The Works of the Late Aaron Hill ... In Four Volumes. Consisting of Letters on Various Subjects, And of Original Poems, Moral and Facetious. With An Essay on the Art of Acting |
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To the Editor of Albania, a Poem:
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 | The Works of the Late Aaron Hill |  |
To the Editor of Albania, a Poem:
Address'd to the Genius of Scotland, and dedicated to General Wade.
Known, tho' unnam'd, since, shunning vulgar praise,
Thy muse wou'd shine, and, yet, conceal her rays,
Think thyself hid; and hope, in vain, to be
Unseen, like light, that shews us all, we see.
Thy muse wou'd shine, and, yet, conceal her rays,
Think thyself hid; and hope, in vain, to be
Unseen, like light, that shews us all, we see.
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But, while thy readers are deny'd thy name,
They feel, thy genius, and attest thy flame.
They pity, too, in death, thy noteless friend,
Poor by the generous aid, thy wealth wou'd lend,
Prefac'd by thee, his feeble lights expire,
Even, in producing, thou obscur'st, his fire.
They feel, thy genius, and attest thy flame.
They pity, too, in death, thy noteless friend,
Poor by the generous aid, thy wealth wou'd lend,
Prefac'd by thee, his feeble lights expire,
Even, in producing, thou obscur'st, his fire.
Not, but the muse had warm'd his youthful song!
Bold were his notes! and his ideas strong!
But, where domestic dearness warp'd his lays,
And partial birth misled the patriot praise,
Wilt thou not join, to blame the bounded zeal,
That bids us, only, for our Country feel?
Yes—Thou wilt censure this too scanty care,
That shuts out pity, and appropriates prayer!
Thou wilt enlarge affection, till it sees,
Beyond itself, and pants for public ease.
Stretch liberty—to disengage mankind,
And, ev'n, from nature's byass, free the mind.
Bold were his notes! and his ideas strong!
But, where domestic dearness warp'd his lays,
And partial birth misled the patriot praise,
Wilt thou not join, to blame the bounded zeal,
That bids us, only, for our Country feel?
Yes—Thou wilt censure this too scanty care,
That shuts out pity, and appropriates prayer!
Thou wilt enlarge affection, till it sees,
Beyond itself, and pants for public ease.
Stretch liberty—to disengage mankind,
And, ev'n, from nature's byass, free the mind.
What, tho' (we know not why) soft, inbred pride,
Makes home, seem sweetest, and can choice misguide;
Till native darkness erring taste constrains,
And Lapland desarts rival Persia's plains.
Let the soul's reach the heart's restraint reprove,
And widen, to the world, our Country's love.
Makes home, seem sweetest, and can choice misguide;
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And Lapland desarts rival Persia's plains.
Let the soul's reach the heart's restraint reprove,
And widen, to the world, our Country's love.
Base are these local limits to men's hearts,
That canton out humanity, in parts.
Truth has no districts, to divide her toil;
And virtue is at home, in every soil.
Since, on one common globe, we neigh'bring, dwell,
What narrower line shou'd man, from man expel.
Each, born alike, and sons of nature, all,
Human can ne'er, from care of human, fall.
That canton out humanity, in parts.
Truth has no districts, to divide her toil;
And virtue is at home, in every soil.
Since, on one common globe, we neigh'bring, dwell,
What narrower line shou'd man, from man expel.
Each, born alike, and sons of nature, all,
Human can ne'er, from care of human, fall.
But
passion's rapine, nature's union breaks,
Not soil, but int'rest, all this difference makes:
Born brothers, each, from each, wou'd something draw,
Till ravag'd equity is shrunk to law:
Blindly forgetful, that the whole is dust,
We hate, for parts, nor feel ourselves unjust:
Confine repute, to place; and praise, or rail,
As self, or stranger, turns the varied scale:
Till, sense grown harden'd, in her partial plea,
Justice is crippled, into bribery.
Not soil, but int'rest, all this difference makes:
Born brothers, each, from each, wou'd something draw,
Till ravag'd equity is shrunk to law:
Blindly forgetful, that the whole is dust,
We hate, for parts, nor feel ourselves unjust:
Confine repute, to place; and praise, or rail,
As self, or stranger, turns the varied scale:
Till, sense grown harden'd, in her partial plea,
Justice is crippled, into bribery.
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Thou!—son of liberty!—can'st shun this shelf;
Loos'ning reflection, and out-launching self:
Can'st burst the chain of custom, round the heart,
And, from worst slavery—(that of reason)—start.
Thou, on thy country's hills, can'st praise bestow,
Yet stoop not the Encomium, to her snow!
So, wants, confess'd, but strengthen merit's claim,
And right, from wrong distinguish'd, fixes fame.
Loos'ning reflection, and out-launching self:
Can'st burst the chain of custom, round the heart,
And, from worst slavery—(that of reason)—start.
Thou, on thy country's hills, can'st praise bestow,
Yet stoop not the Encomium, to her snow!
So, wants, confess'd, but strengthen merit's claim,
And right, from wrong distinguish'd, fixes fame.
When
rock-fenc'd Scotland boasts her hardy race,
Or English beauty claims but matchless grace;
When France the praise of sprightliest wit assumes,
And German plainness spreads its honest plumes;
Concurring plaudits grant unquestion'd dues,
And truth and reason sanctify the muse.
Or English beauty claims but matchless grace;
When France the praise of sprightliest wit assumes,
And German plainness spreads its honest plumes;
Concurring plaudits grant unquestion'd dues,
And truth and reason sanctify the muse.
But, shou'd Teutonic heaviness aspire,
From French vivacity, to ravish fire;
Or Caledonia's manlike virgins vie,
With the soft sunshine of an English eye,
Justice wou'd blush, at nature's erring pride,
And each forc'd trophy be, by truth, deny'd.
From French vivacity, to ravish fire;
Or Caledonia's manlike virgins vie,
With the soft sunshine of an English eye,
Justice wou'd blush, at nature's erring pride,
And each forc'd trophy be, by truth, deny'd.
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More
just thy mind, more gen'rous is thy muse!
Albanian born, this English theme to chuse!
No partial flattery need thy verse invade,
That, in the ear of Scotland, sounds a Wade!
Albanian born, this English theme to chuse!
No partial flattery need thy verse invade,
That, in the ear of Scotland, sounds a Wade!
Such, as thy Muse, such is thy Patron's aim;
Nor North, nor South, can bound his spirit's claim.
Warm'd from within, he burns with Roman fires,
Shines for the World: and, for Mankind, aspires;
Adorning power, he beautifies a state;
Endears dominion, and absolves the great.
Kind, by his care, rapacious license grows;
And polish'd jealousy no hatred knows:
Felt in their hearts, to love of faith he charms,
And, softly conqu'ring, needs no aid of arms.
Nor North, nor South, can bound his spirit's claim.
Warm'd from within, he burns with Roman fires,
Shines for the World: and, for Mankind, aspires;
Adorning power, he beautifies a state;
Endears dominion, and absolves the great.
Kind, by his care, rapacious license grows;
And polish'd jealousy no hatred knows:
Felt in their hearts, to love of faith he charms,
And, softly conqu'ring, needs no aid of arms.
When (ages hence) his last line's length'ner dies,
And his lost dust reveals not, where it lies:
Still, shall his living greatness, guard his name,
And his works lift him, to immortal fame.
Then, shall astonish'd armies, marching high,
O'er causeway'd mountains, that invade the sky,
Climb the rais'd arch, that sweeps its distant throw,
Cross tumbling floods, which roar, unheard, below:
Gaze, from the Cliff's cut edge, thro' midway air,
And, trembling, wonder at their safety, there!
Pierce, fenny deeps, with firm, unsinking tread,
And, o'er drain'd desarts, wholesome empire spread.
And his lost dust reveals not, where it lies:
Still, shall his living greatness, guard his name,
And his works lift him, to immortal fame.
Then, shall astonish'd armies, marching high,
O'er causeway'd mountains, that invade the sky,
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Cross tumbling floods, which roar, unheard, below:
Gaze, from the Cliff's cut edge, thro' midway air,
And, trembling, wonder at their safety, there!
Pierce, fenny deeps, with firm, unsinking tread,
And, o'er drain'd desarts, wholesome empire spread.
While
charm'd the soldier dwells, on wonders pass'd,
Some Chief, more knowing, and more touch'd—at last,
Shall (pointing) to the attentive files, explain,
How (many a cent'ry since)—in George's Reign,
Wade's working soul, that grac'd his Prince's throne,
Built these vast Monuments—and spar'd his own.
Some Chief, more knowing, and more touch'd—at last,
Shall (pointing) to the attentive files, explain,
How (many a cent'ry since)—in George's Reign,
Wade's working soul, that grac'd his Prince's throne,
Built these vast Monuments—and spar'd his own.
| The Works of the Late Aaron Hill | |