University of Virginia Library

Book the Fourth.

Why must the pensive Muse her Labours cease,
Forget her grateful Toil, and rust in Ease?
Shall Phœbus, in perpetual Slumbers dream,
Heedless of Verse, and a more noble Theme?
Thus far the Song of Love and Pleasure treats,
To bless the Issue of the lawful Sheets,
To form the envy'd Pride of either Sex,
And mould proportion'd Limbs, and paint the Blooming Cheeks:
A greater Task remains to crown the Whole,
The innate Virtues of a spotless Soul.
How lovely are the Graces of the Mind,
With Heav'nly Forms, and youthful Beauty joyn'd!
Thou, Goddess, whom no guilty Passions move,
Sprung from the teeming Brain of chaster Jove,
To whose blest Influence, Mankind below,
Ingenuous Arts, and virtuous Manners owe,
Assist the Song; the Theme is all Divine;
May ev'ry Thought, and ev'ry Word be Thine.
The Muse no more the wanton Lay approves,
Or tells of youthful Toys, and softer Loves:
Warm'd with a brighter Spark of Heav'nly Fire,
She sees the frowning Cupids all retire.
(Fond Joys may please a while, but end in Shame;
A smoaky Stench surrounds the guilty Flame:
The noisom Fires, at best, obscurely burn,
And the gross Fuel will to Ashes turn.)
When first Prometheus did stol'n Life convey,
And warm'd with sacred Fires the moulded Clay,
Man walk'd Erect, with a Majestic Grace,
And Heav'nly Bloom adorn'd his smiling Face:
A Ray Divine, pluck'd from th'immortal Skies,
Shone in his Cheeks, and sparkled in his Eyes.
But soon the Wretch fell from a juster Pride,
Tho' to primæval Light, and Heav'nly Spheres ally'd;
Still querulous, and prone to vain Complaint,
He talks of trifling Ills, and fancy'd Want:
That Heav'n regards his Happiness the least,
More just to Brutes, and kind to ev'ry Beast.
With fruitless Discontent the fond Ingrate
Blasphemes the Gods, and blames indulgent Fate;
And thinks it hard, that Man (the Lord of All)
Should from the warmer Womb, a Naked Infant, crawl.
What, tho' my Mind (says he) with Notions fraught,
Boasts an unlimited Extent of Thought;
And tho' ambitious Hopes, and vast Desires
Confess a Soul ting'd with immortal Fires,
If I must be a rude unfinish'd Sketch,
By Nature form'd, and born a helpless Wretch?
Man, the kind Womb, by Force, unwilling leaves,
And with just Tears th'untimely Exit grieves;
Heav'n no Defence to him, no Cov'ring gives,
And thus the hard, cold Earth the shivering Babe receives.
While the blest Brutes, tho' form'd of courser Mold,
Are not expos'd to Famine, or to Cold;
Less Miseries attend th'ignoble Birth,
Tho' their dull Souls bend down their Looks to Earth,
They by unerring Instinct, all are taught,
Ills to be shun'd, and Pleasures to be sought.
No outward Force the fearless Savage harms,
Bold with his Strength, and fenc'd with Native Arms.
On ev'ry Hide, thick, shaggy Ringlets grow
That dare the Club, and mock the coming Blow.
The vigorous Bull the fierce Assailant scorns,
And paws the Ground, and sets his bending Horns.
The scaly Fish sport in their native Sea,
And thus secur'd, they force the liquid Way.
The Birds on Wings well-pois'd, with emulous Pride,
Race thro' aerial Tracks, and cut the yielding Void.
The pregnant Earth each worthless Insect treats
With ready Viands, and unlabour'd Meats.
While she on hated Man no Food bestows,
But got by weary'd Limbs, and sweating Brows.
Beside that heav'nly Spark, and active Fire,
That do's sound Sence, and solid Worth inspire;
That innate Reason, we so greatly boast,
Is oft by Ignorance dull'd, by Passion crost,
In winding Doubts, and mazing Errors lost.
When first the Wretch a slumb'ring Infant lies,
No Gleams of Thought, no Starts of Passion rise:
The Notions all are sullied, and dispers'd,
While the sad Mind, in grosser Clay immers'd,
In Darkness sleeps; and an unthinking State,
More happy thus, than when she feels the pressing Weight.
For when slow Time, and studious Care reveals
Where sacred Truth is hid, and Honour dwells,
When by an odious Train of formal Rules,
And the rough Discipline of tedious Schools
Man comes to Reason, and begins to know,
The glimmering Lights, at best, imperfect show
What is our Good, but cannot Good bestow.
For ah! what Pains and Doubts distract the Soul,
While fond Desires the Judgments Choice controul?
How hard a Task to guide th'unruly Will,
Or fix the certain Bounds of Good and Ill!
To still vain Hopes, and sudden Fears subdue,
And flying Truths with steddy Eyes pursue,
Or Virtue's doubtful Ways to guess aright,
While Error's pleasing Paths our straying Steps invite?
How great a Toil to stem the raging Flood,
When Beauty stirs the Mass of youthful Blood?
When the swoln Veins with circling Torrents rise,
And softer Passions speak thro' wishing Eyes.
The Voice of Reason's drown'd; in vain it speaks,
When hasty Anger dies the glowing Cheeks,
And vengeful Pride hurries the Mortal on,
To Deeds unheard before, and Cruelties unknown.
Such is the Thing call'd Man; and this is Life,
An endless War of Thoughts, and an eternal Strife.
Thus the bold Wretch—Ah! too profanely Wise,
And partial to himself, incessant cries;
A Judge unfit to search Heav'ns secret Ways,
Too oft blasphemes the Powers, he ought to praise.
But groundless Murm'rings are with Ease reprov'd;
Say, is not Man by every God belov'd?
Man, Lord of all, and the Earth's darling Pride,
Tho' form'd of Æther, and to Heav'n ally'd:
By Reason taught, and, touch'd with purer Light,
O'er all beside He claims a Sov'raign Right;
The kinder Pow'rs infus'd a nobler Mind,
To Sway the World, and Rule the Bestial Kind.
What, tho' the Babe begins his Life with cries,
When sudden Light disturbs his weaker Eyes;
Tho' new-born Man, unlike the hairy Beast,
Comes from the Womb (as from his Bed) undrest?
Since the kind Mother, with indulgent Care,
Will Swathing Bands, and soft Array prepare,
To wrap the tender Limbs, and skreen the piercing Air:
She safe Defends him from attending harm,
And Hugs him close, and keeps the Infant warm;
Till settled Limbs support the darling Boy,
Who wanton Smiles, and runs to ev'ry Toy:
Then trivial Knowledge, and first Thoughts commence,
And Reason's twilight Gleams in lisping Sense.
But when it Shines in full Perfection bright,
The conscious Mind pursues her boundless Sight.
Man sees thro' all; one view t'his Knowledge brings,
The Chain of Causes, and Result of Things.
The Creatures all Obey; He gives the Word,
They patient Yeild, and own their destin'd Lord.
While Wisdom's Clue guides thro' Life's wild'ring Maze,
Shows Virtue's Path, and Sin's declining Ways.
The different Tracks of Infamy, and Praise)
And specious Ills unmasks, and hidden Good displays:
It Marks the Road direct to real Bliss,
And Secret tells him, when he Acts amiss.
Hence well-form'd States are prop't with wholsom Laws,
And just Decrees support the rightful Cause,
Arts are improv'd, and Turrets high-adorn'd,
Despise the ruder Caves, by Nature form'd;
Bright Palaces o'erlook the neighb'ring Woods,
And smoaky Towns encrease the flitting Clouds.
Nature in vain conceals her precious Ore,
Men rifle all, and search the hidden Store;
They ev'ry Right, and ev'ry Pow'r invade;
The passive Elements, by Duty sway'd,
Now dread the awful Tyrant, whom they made.
The Soul ('tis true) condemn'd a while by Fate,
To this dull Prison, grieves the pressing weight.
Continu'd Doubts, and endless Tumults rise,
While Reason dictates still, what Sense denies:
Prest down by Clay, she stoops to low Desires,
And dotes on Earth, and fancy'd Good admires:
But when the rising Mind, impartial views
Her wond'rous Self, and her own Thought pursues,
How vain the transient Show of Things around,
What worthless Baits are guilty Pleasures found!
She spurns her Cage, and takes unbounded Flight
To Heav'n, her blissful Home, and to Ætherial Light.
Not that the Soul at once her Freedom sees;
The mighty Work is form'd by slow Degrees.
First wholsom Rules restrain unheedful Youth,
And reconcile the sickly Mind to Truth.
Duty enforc'd, and Virtue's Sacred Lore
Timely imbib'd, will Sov'raign Health restore.
'Tis true, an high Descent, an antient Line,
And th'envy'd Honours of a Race Divine,
Th'ambitious Soul to generous Acts incline:
The purer Blood with nobler Warmth inspires,
And virtuous Sons descend from virtuous Sires.
But ah! Neglected Blooms will soon decay:
A thousand Baits unguarded Youth betray,
'Till kind Instruction has the Mind improv'd,
(For Truths oft Taught are not with ease remov'd)
But if this first great Task be left undone,
We soon shall Mourn a loose degenerate Son;
The Work is ruin'd, tho' so well begun.
Say therefore, are not those absurdly vain,
Who cause their Children's Fate, and then complain;
Who with a hopeful beauteous Offspring blest,
Forget themselves, and hire unwholsom Breasts?
And to some common Wretch commit the Care,
Of Infant-CÆlia, or the future Heir:
Beside Diseases, and unnumber'd Ills,
That latent Spread, and flow in Milky Rills,
That from bad Teats, and putrid Channels pass,
And taint the Blood, and mingle with the Mass;
The noxious Food conveys a greater Curse,
And gives the meaner Passions of the Nurse;
Th'unthinking Babe sucks in the deadly Bane,
And new-form'd Lusts the native Virtue stain;
Who draws the flaggy Breasts of wanton Dames,
Shall base Desires imbibe, and burn with guilty Flames.
Thus the Great Founder of the Roman State
Was fam'd for brutal Rage, and boundless Hate,
Which crush'd a Brother with untimely Fate.
By Rapes he peopled, what he built with Blood,
And Rome to mighty Guilt her Grandeur ow'd.
The savage Dam had sower'd with Wolfish Spleen
The manly Soul, distain'd with Lust unclean.
Hence wild Revenge glow'd in his Royal Breast;
Who was his Nurse, his Actions plain confest,
And whose the Pap which first the Infant prest.
But when the kind, the prudent Dame is found,
Wholesom, and chast, in Mind and Body sound.
The next great Lesson bids with early Pain,
Inform the Infant-mind, and mould the yielding Brain.
For tho' a Wretch to foul Attempts incline,
Meerly by Nature urg'd, and not Design;
Tho' tainted Juices in the Womb prevail,
And stain the Birth, and secret Guilt entail;
(As oft ill Humours will affect the Mind
While shut in Body, and to Earth confin'd)
Yet virtuous Rules will new Desires instill,
And streiten to themselves the warping Will;
Precepts well-urg'd will rising Lusts controul,
Give a new Turn, and Beauty to the Whole,
And from its winding Track restrain the byass'd Soul.
So when the coming Morn looks faintly bright,
And gilds the Mountain-tops with weaker Light;
When first the Sun, unwilling, leaves the Sea,
And ruddy Dawn begins the early Day;
The watry Drops still hang upon his Beams,
And trembling Light breaks in imperfect Gleams;
But when the God has shook his dewy Head,
And cooling Moisture falls on ev'ry Mead,
His brighter Orb its wonted Force regains,
And spreads diffusive Heat, and chears the smiling Plains.
But when the stronger Limbs to Firmness grow,
And Babes begin their Parents Voice to know;
When toying Childhood grateful Mirth affords,
And tells its trifling Sense in fault'ring Words,
Then strengthen too the Mind, as yet but weak,
Teach then the conscious Soul her God to seek,
And let her lisp the Praise, she cannot speak.
Oft talk of Him, and tell the Awful Name,
And how this All from that First Being came,
And whose kind Influence still preserves the beauteous Frame.
When bursting Vapours eccho in the Skies,
And flashing Lightnings strike the trembling Eyes;
Tell him, 'tis Heaven incens'd that thus repeats
Affrighting Sounds, and speaks in angry Threats,
When heedless Men forget the sacred Law;
Thus Teach the Child, and thus the Infant Awe.
These early Traces in the tender Brain
Will fix the Notions, which will long remain.
Meer Reason, by its own Reflection taught,
May find a God, and seek the nobler Thought;
May searching guess the Origin of Man,
And how it self, and how the World began.
But ah!—if not improv'd by friendly Art,
Reason untaught these Truths will slow impart.
Thus in the Western World, so lately found,
Tho' circling Years have past their constant Round;
Tho' tedious Ages have successive rol'd,
No Length of Time could this great Truth unfold.
Here all her Pride has bounteous Nature shown,
And sports her self in Forms to Us unknown.
But tho' each blushing Fruit, or smiling Flow'r
Declares a God, and speaks his Awful Pow'r,
Yet the dark Indians never will reflect,
No Deity adore, no Heav'n expect.
Thoughtless they live, nor heed an After-state,
Intent on Earth, and careless of their Fate.
'Tis hard to Wake, when drowzy Mists arise,
And pleasing Slumbers close the willing Eyes;
Such is the Toil for an un-tutor'd Mind
To rouze it self, or hidden Truths to find.
The Youth thus taught, how Heaven will be Obey'd,
And what Returns of Duty must be Paid;
Then farther Teach, and let him early Know,
What to our selves, and what to Men we Owe.
Now ev'ry tender Sentiment improve,
And let the Heart with softer Passions move.
When Vices first their baneful Influence show,
And when his little Cheeks with Anger glow;
When once the Seeds of partial Hate appear,
Or envious Rage lets fall a silent Tear,
Then Parents, if you love your growing Heir,
Be justly angry, nor Correction spare,
But kill the noxious Weeds with timely Care.
Now Wrong forbid, and teach what Rules are just,
And what the Ties of Love and mutual Trust;
What Honour bids, and Gratitude requires,
And what Respect is paid to hoary Sires.
A Father's Love and Mother's Care commend,
And tell what Pains the anxious Birth attend.
What Wretch when thus inform'd will not obey
The Author of himself, and grateful Honours pay?
Then fix the Bands of Government, and show
Who are the Sov'reign Pow'rs which rule below;
Who by just Laws, and an Impartial Sway,
Protect the Good, and make the Ill obey.
But when the reasoning Soul extends her View,
And dares look round, and the vast Search pursue;
By Learning then the ruder Ore refine,
Polish the whole, and make the Work divine;
Ingenuous Arts will mildly purge away
The drossy Substance, and the base Allay.
Say, is not this the soft, the docil Age,
Whose Actions will the future Man engage?
Now vig'rous Streams spout from the lab'ring Heart,
And ready Wit and lively Sense impart.
Lose not the time: the moist, the tender Brain
Is easy form'd, and will each Hint retain.
The Soul's prepar'd for Wisdom's sacred Lore:
Ransack the Grecian and the Roman Store.
Let the Youth labour with incessant Pains,
And hourly read, and search the Great Remains.
Nor Authors of a modern Date disdain,
Whose worthy Labours antient Truths explain.
The Muse will still admire the Latian Groves,
She the blest Soil, and happy Climate loves.
The French in Language pure, in Sense polite,
The willing Reader to the Task invite.
The lofty Spaniard is instructive found,
Though soaring in his Flights, and fond of pompous Sound.
By a just History the Mind's improv'd,
For Men are ever by Example mov'd.
It shows the World, and to Reflection brings
The Fall of Empires, and the Fate of Kings.
It brings back Time, and the past Age retrieves,
And here th'immortal Chief unenvy'd lives.
Actions thus told Heroic Worth inspire,
And kindle in the Soul an active Fire,
And stir the Breast with emulous Desire.
But those who wild Romantick Stories feign,
The Fustian Hero beyond Nature strain;
They form new Worlds, and tell of Kings unknown,
Battles ne'er fought, and Victories ne'er won,
Of monstrous Giants, and unequal Fights,
And Dragons fell engag'd by doughty Knights;
The fairy Scene by pompous Show delights:
By Fancy rul'd, weak Judgments please themselves
With Chiefs enchanted, and with wand'ring Elves.
But let the Youth the empty Tale despise,
Remove the vain Amusement from his Eyes;
For false Ideas, if indulg'd, at last
Deprave the Morals, and debauch the Taste.
But still the Muses claim a just Esteem:
The Bard sees Visions, but Romancers dream.
The Moral Verse will alway be admir'd,
Poets may teach, for Poets are inspir'd.
Virtue thus drest, is lovely in Disguise,
And Verse will find him, who a Sermon flies.
And now the Voice to manly Accent breaks,
And the first Down o'erspreads the blooming Cheeks.
When thus encreasing Strength, and youthful Fire
Forward to Action, vigorous Thoughts inspire,
And push him on to Love, and gay Desire.
Then restless Passions with a sudden Flood,
Disturb the Man, and stir the rising Blood.
Now the Tides swell, and foamy Billows roul,
And rapid Torrents hurry on the Soul.
Youth fondly mocks the Dictates of the Wise,
And scornful Smiles, when hoary Hairs advise;
The wanton Swain, when flush'd in blooming Years,
The least Restraint (ah too impatient) bears.
Yet a bright Ray may pierce the yielding Shade,
And sudden shine around the darksome Glade.
Wisdom will buoy the sinking Soul, and save
Amidst the Floods, and dare the coming Wave.
But ah! unwearied watch, with Caution steer,
And careful look, when winding Gulphs appear;
Or soon in the swift circling Current tost,
You'll whirl around, and be in Eddies lost.
But would you throughly purge the vicious Stain,
Exert the Man, and let no Passion reign;
Believe the Soul, when freed from pressing Clay,
Will to some unknown Region wing a way,
Think righteous Heav'n will its own Laws regard,
And punish those whom Justice can't reward.
But if no Fiends in gloomy Darkness howl,
Nor Ghosts in airy Forms confess the Soul:
If sulph'rous Lakes, and livid Fires below,
To Priests their Being, or to Statesmen owe;
If vain we hope a bright Expanse above,
Where Spirits riot in Excess of Love;
If after Death be Nothing, nothing Death,
But th'utmost Limits of a Gasp of Breath;
If these are all Dreams, Whimsies, and no more,
First made by Fear, and then enforc'd by Pow'r,
What Motive can reclaim the careless Boy?
He'll give a Loose, and grasp the fleeting Joy;
Greedy indulge what Pleasures now invite,
And snatch the present Moments of Delight.
But future Joys believ'd, or future Pain,
Will curb the wild Desire, and ev'ry Lust restrain.
To trace th'intelligible World, and find
Th'immortal Nature of an active Mind,
Is th'utmost Height, and most exalted View,
That Reason here can reach, or Thought pursue.
To know our God, and know our selves, is all
That we can Happiness or Wisdom call.
Just Notions will into good Actions grow,
And to our Reason we our Virtues owe:
False Judgments are th'unhappy Source of Ill,
And blinded Error draws the passive Will;
Deceiv'd by Show, we seldom think with Care,
While with false Beauty and affected Air,
Too often 'tis the Dress that makes the Fair;
But let not specious Errors soon betray,
Unmask the Cheat, and chace the Clouds away,
Long doubt, and oft reflect, and firm Assent delay.
But ah! the Race of Life is easy run,
While tedious Science is as yet begun;
Thought must the previous Strokes of Sense attend,
And huddled Images but slow ascend.
From earthy Dregs the circling Fogs arise,
And misty Vapours skim before our Eyes;
The Soul is forc'd, while pent in darksom Clay
To grope in Shades, and guess the doubtful way:
Great is the Toil, but glorious is the Prize;
Who would not alway labour to be Wise?
Thus Heav'n decrees, and we must search to find,
Or wink for ever, be for ever blind.
Nor may we hence indulge a wild Conceit,
And vainly hope to climb the utmost Height;
To view the inmost Essences of things,
And Nature's hidden Laws, and secret Springs:
She coyly hides, and shifts her various Shapes,
Slips from th'Embrace, and ev'ry Eye escapes.
Knowledge has Bounds, that stint th'unwilling Soul,
For finite Reason cannot grasp the Whole.
We see enough t'employ the lab'ring Mind,
Nor may we search, what Heaven forbids to find.
Mark how the Orbs their finish'd Course renew,
Still move alike, and constant Rules pursue.
Look up, and then conceive, how vast, how bright,
That inexhausted Source of joyous Light!
Think, if the sluggish Earth be downward prest
By its own Weight, and courts unactive Rest,
Th'unweary'd God to dayly Toil succeeds,
And drives th'ætherial Stage, and guides the flying Steeds;
While we, dull and unmov'd, see all beside
Dance the swift Round, and circle thro' the Void:
But if the Sun, fixt in his Central Throne,
Attracts the Planets, and commands alone,
He tunes the Spheres, and they harmonious sound;
Earth too becomes a Star, and keeps the constant Round.
But whate'er System Fancy may approve,
Whether we like to rest, or chufe to move,
Th'Effect's the same, and one Almighty Cause
The Motion first began, and fix'd th'unerring Laws.
The Atomist may groundless Schemes pursue,
T'explain the old World, or create a new;
Well-pleas'd he may indulge his wandring Thoughts,
And endless Voids conceive, and flying Motes;
But let these roul long in the boundless Space,
Then meet, and form an indigested Mass.
If Motion thus with thoughtless Chance combine,
And huddled Bodies close without Design,
A rude, and shapeless Chaos will arise;
No smiling Meads below, above no vaulted Skies:
Till some blest Pow'r at length reduce the whole,
Divide the Parts, and give an active Soul.
Ah! might Reflection to the Mind disclose
What different Particles this All compose,
Might we but trace the Springs as yet unseen,
And secret Movements of the vast Machine,
The several Figures and the Motions know,
To which the Species their Distinction owe!
Tho various Forms adorn the beauteous Frame,
Matter (unlike it self) is all the same.
From the same blended Elements proceed
The scented Flower, and Pestilential Weed;
They form the yielding Grass, and flinty Stone,
And waving Crops, by sportive Zephyrs blown.
Hence in cool Shade the humble Myrtle grows,
And high the Oak extends his leavy Boughs.
The living World has the same common Birth;
Here slower Insects cling to Parent Earth;
Now bleating Flocks we hear, and lowing Herds,
And the more grateful Harmony of Birds;
While sportive Fish thro' watry Mazes roam,
And with a silent Joy possess their native home.
Causes remote from our Observance fly,
We have a nobler Object always nigh;
Man, lordly Creature! in whom Beauties meet,
Unnumber'd, and the lovely Frame complete.
Mark the nice Structure, and the wond'rous Art;
How just the whole, how curious ev'ry part.
By the Child's Features we the Parent guess,
And Looks divine an heav'nly Sire confess.
Man amiably Majestick Walks erect,
And from th'inferiour World commands Respect;
Reason curbs Force, and gives to Fury Laws,
And fiercest Creatures to Subjection Aws.
They conscious yield, and own the righteous Sway,
And their just Sovereign passively obey.
Man is the Universe, in little shown,
The scatter'd Beauties here are joyn'd in one,
In him the several Motions are explain'd,
And the great World is in the less contain'd.
For as th'Almighty's Throne is fix'd on high,
(Far from these lower Spheres, and arched Sky)
Where Seraphs, and Cherubic Orders stand,
Attend the Nod, and wait the blest Command;
Then with Angelic Motion swift obey,
And instantly themselves to farthest Worlds convey.
Thus seated in the Brain the reasoning Soul
Exalted sits, and there directs the whole.
At the least Hint the conscious Spirits start;
Loaden with Images from ev'ry part
In branched Tubes the subtle Atoms rome,
And from each Sense bring fresh Advices home.
The Immaterial Mind attends above,
While they inform how outward Objects move.
The God of Light sends down his streaming Rays
On the warm'd Earth, and chears with smiling Days.
And thus the central Heart the Source contains
Of vital Heat, and in its Cavern strains
The bubling Streams, that stretch the swelling Veins.
Still it conveys the swift returning Blood,
And restless thus maintains the circling Flood.
The Sun (when Summer-heats the Spring succeed)
Changes the tarnish'd Verdure of the Mead:
The dry'd up Rills no longer murmuring creep
O'er the smooth Pebbles, and invite to sleep,
But buzzing Insects make an uncouth Noise,
And sulph'rous Vapours thunder in the Skies.
So when the Heart tumultuous Passions move,
If melting in the softer Flames of Love
With quicker Strokes the hasty Pulses beat,
And glowing Cheeks confess the inward Heat:
Or if fierce Rage provoke, and vengeful Ire,
The Eyes then sparkle with unusual Fire:
Ah! soon the Flames their rapid Fury spread,
And colour all with a malignant Red.
Curses and Oaths th'unthinking Wretch repeats,
And the Tongue faulters in half-utter'd Threats.
How like the Earth mix'd with the watry Mass,
Where troubled Seas the slimy Land embrace,
Are Man's less noble Parts, th'inferiour Drain,
Where forc'd the cruder Sediments remain?
Here stagnate Filth, and Acid worthless Lees,
And noisom Heaps from various Foods encrease.
Hence windy Fumes, and sudden Vapours spread,
That swell the Breast, and rack the aching Head,
Till forc'd by stronger Nature to retreat,
They melting fall, and all dissolve in Sweat:
Dispers'd in watry Drops they pain no more,
But work insensibly thro' ev'ry Pore.
And as the Sun by his own Heat exhales
Clouds from the Sea, and Fogs from marshy Vales;
Which (tho' base-born) ambitious higher move,
Prevent the Light, and hide the Worlds above.
So from corporeal Dregs the Mists condense,
And intercept the Messengers of Sense.
Hence the clog'd Spirits their Confinement mourn,
And Reason waits in vain the swift Return.
The clouded Images their March delay,
Till the rouz'd Soul, by a superiour Ray
Breaks thro' the Shade, and urges on the Day.
But if external Features may surprize,
And a just Texture charm th'unweary'd Eyes;
What are the Godlike Beauties we admire,
When conscious Souls within themselves retire?
Th'Angelic Natures, tho' a while immur'd,
Yet know, they are from Age, and Death secur'd.
Matter, however moulded or refin'd,
Can ne'er be thought to form a thinking Mind.
When the sick, weak, dissolving Body lies,
And rigid Death has fix'd the languid Eyes;
Freed from those irksom Bands th'immortal Fair
Mounts up unseen, and spurns the grosser Air.
Brutes by meer Sense, or secret Impulse move,
Hate without Thought, and without Reason love.
But she from simple Terms Conclusions draws,
Notions abstract, and universal Laws,
And from the Effect pursues th'undoubted Cause.
Too bright for Sense, such Notions are innate;
Heav'n must at first imprint, or Souls create.
With Pleasure these th'attentive Mind employ,
And conscious of her self she feels a secret Joy.
Thus Nought without the First great Cause affects,
Tho' He moves all, and ev'ry Spring directs;
Did not his Care the steddy Frame preserve,
Things would all clash, and from their Order swerve.
Nought can eternal Happiness remove,
Infinites neither lessen, or improve.
Myriads of Ages, e'er the World was made,
Or th'Arches turn'd, or the Foundations laid,
The Deity, unchang'd, was fully blest,
Nor with Creation was his Joy increast,
Full of Himself, th'Almighty is the same,
Tho' He dissolve the Universal Frame,
And Time, and Motion, have no more a Name.
But when the Soul believes Her self Divine,
Will she to mean, or bestial Acts incline?
Or thus inform'd be mov'd with ev'ry Toy
That gives to tickled Sense a transient Joy.
Or can th'immortal Mind, which knows her Self
Stoop to base Gain, and pine for sordid Pelf?
Will present Fame a real Pleasure give
To Things, which must ev'n time it self out-live?
If sinning Souls are doom'd to snaky Fiends,
And flaming Gulphs, and Pain, which never ends;
And they, who alway act, as Heav'n approves,
Enjoy eternal Rest in peaceful Groves;
Who would not labour with unweary'd Pain
To curb Desires, and vicious Thoughts restrain;
To guide his doubtful Steps by Reason's Clue,
And the right Path thro'mazing Labyrinths pursue?
Who would add Fuel to a guilty Flame,
And forfeit future Joy for present Shame?
Or greedy still indulge the craving Tast;
And thoughtless Time in noisy Riots wast?
Who on this Thing call'd Life, has serious Thought,
How short, how foolish, and how soon forgot;
With Scorn the Hurry of the World attends,
While buisy Men pursue unworthy Ends.
The Rubs of Life without Concern he meets,
Braves ev'ry noisy Blast, and careless sits.
A Soul thus buoy'd, no sudden Storms can drown;
Virtue dares smile, when Fortune seems to frown:
Whate'er befals, the virtuous Man is blest,
Tho' pin'd by Sickness, or by Want opprest.
Tho' the great Vulgar, and the Little, rail,
And blasting Tongues o'er weaker Truth prevail:
Arm'd, and secure within himself he lies,
Will mock their Censure, and their Fame despise.
Hardships encountred make the Hero great,
And real Worth will rise by pressing Weight.
Tho' envious Mounds th'increasing Stream oppose,
It grows more rapid, when it overflows.
Man was not made to please himself alone;
No, the least part of Life we call our own.
The Soil, where first we drew the vital Air,
Commands a grateful Sense, and claims our Care.
Relative Duties our Amusements cross,
And all our Minutes to themselves engross.
The Offices of Love, and mutual Trust
Cement the whole, and make the Order just.
What Wretch (ingrate!) to such respects as these
Prefers his Sloth, and courts inglorious Ease?
All Men are useful, when they wise approve
What Heav'n allows, nor too excentric move,
And sink below themselves, or soar above.
Careful observe, what Byass guides the Mind,
And how the ruling Genius is inclin'd.
Ambitious Chiefs the Trumpet's Call obey,
More pleas'd than with the Shepherds humble Lay.
By Dangers never aw'd, nor chill'd by Fear,
They grasp th'avenging Sword, and couch the Spear.
While those, whose Veins feel no such vigorous Fire,
To silent Glades, and thoughtful Groves retire.
The kinder Fates produce the rural Swain,
To sing, and love, and guard his native Plain,
Or bid the fluent Scribe harangue the Town,
And reap the peaceful Honours of the Gown.
But when shamm'd Treaties, or ambitious Aims
Force injur'd States to prove their rightful Claims;
When muster'd Legions to the Field are led,
And widow'd Dames mourn their deserted Bed;
Then (if inclin'd) while youthful Vigour last,
E'er the first lovely Bloom of Life be past,
Make the Campaign, and 'midst the Heroes shine,
And boldly charge, and force th'opposing Line.
But ah! in Camps a thousand Vices reign,
Which blast their Laurels, and their Glories stain.
False Honour justifies the bravely lewd,
And Men are infamous, who dare be good.
Just Right, and Pow'r in War are all the same;
The longest Sword decides the doubtful Claim.
Hence martial Fires degenerate into Rage,
And oft to Murders, or to Rapes engage.
Ah! let the Muse the moving Camp attend,
The virtuous Muse, that best, and kindest Friend;
She will harsh Sounds correct by gentler Notes,
And charm the troubled Mind, and calm the Thoughts.
She in bright Colours real Worth displays,
And tells what Deeds deserve Heroic Praise:
Informs, when Reason speaks, or Passions rave,
And who the Cruel are, and who the Brave.
Virtue (that shines thro' Mail) has greater Charms,
And we by Justice ought to guide our Arms.
Unlike the Natives of the Thracian Hills,
Who ravage all, and glory in the Spoils;
No kind Remorse they feel, no Pity show,
And Pallas only by her Armour know;
But often she retires to peaceful Groves,
And Gowned Arts, and harmless Study loves.
Letters alone correct the Soldiers Heat,
And Mars and Phœbus make the Man compleat.
Think on your future Hopes, and settled State,
But slow resolve, or you will grieve too late:
What now seems good, may not hereafter please;
View then the World, and travel Lands and Seas.
Manners observ'd, and foreign Customs known,
And Laws, and Governments unlike our own,
Inrich with Notions, and inlarge the Mind;
The Judgment is improv'd, the Tast refin'd.
A just Experience will alike reclaim,
From Noise, and empty Flash, and awkward Shame.
The Soul thus pois'd, keeps a proportion'd mean
Betwixt the Bashful, and the Bold-obscene.
Gay and polite the Youths from Travel come,
And leave the Prejudice, and Rust of Home.
With graceful Mien, and unaffected Air
They please the Friend, and captivate the Fair.
Peculiar Virtues every Climate bless,
And Vices in their proper Soil increase.
Observe the differing Nations, and pursue
The pleasing Toil; then various Scenes review,
Impartial judge, and give to each their Due.
When first you weary'd leave the Alpine Rocks,
And see the distant Plains, and hear the bleating Flocks;
Here Italy the ambient Sea divides,
On either side embrac'd by swelling Tides.
She the known World one mighty Empire made,
And Provinces remote her Laws obey'd;
Rome o'er the farthest Isles her Eagles spread,
And vanquish'd Kings before her Legions fled;
Religion only now exalts her Tow'rs,
And Papal Censure aws the Civil Pow'rs.
The Latian Youth enervate now forget
The hardy Toil, nor prone to Martial Heat,
Unactive lie, and please their wanton Thoughts
By murm'ring Fountains, or in sleepy Grots.
But great Remains show, what the Whole has been,
And the vast Pile is in its Ruin seen;
The Latian Soil, whose pregnant Womb replete
With vig'rous Motion, and enliv'ning Heat,
Blest Souls produc'd, wise, diligent, and brave
Heroes design'd to rule Mankind, and save;
Decay'd by Age, yet in her weaker Veins
Prolific Warmth, and active Seed retains;
Oft from the Palaces of modern Rome
Fam'd Sages, and immortal Worthies come;
Who Kingdoms prop, and make the Nations blest;
On whom th'united World might safely rest.
Such Julius now o'er Gallia's Realm presides,
Directs her Counsels, and her People guides;
His Conduct steddy, and unmov'd his Soul,
Whose fix'd Resolves no adverse Pow'rs controul.
The ancient Roman is in Julius seen,
What once the Scipio's were, and Fabii have been.
With dusky Discontent the Spaniards low'r,
And curse the Hand that checks their growing Pow'r.
But him no Anger moves; nor rancour'd Hate,
Tho' hellish Furies would distract the State.
Curst Fiends, from pensive Night, and Chaos sent,
To stir up mutual Wars, and Strife foment.
Envy her self recalls her snaky Brood,
And has unwilling own'd their Rage subdued:
Their fast'ning Teeth still unsuccessful were;
Themselves they gnaw, and their own Bowels tear.
But tho' His vengeful Arm might crush with Ease
Those foolish Malecontents, whom none can please;
Like Cæsar he forgives their causless Hate,
And by his Mercy would reclaim th'Ingrate.
Julius inherits all of Cæsar's Fame,
And the same Virtues now adorn the sacred Name.
Nor winning Manners, and a Chearful Face
Will recommend alone the Gallic Race;
Whose Conversation's sweet, ingaging Air
Pleases alike the Witty, and the Fair.
The Light and Grave in just Proportion joyn'd,
Divert the Passions, and instruct the Mind.
From disagreeing Concord they produce
A Harmony of valuable Use,
And marry solid Wisdom to the sprightly Muse.
To them the Deities disclose their Springs,
Their brightest Fancies, and abstrusest things:
Minerva teaches, and Apollo sings.
Whate'er in eloquent Platonic Lines,
Whate'er in Homer or in Virgil shines,
Whate'er Venusium's Poet did inspire,
The French have follow'd with an equal Fire,
And imitate the Trumpet, and the Lyre.
Whether they sing of Battels and of Arms,
Or Woods resound fair Galatea's Charms,
In them the Roman and the Greek are found,
And Eccho never heard a sweeter Sound.
If then from Calais you design to land
On England's vile, unhospitable Strand,
There shall you find a Race of monstrous Men,
Where mangled Princes strew the Cyclops Den.
A false, ungrateful, and rebellious Brood,
New from a slaughter'd Monarch's sacred Blood.
They break all Laws, all Fancies they pursue,
And follow all Religions, but the True.
All there are Priests, each differently prays,
And worships Heaven ten thousand various ways.
If by the Mob the canting Fool's admir'd,
The Brother's gifted, and the Saint's inspir'd.
Hence the Fanatics rave, and wildly storm,
Convert by Pistol, and by Pike Reform.
Nor are th'Enthusiasts so abhorrent grown
To holy, ceremonious Rites alone.
An English-man on all Extremes will run,
And by Consent be wilfully undone.
If an Opinion thwart what Ancients wrote,
He catches it, and bosoms up the Thought.
Alcides would his Club as soon resign,
As He a darling Heresy decline.
Yet we must do the Sons of England right,
Some Stars shine thro' the Horror of her Night.
For Navigation, and for Skill renown'd,
In Sailing the Terraqueous Globe around.
To them no Shore's untry'd, no Sea's unknown,
Where Waves have murmur'd, and where Winds have blown.
Tiphys, and Jason, who in Argo came,
Lay no Pretensions to so just a Fame,
As Candish, Willoughby, and Drake's Immortal Name.
The Dutch and Celtæ in some kind agree,
Divided only by a Narrow Sea.
But that, detesting a Monarchic Reign,
The Dutch revolting from the Crown of Spain,
Have tugg'd for Freedom thro' a Crimson Flood;
So much more dear their Liberty than Blood!
Then, if you visit the Germanic Soil,
You'll find it worth your Travel and your Toil.
The Martial People's Arms once kept in Awe
Old Rome, which gave the World Imperial Law.
Of fiery Visage, and uncommon Size
They flash'd in Her undaunted Eagles Eyes.
Their honest Hearts abhor the least degree
Of winding Craft, and tricking Knavery.
They scorn all Masks of Prudence, all Disguise,
And Politicians, serpentinely wise.
Whether, that born beneath a cold, thick Air,
Wit seldom falls to the dull German's Share;
Or frequent Fudling does their Spirits drain,
And Bacchus stupify their foggy Brain.
For there they gage the Largeness of your Soul
By Bumpers, and the bigness of your Bowl.
With them a swelling Paunch, and studded Face
Is always reckon'd a becoming Grace;
And He, who can the twentieth Bottle stand,
Is the best Heroe of the Drinking Land.
Nay, Father Bacchus all their Councils guides,
Dictates at Treaties, and at Leagues presides;
No mutual Friendship for sincere will pass
Without the Pleasure of a plenteous Glass;
It then grows strongest, when most Healths they toast,
And He's the Truest Heart, who drinks the most.
So flush'd, and swoln with his accustom'd Load
Silenus prais'd of old the jolly God.
His mellow Train would in the Chorus join,
And bless the Riches of the Purple Vine.
The live-long Night the merry Satyrs sung,
Evius the Subject of each fault'ring Tongue:
Evius the Hills around and hollow Valleys rung.
Nor tho' the German is so much inclin'd
To quaff full Bowls, and drown th'æthereal Mind,
Is every part so sottish, and so wild,
As if no Genius o'er the Nation smil'd.
Some bold, bright Spirits have been known to blaze
For Learning, Wit, and Arts of wond'rous Praise.
Who has not heard what Kings their Ruin owe
To the forg'd Thunder of Mankind below?
How from Germanic Skill th'Invention came,
Whose dire Explosion sets the World in flame.
When the loud Cannon missive Iron pours,
Or from the slaughtering Bomb Gradivus roars.
Nor must we his Immortal Name forget,
To whom we owe the Monuments of Wit,
Whence what the Muse has sung, or Heroe fought,
In Characters indelible is wrote.
All Times, all Nations shall the German know,
While Arts shall flourish, or the Rhine shall flow.
Here must I tell how a Teutonic Soul
Bred up in stern Bellona's active School,
Is unacquainted with inglorious Ease,
And scorns the happy Luxury of Peace.
For if their quiet Prince has no Demand
With hostile Arms upon a Neighb'ring Land,
So much for Fighting is their ruling Lust,
That, lest in Sloth and Lethargy they rust,
In murdering Wars they serve for Foreign Pay,
And prostitute their Venal Hands to Slay.
Now Northward bend your Travel, nor disdain
To view the Countries nigh the Baltic Main,
The warlike Sweed, the Polander, and Dane.
If nigh the Poles the Muses like to dwell,
Their heavenly Heat will nipping Colds expel:
They fear no Danger from the freezing Air,
Or horrid Influence of the Greater Bear.
But You, perhaps, are not inclin'd to roam
Such distant Lengths, from your dear Native Home.
Nor will your Parents, and your Friends forego,
Nor by fatiguing Journeys seek to know
The Men, or Tempers of unequal Skies,
Nor will you at the vast Expence be Wise.
For things of this important Use and Weight
Require sound Bodies, and a large Estate,
To view the various World: the Weak and Poor
Can nor the Labour nor the Cost endure.
The Rich and Healthy should alone sustain
Hazards by Land, and Dangers on the Main.
But when your Blood is to due Temper wrought,
And Time has mellow'd you to riper Thought,
Then fix your Soul, and your Career restrain,
And prudently draw in the slacken'd Rein.
On Civil Life now seriously attend,
To serve your Country, and oblige your Friend.
For this with nicest Observation try
Whatever moves your Mind, or meets your Eye;
Whatever from a due Reflection springs,
In wealthy Cities, or the Courts of Kings;
O'er in your Mind their Foreign Manners run,
Their Virtues follow, and their Vices shun.
In a just Mixture of their Arts excel,
In acting worthily, and thinking well.
So through Sicilian Hybla's pleasing Groves
The Bee, intent on his sweet Labour, roves.
Sav'ry and Thyme the little Drudge devours,
And gleans his Harvest from the fragrant Flow'rs;
Does the Blew Violets and Roses chuse,
And sucks fresh Virtue from the Morning Dews,
To load his waxen Chambers with Nectarean Juice.
Mean time Inure your self to Thought, and strive
To keep the noble, inborn Heat alive.
Improve whate'er your Reason has acquir'd,
The Soul is active, and can ne'er be tir'd;
In valu'd Books your vacant Hours employ,
And, what your Travels could not give, enjoy.
To read good Authors, of a Taste refin'd,
Heightens the Stature of the lofty Mind.
If you delight to hear the Actions told,
Of Heroes prudent, resolute and bold,
And every glorious Thing perform'd of Old:
To wise Historians for Instruction fly,
And read them over with a curious Eye.
Livy will tell you, how the Roman Pile
Rose to such Grandeur, in as grand a Stile;
And Plutarch mentions with a Master's Stroke,
How Captains battled, and how Sages spoke.
Or if you seek to know, with learned Toil,
The Dispositions of each Sky and Soil,
The Climes and Regions never seen before,
Roul Strabo, Ptolemy, and Cluver o'er;
And ev'ry Author, whose prevailing Light
May chase away the Clouds of Error's Night,
Inrich the Mind, and set the Judgment right.
But, Lastly, let your Conversation turn
On what is Good, and from the Wisest learn.
If Human Nature you desire to know,
And from what secret Springs the Passions flow.
When there are chose and cull'd, for noble Ends,
Some bright Companions, and well-natur'd Friends,
Knowledge and Virtue, on a worthy Mind
Steal silently, and propagate their Kind.
Here must I needs exclaim, nor can forbear,
On Noblemen's Improvidential Care;
Who to their forward Sons give loose the Reins,
And taint the generous Blood, which fills their Veins;
Whose lewd Associates commonly are known
For Sots, and Scandals of the Court and Town.
For soon as Tutors have resign'd their Charge
Of my young Lord, to let him live at large;
He, who writes Man, must what he pleases do,
Indulge his Fancy, his own Course pursue.
Yet think not that this hopeful Babe of Grace
Will follow Counsel, and the best embrace;
No: He'll to Brothels or the Tavern run,
And whore, and guzzle till the Morning Sun.
Or at Groom-Porters He his Elbow shakes,
Accompany'd by Scoundrels, Pimps and Rakes;
Who with false Pleasures the soft Peer intice,
Then plunge the Bubble in the Gulf of Vice.
Nor are this vile and ignominious Race
Content True Honour from his Breast to chase.
They shut his Eyes to beauteous Truth, and blind
With giddy Notions his unpractis'd Mind.
Soon as my easy and too generous Lord
With ample Feasts has crown'd the loaded Board,
Down strait the Parasitic Blockheads sit,
To scatter their insipid, flatt'ring Wit:
This sordid Crew of Rascals, without Sense,
Praise every Bit they eat, at his Expence.
The Viands some extol, and some the Wine,
And every Glass they drink, cry, Wondrous fine!
Here a stanch Sot takes up the foaming Bowl,
And swears his Lordship has a Noble Soul.
There a pert Coxcomb of a different Stile,
A mere Sir Fopling, with affected Smile,
Does Beauty's Queen, and Lady's Love commend,
And vows there's nothing like a Female Friend;
With luscious Words excites his Patron's Fire,
And kindles into Lewdness young Desire.
‘Did not your Lordship a soft Damsel spy,
‘How You she ogled with a roguish Eye;
‘She tip'd a wanton Wink, and smil'd, and sigh'd,
‘As if for You the tender Victim dy'd.
‘I know Your Heart is to Compassion prone,
‘True Flesh and Blood, not made of Steel or Stone.
‘Can you withstand the Torrent of her Charms?
‘Who would not languish in her snowy Arms?
‘Mind not what dull and sullen Catos say,
‘Or canting Solons: You're as wise as they.
‘Now your first Blood and springing Youth employ
‘In Amorous Sports, and give a Loose to Joy.
Such are the Guests which you at board maintain,
Such the raw Mind in Vice and Nonsense Train;
The common Chat of th'unreflecting Crew,
Who drop whatever's Great, or Good, or True.
While I new Matter for a Verse prepare,
What heavenly Voice affects my listning Ear?
What Deity a Human Form assumes,
And with Ambrosial Breath the Air perfumes;
All things around with Beams of Beauty shine,
And Roses spring beneath Her Feet divine:
I see (nor does my Fancy cheat my Sight)
Calliope, in all her Graces bright.
What awful Lustre lightens from her Face!
The Goddess known by her Majestic Pace!
Why deigns the Muse to quit the Learned Throng,
And Pindus Hill, for my advent'rous Song?
Say, art Thou come My Labours to espouse,
And with Parnassian Bays adorn my Brows?
Go on, said She, in Thy Immortal Theme
To merit Mine, and all the World's Esteem.
Improve Thy Song, and in thy Sacred Breast
Admit with Joy a Second, Heavenly Guest.
'Tis not enough that your auspicious Care
Has furnish'd Man, if You neglect the Fair.
Shall Arts and Learning be alone confin'd
To the Male Image of th'Eternal Mind?
Nature, who gave, till she could give no more,
On Woman lavish'd all her precious Store.
Who now courts solid and substantial Praise,
Nor values Beauty, wedded to a Face.
Her Mind peculiar Ornaments desires,
And Virtues proper to her Sex requires.
And since my tuneful Sisters all delight
In comely Forms, obliging to the Sight:
Since we alone can tell what softer Art
Suits with the Genius of a Virgin's Heart:
I leave the learned Mountains to disclose
What well Thy lov'd Calliopea knows.
Be Thou attentive, while I deign to shine
On thy smooth Page, and brighten every Line.
'Tis true that Man is more sublime and bold,
But Woman's figur'd of a finer Mold.
Hence the soft Nature of her plyant Clay
Will all Impressions take, all Forms obey.
Who then excludes the Virgins, as unfit
For the high Arts, and Mysteries of Wit?
Or why should base, invidious Man deny
The Search of Truth to their discerning Eye?
Why, when Ingenit Reason shoots her Ray
To light us all, are they Forbid the Day?
Why should th'implanted Energy of Mind
Grow faint, and slacken in the Female kind?
Impartial Jove forbids so great a Crime,
Nor was Apollo only born to climb
Aonian Hills; we too inhabit there,
The Muses, ever Tuneful, ever Fair.
Tritonian Pallas does Her Ægis wield,
Nor will to Phœbus or Gradivus yield,
But rules in Athens, and commands the Field.
Yet (O the Folly of the Gallic Race!)
No Princely Nymph does here our Rites embrace.
With Thee, Valois, all Female Wit is fled,
With Thee is every Grace and Beauty dead.
No more Fine Arts are of this Country's Growth.
With Modern Ladies, so supine in Sloth.
The Mind lies fallow, and none care to toil
In the good Ground, and sow the noble Soil.
But if we bend far Northward, to behold
A People, horrid with the Arctic Cold,
There does Christina, Queen of Vandals reign,
And kindly welcomes the Pierian Train.
From Southern Climes the slighted Muses flown,
Find safe Protection in the Frigid Zone.
She peaceful Arts with Arms delights to joyn,
And with Her Father's Laurels mingle Mine.
Who can the Counsels of the Gods relate,
And dark Designs of Providence and Fate?
The Goths, a Nation barbarous and rude,
An ignorant, unletter'd Multitude,
Who o'er the World once, like a Deluge, broke,
And chain'd the Roman Empire to their Yoke.
When trampled Arts did every where expire,
Spoils of the greedy Sword, or raging Fire;
Have lost their rugged and uncourtly Mien,
Fil'd into Smoothness by so wise a Queen.
And amply now to Learning have repaid
For the wide Wounds their bloody Fathers made.
Ye Gallic Matrons, if you scorn to know
The Pleasures, which from polish'd Letters flow:
If you delight not to inform your Soul,
At least preserve your Body chaste, and whole,
Whether the Loom you for Employment chuse,
Or else the Distaff, or the Needle use,
Let Virtue be the Business of your Life,
And take Example by a Sabine Wife.
Who is not shock'd to see the beauteous Fair,
With Looks obscene, and Meretricious Air?
Lais and Flora modest Swains despise,
Their wanton Words, lewd Smiles, and swimming Eyes;
And all the Tricks, by which loose Nymphs disgrace
The chaster Honours of the Female Race.
By no such Charms did Psyche from above
Allure and captivate the God of Love.
By graceful Innocence alone she won
The melting Heart of Cytherea's Son:
A Beam from her Etherial Virtue came,
And lighted up the pure, the Virgin-Flame.
She said, and strait she vanish'd into Air,
And me surrender'd up to gloomy Care.
Confounded at her sudden Flight I spoke,
And into these despairing Raptures broke:
O Goddess, could my Voice or Reason sway
So far upon Thee, to demand thy Stay!
In Words and Numbers never heard before,
I would Thy Presence once again implore:
Thou shouldst instruct me, and inspire my Song,
To tell what Arts to Government belong:
What Qualities a Hero most adorn,
What Virtues suit a Mind to Scepters born;
These wou'd the Heavenly Youth descend to hear,
Whose Kingly Hands now move the Gallic Sphere.
At whose Paternal Throne his People bow,
And whom before they lov'd, they worship now.
Should I pursue my Labour, and rehearse
Thy sacred Dictates in well-polish'd Verse;
Should I to Him thy pleasing Offerings bring,
A Present worthy so Divine a King;
Should I declare the Methods to maintain
His Subject's Love, the Manna of his Reign:
He would, perhaps, with willing Ears attend,
Approve my Duty, and the Muse commend.
The Time will come (nor may the Fates incline
To draw a wicked Length the Silver Twine!
When, vainly practis'd in the Sports of War,
Spain, weary'd out with Hatred, shall give o'er,
And Wrath, and Blood, and Strife be seen no more.
Then proud Hesperia, from her Dangers wise,
Turns all her Counsels, and with asking Eyes
For Peace to Gallia's pious Hero flies.
Who takes the suppliant Nation to his Arms,
Grants their Request, and with his Goodness charms.
Hence muttering Drums, and murd'ring Cannons cease,
And the calm World is lull'd in soothing Peace.
War, Envy, and Ambition's haughty Train
Bound, with a sullen Pride, and stern Disdain,
Growl on their hundred Knots, and bite the brazen Chain.
While Lewis with Angelic Smile looks down
On the tame Horrour of each idle Frown.
See where he comes! in God-like Beauty new,
And Olive crowns the Brows, where Laurel grew.
With smiling Air, and condescending Grace
He meets advancing the Castalian Race.
And to the Louvre and Versailes admits
The Sacred Poets, and Cœlestial Wits.
Whose lofty Songs shall strike the listning Sky,
Round the charm'd Court the Melody shall fly,
And Eccho in Harmonious Raptures die.
The Muse transported in Mæonian Verse
Shall War's foul Causes and Beginnings curse
Which twice ten Years has delug'd out a Flood
Of Crimson Dye, and mingled Blood with Blood.
While stiff in Steel, for many dire Campaigns,
The French and Spaniard battled on the Plains.
What numerous Navies with encountring Trees
Have planted the wide Wilderness of Seas!
What Fleets were lost! what Towns in Ashes laid!
How on each side inconstant Fortune play'd,
With all the various Chance of Wars severer Trade.
Then, as to Pity, Grief or Rage succeeds,
And in the Song the warlike Hero bleeds.
The frighted Nymph dies at the horrid Sounds.
Of fancied Groans, and sight of absent Wounds.
Then shall Euterpe strike the peaceful Shell;
And Triumphs in alluring Numbers tell:
Triumphs, which more than Victories will please,
Of Learned Leisure, and improving Ease.
In various Verse shall various Pleasures show,
And make dull Life worth living for below.
Plump Bacchus, and the Patroness of Corn
Shall with full Canisters the Feast adorn.
The generous Grape and golden Grain shall pour,
And rain promiscuous Fruits, a plenteous Shower.
Chiefly the turgid and luxuriant Vine
On laughing Hills shall wantonly recline.
Then shall in Matrimonial League be ty'd
The loving Bridegroom and the longing Bride,
In lawful Kisses their sweet Hours employ,
And court the Combat of the Cyprian Joy.
And, for their beauteous Child, with grateful Tongue
Shall bless the Muse, who so divinely sung.
SO when Great Jove did with the Gyants Fight,
To Heaven asserting his undoubted Right,
Cæus and Vast Enceladus he slew,
With Lightning sindg'd the Bold conspiring Crew,
And lodg'd them in the Mountains, which they threw.
In Ætna's Caves, a Sacrifice to Pride,
They breed new Earthquakes, as they shift their side.
Then the fair Sisters of th'Aonian Throng
Met the Victorious God with lofty Song.
Curst the Rebellion of Earth's impious Race,
Who durst with Jove dispute superiour Place.
Peals of Applause thro' the bright Palace rung,
And the charm'd Stars danc'd, as the Muses sung.
Gods were with Gods in strict Embraces bound,
Full Bowls of Nectar walk'd the pleasing Round,
And Mirth, and Joy, and Peace sincere, the Heavenly Banquet crown'd.