The Contrast, by a Lady, an excellent Poem

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407
The Contrast, set in it’sits pro-
per Light; said to be done
by a Lady.

Fam’dFamed were yethe Bards of old untainted Days,

When only Merit felt yethe Breath of Praise,

When Heav’nHeaven-born Muses taught yethe tuneful Lay,

The Brave to honour, &and yethe Good display,

Virtue’s fair Form, tho’though hid in Rags, to sing,

And loath yethe baneful Court &and sinful King.

But now (sad Change!) no more yethe Poet’s Theme

Tastes thy chaste Waters, Hippocrene’s Stream;
His 408 (408)
His Breast no more the sacred Sisters urge,

Of Truth the Patrons, &and of Vice the Scourge.

Venal, he seeks yethe Court, &and shuns yethe Lawn,

On Pride to flatter, &and on Pow’rPower to fawn,

Pour forth his Incense at yethe Country’s Shrine,

And raise th’the usurping Race to Race Divine.

He, who would toil in Honour’s ard’ousarduous Tract,

Must Virtue seek alone for Virtue’s Sake;

For now to Merit are unwonted Things

The Breath of Poets &and yethe Smiles of Kings.

See, where yethe rhimingrhyming Throng on William wait,

And patch up ev’ryevery Worth to make him Great,

Sing how he triumph’dtriumphed on fair Clifton’s Green,

And how his Mind is lovely as his Mien,

Call ancient Heroes fmfrom yrtheir Seats of Joy,

To see their Fame outshadow’doutshadowed by a Boy,

Rob ev’ryevery Urn, &and ev’ryevery Page explore,

And tell, now Cæsar’s Deeds are Deeds no more,

No more shall guide yethe War, nor fire yethe Song,

But William be yethe Theme of ev’ryevery Tongue,

While Brunswick-Kings Britannia’s Throne shall ^grace,

And George’s Virtues live in George’s Race.

Such is the Theme yethe flatt’ringflattering Songsters chusechoose,

And, Oh! how worthy of yethe Theme yethe Muse:

While, lo, a Youth arises in the North

Of Royal Virtues, as of Royal Birth,

Of Worth, while in yethe Dawn of Ages, shown,

Without yethe Claim of Birth, had gain’dgained a Throne.

Tho’Though in him ev’ryevery Grace &and Glory join,

To add new Lustre to the Stewart’s Line,
Tho’ 409 (409)
Tho’Though Vict’ryVictory makes yethe youthful Charles her Care,

No Bard attends on his triumphal Car:

On firmer Base he builds his sure Applause,

Recover’dRecovered Freedom &and protected Laws.

Say, Scotland, say; for thou must surely know,

You felt the Rapture, &and you feel the Woe;

Say, when he trode upon the kindly Earth,

The genial Soil, qchwhich gave his Fathers Birth,

Did not his out-stretch’dstretched Hand wtwith Bounty spread

Paternal Blessings on thy ChildrensChildren's Head,

Hush them to Peace amidst yethe Din of War,

And still yethe Matron’s Sigh, &and Virgin’s Fear,

Bid peaceful Plenty wave along yethe plain,

The untouch’duntouched Harvest of yethe golden Grain?

Did not the Youth, enliven’denlivened wtwith his Flame,

Glow for the Fight, &and ardent pant for Fame?

Strove not each rev’rendreverend Sage &and hoary Sire

His Worth to honour, &and his Sense admire?

Did not his Form, with e’vryevery Beauty grac’dgraced,

Raise a chaste Rapture in each Virgin’s Breast?

But qnwhen he quits yethe Scene of soft Delight,

The graceful Measure for yethe deathful Fight,

Say, saw thy Plains, (qrewhere many a deathless Name,

Where Bruce, qrewhere Wallace, fought yrtheir Way to Fame,

Where Douglass, Race heroick, nobly rose,

Secur’dSecured thy Freedom, &and expell’dexpelled thy Foes);

Saw they e’erever one, amongst yethe Chiftain-Throng,

So ripe in Glory, &and in Years so Young?

Whose Pride not more to vanquish than to save,

In Conquest gentle, as in Action brave;

Like Philip’s Son, victorious in the Course,

With Skill superioursuperior &and inferiourinferior Force.
Like 410 (410)
Like Xenophon, secure ‘midstamidst hostilhostile Bands,

He led his glorious Few fmfrom distant Lands,

And join’d joined to Sense of Head yethe Fire of Heart,

Of One of the Courage, &and of One the Art.

While Virtue lives, while Honour has a Name,

While Acts heroic fill the Rolls of Fame,

First in the List shall Gladesmuir have a Place,

And Falkirk-Plain mark, Hawley, thy Disgrace.

Now change yethe Scene, &and show yethe sad Reverse,

Where Winter-blasts th’the autumnal Smiles disperse;

Where yethe fierce Hanover directs yethe Storm,

And Hawley joys his Mandates to perform;

To whom compar’dcompared an Alva’s Name is Sweet,

Brave in yethe Field, tho’though cruel in the State.

See, thro’through yethe Land how hostilhostile Fury burns,

And peopled Vales to rueful Deserts turns!

See, how the smoking Country round thee groans,

Invokes in vain thy desolated Towns!

See Age unrev’renc’dunreverenced, dragg’ddragged fmfrom peaceful Ease,

And join’djoined in dreary JaylsJails to loath’dloathed Disease!

Before yrtheir Sires see ravish’dravished Maids complain,

And raise yrtheir beaut’ousbeauteous Eyes to Heav’nHeaven in vain!

Oh more than savage, qowho pursue their Rage

On Bloom of Beauty &and Hoar of Age!

And what Exploits exalt ysthis Hero’s Praise?

Where Spring yethe Laurels, qchwhich your Poets raise?

Spring they fmfrom Conquest o’erover yethe Village tame,

The Sire enfeebled, &and the aged Dame?

View 411 (411)

View well ysthis Sketch, &and say, of qchwhich the Face

Presents yethe Royal Mark of Scotland’s Race;

He, who would save Thee fmfrom Destruction’s Blast,

Or He, qowho lays thy Beauties in the Dust.

So judg’djudged of old yethe good King David’s Heir,

With nice Discernment yethe deserving Fair,

Repuls’dRepulsed yethe Dame, who, cruel, would destroy,

And blestblessed yethe feeling Mother wtwith her Boy.