The Poems of John Byrom | ||
240
THOUGHTS ON THE CONSTITUTION OF HUMAN NATURE, AS REPRESENTED IN THE SYSTEMS OF MODERN PHILOSOPHERS.
I
Strong Passions draw, like Horses that are strong,The Body-Coach of Flesh and Blood along;
While subtle Reason, with each Rein in Hand,
Sits on the Box, and has them at Command;
Rais'd up aloft, to see and to be seen,
Judges the Track, and guides the gay Machine.
II
But was it made for nothing else besidePassions to draw, and Reason to be Guide?
Was so much Art employ'd to drag and drive
Nothing within the Vehicle alive?
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Master of Passions, and of Reason too?
III
The grand Contrivance why so well equipWith strength of Passions, rul'd by Reason's Whip?
Vainly profuse had Apparatus been,
Did not a reigning Spirit rest within;
Which Passions carry, and sound Reason means
To render present at pre-order'd Scenes.
IV
They who are loud in human Reason's Praise,And celebrate the Drivers of our Days,
Seem to suppose, by their continual Bawl,
That Passions, Reason, and Machine, is all;
To them the Windows are drawn up, and clear
Nothing that does not outwardly appear.
V
Matter and Motion, and superior ManBy Head and Shoulders, form their reas'ning Plan.
View'd and demurely ponder'd, as they roll,
And scoring Traces on the Paper Soul,
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With new Idéas, none of them innate.
VI
When these Adepts are got upon a Box,Away they gallop thro' the gazing Flocks;
Trappings admir'd, and the high-mettl'd Brute
And Reason balancing its either Foot;
While seeing Eyes discern, at their Approach,
Fulness of Skill, and emptiness of Coach.
VII
'Tis very well that lively Passions draw,That sober Reason keeps them all in Awe,—
The one to run, the other to control,
And drive directly to the destin'd Goal.
“What Goal?”—Ay, there the Question should begin:
What Spirit drives the willing Mind within?
VIII
Sense, Reason, Passions, and the like, are stillOne self-same Man, whose Action is his Will;
Whose Will, if right, will soon renounce the Pride
Of an own Reason for an only Guide;
As God's unerring Spirit shall inspire,
Will still direct the Drift of his Desire.
The Poems of John Byrom | ||