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And conscious of the outrage he commits, To want of judgment than to wrong design, Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn.
So in the chapel of old Ely House, Distinguished much by reason, and still more
When wandering Charles, who meant to be the By our capacity of grace divine,
third, From creatures, that exist but for our sake,
Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, Which, having served us, perish, we are held
The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce, Accountable; and God some future day
And eke did rear right merrily, two staves, Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse Sung to the praise and glory of King George! Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust.
-Man praises man; and Garrick's memory next, Superior as we are, they yet depend
When time had somewhat mellowed it, and made Not more on human help than we on theirs
The idol of our worship while he lived
Shall have its altar; and the world shall go
In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. That man's attainments in his own concerns,
The theatre too small shall suffocate Matched with th' expertness of the brutes in Its squeczed contents, and more than it admits theirs,
Shall sigh, at their exclusion, and return Are ofttimes vanquished, and thrown far behind. Ungratified: for there some noble lord Some show that nice sngacity of smell,
Shall stuff his shoulders with king Richard's And read with such discernment, in the port
bunch, And figure of the man, his secret aim,
Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak, That oft we owe our safety to a skill
And strut and storm, and straddle, stamp and We could not teach, and must despair to learn; stare, But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop
To show the world how Garrick did not act, To quadruped instructers, many a good
For Garrick was a worshipper himself; And useful quality, and virtue too,
He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites Rarely exemplified among ourselves;
And solemn ceremonials of the day, Attachment never to be wcaned, or changed And called the world to worship on the banks By any change of fortune; proof alike
Of Avon, famed in song. Ah, pleasant proof Against unkindness, absence, and neglect; That piety has still in human hearts Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat
Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. Can move or warp; and gratitude for small The mulberry-tree was hung with blooming And trivial favours, lasting as the life,
wreaths; And glistening even in the dying eye.
The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance; Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms The mulberry-tree was hymned with dulcet airs; Wins public honour; and ten thousand sit And from his touchwood trunk the mulberry-tree Patiently present at a sacred song,
Supplied such relics as devotion holds Commemoration-mad; content to hear
Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. (O wonderful effect of music's power!)"
So 'twas a hallowed tiine: decorum reigned, Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake.
And mirth without offence. No few returned, But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve- Doubtless, much edified, and all refreshed.(For, was it less, what heathen would have dared Man praises man. The rabble all alive To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath, From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, And hang it up in honour of a man?)
Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, Much less might serve, when all that we design A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes. Is but to gratify an itching ear,
Some shout him, and some hang upon his car, And give the day to a musician's praise. To gaze in's eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave Remember Handel? Who, that was not born Their 'kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy: Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets,
While others, not so satisfied, unhorse
Why? what has charmed them? Hath he saved
Enchanting novelty, that moon at full, But hush!—the muse perhaps is too severe; That finds out every crevice of the head And with a gravity beyond the size
That is not sound and perfect, hath in theirs And measure of th' ollence, rebukes a deed Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near, Less impious than absurd, and owing more And his own cattlc must suffice hiin soon.
Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise, And that one season an eternal spring.
The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, And just direction sacred, to a thing
For there is none to covet, all are full. Doomed to the dust, or lodged already there. The lion, and the libbard, and the bear, Encomium in old time was poets' work; Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon But poets, having lavishly long since
Together, or all gambol in the shade Exhausted all materials of the art,
Of the same grove, and drink one common stream The task now falls into the public hand; Antipathies are none.. No foe to man And I, contented with an humbler theme, Lurks in the serpent now; the mother sees, Have poured my stream of panegyric down And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand The vale of Nature, where it creeps, and winds Stretched forth to dally with the crested worm, Among her lovely works with a secure
To stroke his azure neck, or to receive And unambitious course, reflecting clear, The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. If not the virtues, yet the worth, of brutes. All creatures worship man, and all mankind And I am recompensed, and deem the toils One Lord, one Father. Error has no place: Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine
That creeping pestilence is driven away; May stand between an animal and wo, The breath of heaven has chased it. In the heart And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. No passion touches a discordant string,
The groans of Nature in this nether world, But all is harmony and love. Disease Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end. Is not; the pure and uncontaminate blood Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung,
Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. Whose fire was kindled at the prophet's lamp, One song employs all nations; and all cry, The time of rest, the promised sabbath, comes. “ Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!" Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Fulfilled their tardy and disastrous course Shuut to each other, and the mountain tops Over a sinful world; and what remains
From distant mountains catch the flying joy; Of this tempestuous state of human things Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Is merely as the working of a sea
Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round. Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest:
Behold the measure of the promise filled; For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds See Salem built, the labour of a God! The dust that waits upon his sultry march, Bright as the sun the sacred city shines; When sin hath moved them, and his wrath is hot, All kingdoms and all. princes of the earth Shall visit earth in mercy; shall descend Flock to that light; the glory of all lands Propitious in his chariot paved with love; Flows into her; unbounded is her joy, And what his storms have blasted and defaced And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, For man's revolt shall with a smile repair. Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there :*
Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, Not to be wronged by a mere mortal touch: And Saba's spicy groves pay tribute there. Nor can the wonders it records be sung
Praise is in all her gates; upon her walls, To meaner music, and not suffer loss.
And in her streets, and in her spacious courts But when a poet, or when one like me,.
Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there Happy to rove among poctic flowers,
Kncels with the native of the farthest west; Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last, And Æthiopia spreads abroad the hand, On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, And worships. Her report has travelled forth Such is the impulse and the spur he feels, Into all lands. From every clime they come To give it praise proportioned to its worth, To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, * That not t attempt it, arduous as he deems O Sion! an assembly such as earth, The labour, were a task more arduous still. Saw never, such as heaven stoops down to see. O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true,
Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were Scenes of accomplished bliss! which who can see, Though but in distant prospect, and not feel Perfect, and all must be at length restored. His soul refreshed with foretaste of the joy? So God has greatly purposed; who could else Rivers of gladness water all the earth,
In his dishonoured works himself endure And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach Dishonour, and be wronged without redress. Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field Haste then, and wheel away a shattered world, Laughs with abundance; and the land, once lean,
Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and progenitors Or fertile only in its own disgrace,
of the Arabs, in the prophetic scripture here alluded to, may Exults to see its thistly curse repealed,
be reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles as The various seasons woven into one,
Ye slow-revolving seasons! we would see Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal,
And what they will. All pastors are alike
Two gods divide them all — Pleasure and Gain;
And in their service wage perpetual war
With conscience and with thee. Lust in their
Thy prophets speak of such; and, noting down
The features of the last degenerate times,
Exhibit every lineament of these.
Come then, and, added to thy many crowns,
Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest,
Due to thy last and most effectual work,
Shows somewhat of that happier life to come; A worthless form, than to decide aright: Who, doomed to an obscure but tranquil state, Where fashion shall not sanctify abuse, Is pleased with it, and, were he free to choose, Nor smooth good-breeding (supplemental grace)
Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the With lean performance ape the work of love !
fruit Come then, and added to thy many crowns,
Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith,
Of objects, more illustrious in her view;
Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world.
She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not;
Therefore in contemplation is his bliss,
Whose power is such, that whom she lifts from
And shows him glories yet to be revealed.
Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has raised,
Or what achievements of immortal fame
He purposes, and he shall answer-None.
And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself,
And never-withering wreaths, compared with | Because that world adopts it. If it bear which,
The stamp and clear impression of good sense, The laurels that a Cæsar reaps are weeds. And be not costly more than of true worth, Perhaps the self-approving haughty world, He puts it on, and for decorum sake That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she. Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see, She judges of refinement by the eye, Deems him a cipher in the works of God, He by the test of conscience, and a heart Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, Not soon deceived; aware that what is base Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes No.polish can make sterling; and that vice, Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring Though well perfumed and elegantly dressed, And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes, Like an unburied carcase tricked with flowers, When, Isaac like, the solitary saint
Is but a garnished nuisance, fitter far Walks forth to meditate at eventide,
For cleanly riddance, than for fair attire. And think on her, who thinks not for herself. So life glides smoothly and by stealth away, Forgive him then, thou bustler in concerns More golden than that age of fabled gold Of little worth, an idler in the best,
Renowned in ancient song; not vexed with care If, author of no mischief and some good, Or stained with guilt, beneficent, approved He seek his proper happiness by means Of God and man, and peaceful in its end. That may advance, but can not hinder, thine. So glide my life away, and so at last, Nor, though he tread the secret path of life, My share of duties decently fulfilled, Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease,
May some disease, not tardy to perform Account him an encumbrance on the state, Its destined office, yet with gentlé stroke, Receiving benefits, and rendering none.
Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat, His sphere though humble, if that humble sphere Beneath the furf that I have often trod. Shine with his fair-example, and though small It shall not grieve me then, that once, when calHis influence, if that influence all be spent
led In soothing sorrow, and int quenching strife, To dress a Sofa with the flowers of verse, In aiding helpless indigence, in works.
I played awhile, obedient to the fair, From which at least a grateful few derive With that light task; but soon, to please her more, Some taste of comfort in a world of wo;. Whom flowers alone I knew would little please, Then let the supercilious great confess
Let fall th’unfinished wreath, and roved for fruit; He serves his country, recompenses well Roved far, and gathered much : some harsh, 'tis The state, beneath the shadow of whose vine
'true, He sits secure, and in the scale of life ..
Picked from the thorns and briers of reproof, Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place. But wholesome, well digested; grateful some The man whose virtues are more felt than seen, To palates that can taste immortal truth; Must drop indeed the hope of public praise ; Insipid else, and sure to be despised; But he may boast, what few that win it can, But all is in His hand, whose praise I seek. That if his country stand not by his skill, In vain the poet sings, and the world hears, At least his follies have not wrought her fall. If He regard not, though divine the theme. Polite Refinement offers him in vain
'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime Her golden tube, through which a sensual world And idle kling of a minstrel's lyre, Draws gross impurity, and likes it well,
To charm his ear, whose eye is on the heart; The neat conveyance hiding all th' offence. Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, Not that he peevishly rejects a mode
Whose approbation-prosper even mine.
JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.
DEAR JOSEPH—five and twenty years ago-
As some grave gentlemen in Terence says,
But distance only can not change the heart: Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth,
Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life; Bespoke as least a man that knew mankind.
But not to moralize too much, and strain
Once on a time an emperor, a wise man,
No matter where, in China, or Japan,
Decreed, that whosoever should offend
Against the well known duties of a friend,
Convicted once should ever after wear
But half a coat, and show his bosom bare..
The punishment importing this, no doubt,
, to see a friend. That all was naught within, and all found out. A friend! Horatio cried, and seemed to start
O happy Britain! we have not to fear
Such hard and arbitrary measure here;
Once have the sanction of our triple state,
Broad cloth without, and a warm heart within.
REV. WM. CAWTHORNE UNWIN,
It is not from his form, in which we trace
Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne,