MAY
NOT
THE
LOVE
OF
PRAISE
BE
AN
INCENTIVE
TO
VIRTUE
?
"
All
praise
is
foreign
,
but
of
true
desert
,
Plays
round
the
head
,
but
comes
not
near
the
heart
;
"
Pope's
Essay
on
Man
,
Epistle
IV
.
Yet
may
a
maid
for
love
of
praise
contend
,
Though
Pleasure's
votary
,
not
less
Virtue's
friend
.
May
not
she
strive
around
her
sacred
shrine
The
wreath
of
pleasure
gaily
to
entwine
?
To
strew
the
path
with
many
a
fragrant
flower
,
And
sweetly
decorate
the
playful
hour
?
To
tempt
e'en
Time
to
loiter
on
his
way
,
And
feel
a
wish
to
lengthen
out
the
day
?
Could
we
not
Worth
and
Pleasure
reconcile
,
Why
wears
the
sun
that
universal
smile
?
Fountain
of
life
!
to
him
all
power
is
given
To
gild
and
ornament
the
works
of
heaven
;
Its
various
gems
to
tinge
with
varying
dyes
,
And
with
new
beauty
strike
th'
admiring
eyes
,
While
deeper
shadows
gently
fall
behind
To
heighten
objects
that
draw
near
the
mind
.
Those
let
us
grasp
,
nor
send
th'
inquiring
eye
To
draw
the
curtain
of
a
future
sky
;
Nor
see
the
cloud
that
some
sad
hour
may
shed
In
floods
of
sorrow
o'er
the
drooping
head
;
The
present
hour
is
all
that
man
can
boast
,
And
happy
they
who
love
the
stranger
most
.
In
future
prospects
let
fond
hearts
rejoice
,
Hear
then
the
present
hour's
small
whispering
voice
.
Low
is
the
note
,
and
silver'd
is
the
sound
,
When
soft
Persuasion
winds
the
ear
around
;
Hark
!
how
she
sings
:
—
Trust
not
the
coming
day
;
The
flowers
of
Autumn
meet
not
those
of
May
;
The
present
hour
in
present
mirth
employ
,
And
bribe
the
future
with
the
hope
of
joy
!
Hope
still
can
please
midst
scenes
of
deep
distress
,
Can
change
the
mourning
to
a
fancy
dress
,
Can
tread
through
brake
,
through
thicket
,
and
through
thorn
,
Without
a
mantle
,
or
a
garment
torn
.
What
though
the
Palace
in
our
distant
view
The
erring
guide
may
ne'er
conduct
us
to
;
The
potent
spell
shall
shed
its
mists
around
And
mimic
views
swim
o'er
the
fairy
ground
;
Stealing
from
thought
the
disappointment
past
,
By
prospects
opening
fairer
than
the
last
;
O
kind
deceiver
!
do
thou
still
deceive
,
And
teach
this
heart
most
firmly
to
believe
!
The
ills
of
life
spring
up
where'er
we
tread
,
Where'er
we
walk
the
Gorgon
rears
her
head
;
With
spells
surrounded
should
the
traveller
go
,
And
wear
a
charm
for
every
sting
of
woe
;
Hope
,
Love
,
and
Friendship
furnish
not
a
few
,
Guarded
by
these
what
heartaches
dare
pursue
!
Friendship
,
with
cordials
in
her
hands
and
eyes
,
The
want
of
health
,
the
want
of
ease
supplies
;
The
want
of
all
things
firmly
may
be
borne
,
If
from
the
foot
she
draws
the
rankling
thorn
;
If
she
supplies
the
balm
the
wound
shall
close
,
And
weary
eyelids
sink
in
calm
repose
.
Sacred
to
her
the
ills
of
life
bow
down
,
Kneel
at
her
shrine
and
her
mild
empire
own
;
Then
to
the
heart
in
different
forms
are
sent
,
First
seem
Submission
,
and
next
grow
Content
,
Advice
,
Reproof
,
with
gentle
Pity
joined
;
All
tend
to
strengthen
and
restore
the
mind
:
The
mind
restored
can
see
the
change
of
things
,
In
equal
fetters
bind
the
throne
of
kings
;
All
nature
find
submitted
to
one
law
,
—
A
certain
portion
of
predestin'd
woe
.
But
to
give
ease
to
man's
distracted
frame
,
The
healing
goddess
watchful
Friendship
came
;
To
feel
the
sudden
downcast
of
an
eye
,
And
long
before
anticipate
a
sigh
;
To
see
what
would
the
present
calm
destroy
,
When
fond
Remembrance
paints
some
long
lost
joy
.
The
long
lost
joy
,
if
never
to
return
,
Asks
the
sad
heart
to
cling
around
its
urn
;
But
listening
Friendship
hears
the
low
request
,
And
silent
guards
the
inroad
of
the
breast
;
By
slow
degrees
draws
back
the
present
scene
,
Till
gayer
thoughts
come
gliding
in
between
,
Till
Hope
again
her
flattering
tints
lets
fall
,
That
lend
some
comfort
,
and
that
promise
all
.
Such
was
the
cordial
that
kind
heaven
bestow'd
When
the
dire
cup
with
every
ill
o'erflow'd
,
One
drop
of
hope
clung
to
the
poison'd
side
,
Or
man
had
bow'd
his
languid
head
,
and
died
.
If
then
we've
left
us
by
divine
command
Those
cordial
drops
to
stay
the
trembling
hand
,
Shall
we
'gainst
heaven
essay
an
impious
skill
,
If
by
some
other
means
we
cure
the
ill
?
If
love
of
praise
should
tempt
us
to
endure
With
patient
calm
those
ills
we
cannot
cure
;
—
Should
prove
the
stimulus
,
and
lead
the
way
To
noble
actions
,
—
should
the
Censor
say
No
merit
follows
—
though
great
good
ensue
?
If
you
are
serv'd
,
sure
it
is
good
to
you
!
And
actions
guarded
by
the
sense
of
shame
,
Will
struggle
hard
to
bear
an
honest
name
.
For
me
,
I
own
,
that
hope
of
praise
can
charm
This
little
heart
,
and
all
its
feelings
warm
;
Can
bid
me
throw
the
selfish
wish
aside
,
And
for
a
weaker
frame
than
mine
provide
:
Not
but
compassion
may
,
to
me
unknown
,
Give
praise
that
merit
which
was
all
her
own
.
If
custom
is
to
man
the
foster
nurse
,
Strengthens
good
habits
,
and
makes
bad
men
worse
,
May
I
not
hope
,
whatever
is
the
cause
,
Custom
may
teach
me
to
deserve
applause
!
Grafted
on
stocks
inferior
to
the
fruit
,
The
apple
tasted
we
forget
the
root
.
The
love
of
praise
this
privilege
may
claim
,
And
rank
as
equal
with
the
fear
of
shame
.
Both
have
their
use
;
—
the
one
is
to
impel
,
The
other
to
restrain
,
or
check
,
or
quell
,
The
rising
Passions
as
they
grow
too
loud
,
To
raise
the
humble
,
and
depress
the
proud
.
If
then
to
good
or
ill
our
passions
tend
,
Why
not
conduct
them
to
their
proper
end
?
Virtue
,
too
plain
to
strike
voluptuous
sight
,
Barely
can
touch
the
heart
with
true
delight
,
Till
dress'd
in
garbs
more
flattering
to
the
sense
,
The
eye
grows
pleas'd
and
sanctifies
expense
:
Not
but
her
native
loveliness
would
do
,
Were
man
but
perfect
,
and
his
judgment
true
;
But
as
it
is
,
e'en
she
herself
must
bend
,
And
ask
assistance
from
a
humble
friend
.
If
man
,
proud
man
!
although
the
lord
of
all
,
Now
on
his
fellows
,
now
his
creatures
call
,
—
Assistance
wants
,
however
high
his
sphere
,
It
is
to
prove
nought's
independent
here
.
So
Virtue
found
,
when
she
forsook
the
sky
,
Passions
must
oft
her
better
aid
supply
;
And
Love
of
Praise
the
foremost
passion
came
,
And
claim'd
,
and
won
,
the
loudest
trump
of
Fame
;
If
not
for
this
our
virtuous
deeds
might
tire
,
—
Praise
fans
the
flames
of
the
celestial
fire
;
And
watchful
keeps
it
glowing
in
the
breast
,
At
once
to
melt
and
purify
the
rest
.
If
o'er
the
mind
meek
diffidence
has
spread
Her
everlasting
glow
of
blushing
red
,
The
conscious
tinge
steals
o'er
the
crimson
cheek
,
And
leaves
a
blush
for
every
wish
to
speak
;
The
mind
thus
check'd
grows
dubious
of
its
powers
,
And
careless
wastes
the
all-important
hours
:
If
cold
despair
the
rising
genius
quell
,
And
chain
the
trembler
in
her
icy
cell
,
The
wish
to
please
will
soon
forsake
the
heart
,
And
one
by
one
the
talents
all
depart
;
Had
this
blessed
wish
stood
foremost
of
the
throng
,
The
heart
enraptur'd
had
not
tarried
long
;
O
!
had
sweet
Praise
but
met
them
on
their
way
,
Her
smile
had
sooth'd
the
labours
of
the
day
,
—
Each
thorny
path
reveal'd
the
blushing
rose
,
And
prov'd
midst
tangling
brakes
the
destin'd
floweret
blows
.
Pride
is
a
phantom
self-conceit
has
rear'd
,
By
Reason
hated
,
and
by
Fancy
feared
;
A
flattering
painter
,
that
with
nicest
art
Hides
each
defect
of
judgment
and
of
heart
;
Sees
little
virtues
swell
before
his
eye
,
As
man
through
glasses
sees
the
smallest
fly
!
Yet
the
two
evils
,
Diffidence
and
Pride
,
As
foes
to
Virtue
,
nearly
are
allied
;
I
mean
,
when
each
extreme
affects
our
end
,
And
to
one
purpose
both
the
feelings
tend
.
What
matters
it
,
if
Virtue
droop
her
head
,
From
what
contagion
the
dire
sickness
spread
;
Whether
from
Pride
the
malady
first
sprung
,
Or
round
Humility
the
languor
clung
!
For
me
,
may
fate
,
propitious
to
my
prayer
,
Still
give
a
friend
to
see
things
as
they
are
,
To
chide
my
errors
,
and
my
worth
approve
,
With
all
th'
encouragement
of
partial
love
;
So
shall
this
wish
rise
warmest
in
my
breast
,
To
bless
another
as
myself
am
blest
,
—
To
please
—
to
serve
—
to
animate
,
and
cheer
,
And
prove
that
Praise
can
turn
reformer
here
!