« ПретходнаНастави »
Can fee each Virtue and each Grace unite,
pour new Lustre on the glowing Line.
In ev'ry Breast there burns an active flame, The Love of Glory, or the Dread of Shame: 30 The Passion One, tho' various it appear, As brighten’d into Hope, or dimm'd by Fear. The lisping Infant, and the hoary Sire, And Youth and Manhood feel the heart-born fire: The Charms of Praise the Coy, the Modest wooe, And only fly, that Glory may pursue : 'She, Pow'r resistless, rules the wise and great ; Bends ev’n reluctant Hermits at her feet;
· Haunts the proud City, and the lowly Shade, And sways alike the Scepter and the Spade. 40
Thus Heav’n in Pity wakes the friendly Flame, To urge
Mankind on Deeds that merit Fame: But Man, vain Man, in folly only wise, Rejects the Manna sent him from the Skies: With rapture hears corrupted Passion's call, 45 Still proudly prone to mingle with the stall. As each deceitful shadow tempts his view, He for the imag'd Substance quits the true; Eager to catch the visionary Prize, In quest of Glory plunges deep in Vice; 50 'Till madly zealous, impotently vain, He forfeits ev'ry Praise he pants to gain.
Thus still imperious Nature plies her part ; And still her Dictates work in ev'ry heart. Each Pow'r that sov'reign Nature bids enjoy, 55 Man may corrupt, but Man can ne'er destroy. Like mighty rivers, with resistless force The Passions rage, obstructed in their course; Swell to new heights, forbidden paths explore, And drown those Virtues which they fed before.
And sure, the deadliest Foe to Virtue's flame,
Behold, yon Wretch, by impious fashion driv’n, ,
IMIT A TIONS.
Vois tu ce Libertin en public intrepide,
Faith, Justice, Heav'n itself now quit their hold, When to false Fame the captiv'd heart is fold: Hence, blind to truth, relentless Cato dy'd ; Nought could subdue his Virtue, but his Pride. Hence chaste Lucretia’s Innocence betray'd 85 Fell by that Honour which was meant its aid. Thus Virtue finks beneath unnumber'd woes, When Passions, born ber friends, revolt her foes.
Hence Satire's pow'r: 'Tis her corrective part, To calm the wild disorders of the heart.
90 She points the arduous height where Glory lies, And teaches mad Ambition to be wise : In the dark bosom wakes the fair desire, Draws good from ill, a brighter flame from fire; Strips black Oppression of her
95 And bids the Hag in native horror rise; Strikes tow'ring Pride and lawless Rapine dead, And plants the wreath on Virtue's awful head.
Nor boasts the Muse a vain imagin’d Pow'r, Tho' oft The mourn those ills she cannot cure. 100
BOILIAU, Ep. iii.
The Worthy court her, and the Worthless fear;
IMITATIONS. Ver. 110. From poys'nous Vice, etc.] Alluding to these Lines of Mr. Pope ;
In the nice Bee what Art fo fubtly true