 | Miscellanies in Prose and Verse |  |
169
PROLOGUE to the Tragedy of CATO.
Unus'd to kneel, untrain'd to arts of woe,
With tears which struggling shame forbids to flow,
No common mourners interest our scene,
To plead distress, beyond its pow'r to feign;
'Tis your's to raise them, fan their hopeless fires,
And while you bless the sons, forgive the sires,
Who, nobly careless, heap'd no hoarded chest,
But fix'd on one reversion, scorn'd the rest.
With tears which struggling shame forbids to flow,
No common mourners interest our scene,
To plead distress, beyond its pow'r to feign;
'Tis your's to raise them, fan their hopeless fires,
And while you bless the sons, forgive the sires,
Who, nobly careless, heap'd no hoarded chest,
But fix'd on one reversion, scorn'd the rest.
Ye gentle youths, who, with observant eyes,
Sigh for the fair, and faintly hope she sighs;
Ye fair, who love's first sweet emotions prove,
Nor know the sweet emotions spring from love;
These anxious breasts, which claim your tender cares,
Once throbb'd with other hopes and other fears;
Like yours their infant passions first begun,
But never may yours end as these have done.
To you, selected spirits, next I bend,
Whose high conceptions larger views extend;
Who greatly overpower'd by love of fame,
Slight life's short lamp for her eternal flame;
'Tis thus on social virtue's wings you rise,
Emerge from earth's cold shades, and seize the skies:
From social virtue flows each deathless deed,
Her gen'rous impulse makes the Roman bleed,
Enriches Addison's immortal vein,
And forms an audience worthy of the scene.
O glorious zeal! with heav'n herself to share,
Adopt her children, and divide her care!
O pleasing task, to stop the rising sigh,
Flush the wan cheek, and light the faded eye!
The widow's, orphan's, happiness to plan,
And prove humanity the boast of man.
Sigh for the fair, and faintly hope she sighs;
Ye fair, who love's first sweet emotions prove,
Nor know the sweet emotions spring from love;
These anxious breasts, which claim your tender cares,
Once throbb'd with other hopes and other fears;
Like yours their infant passions first begun,
But never may yours end as these have done.
To you, selected spirits, next I bend,
Whose high conceptions larger views extend;
170
Slight life's short lamp for her eternal flame;
'Tis thus on social virtue's wings you rise,
Emerge from earth's cold shades, and seize the skies:
From social virtue flows each deathless deed,
Her gen'rous impulse makes the Roman bleed,
Enriches Addison's immortal vein,
And forms an audience worthy of the scene.
O glorious zeal! with heav'n herself to share,
Adopt her children, and divide her care!
O pleasing task, to stop the rising sigh,
Flush the wan cheek, and light the faded eye!
The widow's, orphan's, happiness to plan,
And prove humanity the boast of man.
This the rare boast, to greatness seldom known,
With taste peculiar Dorset makes his own,
Who, thron'd sublime on fortune's splendid wheel,
Yet stoops to miseries he cannot feel;
Prevents the public pray'r before they sue,
Dispels false tears, and medicates the true.
For these deserts, if Dorset's name be sung,
As each warm heart shall prompt the faithful tongue,
Still, to your glory, be this truth confest,
Who emulates his virtue, praises best.
With taste peculiar Dorset makes his own,
Who, thron'd sublime on fortune's splendid wheel,
Yet stoops to miseries he cannot feel;
Prevents the public pray'r before they sue,
Dispels false tears, and medicates the true.
171
As each warm heart shall prompt the faithful tongue,
Still, to your glory, be this truth confest,
Who emulates his virtue, praises best.
| Miscellanies in Prose and Verse | |