Restrain'd the rapid fate of rushing Rome:
Unconquer'd Cato, virtuous in extreme:
And thou, unhappy Brutus, kind of heart,
Whose steady arm, by awful Virtue urg'd,
Lifted the Roman steel against thy friend.
Thousands besides the tribute of a verse
Demand; but who can count the stars of heaven?
Who sing their influence on this lower world?
Behold, who yonder comes! in sober state,
Fair, mild, and strong, as is a vernal sun :
"Tis Phoebus' self, or else the Mantuan swain !
Great Homer too appears, of daring wing,
Parent of song! and equal by his side,
The British Muse; join'd hand in hand they walk,
Darkling, full up the middle steep to fame.
Nor absent are those shades, whose skilful touch
Pathetic drew th' impassion'd heart, and charm'd
Transported Athens with the moral scene;
Nor those who, tuneful, wak'd th' enchanting lyre. 540
First of your kind! society divine!
Still visit thus my nights, for you reserv'd,
And mount my soaring soul to thoughts like yours.
Silence, thou lonely pow'r! the door be thine;
See on the hallow'd hour that none intrude,
Save a few chosen friends, who sometimes deign
To bless my humble roof, with sense refin'd,
Learning digested well, exalted faith,
Unstudied wit, and humour ever gay.
Or from the Muses' hill will Pope descend,
To raise the sacred hour, to bid it smile,
And with the social spirit warm the heart;
For though not sweeter his own Homer sings,
Yet is his life the more endearing song.
Where art thou, Hammond? thou the darling pride,
The friend and lover, of the tuneful throng!
Ah! why, dear youth, in all the blooming prime
Of vernal genius, where disclosing fast
Each active worth, each manly virtue lay,
Why wert thou ravish'd from our hope so soon?
What now avails that noble thirst of fame
Which stung thy fervent breast, that treasur'd store
Of knowledge early gain'd? that eager zeal
To serve thy country, glowing in the band
Of youthful patriots who sustain her name?
What now, alas! that life-diffusing charm
Of sprightly wit, that rapture for the Muse,
That heart of friendship, and that soul of joy,
Which bade with softest light thy virtue smile?
Ah! only show'd, to check our fond pursuits,
And teach our humbled hopes that life is vain!
Thus in some deep retirement would I pass
The winter-glooms, with friends of pliant soul,
Or blithe, or solemn, as the theme inspir'd;
With them would search, if Nature's boundless frame
Was call'd, late rising from the void of night,
Or sprung eternal from th' ETERNAL MIND;
Its life, its laws, its progress, and its end.
Hence larger prospects of the beauteous whole
Would, gradual, open on our opening minds,
And each diffusive harmony unite
In full perfection to the astonish'd eye.
Then would we try to scan the moral world,
Which, though to us it seems embroil'd, moves on
In higher order, fitted and impell'd
By Wisdom's finest hand, and issuing all
In general good. The sage Historic Muse
Should next conduct us through the deeps of time;
Show us how empire grew, declin’d, and fell,
In scatter'd states; what makes the nations smile,
Improves their soil, and gives them double suns;
And why they pine beneath the brightest skies,
In Nature's richest lap. As thus we talk'd,
Our hearts would burn within us, would inhale
That portion of divinity, that ray
Of purest heaven, which lights the public soul
Of patriots and of heroes. But if doom'd,
In powerless humble fortune, to repress
These ardent risings of the kindling soul,
Then, even superior to ambition, we
Would learn the private virtues; how to glide
Through shades and plains, along the smoothest stream
Of rural life or, snatch'd away by Hope
Through the dim spaces of futurity,
With earnest eye anticipate those scenes
Of happiness and wonder, where the mind,
In endless growth and infinite ascent,
Rises from state to state, and world to world.
But when with these the serious thought is foil'd,
We, shifting for relief, would play the shapes
Of frolic fancy; and incessant form
Those rapid pictures, that assembled train
Of fleet ideas, never join'd before,
Whence lively Wit excites to gay surprise;
Or folly-painting Humour, grave himself,
Calls Laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve.
Meantime the village rouses up the fire,
While, well attested, and as well believ'd,
Heard solemn, goes the goblin-story round;
Till superstitious horror creeps o'er all.
Or, frequent in the sounding hall, they wake
The rural gambol. Rustic mirth goes round;
The simple joke that takes the shepherd's heart,
The friend and lover, of the tuneful throng!
Ah! why, dear youth, in all the blooming pri
Of vernal genius, where disclosing fast
Each active worth, each manly virtue lay,
Why wert thou ravish'd from our hope f
What now avails that noble thirst of f
Which stung thy fervent breast, that
Of knowledge early gain'd? that ear
To serve thy country, glowing in
Of youthful patriots who sustain
What now, alas! that life-diff
Of sprightly wit, that rapture
That heart of friendship, ar
Which bade with softest
Ah! only show'd, to cheng the lighted dome,
And teach our humblersand sprightly ways.
Thus in some deep fuses every pomp;
beam'd from gaudy robes,
gems, and radiant eyes,
the palace waves:
his Summer shine,
attering, spreads his mealy wings.
or the scene the ghost of Hamlet stalks,
Trams the breast; the comely tear
Stir the cheek. Or else the Comic Muse
Setines she lifts her strain, and paints the scenes
And as sly the fair, impartial laugh.
whate'er can deck mankind,
Or alarm the heart, in generous Bevil1 show'd.
O thou whose wisdom, solid, yet refin'd,
Bevil: see Steele's 'Conscious Levers.'
and consummate skill
that move the world,
'n bestow,
and joy Aral Muse,
thee her song!
ne humbly flies, on, in thy train
s in thy train a place) ous full-accomplish'd mind:
- spirit which, with British scorn, allurements of corrupted power; egant politeness, which excels,
in the judgment of presumptuous France, he boasted manners of her shining court; That wit, the vivid energy of sense,
The truth of nature, which, with Attic point,
And kind, well-temper'd satire, smoothly keen,
Steals through the soul, and without pain corrects.
Or, rising thence with yet a brighter flame,
O let me hail thee on some glorious day,
When to the listening senate, ardent, crowd
Britannia's sons to hear her pleaded cause!
Then dress'd by thee, more amiably fair,
Truth the soft robe of mild Persuasion wears;
Thou to assenting Reason giv'st again
Her own enlighten'd thoughts; call'd from the heart, Th' obedient Passions on thy voice attend;
And ev'n reluctant Party feels a while
Thy gracious pow'r; as through the varied maze
Of eloquence, now smooth, now quick, now strong,
Profound and clear, you roll the copious flood.
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