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But comes at last the dull and dusky eve,
Nor is it well, no. (ar. i. coine oyaud, And sends thee to thy cabin, well-prepar'd That, through profane and infidel contempt To dream all night of what the day denied. Of Holy Wril, she has presum'd t'annul Alas! expect it not. We found no bait
And abrogate, as roundly as she may, To tempt us in thy country. Doing good,
The total ordinance and will of God;
Advancing Fashion to the post of Truth,
But though true worth and virtue in the mild And knees and hassocks are well-nigh divorc'd.
God made the country, and man made the town. Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts Yet not in cities oft; in proud, and gay,
That can alone make sweet the bitter dranght And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow,
That life holds out to all, should most abound As to a common and most noisome sewer,
And least be threaten'd in the fields and groves ? The dregs and feculence of ev'ry land.
Possess ye therefore, ye who, borne about In cities foul example on most minds
In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds, But that of idleness, and taste no scenes In gross and pamper'd cities, sloth, and lust, But such as art contrives, possess ye still And wantonness, and gluttonous excess.
Your element; there only can ye shine ; In cities, vice is hidden with most ease,
There only minds like yours can do no harm. Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue, taught Our groves were planted to console at noon By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there The pensive wand'rer in their shades. At eve, Beyond th' achievement of successful flight. The moonbeam, sliding softly in between I do confess them nurs'ries of the arts,
The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, in which they flourish most; where, in the beams Birds warbling all the music. We can spare Of warm encouragement, and in the eye
The splendor of your lamps; they but eclipse of public note, they reach their perfect size. Our softer satellite. Your songs confound Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim’d Our more harmonious notes ; the thrush departs The fairest capital of all the world,
Scard, and th' offended nightingale is mute. By riot and incontinence the worst.
There is a public mischief in your mirth; There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes It plagues your country. Folly such as yours, A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees
Grac'd with a sword, and worthier of a fan, All her reflected features. Bacon there
Has made what enemies could ne'er have done, Gives more than female beauty to a stone,
Our arch of empire, sted fast but for you,
A mutilated structure, soon to fall.
Reflections suggested by the conclusion of the for. In London. Where her implements exact,
mer book. Peace among the nations recommended With which she calculates, computes, and scans,
on the ground of their common fellowship in sorAll distance, motion, magnitude, and now
row. Prodigies enumerated. Sicilian earthquakes. Measures an atom, and now girds a world ?
Man rendered obnoxious to these calamities by In London. Where has commerce such a mart,
sin. God the agent in them. The philosophy So rich, so throng'd, so drain'd, and so supplied,
that stops at secondary causes reproved. Our own As London opulent, enlarg'd, and still
late miscarriages accounted for. Satirical notice Increasing, London? Babylon of old
taken of our trips to Fontaine-Bleau. But the Not more the glory of the Earth than she,
pulpit, not satire, the proper engine of reforma
tion. The reverend advertiser of engraved serA more accomplish'd world's chief glory now. She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two,
mons. Petit-maître parson. The good preacher. That so much beauty would do well to purge;
Picture of a theatrical clerical coxcomb. StoryAnd show this queen of cities, that so fair
tellers and jesters in the pulpit reproved. A posMay yet be foul ; su witty, yet not wise.
trophe to popular applause. Retailers of ancient It is not seemly, nor of good report,
philosophy expostulated with. Sum of the whole That she is slack in discipline; more prompt
matter. Effects of sacerdotal mismanagement on T'avenge than to prevent the breach of law;
the laity. Their folly and extravagance. The That she is rigid in denouncing death
mischiefs of profusion. Profusion itself, with all On petty robbers, and indulges life
its consequent evils, ascribed, as to its principal And liberty, and ofi-times honor too,
cause, to the want of discipline in the universities To peculators of the public gold ; That thieves at home must hang; but he, that puts o for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Into his over-gorg'd and bloated purse
Some boundless contiguity of shade, The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
Where rumor of oppression and deceit,
of unsuccessful or successful war,
Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak Might never reach me more. My ear is pain'd, Displeasure in His breast, who smites the Earth My soul is sick, with ev'ry day's report
Or heals it, makes it languish or rejoice.
And stand expos'd by common peccancy
And brethren in calamity should love. That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
Alas for Sicily! rude fragments now
Lie scatter'd, where the shapely column stood.
Suffer a syncope and solemn pause;
While God performs upon the trembling stage Make enemies of nations, who had else
of his own works his dreadful part alone. Like kindred drops been mingled into one. Ilow does the Earth receive himn ?-with what signs Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys; Of gratulation and delight her king ? And, worse than all, and most to be deplor'd Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad, As human nature's broadest, foulest blot,
Her sweetest flowers, her aromatic gums,
His wrath is busy, and his frown is felt.
And, charg'd with putrid verdure, breathe a gross Just estimation priz'd above all price,
And mortal nuisance into all the air.
What solid was, by transformation strange,
Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense
The turnult and the overthrow, the pangs
And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene
Alighting in far-distant fields, finds out
Ocean has caught the frenzy, and, upwrought
Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice Between the nations, in a world that seems Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore To toll the death-bell of its own decease,
Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, And by the voice of all its elements
Upridg'd so high, and sent on such a charge, To preach the gen'ral doom.* When were the winds Possess'd an inland scene. Where now the throng Let slip with such a warrant to destroy?
That press'd the beach, and, hasty to depart, When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap
Look'd to the sea for safety? They are gone, Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry ?
Gone with the refluent wave into the deep, Fires from beneath, and meteorst from above, A prince with half his people! Ancient tow'rs, Portentous, unexampled, unexplain'd,
And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes, Have kindled heacons in the skies; and th' old Where beauty oft and letterd worth consume And crazy Earth has had her shaking fits
Life in the unproductive shades of death, More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. Fall prone: the pale inhabitants come forth, Is it a time to wrangle, when the props
And, happy in their unforeseen release And pillars of our planet seem to fail,
From all the rigors of restraint, enjoy And Nature with a dim and sickly eye
The terrors of the day, that sets them free. To wait the close of all ? But grant her end
Who then, that has thee, would not hold thee, More distant, and that prophecy demands
Freedom! whom they that lose thee so regret, A longer respite, unaccomplish'd yet;
That ev'n a judgment, making way for thee,
Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake? Alluding to the calamities in Jamaira.
Such evil Sin hath wrought; and such a flame | August 18, 1783.
Kindled in Heav'n, that it burns down to Earth, Alluding to the fog, that covered both Europe and And in the furious inquest, that it makes Asia during the whole summer of 1783.
On God's behalf, lays waste his fairest works.
The very elements, though each be meant
England, with all thy faults, I love thee stillThe minister of man, to serve his wants,
My country! and, while yei a nook is left, Conspire against him. With his breath he draws Where English minds and manners may be found, A plague into his blood ; and cannot use
Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime
Be fickle, and thy year most part deformid
of patriot eloquence to flash down fire
With odors, and as profligate as sweet;
Happy the man, who sees a God employ'd And love when they should fight; when such as these
Presume to lay their hand upon the ark
Of her magnificent and awful cause?
Time was when it was praise and boast enough
In ev'ry clime, and travel where we might,
That Chatham's language was his mother's tongue
And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own.
Farewell those honors, and farewell with them
Of smiling Victory that moment won,
And Chatham heart-sick of his country's shame!
They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still
Consulting England's happiness at home,
If any wrong'd her. Wolfe, where'er he fought,
Those suns are set. O rise some other such!
With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets,
The nose of nice nobility! Breathe soft,
That winds and waters, lull'd by magic sounds,
May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore !
A brave man knows no malice, but at once
Forgets in peace the injuries of war,
And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace.
foo weak for those decisive blows, that once And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. Insur'd us mast'ry there, we yet retain
Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast And, arm'd himself in panoply complete
or heav'nly temper, furnishes with arms The honors of the turf as all our own!
Bright as his own, and trains, by ev'ry rule Go then, well worthy of the praise ye seek, of holy discipline, to glorious war And show the shame, ye might conceal at home, The sacramental host of God's elect! in foreign eyes ! — be grooms, and win the plate, Are all such teachers -Would to Heaven all were ! Where once your nobler fathers won a crown! But hark—the doctor's voice! fast wedg'd between "Tis gen'rous to communicate your skill
Two empirics he stands, and with swoln cheeks To those that need it. Folly is soon learn'd : Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far And under such preceptors who can fail ?
Than all invective is his bold harangue, There is a pleasure in poetic pains,
While through that public organ of report Which only poets know. The shisis and turns, He hails the clergy; and, defying shame, 'Th' expedients and inventions multiform,
Announces to the world his own and theirs! To which the mind resorts, in chase of terms He teaches those to read, whom schools dismiss'd, Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win
And colleges, untaught; sells accent, tone,
And emphasis in score, and gives to pray'r
To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes
Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware ? Than by the labor and the skill it cost;
O name it not in Gaih-it cannot be, Are occupations of the poet's mind
That grave and learned clerks should need such aid So pleasing, and that steal away the thought He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll, With such address from themes of sad import, Assuming thus a rank unknown beforeThat lost in his own musings, happy man!
Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the church ! He feels th' anxieties of life, denied
I venerate the man, whose heart is warm, Their wonted entertainment, all retire.
Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life Such joys has he that sings. But ah! not such, Coincident, exhibit lucid proof, Or seldom such, the hearers of his song.
That he is honest in the sacred cause. Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps
To such I render more than mere respect, Aware of nothing arduous in a task
Whose actions say, that they respect themselves. They never undertook, they little note
But loose in morals, and in manners vain,
In conversation frivolous, dress
Frequent in park, with lady at his side,
Ambling and pratiling scandal as he goes; I would not trifle merely, though the world But rare at home, and never at his books, Be loudest in their praise, who do no more. Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card. Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay? Constant at routs, familiar with a round It may correct a foible, may chastise
Of ladyships, a stranger to the poor;
Ambitious of preferment for its gold,
To his own pleasures and his patron's pride.
From such apostles, O) ye mitred heads, Laugh'd at, he laughs again; and, stricken hard Preserve the church! and lay not careless hands Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales,
On skulls, that cannot teach, and will not learn. That fear no discipline of human hands.
Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, The pulpit, therefore, (and I name it fillid Were he on Earth, would hear, approve, and own, With solemn awe, that bids me well beware Paul should himself direct me. I would trace With what intent I touch that holy thing.) His master-strokes, and draw from his design. The pulpit, (when the sat’rist has at last,
I would express him simple, grave, sincere; Strutting and vap'ring in an empty school, In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain, Spent all his force, and made no proselyte,)- And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste, I say the pulpit (in the sober use
And natural in gesture; much impress’d Of its legitimate, peculiar pow'rs,)
Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, Must stand acknowledg'd, while the world shall stand, And anxious mainly that the flock he seeds 'The most important and effectual guard,
May feel it too; affectionate in look, Support, and ornament, of virtue's cause.
And tender in address, as well becomes There stands the messenger of truth : there stands A messenger of grace to guilty men. The legate of the skies !-His theme divine, Behold the picture !- Is it like ?-Like whom? His office sacred, his credentials clear.
The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, By him the violated law speaks out
And then skip down again ; pronounce a text; Its thunders, and by him, in strains as sweet Cry-Hem; and reading what they never wrote As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace.
Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, He 'stablishes the strong, restores the weak, And with a well-bred whisper close the scene! Reclaims the wand'rer, binds the broken heart, In man or woman, but far most in man.
And most of all in man that ministers
But swell'd into a gusi- who then, alas! And serves the altar, in my soul I lothe
With all his canvass set, and inexpert, All affectation. "Tis my perfect scorn!
And therefore heedless, can withstand thy pow'r ! Object of my implacable disgust.
Praise from the rivel'd lips of toothless bald
And craving Poverty, and in the bow
Respectful of the smutclid artificer, And pretty face, in presence of his God?
Is oft too welcome, and may much disturb Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes,
The bias of the purpose. How much more, As with the diamond on his lily hand,
Pour'd forth by beauty splendid and polite, And play his brilliant paris before my eyes, In language sofi as Adoration breathes ! When I am hungry for the bread of life?
Ah, spare your idol! think him human still. He mocks bis Maker, prostitutes and shames Charms he may have, but he has fraillies 100 ! His noble office, and, instead of truth,
Dote not too much, nor spoil what ye admire. Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock.
All truth is from the sempiternial source Therefore avaunt all attitude, and stare,
Of light divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome, And start theatric, practis'd at the glass !
Drew from the stream below. More favor'd we I seek divine simplicity in him
Drink, when we choose il, at the fountain-head. Who handles things divine; and all besides, To them it flow'd much mingled and defil'd Though learn'd with labor, and though much admir'd With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams By curious eyes and judgments ill-informod, Musive of philosophy, so call'u, To me is odious as the nasal twang
But falsely. Sages afier sages sirove Heard at conventicle, where worthy men,
In vain to filter off a crystal draught Misled by custom, strain celestial themes
Pure from the lees, which ofien more enhanc'd Through the press'd nostril, spectacle-bestrid. The thirst than slak'd it, and not seldom bred Some decent in demeanor while they preach, Intoxication and delirium wild. That task perform'd, relapse into themselves; In vain they push'd inquiry to the birth And having spoken wisely, at the close
And spring-time of the world; ask 'd, Whence is man Grow wanton, and give proof to ev'ry eye, Why form d at all? and wherefore as he is? Whoe'er was edified, themselves were not!
Where must he find his Maker? with what rites Forth comes the pockel-mirror.–First we stroke Adore him? Will he hear, accept, and bless ? An eyebrow; next compose a straggling lock ; Or does he sit regardless of his works ? Then with an nir most gracefully perform'd Has man within him an immortal seed ? Fall back into our seat, extend an arm,
Or does the tomb take all ? If he survive And lay it at its ease with genıle care,
His ashes, where ? and in what weal or woe? With handkerchief in hand depending low : Knots worthy of solution, which alone The better hand more busy gives the nose A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague Its bergamot, or aids th' indebted eye
And all at random, fabulous and dark, With opera-glass, to watch the moving scene, Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life, And recognize the slow-retiring fair.
Defective and unsanction'd, prov'd 100 weak
Blind Nature to a God not yet reveal'd.
Explains all mysteries, exrept her own,
And so illuminates the path of life, But how a body so fantastic, trim,
That fools discover it, and stray no more. And quaint, in its deportment and attire,
Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir, Can lodge a heav'nly mind-demands a doubt. My man of morals, nurtur’d in the shades
He, that negotintes between God and man, Of Academus-is this false or true?
Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools ?
To Athens or to Rome, for wisdom short
Grace, knowledge, comfort-an unfathom'd store? Pathetic exhortation ; and i' addres
How oft, when Paul has serv'd us with a xt, The skittish fancy with facetious tales,
Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preach'd! When sent with God's commission to the heart ! Men that, if now alive, would sit content So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip
And humble learners of a Savior's worth, Or merry turn in all he ever wrole,
Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth And I consent you take it for your text,
Their thirst of knowledge, and their candor 100! Your only one, till sides and benches fail.
And thus it is-- The pastor, either vain
By nature, or by flatt'ry made so, laught
Or unenlighten’d, and 100 proud to learn ;
O Popular Applause! what heart of man Perverting often by the stress of lewd Is proof against thy sweet seducing charms ? And loose example, whom he should instruct; The wisest and the best feel urgent need
Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace, of all their caution in thy gentlest gales; The noblest function, and discredits much