Classic Poem

A VISIONARY VIEW

Come , Fancy, thou hast ever been,
In life's low vale, my ready friend,
To cheer the clouded hour;
Though unfledg'd with scholastic law,
Some visionary picture draw,
With all thy magic power;
Now to the intellectual eye
The glowing prospects rise
Parnassus' lofty summits high,
Far towering 'mid the skies,
Where vernally eternally,
Rich leafy laurels grow,
With bloomy bays, through endless days,
To crown the poet's brow.

Sure bold is he who dares to climb
Yon awful jetting rock sublime,
Who dares Pegasus sit,
For should brain-ballast prove too light,
He'll spurn him from his airy height,
Down to Oblivion's pit;
There, to disgrace for ever doom'd,
To mourn his sick'ning woes,
And weep that ever he presum'd,
Above the vale of prose.
Then, O beware! with prudent care,
Nor 'tempt the steeps of Fame,
And leave behind thy peace of mind,
To gain a sounding name.

Behold! — yon ready rhyming earl,
With flatt'ry fir'd, attracts the warl',
By canker'd pers'nal satire;
He takes th' unthinking croud's acclaim,
For sterling proofs of lasting fame,
And deals his inky spatter,
Now see, he on Pegasus flies,
With bluff important straddle!
He bears him midway up the skies,
See, see he's off the saddle!
He headlong tumbles, growls, and grumbles,
Down the dark abyss:
The noisy core that prais'd before,
Now joins the general hiss.

Now see another vent'rer rise,
Deep fraught with fulsome eulogies,
To win his patron's favour;
One of those adulating things,
That, dangling in the train of kings,
Give guilt a splendid cover.
He mounts, well prefac'd by my Lord,
Inflicts the spur's sharp wound;
Pegasus spurns the great man's word,
And wont move from the ground.
Now mark his face flush'd with disgrace,
Through future life to grieve on,
His wishes crost, his hopes all lost,
He sinks into oblivion.

Yon city scribbler thinks to scale
The cliffs of fame with pastoral,
In worth thinks none e'er richer,
Yet never climb'd the upland steep,
Nor e'er beheld a flock of sheep,
Save those driv'n by the butcher;
Nor ever mark'd the gurgling stream,
Except the common sewer,
On rainy days, when dirt and slime
Pour'd turbid past his door.
Choice epithets in store he gets
From Virgil, Shenstone, Pope,
With tailor art tacks part to part,
And makes his past'ral up.

But see, rich clad in native worth,
Yon Bard of nature ventures forth,
In simple, modest tale,
Applauding millions catch the song,
The raptur'd rocks the notes prolong,
And hand them to the gale;
Pegasus kneels — he takes his seat —
Now see — aloft he towers,
To place him 'bove the reach of fate
In Fame's ambrosial bowers:
To be enroll'd with bards of old,
In ever-honoured station, —
The gods well pleas'd, see mortals rais'd
Worthy of their creation.

Now mark what crowds of hackney scribblers,
Imitators, rhyming dabblers,
Still follow in the rear!
Pegasus spurns us one by one,
Yet still, fame struck, we follow on,
And tempt our fate severe:
In many a dogg'rel Epitaph,
And short-lin'd, mournful Ditty,
Our " Ahs! — Alases! " raise the laugh,
Revert the tide of pity.
Yet still we write in nature's spite,
Our last piece aye the best;
Arraigning still, complaining still,
The world for want of taste!

Observe yon poor deluded man,
With thread-bare coat and visage wan,
Ambitious of a name;
The nat'ral claims of meat and cleading,
He reckons these not worth the heeding,
But presses on for fame!
The public voice, touchstone of worth,
Anonymous he tries,
But draws the critic's vengeance forth —
His fancied glory dies;
Neglected now, dejected now,
He gives his spleen full scope,
In solitude he chews his cude,
A downright misanthrope.
Then, brother Rhymsters, O beware!
Nor tempt unscar'd the specious snare,
Which self-love often weaves;
Nor doat with a fond father's pains,
Upon the offspring of your brains,
For fancy oft deceives.
To lighten life, a wee bit sang
Is sure a sweet illusion!
But ne'er provoke the critic's stang,
By premature intrusion.
Lock up your piece, let fondness cease,
Till mem'ry fail to bear it,
With critic lore then read it o'er,
Yourself may judge its merit.