 | The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison |  |
159
AN Apology to Mr. Bell.
Clarior in Tenebris si latuisset, erat.
SIR,
If I my Tributary Lays refuse,
O blame not me, but blame the conscious Muse!
For when commanding Duty bids me sing,
She stops my Voice, and breaks the jarring String;
And when I would the pleasing Task renew,
The awful Roman rises to my view,
Let those, says he, who aim in all they write,
At once to mingle Profit, and Delight;
Their Theme exactly to their Measures fit,
Nor vainly hope to rise above their Wit:
Who looks aloft, will surely tread awry,
And may mistake a Marl-pit for the Sky.
O blame not me, but blame the conscious Muse!
For when commanding Duty bids me sing,
She stops my Voice, and breaks the jarring String;
And when I would the pleasing Task renew,
The awful Roman rises to my view,
Let those, says he, who aim in all they write,
At once to mingle Profit, and Delight;
160
Nor vainly hope to rise above their Wit:
Who looks aloft, will surely tread awry,
And may mistake a Marl-pit for the Sky.
Yet, like the rest, I can my Tribute bring,
Like some perhaps in spite of Nature sing:
Ransack each common Author, and from thence
Profane good antient Phrase with modern Sense.
In Rapine rich, laboriously dull,
Witty, but just enough to show a Fool;
How could I languish in a rural Song,
And tag the Tadpole-Pastoral along?
How sweetly should the tuneful Murmurs creep,
And lull the ravish'd Reader fast a-sleep?
The blasted Oaks should then more justly fear,
My Rhyming Fury, than the Thunder's Scar.
Like some perhaps in spite of Nature sing:
Ransack each common Author, and from thence
Profane good antient Phrase with modern Sense.
In Rapine rich, laboriously dull,
Witty, but just enough to show a Fool;
How could I languish in a rural Song,
And tag the Tadpole-Pastoral along?
How sweetly should the tuneful Murmurs creep,
And lull the ravish'd Reader fast a-sleep?
The blasted Oaks should then more justly fear,
My Rhyming Fury, than the Thunder's Scar.
How could I, wing'd with Splay-foot Lyrics fly,
Like Hag, on Broomstick, thro' the troubled Sky!
Rhyming, I'd mount, like Dennis, heretofore,
Bluster, as loudly, and as proudly soar.
Like Hag, on Broomstick, thro' the troubled Sky!
161
Bluster, as loudly, and as proudly soar.
Well may such Poets rise a tow'ring Height,
Who have no Thought to intercept their Flight;
Nor need they Fear to tumble from the Skies,
For those can never Fall, who never Rise.
Who have no Thought to intercept their Flight;
Nor need they Fear to tumble from the Skies,
For those can never Fall, who never Rise.
But shall I with collected Theft prophane,
The great, the bless'd, the venerable Name!
Shall I with Murd'rers to the Altar flie,
Not thro' religious Zeal, but Infamy,
As Blackmore sought in Job a Sanctuary!
Forbid it, Heav'n—I chuse an humbler Fate,
Nor would be wicked, to be vainly Great.
Let me in lowlier Scenes a while delight,
With cooling Judgment meditate the Flight;
Then, worthy Sir, if Time confirm my Thought,
The Tribute, if 'tis worthy, shall be brought;
With double Ardour I'll the Task pursue,
To sing of Heaven, and to sing to You.
The great, the bless'd, the venerable Name!
Shall I with Murd'rers to the Altar flie,
Not thro' religious Zeal, but Infamy,
As Blackmore sought in Job a Sanctuary!
Forbid it, Heav'n—I chuse an humbler Fate,
Nor would be wicked, to be vainly Great.
Let me in lowlier Scenes a while delight,
With cooling Judgment meditate the Flight;
Then, worthy Sir, if Time confirm my Thought,
The Tribute, if 'tis worthy, shall be brought;
With double Ardour I'll the Task pursue,
To sing of Heaven, and to sing to You.
| The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison | |