University of Virginia Library

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!