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And still it spreads. See Germany send forth
it on the farthest north;
rocks, Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks; No fertilizing streams your fields divide, That show reversed the villas on their side; No
groves have ye; no cheerful sound of bird, Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard; Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell Of those that walk at evening where ye
dwell: But Winter, arm’d with terrors here unknown, Sits absolute on his unshaken throne; Piles
his stores amidst the frozen waste, And bids the mountains he has built stand fast; Beckons the legions of his storms away From happier scenes, to make your land a prey; Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won, And scorns to share it with the distant Sun.
Yet Truth is yours, remote unenvied isle! And Peace, the genuine offspring of her smile; The Pride of letter'd Ignorance, that binds In chains of error our accomplish'd minds, That decks, with all the splendour of the true, A false religion, is unknown to you. Nature indeed vouchsafes for our delight The sweet vicissitudes of day and night; Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer Field, fruit, and flower, and every creature here;
i The Moravian missionaries in Greenland. See Krantz.
But brighter beams than his who fires the skies, Have risen at length on your admiring eyes, That shoot into
darkest caves the day, From which our nicer optics turn away.
Here see the’encouragementGrace gives to vice, The dire effect of mercy without price! What were they? what some fools are made by art They were by nature, atheists, head and heart. The gross idolatry blind heathens teach Was too refined for them, beyond their reach. Not e'en the glorious Sun, though men revere The monarch most that seldom will appear, And though his beams, that quicken where they
shine, May claim some right to be esteem'd divine, Not e'en the Sun, desirable as rare, Could bend one knee, engage one votary there; They were, what base credulity believes True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards,
thieves. The full-gorged savage, at bis nauseous feast Spent half the darkness, and snored out the rest, Was one whom justice, on an equal plan Denouncing death upon the sins of man, Might almost have indulged with an escape, Chargeable only with a human shape:
What are they now!--Morality may spare Her grave concern, her kind suspicions there: The wretch, who once sang wildly, danced and
laugh'd, And suck'd in dizzy madness with his draught, Has wept a silent flood, reversed his ways, Is sober, meek, benevolent, and prays,
Feeds sparingly, communicates his store,
Go now, and with important tone demand
These, amidst scenes as waste as if denied
spurn away a gift a God bestows.
Leuconomus (beneath well sounding Greek I slur a name a poet must not speak) Stood pilloried on infamy's high stage, And bore the pelting scorn of half an age; The
very butt of slander, and the blot For every
dart that malice ever shot. The man that mention'd him at once dismiss'd All mercy from his lips, and sneer'd and hiss'd; His crimes were such as Sodom never knew, And Perjury stood up to swear all true; His aim was mischief, and his zeal pretence, His speech rebellion against common sense; A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule, And when by that of reason, a mere fool; The world's best comfort was, his doom was pass’d; Die when he might, he must be damn’d at last.
Now, Truth, perform thine office; waft aside The curtain drawn by Prejudice and Pride, Reveal (the man is dead) to wondering eyes This more than monster in his proper guise.
He loved the world that hated him: the tear That dropp'd upon his Bible was sincere: Assail'd by scandal and the tongue of strife, His only answer was a blameless life; And hé that forged, and he that threw the dart, Had each a brother's interest in his heart. Paul's love of Christ, and steadiness unbribed, Were copied close in him, and well transcribed. He follow'd Paul; his zeal a kindred flame, His apostolic charity the same. Like him, cross'd cheerfully tempestuous seas, Forsaking country, kindred, friends, and ease; Like him, he labour’d, and like him content To bear it, suffer'd shame where'er he went.
Blush, Calumny; and write upon his tomb,
Build by whatever plan caprice decrees, With what materials, on what ground you please; Your hope shall stand unblamed, perhaps admired, If not that hope the Scripture has required, The strange conceits, vain projects, and wild With which hypocrisy for ever teems (dreams, (Though other follies strike the public eye, And raise a laugh), pass unmolested by;