Classic Poem

Ye ductile youths, whose rising sun
Hath many circles still to run;
Who wisely wish the pilot's chart,
To steer through life the' unsteady heart;
And all the thoughtful voyage past,
To gain a happy port at last:
Attend a seer's instructive song,
For moral truths to dreams belong.
I saw this wondrous vision soon,
Long ere my sun had reach'd its noon;
Just when the rising beard began
To grace my chin, and call me man.
One night when balmy slumbers shed
Their peaceful poppies o'er my head,
My fancy led me to explore
A thousand scenes unknown before.
I saw a plain extended wide,
And crowds pour'd in from every side:
All seem'd to start a different game,
Yet all declar'd their views the same:
The chase was happiness I found,
But all, alas! enchanted ground.
Indeed I judg'd it wondrous strange,
To see the giddy numbers range
Through roads, which promis'd nought, at best,
But sorrow to the human breast.
Methought, if bliss was all their view,
Why did they different paths pursue?
The waking world has long agreed,
That Bagshot's not the road to Tweed:
And he who Berwick seeks through Staines,
Shall have his labour for his pains.
As Parnell says, my bosom wrought
With travail of uncertain thought:
And, as an angel help'd the dean,
My angel chose to intervene;
The dress of each was much the same,
And Virtue was my seraph's name,
When thus the angel silence broke,
(Her voice was music as she spoke:)
" Attend, O man! nor leave my side,
And safety shall thy footsteps guide;
Such truths I'll teach, such secrets show,
As none but favour'd mortals know."
She said — and straight we march'd along
To join Ambition's active throng:
Crowds urg'd on crowds with eager pace,
And happy he who led the race.
Axes and daggers lay unseen
In ambuscade along the green;
While vapours shed delusive light,
And bubbles mock'd the distant sight.
We saw a shining mountain rise,
Whose towering summit reach'd the skies:
The slopes were steep, and form'd of glass,
Painful and hazardous to pass:
Courtiers and statesmen led the way,
The faithless paths their steps betray;
This moment seen aloft to soar,
The next to fall and rise no more.
'Twas here Ambition kept her court,
A phantom of gigantic port;
The favourite that sustain'd her throne
Was Falsehood, by her vizard known;
Next stood Mistrust, with frequent sigh,
Disorder'd look, and squinting eye;
While meagre Envy claim'd a place,
And Jealousy with jaundic'd face.
" But where is Happiness?" I cried. —
My guardian turn'd, and thus replied:
" Mortal, by folly still beguil'd,
Thou hast not yet outstripp'd the child;
Thou, who hast twenty winters seen,
(I hardly think thee past fifteen)
To ask if Happiness can dwell
With every dirty imp of hell!
Go to the school-boy, he shall preach
What twenty winters cannot teach;
He'll tell thee, from his weekly theme,
That thy pursuit is all a dream:
That Bliss ambitious views disowns,
And, self-dependent, laughs at thrones;
Prefers the shades, and lowly seats,
Whither fair Innocence retreats:
So the coy lily of the vale
Shuns eminence, and loves the dale."
I blush'd; and now we cross'd the plain,
To find the money-getting train;
Those silent, snug, commercial bands,
With busy looks and dirty hands.
Amidst these thoughtful crowds the old
Plac'd all their happiness in gold.
And surely, if there's bliss below,
These hoary heads the secret know.
We journey'd with the plodding crew,
When soon a temple rose to view:
A gothic pile, with moss o'ergrown;
Strong were the walls, and built with stone.
Without a thousand mastiffs wait:
A thousand bolts secure the gate.
We sought admission long in vain;
For here all favours sell for gain:
The greedy porter yields to gold,
His fee receiv'd, the gates unfold.
Assembled nations here we found,
And view'd the cringing herds around,
Who daily sacrific'd to Wealth
Their honour, conscience, peace, and health.
I saw no charms that could engage;
The god appear'd like sordid age,
With hooked nose, and famish'd jaws,
But serpents' eyes, and harpies' claws:
Behind stood Fear, that restless sprite
Which haunts the watches of the night;
And Viper-Care, that stings so deep,
Whose deadly venom murders sleep.
We hasten now to Pleasure's bow'rs;
Where the gay tribes sat crown'd with flow'rs:
Here Beauty every charm display'd,
And Love inflam'd the yielding maid:
Delicious Wine our taste employs,
His crimson bowl exalts our joys:
I felt its generous pow'r, and thought
The pearl was found that long I sought.
Determin'd here to fix my home,
I bless'd the change, nor wish'd to roam:
The Seraph disapprov'd my stay,
Spread her fair plumes, and wing'd away.
Alas! whene'er we talk of bliss,
How prone is man to judge amiss!
See, a long train of ills conspires
To scourge our uncontrol'd desires.
Like summer swarms Diseases crowd,
Each bears a crutch, or each a shroud:
Fever! that thirsty fury, came,
With inextinguishable flame;
Consumption, sworn ally of Death!
Crept slowly on with panting breath;
Gout roar'd, and show'd his throbbing feet;
And Dropsy took the drunkard's seat;
Stone brought his torturing racks; and near
Sat Palsy shaking in her chair!
A mangled youth, beneath a shade,
A melancholy scene display'd:
His noseless face, and loathsome stains,
Proclaim'd the poison in his veins;
He rais'd his eyes, he smote his breast,
He wept aloud, and thus address'd:
" Forbear the harlot's false embrace,
Though Lewdness wear an angel's face.
Be wise, by my experience taught;
I die, alas! for want of thought."
As he, who travels Lybia's plains,
Where the fierce lion lawless reigns,
Is seiz'd with fear and wild dismay,
When the grim foe obstructs his way:
My soul was pierc'd with equal fright,
My tottering limbs oppos'd my flight;
I call'd on Virtue, but in vain,
Her absence quicken'd every pain:
At length the slighted angel heard,
The dear refulgent form appear'd.
" Presumptuous youth!" she said, and frown'd;
(My heart-strings flutter'd at the sound)
" Who turns to me reluctant ears,
Shall shed repeated floods of tears.
These rivers shall for ever last,
There's no retracting what is past:
Nor think avenging ills to shun;
Play a false card, and you're undone.
" Of Pleasure's gilded baits beware,
Nor tempt the siren's fatal snare:
Forego this curs'd, detested place,
Abhor the strumpet, and her race:
Had you those softer paths pursued,
Perdition, stripling, had ensued:
Yes, fly — — you stand upon its brink;
To-morrow is too late to think.
" Indeed unwelcome truths I tell,
But mark my sacred lesson well:
With me whoever lives at strife,
Loses his better friend for life;
With me who lives in friendship's ties,
Finds all that's sought for by the wise.
Folly exclaims, and well she may,
Because I take her mask away;
If once I bring her to the sun,
The painted harlot is undone.
But prize, my child, oh! prize my rules,
And leave deception to her fools.
" Ambition deals in tinsel toys,
Her traffic gewgaws, fleeting joys!
An arrant juggler in disguise,
Who holds false optics to your eyes.
But ah! how quick the shadows pass;
Though the bright visions through her glass
Charm at a distance; yet, when near,
The baseless fabrics disappear.
" Nor Riches boast intrinsic worth,
Their charms, at best, superior earth:
These oft the heav'n-born mind enslave,
And make an honest man a knave.
" Wealth cures my wants, " the Miser cries,
Be not deceiv'd — the Miser lies:
One want he has, with all his store,
That worst of wants! the want of more.
" Take Pleasure, Wealth, and Pomp away,
And where is Happiness? you say.
" 'Tis here — and may be yours — for, know
I'm all that's Happiness below.
" To Vice I leave tumultuous joys,
Mine is the still and softer voice,
That whispers peace, when storms invade,
And music through the midnight shade.
" Come, then, be mine in every part,
Nor give me less than all your heart;
When troubles discompose your breast,
I'll enter there a cheerful guest:
My converse shall your cares beguile,
The little world within shall smile;
And then it scarce imports a jot,
Whether the great world frowns or not.
" And when the closing scenes prevail,
When wealth, state, pleasure, all shall fail;
All that a foolish world admires,
Or passion craves, or pride inspires;
At that important hour of need,
Virtue shall prove a friend indeed!
My hands shall smooth thy dying bed,
My arms sustain thy drooping head:
And when the painful struggle's o'er,
And that vain thing, the World, no more;
I'll bear my favourite son away
To rapture and eternal day!"