The Shamrock or, Hibernian Cresses. A Collection of Poems, Songs, Epigrams, &c. Latin as well as English, The Original Production of Ireland. To which are subjoined thoughts on the prevailing system of school education, respecting young ladies as well as gentlemen: with practical proposals for a reformation [by Samuel Whyte] |
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A FRAGMENT. |
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 | The Shamrock |  |
A FRAGMENT.
Address'd to Mrs. BOYD.
If, in these Lines, there aught of Merit shine—
Which much I fear—Amanda, all be thine:
In Years, in Skill, in Observation young,
I, as thy Virtues prompted, fondly sung:
But if Confession can for Faults atone,
Numerous, I know they are, and all my own.
A thousand, thousand Times, perhaps, and more,
The same trite Notions have been urg'd before,
And better urg'd; convinc'd of this, your Claim
Alone repriev'd them, destin'd to the Flame;
Nor a less Compliment was justly due
To one so long, so much esteem'd, as you—
With swelling Hopes of proud Repute inspir'd,
I never yet the Poet's Meed desir'd;
But wheresoe'er thy Name its Influence gives,
Fame sets her Seal, and the Production lives.
Lavish of Praise, to prove—their own Desert,
What Talents, here, might flowery Wits exert!
But I, who know your modest, candid Heart,
Well know, I need not wear the Mask of Art—
They only are, and only should be bless'd,
Who think like you, and strive to act the best.
Which much I fear—Amanda, all be thine:
In Years, in Skill, in Observation young,
I, as thy Virtues prompted, fondly sung:
But if Confession can for Faults atone,
Numerous, I know they are, and all my own.
A thousand, thousand Times, perhaps, and more,
The same trite Notions have been urg'd before,
And better urg'd; convinc'd of this, your Claim
Alone repriev'd them, destin'd to the Flame;
Nor a less Compliment was justly due
To one so long, so much esteem'd, as you—
With swelling Hopes of proud Repute inspir'd,
I never yet the Poet's Meed desir'd;
But wheresoe'er thy Name its Influence gives,
Fame sets her Seal, and the Production lives.
459
What Talents, here, might flowery Wits exert!
But I, who know your modest, candid Heart,
Well know, I need not wear the Mask of Art—
They only are, and only should be bless'd,
Who think like you, and strive to act the best.
I often blush, and am amaz'd to hear,
The froward Tribe their Grievances declare,
And yet, as indolent and careless live,
As if Dame Fortune were oblig'd to give;
And, with vague Wishes, Errors past deplore,
Yet, still plod on, and multiply the Score.
But let them all the Force of wishing try,
Will that alone one single Meal supply?
Will that alone one single Suit procure,
When meagre Famine shivers at the Door?
No; meagre Famine long may shivering stand,
Wishing, alas! will small Relief command;
And station'd here, or there, or how we please,
Mankind was made for Action, not for Ease.
Want of Occasion, is a poor Pretence,
And lazy Wishes shew a Want of Sense.
Nor will our Disappointments turn the Scale,
For still, not Wishes, Action must prevail.
The froward Tribe their Grievances declare,
And yet, as indolent and careless live,
As if Dame Fortune were oblig'd to give;
And, with vague Wishes, Errors past deplore,
Yet, still plod on, and multiply the Score.
But let them all the Force of wishing try,
Will that alone one single Meal supply?
Will that alone one single Suit procure,
When meagre Famine shivers at the Door?
No; meagre Famine long may shivering stand,
Wishing, alas! will small Relief command;
And station'd here, or there, or how we please,
Mankind was made for Action, not for Ease.
Want of Occasion, is a poor Pretence,
And lazy Wishes shew a Want of Sense.
Nor will our Disappointments turn the Scale,
For still, not Wishes, Action must prevail.
Suppose, which Heaven forefend! it were decreed
In all Pursuits, that Mortals should succeed;
We, giddy, restless, changeful as the Moon,
To fatal Purpose should employ the Boon;
From wild Extremes, we should to wilder run,
And, by their Wishes, all would be undone.
In all Pursuits, that Mortals should succeed;
We, giddy, restless, changeful as the Moon,
To fatal Purpose should employ the Boon;
From wild Extremes, we should to wilder run,
And, by their Wishes, all would be undone.
460
The Woes we feel, we for ourselves create,
Murmuring, unconscious, at our bless'd Estate;
And in the Means, the purpos'd Ends we miss,
Grasping at Shadows, for substantial Bliss.
Witness the Dolt, who, erst, the Clouds controul'd,
And he, whose Touch converted all to Gold.
All Men possess some great peculiar Good.
And may be all as happy as they shou'd.
Neglected this, blind to the Abundance given,
With daring Impudence insult we Heaven.
Hence vain our Labours, and prudential Cares;
Vain all our Wishes; fruitless all our Pray'rs;
Vain all Amusement; vain our Wealth we find;
For Happiness exists but in the Mind:
Still the Companion of Contentment found,
And Poor and Rich may equally abound.
Yet is there one in all this peopled Sphere
Admits that he feels Happiness sincere?
What State? What Region ever yet confess'd
The Residence of that most welcome Guest,
By all so courted, by so few possess'd?
Murmuring, unconscious, at our bless'd Estate;
And in the Means, the purpos'd Ends we miss,
Grasping at Shadows, for substantial Bliss.
Witness the Dolt, who, erst, the Clouds controul'd,
And he, whose Touch converted all to Gold.
All Men possess some great peculiar Good.
And may be all as happy as they shou'd.
Neglected this, blind to the Abundance given,
With daring Impudence insult we Heaven.
Hence vain our Labours, and prudential Cares;
Vain all our Wishes; fruitless all our Pray'rs;
Vain all Amusement; vain our Wealth we find;
For Happiness exists but in the Mind:
Still the Companion of Contentment found,
And Poor and Rich may equally abound.
Yet is there one in all this peopled Sphere
Admits that he feels Happiness sincere?
What State? What Region ever yet confess'd
The Residence of that most welcome Guest,
By all so courted, by so few possess'd?
In fierce Extremes the Poles and Indies lie,
Envying the 'Vantage of our temperate Sky;
The imperious Archon, there, but nods his Head,
Treasures are seiz'd, and vassal Kings lie dead.
A thousand Nymphs, all beauteous as the Day,
Grace his Seraglio, and his Calls obey;
And yet, Circasia, tho' her Sultan smiles,
Pines for her Freedom, and her Fate reviles.
The pamper'd Eunuchs vainly view the Fair,
And curse the fatal Stroke which brought them there;
Whilst the dark Slaves of his despotic Will,
Watch but their Time, when to depose, or kill.
And every proud Bashaw, and petty Knave,
Is in his Turn, and Sphere, Tyrant, and Slave.
These Things unknown, tho' granted, in our Climes,
We cannot thence infer we have no Crimes;
A baneful Something still disturbs Content,
And plain the Cause is, we are not innocent:
But to demonstrate, search Conditions round,
And try, if solid Bliss can e'er be found.
Envying the 'Vantage of our temperate Sky;
The imperious Archon, there, but nods his Head,
Treasures are seiz'd, and vassal Kings lie dead.
A thousand Nymphs, all beauteous as the Day,
Grace his Seraglio, and his Calls obey;
And yet, Circasia, tho' her Sultan smiles,
Pines for her Freedom, and her Fate reviles.
The pamper'd Eunuchs vainly view the Fair,
And curse the fatal Stroke which brought them there;
Whilst the dark Slaves of his despotic Will,
Watch but their Time, when to depose, or kill.
461
Is in his Turn, and Sphere, Tyrant, and Slave.
These Things unknown, tho' granted, in our Climes,
We cannot thence infer we have no Crimes;
A baneful Something still disturbs Content,
And plain the Cause is, we are not innocent:
But to demonstrate, search Conditions round,
And try, if solid Bliss can e'er be found.
Then turn we first Reason's impartial Eyes,
Where that deep Phalanx of bright Treasure lies;
Transiently view'd, how glorious it appears!
How fraught with Blessings! how remote from Cares
But let it put its native Semblance on,
Our Hopes are frustrate, all its Powers gone!
O Wealth! thou Darling of the human Soul!
Who do'st each Action, every Thought controul
To thy Possession all our Labours tend;
In thee they center, but, alas! not end.
The most exalted Bliss thou can'st confer,
Is dash'd with Sorrow and corroding Care.
Even when our Chests teem with exhaustless Sums,
And both the Indies decorate our Rooms;
Tho' Earth, and Air, and Sea, yield us to dine,
And every Climate furnishes our Wine;
Unsatisfied, our Wants we still lament,
And find, that Riches cannot buy Content;
But with them bring accumulating Woe,
Which none but Sons of Opulence can know.
Where that deep Phalanx of bright Treasure lies;
Transiently view'd, how glorious it appears!
How fraught with Blessings! how remote from Cares
But let it put its native Semblance on,
Our Hopes are frustrate, all its Powers gone!
O Wealth! thou Darling of the human Soul!
Who do'st each Action, every Thought controul
To thy Possession all our Labours tend;
In thee they center, but, alas! not end.
The most exalted Bliss thou can'st confer,
Is dash'd with Sorrow and corroding Care.
Even when our Chests teem with exhaustless Sums,
And both the Indies decorate our Rooms;
Tho' Earth, and Air, and Sea, yield us to dine,
And every Climate furnishes our Wine;
Unsatisfied, our Wants we still lament,
And find, that Riches cannot buy Content;
But with them bring accumulating Woe,
Which none but Sons of Opulence can know.
At Dead of Night, Shylock patrols his House,
Rous'd by the stilly Clamours of a Mouse
In quest of Food; Robbers, he thinks, he hears;
But for his Gold, not for himself, he fears.
When having finish'd his nocturnal Round,
Try'd Locks, and Bolts, and all in Safety found,
He, with elated Heart, tho' ill at Ease,
His wonted Visit to his Mammon pays;
And bending o'er it with lack-lustre Eyes,
Devours the Piles, and still for more he sighs;
Sighs, and steals off, dreading his very Self,
Might with felonious Hands secrete the Pelf.
On his worn Pallet, now, view him reclin'd;
Terrifick Visions haunt his tortur'd Mind;
A thousand Ills his croaking Fears suggest—
The gleaming Poniard pointed at his Breast!
His Servant, Brother, or, perhaps, his Wife,
Prepares the noxious Bowl against his Life;
And, sometimes, struggling in the Jaws of Death,
His rake-hell Heir, relentless, stops his Breath,
Plunders his Coffers, to the Dice Box flies,
Stakes the last Guinea, and in Prison dies.
Now Morpheus, with a Sledge, or ponderous Stone,
Forces the Door: He with a doleful Groan,
Expressive of his Pain and dire Dismay,
Starts up, and chides the slow Return of Day.
Thus is his Rest disturb'd, broken, destroy'd,
And not a Moment is with Peace enjoy'd.
Not so blithe Corin, in his humble Cell,
Within his Bosom kinder Tenants dwell;
And though no Locks, or massy Bolts, secure
The slight Obstruction of his simple Door;
He sleeps at Ease, secure in Heaven's good Care,
Reckless of Villains, and exempt from Fear.
Exempt and reckless! is he then at Rest?
And do no secret Throws at Times molest?
Rous'd by the stilly Clamours of a Mouse
In quest of Food; Robbers, he thinks, he hears;
But for his Gold, not for himself, he fears.
462
Try'd Locks, and Bolts, and all in Safety found,
He, with elated Heart, tho' ill at Ease,
His wonted Visit to his Mammon pays;
And bending o'er it with lack-lustre Eyes,
Devours the Piles, and still for more he sighs;
Sighs, and steals off, dreading his very Self,
Might with felonious Hands secrete the Pelf.
On his worn Pallet, now, view him reclin'd;
Terrifick Visions haunt his tortur'd Mind;
A thousand Ills his croaking Fears suggest—
The gleaming Poniard pointed at his Breast!
His Servant, Brother, or, perhaps, his Wife,
Prepares the noxious Bowl against his Life;
And, sometimes, struggling in the Jaws of Death,
His rake-hell Heir, relentless, stops his Breath,
Plunders his Coffers, to the Dice Box flies,
Stakes the last Guinea, and in Prison dies.
Now Morpheus, with a Sledge, or ponderous Stone,
Forces the Door: He with a doleful Groan,
Expressive of his Pain and dire Dismay,
Starts up, and chides the slow Return of Day.
Thus is his Rest disturb'd, broken, destroy'd,
And not a Moment is with Peace enjoy'd.
Not so blithe Corin, in his humble Cell,
Within his Bosom kinder Tenants dwell;
And though no Locks, or massy Bolts, secure
The slight Obstruction of his simple Door;
He sleeps at Ease, secure in Heaven's good Care,
Reckless of Villains, and exempt from Fear.
Exempt and reckless! is he then at Rest?
And do no secret Throws at Times molest?
463
Let us, for Proof, at yonder Farm enquire,
Whom they think happy? They reply, the 'Squire.
The 'Squire, the while, soliciting a Place,
Opines himself less happy than his Grace:
His Grace, encumber'd with the State Affairs,
The Peasant, happier than himself declares.
His Corn to Market brought, the gaping Clown
Admires the Riches of the thriving Town;
And, vex'd at Tythes and Landlords, longs to pop
His little Stock and Team, into a Shop.
The suburb Chandler here observes with Pain
The Citizen's Returns, and countless Gain;
The griping Citizen burns to command
The Coach of State, and magisterial Wand;
The Alderman, and his aspiring Wife,
Without a Title, see no Joy in Life;
Now Courtiers grown, aukward, disgusted, cloy'd—
A thousand Wants are still to be supply'd:
And all find Reason, high and low, to fret,
Something to wish, or something to regret.
Even the enamour'd Pair, unweeting, moan,
And long till sacred Hymen makes them one.
That scarce atchiev'd, in crowd domestic Cares,
Then how delicious single Life appears!
But, O! let Prudence warn them to beware
How they admit so dangerous a Snare;
And with her uttermost let Reason try
To palliate Faults, or pass, unheeding, by;
For, if Disgust gets Entrance in the Soul,
It soon encreases, and absorbs the whole:
Ting'd with that Jaundice Motes we Monsters think,
And even Virtues into Vices sink;
And none need hope, connubial Bliss to find,
But with Esteem and Delicacy join'd.
Whom they think happy? They reply, the 'Squire.
The 'Squire, the while, soliciting a Place,
Opines himself less happy than his Grace:
His Grace, encumber'd with the State Affairs,
The Peasant, happier than himself declares.
His Corn to Market brought, the gaping Clown
Admires the Riches of the thriving Town;
And, vex'd at Tythes and Landlords, longs to pop
His little Stock and Team, into a Shop.
The suburb Chandler here observes with Pain
The Citizen's Returns, and countless Gain;
The griping Citizen burns to command
The Coach of State, and magisterial Wand;
The Alderman, and his aspiring Wife,
Without a Title, see no Joy in Life;
Now Courtiers grown, aukward, disgusted, cloy'd—
A thousand Wants are still to be supply'd:
And all find Reason, high and low, to fret,
Something to wish, or something to regret.
Even the enamour'd Pair, unweeting, moan,
And long till sacred Hymen makes them one.
That scarce atchiev'd, in crowd domestic Cares,
Then how delicious single Life appears!
But, O! let Prudence warn them to beware
How they admit so dangerous a Snare;
And with her uttermost let Reason try
To palliate Faults, or pass, unheeding, by;
For, if Disgust gets Entrance in the Soul,
It soon encreases, and absorbs the whole:
Ting'd with that Jaundice Motes we Monsters think,
And even Virtues into Vices sink;
And none need hope, connubial Bliss to find,
But with Esteem and Delicacy join'd.
464
Bans of Compulsion, and gross sensual Love,
Are self-dissolv'd, and never seal'd above.
One must the Will, one the Affections be,
And all in all, in every Point agree;
Reciprocal the Deed, the Heart, the Hand,
Free, and unaw'd, all else is contraband.
All venal Ties are void; all Compacts where
Illicit Means are us'd, and Cheats appear:
For there, altho' prohibited, we find
The Body's Shame, we prostitute the Mind;
And as our Souls the mortal Part exceed,
Religion stronger interdicts the Deed;
And Conscience, sacred and unerring Test
Of Right and Wrong within the human Breast,
Stronger anticipating, feels the Force
Of Horrors consequent, and fell Remorse.
Nor can the stern Behest of Law controul
The outward Man to sin against his Soul.
The civil Jurisdiction was ordain'd,
That moral Justice might not be prophan'd;
But general Systems all, it is confess'd,
However full and accurate express'd,
Leave Individuals often unredress'd—
But He, who rules the World, and fills the Skies,
To whom all Hearts, all Nature open lies,
Impartial Blessings equally assign'd
To all his Works according to their Kind;
And ere the tuneful Orbs their Course began,
Creative Wisdom form'd the extensive Plan
Of future Weal, on present good to Man.
And all his Scriptures every where presume
Bliss here a Prototype of Bliss to come.
Hence, failing human Institutes, 'tis given
To fly for Succour, and appeal to Heaven;
Reason's Vicegerency Relief provides,
Asserts her Right, sits Umpire and decides;
And Nature's primal Duty, Self-Defence,
May safely with some formal Points dispense;
Provided always, for no carnal Lust,
The Ends be virtuous, and the Means be just.
'Tis false Philosophy, and ne'er was meant
Mankind should suffer Ills they can prevent;
And Holy Writ, explicit on the Case,
Declares expressly, we are call'd to Peace.
Are self-dissolv'd, and never seal'd above.
One must the Will, one the Affections be,
And all in all, in every Point agree;
Reciprocal the Deed, the Heart, the Hand,
Free, and unaw'd, all else is contraband.
All venal Ties are void; all Compacts where
Illicit Means are us'd, and Cheats appear:
For there, altho' prohibited, we find
The Body's Shame, we prostitute the Mind;
And as our Souls the mortal Part exceed,
Religion stronger interdicts the Deed;
And Conscience, sacred and unerring Test
Of Right and Wrong within the human Breast,
Stronger anticipating, feels the Force
Of Horrors consequent, and fell Remorse.
Nor can the stern Behest of Law controul
The outward Man to sin against his Soul.
The civil Jurisdiction was ordain'd,
That moral Justice might not be prophan'd;
But general Systems all, it is confess'd,
However full and accurate express'd,
Leave Individuals often unredress'd—
But He, who rules the World, and fills the Skies,
To whom all Hearts, all Nature open lies,
Impartial Blessings equally assign'd
To all his Works according to their Kind;
And ere the tuneful Orbs their Course began,
Creative Wisdom form'd the extensive Plan
Of future Weal, on present good to Man.
And all his Scriptures every where presume
Bliss here a Prototype of Bliss to come.
465
To fly for Succour, and appeal to Heaven;
Reason's Vicegerency Relief provides,
Asserts her Right, sits Umpire and decides;
And Nature's primal Duty, Self-Defence,
May safely with some formal Points dispense;
Provided always, for no carnal Lust,
The Ends be virtuous, and the Means be just.
'Tis false Philosophy, and ne'er was meant
Mankind should suffer Ills they can prevent;
And Holy Writ, explicit on the Case,
Declares expressly, we are call'd to Peace.
Yet on Surmises let us not decide,
But to such Nuptials be the Test apply'd;
Let Observation and Experience tell,
If Peace with them, and heavenly Concord dwell.
But to such Nuptials be the Test apply'd;
Let Observation and Experience tell,
If Peace with them, and heavenly Concord dwell.
Behold a Couple, fond without Esteem,
Spurr'd on by Instinct, Avarice, or Whim;
There no good Planets kindly Influence shed,
Nor joyous Omens tend the genial Bed.
A few short Days, irregularly spent,
The Palate nauseates, and breeds Discontent;
The Bridegroom lours; the Bride in secret mourns,
And Liking sated, to Aversion turns;
Incessant Feuds confirm, and make it worse,
And every Hour entails some penal Curse.
Both have their Faults, yet neither will atone,
For both are blind, or partial to their own.
But mutual Wrongs, mutual Concessions claim,
And both incurring, both should suffer Blame.
What Wonder then, for all on that depends,
If in Extremes the venal Bondage ends?
The towery Strength perennial Marble forms,
Expos'd to sapping Rain, and Winter Storms,
To every Blast is more or less a Prey,
And from slight Causes subject to decay;
Time eats insensibly the nodding Walls,
And prone, at length, the mouldering Ruin falls.
Thus they, their Souls with rough Contentions torn,
Ensure Destruction, and their Fate suborn;
And like the Angels, who from Heaven fell,
They feed on Death, and are themselves a Hell.
Spurr'd on by Instinct, Avarice, or Whim;
There no good Planets kindly Influence shed,
Nor joyous Omens tend the genial Bed.
A few short Days, irregularly spent,
The Palate nauseates, and breeds Discontent;
The Bridegroom lours; the Bride in secret mourns,
And Liking sated, to Aversion turns;
Incessant Feuds confirm, and make it worse,
And every Hour entails some penal Curse.
Both have their Faults, yet neither will atone,
For both are blind, or partial to their own.
But mutual Wrongs, mutual Concessions claim,
And both incurring, both should suffer Blame.
What Wonder then, for all on that depends,
If in Extremes the venal Bondage ends?
466
Expos'd to sapping Rain, and Winter Storms,
To every Blast is more or less a Prey,
And from slight Causes subject to decay;
Time eats insensibly the nodding Walls,
And prone, at length, the mouldering Ruin falls.
Thus they, their Souls with rough Contentions torn,
Ensure Destruction, and their Fate suborn;
And like the Angels, who from Heaven fell,
They feed on Death, and are themselves a Hell.
But let not this the more discreet deter,
Some hit the White, though many Thousands err.
Nor let my Verse the virgin Fair perplex,
'Twas for their Use intended, not to vex;
Nor that they should oppose indulgent Heaven,
By whom their Charms, and Love itself was given:
Those to inspire the tender Flame design'd,
And that to bless and propagate Mankind.
When Hearts, with Hands unite, and only there,
Peace sits enthron'd between the married Pair;
All their Intentions smiling Concord guards,
Guides all their Actions, brightens and rewards:
Connubial Bliss, inspir'd by mutual Love,
Gives them a Fore-taste of the Joys above;
But take that Harmony and Love away,
The very damn'd endure not more than they.
The Groom should lay all surly Airs aside,
And meek Submission best befits the Bride;
And all Contention, and their mutual Boast,
Should be to please, and who should please the most.
Some hit the White, though many Thousands err.
Nor let my Verse the virgin Fair perplex,
'Twas for their Use intended, not to vex;
Nor that they should oppose indulgent Heaven,
By whom their Charms, and Love itself was given:
Those to inspire the tender Flame design'd,
And that to bless and propagate Mankind.
When Hearts, with Hands unite, and only there,
Peace sits enthron'd between the married Pair;
All their Intentions smiling Concord guards,
Guides all their Actions, brightens and rewards:
Connubial Bliss, inspir'd by mutual Love,
Gives them a Fore-taste of the Joys above;
But take that Harmony and Love away,
The very damn'd endure not more than they.
The Groom should lay all surly Airs aside,
And meek Submission best befits the Bride;
And all Contention, and their mutual Boast,
Should be to please, and who should please the most.
Love's the pure Essence of a generous Race,
Nice Honour, Freedom, Nobleness, and Peace;
Gentle Benevolence his Forehead crowns,
And sweet good Humour, undeform'd with Frowns.
Fix'd on one Object all his Wishes rest,
And all his Hopes in blessing to be bless'd.
The sordid Glance of squint Suspicion tears
His tender Form, and from the Bosom scares;
And with Resentment, inwardly he burns,
Where Rudeness lords it, or ill Nature scorns;
And, long provok'd, spurning, he stands confess'd,
Nor Hymen's Bonds restrain the injur'd Guest.
Unstudied this, they obstinately run
In froward Error, 'till they are quite undone.
But tho' oppos'd in all beside, we see,
They in one Point, and but in one agree;—
A widow'd Bed;—and ardently invoke
Death to relieve them from the galling Yoke.
Nice Honour, Freedom, Nobleness, and Peace;
467
And sweet good Humour, undeform'd with Frowns.
Fix'd on one Object all his Wishes rest,
And all his Hopes in blessing to be bless'd.
The sordid Glance of squint Suspicion tears
His tender Form, and from the Bosom scares;
And with Resentment, inwardly he burns,
Where Rudeness lords it, or ill Nature scorns;
And, long provok'd, spurning, he stands confess'd,
Nor Hymen's Bonds restrain the injur'd Guest.
Unstudied this, they obstinately run
In froward Error, 'till they are quite undone.
But tho' oppos'd in all beside, we see,
They in one Point, and but in one agree;—
A widow'd Bed;—and ardently invoke
Death to relieve them from the galling Yoke.
Thus each dissatisfied, his Neighbour eyes,
And none are happy but the Good and Wise.
And none are happy but the Good and Wise.
The Good and Wise, in Scripture Phrase, the Elect,
With grateful Hearts on Providence reflect;
And favour'd Suppliants at his gracious Throne,
The Wisdom of his Dispensations own;
To him disclose their Wants, on him depend;
Their bounteous Parent, and unfailing Friend.
Supported thus, superior to Despair,
They wish for nothing, and for nothing care;
No present Grief, nor aught foreboding Ill
Disturbs their Quiet, or affects their Will;
They know, on all sufficient he bestows,
And bless their Maker in the Midst of Woes.
For he that cloaths the Lilies of the Field,
Will, sure to them, a Competency yield;
He gives the hungry Wolf, and Raven, Meat,
Nor can the Image of himself forget;
And since, unheeded, not a Sparrow falls,
Man, tho' degenerate, more Attention calls.
Thus prov'd, in Faith the great Arcanum lies,
The truly happy, are the truly wise.
The Goal in View, no shining Bait they chase,
But run with chearful Steps the appointed Race;
Alike to them the best and worst Extreme,
Virtue in both, in both Vice is the same;
Unenvying, they survey the Rich and Great,
And scan the Miseries of inferior State;
And thence resulting, this sage Axiom give,
That Good is sure, Ill but comparative.
Bless'd in themselves, thus, out of Fortune's Power,
They pass thro' Life, enjoying every Hour.
Why should we then at high Preferments aim?
And why should Wealth such vast Attention claim?
The meek Arabian, stripp'd of all his Store,
Enjoy'd Content; Can Bedford's Self do more?
With grateful Hearts on Providence reflect;
And favour'd Suppliants at his gracious Throne,
The Wisdom of his Dispensations own;
To him disclose their Wants, on him depend;
Their bounteous Parent, and unfailing Friend.
Supported thus, superior to Despair,
They wish for nothing, and for nothing care;
No present Grief, nor aught foreboding Ill
Disturbs their Quiet, or affects their Will;
They know, on all sufficient he bestows,
And bless their Maker in the Midst of Woes.
For he that cloaths the Lilies of the Field,
Will, sure to them, a Competency yield;
468
Nor can the Image of himself forget;
And since, unheeded, not a Sparrow falls,
Man, tho' degenerate, more Attention calls.
Thus prov'd, in Faith the great Arcanum lies,
The truly happy, are the truly wise.
The Goal in View, no shining Bait they chase,
But run with chearful Steps the appointed Race;
Alike to them the best and worst Extreme,
Virtue in both, in both Vice is the same;
Unenvying, they survey the Rich and Great,
And scan the Miseries of inferior State;
And thence resulting, this sage Axiom give,
That Good is sure, Ill but comparative.
Bless'd in themselves, thus, out of Fortune's Power,
They pass thro' Life, enjoying every Hour.
Why should we then at high Preferments aim?
And why should Wealth such vast Attention claim?
The meek Arabian, stripp'd of all his Store,
Enjoy'd Content; Can Bedford's Self do more?
Some gentle Stripes, for our Probation here,
Omnipotence inflicts, and we should bear;
For, shall he his eternal Blessings give,
And, unreprov'd, we him offending live?
In Fancy's Mirror, we but darkling see,
What must, hereafter, our Advantage be;
And falsely of Prosperity we deem,
Since Heaven's Correction shews us Heaven's Esteem.
No longer, then, injuriously, in vain,
Let thoughtless Man of Providence complain;
But with mute, humble Resignation trust,
For God is merciful, as well as just.
The keenest corporal Anguish will decrease,
If we, with Patience, learn to acquiesce,
'Twill blunt the Tooth of life-corroding Woe,
And teach Affliction less intense to glow;
Religion will her healing Balm impart,
And pour glad Comfort on the bleeding Heart;
Whilst bright-ey'd Hope her kind Assistance gives,
And every Pang disperses, or relieves.
Omnipotence inflicts, and we should bear;
For, shall he his eternal Blessings give,
And, unreprov'd, we him offending live?
In Fancy's Mirror, we but darkling see,
What must, hereafter, our Advantage be;
And falsely of Prosperity we deem,
Since Heaven's Correction shews us Heaven's Esteem.
No longer, then, injuriously, in vain,
Let thoughtless Man of Providence complain;
But with mute, humble Resignation trust,
For God is merciful, as well as just.
469
If we, with Patience, learn to acquiesce,
'Twill blunt the Tooth of life-corroding Woe,
And teach Affliction less intense to glow;
Religion will her healing Balm impart,
And pour glad Comfort on the bleeding Heart;
Whilst bright-ey'd Hope her kind Assistance gives,
And every Pang disperses, or relieves.
Say not from Plenitude these Reasonings flow;
Nor empty Theory untry'd in Woe.
For since the vital Principle I drew,
(When of my Life I take a strict Review)
Scarcely a Day, a single Day appears,
Exempt from Pain, Adversity, or Tears;
Me, Fate before these Eyes beheld the Light,
Seem'd to have mark'd obnoxious to her Spite.
Nor less their Force, which ever is maintain'd,
Our Deeds are of Free-will, or pre-ordain'd;
For who, if Destiny controuls our State,
Can trace the devious Labyrinth of Fate?
Can the Perception of a human Clod
Pervade the Workings of a boundless God;
And into dark Futurity extend,
And view each Cause, productive of its End?
Time may so far, nay will enlarge our Sight,
That we shall see, “Whatever is, is right;”
Shall see this well-imagin'd Truth made plain,
That not one Atom of Creation's vain.
In firm Expectance, then, of better Days,
Bear we our Lot, and give Jehovah Praise.
Nor empty Theory untry'd in Woe.
For since the vital Principle I drew,
(When of my Life I take a strict Review)
Scarcely a Day, a single Day appears,
Exempt from Pain, Adversity, or Tears;
Me, Fate before these Eyes beheld the Light,
Seem'd to have mark'd obnoxious to her Spite.
Nor less their Force, which ever is maintain'd,
Our Deeds are of Free-will, or pre-ordain'd;
For who, if Destiny controuls our State,
Can trace the devious Labyrinth of Fate?
Can the Perception of a human Clod
Pervade the Workings of a boundless God;
And into dark Futurity extend,
And view each Cause, productive of its End?
Time may so far, nay will enlarge our Sight,
That we shall see, “Whatever is, is right;”
Shall see this well-imagin'd Truth made plain,
That not one Atom of Creation's vain.
In firm Expectance, then, of better Days,
Bear we our Lot, and give Jehovah Praise.
Did Reason always operate in the Mind;
Were we to free Conviction still inclin'd;
Would proud Opinion Prejudice forego,
And Mortals strive, God and themselves to know;
To know of God, as far as Mortals can,
His Justice, Mercy, and Regard to Man;
Our Passions all restrain'd in Wisdom's Lore,
For Vice's Flesh-pots we should sigh no more;
White-rob'd Content would be the Prophet's Wand,
And every simple Cot the Promis'd Land;
Insatiate Cravings there, would never breed,
But happy Man from Pestilence be freed:
Ambitious Fools, on impious Conquest bent,
Would all their idle Victories repent;
The horrid Work of wasteful War give o'er,
And to the World Tranquillity restore;
The Sword and Javelin would descend again,
To prune the Vine, and to subdue the Plain:
The Sons of Faction would not nurse Debates,
But to their private Interest join the State's;
Religion would her pristine Force exert,
And stiff Divines want Points to controvert;
Lawyers, the Nation's Pest, at their own Suit,
Might puzzle Judgement, and prolong Dispute,
No hardy Client would submit his Cause,
To the Decision of perverted Laws;
Nor, by Appearances, would Friends be mov'd,
To cruel Strife with the dear Friends they lov'd:
Discord in private Families would cease,
And even contentious Brothers live in Peace;
Hate, Envy, or Distrust, we ne'er should see,
But all Mankind in social Love agree.
Were we to free Conviction still inclin'd;
470
And Mortals strive, God and themselves to know;
To know of God, as far as Mortals can,
His Justice, Mercy, and Regard to Man;
Our Passions all restrain'd in Wisdom's Lore,
For Vice's Flesh-pots we should sigh no more;
White-rob'd Content would be the Prophet's Wand,
And every simple Cot the Promis'd Land;
Insatiate Cravings there, would never breed,
But happy Man from Pestilence be freed:
Ambitious Fools, on impious Conquest bent,
Would all their idle Victories repent;
The horrid Work of wasteful War give o'er,
And to the World Tranquillity restore;
The Sword and Javelin would descend again,
To prune the Vine, and to subdue the Plain:
The Sons of Faction would not nurse Debates,
But to their private Interest join the State's;
Religion would her pristine Force exert,
And stiff Divines want Points to controvert;
Lawyers, the Nation's Pest, at their own Suit,
Might puzzle Judgement, and prolong Dispute,
No hardy Client would submit his Cause,
To the Decision of perverted Laws;
Nor, by Appearances, would Friends be mov'd,
To cruel Strife with the dear Friends they lov'd:
Discord in private Families would cease,
And even contentious Brothers live in Peace;
Hate, Envy, or Distrust, we ne'er should see,
But all Mankind in social Love agree.
| The Shamrock | |