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To the Rev. Mr. Newton, on his return from Kamsgate,
etical epistle to Lady Austen,
Seng, written at the request of Lady Austen,
Verses from a poem entitled Valediction,
Epitaph on Johnson,
To Miss C, on her birth-day,
A. YOU told me, I remember, glory, built On selfish principles, is shame and guilt; The deeds that men admire as half divine, Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears The laurel, that the very lightning spares; Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, And eats into his bloody sword like rust.
B. I grant that, men continuing what they are, Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war; And never meant the rule should be applied To him that fights with justice on his side.
Let laurels, drenched in pure Parnassian dews Reward his memory, dear to every muse, Who, with a courage of unshaken root, In Honour's field advancing his firm foot, Plants it upon the line that Justice draws, And will prevail or perish in her cause. "Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes His portion in the good that heaven bestows. And when recording History displays
Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days, Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died, Where duty placed them at their country's side;
The man, that is not moved with what he reads,
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave,
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
But let eternal infamy pursue
The wretch to naught but his ambition true,
Who, for the sake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself stationed on a towering rock,
To see a people scattered like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the savage thirst a tiger feels;
Then view him self-proclaimed in a gazette
Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet;
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced,
Those ensigns of dominion, how disgraced!
The glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And Death's own scythe, would better speak his pow'r
Then grace the bony phantom in their stead
With the king's shoulder-knot and gay cockade
Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress,
The same their occupation and success.
A. "Tis your belief the world was made for man;
Kings do but reason on the self-same plan :
Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn,
Who think, or seem to think, man made for them.
B. Seldom, alas! the power of logic reigns
With much sufficiency in roya' brains;
Such reasoning falls like an inverted cone,
Wanting its proper base to stand upon.
Man made for kings! those optics are but dim,
That tell you so-say, rather, they for him.
That were indeed a king-ennobling thought,
Could they, or would they, reason as they ought.
The diadem, with mighty projects lined,
To catch renown by ruining mankind,
Is worth, with all its gold and glittering store,
Just what the toy will sell for, and no more.
Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good,
How seldom used, how little understood!
To pour in Virtue's lap her just reward;
Keep Vice restrained behind a double guard;
To quell the faction, that affronts the throne,
By silent magnanimity alone;
To nurse with tender care the thriving arts;
Watch every beam Philosophy imparts;
To give Religion her unbridled scope,
Nor judge by statute a believer's hope;
With close fidelity and love unfeigned,
To keep the matrimonial bond unstained;
Covetous only of a virtuous praise;
His life a lesson to the land he sways;
To touch the sword with conscientious awe,
Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw;
To sheathe it in the peace-restoring close
With joy beyond what victory bestows;-
Blest country, where these kingly glories shine!
Blest England, if this happiness be thine!
A. Guard what you say, the patriotic tribe
Will sneer, and charge you with a bribe-
B. A bribe?
The worth of his three kingdoms I defy,
To lure me to the baseness of a lie:
And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast,)
The lie that flatters I abhor the most.
Those arts be theirs, who hate his gentle reign;
But he that loves him has no need to feign.
A. Your smooth eulogium to one crown addrest, Seems to imply a censure on the rest.
B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, Asked, when in hell, to see the royal jail; Approved their method in all other things: But where, good sir, do you confine your kings? There said his guide-the group is full in view. Indeed ?-replied the don-there are but few. His black interpreter the charge disdained