human
Low lies the man, who scarce deigns Gray to praise, But from the tomb calls Blackmore's sleeping lays; A passport grants to Pomfret's dismal chimes, To Yalden's hymns, and Watts's holy rhimes;[22] By subtle doubts would Swift's fair fame invade, And round his brows the ray of glory shade;[23] With poignant taunt mild Shenstone's life arraigns, His taste contemns, and sweetly-flowing strains; At zealous Milton aims his tory dart, But in his Savage finds a moral heart; At great Nassau despiteful rancour flings,[24] But pension'd kneels ev'n to usurping kings: Rich, old and dying, bows his laurel'd head, And almost deigns to ask superfluous bread. [25] A sceptick once, he taught the letter'd throng To doubt the existence of fam'd Ossian's song; Yet by the eye of faith, in reason's spite, Saw ghosts and witches, preach'd up _second sight_: For o'er his soul sad Superstition threw Her gloom, and ting'd his genius with her hue. On popish ground he takes his high church station, To sound mysterious tenets through the nation;[26] On Scotland's kirk he vents a bigot's gall,[27] Though her young chieftains prophecy like SAUL![28] On Tetty's state his frighted fancy runs,[29] And Heaven's appeas'd by cross unbutter'd buns:[30] He sleeps and fasts[31], pens on himself a libel,[32] And still believes, but never reads the Bible.[33] Fame says, at school, of scripture science vain, Bel and the Dragon smote him on the brain;[34] Scar'd with the blow, he shun'd the Jewish law, And eyed the Ark with reverential awe:[35] Let priestly S--h--n in a godly fit The tale relate, in aid of Holy Writ; Though candid Adams, by whom DAVID fell,[36] Who ancient miracles sustain'd so well, To recent wonders may deny his aid,[37] Nor own a buzy zealot of the trade. A coward wish, long stigmatiz'd by fame, Devotes Mæcenas to eternal shame;[38] Religious Johnson, future life to gain, Would ev'n submit to everlasting pain: How clear, how strong, such kindred colours paint The Roman epicure and Christian saint! O, had he liv'd in more enlighten'd times, When signs from heaven proclaim'd vile mortals' crimes, How had he groan'd, with sacred horrors pale, When Noah's comet shook her angry tail[39]; That wicked comet, which Will Whiston swore Would burn the earth that she had drown'd before![40] Or when Moll Tosts, by throes parturient vext, Saw her young rabbets peep from Esdras' text![41] To him such signs, prepar'd by mystick grace, Had shewn the impending doom of Adam's race. But who to blaze his frailties feels delight, When the great author rises to our sight? When the pure tenour of his life we view, Himself the bright exemplar that he drew? Whose works console the good, instruct the wise, And teach the soul to claim her kindred skies. By grateful bards his name be ever sung, Whose sterling touch has fix'd the English tongue! Fortune's dire weight, the patron's cold disdain,
gpt
Shook off, as dew-drops from the lion's mane; [42] Unknown, unaided, in a friendless state,[43] Without one smile of favour from the great; The bulky tome his curious care refines, Till the great work in full perfection shines; His wide research and patient skill displays What scarce was sketch'd in ANNA's golden days;[44] What only learning's aggregated toil Slowly accomplish'd in each foreign soil.[45] Yet to the mine though the rich coin he trace, No current marks his early essays grace; For in each page we find a massy store Of English bullion mix'd with Latian ore: In solemn pomp, with pedantry combin'd, He vents the morbid sadness of his mind;[46] In scientifick phrase affects to smile, Form'd on Brown's turgid Latin-English style:[47] Too oft the abstract decorates his prose,[48] While measur'd ternaries the periods close: But all propriety his Ramblers mock, When Betty prates from Newton and from Locke; When no diversity we trace between The lofty moralist and gay fifteen--[49] Yet genius still breaks through the encumbering phrase; His taste we censure, but the work we praise: There learning beams with fancy's brilliant dyes, Vivid as lights that gild the northern skies; Man's complex heart he bares to open day, Clear as the prism unfolds the blended ray: The picture from his mind assumes its hue; The shades too dark, but the design still true. Though Johnson's merits thus I freely scan, And paint the foibles of this wond'rous man; Yet can I coolly read, and not admire, When Learning, Wit and Poetry conspire To shed a radiance o'er his moral page, And spread truth's sacred light to many an age? For all his works with innate lustre shine, Strength all his own, and energy divine. While through life's maze he sent a piercing view, His mind expansive to the object grew. With various stores of erudition fraught, The lively image, the deep-searching thought, Slept in repose;--but when the moment press'd, The bright ideas flood at once confess'd;[50] Instant his genius sped its vigorous rays, And o'er the letter'd world diffus'd a blaze: As womb'd with fire the cloud electrick flies, And calmly o'er the horizon seems to rise; Touch'd by the pointed steel, the lightning flows, And all the expanse with rich effulgence glows. In judgment keen, he acts the critick's part, By reason proves the feelings of the heart; In thought profound, in nature's study wise, Shews from what source our fine sensations rise; With truth, precision, fancy's claims defines, And throws new splendour o'er the poet's lines.[51] When specious sophists with presumption scan The source of evil, hidden still from man;[52] Revive Arabian tales[53], and vainly hope To rival St. John, and his scholar, Pope;[54] Though metaphysicks spread the gloom of night, By reason's star he guides our aching sight; The bounds of knowledge marks; and points the way To pathless wastes, where wilder'd sages stray; Where, like a farthing linkboy, Jennings stands, And the dim torch drops from his feeble hands. Impressive truth, in splendid fiction drest,[55] Checks the vain wish, and calms the troubled breast; O'er the dark mind a light celestial throws, And sooths the angry passions to repose; As oil effus'd illumes and smooths the deep,[56] When round the bark the foaming surges sweep.-- But hark, he sings! the strain ev'n Pope admires; Indignant Virtue her own bard inspires; Sublime as Juvenal, he pours his lays,[57] And with the Roman shares congenial praise:-- In glowing numbers now he fires the age, And Shakspeare's sun relumes the clouded stage.[58] So full his mind with images was fraught, The rapid strains scarce claim'd a second thought; And with like ease his vivid lines assume The garb and dignity of ancient Rome.-- Let college _versemen_ trite conceits express, Trick'd out in splendid shreds of Virgil's dress; From playful Ovid cull the tinsel phrase, And vapid notions hitch in pilfer'd lays; Then with mosaick art the piece combine, And boast the glitter of each dulcet line: Johnson adventur'd boldly to transfuse His vigorous sense into the Latian muse; Aspir'd to shine by unreflected light, And with a Roman's ardour _think_ and write. He felt the tuneful Nine his breast inspire, And, like a master, wak'd the[59] soothing lyre: Horatian strains a grateful heart proclaim, While Sky's wild rocks resound his Thralia's name.-- Hesperia's plant, in some less skillful hands, To bloom a while, factitious heat demands; Though glowing Maro a faint warmth supplies, The sickly blossom in the hot-house dies: By Johnson's genial culture, art, and toil, Its root strikes deep, and owns the fost'ring soil; Imbibes our sun through all its swelling veins, And grows a native of Britannia's plains. Soft-ey'd compassion, with a look benign His fervent vows he offer'd at thy shrine; To guilt, to woe, the sacred debt was paid,[60] And helpless females bless'd his pious aid: Snatch'd from disease, and want's abandon'd crew, Despair and anguish from their victims flew; Hope's soothing balm into their bosoms stole, And tears of penitence restor'd the soul. Nor did philanthrophy alone expand His liberal heart, and ope his bounteous hand; His _talents_ ev'n he gave to friendship's claim,[61] And by the gift imparted wealth and fame: His mind exhaustless sped its vivid force, Yet with unbated vigour held its course; As some fix'd star fulfills heaven's great designs, Lights other spheres, yet undiminish'd shines. How few distinguish'd of the studious train At the gay board their empire can maintain! In their own books intomb'd their wisdom lies; Too dull for talk, their slow conceptions rise: Yet the mute author, of his writings proud, For wit unshewn claims homage from the crowd; As thread-bare misers, by mean avarice school'd, Expect obeisance from their hidden gold.-- In converse quick, impetuous Johnson press'd His weighty logick, or sarcastick jest: Strong in the chace, and nimble in the turns,[62] For victory still his fervid spirit burns; Subtle when wrong, invincible when right, Arm'd at all points, and glorying in his might, Gladiator-like, he traverses the field, And strength and skill compel the foe to yield.-- Yet have I seen him, with a milder air, Encircled by the witty and the fair, Ev'n in old age with placid mien rejoice At beauty's smile, and beauty's flattering voice.-- With Reynolds' pencil, vivid, bold, and true, So fervent Boswell gives him to our view. In every trait we see his mind expand; The master rises by the pupil's hand; We love the writer, praise his happy vein, Grac'd with the naiveté of the sage Montaigne. Hence not alone are brighter parts display'd, But ev'n the specks of character portray'd: We _see_ the Rambler with fastidious smile Mark the lone tree, and note the heath-clad isle; But when the heroick tale of Flora charms,[63] Deck'd in a kilt, he wields a chieftain's arms: The tuneful piper sounds a martial strain, And Samuel sings,
human
The King shall have his ain