No pedant Bentley proud, uncouth,
Nor sweetening dedicator smooth,
In one attempt has ever dar'd
To sap, or storm, this mighty bard.
Nor Envy does, nor Ignorance,
Make on his works the least advance.
For this, behold! still flies afar
Where'er his genius does appear;
Nor has that aught to do above,
So meddles not with Swift and Jove.
A faithful, universal fame
In glory spreads abroad his name ;
Pronounces Swift, with loudest breath,
Immortal grown before his death.
OCCASIONED BY DR. SWIFT'S INTENDED HOSPITAL FOR IDIOTS AND LUNATICS
THE Dean must die-our idiots to maintain! Perish, ye idiots! and long live the Dean!
O GENIUS of Hibernia's state,
Sublimely good, severely great,
How doth this latest act excel
All you have done or wrote so well!
Satire may be the child of spite,
And fame might bid the Drapier write :
But to relieve, and to endow,
Creatures that know not whence or how,
Argues a soul both good and wise,
Resembling him who rules the skies.
He to the thoughtful mind displays
Immortal skill ten thousand ways;
And, to complete his glorious task,
Gives what we have not sense to ask!
Lo! Swift to idiots bequeaths his store:
Be wise, ye rich!-consider thus the poor!
Great wits to madness nearly are allied,
This makes the Dean for kindred thus provide.
ON THE DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S
BEING NOV. 30, ST. ANDREW'S DAY.
BETWEEN the hours of twelve and one,
When half the world torest were gone,
Entranc'd in softest sleep I lay,
Forgetful of an anxious day;
* See in Parnell's Poems an elegant compliment on the same occasion, written in 1713. N.
From every care and labour free,
My soul as calm as it could be.
The queen of dreams, well pleas'd to find
An undisturb'd and vacant mind,
With magic pencil trac'd my brain,
And there she drew St. Patrick's dean;
I straight beheld on either hand
Two saints, like guardian angels, stand,
And either claim'd him for their son,
And thus the high dispute begun :
St. Andrew, first, with reason strong,
Maintain'd to him he did belong.
"Swift is my own, by right divine,
All born upon this day are mine."
St. Patrick said, "I own this true,
So far he does belong to you:
But in my church he's born again,
My son adopted, and my Dean.
When first the Christian truth I spread,
The poor within this isle I fed,
And darkest errors banish'd hence,
Made knowledge in their place commence :
Nay more, at my divine command,
All noxious creatures fled the land.
I made both peace and plenty smile.
Hibernia was my favourite isle;
Now his for he succeeds to me,
Two angels cannot more agree.
"His joy is, to relieve the poor;
Behold them weekly at his door!
His knowledge too, in brightest rays,
He like the sun to all conveys,
Shows wisdom in a single page,
And in one hour instructs an age.
When ruin lately stood around
Th' enclosures of my sacred ground,
He gloriously did interpose,
And sav'd it from invading foes;
For this I claim immortal Swift,
As my own son, and Heaven's best gift,"
The Caledonian saint enrag'd,
Now closer in dispute engag'd.
Essays to prove, by transmigration,
The Dean is of the Scottish nation;
And, to confirm the truth, he chose
The loyal soul of great Montrose ;
"Montrose and he are both the same,
They only differ in the name:
Both heroes in a righteous cause,
Assert their liberties and laws;
He's now the same, Montrose was then,
But that the sword is turn'd a pen,
pen of so great power, each word Defends beyond the hero's sword."
Now words grew high-we can't suppose
Immortals ever come to blows,
But least unruly passion should
Degrade them into flesh and blood,
An angel quick from Heaven descends,
And he at once the contest ends:
"Ye reverend pair, from discord cease,
Ye both mistake the present case;
One kingdom cannot have pretence
To so much virtue ! so much sense!
Search Heaven's record; and there you'll find, That he was born for all mankind."
AN EPISTLE TO ROBERT NUGENT, Esq.*
WITH A PICTURE OF DR. SWIFT.
BY WILLIAM DUNKIN, D. D.†
To gratify thy long desire
(So love and Piety require,)
From Bindon's colours you may trace
The patriot's venerable face.
The last, O Nugent! which his art
Shall ever to the world impart;
For know, the prime of mortal men,
That matchless monarch of the
(Whose labours, like the genial sun,
Shall through revolving ages run,
Yet never, like the sun, decline,
But in their full meridian shine,)
That ever-honour'd, envied sage,
So long the wonder of the age,
Who charm'd us with his golden strain,
Is not the shadow of the Dean:
* Created baron Nugent and viscount Clare, Dec. 20, 1766. N. This elegant tribute of gratitude, as it was written at that lismal period of the Dean's life when all suspicion of flattery must vanish, reflects the highest honour on the ingenious writer, and cannot but be agreeable to the admirers of Dr. Swift. N.
Samuel Bindon, esq. one of the greatest painters and architects of his time. On account of his age, and some little failure in his sight, he threw aside his pencil soon after the year 1750; and afterward lived to a good old age, greatly beloved and respected by all who had the happiness either of his friendship or acquaintance. He died June 2, 1765. N.
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