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PAR T I.
the word; the cruel arrow sped;
Dead! Refign'd he fell; fuperior to the dart, That quench'd its rage in Yours and Britain's
Heart: You mourn: but Britain, lull’d in rest profound, 5 (Unconscious Britain !) flumbers o'er her wound. Exulting Dulness ey'd the setting Light, And flapp'd her wing, impatient for the Night: Rouz'd at the signal, Guilt collects her train, And counts the Triumphs of her growing Reign: 10 With inextinguishable rage they burn; And Snake-hung Envy hisses o'er his Urn: Th’envenom’d Monsters spit their deadly foam, To blast the Laurel that surrounds his Tomb.
But You, O WARBURTON! whose eye refin'd 15 Can see the greatness of an honest mind; Can see each Virtue and each Grace unite, And taste the Raptures of a pure Delight; You visit oft his awful Page with Care, And view that bright Affemblage treasur'd there; 20
You trace the Chain that links his deep design,
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 woo, 35 And only fly, that Glory may pursue: She, Pow'r refiftlefs, 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 Sceptre 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 Nianna 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,
Thus ftill imperious NATURE plies her part; And still her Dictates work in ev'ry heart. Each Pow'r that fov’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. 60
And sure, the deadliest Foe to Virtue's flame,
The Dæmon Shame paints strong the ridicule,
Behold yon Wretch, by impious fashion driv'n, 75 Believes and trembles while he scoffs at Heav'n. By weakness strong, and bold thro' fear alone, He dreads the sneer by shallow Coxcombs thrown; Dauntless pursues the path Spinoza trod; To Man a Coward, and a Brave to God. 80
Faith, Justice, Heav'n itself now quit their hold, When to false Fame the captiv'd heart is sold : 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 her friends, revolt her foes.
Hence Satire's pow'r: 'Tis her corrective part, To calm the wild disorders of the heart.
Vois tu ce Libertin en public intrepide,
Il iroit embrasser la Verité, qu'il voit;
Boileau, Ep. in.
She points the arduous height where Glory lies,
Nor boasts the Muse a vain imagind Pow'r,
IMITATIONS. Ver. 110. From poys’nous Vice, etc.] Alluding to these Liner of Mr. Pope;
In the nice Bee what Art so subtly true