The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale In two volumes |
 | I. |
|
A POETICAL EPISTLE TO SIR ASHTON LEVER. |
 |
| II. |
 | The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale |  |
115
A POETICAL EPISTLE TO SIR ASHTON LEVER.
Nostris acerbissimis doloribus, variisque, et undique circumfusis molestiis, alia nulla potuit inveniri Levatio.
Cicero's Conclusion of his Tusculan Questions.
117
A strange, unfashionable modern muse,
Who, with charmed eye the works of nature views;
Still fond to walk in her eternal road,
And still despising perishable mode;
No flatterer of the great, nor of the vain,
To Lever wakes her tributary strain.
Who, with charmed eye the works of nature views;
Still fond to walk in her eternal road,
And still despising perishable mode;
No flatterer of the great, nor of the vain,
To Lever wakes her tributary strain.
Whilst others make mankind their easy prey;
Of folly, and of vice, extend the sway;
Some new incentives plan, to loose desire;
Or stimulate the gamester's desperate fire;
A war with sense, to please the coxcomb, wage;
And dupe him with a vile Italian stage;
Lever expands creation's mighty roll;
Suggests our Maker to the languid soul;
Kindles, in torpid breasts, a generous flame;
And bids us glow with virtue, or with shame.
Of folly, and of vice, extend the sway;
Some new incentives plan, to loose desire;
Or stimulate the gamester's desperate fire;
118
And dupe him with a vile Italian stage;
Lever expands creation's mighty roll;
Suggests our Maker to the languid soul;
Kindles, in torpid breasts, a generous flame;
And bids us glow with virtue, or with shame.
In order fair, we view, disposed by thee,
Inhabitants of earth, and air, and sea;
The various wonders of our globe explore,
From Siam's realm, to California's shore;
From where Magellan's thundering billows roll,
To the fixed winter of the northern pole.
Inhabitants of earth, and air, and sea;
The various wonders of our globe explore,
From Siam's realm, to California's shore;
From where Magellan's thundering billows roll,
To the fixed winter of the northern pole.
Ye, who, with impious pride, contemn that law,
Meant, from our lives the best effects to draw;
That law, which Milton's heaven-taught genius fired,
Which Locke's, and Newton's thoughts, and acts inspired;
Ye, who impute disorder of the brain
To those who worship in a Christian fane;
For once, reject your light, and glittering toys;
For once, emerging into men, from boys,
Of thought and sentiment, the pleasures try;
No earthly gain can with their blessings vie;
Perhaps they'll teach you how to live, and die.
Repair to Lever's temple, and adore;
And blush, and shudder, and be fools no more.
To mar your piety, you'll find, at least,
No wanton organ, and no drawling priest.
Meant, from our lives the best effects to draw;
That law, which Milton's heaven-taught genius fired,
Which Locke's, and Newton's thoughts, and acts inspired;
Ye, who impute disorder of the brain
To those who worship in a Christian fane;
For once, reject your light, and glittering toys;
For once, emerging into men, from boys,
119
No earthly gain can with their blessings vie;
Perhaps they'll teach you how to live, and die.
Repair to Lever's temple, and adore;
And blush, and shudder, and be fools no more.
To mar your piety, you'll find, at least,
No wanton organ, and no drawling priest.
Thither, with me, you condescend to go;
I'm confident you love what makes a show.
We, surely, tread on consecrated ground;
How nature's Author strikes us, all around!
I feel profaneness in each idle sound!
'Tis God who speaks: will you refuse to hear?
Nay, he reproves; will you not learn to fear?
Ye, who can only essences inhale;
Who shrink, and tremble, at the frosty gale;
Will you not dread that Being, who presides
O'er the wind's force, and o'er the swelling tides;
Who shakes with earthquakes, now, some guilty shore,
Now bids his thunder, now, Vesuvius, roar!
I'm confident you love what makes a show.
We, surely, tread on consecrated ground;
How nature's Author strikes us, all around!
I feel profaneness in each idle sound!
'Tis God who speaks: will you refuse to hear?
Nay, he reproves; will you not learn to fear?
Ye, who can only essences inhale;
Who shrink, and tremble, at the frosty gale;
Will you not dread that Being, who presides
O'er the wind's force, and o'er the swelling tides;
Who shakes with earthquakes, now, some guilty shore,
Now bids his thunder, now, Vesuvius, roar!
Yet, generous Lever! in our leaden days,
All thy reward may prove, the poet's praise!
For, thy magnificent and varied store,
Which gives to science views unknown before;
Which more unfolds the worlds harmonious plan,
The mind eternal, and the mind of man
(It's master, in some inauspicious hour,
Meanly by wealth deserted, and by power)
Like Houghton's monuments of art, may go
To find a patroness in Russian snow;
May be received (since taste is, here, no more)
With genial ardour on a frozen shore.
All thy reward may prove, the poet's praise!
120
Which gives to science views unknown before;
Which more unfolds the worlds harmonious plan,
The mind eternal, and the mind of man
(It's master, in some inauspicious hour,
Meanly by wealth deserted, and by power)
Like Houghton's monuments of art, may go
To find a patroness in Russian snow;
May be received (since taste is, here, no more)
With genial ardour on a frozen shore.
And yet, there was a more propitious time,
Ere knowledge, vigorous, once, in England's clime
Had all it's honours lost, and all it's prime;
Ere luxury, more general, and refined,
And venal baseness, quite enslaved the mind;
Gave all a Dæmon's rage to low desire,
And quenched the fainting sparks of generous fire;
When English liberality was shown
To ores, and spars, and butterflies of Sloane.
Ere knowledge, vigorous, once, in England's clime
Had all it's honours lost, and all it's prime;
Ere luxury, more general, and refined,
And venal baseness, quite enslaved the mind;
Gave all a Dæmon's rage to low desire,
And quenched the fainting sparks of generous fire;
When English liberality was shown
To ores, and spars, and butterflies of Sloane.
Ye Fair! the pride of celebrated isles!
What power is in your frowns, and in your smiles,
I need not say: you may retard our doom;
And bid, again, a nation's virtue bloom.
When great Lycurgus formed the Spartan state,
As fixed by him, impregnable to fate;
His rough Laconian sons were taught to feel
No ardour, like the love of publick weal:
They sought no foes; they owned no haughty Lord;
And only for their country drew their sword:
Then were they nobly prodigal of breath;
And all their wish was, Liberty, or Death.
Through either sex the brave infection ran;
They all pursued their legislator's plan.
Ere a young Spartan soldier took the field,
His mother brought him forth the sacred shield;
And said;—“Let this, from thee, by none be torne;
“Bear home thy shield; or on thy shield be borne.”
He felt the precept throb in every vein:
He conquered; or was numbered with the slain.
What power is in your frowns, and in your smiles,
I need not say: you may retard our doom;
And bid, again, a nation's virtue bloom.
121
As fixed by him, impregnable to fate;
His rough Laconian sons were taught to feel
No ardour, like the love of publick weal:
They sought no foes; they owned no haughty Lord;
And only for their country drew their sword:
Then were they nobly prodigal of breath;
And all their wish was, Liberty, or Death.
Through either sex the brave infection ran;
They all pursued their legislator's plan.
Ere a young Spartan soldier took the field,
His mother brought him forth the sacred shield;
And said;—“Let this, from thee, by none be torne;
“Bear home thy shield; or on thy shield be borne.”
He felt the precept throb in every vein:
He conquered; or was numbered with the slain.
To England's fair, the poet recommends
Means more adventurous, aimed at distant ends.
But, ever, to the great, and arduous deed,
Peculiar honour is the destined meed.
The task auspicious of the Spartan dame,
Was, but to speed the course of virtue's flame;
Yours is the task, when all her power is fled,
To bid her warmth re-animate the dead;
To aid the weaker influence of my pen;
And to substantiate shadows into men;
Shadows of those, who conquered in the fray,
At Cressy's, Agincourt's, and Blenheim's day.
Yet let not hope on your bright aspects lower;
Scarce is a miracle beyond your power.
Means more adventurous, aimed at distant ends.
But, ever, to the great, and arduous deed,
Peculiar honour is the destined meed.
The task auspicious of the Spartan dame,
Was, but to speed the course of virtue's flame;
Yours is the task, when all her power is fled,
122
To aid the weaker influence of my pen;
And to substantiate shadows into men;
Shadows of those, who conquered in the fray,
At Cressy's, Agincourt's, and Blenheim's day.
Yet let not hope on your bright aspects lower;
Scarce is a miracle beyond your power.
Prescribe us, by your exemplary lives,
As tender mothers, faithful, generous wives,
The moral excellence we must pursue,
If we aspire to be approved by you.
On you those sentiments kind Heaven bestowed,
Which urge us on, in glory's thorny road;
Then, let them, by exertion, be refined;
And into culture shame each dozing mind.
Chuse fine amusements; let them not be vain;
And oft, at Lever's, join the sober train;
The female form, august; the female mien,
Inspired by thought, will dignify the scene.
Still, in your minds, let judgment hold her seat;
Scorn an Italian trill; a Frenchman's feet:
Still, let the path to happiness be trod;
And give your hours to Nature, and to God.
Our living race the Tarentines renew;
Or softer Sybarites, in them, we view.
By principle they never will be led
To emulate the glory of the dead.
Of English manners, then, ye English Fair,
To give reforming models, be your care.
Let, from your influence, our improvement flow;
Extort from love, what we to reason owe;
And since neglectful of her card we sail,
Let us to virtue steer, by passion's gale.
As tender mothers, faithful, generous wives,
The moral excellence we must pursue,
If we aspire to be approved by you.
On you those sentiments kind Heaven bestowed,
Which urge us on, in glory's thorny road;
Then, let them, by exertion, be refined;
And into culture shame each dozing mind.
Chuse fine amusements; let them not be vain;
And oft, at Lever's, join the sober train;
The female form, august; the female mien,
Inspired by thought, will dignify the scene.
Still, in your minds, let judgment hold her seat;
Scorn an Italian trill; a Frenchman's feet:
Still, let the path to happiness be trod;
And give your hours to Nature, and to God.
123
Or softer Sybarites, in them, we view.
By principle they never will be led
To emulate the glory of the dead.
Of English manners, then, ye English Fair,
To give reforming models, be your care.
Let, from your influence, our improvement flow;
Extort from love, what we to reason owe;
And since neglectful of her card we sail,
Let us to virtue steer, by passion's gale.
| The Poetical Works of Percival Stockdale | |