Poetry. Alexander Pope

aloud, or whisper'd in the ear; Nor ever silence, rest, or peace is here. As on the smooth expanse of crystal lakes The sinking stone at first a circle makes; The trembling surface by the motion stirr'd, Spreads in a second circle, then a third; Wide, and more wide, the floating rings advance, 440 Fill all the watery plain, and to the margin dance: Thus every voice and sound, when first they break, On neighbouring air a soft impression make; Another ambient circle then they move; That, in its turn, impels the next above; Through undulating air the sounds are sent, And spread o'er all the fluid element. There various news I heard of love and strife, Of peace and war, health, sickness, death, and life, Of loss and gain, of famine and of store, 450 Of storms at sea, and travels on the shore, Of prodigies, and portents seen in air, Of fires and plagues, and stars with blazing hair, Of turns of fortune, changes in the state, The falls of favourites, projects of the great, Of old mismanagements, taxations new: All neither wholly false, nor wholly true. Above, below, without, within, around, Confused, unnumber'd multitudes are found, Who pass, repass, advance, and glide away; 460 Hosts raised by fear, and phantoms of a day: Astrologers, that future fates foreshow; Projectors, quacks, and lawyers not a few; And priests, and party-zealots, numerous bands With home-born lies, or tales from foreign lands; Each talk'd aloud, or in some secret place, And wild impatience stared in every face. The flying rumours gather'd as they roll'd, Scarce any tale was sooner heard than told; And all who told it added something new, 470 And all who heard it made enlargements too, In every ear it spread, on every tongue it grew. Thus flying east and west, and north and south, News travell'd with increase from mouth to mouth. So from a spark, that kindled first by chance, With gathering force the quickening flames advance; Till to the clouds their curling heads aspire, And towers and temples sink in floods of fire. When thus ripe lies are to perfection sprung, Full grown, and fit to grace a mortal tongue, 480 Through thousand vents, impatient, forth they flow, And rush in millions on the world below. Fame sits aloft, and points them out their course, Their date determines, and prescribes their force: Some to remain, and some to perish soon; Or wane and wax alternate like the moon. Around, a thousand wingèd wonders fly, Born by the trumpet's blast, and scatter'd through the sky. There, at one passage, oft you might survey A lie and truth contending for the way; 490 And long 'twas doubtful, both so closely pent, Which first should issue through the narrow vent: At last agreed, together out they fly, Inseparable now, the truth and lie; The strict companions are for ever join'd, And this or that unmix'd, no mortal e'er shall find. While thus I stood, intent to see and hear, One came, methought, and whisper'd in my ear: 'What could thus high thy rash ambition raise? Art thou, fond youth, a candidate for praise?' 500 ''Tis true,' said I, 'not void of hopes I came, For who so fond as youthful bards of fame? But few, alas! the casual blessing boast, So hard to gain, so easy to be lost. How vain that second life in others' breath, The estate which wits inherit after death! Ease, health, and life, for this they must resign, (Unsure the tenure, but how vast the fine!) The great man's curse, without the gains, endure, Be envied, wretched, and be flatter'd, poor; 510 All luckless wits their enemies profess'd, And all successful, jealous friends at best. Nor Fame I slight, nor for her favours call; She comes unlook'd for, if she comes at all. But if the purchase costs so dear a price, As soothing folly, or exalting vice; Oh! if the Muse must flatter lawless sway, And follow still where fortune leads the way; Or if no basis bear my rising name, But the fallen ruins of another's fame; 520 Then teach me, Heaven! to scorn the guilty bays, Drive from my breast that wretched lust of praise, Unblemish'd let me live, or die unknown; Oh, grant an honest fame, or grant me none!'