The Fanciad An Heroic Poem. In Six Cantos. To His Grace the Duke of Marlborough, On The Turn of His Genius to Arms [by Aaron Hill] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. | CANTO VI. |
 | The Fanciad |  |
46
CANTO VI.
Quench'd, and down-rushing, like a falling Star,
Off dropp'd chill'd Fancy, from her flamy Car:
In shrunk her Fires: her wing'd Ideas die;
And dim Suffusion darken'd ev'ry Eye.
Whirl'd, like ejected Phaeton, she fell:
And o'er her, murm'ring, clos'd, th'unfathom'd Swell.
Active, no more, th'ethereal Coursers neigh:
No more flash'd Lightnings mark their burning Way.
Tame, hung their drooping Necks: Each loos'ning Trace
Drags false—and all th'exulting Nerves unbrace.
Half the plung'd Harness, now, the Sea conceals:
Now, hissing Waves half quench the smoaking Wheels!
When, stooping mild, calm Truth her Danger spy'd:
Snatch'd the sav'd Reins—Herself her surest Guide!
—Up, from th'engulphing Deep's defeated Flow,
Rose the drawn Chariot—steady! solemn! slow!
Beamless, and bald of Fires: but heav'nly White!
Rich, without Pomp, and, without Dazzling bright.
Soft gliding homeward, thro' unruffled Air,
Thus spoke th'Immortal, to her pensive Care.
Off dropp'd chill'd Fancy, from her flamy Car:
In shrunk her Fires: her wing'd Ideas die;
And dim Suffusion darken'd ev'ry Eye.
Whirl'd, like ejected Phaeton, she fell:
And o'er her, murm'ring, clos'd, th'unfathom'd Swell.
Active, no more, th'ethereal Coursers neigh:
No more flash'd Lightnings mark their burning Way.
Tame, hung their drooping Necks: Each loos'ning Trace
Drags false—and all th'exulting Nerves unbrace.
Half the plung'd Harness, now, the Sea conceals:
Now, hissing Waves half quench the smoaking Wheels!
When, stooping mild, calm Truth her Danger spy'd:
Snatch'd the sav'd Reins—Herself her surest Guide!
47
Rose the drawn Chariot—steady! solemn! slow!
Beamless, and bald of Fires: but heav'nly White!
Rich, without Pomp, and, without Dazzling bright.
Soft gliding homeward, thro' unruffled Air,
Thus spoke th'Immortal, to her pensive Care.
Oh, Pain-touch'd Marlbro'! mitigate thy Grief:
Check thy warm Wish, till Heav'n prepares Relief.
Wait thy due Glories: born, an Age too late;
When Fear grew Wisdom, and Contempt was Fate!
Snatch'd to thy letter'd Pile, indulge Retreat:
Suspend thy Purpose; and disarm thy Heat.
Bear back thy unpermitted Pow'r to shine:
While gath'ring Darkness spreads, by Doom Divine!
While Genius quits an un-aspiring Race;
Where War is pinion'd: and Corruption Grace!
Where, Solids sinking, only Bubbles swim:
Where Fame is Quixotism! and Virtue Whim!
Check thy warm Wish, till Heav'n prepares Relief.
Wait thy due Glories: born, an Age too late;
When Fear grew Wisdom, and Contempt was Fate!
Snatch'd to thy letter'd Pile, indulge Retreat:
Suspend thy Purpose; and disarm thy Heat.
Bear back thy unpermitted Pow'r to shine:
While gath'ring Darkness spreads, by Doom Divine!
While Genius quits an un-aspiring Race;
Where War is pinion'd: and Corruption Grace!
Where, Solids sinking, only Bubbles swim:
Where Fame is Quixotism! and Virtue Whim!
48
Yet, be thy Brav'ry bless'd! that dar'd intend!
Bless'd thy skill'd Means, that match'd thy Patriot End!
Bless'd thy Soul's gen'rous Start from Home, to flame
Expansive, for Redress of Alien Shame!
And was there? cou'd there be? whose angry Zeal
Disclaim'd this Fervor! or declin'd to feel!
Which, wid'ning with a God's impartial Call,
Left some dissatisfy'd, to care for All!
Oh! hush'd, forever, be the rash Complaint,
That saw such Greatness, with an Eye so faint!
—Is there a Breast, o'erwhelm'd with willing Woe?
That can for Public, private Joys forego?
Sigh, for his Pains, O World!—since one, who bears
For All—gives All Distress, by sep'rate Shares.
Bless'd thy skill'd Means, that match'd thy Patriot End!
Bless'd thy Soul's gen'rous Start from Home, to flame
Expansive, for Redress of Alien Shame!
And was there? cou'd there be? whose angry Zeal
Disclaim'd this Fervor! or declin'd to feel!
Which, wid'ning with a God's impartial Call,
Left some dissatisfy'd, to care for All!
Oh! hush'd, forever, be the rash Complaint,
That saw such Greatness, with an Eye so faint!
—Is there a Breast, o'erwhelm'd with willing Woe?
That can for Public, private Joys forego?
Sigh, for his Pains, O World!—since one, who bears
For All—gives All Distress, by sep'rate Shares.
Shame on that lock'd Recess, in Party's Cell,
Where grov'ling Pique, and brow-bent Censure, dwell!
Where in-look'd Arrogance sits, crippling Sense:
Help'd, by pain'd Pride, and angry Eminence!
Lab'ring, each Heave, of Pity's Heart, to quell;
And squeeze whole Nature into Self's hard Shell!
O, Spleen!—Thy Gall has Reason's Mark effac'd:
Till Human Weakness measures Truth, by Taste!
Our Deeds catch Colour from Opinion's Hue:
And Right and Wrong take Name, from Place, and View!
These are thy Triumphs, thou detractive Cheat,
Cloak'd Faction! perch'd in Freedom's sully'd Seat.
Narrow'd Contraction suits thy shorten'd Sight:
As Owls owe Eye-beams to the Dusk of Night.
Lost, to Perception of the Soul's Extent,
Thou feel'st no Greatness, stretch'd beyond thy Bent.
Merit, thou try'st by Service: Guilt, by Hate.
Call'st Malice Vigilance: and Knav'ry, Weight.
Worth, in a Foe, thy Eyes want Strength to see:
And no Tear touches, till it flows for Thee.
Where grov'ling Pique, and brow-bent Censure, dwell!
Where in-look'd Arrogance sits, crippling Sense:
Help'd, by pain'd Pride, and angry Eminence!
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And squeeze whole Nature into Self's hard Shell!
O, Spleen!—Thy Gall has Reason's Mark effac'd:
Till Human Weakness measures Truth, by Taste!
Our Deeds catch Colour from Opinion's Hue:
And Right and Wrong take Name, from Place, and View!
These are thy Triumphs, thou detractive Cheat,
Cloak'd Faction! perch'd in Freedom's sully'd Seat.
Narrow'd Contraction suits thy shorten'd Sight:
As Owls owe Eye-beams to the Dusk of Night.
Lost, to Perception of the Soul's Extent,
Thou feel'st no Greatness, stretch'd beyond thy Bent.
Merit, thou try'st by Service: Guilt, by Hate.
Call'st Malice Vigilance: and Knav'ry, Weight.
Worth, in a Foe, thy Eyes want Strength to see:
And no Tear touches, till it flows for Thee.
Such are the Scales, in which the Great are weigh'd!
And by such Optics is the Muse survey'd!
Yet, spite of Envy, Slander, Wrongs, and Time,
The Great shall triumph, and the Muse shall climb.
When the pale Meteors of a State's dark Day
Fall, from their Heights, and steam their Stench away:
When All the Chance-mix'd Mobs of Pow'r shall die,
And, lost in titled Dust, forgotten lie:
When Ministry, and Pomp, and Wealth, and Trade,
And Place, and Pride, and Hopes, and Fears, shall fade:
When, silent as their Grave's forsaken Gloom!
Kings, justly bury'd, shall no Life resume;
Then, shall immortal Triumph swell the Name,
That fought, for Glory: or that thought, for Fame.
Then ev'n th'obscurer Sons, of future Praise,
Whose Heads wore Diadems, or Genius, Bays,
Ris'n, from Oppression's Wound, or Want's Restraint,
From Foes too furious, or from Friends too faint;
In second Life, past Fortune's Guilt atone;
And, one Age lost, claim All the Rest, their own.
Bright, in distinguish'd Orbs, of Wit, and War,
Mark Hist'ry's measur'd Heav'n, from Star, to Star.
And by such Optics is the Muse survey'd!
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The Great shall triumph, and the Muse shall climb.
When the pale Meteors of a State's dark Day
Fall, from their Heights, and steam their Stench away:
When All the Chance-mix'd Mobs of Pow'r shall die,
And, lost in titled Dust, forgotten lie:
When Ministry, and Pomp, and Wealth, and Trade,
And Place, and Pride, and Hopes, and Fears, shall fade:
When, silent as their Grave's forsaken Gloom!
Kings, justly bury'd, shall no Life resume;
Then, shall immortal Triumph swell the Name,
That fought, for Glory: or that thought, for Fame.
Then ev'n th'obscurer Sons, of future Praise,
Whose Heads wore Diadems, or Genius, Bays,
Ris'n, from Oppression's Wound, or Want's Restraint,
From Foes too furious, or from Friends too faint;
In second Life, past Fortune's Guilt atone;
And, one Age lost, claim All the Rest, their own.
Bright, in distinguish'd Orbs, of Wit, and War,
Mark Hist'ry's measur'd Heav'n, from Star, to Star.
51
Here, pause:—and sigh one Pain, supremely Thine:
Thou, great Transmitter, of a Marlbro's Line!
—While, nobly negligent of Cæsar's Care,
No self-shown Comments conscious Skill, declare;
Greatly content, to save and serve, Mankind,
Yet, lose Himself, and leave no Lights, behind!
Where are the Pens, that, aidful of his Fame,
Fight his past Battles, and ungloom his Claim?
Thou, great Transmitter, of a Marlbro's Line!
—While, nobly negligent of Cæsar's Care,
No self-shown Comments conscious Skill, declare;
Greatly content, to save and serve, Mankind,
Yet, lose Himself, and leave no Lights, behind!
Where are the Pens, that, aidful of his Fame,
Fight his past Battles, and ungloom his Claim?
True, the dry Drones of Care can Facts enrol,
Call Annals Hist'ry: and forget, but, Soul.
True, ev'n thro' Clouds like Theirs, His Acts can blaze!
—But, mass-mix'd Piles profane His hallow'd Praise.
'Tis not with wide-spread Smoak, from Side Events,
To veil schem'd Views, and darken lost Intents:
'Tis, thro' the thought-perplexing Deeps of War,
Skilful, to hold in View the guiding Star!
From one, chief Part, educe the pendent Whole:
Till acting Body proves, but acted Soul.
Call Annals Hist'ry: and forget, but, Soul.
True, ev'n thro' Clouds like Theirs, His Acts can blaze!
—But, mass-mix'd Piles profane His hallow'd Praise.
'Tis not with wide-spread Smoak, from Side Events,
To veil schem'd Views, and darken lost Intents:
'Tis, thro' the thought-perplexing Deeps of War,
Skilful, to hold in View the guiding Star!
From one, chief Part, educe the pendent Whole:
Till acting Body proves, but acted Soul.
52
Think!—in the Sun-set of a conqu'ring State,
Shou'd Gaul's vain Sons dispute their Conqu'ror's Weight?
Or partial German (socializing Fame)
Bid Indistinction drown connected Name?
Where is the Proof so plain, the Light so strong,
Cou'd shame th'Encroachment, and repel the Wrong?
The Saver of Half Europe, who cou'd save?—
No grateful Pen re-pays the Fame, He gave!
Where cou'd we boast His full-drawn Length, design'd,
In Strokes, that vivify the pictur'd Mind?
Where is that Hand, that, copying from the Heart,
Can trace it's Compass, and its Depth impart?
And, skill'd, to justify deduc'd Applause,
Hunt the due Glory, thro' the darken'd Cause?
Shew Actions done, compar'd with Measures meant?
Give, the Soul's Conquest, in the Plan's Extent?
From laurell'd Councils, wind the Triumph down;
And trust no Pow'r to Chance, to stain Renown?
Drawn, for Eternal Taste, and ev'ry Clime,
Lend Marlbro's lengthen'd Life, to dateless Time?
Shou'd Gaul's vain Sons dispute their Conqu'ror's Weight?
Or partial German (socializing Fame)
Bid Indistinction drown connected Name?
Where is the Proof so plain, the Light so strong,
Cou'd shame th'Encroachment, and repel the Wrong?
The Saver of Half Europe, who cou'd save?—
No grateful Pen re-pays the Fame, He gave!
Where cou'd we boast His full-drawn Length, design'd,
In Strokes, that vivify the pictur'd Mind?
Where is that Hand, that, copying from the Heart,
Can trace it's Compass, and its Depth impart?
And, skill'd, to justify deduc'd Applause,
Hunt the due Glory, thro' the darken'd Cause?
Shew Actions done, compar'd with Measures meant?
Give, the Soul's Conquest, in the Plan's Extent?
From laurell'd Councils, wind the Triumph down;
And trust no Pow'r to Chance, to stain Renown?
Drawn, for Eternal Taste, and ev'ry Clime,
Lend Marlbro's lengthen'd Life, to dateless Time?
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O! tis a dreadful Task! and claims Thy Care:
Thou, his Name's Guardian! and his Glory's Heir!
—If, (first) not Hers, th'accomplish'd Purpose shine,
Whose Right stands foremost—and precludes ev'n Thine.
Hers, to whose Choice his Love-drawn Heart inclin'd:
The soft, sole, Conqu'ror, He was born to find!
She—nobly touch'd, for Heroes Taste of Fame!
Bids Brass and Marble breathe th'attested Flame.
But, Brass and Marble must, Themselves, decay:
No Life possessing, These no Life convey.
These, Time shall eat; and Love's lost Sigh be vain:
Nor (ev'n in Heav'n!) Her Soul escape One Pain!
But,—wou'd her pious Hand engrave his Name,
Deeper than Brass can bear, or Stone proclaim:
Let her some Life's devoted Length engage,
Skilful, to lead him, down th'illumin'd Page:
Mark'd like Himself: all shown, all felt, all read—
And living fresh, when Blenheim's Tow'rs are dead.
Thou, his Name's Guardian! and his Glory's Heir!
—If, (first) not Hers, th'accomplish'd Purpose shine,
Whose Right stands foremost—and precludes ev'n Thine.
Hers, to whose Choice his Love-drawn Heart inclin'd:
The soft, sole, Conqu'ror, He was born to find!
She—nobly touch'd, for Heroes Taste of Fame!
Bids Brass and Marble breathe th'attested Flame.
But, Brass and Marble must, Themselves, decay:
No Life possessing, These no Life convey.
These, Time shall eat; and Love's lost Sigh be vain:
Nor (ev'n in Heav'n!) Her Soul escape One Pain!
But,—wou'd her pious Hand engrave his Name,
Deeper than Brass can bear, or Stone proclaim:
Let her some Life's devoted Length engage,
Skilful, to lead him, down th'illumin'd Page:
Mark'd like Himself: all shown, all felt, all read—
And living fresh, when Blenheim's Tow'rs are dead.
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But, Who?—What Strength such Atlas Weight, can bear?
The Pen's vast Spirit, like the Chief's, must dare!
Wing'd with His Fire, like Lightning, sweep the Plain:
Yet, tow'r, all temp'rate, to the Conqu'ror's Brain!
The Pen's vast Spirit, like the Chief's, must dare!
Wing'd with His Fire, like Lightning, sweep the Plain:
Yet, tow'r, all temp'rate, to the Conqu'ror's Brain!
SUCH, may your House's happy Judgment find!
Ere Fate, or Fortune, gives it to the Wind.
Worn or consum'd, ere Papers quit their Trust:
And the wrong'd Shade lament the mould'ring Dust!
Ere Fate, or Fortune, gives it to the Wind.
Worn or consum'd, ere Papers quit their Trust:
And the wrong'd Shade lament the mould'ring Dust!
| The Fanciad | |