Classic Poem

Why art thou slow to strike th' harmonious shell,
Averse to sing who know'st to sing so well?
If thy proud muse the tragic buskin wears,
Great Sophocles revives and re-appears,
While regularly bold she nobly sings
Strains worthy to detain the ears of kings.
If by thy hand th' Homeric lyre be strung,
The lyre returns such sounds as Homer sung.
The kind compulsion of a friend obey,
And tho' reluctant swell the lofty lay,
Then list'ning groves once more shall catch the found,
While Grecian muses sing on British ground.
Thus calm and silent thy own Proteus roves
Thro' pearly mazes and thro' coral groves;
But when emerging from the azure main,
Coercive bands the unwilling god constrain,
Then heaves his bosom with prophetic fires,
And his tongue speaks sublime what heaven inspires.
Envy 'tis true with barb'rous rage invades
What e'en fierce lightning spares, the laurel shades;
And critics, biass'd by mistaken rules,
Like Turkish zealots, rev'rence none but fools.
But praise from such injurious tongues is shame;
They rail the happy author into fame;
Thus Phœbus thro' the zodiac takes his way,
And rises amid monsters into day.
Oh vileness of mankind! when writing well
Becomes a crime, and danger to excel!
While, noble scorn! my friend such insults sees,
And flies from towns to wilds, from men to trees.
Free from the lust of wealth and glitt'ring snares
That make th' unhappy great in love with cares,
Me humble joys in calm retirement please,
A silent happiness and learned ease.
Deny me grandeur, heaven! but goodness grant:
A king is less illustrious than a saint.
Hail, holy Virtue! come, thou heavenly guest!
Come, fix thy pleasing empire in my breast!
Thou know'st her influence, friend! thy cheerful mien
Proclaims the innocence and peace within:
Such joys as none but sons of Virtue know
Shine in thy face, and in thy bosom glow.
So when the holy mount the prophet trod,
And talk'd familiar as a friend with God,
Celestial radiance every feature shed,
And ambient glories dawn'd around his head.
Sure what the unthinking great, mistaken, call
Their happiness is folly, folly all!
Like losty mountains in the clouds, they hide
Their haughty heads, but swell with barren pride;
And while low vales in useful beauty lie,
Heave their proud naked summits to the sky.
In honour as in place, ye great transcend;
An angel fall'n degenerates to a fiend.
Th' all-cheering sun is honour'd with his shrines
Not that he moves aloft but that he shines.
Why flames the star on Walpole's gen'rous breast?
Not that he's highest, but because he's best;
Fond to oblige; in blessing others, blest.
How wond'rous few, by avarice uncontroll'd,
Have virtue to subdue the thirst of gold!
The shining dirt the sordid wretch ensnares
To buy with mighty treasures mighty cares:
Blindly he courts, misguided by the will,
A specious good, and meets a real ill.
So when Ulysses plough'd the furgy main,
When now in view appear'd his native reign,
His wayward mates th' Æolian bag unbind,
Expecting treasures, but out rush'd a wind;
The sudden hurricane in thunder roars,
Buffets the bark, and whirls it from the shores.
O heaven! by what vain passions man is sway'd!
Proud of his reason, by his will betray'd,
Blindly he wanders in pursuit of vice,
And hates confinement tho' in Paradise;
Doom'd, when enlarg'd, instead of Eden's bow'rs,
To rove in wilds, and gather thorns for flow'rs:
Between th' extremes direct he sees the way,
Yet wilful swerves, perversely fond to stray!
Whilst niggard souls indulge their craving thirst,
Rich without bounty, with abundance curst,
The prodigal pursues expensive vice,
And buys dishonour at a mighty price.
On beds of state the splendid glutton sleeps,
While starving Merit unregarded weeps;
His ill-plac'd bounty while scorn'd Virtue grieves,
A dog, a fawning sycophant, receives;
And cringing knaves or haughty strumpets share
What would make Sorrow smile, and cheer Despair.
Then wouldst thou steer where Fortune spreads the sails?
Go flatter Vice! for seldom flatt'ry fails;
Soft thro' the ear the pleasing bane distils:
Delicious poison! in perfumes it kills!
Be all but virtuous. O! unwise to live
Unfashionably good and hope to thrive!
Trees that aloft with proudest honours rise
Root hell-ward, and thence flourish to the skies.
O happier thou, my friend! with ease content,
Blest with the conscience of a life well spent,
Nor wouldst be great, but guide thy gather'd sails
Safe by the shore, nor tempt the rougher gales;
For sure of all that feel the wounds of Fate
None are completely wretched but the great.
Superior woes superior stations bring;
A peasant sleeps while cares awake a king.
Who reigns must suffer! crowns with gems inlaid
At once adorn and load the royal head.
Change but the scene, and kings in dust decay,
Swept from the earth the pageants of a day;
There no distinctions on the dead await
But pompous graves and rottenness in state.
Such now are all that shone on earth before;
Cæsar and mighty Marlb'rough are no more!
Unhallow'd feet o'er awful Tully tread,
And Hyde and Plato join the vulgar dead;
And all the glorious aims that can employ
The souls of mortals must with Hanmer die.
O Compton when this breath we once resign
My dust shall be as eloquent as thine.
Till that last hour which calls me hence away,
To pay that great arrear which all must pay,
O! may I tread the paths which saints have trod,
Who knew they walk'd before th' all-seeing God!
Studious from ways of wicked men to keep,
Who mock at vice while grieving angels weep.
Come taste, my friend! the joys retirement brings,
Look down on royal slaves, and pity kings.
More happy! laid where trees with trees entwin'd
In bow'ry arches tremble to the wind,
With innocence and shade like Adam blest,
While a new Eden opens in the breast!
Such were the scenes descending angels trod,
In guiltless days, when man convers'd with God.
Then shall my lyre to loitier founds be strung,
Inspir'd by Homer, or what thou hast sung:
My muse from thine shall catch a warmer ray,
As clouds are brighten'd by the god of day.
So trees unapt to bear, by art refin'd,
With shoots ennobled of a gen'rous kind,
High o'er the ground with fruits adopted rise,
And lift their spreading honours to the skies.