 | Poems (1931) |  |
No. 54. Happy the Land
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“The following is a copy of the unfinished Poem alluded to in the Letter [Swift to Tickell, 20th July 1731.] A few of the lines in it were afterwards transposed into another Poem published by Mr. T.---ll & addressed to a Lady on her Marriage.” [Note by Thomas Tickell, Letter Book, No. 2.]
Happy the land, when Nobles plac'd on high
In Arts and Virtues with plebeians vie,
Their Fathers' honours who like Rivals view,
Nor boast old titles, till they merit new.
By fame, not fortune, led, in posts to shine,
They take them trembling, but with pride resign.
His course through clouds achiev'd, the patriot mind
Slow-setting leaves a track of light behind:
Silent and sole he stands amid the grove
An awfull figure, like Dodona's Jove;
From him the anxious nations ask their doom,
Priz'd in his lustre, worship'd in his gloom.
In Arts and Virtues with plebeians vie,
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Nor boast old titles, till they merit new.
By fame, not fortune, led, in posts to shine,
They take them trembling, but with pride resign.
His course through clouds achiev'd, the patriot mind
Slow-setting leaves a track of light behind:
Silent and sole he stands amid the grove
An awfull figure, like Dodona's Jove;
From him the anxious nations ask their doom,
Priz'd in his lustre, worship'd in his gloom.
Not so thy Lords, o France, degenerate race
Of Freemen towering o'er a court's disgrace,
Whose dangerous virtue, by strong chains secur'd,
The dungeon swallow'd, or the fort immur'd.
Their sons, offending, meet a meaner fate;
Driven home in exile from the palace-gate,
Their hapless fall, wives, kinsmen, friends, deplore,
Dead to the Court, and bondmen now no more.
Pensive and sad see large-soul'd Condé roves
Like a fallen angel through Chantilli's groves!
In Bussi's lawns see Rabutin, by turns,
Weeps, sings, and rages, menaces, and mourns;
Round his paternal hills his flocks are fed,
His vineyards redden, and his forests spread,
His day the chase, his night gay balls employ,
The gliding damsel, and the warbling boy,
And wit, life's life. Beneath unsully'd skies
Free to his range all fair Burgundia lies:
The interdicted Court still haunts his head,
His mid-day dream, the vision of his bed;
Sick of the rural bower, his sovereign's grace
The Exile covets, and the Favorite's place;
The Favorite covets, sick of slippery power,
The Exile's freedom, and the rural bower.
Of Freemen towering o'er a court's disgrace,
Whose dangerous virtue, by strong chains secur'd,
The dungeon swallow'd, or the fort immur'd.
Their sons, offending, meet a meaner fate;
Driven home in exile from the palace-gate,
Their hapless fall, wives, kinsmen, friends, deplore,
Dead to the Court, and bondmen now no more.
Pensive and sad see large-soul'd Condé roves
Like a fallen angel through Chantilli's groves!
In Bussi's lawns see Rabutin, by turns,
Weeps, sings, and rages, menaces, and mourns;
Round his paternal hills his flocks are fed,
His vineyards redden, and his forests spread,
His day the chase, his night gay balls employ,
The gliding damsel, and the warbling boy,
And wit, life's life. Beneath unsully'd skies
Free to his range all fair Burgundia lies:
The interdicted Court still haunts his head,
His mid-day dream, the vision of his bed;
Sick of the rural bower, his sovereign's grace
The Exile covets, and the Favorite's place;
The Favorite covets, sick of slippery power,
The Exile's freedom, and the rural bower.
Scorn'd be the man, all dazzling in his state,
Beneath my envy, and not worth my hate,
Who proud to govern, not too proud to crave,
O'er others lording, knows himself a slave,
And, poorly swell'd with secondary sway,
Still fear'd, and fearing, trembles life away.
The joys that Equals best with Equals share,
The mutual Secret, the divided Care.
He never tastes. Ill-plac'd his peers above,
Too Great for friendship, and too Rich for love,
He views his purchas'd Levee with alarms,
And Beauty lies un-trusted in his arms.
Though Safety whispering warn him to retreat,
Though Freedom beckon to the sylvan seat,
From the safe harbour to the faithless Main
The Syren Grandeur sings him back again.
Short are thy splendours and thy service hard,
And what, great Goddess, giv'st thou in reward!
Impartial Nature fram'd with like desires
Affected Courtiers, and voracious Squires;
To mortal man, of small or great expenses,
She gave One stomach, and but just Five senses;
With this plain rule their appetites to still,
The full to empty, and the empty fill.
Beneath my envy, and not worth my hate,
Who proud to govern, not too proud to crave,
O'er others lording, knows himself a slave,
And, poorly swell'd with secondary sway,
Still fear'd, and fearing, trembles life away.
The joys that Equals best with Equals share,
The mutual Secret, the divided Care.
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Too Great for friendship, and too Rich for love,
He views his purchas'd Levee with alarms,
And Beauty lies un-trusted in his arms.
Though Safety whispering warn him to retreat,
Though Freedom beckon to the sylvan seat,
From the safe harbour to the faithless Main
The Syren Grandeur sings him back again.
Short are thy splendours and thy service hard,
And what, great Goddess, giv'st thou in reward!
Impartial Nature fram'd with like desires
Affected Courtiers, and voracious Squires;
To mortal man, of small or great expenses,
She gave One stomach, and but just Five senses;
With this plain rule their appetites to still,
The full to empty, and the empty fill.
But we, as all sorrows were too few,
Acquire strange wants, that nature never knew.
In grief behold the envy'd statesman drownd!
His Title ends not in a graceful Sound.
From his soft couch the midnight slumbers flie!
He wants a Ribon of a nobler Die.
From goblets high-emboss'd his wine must glide;
Round his Clos'd sight the gorgeous curtains slide;
On his heap'd board th' inverted seasons rise;
And Three Untasted courses glut his Eyes.
For this are Friendship's gentle calls withstood,
The voice of Conscience and the bonds of Blood,
This, Wisdom, thy reward for every pain,
And this, gay Glory, all thy mighty gain.
And yet just Curse on Man's aspiring kind
Prone to Ambition, to Example Blind
Our Childrens Children shall our Steps pursue
And the same Errors be for ever new.
Grant him possest of all he covets most,
The Banker's vision, and the Herald's boast;
Compare we then the future with the past,
And judge if this can stand, or that can last.
Acquire strange wants, that nature never knew.
In grief behold the envy'd statesman drownd!
His Title ends not in a graceful Sound.
From his soft couch the midnight slumbers flie!
He wants a Ribon of a nobler Die.
From goblets high-emboss'd his wine must glide;
Round his Clos'd sight the gorgeous curtains slide;
On his heap'd board th' inverted seasons rise;
And Three Untasted courses glut his Eyes.
For this are Friendship's gentle calls withstood,
The voice of Conscience and the bonds of Blood,
This, Wisdom, thy reward for every pain,
And this, gay Glory, all thy mighty gain.
And yet just Curse on Man's aspiring kind
Prone to Ambition, to Example Blind
Our Childrens Children shall our Steps pursue
And the same Errors be for ever new.
Grant him possest of all he covets most,
The Banker's vision, and the Herald's boast;
Compare we then the future with the past,
And judge if this can stand, or that can last.
In pomp beyond compare thy throne, Peru,
Thy swarming Towns, our fathers' grandsires knew;
Thy ruines now in vain the eye explores,
Thrice ten degrees, along the lonely shores.
Where are thy Tribes, that with the world begun?
Where now thy Ynca's, lineal from the Sun?
Where shall their Heir, their high-born Heir, be found?
He pants, perhaps a Hireling under ground,
The Brother of the Stars ne'er sees them shine,
For life a Beggar in the golden mine.
Thy swarming Towns, our fathers' grandsires knew;
Thy ruines now in vain the eye explores,
Thrice ten degrees, along the lonely shores.
239
Where now thy Ynca's, lineal from the Sun?
Where shall their Heir, their high-born Heir, be found?
He pants, perhaps a Hireling under ground,
The Brother of the Stars ne'er sees them shine,
For life a Beggar in the golden mine.
From that new world, ah why? to curse the old
The Spaniard first brought pestilence and gold,
A shining mischief, by some wanton power
Bestow'd on mortals in an evil hour.
Ten thousand fathom hid from human sight,
The sad Peruvian heaves it up to light:
O'er Europe spread, the source of every wrong,
It reigns despotick, but it reigns not long:
Across the Ganges sent, but sent in vain,
The Indian Omrah buries it again.
Thus Earth's insatiate sons shall still be poor;
She, ever ransack'd ever keeps her store,
And mocks alike, resuming what she gave,
The Eastern Visir, and the Western Slave.
The Spaniard first brought pestilence and gold,
A shining mischief, by some wanton power
Bestow'd on mortals in an evil hour.
Ten thousand fathom hid from human sight,
The sad Peruvian heaves it up to light:
O'er Europe spread, the source of every wrong,
It reigns despotick, but it reigns not long:
Across the Ganges sent, but sent in vain,
The Indian Omrah buries it again.
Thus Earth's insatiate sons shall still be poor;
She, ever ransack'd ever keeps her store,
And mocks alike, resuming what she gave,
The Eastern Visir, and the Western Slave.
[Tickell papers.]
| Poems (1931) | |