Some hear with joy the clanging jar Of trumpets, that alarm to war, While matrons tremble at the breath That calls their fons to arms and death.
The sportsman, train'd in storms, defies The chilling blaft, and freezing fkies: Unmindful of his bride, in vain Soft beauty pleads! along the plain The ftag he chaces, or beguiles The furious boar into his toils.
For you the blooming ivy grows,
Proud to adorn your learned brows;
Patron of letters you arife,
Grow to a God, and mount the skies.
Humbly in breezy fhades I ftray Where Sylvans dance, and Satyrs play; Contented to advance my claim,
Only o'er men without a name;
Transcribing what the Mufes fing
Harmonious to the pipe or ftring.
But if indulgently you deign
To rank me with the Lyric train,
Aloft the towering Muse shall rife
On bolder wings, and gain the skies.
An Epiftle to my Friend Mr. ELIJAH FENTON, Author of Mariamne, a Tragedy, 1726.
HY art thou flow to strike th' harmonious shell,
Averfe to fing, who know'ft to fing so well?
If thy proud Muse the tragic buskin 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 strung,
The lyre returns fuch founds as Homer fung:
The kind compulfion 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 † Proteus roves
Through pearly mazes, and through coral groves;
But when, emerging from the azure main,
Coercive bands th' unwilling God constrain,
Then heaves his bofom with prophetic fires,
And his tongue fpeaks fublime, what heaven infpires.
Envy, 'tis true, with barbarous rage, invades What ev'n fierce lightning fpares, the laurel fhades ;
*Mr. Fenton tranflated four books of the Odyffey. + See the ftory of Proteus, Odyssey, 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, such insults 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 gueft,
Come, fix thy pleafing empire in my breast!
* 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;
* Thou feel'ft her power, my friend, &c.
Celeftial radiance every feature fhed,
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 fwell with barren pride;
And while low vales in useful beauty lie,
Heave their proud naked fummits to the sky:
In honour, as in place, ye great, tranfcend!
An angel fal'n, degenerates to a fiend :
Th' all-chearing fun is honour'd with his fhrines,
Not, that he moves aloft, but that he fhines:
Why flames the ftar on Walpole's generous breast?
Not that he 's higheft, but because he 's best,
Fond to oblige, in bleffing others, bleft.
How wondrous few, by avarice uncontrol'd,
Have virtue to fubdue the thirst of gold!
The fhining dirt the fordid wretch enfhares
To buy, with mighty treafures, 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 rufh'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 reafon, 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 fees the way,
Yet wilful fwerves, perverfely fond to stray!
Whilft niggard fouls indulge their craving thirft,
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, fhare
What would make forrow fmile, and chear defpair.
Then would't thou fteer where fortune fpreads the
Go, flatter vice for feldom flattery fails:
Soft through the ear the pleafing bane diftills:
Delicious poifon in perfumes it kills!
Be all, but virtuous: O! unwife to live
Unfashionably good, and hope to thrive !
Trees that aloft with proudeft honours rife,
Root hell-ward, and thence flourish to the fkies.
O happier thou, my friend, with eafe content,
Bleft with the confcience of a life well spent!
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