Classic Poem

ON THE NEW YEAR . 1739.

Janus, who with sliding pace,
Run'st a never-ending race,
And driv'st about, in prone career,
The whirling circle of the year,
Kindly indulge a little stay,
I beg but one swift hour's delay.
O! while the' important minutes wait,
Let me revolve the books of fate;
See what the coming year intends
To me, my country, kind and friends.
Then may'st thou wing thy flight, and go,
To scatter blindly joys and woe;
Spread dire disease, or purest health,
And, as thou list'st, grant place or wealth.
This hour, withheld by potent charms,
Ev'n Peace shall sleep in Pow'rs mad arms;
Kings feel their inward torments less,
And for a moment wish to bless.

Life now presents another scene,
The same strange farce to act again;
Again the weary human play'rs
Advance, and take their several shares:
Clodius riots, Caesar fights,
Tully pleads, and Maro writes,
Ammon's fierce son controls the globe,
And Harlequin diverts the mob.
To Time's dark cave the Year retreats,
These hoary unfrequented seats;
There from his loaded wing he lays
The months, the minutes, hours and days;
Then flies, the Seasons in his train,
To compass round the year again.

See there, in various heaps combin'd,
The vast designs of human-kind;
Whatever swell'd the statesman's thought,
The mischiefs mad ambition wrought,
Public revenge and hidden guilt,
The blood by secret murder spilt,
Friendships to sordid interest given,
And ill-match'd hearts, ne'er pair'd in Heaven;
What Avarice, to crown his store,
Stole from the orphan, and the poor;
Or Luxury's more shameful waste,
Squander'd on the' unthankful feast.
Ye Kings, and guilty great, draw near;
Before this awful court appear:
Bare to the Muse's piercing eye
The secrets of all mortals lie;
She, strict avenger, brings to light
Your crimes conceal'd in darkest night;
As conscience, to her trust most true,
Shall judge between the' oppress'd and you.

This casket shows, ye wretched train,
How often merit sued in vain.
See, there, undry'd, the widow's tears;
See, there, unsooth'd the orphan's fears:
Yet, look, what mighty sums appear,
The vile profusion of the year.
Could'st thou not, impious Greatness, give
The smallest aims, that Want might live?
And yet, how many a large repast
Pall'd the rich glutton's sickly taste!
One table's vain intemperate load,
With ambush'd death, and sickness strow'd,
Had blest the cottage' peaceful shade,
And given its children health and bread:
The rustic sire, and faithful spouse,
With each dear pledge of honest vows,
Had, at the sober-tasted meal,
Repeated oft the grateful tale;
Had hymn'd, in native language free,
The song of thanks to Heaven and thee;
A music that the great ne'er hear,
Yet sweeter to the' internal ear
Than any soft seducing note
E'er thrill'd from Farinelli's throat.

Let's still search on — — This bundle's large.
What's here? 'Tis Science' plaintive charge.
Hear Wisdom's philosophic sigh,
(Neglected all her treasures lie)
That none her secret haunts explore,
To learn what Plato taught before;
Her sons seduc'd to turn their parts
To flattery's more thriving arts;
Refine their better sense away
And join Corruption's flag, for pay.
See his reward the gamester share,
Who painted moral virtue fair;
Inspir'd the minds of generous youth
To love the simple mistress Truth;
The patriot path distinctly show'd,
That Rome and Greece to glory trode;
That self-applause is noblest fame,
And kings may greatness link to shame,
While honesty is no disgrace,
And peace can smile without a place.
Hear too Astronomy repine,
Who taught unnumber'd worlds to shine;
Who travels boundless ether through,
And brings the distant orbs to view.
Can she her broken glass repair,
Though Av'rice has her all to spare?
What mighty secrets had been found,
Was Virtue mistress of five pound?
Yet see where, given to wealth and pride,
A bulky pension lies beside.

Avaunt then, Riches; no delay;
I spurn the' ignoble heaps away.
What though your charms can purchase all
The giddy honours of this ball;
Make nature's germans all divide,
And haughty peers renounce their pride;
Can buy proud Flavia's sordid smile,
Or, ripe for fate, this destin'd isle.
Though Greatness condescends to pray,
Will Time indulge one hour's delay,
Or give the wretch intent on pelf,
One moment's credit with himself?
Virtue, that true from false discerns,
The vulgar courtly phrase unlearns,
Superior far to Fortune's frown,
Bestows alone the stable crown,
The wreath from Honour's root that springs,
That fades upon the brows of kings.