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النشر الإلكتروني

At once Compassion soft, and envy, rise-
But wherefore envy? Talents, angel bright,
If wanting worth, are shining instruments
In false ambition's hand, to finish faults
Illustrious, and give infamy renown.

Great ill is an achievement of great pow'rs.
Plain sense but rarely leads us far astray.
Reason the means, affections choose our end;
Means have no merit, if our end amiss.
If wrong our hearts, our heads are right in vain ;
What is à PELÁAM's head, to PELHAN'S heart?
Hearts are proprietors of all applause.
Right ends, and means, make wisdom : Worldly-wise
Is but half-witted, as its highest praise.

Let genius then, despair to make thee great;
Nor flatter station : What is station high?
'Tis a proud mendicant; it boasts, and begs;
It begs an alms of homage from the throng;
And oft the throng denies its charity.
Monarchs, and ministérs, are awful naines;
Whoever wear them, challenge our devoir.
Religion, public order, both exact
External homage, and a supple knee,
To beings pompously set up, to serve
The meanest slave; all more is merit's due,
Her sacred and inviol, ble right;
Nor ever paid the monarch, but the man.
Our hearts ne'er bow but to superior worth;
Nor ever fail of their allegiance there.
Fools, indeed, drop the man in their account,
And vote the mantle intoʻmajesty.
Let the small savage boast his silver fur ;
His royal robe unborrow'd, and unbought,

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His own, descending fairly from his sires.
Shall man be proud to wear his livery,
And souls in ermine scorn a soul without ?
Can place, or lessen us, or aggrandize?
Pigmies are pigmies still, though perch'd on alps;
And pyramids are pyramids in vales.
Each man makes his own stature, builds himself ;
Virtue alone out-builds the pyramids ;
Her monuments shall last, when Egypt's fall.

Of these sure truths dost thou demand the cause ?
The cause is lodg’d in immortality.
Hear, and assent. Thy bosom burns for pow'r;
What station charms thee? I'll instal thee there;
'Tis thine. And art thou greater than before. ?
Then thou before wast something less than man.
Has thy new post betray'd thee into pride?
That treach'rous pride betrays thy dignity ;
That pride defames humanity, and calls
The being mean, which staffs or strings can
That pride, like booded hawks, in darkness xoars,
From blindness bold, and tow'ring to the skies.
'Tis born of Ignorance, which knows not Man :
An angel's second ; nor his second, logo
A Neno quitting his imperial throne,
And courting Glory from the tinkling string,
But faintly, shadows an immortal soul,
With Empire's self, to pride, or rapture, fir’d.
If nobler motives, minister no cure,
Ev’n vanity forbids thee to bę vain.

High worth is elevated place: 'Tis more ; It makes the post stand candidate for thee; Makes more than monarchs; makes an honest man i Though no exchequer it commands, 'tis wealth ;

And though it wears no ribband, 'tis renown
Renown, that would not quit thee, though disgrac’dy
Nor leave thee pendent on a master's smile.
Other ambition nature interdicts;
Nature proclaims it most absurd in man,
By pointing at his origin, and end;
Milk and a swathe, at first, his whole demand;
His whole domain, at last, a turf or stone;
To whom, between, a world may seem too small.

Souls truly great, dart forward on the wing
Of just ambition, to the grand result,
The curtain's fall; there, see the buskin'd chief
Unshod behind this momentary scene,
Is educ'd to his own stature, low or high,

Es vice, or virtue, sinks him, or sublimes ;
Nord laugh at this fantastic mummery,
'Tis s antic prelude of grotesque events,
It begre dwarfs are often stilted, and betray

A Reness of soul by worlds o’er-run,
And nations laid in blood. Dread sacrifice
To Christian pride! which had with horror shock'd
The darkelt Pagans, offer'd to their gods.

O thou mosi christian enemy to peace!
Again in arms ? Again provoking fate?
That prince, and that alone, is truly great,
Who draws the sword reluctant, gladly sheaths;
On empire builds what empire far outweighs,
And makes his throne a scaffold to the skies.

Why this so rare ? Because forgot of all
The day of death ; that venerable day,
Which sits as judge; that day, which shall pronounce
On all our days, absolve them, or condemn.
LORENZO, never shut thy thought against it;

Be levees ne'er so full, afford it room,
And give it audience in the cabinet.
That friend consulted, (flatteries apart)
Will tell thee fair, if thou art great or mean.

To doat on aught may leave us, or be left,
Is that ambition! Then let flames descend,
Point to the centre their inverted spires,
And learn humiliation from a soul,
Which boasts her lineage from celestial fire.
Yet these are they, the world pronounces wise ,
The world, which cancels Nature's right and wrong,
And casts new wisdom : Evin the grave man lends
His solemn face to countenance the coin.
Wisdom for parts is madness for the whole.
This stamps the paradox, and gives us leave
To call the wisest weak, the richest poor,
The most ambitious, unambitious, mean;
In triumph, mean; and abject, on a throne.
Nothing can make it less than mad in man,
To put forth all his ardour, all his art,
And give his soul her full unbounded flight,
But reaching him, who gave her wings to fly.
When blind ambition quite mistakes her road,
And downward pores, for that which shines above,
Substantial happiness, and true renown ;
Then, like an idiot gazing on the brook,
We leap at stars, and fasten in the mud ;
At glory grasp, and sink in infamy.

Ambition ! pow'rful source of good and ill ! Thy strength in man, like length of wing in birds, When disengag'd from earth, with greater ease, And swifter flight, transports us to the skies : By toys entangled, or in guilt bemir'd,

It turns a curse ; it is our chain, and scourge,
In this dark dungeon, where confin'd we lie,
Close-grated by the sordid bars of sense ;
All prospect of eternity shut out;
And, but for execution, ne'er set free.

With error in ambition justly charg'd,
Find we LORENZO wiser in his wealth ?
What if thy rental I reform ? and draw
An inventory new to set thee right ?
Where, thy true treasure ? Gold says, “ Not in me :"
And, “Not in me," the diamond. Gold is poor;
India's insolvent : Seek it in thyself,
Seek in thy naked self, and find it there;
In being so descended, form’d, endow'd;
Sky-born, sky-guided, sky-returning race !
Erect, immortal, rational, divine !
In senses, which inherit earth, and Heav'ns;
Enjoy the various riches Nature yields;
Far nobler; give the riches they enjoy ;
Give taste to fruits, and harmony to groves;
Their radiant beams to gold, and gold's bright sire :
Take in, at once, the landscape of the world,
At a small inlet, which a grain might close,
And half create the wondrous world they see.
Our senses, as our reason, are divine.
But for the magic organ's pow'rful charm,
Earth were a rude, uncolour'd chaos, still.
Objects are but th’occasion ; our's th' exploit ;
Our's is the cloth, the pencil, and the paint,
Which Nature's admirable picture draws;
And beautifies creation's ample dome.
Like Milton's Eve, when gazing on the lake,
Man makes the matchless image, man admires.

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