To Mecca with the Caravan.

And think it right in common sense
Both for diversion and defence.

Reforming schemes are none of mine ; To mend the world 's a vast design: Like theirs, who tug in little boat, To pull to them the ship afloat, While to defeat their labor'd end,

At once both wind and stream contend: Success herein is seldom seen,

And zeal, when baffled, turns to Spleen.

Happy the man, who, innocent,
Grieves not at ills he can't prevent;
His skiff does with the current glide,
Not puffing pull'd against the tide.
He, paddling by the scuffling crowd,
Sees unconcern'd life's wager row'd,
And when he can't prevent foul play,
Enjoys the folly of the fray.

By these reflections I repeal
Each hasty promise made in zeal.
When gospel propagators say,

We're bound our great light to display,
And Indian darkness drive away,
Yet none but drunken watchmen send,
And scoundrel link-boys for that end;
When they cry up this holy war,
Which every Christian should be for,

Yet such as owe the law their ears,
We find employ'd as engineers:
This view my forward zeal so shocks,
In vain they hold the money-box.
At such a conduct, which intends
By vicious means such virtuous ends,
I laugh off Spleen, and keep my pence
From spoiling Indian innocence.

Yet philosophic love of ease I suffer not to prove disease, But rise up in the virtuous cause Of a free press, and equal laws, The press restrain'd! nefandous thought! In vain our sires have nobly fought: While free from force the press remains, Virtue and Freedom cheer our plains, And Learning largesses bestows, And keeps uncensur'd open house. We to the nation's public mart Our works of wit, and schemes of art, And philosophic goods this way, Like water carriage, cheap convey. This tree, which knowledge so affords, Inquisitors with flaming swords From lay-approach with zeal defend, Lest their own paradise should end. The press from her fecundous womb Brought forth the arts of Greece and Rome; Her offspring skill'd in logic war,

Truth's banner wav'd in open air;
The monster Superstition fled,
And hid in shades its Gorgon head;
And lawless pow'r, the long-kept field,
By reason quell'd, was forc'd to yield.
This nurse of arts, and freedom's fence
To chain, is treason against sense;
And, Liberty, thy thousand tongues
None silence, who design no wrongs;
For those, who use the gag's restraint,
First rob, before they stop complaint.

Since disappointment gauls within,
And subjugates the soul to Spleen,
Most schemes, as money-snares, I hate,
And bite not at projector's bait.
Sufficient wrecks appear each day,
And yet fresh fools are cast away.
Ere well the bubbled can turn round,
Their painted vessel runs aground;
Or in deep seas it oversets

By a fierce hurricane of debts;
Or helm directors in one trip,
Freight first embezzled, sink the ship.
Such was of late a corporation,
The brazen serpent of the nation,
Which, when hard accidents distress'd,
The poor must look at to be blest,
And thence expect, with paper seal'd
By fraud and us❜ry, to be heal'd.

I in no soul-consumption wait Whole years at levees of the great, And hungry hopes regale the while On the spare diet of a smile. There you may see the idol stand With mirror in his wanton hand; Above, below, now here, now there He throws about the sunny glare. Crowds pant, and press to seize the prize, The gay delusion of their eyes.

When Fancy tries her limning skill
To draw and color at her will,
And raise and round the figures well,
And shew her talent to excel,

I guard my heart, lest it should woo
Unreal beauties Fancy drew,
And disappointed, feel despair
At loss of things, that never were.

When I lean politicians mark Grazing on aether in the park; Whoe'er on wing with open throats Fly at debates, expresses, votes, Just in the manner swallows use, Catching their airy food of news; Whose latrant stomachs oft molest The deep-laid plans their dreams suggest;

Or see some poet pensive sit,

Fondly mistaking Spleen for Wit:

Who, though short-winded, still will aim
To sound the epic trump of Fame;
Who still on Phoebus' smiles will doat,
Nor learn conviction from his coat;
I bless my stars, I never knew
Whimsies, which close pursu’d, undo,
And have from old experience been
Both parent and the child of Spleen.
These subjects of Apollo's state,
Who from false fire derive their fate,
With airy purchases undone

Of lands, which none lend money on,
Born dull, had follow'd thriving ways,
Nor lost one hour to gather bays.
Their fancies first delirious grew,

And scenes ideal took for true.

Fine to the sight Parnassus lies,

And with false prospects cheats their eyes; The fabled gods the Poets sing,

A season of perpetual spring,

Brooks, flow'ry fields, and groves of trees,

Affording sweets and similes,

Gay dreams inspir'd in myrtle bow'rs,
And wreaths of undecaying flow'rs,
Apollo's harp with airs divine,
The sacred music of the Nine,
Views of the temple rais'd to Fame,
And for a vacant niche proud aim,
Ravish their souls, and plainly shew
What Fancy's sketching power can do.