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Distorted from it's use and just design,
To make the pitiful possessor shine,
To purchase, at the fool-frequented fair
Of Vanity, a wreath for self to wear,
Is profanation of the basest kind-

Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind.

A. Hail Sternhold, then; and Hopkins, hail!

B. Amen.

If flatt'ry, folly, lust, employ the pen;

If acrimony, slander, and abuse,

Give it a charge to blacken and traduce;

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Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's ease,
With all that fancy can invent to please,
Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall,

One madrigal of theirs is worth them all.

A. "Twould thin the ranks of the poetic tribe,

To dash the pen through all that you proscribe. B. No matter we could shift when they were

not;

And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot.

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THE

PROGRESS OF ERROUR.

Si quid loquar audiendum.-HOR. Lib. 4, Od. 2.

SING, muse (if such a theme, so dark, so long,
May find a muse to grace it with a song)
By what unseen and unsuspected arts

The serpent Errour twines round human hearts;
Tell where she lurks, beneath what flow'ry shades,
That not a glimpse of genuine light pervades,
The pois'nous, black, insinuating worm
Successfully conceals her loathsome form.
Take, if ye can, ye careless and supine,
Counsel and caution from a voice like mine!
Truths, that the theorist could never reach,
And observation taught me, I would teach.

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Not all, whose eloquence the fancy fills,
Musical as the chime of tinkling rills,
Weak to perform, though mighty to pretend,
Can trace her mazy windings to their end;
Discern the fraud beneath the specious lure,
Prevent the danger, or prescribe the cure.
The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear,
Falls soporific on the listless ear;

Like quicksilver, the rhet'ric they display

Shines as it runs, but grasp'd at slips away.

Plac'd for his trial, on this bustling stage,
From thoughtless youth to ruminating age,
Free in his will to choose or to refuse,
Man may improve the crisis or abuse;
Else, on the fatalist's unrighteous plan,

Say to what bar amenable were man?

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With nought in charge, he could betray no trust;
And, if he fell, would fall because he must;
If Love reward him, or if Vengeance strike,
His recompense is both unjust alike.

Divine authority within his breast

Brings ev'ry thought, word, action, to the test;

Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains, As reason, or as passion, takes the reins.

Heav'n from above, and Conscience from within, Cries in his startled ear-Abstain from sin!

The world around solicits his desire,

And kindles in his soul a treach'rous fire;

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While, all his purposes and steps to guard,
Peace follows virtue as it's sure reward;
And Pleasure brings as surely in her train
Remorse, and Sorrow, and Vindictive Pain.

Man, thus endued with an elective voice,
Must be supplied with objects of his choice;
Where'er he turns, enjoyment and delight,
Or present, or in prospect, meet his sight;
Those open on the spot their honey'd store;
These call him loudly to pursuit of more.
His unexhausted mine the sordid vice
Avarice shews, and virtue is the price.

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Here various motives his ambition raise

Pow'r, pomp, and splendour, and the thirst of praise; There Beauty wooes him with expanded arms; Ev'n bacchanalian madness has it's charms.

Nor these alone, whose pleasures less refin'd Might well alarm the most unguarded mind, Seek to supplant his inexperienc'd youth, Or lead him devious from the path of truth; Hourly allurements on his passions press, Safe in themselves, but dang'rous in the excess. Hark! how it floats upon the dewy air!

O what a dying, dying close was there!

'Tis harmony from yon sequester'd bow'r,

Sweet harmony, that sooths the midnight hour! Long ere the charioteer of day had run

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His morning course, th' enchantment was begun; And he shall gild yon mountain's height again, Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain.

Is this the rugged path, the steep ascent,

That Virtue points to? Can a life thus spent

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