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THE TASK, 
 
 <D^IEIIB:a S»(£>^SE0d 
 
 BY "WILLIAM CO^WPER, ESa^JIRB) 
 
 or THE INNER TEMPLE. 
 
 BALTIMORE: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY GEORGE MCDOWELL AND SON 
 212, BALTIMORE-STREET. 
 
 R. J. Matchett, printer. 
 1831. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The history of the following production, is briefly 
 this: A lady, fond of blank verse, demanded a poem of 
 that kind from the author, and gave him the Sofa for a 
 subject. He obeyed^ and, having much leisure, con- 
 nected another subject with itj and pursuing the train of 
 thought to which his situation and turn of mind led him, 
 brought forth, at length, instead of the trifle which he 
 at first intended, a serious afiair — a Volume! 
 
 In the poem on the subject of Education, he would 
 be very sorry to stand suspected of having aimed his 
 censure at any particular school. His objections are 
 such as naturally apply themselves to schools in general. 
 If there were not, as for the most part there is, wilful 
 neglect in those who manage them, and an omission 
 even of such discipline as they are susceptible of, the 
 objects are yet too numerous for minute attention: and 
 the aching hearts of ten thousand parents, mourning un- 
 der the bitterest of all disappointments, attest the truth 
 of the allegation. His quarrel, therefore, is with the 
 mischief at large, and not with any particular instance 
 of it. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 The Task, in Six Books. page 
 
 Book I. The Sofa, ..-.-.---- 7 
 
 II. The Time-piece, - > 29 
 
 III. The Garden, ----..-. 52 
 
 IV. The Winter Evening, 76 
 
 V. The Winter Morning Walk, - - - - 98 
 
 VI. The Winter Walk at noon, - - - - 123 
 
 Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. 155 
 
 Tirocinium: or a Review of Schools, - - - - ib. 
 
THE TASK. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 THE SOFA. 
 
 ARGUMENT OF THE FIRST BOOK. 
 
 Historical deduction of seats, from the Stool to the Sofa— A' 
 Schoolboy's ramble — A walk in the country — The scene de- 
 scribed—Rural sounds as Avell as sights delightful — Another 
 walk— Mistake concerning the charms of solitude corrected— 
 Colonnades commended— AI core, and the view from it— The 
 wilderness — The grove — The thresher— Tlie necessity and be- 
 nefit of exercise— The works of nature superiour to, and in 
 some instances inimitable by, art — The wearisomeness of what 
 is commonly called a life of pleasure — Change of scene some- 
 times expedient— A common described, and the character of 
 crazy Kate introduced— Gipsies — The blessings of civilized 
 life— That state most favourable to virtue— The South Sea 
 islanders compassionated, but chiefly Omai— His present state 
 of mind supposed— Civilized life friendly to virtue, but not 
 great cities— Great cities, and London in particular, allowed 
 their due praise, but censured— F^te charap&tre— The book 
 concludes with a reflection on the fatal effects of dissipation 
 and effeminacy upon our public measures. 
 
 I SING the Sofa. I, who lately sang 
 
 Truth, Hope, and Charity,* and touch'd with awe 
 
 The solemn chords, and with a trembling hand, 
 
 Escap'd with pain from that adventurous flight. 
 
 Now seek repose upon an hiunbler theme; 
 
 The theme though humble, yet august and proud 
 
 The occasion — for the Fair commands the song. 
 
 Time was, when clothing, sumptuous or for use, 
 Save their own painted skins, our sires had none. 
 As yet black breeches were not; satin smooth. 
 Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile: 
 The hardy chief upon the rugged rock 
 Wash'd by the sea, or on the gravelly bank 
 
 *.See PoeniSj VoL I, 
 
8* THE TASK. 
 
 Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud, 
 Fearless of wrong, repos'd his weary strength. 
 Those barbai'ous ages past, succeeded next 
 The birth-day of invention; weak at first. 
 Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. 
 Joint-stools were then created; on three legs 
 Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm 
 A massy slab, in fashion square or romid. 
 On such a stool immortal Alfred sat. 
 And sway'd the sceptre of his infant realms: 
 And such in ancient halls and mansions drear 
 May still be seen; but perforated sore, 
 And drill'd in holes, the solid oak is found. 
 By worms voracious eating through and through. 
 
 At length a generation more refin'd 
 Improv'd the simple plan; made three legs four. 
 Gave them a twisted form vermicular. 
 And o'er the seat, with plenteous wadding stuiF'd, 
 Induced a plendid cover, green and blue. 
 Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wrought 
 And woven close, or needle- work sublime. 
 There might ye see the piony spread wide. 
 The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass. 
 Lap-dog and lambkin with black staring eyes. 
 And parrots with twin cherries in their beak. 
 
 NoAV came the cane from India smootli and bright 
 With Nature's varnish; sever'd into stripes, 
 That interlaced each other, these supplied 
 Of texture firm a lattice-work, that brac'd 
 The new machine, and it became a chair. 
 But restless was the chair; the back erect 
 Distrcss'd the weaiy loins, that felt no ease; ^ 
 
 The slipp'ry seat betrayed the sliding pai-t 
 That press'd it, and the feet hung dangling down, 
 Anxious in vain to find the distant floor. 
 These for the rich; the rest, whom Fate had plac'd 
 In modest mediocrity; content i 
 
 With base materials, sat on well-taun'd hides', 
 
THE SOFA. 
 
 Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smootli, 
 
 With here and there a tuft of crimson yam, 
 
 Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fix'd. 
 
 If cushion might be call'd, what harder seem'd 
 
 Than the firm oak, of which the frame was formed. 
 
 No want of timber then was felt or fear'd 
 
 In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood 
 
 Pond'rous and fix'd by its own massy weight. 
 
 But elbows still were wanting; these, some say, 
 
 An alderman of Cripplegate contrived; 
 
 And some ascribe th' invention to a priest 
 
 Burly, and big, and studious of his ease. 
 
 But rude at first, and not with easy slope 
 
 Receding wide, they press'd against the ribs, • 
 
 And bruis'd the side; and, elevated high. 
 
 Taught the rais'd shoulders to invade the ears. 
 
 Long time felaps'd or e'er our rugged sires 
 
 Complain'd, though incommodiously pent in. 
 
 And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 
 
 'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex. 
 
 Ingenious Fancy, never better pleas'd 
 
 Than when employ'd t' accommodate the fair. 
 
 Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devis'd 
 
 The soft settee; one elbow at each end. 
 
 And in the midst an elbow it receiv'd. 
 
 United, yet divided, twain at once. 
 
 So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne; 
 
 And so two citizens, who take the air. 
 
 Close pack'd, and smiling, in a chaise and one. 
 
 But relaxation of the lanquid frame. 
 
 By soft recumbency of outstretch'd limbs. 
 
 Was bliss reserv'd for happier days. So slow 
 
 The groAvth of what is excellent; so hard 
 
 T' attain perfection in this nether world. 
 
 Thus first Necessity invented stools. 
 
 Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs, 
 
 And Luxury th' accomplish'd Sofa last. 
 
10 THE TASK. 
 
 The nurse sleeps sweetly, hir'd to walch the sick, 
 Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he, 90 
 
 Who quits tlie coach- box at a midnight hour, 
 To sleep within the carriage more secure, 
 His legs depending at the open door. 
 Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk. 
 The tedious rector drawling o'er his head; 95 
 
 And sweet the clerk below. But neither sleep 
 Of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead; 
 Nor his, who quits the box at midnight horn- 
 To slumber in the carriage inore secure; 
 Nor sleep enjoy'd by curate in his desk; 100 
 
 Nor yet the dozings of the clerk, are sweet, 
 Compar'd with the repose the Sofa yields. 
 
 O may I live exempted ('^hile I live 
 Guiltless of j)amper'd appetite obscene) 
 From pangs arthritic, that infest the toe 105 
 
 Of libertine Excess. The Sofa s-uits 
 The gouty limb, 'tis true: but gouty limb. 
 Though on a Sofa, may I never feel: 
 For I have lov'd the rural walk through lanes 
 Of grassy swarth, close cropp'd by nibbling sheep, 110 
 And skirted thick with intertextm'e firm 
 Of tliorny boughs; have lov'd the rural walk 
 O'er lulls, through valleys, and by rivers' brmk. 
 E'er since a truant boy I pass'd my bounds 
 T' cjijoy a ramble on the banks of Thames; 115 
 
 And still remember, not without regret. 
 Of hours, that sorrow since has much endear'd. 
 How oft, my slice of pocket store consum'd. 
 Still hung'ring, pennyless, and far from home, 
 I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws, 120 
 
 Or blushing crabs, or berries, that emboss 
 Thi braiAblc, black as jet, or sloes austere. 
 Hard Aire! but such as boyish appetite 
 Disdains not; nor the palate, undcprav'd 
 By culinary arts, unsav'ry deems. 125 
 
THE SOFA. 11 
 
 No Sofa then av\raited my return; 
 
 Nor Sofa then I needed. Yon,th repairs 
 
 His wasted spirits quickly, by long toil 
 
 Incurring short fatig-ue; and, though our years, 
 
 As life declines, speed rapidly away, 130 
 
 And not a yeai' but pilfers as he goes 
 
 Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep; 
 
 A tooth or aubiu-i\ lock, and by degrees 
 
 Their length and coloiu: from the locks they spare; 
 
 The elastick spring of an unwearied foot, 135 
 
 That momits the stile with ease, or leaps the fence; 
 
 That play of lungs, inhaling and again 
 
 Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes 
 
 Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me. 
 
 Mine have not pilfer'd yet; nor yet impair'd 140 
 
 My relish of fair prospect; scenes that sooth'd 
 
 Or charm' d me young, no longer young, I find 
 
 Still soothing, and of pow'r to charm me still. 
 
 And witness, dear companion of my walks. 
 
 Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive 145 
 
 Fast lock'd in mine, with pleasure such as love, 
 
 Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth 
 
 And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire — 
 
 Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long. 
 
 Thou know'st my praise of natiu^e most sincere, 150 
 
 And that my raptiu-es are not conjur'd up 
 
 To serve occasions of poetic pomp. 
 
 But genuine, and art partner of them all. 
 
 How oft upon yon eminence our pace 
 
 Has slacken'd to a pause, and we have borne 155 
 
 The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew. 
 
 While Admiration, feeding at the eye. 
 
 And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene. 
 
 Thence, Avith what pleasm-e have we just discern'd 
 
 The distant plough slow moving, and beside IGO 
 
 His lab'ring team, that swerv'd not from the track, 
 
 The sturdy swain diminish'd to a boy! 
 
 Here Oiise, slow winding through a level plain 
 
12 THE TASK. 
 
 Of spacious meads, with cattle sprinkled o'er, 
 Conducts the eye along his sinuous course 
 Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank. 
 Stand, never overlook'd, our fav'rite elms. 
 That screen the herdsman's solitary hut; 
 While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, 
 That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale. 
 The sloping land recedes into the clouds; 
 Displaying on its varied side the grace 
 Of hedge- row beauties numberless, square tow'r, 
 Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells 
 Just undulates upon the list'ning ear. 
 Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote. 
 Scenes must be beautiful, which daily view'd 
 Please daily, and whose novelty survives 
 Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years. 
 Praise justly due to those that I describe. 
 Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, 
 Exhilirate the spirit, and restore 
 The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds. 
 That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood 
 Of ancient growth, make music not unlike 
 The dash of Ocean on his winding shore. 
 And lull the spirit while they fill the mind; 
 Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast. 
 And all their leaves fast flutt'ring, all at once. 
 Nor less composure waits upon the roar 
 Of distant floods, or on the softer voice 
 Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that slip 
 Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall 
 Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length 
 In matted grass, that with a livelier green 
 Betrays the secret of their silent course. 
 Nature inanimate employs sweet soimds. 
 But animated nature sweeter still. 
 To sooth and satisfy the human ear. 
 Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one 
 The livelong night; nor these alone, whose notes 
 
THE SOFA. 13 
 
 ^ice-finger'd Art must emulate in vain. 
 
 But cawing rooks, and Idtes that swim sublime 
 
 In still- repeated circles, screaming loud, 
 
 The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl, 205 
 
 That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. 
 
 Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh. 
 
 Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns. 
 
 And only there, please highly for their sake. 
 
 Peace to the artist, whose ingenious thought 210 
 
 Devis'd the weatherhouse, that useful toy! 
 Fearless of humid air and gath'ring rains. 
 Forth steps the man — aif emblem of myself! 
 More delicate his tim'rous mate retires. 
 When Winter soaks the fields, and female feet, 215 
 Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay. 
 Or ford the rivulets, are best at home. 
 The task of new discov'ries falls on me. 
 At such a season, and with such a charge, . 
 Once went I forth; and foimd, till then unknown, 220 
 A cottage, whither oft Vv^e since repair: 
 'Tis perch'd upon the green hill top, but close 
 Environ'd with a ring of branching elms, 
 That overhang the thatch, itself unseen 
 Peeps at the vale below; so thick beset 225 
 
 With foliage of such dark redundant growth, 
 I call'd the low-roof 'd lodge the peasant's nest. 
 And, hidden as it is, and far remote 
 From such unpleasing sounds as haunt the ear 
 In village or in town, the bay of cm^s 230 
 
 Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels. 
 And infants clam'rous whether pleas'd or pain'd, 
 Oft have I wish'd the peaceful coveret mine. 
 Here, I have said, at least I should possess 
 The poet's treasure. Silence, and indulge 235 
 
 The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure. 
 Vain thought! the dweller in that still retreat 
 Dearly obtains the refuge it affords. 
 Its elevated scite forbids the wretch 
 Vol. 11.-2 
 
14 THE TASK. 
 
 To drink sweet waters of the crystal well; 240 
 
 He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch, 
 
 And, heavy laden, brings his bev'rage home, 
 
 Fai- fetch'd and little woi'th; nor seldom waits, 
 
 Dependent on the baker's punctual call, 
 
 To hear his creaking panniers at the door, 245 
 
 Angry, and sad, and his last crust consum'd. 
 
 So farewell envy of the peasant's nesf! 
 
 If solitude make scant the means of life. 
 
 Society for me! — thou seeming sweet. 
 
 Be still a pleasing object in my view; 250 
 
 My visit still, but never mine abode. 
 Not distant far, a length of colonnade 
 
 Invites us. Monument of ancient taste. 
 
 Now scorn'd, but worthy of a better fate. 
 
 Our fathers knew the value of a screen 255 
 
 From sultry suns: and, in their shaded walks 
 
 And long protracted bow'rs, enjoy'd at nooa 
 
 The gloom and coolness of declining day. 
 
 We bear our shades about us; self-depriv'd 
 
 Of other screen, the thin \mibrella spread, 260 
 
 And range an Indian waste without a tree. 
 
 Thanks to Benevolus* — he spares me yet 
 
 These chestnuts rang'd iu corresponding lines; 
 
 And, though himself so polish'd, still reprieves 
 
 The obsolete prolixity of shade. 265 
 
 Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) 
 A sudden steep upon a rustic bridge. 
 We pass a gulf, in which the willows dip 
 Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink. 
 Hence, ankle deep in moss and flow'ry thyme, 270 
 
 We mount again, and feel at ev'ry step 
 Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft, 
 Rais'd by the mole, the minor of the soil. 
 He, not unlike the great ones of mankind. 
 Disfigures Earth: and, plotting in the dark, 275 
 
 * John Courtney Throclinaorton, Escj[. of Weston Underwood. 
 
THE SOFA. 15 
 
 Toils much to earn a monumental pile 
 That may record the mischief he has done. 
 
 The summit gain'd, behold the proud alcove 
 That crowns it! yet not all its pride secures 
 The grand retreat fi'om injuries impress'd 280 
 
 By rural carvers, who with knives deface 
 The panels, leaving an obscure, rude name. 
 In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss. 
 So strong the zeal t' immortalize himself 
 Beats in the breast of man, that e'en a few, 285 
 
 Few transient years, won from th' abyss abhorr'd 
 Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize. 
 And even to a clown. Now roves the eye; 
 And, posted on this speculative height. 
 Exults in its command. The sheepfold here 290 
 
 Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe. 
 At first, progressive as a stream, they seek 
 The middle field; but, scatter'd by degrees. 
 Each to his choice, soon whiten all the land. 
 There from the sunburnt hayfield homeward Creeps 
 The loaded wain; while, lighten'd of its charge, 296 
 The wain that meets it passes swiftly by; 
 The boorish driver leaning o'er his team 
 Vocif 'rous, and impatient of delay. 
 Nor less attractive is the woodland scene, 300 
 
 Diversified with trees of ev'ry growth. 
 Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth trimks 
 Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine. 
 Within the twilight of their distant shades; 
 There, lost behind a rising gromid, the wood 305 
 
 Seems smik, and shorten'd to its topmost boughs. 
 No tree in all the grove but has its charms. 
 Though each its hue peculiar; paler some, 
 And of a wannish gray; the willow such. 
 And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf, 310 
 
 And ash far- stretching his umbrageous arm; 
 Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still, 
 Lord of the woods, the long surviving oak. 
 
16 THE TASK. 
 
 Some glossy leav'd, and shining in the sun, 
 
 The maple and the beech of oily nuts 315 
 
 Prolifick, and the lime at dewy eve 
 
 Diffusing odours: nor uimotcd pass 
 
 The sycamore, capricious in attire. 
 
 Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet 
 
 Have chang'd the woods, in scarlet honours bright. 320 
 
 O'er those, but, far beyond (a spacious map 
 
 Of hill and valley interjtos'd between) 
 
 The Ouse, dividing the well-water'd land. 
 
 Now glitters in the sun, and now retires. 
 
 As bashful, yet impatient to be seen. 325 
 
 Hence the declivity is sharp and short. 
 
 And such the reascent; between them weeps 
 
 A little naiad her impov'rish'd urn 
 
 All summer long, which winter fills again. 
 
 The folded gates would bar my progress now, - 330 
 
 But that the lord* of this enclos'd demesne. 
 
 Communicative of the good he owns. 
 
 Admits me to a share; the guiltless eye 
 
 Commits no' wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys. 
 
 Refreshing change! where now the blazing sun.^ 335 
 
 By short transition we have lost his glare. 
 
 And stepp'd at once into a cooler clime. 
 
 Ye fallen avenues! once more I mourn ] 
 
 Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice 
 
 That yet a remnant of your race survives. 340 
 
 How airy and how light the graceful arch, 
 
 Yet awful as the consecrated roof 
 
 Re-echoing pious anthems! while beneath 
 
 The checker'd earth seems restless as a flood 
 
 Brush'd by the wind. So sportive is the light 345 
 
 Shot through the boughs, it dances and they dance, 
 
 Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick. 
 
 And dark'ning, and enlight'ning, as the leaves 
 
 Play wanton, ev'ry moment, ev'ry spot. 
 
 And now, with nerves new brac'd and spirits cheer'd, 
 * Seetlie foregoing note. 
 
THE SOFA. 17 
 
 We tread the wildeniessj whose well-rolled walks, 351 
 With curvature of slow and easy sweep — 
 Deception innocent — give ample space 
 To narrow bounds. The grove receives us nest; 
 Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms 355 
 
 We may discern the thresher at his task. 
 Thump after thump resoimds the constant flail. 
 That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls 
 Full on the destin'd ear. Wide flies the chaflf. 
 The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist 360 
 
 Of atoms, sparkling in the noonday beam. 
 Come hither, ye that press your beds of down. 
 And sleep not; seeing him sweating o'er his bread 
 Before he eats it. — 'Tis the primal curse. 
 But soften'd into mercy; made the pledge 365 
 
 Of cheerful days and nights without a groan. 
 
 By ceaseless action all that is subsists. 
 Constant rotation of th' unwearied wheel 
 That Nature rides upon, maintains her health, 
 Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads 370 
 
 An instant's pause, and lives but whilst she moves: 
 Its own revolvency upholds the World, 
 Winds from all quarters agitate the air. 
 And fit the limpid element for use. 
 Else noxious; oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams, 375 
 All feel the fresh'ning impulse, and are cleans'd 
 By restless undulation: e'en the oak 
 Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm: 
 He seems indeed indignant, and to feel 
 Th' impression of the blast with proud disdain, 380 
 Frowning, as if in his unconscious arm 
 He held the thunder: but the monarch owes 
 His firm stability to what he scorns. 
 More fix'd below, the more disturb'd above. 
 The law, by which all creatures else are boimd, 385 
 Binds man, the Lord of all. Himself derives 
 No mean advantage from a kindred cause, 
 From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease. 
 2* 
 
18 THJE TASK. 
 
 The sedentary stretch their lazy length 
 
 When Custom bids, but no refreshment find, 31 
 
 For none they need: the lanquid eye, the check 
 
 Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunkj 
 
 And wither'd muscle, and the vapid soul. 
 
 Reproach their owner with that love of rest. 
 
 To which he forfeits e'en the rest he loves. 3: 
 
 Not such the alert and active. JMcasurc life 
 
 By its true worth, the comforts it affords. 
 
 And theirs alone seems worthy of the name. 
 
 Good health, and its associate in the most. 
 
 Good temper; spirits prompt to undertake, 4i 
 
 And not soon s^ient, though in an arduous task; 
 
 The pow'rs of fancy and strong thought are theirs; 
 
 E'en age itself seems privileg'd in them 
 
 With clear exemption from its own defects. 
 
 A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front 4i 
 
 The vet'ran shows, and, gracing a gray beard 
 
 With youthful smiles, descends toward the grave 
 
 Siirightly, and old almost without decay. 
 
 Like a coy maiden. Ease, when courted most. 
 Furthest retires^ — an idol, at whose shrine 4 
 
 Who oft 'nest sacrifice are favour'd least. 
 The love of Nature, and the scenes she draws, 
 Is nature's dictate. Strange! there should be foimd, 
 Who, self-imprison'd in their proud saloons. 
 Renounce the odours of the open field I 
 
 For the unscented fictions of the loom; 
 Who, satisfied with only pencill'd Scenes, 
 Prefer to the performance of a God 
 Th' inferiour wonders of artist's hand! 
 Lovely indeed the mimick works of Art; i 
 
 But Nature s w oiks fiir lovelier. I admire, 
 None more admires the painter's magick. skill; 
 Who shows me that which I shall never sec, 
 Conveys a distant country into mine, 
 And thrOAVs Italian light on English wa!i ' 
 
 But imitative .'•trnkcs ran do no more 
 
THE SOFA. i 9 
 
 Tiiau please the eye — sweet Nature's ev'ry sense. 
 
 The air salubrious of her lofty hills. 
 
 The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales. 
 
 And musick of her woods — no works of man 430 
 
 May rival these, these all bespeak a pow'r 
 
 Peculiar, and exclusively her own. 
 
 Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast; 
 
 'Tis free to all — 'tis ev'ry day renew'd; 
 
 Who scorns it starves deservedly at home. 435 
 
 He does not scorn it, who, imprison'd long 
 
 In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey 
 
 To sallow sickness, which the vapours, dank 
 
 And clammy, of his dark abode have bred. 
 
 Escapes at last to liberty and light: 440 
 
 His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue; 
 
 His eye relumines its extinguish'd fires; 
 
 He walks, he leaps, he runs — is wing'd with joy^ 
 
 And riots in the sweets of ev'ry breeze. 
 
 He does not scorn it, who has long endur'd 415 
 
 A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs. 
 
 Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflam'd 
 
 With acrid salts; his very heart athirst. 
 
 To gaze at Nature in her green array. 
 
 Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possess'd 450 
 
 With visions prompted by intense desire; 
 
 Fair fields appear below, such as he left 
 
 Far distant, such as he would die to find — 
 
 He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. 
 
 The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns; 455 
 The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown. 
 And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort. 
 And mar, the face of Beauty, when no cause 
 For such immeasurable wo appears. 
 These Flora banishes, and gives the fair 460 
 
 Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own. 
 It is the constant revolution, stale 
 And tasteless, of the same repeated joys, 
 That palls and satiates, and makes lanquid life 
 
20 THE TASK. 
 
 A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down. 465 
 
 Health suffers, and the spirits ebb, the heart 
 
 Recoils from its own choice — at the full feast 
 
 Is famish'd — finds no musick in the song, 
 
 No smartness in the jest; and wonders why. 
 
 Yet thousands still desire to journey on, 470 
 
 Though halt, and weary of the path they tread. 
 
 The paralytick, who can hold her cards. 
 
 But canuot play them, borrows a friend's hand. 
 
 To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort 
 
 Her mingled suits and sequences; and sits, 475 
 
 Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad 
 
 And silent cipher, while her proxy plays. 
 
 Others are dragg'd into a crowded room 
 
 Between supporters; and, once seated, sit. 
 
 Through downright inability to rise, 480 
 
 Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again. 
 
 These speak a loud memento. Yet e'en these 
 
 Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he 
 
 That overhangs a torrent, to a twig. 
 
 They love it, yet loathe it; fear to die, 485 
 
 Yet scorn the purposes for which they live. 
 
 Then wherefore not renounce them? No — the dread, 
 
 The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds 
 
 Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame, 
 
 And their invet'rate habits, all forbid. 490 
 
 Whom call we gay? That honour has been long 
 The boast of mere pretenders to the name. 
 The innocent are gay — the lark is gay. 
 That dries his feathers, saturate with dew, 
 Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams 495 
 
 Of day spring overshoot his himable nest. 
 The peasant too, a witness of his song. 
 Himself a songster, is as gay as he. 
 
 But save me from the gayety of those. 
 Whose headachs nail them to a noonday bed; 500 
 
 And save me too from theirs, whose haggard eyes 
 Flash desperation, and betray their pangs 
 
THE SOFA. 21 
 
 For property stripp'd off by cruel chance; 
 From sayety, that fills the bones with pain. 
 The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with wo. 50S 
 
 The earth was made so various, that the mind 
 Of desultory man, studious of change. 
 And pleas'd with novelty, might be indulg'd. 
 Prospects, however lovely, may be seen 
 Till half their beauties fade: the weary sight 51Q 
 
 Too well acquainted witli their smiles, slides off. 
 Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes. 
 Then snug enclosures in the sheltered vale. 
 Where frequent hedges intercept the eye. 
 Delight us; happy to renomice awhile, 515 
 
 Not senseless of its charms, what still we love, , 
 That such short absence may endear it more. 
 Then forests, or the savage rock, may please. 
 That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts 
 Above the reach of man. His hoary head, 520 
 
 Conspicuous many a league, the mariner 
 Bound homeward, and in hope already there. 
 Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist 
 A girdle of half-wither'd shrubs he shows. 
 And at his feet the baffled billows die. 625 
 
 The common, overgrown with fern, and rough 
 With prickly gorse, that, shapeless and deform'd, 
 And dang'rous to the touch, has yet its bloom. 
 And decks itself with ornaments of gold. 
 Yields no unpleasing ramble; there the turf 530 
 
 Smells fresh, and, rich in odorif 'rous herbs 
 And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense 
 With luxury of unexpected sweets. 
 
 There often wanders one, whom better days 
 Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimm'd 535. 
 
 With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound, 
 A serving maid was she, and fell in love 
 With one who left her, went to sea, and died. 
 Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves 
 To distant shores; and she would sit and weep 540 
 
22 THE TASK. 
 
 At what a sailor suffers; fancy too, 
 
 Delusive most where warmest wishes arc, 
 
 Would oft anticipate his glad return. 
 
 And dream of transports she was not to know. 
 
 She heard the doleful tidings of his death — 545 
 
 And never smil'd again! and now she roams 
 
 The dreary waste; there spends the livelong day. 
 
 And there, unless when charity forbids. 
 
 The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides, 
 
 Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown 550 
 
 More tatter'd still; and both but ill conceal 
 
 A bosom hcav'd with never-ceasing sighs. 
 
 She begs an idle pin of all she meets. 
 
 And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food. 
 
 Though press'd with hunger oft, or comlier clothes, 555 
 
 Though pinch'd with cold, asks never. — Kate is craz'd • 
 
 I see a column of slow rising smoke 
 O'ertop the lofty wood, that skirts the wild. 
 A vagabond and useless tribe there eat 
 Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung 560 
 
 Between two poles upon a stick tranverse. 
 Receives the morsel — flesh obscene of dog. 
 Or vermin, or at best of cock pxirloin'd 
 From his accustom'd perch. Hard faring race! 
 They pick their fuel out of ev'ry hedge, 565 
 
 Which, kindled with dry leares, just saves unquench'd 
 The spark of life. The sportive wind blovif^ wide 
 Their flutt'ring rags, and shows a tawny skin. 
 The vellum of the pedigree they claim. 
 Great skill have they in palmistry, and more 570 
 
 To conjure clean away the gold they touch. 
 Conveying worthless dross into its place; 
 Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. 
 Strange! that a creatm'e rational, and cast 
 In hiunan mould, should brutalize by choice 575 
 
 His nature; and, though capable of arts. 
 By Avhich tiie world might profit, and himself 
 Sclf-banish'd from society, prefer 
 
THE SOFA. 23 
 
 Such squalid sloth to honourable toil! 
 
 Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft 5S0 
 
 They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, 
 
 And Vex their flesh with artificial sores. 
 
 Can change their whine into a mirthful note, 
 
 When safe occasion ofiers; and with dance. 
 
 And musick of the bladder and the bag, 585 
 
 Beguile their woes, and make the woods resoimd. 
 
 Such health and gayety of heart enjoy 
 
 The houseless rovers of the sylvan world; 
 
 And, breathing wholesome air, and wand'ring nftuch. 
 
 Need other physick none to heal th' effects 590 
 
 Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold. 
 
 Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd 
 By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure. 
 Where man by nature fierce, has laid aside 
 His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to leam^, 595 
 The manners and the arts of civil life. 
 His wants indeed are many; but supply 
 Is obvious, plac'd within the easy reach 
 Of temp'rate wishes and industrious hands. 
 Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil; 600 
 
 Not rude and sm-ly, and beset with thorns. 
 And terrible to sight, as when she springs, 
 (If e'er she spring spontaneous,) in remote 
 And barb'rous climes, where violence prevails. 
 And strength is lord of all; but gentle, kind, 605 
 
 By culture tam'd, by liberty refresh'd, 
 And all her fruits by radiant truth matur'd. 
 War and the chase engross the savage whole; 
 War follow'd for revenge or to supplant 
 The envied tenants of some happier spot: 610 
 
 The chase for sustenance, precarious trust! 
 His hard condition with severe constraint 
 Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth 
 Of wisdom, proves a school, in which he learns 
 Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate, 615 
 
 Mean self- attachment, and scarce aught beside. 
 
24 Tilt TASK. 
 
 Thus fare the shiv'ring natives of the nortli, 
 
 Aud thus the rangers of the western world, 
 
 Where it advances far into the deep, 
 
 Tow'rds the antarctick. E'en the favour'd isles 620 
 
 So lately found, although the constant sun 
 
 Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile. 
 
 Can boast but little virtue; and inert 
 
 Through plenty, lose in niorals what they gain 
 
 In manners — victims of luxurious case. 625 
 
 These therefore I can pity, plac'd remote 
 
 From all that science traces, art invents, 
 
 Or inspiration teaches; and enclos'd 
 
 In boundless oceans never to be pass'd 
 
 By navigators uninform'd as they, 630 
 
 Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again. 
 
 But far beyond the rest, and with most cause. 
 
 Thee, gentle savage!* whom no love of thee 
 
 Or thine, but cui'iosity perhaps. 
 
 Or else vain glory, prompted us to draw 635 
 
 Forth from thy nature bow'rs, to show thee here 
 
 With what superiour skill we can abuse • 
 
 The gifts of Providence, and squander life. 
 
 The dream is past; and thou hast found again 
 
 Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, 640 
 
 And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast thou 
 
 found 
 Their former charms? And, having seen our state, 
 Our palaces, our ladies, and our pornp 
 Of equipage, our gardens, and our spoi'ts. 
 And heard our musick; are thy simple friends, 645 
 
 Thy simple fare, and all plain delights. 
 As dear to thee at once? And have thy joys 
 Lost nothing by comparison with ours? 
 Rude as thou art, (for we return'd thee rude 
 And ignorant, except of outward show,) 650 
 
 I tjannot think thee yet so dull of heart 
 And spiritless, as never to regret 
 
THE SOFA. 25 
 
 Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. 
 
 Methinks I see thee straying on the beach, 
 
 And asking of the surge, that bathes thy foot, 655 
 
 If ever it has wash'd our distant shore. 
 
 I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, 
 
 A patriot's for his country: thou art sad 
 
 At thought of her forlorn and abject state. 
 
 From which no pow'r of thine can raise her up. 660 
 
 Thus fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err. 
 
 Perhaps errs little, when she paints thee thus. 
 
 She tells me too, that duly ev'ry morn 
 
 Thou climb'st the mountain top, with eager eye 
 
 Exploring far and wide the wat'ry waste 665 
 
 For sight of ship from England. Ev'ry speck 
 
 Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale 
 
 With conflict of contending hopes and fears. 
 
 But comes at last the dull and dusky eve. 
 
 And sends thee to thy cabin, well prepar'd 670 
 
 To dream all night of what the day denied. 
 
 Alas! expect it not. We found no bait 
 
 To tempt us in thy country. Doing good. 
 
 Disinterested good, is not our trade. 
 
 We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought; 675 
 
 And must be brib'd to compass Earth again 
 
 By other hopes and richer fruits than yours. 
 
 But though true worth and virtue in the mild 
 And genial soil of cultivated life 
 
 Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, 680 
 Yet not in cities oft: in proud, and gay, 
 And gain- devoted cities. Thither flow. 
 As to a common and most noisome sewer. 
 The dregs and feculence of every land. 
 In cities, foul example on most minds 685 
 
 Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds. 
 In gross and pamper'd cities, sloth, and lust, 
 Audi wantonness, and gluttonous SKcess. 
 In cities, vice is hidden with most ease. 
 Or seen with least reproach; and virtue, taught 690 
 Vol. II.— 3 
 
26 THE TASK. 
 
 By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there 
 
 Beyond th' achievement of successful flight. 
 
 I do confess them nui'series of the arts. 
 
 In which they flourish most; where, in the beams 
 
 Of warm encouragement, and in the eye 695 
 
 Of publick note, they reach their perfect size. 
 
 Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'd 
 
 The fairest capital of all the world. 
 
 By riot and incontinence the worst. 
 
 There touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes 700 
 
 A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees 
 
 All her reflected features. Bacon there 
 
 Gives more than female beauty to a stone. 
 
 And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips. 
 
 Nor does the chisel occupy alone 705 
 
 The pow'rs of sculptm'e, but the style as much; 
 
 Each province of her art her equal care. 
 
 With nice incision of her guided steel 
 
 She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil 
 
 So sterile with what charms soe'er she will, 710 
 
 The richest scenery and the loveliest forms. 
 
 Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye. 
 
 With Avhich she gazes at yon burning disk 
 
 Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots.'' 
 
 In London. Where her implements exact, 715 
 
 With which she calculates, computes, and scans. 
 
 All distance, motion, magnitude, and now 
 
 Measures an atom, and now girds a world? 
 
 In London. Where has commerce such a mart. 
 
 So rich, so throug'd, so drain'd, and so supplied, 720 
 
 As London — opulent, enlarg'd, and still 
 
 Increasing London? Babylon of old 
 
 Not more the glory of the Earth, than she, 
 
 A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now. 
 
 She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two, 725 
 That so much beauty would do well to purge; 
 And show this queen of cities, that so fair. 
 May yet be foul; so witty, yet not wise. 
 
THE SOFA. 27 
 
 It is not seemly, nor of good report. 
 That she is slack in discipline; more prompt 730 
 
 T' avenge than to prevent the breach of law: 
 That she is rigid in denouncing death 
 On petty robbers, and indidges life. 
 And liberty, and ofttimes honour too. 
 To peculators of the public gold: 735 
 
 That thieves at home must hang; but he that puts 
 Into his overgorg'd and bloated purse 
 The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes. 
 Nor is it well, nor can it come to good. 
 That, through profane and infidel contempt 740 . 
 
 Of holy writ, she has presum'd t' annul 
 And abrogate, as roundly as she may. 
 The total ordinance and will of God; 
 Advancing Fashion to the post of Truth, 
 And centring all authority in modes 745 
 
 And customs of her own, till sabbath rites 
 Have dwindled into unrespected forms. 
 And knees and hassocks are well-nigh divorc'd. 
 
 God made the country, and man made the town. 
 What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts 750 
 That can alone make sweet the bitter draught 
 That life holds out to all, should most abound 
 And least be threaten'd in the fields and groves? 
 Possess ye, therefore, ye who, borne about 
 In chai'iots and sedans, know no fatigue 755 
 
 But that of idleness, and taste no scenes 
 But such as art contrives, possess ye still 
 Your element, there only can ye shine; 
 There only minds like yours can do no harm. 
 Our groves were planted to console at noon 760 
 
 The pensive wand'rer in their shades. At eve 
 The moon-beam, sliding softly in between 
 The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish. 
 Birds warbling all the musick. We can spare 
 The splendour of your lamps; they but eclipse 765 
 
 Our softer satellite. Your songs confound 
 
28 THE TASK. 
 
 Our more harmonious notes: the thrush departs 
 Scar'd, and th' offended nightingale is mute. 
 There is a publick mischief in your mirth; 
 It plagues your country. Folly such as yours, 
 Grac'd with a sword, and worthier of a fan. 
 Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done. 
 Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you, 
 A mutilated structure soon to fall. 
 
THE TASK. 
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 
 
 ARGUMENT OP THE SECOND BOOK. 
 
 Reflections suggested by the conclusion of the foimer book- 
 Peace among the nations recommended on the ground of their 
 common fellowship in sorrow — Prodigies enumerated— Sicilian 
 earthquakes — Man rendered obnoxious to these calamities by 
 sin— God the agent in them— The philosophy that stops at 
 secondary causes reproved— Our own late miscarriages ac- 
 counted for — Satirical notice taken of our trips to Fontain- 
 bleau— But the pulpit, not satire, the proper engine of refor- 
 mation—The Reverend Advertiser of engraved sermons— Pe- 
 tit maitre parson— The good preacher — Picture of a theatrical 
 clerical coxcomb-^ Story-tellers and jesters in the pulpit re- 
 proved — Apostrophe to popular applause — Retailers of an- 
 cient philosophy expostulated with — Sum of the whole mat- 
 ter — Effects of sacerdotal mismanagement on the laity—Their 
 folly and extravagance — The mischiefs of profusion — Profu- 
 sion itself, with all its consequent evils, ascribed, as to its prin- 
 cipal cause, to the want of discipline in the universities. 
 
 O FOR a lodge in some vast wilderness. 
 Some boimdless contiguity of shade. 
 Where rumour of oppression and deceit. 
 Of unsuccessful or successful war. 
 Might never reach me more! My ear is pain'd. 
 My soul is sick with ev'ry day's report 
 Of wrong and outrage with which earth is iill'd. 
 There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart; 
 It does not feel for man; the natural bond 
 Of brotherhood is sever'd, as the flax, 
 3* 
 
30 THE TASK. 
 
 That falls asunder at the touch of fire - 
 He finds his fellow guilty of a skin 
 Not colour'd like his own; and having pow'r 
 T' enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause 
 Dooms and devotes him as a lawful prey. 
 Lands intersected by a narrow frith 
 Abhor each other. Mountains interpos'd 
 Make enemies of nations, who had else 
 Like kindred drops been mingled into one. 
 Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys; 
 And worse than all, and most to be deplor'd. 
 And himian nature's broadest, foulest blot. 
 Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat 
 With stripes, that Mercy with a bleeding heart. 
 Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. 
 Then what is man? And what man, seeing this. 
 And having human feelings., does not blush. 
 And hang his head, to think himself a man? 
 I would not have a slave to till my ground, 
 To carry me, to fan me while I sleep. 
 And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 
 That sinews bought and sold have ever earu'd. 
 No: dear as freedom is, and in my heart's 
 Just estimation priz'd above all price, 
 I had much rather be myself the slave, 
 And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 
 We have no slaves at home. — Then why abroad.'* 
 And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave 
 That parts us, are emancipate and loos'd. 
 Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs 
 Receive our air, that moment they are free; 
 They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 
 That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
 And jealous of the blessing. Spread it, then. 
 And let it circulate through ev'ry vein 
 Of all your empire: that, where Britain's pow'r 
 h felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. 
 Sure there is need of social intercoui'se, 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 31 
 
 Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid. 
 
 Between tlie nations, in a world that seems 50 
 
 To toll the death-bell of its own decease, 
 
 And by the voice of all its elements 
 
 To preach the gen'ral doom.* When were the winds 
 
 Let slip with such a warrant to destroy? 
 
 When did the waves so haughtily O'erleap 65 
 
 Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry? 
 
 Fires from beneath, and meteorsf from above, 
 
 Portentous, unexampled, unexplain'd. 
 
 Have kindled beacons in the skies; and th' old 
 
 And crazy Earth has had her shaking fits 60 
 
 More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. 
 
 Is it a time to wrangle, when the props 
 
 And pillars of our planet seem to fail. 
 
 And Nature with a dim and sickly eye:}: 
 
 To wait the close of all? But grant her end 65 
 
 IMore distant, and that prophecy demands 
 
 A longer respite, unaccomplish'd yet; 
 
 Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak 
 
 Displeasure in his breast who smites the Earth 
 
 Or heals it, makes it languish or rejoice. 70 
 
 And 'tis but seemly, that, where all deserve 
 
 And stand expos'd by common peccancy 
 
 To what no few have felt, there should be peace. 
 
 And brethren in calamity should love. 
 
 Alas for Sicily! rude fragments now 75 
 
 Lie scatter'd, where the shapely columns stood. 
 Her palaces are dust. In all her streets 
 The voice of singing and the sprightly chord 
 Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show, 
 Suifer a syncope and solemn pause; 80 
 
 While God performs upon the trembling stage* 
 Of his own works his dreadful part alone. 
 How does the earth receive him? with what signs, 
 
 * Alluding to the calamities in Jamaica. 
 + August 18, 1783. 
 
 t Alluding to the fog that covertd both Europe- and Asia din- 
 ing the whole summei of 1783. 
 
32 THE TASK. 
 
 Of gratulation and delight her kiug? 
 
 Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad, 85 
 
 Her sweetest flow'rs, her aromatick gums. 
 
 Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads? 
 
 She quakes at his approach. Her hollow womb. 
 
 Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps 
 
 And fiery caverns roars beneath his foot. 90 
 
 The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke. 
 
 For he has touch'd them. From th' extremest point 
 
 Of elevation down into the abyss 
 
 His wrath is busy, and his frown is felt. 
 
 The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise, 95 
 
 The rivers die into offensive pools. 
 
 And, charg'd with putrid verdure, breathe a gross 
 
 And mortal nuisance into all the air. 
 
 What solid was, by transformation strange. 
 
 Grows fluid; and the fix'd rooted earth, 100 
 
 Tormented into billoAVS, heaves and swells. 
 
 Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl 
 
 Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense 
 
 The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs 
 
 And agonies of human and of bmte 105 
 
 Multitudes, fugitive on ev'ry side. 
 
 And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene 
 
 Migrates uplifted: and, with all its soil 
 
 Alighting in far distant fields, finds out 
 
 A new possessor, and survives the change. 110 
 
 Ocean has caught the frenzy, and upwrought 
 
 To an enormous and o'erbearmg height. 
 
 Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice 
 
 Which winds and waves obey, invades the shove 
 
 Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, 1^5 
 
 Upridg'd.so high, and sent on such a chai'ge, 
 
 Possess'd an inland scene Where now the throng 
 
 That press'd the beach, and, hasty to depart, 
 
 Look'd to the sea for safety? They are gone. 
 
 Gone with the refluent wave into the deep — 120 
 
 A prince with half his people! Ancient tow'rs. 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 33 
 
 And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes 
 
 Where beauty oft and letter' d worth consume 
 
 Life in the unproductive shades of death. 
 
 Fall prone: the pale inhabitants come forth, 126 
 
 And, happy in their unforeseen release 
 
 From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy 
 
 The terrours of the day that sets them free. 
 
 Who, then, that has thee, would not hold thee fast. 
 
 Freedom! whom they that lose thee so regret, 130 
 
 That e'en a judgment, making way for thee. 
 
 Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake? 
 
 Such evil Sin hath wrought; and such a flame 
 
 Kindled in Heav'n, that it burns down to Earth, 
 
 And in the furious inquest that it makes 135 
 
 On Gcd's behalf, lays waste his fairest works. 
 
 The very elements, though each he meant 
 
 The minister of man, to serve his wants. 
 
 Conspire against him. With his breath he draws 
 
 A plague into his blood; and cannot Use 140 
 
 Life's necessary means, but he must die. 
 
 Storms rise t' o'erwhelm him; or if stormy winds 
 
 Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise. 
 
 And, needing none assistance of the storm. 
 
 Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there. 143 
 
 The earth shall shake him out of all his holds. 
 
 Or make his house his grave: nor so content. 
 
 Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood. 
 
 And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs. 
 
 What then! — were they the wicked above all, 160 
 
 And we the righteous, whose fast-anchor'd isle 
 
 Mov'd not, while theirs was rock'd, like a light skiflp. 
 
 The sport of every wave.'' No; none are clear. 
 
 And none than we more guilty. But, where all 
 
 Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts 155 
 
 Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark: 
 
 May punish, if he please, the less, to warn 
 
 The more malignant. If he spar'd not them, 
 
34 THE TASK. 
 
 Tremble and be amaz'd at thine escape. 
 Far guiltier England, lest he spare not thee! 
 Happy the man, who sees a God employ 'd 
 In all the good and ill that checker life! 
 Resolving all events, with their effects 
 And manifold results, into the will 
 And arbitration wise of the Supreme. 
 Did not his eye rule all things, and intend 
 The least of our concerns; (since from the least 
 The greatest oft originate;) could chance 
 Find place in his dominion, or dispose 
 One lawless particle to thwart his plan; 
 Then God might be surpris'd, and unforeseen 
 Contingence might alarm him, and disturb 
 The smooth and equal course of his affairs. 
 This truth. Philosophy, though eagle-ey'd 
 In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks; 
 And, having found his instrument, forgets. 
 Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still. 
 Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims 
 His hot displeasure against foolish men. 
 That live an atheist life;, involves the Heavens 
 In tempests; quits his grasp upon the winds. 
 And gives them all their fury; bids a plague 
 Kindle a fiery bile upon the skin. 
 And putrefy the breath of blooming Health. 
 He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend 
 Blows mildew from between his shrivell'd lips. 
 And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines. 
 And desolates a nation at a blast. 
 Forth steps the spruce Philosopher, and tells 
 Of homogeneal and discordant springs, 
 And principles; of causes how they work 
 By necessary laws their sure effects 
 Of action and reaction: he has found 
 The source of the disease that nature feels. 
 And bids the world take heart and banish fear. 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 35 
 
 Thou fool? will thy discov'ry of the cause 
 
 Suspend th' effect, or heal it? Has not God 
 
 Still wrought by means since first he made the world? 
 
 And did ho not of old employ his means 
 
 To drown it? What is his creation less, 200 
 
 Than a capacious reservoir of means, 
 
 Form'd for his use, and ready at his will? 
 
 Go, dress thine eyes with eye- salve; ask of Him, 
 
 Or ask of whomsoever he has taught; 
 
 And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. 205 
 
 England, with all thy faults, I love thee still — 
 My country! and, while yet a ncok is left. 
 Where English minds and manners may be foimd. 
 Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime 
 Be fickle, and thy year most part deform 'd 210 
 
 With dripping rains, or wither 'd by a frost, 
 I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies. 
 And fields without a flow'r, for warmer France 
 With all her vines: nor for Ausonia's groves 
 Of golden^ruitage, and her myrtle bow'rs. 215 
 
 To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime 
 Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire 
 Upoa thy foes, was never meant my task: 
 But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake 
 Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart 220 
 
 As any thund'rer there. And I can feel 
 Thy follies too; and with a just disdain 
 Frown at effeminates, whose very looks 
 Reflect dishonour on the land I love. 
 How in the nacoe of soldiership and sense, 225 
 
 Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth 
 And tender as a girl, all essenc'd o'er 
 With odours, and as profligate as sweet; 
 Who sell their laurel for a mirtle wreath. 
 And love when they should fight: when such as these 
 Presume to lay their hand upon the ark 231 
 
 Of her magnificent and awful cause? 
 Time was when it was praise and boast enough 
 
36 THE TASK. 
 
 In every clime, and travel where we might. 
 
 That we were born her children. Praise enough ; 
 
 To fill th' ambition of a private man 
 
 That Chatham's language was his mother- tongue. 
 
 And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. 
 
 Farewell those honours, and farewell with them 
 
 The hope of such hereafter! They have fall'n ! 
 
 Each in his field of glory; one in arms. 
 
 And one in council — Wolfe upon the lap 
 
 Of smiling Victory that moment won. 
 
 And Chatham heart sick of his country's shame! 
 
 They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still ' 
 
 Consulting England's happiness at home, 
 
 Secur'd it by an unforgiving frown. 
 
 If any wrong'd her. Wolfe, where'er he fought, 
 
 Put so much of his heart into liis act. 
 
 That his example had a magnet's force, ! 
 
 And all were swift to follow whom all lov'd. 
 
 Those suns are set. O rise some other such! 
 
 Or all that we have left is empty talk 
 
 Of old achievements and despair of new. 
 
 Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float ' 
 Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck 
 With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets. 
 That no rude savour maritime invade 
 The nose of nice nobility! Breathe soft. 
 Ye clarionets; and softer still, ye flutes; ' 
 
 That winds and waters, luH'd by mugick sounds, 
 May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore. 
 True, we have lost an empire — let it pass. 
 True, we may thank the perfidy of France, 
 That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown, ! 
 
 With all the cunning of an envious shrew. 
 And let that pass— 'twas but a trick of state — 
 A h rave man knows no malice, but at once 
 Forgets in peace the injuries of war, 
 And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace. ! 
 
 And shara'd as we have been, to th* very beard 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 37 
 
 Brav'd and defied, and in our own sea prov'd 
 
 Too weak for those decisive blows that once 
 
 Ensur'd us mast'ry there, we yet retain 
 
 Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast 275 
 
 At least superiour jockeyship, and claim 
 
 The honours of the turf as all our own! 
 
 Go, then, well worthy of the praise ye seek. 
 
 And show the shame ye might conceal at home. 
 
 In foreign eyes! — be grooms and win the plate, 280 
 
 Where once your nobler fathers won the crown! — 
 
 'Tis gen'rous to commimicate your skill 
 
 To those that need it. Folly is soon leam'd! 
 
 And under such preceptors who can fail? 
 
 There is a pleasure in poetick pains, 285 
 
 Which only poets know. The shifts and turns, 
 Th' expedients and inventions multiform. 
 To which the mind resorts, in chase of term§. 
 Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win— 
 T' arrest the fleeting images, that fill 290 
 
 The mirror of the mind and hold them fast. 
 And force them sit, till he has pencil'd off 
 A faithful likeness of the forms he views; 
 Then to dispose his copies with such art, 
 That each may find its most propitious light, 295 
 
 And shine by situation, hardly less 
 Than by the labour and the skill it cost; 
 Are occupations of the poet's mind 
 So pleasing, and that steal away the thought. 
 With such address from themes of sad import, 300 
 
 That, lost in his own musings, happy man! 
 He feels the anxieties of life denied 
 Their wonted entertainment; all retire. 
 Such joys has he that sings. But ah! not such, 
 Or seldom such, the hearers of his song. 305 
 
 Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps 
 Aware of nothing arduous in a task 
 They never undertook, they little note 
 His dangers or escapes, and haply find 
 
 Vol. 1L~4 
 
38 THE TASK- 
 
 Thelr least amusement where he found the most. 310 
 
 But is amusement all? Studious of song. 
 
 And yet ambitious not to sing in vain, 
 
 I would not trifle merely, though the world 
 
 Be loudest in their praise who do no more. 
 
 Yet what can satire, v/hether grave or gay? 315 
 
 It may correct a foible, may chastise 
 
 The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress, 
 
 Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch; 
 
 But where are its sublimer trophies found? 
 
 What vice has it subdued? whose heart reclaim'd 320 
 
 By rigour, or whom laugh'd into reform? 
 
 Alas! Leviathan is not so tam'd. 
 
 liaugh*d at, he laughs again; and stricken hard> 
 
 Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales. 
 
 That fear no discipline of human hands. 325 
 
 The pulpit, therefore — (and I name it fill'd 
 With solemn awe, that bids me well beware j 
 
 With what intent I touch that holy thing) — 
 The pulpit — (when the sat'rist has at last, 
 Sti'utting and vap'ring in an empty school, 330 
 
 Spent all his force, and made no proselyte) — 
 I say the pulpit (in the sober use 
 Of its legitimate peculiar pow'rs) 
 
 Must stand acknowledg'd, while the world shall stand. 
 The most important and effectual guard, 335 
 
 Support, and ornament, of Virtue's cause. 
 There stands the messenger of truth; there stands 
 The legate of the skies! — His theme divine. 
 His office sacred, his credentials clear. 
 By him the violated law speaks out 340 
 
 Its thunders: and by him, in strains so sweet 
 As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace. 
 He 'stabliahes the strong, restores the tv^eafc. 
 Reclaims the wand'rer, binds the broken heart. 
 And, armd himself in panoply complete 345 
 
 Of heav'nly temper, furnishes with arms 
 Bright a3 hjs o^vn, and trauis by eveiy rule 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 39 
 
 Of holy discipline, to glorious wax- 
 The sacramental host of God's elect: B49 
 
 Are all sucli teacliers? would to Heav'n all were? 
 But hark — the doctor's voice! — fast wedg'd between 
 •Two empiricks he stands, and with swoln cheeks 
 Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far 
 Than all invective is his bold harangue. 
 While through that public organ of report 355 
 
 He hails the clergy; and, defying shame. 
 Announces to the world his own and theirs! 
 He teaches those to read whom schools dismissM, 
 And colleges, untaught: sells accent, tone, i 
 
 And emphasis in score, and gives to pray'r 360 
 
 Th' adagio and andante it demands. 
 He grinds divinity of other days 
 Down into modern use; transforms old print 
 To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes 
 Of gall'ry critics by a thousand arts, _ 366 
 
 Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware? 
 O, name it not in Gath! — it cannot be. 
 That grave and learned clerks should need such aid. 
 He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll. 
 Assuming thus a rank unknown before — 370 
 
 Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the church! 
 I venerate the man, whose heart is warm? 
 Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life. 
 Coincident, exhibit lucid proof 
 
 That he is honest in the sacred cause. 375 
 
 To such I render more than mere respect. 
 Whose actions say that they respect themselves. 
 But loose in morals and in manners vain. 
 In conversation frivolous, in dress 
 
 Elxtreme, at once rapacious and profuse; 380 
 
 Frequent in park with lady at his side. 
 Ambling and prattling scandel as he goes; 
 But rare at home, and never at his books, 
 Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card; 
 Constant at TOiits, familial' witb a round 386 
 
40 THE TASK. 
 
 Of ladyships, a stranger to the poor; 
 
 Ambitious of preferment for its gold, 
 
 And well prepared by ignorance and sloth, 
 
 By infidelity and love of world. 
 
 To make God's work a sinecure; a slave 3 
 
 To his own pleasures and his patron's pride; 
 
 Prom such apostles, O yc mitred heads, 
 
 Preserve the church! and lay not careless hands 
 
 On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn. 
 
 Would I describe a preacher such as Paul, 3 
 
 Were he on Earth, would hear, approve, and own, 
 Paul should himself direct me. I would trace 
 His master-strokes, and draw from his design. 
 I would express him simple, grave, sincere; 
 In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain, 4 
 
 And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste. 
 And natural in gesture; much impress'd 
 Himself, as conscious of his awful charge. 
 And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds 
 May feel it too; aflfectionate in look, 4 
 
 And tender in address, as well becomes 
 A messenger of grace to guilty men. 
 Behold the picture! — Is it like? — Like whom! 
 The things that mount the rostrum with a skip. 
 And then skip down again; pronounce a text; ' 
 
 Cry — hem; and reading what they never wrote 
 Just fifteen minutes; huddle up their Avork, 
 And with a well-bred whisper close the scene! 
 
 In man or woman, but far most in man. 
 And most of all in man that ministers ^, 
 
 And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe 
 All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn; 
 Object of my implacable disgust. 
 What! — will a man play tricks — will he indulge 
 A silly fond conceit of his fair form, ^. 
 
 And just proportion, fashionable mien. 
 And pretty face, in presence of his God? 
 Or will he «cek to dazzle me with tropos, 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 41 
 
 As with the diamond on his liUy hand, 
 And play his brilliant parts before my eyee, 425 
 
 When I am hungry for the bread of life? 
 He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
 His noble office, and, instead of truth. 
 Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock. 
 Therefore avaunt all attitude and stare, 430 
 
 And start theatrick, practis'd at the glass! 
 I seek divine simplicity in him 
 Who handles things divine; ,and all besides. 
 Though learn'd with labour, and though much admir'd 
 By curious eyes and judgment ill-form'd, 435 
 
 To me is odious as the nasal twang 
 Heard at the conventicle where worthy men. 
 Misled by custom, strain celestial themes 
 Through the press'd nostril, spectacle-bestrid. 
 Some, decent in demeanor while they preach, 440 
 
 That task perform'd, relapse into themselves; 
 And, having spoken wisely, at the close 
 Grow wanton, and give proof to ev'ry eye. 
 Whoe'er was edify'd, themselves were not! 
 Forth comes the pocket-mirror. First we stroke 445 
 An eye^browj next compose a straggling lock; 
 Then with an air most gracef&lly perroma'd^ 
 Fall back into our seat; extend an arm, 
 And lay it at its ease with gentle care, 
 With handkerchief in hand depending low; 450 
 
 The better hand more busy gives the nose 
 Its bergamot, or aids th' indebted eye 
 With op'ra glass, to watch the moving scene. 
 And recognise the slow retiring fair. — 
 Now this is fulsome; and oflFends me more 455 
 
 Than in a churchman slovenly neglect 
 And rustic coarseness would. A heavenly mind 
 May be indifferent to her house of clay. 
 And slight the hovel as beneatli her care; 
 But how a body so fantastic, trim, 460 
 
 4*' 
 
42 THE TASK. 
 
 And quaint, in its deportment and attire, 
 Can lodge a heav'nly mind — demands a doubt, 
 
 He that negotiates between God and man,. 
 As God's ambassador, the grand concerns 
 Of judgment and of mercy, should beware ^ 
 
 Of lightness in his speech. 'Tis pitiful 
 To court a grin, when you should woo a soul: 
 To break a jest, when pity would inspire 
 Pathetick exhortation; and t' address 
 The skittish fancy with facetious tales, ' 
 
 When sent with God's commission to the heart! 
 So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip 
 Or merry turn in all he ever wrote. 
 And I consent you take it for your text, , 
 Your only one till sides and benches fail. 
 No: he was serious in a serious cause. 
 And understood too well the weighty terms. 
 That he had ta'en in charge. He would not stooj^ 
 To conquer those by jocular exploits. 
 
 Whom truth and soberness assail'd in vain. 
 O Popular Applause! what heart of man 
 
 Is proof against thy sweet seducing charms? 
 
 The wisest and the best feel urgent need 
 
 Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales; 
 
 But swell'd into a gust — who, then, alas! 
 
 With all his canvass set, and inexpert. 
 
 And therefore heedless, can withstand thy pow'r? 
 
 Praise from the rivcU'd lips of toothless, bald 
 
 Decrepitude, and in the looks of lean 
 
 And craving Poverty, and in the bow 
 
 Respectful of the smutch'd artificer, 
 
 Is oft too welcome and may much disturb 
 
 The bias of the purpose. How much more, 
 
 Pour'd forth by beauty, splendid and polite. 
 
 In language soft as adoration breathes? 
 
 Ah, spare your idol, think him human still. 
 
 Charms he may have, but he has frailties too! 
 
 Dote not too much nox spoil what ye admire. 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 43 
 
 All truth is from the sempiternal source 
 Of light divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Roire, 500 
 Drew from the stream below. More favour 'd we 
 Drink when we choose it, at the fountain head. 
 To them it flow'd much mingled and defil'd 
 With hm-tful errour, prejudice, and dreams 
 Illusive of philosophy, so call'd, 505 
 
 But falsely. Sages after sages strove 
 In vain to filter off a crystal draught 
 Pure from the lees, which often more enhanc'd 
 The thirst than slak'd it, and not seldom bred 
 Intoxication and delirum wild. 510 
 
 In vain they push'd inquiry to the birth 
 And spring-time of the world; ask'd. Whence is man? 
 Why form'd at all? and wherefore as he is? 
 Where must he find his maker? with what rites 
 Adore him? Will he hear, accept and bless? 515 
 
 Or does he sit regardless of his works? 
 Has man within him an immortal seed? 
 Or does the tomb take all? If he survive 
 His ashes, where? and in what weal or wo? 
 Knots worthy of solution, Avhich alone 520 
 
 A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague 
 And all at random, fabulous and dark. 
 Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life 
 Defective and unsanction'd, prov'd too weak 
 To bind the roving appetite, and lead 525 
 
 Blind nature to a God not yet reveal'd. 
 'Tis revelation that satisfies all doubts. 
 Explains all mysteries, except her own. 
 And so illuminates the path of life 
 
 That fools discover it, and stray no more. 530 
 
 Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir. 
 My man of morals, nurtur'd in the shades 
 Of Academus — is this false or true? 
 Is Christ the abler teacher or the schools 
 If Christ, then why resort at ev'ry turn 535 
 
 To Athens, or to Rome, for wisdom short 
 
•44 THE TASK. 
 
 Of man's occasions, when in him reside 
 
 Grace, knowledge, comfort — an unfathom'd store? 
 
 How oft, when Panl has serv'd us with a text. 
 
 Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preach'd! 540 
 
 Men that, if now alive, would sit content 
 
 And humble learners of a Saviour's worth. 
 
 Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth. 
 
 Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too. 
 
 And thus it is, — The pastor, either vain 545 
 
 By nature, or by flatt'ry made so, taught 
 To gaze at his own splendour, and t' exalt 
 Absurdly, not his office, but himself; 
 Or unenlighten'd and too proud to learn; 
 Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach; 550 
 
 Perverting often by the stress of lewd 
 And loose examples, whom he should instruct; 
 Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace. 
 The noblest functions, and discredits much 
 The brightest truths that man has ever seen. 555 
 
 For ghostly counsel; if it either fall 
 Below the exigence, or be not back'd 
 With show of love, at least with hopeful proof 
 Of some sincerity on the giver's part; 
 Or be dishonour'd in th' exteriour form 560 
 
 And mode of its conveyance, by such tricks 
 As move derision, or by foppish airs 
 And histrionick mumm'ry that Let down 
 The pulpit to the level of the stage; 
 Drops from the lips a disregarded thing. 565 
 
 The weak perhaps are mov'd, but are not taught 
 While prejudice in men of stronger minds 
 Takes deeper root, confirm'd by what they see. 
 A relaxation of religion's hold 
 
 Upon the roving and uututor'd heart 570 
 
 Soon follows, and, the curb of conscience snapp'd 
 The laity run wild. But do they now? 
 Note their extravagance, and be convinc'd. 
 As nations, ignorant of God, contrive 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 45 
 
 A wooden one: so we, no longer taught 575 
 
 By monitors, that mother church supplies, 
 
 Now make our own. Posterity will ask, 
 
 (If e'er posterity see verse of mine,) 
 
 Some fifty or a hundred lustrums hence, 
 
 What was a monitor in George's days? 580 
 
 My very gentle reader, yet unborn. 
 
 Of whom I needs must augur better things, 
 
 Since Heav'n would sure grow weary of a world 
 
 Productive only of a race like ours, 
 
 A monitor is wood — a plank shaven thin. 585 
 
 We wear it at our backs. There, closely brac'd 
 
 And neatly fitted, it compresses hard 
 
 The prominent and most unsightly bones. 
 
 And binds the shoulder flat. We prove its use 
 
 Sov'reign and most effectual to secure 590 
 
 A form, not now gymnastick as of yore. 
 
 From rickets, and distortion, else our lot. 
 
 But thus admonish'd we can walk erect — 
 
 One proof at least of manhood! while the friend 
 
 Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his charge. 595 
 
 Our habits, costlier than Lucullus wore. 
 
 And by caprice as multiplied as his. 
 
 Just please us while the fashion is at full. 
 
 But change with ev'ry moon. The sycophant. 
 
 Who waits to dress ns, arbitrates their date; 600 
 
 Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye; 
 
 Finds one ill made, another obsolete. 
 
 This fits not nicely, that is ill conceiv'd; 
 
 And, making prize of all that he condemns. 
 
 With our expenditure defrays his own. 605 
 
 Variety's the very spice of life. 
 
 That gives it all its flavour. We have run 
 
 Through e'ry change, that Fancy at the loom 
 
 Exhausted, has had genius to svipply; 
 
 And studious of mutation still, discard 610 
 
 A real elegance, a little us'd. 
 
 For monstrous novelty and strange disguise. 
 
46 THE TASK. 
 
 We sacrifice to dress, till household joys 
 
 And- comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, 
 
 And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires; 616 
 
 And introduces hunger, frost, and wo. 
 
 Where peace and hospitality naight reign. 
 
 What man that lives, and that knows how to live. 
 
 Would fail to exhibit at the publick shows 
 
 A form as splendid as the proudest there, 620 
 
 Though appetite raise outcries at the cost'* 
 
 A man o' th' town dines late, but soon enough. 
 
 With reasonable forecast and despatch, 
 
 T' ensure a side box station at half price. 
 
 You think, perhaps, so delicate his dress, 626 
 
 His daily fare as delicate. Alas! 
 
 He picks clean teeth, and busy as he seems 
 
 With an old tavern quill, is hungry yet! 
 
 The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws 
 
 With magick wand. So potent is the spell, 630 
 
 That none, dccoy'd into that fatal ring. 
 
 Unless by Heav'n's peculiar grace, escape. 
 
 There we grow early gray, but never wise; 
 
 There form connexions, but acquire no friend; 
 
 Solicit pleasure, hopeless of success; 635 
 
 Waste youth in occupations onl}' fit 
 
 For second childhood, and devote old age 
 
 To sports, which only childhood could excuse. 
 
 There, they are happiest who dissemble best 
 
 Their weariness; and the)' the most polite 640 
 
 Who squander time and treasure with a smile. 
 
 Though at their own destruction. She that asks 
 
 Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all. 
 
 And hates their coming. They (what can they less?) 
 
 Make just reprisals; ' and with cringe and shrug, 646 
 
 And bow obsequious? hide their hate of her. 
 
 All catch the phreuzy, downward from her grace, 
 
 Whose flambeaux flash against the morning skies, 
 
 And. gild our chamber ceilings as they pass, 
 
 To her, who, frugal only that her thrift. 660 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 47 
 
 May feed excesses she can ill afford. 
 Is hackney'd home milackey'd; who in haste 
 Alighting, turns the key in her own door, 
 Andj at the watchman's lantern borrowing light, 
 Finds a cold bed her only comfort left. 655 
 
 Wives beggar husbands^ husbands starve their wives. 
 On Fortime's velvet altar off''ring up 
 Their last poor pittance — Fortune, most severe 
 Of goddesses yet known, and costlier far 
 Than all that held their routs in Jxmo's Heav'n* — 660 
 So fare we in this prison-house, the World; 
 And 'tis a fearftil spectacle to see 
 
 So many maniacks dancing in their chains. 
 They gaze upon the links, that hold them fast. 
 With eyes of anguish, execrate their lot, 665 
 
 Then shake them in despair, and dance again! 
 Now basket up the family of plagues. 
 
 That waste our vitals; peculation, sale 
 
 Of honour, perjury, corruption, frauds 
 
 By forgery, by subterfuge of law, 670 
 
 By tricks and lies as num'rous and as keen 
 
 As the necessities their authors feel: 
 
 Then cast them, closely bundled, ev'ry brat 
 
 At the right door. Profusion is the sire. 
 
 Profusion unrestrain'd, with all that's base 675 
 
 In character, has litter 'd all the land. 
 
 And bred, within the mem'ry of no few, 
 
 A priesthood, such as Baal's was of old, 
 
 A people, such as never was till now. 
 
 It is a hungry vice: — it eats up all 680 
 
 That gives society its beauty, strength, 
 
 Convenience, seciurity, and use: 
 
 Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapp'd 
 
 And gibbetted, as fast as catchpole claws 
 
 Can seize the slippery prey: unties the knot 685 
 
 Of miion, and converts the sacred band 
 
 That holds mankind together, to a scourge. 
 
 Profusion deluging a state with lusts 
 
48 THE TASK. 
 
 Of grossest nature and of worse eftects. 
 
 Prepares it for its ruin: hardens, blinds, 690 
 
 And warps, the consciences of public men, 
 
 Till they can laugh at Virtue; mock the fools 
 
 That trust them; and in th' end disclose a face. 
 
 That would have shock 'd Credulity herself, 
 
 Umnask'd, vouchsafing this their sole excuse — 695 
 
 Since all alike are selfish, why not they? 
 
 This does Profusion, and th' accursed cause 
 
 Of such deep mischief has itself a cause. 
 
 In colleges and halls in ancient days. 
 When learning, virtue, piety, and truth; 700. 
 
 Were precious and inculcated with care. 
 There dwelt a sage call'd Discipline. His head, 
 Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er. 
 Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth. 
 But strong for service still, and imimpair'd. 705 
 
 His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile 
 Play'd on his lips; and in his speech was heard 
 Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love. 
 The occupation dearest to his heart 
 Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke 710 
 The head of modest and ingenious worth. 
 That blush 'd at his own praise: and press the youth 
 Close to his side that pleas 'd him. Learning grew 
 Beneath his care, a thriving vig'rous plant; 
 The mind was well informed, the passions held 715 
 Subordinate, and diligence was choice. 
 If e'er it chanc'd, as sometimes chance it must. 
 That one among so many overleap 'd 
 The limits of control, his gentle eye 
 Grew stern, and darted a severe rebxike; 720 
 
 His frown was full of terrour, and his voice 
 Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe. 
 As left him not, till penitence had won 
 Lost favour back again, and clos'd the breach. 
 But Discipline, a faithful servant long, 725 
 
 Declin'd at length into the vale of years. 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 49 
 
 A palsy struck liis arm; his sparkling eye 
 Was quenched in rheums of age; his voice, unstrung. 
 Grew tremulous, and mdv'd derision more 
 Than rev'rence, in perverse rebellious youth. 730 
 
 So colleges and halls neglected much 
 Their good old friend; and Discipline at length, 
 O'erlook'd and unemploy'd fell sick and died. 
 Then Study languished. Emulation slept. 
 And Virtue fled. The schools became a scene 735 
 
 Of solemn farce, where Ignorance in stilts. 
 His cap well lin'd with logick not his own. 
 With parrot tongue perform'd the scholar's part, 
 Proceeding soon a graduated dunce. 
 Then compromise had place, and scrutiny 740 
 
 Became stone blind; precedence went in truck. 
 And he was competent whose purse was so. 
 A dissolution of all bounds ensued; 
 The curbs invented for the mulish mouth 
 Of headstrong youth were broken; bars and bolts 745 
 Grew rusty by disuse; and massy gates 
 Forgot their office, op'ning with a touch; 
 Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade. 
 The tassel'd cap and the spruce band a jest, 
 A mock'ry of the world! What need of these 750 
 For gamesters, jockeys, brothelers impure. 
 Spendthrifts, and booted, oft'ner seen 
 With belted waist and pointers at their heels, 
 Than in the bounds of duty? What Avas learn'd 
 If aught was learn'd in childhood, is forgot: 755 
 
 And such expense, as pinches parents blue. 
 And mortifies the lib'ral hand of love. 
 Is squander'd in pursuit of idle sports 
 And vicious pleasures; buys the boy a name 
 That sits a stigma on his father's house, 760 
 
 And cleaves through life inseparably close 
 To him that wears it. What can after games 
 Of riper joys, and commerce with the world. 
 Vol II.— 5 
 
50 THE TASK. 
 
 The lewd, vain world, that mast receive him soon. 
 
 Add to such erudition, thus acquired, 765 
 
 Where science and where virtue are professed? 
 
 They may confirm his hahits, rivet fast 
 
 His folly, but to spoil him is a task 
 
 That bids defiance to th' united powers 
 
 Of fashion, dissipation, taverns, stews. 770 
 
 Now blame we most the nurselings or the nurse? 
 
 The children crook'd and twisted, and deform'd. 
 
 Through want of care; or her, whose winking eye 
 
 And slumb'ring oscitancy mars the brood? 
 
 The nurse, no doubt. Regardless of her charge, 776 
 
 She needs herself correction; needs to learn 
 
 That it is dang'rotjs sporting with the world. 
 
 With things so sacred as a nation's trust. 
 
 The nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge. 
 
 All are not such. I had a brother once — 780 
 
 Peace to the memory of a man of worth, 
 A man of letters, and of manners too! 
 Of manners sweet as Virtue always wears, 
 When gay good-natured dresses her in smiles. 
 He grac'd a college,* in which order yet 785 
 
 Was sacred; and was honour'd, lov'd; and wept 
 By more than one, themselves conspicuous there. 
 Some minds arc tcmper'd happily, and mix'd 
 With such ingredients of good sense, and taste 
 Of what is excellent in man, they thirst 790 
 
 With such a zeal to be what they approve. 
 That no restraints can circumscribe them more 
 Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom's sake. 
 Nor can example hurt them; what they sec 
 Of vice in others but enhancing more 795 
 
 The churms of virtue in their just esteem. 
 If such escape contagion, and emerge 
 Pure from so foul a pool to shine abroad. 
 And give the world their talents and themselves, 
 
 Beue'^ oil. Cambridp^e, 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 61 
 
 Small thanks to those whose negligence or sloth 800 
 Expos'd their inexperience to the snare. 
 And left them to au madirected choice. 
 
 See then the quiver broken and decay 'd, 
 la which are kept our arrows! Rusting there 
 In wild disorder, and unfit for use, 805 
 
 What wonder, if discharg'd into the world, 
 They shame their shooters with a random flight. 
 Their points obtuse, and feathers drunk with wine! 
 Well may the church wage unsuccessful war 
 With such artill'ry arm'd. Vice parries wide 810 
 
 Th' undreaded volley with a sword of straw. 
 And stands an impudent and fearless mark. 
 
 Have we not track'd the felon home, and found. 
 His birthplace and his dam? The comitry mouras. 
 Mourns because ev'ry plague that can infest 815 
 
 Society, and that saps and worms the base 
 Of th' edifice that policy has rais'd, 
 Swarms in all quarters; meets the eye, the car. 
 And sufibcates the breath at ev'ry turn. 
 Profusion breeds themj and the cause itself 820 
 
 Of that calamitous mischief has been found; 
 Found, too, where most offensive, in the skirts 
 Of the rob'd pedagogue! Else let th' arraigned 
 Stand up unconscious, and refute the charge. 
 So when the Jeiyish leader stretch'd his arms, 825 
 And wav'd his rod divine, a race ahscene, 
 Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth. 
 Polluting Egypt: gardens, fields, and plaiiis. 
 Were covered with the pest; the streets were filled; 
 The croaking nuisance lurk'd in every, nook; 830 
 
 Nor paliaces, nor even chambers, 'scap'd; 
 And the land stank— ^o num'rous was the fry. 
 
THE TA!SK. 
 
 THE GARDEN. 
 
 ARGUMENT OF THE THIRD BOOK. 
 
 Self-recollection, and reproof— Address to domestic happiness- 
 Some account of myself— The vanity of mnny of their pur- 
 suits, who are reputed wise — Justification of my censures-rDi- 
 vine iUumination necessaiy to the most expeit philosophers — 
 The question, What is truih? answered hy other questions— 
 Domestick happiness addressed again— Few lovei-s of the 
 country— My tame liare— Occupations of a retired gentleman 
 in his ganien— Pruning— Framing— Greenhouse — Sowing of 
 flower seeds — The country preferable to the town even in the 
 winter — Reasons why it is deserted at that season — Ruinous 
 effects of gaming and of expensive improvement — Book con- 
 cludes with an apostrophe lo the metropolis. 
 
 As one, who long in thickets and in brakes 
 
 Entangled, winds now this way and noAV that 
 
 His devious course uncertain, seeking home; 
 
 Or, having long in miry ways been foil'd 
 
 And sore discomfittcd, from slough to slough 5 
 
 Plunging, and half despairing of escape; 
 
 If chance at length he find a greensward smooth 
 
 And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise. 
 
 He cherups brisk his ear-erecting steed. 
 
 And winds his way with pleasure and with ease! 10 
 
 So I, designing other themes, and call'd 
 
 T' adorn the Sofa with culogium duo, 
 
THE GARDEN. 53 
 
 To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams. 
 
 Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat 
 
 Of academick fame, (bowe'er deserv'd,) 15 
 
 Long beld, and scarcely disengag'd at last: 
 
 But now witb pleasant pace a cleanlier road 
 
 I mean to tread. I feel myself at large. 
 
 Courageous, and refresb'd for future toil. 
 
 If toil await me, or if dangers new. 20 
 
 Since pulpits fail, and sounding boards reflect 
 Most part an empty ineffectual soimd. 
 What cliance that I, to fame so little known. 
 Nor conversant witb men or manners mucb. 
 Should speak to purpose, or with better hope 25 
 
 Crack the satirick thong? 'Tv/ere wiser far 
 For me, enamour'd'of sequester'd scenes. 
 And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose 
 Where chance may throw me; beneath elm or vine. 
 My languid limbs; when summer sears the plains; 30 
 Or, when rough winter rages, on the soft 
 And shelter'd Sofa, while the niti'ous air 
 Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth; 
 There, undisturb'd by Folly, and appriz'd 
 How great the danger of disturbing her, 3 
 
 To muse in silence, or at least confine 
 Remarks, that gall so many, to the few 
 My partners in retreat. Disgust conceal'd 
 Is oft times proof of wisdom, when the fault 
 Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach. 40 
 
 Domestick happiness, thou only bliss 
 Of Paradise, that has survived the fall! 
 Though few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure. 
 Or tasting, long enjoy thee! too infirm. 
 Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets 45 
 
 Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect 
 Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup; 
 Thou art the nurse of Virtue — in thine arms 
 She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is, 
 Heav'n born, and destin'd to the skies again. 50 
 
 5* 
 
54 THL TASK. 
 
 Thou art not known where Pleasure is atlor'd, 
 That reeling goddess, with the zoneless waist 
 And Avaud'ring eyes, still leaning on the arm 
 Of Novelty, her fickle, frail support; 
 For thou art meek and constant, hating change, 
 And finding in the calm of truth-tried love, 
 Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. 
 Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made 
 Of honour, dignity, and fair renown! 
 Till prostitution elbows us aside 
 In all our crowded streets; and senates seem 
 Conven'd for the purposes of empire less 
 Than to release the adultress from her bond. 
 Th' adul'tress! what a theme for angry vei'se! 
 What provocation to th' indignant heart 
 That feels for injur 'd love! but I disdain 
 The nauseaus task to paint her as she is. 
 Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame.'' 
 No: — let her pass, and charioted along 
 In guilty splendour, shake the publick ways; 
 The frequency of crimes has wash'd them white, 
 And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch, 
 Whom matrons now of character unsmirch'd 
 And chaste themselves, are not ashara'd to own. 
 Virtue and vice had bound'ries in old time. 
 Not to be pass'd: and she that had rcnounc'd 
 Her sex's honour, was renounc'd herself 
 By all that priz'd it; not for prud'ry's sake 
 But dignity's, resentful of the wrong. 
 'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif. 
 Desirous to return and not receiv'd: 
 But was a wholesome rigour in the main, 
 And taught th' unblemish'd to preserve with care 
 That purity, whose loss was loss of all. 
 Men too were nice in honour in those days, 
 , And judg'd oflenders well. Then he that sharp'd. 
 And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd. 
 Was mart'd and shunn'd as odious. He that sold 
 
THE GARDEN. 55 
 
 His country, or was slack when she requir'd 
 
 His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch, 90 
 
 Paid with the blood that he had basely spar'd 
 
 The price of his default. But now — yes, now 
 
 We are become so candid and so fair. 
 
 So lib'ral in construction, and so rich 
 
 In Christian charity, (good natur'd age!) 95 
 
 That they are safe; sinners of either sex 
 
 Transgress what laws they may. Well dress'd, well 
 
 bred. 
 Well equipag'd, is ticket good enough, 
 To pass as readily through ev'ry door. 
 Hypocrisy, detest her as we may, 100 
 
 (And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet,) 
 May claim this merit still — that she admits 
 The worth of what she mimicks, with such care. 
 And thus gives virtue indirect applause; v 
 
 But she has burnt her mask, not needed here, 105 
 
 Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts 
 And specious semblances have lost their use. 
 
 I was a stricken deer, that left the herd 
 Long since. With many an arrow deep infix'd 
 My panting side Avas charg'd, when I withdrew 110 
 To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 
 There was I found by one who had himself 
 Been hurt by th' archers. In his side he bore, 
 And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. 
 With gentle force soliciting the darts, 115 
 
 He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live. 
 Since then, with few associates, in remote 
 And silent woods I wander, far from those 
 My former partners of the peopled scene; 
 With few associates, and not wishing more. 120 
 
 Here much I ruminate, as much I may. 
 With other views of men and manners now 
 That once, and others of a life to come. 
 I see that all are wand'rers, gone astray 
 Each in his own delusions; they are lost 125 
 
66 THE TASK. 
 
 In chase of fancied happiness, still woo'd 
 
 And never won. Dream after dream ensues; 
 
 And still they dream that they^ shall still succeed, 
 
 And still are disappointed. Rings the world 
 
 With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind 130 
 
 And add too thirds of the remaining half. 
 
 And find the total of their hopes and fears , 
 
 Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay. 
 
 As if created only like the fly. 
 
 That spreads his motley wings in th' eye of noon, 135 
 
 To sport their season, and be seen no more. 
 
 The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise. 
 
 And pregnant with discoveries new and rare. 
 
 Some write a narrative of wars, and feats 
 
 Of heroes little known; and call the rant 140 
 
 A history: describe the man, of whom 
 
 His own coevals took but little note. 
 
 And paint his person, character, and vieAvs, 
 
 As they had knoAvn him from his mother's womb. 
 
 They disentangle from the puzzled skein, 145 
 
 In which obscurity has wrapp'd them up. 
 
 The threads of politick and shrewd design. 
 
 That ran through all his pm'poses, and charge 
 
 His mind with meanings that he never had. 
 
 Or, having kept conceal'd. Some drill and bore 150 
 
 The solid earth, and from the strata there 
 
 Extract a register, by which Ave learn, 
 
 That he who made it and reveal'd it's date 
 
 To Moses, was mistaken in its age. 
 
 Some, more acute, and more industrious still, 155 
 
 Contrive creation; travel nature up 
 
 To the sharp peak of her sublimest height. 
 
 And tell us whence the stars; why same ai-e fix'd, 
 
 And planetary some; what gave them first 
 
 Rotation, from what fountain flow'd their light. 160 - 
 
 Great contest follows, and much learn'd dust 
 
 Involves the combatants; each claiming truth. 
 
 And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend 
 
THE GARDEN. 57 
 
 The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp 
 
 In playing tricks with nature, giving laws 165 
 
 To distant worlds, and trifling in their own. 
 
 Is't not a pity now, that tickling rheums 
 
 Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight 
 
 Of oracles like these? Great pity, too, 
 
 That having wielded th' elements, and built 170 
 
 A thousand systems, each in his own way. 
 
 They should go out in fume, and be forgot! 
 
 Ah! what is life thus spent? and what are they 
 
 But frantick, who thus spend it? all for smoke — 
 
 Eternity, for bubbles, proves at last 175 
 
 A senseless bargain. When I see such games 
 
 Play'd by the creatures of a pow'r who swears 
 
 That he will judge the Earth, and call the fool 
 
 To a sharp reck'ning, that has liv'd in vain; 
 
 And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well, 180 
 
 And prove it in th' infallible result 
 
 So hollow and so false^ — I feel my heart 
 
 Dissolve in pity, and account the leam'd. 
 
 If this be learning, most of all deceiv'd. 
 
 Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps, 185 
 
 While thoughtful man is plausibly amused. 
 
 Defend me, therefore, common sense, say I, 
 
 From reveries so airy, fro"m the toil 
 
 Of dropping buckets into empty wells. 
 
 And growing old in drawing nothing up! 190 
 
 'Twere well, says one, sage, erudite, profound, 
 Terribly arch'd and aquiline his nose. 
 And overbuilt with most impending brows, 
 'Twere well, could you permit the World to live 
 As the world pleases: what's the World to you? 195 
 Much . I Avas bom of woman, and drew milk 
 As sweet as charity from human breasts. 
 1 think, articulate — I laugh and weep. 
 And exercise all functions of a man. 
 Now then should I and any man that lives 200 
 
 Be strangers to each other? Pierce my vein. 
 
58 THE TASK. 
 
 Take of the crimson stream meand*nng there; 
 
 And catechise it well: apply thy glass, 
 
 Search it, and prove now if it be not blood 
 
 Congenial with thine own: and, if it be, 205 
 
 What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose 
 
 Keen enough, wise and skillful as thou art. 
 
 To cut the link of brotherhood, by which 
 
 One common Maker bound me to the kind? 
 
 True; I am no proficient, I confess, 210 
 
 In arts like your's. I cannot call the swift 
 
 And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds. 
 
 And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath; 
 
 I cannot analyze the air, nor catch 
 
 The parallax of yonder luminous point, 215 
 
 That seems half quench'd in the immense abyss: 
 
 Such powers I boast not — neither can I rest 
 
 A silent witness of the headlong rage. 
 
 Or heedless folly, by which thousands die. 
 
 Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine. 220 
 
 God never meant that man should scale the Hcav'ns 
 By strides of human wisdom. In his works. 
 Though Avondi'ous, he commands us in his word 
 To seek him rather where his mercy shines. 
 The mind, indeed; enlightcu'd from above, 225 
 
 Views him in all; ascribes to the grand cause 
 The grand effect; acknowledges with joy 
 His manner, and with rapture tastes his style. 
 But never yet did philosophick tube. 
 That brings the planets home into the eye 230 
 
 Of observation, and discovers, else 
 Not visible, his famil}^ of worlds. 
 Discover him that rules them; such a veil 
 Hangs over mortal eyes, bUnd from the birth. 
 And dark in things divine. Full often too, 235 
 
 Our waywai'd intellect, the more we learn 
 Of nature, overlooks her author more; 
 From instrumental causes proud to draw 
 Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake. 
 
THE GARDEN. 59 
 
 But if his word once teach us — shoot a ray 240 
 
 Througli all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal 
 ' Truths undiscern'd but by that holy lights 
 Then all is plain. Philosophy baptiz'd 
 In the pure fountain of eternal love. 
 Has eyes indeed; and viewing all she sees 245 
 
 As meant to indicate a God to man. 
 Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own. 
 Learning has borne such fruit in other days 
 On all her branches: piety has found 
 Friends in the friends of science, and true pray'r 250 
 Has fiow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews. 
 Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage! 
 Sagacious reader of the works of God, 
 And in his word sagacious. Such, too, thine, 
 Milton, whose genius had angelick wings, 255 
 
 And fed on manna! And such thine, in whom 
 Our British Themis gloried with just cause. 
 Immortal Hale! for deep discernment prais'd, 
 . And sound integrity, not more than fam'd 
 For sanctity of manners undefil'd. 260 
 
 All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades 
 Like the fair flow'r disheveU'd in the wind; 
 Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream; 
 The man we celebrate must find a tomb. 
 And we that worship him, ignoble graves. 265 
 
 Nothing is proof against the gen'ral curse 
 Of vanity that seizes all below. 
 The only amaranthine flow'r on earth 
 Is virtue; th' only lasting treasure, truth. 
 But what is tmth.^ 'Twas Pilate's question put 270 
 
 To Truth itself, that deign 'd him no reply; 
 And wherefore? will not God impart his light 
 To them that ask it?— Freely— 'tis his joy, 
 His glory, and his natu3»e, to impart. 
 But to the proud, uncaudid, insincere, 275 
 
 Or negligent inquirer, not a spark. 
 What's that which brings contempt upon a book. 
 
60 THE TASK. 
 
 And him who writes it, though the stile be neat, 
 The method clear, and argument exact? 
 That makes a minister in holy things 
 The joy of many, and the dread of more. 
 His name a theme for praise and for reproach? — 
 That while it gives us worth in God's account. 
 Depreciates and midoes us in om* own? 
 What pearl is it, that rich men cannot buy. 
 That learning is too proud to gather up; 
 But which the poor, and the despis'd of all. 
 Seek and obtain, and often find misought; 
 Tell me — and I will tell thee Avhat is truth. 
 
 friendly to the best pursuits of man, 
 Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace! 
 Domestick life in rural leisure pass'd! 
 Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweets: 
 Though many boast thy favours, and affect 
 To understand and choose thee for their own. 
 But foolish man forgoes his proper bliss, 
 E'en as his first progenitor, and quits. 
 Though plac'd in Paradise, (for earth has still. 
 Some traces of her youthful beauty left) 
 Substantial happiness for transient joy: 
 Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse 
 The growing seeds gf wisdom; that suggest 
 By ev'ry pleasing image they present. 
 Reflections such as meliorate the heart. 
 Compose the passions, and exalt the mind; 
 Scenes such as these 'tis his supreme delight 
 To fill with riot, and defile with blood. 
 Should some contagion, kind to the poor brutes 
 We persecute, annihilate the tribes 
 That draw the sportsman over hill and dale. 
 Fearless and wrapt away from all his cares; 
 Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again, 
 Nor baited hook deceive the fisli's eye; 
 Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song, 
 Be quell'd in all our summer-moulhs' retreats; 
 
THE GARDEN. 61 
 
 How many self- deluded nymphs and swains, 
 Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves. 
 Would find them hideous nurs'ries of the spleen. 
 And crowd the roads, impatient for the town! 
 They love the country,' and none else, who seek, 3'20 
 For their own sake, its silence and its shade. 
 Delights which who would leave that has a heart 
 Susceptible of pity, or a mind 
 Cultur'd and capable of sober thought 
 For all the savage din of the swift pack 325 
 
 And clamours of the field? — Detested sport 
 That owes its pleasures to another's pain; 
 That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks 
 Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endued 
 With eloquence, that agonies inspire, 330 
 
 Of silent tears and heart- distending sighs? 
 Vain tears, alas, and sighs that never find 
 A corresponding tone in jovial souls! 
 Well — one at least is safe. One shelter'd hare 
 Has never heard the sanguinary yell 335 
 
 Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. 
 Innocent partner of my peaceful home. 
 Whom ten long years' experience of my care 
 Has made at last familiar: she has lost 
 Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, 340 
 
 Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. 
 Yes — thou mayest eat thy bread, and lick the hand 
 That feeds thee; thou may'st frolick on the floor 
 At ev'ning, and at night retire secitte 
 To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm'd; 345 
 
 For I have gained thy confidence, have pledg'd 
 All that is human in me, to protect 
 Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. 
 If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave; 
 And, when I place thee in it, sighing say. 350 
 
 I knew at least one hare that had a friend.* 
 *See the note at the end. 
 Vol. 1I.-6 
 
62 THE TASK. 
 
 How various his employ mcntSj whom the world 
 Calls idle; and who justly iu returu 
 Esteems that busy world an idler too! 
 Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, 
 Delightful industry enjoy 'd at home. 
 And nature in her cultivated trim 
 Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad— 
 Can he want occupation who has these? 
 Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy? I 
 
 Me therefore studious of laborious ease. 
 Not slothful, happy to deceive the time. 
 Not waste it, and aware that human life 
 Is but a loan to be repaid with use. 
 When He shall call his debtors to account. 
 From whom are all our blessings, business j&nds 
 E'en here: while sedulous I seek t' improve. 
 At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd. 
 The mind he gave them; driving it, though slack 
 Too oft, and much impeded in its work 
 By causes not to be divulg'd in vain. 
 To its just point — the service of mankind. 
 He that attends to his interiour self. 
 That has a heart, and keeps it; has a mind 
 That hungers and supplies it; and who seeks 
 A social, not a dissipated life, 
 Has^ business; feels himself engag'd t' achieve 
 No unimportant, though a silent task. 
 A life all turbulence and noise may seem 
 To him that leads it, wise, and to be prais'd; 
 But wisdom is a pearl with most success 
 Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies. 
 He that is ever occupied iu storms. 
 Or dives not for it, or brings up instead. 
 Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. ^ 
 
 The morning finds the sclf-sequester'd man 
 Frcsli for his task, intent what task he may. 
 Wliether inclement seasons recommend 
 His warm but simple home, where he enjoys 
 
THE GARDEN. 63 
 
 With her who shares his pleasures and his heart, 39U 
 Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph. 
 Which neatly she prepares: then to his book 
 Well chosen, and not sullenly perus'd 
 In selfish silence, but imparted, oft 
 
 As aught occm-s that she may smile to hear, 395 
 
 Or turn to nourishment, digested well. 
 Or if the garden with its many cares. 
 All well repaid, demand him, he attends 
 The welcome call, conscious how much the hand 
 Of lubbard Labour needs his watchful eye, 400 
 
 Oft loit'ring lazily, if not o'erseen. 
 Or misapplying his unskillful strength 
 Nor does he govern only, or direct. 
 But much performs himself. No works indeed. 
 That ask robust, tough sinews bred to toil, 405 
 
 Servile employ; but such as may amuse. 
 Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. 
 Proud of his well- spread walls, he views his trees. 
 That meet no barren interval between. 
 With pleasure more than e'en their fruits afford; 410 
 Which save himself who trains them, none can feel. 
 These therefore are his own peculiar charge; 
 No meaner hand may discipline the shoots 
 None but his steel approach them. What is weak, 
 Distemper'd, or has lost prolifick pow'rs, 415 
 
 Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand 
 Dooms to the knife: nor does he spare the soft 
 And succulent, that feeds its giant growth. 
 But barren at th' expense of neighb'ring tAvigs 
 Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick 420 
 
 * With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left 
 That may disgrace his art, or disappoint 
 Large expectation, he disposes neat 
 At measur'd distances, that air, and sun. 
 Admitted freely may afford their aid, 425 
 
 And ventilate and warm the swelling buds. 
 Hence summer has her riches, Autumn hence. 
 
G4 THE TASK. 
 
 And hence e'en Winter fills his wither'd hand 
 
 With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own* 
 
 Fair recompense of labour well bestow'd, 430 
 
 And wise precaution; which a clime so rude 
 
 Makes needful still, whose Spring is but the child 
 
 Of churlish Winter, in her froward moods 
 
 Discov'ring much the temper of her sire. 
 
 For oft, as if in her the stream of mild 435 
 
 Maternal nature had revers'd its course, 
 
 She brings her infants forth with many smiles; 
 
 But once deliver'd kills them with a frown. 
 
 He therefore, timely warn'd himself supplies 
 
 Her want of care, screening and keeping warm 440 
 
 The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep . 
 
 His garland from the boughs. Again, as oft 
 
 As the sun peeps, and vernal airs breathe mild. 
 
 The fence Avithdrawn, he gives them ev'ry beam. 
 
 And spread his hopes before the blaze of day. 445 
 
 To raise the prickly and green- coated gourd. 
 So grateful to the palate, and when rare. 
 So coveted, else base and disesteem'd — 
 Food for the vulgar merely — is an ai't 
 That toiling ages have but just matur'd, 450 
 
 And at this moment unessay'd in song. 
 Yet gnats have had, and frogs, and mice, long since. 
 Their eulogy; those sang the Mantuan bard. 
 And these the Grecian, in ennobling strains; 
 And in thy nimibers. Philips, shines for eye 455 
 
 The solitary shilling. Pardon, then. 
 Ye sage dispensers of poetick fame, 
 Th' ambition of one meaner far, whose pow'rs, 
 Presuming an attempt not less sublime. 
 Pants for the praise of dressing to the taste 460 
 
 Of critick appetite, no sordid fare, 
 A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce. 
 
 The stable yields a stercoraceous heap, 
 
 •Miraturque novos fructus et non sua poma. Virg. 
 
THE GARDEN. 65 
 
 Impregnated with quick fermenting salts, 
 And potent to resist the freezing blast: 465 
 
 For ere the beech and elm have cast their leaf 
 Deciduous, when now November dark 
 Checks vegetation in the torpid plant 
 Expos'd to his cold breath, the task begins. 
 Warily, therefore, and with prudent heed, 470 
 
 He seeks a favour'd spot; that where he builds 
 Th' agglomerated pile his frame may front 
 The sun's meridian disk, and at the back 
 Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge 
 Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread 475 
 
 Dry fern or litter'd hay, that may imbibe 
 Th' ascending damps; then leisurely impose,. 
 And lightly shaking it with agile hand 
 From the full fork, the saturated straw. 
 What longest binds the closest forms secure 480 
 
 The shapely side, that as it rises takes. 
 By just degrees, an overhanging breath, 
 Shelt'ring the base with its projected eaves; 
 Th' uplifted frame, compact at ev'ry joint. 
 And overlaid with clear translucent glass, 485 
 
 He settles next upon the sloping mount. 
 Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure 
 From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls. 
 He shuts it close, and the first labour ends. 
 Thrice must the voluble and restless Earth 490 
 
 Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth. 
 Slow gath'ring in the midst, through the square mass 
 DifFus'd, attain the surface; when, behold! 
 A pestilent and miost corrosive stream. 
 Like a gross fog BcEOtian, rising fast, 495 
 
 And fast condens'd upon the dewy sash, 
 Asks egress? which obtain'd the overcharg'd 
 And drench' d conservatory breathes abroad. 
 In volumes wheeling slew the vapour dank; 
 And, pm-ified, rejoices to have lost 500 
 
 Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage 
 6* 
 
66 THE TASK. 
 
 Th' impatient fervour, which it first conceives 
 
 Within its reeking bosom, threat'ning death 
 
 To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. 
 
 Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft SO 
 
 The Avay to glory by miscarriage foul. 
 
 Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch 
 
 Th' auspicious moment, Avhen the teraper'd heat. 
 
 Friendly to vital motion, may afford 
 
 Soft fomentation, and invite the seed. 51 
 
 The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth. 
 
 And glossy, he commits to pots of size 
 
 Diminutive, well fill'd with well-prepar'd 
 
 And fruitful soil, that has been treasur'd long. 
 
 And drank no moisture from the dripping clouds. 51 
 
 These on the wai'm and genial earth that hides 
 
 The smoking manure, and o'erspreads it all, 
 
 He places lightly, and as time subdues 
 
 The rage of fermentation, plunges deep 
 
 In the soft medium, till they stand imraers'd. 52 
 
 Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick 
 
 And spreading wide their spongy lobes; at first 
 
 Pale, van, and livid; but assuming soon, 
 
 Iffann'd by balmy and nutritious air, 
 
 Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green. 52 
 
 Two leaves produc'd, two rough indented leaves, 
 
 Cautious he pinches from the second stalk 
 
 A pimple that portends a future sprout. 
 
 And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed 
 
 The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish; 53 
 
 Prolifick all, and harbingers of more. 
 
 The crowded roots demand enlargement now. 
 
 And transplantation in an ampler space. 
 
 Indulg'd in what they wish they soon supply 
 
 Large foliage, overshadowing golden flow'rs, 53 
 
 Blown on the summit of the apparent fruit. 
 
 These have their sexes; and when su.mmer shines, 
 
 The bee transports the fertilizing meal 
 
 From ilow'r to flow'r, and e'en the breathing air 
 
THE GARDEN. 67 
 
 Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use. 540 
 
 Not so when winter scowls. Assistant Art 
 Then acts in Nature's office, brings to pass 
 The glad espousals, and ensures the crop. 
 
 Grudge not, ye rich, (since Luxury must have 
 His dainties, and the World's more num'rous half 545 
 Lives by contriving delicates for you,) 
 Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares 
 The vigilance, the labour, and the skill, 
 That day and night are exercis'd, and hang 
 Upon the ticklish balance of suspense, 550 
 
 That ye may garnish your profuse regales 
 With siunmer fruits brought forth by wintry suns. 
 Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart 
 The process. Heat, and cold, and wind, and steam, 
 Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming 
 flies, 555 
 
 Minute as dust, and numberless, oft work 
 Dire disappointment, that admits no cure. 
 And which no care can obviate. It were long, 
 Too long, to tell th' expedients and the shifts. 
 Which he that fights a season so severe 560 
 
 Devises while he guards his tender trust; 
 And oft at last in vain. The learn'd and wise 
 Sarcastick, would exclaim, and judge the song 
 Cold as its theme, and like its theme the fruit 
 Of too much labour, worthless when produc'd. 565 
 
 Who loves a garden loves a green house too 
 Unconscious of a less propitious clime. 
 There blooms exotick beauty, warm and snug. 
 While the winds whistle and the snows descend. 
 The spiry myrtle with unwith'ring leaf 570 
 
 Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast 
 Of Portugal and western India there. 
 The ruddier orange, and the paler lime 
 Peep through their polish' d foliage at the storm. 
 And seem to smile at what they need not fear. • 575 
 The amomum there with intermingling flow'rs 
 
68 THE TASK. 
 
 And cherries hang her twigs. Geranium boasts 
 
 Her crimson honours; and the spangled beau, 
 
 Ficoides glitters bright the winter long. 
 
 All plants of ev'ry leaf, that can endure 580 
 
 The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bite. 
 
 Live there, and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, 
 
 Levantine regions these; th' Azores send 
 
 Their jassamine, her jessamine remote 
 
 Caffraria: foreigners from many lands, 585 
 
 They form one social shade, as if conren'd 
 
 By magick summons of th' Orphean lyre. 
 
 Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass 
 
 But by a master's hand, disposing well 
 
 The gay diversities of leaf and flow'r, 590 
 
 Must lend its aid to illustrate all their charms. 
 
 And dress the regular yet various scene. 
 
 Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van 
 
 The dwarfish, in the rear retir'd, but still 
 
 Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. 595 
 
 So once were rang'd the sons of ancient Rome, 
 
 A noble show! while Roscius trod the stage. 
 
 And so, while Garrick, as renown'd as he. 
 
 The sons of Albion; fearing each to lose 
 
 Some note of Nature's musick from his lips, 600 
 
 And covetous of Shakspeare's beauty, seen 
 
 In ev'ry flash of his far-beaming eye. 
 
 Nor taste alone and well-con triv'd display 
 
 Suffice to give the marshalfd ranks the grace 
 
 Of their complete effect. Much yet remains 605 
 
 Unsung, and many cares are yet behind. 
 
 And more laborious; cares on which depend 
 
 Their vigour, injur'd soon, not soon restor'd. 
 
 The soil must be renew 'd, which often wash'd 
 
 Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, 610 
 
 And disappoints the roots; the slender roots 
 
 Close interwoven, whci-e they meet the vase, 
 
 Must smooth be shorn away; the sapless branch, 
 
 Must fly before the knife; the wither'd leaf 
 
THE GARDEN. 69 
 
 Must be detaclrtraml where it strews the floor 615 
 
 Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else 
 Contagion and disseminating death. 
 Discharge but these kind offices, (and who 
 Would spare, that loves them, offices like these?) 
 Well they repay the toil. The sight is pleased, 620 
 The scent regal'd each odorif rous leaf. 
 Each op'ning blossom, freely breathes abroad 
 Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets. 
 
 So manifold, all pleasing in their kind. 
 All healthfiil, are th' employs of rural life. 625 
 
 Reiterated as the wheel of time 
 Runs round; still ending, and beginning still. 
 Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll 
 That softly swell'd and gayly dress'd appears 
 A flow'ry island, from the dark green lawn 630 
 
 Emerging, must be deem'd a labour due 
 To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. 
 Here also grateful mixture of well match'd 
 And sorted hues, (each giving each relief, 
 And by contrasted beauty shining more) 635 
 
 Is needful. Strength may wield the pond 'rous spade. 
 May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home; 
 But elegance, chief grace the garden shown, 
 And most attractive, is the fair result 
 Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind. 640 
 
 Without it all is Gothick as the scene 
 To which th' insipid citizen resorts 
 Near yonder heath; where industry mispent, 
 But proud of his uncouth, ill chosen task. 
 Has made a Heav'n on Earth; with suns and moons 
 Of close-ramm'd stones has charg'd th' encumber'd 
 soil, 646 
 
 And fairly laid the zodiack in the dust. 
 He therefore, who would see his flow'rs dispos'd 
 Sightly and in just order, ere he gives 
 The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, 650 
 
 Forecasts the ftiture whole; that, when the scene 
 
70 THE TASK. 
 
 Shall break into its preconceiv'd display, 
 
 Each for itself, and all as Avith one voice 
 
 Conspiring, may attest his bright design, 
 
 Nor even then dismissing as perform'd 655 
 
 His pleasant work, may he suppose it done. 
 
 Few self- supported flow'rs endure the wind 
 
 Uninjur'd but expect the upholding aid 
 
 Of the smooth shaven prop, and neatly tied. 
 
 Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age, 660 
 
 For int'rest sake, the living to the dead. 
 
 Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffused 
 
 And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair. 
 
 Like virtue thriving most where little seen: 
 
 Some more aspiring catch the neighbour shrub 665 
 
 With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch. 
 
 Else unadorn'd with many a gay festoon 
 
 And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well 
 
 The strength they borrOAv'd with the grace they lend. 
 
 All hate the rank society of weeds, 670 
 
 Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust 
 
 Th' trapov'rish'd earth; an overbearing race. 
 
 That, like the multitude made faction mad. 
 
 Disturb good order, and degrade true worth. 
 
 O blest seclusion from a jarring world, 675 
 
 Which he, thus occupied, enjoys! Retreat 
 Cannot indeed to guilty man restore 
 Lost innocence, or cancel follies past; 
 But it has peace, and much secures the mind 
 From all assaults of evil; proving still 680 
 
 A faithful barrier, not o'erleap'd with ease 
 By vicious Custom, raging uncontrol'd 
 Abroad, and desolating publick life. 
 When fierce Temptation, seconded within 
 By traitor Appstito, and arm'd with darts 685 
 
 Temper'd in Hell, invades the throbbing breast. 
 To combat may be glorious, and success 
 Perhaps may crown us; but to fly is safe. 
 Had I the choice of sublunary good, 
 
THE GARDEN. 71 
 
 What could I wish, that I possess not here? 690 
 
 Health, leisure, means t' improve it; friendship, peace. 
 
 No loose or wanton, though a wand'ring muse. 
 
 And constant occupation without care. 
 
 Thus blest, I draw a picture of that bliss; 
 
 Hopeless indeed, that dissipated minds, 69 
 
 And profligate abusers of a world 
 
 Created fair, so much in vain for them. 
 
 Should seek the guiltless joy that I describe, 
 
 Allur'd by my report: but sUre no less 
 
 That self-condemn'd they must neglect the prize, 700 
 
 And what they will not taste must yet approve. 
 
 What we admire we praise; and when we praise 
 
 Advance it into notice, that its worth 
 
 Acknowledg'd, others may admire it too. 
 
 I therefore recommend, though at the risk 705 
 
 Of popular disgust, yet boldly still. 
 
 The cause of piety and sacred truth. 
 
 And virtuCj^and those scenes which God ordain'd 
 
 Should best sscure them, and promote them most; 
 
 Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive 710 
 
 Forsaken, or through folly not enjoy'd. 
 
 Pure is the nymph, though lib'ral of her smiles, 
 
 And chaste, though unconfin'd, whom I extol. 
 
 Not as the prince ia Shushan, when he call'd. 
 
 Vain-glorious of her charms, his Vashti forth, 715 
 
 To grace the full pavilion. His design 
 
 Was but to boast his own peculiar good. 
 
 Which all might view with envy, none partake. 
 
 My charmer is not mine alone, my sweets. 
 
 And she that sweetens all my bitters too, 720 
 
 Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form 
 
 And liaeaments divine I trace a hand 
 
 That ei-rs not, and find raptures still renew'd. 
 
 Is free to all men — universal prize. 
 
 Strange that so fair a creature should yet want ■ 725 
 
 Admirers, and be destin'd to divide 
 
 With meaner objects e'en the few she finds! 
 
72 THE TASK. 
 
 Stripp'd of her ornanieuts, her leaves and llow'rs, 
 
 She looses all her iaflueiice. Cities then 
 
 Attract us, and neglected Nature pines 730 
 
 Abandon'd as unworthy of our love. 
 
 But are not wholesome airs, though unperfum'd 
 
 By roses; and clear suns, though scarcely felt; 
 
 And groves, ifunharmonious, yet secure 
 
 From clamour, and whose very silence charms; 735 
 
 To be preferr'd to smoke, to the eclipse, 
 
 That metrdpolitan volcanoes make. 
 
 Whose Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long; 
 
 And to the stir of Commerce, driving slow, 
 
 And thund'ring loud, with his ten thousand wheels?740 
 
 They would be, were not madness in the head. 
 
 And folly in the heart; were England now 
 
 What England was, plain, hospitable, kind. 
 
 And undebauch'd. But we have bid fa'rwell 
 
 To all the virtues of those better days, 745 
 
 And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once 
 Knew their own masters; and laborious hinds, 
 
 Who had surviv'd the father, serv'd the son. 
 
 Now the legitimate and rightful lord 
 
 Is but a transient guest, newly arriv'd 750 
 
 And soon to be supplanted. He that saw 
 
 His patrimonial timber cast its leaf, 
 
 Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price 
 
 To some shrewd sharper, ere it buds again. 
 
 Estates are landscapes, gaz'd upon a while, 755 
 
 Then advertis'd and auctioneer'd away. 
 
 The country starves, and they that feed th' o'ercharg'd 
 
 And surfeited lew'd town with her fair dues. 
 
 By a just judgment, strip and starve themselves. 
 
 The wings that waft our riches out of sight 
 
 Grow on the gamester's elbows, and the alert 
 
 And nimble motion of those joints. 
 
 That never tire, soon fans them all away. 
 
 Improvement too, the idol of the age, 
 
 Is fed with many a victim Lo^ he comci! 765 
 
THE GARDEN. 73 
 
 Th' omnipotent magician, Brown, appears! 
 Down falls the venerable pile, th' abode 
 Of our forefathers — a grave whisker'd race, 
 But tasteless. Springs a palace in its stead. 
 But in a distant spot; where more expos'd 770 
 
 It may enjoy the advantage of the north. 
 And aguish east, till time shall have transform'd 
 Those naked acres to a shelt'ring grove. 
 He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawnj 
 Woods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise: 775 
 
 And streams, as if created for his use. 
 Pursue the track of his directing wane. 
 Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow. 
 Now murm'ring soft, now roaring in cascades — 
 E'en as he bids! Th' enraptur'd owner smiles. 780 
 
 *ris finish'd, and yet, finish'd as it seems. 
 Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could show, 
 A mine to satisfy th' enormous cost. 
 Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealth. 
 He sighs, departs, and leaves th' accomplish'd plan 785 
 That he has touch'd, retouch'd many a long day 
 Labour'd, and many a night pursu'd in dreams. 
 Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the Heav'n 
 He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy! 
 And now perhaps the glorious hour is come, 790 
 
 When, having no stake left, no pledge t' endear. 
 Her int 'rests, or that gives her sacred cause 
 A moment's operation on his love. 
 He bums with most intense and flagrant 'Zeal 
 To serve his country. Ministerial grace 795 
 
 Deals him out money from the publick chest; 
 Or if that mine be shut, some private purse 
 Supplies his need with a usurious loan. 
 To be refimded duly, when his vote 
 Well-manag'd shall have eam'd its worthy price, 800 
 O innocent, compar'd with arts like these, 
 Crape, and cock'd pistol, and the whistling ball 
 Sent through the tray 'Her 's temples! He that finda 
 Vol. II.~7 
 
74 THE TASK. 
 
 One drop of Heav'n's sweet mercy in his cup, 
 
 Can dig, beg, rot, and perish, well content, 8b& 
 
 So he may wrap himself in honest rags 
 
 At his last gasp; but could not for a world 
 
 Fish up his dirty and dependent bread 
 
 From pools and ditches of the commonwealth, 
 
 Sorded and sick'ning at his own success. 810' 
 
 Ambition, avarice, penury, incurr'd 
 By endless riot, vanity, the lus t 
 Of pleasure and variety, despatch 
 As duly as the swallows disappear. 
 The world of wand'ring knights and squires to town- 
 London ingulfs them all! The shark is there, 816 
 
 And the shark's prey; the spendthrift and the leech 
 That sucks him; there the sycophant, and he 
 Who, with bareheaded and obsequious bows. 
 Begs a warm office, doom'd to a cold jail 820 
 
 And groat per diem, if his patron frown. 
 The levee swarms, as if in golden pomp 
 Were character'd on ev'ry statesman's door, 
 "Batter'd and bankrupt fortunes mended here." 
 These are the charms that sully and eclipse 825' 
 
 The charms of nature. 'Tis the cruel gripe. 
 That lean, hard-handed poverty inflicts. 
 The hope of better things, the chance to win. 
 The wish to shine, the thirst to be amus'd. 
 That at the sound of Winter's hoary wing 830 
 
 Unpeople all our countries of such herds 
 Of flutt'ring, loit'ring, cringing, begging, loose, 
 And wanton, vagrants, as make London, vast 
 And boundless as it is, a crowded coop. 
 
 O thou resort and mart of all the eartli, 835 
 
 Checker'd with all complexions of mankind. 
 And spotted with all crimes; in whom I see 
 Much that I love, and more that I admire, 
 And all that I abhor; thou freckled fair. 
 That pleaseast and yet shock'st me! I can laugh, 840 
 And I can weep, can hope and can despond 
 
THE GARDEN. 75 
 
 Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee! 
 
 Ten righteous would have sav'd a city once. 
 
 And thou hast many righteous. — Well for thee — 
 
 That salt preserves thee; more corrupted else, 845 
 
 And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour. 
 
 Than Sodom in her day had pow'r to be. 
 
 For whom God heard his Abr'ham plead in vain. 
 
THE TASK. 
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 
 
 ARGUMENT OF THE FOURTH BOOK. 
 
 The post comes in— The newspaper is read— The World contem- 
 plated atadisUince-Addiessto Winter- The rural amusements 
 of a winter evening compared with the fashionable ones— Ad- 
 dress to evening— A brown study— Fall of snow in the evening 
 —The wagoner— A i)oor family piece— The rural thief— Pub- 
 lic houses— The multitude of them censu red— The .fanner's 
 daughter: what she was,— what she is— The simplicity of coun- 
 try manners almost lost— Causes of the chaoge- Desertion of 
 the country by the rich — Neglect' of the magistrates — The 
 militia piincipally in fault — The new recruit and his transfor- 
 mation — Reflection on bodies corporate — The love of rural 
 objects natural to all, and never to be totally extinguished. 
 
 HARK! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge. 
 
 That with its wearisome hut needful length 
 
 Bestrides the wintry flood; in which the moon 
 
 Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright; — 
 
 He comes, the herald of a noisy world, 6 
 
 With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks. 
 
 News from all nations lumb'ring at his back. 
 
 True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind. 
 
 Yet careless what he brings, his one concern 
 
 Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn; 10 
 
 And having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass on. 
 
 He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch. 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 77 
 
 Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief 
 -Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some; 
 To him indiff'rent whether grief or joy. ' 15 
 
 Houses in ashes; and the fall of stocks, 
 -Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet 
 With tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks 
 Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, 
 Or charg'd with am'rous sighs of absent swains, 20 
 
 Or nymphs responsive, equally affect 
 His horse and him, unconscious of them all. 
 But O, th' important budget! usher'd in 
 With such heart- shaking musick, who can say 
 What are its tidings? have our troops awak'd? 25 
 
 Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd. 
 Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantick wave 
 Is India free? and does she wear her plum'd 
 And jewel'd turban with a smile of peace. 
 Or do we grind her still? The grand debate, 30 
 
 The popular harangnie, the tart reply. 
 The logick, and the wisdom, and the wit. 
 And the loud laugh — I long to know them all; 
 I burn to set the imprison'd wranglers free. 
 And give them voice and utt'rance once again. 35 
 
 Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, 
 Jjct fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round. 
 And while the bubbling and loud -hissing urn 
 Throws up a steamy column, and the cups. 
 That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, 40 
 
 So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in. 
 Not such his ev'ning, who with shining face 
 Sweats in the crowded theatre, and squeez'd 
 And bor'd with elbow points through both his sides, 
 Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage: 45 
 
 Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb. 
 And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath 
 Of patriots, bursting with hero ick rage. 
 Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. 
 This folio of four pages happy work! 50 
 
78 THE TASK. 
 
 Which not e'en criticks criticisej that holds 
 Inquisitive attention, while I read. 
 Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, 
 Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break; 
 What is it, but a map of busy life, 65 
 
 Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns? 
 Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge. 
 That tempts Ambition. On the summit see 
 The seals of office glitter in his eyes; 
 He climbs, he pants, he grasps them! At his heels 60 
 Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends. 
 And with a dext'rous jerk soon twists him down, 
 And wins them, but to lose them in his turn- 
 Here rills of oily eloquence, in soft 
 Meanders lubricate the course they take; 65 
 
 The modest speaker is asham'd and griev'd, 
 T' engross a moment's notice; and yet begs, 
 Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, 
 However trivial, all that he conceives. 
 Sweet bashfulness; it claims at least this praise: 70 
 
 The dearth of information and good sense 
 That it foretells us always comes to pass. 
 Cataracts of declamation thunder here; 
 Their forest of no meaning spread the page, 
 In which all comprehension wanders lost; 76 
 
 While fields of pleasantry amuse us there 
 With merry descants on a nation's woes. 
 The rest appears a wilderness of strange 
 But gay confusion; roses for the cheeks, 
 And lillies for the brows of faded age, 80 
 
 Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, 
 Heav'n, earth, and ocean, plundered of their sweets, 
 Nectareous essences, Olympian dews. 
 Sermons, and city feasts, and fav'rite airs, 
 ^therial journeys, submarine exploits, 85 
 
 And Katterfelto, with his hair on end 
 At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread. 
 'Tis pleasant through the loopholes of retreat. 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 79 
 
 To peep at such a world; to see the stir 
 
 Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd; 90 
 
 To hear the roar she sends through all her gates 
 
 At a safe distance, where the dying sound 
 
 Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjur'd ear. 
 
 Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease 
 
 The globe and its concerns, I seem advanc'd 95 
 
 To some secure and more than mortal height. 
 
 That liberates and exempts me from them all. 
 
 It turns submitted to my view, turns round 
 
 With all its generations; I behold 
 
 The tumult, and am still. The sound of war 100 
 
 Has lost its terrours ere it reaches me; 
 
 Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride 
 
 And av'rice that make man a wolf to man; 
 
 Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats. 
 
 By which he speaks the language of his heart, 105 
 
 And sigh, but never tremble at the sound. 
 
 He travels and expatiates, as the bee 
 
 From flow'r to flow'r, so he from land to land; 
 
 The manners, customs, policy, of all 
 
 Pay contribution to the store he gleans; 110 
 
 He sucks intelligence in ev'ry clime, 
 
 And spreads the honey of his deep research 
 
 At his return — a rich repast for me. 
 
 He travels, and I too. I tread his deck. 
 
 Ascend his topmast .through his peering eyes 115 
 
 Discover countries, with a kindred heart 
 
 Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes; 
 
 While fancy, like the finger of a clock. 
 
 Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. 
 
 O Winter, ruler of th' inverted year, 120 
 
 Thy scatter'd hair with sleet like ashes fiU'd, 
 
 Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
 
 Fring'd with a beard made white with other snows 
 
 Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, 
 
 A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 125 
 
 A sliding car, indebted to no wheels. 
 
80 THE TASK. 
 
 But urg'd by storms along its slipp'ry way, 
 
 I love thee, .all unlovely as thou seem'st, 
 
 Aud dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the sun 
 
 A pris'ner in the yet undawning east, 13 
 
 Short'ning his journey between morn and noon. 
 
 And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 
 
 Down to the rosy west: but kindly still 
 
 Compensating his loss with added hours 
 
 Of social converse and instructive ease, 13 
 
 And gath'ring, at short notice in one group 
 
 The family dispers'd, and fixing thought. 
 
 Not less dispers'd by daylight and its cares. 
 
 I crown thee king of intimate delights. 
 
 Fireside enjoyments, homeboru happiness, 14 
 
 And all the comforts that the lowly roof 
 
 Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours 
 
 Of long, uninterrupted ev'ning know. 
 
 No rattling wheels stop short before these gates; 
 
 No powder'd pert proficient in the art 14 
 
 Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors 
 
 Till the street rings; no stationary steeds 
 
 Cough their own knell, v/hile, heedless of the sound. 
 
 The silent circle fan themselves, and quake; 
 
 But here the needle plies its busy task, li 
 
 The pattern grows, the well-depicted iiow'r. 
 
 Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn. 
 
 Unfolds its bosom; buds, aud leaves, and sprigs. 
 
 And curling tendrils, gracefully dispos'd. 
 
 Follow the nimble finger of the fair; 15 
 
 A wreath, that cannot fade, or flow'rs that blow 
 
 With most success Avhen all besides decay. 
 
 The poet's or historian's page by one 
 
 Made vocal for the amusement of the rest: 15 
 
 The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds 
 
 The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out; 
 
 And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct. 
 
 And in the charming strife triumphant still, 
 
 Beguile the night, and set a keener edge 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 81 
 
 On female industry: the threaded steel 165 
 
 Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. 
 
 The volume closed, the customary rites 
 
 Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal: 
 
 Such as the mistress of the world once found 
 
 Delicious, when her patriots of high note, 170 
 
 Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors, 
 
 And under an old oak's domestick shade, 
 
 Enjoy'd, spare feast! a radish and an egg. 
 
 Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull. 
 
 Nor such as with a frown forbids the play 175 
 
 Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth: 
 
 Nor do we madly, like an impious World, 
 
 Who deem religion frenzy, and the God 
 
 That made them an intruder on their joys. 
 
 Start at his awful name, or deem his praise 180 
 
 A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone ' 
 
 Exciting oft our gratitude and love. 
 
 While we retrace with Mem'ry's pointing wand. 
 
 That calls the past to our exact review. 
 
 The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare, 185 
 
 The disappointed foe, deliv'rance foimd 
 
 tJnlook'd for, life preserv'd, and peace restor'd — 
 
 Fruits of omnipotent eternal love. 
 
 O ev'nings worthy of the gods! exclaim'd 
 
 The Sabine bard. O ev'nings, I reply, 190 
 
 More to be priz'd and coveted than yours. 
 
 As more illumin'd, and with nobler truths. 
 
 That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy. 
 
 Is winter hideous in a garb like this? 
 Needs he the tragick for, the smoke of lamps, 195 
 
 The pent-up breath of an unsav'ry throng. 
 To thaw him into feeling, or the smart 
 And snappish dialogue, that flippant wits 
 Gall comedy, to prompt him with a smile? 
 The self-complacent actor, when he views 200 
 
 (Stealing a sidelong glance at a Ml house) 
 The slope of faces, from the floor to th' roof 
 
82 THE TASK. 
 
 <As if one master spring controll'd them all,) 
 
 Relax'd into a universal grin. 
 
 Sees not a count'nance there, that speaks of joy 205 
 
 Half so refin'd or so sincere as ours. 
 
 Cards were superfluous here, with all the tricks 
 
 That idleness has ever yet contriv'd 
 
 To fill the void of an unfurnish'd brain, 
 
 To palliate dulness, and give time a shove, 210 
 
 Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, 
 
 Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound; 
 
 But the world's Time is Time in Masquerade! 
 
 Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledg'd. 
 
 With motley plumes; and where the peacock shows 
 
 His azure eyes, is tinctm^'d black and red 216 
 
 With spots quadrangular of diamond form, 
 
 Ensanguin'd hearts, clubs typical of strife. 
 
 And spades, the emblem of imtimely graves. 
 
 What should be, and what was an hourglass once, 220 
 
 Becomes a dicebox, and a billiard mace 
 
 Well does the work of his destructive sithe. 
 
 Thus deck'd, he charms a World whom Fashion blinds 
 
 To his true worth, most pleas'd when idle most: 
 
 Whose only happy, are their idle hours. 225 
 
 E'en misses, at whose age their mothers wore 
 
 The backstring and the bib, assume the dress 
 
 Of womanhood, sit pupils in the school 
 
 Of card devoted Time, and, night by night, 
 
 Plac'd at some vacant corner of the board, 230 
 
 Learn ev'ry trick, and soon play all the game. 
 
 But truce with censure. Roving as I rove. 
 
 Where shall I find an end, or how proceed? 
 
 As he that travels far oft turns aside. 
 
 To view some rugged rock or mould'ring tow'r, 235 
 
 Which seen, delights him not; then coming home, 
 
 Describes and prints it, that the world may know 
 
 How far he went for what was nothing worth: 
 
 So I, with brush in hand aud pallet spread. 
 
 With colours mix'd for a far diff'rent use^ 240 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 8S 
 
 Paint cards, aud dolls, and ev'ry idle tiling, 
 That Fancy finds in her excursive flights. 
 
 Conae Ev'ning, once again, season of peace. 
 Return, sweet Ev'ning, and continue long! 
 Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, 245 
 
 With matron step slow-moving, while the Night 
 Treads on thy sweeping train; one hand employ'd 
 In letting fall the curtain of repose 
 On bird and beast, the other charged for man 
 With sweet oblivion of the cares of day: 260 
 
 Not sumptuously adorn'd, nor needing aidy 
 Like homely-featur'd Night, of clust'ring gems; 
 A star or two, just twinkling on thy brow. 
 Suffices thee; save that the moon is thine 
 No less than hers, not worn indeed on high 255 
 
 With ostentatious pageantry, but set 
 With modest grandeur in thy purple zone. 
 Resplendent less, but of an ampler roimd. 
 Come then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm. 
 Or make me so. Composure is thy gift; 260 
 
 And, whether I devote thy gentle hours 
 To books, to musick, or the poet's toil; 
 To weaving nets for bird- alluring fruit; 
 Or twining silken threads round ivory reels. 
 When they command whom man was born to please; 
 I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. 266 
 
 Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze 
 With lights, by clear reflection multiplied 
 From many a mirror, in which he of Gath, 
 Goliath, might have seen his giant bulk 270 
 
 Whole without stooping, tow'ring crest and all, 
 My pleasures, too, begin. But me perhaps 
 The glowing hearth may satisfy awhile 
 With faint illumination, that uplifts 
 The shadows to the ceiling, there by fits 275 
 
 Dancing micouthly to the quiv'ring flame. 
 Not undelightful is an hour to me 
 So spent in parlour twilight: guch a gloom 
 
84 THE TASK. 
 
 Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind. 
 
 The mind contemplative, with some new theme 280 
 
 Pregnant, or indispos'd alike to all. 
 
 Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial pow'rs, 
 
 That never feel a stupor, know no pause. 
 
 Nor need one; I am conscious, and confess 
 
 Fearless, a soul that does not always think, 285 
 
 Me oft has Fancy, ludicrous and wild, 
 
 Sooth'd with a waking dream of houses, tow'rs. 
 
 Trees, churches, and strange visages, express'd 
 
 In the red cinders, while with poring eye 
 
 I gaz'd, myself creating what I saw. 290 
 
 Nor less amus'd have I quiescent watch'd 
 
 The sooty films that play upon the bars 
 
 Pendulous, and foreboding in the view 
 
 Of superstition, prophesying still, 
 
 Though still deceiv'd, some stranger's near approach. 
 
 'Tis thus the imderstanding takes repose 296 
 
 In indolent vacuity of thought. 
 
 And sleeps, and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the face 
 
 Conceals the mood lethargick with a mask 
 
 Of deep deliberation, as the man 300 
 
 Were task'd to his full strength, absorb'd and lost. 
 
 Thus oft, reclin'd at ease I lose an hour 
 
 At ev'ning, till at length the freezing blast 
 
 That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons home 
 
 The recollected pow'rs; and snapping short 305 
 
 The glassy threads, with which the Fancy weaves 
 
 Her brittle toils, restores me to myself. 
 
 How calm is my recess; and how the frost. 
 
 Raging abroad, and the rough wind, endear 
 
 The silence and the warmth enjoy'd within! 310 
 
 I saw the woods and fields at close of day, 
 
 A variegated show; the meadows green. 
 
 Though faded; and the lands, where lately wav'd 
 
 The golden harvest, of a mellow brown, 
 
 Upturn'd so lately by the forceful share. 315 
 
 I saw far off the weedy fallows smile 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 85 
 
 With verdure not unprofitable, graz'd 
 
 By flocks;, fast feeding, and selecting each 
 
 His fav'rite herb: while all the leafless groves 
 
 That skirt th' horizon wore a sable hue, 320 
 
 Scarce notic'd in the kindred dusk of eve. 
 
 To-morrow brings a change, a total change! 
 
 Which even now, though silently perform'd. 
 
 And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face 
 
 Of universal nature undergoes. 325 
 
 Fast falls a fleecy show'r: the downy flakes 
 
 Descending, and with never-ceasing laps6. 
 
 Softly alighting upon all below. 
 
 Assimilate all objects. Earth receives 
 
 Gladly the thick'ning mantle; and the green 330 
 
 And tender blade, that fear'd the chilling blast. 
 
 Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil. 
 
 In such a world, so thorny, and where none 
 Finds happiness unblighted, or, if found. 
 Without some thistly sorrow at its side; 335 
 
 It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin 
 Against the law of love, to measure lots 
 With less distinguish'd than ourselves; that thus 
 We may with patience bear our moderate ills. 
 And sympathize with others sufF'ring more. 340 
 
 111 fares the trav'ller now, and he that stalks 
 In pond'rous boots beside his reeking team 
 The wain goes heavily, impeded sore 
 By congregated loads adhering close 
 To the clogg'd wheels; and in its sluggish pace 345 
 Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. 
 The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide, 
 While ev'ry breath, by respiration strong 
 Forc'd downward, is consolidated soon 
 Upon their jutting chests. He, form 'd to bear 350 
 
 The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, 
 With half shut eyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teeth 
 Presented bare^^against^the storm, plods on. 
 One'hand secure his hat, save wheu with both 
 
 Vol. II.— 8 
 
86 ^HE TASK. 
 
 He brandishes his pliant length of whip, 
 Resounding oft, and never heard iii vain. 
 O happy: and in ray account denied 
 That sensibility of pain with whieh 
 Refinement is endu'd, thrice happy thou! 
 Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed 
 The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd. 
 The learn 'd finger never need explore > 
 Thy vig'rous pulse; and the unhealthful east, 
 That breathes the' spleen, and searches ev'ry bone 
 Of the infirm, is wholesome air to' thee. • • 
 Thy days roll on exempt from household care; 
 Thy wagon is thy wife; aild the poor beasts. 
 That drag the dull companion to' and fro. 
 Thine helpless charge^ dependent on thy care. 
 Ah, treat them kindly; rude as thou appear 'st. 
 Yet show that thou hast mercy! which the great, 
 With needless hurry whirl'd from place to place. 
 Humane as they would seem, not always show. 
 
 Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, 
 Such claim compassion in a night like this. 
 And have a friend in ev'ry feeling heart. 
 Warm'd, while it lasts, by labour, all day long 
 They brave the season, and yet find at eve, 
 111 clad, and fed but sparely, time to cool. 
 The frugal housewife trembles when she lights 
 Her scanty stock of brushwood blazing clear, 
 But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys. 
 The few small embers left she nurses well; 
 And while her infant race, with outspread hands 
 And crowded knees, sit cow'ring o'er the sparks. 
 Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd. 
 The man feels least, as more inur'd than she 
 To winter, and the current in his viens 
 More briskly mov'd by his severer toil; 
 Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs. 
 The taper soon extinguis'd, which I saw 
 Dangled along at the cold finger's end 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 87 
 
 Just wheu the day declin'd: aad the brown loaf 
 
 Lodg'd on the shelf half eaten without sauce 
 
 Of sav'ry cheese, or butter, costlier still; 395 
 
 Sleep seems their only refuge, for, alas! 
 
 Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd, 
 
 And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few! 
 
 With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care, 
 
 Ingenious Parsimony takes, but just 400 
 
 Saves the small inventory, bed and stool. 
 
 Skillet, and old carv'd chest, from publick sale. 
 
 They live, and live Avithout extorted alms 
 
 From grudging hands: but other boast have none. 
 
 To soothe their honest .pride, that scorns to beg, 405 
 
 Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love. 
 
 I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair. 
 
 For ye are worthy; choosing rather far 
 
 A dry but independent crust, hard earn'd. 
 
 And eaten with a sigh, than, to endure 410 
 
 The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs 
 
 Of knaves in office, partial in the work 
 
 Of distribution; lib'ral of their aid 
 
 To clam'rous Importunity in rags. 
 
 But ofttimes deaf to suppliants, who would blush 415 
 
 To wear a tatter'd garb, however coarse. 
 
 Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth. 
 
 These ask with painful shyness, and, refus'd 
 
 Because deserving, silently retire! 
 
 But be ye of good courage! Time itself • 420 
 
 Shall much befriend you.. Time shall give increase; 
 
 And all your numerous progeny, well train'd. 
 
 But helpless, in few years shall find their hands. 
 
 And labour too. Meanwhile ye shall not want 
 
 What, conscious of your virtues, we can spare, 425 
 
 Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may send. 
 
 I mean the man, who, when the distant poor 
 
 Need help, denies them nothing but his name. 
 
 But poverty with most, who wimper forth 
 Their long complaints, is self-inflicted wo; 430 
 
88 THE TASK. 
 
 The effect of laziness or sottish waste. 
 
 Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad 
 
 For plunder; much solicitous how best 
 
 He may compensate for a day of sloth 
 
 By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong. 435 
 
 Wo to the gard'ner's pale, the farmer's hedge, 
 
 Plash'd neatly, and secur'd with driven stakes 
 
 Deep in the loamy bank, Uptorn by strength, 
 
 Resistless in so bad a cause, but lame 
 
 To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil, 440 
 
 An ass's burden, and, when laden most 
 
 And heaviest, light of foot, steals fast away 
 
 Nor does the bordered hovel better guard 
 
 The well-stack'd pile of riven logs and roots 
 
 From his pernicious force. Nor will he leave 445 
 
 Unwrench'd the door, however well- secur'd. 
 
 Where Chanticleer amidst his harem sleeps 
 
 In unsuspecting pomp. Tivitch'd from the perch. 
 
 He gives the princely bird, with all his wives, 
 
 To his voracious bag, struggling in vain, 450 
 
 And loudly wondering at the sudden change. 
 
 Nor this to feed his own. 'Twere some exquse 
 
 Did pity of their suff'rings warp aside 
 
 His principle and tempt him into sin 
 
 For their support, so destitute. But they 455 
 
 Neglected, pine at home; themselves, as more 
 
 Expos'd than others, with less scruple made 
 
 His victims, robb'd of their defenseless all. 
 
 Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst 
 
 Of ruinous ebriety, that prompts 460 
 
 His ev'ry action, and imbrutes the man. 
 
 O for a law to noose the viilian's neck 
 
 Who starves his own; who persecutes the blood 
 
 He gave them in bis children's veins, and hates 
 
 And wi'ongs the woman he has sworn to love! 465 
 
 Pass where we may, through city or through town. 
 Village or hamlet, of this merry land, 
 Though lean and beggar 'd, every twentieth pace 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 89 
 
 Conducts th' uuguarded uose to such a whiff" 
 
 Of stale debauch, forth- issuing from the sties 470 
 
 That law has liceus'd, as makes Temp'rance reel. 
 
 There sit, involv'd and lost in curling clouds 
 
 Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor. 
 
 The lackey, and the groom; the craftsman there 
 
 Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil; 475 
 
 Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the shears. 
 
 And he that kneads the dough; all loud alike, 
 
 All learned and all drunk! the 'fiddle screams 
 
 Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and waiPd 
 
 Its wasted tones and harmony unheard, 480 
 
 Fierce the dispute, whate'er the theme; while she, 
 
 Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, 
 
 Perch'd on the signpost, holds with even hand 
 
 Her undecisive scales. In this she lays 
 
 A weight of ignorance; in that, of pride; 485 
 
 And smiles delighted with the eternal poise. 
 
 Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin soimd, 
 
 The cheek distending oath, not to be prais'd 
 
 As ornamental, musical, polite. 
 
 Like those which modern senators employ, 490 
 
 Whose oath is rhet'rick, and who swear for fame! 
 
 Behold the schools, in which plebeian minds. 
 
 Once simple, are initiated in arts 
 
 Which some may practise with politer grace. 
 
 But none with readier skill! — 'Tis here they learn 
 
 The road that leads from competence and peace 496 
 
 To indigence and rapine; till at last 
 
 Society, grown weary of the load. 
 
 Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out. 
 
 But censure profits little; vain th' attempt 500 
 
 To advertise in verse a publick pest. 
 
 That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds 
 
 His hungry acres,, stinks, and is of use. 
 
 Th' excise is fatten'd with the rich result 
 
 Of all this riot; and ten thousand casks, 505 
 
 For ever dribbling out their base contents, 
 
90 THE TASK. 
 
 Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state. 
 
 Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. 
 
 Drink, and be mad then; 'tis your country bids! 
 
 Gloriously drunk, obey th' important call! 510 
 
 Her cause demands th' assistance of your throats; 
 
 Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more. 
 
 Would I had fallen upon those happier days 
 That poets celebrate: these golden times. 
 And those Arcadian scenes that Maro sings, 515 
 
 And Sidney, wai'bler of poetick prose. 
 Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts 
 That felt their virtues: Innocence, it seems. 
 From courts dismiss'd, found shelter in the grores; 
 The footsteps of simplicity, impress'd 520 
 
 Upon the yielding herbage, (so they sing,) 
 Then were not all effac'd; then speech profane. 
 And manners profligate, were rarely found, 
 Observ'd as prodigies, and soon reclaim'd. 
 Vain wish! those days were never; airy dreams 625 
 Sat for the picture: and the poet's hand, 
 Imparting substance to an empty shade, 
 Impos'd a gay delirium for a truth. 
 Grant it: I still must envy them an age 
 That favour'd such a dream; in days like these 520 
 Impossible when Virtue is so scarce. 
 That to suppose a scene where she presides 
 Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief. 
 No: we are polish'd now. The rural lass. 
 Whom once her virgin modesty and grace, 535 
 
 Her artless manners, and her neat attire, 
 So dignified, that she v/as hardly less 
 Than the fair shepherdess of old romance. 
 Is seen no more. The character is lost! 
 Her head adorn'd with lappets pinn'd aloft, 540 
 
 And ribbands streaming gay, superbly rais'd. 
 And magnified beyond all human size. 
 Indebted to some smart wig- weaver's hand 
 For ir.oi-c than half the tresses it sustains: 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 91 
 
 Her elbows ruffled, and her tott'ring form 545 
 
 111 propp'd upon French heelsj she might be deem'd 
 
 (But that the basket dangling on her arm 
 
 Interprets her more truly) of a rank 
 
 Too proud for dairy work, or sale of eggs — 
 
 Expect her soon with footboy at her heels. 
 
 No longer blushing for her awkward Joad, 
 
 Her train and her umbrella all her care! 
 
 The town has ting'd the country; and the stain 
 Appears a spot upon a vestal's' robe. 
 The worse for what it soils. The fashion runs 
 Down into scenes still rural; but, alas. 
 Scenes rarely grac'd with rural manners now! 
 Time was when in the pastoral retreat 
 Th' luiguarded door was safe; men did not watch 
 T' invade another's right, or guard their own. 
 Then sleep was midistui-b'd by fear, unscar'd 
 By drunken bowlings; and the chilling tale 
 Of midnight murder was a wonder heard 
 With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes. 
 But farewell now to unsuspicious nights. 
 And slumbers unalarm'd! Now, ere you sleep. 
 See that your polish'd arms be prim'd with care. 
 And drop the night-bolt;— ruffians are abroad; 
 And the first larum of the cock's shrill throat 
 May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear 
 To horrid sounds of hostile feet within. 
 E'en daylight has its dangers; and the walk 
 Through pathless wastes and Avoods, imconscious once 
 Of other tenants than melodious birds. 
 Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold. 
 Lamented change! to which full many a cause 
 Invet'rate, hopeless of a cure, conspires. 
 The course of human things from good to ill. 
 From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails. 
 Increase of pow'r begets increase of wealth; 
 Wealth luxury, and luxury excess; 
 Excess, the scrofulous and itchy plague, 
 
 550 
 
 555 
 
 560 
 
 565 
 
 670 
 
 575 
 
 580 
 
02 THE TASK. 
 
 That seizes first the opulcut, descends 
 
 To the next rank contagious, and in time 
 
 Taints downward all the graduated scale 
 
 Of order, from the chariot to the plough. 
 
 The rich, and they that have an arm to check 
 
 The license of the lowest in degree, , . ^^ 
 
 Desert their oilics; and themselves, intent 
 
 On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus 
 
 Tb all the violence of lawless hands 
 
 Resign the scenes their presence might protect. 
 
 Authority herself not seldom sleeps. 
 
 Though resident, and witness of the wrong. 
 
 The plump convivial parson often bears 
 
 The magisterial sword in vain, and lays 
 
 His rev'rence and his worship both to rest 
 
 On the sauio cushion of habitual sloth. 
 
 Perhaps timidity restrains his arm; 
 
 When he should strike he trembles, and sets free, 
 
 Himself enslav'd by terrour of the band — 
 
 Th' audacious convict whom he dares not bind. 
 
 Perhaps though by profession ghostly pure. 
 
 He, too, may have his vice, and sometimes prove 
 
 Less dainty than becomes his grave outside 
 
 In lucrative concerns. Examine well 
 
 His milk-white hand; the palm is hardly clean — 
 
 But here and there an ugly smutch appears. 
 
 Foh! 'twas a bribe that left it; he has touch'd 
 
 Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here 
 
 Propitious, pays his tribute, game or fish. 
 
 Wild fowl or venison; and his errand speeds. 
 
 But faster far, and more than all the rest, 
 A noble cause, which none, who bears a spark 
 Of publick virtue, ever wish'd remov'd. 
 Works the deplor'd and mischievous clfcct. 
 'Tis universal soldiership has stabb'd 
 The heart of merit in the meaner class. 
 Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage 
 Of those that bear them, in whatever cause. 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 93 
 
 Seem most at variance with all moral good. 
 And incompatible with serious thought. 
 The clown, the child of nature, without guile, 
 Blest with an infant's igiiorance of all 
 But his own simple pleasures; now and then 625 
 
 A wrestling match, a foot-race, or a fair; 
 Is balloted, and trembles at the news: 
 Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears 
 A bible oath to be whate'er they please. 
 To do he knows not what. The task perform'd, 630 
 That instant he becomes the sergeant's care. 
 His pupil, and his torment, and his jest. 
 His awkward gait, his introverted toes. 
 Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks. 
 Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees, 635 
 
 Unapt to learn, and form'd of stubborn stuff. 
 He yet by slow degrees puts off himself. 
 Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well: 
 He stands erect: his slouch becomes a walk; 
 He steps right onward, martial in his air, 640 
 
 His form and movement; is as smart above 
 As meal and larded locks can make him; wears 
 His hat, or his plum'd helmet, with a grace; 
 And his three years of heroship 6xpir'd, 
 Eetums indignant to the slighted plough. 645 
 
 He hates the field, in which no fife or drum 
 Attends him; drives his cattle to a march; 
 And sighs for the smart comrades he has left. 
 'Twere Avell if his exterior change were all — 
 But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost 650 
 
 His ignorance and harmless manners too. 
 To swear, to gam^, to drink; to show at home 
 By lewdness, idleness, and sabbath breach. 
 The great proficiency he made abroad; 
 T' astonish, and to grieve his gazing friends; 655 
 
 To break some maiden's and his mother's heart: 
 To be a pest where he was useful onCe; 
 Are his sole aim, and all his glory, now. 
 
94 THE TASK. 
 
 Man in society is like a flow'r 
 Blown in its native bed; 'tis there alone ( 
 
 His faculties, expanded in full bloom. 
 Shine out; there only reach tiicir proper use. 
 But man, associated and leagued with man 
 By regal wai'rant or self-join'd by bond 
 For int'rest sake, or swarming into clans ( 
 
 Beneath one head for purposes of war. 
 Like flow'rs selected from the rest, and bound 
 And bundled close to fill some crowded vase. 
 Fades rapidly, and, by compression marr'd, 
 Contracts defilement not to be endur'd. ( 
 
 Hence charter'd boroughs are such publick plagues 
 And burghers, men immaculate perhaps 
 In all their private fmictions, once combin'd. 
 Become a loathsome body, only fit 
 For dissolution, hui-tful to the main. ( 
 
 Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin 
 Against the charities of domestick life. 
 Incorporated, seem at once to lose 
 Their nature; and, di-sclaiming all regard 
 For mercy and the common rights of man, ( 
 
 Build factories with blood, conducting trade 
 At the sword's point, and dying the white robe 
 Of innocent commercial Justice red. 
 Hence, too, the field of glory, as the world 
 Misdeems it, dazzled by its bright array, € 
 
 With all its majesty of thuud'ring pomp. 
 Enchanting music, and immortal wreaths. 
 Is but a school, where thoughtlessness is taught 
 On principle, where foppery atones 
 For folly, gallantry for ev'ry vice. 6 
 
 But slighted as it is, and by the great 
 Abandon'd, and, which still I more regret. 
 Infected with the manners and the modes 
 It knew not once, the country wins me still.. 
 I never fram'd a wish, or form'd a plan, . C 
 
 That flatter'd mc with hopes of earthly bliss, 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 95 
 
 But there I laid the scene. There early stray.'d 
 
 My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice 
 
 Had found me, or the hope of being free. 
 
 My very dreams were rural; rural, too 700 
 
 The first-born efforts of my youthful muse. 
 
 Sportive and jingling her poetick bells, 
 
 Ere yet her ear was mistress of their pow'rs. 
 
 No bard could please me but whose lyre was tun'd 
 
 To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats 705 
 
 Fatigu'd me never-weary of the pipe 
 
 Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang. 
 
 The rustick throng beneath his fav'i'ite beech. 
 
 Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms: 
 
 New to my taste, his Paradise surpass'd " 710 
 
 The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue 
 
 To speak its excellence. I danc'd for joy. 
 
 i marvell'd much that, at so ripe an age 
 
 As twice seven years, his beauties had then first 
 
 Engag'd my wonder; and admiring still, . 715 
 
 And still admiring, with regret suppos'd 
 
 The joy half lost, because not sooner found. 
 
 There, too, enamour'd of the life I lov'd, 
 
 Pathetick in its praise, in its pursuit 
 
 Determin'd and possessing it at last, 720 
 
 With transports such as favour'd lovei-s feel, 
 
 I studied, priz'd, and wish'd that I had known. 
 
 Ingenious Cowley! and, though now reclaim'd 
 
 By modern lights from an erroneous taste, 
 
 I cannot but lament thy splendid wit 726 
 
 Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools. 
 
 I still revere thee, courtly though retir'd; 
 
 Though stretch'd at ease in Chertsey's silent bow'rs. 
 
 Not unemploy'd; and finding rich amends 
 
 For a lost world in solitude and verse. 730 
 
 'Tis born with all: the love of Natiu:e's works 
 
 Is an ingredient in the compound man, 
 
 Infus'd at the creation of the kind. 
 
 And, though th' Almighty Maker has throughout 
 
96 THE TASK. 
 
 Discriminated each from eaclij by strokes 735 
 
 And touches of his hand, with so much art 
 Diversified, that two were never foimd 
 Twins at all points — yet this obtains in all 
 That all discern a beauty in his works. 
 And all can taste them: minds that have been form'd 
 And tutor'd with a relish more exact, 741 
 
 But none without some relish, none unmov'd. 
 It is a flame that dies not even there. 
 Where nothing feeds it; neither business, crowds. 
 Nor habits of luxurious city life, 745 
 
 Whatever else they smother of true worth 
 In human bosoms, quench it or abate. 
 The villas, with which London stands begirt. 
 Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads 
 Prove it. A breath of unadult'rate air 750 
 
 The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer 
 The citizen, and brace his languid frame! 
 E'en in the stifling bosom of the town 
 A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms 
 That soothe the rich possessor; much consol'd, 755 
 
 That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint 
 Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well 
 He cultivates. These serve him with a hint 
 That Nature lives; that sight-refreshing green 
 Is still the liv'ry she delights to wear, 760 
 
 Though sickly samples of th' exub'rant whole. 
 What are the casements lin'd with creeping herbs. 
 The prouder sashes fronted with a range 
 Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed. 
 The Frenchman's darling?* are they not all proofs. 
 That man immur'd in cites, still retains 766 
 
 His inborn inextinguishable thirst 
 Of rural scenes, compensating his loss 
 By supplemental shifts, the best he may? 
 The most unfurnish'd with the means of life, 77 
 
 And they that uever pass their brick- wall bounds, 
 ♦Magnionette. 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 97 
 
 To range the fields, and treat their lungs with air. 
 Yet feel their burning instinct; over head 
 Suspend their crazy boxes planted thick. 
 An water'd duly. There the pitcher stands 775 
 
 A fragment, and the spoutless teapot there; 
 Sad witnesses how close- pent man regrets 
 The country, with what ardour he contrives 
 A peep at Nature, when he can no more. 
 
 Hail, therefore, patroness of health and ease, 780 
 And contemplation, heart-consoling joys. 
 And harmless pleasures in the throng'd abode 
 Of multitudes unknown! hail, rural life! 
 Address himself who will to the pm'suit 
 Of, honours, or emolument, or fame; 785 
 
 I shall not add myself to such a chase. 
 Thwart his attempts, or envy his success. 
 Some must be great. Great offices will have 
 Great talents. And God gives to ev'ry man 
 The virtue, temper, understanding, taste, 790 
 
 That lifts him into life, and lets him fall 
 Just in the niche he was ordain'd to fill. 
 To the deliv'rer of an injur'd land 
 He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, a heart 
 To feel, and corn-age to redress her wrongs; 795 
 
 To monarchs dignity; to judges sense; 
 To artists ingenuity and skill; 
 To me, an unambitious mind, content 
 In the low vale of life, that early felt 
 A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long 800 
 
 Fomid here that leisure and that ease I wishy. 
 
 Vol. II.— 9 
 
THE TASK. 
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 
 
 ARGUMENT OF THE FIFTH BOOK. 
 
 A frosty morning— The fodderinp; of cattle— The woodman and 
 his dog— The poultry— Whimsical efFectsof afiostat a water- 
 fall—The empress of Russia's palace of ice— Amusement of 
 monarchs— War, one of tliem— Wars, whence— And whence 
 monarchy— The evils of it— English and French loyalty con- 
 trasted — The Bastile, and a prisoner there— Liberty the chief 
 recommendation of tliis country— Modern patriotism ques- 
 tionablf, and wh\ — The perishable nature of the best human 
 institutions— Spiritual Hbcriy not perishable— The slavish 
 state of man by nature— Deliver hi.n, Deist, if you can— Grace 
 must do it — I'he respective merits of patriots and martyrs 
 stilted — Tlieir different treatment — Hai)py freedom of the 
 man whom grace makes free — His relish of the works of God 
 —Address to the Creator. 
 
 'TIS morning; and the sun with ruddy orb 
 
 Ascending, tires the horizon; while the clouds 
 
 That crowd away before the driving wind. 
 
 More ardfent as the disk emerges more. 
 
 Resemble most some city in a blaze, 6 
 
 Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray 
 
 Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale, 
 
 And tinging all with his OAvn rosy hue, 
 
 From ev'ry herb and ev'ry spiiy blade 
 
 Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field, 10 
 
 Mine spindling into longitude immense, 
 
 In spite of gravity, and sage remark 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 99 
 
 That I myself am but a fl?etiiig shade, 
 
 Provokes me to a smile. With eye askancC:, 
 
 I view the muscular proport'ou'd limb 15 
 
 Transform'd to a lean shank. The shapeless pair, 
 
 As they design'd to mock me, at my side^ 
 
 Take step for step; and, as I near approach 
 
 The cottage, Avalk along the plaster'd wall, 
 
 Prepost'rous sight! the legs without the man. 20 
 
 The verdure of the plain lies buried deep 
 
 Beneath the dazzling deluge; and the bents. 
 
 And coarser grass, upspearing o'er the rest. 
 
 Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine 
 
 Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad, 25 
 
 And, fledg'd with icy feathers, nod superb. 
 
 The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence 
 
 Screens them, and seem half petrified so sleep 
 
 In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait 
 
 Their won led fodder; not like hung'ring man, 30 
 
 Fretful if uusupplied; but silent, meek. 
 
 And patient of the slow-pac'd swain's delay. 
 
 He from the stack carves out the accustom'd load, 
 
 Deep plunging, and again deep-plunging oft. 
 
 His broad keen knife into the solid mass; 35 
 
 Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands, 
 
 With such undeviating and even force 
 
 He severs it away; no needless care. 
 
 Lest storm should overset the leaning pile 
 
 Deciduous, or its own imbalanc'd weight. 40 
 
 Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern'd . 
 
 The cheerful haunts of man; to wield the axe, 
 
 And drive the wedge, in yonder forest dreai'. 
 
 From morn to eve his solitary task. 
 
 Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears 45 
 
 And tail cropp'd short, half lurcher and half cur — 
 
 His dog attends him. Close behind his heel 
 
 Now creeps he slow; and now with many a frisk 
 
 Wide- scamp 'ring, snatches up the drifted snow 
 
 With iv'ry teeth, or ploughs it with his snout; 50 
 
100 THE TASK. 
 
 Then shakes his powder'd cort and barks for joy. 
 
 Heedless of all his pranks, the stiu-dy churl 
 
 Moves right towai'ds the mark; nor stops for aught, 
 
 But now and then with pressure of his thumb 
 
 T' adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube, 55 
 
 That fumes beneath his nose: the trailing cloud 
 
 Streams far behind him, scenting all the air. 
 
 Now from the roost, or from the neighb'ring pale 
 
 Where diligent to catch the first faint gleam 
 
 Of smiling day, they gossip'd side by side, 60 
 
 Come trooping at the housewife's well known call 
 
 The feather'd tribes domestick. Half on wing. 
 
 And half on foot, they brush the fleecy flood. 
 
 Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge. 
 
 The sparrows peep, and quit the shelt'ring eaves, 65 
 
 To seize the fair occasion; well they eye 
 
 The scatter'd grain, and thievishly resolv'd 
 
 T' escape th' impending famine, often scar'd 
 
 As oft return — a pert voracious kind . 
 
 Clean riddance quickly made,- one only care 70 
 
 Remains to each, the search of sunny nook. 
 
 Or shsd impervious to the blast. Resign'd 
 
 To sad necessity, the cock foregoes 
 
 His wonted strut; and, wading at their head 
 
 With well-consider'd steps, seems to resent 75 
 
 His alter'd gait, and stateliness retreuch'd. 
 
 How find the myriads, that in summer cheer 
 
 The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs. 
 
 Due sustenance, or where subsist they now? 
 
 Earth yields them naught; th' imprison'd worm is safe 
 
 Beneath the frozen clod; all seeds of herbs 81 
 
 Lie cover'd close; and berry-bearing thorns. 
 
 That feed the thrush, (whatever some suppose,) 
 
 Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. 
 
 The long- protracted rigour of the year 85 
 
 Thins all their num'rous flock. In chinks and holes 
 
 Ten thousand seek an unmolested end. 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 101 
 
 As instinct prom]its; self- buried ei'e they die. 
 The very rooks and daws forsake the fields, 
 Where neither grub, nor root, nor e^th nut, now 90 
 Repays their labour more; and perch'd aloft 
 By the way-side, or stalking in the path, 
 Lean pensioners upon the trav'ller's track. 
 Pickup their nauseous dole, though sweet to them. 
 Of voided pulse or half- digested grain. 95 
 
 The streams are lost amid the splendid blank, 
 O'erwhelming all distinction. Oh the flood. 
 Indurated and fix'd, the snowy Aveight 
 Lies undissolv'd; while silently beneath, 
 And unperceiv'd, the current steals away. 100 
 
 Not so where, scornful of a cheek, it leaps 
 The mill-dam, dashes on the restless wheel, 
 And Avantons in the pebbly gulf below: 
 No frost can bind it there: its utmost force 
 Can but arrest the light and smoky mist, 105 
 
 That in its fall the liquid sheet throws wide. 
 And see where it has hung the embroider'd banks 
 With forms so various, that no pow'rs of art, 
 The pencil, or the pen, may trace the scene! 
 Here glitt' ring turrets rise, upbearing high, 110 
 
 (Fantastick misarrangement!^ on the roof 
 Large growth ^of what may seem the sparkling trees 
 And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops 
 That trickled down the branches, fast congeal'd. 
 Shoot into pillars of pellu3id length, 116 
 
 And prop the pile they but adorn'd before. 
 Here grotto within grotto safe defies 
 The sunbeam; there, emboss'd and fretted Avild, 
 The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes 
 Capricious, in which fancy seeks in vaiu 120 
 
 The likeness of some object seen before. 
 Thus Nature works as if to mock at Art, 
 And in defiance of her rival pow'rs; 
 By these fortuitous and random strokes 
 Performing such inimitable feats, 125 
 
 9* 
 
102 THE TASK. 
 
 As she with all her rules can never reach. 
 Less worthy of applause, though more admired, 
 Because a novelty, the work of man. 
 Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ, 
 Thy most magnificent and mighty fj-eak, 130 
 
 The wonder of the North. No forest fell 
 •When thou wouldst build; no quarry sent its stores, 
 T' enrich thy walls: but thou didst hew the floods. 
 And make thy marble of the glassy wave. 
 In such a palace Aristreus found 135 
 
 Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale 
 Of his lost bees to her maturnal ear: 
 In such a palace poetry might place 
 The armoury of Winter; where his troops, 
 The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet 140 
 Skin-piercing volley, blossom-bruising hail, 
 And snow, that often blinds the trav'ller's course, 
 . And wraps him in an unexpected tomb. 
 Silently as a dx'eam the fabrick rose; 
 No sound of hammer or of saw was there: 145 
 
 Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted pai'ts 
 Were soon conjoin'd, nor other cement ask'd 
 Than water interfus'd to make them one. 
 Lamps gracefully dispos'd, and of all hues, 
 Illumin'd ev'ry side: a wat'ry light 150 
 
 Gleam'd through the clear transparency, that seem'd 
 Another moon new ris'n, or meteor fall'n 
 From Heav'n to Earth, of lambent flame serene 
 So stood the brittle prodigy; though smooth 
 And slipp'ry the materials, yet frost bomid 165 
 
 Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within 
 That royal residence might Avell befit. 
 For grandeur or for use . Long wavy wreaths 
 Of flow'rs that fear'd no enemy but warmth, 
 Blush'd on the pannels. Mirror needed none 160 
 
 Where all was vitreous; but in order due 
 Convivial table' and commodious scat 
 (What seem'd at least commodious seat) were there; 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 103 
 
 Sofa and couch, and high-built throne august. 
 
 The same lubricity was found in all, 165 
 
 And all was moist to the warm touch; a scene 
 
 Of evanescent glory, once a stream. 
 
 And soon to slide into a stream again. 
 
 Alas! *twas but a mortifying stroke 
 
 Of undesign'd severity, that glanc'd, 170 
 
 (Made by a monarch,) on her own estate. 
 
 On human grandeur and the coiirts of kings. 
 
 'Twas transient in its nature, as in show, 
 
 'Twas durable; as worthless, as it seem'd 
 
 Intrinsically precious; to the foot 175 
 
 Treach'rous and false, it smil'd and it was cold. 
 
 Great princes have great play-things. Some have 
 play'd 
 At hewing mountains into men, and some 
 At building human wonders mountain-high. 
 Some have amus'd the dull, sad years of life, 180 
 
 (Life spent in indolence, and therefore sad,) 
 With schemes of monumental fame; and sought 
 By pyramids and mausolean pomp. 
 Short liv'd themselves, to immortalize their bones. 
 Some seek diversion in the tented field, 185 
 
 And make the sorrows of mankind their sport. 
 But war's a game, which were their subjects wise. 
 Kings would not play at. Nations would do well, 
 T' extort their trimcheons from the puny hands 
 Of heroes, whose infirm and baby rninds 190 
 
 Are gratified with mischief; and who spoil. 
 Because men suffer it, their toy, the world. 
 
 When Babel was confounded, and the great 
 Confed'racy of projectors wild and vain 
 Was split into diversity of tongues, 195 
 
 Then, as a shepherd separates his flock. 
 These to the upland, to the valley those, 
 God drove asunder, and assign'd their lot 
 To all the nations. Ample was the boon 
 He gave them, in its distribution fair 
 
104 THE TASK. 
 
 And equal; and he bade tliern dwell in peace. 
 
 Peace was awhile their care; they plough'd, and «ow'^;. 
 
 And reap'd their plenty Avithout grudge or strife. 
 
 But violence can never longer sleep 
 
 Than human passions please. In every heart 205 
 
 Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war; 
 
 Occasion needs hut fan them, and they blaze. 
 
 Cain had already shed a brother's blood: 
 
 The deluge wash'd it out; but left unquench'd 
 
 The seeds of murder in the breast of man, 210 
 
 Soon by a righteous judgment in the line 
 
 Of his descending progeny was found 
 
 The first artificer of death; the shrewd 
 
 Contriver, who first sweated at the forge. 
 
 And foi-c'd the blunt and yet unbloodied steel 215 
 
 To a keen edge, and made it bright for war. 
 
 Him, Tubal nani'd, the Vulcan of old times. 
 
 The sword and falchion their inventor claim; 
 
 And the first smith was the first murd'rer's son. 
 
 His art surviv'd the Avaters; and ere long, 220 
 
 When man was multiplied and spread abroad 
 
 In tribes and clans, and had begun to call 
 
 These meadows and that range of hills his own. 
 
 The tasted sweets of property begat 
 
 Desire of more; and industry in some, 225 
 
 T' improve and cultivate their just demesne. 
 
 Made others covet what they saAV so fair. 
 
 Thus war began on Earth: these fought for spoil. 
 
 And those in self-defence. Savage at first 
 
 The onset, and irregular. At length 230 
 
 One eminent above the rest for strength. 
 
 For stratagem, for courage, or for all. 
 
 Was chosen leader; him they serv'd in war, 
 
 And him in peace, for sake of warlike deeds, 
 
 Rev'renc'd no less. Who could with him compare? 
 
 Or who 80 worthy to control themselves, 23 ' 
 
 As he, whose prowess had subdu'd thoir foes? 
 
 Thus war, affording field for the display 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 105 
 
 Of virtue, made one chief, whom times of peace, 
 
 Which have their exigencies too, and call 240 
 
 For skill in government, at length made king. 
 
 King was a name too proud for man to wear 
 
 With modesty and meekness; and the crown 
 
 So dazzling in their eyes, who set it on. 
 
 Was sure t' intoxicate the brows it bound 245 
 
 It is the abject property of most. 
 
 That, being parcel of the common mass, . 
 
 And destitute of means to raise themselves. 
 
 They sink, and settle lower than they need. 
 
 They know not what it is to feel within 260 
 
 A comprehensive faculty, that grasps 
 
 Great purposes with ease, that turns and wields. 
 
 Almost without an effort, plans too vast 
 
 For their conception, which they cannot move. 
 
 Conscious of impotence they soon grow drunk 255 
 
 With gazing, when they see an able man 
 
 Step forth to notice; and, besotted thus. 
 
 Build him a pedestal, and say, "Stand there, 
 
 *'And be our admiration and our praise." 
 
 They roll themselves before him in the dust, 260 
 
 Thea most deserving in their own account 
 
 When most extravagant in his applause. 
 
 As if, exalting him, they rais'd themselves. 
 
 Thus by degrees, self-cheated of their sound 
 
 And sober judgment, that he is but man, 265 
 
 They demi- deify and fume him so. 
 
 That in due season he forgets it too. 
 
 Inflated and astrut with self-conceit. 
 
 He gulphs the windy dief; and ere long. 
 
 Adopting their mistake, profoundly thinks 270 
 
 The world was made in vain, if not for him. 
 
 Thenceforth they are his cattle; drudges, bom 
 
 To bear his burdens, drawing in his gears. 
 
 And sweating in his service, his caprice 
 
 Becomes the soul that animates them all. 275 
 
 He deems a thousand, or ten thousand lives. 
 
106 THE TASK. 
 
 Spent in the purchase of renown for him, 
 
 An easy reck'ning: and they think the same. 
 
 Thus kings were first invented, and thus kings 
 
 Were burnish'd into heroes, and became 280 
 
 The arbiters of this terraqueous swamp; 
 
 Storks among frogs, that have but croak'd and died. 
 
 Strange, that such folly, as lifts bloated man 
 
 To eminence, fit only for a god. 
 
 Should ever drivel out of human lips, 285 
 
 E'en in the cradled weakness of the world! 
 
 Still stranger much, that, when at length mankind 
 
 Had reach'd the sinewy firmness of their youth. 
 
 And could discriminate and argue well 
 
 On subjects more mysterious, they were yet 290 
 
 Babes in the cause of freedom, and should fear 
 
 And quake before the gods themselves had made: 
 
 But above measure strange, that neither proof 
 
 Of sad experience, nor examples set 
 
 By some whose pati'iot virtue has prevail'd, 295 
 
 Can even now, when they are grown mature 
 
 In wisdom, and with philosophick deeds 
 
 Familiar, serve t' emancipate the rest! 
 
 Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone 
 
 To rev'rence what is ancient, and can plead 300 
 
 A course of long observance for its use. 
 
 That even servitude, the worst of ills. 
 
 Because deliver'd down from sire to sou, 
 
 Is kept and guarded as a sacred thing. 
 
 But is it fit, or can it bear the shock 305 
 
 Of rational discussion, that a man, 
 
 Compounded and made up like other men 
 
 Of elements tumultuous, in whom lust 
 
 And folly in as ample measure meet 
 
 As in the bosoms of the slaves he rules, 310 
 
 Should be a despot absolute, and boast 
 
 Himself the only freeman of his land.^ 
 
 Should, when he pleases, and on whom ho will. 
 
 Wage war, with any or with no pretence 
 
THE WINTER MOlllSlNG WALK. 107 
 
 Of provocation giv'n, or wrong sustain'd, 316 
 
 And force the beggarly last doit by means 
 
 That his own humour dictates, from the clutch 
 
 Of Poverty, that thus he may procure 
 
 His thousands, weary of penurious life, 
 
 A splendid opportunity to die? 320 
 
 Say ye, who (with less prudence than of old 
 
 Jotham ascrib'd to his assembled trees 
 
 In politick convention) put your trust 
 
 I' th' shadow of a bramble, and, reclin'd 
 
 la fancied peace beneath his dang'rous branch, 325 
 
 Rejoice in him, and celebrate his sway. 
 
 Where find ye passive fortitude? Whence springs 
 
 Your self denying zeal, that holds it good 
 
 To stroke the prickly grievance, and to hang 
 
 His thorns with streamers of continual praise? 330 
 
 We too are friends to loyalty. We love 
 
 The king who loves the law, respects his bounds. 
 
 And reigns content within them: him we serve 
 
 Freely and with delight, who leaves us free: 
 
 But recollecting still that he is man, 335 
 
 We trust him not too far. King though he be. 
 
 And king in England too, he may be weak 
 
 And vain enough to be ambitious still; 
 
 May exercise amiss his proper pow'rs. 
 
 Or covet more than freemen choose to grant! 340 
 
 Beyond that mark is treason. He is ours, 
 
 T' administer, to guard, t' adorn the state. 
 
 But not to warp or change it. We are his, 
 
 To serve him nobly in the common cause. 
 
 True to the death; but not to be his slaves. 345 
 
 Mark now the diff'rence, ye that boast your love 
 
 Of kings, between your loyalty and ours. 
 
 We love the man; the paltry pageant, you; 
 
 We the chief pp.tron of th'j commonwealth; 
 
 You, the regardless author of its woes: 550 
 
 We, for the sake of liberty, a king; 
 
 You, chains and bondage for a tyrant's sake> 
 
108 THE TASK. 
 
 Our love is principle, and has its root 
 
 In reason; is judicious, manly, free; 
 
 Yours, a blind instinct, crouclics to the rod, 355 
 
 And licks the foot that treads it in the dust. 
 
 Were kingship as true treasure as it seems. 
 
 Sterling, and worthy of a wise man's wish, 
 
 I would not he a king to be belov'd 
 
 Causeless, and daub'd with undisceming praise, 360 
 
 Where love is mere attachment to the throne. 
 
 Not to the man who fills it as he ought. 
 
 Whose freedom is by su2 'ranee, and at will 
 Of a superiour, he is never free. 
 
 Who lives, and is not weary of a life 365 
 
 Expos'd to manacles, deserves them well. 
 The state that strives for liberty, though foil'd. 
 And forc'd to abandon what she bravely sought. 
 Deserves at least applause for her attempt. 
 And pity for her loss. But that's a cause 370 
 
 Not often misuccessful: pow'r usurp'd 
 Is weakness when oppos'd; conscious of wrong, 
 *Tis pusillanimous and prone to flight. 
 But slaves, that once conceive the glowing thought 
 Of freedom, in that hope itself possess 375 
 
 All that the contest calls for; spirit, strength. 
 The scorn of danger, and united hearts; 
 The surest presage of the good they seek.* 
 
 Then shame to manhood, and opprobrious more 
 To France than all her losses and defeats, 380 
 
 Old or of later date, by sea or laud. 
 Her house of bondage, v/orse than that of old 
 Which God aveng'd on Pharoah — the Bastile 
 Ye horrid tow'rs, the abode of broken hearts 
 Ye dungeons, and ye cages of despair, 385 
 
 That monarchs have supplied from age to age 
 
 *TheauthorIiopesthat he shall not be censured for unneces- 
 sary warmth upon so interestirtp; a subject. He is aware, that it 
 ir become almost fashionable, to stigmatize such sentiments as 
 no better than empty declamation; but it is an ill symptom, and 
 peculiar to modern times. 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 109 
 
 With musick, such as suits their sov 'reign ears— 
 The sighs and groans of miserable men! 
 There's ttot an English heart that would not leap 
 To hear that ye were fall'n at last; to know 300 
 
 That e'en our enemies, so oft employ'd 
 In forging chains for us, themselves were free. 
 For he who values Liberty, confines 
 His zeal for her predominance within 
 No narrow bounds; her cause engages him 305 
 
 Wherever pleaded. 'Tis the cause of man. 
 There dwell the most forlorn of human kind, 
 Immur'd though unaccus'd, condemn'd imtried. 
 Cruelly spar'd, and hopeless of escape. 
 There, like the visionary emblem seen 400 
 
 By him of Babylon, life stands a stump. 
 And, filleted about with hoops of brass. 
 Still lives, though all his pleasant boughs are gone. 
 To count the hour-bell and expect no change; 
 And ever as the sullen sound is heard, 405^ 
 
 Still to reflect, that, though a joyless note 
 To him whose moments all have one dull pace. 
 Ten thousand rovers in the world at large 
 Account it musick, that it summons some 
 To theatre, or jocund feast, or ball; 410 
 
 The wearied hireling finds it a release 
 From labour; and the lover, tvho has chid 
 Its long delay, feels ev'ry welcome stroke 
 Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delight — 
 To fly for refuge from distracting thought 415 
 
 To such amusements as ingenious wo 
 Contrives, hard shifting, and without her tools — 
 To read engraven on the mouldy walls. 
 In stagg'ring types, his predecessor's tale, 
 A sad memorial, and subjoin his own — 420 
 
 To turn purveyor to an overgorg'd 
 A^d bloated spider, till the pamper'd pest 
 Is made familiar, watches his approach, 
 Comes at his call, and seryes him for a friead— 
 10 
 
110 THE TASK. 
 
 To wear out time in niimb'ring to and fro 425 
 
 The studs that thick emboss his iron door; 
 
 Then downward and then upward, then aslant, 
 
 And then alternate; with a sickly hope 
 
 By dint of change to give his tasteless task 
 
 Some relish; till the sum, exactly found 430 
 
 In aU directions, he begins again — 
 
 O comfortless existence! hemm'd aroimd 
 
 With woes, which who that suffers would not kneel 
 
 And beg for exile, or the pangs of death? 
 
 That man should thus encroach on fellow man, 435 
 
 Abridge him of his just and native rights. 
 
 Eradicate him, tear him from his hold 
 
 Upon th' endearments of domestick life 
 
 And social, nip his fruitfuluess and use. 
 
 And doom him for perhaps a heedless word -440 
 
 To barrenness, and solitude, and tears. 
 
 Moves indignation, makes the name of king, 
 
 (Of king whom such prerogative can please) 
 
 As dreadful as the Manichean god, 
 
 Ador'd through fear, strong only to destroy. 445 
 
 'Tis liberty alone, that gives the flow'r 
 Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume; 
 And we are weeds without it. All constraint, 
 Except what wisdom lays on evil men. 
 Is evil: hurts the faculties? impedes 450 
 
 Their progress in the road of science; blinds 
 The eyesight of Discovery; and begets. 
 In those that suffer it, a sordid mind, , 
 Bestial, a meager intellect, unfit 
 
 To be the tenant of man's noble form. 455 
 
 Thee therefore still, blameworthy as thou art. 
 With all thy loss of empire, and though squeez'd 
 By publick exigence, till annual food 
 Fails for the craving hmiger of the state, 
 Thee I account still happy, and the chief 460 
 
 Among the nations, seeing thou art free; 
 My native nook of earth! Thy clime is rude. 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. Ill 
 
 Replete with vapours, and dispose much 
 
 All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine; 
 
 Thine unadulterate manners are less soft 465 
 
 And plausible than social life requires. 
 
 And thou hast need of discipline and art. 
 
 To give thee what politer France receives 
 
 From Nature's hounty — that humane address 
 
 And sweetness, without which no pleasure is 470 
 
 In converse, either starv'd by cold reserve. 
 
 Or flush'd by fierce dispute, a senseless brawl. 
 
 Yet, being free, I love thee: for the sake 
 
 Of that one feature can be well content, 
 
 Disgrac'd as thou hast been, poor as thou art, 475 
 
 To seek no sublunary rest beside. 
 
 But once enslav'd, farewell! I could endure 
 
 Chains no where patiently; and chains at home. 
 
 Where I am free by birthright, not at all 
 
 Then what were left of roughness in the grain 480 
 
 Of British natures, wanting its excuse 
 
 That it belongs to freemen, would disgust 
 
 And shock me. I should then with double pain 
 
 Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime; 
 
 And, if I must bewail the blessing lost, 485 
 
 - For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, 
 I would at least bewail it under skies 
 Milder, among a people less austere; 
 In scenes, which having never known me free, 
 Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. 490 
 
 Do I forebode impossible events. 
 And tremble at vain dreams? Heav'n grant I may! 
 But th' age of virtuous politicks is past, 
 
 . And we are deep in that of cold pretence. 
 Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere, 495 
 
 And we too wise to trust them. He that takes 
 Deep in his soft credulity the stamp 
 Design'd by loud declaimers on the part 
 Of liberty, (themselves the slaves of lust,) 
 Incurs derision for his easy faith 500 
 
112 THE TASK. 
 
 And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough; 
 For when was publick virtue to be found. 
 Where private Avas not? Can he love the whole, 
 Who loves no part? He be a nation's friend. 
 Who is in truth the friend of no man there? 605 
 
 Can he be strenuous in his country's cause. 
 Who slights the charities, for whose dear sake 
 That country, if at all, must be belov'd? 
 
 'Tis therefore sober and good men are sad 
 For England's glory, seeing it wax pale 610 
 
 And sickly, while her champions wear their hearts 
 So loose to private duty, that no brain 
 Healthful and undisturb'd by factious fumes. 
 Can dream them trusty to the gen'ral weal. 
 Such were they not of old, whose temper'd blades 519 
 Dispers'd the shackles of usurp'd control. 
 And hew'd them link from link; then Albion's sons 
 Were sons indeed; they felt a filial heart 
 Beat high within them at a mother's wrongs; 
 And, shining each in his domestick sphere, 520 
 
 Shone brighter still, ouce call'd to publick view. 
 'Tis therefore many, whose sequester'd lot 
 Forbids their interference, looking on 
 Anticipate perforce some dire event; 
 And seeing the old castle of the state, 526 
 
 That promis'd once more firmness, so assail'd. 
 That all its tempest-beaten tm'rets shake. 
 Stand motionless expectants of its fall. 
 All has its date below; the fatal hour 
 Was register'd in Heav'n ere time began. 530 
 
 We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works 
 Die too: the deep foundations that we lay^ 
 Time ploughs them up, and not a trace remains. 
 We build with what we deem eternal rock; 
 A distant age asks where the fabrick stood; 535 
 
 Artd in the dust, sifted and search'd in vain. 
 The undiscoverable secret sleeps. 
 But there is yet a liberty, unsung 
 
. THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 113 
 
 By poets, and by senators unprais'd, 
 
 Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the pow*rs 640 
 
 Of Earth and Hell confed'rate take away: 
 
 A liberty, ^vhich persecution, fraud. 
 
 Oppression, prisons, have no pow'r to bind 
 
 Which whoso tastes can be enslav'd no more. 
 
 'Tis liberty of heart deriv'd from Heav'n, 545 
 
 Bought with his blood, who gave it to mankind. 
 
 And seal'd with the same token. It is held 
 
 By charter, and that charter sanction'd sure 
 
 By th' unimpeachable and awful oath 
 
 And promise of a God. His other gifts 550 
 
 All bear the royal stamp that speaks them his. 
 
 And are august! but this transcends them all. 
 
 His other works, the visible display 
 
 Of all- creating energy and might. 
 
 Are grand, no doubt, and worthy of the word 555 
 
 That, finding an interminable space 
 
 Unoccupied, has fill'd the void so well. 
 
 And made so sparkling what was dark before. 
 
 But these are not his glory. Man, 'tis true, 
 
 Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene, 560 
 
 Might well suppose th' artificer divine 
 
 Meant it eternal, had he not himself 
 
 Pronomic'd it transient, glorious as it is. 
 
 And, still designing a more glorious far, 
 
 Doom'd it as insufficient for his praise. 5€6 
 
 These therefore are occasional, and pass; 
 
 Form'd for the confutation of the fool. 
 
 Whose lying heart disputes against a God; 
 
 That office serv'd, they must be swept away. 
 
 Not so the labours of his love: they shine 570 
 
 In other Heav'ns than these that we behold. 
 
 And fade not. There is Paradise that fears 
 
 No forfeiture, and of its fruits he sends 
 
 Large prelibation oft to saints below. 
 
 Of these the first in order, and the pledge, 675 
 
 And confident assurance of the rest, 
 10* 
 
1 1 4 THE TASK. 
 
 Jg liberty; a flight into his arms. 
 
 Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way, 
 
 A clear escape from tyrannising lust. 
 
 And full immunity from penal wo. 6 
 
 Chains are the portion of revolted man. 
 Stripes, and a dungeon; and his body serves 
 The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul. 
 Opprobrious residence, he finds them all. 
 Propense his heart to idols, he is held £ 
 
 In silly dotage on created things. 
 Careless of their Creator. And that low 
 And sordid gravitation of his pow'rs 
 To a vile clod, so draws him, with such force 
 Resistless from the centre he should seek, £ 
 
 That he at last forgets it. All his hopes 
 Tend downward; his ambition is to sink. 
 To reach a depth profounder still, and stitl 
 Profounder, in the fathomless abyss 
 Of folly, plunging in pui'suit of death. I 
 
 But ere he gain the comfortless repose 
 He seeks, an acquiescence of his soul 
 In Heav'n-renouncing exile, he endures — 
 What does he not, from lusts oppos'd in vain. 
 And self-reproaching conscience? He foresees ( 
 
 The fatal issue to his health, fame, peace. 
 Fortune, and dignity; the loss of all 
 That can ennoble man and make frail life. 
 Short as it is, supportable. Still worse. 
 Far worse than all the plagues with which his sins 
 Infect his happiest moments, he forbodes ( 
 
 Ages of hopeless mis'ry. Future death. 
 And death still future. Not a hasty stroke. 
 Like that which sends him to the dusty grave: 
 But imrepealable, enduring, death. ( 
 
 Scripture is still a tnmipet to his fears: 
 What none can prove a forgery, may be true; 
 What none but bad men wish exploded, must. 
 That icrupl© checks him. Riot is not loud 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 115 
 
 Nor drunk enough to drown it. In the midst 615 
 
 Of laughter his compunctions are sincere; 
 
 And he abhors the jest by which he shines. 
 
 Remorse begets reform. His master-lust 
 
 Falls first before his resolute rebuke. 
 
 And seems dethron'd and vanquish 'd. Peace ensues, 
 
 But spurious and short liv'd: the pimy child 621 
 
 Of self-congratulating Pride, begot 
 
 On fancied innocence. Again he falls, 
 
 And fights again; but finds, his best essay 
 
 A presage ominous, portending still 625 
 
 Its own dishonour by a worse relapse. 
 
 Till Nature, unavailing Nature, foil'd 
 
 So oft, and wearied in the vain attempt. 
 
 Scoffs at her own performance. Reason now 
 
 Takes part with appetite, and pleads the cause 630 
 
 Perversely, which of late she so condemn'd; 
 
 With shallow shifts and old devices, worn 
 
 And tatter'd in the service of debauch. 
 
 Covering his shame from his offended sight. 
 
 "Hath God indeed giv'n appetites to man, 635 
 
 And stor'd the earth so plenteously with means 
 To gratify the hunger of his wish; 
 And doth he reprobate, and will he damn 
 The use of his own bounty? making first 
 So frail a kind, and then enacting laws 640 
 
 So strict, that less than perfect must despair? 
 Falsehood! which whoso but suspects of truth. 
 Dishonours God, and makes a slave of man. 
 Do they themselves, who undertake for hire 
 The teacher's office, and dispense at large 645 
 
 Their weekly dole of edifying strains. 
 Attend to their own musick? have they faith 
 In what, with such solemnity of tone 
 And gesture, they propound to our belief? 
 Nay — Conduct hath the loudest tongue. The voice 
 Is but an instrument, on which the priest 651 
 
 May play what tune he pleases. In the deed. 
 
1 1 6 THE TASK. 
 
 The unequivocal, authentick deed, 
 
 We find sound argument, we read the heart." 
 
 Such reas'nings (if that name must needs belong 
 T' excuses in which reason has no part) 666 
 
 Serve to compose a spirit well inclin'd 
 To live on terms of amity with vice. 
 And sin without disturbance. Often urg'd, 
 (As often as, libidinous discourse 660 
 
 Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes 
 Of theological and grave import,) 
 They gain at last his mireserv'd assent; 
 Till, harden'd his heart's temper in the forge 
 Of lust, and on the anvil of despair, 665 
 
 He slights the strokes of conscience. Nothing moves. 
 Or nothing much, his constancy in ill; 
 Vain tamp'riug has but foster'd his disease; 
 'Tis desp'rate, and he sleeps the sleep of death. 
 Haste, now, philosopher, and set him free. 670 
 
 Charm the deaf serpent wisely. Make him hear 
 Of rectitude and fitness, moral truth 
 How lovely, and the moral sense how sure. 
 Consulted and obey'd, to guide his steps 
 Directly to the first and only fair. 675 
 
 Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the pow'rs 
 Of rant and rhapsody in virtue's praise; 
 Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand, 
 And with poetick trappings grace thy prose, 
 Till it out-mantle all the pride of verse. — 680 
 
 Ah, tinkling cymbal, and high sounding brass, 
 Smitten in vain! such musick cannot charm 
 The eclipse, that intercepts truth's heav'nly beam 
 And chills and darkens a wide wand'ring soul. 
 The still small voice is wanted. He must speak, 685 
 Whose word leaps forth at once to its effect; 
 Who calls for things that are not, and they come. 
 
 Grace malces the slave a freeman. Tis a change 
 That turns to ridicule the turgid speech 
 And stately tone of moralists, who boast 690 
 
THE WINTER MORNING V/ALK. 117 
 
 As if, like him of fabulous renown, 
 
 They had indeed ability to smooth 
 
 The shag of savage natm'e, and were each 
 
 An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song; 
 
 But transformation of apostate man 695 
 
 From fool to wise, from earthly to divine, 
 
 Is work for Him that made him. He alone, 
 
 And he by means in philosophick eyes 
 
 Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves 
 
 The wonder; humanizing what is brute TOO 
 
 In the lost kind, extracting from the lips 
 
 Of asps their venom, overpow'ring strength 
 
 By wealcness, and hostility by love. 
 
 Patriots have toil'd, and, in their country's cause 
 Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve, 705 
 
 Receive proud recompense. We give in charge 
 Their names to the sweet lyre. Th' historick muse. 
 Proud of the treasure, marches with it down 
 To latest times; and Sculpture, in her turn, 
 Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass 710 
 
 To guard them, and t' immortalize her trust; 
 But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid. 
 To those who, posted at the shrine of Truth, 
 Have fall'n in her defence. A patriot's blood. 
 Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed, 715 
 
 And, for a time, ensure to his lov'd land 
 The sweets of liberty and equal laws; 
 But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize. 
 And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed 
 In confirmation of the noblest claim — 720 
 
 Our claim to feed upon immortal truth. 
 To walk with God, to be divinely free. 
 To soar, and to anticipate the skies. 
 Yet few remember them. They liv'd unknown, 
 Till persecution dragg'd them into fame, 725 
 
 And chas'd them up to Heaven. Their ashes flew 
 — No marble tells us whither. With their names 
 No bard embalms and sanctifies his song: 
 
1 1 8 THE TASK. 
 
 And history, so warm on meaner themes, 
 
 Is cold on this. She execrates indeed 730 
 
 The tyranny that doom'd them to the fire, 
 
 But gives the glorious sufF'rers little praise.* 
 
 He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, 
 And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain 
 That hellish foes, confed'rate for his harm, 735 
 
 Can wind around him, but he casts it off 
 With as much ease as Samson his green withes. 
 He looks abroad into the varied field 
 Of nature, and though poor, perhaps, compar'd 
 With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, 740 
 Calls the delightful scenery all his own. 
 His are the mountains, and the valleys his. 
 And the resplendent rivers. His t* enjoy 
 With a propriety that none can feel. 
 But who, with filial confidence inspir'd, 745 
 
 Can lift to heav'n an unpresumptuous eye. 
 And smiling say — "My Father made them all!" 
 Are they not his by a peculiar right, 
 And by an emphasis of int'rest his. 
 Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy, 750 
 
 Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind 
 With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love, 
 That plann'd, and built, and still upholds a world 
 So cloth'd with beauty for rebellious man.'' 
 Yes — ye may fill your garners, ye that reap 755 
 
 The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good 
 In senseless riot; but ye will not find 
 In feast or in the chase, in song or dance, 
 A liberty like his, who, unimpeach'd 
 Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, 760 
 
 Appropriates nature as his Father's work, 
 And has a richer use of yours than you. 
 He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth 
 Of no mean city; plaim'd or ere the hills 
 *See Hume. 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 119 
 
 Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea, 765 
 
 With all his roai-ing multitude of waves. 
 
 His freedom is the same in ev'ry state; 
 
 And no condition of this changeftd life. 
 
 So manifold in cares, whose ev'ry day 
 
 Brings its own evil with it, makes it less: " 770 
 
 For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain, 
 
 Nor penury, can cripple or confine. 
 
 No nook so narrow, but he spreads them th^re 
 
 With ease, and is at large. Th' oppressor holds 
 
 His body bound; but knows not what a range 776 
 
 His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain; 
 
 And that to bind him is a vain attempt. 
 
 Whom God delights in, and in whom He dwells. 
 
 'Acquaint thyself with God, if thou would'st taste 
 His works. Admitted once to his embrace, 780 
 
 Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before : 
 Thine eye shall he instructed; and thine heart. 
 Made pure, shall relish with divine delight. 
 Till then imfelt, what hands divine have wrought. 
 Brutes graze the mountain-top, with faces prone, 785 
 And eyes intent upon the scanty herb 
 It yields them; or, recumbent on its brow. 
 Ruminate heedless of the scene outspread 
 Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away 
 From inland regions to the distant main. 790 
 
 Man views it, and admires; but rests content 
 With what he views. The landscape has his praise, 
 But not its author. Unconcern'd who form'd 
 The Paradise he sees, he finds it such. 
 And such well pleas'd to find it, asks no more. 795 
 
 Not so the mind that has been touch'd from Heav*n, 
 And in the school of sacred wisdom taught 
 To read His wonders, in whose thought the world, 
 Fair as it is, existed ere it was. 
 
 Nor for its own sake merely, but for his 800 
 
 Much more who fashion'd it, he gives it praise; 
 Praise that from earth resulting, as it ought, 
 
120 THE TASK. 
 
 To earth's acknowledg'd sov'reign finds at once 
 Its only just proprietor in Him. 
 
 The soul that sees him, or receives sublim'd 806 
 
 New faculties, or learns at least t' employ- 
 More worthily the pow'rs she own'd before, 
 Discerns in all things what, with stupid gaze 
 Of ignorance, till then she overlook'd, 
 A ray of heavenly light gilding all forms 810 
 
 Terrestrial in the vast and the minute; 
 The unambiguous footsteps of the God 
 Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, 
 And wheels his throne upon the irolling worlds. 
 Much conversant with Heaven, she often holds 815 
 With those fair ministers of light to man, 
 That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp. 
 Sweet conference. Inquires what strains were they 
 With which Heaven rang, when every star, in haste 
 To gratulate the new-created earth, 820 
 
 Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God 
 Shouted for joy. — "Tell me, ye shining hosts. 
 That navigate a sea that knows no storms. 
 Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud. 
 If from your elevation, whence ye view 825 
 
 Distinctly, scenes invisible to man. 
 And systems, of whose birth no tidings yet 
 Have reach 'd this nether world, ye spy a race 
 Favour'd as ours; transgressors from the womb 
 And hasting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise, 830 
 
 And to possess a brighter Heaven than yours? 
 As one, who, long detain'd on foreign shores, 
 Pants to return, and when he sees afar 
 His country's weather bleach'd and batter'd rocks. 
 From the green wave emerging, darts an eye 836 
 
 Radiant with joy toward the happy land; 
 So I with animated hopes behold. 
 And many an aching wish, your beamy fires. 
 That show like beacons in the blue abyss, 
 Ordain'd to guide th' embodied spirit home 840 
 
THE WINTER MORNIKG WALK. 121 
 
 From toilsome life to never-ending rest. 
 
 Lore kindles as I gaze. I feel desires 
 
 That give assurance of their own success. 
 
 And that, infus'd from Heaven, must thither tend.'* 
 
 So reads he Nature, whom the lamp of truth 845 
 Illuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious Word! 
 Which whoso sees, no longer wanders lost. 
 With intellects bemaz'd in endless doubt, 
 But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built 
 With means that were not, till by thee employ'd, 850 
 Worlds that had never been, hadst thou in strength 
 Been less, or less benevolent than strong. 
 They are thy witnesses, who speak thy pow'r 
 And goodness infinite, but speak in ears 
 That hear not, or receive not their report. 855 
 
 In vain thy creatm-es testify of thee. 
 Till thou proclaim thyself. Theirs is indeed 
 A teaching voice; but 'tis the praise of thine. 
 That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn. 
 And with the boon gives talents for its use. 860 
 
 Till thou art heard, imaginations vain 
 Possess the heart, and fables false as hell: 
 Yet deem'd oracular, lure down to death 
 The uninform'd and heedless souls of men. 
 We give to chance, blind chance, ourseltes as blind. 
 The glory of thy work; which yet appears 866 
 
 Perfect and unimpeachable of blame. 
 Challenging human scrutiny, and prov'd 
 Then skilful most when most severely judg'd. 
 But chance is not; or is not where thou reign'st: 870 
 Thy providence forbids that fickle pow'r 
 (If pow'r she be, that works but to confound) 
 To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. 
 Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can 
 Instr,uction, and inventing to ourselves 875 
 
 Gods .such as guilt makes welcome; gods that sleep, 
 Or disregard our follies, or that sit 
 Amus'd spectators of this bustling stage. 
 11 
 
122 THE TASK. 
 
 Thee we reject, unable to abide 
 
 Thy purity, till puve as thou art pui-e, i 
 
 Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause, 
 
 For which we shuna'd aad hated thee before. 
 
 Then we are free. Then liberty, like day, 
 
 Breaks on the soul, and by a flash frona heav'u 
 
 Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. 1 
 
 A voice is heard that mortal ears hear not. 
 
 Till thou hast touch'd them; 'tis the voice of song, 
 
 A loud Hosanna sent from all thy works; ' 
 
 Which he that hears it, with a shout repeats. 
 
 And adds his rapture to the general praise! 1 
 
 In that blest momeutj Nature, throwing wide 
 
 Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile 
 
 The author of her beauties, who, retir'd 
 
 Behind his own creation, works unseen 
 
 By the impure, and hears his pow'r denied: I 
 
 Thou art the source and centre of all minds. 
 
 Their only point of. rest, eternal Word! 
 
 From thee departing, they are lost, and rove 
 
 At random, without honour, hope, or peace. 
 
 From thee is all that sooths the life of man, 1 
 
 His high endeavour, and his glad success. 
 
 His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. 
 
 But O thou bounteous Giver of all good, 
 
 Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown! 
 
 Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor; S 
 
 And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. 
 
Tmm TA§iM. 
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 
 
 ARGUMENT OF THE SIXTH BOOK. 
 
 BelU at a distance — Thei- effect— A fine noon in winter — A shel- 
 tered walk— Meditanon better than books— Our familiarity 
 with the course i)f Nature, makes it appear less wonderfulthan 
 it is — The transformation that spring effects in a shrubbeirj , 
 described — A mistake Conceiuiiij^ tlie course of Nature cor- 
 rected—God maintains it by an unremitted act — The amuse- 
 ments fashionable at this hour of the day reproved — Animals 
 happy, a delightful sig-ht- Origin of cruelty to animals — That 
 it is a g-reat crime proved from Scripture— Tliat proof illustrat- 
 ed by a tale— A line drawn between the lawful and unlawful 
 destruction of ihem— Their good and useful properties insist- 
 ed on— Apology for the encomiums bestowed by the author on 
 Animals— Instances of man's extravagant praise of man— The 
 groans of the creation shall have an end— A view taken of ihe 
 restoration of all things — An invocation and an invitation of 
 Him who shall briiig it to pass — The retiied man vindicated 
 from the charge of uselessness — Conclusion. 
 
 THERE is in souls a sympathy with sounds. 
 And as the mind is pitch'd, the ear is pleas'd 
 With melting airs or martial, brisk, or grave; 
 Some chord in unision with what we hear 
 Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies. 
 How soft the musick of those village bells, 
 Falling at intervals upon the.ear 
 In cadence sweet, now dying all away. 
 Now pealing loud again, and louder still, 
 Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on! 
 
124. THE TASK. 
 
 With easy force it opens all the cells 
 Where mem'ry slept. Wherever I have heard 
 A kindred melody, the scene recurs, 
 And with it all its pleasures and its pains. 
 Such comprehensive views the spirit takes, 15 
 
 That in a fcAV short moments I retrace 
 (As in a map the voyager his course) 
 The windings of my way through many years. 
 Short as in retrospect the journey seems. 
 It seem'd not always short; the rugged path, 20 
 
 And prospect oft so dreary and foi'lorn, 
 Mov'd many a sigh at its disheart'ning length. 
 Yet feeling present evils, white the past 
 Faintly impress the mind or not at all. 
 How readily we wish time spent revok'd, 26 
 
 That we might try the ground again, where once 
 (Through inexperience as we now perceive) 
 We miss'd that happiness we might have found! 
 Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend! 
 A father, whose authority, in show 30 
 
 When most severe, and mus'tring all its force. 
 Was but the graver countenance of love; 
 Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might low'r. 
 And uttter now and then an awful voice, 
 But had a blessing in its darkest frown, 36 
 
 Threat'ning at once and nourishing the plant. 
 We lov'd, but not enough, the gentle hand 
 That rear'd us. At a thoughtless age, allur'd 
 By ev'ry gilded folly, we renounc'd 
 His shelt'ring side, and wilfully forewent 40 
 
 That converse which we now in vain regret. 
 How gladly would the man recall to life 
 The boy's neglected sire! a mother too, 
 That^softer friend, perhaps more gladly still. 
 Might he demand them at the gates of death. 45 
 
 Sorrow has, since they went, subdu'd and tam'd 
 The playful humour: he could now endure, 
 (Himself grown sober in the vale of tears,) 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 125 
 And feci a parent's presence no restraint. 
 But not to understand a treasure's worth, 50 
 
 Till time has stol'n away the slighted good, 
 Is cause of half the poverty we feel. 
 And makes the World the wilderness it is. 
 The few that pray at all, pray oft amiss. 
 And, seeking grace t' improve the prize they hold, 65 
 Would urge a wiser suit than asking more. 
 ' The night was vv'inter in its roughest moodj 
 The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon 
 Upon the southern side of the slant hills. 
 And where the woods fence off the northern blast, 60 
 The season smiles, resigning all its rage. 
 And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue 
 Without a cloud, and white without a speck 
 The dazzling splendour of the scene below. 
 Again the harmony comes o'er the vale; 65 
 
 And through the trees I view tli' embattled tow'r. 
 Whence all the musick. I again perceive 
 The soothing iirfluence of the wafted strains, 
 And settle in soft musings as I tread 
 The walks, still verdant, under oaks and elms, 70 
 
 Whose outspread branches overarch the glade. 
 The roof, though moveable through all its length 
 As the wind sways it, has yet well suffic'd. 
 And, intercepting in their silent fall 
 The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. 75 
 
 No noise is here, or none that hinders thought 
 -The red-breast warbles still, but is content 
 With slender notes, and more than half suppress 'd: 
 Pleas'd with his solitude, and flitting light 
 From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes 80 
 From many a twig the pendent drops of ice. 
 That tinkle in the wither'd leaves below. 
 Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft. 
 Charms more than silence. Meditation here 
 May think down hours to moments. Here the heart 85 
 3'Iay give a useful lesson to the head, 
 IP 
 
126 THE TASK. 
 
 And learning wiser grow without his books. 
 
 Knowledge and Wisdom, far from being one. 
 
 Have oftimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells 
 
 In heads replete with thoughts of other men; 90 
 
 Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. 
 
 Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass. 
 
 The mere materials with which Wisdom builds. 
 
 Till smooth'd, and squar'd, and fitted to its place. 
 
 Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. 95 
 
 Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much; 
 
 Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. 
 
 Books are not seldom talismans apd spells. 
 
 By which the magick art of shrewder wits 
 
 Hold an unthinking multitude enthrall'd. IDO 
 
 Some to the fascination of a name. 
 
 Surrender judgment hood-wink'd. Some the style 
 
 Infatuates, and through labyrinths and wilds 
 
 Of errour leads them, by a tune eutranc'd. 
 
 While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear 105 
 
 The insupportable fatigue of thought. 
 
 And swallowing, therefore; without pause or choice 
 
 The total grist imsifted, husks and all. 
 
 But tree and rivulets, whose rapid course 
 
 Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer, 110 
 
 And sheep-walks populous with bleating lambs. 
 
 And lanes, in which the primrose ere her time 
 
 Peeps through the moss, that clothes the hawthorn root. 
 
 Deceive no student. Wisdom there and truth. 
 
 Not shy, as in the world, and to be won 115 
 
 By slow solicitation, seize at once 
 
 The roving thought, and fix it on themselves. 
 
 What prodigies can pow'r divine perform 
 More grand than it produces year by year. 
 And all in sight of inattentive man? 120 
 
 Familiar with th' effect, we slight the cause. 
 And in the constancy of Nature's com'se. 
 The regular return of genial months. 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 127 
 
 And renovation of a faded world, 
 
 See nought to wonder at. Should God again, 125 
 
 As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race 
 Of th' uudeviating and punctual sun. 
 How would the world admire! But speaks it less 
 An agency divine, to make him know 
 His moment when to sink and when to rise, 130 
 
 Age after age, than to arrest his course? 
 All we behold is miracle; but seen 
 So duly, all is miracle in vain. 
 Where now the vital energy, that mov'd 
 While summer was, the pure and subtle lymph 135 
 Through th' imperceptible meand'ring veins 
 Of leaf and flow'r? It sleeps; and th' icy touch 
 Of unprolifick winter has impress'd 
 A cold stagnation on the intestine tide. 
 But let the. months go round, a few short months, 140 
 And all shall be restor'd. These naked shoots. 
 Barren as lances, among which the wind 
 Makes wintry musick, sighing as it goes, 
 Shall put their graceful foliage on again. 
 And more aspiring, and with ampler spread, 145 
 
 Shall boast new charms, and more than they have lost. 
 Then each in its peculiar honours clad. 
 Shall publish even to th« distant eye 
 Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich 
 In streaming gold; syringa, iv'ry pure 150 
 
 The scentless and the scented rose; this red 
 And of a humbler growth, the other* tall. 
 And throwing up into the darkest gloom 
 Of nedghb'ring cypress, or more sable yew. 
 Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf, 155 
 
 That the wind severs from the broken wave; 
 The lilack, various in array, now white. 
 Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set 
 With purple spikes pyramidal, as if 
 Studious of ornament, yet unresolv'd 160 
 
 * The Gueldei Rose. 
 
S28 THE TASK. 
 
 Which hue she most approv'd, she chose them all; 
 Copious of flowers, the woodbine, pale and wan, 
 But Avell compensating her sickly looks 
 With never cloying odours, early and late; 
 Hypericum all bloom, so thick a SAvarm 
 Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods. 
 That scarce a leaf appears; mezereon, too. 
 Though leafless, well-attir'd and thick beset 
 With blushing wreaths, investing every spray; 
 Althasa with the purple eye; the broom 
 Yellow and bright, as bullion unalloy'd. 
 Her blossoms; and luxuriant above all 
 The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets. 
 The deep dark green of whose unvarnish'd leaf 
 Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more 
 The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars. — 
 These have been, and these shall be in their day; 
 And all this uniform uncolour'd scene 
 Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load. 
 And flush into variety again. 
 From dearth to plenty, and from death to life. 
 Is Nature's progress, when she lectures man 
 In heav'nly truth; evincing, as she makes 
 The grand transition, that their lives and works 
 A soul in all things, and that soul is God. 
 The beauties of the wilderness are his. 
 That makes so gay the solitary place. 
 Where no eye sees them. And the fairer foxms. 
 That cultivation gloi'ies in, are his. 
 He sets the bright procession on its way. 
 And marshals all the order of the year; 
 He marks the bomids which winter may not pass, 
 And blunts his pointed fury; in its case. 
 Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ, 
 Uninjur'd, with inimitable art; 
 And, ere one flow'ry season fades and dies, 
 Pesigns the blooming wonders of the next. 
 Some say that in the origin of things, 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON, 129 
 When all creation started into birth, 
 The infant elements receiv'd a laAV 200 
 
 From which they swerv'd not since. That imder force 
 Of that controlling ordinance they move. 
 And need not his immediate hand who firsf 
 Prescrib'd their course, to regulate it now. 
 Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God 205 
 
 Th' incmnbrance of his own concerns, and spare 
 The great artificer of all that moves 
 The stress of a continual act, the pain 
 Of unremitted vigilance and care. 
 
 As too laborious and severe a task. 210 
 
 So man, the moth, is not afraid, it seems. 
 To span Omnipotence, and measure might 
 That knows no measure, by the scanty rule 
 And standard of his own, that is to-day. 
 And is not ere to-morrow's sun goes down. 215 
 
 But how should matter occupy a charge. 
 Dull as it is, and satisfy a law 
 So vast in its demands, unless impelled 
 To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force. 
 And imder pressure of some conscious cause? 220 
 
 The Lord of all, himself through all diffus'd, 
 Sustains, and is the life of all that lives. 
 Nature is but a name for an effect. 
 Whose cause is God. He feeds the secret fire. 
 By which the mighty process is maintain'd, 225 
 
 Who sleeps not, is not weary; in whose sight 
 Slow circling ages are as transient days; 
 Whose work is without labour; whose designs 
 No flaw deforms, no diflSculty thwarts; 
 And whose benificence no charge exhausts. 230 
 
 Him blind antiquity profan'd, not serv'd. 
 With self-taught rights, and under various names, 
 Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan, 
 And Flora, and Nertumnus; peopling earth 
 With tutelary goddesses and gods, 235 
 
 That were not; and commending as they would 
 
1 30 THE TASK. 
 
 To each some province, garden, field, or grove. 
 But all are under one. One spirit— His 
 Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows — 
 Rules universal natui-e. Not a flower 240 
 
 But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain. 
 Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires , • 
 
 Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues. 
 And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, 
 In grains as countless as the seaside sands, 245 
 
 The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. 
 Happy who walks with him! whom what he finds 
 Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower. 
 Of what he views of beautiful or grand 
 In nature, from the broad majcstick oak 250 
 
 To the green blade that twinkles in the sun. 
 Prompts with remembrance of a present God 
 His presence, who made all so fair, perceiv'd. 
 Makes all still fairer. As with him no scene 
 Is dreary, so with him all seasons please. 255 
 
 Though winter had been none, had man been true 
 And earth be punish'd for its tenant's sake. 
 Yet not in vengeance; as this smiling sky. 
 So soon succeeding such an angry niglit. 
 And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream 260 
 Recov'ring fast its liquid musick, prove.- 
 Who, then, that has a mind well strung and tun"d 
 To contemplation, and within his reach 
 A scene so friendly to his fav'rite task. 
 Would waste attention at the checker 'd board. 265 
 
 His host of wooden warriours to and fro 
 ,Marching and countermarching, with an eye 
 As fix'd as marble, with a forehead ridg'd 
 And furrow 'd into storms, and with a hand 
 Trembling, as if eternity were hung 270 
 
 In balance on his conduct of a pin? 
 Nor envies he aught more their idle sport, 
 Who pant with application misapplied 
 To trivial toys, and, pushing iv'iy balls 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 131 
 
 Across a velvet level, feel a joy 275 
 
 Akia to rapture, when the bauble fiuds 
 
 Its destin'd goal of difficult access. 
 
 Nor deems he wiser him, who gives his noon 
 
 To miss, the mercer's plague from shop to shop 
 
 Wand'ring, and litt'ring with unfolded silks. 280 
 
 The polish 'd counter, and approving none. 
 
 Or promising Avith smiles to call again. 
 
 Nor him, who by his vanity seduc'd. 
 
 And sooth'd to a dream, that he discerns 
 
 The difF'rence of a Guido from a daub, 2S5 
 
 Frequents the crowded auction: station'd there 
 
 As duly as the Laugford of the show. 
 
 With glass at eye, and cataioge in hand. 
 
 And tongue accomplish'd in the fulsome cant 
 
 And pedantry that coxcombs learn with ease. 290 
 
 Oft as the price- deciding hammer falls. 
 
 He notes it in his book, then raps his box> 
 
 Sv/ears 'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate, 
 
 That he has let it pass — hut never bids! 
 
 Here unmolested, thi'ough whatever sign 295 
 
 The sun proceeds, I wander. Neither mist. 
 Nor freezing sky nor sultry, checking me. 
 Nor stranger interm^eddling with my joy. 
 E'en in the spring and playtime of the year, 
 That calls the unwonted villager abroad 300 
 
 With all her little ones, a sportive train. 
 To gather kingcups in the yellow mead. 
 And prink their hair with daisies, or to pick 
 A cheap but wholesome salad from the brook — 
 These shades are all my own. The tim'rous hare. 
 Grown so familiar with her frequent guest, 306 
 
 Scarce shuns me; and the stock-dove, mialai'm'd. 
 Sits eooing in the pinctree, nor suspends 
 His long love ditty for my near approach. 
 Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm, 310 
 
 That age or injury has hallow'd deep. 
 Where, on his bed of wool and matted leayesj 
 
1 32 THE TASK. 
 
 He has outslept the winter, ventures forth, 
 
 To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun, 
 
 The squirrel, flippant, pert and full of play; 315 
 
 He sees nae, and at once, swift as a bird. 
 
 Ascends the nei^ub'ring beech; there whisks his brush, 
 
 And perks his ears, and stamps, and cries aloud. 
 
 With all the prettiuess of feign'd alarm. 
 
 And anger insignificantly fierce. 320 
 
 The heart is hard in nature, and unfit 
 For human fellowship, as being void 
 Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike 
 To love and friendship both, that is not pleas'd 
 With sights of animals enjoying life, 326 
 
 Nor feels their happiness augment his own. 
 - The bounding fawn, that darts across the glade 
 When none pursues, through mere delight of heart 
 And spirits buoyant with excess of glee; 
 The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet, 330 
 
 That skims the spacious meadow at full speed. 
 Then stops, and snorts, and, throwing high his heels, 
 Starts to the voluntary race again; 
 The very kine that gambol at high noon, 
 The total herd receiving first from one, 335 
 
 That leads the dance, a summons to be gay. 
 Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth 
 Their efibrts, yet resolv'd with one consent. 
 To give such an act and utt'rance as they may 
 To ecstacy too big to be suppress'd — 340 
 
 These, and a thousand images of bliss. 
 With which kind nature graces ev'ry scene. 
 Where cruel man defeats not her design. 
 Impart to the benevolent, who wish 
 All that are capable of pleasure pleas'd, 345 
 
 A far superiour happiness to theirs. 
 The comfort of a reasonable joy. 
 
 Man scarce had ris'n, obedient to his call 
 Who form'd him from the dust, his future grav.e, 
 When he was crown'd as never king was since, 360 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 133 
 God tet the diadem upon his head. 
 And angel choirs attended. Wond'ring stood 
 The new made monarch, while before him pass'd, 
 All happy, and all perfect in their kind. 
 The creatures summou'd from their various haunts, 
 To see their sov'reign, and confess his sway. 356 
 
 Vast was his empire, absolute his pow'r. 
 Or bounded only by a law, whose force 
 'Twas his sublimest privilege to feejl 
 And own — the law of universal love. 360 
 
 He rul'd with meekness, they obey'd with joy; 
 No cruel purpose lurk'd within his heart. 
 And no distrust of his intent in theirs. 
 So Eden was a scene of harmless sport. 
 Where kindness on his part who rul'd the whole, 365 
 Begat a tranquil confidence in all. 
 And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear. 
 But sin marr'd all; and the revolt of man. 
 That source of evils not exhausted yet. 
 Was punish'd with revolt of his from him. 370 
 
 Garden of God, how terrible the change 
 Thy groves and lawns then witness'd! Ev'ry heart, 
 Each animal, of ev'ry name conceiv'd 
 A jealousy and an instinctive fear. 
 And, conscious of some danger, either fled 375 
 
 Precipitate the loath 'd abode of man. 
 Or growl'd defiance in such angry sort. 
 As taught him too to tremble in his turn. 
 Thus harmony and family accord 
 
 Were driv'n from Paradise; and in that hour 380 
 
 The seeds of cruelty that since have swell'd 
 To such gigantick and enormous growth. 
 Were sown in human natm'e's soil. 
 Hence date the persecution and the pain. 
 That man inflicts on all inferiour kinds, 335 
 
 Regardless of their plaints. To make him sport, 
 To gratify the frenzy of his wrath, 
 Or his base gluttony, are causes good 
 
134 THE TASK. 
 
 And just in his account* why bird and beast 
 
 Should suffer torture, and the streams be died 390 ' 
 
 With blood of their inhabitants impal'd. ,. 
 
 Earth groans beneath the burden of a war . 
 
 Wag'd with defenceless innocence, while he, * 
 
 Not satified to prey on all around, ' 
 
 Adds tenfold bitterness to death by pangs 395 j 
 
 Needless, and first torments ere he devours. 
 
 Now happiest they that occupy the sceaes 1 
 
 The most remote from his abhorr'd resort, ' ; 
 
 Whom once, as delega^ of God on earth, 
 
 Theyfear'd, and as his perfect image, lov'd. 400 ' 
 
 The wilderness is theirs, with all its caves. 
 
 Its hollow glens, its thickets, and its plains, ) 
 
 Unvisited by man. There they are free, <^ 
 
 And howl and roar as likes them, uncontroll'd; ! 
 
 Nor ask his leave to slumber or to play. 405 
 
 Wo to the tyrant, if he dare intrude ; 
 
 Within the confines of their wild domain: 
 
 The lion tells him — I am monarch here — ' 
 
 And if he spare him, spares him on the terms | 
 
 Of royal mercy, and through gen'rous scorn 410 ! 
 
 To rend a victim trembling at his foot. ] 
 
 In measure, as by force of instinct drawn, .; 
 
 Or by necessity constrain'd, they live \ 
 
 Dependent upon man; those in his fields. 
 
 These at his crib, and some beneath his roof. 415 i 
 
 They prove too often at how dear a rate • 
 
 He sells protection — Witness at his foot \ 
 
 The spaniel dying for some venial fault i 
 
 Under dissection of the knotted scourge; j 
 
 Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells 420 \ 
 
 Driv'n to the slaughter, goaded, as he runs, ! 
 
 To madness; while the savage at his heels ■ 
 
 Laughs at the frantick sutt 'rcr's fury, spent j 
 
 Upon the guiltless passenger o'erthrown. 
 
 He too is witness, noblest of the train 425 
 
 That wait on man, the flight- performing horse; ! 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 135 
 
 With unsuspecting readiness lie takes 
 
 His murd'rer ou his back, and, push'd all day 
 
 With bleeding sides and flanks that heave for life, 
 
 To the far distant goal arrives and dies. 430 
 
 So little mercy shows who needs so much! 
 
 Does law, so jealous in the cause of man. 
 
 Denounce no doom on the delinquent? None. 
 
 He lives and o'er his brimming beaker boasts 
 
 (As if barbarity were high desert,) 435 
 
 Th' inglorious feat, and clamorous in praise 
 
 Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose > 
 
 The honours of his matchless horse his own. 
 
 But many a crime, deem'd innocent on earth, 
 
 Is register'd in Heav'n; and these no doubt, 440 
 
 Have each their record, with a curse annex'd. 
 
 Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, 
 
 But God will never. When he charg'd the Jew 
 
 T' assist his foe's down-fallen beast to rise; 
 
 And when the bush- exploring boy, that seiz'd 445 
 
 The young, to let the parent bird go free; 
 
 Prov'd he not plainly, that his meaner works 
 
 Are yet his care, and have an int'rest all. 
 
 All, in the universal Father's love.? 
 
 On Noah, and on him on all mankind, 450 
 
 The charter was conferr'd by which we hold 
 
 The flesh of animals in fee, and claim 
 
 O'er all we feed on pow'r of life and death. 
 
 But read the instrument, and mark it well: 
 
 Th' oppression of a tyrannous control 455 
 
 Can find no warrant there. Feed then, and yield, 
 
 Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous, through sin. 
 
 Feed on the slain, but spare the living brute? 
 
 The Governor of all, himself to all 
 So bountiful, in whose attentive ear] 460 
 
 The unfledg'd raven and the lion's whelp 
 Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs 
 Of hunger unassuag'd, has interpos*d. 
 Not seldom, his avenging arm, to smite 
 
136 THE TASK. 
 
 Th' injurious trarapler upon Nature's law, 46^ 
 
 That claims forbearance even for a brute. 
 
 He hates the hardness of a Balaam's heart; 
 
 And, prophet as he was, he might not strike 
 
 The blameless animal, without rebuke, 
 
 On which he rode. Her opportune oflfence 470 
 
 Sav'd him, or the unrelenting seer had died. 
 
 He sees that human equity is slack 
 
 To interfere, though in so just a cause; 
 
 And makes the task his own. Inspiring dumb 
 
 And helpless victims with a sense so keen 475 
 
 Of injury, with such knowledge of their strength 
 
 And such sagacity to take revenge. 
 
 That oft the beast has seem'd to judge the man. 
 
 An ancient, not a legendary tale. 
 
 By one of sound intelligence rehears'd, 480 
 
 (If such who plead for Providence may seem 
 
 In modern eyes, ) shall make the doctrine clear. 
 
 Where England, stretch'd towards the setting sun. 
 Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave. 
 Dwelt young Misagathus; a scorner he 485 
 
 Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent. 
 Vicious in act, in temper savage fierce. 
 He journey'd: and his chance was, as he went. 
 To join a trav'ller, of far different note, 
 Evander, fam'd for piety, for years 490 
 
 Deserving honour, but for wisdom more. 
 Fame had not left the venerable man 
 A stranger to the manners of the youth, 
 Whose face, too, was familiar to his view. 
 Their way was on the margin of the land, 495 
 
 O'er the green summit of the rocks, whose base 
 Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high. 
 The charity that warm'd his heart, was mov'd 
 At sight of the man-monster. With a smile 
 Gentle and affable, and full of grace, 500 
 
 As fearful of offending whom he wish'd 
 Much to persuade, he plied his ear with truths 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 137 
 
 Not hardly thunder'd forth or rudely press'd, 
 But, like his pui'pose, gracious, kind, and sweet 
 "^And dost thou dream," th' impenetrable man 505 
 
 Exclaim'd, 'that me the lullabies of age. 
 And fantasies of dotards, such as thou. 
 Can cheat, or znove a moment's fear in me? 
 Mark now the proof I give thee, that the brave 
 Need no such aid as superstition lends 510 
 
 "To steel their hearts against the dread of death." 
 He spoke, and to the precipice at hand 
 Push'd with a madman's fury. Taney shrinks. 
 And the blood thrills and curdles at the thought 
 Of such a gulf as he design'd his grave. 515 
 
 But though the felon on his back could dare 
 The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed 
 Declin'd the death, and wheeling swiftly round. 
 Or ere his hoof had press'd the crumbling verge. 
 Baffled his rider, sav'd against his will. 520 
 
 The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd 
 By med'cine well applied, but without grace 
 The heart's insanity admits no cure. 
 Enrag'd the more, by what might have reform 'd 
 His horrible intent, again he sought 525 
 
 Destruction, with a zeal to be dcstroy'd. 
 With sounding whip, and rowels died in blood, 
 But still in vain. The Providence that meant 
 A longer date to the far nobler beast, 
 Spar'd yet again th' iguobler for his sake. 630 
 
 And now, his prowess prov'd, and his sincere 
 Incurable obduracy evinc'd, 
 
 His rage grew cool, and, pleas'd perhaps t' have earn'd 
 So cheaply, the renown of that attempt. 
 With looks of some complacence he resum'd 535 
 
 His road, deriding much the blank amaze 
 Of good Evander, still where he was left 
 Fix'd motionless, and petrified with dread. 
 So on they far'd. Discourse on other themes 
 Ensuing seem'd t' obliterate the pastj 540 
 
 12* 
 
IS8 THE TASK. 
 
 And tamer far for so much fury shown, 
 
 (As is the course of rash and fiery men;) 
 
 The rude companion smil'd, as if transform'd — 
 
 But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near 
 
 An unsuspected storm. His hour was come, 545 
 
 The impious challenger of Pow'r divine 
 
 Was now to learn, that Heav'n, though slow to wrath. 
 
 Is never with impunity defied. 
 
 His horse, as he had caught his master's mood. 
 
 Snorting, and starting into sudden rage, 550 
 
 Unbidden, and not now to be controll'd, 
 
 Rush'd to the cliff, and having reach'd it, stood. 
 
 At once the shock unseated him: he flew 
 
 Sheer o'er the craggy barrier; and immers'd 
 
 Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not, 555 
 
 The death he had deserv'd, and died alone. 
 
 So God wrought double justice; made the fool 
 
 The victim of his own tremendous choice. 
 
 And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. 
 
 I would not enter on my list of friends, 560 
 
 (Though grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense. 
 Yet wanting sensibility,) the man 
 Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 
 An inadvertent step may crush the snail 
 That crawls at ev'ning in the public path; 565 
 
 But he that has humanity, forewam'd. 
 Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 
 The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight. 
 And charg'd perhaps with venom, that intrudes, 
 A visitor unwelcome, into scenes 570 
 
 Sacred to neatness and repose, th' alcove. 
 The chamber, or refectory, may die: 
 A necessary act incurs no blame. 
 Not so when, held within their proper bounds. 
 And guiltless of offence, they range the air, 675 
 
 Or take their pastime in the spacious field: 
 There they are privileg'd; and he that hunts 
 Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong; 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 139 
 
 Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm. 
 
 Who, when she form'd, design'd them an abode. 680 
 
 The sum is this: If man's convenience, health, 
 
 Or safety; interfere, his rights and claims 
 
 Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. 
 
 Else they are all — the meanest things that are — 
 
 As free to live, and to enjoy that life, 685 
 
 As God was free to form them at the first. 
 
 Who in his sov'reign wisdom made them all. 
 
 Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons 
 
 To love it too. The spring time of our years 
 
 Is soon dishonour'd and defil'd in most S90 
 
 By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand 
 
 To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots. 
 
 If imrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth. 
 
 Than cruelty, most dev'lish of them all, 
 
 Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule 595 
 
 And righteous limitation of its act. 
 
 By which Heav'n moves in pard'ning guilty man; 
 
 And he that shows none, being ripe in years. 
 
 And conscious of the outrage he commits. 
 
 Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn. 600 
 
 Distinguish'd much by reason, and still more 
 By our capacity of grace divine. 
 From creatures, that exist but for our salce. 
 Which having serv'd us, perish, we are held 
 Accountable; and God some future d^ 605 
 
 Will reckon with us roundly for th' abuse 
 Of what he deems no mean nor trivial trust, 
 Superiour as we are, they yet depend 
 Not more on human help than we on theirs. 
 Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were giy'n 610 
 In aid of our defects. In some are found 
 Such teachable and apprehensive parts. 
 That man's attainments in his own concerns, 
 Match'd with the expertness of the brutes in theirs. 
 Are ofttimes vanquish'd and thrown far behind. 615 
 Some show that nice sagacity of smell, 
 
140 THE TASK. 
 
 And read with such discernment, in the port 
 
 And figure of the man, his secret aim. 
 
 That oft we owe our safety to a skill 
 
 We could not teach, and must despair to learn. 
 
 But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop 
 
 To quadruped instructors many a good 
 
 And useful quality, and virtue too. 
 
 Rarely exemplified among ourselves. 
 
 Attachment never to be wean'd, or chang'd 
 
 By any change of fortime: proof alike 
 
 Against unkindness, absence, and neglect; 
 
 Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat 
 
 Can move or Avarp; and gratitude for small 
 
 And trivial favours, lasting as the life. 
 
 And glist'ning even in the dying eye. 
 
 Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms 
 
 Wins publick honour; and ten thousand sit 
 
 Patiently present at a sacred song. 
 
 Commemoration mad; content to hear 
 
 (O wonderful efiect of musick's power!) 
 
 Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake! 
 
 But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve — 
 
 (For, was it less, what heathen would have dar'd 
 
 To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath, 
 
 And hang it up in honour of a man?) 
 
 Much less might serve, when all that we design 
 
 Is but to gratify an itching ear. 
 
 And give the day to a musician's praise. 
 
 Remember Handel? Who, that was not born 
 
 Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets. 
 
 Or can, the more than Homer of his age? 
 
 Yes — we remember him; and while we praise 
 
 A talent so divine, remember too 
 
 That His most holy book from whom it came. 
 
 Was never meant, was never us'd before. 
 
 To buckram out the mem'ry of a man. 
 
 But hush! — the Muse perhaps is too severe 
 
 And with a gravity beyond the size 
 
THE WINTER. WALK AT NOON. 141 
 
 And measure of the offence, rebukes a deed 65» 
 
 Less impious than absurd, and owing more 
 
 To want of judgment than to wrong designs 
 
 So in the chapel of old Ely House, 
 
 When wand'ring Charles, who meant to be the third. 
 
 Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, 660 
 
 The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce. 
 
 And eke did roar right merrily, two staves. 
 
 Sung to the praise and glory of King George! 
 
 — Man praises man: and Garrick's mem'ry next. 
 
 When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made 665 
 
 The idol of our worship while he liv'd 
 
 The God of our idolatry once more, ' 
 
 Shall have its altar; and the world shall go 
 
 In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. 
 
 The theatre too small, shall suffocate 670 
 
 Its squeez'd contents, and more than it admits 
 
 Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return 
 
 Ungratified for there some noble lord 
 
 Shall stuff his shoulders with King Richard's bunch. 
 
 Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak, 676 
 
 And strut and storm, and straddle, stamp, and stare. 
 
 To show the world how Garrick did not act. 
 
 For Garrick was a worshipper himself; 
 
 He drew the liturgy, and fi.-am'd the rites 
 
 And solemn ceremonial of the day, 680 
 
 And call'd the world to worship on the banks 
 
 Of Avon, fam'd in song. Ah, pleasant proof 
 
 That piety has still in human hearts 
 
 Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. 
 
 The mulb'rry tree Avas hung with blooming wreaths; 
 
 The mulb'rry tree stood centre of the dance; 686 
 
 The mulb'rry tree was hymn'd with dulcet airs; 
 
 And from his touchwood trunk the mulb'rry tree 
 
 Supplied such relicks as devotion holds 
 
 Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. 690 
 
 So 'twas a hallow'd time: decorum reign'd. 
 
 And mirth without offence. No few return'd. 
 
142 THE TASK. 
 
 Doubtless, much edified, and all relrcsL'd, 
 
 — Man praises man. The rabble all alive 
 
 From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, 695 
 
 Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, 
 
 A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes. 
 
 Some shout him, and some hang upon his car. 
 
 To gaze in 's eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave 
 
 Their kerchiefs, and old wpmen weep for joy; 700 
 
 While others, not so satisfied, unhorse 
 
 The gilded equipage, and turning loose 
 
 His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve. 
 
 Why.'' what has charm'd them.'' Hath he saved the 
 
 state.'' 
 No. Doth he" purpose its salvation? No. 705 
 
 Enchanting novelty, that inoon at full. 
 That finds out ev'ry crevice of the head 
 That is not sound, and perfect, hath in theirs 
 Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near. 
 And his own cattle must suffice him soon. 710 
 
 Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise. 
 And dedicate a tribute, in its use 
 And just direction sacred, to a thing 
 Doom'd to the dust, or lodg'd already there. 
 Encomium in old time was poet's work; 715 
 
 But poets, having lavishly long since 
 Exhausted all materials of the art. 
 The task now falls into the publick hand; 
 And I contented with an humbler theme, 
 Have pour'd my stream of pauegyrick down 720 
 
 The vale of Nature, where it creeps and winds 
 Among her lovely works with a secure 
 And unambitious course, reflecting clear. 
 If not the virtues, yet the worth of brutes. 
 And I am recompensed, and deem the toils 725 
 
 Of poetrjf not lost, if verse of mine 
 May stand between an animal and wo. 
 And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. 
 The groans of nature in this Nether World, 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 143 
 
 Which heav'u has heard for ages, have an eud. 730 
 Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung. 
 Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp; 
 The time of rest, the promis'd sabbath comes 
 Six thousand years of sorrow have well nigh 
 Fulfill'd their tai'dy and disastrous course 735 
 
 Over a sinful world; and what remains 
 Of this tempestuous state of human things 
 Is merely as the working of a sea 
 Before a calm that i'ocks itself to rest; 
 For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds 740 
 The dust that waits upon his sultry march, 
 When sin hath mov'd him, and his wrath is hot. 
 Shall visit earth in mercy; shall descend 
 Propitious in his chariot pav'd with love; 
 And what his storms have blasted and defac'd 745 
 
 For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. 
 Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet 
 Not to be wrong'd by a mei-e mortal touch; 
 Nor can the wonders it records be sung 
 To meaner musick, and not to suffer loss. 750 
 
 But when a poet, or when one like me, 
 Happy to rove among poetick flow'rs. 
 Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last 
 On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair. 
 Such is the impulse and the spur he feels, 756 
 
 To give it praise proportion' d to its worth. 
 That not t' attempt it, arduous as he deems 
 The labour, were a task more arduous still. 
 
 O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true. 
 Scenes of accomplish'd bliss! which who can see, 760 
 Though but in distant prospect and not feel 
 His soul refresh' d with foretaste of the joy? 
 Rivers of gladness water all the earth. 
 And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach 
 Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field 765 
 
 Laughs With abundance; and the land, once lean. 
 
144 THE TASK. 
 
 Or fertile only in its own disgrace, \ 
 
 Exults to see its thistly curse repeal'd. 1 
 
 The yarious seasons woven into one, i 
 
 And that one season an eternal spring, 770 '■ 
 
 The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, j 
 
 For there is none to covet, all are full. s 
 
 The Hon, and the libbard, and the bear, !; 
 
 Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon ■ 
 
 Together, or all gambol in the shade 776 j 
 
 Of the same grove, and drink one common stream; j 
 
 Antipathies are none • No foe to man j 
 
 Lurks in the serpent now; the mother sees, 1 
 
 And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand ! 
 
 Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm, 780 
 
 To stroke his azure neck, or to receive 1 
 
 The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. ' 
 
 All creatures worship man, and all mankind j 
 
 One Lord, one Father. Errour has no place; ,i 
 
 That creeping pestilence is driv'n away; 785 
 
 The breath of Heav'n has chas'd it. In the heart ; 
 
 No passion touches a discordant string, .] 
 
 But all is harmony and love. Disease \ 
 
 Is not: the pure and uncontaminate blood ] 
 
 Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. 790 . I 
 
 One song employs all nations; and all cry, ] 
 "Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!'* 
 
 The dwellers in the valcs and on the rocks ] 
 
 Shout to each other, and the mountain tops \ 
 
 From distant mountains catch the flying joy, 795 j 
 
 Till, nation after nation taught the strain, ! 
 
 Earth rolls the rapturous hosanua round. i 
 
 Behold the measure of the promise fill'd; ^ 
 
 See Salem built, the labour of a God! i 
 
 Bright as a simthe sacred city shines; 800 ! 
 
 All kingdoms and all princes of the iearth ; 
 
 Flock to that light; the glory of all lands i 
 
 Flows into her; unbounded is her joy, | 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 145 
 
 And endless her increase. Thy rams are there 
 
 Nebaioth, and Ihe flocks of Kedai- there;* 806 
 
 The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, 
 
 And Saba's spicy groves pay tribute there- 
 
 Praise is in all her gates; upon her walls. 
 
 And in her streets, and in her spacious courts 
 
 Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there 810 
 
 Kneels with the native of the farthest west; 
 
 And ^Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand. 
 
 And worships. Her report has travell'd forth 
 
 Into all lands. From ev'ry clime they come 
 
 To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, 815 
 
 O Sion! an assembly such as Earth 
 
 Saw never, such as Heav'n stoops down to see. 
 
 Thus heav'nward all things tend. For all were once 
 Perfect, and all must be at length restor'd. 
 So God has greatly pui-pos'd; who would else 820 
 
 In his dishonour'd works himself endure 
 Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress. 
 Haste, then, and wheel away a shatter'd world, 
 Ye slow-revolving seasons! we would see 
 (A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) 825 
 
 A world, that does not dread and hate his laws. 
 And suiFer for its crime; would learn how fair 
 The creature is, that God pronounces good; 
 How pleasant in itself what pleases him. 
 Here ev'ry drop of honey hides a sting: 830 
 
 Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flow'rs 
 And e'en the joy, that haply some poor heart 
 Derives from Heav'n, pure as the fountain is. 
 Is sullied in the stream, taking a taint 
 From touch of human lips, at best impure. 835 
 
 O for a world in principle as chaste 
 As this is gx-oss and selfish! over which 
 
 * Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Islimael, and progemtors of 
 the Avabs in the prophetick Scripture here alluded to, may be 
 reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large. 
 13 
 
146 THE TASK. 
 
 Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway. 
 That govern all things here, should'riug aside 
 The meek and modest Truth, and forcing her 
 To seek a refoge from the tongue of Strife 
 In nooks obscurcj far from the ways of men; 
 Where Violence shall never lift the sword. 
 Nor Cunning justify the proud man's wrong. 
 Leaving the poor no remedy but tears: 
 Where he that fills an office, shall esteem 
 Th' occasion it presents of doing good 
 More than the perquisite: where Law shall speak 
 Seldom, and never but as Wisdom prompts 
 And Equity; not jealous more to guard 
 A worthless form than to decide aright: 
 Where Fashion shall not sanctify abuse, 
 Nor smooth Good-breeding (supplemental grace) 
 With lean performance ape the work of Love ! 
 Come, then, and, added to thy many crowns. 
 Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth. 
 Thou who alone art worthy ! It was thine 
 By ancient covenant, ere Natui'e's birth; 
 And thou hast made it thine by pm-chase sincej 
 And o'erpaid its value with thy blood. 
 Thy saints proclaim thee king; and in their hearts 
 Thy title is engraven with a pen 
 Dipp'd in the fountain of eternal love. 
 Thy saints proclaim thee king; and thy delay 
 Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see 
 The dawn of thy last advent, long desir'd. 
 Would creep into the bowels of the hills, 
 And flee for safety to the falling rocks. 
 The very spirit of the world is tir'd 
 Of its own taunting question, ask'd so long, 
 "Where is the promise of your Lord's approach?" 
 The infidel has shot his bolts away, 
 Till his exhausted quiver yielding none, 
 lie gleans the blunted shafts, thSit have recoil'd, 
 And aims them at the shield of Truth again. 
 
TTHE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 147 
 
 The veil is tent, rent too by priestly handsj 
 
 That hides divinity from mortal eyes; 
 
 And all the mysteries to faith propos'd, 
 
 Insulted and traduc'd are cast aside. 
 
 As useless, to the moles and to the bats. 880 
 
 They now are deem'd the faithful, and are prais'd, 
 
 Who, constant only in rejecting Thee, 
 
 Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal. 
 
 And quit their office for their errour's sake. 
 
 Blind and in love with darkness! yet e'en these 885 
 
 Worthy, compar'd with sycophants, who kneel 
 
 Thy name adoring, and then preach thee man; 
 
 So fares thy church. But how thy church may fare 
 
 The world takes little thought. Who will may preach , 
 
 And what they will. All pastors are alike 890 
 
 To wand'ring sheep, i-esolv'd to follow none. 
 
 Two gods divide them all — Pleasure and Gain; 
 
 For these they live, they sacrifice to these. 
 
 And in their service wage perpetual war 894 
 
 With Conscience and with Thee. Lust in their hearts? 
 
 And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth 
 
 To prey upon each other; stubborn, fierce, 
 
 High-minded, foaming out their own disgrace. 
 
 Thy prophets speak of such; and noting down 
 
 The features of the last degen'rate times, 900 
 
 Exhibit every lineament of these. 
 
 ■Come, then, and, added to thy many crowns. 
 
 Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest. 
 
 Due to thy last and most effectual work. 
 
 Thy word fulfill' d, the conquest of a world! 905 
 
 He is the happy man, whose life e'en now 
 .Shows somewhat of that happier life to come; 
 Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state. 
 Is pleas'd with it, and, were he free to choose. 
 Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the fruit 
 Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith, 911 
 
 Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one 
 Content indeed to sojourn while he must 
 
1-48 THE TASK. 
 
 Below the skies, but having there his home. 
 
 The world o'erlooks him in her busy search 915 
 
 Of objects more illustrious in her view; 
 
 And occupied as earnestly as she. 
 
 Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the World. 
 
 She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not; 
 
 He seeks not hers, for he has prov'd them vain. 920 
 
 He cannot skim the ground like summer birds 
 
 Pursuing gilded flies; and such he deems 
 
 Her honours, her emoluments, her joys. 
 
 Therefore in contemplation is his bliss, 
 
 Whose pow'r is such, that whom she lifts from earth 
 
 She makes familiar with a Heav'n unseen, 926 
 
 And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd. 
 
 Not slothful he, though seeming unemployed. 
 
 And censur'd oft as useless. Stillest streams 
 
 Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird 930 
 
 That flutters least is longest on the wing. 
 
 Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has rais'd. 
 
 Or what achievements of immortal fame 
 
 He purposes, and he shall answer — None. 
 
 His warfare is within. There, unfatigu'd, 935 
 
 His fervent spirit labours. There he fights 
 
 And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself. 
 
 And never- with'ring wreaths, compar'd with which. 
 
 The laurels that a Caesar reaps are weeds. 
 
 Perhaps the self- approving, haughty world, 940 
 
 That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks 
 
 Scarce deigns to notice him, or if she see. 
 
 Deems him a cipher in the works of God, 
 
 Receives advantage from his noiseless hours. 
 
 Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes 945 
 
 Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring 
 
 And plenteous harvest, to the pray'r he makes. 
 
 When, Isaac like, the solitary saint 
 
 Walks forth to meditate at eventide. 
 
 And think on her who thinks not for herself. 950 
 
 Forgive him, then, thou bustler in concerns 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 149 
 K)t little worth, an idler in the best. 
 If, author of no mischief and some good. 
 He seeks his proper happiness by means 
 That may advance, but cannot hinder, thine. 955 
 
 Nor, though he tread the secret path of life, 
 Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease. 
 Account him an encumbrance on the state. 
 Receiving benefits, and rend'riug none. 
 His sphere, though humble, if that humble sphere 
 Shine with his fkir example; and though small 961 
 
 His influence, if that influence all be spent 
 In soothing sorrow, and in quenching strife. 
 In aiding helpless indigence in works 
 From which at least a grateful few derive 965 
 
 Some taste of comfort in a world of wo; 
 Then let the supercilious great confess 
 He serves his country, recompenses well 
 The state beneath the shadow of whose viae 
 He sits secure, and in the scale of life 970 
 
 Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place. 
 The man, whose virtues are more felt than seen. 
 Must drop indeed the liope of public praise; 
 But he may boast, what few that win it can. 
 That if his country stand not by his skill, 975 
 
 At least his follies have not wrought her fall. 
 Polite refinement offers him in vain 
 Her golden tube, through which a sensual World 
 Draw^ gross impurity, and likes it well. 
 The neat conveyance hiding all the offence. 980 
 
 Not that he peevishly rejects a mode. 
 Because that World adopts it. If it bear 
 The stamp and clear impression of good sense. 
 And be not costly more than of true worth. 
 He puts it on, and for decorum sake 985 
 
 Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she. 
 She judges of refinement by the eye; 
 He, by the test of conscience, and a heart 
 Not soon deceiy'd; aware, that what is base 
 
 13* 
 
150 THE TASK. 
 
 No polish can make sterling; and that vice, 990 
 
 Though well perfum'd and elegantly dress'd, 
 
 Like an unbiiried carcass trick'd with flow'rs, 
 
 Is but a garnish'd nuisance, fitter far 
 
 For cleanly riddance than for fair attire. 
 
 So life glides smoothly and by stealth away, .995 
 
 More golden than that age of fabled gold 
 
 Renown'd in ancient song; not vex'd with care 
 
 Or stain'd with guilt, beneficent approv'd 
 
 Of God and man, and peaceful in its end. 
 
 So glide my life away! and so at last, 1000 
 
 My share of duties decently fulfilPd, 
 
 May some disease, not tardy to perform 
 
 Its destin'd office, yet with gentle stroke. 
 
 Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat. 
 
 Beneath the turf that I have often trod. 1005 
 
 It shall not grieve me then, that once, when call'd 
 
 To dress a Sofa with the fliow'rs of verse, 
 
 I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair. 
 
 With that light Task; but soon, to please her more, 
 
 Whom flowers alone I knew Avould little please, 1010 
 
 Let fall th' unfinish'd wreatli, and rov'd for fruit; 
 
 Rov'd far, and gather'd much; some harsh, 'tis true, 
 
 Pick'd from the thorns and briars of reproof. 
 
 But wholesome, well digested; grateful some 
 
 To palates that can taste immortal truth; 1015 
 
 Insipid else, and sure to be despis'd. 
 
 But all is in His hand whose praise I seek. 
 
 In vain the poet sings, and the World hears. 
 
 If he regard not, though divine the theme. 
 
 'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime 1020 
 
 And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre. 
 
 To charm His ear whose eye is on the heart. 
 
 Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, 
 
 Whose approbation — prosper even mine. 
 
(151) 
 
 AN 
 EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 DEAR JOSEPH— five and twenty years ago— 
 Alas, how time escapes! 'tis even so — 
 With frequent intercourse, and always sweet, 
 And always friendly, we were wont to cheat 
 A tedious hour — and now we never meet! 
 As some grave gentleman in Terence says, 
 ('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days,) 
 Grood lack, we know not what to-morrow brings— 
 Strange fluctuation of all hiunan things! 
 True. Changes will befall, and friends may part 
 But distance only cannot change the heart; 
 And, where I call'd to prove th' assertion true. 
 One proof should serve — a reference to you. 
 
 Whence comes it, then, that in the vane of lifcj 
 Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife, 
 We find the friends we fancied we had won. 
 Though num'rous once, reduc'd to few or none? 
 Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch? 
 No; gold they seem'd, but they were never such= 
 
 Horatio's servant ®nce, with bow and cringe. 
 Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge. 
 Dreading a negative, and overaw'd- 
 Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad. 
 Gro, fellow, — whither? — turning short about — 
 Nay — Stay at home — you're always going out. 
 'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end. — 
 For what? — An please you, sir, to see a friend. — 
 A friend! Horatio cried, and seem'd to start — 
 Yea, marry shalt thou, and with all my heart — 
 
152 EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESa. 
 
 And fetch my cloak; for though the night be raw, 
 I'll see him too — the first I ever saw. 
 
 I knew the man, and knew his nature mild. 
 And was his plaything often when a child; 
 But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close, 
 Else he was seldom bitter or morose. 
 Perhaps his confidence just then betray'd, 
 His grief might prompt him with the speech he made. 
 Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth. 
 The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. 
 Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind. 
 Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind. 
 
 But not to moralize too much, and strain. 
 To prove an evil, of which all complain, 
 (I hate long arguments verbosely spun,) 
 One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. 
 Once on a time, an emp'ror, a wise man. 
 No matter where, in China or Japan, 
 Decreed, that whosoe'er should offend 
 Against the well-known duties of a friend. 
 Convicted once, should ever after wear 
 But half a coat, and show his bosom bare. 
 The punishment importing this, no doubt, 
 That all was naught within, and all found out. 
 
 O happy Britain! we have not to fear 
 Such hard and arbitrary measure here; 
 Else, could a law like that which I relate 
 Once have the sanction of our tripple state. 
 Some few, that I have known in days of old. 
 Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold; 
 While you, my friend; whatever wind should blow 
 Might traverse England safely to and fro. 
 An honest man, close button'd to the chin. 
 Broadcloth without, and warm heart within. 
 
TIROCINIUMS 
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 
 
 Ke(pci\xtov Jh TaiSEia^ ogS-i] -rgoip^ PlatOi 
 
 Af%i, TToKiTiiXi ctTrxTyfg veaiv Tpoc;:c4..,„..,Diog. Laert. 
 
TO THE 
 
 REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UN WIN 
 
 RECTOR OF STOCK IN ESSEX, 
 
 THE TUTOR OF HIS TWO SONS, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING 
 
 EECOMMENDING PRIVATE TUITION, IN PREFERENCE 
 TO AN EDUCATION AT SCHOOL, 
 
 IS INSCRIBED, 
 BY HIS AFFECTIONATE FRIEND 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER. 
 
 Olnev, -ZVcw. 6, 1784. 
 
TlROCirVIUDtt* 
 
 It is not from his form, iu which we trace 
 Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace. 
 That man, the master of this globe, derives 
 His right of empii-e over all that lives. 
 That form, indeed, th' asspciate of a mind 
 Vast in its pow*rs, ethereal in its kind. 
 That form, the labour of Almighty skill, 
 Fram'd for the service of a freeborn will, 
 Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control. 
 But borrows all its grandeur from the soul. • 
 Here is the state, the splendour, and the throne. 
 An intellectual kingdom, all her own. 
 For her the mem'ry fills her ample page 
 With truths pour'd down from ev'ry distant age; 
 For her amasses an unbounded store. 
 The wisdom of great nations, now no more; 
 Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil; 
 Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil; 
 When copiously supplied, then most enlarg'd. 
 Still to be fed, and not to be surcharg'd. 
 For her the Fancy, roving unconfin'd. 
 The present muse of ev'ry pensive mind. 
 Works magick wonders, adds a brighter hue 
 To Nature's scenes than Nature ever knew. 
 At her command, winds rise, and waters roar, 
 Again she lays them slumbering on the shore; 
 
156 tirocinium: or, 
 
 With flow'r and fruit the wilderness gupplies, 
 
 Or bids the rocks iu ruder pomp arise. 
 
 For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife, 
 
 That Grace and Nature have to wage through life, 30 
 
 Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill, 
 
 Appointed sage preceptor to the will. 
 
 Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice 
 
 Guides the decision of a doubtful choice. 
 
 Why did the fiat of a God give birth 35 
 
 To yon fair Sun, and his attendant Earth? 
 And when, descending, he resigns the skies, 
 Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise. 
 Whom Ocean feels through all his countless waves. 
 And owns her pow'r on ev'ry shore he laves? 40 
 
 Why do the seasons still enrich the year. 
 Fruitful and young as in their first career? 
 Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, 
 Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze; 
 Summer in haste the thi'iving charge receives 45 
 
 Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves. 
 Till Autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews 
 Die them at last in all their glowing hues — 
 'Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste, 
 Pow'r misemployed, munificence misplac'd, 50 
 
 Had not its author dignified the plan. 
 And crown'd it with the majesty of man. 
 Thus form'd, thus plac'd, intelligent, and taught. 
 Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought. 
 The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws 65 
 
 Finds in a sober moment time to pause. 
 To press th' important question on his heart, 
 "Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art?" 
 If man be what he seems, this hour a slave. 
 The next mere dust and ashes in the grave; 60 
 
 Endu'd with reason only to descry 
 His crimes and follies with an aching eye; 
 With passions, just that he may prove, with pain, 
 The force he spends against their fury vain; 
 
A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 157 
 
 And if, soon after having buru'd, by turns, 65 
 
 With ev'ry lust with which frail Nature burns, 
 HUs being end where death dissolves the bond. 
 The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond; 
 Then he of all that Nature has brought forth. 
 Stands self-impeach'd the creatm-e of least worth, 70 
 And useless while he lives and when he dies. 
 Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies. 
 
 Truths, that the learn'd pursue with eager thought. 
 Are not important always as dear bought. 
 Proving at last, though told in pompous sti'ains, 75 
 
 A childish waste of philosophick pains; 
 But truths, on which depends our main concern. 
 That 'tis our shame and mis'ry not to learn. 
 Shine by the side of ev'ry path we tread 
 With such a lustre, he that runs may read. 80 
 
 'Tis true, that if to trifle life away 
 Down to the sunset of their latest day. 
 Then perish on futm'ity's wide shore, 
 Like fleeting exhalations, found no more. 
 Were all that Heav'n requir'd of human kind, 85 
 
 And all the plan their destiny design'd. 
 What none could rev'rence all might justly blame. 
 And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame. 
 But reason heard, and natm'e well perus'd. 
 At once the dreaming mind is disabus'd. 90 
 
 If all we find possessing eai'th, sea, air. 
 Reflect his attributes who plac'd them there. 
 Fulfil the purpose, and appear design'd 
 Proofs of the wisdom of the all-seeing Mind, 
 'Tis plain the creature, whom he chose t' invest 95 
 With kingship and dominion o'er the rest, 
 Receiv'd his nobler nature, and was Made 
 Fit for the pow'r in which he stands array'd; 
 That first, or last, hereafter, if not here. 
 He too might make his author's wisdom clear, 100 
 
 Praise him on earth, or, obstinately dumb. 
 Suffer his justice in a world to come. 
 14 
 
158 tirocinium: or, 
 
 This ouce believ'd, 'twere logick misapplied, 
 To prove a consequence by none denied, 
 That we are bound to cast the minds of youth 105 
 
 Betimes into the mould of heav'nly truth, 
 That taught of God they may indeed be wise. 
 Nor, ignorantly wand'ring, miss the skies. 
 In early days the conscience has in most 
 A quickness, which in later life is lost: 110 
 
 Preserv'd from guilt by salutary fears. 
 Or, guilty, soon relenting into tears. 
 Too careless often, as our years proceed. 
 What friends we sort with, or what books we read. 
 Our parents yet exert a prudent care, 115 
 
 To feed our infant minds with proper fare; 
 And wisely store the nurs'ry by degrees 
 With wholesome learning, yet acquir'd with ease. 
 Neatly secur'd from being soil'd or torn 
 Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn, 120 
 
 A book, Cto please us at a tender age 
 'Tis call'd a book, though but a single page.) 
 Presents the pray'r the Saviour deign'd to teach. 
 Which children use, and parsons — when they preach. 
 Lisping our syllables, we scramble next 125 
 
 Through moral narrative, or sacred text; 
 And learn with wonder how this world began. 
 Who made, who marr'd, and who has ransom 'd man. 
 Points which, unless the Scripture made them plain, 
 The wisest heads might agitate in vain. 130 
 
 thou, whom, borne on fancy's eager^ wing 
 Back to the season of life's happy spring, 
 
 1 pleas'd remember, and, while mem'ry yet 
 Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget; 
 Ingenious dreamer, in whose well- told tale 135 
 Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail; 
 
 Whose hum'rous vein, strong sense, and simple style. 
 May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile; 
 AVitty, and well employ 'd, and like thy Lord, 
 Speaking in paiables his slighted word; 140 
 
A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 159 
 
 1 name thee not, less so despis'U a name 
 
 Should move a sneer at the deserved fame; 
 
 Yet e'en in transitoxy life's late day. 
 
 That mingles all my brown with sober gray. 
 
 Revere the man, whose Pilgrim marks the road, 145 
 
 And guides the progress of the soul to God. 
 
 'Twere well with most, if books, that could engage 
 
 Their childhood, pleas' d them at a riper age; 
 
 The man approving what had charm'd the boy. 
 
 Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy; 150 
 
 And not with curses on his heart, who stole 
 
 The gem of truth from his unguarded soul. 
 
 The stamp of artless piety impress'd 
 
 By kind tuition on his yielding breast. 
 
 The youth now bearded, and yet pert and raw, 155 
 
 Regards with scorn, though once receiv'd with awe; 
 
 And, warp'd into the labyrinth of lies, 
 
 That babblers, call'd philosophers, devise. 
 
 Blasphemes his creed, as founded on a plan 
 
 Replete with dreams, unworthy of a man 160 
 
 Touch but his nature in its ailing part. 
 
 Assert the native evil of his heart. 
 
 His pride resents the charge, although the proof 
 
 Rise in his forehead:* and seem rank enough; 
 
 Point to the cure, describe a Saviour's cross 165 
 
 As God's expedient to retrieve his loss. 
 
 The young apostate sickens at the view. 
 
 And hates it with the malice of a Jew. 
 
 How weak the barrier of mere Nature proves, 
 Oppos'd against the pleasures Nature loves! 170 
 
 While self-betray'd and wilfully undone. 
 She longs to yield, no sooner woo'd than won. 
 Try now the merits of this bless'd exchange. 
 Of modest ta*uth for wit's eccentrick range. 
 Time was, he clos'd as he began the day 175 
 
 With decent duty, not asham'd to pray: 
 
 • See 2 Chron. ch. xxvi. ver. 19. 
 
160 tirocinium: or, 
 
 The practice was a bond uiKm his heai-t, 
 
 A pledge he gave for a consistent part: 
 
 Nor could he dare presumptuously displease 
 
 A pow'r coiifess'd so lately on his knees. 180 
 
 But now farewell all legendary tales. 
 
 The shadows fly, philosophy prevails; 
 
 Pray'r to the winds, and caution to the waves; 
 
 Religion makes thee free by nature slaves! 
 
 Priests have invented, and the world admir'd 185 
 
 What knavish priests promulgate as inspir'd; 
 
 Till Reason, now no longer overaw'd. 
 
 Resumes her powers, and spurns the clumsy fraud; 
 
 And, common sense diffusing real day. 
 
 The meteor of the Gospel dies away 190 
 
 Such rhapsodies our shrewd discerning youth 
 Learn from expert inquirers after truth; 
 
 Whose only care, might truth presume to speak. 
 
 Is not to find what they profess to seek. 
 
 And thus, well- tutor 'd only while we share 195 
 
 A mother's lectures and a nurse's care; 
 
 And taught at schools much mythologick stuff,* 
 
 But sound religion sparingly enough; 
 
 Our early notices of truth, disgrac'd. 
 
 Soon lose their credit, and are all effac'd. 200 
 
 Would you your son should be a sot or dunce. 
 Lascivious, headstrong, or all these at once; 
 That in good time the stripling's finish'd taste 
 For loose expense, and fashionable waste. 
 Should prove your ruin and his own at last; 205 
 
 Train him in publick with a mob of boys. 
 Childish in mischief only and in noise. 
 Else of a mannish growth, and five in ten 
 In infidelity and lewdness men. 
 
 *The author begs leave to exi)Iain. Sensible that without 
 such knowledge neither the ancient poets nor historians can be 
 tasted, or indeed understood, he does not nu an to censure the 
 pains that are (aken to instruct a school boy in the religion of 
 the Heathen, but merely that neglect of Christian culture, 
 which leaves him shamefully ignorant of his own. 
 
A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 161 
 
 There shall he learn, ere sixteen winters old, 210 
 
 That authors are most useful, pawn'd or sold; 
 That pedantry is all that schools impart, 
 But taverns teach the knowledge of the heart; 
 There waiter Dick, with Bacchanalian lays. 
 Shall win his heart, and have his drunken praise; 215 
 His counsellor and bosom friend shall prove. 
 And some street-pacing harlot his first love. 
 Schools, unless discipline were doubly strong. 
 Detain their adolescent charge too long: 
 The management of tyroes of eighteen 220 
 
 Is difficult, their punishment obscene. 
 The stout tall captain, whose superiour size 
 The minor heroes view with envious eyes. 
 Becomes their pattern, upon whom they fix 
 Their whole attention, and ape all his tricks. 225 
 
 His pride, that scorns t' obey or to submit. 
 With them is courage; his efii'ont'ry, wit. 
 His wild excursions, window-breaking feats, 
 Robb'ry of gardens, quarrels in the streets, 229 
 
 His hairbreadth 'scapes, and all his daring schemes. 
 Transport them, and are made their fav'rite themes. 
 In little bosoms sueh achievements strike 
 A kindred spark: they bm*n to do the like: 
 Thus half accomplish'd ere he yet begin 
 To show the peeping down upon his chin; 235 
 
 And, as maturity of years comes on, 
 Made just th' adept that you design'd yoxu* son; 
 T' ensure the perseverance of his course. 
 And give your monstrous project all its force. 
 Send him to college. If he there be tam'd, 240 
 
 Or in one article of vice reclaim'd. 
 Where no regard of ord'nances is shown 
 Or look'd for now, the fault must be his own. 
 Some sneaking virtue lurks in him, no doubt. 
 Where neither strumpets' charms nor drinking bout. 
 Nor gambling'practices can find it out, 246 
 
 Such you of spirit, and that spirit too, 
 14* 
 
162 tirocinium: or, 
 
 Ye niirs'ries of oiu- boys, we owe to you: 
 
 Though from ourselves the mischief more proceeds, 
 
 For public schools 'tis public folly feeds. 250 
 
 The slaves of custom and establish 'd mode. 
 
 With packhorse constancy we keep the road, 
 
 Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, 
 
 True to the jingling of our leader's bells. 
 
 To follow foolish precedents, and wink 255 
 
 With both our eyes, is easier than to think; 
 
 And such an age as ours balks no expense. 
 
 Except of caution, and of common sense; 
 
 Else sure notorious fact and proof so plain. 
 
 Would turn our steps into a wiser train. 260 
 
 I blame not those who, with what care they can, 
 
 O'erwatch the num'rous and unruly clan; 
 
 Or, if I blame, 'tis only that they dare 
 
 Promise a work, of which they must .despair. 
 
 Have ye, ye sage inteudants of the whole^ 265 
 
 A ubiquarian presence and control — 
 
 Elisha's eye, that, when Gehazi stray'd. 
 
 Went with him, and saw all the game he play'd.'' 
 
 Yes — ye are conscious; and on all the shelves 
 
 Your pupils strike upon, have struck yourselves, 270 
 
 Or if, by nature sober, ye had then. 
 
 Boys as ye were, the gravity of men; 
 
 Ye knew at least, by constant proofs address'd 
 
 To ears and eyes, the vices of the rest. 
 
 But ye connive at what ye cannot cure, 275 
 
 And evils, not to be endur'd, endure, 
 
 Lest pow'r exerted, but without success. 
 
 Should make the little ye retain still less. 
 
 Ye once were justly fam'd for bringing forth 
 
 Undoubted scholarship and genuine worth, 280 
 
 And in the firmament of fame still shines 
 
 A glory, bright as that of all the signs. 
 
 Of poets rais'd by you, and statesmen, and divines. 
 
 Peace to them all! those brilliant times are fled. 
 
 And no such liirhts are kindling in their stead. 285 
 
A REVIEW OP SCHOOLS. 163 
 
 Our striplings shine iudced, but with such rays. 
 As set the midnight riot in a blaze; 
 And seem, if judg'd by tlieir expressive looks. 
 Deeper in none than in their surgeons' books. 
 
 Say, Muse, (for education made the song, 290 
 
 No muse can hesitate, or linger long, ) 
 What causes move us, knowing as we must. 
 That these menageries all fail their trust. 
 To send our sons to scout and scamper there. 
 While colts and puppies cost us so much care? 295 
 
 Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise. 
 We love the play-place of our early days; 
 The scene is touching, and the heart is stone 
 That feels not at that sight, and feels at none. 
 The wall on which we tried our graving skill, 300 
 
 The very name we carv'd subsisting still; 
 The bench on which we sat while deep employ'd, 
 Tho' mangled, hack'd, and hew'd, not yet destroy'd; 
 The little ones, unbotton'd, glowing hot. 
 Playing our games, and on the very spot; 305 
 
 As happy as we once, to kneel and draw 
 The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw; 
 To pitch the ball into the gromided hat, 
 Or drive it devious with a dext'rous pat; 
 The pleasing spectacle at once excites 310 
 
 Such recollection of our own delights. 
 That, viewing it, we seem almost t' obtain 
 Our innocent sweet simple years again. 
 This fond attachment to the well-known place, 
 Whence first we started into life's long race, 315 
 
 Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway. 
 We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day. 
 Hark! how the sire of chits, whose future share 
 Of classick food begins to be his care. 
 With his own likeness plac'd on either knee, 320 
 
 Indulges all a father's heart-felt glee; 
 And tells them, as he strokes their silver locks, 
 That they must soon learn Latin, and to box; 
 
164 tirocinium: or, 
 
 Then turning, he i-egales his list'ning wife 
 
 With all the adventures of his early lifej 325 
 
 His skill in coachmanship, or driving chaise, 
 
 In bilking tavern bills, and spouting plays] 
 
 What shifts he us'd, detected in a scrape, 
 
 How he was flogg'd or had the luck t' escape; 
 
 What sums he lost at play, and how he sold 330 
 
 Watch, seals, and all — till all his pranks are told. 
 
 Retracing thus his frolicks, (tis a name 
 
 That palliates deeds of folly and of shame, ) 
 
 He gives the local bias all its sway; 
 
 Resolves that where he play'd his sons shall play, 335 
 
 And destines their bright genius to be shown 
 
 Just in the scene where he display'd his own. 
 
 The meek and bashful boy will soon be taught. 
 
 To be as bold and forward as he ought; 
 
 The rude will scuffle through with ease enough, 340 
 
 Great schools suit best the sturdy and the rough. 
 
 Ah happy designation, prudent choice, 
 
 Th' event is sure; expect it, and rejoice! 
 
 Soon see your wish fulfiU'd in either child — 
 
 The pert made perter, and the tame made wild. 345 
 
 The great, indeed, by titles, riches, birth, 
 Excus'd the encumbrance of more solid worth. 
 Are best dispos'd of where with most success 
 They may acquire that confident address. 
 Those habits of profuse and lewd expense, 350 
 
 That scorn of all delights but those of sense, 
 Which, though in plain plebeians we condemn, 
 With so much reason all expect from them. 
 But families of less illustrious fame. 
 Whose chief distinction is their spotless name, 355 
 
 Whose heirs, their honours none, their income small. 
 Must shine by true desert, or not at all. 
 What dream they of, that with so little care 
 They risk their hopes, their dearest treasure there? 
 They dream of little Charles or William grac*d 360 
 With wig prolix, dowQ flowing to his waist: 
 
A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 1G5 
 
 They see th' attentive crowds his talents draw: 
 
 They hear him speak— the oracle of law. 
 
 The father, who designs his babe a priest, 
 
 Dreams him episcopally such at least; 365 
 
 And while the playful jockey scours the room 
 
 Briskly, astride upon the parlour broomj 
 
 In fancy sees him more superbly ride 
 
 In coach with purple liu'd, and mitres on its side. 
 
 Events improbable and strange as these, 370 
 
 Which only a parental eye foresees, 
 
 A publick school shall bring to pass with ease. 
 
 But how! Resides such virtue in that air. 
 
 As must create an appetite for pray 'r.'' 
 
 And will it breathe into him all the zeal, 375 
 
 That candidates for such a prize should feel, 
 
 To take the lead and be the foremost still 
 
 In all true, worth and literary skill? 
 
 "Ah, blind to bright futurity, untaught 
 
 The knowledge of the world, and dull of thought? 
 
 Church-ladders are not always mounted best 381 
 
 By learned clerks, and Latinists profess'd. 
 
 Th' exalted prize demands an upward look. 
 
 Not to be found by poring on a book. 
 
 Small skill in Latin, and still less in Greeks 385 
 
 Is more than adequate to all I seek. 
 
 Let erudition grace him or not grace, 
 
 I give the bauble but the second place; 
 
 His wealth, fame, honours, all that I intend. 
 
 Subsist and centre in one point — a friend. 390 
 
 A friend, whate'er he studies or neglects. 
 
 Shall give him consequence, heal all defects. 
 
 His intercourse with peers and sons of peers. 
 
 There dawns the splendour of his future years: 
 
 In that bright quarter his propitious skies 395 
 
 Shall blush betimes, and there his glory rise. 
 
 Your Lordship and Your Grace! what school can teach 
 
 A rhet'rick equal to those parts of speech! 
 
 What need of Homer's verse, or Tully's prose, 
 
166 tirocinium: or, 
 
 Sweet interjections! if he learn but those? 400 
 
 Let rev'rend churls his ignorance rebuke. 
 
 Who starv'd upon a dog's-ear"d Pentateuch, 
 
 The parson knows enough, who knows a duke." 
 
 Egregious purpose! worthily begun 
 
 In barb'rous prostitution of your son; 405 
 
 Press'd on his part by means that would disgrace 
 
 A scriv'ner's clerk, or footman out of place. 
 
 And ending, if at last its end be gain'd. 
 
 In sacrilege, in God's own house profan'd! 
 
 It may succeed; and if his sins should call 410 
 
 For more than common punishment, it shall; 
 
 The wretch shall rise, and be the thing on earth 
 
 Least qualified in honour, learning, worth. 
 
 To occupy a sacred awful post. 
 
 In which the best and worthiest tremble most. 415 
 
 The royal letters are a thing of-course, 
 
 A king, that would, might recommend his horse; 
 
 And deans, no doubt, and chapters with one voice. 
 
 As bound in duty, would confirm the choice. 
 
 Behold your bishop; well he plays his part, 420 
 
 Christian in name, and infidel in heart. 
 
 Ghostly in ofiice, earthly in his plan, 
 
 A slave at court, elsewhere a lady's man. 
 
 Dumb as a senator, and as a priest 
 
 A piece of mere church furniture at best; 425 
 
 To live estrang'd from God his total scope. 
 
 And his end sure, without one glimpse of hope. 
 
 But fair although and feasible it seem. 
 
 Depend not much upon your golden dream: 
 
 For Providence, that seems concern'd t' exempt 430 
 
 The hallow 'd bench from absolute contempt, 
 
 In spite of all the wrigglers into place, 
 
 Still keeps a seat or two for worth and grace; 
 
 And therefore 'tis that though the sight be rare. 
 
 We sometimes see a Lowth or Bagot there. 435 
 
 Besides, school-friendships are not always found, 
 
 Though foir in promise, permanent and soimd; 
 
A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 167 
 
 The most disint'rested and virtuous minds, 
 
 In early years connected, time unbinds. 
 
 New situations give a difF'rent cast 440 
 
 Of habit inclination, temper, taste; 
 
 And he that seem'd our counterpart at first, 
 
 Soon shows the strong similitude revers'd. 
 
 Young heads are giddy, and young hearts are warm,. 
 
 And make mistakes for manhood to reform. 445 
 
 Boys are at best but pretty buds unblown. 
 
 Whose scent and hues are rather guess'd than known; 
 
 Each dreams that each is just what he appears. 
 
 But learns his errour in maturer years. 
 
 When disposition, like a sail unfurl'd, 450 
 
 Shows all its rents and patches to the world: 
 
 If, therefore e'en when honest in design; 
 
 A boyish friendship may so soon decline, 
 
 'TAvere wiser sure t' inspire a little heart 
 
 With just abhorrence of so mean a part, 455 
 
 Than set your son to work at a vile trade 
 
 For wages so unlikely to be paid. 
 
 Our publick hives of puerile resort. 
 That are of chief and most aj)prov'd report. 
 To such base hopes, in many a sordid soul, 460 
 
 Owe their repute in part, but not the whole. 
 A principle, whose proud pretensions pass 
 Unquestion'd, though the jewel be but glass — 
 That with a worlds not often over nice, 
 Ranks as a virtue, and is yet a vice; 465 
 
 Or rather a gross compound, justly tried, 
 Of envy, hatred, jealousy, and pridcr— 
 Contributes most perhaps t' enhance their fame; 
 And emulation is its specious name. 
 Boys, once on fire with that contentious zeal, 370 
 
 Feel all the rage that female rivals feel; 
 The prize of beauty in a woman's eyes 
 Not brighter than in theirs the scholar's prize. 
 The spirit of that competition burns 
 With all varieties of ill by turns; 
 
168 tirocinium: or 
 
 Each vainly magnifies his own success. 
 Resents his fellow's, wishes it were less. 
 Exults in his miscarriage if he fail. 
 Deems his reward too great if he prevail. 
 And labours to surpass him day and night, 
 Less for improvement than to tickle spite. 
 The spur is pow'rful, and I grant its force j 
 Its pricks the genius forward in its course. 
 Allows short time for play, and none for sloth; 
 And felt alike by each, advances both: 
 But judge, where so much evil intervenes. 
 The end, though plausible, not worth the means. 
 Weigh, for a moment, classical desert 
 Against a heart deprav'd and temper hurt; 
 Hurt too, perhaps, for life; for early wrong. 
 Done to the nobler part, affects it long; 
 And you are stanch indeed in learning's cause. 
 If you can crown a discipline, that draws 
 Such mischief after it with much applause. 
 
 Connexion form' d for int'rest, and endear'd 
 By selfish views, thus censur'd and cashier'd: 
 And emulation, as engend'ring hate, 
 Doom'd to' a no less ignominious fate: 
 The props of such proud seminaries fall. 
 The Jachin and the Boaz of them all. 
 Great schools rejected then, as those that swell 
 Beyond a size that can be manag'd well. 
 Shall royal institutions miss the bays, 
 And small academies win all the praise.'' 
 Force not my drift beyond its just intent, 
 I praise a school as Pope a government; 
 So take my judgment in his language dress'd, 
 "Whate'eris best admiuister'd is best." 
 Few boys are born with talents that excel, 
 But all are capable of living well; 
 Then ask not, whether limited or large.** 
 But, Watch they strictly, or neglect their charge? 
 
A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 169 
 
 If anxious only, that their boys may learn, 
 
 While morals languish, a despis'd concern, 
 
 The great and small deserve one common blame, 515 
 
 Diff'rent in size, but in eflfect the same. 
 
 Much zeal in virtue's cause all teachers boast. 
 
 Though motives of mere lucre sway the most; 
 
 Therefore in towns and cities they abound. 
 
 For there the game they seek is easiest found; 520 
 
 Though there, in spite of all that care can do. 
 
 Traps to catch youth are more abundant too. 
 
 If shrew'd, and of a well-constructed brain. 
 
 Keen in pursuit, and vig'rous to retain. 
 
 Your son come forth a prodigy of skill; 525 
 
 As wheresoever taught, so form'd he will; 
 
 The pedagogue, with self-complacent air, 
 
 Claims more than half the praise as his due share. 
 
 But if, with all his genius, he betray. 
 
 Not more intelligent than loose and gay, 530 
 
 Such vicious habits as disgrace his name, 
 
 Thre&ten his health, his fortune, and his fame; 
 
 Though want of due restraint alone have bred 
 
 The symptoms, that you see with so much dread; 
 
 Unenvied there, he may sustain alone 535 
 
 The whole reproach, the fault was all his own. 
 
 O 'tis a sight to be with joy perus'd. 
 By all whom sentiment has not abus'd; 
 New-fangled sentiment, the boasted grace 
 Of those who never feel in the right place; 540 
 
 A sight surpass'd by none that we can show. 
 Though Vestris on one leg still shine below; 
 A father blest with an ingenuous son. 
 Father, and friend,, and tutor, all in one; 
 How! — turn again to tales long since forgot, 545 
 
 ^sop, and Phaedrus, and the rest? — Why not? 
 He will not blush, that has a father's heart 
 To take in childish plays a childish part; 
 But bends his sturdy back to any toy 
 That youth takes pleasure in^ to please his boyf BhO 
 15 
 
170 tirocinium: OR, • 
 
 Then why resign into a stranger's hand 
 
 A task as much within your own command, 
 
 That God and Nature, and your int'rest too. 
 
 Seem with one voice to delegate to you? 
 
 Why hire a lodging in a house unknown 665 
 
 For one, whose tend'rest thoughts all hover round your 
 
 own? 
 This second weaning, needless as it is. 
 How does it lac'rate both your heart and his! 
 Th' indented stick, that loses day by day 
 Notch after notch, till all are smooth'd away, 560 
 
 Bears witness, long ere his dismission come. 
 With what intense desire he wants his home. 
 But though the joys he hopes beneath your roof 
 Bid fair enough to answer in the proof. 
 Harmless, and safe, and nat'ral, as they at'e 565 
 
 A disappointment waits him even there: 
 Arriv'd, he feels an unexpected change. 
 He blushes, hangs his head, is shy and strange; 
 No longer takes, as once, with fearless ease. 
 His fav'rite stand between his father's knees, 570 
 
 But seeks the corner of some distant seat. 
 And eyes the door, and watches a retreat; 
 And least familiar where he should be most. 
 Feels all his happiest privileges lost, 
 Alas, poor boy! — the natural effect 575 
 
 Of love by absence chill'd into respect. 
 Say, what accomplishments at school acquired. 
 Brings he to sweeten fruits so undesir'd? 
 Thou well deserv'st an alienated son. 
 Unless thy conscious heart acknowledge — none; 580 
 None that, in thy domestick snug recess. 
 He had not made his own with more address. 
 Though some, perhaps, that shock thy feeling mind. 
 And better never learn'd, or left behind. 
 Add, too, that, thus estrang'd, thou canst obtain 685 
 
 By no kind ai"ts his confidence again; 
 
A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 171 
 
 That here begins with most that long complaint 
 
 Of filial frankness lost, and love grown faint; 
 
 Which, oft neglected in life's waning years 
 
 A parent pours into regardless ears. 590 
 
 Like caterpillai-s dangling under trees 
 By slender threads, and swinging in the breeze, 
 Which filthily bewray and sore disgrace 
 The boughs in which are bred th' unseemly race: 
 While ev'ry worm industriously weaves 595 
 
 And winds his web about the rivell'd leaves; 
 So num'rous are the follies that annoy 
 The mind and heart of ev'ry sprightly boy; 
 Imaginations noxious and perverse. 
 Which admonition can alone disperse, 600 
 
 Th' encroaching nuisance asks a faithful hand. 
 Patient, affectionate, of high command. 
 To check the procreation of a breed 
 Sure to exhaust the plant on which they feed. 
 'Tis not enough, that Greek or Roman page, " 605 
 
 At stated hours, his freakish thoughts engage; 
 E'en in his pastimes he requires a friend 
 To warn, and teach him safely to unbend 
 O'er all his pleasures gently to preside. 
 Watch his emotions, and control their tide; 610 
 
 And levying thus, and with an easy sway, 
 A tax of profit from his very play, 
 T' impress a value not to be eras' d. 
 On moments squander'd else, and running all to waste 
 And seems it nothing in a father's eye, 615 
 
 That unimprov'd those many moments fly 
 And is he well content his son should find 
 No nourishment to feed his growing tnind. 
 But conjugated verbs, and nouns declin'd?" 
 For such is all the mental food purvey'd 620 
 
 By publick hacknies in the schooling trade; 
 Who feed a pupil's intellect with store 
 Of syntax, truly, but with little more; 
 
172 tirocinium: or 
 
 Dismiss their cares, when they dismiss their flock, 
 
 Machines themselves, and govern'd by a clock. 625 
 
 Perhaps a father, bless'd with any brains, 
 
 Would deem it no abuse, or waste of pains, 
 
 T' improve this diet, at no great expense. 
 
 With sav'ry truth and wholesome common sense: 
 
 To lead his son, for prosp ects of delight, 630 
 
 To some not steep, though philosophick height. 
 
 Thence to exhibit in his wond'ring eyes 
 
 Yon circling worlds, their distance and their size, 
 
 The moons of Jove, and Saturn's belted ball. 
 
 And the harmonious order of them all; 635 
 
 To show him in an insect or a flow'r 
 
 Such microscopick proof of skill and pow'r. 
 
 As, hid from ages past, God now displays. 
 
 To combat atheists with in modern days; 
 
 To spread the earth before him, and commend, 640 
 
 With designation of the fingers' end, 
 
 Its various parts to his attentive note. 
 
 Thus bringing home to him the most remote; 
 
 To teach his heart to glow with gen'rous flame. 
 
 Caught from the deeds of men of ancient fame; 645 
 
 And, more than all, with commendation due, 
 
 To set some living worthy in his view. 
 
 Whose fair example may at once inspire 
 
 A wish to copy what he must admire. 
 
 Such knowledge gain'd betimes, and which appears 
 
 Though solid, not too weighty for his years, 651 
 
 Sweet in itself, and not forbidding sport. 
 
 When health demands it, of athletick sort; 
 
 Would make him — what some lovely boys have been. 
 
 And more than one, perhaps, that I have seen — 665 
 
 An evidence and reprehension both 
 
 Of the school-boy's lean. and tardy growth. 
 
 Art thou a man professionally tied. 
 With all thy faculties elsewhere applied. 
 Too busy to intend a meaner care, 660 
 
 Than how t' enrich thyself, and next thine heir: 
 
A REVIEW OP SCHOOLS 173 
 
 Or art tliou (as though rich perhaps thou art) 
 But poor in knowledge, having none t' impart 
 Behold that figure, neat, though plainly clad; 
 His sprightly mingled with a shade of sad; 
 Not of a nimble tongue, though now and then 
 Heard to articulate like other men; 
 No jester, and yet lively in discourse. 
 His phrase well chosen, clear, and full of force 
 And his address, if not quite French in ease, 670 
 
 Not English stiff, but frank'd and form'd to please. 
 Low in the world because he scorns its arts; 
 A man of letters; manners, morals, parts; 
 Unpatronis'd, and therefore little known; 
 Wise for himself and his few friends alone — 675 
 
 In him thy well-appointed proxy see, 
 Arm'd for a work too difficult for thee; 
 Prepar'd by taste, by learning, and true worth. 
 To form thy son, to strike his genius forth; 
 Beneath thy roof, beneath thine eye to prove 680 
 
 The force of discipline when back'd by love; 
 To double all thy pleasure in thy child. 
 His mind inform'd, his morals undefil'd. 
 Safe under such a wing, the boy shall show 
 No spots contracted among grooms below, 685 
 
 Nor taint his speech with meannesses design'd 
 By footman Tom for witty and refin'd. 
 There, in his commerce with the liv'ried herd. 
 Lurks the contagion chiefly to be fear'd; 
 For since, (so fashion dictates,) all who claim 690 
 
 A higher than a mere plebian fame. 
 Find it expedient, come what mischief may. 
 To entertain a thief or two in pay, 
 ( And they that can afford th' expense of more, 
 Some half a dozen, and some half a score,) 696 
 
 Great cause occurs, to save him from a band 
 So sure to spoil him, and so near at hand; 
 A point secur'd, if once he be supply 'd 
 With some such Mentor always at his side. 
 15* 
 
174 tirocinium: or 
 
 Are such men rare? perhaps they would abound, 700 
 
 Were occupation easier to he found. 
 
 Were education, else so sure to fail. 
 
 Conducted on a manageable scale. 
 
 And schools, that have outliv'd all just esteem, 
 
 Exchang'd for the secui-e domestick scheme.-^ 705 
 
 But, having found him, be thou duke or earl. 
 
 Show thou hast sense enough to prize the pearl. 
 
 And, as thou wouldst th' advancement of thine heir 
 
 In all good faculties beneath his care. 
 
 Respect, as is but rational and just, 710 
 
 A man deem'd worthy of so dear a trust. 
 
 Despis'd by thee, what more can he expect 
 
 From youthful folly than the same neglect? 
 
 A flat and fatal negative obtains. 
 
 That instant, upon all his future pains; 715 
 
 His lessons tire, his mild rebuke olfend. 
 
 And all th' instructions, of thy son's best friend 
 
 Are a stream chok'd, or trickling to no end. 
 
 Doom him not then to solitary meals; 
 
 But recollect that he has sense, and feelsj 720 
 
 And that, possessor of a soul refin'd. 
 
 An upright heart and cultivated mind. 
 
 His post not mean, his talents not unknown. 
 
 He deems it hard to vegetate alone. 
 
 And, if admitted at thy board he sit, 725 
 
 Account him no just mark for idle wit; 
 
 Offend not him, whom modesty restrains 
 
 From repartee, with jokes that he disdains; 
 
 Much less transfix his feelings with an oath; 
 
 Nor frown, unless he vanish with the cloth. 730 
 
 And, trust me, his utility may reach 
 
 To more than he is hir'd or bound to teach: 
 
 Much trash unutter'd, and some ills undone, 
 
 Through rev'rence of the censor of thy son. 
 
 - But, if thy table be indeed unclean, 735 
 
 Foul with excess, and with discourse obscene. 
 
A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 175 
 
 And thou a wretch, whom, foll'wing her owi» plan 
 
 The world accounts an honourable man. 
 
 Because forsooth thy courage has been tried 
 
 And stood the test, perhaps on the Avrong side; 740 
 
 Though thou hadst never grace enough to prove 
 
 That any thing but vice could win thy love; — 
 
 Or hast thou a polite, card-playing wife, 
 
 Chain'd to the routs that she frequents for life; 
 
 Who, just when industry begins to snore, 745 
 
 Flies, wing'd with joy, to some coach-crowded door; 
 
 And thrice in every winter throngs thine own 
 
 With half the chariots and sedans in town. 
 
 Thyself meanwhile e'en shifting as thou mayst; 
 
 Not very sober though, nor very chaste; 750 
 
 Or is thine house, though less superb thy rank 
 
 If not a scene of pleaure, a mere blank, 
 
 Aud thou at best, and in thy sob'rest mood, 
 
 A ti'ifler, vain and empty of all good: 
 
 Though mercy for thyself thou canst have none, 755 
 
 Hear Nature plead, show mercy to thy son. 
 
 Sav'd from his home, where every day brings forth 
 
 Some mischief fatal to his future worth. 
 
 Find him a better in a distant six>t. 
 
 Within some pious pastor's humble cot, 760 
 
 Where wild example, (yours I chiefly mean. 
 
 The most seducing, and the oft'nest seen,) 
 
 May never more be stamp'd upon his breast. 
 
 Nor yet perhaps incurably impress'd. 
 
 Where early rest makes early rising sure, 765 
 
 Disease or comes not, or finds easy cure 
 
 Prevented much by diet neat and plain; 
 
 Or, if it enter, soon starv'd out again: 
 Were all th' attention of his faithful host. 
 
 Discreetly limited to two at most, 770 
 
 May raise such fruits as shall reward his care. 
 And not at last evaporate in air; 
 Where, stillness aiding study, and his mind 
 Serene, and to his duties much inclin'd. 
 
176 tirocinium: or, 
 
 Not occupied in day-dreams, as at home, 775 
 
 Of pleasures past, or follies yet to come, 
 
 His virtuous toil may terminate at last 
 
 In settled habit and decided taste. — 
 
 But whom do I advise? the fashion led, 
 
 Th' incorrigibly wrong, the deaf, ihe dead, 780 
 
 Whom care and cool deliberation suit 
 
 Not better much than spectacles a brutej 
 
 Who, if their sons some slight tuition share. 
 
 Deem it of no great moment whose or where; 
 
 Too proud t' adopt the thoughts of one unknown, 785 
 
 And much too gay t' have any of their own. 
 
 But courage, man! methought the muse replied 
 
 Mankind are various, and the world is wide: 
 
 The ostrich, silliest of the feather'd kind. 
 
 And form'd of God without a parent's mind, 790 
 
 Commits her eggs, incautious, to the dust. 
 
 Forgetful that the foot may crush the trust; 
 
 Anxl while on public nur'ries they rely. 
 
 Not knowing, and too oft not caring why, 
 
 Irrational in what they thus prefer 795 
 
 No few, that would seem wise, resemble her. 
 
 But all are not alike. Thy warning voice • 
 
 May here and there prevent erroneous choice; 
 
 And some perhaps, who busy, as they are, 
 
 Yet make their progeny their dearest care, 800 
 
 <Whoso hearts will ache, once told what ills may 
 
 reach 
 Their offspring, left upon so wild a beach,) 
 Will need no stress of argument to enforce 
 Th' expedience of a less advent' rous course; 
 The rest will slight thy counsel or condemn; 805 
 
 But they have himian feelings — turn to them. 
 To you then, tenants of life's middle state. 
 Securely plac'd between the small and great, 
 Whose character, yet undebauch'd, retains 
 Two thirds of all the virtue that remains, 810 
 
A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 177 
 
 Who, wise yourselves, desire your sou should learu 
 
 Your wisdom and your ways — to you I turn. 
 
 Look round you on a world perversely blind: 
 
 See what contempt is fall'n on human kindj 
 
 See wealth abus'd, and dignities misplac'd, 815 
 
 Great titles, offices, and trusts disgrac'd, 
 
 Long lines of ancestry, renown'd of old. 
 
 Their noble qualities all quench'd and cold; 
 
 See Bedlam's closeted and hand-cufPd charge 
 
 Surpass'd in frenzy by the mad at large; 820 
 
 See great commanders making war a trade; 
 
 Great lawyers, lawyers without study made: 
 
 Churchmen, in whose esteem their best employ 
 
 Is odious, and their wages all their joy; 
 
 Who, far enough from furnishing their shelves 825 
 
 With gospel lore, turn infidels themselves; 
 
 See womanhood despis'd, and manhood sham'd 
 
 With infamy too nauseous to be nam'd; 
 
 Fops at all comers, lady -like in mien, 
 
 Civited fellows, smelt ere they are seen, 830 
 
 Else coarse and rude in manners, and their tongue 
 
 On fire with curses, and with nonsense hung. 
 
 Now flush' d with drunk' nness, now with ^whoredom 
 
 pale. 
 Their breath a sample of last night's regale; 
 See volunteers in all the vilest arts 835 
 
 Man well endow'd of honoiu-able parts, 
 Design'd by Nature wise, but self-made fools. 
 All these, and more like these, were bred at school?. 
 And if it chance, as sometimes chance it will. 
 That though school-bred the boy be virtuous still; 840 
 Such rare exceptions, shining in the dark 
 Prove, rather than impeach, the just remark: 
 As here and there a twinkling star descried. 
 Serves but to show how black is all beside. 
 Now look on him, whose very voice in tone 845 
 
 Just echoes thine, whose features are thine own. 
 
nS TIROCINIUM: OH, 
 
 And stroke his polish'd cheek of purest red. 
 
 And lay thine hand upon his flaxen head. 
 
 And say, My boy, th' unwelcome hour is come. 
 
 When thou, transplanted from thy genial home, 850 
 
 Must find a colder soil and bleaker air. 
 
 And trust for safety to a stranger's care; 
 
 What character, what turn thou wilt assume 
 
 From constant converse with I know not whom; 
 
 Who there will court thy friendship, with what views, 
 
 And, artless as thou art, whom thou wilt choose; 856 
 
 Though much depends on what thy choice shall be. 
 
 Is all chance-medley, and unknown to me. 
 
 Caast thou, the tear just trembling on thy lids. 
 
 And while the dreadful risk foreseen forbids; 860 
 
 Free too, and under no constraining force. 
 
 Unless the sway of custom warp thy course; 
 
 Lay such a stake upon the losing side 
 
 Merely to gratify so blind a guide? 
 
 Thou canst not! Nature, pulling at thine heart, 865 
 
 Condemns th' unfatherly, th' imprudent part. 
 
 Thou wouldst not, deaf to Nature's tend'rest plea, 
 
 Turn him adrift upon a rolling sea. 
 
 Nor say. Go thither, conscious that there lay 
 
 A brood of asps or quicksands in his way; 870 
 
 Then only goveru'd by the self-same rule 
 
 Of nat'ral pity, send him not to school. 
 
 No — guard him better. Is he not thine own. 
 
 Thyself in miniature, thy flesh, thy bone.'' 
 
 And hop'st thou notj ('tis ev'ry father's hope,) 875 
 
 That since thy strength must with thy years elope. 
 
 And thou wilt need some comfort to assuage 
 
 Health's last farewell, a staff in thine old age. 
 
 That then, in recompense of all thy cares. 
 
 Thy child shall show respect to thy gray hairs, 880 
 
 Befriend thee, of all other friends bereft, 
 
 And give thy life its only cordial left! 
 
 Aware then how much danger intervenes. 
 
 To compass that good end forecast the means. 
 
A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 179 
 
 His heart, now passive, yields to thy command; 886 
 
 Secure it thine, its key is in thine hand. 
 
 If thou desert thy charge, and throw it wide. 
 
 Nor heed what guest there enter and ahide, 
 
 Complain not if attachments lewd and base 
 
 Supplant thee in it, and usurp thy place: 880 
 
 But, if thou guard its sacred chambers sure 
 
 From vicious inmates and delights impure. 
 
 Either his gratitude shall hold him fast. 
 
 And keep him warm and filial to the last; 
 
 Or, if he prove unkind, (as who can say 895 
 
 But, being man, and therefore frail he may?) 
 
 One comfort yet shall cheer thine aged heart, 
 
 Howe'er he slight thee, thou hast done thy part. 
 O barb'rous! wouldst thou with a Gothick hand 
 
 Pull down the schools— what! — allth' schools i*th* land; 
 
 Or throw them up to liv'ry nags and grooms, 901 
 
 Or turn them into shops and auction rooms? 
 
 A captious question, sir, (and yours is one,) 
 
 Deserve an answer similar or none. 
 
 Wouldst thou, possessor of a flock, employ, 905 
 
 ( Appris'd that he is such, ) a careless boy, 
 
 And feed him well, and give him handsome pay, 
 
 Merely to sleep, and let them run astray? 
 
 Survey our schools and colleges, and see 
 
 A sight not much unlike my simile. 910 
 
 From education, as the leading cause. 
 
 The publick character its colour draws; 
 
 Thence the prevailing manners take their cast. 
 
 Extravagant or sober, loose or chaste. 
 
 And, though I would not advertise them yet, 916 
 
 Nor write on each— TAis building to be let. 
 Unless the world were all prepar'd t' embrace 
 
 A plan well worthy to supply their place; 
 Yet, backward as they are, and long have been, 
 To cultivate and keep the morals clean, 920 
 
 (Forgive the crime,) I wish them, I confess, 
 Or better manag'd, or encourag'd less. 
 (end.) 
 
" «89 85 .4 
 

 
 
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