University of Virginia Library

What time my young unpractis'd muse essay'd,
In harsh prelusive numbers, to unfold
The principles of eloquence, the smile
Propitious of the few that love the lyre,
Nor turn, averse from its didactic sounds,
Waken'd my ardent hopes. Hence Albion heard
The bolder descant on her sapient bar:
Hence was her senate sung: and hence, to close
My theme, the pulpit claims a loftier lay.

Come, (since the view of oratory meet
For earth hath long precluded from my sight
A nobler prospect), come, æthereal muse,
And with thy friendly rays illume the path
That leads to heaven!—Come, muse of fire, allied
To seraphim—O thou, whom God's own bard
Sounding to epic notes his harp, invok'd
Delighted, whether thy free footsteps rov'd
On Sion-hill, or fast by Siloa's brook;
Come, and the hallow'd oracles unveil
Of inspiration—what the visitant
Of Aganippe's fount or Acidale
Might fly abash'd; as from Ithuriel's spear
The demon started! So shall they, who guide
The unlettered people, mark religion's power
Persuasive, to direct the common mind.

Thus too, sublime inspirer, by thine aid
May I develope subjects undisclos'd
To superstitious Athens, whose dark zeal
“Inscrib'd her altar to the unknown God.”

For say, my liberal pupil, (not in vain
Nurtur'd amid the hoary domes and walks
Of Cam or Isis, if thy tutor'd mind
Have with the pagan treasures intermix'd
The christian's purer wealth), say hath thine eye
Observ'd in history or in fabling lore,
Topics so greatly solemn as we draw
From sacred wisdom? Say, can ought on earth
Tho' it transport the affections into flame,
Raise and refine their nature, like the heaven
That beams upon the christian saint? Go search
The historic page; and pause amidst the pomp
Of swelling declamation. At the head
Of armies, listen to the leader's voice—
The voice, that from her tented slumber wakes
Ambition to fell havock; and attend
The statesman who applauds the warrior-dead,
And proudly bids the living thus expire
For airy fame!—Not so the gospel trains
The obedient passions; stealing from the scene
Of military pride the humbled soul—
Turning from perishable wreaths, its aim
To fadeless crowns! Not so the gospel soothes
The funeral anguish! To the legends turn
Of classic fiction. Say, can pagan draughts
Of Tartarus or elysian skies, affect
The penetrated bosom, like the word
That sounds its awful sanctions, echoing back
The native feelings?—Ah, thy cold assent
Yet hesitates amid Virgilian bliss
Or Plato's splendid vision! Unobserv'd
The scripture's venerable page unfolds
Its chaste simplicity of dress: For thee
Vainly the too familiar lesson flows,
Couch'd under beauteous parables that mock
All human mimickry. Each sacred truth
From immaturest infancy hath play'd
Around thine heedless ears—hence deem'd inert
And vapid—or, too feeble to supply
The stores of eloquence, and warn mankind.

The listless lectures thou hast idly heard
Strengthen the false idea. Thou hast seen
The sable-stoled speaker (yet rever'd
For unaffected sanctity) nod o'er
Each freezing word. How lagg'd the heavy phrase!

But ah! misdeem not inspiration's tome,
Frigid and wearisome; nor such a strain
The pattern of thy preaching, tho' the work
Of sages, deeply vers'd in scripture-lore.

O thou, commission'd from above, to lead
An undiscerning multitude to life;
Know, tho' thy active genius may have div'd
Thro' all the depths of science; tho' thou pierce
The gloom of darker history; tho' thy skill
Discuss with perspicuity the points
E'en of abstruser morals; tho' the sense
Of holy writ, that puzzles oft the wise,
Flow, to thy luminous conception clear;
Vain are thy boasted talents, if the springs
Of human conduct in familiar life—
If living character ne'er met thy views.

Read, then, mankind. Yet o'er the checquer'd scene
Of manners, rove not long with curious search;
Content to study the more simple race
Ungloss'd by fashion's varnish. These, thy flock,
A skilful shepherd, art thou call'd to guide
Safe from the ravening wolf, o'er dreary heaths
Where many a cavern threatens—over lawns
Where bright luxuriance catches the pleas'd eye,
And each voluptuous breeze wafts poison round.

Of every audience, howsoe'er refin'd,
Few are the polish'd, when compar'd with those
By education's hand as yet unshap'd.
And know, the vulgar have a mental strength
Respectable tho' rude. They own a sense
Of right and wrong, and mark the plainer lines
That separate good and evil; yet observe,
Not with the casuist's microscopic eye.
With many a superstitious notion fraught
Deadening the finer feelings, (if, perchance
The finer feelings could, a moment, live
Amidst the untutor'd populace), they nurse
Credulity and prejudice so strong
As ne'er to be destroy'd, but, full oft turn'd
To salutary use. Of serious cast,
They brood o'er dull opinions, and reflect
With casual penetration. Tho' not slow
To apprehend an obvious truth, they boast
No quick vivacity. Thus they perceive
Intelligent, but know not to pursue,
With stress of mental faculties, a train
Of argument, tho' evident its source,
And tho' its ends perspicuous; since their minds
Unform'd for reasoning by habitual use
Are yet unexercis'd. Their momories aim
With many a faultering struggle, to retain
The substance of a short harangue, tho' clear
Its few divisions as the unclouded light
Of noon. Nor can they feel the kind address
That moves the placid spirit of esteem,
Or in pathetic union mingles pain
And pleasure. Can they see the beauteous form
Of represented virtue; or descry
The character which, amiable and good,
Exhibits only to the kindred mind
Its own attractive beauties?—Can their eye
Glisten thro' pity's tear, when eloquent
In silence, penury lifts its hands, to ask
Our aid?—'Tis true, benevolence inspires
Our universal progeny; and prompts
(If unalloy'd with interest) to relieve
The wretched. Yet, by delicacy rear'd,
Pity in sensibility alone
Exists, refin'd and pure. Did e'er the crowd
Foster that mild tranquillity, so ting'd
By pensive thought, which gentle bosoms deem
Their dearest luxury?—that religious warmth
Which, at the still calm hour of solitude,
Rises, a grateful sacrifice, effus'd
From the full heart; while nature lives around
In sweet accordance waving her deep groves,
Pouring her founts, and breathing all her balms
To heaven? These are emotions never known
To the unmanner'd vulgar. Nor to meet
A worthless object with contempt's cold frown,
Or with fastidious dignity that comes
From proud intelligence and cultur'd taste,
E'er character'd their minds. But such thy charge,
Young orator, joint candidate with thee
For God's immortal glories. Know, they feel,
(Tho' soften'd fancy, tho' the mellower train
Of finely-mix'd affection be not theirs),
They feel, in all its energy, the storm
Of ruder passion. Riveted to earth,
They stare blank admiration; beam forth love,
Or scowl dark hatred; for approaching good
Throb with desire; or, oft as ills draw near,
Shrink with antipathy's collapsive shock,
Spontaneous; glow with eager hope, or shake
With fear's convulsing tremour; full of joy
Exult, or sink in grief; smile gratitude
(Tho' faint but in the liberal mind) or rage
With anger! Their's is fancy too, amus'd
By strong familiar images, not charm'd
By the soft drapery of aerial forms.

Not that with frequent impulse passion wakes
Self-kindling, from their indolent repose,
The unletter'd herd; while their quiescent minds
The steady love of lucre sways—intent
On temporal good, that actuates oft the wise.

See, then, thy task. To point this common love
Where brighter interest opens, by the strength
Of their arous'd affections, be thy prime
Ambition. What tho', scatter'd thro' the crowd
In splendid interspersion, may appear
A few more penetrating minds, that boast
Superior station and superior taste;
If they have human instinct, they shall feel—
If they have yet a conscience, they shall fear
The pure address from nature and from God.

To manage such a multitude, affect
No florid phrase, or curious periods smooth
In measur'd sweetness; nor on airy wing
Of metaphysics hover; nor abstract
Into proud reason's maze perspicuous truths
That, of a practical concern, admit
No philosophic subtleties obscure.

Nor, on too wide canvass represent
The virtues and the vices: nor, in shape
Of formal essay, be it thine to give
Too general admonition, indistinct
Ev'n as a distant prospect that attracts
No eye. Thy office prompts thee to display
The well-known paths of virtue in broad light;
And by persuasion's energies compel
Reluctant crowds to enter, and be blest.

Ill it beseems thee, by ought strange or new
To fascinate thy people. 'Tis a false
Imposing eloquence. A few plain facts—
A few plain tenets of the gospel-truth
Adduce; and on thy auditors impress,
With manly zeal: to speculate, were vain.

But, grant, thy meaner audience may prefer
The curious disquisition; be assur'd
Thy subtle system suits not with a race
Busied in occupations that admit
No leisure for research. Still, knowlege grows
An interdicted tree to touch profane.

Behold the uneducated herd approach,
And pluck the fruits. Lo! what a sudden change
Portentous—as a casual glimmering, thrown
Upon their mists of ignorance, stirs desire
Too curious, and their prompt ambition moves
To stray beyond the limits of their lot
Thro' darkest avenues. The common cares
Of life, and each domestic duty, deem'd
Too low for an enlighten'd spirit, sink
Scorn'd and forgone; while penury disarrays
The hamlet's humble garniture, where, erst
Trim neatness in her decent russet rang'd
The simple stores, and spread on every cheek
The ruddiness of health. Alas! no more
His children overjoy'd spring forth, to meet
A sire, whose never-erring footsteps cross'd
The smooth-worn threshold, thro' the dews of eve;
Whose vigorous toil sustain'd them, and whose smile
Beam'd to content. Ah! shivering in the garb
Of tatter'd want, they mourn, each lagging hour,
A father lost; and wring their little hands,
And, pining, droop for hunger! He, meanwhile,
Estrang'd to every duty his own roof
Had render'd dear, pursues a light he hails
Heaven's pure effulgence—tho' a faint false gleam
Of superficial knowlege, gendering pride
And brainsick folly and fanatic zeal.

Led by a lying spirit, he no more
Listens, an humble hearer, but affects
To teach the “multitude with itching ears;”
While his distorted gestures (that affront
The eye of day) and frenzied rant inspire
The puritanic fear, or idle hope
Wing'd above earthly cares. His whinning strain
Boasts a familiar providence, that bids
Assiduous ravens hover o'er the brook
Where vacant saints expect the unfailing food.

'Tis thus the enthusiastic train disturb
The peace of simple villagers; and rough
In every mimic clown new WESLEYS rise.

Such is the effect of knowlege, misapplied
In scanty measure. And its shadowy shape—
Its feeble semblance oft misleads the mind
Thro' PYRRHO's mazes; where chaotic gloom
Involves the blank creation, and each truth
Swims but in airy phantom. Nor more rare,
Hath superficial science puff'd the vain
With infidel opinions, which assail
Heaven's mysteries. Thus, from reasoning too refin'd
Amid the sacred rostrum, hath the crowd
Wrested the rudiments of erring faith,
Or casuist doubt, or the cold deist's dream.

Alas! while difficulties such as these
Obstruct the preacher, who would undertake
But with full many a fear, the preacher's task?
Who would attempt, but with a tremulous hope
Misgiving oft, so arduous an emprize?—
Alas! for him, who with rude hand awakes
To solemn numbers the didactic lyre,
What but sincerity, that fearless trusts
To its own conscious feelings, could excuse
These efforts, all too feeble? Yet he grasps,
Tho' weak his powers to execute, the sense
Of what is great and glorious; and, perchance,
Sees, in his art, the principles that form
A perfect model. Nurtur'd in the seat
Of academic ease, he there imbib'd
The love of sacred wisdom; tho' the muse
Of Siloa, uninvok'd, inspir'd not then
His song. But in those avenues that erst
O'erarch'd a BAGOT (proud to embower such worth—
Such virtues in their venerable shade)
There, musing oft on future scenes, he form'd
The prospect of ideal good—to flow
From his impassion'd preaching. Nor unmark'd
His decent fane, nor unreview'd his charge;
That not at distance from his natal spot
Beyond the woody Tamar, fancy trac'd;
And, as she spread the glowing tint, it seem'd
No fairy picture: for young hope reliev'd
With golden rays each figure fancy drew.

'Twas then, with honest independence flush'd,
Oft would he cry: “Ye visions, tho' so fair,
“Perhaps ye promise vainly! For, the mask
“Of dark deceit, too often worn for you,
“Shall never hide one generous feeling! Far
“From this untainted bosom be the lure
“That leads thro' flattery's maze the cringing crew.

“If my sincerer aims be frustrate all;
“Whilst the corrupt, the versatile ascend
“To rich preferment thro' the path whose dust
“I would disdain to tread—or, treading, shake
“Indignant from my feet; if every wish
“Urg'd by no mean ambition, should arise
“Unsanction'd; then, not sorrowing, would I hail—
“Then would I hail thy bowers, paternal seat,
“Where I might yet retire, and “eat my bread
“In privacy and peace.” There might I rest,
“My slumbering hopes of honor undisturb'd
“By those who, prone to adulation, pour
“With a deceitful smile the cold applause!—
“Happy (the hollow sycophant unknown
“To those pure shades) as there, where dawning age
“First weav'd its wayward fancies, I review
“Thro' the dim veil of years, each mellow trace
“Of childish joy and youthful bliss serene.
“There, where the veteran umbrage of the beech
“O'erhangs the cressed brook, that gurgling laves
“Its wreathed roots, or the long-waving limes
“Have darken'd their broad shadows, may I oft
“Attune the pastoral song; or, pondering o'er
“The ruthless times when CROMWELL's hosts opprest
“My loyal fathers, hail in many a tone
“Pensive and deep, the visionary forms
“Of ancestry, that with majestic air
“Swim by the moonbeam, thro' the glimmering trees.”

Such his fond thought: and may his heart retain
Its youthful fires. But tho' the willing muse
His sacred labors may relieve, and chase
With a benign serenity, the gloom
Which settles on the melancholy brow;
Never may indolence inspire the dream
That, first, in a delicious languor creeps
Thro' the dissolving frame, yet gives it o'er
To qualms and ceaseless heart-akes! Then return
Ye hopes, fair-promising, that only wing
The soul to vigorous action! Then return
The preacher's energetic toils!—And, come
Digressive muse, to note them as they rise.

SINCE, pupil, crouding difficulties dash
Full oft the preacher's efforts, waken all
Thy faculties; and, ruminating deep
Upon the temper and the affections mark'd
In thy plain auditory, think, how best
Thy skill may rule them, by the genuine style—
The genuine air in pathos only seen.

Then deem not (as my previous strains have taught)
Religion, a cold metaphysic form,
Musing o'er moral problems, and confin'd
To wisdom's eyes alone—behold, she sits,
While faith unveils her to the vulgar gaze,
Streaming cherubic effluence o'er her heaven
Of spotless azure! To the dazzling light
Her everlasting robe, the asbestos floats
In vivid folds. Around her emerald throne
The passions tremble at her awful beck—
“Her ministers as flaming fire,” to waft
Into the mortal bosom the pure spark
Æthereal, that refines our thought! Hence fly
The words that burn; while her impulsive power
Imparts an oratory only less
Than what inspir'd the apostles, when of old
They spake all tongues, and saw confusion's reign,
The curse of jarring Shinar, disappear.

And lo! she hails her Albion as the spot
Auspicious to her orators, tho', long,
Unfriended; whilst, in other climes, the pomp
Of tyranny and superstition frowns,
Ungenial inmates; and in sloth supine
Snores the dark priory, or proud conclaves vaunt
Their hierarchal honors! Here the mind
Shall rise unshackled, if too nice a sense
Fastidious intervene not, to retard
Its flights!—Here pathos may exert its powers.

First therefore, to produce the pathos, fix
Upon the great emotions of thy soul
The mental eye; and deem thy hearers mov'd
By similar sensations. Thus the case
Of others may be accurately drawn
From thine assenting heart that feels it true.

Thus intimately versant in the soul's
Quick movements, thou wilt never harshly treat
What should be gently turn'd to virtue's road;
Removing each obstruction that may bar
Persuasion, and preparing every mind
By lenient measures, ere thy art unfold
Doctrines, whose aspect suits not worldly pride,
Or idle vanity, or sensual care.

Free to receive thy lessons, shall the heart
Attend them, unrevolting. Then affect,
And in repeated agitation keep,
By thy displays of sacred truth, the race
Of passion; which, attemper'd into shapes
Resembling scarce their former guise, and held
In close engagement, rarely shall relapse
Again imbruted, amid earthly things.

Meantime thy style familiar, that alludes
With pleasing retrospect to recent scenes,
Shall interest every bosom. With the voice
Of condescending gentleness, address
Thy kindred people. Shun the distant air,
The formal: shun the flippancy too smooth,
The lightness too theatrical; the starts
That waken for awhile the listening ear,
But waken to antipathy. Be warm,
Yet grave: unite an animated soul
With dignified demeanor; and, untouch'd
By the vainglory that on HEROD beam'd
A momentary rapture, big with death,
Preach not thyself; but nurse an ardent zeal
As for thy offspring rang'd below! The fire
Of exhortation haply may diffuse
Thy piety, thy virtues; as they see
The emotions of a parent. But beware
Of overacted violence, that turns
To ridicule the best-imagin'd strain.

The pulpit-speakers that arose to fame,
Ere Britain from asperities had clear'd
Her language, opening to thee ample stores
For eloquence, may cool the intemperate warmth
Of passion: but the pulpit might in vain
Adopt their manner. Idly might a SOUTH
His witty turns—his quaintnesses display,
Except to waken laughter. BARROW's style,
Redundant and involv'd, would soon oppress
Thy auditors: even TILLOTSON's were cold,
Tho' thick with oratorial beauties sown;
And CLARKE's exactness, rigorous and precise,
Might vainly torture the protracted thought
No—to thy observation—to thy heart
Recur; nor ever slight them: and, now vers'd
In nature and religion, fix thy choice
Upon the topics that may best enforce
The moral sense, instil into the soul
The christian spirit meek, and mend the heart.

If to the moral system we restrain
Our search, select such topics as are sure
To suit thy various audience. To one point
That turns on age or station or the modes
Of character, thy apt discussions guide
Unvarying. Many a preacher wanders wild
O'er human life; exhibiting his draughts
Confus'd and transitory—to distract
The attentive eye, that with vain gaze pursues.

Is youth thy subject?—Fix'd within the pale
Of youth, delineate its peculiar bent—
Its failings, its affections; in full strength
Shew its appropriate duties; and address
The young around thee with the feeling tones
That speak the guardian father and the friend.

Or, on the duties of maturer years
Descanting, rove not with digressive wing.

But still to thy selected topic true,
Trace the hoar lineaments of tremulous age
Dropping into the grave. Trite is the tale
Of mortal frailness; but the gloomy truth
Yet interests and affects: and what affects
Will influence. For, tho' oft the passions, rous'd
By vivid strokes of the pathetic, glow
With but a momentary flush, and faint
Full fast away; still something at the heart
Lingers in feeble pulses inextinct,
That quick recurs to conscience, at the hour
Of meditated evil: the weak sense
By oratorial energies renew'd,
Acquires an active vigor to repel
The power of vice. The pictur'd frown of death
Hath ev'n awak'd from lethargies of sin
The sluggard soul; and bade it trembling fly
The horrors that enwrap the yawning gulph.

Nor seldom, stealing with familiar strain
Into his business and his bosom, paint
The poor man's lot; whilst in the house of God
The virtuous peasant shall beside the peer
Stand forth, embolden'd. Tell him, if the glow
Of floating purple shade o'erweening pride,
His is the better livery that infolds
The limbs of want: and tell him, tho' his hours
Of still devotional repose are few,
If pious meditation shall await
His steps into the field, the humble vow
Breath'd from amidst his labors, may ascend
The purest incense that embalms the skies.

Thus it behoves thee to inspect with care
Life's shifting circumstance. The social ties,
The duties that reciprocally bind
The human race, shall in strong light appear
Link'd with peculiar stations. Tho' alike
“The tender charities of father, son,
“And brother,” interest all our mortal race;
Lovelier shall they attract the poor, if drawn
Beneath the straw-roof'd dwelling, or the rich,
If shadow'd in the splendor of the dome.

And human character with no vain force
May arm thy eloquence. Its simple forms
Shall strike the rude spectator, and excite
The conscious feelings. But the draught refin'd
Rarely the vulgar apprehension meets,
Tho' well thy pencil's mimic powers it prove.

Here may the historic instance give effect
To moral portraits. From the sacred fount
Bring forth the forcible example. Show
The grey BARZILLAI's honourable age
Placid, tho' to the minstrel's warbled voice—
To the sweet meltings of luxurious lutes
No more awake! Shew HEZEKIAH frail
In human weakness, and still asking life!
Shew saintly TIMOTHY, tho' young, detacht
From sensual joys. Exhibit LAZARUS poor—
Arimathean JOSEPH rich, yet proud
To bear the christian banner! And describe
The trembling FELIX! Such as these beseem
Thy pulpit oratory, opening tracts
Recent in various beauties; where the heart
Throbs with the keen emotions of delight
Or fear; and (as the obedient memory stores
The striking incident) beats every pulse
In corresponding tones to nature's sense;
Till, sudden, by an unexpected stroke
At once discover'd to itself, it sees
Its every winding avenue; shrinks back
From its detected vices, (never view'd
Before, but with a transitory glance),
And shudders at the brood it fosters there.

If, in the christian system, we behold
The radiant sun of righteousness arise
With healing in its wings—to stream forth light
Upon the sterner virtues, to relume
By pure effulgence mild the moral world;
'Tis here pathetic eloquence shall greet
Prospects at which ev'n paradise might fade,
Tho' all its bowers hung blooming to the breath
Of innocence!—'Twas Eden's happy pair
Announc'd creation's blessings. But here burst,
Ineffably benign, redemption's rays,
Whilst in a mute amaze archangels hail
The infinitude of mediatorial love!

Here shall thy glowing oratory charm
With an unwonted lustre, as it meets
The meekness of the christian—his calm eye
Wet with the tear of gratitude! To prove
Religion's firmly-rooted truths, by long
Elaborate deduction, were to freeze
That feeling tear! The unfathomable strain
The vulgar may admire: but not with breath
More idly eloquent, the sainted sage
Gather'd around him on the rocky shore
The scaly race that cleave the hoary deep.

Insist not, therefore, with a tedious length,
On proofs external. The strong leading facts
Concisely representing, quickly bring
The internal evidence to light, that strikes
Conviction while it sinks into the heart.

Faith is, perhaps, thy topic. Ah beware
Of mazy ambiguities too dark
For letter'd minds. Attempt not to premise
The jarring tenets of innumerous sects;
But in perspicuous enarration touch
The important theme. Clear argument may rise
In short succession: yet the historic draught
Shall occupy attention's stedfast soul.
The weak apostle's unbelief; his doubts
Quick into faith resolving; the despair
Of tortur'd JUDAS, who in bitter shame—
In the black writhing of remorse exclaim'd,
“I have betray'd the blood of innocence”—
These are the potent instances sublime
That best become thy subject and thyself;
The bold examples that command belief;
The judgment and the passions at a stroke
Convince and move; repel with wond'rous force
The skeptic's rebel reason; and inform
The meanest intellect with instant light.

And should repentance be thy plainer theme,
Discourse not in too general terms that fix
But feebly on the memory. Show its powers
As instanc'd by the roving son, who fled
With sorrow, from the harlot's treacherous smile
To his glad father's bosom. If thy speech
The stronger passions shall address, behold
The everlasting gospel brings to view,
Amid the horrors of the spreading gloom
Miraculous, a dying Saviour nail'd
Upon the cross, while in the midst is rent
The temple's veil; and the pale vaults resign
Their dead! Behold, the gospel blazons forth
The dissolution of a world in flames;
Pictures the bloody sun; the rushing spheres,
The elements that melt with fervent heat;
Portrays the throne of judgment and the crowds
That meet their doom eternal—some ingulph'd
In fiery depths sulphureous; others high
Among the saints, and crown'd with starry light.

These be thy topics—thy sententious phrase
With each variety of figures fraught
That heighten the pathetic; while exclaim
The affections in apostrophes; suspend
Attention by the well-tim'd pause; contrast
The bold-drawn imag'ry; or break away,
In all the abruptness of transition, wild.

Thus, whilst thy pulpit-oratory lives
In nature, scripture echoes to its strain;
Whether the cheerful or serene shall flow,
Or the devout in feeling beauty breath'd,
The sorrowful, the joyous, the sublime.

And lo! the oration model'd by the rules
Of beautiful arrangement, shall despise
The studied air—the mechanism that marks
A chain of subdivision. Every part
Shall coalesce with ease; nor passion wait
Invariably, the peroration's call.

Such is the manner only, that becomes
The pulpit. And it strikes with double force,
While dignified demeanor, and a sense
Of duty in the unerring conduct shewn,
And fatherly affection never damp'd
By low pursuits of lucre, o'er thee spread
The sunshine of sincerity. Can they,
Whose inconsistent lives not rarely seem
A very contrast to the truths they preach,
Reform the general morals?—When the light,
The volatile, the modish churchman mounts
The hallow'd rostrum with an airy step
That rivals ev'n a Vestris' ease, and casts
His careless glances on the pews below,
What are his bosom-feelings? Sure, one pause,
One little pause the vanities resign
To serious thought; as to his distant home
Retiring from Augusta, he yet deigns
To visit, for awhile, his vagrant charge.
Alas! he scarcely knows (nor strives to know)
His blunt unfashion'd people; but to all
Bowing with graceful condescension, pays
An undistinguishing regard; then flies
(Delighted that his tedious task is o'er)
Back to the scenes, while, hailing his approach,
Soft pleasure strews the rosy couch, and clasps,
Familiar, the fond votary to her arms!

And say, tho' yonder bloated priest may lead
Far from the city-smoke his rustic hours;
In the rude science of the chace alone
A finish'd master, is it not his joy
(All duty superseding) to direct
The clamourous pack; or quaff the mellow draught
Of brown October; or by many an oath
Proclaim his manly daring to a mind
Congenial with his own; e'en while he stoops
In fulsome adulation to caress
His patron, who with benefices, fat
And flowing as the land of Israel's hope,
Repays the homage of the fawning slave?

Yet, not the brightest character that trusts
To its own genuine worth, nor borrows aid
From circumstance exterior, can o'erawe
The servile multitude; obsequious they,
Where adventitious consequence, conferr'd
By wealth alone, corroborates the force
Of fair example. Oft hath merit mourn'd
The transient influence of its duteous toils,
And droop'd unheeded in the sickly shade!
There too, submitted to its humble sphere,
The mind, that might have sprung aloft, sinks down
In feeble acquiescence; never more
To exert the native powers of freeborn man.
'Tis thus the caged lark, denied to soar
Amidst the orient's kindling light, and dip
His pinions in the morning-tinctur'd cloud,
Yet pecks the verdure of his little turf,
Within his narrow bound, content and tame!

Haply, the pittance of a cure is thine,
The seat of rough rusticity, retir'd
From garish opulence. Even here, thy words
Tho' stamp'd by truth and pathos, and the weight
Of thy unblemisht conduct, shall impel
Not always with an unresisted power
The crowd to virtue's paths. But what avails
Thy every effort with the vulgar crew,
If, circled by the pleasures, and begirt
By gorgeous pomp, a great one hath debauch'd
Their groveling minds, and led them far from thee?

Long by romantic Arun's stream was mark'd
At little distance from a tuft of trees
That half-conceal'd the steeple, a low roof,
Where Villicus, a modest curate, past
Full many a day—tho' unambitious, vex'd
With griefs his spirit knew not to sustain;
And, tho' assiduous in his office, check'd
By feelings that might damp no trivial sense
Of sacred duty. Ever was he seen
A faithful pastor; whether the return
Of Sabbaths call'd his oratory forth,
(For he was eloquent as one instinct
With heaven's own spirit), whether he was wont
To join, on festivals, a scatter'd few
In pious prayer, while each clear echo told
The vacant pews; whether the wasting sick,
Abandon'd by the help of man, implor'd
The sweet consolatory balm that soothes
The dying; or the last sad office claim'd
His feeling tear that trickled at the sobs
Of funeral woe, what time the evening sun
Flung on the freshness of the new-turn'd grave
A lingering beam. In admonition warm,
Oft did he caution the too thoughtless tribes
Against each sin that easily besets
The heart; and oft, more anxious than their fires,
Taught the surrounding innocents, who lov'd
His friendly smile, the lesson to be good.

Yet inauspicious were his fairest aims,
While the degenerate villagers despis'd
His fervid exhortation; wantoning oft
Amidst the remnants of luxurious feasts,
Where a contiguous mansion overbrow'd
The curate's little hamlet. In that dome
A lord (begotten, where the Ganges rolls,
By murder on chicane) revell'd uncheck'd;
Nor heeded the dull monitor within
Which points to virtue. Prodigal, yet void
Of any generous feelings, he pour'd forth
A waste of wealth to feed the rich—the poor;
Who, indistinguishably blended, caught
The vices of his menial train, and spread
The quick contagious profligacy round.

Shameless amid lascivious ease, and lost
In pleasure's fond delirium, he display'd
His bosom-barlots to the wondering view
Of rustics; or, enamour'd at a glance,
Vow'd to the simple girl unblushing love!

Nor strove he in God's hallow'd house (if there
He sacrific'd to form an irksome hour)
To check the look licentious, or the grin
Of levity that, all irreverent, past
Thro' mimic pews—ah, more infectious far
Than chaste devotion's fire, effus'd by thee,
Much injur'd Villicus! who, doom'd to meet
The sneer of dissolute contempt, the taunts
Of menial insolence, yet bending o'er
Thy flock, wert wont with a presageful eye
To mourn the spreading evil. And to mourn—
To preach, were frivolous alike—thy breath
Of eloquence as idle as thy tear!
Thus, the once animated strain, too oft,
Faints into feeble lecture: thus, the ties
Of loosen'd duty languish on our hands,
All interrupted; and we leave our charge,
Care-worn. But Villicus, who brook'd not sin
Tho' drest in fashion's colours gay, oppos'd
Her glaring front with irretorted aim.
Strong was his phrase and ardent; whilst the sight
Of crouded aisles inspir'd new zeal. And still
He toil'd; when, sudden the proud lordling's rage
Dash'd his sincerest efforts by a power
The wealthy feel—a power to crush the weak;
And, wresting from his grasp the scanty dole
Which unaffected duty had endear'd,
Bade many a sycophantic tongue (that sounds
A great man's echo) spread calumnious tales
To tarnish with the aspersing taint his fame;
Tho' al he preach'd was virtue, and his life
Was but a comment on the truths he preach'd!

Here, pupil, might we rest—the genuine vein
Of pulpit-eloquence already trac'd—
But let us mark occasions that may ask
More argument or elegance than suits
The multitude; and touching on the modes
That in discriminated features shew
Thy art, propose the models which may claim
Thy just regard.—A learned audience loves,
As Granta's, or as Rhedyeina's sons,
Ev'n the polemic question. Not but there
The champions of the theologic war
Misplace their oratory. For, behold,
Those hearers that await the preacher's nod
In academic bowers, are, chief, the young,
With fancy gay and vigorous. Doth the dry
The strict methodic dissertation suit
Their airy spirits?—Rather note the sting
Of secret vice, exhort to study, point
The prize of honor, and distinctly draw
Virtue's fair outline. Yet, if thus alone
The academic doctor err'd, the blame
Were trivial to the censure that pursues
His steps, as thro' Saint-Mary's ancient gate
Wide-opening to the sable-vested sons
Of Isis, he directs his way; to spread
The dews of Morpheus. Few can Isis boast
Vers'd in thy art! But many a fine discourse
That, dull and clattering, from the pulpit fell,
Flows from the press, a rich transmuted ore.

Nor academic preaching where slow Cam
Rests on its sedges the dark stream, exceeds
The fame of Isis: and Augusta knows
(Tho' there the affected, finical and smooth,
May gain a fleeting plaudit from the slaves
Of fashion) scarce an orator, to charm
Discerning taste. Yet her forensic tribes
Hath sacred eloquence delighted oft
In elegant attire. The templar loves
The truth not unadorn'd, pleas'd to relax
His dry laborious studies; but suspects
The appeal to passion. Stor'd with jests profane
And fond to vaunt opinions that may wear
A colourable speciousness, he meets
With proud objection the thrice-hallow'd tome;
Tho' he hath never op'd (by other cares
Pre-occupied) the volume he decries!
Point then his mind's acumen to the proofs
Of revelation. O'er thy reasoning throw
The robe of rhetorick. Not that ornament
Should, here, invest thy topics with a glare
Of superficial richness. Rather verge
To SHERLOCK's plain compactness, that admits
No decorating figures, than o'erload
Thy lessons with the metaphor's crude mass.

These, on a general survey, are the modes
Of pulpit-oratory, which agree
With no unletter'd audience. But in these
(Where judgment or the lively fancy reigns
Predominant o'er passion) genius bids
The different mannerists attract the eye
Of fame. Hence, by an easy process, slides
The species into country-fanes—transcrib'd
By mimic ignorance. What tho' HORNE may clothe
His thoughts in beauteous metaphor, he knows
To discipline his fancy—to command
The heart; and by familiar accents move
The christian soul! Say, what tho' PORTEUS strike
By copious sentiment, condens'd and strong;
Or graceful HURD may reason in a style
Of elegant deduction, as a voice
More musical than ATTERBURY's, holds
The still attention; pathos best accords
With common hearers; nor is misapplied
Ev'n to the more refin'd. The statelier pomp
Of high cathedral dignities may frown
Upon the impassion'd period; and the pride
Of science too pedantic may propose
The closer method of the deep discourse,
As the sole imitable mode. Yet say,
Doth not the fane effuse its holy gloom
O'er various minds, the polisht or unform'd
In each gradation—o'er the gentle breast
Whence unaffected sentiment aspires;
Whence pure devotion's flame? Is there a heart
Feels not the address from BLAIR; tho' strict, not dull,
Impassion'd and yet temperate, tho' refin'd
Yet rarely florid? Who but owns the charm
As STONEHOUSE gives to sentiment new soul,
From every fine inflexion of a voice
Distinct and sweet? 'Tis thus thy art hath drawn
Persuasion's genuine excellence and force
From nature and the scriptures! These are thine
These are already open to thy view
In fair display! I see, auspicious youth,
Thy bosom kindle, as thy sacred guides
Pass in array before thee! I behold
Thine ardors mark a Saviour on the mount
That mocks the rigor of the stoic porch,
And his pathetic look on PETER cast,
And his heart-breathing accents in the path
To Emmaus, at dim eve! I see thee hail
The martyr's angel-features, all illum'd
By inspiration's lustre, while he bids
Sublimest truths inform the unhallow'd ear!—
I see thee turn to Lystra's prostrate tribes
That fell astonish'd at the feet of PAUL,
And, as the god of eloquence, ador'd
The saint! I see thee trace him, at the throne
Of the half-christian king; or midst the shrines
Of Athens! And thine own exalted mind
I see with transport glowing, as the powers
Of BLAIR and STONEHOUSE meet—combin'd in thee!

Thus then, (thy glorious mission duly view'd
As of eternal moment) be it thine,
Whilst other speakers, less rever'd, pursue
Their own appropriate task, as erst my verse
Instructed; whether at the learned bar
Strict reasoning gain conviction; or the dome
Of senates echoe to the embellish'd phrase;
(Man's temporal welfare their inferior end);
Be thine the nobler office to persuade
By exhortation, fix in every soul
Its fervor for the immortal scene, and point
The path—tho' here thou walk, yet lent to earth,
Thy heart establish'd in the bliss of heaven!