An Epiftle to my Friend Mr. ELIJAH FENTON, Author of Mariamne, a Tragedy, 1726.
HY art thou flow to strike th' harmonious thell,
Averfe to fing, who know'ft to fing fo well?
If thy proud Mufe the tragic bufkin wears,
Great Sophocles revives and re-appears ;
While regularly bold, fhe nobly fings
Strains, worthy to detain the ears of kings;
If by thy hand th' Homeric lyre be firung,
The lyre returns fuch founds as Homer fung:
The kind compulsion of a friend obey,
And though reluctant, fwell the lofty lay;
Then liftening groves once more fhall catch the found,
While Grecian Mufes fing on British ground..
Thus calm and filent thy own † Protens roves
Through pearly mazes, and through coral groves;.
But when, emerging from the azure main,
Coercive bands th' unwilling God conftrain,
Then heaves his bofom with prophetic fires,
And his tongue fpeaks fublime, what heaven inspires.
Envy, 'tis true, with barbarous rage, invades
What ev'n fierce lightning fpares, the laurel fhades ;
Mr. Fenton tranflated four books of the Ody fiey. + See the fory of Proteus, Odyffey, lib. 4. tranflated by Mr. Fenton.
And critics, bias'd by mistaken rules,
Like Turkish zealots, reverence none but fools.
But praise from fuch injurious tongues is shame,
They rail the happy author into fame;
Thus Phoebus through the zodiac takes his way,
And rifes amid monsters into day :
Oh vileness of mankind! when writing well
Becomes a crime, and danger to excel !
While noble fcorn, my friend, fuch infults fees,
And flies from towns to wilds, from men to trees.
Free from the luft of wealth, and glittering fnares,
That make th' unhappy Great in love with cares,
Me humble joys in calm retirement please,
A filent happiness, and learned eafe,
Deny me grandeur, heaven, but goodness grant!
A king is lefs illuftrious than a faint:
Hail, holy virtue come, thou heavenly guest,
Come, fix thy pleafing empire in my breaft!
Thou know'ft her influence, friend! thy chearful'mein
Proclaims the innocence and peace within;
Such joys as none but fons of virtue know,
Shine in thy face, and in thy bofom glow.
So when the holy mount the prophet trod, And talk'd familiar as a Friend with God;
VARIATION.
Thou feel'ft her power, my friend, &c.
Celestial radiance every feature shed,
And ambient glories dawn'd around his head.
Sure what th' unthinking Great mistaken call Their happiness, is folly, folly all!
Like lofty mountains in the clouds they hide
Their haughty heads, but swell with barren pride;
And while low vales in ufeful beauty lie,
Heave their proud naked fummits to the sky :
In honour, as in place, ye great, transcend!
An angel fal'n, degenerates to a fiend :
Th' all-chearing fun is honour'd with his shrines,
Not, that he moves aloft, but that he shines :
Why flames the ftar on Walpole's generous breaft?
Not that he 's higheft, but because he 's best,
Fond to oblige, in bleffing others, blest.
How wondrous few, by avarice uncontrol'd,
Have virtue to fubdue the thirst of gold!
The fhining dirt the fordid wretch enfnares
To buy, with mighty treasures, mighty cares:
Blindly he courts, mifguided by the will,
A fpecious good, and meets a real ill;
So when Ulyffes plough'd the furgy main ;
When now in view appear'd his native reign,
His wayward mates th' Æolian bag unbind,
Expecting treasures, but out rush'd a wind;
The fudden hurricane in thunder roars,
Buffets the bark, and whirls it from the fhores.
O heaven! by what vain paffions man is sway'd, Proud of his reason, by his will betray'd!
Blindly he wanders in pursuit of vice,
And hates confinement, though in paradife;
Doom'd, when enlarg'd, instead of Eden's bowers,
To rove in wilds, and gather thorns for flowers;
Between th' extremes, direct he sees the way,
Yet wilful fwerves, perversely fond to stray!
Whilft niggard fouls indulge their craving thirst,
Rich without bounty, with abundance curft;
The Prodigal purfues expenfive vice,
And buys difhonour at a mighty price ;
On beds of state the fplendid glutton fleeps,
While ftarving merit unregarded weeps :
His ill-plac'd bounty, while fcorn'd virtue grieves, A dog, a fawning fycophant, receives;
And cringing knaves, or haughty ftrumpets, share What would make forrow smile, and chear defpair.
Then would't thou feer where fortune fpreads th fails?
Go, flatter vice! for seldom flattery fails :
5: Soft through the ear the pleasing bane distills :
Delicious poifon! in perfumes it kills!
Be all, but virtuous: O! unwife to live
Unfashionably good, and hope to thrive !
Trees that aloft with proudest honours rife,
Root hell-ward, and thence flourish to the fkies.
O happier thou, my friend, with ease content,
Bleft with the conscience of a life well spent !
Nor would't be great; but guide thy gather'd fails,
Safe by the shore, nor tempt the rougher gales;
For fure, of all that feel the wounds of fate,
None are compleatly wretched but the great;
Superior woes, fuperior ftations bring,
A peafant fleeps, while cares awake a king:
Who reigns, must suffer! crowns with gems inlaid
At once adorn and load the royal head :
Change but the scene, and kings in duft decay,
Swept from the earth the pageants of a day;
There no diftinctions on the dead await,
But pompous graves, and rottenness in state;
Such now are all that fhone on earth before,
Cæfar and mighty Marlborough are no more!
Unhallow'd feet o'er awful Tully tread,
And Hyde and Plato join the vulgar dead;
And all the glorious aims that can employ
The foul of mortals, muft with Hanmer die :
O Compton, when this breath we once refign,
My duft shall be as eloquent as thine.
Till that last hour which calls me hence away that great arrear which all must pay; I tread the paths which faints have trod, Who knew they walk'd before th' all-feeing God! Studious from ways of wicked men to keep, Who mock at vice, while grieving angels weep. Come, tafte, my friend the joys retirement brings, Look down on royal flaves, and pity kings.
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