For, grant that curses on her name shall wait, (So envy wills and such the voice of fate,) Yet if that name be prudently suppress'd, She shall be courted, favoured, and caress'd. For what are names? and where agree mankind,

In those to persons or to acts assign'd? Brave, learn'd, or wise, if some their favourites call,

Have they the titles or the praise from all?
Not so, but others will the brave disdain
As rash, and deem the sons of wisdom vain;
The self-same mind shall scorn or kindness
move,

And the same deed attract contempt and love. 'So all the powers who move the human soul,

With all the passions who the will control, Have various names-One giv'n by Truth Divine,

(As Simulation thus was fix'd for mine,) The rest by man, who now, as wisdom's, prize My secret counsels, now as art despise ; One hour, as just, those counsels they embrace,

And spurn, the next, as pitiful and base. 'Thee, too, my child, those fools as Cunning fly,

Who on thy counsel and thy craft rely; That worthy craft in others they condemn, But 'tis their prudence, while conducting them.

'Be FLATTERY, then, thy happy infant's

name,

Let Honour scorn her and let Wit defame; Let all be true that Envy dooms, yet all, Not on herself, but on her name, shall fall; While she thy fortune and her own shall raise, And decent Truth be call'd, and loved, as modest Praise.

'O happy child! the glorious day shall shine,

When every ear shall to thy speech incline,
Thy words alluring and thy voice divine:
The sullen pedant and the sprightly wit,
To hear thy soothing eloquence, shall sit;
And both, abjuring Flattery, will agree
That truth inspires, and they must honour
thee.

'Envy himself shall to thy accents bend, Force a faint smile and sullenly attend, When thou shalt call him Virtue's jealous friend,

Whose bosom glows with generous rage to find

How fools and knaves are flatter'd by mankind.

'The sage retired, who spends alone his days, And flies th' obstreperous voice of public praise ;

The vain, the vulgar cry,-shall gladly meet,
And bid thee welcome to his still retreat;
Much will he wonder, how thou cam'st to find
A man to glory dead, to peace consign'd.
O Fame! he'll cry, (for he will call thee
Fame,)

From thee I fly, from thee conceal my name; But thou shalt say, Though Genius takes his flight,

He leaves behind a glorious train of light, And hides in vain :-yet prudent he that flies The flatterer's art, and for himself is wise.

'Yes, happy child! Imark th' approaching

Of secret ill, shall be thy Diffidence;
Avarice shall thenceforth prudent Forecast be,
And bloody Vengeance, Magnanimity;
The lavish tongue shall honest truths impart,
The lavish hand shall show the generous heart,
And Indiscretion be, contempt of art:
Folly and Vice shall then, no longer known,
Be, this as Virtue, that as Wisdom, shown.

'Then shall the Robber, as the Hero, rise To seize the good that churlish law denies; Throughout the world shall rove the generous band,

And deal the gifts of Heaven from hand to hand.

'In thy blest days no tyrant shall be seen, Thy gracious king shall rule contented men ; In thy blest days shall not a rebel be, But patriots all and well approved of thee. 'Such powers are thine, that man, by thee

shall wrest

The gainful secret from the cautious breast; Nor then, with all his care, the good retain, But yield to thee the secret and the gain.

In vain shall much experience guard the heart
Against the charm of thy prevailing art;
Admitted once, so soothing is thy strain,
It comes the sweeter, when it comes again;
And when confess'd as thine, what mind so
strong

Forbears the pleasure it indulged so long?
'Soft'ner of every ill! of all our woes
The balmy solace! friend of fiercest foes!
Begin thy reign, and like the morning rise!
Bring joy, bring beauty, to our eager eyes;
Break on the drowsy world like opening day,
Whilegrace and gladness join thy flow'ry way;
While every voice is praise, while every heart
is gay.

'From thee all prospects shall new beauties take,

'Tis thine to seek them and 'tis thine to make; On the cold fen I see thee turn thine eyes, Its mists recede, its chilling vapour flies; Th' enraptured lord th' improving ground surveys,

And for his Eden asks the traveller's praise, Which yet, unview'd of thee, a bog had been, Where spungy rushes hide the plashy green.

'I see thee breathing on the barren moor, That seems to bloom although so bleak before;

There shalt thou Raphael's saints and angels trace,

There make for Rubens and for Reynolds place,

And all the pride of art shall find, in her, disgrace.

'Delight of either sex! thy reign commence; With balmy sweetness soothe the weary sense, And to the sickening soul thy cheering aid dispense.

Queen of the mind! thy golden age begin; In mortal bosoms varnish shame and sin, Let all be fair without, let all be calm within.' The Vision fled, the happy mother rose, Kiss'd the fair infant, smiled at all her foes, And FLATTERY made her name:-her reign began,

Her own dear sex she ruled, then vanquish'd man;

A smiling friend, to every class, she spoke, Assumed their manners, and their habits took;

Her, for her humble mien, the modest loved; Her cheerful looks the light and gay approved;

The just beheld her, firm; the valiant, brave; Her mirth the free, her silence pleased the grave;

Or the pied daisy smile below the ling, They shall new charms, at thy command, disclose,

And none shall miss the myrtle or the rose. The wiry moss, that whitens all the hill, Shall live a beauty by thy matchless skill; Gale1 from the bog shall yield Arabian balm, And the grey willow wave a golden palm.

'I see thee smiling in the pictured room, Now breathing beauty, now reviving bloom; There, each immortal name 'tis thine to give, To graceless forms, and bid the lumber live. Should'st thou coarse boors or gloomy martyrs

see,

These shall thy Guidos, those thy Teniers be;

1 Myrica Gale, a shrub growing in boggy and fenny grounds.

aloud,

WHEN all the fiercer passions cease,

(The glory and disgrace of youth); When the deluded soul, in peace,

Can listen to the voice of truth; When we are taught in whom to trust, And how to spare, to spend, to give; (Our prudence kind, our pity just,)

'Tis then we rightly learn to live.

Its weakness when the body feels,
Nor danger in contempt defies;
To reason, when desire appeals,

When, on experience, hope relies ;
When every passing hour we prize,

Nor rashly on our follies spend ; But use it, as it quickly flies,

With sober aim to serious end;
When prudence bounds our utmost views,
And bids us wrath and wrong forgive;
When we can calmly gain or lose,—
'Tis then we rightly learn to live.

Yet thus, when we our way discern,
And can upon our care depend,
To travel safely, when we learn,

Behold! we're near our journey's end. We've trod the maze of error round, Long wand'ring in the winding glade ; And now the torch of truth is found,

It only shows us where we stray'd: Light for ourselves, what is it worth, When we no more our way can choose? For others, when we hold it forth,

They, in their pride, the boon refuse.

By long experience taught, we now
Can rightly judge of friends and foes,
Can all the worth of these allow,

And all their faults discern in those
Relentless hatred, erring love,

We can for sacred truth forego; We can the warmest friend reprove,

And bear to praise the fiercest foe:
To what effect? Our friends are gone,
Beyond reproof, regard, or care;
And of our foes remains there one,
The mild relenting thoughts to share?

Now 'tis our boast that we can quell
The wildest passions in their rage;
Can their destructive force repel,

And their impetuous wrath assuage:
Ah! Virtue, dost thou arm, when now
This bold rebellious race are fled;
When all these tyrants rest, and thou
Art warring with the mighty dead?
Revenge, ambition, scorn, and pride,
And strong desire and fierce disdain,
The giant-brood, by thee defied,

Lo! Time's resistless strokes have slain.

Yet Time, who could that race subdue,
(O'erpow'ring strength, appeasing rage,)
Leaves yet a persevering crew,

To try the failing powers of age.
Vex'd by the constant call of these,
Virtue awhile for conquest tries,
But weary grown and fond of ease,
She makes with them a compromise:
Av'rice himself she gives to rest,

But rules him with her strict commands; Bids Pity touch his torpid breast,

And Justice hold his eager hands.

Yet is there nothing men can do,
When chilling Age comes creeping on?
Cannot we yet some good pursue?
Are talents buried? genius gone?

Yes, we'll redeem the wasted time,

And to neglected studies flee;
We'll build again the lofty rhyme,

Or live, Philosophy, with thee;
For reasoning clear, for flight sublime,
Eternal fame reward shall be ;

And to what glorious heights we'll climb,
Th' admiring crowd shall envying see.

Begin the song! begin the theme!Alas! and is Invention dead? Dream we no more the golden dream? Is Mem'ry with her treasures fled ? Yes, 'tis too late,-now Reason guides The mind, sole judge in all debate;

And thus th' important point decides,
For laurels, 'tis, alas! too late.

What is possess'd we may retain,
But for new conquests strive in vain.

Beware then, Age, that what was won,

In life's past labours, studies, views, Be lost not, now the labour's done, When all thy part is,-not to lose : When thou canst toil or gain no more, Destroy not what was gain'd before.

For, all that's gain'd of all that 's good, When time shall his weak frame destroy, (Their use then rightly understood,)

Shall man, in happier state, enjoy. Oh! argument for truth divine,

For study's cares, for virtue's strife; To know th' enjoyment will be thine, In that renew'd, that endless life!

VISITOR

I'LL know no more ;-the heart is torn
By views of wo, we cannot heal;
Long shall I see these things forlorn,
And oft again their griefs shall feel,
As each upon the mind shall steal;
That wan projector's mystic style,

That lumpish idiot leering by,
That peevish idler's ceaseless wile,
And that poor maiden's half-form'd smile,
While struggling for the full-drawn sigh!
I'll know no more.

PHYSICIAN

-Yes, turn again;

Then speed to happier scenes thy way, When thou hast view'd, what yet remain,

The ruins of Sir Eustace Grey,

The sport of madness, misery's prey:

But he will no historian need,

His cares, his crimes, will he display, And show (as one from frenzy freed) The proud-lost mind, the rash-done deed. That cell to him is Greyling Hall :

Approach; he'll bid thee welcome there; Will sometimes for his servant call,

And sometimes point the vacant chair:

He can, with free and easy air, Appear attentive and polite; Can veil his woes in manners fair, And pity with respect excite.

PATIENT

Who comes?-Approach !-'tis kindly done :

My learn'd physician, and a friend, Their pleasures quit, to visit one, Who cannot to their ease attend, Nor joys bestow, nor comforts lend, As when I lived so bless'd, so well, And dreamt not I must soon contend With those malignant powers of hell.

PHYSICIAN

Less warmth, Sir Eustace, or we go.

PATIENT

See! I am calm as infant-love, A very child, but one of wo,

Whom you should pity, not reprove :— But men at ease, who never strove

With passions wild, will calmly show How soon we may their ills remove,

And masters of their madness grow.

Some twenty years I think are gone,(Time flies, I know not how, away,) The sun upon no happier shone,

Nor prouder man, than Eustace Grey.
Ask where you would, and all would say,
The man admired and praised of all,
By rich and poor, by grave and gay,
Was the young lord of Greyling Hall.

Yes! I had youth and rosy health;
Was nobly form'd, as man might be ;
For sickness then, of all my wealth,
I never gave a single fee:
The ladies fair, the maidens free,

Were all accustom'd then to say,
Who would a handsome figure see
Should look upon Sir Eustace Grey.

He had a frank and pleasant look,

A cheerful eye and accent bland;
His very speech and manner spoke
The generous heart, the open hand;
About him all was gay or grand,

He had the praise of great and small; He bought, improved, projected, plann'd, And reign'd a prince at Greyling Hall.

My lady!—she was all we love;

All praise (to speak her worth) is faint; Her manners show'd the yielding dove, Her morals, the seraphic saint; She never breathed nor look'd complaint; No equal upon earth had she :Now, what is this fair thing I paint ? Alas! as all that live shall be.

There was, beside, a gallant youth,

And him my bosom's friend I had :— Oh! I was rich in very truth,

It made me proud-it made me mad!Yes, I was lost-but there was cause!— Where stood my tale ?-I cannot findBut I had all mankind's applause,

And all the smiles of womankind.

There were two cherub-things beside,
A gracious girl, a glorious boy;
Yet more to swell my full-blown pride,
To varnish higher my fading joy,
Pleasures were ours without alloy,

Nay, Paradise,-till my frail Eve
Our bliss was tempted to destroy;
Deceived and fated to deceive.

But I deserved; for all that time,
When I was loved, admired, caress'd,
There was within, each secret crime,
Unfelt, uncancell'd, unconfess'd:
I never then my God address'd,

In grateful praise or humble prayer; And if His Word was not my jest! (Dread thought!) it never was my care.

I doubted-fool I was to doubt!
If that all-piercing eye could see,—
If He who looks all worlds throughout,
Would so minute and careful be,
As to perceive and punish me :—

With man I would be great and high,
But with my God so lost, that He,

In his large view, should pass me by.

Thus bless'd with children, friend, and wife, Bless'd far beyond the vulgar lot;

Of all that gladdens human life,

Where was the good, that I had not? But my vile heart had sinful spot,

And Heaven beheld its deep'ning stain; Eternal justice I forgot,

And mercy sought not to obtain.