The Modern Dunciad :: :: University of Virginia Library

In Tempè's vale, a calm sequester'd scene,
Whose fields were cloth'd with everlasting green;
Far from the busy world, unknown to fame,
There liv'd a youth, and Alibeg his name.
Th' admiring swains and ev'ry rural maid,
Delighted, sought his consecrated shade,
And while he warbled woods and plains among,
Apollo listen'd and approv'd the song.

One morn great Abbas, tir'd of gay resorts,
Thro' Tempè's vale pursu'd his rural sports;
When lo, sweet music quivers thro' the shade,
As if the strain some sylvan God had play'd—
And soon the minstrel's self appears in view,
His seat, a moss-grown bank, impearl'd with dew,
Watching the rippling fountain's silver tide,
The while his flocks skipp'd round the mountain side.
Enrapt in awe the wondering monarch stood,
And then address'd the shepherd of the wood.

“O youth celestial! whosoe'er thou art,
That with such melting airs enslav'st my heart,

275

Say, dost thou here descend, with heav'nly strains,
To soothe the wretch's woe, the Lover's pains;
For sure such notes as charm this mystic Bow'r,
Are play'd by some divine, superior Pow'r.”

The youth replied—“I'm one of humble swains,
Who lead their flocks o'er Tempè's blissful plains,
Of parentage obscure, a shepherd boy—
And as I tune this pipe, my only joy,
The list'ning Birds on ev'ry bloomy spray,
Will raise their notes to imitate the Lay.

The Monarch thus—“All gentle as thou art,
If grandeur once can captivate thy heart,
With me to cities and to courts repair,
How will thy worth and talents flourish there!
Let not such sweetness wither in a wild,
Emblem of virtue, nature's fairest child!
But leave these plains, and tend thy sheep no more,
And taste of pleasures unenjoy'd before.”

A crimson blush o'erspread the shepherd's cheek,
His heart exulted, tho' he fear'd to speak:
He wept in silence, while his ling'ring feet
Reluctant bore him from his lov'd retreat.

Now distant cities from afar they view'd,
Expanding wide, as onward they pursued;

276

All seem'd a bright and glorious vision—yet
He heav'd a parting sigh of fond regret.

To court the youth was led, in glitt'ring vest,
Each noble heart admir'd the humble guest;
His manly beauty, and superior worth,
Made all forget his lowliness of birth;
Such native sweetness, mix'd with decent pride,
Brav'd slander's sting, and envy's scorn defy'd.

As some fair Flow'ret in a wild conceal'd,
Where no kind pasture bids its blossoms yield;
Check'd in its growth, requires a fost'ring hand
Gently to move it to some fertile land—
But when transplanted to more genial earth,
The bloom appears, and gives its beauty birth;
Urg'd by warm suns, and mild refreshing dews,
The buds burst forth in all their lively hues;
Its lovely form rewards the planter's care,
And with ambrosial fragrance fills the air.

While thus the swain enjoys his virtuous deeds,
Great Abbas dies—the sorrowing nation bleeds;—
Religion, justice, peace, a glorious train,
And gentle mercy mark'd his pious reign.
And now the Son, a youth of noble fire,
Succeeds his honor'd and lamented sire;

277

Like him, to prove a blessing to the State,
A Sov'reign truly wise, and truly great.

But Envy strove to blast the shepherd's fame,
And blend with hateful infamy his name—
The Monarch heard—his rising fears prevail—
For cunning slander thus devis'd the tale.

A place there is, unknown to public eye,
Where close conceal'd, the stolen treasures lie;
Of curious structure, where the artist's skill
Has try'd to thwart the bold intruder's will—
Oft is he seen to ope the secret door,
And look with rapture on the hidden store;
Linger, as if his soul were treasur'd there,
And fondly hoard it with a miser's care.

Forth went the King the hidden store to seek,
While joy and triumph flush'd the Shepherd's cheek!
The secret door is open'd to their eyes,
And all behold the long expected prize!
No precious gold, or jewels meet their sight,
'Twas humbler treasures gave the swain delight—
All they beheld—the knotty crook he bore,
The tuneful pipe, the shepherd's garb he wore
When first he met the royal Abbas' view,
And with his music charm'd the sylvan crew;

278

Before he felt the force of slander's tale,
And left the joys of Tempè's blissful vale!

“Take all,” he cried, “with pleasure I restore
The gifts your royal father gave before;
Such fleeting honours freely I resign,
All are your own—but these are truly mine!
Think on those days of innocence and joy,
When you beheld me first, a shepherd boy,
Rais'd by your sire, unworthy and unknown,
To form his councils, and to guard his throne.—
Then let me to my native shades repair,
And once more learn to tend my fleecy care;
Tune my neglected pipe, and wear the vest,
In which your father found me, truly blest;
Before I knew the mis'ry to be great,
The sad memorials of my happier state!

Abash'd, confounded, at the artless tale
Vice stood appall'd, and slander's face grew pale;
While lynx-ey'd malice yields to virtuous fame,
And hides its head in everlasting shame.

“O matchless worth!” th' indignant Abbas cried,
“Blush ev'ry child of supercilious pride!
See, in this youth, fair virtue's purest fire,
With which the gods immortal minds inspire!

279

Hence from my sight, ye persecuting race,
No more the monarch, or his realm disgrace;
Let honest men my people's freedom guard,
And modest merit meet its just reward:
Let worth once more my injur'd kingdom sway,
No more let humble virtue, vice obey;
But all be chang'd, and royal Abbas' son
Bestow the laurel where 'tis nobly won.”

The monarch rais'd, in token of his grace,
The prostrate shepherd, with a fond embrace;
While conscious guilt in silence stole away,
And virtue won the honours of the day.