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Whether where equinoctial fervours glow,
Or winter wraps the polar world in snow;
Still let thy voice, prevailing over time,
Redress the rigours of the' inclement clime :
Aid slighted truth with thy persuasive strain;
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain;
Teach him that states, of native strength possess'd,
Though very poor, may still be very bless'd;
That Trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay,
As ocean sweeps the labour'd mole away;
While self-dependent power can time defy,
As rocks resist the billows and the sky.

INDIVIDUAL HAPPINESS NOT DEPENDENT ON FORMS OF GOVERNMENT.

As some lone miser, visiting his store,
Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er,
Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill,

Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still;
Thus to my breast alternate passions rise,

Pleased with each good that Heaven to man supplies;
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall,
To see the hoard of human bliss so small;
And oft I wish, amidst the scene to find
Some spot to real happiness consign'd,

Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest,
May gather bliss, to see my fellows blest.
Vain, very vain, my weary search to find
That bliss which only centres in the mind.
Why have I stray'd from pleasure and repose,
To seek a good each government bestows?
In every government, though terrors reign,
Though tyrant kings or tyrant laws restrain,
How small, of all that human hearts endure,
That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!
Still to ourselves in every place consign'd
Our own felicity we make or find :

With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,
Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.
The lifted axe, the agonizing wheel,

Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel,
To men remote from power but rarely known,
Leave reason, faith and conscience, all our own.

325

SELECTIONS FROM DR. YOUNG.

LOVE OF FAME, SATIRE VII.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE SIR ROBERT WALPOLE.

On this last labour, this my closing strain, Smile, Walpole, or the Nine inspire in vain : To thee 't is due; that verse how justly thine, Where Brunswick's glory crowns the whole design! That glory, which thy counsels make so bright; That glory, which on thee reflects a light. Illustrious commerce, and but rarely known, To give and take a lustre from the throne!

theme;

Nor think that thou art foreign to my
The fountain is not foreign to the stream.
How all mankind will be surprised to see
This flood of British folly charged on thee!
Say, Britain! whence this caprice of thy sons,
Which through their various ranks with fury runs ?
The cause is plain, a cause which we must bless;
For caprice is the daughter of success:

A bad effect, but from a pleasing cause,
And gives our rulers undesign'd applause;
Tells how their conduct bids our wealth increase,
And lulls us in the downy lap of peace.
While I survey the blessings of our isle,
Her arts triumphant in the royal smile,
Her public wounds bound up, her credit high,
Her commerce spreading sails in every sky,
The pleasing scene recalls my theme again,
And shows the madness of ambitious men,
Who, fond of bloodshed, draw the murdering sword,
And burn to give mankind a single lord.
The follies past are of a private kind;

Their sphere is small; their mischief is confined:
But daring men there are (awake, my Muse,
And raise thy verse!) who bolder frenzy choose;
Who, stung by glory, rave and bound away,
The world their field, and human-kind their prey.
The Grecian chief, the' enthusiast of his pride,
With Rage and Terror stalking by his side,

Raves round the globe; he soars into a god!
Stand fast, Olympus! and sustain his nod.
The pest divine in horrid grandeur reigns,
And thrives on mankind's miseries and pains.
What slaughter'd hosts! what cities in a blaze!
What wasted countries! and what crimson seas!
With orphans' tears his impious bowl o'erflows;
And cries of kingdoms lull him to repose.

And cannot thrice ten hundred years unpraise
The boisterous boy, and blast his guilty bays?
Why want we, then, encomiums on the storm,
Or famine, or volcano? They perform
Their mighty deeds; they, hero-like, can slay,
And spread their ample deserts in a day.
O great alliance! O Divine renown!

With dearth and pestilence to share the crown.
When men extol a wild destroyer's name,
Earth's Builder and Preserver they blaspheme.
One to destroy, is murder by the law;
And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe :
To murder thousands, takes a specious name,
"War's glorious art," and gives immortal fame.
When, after battle, I the field have seen

Spread o'er with ghastly shapes, which once were men;
A nation crush'd, a nation of the brave!

A realm of death! and on this side the grave!
"Are there," said I, "who, from this sad survey,
This human chaos, carry smiles away?"
How did my heart with indignation rise!
How honest nature swell'd into my eyes!
How was I shock'd to think the hero's trade
Of such materials fame and triumph made!
How guilty these! Yet not less guilty they
Who reach false glory by a smoother way;
Who wrap destruction up in gentle words,
And bows, and smiles, more fatal than their swords;
Who stifle nature, and subsist on art;
Who coin the face, and petrify the heart;

All real kindness for the show discard,
As marble polish'd, and as marble hard;

Who do for gold what Christians do through grace,
"With open arms their enemies embrace;"
Who give a nod when broken hearts repine,
"The thinnest food on which a wretch can dine;"

Or, if they serve you, serve you disinclined,
And, in their height of kindness, are unkind.
Such courtiers were, and such again may be,
Walpole, when men forget to copy thee.

Here cease, my Muse! The catalogue is writ;
Nor one more candidate for fame admit,
Though disappointed thousands justly blame
Thy partial pen, and boast an equal claim.
Be this their comfort,-fools, omitted here,
May furnish laughter for another year.
Then let Crispino, who was ne'er refused
The justice yet of being well abused,
With patience wait, and be content to reign
The pink of puppies in some future strain:

Some future strain, in which the Muse shall tell How science dwindles, and how volumes swell : How commentators each dark passage shun, And hold their farthing candle to the sun :

How tortured texts to speak our sense are made, And every vice is to the scripture laid:

How misers squeeze a young voluptuous peer; His sins to Lucifer not half so dear:

How Versus is less qualified to steal

With sword and pistol than with wax and seal :
How lawyers' fees to such excess have run,
That clients are redress'd till they 're undone.
How one man's anguish is another's sport;
And ev'n denials cost us dear at court:

How man eternally false judgments makes,
And all his joys and sorrows are mistakes.
This swarm of themes that settles on my pen,
Which I, like summer flies, shake off again,
Let others sing; to whom my weak essay
But sounds a prelude, and points out their prey:
That duty done, I hasten to complete
My own design, for Tonson 's at the gate.

The love of fame in its effects survey'd,

The Muse has sung: be now the cause display'd.
Since so diffusive, and so wide its sway,
What is this power, whom all mankind obey?
Shot from above, by Heaven's indulgence, came
This general ardour, this unconquer'd flame,
To warm, to raise, to deify mankind,

Still burning brightest in the noblest mind.

By large-soul'd men, for thirst of fame renown'd,
Wise laws were framed, and sacred arts were found;
Desire of praise first broke the patriot's rest,
And made a bulwark of the warrior's breast;
It bids Argyll in fields and senates shine:
What more can prove its origin divine?
But O! this passion planted in the soul,
On eagle's wings to mount her to the pole,
The flaming minister of virtue meant,
Set up false gods, and wrong'd her high descent
Ambition, hence, exerts a doubtful force,
Of blots and beauties an alternate source.
Hence Gildon rails, that raven of the pit,
Who thrives upon the carcases of wit;
And in art-loving Scarborough is seen
How kind a patron Pollio might have been.
Pursuit of fame with pedants fills our schools,
And into coxcombs burnishes our fools;
Pursuit of fame makes solid learning bright,
And Newton lifts above a mortal height;
That key of Nature, by whose wit she clears
Her long, long secrets of five thousand years.
Would you, then, fully comprehend the whole?
Why, and in what degrees, pride sways the soul?
(For, though in all, not equally she reigns)
Awake to knowledge, and attend my strains.
Ye doctors, hear the doctrine I disclose,
As true as if 't were writ in dullest prose;
As if a letter'd dunce had said, ""Tis right,"
And imprimatur usher'd it to light.

Ambition, in the truly noble mind,
With sister Virtue is for ever join'd;
As in famed Lucrece, who, with equal dread,
From guilt and shame, by her last conduct, fled:
Her virtue long rebell'd in firm disdain,
And the sword pointed at her heart in vain;
But, when the slave was threaten'd to be laid
Dead by her side, her Love of Fame obey'd.

In meaner minds Ambition works alone;
But with such art puts Virtue's aspect on,
That not more like, in feature and in mien,
The God and mortal in the comic scene. *

* Amphitryon.

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