Scotish Descriptive Poems/Aaron Hill's Poetical Address
TO THE EDITOR OF ALBANIA,
A POEM,
Addressed to the Genius of Scotland, and dedicated to General Wade.
Known, though unnamed, since shunning vulgar phrase,
Thy muse would shine, and yet conceal her rays;
Think thyself hid, and hope in vain to be
Unseen, like light, that shows us all we see.
But while thy readers are denied thy name,
They feel thy genius, and attest thy flame.
They pity too, in death, thy noteless friend,
Poor by the generous aid thy wealth would lend;
Prefaced by thee, his feeble lights expire;
Even in producing, thou obscurest his fire.
Not but the muse had warmed his youthful song!
Bold were his notes, and his ideas strong;
But where domestic dearness warped his lays,
And partial birth misled the patriot praise;
Wilt thou not join to blame the bounded zeal,
That bids us only for our country feel?
Yes—thou wilt censure this too scanty care,
That shuts out pity, and appropriates prayer.
Thou wilt enlarge affection, till it sees
Beyond itself, and pants for public ease.
Stretch liberty to disengage mankind,
And even from nature's bias free the mind.
What though, we know not why, soft inbred pride,
Makes home seem sweetest, and can choice misguide;
Till native darkness erring taste constrains,
And Lapland deserts rival Persia's plains;
Let the soul's reach the heart's restraint reprove,
And widen to the world our country's love.
Base are these local limits to mens hearts,
That canton out humanity in parts.
Truth has no districts to divide her toil;
And virtue is at home in every soil.
Since, on one common globe, we neighbouring dwell,
What narrower line should man from man expel.
Each born alike, and sons of nature all,
Human can ne'er from care of human fall.
But passion's rapine, nature's union breaks,
Not foil but interest all this difference makes:
Born brothers, each from each would something draw,
Till ravaged equity is shrunk to law.
Blindly forgetful, that the whole is dust,
We hate for parts, nor feel ourselves unjust:
Confine repute to place, and praise or rail,
As self or stranger turns the varied scale;
Till Sense grown hardened in her partial plea,
Justice is crippled into bribery.
Thou!-son of liberty!—canst shun this shelf;
Loosening reflection, and out launching self:
Canst burst the chain of custom round the heart,
And from worst slavery—that of reason—start.
Thou, on thy country's hills, canst praise bestow,
Yet stoop not the encomium to her snow!
So wants confessed, but strengthen merit's claim,
And right from wrong distinguished fixes fame.
When rock-fenced Scotland boasts her hardy race,
Or English beauty claims but matchless grace;
When France the praise of sprightliest wits assumes,
And German plainness spreads its honest plumes;
Concurring plaudits grant unquestioned dues,
And truth and reason sanctify the muse.
But should Teutonic heaviness aspire,
From French vivacity to ravish fire,
Or Caledonia's manlike virgins vie,
With the soft sunshine of an English eye,
Justice would blush at nature's erring pride,
And each forced trophy be by truth denied.
More just thy mind, more generous is thy muse!
Albanian born, this English theme to choose:
No partial flattery need thy verse invade,
That in the ear of Scotland sounds a Wade.
Such as thy muse, such is thy patron's aim;
Nor north nor south can bound his spirit's claim;
Warmed from within, he burns with Roman fires;
Shines for the world, and for mankind aspires;
Adorning power, he beautifies a state;
Endears dominion, and absolves the great:
Kind by his care, rapacious licence grows;
And polished jealousy no hatred knows:
Felt in their hearts, to love of faith he charms,
And softly conquering, needs no aid of arms.
When, ages hence, his last line's lengthener dies
And his lost dust reveals not where it lies;
Still shall his living greatness guard his name,
And his works lift him to immortal fame.
Then shall astonished armies, marching high,
O'er causewayed mountains that invade the sky,
Climb the raised arch, that sweeps its distant throw,
Cross tumbling floods, which roar unheard below,
Gaze, from the cliff's cut edge, through midway air,
And, trembling, wonder at their safety there!
Pierce fenny deeps with firm unsinking tread,
And o'er drained deserts wholesome empire spread.
While charmed, the soldier dwells on wonders past,
Some chief, more knowing and more touched—at last,
Shall, pointing, to the attentive files, explain,
How, many a century since—in George's reign,
Wade's working soul, that graced his prince's throne,
Built these vast monuments—and spared his own.
Thy muse would shine, and yet conceal her rays;
Think thyself hid, and hope in vain to be
Unseen, like light, that shows us all we see.
But while thy readers are denied thy name,
They feel thy genius, and attest thy flame.
They pity too, in death, thy noteless friend,
Poor by the generous aid thy wealth would lend;
Prefaced by thee, his feeble lights expire;
Even in producing, thou obscurest his fire.
Not but the muse had warmed his youthful song!
Bold were his notes, and his ideas strong;
But where domestic dearness warped his lays,
And partial birth misled the patriot praise;
Wilt thou not join to blame the bounded zeal,
That bids us only for our country feel?
Yes—thou wilt censure this too scanty care,
That shuts out pity, and appropriates prayer.
Thou wilt enlarge affection, till it sees
Beyond itself, and pants for public ease.
Stretch liberty to disengage mankind,
And even from nature's bias free the mind.
What though, we know not why, soft inbred pride,
Makes home seem sweetest, and can choice misguide;
Till native darkness erring taste constrains,
And Lapland deserts rival Persia's plains;
Let the soul's reach the heart's restraint reprove,
And widen to the world our country's love.
Base are these local limits to mens hearts,
That canton out humanity in parts.
Truth has no districts to divide her toil;
And virtue is at home in every soil.
Since, on one common globe, we neighbouring dwell,
What narrower line should man from man expel.
Each born alike, and sons of nature all,
Human can ne'er from care of human fall.
But passion's rapine, nature's union breaks,
Not foil but interest all this difference makes:
Born brothers, each from each would something draw,
Till ravaged equity is shrunk to law.
Blindly forgetful, that the whole is dust,
We hate for parts, nor feel ourselves unjust:
Confine repute to place, and praise or rail,
As self or stranger turns the varied scale;
Till Sense grown hardened in her partial plea,
Justice is crippled into bribery.
Thou!-son of liberty!—canst shun this shelf;
Loosening reflection, and out launching self:
Canst burst the chain of custom round the heart,
And from worst slavery—that of reason—start.
Thou, on thy country's hills, canst praise bestow,
Yet stoop not the encomium to her snow!
So wants confessed, but strengthen merit's claim,
And right from wrong distinguished fixes fame.
When rock-fenced Scotland boasts her hardy race,
Or English beauty claims but matchless grace;
When France the praise of sprightliest wits assumes,
And German plainness spreads its honest plumes;
Concurring plaudits grant unquestioned dues,
And truth and reason sanctify the muse.
But should Teutonic heaviness aspire,
From French vivacity to ravish fire,
Or Caledonia's manlike virgins vie,
With the soft sunshine of an English eye,
Justice would blush at nature's erring pride,
And each forced trophy be by truth denied.
More just thy mind, more generous is thy muse!
Albanian born, this English theme to choose:
No partial flattery need thy verse invade,
That in the ear of Scotland sounds a Wade.
Such as thy muse, such is thy patron's aim;
Nor north nor south can bound his spirit's claim;
Warmed from within, he burns with Roman fires;
Shines for the world, and for mankind aspires;
Adorning power, he beautifies a state;
Endears dominion, and absolves the great:
Kind by his care, rapacious licence grows;
And polished jealousy no hatred knows:
Felt in their hearts, to love of faith he charms,
And softly conquering, needs no aid of arms.
When, ages hence, his last line's lengthener dies
And his lost dust reveals not where it lies;
Still shall his living greatness guard his name,
And his works lift him to immortal fame.
Then shall astonished armies, marching high,
O'er causewayed mountains that invade the sky,
Climb the raised arch, that sweeps its distant throw,
Cross tumbling floods, which roar unheard below,
Gaze, from the cliff's cut edge, through midway air,
And, trembling, wonder at their safety there!
Pierce fenny deeps with firm unsinking tread,
And o'er drained deserts wholesome empire spread.
While charmed, the soldier dwells on wonders past,
Some chief, more knowing and more touched—at last,
Shall, pointing, to the attentive files, explain,
How, many a century since—in George's reign,
Wade's working soul, that graced his prince's throne,
Built these vast monuments—and spared his own.