University of Virginia Library

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187

POEMS ON DIFFERENT OCCASIONS,

NOT BEFORE PUBLISHED.

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189

ADDRESS TO PEACE.

O virgin fair, with olive garland crown'd
Thy polish'd forehead! Who with raptured eye
Survey'st the waving harvest; when around
From her full store the richest gifts are shed
By plenty's hand unsparing; or if choice
Thy footsteps guide to more sequester'd scenes,
Attentive to the turtle's melting note,
Wafted by echo's busy, sportive voice
Thro the green glade! O Queen of every charm
Soft vanquishing the human breast; adored
Tutoress of science, of each art refined,
Existing first by thy creative power,
By thy enlightening influence sustain'd!
Thee too the Idalian tribe, the smiling loves,
And graces, interweaving mutual bands
Of rosy twine, thee the Pierian nymphs

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190

Applausive view, and hail with dulcet hymns,
Genial Inspirer; from their sight exiled,
They droop their languid heads, no more the beams
Of warm imagination fire the soul
Of their deserted votary. He adapts
His lyre in vain to smooth melodious airs,
Harsh, grating discord jars on every string.

Fortunate Isle! or more—Beloved of Heaven!
Surely expell'd from every other land
Beneath the ethereal cope, on dubious wing
Traversing the vast globe, here Peace restrain'd
Her weary flight, here fix'd her stedfast throne,
And stretch'd her golden sceptre, while o'er all

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191

The liquid realms thy floating bulwarks ride
In triumph, big with horror and dismay,
Far off to bear the fiery war, and awe
Resisting nations. She meantime secure,
Upon thy borders all her balmy dew
Showers unwithdrawing; on a thousand hills
Feed thy large flocks, throughout a thousand vales
Resound thy lowing herds, thy rivers bear
With pain the load of commerce, and thy towns
Receive the tribute of remotest lands;
Here either India's bounteous gifts are spread,
Here the collected wealth of every clime.

Ah! how unlike to these were the dire scenes
Witness'd of old! when civil tumult urged
The rival claims of Lancaster, and York;
As sway'd by desperate chiefs, then Britons fought
Against contending Britons. Horrid sight!
Compell'd to war, tho consanguineous streams
Together mingled on the accursed ground.
Ah! how unlike, when fierce rebellion raged
In all her terrors clad! When, impious man,
Cromwell, by wily arts, religion deem'd,

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192

And holy zeal, prompted the infuriate bands,
Enthusiastic, to dethrone their King,
And mocking sacred justice, lead to death
The royal victim.—Gracious Heaven! remove
Such woes, such crimes forever! Nor again
Should treason, in despite of lawful sway,
Wave her dark crest, as by the North e'erwhile
Upraised, let her not meet rebuke severe,
And swift avengement. Never may a fiend
So ugly, so detestable, be born
In British soil: but may soft placid gales
Of concord whisper thro the land; may all
The powers of harmony conspire to form
A lasting guard, a wall impregnable,
Around young Brunswick's throne, and fix his reign
On the firm basis of his people's love.

O Nymph divinely sprung! Ethereal Maid!
Hear the fond wish! Still beam thy purest ray,
Dazzling audacious faction; gently smile,
And party shall unfurl her wrinkled brow,
Catching humanity; in social bands
Connected, tell thy Britons they may dare

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193

Defy the universe; much less may Gaul
Hope to resist their power, 'tis her's to sit
With envy swoln, and utter threats in vain.

Such are the fruits of dire ambition, such
The baneful gifts of War, before whose face

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Glide pleasing phantasms, fair delusions, dreams
Of sure success, and splendid victories won.
False glitter all! Behind strides horror, pale,
And ghastly; fell despair, whose murderous hand
Seeks his own life; famine, with hollow eyes,
And body wasted to the bone; inwrapp'd
In storms, and whirlwinds, whose resistless force
O'erwhelms whole provinces, and bares the earth,
Sweeps desolation; miseries worse than death;
The cries of orphans, suffering matron's groans;
Anxieties and griefs immense; woes more
Than language can describe, or fiction frame.

These are the followers of remorseless war,
By frantic rage impell'd to thin mankind.
Such now o'er poor Germania's harrass'd soil
He drives his fervid chariot; not of yore
Louder his voice was heard on Thracia's hills
Urging his loved Edonians to the field.
Roused at the sound, in dread array, her sons
Pant for the fight; here dauntless Ferdinand
Meets the thick tempest of impetuous France.
There Austria sends her valiant legions forth,

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195

Prepared for hardiest conflict; to her aid
Lured by the hopes of plunder, their bleak wilds,
And snow-clad hills deserted, onward haste
The rugged Russians; cruel, fierce, untamed,
Ruin, and brutal havock mark their way.

Who shall the savage multitude oppose?
Who nations, leagued with nations? On his brow
Sits fortitude, while prudence spreads around
Her tutelary wings, and valour goads
His ardent soul, instinct with highest thought,
Defying peril, and the front of death.
A soaring spirit, undepress'd by fate,
He bears; Immortal Frederic! Lo! when gain'd
A transient rest, he wakes the Lesbian lyre.
At every touch I hear a Master's hand
Explore the chords; as if the favouring Maids
Of Helicon, their violet-shaded fount
Had left, and danced exulting at his birth,
While blue-eyed Pallas saw, and praised the deed.
Yes, let the fickle many, as they list,
With fortune's giddy tide retract their course;
At least one Briton shall with thee, O Prince,

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196

The torrent stem of black adversity,
And weave a radiant chaplet for thy brow.

For surely justice bade thee draw the sword
Against thy treacherous foes.—But if instead,
By mean ambition led astray, thy soul
Grasp'd at the hopes of conquest, the false pride
Of overthrowing kingdoms, should a Bard,
Should thy own strains self-flattering, e'er attempt
Thy crimes to palliate, may the abortive work
Perish unheeded! never shall the muse
Of genuine poesy adorn thy name;
But snatch it Infamy! and waft it on
To the dark shades, where mute oblivion reigns.
Blasted be all, who harbour thoughts like these!
Who unprovoked, let loose to tear the world
The wasteful furies, who, for deeds of blood,
Quit the mild virtues of humanity;
And to emblaze their glory, sport away
The lives of thousands. With a fix'd contempt
Tho glittering in the spoils of half the East,
Tho worshipp'd as the progeny of Jove,
I view the Æmathian tyrant. Not the tribes,

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197

The prostrate millions, from Siberia north,
To distant Iran; not the imperious Turk
Vanquish'd by Stella's mountain, not the crown
Reft from the Egyptian Soldan's head, himself
Compell'd o'er Afric's torrid plains to roam
A fugitive, from me extort a word
Applausive of the Scythian Homicide.

Where justice fails, there fails the nerve of war,
The sinewy strength, which gripes, and fast retains
True glory; when the sacred flame inspires
Of freedom, when the invigorating love
Of his dear country to the mortal strife,
Impells the Hero's courage-breathing soul,
His fame, not rancorous envy's tainted tongue
Can with malignant poison dare imbue;
But her black snakes drop their convulsive folds,
Hissing involuntary praise. To him
Should victory present the splendid palm,
Meed of his brave emprize, and having borne
Safe thro the terrors of the ensanguined plain,
Lapp'd in her blooming mantle, lead him back
To realms, his toil, his virtue hath preserved;

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198

For him, with liveliest admiration join'd,
Shall gratitude effuse the enchanting voice
Of heart-felt, rapturous joy; him meet the youth
With gladsome shouts, and all the virgins hail
With choral song, or thro the mazy dance
In tuneful cadence ply their airy feet;
While in his breast a double share of bliss
Extatic swells, and all his conscious mind
Is fraught with strong, with exquisite delight.

But should the fates his wish'd return deny,
And death resistless strike the mortal blow,
Lo! from his feeble arm the uplifted sword
Unnoticed drops; valour beholds no more
His ardent glance, shot from the enkindled soul.
Yet still on her his swimming sight he throws,
On her, and liberty, as o'er his wounds
In tenderest grief they sprinkle the salt tear,
And pleased to engage their pity, smiles and dies.
Hallowed by them, what yet survives, his name
They guard with purest zeal; at their command
Heaven-nurtured truth assumes her golden pen,
And opes the historic page; at their command

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Obedient sculpture lifts the pious urn,
And animated bust; they speak, and all
The Aonian nine tune their melodious strains:
Or graved on adamantine tablet, fame
Suspends them high in her eternal dome,
That latest times may read, admire, and love
The man, who when his country call'd him forth,
Devoted bled.—Such, amid Indian wilds,
Fell gallant Howe; such, prodigal of life,
Upon Canadian shores, illustrious Wolfe
Resign'd his patriot soul. Oh! early lost!
From thy full noon, what glories hope portray'd,
So bright thy morning beam! to last, too bright—
Soon overwhelm'd by the dark clouds of death.

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200

Lo! from beyond the vast Atlantic surge,
To where the Ganges pours his mighty stream,
Flooding the Orient, War hath fix'd his sway,
Grim slaughter waves his crimson flag, on high
Revenge directs her course, and far and wide
Echoes the yell of discord. Oh! appear,
Long absent, to the labouring world; disclose
Thy virgin charms, deck'd in thy silver vest,
Advance with modest step, and strait abash'd
Each monster shall retort his felon brow,
Or envious, look askance, but all too weak
To glut their rage on thee, shall in their flight
Desperately rend each other; while behind
Vengeance shall raise his livid arm sublime,
Shaking a whip of scorpions, far beyond
The flaming limits of the world, to urge
Their way, amid the jarring elements
Immerged, fit habitation. Thou shalt seize
The rod of empire; happy in thy smile
The nations shall rejoice. I see the quick,
The wondrous change; I see before my eyes
The gayly-shifted scene; the realms of Peace
Lye open to my view; I taste, I feel

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201

The balmy zest of pleasure, as my steps
Pervade the lovely range; sure Nature here
Unsullied wantons; here Favonius sports;
Tricks his light plumes, or on the blushing cheek
Of Flora, hangs enamour'd. I behold
Arcadian plains, verdant as the green banks
Of lily-sprinkled Ladon, famed of yore
For agile satyrs, fauns, and shepherd gods,
The train of Pan. Verdant, as meet the sight
Of old Penéus, where his course he winds,
Thro scenes romantic, Daphne's loved abode,
Thro Tempe's hallow'd groves, and flowery lawns.

Ah! who will lend their succouring hand to guide
My feeble steps to the aerial height
Of yonder craggy mount, whose pine-clad top
Wars with the clouds! thence wide outstretch'd, the view
Mocks the beholder's farthest ken, arise
In mix'd confusion, towers, and tufted trees,
And sheep-deck'd hills, and crouded towns, and seas,
Smooth as the glassy mirrour. Oh! I long
In some purpureal vale at ease to rove
With yon gay band, in festive garments dress'd,

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Their burnish'd arms, now useless, hung aloft
Amid the laurel shade. With them recline
Beneath some spreading beech, or oak, whose roots
Bathe in the brook beneath, and whose large limbs
Deny all entrance to the noon-tide beam;
Attentive to each soul-arresting tale
Of war, of bloodshed, and of sieges dire,
Rencounters fierce, and victory hovering o'er
With dubious wing.—Thence turning, I espy
A mazy path, deep thro the sacred grove
It seems to wind; a solitude serene;
Except what artless symphony dispense
The feather'd race, in many a liquid trill,
From every springing shrub, and moss-grown tree.

Herb I proceed, nought fearing lest the charms
Tempt to betray, or as in times of yore
The red-cross Knight, thro such a specious track,
Startled, I view the den of Error foul,
Dread monster, soon by his sharp-pointed steel
Laid low.—This brings to the delicious bowers
Of Peace, the tranquil region of her sway,
Aloof from prying boldness. May I dare

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203

Enter these bless'd retreats, where fancy sees
At every turn ideal beings move,
Exceeding human far! here stalks along
Musing, and solemn, contemplation slow,
Cross'd are his arms, his stedfast looks are bent
Inward, and rapt he seems in extasy.
There sits philosophy, his wrinkled front
And hoary head proclaim him old, but young
And vigorous is his mind, and active soars
Amid the stars; here virtue walks, array'd
In dignity august, yet simply grand,
Unstudious of attire; on either side
Two sweet companions, modesty the one,
Of blushing cheek, the other innocence,
Known by her spotless zone. The smiling form
Of boon content, lock'd hand in hand with health,
Speeds o'er the level surface of the green.
Here fairy fiction weaves her painted stole,
The colours from the bright ethereal woof
Of variegated Iris taken. Here
The Muses daily sing, and all night long
Ceaseless entwine the many-sounding threads
Of harmony. Rapture with greedy ear

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204

Attends. My gazing eyes transported view
The glowing face of love; the nimble gait
Of florid youth, sallying with keen desire
To where beneath the myrtle's odorous shade
Beauty awaits his coming.—Oh, ye powers!
Ye airy substances, Oh! tell me where
Is she whom you adore? Who gives you all
Unruffled, in these woods, these caves, and streams,
To walk, to lye, to bathe your graceful limbs;
Who from your presence drives the rout profane
Of dissonance, and tumult. Tell me where
Now in the silent noon she dwells retired.

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205

I see her! O Immortal! by the choir
Of winged songsters, by the elysian gales
Fanning thy grotto, by the liquid pearls
Which drop by drop down from the arch'd roof fall,
By thy own auburn ringlets, by the fire
Mild-beaming from thine azure eyes, the smile
Dimpling thy cheek, thy sweetly-breathing lip,
That soft serenity which gently plays
O'er thy whole frame, by each attractive grace,
Each placid inmate of this holy seat,
Oh! listen to my prayer! With aspect bland
Pardon that rashness, which with giddy step
Urged hither my unhallow'd feet. Forgive
That all-unskill'd in song, my youthful lays
Rough, and uncouth, have jarr'd thy purer sense
With harsh disturbance. Yet, if I have err'd,
To the blind impulse of mistaken zeal
Impute the unguarded deed. Thee I adored
From earliest years; thee, now the rising down
Shadows my chin, with added warmth adore.
And dost thou hear indulgent? Nay benign
Approve my verse? Oh blessing, far beyond
My utmost hope! Still shall my vows be paid

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To thee, with true devotion; and compell'd
With care to sojourn, to the busy paths
Of life exiled, still shall my ardent love
On thee be fix'd: thee will I oft invoke
With fond regret: and haply tho condemn'd
Ne'er more to pierce these Academic shades,
Thy visions not unfrequent, may be spread
Before my sight: thy form divine appear,
And tune to melody the new-strung lyre.

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207

On TAKING the HAVANNAH.

“Accursed be those, eternal bane pursue,
And taint with blackest infamy their names,
Who first with impious counsels dared advise
To join my aid, and help the sinking state
Of ruin'd Gallia!—Never more may peace
Attend their footsteps, who so rashly framed
The boasted compact!—Fools! who did not think
What enemy they roused to venturous deeds.
Who did not, tho by sad experience taught,
Reflect on days of yore, and thence foretell
Confusion to their hopes.—Have I not seen
Edward, tremendous in his sable arms?
Have I not often heard the dreaded name

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Of Raleigh? oft of Drake? Have I forgot
When all the riches of our western world
Vigo beheld, or taken, or in flames?
Or when Gibraltar lowly-stooping, sigh'd
O'er her scaled bulwarks? Or, when urged by fame
Heroic Peterborough laugh'd to scorn
Numbers, and strength superior, having fix'd
His standard on the subjugated walls
Of Punic-built Barcino? Dauntless soars
The British spirit, holding undepress'd
Its glorious way. Oh, Britain! Oh, adorn'd
By our disgrace! triumph, and bliss are thine,
Mine is despair. Oh, Cuba! word of joy
Erst, and delight, now of reproach, Oh, Isle
Beloved, how art thou torn from my embrace,
Perhaps forever!”—Thus Iberia, mourn,
By day, by night, nor rear from off the earth
Thy weak, enervate limbs.—But thou rejoice
Oh, Antillean Genius! shout aloud,
And call thy Nymphs around thee from their grots,
And caves, call forth thy Dryads from their groves
Breathing perfumes. Bid sound the sprightly song;
Bid lead the frolic dance: And say “Rejoice

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With me, ye Nymphs, rejoice ye virgin train!
Again delighted range my woods, my dells,
And wide savannahs. Now arrives the day
Long time by me invoked, to oppress with woe
The fell Iberian race, whose cruel minds,
Hard, and unfeeling from the lust of gold,
Prompted their willing hands to extirpate
My old inhabitants; e'en hoary heads,
And tender years for mercy cried in vain.
Then did the heavens weep blood, in agony
The mountains trembled, and the chafed ocean
Lash'd the resounding shores with indignation.
I o'er my face my mantle threw, and struck
With inexpressive horror, inly groan'd.
You shriek'd, and wildly ran to hide forlorn,
In dens, and caverns, never visited
By Sol's intruding splendor, where you might
Indulge the potent grief which wrung your souls.
But now the time is come, the time to cease
Your ejulations, and cast off the weeds
Of sorrow.—Vengeance on them lowers, his form
Gigantic shades the land, his quiver bears
Its winged shafts terrific, he essays

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His strength, and preluding, to contact draws
The points of his renitent bow. He calls
Far from the north, from the white-clifted Isle,
The sons of war; by rapid winds impell'd,
They speed across the Atlantic. Brave their souls;
And proud in conscious worth, they view unmoved
The frown of death. Their Enemies dismay'd,
And anxious, droop.—What numbers soon to fall!
Their firm-ribb'd ships, high-towering o'er the deep,
In vain protect them, their strong gates in vain,
And force-defying ramparts, and in vain
Velasco, best, and bravest of his kind;
Whom, had not hate hereditary steel'd
My nerves, I should behold with pitying eye.
His efforts fail, and on the well-fought breach
Lo! he expires! Now Vengeance drench'd in streams
Of reeking crimson, leads his heroes on,
And now the Isle is theirs. Oh! gratulate
The valiant, the avengers. May they ne'er
Restore the conquest; grant it not ye Powers,
All, who detest injustice!”—In the prayer
Of Cuba's Genius, Thou Britannia join!
Say to thy sons “Hold fast this matchless prize,

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Transcendent o'er the Caribbean Isles,
Pride of the western Ind! Reject her not,
Lest other nations tauntingly observe,
Thus fight Britannia's progeny in sport,
Thus waste their treasures, and the generous blood
Of those, whose valour awes the astonied world.
Ah! if her stores of aloes, and of myrrh,
And fragrant cassia, her delicious fruits,
Worthy of Paradise, which might enchant
A second Eve, her hills clad with each tree
For use, or ornament, her sugar'd fields,
Her luxury of charms, cannot entice
And win you to possession, yet let not
My enemies insultingly reproach
Your easy folly, nor become the tale
Of scorn, and laughter to perfidious Gaul.”

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On GENIUS.

Yet we affirm that nature must adapt
Each fibril, bearing to the source of soul
External impulses; must to the brain
Impart its happy texture, to receive,
Retain, renew, associate, or reject
Those multiform impressions, which each sense
Thither conveys. Else, strong desire would fail,

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No works, but those of hebetude appear,
Or phantoms of inanity. The brain
Completely moulded, its auxiliar nerves
With quickest sensibility endued,
We the foundation trace, tho nice, yet sure,
On which, colleaguing with attentive care,
Incumbent o'er his many-colour'd mass,
His vast collection of ideal stores,
Genius those structures elevates, which strike
The admiring eye, and claim immortal praise.

For now, unknown at first, by due degrees
The qualities are his, which only stamp
His mental frame and character exact,
Judgment, and taste, and elegance.—Observe
Where youthful rapture gazes on the page
Of fairy poesy; seizing the pen,
He tries, he fails; again, again he tries,
As often fails; yet eagerly pursues
His daring plan, to equal, to surpass
His favorite prototypes, and round his brow
Twine laurel wreathes. He darts his curious eye
O'er nature's face, examines, and compares

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The copy with the original, acquires
Himself ideas new; abstracts, combines,
Assimilates, and modifies them all
A thousand different ways; a stile, a grace,
A manner of his own at length he boasts,
And scorns weak imitation. These are toils,
The free indeed, and the spontaneous toils
Which nurture Genius, and which constitute
His finest pleasures.—Why, with strong desire,
With seeming equal ardour in the chace,
Does excellence another's grasp elude?
Because his nerves, or that ethereal, pure,
Elastic fluid which pervades the nerves,
Have diverse modes of action, are unfit
Impressions fine, or vigorous, to convey
To the warm seat of thought; or else because
The brain not duly textured, only feels
Sensations blunt or faint, with efforts faint
Reflected, and confused. From nature then
Alone is genius sprung, at least she gives
That mechanism of parts, to which he owes
The very capability of life.

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Earlier, or later, whether chance excite,
Or inclination fire, she to the bard
Imparts his numbers, she harmonious sounds
To masters of the lyre, to painters tints
Of loveliest hue, and bright ideal grace.
She fixes deep, and she diversifies
The thoughts of men, and stretches out the bounds
They ne'er can pass. Her stamina to change,
Transcends all mortal skill; else Johnson's strains,
Had vied with Shakespear's, Whitehead's equall'd Gray's.
We must be what we can, not what we will.
Leisure, and opportunity, and chance,
And ardent emulation, nought avail
To raise up genius, if the organic tone
By nature is denied. The general race,
In science, and each art they cultivate,
Haply by unremitting labour taught,
May partially excell.—But how unlike
Is genius? and how rarely shines reveal'd
His dazzling aspect!—In four thousand years,
One Homer, and one Shakespear have arisen.
Virgil himself, is but of second rate,
Compared with them. One Newton time hath seen

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217

In his vast journey. Yet the scale abounds
With numerous gradations. In the realms
Of swarthy Afric, mediocrity
Itself is genius; far beneath that point
Myriads are fix'd, till scarcely intellect
Exceeds the Oran Outang's.—All depends
Join'd with the swift transmissive power of nerve,
On the sensorial energy of brain,
Its shape, and size, and weight, proportionate
To the whole frame. Largely with this supplied,
Had a still larger volume been assign'd,
Half-reasoning elephants had reason'd quite.
A trifling weight haply the balance turn'd
Between a Tully, and a Catiline,
A Marius, and Metellus.—Nature's hand
Is visible throughout; no force of art,
No labour, cultivation, fervid hope,
Industrious effort, can avert the blight
Of her frugality.—Yet in its birth,
Genius may be extinguish'd by disease,
Strangled by poverty, sunk in the dust
By stern oppression, or by indolence
Cursed with perpetual barrenness of mind.

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219

To INDEPENDENCE.

Hail Independence! on thy sacred altar
I heap devoutest offerings.—If misled
By phantoms of imaginary good,
From thy rough path sublime, from the keen air
Thy mountains breathe, my steps have turn'd aside
Tho but an instant, or a thought escaped
Toward the low vale, or thick o'ershading grove,
If thus my soul e'er felt a transient wound,
The flaw of weak mortality forgive!
And let me, strenuous task, forgive myself!
While smoothed the scar, and re-inspired by thee,
Doubly enamour'd of thy form august,
Erect I move, and with unblushing face
Claim thy alliance; and in solemn strain
Swear never more from thy bright track to cast
A devious look; or injure, what no wealth

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220

Can ever recompence, no fame obtain'd
From the rank vulgar, ever can repay,
That conscious honour, that nice sense of worth,
O'er which the firm, and unsequacious mind
In secret broods, exulting as she tastes
The true, luxurious pleasure.—That I first
Beheld the light, free-born, on Albion's coast,
Nor yet among the meanest of her sons,
Necessitous, to penury exposed,
My grateful thanks to Heaven are due. Oh shame!
These blessings to degrade, confine my limbs
With golden shackles, and descend beneath,
In voluntary abjectness of soul,
Not only the poor hind who guides the plough,
But the pied-coated beggar. Have I drank
At the clear stream of science? Have I read
The stoic lesson? and in groveling wise
Shall I so stoop, and call myself a man,
In flattery to my equals, my inferiors,
However with the gifts of fortune cramm'd,
That e'en my dog, if granted words and sense,
Would cry, how I despise thee!—Not from this,
From this alone, O Goddess of my prayers!

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221

Defend thy votary; but inspire me still
With that unyielding spirit, which resists
Pride's domination, and with fix'd contempt
Eyes the malicious scorner. While in vain
The many-acred blockhead thinks to find
Me on his nod attendant, at his smile
Cringing, and with officious haste his will
Anticipating, e'er his tongue command,
Haply when he despairs of life, and craves
Art's sage assistance, to receive the few
Vile counters, by necessity extorted,
Which he so dearly estimates; to me,
Which are but glittering nothings.—Yes, pursue
Such modes of action, call them politic,
And thrive by them, who list. I know mankind
As well as they, and know base humours please
The base, that feign'd respect appears as real,
That few, from self-complacence, can escape
The flatterer's bait, and twenty saws, to prove
That men, like callow birds, are oft the prey
Of reptile sharpers.—But I know myself,
And will not, cannot pay the price for goods
I deem of sordid grain. The price not paid,

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222

In the world's ware-house let them rot for me,
Or clothe the backs of fools, and prodigals.
Fools, who on gew-gaws set a value, far
Beyond their worth intrinsic; prodigals,
Who in exchange, give what exceeds all price,
Sincerity, integrity, and honour.

Neither the ties of nature would I loose,
Stifle the fond affections, quit the duties
Mild, relative, reciprocal, nor fail
To bend with anxious care to those beneath me.
The high-o'eruling, independent, one,
Essence of essences, supremely blest,
His creatures, tho so infinitely low,

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223

Sustains, preserves, with mercy and with kindness
Shrouding from human view his aweful sway,
And stern-eyed justice.—Pride is madly-fierce,
Wresting from all alike insulted homage,
But triumphs most o'er the depress'd, and weak.
True Independence fears not to be humble;
Hating servility, she renders light
The weight of obligation; bids the wretched
With confidence uplift the timid eye;
Bids them approximate, and joins herself.