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The Contrast

A Poem Including Comparative Views Of Britain, France, and Spain, At The Present Moment. In Two Parts. Addressed to an English Nobleman. By Mr. Pratt ... Third edition, Revised And Corrected
  

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 I. 
 II. 


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THE CONTRAST.

I. PART I.

From realms, my lord, where pow'r unlicens'd reigns,
And cheated vassals seem to hug their chains,
Where trembling slaves suppress the heart-felt sigh,
And, gall'd by fetters, rave of liberty!
From cities sack'd, and villages on fire,
Where scarce is sav'd the crutch'd or bed-rid sire,
Where, near her hour of trial, shrieks the wife,
And the scar'd babe, untimely springs to life,
Welcome, thrice welcome, to your native land,
Where still fair Freedom makes her awful stand:
Where still Religion holds her sacred sway,
And points to regions of eternal day.
O! cast the vision of the wond'ring mind
O'er War's tremendous deserts left behind;

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Deserts, where once sweet Flora dress'd her bowers,
And loveliest Nature put forth all her powers.
But, ah! since these no more a home afford
To the sad remnants of the victor's sword,
Far from the lov'd, lamented scenes they haste,
To quit the terrors of the sanguine waste;
Far from the desolated paths they fly,—
No pause allow'd to heave one parting sigh;
No soft relief, no fondly lingering view,
To sooth the rigours of a last adieu!
Escap'd from these, and his imperial doom,
“Of half mankind the butcher and the tomb,
You come, my lord, when ev'ry smiling grove
Glows with the charm of Beauty and of Love;
When Zephyr woos and wins the blooming May,
And Flora waits to weave her chaplets gay;
When, on her fav'rite Season, she bestows
Her sweetest violet and her tenderest rose;
When ev'ry well remember'd object round
Conspires to deck your lov'd paternal bound.
To Mem'ry precious these, to Fancy dear,
And the full heart receives them with a tear:

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And these shall greet you; but not these alone,
For, lovelier, prouder blessings are your own;
A thousand voices raise th'inspiring sound,
A thousand echos the glad notes rebound:
Each zephyr wings them thro' your fair domains
Till Winborn's farthest meads repeats the strains.
And, O! the lov'd associates of your life,
The blooming daughter, and the faithful wife,
Dear, dear companions of your foreign care,
Proud ev'ry grief, as ev'ry joy to share;
Those who your sorrows soften'd, while they bore,
'Mid War's dread tumults, on a hostile shore;
Say—for you best can tell—with what delight
Will these in all your gracious acts unite;
With you explore each recollected shade,
And view the happy beings you have made;
O'er the wide circuit of your bounty roam,
And see, at ev'ry pause, some blissful home;
Survey each well-known cottage of the green,
Here the gay garden, there the orchard scene;
Here, or the swain's or housewife's pride; and there,
The domes of learning, industry, and pray'r!
And, oh! the Dome where in profound repose—
Secure from foreign or domestic foes;

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Secure from ruffians, diff'ring but in name,
Patriots or hirelings, if their views the same;
For equal he, who, mask'd in midnight gloom,
Disturbs for gold the tenant of the tomb;
Or who, obedient to a tyrant's nod,
Worships his idol, or blasphemes his God;
The mob's vain idol, gibbetted or crown'd,
For what excess can mad ambition bound?
A saint, or devil, canoniz'd by turns,
As faction rages, or ambition burns;
Alike, who force the chambers of the dead,
Plunder the trophied tomb, or brier-bound bed:—
Safe from all these, within the hallow'd shrine,
Repose the relics of the Cooper line.
Proud of her husband's honour, fame, and life
Your great progenitor, the tender wife,
Whose fond affection, and whose pious care,
The marble rais'd,—to mark his virtues there.
The letter'd Ashley, too, whose taste refin'd,
And polish'd wisdom, spoke th'ennobled mind.
Illustrious band! whom Piety reveres,
Whom Virtue honours, and whom Love endears!
E'en views of frail mortality, my lord,
To British minds a solace can afford;

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And, France! thy sacrilege, opposed to these,
May teach the softer forms of grief to please.
Beyond the grave the contrast may extend,
For Britons guard the ashes of a friend.
Go, then—receive the richest, proudest store
That Rapture's tributary tide can pour!
If those, my lord, who ne'er a sorrow knew
Since first their wants and cares were known to you,
Can poor be call'd—your happy Poor attend
To hail, with tears of joy, their Parent Friend!
From genial cots, your bounteous gifts! they come,
To greet your blest return to them, and home.
Around, in jocund groups, exulting throng
The grave, the gay, the aged, and the young:
They come in prayer, their incense to impart;
Incense that heav'n best loves—a grateful heart!
Share, then, oh! share this transport of your plains,
The bosom jubilee of blissful swains;
Those cherish'd swains which still your bounty bless'd,
When their kind patron, captive and oppress'd
Amid the clamours of th'embattled host,
Was far remov'd from Albion's peaceful coast:
Himself unseen, his almoners dispense
Th'untroubled stream of warm Benevolence.

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'Tis thus that heav'n sends bounties from above,
While favour'd mortals its indulgence prove.
Thus fall its dews on drooping plant and flow'r;
Fraught with abundance, thus descends its show'r;
Thus springs the fanning breeze, thus sunbeams shine,
Soft, silent, calm—to mark a hand divine!
With one uncheck'd and undiminish'd force
The blessing's seen—invisible the source!
 

Pope.


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II. PART II.

Long may those scenes, my lord, be your's to greet
The heav'n-sav'd Shaftesburys at their natal seat!
Long be it yours, from hated bondage free,
Still to pursue the works of charity!
To bid the rose of youth in beauty grow,
And spotless, as your life, its lillies blow:
From thorny vice th'unsully'd breast to shield,
And rear Truth's altars in the flow'ry field;
Guard the pure bosom from the blight of art,
And nourish ev'ry blossom of the heart;
Watch the good fruit, the noxious weeds controul,
And graft your virtues on the poor man's soul:
Till a whole peasantry shall catch the flame,
And with their Maker's join your honor'd name;
For lengthen'd life invoke the heav'nly Pow'r,
And mark with tears of joy your natal hour:

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Then, with bent knee, the Merciful implore,
To stay the time—when you shall be no more!
Yet ere that time shall change to grief the tear,
Ah! may that Power prolong your sojourn here.
Pardon the wish—but, oh, may heav'n bestow
Virtue like yours, to cheer this vale of woe;
While Health her garlands round your brows shall twine,
Garlands—thou man of blood!—unlike to thine;
For while thy chaplet, red with human gore,
Leaves the deep stain of slaughter on each shore;
On Nature's ruins rear'st thy throne of pow'r,
Planting new thorns, and cropping ev'ry flow'r;
While with foul deeds thou fill'st the groaning earth,
And millions curse the hour that gave thee birth:
'Mid direst scenes of havoc, and of death,
Those millions supplicate thy closing breath!
Oh! cast once more the retrospective glance
O'er the degenerate sons of hapless France!
Behold, in hordes, from clime to clime, they pour,
Frantic to grasp immeasurable pow'r;
Rav'nous, and thick, as locusts of the Nile:
Fraud in their oaths, and ruin in their smile,

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With maniac rage they impotently dare
—Or, dire extreme of envy and despair—
To threat Britannia, who, from yonder main,
Contemns the menace with a proud disdain!
Whilst one, sublimely tow'ring o'er the rest,
The greatest, meanest, passions in his breast,
Whom, nor the awful pow'rs of godlike speech,
Nor Reason's force, nor Satire's shaft can reach;
Nor e'en the magic of the melting lyre
The touch of cherub mercy can inspire;
But, greatly daring, still defies the dart
That strikes with terror many a harden'd heart;
Mocks human feeling, scorns Compassion's tear,
And spurns at conscience, as the coward's fear:—
Of war, at once the terror and the shame,
Whilst bleeding Nature shudders at his name;
'Mid bonds of peace, new chains intent to forge,
Hell's dread vicegerent, or Heav'n's awful scourge.
But, O! what visions, awful and profound,
Pregnant with happier omens, crowd around:
What kindling glory bursts upon the sight,
Fair as when chaos hail'd the birth of Light;

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When the first sunbeam on the mass was shed,
And utter darkness from the radiance fled;
Swift as the light'ning's flash, the thunder's roll,
Th'effulgence rushes on the startled soul.
Lo! as it spreads into more perfect day
Exulting myriads bless th'expanding ray;
Pursue th'illumin'd track their fathers trod,
Rise to new life, and feel th'inspiring God.
From heav'n from highest heav'n, descends the flame,
To point and guide the way to gen'rous fame.
'T was thus the pillar'd fire its beam display'd,
To gild the sacred path which heaven had made.
Full many a blood-stain'd year its course had run
Ere men divin'd from whence their wrongs begun:
By turns alarm'd, disturb'd, seduc'd, caress'd,
Flatter'd, cajol'd, corrupted, and oppress'd:
With specious shews of Freedom now amus'd,
And now with real Slavery abus'd:
Falsehood, ambition, rapine, all their aim;
Th'assassin, mask'd, beneath the hero's name:
The solemn treaty, and the banquet gay,
Insidious each, as each might best betray;
The cheated world ensnar'd by an embrace,
To fix its axis on an upstart race;

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Empire on empire hurl'd, and throne on throne,
By robbers, bent to make that world their own;
Till realm on realm conspir'd to swell their pow'r,
And privileg'd the Monsters to devour!
But, broad and general while the ruin spread,
One gen'rous nation rose, as from the dead;
E'en from its ashes, as by heav'n's command,
In fire it rose, the phœnix of the land!
And yet, it was not the fierce meteor's glare,
That burns awhile, then dissipates in air;
'T was not the madd'ning ferment of an hour,
Nor meaner struggle for a change of pow'r:
'T was not a sordid, mercenary race,
That move to battle, with an hireling's pace;
Nor the plan'd contest that from party springs,
Nor partial strife of yet inferior things;
Nor yet the multitude's unlicens'd rage,
That for vile gold on either side engage:
No! 't was the magnet, which all Nature draws
To one supreme and universal cause,
That touches at a thousand points the heart,
Wakes us to bliss, or agonizing smart;
That rocks the cradle where our infants lie,
Throbs in each pulse, and breathes in ev'ry sigh;

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That guards the dwelling where our loves reside,
The father's transports, and the matron's pride;
And in the forms of parent, child, or wife,
Endears the sweet affinities of life.
Yes, 't was the attraction which, where'er we roam,
True as the polar needle points to home:
All that can bind us to this world of care,
Prime source of ev'ry joy, of ev'ry pray'r;
Nay, all that soars beyond this mortal span,
And lifts the nobler hopes of savour'd man—
Oh! 't was the magnet, above earth's controul,
Which to sublimer regions draws the soul;
Ascends with force divine, the blest abode.
And, finding there its centre, points to God!
What tho' of no avail the potent law
Which thus from earth to heav'n, the soul can draw;
What tho' renounc'd, disdain'd by that arch foe,—
Nature's dread pest, who ne'er its force can know:
See how it rushes thro' each swelling vein,
Fill'd with the blood of glory-breathing Spain!
See how it kindles into gen'rous flame,
And ev'ry hero arms for more than fame!

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With speed of thought to each congenial shore,
As if a seraph wing'd, the tidings bore,
Files the electric spark, unnumber'd ways,
Spreads as it moves, and gathers to a blaze!
Rapt by the holy fire, what hosts combine,
What prostrate millions, as by breath divine,
Leap into form, like atoms in the hour
When anarchy obey'd th'Almighty pow'r;
When, from confusion, beauteous order sprang,
And the harmonious spheres with plaudits rang.
Ye virtue-prov'd and heav'n appointed-host,
The world's new wonder, and your country's boast,
To you the high-plum'd glory is assign'd,
To give the proud example to mankind.
In times like these, when foul Corruption's art
Has ply'd with bulky bribes the struggling heart;
When oft the trusted soldier has been stain'd,
Whole armies sacrific'd, and empires drain'd;
When vaunting heroes have to ruffians grown,
And sold at once their country and the crown:
In treach'rous times like these, tis your's to shew
The statesman's wisdom, and the warrior's glow;
The stern disdain of interest, and of sway,
And all that leads the yielding mind astray;

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Brave, wise, and loyal, gen'rous and just,
You hold the reins of government in trust;
Too proud to fill e'en a deserted throne,
You make a captive prince's wrongs your own,
Myriads of faithful subjects to restore,
His rightful sceptre and defrauded pow'r,
Your sons, your daughters, feel one pious aim,
And pant to share hereditary fame;
Own their descent from an unconquer'd train,
Heroes who rose more glorious from the chain.
Yes, ye remember what your records tell,
When the proud legions with Sempronius fell:
What then was Spain let the fierce Moor declare;
When great Pelagio led his troops to war;
When Lusitania's heroes took the field,
While vanquish'd thousands to their prowess yield;
When th'imperial mistress of the world
Saw her choice cohorts in confusion hurl'd;
When her two Scipios, dreadful in their might,
And Asdrubal, but ill sustain'd the fight;
When from the walls of Tripoli was sought
Th'expected conquest, which no triumph brought;
Ventilius, vanquish'd, in his chains appear'd,
And Christian banners were by Christians rear'd!

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Carthage thy Hannibal was sore oppress'd,
Proud Rome! thy eagle dropp'd the tow'ring crest;
Thy bribes, thy arts, thy arms, were all withstood,
And ev'ry wreath stain'd with republic blood.
Spirit august of Lusitania's chief,
Great Viriatus, fam'd for prompt relief,
Spain's brave deliverer! from the skies look down
On a lov'd country, and a cause thy own!
Oh, may the mem'ry of thy deeds sublime,
That rise victorious o'er the wrecks of time,
Still breathe a portion of thy godlike fire,
And that imperishable glow inspire,
Whose chaplet looks more fair as ages roll,
To deck the warrior, whose undaunted soul,
Whose head, hand, heart, and long-enduring toil,
Cherish'd the laurel, but contemn'd the spoil;
Still prudent, tho' magnanimously brave,
Courted the victor's wreath, or captive's grave;
Spurn'd mad Ambition's false and wild applause,
And rais'd his standard in a righteous cause;
Ardent to reap the harvest of the field,
The first to combat, but the last to yield;
The first to hope when bloody strife should cease,
To clasp the foe, and bless the land with peace

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Soften'd and charm'd, forget that bloody strife,
And prompt to aid the amenities of life;
Improve each grace of Nature and of Art,
Exalt the genius, and refine the heart.
Ye Patriot Heroes! may like honours wait
Spain's gen'rous tribes; but, ah! escape his fate.
Blush, purjur'd Rome! whose sordid gold prevail'd
When Cepio's impious arms in vain assail'd;
Blush, Lusitania, for the wretch who sold
Thy great deliverer for that sordid gold!
Blush for the slave who, at deep midnight, drew
Th'assassin's blade, and thy preserver slew!
Warriors, proceed! and tho' you homage pay
To deathless Heroes of Spain's dawning day;
Tho' her first chiefs with laurels still you crown,
Chiefs who your battles fought and fix'd your throne;
Who work'd thro' mountains and dread caves their way
When base Usurpers made the land their prey,
Preferring freedom and a barren soil,
Incessant peril and unwearied toil,
To smiling regions and the fertile plain,
Where Slavery dragg'd th'ignominious chain:

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Tho' these, your champions and forefathers, claim
Th'unfading wreath of recollected fame,
Still reverence yourselves, and hold to view
The model after-times shall take from you.
Yourselves to glad posterity, a guide,
May Truth diffuse that great example wide!
That great example to mankind shall prove
You fight for Freedom, Loyalty, and love.
Hence may the captive nations nobly rise,
And take again the track where glory lies!
Austria renew'd, her spirit still unbroke
Th'unblemish'd Charles may rescue from her yoke;
Deluded Russia may redeem her fame,
And feel the tinge of mingled rage and shame,
Redeem'd from serpent Gallia's loath'd embrace,
For just revenge may arm her hardy race;
Denmark again may meet Britannia's hand,
And even degraded Prussia's fetter'd band
As from the mould'ring mansions of the dead,
Haply may raise once more her shrouded head.
Thrice noble Swede! of an undaunted line,
In this vast strife our hopes, our pray'rs, are thine!
Illustrious son of an illustrious sire,
Whom honour, virtue, and the Muse inspire

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May conquest wait, enamour'd of thy name,
For none than Britain more adores thy fame!
And thou, rever'd and sympathizing land,
Prompt to extend the ever-helping hand
Where'er Oppression lifts his iron rod,
Hostile to man, and impious to his God,
Friend to the friendless, or by flood or field,
Thy vanquish'd foe's best buckler, spear, and shield:
O! native Albion! from whose heav'n-blest store
Flows the rich tide of bounty to each shore;
By foreign rage, or homebred tumults crost,
All the fierce passions in thy mercy lost:
In war, in peace, to thee the suff'rers come,
Exil'd from ev'ry clime, to find a home;—
Find the soft solace of thy shelt'ring arms,
Ev'n like a cradled infant, sav'd from harms;
The heavy laden lay their burdens down,
While Pity's tearful smile succeeds thy frown:
Thou Tyrant's envy, and thou Patriot's boast,
Still lend thy aid to wrong'd Iberia's coast;
Assert her cause, assist her just defence,
And greatly prove Her Second Providence!