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 !