The Life and Poetical Works of James Woodhouse :: :: University of Virginia Library

No labour, care, or skill, can e'er perform
Crude schemes that wake Imaginations warm,
That spawn or sprout, with quick successive train,
In teeming mansions of a moon-struck brain;
Which no spring-rains, or ripening suns, require,
But breed on hot-beds, forc'd by Fancy's fire.
Like mushroom-births, which reach their boldest height,
Born, nurs'd, and rear'd, in one productive night—
Or sallad-plants by preternatural heat,
In one nycthemeron grown to crops complete.
But corn and cattle rise by slower growth;
Not rais'd by Madness, or matur'd by Sloth.
Can skill and labour, by intense turmoil,
Break flints and pebbles down to procreant soil?
Will peaty swamps, or spungey marshes, yield
Earth's rich gramineous growths like fertile field?
'Tis counteracting Nature—fighting Fate—
Expecting Desarts turn'd to proud Estate—
Converting stoney tracts to mellow mould—
Transmuting iron to ingots form'd of gold—
Attempting wonders to excite surprize—
Exploring lands all strange, with hooded eyes.
Pushing discoveries, in each unknown part,
Without Cook's genius and consummate Art.
Conceit encourag'd as skill's giddy guide—
Opinion setting Practice quite aside—
Pride wresting Pow'r from Reason's royal hand,
And robbing Judgment of its calm command—
Strapping Experience down to maniac bed,
And ordering Ignorance to rule instead—

Stretching, full strength, thro' perils round each pole,
While spurning learn'd Lieutenant's kind controul;
Devoid of compass, card, or cool advice,
'Mong promontoried Alps of wedging ice,
To find, on swallowing sands, and foundering rocks,
Spontaneous harvests—well-fed herds and flocks.
With wild impetuous course in phrenzies, run,
To seek for snows beneath a zenith sun—
To strain the cordage—bend each swelling sail,
And drive, regardless, with each dangerous gale,
Till, wearied out with effort—stung with shame—
Lamenting loss of honour—badg'd with blame—
The purblind Pilot strikes, on hostile strand,
Amidst insulting Foes, in foreign Land.

Oft have I heard the wretched Swain relate
The murdering miseries of the transport state!
His trials—troubles—wales—and wounds—and woe—
While thus a Pilgrim in this World below!
Then, tho' his bosom pour'd the just complaint,
In striking colours, would reflection paint
Each winning grace which gave affection birth—
The specious Virtues—the apparent Worth—
Each blandish'd promise his mock'd mind betray'd—
Scarce one perform'd among the numbers made—
How faithful Friendship, still, was firmly fix'd,
While sighs, and smiles, and blame, and blessings, mix'd!
Oft would repeat—“I feel a ponderous debt
Of divers favours, undiminish'd yet!
And still must feel much kindness undischarg'd,
Which thriftless purse, and throbbing pulse enlarg'd!”

From Pride, and Spleen oft fiery javelins flew,
Which pierc'd his pensive bosom thro' and through;
Still, when Resentment stirr'd his troubled breast,
Kind Recollection Passion's rage repress'd—
Quell'd rash Revenge, and quench'd fierce Anger's flame,
Reviving fond Affection's cordial claim!
These, when impeachments, false, his feelings pain'd,
Authority still strengthen'd—pow'r maintain'd—
Oft curv'd his neck, borne down by injur'd heart—
Steel'd his torn breast to bear sarcastic dart—
Low stoop'd his head, like tame, unfeeling Fool,
To 'scape sharp shafts of spiteful ridicule!
Chill'd his wan cheek with self-condemning look,
When cruel Scorn maliciously mistook;
While mute submission dropp'd his flurried eye,
Unable to outface a fearless lie—
Apparent guilt by shy confusion shone,
Thro' pitying shame adopted as his own!
With blushing innocence oft bending down,
When snubb'd by sneers, or nipp'd by freezing frown!
Still bearing blame for knowledge—wit—or sense—
Ev'n piety and morals prov'd offence!
For groundless guess-work suffering foul disgrace;
Brav'd, when refuted, with a brazen face!
No proof could stop that persecuting tongue,
Most eloquent when most inflicting wrong!
Tho' guiltless Conscience gave some small relief,
In silence suffocating groans and grief;
Yet could not quench the fires that burnt his breast,
Nor give his heart, or anger'd reason, rest!
With rustic manners charg'd, both rough and rude—
Affection flown—and gross ingratitude—
With fierce, malicious, acrimony fraught!
Which neither candour, truth, or justice, taught!

When left alone he'd raise his hands, and eyes,
To the blest Umpire of both Earth and Skies;
And pour a sacred—solemn—sad—appeal,
To Him who watches o'er all woe, and weal!
Who tries Mankind with metage right, and due,
With standard stamp'd by Heav'n's strict measure, true!
Who weighs all actions, pure—impure—or mix'd,
Their worth appraises, and each price is fix'd!
Sees where direct, or devious, works begin,
From pious principles, or seeds of Sin!
Where Truth's plain tracks, or wiley windings, lend,
To social usefulness, or selfish end—
Whence wounding thorns, and tangling brambles, breed,
And, spiney thistles spring from self-sown seed;
Or luscious figs, and grapes both good and fair;
From heaven-born plants, or cyons, grafted, there!
Marks thoughts meandering from their secret source;
Their private pointings, and their current's course!
Sees incorporeal images advance,
Siz'd, shap'd, and colour'd, at one single glance!
Views evanescent, rude, conceptions, rise,
Distinctly plumb'd, and pois'd with errless eyes!
Notes when His honour, or Man's own's the aim,
From Heav'n's fix'd fervour, or from Earth's frail flame!
Adjudging, justly, every varying case,
And pens right records in their properest place!
Whence bold Ideas rise, on wing sublime,

Above all idols wrought, and rear'd by Time—
Skim Earth's cold surface after shadows run,
Where Self's dark substance intercepts the Sun,
Or, groveling, stoop, to grasp at vapours, vain,
Which, press'd, prove empty, and when burst prove pain!
No preference gives to Princes' shine and show,
More than mere blushing Louts while bending low!
Pays no respect to Learning's large pretence,
More than to Peasants' plain unsifted Sense!
Reveres no more vain Lord with vast Estate,
Than squalid Cripple groaning at his gate!
His equal Providence respects the Proud
No more than parish Paupers' cringing Crowd!
His Eye, most pure, no more complacent, sees,
Mere titled Mortals, claiming high degrees,
Than Boor, that boasts no fortune, pow'r, or fame,
Or nearest Neighbours' barely known by Name;
Or more great glory—Pomp—and Gold, regards,
Than Crispin, and poor, humble, brother, Bards!

He looks, in mercy, infinitely down,
On Potentate, who claims imperial Crown;
Where all the influence, felt, and gold, that glows,
Are gracious gifts His bounteous hand bestows!
His Pow'r, paternal, guards the Cottage door,
As watchful as proud State, and princely Store!
His Providence, tho' dealing different meed,
To full inflated Wealth, and weeping Need;
Yet long Experience, looking to the end,
To both beholds Him Father—Lord—and Friend!
A blessing still attends the life of each,
Whose Minds pure Piety and Virtue teach;
But Vice, and Vanity, and Sin, and Sloth;
Bring down destruction on the lots of both!
When Lust and Luxury feed from pamper'd purse,
A close inspection spies their constant curse!
When Pomp, and Pride, on Wealth's high axles whirl'd
Oft, down to Dust, find State and Honours hurl'd;
While ostentatious Vanity destroys,
All moral comforts, and religious joys!
Where His wise Will witholds fond wish for Wealth,
Pure Temperance builds a stabler tow'r of Health;
And where He sets aside both Pomp and Pow'r,
Bestows, on Penury, Peace's better dow'r!
In Cot, content, from Fraud, and Theft secure,
With Piety reclines Man's Conscience, pure,
While calm-ey'd Meekness makes his humble bed,
And, Duties, done, compose both heart and head!

With such reflections, drawn from sacred source,
Pump'd up by strong Oppression's tyrant force,
Oft have I heard his harrass'd Soul complain,
In words of woe, or penitential strain,
The plagues and pangs, sad fortune and sore fate,
From slights, and slanders, in his vassal state;
Contrasted with the purer transports past,
From blissful freedom, ere he breath'd his last!
His eyes with gushing rills encircled round;
His bosom burst with frequent sigh, profound;
While quivering lip, and faultering voice, in vain,
Strove hard to tell his praises, and his pain—
To tell what blessings Friendship first bestow'd,
How much he honour'd, and how much he ow'd—
In lamentations, now, that lot deplore,
His Heart, so swell'd with hopes, embrac'd before!

If Candour e'er was found with Man's fall'n Race,
She spoke her presence, in his friendly face—
If now, Integrity, on Earth's e'er seen,
It stood conspicuous in his manly mien;
Or Truth was e'er among frail Mortals known,
His prompt replies announc'd her native tone.
No dark deception turned his head awry—
No doubtful twinklings mark'd his stedfast eye—
No awkward twist, or attitude uncouth,
Show'd innate Conscience struggling with Untruth—
Nor faultering tongue with stammering accent, spake,
Wrapt up in Reservation's cloak, opaque;
While Falshood's looks, words, acts, all felt controul,
By Mind's Misgivings in the secret Soul!
No bold Asservation strove to blind;
No Imprecation bellow'd from behind;
But true Simplicity her traits display'd,
In all chaste charms of Purity array'd—
Like Earth's prime Pair, in nakedness divine,
No robes to shrowd, no ornaments to shine!
Pure as the breathing atmosphere of Spring,
Which sweeps the Welkin, wide, with Zephyr's wing—
Fair as the landskip, rising full in view
Unfolds each brilliant object's form and hue
Clear as the cove of Winter's tranquil sky
When every tiney star salutes the eye—
Limpid as mountain's filter'd streamlets flow,
No sand concealing in their beds below—
So, void of Art, did his vex'd Soul disclose,

His deep embarrassments, and wounding woes!
Referring all, with manifest delight,
To Him who sees, hears, knows, and judges right—
And will, with faithfulness, at future time,
Avow each Virtue, and condemn each crime!

Oft pour'd he forth his true and plaintive tales,
Loud, o'er the hills—low whispering down the dales—
Conscious exalted heights, like upright hearts,
To no base pimps, deposits dear imparts;
But babbling dells the tenderest truths repeat,
Like echoing lips, in talkative retreat.
He dar'd to breathe abroad his muttering moan
While wandering round sequester'd scenes, alone.
There held with Heav'n, and Self, close conference, pure,
From prying sight, and listening ear, secure—
A cool, impartial, canvas! where the Mind
By no prevailing Passion's force, confin'd:
But, knowing Nature's God, alone, was by,
He spread each case before His equal eye,
Free from all design, or fettering fear,
Aware prompt Wisdom, and pure Love were there—
Nor durst indulge wild wish, or thought untrue,
Conscious that Truth was there, and Justice, too.
There full before his all-sufficient Sire,
Could vent each deep complaint, and pure desire.
Let loose each burden from his throbbing breast,
By sigh—groan—speech, his various pains express'd!
He thought, while thus he gave his griefs full vent,
His woes were weaken'd, and assistance lent—
Still found, from new attempts new knots untied,
And all his griefs grow softer as he sigh'd—
Or, stronger efforts tried, the bindings broke,
And loads felt lighter while complaining spoke!
But when with Friends, and Family, he mix'd,
Each feeling in the Soul's recess was fix'd;
All close conceal'd within the suffering heart,
No whisper—sigh—or groan, proclaim'd the smart
Nobly resolv'd each bosom-pain to bear,
That Daphne's heart might miss the sharper share!

She, sympathizing Soul! would watch his looks—
His short mock-meals—his abstinence from books—
Accuminated visage—haggard eye—
The struggling sorrow, and the stifled sigh—
Answers abrupt—and pensive head reclin'd—
Predicting deepest miseries rent his Mind.
For still such symptomatic signs appear'd,
Whene'er his Despot's will, in words, was heard—
Scarce e'er approach'd his arbitrary Queen,
But, at his mute return, such marks were seen—
Ne'er saw her sentiments, in written types,
But ev'ry nerve was numb'd, with secret stripes,
Which visibly display'd in face, and form,
The inward workings of the mental storm.

Such signatures of air, and mien, and look,
Poor Daphne's penetration ne'er mistook,
But plainly could explore some secret pang
Was wounding Crispin's peace with poisonous fang!
Then would her bosom burst with murmuring moan,
While rack'd with wretchednesses, all her own!
Her poor perturbed spirit frequent felt
What castigating strokes the Despot dealt;
Full oft, herself, the persecuted prey,
Of proud, unpitying, tyranizing sway!
Her clouded lids distilling heavier show'rs
Than all the rains that rins'd her April hours;
While proud Employer's keen, sarcastic, tongue,
With murderous mockings heighten'd every wrong!

Daphne, in whom, even female casuists find,
While no ill-natur'd bias bends the Mind,
The simplest Soul, fair'st Frame, and loveliest Face—
Such mild amenity! such glowing grace!
Such personal purity! such neat attire!
That Youth ought imitate—Age must admire!
Yet impish Spleen, with her abasing brush,
Would blend base colours with her angel blush!
Distort symmetric features! cherub smile!
Blast every beauty! tinge each virtue vile!
With umbery brown, smoked foul in Envy's fire,
By Malice mix'd—ground dark by gross Desire—
Stale, turbid oil, would blurring Rhetoric bring—
Wit point her pencil with a hornet's sting—
Hate press in poisonous drops, of each dark hue,
As Eloquence the spurious Portrait drew—
Imagination, heating Mischief's head,
The dingey dabs on Memory's pallet spread—
While Passion, Pride, and Prejudice, design'd,
Cunning caricatur'd, as Fancy lin'd;
Spite, Fraud, and Falshood, plied their proper trade,
By daubing, dense, o'er all, a Remembrandt shade:
Pure Modesty, most bashful, pictur'd bold—
Soft infant gentleness a giant Scold—
Industrious Energy still imag'd slack—

The nicest Cleanliness all blotch'd with black—
Simplicity, like skulking, scowling, Art—
And Probity, thick-splash'd in every part—
Prudence, pourtray'd, like a weak Spendthrift, wild—
Sweet Sensibility a wayward Child—
Sincerity, sketch'd hard, with squinting eye—
Bright Truth besmutch'd, in semblance like a Lie—
Instead of Neatness, in her native shape,
Fantastic Affectation shewn an Ape—
Like Indolence clear Forecast look'd, to loll—
Bland Elegance bedeck'd like Baby-Doll—
True Diligence display'd with heedless air,
And cold Indifference limn'd in lieu of Care:
To make such Monster strike, with full offence,
Stupidity supplied the place of Sense;
While the calm Antitype, Love's kind adept!
Look'd like Despair, and sigh'd—and groaned—and wept—

Was this Benevolence's brilliant proof,
To woo poor Strangers 'neath her hostile roof
With hopes of fuller fame, and greater gain,
And, when these fail'd, inflicting grief, and pain?
Was this great Patronesses true regard,
To call, from common Friends, our humble Bard;
Taught, justly, to expect superior joy,
Then kill his comforts, and his peace destroy?
Was such fall'n fate—such situation, fit
For exercising Talents, Taste, and Wit?
The work of kindness Vassals to deride?
And scourge poor Peasants with the whip of Pride?
Their very Virtues, more than Sins, assault?
And swell small failing to enormous fault?
Should Knowledge—Learning—Courtier—condescend
To vex a servile Slave? or flog a Friend?
Ought Riches—Honour—Influence—fondly aim
To blot clean characters, or blast fair fame?
Or Ingenuity, or Genius, try
To fret the honest heart? and flood the harmless eye?

When Man with subtle, sly, invidious, view,
A subject Slave the lordly Lion drew;
The Lion reason'd thus, and argu'd right,
The figures had been group'd by Fraud, or Spite;
For had the beast been skill'd in painting-trade,
The Man had crouch'd, the kingly Lion sway'd.
Revers'd positions, here, prove different case—
Proud, crafty, Fox, assumes the Lion's place;
Propped up, by Spite, on kingly Lion's seat,
Insults a Lamb, seduced to her retreat;
Low at her feet, long overwhelm'd with fears,
Mocks all her moans, and tears her 'midst her tears!
Her innocence upbraids—her virtue blames—
Shuts Justice out, and stops kind Pity's claims!
In murkiest traits, and tints, mistaken Elf!
To spoil that harmless Lamb, depicts Herself!

Had that poor Lamb possess'd such limning art,
To figure cunning face, and cruel heart,
Hyena's blink, and Tyger's tyrant breast,
Fierce looks, and features, cruel Fox express'd,
When Pride and Passion, in their full-moon-tide,
With pow'rful surges, push'd her mask aside;
The Beasts that fawn'd before her idol throne,
And, long, with flattery, made false merits known—
Devour'd her offals—with devotion burn'd—
While praises twice their full expence return'd—
The fellow-Foxes, and convivial swine;
Colloquial Cats, and Dogs which doze and dine—
Birds chattering loudly round, by Custom taught,
Unmeaning compliments, without a thought—
News—scandal—calumny—soon learnt by rote,
And chaunting fame, with soft and swelling note,
Sure of applause for Genius—Learning—Sense;
While praise paid praise, and panegyric, pence—
Did these behold, in those obnoxious hours
When eyes flash lightning while the forehead low'rs—
When blazing looks, deep, darkling, plots betray—
By trick to trap, or pounce her trembling prey—
As prowling Leopard lurches round the lawn,
To rend, with savage rage, a timorous Fawn;
Or hostile Hawk, in cunning, skims the grove,
And, glaring, darts on guiltless Turtle-Dove,
Then must the connoisseurship turn to shame,
Seduc'd by dazzling Wit, and fibbing Fame;
Wondering, in spite of prejudices strong,
And innate pride, at being bilk'd so long.

No portrait Daphne draws; no charges brings,
Tho' injur'd, thus; thus pierc'd with serpent stings—
Her tender Mind forbad—for Heav'n had taught,
No ribald railing bright Archangel brought,
Ev'n in the cause of God, when feuds began,
Betwixt meek Michael, and fierce Foe of Man,
When Moses' body caus'd such keen debate
While his pure Soul was blest in separate State:

She, Seraph-like, referr'd her silent suit,
Betwixt her blameless Self, and subtle Brute,
To that high Advocate, whose matchless Might
Can execute what Wisdom judges right;
And will, at length, tho' suffering Sinners long,
Redress each grievance, and revenge each wrong!

Meantime it much compos'd her Heart, and Head,
In Scripture truths, and moral rules, well read—
Truths, pertly sneer'd at, by the Sons of Pride,
And rules that Folly's Daughters all deride;
Remembering, well, her blest Redeemer bore,
Of such mute sufferings infinitely more;
Scorn—ridicule—disgrace—woe—penury—pain—
A spotless Lamb! by Spite and Envy slain!

I knew them both, in special, and in whole,
The outward substance, and the inward Soul.
Discern'd in feature, form, and voice, display'd,
Each Passion's and Affection's varied shade;
Clear spied, by virtue of instinctive sparks,
Internal motives by external marks,
Sure instinct shows by plain and simple signs,
Clear actions, striking tones, and limning lines;
By constant tokens on corporeal parts,
The well-known workings of all human hearts.

Nature's great God, who all deception hates,
On Man's exterior parts, distinctly, states,
In written eye, and hieroglyphic face,
In voice, look, act, throughout that reasoning Race,
The strong intents, and meanings, of the Mind,
To all but ideots—dull—or deaf—or blind.
He, knowing Satan's influence, might infuse
Those monstrous tricks His bounties most abuse,
Impress'd unravelling pow'rs, on eye, and ear,
To make that Serpent's dark devices clear—
To trace, perspicuous, and, in part, controul,
The deep designs of each deceptive Soul—
Thus helping Spirit, Spirit's aims to scan,
That stamp the Fiend—the Monster—or the Man.

That none might Momus' wish'd-for window need,
Instinct's heav'n-taught the secret Soul to read—
In tone, and turn, of human voice, to note,
How passions operate, and feelings float—
But, chief, by penetrating vision view
Each devious veering's trace, and motive true—
All changeful features obviously behold,
Enkindling love, or turning kindness cold.
Not needing precepts, or experience, ripe,
To sift hid sense, and spell each printed type;
For untaught Infants, and fond Nature's Fools,
Require no lecturing in learn'd classic Schools,
But, by pure intuition, promptly feel,
What clearly indicates their woe, or weal.
Ev'n dull domestic Animals perceive
What philosophic Dunces disbelieve.
Untutor'd Cats, instinctively, descry
Both love and hatred by the ear and eye;
While Dogs, what learned Doctors ne'er could teach,
Distinguish, aptly, all the powr's of speech—
And tho' debarr'd from Tutors, and from Books,
Still understood clear languages of looks.
Tho' schools no stated principles instil,
They watch each meaning of their Master's will.
And, from a smiling smirk—or vengeful voice,
Perceive just cause to tremble, or rejoice.

The Spaniel knows, the Pointer still discerns
Each change of emphasis, each feature's turns;
And may not Man, with nobler pow'rs endued,
Read faces, fell? vociferations rude?
Mark livid lip? harsh eye, suffus'd with flame?
The fierce convulsion shaking all the frame?
And shall he not perceive the friendly smile,
The honest accent free from graceless guile?
Distinguish tranquil cheek, and eye serene,
With winning movements of the air and mien?

Heav'n-lighted Instinct, with precision, spies
The Soul's true symbol imag'd in the eyes;
And, with like accuracy, well defines
All Nature's varying signatures and signs;
And will not Reason, with her added light,
Assist Man's hearing, and illume his sight?
With intellectual vision's clearer view
Pierce deep Hypocrisy's devices through?
See, full, false fondling looks, and simpering smiles,
Wear not the stamp of Heav'n, but Satan's wiles?
Discern when wheedling sounds and soften'd voice,
Are Affectations, not chaste Nature's choice?
From every angled limb's distorted turn,
Clear indications of deception learn?
To help Experience, still perform her task
In stripping off Dissimulation's mask;

And by Heav'n's pure celestial Spirit taught,
Trace out each close recess of secret thought—
Exploring deepest plots—profoundest pacts—
By labell'd looks, and clear-recording acts;
While wisdom in her heavenly light array'd,
Looks, calmly, thro' shrew'd Cunning's closet shade.
Supremely plac'd, on intellectual seat
With mental Councils rang'd around her feet,
Like Solomon, when He, Her Son, was seen,
Worshipp'd by Sheba's oriental Queen;
Or Harlots' litigated lots decreed,
By sights and sounds disclosing darkest deed;
She sits, enthron'd; midst Officers of State;
To see—hear—argue—ponder—and debate.

Imagination marks external store;
And Memory hoards materials found before;
Then shows, and shifts, successive written rolls,
While quick-ey'd Understanding skims the scrolls—
Reason to proper scales each point conveys,
As Judgment holds the beam, and Justice weighs;
When Will, by all advis'd, full, frank, and free,
With promptness, executes, each clear decree.

Thus piercing Spirits poise all weak Mankind
By sterling standard form'd in manag'd Mind;
While Wisdom, learn'd, by long-experienc'd pow'rs,
Concentering all her intellectual dow'rs,
With heavenly light, explores the latent parts,
Of labyrinthine heads, and muffled Hearts—
For faithful Truth this Apophthegm declares,
“The Man that knows his own heart knows all Their's!”

This clear decision calm experience proves,
With small exceptions, Reason soon removes,
From situation, circumstance, and sex,
When tempers violate, or temptations vex;
Distinct in every time, and every place,
What Clown, or Coxcomb, deems a dubious case.

So, sky-born Wisdom, with inspection keen,
Like sunshine pierces each transparent scene.
Beholds ideas rise, in form and hue,
Embodied, obvious, to her probing view.
Sees her own estimate in other's eyes,
Or lov'd, or hated—construed weak, or wise.
Perceives, at interviews, 'mid smiles and bows,
Enquiries, compliments, assertions, vows;
Whether the heart's full approbation shone,
Impatience—pride—or grudging, bade be gone.
Marks the Soul's manufacturing labours pass,
Shown on the gazing pupil's figur'd glass.
The Spirit's pure, or impure, form pourtray'd,
In meet-shap'd miniatures of light and shade.
Notes Kindness, Friendship, or Affection, clear,
Or Anger—Envy—Spite, depicted there.
Sees easy attitude, and lucid look,
Or features, forc'd, and Arts continual crook.
Simplicity's and Candour's cordial smile,
Or dark Deception, labouring to beguile.
Discovers Cunning, in close corner lurk,
Or Honestly perform fair open work.
Affected Prudery, and hooded Pride,
Aim all their coquetry, and tricks, to hide.
Notes hungry Appetite, and prurient Lust,
Expose their grossness, or intemperate gust;
And every Passion, or impure Desire,
Disclose each carnal wish with phlegm or fire.
Rude Anger, starting, past all Art's controul,
Reveal vile secrets of the vengeful Soul!
Observes when sweet celestial Truth illumes,
Or Falshood gilds her dark, deceitful, glooms!
When warm'd with Love's, or Inspiration's, rays;
Or Hate, Spleen, Spite, dart forth demoniac blaze!
When Innocence emits mild heavenly light,
Or Malice sheds her shades of noxious night!

When, bent on prey, gaunt Eagles' eye-balls glare,
And all their desperate cruelty declare,
Look they not different from the gentle Dove?
Emblem of Peace, of Purity, and Love!
Or when the scowling Cat, in coverts, cow'rs,
Bounds on the Red-breast, and her frame devours?
How much unlike the look of harmless Lamb,
When dancing, blameless, round her bleating Dam!
While Foxes, form'd for hypocritic Art,
With lamb-like visage, veiling wolfish heart,
By cunning both characteristics join,
The smile of Love with Demon's base design!

But Wisdom rests not on mere looks, alone,
For Voice betrays intents, with varying tone;
As wires, and strings, when struck, the passive strike,
Size—tension—substance, like, they sound alike—
To sympathetic nerves will throb, or thrill,
Not waiting for the bare behests of Will,
But echo back the same impressive note,
As Pride's, or Passion's harsh pulsation smote.

Anger, and Arrogance, acute, and strong,
With quick-vibrating treble trill the tongue;
Like flageolet, or fife, or catgut scream,
Their scrannel thrill, and incoherent theme,
Strike fellow-feelings with discordant shake,
While keen-according bosoms beat, and ache.
Revenge, or fix'd Resentment, slower sound,
Like harsh bass-viols; hollow, and profound;
But softer tones Love's fine sensation suit,
Harmonious organ, or melodious lute.
The trumpet never soothes the savage breast—
Nor horn, with strepent rattling, lulls to rest—
No sweet somniferous flute, to combat calls,
Guitars, nor harps', weak tinklings level walls.
When feather'd matrons watch their tender young,
How much unlike their sounds of guttural song,
Or fondling cluck, that calls their feeble brood,
To gather round, and share their scatter'd food,
Are those alarming cries, that catch their ear,
When hovering Kite; or skimming Hawk appear—
A well-known warning, when such Foes are spied
Bidding, beneath their wings, with haste, to hide!

The great Creator, pow'rful—wise—and good!
Not only caters all His Creatures' food,
But every kind convenience, prompt, supplies;
As varied wants, and varied wishes, rise!
Not only gives enough for every need,
But, by His bounteous Providence decreed,
Abundant stores to furnish full delight
For each proud wish, and wayward Appetite.
With self-preserving pow'r, full knowledge yields,
To all that swim the floods, or swarm the fields;
That wing the air for food, or wanton flight,
Or dig the soil, to shun the dangerous light.
His tender kindness condescends to teach
Strong fears, and forecast, best befitting each.
The meanest Animal instinctive, knows,
By sundry signs, its Lovers, Friends, and Foes.
The pow'r of speech allotted Man, alone,
By tuneful feebleness, or fuller tone,
To every calm, instructed, ear conveys
His wish, or will, in ever-varying ways;
Yet tho' he ever vary sounds, and signs,
Each secret sentiment deep skill defines.
Ev'n all refus'd instructive tones of voice
Declare, by clearest proofs, dislike, or choice—
For, where that wonderous faculty's witheld,
By looks, and acts, is needful knowledge spell'd.
To some, still lower, tho' providential dow'r
Imparts no knowledge vouch'd by visual pow'r,
To them no necessary aid's denied;
All useful hints by test of touch supplied.

The Worm's quick slide and wretched writhing, show
Shrewd signs of danger, and deep sense of woe.
Devoid of nobler blessings, deaf, and blind,
With single Sense possess'd, of humblest kind,
Sufficient just to feel the mining Mole
Convulse the earth, around its hiding hole,
Or stirring tool, whose imitating force,
Disturbs his toil in subterranean course—
By love of life, and fear of instant wrong,
Driven from his den, he nimbly glides along.

With forceps, arm'd, and well-accoutred mail,
An insect, small, I've seen such wretch assail,
Whilst the weak wriggling reptile, pinch'd with pain
With strange contortions twist itself in twain—
Then, with dread haste, in wild endeavours, hies,
From the shrewd foe, inferior far in size;
Who, with prompt speed, and renovated rage,
In close encounter dar'd again engage;
Again, apart, 'mid strong convulsions tears
And, from the mangled frame, in triumph bears;
Twice to the fierce assailant forc'd to yield,
His length half left upon the hostile field!

So have I seen the Beetle prowl for prey
And mark'd, when Caterpillar cross'd his way,
Tho' shaggy coat, of stiffen'd fur, defend,
His proud superior bulk of body rend;
And, tho' the dubious conflict, fierce, and strong,
With muscular exertion, lasted long,
While grappling on the green-field's grassy floor,
The combatants oft tumbling o'er and o'er;
At length beheld the bristly warrior, slain,
Spread his gross garbage on the battled plain!

Slow, timid Snails their slimey track besmear,
To stay, or turn, some swifter Foe's career;
Alternately protruding horn and eye,
Explore their path—each bordering object try—
Well-taught to watch and ward their little weal,
Imperfect see, but exquisitely feel;

When casual cause gives sight or touch, offence,
Instinctively withdraw their double Sense.

Beneath kind shelt'ring shrub's protecting spray
To shun the show'rs, and wait a warmer day
The scarlet Hemispheria fondly clings,
And shuts her shielding, sable-spotted, wings;
Her tenderer pinions careful to protect,
Which needs must perish through her weak neglect;
And leave her to lament all pow'r to fly,
When vernal sunshine warms the Earth and Sky.
Firm to the bark, by golden gluten, knit,
Which elbow'd limbs thro' manag'd joints, emit,
While shelving shoots the rainy rills divide,
And turn their little streams on either side.

The Bee, well-skill'd to trace her trackless road,
Warn'd to return with half her wonted load,
And homeward speed to shun the shadowy plain,
Predicting ruin from impending rain;
Leaves all the fragrant fields, and blushing bow'rs,
With countless undrain'd cups of honey'd flow'rs.

In drooping bank the Dormouse builds his dome,
With leaves and grass bedding his brumal home—
There closeted, secure, needs no repasts
While Winter's cold, inclement, season lasts;
But closely coil'd, on mossy mattrass, warm,
Defies the frosts, and sleeps thro' every storm.

With keen sagacity, the Squirrel knows,
When plucking bunches from the hazle boughs,
As balanc'd cluster's, poised with nimble paws,
By Instinct's unsophisticated laws,
Each nut's intrinsic value nicely tells,
Nor wastes lost labours on unkernell'd shells.
Then might not Man with his superior pow'rs
Discern the weight and worth of Body's dow'rs?
Might he not, balance all God's gifts, below,
Their nett, or visionary, value, know?
Might he not know, with more, than Squirrel's skill,
By wise experience, how to poise his Will?
He might, were Mind not sluggish, or absurd,
But well-enlightened with Heav'n's holy Word.
—Might he not sleep, by exercising Sense,
More safe than Dormice by trusting Providence?
He surely could were Conscience freed from Sin,
And Faith kept calm his faculties within.
—Might not his natural Knowledge fence, or flee,
More sure from ill than Beetle, Grub, or Bee;
His Pride, or Passions, help him to eschew
Snares, more than Snails which crawl in dust, and dew,
Or Wit and Wisdom teach him better terms
To shun both woe and mischief more than Worms?
He always will when Grace and Reason guide,
And quell the carnal Spirits, Lust and Pride;
Directs its Duties—regulate its Love—
And lift its likings tow'ds the bliss above!

God's providential Goodness never fails,
The eyeless, earless, Worms, and limbless Snails,
Beetle caparison'd with boney wings—
Bees blest with foresight and defensive stings—
Mean Quadrupedes which form a safe retreat,
Or note with nice distinction moral meat.

Can Reptiles, thus instructed, feel a foe,
And groping, blindly, 'scape impending woe?
Insects, directed, with consummate Sense,
Fly safe from harm, or fight in Self-defence?
Are puny Mice thus taught to 'scape the plain,
Preventing all approach of want and pain?
Are frisky Squirrels, ev'n in starving mood,
Instructed to appreciate proper food?
Shall Fish escape their enemies by flight
When singly aided by the gift of sight?
Birds, better furnish'd with a finer ear,
Distinctly judge when jeopardy is near?
And Beasts with penetrating pow'rs, innate
Explore each spring of comfort, pain, or fate?
Shall each mute Being, with mere Senses blest,
Be taught such Knowledge, by supreme behest?
By Intuition's never-varying laws,
Infer effects, yet ne'er conceive the Cause?
Perceive what sights, and sounds, and actions, tend
To further good, or generate evil, end?
And shall not Man, with all God's gifts combin'd,
Each Sense of Animals, with Angel's Mind—
Indulg'd with each inferior creature's dow'rs
Of social impulse, and of active pow'rs—
With nobler attribue of Reason, stor'd,
Whence Conscience feels her force, and Heav'n's ador'd!
Disclosing all the Soul transacts within,
By heavenly rules of right, or tests of Sin!
And shall not He, with all this added light,
Surpass the Reptile's feel, and Fishes' sight?
Discover danger, and discern his good,
Better than habitants of air, or wood?

Doth Heav'n from Him the faculties withold
Bestow'd on thoughtless things of humbler mould?
He walks, spontaneous—leaps—and swims—yea, flees—
Builds better, far, than Beavers—Birds—or Bees—
Procures, by skill, his multifarious food—
Feeds—clothes—protects—Himself—and callow Brood—
Makes Animals, beneath, moult, strip, and die,
For Fancy's—Passion's—Pride's and Lust's, supply—
As well accommodates what Spirit needs,
As builds, and furnishes, and clothes, and feeds.
Makes prey of all that Earth, and Seas, produce,
For strength—health—pastime—ornament—or use—
Yet still vext more, with wants, and woes, than all
That breathe beside round this terraqueous ball.
Fears more, and feels, in such sublimer Mind,
From fellow-foes, than all the Creature kind.

With impish Inquisition, Bird, nor Beast,
E'er torture, only tear, their offer'd feast.
Seize, instant, craving appetites to cloy,
Not to excruciate with a cruel joy.
Tho' Cats torment, 'tis simply self-delight;
Not malice meant, or persecuting spite.
Our Fury Race alone perverts Heav'n's plan,
Seduc'd, degraded Man, still torturing Man!
The Song Bird kill—destroy each bestial Breed,
Much more for pastime than to clothe, and feed—
The softer Sex, indulging desperate spleen,
With virulence convulse Earth's wo'ful scene!
As weaker Woman first transgress'd and fell,
Her female offspring's breasts still most rebel!
By Sin grown savage, barbarous pleasure seek,
By marks of misery on a Sister's cheek!
Enjoy, like sunshine, Innocence's shame,
When Hate, or Envy, light infernal flame!
Find sweetest Music in sore Misery's moan!
Feel raptures grow from fellow-females' groan!
Delighted, laugh o'er deeply sobbing sighs,
And bathe, with bliss, in Sorrow's cistern'd eyes!

What! then, shall modest Worth no wisdom learn?
Ne'er a proud Despot's hate, or envy, spurn?
Against a Tyrant's intrigues never strive,
But still at Cunning's constant tricks connive!
Still suffer Fraud and Force, in Friendship's shape,
Nor e'er from Persecution's paws escape?
Still tremble at bold Arrogance's airs?
Still more, entwin'd in hypocritic snares?
Poor human Elves be more defenceless found
Than all their sublunary subjects round?
Obnoxious dupes to sly Dissembler's arts?
The ready prey of deep-designing Parts?
Unskilful in decyphering clearest signs
Each dull domestic Animal defines?
With all their education scarce descry
The speaking language of the printed Eye?
Ne'er know the types? the styles of Nature trace?
Plain hieroglyphics, graven o'er the Face!
The cypher'd noughts, and integers ne'er count?
Arrange them right, and note their nett amount?
Ne'er genuine touchstone try seducing smiles,
And separate grains of gold from heaps of foils?

It cannot be but Fortitude will feel
And arm her face with flint, her heart with steel!
Nor can it be but sage Discernment, soon,
Will note when tones are in, or out, of tune.
No artful sounds of Simulation, long,
Like Truth's mild melody can trill the tongue!
Art's mimic modulation shows Deceit—
The tutor'd ear soon tires with dull repeat.
Soon the smooth Syren vends her smiles in vain,
Not long her chaunting cheats, with studied strain,
Not bland Hypocrisy's deceitful brood
Can Heav'n-instructed Christian long delude.
Not long her base designs Religion brooks
But loaths the lulling lays, and luring looks.

In April hours, combin'd with objects bright,
The Cuckoo's greetings give the Soul delight,
But when the harmony of May abounds,
His hackney'd note seems harsh and scrannel sounds—
So may the cheated will be charm'd awhile
With Flattery's plausive tones, and polish'd style,
But when celestial Truths pure joys dispense,
Love loaths the sounds, and Prudence spurns the sense.
The breast ne'er bounds in Summer's morn, serene,
While Fear, foreboding, blanks the saddening Scene,
Lest sullen vapours rais'd by sultry heat,
Should close, with clouds and tempest, Day's retreat—
Thus, tho' Deception spreads her shining snares,
With flattering looks, and fascinating airs,
Experience soon forsees what Fancy forms,
Dread shapes and shades of baleful embryo storms!

Each flimsy web sham Flattery's shuttle weaves
In brilliant colours, her bright flow'rs and leaves—

All double-mill'd dark masks, Deceit e'er made,
By daily shuffling lose their dusky shade,
While sound experience, with her piercing sight,
Thro' many a thread-bare mesh explores the light.
While Wisdom's clear, well-educated, eyes,
All spots and wrinkles of the Spirit spies;
And all it notes, at first, not fully true,
Is mark'd more certain every future view;
Till, like an astronomic Amateur,
Her observations end correct, and sure.

Dissimulation's vizors ever show
Vain sparks of Pride, and Arrogance's glow.
Tho' doubly-dy'd, in grain, with ebon hue,
Sense quickly sees bland Cunning blinking through;
The flimsy frippery Affectation wears,
Soon temper—time—or apt contingence—tears;
While Passion shows the Spirit's true intents,
Expos'd, to prying looks, thro' wretched rents.

The mimic sounds of Simulation, may,
Simplicity's pure ears, a time, betray;
And, mask'd Malevolence, with pseudo-smile,
The sight of blameless Innocence beguile;
But Wisdom will, at length, discover, clear,
The Imp of Spite, with Heav'n's Ithuriel spear.
Oft scarified, and couch'd, her eyes discern,
What none but wounded Soul's will ever learn,
Whose vellicated hearts feel vengeful pangs,
From stripes of steel, and fiery Serpent's fangs;
When, pierc'd with bleeding stabs, convictions prove
How Hate can lunge, conceal'd with cloaks of Love.
While Cunning, Scorn, and Spite, with skill profound,
Inject sharp juices thro' each weltering wound!

As Spider squats, inclos'd in secret cell,
Fram'd in all parts external news to tell;
'Mid central radii, bound by circling bands,
The curious clue of nicest network, stands
In snug recess, instructed there to hide,
Still, whether waking, or asleep, employ'd,
Prepar'd for food, or threat'ning foes to feel,
For bliss, or being, watching Nature's weal;
Sensation shooting thro' each trembling string,
From rendings, rude, or insect's wavering wing;
Alarm'd for life, and tenement, at stake,
When strong vibrations her frail building shake;
Or, hoping prey, nor dreading foul designs,
When soft sensations thrill along the lines—
So sits the human Soul on mental seat,
Where all her messengers, and agents, meet;
With intellectual comprehension blest,
While constant correspondents range, or rest;
Commission'd full from Heav'n's almighty King,
Continual notes to bear, or news to bring;
In every part, throughout, their tasks fulfil,
To publish pleasure, or to hint at ill.
These warey Watchmen stand, or, instant, start,
As hopes, or troubles, touch the head, or heart—
Like constant Couriers, kept about the Court,
Appointed to convey complete report;
Or faithful Friends who throng around her throne,
To tell when mischief's near, or misery's known—
When violations press, or vengeful pow'rs
Picquets surprize—attack—or storm, her tow'rs;
Or, eager, with some welcome message run,
With soothing signs of hope, or bliss begun.

There, first appriz'd, by far-perceiving Eye,
To keep her station, to approach, or fly;
Or, timely taught, by quick-vibrating Ear,
Of safety, new delight, or danger, near.
With nearer indication stands the Nose
Announcing fragrant friends, or fetid foes;
While, by a contact close, the tasteful tongue
Proclaims food fit or unfit—right or wrong—
And not an out-post of her dear domain,
That thrills with pleasure, or that throbs with pain,
But scouts, in corps, fill every point of space,
Acute in sense, and rapid in the race,
Spontaneous promptitude and strength, employ,
Foretelling jeopardy, or, furthering joy;
Quick as the sparks pervade conducting wires,
To fright, or tickle, with electric fires.

In mimic Magnet's occult force we find
Mysterious emblem of the human Mind.
With wonderous deeds each sympathetic pole
Asserts its pow'r, like Man's impassion'd Soul.
Devoid of wish, or will, by heavenly Laws,
Like Hate, repels, or fond Affection, draws.
Impell'd by some resistless, latent, pact,
Like Loadstones, all pure Spirits promptly act.
With frowns avoid—with smiling looks invite—
By Love attracted, or repell'd by Spite.
Perpetual impulse courts the kind embrace,

Or turns, with strong dislike, averted face;
Which warn discerning Souls, possess'd of sense,
How far desires are felt, or deep offence.

When thus the Heart is touch'd, by Spirit, pure,
It feels far less the force of fleshly lure.
Its energies, o'er Earth, no longer range,
To seek some fairer choice, or fonder change;
But soon perceives that pomp—sports—pleasures, all,
That so endear this dull, this barren, Ball!
Exciting every unregenerate heart,
With eagerness, to grasp a greater part,
Are like frail colours on the soapy sphere,
That fly the hand, or burst before it's near—
Or slippery glories of mercurial globes,
With brilliant faces, and rich, silvery, robes,
Which, when vain fingers press, as valued prey,
Each touch dissects them, or they slide away.
Frail worldly things thus tempt vain Souls aside,
By sly seductive Lust, or prompting Pride,
But Saints, with fluttering strength will strive to fly
From all vain Pomp of Life which lures the eye,
Still turning with intense, and deep, disgust,
From visual Vanity, and fleshly Lust—
While steadfast Faith's fix'd Eye, looks, bold, above,
Imploring higher Hope, and larger Love;
And, labouring to purge off all earthly leav'n,
Bends all its views, invariably, to Heav'n!

Magnetic needles, like true Christians' hearts,
Well-forg'd, and touch'd, act, promptly, novel parts.
Not now mere matter, passive and inert,
But feel new force, made lively, and alert:
For tho' both lively, and alert, before,
'Twas all gross gravitation, low'r, and low'r;
But, touch'd, and taught, new bias now obey,
Nor once old hypocritic bent betray.
Ne'er feign affection, like Deceit's address,
But, mutual drawn, still mutual coalesce.
Approach'd by fellow-steel, spontaneous turn;
With fondness join, or, strong repulsion, spurn.
No other substance shows this Love like them;
Pure silver—polish'd gold—or pearl—or gem.
This, by elective pow'r, alone, impell'd,
Still firm, to place, and fix'd position, held;
Till some far-different, fresh-directed, force,
Connexion breaks, or biasses their course.
Such influence, maugre Nature's strong controul,
Incessantly affects the new-form'd Soul;
Like impulse pressing on the trembling breast,
By Truth attracted, Falshood's pow'rs repress'd—
While heav'n-born sentiments the bosom win,
Embracing sanctity, abhorring sin;
Unless a moment's Lust, or Passion, sway,
Or Pride turn tempted Will a different way—
But soon such Spirits to their centre turn,
Bemoan their faults, and with fresh ardour burn!

When human forms confront the human eye,
Prompt Instinct summons to approach, or fly—
Strong positive impressions urge the Heart
To like, or dislike, perfect, or in part—
Without premeditation taught to trace
The graven figure, or the fleeting grace—
In fashion'd features, and in manag'd limbs,
The wiles of Art, and Affectation's whims;
Or, signs of Love, and Candour, clearly sees,
In face transparent, and all parts at ease—
In obvious looks, malignant, or benign,
Beholds the Fury frown, or Christian shine;
While form, and feature, manner, air, and mien,
Distinctly show the different shades between.
It instantaneous feels each object strike—
With kindness kindles love, or low'rs dislike—
The first fair gracious glance, from head to foot,
Expands the passive heart, or keeps it shut—
Illumin'd looks, kind acts, and words, that win,
At once invite, and let a lodger in,
Or swindling leers, cramp'd limbs, and careless lore
Block every apt approach, and bar the door.

Such clear discriminations need no rules—
No lessons, taught in Colleges, or Schools—
What all domestic quadrupedes discern
Requires not Arts, or Sciences, to learn.
While deeds declare, more palpably than speech,
What Ministers and Masters never teach;
Nature instructing more, from studied looks,
Than boasted lectures, or Lavater's books.
—Can Cunning frankly look, with full relief?
Or Honesty be blank'd, like skulking Thief?
Can Falshood front with still, and stedfast eye?
Or Truth e'er wink with subtle twinkling, sly?
Can prim Hypocrisy, with sidelong leer,
Like open, artless, Probity, appear?

Can bloated Pride, with supercilious glance,
Like gentle, meek, Humility advance?
Sly Simulation, mask'd with pert pretence,
Awake fond feelings like soft Innocence?
Or Affectation and mock Flattery, move,
Like sweet Simplicity, the Soul, to Love?

Art, never can, with false fugacious grin,
Like lengthen'd smiles of artless Nature, win.
Ne'er can, like pure Sincerity, impart
True transports to each sympathetic heart.
The shapes which Artifice assumes, at will,
Elude the Limner's and the Sculptor's skill,
No Painter e'er Arts fleeting airs can seize,
Nor Statuary fix what instant flees;
For, like as lightning's instantaneous blaze
Rends Night's black mask, with momentary rays,
Art's brilliant blandishments the face illume,
Then instant fly and leave ungracious gloom;
Playing, at pleasure, many a monkey prank,
Now, bright as May—now as November blank!
A moment, graceful, every feature glows;
Pure ivory teeth display'd in radiant rows;
Then, suddenly, the lips their beauty shrowd,
Fleeting as flashes from the cloven cloud!
So have I seen a Pointer's fawning face,
Grinning, ineffable, with fondling grace;
In wrinkled curls contracting nose and cheek,
With eyes as brilliant, smiles soft and sleek,
Expressing symptoms of extatic joy,
Whene'er his feeder turn'd a flattering eye—
But his were smiles more permanently spread;
Not by mere formal affectation bred—
Nature's pure, simple, effort, prompt, and rude,
To show his true regard, and gratitude.

The Soul that hates deceit, and scorns design,
Carves the deep curve, and draws the lasting line—
Her colours pure, and perfect shapes, are seen
In quiet cheek, smooth brow, and eye serene;
And so complete her pencillings adjusts
No trait disgraces, and no tint disgusts:
While well to polish, and preserve, each part,
Truth spreads pure varnish drawn from virtuous heart;
And Piety to fix the raptur'd sight,
Clear, o'er the picture, lays her happiest light.
But specious Policy, with cunning skill,
Still toils, with 'wildering looks to trick the Will;
Each feature fram'd with keen contractions, hard,
In vain solicit virtuous Love's regard;
While wrinkling lids, bent brows, and eyes dropt down;
Smile, illegitimate, just like a frown;
And cheeks, with angular contortions, deep,
Look, while she laughs, like ideots when they weep.

Can Wisdom's Offspring, lectur'd in Her schools,
See—hear—feel—judge—decide—like Fashion's Fools?
Let Cunning's kerchief, drawn, conceal Decit,
Nor know when Passion's palpitations beat?
Be trick'd, when Hypocrites perform their task,
While wearing Mimicry's religious mask?
No! She, of all true Children justified,
Ne'er suffers such mistakes from false outside.
Ne'er long deceiv'd by superficial grace,
Or parasitic twists of gross grimace;
Which, like false fiery vapour's twinkling flame,
On heedless eye-ball shines, but soon to shame;
For, flirting here and there, with flickering rays,
It draws thro' devious tracks, and then betrays:
Not like the blessed Sun's bright genial beams,
Which warm each heart with steady, constant, streams;
With equal splendour round each Mortal spread,
To point out perils each wrong step they tread—
But most like lamps, whose many-colour'd light,
Shoot feebly-glimmering gleams on festal night,
Which, through the throng of fluttering, flattering, Elves,
All dupes adopt as lighted for themselves.

Wisdom, with parts, and judgment more profound
Still estimates each feeling, sight, and sound—
Strips the false tongue of all its deep disguise,
And severs lasting truths from fig-leaf lies—
Distinctly taught, thro' labial aperture,
When sentiments are sound, and praise is pure;
As true-ton'd ears, with certainty, can tell
Notes, well-observ'd, from firm or fractur'd bell;
She, maugre counterfeits, can hear and see,
When simple sounds with simple smiles agree—
Distinguishes, with nice-discerning ear,
When accents hesitate, or tones are clear—
Each secret sentiment as promptly spies
When Truth's or Falshood's tracings etch the eyes;
And, while, with strong contempt, her spirit spurns
The heart's vile views in all its tricks and turns—
Presents the hand, or clasps with close embrace,
As friendliness, or love, illume the face.

Eyes let in light, like lenses, to the Mind—
Shew turbid streams of thought, or rills refin'd—
Disclose the Soul's dark spots, and wrinkles, through—
What tends to benefit, and what undo—
And, as the fellow Spirit spies the stains,
Forbears to rivet on Affection's chains;
Still, judging by celestial Reason's laws;
From threatening dangers all desires withdraws:
As timid Snails their eyes and horns protrude,
To seek a Consort, or to feel for food,
And, when some adverse object hope repels,
Draw them both back, and shut them in their shells,
But when they trace, in slow, and cautious, course,
No strong obstruction, no repelling force,
Still, with strict wariness their path pursue,
For nourishment, and mates, to search, anew:
So prying Wisdom, with her piercing pow'r,
Observes where Virtues laugh, or Vices low'r,
What objects hurt, or happiness portend,
Whether they mark a Foe, or meet a Friend.

Man's intellectual eyes must needs be blind,
Which, in the face of others, ne'er can find
The inward workings of a wiley heart,
Imprest, distinctly, on each outward part—
And intellectual ears exceeding dull,
Which constantly perceive not, clear, and full,
Each turn of Spirit—change of tones, exprest,
Which lurk, or labour, in the throbbing breast.
How grossly ignorant must those Minds be found,
That hear not sentiment in every sound!
Which trace not crystal streams, spontaneous, flow,
When conscious of a Fellow's joy or woe!
More stupid still the Souls that ne'er discern,
From every word and act, when others burn—
Or, like mere savage Beasts, hear—see—and read;
Yet feel no sufferance while meek Sisters bleed!

Such, blest with knowledge—learning—sense—and wit,
For each sweet social office, how unfit!
Unfit for juror, advocate, or judge,
Whom Virtue gives no gust, and Vice no grudge!
Who never draw delight, or feel offence,
At Worth's reward, or injur'd Innocence!
None e'er deal fair, or faithfully decide,
Who pimp for profit, or who plot for Pride.
None who, with false insinuations, aim
To fill the Soul with foul Suspicion's flame;
Or with feign'd kindness cruelly unkind,
Stir up strange doubts to madden Despot's Mind,
Till jav'lin'd Jealousy, with Phrenzy fierce,
Thro' eyes, and ears, a Slave's fond Spirit pierce;
His breast wild burning with some deadly dart,
Deep venom'd Wit had hurl'd with desperate Art;
Which gnaws the nerves, and veins, with miseries, more,
Than ever bleeding backs of Negroes bore!

Like theirs was poor, afflicted, Crispin's case—
They suffer castigation—he, disgrace,
Which proves to upright, independent, hearts,
Much sharper pains than mere corporeal smarts!
Both Fugitives—both suff'ring Despot's pow'rs—
That, pains but Body—this, the Soul devours!
Like Them, He, banish'd from his native Hill,
To feel the force of treacherous Tyrant's Will!
From birth-place—parents—privileges—fled—
His happiness destroy'd! dear Hopes all dead!
No cordial Friend to lend him kind relief,
To soothe his anguish, or asswage his grief!
None but dear Daphne! tender Soul! alone,
Whose deep complainings echo'd all his moan;
And their poor, wretched, offsprings, pining round,
To sharpen pain, and widen every wound—
He would, with patience, his own pains abide,
But felt them tenfold thro' their bleeding side!

Wealth still will Wealth, and Splendour Splendour, court—
Pride, Pomp, and Pow'r, Pow'r, Pomp, and Pride, support!
Poor Slaves' complaints ne'er can descend to learn—
Or forc'd to hear incorrigibly spurn!
They fancy mental feeling's all confin'd
To high-born Courtiers' educated Mind!
Who, to maintain their mutual, crafty, cause,
Repeal Morality's perplexing Laws.
In sordid, sensual, puddles, deeply sunk;
With philtering draughts, and dregs, of flattery, drunk!
Or perch'd on pinnacles of boasted Birth,
All Penury mock, and spurn domestic Worth—
With Self-conceit, on cork, or bladders, buoy'd,
Court Folly's breeze, and crowd on Fashion's tide,
Plying each sail, and oar, to reach some port,
For sordid pleasure, or for sinful sport!
Borne high on mad Imagination's car,

100

By stallion Passions drawn, Pride prompts to war;
Spurr'd on by rowell'd Spite, and whipp'd by Spleen,
While tyranny and rage let loose the rein;
To tread strict Justice down—clear Faith confound,
And grieve all Merit, rear'd on rented ground;
Till Virtue bend, and Piety submit,
To frantic Worthlessness, or froward Wit!
Will neigh or bray with rampant Appetite,
Indulging Lust with assinine delight—
Still wasting wealth, and still perverting pow'r,
With eager gust, each Vanity devour;
While with wide-open mouth, all madly aim
To grasp all glory, and confine all fame!
With cold contempt their subject Slaves despise,
All judg'd unmeet for mirth, hope, peace, or joys;
Afflicting frowns—scoffs—stripes—on each, bestow,
Well-pleas'd with suppliant's pain, or shame, or woe!
Scout kind intentions—past mistakes revive—
Impaling Spirit, while one Nerve's alive!
Fling sharp reflections, prompt, like poisonous darts
Still fixt, and festering in their feeling hearts—
Make every dole of twice-deserved bread
A baneful instrument to bruise their head,
While daily drench'd from Falshood's venom'd bowl,
To torture, not let loose, the sinking Soul;
Till, harrass'd, still, with cruelty and strife,
The shrivell'd Soul no longer groans for Life!

This is their civil Code, their social Creed,
Which all, who know Life's alphabet, may read—
Deem rustic Wretch not fitted to be free,
Whose ignorance ne'er could relish Liberty.
No Right attaches to the clownish Crew—
No Merit rests on ought they say, or do—
No recompence deserv'd by care and toil—
Their Words all vulgar, and their Ways all vile!

Should Merit rise among the boorish band,
'Tis all mere mechanism of Nature's hand—
Should genuine Genius grow 'mid groveling Ranks
It's deem'd her specimen of monstrous pranks—
Bright bullion Wit, among the swinish herd,
Is counted clumsy, brutish, or absurd—
Ev'n every casual seed of Common-Sense,
Give Pride, and Spite, and Envy, vast offence.

To poor advantage village Bards appear
When rich, or titled Poetaster's near.
Not Penury's pure heroics e'er can claim,
Among dull Fashion, more than damning fame;
While Wealth's most vile attempts in prose, or verse,
Monarchs might read—ev'n Angels might rehearse!

No Lily's fair, nor fragrant flow'rs the Rose,
Which in a Hamlet's vulgar garden grows—
No Apple's luscious—Strawberry rich, and red,
In homely orchard, or plebeian bed—
No Plumb looks pleasant—no choice Cherry smiles,
When rear'd by awkward Clowns, on rustic soils—
Currant's nor Gooseberry's many-colour'd breed,
Possess fine flavour from such low-bred feed—
No favourite Fruits' choice taste can charm, at all,
Bred from coarse births beside a cottage wall.
No village Boor can e'er one Virtue boast—
No Wench's charm be fit for courtly toast—
But both, whose origin from huts began,
Are Woman-monsters! moieties of Man!
Yea, every troop such teeming Mules produce
Are neither fit for ornament or use;
But barely helping Fashion as a foil,
Or as poor paltry instruments of toil;
By labour to improve a proud Estate,
Or dull machines ordain'd to grace the Great—
May plod in manufactures, arts, or trade,
Or, when well-train'd, may skip in Pomp's parade;
May clothe, and cover—may defend, or feed;
At last, and best, but Orang-outang breed!

Some few are found, among the courtly Tribes,
'Mid all their scoffs and mockeries, jeers and jibes,
With some small portions of right Reason blest,
Which Prejudice, in part, have dispossest;
Thus argue, candidly, and coolly judge,
Tho' selfish Greatness feels a secret grudge,
That, should kind Fortune change the Poor's affairs,
And give them Wealth—Wit—Knowledge—just like theirs—
Thro' three long Ages, mixing much with them,
To rub off Penury's rust, and purge its phlegm,
At length might whet and wear off dull disgrace,
And look, a little, like Wealth's wonderous Race!

Clad, with large rent-rolls, like imperial robe,
In parchment majesty; around the Globe,
(A badge Kings' bear in their sinister hand,
As well a type of Vice, as vast Command,
Which crowns the wish of every kingly Soul,

101

Unbounded pow'r! unlimited controul!)
A robe, emboss'd with pearls, gems, glittering gold;
Sad pay, perhaps, for every Virtue, sold!
Earth's tyrant Potentates, with pow'r endued
To fix, or frustrate, rules of rectitude;
Like Justice, stand, with vellum bandage, blind,
Prejudging every cause among Mankind;
O'er plain penurious Clients' claims inveigh,
And wield the dagger where they dare not weigh—
Or, when they weigh, still make monarchic scale,
By pow'r, and privilege, o'er right prevail.
Wealth's written documents vast influence draw,
Around their Owners, with full force of Law—
All Virtues, Charms, Accomplishments, that can
Adorn, or aggrandize, the Race of Man!
Like Sybil's leaves oracularly speak;
Proprietors prove wise—all others weak.
Past all dispute, like sacred Writ, declare
That Penury's ever foul—Pelf always fair.
While base Possessors, with unbounded pow'r,
Engross all Deity's agrarian dow'r;
And, with imperious, overbearing, pride
Set every humbler Claim, and Call, aside.
Like Mammon's priests, or Moloch's prophets, fir'd
Prove Want apocryphal; and Wealth inspir'd;
Or, modern, courtly Clerk's, whose words, demure,
Call murmuring peccant—passive conduct pure.
With proud Infallibility's pretence,
Claim all clear Learning—Knowledge—Wit—and Sense;
And, with full, critical, acumen, find
All merits, and demerits, 'mong Mankind.
Assume the Orator's, and Writer's, wreath,
Rebutting each bold claim from all beneath.
Like Popes pass bulls, in arrogance, and haste,
On works of Science—Fancy—Wit—and Taste.
In Critic's seat, on moral conduct, sit;
Yea, spurn fair Piety, in Passion's fit;
As Israel's Legislator strangely rav'd,
And broke both Tables God's own finger grav'd!

He who mere mortal Personage ne'er respects,
But still the humble blesses—proud rejects—
He oft empow'rs the poorest Wretch to write,
The Will's best War—the fingers' noblest fight!
Encountering Wealth and Wit, in open field,
With trusty weapons, Truth, alone, can wield!
Whose documents, like daggers, when they wound,
Leave barbs behind that keep the sores unsound:
While Falshood shoots her feathery shafts in vain,
Which, pointless, fall nor give one grief, or pain;
But, back, repell'd; stick fast on tarry frame,
To show the Shooters Lie, the Lecher's shame.
Tho' quite unskill'd in Falshood's fencing Art,
Truth's helmed mail protects both head and heart;
And—oh! Wealth, cease false Wit—refrain foul Pow'r—
Reflect, Apostates! ponder Heav'n's dread hour!
And let this question check pride—passion—spite—
Shall not the Judge of all the Earth do right?

Twelve times the Sun had joined the Dogstar's ray,
And heavenly Libra balanc'd Night and Day,
While patient Crispin, and his poor Compeers,
Experienc'd hurts, and favours—hopes, and fears—
But, like the cloudy clime in which they dwelt,
More gloom than gleams, more show'rs than sunshine felt!
Passion and Pride, like Scots' Autumnal sky,
Blew frequent blasts, and scarce a day was dry!
Some cloudy, dark caprice, or stormy whim,
Bedrench'd his Mate, or rudely ruffled Him.
Ungenial bickerings kill'd his budding joys,
While infant hopes were drown'd in Daphne's eyes!
Nor could their Flock from accusation 'scape,
Of fraud, or falshood, in some shocking shape,
Sustaining stigma base, or stubborn blame—
Throttled by threats, or gibbeted by shame—
Impeach'd, as Culprits, or condemn'd, as Clowns—
By whispers whipp'd, or ferula'd by frowns—
While, tho' still wrong'd by burdensome restraints,
Proud cruelty precluded all complaints!

Before their sight still former favours shone,
While distant prospects drew endeavours on;
Like Hebrew camp, thro' dismal deserts led,
By sworn protection, and by certain bread;
As cloudy meteor mov'd, obscure, or bright,
Tho' dark, by day, 'twas luminous by night—
And tho' the wilderness with horrors howl'd;
Tho' foes attack'd, and false ungratefuls growl'd;
From fiery Serpents desperate pangs endur'd,
Faith view'd Christ's Cross, and every wound was cur'd!

But there true Covenanter ne'er deceiv'd,
Nor e'er, for fancied faults good Servants griev'd—
No promise might from pride, or passion, fail;

102

Here all was weak, or wicked; false, or frail!
'Twas like base Laban's crimes, and Jacob's case,
Friendship's disgust, and Fattery's foul disgrace!
Allur'd by recompence of love's reward,
He thought no labours long, no hardships hard;
Till finding faith betray'd, and truth destroy'd,
By blear-ey'd Maid, instead of beauteous Bride.
With promises as full, and hopes as fair,
Their trap was baited, and as base the snare—
And tho' their melancholy lot was such
As made their punctur'd spirits grieve and grutch;
Yet Gratitude for favours, long before,
Forbad to tell their tale, tho' sad and sore!
While firm Affection bridled back their tongues,
Sign'd folded blanks, and seal'd their secret wrongs!

Their sorrows, thus, in silence lay, conceal'd,
By mutual sighs, and tears, alone, reveal'd;
Their miseries only to each other shown,
To all their Friends, to all the World, unknown—
For none but Slaves, who feel such sorrows flow,
Can truly construe looks of silent woe;
The only rhetoric such kind Souls could reach,
More eloquent than all the pow'rs of speech!

Thus did they deep distress, and pain, deplore—
Thus, long, their load with passive patience bore—
With taunts and stripes oppress'd, from day to day,
By proud caprice, and arbitrary sway;
Till pitying Providence look'd down, at length;
On deep despondence, and declining strength;
And, for a season, to restore their peace,
From Slavery show'd their Souls a short release.

That Pow'r which could confront a Pharaoh's pride,
And will, in love, all grateful Spirits guide—
That Wisdom—which so long let Sufferers weep,
A murrain sent among the Tyrant's sheep;
Thus, by his mix'd decrees, Man's hopes to mock,
And free the slighted Shepherd, slew the flock.
Nor yet, alone, ordain'd the flocks to die;
Earth bak'd like steel—like molten brass the sky—
Fair hopeful blades, in Spring's blythe season born,
Hot Summer crush'd, and kill'd the promis'd Corn—
The straw curtail'd made raving Monarch rail—
And stubble short made bricks decrease in tale;
While more events of Providence, conspir'd,
To further what was dreaded, yet desir'd!

This, all, from God, thro' govern'd folly, grew;
But Bond-slaves felt foul blame, before they flew—
Bore Egypt's weighty bondage, toil, and woe,
Till ruthless Tyrant urg'd, in haste, to go;
To bear unnumber'd crimes, but not their own,
Like banish'd Goats, in Hebrew ritual known—
Driv'n out, like Israel's host, from Goshen's land,
They wander'd back, by Despot's dread command,
But not by night, with silent, secret, stealth,
With borrow'd jewels, and Egyptian wealth—
With gains of artifice, or spoils of theft,
But small remains Economy had left!

Prudence and Cunning, much alike in make,
Arch Knaves of counterfeit, and Fools mistake,
But widely different are their varied views,
What one dispises t'other still pursues.
The objects, adverse, and unlike the end,
For one is Virtue's, t'other Vice's, Friend.
One follows Wisdom's, and one Folly's, way—
One plans defence, the other plots for prey:
And genuine Judgment nicely draws the line,
Between the sage reserve, and base design.

Prudence conducts her plans with cautious care;
But all her projects, and pursuits, are fair.
Protecting person, or procuring pelf,
She hurts no other to advantage Self—
Or seeking Honour, Influence, or Fame,
Her views, unravell'd, neither shock, nor shame.

Cunning feels no regard for other's good,
But just preserves a specious likelihood.
She never travels in a track direct,
Lest cool Discretion should her tricks detect;
But through the compass, tow'rds each point she shifts,
That no true Soul, concern'd, may mark her drifts:
Would wound all other's interest, health, or ease,
Herself to profit, or herself to please!
Cunning's a niggard—Prudence justly nice—
Prudence is Virtue—Cunning, crafty Vice—
Yet Cunning may sometimes be found profuse,
But 'tis to gain still more for graceless use.
Prudence may truly boast celestial birth,
But Cunning came from Hell to curse the Earth.
Prudence, in moral rules, by Wisdom taught,
Weighs all her words, and deeds, with wary thought,
Not watching others, basely to betray,
But lest herself should lose her heavenly way,

103

Her circumspection springs from holy Love,
And always with the Serpent joins the Dove;
But Cunning plies proud Serpent's arts, alone,
Nor seeks one creature's interest save her own.
Cunning, still train'd in false infernal school,
Tho' always learning ends an arrant Fool;
For while she fondly aims the World to win,
She's dup'd by deeper subtilties of Sin;
Deceiving while deceiv'd by every Knave,
Till Satan cheats, at last, this choicest Slave!

School'd by Fiend Cunning, in her subtlest Art,
Crispin's false Friend perform'd her dextrous part,
And, to inflict a still severer scourge,
In spite of all pure Honesty could urge;
All Honour, Truth, Faith, Friendship, could aver,
A trick was tried, deep-dictated by Her,
With such success as all dark plots produce
When vicious views attempt some base abuse;
For Providence invariably destroys
All wicked projects of the Worldly-wise.

The Rich have many Friends—so Truth asserts—
But very various are Men's due deserts—
Some may be low Delinquents, some high Lords,
And well-deserving coronets, or—cords,
Some fam'd for honesty, turn'd out of door—
Some, crown'd with piety, continue poor—
And some by subtle stratagem, and stealth,
Amass estates, and rank with Men of Wealth.

Among the sneaking, sly, and treacherous, train,
A wiley Wight, nurs'd up on northern plain,
Receiv'd full order from his feudal Dame,
To send a Creature, qualified the same;
A chosen Chief from his subaltern band,
In poor discarded Crispin's place to stand—
With humblest arts of Agriculture skill'd,
But with profound complotting Spirit fill'd,
To prosecute their schemes with zest, and zeal,
Yet all their secret counsels close conceal—
With care and labour seeming well content,
While tracing mysteries of true management—
Still keeping careful on the mimic mask,
While trying, diligent, his double task,
Till well-inform'd in all the farming trade,
Then with full ministerial pow'r be paid.

Some time, poor Crispin, and Compeer, to blind,
He plied his part, a duteous, humble, Hind!
To no authority advanc'd pretence,
Or e'er assum'd high airs of consequence—
Attended strictly to the living stocks,
Inspected cattle, and survey'd the flocks—
The hackneys curried, full their cratches fed—
Well-corn'd their mangers—water'd—made their bed—
Fodder'd and farm'd milch cows, or fatting kine,
Or bore full buckets for the herds of swine—
Nor only then, the Shepherd's office fill'd,
But, when his Mistress call'd, her mutton kill'd—
With skill would butcher pork and bacon hogs—
Would sow the ground—well cleave the gnarly logs
With countless cares, and many labours, more,
Without a blush, the lumb'ring Blockhead boor,
Sly Gibeonite! who, thus, by guile, began
To execute his crafty Despot's plan:
A Russian Peter! but without his parts,
By Art endeavouring to obtain the Arts;
To fit him for the task his Mistress meant,
The scheme, complex, of pastoral Government.

With him a proper counterpart was join'd,
A Rustic, skill'd in arts of different kind;
Instructed farm-utensils well to frame,
To number integers, and write his name:
Yet quite unfit for such compound employ,
Of which his Chief was ignorant as the Stye!
What was the result, when our Bard retir'd?
Why, with his rapturing turn of fortune, fir'd,
The doughty Leader's drunkeness and lust,
By gross indulgence gave the Dame disgust—
And learn'd Lieutenant claim'd so little skill
In calcuations, with his figuring quill,
That, at the first campaign's ill-fated close,
A third more skilful Financier they chose,
To state the profits, and to count the cost,
And prove what past Year's warfare won or lost—
When, to the Lady's grief, and Dolts' disgrace,
The wonderous Warriors were put out of place.

Another effort, now, must needs be tried,
For gathering pelf, and gratifying pride.
A Hero, chosen by superior Chief,
Must yield the baffled Lady bless'd relief;
All former losses fully reimburse,
And fix her transport while he fill'd her purse.

104

Well—what was He? and what was His success?
In serving Self, and pleasing Patroness?
Why he was crazy! he play'd such stupid pranks
As neither prosper'd thrift, or purchas'd thanks.
That Kine might cram the more, and more digest,
His enterprizing genius judg'd it best,
With one grand scheme more milk and cream to gain;
He stripp'd the haystacks to admit the rain—
Dug monstrous drains, where fields were dry before;
And folded Sheep in ponds, like pigs in store—
To stop such frantic tricks, and sundry others,
She sent him packing like his peerless Brothers:
And yet still more to mortify her pride,
One more, derang'd, in Luke's asylum died!