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. | CANTO I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
 | The Fanciad |  |
CANTO I.
Poets whome Truth inspires, and Genius draws,
Court not a Patron, but assert a Cause:
Heedless of Censure, thoughtless of Reward,
They shun Dependence, to demand Regard.
Proud is the Muse they serve; unbred to wait:
And willing Stranger, to the Great Man's Gate.
Court not a Patron, but assert a Cause:
Heedless of Censure, thoughtless of Reward,
They shun Dependence, to demand Regard.
Proud is the Muse they serve; unbred to wait:
And willing Stranger, to the Great Man's Gate.
Yet, while their Ivy scorns to taint its Green,
Far from their Thoughts be Arrogance, or Spleen!
Self-subject be the Mind: but let the Heart
Flow for Mankind, and heave with social Smart.
What, but not Who, the Writer, deign to know.—
Verse, that but looks like Flatt'ry, stoops too low.
Far from their Thoughts be Arrogance, or Spleen!
Self-subject be the Mind: but let the Heart
Flow for Mankind, and heave with social Smart.
2
Verse, that but looks like Flatt'ry, stoops too low.
All, pond'ring,—nor seduc'd, by Taste, nor Pride,
From Rights of Reason, to Belief's blind Side,
Piercing thro' Names, to Things, and taught to dare
What Conscience bids, tho' Devils should bid beware:
Fir'd for my Country's Fame, hear, Marlbro'! hear:
The Muse unvenal claims the Patriot's Ear.
No hackn'yd Plunger, Mine—no Birth-Day Drone,
That hums hir'd Nonsense, and benumbs a Throne.
She sings unpension'd, and a Bribe disdains:
No black, appropriate, Mark her Forehead stains,
Unbadg'd to Power; and, but by Truth, confin'd;
Her Anger hateless: nor her Pity blind.
Detesting Party, and unfool'd by Forms,
She hails no Sun-shine; and she flies no Storms:
But weighs, unbiass'd, (Hope and Hate disclaim'd)
A W--- flatter'd: or a B--- defam'd.
From Rights of Reason, to Belief's blind Side,
Piercing thro' Names, to Things, and taught to dare
What Conscience bids, tho' Devils should bid beware:
Fir'd for my Country's Fame, hear, Marlbro'! hear:
The Muse unvenal claims the Patriot's Ear.
No hackn'yd Plunger, Mine—no Birth-Day Drone,
That hums hir'd Nonsense, and benumbs a Throne.
She sings unpension'd, and a Bribe disdains:
No black, appropriate, Mark her Forehead stains,
Unbadg'd to Power; and, but by Truth, confin'd;
Her Anger hateless: nor her Pity blind.
Detesting Party, and unfool'd by Forms,
She hails no Sun-shine; and she flies no Storms:
But weighs, unbiass'd, (Hope and Hate disclaim'd)
A W--- flatter'd: or a B--- defam'd.
3
O, Thou!—Sustainer of a deathless Name!
Whom Glory waits for, and whom Vict'ries claim!
Thou, length'ning Stream, that drawn through springless Lands,
Must flow self-deep'ning, or be lost in Sands!
Sigh, and forgive, with a Reflecter's Pain,
Too light a Title, to so grave a Strain.
'Tis the Time's Curse, when Truth attracts no Eyes,
Till Art conceals her, in the Fool's Disguise.
But, Thou, invok'd, expect no light Address:
Thy Race claims Rev'rence: nor thy Virtues less.
Thine be the Verse—nor, lov'd by Both, refuse
Joint-Off'ring, from the Poet, and the Muse.
Whom Glory waits for, and whom Vict'ries claim!
Thou, length'ning Stream, that drawn through springless Lands,
Must flow self-deep'ning, or be lost in Sands!
Sigh, and forgive, with a Reflecter's Pain,
Too light a Title, to so grave a Strain.
'Tis the Time's Curse, when Truth attracts no Eyes,
Till Art conceals her, in the Fool's Disguise.
But, Thou, invok'd, expect no light Address:
Thy Race claims Rev'rence: nor thy Virtues less.
Thine be the Verse—nor, lov'd by Both, refuse
Joint-Off'ring, from the Poet, and the Muse.
Late, when He, first, thy Learn'd Collection view'd,
Each Shelf's long Lading his Retreat pursu'd:
Clung to pleas'd Mem'ry, till Idea blaz'd;
And, on Night's Waste, this vision'd Fabric rais'd.
Each Shelf's long Lading his Retreat pursu'd:
Clung to pleas'd Mem'ry, till Idea blaz'd;
And, on Night's Waste, this vision'd Fabric rais'd.
Deep, in that letter'd Mansion of the Dead,
Where Souls long linger, after Forms are fled;
Where hostile Tongues concur, in Learning's Right;
And Turk, Jew, Pope, and Pagan, All, unite;
Where slow-distinguish'd Merit shines, too late;
And Estimation casts off Name, for Weight:
Till many a gilt-back'd Wretch, in Death, grows gay,
Whose Life, in Want's bare Weeds, was wept away:
Pond'ring his deathless Store, with Joy survey'd,
Each Path to Science pensive Marlbro' weigh'd.
Silence and solemn Night had hush'd the Scene,
And thin-plac'd Tapers grey'd the Gloom between:
While, here and there, he stopp'd; as Doubts engage:
Eas'd a try'd Shelf; and turn'd th'examin'd Page.
Bent on a Theme that all his Ardour claim'd,
His Grandsire's Glory, and his Country fam'd!
While suppliant France he view'd, and victim Spain,
Prostrate Adorners of a female Reign,
Back, from the flutt'ring Leaves, that flash'd with Light.
He starts—in more than earthly Lustre, bright!
Wide, round th'infoliate Fire, in sparkly Glow,
Legions of undulating Glories flow:
No Form, distinguish'd, limb'd the living Blaze,
But a soft Sound thus voic'd th'emitted Rays.
Where Souls long linger, after Forms are fled;
4
And Turk, Jew, Pope, and Pagan, All, unite;
Where slow-distinguish'd Merit shines, too late;
And Estimation casts off Name, for Weight:
Till many a gilt-back'd Wretch, in Death, grows gay,
Whose Life, in Want's bare Weeds, was wept away:
Pond'ring his deathless Store, with Joy survey'd,
Each Path to Science pensive Marlbro' weigh'd.
Silence and solemn Night had hush'd the Scene,
And thin-plac'd Tapers grey'd the Gloom between:
While, here and there, he stopp'd; as Doubts engage:
Eas'd a try'd Shelf; and turn'd th'examin'd Page.
Bent on a Theme that all his Ardour claim'd,
His Grandsire's Glory, and his Country fam'd!
While suppliant France he view'd, and victim Spain,
Prostrate Adorners of a female Reign,
Back, from the flutt'ring Leaves, that flash'd with Light.
He starts—in more than earthly Lustre, bright!
Wide, round th'infoliate Fire, in sparkly Glow,
Legions of undulating Glories flow:
5
But a soft Sound thus voic'd th'emitted Rays.
Why art thou here, when half my Trophies fade?
The Field requires thee, in my Mem'ry's Aid.
Too proud th'Hesperian, and the Gaul too vain!
They shake the Continent! they bar the Main!
Quit thy learn'd Ease, Teach the tame War to shine:
Fate is thy Family's—and Conquest Thine.
Troy, till Achilles came, cou'd fear no Fall:
And Bourbon's Insults for a Marlbro' call.
The Field requires thee, in my Mem'ry's Aid.
Too proud th'Hesperian, and the Gaul too vain!
They shake the Continent! they bar the Main!
Quit thy learn'd Ease, Teach the tame War to shine:
Fate is thy Family's—and Conquest Thine.
Troy, till Achilles came, cou'd fear no Fall:
And Bourbon's Insults for a Marlbro' call.
Touch'd to the Soul, th'ingodded Offspring glow'd:
And paid in rev'rent Joy, the Vows he ow'd.
While, from the Centre, through th'incircling Rays,
Th'unbody'd Parent thus re-voic'd the Blaze.
And paid in rev'rent Joy, the Vows he ow'd.
While, from the Centre, through th'incircling Rays,
Th'unbody'd Parent thus re-voic'd the Blaze.
Lend Practice, to thy Pow'r: nor, longer drain
Ideal Springs, of All that Arts contain.
Give thy Books Rest: thou hold'st th'exhausted Store,
Where Mem'ry's magic Muster runs it o'er.
Rous'd from theoric Search, un-load thy Freight:
And roll War's Thunder, with thy added Weight.
Go: 'tis thy Right, th'aspiring Gaul to thwart:
Go: shake remember'd Marlbro', o'er his Heart.
Go—build new Blenheims, for succeeding Fame:
And, to past Triumphs, prove thy Race's Claim.
Heard, thy known Purpose charms thy Friends Above:
Thy Edwards, and thy Henrys, look—and love!
Eliza glows! calm Anna's Hopes it warms!
'Twas Force Prophetic, fir'd thy Soul to Arms.
Ideal Springs, of All that Arts contain.
6
Where Mem'ry's magic Muster runs it o'er.
Rous'd from theoric Search, un-load thy Freight:
And roll War's Thunder, with thy added Weight.
Go: 'tis thy Right, th'aspiring Gaul to thwart:
Go: shake remember'd Marlbro', o'er his Heart.
Go—build new Blenheims, for succeeding Fame:
And, to past Triumphs, prove thy Race's Claim.
Heard, thy known Purpose charms thy Friends Above:
Thy Edwards, and thy Henrys, look—and love!
Eliza glows! calm Anna's Hopes it warms!
'Twas Force Prophetic, fir'd thy Soul to Arms.
Oh! were It Time!—But, go. Thy Country aid.
Some Cramp's cold Torpor does her Nerves invade!
Never, till now, she sigh'd, at threaten'd Blood:
Too rash, too prompt, she push'd th'advancing Flood.
Sprung to the Plain, impatient of a Foe:
And knew no Insult: for she spar'd no Blow.
Now, cautious Vengeance, coldly, halts—to hear:
While muzzling Fore-cast fetters Rage, by Fear!
I felt, in Realms of Joy, th'unlikely Shame!
Impassive Spirit mourn'd, for suff'ring Name.
I call'd—Thou heardst: but War's wrong'd Soul, was fled!
Fame was despis'd: and Love of Glory dead!
Brave Minds, whom Fashion's changeful Starts misdrew,
At length, fear'd Danger: as the Mode most new!
Fear'd non-existing Shades; and Shapes of Air:
A Gorgon's Tresses!—a Chimæra's Glare!
Fear'd Monsters, never form'd, by Time, nor Chance;
From Spain, fear'd Rashness!—Steadiness, from France!
Hung, hesitated, stopp'd.—Resolve, re-dread;
All the long Windings of Reluctance tread.
Weigh'd, and prepar'd—prepar'd, and weigh'd, once more;
Treated, re-treated, thumb'd Expedients o'er:
Lost, like a nodding Jove, in Sleep's soft Band;
Loose-grasping idle Thunders, in his Hand!
Some Cramp's cold Torpor does her Nerves invade!
Never, till now, she sigh'd, at threaten'd Blood:
Too rash, too prompt, she push'd th'advancing Flood.
Sprung to the Plain, impatient of a Foe:
And knew no Insult: for she spar'd no Blow.
7
While muzzling Fore-cast fetters Rage, by Fear!
I felt, in Realms of Joy, th'unlikely Shame!
Impassive Spirit mourn'd, for suff'ring Name.
I call'd—Thou heardst: but War's wrong'd Soul, was fled!
Fame was despis'd: and Love of Glory dead!
Brave Minds, whom Fashion's changeful Starts misdrew,
At length, fear'd Danger: as the Mode most new!
Fear'd non-existing Shades; and Shapes of Air:
A Gorgon's Tresses!—a Chimæra's Glare!
Fear'd Monsters, never form'd, by Time, nor Chance;
From Spain, fear'd Rashness!—Steadiness, from France!
Hung, hesitated, stopp'd.—Resolve, re-dread;
All the long Windings of Reluctance tread.
Weigh'd, and prepar'd—prepar'd, and weigh'd, once more;
Treated, re-treated, thumb'd Expedients o'er:
Lost, like a nodding Jove, in Sleep's soft Band;
Loose-grasping idle Thunders, in his Hand!
8
Go: vindicate, in Arms, thy Birthright's Claim,
Nor let all Sense be lost, of antient Fame.
Lest Arrogance, un-humbled, climb too high:
And Bourbon call Fifth Henry's Acts a Lye.
Be, All, I was. Be, if thou canst be, more!
Be, All, in one great Name, that blaz'd before!
Be, what thy Country was, when Richard fought;
Or each dire Edward War's red Lesson taught:
When neither Distance, Clime, nor Wants, cou'd tire;
Nor Winds, nor Seas, nor Sickness, damp'd her Fire:
'Till Sun-burnt Syria, by untawny Hands,
Saw circly Slaughter drench her smoaking Sands.
Be, what thy Country was, when, haughty Spain,
Blushful in Blood, bewail'd Eliza's Reign.
Then, iron hearted Biscay shook, with Dread!
Then, warring Squadrons no tame Canvas, spread.
But, now!—'Tis painful, All!—
Spirits, exempt from Insult, feel—and shrink:
And shock'd Arch-Angel Guardians turn, and wink.
(Fall'n their Supporter) shield-shown Lilies fade!
—Shake thy Sword's Lightning o'er the cumbent Shade.
Rouse the Log Lion, into Sense of Pain:
Couch'd, in his Den; talon'd and tooth'd, in vain!
Fright those rash Frogs, that leap, disdainful o'er:
Rampant, and rais'd, re-wake his dreadful Roar.
Bid thy Name's Thunder shake th'Iberian Strand.
Vict'ry shall hear: and own thy fated Hand!
Gaul shall pant hush'd; remindful of the Sound:
Safe-shrunk, behind Pyrene's shieldy Mound.
Nor let all Sense be lost, of antient Fame.
Lest Arrogance, un-humbled, climb too high:
And Bourbon call Fifth Henry's Acts a Lye.
Be, All, I was. Be, if thou canst be, more!
Be, All, in one great Name, that blaz'd before!
Be, what thy Country was, when Richard fought;
Or each dire Edward War's red Lesson taught:
When neither Distance, Clime, nor Wants, cou'd tire;
Nor Winds, nor Seas, nor Sickness, damp'd her Fire:
'Till Sun-burnt Syria, by untawny Hands,
Saw circly Slaughter drench her smoaking Sands.
Be, what thy Country was, when, haughty Spain,
Blushful in Blood, bewail'd Eliza's Reign.
Then, iron hearted Biscay shook, with Dread!
Then, warring Squadrons no tame Canvas, spread.
But, now!—'Tis painful, All!—
Spirits, exempt from Insult, feel—and shrink:
And shock'd Arch-Angel Guardians turn, and wink.
9
—Shake thy Sword's Lightning o'er the cumbent Shade.
Rouse the Log Lion, into Sense of Pain:
Couch'd, in his Den; talon'd and tooth'd, in vain!
Fright those rash Frogs, that leap, disdainful o'er:
Rampant, and rais'd, re-wake his dreadful Roar.
Bid thy Name's Thunder shake th'Iberian Strand.
Vict'ry shall hear: and own thy fated Hand!
Gaul shall pant hush'd; remindful of the Sound:
Safe-shrunk, behind Pyrene's shieldy Mound.
But, Time resists!—Some Fury blasts thy Aim!
It must not, now, succeed.—Suspend the Flame.
Pause: but stand firm. Th'incumbent Cloud blows o'er.
Call'd to recede, farewell!—I must no more.
Baleful! and dire! th'effluviate Scent of Hell
Breathes near!—I feel th'intrusive Pest!—Farewell.
It must not, now, succeed.—Suspend the Flame.
Pause: but stand firm. Th'incumbent Cloud blows o'er.
Call'd to recede, farewell!—I must no more.
Baleful! and dire! th'effluviate Scent of Hell
Breathes near!—I feel th'intrusive Pest!—Farewell.
| The Fanciad | |