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326

Wide and more wide her flaming bolts are hurld,
Till all her wrath involves the guilty World.

Yet SATIRE oft affumes a gentler mien, 315
And beams on Virtue's friends a smile serene :
She wounds reluctant; pours her balm with joy ;
Glad to commend where Worth attracts her eye.
But chief, when Virtue, Learning, Arts decline,
She joys to see unconquer’d' merit shine' ; 320
Where bursting glorious, with departing ray,
True Genius gilds the close of Britain's day:
With joy she fees the stream of Roman art
From MURRAY's tongue flow purer to the heart :
Sees YORKE to Fame, ere yet to Manhood known,
And just to ev'ry Virtue but his own:
Hears unstain's Cam with gen'rous pride proclaim
A Sage's, Critic's, and a Poet's name:
Beholds, where WIDCOMBE's happy hills afcend,
Each orphan'd Art and Virtue find a friend : 330
To HAGLEY's honour'd Shade directs her view;
And culls each flow'r, to form a Wreath for You.

But tread with cautious step this dangerous ground, Beset with faithless precipices round:

334 Truth be your guide: disdain Ambition's call; And if you fall with Truth, you greatly fall. 'Tis Virtue's native lustre that must shine ; The Poet can but set it in his line: And who unmoy'd with laughter can behold A sordid pebble meanly grac'd with gold?

340 Let real Merit then adorn your lays, For Shame attends on prostituted praise :

And

VOL. III.

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346

And all your wit, your most distinguish'd art,
But make us grieve you want an honest heart.

Nor think the Muse by Satire's Law confin'd:
She yields description of the noblest kind.
Inferior art the Landscape may design,
And paint the purple ev’ning in the line :
Her daring thought essays a higher plan;
Her hand delineates Passion, pictures Man. 350
And
great

the toil, the latent soul to trace,
To paint the heart, and catch internal grace ;
By turns bid Vice or Virtue strike our eyes,
Now bid a Wolfey, or a Cromwell rise ;
Now with a touch more facred and refin'd,

355
Call forth a CHESTERFIELD's or LONSDALE's mind.
Here sweet or strong may ev'ry Colour flow :
Here let the pencil warm, the canvass glow :
Of light and shade provoke the noble strife,
And wake each striking feature into life.

360

PART

PART III.

THROUGH Ages thus has Satire keenly shinod,

The Friend to Truth, to Virtue; and Mankind : Yet the bright flame from Virtue ne'er had sprung, And Man was guilty ere the Poet sung. This Muse in silence joy'd each better Age, 365 Till glowing crimes had wak'd her into

rage. Truth saw her honest spleen with new delight, And bade her wing her shafts, and urge their flight. First on the Sons of Greece she prov'd her art, And Sparta félt the fierce IAmbic dart *.

370 To Latium next, avenging Satire flew : The flaming faulchion rough Lucilius † drew; With dauntless warmth in Virtue's cause engag'd, And conscious Villains trembled as he rag'd.

Then sportive Horace | caught the gen'rous fire; For Satire's bow resign’d the founding lyre: 376

Each

NOTES.

Hor.

Juv. S. i.

* « Archilochum proprio rabies armavit Iambo." “ Ense velut stricto quoties Lucilius ardens

Infremuit, rubet auditor cui frigida mens est

Criminibus, tacita sudant præcordia culpa.” † “ Omne vafer vitium ridenti Flaccus amico

Tangit, et admiffus circum præcordia ludit,
Callidus excuffo populum suspendere naso.”

Pers. S. i.

Each arrow polish'd in his hand was seen,
And, as it grew more polish'd, grew more keen.
His art, conceal'd in study'd negligence,
Politely fly, cajold the foes of sense :

380
He seem'd to sport and trifle with the dart,
But while he sported, drove it to the heart.
In

graver strains majestic Persius wrote, Big with a ripe exuberance of thought : Greatly sedate, contemn’d a Tyrant's reign, 385 And lash'd Corruption with a calm disdain.

More ardent eloquence, and boundless rage, Inflame bold JUVENAL's exalted page, His mighty numbers aw'd corrupted Rome, And swept audacious Greatness to its doom ; 390 The headlong torrent thund'ring from on high, Rent the proud rock that lately brav'd the sky.

But lo! the fatal Victor of Mankind ! Swoln Luxury !-pale Ruin stalks behind! As countless Insects from the north-east

pour, 395 To blast the Spring, and ravage ev'ry flow'r : So barb'rous Millions spread contagious death : The fick’ning Laurel wither'd at their breath. Deep Superstition's night the skies o’erhung, Beneath whose baleful dews the Poppy sprung. 400 No longer Genius woo'd the Nine to love, But Dulness nodded in the Muse's grove : Wit, Spirit, Freedom, were the sole offence, Nor aught was held so dangerous as Sense.

At

At length, again fair Science shot her ray, 405 Dawn'd in the skies, and spoke returning day. Now, SATIRE, triumph o'er thy flying foe, Now, load thy quiver, string thy flacken'd bow! 'Tis done !-See, great Erasmus breaks the spell, And wounds triumphant Folly in her cell! 410 (In vain the folemn Cowl surrounds her face, Vain all her bigot cant, her sour grimace,) With shame compelld her leaden throne to quit, And own the force of Reason urg'd by Wit. 414

'Twas then plain Donne in honest vengeance rose, His Wit harmonious, tho' his Rhyme was profe: He 'midst an age of Puns and Pedants wrote With genuine sense, and Roman strength of thought.

Yet scarce had SATIRE well relum'd her flame, (With grief the Muse records her Country's shame,) Ere Britain faw the foul revolt commence, 421 And treach'rous Wit began her war with Sense. Then rose a shameless mercenary train, Whom latest Time shall view with just disdain: A race fantastic, in whose gaudy line

425 Untutor'd thought, and tinsel beauty shine ; Wit's shatter'd Mirror lies in fragments bright, Reflects not Nature, but confounds the fight. Dry Morals the Court-Poet blush'd to sing 'Twas all his praise to say, “ the oddest thing." Proud for a jest obscene, a Patron's nod, 431 To martyr Virtue, or blafpheme his God.

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