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s never with impunity defied.
| And figure of the man, his secret aim, lis horse, as he had caught his master's mood, That oft we owe our safety to a skill norting, and starting into sudden rage,
We could not teach, and must despair to learn. Unbidden, and not now to be controll’d,
| But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop Rush'd to the cliff, and, having reach'd it, stood. To quadruped instructors, many a good At once the shock unseated him : he flew
| And useful quality, and virtue too,
By any change of fortune, proof alike
| Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat =\nd taught a brute the way to safe revenge. Can move or warp; and gratitude for small
I would not enter on my list of friends (sense, And trivial favours, lasting as the life, Though grac'd with polish'd manners and fine | And glist’ning even in the dying eye. Yet wanting sensibility) the man,
Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.
Wins public honour; and ten thousand sit An inadvertent step may crush the snail,
Patiently present at a sacred song, That crawls at ev'ning in the public path ;
Commemoration mad; content to hear But he that has humanity, forewarn’d,
(0) wonderful effect of music's power!) Will tread aside and let the reptile live.
Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake. The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, | But less, methinks, than sạcrilege might serve And charg'd, perhaps, with venom, that intrudes, (For was it less ? what heathen would have dar'd A visitor unwelcome, into scenes .
To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath, Sacred to neatness and repose, th' alcove,
And hang it up in honour of a man?) The chamber, or refectory, may die :
Much less might serve, when all that we design A necessary act incurs no blame.
Is but to gratify an itching ear, Not so when, held within their proper bounds, And give the day to a musician's praise. And guiltless of offence, they range the air, Remember Handel! Who, that was not born Or take their pastime in the spacious field :
Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets, There they are privileg'd ; and he that hunts Or can, the more than Homer of his age ? Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong,
Yes — we remember him ; and while we praise Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm,
| A talent so divine, remember too
To buckram out the mem'ry of a man.
| And measure of th' offence, rebukes a deed As God was free to form them at the first,
Less impious than absurd, and owing more Who in his soy'reign wisdom made them all. To want of judgment than to wrong design. Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons So in the chapel of old Ely House, To love it too. The spring-time of our years When wand'ring Charles, who meant to be the third, Is soon dishonour'd and defil'd in most
Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand
The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce, To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots, And eke did rear right merrily, two staves, If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth,
Sung to the praise and glory of King George ! Than cruelty, most dev'lish of them all.
- Man praises man; and Garrick's memr'y next, Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule
When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made And righteous limitation of it's act,
The idol of our worship while he liv'd
In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine.
The theatre, too small, shall suffocate Distinguish'd much by reason, and still more It's squeez'd contents, and more than it admits By our capacity of Grace divine,
Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return From creatures, that exist but for our sake, Ungratified : for there some noble lord Which, having serv'd us, perish, we are held Shall stuff his shoulders with King Richard's bunch, Accountable; and God some future day
Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak. Will reckon with us roundly for th' abuse
And strut, and storm, and straddle, stamp and stare, Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust.
To show the world how Garrick did not act.
For Garrick was a worshipper himself ;
And call’d the world to worship on the banks
Of Avon, fam'd in song. Ah, pleasant proof That man's attainments in his own concerns, That piety has still in human hearts Match'd with th' expertness of the brutes in theirs, Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. Are oft-times vanquish'd and thrown far behind. The mulh'rry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths; Some show that nice sagacity of smell,
The mulb'rry-tree stood centre of the dance ; And read with such discernment, in the port The mulb'rry-tree was hymn'd with dulcet airs;
And from his touchwood trunk the mulb'rry-tree | That not t' attempt it, arduous as he deems
The labour, were a task more arduous still.
O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, So 't was a hallow'd time: decorum reign'd, Scenes of accomplish'd bliss! which who can see, And mirth without offence. No few return'd, Though but in distant prospect, and not feel Doubtless much edified, and all refresh'd.
His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the joy? - Man praises man. The rabble all alive
Rivers of gladness water all the Earth, From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, And clothe all climes with beauty: the reproach Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes. Laughs with abundance; and the land, once lean, Some shout him, and some hang upon his car, Or fertile only in it's own disgrace, To gaze in 's eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave! Exults to see it's thistly curse repeal'd. Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy: The various seasons woven into one, While others, not so satisfied, unhorse
And that one season an eternal spring, The gilded equipage, and turning loose
The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve.
For there is none to covet, all are full. Why? what has charm'd them? Hath he say'd the | The lion, and the libbard, and the bear, state?
Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon, No. Doth he purpose it's salvation ? No. Together, or all gambol in the shade Enchanting novelty, that moon at full,
Of the same grove, and drink one common strean, That finds out ev'ry crevice of the head,
Antipathies are none. No foe to man
Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested wonni, Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise,
To stroke his azure neck, or to receive And dedicate a tribute, in it's use
The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. And just direction sacred, to a thing
All creatures worship man, and all mankind Doom'd to the dust, or lodg'd already there. One Lord, one Father. Errour has no place : Encomium in old time was poet's work ;
That creeping pestilence is driv'n away: But poets, having lavishly long since
The breath of Heav'n has chas'd it. In the leart Exhausted all materials of the art,
No passion touches a discordant string, The task now falls into the public hand;
But all is harmony and love. Disease And I, contented with an humble theme,
Is not: the pure and uncontaminate blood Have pour'd my stream of panegyric down Holds it's due course, nor fears the frost of age The vale of Nature, where it creeps, and winds One song employs all nations; and all cry, Among ber lovely works with a secure
“ Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!" And unambitious course, reflecting clear,
The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks If not the virtues, yet the worth, of brutes.
Shout to each other, and the mountain tops And I am recompens'd, and deem the toils
From distant mountains catch the flying joy ; Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine
Till, nation after nation taught the strain, May stand between an animal and woe,
Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round. And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge.
Behold the measure of the promise fill'd; The groans of Nature in this nether world, See Salem built, the labour of a God! Which Heav'n has heard for ages, have an end. Bright as a sun the sacred city shines; Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung,
All kingdoms and all princes of the Earth Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp, Flock to that light; the glory of all lands The time of rest, the promis'd sabbath, comes. Flows into her; unbounded is her joy, Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, Fulfill'd their tardy and disastrous course
Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there : Over a sinful world ; and what remains
The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, Of this tempestuous state of human things
And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there. Is merely as the working of a sea
Praise is in all her gates ; upon her walls, Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest :
And in her streets, and in her spacious courts, For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there The dust, that waits upon his sultry march,
Kneels with the native of the farthest west; When sin hath mov'd him, and his wrath is hot, | And Æthiopia spreads abroad the hand, Shall visit Earth in mercy; shall descend
And worships. Her report has travell'd forth Propitious in his chariot pav'd with love;
Into all lands. From ev'ry clime they come And what his storms have blasted and defac'd To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, For man's revolt shall with a smile repair.
O Sion! an assembly such as Earth Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet Saw never, such as Heav'n stoops down to see. (once Not to be wrong'd by a mere mortal touch :
Thus Heav'nward all things tend. For all were Nor can the wonders it records be sung
Perfect, and all must be at length restor'da To meaner music, and not suffer loss.
So God has greatly purpos'd; who would else But when a poet, or when one like me,
In his dishonour'd works himself endure Happy to rove among poetic flow'rs, Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last * Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmad, and On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, progenitors of the Arabs, in the prophetic scripture Such is the impulse and the spur he feels,
here alluded to, may be reasonably considered as To give it praise proportion'd to it's worth, I representatives of the Gentilas at larga
Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress. To wand'ring sheep, resolv'd to follow none. Haste then, and wheel away a shatter'd world, Two gods divide them all — Pleasure and Gain : Ye slow-revolving seasons ! we would see
For these they live, they sacrifice to these, (A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) And in their service wage perpetual war A world, that does not dread and hate his laws, With Conscience and with thee. Lust in their hearts, And suffer for it's crime; would learn how fair And mischief in their hands, they roam the Earth, The creature is, that God pronounces good, To prey upon each other : stubborn, fierce, How pleasant in itself what pleases him.
High-minded, foaming out their own disgrace. Here ev'ry drop of honey hides a sting;
Thy prophets speak of such ; and, noting down Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flow'rs; The features of the last degen’rate times, And ev'n the joy, that haply some poor heart Exhibit ev'ry lineament of these. Derives from Heav'n, pure as the fountain is, Come then, and added to thy many crowns, Is sullied in the stream, taking a taint
Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest, From touch of human lips, at best impure.
Due to thy last and most effectual work, O for a world in principle as chaste
Thy word fulfill'd, the conquest of a world! As this is gross and selfish! over which
He is the happy man, whose life e'en now Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway,
Shows somewhat of that happier life to come ; That govern all things here, should'ring aside Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state, The meek and modest Truth, and forcing her Is pleas'd with it, and, were he free to choose, To seek a refuge from the tongue of Strife
Would make his fate his choice ; whom peace, the In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men ;
fruit Where Violence shall never lift the sword,
Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith, Nor Cunning justify the proud man's wrong, Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one Leaving the poor no remedy but tears :
Content indeed to sojourn while he must Where he, that fills an office, shall esteem
Below the skies, but having there his home.
The World o'erlooks him in her busy search
Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the World. A worthless form, than to decide aright.
She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not; Where Fashion shall not sanctify abuse,
He seeks not hers, for he has prov'd them vain ; Nor smooth Good-breeding (supplemental grace) He cannot skim the ground like summer birds With lean performance ape the work of Love ! Pursuing gilded flies; and such he deems
Come then, and, added to thy many crowns, Her honours, her emoluments, her joys. Receive yet one, the crown of all the Earth, Therefore in contemplation is his bliss, (Earth Thou who alone art worthy! It was thine
Whose pow'r is such, that whom she lifts from By ancient covenant, ere Nature's birth;
She makes familiar with a Heav'n unseen, And thou hast made it thine by purchase since, And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd. And overpaid it's value with thy blood.
Not slothful he, though seeming unemploy'd, Thy saints proclaim thee King; and in their hearts And censur'd oft as useless. Stillest streams Thy title is engraven with a pen
Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird
That flutters least, is longest on the wing.
He purposes, and he shall answer - None.
His warfare is within. There, unfatigu’d, And flee for safety to the falling rocks.
His fervent spirit labours. There he fights, The very spirit of the world is tir'd
And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself, Of it's own taunting question, ask'd so long, And never-with'ring wreaths, compar'd with which " Where is the promise of your Lord's approach ?" | The laurels that a Cæsar reaps are weeds. . The intidel has shot his bolts away,
Perhaps the self-approving haughty World, Till, his exhausted quiver yielding none,
That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks He gleans the blunted shafts, that have recoil'd, Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see, And aims them at the shield of Truth again. Deems him a cipher in the works of God, The veil is rent, rent, too, by priestly hands, Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, That hides divinity from mortal eyes;
Of what she little dreams. Perhaps she owes And all the mysteries to faith propos’d,
Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring Insulted and traduc'd, are cast aside,
And plenteous harvest, to the pray'r he makes, As useless, to the moles and to the bats.
When, Isaac-like, the solitary saint They now are deem'd the faithful, and are prais'd, Walks forth to meditate at even-cide, Who, constant only in rejecting thee,
And think on her, who thinks not for herself. Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal,
Forgive him then, thou bustler in concerns
Account him an encumbrance on the state,
His sphere though humble, if that humble sphere
A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS.
Kipanalov ön saidules open teon.—Plato.
ASXn TodoTERS UTAON 48 Tra$.-Diog. Laert The state, beneath the shadow of whose vine He sits secure, and in the scale of life
It is not from his form, in which we trace Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place. Strength join’d with beauty, dignity with grace, The man, whose virtues are more felt than seen, That man, the master of this globe, derives Must drop indeed the hope of public praise ; His right of empire over all that lives. But, he may boast, what few that win it can, That form, indeed, th' associate of a mind That, if his country stand not by his skill,
Vast in it's powers, ethereal in it's kind, At least his follies have not wrought her fall.
That form, the labour of Almighty skill, Polite Refinement offers him in vain
Fram'd for the service of a free-born will, Her golden tube, through which a sensual World Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control, Draws gross impurity, and likes it well,
But borrows all it's grandeur from the soul. The neat conveyance hiding all the offence.
Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne Not that he peevishly rejects a mode,
An intellectual kingdom, all her own. Because that World adopts it. If it bear
For her the Mem'ry fills her ample page The stamp and clear impression of good sense, With truths pour'd down from ev'ry distant age; And be not costly more than of true worth,
For her amasses an unbounded store, He puts it on, and for decorum sake
The wisdom of great nations, now no more ; Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she.
Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil; She judges of refinement by the eye,
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil; He, by the test of conscience, and a heart
When copiously supplied, then most enlarg'd; Not soon deceiv'd; aware, that what is base Still to be fed, and not to be surcharg'd. No polish can make sterling; and that vice, For her the Fancy, roving unconfin'd, Though well perfum'd and elegantly dress'd, The present muse of ev'ry pensive mind, Like an unburied carcase trick'd with flow'rs, Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue Is but a garnish'd nuisance, fitter far
To Nature's scenes than Nature ever knew. For cleanly riddance, than for fair attire.
At her command winds rise, and waters roar, So life glides smoothly and by stealth away, Again she lays them slumb'ring on the shore; More golden than that age of fabled gold
With flow'r and fruit the wilderness supplies, Renown'd in ancient song; not vex'd with care Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise. Or stain'd with guilt, beneficent, approv'd
For her the Judgment, urnpire in the strife, Of God and man, and peaceful in it's end.
That Grace and Nature have to wage through life, So glide my life away! and so at last,
Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill, My share of duties decently fulfill’d,
Appointed sage preceptor to the Will, May some disease, not tardy to perform
Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice It's destin's office, yet with gentle stroke,
Guides the decision of a doubtful choice. Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat,
Why did the fiat of a God give birth Beneath the turf, that I have often trod.
To yon fair, Sun, and his attendant Earth? It shall not grieve me then, that once when call'd And, when descending he resigns the skies, To dress a Sofa with the flow'rs of verse,
Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise, I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair,
Whom Ocean feels through all his countless wares, With that light task; but soon, to please her more, And owns her pow'r on ev'ry shore he laves? Whom flow'rs alone I knew would little please, Why do the seasons still enrich the year, Let fall th' unfinish'd wreath, and rov'd for fruit; Fruitful and young as in their first career? Rov'd far, and gather'd much: some harsh, 't is true, Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Pick'd from the thorns and briers of reproof, Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze; But wholesome, well-digested; grateful some. Summer in haste the thriving charge receives To palates, that can taste immortal truth;
Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves, Insipid else, and sure to be despis’d.
Till Autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews But all is in his hand, whose praise I seek.
Dye them at last in all their glowing hues. In vain the poet sings, and the world hears, 'T were wild profusion all, and bootless waste, If he regard not, though divine the theme.
Pow'r misemploy'd, munificence misplac'd, 'T is not in artful measures, in the chime
Had not it's author dignified the plan, And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre,
And crown'd it with the majesty of man.
The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws
Endu'd with reason only to descry
Points, which, unless the Scripture made them plain, His crimes and follies with an aching eye;
The wisest heads might agitate in vain.
I pleas'd remember, and, while Mem'ry yet
Truths, that the learn'd pursue with eager thought, I name thee not, lest so despis'd a name
Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame;
That mingles all my brown with sober gray, But truths, on which depends our main concern, Revere the man, whose PILGRIM marks the road, That 't is our shame and mis’ry not to learn, And guides the progress of the soul to God. Shine by the side of ev'ry path we tread
| 'T were well with most, if books, that could engage With such a lustre, he that runs may read.
Their childhood, pleas'd them at a riper age ; 'T is true that, if to trifle life away
The man, approving what had charm’d the boy, Down to the sunset of their latest day,
Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy; Then perish on futurity's wide shore
And not with curses on his heart, who stole
The gem of truth from his unguarded soul.
| By kind tuition on his yielding breast, What none could rev'rence all might justly blame, The youth now bearded, and yet pert and raw, And man would breathe but for his Maker's Regards with scorn, though once receiv'd with awe; shame.
And, warp'd into the labyrinth of lies, But reason heard, and nature well perus'd,
That babblers, call’d philosophers, devise, At once the dreaming mind is disabus'd.
Blasphemes his creed, as founded on a plan, If all we find possessing earth, sea, air,
Replete with dreams, unworthy of a man. Reflect his attributes, who plac'd them there, Touch but his nature in it's ailing part, Fulfil the purpose, and appear design'd
Assert the native evil of his heart, Proofs of the wisdom of th' all-seeing mind, His pride resents the charge, although the proof 'T is plain the creature, whom he chose t'invest Rise in his forehead, and seem rank enough: With kingship and dominion o'er the rest,
Point to the cure, describe a Saviour's cross Receiv'd his nobler nature, and was made
As God's expedient to retrieve his loss, Fit for the power, in which he stands array'd ; | The young apostate sickens at the view, That first, or last, hereafter, if not here,
And hates it with the malice of a Jew. He, too, might make his author's wisdom clear, How weak the barrier of mere Nature proves, Praise him on Earth, or, obstinately dumb, Oppos'd against the pleasures Nature loves ! Suffer his justice in a world to come.
While self-betray'd, and wilfully undone, This once believ'd, 't were logic misapplied, She longs to yield, no sooner woo'd than won. To prove a consequence by none denied,
Try now the merits of this blest exchange That we are bound to cast the minds of youth of modest truth for wit's eccentric range. Betimes into the mould of heav'nly truth,
Time was, he clos'd as he began the day, That taught of God they may indeed be wise, With decent duty, not asham'd to pray: Nor, ignorantly wand'ring, miss the skies.
The practice was a bond upon his heart, In early days the conscience has in most A pledge he gave for a consistent part; A quickness, which in later life is lost :
Nor could he dare presumptuously displease Preserv'd from guilt by salutary fears,
A pow'r, confess'd so lately on his knees. Or, guilty, soon relenting into tears.
But now, farewell all legendary tales, Too careless often, as our years proceed,
The shadows fly, philosophy prevails;
Religion makes the free by nature slaves.
What knavish priests promulgate as inspir'd;
Resumes her pow’rs, and spurns the clumsy fraud ; Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn,
And, common-sense diffusing real day, A book (to please us at a tender age
The meteor of the Gospel dies away. 'T is calì'd a book, though but a single page) Such rhapsodies our shrewd discerning youth Presents the pray'r the Saviour deign'd to teach, Learn from expert inquirers after truth; Which children use, and parsons when they Whose only care, might Truth presume to speak, preach. .
Is not to find what they profess to seek. Lisping our syllables, we scramble next
And thus, well-tutor'd only while we share
A mother's lectures and a nurse's care;