For her the Fancy, roving unconfined, The present muse of every pensive mind, Works magic wonders; adds a brighter hue To Nature's scenes than Nature ever knew. At her command winds rise, and waters roar, Again she lays them slumbering on the shore; With flower and fruit the wilderness supplies, Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp to rise. For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife, That Grace and Nature have to wage through life,
Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill, Appointed sage preceptor to the Will, Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice Guides the decision of a doubtful choice.
And owns her power on every shore he laves? Why do the seasons still enrich the year, Fruitful and young as in their first career? Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, Rocked in the cradle of the western breeze; Summer in haste the thriving charge receives Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves, Till Autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews Dye them at last in all their glowing hues.- 'Twere wild confusion all, and bootless waste, Power misemployed, munificence misplaced, Had not its author dignified the plan, And crowned it with the majesty of man. Thus formed, thus placed, intelligent, and taught, Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought, The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws Finds in a sober moment time to pause, To press th' important question on his heart, "Why formed at all, and wherefore as thou art?" If man be what he seems, this hour a slave, The next mere dust and ashes in the grave; Endued with reason only to descry His crimes and follies with an aching eye; With passions, just that he may prove, with pain, The force he spends against their fury vain; And if, soon after having burnt, by turns, With every lust, with which frail Nature burns, His being end, where death dissolves the bond, The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond; Then he, of all that Nature has brought forth, Stands self-impeached the creature of least worth, And useless while he lives and when he dies, Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies.
Truths, that the learned pursue with eager thought,
Are not important always as dear-bought, Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, A childish waste of philosophic pains;
But truths, on which depends our main concern, That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn, Shine by the side of every path we tread With such a lustre, he that runs may read. 'Tis true that, if to trifle life away Down to the sunset of their latest day, Then perish on futurity's wide shore Like fleeting exhalations, found no more, Were all that Heaven required of human kind, And all the plan their destiny designed,
What none could reverence all might justly blame, And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame,
But reason heard, and nature well perused, At once the dreaming mind is disabused. If all we find possessing earth, sea, air, Reflect his attributes, who placed them there, Fulfil the purpose, and appear designed Proofs of the wisdom of th' all-seeing mind, 'Tis plain the creature, whom he chose t' invest With kingship and dominion o'er the rest, Received his nobler nature, and was made Fit for the power in which he stands arrayed; That first, or last, hereafter, if not here, He too might make his author's wisdom clear, Praise him on earth, or, obstinately dumb, Suffer his justice in a world to come. This once believed, 'twere logic misapplied, To prove a consequence by none denied, That we are bound to cast the minds of youth Betimes into the mould of heavenly' truth, That taught of God they may indeed be wise, Nor ignorantly wandering miss the skies.
In early days the conscience has in most A quickness, which in later life is lost: Preserved from guilt by salutary fears, Or guilty soon relenting into tears.
Too careless often, as our years proceed, What friends we sort with, or what books we read,
Our parents yet exert a prudent care,
To feed our infant minds with proper fare; And wisely store the nursery by degrees With wholesome learning, yet acquired with ease. Neatly secured from being soiled or torn Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn, A book (to please us at a tender age, 'Tis called a book, though but a single page) Presents the prayer the Saviour deigned to teach, Which children use, and parsons-when they preach;
Lisping our syllables, we scramble next Through moral narrative, or sacred text; And learn with wonder how this world began, Who made, who marred, and who has ransomed
Points, which, unless the Scripture made them plain,
The wisest heads might agitate in vain.
O thou, whom, borne on Fancy's eager wing Back to the season of life's happy spring, 1 pleased remember, and, while memory yet Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget; Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail; Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple style,
|Priests have invented, and the world admired What knavish priests promulgate as inspired; Till reason, now no longer overawed, Resumes her powers, and spurns the clumsy fraud; And, common-sense diffusing real day, The meteor of the Gospel dies away. Such rhapsodies our shrewd discerning youth Learn from expert inquirers after truth; Whose only care, might truth presume to speak, Is not to find what they profess to seek. And thus, well-tutored only while we share A mother's lectures and a nurse's care; And taught at schools much mythologic stuff,* But sound religion sparingly enough; Our early notices of truth, disgraced, Soon lose their credit, and are all effaced. Would you your son should be a sot or dunce, Lascivious, headstrong, or all these at once; That in good time the stripling's finished taste
May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile; Witty, and well employed, and, like thy Lord, Speaking in parables his slighted word; I name thee not, lest so despised a name Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame; Yet e'en in transitory life's late day, That mingles all my brown with sober gray, Revere the man, whose pilgrim marks the road, And guides the progress of the soul to God. "Twere well with most, if books, that could engage Their childhood, pleased them at a riper age; The man, approving what had charmed the boy,For loose expense, and fashionable waste,
Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy; And not with curses on his heart, who stole The gem of truth from his unguarded soul. The stamp of artless piety impressed By kind tuition on his yielding breast, The youth now bearded, and yet pert and raw, Regards with scorn, though once received with
And, warped into the labyrinth of lies, That babblers, called philosophers, devise, Blasphemes his creed, as founded on a plan Replete with dreams, unworthy of a man. Touch but his nature in its ailing part, Assert the native evil of his heart, His pride resents the charge, although the proof* Rise in his forehead, and seem rank enough: Point to the cure, describe a Saviour's cross As God's expedient to retrieve his loss, The young apostate sickens at the view, And hates it with the malice of a Jew.
How weak the barrier of mere nature proves, Opposed against the pleasures Nature loves! While self-betrayed, and wilfully undone, She longs to yield, no sooner wooed than wcn. Try now the merits of this blest exchange Of modest truth for wit's eccentric range. Time was, he closed as he began the day With decent duty, not ashamed to pray; The practice was a bond upon his heart, A pledge he gave for a consistent part; Nor could he dare presumptuously displease A power, confessed so lately, on his knees. But now farewell all legendary tales, The shadows fly, philosophy prevails; Prayer to the winds, and caution to the waves; Religion makes the free by nature slaves.
• See 2 Chron. ch. xxvi. ver. 19..
Should prove your ruin, and his own at last; Train him in public with a mob of boys, Childish in mischief only and in noise, Else of a manish growth, and five in ten In infidelity and lewdness men. There shall he learn, ere sixteen winters old, That authors are most useful pawned or sold; That pedantry is all that schools impart, But taverns teach the knowledge of the heart, There waiter Dick, with Bacchanalian lays, Shall win his heart, and have his drunken praise, His counsellor and bosom friend shall prove, And some street-pacing harlot his first love. Schools, unless discipline were doubly strong, Detain their adolescent charge too long; The management of tyros of eighteen Is difficult; their punishment obscene. The stout tall captain, whose superior size The minor heroes view with envious eyes, Becomes their pattern, upon whom they fix Their whole attention, and ape all his tricks. His pride, that scorns t' obey or to submit, With them is courage; his effrontery wit. His wild excursions, window-breaking feats, Robbery of gardens, quarrels in the streets. His hairbreadth 'scapes, and all his daring schemes Transport them, and are made their favourite
In little bosoms such achievements strike A kindred spark: they burn to do the like. Thus, half-accomplished ere he yet begin To show the peeping down upon his chin;
⚫ The author begs leave to explain.-Sensible that, without such knowledge, neither the ancient poet nor historians can be tasted, or indeed understood, he does not mean to censure the pains that are taken to instruct a schoolboy in the religion of the Heathen, but merely that neglect of Christian culture which leaves him shamefully ignorant of his own
And, as maturity of years comes on, Made just th' adept that you designed your son; T' ensure the perseverance of this course, And give your monstrous project all its force, Send him to college. If he there be tamed, Or in one article of vice reclaimed, Where no regard of ord'nances is shown
Or looked for now, the fault must be his own. Some sneaking virtue lurks in him, no doubt, Where neither strumpets' charms, nor drinking bout,
Nor gambling practices, can find it out. Such youths of spirit, and that spirit too, Ye nurseries of our boys, we owe to you: Though from ourselves the mischief more proceeds, For public schools 'tis public folly feeds. The slaves of custom and established mode, With packhorse constancy we keep the road, Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, True to the jingling of our leader's bells. To follow foolish precedents, and wink With both our eyes, is easier than to think: And such an age as ours balks no expense, Except of caution, and of common-sense; Else sure notorious fact, and proof so plain, Would turn our steps into a wiser train.
I blame not those, who with what care they can, O'erwatch the numerous and unruly clan; Or, if I blame, 'tis only that they dare Promise a work, of which they must despair. Have ye, ye sage intendants of the whole, An ubiquarian presence and control, Elisha's eye, that, when Gehazi strayed, Went with him, and saw all the game he played? Yes-ye are conscious; and on all the shelves Your pupils strike upon, have struck yourselves. Or if, by nature sober, ye had then, Boys as ye were, the gravity of men;
Ye knew at least, by constant proofs addressed To ears and eyes, the vices of the rest. But ye connive at what ye can not cure, And evils, not to be endured, endure, Lest power exerted, but without success, Should make the little ye retain still less. Ye once were justly famed for bringing forth Undoubted scholarship and genuine worth; And in the firmament of fame still shines A glory, bright as that of all the signs, Of poets raised by you, and statesmen, and divines. Peace to them all! those brilliant times are fled, And no such lights are kindling in their stead. Our striplings shine indeed, but with such rays, As set the midnight riot in a blaze; And seem, if judged by their expressive looks, Deeper in none than in their surgeons' books. Say, muse, (for education made the song, No muse can hesitate, or linger long) What causes move us, knowing as we must, That these ménageries all fail their trust,
To send our sons to scout and scamper there, While colts and puppies cost us so much care? Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise, We love the playplace of our early days; The scene is touching, and the heart is stone, That feels not at the sight, and feels at none. The wall on which we tried our graving skill, The very name we carved subsisting still; The bench on which we sat while deep employed, Tho' mangled, hacked, and hewed, not yet de- stroyed;
The little ones, unbuttoned, glowing hot, Playing our games, and on the very spot; As happy as we once, to kneel and draw The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw; To pitch the ball into the grounded hat, Or drive it devious with a dexterous pat; The pleasing spectacle at once excites Such recollection of our own delights, That, viewing it, we seem almost t' obtain Our innocent sweet simple years again. This fond attachment to the well-known place, Whence first we started into life's, long race, Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day. Hark! how the sire of chits, whose future share Of classic food begins to be his care,
With his own likeness placed on either knee, Indulges all a father's heart-felt glee;
And tells them, as he strokes their silver locks, That they must soon learn Latin, and to box; Then turning he regales his listening wife With all th' adventures of his early life; His skill in coachmanship, or driving chaise, In bilking tavern bills, and spouting plays; What shifts he used, detected in a scrape, How he was flogged, or had the luck t' escape, What sums he lost at play, and how he sold Watch, seals, and all-till all his pranks are told. Retracing thus his frolics, ('tis a name That palliates deeds of folly and of shame) He gives the local bias all its sway;
Resolved that where he played his sons shall play, And destines their bright genius to be shown Just in the scene where he displayed his own. The meek and bashful boy will soon be taught To be as bold and forward as he ought; The rude will scuffle through with ease enough, Great schools suit best the sturdy and the rough. Ah happy designation, prudent choice, Th' event is sure; expect it; and rejoice! Soon see your wish fulfilled in either child, The pert made perter, and the tame made wild. The great indeed, by titles, riches, birth, Excused th' encumbrance of more solid worth. Are best disposed of where with most success They may acquire that confident address, Those habits of profuse and lewd expense, That scorn of all delights but those of sense.
Which, though in plain plebeians we condemn, With so much reason all expect from them. But families of less illustrious fame,
Whose chief distinction is their spotless name, Whose heirs, their honours none, their income small,
Must shine by true desert, or not at all, What dream they of, that with so little care They risk their hopes, their dearest treasure, there? They dream of little Charles or William graced With wig prolix, down flowing to his waist; They see th' attentive crowds his talents draw, They hear him speak-the oracle of law. The father, who designs his babe a priest, Dreams him episcopally such at least ;'
And, while the playful jockey scours the room Briskly, astride upon the parlour broom, In fancy sees him more superbly ride
And ending, if at last its end be gained, In sacrilege, in God's own house profaned. It may succeed; and, if his sins should call For more than common punishment it shall; The wretch shall rise, and be the thing on earth Least qualified in honour, learning, worth, To occupy a sacred, awful post,
In which the best and worthiest tremble most. The royal letters are a thing of course, A King, that would, might recommend his horse; And deans, no doubt, and chapters, with one voice, As bound in duty, would confirm the choice. Behold your bishop! well he plays his part, Christian in name, and infidel in heart, Ghostly in office, earthly in his plan, A slave at court, elsewhere a lady's man. Dumb as a senator, and as a priest A piece of mere church-furniture at best;
In coach with purple lined, and mitres on its side. To live estranged from God his total scope,
Events improbable and strange as these, Which only a parental eye foresees,
A public school shall bring to pass with ease. But how? resides such virtue in that air, As must create an appetite for prayer? And will it breathe into him all the zeal, That candidates for such a prize should feel, To take the lead and be the foremost still In all true worth and literary skill? "Ah blind to bright futurity, untaught The knowledge of the world, and dull of thought! Church ladders are not always mounted best By learned clerks, and Latinists professed. Th' exalted prize demands an upward look, Not to be found by poring on a book. Small skill in Latin, and still less in Greek, Is more than adequate to all I seek. Let erudition grace him, or not grace, I give the bauble but the second place: His wealth, fame, honours, all that I intend, Subsist and centre in one point-a friend. A friend, whate'er he studies or neglects, Shall give him consequence, heal all defects. His intercourse with peers and sons of peers- There dawns the splendour of his future years: In that bright quarter his propitious skies Shall blush betimes, and there his glory rise. Your Lordship, and Your Grace! what school can teach
A rhetoric equal to those parts of speech? • What need of Homer's verse, or Tully's prose, Sweet interjections! if he learn but those? Let reverend churls his ignorance rebuke, Who starve upon a dogs-eared Pentateuch, The Parson knows enough, who knows a duke." Egregious purpose! worthily begun In barbarous prostitution of your son; Pressed on his part by means that would disgrace A scriv❜ner's clerk, or footman out of place,
And his end sure, without one glimpse of hope. But fair although and feasible Depend not much upon your golden dream; For Providence, that seems concerned t' exempt The hallowed bench from absolute contempt, In spite of all the wrigglers into place, Still keeps a seat or two for worth and grace, And therefore 'tis, that, though the sight be rare, We sometimes see a Lowth or Bagot there. Besides, school-friendships are not always found, Though fair in promise, permanent and sound, The most disint'rested and virtuous minds, In early years connected, time unbinds; New situations give a different cast Of habit, inclination, temper, taste;
And he, that seemed our counterpart at first, Soon shows the strong similitude reversed. Young heads are giddy, and young hearts are
And make mistakes for manhood to reform. Boys are at best but pretty buds unblown, Whose scent and hues are rather guessed than
Each dreams that each is just what he appears, But learns his error in maturer years, When disposition, like a sail unfurled, Shows all its rents and patches to the world. If, therefore, e'en when honest in design, A boyish friendship may so soon decline, 'Twere wiser sure t' inspire a little heart With just abhorrence of so mean a part, Than set your son to work at a vile trade For wages so unlikely to be paid.
Our public hives of puerile resort, That are of chief and most approved report, To such base hopes, in many a sordid soul, Owe their repute in part, but not the whole. A principle, whose proud pretensions pass Unquestioned, though the jewel be but glass-
That with a world, not often over-nice, Ranks as a virtue, and is yet a vice; Or rather a gross compound, justly tried, Of envy, hatred, jealousy, and pride- Contributes most perhaps t' enhance their fame, And emulation is its specious name. Boys, once on fire with that contentious zeal, Feel all the rage, that female rivals feel; The prize of beauty in a woman's eyes Not brighter than in theirs the scholar's prize. The spirit of that competition burns With all varieties of ills by turns; Each vainly magnifies his own success, Resents his fellow's, wishes it were less, Exults in his miscarriage, if he fail, Deems his reward too great, if he prevail, And labours to surpass him day and night, Less for improvement than to tickle spite. The spur is powerful, and I grant its force; It pricks the genius forward in its course, Allows short time for play, and none for sloth; And, felt alike by each, advances both; But judge, where so much evil intervenes, The end, though plausible, not worth the means. Weigh, for a moment, classical desert Against a heart depraved and temper hurt; Hurt too perhaps for life; for early wrong, Done to the nobler part, affects it long; And you are staunch indeed in learning's cause, If you can crown a discipline, that draws Such mischiefs after it, with much applause. Connexion formed for interest, and endeared By selfish views, thus censured and cashiered; And emulation, as engendering hate, Doomed to a no less ignominious fate: The props of such proud seminaries fall, The Jachin and the Boaz of them all. Great schools rejected then, as those that swell Beyond a size that can be managed well, Shall royal institutions miss the bays, And small academies win all the praise? Force not my drift beyond its just intent, I praise a school as Pope a government; So take my judgment in his language dressed, "Whate'er is best administered is best." Few boys are born with talents that excel, But all are capable of living well; Then ask not, whether limited or large? But, watch they strictly, or neglect their charge? If anxious only, that their boys may learn, While morals languish, a despised concern, The great and small deserve one common blame, Different in size, but in effect the same. Much zeal in virtue's cause all teachers boast, Though motives of mere lucre sway the most; Therefore in towns and cities they abound, For there the game they seek is easiest found; Though there in spite of ali that care can do, Traps to catch youth are most abundant too.
If shrewd, and of a well-constructed brain, Keen in pursuit, and vigorous to retain, Your son come forth a prodigy of skill; As wheresoever taught, so formed, he will;. The pedagogue, with self-complacent air, Claims more than half the praise as his due share. But if, with all his genius, he betray, Not more intelligent than loose and gay, Such vicious habits as disgrace his name, Threaten his health, his fortune, and his fame; Though want of due restraint alone have bred The symptoms, that you see with so much dread; Unenvied there, he may sustain alone The whole reproach, the fault was all his own. O'tis a sight to be with joy perused, By all whom sentiment has not abused; New-fangled sentiment, the boasted grace Of those who never feel in the right place; A sight surpassed by none that we can show, Though Vestris on one leg still shine below; A father blest with an ingenious son, Father, and friend, and tutor, all in one. How!-turn again to tales long since forgot, Esop, and Phædrus, and the rest?-Why not? He will not blush, that has a father's heart, To take in childish plays a childish part; But bends his sturdy back to any toy, That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy; Then why resign into a stranger's hand A task as much within your own command, That God and nature, and your interest too, Seem with one voice to delegate to you? Why hire a lodging in a house unknown For one whose tenderest thoughts all hover.round your own?
This second weaning, needless as it is,
How does it lacerate both your heart and his!
Th' indented stick, that loses day by day Notch after notch, till all are smoothed away, Bear witness, long ere his dismission come, With what intense desire he wants his home. But though the joys he hopes beneath your roof Bid fair enough to answer in the proof, Harmless, and safe, and natural, as they are, A disappointment waits him even there: Arrived, he feels an unexpected change, He blushes, hangs his head, is shy and strange, No longer takes, at once, with fearless ease, His favourite stand between his father's knees, But seeks the corner of some distant seat, And eyes the door, and watches a retreat, And, least familiar where he should be most, Feels all his happiest privileges lost. Alas, poor boy!-the natural effect Of love by absence chilled into respect, Say, what accomplishments, at school acquired, Brings he, to sweeten fruits so undesired? Thou well deserv'st an alienated son, Unless thy conscious heart acknowledge-none;
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