"Tis not a troop of well-appointed guards Create a monarch; not a purple robe, Dy'd in the people's blood; not all the crowns Or dazzling tiars that bend about the head, Though gilt with sunbeams, and set round with stars. A monarch he that conquers all his fears, And treads upon them; when he stands alone, Makes his own camp; four guardian virtues wait His nightly slumbers, and secure his dreams. Now dawns the light; he ranges all his thoughts In square battalions, bold to meet the attacks Of time and chance, himself a numerous host, All eye, all ear, all wakeful as the day, Firm as a rock, and moveless as the centre. In vain the harlot Pleasure spreads her charms, To lull his thoughts in luxury's fair lap To sensual ease, the bane of little kings, Monarchs whose waxen images of souls Are moulded into softness: still his mind Wears its own shape, nor can the heavenly form Stoop to be modell'd by the wild decrees Of the mad vulgar, that unthinking herd. He lives above the crowd, nor hears the noise Of wars and triumphs, nor regards the shouts Of popular applause, that empty sound; Nor feels the flying arrows of reproach, Or spite, or envy. In himself secure, Wisdom his tower, and conscience is his shield, His peace all inward, and his joys his own. Now my ambition swells, my wishes soar. This be my kingdom; sit above the globe, Yet once a day drop down a gentle look 1701. TRUE COURAGE. HONOUR demands my song. Forget the ground, Amongst these dying clods, and bears her state She wields her passions like her limbs, and knows 1 This is the man whom storms could never make Meanly complain; nor can a flattering gale Make him talk proudly. He hath no desire To read his secret fate; yet, unconcern'd And calm, could meet his unborn destiny, In all its charming, or its frightful shapes. He that, unshrinking, and without a groan, Bears the first wound, may finish all the war With mere courageous silence, and come off Conqueror: for the man that well conceals The heavy strokes of fate, he bears them well. He, though the Atlantic and the Midland seas With adverse surges meet, and rise on high Suspended 'twixt the winds, then rush amain, Mingled with flames, upon his single head, And clouds, and stars, and thunder, firm he stands, Secure of his best life, unhurt, unmov'd, And drops his lower nature, born for death. Then from the lofty castle of his mind Sublime looks down, exulting, and surveys The ruins of creation: (souls alone Are heirs of dying worlds :) a piercing glance Shoots upwards from between his closing lids, To reach his birthplace, and without a sigh He bids his batter'd flesh lie gently down Amongst its native rubbish, whilst the spirit Breathes and flies upward, an undoubted guest Of the third heaven, the unruinable sky. Thither when fate has brought our willing souls, No matter whether 'twas a sharp disease, Or a sharp sword, that help'd the travellers on, To which we ever steer; whether, as kings There let my native plank shift me to land, And I'll be happy: thus I'll leap ashore, Joyful and fearless, on the immortal coast, Since all I leave is mortal, and it must be lost. FREE PHILOSOPHY. TO THE MUCH HONOURED MR. THOMAS Rowe, THE DIRECTOR OF MY YOUTHFUL STUDIES. CUSTOM, that tyranness of fools, That leads the learned round the schools, In magic chains of forms and rules, My genius storms her throne: No more, ye slaves, with awe profound, I hate these shackles of the mind. Souls were not born to be confin'd, Thoughts should be free as fire or wind; Will through all nature fly: Dive to the centre through the solid ground, 12 |