Instructions to a Porter.
OU! to whofe care I've now confign'd
Y My houfe's entrance, caution ufe,
While you discharge your truft, and mind
Whom you admit, and whom refuse.
Let no fierce paffions enter here,
Paffions the raging breast that storm,
Nor fcornful pride, nor fervile fear,
Nor hate, nor envy's pallid form.
Should av'rice call-you'll let her know
Of heap'd up riches I've no ftore,
And that she has no right to go
Where Plutus has not been before.
Lo! on a visit hither bent
High-plum'd ambition stalks about;
But fhould he enter, sweet content
Will give me warning-shut him out.
Perhaps the Mufe may pafs this way,
And tho' full oft I've bent the knee,
And long invok'd her magic fway,
Smit with the love of harmony;
Alone tho' fhe might please-yet ftill
I know she'll with ambition come;
With luft of fame my heart fhe'll fill,
She'll break my reft-I'm not at home.
There is a rafcal, old and hideous,
Who oft (and fometimes not in vain)
Close at my gate has watch'd affiduous,
In hopes he might admittance gain :
His name is care-if he fhould call,
Quick out of doors with vigour throw him,
And tell the miscreant once for all,
I know him not, I ne'er will know him.
Perhaps then Bacchus, foe to care,
May think he'll fure my favour win;
His promises of joy are fair,
But falfe-you must not let him in.
But welcome that sweet power! on whom
The young defires attendant move;
Still flush'd with beauty's vernal bloom,
Parent of bliss, the Queen of Love.
you will know her, she has stole
The luftre of my Delia's eye;.
Admit her, hail her-for my foul
Breathes double life when she is nigh.
If then ftern wisdom at my gate
Should knock, with all her formal train,
Tell her I'm bufy-she may wait,
Or, if the chooses-call again.
Charity-(The Slave Trade.)
EAV'N speed the canvass gallantly unfurl'd,
To furnish and accommodate a world;
To give the pole the produce of the sun,
And knit th' unsocial climates into one :-
Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave,
Impel the fleet whofe errand is to fave,
To fuccour wafted regions, and replace
The smile of opulence in forrow's face.
Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen,
Impede the bark that ploughs the deep ferene,
Charg'd with a freight transcending in its worth,
The gems of India, nature's rarest birth,
That flies like Gabriel on his Lord's commands;
An herald of God's love, to pagan lands.-
But ah! what wifh can profper, or what pray'r,
For merchants rich in cargoes of defpair,
Who drive a loathfome traffic, gauge, and span;
And buy the muscles and the bones of man?
The tender ties of father, hufband, friend,'
All bonds of nature in that moment end;
And each endures, while yet he draws his breath,
A ftroke as fatal as the fcythe of death.
The fable warrior, frantic with regret
Of her he loves, and never can forget,
Lofes in tears the far-receding fhore,
But not the thought that they must part no more;
Depriv'd of her and freedom at a blow,
What has he left that he can yet forego?
Yes, to deep fadness fullenly refign'd,
He feels his body's bondage in his mind,
Puts off his gen'rous nature, and, to fuit
His manners with his fate, puts on the brute
Oh moft degrading of all ills that wait
On man, a mourner in his best estate!
All other forrows virtue may endure,
And find fubmiffion more than half a cure;
Grief is itself a med'cine, and bestow'd
T'improve the fortitude that bears the load,
To teach the wand'rer, as his woes encrease,
The path of wisdom, all whofe paths are peace.
But flav'ry!-Virtue dreads it as her grave,
Patience itself is meannefs in a flave:
Or if the will and fovereignty of God
Bid fuffer it awhile, and kifs the rod,
Wait for the dawning of a brighter day,
And fnap the chain the moment when you may.
Nature imprints upon whate'er we see,
That has a heart and life in it-be free;
The beafts are charter'd-neither age nor force
Can quell the love of freedom in a horfe:
He breaks the cord that held him at the rack,
And, confcious of an unincun:ber'd back,
Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the reini,
Loofe fly his forelock and his ample mane;
Kefponfive to the diftant neigh he neighs,
Nor ftops, till, overleaping all delays,
He finds the pafture where his fellows graze.
Canft thou, and honor'd with a Christian name,
Buy what is woman-born, and feel no fhame ?
Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead
Expedience as a warrant for the deed?
may the wolf, whom famine has made bold
To quit the forest and invade the fold;
So may the ruffian, who with ghoftly glide,
Dagger in hand, fteals clofe to your bed-fide;
Not he, but his emergence forc'd the door,
He found it inconvenient to be poor.
Has God then giv'n its sweetness to the cane,
Unless its laws be trampled on-in vain ?
Built a brave world, which cannot yet fubfift,
Unless his right to rule it be dismiss'd ?
Impudent blafphemy! fo folly pleads,
And, av'rice being judge, with cafe fucceeds.
But grant the plea, and let it ftand for juft,
That man make man his prey, because he must,
Still there is room for pity to abate,
And foothe the forrows of fo fad a state.
A Briton knows, or if he knows it not,
The Scripture plac'd within his reach, he ought,
That fouls have no difcriminating hue,
Alike important in their Maker's view;
That none are free from blemish fince the fall,
And love divine has paid one price for all.
H
OW to live happieft; how avoid the pains,
The disappointments, and difgufts of those
Who would in pleasure all their hours employ;
The precepts here of a divine old man
I could recite. Tho' old, he still retain'd
His manly fenfe, and energy of mind.
Virtuous and wife he was, but not fevere;
He still remember'd that he once was young;
His easy prefence check'd no decent joy,
Him even the diffolute admir'd; for he
A graceful loofenefs when he pleas'd put on,
And laughing could inftruct. Much had he read,
Much more had feen; he ftudied from the life,
And in th' original perus'd mankind.
Vers'd in the woes and vanities of life,
He pitied man; And much he pitied thofe
Whom falfely-fmiling Fate has curs'd with means
To diffipate their days in queft of joy,
Our aim is Happiness; 'tis yours, 'tis mine,
He faid, 'tis the purfuit of all that live;
Yet few attain it, if 'twas e'er attain'd.
But they the wideft wander from the mark,
Who through the flow'ry paths of faunt'ring Joy
Seck this coy Goddefs; that from stage to ftage
Invites us ftill, but thifts as we pursue.
For, not to name the pains that pleasure brings
To counterpoise itself, relentless Fate
Forbids that we through gay voluptuous wilds
Should ever roam : And were the Fates more kind,
Our narrow luxuries would foon be ftale.
Were these exhauftlefs, Nature would grow fick,
And cloy'd with pleasure, fqueamishly complain
That all was vanity, and life a dream.
Let nature rest: Be busy even in vain
And for your friend; be bufy for yourself
Rather than teaze her fated appetites.
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