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Invades, possesses, and o’erwhelms the soul
Of him whom hope has with a touch made whole.
'Tis heaven, all heaven descending on the wings
Of the glad legions of the King of kings;
"Tis more,—'tis God diffused through every part,
'Tis God himself triumphant in his heart.
Oh, welcome now the sun's once hated light,
His noonday beams were never half so bright.
Not kindred minds alone are call’d to employ
Their hours, their days, in listening to his joy,
Unconscious nature, all that he surveys,
Rocks, groves, and streams, must join him in his

praise.
These are thy glorious works, eternal Truth,
The scoff of wither'd age and beardless youth;
These move the censure and illiberal grin
Of fools that hate thee and delight in sin:
But these shall last when night has quench'd the

pole, And heaven is all departed as a scroll : And when, as Justice has long since decreed, This earth shall blaze, and a new world succeed, Then these thy glorious works, and they that share That Hope which can alone exclude despair, Shall live exempt from weakness and decay, The brightest wonders of an endless day.

Happy the bard, (if that fair name belong To him that blends no fable with his song) Whose lines uniting, by an honest art, The faithful monitor's and poet's part, Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind, And, while they captivate, inform the mind; Still happier, if he till a thankful soil, And fruit reward his honourable toil : But happier far who comfort those that wait To hear plain truth at Judah’s hallow'd gate; Their language simple, as their manners meek, No shining ornaments have they to seek, Nor labour they, nor time nor talents waste, In sorting flowers to suit a fickle taste; But while they speak the wisdom of the skies, Which art can only darken and disguise, The abundant harvest, recompense divine, Repays their work,—the gleaning only, mine.

He made at first, though free and unconfined,
One man the common father of the kind,
That every tribe, though placed as he sees best,
Where seas or deserts part them from the rest,
Differing in language, manners, or in face,
Might feel themselves allied to all the race.
When Cook-lamented, and with tears as just
As ever mingled with heroic dust,
Steer'd Britain's oak into a world unknown,
And in his country's glory sought his own,
Wherever he found man, to nature true,
The rights of man were sacred in his view;
He soothed with gifts and greeted with a smile
The simple native of the new-found isle ;
He spurnd the wretch that slighted or withstood
The tender argument of kindred blood,
Nor would endure that any should control
His freeborn brethren of the southern pole.

But though some nobler minds a law respect,
That none shall with impunity neglect,
In baser souls unnumber'd evils meet,
To thwart its influence and its end defeat.
While Cook is loved for savage lives he saved,
See Cortes odious for a world enslaved !
Where wast thou then, sweet Charity, where then,
Thou tutelary friend of helpless men?
Wast thou in monkish cells and nunneries found,
Or building hospitals on English ground?
No!—Mammon makes the world his legatee [fee.
Through fear, not love; and Heaven abhors the
Wherever found, (and all men need thy care)
Nor age nor infancy could find thee there.
The hand that slew till it could slay no more,
Was glued to the sword-hilt with Indian gore.
Their prince, as justly seated on his throne
As vain imperial Philip on his own,
Trick'd out of all his royalty by art,
That stripp'd him bare, and broke his honest heart,
Died by the sentence of a shaven priest,
For scorning what they taught him to detest.
How dark the veil that intercepts the blaze
Of Heaven's mysterious purposes and ways !
God stood not, though he seem'd to stand, aloof,
And at this hour the conqueror feels the proof:
The wreath he won drew down an instant curse,
The fretting plague is in the public purse,
The canker'd spoil corrodes the pining state,
Starved by that indolence their mines create.

Oh, could their ancient Incas rise again,
How would they take up Israel's taunting strain !
Art thou too fallen, Iberia! Do we see
The robber and the murderer weak as we?
Thou, that hast wasted earth, and dared despise
Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies,
Thy pomp is in the grave, thy glory laid
Low in the pits thine avarice has made.
We come with joy from our eternal rest,
To see the oppressor in his turn oppress’d.
Art thou the God the thunder of whose hand
Roll'd over all our desolated land,
Shook principalities and kingdoms down,
And made the mountains tremble at his frown?
The sword shall light upon thy boasted powers,
And waste them, as thy sword has wasted ours.
'Tis thus Omnipotence his law fulfils,
And vengeance executes what justice wills.

Again the band of commerce was design'd
To associate all the branches of mankind,
And if a boundless plenty be the robe,
Trade is the golden girdle of the globe.

CHARITY.

Qud nihil majus meliusve terris
Fata donavere bonique divi,
Nec dabunt, quamvis redeant in aurum

Tempora priscum.-Hor. Lib. iv. Ode ii.

FAIREST and foremost of the train that wait
On man's most dignified and happiest state,
Whether we name thee Charity or Love,
Chief grace below, and all in all above,
Prosper (I press thee with a powerful plea)
A task I venture on, impell’d by thee:
Oh never seen but in thy bless'd effects,
Nor felt but in the soul that Heaven selects,
Who seeks to praise thee, and to make thee known
To other hearts, must have thee in his own.
Come, prompt me with benevolent desires,
Teach me to kindle at thy gentle fires,
And though disgraced and slighted, to redeem
A poet's name, by making thee the theme.

God working ever on a social plan,
By various ties attaches man to man:

Wise to promote whatever end he means,

All other sorrows virtue may endure,
God opens fruitful Nature's various scenes, And find submission more than half a cure;
Each climate needs what other climes produce, Grief is itself a medicine, and bestow'd
And offers something to the general use;

To improve the fortitude that bears the load, No land but listens to the common call,

To teach the wanderer, as his woes increase, And in return receives supply from all.

The path of Wisdom, all whose paths are peace. This genial intercourse and mutual aid

But slavery !-Virtue dreads it as her grave: Cheers what were else an universal shade,

Patience itself is meanness in a slave: Calls Nature from her ivy-mantled den,

Or if the will and sovereignty of God And softens human rockwork into men.

Bid suffer it awhile, and kiss the rod, Ingenious Art with her expressive face,

Wait for the dawning of a brighter day, Steps forth to fashion and refine the race,

And snap the chain the moment when you may. Not only fills necessity's demand,

Nature imprints upon whate'er we see, But overcharges her capacious hand:

That has a heart and life in it, Be free; Capricious taste itself can crave no more

The beasts are charter'd, neither age nor force, Than she supplies from her abounding store: Can quell the love of freedom in a horse : She strikes out all that luxury can ask,

He breaks the cord that held him at the rack, And gains new vigour at her endless task.

And, conscious of an unincumber'd back, Hers is the spacious arch, the shapely spire, Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein, The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre;

Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane, From her the canvass borrows light and shade, Responsive to the distant neigh he neighs, And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade. Nor stops, till, overleaping all delays, She guides the finger o'er the dancing keys, He finds the pasture where his fellows graze. Gives difficulty all the grace of ease,

Canst thou, and honour'd with a Christian name, And pours a torrent of sweet notes around, Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame? Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound. Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead

These are the gifts of Art, and Art thrives most Expedience as a warrant for the deed? Where commerce has enrich'd the busy coast; So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold He catches all improvements in his flight,

To quit the forest and invade the fold; Spreads foreign wonders in his country's sight, So may the ruffian, who with ghostly glide, Imports what others have invented well,

Dagger in hand, steals close to your bedside; And stirs his own to match them or excel.

Not he, but his emergence forced the door, 'Tis thus reciprocating each with each,

He found it inconvenient to be poor. Alternately the nations learn and teach;

Has God then given its sweetness to the cane, While Providence enjoins to every soul

Unless his laws be trampled on,-in vain ? An union with the vast terraqueous whole. Built a brave world, which cannot yet subsist,

Heaven speed the canvass gallantly unfurld Unless his right to rule it be dismiss'd ? To furnish and accommodate a world,

Impudent blasphemy! So Folly pleads, To give the pole the produce of the sun,

And, Avarice being judge, with ease succeeds. And knit the unsocial climates into one !:

But grant the plea, and let it stand for just, Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave

That man make man his prey, because he must; Impel the feet whose errand is to save,

Still there is room for pity to abate, To succour wasted regions, and replace

And soothe the sorrows of so sad a state. The smile of opulence in sorrow's face !-

A Briton knows, or if he knows it not, Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen,

The Scripture placed within his reach, he ought, Impede the bark that ploughs the deep serene, That souls have no discriminating hue, Charged with a freight transcending in its worth Alike important in their Maker's view; The gems of India, nature's rarest birth,

That none are free from blemish since the fall, That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord's commands, And love divine has paid one price for all. A herald of God's love to pagan lands !

The wretch, that works and weeps without relief, But, ah! what wish can prosper, or what prayer, Has one that notices his silent grief. For merchants rich in cargoes of despair,

He, from whose hands alone all power proceeds, Who drive a loathsome traffic, gauge and span Ranks its abuse among the foulest deeds, And buy the muscles and the bones of man? Considers all injustice with a frown; The tender ties of father, husband, friend,

But marks the man that treads his fellow down. All bonds of nature in that moment end,

Begone! the whip and bell in that hard hand And each endures, while yet he draws his breath, Are hateful ensigns of usurp'd command; A stroke as fatal as the scythe of death.

Not Mexico could purchase kings a claim The sable warrior, frantic with regret

To scourge him, weariness his only blame. Of her he loves and never can forget,

Remember, Heaven has an avenging rod; Loses in tears the far receding shore,

To smite the poor is treason against God. But not the thought that they must meet no more ; Trouble is grudgingly and hardly brook'd, Deprived of her and freedom at a blow,

While life's sublimest joys are overlook'd. What has he left that he can yet forego?

We wander o'er a sunburnt thirsty soil, Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resign'd,

Murmuring and weary of our daily toil, He feels his body's bondage in his mind,

Forget to enjoy the palm-tree's offer'd shade, Pats off his generous nature, and, to suit

Or taste the fountain in the neighbouring glade: His mamiers with his fate, puts on the brute. Else who would lose, that had the power to imOh most degrading of all ills that wait

prove, On man, a mourner in his best estate!

The occasion of transmuting fear to love?

Oh, 'tis a godlike privilege to save,
And he that scorns it is himself a slave.-
Inform his mind; one flash of heavenly day
Would heal his heart, and melt his chains away;
“ Beauty for ashes” is a gift indeed,
And slaves, by truth enlarged, are doubly freed.
Then would he say, submissive at thy feet,
While gratitude and love made service sweet,
My dear deliverer out of hopeless night,
Whose bounty bought me but to give me light,
I was a bondman on my native plain,
Sin forged, and ignorance made fast the chain ;
Thy lips have shed instruction as the dew,
Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue ;
Farewell my former joys ! I sigh no more
For Africa's once loved, benighted shore ;
Serving a benefactor I am free,
At my best home, if not exiled from thee.
Some men make gain a fountain, whence pro-

ceeds
A stream of liberal and heroic deeds;
The swell of pity, not to be confined
Within the scanty limits of the mind,
Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sands,
A rich deposit, on the bordering lands;
These have an ear for His paternal call,
Who makes some rich for the supply of all,
God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ,
And Thornton is familiar with the joy.

Oh, could I worship aught beneath the skies, That earth hath seen, or fancy can devise, Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand, Built by no mercenary vulgar hand, With fragrant turf and flowers as wild and fair As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air. Duly, as ever on the mountain's height The peep of morning shed a dawning light; Again, when evening in her sober vest Drew the grey curtain of the fading west, My soul should yield thee willing thanks and

praise, For the chief blessings of my fairest days: But that were sacrilege ;-praise is not thine, But his who gave thee, and preserves thee mine : Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly A captive bird into the boundless sky, This triple realm adores thee ;-thou art come From Sparta hither, and art here at home. We feel thy force still active, at this hour Enjoy immunity from priestly power, While conscience, happier than in ancient years, Owns no superior but the God she fears. Propitious spirit! yet expunge a wrong Thy rights have suffer'd, and our land, too long. Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts that share The fears and hopes of a commercial care; Prisons expect the wicked, and were built To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt, But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood, Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood, And honest merit stands on slippery ground, Where covert guile and artifice abound: Let just restraint, for public peace design'd, Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind, The foe of virtue has no claim to thee, But let insolvent innocence go free.

Patron, of else the most despised of men, Accept the tribute of a stranger's pen; Verse, like the laurel its immortal meed, Should be the guerdon of a noble deed,

I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame,
(Charity chosen as my theme and aim)
I must incur, forgetting Howard's name.
Blest with all wealth can give thee, to resign
Joys doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine,
To quit the bliss thy rural scenes bestow,
To seek a nobler amidst scenes of woe,
To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring home
Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome,
But knowledge such as only dungeons teach,
And only sympathy like thine could reach ;
That grief, sequester'd from the public stage,
Might smooth her feathers and enjoy her cage,
Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal
The boldest patriot might be proud to feel.
Oh that the voice of clamour and debate,
That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state,
Were hush'd in favour of thy generous plea,
The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy fee !

Philosophy that does not dream or stray,
Walks arm in arm with nature all his way,
Compasses earth, dives into it, ascends
Whatever steep enquiry recommends,
Sees planetary wonders smoothly roll
Round other systems under her control,
Drinks wisdom at the milky stream of light
That cheers the silent journey of the night,
And brings at his return a bosom charged
With rich instruction and a soul enlarged.
The treasured sweets of the capacious plan
That Heaven spreads wide before the view of

man, All prompt his pleased pursuit, and to pursue Still prompt him, with a pleasure always new; He too has a connecting power, and draws Man to the centre of the common cause, Aiding a dubious and deficient sight With a new medium and a purer light. All truth is precious, if not all divine, And what dilates the powers must needs refine. He reads the skies, and watching every change, Provides the faculties an ampler range, And wins mankind, as his attempts prevail, A prouder station on the general scale. But reason still, unless divinely taught, Whate'er she learns, learns nothing as she ought; The lamp of revelation only, shows, What human wisdom cannot but oppose, That man in nature's richest mantle clad, And graced with all philosophy can add, Though fair without, and luminous within, Is still the progeny and heir of sin. Thus taught, down falls the plumage of his pride, He feels his need of an unerring guide, And knows that falling he shall rise no more, Unless the power that bade him stand, restore. This is indeed philosophy; this known, Makes wisdom, worthy of the name, his own; And without this, whatever he discuss, Whether the space between the stars and us, Whether he measure earth, compute the sea, Weigh sunbeams, carve a fly, or spit a flea, The solemn trifler with his boasted skill Toils much, and is a solemn trifler still; Blind was he born, and his misguided eyes Grown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies. Self-knowledge truly learn’d, of course implies The rich possession of a nobler prize, For self to self, and God to man reveald, (Two themes to nature's eye for ever seald)

Are taught by rays that fly with equal pace

Such was the portrait an apostle drew, From the same centre of enlightening grace. The bright original was one he knew, Here stay thy foot ; how copious and how clear Heaven held his hand, the likeness must be true. The o'erflowing well of Charity springs here ! When one that holds communion with the skies Hark! 'tis the music of a thousand rills,

Has fillid his urn where these pure waters rise, Some through the groves, some down the sloping And once more mingles with us meaner things, hills,

'Tis even as if an Angel shook his wings : Winding a secret or an open course,

Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, And all supplied from an eternal source.

That tells us whence his treasures are supplied. The ties of Nature do but feebly bind,

So when a ship, well freighted with the stores And commerce partially reclaims mankind ; The sun matures on India's spicey shores, Philosophy, without his heavenly guide,

Has dropt her anchor and her canvass furl’d, May blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride, In some safe haven of our western world, But while his province is the reasoning part, 'Twere vain enquiry to what port she went, Has still a veil of midnight on his heart :

The gale informs us, laden with the scent. 'Tis truth divine exhibited on earth,

Some seek, when queasy conscience has its Gives Charity her being and her birth.

qualms,
Suppose (when thought is warm and fancy flows, To lull the painful malady with alms :
What will not argument sometimes suppose ?) But charity not feign'd intends alone
An isle possess’d by creatures of our kind,

Another's good,--theirs centres in their own; Endued with reason, yet by nature blind.

And too short-lived to reach the realms of peace, Let supposition lend her aid once more,

Must cease for ever when the poor shall cease. And land some grave optician on the shore : Flavia, most tender of her own good name, He claps his lens, if haply they may see,

Is rather careless of a sister's fame : Close to the part where vision ought to be ; Her superfluity the poor supplies, But finds that though his tubes assist the sight, But if she touch a character, it dies. They cannot give it, or make darkness light. The seeming virtue weigh'd against the vice, He reads wise lectures, and describes aloud She deems all safe, for she has paid the price ; A sense they know not, to the wondering crowd, No charity but alms aught values she, He talks of light, and the prismatic hues,

Except in porcelain on her mantel-tree. As men of depth in erudition use,

How many deeds with which the world has rung, But all he gains for his harangue is—Well- From pride in league with ignorance have sprung! What monstrous lies some travellers will tell ! But God o'errules all human follies still,

The soul whose sight all-quickening grace renews And bends the tough materials to his will. Takes the resemblance of the good she views, A conflagration or a wintry flood As diamonds stript of their opaque disguise, Has left some hundreds without home or food, Reflect the noonday glory of the skies.

Extravagance and avarice shall subscribe, She speaks of Him, her author, guardian, friend, While fame and self-complacence are the bribe. Whose love knew no beginning, knows no end, The brief proclaim'd, it visits every pew,

In language warm as all that love inspires, But first the 'Squire's, a compliment but due ; | And in the glow of her intense desires

With slow deliberation he unties Pants to communicate her noble fires.

His glittering purse, that envy of all eyes, She sees a world stark blind to what employs And while the clerk just puzzles out the psalm, Her eager thought and feeds her flowing joys, Slides guinea behind guinea in his palm ; Though wisdom hail them, heedless of her call, Till finding, what he might have found before, Flies to save some, and feels a pang for all : A smaller piece amidst the precious store, Herself as weak as her support is strong,

Pinch'd close between his finger and his thumb, She feels that frailty she denied so long,

He half exhibits, and then drops the sum. And from a knowledge of her own disease, Gold to be sure !-Throughout the town 'tis told, Learns to compassionate the sick she sees.

How the good 'Squire gives never less than gold. Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence,

From motives such as his, though not the best, The reign of genuine Charity commence ;

Springs in due time supply for the distress'd, Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears, Not less effectual than what love bestows, She still is kind, and still she perseveres ;

Except—that office clips it as it goes. The truth she loves, a sightless world blaspheme, But lest I seem to sin against a friend, "Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream,

And wound the grace I mean to recommend, The danger they discern not, they deny,

(Though vice derided with a just design Laugh at their only remedy, and die.

Implies no trespass against love divine) But still a soul thus touch'd can never cease,

Once more I would adopt the graver style ; Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace. A teacher should be sparing of his smile. Pure in her aim and in her temper mild,

Unless a love of virtue light the flame, Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child ; Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame; She makes excuses where she might condemn, He hides behind a magisterial air Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them ; His own offences, and strips others bare, Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast,

Affects indeed a most humane concern, The worst suggested, she believes the best ; That men, if gently tutor’d, will not learn, Not soon provoked, however stung and teased, That mulish folly, not to be reclaim'd And if perhaps made angry, soon appeased ; By softer methods, must be made ashamed, She rather waives than will dispute her right, But (I might instance in St. Patrick's dean) And injured, makes forgiveness her delight. Too often rails to gratify his spleen.

Most satirists are indeed a public scourge ;
Their mildest physic is a farrier's purge ;
Their acrid temper turns, as soon as stirrd,
The milk of their good purpose all to curd.
Their zeal begotten, as their works rehearse,
By lean despair upon an empty purse,
The wild assassins start into the street,
Prepared to poniard whomsoe'er they meet.
No skill in swordsmanship however just,
Can be secure against a madman's thrust;
And even virtue, so unfairly match’d,
Although immortal, may be prick'd or scratch’d.
When scandal has new-minted an old lie,
Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply,
'Tis call'd a satire, and the world appears
Gathering around it with erected ears ;
A thousand names are toss'd into the crowd,
Some whisper'd softly, and some twang'd aloud,
Just as the sapience of an author's brain
Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain.
Strange ! how the frequent interjected dash
Quickens a market and helps off the trash ;
The important letters that include the rest
Serve as a key to those that are suppress'd ;
Conjecture gripes the victims in his paw,
The world is charm'd, and Scrib escapes the law.
So when the cold damp shades of night prevail,
Worms may be caught by either head or tail ;
Forcibly drawn from many a close recess,
They meet with little pity, no redress ;
Plunged in the stream they lodge upon the mud,
Food for the famish'd rovers of the food.

All zeal for a reform that gives offence
To peace and charity, is mere pretence ;
A bold remark, but which, if well applied,
Would humble many a towering poet's pride.
Perhaps the man was in a sportive fit,
And had no other play-place for his wit ;
Perhaps, enchanted with the love of fame,
He sought the jewel in his neighbour's shame ;
Perhaps—whatever end he might pursue,
The cause of virtue could not be his view.
At every stroke wit flashes in our eyes,
The turns are quick, the polish'd points surprise,
But shine with cruel and tremendous charms,
That while they please, possess us with alarms :
So have I seen, (and hasten'd to the sight
On all the wings of holiday delight)
Where stands that monument of ancient power,
Named with emphatic dignity, the Tower,
Guns, halberts, swords, and pistols, great and small,
In starry forms disposed upon the wall;
We wonder, as we gazing stand below,
That brass and steel should make so fine a show ;
But though we praise the exact designer's skill,
Account them implements of mischief still.

No works shall find acceptance in that day
When all disguises shall be rent away
That square not truly with the Scripture plan,
Nor spring from love to God, or love to man.
As he ordains things sordid in their birth
To be resolved into their parent earth,
And though the soul shall seek superior orbs,
Whate'er this world produces, it absorbs ;
So self starts nothing but what tends apace,
Home to the goal where it began the race.
Such as our motive is our aim must be,
If this be servile, that can ne'er be free ;
If self employ us, whatsoe'er is wrought,
We glorify that self, not Him we ought :

Such virtues had need prove their own reward,
The judge of all men owes them no regard.
True Charity, a plant divinely nursed,
Fed by the love from which it rose at first,
Thrives against hope, and in the rudest scene
Storms but enliven its unfading green ;
Exuberant is the shadow it supplies,
Its fruit on earth, its growth above the skies.
To look at Him who form'd us and redeemd,
So glorious now, though once so disesteemid,
To see a God stretch forth his human hand,
To uphold the boundless scenes of his command,-
To recollect that in a form like ours
He bruised beneath his feet the infernal powers,
Captivity led captive, rose to claim
The wreath he won so dearly in our name ;
That throned above all height he condescends
To call the few that trust in him his friends ;
That in the heaven of heavens, that space he

deems
Too scanty for the exertion of his beams,
And shines, as if impatient to bestow
Life and a kingdom upon worms below;
That sight imparts a never-dying flame,
Though feeble in degree, in kind the same.
Like Him the soul thus kindled from above
Spreads wide her arms of universal love,
And still enlarged as she receives the grace,
Includes creation in her close embrace.
Behold a Christian and without the fires
The founder of that name alone inspires,
Though all accomplishments, all knowledge meet,
To make the shining prodigy complete,
Whoever boasts that name-behold a cheat !
Were love, in these the world's last doting

years,
As frequent, as the want of it appears,
The churches warm’d, they would no longer hold
Such frozen figures, stiff as they are cold;
Relenting forms would lose their power or cease,
And even the dipp'd and sprinkled, live in peace:
Each heart would quit its prison in the breast,
And flow in free communion with the rest.
The statesman skill'd in projects dark and deep,
Might burn his useless Machiavel, and sleep;
His budget often fill’d, yet always poor,
Might swing at ease behind his study door,
No longer prey upon our annual rents,
Nor scare the nation with its big contents:
Disbanded legions freely might depart,
And slaying man would cease to be an art.
No learned disputants would take the field,
Sure not to conquer, and sure not to yield ;
Both sides deceived, if rightly understood,
Pelting each other for the public good.
Did Charity prevail, the press would prove
A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love ;
And I might spare myself the pains to show
What few can learn, and all suppose they know.

Thus have I sought to grace a serious lay
With many a wild indeed but flowery spray,
In hopes to gain, what else I must have lost,
The attention pleasure has so much engross'd.
But if unhappily deceived I dream,
And prove too weak for so divine a theme,
Let Charity forgive me a mistake
That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to make,
And spare the poet for his subject sake.

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