Epist. II.

ETHIC EPISTLES.

REES

UNIV
OF C

In active arts, or vent'rous arms would shine,
Yet shuns the paths which virtue bids decline;
Who dignifies his wealth by gen❜rous use,
To raise th' oppress'd, or merit to produce—
Shall reason's voice impartial e'er condemn
The glorious purpose of so wise an aim?

Where virtue regulates this just desire,
'Twere dangerous folly to suppress its fire.
Say, whence could fame supply (its force unknown)
Her roll illustrious of fair renown?

What laurels prompt the hero's useful rage?
What prize the patriot's weighty toils engage?
Each public passion bound to endless frost,
Each deed of social worth for ever lost.
O! may the Muse inspire the love of praise,
Raise the bright passion, but with judgment raise ?
For this she oft has tun'd her sacred voice,
Call'd forth the patriot, and approv'd his choice;
Bid him the steep ascent to honor take,
Nor till the summit gain'd, her paths forsake.

Yet not success alone true fame attends;

He too shall reach it who but well intends.
See 'midst the vanquish'd virtuous, Falkland lies;
His generous efforts vain, and vain his sighs;

Yet true to merit faithful records tell
To distant ages how the patriot fell :

Blest youth! insur'd the sweetest voice of praise,
Who lives approv'd in Pope's unrivall❜d lays.

Grave precepts fleeting notions may impart, But bright example best instructs the heart: Then look on Patrius, let his conduct shew From active life what various blessings flow. In him a just ambition stands confess'd; It warms, but not inflames, his equal breast. See him in senates act the patriot's part, Truth on his lips, the public at his heart; There neither fears can awe, nor hopes control, The honest purpose of his steady soul. No mean attachments e'er seduc'd his tongue To gild the cause his heart suspected wrong; But deaf to envy, faction, spleen, his voice Joins here or there, as reason guides his choice. To one great point his faithful labors tend, And all his toils in Britain's interest end. To him each neighbour safe refers his claim, The right he settles, and abates the flame. Nor arts nor worth to Patrius sue in vain, Nor unreliev'd the injur❜d e'er complain. For him the hand unseen, are pray'rs prefer'd, And grateful vows in distant temples heard; Like nature's blessings to no part confin'd, His well-pois'd bounty reaches all mankind; That insolence of wealth, the pomp of state Which crowds the mansions of the vainly great, Flies far the limits of his modest gate. Just what is elegantly useful 's there;

Of aught beyond he scorns th' unworthy care; Nor would for all the trim that pride can show,

One single act of social aid forego;
For this he labors to improve his store,
For this he wishes to enlarge his pow'r;
This is his life's great purpose, end, and aim:
Such true ambition is, and worthy fame.

How different Rapax spent his worthless hour! With treasure indigent, a slave with pow'r : Large sums o'erlooking, still intent on more, He wasted, not enjoy'd, his tasteless store. His growing greatness rais'd his hopes the high'r, And fan'd his restless pride's increasing fire. 'Twas thus amidst prosperity he pin'd; For what can fill the false ambitious mind? With all the honors that his prince could give, With all the wealth his av'rice could receive, 'Midst outward opulence, but inward care, Reproach and want were all he left his heir.

'Tis true, the patriot well deserves his fame, And from his country just applause may claim. But what avails it to the world beside,

That Brutus bravely stab'd, or Curtius dy'd?
While Tully's merit, unconfin'd to place,
Diffuses blessings down through all our race;
Remotest times his learned labors reach,
And Rome's great moralist ev'n now shall teach.

Averse to public noise, ambition's strife, And all the splendid ills of busy life,

Through latent paths, unmark'd by vulgar eye,
Are there who wish to pass unheeded by?
Whom calm retirement's sacred pleasures move,
The hour contemplative, or friend they love;
Yet not by spleen, or superstition led,
Forbear ambition's giddy heights to tread ;
Who not inglorious spend their peaceful day,
Whilst science, lovely star! directs their way?
Flows there not something good from such as these?
No useful product from the men of ease;
And shall the Muse no social merit boast ?
Are all her vigils to the public lost?

Though noisy pride may scorn her silent toil,
Fair are the fruits which bless her happy soil :
There every plant of useful produce grows,
There science sprang, and thence instruction flows:
There true philosophy erects her school,

There plans her problem, and there forms her rule;
There every seed of every art began,

And all that eases life, and brightens man.

'Twas hence great Newton, mighty genius! soar'd, And all creation's wond'rous range explor❜d. Far as th' Almighty stretch'd his utmost line, He pierc'd in thought, and view'd the vast design. Too long had darker ages sought in vain The secret scheme of nature to explain; Too long had truth escap'd each sage's eye, Or faintly shone through vain philosophy. Each shapely offspring of her feeble thought,

A darker veil o'er genuine science brought;

Still stubborn facts o'erthrew their fruitless toil;
For truth and fiction who shall reconcile ?
But Britain's sons a surer guide pursue;

Thread safe the maze, since Newton gave the clue.
Where-e'er he turn'd true Science rear'd her head,
While far before her puzzled Ignʼrance fled :
From each blest truth these noble ends he draws,
Use to mankind, and to their God applause.
Taught by his rules secure the merchant rides,
When threat'ning seas roll high their dreadful tides;
And either India speeds her precious stores,
'Midst various dangers safe to Britain's shores.
Long as those orbs he weigh'd shall shed their rays,
His truth shall guide us, and shall last his praise.

Yet if so just the fame, the use so great,
Systems to poise, and spheres to regulate;
To teach the secret well-adapted force,

That steers of countless orbs th' unvaried course;
Far brighter honors wait the nobler part,
To balance manners, and conduct the heart.
Order without us, what imports it seen,

If all is restless anarchy within ?

Fir'd by this thought, great Ashley, gen❜rous sage,
Plan'd in sweet leisure his instructive page.
Not orbs he weighs, but marks, with happier skill,
The scope of actions and the poise of will:
In fair proportion here describ'd we trace
Each mental beauty, and each moral grace ;