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

Oh! all ye rural Nymphs, and rustic Swains,
Who work, and wander, on your native plains,
Leave not, oh! leave not your sequester'd homes,
To look for more delight in Grandeur's domes!
Seek not, from frail Caprice's casual smiles,
To lighten troubles, and relax your toils;
Nor fancy you shall find in Pomp's domains,
Augmented pleasures, or diminish'd pains!
Expect not Friends where Wit with Flattery's found,
Nor hope true Wealth where Riches most abound!
Look not for Comfort, much less mental Joy,
Where Vanity and Ostentation ply;
Nor ever deem calm blessings can abide
In the wild Mansions of mad Pomp and Pride!
With trembling, tread not near a Despot's throne,
But call your dwellings and your days your own!
Yet hope not Peace, and Happiness, complete,
Ev'n in your tranquil, innocent, retreat;
But in the noblest sublunary site,
Miseries mix more with every dear delight!
Then hope them least beneath despotic sway,
Where Tyrants rule, and Sycophants betray—
Hope them, alone, where they alone are found,
In friendly fellowship, on gracious ground;
Where, constantly, with Christ, Believers dwell,
In cordial corps, or solitary cell;
With daily Duty to their sacred Sire,
For Heav'n's pure perquisites, their hourly hire!

The faithful Tale of one who felt, attend;
Simplicity's true Lover! Freedom's Friend!
Who wish'd to help the halt—to lead the blind—
Who warmly lov'd, and sigh'd to serve, Mankind!
Who could rejoice with joy—could weep with woe—
Could pray, with ardour, for the fiercest Foe—
And only long'd for pow'r, and pray'd for store,
To foster Friends, and help the hapless Poor!
Felt like emotions loftier Mortals feel,
From stimulating lash, or stabbing steel.
From lacerating lancet's smallest smart,
Or poison'd poniard, thrust thro' head and heart.
From pointed pistol, and from levell'd lance,
Or slightly wounding shaft when shot by chance.
When straws were meant to tickle, not to teize,
Or snuff was giv'n to pain, but not to please.
When feathers were applied to spoil repose,
Or gossamers, unmeant, just thrill'd the nose.
When horrid glare, the Heart, like lightning, shrunk,
Or warlike words, the Soul, like thunder, sunk—
When Falshood feign'd, by signs, or sounds, uncouth,
To personate her simple Sister, Truth;
Smil'd, lisp'd, or ambled, deckt in dark disguise,
Stammering pretence, and leer'd with paltry lies,
While antic attitudes, which gave disgust,
Destroy'd the present; dampt all future trust;
Or sweet Sincerity with smoother smile,
Each service soften'd, and repaid each toil;
Each warm expression felt, and tender deed,
Which light Love's lamp, and kindled Friendship's feed!

Ah! gentle Spirits! innocently gay!
Who labour—laugh—sing—dance—the live-long Day,
Whose rising rays behold your joys begun
And evening twilight sees each duty done!
When Eve's calm hours, hymns, pray'rs, and praises, close,
And weariness and prudence wish repose—
Whose Night's afford soft dreams, or softer sleep,
While servile Vassals wake to watch, or weep!
Ah! let not baseless Hope, or bladdery Pride,
With dim delusion tempt your steps aside;
To sacrifice glad Freedom's gracious dow'r,
Or place your peace in reach of despot Pow'r!
Oh! forfeit not your franchise-boon of Birth!
By owning Mortals Masters, here, on Earth!
Learn every virtuous privilege to prize,
The feeborn use of limbs, tongues, ears, and eyes!

Will you your heavenly Sire's best blessing slight?
Be Dupes by day? and Negroes through the night?
For trifles be betray'd? for bubbles bought?
For toys yield up all Liberty but thought?
Corporeal faculties be moved, or stand,
Like wheels and levers in Mechanic's hand?
Exert your intellectual strength, and skill,
The mere Automatons of others' Will!
Your eyes be blind; or, more than seen, perceive?
Your ears be deaf; breasts more than's meant believe?
Thought, introduc'd, and lodg'd within the head,
Lie dormant, there; or, number'd with the dead.
The brain resembling only large hotel,
Where none but foreign families may dwell;
Like sham ambassadorial shadow, sent

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To signify frail Sovereign's false intent.
Perfidious Pimp—or Spy—or abject Scout,
On some base expedition posted out,
To act pert Duns, or Bully's bolder part,
Nor feel one kind emotion move the heart!
Amanuensis, never to digress,
But plant ideas like a printing-press;
Or, graven copper-plate, again to roll
The pristine stamp of proud Employer's Soul.
Still trudging every road, like common hack,
To take Fools' trifles—bring Fops' baggage back.
All native Cogitations' private store,
To celibacy sworn, must breed no more;
But, unproductive, all, in secret cell,
Like insulated Nuns—Monks—Hermits—dwell—
No propagated offspring brought to birth
To speak their wisdom, or their parents' worth.

Ideas, dealt about, like current coin,
By motion, smooth'd, assimilate—and shine;
Thro' circulation still increasing store,
New generations rising, more and more—
But cloister'd, close, in such sequester'd shades,
Each strong impression, clear inscription, fades;
While all their features, fine; complexions, pure,
Neglected rust—nor long their dates endure—
Or all their broods, prohibited, to hide,
Become abortive, or, if born, destroy'd;
Like undrawn swords, in scabbards, cankering, lie,
While useless edge, and point, and polish, fly;
Unfit for Justice—Right, nor Truth, defend—
Intimidate no Foe—protect no Friend—
Or, like the silent Snows, by Winter spread,
In silvery treasures, o'er the mountain's head;
Whose stores, while undisturb'd, each hour decay,
And hue, form, substance, quickly waste away;
But stirr'd, by winds, like words, with action strong,
Each sphere enlarges as it rolls along—
Escapes the common crowd's oblivious fate,
Expands its fame, and amplifies its date—
Or, mix'd, and press'd, in masses, may produce,
Some future solace, or substantial use;
But fix'd, and frozen, in its pristine place,
Yields small advantage to Man's reasoning Race:
When thrown in sport, or spite, by human arm,
Dire mischief Causes, or creates alarm;
Or, with a blow, like a pestilential breath,
Endangers harmless individual's death—
But launch'd from Alpine heights by Heav'n's command,
Like words of Kings, which vex a vicious Land;
Tho', at the first, in force, and bulk, but small,
With widening horrors rolls the rapid ball;
Till, grown a mountain, with augmented pow'rs,
Flocks—families—huts—hamlets—towns, devours!
Thoughts, like Churl's corn, in chamber'd stores entomb'd,
Devour'd by vermin, or, decay, consum'd;
Whose fruits might food, or opulence, afford;
Enrich the Rich, or bless the poor Man's board—
For soon the pregnant vegetative grain
When scatter'd, aptly, o'er the cultur'd plain,
In vernal Spring expands its verdant smiles
To pay, in part, with hopes, the Seedsman's toils;
With golden wealth, in time, to flood the ground,
And spread strength, health, and happiness, around!