Poems (Sewell)/To Lord B.
To LORD B * * * * *On hopes of his Recovery, after being dangerously wounded in a Duel.
Since still the vital flame is left to burn,
And life's gay flatt'ring prospects to return;
Oh! may the hours of pain a blessing prove,
And Custom's fatal prejudice remove.
Pain, that recalls faint Reason in her flight—
Displays fair Truth in all her dazzling light—_
Expells proud Passion—clears the minds deceit,
And shews 'tis oft its own most dangerous cheat.
Oh! may it check the ardour of thy Soul,
Where vile Revenge the mask of Honour stole.
Oh may it teach thee where true Valour lives:
It scorns the insult that it never gives!
And heedless of the vain vindictive throng,
True Honour stoops not to a private wrong.
And life's gay flatt'ring prospects to return;
Oh! may the hours of pain a blessing prove,
And Custom's fatal prejudice remove.
Pain, that recalls faint Reason in her flight—
Displays fair Truth in all her dazzling light—_
Expells proud Passion—clears the minds deceit,
And shews 'tis oft its own most dangerous cheat.
Oh! may it check the ardour of thy Soul,
Where vile Revenge the mask of Honour stole.
Oh may it teach thee where true Valour lives:
It scorns the insult that it never gives!
And heedless of the vain vindictive throng,
True Honour stoops not to a private wrong.