The Blogger's Life

(with apologies to Samuel Johnson)

When first the blogging-rolls received his name,

The young enthusiast quits his ease for fame;

Through all his nerves the promise of renown

Sparks with glory–he’ll have a place in town;

O’er Huffington’s or Beast’s his labor’s spread,

And Cyber’s mansion trembles o’er his head.

Are these thy views? Proceed, industrious youth,

And Labor guide thee to the throne of Truth!

Yet should thy soul indulge the spurious heat,

As evidence replies with long retreat;

Should Ardor steal thee with brightest ray,

And pour on misty doubt resistless day;

Should no false Readers lure to loose delight,

Nor Praise relax, nor Difficulty fright;

Should tempting novelty thy cell refrain,

And Sloth effuse her opiate fumes in vain;

Should Beauty blunt on fops her fatal dart,

Nor claim the triumph of a lettered heart;

Should no Disease thy torpid veins invade,

Nor Melancholy’s phantoms haunt thy shade;

Yet hope not life from grief or danger free,

Nor think the doom of man reversed for thee:

Deign on the passing world to turn thine eyes,

And pause awhile from blogging, to be wise;

There mark what ills the blogger’s life assails,

Toil, envy, want, the linkings, and the wails.

See readers slowly wise, and meanly just,

To buried merit raise the tardy bust.

If dreams yet flatter, or again attend,

Hear sordid life, and Nobility’s end.

 

S.K.