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Where no fair science ever shims her face,
Ft * sparks of genius and no spark of grace;
There sceptics rest, n still-increasing throng,
And itretch their widening wings ten thou-
sand strong:
Some in close fight their dubious claims

maintain;
Some alirmish lightly, fly and fight again;
Coldly profane, and impiously gay,
Their end the same, though various in their

way. When first Religion came to bless the land. Her friends were then a firm believing band; To doubt was, then, to plunge in guilt

extreme, And til was gospel that a monk could dream; knotted Keason fled the grov'ling soul, Far Fear to guide and visions to control: But now, when Reason has assumed her

throne, She, in her turn, demands to reign alone; Rejecting all that lies beyond her view, And, being judge, will be a witness too: Innilted Faith then leaves the doubtful mind. To terk for truth, without a power to find: Ah! when will both in friendly beams unite, And pour on erring man resistless light ¥

Neit to the seats, well stored with works divine, At ample space, I'iiilosdphy! is thine; Oor reason's guide, by whose assisting light We trace the moral bounds of wrong and

right; On guide through nature, from the sterile

c,av' To the bright orbs of yon celestial way! Tii thine, the great, the golden chain to

. trace,

Whieh runs through all, connecting race

with race; S»»e where those puzzling, stubborn links

. remain,

"hirh thy inferior light pursues in vain:— now fire and virtue in the soul contend; How widely differ, yet how nearly blend! "hat various passions war on either part, Atd now confirm, now melt the yielding

heart: ■low Fancy loves a round the world to stray, "hile Judgment slowly picks his sober way; •he ttores of memory, and the flights

sublime W Renins, hound by neither spacp nor time;— All these divine Philosophy explores. Till, lost in awe. she wonders and adores. From these, descending to the earth, she

turns, *»d nutter, in it* various form, discerns; *■» P»rt» the beamy light with skill ^^ profound,

"*w» the thin air, and weighs the flying

sound; Ti«her»,the lightning from the clouds In mil. And teach the fiery mischief where to fall.

Yet more her volumes teach,—on these we

look As abstracts drawn from Nature's larger

book: Here, first described, the torpid earth

appears, And next, the vegetable robe it wears; Where flow rv tribes, in valleys, fields and

groves, Nurse the still flame, and feed the silent

loves; Loves, where no grief, nor joy, nor bliss,

iiiir pain. Warm the glad heart or vex the labouring

brain; But as the green blood moves along the

blade, The bed of Flora on the brunch is made; Where, without passion, love instinctive

lives, And gives new life, unconscious that it gives. Advancing still in Nature's maze, we trace. In dens and burning plains, her savage race; With those tame tribes who on their lord

attend, And find, in man, a master and a friend: Man crowns the scene, a world of wonders

new, A moral world, that well demands our view. This world is here; for, of more lofty kind, These neighbouring volumes reason on the

mind; They paint the state of man ere yet endued With knowledge; — man, poor, ignorant,

and rude; Then, as his state improves, their pages

swell, And all its cares, and all its comforts, tell: Here we behold how inexperience buys, At little price, the wisdom of the wise; Without the troubles of an active state, Without the cares and dangers of the great. Without the miseries of the poor, we know What wisdom, wealth, and poverty bestow; We see how reason calms the raging mind, And how contending passions urge mankind: Some, won by virtue, glow with snered fire; Some, lured by vice, indulge the low desire; Whilst others, won by either, now purs us The guilty chase, now keep the good in view; For ever wretched, with themselves at strife, They lead a puzzled, ve.x'd, uncertain life; For "transient vice bequeaths a lingering

pain, Which transient virtue seeks to cure iu vain.

Whilst thus engaged, high views enlarge the soul. New interests draw, new principles control: Nor thus the soul alone resigns her grief, But here the tortured body finds relief; For sec where yonder sage Arachne shapes Her subtile gin, that not a fly escapes! There Physic fills the spare, and far around. Pile above pile, her learned works abound:

Glorious their aim—to ease the labouring

heart; To war with death, and stop his flying dnrt; To trace the source whence the fierce contest grew, And life's short lease on easier terms renew; To calm the frenzy of the burning brain; To heal the tortures of imploring pain; Or, when more powerful ills nil efforts brave, To ease the victim no device can save, And smooth the stormy passage to the grave. But man, who knows no good unmix'd and

pure, Oft finds a poison where he sought a cure; For grave deceivers lodge their labours here, And cloud the science they pretend to clear: Scourges for sin, the solemn tribe are sent; Like fire and storms, they call us to repent; But storms subside, and fires forget to rnge, These are eternal scourges of the age: 'Tis not enough that each terrific hand Spreads desolation round a guilty land; But, train'd to ill, and harden'd by its crimes, Their pen relentless kills through future

times. Say ye, who search these records of the dead, Who read huge works, to boast what ye

have read; Can nil the real knowledge ye possess, Or those (if such there arc) who more than

guess, Atone for each impostor's wild mistakes, And mend the blunders pride or folly makes? What thought so wild, what airy dream so

light, That will not prompt a theorist to write? What art so prevalent, what proof so strong, That will convince him his attempt is wrong? One in the solids finds each lurking ill, Nor grants the pnssive fluids power to kill; A learned friend some subtler reason brings. Absolves the channels, but condemns their

springs; The subtile nerves, that shun the doctor's

eye, Escape no more his subtler theory; The vital heat, that warms the labouring

heart, Lends a fair system to these sons of art; The vital air, a pure and subtile stream, Serves a foundation for an airy scheme, Assists the doctor, and supports his dream. Some have their favourite ills, and each

disease Is but a younger branch that kills from

these: One to the gout contracts all human pain, He views it raging in the frantic brain; Finds it in fever* all his efforts mar, And sees it lurking in the cold catarrh: Bilions by some, by others nervous seen, Bage the fantastic demons of the spleen; And every symptom of the strange disease With every system of the sage agrees. Ye frigid tribe, on whom I wasted long The tedious hours, and ne'ar indulged in song;

Ye first seducers of my easy heart.

Who promised knowledge ye could not

impart; Ye dull delnders, truth's destructive foes; Ye sons of fiction, clad in stupid prose; Ye treacherous leaders, who, yourselves in

doubt. Light up false fires, and send us far about;— Still may yon spider round your pages spin, Subtile and slow, her emblematic gin! Buried in dust and lost in silence, dwell. Most potent, grave, and reverend friends—

farewell!

Near these, and where the setting inn

displays, Through the dim window, his departing rays, And gilds yon columns, there, on either side, The huge abridgments of the Law abide; Fruitful as vice the dread correctors stand. And spread their guardian terrors round

the land; Yet, as the best that human care can do. Is mix'd with error, oft with evil too, Skill'd in deceit, and practised to evade. Knaves stand secure, for whom these laws

were made; And justice vainly each expedient tries. While art eludes it, or while power defies. Ah! happy age, the youthful poet sings. When the free nations knew not laws nor

kings; When all were blest to Bliarc a common

store, And none were proud of wraith, for none

were poor; No wars, nor tumults vex'd each still domain No thirst of empire, no desire of gain; No proud great man, nor one who would be

great, Drove modest merit from its proper state; Nor into distant climes would avarice roam. To fetch delights for luxury at home: Bound by no ties which kept the sonl in awe. They dwelt nt liberty, and love was law !— Mistaken youth! each nation first was rode. Each man a cheerless son of solitude. To whom no joys of social life were knowa. None felt a care that was not all his own; Or in some languid clime his abject soul Bow'd to a little tyrant's stern control; A slave, with slaves his monarch's throne

he raised. And in rude song his ruder idol praiard; The menner cares of life were all he knnr; Bounded his pleasures, and his wishrs I i ■■■: But when by slow degrees the Arts arose. And Science waken'd from her long re-posr; When Commerce, rising from the bed of raw. Ban round the land, and pointed to tlir seas; When Emulation, born with jealous rye, And Avarice, lent their spurs to industry; Then one by one the numerous lawa wer»

made. Those to control, and these to succour traeV

To curb the insolence of rude cominnnd,
To snatch the victim from the usurer's hand;
To Rwe the bold, to yield the wrong'd redress,
And feed the poor with Luxury's excess.
Lilre gome vast flood, unbounded, fierce, and

strong, lli« nature leads ungovcrn'd man along; Lite mighty bulwarks, made to stem that

tide, The laws arc form'd and placed on ev'ry side: Whene'er it breaks the bounds by these

decreed, New statutes rise, and stronger laws succeed; More and more gentle grows the dying

stream, More and more strong the rising bulwarks

seem; Till, lite a miner working sure and slow, Lmury creeps on, and ruins all below; The basis sinks, the ample piles decay; The stately fabric shakes and falls away; Primeval want and ignorance come on, But freedom, that exalts the savage state,

is gone.

Next, History ranks;—there full in front

she lies, And every nation her dread tale supplies; let History has her doubts, and every age nithsceptic queries marks the passing page } Records of old nor later date are clear, Too distant those, and these are placed too

near; There time conceals the objects from our

view, Here our own passions and a writer's too: let, in these volumes, see how states arose! (■narded by virtue from surrounding foes; Their virtue lost, and of their trinmphs vain, Lo! how they sunk to slavery again! Satiate with power, of fame and wealth

possess'd, A nation grows too glorious to be blest; l"««pirnnusmade, she stands the mark of all, And foes join foes to triumph in her fall. This speaks the page that paints ambition's

race, The monarch's pride, his glory, his disgrace; The headlong coarse that mndd'ning heroes

run, How soon triumphant and how soon undone; TM«w slaves, turn'il tyrants, offer crowns to

sale, And each fall'n nation's melancholy tale.

Lo! where of late the Book of Martyrs stood, Old pious tracts, and Bibles bound in wood; There, such the taste of our degenerate age, Stand the profnne delusions of the Stack: Yet virtue owns the Tragic Muse a friend, 'able her means, morality her end; For this she rules all passions in their turns. And now the bosom bleeds, and now it burns;

Pity with weeping eye surveys her bowl. Her anger swells, her terror chills the soul; She makes the vile to virtue yield applause, And own her sceptre while they break her

laws; For vice in others is abhorr'd of all. And villains triumph when the worthless fall.

Not thus her sister Comedy prevnils, Who shoots at folly, for her arrow fails; Folly, by dulness arm'd, eludes the wound, And harmless sees the fcather'd shafts

rebound; Unhurt she stands,applauds the archer's skill, Laughs nt her malice, and is folly still. Yet well the Muse portrays in fancied scenes, What pride will stoop to, what profession

means; How formal fools the farce of state applaud; Haw caution watches at the lips of fraud; The wordy variance of domestic life; The tyrant husband, the retorting wife; The snares for innocence, the lie of trade, And the smooth tongue's habitual masquerade. With her the virtues too obtain n place, Each gentle passion, each becoming grace; The social joy in life's securer road. Its easy pleasure, its substantial good; The happy thought that conscious virtue

gives, And all that ought to live, and all that lives.

But who are these? Methinks a noble

mien And awful grandeur in their form are seen, Now in disgrace: what though by time is

spread Polluting dust o'er every reverend head; What though beneath yon gilded tribe they

lie, And dull observers pass insulting by: Forbid it shame, forbid it decent awe, What seems so grave, should no attention

draw! Come, let us then with reverend step advance, And greet—the ancient worthies of Romance. Hence, ye profane! I feel n former dread, A thousand visions float around my head: Hark! hollow blasts through empty courts

resound, And shadowy forms with staring eyes stalk

round; See! moats and bridges, walls and castles

rise, Ghosts, fairies, demons, dance before our

eyes; Lo' magic Terse inscribed on golden gate, And bloody hand that beckons on to fate:— And who art thou, thou little page, unfold? Say, doth thy lord my Claribel withhold? Go' tell him straight, Sir Knight, thou must

resign The captive queen ;—for Claribel is mine. Away he flies; and now for bloody deeds, Black suits of armour, masks, and foaming

steeds; The giant falls; his rcrreant throat I seize, And from his corslet take the massy keys:— Dukes, lords, and knights in long procession

move, Released from bondage with my virginlove:— She comes! she comes! in nil the charms of

youth, Uncquall'd love and unsuspected truth! Ah! happy he who thus, in magic themes. O'er worlds bewitch'd, in early rapture

dreams, Where wild Enchantment waves her potent

wand, And Fancy's beauties fill her fairy-land; Where doubtful objects strange desires

excite. And Fear and Ignorance afTord delight. But lost, for ever lost, to me these joys, Which Reason scatters, and which Time

destroys; Too dearly bought: maturer judgment calls My busied mind from talcs and madrigals; My doughty giants all arc slain or fled. And all my knights, blue, green, and yellow,

dead! No more the midnight fairy-tribe I view, All in the merry moonshine tippling dew; E'en the last lingering fiction of the brain, The church-yard-ghost, is now at rest again; And all these wayward wanderings of my

youth Fly Reason's power and shun the light of

Truth. With fiction then docs real joy reside, And is our reason the delusive guide? Is it then right to dream the syrens sing? Or mount enraptured on the dragon's wing? No, 'tis the infant mind, to care unknown, Thnt makes th' imagined paradise its own; Soon as reflections in the bosom rise. Light slumbers vanish from the clonded

eyes: The tear and smile, that once together rose, Arc then divorced; the head and heart are

foes: Enchantment bows to Wisdom's serious plan, And Pain and Prudence make and mar the

While thus, of power and fancied empire

vain, With various thoughts my mind I entertain; While books, my slaves, with tyrant hand

I seize, Pleased with the pride that will not let

them please; Sudden I find terrific thoughts arise, And sympathetic sorrow fills my eyes; For, lo! while yet my heart admits the

wound, I sec the ('tunc army ranged around.

Foes to our race! if ever ye have known
A father's fears for offspring of your own;—
If ever, smiling o'er a lucky line,
Ye thought the sudden sentiment divine.
Then paused and doubted, and then, tired

of doubt.
With rage as sudden dash'd the stanza out;—
If, after fearing much and pausing long.
Ye ventured on the world your labour'd

song, And from the crusty critics of those days Implored the feeble tribute of their praise: Remember now the fears that moved you

then. And, spite of truth, let mercy guide your pen. What vent'rous race are ours! what mighty

foes Lie waiting all around them to oppose! What treacherous friends betray them to

the fight! What dangers threaten them!—yet still they

write: A hapless tribe! to every evil born. Whom villains hate, and fools affect to scorn: Strangers they come, amid a world of wo. And taste the largest portion ere they go.

Pensive I spoke, and cast mine eyes

around; The roof, mcthought, return'd n solrmn

sound; Each column seem'd to shake, and clouds,

like smoke. From dusty piles nnd ancient volumes broke; Gathering above, like mists condensed they

seem, Exhaled in summer from the rushy stream; Like flowing robes they now appearand tw in<Round the large members of a form divine; His silver beard, that swept his aged breast. His piercing eye, that inward light express^. Were seen,—but clouds and darkness veil'd

the rest. Fearchill'd my heart: to one of mortal race. How awful seem'd the Genius of the place! So in Cimmerian shores Ulysses saw His pnrent-shade, and shrunk in pious awe; Like him I stood, and wrapt in thought

profound. When from the pitying power broke forth

a solemn sound :—

Care lives with all; no rules, no prvc-e-pta

save The wise from wo, no fortitude the brave; Grief is to man as certain as the grave: Tempests and storms in life's w hole progress

rise. And hope shines dimly through o'crrloaded

skies; Some drops of comfort on the favoured Tall. But showers of sorrow are the lot of oft • Partial totalents.then,shallHeav'n nitlirfri* Th' afflicting rod, or break the general law * Shall he who soars, inspired by loftier

view*, IJk't little cares and little pains refuse'( Shall he not rather feel a double share Of mortal wo, when doubly arm'd to bear? Hard is hia fate who builds his peace of mind "n the precarious mercy of mankind; Who hopes for wild and v isionary things, And mounts o'er unknown seas with vent'rous

wings: linl as. of various evils that befal Thr human rare, sonic portion goes to all; To him perhaps the milder lot's assign'd, Who feels his consolation in his mind; And, loil'il within his bosom, bears about A mental charm for every care without. '. TM in the pangs of each domestic grief. Or health or vigorous hope affords relief; And every wound the tortured bosom feels, Or virtue bears, or some preserver heals; Some generous friend, of ample power

possess'd; Some feeling heart, that bleeds for the

distress'd; Some breast that glows with virtues all

divine; Some noble RUTLAND, Misery's friend and

thine.

Nor say, the Muse's song, the Poet's pen.
Merit the scorn they meet from little men.
With cautious freedom if the numbers flow.
Not wildly high, nor pitifully low;
If vice alone their honest aims oppose,
Why so ashamed their friends, so loud their

foes?
Happy for men in every age and clime,
If all the sons of vision dealt in rhyme.
Go on then, Son of Vision! still pursue
Thy airy dreams; the world is dreaming too.
Ambition's lofty views, the pomp of state.
The pride of wealth, the splendour of the

great, Stripp'd of their mask, their cares and

troubles known. Are visions far less happy than thy own: Go on! and, while the sons of care complain, Be wisely gay and innocently vain; While serious souls are by their fears

undone, Blow sportive bladders in the beamy snn, And rail them worlds! and bid the greatest

show More radiant colours in their worlds below: Then, as they break, the slaves of care

reprove. And tell them: Such are all the toys they love.

THE NEWSPAPER.

K •aibn*. bi vaenas implent aermnnilnix anres,
Hi aarrau feront alio: Meoeuraque ficti
1 ';-<-it. et suditis atiquid novoa adjicil auctor:
Ulic I'reJulieas. illic temerariim Error,
Woaqoe LaHitia est, cormteroatique Timorea,
'Vdin'iMjoe recess, dubioque auctore Saonrri.
Ovid. Melamorph. in.

'ruts like this, a busy, bustling time, Slits ill with writers, very ill with rhyme: I "heard we sing, when party-rage runs , .' strong,

And mightier madness checks the flowing

A , ,onK:

«'• should we force the peaceful Muse to

wield "'' feeble arms amid the furious field, Where party-pens a wordy war maintain, Pur is her anger, and her friendship vain; Aad aft the foes, who feel her sting, combine, Till serisns vengeance pays an' idle line; 1 ■"■ party-poets are like wasps, who dart "rath to themselves, and to their foes but

smart, "ard then our fate: if general themes we

choose, s ■ - In t awaits the aong, and chills the Muse;

Or should we sing the subject of the day, To-morrow's wonder piifls our praise away. More blest the bards of that poetic time, When all found readers who could find a

rhyme; Green grew the bays on every teeming head, And Cibber was enthroned, and Settle readSing, drooping Muse,the cause of thy decline; Why reign no more the once-triumphant

Nine? Alas! new charms the wav ering many gain, And rival sheets the reader's eye detain; A daily swarm, that banish every Muse, Come flying forth, and mortals call them

News: For these, unread, the noblest volumes lie; For these, in sheets unsoil'd, the Muses die; Unbought, unblcst, the virgin copies wait In vain for fame, and sink, unseen, to fate. Since, then, the town forsakes us for our foes, The smoothest numbers for the harshest

prose; Let us, with generous scorn, the taste deride, And sing our rivals with a rival's pride. Ye gentle poets, who so oft complain That foul neglect is all your labours gain;

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