« PreviousContinue »
the word; the cruel arrow sped ; And Pope lies number'd with the mighty
Dead ! Resign'd he fell ; superior to the dart, That quench'd its rage in Yours and BRITAIN'S
Heart: You mourn: but BRITAIN, lull'd in rest profound, (Unconscious Britain !) Numbers o'er her wound. Exulting Dulness ey'd the setting Light, And flapp'd her wing, impatient for the Night: Rouz’d at the signal, Guilt collects her train, And counts the Triumphs of her growing Reign : With inextinguishable rage they burn; And Snake-hung Envy hiffes o'er his Urn: Th’envenom’d Monsters spit their deadly foam, To blast the Laurel that surrounds his Tomb.
But You, O WARBURTON! whose Can see the greatness of an honest mind;
Cán see each Virtue and each Grace unite,
hend; And rev’rence His and Satire's gen’rous End.
In ev'ry Breast there burns an active flame, The Love of Glory, or the Dread of Shame : 30 The Passion One, tho’ various it appear, As brighten’d into Hope, or dimm’d by Fear. The lisping Infant, and the hoary Sire, And Youth and Manhood feel the heart-born fire: The Charms of Praise the Coy, the Modest wooe, And only fiy, that Glory may pursue : 36 She, Pow'r refiftless, rules the wife and great ; Lends ev'n reluctant Hermits at her feet ;
Haunts the proud City, and the lowly Shade,
Thus Heav'n in Pity wakes the friendly Flame, To urge
Mankind on Deeds that merit Fame: But Man, vain Man, in folly only wise, Rejects the Manna sent him from the Skies: With rapture hears corrupted Paffion's call, 45 Still proudly prone to mingle with the stall. As each deceitful shadow tempts his view, He for the imag'd Substance quits the true ; Eager to catch the visionary Prize, In quest of Glory plunges deep in Vice; 50 'Till madly zealous, impotently vain, He forfeits ev'ry Praise he pants to gain.
Thus still imperious NATURE plies her part ; And still her Dictates work in ev'ry heart. Each Pow'r that sov'reign Nature bids enjoy, 55 Man
may corrupt, but Man can ne'er destroy. Like mighty rivers, with resistless force The Passions rage, obstructed in their course; Swell to new heights, forbidden paths explore, And drown those Virtues which they fed before.
And sure, the deadliest Foe to Virtue's flame, Our worst of Evils, is perverted Shame. Beneath this load what abject numbers groan, Th’entangled Slaves to folly not their own! Meanly by fashionable fear oppress’d, 65 We seek our Virtues in each other's breast; Blind to ourselves, adopt each foreign Vice, Another's weakness, int’rest, or caprice. Each Fool to low Ambition, poorly great, That pines in splendid wretchedness of state, 70 Tir’d in the treach’rous Chase, would nobly yield, And, but for Shame, like Sylla, quit the field : The Dæmon Shame paints strong the ridicule, And whispers close,“ the World will call you Fool.”
Behold yon Wretch, by impious fashion driv’n, Believes and trembles while he scoffs at Heav'n. By weakness strong, and bold thro' fear alone, He dreads the sneer by shallow Coxcombs thrown; Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod; To Man a Coward, and a Brave to God. 80
Vois tu ce Libertin en public intrepide,
II iroit embrasser la Verité, qu'il voit ;
Faith, Justice, Heav'n itself now quit their hold, When to false Fame the captiv'd heart is sold : Hence, blind to truth, relentless Cato dy'd; Nought could subdue his Virtue, but his Pride. Hence chaste Lucretia's Innocence betray'd 85 Fell by that Honour which was meant its aid. Thus Virtue sinks beneath unnumber'd woes, When Passions, born her friends, revolt her foes.
Hence SATIRE's pow'r:'Tis her corrective part, To calm the wild disorders of the heart.
go She points the arduous height where Glory lies, And teaches mad Ambition to be wife: In the dark bosom wakes the fair desire, Draws good from ill, a brighter flame from fire; Strips black Oppression of her gay disguise, 95 And bids the Hag in native horror rise ; Strikes tow'ring Pride and lawless Rapine dead, And plants the wreath on Virtue's awful head.
Nor boasts the Muse a vain imagin’d Pow'r, Tho' oft she mourn those ills she cannot cure. 100
BOILEAU, Ep. ii.