The Poetical Works of Edward Young Part 38

This of thy conduct seems the nicest part, The chief perfection of the statesman's art, To give to fair a.s.sent a fairer face, Or soften a refusal into grace: But few there are that can be truly kind, Or know to fix their favours on the mind; Hence, some, whene'er they would oblige, offend, And, while they make the fortune, lose the friend; Still give, unthank'd; still squander, not bestow; For great men want not, what to give, but how.

The race of men that follow courts, 'tis true, Think all they get, and more than all, their due; Still ask, but ne'er consult their own deserts, And measure by their interest, not their parts: From this mistake so many men we see But ill become the thing they wish'd to be; Hence discontent, and fresh demands arise, More power, more favour in the great man's eyes; All feel a want, though none the cause suspects, But hate their patron, for their own defects; Such none can please, but who reforms their hearts, And, when he gives them places, gives them parts.

As these o'erprize their worth, so sure the great May sell their favour at too dear a rate; When merit pines, while clamour is preferr'd, And long attachment waits among the herd; When no distinction, where distinction 's due, Marks from the many the superior few; When strong cabal constrains them to be just, And makes them give at last-because they must; What hopes that men of real worth should prize, What neither friendship gives, nor merit buys?

The man who justly o'er the whole presides, His well-weigh'd choice with wise affection guides; Knows when to stop with grace, and when advance, Nor gives through importunity or chance; But thinks how little grat.i.tude is ow'd, When favours are extorted, not bestow'd.

When, safe on sh.o.r.e ourselves, we see the crowd Surround the great, importunate, and loud; Through such a tumult, 'tis no easy task To drive the man of real worth to ask: Surrounded thus, and giddy with the show, 'Tis hard for great men rightly to bestow; From hence so few are skill'd, in either case, To ask with dignity, or give with grace.

Sometimes the great, seduc'd by love of parts, Consult our genius, and neglect our hearts; Pleas'd with the glittering sparks that genius flings, They lift us, towering on their eagle's wings, Mark out the flights by which themselves begun, And teach our dazzled eyes to bear the sun; Till we forget the hand that made us great, And grow to envy, not to emulate: To emulate, a generous warmth implies, To reach the virtues, that make great men rise; But envy wears a mean malignant face, And aims not at their virtues-but their place.

Such to oblige, how vain is the pretence!

When every favour is a fresh offence, By which superior power is still implied, And, while it helps their fortune, hurts their pride.

Slight is the hate, neglect or hardships breed; But those who hate from envy, hate indeed.

"Since so perplex'd the choice, whom shall we trust?"

Methinks I hear thee cry-The brave and just; The man by no mean fears or hopes controll'd, Who serves thee from affection, not for gold.

We love the honest, and esteem the brave, Despise the c.o.xcomb, but detest the knave; No show of parts the truly wise seduce, To think that knaves can be of real use.

The man, who contradicts the public voice, And strives to dignify a worthless choice, Attempts a task that on that choice reflects, And lends us light to point out new defects.

One worthless man, that gains what he pretends, Disgusts a thousand unpretending friends: And since no art can make a counterpa.s.s, Or add the weight of gold to mimic bra.s.s, When princes to bad ore their image join, They more debase the stamp, than raise the coin.

Be thine the care, true merit to reward And gain the good-nor will that task be hard; Souls form'd alike so quick by nature blend, An honest man is more than half thy friend.

Him, no mean views, or haste to rise, shall sway, Thy choice to sully, or thy trust betray: Ambition, here, shall at due distance stand Nor is wit dangerous in an honest hand: Besides, if failings at the bottom lie, We view those failings with a lover's eye; Though small his genius, let him do his best, Our wishes and belief supply the rest.

Let others barter servile faith for gold, His friendship is not to be bought or sold: Fierce opposition he, unmov'd, shall face, Modest in favour, daring in disgrace, To share thy adverse fate alone, pretend; In power, a servant; out of power, a friend.

Here pour thy favours in an ample flood, Indulge thy boundless thirst of doing good: Nor think that good to him alone confin'd; Such to oblige, is to oblige mankind.

If thus thy mighty master's steps thou trace, The brave to cherish, and the good to grace; Long shalt thou stand from rage and faction free, And teach us long to love the king, through thee: Or fall a victim dangerous to the foe, And make him tremble when he strikes the blow; While honour, grat.i.tude, affection join To deck thy close, and brighten thy decline; (Ill.u.s.trious doom!) the great, when this displac'd, With friendship guarded, and with virtue grac'd, In awful ruin, like Rome's senate, fall, The prey and worship of the wondering Gaul.

No doubt, to genius some reward is due, (Excluding that, were satirizing you;) But yet, believe thy undesigning friend, When truth and genius for thy choice contend, Tho' both have weight when in the balance cast, Let probity be first, and parts the last.

On these foundations if thou dar'st be great, And check the growth of folly and deceit; When party rage shall droop thro' length of days, And calumny be ripen'd into praise, Then future times shall to thy worth allow That fame, which envy would call flattery now.

Thus far my zeal, though for the task unfit, Has pointed out the rocks where others split; By that inspir'd, though stranger to the Nine, And negligent of any fame-but thine, I take the friendly, but superfluous part; You act from nature what I teach from art.

THE OLD MAN'S RELAPSE.

Verses Occasioned by the Foregoing Epistle.

Sopitos suscita ignes.

-VIRG.

From man's too curious and impatient sight, The future, Heaven involves in thickest night.

Credit gray hairs: though freedom much we boast, Some least perform, what they determine most.

What sudden changes our resolves betray!

To-morrow is the satire on to-day, And shows its weakness. Whom shall men believe, When constantly themselves, themselves deceive?

Long had I bid my once-loved muse adieu; You warm old age; my pa.s.sion burns anew.

How sweet your verse! how great your force of mind!

What power of words! what skill in dark mankind!

Polite the conduct; generous the design; And beauty files, and strength sustains, each line.

Thus Mars and Venus are, once more, beset; Your wit has caught them in its golden net.

But what strikes home with most exalted grace Is, haughty genius taught to know its place; And, where worth shines, its humbled crest to bend, With zeal devoted to that G.o.dlike end.

When we discern so rich a vein of sense, Through the smooth flow of purest eloquence; 'Tis like the limpid streams of Tagus roll'd O'er boundless wealth, o'er shining beds of gold.

But whence so finish'd, so refin'd a piece?

The tongue denies it to old Rome and Greece; The genius bids the moderns doubt their claim, And slowly take possession of the fame.

But I nor know, nor care, by whom 'twas writ, Enough for me that 'tis from human wit; That soothes my pride: all glory in the pen Which has done honour to the race of men.

But this have others done; a like applause An ancient and a modern Horace draws.(67) But they to glory by degrees arose, Meridian l.u.s.tre you at once disclose.

'Tis continence of mind, unknown before, To write so well, and yet to write no more.

More bright renown can human nature claim, Than to deserve, and fly immortal fame?

Next to the G.o.dlike praise of writing well, Is on that praise with just delight to dwell.

O, for some G.o.d my drooping soul to raise!

That I might imitate, as well as praise; For all commend: e'en foes your fame confess; Nor would Augustus' age have priz'd it less; An age, which had not held its pride so long, But for the want of so complete a song.

A golden period shall from you commence: Peace shall be sign'd 'twixt wit and manly sense; Whether your genius or your rank they view, The muses find their Halifax in you.

Like him succeed! nor think my zeal is shown For you; 'tis Britain's interest, not your own; For lofty stations are but golden snares, Which tempt the great to fall in love with cares.

I would proceed, but age has chill'd my vein, 'Twas a short fever, and I'm cool again.

Though life I hate, methinks I could renew Its tasteless, painful course, to sing of you.

When such the subject, who shall curb his flight?

When such your genius, who shall dare to write?

In pure respect, I give my rhyming o'er, And, to commend you most, commend no more.

Adieu, whoe'er thou art! on death's pale coast Erelong I'll talk thee o'er with Dryden's ghost; The bard will smile. A last, a long farewell!

Henceforth I hide me in my dusky cell; There wait the friendly stroke that sets me free, And think of immortality and thee- My strains are number'd by the tuneful Nine; Each maid presents her thanks, and all present thee mine.

VERSES

Sent by Lord Melcombe to Dr. Young, Not Long Before His Lordship's Death.(68)

Kind companion of my youth, Lov'd for genius, worth, and truth!

Take what friendship can impart, Tribute of a feeling heart; Take the muse's latest spark,(69) Ere we drop into the dark.

He, who parts and virtue gave, Bad thee look beyond the grave Genius soars, and virtue guides; Above, the love of G.o.d presides.

There's a gulf 'twixt us and G.o.d; Let the gloomy path be trod: Why stand shivering on the sh.o.r.e?

Why not boldly venture o'er?

Where unerring virtue guides, Let us have the winds and tides: Safe, through seas of doubts and fears, Rides the bark which virtue steers.

The End