Classic Poem

PRAVO FAVORE labi mortales solent ,
Et pro judicio dum stant erroris sui
Ad paenitendum REBUS MANIFESTIS agi P HÆD .

Amidst the ample field of things,
The doubtful Muse suspends her wings;
While Thoughts, Imagination's host,
Keep hov'ring over Reason's post
Maintain'd, O Truth , upon thy base,
Whose voice, and whose Angelic face,
Are what the prudent love and hear,
And by no other star they steer.

In vain fair Fancy decks her bow'rs,
And tempts with fruits, and tempts with flow'rs;
Her wiles in ev'ry mode express'd,
Or leudly strip'd, or proudly dress'd;
Try all the little arts she can,
Firm stands the Attribute of Man;
And solid, weighty, deep, and sound,
Asserts its right, and keeps its ground.

'Twas in that famous Sabine grove,
Where Wit so oft with Judgment strove,
Where Wisdom grac'd th' Horatian lyre,
Like weight of metal play'd by fire;
Where Elegance and Sense conferr'd,
Just at the coming of the WORD,
Who chose his reasons to convey
A plain and a familiar way,
Then, would you taste the moral tale,
First bless the banquet, and regale.
IMAGINATION, in the flight
Of young desire, and gay delight,
Began to think upon a mate,
As weary of the single state;
For sick of change, as left at will,
And cloy'd with entertainment still,
She thought it better to be grave,
To settle, to take up, and save.
She therefore to her chamber sped,
And thus at first attir'd her head.
Upon her hair, with brilliants graced,
Her tow'r of beamy gold she placed;
Her ears with pendant jewels glow'd
Of various water, curious mode,
As nature sports the wintry ice,
In many a whimsical device.
Her eye-brows arch'd, upon the stream
Of rays, beyond the piercing beam;
Her cheeks in matchless colour high,
She veil'd to fix the gazer's eye;
Her paps, as white as Fancy draws,
She cover'd with a crimson gauze;
And on her wings she threw perfume
From buds of everlasting bloom.
Her zone, ungirded from her vest,
She wore across her swelling breast;
On which, in gems, this verse was wrought,
" I make and shift the scenes of Thought. "
In her right hand a Wand she held,
Which Magick's utmost pow'r excell'd;
And in her left retain'd a Chart,
With figures far surpassing art,
Of other natures, suns and moons,
Of other moves to higher tunes.
The Sylphs and Sylphids, fleet as light,
The Fairies of the gamesome night,
The Muses, Graces, all attend
Her service, to her journey's end:
And Fortune, sometimes at her hand,
Is now the fav'rite of her band,
Dispatch'd before the news to bear,
And all th' adventure to prepare.

Beneath an Holm-tree's friendly shade,
Was Reason 's little cottage made;
Before, a river deep and still;
Behind, a rocky soaring hill.
Himself, adorn'd in seemly plight,
Was reading to the Eastern light;
And ever, as he meekly knelt,
Upon the Book of Wisdom dwelt.
The Spirit of the shifting wheel,
Thus first essay'd his pulse to feel. —
" The Nymph supreme o'er works of wit,
O'er labour'd plan, and lucky hit,
Is coming to your homely cot,
To call you to a nobler lot;
I, Fortune , promise wealth and pow'r,
By way of matrimonial dow'r:
Preferment crowns the golden day,
When fair Occasion leads the way. "
Thus spake the frail, capricious dame,
When she that sent the message came. —

" From first Invention's highest sphere,
I, Queen of Imag'ry, appear;
And throw myself at Reason 's feet,
Upon a weighty point to treat.
You dwell alone, and are too grave;
You make yourself too much a slave;
Your shrewd deductions run a length,
'Till all your Spirits waste their strength:
Your fav'rite logick is full close;
Your morals are too much a dose;
You ply your studies 'till you risk
Your senses — you should be more brisk —
The Doctors soon will find a flaw,
And lock you up in chains and straw.
But, if you are inclin'd to take
The gen'rous offer, which I make,
I'll lead you from this hole and ditch,
To gay Conception's top-most pitch;
To those bright plains, where crowd in swarms
The spirits of fantastic forms;
To planets populous with elves;
To natures still above themselves,
By soaring to the wond'rous height
Of notions, which they still create;
I'll bring you to the pearly cars,
By dragons drawn, above the stars;
To colours of Arabian glow;
And to the heart-dilating show
Of paintings, which surmount the life:
At once your tut'ress, and your wife. " —
" — Soft, soft, (says Reason ) lovely friend;
Tho' to a parley I attend,
I cannot take thee for a mate;
I'm lost, if e'er I change my state.
But whensoe'er your raptures rise,
I'll try to come with my supplies;
To muster up my sober aid,
What time your lively pow'rs invade;
To act conjointly in the war
On dullness, whom we both abhor;
And ev'ry sally that you make,
I must be there, for conduct's sake;
Thy correspondent, thine ally;
Or any thing, but bind and tye —
But, ere this treaty be agreed,
Give me thy wand and winged steed:
Take thou this compass and this rule,
That wit may cease to play the fool;
And that thy vot'ries who are born
For praise, may never sink to scorn. "
O K ENRICK , happy in the view
Of Reason , and of Fancy too;
Whose friendship of a few days growth,
Is ripe, and greater than them both;
Who reconcil'st with Euclid's scheme,
The tow'ring flight, and golden dream,
With thoughts at once restrained and free,
I dedicate this tale to THEE.
But now, a vet'ran for the prize,
I claim a licence to advise.
Let not a fondness for the sage,
Decoy thee from a brighter page,
THE BOOK OF SEMPITERNAL BLISS,
The lore where nothing is amiss,
The truth to full perfection brought,
Beyond the sage's deepest thought;
Beyond the poet's highest flight;
Then let Invention reason right,
And free from prejudice and hate,
And false refinement's vain debate,
Since G OD 's the W ORD , that Christians read,
Be love their everlasting deed.