132
KNICKERBOCKER GALLERY.
The wretched tool of Party trimmed his sail
To catch the current of a prosperous gale,
And pliant chiefs, with king-craft long at strife,
On bended knees begged piteously for life;
But one there was, unawed by sceptred Power,
Firm as the rock-foundation of a tower,
Whom threat could not corrupt, nor bribe seduce,
To live one hour with Guilt on terms of truce;
Whose breast, the fortress of an iron will,
Harbored a hatred of Oppression still.
Blind were his orbs, but, eloquent, the lips
Gave proof of mind undarkened by eclipse,
Midsummer-noon outshining with its rays
Though gone the bloom and bliss of younger days.
Wit reaped the harvest of a venal pen
Selling his conscience for the praise of men;
Apostates hailed the Stuart line restored,
Mocking the creed that edged a Hampden's sword,
But reigning Fashion could not cramp with laws
An author deaf to popular applause,
Whose spirit, bathing in celestial light,
Conversed with shapes unknown to mortal sight,
Though foolish scribe and lying pamphleteer
More gold amassed with each returning year.
Ah! little thought the dunces who maligned
The Bard of Eden, old, infirm, and blind,
That gladly reading thousands in our day,
More for his careless autograph would pay
Than all the lumber, now of little worth,
To which his scribbling enemies gave birth.
To catch the current of a prosperous gale,
And pliant chiefs, with king-craft long at strife,
On bended knees begged piteously for life;
But one there was, unawed by sceptred Power,
Firm as the rock-foundation of a tower,
Whom threat could not corrupt, nor bribe seduce,
To live one hour with Guilt on terms of truce;
Whose breast, the fortress of an iron will,
Harbored a hatred of Oppression still.
Blind were his orbs, but, eloquent, the lips
Gave proof of mind undarkened by eclipse,
Midsummer-noon outshining with its rays
Though gone the bloom and bliss of younger days.
Wit reaped the harvest of a venal pen
Selling his conscience for the praise of men;
Apostates hailed the Stuart line restored,
Mocking the creed that edged a Hampden's sword,
But reigning Fashion could not cramp with laws
An author deaf to popular applause,
Whose spirit, bathing in celestial light,
Conversed with shapes unknown to mortal sight,
Though foolish scribe and lying pamphleteer
More gold amassed with each returning year.
Ah! little thought the dunces who maligned
The Bard of Eden, old, infirm, and blind,
That gladly reading thousands in our day,
More for his careless autograph would pay
Than all the lumber, now of little worth,
To which his scribbling enemies gave birth.
Out on the coward who adapts his page
To the base craving of a selfish age,
And finds the silver in his itching palms
A sudden cure for conscientious qualms!
Not long from judgment can the wretch be screened
Whose soul is mortgaged to a torturing fiend;
Remorse will follow misdirected power
When gone the clap-trap of the passing hour:
Through mocking paint will soon or late appear
The pallid shade of more than mortal fear,
To the base craving of a selfish age,
And finds the silver in his itching palms
A sudden cure for conscientious qualms!
Not long from judgment can the wretch be screened
Whose soul is mortgaged to a torturing fiend;
Remorse will follow misdirected power
When gone the clap-trap of the passing hour:
Through mocking paint will soon or late appear
The pallid shade of more than mortal fear,
