« EdellinenJatka »
Wise by some centuries before the crowd,
Must still offend the wicked, weak, and proud;
Twas ever thus; and such has been thy fate—
But glory, honour, and renown, tho late
Thy well-deserved, thy sure reward shall be.
Oh! had thy hasty censurers known thee well,
Unbiass'd had they weigh'd thy Works and Thee;
Base Calumny had blush'd her tale to tell,
And thousands from this worst of crimes been free—
This Crime of Crimes! to damn unheard, unknown,
Here the malicious slanderer stands alone;
What agonies have wrung my indignant breast,
Of every talent, every worth possest,
Immutable And Just, And Wise And Good!
Is Wit a quality to charm the soul?
Is Genius dear—is Science to be loved? Is Reason, of omnipotent controul,
Man's highest, noblest boast, to be approved f
Is all divine Philosophy, held forth
As every good dispensing to our race, Spreading philanthropy and taste on earth,
And raising man above the vile and base?
Are strong, romantic, rich, poetic powers—
And anecdote, that gilds convivial hours—
Talents Acute, Impressive, and Profound—
Are These held dear, and by the bard and sage
Reverenced, esteem'd, and praised, from pole to pole?
Then Paine must live to every future age,
-For Me, who thus potirtray the man 1 loved,
For still to Me the fond attachment proved
But not the voice of millions, led astray
By party, interest, prejudice, and fear, Can ever waken in my breast dismay,
Or make me aught but what I am appear.
Worms Of A Day! our duty let us do,
All pride, and selfishness, and strife subdue,
o. »•• ~ v «od right, with even course; v - ' "-^i^HBABX might guide the Head, **- auutfr cabal, and force.
i/t tke dear dear groupe that croud my boards Visualize my rambles and fire-side, far these^ my boys and girls, I but implored Xhat Truth, and only Truth, might be their guide.
Worms Of A Bay ! it is not worth our while
To live to mental lying, vice, and woe:
I've read their works, and known high-minded men,.
Whose plaudits by the nations have been rung, Who've woo'd philosophy, or pour'd the strain,
Or greatly reason'd, or divinely sung.
But these, indeed, to Thee the palm must yield j
They fade like stars that quit heaven's azure field,
Twas thine to point the means of human weal,
To all his better passions to appeal,
His life ennoble, and his thoughts sublime.
Twas Thine his social happiness to plan,
And teaching Reason, and the Rights Of Mak,
Twas Thine, by works devoted but to Truth,
To lead from jarring creeds, and laws uncouth,
Let These thy Works immortalize thy fame;
Let these to purer times thy praise extend, Whose grateful sons will hail thy hallow'd name,
Which scarcely found, in times corrupt, a friend.
My boast it is to rank with these, though few;
My pride, this humble tribute to bestow;
This to Myself, to Thee, and Truth I owe!
ORIGINAL PIECES IN PROSE AND VERSE,
-♦ » .
Note.—This little production of Mr. Paine is well worth attention; particularly too when millions have been and are squandering upon useless land fortifications along the coast, and on the works in and about Dover, &c.
The observations of a great man are always deserving of notice; and those which follow carry so complete a conviction of their propriety and truth along with them, that the English reader cannot but be led to reflect on the very opposite plans pursued in protecting our own coasts; if indeed, that may be called protection which we are now adopting.
One thing most recommendatory of gun-boats has, I think, not been sufficiently enlarged upon in Mr. Paine's essay, but which, while we lament that any system of war should be necessary, surely speaks highly in favour of them,