Poems on Several Occasions By Henry Jones |
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To a Person of fine Parts, but whimsical Humours, of a cruel Nature, and bad Morals.
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
54
To a Person of fine Parts, but whimsical Humours, of a cruel Nature, and bad Morals.
Why would wild Nature with her Bounty play,
And throw such Treasures of her Charms away,
With wasteful Hand? why lavish half her Store,
Enriching one, while she left Thousands poor?
Or squander Blessings on a stubborn Land,
That ill requites the chearful Giver's Hand?
The surly Glebe a mingled Product shows;
The hateful Hemlock, and the fragrant Rose
Shoot up, promiscuous, in our wond'ring Sight,
And give, at once, both Horror and Delight:
Bright Sparks of Diamond glitter through coarse Mold,
And vulgar Dross deforms the ductile Gold.
Lo! Nature there, and Providence proclaim
The strongest Contrast in the last Extream:
Where good and bad lie mingled and confus'd;
A shocking Discord in a Breast abus'd.
When calm the Clime, O how serene the while!
Yet Storms lie brooding in a Winter's Smile.
The fell Hyena can the Shepherd call
With human Voice, design'd his Prey to fall.
That Heav'n should thus a reas'ning Being arm
With seeming Virtue, and with ev'ry Charm,
Which Wit and Genius in their Prime bestow,
To gild Deceit, and give a treach'rous Blow!
Such fickle Blandishments too oft betray
The faint Reflection of a dying Ray;
A feeble Flash, which earthly Vapours form;
The Smile of Wrath; as Lightning gilds a Storm.
No lasting Lustre's in its fading Mien,
An ignis fatuus, when 'tis brightest seen.
And throw such Treasures of her Charms away,
With wasteful Hand? why lavish half her Store,
Enriching one, while she left Thousands poor?
Or squander Blessings on a stubborn Land,
That ill requites the chearful Giver's Hand?
The surly Glebe a mingled Product shows;
The hateful Hemlock, and the fragrant Rose
Shoot up, promiscuous, in our wond'ring Sight,
And give, at once, both Horror and Delight:
Bright Sparks of Diamond glitter through coarse Mold,
And vulgar Dross deforms the ductile Gold.
Lo! Nature there, and Providence proclaim
The strongest Contrast in the last Extream:
Where good and bad lie mingled and confus'd;
A shocking Discord in a Breast abus'd.
When calm the Clime, O how serene the while!
Yet Storms lie brooding in a Winter's Smile.
The fell Hyena can the Shepherd call
With human Voice, design'd his Prey to fall.
That Heav'n should thus a reas'ning Being arm
With seeming Virtue, and with ev'ry Charm,
Which Wit and Genius in their Prime bestow,
To gild Deceit, and give a treach'rous Blow!
Such fickle Blandishments too oft betray
The faint Reflection of a dying Ray;
A feeble Flash, which earthly Vapours form;
The Smile of Wrath; as Lightning gilds a Storm.
55
An ignis fatuus, when 'tis brightest seen.
Could thy good Genius in the Strife prevail,
When Destiny held up the doubtful Scale;
A finish'd Mortal had in thee appear'd,
By all admired, and by all rever'd.
But then, alas! some unpropitious Pow'r
Infus'd Malignance on thy natal Hour:
For when thy Soul did Jove's own Hand employ,
It dash'd thy Essence with some curst Alloy,
Which took th'Impression of each baleful Ill
In crooked Traces, and retains them still.
Thy injur'd Virtues in some weak-Essays,
Like tender Blades, their blooming Heads would raise:
But soon the stronger Cockle choaks the Grain,
And stifl'd Goodness lifts itself in vain.
A Fancy flowing, an Expression fit,
Invention bless'd in ev'ry Charm of Wit;
With Humour envy'd for its, Turn of Ease,
And Talents happy in the Art to please:
All these you have by Fate's uncommon Grant;
Yet solid Excellence, alas! you want.
Fair Justice, Chastity, from you are thrust,
Drove out by Cruelty, Revenge, and Lust:
While proud Oppression, base Distrust, and Fear,
The Coward's Bugbear, and the Tyrant's Snare,
Contend, alternate, in your stormy Breast,
And rob your Tempest-beaten Soul of Rest:
Huge Midnight Horrors by dark Vapours wrought
Hang o'er your Slumbers, and torment your Thought:
Confus'd Ideas in your Fancy roll,
The jumbling Chaos of a Brain-sick Soul.
'Tis this wild Medium shews you wrong, and right,
A Friend at Noon becomes your Foe at Night.
Those little Slips where Nature's Self must halt,
A Mole-hill Trip you make a Mountain Fault:
Deluded by a dark distemper'd Mind,
You form an Estimate of all Mankind:
Each frightful Phantom, which you there descry,
You dread in all Men, and to all apply:
The monstrous Shadows in your Mind still roam;
You judge abroad from what you find at home:
Your Friendship flashes like an April Sun,
A Moment's Glimmer, in a Moment gone.
Strange Groupes of Whimsies your wild Fancy frames,
Like Bedlam Pictures, or a Sick Man's Dreams.
A Weather-Cock; obedient to each Gale;
One single Blast can turn your Head and Tail.
You're fix'd, indeed, in Malice and Disgust;
So stands your lofty Emblem, held by Rust.
Of Friends another Moon may leave you none,
When, like a Tyger, you may range alone.
What social Breast with such Extreams can join!
A savage Nature in a Soul Divine:
Such distant Qualities, so strange, and odd,
In Frowns a Monster, and in Smiles a God.
Why should such Blessings mingle with a Curse?
Why not all excellent; or why not worse?
When Destiny held up the doubtful Scale;
A finish'd Mortal had in thee appear'd,
By all admired, and by all rever'd.
But then, alas! some unpropitious Pow'r
Infus'd Malignance on thy natal Hour:
For when thy Soul did Jove's own Hand employ,
It dash'd thy Essence with some curst Alloy,
Which took th'Impression of each baleful Ill
In crooked Traces, and retains them still.
Thy injur'd Virtues in some weak-Essays,
Like tender Blades, their blooming Heads would raise:
But soon the stronger Cockle choaks the Grain,
And stifl'd Goodness lifts itself in vain.
A Fancy flowing, an Expression fit,
Invention bless'd in ev'ry Charm of Wit;
With Humour envy'd for its, Turn of Ease,
And Talents happy in the Art to please:
All these you have by Fate's uncommon Grant;
Yet solid Excellence, alas! you want.
Fair Justice, Chastity, from you are thrust,
Drove out by Cruelty, Revenge, and Lust:
While proud Oppression, base Distrust, and Fear,
The Coward's Bugbear, and the Tyrant's Snare,
Contend, alternate, in your stormy Breast,
And rob your Tempest-beaten Soul of Rest:
Huge Midnight Horrors by dark Vapours wrought
Hang o'er your Slumbers, and torment your Thought:
Confus'd Ideas in your Fancy roll,
The jumbling Chaos of a Brain-sick Soul.
56
A Friend at Noon becomes your Foe at Night.
Those little Slips where Nature's Self must halt,
A Mole-hill Trip you make a Mountain Fault:
Deluded by a dark distemper'd Mind,
You form an Estimate of all Mankind:
Each frightful Phantom, which you there descry,
You dread in all Men, and to all apply:
The monstrous Shadows in your Mind still roam;
You judge abroad from what you find at home:
Your Friendship flashes like an April Sun,
A Moment's Glimmer, in a Moment gone.
Strange Groupes of Whimsies your wild Fancy frames,
Like Bedlam Pictures, or a Sick Man's Dreams.
A Weather-Cock; obedient to each Gale;
One single Blast can turn your Head and Tail.
You're fix'd, indeed, in Malice and Disgust;
So stands your lofty Emblem, held by Rust.
Of Friends another Moon may leave you none,
When, like a Tyger, you may range alone.
What social Breast with such Extreams can join!
A savage Nature in a Soul Divine:
Such distant Qualities, so strange, and odd,
In Frowns a Monster, and in Smiles a God.
Why should such Blessings mingle with a Curse?
Why not all excellent; or why not worse?
| Poems on Several Occasions | |