And made him faster run. 
 Away went Gilpin, and away 
 
 W^ent postboy at his heels. 
 The postboy's horse right glad to miss 
 
 The lumbering of the wheels. 
 Six gentlemen upon the road. 
 
 Thus seeing Gilpin lly. 
 With postboy scampering in the rear. 
 
 They raised the hue and cry : — 
 Stop thief! slop thief! — a highwayman ! 
 
 Not one of them was mute ; 
 And all and each that pass'd that way 
 Did join iu the pursuit.
 
 YEARLY DISTRESS. 2^:7 
 
 And now tlie turnpike gates again 
 
 Flew open in short space ; 
 The toll-men thinking as before, 
 
 That Gilpin rode a race. 
 And so he did, and won it too, 
 
 For he got first to town ; 
 Nor stopp'd till where he had got up 
 
 He did again get down. 
 Now let us sing, Long live the king, 
 
 And Gilpin, long live he ; 
 And, when he next doth ride abroad, 
 
 May I be there to see ! 
 
 THE 
 
 YEARLY DISTRESS: 
 
 OR, 
 
 TITHING-TIME AT STOCK IN ESSEX. 
 
 Verses addressed to a Country Clergyman, complaining 
 of the Disagreeuhleness of the Day annually ap- 
 pointed for receiving the Dues at the Parsonage. 
 
 Come, ponder well, for 'tis no jest, 
 
 To laugh it would be wrong ; 
 T!ie troubles of a worthy priest 
 
 The burden of inj song. 
 The priest he luerry is and blillie 
 
 Three quarters of the year, 
 But oh ! it cuts him like a scythe 
 
 When tithing-time draws near. 
 He then is full of frights and fears, 
 
 As one at point to die. 
 And long before the day appears 
 
 He heaves up many a sigh.
 
 228 YEARLY I)ISTR£SS. 
 
 For tlien the farmers come, jog, jog, 
 
 Along tlie miry road, 
 Each lieart as heavy as a log, 
 
 To make their payments good. 
 In sooth, the sorrow of such days 
 
 Is not to be express'd, 
 When he that takes and he that pays 
 
 Are both alike distress'd. 
 Now all unwelcome at his gates 
 
 The clumsy swains alight, 
 With rueful faces and bald pates — 
 
 He trembles at the sight. 
 And well he may, for well he knows 
 
 Each bumpkin of the clan. 
 Instead of paying what he owes, 
 
 Will cheat him if he can. 
 So in they come — each makes his leg, 
 
 And flings his head before. 
 And looks as if he came to beg, 
 
 And not to quit a score. 
 ' And how does miss and madam do, 
 
 The little boy and all?' 
 ' All tight and well.' 'And how do you, 
 
 Good Mr. What-d'ye-call ?' 
 The dinner comes, and down they sit : 
 
 Were e'er such hungry folk? 
 There's little talking, and no wit ; 
 
 It is no time to joke. 
 One wipes his nose upon his sleeve, 
 
 One spits upon the floor. 
 Yet, not to give oflence or grieve. 
 
 Holds up the cloth before. 
 The punch goes round, and they are dull 
 
 And lumpish still as ever; 
 Tiike barrels with their bellies full, 
 
 They only weigh the heavier.
 
 queen's visit to londox. 'i!29 
 
 At length tlie busy time beajins, 
 
 ' Come, neigbbours, we must wag.' 
 The money chinks, down drop their chins, 
 
 Each lugging out liis bag. 
 One talks of mildew and of frost, 
 
 And one of storms of liail. 
 And one of pigs that he has lost 
 
 By maggots at the tail. 
 Quoth one, ' A rarer man than you 
 
 In pulpit none sliall hear ; 
 But yet, methinks, to tell you true. 
 
 You sell it plaguy dear.' 
 O why are farmers made so coarse. 
 
 Or clergy made so line ? 
 A kick, that scarce would move a horse. 
 
 May kill a sound divine. 
 Then let the boobies stay at home ; 
 
 'Twould cost him, I dare say. 
 Less trouble taking twice the sum, 
 
 Without the clowns that pay. 
 
 ON 
 THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON, 
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE 17TH MARCH, 1789. 
 
 When, long sequeslerd from his throne, 
 
 George took his seat again, 
 By right of worth, not blood alone. 
 
 Entitled here to reign. 
 
 Then, Loyalty, with all his lamps 
 
 New-trimm'd, a gallant show! 
 Chasing the darkness and the damps. 
 
 Set London in a glow.
 
 230 ql'een's visit to London. 
 
 'Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares, 
 
 Wiiich form'd the chief display. 
 These most resembling- cluster'd stars, 
 
 Those the long milky way. 
 Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the s]>irts. 
 
 And rockets flew, seif-driven, 
 To hang their momentar}' fires 
 
 Amid the vault of heaven. 
 So, fire with water to compare. 
 
 The ocean serves, on high 
 Upspouted by a whale in air, 
 
 To' express unwieldy joy. 
 Had all the pageants of the world 
 
 In one procession joiu'd. 
 And all the banners Ijeen unfurl'd 
 
 That heralds e'er design'd ; 
 For no such sight had England's Queen 
 
 Forsaken her retreat. 
 Where, George recover'd made a scene 
 
 Sweet always, doubly sweet. 
 Yet glad she came that night to prove, 
 
 A witness undescried, 
 How much the object of her love 
 
 Was loved by all beside. 
 Darkness the skies hail mantled o'er 
 
 In aid of her design 
 
 Darkness, O Queen! ne'er call'd before 
 
 To veil a deed of thine! 
 On borrow'd wheels away she flies, 
 
 Resolved to be unknown. 
 And gratify no curious eyes 
 
 That night, except her own. 
 Arrived, a niglit like noon she sees, 
 
 And hears the million hum ; 
 As all by instinct, like the bees, 
 
 Had known their sovereigu come.
 
 QUKEN's visit to LONDON. 1^31 
 
 Pleased she beheld aloft portray'd 
 
 On many a splendid wall, 
 Emblems of health and heavenly aid, 
 
 And George the theme of all. 
 Unlike the enigmatic line, 
 
 So difficult to spell, 
 Which shook Belshazzar at his wine 
 
 The night his city fell. 
 Soon watery grew her eyes and dim, 
 
 Bat with a joyful tear, 
 None else, except in prayer for him, 
 
 George ever drew from her. 
 It was a scene in every part 
 
 Like those in fable feign'd. 
 And seera'd by some magician's art 
 
 Created and sustain'd. 
 But other magic there, she knew. 
 
 Had been exerted none, 
 To raise such wonders in her view. 
 
 Save love of George alone. 
 That cordial thought her spirits cheer'd, 
 
 And through the cumbrous throng. 
 Not else unworthy to be fear'd, 
 
 Convey'd her calm along. 
 So, ancient poets say, serene 
 
 The seamaid rides the waves, 
 And fearless of the billowy scene 
 
 Her peaceful bosom laves. 
 With more than astronomic eyes 
 
 She view'd the sparkling show ; 
 One Georgian star adorns the skiesy 
 
 She myriads found below. 
 Yet let the glories of a night 
 
 Like that, once seen, sutiice. 
 Heaven grant us no such future sight, 
 
 Such previous woe the price !
 
 ANNUS MEiMORABILIS, 1789. 
 
 WRitTEN IN COMIVTEMORATION OF HIS MAJESTY' 
 HAPPY RECOVERY. 
 
 I ransack'd, for a theme of son^, 
 ^ Mach ancient chronicle, and long ; 
 I read of bright embattled fields, 
 Of trophied helmets, spears, and sliields. 
 Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast 
 Prowess to dissipate a host : 
 Through tomes of fable and of dream, 
 I sought an eligible theme ; 
 But none I found, or found them shareil 
 Already by some happier bard. 
 
 To modern times, with Truth to guidt; 
 My busy search, I next applied ; 
 Here cities won and lleets dispersed 
 Urged loud a claim to be rehearsed. 
 Deeds of unperisiiing renown, 
 Our fathers' triumphs, and our own. 
 
 Thus, as the bee, from bank to bower. 
 Assiduous sips at every llower. 
 But rests on none, till tliat be found, 
 Where most nectareous sweets abound. 
 So I from theme to theme display'd 
 In many a page historic stray 'd. 
 Siege after siege, light after fight, 
 Contemplating with small delight 
 (For feats of sanguinary hue 
 Not always glitter in my view) ; 
 Till, settling on the current year, 
 I found the far-sought treasure near ; 
 A theme for poetry divine, 
 A theme to' ennoble even mine, 
 In memorable eighty-nine. 
 
 The spring of eighty-nine shall be 
 An era cherish'd long hy me.
 
 ANNUS MEMORABILIS. 233 
 
 Which joyful t will oft record, 
 
 And thankful at my frugal board; 
 
 For then the clouds of eiglity-eight, 
 
 That threatened England's trembling state 
 
 With loss of what she least could spare. 
 
 Her sovereigns tutelary care, 
 
 One breath of Heaven, that cried— Restose! 
 
 Chased, never to assemble more ; 
 
 And far the richest crown on earth, 
 
 If valued by its wearer's worth. 
 
 The symbol of a righteous reign. 
 
 Sat fast on George's brows again. 
 
 Then peace and joy again possess'd 
 Our Queen's long agitated breast. 
 Such joy and peace as can be known 
 By sufferers like herself alone ; 
 Who losing, or supposing lost, 
 The good on earth they valued most, 
 For that dear sorrow's sake forego 
 All hope of happiness below. 
 Then suddenly regain the prize. 
 And flash thanksgivings to the skies ! 
 
 O Queen of Albion, queen of isles ! 
 Since all thy tears were changed to smiles, 
 The eyes, that never saw thee, shine 
 With joy not unallied to thine, 
 Transports not chargeable with art 
 Illume the land's remotest part, 
 And strangers to the air of courts. 
 Both in their toils and at their sports, 
 The happiness of answered prayers, 
 That gilds thy features, show in theirs. 
 If they, who on thy state attend. 
 Awe-struck, before thy presence bend, 
 'Tis but the natural etfect 
 Of grandeur that ensures respect ; 
 But she is something more than Queen,. 
 Who is beloved where never seen.
 
 THE MORNING DREAM. 
 
 'TwAS in the glad season of spring, 
 
 Asleep at the dawn of the day, 
 I dreain'd what I cannot but sing. 
 
 So pleasant it seem'd as I lay. 
 1 dreaui'd, that, on ocean ailoat, 
 
 Far hence to tlie westward I sail'd, 
 While the billows high lifted the boat, 
 
 And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail'd. 
 
 In the steerage a woman I saw. 
 
 Such at least was the form that she wore, 
 Whose beauty impress'd me with awe, 
 
 Ne'er taught nie by woman before. 
 She sat, and a shield at her side 
 
 Shed light, like a sun on the waves, 
 And smiling divinely, she cried — 
 
 ' 1 go to make freemen of slaves.' — 
 
 Then raising her voice to a strain 
 
 The sweetest that ear ever heard. 
 She sung of the slave's broken chaiu 
 
 Wherever her glory appear'd. 
 Some clouds, which had over us hung, 
 
 Fled, chased by her melody clear. 
 And methought while she liberty sung, 
 
 'Twas liberty oidy to hear. 
 
 Thus swiftly dividing the Hood, 
 
 To a slave-cultured island we came, 
 Where a demon, her enemy, stood — 
 
 Oppression his terrible name. 
 In his hand, as the sign of his sway, 
 
 A scourge hung with lashes he bore, 
 And stood looking out for his prey 
 
 {'rom Africa's sorrowful shore.
 
 TFIE IJETIRKD CAT. 235 
 
 But soon as approaching the laud 
 
 That goddess-like woman he view'd, ^- ' - 
 The scourge he let fall from his hand, ''"*i*"'r*'-"'l 
 
 With the blood of his subjects imbrued, "''^■f'- 
 I saw him both sicken and die, 
 
 And the moment the monster expired. 
 Heard shouts that ascended the sky, 
 
 From thousands that rapture inspired. 
 
 Awaking, how could I but muse 
 
 At what such a dream should betide? 
 But soon my ear caught the glad news, 
 
 Which served ray weak thought for a guide — 
 That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves 
 
 For the hatred she has ever shown 
 To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves. 
 
 Resolves to have none of her own. 
 
 THE RETIRED CAT. 
 
 A poet's Cat, sedate and grave 
 As poet Avell could wish to have, 
 Was much addicted to inquire 
 For nooks to which she might retire. 
 And where, secure as mouse in chink, 
 She might repose, or sit and think. 
 I know not where she caught the trick- 
 Nature perhaps herself had cast her 
 In such a mould philosophique, 
 Or else she learn'd it of her master. 
 Sometimes ascending, debonair. 
 An apple-tree or lofty pear. 
 Lodged with convenience in the fork. 
 She watch'd the gardener at his work : 
 Sometimes her ease and solace sought 
 In an old empty watering-pot.
 
 236 THE RETIRED CAT. 
 
 There wanting nothing, save a fan, 
 To seem some nymph in ber sedan 
 Apparel'd in exactest sort, 
 And ready to be borne to court. 
 
 But love of change it seems has place 
 Not only in our wiser race, 
 Cats also feel, as well as we, 
 That passion's force, and so did she. 
 Her climbing she began to find 
 Exposed her too much to the wind. 
 And the old utensil of tin 
 Was cold and comfortless within : 
 She therefore wish'd, instead of those, 
 Some place of more serene repose, 
 AVhere neither cold might come, nor air 
 Too rudely wanton with her hair, 
 And sought it in the likeliest mode 
 Within her master's snug abode. 
 
 A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined 
 With linen of the softest kind, 
 With such as merchants introduce 
 From India, for the ladies' use, 
 A drawer impending o'er the rest. 
 Half open in the topmost chest. 
 Of dei)th enough, and none to spare. 
 Invited lier to slumber there ; 
 Puss with delight beyond expression 
 Survey'd tlie scene and took possession. 
 Recumbent at her ease ere long. 
 And lull'd by her own humdrum song, 
 She left the cares of life behind, 
 And slept as she would sleep her last. 
 When in came, housewifely inclined, 
 The chambermaid, and shut it fast, 
 By no malignity inipell'd. 
 But all unconscious whom it held. 
 
 Awaken'd by the shock, (cried Puss) 
 ' Was ever cat attended thus !
 
 TJiE RETIRED CAT. Hot 
 
 The open drawer was left, I see, 
 
 ivlerely to prove a nest for me. 
 
 For soon as I was well composed, 
 
 Then came the maid, and it was closed. 
 
 How smooth these kerchiefs and how sweet! 
 
 Oh what a delicate retreat ! 
 
 I will resign myself to rest, 
 
 Till Sol declining in the west 
 
 Shall call to sapper, when, no doubt, 
 
 Susan will come and let me out.' 
 
 The evening came, the sun descended, 
 And puss reraain'd still unattended. 
 The night roll'd tardily away 
 (With her indeed 'twas never day). 
 The sprightly morn her course renew'd. 
 The evening gray again ensued, 
 And puss came into mind no more 
 Than if entomb'd the day before. 
 With hunger pinch'd, and pinch'd for room, 
 She now presaged approaching doom, 
 Nor slept a single wink or purr'd. 
 Conscious of jeopardy incurred. 
 
 That night, by chance, the poet watching. 
 Heard an inexplicable scratching; 
 His noble heart went pit-a-pat. 
 And to himself he said — ' What's that ?' 
 He drew the curtain at his side. 
 And forth he peep'd, but nothing spied ; 
 Yet, by his ear directed, guess'd 
 Something imprison'd in the chest; 
 And, doubtful what, with prudent care 
 Resolved it should continue there. 
 At length, a voice which well he knew, 
 A long and melancholy mew, 
 Saluting his poetic ears, 
 Consoled him, and dispell'd his fears ; 
 He left his bed, he trod the floor, 
 He 'gan in baste the drawers explore,
 
 238 MUTUAL FORBEARANCE. 
 
 The lowest first, and without stop 
 The rest in order to the top. 
 For 'tis a truth well known to most, 
 That whatsoever thing i^ lost, 
 We seek it, ere it come to iif^ht, 
 In every crann}' but the right. 
 Forth skipp'd tlie cat, not now replete 
 As erst with airy self-conceit, 
 Nor in her own fond apprehension 
 A theme for all the world's attention, 
 But modest, sober, cured of all 
 Her notions hyperbolical. 
 And wishing for a place of rest 
 Any thing rather than a chest. 
 Then stepp'd the poet into bed 
 With this rellection in his head : 
 
 MURAL. 
 
 Beware of too sublime a sense 
 Of your own worth and consequence. 
 The man who dreams himself so great, 
 And his importance of such weight, 
 That all around in all that's done 
 Must move and act for him alone. 
 Will learn in school of tribulation 
 The folly of his expectation. 
 
 MUTUAL FORBEARANCE 
 
 NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED 
 STATE. 
 
 The lady thus address'd tier spouse — 
 What a mere dungeon is this house! 
 By no means large enough ; and was it, 
 Yet this dull room, and that dark closet. 
 Those hangings with their worn-out graces, 
 Long beards, long noses, and pale faces,
 
 MUTUAL rOREEAKANCE. 139 
 
 Are such an antiquated scene, 
 They overwhelm me with the spleen. 
 
 Sir Humphry, shooting in the dark. 
 Makes answer quite beside the mark : 
 No doubt, my dear, I bade him come. 
 Engaged myself to be at home. 
 And shall expect him at the door 
 Precisely when the clock strikes four. 
 
 You are so deaf, the lady cried, 
 (And raised her voice, and frown'd beside,) 
 You are so sadly deaf, my dear. 
 What shall I do to make you hear ? 
 Dismiss poor Harry ! he replies ; 
 Some people are more nice than wise. 
 
 For one sliL';!it trespass all this stir P 
 What if he did ride v,Lin and spur ? 
 
 'Twas but a mile — your favourite horse 
 
 W ill never look one hair the worse. 
 Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing — ■ 
 
 Child! I am rather hard of hearing — 
 
 Yes, truly — one must scream and bawl ; 
 
 I tell you, you can't hear at all ! 
 
 Then, with a voice exceeding low. 
 
 No matter if you hear or no. 
 Alas ! and is domestic strife, 
 
 That sorest ill of human life, 
 
 A plague so little to be fear'd 
 
 As to be wantonly iucurr'd. 
 
 To gratify a fretful passion. 
 
 On every trivial provocation? 
 
 The kindest and the happiest pair 
 
 Will find occasion to forbear; 
 
 And something, every day they live. 
 
 To pity, and perhaps forgive. 
 
 But if infirmities, that fall 
 
 In common to the lot of all, 
 
 A blemish or a sense impair'd, 
 
 Are crimes so little to be spared,
 
 240 
 
 Then farewell all that must create 
 The comfort of the wedded state ; 
 Instead of harmony, 'tis jar, 
 And tumult, and intestine war. 
 
 The love that cheers life's latest sta^e, 
 Proof against sickness and old age, 
 Preserved by virtue from declension, 
 Becomes not wear}^ of attention ; 
 But lives, when that exterior grace, 
 Which first inspired the flame, decays. 
 'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind, 
 To faults compassionate or blind, 
 And will with sympathy endure 
 Those evils it would gladly cure: 
 But angry, coarse, and harsh expression, 
 Shows love to be a mere profession ; 
 Proves that the heart is none of his. 
 Or soon expels him if It is. 
 
 LOVE ABUSED. 
 
 What is tliere in the vale of life 
 Half so delightful as a wife. 
 When friendsiiip, love, and peace combine 
 To stamp tlie marriage bond divine ? 
 The stream of pure and genuine love 
 Derives its current from above ; 
 And earth a second Eden shows 
 Where'er tlie healing water flows : 
 But ah, if from the dykes and drains 
 Of sensual Nature's feverish veins. 
 Lust, like a lawless headstrong flood. 
 Impregnated with oose and mud. 
 Descending fast on every side. 
 Once mingles with tlie sacred tide, 
 Farewell the soul-enlivening scene! 
 The banks that wore a smiling green,
 
 PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. 2U 
 
 With rank defilement overspread, 
 Bewail their llowery beauties dead. 
 The stream polluted, dark and dull, 
 Diffused into a Stygian pool, 
 Through life's last melancholy years 
 Is fed with overflowing tears: 
 Complaints supply the zephyr's part, 
 And sighs that heave a breaking heart. 
 
 PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. 
 
 A FARLE. 
 
 I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau 
 
 If birds confabulate or no ; 
 
 'Tis clear that they were always able 
 
 To hold discourse — at least in fable ; 
 
 And e'en the child, that knows no better 
 
 Than to interpret by tlie letter 
 
 A story of a cock and bull. 
 
 Mast have a most uncommon skull. 
 
 It chanced then on a winter's day, 
 But warm and bright, and calm as May, 
 The birds, conceiving a design, 
 To forestall sweet St. Valentine, 
 In many an orchard, copse, and grove. 
 Assembled on affairs of love, 
 And with mnch twitter, and much chatter. 
 Began to agitate the matter. 
 At length a Bullfinch, who could boast 
 More years and wisdom than the most, 
 Entreated, opening wide his beak, 
 A moment's liberty to speak ; 
 And silence publicly enjoin'd, 
 Deliver'd briefly thus his mind: 
 
 My friends ! be cautious how ye treat 
 The subject upon which we meet ; 
 I fear we shall have winter yet. 
 VOL, I. R
 
 212 PAIKIXG TIME ANTICIPATED. 
 
 A Fiucli, wliose tongue knew no control. 
 With golden wing and satin poll, 
 A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried 
 What marriage means, thus pert replied: 
 
 Methinks the gentleman, quoth she, 
 Opposite in the apple-tree, 
 By his good will would keep us single 
 Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle. 
 Or (which is likelier to befall) 
 Till death exterminate us all. 
 I marry without more ado ; 
 My dear Dick Redcap, what say you ? 
 
 Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling, 
 Turning short round, strutting and sideling, 
 Attested, glad, his approbation 
 Of an immediate conjugation. 
 Their sentiments so well express'd 
 Influenced mightily the rest ; 
 All pair'd, and each pair built a nest. 
 
 But though the birds were thus in haste, 
 The leaves came on not quite so fast. 
 And Destiny, that sometimes bears 
 An aspect stern on man's affairs. 
 Not altogellier smiled on theirs. 
 The wind, of late breathed gently forth, 
 Kow shifted east, and east by north; 
 Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know. 
 Could shelter them from rain or snow ; 
 Stepping into their nests, they paddled. 
 Themselves were cliill'd, their eggs were addled: 
 Soon every father bird and mother 
 Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other, 
 Parted without the least regret. 
 Except that they had ever met, 
 And learn'd in future to be wiser, 
 Than to neglect a good adviser.
 
 THF IVIORAMZER CORRECTKD. 243 
 
 iMORAL. 
 
 Misses! the tale tliat I relate 
 
 This lesson seems to carry — 
 Choose not alone a proper mate, 
 
 Bat proper time to marry. 
 
 THE MORALTZER CORRECTED. 
 
 A Hermit (or if 'cliance you hold 
 That title now too trite and old) 
 A man, once youn;;, who lived retired 
 As hermit conld have well desired. 
 His hours of study closed at last, 
 And finish'd his concise repast, 
 Stoppled his cruise, replaced his book 
 Within its customary nook, 
 And, staff in hand, set forth to share 
 The sober cordial of sweet air. 
 Like Isaac, with a mind applied 
 To serious thought at evening; tide. 
 Autumnal rains had made it chill, 
 And from the trees that fringed his hill. 
 Shades slanting at the close of day 
 Chill'd more his else delightful way. 
 Distant a little mile he spied 
 A western bank's still sunn^' side. 
 And right toward the favour'd place 
 Proceeding with his nimblest pace. 
 In hope to bask a little yet, 
 Just reach'd it when the sun was set. 
 Your hermit, young and jovial sirs ! 
 Learns something from whate'er occurs-
 
 214 THE MORALIZER CORRECTED. 
 
 And hence, lie said, mj mind computes 
 The real worth of man's pursuits. 
 His object chosen, wealth or fame, 
 Or other sublunary game, 
 Imagination to his view 
 Presents it deck'd with every hue 
 That can seduce him not to spare 
 His powers of best exertion there. 
 But youth, health, vigour, to expend 
 On so desirable an end. 
 Ere long approach life's evening shades. 
 The glow that Fancy gave it fades ; 
 And, earn'd too late, it wants the grace 
 That first engaged him in the chase. 
 True, answer'd an angelic guide. 
 Attendant at the senior's side — 
 But whether all the time it cost 
 To urge the fruitless chase, be lost. 
 Must be decided by the worth 
 Of that which call'd his ardour forth. 
 Trifles pursued, whate'er the' event, 
 Must cause him shame or discontent j 
 A vicious object still is worse. 
 Successful there he wins a curse. 
 But he, whom e'en in life's last stage 
 Endeavours laudable engage, 
 Is paid, at least in peace of mind, 
 And sense of having well design'd; 
 And if, ere he attain his end. 
 His sun precipitate descend, 
 A brighter pri/.e than that he meant 
 Shall recompense liis mere intent. 
 No virtuous wish can bear a date 
 Either too early or too late.
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 A Ravcn, while with glossy breast 
 
 Her new-laid eg;!;s she fondly press'd, 
 
 And, on her wickerwork high mounted, 
 
 Her chickens prematurely counted 
 
 (A fault philosophers might blame 
 
 If quite exempted from the same), 
 
 Enjoy'd at ease the genial day; 
 
 'Twas April, as the bumpkins say, 
 
 The legislature call'd it May. 
 
 But suddenly a wind, as high 
 
 As ever swept a winter sky. 
 
 Shook the young leaves about her ears. 
 
 And fill'd her with a thousand fears. 
 
 Lest the rude blast should snap the bough. 
 
 And spread her golden hopes below. 
 
 But just at eve the blowing weather 
 
 And all her fears were hush'd together: 
 
 And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph, 
 
 'Tis over, and the brood is safe 
 
 (For ravens, though as birds of omen 
 
 They teach both conjurers and old women. 
 
 To tell us what is to befall, 
 
 Can't prophesy themselves at all). 
 
 The morning came, when neighbour Hodge, 
 
 Who long had mark'd her airy lodge. 
 
 And destined all the treasure there 
 
 A gift to his expecting fair, 
 
 Climb'd like a squirrel to his dray, 
 
 And bore the worthless prize away. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 'Tis Providence alone secures 
 
 In every change both mine and yours: 
 
 Safety consists not in escape 
 
 From dangers of a frightful shape ;
 
 246 THE PINEAPPLE AND IJEE. 
 
 An earthquake may be bid to spare 
 The luau tliat's strangled by a hair. 
 Fate steals along with silent tread, 
 Found oftenest in what least we dread, 
 Frowns in the storm with angry brow, 
 But in the sunshine strikes the blow. 
 
 THE PINEAPPLE AND BEE. 
 
 The pineapples, in triple row, 
 Were basking hot, and all in blow ; 
 A bee of most discerning taste. 
 Perceived the fragrance as he pass'd. 
 On eager wing the spoiler came. 
 And search'd for crannies in the frame. 
 Urged his attempt on every side. 
 To every pane his trunk applied ; 
 But still in vain, the frame was tight. 
 And only pervious to the light : 
 Thus having wasted half the day, 
 He trimm'd his flight another way. 
 Methiiiks, I said, in thee I find 
 The sin and madness ol mankind. 
 To joys forbidden man aspires. 
 Consumes his soul with vain desires ; 
 Folly tlie spring of his pursuit. 
 And disappointment all the fruit. 
 While Cynthio ogles, as she passes. 
 The jiymph between two chariot glasses, 
 She is the pineapple, and he 
 The silly unsuccessful bee. 
 The maid, who views with pensive air 
 The show-glass fraught with glittering ware 
 Sees watciies, bracelets, rings, and lockets, 
 But sighs at thought of empty pockets;
 
 POET, OVSTEIl, AND SENSITIVE PLANT. 247 
 
 Like thine, her appetite is keen, 
 But all, the cruel glass between! 
 
 Our dear delights are often such, 
 Exposed to view, but not to touch : 
 The sight our foolish heart inilames. 
 We long for pineapples ic frames; 
 With hopeless wish one looks and lingers ; 
 One breaks the glass and cuts his fingers j 
 But they whom truth and wisdom lead, 
 Can gather honey from a weed. 
 
 THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SENSI- 
 TIVE PLANT. 
 
 An Ojster, cast upon the shore, 
 Was heard, though never heard before, 
 Complaining in a speech well worded, 
 And worthy thus to be recorded — 
 
 Ah, hapless wretch ! condemn'd to dwell 
 For ever in my native shell : 
 Ordain'd to move when others please. 
 Not for my own content or ease ; 
 But toss'd and bufteted about. 
 Now in the water and now oitt. 
 'Twere better to be born a stone. 
 Of ruder shape, and feeling none, 
 Than with a tenderness like mine. 
 And sensibilities so fine! 
 I envy that unfeeling shrub, 
 Fast-rooted against every rub. 
 The plant he meant grew not far off. 
 And felt the sneer with scorn enough ; 
 Was hurt, disgusted, mortified. 
 And with asperity replied. 
 
 When, cry the botanists, and stare. 
 Did plants call'd sensitive grow there?
 
 248 POET, 0\STER, AND SENSITIVE PLANT. 
 
 No matter when — a poet's Muse is 
 
 To make them grow just where she chooses. 
 
 You shapeless nothing iu a disli, 
 You that are but almost a fish, 
 I scorn 3'our coarse insinuation, 
 And have most plentiful occasion 
 To wish myself the rock 1 view, 
 Or such another dolt as you: 
 For many a grave and learned clerk. 
 And many a gay unlettered spark, 
 W ith curious touch examines me. 
 If 1 can feel as well as he ; 
 And when I bend, retire, and shrink, 
 Says — Well, 'tis more than one would think! 
 Thus life is spent (oh lie upon't') 
 In being touch'd, and crying — Don't! 
 
 A poet, in his evening walk, 
 O'erheard and check'd this idle talk. 
 And your fine sense, he said, and yours, 
 "W hatever evil it endures. 
 Deserves not, if so soon offended. 
 Much to be pitied or commended. 
 Disputes, though short, are far too long, 
 Where both alike are in the wrong; 
 Your feelings, in their full amount, 
 Are all upon your own account. 
 
 You, in your grotto-work enclosed. 
 Complain of being thus exposed ; 
 Yet nothing feel in that rough coat. 
 Save when the knife is at your throat. 
 Wherever driven by wind or tide. 
 Exempt from every ill beside. 
 
 And as for you, my Lady Squeamish, 
 Who reckon every touch a blemish, 
 If all the plants that can be found 
 Embellishing the scene around. 
 Should droop and wither where they grow, 
 You would not feel at all — not you,
 
 NIOHTINGALE AND GLOWWORM. 219 
 
 The noblest minds their virtue prove 
 By pity, sympathy, and iove ; 
 These, these are feelinfjs truly fine, 
 And prove their owner half divine. 
 
 His censure reacli'd them as he dealt it. 
 And each by shrinking show'd he felt it. 
 
 THE 
 
 NIGHTINGALE AND GLOWWORM. 
 
 A Nightingale, that all day long 
 Had cheer'd the village with his song, 
 Ts'^or yet at eve his note suspended. 
 Not yet when eventide was ended. 
 Began to feel, as well he might. 
 The keen demands of appetite ; 
 When, looking eagerly around. 
 He spied far oft', upon the ground, 
 A something shining in the dark. 
 And knew the glowworm by his spark ; 
 So, stooping down from hawthorn top, 
 He thought to put him in his crop. 
 The worm, aware of his intent, 
 Harangued him thus, right eloquent — 
 Did you admire my lamp, quoth he. 
 As much as I your minstrelsy, 
 You would abhor to do me wrong, 
 As much as I to spoil your song ; 
 For 'twas the selfsame Power Divine 
 Taught you to sing, and me to shine; 
 That you with music, I with light, 
 Might beautify and cheer the night. 
 The songster heard his short oration, 
 And warbling out his approbation. 
 Released him, as my story tells. 
 And found a supper somewhere else.
 
 250 THE DOG AND THE WATER LILY. 
 
 Hence jarring sectaries may learn 
 Their real interest to discern ; 
 That brother should not war with brother. 
 And worry and devour each other; 
 But sing and shine by sweet consent, 
 Till life's poor transient night is spent, 
 Respecting in each other's case 
 The gifts of Nature and of grace. 
 
 Those Christians best deserve the name, 
 Who studiously make peace their aim ; 
 Peace both the duty and the prize 
 Of him that creeps and him that flies- 
 
 THE DOG AND THE WATER LILY 
 
 KO FABLE. 
 
 The noon was shady, and soft airs 
 
 Swept Ouse's silent tide, 
 When, scaped from literary cares, 
 
 I wander'd on his side. 
 My spaniel, prettiest of his race. 
 
 And high in pedigree 
 (Two nymphs adorn'd with every grace 
 
 That spaniel found for me), 
 Now wauton'd lost in flags and reeds, 
 
 Now starting into sight, 
 Pursued tlie swallow o'er the meads 
 
 With scarce a slower flight. 
 It was tlie time when Ouse display'd 
 
 His lilies newly blown ; 
 Their beauties I intent survey'd. 
 
 And one I wish'd my own. 
 With cane extended far I sought 
 
 To steer it close to land ; 
 But still the prize though nearly caught, 
 
 Escaped my eager hand.
 
 THE DOVES. 251 
 
 Beau raaik'd my unsaccessful pnius 
 
 With (ix'd considerate face, 
 And puzzling set his puppy brains 
 
 To comprehend the case. 
 But with a cherup clear and strong, 
 
 Dispersing all his dream, 
 I thence withdrew, and lollowd long 
 
 The winding of the stream. 
 My ramble ended, 1 retiirn'd: 
 
 Beau, trotting far before?, 
 The floating wreath again discern'd. 
 
 And plunging left the shore. 
 1 saw him with that lily cropp'd 
 
 Impatient swim to meet 
 My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd 
 
 The treasure at my feet. 
 Charm'd with the sight, The world, 1 cried. 
 
 Shall hear of this thy deed : 
 My dog shall mortify the pride 
 
 Of man's superior breed ; 
 But chief myself I will enjoin, 
 
 Awake at duty's call, 
 To show a love as prompt as thine 
 
 To Him who srives me all. 
 
 THE DOVES. 
 
 Reasoning at every step he treads, 
 
 Man yet mistakes his way, 
 While meaner things, whom instinct leads. 
 
 Are rarely known to stray. 
 One silent eve I wander'd late. 
 
 And heard the voice of love; 
 The turtle thus addre.ss'd her mate. 
 
 And soothed the listening dove :
 
 252 THE DOVES. 
 
 Our mutual bond of faith and huth 
 
 No time shall disengage j 
 Those blessings of our early youth 
 
 Shall cheer our latest age : 
 While innocence without disguise, 
 
 And constancy sincere, 
 Shall fill the circles of those eyes, 
 
 And mine can read them there ; 
 Those ills, that wait on all below, 
 
 Shall ne'er be felt by me, 
 Or gently felt, and only so, 
 
 As being shared with thee. 
 When lightnings flash upon the trees, 
 
 Or kites are hoveling near, 
 I fear lest thee alone they seize, 
 
 And know no other fear. 
 'Tis then I feel myself a wife, 
 
 And press thy wedded side. 
 Resolved a union, form'd for life. 
 
 Death never shall divide. 
 But oh ! if, fickle and unchaste 
 
 (Forgive a transient thought), 
 Thou could become unkind at last. 
 
 And scorn thy present lot. 
 No need of lightning from on higb. 
 
 Or kites with cruel beak ; 
 Denied the' endearments of thine eye, 
 
 This widow'd heart would break. 
 Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird, 
 
 Soft as the passing wind, 
 And 1 recorded wliat I heard, 
 A lesson for mankind. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 C. Whittingliam, College House, Chiswick.
 
 This book is DUE on the last 
 p \'. '^date Ramped below. 
 
 OCT Ollp
 
 -^qi
 
 aai)itting]^am'0 Cabinet an 
 
 WITH BEAUTIFUL EMBEI.LISHME? 
 
 Part 1. GOLDSMITHS POETlCAl 
 Price 2s. 
 
 2. RASSELAS. Bv Du. Johnson. 
 
 3. THE SEARCH after HAPPINESS 
 Poems. By Hannah More. Piice Is. 
 
 4. ELIZABETH; or, th« Exiles of SI 
 
 5. THE SEASONS. Bv JAMF^TnoMsf 
 
 6. PAUL and VIRGINIA. Price 
 
 7. MORE'S SACRED DRAMAS. Pr 
 
 8. DODDS PRISON THOUGHTS. 
 9, 10. DODD'S BEAUTIES of SH 
 
 Price 4.S. 6d. 
 11. DODD'S REFLECTIONS on DEI 
 12,13. QUA RLES' EMBLEMS. M 
 
 bleinatical Devices on Wood. Price 4s. i 
 14, 15. COWPER^ POEMS. Price 
 16. JUNIUS'S LErrERS. Pnce4s. 
 17.18. BUTLKR'S HUDIBRAS. Pri 
 l(f. THE VICAR of WAKKFIELD.) 
 
 beili&ljnients on Vl^ood. Price 3s. 6d. 
 20, 21. POPE'S H.IAD of HOMER. 
 22, 23. GOLDSMITH'S CITIZEN of tl 
 
 Price 7s. 
 24. CHESTERFIELDS ADVICE t| 
 
 Price Is. 6d. 
 2.5, 26. POPE'S ODYSSpy of HOMl 
 '^7, 28. CAPTAIN COOK'S THREI 
 
 ROUND the WORLD. Price 6s. 
 29. ESSAYS on VARIOUS SUBJEC'l] 
 
 N A H More. Pri<-o Is. bd. 
 
 FALCONERS r^HIPWRF.CK 
 STBRNE'S SENTlMENT/iL JOIJ 
 BURNS' POEMS. 2 Vols.