<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395908" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Birth Of Flattery</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Muse of my Spenser, who so well could sing<br>The passions all, their bearings and their ties;<br>Who could in view those shadowy beings bring,<br>And with bold hand remove each dark disguise,<br>Wherein love, hatred, scorn, or anger lies:<br>Guide him to Fairy-land, who now intends<br>That way his flight; assist him as he flies,<br>To mark those passions, Virtue's foes and friends,<br>By whom when led she droops, when leading she ascends.<br>Yes! they appear, I see the fairy train!<br>And who that modest nymph of meek address?<br>Not vanity, though loved by all the vain;<br>Not Hope, though promising to all success;<br>Not Mirth, nor Joy, though foe to all distress;<br>Thee, sprightly syren, from this train I choose,<br>Thy birth relate, thy soothing arts confess;<br>'Tis not in thy mild nature to refuse,<br>When poets ask thine aid, so oft their meed and muse.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">---------------------</div><div style="margin:10px 0">In Fairy-land, on wide and cheerless plain,<br>Dwelt, in the house of Care a sturdy swain;<br>A hireling he, who, when he till'd the soil,<br>Look'd to the pittance that repaid his toil,<br>And to a master left the mingled joy<br>And anxious care that follow'd his employ.<br>Sullen and patient he at once appear'd,<br>As one who murmur'd, yet as one who fear'd;<br>Th'attire was coarse that clothed his sinewy frame,<br>Rude his address, and Poverty his name.<br>In that same plain a nymph, of curious taste,<br>A cottage (plann'd, with all her skill) had placed;<br>Strange the materials, and for what design'd<br>The various parts, no simple man might find;<br>What seem'd the door, each entering guest withstood,<br>What seem'd a window was but painted wood;<br>But by a secret spring the wall would move,<br>And daylight drop through glassy door above:<br>'Twas all her pride, new traps for praise to lay,<br>And all her wisdom was to hide her way;<br>In small attempts incessant were her pains,<br>And Cunning was her name among the swains.<br>Now, whether fate decreed this pair should wed,<br>And blindly drove them to the marriage bed;<br>Or whether love in some soft hour inclined<br>The damsel's heart, and won her to be kind,<br>Is yet unsung: they were an ill-match'd pair,<br>But both disposed to wed--and wed they were.<br>Yet, though united in their fortune, still<br>Their ways were diverse; varying was their will;<br>Nor long the maid had bless'd the simple man,<br>Before dissensions rose, and she began: -<br>'Wretch that I am! since to thy fortune bound,<br>What plan, what project, with success is crown'd?<br>I, who a thousand secret arts possess,<br>Who every rank approach with right address;<br>Who've loosed a guinea from a miser's chest,<br>And worm'd his secret from a traitor's breast;<br>Thence gifts and gains collecting, great and small,<br>Have brought to thee, and thou consum'st them all;<br>For want like thine--a bog without a base -<br>Ingulfs all gains I gather for the place;<br>Feeding, unfill'd; destroying, undestroy'd;<br>It craves for ever, and is ever void: -<br>Wretch that I am! what misery have I found,<br>Since my sure craft was to thy calling bound!'<br>'Oh! vaunt of worthless art,' the swain replied,<br>Scowling contempt, 'how pitiful this pride!<br>What are these specious gifts, these paltry gains,<br>But base rewards for ignominious pains?<br>With all thy tricking, still for bread we strive,<br>Thine is, proud wretch! the care that cannot thrive;<br>By all thy boasted skill and baffled hooks,<br>Thou gain'st no more than students by their books.<br>No more than I for my poor deeds am paid,<br>Whom none can blame, will help, or dare upbraid.<br>'Call this our need, a bog that all devours, -<br>Then what thy petty arts, but summer-flowers,<br>Gaudy and mean, and serving to betray<br>The place they make unprofitably gay?<br>Who know it not, some useless beauties see, -<br>But ah! to prove it was reserved for me.'<br>Unhappy state! that, in decay of love,<br>Permits harsh truth his errors to disprove;<br>While he remains, to wrangle and to jar,<br>Is friendly tournament, not fatal war;<br>Love in his play will borrow arms of hate,<br>Anger and rage, upbraiding and debate;<br>And by his power the desperate weapons thrown,<br>Become as safe and pleasant as his own;<br>But left by him, their natures they assume,<br>And fatal, in their poisoning force, become.<br>Time fled, and now the swain compell'd to see<br>New cause for fear--'Is this thy thrift?' quoth he,<br>To whom the wife with cheerful voice replied: -<br>'Thou moody man, lay all thy fears aside;<br>I've seen a vision--they, from whom I came,<br>A daughter promise, promise wealth and fame;<br>Born with my features, with my arts, yet she<br>Shall patient, pliant, persevering be,<br>And in thy better ways resemble thee.<br>The fairies round shall at her birth attend,<br>The friend of all in all shall find a friend,<br>And save that one sad star that hour must gleam<br>On our fair child, how glorious were my dream?'<br>This heard the husband, and, in surly smile,<br>Aim'd at contempt, but yet he hoped the while;<br>For as, when sinking, wretched men are found<br>To catch at rushes rather than be drown'd;<br>So on a dream our peasant placed his hope,<br>And found that rush as valid as a rope.<br>Swift fled the days, for now in hope they fled,<br>When a fair daughter bless'd the nuptial bed;<br>Her infant-face the mother's pains beguiled,<br>She look'd so pleasing and so softly smiled;<br>Those smiles, those looks, with sweet sensations moved<br>The gazer's soul, and as he look'd he loved.<br>And now the fairies came with gifts, to grace<br>So mild a nature, and so fair a face.<br>They gave, with beauty, that bewitching art,<br>That holds in easy chains the human heart;<br>They gave her skill to win the stubborn mind,<br>To make the suffering to their sorrows blind,<br>To bring on pensive looks the pleasing smile,<br>And Care's stern brow of every frown beguile.<br>These magic favours graced the infant-maid,<br>Whose more enlivening smile the charming gifts repaid.<br>Now Fortune changed, who, were she constant long,<br>Would leave us few adventures for our song.<br>A wicked elfin roved this land around,<br>Whose joys proceeded from the griefs he found;<br>Envy his name: --his fascinating eye<br>From the light bosom drew the sudden sigh;<br>Unsocial he, but with malignant mind,<br>He dwelt with man, that he might curse mankind;<br>Like the first foe, he sought th' abode of Joy<br>Grieved to behold, but eager to destroy;<br>Round blooming beauty, like the wasp, he flew,<br>Soil'd the fresh sweet, and changed the rosy hue;<br>The wise, the good, with anxious heart he saw,<br>And here a failing found, and there a flaw;<br>Discord in families 'twas his to move,<br>Distrust in friendship, jealousy in love;<br>He told the poor, what joys the great possess'd;<br>The great, what calm content the cottage bless'd:<br>To part the learned and the rich he tried,<br>Till their slow friendship perish'd in their pride.<br>Such was the fiend, and so secure of prey,<br>That only Misery pass'd unstung away.<br>Soon as he heard the fairy-babe was born,<br>Scornful he smiled, but felt no more than scorn:<br>For why, when Fortune placed her state so low,<br>In useless spite his lofty malice show?<br>Why, in a mischief of the meaner kind,<br>Exhaust the vigour of a ranc'rous mind;<br>But, soon as Fame the fairy-gifts proclaim'd,<br>Quick-rising wrath his ready soul inflamed<br>To swear, by vows that e'en the wicked tie,<br>The nymph should weep her varied destiny;<br>That every gift, that now appear'd to shine<br>In her fair face, and make her smiles divine,<br>Should all the poison of his magic prove,<br>And they should scorn her, whom she sought for love.<br>His spell prepared, in form an ancient dame,<br>A fiend in spirit, to the cot he came;<br>There gain'd admittance, and the infant press'd<br>(Muttering his wicked magic) to his breast;<br>And thus he said: --'Of all the powers who wait<br>On Jove's decrees, and do the work of fate,<br>Was I, alone, despised or worthless, found,<br>Weak to protect, or impotent to wound?<br>See then thy foe, regret the friendship lost,<br>And learn my skill, but learn it at your cost.<br>'Know, then, O child! devote to fates severe,<br>The good shall hate thy name, the wise shall fear;<br>Wit shall deride, and no protecting friend<br>Thy shame shall cover, or thy name defend.<br>Thy gentle sex, who, more than ours, should spare<br>A humble foe, will greater scorn declare;<br>The base alone thy advocates shall be,<br>Or boast alliance with a wretch like thee.'<br>He spake, and vanish'd, other prey to find,<br>And waste in slow disease the conquer'd mind.<br>Awed by the elfin's threats, and fill'd with dread<br>The parents wept, and sought their infant's bed;<br>Despair alone the father's soul possess'd;<br>But hope rose gently in the mother's breast;<br>For well she knew that neither grief nor joy<br>Pain'd without hope, or pleased without alloy;<br>And while these hopes and fears her heart divide,<br>A cheerful vision bade the fears subside.<br>She saw descending to the world below<br>An ancient form, with solemn pace and slow.<br>'Daughter, no more be sad' (the phantom cried),<br>'Success is seldom to the wise denied;<br>In idle wishes fools supinely stay,<br>Be there a will, and wisdom finds a way:<br>Why art thou grieved? Be rather glad, that he<br>Who hates the happy, aims his darts at thee,<br>But aims in vain; thy favour'd daughter lies<br>Serenely blest, and shall to joy arise.<br>For, grant that curses on her name shall wait,<br>(So Envy wills, and such the voice of Fate,)<br>Yet if that name be prudently suppress'd,<br>She shall be courted, favour'd, and caress'd.<br>'For what are names? and where agree mankind,<br>In those to persons or to acts assign'd?<br>Brave, learn'd, or wise, if some their favourites call,<br>Have they the titles or the praise from all?<br>Not so, but others will the brave disdain<br>As rash, and deem the sons of wisdom vain;<br>The self-same mind shall scorn or kindness move,<br>And the same deed attract contempt and love.<br>'So all the powers who move the human soul,<br>With all the passions who the will control,<br>Have various names--One giv'n by Truth Divine,<br>(As Simulation thus was fixed for mine,)<br>The rest by man, who now, as wisdom's prize<br>My secret counsels, now as art despise;<br>One hour, as just, those counsels they embrace,<br>And spurn, the next, as pitiful and base.<br>Thee, too, my child, those fools as Cunning fly,<br>Who on thy counsel and thy craft rely;<br>That worthy craft in others they condemn,<br>But 'tis their prudence, while conducting them.<br>'Be FLATTERY, then, thy happy infant's name,<br>Let Honour scorn her and let Wit defame;<br>Let all be true that Envy dooms, yet all,<br>Not on herself, but on her name, shall fall;<br>While she thy fortune and her own shall raise,<br>And decent Truth be call'd, and loved as, modest Praise.<br>'O happy child! the glorious day shall shine,<br>When every ear shall to thy speech incline,<br>Thy words alluring and thy voice divine:<br>The sullen pedant and the sprightly wit,<br>To hear thy soothing eloquence shall sit;<br>And both, abjuring Flattery, will agree<br>That Truth inspires, and they must honour thee.<br>'Envy himself shall to thy accents bend,<br>Force a faint smile, and sullenly attend,<br>When thou shalt call him Virtue's jealous friend,<br>Whose bosom glows with generous rage to find<br>How fools and knaves are flatter'd by mankind.<br>'The sage retired, who spends alone his days,<br>And flies th' obstreperous voice of public praise;<br>The vain, the vulgar cry,--shall gladly meet,<br>And bid thee welcome to his still retreat;<br>Much will he wonder, how thou cam'st to find<br>A man to glory dead, to peace consign'd.<br>O Fame! he'll cry (for he will call thee Fame),<br>From thee I fly, from thee conceal my name;<br>But thou shalt say, though Genius takes his night,<br>He leaves behind a glorious train of light,<br>And hides in vain: --yet prudent he that flies<br>The flatterer's art, and for himself is wise.<br>'Yes, happy child! I mark th'approaching day,<br>When warring natures will confess thy sway;<br>When thou shalt Saturn's golden reign restore,<br>And vice and folly shall be known no more.<br>'Pride shall not then in human-kind have place,<br>Changed by thy skill, to Dignity and Grace;<br>While Shame, who now betrays the inward sense<br>Of secret ill, shall be thy Diffidence;<br>Avarice shall thenceforth prudent Forecast be,<br>And bloody Vengeance, Magnanimity;<br>The lavish tongue shall honest truths impart,<br>The lavish hand shall show the generous heart,<br>And Indiscretion be, contempt of art;<br>Folly and Vice shall then, no longer known,<br>Be, this as Virtue, that as Wisdom, shown.<br>'Then shall the Robber, as the Hero, rise<br>To seize the good that churlish law denies;<br>Throughout the world shall rove the generous band,<br>And deal the gifts of Heaven from hand to hand.<br>In thy blest days no tyrant shall be seen,<br>Thy gracious king shall rule contented men;<br>In thy blest days shall not a rebel be,<br>But patriots all and well-approved of thee.<br>'Such powers are thine, that man by thee shall wrest<br>The gainful secret from the cautious breast;<br>Nor then, with all his care, the good retain,<br>But yield to thee the secret and the gain.<br>In vain shall much experience guard the heart<br>Against the charm of thy prevailing art;<br>Admitted once, so soothing is thy strain,<br>It comes the sweeter, when it comes again;<br>And when confess'd as thine, what mind so strong<br>Forbears the pleasure it indulged so long?<br>'Softener of every ill! of all our woes<br>The balmy solace! friend of fiercest foes!<br>Begin thy reign, and like the morning rise!<br>Bring joy, bring beauty, to our eager eyes;<br>Break on the drowsy world like opening day,<br>While grace and gladness join thy flow'ry way;<br>While every voice is praise, while every heart is gay.<br>'From thee all prospects shall new beauties take,<br>'Tis thine to seek them and 'tis thine to make;<br>On the cold fen I see thee turn thine eyes,<br>Its mists recede, its chilling vapour flies;<br>Th'enraptured Lord th'improving ground surveys,<br>And for his Eden asks the traveller's praise,<br>Which yet, unview'd of thee, a bog had been,<br>Where spungy rushes hide the plashy green.<br>'I see thee breathing on the barren moor,<br>That seems to bloom although so bleak before;<br>There, if beneath the gorse the primrose spring,<br>Or the pied daisy smile below the ling,<br>They shall new charms, at thy command disclose,<br>And none shall miss the myrtle or the rose.<br>The wiry moss, that whitens all the hill,<br>Shall live a beauty by thy matchless skill;<br>Gale from the bog shall yield Arabian balm,<br>And the gray willow give a golden palm.<br>'I see thee smiling in the pictured room,<br>Now breathing beauty, now reviving bloom;<br>There, each immortal name 'tis thine to give,<br>To graceless forms, and bid the lumber live.<br>Should'st thou coarse boors or gloomy martyrs see,<br>These shall thy Guidos, these thy Teniers be;<br>There shalt thou Raphael's saints and angels trace,<br>There make for Rubens and for Reynolds place,<br>And all the pride of art shall find, in her disgrace.<br>'Delight of either sex? thy reign commence;<br>With balmy sweetness soothe the weary sense,<br>And to the sickening soul thy cheering aid dispense.<br>Queen of the mind! thy golden age begin;<br>In mortal bosoms varnish shame and sin;<br>Let all be fair without, let all be calm within.'<br>The vision fled, the happy mother rose,<br>Kiss'd the fair infant, smiled at all her foes,<br>And FLATTERY made her name: --her reign began.<br>Her own dear sex she ruled, then vanquished man:<br>A smiling friend, to every class she spoke,<br>Assumed their manners, and their habits took;<br>Her, for her humble mien, the modest loved;<br>Her cheerful looks the light and gay approved:<br>The just beheld her, firm: the valiant, brave:<br>Her mirth the free, her silence pleased the grave:<br>Zeal heard her voice, and, as he preach'd aloud,<br>Well pleased he caught her whispers from the crowd,<br>(Those whispers, soothing-sweet to every ear,<br>Which some refuse to pay, but none to hear):<br>Shame fled her presence, at her gentle strain,<br>Care softly smiled, and Guilt forgot its pain:<br>The wretched thought, the happy found, her true,<br>The learn'd confess'd that she her merits knew:<br>The rich--could they a constant friend condemn?<br>The poor believed--for who should flatter them?<br>Thus on her name though all disgrace attend,<br>In every creature she beholds a friend.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Crabbe">George Crabbe</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395908" data-title="The Birth Of Flattery de George Crabbe" data-description="Muse of my Spenser, who so well could sing The passions all, their bearings and their ties; Who could in view those shadowy beings bring, And with bold hand remove each dark disguise, Wherein love, hatred, scorn, or anger lies: Guide him to Fairy-..."></div> </div> </div>

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