Volume Ii Part 68 (1/2)
Satire may be the child of spite, And fame might bid the Drapier write: But to relieve, and to endow, Creatures that know not whence or how Argues a soul both good and wise, Resembling Him who rules the skies, He to the thoughtful mind displays Immortal skill ten thousand ways; And, to complete his glorious task, Gives what we have not sense to ask!
III
Lo! Swift to idiots bequeaths his store: Be wise, ye rich!--consider thus the poor!
IV
Great wits to madness nearly are allied, This makes the Dean for kindred _thus_ provide.
ON THE DEAN OF ST. PATRICK'S BIRTH-DAY BEING NOV. 30, ST. ANDREW'S DAY
Between the hours of twelve and one, When half the world to rest were gone, Entranced in softest sleep I lay, Forgetful of an anxious day; From every care and labour free, My soul as calm as it could be.
The queen of dreams, well pleased to find An undisturb'd and vacant mind, With magic pencil traced my brain, And there she drew St. Patrick's Dean: I straight beheld on either hand Two saints, like guardian angels, stand, And either claim'd him for their son, And thus the high dispute begun: St. Andrew, first, with reason strong, Maintain'd to him he did belong.
”Swift is my own, by right divine, All born upon this day are mine.”
St. Patrick said, ”I own this true So far he does belong to you: But in my church he's born again, My son adopted, and my Dean.
When first the Christian truth I spread, The poor within this isle I fed, And darkest errors banish'd hence, Made knowledge in their place commence: Nay more, at my divine command, All noxious creatures fled the land.
I made both peace and plenty smile, Hibernia was my favourite isle; Now his--for he succeeds to me, Two angels cannot more agree.
His joy is, to relieve the poor; Behold them weekly at his door!
His knowledge too, in brightest rays, He like the sun to all conveys, Shows wisdom in a single page, And in one hour instructs an age When ruin lately stood around Th'enclosures of my sacred ground, He gloriously did interpose, And saved it from invading foes; For this I claim immortal Swift As my own son, and Heaven's best gift.
The Caledonian saint, enraged, Now closer in dispute engaged.
Essays to prove, by transmigration, The Dean is of the Scottish nation; And, to confirm the truth, he chose The loyal soul of great Montrose; ”Montrose and he are both the same, They only differ in the name: Both heroes in a righteous cause, a.s.sert their liberties and laws; He's now the same Montrose was then, But that the sword is turn'd a pen, A pen of so great power, each word Defends beyond the hero's sword.”
Now words grew high--we can't suppose Immortals ever come to blows, But lest unruly pa.s.sion should Degrade them into flesh and blood, An angel quick from Heaven descends, And he at once the contest ends: ”Ye reverend pair, from discord cease, Ye both mistake the present case; One kingdom cannot have pretence To so much virtue! so much sense!
Search Heaven's record; and there you'll find That he was born for all mankind.”
AN EPISTLE TO ROBERT NUGENT, ESQ.[1]
WITH A PICTURE OF DR. SWIFT. BY WILLIAM DUNKIN, D.D.
To gratify thy long desire, (So love and piety require,) From Bindon's colours you may trace The patriot's venerable face.
The last, O Nugent! which his art Shall ever to the world impart; For know, the prime of mortal men, That matchless monarch of the pen, (Whose labours, like the genial sun, Shall through revolving ages run, Yet never, like the sun, decline, But in their full meridian s.h.i.+ne,) That ever honour'd, envied sage, So long the wonder of the age, Who charm'd us with his golden strain, Is not the shadow of the Dean: He only breathes Boeotian air-- ”O! what a falling off was there!”
Hibernia's Helicon is dry, Invention, Wit, and Humour die; And what remains against the storm Of Malice but an empty form?
The nodding ruins of a pile, That stood the bulwark of this isle?
In which the sisterhood was fix'd Of candid Honour, Truth unmix'd, Imperial Reason, Thought profound, And Charity, diffusing round In cheerful rivulets to flow Of Fortune to the sons of woe?
Such one, my Nugent, was thy Swift, Endued with each exalted gift, But lo! the pure ethereal flame Is darken'd by a misty steam: The balm exhausted breathes no smell, The rose is wither'd ere it fell.
That G.o.dlike supplement of law, Which held the wicked world in awe And could the tide of faction stem, Is but a sh.e.l.l without the gem.
Ye sons of genius, who would aim To build an everlasting fame, And in the field of letter'd arts, Display the trophies of your parts, To yonder mansion turn aside, And mortify your growing pride.
Behold the brightest of the race, And Nature's honour, in disgrace: With humble resignation own, That all your talents are a loan; By Providence advanced for use, Which you should study to produce Reflect, the mental stock, alas!
However current now it pa.s.s, May haply be recall'd from you Before the grave demands his due, Then, while your morning star proceeds, Direct your course to worthy deeds, In fuller day discharge your debts; For, when your sun of reason sets, The night succeeds; and all your schemes Of glory vanish with your dreams.
Ah! where is now the supple train, That danced attendance on the Dean?
Say, where are those facetious folks, Who shook with laughter at his jokes, And with attentive rapture hung, On wisdom, dropping from his tongue; Who look'd with high disdainful pride On all the busy world beside, And rated his productions more Than treasures of Peruvian ore?
Good Christians! they with bended knees Ingulf'd the wine, but loathe the lees, Averting, (so the text commands,) With ardent eyes and upcast hands, The cup of sorrow from their lips, And fly, like rats, from sinking s.h.i.+ps.
While some, who by his friends.h.i.+p rose To wealth, in concert with his foes Run counter to their former track, Like old Actaeon's horrid pack Of yelling mongrels, in requitals To riot on their master's vitals; And, where they cannot blast his laurels, Attempt to stigmatize his morals; Through Scandal's magnifying gla.s.s His foibles view, but virtues pa.s.s, And on the ruins of his fame Erect an ignominious name.