To him men give the faults of humankind,
They paint him fickle, false, to rage inclined:
But reason, thanks to Heaven, in these our days
O'er half the globe diffuses kindly rays;
Man at her voice persuasive grows humane,
No piles are lighted, blood no altars stain.
If bigot fury should again be known,
Those fires would soon to tenfold rage be blown.
So oft opinion does not pass for guilt,
By man his brother's blood's more rarely spilt,
More rarely horror acts of faith inspire
At Lisbon, fewer Jews in flames expire;[1]
Less oft the Mufti cries in furious strain,
"Slave, follow Mahomet, from wine refrain."
But Christian still the furious Mufti names
Dogs, and condemns them to eternal flames.
The Catholics again from bliss exclude
The Turks, who have so many realms subdued;
They to damnation northern realms consign,
The curse great king affects even worth like thine.
In vain your goodness is each day displayed,
In vain all mankind you protect and aid;
You people and improve the barren plain,
Arts cultivate, asylums build in vain:
For confidently may doctors say
That you from Beelzebub derive your sway.
The Pagan virtues were but crimes at best,
All generous souls such maxims must detest.
Journalist base who with malignant mind
Thinkest thyself authorized to damn mankind;
- ↑ When this poem was written, the author could not foresee that flames were to destroy a great part of that unhappy city in which fagots were too often kindled.
Vol. 36-3
