Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ODE TO MODERATION, SELECTION, by ANNABELLA PLUMPTRE


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ODE TO MODERATION, SELECTION, by                    
First Line: To thee, whose cautious step and specious air
Last Line: Then if thy victims pause, prepare th' eternal chain.
Subject(s): Moderation


To thee, whose cautious step and specious air
Deceive the world; who, simulating good,
Drop'st from thine oily tongue the pitying pray'r
T' avert the ills of man and spare his blood:
'To thee I call, but with no friendly voice',
I am no dupe to thine insidious art,
The vaunted mercy of thy traitor heart,
Nor in thy promises can I rejoice.
For well I know thee, hypocrite!—I know
Thou art the fatal source of human woe;
Thine is the shield that bloodiest tyrants bear,
Foul harbinger of death, black herald of despair.

Why groans yon hapless, violated land,
With such continued suff rance and long care?
'Tis that, deceiver! there thou giv'st command,
That mod'rate justice, mod'rate truth are there.
The poor not quite destroyed, though doomed to toil
From day to day unceasing, yet must hide
Their soul's deep anguish from the gaze of pride,
And greet with smiles the plund'rers of the soil.
The sad seditious thoughts that fire the brain
Must be subdued;—'tis treason to complain;
For order, peace, tranquillity require
They suffer all unmoved,—then silently expire.

O rather bear me fury, vengeance wild!
To the red scene of slaughter and dismay,
Where the bold multitude, no more beguiled
The deathful banners of their rage display.
Ah! let their gen'rous ardours burn for me;
Their fiercest energies my bosom steel,
Who learn to vindicate, when taught to feel,
And dare th' extreme of all things to be free.
Better by far at once the conflict end,
The gen'ral foe prevail or gen'ral friend,
Than that faint hope should languish with the throng,
Who love the right but half, but half detest the wrong.

Mark, how the desolating tempest flies,
And rends the groaning forest from its base;
Its bursting thunders wreck the pow'rless skies,
Its lightnings nature's loveliest scenes deface.
Anon, behold its transient fury sped,
More fresh the flowers their vivid tints disclose,
With richer pride the yellow harvest glows,
More soft the air, more sweet the odours spread.
Thus, from the storms of intellectual strife
The moral system wakes to purer life,
The passions harmonize which late were hurled,
And reason's fairer beams illume a happier world.

'Tis true, seductive is thy mild discourse,
With dainty terms of soft benevolence,
And honeyed phrases filled, abjuring force,
Trusting to time, and to progressive sense.
Thus the wild jargons of submissive peace,
Of calm endurance, petrify the heart,
Check the bold tear of manhood ere it start,
And bid the holy animation cease.
By due and slow degrees, by sober zeal,
Profess to rectify the public weal,
Which, by confusing parts, confound the whole,
Disorganise the will, and dislocate the soul.

'Tis thine to boast of long-existing laws,
Blame the effect of ill, but not the cause,
'Tis thine to call it mad erroneous rage,
When Indignation's spirit nobly glows,
When, smarting with the sense of bitt'rest woes,
The mass of man the war of nature wage;'Tis thine with horror then to paint the
scene,
As barb'rous tyranny had never been,
Of ruthless anarchy alone complain:
Then if thy victims pause, prepare th' eternal chain.





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