Distorted from its use and just design, To make the pitiful possessor shine; To purchase, at the fool-frequented fair Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear, Is profanation of the basest kind— Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind.
A. Hail, Sternhold, then; and Hopkins, hail!— B. Amen.
If flattery, folly, lust, employ the pen ; If acrimony, slander, and abuse,
Give it a charge to blacken and traduce;
Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's ease, With all that fancy can invent to please, Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall, One madrigal of theirs is worth them all.
A. "Twould thin the ranks of the poetic tribe, To dash the pen through all that you proscribe.
B. No matter;-we could shift when they were not; And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot.
Si quid loquar audiendum.-HOR. Lib. iv. Od. 2.
Rise of error, 1-Man endowed with free-will, 23-Motives to action, 45— Allurements of pleasure, 57—Music, 63—The chase, 82—Such amusements unsuited to the clerical character, 96-Occiduus, an inconsistent pastor, 124-His pernicious example, 142-Sabbath desecration, 152-Cards and dancing, 169-The trifler, as well as the drunkard, condemned, 199Gluttony, 209-Sensual pleasures, 225-Lawful and virtuous pleasures, 243-Pleasures in excess pernicious, 269-The pen a dangerous implement, 301-Corrupting tendency of some works of imagination, 307-Apostrophe to Chesterfield, 335-Importance of early education, 353-Foreign travel, 369-Its effects, 401-Accomplishments take place of virtue, 417-Qualities required in the critic of the sacred volume, 452-Invocation to the press, 460-Effects of enthusiasm, 470—Partiality of authors for their literary progeny, 516-The dunce impatient of contradiction, 536-Faults of the life and errors of the understanding reciprocally produce each other, 564-Evil habits unrestrained lead to destruction, 580.
SING, Muse (if such a theme, so dark, so long, May find a Muse to grace it with a song), By what unseen and unsuspected arts
The serpent Error twines round human hearts; Tell where she lurks, beneath what flowery shades, That not a glimpse of genuine light pervades, The poisonous, black, insinuating worm Successfully conceals her loathsome form. Take, if ye can, ye careless and supine! Counsel and caution from a voice like mine; Truths, that the theorist could never reach, And observation taught me, I would teach.
Not all whose eloquence the fancy fills, Musical as the chime of tinkling rills,
Weak to perform, though mighty to pretend, Can trace her mazy windings to their end; Discern the fraud beneath the specious lure, Prevent the danger, or prescribe the cure. The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear, Falls soporific on the listless ear; Like quicksilver, the rhetoric they display, Shines as it runs, but, grasp'd at, slips away. Placed for his trial on this bustling stage, From thoughtless youth to ruminating age, Free in his will to choose or to refuse, Man may improve the crisis, or abuse : Else, on the fatalist's unrighteous plan, Say, to what bar amenable were man?
With nought in charge, he could betray no trust; And, if he fell, would fall because he must; If love reward him, or if vengeance strike, His recompence in both unjust alike. Divine authority within his breast
Brings every thought, word, action, to the test; Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains, As reason, or as passion, takes the reins.
Heaven from above, and conscience from within, Cries in his startled ear-Abstain from sin! The world around solicits his desire, And kindles in his soul a treacherous fire; While, all his purposes and steps to guard, Peace follows virtue as its sure reward; And Pleasure brings as surely in her train Remorse, and sorrow, and vindictive pain.
Man, thus endued with an elective voice, Must be supplied with objects of his choice. Where'er he turns, enjoyment and delight, Or present, or in prospect, meet his sight:
These open on the spot their honey'd store; Those call him loudly to parsuit of more. His unexhausted mine the sordid vice Avarice shows, and virtue is the price.
Here various motives his ambition raise
Power, pomp, and splendour, and the thirst of praise; There Beauty woos him with expanded arms; Even Bacchanalian madness has its charms. Nor these alone, whose pleasures less refined, Might well alarm the most unguarded mind, Seek to supplant his inexperienced youth, Or lead him devious from the path of truth; Hourly allurements on his passions press, Safe in themselves, but dangerous in the excess. Hark! how it floats upon the dewy air;- O what a dying, dying close was there! 'Tis harmony from yon sequester'd bower, Sweet harmony, that soothes the midnight hour! Long ere the charioteer of day had run His morning course, the enchantment was begun ; And he shall gild yon mountain's height again, Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain.
Is this the rugged path, the steep ascent, That virtue points to? Can a life thus spent Lead to the bliss she promises the wise,
Detach the soul from earth, and speed her to the skies? Ye devotees to your adored employ,
Enthusiasts, drunk with an unreal joy,
Love makes the music of the blest above,
Heaven's harmony is universal love;
And earthly sounds, though sweet and well combined,
And lenient as soft opiates to the mind,
Leave vice and folly unsubdued behind.
Gray dawn appears; the sportsman and his train
Speckle the bosom of the distant plain ;
"Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighbouring lairs, Save that his scent is less acute than theirs, For persevering chase, and headlong leaps, True beagle as the stanchest hound he keeps. Charged with the folly of his life's mad scene, He takes offence, and wonders what you mean; The joy, the danger and the toil o'erpays; 'Tis exercise, and health, and length of days. Again impetuous to the field he flies,
Leaps every fence but one, there falls, and dies; Like a slain deer, the tumbril brings him home, Unmiss'd but by his dogs and by his groom.
Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place, Lights of the world, and stars of human race,— But if eccentric ye forsake your sphere, Prodigies ominous, and view'd with fear; The comet's baneful influence is a dream, Yours real, and pernicious in the extreme. What then! are appetites and lusts laid down With the same ease that man puts on his gown ? Will avarice and concupiscence give place,
Charm'd by the sounds-your Reverence, or your Grace? No. But his own engagement binds him fast; Or, if it does not, brands him to the last, What atheists call him-a designing knave, A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and slave. Oh, laugh or mourn with me the rueful jest, A cassock'd huntsman and a fiddling priest! He from Italian songsters takes his cue: Set Paul to music, he shall quote him too. He takes the field, the master of the pack
Cries, "Well done, Saint!" and claps him on the back. Is this the path of sanctity? Is this
To stand a waymark in the road to bliss?
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