Page images
PDF
EPUB

And dress, so much corruption reigns within,
Is both the consequence and cause of sin.

Cle. Of Happiness unfound I too complain, Sought in a diff'rent path, but sought in vain. I sigh'd for fame, I languish'd for renown, I would be flatter'd, prais'd, admir'd, and knowIL. On daring wing my mounting spirit soar'd, And Science through her boundless fields explor'd: I scorn'd the salique laws of pedant schools, Which chain our genius down by tasteless rules: I long'd to burst these female bonds, which held My sex in awe, by vanity impell'd:

To boast each various faculty of mind,

Thy graces, Pope, with Johnson's learning join'd:
Like Swift, with strongly pointed ridicule,
To brand the villain, and abash the fool:
To judge with taste, with spirit to compose,
Now mount in epic, now descend to prose;
To join, like Burke, the Beauteous and Sublime,
Or build, with Milton's art," the lofty rhyme:
Through Fancy's fields I rang'd; I strove to hit
Melmoth's chaste style, and Prior's easy wit;
Thy classic graces, Mason, to display,
And court the Muse of Elegy with Gray:
I rav'd of Shakspeare's flame, and Dryden's rage,
And every charm of Otway's melting page.
I talk'd by rote the jargon of the schools,
Of critic laws and Aristotle's rules:
Of passion, sentiment, and style, and grace,
And unities of action, time, and place.
The daily duties of my life forgot,
To study fiction, incident, and plot:

Howe'er the conduct of my life might err,
Still my dramatic plans were regular.

Ura. Who aims at ev'ry science, soon will find The field how vast, how limited the mind.

Cle. Abstruser studies soon my fancy caught, The poet in th' astronomer forgot:

The schoolmen's systems now my mind employ'd,
Their crystal Spheres, their Atoms, and their Void.
Newton and Halley all my soul inspir'd,

And numbers less than calculations fir'd;
Descartes and Euclid shar'd my varying breast,
And plans and problems all my soul possess'd.
Less pleas'd to sing inspiring Phoebus' ray
Than mark the flaming comet's devious way.
The pale moon dancing on the silver stream,
And the mild lustre of her trembling beam,
No more could charm my philosophic pride,
Which sought her influence on the flowing tide.
No more ideal beauties fir'd my thought,
Which only facts and demonstrations sought.
Let common eyes, I said, with transport view
The earth's bright verdure, or the heav'ns soft blue,
False is the pleasure, the delight is vain,

Colours exist but in the vulgar brain.

I now with Locke trod metaphysic soil,

Now chas'd coy Nature through the tracts of Boyle;
To win the wreath of Fame, by Science twin'd,
More than the love of Science fir'd my mind.
1 seized on Learning's superficial part,
And title-page and index got by heart;
Some learn'd authority I still would bring

To grace my talk, and prove - the plainest thing:

This the chief transport I from science drew,
That all might know how much Cleora knew.
Not love, but wonder, I aspir'd to raise,
And miss'd affection, while I grasp'd at praise.

Pas. To me, no joys could pomp or fame impart ;
Far softer thoughts possess'd my virgin heart.
No prudent parent form'd my ductile youth,
Nor led my footsteps in the paths of truth.
Left to myself to cultivate my mind,

Pernicious novels their soft entrance find:
Their pois'nous influence led my mind astray;
I sigh'd for something, what, I could not say.
I fancied virtues which were never seen,
And died for heroes who have never been ;
I sicken'd with disgust at sober sense,

And loath'd the pleasures worth and truth dispense;
I scorn'd the manners of the world I saw ;
My guide was fiction, and romance my law.
Distemper'd thoughts my wand'ring fancy fill,
Each wind a zephyr, and each brook a rill;
I found adventures in each common tale,
And talk'd and sigh'd to ev'ry passing gale;
Convers'd with echoes, woods, and shades, and bow'rs,
Cascades and grottos, fields, and streams, and flow'rs.
Retirement, more than crowds, had learn'd to please;
For treach'rous Leisure feeds the soft disease.
There, plastic Fancy ever moulds at will
Th' obedient image with a dangʼrous skill;
The charming fiction, with alluring art,
Awakes the passions, and infects the heart:
A fancied heroine, an ideal wife,

I loath'd the offices of real life.

These all were dull and tame; I long'd to prove
The gen'rous ardours of unequal love;

Some marvel still my wayward heart must strike,
Or prince, or peasant, each had charms alike:
Whate'er inverted nature, custom, law,
With joy I courted, and with transport saw.
In the dull walk of Virtue's quiet round,
No aliment my fever'd fancy found;

Each duty to perform observant still,

But those which God and Nature bade me fill.

El. [to Urania.] O save me from the errors of

deceit,

And all the dangers wealth and beauty meet.

Pas. Reason perverted, Fancy on her throne,
My soul to all my sex's softness prone;
I neither spoke nor look'd as mortal ought;
To Sense abandon'd, and by Folly taught;
A victim to Imagination's sway,

Which stole my health, and rest, and peace away:
Professions, void of meaning, I receiv'd,

And still I found them false and still believ'd:
Imagin'd all who courted me, approv'd;

Who prais'd, esteem'd me; and who flatter'd, lov'd.
Fondly I hop'd (now vain those hopes appear)
Each man was faithful, and each maid sincere.
Still Disappointment mock'd the ling'ring day;
Still new-born wishes led my soul astray.

When in the rolling year no joy I find,
I trust the next, the next will sure be kind.
The next, fallacious as the last appears,
And sends me on to still remoter years.

They come, they promise —but forget to give:
I live not, but I still intend to live.

At length, deceiv'd in all my schemes of bliss,
I join'd these three in search of Happiness.

El. Is this the world of which we want a sight? Are these the beings who are call'd polite?

Syl. If so, oh, gracious Heav'n! hear Sylvia's prayer;

Preserve me still in humble virtue here!
Far from such baneful pleasures may I live,
And keep, O keep me, from the taint they give!
Lau. No love of Fame my torpid bosom warms,
No Fancy soothes me, and no Pleasure charms:
Yet still remote from Happiness I stray,
No guiding star illumes my trackless way.
My mind, nor wit misleads, nor passion goads,
But the dire rust of indolence corrodes;
This eating canker, with malignant stealth,
Destroys the vital pow'rs of moral health.

Till now, I've slept on Life's tumultuous tide,
No principle of action for my guide.
From ignorance my chief misfortunes flow;
I never wish'd to learn, or car'd to know.
With ev'ry folly slow-pac'd Time beguil'd:
In size a woman, but in soul a child.
In slothful ease my moments crept away,
And busy trifles fill'd the tedious day;
I liv'd extempore, as Fancy fir'd,
As Chance directed, or Caprice inspir'd:
Too indolent to think, too weak to choose,
Too soft to blame, too gentle to refuse;.

« PreviousContinue »