 | The lower world |  |
2
THE LOWER WORLD.
BOOK I.
ARGUMENT.
Apostrophe to the Proposer of the Bill that suggested the Subject.—Power of the existing Laws for the Protection of Man against the Assaults of Man.—Dreadful State of Human Society undefended by Laws.—The Lower World a frequent Subject of Poetry and Painting.— Their respective Powers in a Variety of Instances described; but neither the Pen nor Pencil embraces the present Subject.—Still less do the Laws extend to the Protection of the Animal World.—Apostrophe to the living Poets of the Country.—The Rights of the Lower World examined. —Common-place Arguments of Pride and Interest against the Admission of such Rights.—Apostrophe to false Reasoners on the Subject.
3
When public honours, in the public cause,
Exalt to power, yet dignify the laws;
When with Fame's brightest laurels cover'd o'er
To favour'd genius, Fame can give no more;
On these, when proud distinctions of the state,
The fair awards of eloquence await;
When these, by noblest paths have led to wealth,
And nature grants the richer boon of health:
O! with all these assembled blessings crown'd,
When sacred Leisure spreads its shades around;
Where resting from the World's entangled road,
The soul ascends sublime from man to God;
Mid the bow'r'd silence of the private scene,
Say, what so well can fill the pause between
As that which Nature prompts to Pity's breast?
—Pity, of every generous heart the guest,
As that which dares each colder code refute,
And justifies the ways of man to brute?
Exalt to power, yet dignify the laws;
When with Fame's brightest laurels cover'd o'er
To favour'd genius, Fame can give no more;
On these, when proud distinctions of the state,
The fair awards of eloquence await;
When these, by noblest paths have led to wealth,
And nature grants the richer boon of health:
O! with all these assembled blessings crown'd,
When sacred Leisure spreads its shades around;
Where resting from the World's entangled road,
The soul ascends sublime from man to God;
4
Say, what so well can fill the pause between
As that which Nature prompts to Pity's breast?
—Pity, of every generous heart the guest,
As that which dares each colder code refute,
And justifies the ways of man to brute?
A thousand laws, and what no law can reach,
The ways of man, to fellow man may teach;
Not those alone who wrong their native land,
The mask'd assassin, or the robber band;
Not those who stop the traveller on his way,
Ruffians of midnight, or of open day;
Not they to whom the direst acts belong,
But for each shade of social crime and wrong,
Law lifts the giant arm, nor lifts in vain,
The sacred powers of order to maintain,
Guardian of human rights, nor wants the force
To aid inferior beings in its course.
Yet aids them only on the social plea,
Of goods or chattels, claim'd by you or me;
As right protects, as property defends,
But to pure human pity ne'er extends.
The lower world, like purchas'd slaves, must find
A tyrant savage, or a master kind;
This, holds the helpless tribe in sacred trust,
That, tortures life, or crushes it in dust.
The ways of man, to fellow man may teach;
Not those alone who wrong their native land,
The mask'd assassin, or the robber band;
Not those who stop the traveller on his way,
Ruffians of midnight, or of open day;
Not they to whom the direst acts belong,
But for each shade of social crime and wrong,
Law lifts the giant arm, nor lifts in vain,
The sacred powers of order to maintain,
Guardian of human rights, nor wants the force
To aid inferior beings in its course.
Yet aids them only on the social plea,
Of goods or chattels, claim'd by you or me;
5
But to pure human pity ne'er extends.
The lower world, like purchas'd slaves, must find
A tyrant savage, or a master kind;
This, holds the helpless tribe in sacred trust,
That, tortures life, or crushes it in dust.
Oh! who can paint the horror that prevails,
Where Law controls not, and where Mercy fails?
The waves, when wild they overflow their bound,
Covering with wrecks the watery world around;
The meteors, when they ride the catching air,
And shake contagion from their blazing hair;
The maniac whirlwinds, when oppos'd they rave;
The ravenous earthquake—an enormous grave,
Whose mouth capacious, by whole cities fed,
In one dire moment swallowing quick and dead,
Less fell than man, with passions unconfin'd,
And soul debas'd let loose upon his kind;
His wit, his genius, then but more annoy,
His godlike powers but engines to destroy,
The fiercest monster that e'er roam'd the wood,
Or lash'd the billow less profuse of blood.
No pen, no tongue, his cruelties can tell,
On earth committing foulest deeds of hell!
Where Law controls not, and where Mercy fails?
The waves, when wild they overflow their bound,
Covering with wrecks the watery world around;
The meteors, when they ride the catching air,
And shake contagion from their blazing hair;
The maniac whirlwinds, when oppos'd they rave;
The ravenous earthquake—an enormous grave,
Whose mouth capacious, by whole cities fed,
In one dire moment swallowing quick and dead,
Less fell than man, with passions unconfin'd,
And soul debas'd let loose upon his kind;
His wit, his genius, then but more annoy,
His godlike powers but engines to destroy,
6
Or lash'd the billow less profuse of blood.
No pen, no tongue, his cruelties can tell,
On earth committing foulest deeds of hell!
The lower world full oft the Muse has sung,
And every chord of every lyre been strung;
Long have the feather'd, furr'd, and scaly train,
Inspir'd the painter's touch, the poet's strain.
Ardent alike the pen and pencil try,
Which most shall charm the heart, or lure the eye;
Their varied hues and thrilling numbers move,
And all is beauty, harmony, and love.
And every chord of every lyre been strung;
Long have the feather'd, furr'd, and scaly train,
Inspir'd the painter's touch, the poet's strain.
Ardent alike the pen and pencil try,
Which most shall charm the heart, or lure the eye;
Their varied hues and thrilling numbers move,
And all is beauty, harmony, and love.
On painted banks there sleeps the fleecy dam,
And close beside her stands the pictur'd lamb;
Here stretch'd at large the pamper'd Ox is seen,
Pastur'd in meadows of Parnassian green;
There bolder sketch'd the spirit-breathing Steed,
Like some proud courser of ethereal breed,
Seems now to rest upon the canvass plain,
Now triumphs in the verse, and spurns the rein.
Reposing soft upon his master's knee
Caress'd, caressing, there the Dog we see,
In hopes to gain his lord's society,
He watches now each motion of the eye,
Consults the history of the monarch face,
And leaps with joy when partner of the chase.
With rapture wild, yet passive to command,
Next view him bounding o'er the dewy land;
The master seems the servant's bliss to share,
And mingled music fills the vocal air;
As in yon group they join the hunter train,
Skirting the copse, and scattering o'er the plain.
And close beside her stands the pictur'd lamb;
Here stretch'd at large the pamper'd Ox is seen,
Pastur'd in meadows of Parnassian green;
There bolder sketch'd the spirit-breathing Steed,
Like some proud courser of ethereal breed,
7
Now triumphs in the verse, and spurns the rein.
Reposing soft upon his master's knee
Caress'd, caressing, there the Dog we see,
In hopes to gain his lord's society,
He watches now each motion of the eye,
Consults the history of the monarch face,
And leaps with joy when partner of the chase.
With rapture wild, yet passive to command,
Next view him bounding o'er the dewy land;
The master seems the servant's bliss to share,
And mingled music fills the vocal air;
As in yon group they join the hunter train,
Skirting the copse, and scattering o'er the plain.
Man, too, full oft so fondly is pourtray'd,
No cares annoy him, and no griefs invade;
Here friendship's villa, there love's cot is shown,
And Cupid seated on his mother's throne.
Mark how th' affections circle yonder bound,
While rose-lip'd children dance like cherubs round.
There infant buds and manhood's blossoms blend,
And every creature seems a cherish'd friend:
No gory bludgeon, no uplifted knife,
No object that revives a foe to life;
Man, bird, and beast, scarce differ but in food,
And all is sung or painted fair and good.
The poet's passion, and the painter's soul,
With magic arm'd, emparadise the whole.
No cares annoy him, and no griefs invade;
Here friendship's villa, there love's cot is shown,
And Cupid seated on his mother's throne.
Mark how th' affections circle yonder bound,
While rose-lip'd children dance like cherubs round.
8
And every creature seems a cherish'd friend:
No gory bludgeon, no uplifted knife,
No object that revives a foe to life;
Man, bird, and beast, scarce differ but in food,
And all is sung or painted fair and good.
The poet's passion, and the painter's soul,
With magic arm'd, emparadise the whole.
Thus fancy, genius, feeling, lend their aid,
Pour the strong light, and soften all the shade;
Fancy bestows the happiest tints of art,
And Feeling adds the colourings of the heart.
These grace the pallet, and adorn the lay,
While truth's more sombrous etchings fade away.
Thus man appears in picture and in verse,
The lower world's chief blessing, not its curse:
The happy patron of a happy train,
The central rivet of the social chain;
A world of roses blooming without thorn,
Hymn'd by a seraph on creation's morn.
Pour the strong light, and soften all the shade;
Fancy bestows the happiest tints of art,
And Feeling adds the colourings of the heart.
These grace the pallet, and adorn the lay,
While truth's more sombrous etchings fade away.
Thus man appears in picture and in verse,
The lower world's chief blessing, not its curse:
The happy patron of a happy train,
The central rivet of the social chain;
A world of roses blooming without thorn,
Hymn'd by a seraph on creation's morn.
9
What tho' perchance in landscape and in lay,
Vivid are seen the bird and beast of prey;
Tho' Pard and Tiger, conscious of their power,
Couch on yon canvass, eager to devour;
Tho' savage brutes, by bards and painters made,
In all their native terrors are display'd;
Tho' the fell pack with echo seem to fly,
Nor heed the timid hare's half-human cry;
Tho' sometimes in the poet's fervid page,
Bulls fight with bulls, with lions lions rage;
Tho' yon dire Snake, in many a mazy fold,
Frantic with pain the horse and rider hold;
The bard, the painter must our homage claim,
Since fiends and angels yield an equal fame;
'Tis a proud trial of the art to show
How far the magic of that art can go.
Vivid are seen the bird and beast of prey;
Tho' Pard and Tiger, conscious of their power,
Couch on yon canvass, eager to devour;
Tho' savage brutes, by bards and painters made,
In all their native terrors are display'd;
Tho' the fell pack with echo seem to fly,
Nor heed the timid hare's half-human cry;
Tho' sometimes in the poet's fervid page,
Bulls fight with bulls, with lions lions rage;
Tho' yon dire Snake, in many a mazy fold,
Frantic with pain the horse and rider hold;
The bard, the painter must our homage claim,
Since fiends and angels yield an equal fame;
'Tis a proud trial of the art to show
How far the magic of that art can go.
Yet glad from these we turn the startled gaze,
To scenes that join our pleasure to our praise,
Soft scenes of peace, and sympathy and love,
Where none but fair and gentle passions move;
Where Nature seems upon her works to smile,
And God himself looks down well pleas'd the while.
But turn, ah! turn, from painting and from song,
To mourn the doom of Nature's helpless throng.
O hear the voice of Innocence and Grief,
And aid the Muse to urge the prompt relief:
Compassion's Muse, who each lov'd theme foregoes,
Of hapless myriads to relate the woes.
To scenes that join our pleasure to our praise,
10
Where none but fair and gentle passions move;
Where Nature seems upon her works to smile,
And God himself looks down well pleas'd the while.
But turn, ah! turn, from painting and from song,
To mourn the doom of Nature's helpless throng.
O hear the voice of Innocence and Grief,
And aid the Muse to urge the prompt relief:
Compassion's Muse, who each lov'd theme foregoes,
Of hapless myriads to relate the woes.
Tho' oft conceal'd with care from public sight,
The fierce banditti dread the blushing light;
In solitudes obscene their trade pursue,
Horrid, and fell—a dark and murderous crew;
Unseen, unknown, their sacrifice devour,
Like famish'd cannibals in rage of power:
Tho' these in woods and caves that power display,
Or mock the crime-rebuking eye of Day,
Such base offenders rouse a common cause,
And meet a bold chastiser in the laws;
Man's direst foe in his own form we find,
And human laws are made for human kind.
Tooth still for tooth, and eye for eye, is giv'n,
The prophet's judgment ratified by heav'n:
But for yon tribes, in mingled mischief hurl'd,
Whom the proud Reasoner calls the lower world!
Without whose aid, tho' reasoning pride dispute,
Man still were less a monarch than the brute;
Say, where for them, the solace or the cure,
For wounds and wrongs too mighty to endure;
Beings consign'd to man's peculiar care,
O where for them the generous law—to spare?
For them who half the cares of man relieve,
In full return for all that man can give;
Unequal commerce, and unequal gain,
The tyrant's profit, and the vassal's pain.
The fierce banditti dread the blushing light;
In solitudes obscene their trade pursue,
Horrid, and fell—a dark and murderous crew;
Unseen, unknown, their sacrifice devour,
Like famish'd cannibals in rage of power:
Tho' these in woods and caves that power display,
Or mock the crime-rebuking eye of Day,
11
And meet a bold chastiser in the laws;
Man's direst foe in his own form we find,
And human laws are made for human kind.
Tooth still for tooth, and eye for eye, is giv'n,
The prophet's judgment ratified by heav'n:
But for yon tribes, in mingled mischief hurl'd,
Whom the proud Reasoner calls the lower world!
Without whose aid, tho' reasoning pride dispute,
Man still were less a monarch than the brute;
Say, where for them, the solace or the cure,
For wounds and wrongs too mighty to endure;
Beings consign'd to man's peculiar care,
O where for them the generous law—to spare?
For them who half the cares of man relieve,
In full return for all that man can give;
Unequal commerce, and unequal gain,
The tyrant's profit, and the vassal's pain.
In such a cause, why sleep the laurell'd train,
When every chord should echo to the strain;
A cause, might wake the noblest of the throng,
To pity move, or swell to rage the song.
A theme like this might Campbell's muse inspire,
Or breathe compassion from Crabbe's genuine lyre?
Prompt Marmion's muse to quit the minstrel lay,
Tho' trophied knights to him resign the bay;
And peerless dames weave chaplets in their bowers,
To crown their champion with enchanted flowers.
Yes—prompt their chief to raise his wondrous art,
And melt to mercy the obdurate heart!
And Sheridan, if aught can move his fire,
Slighting the Muse that waits upon his lyre;
The Muse who oft has won him to her arms,
And woos him still, tho' reckless of her charms,
Might pour the stream of eloquence along
The listening Senate, tho' he spurns the song;
Or, doubly arm'd, might urge in both the cause,
And add a virtue to his country's laws.
And Gifford, thou great censor of the age,
Here might'st thou ply thy Juvenilian rage;
The poet's scourge, and yet the poet's boast,
Here might thy genius prove itself a host;
Raise up the tyranniz'd, the tyrant awe,
Thy Muse pass judgment, and her verse be law.
And Cumberland, long honour'd bard and sage,
Who sung of Calvary, might here engage;
Or thou, gay Moore, whose variegated rhyme
Can stoop to trifle, or on wing sublime,
Like Pindar, and the lark, full-plum'd can rise,
Oh! leave your lowly furrow, mount the skies;
A lofty Muse for lofty flight is given,
And this a theme to prove her birth from heaven.
The honour'd Hayley this well-pleas'd might sing,
Or Devon's Bard a welcome offering bring;
Or thou, my Laureat Friend, whose tuneful art
Is but a comment on thy generous heart;
Or thou, to Memory and the Muses dear,
Might feel rekindled all thy ardours here.
And ye who meet the tuneful train to aid,
And woo pale Genius from the chilling shade;
To feel the sunshine of your generous care,
Crush proud Oppression, and avert Despair:
Yes, ye who boast yourselves full many a muse,
O say, what nobler subject can ye choose?
Or you, who well may boast a double claim,
Blending the poet's with the painter's fame;
No “truant from the pencil to the lyre,”
But touch'd by either Muse with sacred fire.
And the Ionian Bard, who mid the gloom
Of scenic ruins bade times past rebloom;
Woo'd the fair Queen of Wisdom on the shore,
Where oft she sway'd, tho' now she sways no more.
Yes—he who tun'd the reed to high-ton'd praise
Of far-fam'd Greece, yet graced Britannia's lays;
For others twined with skill the Doric crown,
Weaving, meanwhile, a chaplet for his own.
In nervous numbers here might Thelwall plead,
And Saul thy Bard in Pity's cause succeed.
And ye, colleagues in friendship as in fame,
And not a few of noble note as name.
Thou, Armageddon's Bard, in this might find
A rapture suited to thy daring mind.
Thy Muse, O Maurice, led by Bounty's ray,
In Pity's cause her feelings might display;—
Or thou, who pitying age, and sorrow's weight,
So sweetly mourn'd the hapless peasant's fate;
A friend's example might thy bosom fire,
Pity long since has strung thy Bloomfield's lyre.
When every chord should echo to the strain;
12
To pity move, or swell to rage the song.
A theme like this might Campbell's muse inspire,
Or breathe compassion from Crabbe's genuine lyre?
Prompt Marmion's muse to quit the minstrel lay,
Tho' trophied knights to him resign the bay;
And peerless dames weave chaplets in their bowers,
To crown their champion with enchanted flowers.
Yes—prompt their chief to raise his wondrous art,
And melt to mercy the obdurate heart!
And Sheridan, if aught can move his fire,
Slighting the Muse that waits upon his lyre;
The Muse who oft has won him to her arms,
And woos him still, tho' reckless of her charms,
Might pour the stream of eloquence along
The listening Senate, tho' he spurns the song;
Or, doubly arm'd, might urge in both the cause,
And add a virtue to his country's laws.
And Gifford, thou great censor of the age,
Here might'st thou ply thy Juvenilian rage;
13
Here might thy genius prove itself a host;
Raise up the tyranniz'd, the tyrant awe,
Thy Muse pass judgment, and her verse be law.
And Cumberland, long honour'd bard and sage,
Who sung of Calvary, might here engage;
Or thou, gay Moore, whose variegated rhyme
Can stoop to trifle, or on wing sublime,
Like Pindar, and the lark, full-plum'd can rise,
Oh! leave your lowly furrow, mount the skies;
A lofty Muse for lofty flight is given,
And this a theme to prove her birth from heaven.
The honour'd Hayley this well-pleas'd might sing,
Or Devon's Bard a welcome offering bring;
Or thou, my Laureat Friend, whose tuneful art
Is but a comment on thy generous heart;
Or thou, to Memory and the Muses dear,
Might feel rekindled all thy ardours here.
And ye who meet the tuneful train to aid,
And woo pale Genius from the chilling shade;
14
Crush proud Oppression, and avert Despair:
Yes, ye who boast yourselves full many a muse,
O say, what nobler subject can ye choose?
Or you, who well may boast a double claim,
Blending the poet's with the painter's fame;
No “truant from the pencil to the lyre,”
But touch'd by either Muse with sacred fire.
And the Ionian Bard, who mid the gloom
Of scenic ruins bade times past rebloom;
Woo'd the fair Queen of Wisdom on the shore,
Where oft she sway'd, tho' now she sways no more.
Yes—he who tun'd the reed to high-ton'd praise
Of far-fam'd Greece, yet graced Britannia's lays;
For others twined with skill the Doric crown,
Weaving, meanwhile, a chaplet for his own.
In nervous numbers here might Thelwall plead,
And Saul thy Bard in Pity's cause succeed.
And ye, colleagues in friendship as in fame,
And not a few of noble note as name.
15
A rapture suited to thy daring mind.
Thy Muse, O Maurice, led by Bounty's ray,
In Pity's cause her feelings might display;—
Or thou, who pitying age, and sorrow's weight,
So sweetly mourn'd the hapless peasant's fate;
A friend's example might thy bosom fire,
Pity long since has strung thy Bloomfield's lyre.
And thou, lov'd Blacket, nearest to my breast,
Whose Muse I cherish as an angel guest:
My homage pay, and court at Nature's shrine,
And bless the Providence that made thee mine!
This the warm strain thy gentle breast would feel,
Thy heart would dictate, and thy Muse reveal;
But that dire pthisis clouds thy beauteous morn,
A theme like this thy genius would adorn.
Oh! source divine of everlasting day,
Chill not the promise of his rising ray;
O'er thy own beam shed not untimely night,
So to thy glory may he use the light!
Whose Muse I cherish as an angel guest:
My homage pay, and court at Nature's shrine,
And bless the Providence that made thee mine!
This the warm strain thy gentle breast would feel,
Thy heart would dictate, and thy Muse reveal;
But that dire pthisis clouds thy beauteous morn,
A theme like this thy genius would adorn.
Oh! source divine of everlasting day,
Chill not the promise of his rising ray;
O'er thy own beam shed not untimely night,
So to thy glory may he use the light!
16
The Just, 'tis true, no advocate require,
Or from the sage's force, or poet's fire;
Ere that can point the moral, this the song,
Nature has borne sublimer truths along;
And these, quick ripen into generous deeds,
Sure as the blossom to the bud succeeds.
Such wing'd emotions mark the speed of heart,
From the slow process of the noblest art,
And yield a rapid and unborrowed charm,
Steady as principle, as passion warm.
Where these prevail, the offerings of the Nine,
Tho' each should deck with incense Nature's shrine,
Are useless all—though each unlock her store,
To heap the pile till it could hold no more.
Ah, no! the Just are placed near Mercy's throne,
And ask no laws, no councils but their own.
Or from the sage's force, or poet's fire;
Ere that can point the moral, this the song,
Nature has borne sublimer truths along;
And these, quick ripen into generous deeds,
Sure as the blossom to the bud succeeds.
Such wing'd emotions mark the speed of heart,
From the slow process of the noblest art,
And yield a rapid and unborrowed charm,
Steady as principle, as passion warm.
Where these prevail, the offerings of the Nine,
Tho' each should deck with incense Nature's shrine,
Are useless all—though each unlock her store,
To heap the pile till it could hold no more.
Ah, no! the Just are placed near Mercy's throne,
And ask no laws, no councils but their own.
But the dread human savage, still untam'd,
Boast of the higher world, yet unreclaim'd:
Oh! for a law that monster to enchain,
Who boasts the luxury of giving pain!
Who proudly keeps the trembling earth in awe,
For him the lower world, demand a law.
“A law for brutes,” exclaims some tyrant vile,
The claim repulsing, with a scornful smile;
“A vassal tribe, the creatures of my nod,
Who owe to me the gifts I owe to God.
I, that can punish, pardon, or devour,
And prove a thousand ways my sovereign power,
Inferior, senseless beings, bought and sold,
Slaves of my stall, my stable, and my fold;
For these, now fed, now smoking on my board,
For these a law—to try their sovereign Lord!
As well my footstool might my foot reprove;
And what are brutes but furniture that move?
Were not all these to my dominion giv'n
A voluntary boon, unask'd of Heav'n?
Unworthy God, had been th' Almighty plan,
Had it provided less for favour'd man!
A godlike being suits a godlike world,
Else, in disorder, still had all been hurl'd.
But all were subjected to man's control,
Exclusive guide and master of the whole.
Coeval with creation thus it stood,
The Great Creator hence pronounced it “good”!
Boast of the higher world, yet unreclaim'd:
Oh! for a law that monster to enchain,
Who boasts the luxury of giving pain!
17
For him the lower world, demand a law.
“A law for brutes,” exclaims some tyrant vile,
The claim repulsing, with a scornful smile;
“A vassal tribe, the creatures of my nod,
Who owe to me the gifts I owe to God.
I, that can punish, pardon, or devour,
And prove a thousand ways my sovereign power,
Inferior, senseless beings, bought and sold,
Slaves of my stall, my stable, and my fold;
For these, now fed, now smoking on my board,
For these a law—to try their sovereign Lord!
As well my footstool might my foot reprove;
And what are brutes but furniture that move?
Were not all these to my dominion giv'n
A voluntary boon, unask'd of Heav'n?
Unworthy God, had been th' Almighty plan,
Had it provided less for favour'd man!
A godlike being suits a godlike world,
Else, in disorder, still had all been hurl'd.
18
Exclusive guide and master of the whole.
Coeval with creation thus it stood,
The Great Creator hence pronounced it “good”!
“But go—subvert Heaven's long-established plan,
Exalt the grovelling brute, and sink the man.
With powers enlarged, invest an abject race,
Ordain'd by Heaven to fill the lowest place.
In the wild school of these distemper'd times,
Frame a new code of punishments and crimes.
Go—argue rights that, ere they shall prevail,
The sacred statutes of thy God shall fail;
Statutes, that gave to sov'reign man the ball,
Himself of myriad tribes, the judge and lord of all.”
Exalt the grovelling brute, and sink the man.
With powers enlarged, invest an abject race,
Ordain'd by Heaven to fill the lowest place.
In the wild school of these distemper'd times,
Frame a new code of punishments and crimes.
Go—argue rights that, ere they shall prevail,
The sacred statutes of thy God shall fail;
Statutes, that gave to sov'reign man the ball,
Himself of myriad tribes, the judge and lord of all.”
Blasphemer cease! nor thus profane the law,
Which Patriarch heard, and taught with pious awe;
Nor thus misconstrue the command of Heav'n,
In tenderest mercy, as in Wisdom giv'n;
Formed was the Word, to serve thy brute and thee,
From famine man, and brute from tyranny;
Yet gave to man the more endearing share,
A master's friends, and guardian's generous care.
God gave in trust, the rights of all the rest,
To thee, his image on thy soul impress'd;
Rights fix'd as thine, and since thou dar'st to hear,
The dauntless Muse shall peal them in thine ear;
Show to thine eye, what thou, perforce, shalt see,
The DREAD ACCOUNT BETWIXT THY SLAVE AND THEE!
Which Patriarch heard, and taught with pious awe;
Nor thus misconstrue the command of Heav'n,
In tenderest mercy, as in Wisdom giv'n;
19
From famine man, and brute from tyranny;
Yet gave to man the more endearing share,
A master's friends, and guardian's generous care.
God gave in trust, the rights of all the rest,
To thee, his image on thy soul impress'd;
Rights fix'd as thine, and since thou dar'st to hear,
The dauntless Muse shall peal them in thine ear;
Show to thine eye, what thou, perforce, shalt see,
The DREAD ACCOUNT BETWIXT THY SLAVE AND THEE!
END OF BOOK I.
21
BOOK II.
22
ARGUMENT.
Summons to the Cruel to appear before their Accusers.— The Author's Reluctance to go into the Evidence of Crimes; and his regret at the Consciousness of the Necessity. —Accusations of—The Dog—The Bull— The Horse—The Ox—the Ass—and a Variety of other abused Animals, confided to the Protection and appointed to the Service of Man.—The diversified Cruelties exercised upon each.—The high Claims of the respective Sufferers to such Protection.—Specific Qualities and Character of the different Animals.—Remarks on the Rigour of their Condition.—General and particular Reasonings and Reproofs.—Facts on which they are founded.—Acts of Torment, and Excesses of Tyranny practised by the Brute-demon.—The Claims of Man and Brute stated and examined.—Pretensions on both Sides investigated.—Deductions.—The Economy, Sagacity, and Bounty of Nature.—Observations on the Condition of Brute unassisted by Man, and of Man unassisted by Brute.—Inferences.—The Moral Sense.
23
Stand forth thou champion of a Ruffian band,
At Mercy's bar uplift thy savage hand;
A train of wrong'd Accusers standing nigh,
Truth, Justice, Nature, the dire cause shall try:
The Muse, who in her morn, ne'er mix'd in strife,
And now, at deep'ning eve, would close her life
In tranquil shades, amid the vocal throng,
List to their notes, or join the transient song—
Obeys the summons of an awful power,
And leaves sweet Peace, that woos her to the bower;
Rouses indignant to arraign thy crime,
The righteous motive shall protect her rhyme;
Shall prove at once her buckler and her shield,
Howe'er unskill'd the censor's arms to wield;
Steady her principle, her zeal sincere,
Critics are men, and will befriend her here!
At Mercy's bar uplift thy savage hand;
A train of wrong'd Accusers standing nigh,
Truth, Justice, Nature, the dire cause shall try:
The Muse, who in her morn, ne'er mix'd in strife,
And now, at deep'ning eve, would close her life
In tranquil shades, amid the vocal throng,
List to their notes, or join the transient song—
Obeys the summons of an awful power,
And leaves sweet Peace, that woos her to the bower;
24
The righteous motive shall protect her rhyme;
Shall prove at once her buckler and her shield,
Howe'er unskill'd the censor's arms to wield;
Steady her principle, her zeal sincere,
Critics are men, and will befriend her here!
Yes, haughty culprit, tyrannous and base,
The blushing Muse shall mark thy deep disgrace;
And should'st thou spurn her charge, by crimes made bold,
If thy cheek pales not, as those crimes unfold,
Harden'd by habit, warp'd by baneful art,
All grace of Nature has renounc'd thy heart!
The blushing Muse shall mark thy deep disgrace;
And should'st thou spurn her charge, by crimes made bold,
If thy cheek pales not, as those crimes unfold,
Harden'd by habit, warp'd by baneful art,
All grace of Nature has renounc'd thy heart!
First, answer to thy Dog, as first in place,
Friend at thy board, companion of thy chace,
His no foul crime of “friend remembered not,”
Each kindness cherish'd, and each wrong forgot;
And though full oft he feels thy stripes unjust,
He bears them all, and humbles to the dust;
Unmurmuring bears them, and one slight caress,
Tho' smitten to the bone, again can bless.
Thy day of labour he is proud to share,
And guards thy slumbers with a lover's care;
Thy presence hails, thy absence fondly mourns,
While bounding raptures mark thy wish'd returns;
To rage, to anguish, e'en to Death, resign'd,
What nobler feelings boast thy nobler kind?
Friend at thy board, companion of thy chace,
His no foul crime of “friend remembered not,”
Each kindness cherish'd, and each wrong forgot;
25
He bears them all, and humbles to the dust;
Unmurmuring bears them, and one slight caress,
Tho' smitten to the bone, again can bless.
Thy day of labour he is proud to share,
And guards thy slumbers with a lover's care;
Thy presence hails, thy absence fondly mourns,
While bounding raptures mark thy wish'd returns;
To rage, to anguish, e'en to Death, resign'd,
What nobler feelings boast thy nobler kind?
By nature fierce, at length subdued, and mild,
To each kind office of a duteous child—
Who, a dark Sire guides through the pressing throng,
See how yon Terrier gently leads along
The feeble Beggar, to his custom'd stand,
With piteous tale, to woo the bounteous hand;
In willing bonds, but master of the way,
Ne'er leads that trusted friend, his charge, astray
With slow, soft step, as conscious of his care,
As if his own deep sorrows form'd the prayer—
Should yielding Charity the scrip supply,
Tho' hunger press'd, untouch'd the boon would lie;
Eyes to the blind, he notes the passing thief,
And guards the good Samaritan's relief;
A faithful steward, midst unbounded power,
Patient he waits the home-returning hour;
Then, reconducts his master to his shed,
And grateful banquets on the coarsest bread.
And were that cheerless shed, by Fortune plac'd,
In the deep cavern, on the naked waste,
The sport of every storm, unroof'd and bare,
This faithful slave would find a palace there;
Would feel the labours of his love o'erpaid,
Near to his monarch master's pillow laid;
Unchang'd, by change of circumstance, or place:
O sacred lesson to a prouder race!
To each kind office of a duteous child—
Who, a dark Sire guides through the pressing throng,
See how yon Terrier gently leads along
The feeble Beggar, to his custom'd stand,
With piteous tale, to woo the bounteous hand;
In willing bonds, but master of the way,
Ne'er leads that trusted friend, his charge, astray
26
As if his own deep sorrows form'd the prayer—
Should yielding Charity the scrip supply,
Tho' hunger press'd, untouch'd the boon would lie;
Eyes to the blind, he notes the passing thief,
And guards the good Samaritan's relief;
A faithful steward, midst unbounded power,
Patient he waits the home-returning hour;
Then, reconducts his master to his shed,
And grateful banquets on the coarsest bread.
And were that cheerless shed, by Fortune plac'd,
In the deep cavern, on the naked waste,
The sport of every storm, unroof'd and bare,
This faithful slave would find a palace there;
Would feel the labours of his love o'erpaid,
Near to his monarch master's pillow laid;
Unchang'd, by change of circumstance, or place:
O sacred lesson to a prouder race!
27
But, Reasoner, say, are these thy gifts of art,
Or, native graces of the canine heart?
Say, does he owe this social change of state,
To imitation of the fair and great?
Copied from thee, and do his virtue's rise
From man's example of the Good and wise?
If thou hast thus reclaim'd from savage strife,
And made him thus a link of social life,
Ask thy own soul—that every harshness knows—
How oft his joys are follow'd by his woes;
And, if like thee, this Slave could count his gains,
Say, would his pleasures balance to his pains?
Or, native graces of the canine heart?
Say, does he owe this social change of state,
To imitation of the fair and great?
Copied from thee, and do his virtue's rise
From man's example of the Good and wise?
If thou hast thus reclaim'd from savage strife,
And made him thus a link of social life,
Ask thy own soul—that every harshness knows—
How oft his joys are follow'd by his woes;
And, if like thee, this Slave could count his gains,
Say, would his pleasures balance to his pains?
Behold those pains in varied forms display'd,
Then reckon what the poor reclaim'd, has paid
For all thy boasted patronage, to prove
The proud distinction of thy vaunted love.
Reckon those scars, which thy unkindness gave,
A still-forgiving, still-insulted slave;
Reckon that wanton gash, that mangled limb,
From hateful vengeance this, and that from whim;
Reckon that stunning stroke, which to the ground
Brought thy true friend, to welter in his wound;
Count too, the anguish of those sounding blows,
And the deep stream, that blushes as it flows:
From yon stak'd Bull, whom thy slip'd Dogs annoy,
Their mutual rage, their pangs, thy savage joy!
A sport for demons in their central hell!—
To force the combat terrible and fell,
At which the direst of the fiends might start,
Rouse the strong instinct of the mother's heart;
The parents' love and fear at once inflame,
And swell to acts the Muse forbears to name;
Forbears such guilty horrors to rehearse,
Or stain with crimes so foul her sacred verse.
Yet e'en this massacre, were life restor'd,
The mangled servant would forgive his Lord;
His love would all thy cruelty survive,
And by another piece-meal death, to please thee strive!
Then reckon what the poor reclaim'd, has paid
For all thy boasted patronage, to prove
The proud distinction of thy vaunted love.
Reckon those scars, which thy unkindness gave,
A still-forgiving, still-insulted slave;
28
From hateful vengeance this, and that from whim;
Reckon that stunning stroke, which to the ground
Brought thy true friend, to welter in his wound;
Count too, the anguish of those sounding blows,
And the deep stream, that blushes as it flows:
From yon stak'd Bull, whom thy slip'd Dogs annoy,
Their mutual rage, their pangs, thy savage joy!
A sport for demons in their central hell!—
To force the combat terrible and fell,
At which the direst of the fiends might start,
Rouse the strong instinct of the mother's heart;
The parents' love and fear at once inflame,
And swell to acts the Muse forbears to name;
Forbears such guilty horrors to rehearse,
Or stain with crimes so foul her sacred verse.
Yet e'en this massacre, were life restor'd,
The mangled servant would forgive his Lord;
His love would all thy cruelty survive,
And by another piece-meal death, to please thee strive!
29
Wretch! could'st thou see him when thy useless breath
At last shall give thee to the grasp of death,
When, haply, thy sole mourner, fix'd he stands,
Watches thy couch, and licks thy barbarous hands;
Those hands that long have tried their force to prove,
Thy heart was dead to pity, truth, and love.
Ah! could'st thou view him, seem to look a prayer,
Or heave the moan that seem'd to speak despair;
Then follow sad thy body to the grave,
There, each extremity of hunger brave;
Nor quit the spot, till famine, fraud, or force,
Drove him awhile to quit thy much-lov'd corse;
Soon to return—enamour'd of the spot—
Thy savage nature, rage, and stripes forgot;
Could'st thou see this, perchance, one tear would start,
One brief compunction stir thy stony heart;
Then might'st thou wish Ingratitude forgiv'n,
And dread, that crime of hell, to show offended Heav'n!
At last shall give thee to the grasp of death,
When, haply, thy sole mourner, fix'd he stands,
Watches thy couch, and licks thy barbarous hands;
Those hands that long have tried their force to prove,
Thy heart was dead to pity, truth, and love.
Ah! could'st thou view him, seem to look a prayer,
Or heave the moan that seem'd to speak despair;
Then follow sad thy body to the grave,
There, each extremity of hunger brave;
Nor quit the spot, till famine, fraud, or force,
Drove him awhile to quit thy much-lov'd corse;
Soon to return—enamour'd of the spot—
Thy savage nature, rage, and stripes forgot;
Could'st thou see this, perchance, one tear would start,
One brief compunction stir thy stony heart;
Then might'st thou wish Ingratitude forgiv'n,
And dread, that crime of hell, to show offended Heav'n!
30
And now behold, his day of glory o'er,
Thy Steed advances, bleeding at each pore;
A hero once, perchance, like thee, in war,
He spurn'd the menace, and he brav'd the scar;
Like thee, a victor in the jealous race;
Like thee, he brook'd no rival in the chace;
Proud of his pow'rs, by danger undismay'd,
Himself the noblest conquest man e'er made.
Thy Steed advances, bleeding at each pore;
A hero once, perchance, like thee, in war,
He spurn'd the menace, and he brav'd the scar;
Like thee, a victor in the jealous race;
Like thee, he brook'd no rival in the chace;
Proud of his pow'rs, by danger undismay'd,
Himself the noblest conquest man e'er made.
Has grief oppress'd the chosen of thy heart?
Say, who was first thy succours to impart?
Did sickness to the grave a parent bend?
Or, could dispatch alone preserve a friend?
Who bore thy solace, as with winged speed,
In the deep hour of life's extremest need?
Vain all thy force of duty, and of love,
Without thy Steed those charities to prove;
Vain all thy reason, passion, youth, and health,
The gen'rous Steed was then a mine of wealth;
O'er mountain steep, deep vale, and desert waste,
He bore thee with a tender lover's haste.
Say, who was first thy succours to impart?
Did sickness to the grave a parent bend?
Or, could dispatch alone preserve a friend?
Who bore thy solace, as with winged speed,
In the deep hour of life's extremest need?
Vain all thy force of duty, and of love,
Without thy Steed those charities to prove;
Vain all thy reason, passion, youth, and health,
The gen'rous Steed was then a mine of wealth;
31
He bore thee with a tender lover's haste.
Pastur'd and shelter'd in his native wood,
He sought not man's protection, or his food;
He lov'd the meads, that grac'd his native soil,
Reclaim'd, from happy Liberty, to toil;
Reclaim'd, from happy wildness, free as air,
To galling trappings, and tumultuous care;
And tho', by custom soften'd, these may please,
Man more than shares the luxury and ease;
Yet man partakes not, save for pride or gain,
The scarce remitting labour, or the pain;
These all his own, a fav'rite slave at best,
Capricious kindness, and uncertain rest.
The honours of his mane, by art confin'd,
Emblem of liberty, that brav'd the wind;
Frolic'd or triumph'd o'er each gale that blew,
As down his ample chest the tresses flew.
Thy maladies and miseries he found,
But, ah! no freedom, e'en on British ground;
And tho', still seen superior on the plains,
A prisoner still, he toils or sports in chains;
Ev'n like some captive prince, he moves in state,
Noble in bondage, and in ruin great!
He sought not man's protection, or his food;
He lov'd the meads, that grac'd his native soil,
Reclaim'd, from happy Liberty, to toil;
Reclaim'd, from happy wildness, free as air,
To galling trappings, and tumultuous care;
And tho', by custom soften'd, these may please,
Man more than shares the luxury and ease;
Yet man partakes not, save for pride or gain,
The scarce remitting labour, or the pain;
These all his own, a fav'rite slave at best,
Capricious kindness, and uncertain rest.
The honours of his mane, by art confin'd,
Emblem of liberty, that brav'd the wind;
Frolic'd or triumph'd o'er each gale that blew,
As down his ample chest the tresses flew.
32
But, ah! no freedom, e'en on British ground;
And tho', still seen superior on the plains,
A prisoner still, he toils or sports in chains;
Ev'n like some captive prince, he moves in state,
Noble in bondage, and in ruin great!
Survey him now, barbarian as thou art,
Of cruel hand, and unrelenting heart!
Hard run, hard driven, the slave of stern command,
Wrong-heap'd on wrong, transferr'd from hand to hand;
His beauteous frame by long, long slavery worn,
A life of toil and sorrow nobly borne;
In his last stage to life's worst griefs resign'd,
Lame, aged, famish'd, e'er to Death consign'd;
Yet long that boon denied, and many a grief,
And many a wrong, e'er it may bring relief.
Chang'd the luxurious mead, the manger stor'd;
No more the boast and treasure of his Lord;
His birth, his conquest, and his fame forgot,
“Fall'n from his high estate,” to the dire lot,
To the dire uses of the servile hack,
The sordid harness buckled on his back;
Fasten'd by chains, that man alone could forge,
While galls the shaft, and plies the knotted scourge;
Impell'd still onward by the furious guide,
Not for the vassal's, but the tyrant's pride;
From mean ambition, and from low renown,
The first to gain, and rattle thro' the town.
And, oh! if jealousy with pride combine,
What toils devoted Drudge can equal thine;
The deepest vales, tho' mountains, rocks oppose,
A rival despot no obstruction knows.
And what are all his gains?—a coachman's art,
And what the dying Slaves?—a broken heart .
Of cruel hand, and unrelenting heart!
Hard run, hard driven, the slave of stern command,
Wrong-heap'd on wrong, transferr'd from hand to hand;
His beauteous frame by long, long slavery worn,
A life of toil and sorrow nobly borne;
In his last stage to life's worst griefs resign'd,
Lame, aged, famish'd, e'er to Death consign'd;
Yet long that boon denied, and many a grief,
And many a wrong, e'er it may bring relief.
Chang'd the luxurious mead, the manger stor'd;
No more the boast and treasure of his Lord;
33
“Fall'n from his high estate,” to the dire lot,
To the dire uses of the servile hack,
The sordid harness buckled on his back;
Fasten'd by chains, that man alone could forge,
While galls the shaft, and plies the knotted scourge;
Impell'd still onward by the furious guide,
Not for the vassal's, but the tyrant's pride;
From mean ambition, and from low renown,
The first to gain, and rattle thro' the town.
And, oh! if jealousy with pride combine,
What toils devoted Drudge can equal thine;
The deepest vales, tho' mountains, rocks oppose,
A rival despot no obstruction knows.
And what are all his gains?—a coachman's art,
And what the dying Slaves?—a broken heart .
34
Ill-fated Steed! e'en days that fill the heart
With human joy, to thee no joys impart;
Youth, manhood, age, from morn to midnight hours
Demand thy service, yet exhaust thy powers;
And oft when man enjoys some change of state,
No change is thine, but of severer fate!
What tho' the lover's bliss, the miser's gain,
Thy speed promotes, they but augment thy pain;
And when a nation's triumph rends the air,
Tho' the glad tidings thou art urg'd to bear;
Tho' in thy trappings Victory's wreaths are twin'd,
And shade the throbbing temples, which they bind;
The bursting veins, and smoking nostrils, show
An empire's glory aggravates thy woe;
And while thy Sovereign sits as on a throne,
Thou, luckless Slave! beneath the weight must groan!
With human joy, to thee no joys impart;
Youth, manhood, age, from morn to midnight hours
Demand thy service, yet exhaust thy powers;
And oft when man enjoys some change of state,
No change is thine, but of severer fate!
What tho' the lover's bliss, the miser's gain,
Thy speed promotes, they but augment thy pain;
And when a nation's triumph rends the air,
Tho' the glad tidings thou art urg'd to bear;
Tho' in thy trappings Victory's wreaths are twin'd,
And shade the throbbing temples, which they bind;
The bursting veins, and smoking nostrils, show
An empire's glory aggravates thy woe;
And while thy Sovereign sits as on a throne,
Thou, luckless Slave! beneath the weight must groan!
From the full pasture which thy avarice gave,
Summon'd to slaughter, lo! yon pamper'd slave
The Ox comes forth to yield for thee his life,
To the uplifted axe, and ruthless knife;
Yet e'en to Death compell'd in haste to go,
By stripes tormented, ere he meets the blow.
Why on his reeking side that searching lash?
Why, in his way-swoll'n heel, that bleeding gash?
Why, near the public mart, arriv'd at length,
—With fever'd frame, and with exhausted strength—
Why must he pass, by thirst and hunger press'd,
His last sad Sabbath, but no day of rest?
Summon'd to slaughter, lo! yon pamper'd slave
35
To the uplifted axe, and ruthless knife;
Yet e'en to Death compell'd in haste to go,
By stripes tormented, ere he meets the blow.
Why on his reeking side that searching lash?
Why, in his way-swoll'n heel, that bleeding gash?
Why, near the public mart, arriv'd at length,
—With fever'd frame, and with exhausted strength—
Why must he pass, by thirst and hunger press'd,
His last sad Sabbath, but no day of rest?
Next view him on the spot, long stain'd by pow'r,
Sad monument of England's darkest hour;
Where hecatombs of human victims bled,
As bigot rage the sanguine edict spread;
While fatal zeal usurp'd religion's name—
Dire scene! devoted still to England's shame;
The fell banditti there each other meet,
For the brute-demon there has fix'd his seat;
And tho' for mercy England has a tear,
A hand, a heart, the demon riots there.
I hear him in yon herd's afflictive moan,
And in that aged Steed's last feeble groan;
In yon slain Dog of an ungrateful friend,
While change of tortures his sad being end.
I hear him in yon harass'd fleecy throng,
With barbarous speed to slaughter urg'd along;
Proteus in shapes, and of an Argus eye,
He sallies forth, resolv'd on tyranny:
Bird, beast, fish, insect, tremble round his throne,
And prove too sure the lower world his own.
Sad monument of England's darkest hour;
Where hecatombs of human victims bled,
As bigot rage the sanguine edict spread;
While fatal zeal usurp'd religion's name—
Dire scene! devoted still to England's shame;
The fell banditti there each other meet,
For the brute-demon there has fix'd his seat;
36
A hand, a heart, the demon riots there.
I hear him in yon herd's afflictive moan,
And in that aged Steed's last feeble groan;
In yon slain Dog of an ungrateful friend,
While change of tortures his sad being end.
I hear him in yon harass'd fleecy throng,
With barbarous speed to slaughter urg'd along;
Proteus in shapes, and of an Argus eye,
He sallies forth, resolv'd on tyranny:
Bird, beast, fish, insect, tremble round his throne,
And prove too sure the lower world his own.
'Tis not enough that daily slaughter feeds,
That the Fish leaves its stream, the Lamb its meads!
That the reluctant Ox is dragg'd along,
And the Bird ravish'd from its tender song;
That in reward of all her music giv'n,
The Lark is murder'd as she soars to heav'n:
'Tis not enough, our appetites require
That on their altars hecatombs expire;
But cruel man, with more than bestial pow'r,
Must heap fresh horrors on life's parting hour:
Full many a being that bestows its breath,
Must prove the pang that waits a lingering death.
Here, close pent up, must gorge unwholesome food;
There, render drop by drop, the smoking blood;
The quiv'ring flesh improves, as slow it dies,
And Luxury sees the augmented whiteness rise:
Some gash'd and mangled feel the torturor's art,
Writhe in their wounds, tho' sav'd each vital part.
Ask you the cause? the food more tender grows,
And callous Luxury triumphs in the blows:
For this, are some to raging flames consign'd
While yet alive, to soothe our taste refin'd!
That the Fish leaves its stream, the Lamb its meads!
That the reluctant Ox is dragg'd along,
And the Bird ravish'd from its tender song;
That in reward of all her music giv'n,
The Lark is murder'd as she soars to heav'n:
37
That on their altars hecatombs expire;
But cruel man, with more than bestial pow'r,
Must heap fresh horrors on life's parting hour:
Full many a being that bestows its breath,
Must prove the pang that waits a lingering death.
Here, close pent up, must gorge unwholesome food;
There, render drop by drop, the smoking blood;
The quiv'ring flesh improves, as slow it dies,
And Luxury sees the augmented whiteness rise:
Some gash'd and mangled feel the torturor's art,
Writhe in their wounds, tho' sav'd each vital part.
Ask you the cause? the food more tender grows,
And callous Luxury triumphs in the blows:
For this, are some to raging flames consign'd
While yet alive, to soothe our taste refin'd!
Oh pow'r of mercy that suspends the rod!
Oh shame to Man, impiety to God!
Thou polish'd Christian in the untutor'd see,
The sacred rights of bless'd humanity;
Thine is the world, thy crimson spoils enjoy,
But let no wanton arts thy soul employ:
Live, tho' thou dost on blood, ah! still refrain,
Nor load thy victims with superfluous pain;
E'en the gaunt Tiger, tho' no life he saves,
In generous haste devours what famine craves;
The bestial paw may check thy human hands,
And teach dispatch to what thy want demands;
Abridge thy sacrifice, and bid thy knife
FOR HUNGER KILL, BUT NEVER SPORT WITH LIFE.
Oh shame to Man, impiety to God!
38
The sacred rights of bless'd humanity;
Thine is the world, thy crimson spoils enjoy,
But let no wanton arts thy soul employ:
Live, tho' thou dost on blood, ah! still refrain,
Nor load thy victims with superfluous pain;
E'en the gaunt Tiger, tho' no life he saves,
In generous haste devours what famine craves;
The bestial paw may check thy human hands,
And teach dispatch to what thy want demands;
Abridge thy sacrifice, and bid thy knife
FOR HUNGER KILL, BUT NEVER SPORT WITH LIFE.
Last of the injur'd, and accusing train,
First to endure, and latest to complain;
Patient of wrong, the Ass appears in view,
The lowest victim of the lowest crew.
How, culprit, wilt thou here the charge refute?
How thy ways warrant to that hapless brute?
Were the whole life of that scorn'd beast offence,
All reasoning on those ways were base pretence.
Thou call'st him stubborn! hence that stunning stroke,
Given in a curse, and coupled with a joke.
The Merciful! whose Name thou dar'st disgrace,
From Heaven has warn'd, to help the harmless race;
Hast thou forgot his own divine command,
Towards the stray Ox, or Sheep, to stretch thy hand?
Thy ready care and succour to bestow
On the fall'n Ass, ev'n of an hated foe.
First to endure, and latest to complain;
Patient of wrong, the Ass appears in view,
The lowest victim of the lowest crew.
How, culprit, wilt thou here the charge refute?
How thy ways warrant to that hapless brute?
39
All reasoning on those ways were base pretence.
Thou call'st him stubborn! hence that stunning stroke,
Given in a curse, and coupled with a joke.
The Merciful! whose Name thou dar'st disgrace,
From Heaven has warn'd, to help the harmless race;
Hast thou forgot his own divine command,
Towards the stray Ox, or Sheep, to stretch thy hand?
Thy ready care and succour to bestow
On the fall'n Ass, ev'n of an hated foe.
See how he labours with that Camel's load,
Bends to the weight, and yet must feel the goad;
Staggering he moves, at length too hardly press'd,
The tyrant's body added to the rest,
He sinks to earth, where desolate he lies,
Till by redoubling blows condemn'd to rise;
Resume the rugged path, nor dare to halt,
And e'en his falling punish'd as his fault;
No pause allow'd the “bruised reed” to heal,
Say, when shall Mercy teach thy heart to feel?
Oh! if one proud distinction be the tear,
Ye who have ought of pity shed it here!
Or, if sweet Mercy ne'er has call'd thee friend,
Here, tyrant, might thy marble nature bend;
The smitten rock within thy breast might glow,
And pour the unwonted stream of generous woe.
Bends to the weight, and yet must feel the goad;
Staggering he moves, at length too hardly press'd,
The tyrant's body added to the rest,
He sinks to earth, where desolate he lies,
Till by redoubling blows condemn'd to rise;
Resume the rugged path, nor dare to halt,
And e'en his falling punish'd as his fault;
40
Say, when shall Mercy teach thy heart to feel?
Oh! if one proud distinction be the tear,
Ye who have ought of pity shed it here!
Or, if sweet Mercy ne'er has call'd thee friend,
Here, tyrant, might thy marble nature bend;
The smitten rock within thy breast might glow,
And pour the unwonted stream of generous woe.
With swelling port, well suited to thy power,
'Tis thus thou seekest whom thou may'st devour;
By Heaven's high will the lower world is thine!
But art thou cruel too by right divine?
Admit their lives devoted to thy need;
Take the appointed forfeit—let them bleed:
Yet add not to the hardships of their state,
Nor join to servitude Oppression's weight;
By no unmanly rigours swell distress,
But where thou can'st, exert thy power to bless,
Beyond thy wants 'tis barbarous to annoy,
And but from need 'tis baseness to destroy;
Still in their place let all Heav'n's creatures be,
These, with their nature, and their wants agree;
Thou hast from freedom brought them into chains,
Impos'd a life of penalties and pains;
Yet count the comforts which their bonds supply,
Then, if thou can'st, their modest claims deny;
More than thy wants, thy luxuries are fed,
Their flesh thy banquet, and their plumes thy bed!
They guard thee from the storm, defend from strife,
And aid the softer vanities of life.
Yet think how brief their span, how quickly pass'd
The transient sunshine, why should clouds o'ercast?
'Tis thus thou seekest whom thou may'st devour;
By Heaven's high will the lower world is thine!
But art thou cruel too by right divine?
Admit their lives devoted to thy need;
Take the appointed forfeit—let them bleed:
Yet add not to the hardships of their state,
Nor join to servitude Oppression's weight;
By no unmanly rigours swell distress,
But where thou can'st, exert thy power to bless,
41
And but from need 'tis baseness to destroy;
Still in their place let all Heav'n's creatures be,
These, with their nature, and their wants agree;
Thou hast from freedom brought them into chains,
Impos'd a life of penalties and pains;
Yet count the comforts which their bonds supply,
Then, if thou can'st, their modest claims deny;
More than thy wants, thy luxuries are fed,
Their flesh thy banquet, and their plumes thy bed!
They guard thee from the storm, defend from strife,
And aid the softer vanities of life.
Yet think how brief their span, how quickly pass'd
The transient sunshine, why should clouds o'ercast?
Grant we that Nature, on a nobler plan,
Has form'd the emotions of sublimer man;
A keener sense has given to mental pain,
From scepter'd Reason's intellectual reign;
Yet, since the reptile, made to last an hour,
Still feels to agony the corporal power;
Who, beyond need, would harm a helpless throng,
And rob the fields and forests of a song?
Who that has heard the chant, or seen the play,
Of the glad tribe that carol in the day;
Or, who that views the herds and flocks at feed,
Happy and peaceful in the smiling mead,
And thinks, how soon to these succeed the moan,
The shriek, the dying shudder, and the groan;
But, ere arrives th' inevitable hour,
Will guard the beings trusted to his power.
Has form'd the emotions of sublimer man;
A keener sense has given to mental pain,
From scepter'd Reason's intellectual reign;
42
Still feels to agony the corporal power;
Who, beyond need, would harm a helpless throng,
And rob the fields and forests of a song?
Who that has heard the chant, or seen the play,
Of the glad tribe that carol in the day;
Or, who that views the herds and flocks at feed,
Happy and peaceful in the smiling mead,
And thinks, how soon to these succeed the moan,
The shriek, the dying shudder, and the groan;
But, ere arrives th' inevitable hour,
Will guard the beings trusted to his power.
Nor is it less thy interest to impart,
A stronger motive to a tyrant's heart—
Not less thy love of self, with gentle sway,
To rule these creatures which thy will obey;
And let them pass serene their measur'd hours—
Haply thou know'st not yet their wond'rous powers;
How vast the trust which the eternal mind
Has to the variegated tribes assign'd.
A stronger motive to a tyrant's heart—
Not less thy love of self, with gentle sway,
To rule these creatures which thy will obey;
And let them pass serene their measur'd hours—
Haply thou know'st not yet their wond'rous powers;
43
Has to the variegated tribes assign'd.
Nature's unnumber'd family combine
In one beneficent, one vast design;
E'en from inanimates to breathing man,
An Heaven-conceiv'd, Heav'n-executed plan;
Onward from those who soar or lowly creep,
The wholesome equipoise through all to keep;
As faithful agents in earth, sea, and air,
The lower world to watch with constant care,
Her due proportion wisely to conserve,
A wond'rous trust, from which they never swerve.
In one beneficent, one vast design;
E'en from inanimates to breathing man,
An Heaven-conceiv'd, Heav'n-executed plan;
Onward from those who soar or lowly creep,
The wholesome equipoise through all to keep;
As faithful agents in earth, sea, and air,
The lower world to watch with constant care,
Her due proportion wisely to conserve,
A wond'rous trust, from which they never swerve.
But for these instruments of bounteous Heav'n,
To whom its awful ministry is given,
Each over each, like jealous sentries plac'd,
That none may trespass, and that none may waste;
None by luxuriance on the other press,
The whole to order, yet the whole to bless;
A full yet frugal competence supply,
Within the bound of sage economy;
Yes, but for these, disorder would prevail,
Amidst abundance famine would assail;
The wood, the lake, the forest, and the field,
Too little now, and now too much would yield;
The lawless plants each other would devour,
The lawless insects would enforce their power;
Polluted pestilence at noon of day,
With haggard want and war contend for sway.
But, from the violet to the sovereign rose,
The golden mien each thing created knows;
Lives in abundance, keeps its destin'd place,
Its state enjoys, and propagates its race;
Dies at the allotted hour, yet still shall live,
And in its progeny its self survive.
To all that animate the teeming earth,
Such is the mighty law that gave them birth;
And when man thinks them scourges from above,
Heav'n-sent, they came, “on errands full of love;”
Creatures most fear'd, most loathsome to the sense,
Vast, or minute, are boons of Providence.
To whom its awful ministry is given,
Each over each, like jealous sentries plac'd,
That none may trespass, and that none may waste;
None by luxuriance on the other press,
The whole to order, yet the whole to bless;
44
Within the bound of sage economy;
Yes, but for these, disorder would prevail,
Amidst abundance famine would assail;
The wood, the lake, the forest, and the field,
Too little now, and now too much would yield;
The lawless plants each other would devour,
The lawless insects would enforce their power;
Polluted pestilence at noon of day,
With haggard want and war contend for sway.
But, from the violet to the sovereign rose,
The golden mien each thing created knows;
Lives in abundance, keeps its destin'd place,
Its state enjoys, and propagates its race;
Dies at the allotted hour, yet still shall live,
And in its progeny its self survive.
To all that animate the teeming earth,
Such is the mighty law that gave them birth;
And when man thinks them scourges from above,
Heav'n-sent, they came, “on errands full of love;”
45
Vast, or minute, are boons of Providence.
'Tis true that noxious beings oft annoy,
That some embitter life, and some destroy;
Minims of Nature, or her monstrous band,
Yet, rarely these infest our blissful land;
Trench on our safety, or pollute our food,
And murmuring man may see that “all is good!”
May still, tho' fall'n, his Paradise enjoy,
Spite of the partial evils that annoy.
That some embitter life, and some destroy;
Minims of Nature, or her monstrous band,
Yet, rarely these infest our blissful land;
Trench on our safety, or pollute our food,
And murmuring man may see that “all is good!”
May still, tho' fall'n, his Paradise enjoy,
Spite of the partial evils that annoy.
But, wherefore, force thy slaves whilst life remains,
To wreak upon themselves superfluous pains?
Why, ere they fall, for thy diurnal food,
Are they compell'd to shed each other's blood?
Yet, here, thou call'dst wrong'd nature in defence,
The battle her's, you say: O vile pretence!
Does she, like man, enjoy this conflict dire?
Is it for Nature's pastime they expire?
Does she, who kindly to their rage deny'd
Death's fell artillery, which men provide,
Partake the ecstasy their pangs impart,
When thus ensnar'd to war, they pierce each other's heart?
To wreak upon themselves superfluous pains?
Why, ere they fall, for thy diurnal food,
Are they compell'd to shed each other's blood?
Yet, here, thou call'dst wrong'd nature in defence,
The battle her's, you say: O vile pretence!
Does she, like man, enjoy this conflict dire?
Is it for Nature's pastime they expire?
46
Death's fell artillery, which men provide,
Partake the ecstasy their pangs impart,
When thus ensnar'd to war, they pierce each other's heart?
False Reasoner, no! thou say'st she prompts their fight,
Till their blood maddens at each other's sight;
If hence the combat whensoe'er they meet,
Did nature too, yon engine to the street
And those dire instruments of torture bring,
These Inquisition-horrors in that ring ,
Within whose round 'tis thy demoniac joy,
To try all frauds and force that can annoy;
All that the blood can fire, foment the strife,
The goad, the stave, the bludgeon, and the knife.
Till their blood maddens at each other's sight;
If hence the combat whensoe'er they meet,
Did nature too, yon engine to the street
And those dire instruments of torture bring,
These Inquisition-horrors in that ring ,
Within whose round 'tis thy demoniac joy,
To try all frauds and force that can annoy;
All that the blood can fire, foment the strife,
The goad, the stave, the bludgeon, and the knife.
Thou say'st with these, the Steed's delights keep place,
Of conquest proud, exulting in the race;
That hopes and fears like thine his bosom fire,
And thirst of glory all his nerves inspire;
Concede we this, but wilt thou too demand
A grant of all that arms the jockey band;
The pliant whip, the spur-gash opening wide,
The rowel plung'd, and buried in his side;
Do these exalt the triumphs of the Steed?
Or, Nature bid him for these triumphs bleed?
Of conquest proud, exulting in the race;
47
And thirst of glory all his nerves inspire;
Concede we this, but wilt thou too demand
A grant of all that arms the jockey band;
The pliant whip, the spur-gash opening wide,
The rowel plung'd, and buried in his side;
Do these exalt the triumphs of the Steed?
Or, Nature bid him for these triumphs bleed?
Betwixt a race of nature and of art,
The difference this, one warms—one breaks the heart;
One gives the unreclaim'd and free-born Steed,
The ample scope of the unmeasur'd mead;
To stretch with rapture o'er the echoing ground,
And one confines him to a stinted bound:
In this, 'tis wholesome exercise and joy,
In that 'tis dire excess, and must destroy.
The Bull will rage and bellow from afar,
Provoke the fight, and Chanticleer will spar;
But, had they thus been form'd to close their life,
In deep Antipathy's instinctive strife,
She would herself have arm'd them for the war,
Beyond the arching bill and pointed spur;
With hardier weapons fenc'd the Cock's proud heel,
And giv'n the angry Bull a horn of steel:
As well might you insist he lov'd the fight,
When the fierce Bull-dog gives the madd'ning bite;
Or that the Dog your horrid joys could share,
When on the horn impall'd, or toss'd in air:
As well assert yon Bear—reluctant Slave!
Heavy by nature, sullen, slow, and grave,
Enjoy'd the movements of the sprightly dance,
By turns commanded to retreat, advance,
Tripp'd, with delight, to the harsh fiddle's sound,
And join'd the savage merriment around.
The difference this, one warms—one breaks the heart;
One gives the unreclaim'd and free-born Steed,
The ample scope of the unmeasur'd mead;
To stretch with rapture o'er the echoing ground,
And one confines him to a stinted bound:
In this, 'tis wholesome exercise and joy,
In that 'tis dire excess, and must destroy.
The Bull will rage and bellow from afar,
Provoke the fight, and Chanticleer will spar;
48
In deep Antipathy's instinctive strife,
She would herself have arm'd them for the war,
Beyond the arching bill and pointed spur;
With hardier weapons fenc'd the Cock's proud heel,
And giv'n the angry Bull a horn of steel:
As well might you insist he lov'd the fight,
When the fierce Bull-dog gives the madd'ning bite;
Or that the Dog your horrid joys could share,
When on the horn impall'd, or toss'd in air:
As well assert yon Bear—reluctant Slave!
Heavy by nature, sullen, slow, and grave,
Enjoy'd the movements of the sprightly dance,
By turns commanded to retreat, advance,
Tripp'd, with delight, to the harsh fiddle's sound,
And join'd the savage merriment around.
But now, if still resolv'd on vain dispute,
View thy proud self, unaided by the brute;
Though, with thy eulogists,
, the Muse shall own,
That Nature plac'd thee on her loftiest throne;
To others partial, has in thee combin'd
The happiest powers of body and of mind;
To beauteous feature, form majestic giv'n,
And the imperial eye that looks on Heav'n!
Yet view thyself, reduc'd to Nature's plan,
Unhelp'd, and unaccommodated man.
Renounce awhile the animal reclaim'd,—
Alas! how falsely and how oft misnam'd;—
Change toils awhile, and yet retain command,
At once the slave, and master of the hand;
Dismiss the drudging Steer, and labouring Horse;
Let nought but interest goad, and try thy force;
Place thee in wood, on mountain, or on plain,
These rich in various food, and those in grain;
Grant, that the labours of the winter o'er,
The earth gives promise of a plenteous store,
That teeming Nature shall to man afford
Her tenfold offerings for his pamper'd board;
That genial sun and shower, without thy beast,
Shall yield the summer and autumnal feast;
Grant that the favouring season, and the soil,
Shall ask for seed-time a diminish'd toil;
Bereft of herds and flocks, the Dog, the Steed,
Thou may'st another year provide for need;
May'st, yet a little, linger on thy lands,
With the frail help of unassisted hands.
View thy proud self, unaided by the brute;
49
That Nature plac'd thee on her loftiest throne;
To others partial, has in thee combin'd
The happiest powers of body and of mind;
To beauteous feature, form majestic giv'n,
And the imperial eye that looks on Heav'n!
Yet view thyself, reduc'd to Nature's plan,
Unhelp'd, and unaccommodated man.
Renounce awhile the animal reclaim'd,—
Alas! how falsely and how oft misnam'd;—
Change toils awhile, and yet retain command,
At once the slave, and master of the hand;
Dismiss the drudging Steer, and labouring Horse;
Let nought but interest goad, and try thy force;
Place thee in wood, on mountain, or on plain,
These rich in various food, and those in grain;
Grant, that the labours of the winter o'er,
The earth gives promise of a plenteous store,
50
Her tenfold offerings for his pamper'd board;
That genial sun and shower, without thy beast,
Shall yield the summer and autumnal feast;
Grant that the favouring season, and the soil,
Shall ask for seed-time a diminish'd toil;
Bereft of herds and flocks, the Dog, the Steed,
Thou may'st another year provide for need;
May'st, yet a little, linger on thy lands,
With the frail help of unassisted hands.
But should the lower world, by angry Heav'n,
No longer to the wrath of man be giv'n,
With all his genius, wisdom, cunning, crown'd,
How dire the prospect that would gloom around!
Ocean a mighty void, and earth a grave,
What could from horror, what from famine save?
How would he mourn the terrors of his fate,
Pray for his savage, curse his social state;
Wish his long-suffering slaves he could recal,
And own himself a pensioner on all?
How sigh his dumb companions to regain,
His bestial retinue, and feather'd train?
His mocking dream of greatness would be o'er,
Midst wealth and plenty, poorest of the poor.
No longer to the wrath of man be giv'n,
With all his genius, wisdom, cunning, crown'd,
How dire the prospect that would gloom around!
Ocean a mighty void, and earth a grave,
What could from horror, what from famine save?
How would he mourn the terrors of his fate,
Pray for his savage, curse his social state;
51
And own himself a pensioner on all?
How sigh his dumb companions to regain,
His bestial retinue, and feather'd train?
His mocking dream of greatness would be o'er,
Midst wealth and plenty, poorest of the poor.
Next view the brute unaided by the man,
Once more restor'd to Nature's pristine plan;
From human bonds and snares again set free,
And worse than bondage, human tyranny;
Tho' some, from relish of man's grosser food,
Taint with his maladies their purer blood,
And die of luxury—man's worst disease—
Like the mark'd victim of the putrid breeze;
Numerous as sands upon the sea-beat shore,
Myriads would hail their day of slavery o'er;
And were there not in Nature's ample round
One of their human despots to be found,
The fish would triumph in its native flood;
The bird would carol in its native wood;
And tho' by Nature's long-establish'd power,
These might each other in their turn devour;
The sacrifice of life for life is brief,
And sudden death, from man escap'd, relief!
Once more restor'd to Nature's pristine plan;
From human bonds and snares again set free,
And worse than bondage, human tyranny;
Tho' some, from relish of man's grosser food,
Taint with his maladies their purer blood,
And die of luxury—man's worst disease—
Like the mark'd victim of the putrid breeze;
Numerous as sands upon the sea-beat shore,
Myriads would hail their day of slavery o'er;
And were there not in Nature's ample round
One of their human despots to be found,
52
The bird would carol in its native wood;
And tho' by Nature's long-establish'd power,
These might each other in their turn devour;
The sacrifice of life for life is brief,
And sudden death, from man escap'd, relief!
But if to things sublime thou mak'st pretence,
And thy supremacy be moral sense;
Oh! if with this, to favour'd Man is giv'n
The balms of piety, and bliss of Heav'n;
What nobler practice can its precepts teach,
Than the plain maxim, which all heads may reach,
The earliest moral of thy infant day,
When unseduc'd pure Nature held her sway—
Ere yet the nursery gave thee to the school—
To Bird, Beast, Man, let justice be thy rule,
“Do that to others,” which, did States agree,
Thy conscious soul would wish “were done to thee!”
And thy supremacy be moral sense;
Oh! if with this, to favour'd Man is giv'n
The balms of piety, and bliss of Heav'n;
What nobler practice can its precepts teach,
Than the plain maxim, which all heads may reach,
The earliest moral of thy infant day,
When unseduc'd pure Nature held her sway—
Ere yet the nursery gave thee to the school—
To Bird, Beast, Man, let justice be thy rule,
“Do that to others,” which, did States agree,
Thy conscious soul would wish “were done to thee!”
END OF BOOK II.
53
BOOK III.
54
ARGUMENT.
Vindications of general Nature from the Charge of Cruelty to the lower world.—Rejection of those Arguments of Philosophers and Poets that have painted a World of Monsters.—The indiscriminate Eulogist and Libeller equally remote from Truth.—A Sentiment of general Compassion and Sensibility in the public Mind.—Illustrations. —Increased Happiness of Animals derived from this Source.—Example of the good Effect of kind Usage to be drawn from the Treatment of the Arabians to their Horses.—Excess of Attachment to favourite Animals, in some Individuals, sacred from the Motive.— Some of the Causes of this Excess accounted for in particular Cases.—Cruelty of Children to Animals considered —Traced in a Variety of afflicting and disgraceful Incidents.—Appeal to Parents.
55
Yet think not that the Muse with Satire's rage,
By Truth unsanction'd, shall pollute her page;
Think not that Man, all savage she would draw,
Bound only by the sordid bonds of law;
Led in the giant's chain a struggling foe,
Like the cag'd Bajazet, a public show;
Think not she deems when Man first springs to birth,
That Nature labours with a monstrous birth;
All other living things to hold in dread,
Alive to Cruelty, to Pity dead.—
Avaunt the artist, and accurs'd the art,
That in distemper thus would draw the heart;
That in one sombrous and inveterate scrawl,
Whelms it in shade, and gives no light at all.
By Truth unsanction'd, shall pollute her page;
Think not that Man, all savage she would draw,
Bound only by the sordid bonds of law;
Led in the giant's chain a struggling foe,
Like the cag'd Bajazet, a public show;
Think not she deems when Man first springs to birth,
That Nature labours with a monstrous birth;
All other living things to hold in dread,
Alive to Cruelty, to Pity dead.—
56
That in distemper thus would draw the heart;
That in one sombrous and inveterate scrawl,
Whelms it in shade, and gives no light at all.
Dim-sighted Bards! Philosophers more blind,
Ah! spare your senseless libels on mankind;
Paint not the world a wreck in anger giv'n,
The scourge of Nature, and the scorn of Heav'n.
Howe'er ye rhime, or descant, or dispute,
Each work of Nature must your rage confute!
If such the system, which kind Heav'n forefend!
If such our birth, our being, and our end,
If thus chain'd down by an imperious fate,
To mix with monsters in a world of hate:
If such Man's curse, since he from Angel fell,
Foretasting thus anticipated hell;
If thus, deep-tainted, ocean, earth, and air,
Say, what is left to mortals but despair?
What but to yield the cruel gift of life,
And by one effort—close the scene of strife?
Ah! spare your senseless libels on mankind;
Paint not the world a wreck in anger giv'n,
The scourge of Nature, and the scorn of Heav'n.
Howe'er ye rhime, or descant, or dispute,
Each work of Nature must your rage confute!
If such the system, which kind Heav'n forefend!
If such our birth, our being, and our end,
If thus chain'd down by an imperious fate,
To mix with monsters in a world of hate:
If such Man's curse, since he from Angel fell,
Foretasting thus anticipated hell;
If thus, deep-tainted, ocean, earth, and air,
Say, what is left to mortals but despair?
57
And by one effort—close the scene of strife?
Oh false, oh impious, and to Heav'n ingrate!
To favour'd Man is giv'n a softer fate.
What tho' the tenfold gloom of wintry cloud
The native lustre of the sun may shroud,
Doth there no light appear because his ray
Pours not th' unsullied flood of perfect day?
Yes, at a thousand points the raptur'd eye
Catches the beam warm darting from the sky;—
Yes, at a thousand points the Muse could prove,
That Man was born for universal love.
Not the ephemeral being, weak and wild,
Sore Irritation's sentimental child;
The hectic offspring of a fever'd brain,
Conceiv'd in folly, and produc'd in pain:
But the soul's genuine scyons, strong and fair,
Who think, that all who live, life's rights should share?
To favour'd Man is giv'n a softer fate.
What tho' the tenfold gloom of wintry cloud
The native lustre of the sun may shroud,
Doth there no light appear because his ray
Pours not th' unsullied flood of perfect day?
Yes, at a thousand points the raptur'd eye
Catches the beam warm darting from the sky;—
Yes, at a thousand points the Muse could prove,
That Man was born for universal love.
Not the ephemeral being, weak and wild,
Sore Irritation's sentimental child;
The hectic offspring of a fever'd brain,
Conceiv'd in folly, and produc'd in pain:
But the soul's genuine scyons, strong and fair,
Who think, that all who live, life's rights should share?
58
Promiscuous censure and promiscuous praise,
As wide from Reason, as from Justice strays;
What though fierce legions Cruelty may boast,
Humanity leads on a gentler host;
And while those ply each agonizing art,
To heal the wounds these every aid impart.
If those inflict of Man the “fear and dread,”
A kinder influence these delight to spread.
By Nature form'd emotions to reveal,
Which sterner beings know not, or conceal;
Of Nature's or of Fortune's favour vain,
The bliss of bliss, the pain of giving pain;
Yet, tyrants o'er the bestial race, we find
A thousand fold, outnumber'd by the kind!
As wide from Reason, as from Justice strays;
What though fierce legions Cruelty may boast,
Humanity leads on a gentler host;
And while those ply each agonizing art,
To heal the wounds these every aid impart.
If those inflict of Man the “fear and dread,”
A kinder influence these delight to spread.
By Nature form'd emotions to reveal,
Which sterner beings know not, or conceal;
Of Nature's or of Fortune's favour vain,
The bliss of bliss, the pain of giving pain;
Yet, tyrants o'er the bestial race, we find
A thousand fold, outnumber'd by the kind!
These feel th' emotions of a pure delight,
Each pleasure soften, and each good requite;
As pours the Nightingale's mellifluous note,
As tuneful raptures swell the Linnet's throat;
As mounts the Lark in music to the sky,
Or, breasting oft the streamlet as they fly,
In many a circling maze, the Swallows wind,
Souls, thus attun'd, an answering transport find:
Nor less, as shifts the notes of joy to woe,
To pity true, their solace they bestow.
From yonder distant coppice, dark and lone,
Heard you that deep and desolated moan?
It was the plunder'd Turtle in despair;
But souls, like these that plunder, would forbear.
Would not despoil for sport the cradling nest,
Nor swell with needless grief the plumy breast;
Would not in wantonness the worm destroy,
Nor crush the father's hope, nor mother's joy.
Yet sacred Order still entire maintain,
Strength'ning in every link the social chain;
File down the rugged edges, rais'd by man,
And thus restore the all-connecting plan.
Each pleasure soften, and each good requite;
As pours the Nightingale's mellifluous note,
As tuneful raptures swell the Linnet's throat;
As mounts the Lark in music to the sky,
Or, breasting oft the streamlet as they fly,
59
Souls, thus attun'd, an answering transport find:
Nor less, as shifts the notes of joy to woe,
To pity true, their solace they bestow.
From yonder distant coppice, dark and lone,
Heard you that deep and desolated moan?
It was the plunder'd Turtle in despair;
But souls, like these that plunder, would forbear.
Would not despoil for sport the cradling nest,
Nor swell with needless grief the plumy breast;
Would not in wantonness the worm destroy,
Nor crush the father's hope, nor mother's joy.
Yet sacred Order still entire maintain,
Strength'ning in every link the social chain;
File down the rugged edges, rais'd by man,
And thus restore the all-connecting plan.
See how yon courser, unconstrain'd and free,
Grateful repays his hour of liberty!
Leaps from his couch upon the verdant ground,
And wakes an echo at each glad rebound:
He loves his master's figure, loves his call,
And, not reluctant, follows to the stall.
No slavish curb, no fetter he requires,
A patron beckons, and a friend inspires;
E'en when in chains, so gentle is the sway,
With service pleas'd, in bondage he is gay;
Bends to the saddle, champs the bit in sport,
And seems the burden of his lord to court;
From dawn to night-fall traverses the land,
Cheer'd by the well-known voice, and fondling hand.
Grateful repays his hour of liberty!
60
And wakes an echo at each glad rebound:
He loves his master's figure, loves his call,
And, not reluctant, follows to the stall.
No slavish curb, no fetter he requires,
A patron beckons, and a friend inspires;
E'en when in chains, so gentle is the sway,
With service pleas'd, in bondage he is gay;
Bends to the saddle, champs the bit in sport,
And seems the burden of his lord to court;
From dawn to night-fall traverses the land,
Cheer'd by the well-known voice, and fondling hand.
The wayworn horse of labour next comes on,
And for the goodly service freely done,
Preserv'd from toil, and rescu'd from the knife,
Enjoys secure a soft retreat for life;
The vacant hunter leaves his green recess,
Or bowering tree, to share the wish'd caress.
Of meadow, and of shed allow'd the range,
He finds a shelter for each season's change;
And haply oft invited to the spot,
Where stands his generous master's smiling cot;
Gains ready entrance at the good man's door,
Who sighs to think the days of youth are o'er;
Then strokes the hoary front, or silver mane,
And gently leads him to the fields again.
And for the goodly service freely done,
Preserv'd from toil, and rescu'd from the knife,
Enjoys secure a soft retreat for life;
The vacant hunter leaves his green recess,
Or bowering tree, to share the wish'd caress.
61
He finds a shelter for each season's change;
And haply oft invited to the spot,
Where stands his generous master's smiling cot;
Gains ready entrance at the good man's door,
Who sighs to think the days of youth are o'er;
Then strokes the hoary front, or silver mane,
And gently leads him to the fields again.
The sober Ox, and placid Sheep at feed,
Advance to greet the master of the mead;
The feather'd home-tribes too quick gather round,
Hear his glad summons, and obey the sound;
With songs of pleasure hail the early day,
And varied orisons delighted pay;
Their evening incense offer at his shrine,
And own, indeed, “the human face divine;”
All seem to beg a blessing at his hands,
While in the midst, e'en like some god, he stands!
Advance to greet the master of the mead;
The feather'd home-tribes too quick gather round,
Hear his glad summons, and obey the sound;
With songs of pleasure hail the early day,
And varied orisons delighted pay;
Their evening incense offer at his shrine,
And own, indeed, “the human face divine;”
All seem to beg a blessing at his hands,
While in the midst, e'en like some god, he stands!
62
Perchance—for who the ways of Heav'n may scan?
The brute's superior being may be man;
And when he governs thus with gentle hand,
Chast'ning with smiles the frown of stern command;
Kind words, kind deeds, like attributes may shine;
And, as in presence of a power divine,
The conscious tribes subordinate may move,
Their deity below, as ours above!
And e'en their fear partake of pious awe,
Man's voice an edict, and his look a law.
The brute's superior being may be man;
And when he governs thus with gentle hand,
Chast'ning with smiles the frown of stern command;
Kind words, kind deeds, like attributes may shine;
And, as in presence of a power divine,
The conscious tribes subordinate may move,
Their deity below, as ours above!
And e'en their fear partake of pious awe,
Man's voice an edict, and his look a law.
Bless'd thus to think, if thoughts like these dispense,
A touch more vivid to the moral sense;
If they inspire the imitative glow,
To take, in trust, Heaven's ministry below;
Receive the homage—we should worship call
When breathing incense to the Lord of all—
As offer'd up to Him in earnest prayer,
Thro' Man, vicegerent of his guardian care!
A touch more vivid to the moral sense;
If they inspire the imitative glow,
To take, in trust, Heaven's ministry below;
Receive the homage—we should worship call
When breathing incense to the Lord of all—
63
Thro' Man, vicegerent of his guardian care!
Tyrant, by these examples warn'd, be wise,
And know in kindness thy best interest lies;
Wrinkled by passion now, and now by pride,
The torturer's system thou too long hast try'd;
And when th' offenders were thy bestial train,
How rarely Reason urges to complain;
How oft would Reason, spurning thy decree,
Transfer the sentence from thy brute to thee;
Acquit thy culprit, and indignant own,
Since thine the error, thine should be the groan.
Yes—warn'd, be wise—and let the Muse beguile
To the unwonted softness of a smile;
'Tis Pity's smile—and if a tear should start,
'Tis Pity's tear—and will not wound thy heart;
'Twill ope the sacred source of generous woe,
In whose rich stream a thousand virtues flow.
And know in kindness thy best interest lies;
Wrinkled by passion now, and now by pride,
The torturer's system thou too long hast try'd;
And when th' offenders were thy bestial train,
How rarely Reason urges to complain;
How oft would Reason, spurning thy decree,
Transfer the sentence from thy brute to thee;
Acquit thy culprit, and indignant own,
Since thine the error, thine should be the groan.
Yes—warn'd, be wise—and let the Muse beguile
To the unwonted softness of a smile;
'Tis Pity's smile—and if a tear should start,
'Tis Pity's tear—and will not wound thy heart;
'Twill ope the sacred source of generous woe,
In whose rich stream a thousand virtues flow.
64
Yet, haply, custom, searing up thy mind,
Ne'er hast thou felt the charm of being kind.
Kindness can woo the Lion from his den,
A moral teaching to the sons of men;
His mighty heart in silken bonds can draw,
And bend his nature to sweet Pity's law.
Kindness can lure the Eagle from her nest,
Midst sunbeams plac'd, content with man to rest:
Can make the Elephant, whose bulk supplies
The warrior tower, compassionate, as wise:
Make the fell Tigress, from her chain unbound,
Herself unfed, her craving offspring round,—
Forget the force of hunger and of blood,
Meekly receive from man her long-wish'd food;
Take, too, the chastisement, and if 'tis just,
Submissive take it, crouching to the dust.
Kindness can habit, nay, can nature change,
Of all that swim the deep or forest range.
And for the mild, domestic train, who come—
The Dog—the Steed—with thee to find a home;
Gladly they serve thee, serve thee better too,
When only happy beings meet the view:
Ah! then let gentler accents, gentler looks supply
The thunders of thy voice, and lightnings of thine eye.
Ne'er hast thou felt the charm of being kind.
Kindness can woo the Lion from his den,
A moral teaching to the sons of men;
His mighty heart in silken bonds can draw,
And bend his nature to sweet Pity's law.
Kindness can lure the Eagle from her nest,
Midst sunbeams plac'd, content with man to rest:
Can make the Elephant, whose bulk supplies
The warrior tower, compassionate, as wise:
Make the fell Tigress, from her chain unbound,
Herself unfed, her craving offspring round,—
Forget the force of hunger and of blood,
Meekly receive from man her long-wish'd food;
Take, too, the chastisement, and if 'tis just,
Submissive take it, crouching to the dust.
Kindness can habit, nay, can nature change,
Of all that swim the deep or forest range.
65
The Dog—the Steed—with thee to find a home;
Gladly they serve thee, serve thee better too,
When only happy beings meet the view:
Ah! then let gentler accents, gentler looks supply
The thunders of thy voice, and lightnings of thine eye.
The wandering Arab may these truths impart;
Than gems more precious, bind it round thy heart;
Fierce, savage, fell, and as his desert wild,
His Steed receives th' endearments of a child;
Feeds at his board, reposes in his tent;
Confides, yet ne'er finds reason to repent.
The wife, the children, trusted to his love,
The generous Slave seems half afraid to move.
See on his glossy back the infants lay,
Or, with his awful tresses, harmless play;
The lightest touch restrains, or urges speed;
Are England's coursers a less generous breed?
Ah! no; already this the Muse has shown;
Then on Arabian model form thy own,
And let the leader of a robber band
Breathe Christian precepts o'er a Christian land!
Than gems more precious, bind it round thy heart;
Fierce, savage, fell, and as his desert wild,
His Steed receives th' endearments of a child;
Feeds at his board, reposes in his tent;
Confides, yet ne'er finds reason to repent.
The wife, the children, trusted to his love,
The generous Slave seems half afraid to move.
See on his glossy back the infants lay,
Or, with his awful tresses, harmless play;
The lightest touch restrains, or urges speed;
Are England's coursers a less generous breed?
66
Then on Arabian model form thy own,
And let the leader of a robber band
Breathe Christian precepts o'er a Christian land!
But some there are, who verging on excess,
For softness form'd, solicitous to bless,
May feel a patron's, parent's, anxious fear,
And of the lower world too fond appear.
Perchance some kind affection, pure and true,
As ere the generous breast of woman knew,
In youth's impressive morning, might invade
The earliest hope of the affianc'd maid;
The cherish'd feelings of the plighted heart,
On some new image must transfer a part.
Or haply, offspring wish'd, but wish'd in vain,
They seek some object that may soothe the pain.
Love, tho' a despot, ne'er can reign alone,
But asks some tender partner of his throne;
And when by fortune, or by fate displac'd,
He brooks not that his realms should run to waste;
On that new image still the hope must rest,
To soothe, tho' not to fill, the aching breast;
And tho' less cherish'd than the former flame,
Differing as much in Nature as in name;
A favourite of the feline, canine race,
Of grove, mead, garden, may our thoughts embrace
A feather'd friend, a chosen flower, may prove
Geliad's sweet balm to disappointed love;
We deem a friend each soother of our grief,
And grow more fond as more it brings relief;
And if, from hence, the feeling gives it power,
The Steed, Dog, Songster, or the simplest flower,
Favour'd, and like a favourite, caress'd,
'Tis still the object of a grateful breast;
Affection's error in the slight abuse,—
Since partial kindness mars not general use;—
If it ne'er shuts against the griev'd, or poor,
Compassion's, Friendship's, Nature's, sacred door.
If to all these, and many a want beside,
And the sweet charities, it opens wide,
Well may the fond extreme our candour claim,
And if we blame it, smiling let us blame.
For softness form'd, solicitous to bless,
May feel a patron's, parent's, anxious fear,
And of the lower world too fond appear.
Perchance some kind affection, pure and true,
As ere the generous breast of woman knew,
In youth's impressive morning, might invade
The earliest hope of the affianc'd maid;
The cherish'd feelings of the plighted heart,
On some new image must transfer a part.
Or haply, offspring wish'd, but wish'd in vain,
They seek some object that may soothe the pain.
Love, tho' a despot, ne'er can reign alone,
But asks some tender partner of his throne;
67
He brooks not that his realms should run to waste;
On that new image still the hope must rest,
To soothe, tho' not to fill, the aching breast;
And tho' less cherish'd than the former flame,
Differing as much in Nature as in name;
A favourite of the feline, canine race,
Of grove, mead, garden, may our thoughts embrace
A feather'd friend, a chosen flower, may prove
Geliad's sweet balm to disappointed love;
We deem a friend each soother of our grief,
And grow more fond as more it brings relief;
And if, from hence, the feeling gives it power,
The Steed, Dog, Songster, or the simplest flower,
Favour'd, and like a favourite, caress'd,
'Tis still the object of a grateful breast;
Affection's error in the slight abuse,—
Since partial kindness mars not general use;—
If it ne'er shuts against the griev'd, or poor,
Compassion's, Friendship's, Nature's, sacred door.
68
And the sweet charities, it opens wide,
Well may the fond extreme our candour claim,
And if we blame it, smiling let us blame.
Far lovelier this than his low-thoughted plan,
Whose world resolves into one useless man;
Who never quits his vile primeval clod,
And feel no touch of Nature, or of God;
No care, no kindness, or for bird or beast,
But as it heaps the idol's sullen feast;
One sordid point the compass of his soul,
Himself at once the Needle and the Pole.
Whose world resolves into one useless man;
Who never quits his vile primeval clod,
And feel no touch of Nature, or of God;
No care, no kindness, or for bird or beast,
But as it heaps the idol's sullen feast;
One sordid point the compass of his soul,
Himself at once the Needle and the Pole.
Would we the cause of brute distress explore,
Turn of life's volume its first pages o'er;
There read the history of the infant mind,
Close to the records of the cradle join'd.
The doating parent, and the gossip friend,
To blast the opening bud, their influence lend;
Leagu'd with the nursery, and the kitchen bands,
In mock revenge they raise the baby hands;
Ere Reason can assume her scepter'd sway,
Fondness and Folly lead the child astray;
Teach baby hearts, with idle rage to glow,
Prompt baby passion to give blow for blow;
Urge them with senseless objects war to wage,
And stir the strife that mars a riper age.
Thus, while in leading strings, the fragile form,
And infant bosom swell to mental storm;
And fancied wrongs from table, or from chair,
For feuds, more fierce, the ill-taught child prepare.
Turn of life's volume its first pages o'er;
There read the history of the infant mind,
Close to the records of the cradle join'd.
The doating parent, and the gossip friend,
To blast the opening bud, their influence lend;
69
In mock revenge they raise the baby hands;
Ere Reason can assume her scepter'd sway,
Fondness and Folly lead the child astray;
Teach baby hearts, with idle rage to glow,
Prompt baby passion to give blow for blow;
Urge them with senseless objects war to wage,
And stir the strife that mars a riper age.
Thus, while in leading strings, the fragile form,
And infant bosom swell to mental storm;
And fancied wrongs from table, or from chair,
For feuds, more fierce, the ill-taught child prepare.
Behold yon idling groups in school recess,
Learning full soon the science to oppress;
There crush'd the egg, and murder'd in its birth,
The half-form'd embryo seiz'd, and dash'd to earth;
Here the shrill scream, loud plaint, and pensive wail,
While mingling notes of anguish load the gale!
Perversion strange! when songs of bliss invite,
That tones of pain and sorrow should delight:
And stranger still should charm the youthful heart,
By Nature tender till despoil'd by Art;
Art, Janus-like, that shows a double face,
And at each turn displays a fiend or grace;
Nature's best friend—a wise instructor, here;
Her direst foe—a base seducer, there.
On this side, Virtue's lineaments are seen,
On that, of Vice we trace the hateful mien.
Learning full soon the science to oppress;
There crush'd the egg, and murder'd in its birth,
The half-form'd embryo seiz'd, and dash'd to earth;
Here the shrill scream, loud plaint, and pensive wail,
While mingling notes of anguish load the gale!
70
That tones of pain and sorrow should delight:
And stranger still should charm the youthful heart,
By Nature tender till despoil'd by Art;
Art, Janus-like, that shows a double face,
And at each turn displays a fiend or grace;
Nature's best friend—a wise instructor, here;
Her direst foe—a base seducer, there.
On this side, Virtue's lineaments are seen,
On that, of Vice we trace the hateful mien.
Hence the warp'd stripling, when arriv'd at man,
His habits fix'd, full oft pursues the plan;
To Reason less, to Passion more inclin'd,
At length he yields to this, the vanquish'd mind.
For still in imitative man we find,
That early culture moulds the human mind;
That precept much, and that example more,
Exert on plastic youth, a wondrous pow'r;
That habits fix'd at home, gain strength in schools,
Till beardless tyrants mock at grey-beard rules;
That cruel pastimes, or of field or flood,
Form the young despot to delight in blood;
That bird or beast, in frolic robb'd of breath,
Leads on from pang to pang, from death to death.
His habits fix'd, full oft pursues the plan;
To Reason less, to Passion more inclin'd,
At length he yields to this, the vanquish'd mind.
For still in imitative man we find,
That early culture moulds the human mind;
That precept much, and that example more,
Exert on plastic youth, a wondrous pow'r;
71
Till beardless tyrants mock at grey-beard rules;
That cruel pastimes, or of field or flood,
Form the young despot to delight in blood;
That bird or beast, in frolic robb'd of breath,
Leads on from pang to pang, from death to death.
Myriads from custom, but from Nature few,
A course like this, from youth to age pursue;
Some idly wanton, cruel some from fear,
But all demand a check in their career.
Yes, all require the guardian's, parent's eye,
Intent to watch the growing tyranny—
That check delay'd, full thrift the mischief leads,
From the child's follies to man's direst deeds;
It is the nourish'd snake, that in the heart
Infuses poison through each vital part;
It is the canker, working to the root,
Devouring first the blossom and the fruit.
A course like this, from youth to age pursue;
Some idly wanton, cruel some from fear,
But all demand a check in their career.
Yes, all require the guardian's, parent's eye,
Intent to watch the growing tyranny—
That check delay'd, full thrift the mischief leads,
From the child's follies to man's direst deeds;
It is the nourish'd snake, that in the heart
Infuses poison through each vital part;
It is the canker, working to the root,
Devouring first the blossom and the fruit.
72
Mothers! be prompt—for your's the awful care
Of “infant man”—of each extreme beware;
If weakly fond—now doating—now severe,
The Slave and Tyrant you by turns appear.—
If now you hold too tight, now slack the rein,
Now bribe, and now delude the youthful train;—
If now by anger urg'd, now mov'd by love,
You but increase the ills you would remove;—
The stripling spurns at undeserv'd disgrace,
And sits himself in judgment on his case;
Resists and ridicules unequal sway,
Usurps the matron throne, or bursts in scorn away.
Of “infant man”—of each extreme beware;
If weakly fond—now doating—now severe,
The Slave and Tyrant you by turns appear.—
If now you hold too tight, now slack the rein,
Now bribe, and now delude the youthful train;—
If now by anger urg'd, now mov'd by love,
You but increase the ills you would remove;—
The stripling spurns at undeserv'd disgrace,
And sits himself in judgment on his case;
Resists and ridicules unequal sway,
Usurps the matron throne, or bursts in scorn away.
And you, ye Fathers, lur'd by tender thought,
By potent Nature's magic instincts taught;
That when the Sire's allotted sands are run,
He fills again his hour-glass in the sun;
His future self, his present hope and pride—
Yet, ah! beware, lest Nature should misguide.
In Brute she cannot err, in Man she may,
The fondest Sires lead most their sons astray;
And oft th' enraptur'd parents' feelings prove,
Than hate more fatal, tho' they spring from love.
By potent Nature's magic instincts taught;
That when the Sire's allotted sands are run,
He fills again his hour-glass in the sun;
His future self, his present hope and pride—
Yet, ah! beware, lest Nature should misguide.
73
The fondest Sires lead most their sons astray;
And oft th' enraptur'd parents' feelings prove,
Than hate more fatal, tho' they spring from love.
Soon as the long-wish'd gift—an heir appears,
Nature comes smiling through her graceful tears!
Comes in a mother's form, and gives the boy
To a glad father's arms, and all is joy!
The pangs maternal change to speechless bliss!
And that immortal moment, when the kiss,
The first fond kiss the infant's lip receives,
Unconscious of the transport that it gives;
The new emotions thronging to the heart,
What future moment shall such joy impart?
The happy father would that joy declare,
Were it bestow'd while thunders rent the air!
And summer seem to rise on winter's morn,
'Tis Nature's jubilee—a son is born!
Nature comes smiling through her graceful tears!
Comes in a mother's form, and gives the boy
To a glad father's arms, and all is joy!
The pangs maternal change to speechless bliss!
And that immortal moment, when the kiss,
The first fond kiss the infant's lip receives,
Unconscious of the transport that it gives;
The new emotions thronging to the heart,
What future moment shall such joy impart?
The happy father would that joy declare,
Were it bestow'd while thunders rent the air!
And summer seem to rise on winter's morn,
'Tis Nature's jubilee—a son is born!
74
Indulge awhile the luxury supreme!
Yet, will it pass like Fancy's baseless dream?
Ere as night's vapour from the sunbeam flies,
If the rapt father proves more fond than wise;
If no soft tear attempers ardent hope,
If the strong instinct takes too wide a scope,
This blessing so invok'd, implor'd in prayer!
The father curses in his soul's despair!
Horrors succeed! the crime full oft his own,
From purest passion, into dotage grown.
Yet, will it pass like Fancy's baseless dream?
Ere as night's vapour from the sunbeam flies,
If the rapt father proves more fond than wise;
If no soft tear attempers ardent hope,
If the strong instinct takes too wide a scope,
This blessing so invok'd, implor'd in prayer!
The father curses in his soul's despair!
Horrors succeed! the crime full oft his own,
From purest passion, into dotage grown.
Haste then, O haste, to teach, with timely care,
The sacred principle to aid and spare!
While yet the plastic infant may receive,
E'en like the new-fall'n snow, the print you give;
Ere that impressive, pliant hour be lost,
Like the snow harden'd to unbending frost;
Fix in the ductile breast this aweful truth,
An honour'd age must spring from well-form'd youth.
Teach him, that Mercy by his God was giv'n,
A seraph messenger direct from Heav'n!
That all his race in guilt and grief had died,
Nor ended there, had Mercy been deny'd!
Tell him, Compassion, is sweet Mercy's child,
Firm and yet tender, and not weak tho' mild;
That from the purest source compassion flows,
Yet largely shares the blessing it bestows;
On his young heart the moral sense impress,
The fall'n to raise, the injur'd to redress;
One truth, o'er other truths sublime, reveal,
That beast, bird, insect, like himself can feel;
That every pang which you for him could know,
The mother's agony, the father's woe.—
Should some fell arm your blossom'd hope destroy,
And in his death bereave your souls of joy,
Would all be their's! like anguish and despair,
And tho' more brief than your's, as hard to bear!
The sacred principle to aid and spare!
While yet the plastic infant may receive,
E'en like the new-fall'n snow, the print you give;
Ere that impressive, pliant hour be lost,
Like the snow harden'd to unbending frost;
Fix in the ductile breast this aweful truth,
An honour'd age must spring from well-form'd youth.
75
A seraph messenger direct from Heav'n!
That all his race in guilt and grief had died,
Nor ended there, had Mercy been deny'd!
Tell him, Compassion, is sweet Mercy's child,
Firm and yet tender, and not weak tho' mild;
That from the purest source compassion flows,
Yet largely shares the blessing it bestows;
On his young heart the moral sense impress,
The fall'n to raise, the injur'd to redress;
One truth, o'er other truths sublime, reveal,
That beast, bird, insect, like himself can feel;
That every pang which you for him could know,
The mother's agony, the father's woe.—
Should some fell arm your blossom'd hope destroy,
And in his death bereave your souls of joy,
Would all be their's! like anguish and despair,
And tho' more brief than your's, as hard to bear!
76
But, from whatever source the vice is brought,
Infus'd by Nature, or from habit caught;
Since the fell monster has acquir'd at length
More than a giant's size, a giant's strength,
Lifts the Colossal arm, Briarian hand,
Wantons in pow'r, and stains with blood the land;
The voice of thousands in one mingled cry,
That find an echo in the pitying sigh—
For justice calls upon that fiend of strife,
Who sports and revels in the waste of life;
Who tries the round of tortures to annoy,
Those who can rob him of no human joy;
Those who repair his strength, his wants remove,
Promote his pleasure, and deserve his love;
His being cherish, aid his failing breath,
Nor quit him in the agonies of Death.
Infus'd by Nature, or from habit caught;
Since the fell monster has acquir'd at length
More than a giant's size, a giant's strength,
Lifts the Colossal arm, Briarian hand,
Wantons in pow'r, and stains with blood the land;
The voice of thousands in one mingled cry,
That find an echo in the pitying sigh—
For justice calls upon that fiend of strife,
Who sports and revels in the waste of life;
Who tries the round of tortures to annoy,
Those who can rob him of no human joy;
Those who repair his strength, his wants remove,
Promote his pleasure, and deserve his love;
His being cherish, aid his failing breath,
Nor quit him in the agonies of Death.
END OF BOOK III.
77
BOOK IV.
78
ARGUMENT.
Second Address to the Poets of Britain.—The Author's Apology.—Difficulty of the Subject.—Appeal of the respective injured Animals to Man.—Apostrophe to the Society at Liverpool, associated for the Purpose of ameliorating the Condition of the Animal World.—Address to the Lords and Commons of Great Britain in their august Characters as Senators, and important Situation as distinguished Members of Society.—Supposed Personification of the Sufferers, advancing to the Houses of Parliament as to the Seats of Judgment and Mercy.— The Boon of the Petitioners stated.—Summary of the Subject.—Conclusion.—Apostrophe to the known Humanity of the Country in its Resistance of every Species of Oppression, whether practised against Man or Brute, when left to the Guidance of the Moral Sense.
79
Still mute Britannia's Bards, while I, by pain,
By sickness sore, unfitted for the strain,
Have now relinquish'd, now resum'd the lyre,
Felt now the Muse's, now the fever's fire;
While Time prepares his sweeping scythe to bring,
And cover with his own, the poet's wing!
Yet still my heart shall hail the lingering page,
If it but tends to check one tyrant's rage;
If it but turns aside one threat'ning arm,
Or lures one cruel breast to Pity's charm;
If it but rouse, tho' late, the tuneful band,
To aid the song, and make one glorious stand.
By sickness sore, unfitted for the strain,
Have now relinquish'd, now resum'd the lyre,
Felt now the Muse's, now the fever's fire;
While Time prepares his sweeping scythe to bring,
And cover with his own, the poet's wing!
Yet still my heart shall hail the lingering page,
If it but tends to check one tyrant's rage;
If it but turns aside one threat'ning arm,
Or lures one cruel breast to Pity's charm;
80
To aid the song, and make one glorious stand.
Yet say, what offering shall the Muse bestow,
Tho' Inspiration bade the numbers flow;
The sons of Mercy and of Truth to grace,
Illustrious champions of an injur'd race;
Friends of the Tribes who prove yet want a friend,
Their varied wrongs to soothe, their rights defend?
Tho' Inspiration bade the numbers flow;
The sons of Mercy and of Truth to grace,
Illustrious champions of an injur'd race;
Friends of the Tribes who prove yet want a friend,
Their varied wrongs to soothe, their rights defend?
Ah! could yon sufferers, labouring with their load,
Assail'd by bludgeons, or the sharpen'd goad;
Ill-fated victims of the probing lash,
The galling harness, and the deep-mouth'd gash:—
Could yon meek drudge, of wantonness the prey,
By want and strong temptations led astray;
Impell'd by daring hunger, to forsake
The scanty herbage of the waste, or brake;
The labours of his day but ill repaid
By the dry thistle, or the wither'd blade;
Should he, spurn'd Slave! on these refuse to feed,
And dare to trespass on the neighbouring mead;
Seiz'd, scourg'd, imprison'd in a barren round,
And left to pine, or perish on the ground;—
Or harsher still, could that decrepit crew,
That long the fullness of the pasture knew;
That in the pride of favour, and of prime,
Seem'd to outstrip, and win the race from Time;
The riders bore to triumphs not their own,
Plac'd by their Steeds upon a conqueror's throne.—
Could that sad group, devoted to the knife,
In the last moments of a faithful life,
The deaf, the dumb, the aged, and the blind,
Patient in hardships, and to stripes resign'd,
In slaughter-prisons pent, condemn'd to lie,
And feel the pang of famine ere they die;
Wait the cold leisure of the tyrant's blow,
In Avarice rapid, yet in Mercy slow.—
Could these—and myriads more like these, who feel
The mangling whip, fell staff, and murd'rous steel;
Severely rais'd by stern barbarian hands,
Beyond what hunger, or e'en pride demands;
Beyond what luxury itself inspires,
With all its sordid train of vain desires.—
Yes, could these bruis'd and bleeding victims raise
The mingled voice of Gratitude and Praise,
Could they, their advocates, their patrons, know,
And Heav'n to brute the power of speech bestow,
What notes of joy thro' woods and wilds would ring,
How rich the offering their glad hearts would bring?
From low-born Plough-horse to the high-bred Steed,
What varied tribes would hail the gen'rous deed;
The crowded city, and the peopled grove,
Would echo notes of harmony and love.
Assail'd by bludgeons, or the sharpen'd goad;
Ill-fated victims of the probing lash,
The galling harness, and the deep-mouth'd gash:—
Could yon meek drudge, of wantonness the prey,
By want and strong temptations led astray;
Impell'd by daring hunger, to forsake
The scanty herbage of the waste, or brake;
The labours of his day but ill repaid
By the dry thistle, or the wither'd blade;
81
And dare to trespass on the neighbouring mead;
Seiz'd, scourg'd, imprison'd in a barren round,
And left to pine, or perish on the ground;—
Or harsher still, could that decrepit crew,
That long the fullness of the pasture knew;
That in the pride of favour, and of prime,
Seem'd to outstrip, and win the race from Time;
The riders bore to triumphs not their own,
Plac'd by their Steeds upon a conqueror's throne.—
Could that sad group, devoted to the knife,
In the last moments of a faithful life,
The deaf, the dumb, the aged, and the blind,
Patient in hardships, and to stripes resign'd,
In slaughter-prisons pent, condemn'd to lie,
And feel the pang of famine ere they die;
Wait the cold leisure of the tyrant's blow,
In Avarice rapid, yet in Mercy slow.—
Could these—and myriads more like these, who feel
The mangling whip, fell staff, and murd'rous steel;
82
Beyond what hunger, or e'en pride demands;
Beyond what luxury itself inspires,
With all its sordid train of vain desires.—
Yes, could these bruis'd and bleeding victims raise
The mingled voice of Gratitude and Praise,
Could they, their advocates, their patrons, know,
And Heav'n to brute the power of speech bestow,
What notes of joy thro' woods and wilds would ring,
How rich the offering their glad hearts would bring?
From low-born Plough-horse to the high-bred Steed,
What varied tribes would hail the gen'rous deed;
The crowded city, and the peopled grove,
Would echo notes of harmony and love.
But man's sky-reaching powers, to brute deny'd,
Were, for the suffering universe, supply'd;
Were, with a hand of bounty largely giv'n
To you, harmonious ministers of Heav'n!
Rouse then, ye Bards, who to the loveliest art,
A gift more precious own—the feeling heart:
O rouse to arms, ye heav'n-descended throng!
Achilles' spear, less keen than Homer's song!
Would but Apollo's bands their force unite
More strong than thine proud Mars in all thy might;
Than thine Bellona, more renown'd in fame,
Save when thou arm'st in bless'd Minerva's name:
Then haste, ye generous heroes of the Lyre,
And more than all the Muses shall inspire;
More than the god who draws the silver bow,
To help the helpless, shall embattled go;
Against a foe of Earth and Heav'n accurs'd,
A second Crusade holier than the first,
In Heav'n's own cause might Heav'n's own poet sing,
The Psalmist's harp again might David string.
Go then—the God of gods your shafts shall guide,
Go, and his Cherubim shall join your side!
Were, for the suffering universe, supply'd;
Were, with a hand of bounty largely giv'n
To you, harmonious ministers of Heav'n!
83
A gift more precious own—the feeling heart:
O rouse to arms, ye heav'n-descended throng!
Achilles' spear, less keen than Homer's song!
Would but Apollo's bands their force unite
More strong than thine proud Mars in all thy might;
Than thine Bellona, more renown'd in fame,
Save when thou arm'st in bless'd Minerva's name:
Then haste, ye generous heroes of the Lyre,
And more than all the Muses shall inspire;
More than the god who draws the silver bow,
To help the helpless, shall embattled go;
Against a foe of Earth and Heav'n accurs'd,
A second Crusade holier than the first,
In Heav'n's own cause might Heav'n's own poet sing,
The Psalmist's harp again might David string.
Go then—the God of gods your shafts shall guide,
Go, and his Cherubim shall join your side!
84
Bless'd be the pitying, heav'n-assembled band,
And midst the proudest archives of the land,
Inscrib'd their names in characters to last
When every tyrant's record shall be cast,
By Truth's strong arm into forgotten dust—
Immortal Fame still faithful to her trust!
Thrice bless'd the generous Synod who debate,
E'en now to advocate the sufferer's fate;
E'en now to aid the unoffending train,
Smooth their hard toils, and mitigate their pain;
Teach Mercy's foes her ardent friends to fear,
And check the Cruel in their fell career;
Strike at their only vulnerable part,
Virtue's sole passage to a sordid heart,
Strike at vile Interest, idol of the breast!
That craving cormorant brooding on its nest;
Make them for love of gold your law obey,
Tho' love of gain alone maintains its sway;
To acts humane unwillingly resign'd,
Constrain'd to virtue, while to vice inclin'd.
By manly precept and example too,
Enforce a sacred truth they never knew;
That liberal Commerce, when, like your's, it leads
From great designs, to humanizing deeds,
Is the fair mean of honourable ends,
And private good, with public virtue, blends.
Long, long be your's, the still-increasing store,
By your own ocean floated to your shore;
May every freight come wafted in the gale,
And your own navy guard the home-bent sail;
And, O to crown the meed of heav'n-bless'd wealth,
Fair bloom in Fortune's wreath, the freshest rose of Health!
And midst the proudest archives of the land,
Inscrib'd their names in characters to last
When every tyrant's record shall be cast,
By Truth's strong arm into forgotten dust—
Immortal Fame still faithful to her trust!
Thrice bless'd the generous Synod who debate,
E'en now to advocate the sufferer's fate;
E'en now to aid the unoffending train,
Smooth their hard toils, and mitigate their pain;
Teach Mercy's foes her ardent friends to fear,
And check the Cruel in their fell career;
Strike at their only vulnerable part,
Virtue's sole passage to a sordid heart,
Strike at vile Interest, idol of the breast!
That craving cormorant brooding on its nest;
Make them for love of gold your law obey,
Tho' love of gain alone maintains its sway;
To acts humane unwillingly resign'd,
Constrain'd to virtue, while to vice inclin'd.
85
Enforce a sacred truth they never knew;
That liberal Commerce, when, like your's, it leads
From great designs, to humanizing deeds,
Is the fair mean of honourable ends,
And private good, with public virtue, blends.
Long, long be your's, the still-increasing store,
By your own ocean floated to your shore;
May every freight come wafted in the gale,
And your own navy guard the home-bent sail;
And, O to crown the meed of heav'n-bless'd wealth,
Fair bloom in Fortune's wreath, the freshest rose of Health!
And ye
, who guard a generous people's rights,
In whom strong wisdom, with strong power, unites;
Ye chosen guardians of a smiling land,
To whom an empire delegates command;
Patrons, protectors of her awful laws,
Rise ye to aid Compassion's sacred cause;
Your's of the Higher World, the highest place,
Ah! look with Pity on a hapless race,
Thrown on the rage or mercy of mankind,
A tower of strength in you they yet may find.
Think that you see the desolated throng,
Cover'd with stripes, and many a bleeding wrong;
Think that you see the Suppliants at your feet,
And hear the pang-extorted moan and bleat;
Think you behold them congregating round,
Dragging their ruins near your hallow'd ground.
Think that they raise to you th' imploring eye,
The pitious look, deep wound, and piercing cry;
Victims of wanton pride and deadly rage,
O let them all your eloquence engage;
The hard of heart, a moral sense to teach,
Image then gifted with the powers of speech;
Think, that, in verity, just Heav'n bestows
A human voice to tell inhuman woes;
Sublim'd awhile their Nature to your own,
Think that you hear them plead from Reason's throne!
In whom strong wisdom, with strong power, unites;
Ye chosen guardians of a smiling land,
To whom an empire delegates command;
86
Rise ye to aid Compassion's sacred cause;
Your's of the Higher World, the highest place,
Ah! look with Pity on a hapless race,
Thrown on the rage or mercy of mankind,
A tower of strength in you they yet may find.
Think that you see the desolated throng,
Cover'd with stripes, and many a bleeding wrong;
Think that you see the Suppliants at your feet,
And hear the pang-extorted moan and bleat;
Think you behold them congregating round,
Dragging their ruins near your hallow'd ground.
Think that they raise to you th' imploring eye,
The pitious look, deep wound, and piercing cry;
Victims of wanton pride and deadly rage,
O let them all your eloquence engage;
The hard of heart, a moral sense to teach,
Image then gifted with the powers of speech;
Think, that, in verity, just Heav'n bestows
A human voice to tell inhuman woes;
87
Think that you hear them plead from Reason's throne!
Yet, ah! the sufferers need no aid of speech,
The bosom'd advocates of man to reach—
Of man, whose form, ascending from the clod,
Shames not the awful image of his God,
The light celestial-beaming in his face,
Protector, patron of the bestial race!
They ask not lengthen'd days, they ask not life,
All they could wish, to pass devoid of strife;
The little span, by craving man decreed,
Ere for his raiment and his food they bleed!
Their hopes, their prayers, e'en were they granted all,
Alas! how great to them, to man how small!
O then, at length the saving code impart,
'Tis your's to frame this statute of the heart.
This be your law—to make each tyrant know,
The woe he gives shall be return'd by woe.
Proclaim it loud! high Heav'n shall bless the sound,
And Mercy's Angel spread the tidings round;
Immortal hands the chaplet shall entwine,
And fondly wreath it round Britannia's shrine.
The bosom'd advocates of man to reach—
Of man, whose form, ascending from the clod,
Shames not the awful image of his God,
The light celestial-beaming in his face,
Protector, patron of the bestial race!
They ask not lengthen'd days, they ask not life,
All they could wish, to pass devoid of strife;
The little span, by craving man decreed,
Ere for his raiment and his food they bleed!
Their hopes, their prayers, e'en were they granted all,
Alas! how great to them, to man how small!
O then, at length the saving code impart,
'Tis your's to frame this statute of the heart.
88
The woe he gives shall be return'd by woe.
Proclaim it loud! high Heav'n shall bless the sound,
And Mercy's Angel spread the tidings round;
Immortal hands the chaplet shall entwine,
And fondly wreath it round Britannia's shrine.
And thou! as oft the raptur'd Muse has sung,
Devote to thee since first the lyre she strung;
E'en to the hour that warns her now to part—
O may her last fond offering reach thy heart!
Yes; thou rever'd and sympathizing land,
First to extend thy ever-helping hand.
Oft has thy tender pity temper'd power,
And rais'd e'en Vice in dark Misfortune's hour;
Brought timely succour to the hapless Slave,
And snatch'd Pride's destin'd victim from the grave;
Not Conquest's only, thine Compassion's isle,
A truth thy Myriads sanction with a smile:
Bulwarks of strength! when warm'd to MERCY'S cause,
These Myriads Mercy calls to aid her gentle laws.
Devote to thee since first the lyre she strung;
E'en to the hour that warns her now to part—
O may her last fond offering reach thy heart!
Yes; thou rever'd and sympathizing land,
First to extend thy ever-helping hand.
Oft has thy tender pity temper'd power,
And rais'd e'en Vice in dark Misfortune's hour;
Brought timely succour to the hapless Slave,
And snatch'd Pride's destin'd victim from the grave;
89
A truth thy Myriads sanction with a smile:
Bulwarks of strength! when warm'd to MERCY'S cause,
These Myriads Mercy calls to aid her gentle laws.
And, ah! when homefelt, or when foreign storms,
The chequer'd scenery of life deforms,
Folly and vice, the darkling prospect shroud,
And wrap thy virtues in an awful cloud;
Tho' threat'ning tumults, like tornados fell,
Life's wholesome breeze to hurricane should swell;
Or more portentous of some ill profound,
The silence that is felt should brood around;
While Charities like these, shall pour the ray,
And shed their lustre o'er fair England's day,
Still mid the nations, towering o'er the rest,
Honour'd shall be her deeds, her name be bless'd.
The chequer'd scenery of life deforms,
Folly and vice, the darkling prospect shroud,
And wrap thy virtues in an awful cloud;
Tho' threat'ning tumults, like tornados fell,
Life's wholesome breeze to hurricane should swell;
Or more portentous of some ill profound,
The silence that is felt should brood around;
While Charities like these, shall pour the ray,
And shed their lustre o'er fair England's day,
Still mid the nations, towering o'er the rest,
Honour'd shall be her deeds, her name be bless'd.
END OF BOOK IV.
| The lower world | |