The Fanciad An Heroic Poem. In Six Cantos. To His Grace the Duke of Marlborough, On The Turn of His Genius to Arms [by Aaron Hill] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. | CANTO III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
 | The Fanciad |  |
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CANTO III.
Stunn'd at the Noise, the pensive Peer revolves
Thy Sweets, fair Candour! and thy calm Resolves:
Shock'd at th'intemp'rate Fury's formless Brawl,
And doubtful ev'n of Truths, so mix'd with Gall.
But starts from Thought,—involv'd in Seas of Light!
And hears soft Angels, whisp'ring, on his Right.
“Just, and too wise, a Mind like Thine, brave Youth!
“To rev'rence Faction!—Thou wert born, for Truth.
“And, lo! the Present Pow'r asserts her Claim:
“White, and unsully'd, as thy Grandsire's Fame.
Thy Sweets, fair Candour! and thy calm Resolves:
Shock'd at th'intemp'rate Fury's formless Brawl,
And doubtful ev'n of Truths, so mix'd with Gall.
But starts from Thought,—involv'd in Seas of Light!
And hears soft Angels, whisp'ring, on his Right.
“Just, and too wise, a Mind like Thine, brave Youth!
“To rev'rence Faction!—Thou wert born, for Truth.
“And, lo! the Present Pow'r asserts her Claim:
“White, and unsully'd, as thy Grandsire's Fame.
Warm'd into Rapture, at th'inspiring Sound,
Quick as his Eye-beam's Glance, he turns him round:
There, charm'd and wond'ring, thinks, he sees, below,
Descended Deities, that, near him, glow!
Horses, whose Coats outstreak'd the Morning's Hue;
Pranc'd, amid Flames, that from their Boundings, flew:
Tipt were their pearly Manes, with roseate Bloom,
And ev'ry streamy Nostril neigh'd Perfume.
Rein'd in a gemmy Chariot's radiant Blaze,
That shone with dazzling, yet with lambent, Rays,
Fancy, gay Driver! full of Eyes, they drew;
Bright, in a flaky Robe, of changeful Blue:
Wing'd, were her starry Eyes: and playful Spires
Wav'd their soft silv'ry Tips, in feath'ry Fires.
Sparks, at each spangly Movement, scatt'ring fly:
And bow-bent Cupids dance, from ev'ry Eye.
Quick as his Eye-beam's Glance, he turns him round:
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Descended Deities, that, near him, glow!
Horses, whose Coats outstreak'd the Morning's Hue;
Pranc'd, amid Flames, that from their Boundings, flew:
Tipt were their pearly Manes, with roseate Bloom,
And ev'ry streamy Nostril neigh'd Perfume.
Rein'd in a gemmy Chariot's radiant Blaze,
That shone with dazzling, yet with lambent, Rays,
Fancy, gay Driver! full of Eyes, they drew;
Bright, in a flaky Robe, of changeful Blue:
Wing'd, were her starry Eyes: and playful Spires
Wav'd their soft silv'ry Tips, in feath'ry Fires.
Sparks, at each spangly Movement, scatt'ring fly:
And bow-bent Cupids dance, from ev'ry Eye.
Calm, on the tow'ry Seat, superior plac'd,
Sat Truth, majestic! obvious to the Waist.
Candid, in naked Loveliness of Air;
Thin-veil'd by length'ning Falls of loosen'd Hair.
Broad, on her Breast, a Sun's down-darted Rays
Pour'd, round her Charms, impenetrable Blaze.
—Come: to my Guidance trust thy Worth, she cry'd:
Will'd for my Care! and form'd, to grace my Side!
Come, trace this baneful Fury's plaintive Yells;
To wat'ry Wastes, where Albion's Guardian dwells:
There shall the Pow'r appeal'd, responsive, rise,
Check this rash Turbulence, and warn the Wise.
Great, tho' thy Purpose, and thy Soul sublime,
Halt, in thy March—and wait th'Advance of Time.
Come,—the best Judge shall War's wide Wants reveal:
Her, whome thy Soul reveres, thy Heart will feel.
Sat Truth, majestic! obvious to the Waist.
Candid, in naked Loveliness of Air;
Thin-veil'd by length'ning Falls of loosen'd Hair.
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Pour'd, round her Charms, impenetrable Blaze.
—Come: to my Guidance trust thy Worth, she cry'd:
Will'd for my Care! and form'd, to grace my Side!
Come, trace this baneful Fury's plaintive Yells;
To wat'ry Wastes, where Albion's Guardian dwells:
There shall the Pow'r appeal'd, responsive, rise,
Check this rash Turbulence, and warn the Wise.
Great, tho' thy Purpose, and thy Soul sublime,
Halt, in thy March—and wait th'Advance of Time.
Come,—the best Judge shall War's wide Wants reveal:
Her, whome thy Soul reveres, thy Heart will feel.
Bending, she smil'd; and stretch'd her Hand below:
Up sprung th'invited Charge, and kiss'd it's Snow:
Sharing the spotless Seat, irradiate shone,
And felt th'aspiring Coursers bounding on.
Up sprung th'invited Charge, and kiss'd it's Snow:
Sharing the spotless Seat, irradiate shone,
And felt th'aspiring Coursers bounding on.
—SAVE me, enthusiast Muse!—Aloft, they spring,
Swift and all-scatt'ring, as the Light'ning's Wing!
Bright, thro' th'involving Atmosphere they ride:
And o'er pass'd Seas, and sky-topp'd Mountains, glide!
Swift and all-scatt'ring, as the Light'ning's Wing!
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And o'er pass'd Seas, and sky-topp'd Mountains, glide!
Thus while (outstripping Winds) soft Air they press'd,
Th'unerring Guide bespoke her wond'ring Guest.
—Had my plain Pow'r suffic'd, o'er Faction's Rage,
To lift my Vot'ries, in this partial Age,
Pleas'd without Pomp, self-conscious, and alone,
Nor rais'd, thus light, on Fancy's airy Throne,
Thou had'st beheld me, grave, severe, serene;
Bold, like thy Virtue: modest, as thy Mien!
—But Passion's Phalanx, no calm Influence breaks;
Truth, till strong-mounted, ev'ry Danger shakes.
Now, tho' contending Worlds shou'd bar our Way,
Safe shall we pass-nor can false Friends betray.
—Mark, hence,—th'alarming Thunder's circly Sound
Has heav'd th'Atlantic, thro' yon dark Profound!
Look down—Behold Hibernia's Western Shore:
Here, Europe's Sea-wash'd Skirts emerge no more.
Mark! from the Surge, That Form, up-heaving, slow,
Grows, into Heav'n!—yet walks in Seas below!
Rous'd at the Din, she wakes; bless'd Pow'r!—'tis She!
Albion's lost Genius!—hid, beneath her Sea!
Here, in faint Hope, she waits some happier Day:
Sleeps, to shun Sorrow: and wears Shame away.
Here, her sad Head reclines, on Connaught's Sand:
While her stretch'd Feet annect Nov-Albion's Strand!
'Tis for Her sought Decision, These big Roars,
Loudly appealing, rock th'awak'ning Shores.
Hark! the bold Rush of Grievance pains her Ear.
Weigh'd is her Answer: with due Rev'rence hear.
Thy Country's Genius best it's Wants detects:
Best knows its Pow'r—and feels it's dark Defects.
Th'unerring Guide bespoke her wond'ring Guest.
—Had my plain Pow'r suffic'd, o'er Faction's Rage,
To lift my Vot'ries, in this partial Age,
Pleas'd without Pomp, self-conscious, and alone,
Nor rais'd, thus light, on Fancy's airy Throne,
Thou had'st beheld me, grave, severe, serene;
Bold, like thy Virtue: modest, as thy Mien!
—But Passion's Phalanx, no calm Influence breaks;
Truth, till strong-mounted, ev'ry Danger shakes.
Now, tho' contending Worlds shou'd bar our Way,
Safe shall we pass-nor can false Friends betray.
—Mark, hence,—th'alarming Thunder's circly Sound
Has heav'd th'Atlantic, thro' yon dark Profound!
Look down—Behold Hibernia's Western Shore:
Here, Europe's Sea-wash'd Skirts emerge no more.
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Grows, into Heav'n!—yet walks in Seas below!
Rous'd at the Din, she wakes; bless'd Pow'r!—'tis She!
Albion's lost Genius!—hid, beneath her Sea!
Here, in faint Hope, she waits some happier Day:
Sleeps, to shun Sorrow: and wears Shame away.
Here, her sad Head reclines, on Connaught's Sand:
While her stretch'd Feet annect Nov-Albion's Strand!
'Tis for Her sought Decision, These big Roars,
Loudly appealing, rock th'awak'ning Shores.
Hark! the bold Rush of Grievance pains her Ear.
Weigh'd is her Answer: with due Rev'rence hear.
Thy Country's Genius best it's Wants detects:
Best knows its Pow'r—and feels it's dark Defects.
Stern, in rough Majesty, slow-marking round,
Broad and immense, th'up-rising Spectre frown'd.
Brown o'er the Surface gloom'd the wat'ry Glade!
—On, shot, from World to World, th'out-length'ning Shade.
She moves!—Three Tridents, her Right Hand displays:
O'er her broad Forehead, Three crown'd Turrets blaze.
Honour'd, immortal, long-lost Queen!—she stood:
Struck the sky'd Surge, and aw'd th'uncurling Flood.
“Silence, ye Lands, she cry'd, whose Hills I shake:”
—'Twixt her Left Grasp, Three conscious Kingdoms quake!
Cold, thro' their inmost Vales, in Fear's flat Creep,
Steal, their hush'd Souls—and soft'ning Thunders sleep.
Hark! she begins.—Her Heav'n-tun'd Voice descends!
Air spreads it, Earth receives, and Truth attends.
Broad and immense, th'up-rising Spectre frown'd.
Brown o'er the Surface gloom'd the wat'ry Glade!
—On, shot, from World to World, th'out-length'ning Shade.
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O'er her broad Forehead, Three crown'd Turrets blaze.
Honour'd, immortal, long-lost Queen!—she stood:
Struck the sky'd Surge, and aw'd th'uncurling Flood.
“Silence, ye Lands, she cry'd, whose Hills I shake:”
—'Twixt her Left Grasp, Three conscious Kingdoms quake!
Cold, thro' their inmost Vales, in Fear's flat Creep,
Steal, their hush'd Souls—and soft'ning Thunders sleep.
Hark! she begins.—Her Heav'n-tun'd Voice descends!
Air spreads it, Earth receives, and Truth attends.
Why am I wak'd, by Faction's Rage, in vain?
Ill-judg'd Complaint deserves Increase of Pain.
Ill-judg'd Complaint deserves Increase of Pain.
Back'ning, rebuk'd, th'in-murm'ring Monster groan'd:
Hung her hush'd Heads—and, dumbly sullen, moan'd.
Hung her hush'd Heads—and, dumbly sullen, moan'd.
Whome, but yourselves, ye Caitiffs! wou'd you blame?
Ye Slaves of Luxury! ye Shreds of Shame!
Wou'd ye shun Woe, shun Guilt: and dare be pure.
Curses avail not: 'tis Contempt, must cure.
Scorn'd is your Anger, at Events you aid:
What Right have paid Partakers, to upbraid?
Have the Few wrong'd ye? Let the Many blush!
Where Union shelters, Weight wants Pow'r to crush!
But venal Shrinkers arm th'Oppressor's Hand:
All justify th'Abuse, which none withstand.
Sell not your Freedom, or your Frowns restrain:
'Tis Impudence, in Thieves, to spurn their Chain!
Ye Slaves of Luxury! ye Shreds of Shame!
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Curses avail not: 'tis Contempt, must cure.
Scorn'd is your Anger, at Events you aid:
What Right have paid Partakers, to upbraid?
Have the Few wrong'd ye? Let the Many blush!
Where Union shelters, Weight wants Pow'r to crush!
But venal Shrinkers arm th'Oppressor's Hand:
All justify th'Abuse, which none withstand.
Sell not your Freedom, or your Frowns restrain:
'Tis Impudence, in Thieves, to spurn their Chain!
Gold's effluent Lentor lulls a languid State,
Not from who gives, but who receives the Bait.
Check'd, with the Boldness of an honest Scorn,
Bribes are, like Bubbles, burst, as soon as born.
Perish this blind Propensity to rail!
Let the Wise rectify—The Weak, bewail.
Not from who gives, but who receives the Bait.
Check'd, with the Boldness of an honest Scorn,
Bribes are, like Bubbles, burst, as soon as born.
Perish this blind Propensity to rail!
Let the Wise rectify—The Weak, bewail.
At home low-rated, and despis'd abroad,
Vainly you rage, that Insult acts, un-aw'd.
What shou'd it fear?—your warlike Sires, 'tis true,
More Realms once trembled at, than smile at you.
Sons, to their Names; not to their Fame, ye rose:
Dare ye be taught, whence All this Diff'rence grows?
Know your Pain's Root.—Never did partial Fate
At once, to Arms and Lux'ry, form a State.
Wealth is the Bane of War.—Where Av'rice flames,
Honour and Enterprize are empty Names.
Dropsy'd by Plenty, lazy Virtue lags:
Help halts, at Murmur: Zeal expires, in Brags.
False Want, by Auction, sells all Taste of Fame,
All Search of Wisdom, and all Sense of Shame.
Dream not, deceiv'd, that Liberty can save,
Whome Vice enfeebles, and low Thoughts enslave.
Base Love of Gain, to Hate of Danger, ty'd,
In War, breeds Diffidence: in Safety, Pride.
No Frame of Freedom e'er was built, to last,
Where Independence held not Virtue fast.
Commerce, and Wealth, may paint an Empire's Face:
But aid her Beauty to her Strength's Disgrace.
Lean Poverty mov'd light,—and, limb'd for Toil,
Was pleas'd with Marches, and content with Spoil:
Possessing little, had no Loss to dread:
But, brisk and hopeful, was to Vict'ry led.
Wealth is Incumbrance, and to Fears ally'd;
Held back, by Fore-cast; dis-inclin'd by Pride:
Un-nerv'd, by Privilege; by Faction, fir'd;
In Peace, contentious; and, in Action, tir'd.
Vainly you rage, that Insult acts, un-aw'd.
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More Realms once trembled at, than smile at you.
Sons, to their Names; not to their Fame, ye rose:
Dare ye be taught, whence All this Diff'rence grows?
Know your Pain's Root.—Never did partial Fate
At once, to Arms and Lux'ry, form a State.
Wealth is the Bane of War.—Where Av'rice flames,
Honour and Enterprize are empty Names.
Dropsy'd by Plenty, lazy Virtue lags:
Help halts, at Murmur: Zeal expires, in Brags.
False Want, by Auction, sells all Taste of Fame,
All Search of Wisdom, and all Sense of Shame.
Dream not, deceiv'd, that Liberty can save,
Whome Vice enfeebles, and low Thoughts enslave.
Base Love of Gain, to Hate of Danger, ty'd,
In War, breeds Diffidence: in Safety, Pride.
No Frame of Freedom e'er was built, to last,
Where Independence held not Virtue fast.
Commerce, and Wealth, may paint an Empire's Face:
But aid her Beauty to her Strength's Disgrace.
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Was pleas'd with Marches, and content with Spoil:
Possessing little, had no Loss to dread:
But, brisk and hopeful, was to Vict'ry led.
Wealth is Incumbrance, and to Fears ally'd;
Held back, by Fore-cast; dis-inclin'd by Pride:
Un-nerv'd, by Privilege; by Faction, fir'd;
In Peace, contentious; and, in Action, tir'd.
What! tho' One Son of mine, thro' Darkness bright,
Beam'd Indistinction: and emblazon'd Night?
Cæsars, sometimes, and sometimes Marlbro's rise:
Comets! that sweep new Tracks, and fright the Skies!
Not to be measur'd, These, by War's known Laws:
Form'd, for excentric Fame, and learn'd Applause!
No Gen'ral System circumscribes their Ways.
They move, un-rival'd: and were born, to blaze!
These make, like Deities, the Men they lead:
Dust, in their Hands, grows Life! and Languor, Speed!
These, I except—as bursting Nature's Chains:
No Rule includes them: and no Chance restrains!
Beam'd Indistinction: and emblazon'd Night?
Cæsars, sometimes, and sometimes Marlbro's rise:
Comets! that sweep new Tracks, and fright the Skies!
Not to be measur'd, These, by War's known Laws:
Form'd, for excentric Fame, and learn'd Applause!
No Gen'ral System circumscribes their Ways.
They move, un-rival'd: and were born, to blaze!
These make, like Deities, the Men they lead:
Dust, in their Hands, grows Life! and Languor, Speed!
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No Rule includes them: and no Chance restrains!
One Marlbro' bless'd me, thus!—nor One the Last:
Heav'n sees the future, kindling at the past!
Son, of his Soul, Another such shall shine:
Ah!—were his Speed unclogg'd—He, now, were mine!
Such, ere Ten Winters wane, thro' Fate I see—
Brings on new Wonders: and shall shine for Me.
Heav'n sees the future, kindling at the past!
Son, of his Soul, Another such shall shine:
Ah!—were his Speed unclogg'd—He, now, were mine!
Such, ere Ten Winters wane, thro' Fate I see—
Brings on new Wonders: and shall shine for Me.
TRUTH, smiling on her Guest, that Fate apply'd:
Conscious, He bow'd, and blush'd—and look'd aside.
Conscious, He bow'd, and blush'd—and look'd aside.
| The Fanciad | |