Графични страници
PDF файл
ePub

To' enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause,
Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey!
Lands intersected by a narrow frith,
Abhor each other. Mountains interpos'd
Make enemies of nations, who had else,
Like kindred drops, been mingled into one.
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys;
And, worse than all, and most to be deplor'd,
As human nature's broadest, foulest blot.

Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat
With stripes, that mercy, with a bleeding heart,
Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast!
Then what is man? And what man seeing this,
And having human feelings, does not blush
And hang his head, to think himself a man?
I would not have a slave to till my ground,
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep,
And tremble while I wake, for all the wealth
That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd.
No: dear as freedom is, and, in my heart's
Just estimation, priz'd above all price,
I had much rather be myself the slave,
And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him.
We have no slaves at home-then why abroad?
And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave
That parts us, are emancipate and loosed.
Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs
Receive our air, that moment they are free;
They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud
And jealous of the blessing, Spread it then,
And let it circulate through every vein
Of all your empire, that where Britain's power
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.

Cowper.

VICE AND VIRTUE.

FOOLS but too oft into the notion fall,
That Vice or Virtue there is none at all.
If white and black blend, soften, and unite
A thousand ways, is there no black or white?
Ask your own heart, and nothing is so plain;
"Tis to mistake them costs the time and pain.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated, needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

But where the extreme of Vice, was ne'er agreed:
Ask where's the North? at York 'tis on the Tweed;
In Scotland, at the Orcades; and there,

At Greenland, Zembla, or I know not where.
No creature owns it in the First degree,

But thinks his neighbour farther gone than he;
E'en those who dwell beneath its very zone,
Or never feel the rage, or never own:
What happier natures shrink at with affright,
The hard inhabitant contends is right.

Virtuous and vicious every man must be,
Few in the' extreme, but all in the degree;
The rogue and fool by fits are fair and wise;
And e'en the best, by fits, what they despise.
'Tis but by parts we follow good or ill;
For, Vice or Virtue, Self directs it still;
Each individual seeks a several goal;

But Heaven's great view is One, and that the Whole.

Pope.

.

To' enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause,
Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey!
Lands intersected by a narrow frith,
Abhor each other. Mountains interpos'd
Make enemies of nations, who had else,
Like kindred drops, been mingled into one.
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys;
And, worse than all, and most to be deplor'd,
As human nature's broadest, foulest blot.
Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat
With stripes, that mercy, with a bleeding heart,
Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast!
Then what is man? And what man seeing this,
And having human feelings, does not blush
And hang his head, to think himself a man?
I would not have a slave to till my ground,
To carry me, to fan me while I sleep,
And tremble while I wake, for all the wealth
That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd.
No: dear as freedom is, and, in my heart's
Just estimation, priz'd above all price,
I had much rather be myself the slave,
And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him.
We have no slaves at home-then why abroad?
And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave
That parts us, are emancipate and loosed.
Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs
Receive our air, that moment they are free;
They touch our country, and their shackles fall.
That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud
And jealous of the blessing, Spread it then,
And let it circulate through every vein
Of all your empire, that where Britain's power
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.

Cowper.

VICE AND VIRTUE.

FOOLS but too oft into the notion fall,
That Vice or Virtue there is none at all.
If white and black blend, soften, and unite
A thousand ways, is there no black or white?
Ask your own heart, and nothing is so plain;
"Tis to mistake them costs the time and pain.

Vice is a monster of so frightful mien,
As to be hated, needs but to be seen;
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face,
We first endure, then pity, then embrace.

But where the extreme of Vice, was ne'er agreed:
Ask where's the North? at York 'tis on the Tweed;
In Scotland, at the Orcades; and there,

At Greenland, Zembla, or I know not where.
No creature owns it in the First degree,

But thinks his neighbour farther gone than he;
E'en those who dwell beneath its very zone,
Or never feel the rage, or never own:
What happier natures shrink at with affright,
The hard inhabitant contends is right.

Virtuous and vicious every man must be,
Few in the' extreme, but all in the degree;
The rogue and fool by fits are fair and wise;
And e'en the best, by fits, what they despise.
'Tis but by parts we follow good or ill;
For, Vice or Virtue, Self directs it still;
Each individual seeks a several goal;

But Heaven's great view is One, and that the Whole.

Pope.

THE UNREASONABLENESS OF DENYING A FUTURE STATE.

SCEPTIC! who'er thou art, who say'st the soul,
That particle divine, which God's own breath
Inspir'd into the mortal mass, shall rest
Annihilate, till duration has unroll'd
Her never-ending line: tell, if thou know'st,
Why ev'ry nation, ev'ry clime, though all
In laws, in rites, and manners disagree,
With one consent expect another world,
Where wickedness shall weep? Why Painim bards,
Fabled Elysian plains, Tartarean lakes,
Styx and Cocytus? Tell why Hali's sons
Have feign'd a paradise of mirth and love,
Banquets and blooming nymphs? Or rather, tell,
Why on the brink of Orellana's stream,
Where never science rear'd her sacred torch,
The' untutor❜d Indian dreams of happier worlds
Behind the cloud-topt hill? Why in each breast
Is plac'd a friendly monitor, that prompts,
Informs, directs, encourages, forbids?
Tell why on unknown evil grief attends;
Or joy on secret good? Why conscience acts
With tenfold force, when sickness, age, or pain,
Stands tottering on the precipice of death?
Or why such horror gnaws the guilty soul
Of dying sinners; while the good man sleeps
Peaceful and calm, and with a smile expires?

« ПредишнаНапред »