Reflections
on
the
Prevalence
of
Fashion
.
NOW
while
the
fields
in
vivid
green
are
drest
,
And
early
flowers
adorn
Spring's
simple
vest
;
While
brighter
suns
the
opening
landscape
warm
,
And
Nature's
beauties
in
each
object
charm
;
Far
from
the
tumult
of
the
worldly
crowd
,
From
mad
extravagance
and
folly
loud
,
Here
let
me
sit
,
and
court
the
Muse
to
tell
By
what
attractions
,
by
what
magic
spell
,
Fashion's
frail
chains
the
heaven-born
soul
can
bind
,
And
fix
on
trifles
the
deluded
mind
;
Can
lead
us
from
the
path
mild
Reason
taught
,
Corrupt
our
principles
,
debase
our
thought
;
And
render
Man
,
for
noblest
views
design'd
,
To
all
Creation's
boundless
glories
blind
.
The
sons
of
earth
in
emulation
vie
To
gain
applause
,
to
draw
the
public
eye
,
And
to
become
,
pursuing
different
rules
,
The
praise
and
envy
of
surrounding
fools
.
To
few
,
alas
!
th'
indulgent
hand
of
Heaven
Has
dazzling
wit
or
deep
discernment
given
:
To
few
superior
talents
are
allow'd
,
To
rise
sublime
above
the
grovelling
crowd
;
To
view
unmov'd
what
meaner
mortals
prize
,
And
all
Ambition's
glittering
toys
despise
.
Not
so
the
favourites
of
Fortune's
train
—
Hers
are
the
gay
,
the
trivial
,
and
the
vain
;
To
them
profuse
the
partial
goddess
pours
Her
lavish
honours
,
and
her
golden
stores
.
Yet
shall
the
happy
triflers
want
a
name
,
Unnoted
in
the
shining
lists
of
Fame
?
A
name
nor
wealth
nor
titles
can
bestow
:
That
,
and
that
only
,
to
ourselves
we
owe
.
Convinc'd
of
this
,
to
gain
the
envied
prize
Each
candidate
some
various
method
tries
.
In
rural
scenes
,
where
peaceful
shades
delight
,
And
flowery
meadows
fix
the
wandering
sight
—
Where
pebbly
streams
in
wild
meanders
flow
,
And
perfum'd
winds
o'er
beds
of
roses
blow
—
Even
there
the
love
of
fame
mankind
inspires
,
And
rustic
breasts
with
rustic
passions
fires
.
The
'Squire
feels
anguish
more
than
words
can
tell
,
If
other
hounds
in
swiftness
his
excel
;
If
other
steeds
,
more
forward
in
the
race
,
Outstrip
his
coursers
in
the
devious
chase
.
The
Country
Justice
,
into
years
declin'd
,
To
more
substantial
honours
turns
his
mind
:
He
glories
in
his
barns
with
plenty
stor'd
,
And
the
luxuriance
of
his
copious
board
;
Nor
lets
one
care
his
placid
mind
molest
—
Except
some
costlier
dish
should
crown
another's
feast
.
The
rural
Belle
,
impatient
,
seeks
renown
In
some
new
head-dress
just
arriv'd
from
Town
;
Thinks
how
the
wond'ring
neighbourhood
will
gaze
,
And
circling
beauties
envy
while
they
praise
.
But
few
the
cares
that
fill
her
artless
breast
,
Not
yet
by
Vice
or
tainted
or
deprest
,
Compar'd
to
those
more
courtly
belles
engage
,
Where
Fashion
governs
with
despotic
rage
;
Where
her
fair
vot'ry
with
contempt
surveys
The
long-lost
innocence
of
former
days
:
Sever'd
from
blushing
Modesty
and
Truth
,
The
dear
companions
of
her
happier
youth
,
No
ties
can
bind
,
no
principles
restrain
,
And
Love
and
Duty
plead
,
but
plead
in
vain
.
Yet
,
of
the
numbers
who
in
error
tread
,
More
are
by
weakness
than
by
vice
misled
—
And
rather
act
an
imitative
part
,
Than
follow
the
plain
dictates
of
their
heart
.
—
Elected
by
a
grateful
people's
voice
,
More
from
a
sense
of
duty
than
from
choice
,
To
join
in
senates
in
the
loud
debate
,
The
good
Aurelius
leaves
his
lov'd
retreat
.
With
him
the
young
Hermione
he
leads
—
Hermione
,
who
rear'd
'mid
circling
shades
,
Remote
from
Fashion
and
remote
from
Strife
,
He
chose
the
partner
of
his
blameless
life
.
Her
cheeks
disclos'd
the
rose's
softest
dye
,
And
innocence
beam'd
lovely
from
her
eye
;
On
her
red
lips
a
mild
composure
charm'd
,
And
perfect
symmetry
her
figure
form'd
.
In
this
new
scene
with
timid
steps
she
mov'd
,
And
blushing
heard
when
Flattery
approv'd
;
The
fluttering
beaux
in
vain
to
please
her
sought
—
Her
dear
Aurelius
fill'd
her
every
thought
.
Now
Envy
loudly
ridicules
the
fair
,
Censures
her
dress
,
her
manner
,
and
her
air
;
And
every
female
,
swell'd
with
jealous
hate
,
Condemns
what
she
can
never
imitate
;
—
And
,
lower
than
the
last
of
womankind
,
To
theirs
his
taunts
the
silly
coxcomb
join'd
,
Whom
Nature
form'd
in
a
capricious
mood
,
Scorn'd
by
the
wise
,
and
pitied
by
the
good
.
Hermione
abash'd
view'd
Envy's
sneer
,
While
its
rude
satires
piere'd
her
listening
ear
.
By
nature
virtuous
,
but
too
weak
her
sense
To
brave
th'
attacks
of
dark
Malevolence
,
She
leaves
reluctant
all
she
fondly
loves
,
And
follows
what
her
judgment
disapproves
;
With
follies
first
,
with
vices
next
complied
,
And
sacrific'd
her
feelings
to
her
pride
.
Now
,
first
in
.
Dissipation's
giddy
train
,
Behold
Hermione
in
triumph
reign
:
No
more
she
rises
with
the
morning
ray
,
But
wastes
in
cards
the
night
—
in
sleep
the
day
;
Her
pallid
cheek
,
its
native
colour
fled
,
Assumes
the
glow
of
artificial
red
;
Her
charms
decay
,
her
wonted
health
is
flown
,
Her
former
rectitude's
for
ever
gone
.
In
vain
with
anxious
care
Aurelius
tries
To
clear
the
mists
of
error
from
her
eyes
.
At
length
he
leads
her
to
the
rural
plain
,
Where
once
Contentment
bless'd
his
wide
domain
:
But
now
no
more
Contentment
will
attend
,
No
more
from
Care's
corrosive
stings
defend
;
His
chang'd
Hermione
he
fondly
mourns
,
Whose
alter'd
heart
no
tenderness
returns
;
Till
,
long
between
contending
passions
tost
,
His
fortune
sunk
,
his
peace
entirely
lost
,
He
yielded
to
the
welcome
stroke
of
death
,
And
sigh'd
Hermione
!
with
latest
breath
.
O
sad
vicissitude
of
human
state
!
Daughters
of
Virtue
,
with
vain
pride
elate
,
Condemn
not
here
a
sister's
levity
;
But
trembling
think
,
such
you
,
perhaps
,
may
be
.
—
Yet
,
if
o'er
this
sad
tale
we
drop
a
tear
,
What
mortal
,
say
,
from
laughter
can
forbear
,
When
he
beholds
Emilius'
awkward
grace
,
His
figure
mean
,
and
consequential
face
,
And
views
his
mind
—
receptacle
for
all
The
follies
that
to
wretched
mortals
fall
?
Bred
in
the
City
to
an
humble
fate
,
The
sober
youth
behind
his
counter
sat
:
His
study
was
of
stocks
the
rise
and
fall
,
And
his
grand
festival
a
Lord
Mayor's
ball
.
When
Fortune
,
careful
of
the
fool
and
knave
,
A
large
estate
beyond
his
wishes
gave
,
He
hastes
to
figure
where
the
Great
resort
,
And
quits
th'
Exchange
to
bustle
through
the
Court
.
To
ape
the
courtly
fop
in
vain
he
tries
;
Now
with
Lord
Trinket
in
his
carriage
vies
;
Now
games
,
now
drinks
,
now
swears
—
and
all
for
fame
,
Since
more
illustrious
blockheads
do
the
same
.
—
But
hark
!
what
knell
,
inspiring
awful
fear
,
In
broken
sounds
thus
strikes
my
wounded
ear
?
That
knell
it
calls
Olivia
to
the
tomb
,
Fallen
in
gay
youth
,
in
beauty's
brightest
bloom
,
Adorn'd
with
sentiment
and
sense
refin'd
,
Whose
only
fault
was
a
too
feeling
mind
.
Propitious
Fortune
,
at
her
natal
hour
,
Had
added
wealth
to
Nature's
lavish
dower
:
The
rich
Hortensio's
child
and
only
heir
,
She
grew
and
flourish'd
in
his
guardian
care
,
Till
the
pleas'd
father
with
delight
survey'd
His
fondest
hopes
accomplish'd
in
the
maid
,
With
native
graces
still
by
art
,
Agenor
sought
,
and
won
the
virgin's
heart
:
Her
sire
consents
,
and
Hymen's
holy
bands
Soon
at
the
altar
join
their
willing
hands
.
Unhappy
fair
!
she
hop'd
the
sacred
rite
Their
hearts
should
ever
with
their
hands
unite
,
Her
husband
still
her
lover
should
remain
,
And
Death
alone
dissolve
their
lasting
chain
.
Not
so
Agenor
.
Bred
in
Fashion's
schools
,
And
blindly
govern'd
by
her
senseless
rules
,
He
thought
affection
for
a
wife
disgrac'd
The
nice
refinement
of
a
man
of
taste
.
In
vain
mankind
with
one
consent
declare
Olivia
fairest
amid
thousands
fair
:
Blind
to
her
charms
,
unworthy
of
her
love
,
To
meaner
beauties
his
affections
rove
;
And
,
seeking
fancied
bliss
,
his
footsteps
roam
Far
from
the
genuine
happiness
of
home
.
A
soft
concern
,
mix'd
with
offended
pride
,
Usurp'd
the
breast
of
his
neglected
bride
,
To
think
that
he
alone
unmov'd
should
view
Those
peerless
charms
which
all
beside
subdue
.
At
length
her
busy
thought
suggests
a
scheme
Destructive
to
her
peace
and
to
her
fame
,
And
makes
her
strive
by
jealousy
to
gain
That
fickle
heart
which
scorn'd
a
milder
chain
.
Too
soon
the
story
restless
Scandal
spread
,
How
fair
Olivia
,
by
resentment
led
,
Justly
incens'd
against
a
faithless
spouse
,
Had
in
her
turn
forgot
her
plighted
vows
.
Agenor
heard
the
tale
;
and
,
wild
with
rage
,
Mistaken
honour
urg'd
him
to
engage
His
life
for
her
,
whom
his
caprice
disdain'd
While
undefil'd
her
character
remain'd
.
Why
should
on
the
sad
relation
dwell
?
A
hasty
challenge
sent
—
he
fought
,
and
fell
!
Borne
through
those
streets
a
senseless
load
of
clay
,
Where
late
he
wander'd
negligent
and
gay
,
His
alter'd
features
crowds
with
tears
survey
.
But
who
can
paint
the
anguish
and
despair
That
rack'd
the
bosom
of
the
hapless
fair
Who
caus'd
his
death
,
when
,
pierc'd
with
many
a
wound
,
The
man
she
lov'd
a
breathless
corse
she
found
?
Horror
,
contrition
,
grief
,
at
once
combin'd
To
rouse
each
feeling
of
her
tortur'd
mind
,
Till
,
her
weak
frame
unequal
to
the
strife
,
Prone
on
Agenor's
bier
she
clos'd
her
wretched
life
.
Learn
hence
,
ye
fair
,
to
shun
each
dangerous
art
,
Nor
even
in
thought
from
rectitude
depart
:
Be
still
unmov'd
by
Jealousy's
alarms
,
For
Temper
more
than
Wit
or
Beauty
charms
.
So
,
when
old
age
shall
spoil
each
transient
grace
,
Dim
thy
bright
eyes
,
and
wrinkle
o'er
thy
face
—
Steal
from
thy
faded
cheek
the
rose's
hue
,
And
bend
that
form
which
now
delights
the
view
—
Still
chaste
Affection
with
unclouded
ray
Shall
gild
the
evening
of
thy
latest
day
;
Still
powerful
Virtue
shall
victorious
prove
,
And
fix
,
where
Beauty
fails
,
a
husband's
love
.
—
Silius
affects
an
absent
careless
mien
,
Nothing
by
him
is
heard
,
and
nothing
seen
;
Or
,
should
his
eyes
a
play
or
ball
explore
,
He
listless
yawns
,
and
wishes
it
was
o'er
.
—
His
native
England
Lycidas
disdains
,
And
quits
her
oaken
groves
for
Gallia's
plains
:
Foreign
his
accent
,
foreign
is
his
air
,
His
dress
resplendent
with
Parisian
glare
;
And
,
while
his
apish
tricks
contempt
inspire
,
He
vainly
thinks
the
wondering
crowds
admire
.
—
Nothing
so
much
delights
Camillo's
mind
,
As
to
be
thought
a
man
of
taste
refin'd
;
On
pictures
,
statues
,
poems
to
decide
,
And
by
his
nod
the
sons
of
Genius
guide
.
Unnumber'd
artists-crowd
his
plenteous
board
,
And
needy
Science
courts
the
wealthy
lord
:
There
,
like
the
mimic
heroes
of
the
stage
,
He
acts
Mæcenas
to
the
present
age
,
While
starving
wits
,
amid
their
venal
lays
,
Pay
for
substantial
dinners
empty
praise
.
—
But
these
are
trifling
faults
,
and
less
proceed
From
heart
defective
than
defective
head
.
But
darker
shades
remain
,
whose
force
to
paint
,
Language
is
cold
,
ideas
are
but
faint
;
Crimes
at
which
Reason
starts
with
holy
fear
,
To
which
even
Pity
scarce
can
grant
a
tear
.
Behold
the
reptile
man
,
whose
impious
pride
Dares
all
that's
sacred
,
all
that's
just
,
deride
;
Dares
the
existence
of
that
God
deny
,
Who
was
,
and
is
,
through
all
eternity
;
Whose
power
,
resistless
,
to
destroy
or
save
,
To
man
,
ungrateful
man
,
a
being
gave
;
Whose
mercy
doom'd
his
only
Son
to
bleed
,
Our
sinful
race
from
paths
of
Death
to
lead
;
Who
,
omnipresent
,
all
our
guilt
can
view
,
And
pitying
yet
withholds
the
vengeance
due
!
But
let
me
hope
that
few
thus
madly
dare
Wage
with
Omnipotence
a
desperate
war
.
Most
men
acknowledge
and
revere
a
God
,
And
dread
at
intervals
his
chastening
rod
:
But
scarce
the
tears
of
soft
Contrition
spring
,
When
,
borne
on
Dissipation's
airy
wing
,
And
mid
the
world's
ensnaring
pleasures
tost
,
Too
oft
the
thoughtless
wanderer
is
lost
.
Children
of
Error
,
then
,
a
moment
stay
,
Nor
scorn
to
listen
to
my
artless
lay
,
Which
seeks
no
recompense
,
but
to
impart
A
ray
of
Truth
to
the
bewilder'd
heart
.
Yet
think
an
hour
shall
come
,
nor
far
that
hour
,
When
Death's
dread
horrors
shall
each
sense
o'erpower
;
When
ye
shall
ask
in
vain
a
little
time
,
In
vain
lament
the
errors
of
your
prime
;
With
terror
view
your
near
approaching
end
,
And
helpless
,
hopeless
to
the
grave
descend
.
O
then
reform
,
while
haply
yet
ye
can
,
While
Providence
allows
a
length'ning
span
,
Nor
to
a
future
time
the
change
delay
.
Perhaps
your
life
may
finish
with
this
day
;
The
present
day
,
the
present
hour
alone
,
Is
all
,
weak
mortal
,
thou
can'st
call
thine
own
.
Then
seize
this
fleeting
moment
to
deplore
Thy
sins
,
resolv'd
to
yield
to
sin
no
more
;
Regard
life's
darkest
hours
,
its
scenes
most
gay
,
As
showers
and
sun-beams
of
an
April
day
;
And
fix
thy
mind
on
that
sublime
abode
,
Where
soon
thy
spirit
may
rejoin
its
God
;
There
,
mix'd
with
angels
and
archangels
,
raise
The
hymn
of
glory
to
thy
Maker's
praise
;
Thy
views
o'er
vast
,
unmeasur'd
space
extend
,
And
taste
pure
joys
that
know
nor
change
nor
end
!