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

Poor Crispin wander'd home, with aching heart,
Pierc'd thro' and thro', with many a murderous dart!
To meet a Mother, bent with burdening Age!
All torn with sorrows, Time could scarce asswage!
A Skeleton! much melted down with tears,
From past misfortunes, and from present fears!
Perplex'd with cares—by dire disaster cross'd—
Her Friend! her Husband! kind Protector! lost!
To meet Relations, once so blythe and bland,

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With lustrous look, and close-compressing hand,
Now skulking, distant, with indignant eyes,
While covering, with a scowl, some dark surmise;
Perchance with muttering mock, and frowning face,
Whispering what crimes must cause this deep disgrace—
To front alliances with fawning look,
And fashion'd forms, eleven long years forsook—
New friendships find—bind old connexions, broke—
And humbly bend beneath each ancient yoke—
Find patron views with pristine vigour, fled
Still bend, with toil, to drudge for daily bread,
Amidst the loss of fame—the World's foul sneers—
While doubling down with heaps of added Years;
There, patient, waiting Death's approaching doom,
Then, with Forefathers' dust, partake a tomb!

Was this the Fortune Faith had hopes to find,
To fix his Friends and glad his grateful Mind?
These the fair fruits a Favourite seem'd to see;
Rich grapes of gold, on Patronage's tree!
Suspended, full, on every furnish'd spray,
By fruitful promises, from day to day?
The clustering crops, which, gather'd, more would grow;
That Worth might win, or Bounty would bestow?
Alas! the laughing vintage vainly ends,
That on capricious female Minds depends!
How scanty is the crop! the fruit how small!
Still ripening slow, or prospering not at all!
Oft wanting warmth from Patron's prospering smile,
With breezes breath'd from full free will the while!
Frail is the flow'r, and fugitive the fruit,
That springs from fickle Friendship's cankery root!
Soon buds and blooms are nipp'd by freezing frown!
Soon fruitage drops, by Passion's blasts blown down!
The short-liv'd shoots, that Flattery's radiance fed,
From cold caprice soon hang each shrivell'd head;
Nor long the rotten roots fresh sap supply,
But stem decays, and bearing branches die!

Sometimes gross Selfishness distributes gold,
In hopes of gathering gain an hundred-fold.
Oft Affectation shows a shrewd pretence
To look like Charity with prompt expence;
While Ostentation all her bounties tells
To fill Fame's pipe with more expansive swells.
Oft Pomp, and Pride, and Vanity's conceal'd
With blythe Benevolence's vizor veil'd;
And, kerchief'd close, like Sympathy, appear
To pity Penury's sigh, and Sorrow's tear;
By speeches, labouring, more than gifts, to prove,
All springs from pure, disinterested Love—
But each corrupted Wretch such bribes have bought
Must strangle Truth by throttling honest thought;
Must feel the force of every dirty dole
The seal of servitude, and sale of Soul!
If, ever after, falsely-construed Facts
Should stamp opinion in such tacit pacts—
Should looks appear like proofs of suffering Sense,
Or speech proclaim the injur'd Heart's offence;
Such looks, such words, are construed coarse and rude,
Such honest acts all gross ingratitude!

O Gratitude! sweet relative of Love!
Bless'd loan, like her, transmitted from above!
Delightful Guest! who ne'er dost long depart
From thy warm dwelling in the upright heart.
Yet upright hearts may spurn, and must despise
All cursed lusts of cruelty and lies!
And tho' thy grateful memory ne'er forgets,
From Fellow-mortals, the minutest debts;
But all thy faithful bosom's feelings burn
To make all benefits their full return—
Still striving to remunerate ready meed,
For every gracious word, or gladdening deed;
For every friendly look's fraternal tone,
Each kind intent, or generous wish, when known!
Thou ne'er disclaim'st one act of kindness, wrought,
One soothing word, soft wish, or tender thought;
Still Thou must shrink when sharply suffering wrong,
From frowning face, fierce look, and taunting tongue,
When Hatred's glooms, and Anger's grating sounds,
With Spite, and Malice, break all moral bounds:
And tho' Thou still retain'st each virtuous view,
Compell'd to fly when such foul Fiends pursue:
As tender flow'rs and fruits the Earth witholds
From wintery winds, or Autumn's cutting colds,
So Thou withold'st glad words, and glances warm,
While Passions pass, or blow harsh blustering storm;
Makest no kind accent heard, or sweet smile seen,
While freezing frowns display the Soul of Spleen:
But, as the Virgin, fair, to covert flies,
To skreen her snowy skin from Summer skies;
Or tucks her shining train, and shuns to meet
The splashing crowd, or coach, in spattering street,
Thou hid'st thy bosom fair, and beauteous face,

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From Flattery's eye, and Falshood's bold embrace—
Conceal'st, with care, thy spotless form, and fame,
From Pride's intemperate force, and Passion's flame—
Fliest faithless Friends, become base Foes, at last,
With Conscience clear, to 'scape the filth they cast.

Pure Gratitude! thy strength can ne'er withstand
Impetuous Pride, and brawling Passion's band!
Thy charms from Calumny scarce e'er escape,
While Scandal Sketches frightful, face and shape!
False prejudice and pique, ne'er, long, will spare
Thy heavenly looks, and inoffensive air;
Nor Envy's eye see clear thy simple mien,
While colour'd lenses, Malice slides between!

By these thy sacred stole is constant stain'd—
Thy best intentions, noblest aims, arraign'd—
For branding Pride no opposition brooks,
But marks, like libels, all thy mildest looks!
Calls writhings rude—the meekest answers rash,
While flogg'd, while flay'd, with Persecution's lash!
Not suffering Servitude to flinch, nor feel,
While struck with weapon'd looks like whips of steel!
No pure designs, nor perfect conduct, saves
From foul surmises, poor imprison'd Slaves,
While Passion prompts dark Prejudice to see,
And prove delinquency from Pride's decree;
For when sore, joyless, Jealousy assaults,
All honest efforts, turn to fancied faults.
All shame-faced fronts—all signs of sorrow shown;
Each plaintive sigh, each deep and dolourous groan;
True Innocence's tears, when amply spilt,
Are deem'd full damning proofs of grossest guilt—
Ev'n Death by razor, water, pistol, rope,
Would ne'er fill up Spite's curs'd infernal scope,
But Passsion's pow'r so fierce—Revenge so fell,
Would wish to sink delinquent Souls to Hell.

But what are they, who, thus, by Hatred blind,
So virulently vex, and curse, their Kind?
Who servile Vassals causelessly accuse,
For thus witholding mere imagin'd dues?
Who thus convict, and vent such sentence vile,
Against ingratitude, or dangerous guile?
Who dare Delinquent's fancied faults condemn,
Yet feel no deeds of darkness fix on Them?
Are they the ruthless Rich; the graceless Great;
Who thus their sinful Fellow-mortals treat?
Still hope in endless happiness to live,
Who ne'er a Brother's blemishes forgive?
Who, for mere foibles Culprits dare condemn,
Suppose pure Deity will pardon Them?

Will Wealth's proud Offsprings, Pow'r's imperious Elves,
With like discrimination damn themselves?
Has every Child of Pow'r, and Imp of Pelf,
Lov'd every Neighbour as it loves itself?
Will Pleasure's Daughters, Dissipation's Wives,
As nicely scrutinize their careless lives?
Will Folly's fashionable Sires, and Sons,
Engage their talents while Time's hour-glass runs?
Turn the same end of telescopic glass
And watch their faults, and foibles, while they pass?
Inspect their Souls with microscopic sight,
And read what Act was rash? what Habit right?
Dissect their hearts with diligence, and care,
To trace what words were foul, what wishes fair?
Their teeming motives accurately mind
And mark how each might influence all Mankind?
That none originate from wish, or will,
To work, with craft, one Fellow-creature's ill?
Doth ne'er one act, word, thought, or motive, tend
Tow'rds some pernicious or unfruitful end?
And, while thus peeping, circumspect, within,
Do They perceive no sprouts, or seeds, of Sin?
No wicked Wish—no dangerous Desire—
Lust, Pride, nor Passion, set their Souls on fire?
No crude conception breeding in their breast,
By Conscience, or by Reason, unrepress'd;
Which, should it boldly ripen into birth,
Would cause confusion in this hapless Earth?
Has Lust ne'er propagated some lewd plan,
To ruin Woman, or to injure Man?
No swelling Pride, or struggling Passion, strove
To raise rebellion 'gainst the God of Love?
Is every Lust so lastingly eras'd
That moral Character's no whit disgrac'd?
Are impious Pride, and Passion, so subdued
They ne'er in acts can rise, or words be rude,
But all become by Revelation's rules,
Religion's noblest tests and happiest tools?
Does grace guide all in strict obedience, still,
To that bless'd Being's ever-holy Will;
Loving the Lord their God, throughout Life's Length,

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With all their Heart? and Mind? and Soul? and Strength?
That Love express'd in prayer, and thanks, and praise,
His due, as Friend and Father, all their days?

Alas! all eyes too obviously behold
Their faithless manners form'd in different mould;
Their conduct shap'd on Pandemonium's plan,
Disguis'd, as Foes, alike, to God and Man!
Along the stream of time they idly roll,
Nor once reflect each Frame contains a Soul!
Each Vessel sailing, swift, on Seas of Lusts,
Borne on by billowy Pride, and Passion's gusts;
While Penury must submit to drudgeries due,
To furnish cargoes, feed, and clothe, each Crew;
Nor from their toil one moment's time be staid;
Yet meet chastisement still while duty's paid!

And will not wounded hearts, in pain, reply,
Tho' meek as Moses, with a sob, or sigh?
Will not Man's heav'n-lent Spirit seek relief,
From such distress, such pungent pain and grief?
And, boldly independent, stand aloof;
To spurn gross arrogance, and rash reproof?
Just, genuine Virtue's right-lined views enlarge?
Withstand low Spite's uncharitable charge?
Against Injustice and base Lies rebel,
And all a plotting Despot's arts repel?

Can human heart suppress the sigh and groan;
Can human tongue maintain accustom'd tone,
Convuls'd with Anger's vellicating strokes,
While Spite applies her salt and acid jokes?
While base Design, with aggravating pain,
Tears every fibre of the frame in twain?
While countless proofs prove clear to Common Sense
The heart's affliction and the head's offence?

Should conscientious Truth still silent sit,
While Falshood tries to make more fetters fit?
Ought Honesty hold up a patient hand
While Cruelty imprints her burning brand?
A Christian's faithful Soul, thro' dread of strife,
Relinquish every privilege of Life?
Implicitly subscribe condemning debts,
Penn'd down by Passion in her desperate pets?
Indorse blank drafts Injustice dares indite,
Nor e'er make bold to state each balance right?
Permit base lies and libels to upbraid,
For debts and obligations, doubly paid?
Let Pride, for favours past, still fume, and flout,
By drops of bosom blood long blotted out!
While supererogatory items, stand,
A list, much larger, on the dexter hand!

Can Justice clearly solve the doubtful suit,
While Merit's dash'd, and Modesty stands mute?
While Selfishness obtrudes her sordid claim?
While Truth's abash'd, and shuns the public shame?
While Wealth's bold Pow'r, with Prejudice combines,
To plan the punishment, and fix the fines?
But upright Advocates will scout the plea,
When counter-depositions disagree;
And point out every proof, and truth, distinct,
Tho' Juries waver'd, and tho' Judges' wink't.