But hope rose gently in the mother’s breast;
For well she knew that neither grief nor joy
Pain’d without hope, or pleased without alloy;
And while these hopes and fears her heart divide,
A cheerful vision bade the fears subside.
She saw descending to the world below
An ancient form, with solemn pace and slow.
“Daughter, no more be sad” (the phantom cried),
“Success is seldom to the wise denied;
In idle wishes fools supinely stay,
Be there a will, and wisdom finds a way:
Why art thou grieved? Be rather glad, that he
Who hates the happy, aims his darts at thee,
But aims in vain; thy favour’d daughter lies
Serenely blest, and shall to joy arise.
For, grant that curses on her name shall wait,
(So Envy wills, and such the voice of Fate,)
Yet if that name be prudently suppress’d,
She shall be courted, favour’d, and caress’d.
“For what are names? and where agree mankind,
In those to persons or to acts assign’d?
Brave, learn’d, or wise, if some their favourites call,
Have they the titles or the praise from all?
Not so, but others will the brave disdain
As rash, and deem the sons of wisdom vain;
The self-same mind shall scorn or kindness move,
And the same deed attract contempt and love.
“So all the powers who move the human soul,
With all the passions who the will control,
Have various names - One giv’n by Truth Divine,
(As Simulation thus was fixed for mine,)
The rest by man, who now, as wisdom’s prize
My secret counsels, now as art despise;
One hour, as just, those counsels they embrace,
And spurn, the next, as pitiful and base.
Thee, too, my child, those fools as Cunning fly,
Who on thy counsel and thy craft rely;
That worthy craft in others they condemn,
But ’tis their prudence, while conducting them.
“Be FLATTERY, then, thy happy infant’s name,
Let Honour scorn her and let Wit defame;
Let all be true that Envy dooms, yet all,
Not on herself, but on her name, shall fall;
While she thy fortune and her own shall raise,
And decent Truth be call’d, and loved as, modest Praise.
“O happy child! the glorious day shall shine,
When every ear shall to thy speech incline,
Thy words alluring and thy voice divine:
The sullen pedant and the sprightly wit,
To hear thy soothing eloquence shall sit;
And both, abjuring Flattery, will agree
That Truth inspires, and they must honour thee.
“Envy himself shall to thy accents bend,
Force a faint smile, and sullenly attend,
When thou shalt call him Virtue’s jealous friend,
Whose bosom glows with generous rage to find
How fools and knaves are flatter’d by mankind.
“The sage retired, who spends alone his days,
And flies th’ obstreperous voice of public praise;
The vain, the vulgar cry, - shall gladly meet,
And bid thee welcome to his still retreat;
Much will he wonder, how thou cam’st to find
A man to glory dead, to peace consign’d.
O Fame! he’ll cry (for he will call thee Fame),
From thee I fly, from thee conceal my name;
But thou shalt say, though Genius takes his night,
He leaves behind a glorious train of light,
And hides in vain: - yet prudent he that flies
The flatterer’s art, and for himself is wise.
“Yes, happy child! I mark th’approaching day,
When warring natures will confess thy sway;
When thou shalt Saturn’s golden reign restore,
And vice and folly shall be known no more.
“Pride shall not then in human-kind have place,
Changed by thy skill, to Dignity and Grace;
While Shame, who now betrays the inward sense
Of secret ill, shall be thy Diffidence;
Avarice shall thenceforth prudent Forecast be,
And bloody Vengeance, Magnanimity;
The lavish tongue shall honest truths impart,
The lavish hand shall show the generous heart,
And Indiscretion be, contempt of art;
Folly and Vice shall then, no longer known,
Be, this as Virtue, that as Wisdom, shown.
“Then shall the Robber, as the Hero, rise
To seize the good that churlish law denies;
Throughout the world shall rove the generous band,
And deal the gifts of Heaven from hand to hand.
In thy blest days no tyrant shall be seen,
Thy gracious king shall rule contented men;
In thy blest days shall not a rebel be,
But patriots all and well-approved of thee.
“Such powers are thine, that man by thee shall wrest
The gainful secret from the cautious breast;
Nor then, with all his care, the good retain,
But yield to thee the secret and the gain.
In vain shall much experience guard the heart
Against the charm of thy prevailing art;
Admitted once, so soothing is thy strain,
It comes the sweeter, when it comes again;
And when confess’d as thine, what mind so strong
Forbears the pleasure it indulged so long?
“Softener of every ill! of all our woes
The balmy solace! friend of fiercest foes!
Begin thy reign, and like the morning rise!
Bring joy, bring beauty, to our eager eyes;
Break on the drowsy world like opening day,
While grace and gladness join thy flow’ry way;
While every voice is praise, while every heart is gay.
“From thee all prospects shall new beauties take,
’Tis thine to seek them and ’tis thine to make;
On the cold fen I see thee turn thine eyes,
Its mists recede, its chilling vapour flies;
Th’enraptured Lord th’improving ground surveys,
And for his Eden asks the traveller’s praise,
Which yet, unview’d of thee, a bog had been,
Where spungy rushes hide the plashy green.
“I see thee breathing on the barren moor,
That seems to bloom although so bleak before;
There, if beneath the gorse the primrose spring,
Or the pied daisy smile below the ling,
They shall new charms, at thy command disclose,
And none shall miss the myrtle or the rose.
The wiry moss, that whitens all the hill,
Shall live a beauty by thy matchless skill;
Gale from the bog shall yield Arabian balm,
And the gray willow give a golden palm.
“I see thee smiling in the pictured room,
Now breathing beauty, now reviving bloom;
There, each immortal name ’tis thine to give,
To graceless forms, and bid the lumber live.
Should’st thou coarse boors or gloomy martyrs see,
These shall thy Guidos, these thy Teniers be;
There shalt thou Raphael’s saints and angels trace,
There make for Rubens and for Reynolds place,
And all the pride of art shall find, in her disgrace.
“Delight of either sex? thy reign commence;
With balmy sweetness soothe the weary sense,
And to the sickening soul thy cheering aid dispense.
Queen of the mind! thy golden age begin;
In mortal bosoms varnish shame and sin;
Let all be fair without, let all be calm within.”
The vision fled, the happy mother rose,
Kiss’d the fair infant, smiled at all her foes,
And FLATTERY made her name: - her reign began.
Her own dear sex she ruled, then vanquished man:
A smiling friend, to every class she spoke,
Assumed their manners, and their habits took;
Her, for her humble mien, the modest loved;
Her cheerful looks the light and gay approved:
The just beheld her, firm: the valiant, brave:
Her mirth the free, her silence pleased the grave:
Zeal heard her voice, and, as he preach’d aloud,
Well pleased he caught her whispers from the crowd,
(Those whispers, soothing-sweet to every ear,
Which some refuse to pay, but none to hear):
Shame fled her presence, at her gentle strain,
Care softly smiled, and Guilt forgot its pain:
The wretched thought, the happy found, her true,
The learn’d confess’d that she her merits knew:
The rich - could they a constant friend condemn?
The poor believed - for who should flatter them?
Thus on her name though all disgrace attend,
In every creature she beholds a friend.
1807
“REFLECTIONS”.
UPON THE SUBJECT -
Quid juvat errores, mersa jam puppe, fateri?
Quid lacrymae delicta juvant commissa secutae?
CLAUDIAN, in Eutropium.
What avails it, when shipwreck’d, that error appears?
Are the crimes we commit wash’d away by our tears?
-----------------------
When all the fiercer passions cease
(The glory and disgrace of youth):
When the deluded soul in peace,
Can listen to the voice of truth:
When we are taught in whom to trust,
And how to spare, to spend, to give,
(Our prudence kind, our pity just),
’Tis then we rightly learn to live.
Its weakness when the body feels,
Nor danger in contempt defies:
To reason when desire appeals,
When, on experience, hope relies:
When every passing hour we prize,
Nor rashly on our follies spend:
But use it, as it quickly flies,
With sober aim to serious end:
When prudence bounds our utmost views,
And bids us wrath and wrong forgive:
When we can ealmly gain or lose, -
’Tis then we rightly learn to live.
Yet thus, when we our way discern,
And can upon our care depend,
To travel safely, when we learn,
Behold? we’re near our journey’s end.
We’ve trod the maze of error round,
Long wand’ring in the winding glade:
And, now the torch of truth is found,
It only shows us where we stray’d:
Light for ourselves, what is it worth,
When we no more our way can choose?
For others, when we hold it forth,
They, in their pride, the boon refuse.
By long experience taught, we now
Can rightly judge of friends and foes,
Can all the worth of these allow,
And all their faults discern in those;
Relentless hatred, erring love,
We can for sacred truth forego;
We can the warmest friend reprove,
And bear to praise the fiercest foe:
To what effect? Our friends are gone
Beyond reproof, regard, or care;
And of our foes remains there one,
The mild relenting thought to share?
Now ’tis our boast that we can quell
The wildest passions in their rage;
Can their destructive force repel,
And their impetuous wrath assuage:
Ah! Virtue, dost thou arm, when now
This bold rebellious race are fled;
When all these tyrants rest and thou
Art warring with the mighty dead?
Revenge, ambition, scorn, and pride,
And strong desire, and fierce disdain,
The giant-brood by thee defied,
Lo! Time’s resistless strokes have slain.
Yet Time, who could that race subdue,
(O’erpowering strength, appeasing rage,)
Leaves yet a persevering crew,
To try the failing powers of age.
Vex’d by the constant call of these,
Virtue a while for conquest tries:
But weary grown and fond of ease,
She makes with them a compromise:
Av’rice himself she gives to rest,
But rules him with her strict commands;
Bids Pity touch his torpid breast,
And Justice hold his eager hands.
Yet is their nothing men can do,
When chilling age comes creeping on?
Cannot we yet some good pursue?
Are talents buried? genius gone?
If passions slumber in the breast,
If follies from the heart be fled;
Of laurels let us go in quest,
And place them on the poet’s head.
Yes, we’ll redeem the wasted time,
And to neglected studies flee;
We’ll build again the lofty rhyme,
Or live, Philosophy, with thee:
For reasoning clear, for flight sublime,
Eternal fame reward shall be;
And to what glorious heights we’ll climb,
The admiring crowd shall envying see.
Begin the song! begin the theme! -
Alas! and is Invention dead?