May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend A. Patriots, alas! the few that have been found, 335 340 345 350 Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke. 355 360 So Gideon earn'd a victory not his own; Poor England! thou art a devoted deer, Beset with every ill but that of fear. Thee nations hunt; all mark thee for a prey; They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay 365 Undaunted still, though wearied and perplex'd, Once Chatham sav'd thee; but who saves thee next? Alas! the tide of pleasure sweeps along All, that should be the boast of British song. 'Tis not the wreath, that once adorn'd thy brow, 370 Confes'd a God; they kneel'd before they fought, Courage ungrac'd by these, affronts the skies, Is but the fire without the sacrifice. 375 The stream, that feeds the well-spring of the heart, 380 Than Virtue quickens with a warmth divine A. Th' inestimable Estimate of Brown 385 B. And yet his judgment was not fram'd amiss; 390 Its errour, if it err'd, was merely this He thought the dying hour already come, And a complete recov'ry struck him dumb. But that effeminacy, folly, lust, Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must; There is a time and Justice marks the date, 395 400 405 Tis not, however, insolence and noise, Nor is it yet despondence and dismay 410 Will win her visits, or engage her stay; Pray'r only, and the penitential tear, Can call her smiling down, and fix her here But when a country, (one that I could name,) In prostitution sinks the sense of shame; 415 When infamous Venality, grown bold, Writes on his bosom, To be let or sold; Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made, 420 When Av'rice starves, (and never hides his face,) And not a tongue inquires, how, where, or when, Though conscience will have twinges now and then ;' When profanation of the sacred cause, 426 In all its parts, times, ministry, and laws, Bespeaks a land, once Christian, fall'n and lost, In all, but wars against that title most; What follows next let cities of great name, 430 And regions long since desolate, proclaim. Nineveh, Babylon, and ancient Rome, Speak to the present times, and times to come; They cry aloud in ev'ry careless ear, Stop while you may; suspend your mad career; 435 O learn from our example and our fate, Learn wisdom and repentance ere too late. Not only Vice disposes and prepares The mind, that slumbers sweetly in her snares, To stoop to Tyranny's usurp'd command, 440 To throw his dark displeasure o'er the scene 445 All are his instruments; each form of war, The storms that overset the joys of life, Are but his rods to scourge a guty land, 450 And waste it at the bidding of his hand. He gives the word, and Mutiny soon roars In all her gates, and shakes her distant shores; The standards of all nations are unfurl'd; She has one foe, and that one foe the world. 455 And, if he doom that people with a frown, And mark them with a seal of wrath press'd down, Obduracy takes place : callous and tough, The reprobated race grows judgment proof; Earth shakes beneath them, and Heav'n roars above; 460 But nothing scares them from the course they love. To the lascivious pipe and wanton song, That charm down fear, they frolick it along, With mad rapidity and unconcern, Down to the gulf, from which is no return. 465 470 When He commands, in whom they place no trust. Vengeance at last pours down upon their coast A long despis'd, but now victorious, host; Tyranny sends the chain, that must abridge The noble sweep of all their privilege; 475 4. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach, Mean you to prophesy, or but to preach? B. I know the mind that feels indeed the fire 430 The muse imparts, and can command the lyre, If human woes her soft attention claim, Along the nerves of every feeling line. Fire indignation and a sense of scorn, 435 The strings are swept with such a pow'r so loud, 490 The storm of musick shakes th' astonish'd crowd. So, when remote futurity is brought Before the keen inquiry of her thought, A terrible sagacity informs The poet's heart; he looks to distant storms; 495 He hears the thunder ere the tempest low'rs; And, arm'd with strength surpassing human pow'rs, And darts his soul into the dawning plan. Hence in a Roman mouth, the grace.ul name 500 Of prophet and of poet was the same; Hence, British poets, too, the priesthood shar'd, And every hallow'd druid was a bard. But no prophetick fires to me belong; I play with syllables, and sport in song. 505 A. At Westminster, where little poets strive To set a distich upon six and five, Where Discipline helps th' op'ning buds of sense, And makes his pupils proud with silver pence, I was a poet too: but modern taste 510 Is so refin'd, and delicate, and chaste, That verse, whatever fire the fancy warms, 515 B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit, 520 |