Fable XXIII. the Conqueror and Captive

Success intoxicates the brain, And sometimes makes the wisest vain. Who that examines age, or youth, Can controvert so plain a truth? That sees false Fame, or solid pelf, So much increase important self, That LILLIPUTIAN worth can rise, A mighty BROBDIGNAG in size; Thence mild benevolence is lost, And tyrant pride assumes its post.

It happen'd once—suppose the time, The regal titles, and the clime, There reign'd a Prince of mighty pow'r, Who having much, still wanted more; Who, Frenchman like, with envious eye, Beheld the realms of liberty; And still for war would frame pretence Of glory stain'd, or self defence.

Behold him to the field burst forth! An emblem of the boist'rous North, When with its most tempestuous gales It desolates hills, woods and dales.

His oft try'd martial prowess spread Through neighb'ring states a gen'ral dread; An ape of mighty CAESAR'S name, He went, he saw, and overcame— O'er bulwark'd towns he made his way, While ravish'd conquest own'd his sway; One kingdom gain'd, the next he view'd With eyes ambitious; and pursu'd FORTUNE, that vain capricious dame, Who eager seem'd to urge his fame; (Like other ladies, then most pleas'd, When most sollicited and teas'd;) With partial grace still deign'd to bless His boldest actions with success; Whose only business was to fight, Whate'er the cause, or wrong, or right; Till glutted he at length declined T' indulge the fever of his mind; Yet fond of pomp, and madly vain, He brought in his triumphant train SIX CAPTIVE KINGS! sad spoil of war! To draw like beasts, his splendid car: The day was fix'd, when such a sight He thought would give the throng delight; By various means most subjects strove To show their loyalty, and love; Arches were rais'd, and trophies plac'd, In ev'ry spot which might be grac'd; The VICTOR, almost deified, By popular applause, and pride, Could scarce vouchsafe to cast his eye On any thing beneath the sky; And silently appear'd to say, All Nature must admit my sway.

At length a downward look he gave, And chanc'd to view one ROYAL SLAVE; Who turning ey'd, with thought profound, The chariot wheel that circled round; The placid smile which o'er his face Had shed a mild peculiar grace; The easy air and just disdain, With which he wore his golden chain, Alarm'd the VICTOR; who demanded, What his attention so commanded. My mind, the Captive cries, is bent To calm misfortunes, with content; As in that circling wheel I see, Of life the brief epitome: The part which now is highest, must One single turn replace in dust; So thou, tho' present laurels bloom, May, ere thy bones shall reach the tomb, By some inverted stroke of fate, Have cause to mourn thy fallen state; Without a friend to sooth thy care; None follow Tyrants in despair; While vulture Conscience stings thy mind, For endless wrongs to human kind.

The greatest Prince should learn this truth, That sure as age succeeds to youth; So Time devouring swallows all; Empires themselves, but rise, to fall, However glorious, and renown'd, Since life is but a varying round.

Swift as an arrow to the heart, Conviction sent her pointed dart; Pride wish'd indeed to stop its course, But yielded to resistless force; And said, that she would taint no more The bosom of the Conqueror; Who, from the CAR descending, gave His hand to ev'ry ROYAL SLAVE; Unloos'd their shackles, and declar'd His pow'r should henceforth be their guard; Should stand a barrier to the weak, And all oppression's fetters break. The CAPTIVES struck, due homage paid, And for their kind deliverer pray'd: More careful now of native blood, The unshaken friend of peace, he stood; Disbanded Conquest, with her train, For virtues of a Patriot reign; And long the royal pleasure prov'd, Of being much less fear'd, than lov'd.