Classic Poem

I NGRATITUDE , thou blackest fiend of hell,
Thy execrable deeds what tongue can tell?
Envy, deceit, and treason's gloomy brood,
The banc and antidote of all that's good,
Each baleful passion, nay, the whole combin'd
Spring from thy influence upon the mind.
With thee Dorinda does her sex disgrace,
And every generous principle efface;
Spurns the indulgent hand that once bestow'd
A thousand gifts, nor meant those gifts a load:
But such imagin'd by her narrow mind,
She throws her obligations to the wind;
Forgets the ties of kindred and of blood,
And drowns her memory in thy ebon flood.
Return, mistaken maid, forsake the road
That leads from peace, from honor, and from God;
Nor plunge thyself in infamy and shame,
Which brand the ingrate 's despicable name:
Such odious passions heaven can ne'er approve,
Its dictates breathe humanity and love.
Behold Fidelia — angels catch the name,
And join to crown her with immortal fame —
Her soul with every social virtue glows,
And generously forgives her keenest foes;
Feels for each fellow-creature in distress,
And by her bounty makes their sorrows less:
Her breast no rude malignant passion swells,
For innocence within that bosom dwells:
For each indulgent bounteous blessing given,
She pours her soul in gratitude to heaven;
And, undisturb'd by envy, spends her days
In acts of adoration and of praise.
Ye British fair behold, expos'd to view,
The strongest Contrast nature ever drew;
Learn from the former always to detest
Ingratitude , that foe to peace and rest;
And from the latter catch internal grace,
Which adds a lustre to the fairest face.