The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. Containing, besides his Sermons, and Essays on miscellaneous subjects, several additional pieces, Selected from his Manuscripts by the Rev. Dr. Jennings, and the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, in 1753: to which are prefixed, memoirs of the life of the author, compiled by the Rev. George Burder. In six volumes |
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The Hero's School of Morality.
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 | The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. |  |
The Hero's School of Morality.
Thereon, amongst his travels, found,
A broken statue on the ground;
And searching onward, as he went
He trac'd a ruin'd monument.
Mould, moss, and shades had overgrown
The sculpture of the crumbling stone,
Yet, ere he past, with much ado,
He guess'd, and spell'd out, Sci-pi-o.
A broken statue on the ground;
And searching onward, as he went
He trac'd a ruin'd monument.
Mould, moss, and shades had overgrown
The sculpture of the crumbling stone,
Yet, ere he past, with much ado,
He guess'd, and spell'd out, Sci-pi-o.
‘Enough,’ he cry'd, ‘I'll drudge no more
‘In tuning the dull Stoics o'er:
‘Let pedants waste their hours of ease
‘To sweat all night at Socrates;
‘And feed their boys with notes and rules
‘Those tedious recipes of schools,
‘To cure ambition: I can learn
‘With greater ease the great concern
‘Of mortals; how we may despise
‘All the gay things below the skies.
‘In tuning the dull Stoics o'er:
‘Let pedants waste their hours of ease
‘To sweat all night at Socrates;
‘And feed their boys with notes and rules
‘Those tedious recipes of schools,
‘To cure ambition: I can learn
‘With greater ease the great concern
‘Of mortals; how we may despise
‘All the gay things below the skies.
‘Methinks a mould'ring pyramid
‘Says all that the old sages said;
‘For me these shatter'd tombs contain
‘More morals than the Vatican.
‘The dust of heroes cast abroad,
‘And kick'd and trampled in the road,
‘The relics of a lofty mind,
‘That lately wars and crowns design'd,
‘Tost for a jest from wind to wind,
‘Bid me be humble, and forbear
‘Tall monuments of fame to rear,
‘They are but castles in the air.
‘The tow'ring heights, and frightful falls,
‘The ruin'd heaps and funerals,
‘Of smoking kingdoms and their kings,
‘Tell me a thousand mournful things
‘In melancholy silence—
‘—He
‘That living could not bear to see
‘An equal, now lies torn and dead;
‘Here his pale trunk, and there his head;
‘Great Pompey! while I meditate,
‘With solemn horror, thy sad fate,
‘Thy carcase, scatter'd on the shore
‘Without a name, instructs me more
‘Than my whole library before.
‘Says all that the old sages said;
‘For me these shatter'd tombs contain
‘More morals than the Vatican.
‘The dust of heroes cast abroad,
‘And kick'd and trampled in the road,
‘The relics of a lofty mind,
‘That lately wars and crowns design'd,
‘Tost for a jest from wind to wind,
‘Bid me be humble, and forbear
‘Tall monuments of fame to rear,
‘They are but castles in the air.
‘The tow'ring heights, and frightful falls,
‘The ruin'd heaps and funerals,
‘Of smoking kingdoms and their kings,
‘Tell me a thousand mournful things
‘In melancholy silence—
‘—He
‘That living could not bear to see
‘An equal, now lies torn and dead;
‘Here his pale trunk, and there his head;
‘Great Pompey! while I meditate,
‘With solemn horror, thy sad fate,
‘Thy carcase, scatter'd on the shore
‘Without a name, instructs me more
‘Than my whole library before.
‘Lie still, my Plutarch, then, and sleep,
‘And my good Seneca may keep
‘Your volumes clos'd for ever too,
‘I have no further use for you:
‘For when I feel my virtue fail,
‘And my ambitious thoughts prevail,
‘I'll take a turn among the tombs,
‘And see whereto all glory comes:
‘There the vile foot of every clown
‘Tramples the sons of honour down.
‘Beggars with awful ashes sport,
‘And tread the Cæsars in the dirt.’
‘And my good Seneca may keep
‘Your volumes clos'd for ever too,
‘I have no further use for you:
‘For when I feel my virtue fail,
‘And my ambitious thoughts prevail,
‘I'll take a turn among the tombs,
‘And see whereto all glory comes:
‘There the vile foot of every clown
‘Tramples the sons of honour down.
‘Beggars with awful ashes sport,
‘And tread the Cæsars in the dirt.’
| The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. | |