Like his to shed illuminating rays

On ev'ry scene and subject it surveys:

Thus grac'd, the man asserts a poet's name,

And the world cheerfully admits the claim.

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Pity Religion has so seldom found

A skilful guide into poetick ground!

The flow'rs would spring where'er she deign'd to stray

And ev'ry muse attend her in her way.

Virtue indeed, meets many a rhyming friend,

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And many a compliment politely penn'd;

But, unattir'd in that becoming vest.
Religion weaves for her, and half undress'd,
Stands in the desert, shiv'ring and forlorn,
A wintry figure, like a wither'd thorn.

The shelves are full, all other themes are sped;
Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread,
Satire has long since done his best; and curst
And loathsome ribaldry has done,his worst;
Fancy has sported all her pow'rs away
In tales, in trifles, and in children's play;

Am

is the sad complaint, and almost true,

Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new.
Twere new indeed to see a bard all fire,

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730

Touch'd with a coal from Heav'n, assume the lyre, 735
And tell the world, still kindling as he sung,
With more than mortal musick on his tongue,
That He, who died below, and reigns above,
Inspires the song, and that his name is Love.

For, after all, if merely to beguile,

By flowing numbers, and a flow'ry style,
The tedium that the lazy rich endure,

Which now and then sweet poetry may cure

Or, if to see the name of idle self,

740

Stamp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf, 745

To float a bubble on the breath of Fame,

Prompt his endeavour and engage his aim,

Debas'd to servile purposes of pride,

The gift whose office is the Giver's praise,

To trace him in his word, his works, his ways!

Then spread the rich discov'ry, and invito
Mankind to share in the divine delight,
Distorted from its 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-

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75

Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind.

759

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

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

[Amen.

If acrimony, slander, and abuse,

Give it a charge to blacken and traduce ;

Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's case,
With all that fancy can invent to please,
Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall,
One madrigal of theirs is worth them all.

4. "Twould thin the ranks of the poetick tribe,

To dash the pen through all that you proscribe.

765

B. No matter we could shift when they were not; And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot.

771

THE

PROGRESS OF ERROUR.

Si quid loquar audiendum....Hor. Lib. iv. 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, 5
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.

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 soporifick on the listless ear;

10

15

20

Like quicksilver, the rhet'rick 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,

25

Man may improve the crisis or abuse;

Else on the fatalist's unrighteous plan,

Say to what bar amenable were man?

With nought in charge he could betray no trust;

And, if he fell, would fall because he must:

30

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, 35 As Reason, or as Passion takes the reins.

Heav'n from above, and Conscience from within,

-Abstain from sin!

Cries in his startled ear

The world around solicits his desire,
And kindles in his soul a treach'rous fire;
While, all his purposes and steps to guard,
Peace follows Virtue as its sure reward;
And Pleasure brings as surely in her train
Remorse, and Sorrow, and vindictive Pain.

Man, thus endu'd 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 shows, and virtue is the price.

Here various motives his ambition raise

Pow'r, pomp, and splendour, and the thirst of praise. There Beauty woos him with expanded arms;

E'en Bacchanalian madness has its 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 th' 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 soothes the midnight hour!
Long ere the charioteer of day had run
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,

70

"That Virtue points to? Can a life thus spent Lead to the bliss she promises the wise,

Detach the soul from earth, and speed her to the skic«>

Ye devotees to your ador'd employ,

75

Enthusiasts, drunk with an unreal joy,

Love makes the musick of the blest above,

Heav'n's harmony is universal love;

And earthly sounds, tho' sweet and well combin'd,

And lenient as soft opiates to the mind,

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Leave Vice and Folly unsubdu'd behind.

Gray dawn appears; the sportsman and his train Speckle the bosom of the distant plain;

'Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighb'ring lairs;
Save that his scent is less acute than theirs,
For persevering chase, and headlong leaps,
True beagle as the stanchest hound he keeps.
Charg'd with the folly of his life's mad scene,
He takes offence, and wonders what you mean
The joy the danger and the toil o'erpays—
'Tis exercise, and health, and length of days.
Again impetuous to the field he flies;
Leaps ev'ry fence, but one, there falls and dies;
Like a slain deer, the tumbrel brings him home,
Unmiss'd but by his dogs and by his groom.

Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place,
Lights of the world, and stars of human race;
But if eccentrick ye forsake your sphere,
Prodigies ominous, and view'd with fear;
The comet's baneful influence is a dream;
Yours real and pernicious in th' extreme.
What then!—are appetites and lusts laid down
With the same ease that man puts on his gown?

100