Poems and Plays By William Hayley ... in Six Volumes. A New Edition |
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| IV. | EPISTLE
THE FOURTH. |
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EPISTLE THE FOURTH.
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ARGUMENT OF THE FOURTH EPISTLE.
Remarks on the supposed Parsimony of Nature in bestowing Poetic Genius.—The Evils and the Advantages of Poetry exemplified in the Fate of different Poets.
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Say, generous Power, benignant Nature, say,
Who temp'rest with thy touch our human clay,
Warming the fields of Thought with genial care,
The various fruits of mental growth to bear;
Shall not thy vot'ries glow with just disdain,
When Sloth or Spleen thy bounteous hand arraign?
Art thou the Niggard they pretend thou art,
A grudging Parent with a Stepdame's heart;
And dost thou shed, with rare, reluctant toil,
Bright Fancy's germens in the mental soil?
Is Genius, thy sweet Plant of richest power,
Whose dearly-priz'd and long-expected flower
More tardy than the Aloe's bloom appears,
Ordain'd to blow but in a thousand years?
Perish the sickly thought—let those who hold
Thy quick'ning influence so coy, so cold,
Calmly the habitable earth survey,
From time's first æra to the passing day;
In what rude clime, beneath what angry skies,
Have plants Poetic never dar'd to rise?
In torrid regions, where 'tis toil to think,
Where souls in stupid ease supinely sink;
And where the native of the desert drear
Yields to blank darkness half his icy year;
In these unfriendly scenes, where each extreme
Of heat and cold forbids the mind to teem,
Poetic blossoms into Being start,
Spontaneous produce of the feeling heart.
Who temp'rest with thy touch our human clay,
Warming the fields of Thought with genial care,
The various fruits of mental growth to bear;
Shall not thy vot'ries glow with just disdain,
When Sloth or Spleen thy bounteous hand arraign?
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A grudging Parent with a Stepdame's heart;
And dost thou shed, with rare, reluctant toil,
Bright Fancy's germens in the mental soil?
Is Genius, thy sweet Plant of richest power,
Whose dearly-priz'd and long-expected flower
More tardy than the Aloe's bloom appears,
Ordain'd to blow but in a thousand years?
Perish the sickly thought—let those who hold
Thy quick'ning influence so coy, so cold,
Calmly the habitable earth survey,
From time's first æra to the passing day;
In what rude clime, beneath what angry skies,
Have plants Poetic never dar'd to rise?
In torrid regions, where 'tis toil to think,
Where souls in stupid ease supinely sink;
And where the native of the desert drear
Yields to blank darkness half his icy year;
In these unfriendly scenes, where each extreme
Of heat and cold forbids the mind to teem,
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Spontaneous produce of the feeling heart.
Can we then deem that in those happier lands,
Where every vital energy expands;
Where Thought, the golden harvest of the mind,
Springs into rich luxuriance, unconfin'd;
That in such soils, with mental weeds o'ergrown,
The seeds of Poesy were thinly sown?
Where every vital energy expands;
Where Thought, the golden harvest of the mind,
Springs into rich luxuriance, unconfin'd;
That in such soils, with mental weeds o'ergrown,
The seeds of Poesy were thinly sown?
Shall we deny the labor of the swain,
Who to the cultur'd earth confides the grain,
If all the vagrant harpies of the air
From its new bed the pregnant treasure tear;
If, when scarce rising, with a stem infirm,
It dies the victim of the mining worm;
If mildew, riding in the eastern gust,
Turns all its ripening gold to sable dust?
Who to the cultur'd earth confides the grain,
If all the vagrant harpies of the air
From its new bed the pregnant treasure tear;
If, when scarce rising, with a stem infirm,
It dies the victim of the mining worm;
If mildew, riding in the eastern gust,
Turns all its ripening gold to sable dust?
These foes combin'd (and with them who may cope?)
Are not more hostile to the Farmer's hope,
Than Life's keen passions to that lighter grain
Of Fancy, scatter'd o'er the infant brain.
Pleasure, the rambling Bird! the painted Jay!
May snatch the richest seeds of Verse away;
Or Indolence, the worm that winds with art
Thro' the close texture of the cleanest heart,
May, if they haply have begun to shoot,
With partial mischief wound the sick'ning root;
Or Avarice, the mildew of the soul,
May sweep the mental field, and blight the whole;
Nay, the meek errors of the modest mind,
To its own vigor diffidently blind,
And that cold spleen, which falsely has declar'd
The powers of Nature and of Art impair'd,
The gate that Genius has unclos'd may guard,
And rivet to the earth the rising Bard:
For who will quit, tho' from mean aims exempt,
The cares that summon, and the joys that tempt
In many a lonely studious hour to try
Where latent springs of Poesy may lie;
Who will from social ease his mind divorce,
To prove in Art's wide field its secret force,
If, blind to Nature's frank parental love,
He deems that Verse, descended from above,
Like Heaven's more sacred signs, whose time is o'er,
A gift miraculous, conferr'd no more?
Are not more hostile to the Farmer's hope,
Than Life's keen passions to that lighter grain
Of Fancy, scatter'd o'er the infant brain.
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May snatch the richest seeds of Verse away;
Or Indolence, the worm that winds with art
Thro' the close texture of the cleanest heart,
May, if they haply have begun to shoot,
With partial mischief wound the sick'ning root;
Or Avarice, the mildew of the soul,
May sweep the mental field, and blight the whole;
Nay, the meek errors of the modest mind,
To its own vigor diffidently blind,
And that cold spleen, which falsely has declar'd
The powers of Nature and of Art impair'd,
The gate that Genius has unclos'd may guard,
And rivet to the earth the rising Bard:
For who will quit, tho' from mean aims exempt,
The cares that summon, and the joys that tempt
In many a lonely studious hour to try
Where latent springs of Poesy may lie;
Who will from social ease his mind divorce,
To prove in Art's wide field its secret force,
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He deems that Verse, descended from above,
Like Heaven's more sacred signs, whose time is o'er,
A gift miraculous, conferr'd no more?
O Prejudice! thou bane of Arts, thou pest,
Whose ruffian powers the free-born soul arrest;
Thou who, dethroning Reason, dar'st to frame
And issue thy proud laws beneath her name;
Thou Coaster on the intellectual deep,
Ordering each timid bark thy course to keep;
Who, lest some daring mind beyond thee steer,
Hast rais'd, to vouch thy vanity and fear,
Herculean pillars where thy sail was furl'd,
And nam'd thy bounds the Limits of the World.
Thou braggart, Prejudice, how oft thy breath
Has doom'd young Genius to the shades of death!
How often has thy voice, with brutal fire
Forbidding Female hands to touch the lyre,
Deny'd to Woman, Nature's fav'rite child,
The right to enter Fancy's opening wild!
Blest be this smiling hour, when Britain sees
Her Fair-ones cancel such absurd decrees,
In one harmonious group, with graceful scorn,
Spring o'er the Pedant's fence of wither'd thorn,
And reach Parnassian heights, where, laurel-crown'd,
This softer Quire the notes of triumph sound;
Where Seward, leader of the lovely train,
Pours o'er heroic tombs her potent strain;
Potent to sooth the honor'd dead, and dart
Congenial virtue thro' each panting heart;
Potent thro' spirits masculine to spread
Poetic jealousy and envious dread,
If Love and Envy could in union rest,
And rule with blended sway a Poet's breast:
The Bards of Britain, with unjaundic'd eyes,
Will glory to behold such rivals rise.
Proceed, ye Sisters of the tuneful Shell,
Without a scruple, in that Art excel,
Which reigns, by virtuous Pleasure's soft controul,
In sweet accordance with the Female soul;
Pure as yourselves, and, like your charms, design'd
To bless the earth, and humanize mankind.
Whose ruffian powers the free-born soul arrest;
Thou who, dethroning Reason, dar'st to frame
And issue thy proud laws beneath her name;
Thou Coaster on the intellectual deep,
Ordering each timid bark thy course to keep;
Who, lest some daring mind beyond thee steer,
Hast rais'd, to vouch thy vanity and fear,
Herculean pillars where thy sail was furl'd,
And nam'd thy bounds the Limits of the World.
Thou braggart, Prejudice, how oft thy breath
Has doom'd young Genius to the shades of death!
How often has thy voice, with brutal fire
Forbidding Female hands to touch the lyre,
Deny'd to Woman, Nature's fav'rite child,
The right to enter Fancy's opening wild!
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Her Fair-ones cancel such absurd decrees,
In one harmonious group, with graceful scorn,
Spring o'er the Pedant's fence of wither'd thorn,
And reach Parnassian heights, where, laurel-crown'd,
This softer Quire the notes of triumph sound;
Where Seward, leader of the lovely train,
Pours o'er heroic tombs her potent strain;
Potent to sooth the honor'd dead, and dart
Congenial virtue thro' each panting heart;
Potent thro' spirits masculine to spread
Poetic jealousy and envious dread,
If Love and Envy could in union rest,
And rule with blended sway a Poet's breast:
The Bards of Britain, with unjaundic'd eyes,
Will glory to behold such rivals rise.
Proceed, ye Sisters of the tuneful Shell,
Without a scruple, in that Art excel,
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In sweet accordance with the Female soul;
Pure as yourselves, and, like your charms, design'd
To bless the earth, and humanize mankind.
Where'er that Parent of engaging thought,
Warm Sensibility, like light, has taught
The bright'ning mirror of the mind to shew
Nature's reflected forms in all their glow;
Where in full tides the fine affections roll,
And the warm heart invigorates the soul;
In that rich spot, where winds propitious blow,
Culture may teach poetic Fame to grow.
Refin'd Invention and harmonious Rhyme,
Are the slow gifts of Study and of Time;
But to the Bard whom all the Muses court,
His Sports are study, and his Studies sport.
E'en at this period, when all tongues declare
Poetic talents are a gift most rare,
Unnumber'd Spirits, in our generous isle,
Are ripening now beneath kind Nature's smile,
Whom happy care might lead to lasting fame,
And art ennoble with a Poet's name.
Warm Sensibility, like light, has taught
The bright'ning mirror of the mind to shew
Nature's reflected forms in all their glow;
Where in full tides the fine affections roll,
And the warm heart invigorates the soul;
In that rich spot, where winds propitious blow,
Culture may teach poetic Fame to grow.
Refin'd Invention and harmonious Rhyme,
Are the slow gifts of Study and of Time;
But to the Bard whom all the Muses court,
His Sports are study, and his Studies sport.
E'en at this period, when all tongues declare
Poetic talents are a gift most rare,
Unnumber'd Spirits, in our generous isle,
Are ripening now beneath kind Nature's smile,
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And art ennoble with a Poet's name.
Not that 'tis granted this high prize to gain
By light effusions of a sportive vein,
The idle Ballad of a summer's morn,
The child of Frolic, in a moment born:
Who views such trifles with a vain regard,
But ill deserves the mighty name of Bard;
In diff'rent tints see virtuous Gresset trace
The genuine spirit of Poetic race:
By light effusions of a sportive vein,
The idle Ballad of a summer's morn,
The child of Frolic, in a moment born:
Who views such trifles with a vain regard,
But ill deserves the mighty name of Bard;
In diff'rent tints see virtuous Gresset trace
The genuine spirit of Poetic race:
Let the true Bard (this pleasing Poet sings)
Bid his fair fame on strong foundations rest;
His be each honor that from Genius springs,
Esteem'd by Judgment, and by Love carest;
Bid his fair fame on strong foundations rest;
His be each honor that from Genius springs,
Esteem'd by Judgment, and by Love carest;
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His the Ambition, that in climes unknown,
Where'er his wand'ring volume may extend,
Where'er that Picture of his mind is shewn,
In every Reader he may find a Friend.
Where'er his wand'ring volume may extend,
Where'er that Picture of his mind is shewn,
In every Reader he may find a Friend.
Be it his aim to dart the living ray
Of purest pleasure o'er th' enlighten'd earth;
And in sweet union let his works display
The Poet's fancy and the Patriot's worth.
Of purest pleasure o'er th' enlighten'd earth;
And in sweet union let his works display
The Poet's fancy and the Patriot's worth.
Thus far, O Gresset, on these points agreed,
My soul professes thy Poetic Creed;
Tho' the soft languor of thy song I blame,
Which present ease prefers to future fame,
Thy nobler maxims I with pride embrace,
That Verse shou'd ever rise on Virtue's base,
And every master of this matchless art
Exalt the Spirit, and improve the Heart;
And many a Youth, now rising into Man,
Might build his glory on this noble plan,
With latent powers to make the structure last
Till Nature dies, and Time itself be past:
But O, how intricate the chances lurk,
Whose power may drive him from the doubtful work!
Of the strong minds by chaste Ambition nurst,
Who burn to rank in Honor's line the first,
One leaves the Lyre to seize the martial crown,
And one may drop it at a Parent's frown;
For still with scorn, which anxious fear inflames,
Parental care 'gainst Poesy declaims!
My soul professes thy Poetic Creed;
Tho' the soft languor of thy song I blame,
Which present ease prefers to future fame,
Thy nobler maxims I with pride embrace,
That Verse shou'd ever rise on Virtue's base,
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Exalt the Spirit, and improve the Heart;
And many a Youth, now rising into Man,
Might build his glory on this noble plan,
With latent powers to make the structure last
Till Nature dies, and Time itself be past:
But O, how intricate the chances lurk,
Whose power may drive him from the doubtful work!
Of the strong minds by chaste Ambition nurst,
Who burn to rank in Honor's line the first,
One leaves the Lyre to seize the martial crown,
And one may drop it at a Parent's frown;
For still with scorn, which anxious fear inflames,
Parental care 'gainst Poesy declaims!
“Fly, fly, my son, (the fond adviser cries)
“That thorny path, where every peril lies;
“Oh! be not thou by that vain Art betray'd,
“Whose pains are Substance, and whose joys are Shade!
“Mark, in the Muses' miserable throng,
“What air-built visions cheat the Sons of Song!
“This is a lesson taught in every street,
“And Bards may read it at each Stall they meet:
“Take the first book, behold in many a page
“What promises of life from age to age;
“The Poet swears himself he ne'er shall die,
“A troop of rhyming friends support the lie:
“Yet see how soon in Lethe's stream expire
“This leading Bard and his attendant Quire,
“And round these boards, their unexpected bier,
“Their ghosts breathe wisdom in the passing ear:
“For Stalls, like Church-yards, moral truth supply,
“And teach the visionary Bard to die.
“If present fame, thy airy hope, be gain'd,
“By vigils purchas'd, and by toil maintain'd,
“What base alloy must sink the doubtful prize,
“Which Envy poisons, and which Spleen denies!
“Observe what ills the living Bard attend,
“Neglect his lot, and Penury his end!
“Behold the world unequally requite
“Two Arts that minister to chaste delight,
“Twin-sisters, who with kindred beauty strike,
“In fortune different, as in charms alike:
“Painting, fair Danae! has her Golden shower,
“But Want is Poesy's proverbial dower.
“That thorny path, where every peril lies;
“Oh! be not thou by that vain Art betray'd,
“Whose pains are Substance, and whose joys are Shade!
“Mark, in the Muses' miserable throng,
“What air-built visions cheat the Sons of Song!
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“And Bards may read it at each Stall they meet:
“Take the first book, behold in many a page
“What promises of life from age to age;
“The Poet swears himself he ne'er shall die,
“A troop of rhyming friends support the lie:
“Yet see how soon in Lethe's stream expire
“This leading Bard and his attendant Quire,
“And round these boards, their unexpected bier,
“Their ghosts breathe wisdom in the passing ear:
“For Stalls, like Church-yards, moral truth supply,
“And teach the visionary Bard to die.
“If present fame, thy airy hope, be gain'd,
“By vigils purchas'd, and by toil maintain'd,
“What base alloy must sink the doubtful prize,
“Which Envy poisons, and which Spleen denies!
“Observe what ills the living Bard attend,
“Neglect his lot, and Penury his end!
“Behold the world unequally requite
“Two Arts that minister to chaste delight,
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“In fortune different, as in charms alike:
“Painting, fair Danae! has her Golden shower,
“But Want is Poesy's proverbial dower.
“See, while with brilliant genius, ill applied,
“The noble Rubens flatters Royal pride,
“Makes all the Virtues, who abjur'd him, wait
“On abject James, in allegoric state;
“O'er the base Pedant his rich radiance flings,
“And deifies the meanest of our Kings;
“His Son rewards, and Honor owns the deed,
“The splendid Artist with a princely meed.
“Now turn to Milton's latter days, and see
“How Bards and Painters in their fate agree;
“Behold him sell his heaven-illumin'd page,
“Mirac'lous child of his deserted age,
“For such a pittance, so ignobly slight,
“As wounded Learning blushes to recite!
“The noble Rubens flatters Royal pride,
“Makes all the Virtues, who abjur'd him, wait
“On abject James, in allegoric state;
“O'er the base Pedant his rich radiance flings,
“And deifies the meanest of our Kings;
“His Son rewards, and Honor owns the deed,
“The splendid Artist with a princely meed.
“Now turn to Milton's latter days, and see
“How Bards and Painters in their fate agree;
“Behold him sell his heaven-illumin'd page,
“Mirac'lous child of his deserted age,
“For such a pittance, so ignobly slight,
“As wounded Learning blushes to recite!
“If changing times suggest the pleasing hope,
“That Bards no more with adverse fortune cope;
“That in this alter'd clime, where Arts increase,
“And make our polish'd Isle a second Greece;
“That now, if Poesy proclaims her Son,
“And challenges the wreath by Fancy won;
“Both Fame and Wealth adopt him as their heir,
“And liberal Grandeur makes his life her care;
“From such vain thoughts thy erring mind defend,
“And look on Chatterton's disastrous end.
“Oh, ill-starr'd Youth, whom Nature form'd, in vain,
“With powers on Pindus' splendid height to reign!
“O dread example of what pangs await
“Young Genius struggling with malignant fate!
“What could the Muse, who fir'd thy infant frame
“With the rich promise of Poetic fame;
“Who taught thy hand its magic art to hide,
“And mock the insolence of Critic pride;
“What cou'd her unavailing cares oppose,
“To save her darling from his desperate foes;
“From pressing Want's calamitous controul,
“And Pride, the fever of the ardent soul?
“Ah, see, too conscious of her failing power,
“She quits her Nursling in his deathful hour!
“In a chill room, within whose wretched wall
“No cheering voice replies to Misery's call;
“Near a vile bed, too crazy to sustain
“Misfortune's wasted limbs, convuls'd with pain,
“On the bare floor, with heaven-directed eyes,
“The hapless Youth in speechless horror lies!
“The pois'nous vial, by distraction drain'd,
“Rolls from his hand, in wild contortion strain'd:
“Pale with life-wasting pangs, its dire effect,
“And stung to madness by the world's neglect,
“He, in abhorrence of the dangerous Art,
“Once the dear idol of his glowing heart,
“Tears from his Harp the vain detested wires,
“And in the frenzy of Despair expires!
“That Bards no more with adverse fortune cope;
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“And make our polish'd Isle a second Greece;
“That now, if Poesy proclaims her Son,
“And challenges the wreath by Fancy won;
“Both Fame and Wealth adopt him as their heir,
“And liberal Grandeur makes his life her care;
“From such vain thoughts thy erring mind defend,
“And look on Chatterton's disastrous end.
“Oh, ill-starr'd Youth, whom Nature form'd, in vain,
“With powers on Pindus' splendid height to reign!
“O dread example of what pangs await
“Young Genius struggling with malignant fate!
“What could the Muse, who fir'd thy infant frame
“With the rich promise of Poetic fame;
“Who taught thy hand its magic art to hide,
“And mock the insolence of Critic pride;
“What cou'd her unavailing cares oppose,
“To save her darling from his desperate foes;
“From pressing Want's calamitous controul,
“And Pride, the fever of the ardent soul?
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“She quits her Nursling in his deathful hour!
“In a chill room, within whose wretched wall
“No cheering voice replies to Misery's call;
“Near a vile bed, too crazy to sustain
“Misfortune's wasted limbs, convuls'd with pain,
“On the bare floor, with heaven-directed eyes,
“The hapless Youth in speechless horror lies!
“The pois'nous vial, by distraction drain'd,
“Rolls from his hand, in wild contortion strain'd:
“Pale with life-wasting pangs, its dire effect,
“And stung to madness by the world's neglect,
“He, in abhorrence of the dangerous Art,
“Once the dear idol of his glowing heart,
“Tears from his Harp the vain detested wires,
“And in the frenzy of Despair expires!
“Pernicious Poesy! thy baleful sway
“Exalts to weaken, flatters to betray;
“When thy fond Votary has to thee resign'd
“The captive powers of his deluded mind,
“Fantastic hopes his swelling breast inflame,
“Tempestuous passions tear his shatter'd frame,
“Which sinks; for round it seas of trouble roar,
“Admitting agony at every pore;
“While Dullness, whom no tender feelings check,
“Grins at his ruin, and enjoys the wreck;
“Seen thro' the mist which clouds her heavy eyes,
“The faults of Genius swell to double size,
“His generous faults, which her base pride makes known,
“Insulting errors so unlike her own.
“Exalts to weaken, flatters to betray;
“When thy fond Votary has to thee resign'd
“The captive powers of his deluded mind,
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“Tempestuous passions tear his shatter'd frame,
“Which sinks; for round it seas of trouble roar,
“Admitting agony at every pore;
“While Dullness, whom no tender feelings check,
“Grins at his ruin, and enjoys the wreck;
“Seen thro' the mist which clouds her heavy eyes,
“The faults of Genius swell to double size,
“His generous faults, which her base pride makes known,
“Insulting errors so unlike her own.
“Far then, my Son, far from this Syren steer;
“Or, if her dulcet song must charm thy ear,
“Let Reason bind thee, like the Greek of yore,
“To catch her music, but escape her shore;
“For never shall the wretch her power can seize,
“Regain the port of Fortune, or of Ease.”
“Or, if her dulcet song must charm thy ear,
“Let Reason bind thee, like the Greek of yore,
“To catch her music, but escape her shore;
“For never shall the wretch her power can seize,
“Regain the port of Fortune, or of Ease.”
Parental Fear thus warns the filial heart,
From this alluring, this insidious Art;
But, wounded thus by keen Invective's edge,
Say, can the Muse no just defence alledge?
In striking contrast has she not to paint
Her prosp'rous Hero, as her murder'd Saint?
'Tis true, she oft has fruitless vigils kept,
And oft, with unavailing sorrow, wept
Her injur'd Vot'ries, doom'd to quit the earth
In the sharp pangs of ill-requited worth.
Ye noble Martyrs of poetic name,
“Bliss to your Spirits, to your Mem'ries Fame!”
By gen'rous Honor be your toils rever'd,
To grateful Nature be your names endear'd!
To all who Pity's feeling nerve possess,
Doubly endear'd by undeserv'd distress.
From this alluring, this insidious Art;
But, wounded thus by keen Invective's edge,
Say, can the Muse no just defence alledge?
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Her prosp'rous Hero, as her murder'd Saint?
'Tis true, she oft has fruitless vigils kept,
And oft, with unavailing sorrow, wept
Her injur'd Vot'ries, doom'd to quit the earth
In the sharp pangs of ill-requited worth.
Ye noble Martyrs of poetic name,
“Bliss to your Spirits, to your Mem'ries Fame!”
By gen'rous Honor be your toils rever'd,
To grateful Nature be your names endear'd!
To all who Pity's feeling nerve possess,
Doubly endear'd by undeserv'd distress.
But, to relieve the pain your wrongs awake,
O let the Muse her brighter records take,
Review the crown by living Merit won,
And share the triumph of each happier Son.
O let the Muse her brighter records take,
Review the crown by living Merit won,
And share the triumph of each happier Son.
If the young Bard who starts for Glory's goal,
Can sate with present fame his ardent soul,
Poetic story can with truth attest
This rarest, richest prize in life possest.
See the gay Poet of Italia's shore,
Whom with fond zeal her feeling sons adore,
Pass, while his heart with exultation beats,
Poetic Mantua's applauding streets!
See him, while Justice smiles, and Envy snarls,
Receive the Laurel from Imperial Charles!
And lo, th' unfading Gift still shines above
Each perishable mark of Royal Love.
Can sate with present fame his ardent soul,
Poetic story can with truth attest
This rarest, richest prize in life possest.
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Whom with fond zeal her feeling sons adore,
Pass, while his heart with exultation beats,
Poetic Mantua's applauding streets!
See him, while Justice smiles, and Envy snarls,
Receive the Laurel from Imperial Charles!
And lo, th' unfading Gift still shines above
Each perishable mark of Royal Love.
If humbler views the tuneful mind inflame,
If to be rich can be a Poet's aim,
The Muse may shew, but in a different clime,
Wealth, the fair produce of applauded Rhyme.
Behold the fav'rite Bard of lib'ral Spain,
Her wond'rous Vega, of exhaustless vein;
From honest Poverty, his early lot,
With honor sullied by no vicious blot,
Behold him rise on Fortune's glittering wings,
And almost reach the opulence of Kings;
The high-soul'd Nobles of his native land
Enrich their Poet with so frank a hand!
For him Pieria's rock with treasure teems,
For him her fountains gush with golden streams;
And ne'er did Fortune, with a love more just,
Her splendid stores to worthier hands entrust;
For with the purest current, wide and strong,
His Charity surpast his copious Song.
If to be rich can be a Poet's aim,
The Muse may shew, but in a different clime,
Wealth, the fair produce of applauded Rhyme.
Behold the fav'rite Bard of lib'ral Spain,
Her wond'rous Vega, of exhaustless vein;
From honest Poverty, his early lot,
With honor sullied by no vicious blot,
Behold him rise on Fortune's glittering wings,
And almost reach the opulence of Kings;
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Enrich their Poet with so frank a hand!
For him Pieria's rock with treasure teems,
For him her fountains gush with golden streams;
And ne'er did Fortune, with a love more just,
Her splendid stores to worthier hands entrust;
For with the purest current, wide and strong,
His Charity surpast his copious Song.
If the Enthusiast higher hope pursues,
If from his commerce with th' inspiring Muse
He seeks to gain, by no mean aims confin'd,
Freedom of thought and energy of mind;
To raise his spirit, with ætherial fire,
Above each little want and low desire;
O turn where Milton flames with Epic rage,
Unhurt by poverty, unchill'd by age:
Tho' danger threaten his declining day,
Tho' clouds of darkness quench his visual ray,
The heavenly Muse his hallow'd spirit fills
With raptures that surmount his matchless ills;
From earth she bears him to bright Fancy's goal,
And distant fame illuminates his soul!
If from his commerce with th' inspiring Muse
He seeks to gain, by no mean aims confin'd,
Freedom of thought and energy of mind;
To raise his spirit, with ætherial fire,
Above each little want and low desire;
O turn where Milton flames with Epic rage,
Unhurt by poverty, unchill'd by age:
Tho' danger threaten his declining day,
Tho' clouds of darkness quench his visual ray,
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With raptures that surmount his matchless ills;
From earth she bears him to bright Fancy's goal,
And distant fame illuminates his soul!
Too oft the wealthy, to proud follies born,
Have turn'd from letter'd Poverty with scorn.
Dull Opulence! thy narrow joys enlarge;
To shield weak Merit is thy noblest charge:
Search the dark scenes where drooping Genius lies,
And keep from sorriest sights a nation's eyes,
That, from expiring Want's reproaches free,
Our generous country may ne'er weep to see
A future Chatterton by poison dead,
An Otway fainting for a little bread.
Have turn'd from letter'd Poverty with scorn.
Dull Opulence! thy narrow joys enlarge;
To shield weak Merit is thy noblest charge:
Search the dark scenes where drooping Genius lies,
And keep from sorriest sights a nation's eyes,
That, from expiring Want's reproaches free,
Our generous country may ne'er weep to see
A future Chatterton by poison dead,
An Otway fainting for a little bread.
If deaths like these deform'd our native isle,
Some English Bards have bask'd in fortune's smile.
Alike in Station and in Genius blest,
By Knowledge prais'd, by Dignity carest,
Pope's happy Freedom, all base wants above,
Flow'd from the golden stream of Public Love;
That richest antidote the Bard can seize,
To save his spirit from its worst disease,
From mean Dependance, bright Ambition's bane,
Which blushing Fancy strives to hide in vain.
To Pope the titled Patron joy'd to bend,
Still more ennobled when proclaim'd his friend;
For him the hands of jarring Faction join
To heap their tribute on his Homer's shrine.
Proud of the frank reward his talents find,
And nobly conscious of no venal mind,
With the just world his fair account he clears,
And owns no debt to Princes or to Peers.
Some English Bards have bask'd in fortune's smile.
Alike in Station and in Genius blest,
By Knowledge prais'd, by Dignity carest,
Pope's happy Freedom, all base wants above,
Flow'd from the golden stream of Public Love;
98
To save his spirit from its worst disease,
From mean Dependance, bright Ambition's bane,
Which blushing Fancy strives to hide in vain.
To Pope the titled Patron joy'd to bend,
Still more ennobled when proclaim'd his friend;
For him the hands of jarring Faction join
To heap their tribute on his Homer's shrine.
Proud of the frank reward his talents find,
And nobly conscious of no venal mind,
With the just world his fair account he clears,
And owns no debt to Princes or to Peers.
Yet, while our nation feels new thirst arise
For that pure joy which Poesy supplies,
Bards, whom the tempting Muse enlists by stealth,
Perceive their path is not the road to wealth,
To honorable wealth, young Labor's spoil,
The due reward of no inglorious toil;
Whose well-earn'd comforts noblest minds engage,
The just asylum of declining age;
Else had we seen a warm Poetic Youth
Change Fiction's roses for the thorns of Truth,
From Fancy's realm, his native field, withdraw,
To pay hard homage to severer Law?
For that pure joy which Poesy supplies,
Bards, whom the tempting Muse enlists by stealth,
Perceive their path is not the road to wealth,
To honorable wealth, young Labor's spoil,
The due reward of no inglorious toil;
Whose well-earn'd comforts noblest minds engage,
The just asylum of declining age;
99
Change Fiction's roses for the thorns of Truth,
From Fancy's realm, his native field, withdraw,
To pay hard homage to severer Law?
O thou bright Spirit, whom the Asian Muse
Had fondly steep'd in all her fragrant dews,
And o'er whose early Song, that mental feast,
She breath'd the sweetness of the rifled East;
Since independant Honor's high controul
Detach'd from Poesy thy ardent soul,
To seek with better hopes Persuasion's seat,
Blest be those hopes, and happy that retreat!
Which with regret all British Bards must see,
And mourn a Brother lost in losing thee.
Had fondly steep'd in all her fragrant dews,
And o'er whose early Song, that mental feast,
She breath'd the sweetness of the rifled East;
Since independant Honor's high controul
Detach'd from Poesy thy ardent soul,
To seek with better hopes Persuasion's seat,
Blest be those hopes, and happy that retreat!
Which with regret all British Bards must see,
And mourn a Brother lost in losing thee.
Nor leads the Poet's path to that throng'd gate
Where crouching Priests on proud Preferment wait;
Where, while in vain a thousand vot'ries fawn,
She robes her fav'rite few in hallow'd Lawn:
Else, liberal Mason, had thy spotless name,
The Ward of Virtue as the Heir of Fame,
In lists of mitred Lords been still unread,
While Mitres drop on many a Critic's head?
Peace to all such, whose decent brows may bear
Those sacred honors plac'd by Learning there;
May just respect from brutal insult guard
Their Crown, unenvied by the genuine Bard!
Let Poesy, embellish'd by thy care,
Pathetic Mason! with just pride declare,
Thy breast must feel a more exulting fire,
Than Pomp can give, or Dignity inspire,
When Nature tells thee that thy Verse imparts
The thrill of pleasure to ten thousand hearts;
And often has she heard ingenuous Youth,
Accomplish'd Beauty, and unbiass'd Truth,
Those faithful harbingers of future fame,
With tender interest pronounce thy name
With lively gratitude for joy refin'd,
Gift of thy Genius to the feeling mind.
These are the honors which the Muse confers,
The radiant Crown of living light is her's;
And on thy brow she gave those gems to blaze,
That far outshine the Mitre's transient rays;
Gems that shall mock malignant Envy's breath,
And shine still brighter thro' the shades of death.
Where crouching Priests on proud Preferment wait;
Where, while in vain a thousand vot'ries fawn,
She robes her fav'rite few in hallow'd Lawn:
Else, liberal Mason, had thy spotless name,
The Ward of Virtue as the Heir of Fame,
100
While Mitres drop on many a Critic's head?
Peace to all such, whose decent brows may bear
Those sacred honors plac'd by Learning there;
May just respect from brutal insult guard
Their Crown, unenvied by the genuine Bard!
Let Poesy, embellish'd by thy care,
Pathetic Mason! with just pride declare,
Thy breast must feel a more exulting fire,
Than Pomp can give, or Dignity inspire,
When Nature tells thee that thy Verse imparts
The thrill of pleasure to ten thousand hearts;
And often has she heard ingenuous Youth,
Accomplish'd Beauty, and unbiass'd Truth,
Those faithful harbingers of future fame,
With tender interest pronounce thy name
With lively gratitude for joy refin'd,
Gift of thy Genius to the feeling mind.
These are the honors which the Muse confers,
The radiant Crown of living light is her's;
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That far outshine the Mitre's transient rays;
Gems that shall mock malignant Envy's breath,
And shine still brighter thro' the shades of death.
For me, who feel, whene'er I touch the lyre,
My talents sink below my proud desire;
Who often doubt, and sometimes credit give,
When Friends assure me that my Verse will live;
Whom health too tender for the bustling throng
Led into pensive shade and soothing song;
Whatever fortune my unpolish'd rhymes
May meet, in present or in future times,
Let the blest Art my grateful thoughts employ,
Which sooths my sorrow and augments my joy;
Whence lonely Peace and social Pleasure springs,
And Friendship, dearer than the smile of Kings!
While keener Poets, querulously proud,
Lament the Ills of Poesy aloud,
And magnify, with Irritation's zeal,
Those common evils we too strongly feel,
The envious Comment and the subtle Style
Of specious Slander, stabbing with a smile;
Frankly I wish to make her Blessings known,
And think those Blessings for her Ills atone:
Nor wou'd my honest pride that praise forego,
Which makes Malignity yet more my foe.
My talents sink below my proud desire;
Who often doubt, and sometimes credit give,
When Friends assure me that my Verse will live;
Whom health too tender for the bustling throng
Led into pensive shade and soothing song;
Whatever fortune my unpolish'd rhymes
May meet, in present or in future times,
Let the blest Art my grateful thoughts employ,
Which sooths my sorrow and augments my joy;
Whence lonely Peace and social Pleasure springs,
And Friendship, dearer than the smile of Kings!
While keener Poets, querulously proud,
Lament the Ills of Poesy aloud,
And magnify, with Irritation's zeal,
Those common evils we too strongly feel,
102
Of specious Slander, stabbing with a smile;
Frankly I wish to make her Blessings known,
And think those Blessings for her Ills atone:
Nor wou'd my honest pride that praise forego,
Which makes Malignity yet more my foe.
If heart-felt pain e'er led me to accuse
The dangerous gift of the alluring Muse,
'Twas in the moment when my Verse imprest
Some anxious feelings on a Mother's breast.
The dangerous gift of the alluring Muse,
'Twas in the moment when my Verse imprest
Some anxious feelings on a Mother's breast.
O thou fond Spirit, who with pride hast smil'd,
And frown'd with fear, on thy poetic child,
Pleas'd, yet alarm'd, when in his boyish time
He sigh'd in numbers, or he laugh'd in rhyme;
While thy kind cautions warn'd him to beware
Of Penury, the Bard's perpetual snare;
Marking the early temper of his soul,
Careless of wealth, nor fit for base controul:
Thou tender Saint, to whom he owes much more
Than ever Child to Parent ow'd before,
In life's first season, when the fever's flame
Shrunk to deformity his shrivell'd frame,
And turn'd each fairer image in his brain
To blank confusion and her crazy train,
'Twas thine, with constant love, thro' ling'ring years,
To bathe thy idiot Orphan in thy tears;
Day after day, and night succeeding night,
To turn incessant to the hideous sight,
And frequent watch, if haply at thy view
Departed Reason might not dawn anew.
Tho' medicinal art, with pitying care,
Cou'd lend no aid to save thee from despair,
Thy fond maternal heart adher'd to Hope and Prayer:
Nor pray'd in vain; thy child from Pow'rs above
Receiv'd the sense to feel and bless thy love;
O might he thence receive the happy skill,
And force proportion'd to his ardent will,
With Truth's unfading radiance to emblaze
Thy virtues, worthy of immortal praise!
And frown'd with fear, on thy poetic child,
Pleas'd, yet alarm'd, when in his boyish time
He sigh'd in numbers, or he laugh'd in rhyme;
While thy kind cautions warn'd him to beware
Of Penury, the Bard's perpetual snare;
Marking the early temper of his soul,
Careless of wealth, nor fit for base controul:
Thou tender Saint, to whom he owes much more
Than ever Child to Parent ow'd before,
103
Shrunk to deformity his shrivell'd frame,
And turn'd each fairer image in his brain
To blank confusion and her crazy train,
'Twas thine, with constant love, thro' ling'ring years,
To bathe thy idiot Orphan in thy tears;
Day after day, and night succeeding night,
To turn incessant to the hideous sight,
And frequent watch, if haply at thy view
Departed Reason might not dawn anew.
Tho' medicinal art, with pitying care,
Cou'd lend no aid to save thee from despair,
Thy fond maternal heart adher'd to Hope and Prayer:
Nor pray'd in vain; thy child from Pow'rs above
Receiv'd the sense to feel and bless thy love;
O might he thence receive the happy skill,
And force proportion'd to his ardent will,
With Truth's unfading radiance to emblaze
Thy virtues, worthy of immortal praise!
104
Nature, who deck'd thy form with Beauty's flowers,
Exhausted on thy soul her finer powers;
Taught it with all her energy to feel
Love's melting softness, Friendship's fervid zeal,
The generous purpose, and the active thought,
With Charity's diffusive spirit fraught;
There all the best of mental gifts she plac'd,
Vigor of Judgment, purity of Taste,
Superior parts, without their spleenful leaven,
Kindness to Earth, and confidence in Heaven.
Exhausted on thy soul her finer powers;
Taught it with all her energy to feel
Love's melting softness, Friendship's fervid zeal,
The generous purpose, and the active thought,
With Charity's diffusive spirit fraught;
There all the best of mental gifts she plac'd,
Vigor of Judgment, purity of Taste,
Superior parts, without their spleenful leaven,
Kindness to Earth, and confidence in Heaven.
While my fond thoughts o'er all thy merits roll,
Thy praise thus gushes from my filial soul;
Nor will the Public with harsh rigor blame
This my just homage to thy honor'd name;
To please that Public, if to please be mine,
Thy Virtues train'd me—let the praise be thine.
Thy praise thus gushes from my filial soul;
Nor will the Public with harsh rigor blame
This my just homage to thy honor'd name;
To please that Public, if to please be mine,
Thy Virtues train'd me—let the praise be thine.
Since thou hast reach'd that world where Love alone,
Where Love Parental can exceed thy own;
If in celestial realms the blest may know
And aid the objects of their care below,
While in this sublunary scene of strife
Thy Son possesses frail and feverish life,
If Heaven allot him many an added hour,
Gild it with virtuous thought and mental power,
Power to exalt, with every aim refin'd,
The loveliest of the Arts that bless mankind!
Where Love Parental can exceed thy own;
If in celestial realms the blest may know
And aid the objects of their care below,
105
Thy Son possesses frail and feverish life,
If Heaven allot him many an added hour,
Gild it with virtuous thought and mental power,
Power to exalt, with every aim refin'd,
The loveliest of the Arts that bless mankind!
END OF THE FOURTH EPISTLE.
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