Can Balbo's eloquence applaud, and swear All crimes are safe but hated poverty. 150 155 By numbers here from shame or censure free, 160 This, only this, provokes the snarling Muse. The sober trader at a tatter'd cloak Wakes from his dream, and labors for a joke; With brisker air the silken courtiers gaze, And turn the varied taunt a thousand ways. 165 Of all the griefs that harass the distress'd, Fate never wounds more deep the gen'rous heart, Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart. 170 No pathless waste, or undiscover'd shore? 175 But here more slow, where all are slaves to gold, 180 But hark! th' affrighted crowd's tumultuous cries 185 Sustain th' approaching fire's tremendous light; 190 For where can starving merit find a home? And spread his flaming palace on the ground, And public mournings pacify the skies; 195 200 205 Could'st thou resign the park and play content, 210 Some hireling senator's deserted seat; And stretch thy prospects o'er the smiling land, For less than rent the dungeons of the Strand; 215 There prune thy walks, support thy drooping flowers, Direct thy rivulets, and twine thy bowers; And, while thy grounds a cheap repast afford, Despise the dainties of a venal lord: There ev'ry bush with Nature's music rings, 220 225 230 Flush'd as they are with folly, youth, and wine, 235 In vain, these dangers past, your doors you close, And hope the balmy blessings of repose; Cruel with guilt, and daring with despair, The midnight murd'rer bursts the faithless bar; 240 And leaves, unseen, a dagger in your breast. Scarce can our fields, such crowds at Tyburn die, Whose ways and means support the sinking land: 245 Lest ropes be wanting in the tempting spring, A single gaol, in ALFRED's golden reign, Could half the nation's criminals contain; Fair justice, then, without constraint ador'd, 250 Held high the steady scale, but sheath'd the sword; No spies were paid, no special juries known, Blest age! but, ah, how diff'rent from our own! Much could I add, but see the boat at hand, The tide retiring calls me from the land: 255 Farewell!-When youth, and health, and fortune spent 260 PERFATORY NOTE ON VANITY OF HUMAN WISHES The Vanity of Human Wishes was written and published when Johnson was thirty-nine. In the ten years since London he had continued writing for the Gentleman's Magazine, but his contributions diminished in number as his independent writings increased. Among these is the Life of Savage, one of his most brilliant performances. He had also finished his unsuccessful tragedy Irene, had begun the Dictionary, had written up two volumes of Parliamentary Debates from the notes of hired listeners, and had struck off a great number of reviews, translations, brief biographies, and ephemeral essays. By this time he acquired some reputation. His tragedy was soon presented by Garrick, and the publication of The Vanity of Human Wishes, a month before the performance, helped to win for it the fairly respectful hearing which the London public granted it. The poem was written at Hampstead, a place now consecrated by many literary associations. Johnson told Steevens: 'I wrote the first seventy lines in the course of one morning. The whole was composed before I threw a single couplet on paper' (Johnsonian Miscellanies 2. 313), and he afterwards recalled writing a hundred lines of it in one day. He sold the poem for fifteen guineas. Garrick used to say: 'When Johnson lived with the Herveys, and saw a good deal of what was passing in life, he wrote his London, which is lively and easy. When he became more retired he gave us his Vanity of Human Wishes, which is as hard as Greek. Had he gone on to imitate another satire, it would have been as hard as Hebrew.' Nevertheless he had expected to imitate other satires of Juvenal, for he had them all in his head.' At a glance The Vanity of Human Wishes is seen to possess more weight and solemn dignity than London. It is a more serious performance. It contains more of Johnson himself, and less of Juvenal. To be sure he has followed the order of topics in his original-desire of power, of eloquence, of military glory, of long life, of beautybut these are not the main topics of his criticism. The poem is deeply tinged with his constitutional melancholy, brooding upon the vicissitude of things and the futility of endeavor. It deplores blind and passionate devotion to the achievement of any one aim. It denounces such evils of his time as corruption in public and private life, pretense, sycophancy, hardness of heart, prostitution of literature to mere gain, and the neglect of merit; against such abuses he contended for the rest of his life. |