Poems on Several Occasions ... To which is added, the Plague of Wealth, Occasion'd By the Author's receiving fifty Pounds from his Excellency the Lord Carteret, for the foremention'd Ode. With several Poems not in the Dublin Edition. By Matthew Pilkington. Revised by the Reverend Dr. Swift |
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| VII. |
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| IX. |
| XXXIV. |
To POLLIO.
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
144
To POLLIO.
A DIALOGUE between the Author and his Friend, in the Manner of Horace's Ist Sat. 2d Book.
Author.Since modern Bards, in these degen'rate Days
Are neither paid in Profit, nor in Praise;
Since ev'ry Fool can censure what is writ,
And Fools have strong Antipathies to Wit;
Since all who public Authors will commence
Severely suffer for the Claim to Sense;
Since none escape from Defamation free
From Swift and Pope, to Mævius and to Me;
145
To guide my Conduct in a Point so nice:
I'm but a youthful Candidate for Fame,
Nor dare to hope a Poet's sacred Name,
Unknown, unnumber'd with the tuneful Throng.
High-honour'd Names! Immortaliz'd by Song;
Scarce have I touch'd the fam'd inspiring Hill,
And dread eternal Shame for writing ill;
What shall I do?
Friend.
Desist.
Author.
What, quite give o'er
Th' amusing Sweets of Verse—and write no more?
146
So I advise; for Authors vainly strive
For Favour, Wealth, or Happiness, alive:
Ev'n Hope, the Poet's fancy-raising Pow'r,
His sole Recourse at each distressful Hour,
That bounteous Goddess who alone sustains
Dejected Authors, and rewards their Pains,
Far hence is fled:—the low-soul'd Great refuse
To smile on Merit, or caress the Muse.
For Favour, Wealth, or Happiness, alive:
Ev'n Hope, the Poet's fancy-raising Pow'r,
His sole Recourse at each distressful Hour,
That bounteous Goddess who alone sustains
Dejected Authors, and rewards their Pains,
Far hence is fled:—the low-soul'd Great refuse
To smile on Merit, or caress the Muse.
Yet if, to Prudence and Discretion blind
The Love of Verse is rooted in your Mind,
If undeterr'd by Turpio's dismal Fate,
Too early rash, and penitent too late;
If Critic-proof you patiently can bear
The various Plagues of Doubt, and Hope, and Fear;
If thus resolv'd, chuse some exalted Theme,
To raise at once your Fortune, and your Fame:
Your sweetest Songs to Dorset's Glory raise
A Dorset's Name will dignify the Lays;
In him the Muse, unflatt'ring may commend
The Friend of Virtue, and the Muse's Friend;
A Soul enrich'd with ev'ry social Grace
That gives Perfection to the human Race.
The Love of Verse is rooted in your Mind,
If undeterr'd by Turpio's dismal Fate,
Too early rash, and penitent too late;
147
The various Plagues of Doubt, and Hope, and Fear;
If thus resolv'd, chuse some exalted Theme,
To raise at once your Fortune, and your Fame:
Your sweetest Songs to Dorset's Glory raise
A Dorset's Name will dignify the Lays;
In him the Muse, unflatt'ring may commend
The Friend of Virtue, and the Muse's Friend;
A Soul enrich'd with ev'ry social Grace
That gives Perfection to the human Race.
Author.
O Pollio, fondly wou'd thy Friend pursue
That Path to Glory pointed out by you,
But I'm deny'd by all-disposing Fate,
A Genius equal to a Task so great:
Such Love to Merit, such Delight to bless,
Such Joy to raise the Wretched from Distress,
So rich a Mind, with ev'ry Virtue fraught,
Such Worth as his transcends the Poet's Thought,
To nobler Bards such godlike Themes belong,
And ask a Maro's, or a Pollio's Song,
That Path to Glory pointed out by you,
148
A Genius equal to a Task so great:
Such Love to Merit, such Delight to bless,
Such Joy to raise the Wretched from Distress,
So rich a Mind, with ev'ry Virtue fraught,
Such Worth as his transcends the Poet's Thought,
To nobler Bards such godlike Themes belong,
And ask a Maro's, or a Pollio's Song,
But say, my Friend, in this ill-judging Age,
When Verse and Learning mourn the Critic's Rage,
Why shall the Vain, the Dull, and Thousands more,
Uncensur'd act their Follies o'er and o'er?
Is there no Pride, no Villany, no Crime,
No Fools to ridicule, but Fools in Rime?
When Verse and Learning mourn the Critic's Rage,
Why shall the Vain, the Dull, and Thousands more,
Uncensur'd act their Follies o'er and o'er?
Is there no Pride, no Villany, no Crime,
No Fools to ridicule, but Fools in Rime?
149
The soft Crinitus with surprizing Care
Affects the Lisp, and Languish of the Fair,
In Dress and Nonsense trifles out the Day,
Or sits facetious at a mournful Play;
This delicate Disgrace to human kind
In ev'ry Part is polish'd—but his Mind.
Affects the Lisp, and Languish of the Fair,
In Dress and Nonsense trifles out the Day,
Or sits facetious at a mournful Play;
This delicate Disgrace to human kind
In ev'ry Part is polish'd—but his Mind.
Corvus the Dolt, with undiscerning Head,
In Euclid-Learning is profoundly read,
Whence with amazing Toil a Fund he gains
To rack at once his Hearers and his Brains,
To make him rail eternally at Wit,
And read unmov'd what Swift or Flaccus writ:
Whence he extracts the Wisdom and Grimace
To talk of Trifles with important Face,
To act a stupid, Sense-detesting Part,
And dull by Nature, grows more dull by Art.
In Euclid-Learning is profoundly read,
Whence with amazing Toil a Fund he gains
To rack at once his Hearers and his Brains,
To make him rail eternally at Wit,
And read unmov'd what Swift or Flaccus writ:
Whence he extracts the Wisdom and Grimace
To talk of Trifles with important Face,
150
And dull by Nature, grows more dull by Art.
Paulo is blest with an immense Estate,
In all Things—but a Soul—and Virtue—Great:
Stiff in Brocade, in Vanity profuse,
What can he spare for any godlike Use?
Paulo forgets that Providence intends
His Gifts for better, more exalted Ends;
With Joy unhop'd to swell the Soul distrest,
And bless himself by making others blest,
To heal the wounded Heart, true Worth to raise,
Diffusing Happiness a thousand Ways.
In all Things—but a Soul—and Virtue—Great:
Stiff in Brocade, in Vanity profuse,
What can he spare for any godlike Use?
Paulo forgets that Providence intends
His Gifts for better, more exalted Ends;
With Joy unhop'd to swell the Soul distrest,
And bless himself by making others blest,
To heal the wounded Heart, true Worth to raise,
Diffusing Happiness a thousand Ways.
Friend.
Great is the Task, and glorious is the Rage
To lash the darling Follies of the Age,
151
And scourge the base, the vain, the study'd Fool:
Yet Bards may write, Philosophers declaim,
And brand with Infamy the Villain's Name;
But what avail those Lessons of the Wise?
Few look at Virtue with untainted Eyes:
Few can believe that Satire is design'd
To mend, to polish, to improve the Mind;
Deaf are the Vicious to instructive Rhimes,
And blast the Poet, to assert their Crimes.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |