As, where the lightning runs along the ground,
No husbandry can heal the blafting wound
Nor bladed grass, nor bearded corn fucceeds,
But scales of fcurf and putrefaction breeds :
Such wars, fuch wafte, fuch fiery tracks of dearth
Their zeal has left, and such a teemless earth.
But, as the poifons of the deadliest kind
Are to their own unhappy coafts confin'd;
As only Indian fhades of fight deprive,
And magic plants will but in Colchos thrive;
So prefbytery and peftilential zeal
Can only flourish in a commonweal.
From Celtic woods is chas'd the wolfifh crew;
But ah! fome pity e'en to brutes is due :
Their native walks methinks they might enjoy,
Curb'd of their native malice to destroy.
Of all the tyrannies on human-kind,
The worst is that which perfecutes the mind.
Let us but weigh at what offence we strike,
'Tis but because we cannot think alike.
In punishing of this, we overthrow
The laws of nations and of nature too.
Beafts are the subjects of tyrannic fway,
Where still the stronger on the weaker prey.
Man only of a fofter mold is made,
Not for his fellow's ruin, but their aid;
Created kind, beneficent and free,
The noble image of the Deity.
One portion of informing fire was given
To brutes, th'inferior family of heaven :
The fmith divine, as with a careless beat,
Struck out the mute creation at a heat:
But when arriv'd at last to human race,
The Godhead took a deep confidering space
And to distinguish man from all the rest,
Unlock'd the facred treasures of his breast
And mercy mixt with reafon did impart,
One to his head, the other to his heart:
Reason to rule, but mercy to forgive :
The first is law, the laft prerogative.
And like his mind his outward form appear'd,
When, iffuing naked, to the wondering herd, He charm'd their eyes; and, for they lov'd, they fear'd:
Not arm'd with horns of arbitrary might,
Or claws to seize their furry fpoils in fight,
Or with increase of feet t'o'ertake them in their
Of easy shape, and pliant every way;
Confeffing ftill the foftnefs of his clay,
And kind as kings upon their coronation day:
With open hands, and with extended space
Of arms, to fatisfy a large embrace.
Thus kneaded up with milk, the new-made man
His kingdom o'er his kindred world began:
Till knowlege mifapply'd, mifunderstood,
And pride of empire four'd his balmy blood.
Then, first rebelling, his own stamp he coins;
The murderer Cain was latent in his loins:
And blood began its first and loudest cry,
For differing worship of the Deity.
Thus perfecution rofe, and farther space
Produc'd the mighty hunter of his race.
Not fo the bleffed Pan his flock increas'd,
Content to fold them from the famish'd beaft:
Mild were his laws; the sheep and harmless hind
Were never of the perfecuting kind.
Such pity now the pious paftor shows,
Such mercy from the British lion flows,
That both provide protection from their foes.
Oh happy regions, Italy and Spain,
Which never did those monsters entertain!
The wolf, the bear, the boar, can there advance
No native claim of juft inheritance.
And self-preferving laws, fevere in show,
May guard their fences from th'invading foe.
Where birth has plac'd them, let them safely share The common benefit of vital air.
Themselves unharmful, let them live unharm❜d;
Their jaws difabled, and their claws difarm'd;
Here, only in nocturnal howlings bold,
They dare not feize the Hind, nor leap the fold,
More powerful, and as vigilant as they,
The lion awfully forbids the prey.
Their rage reprefs'd, tho pinch'd with famine fore,
They ftand aloof, and tremble at his roar :
Much is their hunger, but their fear is more.
These are the chief: to number o'er the reft,
And ftand, like Adam, naming every beast,
Were weary work; nor will the mufe defcribe
A flimy-born and fun-begotten tribe;
Who, far from steeples and their facred found,
In fields their fullen conventicles found.
Thefe grofs, half-animated, lumps I leave;
Nor can I think what thoughts they can conceive.
But if they think at all, 'tis fure no higher
Than matter, put in motion, may afpire:
Souls that can scarce ferment their mass of clay:
So droffy, fo divisible are they,
As would but ferve pure bodies for allay:
Such fouls as fhards produce, fuch beetle things
As only buz to heaven with evening wings;
Strike in the dark, offending but by chance,
Such are the blindfold blows of ignorance.
They know not beings, and but hate a name;
To them the Hind and Panther are the fame.
The Panther fure the nobleft, next the Hind,
And faireft creature of the spotted kind;
Oh, could her in-born ftains be wash'd away,
She were too good to be a beaft of prey!
How can I praise, or blame, and not offend,
Or how divide the frailty from the friend?
Her faults and virtues lie fo mix'd, that she
Nor wholly stands condemn'd, nor wholly free.
Then, like her injur'd lion, let me speak;
He cannot bend her, and he would not break,
Unkind already, and estrang'd in part,
The wolf begins to share her wandring heart.
Tho unpolluted yet with actual ill,
She half commits who fins but in her will.
If, as our dreaming platonists report,
There could be spirits of a middle fort,
Too black for heaven, and yet too white for hell,
Who just dropt half way down, nor lower fell;
So pois'd, fo gently the defcends from high,
It seems a foft dismission from the sky.
Her house not ancient, whatfoe'er pretence
Her clergy heralds make in her defence.
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