Or if he prove unkind, (as who can say But being man, and therefore frail, he may), One comfort yet shall cheer thine aged heart, Howe'er he slight thee, thou hast done thy part. Oh, barbarous! wouldst thou with a Gothic hand Pull down the schools-what-all the schools i' the land?
Or throw them up to livery-nags and grooms? Or turn them into shops and auction rooms? -A captious question, sir, and yours is one, Deserves an answer similar, or none. Wouldst thou, possessor of a flock, employ (Apprised that he is such) a careless boy, And feed him well, and give him handsome pay, Merely to sleep, and let them run astray? Survey our schools and colleges, and see A sight not much unlike my simile. From education, as the leading cause, The public character its colour draws, Thence the prevailing manners take their cast, Extravagant or sober, loose or chaste. And though I would not advertise them yet, Nor write on each-This Building to be let, Unless the world were all prepared to embrace A plan well worthy to supply their place, Yet backward as they are, and long have been, To cultivate and keep the morals clean, (Forgive the crime) I wish them, I confess, Or better managed, or encouraged less.
WRITTEN AT BATH, ON FINDING THE HEEL OF A SHOE, IN 1748.
FORTUNE! I thank thee: gentle goddess, thanks! Not that my Muse, though bashful, shall deny She would have thanked thee rather, hadst thou cast A treasure in her way; for neither meed
Of early breakfast, to dispel the fumes
And bowel-raking pains of emptiness,
Nor noontide feast, nor evening's cool repast,
Hopes she from this, presumptuous-though perhaps The cobbler, leather-carving artist, might.
Nathless she thanks thee, and accepts thy boon, Whatever; not as erst the fabled cock, Vain-glorious fool, unknowing what he found,
Spurned the rich gem thou gavest him. Wherefore, ah! Why not on me that favour, (worthier sure,) Conferredst thou, goddess? Thou art blind, thou sayest: Enough!--thy blindness shall excuse the deed. Nor does my Muse no benefit exhale From this thy scant indulgence ;-even here, Hints, worthy sage philosophy, are found, Illustrious hints, to moralise my song. This ponderous heel of perforated hide Compact, with pegs indented many a row, Haply, (for such its massy form bespeaks), The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown Upbore: on this supported oft he stretched, With uncouth strides, along the furrowed glebe, Flattening the stubborn clod, till cruel time (What will not cruel time ?) on a wry step, Severed the strict cohesion; when, alas! He, who could erst with even equal pace, Pursue his destined way with symmetry And some proportion formed, now, on one side, Curtailed and maimed, the sport of vagrant boys, Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop! With toilsome steps, and difficult, moves on.
Thus fares it oft with other than the feet Of humble villager :-the statesman thus, Up the steep road where proud ambition leads, Aspiring, first uninterrupted winds
His prosperous way; nor fears miscarriage foul, While policy prevails and friends prove true : But that support soon failing, by him left On whom he most depended,-basely left, Betrayed, deserted,-from his airy height Headlong he falls, and through the rest of life Drags the dull load of disappointment on.
ON READING MR. RICHARDSON'S HISTORY OF SIR CHARLES GRANDISON.
SAY, ye apostate and profane, Wretches who blush not to disdain Allegiance to your God,—
Did e'er your idly-wasted love Of virtue for her sake remove
And lift you from the crowd?
Would you the race of glory run, Know, the devout and they alone, Are equal to the task:
The labours of the illustrious course Far other than the unaided force Of human vigour ask,
To arm against repeated ill The patient heart too brave to feel The tortures of despair;
Nor safer yet high-crested pride, When wealth flows in with every tide To gain admittance there.
To rescue from the tyrant's sword The oppressed;-unseen and unimplored, To cheer the face of woe ;
From lawless insult to defend An orphan's right, a fallen friend, And a forgiven foe;
These, these distinguish from the crowd, And these alone, the great and good, The guardians of mankind;
Whose bosoms with these virtues heave, Oh, with what matchless speed, they leave The multitude behind!
Then ask ye, from what cause on earth Virtues like these derive their birth?
Derived from heaven alone,
Full on that favoured breast they shine, Where faith and resignation join To call the blessing down.
Such is that heart;-but while the Muse Thy theme, O Richardson, pursues, Her feebler spirits faint:
She cannot reach, and would not wrong, That subject for an angel's song, The hero, and the saint!
IN A LETTER TO C. P. ESQ.
ILL WITH THE RHEUMATISM.
GRANT me the Muse, ye gods! whose humble flight Seeks not the mountain-top's pernicious height: Who can the tall Parnassian cliff forsake,
To visit oft the still Lethean lake;
Now her slow pinions brush the silent shore, Now gently skim the unwrinkled waters o'er,
There dips her downy plumes, thence upward flies, And sheds soft slumbers on her votary's eyes.
IN IMITATION OF SHAKSPEARE.
TRUST me the meed of praise, dealt thriftily From the nice scale of judgment, honours more Than does the lavish and o'erbearing tide Of profuse courtesy. Not all the gems Of India's richest soil at random spread O'er the gay vesture of some glittering dame, Give such alluring vantage to the person, As the scant lustre of a few, with choice And comely guise of ornament disposed.
No more shall hapless Celia's ears Be flattered with the cries Of lovers drowned in floods of tears, Or murdered by her eyes;
No serenades to break her rest,
Nor songs her slumbers to molest,
The fragrant flowers that once would bloom
And flourish in her hair,
Since she no longer breathes perfume
Their odours to repair,
ATTEMPT AT MANNER OF WALLER.
Must fade, alas! and wither now, As placed on any common brow,
With my fa, la, la.
Her lip, so winning and so meek, No longer has its charms; As well she might by whistling seek To lure us to her arms; Affected once, 'tis real now,
As her forsaken gums may show,
With my fa, la, la.
The down that on her chin so smooth So lovely once appeared,
That, too, has left her with her youth, Or sprouts into a beard;
As fields, so green when newly sown With stubble stiff are overgrown,
With my fa, la, la.
Then, Celia, leave your apish tricks, And change your girlish airs, For ombre, snuff, and politics,
Those joys that suit your years;
No patches can lost youth recall,
Nor whitewash prop a tumbling wall,
AN ATTEMPT AT THE MANNER OF WALLER.
DID not thy reason and thy sense, With most persuasive eloquence, Convince me that obedience due None may so justly claim as you, By right of beauty you would be Mistress o'er my heart and me.
Then fear not I should e'er rebel, My gentle love! I might as well A forward peevishness put on, And quarrel with the mid-day sun; Or question who gave him a right To be so fiery and so bright.
Nay, this were less absurd and vain Than disobedience to thy reign; His beams are often too severe ; But thou art mild, as thou art fair;
First from necessity we own your sway,
Then scorn our freedom, and by choice obey.
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