Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 8.djvu/246

 Temperate at board, and frugal of his store, Which he but spar'd, to make his bounties more; The generous friend, whose heart alike caress'd, The friend triumphant, or the friend distress'd; Who could unpain'd another's merit spy, Nor view a rival's fame with jaundic'd eye; Humane to all, his love was unconfin'd, And in its scope embrac'd all humankind; Sharp, not malicious, was his charming wit, And less to anger than reform he writ; Whatever rancour his productions show'd, From scorn of vice and folly only flow'd; He thought that fools were an invidious race, And held no measures with the vain or base. Virtue so clear! who labours to destroy, Shall find the charge can but himself annoy: The slanderous theft to his own breast recoils, Who seeks renown from injur'd merit's spoils; All hearts unite, and Heaven with man conspires To guard those virtues, she herself admires. O sacred bard! — once ours! — but now no more, Whose loss; for ever, Ireland must deplore. No earthly laurels needs thy happy brow, Above the poet's are thy honours now: Above the patriot's (though a greater name No temporal monarch for his crown can claim). From noble breasts if envy might ensue, Thy death is all the brave can envy you. You died, when merit (to its fate resigned) Saw scarce one friend to genius left behind. When shining parts did jealous hatred breed, And 'twas a crime in science to succeed, When ignorance spread her hateful mist around, And dunces only an acceptance found, What