TO THE
TYRANT SON OF ABBAS.

FLATTERY was ne’er my tribute to the GREAT,

Nor to the HUMBLE were my words austere:

Ne’er with the LOFTY did I seek my seat,

Votaries of FORTUNE, or the slaves of FEAR.

Thou wast my PRINCE, I therefore honour’d thee;

My sword, my fealty, and my life were thine,

’Till like the mock-thron’d GAURE, compell’d to flee,

I felt the blessedness of FREEDOM mine.

Scorning deceit, unpractised to betray,

For TRUTH I dared to meet the frowns of FATE:

JUSTICE should thus direct a Sovereign’s sway,

And MERCY ever sit beside his gate.

REASON should guide him—for he is a man,

HONOR adorn him—for he is a KING;

Meer power despotic—like a GIANT’s span,

Is soon contracted by a reptile’s sting.

So when the LION, from a rising rock

Surveys the vales, and deems their herds his prize,

A few poor puny GNATS that round him flock,

May in a moment close his greedy eyes.

AVARICE should find no place upon a throne,

Nor shameless FRAUD conceal rich CASKETS there,

A life of true BENEFICENCE alone,

Can call down blessings like a prophet’s pray’r.

FAITH and GOOD-DEEDS the aid of Heaven obtain,

Howe’er by man insulted or opprest;

While VICE and VIOLENCE exult in vain,

Strangers to peace, security, and rest.

The PERSIAN people, grown degenerate,—base,

Required a scourge—and found that scourge in thee;

For GOD’s afflictive judgments smite the race,

That sinks abandon’d to iniquity.

O fear HIM then—omnipotent as just!

Of whose pure GLORY, one resplendant ray

Reduc’d MOUNT PHARAN into instant dust,

As the first substance flow’d in streams away.

No! proud, lascivious Man! thou fear’st him not,

And therefore I should fear thee, wert thou here:

A heart more hard than SHEBEEB’s is thy lot,

And curst like VALID, thou canst shed no tear.

All thy delights, (if thou delight canst know,)

Are sensual, selfish, drawn from others’ wrong;

On thee no warm sun shines, no breezes blow,

But meet some malediction from thy tongue.

Obtain the luxuries of a thousand shores,

Indulge thine appetites, thy pomp, thy pride,

Let captive beauty—riches—swell thy stores,

And slaughter’d subjects fall on every side:

Deep in thy heart the thorn of GUILT shall lie;

TYRANTS who live like thee, hard, unrepentant die.