Neither, to say the truth, were the manner of my birth all, fhould I have any reafon for complaintWhen I am a little disposed to a gay turn of thinking, I confider, as I was a Derelict from my cradle, I have the honour of a lawful claim to the beft protection in Europe. For being a spot of earth, to which nobody pretends a title, I devolve naturally upon the King, as one of the rights of his Royalty.
While I prefume to name his Majesty, I look back, with confufion, upon the mercy I have lately experienced; because it is impoffible to remember it, but with fomething I would fain forget, for the fake of my future peace, and alleviation of my past misfortune. I owe my life to the Royal Pity, if a wretch can, with propriety, be faid to live, whofe days are fewer than his forrows; and to whom death had been but a redemption from mifery.
But I will fuffer my pardon as my punishment, till that life, which has so graciously been given me, shall become confiderable enough not to be useless in his fervice to whom it was forfeited. Under influence of these sentiments, with which His Majefty's great goodnefs has infpired me, I confider my lofs of fortune and dignity as my happiness; to which, as I am born without ambition, I am thrown from them without repining-Poffeffing thofe advantages, my care had been, perhaps, how to enjoy life; by the want of them I am taught this nobler leffon, to study how to deserve it.
IN gayer hours, when high my fancy ran,
The Mufe, exulting, thus her lay began.
Bleft be the Baftard's birth! through wondrous ways,
He fhines eccentric like a comet's blaze!
No fickly fruit of faint compliance He!
He! ftampt in nature's mint of ecstacy!
He lives to build, not boaft, a generous race:
No tenth tranfmitter of a foolish face.
His daring hope, no fire's example bounds;
His firft-born lights, no prejudice confounds.
He, kindling from within, requires no flame;
He glories in a Baftard's glowing name.
Born to himself, by no poffeffion led, In freedom fofter'd, and by fortune fed;
Nor guides, nor rules, his fovereign choice control, 15
His body independent as his foul;
Loos'd to the world's wide range-enjoy'd no aim,
Preferib'd no duty, and affign'd no name :
Nature's unbounded fon, he ftands alone,
His heart unbiafs'd, and his mind his own.
O Mother, yet no Mother! 'tis to you,
My thanks for fuch distinguish'd claims are due.
You, unenlav'd to Nature's narrow laws,
Warm championefs for freedom's facred caufe,
From all the dry devoirs of blood and line,
From ties maternal, moral and divine,
Discharg'd my grasping foul; pufh'd me from fhore,
And launch'd me into life without an oar.
What had I loft, if, conjugally kind,
By nature hating, yet by vows confin'd,
Untaught the matrimonial bounds to flight,
And coldly conscious of a husband's right,
You had faint-drawn me with a form alone,
A lawful lump of life by force your own!
Then, while your backward will retrench'd defire, 35
And unconcurring fpirits lent no fire,
I had been born your dull, domestic heir,
Load of your life, and motive of your care;
Perhaps been poorly rich, and meanly great,
The flave of pomp, a cypher in the state;
Lordly neglectful of a worth unknown,
And flumbering in a feat, by chance my own.
Far nobler bleffings wait the Baftard's lot;
"Conceiv'd in rapture, and with fire begot!
Strong as neceffity, he starts away,
Climbs against wrongs, and brightens into day.
Thus unprophetic, lately mifinfpir'd,
I fung: Gay fluttering hope, my fancy fir'd;
Inly fecure, through confcious fcorn of ill,
Nor taught by wisdom, how to balance will,
Rafhly deceiv'd, I faw no pits to fhun,
But thought to purpose and to act were one;
Heedlefs what pointed cares pervert his way,
Whom caution arms not, and whom woes betray;
But now, expos'd, and fhrinking from diftrefs,
I fly to fhelter, while the tempels profs;
My Mufe to grief refigns the varying tone,
The raptures languish, and the numbers groan.
O memory! thou foul of joy and pain!
Thou actor of our paffions o'er again!
Why dost thou aggravate the wretch's woe?
Why add continuous smart to every blow ?
Few are my joys; alas! how foon forgot!
On that kind quarter thou invad’st me not:
While fharp and numberless my forrows fall;
Yet thou repeat'ft, and multiply'st them all!
Is chance a guilt? that my disasterous heart, For mifchief never meant, must ever smart? Can felf-defence be fin !-Ah, plead no more! What though no purpos'd malice ftain'd thee o'er? 70 Had heaven befriended thy unhappy fide,
Thou hadst not been provok'd-Or thou hadst died.
Far be the guilt of homeshed blood from all
On whom, unfought, embroiling dangers fall!
Still the pale Dead revives, and lives to me,
To me through Pity's eye condemn'd to fee.
Remembrance veils his rage, but swells his fate;
Griev'd I forgive, and am grown cool too late.
Young, and unthoughtful then; who knows, one day,
What ripening virtues might have made their way
! 80
He might have liv'd till folly died in shame,
Till kindling wisdom felt a thirst for fame.
He might perhaps his country's friend have prov'd;
Both happy, generous, candid, and belov'd
He might have fav'd some worth, now doom'd to fall;
And I, perchance, in him, have murder'd all.
O fate of late repentance! always vain :
Thy remedies but lull undying pain.
Where shall my hope find rest ?—No Mother's care
Shielded my infant innocence with prayer:
No father's guardian hand my youth maintain'd,
Call'd forth my virtues, or from vice reftrain'd.
Is it not thine to fnatch fome powerful arm,
First to advance, then skreen from: future harm?
Am I return'd from death, to live in pain?
Or would Imperial Pity save in vain ?
Distrust it not-What blame can mercy find,
Which gives at once a life, and rears a mind?
Mother, miscall'd, farewell-of foul fevere,
This fad reflection yet may force one tear:
All I was wretched by to you I ow'd,
Alone from ftrangers every comfort flow'd!
Loft to the life you gave, your fon no more,
And now adopted, who was doom`d before,
New-born, I may a nobler Mother claim,
But dare not whisper her immortal name;
Supremely lovely, and ferenely great!
Majestic Mother of a kneeling State!
QUEEN of a People's heart, who ne'er before
Agreed—yet now with one confent adore!
One contest yet remains in this defire,
Who most shall give applaufe, where all admire.
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