The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical

That quench'd its rage in Yours and Britain's Heart:
You mourn: but Britain, lull'd in reft profound,
(Unconscious Britain!) flumbers o'er her wound.
Exulting Dulness ey'd the fetting Light,
And flapp'd her wing, impatient for the Night:
Rous'd at the fignal, Guilt collects her train,
And counts the Triumphs of her growing reign:
With inextinguishable rage they burn:

refin'd

And Snake-hung Envy hisses o'er his Urn :
Th' envenom'd Monsters fpit their deadly foam,
To blaft the Laurel that furrounds his Tomb.
But You, O Warburton! whose eye
Can fee the greatness of an honeft mind;
Can fee each Virtue and each Grace unite,
And taste the Raptures of a pure Delight;
You visit oft his awful Page with Care,

And view that bright affemblage treasur'd there;
You trace the Chain that links his deep defign,
And pour new luftre on the glowing Line.
Yet deign to hear the efforts of a Muse,
Whofe eye, not wing, his ardent flight pursues:
Intent from this great Archetype to draw
Satire's bright Form, and fix her equal Law;
B 2

Pleas'd

Pleas'd if from hence th' unlearn'd may comprehend, And reverence His and Satire's generous End.

In every breaft there burns an active flame, The Love of Glory, or the Dread of Shame : The Paffion One, though various it appear, As brighten'd into Hope, or dimm'd by Fear.

3༠

The lisping Infant, and the hoary Sire,

And Youth and Manhood feel the heart-born fire:
The Charms of Praife the Coy, the Modeft woo,
And only fly, that Glory may pursue:

She, Power refiftlefs, rules the wife and great;
Bends ev'n reluctant Hermits at her feet;
Haunts the proud City, and the lowly Shade,
And sways alike the Sceptre and the Spade.

Thus Heaven in Pity wakes the friendly Flame,
To urge Mankind on Deeds that merit Fame:
But Man, vain Man, in Folly only wife,
Rejects the Manna fent him from the Skies :
With raptures hears corrupted Paffion's call,
Still proudly prone to mingle with the stall.
As each deceitful Shadow tempts his view,
He for the imag'd Substance quits the true;
Eager to catch the visionary Prize,
In queft of Glory plunges deep in Vice ;
Till madly zealous, impotently vain,
He forfeits every Praise he pants to gain.

Thus ftill imperious Nature plies her part;
And still her Dictates work in every heart,
Each Power that fovereign Nature bids enjoy,
Man may corrupt, but Man can ne'er destroy.

Like mighty rivers, with refiftless force
The Paffions rage, obftructed in their courfe;
Swell to new heights, forbidden paths explore,
And drown those Virtues which they fed before.

And fure, the deadliest Foe to Virtue's flame,
Our worst of Evils, is perverted Shame.
Beneath this load, what abject numbers groan,
Th' entangled Slaves to folly not their own!
Meanly by fashionable fear opprefs'd,
We feek our Virtues in each other's breast;
Blind to ourselves, adopt each foreign Vice,
Another's weakness, intereft, or caprice.
Each Fool to low Ambition, poorly great,
That pines in fplendid wretchednefs of ftate,
Tir'd in the treacherous Chace, would nobly yield,
And, but for shame, like Sylla, quit the field:
The Dæmon Shame paints ftrong the ridicule,
And whifpers clofe, "The World will call you
Behold yon Wretch, by impious fashion driven,
Believes and trembles, while he fcoffs at Heaven.
By weakness strong, and bold through fear alone,
He dreads the fneer by fhallow Coxcombs thrown;
Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod;
To man a Coward, and a Brave to God.

Fool."

Faith, Juftice, Heaven itself now quit their hold,
When to falfe Fame the captiv'd Heart is fold:
Hence, blind to truth, relentlefs Cato dy'd;
Nought could fubdue his Virtue, but his Pride.
Hence chafte Lucretia's Innocence betray'd
Fell by that Honour which was meant its aid.
B 3

Thus

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The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and ..., Bände 32-34