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ï~~THE
COMPLETE
POETICAL WORKS
OF
WILLIAM CO WPER, Esq.,
INCLUDING THlE HYMNS AND TRANSLATIONS FROM
MADAME GUION1 MILTON1 ETC.?
AND
AD)AM; A sACR ED DRAMA;
FROM TIIE ITALIAN OF G10. E3ATTISTA ANDREIII
WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR,
SBY THEi
REV. H. STIEBBING, A. M.
NEW-YORK:
D. APPLETON & COMPANY,
346 & 348 BROAIDWAY.
k~               M.DCCC. LIV.




ï~~


ï~~THE
COMPLETE
POETICAL WORKS
OF
WILLIAM COWPER, EsQ.,
INCLUDING THE HYMNS AND TRANSLATIONS FROM
MADAME GUION) HILTOW, ETC.,
AND
ADAM; A SACRED DRAMA,
FROM THE ITALIAN OF GI0. DATTIST A ANDREntI
WITH A MEMOIR OF THE A1TTHOR,
BY THE
REV. H. STEBBING. A. M.
rN TWO VOLUMES,
VOL I.
NEW-YORK:
D. APPLETON & COMPANY,
346 & 348 BROADWAY.
3i. rW'cr.'. TA V.




ï~~ws

ttm only edition of Cowper which contains +..,whole ds
his Poemts in oii noeket voluime.




ï~~MEMOIR
OF
WILLIAM COWPER.
TH  misfortunes of high-minded, but suffering
genius, have the strongest of all claims upon our
sympathies. Men of fine intellect are more exposed
than any other class to the attacks of adversity, because they are less ready at providing the means of
defence. They have a trust, a strong and powerful
trust, in their own peculiar sources of happiness.
The bright creations of their imagination keep them
in a gay and summer Eden of delight, and they rest
contented in the luxury of their thoughts, till the
coldness of the world in which they are rouses them
to a sense of loneliness or dependence. That which
other men are only in their youth, men of genius
are to their latest days, living on hopes which are
not to be fulfilled, and dreaming on things which do
not exist. But it is to the spirit that thus wanders,
and mistakes the assurance of its own thoughts for
the substance of existence, that the world owes its
best means of felicity, -and humanity its noblest
developement. ' Conquerors and princes when they
suffer, suffer only as men, but the sensitive and
imaginative author feels the stings of misfortune
like the being of another world, like one who was
destined to be a teacher upon earth, but has found his
calling neglected and despised-a spirit too noble to
change its nature, but too weak not to feel the bitterness of its fate. The adversities to which men of
talent are exposed, are always thus afflicting, and in
most cases destructive of their very being, but there
is a species of evil to which more than one child of
genius has been subjected, that throws a still darkes
cloud upon their path, and invests them with a
gloom which makes all other afflictions seem light
and tolerable. To hays the mind itself made prisoner
---------I




ï~~4                 MEMOIR OF
-the faculties that delight in their free and unhesitating course bound up in a dark and heavy
melancholy-and the thoughts converted into hideous
shapes the moment they rise in the soul-This is to
suffer indeed-to pay a price for genius which
would be far too high for any other possession.
The life of Cowper is a melancholy chapter in the
history of the human mind. But it is fraught with
interest of a peculiar kind, and when rightly considesed gives rise to a train of reflections which, painful as they may be, leave an impression on the
mind partaking more of the nature of tranquillized
sorrow than of despondency.
This great and afflicted poet was born at Berkhampstead, November 26th, 1731. His father was
rector of that place, and Chaplain to his Majesty
George the Second. The family of the Cowpers was
one of the oldest,i the kingdom, and numbered
among its members several men distinguished for
their virtues and their talents. The great uncle
and grandfather of the poet had been both raised
to the peerage for their distinguished legal abilities, and the latter, who died in the year 1728,
united in himself the offices of Chief Justice of
Chester, and of a judge in the court of Common
Pleas. The subject of our memoir was from his
earliest youth a prey to ill health, and gave signs, it
is said, in infancy of that nervous sensibility which,
as his years increased, gradually assumed the character of a morbid melancholy. This natural tendency
of his constitution was considerably strengthened by
its being unfortunately deemed necessary to send
him, at a very early age, to a distance from home.
Delicate as he was, both in mind and person, neither
a school nor a boarding-house was likely to improve
his health, or give greater elasticity to his spirits.
He had not a sufficient stock of either, to meet the
quick demand that is made for them, amid a set of
joyous and robust boys, and his little depressed heart
shrunk back, in mere self-defence, against his unsympathising companions. ' I have been,' said he,
in after years still remembering the miseries of his




ï~~WILLIAM COWPER.                    5
youth, 'all my life subject to nflammations of the
eye, and in my boyish days had specks on both,
that threatened to cover them. My father, alarmed
for the consequences. sent me to a female oculist of
great renown at that time, in whose house I abode
two years, but to no good purpose. From her I went
to Westminster school, where, at the age of fourteen,
the small-pox seized me, and proved the better
oculist of the two, for it delivered me from them
all;' but it did not render him better qualified to
bear with a good grace the bitter annoyances to
which he was subject, and we find him declaring
that his timidity made him a constant object of persecution to his unfeeling school-fellows.
Cowper remained at Westminster till he was eigh.
teen, and, notwithstanding the unfitness of his churacter for a public school, left it with the reputation of
an excellent and accomplished classic. But the whole
of his early life appears to have been misdirected, not,
as Mr. Hayley says, by a perverse destiny; but by a
most culpably erroneous judgment in those who had
the superintendence of his education. It must have
been evident to the most inconsiderate observer, that
the only chance he had of gaining strength, or of
possessing a sufferable existence, was his being
allowed to pass his life in tranquillity and retirement. But, in defiance of every warning, which
all the eighteen years of his life had given, he was
devoted to the study of the law, and made to place
his hopes of fortune on the exercise of a profession
which must every hour do violence to his character.
Notwithstanding his unfitness for the pursuit, he
was immediately on leaving Westminster articled to
Mr. Chapman, a solicitor, in whose house he resided for three years, gaining the love of every one
around him by the gentleness of his manners, and
amiable temper, but still suffering deeply from that
incipient melancholy which was secretly ruining
his mind.
Having completed the term for which he was
articled to Mr. Chapman, he took chambers in the
Temple for the purpose of finishing his studies as a




ï~~6                 M EMORl011 OF
barrister, but which design, as might have been expected, he never accomplished. It was now, however, that he began to assume the character of a
literary man, and having formed an intimacy with
the parties who conducted the Connoisseur, he contributed several papers to that periodical, which
were admired for the superior talent they exhibited.
He also commenced the constant practice of versifi
cation, and produced a variety     of translations,
several of which it is believed were published
anenymously in the different periodicals of the time.
It is also to the same era, perhaps, we may refer
the rapid growth of that ardent attachment to his
beautiful and accomplished cousin, which gave rise
to so many distressful feelings in the bosoms of both
these amiable beings. Theodora Jane Cowper was, if
tradition is to be believed, in every way worthy of
the poet's love, but her father, Ashley Cowper, considered the relationship between his daughter and
nephew, as too close to admit of their union, and
after a long struggle with the parent's feelings on
the subject, and between love and filial obedience,
they resigned the hopes which, it appears, they had
long and warmly cherished. It is impossible to say
how far this might not contribute to Cowper's inherent melancholy. It certainly served to exercise
his muse, and the verses which he wrote to his
cousin before their fate was quite decided, exhibit
all that thoughtful humour and that gaiety which
seems imbued with a sense of its transitiveness, and
is therefore deeper and more precious, which forms
an essential feature of his poetry. We almost think
we hear the dejected and middle-aged man in one
of his gayer moods in the following stanzas, which
shew that his passion was returned with equal
warmth.
WRITTEN IN A QUARREL.
'he Delivery of it prevented by a Reconcilatson.
Think, Delia, with what cruel haste
Our fleeting pleasures move,
Nor heedless thus in sorrow waste
The moments due to love.




ï~~WILLIAM COWPER.
Be wise, my fair, and gently treat
The few that are our friends;
Think, thus abused, what sad regret
Their speedy flight attends.
Sure in those eyes I loved so well
And wish'd so long to see,
Anger I thought could never dwell,
Or anger aim'd at me.
No bold offence of mine I knew
Should e'er provoke your hate;
And early taught to think you true,
Still hoped a gentler fate.
With kindness bless the present houa
Or, oh! we meet in vain!
What can we do in absence more
Than suffer and complain?
Fated to ills beyond redress
We must endure our woe;
The days allow'd us to possess,
'Tis madness to forego.
There is the same delicacy of thought and expreesion in the following, written it would seem on a
rimilar occasion as the preceding verses.
This evening, Delia, you and I
Have managed most delightfully,
For with a frown we parted:
Having contrived some trifle that
We both may be much troubled at,
And sadly disconcerted.
Yet well as each perfo.rm'd their past,
We might perceive it was but art;
And that we both intended
To sacrifice a little ease;
For all such petty flaws as these
Arq made but to be mended.
a




ï~~MEMOIR OF
You knew, Dissembler! all the while,
How sweet it was to reconcile
After this heavy pelt;
That we should gain' by this allay
When next we met, and laugh away
The care we never felt.
Happy! when we but seek t' endure
A little pain, then find a cure
By double joy requited;
For friendship, like a severed bone,
Improvps and-joins a stronger tone
When aptly reunited.
Time, however, gradually convinced the lovers
that they hoped in vain, and with what a heavy and
sickening heart the delicate-minded Cowper watched
the fading vision of happiness depart maybe imagined
from these verses.
Hope, like the short-lived ray, that gleams awhile
Through wintry skies, upon the frozen waste,
Cheers e'en the face of misery to a smile;
But soon the momentary pleasure's past.
How oft, my Delia! since our last farewell,
(Years that have roll'd since that distressful hour,)
Grieved, I have said, When most our hopes prevail,
Our promised happiness is less secure.
Oft I have thought the scefle of trouble closed,
And hoped once more to gaze upon your charms;
As oft some dire mischance has interposed,
And snatch'd th' expected blessing from my arms.
The seaman thus, his shatter'd vessel lost,
Still vainly strives to shun the threat'ning death;
And while he thinks to gain the friendly coast,
And drops his feet, and feels the sands beneath:
Borne by the wave, steep sloping from the shore,
Back to th' inclement deep again he beats
The surge aside, and seems to tread secure;
And now the refluent wave his baffled toil defeats.




ï~~f

WILLIAM COWPEtL                  9
Had you, my love, forbade me to pursue
My fond attempt, disdainfully retired,
And with proud scorn compell'd me to subdue
Th' ill-fated passion by yourself inspired;
Then haply to some distant spot removed,
hopeless to gain, unwilling to molest
With fond entreaties whom I dearly loved,
Despair or absence had redeem'd my rest.
But now sole partner inm my Delia's heart,
Yet doom'd far off in exile to complain,
Eternal absence cannot ease my smart,
And hope subsists but to proiong my pain.
Oh then, kind Heaven! be this my latest breath;
Here end my life, or make it worth my care;
Absence from whom we love is worse than death,
And frustrate hope severer than despair.
But to proceed: a period was now approaching in
Cawper's life which presented the peculiarities of his
character in their strongest light. Possessing connexions from which any other individual would confideutly have looked for powerful patronage, he was
onl,, desirous of obtaining some situation which would
enable him, should he gain the object of his wishes,
to n arry with a prospect of support, and at the same
time Save him from pursuing the more toilsome road
of h:s profession. In conformity with these wishes,
the interest of his friends'was employed to this purpose, and they succeeded in obtaining for him, in his
thirty-first year, the offices of Reading Clerk, and
Clerk of the Private Committees to the House of
Lords. There are few persons, however nervous,
whose timidity would prevent them from performing
the slight duties of these offices, but to Cowper they
presented an idea of publicity and exposure. He
would be obliged to read aloud before several persons,
and he shrunk with terror from the performance of
duties which would thus bring him out of his seW
retirement. His friends, therefore, finding it would
be cf no avail to press him into this situation, ohtaied
A2




ï~~10                MEMOIR OF
him the appointment of Clerk of the Journals. The
state of his feelings while these circumstances were
passing was painful in the extreme, and caused at
last so fearful an agitation of mind, that his acquaintance began to apprehend the most serious consequences. Unfortunately, a dispute occurring in Parliament on some contested point, it became necessary
that he should, notwithstanding the nature of his
present office, appear at the Bar of the House of Lords.
After the struggle which he had already undergone,
this was too much for his diseased nervous system to
contend with, and the friends who were to accompany
him to the House found him in so melancholy a condition of despondency on the day appointed, that they
advised him to relinquish any further contest with
his apprehensions.
The situation, accordingly, on which he had placed
many hopes of prosperity, and to which he looked as
alone likely to provide himn with a fit provision for
marrying, was given up; but it is distressing to know
that it was not resigned till the delicate and suffering
mind of Cowper was almost irretrievably ruined by
the anxiety he had experienced. From this period
his intellect gave signs of disorder, and it was deemed
advisable to place him under the care of Doctor
Cotton, a physician at St. Alban's, and a man of great
talent and virtue. By the kindness and professional
skill of this gentleman, the afflicted condition of the
poet was considerably alleviated, and in the course of
six or seven months his mind began to recover from
the fearful depression it had suffered.
We must here not pass over without observation,
the opinion which has beepj often brought forward,
that the principal cause of Cowper's melancholy lay
in his religion. A more unreasonable supposition
could hardly be started. The whole tendency of his
character, in youth, led to the afflictions he suffered
in after years. He was weak in his physical constitution, timid in his temper, quick and sensitive in his
feelings, and had a morbidness of temperament which
gave,to his fears a constant and substantial gloom.
Many other men have suffered from too great sensi



ï~~WILLIAM C      VUWPER.            11
bility, from irritation or delicacy of mind, but no one,
perhaps, ever experienced like Cowper the miseries
of such a constitution, united with a heavy gloom of
melancholy which rendered them permanent. It was
not as the air changed, or with the capriciousness of
an invalid, that he was gay or melancholy. The blood
at his heart was infected with disease, and it required
a change as well in his physical as mental constitu
tion to relieve his distress. Every thing which we
know of the life of this amiable man tends to convince
us that no abstract opinions of any kind could reason
ably be assigned as the cause of his gloom, either at
the period of which we are now speaking, or at any
other. His melancholy, indeed, might strongly influence his religious belief; it might embitter the
waters of life even as they were poured out fresh into
his cup-it might make him think of God as of man
with terror, and imagine that the dark shadow of his
earthly fate was thrown far as he could see over the
abyss of futurity; but it could do no more. Religion
never clogs the veins, nor distempers the intellect,
and when its revelations are made a subject of unnatural fear, it is after the mind has learned to see
shapes of terror wherever it turns; when the sun and
stars are as fraught with signs, as the scriptures with
declarations, of destruction.
Nothing can more forcibly depict the state of the
sufferer's mind, or the nature of his melancholy, than
the following letters; the first, exhibiting the brokenhearted humility which had been converted by disease
into terror. The second, the tenderness of a noble
soul examining mysteries to discover its own condemnation. On being asked to compose some hymns,
he writes:
' Ask possibilities, and they shall be performed; but
ask no hymns from a man suffering by despair as I
do. I could not sing the Lord's Song were it to
save my life, banished as I am, not to a strange land,
but to a remoteness from his presence, in comparison
with which the distance from east to west is no distance, is vicinity and cohesion. I dare not, either in
prose or verse, allow myself to express a frame of




ï~~12

MEMOIR OF

mind which I an cons1ciou- dues not belong to me,
least of all can I venture to use the language of absolute resignation, lest, only counterfeiting, I should
for that very reason be taken strictly at my word, and
lose all my remaining comfort. Can there not be
found among those translations of Madame Guion,
somewhat that might serve the purpose? I should
think there misht. Submission to the will of Christ,
my memory tells me, is a theme that pervades them
all. If so, your request is performed already; and if
any alteration in them should be necessary, I will
with all my heart make it. I have no objection to
giving the graces of the foreigner an English dress,
but insuperable ones to all false-pretences and affected
exhibitions of what I do not feel.'
The next is a still more melancholy evidence of his
unconquerable gloom.
' I rejoice that you and yours reached London safe,
especially when I reflect that you performed the
journey on a day so fatal, as I understand, to others
travelling the same road. I found those comforts in
your visit which have formerly sweetened all our
interviews, in part restored. I knew you; kn'ew you
for the same shepherd who was sent to lead me out
of the wilderness into the pasture where the chief
shepherd feeds his flock, and felt my sentiments of
affectionate friendship for you the same as ever. But
one thing was still wanting, and that thing the crown
of all I shall find it in God's time, if it be not lost
for ever. When I say this, I say it trembling; for at
what time soever comfort shall come, it will not come
without its attendant evil; and whatever good thing
may occur in the interval, I have sad forebodings of
the event, having learned, by experience, that I was
born to be persecuted with peculiar fury, and assuredly believing, that such as my lot has been, it
will be so to the end. This belief is connected in my
mind with an observation I have often made, and is,
perhaps, founded, in great part, upon it; that there
is a certain style of dispensations maintained by Providence in the dealings of God with every man, which,
however the incidents of his life may vary, and thongh




ï~~WILLIAM COWPER.                   13
he may be thrown into many different situations, is
never exchanged for another.'
As the mind of Cowper regained some degree of
tranquillity, the dread with which his religious feelings had inspired him, was gradually changed into a
humble and comforting trust in the Divine goodness.
Shortly after this improvement in his mental state,
he was induced, by the persuasions of his brother, a
clergyman, resident at Cambridge, to make his home
at Huntingdon, at which place he accordingly took a
lodging, and determined upon leading a life of quiet
and retirement. His removal to Huntingdon took
place in June, 1765, and was followed by the formation of a strict and affectionate friendship with the
family of Mr. Unwin. It was under the roof of this
clergyman that Cowper found the greatest comfort of
his existence, which though subjected to the distressing disorders of his constitution, was rendered comparatively happy by the solicitous attention of affection. He has forcibly described, in one of his letters
to his cousin, Lady Hesketh, the pleasure he felt on
first forming an intimacy with these friends of his
solitude. ' Since I wrote the above,' says he, ' I met
Mrs. Unwin in the street, and went home with her.
She and I walked together near two hours in the
garden, and had a conversation, which did me more
good than I should have received from an audience
of the first prince in Europe; that woman is a blessing to me, and I never see her without being the
better for her company. I am treated in the family
as if I was a near relation, and have been repeatedly
invited to call upon them at all times. You know
what a shy fellow I am: I cannot prevail with myself to make so much use of this privilege, as I am
sure they intend I should; but, perhaps, this awkwardness will wear off hereafter. It was my earnest
request, before I left St. Alban's, that whenever it
might please Providence to dispose of me, I might
meet with such an acquaintance as I find in Mrs. UP
win. How happy it is to believe with a steadfast
assurance that our petitions are heard, even while
we are making them.




ï~~14                MEMOIR OF
His acquaintance with this amiable woman and her
family was, as we have seen, quickly ripened into an
ardent friendship, but the melancholy death of Mr.
Unwin, which was occasioned by a fall from his horse,
made it necessary that the widow and her son and
daughter should find another residence, and Olney
being fixed on, Cowper removed thither with his affectionate friends. At his new place of abode he became acquainted with the Reverend Mr. Newton, and
spent with him many of the hours which he devoted
to the tranquillizing contemplation of religious truth.
The manner in which he passed his time in this re
treat is an interesting exemplification of the goodness
of his nature. The charity of his heart furnished him
with his chief employment. To his own means of
doing good, the estimation in which he was held
added the benevolence of others, and he was ap
pointed by more than one wealthy person who ad
mired his goodness, to administer their alms. It is,
however, to be doubted, as his friend and biographer,
Mr. Hayley, justly observes, whether the life he was
then leading was not too recluse for the state of his
mind. But for a long period during his residence at
Olney, he appears to have been tranquil, and with
his peculiarly constituted nature, as free as he could
be from  depression. There cannot, perhaps, be a
better proof of his improved health than the knowledge, that he had about this time to suffer many
severe trials in the afflictions of his brother and other
parts of his family. The former, after a long illness,
fell a victim to the disease, and the subject of our
memoir lost in him a most kind and affectionate as
well as beloved relative. On looking at the correspondence of Cowper during this period, we find little
which could induce us to believe, that either enthusiasm or melancholy had been the consequence of his
deep and fervent piety. The account which he gives
of his brother's death is calm and thoughtful-ex
hibiting only the sublime feelings of a man who had
just conquered the regrets of nature, by a contempla
tion of divine truth.
It was not till several months after the loss of hi.




ï~~WILLIAM COWPER.                 15
Drother, Oiat Cowper's mind relapsed into its former
depression. Hitherto it had been not only composed,
but to a certain degree active. At Mr. Newton's re
quest, he composed the sixty-eight hymns which appear with his initials in the Olney Collection, and had
originally intended to contribute more, but was prevented by the sickness to which we have alluded, and
which commenced its afflicting attacks in the year
1773. The patient and devoted kindness, with which
Mrs. Uuwin attended him during this season of helplessness, affords an affecting picture of female friendship. Through the many years that his illness lasted,
his gentle nurse watched over him with an unwearying constanby, which Cowper himself likened to that
of a mother, and in doing this he gave all that the
human heart ran give in gratitude for attention.
For more than a year the malady continued at its
height, but after that time his health had an appearance of improvement, and he began to employ himself in taming the three hares which are celebrated
in the account he gave of his pursuits. But it was
not till the year 1780, that we find him regaining
sufftlicient command over himself, to trust his faculties
with literary exertions, which it is extraordinary
were nearly all subsequent to the alarming attack of
which we are speaking. In the year above-mentioned
he read considerably, and composed the Nightingale
and the Glow-Worm, and towards its termination
began to write with the serious intention of appearing before the public as an author. This determination, however, he kept known to himself alone, but
proceeded steadily with his work, and in March 1781,
'Table Talk,' ' The Progress of Error,' ' Truth,' and
SExpostulation' were ready for the press. The publication of these was undertaken by Mr. Johnson, of
St. Paul's Church-Yard, and the following season
they were ushered into the world, with the additional
compositions of ' Hope,' ' Charity,' ' Conversation,'
and ' Retirement.'
About the period to which we now allude Cowper
became acquainted with Lady Austen, and to hey
suggestion is owing the existence of the ' Task,' and




ï~~16              MEMOtIli ()j
that admirable piece of humour 'John Gilpin.' The
greater part of the former was completed in February
1Z84, and in October it was sent to press. The
accounts which are given of his situation at this
period afford a refreshing contrast to the details
which describe his condition both in the earlier and
later portions of his existence. In the society of a
few select friends he now divided his time between
the pleasures of conversation and the gently exciting
labour of composition.  His mind thus gradually
assumed a more cheerful cast, and was, perhaps, in
the healthiest state which it was capable of attaining.
Shortly after the completion of the above named
works he began the translation of Homer, a production which, whatever merit it possesses, was better
adapted to furnish the poet with amusement than
add to his popularity. To be admired in his own
naked sublimity, Homer must be read by the scholar,
and in his own language; to engage the attention
of readers of a different description he must be
changed in form and spirit as well as language.
In 1787, a slight attack of his old complaint made
it necessary that he should intermit his pursuits, but
it passed off without seriously affecting him, and he
shortly after resumed his work of translating, which
was completed on the 25th August, 1790. He was
employed about the same time on an edition ot
Milton, and soon after became acquainted with his
well-known biographer, Mr. Hayley, of whom he
uniformly spoke with the warmest affection.
Under these circumstances, his spirits continued
to hold good till the year 1794, when his mind began
rapidly to sink into its most melancholy state of
despondency. The health of his watchful friend,
Mrs.Unwin, had also undergone an alarming change,
and the united weight of time and sickness had
brought her to the last stage of helpless and imbecile
old age.   Mr. H ayley and his other affectionate
acquaintances continued to visit him and use every
means to restore his health, but their solicitude waa
vain, and he continued sunk in a melancholy which
miuld neither be removed nor alleviated. It was at




ï~~WILLIAM CtO WP ER.              17
length determined to try the experiment of a change
of air, and his amiable relative, the Rev. Dr. Johnson.,
took upon himself the charge of conducting him into
Norfolk.  While residing at Dunham   Lodge, and
afterwards at Mundsley, his spirits with slight exceptions continued in the same state, and though an
occasional glimpse of hope now and then encouraged
his desponding friends, they at length saw the
gradual and certain approaches of decay under the
Wst distressing circumstances in which death can
ivisit an intellectual and reasoning being. Cowper
had continued to compose several minor pieces of
poetry, and to employ himself occasionally in reading
during some time past, but in January, 1800, his
strength began rapidly to decline, and on the 25th of
April of the same year, he yielded up his gentle and
suffering spirit.
Morality never found in genius a more devoted
advocate than Cowper, nor has moral wisdom, in its
plain and severe precepts, been ever more successfully combined with the delicate spirit of poetry than
in his works. The austerity of tone in which virtue
arraigns the conscience is so strongly in contrast
with the soft and lulling voice of fancy, that we
rarely expect to see them in harmony. Even wher,
the muses were worshipped as divinities, and men
received laws and religion from their lips, they only
gained their authority by veiling themselves in the
rich robes of ancient fable, and submitting the pure
and essential glory of truth, to creations in which
men might find their passions as well as their spirit
interested. Their lessons were taught by the side of
magic fountains, or in the green bowers of leafy
solitudes-they were heard amid the singing of birds,
the sighing of the lover's lute, and the mystic voices
of a thousand attendant ministers of delight. Thus
they were worshipped because they gave new
beauty to the world by the light they breathed
upon its surface, and they were hearkened to
because they adapted themselves as well to the
weakness as to the good of man's mind; and, in
telling of the majesty of nature, and of the might




ï~~g MEMOIR OF
that lies hidden in the bosom of truth, invested him
with the attributes of its divinity. The moral,
didactic verses of antiquity are almost too plain and
destitute of grace to be received as pretty. The
writings of Lucretius are philosophical, and have,
Stherefore, a splendour about them which belongs to
a source different to that from which the ethical
poet derives his materials of ornament. It is in
modern times only that morality, as such, has been
Ssuccessfully investe4 with the grace of poetry. But
extensive as has been the popularity of the writerS
Swho have succeeded in this species of composition,
their number is less than that of any other class.
Nor is it difficult to trace the causes of this circumstance.  Poetry naturally deals in dreams and
Sshadows, which, bright and faithful images of reality
as they may be, are still but dreams and shadows.
-Let it take only the actual substance of thingsthe present and living forms of the earth uninvested
with the sunny and glorifying atmosphere of imagination-and it loses the property which makes it
poetry. A mind, therefore, which is unendowed
with that strange faculty by which the airy nothingnesses of an ideal world are moulded into form-or
with thatpower,equally strange,bywhich it can sublimate the things of earth, till they make a part of
its own ethereal creation-an intellect ungifted with
these faculties can never possess the proper materials
of poetry. But it need not be said that the mind
they inspire is not likely to employ itself on subjects
incapable of being invested with the charm which it
can bestow on others more adapted to its endowments; nor need it scarcely more to be observed,
that a simple lesson of morality is not a subject on
which such a mind is naturally likely to exert its
powers. Whatever is plain and obvious to honest
reason-whatever has been matter of instruction for
centuries, and is of so fixed a character that it can
neither be changed nor modified by imagination, can
Sonly be made a part of poetry by incorporation with
matter more shadowy and ethereal, and more comSpletely under the dominion of the poet's mind.
i




ï~~WILLIA, COWE,;liV PR.             19
And here again we find an obstacle;to the successful production of ethical poetry. Although it is
very possible for an imaginative writer to blend
moral precepts with his inventions, it is, it must be
confessed, far more agreeable to the true and proper
nature of poetry, to teach virtue and inculcate its
sublime truths, by an appeal from the imagination
to the imagination -by presenting characters already
made beautiful by the action of noble principle,
instead of naked principles out of which to invent
the characters. And so powerful, indeed, is the
action of the imagination where it exists, that it
will seldom suffer the mind to operate independently
of its influence. It takes possession of the thoughts,
whether they spring from the head or the heartwhether they are born in reason or passion, and it is
only when the poet has a singular self-possession-a
rare union of poetical feeling with the energy of cool
thought, that he willingly and deliberately subjects
his mind to the composition of moral verse.
Among the few, the very few, who have possessed
that gift of a spirit full of the sweetness and the
music of poetry, with this pure morality of purpose,
is Cowper. The mind of this admirable writer was
marked with the genuine traits which distinguish a
poetical from other minds. He is, it is true, not to
be compared with the great masters of the art, whose
lofty and creative imaginations place them in a
sphere of their own, but he had a power of collecting
the scenes and harmonies of nature into the focus of
his own heart, and of embuing them there with light
and grace. He had an intensity and delicacy of
feeling which made him perceive what is most beautiful in the complicated character of humanity, and
he had that intuitive sense of the mind's action,
which enabled him to present to others the objects
and sentiments which influence with the greatest
strength. By these qualities of his intellect, by the
tenderness of his heart, and the extreme susceptibility of his nature, he was possessed of all the
qualities, with the exception of a powerfud imagina.
tion, which form the character of n   at: and in




ï~~20          MEMOIR OF COWPER.
being denied the stronger excitements of fancy, he
seems to have been formed by Providence to produce
the works he composed. He was endowed with all
the powers which a poet could want who was to be
the moralist of the world-the reprover, but not the
satirist, of men-the teacher of simple truths, which
were to be rendered gracious without endangering
their simplicity.




ï~~ORIGINAL PREFACE
TO THE FIRST VOLUME.
WHEN an author, by appearing in print, requests an
audience of the public, and is upon the point of
speaking for himself, whoever presumes to step
before him with a preface and to say,' Nay, but
hear me first,' should have something worthy of
attention to offer, or he will be justly deemed officious and impertinent.  The judicious reader has
probably, upon other occasions, been beforehand
with me in this reflection; and I am not very willing
it should now be applied to me, however I may seem
to expose myself to the danger of it. But the thought
of having my own name perpetuated in connexion
with the name in the title-page is so pleasing and
flattering to the feelings of my heart, that I am
content to risk something for the gratification.
This preface is not designed to commend the
Poems to which it is prefixed. My testimony would
be insufficient for those who are not qualified to
judge properly for themselves, and unnecessary to
those who are. Besides, the reasons which render
it improper and unseemly for a man to celebrate his
own performances, or those of his nearest relatives,
will have some influence in suppressing much of
what he might otherwise wish to say in favour of a
friend, when that friend is indeed an alter idem,
and excites almost the same emotions of sensibility
and affection as he feels for himself.
It is very probable these Poems may come into the
hands of some persons, in whom the sight of the
author's name will awaken a recollection of incidents and scenes, which through length of time they
had almost forgotten. They will be reminded of
one, who was once the companion of.their chosen
hours, and who set out with them in early life in
the paths which lead to literary honours, to influ.
ence, and affluence, with equal prospects of success,
But her was suddenly and powerfully withdrawn
from those pursuits, and he left them without regret;




ï~~22                PREFACE
yet not till he had sufficient opportunity of counting
the cost, and of knowing the value of what he gave
up. If happiness could have been found in classical
attainments, in an elegant taste, in the exertions of
wit, fancy, and genius, and in the esteem and converse of such persons, as in these respects were most
congenial with himself, he would have been happy:
but he was not. He wondered (as thousands in a
similar situation still do) that he should continue
dissatisfied, with all the means apparently conducive
to satisfaction within his reach: but in due time the
cause of his disappointment was discovered to himhe had lived without God in the world. In a memorable hour the wisdom which is from above visited
his heart. Then he felt himself a wanderer, and
then he fou'nd a guide. Upon this change of views,
a change of plan and conduct followed of course.
When he saw the busy and the gay world in its true
light, he left it with as little reluctance as a prisoner,
when called to liberty, leaves his dungeon. Not that
hlie became a Cynic or an Ascetic-a heart filled with
love to God will assuredly breathe benevolence to
men. But the turn of his temper inclining him to
rural life, ihe indulged it; and the providence of
God, evidently preparing his way and marking out
his retreat, he retired into the country. By these
steps the good hand of God, unknown to me, was
providing for me one of the principal blessings of my
life; a friend and a counsellor, in whose company
for almost seven years, though we were seldom seven
successive waking hours separated, I always found
new pleasure: a friend who was not only a comfort
to myself, but a blessing to the affectionate poor
people, among whom I then lived.
Some time after inclination had thus removed him
from the hur-y and the bustle of life, he was still
more secluded by a long indisposition, and my
pleasure was succeeded by a proportionable degree
of anxiety and concern. But a hope that the God
whom he served would support him under his affliction and at length vouchsafe him a happy deliverance, never forsook me.  The desirable crisis, I
trust,  now clearly approaching. The dawn, the




ï~~PRE UAL( L.                 23
presage of returning day, is already arrived. He is
again enabled to resume his pen, and some of the
first fruits of his recovery are here presented to the
public. In his principal subjects the same acumen
which distinguished him in the early pePiod of his
life is happily employed in illustrating and enforcing
the truths of which he received such deep and unalterable impressions in his maturer years.    His
satire, if it may be called so, is benevolent (like the
operations of the skilful and humane surgeon, who
wounds only to heal), dictated by a just regard for
the honour of God, and indignant grief excited by
the profligacy of the age, and a tender compassion
for the souls of men.
His favourite topics are least insisted on in the
piece entitled 'Table Talk;' which therefore, with
some regard to the prevailing taste, and that those,
who are governed by it, may not be discouraged at
the very threshold from proceeding farther, is placed
first. In most of the larger Poems which follow, his
leading design is more explicitly avowed and pursued. He aims to communicate his own perceptions
of the truth, beauty, and influence of the religion
)f the Bible--a religion, which however discredited
by the misconduct of many, who have not renounced
the Christian name, proves itself, when rightly
understood and cordially embraced, to be the grand
desideratumn, which alone can relieve the mind of
man from painful and unavoidable anxieties, inspire
it with stable peace and solid hope, and furnish
those motives and prospects, which, in the present
state of things, are absolutely necessary to produce
a conduct worthy of a rational creature, distinguished by a vastness of capacity, which no assem
blage of earthly good can satisfy, and by a principle
and preintimation of immortality.
At a time when hypothesis and conjecture in
philosophy are so justly exploded, and little is
considered as deserving the name of knowledge,
which will not stand the test of experiment, the
very use of the term    experimental in religious
concernments, is by too many unhappily rejacted
w;th disgust. But we well know, that they, who




ï~~24                 PREFACE.
affect to despise the inward feeliongs which religious
persons speak of, and to treat them as enthusiasm
and folly, have inward feelings of their own, which,
though they would, they cannot suppress. We have
been too long in the secret ourselves, to account the
proud, the ambitious, or the voluptuous happy. We
must lose the remembrance of what we once were,
before we can believe that a man is satisfied with
himself, merely because he endeavours to appear
so. A smile upon the face is often but a mask worn
occasionally, and in company, to prevent, if possible,
a suspicion of what at the same time is passing in
the heart. We know that there are people who
seldom smile when they are alone, who therefore
are glad to hide themselves in a throng from the
violence of their own reflections, and who, while by
their looks and their language they wish to persuade
us they are happy, would be glad to change their
conditions with a dog. But in defiance of all their
efforts, they continue to think, forebode, and tremble.
This we know, for it has been our own state, and
therefore we know how to commiserate it in others.
-From this state the Bible relieved us: when we
were led to read it with attention, we found ourselves described. We learnt the causes of our inquietude-we were directed to a method of reliefwe tried, and we were not disappointed.
Deus nobis htc otia fecit.
We were now certain, that the Gospel of Christ
is the power of God unto salvation to every one that
believeth. It has reconciled us to God and to ourselves, to our duty and our situation. It is the balm
pnd cordial of the present life, and a sovereign
antidote against the fear of death.
Sed hactenus hec. Some smaller pieces upon less
Important subjects close the volume. Not one ot
them, 1 believe, was written with a view to publi,
cation, but I was unwilling they should be omitted.
JOHN NEWTON.
Charts Square, Hoxton
Februar  10, 17  2..




ï~~CONTENTS,
ruble Talk........i
Progreso of Error                         4
Truth......     60
Faxpostolation                            7
Hope......     92
Charity......     111
Cooversation.....       126
Retiremnt......     148
Trhe Y'early Distress, or Titing Time at Stock, 10 Eooex. 168
Sonoet to Denry Cowper, Esq..          170
Liaes addrresed to Dr. Darwin..     ib.
01o i r. Montogo's Feather-Hangings.   171
Verse, supposed to be writtens heAlexander 1Oelkirk, during
his abode in the alound of otan Fernanldez. 172
On the promeotion of Edward Trhorloec, Esq. to the Cbancetlrhpof Entgtand.....174
Ode to reace......175
11lmaon Frailtv......         ih.
The Modern Patriot..  176
On oboeecistg csase naoses of little solo. recordest int the
Bliogropii  tlriiatsssica.....    77
Report of an adjtsdged Case, not to he fosssd its otny oef toe
Books.......b.
Ontthie Burneting of Lord istoucfsetd's Library  178
Othue sme......     179
Ihe Lose of thse Worlsd reprovestd     its.
Oss tse Deaths of 1.ady Tlsroeksssortcss's Bssttlincls  10
rise Rtese......     102
Thse Doses......     183
A Ftsble......     104
A Compsarisons.....     185
Assother, addeeod to a Yousng Lody     106
rise Portes Necw-fear's gift.....b.
Ode to Apsollo.....     187
Pairns  flisse oantictpatesd.  A Fable  188
Thse Do0 n hesr Wotr-Lo.....     189
Thse Pcrt, the Oyster, and thse Sencitive tPlant.191
rtse Shsrnitbery.....     193
The Wisster Nosegay                       i.  b.
Mlutssot Foebearace necessary to thse Happiness of thse Marriest Staste......194
The Negro's Comsplitl.....96
Pity for Poor Africeas s....197
The Mornsissg Dream.....    199
The Niglstissrate and Glow-worns. ut
On a Gotlisneh starved to Death in is Cage. 20
The Pinseapsple and tbe tie......        202
Horace, Book It. Ode 10..... 203
A Reflectionoan the foregoinsg Ode.204
The Lily ansd thse Rose.                ib.
ldem Lastisse Itesdditum                 20m
Fhe Potplar Field20
lIes Latine Reddioim......o.
VotumW




ï~~Transslations from Vioceat Bcusrae.
Cidela.. 207
The Glow-worm.208
Cornicula.209
The Jtackdaw,.....      ib.
Ad Grilioro. Anacreontom           210
The Cricket......211
Simile agit in Simile22
The Parrot.....    213
Tranolatiorn of Prior's Chloe atnd Euphelia.214
The History of John Gilpin......15
Epistle to ao afflicted Protestant Lady In France.   221
To the Rev. 11'. C. Unwin               2
The TASK, in Six loonks:
Book 1. The Sofa                    22
11. The Trime-Piece....       244
110. The Garden....     264
IV. Tite Winter Evening.285
V. The Winter M~norin Walk.304
V1. Tihe Winter Walk at Noons    326
Epistle to Joseph lill, Eoq.           3,52
Tiroelirinm  or, a Review of Schools  354
To the Rev. Mre. Newtha....       377
Catharita......     370
'The Moralizer cotrected....     372
Trie Faithful Bied........81
The Needless Alarm                     302
Poadicea36
Heroism......     307
On tine Receipt of my irm.osr's Picture outi of Norfolk. 399
Frienship...... 302
On a 'l isehievours Ball, whirls the Ownet of him sold at the
Aoetor's inttoance.....390
Axnis Mennerahilis. 1700. Written in Commemoration of htis
Mhajesty's htappy Reeovery....     399
H-ytn for thne tnse of tire Sunohay Sehool at Olney.401
Statnzas suoined to a Blill of MIortality for the Year 1707 402
The sate 'or 1.780.....     403
Tine same for 1700.....       404
The sante for 1790..... 405
The sante for 1793.....       407
Tire samse for 1703..... 400
Epitaph on Mr. tiamltn....     409
Epitaphi on a ilore...... 410
Ilpitaphiana Alterum..411
Account of the Autoes~ 'Treatinent of liRes.




ï~~TABLE TALK.
'Si te forte mes gravis uret sarcina charts,
Abjicito.'--Hor. Lib. 1. Epist. 13.
A. You told me, I remember, glory, built
On selfish principles, is shame and guilt,
The deeds, that men admire as half divine,
Stark naught, because corrupt in their design.
Strange doctrine this! that without scruple tears
The laurel that the very lightning spares;
Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust,
And eats into his bloody sword like rust.
B. I grant that, men continuing what they are,
Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war:
And never meant the rule should be applied
To him that fights with justice on his side.
Let laurels, drench'd in pure Parnassian dews,
Reward his memory, dear to every muse,
Who, with a courage of, nshaken root,
In honour's field advancing his firm foot,
Plants it upon the line that Justice draws,
And will prevail or perish in her cause.
'Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes
His portion in the good that Heaven bestows.
And when recording History displays
Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days.
Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died,
Where duty placed them, at their country's side;
The man, that is not moved with what he reads,
That takes not fire at their heroic deeds,
Unworthy of the blessings of the brave,
Is base in kind, and born to be a slave.
But let eternal infamy pursue
The wretch to nought but his ambition tiue:
Who, for the sake of filling with one blast
The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
Think yourself station'd on a towering rock,
To see a people scatter'd like a flock,
Some royal mastiff panting at their heels,
With all the savage thirst a tiger feels;




ï~~28              TABLE TALK.
Then view him self-proclaim'd in a gazette,
Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet.
The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced,
Those ensigns of dominion, how disgraced!
The glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour,
And Death's own scythe,would better speak hi:s p,
Then grace the bony phantom in their stead,
With the king's shoulder-knot and ga3 cockade
Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress,
The same their occupation and success.
A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man
Kings do but reason on the self-same plan:
Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn,
Who think, or seem to think, man made for them.
B. Seldom, alas! the power of logic reigns
With much sufficiency in royal brains;
Such reasoning falls like an inverted cone,
Wanting its proper base to stand upon.
Man made for kings! those optics are but dim,
That tell you so-say, rather, they for him.
That were indeed a king-ennobling thought,
Could they or would they reason as they ought
The diadem, with mighty projects lined,
To catch renown by ruining mankind,
Is worth, with all its gold and glittering store,
Just what the toy will sell for and no more.
Oh! bright occasions of dispensing good,
How seldom used, how little understood
To pour in Virtue's lap her just reward;
Keep Vice restrain'd behind her double guard;
To quell the faction that affronts the throne,
By silent magnanimity alone;
To nurse with tender care the thriving arts;
Watch every beam Philosophy imparts;
To give Religion her unbridled scope,
Nor judge by statute a believer's hope;
With close fidelity and love unfeign'd,
To keep the matrimonial bond unstain'd;
Covetous only of a virtuous praise;"
His life a lesson to the land he sways;
To touch the sword with conscientious awe,
Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw;




ï~~II

TA BLE TALK.                 29
To sheathe it in the peace-restoring close,
With joy beyond what victory bestows;Bless'd country, where these kingly glories shinae!
Bless'd England, if this happiness be thine!
A. Guard what you say; the patriotic tribe
Will sneer and chargre you with a bribe.-B. A bribe T

The worth of his three kingdoms I defy,
To lure me to the baseness of a lie:
And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast),
The lie that flatters I abhor the most.
Those arts be theirs, who hate his gentle reign;
But he that loves him has no need to feign.
A. Your smooth eulogium to one crown address'd,
Seems to imply a censure on the rest.
B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale,
Ask'd when in hell to see the royal jail;
Approved their method in all other things:
But where, good sir, do you confine your kings?
There--said the guide- the group is full in view.
Indeed?-replied the don-there are but few.
His black interpreter the charge disdain'dFew, fellow?-there are all that ever reign'd.
Wit, undistinguishing, is apt to strike
The guilty and not guilty both alike:
I grant the sarcasm is too severe,
And we can readily refute it here;
While Alfred's name, the father of his age,
And tne sixth Edward's, grace the historic page.
A. Kings then, at last, have but the lot of all:
By their own conduct they must stand or fall.
B. True. While they live, the courtly laureate pays
His quit-rent ode, his peppercorn of praise;
And many a dunce whose fingers itch to write,
Adds as he can his tributary mite.
A subject's faults a subject may proclaim,
A monarch's errors are forbidden game!
Thus, flee from censure, overawed by fear,
And praised for virtues, that they scorn to wear,
The fleeting forms of majesty engage
Respect, while stalking o'er life's narrow stage;
Then leave their crimes for history to scan,
And ask, with busy scorn, Was this the man?




ï~~30                TABLE TALK.
I pity kings, whom Worship waits upon
Obsequious from the cradle to the throne;
Before whose infant eyes the flatterer bows,
And binds a wreath about their baby brows,
Whom education stiffens into state,
And death awakens from that dream too'2ate,
Oh! if Servility, with supple knees,
Whose trade it is to smile, to crouch, to please.
If smooth Dissimulation, skill'd to grace
A devil's purpose with an angel's face;
If smiling peeresses, and simpering peers,
Encompassing his throne a few short years;
If the gilt carriage and the pamper'd steed,
That wants no driving and disdains the lead;
If guards, mechanically form'd in ranks,
Playing, at beat of drum, their martial pranks,
Shouldering and standing as if struck to stone,
While condescending majesty looks on!If monarchy consist in surch base things,
Sighing, I say again, I pity kings!
To be suspected, thwarted, and withstood,
E'en when he labours for his country's good;
To see a band, call'd patriot, for no cause
But that they catch at popular applause,
Careless of all the anxiety he feels,
Hook disappointment on the public wheels;
With all their flippant fluency of tongue,
Most confident, when palpably most wrong;If this be kingly, then farewell for me
All kingship; and may I be poor and free!
To be the Table Talk of clubs up-stairs,
To which th' unwash'd artificer repairs
To indulge his genius after long fatigue,
By diving into cabinet intrigue
(For what kings deem a toil, as well they may,
To him is relaxation and mere play);
To win no praise when well-wrought plans prevad
But to be rudely censured when they fail.;
To doubt the love his favourites may pretena,
And in reality to find no friend;
If he indulge a cultivated taste,
His galleries with the works of art well gracea.
To hear it call'd extravagance and waste;




ï~~TAB LE TALK.

51

If these attendants, and if such as these.
Must follow royalty, then welcome ease;
However humble and confined the sphere,
Happy the state, that has not these to fear.
A. Thus men, whose thoughts contemplative have
On situations, that they never felt,     [dwelt
Start up sagacious, cover'd with the dust
Of dreaming study and pedantic rust,
And prate and preach about what others prove,
As if the world and they were hand and glove.
Leave kingly backs to cope with kingly cares;
They have their weight to carry, subjects theirs;
Poets, of all men, ever least regret
Increasing taxes and the nation's debt.
Could you contrive the payment, and rehearse
The mighty plan, oracular, in verse,
No bard, howe'er majestic, old or new,
Should claim my fix'd attention more than you.
B. Not Brindley nor Bridgewater would essay
To turn the course of Htelicon that way;
Nor would the Nine consent the sacred tide
Should purl amidst the traffic of Cheapside,
Or tinle in 'Change Alley, to amuse
The leathern ears of Stock-jobbers and Jews.
A. Vouchsafe, at least, to pitch the key of rhyme
To themes more pertinent, if less sublime.
When ministers and ministerial arts;
Patriots, who love good places at their hearts;
When admirals, extoll'd for standing still,
Or doing nothing with a deal of skill;
Generals who will not conquer when they may,
Firm friends to peace, to pleasure, and good pay;
When Freedom, wounded almost to despair,
Though Discontent alone can find out where;
Wher themes like these employ the poet's tongue,
I hear as mute as if a siren sung.
Or tell me, if you can, what power maintains
A Briton's scorn of arbitrary chains:
That were a theme might animate the dead,
And move the lips of poets cast in lead.
B. The cause, though worth the search, may yet
Conjecture and remark, however shrewd.   [eludt




ï~~32                TABLE TALK.
They take perhaps a well-directed aim,
Who seek it in his climate and his frame.
Liberal in all things else, yet Natmue here
With stern severity deals out the year.
Winter invades the spring, and often pours
A chilling flood on summer's drooping flowers;
Unwelcome vapours quench autumnal beams,
Ungenial blasts attending curl the streams:
The peasants urge their harvest, ply the fork
With double toil, and shiver at their work;
Thus with a rigour, for his good design's,
She rears her favourite man of all mankind.
His form robust and of elastic tone,
Proportion'd well, half muscle and half bone,
Supplies with warm activity and force
A mind well-lodged, and masculine of course.
Hence Liberty, sweet Liberty inspires
And keeps alive his fierce but noble fires,
Patient of constitutional control,
He bears it with meek manliness of soul;
But, if Authority grow wanton, woe
To him that treads upon his free-born toe;
One step beyond the boundary of the laws
Fires him at once in Freedom's glorious cause
Thus proud Prerogative, not much revered,
Is seldom felt, though sometimes seen and heard
And in his cage, like parrot fine and gay,
is kept to strut, look big, and talk away.
Born in a climate softer far than our"
Not form'd like us, with such Here lean powers.
The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk,
Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk,
Is always happy, reign whoever may,
And laughs the sense of misery far away;
He drinks his simple beverage with a gust,
And, feasting on an onion and a crust,
We never feel the alacrity and joy
With which he shouts and carols Vive le Roll
Fill'd with as much true merriment and glee,
As if he heard his king say-Slave, be free.
Thus happiness depends, as Nature shews,
Less on exterior things than most suppose.




ï~~TABLE TALK.                  8A
Vigilant over all that he has made
Kind Providence attends with gracious aid;
Bids equity throughout his works prevail,
And weighs the nations in an even scale;
He can encourage Slavery to a smile,
And fill with discontent a British isle.
A. Freeman and slave then, if the case be such,
Stand on a level; and you prove too much:
If all men indiscriminately share
His fostering power, and tutelary care,
As well be yoked by Despotism's hand,
As dwell at large in Britain's charter'd land.
B. No. Freedom has a thousand charms to shew;
That slaves, howe'er contented, never know.
The mind attains, beneath her happy reign,
The growth that nature meant she should attain;
The varied fields of science, ever new,
Opening and wider opening on her view,
She ventures onward with a prosperous force,
While no base fear impedes her in her coarse.
Religion, richest favour of the skies,
Stands most reveal'd before the freeman's eyes
No shades of superstition blot the day,
Liberty chases all that gloom away;
The soul emancipated, unoppress'd,
Free to prove all things, and hold fast the best,
Learns much; and to a thousand listening minds
Communicates with joy the good she finds:
Courage in arms, and ever prompt to shew
His manly forehead to tlhe fiercest foe;
Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace,
His spirits rising as his toils increase,
Guards well what arts and industry have won,
And Freedom claims him for her first-born son.
Slaves fight for what were better cast awa)--
The chain that binds them, and a tyrant's sway:
But they that fight for freedom, undertake
The noblest cause mankind can have at stakeReligion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call
A blessing-freedom is the pledge of all.
O Liberty! the prisoner's pleasing dream,
The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme;
B2




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84                TABLE TALK.
Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's nurse;
Lost without thee the ennobling powers of verse,
Heroic song from thy free touch acquires
Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires:
Place me where Winter breathes his keenest air,
And I will sing, if Liberty be there;
And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet,
In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat.
A. Sing where you please; in such a cause I grant
An.English poet's privilege to rant;
But is not Freedom-at least is not ours
Too apt to play the wanton with her powers,
Grow freakish, and, o'erleaping every mound,
Spread anarchy and terror all around?
B. Agreed. B tit would you sell or slay your horse
For bounding and curvetting in his course?
Or if, when ridden with a careless rein,
He break away and seek the distant plain?
No. His high mettle, under good control,
Gives him Olympic speed, and shoots him to the goal
Let Discipline employ her wholesome arts;
Let magistrates alert perform their parts;
Not skulk or put on a prudential mask,
As if their duty were a desperate task;
Let active laws apply the needful curb,
To guard the peace, that Riot would disturb;
And Liberty, preserved from wild excess,
Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress.
When Tumult lately burst his prison-door,
And set plebeian thousands in a roar;
When he usurp'd Authorify's just place,
And dared to look his master in the face;
When the rude rabble's watchword was-Destroy,
And blazing London seem'd a second Troy;
Liberty blush'd, and hung her drooping head,
Beheld their progress with the deepest dread;
Blush'd, that effects like these she should produce,
Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose.
She loses in such storms her very name,
And fierce Licentiousness should bear the blame.
Incomparable gem! thy worth untold;       [sold;
Cheap though blood-bought, and thrown away when

II




ï~~TAB 1iE TALK. 
May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend
Betray thee, while professing to defend!
Prize it, ye ministers, ye monarchs spare;
Ye patriots guard it with a miser's care.
A. Patriots, alas! the few that have been found
Where most they flourish, upon English ground,
The country's need.have scantily supplied,
And the last left the scene, when Chatham died.
B. Not so-the virtue still adorns our age,
Though the chief actor died upon the stage.
In him Demosthenes was heard again:
Liberty taught him her Athenian strain;
She cloth'd him with authority and awe,
Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law.
His speech, his form, his action, full of grace,
And all his country beaming in his face
He stood as some inimitable hand
Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand.
No sycophant or slave, that dared oppose
Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose;
And every venal stickler for the yoke
Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke.
Such men are raised to station and command,
When providence means mercy to a land.
He speaks, and they appear; to him they owe
Skill to direct, and stiength to strike the blow;
To manage with address, to seize with power,
The crisis of a dark decisive hour:
So Gideon earn'd a victory not his own;
Subserviency his praise, and that alone.
Poor England! thou art a devoted deer,
Beset with every ill but that of fear.
Thee nations hunt; all mark thee for a prey;
They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at bay.
Undaunted still, though wearied and perplex'd,
Once Chatham saved thee; but who saves thee nex
Alas! the tide of pleasure sweeps along
All that should be the boast of British song.
'Tis not the wreath, that once adorn'd thy brow,
The prize of happier times, will serve thee now.
Our ancestry, a gallant Christian race
Patterns of every virtue, every grace,




ï~~36                TABLE TALK.
Confess'd a God; they kneel'd before they fought
And praised him in the victories he wrought.
Now from the dust of ancient days bring forth
Their sober zeal, integrity, and worth;
Courage, ungraced by these, affronts the skies,
Is but the fire without the sacrifice.
The stream that feeds the well-spring of the heart
Not more invigorates life's noblest part,
Than virtue quickens, with a warmth divine,
The powers that Sin has brought to a decline.
A. The inestimable Estimate of Brown
Rose like a paper kite, and charm'd the town;
But measures, plann'd and executed well,
Shifted the wind that raised it, and it fell.
He trod the very self-same ground you tread,
And Victory refated all he said.
B. And yet his judgment was not framed amiss
Its error, if it err'd, was merely thisHe thought the dying hour already come,
And a complete recovery struck him dumb.
But that effeminacy, folly, lust,
Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must;
And that a nation, shamefully debased,
Will be despised, and trampled on at last,
Unless sweet Penitence her powers renew,
Is truth, if history itself be true.
There is a time, and Justice marks the date,
For long-forbearing Clemency to wait;
That hour elapsed, the incurable revolt
Is punish'd, and down comes the thunderbolt
If Mercy then put by the threatening blow,
Must she perform the same kind office now?
May she! and,'if offended Heavens be still
Accessible, and prayer prevail, she will.
'Tis not, however, insolence and noise,
The tempest of tumultuary joys,
Nor is it yet despondence and dismay
Will win her visits, or engage her stay;
Prayer only, and the penitential tear,
Can call her smiling down, and fix her here.
But when a country (one that I could name)
In prostitution sinks the sense of shame:




ï~~TABLE TALL S7
When infamous Venality, grown bold,
Writes on his bosom, to be let or sold;
When Penury, that Heaven-defying vice,
Sells oaths by tale, and at the lowest price;
Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made,
To turn a penny in the way of trade;
When Avarice starves (and never hides his face)
Two or three millions of the human race,
And not a tongue inquires, how, where, or when,
Though conscience will have twinges now and then;
When profanation of the sacred cause
In all its parts, times, ministry, and laws,
Bespeaks a land, once Christian, fallen and lost.
In all, that wars against that title most;
What follows next, let cities of great name,
And regions long since desolate proclaim.
Nineveh, Babylon, and ancient Rome,
Speak to the present times, and times to come;
They cry aloud, in every careless ear,
Stop, while you may; suspend your mad career;
O learn from our example and our fate,
Learn wisdom and repentance, ere too late I
Not only Vice disposes and prepares
The mind that slumbers sweetly in her snares,
To stoop to Tyranny's usurp'd command,
And bend her polish'd neck beneath his hand
(A dire effect by one of Nature's laws,
Unchangeably connected with its cause);
But Providence himself will intervene,
To throw his dark displeasure o'er the scene.
All are his instruments; each form of war,
What burns at home, or threatens from afar,
Nature in arms, her elements at strife,
The storms that overset the joys of life,
Are but his rods to scourge a guilty land,
And waste it at the bidding of his hand.
He gives the word, and mutiny soon roars
In all her gates, and shakes her distant shores;
The standards of all nations are unfurl'd;
She has one foe, and that one foe the world;
And, if he doom that people with a frown,
And mark them with a seal of wrath press'd deW




ï~~38               TABLE TALK.
Obduracy takes place: callous and tough,
'he reprobated race grows judgment-proof:
Larth shakes beneath them, and Heaven roars abeve;
But nothing scares them from the course they love
To the lascivious pipe and wanton song
That charm down fear, they frolic it along.,
With mad rapidity and unconcern,
Down to the gulf, from which is no return.
They trust in navies, and their navies failGod's curse can cast away ten thousand sail!
They trust in armies, and their courage dies;
In wisdom, wealth, in fortune, and in lies:
But all they trust in withers, as it must,
When He commands, in whom they place no t.u;t.
Vengeance at last pours down upon their coast
A long despised, but now victorious, host;
Tyranny sends the chain, that must abridge
The noble sweep of all their privilege;
Gives Liberty the last, the mortal shock;
Slips the slave's collar on, and snaps the lock.
A. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach:
Mean you to prophesy, or but to preach Y
B. I know the mind, that feels indeed the fire
The muse imparts, and can command the lyre,
Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal,
Whate'er the theme, that others never feel.
If human woes her soft attention claim,
A tender sympathy pervades the frame;
She pours a sensibility divine
Along the nerve of every feeling line.
But if a deed, not tamely to be borne,
Fire indignation and a sense of scorn,
The strings are swept with such a power, qo loud,
The storm of music shakes the astonish'd crowd.
So when remote futurity is brought
Before the keen inquiry of her thought,
A terrible sagacity informs
The poet's heart; he looks to distant storms;
He hears the thunder ere the tempest lowers;
And, arm'd with strength surpassing human powers
Seizes events as yet unknown to man,
And darts his soul into the dawning plan.




ï~~VAs LE TLt.                9
Hence, in a tRoman mouth, the graceful name
Of prophet and of poet was the same;
Hence British poets too the priesthood shared,
And every hallow'd Druid was a bard.
But no prophetic fires to me belong;
I play with syllables, and sport in song.
A. At Westminster, where little poets strive
To set a distich upon six, and five,
Where Discipline helps opening buds of sense,
And makes his pupils proud with silver pence,
I was a poet too; but modern taste
Is so refined, and delicate, and chaste,
That verse, whatever fire the fancy warms,
Without a creamy smoothness has no charms.
Thus, all success depending on an ear,
And thinking I might purchase it too dear,
If sentiment were sacrificed to sound,
And truth cut short to make a period round,
I judged a man of sense could scarce do worse
Than caper in the morris-dance of verse.
B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit,
And some wits flag through fear of losing it.
Give me the line that ploughs its stately course
Like a proud swan, conquering the stream by force
That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart,
Quite unindebted to the tricks of art.
When Labour and when Dulness, club in hand,
Like the two figures at St. Dunstan's stand,
Beating alternately in measured time,
The clock-work tintinahulum of rhyme,
Exact and regular the sounds will be;
But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me.
From him, who rears a poem lank and long,
ro him who strains his all into a song;
Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air,
All birks and braes, though he was never there;
Or,. having whelp'd a prologue with great pains,
Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains;
A prologue interdash'd with many a strokeAn art contrived to advertise a joke,
So that the jest is clearly to be seen
Not in the words--but in the gap between




ï~~40               TABLE TALK.
Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ,
The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.
To daily much with subjects mean and low
Proves that the mind is weal, or msnakes it so:
Neglected talents rust into decay,
And every effort ends in push-pin play.
The man, that means success, should soar above
A soldier's feather,.r a lady's glove;
Else, summoning the muse to such a theme,
The fruit of all her labour is whipp'd cream.
As if an eagle flew aloft, and thenStoop'd from its highest pitch to pounce a wren.
As if the poet, purposing to wed,
Should carve himself a wife in gingerbread.
Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear'd,
And ages ere the Mantuan swan was heard:
To carry Nature lengths unknown before,
To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.
Thus Genius rose and set at order'd times,
And shot a dayspring into distant climes,
Ennobling every region that he chose;
He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose;
And, tedious years of Gothic darkness pass'd,
Emerged all splendour, in our isle at last.
Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main,
Then shew far off their shining plumes again.
A. Is genius only found in epic lays?
Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise.
Make their heroic powers your own at once,
Or candidly confess yourself a dunce.
B. These were the chief: each interval of night
Was graced with many an undulating light.
In less illustrious bards his beauty shone
A meteor, or a star; in these, the sun.
The nightingale may claim the topmost bough,
While the poor grasshopper must chirp below.
Like him unnoticed, I, and such as I,
Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly;
Perch'd on the meagre produce of the land,
An ell or two of prospect we command;
But never peep beyond the thorny bound,
Or oaken fence, that hems the paddock round.

1~




ï~~TABLE TALK.                 41
In Eden, ere yet innocence of heart
Had faded, poetry was not an art:
Language above all teaching, or, if taught,
Only by gratitude and glowing thought,
Elegant as simplicity, and warm
As ecstasy, unmanacled by form;
Not prompted, as in our degenerate days,
By love ambition and the thirst of praise;
Was natural as is the flowing stream,
And yet magnificent-a God the theme!
That theme on Earth exhausted, though above
'Tis found as everlasting as his love.
Man lavish'd all his thoughts on human thingsThe feats of heroes, and the wrath of kings,
But still, while Virtue kindled his delight,
The song was moral, and so far was right.
'Twas thus, till Luxury seduced the mind
To joys less innocent, as less refined;
Then Genius danc'd a bacchanal; he crown'd
The brimming goblet, seized the thyrsus, bound
His brows with ivy, rush'd into the field
Of wild imagination, and there reel'd,
The victim of his own lascivious fires,
And, dizzy with delight, profaned the sacred wires.
Anacreon, Horace, play'd in Greece and Rome
This bedlam part; and others nearer home.
When Cromwell fought for power, and while he
'The proud protector of the power he gain'd, [reign'd
Religion, harsh, intolerant, austere,
Parent of manners like herself severe,
Drew a rough copy of the Christian face,
Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace;
The dark and sullen humour of the time
Judged every effort of the muse a crime;
Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast,
Was lumber in an age so void of taste.
But when the second Charles assumed the sway,
And arts revived beneath a softer day,
Then, like a bow long forced into a curve,
The mind, released from too constrained a nerve,
Flew to its first position with a spring,
That made the vaulted roofs of Pleasure ring.




ï~~42               TABiLE TALK.
Nis court, the dissolute and hateful school
Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule,
Swarm'd with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid
With brutal lust, as ever Circe made.
From these a long succession, in the rage
Of rank obscenity, debauch'd their age;
Nor ceased, till, ever anxious to redress
The abuses of her sacred charge, th6 press,
The muse instructed a well-nurtured train
Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain,
And claim the palm for purity of song,
That Lewdness had usurp'd and worn so long.
Then decent Pleasantry and sterling Sense,
That neither gave nor would endure offence,
Whipp'd out of sight, with satire just and keen,
The puppy pack, that had defiled the scene.
In front of these came Addison. In him.
Humour in holiday and sightly trim
Sublimity, and attic taste combined,
To polish, furnish, and delight the mind.
Then Pope, as harmony itself exact,
In verse well disciplined, complete, compact,
Gave virtue and morality a grace,
That, quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face,
Levied a tax of wonder and applause,
E'en on the fools that trampled on their laws.
But he (his musical finesse was such,
So nice his ear, so delicate his touch)
Made poetry a mere mechanic art;
And every warbler has his tune by heart.
Nature imparting her satiric gift,
Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift,
With droll sobriety they raised a smile
At Folly's cost, themselves unmoved the while.
That constellation set, the world in vain
Must hope to look upon their like again.
A. Are we then left   B. Not wholly in the dark
Wit now and thon, struck smartly, shews a spark,
Sufficient to redeem the modern race
From total night and absolute disgrace.
While servile trick and imitative knack
Confine the million in the beaten track,




ï~~TABLE TALK.                   43
Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road,
Snuffs up the wind, and flings himself abroad.
Contemporaries all surpass'd, see one,
Short his career indeed, but ably run;
Churchill, himself unconscious of his powers,
In penury consumed his idle hours!
And, like a scatter'd seed at random sown,
Was left to spring by vigour of his own.
Lifted at length, by dignity of thought
And dint of genius, to an affluent lot,
He laid his head in Luxury's soft lap,
And took, too often, there his easy nap.
If brighter beams than all he threw not forth,
'Twas negligence in him, not want of worth.
Surly, and slovenly, and bold, and coarse,
Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force,
Spendthrift alike of money and of wit,
Always at speed, and never drawing bit,
He struck the lyre in such a careless n6od,
And so disdain'd the rules he understood,
The laurel seem'd to wait on his command,
He snatch'd it rudely from the Muses' hand.
Nature, exerting an unwearied power',
Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower;
Spreads the fresh verdure of the fields, and leads
The dancing Naiads through the dewy sneads;
She fills profuse ten thousand little throats
With music, modulating all their notes;
And charms the woodland scenes, and wilds unknown
With artless airs and concerts of her own:
But seldom (as if fearful of expense)
Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretenceFervency, freedom, fluency of thought,
Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought;
Fancy, that, from the bdw that spans the sky,
Brings colours, dipp'd in heaven, that never die;
L soul exalted above earth, a mind
Skill'd in the characters that form mankind;
And, as the Sun in rising beauty dress'd,
Looks to the westward from the dappled east,
And marks, whatever clouds may interpose,
Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close;




ï~~44                TABLE TALK.
An eye like his to catch the distant goal:
Or, ere the wheels of verse begin to roll,
Like his to shed illuminating rays
On every scene and subject it surveys:
Thus graced, the man asserts a poet's name,
And the world cheerfully admits the claim.
Pity Religion has so seldom found
A skilful guide into poetic ground!
The flowers would spring where'er she deign'd to
And every muse attend her in her way.       [stray
Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend,
And many a compliment politely penn'd;
But, unattired in that becoming vest
Religion weaves for her, and half undress'd,
Stands in the desert, shivering and forlorn,
A wintry figure, like a wither'd thorn.
The shelves are full, all other themes are sped;
Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread,
Satire has lbng since done his best; and cursed
And loathsome Ribaldry has done his worst;
Fancy has sported all her powers away
In tales, in trifles, and in children's play;
And 'tis the sad complaint, and almost true,
Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new.
'Twere new indeed to see a bard all fire,
Touch'd with a coal from Heaven, assume the lyre
And tell the world, still kindling as he sung,
With more than mortal music on his tongue,
That He, who died below, and reigns above,
Inspires the song, and that his name is Love
For, after all, if merely to beguile,
By flowing numbers and a flowery style,
The tedium that the lazy rich endure,
Which now and then sweet poetry may cure
Or, if to see the name of idle self,
Stamp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf
To float a bubble on the breath of Fame,
Prompt his endeavour and engage his aim;
Deb!ased to servile purposes of pride,! owv are the powers of genius misapplied!
fe gift, whose office is the Giver's praise,
To tra-e himn in his word, his works, his ways.




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ï~~PROGRESS OF ERROR.                  45
Then spread the rich discovery, and invite
Mankind to share in the divine delight;
Distorted from its use and just design,
To make the pitiful possessor shine.
To purchase, at the fool-frequented fair
Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear,
Is profanation of the basest kindProof of a trifling and a worthless mind.
A. Hail Sternhold, then; and Hopkins, hailB. Amen.
If flattery, folly, lust, employ the pen;
If acrimony, slander, and abuse,
Give it a charge to blacken and traduce;
Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's ease,
With all that fancy can invent to please,
Adoi'h the polish'd periods as they fall,
One madrigal of theirs is worth them all.
A. 'Twould thin the ranks of the poetic triiie,
To dash the pen through all that you proscribe.
B. No matter-we could shift when they Were not;
And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot.
THE
PROGRESS OF ERROR.
Si quid loquar audiendum.--Hor. Lib. iv. Od. 2.
SING, muse (if such a theme, so dark, so long,
May find a muse to grace it with a song),
By what unseen and unsuspected arts
"'he serpent Error twines round human hearts;
rell where she lurks, beneath what flowery shades,
That not a glimpse of genuine light pervades,
The poisonous, black, insinuating worm
Successfully conceals her loathsome form.
Take, if ye can, ye careless and supine,
Counsel and caution from a voice like mine I
Truths, that the theorist could never reach,
And observation taught me, I would teach.
Not all, whose eloquence the fancy fils,
Musical as the chime of tinkling rills,




ï~~1

4          PROGRESS OF ERROR.
Weak to perform, though mighty to pretend,
Can trace her mazy windings tu their end;
Discern the fraud beneath the specious lure,
Prevent the danger or prescribe the cure.
The clear harangue, and cold as itis clear,
Falls soporific on the listless ear;
Like quicksilver, the rhetoric they display
Shines as it runs, but grasp'd at slips away.
Placed for his trial on this bustling stage,
From thoughtless youth to ruminating age,
Free in his will to choose or to refuse,
Man may improve the crisis, or abuse;
Else, on the fatalist's unrighteous plan,
Say to what bar amenable were man?
With naught in charge, he could betray no trust;
And, if he fell, would fall because he must;
If Love reward him, or if Vengeance strike,
His recompense in both unjust alike.
Divine authority within his breast
Brings every thought, word, action to the test;
Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains,
As Reason or as Passion takes the reins.
Heaven from above, and Conscience from within,
Cries in his startled ear-Abstain from sin!
The world around solicits his desire,
And kindles in his soul a treacherous fire
While, all his purposes and steps to guard,
Peace follows Virtue as its sure reward;
And Pleasure brings as surely in her train
Remorse, and Sorrow, and vindictive Pain.
Man, thus endued with an elective voice,
Must be supplied with objects of his choice;
Where'er he turns, enjoyment and delight,
Or present, or in prospect, meet his sight;
Those open on the spot their honey'd store;
These call him loudly to pursuit of more.
His unexhausted mine the sordid vice
Avarice shevA, and virtue is the price.
Here various motives his ambition raisePower, pomp and splendour, and.the thirst of praise;
There Beauty wooes him with expanded arms;
E'en Bacchanalian madness has its charms.




ï~~PROGRESS OF ERROlR.               47
Nor these alone, whose pleasures less refined
Might well alarm the most unguarded mind,
Seek to supplant his inexperienced youth,
Or lead him devious from the path of truth;
Hourly allurements on his passions press,
Safe in themselves, but dangerous in the excess.
Hark I how it floats upon the dewy air I
O what a dying, dying close was there!
'Tis harmony from yon sequester'd bower,
Sweet harmony, that soothes the midnight hour I
Long ere the charioteer of day had run
His morning course, the enchantment was begun;
And he shall gild yon mountain's height again,
Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain.
Is this the rugged path, the steep ascent,
That virtue points to? Can a life thus spent
Lead to the bliss she promises the wise,
Detach the soul from earth, and speed her to the
skies?
Ye devotees to your adored employ,
Enthusiasts, drunk with an unreal joy,
Love makes the music of the bless'd above,
Heaven's harmony is universal love;
And earthly sounds, though sweet and well combine&
And lenient as soft opiates to the mind,
Leave Vice and Folly unsubdued behind.
Gray dawn appears; the sportsman and his train
Speckle the bosom of the distant plain;
'Ts he, the Nimrod of the neighbouring lairs;
Save that his scent is less acute than theirs,
For persevering chase, and headlong leaps,
T'rUe beagle as the stanchest hound he keeps.
Charged with the folly of his life's mad scene,
He takes offence, and wonders what you mean;
The joy, the danger, and the toil o'erpays'Tis exercise, and health, and length of days.
Again impetuous to the field he flies,
Leaps every fence but one, there falls and dies;
Like a slain deer, the tumbrel brings him home
Unmiss'd but by his dogs and by his groom.
Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place,
Lights of the world, and stars of human race;




ï~~48         PROGRESS OF ERROR.
But if eccentric ye forsake your sphere,
Prodigies ominous, anr view'd with fear;
The comet's baneful influence is a dream;
Yours, real and pernicious in the extreme.
What then!-are appetites and lusts laid down,
With the same ease that man puts on his gown?
Will Avarice and Concupiscence give place, [Grace
Charm'd by the sounds-Your Reverence, or Your
No. But his own engagement binds him fast;
Or, if it does not, brands him to the last
What atheists call him-a designing knave,
A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and slave.
Oh, laugh or mourn with me the rueful jest,
A cassock'd huntsman, and a fiddling priest;
He from Italian songsters takes his cue:
Set Paul to Music, he shall quote him too.He takes the field, the master of the pack
Cries-Well done, saint! and claps him on the back.
Is this the path of sanctity? Is this
To stand a waymark in the road to bliss?
Himself a wanderer from the narrow way,
His silly sheep, what wonder if they stray?
Go, cast your orders at your bishop's feet,
Send your dishonour'd gown to Monmouth street!
The sacred function.in your hands is madeSad sacrilege! no function, but a trade!
Occiduus is a pastor of renown,
When he has pray'd and preach'd the sabbath down,
With wire and catgut he concludes the day,
Quavering and semiquavering care away.
The full concerto swells upon your ear;
All elbows shake. Look in, and you would swear
The Babylonian tyrant with a nod
Had summon'd them to serve his golden god.
So well that thought the employment seems to suit,
Psaltery and sackbut, dulcimer and flute.
O fie! 'tis evangelical and pure:
Observe each face, how sober and demure!
Ecstasy sets her stamp on every mien
Chins fallen, and not an eye-ball to be seen.
Still I insist, though music heretofore
Has charm'd me much (not e'en Occiduus more),




ï~~PROGRESS OF ERROR.
Love, joy, and peace, make harmony more meet
For sabbath evenings, and perhaps as sweet.
Will not the sickliest sheep of every flock
Resort to this example as a rock;
There stand and justify the foul abuse
Of sabbath-hours with plausible excuse?
If apostolic gravity be free
To play the fool on Sundays, why not we
If he the tinkling harpsichord regards
As inoffensive, what offence in cards?
Strike up the fiddles, let us all be gay;
Laymen have leave to dance if parsons play.
Oh Italy!-thy sabbaths will be soon
Our sabbaths, closed with mummery and buffoon.
Preaching and pranks will share the motley scene,
Ours parcell'd out, as thine have ever been
God's worship and the mountebank between.
What says the prophet? Let that day be bless'd
With holiness and consecrated rest.
Pastime and business both it should exclude,
And bar the door the moment they intrude:
Nobly distinguish'd above all the six
By deeds, in which the world must never mix.
Hear him again. He calls it a delight,
A day of luxury observed aright,
When the glad soul is made Heaven's welcome
guest,
Sits banqueting, and God provides the feast.
But triflers are engaged, and cannot come;
Their answer to the call is,-Not at home.
O the dear pleasures of the velvet plain,
The painted tablets, dealt and dealt again!
Cards, with What rapture, and the polish'd die
The yawning chasm of indolence supply!
Then to the dance, and make the sober moon
Witness of joys that shun the sight of noon.
Blame, cynic, if you can, quadrille or ball,
The snug close party, or the splendid hall,
Where Night, down-stooping from her ebon throne
Views constellations brighter than her own.
'Tis innocent and harmless and refined,
The balm of care, Elysium of the mind.
C                 ci




ï~~S     PROGRESS OF ERROR.
Innocent! Oh, if venerable Time
Slain at the foot of Pleasure be no crime,
Then, with his silver beard and magic wand
Let Comus rise archbishop of the land;
Let him your rubric and your feasts prescribe,
Gra.nd metropolitan of all the tribe.
Of manners rough, and coarse athletic cast,
The rank debauch suits Clodio's filthy taste.
Rufiilus, exquisitely form'd by rule,
Not of the moral but the dancing school,
Wonders at Clodio's follies, in a tone
As tragical, as others at his. own.
He cannot drink five bottles, bilk the score,
Then kill a constable, and drink five more;
But he can draw: pattern, make a tart
And has the ladies' etiquette by heart.
Go, fool I and, arm in arm with Clodie, plead
Your cause before a bar you little dread;
But know, the law, that bids the drunkard die,
Is far too just to pass the trifler by.
Both baby-featured, and of infant size,
View'd fr6m a distance, and with heedless eyes..
Folly and Innocence are so alike,
The difference, though essential, fails to strik-e.
Yet Folly ever has a vacant stare,
A simpering countenance, and a trifling air;
But Innocence, sedate, serene, erect,
Delights us, by engaging our respect.
Man, Nature's guest, by invitation sweet,
R eceives from her both appetite and treat
But if he play the glutton and exceed,
His benefactress blushes at the deed;
SFor Nature, nice, as liberal to dispense,
S      Made nothing but a brute the slave of sense.
S     Daniel ate pulse by choice-example rare I
Heaven bless'd the youth, and made him fresh and faie
Gorgonius sits, abdominous and wan,
Like a fat squab upon a Chinese fan:
He snuffs far off th' anticipated joy;
Turtle and venison all his thoughts employ;
Prepares for meals as jockeys take a sweat,
Oh nauseous 1-an emetic for a whet

t




ï~~PROGRESS OF ERROR.                51
Will Providence o'erlook the wasted good?
Temperance were no virtue if he could.
That pleasures, therefore, or what such we call,
Are hurtful, is a truth confess'd by all;
And some, that seem to threaten virtue less,
Still hurtful in the abuse, or by th' excess.
Is man then only for his torment placed
'The centre of delights he may not taste?
Like fabled Tantalus, condemn'd to hear
The precious stream still purling in his ear,
Lip-deep in what he longs for, and yet cursed
With prohibition, and perpetual thirst?
No, wrangler-destitute of shame and sense,
The precept, that enjoins him abstinence,
Forbids him none but the licentious joy,
Whose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy.
Remorse, the fatal egg by Pleasure laid
In every bosom where her nest is made,
l-iatch'd by the beams of Truth, denies him rest,
And proves a raging scorpion in his breast.
No pleasure? Are domestie comforts dead?
Are all the nameless sweets of friendship fled?
Has time worn out, or fashion put to shame
Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good
All these belong to virtue, and all prove  [fame
That virtue has a titlf to your love.
Have you no touch of pity. that the poor
Stand starved at your inhospitable door.
Or if yourself too scantily supplied
Need help, let honest industry provide.
Earn, if you want; if you abound, impart:
These both are pleasures to the feeling heart.
No pleasure? Has some sickly eastern waste
Sent us a wind to parch uits at a blast?
Can British Paradise no scenes afford
To please her sated and indiffirent lord?
A.e sweet philosophy's enjoyments run
Quite to the lees? And has religion none?
Brutes capable would tell you 'tis a lie,
And judge you from the kennel and the sty.
D)elights like these, ye sensual and profane,
Ye are bid, begg'd, besought to entertain;




ï~~52          PROGRESS OF ERROR.
Call'd to these crystal streams, do ye turn off
Obscene to swill and wallow at a trough?
Envy the beast, then, on whom Heav'n bestows
Your pleasures, with no curses in the close.
Pleasure admitted in undue degree
Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free.
'Tis not alone the grape's enticing juice
Unnerves the moral powers, and mars their use;
Ambition, avarice, and the lust of fame,
And woman, lovely woman, does the same.
The heart, surrender'd to the ruling power
Of some ungovern'd passion every hour,
Finds by degrees the truths, that once bore sway,
And all their deep impressions, wear away;
So coin grows smooth, in traffic current pass'd,
Till Casar's image is effaced at last.
The breach, though small at first, soon opening wide
In rushes folly with a full-moon tide,
Then welcome errars of whatever size,
To justify it by a thousand lies.
As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone,
And hides the ruin that it feeds upon;
So sophistry cleaves close to, and protects
Sin's rotten trunk, concealing its defects:
Mortals, whose pleasures are their only care,
First wish to be imposed on, and then are:
And, lest the fulsome artifice should fail,
Themselves will hide its coarseness with a veil.
Not more industrious are the just and true,
To give to Virtue what is Virtue's dueThe praise of wisdom, comeliness, and worth,
And call her charms to public notice forthThan Vice's mean and disingenuous race,
To hide the shocking features of her face.
Her form with dress and lotion they repair;
Then kiss their idol, and pronounce her fair.
The sacred implement I now employ
Might prove a mischief, or at best a toy;
A trifle, if it move but to amuse;
But, if to wrong the judgment and abuse,
Worse than a poniard in the basest hand
It stabs at once the morals of a land.




ï~~PROGRESS (OF ERROR.
Ye writers of what none with safety reads,
Footing it in the dance that fancy leads:
Ye novelists, who mar what ye would mend,
Snivelling and drivelling folly without end;
Whose corresponding misses fill theream
With sentimental frippery and dream,
Caught in a delicate soft silken net,
By some lewd earl, or rakehell baronet:
Ye pimps, who, under virtue's fair pretence;
Steal to the closet of young Innocence,
And teach her, unexperienced yet and green,
To scribble as you scribbled at fifteen;
Who, kindling a combustion of desire,
With some cold moral think to quench the fire;
Though all your engineering proves in vain,
SThe dribbling stream ne'er puts it out again.
O that a verse had power, and could command
Far, far away, these flesh-flies of the land;
Who fasten without mercy on the fair,
And suck, and leave a craving maggot there!
Howe'er disguised the inflammatory tale,
And cover'd with a fine-spun specious veil;
Such writers, and such readers, owe the gust
And relish of their pleasure all to lust.
SBut the muse, eagle-pinion'd, has in view
A quarry more important still than you;
Down, down the wind she swims, and sails away,
Now stoops upon it, and now grasps the prey.
Petronius I all the Muses weep for thee;
But every tear shall scald thy memory:
The Graces too, while Virtue at their shrine
Lay bleeding under that soft hand of thine,
Felt each a mortal stab in her own breast,
Abhorr'd the sacrifice, and cursed the priest.
Thou polish'd and high-finish'd foe to truth,
Graybeard corrupter oft our listening youth,
To purge and skim away the filth of vice,
That so refined it might the more entice,
Then pour it on the morals of thy son;
To taint his heart, was worthy of thine own!
Now, while the poison all high life pervades,
Write, if thou canst, one letter from the shades;

is




ï~~54          PROGRESS OF ERROR.
One, and one only, charged with deep regret
That thy worse part, thy principles, live yett
One sad epistle thence may cure mankind
Of the plague spread by bundles left behind.
'Tis granted, and no plainer truth appears,
Our most important are our earliest years;
The mind, impressible and soft, with ease
Imbibes and copies what she hears and sees,
And through life's labyrinth holds fast the clew
That education gives her, false or true.
Plants raised with tenderness are seldom strong;
Man's coltish disposition asks the thong;
And without discipline, the favourite child,
Like a neglected forester, runs wild.
lBut we, as if good qualities would grow
Spontaneous, take but little pains to sow;
We give some Latin, and a smatch of Greek;
Teach him to fence and figure twice a week;
And having done, we think, the best we can,
Praise his proficiency, and dub him man.
From school to Cam or Isis, and thence home;
And thence with all convenient speed to Rome.
With reverend tutor clad in habit lay,
To tease for cash, and quarrel with all day;
With memorandum-book for every town,
And every post, and where the chaise broke down,
His stock a few French phrases got by heart
With much to learn, but nothing to impart;
The youth, obedient to his sire's commands,
Sets off a wanderer into foreign lands.
Surprised at all they meet, the gosling pair,
With awkward gait, stretch'd neck, and silly stare
Discover huge cathedrals, built with stone,
And steeples towering high, much like our own;
But shew peculiar light, by many a grin
At popish practices observed within.
Ere long, some bowing, smirking, smart abb6
Remarks two loiterers, that have lost their way;
And being always primed with politesse
For men of their appearance and address,
With much compassion undertakes the task,
To tell them more than they have wit to ask;
i




ï~~PROGRIESS OF ERROR.
Points to inscriptions wheresoe'er they tread,
SSuch as, when legible, were never read;
But being canker'd now, and half worn out,
Craze antiquarian brains with endless doubt;
Some headless hero, or some Caesar shewsDefective only in his Roman nose;
Exhibits elevations, drawings, plans,
Models of Ilerculanean pots and pans;
And sells them mnedals, which, if neither rare
Nor ancient, will be so, preserved With care.
Strange the recital! from whatever cause
His great improvement and new light he draws)
The squire, once bashful, is shamefaced no more,
iBut teems with powers he never felt before;
Whether increased momentum, and the force,
With which from clime to clime he sped his course
(As axles sometimes kindle as they go),
SChafed him. and brought dull nature to a glow;
Or whether clearer skies and softer air,
That make Italian flowers so sweet and fair,
SFreshening his lazy spirits as he ran,
Unfolded genially ani spread the man;
Returning, he proclaims by many a grace,
By shrugs and stranse contortios of his face,
Hlow much a dunce, that has been sent to roam,
Excels a dunce that has been kept at home.
Accomplishments have taken virtue's place,
SAnd wisdom falls before exterior grace:
We slight the precious kernel of the stone,
And toil to polish its rough coat alone.
A ju:-t deportment, manners graced with ease,
i      Elegant phrase, and figure form'd to please,
Are equalities that seem to comprehend
Whatever parents, guardians, schools intend:
Hence an unfurnish'd and a listless mind,
i      Though busy, trifling; empty, though refined;
Hence all that interferes, and dares to clash
With indolence and luxury, is trash:
While learning, once the man's exclusive pride,
Seems verging fast towards the female side.
Learning itself, received into a mind
By nature weak, or viciously inclined,




ï~~56          PROGYRESS OF ERROR.
Serves but to lead philosophers astray,
Where children would with ease discern the way,
And of all arts sagacious dupes nm vent,
To cheat themselves and gain the world's assent,
The worst is-Scripture warp'd from its intent.
The carriage bowls along, and all are pleased
If Tom be sober, and the wheels well greased;
But if the rogue have gone a cup too far,
Left out his linchpin, or forgot his tar,
It suffers interruption and delay,
And meets with hindrance in the smoothest way.
When some hypothesis, absurd and vain,
Has fill'd with all its fumes a critic's brain,
The text, that sorts not with his darling whim,
Though plain to others, is obscure to him.
The will made subject to a lawless force,
All is irregular and out of course;
And Judgment drunk, and bribed to lose his
way,
Winks hard, and talks of darkness at noen-day.
A critic on the sacred book should be
Candid and learn'd, dispassionate and free:
Free from the wayward bias bigots feel,
From Fancy's influence, and intemperate zeal.:
But, above all (or let the wretch refrain,
Nor touch the page he cannot but profane),
Free from the domineering power of lust;
A lewd interpreter is never just.
How shall I speak thee, or thy power address.
Thou god of our idolatry, the Press?
By thee religion, liberty, and laws,
Exert their influence, and advance their cause:
By thee worse plagues than Pharaoh's land befel,
Diffused, raake earth the vestibule of hell;
Thou fountain, at which drink the good and wise;
Thou ever-bubbling spring of endless lies:
Like Eden's dread probationary tree,
Knowledge of good and evil is from thee.
No wilL enthusiast ever yet could rest,
Till half mankind were like himself possess'd.
Philosopbers, who darken and put out
Eternal truth by everlasting doubt;




ï~~PROGRESS OF ERROR.                  57
Church quacks, with passions under no commands
Who fill the world with doctrines contraband,
Discoverers of they know not what, confined
Within no bounds--the blind that lead the blind;
To streams of popular opinion drawn,
Deposit in those shallows all their spawn.
The wriggling fry soon fill the creeks around
Poisoning the waters where their swarms abound,
Scorn'd by the nobler tenants of the flood,
Minnows and gudgeons gorge th' unwholesome food
The propagated myriads spread so fast,
E'en Leuwenhoeck himself would stand aghast,
Employ'd to calculate the enormous sum,
And own his crab-computing powers o'ercomrne.
Is this hyperbole? The world well known,
Your sober thoughts will hardly find it one.
Fresh confidence the speculatist takes
From every hair-brain'd proselyte he makes;
And therefore prints. Himself but half-deceived,
Till others have the soothing tale believed.
Hence comment after comment, spun as fine
As bloated spiders draw the flimsy lie:
Hence the same word, that bids our lusts obey,
Is misapplied to sanctify their sway.
If stubborn Greek refuse to be his friend,
Hebrew or Syrir.c shall be forced to bend:
If languages and copies all cry, NoSomebody proved it centuries ago.
Like trout pursued, the critic in despair
Darts to the mud, and finds his safety there.
Women, whom custom has forbid to fly
The scholar's pitch (the scholar best knows why)
With all the simple and unletter'd poor,
Admire his learning, and almost adore.
Whoever errs, the priest can ne'er be wrong,
With such fine words familiar to his tongue.
Ye ladies! (for, indifferent in your cause,
I should deserve to forfeit all applause,)
Whatever shocks or gives the least offence
To virtue, delicacy, truth, or sense
(Try the criterion, 'tis a faithful guide),
Nor has, nor can have, Scripture on its side.
E




ï~~58          PROGRESS OF ERROR.
None but an author kv ws an author's cares,
Or Fancy's fondness for  e child she bears.
Committed once into the public arms,
The baby seems to smile with added charms.
Like something precious ventured far from shore
Tis valued for the danger's sake the more.
He views it with complacency supreme,
Solicits kind attention to his dream;
And daily more enamour'd of the cheat,
Kneels, and asks Heaven to bless the dear deceit.
So one, whose story serves at least to shew
Men loved their own productions long ago,
Woo'd an unfeeling statue for his wife,
Nor rested till the rods had givei it life.
If some mere driveller suck the suga-'d fib,
One that still needs his leading-strin- and bib,
Apd praise his genius, he is soon repaid
In praise applied to the same part-his head
For 'tis a rule, that holds for ever true,
Grant me discernment, and I grant it you.!
Patient of contradiction as a child,
Affable, humble, diffident, and mild;
Such wa- Sir Isaac, and such Bovle and Locke:!
Your blunderer is as sturdy as a rock.
The creature is so sure to kick and bite,
A muleteer's the man to set him right.
First Appetite enlists him Truth's s worn foe,
Then obstinate Self-will confirms him so.
Tell him he wanders, that his error leads
To fatal ills; that tuough the path he treads
Be flowery, and he see no cause of fear,
Death and the pains of hell attend him there
In vain; the slave of arrogance and pride,
He has no hearing on the pr dent.side.
His still refuted quirks he still repeats;
New-raised objections with new quibbles meets;
Till, sinking in the quicksand he defends,
He dies disputing, and the contest endsBut not the mischiefs; they, still left behind,
Like thistle-seeds, are sown by every win.
Thus mien go wrong wi h an ingenious skill;
Bend the straight rule to their own crooked will:




ï~~P'iWi           i,:3 ROR.

69

And with a clear and shining lamp supplied,
First put it out, then take it for a guide.
Halting on crutches of uuequal size,
One leg by truth supported, one by lies;
They sidle to the goal with awkward pace,
Secure of nothing-but to lose the race.
Faults in the life breed errors in the brain,
And these reciprocally those again.
The mind and conduct mutually imprint
And stamp their image in each other's mint*
Each, sire and dam, of an infernal race,
Begetting and conceiving all that's base.
None sends his arrow to the mark in vies
Whose hand is feeble, or his aim untrue.
For though, ere yet the shaft is on the wing,
Or when it first forsakes the elastic string,
It err but little from the intended line,
It falls at last far wide of his design:
So he, who seeks a mansion in the sky,
Must watch his purpose with a steadfast eye;
That prize belongs to none but the sincere;
The least obliquity is fatal here.
With caution taste the sweet Circean cup:
Hie that sips often, at last drinks it up.
Habits are soon assumed; but when we strive
To strip them off, 'tis being flay'd alive.
Call'd to the temple of impure delibht,
He that abstains, and he alone, does right,
If a wish wander that way, call it home;
He cannot long be safe whose wishes roam.
But, if you pass the threshold, you are caught;
Die then, if power Almighty save you not.
There hardening by degrees till double steel'd,
Take leave of nature's"God, and God reveal'd;
Then laugh at all you tremblo d at before;
And joining the freethinker's brutal roar,
Swallow the two grand nostrums they dispense-..
That Scripture lies, and blasphemy is sense;
If clemency, revolted by abuse,
Be damnable, then damn'd without excuse.
Some dream that they can silence when they X4:l
The storm of passion, and say, Prac,, hb sbtl
a
i




ï~~sO                   TRUTIH.
But, Thus far and no farther,' when address'd
To the wild wave, or wilder human breast,
Implies authority that never can,
That never ought to be the lot of man.
But muse forbear; long flights forbode a fall;
Strike on the deep-toned chord the sum of all.
Hear the just law-the judgment of the skies!
He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies:
And he that will be cheated to the last,
Delusions strong as hell shall bind him fast.
But if the wand'rer his mistake discern,
Judge his own ways, and sigh for a return,
Bewilder'd once, must he bewail his loss
For ever and for ever? No-the cross!
There, and there only (though the Deist rave
And Atheist, if earth bear so base a slave);
There, and there only is the power to save.
There no delusive hope invites despair;
No mockery meets you, no deception there.
The spells and charms, that blinded you before,
All vanish there, and fascinate no more.
I am no preacher, let this hint sufficeThe cross once seen is death to every vice:
Else he that hung there suffer'd all his pain,
Bled, groan'd, and agonized, and died, in vain.
TRUTH.
Pensantur trutina.-Hor. Lib, ii. Epist. 1.
MAN, on the dubious waves of error toss'd,
His ship half founder'd, and his compass lost,
Sees, far as human optics may command,
A sleeping fog, and fancies it d(try land;
Spreads all his canvass, every sinew plies,
Pants for 't, aims at it, enters it, and dies!
Then farewell all self-satisfying schemes,
His well-built systems, philosopjhic dreams;
Deceitful views of future bliss farewell!He reads his sentence at the flames of hell.
Hard lot of man-to toil for the reward
Of virtue, and yet lose it I Wherefore hard I




ï~~TRUTH.                     61
He that would win the race must guide his horse
Obedient to the customs of the course;
Else, though unequall'd to the goal he flies,
A meaner than himself shall gain the prize.
Grace leads te right way: if you choose the wrong,
Take it and perish; but restrain your tongue;
Charge not, with light sufficient, and left free,
Your wilful suicide on God's decree.
O how unlike the complex works of man,
Heaven's easy, artless, unencumber'd plan 1.
No meretricious graces to beguile,
No clustering ornaments to clog the pile;
From ostentation as from weakness free,
It stands like the cerulean arch we see,
Majestic in its own simplicity.
Inscribed above the portal, from afar
Conspicuous, as the brightness of a star,
Legible only by the light they give,
Stand the soul-quickening words-Believe and live
Too many, shock'd at what should charm them
most,
Despise the plain direction, and are lost.
Heaven on such terms! (they cry with proud disdain,)
Incredible, impossible, and vain!Rebel, because 'tis easy to obey;
And scorn, for its own sake, the gracious way.
These are the sober, in whose cooler brains
Some thought of immortality remains;
The Test, too busy or too gay to wait
On the sad theme, their everlasting state,
Sport for a day, and perish in a night,
The foam upon the waters not so light.
Who judged the Pharisee? What odious cause
Exposed him to the vengeance of the laws?
Had he seduced a virgin, wrong'd a friend,
Or stabb'd a man to serve some private end
Was blasphemy his sin? Or did he stray
From the strict duties of the sacred day?
Sit 'ong and late at the carousing board I
(Such were the sins with which he charged his Lord.)
No--the man's morals were exact; what then?
1'as his ambition to be seen of men;




ï~~62                  T       t li.
His virtues were his pride; and that one vice
Made all his virtues gewgaws of no price;
He wore them as fine trappings for a show,
A praying, synagogue-frequenting beau.
The self-applauding bird, the peacock, see--
Mark what a sumptuous pharisee is he!
Meridian sunbeams tempt him to unfold
His radiant glories, azure, green and gold:
He treads as if, some solemn music near,
His measured step were govern'd by his ear:
And seems to say-Ye meaner fowl, give place,
I am all splendour, dignity and grace!
Not so the pheasant on his charms presumes,
Though he too has a glory in hjs plumes.
He, Christian-like, retreats with modest mien
To the close copse, or far-sequester'd green,
And shines without desiring to be seen.
The plea of works, as arrogant and vain,
Heaven turns from with abhorence and disdain;
Not more affronted by avow'd neglect,
Than by the mere dissembler's feig;n'd respect.
What is all righteousness that men devise'?
What-but a sordid bargain for the skies?
But Christ as soon would abdicate his own,
As stoop from heaven to sell the proud a throne -
His dwelling a recess in some rude rock,
Book, beads, and maple-dish, his meagre
stock;
Ip shirt of hair and weeds of canvass dress'd,
Girt with a bell-rope that the pope hlas bless'd;
Adust with stripes told out for every crime,
And sore tormented long before his time;
His prayer preferr'd to saints that cannot aid;
His praise postponed, and never to be paid; -
See the sage hermit, by mankind admired,
With all that bigotry adopts inspired,
Wearing out life in his religious whim,
Till his religious whimisy weitrs out him.
His works, his abstinence, his zeal allow'd,
You think him humble-God accounts him proud
High in demand, though lowly in pretence
Of all his conduct this the genuine sense



ï~~TRUTH.

63

My penitential stripes, my streaming blood,
Have purchased heaven, and prove my title good.
Turn eastward now, and Fancy shall apply
To your weak sight her telescopic eye.
The Bramin kindles on his own bare head
The sacred fire, self-torturing his trade;
His voluntary pains, severe and long,
Would give a barbarous air to British song;
No grand inquisitor could worse invent,
Than he contrives to suffer, well content.
Which is the saintlier worthy of the two?
Past all dispute, yon anchorite say you.
Your sentence and mine differ. What's a name?
I say the Bramin has the fairer claim.
If sufferings Scripture nowhere recommends,
l)evised by self to answer selfish ends,
(lire saintship, then all Europe must agree
Ten starveling hermits suffer less than he.
The truth is (if the truth may suit your ear
And prejudice have left a passage clear),
Prile has attain'd its most luxuriant growth,
lnd poison'd every virtue in them both.
I.'ise may be pamper'd while the flesh grows lean;
umnility may clothe an English dean;
'iat grace was Cowper's-his, confess'd by allihough placed in golden Durham's second stall.
Sot all the plenty of a bishop's boars
His palace, and his lackeyc, and ' My Lord,'
M'ore nourish pBride, that condescending vice,
'han abstinence, and beggary, and lice;
It thrives in misery, and abundant grows:
In misery fools upon themselves impose.
But why before us Protestants produce
An Indian mystic, or a French recluse?
Their sin is plain; but what have we to fear,
Reform'd and well instructed? You shall hear.
You ancient prude, whose wither'd features sheu
She might be young some forty years ago,
Her elbows pimon'd close upon her hips,
Her head erect, her fan upon her lips,
Her eye-brows arch'd, her eyes both gone astraN
To watch yon amorous couple in their play,




ï~~64                    RUTH.
With bony and unkerchief'd neck defies
The rude inclemency of wintry skie,
And sails with lappet-head, and mincing airs
Duly at clink of bell to morning prayers.
To thrift and parsimony much inclined,
She yet allows herself that boy behind;
The shivering urchin, bending as he goes,
With slipshod heels and dewdrop at his nose;
His predecessor's coat advanced to wear,
Which future pages yet are doom'd to share,
Carries her Bible tuck'd beneath his arm,
And hides his hands to keep his fingers warm.
She, half an angel in her own account,
Doubts not hereafter' with the saints to mount;
Though not a grace appears on strictest search,
But that she fasts, and item, goes to church.
Conscious of age, she recollects her youth,
And tells, not always with an eye to truth,
W.ho spann'd her waist, and who, where'erhe camns
Scrawl'd upon glass Miss Bridget's lovely name;
Who stole her slipper, fill'd it with tokay,
And drank the little bumper every day.
Of temper as envenom'd as an asp,
Censorious, and her every word a wasp;
In faithful memory she records the crimes,
Or real, or fictitious, of the times;
Laughs at the reputations she has torn,
And holds them dangling at arm's length in sc3rn.
Such are the fruits of sanctimonious pride,
Of malice fed while flesh is mortified:
Take, madam, the reward of all your prayers
Where hermits and where Bramins meet with theirs
Your portion is with them.-Nay, never frown,
But, if you please, some fathoms lower down.
Artist attend-your brushes and your paintProduce them-take a chair-now draw a saint.
Oh, sorrowful and sad! the streaming tears
Channel her cheeks-a Niobe appears 1
Is this a saint? Throw tints and all awayTrue piety is cheerful as the dayWill weep indeed, and heave a pitying groan
For others' woes, but smiles upon her own.




ï~~TRUTH.
What purpose has the King of saints in view
Why falls the Gospel like a gracious dew Y
To call up plenty from the teeming earth,
Or curse the desert with a tenfold dearth
Is it that Adam's offspring may be saved
From servile fear or be the more enslaved
To loose the links that gall'd mankind before,
Or bind them faster on, and add still more?
The freeborn Christian has no chains to prove
Or, if a chain, the golden one of love:
No fear attends to quench his glowing fires,
What fear he feels his gratitude inspires.
Shall he, for such deliverance freely wrought,
Recompense ill? He trembles at the thought.
His master's interest and his own combined
Prompt every movement of his heart and mind
Thought, word, and deed his liberty evince;
His freedom is the freedom of a prince.
Man's obligations infinite, of course
His life should prove that he perceives their forceo
His utmost he can render is but smallThe principle and motive all in all.
You have two servants-Tom, an arch, sly rogue,
From top to toe the Geta now in vogue,
Genteel in figure, easy in address,
Moves without noise, and swift as an express,
Reports a message with a pleasing grace,
Expert in all the duties of his place;
Say, on what hinge does his obedience move?
Has he a world of gratitude and love?
No, not a spark-'tis all mere sharper's play;
He likes your house, your housemaid, and your pay;
Reduce his wages, or get rid of her,
Tom quits you, with-Your most obedient, Sir.
The dinner served, Charles takes his usual stand.
Watches your eye, anticipates command;
Sighs if perhaps your appetite should fail;
And if he but suspects.a frown, turns pale;
Consults all day your interest and your ease,
Richly rewarded if he can but please;
And, proud to make his firm attachment known,
To save your life would nobly risk his own.

-------------




ï~~T66                  T1h)Ti.
Now which stands highest in your serious thought 1
Charles, without doubt, say you-and so he ought;
One act that from a thankful hart proceeds,
Excels ten thousand mercenary deeds.
Thus heaven approves as honest and sincere,
The work of generous love and filial feat
But with averted eyes the omniscient Judge
Scorns the base hireling, and the slavish drudge.
Where dwell these matchless saints?--old Curia
E'en at your side, sir, and before your eyes, [cries.
The favour'd few-th' enthusiasts you despise.
And pleased at heart, because on holy ground
Sometimes a canting hypocrite is found,
Reproach a people with his single fall,
And cast his filthy garment at them all.
Attend 1-an apt similitude shall shew
Whence springs the conduct that offends you so.
See where it smokes along the sounding plain,
Blown all aslant, a driving, dashing rain,
Peal upon peal redoubling all around,
Shakes it again and faster to the groun
Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play,
Swift beyond thought the lightnings dart away.
Ere yet it came the trav'ller urged his steed,
And hurried, but with unsuccessful speed;
Now drench'd throughout, and hopeless of his case,
He drops the rein, and leaves him to his pace.
Suppose, unlook'd-for in a scene so rude,
Long hid by interposing hill or wood,
Some mansion, neat and elegantly dress'd,
By some kind hospitable heart possess'd,
Offer him warmth, security, and rest;
Think with what pleasure, safe and at his ease
He hears the tempest howling in the trees;
What glowing thanks his lips and heart employ,
While danger past is turn'd to present joy!
So fares it with the sinner when he feels
A growing dread of vengeance at his heels;
His conscience like a glassy lake before,
Lash'd into foaming waves, begins to roar;
The law grown clamorous, though silent long,
Arraigns him-charges him with every wrong--

i




ï~~Asserts the rights of his offended Lord,
And death or restitution is the word:
The last impossible, he fears the first,
And, having well deserved, expects the worst.
Then welcome refuge and a peaceful home;
Oh for a shelter from the wrath to come!
Crush me, ye rocks! ye falling mountains hide,
Or bury me in ocean's angry tide.The scrutiny of those all-seeing eyes
I dare not-And you need not, God replies;
The remedy you want I freely give;
The Book shall teach you-read, believe, and live!
'Tis done-the raging storm is heard no more.
Mercy receives him on her peaceful shore:
And Justice, guardian of the dread command,
Drops the red vengeance from his willing hand.
A soul redeem'd demands a life of praise;
Hence the complexion of his future days,
Hence a demeanour holy and unspeck'd,
And the world's hatred, as its sure effect.
Some lead a life unblamable and just,
Their own dear virtue their unshaken trust;
They never sin-or if (as all offend)
Some trivial slips their daily walks attend,
The poor are near at hand, the charge is small,
A slight gratuity atones for all.
For though the pope has lost his interest here,
And pardons are not sold as once they were,
No papist more desirous to compound,
Than some grave sinners upon English ground.
That plea refuted, other quirks they seekMercy is infinite, and man is weak;
The future shall obliterate the past,
And heaven no doubt shall be their home at last.
Come then-a still'small whisper in your earHe has no hope who never had a fear;
And he that never doubted of his state,
He may perhaps--perhaps he may-too late.
The path to bliss abounds with many a snare
Learning is one, and wit, however rare.
The Prern hman, first in literary fame
(Mention him if you please. Voltaire?-The same)




ï~~%I                  TRIUTlil.
With spirit, genius, eloquence, supplied,
Lived long, wrote much, laugh'd heartily, and died
The Scripture was his jest-book, whence he drew
Bon mets to gall the Christian and the Jew;
An infidel in health, but what when sick?
Oh-then a text would touch him at the quick:
View him at Paris in his last career,
Surrounding throngs the demigod revere;
Exalted on his pedestal of pride,
And fumed with frankincense on every side,
Hle begs their flattery with his latest breath,
And smother'd In't at last, is praised to death.
Yon cottager, who weaves at her own door,
Pillow and bobbins all her little store;
Content though mean, and cheerful if not gay,
Shuffling her threads about the livelong day,
Just earns a scanty pittance, and at night
Lies down secure, her heart and pocket light;
She, for her humble sphere by nature fit,
Has little understanding, and no wit,
Receives no praise; but, though her lot be such
(Toilsome and indigent), she renders much;
Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible triueA truith the brilliant Frenchman never knew;
And in that charter reads with sparkling eyes
Her title to a treasure in the skies.
O happy peasant! O unhappy bard!
His the mere tinsel, her's the rich reward;
He praised perhaps for ages yet to come,
She never heard of half a mile from home:
He lost in errors his vain heart prefers,
She safe in the simplicity of her's.
Not many wise, rich, noble, or profound
In science, win one inch of heavenly ground.
And is it not a mortifying thought
The poor should gain it, and the rich should not?
No-the voluptuaries, who ne'er forget
One pleasure lost, lose heaven without regret;
Regret would rouse them, and give birth to prayer;
Prayer would add faith, and faith would fix them
Not that the Former of us all in this,    [there.
Or aught he does, is govern'd by caprice




ï~~TRiUTI.                   6
The supposition is replete with sin,
And bears the brand of blasphemy burnt in.
Not so-the silver trumpet's heavenly call
Sounds. for the poor, but sounds alike for all;
Kings are invited, and, would kiigs obey,
No slaves on earth more welcome were than they:
But royalty, nobility, and state,
Are such a dead preponderating weight,
That endless bliss (bow strange soe'er it seem)
In counterpoise, flies up and kicks the beam.
'Tis open, and ye cannot enter-Why?
Because ye will not, Conyers would replyAnd he says much that many may dispute,
And cavil at with ease, but none refute.
0 bless'd effect of penury and want,
The seed sown there, how vigorous is the p)lant
No soil like poverty for growth divine,
As leanest land supplies the richest wine.
Earth gives too little, giving only bread,
To nourish pride, or turn the weakest head:
To them the sounding jargon of the schoolSeems what it is-a cap and bell for fools:
The light they walk by, kindled from above,
Shews them the shortest way to life and love:
They, strangers to the controversial field,
Where deists, always foil'd, yet scorn to yield,
And never check'd by what impedes the wise,
Believe, rush forward, and possess the prize.
Envy, ye great, the dull-unletter'd small:
Ye have much cause for envy-but not all.
We boast some rich ones whom the Gospel sways;
And one who wears a coronet and prays;
Like gleanings of an olive-tree they shew,
Here and there one upon the topmost bough.
How readily upon the Gospel plan,
That question has its answer-What isman?
Sinful and weak, in every sense a wretch;
An instrument, whose chords upon the stretch,
And strain'd to the last screw that he can bear,
Yield only discord in his Maker's ear:
Once the bless'd residence of truth divine,
Glorious as Solyma's interior shrine,




ï~~70 TRUTHi.
Where, in his own oracular abode,
Dwelt visibly the light-creating God;
But made long since, like Babylon of old,
A den of mischiefs never to be told:
And she, once mistress of the realms around,
Now scatter'd wide, and no where to be found,
As soon shall rise and re-ascend the throne,
By native power and energy her own,
As Nature, at her own peculiar cost,
Restore to man the glories he has lost.
Go-bid the winter cease to chill the year,
Replace the wandering comet in his sphere,
Then boast (but wait for that unhoped-for hour)
The self-restoring arm of human power.
But what is man in his own proud esteem?
Hear him-himself the poet and the theme:
A monarch cloth'd with majesty and awe,
His mind his kingdom, and his will his law;
Grace in his mien, and glory in his eyes,
Supreme on earth, and worthy of the skies,
Strength in his heart, dominion in his nod,
And, thunderbolts excepted, quite a god!
So sings he, charm'd with his own mind and 4 na
The song magnificent--the theme a worm!
Himself so much the source of his delight,
His Maker has no beauty in his sight.
See where he sits, contemplative and fix'd,
Pleasure and wonder in his features mix'd,
His passions tamed, and all at his control,
How perfect the composure of his soul!
Complacency has breath'd a gentle gale
O'er all his thoughts, and swell'd his easy sail:
His books well trimm'd, and in the gayest style,
Like regimental coxcombs, rank and file,
Adorn his intellects as well as shelves,
And teach him notions splendid as themselves:
The Bible only stands neglected there,
Though that of all most worthy of his care;
And like an infant troublesome awake,
Is left to sleep for peace and quiet sake.
What shall the man deserve of human kind,
Whose happy skill and industry combined




ï~~i~Ul1L

n'

Shall prove (what argument could never yet)
The Bible an imposture and a cheat?
The praises of the libertine profess'd,
The worst of men, and curses of the best.
Where should the living, weeping o'er his woes
The dying, trembling at the awful close;
Where the betray'd, forsaken, and oppress'd,
The thousands whom the world forbids to rest;
Where should they find (those comforts at an end
The Scripture yields), or hope to find, a friend?
Sorrow might muse herself to madness then,
And, seeking exile from the sight of men,
Bury herself in solitude profound,
Grow frantic with her pangs, and bite the ground.
Thus often Unbelief, grown sick of life,
Flies to the tempting pool, or felon knife.
The jury meet, the coroner is short,
And lunacy the verdict of the court.
Reverse the sentence, let the truth be known,
Such lunacy is ignorance alone;
They knew not, what some bishops may not know
That Scripture is the only cure of woe;
That field of promise, how it flings abroad
its odour o'er the Christian's thorny road!
The soul, reposing on assured relief,
Feels herself happy amidst all her grief,
Forgets her labour as she toils along,
Weeps tears of joy, and bursts into a song.
But the same word, that, like the polish'd share
Ploughs up the roots of a believer's care,
Kills too the flowery weeds, where'er they grow,
That bind the sinner's Bacchanalian brow.
Oh that unwelcome voice of heavenly love,
Sad messenger of mercy from above!
How does it grate upon his thankless ear,
Crippling his pleasures with the cramp of feari
His will and judgment at continual strife,
That civil war imbitters all his life;
In vain he points his powers against the skie..
In vain he closes or averts his eyes,
Truth will intrude-she bids him yet beware
And shakes the, sceptic in the scorner's chair.

A




ï~~'2                   ThRUTf.
Though various foes against the Truth combing
Pride above all opposes her design;
Pride, of a growth superior to the rest,
The subtlest serpent with the loftiest crest,
Swells at the thought, and, kindling into rage,
Would hiss the cherub Mercy from the stage.
And is the soul indeed so lost--she cries,
Fallen from her glory, and too weak to rise?
Torpid and dull beneath a frozen zone,
Has she no spark that may be deem'd her own?
Grant her indebted to what zealots call
Grace undeserved, yet surely not for alliome beamns of rectitude she yet displays,
Some love of virtue, and some power to praise;
Can lift herself above corporeal things,
And soaring on her own unborrow'd wings,
Possess herself of all that's good or true,
Assert the skies, and vindicate her due.
Past indiscretion is a venial crime,
And if the youth, unmellow'd yet by time,
Bore on his branch, luxuriant then and rude,
Fruits of a blighted size, austere and crude,
Maturer years shall happier stores produce,
And meliorate the well-concocted juice.
Then conscious of her meritorious zeal,
To Justice she may make her bold appeal,
And leave to Mercy, with a tranquil mind,
The worthless and unfruitful of mankind.
Hear then how Mercy, slightea and defied,
Retorts the affront against the crown of Pride
Perish the virtue, as it ought, abhorr'd,
And the fool with it who insults his Lord.
Th' atonement, a Redeemer's love has wrought,
Is not for you-the righteous need it not.
Seest thou yon harlot, wooing all she meets,
The worn-out nuisance of the public streets,
Herself from morn to night, from night to morn
Her own abhorrence and as much your scorn?
The gracious shower, unlimited and free,
Shall fall on her, when heaven denies it thee
Of all that wisdom dictates, this the drift,
That man is dead in sin, and life a gift.




ï~~TRUTil.

78

aIs virtue, then, unless of Christian growth,
Mere fallacy, or foolishness, or both?
Ten thousand sages lost in endless woe,
For ignorance of what they could not know?
That speech betrays at once a bigot's tongue,
Charge not a God with such outrageous wrong.
Truly not I-the partial light.men have,
My creed persuades me, well employ'd, may save;
While he that scorns the noon-day beam, perverse,
Shall find the blessing unimproved a curse.
Let heathen worthies, whose exalted mind
Left sensuality and dross behind,
Possess for me their undisputed lot,
And take unenvied the reward they sought;
But still in virtue of a Saviour's plea,
Not blind by choice, but destined not to see.
Their fortitude and wisdom were aflame
Celestial, though they knew not whence it came,
Derived from the same source of light and grace,
That guides the Christian in his swifter race;
Their judge was conscience, and her rule their law;
That rule, pursued with reverence, and with awe,
Led them, however faltering, faint, and slow,
From what they knew, to what they wish'd to know,
But let not him, that shares a brighter day,
Traduce the splendour of a noontide ray,
Prefer the twilight of a darker time,
And deem his base stupidity no crime:
The wretch who slights the bounty of the skies,
And sinks while favour'd with the means to rise,
Shall find them rated at their full amount;
The good he scorn'd all carried to account.
Marshalling all his terrors as he came,
Thunder, and earthquake, and devouring flame,
From Sinai's top Jehovah gave the law,
Life for obedience, death for every flaw.
When the great Sovereign would his will express,
He gives a perfect rule; what can he less?
And guards it with a sanction as severe
As vengeance can inflict, or sinners fear:
Else his own glorious rights he would disclaim,
And man might safely trifle with his name.
D




ï~~-------------

s4              EXFO ST U LAI" O N.
lie bids him glow with unremitting love
To all on earth, and to himself above;
Condemns the injurious deed, the slanderous tongue,
The thought that meditates a brother's wrong:
Brings not alone the more conspicuous part,
His conduct, to the test, but tries his heart.
Hark! universal nature shook and groan'd,
'Twas'the last trumpet-see the Judge enthroned:
Rouse all your courage at your utmost need,
Now summon every virtue, stand and plead.
What I silent? Is your boasting heard no more?
That self-renouncing wisdom, learn'd before,
Had shed immortal glories on your brow,
That all your virtues cannot purchase now.
All joy to the believer! He can speakTrembling yet happy, confident yet meek.
Since the dear hour, that brought me to thy foot,
And cut up all my follies by the root,
I never trusted in an arm but thine,
Nor hoped, but in thy righteousness divine:
My prayers and alms, imperfect and defiled,
'Were but the feeble efforts of a child;
Howe'er perform'd, it was their brightest part
That they proceeded from a grateful heart;
Cleansed in thine own allpurifying blood,
Forgive their evil, and accept their good;
I cast them at thy feet-my only plea
Is what it was, dependence upon thee;
While struggling in the vale of tears below,
That never fail'd, nor shall it fail me now.
Angelic gratulations rend the ikies,
Pride falls unpitied, never more to rise,
Humility is crown'd, and Faith receives the prize.
EXPOSTULATION.
'Tantane, tam patiens, nullo certamine tolli
Dona sines '-Virg.
WHYr weeps the muse for England? What appears,n England's case, to move the muse to tears?
From side to side of her delightful isle
Is sble not cloth'd with a perpetual smile?




ï~~EXPOIU LATION.                75
Can Nature add a charm, or Art cnhufer
A new-found luxury not seen in her?
Where under heaven is pleasure more pursued,
Or where does cold reflection less intrude
Her fields a rich expanse of wavy corn,
Pour'd out from Plenty's overflowing horn:
Ambrosill gardens, in which Art supplies
The fervour and the force of Indian skies;
Her peaceful shores, where busy Commerce waits
To pour his golden tide through all her gates;
Whom fiery suns, that scorch the russet spice
Of eastern groves, and oceans floor'd with ice,
Forbid in vain to push his daring way
To darker climes, or climes of brighter day;
Whom the winds waft where'er the billows roll.,
From the world's girdle to the frozen pole;
The chariots pounding in her wheel-worn streets,
Her vaults below, where every vintage meets;
Her theatres, her revels, and her sports;
The scenes to which not youth alone resorts,
But age, in spite of weakness and of pain,
Still haunts, in hope to dream of youth again;
All speak her happy: let the muse look round
From east to west, no sorrow can be found:
Or only what, in cottages confined,
Sighs unregarded to the passing wind.
Then wherefore weep for England? What appears
In England's case, to move the muse to tears?
The prophet wept for Israel; wish'dhis eyes
Were fountains fed with infinite supplies:
For Israel dealt in robbery and wrong;
There were the scorner's and the slanderer's tongue;
Oaths, used as playthings or convenient tools,
As interest biass'd knaves, or fashion fools;
Adultery, neighing at his neighbour's door;
Oppression, labouring hard to grind the po'r;
The partial balance, and deceitful weight;
The treacherous smile, a mask for secret hate;
Hypocrisy, formality in prayer,
And the dull service of the lip were there.
Her women, insolent, and self-caress'd,
By vanity's unwearied finger dress'd,




ï~~76             EXPOSTULATION.
Forgot the bluslih, that virgin fears impart
To modest cheeks, and borrow'd one from art;
Were just such trifles, without worth or use,
As silly pride and idleness produce;
Curl'd, scented, furbelow'd, and flounced around,
With feet too delicate to touch the ground,
They stretch'd the neck, and roll'd the wanton eyes
And sigh'd for every fool that flutter d by.
He saw his people slaves to every lust,
Lewd, avaricious, arrogant, unjust;
He heard the wheels of an avenging God
Groan heavily along the distant road;
Saw Babylon set wide her two-leaved brass
To let the military deluge pass;
Jerusalem a prey, her glory soil'd,
Her princes captive, and her treasures spoil'd;
Wept till;ll Israel heard his bitter cry,
Stamp'd with his foot, and smote upon his thigh:
But wept, and stamp'd, and smote his thigh in vain
Pleasure is deaf when told of future pain,
And sounds prophetic are too rough to suit
Ears long accustom'd to the pleasing lute;
They scorn'd his inspiration and his theme,
Pronounced him frantic,-and his fears a dream;
With self-indulgence wing'd the fleeting hours,
Till the foe found them, and down fell their towers.
Long time Assyria bound them in her chain,
Till penitence had purged the public stain,
And Cyrus, with relenting pity moved,
Return'd them happy to the land they loved;
There, proof against prosperity, awhile
They stood the test of her insnaring smile,
And had the grace in scenes of peace to shew
The virtue they had learn'd in scenes of woe.
But man is frail, and can but ill sustain
A long immunity from grief and pain;
And after all the joys that Plenty leads,
With tiptoe step Vice silently succeeds.
When he that ruled them with a shepherd's rod,
In form a man, in digmuty a god,
Came, not expected in that humble guise,
To sift and search them with unerring eyes,




ï~~EXPOSTULATION                    77
He found, conceal'd beneath a fair outside,
'he filth of rottenness, and worm of pride;
Their piety a system of deceit,
Scripture employ'd to sanctify the cheat;
'The Pharisee the dupe of his own art,
Self-idolized, and yet a knave at heart.
When nations are to perish in their sins,
'Tis in the church the leprosy begins;
The priest, whose office is with zeal sincere
To watch the fountain, and preserve it clear,
Carelessly nods and sleeps upon the brink,
While others poison what the flock must drink;
Or, waking at the call of lust alone,
Infuses lies and errors of his own;
His unsuspecting sheep believe it pure;
And, tainted by the very means of cure,
Catch from each other a contagious spot,
The foul fore-runner of a general rot.
Then Truth is hush'd, that Heresy may preach;
And all is trash, that Reason cannot reach:
Then God's own image on the soul impress'd
Becomes a mockery, and a standing jest;
And faith, the root whence only can arise
The graces of a life that wins the skies,
Loses at once all value and esteem,
Pronounced by graybeards a pernicious dream
Then Ceremony leads her bigots forth,
Prepared to fight for shadows of no worth;
While truths, on which eternal things depend,
Find not, or hardly find, a single friend:
As soldiers watch the signal of command,
They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand;
Happy to fill religion's vacant place,
With hollow form, and gesture, and grimace.
Such, when the teacher of his church was there
People and priest, 'the sons of Israel were;
Stiff in the letter, lax in the design
And import, of their oracles divine;
Their learning legendary, false, absurd
And yet exalted above God's own word;
They drew a curse from an intended good,
Puff'd up with gifts they never understood.




ï~~78             EXPOSTU LI'ION.
He judged them with as terrible a frown,
As if not love, but wrath, had brought him down
Yet he was gentle as soft summer airs,
Had grace for others' sins, but none for theirs;
Through all he spoke a noble plainness ranRhetoric is artifice, the work of man;
And tricks and turns, that fancy may devise,
Are far too mean for Him that rules the skies.
The astonish'd vulgar trembled when he tore
The mask from faces never seen before;
He stripp'd the impostors in the noon-day sun,
Shew'd that they follow'd all they seem'd to shun;
Their prayers made public, their excesses kept
As private as the chambers where they slept;
The temple and its holy rites profaned
By mummeries, he that dwelt in it disdain'd,
Uplifted hands, that at convenient times
Could act extortion and the worst of crimes,
Wash'd with a neatness scrupulously nice,
And free from every taint but that of vice.
Judgement, however tardy, mends her pace
When Obstinacy once has conquer'd Grace.
They saw distemper heal'd, and life restored,
In answer to the fiat of his word;
Confess'd the wonder, and with daring tongue
Blasphemed the authority from which it sprung.
They knew by sure prognostics seen on high,
The future tone and temper of the sky;
But, grave dissemblers! could not understand
That Sin let loose speaks Punishment at hand.
Ask now of history's authentic page,
And call up evidence from every age;
Display with busy and laborious hand
The blessings of the most indebted land;
What nation will you find, whose annals prove
So rich an interest in Almighty love?
Where dwell they now, where dwvelt in ancient day
A people planted, water'd, bless'd as they I
Let Egypt's plagues and Canaan's woes proclaim
The favours pour'd upon the Jewish name;
Their freedom purchased for them at the cost
Of all their hard oppressors valved mot;




ï~~EXP(':i' L AlIO N

79

Their title to a country not their own
Made sure by prodigies till then unknown;
For them the states they left made waste and void;
For them the states to which they went destroy'd;
A cloud to measure out their march by day,
By night a fire to cheer the gloomy way;
That moving signal summoning, when best,
Their host to move, and when it stay'd to rest.
For them the rocks dissolved into a flood;
The dews condensed into angelic food,
Their very garments sacred, old yet new,
And Time forbid to touch them as he flew;
Streams, swell'd above the bank, enjoin'd to stand,
While they pass'd through to their appointed land
Their leader arm'd with meekness, zeal, and love,
And graced with clear credentials from above;
'Themselves secured beneath the Almighty wing,
Their God, their captain,* lawgiver, and king;
Crown'd with a thousand victories, and at last
Lords of the conquer'd soil-there rooted fast;
In peace possessing what they won by war,
Their name far publish'd, and revered as far;
Where will you find a race like theirs, endow'd
With all that man e'er wish'd, or Heaven bestow'd
They, and they only, amongst all mankind,.
Received the transcript of the Eternal Mind;
Were trusted with his own engraven laws,
And constituted guardians of his cause;
T'heirs were the prophets, theirs the priestly call,
And theirs by birth the Saviour of us all.
In vain the nations, that had seen them rise
With fierce and envious, yet admiring, eyes,
Had sought to crush them, guarded as they were
By power divine, and skill that could not err.
Had they maintain'd allegiance firm and sure,
And kept the faith immaculate and pure,
Then the proud eagles of all-conquering Rome
Had foand one city not to be o'ercome;
And the twelve standards of the tribes unfurl'd
Had bid defiance to the warring world.
4 Vide Joshua, v. 14,




ï~~80            EXPOSTUIATION.
But grace abused brings forth the foulest deeds
As richest soil the most luxuriant weeds,
Cured of the golden calves, their fathers' sin,
They set up self, that idol god within;
View'd a Deliv'rer with disdain and hate,
Who left them still a tributary state;
Seized fast his hand, held out to set them free
From a worse yoke, and nail'd it to the tree;
There was the consummation dnd the crown,
The flower of Israel's infamy full blown;
Thence date their sad declension and their fall,
Their woes not yet repeal'd, thence date them all,
Thus fell the best instructed in her day,
And the most favour'd land, look where we may
Philosophy indeed on Grecian eyes
Had pour'd the day, and clear'd the Roman skies
In other climes perhaps creative Art,
With power surpassing theirs, perform'd her part,
Might give more life to marble, or might fill
The glowing tablets with a juster skill,
Might shine in fable, and grace idle themes
With all th' embroidery of poetic dreams;
'Twas theirs alone to dive into the plan
That Truth and Mercy had reveal'd to man;
And while the world beside, that plan unknown,
Deified useless wood, or senseless stone
They breath'd in faith their well-directed prayers,
And the true God, the God of truth, was theirs.
Their glory faded, and their race dispersed,
The last of nations now, though once the first;
They warn and teach the proudest, would they learn
Keep wisdom or meet vengeance in your turn:
If we escaped not, if Heaven spared not us,
Peel'd, scatter'd, and exterminated thus:
If Vice received her retribution due,
When we were visited, what hope for you?
When God arises; with an awful frown,
To punish lust, or pluck presumption down;
When gifts perverted, or not duly prized,
Pleasure o'ervalued, and his grace despised,
Provoke the vengeance of his righteous hand,
To pour down wrath upon a thankless land;




ï~~EXPOSTULATION.                   1
He will be found impartially severe,
Too just to wink, or speak the guilty clear.
Oh,jIsrael, of all nations most undone!
Thy diadem displaced, thy sceptre gone;
Thy temple, once thy glory, fallen and razed,
And thou a worshipper e'en where thou may'st;
rhy services, once holy, without spot,
Mere shadows now, their ancient pomp forgot;
Thy Levites, once a consecrated host,
No longer Levites, and their lineage lost,
And thou thyself, o'er every covutry sown,
With none on earth that thou canst call thine
own;
Cry aloud, thou that sittest in the dust,
Cry to the proud, the cruel, and unjust;
Knock at the gates of nations, rouse their fears;
Say wrath is coming, and the storm appears,;
But raise the shrillest cry in British ears.
What ails thee, restless as the waves that roar,
And fling their foan? against thy chalky shore?
Mistress, at least while Providence shall please,
And trident-bearing queen of the wide seasWhy, having kept good faith, and often shewn
Friendship and truth to others, find'st thou none t
Thou that hast set the persecuted free,
None interposes now to.succour thee.
Countries indebted to thy power, that shine
With light derived from thee, would smother thine 
Thy very children watch for thy disgrace--
A lawless brood, and curse thee to thy face.
Thy rulers load thy credit, year by year,
With sums Peruvian mines could never clear
As if, like arches built with skilful hand,
The more 'twere press'd the firmer it would stand.
The cry in all thy ships is still the same
Speed us away to battle and to fame.
Thy mariners explore the wide expanse,
Impatient to descry the flags of France;
But, though they fight as thine have ever fought,
Return ashamed without the wreaths they sought.
Thy senate is a scene of civil jar,,Chas of contrarieties at war;
D2




ï~~BSEXPOITTLtTION.
Where sharp and solid, phlegmatic and light,
Discordant atoms meet, ferment, and fight -
Where Obstinacy takes his sturdy stand,
To disconcert what Policy has plann'd;
Where Policy is busied all night long
In setting right what Faction has set wrong;
Where flails of oratory thrash the floor,
That yields them chaff and dust, and nothing maor.
Thy rack'd inhabitants repine, complain,
Tax'd till the brow of Labour sweats in vain
War lays a burden on the reeling state,
And pe.ace does nothing to relieve the weight:
Sucessive loads succeeding broils impose,
And sighing millions prophesy the close.
Is adverse Providence, when ponder'd well,
So dimly writ, or difficult to spell,
Thou  anst not read with readiness and ease
Providence adverse in events like these l
Know then that heavenly wisdom on this ball
Creates, gives birth to, guides,consummates al[
That, while laborious and quick-thoughted man
Snuffs op the praise of what he seems to plan,
He first conceives, then perfects his design,
As a mere instrument in hands divine:
Blind to the working of that secret power,
That balances the wings of every hour,
The busy trifler dreams himself alone,
Frames many a purpose, and God works his own,
States thrive or wither as moons wax and wane,
E'en as.his will and his decrees ordain;
While honour, virtue, piety, bear sway,
They flourish; and, as these decline, decay:
In just resentment of his injured laws,
He pours contempt on them and on their cause;
Strikes the rough thread of error right athwart
The web of every scheme they have at heart;
Bids rottenness invade and bring to dust
The pillars of support, in which they trust,
And do his errand of disgrace and shame
On the chief strength and glory of the franme.
None ever yet impeded what he wrought,
None bars him out from his most secret thought;
liI




ï~~EXPOSTULATION.                  82
Darkness itself before his eye is light,
And hell's close mischief naked in his sight.
Stand now and judge thyself-Hast thou incurr'd
His anger, who can waste thee with a word,
Who.poises and proportions sea and land,
Weighing them in the hollow of his hand,
And in whose awful sight all nations seem
As grasshoppers, as dust, a drop, a dream?
Hast thou (a sacrilege his soul abhors)
Claim'd all the glory of thy prosperous wars?
Proud of thy fleets and armies, stolen the gem
Of his just praise, to lavish it on them?
Hast thou not learn'd, what thou art often told,
A truth still.sacred, and believed of old,
That no success attends on spears and swords
Unbless'd, and that the battle is the Lord's?
That courage is his creature; and dismay
The post, that at his bidding speeds away,
Ghastly in feature, and his stammering tongue
With doleful rumour and sad presage hung,
To quell the valour of the stoutest heart,
And teach the combatant a woman's part?
That he bids thousands fly when none pursue,
Saves as he will by many or by few,
And claims for ever, as his royal right,
The event and sure decision of the fight?
Hast thou, though suckled at fair Freedoli's breast,
Exported slavery to the conquer'd east?
Pull'd down the tyrants India served with aread,
And raised thyself a greater, in their stead?
Gone thither arm'd and hungry, return'd fall;
Fed from the richest veins of the Mogul,
A despot big with power obtain'd by wealth,
And that obtain'd by rapine and by stealth?
With Asiatic vices stored thy mind,
But left their virtues and thine own behind?
And, having truck'd thy soul, brought home the fee,
To tempt the poor to sell himself to thee?
Hast thou by statute shoved from its design
The Saviour's feast, his own bless'd bread and wine,
And made the symbols of atoning grace
An office-key, a picklock to a place,




ï~~SEXPOSTUILTION.
That infidels may prove their title good
By an oath dipp'd in sacramental blood?
A blot that will be still a blot, in spite
Of all that grave apologists may write;
And though a bishop toil to cleanse the stain,
He wipes and scours the silver cup in vain.
And hast thou sworn on every slight pretence,
Till perjuries are common as bad pence,
While thousands, careless of the damning sin,
Kiss the book's outside, who ne'er look'd within?
Hast thou, when Heaven has cloth'd thee with dis.And, long provoked, repaid thee to thy face [grace,
(For thou hast known eclipses, and endured
Dimness and anguish, all thy beams obscured,
When sin has shed dishonour on thy brow;
And never of a sabler hue than now),
Hast thou, with heart perverse and conscience sear'd,
Despising all rebuke, still persevered,
And having chosen evil, scorn'd the voice
That cried, Repent!-and gloried in thy choice?
Thy fastings, when calamity at last
Suggest the expedient of a yearly fast,
What mean they? Canst thou dream there is a power
In lighter diet at a later hour,
To charm to sleep the threatening of the skies,
And hide past folly from all-seeing eyes?
The fast, that wins deliverance, and suspends
The stroke, that a vindictive God intends,
Is to renounce hypocrisy; to draw
Thy life upon the pattern of the law;
To war with pleasure, idolized before,
To vanquish lust, and wear its yoke no more.
All fasting else, whate'er be the pretence,
Is wooing mercy by renew'd offence.
Hast thou within the sin, that in old time
Brought fire from heaven, the sex-abusing crime,
Whose horrid perpetration stamps disgrace,
Baboons are free from, upon human race?
Think on the fruitful and well-water'd spot,
That fed the flocks and herds of wealthy Lot,
Where Paradise seem'd still vouchsafed on earth,
Burning and scorch'd into perpetual dearth,




ï~~EXPOSTU LATION.                 85
Or, in his words who damn'd the base desire,
Suffering the vengeance of eternal fire:
Then Nature injured, scandalized, defiled,
Unvell'd her blushing cheek, look'd on, and smiled;
Beheld with joy the lovely scene defaced,
And praised the wrath that laid her beauties waste.
Far be the thought from any verse of mine,
And farther still the fornm'd and fix'd design,
To thrust the charge of deeds that I detest,
Against an innocent, unconscious breast:
The man that dares traduce, because he can
With safety to himself, is not a man:
An individual is a sacred mark,
Not to be pierced in play, or in the dark;
But public censure speaks a public foe,
Unless a zeal for virtue guide the blow.
The priestly brotherhood, devout, sincere,
From mean self-int'rest and ambition clear,
Their hope in Heaven, servility their scorn,
Prompt to persuade, expostulate, and warn,
Their wisdom pure, and given them from above.
Their usefulness ensured by zeal and love,
As meek as the man Moses, and withal
As bold as in Agrippa's presence Paul,
Should fly the world's contaminating touch,
Holy and unpolluted:-are thine such?
Except a few, with Eli's spirit bless'd,
Hophni and Phinehas may describe the rest.
Where shall a teacher look, in days like these.
For ears and hearts, that he can hope to please 9
Look to the poor-the simple and the plain
Will hear perhaps thy salutary strain:
Humility is gentle, apt to learn,
Speak but the word, will listen and return.
Alas! not so: the poorest of the flock'
Are proud, and set their faces as a rock;
Denied that earthly opuleuce they choose,
God's better gift they scoff at and refuse.
The rich, the produce of a nobler stem,
Are more intelligent at least-try them.
Oh vain inquiry! they without remorse
Are altogether gone a devious course;




ï~~1             EXPOSTULATION.
Where beckoning Pleasure leads them, wildly stray
Have burst the bands, and cast the yoke away.
Now borne upon the wings of truth sublime,
Review thy dim original and prime.
This island, spot of unreclaim'd rude earth,
The cradle that received thee at thy birth,
Was rock'd by many a rough Norwegian blast,
And Danish howlings scared thee as they pass'd;
For thou wast born amid the din of arms,
And suck'd a breast that panted with alarms.
While yet thou wast a grovelling puling chit,
Thy bones not fashion'd, and thy joints not knit,
The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow,
Though twice a Caesar could not bend thee now:
His victory was that of orient iight,
When the sun's shafts disperse the gloom of night.
Thy language at this distant moment shews
How much the country to tihe conqueror owes;
Expressive, energetic, and relined,
It sparkles with the gems he left behina:
He brought thy land a blessing when he came;
He found thee savage and he left thee tame;
Taught thee to clothe thy pink'd and painted hide
And grace thy figure with a soldier's pride;
He sow'd the seeds of order where he went,
Improved thee far beyond his own intent;
And while he ruled thee by the sword alone,
Made thee at last a warrior like his own.
Religion, if in heavenly truths attired,
Needs only to be seen to be admired;
But thine, as dark as witcheries of the night,
Was form'd to harden hearts and shock the sight;
Thy Druids struck the well-strung harps they bore
With fingers deeply dyed in human gore;
And while the victim slowly bled to death,
Upon the rolling chords rung out his dying breath.
Who brought the lamp, that with awaking beams
Dispell'd thy gloom, and broke away thy dreams,
Tradition, now decrepit and worn out,
Babbler of ancient fables, leaves a doubt:
But still light reach'd thee; and those gods of thine,
Woden and Thor, each tottering in his shrine,




ï~~


ï~~.f
s
s
J
I, 1                                                                                     I
I l 'Off           1                                    i




ï~~E  i'..                    87
Fell broken and defaced at his owvi door,
As Dagon in Philistia lon.- before.
But Rome, with sorceries and magic wand,
Soon raised a cloud that darken'd every land;
And thine was sminother'd in the stench and fog
Of Tiber's marshes and the papal bog.
Then priests, with bulls, and briefs, and shaven crowns.
And griping fists, and unrelenting frowns,
Legates and delegates, with powers from hell,
Though heavenly in pretension, fleeced thee well;
And to this hour, to keep it fresh in mind,
Some twigs of that old scourge are left behind.*
Thy soldiery, the Pope's well-managed pack,
Were train'd beneath his lash, and knew the smack
And when he laid them on the sceat of blood,
Would hunt a Saracen through fire and flood.
Lavish of life, to win an empty tomb,
That proved a mint of wealth, a mine to Rome,
They left their bones beneath unfriendly skies,
His worthless absolution all the prize.
Thou wast the veriest slaf in days of yore,
That ever dragg'd a chain, or tugg'd an oar;
Thy monarchs arbitrary, fierce, unjust,
Themselves the slaves of bigotry or lust,
Disdain'd thy counsels, only in distress
Found thee a goodly sponge for power to press.
Thy chiefs, the lords of many a petty fee,
Provoked and harass'd, in return plagued thee;
Call'd thee away from peaceable employ,
Domestic happiness and rural joy,
To waste thy life in arms, or tay it down
In causeless feuds and bickerings of their own
Thy parliaments adored on bended knees
The sov'reignty they were convened to please
Whate'er was ask'd, too timid to resist,
Complied with, and were graciously dismiss'd l
And if some Spartan soul a doubt express'd,
And, blushing at the tameness of the rest,
Dared to suppose the subject had a, choice,
He was a traitor by the general voice.
* Which may be found at Doctors' Connous.




ï~~88            EXPOSTULATION.
Oh slave! with powers thou didst not dare exert,
Verse cannot stoop so low as thy desert;
It shakes the sides of splenetic Disdain,
Thou self-entitled ruler of the main,
To trace thee to the date when yon fair sea,
That clips thy shores, had no such charms for thee
When other nations flew from coast to coast,
And thou hadst neither fleet nor flag to boast,
Kneel now, and lay thy forehead in the dust;
Blush, if thou canst; not petrified, thou must:
Act but an honest and a faithful part;
Compare what then thou wast with what thou art;
And God's disposing providence confess'd,
Obduracy itself must yield the restThen thou art bound to serve him, and to prove,
Hour after hour, thy gratitude and lhve.
Has he not hid thee, and thy favour'd land,
For ages safe beneath his sheltering hand,
Given thee his blessing on the clearest proof,
Bid nations leagued against thee stand aloof,
And charged Hostility and Hate to roar
Where else they would, but not upon thy shore?
His power secured thee, when presumptuous Spain
Baptized her fleet invincible in vain.
Her gloomy monarch, doubtful and resi.gn'd
To every pang that racks an anxious mind,
Ask'd of the waves, that broke upon his coast,
What tidings? and the surge replied-AllI lost!
And when the Stuart, leaning on the Scot,
Then too much fear'd, and now too much forgot,
Pierced to the very centre of the realm,
And hoped to seize his abdicated helm,
'Twas but to prove how quickly with a frownv
Ile that had raised thee could have pluck'd thee down.
Peculiar is the grace by thee possess'd,
Thy foes implacable, thyland at rest;
Thy thunders travel over earth and seas,
And all at home is pleasure, wealth, and ease.
'Tis thus, extending his tempestuous arm,
Thy Maker fills the nations with alarm,
While his own heaven surveys the troubled scene,
And feels no change, ilnshaken and serene.




ï~~EXPOSTU LATION.

80

Freedom in other lands scarce known to shine,
Pours out a flood of splendour upon thine;
rhou hast as bright an interest in her rays
As ever Roman had in Rome's best days.
True freedom is where no restraint is known,
That Scripture, justice, and good sense disown,
Where only vice and injury are tied,
And all from shore to shore is free beside.
Such freedom is-and Windsor's hoary towers
Stood trembling at the boldness of thy powers,
That won a nymph on that immortal plain
Like her the fabled Phoebus woo'd in vain:
He found the laurel only-happier you
The unfading laurel, and the virgin too!*
Now think, if Pleasure have a thought to spare
If God himself be not beneath her care;
If Business, constant as the wheels of time,
Can pause an hour to read a serious rhyme;
If the new mail thy merchants now receive,
Or expectation of the next, give leave;
Oh think I if chargeable with deep arrears
For such indulgence gilding all thy years,
How much, though long neglected, shining yet,
The beams of heav'nly truth have swell'd the debt
When persecuting zeal made royal sport
With tortured innocence in Mary's court,
And Bonner, blithe as shepherd at a wake,
Enjoy'd the show and danced about the stake;
The sacred Book, its value understood,
Received the seal of martyrdom in blood.
Those holy men, so full of truth and grace,
Seem to reflection of a different race;
Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere,
In such a cause they could not date to fear;
They could not purchase earth with such a prize
Or spare a life too short to reach the skies.
From them to thee convey'd along the tide,
Their streaming hearts pour'd freely when they died;
Those truths, which neither use nor years impa ir,
Invite thee, woo thee, to the bliss they share.
* Alluding to the grant of Magna Charta, which was extorted
from King john by tht barons at Runnymede near Windsor.
G




ï~~DB            EXPOSTiiLATIUN.
What dotage will not vanity maintain?.
What web too weak to catch a modern brain V
The moles and bats in full assembly find,
On special search, the keen-eyed eagle blind.
And did they dream, and art thou wiser now "
Prove it-if better, I submit, and bow.
Wisdom and goodness are twin-born, one heart
MIust hold btth sisters, never seen apart.
So thcn-as darkness overspread the deep,
Ere Nature rose from her eternal sleep,
And this delightful earth, and that fair sky,
Leap'd out of nothing, call'd by the Most High
By such a change thy darkness is made light,
Thy chaos order, and thy weakness might;
And lie, whose power mere nullity obeys,
Who found thee nothing, form'd thee for his praise
To praise him is to serve him, and fulfil,
Doing and suffering his unquestion'd will;
'Tis to believe what men inspired of old,
Faithful, and faithfully inform'd unfold;
Candid and just, with no false aim in view,
To take for truth what cannot but be true;
T) learn in God's own school the Christian part,
And bind the task assign'd thee to thine heart:
Happy the man there seeking and there found
happy the nation where such men abound.
flow shall a verse impress thee? by what name
Shall I adjure thee not to court thy shame?
By theirs, whose bright example unimpeach'd
Directs thee to that eminence they reach'd,
leroes and worthies of days past, thy sires?
Or his, who touch'd their hearts with hallow'd fires t
cheir names, alas! in vain reproach an age.
Whom all the vanities they scorn'd engage!
And His, that seraphs tremble at, is hung
l)isgracefully on every trifler's tongue,
Or serves the champion in forensic war
To flourish and parade with at the bar.
Pleasure herself perhaps suggests a plea,
i f interest move thee, to persuade e'en thee;
I}y every charm that smiles upon her face,
By joys possess'd and joys still held in chase,




ï~~EX lOS'i'TU LATION.           91
If dear society be worth a thought,
And if the feast of freedom cloy thee not,
Reflect that these, and all that seems thine own,
Held by the tenure of his will alone,
Like angels in the service of their Lora,
Remain with thee, or leave thee at his word;
That gratitude and temperance in our use
Of what he gives, unsparing and profuse,
Secure the favour and enhance the joy;
That thankless waste and wild abuse destroy.
But above all, reflect, how cheap soe'er
Those rights, that millions envy thee, appear,
And, though resolved to risk them, and swim down
The tide of pleasure, heedless of His frown,
That blessings truly sacred, and when given,
Mark'd with the signature and stamp of Heaven,
The word of prophecy, those truths divine,
Which make that heaven, if thou desire it, thine
(Awful alternative! believed, beloved,--
Thy glory and thy shame if unimproved),
Are never long vouchsafed, if push'd aside
With cold disgust or philosophic pride!
And that judicially withdrawn, disgrace,
Error, and darkness, occupy their place.
A world is up in aims, and thou, a spot
Not quickly found, if negligently sought,
Thy soul as ample as thy bounds are small,
Endur'st the brunt, and dar'st defy them all:
And wilt thou join to this bold enterprise
A bolder still, a contest with the skies?
Remember, if He guard thee, and secure,
Whoe'er assails thee, thy success is sure;
But if He leave thee, though the skill and power
Of nations sworn to spoil thee and devour,
Were all collected in thy single arm,
And thou could'st laugh away the fear of harm,
That strength would fail, opposed against the push
And feeble onset of a pigmy rush.
Say not (and if the thought of such defence
Should spring within thy bosom, drive it thence)
What nation amongst all my foes is free
From crimes as base as any charged on met




ï~~92                    l()'E.
Their measure fill'd, they too shall par the debt,
Which God, though long forborne, will npot forget.
But know that wrath divine, when most severe,
Makes justice still the guide of his career,
And will not punish, in one mingled crowd,
Them without light, and thee without a cloud.
Muse, hang this harp upon yon aged beech,
Still murmuring with the solemn truths I teach;
And while at intervals a cold blast sings
Through the dry leaves, and pants upon the strings
My soul shall sigh in secret, and lament
A nation scourged, yet tardy to repent.
I know the warning song is sung in vain;
That few will hear, and fewer heed the strain;
But if a sweeter voice, and one design'd
A blessing to my country and mankind,
Reclaim the wanderiog thousands, and bring home
A flock so scatter'd and so wont to roam,
Then place it once again between my knees;
The sound of truth will then be sure to please:
And truth alone, where'er my life be cast
In scenes of plenty, or the pining waste,
Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last.
HOPE....... doceas iter, et sacra ostia pandas.-FVirg. En. 5.
AsK what is human life-the sage replies,
With disappointment lowering in his eyes,
A painful passage o'er a restless flood,
A vain pursuit of fugitive false good,
A sceine of fancied bliss and heartfelt care,
Closing at last in darkness and despair.
The poor, inured to drudgery and distress,
Act without aim, think little, and feel less,
And nowhere, but in feign'd Arcadian scenes,
Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means.
Riches are pass'd away from hand to hand,
us fortune, vice, or folly may command;




ï~~HOPE. 
As in a dance the pair that take the lead
Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed,
So shifting and so various is the plan,
By which Heaven rules the mix'd affairs of man;
Vicissitude wheels round the motley crowd,
The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud;
Business is labour, and man's weakness such,
Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much.
The very sense of it foregoes its use,
By repetition pall'd, by age obtuse.
Youth lost in dissipation we deplore,
Through life's sad remnant, what no sighs restorb
Our years, a fruitless race without a prize,
Too many, yet too few to make us wise.
Dangling his cane about, and taking snuff,
Lothario cries, What philosophic stuffO querulous and weak!-whose useless brain
Once thought of nothing, and now thinks in vain;
Whose eye reverted weeps o'er all the past,
Whose prospect shews thee a disheartening waste;
Would age in thee resign his wintry reign,
And youth invigorate that frame again,
Renew'd desire would grace with other speech
Joys always prized, when placed within our reach.
F:or lift thy palsied head, shake off the gloom
That overhangs the borders of thy tomb,
See Nature gay, as when she first began
With smiles alluring her admirer man;
She spreads the morning over eastern hills,
Earth glitters with the drops the night distils;
The sun obedient at her call appears,
To fling his glories o'er the robe she wears: sounds,
Banks cloth'd with flowers, groves frll'd with sprightly
The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rising grounds
Streams edged with osiers, fattening every field,
Where'er they flow, now seen and now conceal'd
From the blue rim, where skies and mountains meet,
Down to the very turf beneath thy feet,
Ten thousand charms, that only fools despise,
Or Pride can look at with indifferent eyes,
All speak one lan guage, all with one sweet voice
Cry to her universal realm, Rejoice!




ï~~94                   HOPE.
Ian feels the spur of passions and desires,
And she gives largely more than he requires;
Not that his hours devoted all to Care.
Hollow-eyed Abstinence, and-lean D)espair,:
The wretch may pine, while to hissmell, taste, sighil
She holds a paradise of:rich delight;
But gently to rebuke his awkward fea.,
To prove that what she gives she gve si ncere;
To banish hesitation, and proclaim
His happiness, her dear, her'onlv aim.
'Tis grave Philosophy's absurdest dream,
That Heaven's intentions are not what they seem,
That only shadows are dispensed below,
And earth has no reality but woe.
Thus things teirrestrial wear a different hue,
As Youth or Age persuades; and neither true.
So Flora's wreath through colour'd crystal seen
The rose or lily appears blue or green,
But still the imputed tintsare those alone
The medium' represents, and not their own.
To rise at noon, sit slipshod and -undress'd,
To read the news, or fiddle, as seems best,
Till half the world co)mes rattling at his door,
To fill the dull vacuity till four;.
And, just wlhen evening turns the blue vault gray,
To spend two hours in dressing for the day;
To make the. su a.a bauble without use,
Save for the fruits his heavenly.heanms produce;
Quite to forget, or deem it worth no thought,
Who bids him shine, or if he shine or not;
Through mere necessity to close his eyes
Just when the larks and when the shepherds rise;
Is such a life, so tediously the same,
So void of all utility or aim,
That poor Jonquil, with almost every breath,
Sighs for his exit, vulgarly cal'd death;
For he, with all his follies, has a mind
Not yet so blank, or fashionably blind,
But now and thea perhaps a feeble ray
Of distant wisdom shoots across his way,
By which he reads, that life without a plane,
As useless as the moment it began,




ï~~;1 OFP.
Serves merely as a soil for discontent:
To thrive in; an encumbrance ere half spent.
Oh weariness beyond what asses feel,
That tread the circuit of the cistern wheel;
A dull rotation, never at a stay,
Yesterday's face twin-image of to-day;
While conversation, an exhausted stock,
Grows drowsy as:re clicking of a clock.
No need, he cries; of gravity stuff'"d out
With academic dimnity devout,
To read wise lectures, vanity the text:
Proclaim the remedy, ye learned, next;
For truth self-evident, with pomp impres'd,
Is vanity surpassing all-the rest.
That remedy, not hid in deeps profound,
Yet seldoma sought where only to be found,.
While passion turns aside from its due scope
The inquirer's aim, that remedy is hope.
Life is His gift, from whomn whate'er life needi,
With every good and perfect gift, proceeds;
Bestow'd on man, like all that we partake,
Royally, freely, for his bounty's sake;
Transient, indeed, as is the fleeting hour,
And yet the seed of an immortal flower;
Desi gn'd in honour of his endless love,
To fill with fragrance his abode above;
No trifle, howsoever short it seem,
And, howsoever shadowy, no dream;
Its value, what no thought cas~ ascertain
Nor all an angel's- eloquence explain;
Men deal with life as children with their play,
Who first.s-ue, then -cast their toys away;
Live to no sober purpose, ani4 contendm
That their Creator had no serious end.
When God and man stand opposite in view,
Man's disappointment must of course ensue
The just Creator condescends to write,
In beams of inextinguishable light,
His names of wisdom, goodness, power,; and love,
On all that blooms below or shines above;
To catch the wandering notice of mankind,
And teach the world, if not perversely blind

--t-2




ï~~96                   HOPE.
His gracious attributes, and prove the share
His offspring hold in his paternal care.
If, led from earthly things to things divine,
His creature thwart not his august design,
Then praise is heard instead of reasoning pride,
And captious cavil and complaint subside.
Nature, employ'd in her allotted'place,
Is handmaid to the purposes of Grace;
By good vouchsafed makes known superior good
And bliss not seen by blessings understood:
That bliss reveal'd in Scripture, with a glow
Bright as theb covenant-ensuring bow,
Fires all his feelings with a noble scorn
Of sensual evil, and thus Hope is born.
Hope sets the' stamp of vanity on all
That mei have deem'd substantial since the fall,
Yet has the wondrous virtne to educe
From emptiness itself a real use:
And while she takes, as at her father's hand
What health arid sober appetite demand,
Fo m fading good derives, with chemic art,
That lasting happiness, a thankful heart.
Hope, with uplifted foot, set free from earth,
Pants for the place of her ethereal birth,
On steady wings sails through th' immense abyss
Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss,
And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner her'e,
With Wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear.
Hope, as an.,anchor firm and sure, holds fast
The Christian vessel, and defies the blast.
Hope! nothing else can nourish sand secure
His new-born virtues, and preserve him pure.
Hope let the wretek, once conscious of the joy,
Whom now despairing agonies destroy,
Speak, for he can, and none so well as he,
What treasures centre, what delights in thee.
Had hie the gems, the spices, and the land a
That boasts the treasure, all at his commandThe fragrant grove, th' inestimable mine,
Were light, when weigh'd against one smile of thine
Though clasp'd and cradled in his nurse's arms,
He shines with all a cherub's artless charms,




ï~~HOPE.                      ill
Man is the genuine offspring of revolt,
Stubborn and sturdy, as a wild ass' colt;
His passions, like the watery stores that sleep
Beneath the smiling surface of the deep,
Wait but the lashes of a wintry storm,
To frown and roar and shake his feeble form.
From ipfancy through childhood's giddy maze,
Froward at school and fretful in his plays,
The puny tyrant burns to subjugate
The free republic of the wip-gig state.
If one, his equal in athletic frame,
Or, more provoking still, of nobler name,
Dare step across his arbitrary views,
An Iliad, only not in verse, ensues:
The little Greeks look trembling at the scales,
Till the best tongue, or heaviest hand, prevails.
Now see him launch'd into the world at largal
if priest, supinely droning o'er his charge,
Their fleece his pillow, and his weekly drawl,
Though short, too long, the price he pays for all.
If lawyer, loud whatever cause hlie plead,
But proudest of the worst, if that succeed.
Perhaps a grave physician, gathering fees,
Punctually paid for lengthening out disease;
No Cotton, whose humanity sheds rays,
That make superior skill his second praise.
If arms engage him, he devotes to sport
His date of life so likely to be short;
A soldier may be any thing, if brave,
So may a tradesman if not quite a knave.
Such stuff the world is matde of; and mankind
To passion, interest, pleasure, whim resign'd,
Insist on, as if each were his own pope,
Forgiveness, and the privilege of hope.
But Conscience, in some awful, silent hour,
When captivating lusts have lost their power,
Perhaps when sickness, or some fearful dream,
Reminds him of religion, hated theme!
Starts from the down on which she lately slept
And tells of laws despised, at least not kept:
Shews with a pointing finger, but no noise,
A pale procession of past sinful joys;
E




ï~~IC

asHOPE.
All witnesses of blessings foully scorn'd,
And life abused, and not to bo suborn'd.
Mark these, she says; these summon'd from afar.
Begin their march to meet thee at the bar
There find a Judge inexorably just,
And perish there as all presumption must.
Peace be to those (such peace as earth can give)
Who live in pleasure, dead e'en while they live;
Born capable indeed of heavenly truth;
But down to latest age, from earliest youth,
Their mind a wilderness through want of care,
The plough of wisdom never entering there.
Peace (if insensibility may claim
A right to the meek honours of her name)
To men of pedigree, their noble race,
Emulous alvays of the nearest place
To any throne, except the throne of Grace.
Let cottagers and unenlighten'd swains
Revere the laws they dream that Heaven ordains;
Resort on Sundays to the house of prayer,
And ask, and fancy they find, blessings there.
Themselves, perhaps, when weary they retreat
T' enjoy cool nature in a country seat,
T' exchange the centre of a thousand trades,
For clumps and lawns, and temples and cascades,
May now and then their velvet cushions take,
And seem to pray for good example's sake;
Judging, in charity, no doubt, the town
Pious enough, and having need of none.
Kind souls! to teach their tenantry to prize
What they themselves,.without remorse, despise:
Nor hope have they, nor fear, of aught to come,
As well for them had prophecy been dumb;
They could have held the conduct they pursue,
Had Paul of Tarsus lived and died a J.w,
And truth, proposed to reasoners wise as they,
Is a pearl cast-completely cast away.
They die--Death lends them, pleased, and as in
sport,
All the grim honours of his ghastly court.
Par otter paintings grace the chamber now,
Where late we saw the mimic landscape glow*




ï~~HOPE.                     99
The busy heralds hang the sable scene
With mournful 'scutcheons, and dim lamps between
Proclaim their titles to the crowd around,
But they that wore them move not at the sound;
The coronet, placed idly at their head,
Adds nothing now to the degraded dead;
And e'en the star, that glitters on the bier,
Can only say-Nobilty lies here.
Peace to all such-'twere pity to offend,
By useless censure whom we cannot mend;
Life without hope can close but in despair,
'Twas there we found them, and must leave them
As when two pilgrims in a forest stray,  [there.
Both may be lost, yet each in his own way;
So fares it with the multitudes beguiled
In vain Opinion's waste and dangerous wild;
Ten thousand rove the brakes and thorns among,
Some eastward, and some westward, and all wrong.
But here, alas I the fatal difference lies,
Each man's belief is right in his own eyes;
And he that blames what they have blindly chose
Incurs resentment for the love he shews.
Say, botanist, within whose province fall
The cedar and the hyssop on the wall,
Of all that deck the lanes, the fields, the bowers,
What parts the kindred tribes of weeds'arid flowers?
Sweet scent, or lovely form, or both combined,
Distinguish every cultivated kind:
The want of both denotes a meaner breed,
And Chloe from her garland picks the weed.
Thus hopes of every sort, whatever sect
Esteem them, sow them, rear them and protect,
If wild in nature, and not duly found,
Gethsemane! in thy dear hallow'd ground,
That cannot bear the blaze of Scripture light,
Nor cheer the spirit, nor refresh the sight,
Nor animate the soul to Christian deeds,
(Oh, cast them from thee!) are weeds, arrant weed,
' Ethelred's house, the centre of six ways,
Diverging each from each, like equal rays,
Himself as bountiful as April rains,
Lord paramount of the surrounding plains.




ï~~100                  HOPE
Would give relief of bed and board to none
But guests that sought it in the appointed One
And they might enter at his open door,
E'en till his spacious hall would hold no more.
He sent a servant forth-by every road,
To sound his horn, and publish it abroad,
That all might mark-knight, menial, high, and
low,
An ordinance it concern'd them much to know.
If, after all, some headstrong hardy lout
Would disobey, though sure to be shut out,
Could he with reason murmur at his case,
Himself sole author of his own disgrace?
No! the decree was just and without flaw;
And he, that made, had right to make the law;
His sovereign power and pleasure unrestrain'd,
Tlhe wrong was his who wrongfully complain'd
Yet half mankind maintain a churlish strife
With Him, the Donor of eternal life,
Because the deed by which his love confirms
The largess he bestows, prescribes the terms.
Compliance with his will your lot ensures,
Accept it only, and the boon is yours.
And sure it is as kind to smile and give,
As with a frown to say, Do this, and live.
Love is not pedlar's trumpery bought and sold
He will give freely, or he will withlthold;
His soul abhors a mercenary thought,
And him as deeply who abhors it not;
He stipulates, indeed, but merely this,
That man will freely take an unbought bliss,
Will trust him for a faithful generous part,
Nor set a price upon a willing heart.
Of all the ways that seem to promise fair,
To place you where his saints his presence
share,
This only can; for this plain cause, express'd
In terms as plain, Himself has shut the rest.
But oh the strife, the bickering, and debate,
The tidings of unpurchased Heaven create!
The flirted fan, the bridle and the toss,
All speakers, yet all language at a loss.
1i,
Ii




ï~~HOPE.

1()

From stuaccoed walls smart arguments rebound;
And beaus, adept in every thing profound,
Die of disdain, or whistle off the sound.
Such is the clamour of rooks, daws, and kites,
The explosion of the levell'd tube excites,
Where mouldering abbey-walls o'erhang the glade,
And oaks coeval spread a mournful shade;
The screaming nations, hovering in mid air,
Loudly resent the stranger's freedom there,
And seem to warn him never to repeat
His bold intrusion on their dark retreat
Adieu, Vinosa cries, ere yet he sips
The purple bumper, trembhling at his lips,
Adieu to all morality! if grace
Make works a vain ingredient in the case.
The Christian hope is-Waiter, draw the corkIf I mistake not-Blockhead! with a fork!
Without good works, whatever some may boast,
Mere folly and delusion-Sir, your toast.
My firm persuasion is, at least sometimes,
That Heaven will weigh man's virtues and his
crimes
With nice attention, in a righteous scale,
And save or damn as these or those prevail.
I plant my foot upon this ground of trust,
And silence every fear with-God is just.
But if perchance on some dull drizzling day
A thought intrude, that says, or seems to say,
If thus the important cause is to be tried,
Suppose the beam should dip on the wrong side;
I soon recover from these needless frights,
And God is merciful-sets all to rights.
Thus between justice, as my prime support,
And mercy, fled to as the last resort,
I glide and steal along with heaven in view,
And,-pardon me, the bottle stands with you.
I never will believe, the Colonel cries,
The sanguinary schemes that some devise,
Who make the good Creator on their plan
A being of less equity than man.
If appetite, or what divines call lust,
Which men comply with, e'en because they must




ï~~102                   Hl1PE.
Be punish'd with perdition, who is pure?
Then theirs, no doubt, as well as mine is sure.
If sentence of eternal pain belong
To every sudden slip and transient wrong,
Then Heaven enjoins the fallible and frail
A hopeless task, and damns them if they fail.
My creed (whatever some creed-makers mean
By Athanasian nonsense, or Nicene)My creed is, he is safe that does his best,
And death's a doom sufficient for the rest.
Right, says an Ensign; and, for aught  see,
Your faith and mine substantially agree;
The best of every man's performance here
Is to discharge the duties of his sphere.
A lawyer's dealings should be just and fair,
Honesty shines with great advantage there.
Fasting and prayer sit well upon a priest,
A decent caution and reserve at least.
A soldier's best is courage in the field,
With nothing here that wants to be conceal'd.
Manly deportment, gallant, easy, gay ]
A hand as liberal as the light of day.
The soldier thus endow'd, who never shrinks,
Nor closets up his thoughts, whate'er he thinks,
Who scorns to do an injury by stealth,
Must go to heaven-and I must drink his health.
Sir Smug, he cries (for lowest at the board,
Just made fifth chaplain of his patron lord,
His shoulders witnessing, by many a shrug,
How much his feelings suffer'd, sat Sir Smug),
Your office is to winnow false from true;
Come, prophet, drink, and tell us what think you l
Sighing and smiling as hlie takes his glass,
Which they that woo preferment rarely pass
Fallible man, the church-bred youth replies,
Is still found fallible, however wise
And differing judgments serve but to declare
That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where.
Of all it ever was my lot to read,
Of critics now alive, or long since dead,
'he book of all the world that charm'd me most
Was,-well-a-day, the title-page was lost;




ï~~HOPE.

il)S

The writer well remarks, a heart that knows
To take with gratitude what Heaven bestowWith prudence always ready at our call,
To guide our use of it, is all in all.
Doubtless it is.-To which, of my own stogs
I superadd a few essentials more;
But these, excuse the liberty I take,
I wave just now, for conversation's sake.Spoke like an oracle, they all exclaim,
And add Right Reverend to Smug's honour'd
name.
And yet our lot is given us in a land,
Where busy arts are never at a stand;
Where Science points her telescopic eye,
Familiar with the wonders of the sky;
Where bold Inquiry diving out of sight,
Brings many a precious pearl of truth to light,
Where nought eludes the persevering quest
That fashion, taste, or luxury suggest.
But, above all, in her own light array'd,
See Mercy's grand Apocalypse display'd!
The sacred book no longer suffers wrong,
Found in t'e fetters of an unknown tongue;
But speaks with plainness, art could never mend,
What simplest minds can soonest comprehend.
God gives the word, the preachers throng around,
Live from his lips, and spread the glorious sound:
That sound bespeaks Salvation on her way,
The trumpet of a life-restoring day;
'Tis heard where England's Eastern glory shines,
And in the gulfs of her Cornubian mines.
And still it spreads. See Germany send forth
Her sons* to pour it on the farthest north:
Fired with a zeal peculiar, they defy
The rage and rigour of a polar sky,
And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose
On icy planes and in eternal snows.
O bless'd within the enclosure of your rocks,
Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks;
No fertilizing streams your fields divide,
That shew reversed the villas on their side;
* The Moravian Missionaries iq Greenland. See Kras.




ï~~104                 IHOPE.
No groves have ye; rmo cheerful sound of bird~
Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard;
Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell
Of those, that walk at evening where ye dwell.
But Winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown,
Sits absolute on his unshaken throne;
Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste,
And bids the mountains he has built stand fast;
Beckons the legions of his storms away
From happier scenes, to make your land a prey
Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won,
And scorns to share it with the distant sun.
Yet Truth is yours, remote, unenvied isle I
And Peace, the genuine offspring of her smile;
The pride of letter'd Ignorance, that binds
In chains of error our accomnplish'd minds,
That decks, with all the splendour of the true,
A false religion, is unknown to you.
Nature, indeed, vouchsafes for our delight
The sweet vicissitudes of day and night;
Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer
Field, fruit, and flower, and every creature here,
But brighter beams than his who fires the skies,
Have risen at length on your admiring eyes,
That shoot into your darkest caves the day,
From wich our nicer optics turn away.
Here see the encouragement Grace gives to vice,
The dire effect of Mercy without price!
What were they 4 what some fools are made by art,
They were by nature, Atheists, head and heart.
The gross idolatry blind heathens teach
Was too refined for them, beyond their reach.
Not e'en the glorious sun, though men revere
The monarch most, that seldom will appear,
And though his beams,that quicken where they shine,
May claim some right to be esteem'd divine,
Not e'en the sun, desirable as rare,
Could bend one knee, engage one votary there;
They were, what base Credulity believes
True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards,thieves.
The full-gorged savage, at his nauseous feast,
Spent half the darkness anid snored out the rest,




ï~~Was one, whom Justice on an equal plan,
Denouncing death upon the sins of man,
Might almost have indulged with an escape,
Chargeable only with a human shape.
What are they now I Morality may spare
Her grave concern, her kind suspicions there:
The wretch, who once sang wildly, danced, and
laugh'd,
And suck'd in dizzy madness with his draught,
Has wept a silent flood, reversed his ways,
Is sober, meek, benevolent, and prays,
Feeds sparingly, communicates his store,
Abhors the craft he boasted of before,
And he that stole has learn'd to steal no more.
Well spake the prophet, Let the desert sing,
Where sprang the thorn the spiry fir shall spring,
And where unsightly and rank thistles grew,
Shall grow the myrtle and luxuriant yew.
Go now, and with important tone demand
On what foundation virtue is to stand,
If self-exalting claims be turn'd adrift,
And grace be grace indeed, and life a gift;
The poor reclaim'd inhabitant, his eyes
Glistening at once with pity and surprise,
Amazed that shadows should obscure the sight
Of one, whose birth was in a land of light,
Shall answer, Hope, sweet Hope, has set me free,
And made all pleasures else mere dross to me.
These amidst scenes as waste as if denied
The common care that waits on all beside,
Wild as if Nature there, void of all good,
Play'd only gambols in a frantic mood
(Yet charge not heavenly skill with having plann'd
A plaything world, unworthy of his hand),
Can see his love, though secret evil lurks
In all we touch, stamp'd plainly on his works;
Deem life a blessing with its numerous woes,
Nor spurn away a gift a God bestows.
Hard task, indeed, o'er arctic seas to roam!
Is hope exotic? Grows it hnot at home?
Yes, but an object, bright as orient morn,
May press the eye too closely to be borne;
E2




ï~~106                  HOPE.
A distant virtue we can all confess,
It hurts our pride, and moves our envy, less.
Leuconomus (beneath well-sounding Greek
I slur a name a poet must not speak)
Stood pilloried on Infamy's high stage,
And bore the pelting scorn of half an age;
The very butt of Slander, and the blot
For every dart that Malice ever shot.
The man that mention'd him at once dismiss'd
All mercy from his lips, and sneer'd and hiss'd;
Kis crimes were such as Sodom never knew,
And perjury stood up to swear all true;
His aim was mischief, and his zeal pretence,
His speech rebellion against common sense;
A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule;
And when by that of reason, a mere fool;
The world's best comfort was, his doom was pass'd
Die when he might, he must be damn'd at last.
Now, Truth perform thine office; waft aside
The curtain drawn by Prejudice and Pride,
Reveal (the man is dead) to wondering eyes
This more than monster, in his proper guise.
He loved the world that hated him: the tear
That dropp'd upon his Bible was sincere:
Assail'd by scandal and the tongue of strife,
His only answer was a blameless life;
And he that forged, and he that threw the dart,
Had each a brother's interest in his heart.
Paul's love of Christ, and steadiness unbribed,
Were copied close in him, and well transcribed.
He follow'd Paul; his zeal a kindred flame,
His apostolic charity the same.
Like him, cross'd cheerfully tempestuous seas,
Forsaking country, kindred, friends, and ease;
Like him he labour'd, and like him content
To bear it, suffer'd shame, where'er he went.
Blush, Calumny! and write upon his tomb,
If honest Eulogy can spare thee room,
Thy deep repentance of thy thousand lies,
Which, aim'd at him, have pierced the offended skies-i
And say, Blot out my sin, confess'd, deplored,
Against thine image, in thy saint, O Lord




ï~~HOPE.                   10'
No blinder bigot, i maintain it still,
Than he who must have pleasure, come what wills
He laughs, whatever weapon Truth may draw,
And deems her sharp artillery mere straw.
Scripture indeed is plain; but God and he
On Scripture ground are sure to disagree;
Some wiser rule must teach him how to live,
Than this his Maker has seen fit to give;
Supple and flexible as Indian cane,
To take the bend his appetites ordain;
Contrived to suit frail nature's crazy case,
And reconcile his lusts with saving grace,
By this, with nice precision of design,
He draws upon life's map a zig-zag line,
That shews how far 'tis safe to follow sin,
And where his danger and God's wrath begin.
By this he forms, as pleased he sports along,
His well-poised estimate of right and wrong;
And finds the modish manners of the day,
Though loose, as harmless as an infant's play.
Build by whatever plan Caprice decrees,
With what materials, on what ground you please;
Your hope shall stand unblamed, perhaps admired,
If not that hope the Scripture has required.
The strange conceits, vain projects, and wild
dreams,
With which hypocrisy for ever teems
(Though other follies strike the public eye,
And raise a laugh), pass unmolested by;
But if, unblamable in word and thought,
A man arise, a man whom God has taught,
With all Elijah's dignity of tone,
And all the love of the beloved John,
To storm the citadels they build in air,
And smite the untemper'd wall; 'tis death to spart:
To sweep away all refuges of lies,
And place, instead of quirks themselves devise,
Lamna Sabacthani before their eyes;
To prove that without Christ all gain is loss,
All hope despair, that stands not on his cross;
Except the few his God may have impress'd,
A tenfold frenzy seizes all the rest.




ï~~108                  HOPE.
Throughout mankind, the Christian kind at least,
There dwell a consciousness in every breast,
That folly ends where genuine hope begins,
And he that finds his heaven must lose his sins.
Nature opposes with her utmost force
This riving stroke, this ultimate divorce;
And, while religion seems to be her view,
Hates with a deep sincerity the true:
For this, of all ghat ever influenced man,
Since Abel worshipp'd, of the world began,
This only spares no lust, admits no plea,
But makes him, if at all, completely free;
Sounds forth the signal, as she mounts her car,
Of an eternal, universal war;
Rejects all treaty, penetrates all wiles,
Scorns with the same indifference frowvns and smiles;
Drives through the realms of Sin, where Riot reels,
And grinds his cnuwn beneath her burning wheels!
Hence all that is in man, pride, passion, art,
Powers of the mind, and feelings of the heart,
Insensible of Truth's almighty charms,
Starts at her first approach, and sounds to arms!
While Bigotry, with well-dissembled fears,
His eyes shut fast, his fingers in his ears,
Mighty to parry and push by God's word,
With senseless noise, his argument the 6word,
Pretends a zeal for godliness and grace,
And spits abhorrence in the Christian's face.
Parent of Hlope, immortal Truth! make known
Thy deathless wreaths, and triumphs all thine owx
The silent progress of thy power is such,
Thy means so feeble, and despised so much,
That few believe the wonders thou hast wroughal,
And none can teach them, but whom thou hast
taught.
O see me sworn to serve thee, and command
A painter's skill into a poet's hand,
That, while I trembling trace a work divine,
Fancy may stand aloof from the design,
And light, and shade, and every stroke be thin.
If ever thou hast felt another's pain,
If ever when he sigh'd hast sigh'd agam,




ï~~HOPE.

109

If eves on thy eyelid stood the tear,
That pity hath engender'd, drop one here.
This man was happy-had the world's good word,
And with it every joy it can afford;
Friendship and love seem'd tenderly at strife,
Which most should sweeten his untroubled life;
Politely learn'd, and of a gentle.race,
Good breeding and good sense gave all a grace,
And whether at the toilette oaf the fair,
He laugh'd and trifled, made him welcome there,
Or if yi masculine debate he shared,
Ensured himn mute attention and regard.
Alas, how changed! Expressive of his mind,
His eyes are sunk, arms folded, head reclined;
Those awful syliables, hell, death, and sin,
I'houh whisper'd, plainly tell what works within;
That Conscience there performs her proper part,
And writes a doomsday sentence on his heart;
Forsaking and forsaken of all friends,
He now perceives where earthly pleasure ends;
Hard task! for one who lately knew no care,
And harder still as learnt beneath despair;
His hours no longer pass unmark'd away,
A dark importance gaddens every day;
He hears the notice of the clock perplex'd,
And cries, Perhaps eternity strikes next;
Sweet music is no longer music here,
And laughter sounds like madness in his ear:
His grief the world of all her power disarms,
Wine has no taste and beauty has no charms:
God's holy word, once trivial in his view,
Now by the voice of'his experience true,
Seems, as it is, the fountain whence alone
Must spring that hope he pants to make his own
Now let the bright reverse be known abroad;
Say man's a worm, and power belongs to God.
As when a felon, whom his country's laws
Have justly doom'd for some atrocious cause,
Expects in darkness and heart-chilling fears,
The shameful close of all his misspent years;
If chance, on heavy pinions slowly borne,
A tempest usher in the dreaded morn,




ï~~110                 HOPE.
Upon his dungeon walls the lightning play,
The thunder seems to summon him away,
The warder at the door his key applies,
Shoots back the bolt, and all his courage dies:
If then, just then, all thoughts of mercy lost,
When Hope, long lingering, at last yields the ghost,
The sound of pardon pierce his startled ear,
He drops at once his fetters and his fear;
A transport glows in all he looks and speaks,
And the first thankful tears bedew his cheeks.
Joy, far superior joy, that much outweighs
The comfort of a few poor added days,
Invades, possesses, and o'erwhelms the soul
Of him, whom Hope has with a touch made whole.
'Tis Heaven, all Heaven, descending on the wings
Of the glad legions of the King of kings;
'Tis more-'tis God diffiused through every part,
'Tis God himself triumphant in his heart.
O welcome now the sun's once hated light,
His noonday beams were never half so bright.
Not kindred minds alone are call'd to employ
Their hours, their days, in listening to his joy;
Unconscious nature, all that he surveys,  [praise
Rocks, groves, and streams, must join him in his
These are thy glorious works, eternal Truth,
The scoff of wither'd age and beardless youth;
These move the.censure and illiberal grin
Of fools, that hate thee and delight in sin:
But these shall last, when night has quench'd the pole
And Heaven is all departed as a scroll.
And when, as Justice has long since decreed,
This earth shall blaze, and a new world succeed,
Then these thy glorious works, and they who shat
That hope, which can alone exclude despair,
Shall live exempt from weakness and decay,
The brightest wonders of an endless day.
Happy the bard (if that fair name belong
To him, that blends no fable with his song),
Whose lines uniting, by an honest art,
The faithful monitor's and poet's part,
Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind,
And, while they captivate, inform the mind:




ï~~,HARIT Y.                 111
Still happier, if he till a thankful soil,.
And fruit reward his honourable toil:
But happier far, who comfort those that wait
To hear plain truth at Judah's hallow'd gate;
Their language simple, as their manners meek,
No shining ornaments have they to seek;
Nor labour they, nor time nor talents waste,
In sorting flowers to suit a fickle taste;
But while they speak the wisdom of the skes,
Whicn art can'only darken and disguise,
The abundant harvest, recompense divine,
Repays their work-the gleaning only mine. s
CHARITY.
' Ouo nihil majus meliusve terris
Fata donavere, bonique divi;
Nec dabunt, quasmvis redeant in aurnm
Trempora priscum.'-Hor. Lib. iv. Od. 2.
FAIREST and foremost of the train that wait
On man's most dignified and happiest state,
Whether we name thee Charity or Love
Chief grace below, and all in all above,
Prosper (I press thee with a powerful plea)
A task I venture on, impell'd by thee:
O never seen but in thy bless'd effects,
Or felt but in the soul that Heaven selects;
Who seeks to praise thee, and to make thee known
To other hearts, must have thee in his own.
Come, prompt me with benevolent desires,
Teach me to kindle at thy gentle fires,
And, though disgraced and slighted, to redeem
A poet's name by making thee the theme.
God, working ever on a social plan,
By various ties attaches man to man:
He made at first, though free and unconfined,
One man the common father of the kind;
That every tribe though placed as he sees best,
Where seas or deserts part them from the rest,
Differing in.language, manners, or in face,
Might feel themselves allied to all the race.




ï~~112                CHARITY.
When Cook-lamented, and with tears as just
As ever mingled with heroic dustSteer'd Britain's oak into a world unknown,
And in his country's glory sought his own,
Wherever he found man to nature true,
The rights of man were sacred in his view;
He sooth'd with gifts, and greeted with a smile,
The simple native of the new-found isle;
He spurn'd the wretch, that slighted or withstood
The tender argument of kindred blood,
Nor would endure, that any should control
His freeborn brethren of the southern pole.
But though some nobler minds a law respect,
That none shall with impunity neglect,
In baser souls unnumber'd evils meet,
To thwart its influence, and its end defeat.
While Cook is loved for sadage lives he saved,
See Cortez odious for a world enslaved!
Where wast thou then, sweet Charity? where then,
Thou tutelary friend of helpless men?
Wast thou in monkish cells and nunneries found,
Or building hospitals on English ground?
No.-Mammon makes the world his legatee
Through fear, not love; and Heaven abhors the fee
Wherever found (and all men need thy care),
Nor age nor infancy could find thee there.
The hand, that slew till it could slay no more,
Was glued to the sword-hilt with Indian gore.
Their prince, as justly seated on his throne
As vain imperial Philip on his own,
Trick'd out of all his royalty by art,
That stripp'd him bare, and broke his honest heart,
Died by the sentence of a shaven priest,
For scorning what they taught him to detest.
How dark the veil that intercepts the blaze
Of heaven's mysterious purposes and ways!
God stood not, though he seem'd to stand, aloof;
And at this hour the conqueror feels the proof:
The wreath he won drew down an instant curse
The fretting plague is in the public purse,
The canker'd spoil corrodes the pining state,
Starved by that indolence their mines create.




ï~~CHARITY.                  u1s
Oh could their ancient Incas rise agrni,
How would they take up Israel's taunting A'rain I
Art thou too fallen, Iberia? Do we see
The robber and the murderer weak as we;
Thou, that hast wasted earth, and dared despi.s
Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies,
Thy pomp is in the grave, thy glory laid
Low in the pits thline avarice has made.
We come with joy from our eternal rest,
To see the opptessor in his turn oppress'd.
Art thou the god, the thunder of whose hand
Roll'd over all our desolated land,
Shook principalities and kingdoms down,
And made the mountains tremble at his frown?
The sword shall light upon thy boasted powers,
And waste them, as thy sword has wasted ours.
'Tis thus Omnipotence his law fulfils,
And Vengeance executes what Justice wills.
Again-the band of commerce was design'd
To associate all the branches of mankind;
And if a boundless plenty be the robe,
Trade is the golden girdle of the globe.
Wise to promote whatever end he means,
God opens fruitful nature's various scenes:
Each climate needs what other climes produoe5
And offers something to the general use;
No land but listens to the common call,
And it return receives supply from all.
This genial intercourse, and mutual aid,
Cheers what were else a universal shade,
Calls Nature from her ivy'-mantleel den,
And softens human rock-work into men.
Ingenious Art, with her expressive face,
Steps forth to fashion and refine the race;
Not only fills Necessity's demand,
But overcharges her capacious hand:
Capricious Taste itself can crave no more,
Than she supplies from her abounding storee
She strikes out all that Luxury can ask,
And gains new vigour at aet endless task.
Hier's is the spacious arch, the shapey spire,
The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre:




ï~~114                CHARITY
Prom her the canvas borrows light and shade,
And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade.
She guides the finger o'er the dancing keys,
Gives difficulty all the grace of ease,
And pours a torrent of sweet notes arouna,
Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound.
These are the gifts of Art, and Art thrives mo*,
Where commerce has enrich'd the busy coast;
He catches all improvements in hIis flight,
Spreads foreign wonders in his country's sight
Imports what others have invented well,
And stirs his own to match them, or exceL
'Tis thus reciprocating, each with each,
Alternately the nations learn and teach;
While Providence enjoins to every soul
A union with the vast terraqueous whole.
Heaven speed the canvass, gallantly unfar'
To furnish and accommodate a world,
To give the pole the produce of the sun,
And knit the unsocial climates into one.Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave
Impel the fleet, whose errand is to save,
To succour wasted regions, and replace
The smile of Opulence in Sorrow's face.Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen,
Impede the bark, that ploughs the deep serene,
Charged with a freight transcending in its worth
The gems of India, Nature's rarest birth,
That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord's commands,
A herald of God's-love to pagan lands.
But ah I what wish can prosper, or what prayer,
For merchants rich in cargoes of despair;
Who drive a loathsome traffic, gaue, and span,
And buy the muscles and the bones of man l
The tender ties of father, husband, friend,
All bonds of nature in that momrnent end;
And each endures, while yet lie draws his breatlh,
A stroke as fatal as the scythe of Death.
The sable warrior, frantic with regret
Of her he lovgs, and never can forget,
Loses in tears the far-receding shore,
But not the thought, that they must meet Ina mets
ri




ï~~CHARITY.

115

Deprived of her and freedom at a blow,
What has he left that he can yet forego?
Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resign'd,
He feels his body's bondage in his mind;
Puts of" his generous nature; and, to suit
His manners with his fate, puts on the brute.
O most degrading of all ills, that wait
On man, a mourner in his best estate I
All other sorrows Virtue may endure,
And find submission nmore than half a cure;
Grief is itself a medicine, and bestow'd
To improve the fortitude that bears the load,
To teach the wanderer, as his woes increase,
The path of wisdom, all whose paths are peace;
But slavery!-Virtue dreads it as her grave;
Patience itself is meanness in a slave;
Or if the will and sovereignty of God
Bid suffer it a while, and kiss the rod,
Wait for the dawning of a brighter day,
And snap the chain the moment when you may.
Nature imprints upon whate'er we see,
That has a heart and life in it, Be free!
The beasts are charter'd-neither age nor force
Can quell the love of freedom in a horse:
He breaks the cord that held him at the rack;
And, conscious of an unincumber'd back,
Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein
Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane;
Responsive to the distant neigh he neighs;
Nor stops till, ov'erleaping all delays,
He finds the pasture where his fellows graze,
Canst thou, and honour'd with a Christian
name,
Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame;
Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead
Expedience as a warrant for the deed?
So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold,
To quit the forest and invade the fold:
So may the ruffian, who, with ghostly glide,
Dagger in hand, steals close to your bedside;
Not he, but his emergence forced the door,
He found it inconvenient to be poor.




ï~~116                CHARITY
Has God then given its sweetness to the cane,
Unless his laws be trampled on-in vain?
Built a brave world, which cannot yet subsist,
Unless his right to rule it be dismiss'd?
Impudent blasphemy! So Folly pleads,
And Avarice being judge, with ease succeeds.
But grant the plea, and let it stand for just,
That man make man his prey, because hlie must;
Still there is room for pity to abate,
And soothe the sorrows of so sad a state.
A Briton knows, or if he knows it not,
The Scripture placed within his reach, he ought,
That souls have no discriminating hue,
Alike important in their Maker's view;
That none are free from blemish since the fall,
And Love divine has paid one price for all.
The wretch, that works and weeps without relief,
Has One that notices his silent grief.
He, from whose hands alone all power pfoceeds,
Ranks its abuse among the foulest deeds,
Considers all injustice with a frown;
But marks the man that treads his fellow down.
Begone-the whip and bell in that hard hand
Are hateful ensigns of usurp'd command.
Not Mexico could purchase kings a claim
To scourge him, weariness his only blame.
Remember Heaven has an avenging rod;
To smite the poor is treason against God.
Trouble is grudgingly and hardly brook'd,
While life's sublimest joys are overlook'd:
We wander o'er a sunburnt thirsty soil,
Murmnuring and weary of our daily toil,
Forget to enjoy the palm-tree's offer'd shade,
Or taste the fountain in the neighbouring glade:
Else who would lose, that had the power to improve
The occasion of transmuting fear to love 3
O 'tis a godlike privilege to save,
And he that scorns it is himself a slave.
Inform his mind; one flash of heavenly day
Would heal his heart, and melt his chains away.
Beauty for ashes' is a gift indeed,
And slaves, by truth enlarged, are doubly freed.




ï~~CHARlTY.                 117
Then would he say, submissive at thy feet,
While gratitude and love made service sweet,---
My dear deliverer, out of hopeless night,
Whcse bounty bought me but to give me light,
I was a bondman on my native plain,
Sin forged, and ignorance made fast, the chain
Thy lips have spread instruction as the dew,
Taught me what path to shun, and whatpursue:
Farewell my former joys! I sigh no more
For Africa's once loved, benighted shore;
Serving a benefactor I am free;
At my best home, if not exiled from thee.
Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds
A stream of liberal and heroic deeds;
The swell of pity, not to be confined
Within the scanty limits of the mind,
Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sands,
A rich deposit, on the bordering lands:
These have an ear for His paternal call,
Who makes some rich for the supply of all;
God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ,
And Thornton is familiar with the joy.
O could I worship aught beneath the skies,
That earth has seen, or fancy can devise,
Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand,
Built by no mercenary vulgar hand,
With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair
As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air.
Duly, as ever on the mountain's height
The peep of Morning shed a dawning light,
Again, when Evening, in her sober vest,
Drew the gray curtain of the fading west,
My soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise
For the chief blessings of my fairest days:
But that were sacrilege-praise is not thine,
But His who gave thee, and preserves thee mine:
Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly
A captive bird into the boundless sky,
This triple realm adores thee-thou art come
From Sparta hither, and art here athome.
We feel thy force still active, at this hour
Enjoy immunity from priestly power,




ï~~. 14

118                CHARITY
While C mscience, happier than in ancient years,
Owns no superior but the God she fears.
Propitious spirit! yet expunge a wrong
Thy rights have suffer'd, and our land, too long.
Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts, that share
The fears and hopes of a commercial care.
Prisons expect the wicked, and were built
To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt;
But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood,
Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood;
And honest Merit stands on slippery ground,
Where covert guile and artifice abound.
Let just Restraint, for public peace design'd,
Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind;
The foe of virtue has no claim to thee,
But let insolvent Innocence go free.
Patron of else the most despised of men,
Accept the tribute of a stranger's pen;
Verse, like the laurel, its immortal meed,
Should be the guerdon of a noble deed;
I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame
(Charity chosen as my theme and aim)
I must incur, forgetting Howard's name.
Bless'd with all wealth can give thee, to resign
Joys doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine,
To quit the bliss thy rural scenes beatow,
To seek a nobler amidst scenes of woe,
To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring
home,
Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome,
But knowledge such as only dungeons teach,
And only sympathy like thine could reach;
That grief, sequester'd from the public stage,
Might smooth her feathers, and enjoy her cage;
Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal,
The boldest patriot might be proud to feel.
O that the voice of clamour and debate,
That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state,
ere hush'd in favour of thy generous plea,
The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy feel
Philosophy, that does not dream or stray,
Walks arm in arm with Nature all his way;




ï~~CHARITY.                  119
Compasses earth, dives into it, ascends
Whatever steep Inquiry recommends,
Sees planetary wonders smoothly roll
Round other systems under her control,
Drinks wisdom at the milky stream of light,
That cheers the silent journey of the night,
And brings at his return a bosom charged
With rich instruction, and a soul enlarged,
The treasured sweets of the capacious plan,
That Heaven spreads wide before the view of mi-ani,
All prompt his pleased pursuit, and to pursue
Still prompt him, with a pleasure always new;
He too has a connecting power, and draws
Man to the centre of the common cause,
Aiding a dubious and deficient sight
With a new medium and a purer light.
All truth is precious, if not all divine;
And what dilates the powers must needs refineHe reads the skies, and, watching every change
Provides the faculties an ampler range;
And wins mankind, as his attempts prevail,
A prouder station on the general scale.
But Reason still, unless divinely taught,
Whate'er she learns, learns nothing as she ought;
The lamp of revelation only shews,
What human wisdom cannot but oppose,
That man in nature's richest mantle clad,
And graced with all philosophy can add,
Though fair without, and luminous within,
Is still the progeny and heir of sin.
Thus taught, down falls the plumage of his pride.
He feels his need of an unerring guide,
And knows that falling he shall rise no more,
Unless the power that bade him stand restore.
This is indeed philosophy; this known
Makes wisdom, worthy of the name, his own;
And, without this, whatever he discuss;
Whether the space between the stars and us;
Whether he measure earth, compute the sea,
Weigh sunbeams, carve a fly, or spit a flea,
The solemn tritler with his boasted skill
Toils much, and is a solemn trifler still:




ï~~120                CIARITY.
Blind was he born, and his misguided eyes
Grown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies.
8elf-knowledge, truly learn'd, of course implies
The rich possession of a nobler prize;
For self to self, and God to man reveal'd
(Two themes to nature's eye for ever seal'd),
Are taught by rays, that fly with equal pace
From the same centre of enlightening grace.
Here stay thy foot; how copious, and how clear,
The o'erflowing well of Charity springs here!
Hark! 'tis the music of a thousand rills,
Some through the groves, some down the sloping hilli
Winding a secret or an open course,
And all supplied'from an eternal source,
The ties of Nature do but feebly bind;
And Commerce partially reclaims mankind;
Philosophy, without his heavenly guide,
May blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride;
But, while his promise is the reasoning part,
Has still a veil of midnight on his heart;
'Tis Truth divine, exhibited on earth,
Gives Charity her being and her birth.
Suppose (when thought is warm and fancy flows
What will not argument sometimes suppose?)
An isle possess'd by creatures of our kind,
Endued with reason, yet by nature blind.
Let Supposition lend her aid once more,
And land some grave optician on the shore:
He claps his lens, if haply they may see,
Close to the part where vision ought to be;
But finds, that though his tubes assist the sight,
They cannot give it, or make darkness light.
He reads wise lectures, and describes aloud
A sense they know not, to the wondering crowd;
He talks of light, and the prismatic hues,
As men of depth in erudition use;
But all he gains for his harangue is--Well---
What monstrous lies some travellers will tell!
The soul, whose sight all-quickeniig grace renews,
Takes the resemblance of the good she -iews,
As diamonds stripp'd of their opaque disguise,
Reflect the noonday glory of the skies.




ï~~CHARITY.                  121
She speaks of him, her author, guardian, friend,
Whose love knew no beginning, knows no end,
In language warm as all that love inspires,
And in the glow of her intense desires,
Pants to communicate her noble fires.
She sees a world stark blind to what employs
Her eager thought, and feeds her flowing joys,
Though Wisdom hail them, heedless of her call,
Flies to save some, and feels a pang for all;
Herself as weak as her support is strong,
She feels that frailty she denied so long;
And, from a knowledge of her own disease,
Learns to compassionate the sick she sees.
Alere see, acquitted of all vain pretence,
The reign of genuine Charity commence.
Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears,
She still is kind, and still she perseveres;
The truth she loves a sightless world blaspheme,
'Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream;
The danger they discern not, they deny;
Laugh at their'only remedy, and die.
But still a soul thus touch'd can never cease,
Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace.
Pure in her aim, and in her temper mild,
Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child:
She makes excuses where she might condemn,
Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them;
Suspicion larks not in her artless breast,
The worst suggested, she believes the best;
Not soon provoked, however stung and teased,
And, if perhaps made angry, soon appeased;
She rather waives than will dispute her right,
And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight,
Such was the portrait an apostle drew,
The bright original was one he knew;
Heaven held his hand, the likeness must be true.
When one that holds communion with the skies,
Has fill'd his urn where these pure waters rise,
And once more mingles with us meaner things,
'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings;
Immortal fragrance fills the cirouit wide,
That tells us whence his treasures are supplied,
N,




ï~~122                C H ARIT Y.
So when a ship, wed freighted with the stores
The sun matures on India's spicy shores,
Has dropp'd her anchor, and her canvass fuil'd,
In some safe haven of our western world,
'Twere vain inquiry to what port she went,
The gale informs us, laden witn the scent.
Some seek, when queasy conscience has its qualms,
To lull the painful malady with alms;
But charity not feign'd intends alone
Another's good-theirs centres in their own;
And, too short-lived to reach the realms of peace,
Must cease for ever when the poor shall cease.
Plavia, most tender of her own good name,
Is rather careless of her sister's fame:
Her superfluity the poor supplies,
But, if she touch a character, it dies.
The seeming virtue weigh'd against the vice,
She deems all safe, for she has paid the price:
No charity but alms aught values she,
Except in porcelain on her mantel-tree.
How many deeds,,vith which the world has rung,
From pride, in league with ignorance, have sprung
But God o'errules all human follies still,
And bends the tough materials to his will.
A conflagration, or a wintry flood,
Has left some hundreds without home or food:
Extravagance and Avarice shall subscribe,
While fame and self-complace.nce are the bribe.
The grief proclaim'd, it visits every pew,
But first the 'squire's, a compliment but due:
With slow deliberation he unties
His glittering purse, that envy of all eyes,
And, while the clerk just puzzles out the psalm,
Slides guinea behind guinea in his palm;
Till finding, what he might have found before,
A smaller piece amidst the precious store,
Pinch'd close between his finger and his thumb,
He half exhibits, and then'drops the sum.
Gold to be sure!--Throughout-ile town 'tis told,
How the good 'squire gives never less than gold.
Prom motives such as his, though not the best,
Springs in due time supply for the distress'd;




ï~~CHARITY.                  122
Not less effectual than what love bestows,
Except that office clips it as it goes.
But, lest I seem to sin against a friend,
And wound the grace I mean to recommend
(Though vice derided with a just design
Implies no trespass against love divine),
Once more I would adopt the graver style,
A teacher should be sparing of his smile.
Unless a love of virtue light the flame,
Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame;
He hides behind a magisterial air "
His own offences, and strips others bare;
Affects indeed a most humnane concern,
That meri, if gently tutor'd, will not learn;
That mulish Folly, not to be reclaim'd
By softer methods, must be made ashamed;
But (I might instance in St. Patrick's dean)
Too often rails to gratify his spleen.
Most satirists are indeed a public scourge;
Their mildest physic is a farrier's purge;
Their acrid temper turns, as soon as stirr'd,
The milk of their good purpose all to curd.
Their zeal begotten, as their works rehearse,
By lean despair upon an empty purse,
The wild assassins start into the street,
Prepared to poniard whomsoe'er they meet.
No skill in swordmanship, however just,
Can be secure a.ainst a madman's thrust;
And even Virtue, so unfairly match'd,
Although innnmmortal, may be prick'd or scratch d.
When scandal has new minted an old lie,
Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply,
'Tis calld a satire, and the world appears
Gathering around it with erected ears:
A thousanid names are toss'd into the crowd;
Some whisper'd softly, and some twang'd, aloud,
Just as the sapience of an author's brain
Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain.
Strange! how the frequent interjected dash
Qoickens a market, and helps off the trash;
The important letters that include the rest,
Serve as a key to those that are suppressd




ï~~24                 CtlARlITY.
Conjecture gripes t he victims in his paw
the world is charm'd, and Scrib escapes the law,
So, when the cold damp shades of night prevail,
Worms may be caught by either head or tail;
Forcibly drawn from many a close recess,
They meet with little pity, no redress;
Plunged in the stream they lodge upon the mud,
Food for the famish'd rovers of the flood.
All zeal for a reform, that gives offence
To peace and charity, is mere pretence:
A bold remark, but which, if well applied,
Would humble many a towering poet's pride.
Perhaps the man was in a sportive fit,
And had no other play-place for his wit;
Perhaps, enchanted with the love of fame,
He sought the jewel in his neighbour's'shame,
Perhaps-whatever end he might pursue,
The cause of virtue could not be his view.
At every stroke wit flashes in our eyes;
The turns are quick, the polish'd points surprise,
But shine with cruel and tremendous charms,
That, while they please, possess us with alarms:
So have I seen (and hasten'd to the sight
On all the wings of holiday delight),
Where stands that monument of ancient power,
Named, with emphatic dignity, the Tower,
Guns. halberts, swords, and pistols, great and small,
In starry forms disposed upon the wall.;
We wonder, as we gazing stand below,
That brass and steel should make so fine a show;
But though vie praise the exact designer's skill,
Account them implements of mischief still.
No works shall find acceptance in that day,
When all disguises shall be rent away,
That square not truly with the Scripture plan,
Nori pring from love to God, nor love to man
As he ordains things sordid in their birth
To be resolved into their parent earth;
And though the soul shall seek superior orbs,
Whate'er this world produces, it absorbs;
gSo self starts nothing, but what tends apace
Home to the goal, where it began the race.




ï~~C IIARITY.                12
Such as our motive is, our aim must be,
If this be servile, that can ne'er be free:
If self employ us, whatsoe'er is wrought,
We glorify that self, not him we ought;
Such virtues had need prove their own reward,
The Judge of all men owes them no regard.
True Charity, a plant divinely nursed,
Fed by the love from which it rose at first,
Thrives against hope, and, in the rudest scene,
Storms but enliven its unfading green:
Exuberant is the shadow it supplies,
Its fruits on earth, its growth above the skies.
To look at Him, who form'd us and redeem'd,
So glorious now, though once so disesteem'd,
To see a God stretch forth his human hand,
To uphold the boundless scenes of his command;
To recollect that in a form like ours,
He bruised beneath his feet the infernal powers,
Captivity led captiye, rose to claim
The wreath he won so dearly in our name;
That, throned above all height, he condescends
To call the few that trust in him his friends;
That, in the Heaven of heavens, that space he
deems
Too scanty for the exertion of his beams,
And shines, as if impatient to bestow
Life and a kingdom upon worms below;
That sight imparts a never-dying flame,
Though feeble in degree, in kind the same
Like him the squl, thus kindled from above,
Spreads wide her arms of universal love;
And, still enlarged as she receives the grace,
Includes creation in her close embrace.
Behold a Christian! and without the fires
The Founder of that name alone inspires,
Though all accomplishment, all knowledge meet,
To make the shining prodigy complete,
Whoever boasts that name-behold a cheat!
Were love, in these the world's last doting years,
As frequent as the want of it appears,
The churches warm'd, they would no longer hold
Suchl frozen figures, stiTff as they are cold;

r




ï~~126            CO NV ERlSATION.
Relenting forms would lost their power, or cease;
And e'en the dipp'd and spi inkled live in peace:
Each heart would quit its prison in the breast,
And flow in free communion with the rest.
The statesman, skill'd in projects dark and deep,
Might burn his useless Machiavel, and sleep;
His budget often fill'd, yet always poor,
Might swing at ease behind his study door,
No longer prey upon our annual rents,
Or scare the nation with its big contents:
Disbanded legions freely might depart,
And slaying man would cease to be an art.
No learned disputants would take the field.
Sure not to conquer, and sure not to yield;
Both sides deceived, if rightly understood,
Pelting each other for the public good.
Did charity prevail, the press would prove
A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love;
And I might spare myself the pains to shew
What few can learn, and all suppose they know.
Thus have I sought to grace a serious lay
With many a'wild, indeed, but flowery spray,
In hopds to gain' hat else I must have lost,
The attention pleasure has so much engross'd.
But if, unhappily deceived, I dream,
And prove too weak for so divine a theme,
Let Charity forgive me a mistake
That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to make,
And spare the poet for his subject's sale.
CONVERSATION.
SNam neque mt tantuim veaientis sibilus Austri,
Nee percusa juvant flucti tam litors, nee qua
Saxosas inter decurrunt lumina valles.'--hVrg. Eel.
THouon nature weigh our talents, and dispense
To every man his modicum of sense,
And Conversation, in its better part,
May be esteem'd a gift, and not an art,
Yet much depends, as in the tiller's toil,
On culture, and the sowing of the soil.




ï~~CONVERSATION.

127

Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse,
But talking is not always to converse;
Not more distinct from harmony divine,
The constant creaking of a country sign.
As alphabets in ivory employ
Hour after hour the yet unletter'd boy,
Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee
Those seeds of science call'd his A B 0;
So lane-uage in the mouth of the adultWitness its insignificant resultToo often proves an implement of play,
A toy to sport with, and pass time away.
Collect at evening what the day brought forth,
Compress the sum into its solid worth,
And if it weigh the importance of a fly,
The scales are false, or alebra a lie.
Sacred interpreter of human thought,
How few respect or use thee as thee ought!
But all shall give account of every wrong,
Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue;
Who prostitute it in the cause of 'ice,
Or sell their glory at the market price;
Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon,.
The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buffoon.
There is a prurience in the speech of some,
Wrath stays him, or else God would strike themdumb'
His wise forbearance has their end in view,
They fill their measure, and receive their due.
The heathen lawgivers of ancient days,
Names almost worthy of a Christian's praise,
Would drive them forth from the resort of men,
And shut up every satyr in his den.
O come not ye near innocence and truth,
Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth I
Infectious as impure, your blighting power
Taints in its rudiments the promised flower;
Its odour perish'd and its charming hue,
Thenceforth 'tis hateful, for it smells of you.
Not e'en the vigorous and headlong rage
Of adolescence, or a firmer age,
Affords a plea allowable or just
For making speech the pamperer of lust;




ï~~128           CONVERSAT'ION.
But when the breath of age commits the fault,
'Tis nauseous as the vapour of a vault.
So wither'd stumps disgrace the sylvan scene,
No longer fruitful, and no longer green;
The sapless wood, divested of the bark,
Grows fungous, and takes fire at every spark.
Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife--
Some men have surely then a peaceful life;
Whatever subject occupy discourse,
The feats of Vestris, or the naval force,
Asseveration blustering in your face
Makes contradiction such a hopeless case:
In every tale they tell, or false or true,
Well known, or such as no man ever knew,
They fix attention, heedless of your pain,
With oaths like rivets forced into the brain;
And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout,
They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt.
A Persian, humble servant of the sun,
Who, though devout, yet bigotry had none,
Hearing a lawyer grave in his address,
With adjurations every word impress,
Supposed the man a bishop, or, at least,
God's name so much upon his lips, a priest;
Bow'd at the close with all his graceful airs,
And begg'd an int'rest in his frequent prayers.
Go, quit the rank to which ye stood preferr'd,
Henceforth associate in one common herd:
Religion, virtue, reason, common sense,
Pronounce your human form a false pretence;
A mere disguise, in which a devil lurks,
Who yet betrays his secrets by his works.
Ye powers who rule the tongue, if such there are
And make colloquial happiness your care,
Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate,
A duel in the form of a debate.
The clash of arguments and jar of words,
Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords,
Decide no question with their tedious length,
For opposition gives opinion strength.
Divert the champions prodigal of breath;
And put the peaceably-disposed to death.




ï~~CONVERSATION.                129
0 thwart me not, Sir Soph, at every turn,
Nor carp at every flaw you may discern;
Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue,
I am not surely always in the wrong;
'Tis hard if all is false that I advance,
A fool must now and then be right by chance.
Not that all freedom of dissent I blame;
No-there I grant the privilege I claim.
A disputable point is no man's ground;
Rove where you please, 'tis common all around.
Discourse may Want an animated-Nb,
To brush the surface and to make it flow
But still remember if you mean to please,
To press your point with modesty and ease.
The mark, at which my juster aim I take,
Is contradiction for its own dear sake.
Set your opinion at whatever pitch,
Knots and impediments make something hitch
Adopt his own, 'tis equally in vain,
Your thread of argument is snapp'd again;
The wrangler, rather than accord with you,
Will judge himself deceived, and prove it too.
Vociferated logic kills me quite,
A noisy man is always in the right:
I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair,
Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare,
And when I hope his blunders are all out,
Reply discreetly-To be sure-no doubt!
Dubius is such a scrupulous good manYes-you may catch him tripping if you can.
He would not, with a peremptory tone,
Assert the nose upon his face his own;
With hesitation admirably slow,
He humbly hopes-presumes-it may be so.
His evidence, if he were call'd by law
To swear to some enormity he saw,
For want of prominence and just relief,
Would hang an honest man, and save a thief.
Through constant dread of giving truth offence
He ties up all his hearers in suspense;
Knows, what he knows, as if he knew it not,
What he remembers seems to have forgot;
F2




ï~~130            C ON VERSAT)ION.
His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befal,
Centering at last in having none at al.
Yet, though he tease and balk your listening eah
He makes one ngeful point exceeding clear,
Howe'er ingenious on his darling theme
A sceptic in philosophy may seem,
Reduced to practice, his beloved rule
Would only prove him a consummate fool;
Useless in him alike both brain and speech,
Fate having placed all truth above his reach,
His ambiguities his total sum,
He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb.
Where men of judgment creep and feel their wag
The positive pronounce without dismay,
Their want of light and intellect supplied
By sparks absurdity strikes out of pride.
Without the means of knowing right from wrong,
They always are decisive, clear, and strong;
Where others toil with philosophic force,
Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course
Flings at your head conviction in a lump,
And gains remote conclusions at a jump;.
Their own defect, invisible to them,
Seen in another, they at once condemn;
And, though self-idolized in every case,
Hate their own likeness in a brother's face.
The cause is plain, and not to be denied,
The proud are always most provoked by pride
Few competitions but engender spite;
And those the most where neither has a right,
The point of honour has been deem'd of use,
To teach good manners and to curb abuse;
Admit it true, the consequence is clear,
Our polish'd manners are a mask we wear,
And at the bottom, barbarous still and rude,
We are restrain'd, indeed, but not subdued.
The very remedy, however sure,
Springs from the mischief it intends to cure,
And savage in its principle, appears,
Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears.
'Tis hard, indeed, if nothing will defend
Mankind from quarrels, but their fatal end..




ï~~CONVERSATION.                 I1
That now and then a hero must decease,
That the surviving world may live in peace.
Perhaps at last close scrutiny may shew
The practice dastardly, and mean, and low
That men engage ii it, compell'd by force,
And fear, not courage, is its proper source;
The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear
Lest fops should censure us, and fools should sneer.
At least to trample on our Maker's laws,
And hazard life for any or no cause,
To rush into a fix'd eternal state
Out of the very flames of rage and hate.
Or send another shiv'ring to the bar
With all the guilt of such unnatural war,
Whatever Use may urge, or Honour plead,
On Reason's verdict is a madman's deed.
Am I to set my life upon a throw,
Because a bear is rude and surly 7 NoA moral, sensible, and well-bred man
Will not affront me; and no other can.
Were I empower'd to regulate the lists,
They should encounter with wellloaded fists;
A Trojan combat would be something new,
Let Dares beat Entellus black and blue;
Then each might shew to his admiring friends,
In honourable bumps his rich amends,
And carry in contusions of his skull,
A satisfactory receipt in full.
A story in which native humour reigns,
Is often useful, always entertains;
A graver fact, enlisted on your side,
May furnish illustration, well applied;
But sedentary weavers of long tales
Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails.
'Tis the most asinine employ on earth,
To hear them tell of parentage and birth,
And echo conversations dull and dry,
Embellish'd with-He said, and So saidl,
At every interview their route the same
The repetition makes attention lame:
We bustle up with unsuccessful speed,
And in the saddest part cry-Droll, indeed




ï~~132             CONVERSATION.
The path of narrative with care pursue,
Still making probability your clue:
On all the vestages of truth attend,
And let them guide you to a decent end.
Of all ambitions man may enteitain,
The worst that can invade a sickly brain,
Is that, which angles hourly for surprise,
And baits its hook with prodigies and lies,
Credulous infancy, or age as weak,
Are fittest audtitors for such to seek,
Who to please others will themselves disgrace,
Yet please not, but affront you to your face.
A great retailer of this curious ware
Having unloaded and made many stare,
Can this be true?-an arch observer cries,
Yes (rather moved), I saw it with these eyes.
Sir I I believe it on that ground alone;
I could not, had I seen it with my own.
A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct;
The language plain, and incidents well link'd;
Tell not as new what every'ody knows,
And, new or old, still hasten to a close;
There, centering in a focus round and neat,
Let all your rays of information meet.
What neither yields us profit nor delight
Is like a nurse's lullaby at night:
Guy, earl of Warwick, and fair Eleanore,
Or giant-killing Jack, would please me more.
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff,
Makes half a sentence at a time enough;
The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain,
Then pause, and puff-and speak, and pause again
Such often, like the tube they so admire,
Important triflers I have more smoke than fire.
Pernicious weed I whose scent the fair annoys,
Unfriendly to society's chief joys,
Thy worst effect is banishing for hours
The sex whose presence civilizes ours:
Thou art indeed the drug a gardener wants,
To poison vermin that infest his plants;
But are we so tq wit and beauty blind,
As to despise the glory of our kind,




ï~~CONVERSATION.                ]$
And shew the softest minds and fairest forms
As little mercy, as he grubs and worms?
They dare not wait the riotous abuse
Thy thirst-creating steams at length produce,
When wine has given indecent language birth,
And forced the floodgates of licentious mirth;
For sea-born Venus her attachment shews
Still to that element from which she rose,
And with a quiet, which no fumes disturb,
Sips meek infusions of a milder herb.
The emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose
In contact inconvenient, nose to nose,
As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz,
Touch'd with the magnet, had attracted his.
His whisper'd theme, dilated and at large,
Proves after all a wind-gun's airy charge,
An extract of his diary-4o more,
A tasteless journal of the day before.
He walk'd abroad, o'ertaken in the rain,
Call'd on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home aga n
Resumed his purpose, had a world of talk
With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk.
I interrupt him with a sudden bow,
Adieu, dear sir! lest you should lose it now.
I cannot talk with civet in the room,
A fine puss-gentleman that's all perfume,
The sight's enough-no need to smell a beau--
Who thrusts his nose into a raree-show Y
His odoriferous attempts to please
Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees:
But we that make no honey though we sting,
Poets, are sometimes apt to maul the thing.
'Tis wrong to bring into a mix'd resort,
What makes some sick, and others d-la-mort:
An argument of cogence, we may say,
W)hy such a one should keep himself away.
A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see,
Quite as absurd, though not so light as he:
A shallow brain behind a serious mask,
An oracle within 4n empty cask,
The solemn fop; significant and budge;
A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge;




ï~~184            CONVERSATION
He says but little, and that little said
Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead.
His wit invites you by his looks to come,
But when you knock, it never is at home.
'Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage,
Some handsome present, as your hopes presage;
'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove
An absent friend's fidelity and love:
But when unpack'd, your disappointment groans
To find it stuff'd with brickbats, earth, and stones.
Some men employ their health, an ugly trick,
In making known how oft they have been sick,
And give us in recitals of disease
A doctor's trouble, but without the fees;
Relate how many weeks they kept their bed,
How an emetic or cathartic sped;
Nothing is slightly touch'd, much less forgot,
Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot.
Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill,
Victorious seem'd, and now the doctor's skill;
And now-alas for unforeseen mishaps!
They put on a damp nightcap and relapse;
They thought they must have died, they were so bad
Their peevish hearers almost wish they had.
Some fretful tempers wince at every touch,
You always do too little or too much:
You speak with life, in hopes to entertain,
Your elevated voice goes through the brain;
You fall at once into a lower key,
That's worse-the drone-pipe of an humble bee.
The southern sash admits too strong a light,
You rise and drop the curtain-now 'tis night.
He shakes with cold-you stir the fire, and strive
To make a blaze-that's roasting him alive.
Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish;
With sole-that's just the sort he does not wish.
He takes what he at first profess'd to loath,
And in due time feeds heartily on both;
Yet still, o'erclouded with a constant froWn,
He does not swallow, but he gulps it down.
Your hope to please him vain on every plan,
Himself should work that wonder, if he can--




ï~~C O:N htl ATl'IO N.           145
Alas! his efforts double his distress,
He likes yours little, and his own still less.
Thus always teasing others, always teased.
His only pleasure is-to be displeased.
I pity bashful men, who feel the pain
Of fancied scorn, and undeserved disdain,
And bear the marks upon a blushing face
Of needless shame, and self-imposed disgrace.
Our sensibilities are so acute,
The fear of being silent makes us mute.
We sometimes think we could a speech produce
Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose;
But being tried, it dies upon the lip
Faint as a chicken's note that has the pip:
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.
Few Frenchmen of this evil have complain'd;
It seems as if we Britons were ordain'd,
By way of wholesome curb upon our pride,
To fear each other, fearing none beside;
The cause perhaps inquiry may descry,
Self-searching with an introverted eye,
Conceal'd within an unsuspected part,
The vainest corner of our own vain heart:
For ever aiming at the world's esteem,
Our self-importance ruins its own scheme;
In other eyes our talents rarely shewn,
Become at length so splendid in our own,
We dare not risk them into public view,
Lest they miscarry of what seems their due.
True modesty is a discerning grace,
And only blushes in the proper place;
But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear,
Where 'tis a shame to be ashamed t' appear:
Humility the parent of the first,
The last by Vanity produced and nursed.
The circle form'd, we sit in silent state
Like figures drawn upon a dial plate
Yes, ma'am, and no ma'am, utter'd softly, shew
Every tive minutes how the minutes go
Each individual suffering a constraint
Poetry may, but colours cannot, paint




ï~~ISO             CONVERSATION,
As if in close committee on the sky,
Reports it hot or cold, or wet or dry;
And finds a changing clime a happy source
Of wise reflection, and well-timed discourse.
We next inquire, but softly and by stealth,
Like conservators of the public health,
Of epidemic throats, if such there are,
And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh
That theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues,
Fill'd up at last with interesting news,
Who danced with whom, and who are like to wed,
And who is hang'd, and who is brought to bed
But fear to call a more important cause,
As if 'twere treason against English laws.
The visit paid, with ecstacy we come,
As from a seven years' transportation, home,
And there resume an unembarass'd brow,
Recovering what we lest we know not how,
The faculties, that seem'd reduced to nought,
Expression, and the privilege of thought.
7 he reeking, roaring hero of the chase,
I give him over as a desperate case.
Phbysicians write in hopes to work a cure,
Never, if honest ones, when death is sure;
And though the fox he follows may be tamed,
A mere fox-follower never is reclaim'd.
Some farrier should prescribe his proper course,
Whose only fit companion is his horse,
Or if, deserving of a better doom,
The noble beast judge otherwise, his groom.
Yet e'en the rogtie that serves him, though he stand.
To take his honour's orders, cap in hand,
Prefers his fellow-grooms with much good sense,
Their skill a truth, his master's a pretence.
If neither horse nor groom affect the 'squire,
Where can at last his jockeyship retire?
O to the club, the scene of savage joys,
The school of coarse good fellowship and noise;
There, in the sweet society of those,
Whose friendship, from his boyish years he chose,
Let him improve his talent if he can,
TiUl none but beasts acknowledge him a man.




ï~~CONVERSATION.                137
Man's heart had been impenetrably seal'd,
Like theirs that cleave the flood or graze the field,
Had not his Maker's all-bestowing hand
Giv'n him a soul, and bade him understand;
The reasoning power vouchsafed of course inferr'd
The power to clothe that reason with his word;
For all is perfect, that God works on earth,
And He, that gives conception, aids the birth.
If this be plain, 'tis plainly understood,
Whatuses of his boon the Giver would.
The mind, dispatch'd upon her busy toil,
Should range where Providence has bless'd the soil;
Visiting every flower with labour meet,
And gathering all her treasures sweet by sweet,
She should imbue the tongue with what she sips,
And shed the balmy blessing on the lips,
That good diffused may wore abundant grow,
And speech may praise the power that bids it flow.
Will the sweet warbler of the livelong night,
That fills the listening lover with delight,
Forget his harmony, with rapture heard,
To learn the twittering of a meaner bird.
Or make the parrot's mimicry his choice,
That odious libel on a human voice?
No-Nature, unsophisticate by man,
Starts not aside from her Creator's plan;
The melody, that was at first design'd
To cheer the rude forefathers of mankind,
Is note for note deliver'd in our ears,
In the last scene of her six thousand years.
Yet Fashion, leader of her chattering train,
Whom man for his own hurt permits to reign,
Who shifts and changes all things but his shape,
And would degrade her votary to an ape,
The fruitful parent of abuse and wrong,
Holds a usurp'd dominion o'er his tongue;
There sits and prompts him with his own disgrace,
Prescribes the theme, the tone, and the grimace,
And when accomplish'd in her wayward school,
Calls gentleman whom she has made a fool.
'Tis an unalterable fix'd decree,
That none could frame or ratify but she,
K.w " xa




ï~~138            CONVERSATION.
That heaven and hell, and righteousness and sin,
Snares in his path, and foes that lurk within,
God and his attributes (a field of day
Where 'tis an angel's happiness to stray),
Fruits of his love, and wonders of his might,
Be never named in ears esteem'd polite.
That he who dares, when she forbids, be grave,
Shall stand proscribed, a madman or a knave,
A close designer, not to be believea,
Or, if excused that charge, at least deceived.
Oh, Folly, worthy of the nurse's lap,
Give it the breast, or stop its mouth with pap!
Is it incredible, or can it seem
A dream to any, except those that dream,
That man should love his Maker, and that fire,
Warming his heart, should at his lips transpire I
Know then, and modestly let fall your eyes,
And veil your daring crest that braves the skies,
That air of insolence affronts your God,
You need his pardon, and provoke his rod:
Now in a posture that becomes you more
Than that heroic strut assumed before,
Know your arrears with every hour accrue
For mercy shewn, while wrath is justly due.
The time is short, and there are sous on earth,
Though future pain may serve foi present mirth,
Acquainted with the woes, that fear or shamne,
By Fashion taught, forbade them once to name,
And, having felt the pangs you deem a jest,
Have proved them truths too big to be express'd.
Go seek on revelation's hallow'd ground,
Sure to succeed, the remedy they found;
Touch'd by that power that you have dared to mock
That makes seas stable, and dissolves the rock,
Your heart shall yield a life-renewing stream,
That fools, as you have done, shall call a dream.
It happeu'd on a solemn eventide,
Soon after lie that was our surety died,
Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined,
The scene of all those sorrows left behind,
Sought their own village, busied as they went
In musings worthy of the great event:




ï~~CONVERSATION.               159
They spake of him they loved, of him whose life,
Though blameless, bad incurr'd perpetual strife,
Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts,
A deep memorial graven on their hearts.
The recollection, like a vein of ore,
The farther traced, enrich'd them still the more;
They thought him, and they justly thought him, one
Sent to do more than he appear'd to have done;
To exalt a people, and to place them high
Above all else, and wonder'd he should die.
Ere yet they brought their journey to an end,
A stranger join'd them, courteous ab a friend,
And ask'd them, with a kind, engaging air,
What their affliction was, and be-g'd a share.
Inform'd, he gather'd up the broken thread,
And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said,
Explain'd, illus rated, and search'd so well
The tender theme on which they chose to dwell,
That reaching home, The night, they said, is near,
We must-not now be parted-sojourn here.
The new acquaintance soon became a guest,
And, made so welcome at their simple feast,
He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word,
And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord!
Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say,
Did they not burn within us by the way?
Now theirs was converse, such as it behoves
Man to maintain, and such as God approves:
Their views indeed were indistinct and dim,
But yet successful, being aim'd at him.
Christ and his character their only scope,
Their object, and their subject, and their hope,
They felt what it became them much to feel,
And, wanting him to loose the sacred seal
Found him as prompt, as their desire was true
To spread the new-born glories in their view.
Well-what are ages and the lapse of time
Match'd against truths, as lasting as subliume.Can length of years on God himself exact?
Or make that fiction, which was once a fact
No -marble and recording brass decay,
And like the graver's memory pass away;




ï~~140            CONVERSATION.
The works of man inherit, as is just,
Their author's frailty, and I eturn to dust:
But truth divine for ever stands secure,
Its head is guarded, as its base is sure;
Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years,
The pillar of the eternal plan appears,
The raving storm and dashing wave defies,
Built by that architect, who built the skies.
Hearts may be found, that harbour at this hour
That love of Christ, and all its quickening power;
An I lips unstain'd by folly or by strife,
Whose wisdom, drawn from the. deep well of life,
Tastes of its healthful origin, and flows
A Jordan for th' ablution of our woes.
O days of Heaven, and nights of equal praise,
Serene and peaceful as those heavenly days,
When souls drawn upwards in communion sweet
Enjoy the stillness of some close retreats,
Discourse, as if released and safe at home,
Of dangers pass'd, and wonders yet to coml,
And spread the sacred treasures of the breast
Upon the lap of covenanted Rest.
What, always dreaming over heavenly things,
Like angel-heads in stone with pigeon-wings?
Canting and whining out all day the word,
And half the night? fanatic and absurd I
Mine be the friend less frequent in his prayers,
Who makes no bustle with his soul's affairs,
Whose wit can brighten up a wintry day,
And chase the splenetic dull hours away:
Content on earth in earthly things to shine,
Who waits for Heaven ere he becomes divine,
Leaves saints t' enjoy those altitudes they teach,
And plucks the fruit placed more within his reach
Well spoken, advocate of sin and shame,
Known by thy bleating, Ignorance thy name.
Is sparkling wit the world's exclusive right?
The fix'd fee-simple of the vain and light?
Can hopes of Heaven, bright-prospects of an hour
That come to waft us out of Sorrow's power,
Obscure or quench a faculty, that finds
Its happiest soil in the serenest minds?




ï~~CONVERSATION.                 141
Religion curbs indeed its wanton play,
And brings the trifler under rigorous sway,
But gives it usefulness unknown before,
And, purifying, makes it shine the more.
A Christian's wit is inoffensive light,
A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight;
Vigorous in age as in the flush of youth,
'Tis always active on the side of truth'
Temperance and peace ensure its healthful state,
And make it brightest at its latest date.
Oh I have seen (nor hope perhaps in vain,
Ere life go down, to see such sights again)
A veteran warrior in the Christian field,
Who never saw the sword he could not wield;
Grave without dulness, learned without pride,
Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen-eyed,
A man that would have foil'd at their own play
A dozen would-be's of the modern day;
Who, when occasion justified its use,
Had wit as bright as ready to produce;
Could fetch from records of an earlier age,
Or from philosophy's enlighten'd page,
His rich materials, and regale your ear
With strains it was a privilege to hear:
Yet above all, his luxury supreme,
And his chief glory, was the Gospel theme;
There he was copious as old Greece or Rome,
His happy eloquence seem'd there at home,Ambitious not to shine or to excel,
But to treat justly what he loved so well.
It moves me more perhaps than folly ought,
When some green heads, as void of wit as thought,
Suppose themselves monopolists of sense,
And wiser men's ability pretence.
Though time will wear us, and we must grow old,
Such men are not forgot as soon as cold,
Their fragrant memory will outlast their tomb,
Embalm'd for ever in its own perfume.
And to say truth, though in its early prime,
And when unstain'd with any grosser crime,
Youth has a sprightliness and fire to boast,
That in the valley of decline are lost,  '




ï~~142            CON VER SATION.
And Virtue, with peculiar charms, appears
Crown'd with the garland of life's blooming years
Yet age, by long experience well inform'd,
Well read, well temper'd, with religion warm'd,
That fire abated which impels rash youth,
Proud of his speed, to overshoot the truth,
As time improves the grape's authentic juice,
Mellows and makes the speech more fit for use,
And claims a reverence in its shortening day,
That 'tis an honour and a joy to pay.
The fruits of Age, less fair, are yet more sound,
Than those a brighter season pours around;
And, like the stores autumnal suns mature,
Through wintry rigours unimpair'd endure.
What is fanatic frenzy, scorn'd so much,
And dreaded more than a contagious touch?
I grant it dangerous, and approve your fear,
That fire is catching if you draw too near;
But sage observers oft mistake the flame,
And give true piety that odious name.
To tremble (as the creature of an hour
Ought at the view of an Almighty power)
Before his presence, at whose awful throne
All tremble in all worlds, except our own;
To supplicate his mercy, love his ways,
And prize them above pleasure, wealth, or praise;
Though common sense, allow'd acasting voice,
And free from bias, must approve the choice;
Convicts a man fanatic in the extreme,
And wild as madness in the world's esteem.
But that disease, when soberly defined,
Is the false fire of an o'erheated mind;
It views the truth with a distorted eye,
And either warps or lays it useless by;
'Tis narrow, selfish, arrogant, and draws
its sordid nourishment from man's applause
And while at heart sin unrelinouish'd lies,
Presumes itself chief favourite of the skies.
'Tis such a light as putrefaction breeds
In fly-blown flesh, whereon the maggot feeds,
Shines in the dark, but usher'd into day,
The stench remains, the lustre dies away.




ï~~CO N VERSATION.               143
True bliss, if man may reach it, is composed
Of hearts in union mutually disclosed;
And, farewell else all hope of pure delight,
Those hearts should be reclaim'd, renew'd, upright.
Bad men, profaning friendship's hallow'd name,
Form, in its stead, a covenant of shame,
A dark confederacy against the laws
Of virtue, and religion's glorious cause:
They build each ether up with dreadful skill,
As bastions set point blank against God's will;
Enlarge and fortify the dread redoubt,
Deeply resolved to shut a Saviour out;
Call legions up from hell to back the deed;
And, cursed with conquest, finally succeed.
But souls, that carry on a bless'd exchange
Of joys they meet with in their heavenly range
And with a fearless confidence make known
The sorrows, sympathy esteems its own,
Daily derive increasing light and force
From such communion in their pleasant course,
Feel less the journey's roughness and its length,
Meet their opposers with united strength,
And, one in heart, in interest, and design,
Gird up each other to the race divine.
But Conversation, choose what theme we may,
And chiefly when religion leads the way,
Should flow, like waters after summer showers,
Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers.
The Christian, in whose soul, though now distress'd,
Lives the dear thought of joys he once possess'd,
When all his glowing language issued forth
With God's deep stamp upon its current worth,
Will speak without disguise, and must impart,
Sad as it is, his undissembling heart,Abhors:onstraint, aad dares not feign a zeal,
Or seem to boar. a fire he does not feel.
The song of Zion is a tasteless thing,
Unless, when rising on a joyful wing,
The soul can mix with the celestial bands,
And give the strain the compass it demands.
Strange tidings these to tell a World, who treat
All but their own experience as deceit I




ï~~144            CONVERSATION.
Will they believe, though credulous en.)ugh
To swallow much upon much weaker proof,
That there art bless'd inhabitants of earth,
Partakers of a new ethereal birth,
Their hopes, desires, and purposes estranged
From things terrestrial, and divinely changed,
Their very language of a kind that speaks
The soul's sure interest in the good she seeks,
Who deal. with Scripture, its importance felt,
As Tully with Philosophy once dealt,
And in the silent watcheS of the night,
And through the scenes of toil-renewing light,
The social walk, or solitary ride,
Keep still the dear companion at their side
No--shame upon a self-disgracing age,
God's work may serve an ape upon a stage
With such a jest, as fill'd with hellish glee
Certain invisibles as shrewd as he;
But veneration or respect finds none,
Save from the subjects of that work alone.
The World grown old her deep discernment shows
Claps spectacles on her sagacious nose,
Peruses closely the true Christian's face,
And finds it a mere mask of sly grimace;
Usurps God's office, lays his bosom bare,
And finds hypocrisy close lurking there;
And, serving God herself through mere constraint,
Concludes his unfeign'd love of him a feint.
And yet, God knows, look human nature through
(And in due time the World shall know it too),
That since the flowers of Eden felt the blast,
That after man's defection laid all waste,
Sincerity towards the heart-searching God
Has made the new-born creature her abode,
Nor shall be found in unregenerate souls,
Till the last fire burn all between the poles.
Sincerity I why 'tis his only pride,
Weak and imperfect in all grace beside,
He knows that God demav ds his heart entire,
And gives him all his just demands require.
Without it his pretensions were as vain,
As, having it, he deems the World's disdain;




ï~~tONVERSATION.                 145
That great defect would cost him not alone
Man's favourable judgment, but his own;
His birthright shaken, and no longer clear,
Than while his conduct prove his heart sinoea'.
Retort the charge, and let the World be told
She boasts a confidence she does not hold;
That, conscious of her crimes, she feels instead
A cold misgiving, and a killing dread:
That while in health, the ground of her support
Is madly to forget that life is short;
That sick, she trembles, knowing she must die,
Her hope presumption, and her faith a lie;
That while she dotes, and dreams that she believes,
She mocks her Maker, and herself deceives,
Her utmost reach, historical assent,
The doctrines warp'd to what they never meant;
That truth itself is in her head as dail
And useless as a candle in a skull,
And all her love of God a groundless clainm,
A trick upon the canvass, painted flame.
Tell her again, the sneer upon her face,
And all her censures of the work of grace,
Ire insincere, meant only to conceal
A dread she would not, yet is forced to feel;
That in her heart the Christian she reveres,
And while she seems to scorn him, only fears.
A poet does not work by square or line,
As smiths and joiners perfect a design;
At least we moderns, our attention less,
Beyond the example of our sires digress,
And claim a right to scamper and run wide,
Wherever chance, caprice, or fancy gaide.
The world and I fortuitously met,
I owed a trifle, and have paid the debt;
She did me wrong, I recompensed the deed.,
And, having struck the balance, now proceed.
Perhaps, however, as some years have pass'd
Since she and I conversed together last,
And I have lived recluse in rural shades,
Which seldom a distinct report pervades,
Great changes and new manners have occurr'e4
And bless'd reforms, that I have never heard.
G




ï~~146             CON VERSATION.
And she may now be as discreet and we,
As once absurd in all discerning eyes.
Sobriety perhaps may now be found,.
Where once intoxication press'd the ground.
The subtle and injurious may be just,
And he grown chaste, that was the slave of lust;
Arts once esteem'd may be with shame dismiss'(;
Charity may relax the mriser's fist;
The gamester may have cast his cards away,
Forgot to curse, and only kneel to pray
It has indeed beesn told me (with what weight.
How credibly, 'tis hard for me to state),
That fables old, that seem'd for ever mate,
Revived, are hastening into fresh repute,
And gods and goddesses discarded long,
Like useless lumber, or a stroller's song,
Are bringing into vogue their heathen train]
And Jupiter bids fair to rule again;
That certain feasts are instituted now,
Where Venus hears the lover's tender vow
That all Olympus through the country roves,
To consecrate our few remaining groves,
And Echo learns politely to repeat
The praise of names for ages obsolete;
That having proved the weakness, it should. s e s
Of revelation's ineffectual beam,
To bring the passions under sober sway,
And give the moral springs their proper play,
They mean to try at last what may be done,
By stout substantial gods of wood and stone,
And whether Roman rites may not produce
The virtues of old Rome for English use.
May such success attend the pious plan,
May Mercury once more embellish man,
Grace him again with long forgotten arts,
Reclaim his taste, and brighten up his parts,
Make him athletic, as in days of old,
Learn'd at the bar, in the palestra bold,
Divest the rougher sex of female airs,
And teach the softer not to copy theirs:
The change shall please, nor shall it matter aught
Who works the wonder, it if be but wrought.




ï~~CONVERSATION.                 147
'Tis time, however, if the case stands thus,
For us plain folks, and all who side with us,
To build our altar, confident and bold,
And say, as stern Elijah said of old,
The strife now stands upon a fair award,
If Israel's Lord be God, then serve the Lord:
If he be silent, faith is all a whim,
Then Baal is the God, and worship him.
Digression is so much in modern use,
Thought is so rare, and fancy so profuse,
Some never seem so wide of their intent,
As when returning to the theme they meant;
As mendicants, whose business is to roam,
Make every parish but their own their home.
Though such continual zig-zags in a book,
Such drunken reelings have an awkward look,
And I had rather creep to what is true,
Than rove-and stagger with no mark in view;
Yet to consult a little seem'd no crime,
The freakish humour of the present time;
But now to gather up what seems dispersed,
And touch the subject I design'd at first,
May prove, though much beside the rules of art
Best for the public, and my wisest part.
And first, let no man charge me, that I mean
To clothe in sable every social scene,
And give good company a face severe,
As if they met around a father's bier;
For tell some men, that pleasure all their bent,
And laughter all their work, is life misspent,
Their wisdom bursts into this sage reply,
Then mirth is sin, and we should always cry.
To find the medium asks some share of wit,
And therefore 'tis a mark fools never hit.
But though life's valley be a vale of tears,
A brighter scene beyond that vale appears,
Whose glory, with alight that never fades,
Shoots between scatter'd rocks and opening shades.
And, while it shews the land the soul desires,
The language of the land she seeks inspires.
Thus touch'd, the tongue receives a sacred cure
Of all that was absurd, profane, impure;




ï~~148              RETIREMENT.
Held within modest bounds, the tide of speech
Pursues the course, that Truth and Nature teacd;
No longer labours merely to produce
The pomp of sound, or tinkle without use
Where'er it winds, the salutary stream,
Sprightly and fresh, enriches every theme,
While all the happy man possess d before,
The gift of nature or the classic store,
Is made subservient to the grand design,
For which Heaven form'd the faculty divine.
So, should an idiot, while at large he strays,
Find the sweet lyre on which an artist plays,
With rash and awkward force the chords he shakes,
And grins with wonder at the jar he makes*
But let the wise and well-instructed hand
Once take the shell beneath his just command,
In gentle sounds it seems as it complain'd
Of the rude injuries it late sustain'd,
Till tuned at length to some immortal song,
It sounds Jehovah's name, and pours his praise along.
RETIREMENT........ studils florens ignobilis oti.
Virg. Gesrg. Lib. 4.
HACKNEY'D in business, wearied at that oar,
Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more,
But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low,
All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego;
The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade,
Pants for the refuge of some rural shade,
Where all his long anxieties forgot
Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot,
Or recollected only to gild o'er,
And add a smile to what was sweet before,
He may possess the joys he thinks he sees,
Lay his old age upon the lap of Ease,
Improve the remnant of his wasted,span,
And having lived a trifler, die a man.




ï~~RETIREMENT.                   149
Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast,
Though long rebell'd against, not yet suppress'd,
And calls a creature form'd for God? alone,
For Heaven's high purposes, and not his own,
Calls him away from selfish ends and aims,
From what debilitates and what inflames,
From cities humming with a restless crowd
Sordid as active, ignorant as loud,
Whose highest praise is that they live in vain,
The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain,
Where works of man are cluster'd close arouna,
And works of God are hardly to be found,,
To regions where, in spite of sin and woe,
Traces of Eden are still seen below,
Where mountain, river, forest, field and grove,
Remind him of his Maker's power and love.
'Tis well, if look'd for at so late a day,
In the last scene of such a senseless play,
True wisdom will attend his feeble call,
And grace his action ere the curtain fall.
Souls, that have long despised their heavenly 'ir'thl
Their wishes all impregnated with Earth,
For threescore years employ'd with ceaseless care
In catching smoke and feeding upon air,
Conversant only with the ways of men,
Rarely redeem the short remaining ten.
Inveterate habits choke the unfruitful heart,
Their fibres penetrate its tenderest part,
And draining its nutritious powers to feed
Their noxious growth, starve every better seed.
Happy, if full of days-but happier far,
If, ere we yet discern life's evening star,
Sick of the service of a world, that feeds
Its patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds,
We can escape from Custom's idiot sway,
To serve the Sovereign we were born t'obey.
Then sweet to muse upon his skill display'd
(Infinite skill) in all that he has made!
To trace in Nature's most minute design
The signature and stamp of power divine,
Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease,
Where unassisted sight no beauty sees,




ï~~150             RETIREMENT.
The shapely limb and lubricated joint
Within the small dimensions of a point,
Muscle and nerve miraculously spun,
His mighty work, who speaksand it is done,
The invisible in things scarce seen reveal'd,
To whom an atom is an ample field;
To wonder at a thousand insect forms,
These hatch'd, and those resuscitated worms,
New life ordain'd and brighter scenes to share,
Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air,
Whose shape would make them,had they bulk and size
More hideous foes than fancy can devise;
With helmet-heads, and dragon-scales adorn'd,
The mighty myriads, now securely scorn'd,
Would mock the majesty of man's high birth,
Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth.
Then with a glance of fancy to survey,
Far as the faculty can stretch away,
Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command,
From urns that never fail, through every land;
These like a deluge with impetuous force,
Those winding modestly a silent course;
The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales;
Seas, on which every nation spreads her sails;
The sun, a world whence other worlds drink night,
The crescent moon, the diadem of night;
Stars countless, each in his appointed place,
Fast anchor'd in the deep abyss of spaceAt such a sight to catch the poet's flame,
And with a rapture like his own exclaim,
These are thy glorious works, thou Source of good,
How dimly seen, how faintly understood I
Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care,
This universal frame, thus wondrous fair;
Thy power divine, and bounty beyond thought,
Adored and praised in all that thou hast wrought.
Absorb'd in that immensity 1 see,
I shrink abased, and yet aspire to thee;
Instruct me, guide me to that heavenly day,
Thy words more clearly than thy works, display,
That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refine,
I may resemble thee. and call thee mine.




ï~~R ETIR E M ENT.             X51
O bless'd proficiency! surpassing all
That men erroneously their glory call,
The recompense that arts or arms can yield,
The bar, the senate, or the tented field,
Compared with this sublimrnest life below,
Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to shew't
Thus studied, used, and consecrated thus,
On earth what is, seems form'd indeed for us:
Not as the plaything of a froward child,
Fretful, unless diverted and beguiled,
Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires
Of pride, ambition, or impure desires,
But as a scale, by which the soul ascends
From mighty means to more important ends,
Securely, though by steps but rarely trod,
SMounts from inferior beings up to God,
And sees, by no fallacious light or dim,
Earth made for man, and man himself for him.
Not that I mnean t' approve, or would enforce,
A superstitious and monastic course;
Truth is not local, God alike pervades
And fills the world of traffic and the shades,
And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes,
Or scorn'd where business never intervenes.
But tis not easy with a mind like ours,
Conscious of weakness in its noblestpowers,
And in a world where, other ills apart,
The roving eye misleads the careless heart,
To limit thought, by nature prone to stray
Wherever freakish fancy points the way;
To bid the pleadings of self-love be still,
Resign our own and soek our Maker's will;
To spread the page of Scripture, and compare
Our conduct with the laws engraven there;
To measure all that passes in the breast,
Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test;
To dive into the sacred deeps within,
To spare no passion and no favourite sin,
And search the themes, important above all,
Ourselves, and our recovery from our fall.
But leisure, silence, and a minund released
From anxious thoughts how wealth tray be increased
_i__!I




ï~~1a52             RETIREINLENT.
How to secure in some propitious hour,
The point of interest, or the post of power,
A soul serene, and equally retired
From objects too much dreaded or desired,
Safe from the clamours pf perverse dispute.
At least are friendly to the great pursuit.
Opening the map of God's extensive pla,
We find a little isle, this life of man;
Eternity's unknown expanse appears.ircling around and limiting his years.
The busy race examine and explore
Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore,
With care colec' what in their eyes excels,
Some shining pebbies, and some weeds and shelTb;
Thus laden, dream that they age rich and great,
And happiest he that groans beneath his weight.
The waves o'ertake them in their serious play,
And every hour sweeps multitudes away;
They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep.
Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep.
A few forsake the throng: with lifted eyes
Ask wealth of Heaven and gain a real prize,
Truth, wisdom, grace, and peace like that above,
Seal'd with his signet, whom they serve and love i
Scorn'd by the rest, with patient hope they wait
A kind release from their imperfect state,
And unregretted are soon snatch'd away
From scenes of sor'row into gloripus day
Nor these alone prefer a life recluse,
Who seek retirement for its proper use;
The love of change, that lives in every breast,
Genius and temper, and desire of rest,
Discordant motives in one centre meet,
And each inclines its votary to retreat.
Some minds by nature are averse to noise
And hate the tumult half the world enjoys,
The lure of avarice, or the pompous prize,
That courts display before ambitious eyes;
The fruits that hang on pleasure's flowery stem
Whate'er enchants them, are no snares to them.
To them the deep recess of dusky groves
Or forest, where the deer securely roves




ï~~ILETIItK E  N 1.            153
The fall of waters, and the song of birds,
And hills that echo to the distant herds,
Are luxuries excelling all the glare
The world can boast, and her chief favourite's share.
With eager step, and carelessly array'd,
For such a cause the poet seeks the shade,
From all he sees he catches new delight,
Pleased Fancy claps her pinions at the sight;
The rising or the setting orb of day,
The clouds that flit, or slowly float away,
Nature in all the various shapes she wears,
Frowning in storms, or breathing gentle airs,
The snowy robe her wintry state assumes,
Her summer heats, her fruits, and her perfumes,
All, all alike transport the glowing bard,
Success in rhyme his glory and reward.
O Nature I whose Elysian scenes disclose
His bright perfections, at whose word they rose,
Next to that Power, who form'd thee and sustains,
Be thou the greater inspirer of my strains.
Still, as I touch the lyre, do thou expand
Thy genuine charms, and guide an artless hand,
That I may catch a fire but rarely known,
Give useful light, though I should miss renown,
And, poring on thy page, whose every line
Bears proof of an intelligence divine,
May feel a heart enrich'd by what it pays,
That builds its glory on its Maker's praise.
Woe to the man whose wit disclaims its use,
Glittering in vain, or only toseduce,
Who studies nature with a wanton eye
Admires the work, but slips the lesson by;
His hours of leisure and recess employs
In drawing pictures of forbidden joys,
Retires to blazon his own worthless name,
Or shoot the careless with a surer aim.
The lover, too, shuns business and alarms,
Tender idolater of absent charms.
Saints offer nothing in their warmest prayers,
That he devotes not with a zeal like theirs;
'Tis consecration of his heart, soul, time,
And every thought that wanders is a crime.
GS




ï~~154             RETIREMENT.
In sighs he worships his supremely fair,
And weeps a sad libation in despair;
Adores a creature, and., devout in vain,
H ins in return an answer of disdain.
As woodbine weds the plant within her reach,
Rough elm, or smooth-grain'd ash, or glossy beech,
In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays
Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays,
But does a mischief while she lends a grace,
Straitening its growth by such a strict embrace;
So love, that clings around the noblest minds,
Forbids the advancement of the soul he binds;
The suitor's air indeed he soon improves,
And forms it to the taste of her he loves5,.
Teaches his eyes a language, and no less
Relines his speech, and fashions his address;
B ut farewell promises of happier fruits,
Manly designs, and learning's grave pursuits;
Girt with a chain he cannot wish to break
H is only bliss is sorrow for her sake;
Who will may pant for glory and excel,
Her smile his aim, all higher aims farewell!
Thyrsis, Alexis, or whatever name
May least offend against so pure a flame,
Though sage advice of friends the most sincere
Sounds harshly in so delicate an ear,
And lovers, of all creatures, tame or wild,
Can least brook management, however mild,
Yet let a poet (poetry disarms
The fiercest animals with magac charms)
Risk an intrusion on thy pensive mood,
And woo and win thee to thy proper good.
Pastoral images and still retreats,
Umbrageous walks and solitary seats,
Sweet birds in concert with harmonious stream
Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day-dreams,
Are all enchantments in a case like thine,
Conspire against thy peace with one design,
Soothe thee to make'thee but a sjrer prey,
And feed the fire that wastes thy power away.
Up-God has form'd thee with a wiser view,
Not to be led in chains, but to subdue;




ï~~RETIREMENT.                  155
Calls thee to cope with enemies, and first
Points out a conflict with thyself, the worst.
Woman indeed, a gift he would bestow
When he design'd a Paradise below,
The richest earthly boon his hands afford,
Deserves to be beloved, but not adored.
Post away swiftly to more active scenes,
Collect the scatter'd truths that study gleans,
Mix with the world, but with its wiser part,
No longer give an image all thine heart;
Its empire is not her's, nor is it thine,
'Tis God's just claim, prerogative divine.
Virtuous and faithful Heberden, whose skill
Attempts no task it cannot well fulfil
Gives melancholy up to Nature's care
And sends the patient into purer air.
Look where he comes-in this embower'd alcove
Stand close conceal'd, and see a statue move:
Lips busy, and eyes fix'd, foot falling slow.
Arms hanging idly down, hands clasp'd below,
Interpret to the marking eye distress,
Such as its symptoms can alone express.
That tongue is silent now; that silent tongue
Could argue once, could jest or join the song,
Could give advice, could censure or commend
Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend.
Renounced alike its office and its sport,
Its brisker and its graver strains fall short;
Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway,
And tike a summer brook are pass'd away.
This is a sight for Pity to peruse,
Till she resemble faintly what she views,
Till Sympathy contract a kindred pain,
Pierced with the woes that she laments in vain.
This, of all maladies that man infest,
Claims most compassion, and receives the least:
Job felt it, when he groan'd beneath the rod
And the barb'd arrows of a frowning God;
And such emollients as his friends could spare,
Friends such as his for modern Jobs prepare.
Bless'd, rather cursed, with hearts that never feel,
Kept snug in caskets of close-hammer'd stee,




ï~~156              RETIR     lE NT.
With mouths made only to grin wida and eat,
And minds that deem derided pain a treat,
With limbs of British oak, and nerves of wire;
And wit that puppet-prompters might inspire,
Their sovereign nostrum is a clumsy joke
On pangs enforced with God's severest stroke.
But with a soul, that ever felt the sting
Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing:
Not to molest, or irritate, or raise
A laugh at his expense, is slender praise;
He. that has not usurp'd the name of man,
Does all, and deems too little, all he can,
To assuage the throbbings of the fester'd part,
And staunch the bleedings of a broken heart.
'Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose,
Forgery of fancy, and a dream of woes;
Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight,
Each yielding harmony disposed aright;
The screws reversed (a task which, if he please,
God in a moment executes with ease),
Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose,
Lost, till he tune them, PH their power and use.
Then neither heathy wilds, nor scenes as fair
As ever recompensed the peasant's care,
Nor soft declivities with tufted hills,
Nor view of waters turning busy mills,
Parks in which Art preceptress Nature weds,
Nor gardens interspersed with flowery beds,
Nor gales, that catch the scent of blooming groves;
And waft it to the mourner as he roves,
Can call up life into his faded eye,
That passes all'he sees unheeded by;
No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels,
No cure for such, till God who makes them, heals.
And thou, sad sufferer under nameless ill,
That yields not to the touch of human skill,
Improve the kind occasion, understand
A Father's frown, and kiss his chastening hand.
To thee the dayspring, and the blaze of noon,
The purple evening and resplendent moon,
The stars, that sprinkled o'er the vault of night,
Seem drops descending in a shower of light,




ï~~RETIREM ENT.                157
Shine not, or undesired and hated shine,
Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine:
Yet seek him, in his favour life is found,
All bliss beside a shadow or a sound:
Then heaven, eclipsed so long, and this dull earth
Shall seem to start into a second birth;
Nature, assuming a more lovely face,
Borrowing a beauty from the works of grace,
Shall be despised and overlook'd no morb,
Shall fill thee with delights unfelt before,
Impart to things inanimate a voice,
And bid her mountains and her hills rejoice;
The sound shall run along the winding vales,
And thou enjoy an Eden ere it fails.
Ye groves (the statesman at his desk exclaims,
Sick of a thousand disappointed aims),
My patrimonial treasure and my pride,
Beneath your shades your gray possessor hide,
Receive me, languishing for that repose
The servant of the public never knows.
Y6 saw me once (ah, those regretted days,
When boyish innocence was all my praise!)
Hour after hour delightfully allot
To studies then familiar, since forgot,
And cultivate a taste for ancient song,
Catching its ardour as I mused along;
Nor seldom, as propitious Heaven might send
What once I valued and could boast, a friend;
Were witnesses how cordially I press'd
His undissembling virtue to my breast?
Receive me now, not uncorrupt as then,
Nor guiltless of corrupting other men,
But versed in arts, that while they seem to stay
A falling empire, hasten its decay.
To the fair haven of my native home,
The wreck of what I was, fatigued I come;
For once I can approve the patriot's voice,
And make the course he recommends my choice
Wt meet at last in one sincere desire,
His wish and mine both prompt me to retire.
'Tis done-he steps into the welcome chaise,
Lolls at his ease behind four handsome bays,




ï~~158             RETIREMENT.
That whirl away from business and debate
The disencumber'd Atlas of the state.
Ask not the boy, who, when the breeze of morn
First shakes the glittering drops fromn every thorn,
Unfolds his flock, then under bank or bush
Sits linking cherry-stones, or platting rush,
How fair is freedom-he was always free:
To carve his rustic name upon a tree,
To snare the mole, or with ill-fashion'd hook
To draw the incautious minnow from the br-so
Are life's prime pleasure's in his simple view,
His flock the chief concern hie ever knew
She shines but little in his heedless eyes,
The good we never miss we rarely prize:
But ask the noble drudge in state affairs,
Escaped from office and its constant cares,
What charms he sees in freedom's smile express'd.
In freedom lost so long, now repossess'd;
The tongue, whose strains were cogent as commandr
Revered at home, and felt in foreign lands,
Shall own itself a stammerer in that cause,
Or plead its silence as its best applause.
He knows indeed that whether dress'd or rude,
Wild without art, or artfully subdued,
Nature in every form inspires delight,
But never mark'd her with so just a sight.
Her hedge-row shrubs, a variegated store,
With woodbine and wild roses mantled o'er,
Green balks and furrow'd lands, the stream, that
Its cooling vapour o'er the dewy meads,  [spreadv
Downs, that almost escape the inquiring eye,
That melt and fade into the distant sky,
Beauties he lately slighted as he pass'd,
Seem all created since he trai ell'd last.
MIaster of all the enjoyments he design'd,
No rough annoyance rankling in his mind,
What early philosophic hours he keeps,
How regular his meals, how sound he sleeps!
Not sounder he, that on the mainmast head,
While morning kindles with a windy red,
Begins a long look-out for distant land,
N r quits till evening-wat ch his giddy stand;




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ï~~RETIREMENT,                 19
Then swift descending with a seaman's haste,
Slips to his hammock, and forgets the blast.
He chooses company, but not the 'squire's,
Whose wit is rudeness, whose good-breeding tires;
Nor yet the parson's, who would gladly come,
Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home;
Nor can he much affect the neighbouring peer,
Whose toe of emulation treads too near;
But wisely seeks a more convenient friend,
With whom dismissing forms, he may unbend;
A man, whom marks of condescending grace
Teach, while they flatter him, his proper place;
Who comes when call'd, and at a word withdraws,
Speaks with reserve, and listens with applause;
Some plain mechanic, who withiout pretence
To birth or wit, nor gives nor takes offence,
On whom hlie rests well-pleased his weary powers,
And talks and laughs away his vacant hours.
The tide of life, swift always in it- course,
May run in cities with a brisker force,
But no where with a current so serene,
Or half so clear, as in the rural scene.
Yet how fallacious is all earthly bliss,
What obvious truths the wisest heads may miss I
Some pleasures live a month, and some a year,
But short the date of all we gather here;
No happiness is felt, except the true,
That does not charm the more for being new.
This observation, as it chanced, not made,
Or, if the thought occurrT'd, not duly weigh'd
He sighs-for after all, by slow degrees,
The spot he loved has lost the power to please;
To cross his ambling pony day by day,
Seems at the best but dreaming life away;
The prospect, such as might enchant despair
He views it not, or sees no beauty there;
With aching heart,and discontented looks,
Returns at noon to billiards or to books,
But feels, while grasping at his faded joys,
A secret thirst of his renounced employs.
He chides the tardiness of every post,
Pants to be told of battles won or lost,




ï~~160              RETIREMENT.
Blames his own indolence, observes, though late,
'Tis criminal to leave a sinking state,
Flies to the levee, and received with grace,
Kneels, kisses hands, and shines again in place.
Suburban villas, highway-side retreats,
That dread the encroachment of our growing stree ts
Tight boxes, neatly sash'd, and in a blaze
With all a July sun's collected rays,
Delight the citizen, who gasping there,
Breathes clouds of dust, and calls it country air.
O sweet retirement, who would balk the thought,
That could afford retirement, or could not?
'Tis such an easy walk, so smooth and straight,
The second milestone fronts the garden gate:
A step if fair, and, if a shower approach,
You find safe shelter in the next stage-coach.
There, prison'd in a parlour snug and small,
Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall,
The man of business and his friends compress'd,
Forget their labours, and yet find no rest;
But still 'tis rural-trees are to be seen
From every window, and the fields are green;
Ducks paddle in the pond before the door,
And what could a remoter scene shew more?
A sense of elegance we rarely find
The portion of a mean or vulgar mind,
And ignorance of better things makes man,
Who cannot much, rejoice in what he can;
And he, that deems his leisure well bestow'd
In contemplation of a turnpike road,
Is occupied as well, employs his hours
As wisely, and as much improves his powers,
As he that slumbers in pavilions graced
With all the charms of an accomplish'd taste.
Yet hence, alas! insolvencies; and hence
The unpitied victim of ill-judged expense,
From all his wearisome engagements freed,
Shakes hands with business, and retires indeed.
Your prudent grandmammas, ye modern belles,
Content with Bristol, Bath, and Tunbridge-wells,
When health required it would consent to roam,
Else more attach'd to pleasures found at home.




ï~~RETIREMENT.                 16
But now alike, gay widow, virgin, wife,
Ingenious to diversify dill life,
In coaches, chaises, caravans, and loys,
Fly to the coast for daiiy, nightly joys;
And all, impatient of dry land, agree
With one consent to rush into the sea.Ocean exhibits, fathomless and broad,
Much of the power and majest- of God.
He swathes about the swelling of the deep,
That shines and rests, as infants smile and sleep;
Vast as it is, it answers as it flows
The breathings of the lightest air that blows;
Curling and whitening over all the waste,
The rising waves obey the increasing blast,
Abrupt and horrid as the tempest roars,
Thunder and flash upon thd steadfast shores,
Till He, that rides the whirlwind, checks the xein,
Then all the world of waters sleeps again.Nereids and Dryads, as the fashion leads,
Now in the floods, now panting in the meads,
Votaries of pleasure still, where'er she dwells
Near barren rocks, in palaces, or cells,
O grant a poet leave to recommend
(A poet fond of nature, and your friend)
Her slighted works, to your admiring view;
Her works must needs excel, who fashion'd you.
Would ye, when rambling in your morning ride
With some unmeaning coxcomb at your side,
Condemn the prattler for his idle pains,
To waste unheard the music of his strains,
And, deaf to all the impertinence of tongue,
That, while it courts, affronts, and does you wrong,
Mark well the finish'd plan without a fault,
The seas globose and huge, the o'er-arching vault,
Earth's millions daily fed, a world employ'd
In gathering plenty yet to be enjoy'd,
Till gratitude grew vocal in the praise
Of God, beneficent in all his ways;
Graced with such wisdom, how would beauty shine I
Ye want but that to seem indeed divine.
Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid,
Force many a shining youth into the shade,




ï~~162             RETIREMENT.
Not to redeem his time, but his estate,
ANd play the fool, but at a cheaper rate.
There, hid in loath'd obscurity, removed
From pleasures left, but never more belovedr
He just endures, and with a sickly spleen
Sighs o'er the beauties of the charming scene.
Nature indeed looks prettily in rhyme;
Streams tinkle sweetly in poetic chime:
The warblings of the blackbird, clear and strong
Are musical enough in Thomson's song;
And Cobham's groves, and Windsor's green retreats,
When Pope describes them, have a thousand sweeta;
He likes the country, but in truth must own
Most likes it, when he studies it in town.
Poor Jack-no matter who-for when I blame,
I pity, and must therefore sink the name,
Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course,
And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse.
The estate his sires had own'd in ancient years,
Was quickly distanced, match'd agailnst a peer'.
Jack vanish'd, was regretted and forgot;
'Tis wild good-nature's never-failing lot.
At length, when all had long supposed him dead,
By cold submersion, razor, rope, or lead,
My lord, alighting at his usual place,
The Crown, took notice of an ostler's face.
Jack knew his friend, but hoped in that disguise
He might escape the most observing eyes.
And whistling, as if unconcern'd and gay,
Curried his nag, and look'd another way.
Convinced at last, upon a nearer view,
'Twas he, the same, the very Jack he knew,
O'erwhelm'd at once with wonder, grief, and joy,
He press'd him much to quit his base employ;
His countenance, his purse, his heart, his hand,
Influence and power, were all at his command:
Peers are not always gen'rous as well-bred,
But Granby was, meant truly what he said.
Jackbow'd, and was obliged-confess' 'twas strange,
That so retired he should not wish a change,
But knew no medium between guzzling beer,
And his old stint-three thousand pounds a-year.
I




ï~~It ETIR EMENT.              163
Thus some retire to nourish hopeless woe;
Some seeking happiness not found below;
Some to comply with humour, and a mind
To social scenes by nature disinclined;
Some sway'd by fashion, some by deep disgust;
Some self-impoverish'd, and because they must;
But few, that court Retirement, are aware
Of half the toils they must encounter there.
Lucrative offices are seldom lost
For want of powers proportion'd to the post;
Give e'en a dunce the employment he desires,
And he soon finds the talents it requires;
A business with an income at its heels
Furnishes always oil for its own wheels.
But in his arduous enterprise to close
His active years with indolent repose,
He finds the labours of that state exceed
His utmost faculties, severe indeed.
'Tis easy to resign a toilsome place,
But not to manage leisure with a grace;
Absence of occupation is not rest,
A mind quite vacant is a mind distress'd.
The veteran steed, excused his task at length,
In kind compassion of his failing strength,
And turn'd into the park or mead to graze,
Exempt from future service all his days,
There feels a pleasure perfect in its kind,
Ranges at liberty, and snuffs the wind:
But when his lord would quit the busy road,
To taste a joy like that he had bestow'd,
He proves, less happy than his favour'd brute,
A life of ease a difficult pursuit.
Thought, to the man that never thinks, may seem
As natural as when asleep to dream;
But reveries (for human minds will act)
Specious in show, impossible in fact,
Those flimsy webs, that break as soon as wrought,
Attain not to the dignity of thought:
Nor yet the swarms, that occupy the brain,
Where dreams of dress, intrigue, and pleasure reign;
Nor such as useless conversation breeds,
Or lust engenders, and indulgence feeds




ï~~164              RETIREMENT
Whence, and what are we? to what end ordain'd
What means the drama by the world sustain'd?
Business or vain amusement, care or mirth,
Divide the frail inhabitants of earth.
Is duty a mere sport or an employ?
Life an intrusted talent, or a toy?
Is there, as reason, conscience, Scripture, say,
Cause to provide for a great future day,
When, earth's assign'd duration at an end,
Man shall be summon'd and the dead attend?
The trumpet-will it sound, the curtain rise,
And shew the august tribunal of the skies;
Where no prevarication shall avail,
Where eloquence, and artifice shall fail,
The pride of arrogant distinctions fall,
And conscience and our conduct judge us all?
Pardon me, ye that give the midnight oil
To learned cares, or philosophic toil,
Though I revere your honourable names,
Your useful labours and important aims,
And hold the world indebted to your aid,
Enrich'd with the discoveries ye have made,
Yet let me stand excused if I esteem
A mind employ'd on so sublime a theme,
Pushing her bold inquiry to the date
And outline of the present transient state,
And, after poising her adventurous wings,
Settling at last upon eternal things,
Far more intelligent and better taught,
The strenuous use of profitable thought,
Than ye, when happiest, and enlighten'd most,
And highest in renown, can justly boast.
A mind unnerved, or indisposed to bear
The weight of subjects worthiest of her care,
Whatever hopes a change of scene inspires,
Must change her nature or in vain retires.
An idler is a watch, that wants both hands
As useless if it goes, as when it stands.
Books, therefore, not the scandal of the shelves,
In which lewd sensualists print out themselves;
Nor those, in which the stage gives vice a blowWith what success let modern manners sh:w;




ï~~RETIREMENT.

165

Nor Ins, who for the bane of thousands born,
Built God a church, and laugh'd his word to scorn,
Skilful alike to seem devout and just,
And stab religion with a sly side-thrust;
Nor those of learn'd philologists, who chase
A panting syllable through tine and space,
Start it at home, and hunt it in the dark,
To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark!
But such as Learning without false pretence,
The friend of Truth, the associate.of sound Sense,
And such as, in the zeal of good design,
Strong judgment labouring in the Scripture mine,
All such as manly and great souls produce,
Worthy to live, and of eternal use;
Behold in these what leisure hours demand,
-kmusement and true knowledge hand in hand.
Luxury gives the mind a childish cast,
And, while she polishes, perverts the taste;
Habits of close attention, thinking heads,
Become more rare as dissipation spreads,
Till authors hear at length one general cry,--
Tickle and entertain us, or we die.
The loud demand, from year to year the same,
Beggars Invention, and makes Fancy lame,
Till farce itself, most mournfully jejune,
Calls for the kind assistance of a tune;
And novels (witness every monthps review)
Belie their name, and offer nothing new.
The mind, relaxing into needful sport,
Should turn to writers of an abler sort,
Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style,
Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile.
Friends (for I cannot stint, as some have done,
Too rigid in my view, that name to one;
Though one, I grant it, in the generous breast
Will stand advanced a step above the rest:
Flowers by that name promiscuously we call,
But one, the rose, the regent of them all)Friends, not adopted with a school-boy's haste,
But chosen with a nice discerning taste,
WVell-born, well-disciplined, who, placed apart
From vulgar minds, have honour much at heart




ï~~166             RETIREMEN''.
And though the world may think the ingredients odd,
The love of virtue, and the fear of God!
Such friends prevent what else would soon succeed,
A temper rustic as the life we lead.
And keep the polish of the manners clean
As theirs who bustle in the basiest scene;
For solitude, however some may rave,
Seeming a sanctuary,.proves a grave,
A sepulchre, in which the living lie,
Where all good qualities grow sick and die.
I praise the Frenchman,* his remark was shrewdHow sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude!
But grant me still a friend in my retreat,
Whom I may whisper-solitude is sweet.
Yet neither these delights, nor aught beside,
That appetite can ask, or wealth provide,
Can save us always from a tedious day,
Or shine the dulness of still life away:
Divine communion, carefully enjoy'd,
Or sought with energy, must fill the void.
O sacred art, to which alone life owes
Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close,
Scorn'd in a world, indebted to that scorn
For evils daily felt and hardly borne,
Not knowing thee, we reap with bleeding hands
Flowers of rank odour upon thorny lands,
And, while Experience cautions us in vain,
Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain.
Despondence, self-deserted in her grief,
Lost by abandoning her own relief,
Murmuring and ungrateful Discontent,
That scorns afflictions mercifully meant,
Those humours tart as wine upon the fret,
Which idleness and weariness beget;
These, and a thousand plagues, that haunt the
breast,
Fond of the phantom of an earthly rest,
Divine communion chases as the day
Drives to their dens the obedient beasts of prez.
See Judah's promised king bereft of all,
Driven out an exile from the face of Saul,
* Bruvere.




ï~~ltEi, MEN IT.                [I I
To distant caves the lonely wanderer flies,
To seek that peace a tyrant's frown denies.
Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice,
Hear him o'erwhelm'd with sorrow, yet rejoice;
No womanish or wailing grief has part,
No, not a moment, in his royal heart;
'Tis manly music such as martyrs make,
Suffering with gladness for a Saviour's sake;
His soul exults, hope animates his lays,
The sense of mercy kindles into praise
And wilds, familiar with a lion's roar,
Ring with ecstatic sounds unheard before.
'Tis love like his, that can alone defeat
The foes of man, or make a desert sweet.
Religion does not censule or exclude
Unnumber'd pleasures harmlessly pursuedl;
To study culture, and with artful toil
To meliorate and tame the stubborn soil
To give dissimilar yet fruitful lands
The grain, or herb, or planti that each demands;
To cherish virtue in an humble state,
And share the joys your bounty may create;
To mark the matchless workings of the power
That shuts within its seed the future flower,
Bids these in excellence of form excel,
In colour these, and those delight the smell,
Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies,
To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes;
To teach the canvass innocent deceit,
Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheetThese, these are arts pursued without a crime,
That leave no stain upon the wing of Time.
Me poetry (or rather notes that aim
Feebly and vainly at poetic fame)
Employs, shut out from more important views,
Fast by the banks of the slow winding Ouse:
Content if thus sequester'd I may raise
A monitor's though not a poet's praise,
And while I tet ch an art too little known,
To close life wisely, may not waste my own.




ï~~?68
THE YEARLY DISTRESS;
OR, TITHING TIME AT STOCK, N ESSEX.
Verses addressed to a country clergyman, complaning of the d.
agreeableness of the day annually appointed for r ceivig the
dues at the parsonage.
ComE, ponder well, for 'tie no jest,
To laugh it would be wrong,
The troubles of a worthy priest,
The burden of my song.
The priest he merry is and blithe.
Three quarters of the year,
But oh,! it cuts him like.a scythe,
When tithing time draws near.
He then is full of frights and fears;
As one at point to die,
And long before the day appears
He heaves up many a sigh.
For then the farmers come jog, jog,
Along the miry road,
Each heart as heavy as a log,
To make their payments good.
In sooth, the sorrow of such days
Is not to be express'd,
When he that takes, and he that pays
Are both alike distress'd.
Now all unwelcome at his gates,
The clumsy swains alight,
With rueful faces and bald patesHe trembles at the sight.
And well he may, for well he knows
Each bumpkin of the clan,
Instead of paying what he owes,
Will cheat him if he can.
So in they come--each makes his 1.5,
And flings his head before,
And looks as if he came to beg,
And not to quit a score.




ï~~THE YEARLY DISTRESS.             100
SAnd how does miss and madam do
The little boy and all '
' All tight and well. And how do you,
Good Mr. What-d'ye call 4'
The dinner comes, and down they sit:
Were e'er such hungry folk T
There's little talking, and no wit;
It is no time to joke.
One wipej his nose upon his sleeve,
One spits upon the floor,
Yet, not to give offence or grieve,
Holds up the cloth before.
The punch goes round, and they are dull
And lumpish still as ever;
Like barrels with their bellies full,
They only weigh the heavier.
At length the busy time begins:
' Come, neighbours, we must wag-'
The money chinks, down drop their chins,
Each lugging out his bag.
One talks of mildew and of frost
And one of storms of hail,
And one of pigs that he has lost,
By maggots at the tail.
Quoth one, 'A rarer man than you
In pulpit none shall hear:
But yet, methinks, to tell you true,
You sell it plaguy dear.'
O why are farmers made so coarse,
Or clergy made so fine I
A kick, that scarce would move a hors,
May kill a sound divine.
Then let the boobies stay at home;
'Twould cost him, I dare say,
Less trouble taking twice the sum,
Without the clowns that pay.
H




ï~~SONNET,
ADDRESSED TO HENRY COWPER, ESQ.
On his emphatical and interesting Delivery of the Defence of
Warren Hlastings, Esq., in the House of Lords.
COWPER, whose silver voice, task'd sometimes hard
Legends prolix delivers in the ears
(Attentive when thou read'st) of England's peers,
Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward.
Thou wast not heard with drowsy disregard,
Expending late on all that length of plea
Thy generous powers; but silence honour'd thee,
Mute as e'er gazed on orator or bard.
Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside
Both heart and head: and couldst with music s Awee t
Of Attic phrase and senatorial tone,
Like thy renown'd forefathers, far and wide
Thy fame diffuse, praised not for utterance mneet
Of others' speech, but magic of thy own.
LINES ADDRESSED TO DR. I)ARWIN.
Author of ' The Botanic Garden.'
Two Poets* (poets, by report,
Not oft so well agree)
Sweet Harmonist of Flora's court 1
Conspire to honour Thoe.
They best can judge a poet's worth
Who oft themselves have known
The pangs of a poetic birth
By labours of.their own.
We therefore, pleased, extol thy song,
Though various, yet complete,
Rich in embellishment, as strong
And learned as 'tis sweet.
* Alluding to the poem by Mr. Hayley, which accompamed
these lines.




ï~~FEATHER-HANGINGS.              i1n
No envy mingles with our praise,
Though, could our hearts repine
At any poet's happier lays,
They would-they must at thine.
But we, in mutual bondage knit
Of friendship's closest tie,
Can gaze on even Darwin's wit
With an unjaundiced eye
And deem the bard, whoe'er he be,
And howsoever known,
Who would not twine a wreath for Thee,
Unworthy of his own.
ON MRS. MONTAGU'S FEATHER-HANGINGS
THE birds put off their every hue,
To dress a room for Montagu.
The peacock sends his heavenly dyes,
His rainbows and his starry eyes;
The pheasant plumes, which round infold
His mantling neck with downy gold;
The cock his arch'd tail's azure show;
And, river blanch'd, the swan his snow
All tribes beside of Indian name,
That glossy shine, or vivid flame,
Where rises, and where sets the day,
'Whate'er they boast of rich and gay,
Contribute to the gorgeous plan,
Proud to advance it all they can.
This plumage neither dashing shower,
Nor blasts, that shake the dripping bower,
Shall drench again or discompose,
But, screen'd from every storm that blows,
It boasts a splendour ever new,
Safe with protecting Montagu.
To the same patroness resort,
Secure of favour at her court,
Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought
Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought,




ï~~172        VERSES BY A. SELKIRK.
Which, though new-born, with vigour movd,
Like Pallas springing arm'd from JoveImagination scattering round
Wild roses over furrow'd ground,
Which Labour of his frown beguile,
And teach Philosophy a smileWit flashing on Religion's side,
Whose fires, to sacred truth applied,
The gem, though luminous before,
Obtrude on human notice niore,
Like sunbeams on the golden height
Of some tall temple, playing bright-.
Well-tutor'd Learning, from his books
Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty, looks,
Their order on his shelves exact,
Not more harmonious or compact
Than that, to which he keeps confined
The various treasures of his mindAll these to Montagu's repair,
Ambitious of a shelter there.
There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit,
Their ruffled plumage calm refit
(For stormy troubles loudest roar
Around their flight who highest soar),
And in her eye, and by her aid,
Shine safe without a fear to fade.
She thus maintains divided sway
With yon bright regent of the day;
The plume and pott both, we know,
Their lustre to his influence owe;
And she the works of Phoebus aiding,
Both poet saves and plume from fading.
VERSES,
Snoposed to be written by Alexander Selkirk, during his soltw
abode in the island of Juan Fernandez.
I AM monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute,
From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.




ï~~VERSES BY A. SELKIRK.              178
O solitude I where are the charms
That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms
Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,--
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts, that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.
Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man,
O, had I the wings of a dove,
How soon would I taste you again!
My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truith,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth
Religion! What treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford,
But the sound of the church-going bell
These valleys and rocks never heard,
Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a sabbath appear'd.
Ye winds, that have made me your sport.
Convey to this, desolate shore
Some cordial, endearing report
Of a land I shall visit no more.
My friends-do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me
O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.
How fleet is a glance of the mind!
Compared with the speed of its flight,
The tempest itself lags behind,
And the swift-winged arrows of light.




ï~~174        ON E. THURLOW, ESQ.
When I think of my own native land,
In a moment I seem to be there
But, alas I recollection at hand.
Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the sea fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,
And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,
And reconciles man to his lot.
ON THE PROMOTION
OF EDW. THURLOW, ESQ.
rO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND.
ROUND Thurlow's head in early youth
And in his sportive days
Fair Science pour'd the light of truth,
And Genius shed his rays.
See! with united wonder cried
The experienced and the sage,
Ambition in a boy supplied
With all the skill of age!
Discernment, eloquence, and grace,
Proclaim him born to sway
The balance in the higheat place,
And bear the palm away.
The praise bestow'd was just and wise;
He sprang impetuous forth,
Secure of conquest, where the prize
Attends superior worth.
So the best courser on the plain
Ere yet he starts is known,
And does but at the goal obtain
What all had deem'd his own.




ï~~175

ODE TO PEACE,
COME, peace of mind, delightful guest: I
Return, and make thy downy nest
Once more in this sad heart;
Nor riches I nor power pursue,
Nor hold forbidden joys in view;
' We therefore need not part.
Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me,
From avarice and ambition free,
And pleasure's fatal wiles?
For whom, alas! dost thou prepare,
The sweets that I was wont to share,
The banquet of thy smiles?
The great, the gay, shall they partake
The heaven, that thou alone canst make
And wilt thou quit the stream
That murmurs through the dewy mead,
The grove and the sequester'd she4,
To be a guest with them?
For thee I panted, thee I prized,
For thee I gladly sacrificed
Whate'er I loved before;
And shall I see thee start away,
And helpless, hopeless, hear thee sayFarewell! we meet no more!
HUMAN FRAILTY.
WEAK and irresolute is man;
The purpose of to-day,
Woven with pain into his plan,
To-morrow rends away.
The bow well bent, and smart the springs
Vice seems already slain:
But Passion rudely snaps the strng,
And it revives again




ï~~176        THE MODERN PATRIOT.
Some foe to his upright intent
Finds out his weaker part;
Virtue engages his assent,
But Pleasure wins his heart.
'Tis here the folly of the wise
Through all his heart we view;
And, while his tongue the charge denies,
His conscience owns it true.
Bound on a voyage of awful length
And dangers little known,
A stranger to superior strength,
Man vainly trusts his own.
But oars alone can ne'er prevail,
To reach the distant coast;
The breath of heaven must swell the sail
Or all the toil is lost.
THE MODERN PATRIOT.
REBELLION is my theme all day;
I only wish 'twould come
(As who knows but perhaps it may!)
A little nearer home.
Yon roaring boys who rave and fight
On t'other side th' Atlantic,
I always held them in the right,
But most so when most frantic.
When lawless mobs insult the court,
That man shall be my toast,
If breaking windows be the sport,
Who bravely breaks the most.
But 0! for him my fancy culls
The choicest flowers she bears,
Who constitutionally pulls
Your house about your ears




ï~~REPORT OF A LAW       CASE.       177
Such civil broils are my delight,
Though some folks can't endure them,
Who say the mob are mad outright,
And that a rope must cure them.
A rope I i wish we atriots had
Such strings for all who need 'emra--
What! hang a man for going mad
Then farewell British freedom!
ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTR
RECORDED IN THE BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA.
OH, fond attempt to give a deathless lot
To nanes ignoble, born to be forgot!
In vain, recorded in higsoric page,
They court the notice of a future age:
Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land
Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand
Lethaean gulfs receive them as they fall,
And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all
So when a child, as playful children use,
Has burnt to tinder i stale last year's news,
The flame extinct, he views the roving fireThere goes my lady, and there goes the 'squire,
There goes the parson, oh, illustrious spark!
And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk! I
REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, NOT TO BE FOUND
IN ANY OF THE BOOKS.
BrrTWEEN Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,
To which the said spectacles ought to belong.
So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause
Witha great deal of skill,and a wig fullof learning;
While chief-baron Ear sat to balance the laws,
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.
HR




ï~~178    LORD MANSFIELD'S LIBRARY.
In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear,
And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly fmid,
That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear,
Which amounts to possession time out of mind.
Then holding the spectactes up to the courtYour lordship observes they are made with a stradAs wide as the ridge of the Nose is; in short, [dle,
Desig n'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle.
Again, would your lordship a moment suppose
'Tis a case that has happen'd, and may be again)
That the visage or countenance had not a Nose,
Pray who would, or who could,wear spectacles then?
On the whole it appears, and my argmnent shews,
With a reasoning the court will never condemn,
That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,
And the Nose was as plainly intended fdr them.
Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how),
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes:
But what were his arguments few people know,
For the court did not think they were equally wise.
So his lordship deoreed, with a grave solemn tone,
Decisive and clear, without one if or butThat whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,
By daylight or candlelight-Eyes should be shut!
ON THE BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD S LIBRARY,
TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS., BY THE MOB, IN THl
MONTH OF JUNE, 1780.
So then-the Vandals of our isle,
Sworn foes to sense and law,
Have burnt to dust a nobler pile,
Than ever Romans saw!
And Murray sighs o'er Pope and Swift,
And many a treasure more,
The well judged purchase and the gift
That graced his letter'd store.




ï~~HYPOCRISY DETECTED.                179
7'hcir pages mangled, burnt, and torn,
The loss was his alone;
But ages yet to come shall mourn
The burning of his own.
ON THE SAME.
WHEN wit and genius meet their doom
In all devouring flame,
They tell us of the fate of Rome
And bid us fear the same.
O'er Murray's loss the Muses wept,
They felt the rude alarm,
Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept
His sacred head from harm.
There Memory, like the bee that's fed
From Flora's balmy store,
The quintessence of all he read
Had treasured up before.
The lawless herd, with fury blind.
Have done him cruel wrong;
The flowers are gone-but still we find
The honey on his tongue.
THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED;
OR, HYPOCRISY DETECTED.*
Thus says the prophet of the Turk,
Good Mussulman abstain from pork
There is a part in every swine
No friend nor follower of mine
May taste, whate'er his inclination,
On pain of excommunication.
Such Mahomet's mysterious charge,
And thus he left the point at large.
* It may be proper to inform the reader, that this piece has
already appeared in print, having found ts way, though with
asome unnecessaury additions by an unknown hand, into the Leeds
hoarnul, without the author's privity.




ï~~1i5 LADY THIROCKMORTON'S BULLFINCH,
Had he the sinful part express'd,
They might with safety eat the rest;
But for one piece they thought it hard
From the whole hog to be debarr'd;
And set their wit at work to find
What joint the prophet had in mind.
Much controversy straight arose;
These choose the back, the belly those;
By some 'tis confidently said
He meant not to forbid the head;
While others at that doctrine rail
And piously prefer the tail.
Thus, conscience freed from every clog,
Mahometans eat up the hog.
You laugh-'tis well-The tale applied
May make you laugh on tother side.
Renounce the world-the preacher cries,
We do--a multitude replies.
While one as innocent regards
A snug and friendly game at cards:
And one, whatever you may say,
Can see no evil in a play;
Some love a concert, or a race;
And others shooting and the chase.
Reviled and loved, renounced and follow'd,
Thus, hit by bit, the world is swallow'd;
Each thinks his neighbour makes too free,
Yet likes a slice as well as he;
With sophistry their santce they sweeten,
Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten.
ON THE DEATH OF LADY THROCKMOETONS'
BULLFINCH.
Ya nymphs! if e'er your eyes were red
With tears o'er hapless favourites shed,
O share Maria's grief!
Her favourite, even in his cage,
(What will not hunger's cruel rage!)
Assassin'd by a thief.




ï~~r!fir n    i..r                                                                                          r.r

LADY THROCKMORTON'S RULLFINCII. 181
Where Rhenus strays his vines among,
The egg was laid from which he sprung;
And, though by nature mute,
Or only with a whistle bless&
Well taught, he all the sounds expresa'd
Of flageolet or flute.
The honours of his ebon poll
Were brighter than the sleekest mole;
His bosom of the hue
With which Autora decks the skies,
When piping winds shall, soon arise,
To sweep away the dew,
Above, below, in all the house,
Dire foe alike of bird acid mouse,
No cat had leave to dwell;
And Bully's cage supported stood
On props of smoothest shaven wood,
Large built, and latticed well.
Well-latticed--but the grate, alas!
Not rough with wire of steel or brass,
For Bully's plumage' sake,
But smooth with wands from Ouse's side,
With which, when neatly peel'd and dried,
The swains their baskets make.
Night veil'd the pole, all seem'd secure:
When led by instinct sharp and sure,
Subsistence to provide,
A beast forth sallied on the scout,
Long back'd, long tail'd, with whisker'd snout
And badger-colour'd hide.
He, entering at the study door,
Its ample area 'gan t' explore;
And something in the wind
Conjectured, sniffing round and round,
Better than all the books he found,
Food chiefly fotbr the mind.
Just then, by adverse fate impress'd,
& dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest;.




ï~~182               THE ROSE.
In sleep he seem'd to view
A rat fast clinging to the cage,
And, screaming at the sad presage,
Awoke, aind found it true.
For, aided both by ear and scent,
Right to his mark the monster wentAh, Muse! forbear to speak
Minute the horrors that ensued;
His teeth were strong, the cage was woodHe left poor Bully's beak.
O had he made that too his prey
That beak, whence issued many a lay
Of such mellifluous tone,
Might have repaid him well, I wot,
For silencing so sweet a throat,
Fast stuck within his own.
Maria weeps--the Muses mournSo when, by Bacchanalians torn,
On Thracian Hebrus' side
The tree-enchanter, Orpheus, fell,
His head alone remain'd to tell
The cruel death he died.
THE ROSE.
THE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower
Which Mary to Anna convey'd,
The plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower,
And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem'd, to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret
On the flourishing bush where it grew.
I hastily seized it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd;
And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas!
I snapp'd.it-it fell to the ground.




ï~~THE DOVES.                  183
And such, I exclaim'd., is the pitiless part
Some act by the delicate mind,
Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart
Already to sorrow resign'd 1
This elegant rose, had I shaken it less
Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile;
And the tear that is wiped with a little address
May be follow'd perhaps by a smiles.
THE DOVES.
REASONING at every step he treads,
Man yet mistakes his way,
While meaner things, whom instinctieads
Are rarely known to stray.
One silent eve I wander'd late,
And heard the voice of love;
The turtle thus address'd her mate,
And sooth'd the listening dove:
Our mutual bond of faith and truth
No time shall disengage,
Those blessings of our early youth
Shall cheer our latest age:
While innocence without disguise,
And constancy sincere,
Shall fill the circles of those eyes,
And mine can read them there;
Those ills, that wait on all below,
Shall ne'er-be felt by me,
Or gently felt, and only so,
As being shared with thee.
When lightnings flash among the trees,
Or kites are hovering near,
Q fear lest th e alone they seize,
And know 'o other fear.




ï~~IN               A FABLE
'Tis then I feel myself a wife,
And press thy wedded side,
Resolved a union form'd for life
Death never shall divide.
But oh! if fickle and unchaste
(Forgive a transient thought),
Thou could become unkind at last,
And scorn thy present lot,
No need of lightnings from on high,
Or kites with cruel beak;
Denied the endearments of thine eye,
This widow'd heart would break.
Thus sang the sweet sequester'd birds
Soft as the passing wind;
And I recorded what I heard,
A lesson for mankind.
A FABLE.
A RAVEN, while with glossy b'east
Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd,
And on her wicker work high mounte4,
Her chickens prematurely counted
A fault philosophers might blame
If quite exempted from the same),
Enjoy'd at ease the genial day
'Twas April, as the bumpkins say,
The legislature call'd it May.
But suddenly a wind as high
As ever swept a winter sky,
Shook the young leaves about her ears,
And fil'd her with a thousand fears,
Lest the rude blast should snap the bough.
And spread her golden hopes below.
But just at eve the blowing weather
And all her fears(were hush'd together:
And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph,
' in over, and the brood is safe




ï~~A COMPARISON.                15
(For ravens, though as birds of omen
They teach both conj'rers and old women
To tell us what is to befall,
Can't prophesy themselves at all).
The morning came, when neighbour Iodge,
Who long had mark'd her airy lodge,
And destined all the treasure there
A gift to his expecting fair,
Climb'd like a squirrel to his prey,
And bore the worthless prize away.
MORAL.
'Tis Providence alone secures,
In every change, both mine and yours:
Safety consists not in escape
From dangers of a frightful shape;
An earthquake may be bid to spare
The man that's strangled by a hair.
Fate steals along with silent tread,
Found oftenest in what least we dread:
Frowns in the storm with angry brow,
But in the sunshine strikes the blow.
A COMPARISON.
THE lapse of time and rivers is the same,
Both speed their journey with a restless stream;
The silent pace, with which they steal away,
No wealth can bribe, nor prayers persuade to stay;
Alike irrevocable both when past,
And a wide ocean swallows both at last.
Though each resemble each in every part,
A difference strikes at length the musing heart:
Streams never flow in vain; where streams abound
How laughs the land with various plenty crown'd 1
But time, that should enrich the nobler mind,
Neglected, leaves a weary waste behind.
N




ï~~ANOTHER.
ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY.
SWEET stream, that winds through yonder glade
Apt emblem of a virtuous maidSilent and chaste she steals along,
Far from the world's gay busy throng;
With gentle yet prevailing force,
Intent upon her destined course;
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and bless'd where'er she goes,
Purr bosom'd as that watery glass,
And heaven reflected inm her face.
THE POET'S NEW-YEAR'S GIFT.
TO LADY THROCKMORTON.
MAnsA! I have every good
For thee wish'd many a time
Both sad and in a cheerful mood,
But never yet in rhyme.
To wish thee fairer is no need,
More prudent or more sprightly,
Or more ingenuous, or more freed
From temper-flaws unsightly.
What favour then, notyet posses'd
Can I for thee require,
In wedded love already bless'd
To thy whole heart's desire.
None here is happy but in part:
Full bliss is bliss divine:
There dwells some wish in every heart
And doubtless one in thine.
That wish, on some fair future day,
Which Pate shall brightly gild
('Tis blameless, be it what it may),
I wish it all fulfill'd.




ï~~wr G.ir.rs rr. ---- rr

187

ODE TO APOLLO.
ON AN INKGOLASS, ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN.
PATRON of all those luckless brains
That, to the wrong side leaning,
Indite much metre with much pains,
And little or no meaning:
Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams,
That water all the nations,
Pay tribute to thyglorious beams,
In constant exhalations;
Why, stooping at the noon of day,
Too covetous of drink,
Apollo, hast thou stolen away
A poet's drop of ink?
Upborne into the viewless air,
It floats a vapour now,
Impell'd through regions dense and rare
By all the winds that blow.
Ordain'd, perhaps, ere summer flies,
Combined with millions more,
To form an Iris in the skies,
Though black and foul before.
Illustrious drop! and happy then
Beyond the happiest lot,
Of all that ever pass'd my pen,
So soon to be forgot!
Phoebus, if such be thy design,
To place it in thy bow,
Give wit, that what is left may shine
With equal grace below.




ï~~183

PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED
A FABLE.
I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau,*
If birds confabulate or no;
'Tis clear, that they were. always able
To hold discourse, at least in fable,;
And e'en the child, who knows no better
Than to interpret by the letter
A story of a cock and bull,
Must have a most uncommon skull.
It chanced then, on a winter's day,
But warm, and bright, and calm as May
The birds, conceiving a design
To forestall sweet St. Valentine,
In many an orchard, copse, and grove,
Assembled on affairs of love,
And with much twitter and much chatter
Began to agitate the matter.
At length a Bullfinch, who could boast
More years and wisdom than the most,
Entreated, opening wide his beak,
A moment's liberty to speak.;
And, silence publicly enjoin'd,
Deliver'd briefly thus his mind:
My friends I be cautious how ye treatThe subject upon which we meet;
I fear we shall have winter yet.
A Pinch, whose tongue knew no control
With golden wing, and satin poll,
A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried
What marriage means, thus pert replied:
Methinks the gentleman, quoth she,
Opposite in the apple tree,
By his good will would keep us single,
Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle,
* It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosopher
that ll fables which ascribe reason and soeech to anmals shoun.
be withheld front children, as being only vehicles of deception.
But what child was ever deceived by them, or can be, against
the evidence of his senses 1




ï~~THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY. 199
Or (which is likelier to befall)
Till death exterminate us all.
I marry without more ado
My dear Dick Redcap, what say you
Dick herd, and tweedling, ogling, bridling,
Turning, short round, strutting, and sideling,
Attested, glad, his approbation
Of an immediate conjugation.
Their sentiments, so well express'd,
Influenced mightily the rest;
All pair'd, and each pair built a nest.
But though the birds were thus in haste,
The leaves came on not quite so fast,
And Destiny that sometimes bears
An aspect stern on man's affairs,:
Not altogether smiled on theirs.
The wind, of late breath'd gently forth,
Now shifted east, and east by north;
Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know,
Could shelter them from rain or snow;
Stepping into their nests they paddled,
Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled
Soon every father bird and mother
Grew quarrelsome, and peck'd each other.
Parted without the least regret,
Except that they had ever met,
And learn'd in future to be wier
Than to neglect a good adviser.
MORAL.
Misses! I the tale that I relate
This lesson seems to carryChoose not alone a proper mate,
But proper time to marry.
THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY
NO FABLE.
THE noon was shady, and soft airs
Swept Ouse's silent tide,
When, 'scap'd from literary cares,
I wander'd on his side.




ï~~190 THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY.
My spaniel, prettiest of his race,
And high in pedigree
(Two nymphs* adoin'd with every grace
That spaniel found for me).
Now wanton'd lost-in flags and reeds,
Now starting into sight,
Pursued the swallow o'er the meads
With scarce a slower flight.
It was the time when Ouse display d
His lilies newly blown;
Their beauties I intent survey'd
And one I wish'd my own.
With cane extended far I sought
To steer it close to land;
But still the prize, though nearly caught,
Escaped my eager hand.
Beau mark'd my unsuccessfull pains
With fix'd considerate face,
And puzzling set his puppy brains
To comprehend the case.
But with a cherup clear and strong,
Dispersing all his dream,
I thence withdrew, and follow'd long
The windings of the stream.
My ramble ended, I return'd;
Beau, trotting far before,
The floating wreath again discern'd
And plunging left the shore.
I saw him with that lily cropp'd
Impatient swim to meet
My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd
The treasure at my feet.
Charm'd with the sight, The world, I cried$
Shall hear of this thy deed:
My dog shall mortify the pride
Of man's superior breed:
* Sir Robert Gunning' daughters.




ï~~THE POET, TIHE OYSTER, &c.           191
But chief myself I will enjoin,
Awake at duty's call,
To shew a love as prompt as thine
To Him who gives me all.
THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND SENSITIVE
PLANT.
AN Oyster cast upon the shore,
Was heard, though never heard before,
Complaining in a speech well wbrdedAnd worthy thus to be recorded:Ah, hapless wretch! condemn'd to dwell
For ever in my native shell;
Ordain'd to move when others please,
Not for my own content or ease;
But toss'd and buffeted about,
Now in the water and now out.
'Twere better to be born a stone,
Of ruder shape, and feeling none
Than with a tenderness like mine,
And sensibilities so fine!
I envy that unfeeling shrub,
Fast rooted against every rub.
The plant he meant grew not far off,
And felt the sneer with scorn enough;
Was hurt, disgusted, mortified,
And with asperity replied.
-When, cry the botanists, and stare
Did plants call'd sensitive grow there?
No matter when--a poet's muse is
To make them grow just where she chooses.You shapeless nothing in a dish
You that are but almost a fish,
I scorn your coarse insinuation,
And have most plentiful occasion
To wish myself the rock I view,
Or such another dolt as you:
For many a grave and learned clerk,
And many a gay unletter'd spark,




ï~~I1~     THE PCET. THE OYSTER, &o.
With curious touch examines me,
If I can feel as well as he;
And when I bend, retire, and shrink,
Says-Well, 'tis more than one would think!
Thus life is spent (oh fie upon't 1)
In being touch'd, and crying-Don't I
A poet, in his evening walk,
O'erheard and check'd this idle talk.
And your fine sense, he said, and yours
Whatever evil it endures,
Deserves not, if so soon offended,
Much to be pitied or commended.
Disputes, though short,.are far too long,
Where both alike are in the wrong;
Your feelings, in their full amount,
Are all upon your own account.
You in your grotto-work enclosed,
Complain of being thus exposed;
Yet nothing feel in that rough coat,
Save when the knife is at your throat,
Wherever driven by wind or tide,
Exempt from every ill beside.
And as for you, my Lady Squeamish,
Who reckon every touch a blemish,
If all the plants that can be found
Embellishing the scene around,
Should droop and wither where they grow,
You would not feel at all-not you.
The noblest minds their virtue prove
By pity, sympathy, and love:
These, these are feelings truly fine,
And prove their owner half divine.
His censure reach'd them as he dealt it
And each by shrinking shew'd he felt t.




ï~~193

THE SHRUBBERY.
WRITTEN IN A TIME OF AFFLICTIONe
OH, happy shades-to me unbless'd!
Friendly to peace, but not to me I
How ill the scene that offers rest,
And heart that cannot rest, agree!
This glassy stream, that spreading pine,
Those alders quivering in the breeze,
Might soothe a soul less hurt than raiite,
And please, if any thing could please.
But fix'd unalterable Care
Foregoes not what she feels within,
Shews the same sadness every where,
And slights the season and the scene.
For all that pleased in wood or lawn,
While Peace possess'd the silent bowevs,
Her animating smile withdrawn,
Has lost its beauties and its powers
The saint or moralist should tread
This moss-grown alley musing, slow;
They seek like me the secret shade,
But not like me to nourish woe I
Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste
Alike admonish not to roam;
These tell me of enjoyments past,
And those of sorrows yet to come.
THE WINTER NOSEGAY
WHAT Nature, alas! has denied
To the delicate growth of our isle
Art has in a measure supplied,
And Winter is deck'd with a smil%
I




ï~~194       MUTUAL FORBEARANCE.
See, Mary, what beauties I bring
From the shelter of that sunny shed,
Where the flowers have the charms of the spring
Though abroad they are frozen and dead.
'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets,
Where Flora is still in her prime,
A fortress to which she retreats
From the cruel assaults of the clime.
While earth wears a mantle of snow,
These pinks are as fresh and as gay
As the fairest and sweetest that blow
On the beautiful bosom of May.
See how they have safely survived
The frowns of a sky so severe;
Such Mary's true lore, that has lived
Through many a turbulent year.
The charms of the late blowing rose
Seem graced with a livelier hue,
And the winter of sorrow best shews
The truth of a friend such as you.
MUTUAL FORBEARANCE
NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE
MARRIED STATE.
THE lady thus address'd her spouse: -
What a mere dungeon is this house!
By no means large enough; and was it,
Yet this dull room, and that dark closet,
Those hangings with their worn-out graces,
Long beards, long noses, and pale faces,
Are such an antiquated scene,
They overwhelm me with the spleen.
Sir Humphrey, shooting in the dark,
Makes answer quite beside the mark:
No doubt, my dear, I bade him come,
Engaged myself to be at home,
And sihall expect him at the door,
Precisely when the clock strikes four




ï~~MUTUAL FORBEA RANCE.              195
You are so deaf, the lady cried
(And raised her voice, and frown'd beside),
You are so sadly deaf, my dear,
What shall I do to make you hear?
Dismiss poor Harryl he replies;
Some people are more nice than wise:
For one slight trespass all this stir
What if he did ride whip and spur,
'Twas but a mile-your favourite horse
Will never look onq hair the worse.
Well, I protest 'tis past all bearingChild II am rather hard of hearingYes, truly; one must scream and bawl:
I tell you, you can't hear at all!
Then, with a voice exceeding low,
No matter if you hear or no.
Alas! and is domestic strife,
That sorest ill of human life,
A plague so little to be fear'd,
As to be wantonly incurr'd,
To gratify a fretful passion,
On every trivial provocation?
The kindest and the happiest pair
Will find occasion to forbear;
And something, every day they live,
To pity, and perhaps forgive.
But if infirmities, that fall
In common to the lot of all,
A blemish or a sense impair'd,
Are crimes so little to be spared,
Then farewell all that must create
The comfort of the wedded state;
Instead of harmony, 'tis jar,
And tumult, and intestine war.
The love that cheers life's latest stage
Proof against sickness and old age,
Preserved by virtue from deolension,
Becomes not weary of attention;
But lives, when that exterior grace,
Which first inspired the flame, decays,
'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind,
To faults compassionate or blind,




ï~~1O       THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.
And will with sympathy endure
Those evils, it would gladly cure:
But angry, coarse, and harsh expression
Shews love to be a mere profession;
Proves that the heart is none of his;
Or soon expels him if it is.
THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT.
FORCED from home alid all its pleasures,
Afric's coast I left forlorn;
To increase a stranger's treasures,
O'er the raging billows borne.
Men from England bought and sold me,
Paid my price in paltry gold;
But, though slave they have enroll'd me,
Minds are never to be sold.
Still in thought as free as ever,
What are England's rights, I ask,
Me from my delights to sever;
Me to torture, ine to task?
Fleecy locks and black complexion
Cannot forfeit nature's claim;
Skins may differ, but affection
Dwells in white and black the same
Why did all-creating Nature
Make the plant for which we toil?
Sighs must fan it, tears must water,
Sweat of ours must dress the soil.
Think, ye masters, iron-hearted,
Lolling at yourjovial boards;
Think how many backs have smarted
For the sweets your cane affords.
Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,
Is there One, who reigns on high?
Has he bid you buy and sell us,
Speaking from his throne the sky?
Ask him, if your knotted scourges,
Matches, blood-extorting screws,
Are the means that duty urges,
Agents of his will to use?




ï~~PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS.
Hark I he ansvers-wild tornadoes,
Strewing yonder sea with wrecks,
Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,
Are the voice with which he speaks.
He, foreseeing what vexations
Afric's sons should undergo,
Fix'd their tyrants' habitations
Where his whirlwinds answer-No.
By our blood in Afric wasted,
Ere our necks received the chain;
By the miseries that we tasted
Crossing in your barks the main;
By our sufferings, since ye brought us
To the man-degrading mart;
All sustain'd by patience taught us
Only by a broken heart:
Deem our nation brutes no longer,
Till some reason ye shall find
Worthier of regard and stronger
Than the colour of our kind.
Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealiAgs
Tarnish all your boasted powers,
Prove that you have human feelings,
Ere you proudly question ours I

197

PITY FOR POOR AFR1-ANS.
'Video mellorn proboque,
Deteriora sequor.'I owN I am shock'd at the purchase of slaves,
And fear those who buy them and sell them,are knaves;
What I hear of their hardships, their tortures and
Is ahno t enough to draw pity from stones. [groans,
I pity then greatly, but I must be mum,
For how could we do without sugar and rum?
Especially sugar, so needful we see;
What, give up our desserts, our coffee, and tea I




ï~~198      PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS.
Besides, if we do, the French, Iutch, and Danes
Will heartily thank us, no doubt, for our pains;
If we do not buy the poor creatures, they will,
And tortures and groans will be multiplied still.
If foreigners likewise would give up the trade,
Much more in behalf of your wish miglht be said;
But, while they get riches by purchasing blacks,
Pray tell me why we may not also go snacks I
Your scruples and arguments bring to my mina
A story so pat, you may think it is coin'd,
On purpose to answer you, out of my mint;
But I can assure you I saw it in print.
A youngster at school, more sedate than the test,
Had once his integrity put to the test;
His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob,
And ask'd him to go and assist in the job.
He was shock'd, sir, like you, and answer'd. Oh no I
What I rob our good neighbour I I pray you don't go;
Besides the man's poor, his orchard's his bread,
Then think of his children, for they must be fed.'
You speak very fine, and you look very grave,
But apples we want, and apples we'll have;
If you will go with us you shall have a share,
If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear.'
They spoke, and Tom ponder'd-' I see they will go:
Poor man! what a pity to injure him so!
Poor man! I would save him his fruit if I could,
But staying behind would do him no good.
If the matter depended alone upon me,
His apples might hang, till they drop from the tree
But, since they will take them, I think Ill go too,
He will lose none by me, though I get a few.'
His scruples thus silenced, Tomn felt more at ease,
And went with his comrades the apples to seize;
He blamed and protested, but join'd in the plan:
He shared in the plunder, but pitied the man.




ï~~.i0:;

THE MORNING DREAM.
'Twas in the glad season of spring,
Asleep at the dawn of the day,
I dream'd what I cannot but sing,
So pleasant it seem'd as I lay
I dream'd, that, on ocean afloat,
Far hence to the wes ward I sail'd,
While the billows high-lifted the boat
And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail'd.
In the steerage a woman I saw,
Such at least was the formn that she wore,
Whose beauty impress'd me with awe,
Ne'er taught me by woman before.
She sat, and a shield at her side
Shed light, lilke a sun on the waves,
And smiling divinely, she criedSI go to make freemen of slaves.'--
Then raising her voice to a strain,
The sweetest that ear ever heard,
She sung of the slave's broken chains,
Wherever her glory appear'd.
Some clouds, which had over us hung,
Fled, chased 'by her melody clear,
And methought while she liberty sung,
'Twas liberty only to hear.
Thus swiftly dividing the flood,
To a slave-cultured island we came,
Where a demon, her enemy, stoodOppression his terrible name.
In his hand, as the sign of his sway,
A scourge hung with lashes he bore,
And stood looking out for his prey
From Africa's sorrowful shore.
But soon as approaching the land
That goddess-like woman he view'd,
The scourge he let fall from his hand,
With the blood of his subjects imbrued.




ï~~00  NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM.
I saw him both sicken and die,
And the moment the monster expired,
Reard shouts that ascended the sky
From thousands with rapture inspired.
Awaking, how could I but muse
At what such a dream should betide?
But soon my ear caught the glad news,
Which served my weak thought for a guide
That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves
For the hatred she ever has shewn,
To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves,
Resolves to have none of her own.
THE
NIGHTTNGALE AND GLOW-WORM.
A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long
Had cheer'd the village with his song,
Nor yet at eve his note suspended,
Nor yet when eventide was ended,
Began to reel, as well he might,
The keen demands of appetite;
When, looking eagerly around,
He spied far off, upon the ground,
A something shining in the dark,
And knew the glow-worm by his spark;
So stooping down from hawthorn top,
He thought to put him in his crop.
The worm, aware of his intent,
H arangued him thus, right eloquent:Did you admire my lamp, quoth he$
As mucl as I your minstrelsy,
You would abhor to do me wrong,
As much as I to spoil your song:
For 'twas the self-same Power divi e
Taught you to sing, and me to shine;
That you with music, I will light.
Might beautify and cheer the night.
The songster heard his short oration,
And, warbling out his approbation,




ï~~ON A GOLDFINCH.               201
Released him, as my story tells,
And found a supper somewhere else.
Hence jarring sectaries may learn
Their real interest to discern;
That brother should not war with brother
And worr and devour each other:
But sing and shine by sweet consent,
Till life's poor transient night is spent,
Respecting in each other's case
The gifts of nature and of grace.
Those Christians best deserve the name,
Who studiously make peace their aim;
Peace both the duty and the prize
Of him that creeps and him that flies.
ON A GOLDFINCH,
STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE.
Trirs was when I Was free as air,
The thistle's downy seed my fare,
My drink the morning dew;
I perch'd at will on every spray,
My form genteel, my plumage gay,
My strains for ever new
But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain,
And form genteel, were all in vain,
And of a transient date;
For caught and caged, and starved to death,
In dying sighs my little breath
Soon pass'd the wiry grate.
Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes,
And thanks for this effectual close
And cure of every ill;
More cruelty could none express;
And 1, if you had shewn me less,
Had been your prisoner still.
12




ï~~202

THE
PINEAPPLE AND THE BEE.
TRu pineapples, in triple row,
Were basking hot, and all in blow;
A bee of most discerning taste
Perceived the fragrance as he pass'd.
On eager wing the spoiler came,
And search'd for crannies in the frame,
Urged his attempt on every side,
7, every pane his trunk applied:
But sull in vain, the frame was tight,
And only pervious to the light:
Thus having wasted half the day,
He trimm'd his flight another way.
Methinks, I said, in thee I find
The sin and madness of mankind.
To joys forbidden man aspires,
Consumes his soul with vain desires;
Folly the spring of his pursuit,
And disappointment all the fruit
While Cynthio ogles, as she passes,
The nymph between two chariot glasses,
She is the pineapple, and he
The silly unsuccessful bee.
The maid, who views with pensive air
The show-glass fraught with glittering ware
Sees watches, bracelets, rings and lockets,
But sighs at thought of empty pockets;
Like thine, her appetite is keen,
But ah! the cruel glass between!
Our dear delights are often such,
Exposed to view, but inot to touch;
The si-ht our foolish heart inflames,
We long for pineapples in frames;
With hopeless wish one looks and lingers,
One breaks the glass and cuts his fingers:
But they whom truth and wisdom leads
Can gather honey from a weed.




ï~~203
HORACE.
Book II. Ode 10.
REcOVE, dear friend, the truths I teab,
So shalt thou live beyond the reach
Of adverse Fortune's power;
Not always tempt the distant deep,
Nor always timorously creep
Along the treacherous shore.
He that holds fast the golden mean,
And lives contentedly between
The little and the great,
Feels not the wants that pinch the poor,
Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door,
Imbittering all his state.
The tallest pines feel most the power
Of wintry blasts; the loftiest tower
Comes heaviest to the ground;
The bolts, that spare the mountain side,
His cloud-capp'd eminence divide,
And spread the ruin round.
The well-inform'd philosopher
Rejoices with a wholesome fear,
And hopes, in spite of pain;
If winter bellow from the north,
Soon the sweet Spring comes dancing forth,
And Nature laughs again.
What if thine heaven be overcast,
The dark appearance will not last;
Expect a brighter sky.
The god that strings the silver bow,
Awakes sow-timer the muses too,
And lays his arrows by.
If hindrances obstruct thy way,
Thy magnanimity display,
And let thy strength be seen;
But O! if fortine till thy sail
With more than a propitious gale,
Take halt thy canvass in.




ï~~204
A REFLECTION
ON THE FOREGOING OlE.
Ali. is this all? Can Reason do no more
Than bid me shun the deep, and dread the shora t
Sweet moralist! afloat on life's rough sea,
The Christian has an art unknown to thee.
He holds no parley with unmanly fears:
Where duty bids he confidently steers,
Faces a thousand dangers at her call,
And, trusting in his God, surmounts them all.
THE LILY AND THE ROSE.
THE nymph must lose her female #tiexd
If more admired than sheBut where will fierce contention end,
If flowers can disagree?
Within the garden's peaceful scene
Appear'd two lovely foes,
Aspiring to the rank of queen,
The Lily and the Rose.
The Rose soon redden'd into rage,
And swelling with disdain,
Appeal'd to many a poet's page
To prove her right to reign.
The Lily's height bespoke command,
A fair imperial flower;
She seem'd design'd for Flora's hand,
The sceptre of her power.
This civil bickering and debate
The goddess chanced to hear,
And flew to save, ere yet too late,
The pride of the parterre.
Yours is, she said, the noblest hue
And yours the statelier mein;
And, till a third surpasses you,
Let each be deem'd a queen.




ï~~IDEM LATINE REDDITULM.             20
Thus sooth'd and reconciled, each seeks
The fairest British fair;
The seat of empire is her cheeks,
They reign united there.
IDEM LATINE REDDITUM.
Hsu inimicitias quoties parit aemula forma,
Quam raro pulchr pulchra placere potest!
Sed fines ultra solitos discordia tendit,
Cum flores ipsas bilis et ira movent.
Hortus ubi dulces prmbet tacitosque recessus,
Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas;
Hit sibi regales Amaryllis candida cultus,
Illic purpureo vindicat ore Rosa.
Ira Rosam et meritis quasita superbia tangunt,
Multaque ferventi vix cohibenda sinu,
Dum sibi fautorum ciet undique nomina vatum,
Jusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat.
Altior emicat illa et celso vertice nutat,
Ceu flores inter non habitura parem,
Fastiditque alios, et nata videtur in usus
Imperii, sceptrum, Flora quod ipsa gerat.
Nec Dea non sensit civilis murmura rixte,
Cui cure est pictas pandere ruris opes,
Deliciasque suas nunquam non prompta tuerz,
Dum licet et locus est, et tueatur, adest.
Et tibi forma datur procerior omnibus, inquit;
Et tibi, principibug qui solet esse, color;
Et donec vincat quadam formosior ambas,
Et tibi reginme nomen, et esto tibi.
His ubi sedatus furor est, petit utraque nympham,
Qualem inter Veneres Anglia sola parit:
Hanc penes imperium est, nihil optant amplius, huju
Regnant in nitidis, et sine lite, genis.




ï~~11 1,184
"         l w     rwiP w%1        _ _ _ _ -                                _                     _         _

206

THE POPLAR FIELD.
THE poplars are fell'd, farewell to the shade,
And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade;
The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves,
Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives.
Twelve years have elapsed, since I last took a view
Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew;
And now in the grass behold they are laid,
And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade.
The blackbird has fled to another retreat,
Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat,
And the scene, where his melody charm'd me before,
Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more.
My fugitive years are all hasting away,
And I must ere long lie as lowly as they,
With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head,
Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead.
'Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can,
To muse on the perishing pleasures of man;
Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see,
Have a being less durable even than he.*
IDEM LATINE REDDITUM.
POPULEA cecidit gratissima copia silvawe,
Conticu~re susurri, omnisque evanuit umbra.
Nulle jam levibus se miscent frondilus aure,
Et nulla in fluvio ramorum ludit imago.
Hei mihi I bis senos dum luctu torqueor annos,
His cogor silvis suetoque carere recessu,
Cumr sero rediens, stratasque in gramine cernens,
Insedi arboribus, sub quels errare solebam.
* Mr. Cowper afterward altered this last stanza in the following
wanner:
The change both my heart and my fancy employs,
I reflect on the frailty of maa anl his joys:
Short-lived as we are; yet our pleasures, we see,
Have a still shorter date, and die soonr than we.




ï~~CICINDELA.                  2
Aha ubi nine merulie cantus?7 Felicior illum
Silva tegit, durae nondurn permissa bipenni;
Scilicet exustos colles camposque patenes
Odit, et indignans et non redituras lavit.
Sed qui succisas doleo succidar et ipse,
Et prius hici parilis quarn creverit altera silva
Flebor, et, exsequiis parvis donatus, -habebo
Deflxum lapidern turnulique cubantis acervumn.
Tam subito periisse videns tarn digna manere,
Agnosco humnanas sortes et tristia fataSit licet ipse brevis, volucrique sirnillirnus umbrie,
Est hornini brevior citiusque obitura voluptas.
VOTUM.
o MATUTINI rores, aurteque salubres,
o nernora, et ltate rivi felicibus herba
Gramninei colles, et arnoente in vallibus urnbi-w
Fata modo dederint quas olimi in rure paterno
Delicias, procul arte, procul tormidine inovi.
Quam vellern ignotus, quod mens rnea semnper avebat
Ante ia~rer propriumn placidarn expectare senectamn,
Turn dernum, exactis non infeliciter annis,
Sontiri tacitun lapidern, ant sub ciespite condi
CICINDELA.
BY VINCENT BOURNE.
SUB sepe exiguumn est, nec raro in margine ripee,
Reptile, quod lucet nocte, dieque latet.
Vermis habet speciem, sed habet de lumine nornen;
At prisci a famao nou liquet, uonde micet.
Plerique a caud& credunt procedere lumen;
N ec desunt, credunt qui nutilare Caput.
Namn superas stellas quwe nox accendit, et ilii
Parcamn eadern incern dat, moduloque parern.
Forsitan hoc prudens voluit Natura caveri,
Ne pede quis duro reptile contereret:
Exiguam,. in tenebris ne gressurn offenderet suls,
Prwtendi voluit forsitan ills facern.




ï~~208           THE GLOW WORM.
Sive usum hune Natura parens, seu maluit illumns
Haud frustra accensa est lux, radiique dati.
Ponite vos fastus, humiles nec spernite, magni;
Quando habet et minimum reptile, quod niteat.
I. THE GLOW-WORM.
TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING.
BENEATH the hedge, or near the stream,
A worm is known to stray;
That shews by night a icntid beam,
Which disappears by day.
Disputes have been, and still prevail,
From whence his rays proceed;
Some give that honour to his tail,
And others to his head.
But this is sure-the hand of night,
That kindles up the skies,
Gives him a modicum of light
Proportion'd to his size.
Perhaps indulgent Nature meant,
By such a lamp bestow'd,
To bid the traveller, as he went,
Be careful where he trod:
Nor crush a worm, whose useful light
Might serve, however small,
To shew a stumbling-stone by night,
And save him from a fall.
Whate'er she meant, this truth divino
Is legible and plain,
'Tis power Almighty bids him shine,
Nor bids him shine in vain.
Ye proud and wealthy, let this theme
Teach humbler thoughts to you,
Since such a reptile has its gem,
And boasts its splendour too.




ï~~209
CORNICULA.
BY VINCZNr BOURNE.
NwRAis inter ayes avis est, que plurima ture,
Antiquas redes, celsaque fana colit.
Nil tam sublime est, quod non audace volatu,
Aeiriis spernens, inferiora, petit.

Qtuo nemo ascendat, cui non vertigo cerebrum
Corripiat, certe huic seligit illa locum.
Quo vix a terrA tu suspicij absque tremore,
Ila metis expers incolumisque sedet.
Lamina delubri supra fastigia, ventus
Qua coeli spiret de regione, docet;
Hanc ea prie reliquis mavult, secura pericli,
Nec curat, nedum cogitat, unde cadat.
Res inde humarias, sed summa per otia, speotat,
Et nihil ad sese, quas videt, esse videt.
Concursus spectat, platedque negotia in omni,
Omnia pro nugis at sapienter habet.
Clamores, quas infra audit, si forsitan audit,
Pro rebus nihili negligit; et crocitat.
Ile tibi invideat, felix cornicula, pennas,
Qui sic humanis rebus abesse velit.
II. THE JACKDAW.
TRANSLATION OF TIHE FOREGOING.
THERE is a bird, who, by his coat,
And by the hoarseness of his note,
Might be supposed a crow;
A great frequenter of the church,
Where bishop-like he fmnd a perch,
And dormitory too.
Above the steeple shines a plate,
That turns and turns to indicate
From what point blows the weather:
Look up-your brains begin to swim,
'Tis in the clouds-that pleases him;
He chooses it the rather.




ï~~210              AD GRILLUM.
Fond of the speculative height,
Thither he wings his airy flight,
And thence securely sees
The bustle and the raree-show,
That occupy mankind beiow,
Secure and at his ease.
You think, no doubt, he sits and mumes
On future broken bones and bruiseF,
If he should chance to fall
No; not a single thought like that
Employs his philosophic pate,
Or troubles it at all.
HIe sees, that this great roundabout,
The world, with all its motley rout,
Church, army, physic, law,
Its customs, and its businesses,
Is no concern at all of his,
And says-what says he?-Caw.
Thrice happy bird! I too have seen
Much of the vanities of men;
And, sick of having seen 'em,
Would cheerfully these limbs resigm
For such a pair of wings as thine.
And such a head between 'em
AD GRILLUM.
Anacreonticum.
BY VINCENT aOURNRo
0 QuI $e'e culinu
Argutulus chora-iles
Et hospes es canoruis,
Quacunque commorer
Feliditatis omen;
Licundiore canta
Slqi indo me saltes,
tt ipse te rependam,
Et ipse, quA valebo,
Remunerabo muss.




ï~~THE. CRICKET,               211
Dicdris innocensque
Et gratus inquilinus;
Nec victitans rapinis,
Ut sorices voraces,
Muresve curiosi,
Ferumque delicatuin
Vulvus domesticorwn,
Sed tutus in camini
Recessibus, quiete
Contentus et calore.
'Beatior Cicada,
QuzN to referre forma,
Qux voce te videtur;
Et saltitans per herbas,
Unius, haud secundee,
Rastatis est chorista;
Tu carmen integratum
Reponis ad Decembrem
Lietus per universumn
Incontinentur annum.
Te nulla lux relinquit,
Te nulla nox revisit,
Non musice vacantenm.
Curisre non solutum:
Quin amplies canendo,
Btatulamn, vel omni,
Quam nos homunciones
Absumimus querendo,
Ahtate longiorein.
III. THE CRICKET.
TRANSLATED FROM THE FOREGOING.
LrrrLz inmate, full of mirth,
Chirping on my kitchen hseartha,
Wheresoe'er be thine abode,
Always harbinger of good,
Pay me for thy warm retreat
With a song more soft and sweet;
In return thou shalt receive
Such. a strain as I can give.




ï~~212        SIMILE AGIT IN SIMILE.
Thus thy praise shall be express'd,
Inoffensive, welcome guest I
While the rat is on the scout,
And the mouse with curious snout.
With what vermin else infest
Every dish, and spoil the best;
Frisking thus before the fire
Thou hast all thine heart'sdesire.
Though in voice and shape they be
Form'd as if akin to thee,
Thou surpassest, happier far,
Happiest grasshoppers that are;
Theirs is but a summer's song,
Thine endures the winter long;
Unimpair'd, and shrill, and clear,
Melody throughout the year.
Neither night, nor dawn of day,
Puts a period to thy play:
Sing then-and extend thy span
Far beyond the date of man.
Wretched man, whose years are spent
In repining discontent,
Lives not, aged though hlie be,
Half a span, compared with thee.
SIMILE AGIT IN SIMILE.
BY VINCENT BOURNE.
CRIS ATUS, pictisque ad Thaida Psittacus allis,
Missus ab Eoo munus amante venit.
Ancillis mandat primam formare loquelan,
Archididascalim dat sibi Thais opus.
Psittace, ait Thais, flngitque sonantia molle
Basia, quee docilis molle refingit avis.
Jam captat, jam dimidiat tyrunculus; et jam
Integrat auditos articulatque sonos.
Psittace mi pulcher pulchelle; hera dinit almae
Psittace mi pulcher, reddit alumnus here.
Jamque canit, ridet, deciesque aegrotat in horn
Et vocat ancillas nomine quamque suo.




ï~~r.!

THE PARROT.                   213
Multaque scurratur mendax, et multa jocatur
Et lepido populum detinet augurio.
Nunc tremulum illudet fratrem, qui suspicit, et Poll
Carnalis, quisquis te docet, inquit, homo est;
Argutm nunc stridet ands argutulus instar:
Respicit, et nebulo es, quisquis es, inquit anus.
Quando fuait melior tyro, meliorve magistra 1
Quando duo ingeniis tam coiere pares!
4rdua discenti nulla est, res nulla docenti
Ardua; cum doceat foemina, discat avis.
IV. THE PARROT.
TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING.
IN painted plumes superbly dress'd
A native of the gorgeous east,
By many a billow toss'd,
Poll gains at length. the British shore,
Part of the captain's precious store,
A present to his toast.
Belinda's maids are soon tireferr'd,
To teach him now and then a word
As Poll can master it;
But 'tis her own important charge,
To qualify him more at large,
And make him quite a wit.
Sweet Poll! his doting mistress cries,
Sweet Poll! the mimic bird replies;
And calls aloud for sack.
She next instructs him in the kiss;
Tis now a little one, like Miss,
And now a hearty smack.
At first he aims at what he hears;
And, listening close with both his ears,
Just catches at the sound;
But soon articulates aloud,
Much to the amusement of the crowd,
And stuns the neighbours round.




ï~~214        CHLOE AND EUPHELIA.
A quwrulous old woman's voice
His humorous talent next employs;
He scolds and gives the lie.
And now he sings, and now is sick,
Here Sally, Susan, come, come quick,
Poor Poll is like to die!
Belinda and her bird! 'tis rare
To meet with such a well-match'd pair,
The language and the tone,
Each charactei in every part
Sustain'd with so much grace and art,
And both in unison.
When children first begin to spell,
And stammer out a syllable,
We think them tedious creatures:
But difficulties soon abate,
When birds are to be taught to prat,
And women are the teachers.
TRANSLATION OF
PRIOR'S CHLOE AND EUPHELIA.
MERCATOR, vigiles oculos ut fallere possit,
Nomine sub ficto trans mare mittit opes:
Lene sonat liquioumque mein Euphelia chordis,
Sed solam exoptant te, mea vota, Chl6e.
Ad speculum ornabat nitidos Euphelia crines,
Cum dixit mea lux, Heus, cane, sume lyram.
Namque lyram juxta positam cum carmine vidit,
Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram.
Fila lyre vocemque paro, suspiria surgunt
Et miscent numeris murmura meesta meis,
Dumque tune memoro laudes, Euphelia, formms,
Tota anima interea pendet ab ore Chlies.
Subrubet illa pudore, et contrahit altera frontem
Me tprquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo;
Atque Cupidinea dixit Dea cincta corona,
Heu! fallendi artem quam didicire parum.




ï~~THE DIVERTING
HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN.
hewing how he went farther than he intended, and
safe home again.
JOHN GILPIN was a citizen
Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he
Of famous London town.
John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear,
Though wedded we have been
These twice ten tedious years, yet we
No holiday have seen.
To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair
Unto the Bell at Edmonton,
All in a chaise and pair.
My sister, and my sister's child
Myself, and children three,
Will fill the chaise; so you must ride
On horseback after we.
He soon replied, I do admire
Of womankind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear,
Therefore it shall be done.
I am a linen-draper bold,
As all the world doth know,
And my good friend the calender
Will lend his horse to go.
Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, That's well said;
And for that wine is dear,
We will be furnish'd with our own,
Which is both bright and clear.
John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife;
O'erjoy'd was he to find,
That though on pleasure she was bent,
She had a frugal mind.




ï~~216              HISTORY OF
The morning came, the chaise was brought,
But yet was not allow'd
To drive up to the door, least all
Should say that she was proud
So three doors off the chaise was stay'd,
Where they did all get in;
Six precious souls, and all agog
To dash through thick and thin.
Smack went the whip, round went the wheela
Were never folks so glad,
The stones did rattle underneath,
As if Cheapside were mad.
John Gilpin at his horse's side
Seized fast the flowing mane,
And up he got, in haste to ride,
But soon came down again;
For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he,
His journey to begin,
When turning round his head he saw
Three customers come in.
So down he came; for loss of time,
Although it grieved him sore;
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew,
Would trouble him much more.
'Twas long before the customers
Were suited to their mind,
When Betty screaming came down stairw,
The wine is left behind '
Good lack I quoth he-yet bring it me
My leathern belt likewise,
In which I bear my trusty sword,
When I do exercise-.
Now mistress Gilpin (careful soul!)
Had two stone bottles found,
To hold the liquor that she lorved,
And keep it safe and sound.
Each bottle had a curling ear,
Through which the belt he drew,
And hung a bottle on each sides
To make his balance true.




ï~~i

i

JOHN GILPIN.
'Then over all, that he might bie
Equipp'd from top to toe,
His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat,
He manfully did throw.
Now see him mounted once again
Upon his nimble steed,
Full slowly pacing o'er the stones,
With caution and good heed.
But finding soon a smoother road
Beneath his well-shod feet,
The snorting beast began to trot,
Which gall'd him in his seat.
So, fair and softly, John he cried,
But John he cried in vain;
That trot became a gallop soon,
In spite of curb and rein.
So stooping down, as needs he must
Who cannot sit upright,
He grasp'd the mane with both his hands,
And eke with all his might.
His horse, who never in that sort
Had handled been before,
What thing upon his back had got
Did wonder more and more.
Away went Gilpin, neck or nought;
Away went hat and wig;
He little dreamt, when he set out,
Of running such a rig.
The wind did blow, the cloak did fly,
Like streamer long and gay,
Till, loop and button failing both,
At last it flew away.
Then might all people well discern
The bottles he had shmg;
A bottle swinging at each side,
As hath been said or sung.
The dogs did bark, the children screa'6,
Up flew the windows all;
And evety soul cried out, Well done!
As loud ar he could bawl.
K

e
Ad.7




ï~~I18              HISTORY OF
Away went Gilpin-who but hel
His fame soon spread around,
He carres weight! he rides a rac!
'Tis for a thousand pound!
And still, as fast as he drew near,
'Twas wonderful to view,
How in a trice the turnpike men
Their gates wide open threw.
And now, as he went bowing down
His reeking head full low,
The bottles twain behind his back
Were shatter'd at a blow.
Down ran the 'ine into the road,
Most piteous to be seen,
Which made hss horse's flanks to smoke
As they had basted been.
But still he seem'd to carry weight,
With leathern girdle braced;
For all might see the bottle-necks
Still dangling at his waist.
Thus all through merry Islington
These gambols he did play,
Until he came unto the Wash
Of Edmonton so gay;
And there he threw the wash about
On both sides of the way,
Just like unto a trundling mop,. Or a wild goose at play.
At Edmonton his loving wife
From the balcony spied
Her tender husband wondering m ca
To see how he did ride.
Stop, stop, John Gilpin!--Here's the houseThey all at once did cry;
The dinner waits, and we are tired;
Said Gilpin-So am II
Ju yet his horse was not a whit
Inclined to tarry there I
For why?--his owner had a house
Full ten miles off, at Ware.




ï~~jO HN;ILL'IN.             210
So like an arrow swift he flew,
Shot by an archer strong;
So did be fly-which brings me to
The middle of my song.
Away went Gilpin out of breath,
And sore against his will,
Till at his friend the calender's
His horse at last stood still.
The calender, amazed to see
His neighbour in such trim,
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate,
And thus accosted him:
What news? what news? your tidings tell;
Tell me you must and shallSay why bareheaded you are come,
Or why you come at all?
Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit,
And loved a timely joke;
And thus unto the calender
In merry guise he spoke:
I came because your horse would come,
And, if I well forbode,
My hat and wig will soon be here,
They are upon the road.
The calender, right glad to find
His friend in merry pin,
Return'd him not a single word,
But to the house went in;
Whence straight he came with hat and wig;
A wig that flow'd behind,
Ak hat not much the worse for wear,
Each comely in its kind.
lie held them up, and in his tu
Thus sbew'd his ready wit,
My tead is twice as big as yours,
They therefore needs must fit.
But let me scrape the dirt away,
That hangs upon your face
&nd stop and eat, for well you may
Be in a hungry case.




ï~~gg              JOHN GILPIN.
Said John, It is my wedding-day,
And all the world would stare,
if wife should dine at Edmonton,
And I should dine at Ware.
So turning to his horse, he said,
I am in haste to dine;
'Twas for your pleasure you came here,
You shall go back for mine.
Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast!
For which he paid full dear;
For, while he spake, a braying ass
Did sing most loud and clear;
Whereat his horse did snort, as he
Had heard a lion roar,
And gallop'd off with all his might,
As he had done before.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went Gilpin's hat and wig:
He lost them sooner than at first,
For why?-they were too big.
Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw
Her husband posting down
Into the country far away,
She pull'd out half-a-crown;
And thus unto the youth she said
That drove them to the Bell,
This shall be yours, when you bring bac
My husband safe and well.
The youth did ride, and soon did meet
John coming back amain:
Whom in a trice he tried to stop,
By catching at his rein;
But not performing what he meant,
And gladly would have done,
The frighted steed he frighted more,
And made him faster run.
Away went Gilpin, and away
Went postboy at his heels,
The postboy's horse right glad to mls
The lumbering of the wheels.




ï~~EPISTLE TO A LADY IN FRANCE.          221
Six gentlemein upon the road,
Thus seeing Gilpin fly,
With postboy scampering in the rear,
They raised the hue and cry:
Stop thief I stop thief I-a highwayman;
Not one of them was mute;
And all and each that pass'd that way
Did join in the pursuit.
And now the turnpike gates again
Flew open in short space;
The toll-men thinking as before,
That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did, and won it too,
For he got first to town;
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up
He did again get down.
Now let us sing, Long live the king,
And Gilpin long live he;
And when he next doth ride abroad,
May I be there to gee I
AN EPISTLE
TO AN AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCP.,
Madam,
A STRANGER'S purpose in these lays
Is to congratulate, and not to praise;
To give the creature the Creator's due
Were sin in me, and an offence to you.
From man to man, or e'en to woman paid,
Praise is the medium of a knavish trade,
A coin by craft for folly's use desin'd,
Spurious, and only current with the blind.
The path of sorrow, and that path alone,
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown;
No traveller ever reach'd that bless'd abode,
Who found not thorns and briers in his road.
The worJ i may dance along the flowery plain,
Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain;




ï~~222    EPISTLE TO A LADY IN FRANCE.
Where Nature has hei mossy velvet spread
With unshod feet they yet securely tread;
Admonish'd, scorn the caution and the friend,
Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end.
But He, who knew what human hearts would prove
How slow to learn the dictates of his love,
That, hard by nature, and of stubborn will,
A life of ease would make them harder still,
In pity to the souls his grace design'd
To rescue from the ruins of mankind,
Call'd for a cloud to darken all their years,
And said, ' Go, spend them in the vale of tears.'
O balmy gales of soul-reviving air I
O salutary streams, that murmur there!
These flowing from the fount of grace above,
Those breath'd from lips of everlasting love.
The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys;
Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys;
An envious world will interpose its frown,
To mar delights superior to its own;
And many a pang, experienced still within,
Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin:
But ills of every shape and every name,
Transform'd to blessings, miss their cruel aim;
And every moment's calm that soothes the breast,
Is given in earnest of eternal rest.
Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast
Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste 1
No shepherd's tents within thy view appear,
But the chief Shepherd even there is near;
Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain
Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain;
Thy tears all issue from a source divine,
And every drop b~speaks a Saviour thineSo once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found,
And drought on all the drooping herbs around.




ï~~223

TO THE
REV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN
UxwIN, I should but ill repay
The kindness of a friend,
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay
As ever friendship penn'd,
Thy name omitted in a page,
That would reclaim a viciots age.
A union form'd, as mine with thee,
Not rashly, or in sport,
May be as fervent in degree,
And faithful in its sort,
And may as rich in comfort prove,
As that of true fraternal love.
The bud inserted in the rind,
The bud of peach or rose,
Adorns, though differing in its kind
The stock whereon it grotws,
With flower as sweet, or fruit as fair
As if produced by Nature there.
Not rich, I render what I may,
I seize thy name in haste,
And place it in this first essay,
Lest this should prove the last.
'Tis where it should be-in a plan,
That holds in view the good of m=.,
The poet's lyre, to fix his fame,
Should be the poet's heart;
Affection lights a brighter flame
Than ever blazed by art.
No muses on these lines attend
I sink the poet in the friend.




ï~~THE TASK.
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; ahd having much
leisure, connected another subject with it; 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 affair-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
objecticus 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' under the
bitterest of all disappointments, attest the truth of
the allegation. His quarrel, therefore, is with the
mischief %t large, and not with any particular
l astance of it.




ï~~THE TASK,
BOOK I.

Historicasl deduction of seats, from the stool to the Sofa.-A
schoolboy's ramble.-A walk in the country.-The scene described.-Rural sounds as well as sights deiiglhtful.-Another
wa.k.--Mistake concerning the charms of solitude corrected.Colonnades commended.-Alcove, and the view from it.-The
wilderness.-The grove.-The thresher.-The necessity and
the benefits of exercise.-The works of nature superior to, and
in some instances inimitable by, art.-The wearisomeness of
what is commonly called a life of pleasure.-Change of scene
sometimes expedient.-A common described, and the chareter of Crazy Kate introduced.-Gipsies.-The blessings of civilized life.- That state most favourable to virtue. -The South
Sea islanders compassionated, but chiefly (Omai.l-ltis 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.-bete champetre.-The
book concludes with a reflection on the fatal effects of dissipation and effeminacy upon our public manners.
THE SOFA.
I SING the Sofa. I, who lately sang
Truth, Hope, and Charity,* and touach'd with awe
The solemn chords, and with a trembling hand,
Escaped with pain from that adventurous flight,
Now seek repose upon an humbler theme;
The theme though humble, yet august aid 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
Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud,
Fearless of wrong, reposed his wearied strength.
Those barbarous 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 round.
* See Poems, pages 60. 92. 111.
K2

i

1.1.1




ï~~THE TASK.
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 eaten through and through.
At length a generation more refined
Improved the simple plan; made three legs four,
Gave them a twisted form vermicular,
And o'er the seat, with plenteous wadding stuff'd,
Induced a splendid 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.
Now came the cane from India, smooth and brigh                i
With Nature's varnish; severed into stripes,
That interlaced each other, these supplied
Of texture firm a lattice-work, that braced
The new machine, and it became a chair.
But restless was the chair; the back erect
Distress'd the weary loins, that felt no ease;
The slippery seat betray'd the sliding part,
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 placed
In modest mediocrity, content
With base materials, sat on well-tann'd hides,
Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth,
With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn,
Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fix'd,
If cushion might be call'd, what har:der seem'd
Than the firm oak, of which the frame was form'd.
No want of timber then was felt or fear'd
In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood
Ponderous and fix'd by its own massy weight.
But elbows still were wanting; these, some say,
An alderman of Cripplegate contrived;
And some ascribe the invention to a priest,
Burly, and big, and studious of his ease.




ï~~THE SOFA.
But rude at first, and not with easy slope
Receding wide, they press'd against the ribs,
And bntruised the side; and, elevated high,
Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears.
Long time elapsed or ere 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 pleased
Than when employ'd t' accommodate the fair,
Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised
The soft settee; one elbow at each end,
And in the midst an elbow it received,
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 languid frame,
By soft recumbency of outstretch'd limbs,
Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slow
The growth of what is excellent; so hard
To obtain perfection in this nether world.
Thus first Necessity invented stools,
Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs,
And Luxury the accomplish'd Sofa last.
The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick,
Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he
Who quits the coach box at the 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:
A.d sweet the clerk below. But neither sleep
Of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead;
Nor his who quits the box at midnight hour,
To slumber in the carriage more secure;
Nor sleep enjoy'd by curate in his desk;
Nor yet the dozings of the clerk, are sweet,
Compared with the repose the Sofa yields.
O may I live exempted (while I live
Guiltless of pamper'd appetite obscene)
Prom pangs arthritic, that infest the toe




ï~~228               THE TASK.
Of libertine excess. The Sofa suits
The gouty limb, 'tis true; but gouty limb,
Though on a Sofa, may I never feel:
For I have loved the rural walk through lanes
Of grassy swarth, close cropp'd by nibbling sheep,
And skirted thickwith intertexture firm
Of thorny boughs; have loved the rural walk
O'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers' brink,
E'er since a truant boy I pass'd my bounds,
T' enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames;
And still remember, nor without regret
Of hours that sorrow since has much endear'd,
How oft, my slice of pocket store consumed,
Still hungering, pennyless, and far from home,
I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws,
Or blushing crabs, or berries, that emboss
'The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere.
Hard fare! but such as boyish appetite
Disdains not; nor the palate, undepraved
By culinary arts, unsavory deems.
No Sofa then awaited my return;
Nor Sofa then 1 needed. Youth repairs
His wasted spirits quickly, by long toil
Sicurring short fatigue; and, though our years,
As life declines, speed rapidly away,
And not a year but pilfers as he goes
Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep,
A tooth, or auburn lock, and by degrees
Their length ahd colour from the locks they spare;
The elastic spring of an unwearied foot,
That mounts 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
My relish of fair prospect: scenes that sooth'd
Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find
Still soothing, and of power to charm me still.
And witness, dear companion of my walks,
Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive
Fast lock'd in mine, with Pleasure such as love,
Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth




ï~~THE SOFA.                  229
And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire--
Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long.
Thou know'st my praise of Nature most sincere,
And that my raptures are not conjured up
To serve occasions of poetic pomp,
But genuine, and art partner of them all.
How oft upon you eminence our pace
Has slacken'd to a pause, and we have borne
The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew,
While Admiration, feeding at the eye,
And still munsated, dwelt upon the scene.
Thence with what pleasure have we just discern'd
The distant plough slow moving, and beside
His labouring team, that swerved not from the track,
The sturdy s- ain diminish'd to a boy!
Here Ouse, slow windingthrough a level plain
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 favourite elms,
That screen the herdsman's solitary hut;
While far be yord, 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 tower,
Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells
Just undulates upon the listening 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,
Exhilarate 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 fluttering, all at once.




ï~~230                 THE TASK.
Nor less composure waits upon the roar
Of distant floods, or on the softer voice
Of neighbouring 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 sounds,
But animated nature sweeter still,
To soothe and satisfy the human ear.
Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one
The livelong night: nor these alone, whose note
Nice finger'd Art must emulate in vain,
But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime
In still repeated circles, screaming loud,
The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl,
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
Devised the weather-house, that useful toy!
Fearless of humid air and gathering rains,
Forth steps the man-an emblem of myself!
More delicate, his timorous mate retires.
When Winter soaks the fields, and female feet,
Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay,
Or ford the rivulets, are best at home,
The task of new discoveries falls on me.
At such a season, and with such a charge,
Once went I forth; and found, till then unknown,
A cottage, whither oft we since repair:
'Tis perch'd upon the green-hill top, but close
Environ'd with a ring of branching elms,
That dverhang the thatch, itself unseen
Peeps at the vale below: so thick beset
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
Prom such unpleasing sounds, as haunt the ear
In village or in town, the bay of curs
Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels




ï~~TilE SOFA.                  231
And infants clamorous, whether pleased or pain'd,
Oft have I wish'd the peaceful covert mine.
Here, I have said, at least I should possess
The poet's treasure, silence, and indulge
The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure.
Vain thought! the dweller in that still retreat
Dearly obtains the refuge it affords.
Its elevated site forbids *he wretch
To drink sweet waters of the crystal well;
He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch,
And heavy laden, brings his beverage home,
Far fetch'd and little worth; nor seldom waits,
Dependent on the baker's punctual call,
To hear his creaking panniers at the door,
Angry and sad, and his last crust consumed.
So farewell envy of the Peasant's Nest!
If solitude msnake scant the means of life,
Society for me!-thou seeming sweet,
Be still a pleasing object in my view;
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
From sultry suns: and, in their shaded walks
And long protracted bowers, enjoy'd at noon
The gloom and coolness of declining day.
We bear our shades about us: self-deprived
Of other screen, the thin nmbrella spread,
And range an Indian waste without a tree.
Thanks to Benevolus*-he spares me yet
These chesnuts ranged in corresponding lines;
And, though himself so polish'd, still reprieves
The obsolete prolixity of shade.
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, ancle deep in moss and flowery thyme,
We mount again, and feel at every step
Our foot half sunk in hilocks green and soft,
0 Johbn Courtney Throck rton, esqw. of Weston Underwood




ï~~232                THE TASK,
Raised by the mole, the miner of the soil.
He, not unlike the great ones of mankind,
Disfigures earth; and, plotting in the dark,
Toils much to earn a monumental pile,
That may record the mischiefs he has done.
The summit gain'd, behold the proud alcove
That crowns it! yet not all its pride secures
The grand retreat from injuries impress'd
By rural carvers, who with knives deface
The pannels, leaving an obscure, rude name,
In characters mncouth, and spelt amiss.
So strong the zeal to immortalize himself
Beats in the breast of man, that e'en a few,
Few transient years, won from the abyss abhorr'd
Of blank oblivion, seems 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
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 sun-burnt hay-field homeward creeps
The loaded wain; while lighten'd of its charge,
The wau that meets it passes swiftly by;
The boorish driver leaning o'er his team
Vociferous, and impatient of delay.
Nor less attractive is the woodland scene,
Diversified with trees of every growth
Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks
Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine,
Within the twilight of their distant shades;
There.lost behind a rising ground, the wood
Seems sunk, 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,
And ash far-stretching his umbrageous arm;
Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still,
Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak.
Some glossy-leaved and shining in the sarn,




ï~~THE SOFA.                 233
The maple, and the beech of oily nuts
Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve
Diffusing odours: nor unnoted pass
The sycamore, capricious in attire,
Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet
Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours bright.
O'er these, but far beyond (a spacious map
Of hill and valley interposed between),
The Ouse, dividing the well-water'd land,
Now glitters in the sun, and now retires,
As bashful, yet impatient to be seen.
Hence the declivity is sharp and short,
And such the re-ascent; between them weeps
A little naiad her impoverish'd urn
All summer long, which winter fills again.
The folded gates would bar my progress now,
But that the lord5 of this inclosed 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?
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.
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
Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance,
Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick,
And darkening and enlightening, as the leaves
Play wanton, every moment, every spot.
And now, with nerves new-braced and spirits cheer'd
We tread the wilderness, whose well-roll'd walks,
With curvature of slow and easy sweepDeception innocent-give ample space
To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next;
Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms
* See the foregoing note.
Q




ï~~234                THE TASK.
We may discern the thresher at his task.
Thump after thump resounds the constant flail,
That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls
Full on the destined ear Wide flies the chaff,
The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist
Of atoms, sparkling in the noonday beam.
Come hither, ye that press your beds of down,
And sleep not: see him sweating o'erhis bread
Before he eats it. 'Tis the primal curse,
But soften'd into mercy; made the pledge
Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan.
By ceaseless action all that is subsists.
Constant rotation of the unwearied wheel,.
That Nature rides upon, maintains her health,
Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads
An instant's pause, and lives but while she moves
Its own revolvency upholds the world.
Winds from all.uarters agitate the air,
And fit the limpid element f3r use,
Else noxious; oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams,
All feel the fresh'ning impulse, and are cleansed
By restless undulation: e'en the oak
Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm:
He seems indeed indignant, and to feel
The impression of the blast with proud disdain,
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 bound,
Binds man, the lord of all. Himself derives
No mean advantage from a kindred cause,
From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease.
The sedentary stretch their lazy length
When Custom bids, but no refreshment find,
For none they need; the languid eye, the cheek
Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk,
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.
Not such the alert and active. Measure life
By its true worth, the comforts it affords,




ï~~THE SUFA.                   235
And theirs alone seems worthy of the name.
Good health, and its associate in the most,
Good temper; spirits prompt to undertake,
And not soon spent, though in an arduous task;
The powers of fancy and strong thought are theirs;
E'en age itself seems privileged in them
With clear exemption from its own defects.
A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front
The veteran shews, and gracing a gray beard
With youthful smiles, descends towards the grave
Sprightly, and old almost without decay.
Like a co- maiden, Ease, when courted most,
Farthest retires-an idol, at whose shrine
Who oftenest sacrifice are favour'd least.
The love of Nature, and the scenes she draws,
Is Nature's dictate. Strange! there shall be found
Who, self-imprison'd in their proud saloons,
Renounce the odours of the open field
For the unscented fictions of the loom;
Who, satisfied with only pencil'd scenes,
Prefer to the performance of a God
The inferior wonders of an artist's hand!
Lovely indeed the mimic works of Art;
But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire,
None more admires, the painter's magic skill,
Who shews me that which I shall never see,
Conveys a distant country into mine,
And throws Italian light on English walls:
But imitative strokes can do no more
Than please the eye--sweet Nature's, every sense.
The air salubrious of her lofty hills,
The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales,
And music of her woods-no works'of man
May rival these, these all bespeak a power
Peculiar, and exclusively her own.
Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast;
'Tis free to all-'tis every day renew'd;
Who scorns it starves deservedly at home.
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,




ï~~235                THE TASK.
Escapes at last to liberty and light:
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 every breeze.
He does not scorn it, who has long endured
A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs.
Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflamed
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
With visions prompted by intense desire:
Fair fields appear below, such as hie left
Far distant, such as he would die to findHe seeks them headlong, and is seen no more.
The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns
The lowering eye, the petulance, the frown,
And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort,
And mar the face of beauty, when no cause
Far such immeasurable woe appears,
These Flora banishes, and gives the fair
Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her ow
It is the constant revolution, stale
And tasteless of the same repeated joys,
That palls and satiates, and makes languid life
A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down.
Health suffers, and the spirits ebb, the heart
Recoils from its own choice-at the full feast
Is famish'd-finds no music in the song,
Nor smartness in the jest; and wonders why.
Yet thousands still desire to journey on,
Though halt, and weary of the path they tread.
The paralytic, who can hold her cards,
But canfot play them, borrows a friend's hand
To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort
Her mingled suits and sequences; and sits,
Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad
And silent cipher, while her proxy plays.
Others are dragg'd into the crowded room
Between supporters; and once seated, sit,
Through downright inability to rise,
Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again.




ï~~THE SOFA.                 237
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, and yet loathe it; fear to die,
Yet scorn the purposes for which they live.
Then wherefore not renounce them? No-the dreaa
The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds
Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame.
And tlieir inveterate habits, all forbid.
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
Of dayspring overshoot his humble nest.
The peasant too, a witness of his song,
Himself a songster, is as gay as he.
But save me from the gaiety of those
Whose head-aches nail them to a noonday-bed;
And save me too from theirs, whose haggard eyes
Flash desperation, and betray their pangs
For property stripp'd off by cruel chance;
From gaiety, that fills the bones with pain,
The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe.
The earth was made so various, that the mind
Of desultory man, studious of change,
And pleased with novelty, might be indulged.
Prospects, however lovely, may be seen
Till half their beauties fade; the weary sight,
Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides off
Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes.
Then snug enclosures in the shelter'd vale,
Where frequent hedges intercept the eye,
Delight us; happy to renounce awhile,
Not senseless of its charms, what still we love,
That such short absence may endear it more.
Then forest, or the savage rock, may please,
That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts
Above the reach of man. His hoary head,
Conspicuous many a league, the mariner
Bound homeward, and in hope already there,
Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist,




ï~~238               THlE TASK.
A girdle of half-wither'd shrubs he shews,
And at his feet the baffled billows die.
The common, overgrown with fern, and rough
With prickly gorse, that shapeless and deform'd,
And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom,
And decks itself with ornaments of gold,
Yields no unpleasing ramble; there the turf
Smells fresh, and rich in odoriferous 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
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 wave
To distant shores; and she would sit and weep
At what a sailor suffers; fancy too,
Delusive most where warmest wishes are,
Would oft anticipate his glad return,
And dream of transports she was not to know.
She heard the doleful tidings of his deathAnd never smiled again I 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
More tatter'd still; and both but ill conceal
A bosom heaved 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 comelier clothes
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
Between two poles upon a stick transverse,
Receives the morsel--flesh obscene of dog,
Or vermin, or at best of cock purloin'd
From his accustom'd perch. Hard-faring raco
They pick their fuel out of every hedge,




ï~~THE SOFA.                 289
Which, kindled with dry leaves,just saves imquench'd
The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide
Their fluttering rags, and shews a tawny skin,
The vellum of the pedigree they claim.
Great skill have they in palmistry, and more
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 creature rational, and cast
In himan mould, should brutalize by choice
His nature; and, though capable of arts,
By which the world might profit, and himself
Self-banish'd from society, prefer
Such squalid sloth to honourable toil!
Yet, even these, though, feigning sickness, oft
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 offers; and with dance,
And music of the bladder and the bag,
Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound.
Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy
The houseless rovers of the sylvan world:
And breathing wholesome air, and wandering much,
Need other physic none to heal the effects
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 learn,
The manners and the arts of civil life.
His wants indeed are many; but supply
Is obvious, placed within the easy reach
Of temperate wishes and industrious hands.
-ere Virtue thrives as in her proper soil;
Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns,
And terrible to sight, as when she springs
(It e'er she spring spontaneous) in remote
And barbarous climes, where violence prevails,
And strength is lord of all; but gentle, kind,
By culture tamed, by liberty refresh'd,
And all her fruits by radiant truth matured.




ï~~240               TIHE TASK.
War and the chase engross the savage whole
War follow'd for revenge, or to'supplant
The envied tenants of some happier spot:
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,
Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside.
Thus fare the shivering natives of the north,
And thus the rangers of the western world,
Where it advances far into the deep,
Towards the antarctic. E'en the favoured isleSo 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 morals, what they gain
In manners-victims of luxurious ease.
These therefore I can pity, placed remote
From all that science traces, art invents,
Or inspiration teaches; and enclosed
In boundless oceans, never to be pass'd
By navigators uninform'd as they,
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 curiosity perhaps,
Or else vain glory, prompted us to draw
Forth from thy native bowers, to shew thee here
With what superior 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,    [found
And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast thou
Their former charms? And, having seen our state,
Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp
Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports,
And heard our music; are thy simple friends,
Thy simple fair, and all thy plain delights,
As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys
Lost nothing by comparison with ours I
* Onai.




ï~~THE SOFA.                  241
Rude as thou art (for we return'd thee rude
And ignorant, except of outward show)
I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart
And spiritless, as never to regret
Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as kno wna.
Methinks I see thee straying on the beach,
And asking of the surge, that bathes thy foot,
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 power of thine can raise her up
Thus fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err,
Perhaps errs little, when she paints thee thus.
She tells me too, that duly every morn
Thou climb'st the mountain top, with eager eye
Exploring far and wide the watery waste
For sight of ship from England. Every 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 prepared
To dream all night of what the day denied.
Alas! I 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;
And must be bribed 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 therev
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
Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds,
hi gross and pamper'd cities, sloth, and lust,
And wantonness, and gluttonous excess.
In cities vice is hidden with most ease,
Or seen with least reproach; and virtue, taught
L




ï~~2 THE TASK.
By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there
Beyond the achievement of successful flight.
I do confess them nurseries of the arts,
In which they flourish most; where, in the beam.
Of warm encouragement, and in the eye
Of public; 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 incontitence the worst.
There, tucch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes
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 occpy alone
The powers of sculpture,'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,
The richest scenery and the loveliest forms.
Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye,
With which she gazes at yon burning disk
UIndazzled, and detects and counts his spots?
In London. Where her implemesits exact,
With which she calculates, computes, and scans
All distance, motion, magnitude, and now
Measures an atom, and now girds a world?
In Lonmdon. Where has commerce such a mart,
So rich, so throng'd, so drain'd and so Supplied,
As London-opulent, enlarged, and still
S     Increasing, London? Babylon of old
S     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 twv,
That so much beauty would do well to purge;
And shew this queen of cities, that so fair
lMay yet be foul; so witty, yet not wise.
It is not seemly, nor of good report,
That she is slack in discipline; more prompt
To avenge than to prevent the breach of law
That she is rigid in denouncing death




ï~~THE SOFA.                  243
On petty robbers, and indulges life
And liberty, and oft-times honour too
To peculators of the public gold:
That thieves at home must haig; but he, that puts
Into his overgorged 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
Of holy writ, she has presumed to annul
And abrogate, as roundly as she may,
The total ordinance and will of God;
Advancing Fashion to the post of Truth,
And centering all authority in modes
And customs of her own, till sabbath rites
Have dwindled into unrespected forms,
And knees and hassocks are well-nigh divorced.
God made the country, and man made the town.
What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts
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 chariots and sedans, know no fatigue
But that of idleness, and taste no scenes
But such as art contrives, possess ye still
Your element; thete only can ye shine;
There only minds like yours can do no harm.
Our groves were planted to console at noon
The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve
The moon-beam, sliding softly in between
The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish,
Birds -arbling all the music. We can spare
The splendour of your lamps; they but eclipse
Our softer satellite. Your songs confound
Our more harmonious notes: the thrush ddparts
Scared, and. the offended nightingale is mute.
There is a public mischief in your mirth;
It plagues your country. Folly such as yours,
Graced 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.

41




ï~~244

BOOK "
Relections suggested by the conclaist.a of the former book.Peace among the nations recommended, on the ground of their
common fellowship in sorrow.-Prodigies enumerated.-Sici-.ian earthquakes.-Man renlered obnoxious to these calamiies by sin.-God the agent in them.--The philosophy that
stops at secondary causes reproved.-Our owu late nmiscarriages accoounted for.-Satirical notice taken of our trips to
Fontainebleau.-But the pulpit, not satire, the proter engine
of reformation.-The Reverend Advertiser of engraved ser
mons.-Petit-maitre parson.-The good preacher.- Picture of
a theatrical clerical coxcomb.-Story-tellers and jesters in the
pulpit reproved.-Apostrophe to popular applaue.-Retailers
of ancient piiosopisy expostulated witns-Sum of the whole
matter.-Effects of sacerdotal vismana.enetit.n 'he laitv.Their folly and extravagance.-The mschiefs of profusion.Profusion itself, with aht its consequent evils, ascribed, as to its
principal cause, to the want of discipline in the universities.
THE TIME-PIECE.
O FOR a lodge in some vast wilderness,
Some boundless 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 every day's report
Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fill'd.
There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart;
It does not feel for man; the natural bond
Of brotherhood is severed as the flax,
That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
He finds his fellow guilty--of a skin
Not colour'd like his own; and having power
To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause
Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey.
Lands intersevted by a narrow frith
Abhor each other. Mountains interposed
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 deplored,
As human nature's broadest, foulest blot,
Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat




ï~~HilE TIME-PIECE.             245
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 earn'd.
No: dear as freedom is, and in my heart's
Just estimation prized 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 loosed.
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 every vein
Of all your empire; that, where Britain s power
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.
Sure there is need of social intercourse,
Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid,
Between the nations in a world, that seems
To toll the death-bell of its own decease,
And by the voice of all its elements
To preach the general doom.* When were the winds
Let slip with such a warrant to destroy?
When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap
Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry?
Fires from beneath, and meteors t from above,
Portentous, unexampled, unexplain'd,
Have kindled beacons in the skies; and the old
And crazy earth has had her shaking fits
More frequent, and forgone her usual rest.
Is it a time to wrangle, when the props
And pillars of our planet seem to fail,
* Alluding to the calamities in Jamaica.
t August 18, 1783.




ï~~246                TIHE TASK.
And Nature with a dim and sickly eye*
To wait the close of all? But grant her end
More 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.
And 'tis but seemly, that, where all deserve
And stand exposed by common peccancy
To what no few have felt, there should be peace,
And brethren in calamity should love.
Alas for Sicily I rude fragments now
Lie scatter'd, where the shapely column stood.
Her palaces are dust. In all her streets
The voice of singing and the sprightly chord
Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show,
Suffer a syncope and solemn pause;
While God performs upon the trembling stage
Of his own works his dreadful part alone.
How does the earth receive him?-with what signs,
Of gratulation and delight her king?
Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad,
Her sweetest flowers, her aromati, 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.
The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke,
For he has touch'd them. From the extremest point
Of elevfation down into the abyss
His wrath is busy, and his frown is felt.
The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise,
The rivers die into offensive pools,
And, charged 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 aad rooted earth,
Tormented into billows, heaves and swells,
Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl
Sicks down its prey insatiable. Immense
* Alluding to the fog, that covered, oth Europe and Ad
during the whole summer of 1783.




ï~~THE TIME-PIECE.               247
The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs
And agonies of human and of brute
Multitudes, fugitiye on every 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.
Ocean has cau ht the frenzy, and, upwrought
To an enormous and o'erbearing height,
Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice,
Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore
Resistless. Never such a sudden flood,
Upridged so high, and sent on such a charge,
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--
A prince with half his people l Ancient towers,
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;
And, happy in their unforeseen release
From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy
The terrors of the day, that sets them free.
Who then, that has thee, would not hold thee fast
Freedom I whon they that lose thee so regret,
That e'en a judgment, making way for thee,
Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake?
Such evils Sin hath wrought; and such a flame
Kindled in heav.en, that it burns down to earth,
And in the furious inquest that it makes
On God's behalf, lays waste his fairest works.
The very elements, though each be 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
Life's necessary means, but hlie must die.
Storms rise to 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.




ï~~Wg                 THE TASK.
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 diy and dusty gulfs.
What then t-were they the wicked above all,
And we the righteous, whose fast-anehor'd isle
Moved not, while theirs was rock'd, like a light skiff
The sport of every wave? No: none are clear,
And none than we more guilty. But, where alf
Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts
Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark
May punish, if he please, the less, to warn
The more malignant. If he spared not them,
Tremble and be amazed at thine escape,
Far guiltier England, lest he spare not thee!
Happy the man who sees a God emplof'd
In all the good and ill that chequer 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 surprised, and unforeseen
Contingence might alarm him, and disturb
The smooth and equal course of his affairs.
This truth Philosophy, though eagle-eyed
In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks;
And, having found his instrument, forgets,
Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still,
Denies the power that wields 3t. 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 boil 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. Hie springs his mines




ï~~THE TIMiE-1IECE.              249
And desolates a nation at a blast.
Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells
Of homniogeneal 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.
Thou fool! Will thy discovery of the cause
Suspend the effect, or heal it? Has not God
Still wroughtby means since first he made the world t
And did he not of old employ his means
To drown it? What is his creation less
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.
England, with all thy faults, I lQve thee stillMy country! and, while yet a nook is left,
Where English minds and manners may be found,
Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime
Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd
With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost,
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies,
And fields without a flower, for warmer Franoe
With all her vines; nor for Ausonia's groves
Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers.
To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime
Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task:
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake
Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart
As any thunderer 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 name of soldiership and sense,
Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth
And tender as a girl, all essenced o'er
With odours, and as profligate as sweet;
Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath,
L2




ï~~250               THE TASK.
And love when they should fight; when such as thes6
Presume to lay their hands upon the ark
Of her magnificent and awful cause 4
Time was when it was praise and boast enough
In every clime, and travel where we might,
That we were born her children. Praise enough
To fill the 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 fallen
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,
Secured it by an unforgiving frown,
If any wrong'd her. Wolfe, where'er hlie fought
Put so much of his heart into his act,
That his example had a magnet's force,
And all were swift to follow whom all loved.
Those suns are set. O rise some other such!
Or all thatwe 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, lull'd by magic 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 brave man knows no malice, but at once
Forgets in peace the injuries of war,
And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace.
And, shamed as we have been, to thie very beard




ï~~THE TIME-PIECE.                251
Braved and defied, and in our own sea proved
Too weak for those decisive blows that once
Ensured us mastery there, we yet retain
Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast
At least superior jockeyship, and claim
The honouri of the turf as all our own!
Go, then, well worthy of the praise ye seek,
And she, tl:e shame ye might conceal at home,
In foreign eyes!-be grooms and win the plate,
Where once your nobler fathers won a crown '
'Tis generous to communicate your skill
To those that need it. Folly is soon learn'd:
And under such preceptors who can fail I
There is a pleasure in poetic pains,
Which only poets know. The shifts and turns
The expedients and inventions multiform,
To which the mind resorts, in chase of terms
Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to winTo arrest the fleeting images, that fill
The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast,
And force them sit, till he has pencill'd off
A faithful likeness of the forms hlie views;
Then to dispose his copies with such art,
That each may find its most propitious light,
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,
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 I not such,
Or seldom such, the hearers of his song.
Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps
Aware of nothing arduous in a task
They never undertook, they little note
HIis dangers or escapes, and haply find
Their least amusement where he fomund the most.
But is amusement all 1 Studious of song,
And yet ambitious not to sing in vain,
I would not trifle merely, though the world




ï~~252                 TE T. '..
Be loudest in their praise, who do no more.
Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay?
It may correct a foible, may chastise
The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress,
Retrench a sword-blade, or displhce a patch:
But where are its sublimer trophies found?
What vice has it subdued? whose heart reclaim'd
By rigour, or whom laugh'd intoreform?
Alas! Leviathan is not so tamed:
Laugh'd at he laughs again; and stricken hard,
Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales,
That fear no discipline of human hands.
The pulpit, therefore (and I name it, fill'd
With solemn awe, that bids me well beware
With what intent I touch that holy thing)--
The pulpit (when the satirist has at last,
Strutting and vapouring in an empty school,
Spent all his force and made no proselyte)I say the pulpit (in the sober use
Of its legitimate, peculiar powers)
Must stand acknowledged,while the world shall stand,
The most important and effectual guard,
Support and ornament of Virtue's cause.
There stands the messenger of truth: there stand
The legate of the skies!-His theme divine,
His office sacred, his credentials clear.
By him the violated law speaks out
Its thunders; and by him, in strains as sweet
As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace.
He 'stablishes the strong, restores the weak,
Reclaifns the wanderer, binds the broken heart,
And, arm'd himself in panoply complete
Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms
Bright as his own, and trains, by every rule
Of holy discipline, to glorious war,
The sacramental hosts of God's elect!
Are all such teachers?-would to Heaven all were
But hark-the doctor's voice --fast wedged betwees
Two empirics he stands, and with swollen cheeks
Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far
Than all invective is his bold harangue,
While through that public organ of report




ï~~THE TIME PIECE.

253

He hails the clergy; and, defying shame,
Announces to the world his own and theirs I
He teaches those to read whom schools dismiss'
And colleges, untaught; sells accent, tone,
And emphasis in score, and gives to-prayer
The 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 gallery critics by a thousand arts.
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 beforeGrand caterer and dry-nurse of the church I
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.
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
Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse;
Frequent in park with lady at his side,
Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes;
But rare at home, and never at his books,
OM with his pen, save when he scrawls a card;
Constant at routs, familiar with a round
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
To his own pleasures and his patron's pride;
Prom such apostles, 0 ye 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,
Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and owa,
Paul should himself direct me. I would trace




ï~~251

T H E TASK.

His master-strokes, and draw from his design
I would express himn simple grave, sincere;
In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain,
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; affectionate in look,
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 work,
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 seek to dazzle me with tropes,
As with the diamond on his lily hand,
And play his brilliant parts before my eyes,
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,
And start theatric, practised at the glass!
I seek divine simplicity in him,
Who handles things divine; and all besides,
Though learn'd with labour, and though much ad.
By curious eyes and judgments ill-inforrm'd, [mired
To me is odious as the nasal twang
Heard at conventicle, where worthy men,
Misled by custom, strain celestial themes
Through the press'd nostril, spectacle-bestrid.




ï~~THE TIME-PIECE.

255

Some decent in demeanour while they preach,
That task perform'd, relapse into themselves;
And having spoken wisely, at the close
Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye,
Whoe'er was edified, themselves were not!
Forth comes the pocket mirror.-First we stroke
An eyebrow; next compose a straggling lock;
Then, with an air most gracefully perform'd,
Fall back into our seat, extend an arm,
And lay it at its ease with gentle care,
With handkerchief in hand depending low:
The better hand more busy gives the nose
Its bergamot, or aids the indebted eye
With opera-glass, to watch the moving scene,
And recognise the slow-retiring fair.Now this is fulsome, and offends me more
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 beneath her care;
But how a body so fantastic, trim,
And quaint in its deportment and attire,
Can lodge a heavenly mind-demands a doubt
He that negociates 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
Pathetic exhortation; and to 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 orine, till sides and benches fail.
No: he was serious in a serious cause,
And understood too well the weighty terms
That he had taken in charge. He wo-ld not stoop
To conquer those by jocular exploits,
Whom truth and soberness assatl'd in vain.
O popular applause! what heart of man




ï~~256              THE TASK.
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 powert
Praise from the shrivell'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 I
Dote not too much, nor spoil what ye admire.
All truth is from the sempiternal source
Of light divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome
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 defiled
With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams
Illusive of philosophy, so call'd,
But falsely. Sages after sages strove
In vain to filter off a crystal draught
Pure from the lees, which often more enhanced
The thirst than slaked it, and not seldom bred
Intoxication and delirium wild.
In vain they push'd inquiry to the birth
Andspring-time of the world; ask'd, Whence is man I
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?
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 woe?
Knots worthy of solution, which alone
A Deity could sdlve. Their answers, vague,
And all at random, fabulous and dark,
Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life,




ï~~THE TIME PIECE.                257
Defective and unsanction'd, proved too weak
To bind the roving appetite, and lead
Blind nature to a God not yet reveal'd.
'Tis Revelation satisfies all doubts,
Explains all mysteries, except her own,
And so illuminates the path of life,
That fools discover it, and stray no more.
Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir,
My man of morals, nurtured in the shades
Of Academus-is this false or true?
Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools?
If Christ, then why resort at every turn
To Athens or to Rome, for wisdom short
Of man's occasions, when in him reside
Grace, knowledge, comfort-an unfathom'd store J
How oft, when Paul has serv'd us with a text,
Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preach'd!
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 trutlk
Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too!
And thus it is.-The pastor, either vain
By nature, or by flattery made so, taught
To gaze at his own splendour, and to exalt
Abasurdly, not his office, but himself;
Or unenlighten'd, and too proud to learn;
Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach;
Perverting often by the stress of lewd
And loose example, wbom he should instruct;
Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace,
The noblest function, and discredits much
The brightest truths that man has ever seen.
For ghostly counsel, if it either fall
Below the exigence, or be not back'd
Vith show of love, at least with hopeful proof
Of some sincerity on the giver's part;
Or be dishonour'd in the exterior form
And mode of its conveyance by such tricks
As move derision, or by foppish airs
And histrionic mummery, that let down
The pulpit to the level of the stage;
Drops from the lips a disregarded thing




ï~~258               THE TASK.
The weak perhaps are moved, 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 untutor'd heart
Soon follows, and, the curb of conscience snapp'd
The laity run wild.-But do they now?
Note their extravagance, and be convinced.
As nations, ignorant of God, contrive
A wooden one; so we, no longer taught
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?
My very gentle reader, yet unborn,
Of whom I needs must augur better things,
Since Heaven would sure grow weary of a world
Productive only of a race like ours,
A monitor is wood-plank shaven thin.
We wear it at our backs. There, closely braced
And neatly fitted, it compresses hard
The prominent and most unsightly bones,
And binds the shoulders fiat. We prove its use
Sovereign and most effectual to secure
A form, not now gymnastic as of yore,
From rickets and distortion, else our lot.
But thus admonish'd, we can walk erectOne proof at least of manhood! while the friend
Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his charge.
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 every moon. The sycophant,
Who waits to dress us, arbitrates their date;
Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye;
Finds one ill made, another obsolete,
This fits not nicety, that is ill conceived;
And, making prize of all that he condemns,
With our expenditure defrays his own.
Variety's the very spice of life,
That gives it all its flavour. We have run




ï~~THE TIME-PIECE.               25!
Through every change, that Fancy, at the loom
Exhausted, has bad genius to supply;
And, studious of mutation still, discard
A real elegance, a little used,
For monstrous novelty, and strange disguise.
We sacrifice to dress, till household joys
And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry,
And keeps ourtarder lean; puts out our fires;
And introduces hunger, frost, and woe,
Where peace and hospitality might reign.
What man that lives, and that knows how to live,
Would fail to exhibit at the public shows
A form as splendid as the proudest there,
Though appetite raise outcries at the cost?
A man o' the town dines late, but soon enough,
With reasonable forecast and dispatch,
To ensure a side-box station at half-price.
You think perhaps, so delicate his dress,
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 magic wand. So potent is the spell,
That none, decpy'd into that fatal ring,
Unless by Heaven's peculiar grace, escape.
There we grow early gray, but never wise
There form connexions, but acquire no fri
Solicit pleasure hopeless of success;
Waste youth in occupations only fit
For second childhood, and devote old ag
To sports, which only childhood could a  se.
There they are happiest, who dissemble best
Their weariness; and they the most polite,
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,
And bow obsequious, hide their hate of her.
All catch the frenzy, downward from her grace,
Whose flambeaux flash against the morning skies
And gild our chamber ceilings as they pass,




ï~~260                THE TASK.
To her, who, frugal only that her thrift
May feed excesses she can ill afford,
Is hackney'd home unlackey'd; who, in haste
Alighting, turns the key in her own door,
And, at the watchman's lantern borrowing light,
Finds a cold-bed her only comfort left.
Wives beggar husbands, husbands starve their wives,
On Fortune's velvet altar offering up
Their last poor pittance-Fortane, most severe
Of goddesses yet known, and costlier far
Than all, that held their routs in Juno's heaven.--
So fare we in this prison-house the World;
And 'tis a fearful spectacle to see
So many maniacs dancing in their chains.
They gaze upon the links that hold them fast,
With eyes of anguish, execrate their lot,
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,
By tricks and lies as numerous and as keen
As the necessities their authors feel;
Then cast them, closely bundled, every bra'
At the right door. Profusion is the sire.
Profusion unrestrain'd, with all that's base
In character, has litter'd all the land,
And bred, within the memory of Do 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
That gives society its beauty, strength,
Convenience, and security, and use:
Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapp'd
And gibbeted, as fast as catchpole claws
Can seize the slippery prey: unties the knot
Of union, and converts the sacred band,
That holds mankind together, to a scourge,
Profusion, deluging a state with lusts
Of grossest nature and of worst effects,
Prepares it for its ruin: hardens, blinds,
And warps the consciences of public men




ï~~THE TIME-PIECE.                261
Till they can laugh at Virtue; mock the fools
That trust them; and in the end disclose a face
That would have shoek'd Credulity herself,
Unmask'd, vouchsafing this their sole excuseSince all alike are selfish, why not they?
This does Profusion, and the accursed cause
Of such deep mischief has itself a cause.
In colleges and halls in ancient days,
When learning, virtue, piety, and truth
Were precious, and inculcated with care,
There dwelt a sage call'd Discipline. His head,
Not et by time completely silver'd o'er,
Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth,
But strong for service still, and unimpair'd.
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
The head of modest and ingehuous worth,
That blush'd at his own praise; and press the youth
Close to his side that pleased him. Learning grew
Beneath his care, a thriving vigorous plant;
The mind was well inform'd, the passions held
Subordinate, and diligence was choice.
If e'er it chanced, 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 rebuke:
His frown was full of terror, and his voice
Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe,
As left him not, till penitence had won
Lost favour back again, and closed the breach.
But Discipline, a faithful servant long,
Declined at length into the vale of years:
A palsy struck his arm; his sparkling eye
Was quench'd in rheums of age; his voice, unstrung
Grew tremulous, and moved derision more
Than reverence in perverse, rebellious youth.
So colleges and halls neglected much
Their good uld friend; and Discipline at length,
O'erlook'd and uncmploy'd, fell sick and died




ï~~M62               THE TASK
Then Study languish'd, Emulation slept,
And Virtue fled. The schools became a seene
Of solemn farce, where Ignorance in stilts,
His cap well lined with logic not his own,
With parrot tongue perform'd the scholar's part,
Proceeding soon a graduated dunce.
Then Compromise had place, and Scrutiny
Became stone blind; Precedence went in truck,
And he was competent whose purse was so.
A dissolution of all bonds ensued:
The curbs invented for the mulish mouth
Of headstrong youth were broken; bars and bolts
Grew rusty by disuse; and massy gates
Forgot their office, opening with a touch;
Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade,
The tassell'd cap and the spruce band a jest,
A mockery of the world! What need of these
For gamesters, jockeys, brothellers impure,
Spendthrifts, and booted sportsmen, oftener seen
With belted waist and pointers at their heels,
Than in the bounds of duty? What was learn'd,
If aught was learn'd in childhood, is forgot:
And such expense, as pinchesparents blue,
And mortifies the liberal 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,
And cleaves through life inseparably close
To him that wears it. What can after games
Of riper joys, and commerce with the world,
The lewd vain world, that must receive him soon,
Add to such erudition, thus acquired,
Where science and where virtue are profess'd?
They may confirm his habits, rivet fast
His folly, but to spoil him is a task
That bids defiance to the united powers
Of fashion, dissipation, taverus:stews.
Now blame we most the nurslings or the nurse
The children crook'd, and twisted, and deform'd,
Through want of care; odr her, whose winking eye
And slumbering osc'tancy mars the brood?
The nurse no doubt. Regardless of her charge,




ï~~THE TIME-PIECE.               26
She needs herself correction; needs to learn,
That it is dangerous 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 oncePeace 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-nature dresses her in smiles.
He graced a college,5 in which order yet
Was sacred, and was honour'd, loved, and wept,
By more than one, themselves conmpisaous there.
Some minds are temper'd happily, and mix'd
With such ingredients of good sense, and taste
Of what is excellent in man; they thirst
With such a zeal to be what thy approve,.That no restraints can circumscribe them more
Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom's sake.
Nor can example hurt them: what they see
Of vice in others but enhancing more
The charms 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,
Small thanks to those whose negligence or sloth
Exposed their inexperience to the snare,
And left them to an undirected choice.
See then the quiver broken and decay'd,
In which are kept our arrows! Rusting there
In wild disorder, and unfit for use,
What wonder if, discharged into the world,
They shame their shooters with a random flight,
Their points obtuse, and feathers drunk with wine I
Well may the church wage unsuccessful war
With such artillery arm'd. Vice parries wide
The 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 birth-place and his dam? The country mourns
Mourns because every plague, that can infest
Society, and that saps and worms the base
* Benet Coil Cambridge.




ï~~264                  THE TASK.
Of the edifice, that Policy has rded,
Swarms in all quarters: meets the eye, the ear,
And suffocates the breath at every turn.
Profusion breeds them; and the cause itself
Of that calamitous mischief has been found
Found too, where most ofensive, in the skirts
Of the robed pedagogue! Else let the arraign'd
Stand up unconscious, and refute the charge.
So when the Jewish leader stretch'd his arm
And waved his rod divine, a race obscene,
Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth,
Polluting Egypt: gardens, fields, and plains
Were cover'd with the pest; the streets were fill'd;
The croaking nuisance lurk'd in every nook;
Nor palaces, nor even chambers, 'scaped:
And the land stank-so numerous was the fry
BOOK 1T11.
cli-recollectioo and reproof.-Address to domestic happiness.Some account of myself.-The vanity of many of their pur suits
who are reputed wise.-Justification of my censures.-Divine
illumination necessary to the most expert philosopher.-The
question, What is truth! answered by other questions.-Domestic happiness addressed again.-Few lovers of the country.
-My tame hare.-Occupations of a retired gentleman in his
gtrden.-Pruniang.-Framing.-Green-housE  Sowing offlower,
seeds.-The country prefera:ile to the town even in winter.Reasons why it is (deserted at that season.-Ruinous effects of
aming, adc of expensive improvement.-Book concludes with
an apostrophe to the metropolis.
TIE GARDEN.
As one, who long in thickets and in brakes
Entangled, winds now this way and now that
His devious course uncertain, seeking home
Or having long in miry ways been foil'd
And sore discomfited, from slough to slough
Plunging, and half despairing of escape;
If chance at length he find a greensward smooth
And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise,
He cheraps brisk his ear-erecting steed,
And winds his way with pleasure and with ease.
So I, designing other themes, and call'd




ï~~THE GARDEN.                 265
T) adorn the Sofa with eulogium due,
To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams,
Have rambled wide: in country, city, seat
Of academic fame (howe'er deserved),
Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last.
But now with "pleasant pace a cleanlier road
I mean to tread: I feel myself at large,
Courageous, and refresh'd for future toil,
If toil await me, or if dangers new.
Since pulpits fail, and sounding boards reflect
Moast part an empty, ineffectual sound,
What chance that I, to fame so little known,
Nor conversant with men or manners much,
Should speak to purpose, or with better hope
Crack the satiric thong? 'Twere wiser far.or me, enamour'd of sequester'd scenes,
Anl charm'd with rural beauty, to repose,
Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine
Mv languid limbs, when, summer sears the plains
Or when rough winter rages, on the soft
And shelter'd sofa, while the nitrous air
Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth;
There undisturb'd by- Folly, and apprized
How great the danger of disturbing her,
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,
Domestic Happinuss, thou only bliss
Of paradise, that hast survived the fall!
Though few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure,
O- tasting long enjoy thee I too infirm,
Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets
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,
Heaven-born, and destined to the skies again.
Thou art not known where Pleasure is adored,
That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist
And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm




ï~~2 i            'THE TAbK.
Of Novelty, her tickle, frail support;
For thou art meek and constant, nating change,
Arid iinding 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
Convened for purposes of empire less,
Than to release the adult'ress from her tond.
The adult'ress! what a theme for angry verse I
What provocation to the indignant heart,
That feels for injured love! but I disdain
The nauseous 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 public 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 ashamed to own.
Virtue and vice had boundaries in old time,
Not to be pass'd: and she, that had renounced
Her sex's honour, was renounced herself
By all that prized it; not for prudery's sake,
But dignity's, resentful of the wrong.
'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif,
Desirous to return, and not received:
But 'twas a wholesome rigour in the main,
And taught the unblemish'd to preserve with care
That purity,whose loss was loss of all.
Men too were nice in honour in those days,
And judged offenders well. Then he that sharp'd,
And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd,
Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. He that sold
His country, or was slack when she required
His every nerve in action and atstretch,
Paid with the blood that he had basely spared,
The price of his default. But now-yes, new
We are become so candid and so fair,
So liberal in construction, and so rich
In Christian charity, (good-natured age!)




ï~~THE GARDEN.                 267
That they are safe, sinners of either sex,
Transgress what laws they may. Well dressed,well
Well equipaged, is ticket good enough    [bred
To pass us readily through every door.
Hypocrisy, detest her as we may
(And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet),
May claim this merit still--that she admits
The worth of what she mimics with such care,
And thus gives:avirtue indirect applause;
BJ3t she has burnt her mask, not needed here,
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 was charged, when I withdrew
To seek a tranquil death in distant shades.
There was I found by one who had himself
Been hart by the archers. In his side he bore,
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars.
With gentle force soliciting the darts,
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.
Here much I ruminate, as much I may,
With other views of men and manners now
Than once, and others of a life to come.
I see that all are wanderers, gone astray
Each in his own delusions; they are lost
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,
And add two 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 the eye of noon,
To sport their season, and be seen no more.
The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise,




ï~~268               THE TASK.
And pregnant with discoveries new and rare.
Some write a narrative of wars, and teats
Of heroes little known; and call the rant
A history: describe the man, of whom
His own coevals took but little note,
And paint his persoh, character, and views,
As they had known him from his mother's womb.
They disentangle from the puzzled skein,
In which obscurity has wrapp'd them up,
The threads of politic and shrewd design,
That ran through all his purposes, and charge
His mind with meanings that he never had,
Or, having, kept conceal'd. Some drill and bore
The solid earth, and from the strata there
Extract a register, by which we learn,
That he who made it, and reveal'd its date
To Moses, was mistaken in its age.
Some, more acute, and more industrious still,
Contrive creation; travel Nature up
To the sharp peak of her sublimest height,
And tell us whence the stars; why some are fix'd,
And planetary some; what gave them first
Rotation, from what fountain flow'd their light.
Great contest follows, and much learned dust
Involves the combatants; each claiming truth,
And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend
The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp
In playing tricks with Nature, giving laws
To distant worlds, and trifling in their own.
Is 't not a pity now that trickling rheums
Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight
Of oracles like these 7 Great pity too,
That having wielded the elements, and built
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 frantic, who thus spend it? all for smokeEternity for bubbles proves at last
A senseless bargain. When I see such games
Play'd by the creatures of a Power, who swears
That he will judge the earth, and call the fool
To a sharp reckoning, that has lived in vain;

i




ï~~r. yrs

THE GARDEN.

209

And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well.
And prove it in the infallible result
So hollow and so false--I feel my heart
Dissolve in pity, and account the learn'd,
If this be learning, most of all deceived.
Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps,
While thoughtful man is plausibly amused.
Defend me, therefore, commonsense, say I,
From reveries so airy, from the toil
Of dropping buckets into empty wells,
And growing old in drawing nothing up!
'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?
Much. I.was born of woman, and drew milk
As sweet as charity from human breasts.
I think, articulate, I laugh and weep,
And exercise all functions of a man.
How then should I and any man that lives
Be strangers to each other? Pierce my vein,
Taks of the crimson stream meandering there,
And catechize it well; apply thy glass,
Search it, and prove now if it be not blood
Congenial with thine own: and, if it be,
What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose
Keen enough, wise and skilful 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,
In arts like yours. I cannot call the swift
And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds,
And bid them hide therhselves in earth beneath;
I cannot analyze the air, nor catch
The parallax of yonder luminous point,
That seems half quench'd in the immens3 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 bf my bone, and kindred souls to mine.
God never meant that man should scale the heavens




ï~~270TO             THE TASK.
By strides of human wisdom. In his works,
Though wondrous, he commands us in his word
To seek him rather where his mercy shines.
The mind, indeed, enlighten'd from above,
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 philosophic tube,
That brings the planets home into the eye
Of Observation, and discovers, else
Not visible, his family of worlds,
Discover him that rules them; such a veil
Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth,
And dark in things divine. Full often too
Our wayward intellect, the more we learn
Of nature, overlooks her author more;
From instrumental causes proud to draw
Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake.
But, if his Word once teach us, shoot a ray
Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal
Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light,
Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptized
In the pure fountain of eternal love,
Has eyes indeed; and viewing all she sees
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 brancheg: piety has found
Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer
Has flow'd from lips wet with Castilian dews.
Such was thy wisdom, Newton, child-like sage!
Sagacious reader of the works of God,
And in his word sagacious. Such too thine,
Milton, whose genius had angelic wings,
And fed on manna! I And such thine, in whom
Our British Themis gloried with just cause,
Immortal Hale; for deep discernment praised,
And sound integrity, not more than famed
For sanctity of manners undefiled.
All fless is grass, and all its glory fades
Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind;
Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream,




ï~~THE GARDEN.
The man we celebrate must find a tomb,
And we that worship him ignoble graves.
Nothing is proof against the general curse
Of vanity, that seizes all below.
The only amaranthine flower on earth
Is virtue: the only lasting treasure, truth.
But what is truth? 'Twas Pilate's question put
To Truth itself, that deign'd him no reply.
And wherefore I Will not God impart his light
To them that ask it?-Freely--'tis his joy,
His glory, and his nature, to impart.
But to the proud, tncandid, insincere,
Or negligent inquirer, not a spark.
What's that, which brings contempt upon a book,
And him who writes it, though the style 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 undoes us in our own?
What pearl is it, that rich men cannot buy,
That learning is too proud to gather up:
But which the poor, and the despised of all,
Seek and obtain, and often find unsought?
Tell me-and I will tell thee what is truth.
O friendly to the best pursuits of man,
Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace,
Domestic 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 foregoes his'proper bliss,
E'en as his first progenitor, and quits,
Though placed 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 of wisdom; that suggest,
By every pleasing image they present,
Reflections such as meliorate the heart,
Compose the passions, and exalt the mind;




ï~~272                TH E 'TASK.
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 rapt away from all his cares;
Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again,
Nor baited hook deceive the fish's eye;
Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song,
Be quell'd in all our summer-months' retreats;
How many self-deluded nymphs and swains,
Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves,
Would find them hideous nurseries of the spleen,
And crowd the roads, impatient for the town!
They lve the country, and none else who seek
For their own sake its silence, and its shade.
Delights which who would leave, that has a heart
Susceptible of pity, or a mind
Cultured and capable of sober thought,
For all the savage din of the swift pack,
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,
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 fiiae
Has never heard the Anguinary yell
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,
Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine.
Yes-thou may'st eat thy bread, and lick the hand
That feeds thee thou may'st frolic on the floor
At evening, and at night retire secure
To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm'd;
For 1 have gain'd thy confidence, have pled op
AUll that is human in me, to protect.




ï~~THE GARDEN.                  273
Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love.
If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave;
And, when I place thee in it, sighing say,
I knew at least one hare that had a friend.*
How various his employments whom the world
Calls idle; and who justly in return
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 abroadCan he want occupation who has these?
Will he be idle who has much to enjoy!
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 finds
E'en here: while sedulous I seek to improve,
At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd,
The mind he gave me; driving it, though slack
Too oft, and much impeded in its work
By causes not to be divulged in vain,
To its just point-the service of mankind.
He, that attends to his interior 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 engaged to achieve
No unimportant, though a silent, task.
A life all turbulence and noise may sem
To him that leads it wise, and to be praised;
But wisdom is a pearl with most success
Sought in still water, and beneath clear skiesHe that is ever occupied in storms,
Or dives not for it, or brings up instead,
Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize.
The morning finds the self-sequester'd mas
Fresh for his task, intend what task he may.
Whether inclement seasons recommend
* Smee the note at the end of thlis volume.
MS

y




ï~~274                THE TASk.
His warm but simple home, where he enjoys
With her, who shares his pleasures and his heart,
Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph,
Which neatly she prepares; then to his book
Well chosen, and not sullenly perused
In selfish silence, but imparted oft,
As ought occurs, that she may smile to hear,
Or turn to nourishment, digested well.
Or if the garden, with its many cares,
All well repaid, demand him, he attends
The welcome call, consciouÂ~ how much the hand
Of lubbard Labour needs his watchful eye,
Oft loitering lazily, if not o'erseen,
Or misapplying his unskilful strength.
Nor does he govern only or direct,
But much performs himself. No works indeed,
That ask robust, tough sinews, bred to toil,
Servile employ; but such as may amuse,
Not tire, demanding rather skill than force.
Proud )f his well-spread walls, he -views his trees.,
That meet, no barren interval between,
With pleasure more than e'en their fruits afford;
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 last prolific powers,
Impair'd by age, his unrelenting band
Dooms to the knife; nor does he spare the soft
And succulent, that feeds its giant growth,
But barren at the expense of neighbouring twigs
Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick
With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left
That may disgrace his art, or disappoint
Large expectation, he disposes neat
At measured distances, that air and sun,
Admitted freely, may afford their aid,
And ventilate and warm the swelling buds.
Hence Summer has her riches, Autumn hence,.
And hence e'en Winter fills his wither'd hand
With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own.*
*' Mirathrque novos fructus et non sna pom'- Virg




ï~~TIHE GARDEN.                275
Fair recompense of labour well bestow'd,
And wise precaution; which a clime so rude
Makes needful still, whose Spring is but the child
Of churlish Winter, in her froward moods
Discovering much the temper of her sire.
For oft, as if in her the stream of mild
Maternal nature had reversed 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
The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep
His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft
As the sun peeps, and vernal airs breathe mild,
The fence withdrawn, he gives them every beam,
And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day.
To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd.
So grateful to the palate, and when rare
So coveted, else base and disesteem'dFood for the vulgar merely-is an art
That toiling aes have but just matured,
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 numbers Phillips, shines for aye
The solitary shilling. Pardon, then,
Ye rage dispensers of poetic fame,
The dmbition of one meaner far, whose powers,
Presuming an attempt not less sublime,
Pant for the praise of dressing to the taste
Of critic appetite, no sordid fare,
A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce.
The stable yields a stercoraceous heap,
Impregnated with quick fermenting salts,
And potent to resist the freezing blast:
For, ere the beech and elm have cast their leat
Deciduous, when now November dark
Checks vegetation in the torpid plant
Exposed to his cold breath, the task begins.
Warily, therefore, and with prudent heed,
He seeks a favour'd spot; that where he builds




ï~~276                THE TASK.
The agglomerated pile his frame may front
The sun's meridian disk, and at te back
Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge
Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread
Dry fern or litter'd hay, that may imbibe
The 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,
The shapely side, that as it rises takes,
By just degrees, an overhanging. breadth,
Sheltering the base with its projected eaves:
The uplifted frame, compact at every joint,
And overlaid with clear translucent glass,
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
Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth,
Slow gathering in the midst, through the square mas,
Diffused, attain the surface: when, behold!
A pestilent and most corrosive steam,
Like a gross fog Boeotian, rising fast,
And fast condensed upon the dewy sash,
Asks egress; which obtain'd, the overcharged
And drench'd conservatory breathes abroad,
In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank;
And, purified, rejoices to have lost
Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage
The impatient fervour, which it first conceives
Within its reeking bosom, threatening death
To his young hopes, requires discreet delay.
Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft
The way to glory by miscarriage foul,
Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch
The auspicious moment, when the temper'd heat,
Friendly to vital motion, may afford
Soft fomentation, and invite the seed.
The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth,
And glossy, he commits to pots of size
Diminutive, well-fildl'd with well-prepared




ï~~THE GARDEN.                  277
And fruitful soil, that has been treasured long,
And drank no moisture from the dripping clouds.
These on the warm and genial earth; that hides
The smoking manure, and o'erspreads it all,
He places lightly, and, as time subdues
The rage of feimentation, plunges deep
In the soft medium, till they stand immersed.
Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick,
And spreading wide their spongy lobes, at first
Pale, wan, and livid; but assuming soon,
If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air,
Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivia green.
Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves,
Cautious he pinches from the second stalk
A pimple, that portends a future sprout,
And interdicts its growth. Then straight succeed
The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish;
Prolific all, and harbingers of more.
The crowded roots demand enlargement now,
And transplantation in an ampler space.
Indulged in what they wish, they soon supply
Large foliage, o'ershadowing golden flowers,
Blown on the summit of the apparent fruit.
These have their sexes! and when summer shines,
The bee transports the fertilizing meal
From flower to flower, and e'en the breathing air
Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use.
Not so when winter scowls. Assistant ArtThen acts in Nature's office, brings to pass
rhe glad espousals, and ensures the crop.
Grudge not, ye rich (since Luxury must have
His dainties, and the World's more numerous
half
Livbs by contriving delicates for you)
Grudge not the cost. Ye little knm a the cares,
The vigilance, the labour, and the skill,
That day and night are enercised, and hang
Upon the ticklish balance of suspense,
That ye may garnish your profuse regales
With summer fruits brought f6rth by wintry suas.
Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart
The process. Heat, and cold, and wind, and steam.




ï~~278                 THE TASK.
Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming
Minute as dust, and numberless, oft work     [flies,
Dire disappointment, that admits no cure,
And which no care can obviate. It were long,
Too long to tell the expedients and the shifts
Which he that fights a season so severe
Devises, while he guards his tender trust;
And oft at last in vain. The learn'd and wise
Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song
Cold as its theme, and like its theme the fruit
Of too much labour, worthless when produced
Who loves a garden loves a green-house too.
Unconscious of a less propitious clime,
There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug,
While the winds whistle, and the sndws descend.
The spiry myrtle with unwithering leaf
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.
The amomum there with intermingling flowers
And cherries hangsher twigs. Geranium boasts
Her crimson honours; and the spangled beau,
Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long.
All plants, of every leaf, that can endure
The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bite
Live there, and prosper. Those Ausonia claims,
Levantine regions these; the Azores send
Their jessamine, her jessamine remote
Caffraria; foreigners from many lands,
They form one social shade, as if convened
By magic summons of the Orphean lyre.
Yet just arran ement, rarely brought to pass
But by a master's hand, disposing well
The gay diversities of leaf and flower,
Must lend its aid t' illustrate all their charms,
And dress the regular yet varied scene
Plant behind plant apiring, in the van
The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but still
Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand.
bo once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome,




ï~~THE G ARDEN.                   g
A noble show! while Ploscius 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 music from his lips,
And covetous of Shakspeare's beauty, seen
In every flash of his far-beaming eye.
Nor taste alone and well contrived display
Suffice to give the marshall'd ranks the grace
Of their complete effect. Much yet remains
Unsung, and many cares are yet behind,
And more laborious; cares on which depends
Their vigour, injured soon, not soon restored,
The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'd
Loses its treasure of salubrious salts,
And disappoints the roots; the slender roots
Close i:terwoven, where they meet the vase
Must smooth be shorn away; the sapless branch
Must til before the knife; the wither'd leaf
Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor
Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else
Contagion, and disseminating death.
Discharxe but these kind offices, (and who
Would spare, that loves them, offices like these?)
Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleased,
The scent regaled, each odoriferous leaf,
Each opening blossom, freely breathes abroad
lts,ratitude, and thanks him with its sweets.
So manifold, all pleasing in their kind,
All healthful, are the employs of rural life,
Reiterated as the wheel of time
hiuns round; still ending, and beginning still.
Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knolls
That soitly swell'd and gaily dress'd appears
A flowery island, fram the dark green lawn
Emerging, must be de.m'd a labour due
To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste.
HIlere also graceful mixture of well-match'd
And sorted hues (each giving each relief,
And by contrasted beauty shining more)
Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous spade,
May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home;
But elegance, chief grace the garden shews




ï~~F

280                THE TASL.
And most attractive, is the fair result
Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind.
Without it all is Gothic as the scene.
To which the insipid citizen resorts
Near yonder heath; where Industry misspent,
But proud of his uncouth ill-chosen task,
Has made a heaven on earth; with suns and moons
Of close-ramm'd stones has charged th' encumber'd
And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust.     [soilh
He, therefore, who would see his flowers disposed
Sightly and in just order, ere he gives
The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds,
Forecasts the future whole; that when the scene
Shall break into his preconceived display
Each for itself, and all as with one voice
Conspiring, may attest his bright design.
Nor even then, dismissing as perform'd
His pleasant work, may he suppose it done.
Few self-supported flowers endtre the wind
Uninjured, but expect the upholding aid
Of the smooth-shaven prop, and neatly tied,.
Are, wedded thus, like beauty to old age,
For interest-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
With clasping tendrils, anl invest his branch,
Else unadorn'd, with many a gay festoon
And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well
The strength they borrow with the grace they lend.
All hate the rank society of weeds,
Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust
TI' impoverish'd earth; an overbearing race,
That like the multitude made faction-mad,
Disturb good order, and degrade true worth.
O bless'd seclusion from a jarring world,
Which he thus occupied enjoys! Retreat
Cannot indeed to guilty man restore
Lost innocence, or cance? follies past;
But it has peace, and much secures the miad
From all assaults of evil; proving still




ï~~THE GAhDEN.                  281
A faithful barrier, not o'erleap'd with ease
By vicious Custom, raging uncontroll'd
Abroad, and desolating public life.
When fierce Temptation, seconded within
By traitor Appetite, and arm'd with darts
Temper'd in hell, invades the throbbing breast,
To combat may be glorious, and success
Perhaps may crown us; lIut to fly is safe.
Had 1 the choice of sublunary good,
What could I wish, that I possess not here?
Health, leisure,means to improve it, friendship,peacc
No loose or wanton, though a wandering, muse,
And constant occupation without care.
Thus blessd I draw a picture of that bliss;
Hopeless, indeed, that dissipated minds,
And profligate abusers of a world
Created fair so much in vain for them,
Should seek the guiltless joys, that I describe,
Allured by my report: but sure no less,
That self-condemn'd they must neglect the prize,
And what they will not taste must yet approve.
What we admire we praise; and when we praxse
Advance it into notice, that its worth
Acknowledged, others may admire it too.
I therefore recommend, though at the risk
Of popular disgust, yet boldly still,
The cause of piety, and sacred truth,
And virtue, and those scenes, which God ordain'd
Should best secure them, and promote them most,
Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive
Forsaken, or through folly not enjoy'd
Pure is the nymph, though liberal of her smiles,
And chaste, though muconfined, whom I extol.
Not as the prince in Shushan, when he call'd,
Vain-glorious of her Charms, his Vashti forth,
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,
Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form
And lineaments divine I trace a hand
T




ï~~282

fTHE TASK.

That errs not, and find raptures still renew'd,
Is free to all men-universal prize.
Strange that so fair a creature should yet want
Admirers, and be destined to divide
With meaner objects e'en the few she finds!
Stripp'd of her ornaments, her leaves and flowers,
She loses all her influence. Cities then
Attract us, and neglected Nature pines
Abandon'd, as unworthy of our love.
But are not wholesome airs, though unperfumed
By roses; and clear suns, though scarcely felt;
And groves, if unharmonious, yet secure
From clamour, and whose very silence charms,
To be preferr'd to smoke, to the eclipse
That metropolitan vo.canoes make,
Whose Stygian throats Lreathe darkness all day long,
And to the stir of Commerce, driving slow,
And thundering loud, with his ten thousand wheels I
They would be, were not madness in the heads,
And folly in the heart; were England now,
What England was, plain, hospitable, kind,
Anid undebauch'd. But we have bid farewell
To all the virtueof those better days,
And all their honest pleasures  Mansions once
Knew their own masters; and laborious hinds,
Who had survived the father, served the son.
Now the legitimate and rihtful lord
Is but a transient guest, newly arrived,
As 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, gazed upon a while,
Then advertised, and auctioneer d away.  Icharged
The country starves, and they, that feed the o'er
And surfeited lewd town with her fair dues,
By a just judgment strip and starve themselves.
Tue wings, that waft our riches out of sight,
Grow on the gamester's elbows; and the alert
And nimble motion of those restless joints,
That never tire, soon fans hens all away.
Improvement too, the idol of the age,




ï~~THE GARDEN                    h
Is fed with many a victim. Lo, he conies
The omnipotent magician, Brown, appears!
Down falls the venerable pile, the abode
Of our forefathers-a grave whisker'd race,
But tasteless. Springs a palace in its stead,
But in a distant spot; where more expesed
It may enjoy the advantage of the north,
And aguish east, till time shall have transform'd
Those naked acres to a sheltering grove.
He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn;
Woods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise;
And streams, as if created for his use,
Pursue the track of his directing wand,
Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow,
Now murmuring soft, now roaring in cascadesF'en as he bids I The enraptured owner smiles.
'Tis finish'd, and yet, finih'd as it seems,
Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could shew,A mine to satisfy the enormous cost.
Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealth,
He sighs, departs, and leaves the accomplish'd plan,
That he has touch'd, retouch'd, many a long day
Labour'd, and many a night pursued in dreams,
Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the heaven
He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy!
And now perhaps the glorious hour is come,
When, having no stake left, no place to endear
Her interests, or that gives her sacred cause
A moment's operation on his love,
He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal
To serve his country. Ministerial grace.
Deals him out money from the public chest;
Or, if that mine be shut, some private purse
Supplies his aeed with an usurious loan,
To te refunded duly when his vote
Vell managed shall hap e earn'd its worthy price.
O innocent, compared with arts like these,
Crape, and cock'd pistol, and the whistling ball
Sent through the traveller's temples! He, that u ds
One drop of Heaven's sweet mery in his cup,
Can dig, beg, rot, and perish, well content,
So he may wrap himself in hoiest r:a s! [I




ï~~Rai               THE TASII
At his last gasp: but could not sor a world
Fish up his dirty and dependent bread
From pools and ditches of the commonwealth,
Sordid and sickening at his own success.
Ambition, avarice, penury incurr'd
By endless riot, vanity, the lust
Of pleasure and variety, despatch,
As duly as the swallows disappear,
The world of wandering knights and 'squires to town
London ingulphs them all I The shark is there,
And the shark's prey; the spendthrift, and the leecl
That sucks him: there the sycophant, and he
Who, with barcheaded and obsequious bows,
Begs a warm office, doom'd to a cold jail
And groat per diem, if his patron frown.
The levee swarms, as if in golden pomp
Were character'd on every statesman's door,
' Batter'd and bankrupt fortunes mended here
These are the charms that sully and eclipse
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 amused,
That at the sound of Winter's hoary wing
Unpeoples all our counties of such herds
Of fluttering, loitering, 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 earth,
Chequer'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 pleasest and yet shock'st me, I can laugh,
And I can weep, can hope, and can despond
Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee!
Ten righteous would have saved a city once,
And thou hast many righteous.-Well for theeThat salt preserves thee; more corrupted else,
And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour,
Than Sodom in her day had power to be,
For whom God heard his Abraham plead in vain




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ï~~


ï~~285

BOOK IV.
The post comes in.-The newspaper is read.-The world contenaplatedl at a distance.-Address to Winter.-The rural amuseinents of a winter evening compared with the fashionable ones.
-Address to Evening.-A brown study.--Fall.1 snow in the
eveninu.-The wa'goner.--A poor family-piece.-The rural
thief.-Public houses.-The multitude of thenm censured.--The
farmer's daughter: what she was-what sihe is.-The simplicity of country manners almost lost.-Causes of the change.Desertion of the country by the rich.-Neglect of magistrates.
-The militia principally in fault.-The new recruit and lus
transformation.-Reflection on bodies corporate.-T e love (f
rural objects natural to all, and never to be totally extin
guished.
THE WINTER EVENING.
HARK! 'tiS the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge.
That with its wearisome but needful length
Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon
Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright;He comes, the herald of a noisy world,
With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks;
News from all nations lumbering 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 destined inn;
And, having dropp'd the expected bag, pass on.
He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch,
Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief
Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some;
To him indifferent whether grief or joy.
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 charged with amorous sighs of absent swaias,
Or nymphs responsive, equally affect
His horse and him, unconscious of them all.
But 0 the important budget! usher'd in
With such heart-shaking music, who can say
What are its tidings? have our troops awaked T
Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd,
Snore to the murmurs ot the Atlantic wave
Is India free? and does sba wear her plumed




ï~~286               THEt TASK.
And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace;
Or to we grind her still? The grand debate,
The popular harangue, the tart reply,
The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit,
And-the loud laugh-I long to know them all;
I burn to set the im;rison'd wranglers free,
And give them voice and utterance once again.
Now stir the fire, and close the shutters faft,
Let 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,
So let us welcome peaceful evening in.
Not such his evening, who with shining face
Sweats in the crowded theatre, and squeezed
And bored with elbow-points through both his sides.
Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage:
Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb,
And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath
Of patriots bursting with heroic rage,
Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles.
This folio of four pages, happy work!
Which not e'enr critics criticise; 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,
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 I At his heels
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;
The modest speaker is ashamed and grieved,
To engross a moment's notice; and yet begs,
Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts,
However trivial all that he conceives.
Sweet bashfulness I it claims at least this praiseI




ï~~THE WINTER EVENING.               287
The dearth of information and good sense,
That it foretells us, always comes to pass.
Cataracts of declamation thunder here;
There forests of no ineaning spread the page
In which all compreheunon wanders lost;
While fields of pleaea.uby amuse us there
With merry descants on a nation's woes.
The rest appears a wilderness of strange
But gay confusion; roses for *he cheeks,
And lilies for the brow of facted age;
Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald,
Heaven, earth, and ocean plunder'd of their swe(
Nectareous essences, Olympian dews,
Sermons, and city-feasts, and favourite airs,
Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits,
And Katerfelto, with his hair on-end
At his own wonders, wondering for his br.ad.
'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat
To peep at such a world; to see the stir
Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd;
To hear the roar she sends through all her gates
At a safe distance, where the dying sound
Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear.
Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease
The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced
To some secure and more than mortal height,
That Lberates 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 'ound of war
Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me;
Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride
And avarine that make man a wolf to man;
Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats,
By which he speaks the language of his heart,
And sigh, but never tremble at the sound.
Lie travels and expatiates, as the bee
From flower to flower, so he from land to landl
The manners, customs, policy, of all
Pay contribution to the store he gleans;
He sucks intelligence in every clime,
And spreads the honey of his deep research




ï~~288                THE TASK.
At his return--a rich repast for me.
He travels, and I too. I tread his deck,
Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes
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 the inverted year,
Thy scatter'd hair with sleet like ashes fill'd,
Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks
Fringed with a beard made white with other snows
Than those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in clouds,
A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels,
But urged by storms along its slippery way,
I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st,
And dreaded as thou art! Thou hold'st the sun
A prisoner in the yet undawning east,
Shortening 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,
And gathering, at short notice, in one group
The family dispersed, and fixing thought,
Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares.
I crown thee king of intimate delights,
Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness,
And all the comforts that the lowly roof
Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours
Of long uninterrupted evening, know.
No rattling wheels stop short before these gates;
No powder'd pert, proficient in the art
Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors
Till the street rings; no stationary steeds
Cough their own knell, while heedless of the sounad,
The silent circle fan themselves, and quake:
But here the needle plies its busy task,
The pattern grows, the well-depicted flower,
Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn,
Unfolds its bosom; buds, and leaves, and sprigs,
And curling tendrils, gracefully disposed,




ï~~THE WINTER EVENING.              289
7ollow the nimble finger of the fair;
A wreath, that cannot fade, of flowers that blow
With most success when all besides decay.
The poet's or historian's page by one
Made vocal for the amusement of the rest;
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
On female industry: the threaded steel
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,
Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors,
And under an old oak's domestic 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
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
A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone,
Exciting oft our gratitude and love,
While we retrace with Memory's pointing wand
That calls the past to our exact review,
The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare,
The disappointed foe, deliverance found
Unlook'd for, life preserved, and peace restored,
Fruits of omnipotent eternal love.
O evenings worthy of the godsI exclaim'd
The Sabine bard. 0 evenings, I reply,
More to be prized and coveted than yours,
As more illumined, and with nobler truths,
That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy.
Is Winter hideous in a garb like this?
Needs he the tragic fur, the smoke of lamps,
The pent-up breath of an unsavouiy throng
N




ï~~2mo               TIHE TASK.
To thaw him into feeling; or the smart
And snappish dialogue, that flippant wits
Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile t
The self-compladent actor, when he views
(Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house)
The slope of faces, from the floor to th' roof
(As if one master spring controll'd them all)
Relax'd into an universal grin,
Sees not a countenance there that speaks of joy
Half so refined or so sincere as ours.
Cards were superfluous here, with all the trilA
That idleness has ever yet contrive4
To fill the void of an unfurnish'd brain,
To palliate dullness, and give time a shove.
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 masqueradet
Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledged
With motley plumni; and, where the peacock shew
His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red,
With spots quadrangular of diamond form,
Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife,
And spades the emblem of untimely graves.
What should be, and what was an hour-glass once
Becomes a dice-box, and a billiard-mace
Well does the work of his destructive scythe.
Thus deck'd, he charms a world whom fashion blin(
To his true worth, most pleased when idle most
Whose only happy are their wasted hours.
E'en misies, 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
Placed at some vacant corner of the board,
Learn every trick, and soon play all the game.
But truce with censure. Roving as I rove,
Where shall 1 find an end, or how proceed 1
As he that travels far oft turns aside,
To view some rugged rock or mouldering tower,
Which seed delights him not; then coming bome
Describes and prints it, that the world may Inow
How far he went for what was nothing worth;




ï~~THE WINTER EVENING.             291
So I, with brush in hand, and palette spread,
With colours mix'd for a far different use,
Paint cards, and dolls, and every idle thing,
That Fancy finds in her excursive flights.
Come, Evening, once again, season of peace;
Return, sweet Evening, and continue long!
Methinks I see thee in the streaky west,
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 mar
With sweet oblivion of the wares of day:
Not sumptuously adorn'd, nor needing aid,
Like homelytfeatured Night, of clustering 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,
With ostentatious pageantry, but set
With modest grandeur in thy purple zone,
Resplendent less, but of an ampler round.
Come then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm,
Or make me so. Composure is thy gift:
And, whether I devote thy gentle hours
To books, to music, 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.
Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze
With lights, by clear reflection multiplied
From many a mirror, in which he of Gath.
Goliah, might have seen his giant bulk
Whole without stooping, towering 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
D)ancing uncouthly to the quivering flame.
Not undelightful is an hour to me
So spent in parlour-twilight: such a gloom
Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind,
The mind contemplative, with some new theAt,




ï~~2092              THE TASk.
Pregnant, or indisposed alike to all.
Laugh ye, who beast your more mercurial powers,
That never feel a stupor, know no pause,
Nor need one; I am conscious, and confess
Fearless, a soul that does not always think.
Me oft has Fancy ludicrous and wild
Sooth'd with a waking dream of houses, towers,
Trees, churches, and strange visages, express'd
In the red cinders, while with poring eye
I gazed, myself creating what I saw.
Nor less amused 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 deceived, some stranger's near approach.
'Tis thus the understanding takes repose
In indolent vacuity of thought,
And sleeps, and is refresh'd. Meanwhile the face
Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask
Of deep deliberation, as the man
Were task'd to his full strenth, absorb'd and lost.
Thus oft, reclined at ease, 1 lose an hour
At evening, till at length the freezing blast,
That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons home
The recollected powers; and snapping short
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!
I saw the woods aAd fields at close of day
A variegated show; the meadows green,
Though faded; and the lands, where lately waved
The golden harvest, of a mellow brown,
Upturn'd so lately by the forceful share.
I saw far off the wee4y fallows smile
With verdure not unprofitable, grazed
By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each
His favourite herb; while all the leafless groves
That skirt the horizon, wore a sable hue,
Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of eve.
To-morrow brings a change! a total change I




ï~~THE WINTER EVENING.              293
Which even now, though silently perform'd
And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face
Of universal nature undergoes.
Fast falls a fleecy shower: the downy flakes
Descending, and, with never-ceasing lapse,
Softly alighting upon all below,
Assimilate all objects. Earth receives
Gladly the thickening mantle; and the green
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 his side,
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 suffering more.
Ill fares the traveller now, and he that stalks
In ponderous boots beside his reeking team.
The wain oes heavily, impeded sore
By congregating loads adhering close
To the clogg'd wheels; and in its sluggish pace
Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow.
The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide,
While every breath, by respiration strong
Forced downward, is consolidated soon
Upon their jutting chests. He, form'd to bear
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 secures his hat, save when with both
Hle brandishes his pliant length of whip
Resounding ot, and never heard in vain.
0 happy; and in my account denied
That sensibility of pain, with which
Retinement is endued, thrice happy thou!
Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed
The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd.
The learned finger never need expiore
Thy vr'orous pulse; and the unhealthful east,
That breathes the spleen, and searches ev:ry bone




ï~~294                THE TASK.
Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee.
Thy days roll on exempt from household care;
Thy waggon is thy wife; and 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 shew that thou hast mercy! wlich the great
With needless hurry whirl'd from place to place,
Humane as they would seem, not always shew.
Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat,
Such claim compassion in a night like this,
And have a friend in every feeling heart.
Warm'd, while it lasts, by labour, all day long
They brave the season, and yet find at eve,
Ill 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 cowering o'er the sparks,
Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd.
The man feels least, as more inured than she
To winter, and the current in his veins
More briskly moved by his severer toil;
Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs.
The taper soon extinguish'd, which I saw
Dangled along at the cold finger's end,
Just when the day declined; and the brown loaf
Lodged on the shelf, half eaten without sauce
Of savoury cheese, or butter, costlier still;
Sleep seems their only refue: for, alas!
Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd,
And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few.,
With all this thrift thty thrive not. All the care
lngenious Parsimony takes, but just
Saves the small inventory, bed, and stool,
Skillet, and old carved chest, from public sale.
They live, and live without extorted alms
From grudginw hand3; but other boast jlave none,
To soothe thei,- honest pride, that scorns to beg,
Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love.
I




ï~~THE WVINLITEiR EVENING.         2
Spraise 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
The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs
Of knaves in office, partial in the work
Of distribution; liberal of their aid
To clamorous importunity in rags,
But oft-times deaf to suppliants, who would blush
To wear a tatter'd -garb, however coarse,
Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth:
These ask with painful shyness, and, refused
Because deserving, silently retire l
But be ye of good courage Time itself
Shall much befriend you. Time shall give inrease;
And all your nummerous progeny, well-train'd,
But helpless, in few years shall find their hands,
Atid labour too. Meanwhile ye shall not want
What, conscious of your virtues, we can spare,
Nor what a wealthier than our elves may send.
I mean the man, who, when the distant poor
Need help, denies them nothing but his name.
But poverty with most, who whimper forth
Their long compiaints, is self-inflicted woe;
The effect of laziness or sottish waste.
Now goes the niahtly thief prowling abroad
For plunder; much solicitous how best
He may compensate for a day of sloth
By works of darkness acid nocturnal wrong.
Soe to the gardener's pale, the farmer's hedge,
i' asb'dnearly, and  ecored with driven stakes
De p iti the loamy bank. Uptorn by strength,
Resi.:tless in so bad a cause, but lame
To better deeds, he bundlles up the spoil,
An ass's burden, and when laden most
And heaviest, ight of foot steals fast away.
Nor dloes the boarded hovel better ^uard
1'he well-stack'd pile of riven logs and roots
From his pernicious torce. Nor will he leave
Unwreuich'd the door, however well secured,
Where Chanticleer amridst his harem sleeps
ln unsuspluctiug pomp. 'Twitch'd from the perch
ie gives the princely bird, with all his wives,




ï~~296                THE TASK.
To his voracioas bag, struggling in vain,
And loudly wondering at the sudden change.
Nor this to feed his own. 'Twere some excuse,
Did pity of their sufferings warp aside
His principle, and tempt him into sin
For their support, so destitute. But they
Neglected pine at home; themselveÂ~, as more
Exposed than others, with less scruple madeHis victims, robb'd of their defenceless ail.
Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst
Of ruinous ebriety, that prompts
His every action, and imbrutes the man.
O for a law to noose the villain's neck,
Who starves his own; who persecutes the blood
Hlie gave them in his children's veins, and hates
Xnd wrongs the woman he has sworn to love I
Pass where we may, through city or through tower
Village, or hamlet, of this merry land,
Tihough lean and beggar'd, every twentieth pace
Conducts the unguarded nose to such a whiff
Of stale debauch, forth issuing from the styes
That law has licensed, as makes Temperance reel.
There sit, involved 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;
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 wail'd
Its wasted toines and harmony unheard:
Fierce the dispute, whate'er the theme; while she
Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate,
Perch'd on the sign-post, holds with even hand
Her undecisive scales. In this she lays
A weight of ignorance; in that, of pride;
And smiles delighted with the eternal poise.
Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound,
The cheek-distending oath, not to be praised
As-ornamental, musical, polite,
Like those, which modern senators employ,
Whose oath is rhetoric, and who swear br fam6$




ï~~THE WINTER EVENING.               297
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
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 the attempt
To advertise in verse a public pest,
That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds
His hungry acres, stinks, and is of use.
The excise is fatten'd with the rich result
Of all this riot; and ten thousand casks,
For ever dribbling out their base contents,
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 the important call!
Her cause demands the assistance of your throats;Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more.
Would I had fallen upon those happier days
That poets celebrate; those golden times,
And those Arcadian scenes, that Maro sings,
And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose.
Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts
That felt their virtues: Innocents, it seems,
From courts dismiss'd, found shelter in the groves;
The footsteps of Simplicity, impress'd
Upon the yielding herbage (so they sing),
Then were not all effaced: then speech profane,
And manners profligate, were rarely found,
Observed as prodigies, and soon reclaim'd.
Vain wish! those days were never; airy dreams
Sat for the picture; and the poet's hand,
Imparting substance to an empty shade,
tmposed a gay delirium for a truth.
Grant it: I still must envy them;n age,
That favour'd such a dream; in days like these
Impossible, when Virtue is so scarce,
That to suppose a scene where she presides,
Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief.
N




ï~~298                THE TASK.
No: we are polish'd now. The rural lass,
Whom once her viirgin modesty and grace,
Her artless manners, and her neat attire,
So dignified, that she was 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,
And ribands streaming gay, superbly raised,
And magnified beyond all human size,
Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand
For more than half the tresses it sustains;
Her elbows ruffled, and her tottering frame
Ill-propp'd upon French heels; 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 load,
Her train and her umbrella all her care!
The town has tinged 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 graced with rural manners now!
Iimue was, when in the pastoral retreat
The unguarded door was safe; men did not watch
To invade another's right, or guard their own.,',en sleep was undisturb d.y fear, unscared
B  drunken towlings; and the chilling tale
f midnight murder was a wonder, heard
Vith doubtf. credit, told to frighten babes.
But farewell now to unsuspicious niAhts,
And s t crs una.lartsu (I! Now, ere you sleep,
See that your polish d arm n be primed with care
And drop the night-bolt; rutbans ai e abroad;
And the first larui ofi the cock ' shrill throat
May prove a tru pet, sumnmoning your ear
To horrid soun; of0 ho tile feet within.
E'en dayligiht has its dan-ers; and the walk
l'hrouh pat iless. a:Ste. and w(oods unconsctious once
Of other tenanits than fAdinoue birds,
Or har l.is ioC.,, i ha'ardous and bold.




ï~~THE WINTER EVENING.              299
Lamented change! to which full many a cause
Inveterate, hopeless of a cure, conspires.
The course of human things from good to ill,
From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails.
Increase of power begets increase of wealtb,
Wealth luxury, and luxury excess;
ExCess the scrofulous and itchy plague,
That seizes first the opulent, 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 office; and themselves, intent
On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus
To 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 reverence and his worship both to rest
On the same cushion of habitual sloth.
Perhaps timidity restrains his arm;
When he should strike he trembles, and sets free,
Himself enslaved by terror of the band,
The 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 becowes his grave outside
In lucrative concerns. Examiue well
His mnil-white hand the palhn is h:ardly clean--
But here and there an ugly smutch appears.
Fobh! twas a brie tinat left it: he has tosich'd
Con-rruption. Who i se-ks an audit here
Propitio.is pays his trivsste, 'aive or fihsh,
Wild- fowl or venison! anl his rrand speeds
But faster far, and miore thas all the rest,
A noble cause, hic i uie, who bears a spark
Of public virtue, e -,er  ishd r,-moved,
Works the   'h  '       ic,,:ieiois sifect.
rTis i vt,."zl, '.   ri,.".  T  ihh'd




ï~~300                THE TASK.
The heart of merit in the meaner class.
Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage
Of those that bear them, in whatever cause,
Seem most at variance with all moral good,
And incompatible with serious thought.
The clown, the child of nature, without guile,
Bless'd with an infant's ignorance of all
But his own simple pleasures; niow and then
A wrestling-match, a foot-race, or a fair;
Is ballotted, 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,
That instant he becomes the seijeant'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,
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,
His form, and-movement; is as smart above
As meal and larded locks can make him; wears
His hat, or his plumed helmet, with a grace;
And, his three years of heroship expired,
Returns indignant to the slighted plough.
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 well if his exterior change were allBut with his clumsy port the wretch has lost
His ignorance and harmless manners too,
To swear, to game, to drink; to shew at home
By lewdness, idleness, and sabbath-breach,
The great proficiency he made abroad;
To astonish and to grieve his gazing friends;
-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.
Man in society is like a flower




ï~~THE rWINTER EVENING.               01
Blown in its native bed; 'tis there alone
His faculties, expanded in full bloom,
Shine out; there only reach their proper use.
But. man associated and leagued with man
By regal warrant, or self-join'd by bond
For interest-sake, or swarming into clans
Beneath one head, for purposes of war,
Like flowers 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 endured.
Hence charter'd boroughs are such public plagues;
And burghers, men immaculate perhaps
In all their private functions, once combined,
Become a loathsome body, only fit
For dissolution, hurtful to the main.
Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin
Against the charities of domestic life,
Incorporated, seem at once to lose
Their nature; and, disclaiming all regard
For mercy and the common rights of man,
Build factories with blood, conducting trade
At the sword's point, and dyeing 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 thundering pomp,
Enchanting music, and immortal wreaths,
Is but a school, where thoughtlessness is taught
On principle, where foppery atones
For folly, gallantry for every vice.
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 framed a wish, or form'd a plan,
That flatter'd me with hopes of earthly bliss,
But there I laid the scene. There early stray'd
My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice
Had found me, or the hope of beipg free.
My very dreams were rural; rural too
The first-born efforts of my youthful muse,




ï~~302               THE TASK.
Sportive and jingling her poetic bells,
Ere yet her ear was mistress of their powers.
No bard could please me but whose lyre was tuned
To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats
Fatigued me, never weary of the pipe
Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang,
The rustic throng beneath his favourite beech.
Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms:
New to my taste, his Paradise surpass'd
The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue
To speak its excellence. I danced for joy.
I marvell'd much, that, at to ripe an age
As twice seven years, his beauties had then first
Engaged my wonder; and admiring still,
And still admiring, with regret supposed
The joy half lost, because not sooner found.
There too, enamour'd of the life I loved,
Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit
Determined, and possessing it at last
With transports, such as favour'd lovers feel,
I studied, prized, 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
Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools.
I still revere thee, courtly though retired!
Though stretch'd at ease in Chertsey's silent bowers,
Not unemplox'd: and finding rich amends
For a lost world in solitude and verse.
'Tis born with all: the love of Nature's works,
is an ingredient ii. the compound man
Infused at the creation of the kind.
And, thotgh the Almighty Maker has throughout
Discriminated each from each, by strokes
And touches of his hand, with so much art
Diversified, the two were never found
Twins at all points--yet this obtaiils 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,
But none without some relish, none unmoved.
It is a flame that dies not even there,




ï~~THE WINTER EVENING.               303
Where nothing feeds it: neither business, crowds,
Nor habits of luxurious city-life,
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 unadolterate air,
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 consoled,
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 livery she delights to wear,
Though sickly samples of the exuberant whole.
What are the casements lined 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, immured in cities, still retains
His inborn inextinguishable thirst
Of rural scenes, compensating his loss
By supplemental shifts, the best he may?
The most uanfurnish'd with the means of life,
Are they, that never pass their brick-wall bounds,
To range the fields and treat their lungs with air,
Yet feel the burning instingt: over head
Suspend their crazy boxes, planted thi.ck
And water'd duly. There the pitcher stands
A fragment, and the spoutless tea-pot 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,
And contemplation, heart-consoling joys,
And harmless pleasures, in the throng'd abode
Of multitudes unknown; hail, rural life I
Address himself who will to the pursuit
SMigniisette.




ï~~304                  THE TASK.
Of honours, or emolument, or fame
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 every man
The virtue, temper, understanding, taste
That lifts him into life, and lets him fall
Just in the niche he was ordain'd to fil.
To the deliverer of an injured land
He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, a heart
To feel, and courage to redress, her wrongs:
To monarchs dignity; to judges sense;
ro artists ingenuity and skill;
To me, an munambitious mind, content
In the low vale of life, that early felt
A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long
Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd.
BOOK V.
A frosty morning.-The foddering of cattle.-The woodman and
his dog.-The poultry.--Whimsical effects of frost at a waterfall.-T he empress of Russia's palace of ice.-Amusements of
monarchs.-War one of them.-Wars, whence.-And whence
monarchv.-The evils of it.-English and French loyalty contrastrd.-The Bastille, and a prisoner there.-Liberty the chief
recommendation of this country.--Modern patriotism questionable, and why.-The perishable nature of the best human institutions.-Spiritual liberty not perishable.-The slavish state
of man by nature.-Deliver him, Deist, if you can.-Grace
must do it.-The respective merits of patriots and martyrs
sttedi.-Their different tretment.-Happy freedom of the
mian wlhomn grace makes free.-His relish of the works of Gou
-Address to the Creator.
THE WINTER MORNING WALK.
'Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb
Ascending, fires th' horizon; while the clouds,
That crowd away before the driving wind,
More ardent as the disk emerges more,
Resemble most some city in a blaze,
Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting lway
Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale,
And, tinging all with his own rosy hue,




ï~~TIHE WINTER MORNING WALK.           9O5
From every herb and every spiry blade
Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field.
Mine, spindling into longitude immense,
In spite of gravity, and sage remark
That I myself am but a fleeting shade,
Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance
I view the muscular proportion'd limb
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, walk along the plaster'd wall,
Preposterous sight! the legs without the man.
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,
And, fledged with icy feathers, nod superb.
The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence
Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep
In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait
Their wonted fodder; not like hungering man,
Fretful if unsupplied: but silent, meek,
And patient of the slow-paced 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:
Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands.
With such undeviating and even force
He severs it away: no needless care,
Lest storms should overset the leaning pile
Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight.
Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern'd
The cheerful haunts of man; to wield the axe,
And drive the wedge, in yonder forest drear,
-erom morn to eve his solitary task.
Shaggyo and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears,
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-scampering, snatches up the drifted snow
With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout;




ï~~SN                 THEI TASK.
Then shakes his powder'd coat, and barks for joy.
Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy churl
Moves right toward the mark; nor stops for aught,
But now and then with pressure of his thumb
To adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube,
That fumes beneath his nose: the trailing cloud
Streams far behind him, scenting all the air.
Now from the roost, or from the neighbouring pale,
Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam
Of smiling day, they gossip'd side by side,
Come trooping at the housewife's well-known call
The feather'd tribes domestic. kIaif 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 sheltering eaves,
To seize the fair occasion; well they eye
The scatter'd grain, and thievishly resolved
To escape the impending famine, often scared
As oft return, a pert voracious kind.
Clean riddance quickly made, one only care
Remains to each, the search of sunny nook,
Or shed 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
His alter'd gait and stateliness retrench'd.
How find the myriads, that in summer cheer
The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songa
Due sustenance, or where subsist they now?
Earth yields them naught; the imprison'd worm is
Beneath the frozen clod; all seeds of herbs
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
Thins all their numerous flocks. In chinks and 1ols1
Ten thousand seek an unmolested end,
As instinct prompts; self-buried ere they die.
The very rooks and daws forsake the fields,
Where neither grub, nor root, nor earth-nut, now
Repays their labour more; and p-erch'd aloft
By the wayside, or stalking in the path,




ï~~THE WINTER MORNING WALK               30
Lean pensioners upon the traveller's track,
Pick up their nauseous dole, thouglhsweet to them,
Of voided pulse or half-digested grain.
The streams are lost amid the splendid blank,
O'erwhelming all distinction. On the flood,
Indurated and fix'd, the snowy weight
Lies undissolved, while silently beneath,
And unperceived, the current steals.away.
Not so where, scornful of a check, it leaps
The mill-dam, dashes on the restless wheel,
And wantons in the pebbly gulf below:
No frost can bind it there; its utmost force
Can but arrest the light-and smoky mist,
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 powers of art,
The pencil or the pen, may trace the scene!
Here glittering turrets rise, upbearing high
(Fantastic misarrangement!) on the roof
Large growth of what may seem the sparkling trees
And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops,
That trickle down the branches, fast congeal'd,
Shoot into pillars of pellucid length,
And prop the pile they but adorn'd before.
Here grotto within grotto safe defies
The sun-beam; there, emboss'd and fretted wild,
The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes
Capricious, in which fancy seeks in vain
The likeness of some object seen before.
thus Nature works as if to mock at Art,
And in defiance of her rival powers;
By these fortuitous and random strokes
Performing such inimitable feats,
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 freak,
The wonder of the North. No forest fell,
When thou wouldst build, no quarry sent its stores
To enrich tny walls: but thou didst hew the floods,
And make thy marble of the glassy wave.




ï~~308               THE TASK.
In such a palace Aristus foulnd
Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale
Of his lost bees to her maternal ear;
In such a palace Poetry might place
The armory of Winter; where his troops,
The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet,
Skin-piercing volley, blossom-bruising hail,
And snow, that often blinds the traveller's course,
And wraps him in an unexpected tomb.
Silently as a dream the fabric rose;
No sound of hammer or of saw was there:
Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts
Were soon conjoin'd, nor other cement ask'd
Than water interfused to make them one.
Lamps gracefully disposed and of all hues,
Illumined every side; a watery light
Gleam'd through the clear transparency, that seem'd
Another moon new risen, or meteor fallen
From heaven to earth, of lambent flame serene.
So stood the brittle prodigy; though smooth
And slippery the materials, yet frost-bound
Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within,
That royal residence might well befit,
For grandeur or for use. Long wavy wreaths
Of flowers, that fear'd no enemy but warmth,
Blush'd on the pannels. Mirror needed none
Where all was vitreous; but in order due
Convivial table and commodious seat
(What seem'd at least commodious seat) were there;
Sofa, and couch, and high-built throne august,
The same lubricity was found in all,
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 I 'twas but a mortifying stroke
Of undesign'd severity, that glanced
(Made by a monarch) on her own estate,
On human grandeur, and the courts of kings.
'Twas transient in its nature, as in show
'Twas durable; as worthless as it seem'd
Intrinsically precious; to the foot
Treacherous and false; it smiled, and at was colt.




ï~~THE WINTER MORNING WALK.              309
Great princes have great playthings. Some have
At hewing mountains into men, and some    play'd
At building human wonders mountain-high.
Some have amused the dull, sad years of life
(Life spent in indolence, and therefore sad)
With schemes of monumental fame; and sought
By pyramids and mautsolean pomp,
Short-lived themselves, to immortalize their bones
Some seek diversion in the tented field,
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
To extort their truncheons from the puny hands
Of heroes, whose infirm arid baby minds
Are gratified with mischief; and who spoil,
Because men suffer it, their toy the World.
When Babel was confounded, and the great
Confederacy of projectors wild and vain
Was split into diversity of tongues,
Then, as a shepherd separates his flock,
These to the upland, to the valley those,
God drave asunder, and assign'd their lot
To all the nations. Ample was the boon
He gave them, in its distribution fair
And equal; and he bade them dwell in peace.
Peace was awhile their care; they plough'd and sow'd
And reap'd their plenty without grudge or strife.
But violence can never longer sleep
Than human passions please. In every heart
Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war;
Occasion needs but 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.
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 forced the blunt and yet unlbloodied steel
To a keen edge, and made it bright for war.
Him, Tubal named, the Vulcan of old times,
The sword and falchion their Inventor claim;




ï~~310               THE TASK.
And the first smith was the first murderer's son.
His art survived the wateis; and ere long,
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,
To improve and cultivate their just demesne,
Made others covet what they saw 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
One eminent above the rest for strength,
For stratagem, for courage-, or for all,
Was chosen leader; him they served in war.
And him in peace, for sake of warlike deeds
Reverenced no less. Who could with him compare
Or who so worthy to control themselves,
As he, whose prowess had subdued their foes?
Thus war, affording field for the display
Of virtue, made one chief, whom times of peace,
Which have their exigencies too, and call
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 to intoxicate the brows it bound.
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
A comprehensive faculty, that grasps
Great purposes with ease, that turns and wieldi.
Almost without an effort, plans too vast
For their conception, which they cannot move.
Conscious of impotence they soon grow drunk
With gazing, when they see an able man
Step forth to notice: and, besotted thus,
Build him a pedestal, and say, ' Stand there,
1 And be our admiration and our praise.'
They roll themselves before him in the dust,




ï~~THE WINTER MOtNING WALKC.            1
Then most deserving in their own account,
When most extravagant in his applause:
As if exalting him they raised themselves.
Thus by degrees, self-cheated of their soun4
And sober judgment, that he is but man,
They demi-deify and fumb him so,
That in due season he forgets it too.
Inflated and astrut with self-conceit,
He gulps the windy diet; and ere long,
Adopting their mistake, profoundly thinks
The World was made in vain, if not for him.
Thenceforth they are his cattle: drudges, born
To bear his burdens, drawing in his gears,
And sweating in his service, his caprice
Becomes the soul that animates them alL
He deems a thousand, or ten thousand lives,
Spent in the purchase of renown for him,
An easy reckoning; and they think the same.
'Thus kings were first invented, and thus kings
Were burnish'd into heroes, and became
The arbiters of this terraqueous swamp;
Storks among frcgs, that have but croak'd and die
Strange, that such folly, as lifts bloated mano
To eminence fit only for a god,
Should ever drivel out of human lips,
E'en in the cradled weakness of the worldStill stranger much, that when at length maukind
Had reach'd the sinewy firmness rf thl ir youth
And could discriminate and arg"e w.
On subjects more mysterious, they were yet
Babes in the cause of freedom, anod 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 patriot virtue has prevail'd,
Can even now, when they are grown mature
In wisdom, and s ith philosophic deeds
familiar, serve to emancipate the rest!
Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone
To reverence what is ancient, and can plead
A course of long observance for its use
That even servitude, the worst of ills,




ï~~312               THE TASK.
Because delivered down from sire to sortn,
Is kept and guarded as a sacred thing.
But is it fit, or can it bear the shock
Or rational discussion, that a man,
Compounded and made up like other men
Of elements tumultuous, in whom lust
And folly in as dmple measure meet,
As in the bosoms of the slaves he rules,
Should be a despot absolute, and boast
Himself the only freeman of his land!
Should, when be pleases, and on whom he will
Wage war, with any or with no pretence
Of provocation given, or wrong sustain'd,
And force the beggarly last doit,  y means
That his own humour dictates, from the clutar
Of Poverty, that thus he may procure
His thbusands, weary of penuribus life,
A splendid opportunity to die
Say ye, who (with less prudence than of old
Jotham ascribed to his assembled trees
In politic convention) put yoar trust
In the shadow of a bramble, and reclined
In fancied peace beneath his dangerous branch,
Rejoice in him, and celebrate his sway,
Where find ye passive fortitude? Whence springy
Your self-denying Zeal, that holds it good,
To stroke the prickly grievance, and to hang
His thorns with streamers of continual praise r
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,
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 powers,
Or covet more than freedom choose to grant;
Beyond that mark is treason. He is ours,
To administer, to guard, to adorn the state,
But not to warp or change it. We are his,
To serve him nobly in the common cause,




ï~~THE WINTER MORNING WALK.                313
True to the death, but not to be his slaves.
Mark now the difference, ye that boast your love
Of kings, between your loyalty and ours.
We love the man, the paltry pageant you:
We the chief patron of the commonwealth,
You the regardless author of its woes;
We for the sake of liberty a king,
You chains and bondage for a tyratit's sake.
Our love is principle, and has its root
In reason, is judicious, manly, free:
Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to the rod,
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 be a king to be beloved
Causeless and daub'd with undiscerning praise,
Where love is mere attachment to the throne,
Not to the man who fills t as he ought.
Whose freedom is by sufferance, and at will
Of a superior, he is never free.
Who lives and is not weary of a life
Exposed-to manacles, deserves them well:
The state, that strives for liberty, though foil'd,
And forced to abandon what she bravely sought,
Deserves at least applause for her attempt.
And pity for her loss. But that's a cause
Not often unsuccessful: power usurp'd
Is weakness when opposed; conscious of wrong,
'Tis pusillanimous and prone to flight.
But slaves, that once conceive the glowing thougkt
Of freedom, in that hope itself possess
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
Old or of later date, by sea or land,
Her house of bondage, worse than that of old
* lThe author hopes that he shall not be censured for unneces.
sary irmth upn so interesting a subject. He is aware, that itir
I(oine almost fashionable to atigmiatize such e'entiments as ue
better than empty declamation but it is an ill symptom, ant
cculiar to modern times.




ï~~314               THE TASi..
Which God avenged on Pharaoh -the Bastille
Ye horrid towers, the abode of broken hearts;
Ye dungeons, and ye cages of despair,
That monarchs have supplied from age to age
With music, such as suits their sovereign ears,
The sighs and groans-of miserable men I
There's not an English heart that would not leap
To hear that ye were fallen at last; to know
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
Wherever pleaded. 'Tis the cause of man.
There dwell the most forlorn of humankind,
Immured, though unaccused, condemn'd untried,
Cruelly spared and hopeless of escape.
There, like the visionary emblem seen
By him of Babylon, life stands a stamp,
And, filletted 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,
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 music; that it summons some
To theatre, or jocund feast, or ball:
The wearied hireling finds.it a release
From labour; and the lover, who has chid
Its long delay, feels every welcome stroke
Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delightTo fly for refuge from distracting thought
To such amusements as ingenious woe
Contrives, hard-shifting, and without her toolsTo read engraven on the mouldy walls,
In staggering types, his predecessor's tale,
A sad memorial, and subjoin his ownTo turn purveyor to an overgorged
And bloated spider, till the pamper'd pest
Is made familiar, watches his approach,
Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend



ï~~i

THE WINTER MORNING WALK.              815
To wear out time in numbering to and fro
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
In all directions, he begins againOh comfortless existence! hemm'd around
With woes, which who that suffers would not kniee
And beg for exile, or the pangs of death?
That man should thus encroach on fellow man,
Abridge him of his just and native rights,
Eradicate him, tear him from his hold
Upon the endearments of domestic life,
And social, nip his fruitfulness and use,
And doom him, for perhaps a heedless word,
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,
Adored through fear, strong only to destroy.
'Tis liberty alonte that gives the flower
Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume,
And we are weeds without it. All constraint,
Ekxcept what wisdom lays on evil men,
Is evil: hurts the faculties, impedes
Their progress in the road of science; blinds
The eyesight of Discovery; and begets
In those that suffer it a sordid mind,
Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit
To be the tenant of man's noble form.
Thee therefore still, blameworthy as thou art,
With all thy loss of empire, and though squeesd
By public exigence, till annual food
Fails for the craving hunger of the state,
Thee I account still happy, and the chief
Among the nations, seeing thou art free,
My native nook of earth! Thy clime is rude,
Replete with vapours, and disposes muca
All hearts to sadness, and none more than mimi.
Thine unadulterate manners are less soft
And plausible than social life requires,




ï~~316               THE TASK.
And thou hast need of discipline and art
To give thee what politer France receives
From Nature's bounty-that humane address
And sweetness, without which no pleasure is
In converse; either starved by cold reserve,
Or flush'd with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl.
Yet being free, I love thee: for the sake
Of that one feature, can be well content,
Disgraced as thou hast been, poor as thou art,
To seek no sublunary rest beside.
But, once enslaved, 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
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,
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.
Do I forbode impossible events,
And tremble at vain dreams? Heaven grant I may!
Rut the age of virtuous politics is past,
And we are deep in that of cold pretence.
Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere,
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,
And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough;
For when was public virtue to be found,
Where private was 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?
Can he be strenuous in his country's cause,
Who slights the churities for whose dear sake
That cointry, if at all, must be beloved?
Tis therefore sober and good men are sad




ï~~THE WINTER MORNING WALK.              317
For England's glory, seeing it wax pale
And sickly, while their champions wear their hearts
So l1xse to private duty, that no brain,
Healthful and undisturb'd by factious fames,
Can dream them trusty to the general weal.
Such were not they of old, whose temper'd blades
Dispersed the shackles of usurp'd control,
And bhew'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 domestic sphere,
Shone brighter still, once call'd to public 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,
That promised once more firmness, so assail'd,
That all its tempest-beaten turrets shake,
Stand motionless expectants of its fall.
All has its date below; the fatal hour
Was register'd in Heav'n ere time began.
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 rema'ns.
We build with what we deem eternal rock:
A distant age asks where the fabric stood;
And in the dust, sifted and search'd in vain,
The undiscoverable secret sleeps.
But there is yet a liberty, unsung
By poets, and by senators unpraised,
Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the powers
Of earth and hell confederate take away:
A liberty, which persecution, fraud,
Oppression, prisons, have no power to bind;
Which whoso tastes can be enslaved no more.
'Tis liberty of heart, derived from Heaven,
Bought with Hil blood, who gave it to mankin,
And seal'd with the same token. It is held
By charter, and that charter sanction'd sure
By the unimpeachable and awful oath
And promise of a God. His other gifts
All bear the royal stamp, that speaks them his,




ï~~318                Tit E TA".Ki.
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
That, finding an interminable apace
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,
Might well suppose the Artificer divine
Meant it eternal, had he not himself
Pronounced it transient, glorious as it is,
And, still designing a more gl6riouas far,
Doom'd it as insafficient for his praise.
These therefore are occasional, and pass,
Form'd for the confutation of the fool,
'Whose lying heart disputes against a God;
That office served, they must be swept away.
Not so the labours of his love: they shine
In other heavens 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,
And confident assurance of the rest,
Is liberty; a flight into his arms,
Ere yet mortality's fine tbhreads give way,
A clear escape from tyrannizing lust,
And full immunity from penal woe.
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,
Care.ess of their Creator. And that low
And sordid gravitation of his powers
To a vile clod so draws him, with stlch 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 still




ï~~THE WINTER MORNING WALK.                fl9
Profounder, in the fathomless abyss
Of folly, plunging in pursuit of death.
But ere he gain the comfortless repose
He seeks, and acquiescence of his soul
In heaven-renouncing exile, he enduresWhat does he not, from lusts opposed 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 forebodes
Ages of hopeless misery. Future death,
And death still future. Not a hasty stroke,
Like that which sends him to the dusty grave;
But unrepealable enduring death.
Scripture is still a trumpet to his fears:
What none can prove a forgery may be true;
What none but bad men wish exploded must.
That scruple checks him. Riot is not loud
Nor drunk enough, to droawn it. In the midst
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 dethroned and vanquish'd. Peace ensues,
But spurious and short-lived, the puny child
Of self-congratulating Pride, begot
On fancied Innocence. Again he falls,
And fights again; but finds his best essay
A presage ominous, portending still
Its own dishonour by a worse relapse.
'0ill Nature, unavailing Nature, foil'd
- ) oft, and wearied in the vain attempt,
Stoffs at her own performance. Reason now
Takes part with Appetite, and pleads the cause
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 given appetites to man,




ï~~320                TlHE TASiK.
And stored the earth so plenteously with means,
To gratify the hunger of his wish;
And doth he reprobate, and will he i1amn
The use of his own bounty? making first
So frail a kind, and then enacting laws
So strict, that less than perfect must despair t
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
Their weekly dole of edifying strains,
Attend to their own music? 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
May play what tune he pleases. In the deed,
The unequivocal, authentic deed,
We find sound argument, we read the heart.'
Such reasonings (if that name must needs belong
To excuses in which reason has no part)
Serve to compose a spirit well inclined
To live on terms of amity with vice,
And sin without disturbance. Often urged
(As often as libidinous discourse
Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes
Of theological and grave import)
They gain at last his unreserved assent;
Till, harden'd his heart's temper in the forge
Of lust, and on the anvil of despair,
lie slights the strokes of conscience. Nothing moves:
Or nothing much, his constancy in ill;
Vain tampering has but foster'd his disease;
'Tis desperate, and he sleeps the sleep of death.
Haste now, philosopher, and set him free.
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.
Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the powers
Of rant and rhapsody in virtue's praise:




ï~~THE WINTER MORNING WVALK.            321
Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand,
And with poetic trappings grace thy prose,
Till it outmantle all the pride of verse.Ah, tinkling cymbal, and high-sounding brass,
Smitten in vain! such music cannot charm
The eclipse, that intercepts truth's heavenly beam.
And chills and darkens a wide-wandering soul.
The still small voice is wanted. He must speak,
Whose word leaps forth at once to its effect;
Who calls for things that are not, and they come.
Grace makes the slave a freeman. 'Tis a chages
That turns to ridicule the turgid speech
And stately tone of moralists, who boast,
As if, like him of fabulous renown,
They had indeed ability to smoothe
The shag of savage nature, and were each
An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song:
But transformation of apostate man
From fool to wise, from earthly to divine,
Is work for Him that made him. He alone,
And he by means in philosophic eyes
Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves
The wonder: humanizing what is brute
in the lost kind, extracting from the lips
Of asps their venom, overpowering strength
By weakness, and hostility by love.
Patriots have toil'd, and in their country's cause
Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve,
Receive proud recompense. We give in charge
Their names to the sweet lyre. Th' historic 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
To guard them, and immortalize her trust:
But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid,
To those, who, posted at the shrine of Truth,
Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood,
Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed.
And for a time ensure, to his loved 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
02                     x




ï~~t

II

322                THE TASK
In confirmation of the noblest claim,
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 lived unknown,
Till persecution dragg'd them into fame,
And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew
-No marble tells us whither. With their names
No bard embalms and sanctifies his song:
And history, so warm on meaner themes,
Is cold on this. She execrates indeed
The tyranny, that doom'd them to the fire,
Put gives the glorious sufferers little praise.*
He is the freeman, whom the truth makes free,
And all are slaves besides. There's not a chain,
That hellish foes, confederate for his harm,
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 compared
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight,
Calls the delightful scenery all his own.
His are the mountains, and the valleys his,
And the resplendent rivers: his to enjoy
With a propriety that none can feel,
But who, with filial confidence inspired,
Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say-' My Father made them all1'
Are they not his by a peculiar right,
And by an emphasis of interest his,
Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy,
Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love,
That plann'd, and built, and still upholds, a worldi
So cloth'd with beauty for rebellious man?
Yes-ye may fill your garners, ye that reap
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,.
* Ste Humas.

I

II
II

i
Iii




ï~~THlE WINTER MORNING WALK.             323
Appropriates nature as his Father's work,
And has a richer use of yours than you.
lie is indeed a freeman. Free by birth
Of no mean city; plann'd or ere the hills
Were built, the foiuntains open'd, or the sea,
With all his roarixng multitude of waves.
His freedom is the same in every state;
And no condition of this changeful life,
So manifold in cares, whose every day
Brings its own evil with it, makes it less:
For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain,
Nor penury, can cripple or confine.
No nook so narrow but he spreads them there
With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds
His body bound, but knows not what a range
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 wouldst taste
His works. Admitted once to his embrace,
Thou shalt perceive that +hou wast blind before:
Thine eye shall be instructed; and thine heart
Made pure shall relish, with divine delight
Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought.
Brutes graze the mountain top, with faces prone,
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.
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 pleased to find it, asks no more.
Not so the mind that has been touch'd from heaven,
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.
Not for its own sake merely, but for his
Much more, who fashion'd it, he gives it praise;
Praise that from Earth resulting, as it ought,




ï~~324                THE TASK.
To Earth's acknowledged Sovereign, finds at once
Its only just proprietor in Him.
The soul that sees him, or -eceives sublimes
New facultids, or learns at least to employ
More worthily the powers 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
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 rolling worlds
Much conversant with Heaven, she often holds
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,
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
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,
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
Radiant with joy towards the happy land;
So I with animated hopes behold,
And many an aching wish, your beamy fires,
That shew like beacons in the blue abyss,
Ordain'd to guide th' embodied spirit home
From toilsome life tb never-ending rest.
Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires,
That give assurance of their own success,
And that, infused from Heaven, must thither tend.'




ï~~THE WINTER MORNING WALK,              325
So reads he Nature, whom the lamp of truth
Illuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious Word I
Which whoso sees no longer wanders lost,
'With intellects bemazed in endless doubt,
But runs the road of wisdom. -Thou hast built
With means, that were not till by thee employ'd,
Worlds, that had never been hadst thou in strength
Been less, or less benevolent than strong.
They are thy witnesses, who speak thy power
And goodness infinite, but speak in ears
That hear not, or receive not their report.
In vain thy creatures 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 tolearn,
And with the boon gives talents for its use.
Till thou art heard, imaginations vain
Possess the heart, and fables false as Hell;
Yet, deeru'd oracular, lure down to death
The uninform'd and heedless souls of men.
We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind,
The glory of thy work; which yet appears
Perfect and unimpeachable of blame,
Challenging human scrutiny, and proved
Then skilful most when most severely judged.
But chance is not; or is not where thou reign'st:
Thy providence forbids that fickle power
(If power she be, that works but to confound)
To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws.
Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can
Instruction, and inventing to ourselves
Gods, such as guilt makes welcome; gods that sleep
Or disregard our follies, or that sit
Amused spectators of this bustling stage.
Thee we reject, unable to abide
i y purity, till pure as thou art pure,
Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause
Por whioh we shunn'd and hated thee before.
Then we are free. Then liberty, like day,
Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from Heaven
Fires all the faculties with glcrious joy.
A voice is heard, that mortal ears hear net,




ï~~326                  THE TASK.
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.
In that bless'd moment Nature, throwing wide
Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile
The author of her beauties, who, retired
Behind his own creation, works unseen
By the impure, and hears his power denied.
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 soothes the life of man,
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;
And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.
BOOK VI.
[ells at a distance.--Their effect.-A fine noon in winter.--A
sheltered walk.-Meditation better than books.-Our familiarity
v!ith the course of nature makes it appear less wonderful than
it is.-The transformation that spring effects in a shrubbery described.-A mistake concerning the course of nature corrected.
-God maintains it by an unremuitted act.-The amusements
fatshionable at this hour of the day reproved.-Animals happy, a
delitglhtful sight.-Origin of cruelty to animals.-Thit it is a
great crime proved from Scripture.- That proof illustrated by a
tale.-A line drawn between the lawful andt unlawful destruction of them.-Their good and useful properties insisted on.Apology for the encomiums bestowed by the author on animals.
-Instant es of man's extravagant praise of man.-The groans of
the creation shall have an end.-A view taken of the restoration
of all things.-An invocation and an invitation of Him who
shall bring it to pass.--The retired man vindicated from the
charge of uselessness.-Conclusion.
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON.
THEREa is in souls a sympathy with sounds,
And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased
With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave;
Some chord in unison with what we hear




ï~~THE WINTER N WALK AT NOON.           327
Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
How soft the music 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 I
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,
That in a few 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,
And prospect oft, so dreary and forlorn,
Moved many a sigh at its disheart'ning length.
Yet feeling present evils, while the past
Faintly impress the mind, or not at all,
How readily we wish time spent revoked,
That we might try the ground again where once
(Through inexperience, as we now perceive)
We miss'd that happiness we might have found l
Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend,
A father, whose authority, in show
When most severe, and mustering all its force,
Was but the graver countenance of love;
Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lower
And utter now and then an awful voice,
But had a blessing in its darkest frown,
Threat'ning at once and nourishing the plant:
We loved, but not enough, the gentle hand
That rear'd us. At a thoughtless age, allured
By every gilded folly, we renounced
His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent
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,
Night Le demand them at the gates of death.
Surrow has, since they went, subtdued and tamed




ï~~32&               THE TASK.
The playful humour; he could now endore
(Himself grown sober in the vale of tears),
And feel a parent's presence no restraint.
But not to understand a treasure's worth,
Till time has stolen 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 to improve the prize they hold,
Would urge a wiser suit than asking more.
The night was winter in his roughest mood
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,
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;
And through the trees I view th' embattled tower,
Whence all the music. I again perceive
The soothing influence of the wafted strains,
And settle in soft musings as I tread
The walk, still verdant, under oaks and elms,
Whose outspread branches overarch the glade.
The roof, though moveable through all its length
As the wind sways it, has yet well sufficed,
And, intercepting in their silent fall
The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me.
No noise is here, or none that hinders thought.
The redbreast warbles still, but is content
With slender notes, and more than half suppress'd;
Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light
From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes
From many a twig the pendant 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 hea
May give a useful lesson to the head,
And Learning wiser grow without his books.
Knowledge and Wisdom, far from being one,




ï~~THE WINTER WALK AT NOON.             329
Have oft-times no connexion. Knowledge dwells
In heads replete with thoughts of other men;
Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.
Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass,
The mere materials with which Wisdom builds,
Till smooth'd, and squared, and fitted to its place,
Does but encumber whom it seems t' enrich.
Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much;
Wisdom is humble that he knows no more.
Books are not seldom talismans and spells,
By which the magic art of shrewder wits
Holds an unthinking multitude enthrall'd.
Some to the fascination of a name
Surrender judgment, hoodwink'd. Some the style
Infatuates, and through labyrinths and wilds
Of error leads them, by a tune entranced.
While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear
The insupportable fatigue of thought,
And swallowing therefore, without pause or choice,
Ilhe total grist unsifted, husks and all.
But trees and rivulets whose rapid course
Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer,
And sheep-walks populous with bleating lambs,
And lanes in which the primrose ere her time [root
Peeps through the moss, that clothes the hawthorn
Deceive no student. Wisdom there, and Truth,
Not shy, as in the world, and to be won
By slow solicitation, seize at once
The roving thought, and fix it on themselves.
What prodigies can power divine perform
More grand than it produces year by year,
And all in sight of inattentive man?
Familiar with the effect we slight the cause,
And in the constancy of nature's course,
The regular return of genial months
And renovation of a faded world,
See nought to wonder at. Should Goa again,
As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race
Of the undeviating and punctual stmn,
How would the world admire I but speaks it leas
An agency divine, to make him know
His moment when to sink and when to rise
Y




ï~~---

330                THE TASK.
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 moved,
While qummer was, the pure and subtle lymph
Through the imperceptible meandering veins
Of leaf and flower I It sleeps; and the icy touch
Of unprolific winter has impress'd
A cold stagnation on the intestine tide.
But let the months go round, a few short months,
And all shall be restored. These naked shoots,
Barren as lances, amnong which the wind
Makes wintry music, sighing as it goes,
Shall put their graceful foliage on again.
And more aspiring, and with ampler spread,
Shall boast new charms, and more than they hate lost
Then each, in its peculiar honours clad,
Shall publish even to the distant eye
Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich
In streaming gold; syringa, ivory pure;
The scentless and the scented rose; this red,
And of an humbler growth, the other* tall,
And throwing up into the darkest gloom
Of neighbouring cypress, or more sable yew,
Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf
That the wind severs from the broken wave
The lilac, various in array, now white,
Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set
With purple spikes pyramidal, as if
Studious of ornament, yet unresolved
Which hue she most approved, she chose them all;
Copious of flowers the woodbine, pale and wan,
But well compensating her sickly looks
With never-cloying tdours, early and late;
H ypericumn all bloom, so thick a swarm
Of flowers,like flies clothing her slender rods,
That scarce a leaf appears; mezereon too.
Though leafless, well-attired, and thick beset
With blushing wreaths, investing every spray;
Althwa with the purple eye; the broom
Yellow anti briglht, as bullion unalloy'd,
The Guelder-re.
ii




ï~~THE WINTER WALK AT NOON.              331
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 unifoi m 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 heavenly truth; evilncing, as she makes
The grand transition, that there 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 faire- forms,
That cultivation glories in, anre his.
He sets the bright procession on its way,
And marshals all the order of the year;
He marks the bounds, which Winter may not pass,
And blunts his pointed fury; in its case,
Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ,
Uninjured, with inimitable art;
And, ere one flowery season fades and dies,
Designs the blodiming wonders of the next.
Some say that in the origin of things,
When all creation started into birth,
The infant elements received a law,
From which they swerve not since. That under force
Of thy. controlling ordinance they move,
And need not his immediate hand who first
Prescribed their course to regulate it now.
Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God
The encumbrance 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.
So man, the moth, is not afraid, it seems,
To span omnipotence, and measure might,
That knows no measure, by the scanty rule




ï~~332               THE TASK.
And standard of his own, that is to-day,
And is not ere to-morrow's sun go down.
But how should matter occupy a charge,
Dull as it is, and satisfy a law
So vast in its demands, unless impell'd
To ceaseless serviee by a ceaseless force,
And under pressure of some conscious cause
The Lord of all, himself through all diffused,
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,
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 difficulty thwarts;
And whose beneficence no charge exhausts.
Him blind antiquity profaned, not served,
With self-taught rites, and under various names
Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan,
And Flora, and Vertumnus; peopling earth
With tutelary goddesses and gods,
That were not; and commending as they would
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 nature. Not a flower
But shews 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 sea-side sands,
The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth.
Happy who walks with him! whom what he fin
Of flavour or of scent in fruit o 9ower,
Or what he views of beautiful or grand
In nature, from the broad majestic oak
To the green blade that twinkles in the sun
Prompts with remembrance of a present God.
His presence, who made all so fair, perceived,
Makes all still fairer. As with him no scene
Is dreary, so with him all seasons please.




ï~~THE WINTER WALK AT NOON.              333
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 night,
And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream
Recovering fast its liquid music, prove.
Who then, that has a mind well-strung and tuned
ro contemplation, and within his reach
A scene so friendly to his favourite task,
Would waste attention at the chequer'd board,
His host of wooden warriors to and fro
Marching and countermarching, with an eye
As fix'd as marble, with a forehead ridged
And furrow'd into storms, and with a hand
Trembling, as if eternity were hung
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 ivory balls
Across a velvet level, feel a joy
Akin to rapture, when the bauble finds
Its destined goal, of difficult access.
Nor deems he wiser him, who gives his noon
To Miss, the mercer's plague, from shop to shop
Wandering, and littering with unfolded silks
The polish'd counter, and approving none,
Or promising with smiles to call again.
Ntr him, who by his vanity seduced,
And sooth'd into a dream that he discerns
The difference of a Guido from a daub,
Frequents the crowded auction: station'd there
As duly as the Langford of the shdw,
With glass at eye, and catalogue in hand,
And tongue accomplish'd in the fulsome cant,
And pedantry that coxcombs learn with ease
Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls,
He notes it in his book, then raps his box,
Swears 'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate,
That he has let it pass-but never bids.
Here unmolested, through whatever sign
The sun proceeds, I wander. Neither mist,
Nor freezing sky nor sultry, checking me,




ï~~334                THE TASK.
Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy.
E'en in the spring and playtime of the year,
That calls the unwonted villager abroad
With all her little ones, a sportive train,
To gather kingcups in the yellow mead,
And prickTheir hair with daisies, or to pick
A cheap but wholesome salad from the brook,
These shades arb all my own. The timorous hare,
Grown so familiar with her frequent guest,
Scarce shuns me; and the stockdove unalarm'd
Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspends
His long love-ditty for my near approach.
Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm,
That age or injury has hollow'd deep,
Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves,
He has outslept the winter, ventures forth
T-) frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun,
The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play;
He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird  [brush,
Ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks his
And perks his ears, and stamps, and cries aloud,
With all the prettiness of feign'd alarm,
And anger insignificantly fierce.
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 pleased
With sight of animals enjoying life,
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,
That skims the spacious meadow at full speed,
Then stops, and slorts, 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,
That leads the dance, a siommons to be gay,
Though wild their strange vagaries and uncouth
Their efforts, yet resolved with one consent
To give such act and utterance, as they may




ï~~THE WINTE it WALK AT NOON.           335
To ecstacy too big to be suppress'dThese, and a thousand images of-bliss,
With which kind nature graces every scene,
Where cruel man defeats not her design,
Impart to the benevolent, who wish
All that are capable of pleasure pleased,
A far superior happiness to theirs,
The comfort of a reasonable joy.
Man scarce had risen obedient to His call,
Who form'd him frgm the dust, his future grave,
When he was crown'd as never king was since.
God set the diadem upon his head,
And angel choirs attended. Wondering stood
The new-made monarch, while before him pass'd,
All happy, and all perfect in their kind,
The creatures, summon'd from their various haunts
To see their sovereign, and confess his sway.
Vast was his empire, absolute his power,
Or bounded only by a law, whose force
'[was his sublimest privilege to feel
And own, the law of universal love.
lie ruled 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 ruled the whole,
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 evil not exhausted yet,
Was punish'd with revolt of his from him.
Garden of God, how terrible the change
Thy groves and lawns then witness'd! Every heart
Each animal, of every name, conceived
A jealousy, and an instinctive fear,
And, conscious of some danger either fled
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 driven from Paradise; and in that hour
The seeds of cruelty, that since have swell'd




ï~~36                 TH E TASK.
To such gigantic and enormous growth,
Were sown in human nature's fruitful soil.
Hence date the persecution and the pain,
That man inflicts on all inferior kinds,
Regardless of their plaints. To make him sport
To gratify the frenzy of his wrath,
Or his base gluttony, are causes good
And just in his account, why bird and beast
Should suffer torture, and the streams be dyed
With blood of their inhabitants impaled.
Earth groans beneath the burden of a war
Waged with defenceless innocence, while he,
Not satisfied to prey on all around,
Adds tenfold bitterness to death by pangs
Needless, and first torments ere he devours.
Now happiest they, that occupy the scenes
The most remote from his abhorr'd resort,
Whom once, as delegate of God on earth,
They fear'd, and, as his perfect image, loved.
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.
Woe to the tyrant if he dare intrude
\A:thin the confines of their wild domain:
The Eion tells him-I am monarch hereAnd, if he spare him, spares him on the terms
Of royal mercy, and through gen'rous scorn
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.
They prove too often at how dear a rate
He sells protection. Witness at his foot
The spaniel dying for some venial fault
Under dissection of the knotted scourge;
Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells
Driven to the slaughter, goaded, as he runs,
To madness; while the savage at his heels
Laughs at the frantic suff'rer's fury, spent




ï~~THE WINTER WALK AT NOON.              337
Upon the guiltless passenger o'erthrown.
lie too is witness, noblest of the train
That wait on man, the flight-performing horsei
With unsuspecting readiness he takes
His murderer on his back; and push'd all day
With bleeding sides and flanks, that heave for life
To the far distant goal arrives and dies.
So little mercy shews who needs so much!
Does law, so jealous in the cause of man,
Denounce no doom on the delinquent I None.
He lives, and o'er his brimming beaker boasts
(As if barbarity were high desert)
The 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 innooent on earth,
Is register'd in heav'n; and these no doubt
Have each their record, with a curse annex'd.
Man may dismiss compassion from his heart,
But God will never. When he charged the Jew
To assist his foe's down-fallen beast to rise;
And when the bush-exploring boy that seized
The young, to let the parent bird go free;
Proved he not plainly, that his meaner works
Are yet his care, and have an interest all,
All, in the universal Father's love?
On Noah, and in him on all mankind,
The charter was conferr'd by which we hold
The flesh of animals in fee, and claim
O'er all we feed on power of life and death.
But read the instrument, and mark it well:
The oppression of a tyrannous control
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 I
The Governor of all, himself to all
So bountiful, in whose attentive ear
The unfledged raven and the lion's whelp
Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs
Of hunger unassuaged, has interposed,
Not seldom, his avenging arm to smite
The injurious trampler upon nature's law
P




ï~~n8                 THE TASK.
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 offence
Saved him, or the unrelenting seer had died.
He sees that human equity is slack
To interfere, though in so jest a cause;
And makes the task his own. Inspiring dumb
And helpless victims with a sense so keen
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 rehearsed
(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
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 traveller of far different note,
Evander, famed for piety, for years
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,
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 moved
At sight of the man-monster. With a smile
Gentle and affable, and full of grace,
As fearful of offending whom he wish'd
Much to persuade, he plied his ear with truths
Not harshly thunder'd forth, or rudely press'd;
But, like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet.
t And dost thou dream,' the impenetrable man
Exclainm'd, ' that me the lullabies of age,
And fantasies of dotards such as thou,




ï~~THE WINTER WALK AT NOON.             339
Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me?
Mark now the proof I give thee, that the brave
Need no such aids, as superstition lends
To stel their hearts against the dread of death.'
He spoke, and to the precipice at hand
Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks,
And the blood thrills and curdles, at the thought
Of such a gulf as he design'd his grave.
But, though the felon on his back could dare
The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed
Declined the death, and wheeling swiftly round,
Or ere his hoof had press'd the crumbling verge,
Baffled his rider, saved against his will.
The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd
By medicine well applied, but without grace
The heart's insanity admits no cure.
Enraged the more, by what might have reform'd
His horrible intent, again he sought
Destruction, with a zeal to be destroy'd,
With sounding whip, and rowels dyed in blood.
But still in vain. The Providence, that meant
A longer date to the far nobler beast,
Spared yet again the ignobler for his sake.
And now, his prowess proved, and his sincere
Incurable obduracy evinced,
His rage grew cool; and,pleas'd perhapstohave earn'd
So cheaply the renown of that attempt,
With looks of some complacence he resumed
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 fared. Discourse on other themes
Ensuing seem'd to obliterate the past;
And tamer far for so much fury shewn
(As is the course of rash and fiery men),
The rude companion smiled, as if transform'd.
But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near,
An unsuspected storm. His hour was come.
The impious challenger of Power divine
Was now to learn, that Heaven, though slow to wrath5
Is never with impunity defied.
His horse, as he had caught his master's mood,




ï~~340                TH E TASK.
Snorting, and starting into sudden rage,
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, immersed
Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not,
The death he had deserved, and died alone.
So God wrought dou le 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,Though graced 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 evening in the public path;
But he that has humanity, forewarn'd,
Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.
The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,
And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes
A visitor unwelcome, into scenes
Sacred to neatness and repose, the 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,
Or take their pastime in the spacious field;
There they are privileged; and he that hunts
Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong,
Disturbs the ec.nomy of Nature's realm,
Who, when she form'd, design'd them an abode
The sum is this. If man's convenience, health,
(r 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,
As God was free to form them at the first,
Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all.
Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons
To love it too. The springtime of our years
Is soon dishonour'd and defiled in most
By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand




ï~~THE WINTER WALK AT NOON.             341
To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots,
If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth,
Than cruelty, most devilish of them all.
Mercy to him that shews it, is the rule
And righteous limitation of its act,
By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man;
And he that shews none, being" ripe in years,
And conscious of the outrage he commits,
Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn.
Distinguish'd much by reason, and still more
By our capacity of grace divine,
From creatures, that exist but for our sake,
Which, having served us, perish, we are held
Accountable; and God some future day
Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse
Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust.
Superior as we are, they yet depend
Not more on human help than we on theirs.
Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given
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 oft times vanquish'd, and thrown far behind.
Some shew that nice sagacity of smell,
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 changed
By any change of fortune; proof alike
Against unkindness, absence, and neglect;
Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat
Can move or warp; and gratitude for small
And trivial favours, lasting as the life,
And glistening even in the dying eye.
Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms
Wins public honour; and ten thousand sit




ï~~342               THE TASK.
Patiently present at a sacred song,
Commemoration-mad; content to hear
(O wonderful effect of music's power 1)
Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake.
But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve(For, was it less, what heathen would have dared
To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath,
And hdng 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 nevei used 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
And measure of the offence rebukes a deed
Less impious than absurd, and owing more
To want of judgment than to wrong design.
So in the chapel of old Ely House,
When wandering Charles, who meant to be the third,
Had fled from Wilhliam, and the news was fresh,
The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce,
And eke did rear right merrily, two staves,
Sung to the praise and glory of King George!
-Man praises man; and Garrick's memory next,
When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made
The idol of our worship while he lived
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
Its squeezed 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,




ï~~THE WINTER WALK AT NOON              343
And strut, and storm, and straddle, stamp and stare.
To shew the world how Garrick did not act.
For Garricdk was a worshipper himself;
He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites
And solemn ceremonial of the day,
And call'd the world to worship on the bank
Of Avon, famed in song. Ai, pleasant proof
That piety has still in human hearts
Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct.
The mulberry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths;
The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance;
The mulberry-tree was hymn'd with dulcet airs;
And from his touch-wood trunk the mulberry-tree
Supplied such relics as devotion holds
Still sacred, and preserves with pious care.
So 'twas a hallow'd time: decorum reign'd,
And mirth without offence. No few return'd,
Doubtless, much edified, and all refresh'd.
-Man praises man. The rabble all alive,
From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and sties,
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 his eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave
Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy:
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
No. Doth he purpose its salvation? No.  [state I
Enchanting novelty, that moon at full,
That fi ds out every 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.
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 lodged already there.
Encomium in old time was poets' work;
But poets having lavishly long since
Exhausted all materials of the art,

t




ï~~344               THE TASK.
The 'task now falls into the public hand;
And I, contented with an humbler theme,
Have pour'd my stream of panegyric down
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
Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine
May stand between an animal and woe,
And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge.
The groans of Nature in this nether world,
Which- Heaven has heard for ages, have an end,
Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung,
Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp,
The time of rest, the promised sabbath, comes.
Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh
Fulfill'd their tardy and disastrous course
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 rocks itself to rest:
For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds
The dust that waits upon his sultry march,
When sin hath moved him, and his wrath is hot.
Shall visit earth in mercy; shall descend
Propitious in his chariot paved with love;
And what his storms have blasted and defaced
For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair.
Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet
Not to he wrong'd by a mere mortal touch;.
Nor can the wonders it records be sung
To meaner music, and not suffer loss.
But when a poet, or when one like me,
Happy to rove among poetic flowers,
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,
To give it praise proportion'd to its worth,
That not to attempt it, arduous as he deems
The labour, were a task more arduous still.
O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true,




ï~~THE WINTER WALK AT NOON.              345
Scenes of accomplished bliss; which who can see,
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
Laughs with abundance; and the land, once lean
Or fertile only in its own disgrace,
Exults to see its thistly curse repeal'd.
The various seasons woven into one,
And that one season an eternal spring,
The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence,
For there is none to covet; all are full.
The lion, and the libbard, and the bear,
Graze with the fearless flocks; all bask at noon
Together, or all gambol in the shade
Of the same grove, and drink one common stream.
Antipathies are none. No foe to man
Lurks in the serpent now: the mother sees,
And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand
Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm,
To stroke his azuire neck, or to receive
The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue.
All creatures worship man, and all mankind
One Lord, one Father. Error has no place:
That creeping pestilence is driven away;
The breath of heaven has chased 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.
One song employs all nations; and all cry,
SWorthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us!'
The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks
Shout to each other, and the mountain-tops
From distant mountains catch the flying joy;
Tillf, nation after nation taught the strain,
Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round.
Behold the measure of the promise fill'd;
See Salem built, the labour of a God!
Bright as a sun the sacred city shines;
All kingdoms and all princes of the earth
p9




ï~~341J               'i iA..-,
Flock to that light; the glory of all lands
Flows into her; unbounded is her joy,
And endless her increase. Thy rams are there,
Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there;*
The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind,
Aid Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there.
Praise is in all her gates; upon her wails,
And in her streets, and in her spacious courts,
Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there
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 every clime they come
To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy,
O Sion! an assembly such as earth
Saw never, such as heaven stoops down to see.
Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were one.c
Perfect, and all must be at length restored.
So God has greatly purposed; who would else
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)
A world, that does not dread and hate his laws,
And suffer for its crime; would learn how fair
The creature is that God pronounces good,
How pleasant in itself what pleases him.
Here every drop of honey hides a sting;
Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flowers
And e'en the joy, that haply some poor heart
Derives from Heaven, pure as the fountain is,
Is sullied in the stream, taking a taint
From touch of human lips, at best impure.
O for a world in principle as chaste
As this is gross and selfish! over which
Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway,
That govern all things here, shouldering aside
The meek and modest Truth, and forcing her
* Nebaioth and Kedar the sons of Ishmael, and progenitors of
the Arabs, in the prophetic scripture here alluded to, nmay be
reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large.




ï~~THE WINTER WALK AT NOON.               347
To seek a refuge from the tongue of Strife
In nooks obscure, 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
The 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 graoe)
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 Nature's birth;
And thou hast made it thine by purchase since,
And overpaid 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 desired,
Would creep into the bowels of the hills,
And flee for safety to the falling rocks.
ThLe very spirit of the world is tired
Of its own taunting question, ask'd so long,
Where is the promise of your Lord's approachl'
The infidel has shot his bolts away,
Till, his exhausted quiver yielding none,
He gleans the blnted shafts, that have recoil'd,
And aims them at the shield of Truth again.
The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands,
That hides divinit) from mortal eyes;
And all the mysteries to faith proposed,
Insulted and traduced, are cast aside,
As useless, to the mles and to the bats.
They now are deem'd the faithful, and are praised,
Who constant only i' rejecting thee,




ï~~348               THE TASK.
Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal,
And quit their office for their error's sake.
Blind, and in love with darkness! yet e'en these
Worthy, compared with sycophants, who kneel,
Thy namie 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
To wandering sheep, resolved 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
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 degenerate times,
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!
He is the happy man, whose life e'en now
Shews somewhat of that happier life to come;
Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state,
Is pleased with it, and were hie free to choose,
Would make his fate his choice; whom peace,5the
Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith,  [fruit
Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one
Content indeed to sojourn while he must
Below the skies, but having there his home.
The world o'erlooks him in her busy search
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 proved them vain.
He cannot skim the ground like summer birds
Pursuing gilded flies; and such he deems
Her honours, her emoluments, her joys.
Theretore in contempllation is his bliss,




ï~~THE WINTER WALK AT NOON:             349
Whose power is such, that whom she lifts from earth
She makes familiar with a heaven unseen,
And shews him glories yet to be reveal'd.
Not slothful he, though sqeming unemploy'd,
Ard censured oft as useless. Stillest streams
Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird,
That flutters least, is longest on the wing.
Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has raised,
Or what achievements of immortal fame
He purposes, and he shall answer-None.
His warfare is within. There unfatigued
His fervent spirit labours. There he fights,
And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself,
And never-withering wreaths, compared with which,
The laurels that a Casar reaps are weeds.
Perhaps the self-approving haughty world,
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
Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring
And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes,
When, Isaac like, the solitary saint
Walks forth to meditate at eventide,
And think on her who thinks not for herself.
Forgive him tben, thou bustler in concerns
Of 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.
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 rendering none.
His sphere though humble, if that humble sphere
Shine with his fair example, and though small
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
Some taste of comfort in a world of woe;




ï~~350                THE TASTK.
Then let the supercilious great confess
He serves his country, recompenses well
The state, beneath the shadow of whose vine
He sits secure, and in the scale of life
Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place.
The man, whose virtues are more felt than seen,
Must drop indeed the hope of public praise;
But he may boast, what few that win it can,
That, if his country stand not by his skill,
At least his follies have not wrought her fall.
Polite Refinement offers him in vain
Her golden tube, through which a sensual world
Draws gross impurity, and likes it well,
The neat conveyance hiding all the offence.
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
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 deceived; aware that what is base
No polish can make sterling; and that vice,
Though well perfumed and elegantly dress'd,
Like an unburied carcase trick'd with flowers,
Is but a garnish'd nuisance, fitter far
For cleanly riddance, than for fair attire.
So life glides smoothly and by stealth away,
More golden than that age of fabled gold
Renown'd in ancient song; not vex'd with care
Or stain'd with guilt, beneficent, approved
Of God and man, and peaceful in its end.
So glide my life away, and so at last,
My share of duties decently fulfill'd,
May some disease, not tardy to perform
Its destined office, yet with gentle stroke,
Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat,
Beneath the turf, that I have often trod.
It shall not grieve me then, that once, when call'd
To dress a Sofa with the flowers of verse
I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair,




ï~~THE WINTER WALK AT NOON.               351
With that light task; but soon, to please her more,
Whom flowers alone I knew would little please,
Let fall the unfinish'd wreath, and roved for fruit;
Roved far, and gather'd much; some harsh, 'tis true,
Pick'd from the thorns and briers of reproof,
But wholesome, well-digested; grateful some
To palates that can taste immortal truth;
Insipid else, and sure to be despised.
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
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.




ï~~352

AN EPISTLE
TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.
DEARA JOSEPH-five and twenty years agoAlas, how time escapes!-'tis even soWith 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)
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings--
Strange fluctuation of all human things!
True. Changes will befall, and friends may part,
But distance only iannot change the heart:
And, were I call'd to prove th' assertion true,
One proof should serve-a reference to you.
Whence comes it, then, that in the wane of life
Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife,
We find the friends we fancied we had won,
Though numerous once, reduced to few or none?
Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch I
No; gold they seem'd, but they were never such.
Ioratio's servant once, with bow and cringe,
Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge,
Dreading a negative, and overawed
Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad.
Go, fellow!-whither?-turning short aboutNay. 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 startYea marry shalt thou, and with all my heart.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 cloise,
Else he was seldom bitter or morose.




ï~~EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.         353
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 moirth.
Howe'er it was, his languagf', 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 sputn)
One story more, dear Hill, and I have done.
Once on a time, an emperor, a wise man,
No matter where, in China or Japan,
Decreed, that whosoever should offend
Against the well-known duties of a friend,
Convicted once should ever after wear
But half a coat, and shew 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 o-r triple 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,
Broad cloth without, and a warm heart withiln.




ï~~354

TIROCINIUM:
OR,
A REVIEW        OF SCHOOLS.
KeaXaov an 7rasieta    opOj rpoorj. Plato.
ApXq 7roXtrea a7raap vwv rpoba.
Diog. Laert,
INSCRIBED TO THE REV. WM. CAWTHORNE UNWbN.
IT is not from his form, in which we trace
Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace.
That man, the master of this globe, derives
His right of empire over all that lives.
That form indeed, the associate of a mind
Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind,
That form, the labour of Almighty skill,
Framed for the service of a freeborn will,
Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control,
But borrows all'its grandeur from the soul.
Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne,
An intellectual kingdom all her own.
For her the Memory fills her ample page
"With truths pour'd down from every 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 enlarged;
Still to be fed and not to be surcharged.
For her the J'ancy, roving unconfined,
The present uuse of every pensive mind,
Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue
To Nature's cenes than Nature ever knew.




ï~~REVIEW (V O   CHIIOOLS.        $55
At her command winds rise, and waters ruai,
Again she lays them slumbering on the shore;
With flower and fruit the wilderness supplies,
Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise.
For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife,
That grace and nature have to wage through life,
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
ro yon fair Sun, and his attendant Earth?
And, when descending he resigns the skies,
Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise,
Whom (cean feels through all his countless wavoa,
And owns her power on every shore he laves?
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 thriving charge receives
Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves,
Till autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews
Dye them at last in all their glowing hues.'Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste,
Power misemploy'd, munificence misplaced,
Had not its Author dignified the plan,
And crown'd it with the majesty of man.
Thus form'd, thus placed, intelligent, and taught,
Look where he will, the wonders God has wrough
The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws
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 tiext mere dust and ashes in the grave,
Endued 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;
And if, soon after havilt burnt, by turns,
With every lust with w, h i.,h frail nature burns,




ï~~366           TIROCINIUM: OR, A
His being end, where death dissolves the bond,
The tomb taike all, and all be blank beyond;
Then he, of all that nature has brought forth,
Stands self-impeach'd the creature of least worth
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 strains,
A childish waste of philosophic pains;
But truths on which depend our main concern,
That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn
Shine by the side of every path we tread
With such a lustre, he that runs may read.
'Tis true thatt if to trifle life away
Down to the sunset of their latest day,
Then perish on futurity's wide shore
Like fleeting exhalations, found no more,
Were all that heaven required of humankind,
And all the plan that destiny design'd,
What none could reverence all might justly blame,
And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame.
But reason heard, and nature well perused,
At once the dreaming mind is disabused,
If all we find possessing earth,sea, air,
Reflect His attributes, who placed them there,
Fulfil the purpose, and appear design'd
Proofs of the wisdom of the all-seeing mind,
'Tis plain the creature, whom he chse to invest
With kingship and dominion o'er the rest,
Received his nobler nature, and was made
Fit for the power, in which he stands array'd;
That first, or last, hereafter, if not here,
He too might make his Author's wisdom clear,
Praise him on earth, or obstinately dumb,
Suffer his justice in a world by come.
This once believed, 'twere logic misapplied,
To prove a consequence by none denied,
That we are bound to cast the minds of youth
Betimes into the mould of heavenly truth,
That taught of God they may indeed be wise,
Nor ignorantly wandering miss the skies.




ï~~REVIEWV OF SCHOOLS.               5
In early days the conscience has in most
A quickness, which in later life is lost:
Preserved 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,
To feed our infant minds with proper fare;
And wisely store the nursery by degrees
With wholesome learning, yet acquired with ease.
Neatly secured from being soil'd or torn
Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn,
A book (to please us at a tender age
'Tis call'd a book, though but a single page)
Presents the prayer the Saviour deign'd to teach,
Which children use, and parsons-when they preach.
Lisping our syllables, we scramble next
Through moral narrative, or sacred text;
And learns with wonder how this world began,
Who made, who marr'd, and who has ransom'dl man:
Points, which, unless the Scripture made them plain,
The wisest heads might agitate in vain.
O thou, whom, borne on fancy's eager wing
Back to the season of life's happy spring,
I pleased remember, and, while memory yet
Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget;
Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale
Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail;
Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple style
May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile;
Witty, and well employ'd, and, like thy Lord,
Speaking in parables his slighted word;
I name thee not, lest so despised a name
Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame;
Yet e'en in transitory life's late day,
That mingles all my brown with sober gray,
Revere the man, whose pilgrimvnmarks the road,
And guides the progress of the soul to God.
'Twere well with most, if books, that could engagW
Their childhood, pleased them at a riper age;
The man, approving what had charm'd the boy
Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy;




ï~~us5           TIROCINIUM: ORi, A
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,
Regards with scorn, though once received with aweAnd 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.
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
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,
Opposed against the pleasures nature loves I
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 truth for wit's eccentric range.
Time was, he closed as he began the day,
With decent duty, not ashamed to pray:
The practice was a bond upon his heart,
A pledge he gave for a consistent part;
Nor could he dare presumptuously displease
A Power, confess'd so lately on his knees.
But nsw farewell all legendary tales,
The shadows fly, philosophy prevails;
Prayer to the winds, and caution to the waves;
Religion makes the free by nature slaves.
Priests have invtnted, and the world admired
What knavish priests promulgate as inspired!
Till reason, now no longer overawed,
Resumes her powers, and spurns the clumsy fraud
And, common-sense diffusing real day,
The meteor of the Gospel dies away.
s See 2 Chron. c, xxvi. ver. 19.




ï~~REVIEW     OF SCHOOLS.              34
Such rhapsodies our shrewd discerning youth
Learn from expert inquirers after truth;
Whose only care, Might truth presume to speak,
[s not to find what they profess to seek.
And thus. well-tutor'd only while we share
A mother's sectures and a nurse's care;
And taught at schools much mythologic staff,*
But sound religion sparingly enough;
Our early notices of truth, disgraced,
Soon lose their credit, and are all effaced.
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;
Train him in public 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.
There shall he learn, ere sixteen winters old,
That aithors 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.
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 tiroes of eighteen
Is difficult; their punishment obscene.
The stout tall captain, whose superior size
The minor heroes view with envious eyes,
Becomes their pattern, upon whom they fix
Their whole attention, and ape all his tricks.
His pride, that scorns to obey or to submit,
With them is courage; his effrontery wit
* The author begs leave to explain.-Sensible that, without
such knowledgte, neithber the ancient poets nor historians car be
tasted, or indeed unierstoosi, he does not mean to censure the
pains that are taken to instruct a schoolboy in the religion of the
heathen, but merely that neglect of Christian cultuire which
teaves him shamefullyiguorant of his own.




ï~~SwO           TIbOCINIUM: OR, A
His wild excursions, window-breaking feats,
Robbery of gardens quarrels in the streets,
His hairbreadth 'sespes, and all his daring schemes
Transport them, and are made their favourite themes.
In little bosoms such achievements strike
A kindred spark: thry burn to do the like.
Thus half-accomplisb d ere he yet begin
To shew the peeping down upom his chin;
And, as maturity of 3 ears comes on,
Made just th' adept that you design'd your son;
To ensure the perseverance of his course,
And give your monstrous prmject all its force,
Send him to college. if he there be tamed.
Or in one article of vice reclaim'd,
Where no regard of ordinance is shewn
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.
Such youths of spirit, and that spirit too,
Ye nurseries of our boys, we owe to you:
Though fromourselves the mischief more proceeds,
For public schools 'tis public folly feeds.
The slaves of custom and establish'd mode,
With packhorse constancy we keep the road,
Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dels,
True to the jingling of our leader's bells.
To follow folish precedents, and wink
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.
I blame not those, who with what car& they ea
O'erwateh the numerous and unruly clan:
Or, if I blame, 'ti. only that they dare
Promise a work, of which they must despair.
HIave ye, ye sage intendants of the whole,
A abiquarian presence and control,
Elisha's eye, that, when Gehazi stray'd,
Went with him, and saw all the game he play'at
Yes-ye are conscious; and on all the shelves




ï~~REVIEW OF SCHOOLS.

BeR

Your pupils strike upon, have struck yourselves.
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,
And evils, not to be endured, endure,
Lest power exerted, but without success,
Should make the little ye retain still less.
-Ye once were justly famed for bringing forth
Undoubted scholarship and genuine worth;
And in the firmament of fame still shines
A glor,, bright as that of all the signs,
Of poets raised by you, and statesmen, and divines.
Peace to them all I those brilliant times are fled,
And no such lights are kindling in their stead.
Our striplings shine indeed, but with such rays
As set the midnight riot in a blaze;
And seem, if judged by their expressive looks
Deeper in none than in their surgeons' books.
Say, Muse (for, education made the song,
No Muse can hesitate, or linger long),
What causes m'ove 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 I
Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise,
W6 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,
The very name we carved subsisting still;
The bench on which we sat while deep employ'd
Though mangled, hack'd, and hew'd, not yet destro-"d
The little ones, unbutton'd, glowing hot,
Playing our games, and on the very spot;
As happy as we once, to kneel and draw
The chalky ring, and knuckie down at taw;
To pitch the ball into the grounded hat,
Or lrive it devious with a dexterous pat;
The pleasing spectacle at once excites
Sutch recollection of our own delights




ï~~362          TIROCINIUM: OR, A
That, viewing it, we seem almos to obtain
Our innocent sweqt simple years again.
This fond attachment to the well-known place.
Whence first we started into life's long race,
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 classic food begins to be his care,
With his own likeness placed on either knee,
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:
Then turning he regales his listening wife
With all the adventures of his-early life;
His skill in coachmanship, or driving chaise,
In bilking tavern bills, and spouting plays;
What shifts he used, 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
Watch, seals, and all-till all his pranks are told.
Retracing thus his frolics ('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
And destines their bright genius to be shewn
Just in the scene where he display'd his own.
The mntek and bashful boy will soon be taught
To be as bold and forward as he ought;
The rude will scuffle through with ease enough,
Great schools suit best the sturdy and the rough
Ah, happy designation, prudent choice,
The event is sure; expect it; and rejoice!
Soon see your wish fulfill'd in either child,
T''he pert made perter, and the tame made wild.
The great, indeed, by titles, riches, birth,
Excuse the incumbrance of more solid worth,
Are best disposed of where with most success
They may acquire that confident address,
Those habits of profuse and lewd expense,
That scorn of all delights but those of sense,
Which, though in plain pleheians we condemn,
With so much reason all expect from them.




ï~~REVIEW    OF StHOOLS.            30
But families of less illustrious fame,
Whose chief distinction is their spotless name,
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 treasuro, there
They dream of little Charles or William graced
With wig prolix, down flowing to his waist;
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;
And, while the playful jockey scours the room
Briskly, astride upon the parlour broom,
In fancy sees him more superbly ride
In coach with purple lined, and mitres on its side.
Events improbable and strange as these,
Which only a parental eye foresees,
A public school shall bring to pass with ease.
But how? resides such virtue in that air,
As must create an appetite for prayer?
And will it breathe into him all the zeal,
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
By learned clerks, and Latinists profess'd.
The exalted prize demands An upward look,
Not to be found by poring on a book.
Small skill in Latin, and still less in Greek,
Is more than adequate to all I seek.
Let erudition grace him, or not grace,
I give the bauble but the second Tlace;
His wealth, fame, honpurs, all that I intend,
Subsist and centre in one point-a friend.
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;




ï~~$64           TIROCINIUM: OR, A
In that bright quarter his propitious skies
Shall blush betimes, and there his glory ris.
Your Lordship, and Your Grace! what school cam
teach
A rhetoric equal to those parts of speech?
Wbat need of Homer's verse, or Tully's prose,
Sweet interjections! if he learn but those?
Let rev'rend churls his ignorance rebuke,
Who starve upon a dog's-ear'd Pentateuch,
The parson knows enough, who knows a duke.'
Egregious purpose; worthily begun
In barbarous prostitution of your son;
Press'd on his part by means that would disgrace
A scriv'ner's clerk, or footmazi out of place,
And ending, if at last its end be gain'd,
In sacrilege, in God's own house profaned.
It may succeed; and, if his sins should call
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.
The royal letters are a thing of course,
A kltg, 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,
Christian in name, and infidel in heart,
Ghostly in office, 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;
To live estranged from God his total scope,
And his end sure, without one glimpse of hope.
Bus fair although and feasible it seem,
Depend not much upon your golden Iream
For Providence, that seem's concern'd to exempt
The hallow'd bench from absolute contempt,
In spite of all the 'Wigglers into -place,
Still keeps a seat or two for worth and grace;
And thferefore 'tib, that though the sight be rie
We sometimes see a Lowtb or Bagot there.




ï~~REVIEW    OF SCHOOLS.             3
Besides, school-friendships are not always found,
Though fair in promise, permanent and sound;
The most disinterested and virtuous minds,
In early years connected, time unbinds;
New situations give a different cast
Of habit, inclination, temper, taste;
And he that seem'd our counterpart at first,
Soon shews the strong similitude reversed.
Young heads are giddy, and young hearts are warm,
And make mistakes for manhood to reform.
Boys are at best but pretty buds unblown,
Whose scent and hues are rather guess'dthan knowai
Each dreams that each is just what he appears,
But learns his error in maturer years,
When disposition, like a sail unfurl'd,
Shews all its rents and patches to the world.
If, therefore, e'en when honest in design,
A boyish friendship may so soon decline,
'Twere wiser sure t' inspire a little heart
With just abhorrence of so mean a part,
Than set your son to work at a vile trade
For wages so unlikely to be paid.
Our public hives of puerile resort,
That are of chief and most approved report
To such base hopes, in many a sordid soul,
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 world not often over-nice,
Ranks as a virtue, and is yet a vice;
Or rather a gross compound, justly tried,
Of envy, hatred, jealousy, and pride--,
Contributes most perhaps t' enhance their fame;
And emulation is its specious name.
Boys, once on fire with that contentious zeal,
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 prise.
The spirit of that competition burns
With all varieties of ills by turns;
Each vainly magnifies his own success,
Resents his fellow's wishes it were less,




ï~~30           TIROCINIUAI: OR, A
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 powerful, and I grant its force;
It pricks the genius forward in its course,
Allows short ime 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 meas.
Weigh, for a moment, classical desert
Against a heart depraved and temper hurt;
Hurt too perhaps for life; for early wrong,
Done to the nobler part, affects it long;
And you are staunch indeed in learning's cause
If you can crown a discipline, that draws
Such mischiefs after it, with much applause.
Connexion form'd for interest, and endeared
By selfish views, thus censured and cashier'd;
And emulation, as engendering 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 managed 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,
9 Whate'er is best administer'd is best.'
Few boys are born with talents that excel,
But are all capable of living well;
Then ask not, Whether limited or large?
But, Watch they strictly, or neglect their
charge?
If anxious only that their boys may learn,
While morals languish, a despised concern,
The great a:.d sma i deserve one common blame,
Different in size, but in effect the same.
Much zeal in virtue's cause all teachers ' oast,
Though motives of mere lucre sway the most;




ï~~REVIEW    OF SCHOOLS.
Therefore in towns and cities they abound,
For there the game they seek is easiest found;
Though there in spite of all that care can do,
Traps to catch youth are most abundant too
If shrewd, and of a well-constructed brain,
Keen in pursuit, and vigorous to retain,
Your son come forth a prodigy of skill;
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, hlie betray,
Not more intelligent than loose and gay,
Such vicious habits as disgrace his name,
Threaten 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
The whole reproach, the fault was all his own.
O 'tis a sight to be with joy perused,
By all whom sentiment has not abused;
New-fangled sentiment, the boasted grace
Of those who never feel in the right place;
A sight surpass'd by none that we can shew,
Though Vestris on one leg still shine below;
A father bless'd with an ingenuous son,
Father, and friend, and tutor, all in one.
How!-turn again to tales long since forgot,
Esop, 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 pleaseis boy;
Then why resign into a stranger's hand
A task as much within your own command1
That God and nature, and your interest too,
Seem with one voice to delegate to you?
Why hire a lodging in a house unknown
For one whose tenderest thoughts all hover round
This second weaning, needless as it is,  [yourownt
How does it lacerate both your heart and his!
The indented stick, that loses day by day
Notch after notch, till all are smooth'd away,




ï~~SO            TIROCINIVM: OR, A
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 natural, as they are,
A disappointment waits him even there:
Arrived, he feels an unexpected change,
He blushes, hangs his head, is shy aid strange;
No longer takes, as once, with fearless ease,
His favourite stand between his father's knees,
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 1-the natural effect
Of love by absence chill'd into respect,.
Say, what accomplishments at school acquired,
Brings he, to sweeten fruits so undesired 7
Thou well deservest an alienated son,
Unless thy cnscious heart acknowledge-none,
None that, in thy domestic 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 estranged, thou canst obtain
By no kind arts his confidence again;
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.
Like caterpillars, dangling under trees
By slender threads, and swinging in the breeze,
Which filthily bewray and sore disgrace
The boughs in which are b "ed th' unseemly race;
While every worm industriously weaves
And winds his web about the rivell'd leaves;
So numerous are the follies, that annoy
The mind and heart of every sprightly boy;
Imaginations noxious and perverse,
Which admonition can alone disperse.
Th' encroaching nuisance asks a faithful hand,
Patient, affectionate, of high command,




ï~~REVIEW    OF SCHOOLS.             )
To check the procreation of a breed
Sure to exhaust the plant on which they feed.
'Tis not enough, that Greek or Roman page,
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 emetions, and control their tide;
And levying thus, and with an easy away;
A tax of profit from his very play,
T' impress a value, not to be erased,
On moments squander'd else, and running all to
waste.
And seems it nothing in a father's eye,
That unimproved those many moments fly?
And is he well content his son should find
No nourishment to feed his growing mind,
But conjugated vel-hs, and nouns declined I
For such is all the mental food purveyd -
By public hackneys in the schooling trade;
Who feed a pupil's intellect with store
Of syntax, truly, but with little more;
Dismiss their cares when they dismiss their flock,
Machines themselves, and govern'd by a clock.
Perhaps a father, bless'd with any brains,
Would deem it no abuse, or waste of pains,
To improve this diet, at no great expense,
With savoury truth and wholesome common sense 1
To lead his san, for prospects of delight,
To some not steep, though philosophic height,
Thence to exhibit to his wondering eyes
Yon circling worlds, their distance, and their sise
The moons of Jove, and Saturn's belted ball,
And th' harmonious order of them all;
To shew him in an insect or a flower
Such microscopic proof of skill and power,
As, hid from ages past, God now displays,
To combat atheists with in modern days;
To spread the earth before him, a" ~mment
With designation of the fager's end,
Its various parts to his attentive note,
Thus bringing home t o him the most remote;
Q2




ï~~370           TlLROCINIUM: OR, A
To teach his heart to glow with generous flame
Caught from the deeds of men of ancient fame
And, more than all, with commendation due,
To set some liviing worthy in his view,
Whose fair example may at once inspire
A wish to copy what he must admire.
Such knowledge, gain'd letimes, and which appears,
Though solid, not too weighty for his years,
Sweet in itself, and not forbidding sport,
When health demands it, ofathletic sort,
Would make him-what some lovely boys have beent
And more than one perhaps that I have seenAn evidence and reprehension both
Of the mere schoolboy's lean and tardy growth.
Art thou a ntan professiewially tied,
With all thy faculties elsewhere applied,
Too busy to intend a meaner care,
Than how t' enrich thyself, and ntiext thine heir;
Or art thou (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 tong'e, though now and tbhen
Heard to articulate like other men;
No jester, andi yet lively in discourse;
His phrase well chosen, clear, and full of force
And his address, if not quite Firench in ease,
Not Jnglish stiff, but frank, and form'd to please
Low in the world, because hlie scorns its arts;
A man of letters, manners, morals, parts;
Unpatronized, and therefore little known;
Wise for himself and his few friends aloneIn him thy well-appointed proxy see,
Arm'd for a work too difficult for thee;
Prepared by taste, by learning, and true worth
To form thy son, to -strike his genius forth;
Beneath thy roof, beneath thine eye, to prove.
The force of discipline, when back'd by love
To double all thy pleasure in thy child,
His mind inform'd, his morals undefiled.
Safe under such a wing, the boy shall shew
Wo spots oontracied among grooms below,




ï~~I EVIEW   OF SCHOOLS.            371l
Nor taint his speech with meannesses, design'd
By footman Tom for witty and refined.
There, in his commerce with the liveried herd
Lurks the contagion chietly to be fear'a;
For since (so fashion dictates all, who claim
A higher than a mere plebeian fame,
Find it expedient, come what mischief may
To entertain a thief or two in pay
(And they that can afford the expense of more,
Some half a dozen, and some half a score),
Great cause occurs, to save him from a band
So sure to spoil him, and so near at land;
A point secured, if once he be supplied
With some such Mentor always at his side.
Are such men rare? Perhaps they would abound
Were occupation easier to be found,
Were education, else so sfre to fail,
Conducted on a manageable scale,
And schools, that have outlived all just esteem,
Exchanged for the secure domestic scheme.But having found him, be thou duke or earl,
Shew thou hast sense enou-gh to prize the pearls
And, as thou wouldst the advancement of thine
heir
In all good faculties beneath his care,
Respect, as is but rational and just,
A man deem'd worthy of so dear a trust.
Despised 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;
His lessons tire, his mild rebukes offend,
And all the instructions of thy son's best friend
Are a stream choked, or trickling to no end.
Doom him not then to solitary meals;
But recollect that he has sense, and feels;
And that, possessor of a soul refined,
An upright heart, and cultivated mind,
His post not mean, his talents not unknowav
He deems it hard to vegetate alone.
And, if admitted at thy board he sit,
Account him no just mark for idle wit;




ï~~S72          TIROCINIUM: OR, A
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.And, trust me, his utility may reach
To more than he is hired or bound to teach;
Much trash unutter'd, and some ills undone,
Through reverence of the censor of thy son.
But, if thy table be indeed unclean,
Foul with excess, and with discourse obscene,
And thou a wretch, whom following her old plan,
The world accounts an honourable man,
Because forsooth thy courage has been tried,
And stood the test, perhaps on the wrong side;
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,
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 may'st I
Not very sober though, nor very chaste;Or is thine house, though less superb thy rank,
If not a scene of pleasure, a mere blank,
And thou at best, and in thy soberest mood,
A tUifler vain, and empty of all good?
Though mercy for thyself thou canst have none,
Hear nature plead, shew mercy to thy son.
Saved from his home, where every day brings forth
Some mischief fatal to his future worth,
Find him a better in a distant spot,
Within some pious pastor's humble cot,Â~
Where vile example (vours I chiefly mean,
The most seducing, and the oftenest seen)
May never more be stamp'd upon his breast,
Not yet perhaps incurably impress'd.
Where-early rest makes early rising sure,
Disease or comes not, or finds easy cure,
Prevented much by diet neat and plain;
Or, if it enter, soon starved out again




ï~~REVIEW    OF SCHOOLS.            3
Where all th' attention of his faithful host,
Discreetly limited to two at most,
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 inclined
Not occupied in day-dreams, as at home
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,
The incorrigibly wrong, the deaf, the dead,
Whom care and cool deliberation suit
Not better much than spectacles a brute;
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,
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,
Commits her eggs incautious to the dust,
Forgetful that the foot may crush the trust;
And, while on public nurseries they rely,
Not knowing, and too oft not caring, why,
Irrational in what they thus prefer,
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
(Whose hearts will ache, once told what ills may reach
Their offspring, left upon so wild a beach),
Will need no stress of argument t' enforce
The expedience of a less adventurous course:
The rest will slight thy counsel, or condemn:
But they have human feelings; turn to them.'
To you, then, tenants of life's middle state,
Securely placed between the small and great,
Whose character, yet undebauch'd, retains
Two-thirds of all the virtue that remains:




ï~~374          TIROCINLUM: OR, A
Who, wise yourselves, desire your son should learn
Your wisdom and your ways-to you I turn.
Look round you on a world perversely blind;
See what contempt has fal'n on human kind;
See wealth abused, and dignities misplaced,
Great titles, offices, and trusts disgraced,
Long lines of ancestry, renown'd of old,
Their noble qualities all quench'd and cold,
See Bedlam's closetted and hand-cuff'd charge
Surpass'd in frenzy by the mad at large;
See great commanders making war a trade,
Great lawyers, lawyers without study made;
Churchmen, in whose esteem their bless'd employ
Is odious, and their wages all their joy;
Who, far enough from furnishing their shelves
With Gospel lore, turn infidels themselves;
See womanhood despised, and manhood shamed
With infamy too nauseous to be named,
Fops at all corners, lady-like in mien,
Civetted fellows, smelt ere they are seen;
Else coarse and rude in maimers, and their tongue
On fire with curses, and with nonsense hung;
Now flush'd with drunkenness, now with whoredom
pale,
Their breath a sample of last night's regale:
See volunteers in all the vilest arts,
Men well endow'd, of honourable parts,
Design'd by Nature wise, but self-made fools;
All these, and more like these, were bred at schools,
And if it chance, as sometimes chance it will,
That though school-bred, the boy be virtuous still,
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 shew how black is all beside.
Now look on him, whose very voice in tone
Just echoes thine, whose features are thine own,
And stroke his polish'd cheek of purest red,
And lay thine hand upon his flaxen head,
And say, ' My boy, the unwelcome hour is come,
When thou, transplanted from thy genial home,
Must find a colder soil and bleaker air,
And trust for safety to a stranger's care;




ï~~REVIEW    OF SCHOOLS             37
What character, what turn thou wilt asume
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;
Though much depends on what thy choice shall be,
Is all chance-medley, and unknown to me.'
Canst thou, the tear just trembling on thy lids,
And while the dreadful risk foreseen forbids,
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,
Condemns the unfatherly, the imprudent part.
Thou wouldst not, deaf to Nature's tenderest 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;
Then, only govern'd by the self-same rule
Of natural 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 not ('tis every father's hope)
That since thy strength must with thy years elope,
And thou wilt need some comfort, to assuage
Health's last farewell, a staffin thine old age,
That then, in recompense of all thy cares,
Thy child shall shew respect to thy gray hairs;
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.
His heart, now passive, yields to thy commandl
Secure it thine, its key is in thine hand.
If thou desert thy charge, and throw it wide,
Nor heed what guests there enter and abide,
Complain notif attachments lewd and base
Supplant thee in it, and, sarp thy place.
But if thou guard its sacs ed chambers sure
From vicious inmates, and delis.hts impure,
Either his gratitude shall hold him fast,
And keep him warm and filial to the lasts




ï~~376              TIROCINfUW.
Or, if he prove unkind, (as who can say
But being man, and therefore frail, he may f)
One comfort yet shall cheer thine aged heart;
Howe'er he slight thee, thou hast done thy part.
Oh, barbarous I wouldst thou with a Gothic hand
Pull down the schools-what!-all the schools i' tk
land;
Or throw them up to livery-nags and grooms,.
Or turn them into shops and auction-rooms?--
A captious question, sir (and yours is one),
Deserves an answer similar or none.
Wouldst thou, possessor of a flock, employ
(Apprized that he is suchX a careless boy,
And feed him well, and give him handsome payr
Merely to sleep, and let them run astray?
Survey our schools and colleges, and see
A sight not much unlike my simile.
From education, as the leading cause,
The public 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,..
Nor write on each-This building t be let,
Unless the world were all prepared to 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,
(Forgive the crime) I wish them, I confesf,
Or better manased, Or esouaae loo




ï~~377

TO
THE REVEREND MR. NEWTON.
An invitation into the Country.
Tea swallows in their torpid state
Compose their useless wing,
And beesin hives as idly wait
The call of early Spring.
The keenest frost that binds the stream,
The wildest wind thqt blows,
Are neither felt nor fear'd by them,
Secure of their repose.
But man, all feeling and awake,
The gloomy scene surveys;
With present ills his heart must ache,
And pant for brighter days.
Old Winter, halting o'er the mead,
Bids me and Mary mourn;
But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head,
And whispers your return.
Then April, with her sister May,
Shall chase him from the bowers,
And weave fresh garlands every day,
To crown the smiling hours.
And if a tear, that speaks regret
Of happier times, appear,
A ghlimpse of j )y, that we have met,
Shan shiue, and dry the tear.

23




ï~~378

CATHARINA.
ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON,
(AFTEIWARD MRS. COURTNEY.)
SHE came-she is gone-we have metAnd meet perhaps never again;
The sun of that moment is set,
And seems to have risen in vain.
Catharina has fled like a dream(So vanishes pleasare, alas!)
But has left a regret and esteem,
That will not w suddenly pass.
The last evening ramble we made,Catharina, Maria, and1I,
Our progress was often delay'd
By the nightingale warbl.ng nigh.
We paused under many a tree,
And much she was charm'd with a tone
Less sweet to Maria and me,
Who so lately had wiutness'd her own.
My numbers that day she had sung,
And gave them a grace so divine,
As only her musical tongue
Could infuse into numbers of mine.
The longer I heard, I esteem'd
The work of my fancy the more,
And e'eai to myself never seem'd
So tuneful a poet before.
Though the pleasures of London exceed
in number the days of the year,
Catharina, did nothing impede,
Would feel herself happier here:
For the close-woven arches of limes
On the banks of our river, I know,
Are sweeter to her many times
Than aught that the city can shew




ï~~THE MORALIZER CORRECTED.             3D
So it is, when the mind is endued
With a well-judging taste from above;
Then, whether embellish'd oraude,
'Tis nature alone that we love.
The achievements of art may amuse,
May even our wonder excite;
But groves, hills, and valleys, diffuse
A lating, a sacred delight.
Since then in the rural recess
Catharina alone can rejoice,
May it still be her lot to possess
The scene of her sensible choice I
To inhabit a mansion remote
From the clatter of street-pacing steeds,
And by Philomel's annual note
To measure the life that she leads:
With lier book, and her voice, and her lyre,
To wing all her moments at home;
And with scenes that new rapture inspire,
As oft as it suits her to roam;
She will have just the life she prefers
With little to hope or to fear,
And ours would be pleasant as hers,
Might we view her enjoying it here.
1
TIlE
MORALIZER CORRECTED
A TALE.
A HERMIT (or if chance you hold
That title now too trite and old),
A man, once young, who lived retired
As hermit could have well desired,
His hours of etudy closed at last,
And fieisli'd his concise repast;




ï~~380    THE MORALIZEt UORRECTED.
Stoppled his cruise: relczd his book
Within its customary nook,
And, staff in hand, set forth to share
The sober cordial of sweet air,
Like Isaac, with a mind applied
To serious thought at ev'ning-tide.
Autumnal reins had made it chill,
And from the trees that fringed his hill,
Shades slanting at the close of day,
Chill'd more his else delightful way.
Distant a little mile he spied
A western bank's still sunny side,
And-right toward the favour'd place
Proceeding with his nimblest pace,
In hope to bask a little yet,
Just reach'd it when the sun was set.
Your hermit, young and jovial sirs!
Learns something from whate'er occursAnd hence, he said, my mind computes
The real worth of man's pursuits.
His object chosen, wealth or fame,
Or other sublunary game,
Imagination to his view
Presents it deck'd with every hue,
That can seduce him not to spare
His powers of best exertion there,
But youth, health, vigour to expend
On so desirable an end.
Ere long approach life's evening shadek
The glow, that fancy gave it, fades;
And earn'd too late, it wants the grace
That first engaged him in the chase.
True, answer'd an angelic guide,
Attendant at the senior's sideBut whether all the time it cost,
To urge the fruitless chase be lost,
Must be decided by the worth
Of that which call'd his ardour forth.
Trifles pursued, whate'er the event,
Must cause him shame or discontent;
A vicious object still is worse,
Successful there he wins a curse;




ï~~THE FAITHFUL BIRD.               s81
But he, whom e'en in life's last stage,
Endeavours laudable engage,
Is paid, at least in peace of mind,
And sense of having well design'd;
And if, ere he attain his end,
His sun precipitate descend,
A brighter prize than that he meant
Shall recompense his mere intent.
No virtuous wish can bear a date
Either too early or too late.
THE FAITHFUL BIRD.
THE greenhouse is my summer seat;
My shrubs displaced from that retreat
Enjoy'd the open air:
Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song
Had been their mutual solace long,
Lived happy prisoners there.
They sang, as blithe as finches sing,
That flutter loose on golden wing,
And frolic where they list;
Strangers to liberty, 'tis true,
But that delight they never knew,
And therefore never miss'd.
But nature works in every beast,
With force not easily suppress'd;
And Dick felt some desires,
That, after many an effort vain,
lnstructed him at length to gain
A pass between his wires.
The open windows seem'd t' invite
The freeman to a farewell flight;
But Tom was still confined;
And Dick, although his way was clea,
Was much too gen'rous and sincere,
To leave his friend behind.




ï~~882        THE NEEDLESS ALARM.
So settling on his cage, by play,
And chirp, and kiss, he seem'd to say
You must not live aloneNor would he quit that chosen staid
Till I with.slow and cautious hand.
Return'd him to his own.
O ye, who never taste the joys
Of friendship, satisfied with noise,
Fandango, ball, 'nd rout!
Blush, when I tell you how a bird,
A rison with a friend preferr'd
To liberty without.
THE NEEDLESS ALARM.
A T'ALE.
THERE is a field, through which I often pass,
Thick overspread with moss and silky grass,
Adjoining close to Kitwick's echoing wood,
Where oft the bitch-fox hides her hapless brood,
Reserved to solace many a neighbouring 'squire,
That he may follow them through brake and brier,
Contusion hazarding of neck, or spine
Which rural gentlemen call sport divine.
A narrow brook, by rushy banks conceal'd
Runs in a bottom, and divides the field;
Oaks intersperse it, that had once a head,
But now wear crests of oven-wood instead;
And where the land slopes to its watery bourn,
Wide yawns a gulf beside a ragged thorn;
Bricks line the sides, but shiver'd long ago,
And horrid brambles intertwine below;
A hollow scoop'd, I iudge, in ancient time,
For baking earth, or burning rock to lime.
Nor yet the hawthorn bore her berries red,
With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed;
Nor Autman yet had brush'd from every spray,
With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away;




ï~~THE NEEDLESS ALARM.              383
But corn was housed, and beans were in the stack;
Now therefore issued forth the spotted pack,
With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats,
With a whole gamut fill'd of, heavenly notes,
For waich, alas I my destiny severe,
Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear.
The sun, accomplishing his early march,
His lamp uo-r planted on Heaven's topmost arch,
When exercise and air my only aim,
And heedless whither, to that field 1 came,
Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound
Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found,
Or with the high-raised horn's melodious clang
All Kilwick* and all Dinglederry* rang.
Sheep grazed the field; some with soft bosom press'd
The herb as soft, while nibbling stray'd the rest;
Nor noise was heard but of the hasty brook,
Strnuggling, detain'd in many a petty nook.
All seem'd so peaceful, that, from them convey'd,
To me their peace by kind contagion spread.
But when the huntnan, with distended cheek,
'Gan make his instrument of music speak,
And from within the wood that crash was heard,
Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd,
The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that grazed,
All huddling into phalanx, stood and gazed,
Admiring, terrified, the novel strain,
Then coursed the field around, and coursed it round
again;
But, recollecting with a sudden thought,
That flight in circles urged advanced them nought,
They gather'd close around the old pit's brink,
And thought again-but knew not what to think
The man to solitude accustom'd long
Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue;
Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees
Have speech for him, and understood with ease;
After long drought, when rains abundant fall,
He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all;
Knows what the freshness of their hue implies,
How glad they catch the largess of the skies;
SlIwo wood& belonging to Sir Irhn Thvockmoros




ï~~84         TIHE NEEDLESS ALARM.
But, with precision nicer still, the mind
He scans of every locomotive kind;
Birds of all feather, beasts of every name,
That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame;
The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears
Have all articulation in his ears;
He spells them true by intuitiou's light,
And needs no glossary to set him right.
This truth premised, was needful as a text,
To win the credence to what follows next.
Awhile they mused; surveying every face,
Thou hadst supposed them of superior race;
Their perriwigs of wool, and fears combined,
Stamp'd on each countenance such marks of mind.
That sage they seem'd, as lawyers o'er a doubt,
Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out;
Or academic tutors, teaching youths,
Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths;
When thus a mutton, statelier than the rest,
A ram, the ewes and wethers thus address'd:
Friends I we have lived too long. I never heard
Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fear'd.
Could I believe, that winds for ages pent
In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent,
And from their prison-house below arise,
With all these hideous howlings to the skies,
I could be much composed, nor should appear,
For such a cause, to feel the slightest fear.
Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders roll'd
All mnght, me resting quiet in the fold.
Or heard we that tremendous bray alone,
I could expound the melancholy tone;
Should deem it by our old companion made,
The ass; for he, we know, has lately stray'd,
And being lost perhaps, and wandering widej
Might be supposed to clamour for a guide.
But, ah I those dreadf.a yells what soul can hear
That owns a carcase, and not quake for fear?
*Demons produce them doubtless; brazen claw'4
And fang'd with brass the demons are abroad:
I hold it therefore wisest and most fit,
That, life to save, we leap into the pit.




ï~~3BOADICEA.                 3R5
num answer'd then his loving mate and true,
But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe.
Howl leap into the pit our life to save
To save our life leap all into the grave?
For can we find it less? Contemplate first
The depth how awful. falling there, we burst;
Or should the brambles, interposed, our fall
In part abate, that happiness were small:
For with a race like theirs no chance I see
Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we.
Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray,
Or be it not, or be it whose it may,
And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues
Of demons utter'd, from whatever lungs,
$ounds are but sounds; and till the cause appear,
We have at least commodious standing here.
Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast
From earth or hell, we can but plunge at last.
While thus she spake, I fainter heallrd the peals,
For Reynard, close attended at'his heels
By panting dog, tired man, and spatter'd horse,
Through mere good fortune, took a different course
The flock grew calm again; and I, the mad
Following, that led me to my own abode,
Much wonder'd that the silly sheep had found
Such cause of terror in an empty sound,
So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound.
MORAL.
Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day,
Live till to morrow, will have pass'd away.
BOADICEA.
AN 0on.
WREN the B itish warrior queen,
Bleeding fronm the Roman rods,
Sought, with an indignant mieni
C ounsel of her country's gods;
Rt2




ï~~58                 BOADICEA.
Sage beneath the spreading oak
Sat the Druid, hoary chief;
Every burning word he spoke
Full of rage and fuP of grief
Princess! if our aged eyes
Weep upon thy matchless wrongs,
'Tie because resentment ties
All the terrors of our tongues.
Rome shall perish--write that word
In the blood that she has spilt;
Perish, hopeless and abhorr d,
Deep in ruin as in guilt,
Rome, for empire far renown'd,
Tramples on a thousand states;
Soon her pride shall kiss the ground,
Hark! the Gaul is at her gates!
(ther Romans shall arise
Heedless of a soldier's name;
Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize,
Harmony the path to fame.
Then the progeny that springs
From the forests of our land,
Arnm'd with thunder, clad with wings,
Shall a wider world command.
Regions C~rsar never knew
Thy posterity shall sway;
Where his eagles never flew,
None invincible as they.
Such the bard's prophetic words
Pregnant with celestial fire.
Bending as he swept the chords
Of his sweet but awful lyre.
She, with all a monarch's pride,
Felt them in her bosom glow:
Rush'd to battle, fought and died;
Dying bur'd them at the foe.
Ruffians, pitiless as proud,
Heaven awards the vengeance dUet
Empire is on us bestow'd,
2ame and ruin wait for yoju

II




ï~~387

HEROISM.
TWERE was a time when Etna's silent Ore
Slept unperceived, the mountain yet entire;
When, conscious of no danger from below,
She tower'd a cloud-capp'd pyramid of snow.
No thunders shook with deep intestine sound
The blooming groves that girdled her around
Her unctuous olives, and her putple vines
(Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines),
The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assured,
In peace upon her sloping sides matured.
When on a day, like that of the last doom,
A conflagration labouring in her womb,
She teem'd and heaved with an infernal birth,
That shook t..e circling seas and solid earth.
Dark and voluminous the vapours rise,
And hang their horrors in the neighbouring skies,
While through the Stygian veil that blots the day,
In dazzling streaks the vivid lightnings play.
But, oh I what muse, and in what powers of song,
Can trace the torrent as it burns along?
Havoc and devastation in the van,
It marches o'er the prostrate works of man;
Vines, olives, herbage, forests disappear,
And all the charms of a Sicilian year.
Revolving seasons, fruitless as they pass,
See it an uninform'd and idle mass;
Without a soil t' invite the tiller's care,
Or blade, that might redeem it from despair,
Yet time at length (what will not time achieve?)
Clothes it with earth, and bids the produce live.
Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade,
And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade.
O bliss precarious, and unsafe retreats,
O charming paradise of short-lived sweets!
The self-same gale, that wafts the fragrance roUAi
Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound:
Again the mountain feels the imprison'd foe,
Again pours ruin on the -vale below.




ï~~388                HFROISM.
Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore,
That only future ages can restore.
Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honour draws,
Who write in blood the merits of your cause,
Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence,
Glory your aim, but justice your pretence;
Behold in /Etna's emblematic fires,
The mischiefs your ambitions pride inspires!
Fast by the stream, that bounds your just domain,
And tells you where ye have a right to reign,
A nation dwells, not envious of your throne,
Studious of peace, their neighbours' and their own.
Ill-fated race I how deeply must they rue
Their only crime, vicinity to you!
The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad,
Through the ripe harvest lies their destined road;
At every step beneath their feet they tread
The life of multitudes, a nation's bread!
Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress
Before them, and behind a wilderness.
Famine, and Pestilence, her first-born sn,
Attend to finish what the sword begun;
And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn,
And Folly pays, resound at your return.
A calm succeeds-but Plenty, with her trin
Of heart-felt joys, succeeds not soon again,
And years of pining indigence must shew
What scourges are the gods that rule below.
Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees
(Such is his thirst of opulence and ease)
Plies all the sinews of industrious toil,
Gleans up the refuse of the general spoil,
Rebuilds the towers, that smoked upon the plain,
And the sun gilds the shining spires again.
Increasing commerce and reviving art
Renew the quarrel on the conqueror's part;
And the sad lesson must be learnu'd once more,
That wealth within is ruin at the door.
What ge ye, monarchs, laurell'd heroes say,
But Ernas of the suffering world ye sway?
Sweet Nature, stripp'd of her embroider'd rob
Deplores the wasted regions of her globe;




ï~~MY MOTHER'S PICTURE.             ag
And stands a witness at Truth's awful bar,
To prove you there destroyers as ye are.
O place me in some Heaven-protected isle,
Where Peace, and Equity, and Freedon smilel
Where no volcano pours his fiery flood.
No crested warrior dips his plume in blood:
Where Power secures what Industry has won;
Where to succeed is not to be undone:
A land, that distant tyrants hate in vain,
In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign!
ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE, OUT OP
NORFOLK; THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN ANN BODHIJM.
O THAT those lips had language I Life has pass'd
With me but roughly since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smile I see,
The same, that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say,
SGrieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!'
The meek intelligence of those dear eyes
(Bless'd by the art that can immortalize,
The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claine
To quench it) here shines on me still the same.
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,
O welcome guest, though unexpected here!
Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song,
Affectionate, a mother lost so long,
I will obey, not willingly alone,
But gladly as the precept were her own:
And, while that face renews my filial grief,
Fancy shall weave a charm for my relief,
Shall steep me in Elysian reverie,
A momentary dream that thou art she.
My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead
Say. wast thou conscious of the tears I shed1
Ilover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son,
Wretch even then, life's journey just begilI




ï~~890        ON THE RECEIPT OF
Perhaps thou gayest me, though unfelt, a kiMs:
Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in blissAh that maternal smile! It answers-Yes.
I heard the bell tol'd, on thy burial day,
I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away,
And, turning from my nursery window, drew
A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! I
But was it such?-It was.-Where thou art gone
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore,
The parting word shall pass my lips no more I
Thy maidens, grieved themselves at my concern,
Oft gave me promise of thy quick return.
What ardently I wish'd I long believed,
And, disappointed still, was still deceived.
By expectation every day beguiled,
Dupe of to-morrow even from a child.
Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went,
Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent,
I learn'd at last submission to my lot;
But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot.
Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more,
Children not thine have trod my nursery floor;
And where the gardener Robin, day by day,
Drew me to school along the public way,
Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd
In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap,
'Tis now become a history little known,
That once we call'd the pastoral house our own.
Short-lived possession 1, but the record fair,
That memory keeps of all thy kindness there,
Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced
A thousand other themes less deeply traced.
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,
That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid;
Thy morning bounties ere I left my home,
The biscuit, or confectionary plum;
The fragrant waters on my cheek bestow'd
By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd;
All this, and more endearing still than all,
Thy constant flow of love, hat knew no fall,




ï~~.   '
s.,;    ',.r        '




ï~~


ï~~MY MOTHERS PICTURE.                39
Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and breaks,
That humour interposed too often makes;
All this still legible in memory's page,
And still to be so to my latest age,
Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay
Such honours to thee as my numbers may;
Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere,
Not scorn'd in heaven, though little noticed&here.
Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hourms,
When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers,
The violet, the pink, and jessamine,
I prick'd them into paper with a pin
(And thou wast happier than myself the while
Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head and smile).
Could those few pleasant days again appear,
Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here f
I would not trust my heart--the dear delight
Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.But no--what here we call our life is such
So little to be loved, and thou so much,
That I should ill requite thee to constrain
Thy unbound spirit into bonds again.
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast
(The storms all weather'd and the ocean cross'd)
Shoots into port at some well haven'd isle,
Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile,
There sits quiescent on the flood, that shew
Her beauteous form reflected clear below,
While airs impregnated with incense play
Around her, fanning light her streamers gay;
So thou, with sails how swift! hast reach'd the shore,
' Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,'*
And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide
Of life long since has anchor'd by thy side.
But me, scarce hopling to attain the rest,
Always from port withheld, always distress'dMe howling blasts drive devious, tempest toss'd,
Sails ripp'd, seams opening wide, and compass last,
And day by day some current's thwarting force
Sets me more distant from a prosperous course.
* Garth.




ï~~392              FRIENIDSHIYet O the thought, that thou ait safe, and hae'
That thought is joy, arrive what may to me.
lily boast is not, that I deduce my birth
From loins enthroned, and rulers of the earth
But higher far my proud pretensions riseThe son of parents pass'd into the skies.
And now, farewell-Time unrevoked has rum
His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done.
By contemplation's help, not sought in vain,
I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again;
To have renew'd the joys that once were mine,
Without the sin of violating thine:
And, while the wings- of Fancy still are free
And I can view this mimic show of thee,
Time has but half succeeded in his theftThyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.
FRIENDSHI.
WHAT virtue, or what mental grace
But men unqualified and base
Will boast it their possession
Profusion apes the nobler part
Of liberality of heart,
And dulness of discretion.
If every polish'd gem we find,
Illuminating heart or mind,
Provoke te imitation;
No wonder frienrdshjp does the saze,
That jewel of the purest flame,
Or rather constellation.
No knave but boldly will pretend
The requisites that form a friend,
A real and a sound one;
Nor aay fool, he would deceive, '
But prove as ready to believe,
And drzean that he had found am.




ï~~FRIENDSHIP.                 893
Candid, and generous, and just,
Boys care but little whom they trust,
An error soon correctedFor who but learns in riper years,
That man, when smoothest he appea's,
is most to be suspected
But here again a danger lies,
Lest, having misapplied our eyes,
And taken trash fur treasure,
We should unwarily conclude
Friendship a false ideal good,
A mere Utopian pleasure.
An acquisition rather rare
Is yet no subject of despair;
Nor is it wise complaining,
If either on forbidden ground,
Or where it was not to be found,
We sought without attaining.
No friendship will abide the test,
That stands on sordid interest,
Or mean self-love erected;
Nor such as may awhile subsist,
Between the sot and sensualist,
For vicious ends connected.
Who seek a frieni should come dispoaeG
To exhibit in fuli bloom disclosed,
The graces and the beauties,
That form the:haracter he seeks,
For 'tis a union, that bespeaks
Reciprocated duties.
Mutual attention is implied
And equal truth on either side,
And constantly supported;
'ris senseless arrogance t' accuse
Anotlher of sinister views,
Our own as much distorted
RS




ï~~FRIENDSHIP.
But will sincerity suffice?
It is indeed above all price,
And must be minade the basis:
But every virtue of the soul
Must constitute the charming whob1
All shining in their places.
A fretful temper will divide
The closest knot that may be tied,
By ceaseless, sharp corrosion;
A temper passiopate and fierce
May suddenly your joys disperse
At one immense explosion.
Tn vain the talkative unite
in hopes of permanent delightThe secret just committed,
Forgetting its important weight,
They drop through mere desire to prate,
And by themselves outwitted.
How bright soe'er the prospect seems,
Ali thoughts of friendship are but dreams,
If envy chance to creep in,
An envious man, if you succeed,
May prove a dangerous foe indeed,
But not a friend worth keeping.
As eivy pines at god possess'd,
So jealousy looks forth distress'd
On good, that seems approaching;
And, if success his steps attend,
Discerns a rival in a friend,
And hates him for encroaching.
Hence authors of illustxious name,
Unless belied by common fame,
Are sadly prone to quarrel,
To deem the %it a frie.d displays
A tax upon their own;list prai.se
And pluck each other's laael.




ï~~FRIENDlHIP.                 go
A man renown'd for repartee
Will seldom scruple to make free
With friendship's finest feeling,
Will thui, a dger at your breast,
And say he wer" vded you in jest.
By way of balm for healing.
Whoever keeps an open ear
For tattlers, will be sure to hear
The trumpet of contention:
Aspersion is the babbler's tral.
To listen is to lend him aid,
And rush into dissension.
A friendship, that in frequent fits
Of controversial rage emits
The sparks of disputation,
Like Hand-in-band insurance plates,
Most unavoidably creates
The thought of conflagration.
Some fickle creatures boast a soul
True as a needle to the pole,
Their humour yet so variousThey manifest their whole life through
The needle's deviations too,
Their love is so precarious.
The great and small but rarely meet
On terms of amity complete;
Plebeians must surrender
And yield so much to noble folk,
It is combining fire with smoke,
Obscurity with splendour.
Some are so placid and serene
(As Irish bogs are always green)
They sleep secure trom waking
And are mndeed a beg, that bears
lour unpartncips-ea cares
Unmoved sud without quaking




ï~~Boo              PRIIENDSITIp,
Courtier and patriot cannot x.tz
Their heterogeneous polit-s
Without an effervescence,
Like that of salts with lemon-juice,
Which does not yet like thlc produce
A friendly coalescence.
Religion should extinguish strife,
And make a calm of,human life;
But friends that chance to differ
On points which God has left at large,
How freely will they meet and charge I
No combatants are stiffer.
To prove at last my main intent
Needs no expense of argument,
No cutting and contrivingSeeking a real friend we seem
To adopt the chymist's golden dream,
With still less hope of thriving.
Sometimes the fault is all our own,
Some blemish in due time made known
By trespass or omission;
Sometimes occasion brings to light
Our friend's defect, long hid from sight,
And even from suspicion.
Then judge yourself, and prove your maa
As circumspectly as you can,
And, having made election,
Beware no negligence of yours,
Such as a friend but ill endures,
Irfeeble his affection.
'Tbqt secrets are a sacred trust,
That trieds should be sincere and juit
That constancy befits them,
Are opservstions on the case,
That savour much of common-place,
And all the world admits them.




ï~~FRIENDSHIP.
But 'tis not timber, lead, and stone,
An architect requires alone,
To finish a fine building--
The palace were but half complete,
If he could possibly forget
The carving and the gilding.
The man that hails you Tom or Jack,
And proves by thumps upon your back
How he esteems your merit,
Is such a friend, that one had need
Be very much his friend indeed,
To pardon or to bear it.
As similarity of mind,
Or something not to be defined,
First fixes our attention;
So manners decent and polite,
The sanie we practised at first sight,
Must save it from declension.
Some act upon this prudent plan,
'Say little, and hear all you can.'
Safe policy, but hatefulSo barren sands imbibe the shower,
But render neither fruit nor flower
Unpleasant and ungrateful.
The man I trust, if shy to me,
Shball find me as reserved as he;
No subterfuge or pleading
Shall win my confidence again;'
I will by no means entertain
A spy on my proceeding.
These samples-for alas! at last
These are but samples, and a tast
Of evils yet unmention'dMay prove the task a task indeed
In which 'tis much if we succeed
However well-intention'd.




ï~~SO       ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL.
Pursue the search, and you will find
Good sense and knowledge of mankind
To be at least expedient;
And, after summing all the rest,
Religion ruling in the breast
A prinicipal ingredient.
The noblest friendship ever shewn
The Saviour's history makes known,
Though some have turn'd and turn'd it:
And, whether being crazed or blind,
Or seeking with a bius'd mind,
Have not, it seems, discern'd it.
O, Friendship, ifmy soul forego
Thy dear delights while here below;
To mortify and grieve me,
May I myself at last appear
Unworthy, base, and insincere,
Or may my friend deceive me l
ON
A MISCHIEVOUS BULL.
WHICH TIlE OWNER OF HIM SOLD AT THE
AU THOR'S INSTANCE.
Go-thou art all unfit tq share
The pleasures of this place
With such as its old tenants are,
Creatures of gentler race.
The squirrel here his hoard provides,
Aware of wintry storms,
And woodpeckers explore the sides
Cf rugged oaks for worms.
The sheep here smodthes the knotted thie,
With, frictions of her fleece;
And here I wander eve and morn,
Like her a friend to peace.




ï~~ANNUS MEMORABILIS.              39
Alth I- -I could pity thee exiled
From this secure retreatI would not lose it to be styled
The happiest of the great.
But thou canst taste no calm delight;
Thy pleasure is to shew
Thy magnanimnity in fight,
Thy prowess--therefore goI care not whether east or north,
So I no more may find thee;
The angry Muse thus sings thee forth,
And claps the gate behind thee.
ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789.
AVRITTEN IN COMMEMORATION OF HIS MAJESTY'S
HAPPY RECOVERY.
I RANSACK'V, for a theme of song,
Much ancient chronicle, and long;
I read of bright embattled fields,
Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields,
Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast
Prowess to dissipate a host:
Through tomes of fable and of dream
I sought an eligible theme,
But none I found, or found them shared
Already by some happier bard.
To modern times, with Truth to guide
My busy search, I next applied;
Here cities won, and fleets dispersed,
Urged loud a claim to be rehearsed,
Deeds of unperishing renown,
Our fathers' triumphs and our own.
Thus, as the bee. from bank to bower,
Assiduous sips at every flower,
But rests on none, till that be found,
Where most nectareous sweets abound
So I from theme to theme display'd




ï~~400        ANNUS MEMORABILIS.
In many a page historic stray'd,
Siege after siege, fight after fight,
Contemplating with small delight
(For feats of sanguinary hue
Not always glitter in my view);
Till setthling on the current year
I found the far-sought treasure near.
A theme for poetry divine,
A theme to ennoble even mine,
In memorable eighty-nine.
The spring of eighty-nine shall be
An era cherish'd long by me,
Which joyful I will oft record,
And thankful at my frugal board;
For then the clouds of eighty-eight,
That threaten'd England's trembling state
With loss of what she least could spare,
Her sovereign's tutelary care,
One breath of Heaven, that cried-Restoret
Chased, never to assemble more:
And far the richest crown on earth,
If valued by its wearer's worth,
The symbol of a righteous reign,
Sat fast on George's brows again.
Then peace and joy again possess'd
Our Queen's long-agitated breast;
Such joy and peace as can be known
By sufferers like herself alone,
Who losing, or supposing lost,
The good on earth they valurd most,
For that dear sorrow's sake forego
All hope of happiness below,
Then suddenly regain the prize,
And flash thanks'ivings to the skies!
O, Queen of Albion, queen of isles!
Since all thy tears were changed to smiles,
The eyes, that never saw thee, shine
With joy not unallied to thine,
Transports not chargeable with art
Ilhune the land's remotest part,
And strangers to the air of courts,
Both in their toils and at their sports,




ï~~H Y MN.
The happiness of answer'd prayers,
That gilds thy features, shew in theirs.
If they, who on thy state attend,
Awe-struck, before thy presence ben&
'Tis but the natural effect
Of grandeur that ensures respect;
But she is something more than queen
Who is beloved where never seen.
HYMN,
FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL
AT OLNEY.
HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and prayer,
In heaven thy dwelling-place,
From infants made the public care,
And taught to seek thy face.
Thanks for thy word, and for thy day,
And grant us, we implore,
Never to waste in sinful play
Thy holy sabbaths more.
Thanks that we hear,--but O impart
To each desires sincere,
That we may listen with our heart,
And learn as well as hear I
For if vain thoughts the minds engage
Of older far than we,
What hope, that, at our heedless age,
Our minds should e'er be free
Much hope, if thou our spirits take
Under thy gracious sway,
Who canst the wisest wiser make,
And babes as wise as they.
Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows,
A sun that ne'er declines,
And be thy mercies shower'd on those,
Who placed us where it shines.




ï~~402
STANZAS
SUBJOINED TO THE 1EARLY BILl OF MORTALITY
OF THE PARISH OF ALL-SAINTS, NORTHAMPTON;*
FOR THE YEAR 1787.
Pallida Mors wequo pulsat pede pauperm tabernas,
Regumque turres.-.Hor.
Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door
Of royal hails, and hovels of the poor.
WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run
The Nei,'s barge-laden wave,
All these, life's rambling journey done,
Have found their home, the grave.
Was man (frail always) made more frail
Than in foregoing years?
Did famine or did plague prevail,
That so manch death appears?
No: these were vigorous as their sires,
Nor plague not famine came;
This annual tribute Death requires,
And never waives his claim.
Like crowded foreht-trees we stand,
And some are mark'd to fall;
The axe will smite at God's command,
And soon shall smite us all.
Green as the bay-tree, ever green,
With its new foliage on,
The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen,
I pass'd-and they were gone.
Read, ye that run, the awful truth,
With which I charge my page;
A worm is in the bud of youth,
And at the root of age.
* Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northam"pto

I




ï~~BILL OP MORTALITY.               408
No present health can health ensure
a'or yet an hour to come;
No med'cine, though it oft can cure,
Can always balk the tomb.
And 0! that humble as my lot,
And scorn'd as is my strain,
These truths, though known, too much forgot
I may not teach in vain.
So prays your clerk, with all his heart,
And ere he quits the pen,
Begs you for once to take his part,
And answer all-Amen! I
ON A SIMILAR OCCASION,
FOR THE YEAR 1788.
Quod adest, memento
Componere equus. Caetera iuminis
Ritu feruntur.-Hor.
Improve the present hour, or all beside
Is a mere feather on a torrent's tide.
COULD I, from heaven inspired, as sure presage
To whom the rising year shall prove his last,
As I can number in my punctual page,
And item down the victims of the past;
How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet,
On which the press might stamp him next to die;
And, reading here his sentence, how replete
With anxious meaning, heavenward turn his eye!
Time then would seem more precious than the joys
In which he sports away the treasure now;
And prayer more seasonable than the noise
Of drunkards, or the music-drawing bow.
Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink
Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore,
Forced to a pause, would feel it good to think,
Told that his setting su= must rise no more.




ï~~404          BILL OF MO tTULITY.
Ah, self-deceived! Could 1 prophetic say
Who next is fated, and who next to fall,
The rest might then seem privileged to play;
But naming none, the voice now speaks to ALL.
Observe the dappled foresters, how light
They bound and airy o'er the sunny glade- -
One falls--the rest, wide-scatter'd with affright,
Vanish at once into the darkest shade.
Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn'd,
Still need repeated warnings, and at last,
A thousand awful admonitions scorn'd,
Die self-accused of life run all to waste 4
Sad waste! for which no after-thrift atones.
The grave admits no cure for guilt or sin;
Dew-drops may deck the turf, that hides the bones,
But tears of godly grief ne're flow within.
Learn then, ye living I by the mouths be taught
Of all these sepulchres, instructors true,
That, soon or late, death also is your lot,
And the next opening grave may yawn for you.
ON A SIMILAR OCCASION,
FOR rnE YEAR 1789.
-Placidaque ibi demum morte qulevit. -Virg.
There calm at length he breathed his soul away.
0 MOST delightful hour by man
Experienced here below,
The hour that terminates his span,
His folly, and his woe!
SWorlds should not bribe me back to tread
Again life's dreary waste,
To see again my day o'erspread
With all the gloomy past.

{




ï~~BILL OF MORTALITY.
' My home henceforth is in the skies--
Earth, seas, and sun adieu!
All heaven unfolded to my eyes,
I have no sight for you.'
bo spake Aspasio, firm possess'd
Of faith's supporting rod,
Then breath'd his soul into its rest
The bosom of his God.
He was a man among the few
Sincere on virtue's side;
And all his strength from Scripture drew,
To hourly use applied.
That rule he prized, by that he fear'd,
He hattol, hoped, and loved;
Nor ever frown'd, or sad appear'd,
But when his heart had roved.
For he was frail, as thou or I,
And evil felt within:
But, when he felt it, heaved a sigh
And loath'd the thought of sin.
Such lived Aspasio; and at last
Call'd up from earth to heaven,
That gulf of death triumphant pass'd,
By gales of blessing driven.
His joys be mine, each reader cries
When my last hour arrives;
They shall be ycurs, my Verse replies,
Such only be your lives.
ON A SIMILAR OCCASION,
FOR THE YEAR 1700.
Ne commonentem recta sperne. -Buckssam,
Despise not my good counselt.
H who sits from day to day,
Where the prison'd lark is hung,
Heedless of his loudest lay,
Hardly knows what he has sung.




ï~~M           BILL OF MORTALITY.
Where the watchman in his round
Nightly lifts his voice on high,
None, accusturn'd to the sound,
Wakes the sooner for his cry.
So your verse-man I, and clerk,
Yearly in my song proclaim
Death at hand-yourselves his markAnd the foe's unerring aim.
Duly at my time I come,
Publishing to all aloudSoon the grave must be your home,
And your only suit, a shroud.
But the monitory strain,
Oft repeated in your ears,
Seems to sound too much in vain,
Wins no notice, wakes no fears.
Can a truth, by all confess'd
Of such magnitude and weight,
Grow, by being oft impress'd,
Trivial as a parrot's prateI
Pleasure's call attention wins,
Hear it often as we may;
New as ever seem our sins,
Though committed every day.
Death and Judgment, Heaven and Hell..
These alone, so often heard,
No more move us than the bell,
When some stranger is interr'd.
O then, ere the turf or tomb
Cover us from every eye,
Spirit of instruction come,
Make us learn that we must die.




ï~~BILL OF MORTALITY.

407

ON A SIMILAR OCCASION,
FOR THE YEAR 1792.
Felix, ql potuit rerum cognoscere causas,
Atqe netus omues et inexorabile fatum
Subjecit pesibus, strepitumque Acheroutis avaril!-Virg.
Happy the mortal, who has traced effects
to their first cause, cast fear beneath his feet,
And Death, and roaring Hell's voracious fires!
THANKLESS for favours from on high,
Man thinks he fades too soon,
Though 'tis his privilege to die,
Would he improve the boon.
But he, not wise enough to scan
His bless'd concerns aright,
Would gladly stretch life's little span
To ages if he might.
To ages in a world of pain,
To ages, where he goes,
Gall'd by affliction's heavy chain,
And hopeless of repose.
Strange fondness of the human heart,
Enamour'd of its harm I
Strange world! that costs it so much smart
And still has power to charm.
Whence has the world her magic power?
Why deem we death a foe?
Recoil from weary life's best hour,
And covet longer woe?
The cause is Conscience-Conscience oft
Her tale of guilt renews:
Her voice is terrible though soft,
And dread of death ensues.
Then, anxious to be longer spared,
Man mourns his fleeting breath:
And evils then seem light, compared
With the approach of Death.




ï~~408         BILL OF MO
'Tis judgment shakes hi
That prompts the wish
He has ihcurr'd a long a
And must despair to p'
Pay '-follow Christ, and
His death your peace
Think on the grave wher
And calm descends to

RTALITY.
m; there's the fear
to stay:
rrear,
ay.
all is paid;
ensures;
re he was laid,
yours.

ON A SIMILAR OCCASION,
FOR THE YEAR 1793.
De sacris autemn haec sit una sententia, ut conservenr.
Cic. de LeS
But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that things
sacred be inviolate.
HaI lives, who lives to God alone,
And all are dead beside;
For other scurce than God is none
Whence life can be supplied.
To live to God is to requite
His love as best we may;
To make his precepts our delight,
Ihis promises our stay.
But life, within a narrow ring
Of giddy joys comprised,
Is falsely named, and no such thing,
But rather death disguised.
Can ife in them deserve the name,
Who only live to prove
For what poor toys they can disclaim
An endless life above?
Who, much diseased, yet nothing feel;
Much menaced, nothing dread;
Have wouands which only God can hk
Yet never ask his aid?




ï~~r

BILL OF MORTALITY.             409
Who deem his house a useless place,
Faith, want of common sense;
And ardour in the Christian race,
A hypocrite's pretence?
Who trample order; and the day,
Which God asserts his own,
Dishonour with unhallow'd play,
And worship chance alone?
If scorn of God's commands, impress d
On word and deed, imply
The better part of man unbless'd
With life that cannot die;
Such want it, and that want, uncured
Till man resigns his breath,
Speaks him a criminal assured
Of everlasting death.
Sad period to a pleasant course!
Yet so will God repay
Sabbaths profaned without remorse,
And mercy cast away
INSCRIPTION
FOR
THE TOMB OF MR. HAMILTON,
PAUSE here, and think: a monitory rhyme
Demands one moment of thy fleeting time.
Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein;
Seems it to say-' Health here has long to reignt
Hast thou the vigour of thy youth?-an eye
That beams delight; a heart untaught to sigh!
Yet fear. Youth, oft-times healthful and at ease,
Anticipates a day it never sees;
And many a tomb, like Hamilton's, aloud
Exclaims, ' Prepare thee for an early shroud.'
S




ï~~410
EPITAPH ON A HARE.
HEsL lies, whom hound did ne'er puree
Nor swifter greyhound follow,
Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,
SNor ear heard huntsman's halloo.
Old Tiney. surliest of his kind,
Who, nursed with tender care,
And to domestic bounds confined,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.
Though dtly from my hand he took
His pittance every night,
He did it with a jealous look,
And, when he could, wouldbite.
His diet was of wheaten bread,
And milk, and oats, and straw;
Thistles, or lettuces instead,
With sand to scour his maw.
On twigs of hawthorn he regaled;
On pippins' russet peel,
And, when his juicy salads fail'd,
Sliced carrot pleased him well
A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he loved to bound,
To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his rump around.
His frisking was at evening hours,
For then he lost his fear,
But most before approaching showers,
Or when a storm drew near.
Eight years and five round rolling moons
He thus saw steal away,
Dozing out all his idle noons,
bad every night at play.
I kept him for his humour's sake,
For hlie would oft beguile
My heart of thoughts that made it ache,
And force me to a smile.




ï~~EPITAPH ON A HARE.

411

But now beneath his walnut shade
He finds his long last home,
And waits, in snug concealment laid,
Till gentler Puss shall come.
He, still more aged, feels the shocks
From which no care can save,
And, partner once of Tiney's box,
Must soon partake his grave.
EPITAPHIUM ALTERUM.
Hic etiam jacet,
Qui totum novennium vixit,
Puss.
Siste paulisper,
Qui prateriturus es,
Et tecum sic reputa:Hunc neque canis venaticus,
Nec plumbum missile,
Nec laqueus,
Nec imbres nimii,
Confectre:
Tamen mortnus estEt moriar ego.
The following account of the treatment of his Hares
was inserted by Mr. Cowper in the Gentleman'.
Magazine, whence it is transcribed:
IN the year 1774, being much indisposed both in mind
and body, incapable of diverting myself either with
company or books, and yet in a condition that made
some diversion necessary, I was glad of any thing
that would engage my attention, without fatiguing it.
The children of a neighbour of mine had a leveret
given them for a plaything; it was at that time
about three months old. Understanding better how
to tease the poor creature than to feed it, and soon
becoming weary of their charge, they readily couseuted that their father, who saw it pining and grow.




ï~~412
Ing leaner every day, should offer it to my accept
auce. I was willing enough to take the prisoner
under my protection, perceiving that, in the manage
ment of such an animal, and in the attempt to tame
it, I should find just that sort of employment which
my case required.  t was soon known among the
neighbours that I was pleased with the present; and
the consequence was, that in a short time I had
as many leverets offered to me as would have stocked
a paddock. I undertook the care of three, which it
is necessary that I should here distinguish by the
names I gave them-Piss, Tiney, and Bess. Not.
withstanding the two feminine appellatives, I must
inform you that they were all males. Immediately
commencing carpenter, I built them houses to sleep
in; each had a separate apartment, so contrived that
their ordure would pass through the bottom of it; an
earthen pan placed under each received whatsoever
fell, which being duly emptied and washed, they
were thus kept perfectly sweet and clean. In the
day time they had the range of a hall, and at night
retired each to his own bed, never intruding into
that of another.
Puss grew presently familiar, would leap into my
lap, raise himself upon his hinder feet, and bite the
hair from my temples. He would sutffer me to take
him up, and carry him about in my arms, and has
more than once fallen fast asleep upon my knee. He
was ill three days, during which time I nursed him,
and kept him apart from his fellows, that they might
not molest him (for, like many other wild animals,
they persecute one of their own species that is sick),
and by constant care, and trying him with a variety
of herbs, restored him to perfect health. No creature could be more grateful than my patient after his
recovery; a sentiment which he most significantly
expressed by licking my hand, first the back of it,
then the palm, then every finger separately, then be.
tween all the fingers, as if anxious to leave.no part
of it unsaiuted; a ceremony which he never per
formed but once again upon a similar occasion.
Finding him extremely tractable, I made it my cus.




ï~~413
tom to carry him always after breakfast into the
garden, where he hid himself generally under the
leaves of a cucumber vine, sleeping or chewing the
cud till evening: in the leaves also of that vine he
found a favourite repast. I had not long habituated
him to this taste of liberty, before he began to be
impatient for the return of the time when he might
enjoy it. He would invite me to the garden by
drumming upon my knee, and by a look of such ex
pression, as it was not possible to misinterpret. If
this rhetoric did not immediately succeed, he would
take the skirt of my coat between his teeth, and pull
at it with all his force. Thus Puss might be said to
be perfectly tamed, the shyness of his nature was
done away, and on the whole it was visible by many
symptoms, which I have not room to enumerate, that
he was happier in human society, than when shut
up with his natural companions.
Not so Tiney: upon him the kindest treatment had
not the least effect. He too was sick, and in his sickness had an equal share of my attention; but if, after
his recovery, I took the liberty to stroke him, he
would grunt, strike with his fore-feet, spring forward, and bite. le was, however, very entertaining
in his way; even his surliness was matter of mirth;
and in his play he preserved such an air of gravity,
and performed his feats with such a solemnity of
manner, that in him too I bad an agreeable companion.
Bess, who died soon after ne was full grown, and
whose death was occasioned byhis being turned into
his box, which had been washed, while it was yet
damp, was a hare of great humour and drollery.
Puss was tamed by gentle usage; Tiney was not to
be tamed at all; and Bess had a courage and confidence that made him tame from the beginning. I
always admitted them into the parlour after supper,
when, the carpet affording their feet a firm hold,
they would frisk, and bound, and play a thousand
gambols, in which Bess, being remarkably strong
and fearless, was always superior to the rest, and
proved himself the Vestris of the party. One even-.




ï~~414i
ing the cat, being in the room, had the hardiness to
pat Bess upon the cheek, an indignity which he
resented by drumming upon her back with such
violence, that the cat was happy to escape from under
his paws, and hide herself.
I describe these animals as having each a character
of his own. Such they were in fact, and their countenances were so expressive of that character, that,
when I looked only on the face of either, I immediately knew which it was. It is said, that a shep.
herd, however numerous his flock, soon becomes so
familiar with their features, that he can, by that
indid'ation only, distinguish each from all the rest;
and yet to a common observer, the difference is
hardly perceptible. I doubt not that the same discrimination in the cast of countenances would be
discoverable in hares, and am persuaded that among
a thousand of them, no two could be found exactly
similar: a circumstance little suspected by those
who have not had an opportunity to observe it.
These creatures have a singular sagacity in discovering the minutest alteration that is made in the
place to which they are accustomed, and instantly
apply their nose to the examination of a new object.
A small hole being burnt in the carpet, it was
mended with a patch, and that patch in a moment
underwent the strictest scrutiny. They seem too to
be very much directed by the smell in the choice of
their favourites: to some persons, though they saw
them daily, they could never be reconciled, and
would even scream when they attempted to touch
them; but a miller coming in engaged their affections at once; his powdered coat had charms that
were irresistible. It is no wonder that my intimate
acquaintance with these specimens of the kind has
taught me to hold the sportsman's amusement in abhorrence; he little knows what amiable creatures he
persecutes, of what gratitude they are capable, how
cheerful they are in their spirits, what enjoyment
they have of life, and that, impressed as they seem
with a peculiar dread of man, it is only because man
gives them peculiar cause for it:




ï~~415
That I may not be tedious, I will just give a short
summary of those articles of diet that suit them
best.
I take it to be a general opinion that they graze,
but it is an erroneous one, at least grass, is not their
staple; they seem rather to use it medicinally, soon
quitting it for leaves of almost any kind.    Sowthistle, dandelion, and lettuce, are their favourite
vegetables, especially the last:  I discovered by
accident, that fine white sand is in great estimation
with them; I suppose as a digestive. It happened
that I was cleaning a bird-cage while the hares were
with me: I placed a pot filled with such sand upon
the floor, which being at once directed to by a strong
instinct, they devoured voraciously; since that time
I have generally taken care to. see them well
supplied with it. They account green corn a delicacy, both blade and stork, but the ear they seldom
eat: straw of any kind, especially wheat-straw, is
another of their dainties; they will feed greedily
upon oats, but if furnished with clean straw never
want them; it serves them also for a bed, and, if
shaken up daily, will keep sweet and dry for a considerable time. They do not indeed require aromatic herbs, but will eat a small quantity of them
with great relish, a-d are particularly fond of the
plant called musk; they seem to resemble sheep in
this, that, if their pasture be too succulent, they are
very subject to the rot; to prevent which, I always
made bread their principal nourishment, and, filling
a pan with it cut into small squares, placed it every
evening in their chambers, for they feed only at
evening and in the night: during the winter, when
vegetables were not to be got, I mingled this mess
of bread with shreds of carrot, adding to it the rind
of apples cut extremely thin; for, though they are
fond of the paring, the apple itself disgusts them.
These however not being a sufficient substitute for
the juice of summer herbs, they must at this time be
supplied with water; but so placeld, that they cannot
overset it in their beds. I must not omit, that occasionally they are much pleased with twigs of haw



ï~~416
thorn, and of the common brier, eating even the
very wood when it is of considerable thickness.
Bess, I have said, died young; Tiney lived to be
nine years old, and died at last, I have reason to
think, of some hurt in his loins by a fall; Puss is
still living, and has just completed his tenth year,
discovering no signs of decay, nor even of age,
except that he is grown more discreet, and less
frolicsome than he was. I cannot conclude without
observing, that I have lately introduced a dog to his
acquaintance, a spaniel that had never seen a hare,
to a hare that had never seen a spaniel. I did it
with great caution, but there was no real need of it.
Puss discovered no token of fear, nor Marquis the
least symptom of hostility. There is, therefore, it
should seem, no.natural antipathy between dog and
hare, but the pursuit of the one occasions the flight of
the other, and the dog pursues because he is trained
to it: they eat bread at the same time out of the
same hand, and are in all respects sociable and
friendly.
I should not do complete justice to my subject, did
I not add, that they have no ill scent belonging to
them; that they are inrdefatigably nice in keep.
ing themselves clean, for which purpose nature has
furnished them with a brush under each foot; and
that they are never infested by any vermin
May 28, 1784.
Memorandum found among Mr. Cowper's papers.
Tuesday, March 9, 1786.
This day died poor Puss, aged eleven years, eleven
months. He died between twelve and one at noon,
of mere old age, and apparently without pain.




ï~~


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ï~~rilE

COMPLETE
POETICAL WORKS
-OF
WILLIAM COWPER., EsQ.,
INCLUDING THE HYMNS AND TRA~NSLATIONS FROM
MADAME GUI0K, MILTON ETC.,
Â~1N M
ADAM; A SACRED DRAMA;
F'ROM THE ITALIAN OF 01,0. RATTISTA ANDRE1NL3
WITH A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR,
EY THE
REV. H. STEBBING, A. M.
IN TWO VOLUXES,
VOL. 11.
NEW-YORK~
D. APPLETON & COM~PANY,
SU & 948 BROADWAY.
M.MCC LTAY.




ï~~


ï~~PART II.
CONTAINING
HYMNS:
TRANSLATIONS FROM MADAME GUION
TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON.:
MINOR POEMS:
AND
ADAM; A SACRED DRAMA:
1O THX ITALIAN OF 010O. BATTISTA ANDREI.




ï~~


ï~~CONTENTS OF PART SECOND.
CONTAINING HYMNS: TRANSLATIONS IfRON MEADAME OUIOXI
TRANSLATIONS FROM MILTON: AND MINOR POEMS.
HYMNS..
Page
I. Walking with God    1il
II. Jehovah-Jireh. The Lord wilprovide     2
III. Jeisovah-Rophi. I am the Lord that healeth ihee, lb.
IV. Jehovah-Nissi. The Lord my Banner.  3
V. Jehovah-Shalom. The Lord send Peace.  4
VI. Wisdom................
VI I. Vanity of the WoilId.............
VIII. 0 Lord, I will praise thee.........7
IX. The contrite Heart                    i b.
X. The future Peace and Glory of the Church.
XI. Jehovah oar Righteousness               9
XII. Fp hraim repenting...........10
XIII. The Covenant.............b.
XIV. Jehovah-Shammah.             11
XV. Praise for the Fountain opened.      12
XVI. The Sower............13
XVII. The House of Prayer............b.
XV III. Lovest thou mel...     14
XIX. Contentment...............I
XX. Old Testament Gospel...........I
XXI. Sardis...............17
XXII. Prayer for aBlessing............1
XXIII. Pleading for and with Youth          19
XX I V9 Prayer for Children............b.
XXV. Jehovah Jesus............0
XXVI. On opening a Place for social Prayer   2I
XXVII. Welcome to the Table............4
XXV III. Jesus hasting ts Suffer               l b.
XXIX. Exhortation to Prayer.                23
XXX. The Light and Glory of the Word         14 2
XXXI. On the Dest hof a Minister              us 2
XXXII. The shining Light..... lb.
XXX II I. Seeking the beloved............6
JXXXIV. Light shining out of Darkness...27
XX XV. Welcome Cross..............b.
XXXVI. Afflictions sanctified by the Word..25
XXX VII. Temptation..............9
XXXVIII. Lookin g upwards in a Storm.30
XXXIX. The Vatlley of the Shadow of Death     lb.
XL. Peace after a Storm.      -          31
XLI. Mouruing and Longiug........32
XLII. Self-acquaintance............3
XLIII. Prayer for Patience.....  4
X LIV. Submission...........                 lb.
XLV. The happy Change                       " 3
XLVI. Retiremen................
* r

1'




ï~~IT                   CONTENTS.
pape
XLVII. The hidden Life.....
XLVIII. Joy and Peace in believing.......36
XLIX. True Pleasures..0
L. The Christian                             b
LI. Liveiry Hope and Gracious Fear           4
Lll.For he Por.41
LiII. My SouI thirsteth for God..42
LIV. Love constraining In Obedience           1bi.
LV. The Heart healed and changed hy Mercy     43
LVI. Haired of Sin.............44
LV II. The new Convert.............b.
ULI True and false Comforts..........45
LIX. A living and a dead Faith..........46
LX. Abase of the Gospel...........47
LX I. The narrow Way..............b
LXII. Dependence..............48
LXIII. Not of Works......     49
LXIV. Praise for Faith.....lb.
LXV. Grace and Providence                    "50
LXV I: I will praise the Lord atualltimes       ib.
LXVII. The waiting soul.............h
Fragment of a Hymn...............lb.
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH OF MADANKE U1:
LA MOTHE GU'ION.
The Nativity.
God neither known nor loved hy the World.
fhe Swallow
The Triumph of Heavenly Love desired                5
A Figurative Description of the Procedure of Divine Lv  ih,
4 Child of God longing to see himt heloved          i
Aspirations of the Soul after God.,
Gratitude and Love to God.                        6
Happy Solitude-Unhappy Men           " *.6
Living Water.                                     h
Truth and Divine Love rejected hy the World        66
Divine Justice amiahle                             ib
The Soul that loves God finds hdm every whlere      6
The Testimony of Divine Adoption                    8
Divine Love endures no rival...........             70
Self-Diffidence....                71.
The Acquiescenee of Pure Love..              72
Repose io God...............73
Glory to God alone....           ih.
Self-Love and Truth incompatihle..75
The Love of God, the End of Life..........76
Love faithful In the Absence of the eovedl. b
Love pore and fervent...............77
The entire Surrender..............lb.
The perfect Sacrifice.................y
God bides his People..   lh.
The Secrets of Divine Love are to be kept  -..79
The Vicissitudes experienced in the Christian Life  6 3
Watching onto God In the Night Seanen               9 7
On the same...............,  8
On the same...........!! 3
Joy illsdm...............'

_________________________________________________________________________.5




ï~~CONThtI1S.
The-Necessity of Self -Abasement....,.
Love increased by Suffering..                        u
Scenes'favoarable to Meditation;                          St. o   if
lfRANSLATIONS O~F THE L.ATIN AN) ITAUAN PO'EMS
OF MULMN
Ehegy 1.    Charles Eleudal.....50
NlegyI.I. On theDeath of theilnivesity'Beadle at'Cunmbeldge lo.
Rico'? Ill. On the Death of the Bishop of Winchester    t02
Elegy IV. To his Tutor Tlsomas Voueg                   1:"06
Elevy V. On the Approachi of Spring.,           061
Elegy V.1. To Charles -Deodati  =r
Elegy V II.                                              1:1...
Epigrams., On 'the 4 nventor of GntsstTo Leosora singiug at Rome,      1 tia
To the noise
The Cottager anid his'Landod A Fable'
To Christina, Qoeens of Swedens, with tromwell's it tsee  1101
On the Death of the Vice-Chancellor, a fPlydiciaols       h
-On the Death of the Bishop of Ely...
Nature.unimpaired by Time
On the Platonic Idea as it was understood by Aristotle,.
To his Father..     -   12
To Salviillus, a Roman Poet, much indisposedl
TO Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa             C
On the Dr-atb of Dlamon...
An_ Ode, addressed to M'vr. John- Rouse, IHtrariaju of the
Vniversity of Oxforidi4
Sonnet-'. Fair Lady! whose harmonious name      Y      14
Sonnet-' As on a Isill-top rude, whten cioning days     b
Canxose--A Thev mosk ity toil-the nymphs anod'         1
Sonnet--To Chsirles De(dati.b
Sonnet-'  Ladv! it cannot he hut that ltie eves'       4"
Sonnet-' Enamour'd, artless, young, on foreign groutX     h
Simile in Porudine Lust...
Translation of Drydens's Epigram n Milton              i
TRANSLATIONS FROM VINCENT BOURNF.
The Thracian......
Reciprocal Kindness the Primary Lass eof Nature           b
A Manttls ntore'attert than the Art of Prinuing-.;
Au Roiguta-'  A net-die, stnall as,tnail s-all hie'     t(0
Sparrowes seif-doutestieated4 in Trolty ((tilege, Canmbridge'. -103
Familiarity dol ugerotta.......".     154
tuitation to the Redbreast                   -         -Is
Slradl's Nightittoale.......0
Id. ott tilt- heatis of a Lady, whio lined lt t-am  *  i
Till- Cattue won..    -          157?
Till Silkworm......        150
She Illulf~en t Tiiief.................5
hbesuer's (101 W                                         111lb

_.........-.:.,"..-.....-.  +   ^  -...s.po.Gr:.:i:ss:etG=+.*.: rf- e,. - -   --Eaya:.ru=-wA..- a:f  -        - -                                 -     -




ï~~dI                 CONTENTSThe Tears of aPanter...............
26. NSorrow peculiar to the Sufferer.       ih.1b
TeSnapil...   r.   r.1w
The Cantab"  0  IF.                     t.
O the Picture of a Sleeping Child...     1lb0
MINOR POE3SSS
Verses written at Bath, on fidn the Heel of.a Shoe  90f4
An Ode, on reading kichaedsoh'n History of Sir Charles
Grandisen.................10
An Epistle to Rohert Llov4, Enq........... 156
The Fifth Satire of the First Book of Horace.. 169
The Ninth Satire of the Firnt Book of Horace... 174
A Taie, founded en a Fact, which happened Is Jan. 1779. 17S
To the Rev. Mr. Newton, on his Return from Ramsgate. M5
Love Abused.. ih.
A Poetical Epistle to Lady Austn..     181
The Coluhetad.................184
On Friendship.................1&
On She Loss of the Royil George.19a1
In Submersionems Navigii5 cut Georgian Regale Nomem
inditum.................191
Song. On Peace................. 192
Song. 'When all within is peace'........193
Verses selected from an Occasional Poem entitled Valediction 194
In Brevitatem Vite Spatil Hominibus Coicensi...I9S
(On the Shortness of Human Life....     196.
Epitaph on Dr. Johnson.....b.
Fo Miss C--, on her Birthday....     197
Gratitude.....            ib.
Lineo composed for a Memorial of Ashley Cowper, Esq. 199
On the Queeh's Visit to London.....b.
The Cockfighter's Garland...     202
To Warren fHastings, Esq......     204
Vers-es to the Memory of Dr. Lloyd....W1,
Thte Sante in English.....  06
fo Mrs. Thrx'kmorton                          i b.
To thse Itnmortal Memory of the Halibut, on which I dined 247
Inscription for a Stone....      206
Another......      209
To Mrs. King.......ib.
Translation ot an Epigram of Homer..210
In Memory of the late John Thornton, Esq...  211
Thte Four Ag es....     212
The Retired Cat.....      214
The Judgment ofthe Pase. 217
Yardley Oak.  919
To the Nightingale......     222
Lines written In an Album of Miss More's.   223
Sonnet to William Wilberforce, Esq... 224
Epigram-' To purify their wine some people blend'.lk.
To Dr. Austin, cf Cecil Street, London        1 b.
Catharina: on her Marriagea to George _Courtenay, En+. 225
Epitaph on Fop, a dog belonging to Lady Throcktmorton. 2
Sonnet to George Romney, Esq.                 22
Mary and John.................
Ertaph n Mr. Chaster, of Chkcinsy...   4=




ï~~Pagp
To my Cousin, Ann Bodhain              22
Inscription for a Hlermitage in the Author's Gardeo.  I
To Mrs. Unwin                          2
ToJohn Johnson, n his presenting rae with an Antique Bust
of Homer................. lb.
To a Young Friend...............230
A  ae"On a Spaniel, called Beau, killing a young- Bird.-..233
Beau's Reply..................b.
To William Hayley, Eoq.   Heo3th
Answer to Stanzas addressed to Lady Hektby' Miss
Catharine Fanshawe..............33
On Flaxman's Penelope..............ib.
Tfo the Spanish Admiral Count Gravina  i b.
To Mary..................236
Montes Glaciates, In Oceano Germanlen Natanten  23
On the lee Islands, seen floating in thu German Ocean. 3
The Cantaway....................0
The Salad, by Virgil..............242
To SirJoshua Reynolds...............46
On the Author oflLetters n Literature. 248
Stanzas on th latelIndecent Liberties taken with the Remains
of Milton. Aniso 1790..............b.
Tothe Rev. Willians Bol...............249
Monumental Inscription to William Northcot.251
Translation..................252
Epitaph on Mrs. M. Higgins, of Weston  1 b.
A Riddle....................b.
Answer. From the Gentlensan's Magezne, vol. Ixxi. p. 12u 253
"Cowper had sinn'd with some excuse'.........
In sesditionem horrendam, corruptelis Gallicis, ut fertur,
Londini auper exortam.............b.
Translation                            ZS
TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSES.
From the Greek of Julianus............254
On the same, by l1'alaadas..............b.
An Epitaph....25
Another......b.
Another....................b.
Another...................256
By Callimachus.................b.
On Miltiades..................b.
On an Iiant.................b
By Herarlides................257
On the Read............. lb.
To Health..................lb.
On Invalids...................258
On the Astrologers..................b.
On an Old Woman...................lb
On Flatterers.................259
On a tribe Friend -.....b.
To the Swallow..................b.
OIn lste scquired Wealth.............260
On a Bath, by Pinto...............b.
On a Fowler, by Isiodorus..............b.
On Niobe...................b.
Ona goodr Mao...................1
On a iser....................b.
Another....................b.
Another...................263
On Femaks Inconstancy...............b.
Oa lbs Grasshopper                     ib.




ï~~$11            CON'rENTS.
Page
On'teomocratta..,    268
'From Menander,                 lb.
On Pallas bathing, from a Hymn of Callimachus.  26A
To Deniontheneo.'0.           266
On aosimilar Chorocter. ib.W
Ott an ugly Fellow                               We.j~
Ott wbattered Beaoty. 268
On a Thiel                                      lb.
On Pedigree                                     ib.
On Easvy...                26?
By 'Moachits.. in.
B, Phtilemon..      268
EPIGRAMS TRANSLATED" FROM THE;LATIN OF OWEN.
On one iguorant and arrogant....      268
]Prudent Simiplicity,....lr
To, a Friend in, Diotress.....269
Retaiation.......b.
' When little more than boy in age'              l b..
Sunset and Sunrios......lb.
TRANSLATIONS FROM- THE FABLES OF. GAY.
Lepun nmnltis Amicno......268
Avarno et Plains.....      271
Papilin et Liot1ax.                  "...... 272.
T1ruoislationo from Virgil, Xneid, Book: VIII. Line 108   273     F
Ovid Trisl. Lib.~ V. Eleg. X II....      283
Hor. LW. I:Ode 4X........a
Hor. Lib. I Ode XXXVIII......   th
lHnr. Lib. i.Ode XXXVIII.                       28011
Hor. Lib. IL. Odc X I..
On-the Bonefit eccctved by His Majesty from Sea Baihing; in
the Year 1769                              267
Addressed in Its'  on readine, the Prayer for Indiffereoce 2g8 o
From a Letter to the Rev. Mir. Newton..    '.291
The "Flatting M.......    292
Eitaph on a Frie hot Tanme Redbreast.293;
Sontnet addreoocd to William Hlayley, Esq....2914
An, Epitaphlb
On receiviog Hley c's Pictore....      295.
On a Plait of Virgin's Bower....b.
On receiving Hteyne'n Vir~il....   98
On the Death of Sir William Russell....b.
Epigram on bin "mintake to translating Homer,.  lb.
Anti-Tbielyphtlidra; a Tale ini Verse...      297
The Distressed Travellers; or, Labour in Vain.  0 i;
Of A-imself! to Mins Iheoidora Jaiie Cowper.  3113
Written after easin& tier at New Baron        3 04
COMPLIMENTARY POEMS TO--MILTON,
Tra~nslated from the Latin and Italian.
oheNeapoli tan, John Bapttst Mans, Marquin of Villa, to
theEnglishman, John Mito      JunoMilon
ani Ftriuscan, by~ John Sans lit, of Rome  lb..
j       o Jobit Miltisnh by.elvagi i....      lib.
An Ode a iirensFed to-.the iltiitrtiug Eagiltmdts, Mr. John
1liltoli. bii '.isiie Aitnie Frairini, Gent, of Florenice lb.
4  11;  a  en >ci e iii Drm  ratisldtei  from  the "lalian  of
GtbE. 12ctte; urcint....




ï~~H Y MNS.
I. WALKING WITH GOD.-Gen. v. S
OHn I for a closer walk with God,
A calm and heavenly frame;
A light to shine upon the road
That leads me to the Lamb I
Where is the blessedness I knew
When first I saw the Lord '?
Where is the soul-refrdshing view
Of Jesus and his word?
What peaceful hours I once enjoy'd I
How sweet their memory still!
But they have left an aching void,
The world can never fill.
Return, 0 holy Dove, return!
Sweet messenger of rest:
I hate the sins that made thee mourn,
And drove thee from my breast.
The dearest idol I have known,
Whate'er that idol be,
Help me to tear it from thy throne,
And worship only thee.
So shall my walk be close with God,
Calm anid sereti, ftrame;
Ito purer light shall Aa- th oa
That leads me tof th- Lrtab,.
4t9




ï~~HYMNS

II. JEIIOVAH-JIREH. THE LORD WILL
PROVIDE.-Gen. xxii. 14.
THE saints should never be dismay'd,
Nor sink in hopeless fear;
For when they least expect his aid,
The Saviour will appear.
This Abraham found: he raised the knife;
God saw, and said, ' Forbear!
Yon ram shall yield his meaner life;
Behold the victim there.'
Once David seem'd Saul's certain prey"
But hark! the foe's at hand;*
Saul turns his arms another way,
STo save the invaded land.
When Jonah sunk beneath the wave,
He thought to rise no more;
But God prepared a fish to save,
And bear him to the shore.
Blest proofs of power and grace divius,
That meet us in his word!
May every deep-felt care of mine
Be trusted with the Lord.
Wait for his seasonable aid,
And though it tarry, wait:
The promise may be long delay'd,
But cannot come too late.
III. JEHOVAH.ROPHI. I AM THE LORD
THAT HLEALETH THEE.-Exod. xv. 26.
HEAL us, Emmanuel, here we are,
Waiting to feel thy touch:
Deep-wounded souls to thee repair,
And, Saviour, we are such.
t 1 Sam. xxIi. I         t Jonah i. I
420




ï~~HYMNS.
Our faith is feeble, we confess
We faintly trust thy word;
But wilt thou pity us the less f
Be that far from thee, Lord!
Remember him who once apply'd
With trembling, for relief;
Lord, I believe,' with tears he cried,'
' Oh, help my unbeliefl'
She too, who touch'd thee in the press,
And healing Virtue stole,
Was answer'd, ' Daughter, go in peace,t
Thy faith hath made thee whole.'
Conceal'd amid the gathering throng,
She would have shunn'd thy view;
And if her faith was firm and strong,
Had strong misgivings too.
Like her, with hopes and fears we come,
To touch thee, if we may;
Oh I wnd us not despairing home,
Send none unheal'd away.
IT. JEHOVAH-NISSI. THE LORD MY BANNER.
Exod. xvii. 15.
BY whom was David taught
To aim the deadly blow,
When he Goliah fought,
And laid the Gittite low
Nor sword nor spear the stripling took,
But chose a pebble from the brook.
'Twas Israel's God and king
Who sent him to the fight;
Who gave him strength to sling,
And skill to aim aright.
Ye feeble saints, your strength endures,
Because young David's God is yours.
Sark iTr. 24             t Mark v. 34.
41




ï~~4                 HYMNS.
Who order'd Gideon forth,
To storm the invaders' camp,
With arms of little worth,
A pitcher and a lamp?*
The trumpets made his coming known,
And all the host was overthrown.
Oh! I have seen the day,
When with a single word,
God helping me to say,
My trust is in the Lord,
My soul hath quell'd a thousand foes,
Fearless of all that could oppose.
But unbelief, self-will,
Self-righteousness, and pride.
How often do they steal
My weapon from my side
Yet David's Lord, and Gideon's friend,
Will help his servant to the end.
V. JEHOVAH-SHALOM. THE LORD SEND
PEACE.-Judges vi. 24.
JEsus, whose blood so freely stream'd
To satisfy the law's demand;
By thee from guilt and wrath redeem'd,
Before the Father's face I stand.
To reconcile offending man,
Make Justice drop her angry rod:
What creature could have form'd the plan,
Or who fulfil it but a God?
No drop remains of all the curse,
For wretches who deserved the whole;
No arrows dipt in wrath to pierce
The guilty, but returning soul.
* Judgs vii. 9, and 20o.




ï~~HYMNS.
Peace by such means so dearly bought,
What rebel could have hoped to see?
Peace, by his injured Sovereign wrought,
His Sovereign fasten'd to a tree.
Now, Lord, thy feeble worm prepare!
For strife with earth and hell begins;
Confirm and gird me for the war,
They hate the soul that hates his sins.
Let them in horrid league agree!
They may assault, they may distress;
But cannot quench thy love to me,
Nor rob me of the Lord my peace.
VI. WISDOM.-Prov. viii. 22--31.
ERE God had built the mountains,
Or raised the fruitful hills;
Before he fill'd the fountains
That feed the running rills
In me, from everlasting,
The wonderful I am,
Found pleasures never wasting,
And Wisdom is my name.
When like a tent to dwell in,
He spread the skies abroad,
And swathed about the swelling
Of Ocean's mighty flood;
He wrought by weight and measure,
And I was with him then:
Myself the Father's pleasure,
And mine the sons of men.
Thus wisdom's words discover
Thy glory and thy grace
Thou everlasting lover
Of our unworthy race!
Thy gracious eye survey'd us
Ere stars were seen above;
In wisdom thou hast made us,
&ud died for us in love.




ï~~8                   IiYMNS.
And could'st thou be delighted
With creatures such as wp,
Who, when we saw thee, slighted,.
And nail'd thee to a tree?
Unfathomable wonder,
And mystery divine!
The voice that speaks in thunder,
Saeys, ' Sinner, I am thine l'
VII. VANITY OF THE WORLD.
Gon gives his mercies to be spent;
Your hoard will do your soul no gooa;
Gold is a blessing only lent,
Repaid by giving others food
The world's esteem is but a bribe,
To buy their peace you sell your own;
The slave of a vain-glorious tribe,
Who hate you while they make you knowl
The joy that vain amusements give.
Oh! sad conclusion that it brings.
The honey of a crowded hive,
Defended by a thousand stings.
'Tis thus the world rewards the fools
That live upon her treacherous smiles a
She leads them blindfold by her rules,
And ruins all whom she beguiles.
God knows the thousands who go down
From pleasure into endless woe;
And with a long despairing groan
Blaspheme their Maker as they go.
O fearful thought! be timely wise;
Delight but in a Saviour's charms,
And God shall take you to the skies,
Embraced in everlasting arms.
424




ï~~HYMNS.

VUIII. 0 LORD, I WILL PRAISE THER~
Isaiah xii. 1.
I wiLa praise tiee every day
Now thine anger's turn'd away i
Comfortable thoughts arise
From the bleeding sacrifce.
Here, in the fair gospel-field,
Wells of free salvation yield
Streams of life, a plenteous store,
And my soul shall thirst no more.
Jesus is become at length
My salvation and my strength
And his praises shall prolong,
While I live, my pleasant song.
Praise ye, then, his glorious name,
Publish his exalted fame!
Still his worth your praise exceeds,
Excellent are all his deeds. -
Raise again the joyful sound,
Let the nations roll it round!
Zion, shout, for this is he,
God the Saviour dwells in thee
IX. THE CONTRITE HEART.-Isaiah 1V1. ISI
Tis Lord will happiness divine
On contrite hearts bestow;
Then tell me, gracious God, is mine
A contrite heart or no t
I hear, but seem to hear in yam.
Insensible as steel;
It ought is felt, 'tis only pain,
To find I cannot feel.
2E




ï~~S                   RYMNS.
I sometimes think myself inclined
To love thee, if I could;
But often feel another mind,
Averse to all that's good.
My best desires are faint and few,
I fain would strive for more;
But when I cry, ' My strength renews
Seem weaker than before.
Thy saints are comforted, I know,
And love thy house of prayer;
I therefore go where others go,
But find no comfort there.
O make this neart rejoice or ache;
Decide this doubt for me;
And if it be not broken, break,
And heal it if it be.
X. THE FUTURE PEACE AND GLORY OP
THE CHURCH.-Isaiah ix. 15-20.
HEAR what God the Lord hath spoken,
9 O my people, faint and few,
Comfortless, afflicted, broken,
Fair abodes I build for you;
Thorns of heart-felt tribulation
Shall no more perplex your ways:
You shall name your walls, Salvation,
And your gates shall all be praise.
' There, like streams that feed the gardea,
Pleasures without end shall flow;
For the Lord, your faith rewarding,
All his bounty shall bestow;
Still in undisturb'd possession
Peace and righteousness shall reign;
Never shall you feel oppression,
Hear the voice of war again.
4m




ï~~H Y i N S.               g
* Ye no more your suns descending,
Waning moons no more shall see;
]ut, your griefs for ever ending,
Find eternal noon in me:
God shall rise, and shining o'er you,
Change to day the gloom of night;
He, the Lord, shall be your glory,
God your everlasting light.'
Xl. JEHOVAH OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS
Jer. xxiii. 6.
My God, how perfect are thy ways!
But mine polluted are;
Sin twines itself about my praise
And slides into my prayer.
When I would speak what thou hast done
To save me from my sin,
I cannot make thy mercies known,
But self-applause creeps in.
Divine desire, that holy flame
Thy grace creates in me;
Alas! impatience is its name,
When it returns to thee.
This heart, a fountain of vile thoughts,
How does it overflow!
While self upon the surface floats,
Still bubbling from below.
Let others in the gaudy dress
Of fancied merit shine,
The Lord shall be my righteousnem,
The Lord for ever mine.

BU




ï~~10

HYMNS.

XII. EPHRAIM REPENTING.--Jer, xxxi. 18-U,
Mr God, till I received thy stroke,
How like a beast was I!
So unaccustom'd to the yoke,
So backward to comply.
With grief my just reproach I bear,
Shame fills me at the thought;
How frequent my rebellions were!
What wickedness I wrought!
Thy merciful restraint I scorn'd,
And left the pleasant road;
Yet turn me, and I shall be turn'd,
Thou art the Lord my God.
" Is Ephraim banish'd from my thoughts,
Or vile in my esteem?
No,' saith the Lord, ' with all his faults,
I still remember him.
SIs he a dear and pleasant child?
Yes, dear and pleasant still;
Though sin his foolish heart beguiled,
And he withstood my will.
My sharp rebuke has laid him low,
He seeks my face again;
My pity kindles at his woe,
He shall not seek in vain.
III. THE COVENANT.-EFek. xxxvi..-6
Ths Lord proelaims his grace abroad I
Behold, I change your hearts of stone;
Each shall renounce his idol-god,
And serve, henceforth, the Lord alone,




ï~~iHYMNS.
My grace, a flowing stream, proceeds
To wash your filthiness away;
Ye shall abhor your former deeds,
And learn my statutes to obey.
My truth the great design ensures,
I give myself away to you;
You shall be mine, I will be yours,
Your God unalterably true.
Yet not unsought, or unimplored,
The plenteous grace shall I confer;*
No-your whole hearts shall seek the Lord,
I'll put a praying spirit there.
From the first breath of life divine,
Down to the last expiring hour,
The gracious work shall all be mine,
Begun and ended in my power.

it

XIV. JEHOVAH-SHAMMAH.--Eze            xlviii. 5
As birds their infant brood protect,t
And spread their wings to shelter them,
Thus saith the Lord to his elect,
SSo will I guard Jerusalem.'
And what then is Jerusalem,
This darling object of his care
Where is its worth in God's esteem?
Who built it? who inhabits there?
Jehovah founded it in blood,
The blood of his incarnate Son;There dwell the saints, once foes to God,
The sinners whom he calls his Own.
There, though besieged on every side,
Yet much beloved and guarded well,
From age to 5ge they have defied
The utmost force of earth and hell.

* Verse 37.

t Isaiah xxxt..




ï~~12                 HYMNS
Let earth repent, and hell despair,
This city has a sure defence;
Her name is call'd, The Lord is there,
And who has power to drive him thence
XV. PRAISE FOR THE FOUNTAIN OPENFD
Zec. xiii. 1.
THERE is a fountain Wfll'd with blood
Drawn from Emmanuel's veins;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.
The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there have I, as vile as he,
Wash'd all my sins away.
Dear dying Lamb, thy precious blood
Shall never lose its power,
Till all the ransom'd church of God
Be saved to sin no more.
E'er since, by faith, I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.
Then in a nobler, sweeter song.
I'll sing thy power to save;
When this poor lisping stammering tongu
Lies silent in the grave.
Lord, I believe thou hast prepared
(Unworthy though I be)
For me a blood-bought free reward,
A golden harp for me I
'Tis strung, and tuned, for endless yearsM
And form'd by power divine,
To sound in God the Father's ears
No other name but thine.
430




ï~~HYMNS.

13

XVI. THE SOWER.-Matt. xiii. S.
Y  sons of earth, prepare the plough,
Break up your fallow ground;
The sower is gone forth to sow,
And scatter blessings round,
The seed that finds a stony soil,
Shoots forth a hasty blade:
But ill repays the sower's toil,
Soon wither'd, scorch'd, and dead.
The thorny ground is sure to baulk
All hopes of harvest there;
We find a tall and sickly stalk,
But not the fruitful ear.
The beaten path and highway side
Receive the trust in vain;
The watchful birds the spoil divide,
And pick up all the grain.
But where the Lord of grace and power
Has bless'd the happy Afield,
How plenteous is the golden store
The deep-wrought furrows yieldi
Father of mercies, we have need
Of thy preparing grace;
Let the same hand that gives the seed
Provide a fruitful place.
XVII. THE HOUSE OF PRAYER.-Mark xl. 17
THY mansion is the Christian's heart,
O Lord, thy dwelling-place securel
Bid the unruly throng depart,
And leave the consecrated door.
Devoted as it is to thee,
A thievish swarm frequents the place;
They steal away my joys from me,
And rob my Saviour of his praise.
481




ï~~14                  HYMNS.
There, too, a sharp designing trade
Sinf Satan, and the world maintala
Nor cease to press me, and persuade
To part with ease, and purchase paia.
I know them, and I hate their din,
Am weary of the bustling crowd;
But while their voice is heard within,
I cannot serve thee as I would.
Oh! for the joy thy presence gives,
What peace shall reign when thou art heret
Thy presence makes this den of thieves
A calm delightful house of prayer.
And if thou make thy temple shine,
Yet, self-abased, will I adore;
The gold and silver are not mine,
I give thee what was thine before.
XVIII. LOVEST THOU ME?-John WL A
HARK, my soul! it is the Lord:
'Tis thy Saviour,hear his word;.
Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee:
SSay, poor sinner, loy'st thou me l
SI deliver'd thee when bound,
And when bleeding, heal'd thy wound:
Sought thee wandering, set thee right,.
Turn'd thy darkness into light.
' Can a woman's tender care
Cease towards the child she bare
Yes, she may forgetful be,
Yet will I remember thee.
6 Mine is an unchanging love,
Higher than the heights above;
Deeper than the depths beneath,
Free and faithfud, strong as death.

H.




ï~~HYMNS.                     18
' Thou shalt see my glory soon,
When the work of grace is done:
Partner of my throne shalt be:Say, poor sinner, lov'st thou me '
Lord, it is my chief complaint,
That my love is weak and faint;
Yet I love thee and adore:
Oh! for grace to love thee more!
XIX. CONTENTMENT.-Phil. iv. 11.
FiERCE passions discompose the mind,
As tempests vex the sea:
But calm content and peace we find,
When, Lord, we turn to thee.
In vain by reason and by rule
We try to bend the will;
For none but in the Saviour's school
Can learn the heavenly skill.
Since at his feet my soul has sat,
His gracious words to hear,
Contented with my present state,
I cast on him my care.
SArt thou a sinner, soul?' he said,
' Then how canst thou complain?
How light thy troubles here, if weigh'd
With everlasting pain!
SIf thou of murmuring wouldst be cured,
Compare thy griefs with mine;
Think what my love for thee endured,
And thou wilt not repine.
' Tis I appoint thy daily lot,
And I do all things well;
Thou soon shalt leave this wretched spot,
And rise with me to dwell.
433




ï~~16                  IYMNS.
In life my grace shall strength supply,
Proportion'd to thy day;
At death thou still shalt finudme nigh,
To wipe thy tears away.'
Thus I, who once my wretched days
In vain repinings spent
Taught in my Saviour's school of grace,
Have learnt to be content.
XX. OLD TESTAMENT GOSPEL.--Heb. iv..
ISRAEL, in ancient days,
Not only had a view
Of Sinai in a blaze,
But learn'd the Gospel too;
The types and figures were a glass,
In which they saw a Saviour's face.
The paschal sacrifice,
And blood-besprinkled door,'
Seen with enlighten'd eyes,
And once applied with power,
Would teach the need of other blood,
To reconcile an angry God.
The Lamb, the Dove, set forth
His perfect innocence,t
Whose blood of matchless worth
Should be the soul's defence;
For he who can for sin atone,
Must have no failings of his own.
The scape-goat on his headt
The people's trespass bore,
And to the desert led,
Was to be seen no more:
In him our Surety seem'd to say,
' Behold, I bear your sins away.'
* Exod. xfl. 13.  t Lev. xil. 6.  '* v. vl. s.
4a4




ï~~11HYMNS.                  IT
Dipt in his fellow's blood,
The living bi'd went free;*
The type, well understood,
Express'd the sinner's plea;
Described a guilty soul enlarged
And by a Saviour's death discharged.
Jesus, I love to trace,
Throughout the sacred page
The footsteps of thy grace,
The same in every age!
O grant that I may faithful be
To clearer light vouchsafed to me I
XXI. SARDIS.--Rev. iii. 1-4.
SWar'rs to Sardis,' saith the Lord.
And write what he declares,
He whose Spirit, and whose word,
Upholds the seven stars:
All thy works and ways I search,
Find thy zeal and love decay'd;
Thou art call'd a living church,
But thou art cold and dead.
Watch, remember, seek, and strive
Exert thy former pains;
Let thy timely care revive
And strengthen what remains:
Cleanse thine heart, thy works amend,
Former times to mind recall,
Lest my sudden stroke descend,
And smite thee once for all.
Yet I number now in thee
A few that are upright;
These my Father's face shall see,
And walk with me in white.
* Lev. xlv. s1-s3.




ï~~18                  HYMNS.
When in judgment I appear,
They for mine shall be confet;
Let my faithful servants hear
And woe be to the rest.
XXII. PRAYER POR A BLESSING.
Bazrow, dear Lord, upon our youth
The gift of saving grace;
And let the seed of sacred truth
Fall in a fruitful place.
Grace is a plant, where'er it grou
Of pure and heavenly root;
But fairest in the youngest shows,
And yields the sweetest fruit.
Ye careless ones, O hear betimes
The voice of sovereign love I
Your youth is stain'd with many crimes,
But mercy reigns above.
True, you are young, but there's a stone
Within the youngest breast;
Or half the crimes which you have done
Would rob you of your rest.
For you the public prayer is made,
Oh I Join the public prayer!
For you the secret tear is shed,
O 'shed yourselves a tear I
We pray that you may early prove
The Spirit's power to teach;
Yoa cannot be too young to love
That Jesus whom we preach
430




ï~~'HYMNS.

It

XXIII. PLEADING FOR AND WITH YOUTH.
SIN has undone our wretched race,
But Jesus has restored,
And brought the sinner face to face
With his forgiving Lord.
This we repeat, from year to year,
And press upon our youth;
Lord, give them an attentive ear,
Lord, save them by thy truth.
Blessings upon the rising race I
Make this a happy hour,
According to thy richest grace,
And thine almighty power.
We feel for your unhappy state,
(May you regard it too)
And would awhile ourselves forget
To pour out prayer for you.
We see, though you perceive it not,
Th' appioaching awful doom;
O tremble at the solemn thought
And flee the wrath to come
Dear Saviour, let this new-borna yew
Spread an alarm abroad;
And cry in every careless ear,
SPrepare to meet thy God!'
XXIV. PRAYER YOR CHILDREN
Gasctous Lord, our children see.
By thy mercy we are free;
But shall these, alas! remain
Subjects still of Satan's reign I
daN

r-.




ï~~HYMNS.
Israel's young ones, w!hen of old
Pharaoh threaten'd to withhold;'
Then thy messenger said, ' No;
Let the children also go.'
When the angel of the Lord
Drawing forth his dreadful sword,
Slew, with an avenging hand,
All the first-born of the land;t
Then thy people's doors he pass'd,
Where the bloody sign was placed;
Hear us, now, upon our knees,
Plead the blood of Christ for these I
Lord, we tremble, for we know
How the fierce malicious foe,
Wheeling round his watchful flight
Keeps them ever in his sight:
Spread thy pinions, King of kings!
Hide them safe beneath thy wings;
Lest the ravenous bird of prey
Stoop, and bear the brood away
XXV. JEHOVAH JESUS.
MY song shall bless the Lord of all,
My praise shall climb to his abode;
Thee, Saviour, by that name I eall,
The great, supreme, the mighty God.
Without beginning or decline,
Object of faith, and not of sense;
Eternal ages saw him shine,
He shines eternal ages hence.
As much, when in the manger laid,
Almighty ruler of the sky,
As when the six days' work he made
Fill'd all the morning stars with joy.
* Ezod. x.9.; Exod. xi.1.
436




ï~~HYMNS.
Of all the crowns Jehovah bears,
Salvation is his dearest claim;
That gracious sound well pleased he hears,
And owns Emmanuel for his name.
A cheerful confidence I feel,
My well-placed hopes with joy I see;
My bosom glows with heavenly zeal,
To worship him who died for me.
As man, he pities my complaint,
His power and truth are all divine;
He will not fail, he cannot faint,
Salvation's sure, and must be mine.
XXVI. ON OPENING A PLACE FOR            SOCIAL
PRAYER.
Esus I where'er thy people meet,
There they behold thy mercy-seat;
Where'er they seek thee, thou art found
And every place is hallow'd ground.
For thou, within no walls confined
Inhabitest the humble mind;
Such ever bring thee where they come,
And going, take thee to their home.
Dear Shepherd of thy chosen few I
Thy former mercies here renew;
Here to our waiting hearts proclaim
The sweetness of thy saving name.
Here may we prove the power of prayer
To strengthen faith, and sweeten care;
To teach our faint desires to rise,
And bring all heaven before our eyes.
Behold, at thy commanding word
We stretch the curtain and the cord;*
Come thou, and fill this wider space,
And bless us with a large increase.
* Isaiah liv. 2.
43




ï~~a                  HYMNS.
Lord, we are few, but thou art near;
Nor short thine arm, nor deaf thine ear;
Oh, rend the heavens, come quickly down#
And make a thousand hearts thine own.
XXVII. WELCOME TO THE TABLE.
THIs is the feast of heavenly wine
And God invites to sup;
The juices of the living vine
Were press'd to fill the cup.
Oh I bless the Saviour, ye that eat.
With royal dainties fed;
Not heaven affords a costlier treat
For Jesus is the bread.
The vile, the lost, he calls to them,
Ye trembling souls, appear I
The righteous in their own esteem
Have no acceptance here.
Approach, ye poor, nor dare refuse
The banquet spread for you;
Dear Saviour, this is welcome news,
Then I may venture too.
If guilt and sin afford a plea,
And may obtain a place,
Surely the Lord will welcome me,
And I shall see his face.
XXVIII. JESUS HASTING TO SUPYI.
Tar Saviour, what a noble flame
Was kindled in his breast,
When hasting o Jerusalem,
He march'defore the-rest
440




ï~~HYMNS.
good will to men, and zeal for God
His every thought engross;
lie longs to be baptized with bloode
He pants to reach the cross!
With all his sufferings full in view,
And woes to us unknown,
Forth to the task his spirit flew;
Twas love that urged him on.
Lord, we return thee what we can:
Our hearts shall sound abroad,
Salvation to the dying Man,
And to the rising God!
And while thy bleeding glories here
Engage our wondering eyes,
We learn our lighter cross to bear
And hasten to the skies.
XXIX. EXHORTATION TO PRAYER.
WHAT various hindrances we meet
In coming to a mercy-seat!
Yet who that knows the worth of prayer,
But wishes to be often there?
Prayer makes the darken'd cloud withdraw,
Prayer climbs the ladder Jacob saw,
Gives exercise to faith and love,
Brings every blessing from above.
Restraining prayer, we cease to fight;
Prayer makes the Christian's armotr bright
And Satan trembles when he sees
The weakest saint upon his knees
While Moses stood with arms spread wide,
Success was found on Israel's side;
But when through weariness they fail'd,
That moment Amalek prevail'd.t
* Lake it. 0so.       t Exodus av. I1.

a

2 F

443




ï~~U                   HYMNS.
Have you no words? Ha! think again,
Words flow apace when you complain,
And fill your fellow-creature's ear
With the sad tale of all your care.
Were half the breath thus vainly spent
To Heaven in supplication sent,
Your cheerful song would oftener ae,
SHear what the Lord has done for me.'
XXX. THE LIGHT AND GLORY OF TH
WORD.
THe Spirit breathes upon the Word,
And brings the truth to sight;
Precepts and promises afford
A sanctifying light.
A glory gilds the sacred page,
Majestic like the sun;
It gives a light to every age,
It gives, but borrows none.
The hand that gave it still supplies
The gracious light and heat:
His truths upon the nations rise,
They rise, but never set.
Let everlasting thanks be thine,
For such a bright display,
As makes a world of darkness shine
With beams of heavenly day.
My soul rejoices to pursue
The steps of him I love,
Till glory breaks upon my view
In brighter worlds above.

40




ï~~HYMNS.

2S

XXXI. ON THE DEATH OF A MINISTER.
HIs master taken from his head,
Elisha saw'him go;
And in desponding accents said,
Ah, what must Israel do '
But he forgot the Lord who lifts
The beggar to the throne;
Nor knew, that all Elijah's gifts
Will soon be made his own.
What! when a Paul has run his course
Or when Apollos dies,
Is Israel left without resource
And have we no supplies?
Yes, while the dear Redeemer lives
We have a boundless store,
And shall be fed with what he gives,
Who lives for evermore.
XXXII. THE SHINING LIGHT.
My former hopes are fled,
My terror now begins;
I feel, alas! that I am dead
In trespasses and sins.
Ah, whither shall I fly!
I hear the thunder roar;
The law proclaims destruction nigh,
And vengeance at the door.
When I review my ways,
I dread impending doom:
But sure a friendly whisper says,
'Flee from the wrath to come.'
C




ï~~3                   HYMNS.
I see, or think I see
A glimmering from afar;
A beam of day, that shines for nt
To save me from despair.
Forerunner of the sun,*
It marks the Pilgrim's way;
I'll gaze upon it while I run,
And watch the rising day.
XXXIII. SEEKING THE BELOVEID.
To'those who know the Lord, I speak,
Is my beloved near?
The bridegroom of my soul I seek,
Oh! when will he appear?
Though once a man of grief and shame,
Yet now he fills a throne,
And bears the greatest, sweetest name,
That earth or heaven have known.
Grace flies before, and love attends
His steps where'er he goes;
Though none can see him but his friends
And they were once his foes.
He speaks-obedient to his call
Our warm affections move:
Did he but shine alike on all,
Thenwall alike would love.
Then love in every heart would reign,
And war would cease to roar;
And cruel and blood-thirsty men
Would thirst for blood no more.
Such Jesus is, and such his grace,
Oh, may he shine on you!
And tell him, when you see his face,
I long to see him too.t
Psalm eCxxx..           t Cant. v. *
444




ï~~HYMNS.

27

AVZIV. LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS.
Gov moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.
Deep in unfathomable minds
Of never-failing skill,
Ie treasures up his bright designs,
And works his sovereign will.
Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread
Are big with mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense
But trust him for his grace:
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
His purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding every hour;
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flower.
Blind unbelief is sure to err,*
And scan his work in vain:
God is his own interpreter,
And he will make it plain.
XXXV. WELCOME CROSS.
Tos my happiness below
Not to live without the cross,
Wt the Saviour's power to know,
Sanctifying every loss:
0 aohn xli. 7.




ï~~i

SitY IMNS.
Trials must and will befall;
But with humble faith to see
Love inscribed upon them all,
This is happiness to me.
God in Israel sows the seeds
Of affliction, pain, and toil;
These spring up and choke the weeds
Which would else o'erspread tie soil:
Trials make the promise sweet,
Trials give new life to prayer;
Trials bring me to his feet,
Lay me low, and keep me there.
Did t meet no trials here,
No chastisement by the way:
Might I not, with reason, fear
I should prove a cast-away?
Bastards may escape the rod,'
Sunk in earthly vain delight;
But the true-born child of God
Must not, would not, if he might.
XXXVI. AFFLICTIONS SANCTIFIED BY THU
WORD.
0 now I love thy holy word,
Thy gracious covenant, O Lord!
It guides me in the peaceful way;
I think upon it al the day.
What are the mines of shining wealth,
The strength of youth, the bloom of health I
What are all joys compared with those
Thine everlasting word bestows I
Long unaffiicted, undismay'd,
In pleasure's path secure I stray'd;
Thou madest me feel thy-chastening rod,t
And straight I turn'd unto my God.
Ovlews Zil. 8.        t Psalm cxix. 71.
40




ï~~What though it pierced my tautng heart,
I bless'd thine hand that caused the smart;
It taught my tears awhile to flow,
But saved me from eternal woe.
Oh I hadst thou left me unchastised
Thy precept I had still despised;
And still the snare in secret laid
Had my unwary feet betray'd.
[ love thee, therefore, 0 my God,
And breathe towards thy dear abode;
Where, in thy presence fully blest,
Thy chosen saints for ever rest.
XXXVII. TEMPTATION.
THE billows swell, the winds are high,
Clouds overcast my wintry sky;
Out of the depths to thee I call,My fears are great, my strength is small.
O Lord, the pilot's part perform,
And guard and guide me through the storm,
Defend me from each threatening ill,
Control the waves,-say, ' Peace, be still.'
Amidst the roaring of the sea
My soul still hangs her hope on thee.;
Thy constant love, thy faithful care,
is all that saves me from despair.
Dangers of every shape and name
Attend the followers of the Lamb,
Who leave the world's deceitful shore,
And leave it to return no more.
Though tempest-toss'd and half a wreck,
My Saviour through the floods I seek;
Let neither winds nor stormy main
Force back my shatter'd bark again.
AV

iF




ï~~30

HYMNS

XXXVIII. LOOKING UPWARDS IN A STORM
GOD of my life, to thee I call,
Afflicted at thy feet I fall;
When the great water-floods prevail,*
Leave not my trembling heart to fail
Friend of the friendless and the faint!
Where should I lodge my deep complaint T
Where but with thee, whose open door
Invites the helpless and the poor!
Did ever mourner plead with thee,
And thou refuse that mourner's plea?
Does not the word still fix'd remain,
That none shall seek thy face in vain
That were a grief I could not bear,
Didst thou not hear and answer prayer;
But a prayer-hearing, answering (od
Supports me under every load.
Fair is the lot that's cast for me;
I have an Advocate with thee;
They whom the world caresses most
Have no such privilege to boast.
Poor though I am, despised, forgot,t
Yet God, my God, forgets me not:
And he is safe, and must succeed,
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plea&
XXXIX. THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OP
DEATH.
Mv soul is sad, and much dismay'd,
See, Lord, what legions of my foes,
With fierce Apollyon at their head,
My heavenly pilgrimage oppose!
* Paslm lax. IS., Psalm xh 17'

wm=




ï~~ITMNS.
See, from the ever-burning lake,
How like a smoky cloud they rise!
With horrid blasts my soul they shake,
With storms of blasphemies and lies.
Their fiery arrows reach the mark,*
My throbbing heart with anguish tear;
Each lights upon a kindred spark,
And finds abundant fuel there.
I hate the thought that wrongs the Lord,;
Oh! I would drive it from my breast,
With thy own sharp two-edged sword,
Far as the east is from the west.
Come, then, and chase the cruel host,
Heal the deep wounds I have received
Nor let the powers of darkness boast,
That I am foil'd, and thou art grieved!
XL. PEACE AFTER A STORM.
WHEN darkness long has veil'd my mind
And smiling day once more appears;
Then, my Redeemer, then I find,
The folly of my doubts and fears.
Straight I upbraid my wandering heart,
And blush that I should ever be
Thus prone to act se base a part,
Or harbour one hard thought of thee I
Oh I let me then at length be taught
What I am still so slow to learn;
That God is love, and changes not,
Nor knows the shadow of a turn.
Sweet truth, and easy to repeat!
But when my faith is sharply tried,
I find myself a learner yet,
Unskilful, weak, and apt to slide.
* Ephes. vi. 16.

S

40




ï~~s              HYMNS.
But, 0 my Lord, one look from thee
Subdues the disobedient will;
Drives doubt and discontent away,
And thy rebellious worm is still.
Thou art as ready to forgive
As I am ready to repine;
Thou, therefore, all the praise receive;
Be shame and self-abhorrence mine.
XLI. MOURNING AND LONGING.,
Tait Saviour hides his face
My spirit thirsts to prove
Renew'd supplies of pardoning grace,
And never-fading love.
The favoured souls who know
What glories shine in him,
Pant for his presence as the roe
Pants for the living stream!
What trifles tease me now I
They swarm like summer flies
They cleave to every thing I do,
And swim before my eyes.
How dull the Sabbath day,
Without the Sabbath's Lord!
How toilsome then to sing and pray,
And wait upon the word!
Of all the truths I hear,
How few delight my taste!
I glean a berry here and there,
But mourn the vintage past.
Yet let me (as I ought)
Still hope to be supplied;
No pleasure else is worth a thougl*,
Nor shall I be denied.




ï~~HlYAlN.                 83
Though I am but a worm
Unworthy of his care,
The Lord will my desire perform,
And grant me all my pra.yer.
XLII. SELF-ACQUAINTANCE.
DEau Lord! accept a sinful heart,
Which of itself complains,
And mourns, with much an frequent smart,
The evil it contains.
There fiery seeds of anger lurk,
Which often hurt my frame;
And wait but for the tempter's work,
To fan them to a flame.
Legality holds out a bribe
To purchase life from thee;
And discontent would fain prescribe
How thou shalt deal with me.
While unbelief withstands thy grace
And puts the mercy by;
Presumption, with a brow of brass,
Says, ' Give me, or I die.'
How eager are my thoughts to roam
In quest of what they love!
But ah! when duty calls them home,
How heavily they move!
Oh, cleanse me in a Saviour's blood,
Transform me by thy power,
And make me thy beloved abode,
And let me roam no more.
0S
451




ï~~34                  HYMNS.
XLIII. PRAYER FOR PATIENCE.
LORD, who hast suffer'd all for me,
My peace and pardon to procure,
The lighter cross I bear for thee,
Help me with patience to endure.
The storm of loud repining hush,
I would in humble silence mourn;
Why should th' imnburnt, though burning bush,
Be angry as the crackling thorn I
Man should not faint at thy rebuke,
Like Joshua falling on his face,*
When the cursed thing that Achan took
Brought Israel into just disgrace.
Perhaps some golden wedge suppress'd,
Some secret sin offends my God;
Perhaps that Babylonish vest,
Self-righteousness, provokes the rod.
Alh! were I buffeted all day,
Mock'd, crown'd wjth thorns, and spit upon;
I yet should have no right to say,
My great distress is mine alone.
Let me not angrily declare
No pain was ever sharp like mine,
Nor murmur at the cross Y bear,
But rather weep, remembering thine.
XLIV. SUBMISSION.
0 Lone, my best desire fufil,
And help me to resign
Life, health, and comfort to thy will,
And make thy pleasure mine.
* Joshua vii. o10, il.




ï~~HYMNS.NS.
Why should I shrink at thy command,
Whose love forbids my fears?
Or tremble at the gracious hand
That wipes away my tears?
No, rather let me freely yield
What most I prize to thee;
Who never hast a good withheld,
Or wilt withhold from me.
Thy favour, all my journey through,
Thou art engaged to grant;
What else I want, or think I do,
'Tis better still to want.
Wisdom and mercy guide my way,
Shall I resist them both?
A poor blind creature of a day,
Ana crush'd before the moth I
But ah I my inward spirit cries,
Still bind me to thy sway;
Else the next cloud that veils the skis,
Drives all these thoughts away.
XLV. THE HAPPY CHANGE.
How blest thy creature is, 0 God,
When, with a single eye,
He views the lustre of thy word
The dayspring from on high!
Through all the storms that veil the skies,
And frown on earthly things,
The Son of Righteousness he eyes,
With healing on his wings.
Struck by that light, the human hearts
A barren soil no more,
Sends the sweet smell of grace abroad
Where serpents lurk'd before.*
* Isaiah xxxv. 7.
453




ï~~S8                  HYMNS.
The soul a dreary province once
Of Satan's dark domain,
Feels a new empire form'd within,
And owns a heavenly reign.
The glorious orb, whose golden beame
The fruitful year control,
Since first obedient to thy word,
He started from the goal,
Has cheer'd the nations with the joys
His orient rays impart;
But, Jesus, 'tis thy light alone
Can shine upon the heart.
XLVI. RETIREMENT.
FAR from the world, O Lord, I flee
From strife and tumult far;
From scenes were Satan wages still
His most successful war.
The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree;
And seem, by thl sweet bounty made
For those who follow thee.
There if thy Spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,
Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God!
There like the nightingale she pours
Her solitary lays;
Nor asks a witness of her song,
Nor thirsts for human praise.
Author and guardian of my life,
Sweet source of light divine,
And (all harmonious names in one)
My Saviour, thou art mine!
454




ï~~HYMNS.                    $7
What thanks I owe thee, and what love,
A boundless, endless store,
Skall echo through the realms above
When time shall be no more.
XLVII. THE HIDDEN LIFE.
To tell the Saviour all my wants,
How pleasing is the task!
Nor less to praise him when he grants
Beyond what I can ask.
My labouring spirit vainly sdeks
To tell but half the joy;
With how much tenderness he speaks,
And helps me to reply.
Nor were it wise, nor should I choose,
Such secrets to declare;
Like precious wines their taste they lose,
Exposed to open air.
But this with boldness I proclaim,
Nor care if thousands hear,
Sweet is the ointment of his name,
Not life is half so dear.
And can you frown, my former friends,
Who knew what once I was;
And blame the song that thus commends
The man who bore the cross?
Trust me, I draw the likeness true,
And not as fancy paints;
Such honour may he give to you,
Por such have all his saints.
45'

^                           rr...r               '... w.riY.d  "  r r f.ir i.           ++ a.rr.irk




ï~~HYMNS.

XLVIII   JOY AND PEACE IN BELIEVING.
SZMETIMES a light surprises
The Christian while he sings;
It is the Lord who rises.
With healing on his wings:
When comforts are declining
He grants the sotd again
A season of clear shining,
To cheer it after rain.
In holy contemplation,
We sweetly then pursue
The theme of God's salvation,
And find it ever new;
Set free from present sorrow,
We cheerfully can say,
E'en let th' unknown to-morrow*
Bring with it what it may.
It can bring with it nothing,
But he will bear as through;
Who gives the lilies clothing,
Will clothe his people too;
Beneath the spreading heavens,
No creature but is fed;
And he who feeds the ravens,
Will give his children bread.
Though vine nor fig-tree neithert
Their wonted fruit shall bear,
Though all the field should wither,
Nor flocks for herds be there:
Yet God the same abiding,
His praise shall tune my voice;
For, wlhile in him confiding
I cannot but rejoice.
* Matthew vi. 34.  t Habakkuk ii. 174s IS.

450




ï~~T

'tYM"NS.

ILIX. TRUE PLEASURES.
LoaD, my soul with pleasure springs
When Jesus' name I hear;
And when God the Spirit brings
The word of promise nearBeauties too, in holiness,
Still delighted I perceive;
Nor have words that can express
The joys thy precepts give.
Cloth'd in sanctity and grace,
How sweet it is to see
Those who love thee as they pass,
Or when they wait on thee!
Pleasant too, to sit and tell
What we owe to love divine,
Till our bosoms grateful swell,
And eyes begin to shine.
Those the comforts I possess,
Which God shall still increase,
All his ways are pleasantness,*
And all his paths are peace.
Nothing Jesus did or spoke,
Henceforth let me ever slight;
For I love his easy yoke,t
And find his burden light.
L. THE CHRISTIAN.
HoNova and happiness unite
To make the Christian's name a praise;
How fair the scene, how clear the light,
That fills the remnant of his days!
A kingly character he bears,
No change his priestly office knows;
Unfading is the crown he wears,
His joys can never reach a close.
4 Prov. 11. 17.         t Matt. X1. 3o




ï~~i,

HYMNS.
Adorn'd with glory from on high,
Salvation shines upon his face;
His robe is bf th' ethereal dye,
His steps are dignity and grace.
Inferior honours he disdains,
Nor stoops to take applause from earth
The- King of kiLngs himself maintains
The expenses of his heavenly birth.
The noblest creature seen below,
Ordain'd to fill a throne above;
God gives him all he can bestow,
His kingdom of eternal love
My soul is ravish'd at the thought!
Methinks from earth I see him risel
Angels congratulate his lot,
And shout him welcome to the skies!
LI. LIVELY HOPE AND GRACIOUS FEAR.
I was a groveling creature once,
And basely cleaved to earth;
I wanted spirit to renounce
The clod that gave me birth.
But God has breath'd upon a worm,.
And sent me from above
Wings such as clothe an angel's form.
The wings of joy and love.
With these to Pisgah's top i fly,,
And there delighted stand,
To view beneath a shining sky
The spacious promised land.
The Lord of all the vast domain
Has promised it to me:
The length and breadth of all the plahAs far as faith can. see,




ï~~----                                                                                -

HY MNS.                   41
How glorious is my prvlegre 1
To thee for help I call;
I stand upon a mourtain's edgre,
Oh save me, lest I fall
Though much exalted in the Lord,
My strength is not my own,;
Then let me tremble at his word,
And none shall cast rue down.
LII. FOR THE POOR.
WHEN Hagar found the bottle spent
And wept o'er Ishmael,
A message from the Lord was sent
To guide her to a well.*
Should not Elijah's cake and cruset
Convince us at this day,
A gracious God will not refuse
Provisions by the way?
His saints and servants shall be fed,
The promise is secure;
Bread shall be given them.' as he said,
Their water shall be sure.'T
Repasts far richer they shall prove,
Than all earth's dainties are;
'Tis sweet to taste a Saviour's love,
Thuugh in the meanest fare.
To Jesus then your trouble bring,
Nor murmur at your lot;
While you are poor and he is King,
You shall not be forgot.
*  en. xxh 19.        t 1 Kings xzv. i.
I Isa. xxxiii. 16.
459




ï~~a

HYMNS.

LIII. MY SOUL THIRSTETH FOR GOD.
I THIRST, but not as once I did
The vain delights of earth to share;
Thy wounds, Emmanuel, all forbid
That I should seek my pleasures there.
It was the sight of thy dear cross
First wean'd my soul from earthly things;
And taught me to esteem as dross
The mirth of fools and pomp of kings.
I want that grace that springs from thee,
That quickens all things where it flows,
And makes a wretched thorn like me
Bloom as the myrtle, or the rose.
Dear fountain of delight unknown!
No longer sink below the brim;
But overflow, and pour me down
A living, and life-giving stream!
For sure, of all the plants that share
The notice of thy Father's eye,
None proves less grateful to his care
Or yields him meaner fruit than 1.
LIV. LOVE CONSTRAINING TO OBEDIENCE.
No strength of nature can suffice
To serve the Lord aright:
And what she has she misapplies,
For want of clearer light.
How long beneath the law I lay
In bondage and distress;
I toil'd the precept to obey,
But toil'd without success.
400




ï~~HYMNS.
Then, to abstain from outward sin
Was more than I could do;
Now, if I feel its power within,
I feel I hate it too.
Then all my servile works were done
A righteousness to raise;
Now, freely chosen in the Son,
I freely choose his ways.
' What shall I do,' was then the word,
' That I may worthier grow '
9 What shall I render to the Lord?'
Is my inquiry now.
To see the law by Christ fulfill'd,
And hear his pardoning voice,
Changes a slave into a child,*
And duty into choice.,4. THE HEART HEALED AND CHANGED
BY MERCY.
Six enslaved me many years,
And led me bound and blind;
Till at length a thousand fears
Came swarming o'er my mind.
SWhere,' said I, in deep distress,
4 Will these sinful pleasures end l
How shall I secure my peace,
And make the Lord my friend
Friends and ministers said much
The gospel to enforce;
But my blindness still was such,
I chose a legal course:
Much I fasted, watch'd, and strove,
Scarce would show my face abroad,
Fear'd almost to speak or move,
A stranger still to God.
* Romans iii. 31.
401




ï~~4                   lHYMNS.
Thus afraid to trust his grace,
Long time did I rebel;
Till despairing of my (ase,
Down at his feet 1 fell:
Then my stubborn heart he broke
Assd subdued me to his sway;
By a simple word he spoke,
' Thy sins are done away.'
LVI. HATRED OF SIN.
HOLY Lord God! I love thy truth,
Nor dare thy least commandment slight;
Yet pierced by sin, the serpent's tooth,
I mourn the anguish of the bite.
But though the poison lurks within,
Hope bids me still with patience wait;
Till death shall set me free from sin,
Free from the only thing I hate.
Had I a throne above the rest,
Where angels and archangels dwell,
One sin, unslain, within my breast,
Would make that heaven as dark as hell.
The prisoner sent to breathe fresh air,
And bless'd with liberty again,
Would mourn, were he condemn'd to wear
One link of all his former chain.
But, oh, no fee invades the bliss,
When glory crowns the Christian's head;
One view of Jesus as he is
Will strike all sin for ever dead.
LVII. THE NEW CONVERT.
TRE new-br6n child of gospel grace,
Like some fair tree when summer's nigh,
Beneath Emmanuel's shining face
lefts up his blooming branch on high.
402




ï~~H YMNS.
No fears he feels, no sees no foes)
No coullict yet his faith employs,
Nor has he learnt to whom he owes
The strength and peace his soul enjoys.
But sin soon darts its cruel sting,
And comforts sinking day by day:
What seem'd his own, a self-fed spring,
Proves but a brook that glides away.
When Gideon arm'd his numerous host,
The Lord soon made his numbers less,
And said, ' Lest israel vainly boast,*.' My arm procured me this success. '
Thus will he bring our spirits down
And draw our ebbing comforts low,
That saved by grace, but not our own,
We may not claim the praise we owe.
LVIII. TRUE AND FALSE COMFORTS
O GOD, whose favourable eye
The sin sick soul revives,
Holy and heavenly is the joy
Thy shining presence gives.
Not such as hypocrites suppose,
Who with a graceless heart
Taste not of thee, but drink a dose,
Prepared by Satan's art.
Intoxicating joys are theirs,
Who, while they boast their light,
And seem to soar above the stars,
Are plunging into night.
Lul'd in a soft and fatal sleep,
They sin and yet rejoice;
Were they indeed the Sa inur's sheep
Would tltey not hear his voice?
* Judges vii. 2.
40




ï~~48

fYM1 N
Be mine the comforts that recliis
The soul from Satan's power;
That make me blush for what I am.
And hate my sin the more.

'Tis joy enough, my All in All,
At thy dear feet to lie;
Thou wilt not let me lower fall,
And none can higher fly.
LIX. A LIVING AND A..DEAD FAITH.
Tas Lord receives his highest praise
Prom humble minds and hearts sincere;
While all the loud professor says
Offends the righteous Judge's ear..
To walk as children of the day,
To mark the precepts' holy light,
To wage the warfare, watch, and pray,
Show who are pleasing in his sight.
Not words alone it cost the Lord;
To purchase pardon for his own;.
Nor will a soul by grace restored
Return the Saviour words alone.
With golden bells, the priestly vest,
And rich pomegranates border'd round,The need of holiness express'd,
And call'd for fruit as well as sound.
Easy, indeed, it were to reach
A mansion in the courts above,
If swelling words and fluent speech
Might serve instead of faith and lo'ge
But none shall gain the blissful place,.
Or CGod's unclouded glory see,
Who talks of free and sovereign grace.
Unless that grace has made him free.
* Exod. xxviii. as.
X6




ï~~HYMNS.

a

LX. ABUSE OF THE GOSPEL.
Too many, Lord, abuse thy grace
In this licentious day;
And while they boast they see thy face,
They turn their own away.
Thy book displays a gracious light
That can the blind restore;
But these are dazzled by the sight,
And blinded still the more.
The pardon such presume upon,
They do not beg, but steal;
And when they plead it at thy throne,
Oh I where's the Spirit's seal?
Was it for this, ye lawless tribe,
The dear Redeemer bled?
Is this the grace the saints imbibe
From Christ the living head?
Ah, Lord, we know thy chosen few
Are fed with heavenly fare;
But these, the wretched husks they chew
Proclaim them what they are.
The liberty our hearts implore
Is not to live in sin;
But still to wait at wisdom's door,
Till mercy calls us in.
LXI. THE NARROW WAY.
WHAT thousands never knew the road I
What thousands hate it when 'tis known!
None but the chosen tribes of God
Will seek or choose it for their own.
A thousand ways in ruin end,
One only leads to joys on high;
By that my willing steps ascend,
Pleased with a journey to the sky.
465




ï~~d9

H Y MN11.
No more I ask or hope to find
Delight or happiness below;
Sorrow may well possess the mind
That feeds where thorns and thistles grom~
The joy that fades is not for me,
I seek immortal joys above
Thete glory without end shall be
The bright reward of faith and love,
Cleave to the world, ye sordid worms,
Contented lick your native dust;
But God shall fight, with all his storms,
Against the idol of ycur trust.
LXIL   DEPENDENCE.
To keep the lamp alive,.With oil we fill the bowl;
'Tis water makes the willow thrive,
And grace that feeds the soul
The Lord's unsparing hand
Supplies the livingf stream;
It is not at our own command,
But still derived from him.
Beware of Peter's word,*
Nor confidently sac,,
'1 never will deny thee, Lord,'
But, '.Grant 1 never may.'
Man's wisdom is to seek
His strength in God alone;
And e'en an angel would be weak,
Who trusted in his own.
Retreat beneath his wings,
And in his grace confide;
This nmore exalt, the King of kingsf
Than all your works beside.
In Jesus is our store,
Grace issues from his throne;
Whoever says, ' I want no more,'
Confesses he has none.
* Matthew xxv. 3.            t Jobsn v. s

i




ï~~HYMNS.

40

LXIII. NOT OF WORKS.
nGRACE, triumphant in the throne,
Scorns a rival, reigns alone;
Come and bow beneath her sway,
Cast your idol works away.
Works of man, when made his plea,
Never shall accepted be;
Fruits of pride (vain-glorious worm!)
Are the best he can perform.
Self, the god his soul adores,
Influences all his powers;
Jesus is a slighted name,
Self-advancement all his aim:
But when God the Judre shall come,
To pronounce the final doom,
Then for rocks and hills to hide
All his works and all his pride!
Still the boasting heart replies,
What! the worthy and the wise,
Friends to temperance and peace,
Have not these a righteousness?
Banish every vain pretence
Built on human excellence;
Perish every thing in man,
But the grace that never can.
LXIV. PRAISE FOR FAITIH.
Or all the gifts thine hand bestows,
Thiu Giver of all good!
Not heaven itself a richer knows
Than my Redeemer's blood.
Faith too, the blood receiving grace,
From the same hand we gain;
Else, sweetly as it suits our case,
That gift had been in rain.
Till thou thy teaching power apply,
Our hearts refuse to see,
And weak. as a distemper'd eye,
Shut out the view of thee.
Blind to the merits of thy Son,
What miserv we endure'
Yet fly that hand from wv;ich ailne
We could expect a cure.
r                                                                              i




ï~~0                      YHY MNS.
We praise thee, and would praise thee more,
To thee our all we owe;
The precious Saviour, and the power
That makes him precious too.
LXV. GRACE AND PROVIDENCE.
ALMIGHTY King! whose wondrous hand
Supports the weight of sea and land,
Whose grace is such a boundless store,
No heart shall break that sighs for more
Thy providence supplies my food,
And 'tis thy blessing makes it good;
My soul is nourish'd by thy ivord,
Let soul and body praise the Lord.
My streams of outward comfort came
From him who built this earthly frame;
Whate'er I want his bounty gives,
By whom my soul for ever lives.
Either his hand preserves from pain,
Or, if I feel it, heals again;
From Satan's malice shields my breast,
Or overrules it for the best.
Forgive the song that falls so low,
Beneath the gratitude I owe;
It means thy praise, however poor,
An angel's song can do no more.
LXVL I WILL PRAISE THE LORD AT ALLI
TIMES.
WINTERa has a joy for me,
While the Saviour's charms I read,
Lowly, meek, from blemish free,
In the snowdrop's pensive head.
Spring returns, and brings alone
Life-invigorating suns:
Hark! the turtle's plaintive song
Seems to speak his dying groanst!
Summer has a thousand charms,
All expressive of his worth;
'Tis his sun that lights and warms,
His the air that cools the earth.
What! has Autumn left to say
Nothing of a Saviour's grace?
Yes, the beams of milder day
Tell me of his smiling face.
468




ï~~HYMNS.                    51
Light appears with early dawn,
While the sun makes haste to rise;
See his o'eeding beauties drawn
On the blushes of the skies.
Evening with a silent pace,
Slowly moving in the west,
Shows an emblem of his grace--
Points to an eternal rest.
LXVIL THE WAITING SOUL.
BREATHE from the gentle south, 0 Lord,
And cheer me from the north;
Blow on the treasures of thy word,
And call the spices forth!
I wish, thou know'st, to be resign'd,
And wait with patient hope;
But hope delay'd fatigues the mind,
And drinks the spirits up.
Help me to reach the distant goal,
Confirm my feeble knee,
Pity the siekness of a soul
That faints for love of thee.
Cold as I feel this heart of mine,
Yet since I feel it so,
It yields some hope of life divine
Within, however low.
I seem forsaken and alone;
I hear the lion roar;
And every door is shut but one,
And that is mercy's door.
There, till the dear Deliv'rer come,
I'll wait with humble pray'r;
And when he calls his exile home,
The Lord shall find him there.
FRAGMENT OF A HYMN,
To Jesus, the Crown of my Hope,
My soul is in haste to begone;
O bear me, ye cherubims, up,
And waft me away to his throne!
My Saviour, whom absent I love,
Whom not having seen I adore;
Whose name is exalted above
All glory dominion, and power409




ï~~TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FRENCH
OF
MADAME DE LA MOTHE GUION.
THE NATIVITY
'TMs folly all-let me no more be told
Of Parian porticos, and roofs of gold;
Delightful views of nature, dress'd by art,
Enchant no longer this indifferent heart;
The Lord of all things, in his humble birth,
Makes mean the proisd magnificence of earth;
The straw, the manger, and the mouldering wall,
Eclipse its lustre; and I scorn it all.
Canals, and fountains, and delicimous vales,
Green slopes and plains, whose plenty never fails;
Deep-rooted groves, whose heads sublimely rise,
Earth-born, and yet arubitious of the skies;
The abundant foliage of whose gloomy shades,
Vainly the sun in all its power invades;
Where warbled airs of sprightly birds resound,
Whose verdure lives while Winter scowls around;
Rocks, lofty mountains, caverns dark and deep,
And torrents raving down the rugged steep;
Smooth downs, whose" fragrant herbs the spirits
cheer;                              [clear
Meads crown'd with flowers; streams musical and
Whose silver waters, acid whose murmurs, join
Their artless charms, to make the scene divinme;
The fruitful vineyard, and the furrow'd plain,
That seems a rolling sea of golden grain:
All, all have lost the charms they once possess'd;
An infant God reigns sovereign in my breast;
From Bethlehem's bosom I no more will rove;
There dwells the Saviour, and there rests my love,
Ye mightier rivers, that, with sounding force,
Urge down the valleys your impetuous course 1
470




ï~~TRANSLATIONS FROM GUION.              53
Winds, clouds and lighbtnings! and, ye waves whose
heads,
Curl'd into monstrous forms, the seaman dreads!
Horrid abyss, where all experience fails,
Spread with the wreck of planks and shatter'd sails;
On whose broad back grim Death triumphant rides,
While havoc floats on all thy sxelling tides,
Thy shores a scene of ruin, strew'd around
With vessels bulged, and bodies of the drown'd!
Ye fish, that sport beneath the boundless waves,
And rest, secure from man, in rocky eaves;
Swift-darting sharks, and whales of hideous size,
Whom all the aquatic world with terror eyes!
Had I but faith immoveable and true,
I might def v the fiercest storm, like you:
The world, a more disturb d and boisterous sea
When Jesus shows a smile, afrights not me;
He hides me, and in vain the billows roar,
Break harmless at my feet, and leave the shore.
Thou azure vault, where through the gloom of
night,
Thick sown, we see such countless worlds of light I
Thou moon, whose car, encompassing the skies,
Restores lost nature to our wondering eyes-;
Again retiring, when the brighter sun
Begins the course he seems in haste to run!
Behold him where he shines!. His rapid rays,
Themselves unmeasured, measure all our days
Nothing impedes the race he would pursue,
Nothing escapes his penetrating view,
A thousand lands confess his quickening heat
And all he cheers are fruitful, fair, and sweet.
Far from enjoying what these scenes disclose,
I feel the thorn, alas! but miss the rose:
Too well I know this aching heart requites
More solid good to fill its vast desires;
In vain they represent his matchless might,
Who call'd them out of deep primeval night;
Their fourrm and beauty but augment my woe:
I seek the Giver of those charms they show:
Nor, Him beside, throughout the world he made,
Lives there in whom I trust for cure or aid.
471

- -11




ï~~54             TRANSLATIO NS
In finite God, thou great unrival'd ONE!
Whose glory makes a blot of yonder sun;
Compared with thine, how dim his beauty seems,
How quench'd the radiance of his golden beams!
Thou art my bliss, the light by which I move;
In thee alone dwells all that I can love;
All darkness flies when thou art pleased to appear,
A sudden spring renews the fading year;
Where'er I turn I see thy power and grace,
The watchful guardians of our heedless race;
Thy various creatures in one strain agree,
All, in all times and places, speak of thee;
E'en I, with trembling heart and stammering tongue
Attempt thy praise, and join the general song.
Almighty Former of this wondrous plan,
Faintly reflected in thine image, manHoly and just-the greatness of whose name
Fills and supports this universal frame,
Diffused throughout the infinitude of space,
Who art thyself thine own vast dwelling-place:
Soul of our soul, whom yet no sense of ours
Discerns, eluding our most active powers;
Encircling shades attend thine awful throne,
That veil thy face, and keep thee still unknown
Unknown though dwelling in our inmost part,
Lord of the thoughts, and Sovereign of the heart 1
Re)eat the charming truth, that never tires,
No God is like the God my soul desires;
He at whose voice heaven trembles, even He,
Great as he is, knows how to stoop to meLo I there he lies-that smiling infant said,
SHeaven, earth, and sea, exist!'-and they obey'd.
E'en He, whose being swells beyond the skies,
Is born of woman, lives, and mourns, and dies;
Eternal and immortal, seems to cast
That glory from his brows, and breathes his last.
Trivial and vain the works that man has wrought,
How do they shrink and vanish at the thought I
Sweet solitude, and scene of my repose I
This rustic sight assuages all my woesThat crib contains the Lord, whom I adore;
And earth's a shade, that 1 pursue no more.
472




ï~~FROM GUION.

Sb

He is my firm support, my rock, my tower.
I dwell secure beneath his sheltering power,
And hold this mean retreat for ever dear
For all I love, my soul's delight, is here.
I see the Almighty sweth'd in infant bands,
Tied helpless down the thunder bearer's hands
And, in this shed, that mystery discern,
Which faith and love, and they alone, can learn
Ye tempests, spare the slumbers of your Lord!
Ye zephyrs, all your whisper'd sweets afford I
Confess the God, that guides the rolling year;
Heaven do him homage; and thou, earth, revere i
Ye shepherds, monarchs, sages, hither brint,
Your hearts an offering, and adore your King!
Pure be those hearts, and rich iiw faith and love
Join in his praise, the harmonious world above;
To Bethlehem haste, rejoice in his repose,
And praise him there for all that he bestows
Man, busy man, alas! can ill afford
To obey the summons, and attend the Lord-;
Perverted reason revels and runs wild,
By glittering shows of pomp and wealth beguiled;
And, blind to genuine excellence and grace,
Finds not her author in so mean a place.
Ye unbelieving! learn a wiser part,
Distrust your erring sense, and search your heart
There, soon ye shall perceive a kindling flame
Glow for that infant God, from whom it eamne;
Resist not, quench not, that divine desire.'Melt all your adamant in heavenly fire!
Not so will I requite thee, geftitle love!
Yielding and soft this heart shall ever prove;
And every heart beneath thy power should fall,
Glad to submit could mine contain them all.
But I am poor, oblation I have none,
None for a Saviour, but himself alone:
Whate'er I render thee, frolp thee it camne:
And, if I give my body to the flame,
My patience, love, and energy divine
Of heart, and soul, and spirit, all are thine.Ah, vain attempt to expunge the mighty scprel
The more I pay, I owe te still the more.
473




ï~~i

56              TRtANSLAlTIONS
Upon my meanness, poverty, and guile,
The trophy of thy glory shall be built;
My self-disdain shall be the unshaken base,
And my deformnity its fairest grace;
For destitute of good, and rich in ill,
Must be my state and my description still.
And do I grieve at such an humbling lott
Nay, but I cherish and enjoy the thoughtVain pageantry and pomp of earth, adieut
I have no wish, no memory for you;
The more I feel my misery, I adore
The sacred inmate of my soul the more;
Rich in his love, I feel my noblest pride
Spring from the sense of having nought beside.
In Thee I find wealth, comfort, virtue, might;
My wanderings prove thy wisdom infinite;
All that I have I give thee; and then see
All contrarieties unite in thee;
For thou hast join'd them, taking up our woe,
And pouring out thy bliss on worms below
By filling with thy grace and love divine
A gulf of evil in this heart of mine.
This is, indeed, to bid the valleys rise,
And the hills sink-'tis matching earth and skies,
I feel my weakness, thank thee, and deplore
An aching heart, that throbs to thank thee more;
The more I love thee, I the more reprove
A soul so lifeless, and so slow to love;
Till, on a deluge of thy mercy toss'd,
I plunge into that sea, and there am lost.
GOD NEITHER KNOWN NOR LOVED BY
THE WORLD.
YE linnets, let us try, beneath this grove,
Which shall be loudest in our Maker's praise I
In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove,
For all the world is blind qad wanders from his ways.
474




ï~~FROM G UlON.                  St
rhat God alone should prop the sinking soul,
Fills them with rage against his empire now:
I traverse earth in vain from pole to pole,
To seek one simple heart set free from all below.
They speak of love, yet little feel its sway,
While in their bosoms many an idol lurks;
Their base desires, well satisfied, obey,
Leave the Creator's hand, and lean upon his works.
'Tis therefore I can dwell with man no more;
Your fellowship, ye warblers! suits me best:
Pure love has lost its price, though prized of yore,
Profaned by modern tongues, and slighted as a jest.
My God, who form'd you for his praise alone,
Beholds his purpose well fulfill'd in you;
Come, let us join the choir before his throne,
Partaking in his praise with spirits just and true I
Yes, I will always love; and, as I ought,
Tune to the praise of love my ceaseless voice;
Preferring love too vast for human thought,
In s)ite of erring men, who cavil at my choice.
Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts,
Lord of my soul I that they might all be thine t
If thou approve--the zeal thy smile imparts,
How should it ever fail! can such a fire decline?
Love, pure and holy, is a deathless fire;
Its object heavenly, it must ever blaze
Eternal love a God must needs inspire,
When once he wins the heart, and fits it for his
praise.
Self-love dismiss'd--'tis then we live indeedIn her embrace, death, only death is found:
Come, then, one noble effort, and succeed,
Cast off the chain of self with which thy soul is
bound!

D)2

475




ï~~58              TRANSLATIONS
Oh! I could cry, that all the world might hear,
Ye self-tormentors, love your God alone:
Let ais unequal'd excellence be dear,
Dear to your inmost souls, and make him all yew
own!
They hear me not-alas! how fond to rove
In endless chase of folly's specious lure!
'Tis here alone, beneath this shady grove,
I taste the sweets of truth-here only am secure
THE SWALLOW.
I AN fond of the swallow-I learn from her flight,
Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love:
How seldom on earth do we see her alight t
She dwells in the skies, she is ever above.
It is on the wing that she takes her repose,
Suspended and poised in the regions of air,
'Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows,
It is wing'd like herself, 'tis ethereal fare.
She comes in the spring, all the summer she stays,
And, dreading the cold, still follows the sunSo, true to our love, we should covet his rays,
And the place wherelhe shines not, immediately shun
Our light should be love, and our nourishment prayer
It is dangerous food that we find upon earth;
The fruit of this world is beset with a snare,
In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth.
'Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below,
And only when building a nest for her young;
Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow
A thought upon any thing filthy as dung.
Let us leave it ourselves ('tis a mortal abode),
To bask every moment in infinite love;
Let us fly the dark winter, and follow the road
That leads to the dayspring appearing above.
476




ï~~FROM GUION.

59

THE TRIUMPH OF HEAVENLY LOVE
DESIRED.
AH I reign, wherever man is found,
My spouse, beloved and divine!
Then I am rich, and I abound,
When every human heart is thine.
A thousand sorrows pierce my soul,
To think that all are not thine own:
Ah I! be adored from pole to pole;
Where is thy zeal? arise; be known!
All hearts are cold, in every place,
Yet earthly good with warmth pursue;
Dissolve them with a flash of grace,
Thaw these of ice, and give us new I
A FIGURATIVE DESCRIPTION OF THE
PROCEDURE OF DIVINE LOVE,
IW URINGING A SOUL TO THE POINT OE SELP-RENUN.
CIATION AND ABSOLUTE ACQUIESCENCE.
'TwAs my purpose, on a day,
To embark, and sail away;
As I climb'd the vessel's side,
Love was sporting in the tide;
SCome,' he said,-' ascend-make haste,
Launch into the boundless waste.'
Many mariners were there,
Having each his separate care;
They that row'd us held their eyes
Fix'd upon the starry skies;
Others steer'd, or turn'd the suils
To receive the shifting gales.




ï~~W0             TR.ANSLATIONS
Love, with power divine supplik,
Suddenly my courage tried;
In a moment it was night.
Ship and skies were out of sight;
On the briny wave I lay,
Floating rushes all my stay.
Did I with resentment burn
At this unexpected turn?
Did I wish myself on shore,
Never to forsake it more?
No--' My soul,' I cried, ' be still;
If I must be lost, I will.'
Next he hasten'd to convey
Both my frail supports away;
Seized my rushes; bade the wvMa
Yawn into a thousand graves:
Down I went, and sunk as lead,
Ocean closing o'er my head.
Still, however, life was safe;
And I saw him turn and laugh:
' Friend,' he cried, ' adieu! lie low,
While the wintry storms shall blow;
When the spring has calm'd the main,
You shall rise and float again.'
Soon I saw him, with dismay,
Spread his plumes, and soar away;
Now I mark his rapid flight;
Now he leaves my aching sight;
He is gone whom I adore,
'Tis in vain to seek him more.
How I trembled then and fear'd,
When my love had disappear'd!
0 Wilt thou leave me thus,' I cried,
SWhelm'd beneath the rolling tide '
Vain attempt to reach his earl
Love was gone, and would not hear.
478




ï~~FROMI GUION.
Ah I return, and love me still;
See me subject to thy will;
Frown with wrath, or smile with grace,
Only let me see thy face 1
Evil I have n6ne to fear,
All is good, if thou art near..
Yet he leaves me-cruel fate!
Leaves me in my lost estateHave I sinn'd? Oh say wherein;
Tell me, and forgive my sin I
King, and Lord, whom I adore,
Shall I see thy face no more?
Be not angry; I resign,
Henceforth, all my will to thine:
I consent that thou depart,
Though thine absence breaks my heart
Go, then, and for ever too;
All is right that thou wilt do.
This was just what love intended,
He was now no more offended;
Soon as I became a child,
Love return'd to me and smiled:
Never strife shall more betide
'Twixt the bridegroom and his bride.
A CHILD    OF GOD LONGING TO SEE tfIM
BELOVED.
THERE'S not an echo round me,
But I am glad should learn,
How pure a fire has found me-,
The love with which I burn.
For none attends with pleasure
To what I would reveal;
They slight me out of measure,
And laugh at all I feel.
479




ï~~(g             TRANSLATIONS
The rocks receive less proudly
The story of my flame;
When I approach, they loudly
Reverberate his name.
I speak to them of sadness,
And comforts at a stand;
They bid me look for gladnesa,
And better days at hand
Par from all habitation,
I heard a happy sound;
Big with the consolation,
That I have often found;
I said, 'My lot is sorrow,
My grief has no alloy;'
The rocks replied-' To-morrows
To-morrow brings thee joy?
These sweet and secret tidings
What bliss it is to hear I
For, spite of all my chidings,
My weakness and my fear,
No sooner I receive them,
Than I forget my pain,
And, happy to believe them,.
I love as much again.
I fly to scenes romantic,
Where never men resort;
For in an age so frantic
impiety is sport.
For riot and confusion
They barter things above
Condemning, as delusion,
The joy of perfect love.
In this sequester'd corner,
None hears what I exprese
Deliver'd from the scorner,
What peace do I possess 
Beneath the boughs reclining,
Or roving o'er the wild,
I live, as undesigning,
And harmless as a chil

480




ï~~FROM G UION.                  p
No troubles here surprise me,
I innocently play,
While Providence supplies me,
And guards me all the day:
My dear and kind defender
Preserves me safely here,
From men of pomp and splendourd,
Who fdill a child with fear.
ASPIRATIONS OF THE SOUL AFTER GOD
My Spouse I in whose presence I live,
Sole object of all my desires,
Who know'st what a flame I coiceive,
And can'st easily double its fires;
How pleasant is all that I meet I
From fear of adversity free,
I find even sorrow made sweet;
Because 'tis asign'd me by thee.
Transported I see thee display
Thy riches and glory divine;
I have only my life to repay,
Take what I would gladly resign.
Thy will is the treasure I seek,
For thou art as faithful as strong;
There let me, obedient and meek,
Repose myself all the day long.
My spirit and faculties fail;
Oh finish what love has begun 1
Destroy what is sinful and frail,
And dwell in the soul thou hast won
Dear theme of my wonder and praise,
I cry, who is worthy as thou I
I can only be silent and gaze:
'Tis all that is left to me now,




ï~~g               TRANSLATIONS
Oh glory in which I am lost,
Too deep for the plummet of thought;
On an ocean of deity toss'd,
I am swallow'd, I sink into nought.
Yet, lost and absorb'd as I seem,
I chant to the praise of my King;
And, though overwhelm'd by the theme
Am happy whenever I sing.
GRATITUDE AND LOVE TO GOD.
AL, are indebted much to thee,
But I far more than all,
From many a deadly snare set free,
And raised from many a fall.
Overwhelm me, from above,
Daily, with thy boundless love.
What bonds of gratitude I feel
No language can declare;
Beneath the oppressive weight I reel,
'Tis more than I can bear:
When shall I that blessing prove,
To return thee love for love?
Spirit of charity, dispense
Thy grace to every heart;
Expel all other spirits thence,
Drive self from every part;
Charity divine, draw nigh,
Break the chains in which we lie I
All selfish souls, whate'er they feign.
Have still a slavish lot;
They boast of liberty in vain,
Of love, and feel it not.
He whose bosom glows with thee
He, and he alone, is free.
482




ï~~FR(OI i   IN.               65
Oh blessedness~ all bliss above
When thy pure fires prevail!
Love only teaches what is love;
All other lessons fail:
We learn its name, but not its powers,
Experience only makes it ours.
HAPPY SOLITUDE-UNHAPPY MEN.
Mr heart is easy, and my burden light;
I smile, though sad, when thou art in my sight:
The more my woes in secret I deplore,
I taste thy goodness, and I love the more.
There, while a solemn stillness reigns around,
Faith, love, and hope within my soul abound;
And, while the world suppose me lost in care,
The joys of angels, unperceived, I share.
Thy creatures wrong thee, O thou sovereign good
Thou art not loved, because not understood;
This grieves me most, that vaini pursuits beguile
Ungrateful men, regardless of thy smile.
Frail beauty and false honour are adored;
While Thee they scorn, and trifle with thy word;
Pass, unconcern'd, a Saviour's sorrows by;
And hunt their ruin with a zeal to die.
LIVING WATER.
THx fountain in its source
No drought of summer fears;
The farther it pursues its course,
The nobler it appears.
But shallow cisterns yield
A scanty short supply;
The morning sees them amply fill'd,
At evening they are dry.

41P




ï~~66

TRANSLATIONS

TRUTH AND DIVINE LOVE RESECTED BI
THE WORLD.
O LOVE, of lure and heavenly birth!
O simple truth, scarce known on earth I
Whom men resist with stubborn will;
And, more perverse and daring still,
Smother and quench, with reasonings vain,
While error and deception reign.
Whence comes it, that, your power the same
As His on high, from whence you came,
Ye rarely find a list-ning ear,
Or heart that makes you welcome here?--
Because ye bring reproach and pain,
Where'er ye visit, in your train.
The world is proud, and eannot bear
The scorn and calumny ye share;
The praise of men the mark they meAn,
They fly the place where ye are seen;
Pure love, with scandal in the rear,
Suits not the vain; it costs too dear
Then, let the price be what it may,
Though poor, I am prepared to pay;
Come shame, come sorrow; spite of tears,
Weakness, and heart-oppressing fears;
One soul, at least, shall not repine,
To give you room; come, reign in mine!
DIVINE JUSTICE AMIABLE.
TH oU hast no lightnings, O theu Jues
Or I their force should know;
And, if thou strike me into dust,
My soul approves thd blow.




ï~~FROM GUION.                    '
The heart, that values less its ease
Than it adores thy ways,
In thine avenging anger sees
A subject of its praise.
Pleased I could lie, conceal'd and lost,
In shades of central night;
Not to avoid thy wrath, thou know'st,
But lest 1 grieve thy sight.
Smite me, O thou, whom I provoke I
And I will love thee still:
The well deserved, and righteous stroke,
Shall please me, thouh it kill.
Am I not worthy to sustain
The worst thou canst devise;
And dare I seek thy throne again,
And meet thy sacred eyes?
Far from afflicting, thou art kind;
And, in my saddest hours,
An unction of thy grace I find,
Pervading all my powers.
Alas! I thou sparest me yet again;
And, when thy wrath should move,
Too gentle to endure my pain,
Thou sooth'st me with thy love.
I have no punish;ient to fear;
Rut, ah I that smile from thee
Imparts a pang far more severe
Than woe itself would be.
THE SOUL THAT LOVES GOD             FINDS HIM
EVERY WHERE.
On thou, by long experience tried,
Near whom no grief can long abide;
My love! how full of sweet content
I p as my years of banishment I
485




ï~~Yu   Yf./n           Y

TRANSLATIONS
All scenes alike engaging prove
To souls impress'd with sacred love!
Where'er they dwell, they dwell in thee;
In heaven, in earth, or on the sea.
To me remains nor place nor time
My country is in every clime;
I can be calm and free from care
On any shore, since God is there.
While place we seek, or place we shun,
The soul finds happiness in none;
But with a God to guide our way,
'Tis equal joy to go or stay.
Could I be cast where thou art not,
That were indeed a dreadful lot;
But regions none remote I call,
Secure of finding God in all.
My country, Lord, art thou alone;
Nor other can I claim or own;
The point where all my wishes meet;
My law, my love; life's only sweet!
I hold by nothing here below;
Appoint my journey, and I go;
Though pierced by scorn, oppress'd by pride,
I feel thee good-feel nought beside.
No frowns of men can hurtful prove
To souls on fire with heavenly love;
Though men and devils both condemn,
No gloomy days arise from them.
Ah then! to his embrace repair;
My soul, thou art no stranger there i
There love divine shall be thy guard,
And peace and safety thy reward.

486




ï~~FROM GUION.

69

THE TESTIMONY OF DIVINE ADOPTION.
How happy are the new-born race,
Partakers of adopting grace;
'nmw pure the bliss they share!
Mid from the world and all its eyes,
Within their heart the blessing lies
And conscience feels it there.
The moment we believe, 'tis ours;
And if we love with all our powers
The God from whomjit came;
And if we serve with hearts sincere,
'Tis still discernible and clear,
An undisputed claim.
But, ah! if foul and wilful sin
Stain and dishonour us within,
Farewell the joy we knew;
Again the slaves cf nature's sway,
In labyrinths of our own we stray,
Without a guide or clue.
The chaste and pure, who fear to grieve.
The gracious spirit they receive,
His work distinctly trace:
And, strong in undissembling love,
Boldly assert and clearly prove
Their hearts his dwelling-place.
Oh messenger of dear delight,
Whose voice dispels the deepest night,
Sweet peace-proclaiming dove!
With thee at hand, to sooth our pains,
No wish unsatisfied remains
No task but that of love.
'Tis love unites what sin divides;
The centre, where all bliss resides
To which the soul once brought,
Reclining on the first great cause,
From his abounding sweetness draws
Peace passing human thought.
487




ï~~STRANSLATIONS
Sorrow foregoes its nature there,
And life assumes a tranquil air.
Divested of its woes;
There sovereign goodness soothes the breai
Till then incapable of rest,
In sacredsure repose.
DIVINE LOVE ENDURES NO RIVAL.
Lovs is the Lord whom I obey,
Whose will transported I perform;
The centre of my rest, my stay,
Love's all in all to me, myself a worm.
For uncreated charms I burn,
Oppress'd by slavish fear no more;
For one in whom I may discern,
E'en when he frowns, a sweetness I adore.
He little loves him who complains,
And finds him rigorous and severe;
His heart is sordid, and he feigns,
Though loud in boasting of a soul sincere.
Love causes grief, but 'tis to move
And stimulate the slumbering mind;
And he has never tasted love,
Who shuns a pang so graciously design'd.
Sweet is the cross, above all sweet
To souls enamour'd with thy smiles;
The keenest woe life ever meets,
Love strips of all its terrors, and beguiles.
'Tis just that God should not be dear
Where self engrosses all the thought,
And groans and murmurs make it clear,
Whatever else is loved, the Lord'is not.
488




ï~~I                 Ili     I V

FROM GUION.                  it
The love of thee flows just as much
As that of ebbing self subsides;
Our hearts, their scantiness is such,
Bear not the conflict of two rival tides.
Both cannot govern in one soul;
Then let self-love be dispossess'd;
The love of God deserves the whole,
And will not dwell with so despised a gum.
SELF' DIFFIDENCE.
SoBuca of love, and light of daya,
Tear me from myself away;
Every view and thought of mine
Cast into the mould of thine;
Teach, O teach this faithless heart,
A consistent constant part;
Or, if it must live to grow
More rebellious, break it nowt
Is it thus that I requite
Grace and goodness i finite?
Every trace of every, oon,
Cancel'd and erased sa soon
Can I grieve thee, whom I love;
Thee, in whom I live and move
If my sorrow touch thee still,
Save me from so great an ill!
Oh! the oppressive, irksome weig~,
Felt in an uncertain state
Comfort, peace, and rest, adieu,
Should I prove 'at last untrue!
Still I choose thee, follow still
Every notice of thy will;
But, unstable, strangely weak,
Still let slip the good I seek.
Aft




ï~~i              TRANSLATIONS
Self-confiding wretch, I thought
I could serve thee as I ought,
Win thee, and deserve to feel
All the love thou canst reveal;
Trusting self, a bruised reed,
Is to be deceived indeed:
Save me from this harm and loss,
Lest my gold turn all to dross.
Self is earthly-faith alone
Makes an unseen world our own;
Faith relinquish'd, how we roam,
Feel our way, and leave our home
Spurious gems our hopes entice,
While we scorn the pearl of price
And, preferring servants' pay,
Cast the children's bread away.
THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVY
LOVE I if thy destined sacrifice am I,
Come, slay thy victim, and prepare thy fires;
Phlunged in thy depths of mercy, let me-die
The death which every soul that lives desires
I watch my hours, and see them fleet away;
The time is long that I have languish'd here;
Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey,
With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere.
To me 'tis equal, whether love ordain
My life or death, appoint me pain or ease;
My soul perceives no real ill in pain;
In ease or health no real good she sees.
One good she covets, and that good alone,
To choose thy will, from selfish bias freed,
And to prefer a cottage to a throne,
And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee..
49




ï~~FROM GUION.
That we should bear the cross is thy command,
Die to the world, and live to self no more;
Suffer, unmov'd, beneath the rudest hand,
As pleased when shipwreck'd as when safe on shore.
REPOSE IN GOD.
BLEST I who, far from all mankind
This world's shadows left behind,
Hears from heaven a gentle strain
Whispering love, and loves again.
Blest! who, free from self-esteem,
Dives into the great Supreme,
All desire beside discards,
Joys inferior none regards.
Blest! who in thy bosom seeks
Rest that nothing earthly breaks,
Dead to self and worldly things,
Lost in thee, thou King of kings I
Ye that know my secret fire,
Softly speak and soon retire;
Favour my divine repose,
Spare the sleep a God bestows.
GLORY TO GOD ALONE.
OH loved! but not enough--though dearer far
Than self and its most loved enjoyments are;
None duly loves thee, but who, nobly free
From sensual objects, finds his all in thee.
Glory of God I thou stranger here beloW,
Whom man nor knows, nor feels a wish to knovOur faith and reason are both shock'd to find
Man in the post of honour-Thee behind.
E

" r.mow




ï~~74: 1
Reason exclaims--' Let every creature fall.
Ashamed, abased, before the Lord of all;'
And faith, o'eryhelm'd with such a dazzling blaze,
Feebly describes the beauty she surveys.
Yet man, dim-sighted man, and rash as blind,
Deaf to the dictates of his better mind,
In frantic competition dares the skies,
And claims precedence of the Only Wise.
Oh lost in vanity, till once self-known!
Nothing is great, or good, but God alone;
When thou shalt stand before his awful face,
Then, at the last, thy pride shall know his place.
Glorious, Almighty, First, and without end!
When wilt thou melt the mountains and descend
When wilt thou shoot abroad thy conquering rays,
And teach these atoms, thou hast made, thy praise t
Thy glory is the sweetest heaven I feel;
And, if I seek it with too fierce a zeal,
Thy love, triumphant o'er a selfish will,
Taught me the passion, and inspires it still.
My reason, all my faculties, unite,
To make thy glory their supreme delight;
Forbid it, fountain of my brightest days,
That I should rob thee, and usurp thy praise!
My soul! rest happy in thy low estate,
Nor hope, nor wish, to be esteem'd or great"
To take the impression of a will divine,
Be that thy glory, and those riches thine.
Confess him righteous in his just decrees,
Love what he loves, and let his pleasure please;
Die daily; fi'om the touch of sin recede;
Then thou hast crown'd him, and he reigns indes

492




ï~~FROM GUION.
SELF-LOVE AND TRUTH INCOMPATIBLE.
FROM thorny wilds a monster came,
That fill'd my soul with fear and shame;
The birds, forgetful of their mirth,
Droop'd at the sight, and fell to earth;
When thus a sage address'd mine ear,
Himself unconscious of a fear.
' Whence all this terror and surprise,
Distracted looks, and streaming eyes T
Far from the world and its affairs,
The joy it boasts, the pain it shares,
Surrender, without guile or art,
To God, an undivided heart;
The savage form, so fear'd before,
Shall scare your trembling soul n o;
For loathsome as the sight may be,
'Tis but the love of self you see.
Fix all your love on God alone,
Choose but his will, and hate your own:
No fear shall in your path be found,
The dreary waste shall bloom around,
And you, through all your happy days,
Shall bless his name, and sing his praiso.
Oh lovely solitude, how sweet
The silence of this calm retreat!
Here truth, the fair whom I pursue,
Gives all her beauty to my view;
The simple, munadorn'd display
Charms every pain and fear away.
O truth, wham millions proudly slight;
O truth, my treasure and delight;
Accept this tribute to thy name,
And this poor heart from which it camf

493




ï~~is

TRANSLATIONS

THE LOVE OF GOD, THE END OF LIFI&
SINCE life in sorrow must be spent,
So be it--I am well content,
And meekly wait my last remove,
Seeking only growth in love
No bliss I seek, but to fulfill
In life, in death, thy lovely will;
No succours in my woes I want,
Save what thou art pleased to grant.
Our days are number'd, let us spare
Our anxious hearts a needless care:
'Tis thine to number out our days;
Ours to give them to thy praise.
Love is our only business here,
Love, simple, constant, and sincere
O blessed days, thy servants see I
Spent, 0 Lord lin pleasing thee.
LOVE FAITHFUL IN THE ABSENCE OF THE
BELOVED.
IN vain ye woo me to your harmless joys,
Ye pleasant bowers, remote from strife and noise;
Your shades, the witnesses of many a vow,
Breath'd forth in happier days, are irksome now;
Denied that smile 'twas once my heaven to see,
Such scenes, such pleasures, are all past with me.
In vain he leaves me, I shall love him still;
And though I mourn, not murmur at his will;
I have no cause-an object all divine
Might well grow weary of a soul like mine;
Yet pity me, great God! forlorn, alone,
Heartless and hopeless, life and love all gune.
49




ï~~LOVE PUiRE   AND FERVENT.
JEALOS, and with love o'erflowing,
God demands a fervent heart;
Grace and bounty still bestowing,
Calls us to a grateful part.
Oh, then, with supreme affection
His paternal will regard!
If it cost us some dejection,
Every sigh has its reward.
Perfect love has power to soften
Cares that might our peace destroy,
Nay, does more-transforms them often,
Changing sorrow into joy.
Sovereign love appoints the measure,
And the number of our pains;
And is pleased when we find pleasure
In the trials he ordains.
THE ENTIRE SURRENDER,
PE-AcE has unveil'd her smiling face,
And woos thy soul to her embrace,
Enjoy'd with ease, if thou refrain
From earthly love, else sought in vain;
She dwells with all who truth prefer,
But seeks not them who seek not her.
Yield to the Lord, with simple heart,
All that thou hast, and all thou art;
Reviunce all strength but strength divin;
And reace shall be for ever thine:
Behold the path which I have trod,
My path, till I Vo home to God.




ï~~TRANSLATIDONS
THE PERFECT SACRIFICL
I PLAcs an offering at thy shrine,
From taint and blemish clear,
Simple and pure in its design,
Of all that I hold dear.
I yield thee back thy gifts again,
Thy gifts which most I prize;
Desirous only to retain
The notice of thine eyes.
But if, by thine adored decree,
That blessing be denied;
Resign'd, and unreluctant, see
My every wish subside.
Thy will in all things I approve,
Exalted or cast down!
Thy will in every state I love,.
And even in thy frown.
GOD HIDES HIS PEOPLE.
To lay the soul that loves him low,
Becomes the Only Wise:
To hide, beneath a veil of woe,
The children of the skies.
Man, though a worm, would yet be great;
Though feeble, would seem strang:
Assumes an independent state,
By sacrilege and wrong.
Strange the reverse, which, once abase"
The haughty creature proves!
Re feels his soul a barren waate.,
Nor dares affir hbe loves.
496




ï~~FROM GUION.
Scorn'd by the thoughtless and the ain,
To God he presses near;
Superior to the world's disdain,
And happy in its sneer.
Oh welcome, in his heart he says,
Humility and shame i
Farewell the wish for human praise,
The music of a name!
But will not scandal mar the good
That I might else perform?
And can God work it, if he would,
By so despised a worm?
Ah, vainly anxious!-leave the Lord
To rule thee, and dispose;
Sweet is the mandate of his word,
And gracious all he does.
Hle draws from human littleness
His grandeur and renown;
And generous hearts with joy confess
The triumph all his own.
Down then with self-exalting thoughts;
Thy faith and hope employ,
To welcome all that he allots,
And suffer shame with joy.
No longer, then, thou wilt encroach
On his eternal right;
And he shall smile at thy approach,
And make thee his delight.
THE SECRETS OF DIVINE LOVE AR TO
BE KEPT.
SvN! stay thy course, this moment stay
Suspend the o'erflowing tide of day,
Divulge not such a love as mine,
Ah! hide the mystery divine;
Lest man, who deems my glory shame,
Should learn the secret of my flame.




ï~~so

TRANSLATIONS

O night! propitious to my views,
Thy sable awning wide diffuse;
Conceal alike my joy and pain,
Nor draw thy curtain back again,
Though morning, by the tears she shows,
Seems to participate my woes.
Ye stars I whose faint and feeble fires
Express my languishing desires,
Whose slender beams pervade the skieq
As silent as my secret sighs,
Those emanations of a soul,
That darts her fires beyond the Pole;
Your rays, that scarce assist the sight,
That pierce, but not displace the night,
That shine indeed, but nothing show
Of all those various scenes below,
Bring no disturbance, rather prove
Incentives to a sacred love.
Thou moon! whose never-failing course
Bespeaks a providential force,
Go, tell the tidings of my flame
To Him who calls the stars by name;
Whose absence kills, whose presence cheers
WhP blots, or brightens, all my years.
While, in the blue abyss of space,
Thine orb performs its rapid race;
Still whisper in his listening ears
The language of my sighs and tears;
Tell him, I seek him, far below,
Lost in a wilderness of woe.
Ye thoumght-composing, silent hours,
Diffusing peace o'er all my powers;
Friends of the pensive I who conceal,
In darkest shades, the flames I feel;
To you I trust, and safely may,
The love that wastes my strength away,
408




ï~~SI

FROM GUION.
In sylvan scenes, and caverns rude,
I taste the sweets of solitude;
Retired indeed, but not alone,
I share them with a spouse unknown,
Who hides me here, from envious eyes,
From all intrusion and surprise.
Imbowering shades, and dens profound I
Where echo rolls the voice around;
Mountains! whose elevated heads,
A moist and misty veil o'erspreads;
Disclose a solitary bride
To him I love-to none beside.
Ye rills! that, murmuring all the way,
Among the polish'd pebbles stray;
Creep silently along the ground,
Lest, drawn by that harmonious sound,
Some wanderer, whom I would not meet,
Should stumble on my loved retreat.
Enamel'd meads, and hillocks green,
And streams that water all the scene!
Ye torrents, loud in distant ears!
Ye fountains, that receive my tears!
Ah! still conceal, with caution due,
A charge I trust with none but you.
If, when mry pain and grief increase,
I seem to enjqy the sweetest peace,
It is because I find so fair
The charming object of my care,
Tha. I can sport and pleasure make
Of torment suffer'd for his sake.
Ye meads and groves, unconscious things 1
Ye know not whence my pleasure springs;
Ye know not, and ye cannot know,
The source from which my sorrows flow:
The dear sole cause of all I feel,He knows and understands them well.
E2

499




ï~~82              TRANS LATION 8
Ye deserts, where the wild beasts rove,
Scenes sacred to my hours of love;
Ye forests! I in whose shades I stray
Benighted under burning day;
Ah I whisper not how blest am I,
Nor while I live, nor when I die.
Ye lambs I who sport beneath these sha&mes
And bound along the mossy glades;
Be taught a salutary fear,
And cease to bleat when I am near:.
The wolf may hear your harmless cry,
Whom ye should dread as much as I.
How calm, amid these scenes, my mind
How perfect is the peace I fnd I
Oh hush, be still, my every part,
My tongue, my pulse, my beating heart
That love, aspiring to its cause,
May suffer not a moment's pause.
Ye swift-fnn'd nations, that abide
In seas, as fathomless as wide;
And, unsuspicious of a snare,
Pursue at large your pleasures there:
Poor sportive fools I how soon does msa
Your heedless ignorance trepan!
Away I dive deep into the brine,
Where never yet sunk plummet line
Trust me, the vast leviathan
Is merciful, compared with man;
Avoid his arts, forsake the beach,
And never play within his reach.
My soul her bondage ill. endures;
I pant for liberty like yours; -
I long for that immense profound,
That knows no bottom, and no bn4d;
Lost in infinity, to prove
The incomprehensible of love.




ï~~FROM GUION.                 85
Ye birds I that lessen as ye fly,
And vanish in the distant sky;
To whom yon airy waste belongs,
Resounding with your cheerful songs;
Haste to escape from human sight;
Fear less, the vulture and the kite.
How blest, and how secure am I,
When quitting earth, I soar on high;
When lost, like you I disappear,
And float in a sublimer sphere I
Whence falling, within human view,
I am ensnared, and caught like you.
Omniscient God, whose notice deigns
To try the heart and search the reins;
Compassionate the numerous woes,
I dare not, e'en to thee, disclose;
Oh save me from the cruel hands
Of men, who fear not thy commands I
Love, all-subduing and divine,
Care for a creature truly thine;
Reign in a heart, disposed to own
No sovereign but thyself alone;
Cherish a bride who cannot rove,
Nor quit thee for a meaner love I
THE VICISSITUDES EXPERIENCED IN THI
GHRISTIAN LIFE.
I sUFFER fruitless anguish day by day,
Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain;
Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray,
And see no end of all that I sustain.
The more I strive the more I am withstood;
Anxiety increasing every hour,
My spirit finds no rest, performs no good,
And nought remains of all my former power.




ï~~84              TRANSLATIONS
My peace of heart is fled, I know not where;
My happy hours, like shadows, pass'd away;
Their sweet remembrance doubles all my care,
Night darker seems, succeeding such a day.
Dear faded joys and impotent regret,
What profit is there in incessant tears?
Oh Thou, whom once beheld, we ne'er forget,
Reveal thy love, and banish all my fears I
Alas! he flies me-treats me as his foe,
Views not my sorrows, hears not when I plead;
Woe such as mine, despised, neglected woe,
Unless it shortens life, is vain indeed.
Pierced with a thousand wounds, I yet survive;
My pangs are keen, but no complaint transpires;
And, while in terrors of thy wrath I live,
Hell seems to loose its less tremendous fires.
Has hell a pain I would not gladly bear,
So thy severe displeasure might subside?
Hopeless of ease, I seem already there,
My life extinguish'd, and yet death denied.
Is this the joy so promised--this the love,
The unchanging love, so sworn in better days?
Alh I dangerous glories I shown me, but to prove
How lovely thou, and I how rash to gaze.
Why did I see them? had I still remain'd
Untaught, still ignorant how fair thou art,
My humbler wishes I had soon obtain'd,
Nor known the torments of a doubting heart.
Deprived of all, yet feeling no desires,
Whence then, I cry, the pangs that I sustain t
Dubious and uriinform'd, my soul inquires,
Ought she to cherish, or shake off her paint
Suffering, I suffer not--sincerely love,
Yet feel no touch of that enlivening flame;
As chance inclines me, unconcern'd I move,
All times, and all events to me the same.
aft.




ï~~FROM GUION.
I search my heart, and not a wish is there,
But burns with zeal that hated self may fall;
Such is the sad disquietude I share,
A sea of doubts, and self the source of all.
I ask not life) nor do I wish to die;
And, if thine hand accomplish not my cure,
I would not purchase, with a single sigh,
A free discharge from all that I endure.
I groan in chains, yet want not a release;
Am sick, and know not the distemper'd part;
Am just as void of purpose as of peace;
Have neither plan, nor fear, nor hope, nor heart.
My claim to life, though sought with earnest care,
No light within me, or without me, shows;
Once I had faith, but now, in self-despair
Find my chief cordial and my best repose.
My soul is a forgotten thing; she sinks,
Sinks and is lost, without a wish to rise;
Feels an indifference she abhors, and thinks
Her name erased for ever from the skies.
Language affords not my distress a name,Yet is it real, and no sickly dream;
'Tis love inflicts it; though to feel that flame
Is all I know of happiness supreme.
When love departs, a chaos wide and vast,
And dark as hell, is open'd in the soul;
When love rtturns, the gloomy scene is past,
No tempests shake her, and no fears control.
Then tell me why these ages of delay?
Oh love, all excellent, once more appear;
Disperse the shades, and snatch me into day,
From this abyss of night, these floods of fear!
No-love is angry, will not now endure
A sigh of mine, or suffer a complaint;
He smites me, wounds me, and withholds the cure;
Exhausts my powers, and leaves me sick and faint.
503




ï~~K               TRANSLATIONS
He wounds, and hides the hand that gave the blow;
He flies, he reappears, and wounds againWas ever heart that loved thee treated so?
Yet I adore thee, though it seem in vain.
And wilt thou leave me, whom, when lost and blind,
Thou didst distinguish, and vouchsafe to choose.
Before thy laws were written in my mind,
While yet the world had all my thoughts and views
Now leave me? when, enamour'd of thy laws,
I make thy glory my supreme delight;
Now blot me from thy register, and cause
A faithful soul to perish from thy sight
What can have caused the change which I deplore
Is it to prove me, if my heart be true
Permit me then, while prostrate I adore,
To draw, and place its picture in thy view
'Tis thine without reserve, most simply thine;
So given to thee, that it is not my own;
A willing captive of thy grace divine;
And loves and seeks thee, for thyself alone.
Pain cannot move it, danger cannot scare;
Pleasure and wealth, in its esteem, are dust;
It loves thee, e'en when least inclined to spare
Its tenderest feelings, and avows thee just.
'Tis all thine own; my spirit is so too,
An undivided offering at thy shrine;
It seeks thy glory with no double view,
Thy glory, with no secret bent to mine.
Love, holy love! and art thou not severe,
To slight me, thus devoted, and thus f$x'dt
Mine is an everlasting ardour, clear
From all self-bias, Generous and unmix'd.
But I am silent, seeing what I seeAnd fear, with cause, that I am self-deceived;
Not e'en my faith is from suspicion free,
And, that I love, seems not to be believed.
40.1




ï~~FROM GUION                  87
Live thou, and reign for ever, glorious Lord
My last, least offering, I present thee nowRenounce me, leave mne, and be still adored!
8lay me, my God, and I applaud the blow.
WATCHING UNTO GOD IN THE NIGHT
SEASON.
SLEEP at last has fled these eyes,
Nor do I regret his flight,
More alert my spirits rise,
And my heart is free and light.
Nature silent all around,
Nota single witness near;
God as soon as sought is found;
And the flame of love burns clear.
Interruption, all day long,
Checks the current of my joys;
Creatures press me with a throng,
And perplex me with their noise.
Undisturb'd I muse all night,
On the first Eternal Fair;.
Nothing there obstructs delight,
Love is renovated there.
Life, with its perpetual stir,
Proves a foe to love and me;
Fresh entanglements occurComes the night, and sets me free.
Never more, sweet sleep, suspend
My enjoyments, always new:
Leave me to possess my friend;
)ther eyes and hearts subdue.
Hush the world, that I may wake
To the taste of pure delights;
Oh the pleasures I partakeGod, the partner of my nights l
SK                   -




ï~~i

TRANSLATIONS
David, for the selfsame cause,
Night preferr'd to busy day:
Hearts whom heavenly beauty draws
Wish the glaring sun away.
Sleep, self-lovers, is for youSouls that love celestial know,
Fairer scenes by night can view
Than the sun could ever show.
ON THE SAME.
SF4soN of my purest pleasure,
Sealer of observing eyes! I
When, in larger, freer measure,
I can commune with the skies;
While, beneath thy shade extended,
Weary man forgets his woes;
I, my daily trouble ended,
Find, in watching, my repose.
Silence all around prevailing,
Nature hush'd in slumber sweet,
No rude noise mine ears assailing,
Now my God and I can meet:
Universal nature slumbers,
And my soul partakes the calm,
Breathes her ardour out in numbers,
Plaintive song or lofty psalm.
Now my passion, pure and holy,
Shines and burns without rdstraint;
Which the day's fatigue and folly
Cause to languish, dim and famt:
Charming hours of relaxation! I
How I dread the ascending sun!
Surely, idle conversation
Is an evil, match'd by none.
i08




ï~~Worldly prate and babble hurt me;
Unintelligible prove;
Neither teach me nor divert me;
I have ears for none but love.
Me they rude esteem, and foolish,
Hearing my absurd replies;
I have neither art's fine polish,
Nor the knowledge of the wise.
Simple souls, and unpolluted,
By conversing with the great,
Have a mind and taste, ill suited
To their dignity and state;
All their talking, reading, writing,
Are but talents misapplied;
Infants' prattle I delight in,
Nothing human choose beside.
'Tis the secret fear of sinning
Checks my tongue, or I should say,
When I see the night beginning,
I am glad of parting day:
Love this gentle admonition
Whispers soft within my breast;
'Choice befits not thy condition,
Acquiescence suits thee best.'
Henceforth, the repose and pleasure
Night affords me I resign;
And thy will shall be the measure,
Wisdom infinite I of mine:
Wishing is but inclination
Quarreling with thy decrees;
Wayward nature finds the occasion..
'Tis her folly and disease.
Night, with its sublime enjoyments
Now no longer will I choose;
Nor the day, with its employments,
Irksome as they seem, refuse;
Lessons of a God's inspiring
Neither time nor place impedes;
From our wishing and desiring
Our unhappiness proceeds.




ï~~g0              TRANSLATIONS
ON THE SAME.
NcoHT I how I love thy silent shades,
My spirits they compose;
The bliss of heaven my soul pervades,
In spite of all my woes.
While sleep instils her poppy dews
In every slumbering eye,
I watch, to meditate and inuse,
In blest tranquillity.
And when I feel a God immense
Familiarly impart,
With every proof he can dispense,
His favour to my heart;
My tiative meanness I lament,
Though most divinely fill'd
With all the ineffable content
That Deity can yield.
His purpose and his course he keeps;
Treads all my reasonings down;
Commands me out of nature's deeps,
And hides me in his own.
When in the dust, its proper place,
Our pride of heart we lay;
'Tis then a deluge of his grace
Bears all our sins away.
Thou whom I serve, and whose I am,
Whose influence from on high
Refines, and still refines my flame,
And makes my fetters fly.How wretched is the creature's state
Who thwarts thy gracious power;
Crush'd under sin's enormous weight,
Increasing every hour i
Go0




ï~~FROM GUION.
The night, when pass'd entire with thee,
How luminous and clear!
Then sleep has no delights for me,
Lest thou shouldst disappear.
My Saviour! occupy me still
In this secure recess;
Let reason slumber if she will,
My joy shall not be less:
Let reason slumber out the night;
But if thou deign to make
My soul the abode of truth and light,
Ah, keep my heart awake!
THE JOY OF TIHE CROSS.
LONG plunged in sorrow, I resign
My soul to thatdear hand of thine,
Without reserve or fear;
That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes;
Or into smiles of glad surprise
Transform the falling tear.
My sole possession is thy love;
In earth beneath, or heaven above,
I have no other store;
And though with fervent suit I pray,
And importune thee night and day,
I ask thee nothing more.
My rapid hours pursue the course
Prescribed them by love's sweetest foroe,
And I thy sovereign will,
Without a wish to escape my doom;
Though still a sufferer from the womb,
And doom'd to suffer still.
500




ï~~92               TRANSLATIONS
By thy command, whereer I stray,
Sorrow attends me all my way,
i never-failing friend;
And if my sufferings may augment
Thy praise, behold me well contentLet sorrow still attend!
It costs me no regret, that she,
Who follow'd Christ, should follow me;
And though, where'er she goes,
Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet,
I love her, and extract a sweet
From all my bitter woes.
Adieu! ye vain delights of earth;
Ihsipid sports, and childish mirth,
I taste no sweets in you;
Unknown delights are in the cross
All joy beside to me is dross;
And Jesus thought so too.
The cross! Oh ravishment and bliss--
How grateful e'en its anguish is"
Its bitterness how sweet I
There every sense, and all the mind,
In all her faculties refined,
Tastes happiness complete.
Souls once enabled to disdain
Base sublutary joys, maintain
Their dignity secure;
The fever of desire is pass'd,
And love has all its genuine taste,
Is delicate and pure.
Self love no grace in sorrow sees,
Consults her own peculiar ease:
'Tis all the bliss she knows:
But nobler aims true love employ;
In self-denial is her joy
In suffering her repose.
610

i




ï~~F1OM GUION.                 93
Sorrow and love go side by side;
Nor height nor depth can e'er divide
Their heaven-appointed bands;
Those dear associates still are one,
Nor till the race of life is run
Disjoin their wedded hands
Jesus, avenger of our fall,
Thou faithful lover, above all
The cross has ever borne!
Oh tell me,-life is in thy voiceHow much afflictions were thy choice,
And sloth anid ease thy scorn!
Thy choice and mine shall be the same
Inspirer of that holy flame,
Which must for ever blaze I
To take the cross and follow thee,
Where love and duty lead, shall be
My portion and my praise.
JOY IN MARTYRDOM.
SWEET tenants of this grovel
Who sing without design,
A song of artless love,
In unison with mine:
These echoing shades return
Full many a note of ours,
Chat wise ones cannot learn,
With all their boasted powers.
Thou! whose sacred charms
These hearts so seldom love,
Although thy beauty warms
And blesses all abore;
How slow are human things,
To choose their happiest lott
All-glorious King of kings,
Say why we love thee not I




ï~~Q               TRANSLATIONS
Th;s heart, that cannot rest,
Shall thine for ever prove;
Though bleeding and distress'd4
co joyful in thy love:
ITis happy, though it breaks
Leneath thy chastening hand.
And speechless, yet it speaks
What thou canst understand.
SIMPLE TRUST.
STILL, still, without ceasing,
I feel it increasing,
This fervour of holy desire;
And often exclaim,
Let me die in the flame
Of a love that can never expire
Had I words to explain
What she must sustain
Who dies to the world and iats ways3
How joy and affright,
Distress and delight,
Alternately chequer her days.
Thou, sweetly severe!
I would make thee appear,
In all thou art pleased to award,
Not more in the sweet,
Than the bitter 1 meet,
My tender and merciful Lord.
This faith, in the dark
Pursuing its mark,
Thro-ugh many sharp trials of love &,
Is the sorrowful waste
That is to be pass'd
In the way to the Canaan above..

82a

r. ctrl




ï~~FROM GUION.

THE NECESSITY OF SELF-.AR  SEMENT.
SOURCE of love, my brighter -an,
rhou alone my comfort art;
See, my race is almost run;
Ilast thou left this trembling heart?
In my youth thy charming eyes
Drew me from the ways of men;
Then I drank unmingled joys;
Frown of thine saw never then.
Spouse of Christ was then my name;
And devoted all to thee.
Strangely jealous, I became
Jealous of this self in me.
Thee to love, and none beside,
Was my darling, sole employ;
While alternately I died,
Now of grief, and now of joy.
Through the dark and silent night
On thy radiant smiles I dwelt;
And to see the dawning light
Was the keenest pain I felt.
Thou my gracious teacher wert;
And thine eye, so close applied,
While it watch'd thy pupil's heart,
Seem'd to look at none beside.
Conscious of no evil drift,
This, I cried, is love indeed'Tis the giver, not the gift,
Whence the joys I feel proceed
But soon humbled, and laid low,
Stript of all thou hast confeTrr'd,
Nothing left but sin and wpe,
I perceived how I had err'd.
513




ï~~06             TRANSLATIONS
Oh, the vain conceit of man,
Dreaming of a good his own,
Arrogating all he can,
Though the Lord is good alone!
He the graces thou hast wrough
Makes subservient to his pride;
Ignorant, that one such thought
Passes all his sin beside.
Such his folly-proved, at last,
By the loss of that repose
Self-complacence cannot taste,
Only love divine bestows.
'Tis by this reproof severe,
And by this reproof alone,
His defects at last appear,
Man is to himself made known.
Learn, all earth I that feeble man,
Sprung from this terrestrial clod,
Nothing is, and nothing can;
Life and power are all in God.
LOVE INCREASED BY SUFFERING
' I LOVE the Lord,' is still the strain
This heart delights to sing;
But I reply--your thoughts are vain,
Perhaps 'tis no such thing.
Before the power bf love divine
Creation fades away;
Till only God is seen to shine
In all that we survey.
In gulfs of awful night we find
The God of our desires;
'Tis there hE stamps the yielding mind,
And doubles all its fires.
614




ï~~FROM GUION.
Flames of encircling love invest,
And pierce it sweetly through;
'Tis fillUd with sacred joy, yet press'd
With sacred sorrow too.
Ah love I my heart is in the rightAmidst a thousand woes,
To thee, its ever new delight,
And all its peace it owes.
Fresh causes of distress occur
Where'er I look or move;
The comforts I to all prefer
Are solitude and love.
Nor exile I nor prison fear;
Love makes my courage great;
I find a Saviour every where,
His grace in every state.
Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep,
Exclude his quickening beams;
There I can sit, and sing, and weep,
And dwell on heavenly themes.
There sorrow, for his sake, is found
A joy beyond compare:
There no presumptuous thoughts abound,
No pride can enter there.
A Saviour doubles all my joys,
And sweetens all my pains,
His strength in my defence employs,
Consoles me and sustains.
I fear no ill, resent no wrong;
Nor feel a passion move,
When malice whets her slanderous tongue,
Such patience is in love.
F
515




ï~~98

TRANSLATIONS

SCENES F iVOURABLE TO MEDITATION.
WILDS horrid and dark with o'ershadowing trees
Rcks that ivy and briars infoll,
Scenes nature with dread and astonishment sees,
But I with a pleasure untold.
Though awfully silent, and shaggy, and rude,
T.m charm'd with the peace ye afford,
Your shades are a temple where none will intrade
The abode of my lover and Lord.
I am sick of fthy splendour, O fountain of day,
And here I am hid from its beams,
Here safely contemplate a brighter display
Of the noblest and holiest of themes.
Ye forests, that yield me my sweetest repose,
Where stillness and solitude reign,
To you I securely and boldly disclose
The dear anguish of which I complain.
Here sweetly forgetting and wholly forgot
By the world and its turbulent throng,
The birds and the streams lend me many a note
That aids meditation and song.
Here, wandering in scenes that are sacred to night,
Love wears me and wastes me away,
And often the sun has spent much of his light
Ere yet I peiceive it is day.
While a mantle of darkness envelopes the sphere,
My sorrows are sadly rehearsed,
To me the dark hours are all equally dear,
And the last is as swset as the first.
Here I and the beasts of the deserts agree,
Mankind are the wolves that I fear,
They grudge me my natural right to be free,
But nobody questions it here.
510




ï~~FROM GUION.                   99
Though little is found in this;lreary abode
That appetite wishes to find,
My spirit is sooth'd by the presence of God,
And appetite wholly resign'd.
Ye desolate scenes, to your solitude led,
My life I in praises employ,
And scarce know the source of the tears that I shed
Proceed they from sorrow or joy.
There's nothing I seem to have skill to discern,
I feel out my way in the dark,
Love reigns in my tL.osomi I constantly burn,
Yet hardly distinguish the spark.
I live, yet I seem to myself to be dead,
Such a riddle is not to be found,
I am nourish'd without knowing how I am fed
I have nothing, and yet I abound.
Oh love! who in darkness art pleased to abide,
Though dimly, yet surely I see
That these contrarieties only reside
In the soul that is chosen of thee.
Ah send me not back to the race of mankind,
Perversely by folly beguiled,
For where, in the crowds I have left, shall I find
The spirit and heart of a-child?
Here let me, though fix'd in a desert, be free;
A little one whom they despise,
Though lost to the world, if in union with thee,
Shall be holy and happy and wise.




ï~~TRANSLATIONS
OP THS
LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS OF MILTON.
ELEGY I.
TO CHARLES DEODAT:.
AT length, my friend, the far sent letters come,
Charged with thy kindness, to their destined home;
They come, at length, from Deva's Western side,
Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide.
Trust me, my joy is great that thou shouldst be,
Though born of foreign race, yet born for me,
And that my sprightly friend, now free to roam,
Must seek again so soon his wonted home.
I well content, where Thames with influent tide
My native city laves, meantime reside,
Nor zeal nor duty now my steps impel
To reedy Cam, and my forbidden cell.
Nor aught of pleasure in those fields have I,
That to the musing bard all shade deny.
'Tis time that I a pedant's threats disdain,
And fly from wrongs my soul will ne'er sustain.
If peaceful days, in letter'd leisure spent
Beneath my father's roof, be banishment,
Then call me banish'd, I will ne'er refuse
A name expressive of the lot I choose.
I would that, exiled to the Pontic shore,
Rome's hapless bard had suffer'd nothing more.
He then had equall'd even Homer's lays,
And, Virgil! thou hadst won but second praise:
For here I woo the muse, with no control,
And here my books-my life-absorb me whole.
Here too I visit, or to smile or weep,
The winding theatre's majestic sweep;
51iM




ï~~TRANSLATIONS FiO UM MILTON.           101
The grave or gay colloquial scene recruits
My spirits, spent in learning's long pursuits;
Whether some senior shrewd, or spendthrift heir, '
Suitor, or soldier, now unarm'd, be there,
Or some coif'd brooder o'er a ten years' cause,
Thunder the Norman gibberish of the laws.
The lacquey, there, oft dupes the wary sire,
And, artful, speeds the enamour'd son's desire.
There, virgins oft, unconsmcious what they prove,
What love is know not, yet, unknowing, love.
Or, if impassion'd tragedy wield high
The bloody sceptre, give her locks to fly,
Wild as the winds, and roll her haggard eye,
I gaze, and grieve, still cherishing my grief.
At times, e'en bitter tears yield sweet relief,
As, when from bliss untasted torn away,
Some youth dies, hapless, on his bridal day;
Or when the ghost, sent back from shades below,
Fills the assassin's heart with vengeful woe;
When Troy, or Argos, the dire scene affords
Or Creon's hall laments its guilty lords.
Nor always city-pent, or pent at home,
I dwell; but, when spring calls me forth to roam,
Expatiate in our proud suburban shades
Of branching elm that never sun pervades.
Here many a virgin troop I may descry,
Like stars of mildest influence, gliding by.
Oh forms divine! Oh looks that might inspire
E'en Jove himself, grown old, with young desire.
Oft have I gazed on gem-surpassing eyes,
Out-sparkling every star that gilds the skies;
Necks whiter than the ivory arm bestow'd
By Jove on Pelops, or the milky road!
Bright locks, love's golden snare I these falling low,
Those playing wanton o'er the graceful brow I
Cheeks, too, more winning sweet than after-shower
Adonis turn'd to Flora's favourite flower!
Yield, heroines, yield, and ye who shared the embrace
Of Jupiter in ancient times, give place I
Give place, ye turban'd fair of Persia's coast 1
And ye, not less renown'd, Assyria's boast!




ï~~102            TRANSLATIONN
Submit, ye nymphs of Greece! ye, once the bloom
Of Ilion I and all ye, of haughty Rome,
Who swept, of old, her theatres with trains
Redundant, and still live'in classic strains!
To British damsels beauty's palm is due;
Aliens! to follow them is fame for you.
Oh city, founded by Dardanian hands,
Whose towering front the circling realm commands,
Too blest abode I no loveliness we see
In all the earth, but it abounds in thee.
The virgin multitude that daily meets,
Radiant with gold and beauty, in thy streets
Outnumbers all her train of starry fires
With which Diana gilds thy lofty spires.
Fame says that, wafted hither by her doves,
With all her host of quiver-bearing loves,
Venus, preferring Paphian scenes no more
Has fix'd her empire on thy nobler shore.
But, lest the sightless boy enforce my stay,
I leave these happy walls while yet I may.
Immortal Moly shall secure my heart
From all the sorcery of Circaean art,
And I will e'en repass Cam's reedy pools
To face once more the warfare of the schools.
Meantime accept this trifle! rhymes though few,
Yet such as prove thy friend's remembrance true I
ELEGY II.
ON THE
DEATH    OF THE     UNIVERSITY BEADLE AT
CAMBRIDGE.
THEE, whose refulgent staff and summons clear
Minerva's flock long time was wont to obey,
Although thyself a herald, famous here,
The last of heralds, death, has snatch'd away.
He calls on all alike, nor even deigns
To spare the office that himself sustains.
020




ï~~1                    rr

FROM MILTON.                 103
thy locks were whiter than the plumes dispsivd
By Leda's paramour in ancient time;
But thou wast worthy ne'er to have decay'd
Or,.Eson4-like, to know a second prime,
Worthy, for whom some goddess should have won
New life, oft kneeling to Apollo's son.
Commission'd to converse with hasty call  istand I
The gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou
So stood Cylienius erst in Priam's hall,
Wing-footed messenger of Jove's command I
And so Eurybates, when he address'd
To Peleus' son, Atrides' proud behest.
Dread queen of sepulchresi whose rigorous laws
And watchful eyes run through the realms below,
Oh, oft too adverse to Minerva's cause I
Too often to the muse not less a foe I
Choose meaner marks, and with more equal aim
Pierce useless drones, earth's burthen,and its shame
Flow, therefore, tears for him from every eye,
All ye disciples of the muses, weep!
Assembling all in robes of sable dye,
Around his bier lament his endless sleep I
And let complaining Elegy rehearse
In every school her sweetest, saddest verse.
ELEGY III.
ON THE
DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF WINCHESTER
SILENT I sat, dejected, and alone,
Makiig, in thought, the public woes my own,
When first arose the image in my breast
Of England's suffering by that scourge, the pest I
How Death, his funeral torch and scythe in hand
Icntering the lordliest mansions of the land,
2L.




ï~~W

104             TRANSLATIONS
Has laid the gem-illumined palace low,
Anu levell'd tribes of nobles at a blow.
I noxt deplored the famed paternal pair,
Too soon to ashes turn'd and empty air!
The heroes next, whom snatch'd into the skies
All Belgia saw, and follow'd with her sighs;
But thee far most I mourn'd, regretted most,
Winton's chief shepherd, and her worthiest boastI
FPour'd out in tears I thus cemplaininu said:
' Death, next in power to him who rules the deadi
Is it not enough that all the woodlands yield
To thy fell force, and every verdant field;
That lilies, at one noisome blast of thine,
And e'en the Cyprian queen's own roses pine;
That oaks themselves, although the running rill
Suckle their roots, must wither at thy will;
That all the winged nations, even those
Whose heaven-directed flight the future shows~
And all the beasts that in dark forests stray,
And all the herds of Proteus are thy prey.
Ah envious' arm'd with powers so unconfined I
Why stain thy hands with blood of human kind?
Why take delight, with darts that never roam,
To chase a heaven-born spirit from her home?'
While thus I mnourn'd, the star of evening stood,
Now newly risen above the western flood,
And Phoebus from his morning goal again
Had reach'd the gulfs of the Iberian main.
I wish'd repose, and, on my couch reclined,
Took early rest, to night and sleep resign'd:
When-Oh for words to paint what I beheld t
I seem'd to wander in a spacious field,
Where all the champaign glow'd with purple light.
Like that of sunrise on the mountain height;
Flowers over all the field, of-every hue
That ever Iris wore, luxuriant grew.
Nor Chloris, With whom amorous zephyrs play,
E'er dress'd Alcinous' garden half so gay.
A silver current, like the Tagus, roll'd
O'er golden sands, but sands of purer gold
With dewy airs Favonius fann'd the flowers}
With airs awaken'd under rosy bowers.




ï~~FROM MILTON.               105
Such, poets feign, irradiated all o'er
The sun's abode on India's utmost shore.
While I that splendour, and the mingled shade
Of fruitful vines, with wonder fix'd survey'd,
At once, with looks that beam'd celestial grace,
The seer of Winton stood before my face.
His snowy vestare's hem descending low
His golden sandals swept, and pure as snow
New fallen shone the mitre on his brow.
Where'er hlie trod, a tremulous sweet sound
Of gladness shook the flowery scene around:
Attendant angels clap their starry wings,
The trumpet shakes the sky, all ether rings;
Each chants his welcome, folds him to his breast
And thus a sweeter voice than all the rest:
'Ascend, my son! thy Father's kingdom share I
My son I henceforth be freed from every care l'
So spake the voice, and at its tender close
With psaltery's sound the angelic band arose;
Then night retired, and, chased by dawning day
The visionary bliss pass'd all away.
I mourn'd my banish'd sleep v-th fond concern;
Frequent to me may dreams like this return I
ELEGY IV.
TO HIS TUTOR THOMAS YOUNG,
CHAPLAIN TO THE ENGLISH FACTORY AT HAMBURGH.
HENCE my epistle-skim the deep-fly o'er
You smooth expanse to the Teutonic shore!
Haste-lest a friend should grieve for thy delayAnd the gods grant that nothing thwart thy way
I will myself invoke the king who binds
In his Sicanian echoing vault the winds
With Doris and her nymphs, and all the throng
Of azure gods, to speed thee safe along.
F2




ï~~106             TRIANSLATION S
But rather, to insure thy happier haste
Ascend Medea's chariot, if thou mayst;
Or that whence young Triptolemus of yore
Descended, welcome on the Scythian shore.
The sands that line the German coast descried,
To opulent Hamburga turn aside!
So call'd, if legendary fame be true,
From llama, whom a club-arm'd Cimbrian slewI
There lives, deep learn'd and primitively just,
A faithful steward of his Christian trust,
My friend, anA favourite inmate of my heart
That now is forced to want its better part!
What mountains now, and seas, alas I how wide!
From me this other, dearer self divide,
Dear as the sage renown'd for moral truth
To the prime spirit of the Attic youth!
Dear as the Stagyrite to Ammon's son,
His pupil, who disdain'd the world he won!
Nor so did Chiron, or so Phoenix shine
In young Achilles' eyes, as he in mine.
First led by him through sweet Aonian shade,
Each sacred haunt of Pindus I survey'd;
And favour'd by the muse, whom I implored,
Thrice on my lip the hallow'd stream I pour'd.
But thrice the sun's resplendent chariot roll'd
To Aries, has new tinged his fleece with gold,
And Chloris twice has dress'd the meadows gay,
And twice has summer parch'd their bloom away,,
Since last delighted on his looks I hung,
Or my ear drank the music of his tongue:
Fly, therefore, and surpass the tempest's speed;
Aware thyself that there is urgent need!
Him, entering, thou shalt haply seated see
Beside his spouse, his infants on his knee;
Or turning, page by page, with studious look,
Some bulky father, or God's holy book;
Or ministering (which is his weightiest care)
To Christ's assembled flock their heavenly fare.
Give him, whatever his employment be,
Such gratulation as he claims from me!
And, with a downcast eye, and carriage meet,
Addressing him, forget not thus to speak:




ï~~FROM MILfON                  107
" If comipass'd round with arms thou canst attend
To verse, verse greets thee from a distant friend.
Long due; and late, I left the English shore;
But make me welcome for that cause the more!
Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer
The slow epistle came, though late, sincere.
But wherefore this'? why palliate I the deed
For which the culprit's self could hardly plead l
Self-charged, and self-condemn'd, his proper part
He feels neglected, with an aching heart;
But thou forgive-delinquents, who confess,
And pray forgiveness, merit anger less
From timid foes the lion turns away,
Nor yawns upon or rends a crouching prey,
E'en pike-wielding Thracians learn to spare,
Won by soft influence of a suppliant prayer;
And Heaven's dread thunderbolt arrested stands
By a cheap victim and uplifted hands.
Long had he wish'd to write, but was withheld,
And writes at last, by love alone compell'd,
For fame, too often true, when she alarms,
Reports thy neighbouring fields-a scene of arms;
Thy city against fierce besiegers barr'd,
And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepared.
Enyo wastes thy country wide around,
And saturates with blood the tainted ground;
Mars rests contented in his Thrace no more,
But goads his steeds to fields of German gore;
The ever-verdant olive fades and dies,
And peace, the trumpet-hating goddess, flies,
Flies from that earth which justice long had left,
And leaves the world of its last guard bereft.'
Thus horror girds thee round. Meantime alone
Thou dwell'st, and helpless, in a soil unknown;
Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand
The aid denied thee inthy nai ve land.
Oh, ruthless country, and unfeeling more
Than thy own billow-beaten chalky shore?
Leavest thou to foreign care the worthies given
By providence to guide thy steps to heaven?
His ministers, commission'd to proclaim
Eternal blessings in a Saviour's name I




ï~~108            TRANSLATONS0
Ah then most worthy, with a soul unfed,
In Stygian night Â~o lie for ever dead!
So once the venerable Tishbite stray'd
An exiled fugitive from shade to shade,
When, flying Ahab and his fury wife,
In lone Arabian wilds he shelter'd life;
So from Philippa wander'd forth forlorn
Cilician Paul, with sounding scourges torn;
And Christ himself, so left, and trod no more
The thankless Gergesene's forbidden shpre.
But thou take courage! strive against despairs
Quake not with dread, nor nourish anxious carol
Grim war, indeed, on every side appears,
And thou art menaced'by a thousand spears;
Yet none shall drink thy blood, or shall offend
E'en the defenceless bosom of my friend.
For thee the X gis of thy God shall hide,
Jehovah's self shall comnibat on thy side.
The same who vanquish'd under Sion's towers
At silent midnight all Assyria's powers,
The same who overthrew in ages past
Damascus' sons that laid Samaria waste!
Their king lie fill'd and them with fatal fears
By mimic sounds of clarions in their ears,
Of hoofs, and wheels, and neighings from afar,
Of clashing armour, and the din of war.
Thou, there (as the most afflicted may),
Still hope, and triumph o'er thy evil day!
Look forth, expecting happier times to come,
And to enjoy, once more, thy native home!
ELEGY V.
ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING.
TIME, never wandering from his annual round,
Bid., zephyr breathe the spring, and thaw the ground;
Bleak winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain,
And earth assumes her transient youth again.
526




ï~~FROM MILTON                  109
Dream I, or also to the spring belong
Increase of genius, and new powers of song?
Spring gives themn, and, how strange soe'er it seems,
Imnpels me now to some harmonious themes.
Castalia's fountain, and the forked hill
By day, by night, my raptured fancy fill;
My bosom burns and heaves, I hear within
A sacred sound that prompts me to begin.
Lo! Phoebus comes, with his bright hair he blends
The radiant laurel wreath; Phoebus descends!
I mount, and undepress'd by cumbrous clay,
Through cloudy regions win my easy way;
Rapt thtrough poetic'shadowy haunts I fly:
The shrines all open to my dauntless eye,
My spirit searches all the realms of light,
And no Tartarean gulfs elude my sight.
But this ecstatic trance-this glorious storm
Of inspiration-what will it perform?
Spring claims the verse that with his influence glows,
And shall be paid with what himself bestows.
Thou, veil'd with opening foliage, lead'st the throng
Of feather'd minstrels, Philomel! in song;
Let us, in coiicert, to the season sing,
Civic and sylvan heralds of the spring!
With notes triumphant spring's approach declare!
To spring, ye muses, annual tribute bear!
The orient left, and Ethiopia's plains,
The sun now northward turns his golden reins;
Night creeps not now; yet r les with gentle sway,
And drives her dusky horrors swift away
Now less fatigued, on this ethereal plain
Boites follows his celestial wain;
knd now the radiant centinels above,
Less numerous, watch around the courts of Jove,
For, with the night, force, ambush, slaughter fly,
And r.o gigantic guilt alarms the sky.
Now, haply says some shepherd, while he views,
Recumbent on a rock, the reddening dews,
rhis night, this, surely, Phoebus miss'd the fair,
Who stops his chariot by her amorous care.
Cynthia, delighted by the morning's glow,
Speeds to the woodland and resunmes her bow;
627




ï~~It

L0             TRANSLATIONS
Resigns her beams, and, glad to disappear,
Blesses his aid, who shortens her career.
Come--Phoebus criea-Aurora, come--too late
Thou lingerest, slumbering, with thy wither'd mate;
Leave him, and to Hymettus' top repair!
Thy darling Cephalus expects thee there.
The goddess with a blush her love betrays,
But mounts, and, driving rapidly, obeys.
Earth now desires thee, Phoebus I and, to engage
Thy warm embrace, casts off the guise of age;
Desires thee, and deserves; for who so sweet
When her rich bosom courts thy genial heat?
Her breath imparts to every breeze that blows
Arabia's harvest and the Paphian rose.
Her lofty front she diadems around
With sacred pines, like Ops on Ida crown'd;
Her dewy locks, with various flowers new blown,
She interweaves, various, and all her own;
For Proserpine, in such a wreath attired,
Tenarian Dis himself with love inspired.
Fear not, lest, cold and coy, the nymph refuse!
Herself, with all her sighing zephyrs, sues;
Each courts thee, fanning soft his scented wing,
And all her groves with warbled wishes ring.
Nor, unendow'd and indigent, aspires
The amorous earth to engage thy warm desires.
But, rich in balmy drugs, assists thy claim,
Divine Physician! to that glorious name.
If splendid recompense, if gifts can move
Desire in thee (gifts often purchase love),
She offers all the wealth her mountains hide,
And all that rests beneath the boundless tide.
How oft, when headlong from the heavenly steep
She sees thee playing in the western deep,
How oft she cries--' Ah Phoebus, why repair
Thy wasted force, why seek refreshment there?
Can Tethys win thee? wherefore shouldst thou lave
A face so fair in her unpleasant wave?
Come, seek my green retreats, and rather chopse
To- cool thy tresses in my crystal dews.
The grassy turf 'hall yield thee sweeter rest;
Come, lay thy evening glories on my breast,
028




ï~~FRiOM    ILTroN.            111
And breathing fresh, through many a humid rose,
Soft whispering airs shall lull thee to repose!
No fears I feel like Semele to die,
Nor let thy burning wheels approach too mnigh,
For thou canst govern them, here therefore rest,
And lay thy evening glories on ra.y breast!'
Thus breathes the wanton Earth her amorous flame,
And all her countless offspring feel the same;
For Cupid now through every region strays,
Brightening his faded fires with solar rays;
His new-strung bow sends forth a deadlier sound,
And his new-pointed shafts more deeply wound;
Nor Dian's self escapes him now untried,
Nor even Vesta at her altar side;
His mother too repairs her beauty's wane,
And seems sprung newly from the deep again.
Exulting youths the hymeneal sing,
With lymen's name roofs, rocks, and valleys ring
He, new attired, and by the season drest,
Proceeds, all fragrant, in his saffron vest.
Now many a golden-cinctured virgin roves
To taste the pleasures of the fields and groves,
All wish, and each alike, some favourite youth
Hers, in the bonds of hymeneal truth.
Now. pipes the shepherd through his reeds again,
Nor Phillis wants a song that suits the strain;
With songs the seaman hails the starry sphere,
And dolphins rise from the abyss to hear:
Jove feels himself the season, sports again
With his fair spouse, and banquets all his train.
Now too the satyrs, in the dusk of eve,
Their mazy dance through flowery meadows weave
And neither god nor goat, but both in kind,
Silvanus, wreath'd With cypress, skips behind.
The dryads leave their hollow sylvan cells
To roam the banks and solitary dells;
Pan riots now; and from his amorous chafe
Ceres and Cybele seem hardly safe,
And Faunus, all on fire to reach the prize,
In chase of some enticing oread flies;
She bounds before, but fears too swift a bound,
And hidden lies, but wishes to be fouid.
@39




ï~~112             TIYA 1SLATiONS
Our shades entice the iutaortals from above,
And some kind power presides o'er every grnve;
And long, ye powers, o'er every grove preside,
For all is safe, and blest, where ye abide I
Return, O Jove! the age of gold restoreWhy choose to dwell where storms and thunder roar 1
At least thou, Phoebus! moderate thy speed!
Let not the vernal hours too swift proceed,
Command rough winter back, nor yield the pole
Too soon to night's encroaching, long control 1
ELEGY VI.
TO CHARLES DEODATI,
Who, while he spent his Christmas in the country, sent the
Author a poetical epistle, in which he requested that his verses,
if tsot so tood as usiai, oisht be exesei on accoulit of the
many fetsa to which his "fiends invited him, and which would
not allow him leisure to finish them as he wishied.
WITH no rich viands overcharged, I send   [friend.
Health, which perchance you want my pamper'd
But wherefore should thy muse tempt mine away
From what she loves, from darkness into day?
Art thou desirous to be told how well
I love thee, and in verse? verse cannot tell.
For verse has bounds, and must in measure move;
But neither bounds nor measure knows my love.
How pleasant, in thy lines described, appear
December's harmless sports, and rural cheer I
French spirits kindling with cwrulean fires,
And aUll such gambols as the time inspires I
Think not that wine against good verse offends,
The muse and Bacchus have been always friends;
Nor Phoebus blushes sometimes to be found
With ivy, rather than with laurel, crown'd.
The Nine themselves ofttimes have join'd the song;
And revels of the Bacchanalian throng;
Not even Ovid could in Scythian air
Sing sweetly-why? no vine would flourish there.
530




ï~~FROM MILTON.                 113
What in brief numbers sung Anacreon's muse?
Wine, and the rose that sparkling wine bedews.
Pindar with Bacchus glows-his every line
Breathes the rich fragrance of inspiring wine,
While, with loud cra;hi o'erturn d, the chariot lies,
And brown with dust the fiery courser flies.
The Roman lyrist steep'd in wine his lays
So sweet in Glycera's and Chloe's. praise.
Now too the plenteous feast and mantling bowl
Nourish the vigour of thy sprightly soul;
The flowing goblet makes thy numbers flow,
And casks not wine alone, but verse bestow.
Thus Phoebus favours, and the arts attend,
Whom Bacchns and whom Ceres both befriend.
What wonder, then, thy verses are so sweet
In which these triple powers so kindly meet! I
The lute now also sounds, with gold inwrought,
And, touch'd with flying fingers nicely taught,
In tapestried halls, high roof'd, the sprightly lyre
Directs the dancers of the virgin choir.
If dull repletion fright the tnuse away,
Sights gay as these may more invite her stay;
And, trust me, while the ivory keys resound,
Fair damsels;Iaort ond perfumes steam around,
Apollo's intl terce, like ethereal flame,
Shall animwtre, at o ce thy glowing frame,
And all the eMuie sthall rush inito thy breast,
By love and music s blended powers possest.
For numerous powers light elegy befriend,
Hear her sweet voice, and at her call attend;
Her, Bacchus, Ceres, Venus, all approve,
And, with his blushing mother, gentle Love.
Hence to such bards we grant the copious use
Of banquets, and the vine's delicious juice.
But they who demigods and heroes praise,
And feats perform'd in Jove's more youthful days,
Who now the counsels of highl heaven explore,
Now shades that echo the Cerberean roar,
Simply let these, like him of Samos, live,
Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give;
In beechen goblets let their beverage shine,
Cool from the crystal spring, their sober wine I
E31




ï~~14             TRANSLATIONS
Their youth should pass in innocence secure
From stain licoentious, and in manners pure,
Pure as the priest, when robed in white he stands,
The fresh lustration ready in his hands.
Thus Linus lived, and thus, as poets write,
Tiresias, wiser for his loss of sight;
Thus exiled Chalcas, thus the Bard of Thrace,
Melodious Tamar of the savage race;
Thus train'd by temperance, Homer led, of yore,
His chief of Ithaca from shore to shore,
Through magic Circe's monster-peopled reign,
And shoals insidious with the syren train;
And through the realms where grizzly spectres dwell
Whose tribes he fetter'd in a gory spell;
For these are sacred bards, and from above
Drink large infusions from the mind of Jove.
Wouldst thou (perhaps 'tis hardly worth thine ear)
Wouldst thou be told my occupation here?
The promised King of peace employs my penk
The eternal covenant made for guilty men,
The new-born Deity with infant cries
Filling the sordid hovel where he lies;
The hymning angels, and the herald star,
That led the wise, who sought him from afar,
And idols on their own unhallow'd shore
Dash'd, at his birth, to be revered no more.
This theme on reeds of Albion I rehearse:
The dawn of that blest day inspired the verse,
Verse that, reserved in secret, shall attend
Thy candid voice, my critic, and my friend!
ELEGY VII.
As yet a stranger to the gentle fires
That Amathusia's smiling queen inspires,
Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts,
And scorn d his claim to rule all human hearts., Go, child,' I said, ' transfix the timorous dove!
An easy conquest suits an infant 1 ve;

ti32




ï~~FROM MILTON.

115

Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be
Sufficient triumph to a chief like thee!
Why aim thy idle arms at human kind?
Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind.'
The Cyprian heard, and, kindling into ire,;None kindles sooner) burn'd with double fire.
It was the spring, and newly-risen day
Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the first of May;
My eyes, too tender for the blaze of light,
Still sought the shelter of retiring night,
When love approach'd, in painted plumes array'd,
The insidious god his rattling darts betray'd,
Nor less his infant features, and the sly,
Sweet intimations of his threatening eye.
Such the Sigeian boy is seen above
Filling the goblet for imperial Jove;
Such he, on whom the nymphs bestow'd their charms,
Hylas, who perish'd in a naiad's arms.
Angry he seem'd, yet graceful in his ire,
And added threats not destitute of fire.
I My power,' he said, ' by others' pain alone,
'Twere best to learn; now learn it by thy own!
With those that feel my power, that power attest!
And in thy anguish be my sway confest
I vanquish'd Phoebus, though returning vain
From his new triumph o'er the Python slain,
And, when he thinks on Daphne, even he
Will yield the prize of archery to me.
A dart less true the Parthian horseman sped,
Behind him kill'd, and conquer'd as he fled:
Less true tye expert Cydonian, and less true
The youth whose shaft his latent Procris slew.
Vanquish'd by me see huge Orion bend,
By me Alcides, and Alcides' friend.
At me should Jove himself a bolt design,
His bosom first should bleed transfix'd by mine.
But all thy doubts this shaft will best explain,
Nor shall it reach thee with a trivial pain.
Thy muse, vain youth! shall not thy peace ensure,
Nor Phoebus' serpent yield thy wound a cure.'
He spoke, and, waving a bright shaft in air,
Sought the warr4 bosom of the Cyprian fair.
533




ï~~S1(           TRANSLATIONS
That tons a child should bluster in my ear,
Provoked my laughter more than moved my fear.
shunn'd not, therefore, pnblic haunts, bat stray'd
Careless in city or suburban shade,
And, passing and repassing nymphs that moved
With grace divine, beheld. where'er I roved.
Bright shone the vernal day with double blaze
As beauty gave new force to Phoebus' rays.
By no grave scruples check'd, I freely eyed
The dangerous show, rash youth my only guide,
And many a look of many a fair unknown
Met fall, unable to control my own.
But one I mark'd (then peace forsook my breast),
One-Oh how far superior to the rest!
What lovely features! such the Cyprian queen
Herself might wish, and Juno wish her mien.
The very nymph was she, whom, when I dared
His arrows, Love had even then prepared I
Nor was himself remote, nor ansupplied
With torch well trinm'd and quiver at his side;
Now to her lips he clung, her eyelids now,
Then settled on her cheeks, or on her brow;
And with a thousand wounds from every part
Pierced and transpierced my undefended heart.
A fever, new to me, of fierce desire
Now seized my soul, and I was all on fire;
But she, the while, whom only I adore,
Was gone, and vanish'd, to appear no more.
In silent sadness I pursue my way;
I pause, I turn, proceed, yet wish to stay,
And, while I follow her in thought, bemoan
With tears my soul's delight so quickly flown.
Whe $obve had hurl'd him to tbe Lemnian coast,
So Vulcan sorrow'd for Olympus lost,
And so (Eclides, sinking into night,
From the deep gulf look'd up to distant light.
Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remain,
Who cannot cease to love, yet love in vain?
Oh could I once, once more behold the faii,
Speak to her, tell her of the pangs I bear;
Perhaps she is not adamant; would show,
Perhaps, some pity at my tale of *oe.




ï~~FRO M ":MILTU N.             117
Oh inauspicious flame-'tis mine to prove
A matchless instance of disastrous love.
Ahl, spare me, gentle power!-If such thou be,
Let not thy deeds and nature disagree.
Spare me, and I will worship at no shrine
With vow and sacrifice save only thine.
Now I revere thy fires, thy bow, thy darts:
Now own thee sovereign of all human hearts.
Remove! no-grant me still this raging woe I
Sweet is the wretchedness that lovers know:
But pierce hereafter (should I chance to see
One destined mine) at once both her and me.
Such were the trophies that, in earlier days,
By vanity Seduced, I toil'd to raise;
Studious, yet indolent, and urged by youth,
That worst of teachers? from the ways of truth;
Till learning taught me in his shady bower
To quit love's servile yoke, and spurn his power.
Then, on a sudden, the fierce flame supprest,
A frost continual settled on my breast,
Whence Cupid fears his flames extinct to see,
And Venus dreads a Diomede in me.
EPIGRAMS.
ON THE INVENTOR OF GUNS.
PRAISE in old time the sage Prometheus won,
Who stole ethereal radiance from the sun;
But greater he, whose bold invention strove
To emulate the fiery bolts of Jove.
[The Poems on the subject at the Gunpowder Treason I have
not translated, both because the. matter of them is unpleasant, and
because they are written with an asperity, which, however it
might be warranted in Milton's day, would be extremsely uasei.
sonable now.]
535




ï~~IIS             TlANSLATIOANS
TO LEONORA SINGING AT ROME.*
ANOTHER Leonora once inspired
Tasso, with fatal love to phrensy fired;
But how much happier, lived he now, were he,
Pierced with whatever pangs for love of thee!
Since could he hear that heavenly  oice of thine,
With Adriana's lute of sound divine,
Fiercer than Pentheus' though his eye might roll,
Or idiot apathy benumb his soul,
You still, with medicinal sounds might cheer
His senses wandering in a blind career i
And, sweetly breathing through his wounded breast,
Charm, with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to rest.
TO THE SAME.
NAPLES, too creaulous, ah! boast no mOre
The sweet-voiced syren buried on thy shore,
That, when Parthenope deceased, she gave
Her sacred dust to a Chalcidic grave,
For still she lives, but has exchanged the hoarse
Pausilipo for Tiber's placid course,
Where, idol of all Rome, she now in chains
Of magic song both gods and men detains.
THE COTTAGER AND HIS LANDLORD.
A FABLE
A PEASANT to his lord paid yearly court,
Presenting pippins ot so rich a sort
I have translated only two of the three poetical compliments
addressed to Leonora, as they appear to me far superior to what
1 have omitted.




ï~~FROM MILTON.                119
That he, displeased to have a part alone,
Removed the tree, that all might be his own.
The tree, too old to travel, though before
So fruitful, wither'd, and would yield no more.
The squire, perceiving all his labour void,
Cursed his own pains, so foolishly employ'd,
And, ' Oh,' he cried, ' that I had lived content
With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant!
My avarice has expensive proved to me,
Has cost me both my pippins and my tree.'
TO CHRISTINA, QUEEN OF SWEDEN, WITH
CROMWELL'S PICTURE.
CHRISTINA, maiden of heroic mien!
Star of the North! of northern stars the queen!
Behold what wrinkles I have earn'd, and how
The iron casque still chafes my veteran brow,
While following Fate's dark footsteps, I fulfil
The dictates of a hardy people's will.
But soften'd in thy sight my looks appear,
Not to all queens or kings alike severe.
ON THE DEATH OF THE VICE-CHANCELLOR,
A PHYSICIAN.
LEARN, ye nations of the earth,
The condition of your birth,
Now be taught your feeble state!
Know, that all must yield to fate!
If the mournful rover, Death,
Say but once--' Resign your breath!'
Vainly of escape you dream,
You must pass the Stygian stream.
Could the stoutest overcome
Death's assault, and baffle doom.
Hercules had both withstood,
Undiseased by Nessus' blood
2M




ï~~120            TRANSLATIONS
Ne'er had Hector press'd the plala
By a trick of Pallas slain,
Nor the chief to Jove allied
By Achilles' phantom died.
Could enchantments life prolong,
Circe, saved by magic song,
Still had lived, and equal skill
Had preserved Medea still.
Dwelt in herbs and drugs a power
To avert nian's destined hour,
Learn'd Machaon should have knows
Doubtless to avert his own.
Chiron had survived the smart
Of the hydra-tainted dart,
And Jove's bolt had been, with ease,
Foil'd by Asclepiades.
Thou too, sage I of whom forlorn
Helicon and Cirrha mourn,
Still hadst fill'd thy princely place
Regent of the gowned race:
Hadst advanced to higher fame
Still thy much-ennobled name,
Nor in Charon's skiff explored
The Tartarean gulf abhorr'd.
But resentful Proserpine,
Jealous of thy skill divine,
Snapping short thy vital thread,
Thee too number'd with the dead.
Wise and good! untroubled be
The green turf that covers thee I
Thence, in gay profusion, grow
All the sweetest flowers that blow
Pluto's consort bid thee rest I
]Eacus pronounce thee blest I
To her home thy shade consign
Make Elysium ever thine I




ï~~FROM MILTON.

121

ON THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF ELY.
Mr lids with grief were tumid yet,.
And still my sullied cheek was wet
With briny dews, profusely shed
For venerable Winton dead;
When fame, whose tales of saddest sound,
Alas! are ever truest found,
The news through all our cities spread
Of yet another mitred head
By ruthless fate to death consign'd,
Ely, the honour of his kind!
At once a storm of passion heaved
My boiling bosom, much I grieved;
But more I raged, at every breath
Devoting Death himself to death.
With less revenge did Naso teem
When hated Ibis was his theme;
With less Archilochus denied
The lovely Greek his promised bride.
But lo! while thus I execrate
Incensed the minister of fate,
Wondrous accents, soft, yet clear,
Wafted on the gale I hear.
' Ah, much deluded! lay aside
Thy threats, and anger misapplied I
Art not afraid with sounds like these
To offend, where thou canst not appease I
Death is not (wherefore dream'st thou thust)
The son of night and Erebus:
Nor was of fell Erynnis born
On gulfs where Chaos rules forlorn.
But sent from God, his presence leaves,
To gather home his ripen'd sheaves,
To call encumber'd souls away
From fleshly bonds to boundless day,
(As when the winged hours excite,
And summon forth the morning light)
And each to convoy to her place
Before the Eternal Father's face.
G                39




ï~~122             TRANSLATIONS
But not the wicked-them, severe
Yet just, from all their pleasures here
He hurries to the realms below,
Terrific realms of penal woe!
Myself no sooner heard his call,
Than, 'scaping through my prison wall,
I bade adieu to bolts and bars,
And soar'd, with angels, to the stars,
Like him of old, to whom 'twas given
To mount on fiery wheels to heaven.
Boite's waggon, slow with cold,
Appall'd me not; nor to behold
Thesword that vast Orion draws,
Or e'en the scorpion's horrid claws.
Beyond the sun's bright orb I fly,
And far beneath my feet descry
Night's dread goddess, seen with awe,
Whom her winged dragons draw.
Thus, ever wondering at my speed,
Augmented still as I proceed,
I pass the planetary sphere,
The milky way-and now appear
Heaven's crystal battlements, her door
Of massy pearl, and emerald floor.
But here I cease. For never can
The tongue of once a mortal man
In suitable description trace
The pleasures of that happy place;
Suffice it, that those joys divine
Are all, and all for ever mine!'
NATURE UNIMPAIRED BY TIME.
AH, how the human mind wearies herself
With her own wanderings, and, involved in,lo,
Impenetrable, speculates amiss!
Measuring in her folly things divine
By human; laws inscribed on adamant
540




ï~~FROM MILTON.

123

By laws of man's device, and counsels fix'd
For ever, by the hours that pass and die.
How?-shall the face of nature then be plough'd
Into deep wrinkles, and shall years at last
On the great parent fix a sterile curse?
Shall even she confess old age, and halt,
And, palsy-smitten, shake her starry brows?
Shall foul antiquity with rust, and drought,
And famine, vex the radiant worlds above?
Shall time's unsated maw crave and ingulf
The very heavens, that regulate his flight?
And was the sire of all able to fence
His works, and to uphold the circling worlds,
But, through improvident and heedless haste
Let slip the occasion T?---so then-all is lostAnd in some future evil hour, yon arch
Shall crumble, and come thundering down, the poles
Jar in collision, the Olympian king
Fall withhJais throne, and Pallas, holding forth
The terrors of the Gorgon shield in vain,
Shall rush to the abyss, like Vulcan hurl'd
Down into Lemnos, through the gate of heaven.
Thou also, with precipitated wheels,
Phoebus! thy own son's fall shall imitate,
With hideous ruin shalt impress the deep
Suddenly, and the flood shall reek, and hiss,
At the extinction of the lamp of day.
Then too shall Hsmus, cloven to his base,
Be shatter'd, and the huge Ceraunian hills,
Once weapons of Tartarean Dis, immersed
In Erebus, shall fill himself with fear.
No. The Almighty Father surer laid
His deep foundations, and, providing well
For the event of all, the scales of fate
Suspended in just equipoise, and bade
His universal works, from age.to age,
One tenour hold, perpetual, undisturb'd.
Hence the prime mover wheels itself about
Continual, day by day, and with it bears
In social measure swift the heavens around.
Not tardier now is Saturn than of old,
Nor radiant less the burning casque of Mars.
641




ï~~124             TRANSLATIONS
Phoebus, his vigour unimpair'd, still shows
The effulgence of his youth, nor needs the god
A downward course, that he may warm the vales;
But, ever rich in influence, runs his road,
Sigh after sign, through all the heavenly zone
Beautiful, as at first, ascends the star
From odoriferous Ind, whose office is
To gather home betimes the ethereal flock,
To pour them o'er the skies again at eve,
And to discriminate the night and day.
Still Cynthia's changeful horn waxes and wan
Alternate, and with arms extended still
She welcomes to her breast her brother's beams.
Nor have the elements deserted yet
Their functions; thunder with as loud a stroke
As erst smites through the rocks and scatters them.
The east still howls; still the relentless north
Invades the shuddering Scythian, still he breathes
The winter, and still rolls the storms along.
The king of ocean, with his wonted force,
Beats on Pelores; o'er the deep is heard
The hoarse alarm of Triton's sounding shell;
Nor swim the monsters of the Egean sea
In shallows, or beneath diminish'd waves.
Thou too, thy ancient vegetative power
Enjoy'st, O earth! Narcissus still is sweet
And Phoebus I still thy favourite, and still
Thy favourite Cytherea I both retain
Their beauty; nor the mountains, ore-enrich'd
For punishment of man, with purer gold
Teem'd ever, or with brighter gems the deep.
Thus in unbroken series all proceeds;
And shall, till wide involving either pole,
And the immensity of yonder heaven,
The final flames of destiny absorb
The world, consumed in one enormous pyre

M




ï~~FROM MI LTON.

125

DN THE PLATONIC IDEA,
AS IT WAS UNDERSTOOD BY ARISTOTLE.
Ys sister powers, who o'er the sacred groves
Preside, and thou, fair mother of them all,
Mnemosyne! and thou who, in thy grot
Immense, reclined at leisure, hast in charge
The archives and the ordinances of Jove,
And dost record the festivals of heaven,
Eternity!-inform us who is He,
That great original by nature chosen
To be the archetype of human kind,
Unchangeable, immortal, with the poles
Themselves coeval, one, yet every where
An image of the God who gave him being?
Twin-brother of the goddess born from Jove,
He dwells not in his father's mind, but, though
Of common nature with ourselves, exists
Apart, and occupies a local home.
Whether, companion of the stars, he spend
Eternal ages, roaming at his will
From sphere to sphere the tenfold heavens, or dwell
On the moon's side that nearest neighbours earth,
Or torpid on the banks of Lethe sit,
Amnong the multitude of souls ordain'd
To flesh and blood; or wvhether (as may chance)
That vast and giant model of our kind
In some far distant region of this globe
Sequester'd stalk, with lifted head on high
O'ertowering Atlas, on whose shoulders rest
The stars, terrific even to the gods.
Never the Theban seer, whose blindness proved
His best illumination, him beheld
In secret vision; never him the son
Of Pleione, amid the noiseless night
Descending, to the prophet-choir reveal'd;
Him never knew the Assyrian priest, who yet
The ancestry of Ninus' chronicles,
And Belus, and Osiris, far renown'd,
Nor even thrice great Hermes, although skill's
543




ï~~120             TRANSLATIONS
So deep in mystery, to the worshippers
Of Isis showd a prodigy like him.
And thou, who hast immortalized the shaLe
Of Academus, if the schools received
This monster of the fancy first from thee
Either recall at once the banish'd bards
To thy republic, or thyself, evinced
A wilder fabulist, go also forth.
TO HIS FATHER.
OH that Pieria's spring would through my breast
Pour its inspiring influence, and -ush
No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood
That, for my venerable father's sake
All meaner themes renounced, my muse, on wings
Of duty borne, might reach a loftier strain.
For thee, my father! howsoe'er it please,
She frames this slender work; nor know I aught
That may thy gifts more suitably requite;
Though to requite them suitably would ask
Returns much nobler, and surpassing far
The meagre stores of verbal gratitude:
But, such as I possess, I send thee all.
This page presents thee in their full amount
With thy son's treasures, and the sum is nought
Nought, save the riches that from airy dream
In secret grottos and in laurel bowers,
I have, by golden Clio's gift, acquired.
Verse is a work divine; despise not thou
Verse therefore; which evinces (nothing more)
Man's heavenly source, and which, retaining still
Some scintillations of Promethean fire,
Bespeaks him animated from above.
The gods love verse; the infernal powers themselves
Confess the influence of verse, which stirs
The lowest deep, and binds in triple chains
Of adamant both Plato and the shades.
44




ï~~FROM MILTON.
In verse the Delphic priestess and the pale
Tremulous sybil make the future known;
And he who sacrifices, on the shrine          [bull
Hangs verse, both when he smites the threatening
And when he spreads his reeking entrails wide
To scrutinize the fates enveloped there.
We too, ourselves, what time we seek again
Our native skies, and one eternal now
Shall be the only measure of our being,
Crown'd all with gold, and chanting to the lyre
Harmonious verse, shall range the courts above,
And make the starry firmament resound.
And, even now, the fiery spirit pure
That wheels yon circling orbs, directs himself
Their mazy dance with melody of verse
Unutterable, immortal, hearing which
Huge Ophiuchus holds his hiss suppress'd;
Orion, soften'd, drops his ardent blade,
And Atlas stands unconscious of his load.
Verse graced of old the feasts of kings, ere yet
Luxurious dainties, destined to the-gulf
Immense of gluttony, were known, and ere
Lyeus deluged yet the temperate board.
Then sat the bard a customary guest
To share the banquet, and, his length of locks
With beechen honours bound, proposed in verse
The characters of heroes and their deeds,
To imitation, sang of chaos old,
Of nature's birth, of gods that crept in search
Of acorns fallen, and of the thunderbolt
Not yet produced from JEtna's fiery cave.
And what avails, at last, tune without voice,
Devoid of matter? Such may suit perhaps
The rural dance, but such was ne'er the song
Of Orpheus, whom the streams stood still to heart
And the oaks follow'd. Not by chords alone
Well touch'd, but by resistless accents more
To sympathetic tears the ghosts themselves
He moved; these praises to his verse he owes.
Nor thou persist, I pray thee, still to slight
The sacred Nine, and to imagine vain
And useless powers, by whom inspired, thyself




ï~~128             TRAN SLATIONS
Art skilful to associate verse with airs
Harmonious, aAid to give the human votke
A thousand modulations, heir by right
Indisputable of Arion's fame.
Now say, what wonder is it, if a son
Of thine delight in verse, if, so conjoin'd
In close affinity, we sympathize
In social arts and kindred studies sweet
Such distribution of himself to us
Was Phoebus' choice; thou hast thy gift, and I
Mine also, and between us we receive,
Father and son, the whole inspiring god.
No! howsoe'er the semblance thou assume
Of hate, thou hatest not the gentle muse,
My father I for thou never badest me tread
The beaten path, and broad, that leads right on
To opulence, nor didst condemn thy son
To the insipid clamours of the bar,
To laws voluminous, and ill observed;
But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill
My mind with treasure, ledst me far away
From city din to deep retreats, to banks
And streams Aonian, and, with free consent
Didst place me happy at Apollo's side.
I speak not now, on more important themes
Intent, of common benefits, and such
As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts,
Myl- father! who, when I had open'd once
The stores of Roman rhetorick, and learn'd
The full-toned language of the eloquent Greeks,
Whose lofty music graced the lips of Jove,
Thyself didst counsel me to add the flowers
That Gallia boasts, those too, with which the smooth
Italian his degenerate speech adorns,
That witnesses his mixture with the Goth;
And Palestine's prophetic songs divine.
To sum the whole, whate'er the heaven contains,
The earth beneath it, and the air between,
The rivers and the restless deep, may all
Prove intellectual gain to me, my wish
Concurring with thy will; science herself,
All cloud removed, inclines her beauteous head,
546




ï~~FlOM MILTON.                 129
And offers me the lip, if, dull of heart,
I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon.
Go now, and gather dross, ye sordid minds
That covet it; what could my father more
What more could Jove himself, unless he gave
His own abode, the heaven, in which he reigns t
More eligible gifts than these were not
Apollo's to his son, had they been safe
As they were insecure, who made the boy
The world's vice-luminary, bade him rule
The radiant chariot of the day, and bind
To his young brows his own all-dazzling wreath.
I therefore, although last and least, my place
Among the learned in the laurel grove
Will hold, and where the conqueror's ivy twines,
Henceforth exempt from the unletter'd throng
Profane, nor even to be seen by such.
Away then, sleepless care, complaint, away,
And envy, with thy 'jealous leer malign!'
Nor let the monster calumny shoot forth
Her venom'd tongue at me. Detested foes I
Ye all are impotent against my peace,
For I am privileged, and bear my breast
Safe, and too high, for your viperean wound.
But thou, my father! since to render thanks
Equivalent, and to requite by deeds
Thy liberality, exceeds my power,
Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts,
And bear them treasured in a grateful mind!
Ye, too, the favourite pastime of my youth,
My voluntary numbers, if ye dare
To hope longevity, and to survive
Your master's funeral, not soon absorb'd
In the oblivious Lethaean gulf,
Shall to futurity perhaps convey
This theme, and by these praises of my sire
Improve the fathers of a distant age!

02




ï~~130         TRANSLATIONS

TO SALSILLUS, A ROMAN POET, MUCH
INDISPDSED.
The original is written in a mneasure called Scazon, which sig
nifies limping, and the measure is so denominated, because,
though in other respects la;oic, it terminates with a Spondee,
and has, consequently, a more tardy movement.
The reader will immediately see that this property of the Latita
verse cannot be imitated in English.
MY-halting muse, that dragg'st by choice along
Thy slow, slow step, in melancholy song,
And likest that pace, expressive of thy cares,
Not less than Diopeia's sprightlier iirs,
When in the dance she beats with measured tread
Heaven's floor, in front of Juno's golden bed;
Salute Salsillus, who to verse divine
Prefers, with partial love, such lays as mine.
Thus writes that Milton, then, who, wafted o'er
From his own nest on Albion's stormy shore,
Where Eurus, fiercest of the.Eolian band,
Sweeps with ungovern'd rage the blasted land,
Of late to more serene Ausonia came
To view her cities of illustrious name,
To prove, himself a witness of the truth,
Hcw wise her elders, and how learn'd her youth.
Much good, Salsillus! and a body free
From all disease, that Milton asks for thee,
Who now endurest the languor and the pains
That bile inflicts, diffused through all thy veins;
Relentless malady! not moved to spare
By thy sweet Roman voice and Lesbian air!
Health, Hebe's sister, sent us from the skies
And thou, Apollo, whom all sickness flies,
Pythius, or Pean, or what name divine
Soe'er thou choose, haste, heal a priest of thine I
Ye groves of Faunus, and ye hills that melt
With vinous dews, where meek Evander dwelt!
If aught salubrious in your confines grow,
Strive which shall soonest heal your poet's woe,
That, render'd to the mause he loves, again
Hle may enchant the meadows with his strain.
6"8




ï~~FROM    MILTON.                  131
Numa, reclined in everlasting ease
Amid the shade of dark embowering trees,
Viewing with eyes of unabated fire
His loved )Egeria, shall that strain admire
So sooth'd, the tumid Tiber shall revere
The tombs of kings, nor desolate the year,
Shall curb his waters with a friendly rein,
And guide them harmless, till they meet the main.
TO GIOVANNI BATTISTA MANSO
MARQUIS OF VILLA.
MILTON S ACCOUNT OF MIANSO.
tiovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of V;lla, is an Ita4ian nobleman of the highest estimatio amaons his countrymen, for
genius literature, and military accomplishments. To him Torquato Tasso addressed his Dialogues on Friendship, for he was
much the friend of Tasso, h-) has also celebrated him among
the other princes of his coiuntry, in his poem entitled Gerusa.
lemme Conquistata, book xx
Fra cavalier magnaniml, e cortesi,
Risplende it Manso.
Dering the Author's stay at Naples, he received at the hands of
the Marquis a thousand kind offices and civilities, and, desirous
not to appear ungrateful, sent him this poem a short time before his departure froa that city.
THESE verses also to thy praise, the Nine,
O Manso! happy in that theme, design,
For, Gallus and Mtecenas gone, they see
None such besides, or whom they love as thee
And if my verse may give the meed of fame,
Thine too shall prove an everlasting name.
Already such, it shines in Tasso's page
(For thou wast Tasso's friend) from age to age,
And, next, the muse consign'd (not unaware
How high the charge) Marino to thy care,
Who, singing to the nymphs Adonis' praise,
Boasts thee the patron of his copious lays.
To thee alone the poet would entrust
His latest vows, to thee alone his dust;
549




ï~~132              TRAN SLAIO NS
And thou with punctual piety hast paid,
In labour'd brass, thy tribute to his shade.
Nor this contented thee-but lest the grave   [save,
Should aught absorb of theirs which thou couldst
All future ages thou hast deign'd to teach
The life, lot, genius, character of each,
Eloquent as the Carian sage, who, true
To his great theme, the life of Homer drew.
I, therefore, though a stranger youth, who come
Chill'd by rude blasts that freeze my northern home.
Thee dear to Clio, confident proclaim,
And thine, for Phoebus' sake, a deathless name.
Nor thou, so kind, wilt view with scornful eye
A muse scarce rear'd beneath our sullen sky,
Who fears not, indiscreet as she is young,
To seek in Latium hearers of her song.
We too, where Thames with its unsullied waves
The tresses of the blue-hair'd Ocean laves,
Hear oft by night, or, slumbering, seem to hear,
O'er his wide stream, the swan's voice warbling
Andwe could boast a Tityrus of yore        iclear;
Who trod, a welcome guest, your happy shore.
Yes-dreary as we own our northern clime,
E'en we to Phoebus raise the polish'd rhyme,
We too serve Phoebuss; Phoebus has received
(If legends old may claim to be believed)
No sordid gifts from us, the golden ear,
The burnish'd apple, ruddiest of the year,
The fragrant crocus, andto grace his fane,
Fair damsels chosen from the druid train
Druids, our native bards in ancient time,
Who gods and heroes praised in hallow'd rhyme!
Hence, often as the maids of Greece surround
Apollo's shrine with hymns of festive sound,
They name the virgins who arrived of yore
With British offerings on the Delian shore,
Loxo, from giant Corineus sprung,
Upis, on whose blest lips the future hung,
And Hacaerge, with the golden hair,         [bare.
All deck'd with Pictish hues, and all with bosoms
Thou, therefore, happy sage, whatever clime
Shall ring with Tasso's praise in after time,
SMO




ï~~FROM MILTON.                  133
Or with Marino's, shalt be known their friend
And with an equal flight to fame ascend.
The world shall hear how Phoebus and the Nine
Were inmates once, and willing guests of thine.
Yet Phoebus, when of old constrain'd to roam
The earth, an exile from his heavenly home
Enter'd, no willing guest, Admetus' door,
Though Hercules had ventured there before.
But gentle Chiron's cave was near, a scene
Of rural peace, cloth'd with perpetual green,
And thither, oft as respite he required
From rustic clamours loud, the god retired.
There, many a time, on Peneus' bank reclined
At some oak's root, with ivy thick entwined,
Won by his hospitable friend's desire,
He sooth'd his pains of exile with the lyre.
Then shook the hills, then trembled Peneus' shore;
Nor (Eta felt his load of forest more;
The upland elms descended to the plain,
And soften'd lynxes wonder'd at that sti ain.
Well may we think, Oh, dear to all above I
Thy birth distinguish'd by the smile of Jove,
And that Apollo shed his kindliest power,
And Maia's son, on that propitious hour,
Since only minds so born can comprehend
A poet's worth, or yield that worth a friend.
Hence on thy yet unfaded cheek appears
The lingering freshness of thy greener years,
Hence in thy front and features we admire
Nature unwither'd and a mind entire.
O might so true a friend to me belong,
So skill'd to grace the votaries of song,
Should I recall hereafter into rhyme
The kings and heroes of my native clime,
Arthur the chief, who even now prepares,
In subterraneous being, future wars,
With all his martial knights, to be restored
Each to his seat around the federal board;
And Oh, if spirit fail me not, disperse
Our Saxon plunderers in triumphant verse I
Then, after all, when, with the past content,
A life I finish, not in silence spent;
551




ï~~134              TRANSLATIONS
Should he, Wind anourner, o'er my death-bed bend
I shall but need to say-' Be yet my friend I'
He, too, perhaps, shall bid the marble breathe
To honour me, and with the graceful wreath
Or of Parnassus or the Paphian isle
Shall bind my brows-but I shall rest the while
Then also, if the fruits of faith endure,
And virtue's promised recompense be sure,
Born to those seats to which the blest aspire
By purity of soul and virtuous fire,
These rites, as fate permits, I shall survey
With eyes illumined by celestial day,
And, every cloud from my pure spirit driven,
Joy in the bright beatitude of heaven!
ON THE DEATH OF DAMON.
THE ARGUMENT.
Thyrsis and Damon, sheherds and neighbours, had always pusued the same studies, and had, from their earliest days, beau
united in the closest friendship. Thyrsis while travelling fol
impovement, received intelligence of the death of Damon,
and, after a time, returning ana finding it true, deplores himself, and his solitary condition. in this poem.
By Damon is to be understood Charles Deodati, connected with the
Italian city of Lucca by his father's side, in other respects an
Englishman; a youth of uncommon genius, erudition, and
virtue.
YE Nymphs of Himera, (for ye have shed
Erewhile for Daphnis, and for Hylas dead,
And over Bion's long-lamented bier,
The fruitless meed of many a sacred tear)
Now through the villas laved by Thames rehearse
The woes of Thyrsis in Sicilian verse,        [found
What sighs he heaved, and how with groans pro.
He made the woods and hollow rocks resound,
Young Damon dead; nor even ceased to pour
His lonely sorrows at the midnight hour.
The green wheat twice had nodded in the ear,
And golden harvest twice enrich'd the year,
Since Damon s lips had gasp'd for vital air
The last, last time, nor Thyrsie yet was there;




ï~~FROM MILTON.                 135
For he, enamour'd of the muse, semain'd
In Tuscan Fiorenza long detain'd,
But, stored at length with all he wish'd to learn,
For his flock's sake now hasted to return;
And when the shepherd had resumed his seat
At the elm's root, within his old retreat,
Then 'twas his lot, then all his loss to know,
And from his burthen'd heart he vented thus his woe:
' Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are
To other cares than those of feeding you.   [due
Alas I what deities shall I suppose
In heaven, or earth, concern'd for human woes,
Since, Oh my Damon! their severe decree
So soon condemns me to regret of thee!
Depart'st thou thus, thy virtues unrepaid
With fame and honour, like a vulgar shade!
Let him forbid it whose bright rod controls,
And separates sordid from illustrious souls;
Drive far the rabble, and to thee assign
A happier lot with spirits worthy thine!
' Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are
To other cares than these of feeding you.   [due
Whate'er befall, unless by cruel chance
The wolf first give me a forbidding glance,
Thou shalt not moulder undeplored, but long
Thy praise shall dwell on every shepherd's tongue.
To Daphnis first they shall delight to pay,
And, after him, to thee the votive lay,
While Pales shall the flocks and pastures love,
Or Faunus to frequent the field or grove;
At least, if ancient piety and truth,
With all the learned labours of thy youth,
May serve thee aught, or to have left behind
A sorrowing friend, and of the tuneful kind.
' Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are
To other cares than those of feeding you.   [due
Who, now, my pains and perils shall divide,
As thou wast wont, for ever at my side,
Both When the rugged frost annoy'd our feet,
And when the herbage all was parch'd with'heat;
Whether the grim wolf's ravage to prevent,
Or the huge lion's, arm'd with darts we went;
2 N 




ï~~136            TRANSLATIONS
Whose onverse now shall calm my stormy day,
With charming song who now beguile my way?
' Go, seek your lme, my lambs; my thoughts are
To other cares than those of feeding you.  [due
In whom shall I confrde? Whose counsel find
A balmy medicine for my troubled mind?
Or whose discourse with innocent delight
Shall fill me now, and cheat the wintry night,
While hisses on my hearth the pulpy pear,
And blackening chestnuts start and crackle there,
While storms abroad the dreary meadows whelm.
And the wind thunders through the neighbouring elm.
'Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are
To other cares than those of feeding you.  [due
Or who, when summer suns their summit reach,
And Pan sleeps hidden by the sheltering beech,
When shepherds disappear, nymphs seek the sedge,
And the stretch'd rustic snores beneath the hedge,
Who then shall render me thy pleasant vein
Of Attic wit, thy jests, thy smiles again?
' Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are
To otLer cares than those of feeding you.  [due
Where glens and vales are thickest overgrown
With tangled boughs, I wander now alone,
Till night descend, while blustering wind and shower
Beat on my temples through the shatter'd bower.
'Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are
To other cares than those of feeding you.  [due
Alas! what rampant weeds now shame my fields,
And what a mildew'd crop the furrow yields;
My rambling vines, unwedded to the trees,
Bear shrivel'd grapes; my iftyrtles fail to please;
Nor please me more my flocks: they, slighted, turn
Their unavailing looks on me, and mourn.
* Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are
To other cares than those of feeding you.  [due
Egon invites me to the hazel grove,
Amyntas, on the river's bank to rove,
And young Alphesiboeus to a seat
Where branching elms exclude the mid-day heat.
" Here fountains sprig--here mossy hillocks rise;
Here zephyr whispers, and the stream replies.'

ii4,--d  ' i"  i




ï~~FROM MILTON.        137

III

Thus each persuades, but, deaf to every call,
I gain the thickets, and escape them all.
' Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are
To other cares than those of feeding you.   [due
Then Mopsus said, (the same who reads so well
The voice of birds, and what the stars foretell,
For he by chance had noticed my return)
' What means thy sullen mood, this deep concern t
Ah, Thyrsis! thou art either crazed with love,
Or some sinister influence from above;
Dull Saturn's influence oft the shepherds rue;
His leaden shaft oblique has pierced thee through.
' Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are,
My thoughts are all now due to other care.
The nymphs amazed, my melancholy see,
And, " Thyrsis!" cry-" what will become of thee T
What wouldst thou, Thyrsis? such should not appear
The brow of youth, stern, gloomy, and severe;
Brisk youth should laugh, and love-ah, shun the fate
Of those, twice wretched mopes! who love too late 1"
'Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are;
My thoughts are all now due to other care.
Egle with Hyas came, to soothe my pain,
And Baucis' daughter, Dryope, the vain,
Fair Dryope, for voice and finger neat
Known far and near, and for her self-conceit.
Chloris too came, whose cottage on the lands
That skirt the Idumanian current stands;
But all in vain they came, and but to see
Kind words, and comfortable, lost on me.
'Go, go, my lambs, unpastured as ye are;
My thoughts are all now due to other care.
Ah blest indifference of the playful herit,
None by his fellow chosen, or preferr'd!
No bonds of amity the flocks inthral,
But each associates, and is pleased with all;
So graze the dappled deer in numerous droves,
And all his kind alike the zebra loves;
The same law governs, where the billows roar,
And Proteus' shoals o'erspread the desert shore;
The sparrow, meanest of the feather'd race,
His fit companion finds in every place,

li

555




ï~~13            TRANSLATIONS
With whom he picks the grai that suits him best,
Flirts here and there, and late returns to rest,
And whom, if chance the falcon make his prey
Or hedger with his well-aim'd arrow slay,
For no such loss the gay survivor grieves,
New love he seeks, and new delight receives.
We only, an obdurate kind, rejoice,
Scorning all others, in a single choice.
We scarce in thousands meet one kindred mind,
And if the long-sought good at last we find,
When least we fear it, Death our treasure steals,
And gives our heart a wound that nothing heals.
' Go, go, my lambo, unpastured as ye are;
My thoughts are all now due to other care.
Ah, what delusion lured me from my flocks,
To traverse Alpine snows and rugged rocks!
What need so great had I to visit Rome,
Now sunk in ruins, and herself a tomb?
Or, had she flourish'd still, as when, of old,
For her sake Tityrus forsook his fold,
What need so great had I to incur a pause
Of thy sweet intercourse for such a cause,
For such a cause to place the roaring sea,
Rocks, mountains, woods, between my friend and meI
Else, had I grasp'd thy feeble hand, composed
Thy decent limbs, thy drooping eyelids closed,
And, at the last, had said-" Farewell-ascendNor even in the skies forget thy friend!"
'Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare;
My thoughts are all now due to other care.
Although well pleased, ye tuneful Tuscan swains!
My mind the memory of your worth retains,
Yet not your worth can teach me less to mourn
My Damon lost.-He too was Tuscan born,
Born in your Lucca, city of renown!
And wit possess'd, and genius, like your own
Oh how elate was I, when stretch'd beside
The murmuring course of Arno's breezy tide,
Beneath the poplar grove I pass'd my hours,
Now cropping myrtles, and now vernal flowers,
And hearing, as I lay at ease along,
Your swains contending for the prize of song |
54




ï~~FROM MILTON.                13,9
I also dared attempt (and, as it seems,
Not much displeased attempting) various themes,
For even I can presents boast from you,
The shepherd's pipe, and ozier basket too,
And Dati, and Francini, both have made
My name familiar to the beechen shade,
And they are learn'd, and each in every place
Renown'd for song, and both of Lydian race.
' Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare;
My thoughts are all now due to other care.
While bright the dewy grass with moonbeams shone,
And I stood hurdling in my kids alone,
How often have I said (but thou hadst found
Ere then thy dark cold lodgment underground)
Now Damon sings, or springes sets for hares,
Or wickerwork for various use prepares! 1
How oft, indulging fancy, have I plann'd
New scenes of pleasure that I hoped at hand,
Call'd thee abroad as I was wont, and cried' What, hoal my friend-come, lay thy task aside;
Haste, let us forth together, and beguile
The heat beneath yon whispering shades awhile,
Or on the margin stray of Colne's clear flood,
Or where Cassibelan's gray turrets stood!
There thou shalt cull me simples, and shalt teach
Thy friend the name ahd healing powers of each,
From the tall bluebell to the dwarfish weed,
What the dry land, and what the marshes breed,
For all their kinds alike to thee are known
And the whole art of Galen is thy own."
Ah, perish Galen's art, and wither'd be
The useless herbs that gave not health to thee!
Twelve evenings since, as in poetic dream
I meditating sat some statelier theme,
The reeds no sooner touch'd my lip, though new,
And unessay'd before, than wide they flew,
Bursting their waxen bands, nor could sustain
The deep-toned music of the solemn strain;
And I am vain, perhaps, but I will tell
How proud a theme I chose-ye groves, farewell!
Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare;
My thoughts are all now due to other care.




ï~~140            TRANSLATIONS
Of Brutus, Dardan chief, my song shall be,
How with his barks hlie plough'd the British sea,
First from Rutupia's towering headland seen,
And of his consort's reign, fair Imogen;
Of Brennus, and Belinus, brothers bold,
And of Arviragus, and how of old
Our hardy sires th' Armorican control'd,
And of the wife of GorloYs, who, surprised
By Uther, in her husband's form disguised,
(Such was the force of Merlin's art) became
Pregnant with Arthur of heroic fame.
These themes I now revolve-and Oh-if Fate
Proportion to these themes my lengthen'd date,
Adieu my shepherd's reed-yon pine tree bough
Shall be thy future hotne, there dangle thou
Forgotten and disused, unless ere long
Thou change thy Latian for a British song
A British?-even so-the powers of man
Are bounded; little is the most he can;
And it shall well suffice me, and shall be
Fame and proud recompense enough for me,
If Usa, golden-hair'd, my verse may learn,
If Alain bending o'er his crystal urn,
Swift-whirling Abra, Trent's o'ershadow'd stream
Thames, lovelier far than all in my esteem,
Tamar's ore-tinctured flood, and, after these,
The wave-worn shores of utmost Orcades.
' Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare;
My thoughts are all now due to other care.
All this I kept in leaves of laurel rind
Enfolded safe, and for thy view design'd,
This---and a gift from Manso's hand beside,
(Manso, not least his native city's pride)
Two cups that radiant as their giver shone,
Adorn'd by sculpture with a double zone.
The spring was graven there; here slowly wind
The Red Sea shores with groves of spices lined,
Her plumes of various hues amid the boughs
The sacred, solitary phoenix shows,
And, watchful of the dawn, reverts her head
To see Aurora leave her watery bed.




ï~~FROM MILTON.                 141
-In other part, the expansive vault above
And there too, even there, the god of love;
With quiver arinm'd he mounts, his torch displays
A vivid light, his gem-tipt arrows blaze,
Around his bright and fiery eyes he rolls,
Nor aims at vulgar minds or little souls,
Nor deigns one look below, but, aiming high,
Sends every arrow to the lofty sky;
Hence forms divine, and minds immortal, learn
The power of Cupid, and enamour'd burn.
' Thou also, Damon (neither need I fear
That hope delusive) thou art also there;
For whither should simplicity like thine
Retire, where else such spotless virtue shine 1
Thou dwell'st not (thought profane) in shades below,
Nor tears suit thee--cease then, my tears, to flow.
Away with grief: on Damon ill bestow'd!
Who, pure himself, has found a pure abode,
Has pass'd the showery arch, henceforth resides
With saints and heroes, and from flowing tides
Quaffs copious immortality and joy
With hallow'd lips!-Oh! blest without alloy,
And now enrich'd with all that faith can claim,
Look down, entreated by whatever name,
If Damon please thee most (that rural sound
Shall oft with echoes fill the groves around),
Or if Deodatus, by which alone
in those ethereal mansions thou art known.
Thy blush was maiden, and thy youth the taste
Of wedded bliss knew never, pure and chaste,
The honours, therefore, by divine decree
The lot of virgin worth, are given to thee:
Thy brows encircled with a radiant band,
And the green palm-branch waving in thy hand,
Thou in immortal nuptials shalt rejoice,
And join with seraphs thy according voice,
Where rapture reigns, and the ecstatic lyre
Guides the blest orgies of the blazing quire.




ï~~n..q. 1r r.r    f a wrrr.rrwrrrrrur ___ _ _rrrrrr r.rr.r.r        r                           ---f i

142        TRANSLATIONS

AN ODE,
ADLRESSED TO MR. JOHN ROUSE,
LIBRARIAN OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD.
On a lost 'olume of my Poems, which he desired me to
repla,, that hlie might add them tol my other Works deposited in
the Library.
This Ode is rendered without rhyme, that it might more
adeq.iot, ly rpresenit the original, which, as Millon himself
informs us, i t of no certain measure. It nay possibly for tis
reason disappent the reader though it cost the writer more
lalmr thar the translation of any other piece in the wlhole
Collectitn.
STROPHE.
MY twofold book! single in show,
But double in contents,
Neat, but not curiously adorn'd,
Which, in his early youth,
A poet gave, no lofty one in truth,
Although an earnest wooer of the muse-.
Say while in cool Ausoanian shades
Or British wilds he roam'd,
Striking by turns his native lyre.
By turns the Daunian lute,
And stepp'd almost in airANTISTROPHE.
Say, little book, what furtive hand,
Thee from thy fellow books convey'd,.
What time, at the repeated suit
Of my most learned friend,
I sent thee forth, an hono.r'd traveller,
From our great city to the source of Thames,
Caerulean sire!
Where rise the fountains, and the raptures riag,
Of the Aonian choir,
Durable as yonder spheres,
And through the endless lapse of years
Secure to be admired I




ï~~FROM MILTON.

143

STROPHE II.
Now what god, or demigod,
For Britain's ancient genius moved,
(If our afflicted land
Have expiated at length the guilty sloth
Of her degenerate Sons)
Shall terminate our impious feuds,
And discipline with hallow'd voice recall?
Recall the muses too,
Driven from their ancientyseats
In Albion, and well nigh from Albion's shore,
And with keen Phoebean shafts
Piercing the unseemly birds,
Whose talons menace us,
Shall drive the harpy race from Helicon afar?
ANTISTROPHE.
But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd,
Whether by treachery lost,
Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault,
From all thy kindred books,
To some dark cell or cave forlorn,
Where thou endurest, perhaps,
The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand,
Be comfortedFor lo I again the splendid hope appears
That thou mayst yet escape
The gulfs of Lethe, and on oary wings
Mount to th& everlasting courts of Jove!
STROPHE III.
Since Rouse desires thee, and complains
That, though by promise his,
Thou yet appear'st not in thy place
Among the literary noble stores
Given to his care,
But, absent, leavest his numbers incomplete.
He, therefore, guardian vigilant
Of that unperishing wealth,




ï~~-,
-------------

144             ''TRANSL,ATIO N S
Calls thee to the interior shrine, his charge,
Where he intends a richer treasure far
Than [fin kept (I6in, Erectheus' son
Illustrious, of the fair Creiisa born)
In the resplendent temple of his god,
Tripods of gold, and Delphic gifts divine.
ANTISTROPHE.
Haste, then, to the pleasant groves,
*The muses' favourite haunt;
Resume thy station in Apollo's dome,
Dearer to him
Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill I
Exulting go,
Since now a splendid lot is also thine,
And thou art sought by my propitious friend;
For there thou shalt be read
With authors of exalted note,
The ancient glorious lights of Greece and Romer
EPODE.
Ye, then, my works, no longer vain,
And worthless deem'd by me!
Whate'er this sterile genius has produced,
Expect, at last, the rage of envy spent,
An unmolested happy home,
Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend.d,
Where never flippant tongue profane
Shall entrance find,
And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude
Shall babble far remote.
Perhaps some future distant age,
Less tinged with prejudice, and better taugV
Shall furnish.minds of power
To judge more equally.
Then, malice silenced in the tomb,
Cooler heads and sounder hearts,
Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise
I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim.




ï~~FROM MILTON.

145

TRANSLATION S
OF
THE    ITALIAN       POEMS.
SONNET.
FAIR LADY I whose harmonious name the Rhine
Through all his grassy vale, delights to hear,
Base were indeed the wretch who couldi forbear
To love a spirit elegant as thine,
That manifests a sweetness all divine,
Nor knows a thousand winning acts to spare,
And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are,
Tempering thy virtues to a softer shine.
When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gay,
Such strains as might the senseless forest move,
Ah then--turn each his eyes and ears away
Who feels himself unworthy of thy love I
Grace can alone preserve him ere the dart
Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart.
SONNET.
As on a hill-top rude, when closing day
Imbrowns the scene, some pastoral maiden fair
Waters a lovely foreign plant with care,
Borne from its native genial airs away,
That scarcely can its tender bud display,
So, on my tongue these accents, new and rare,
Are flowers exotic, which Love waters there.
While thus, 0 sweetly scornful! I essay
Thy praise in verse to British ears unknown,
And Thames exchange for Arno's fair domain;
So Love has will'd, and ofttimes Love has shown
That what he wills, he never wills in vain.
Oh that this hard and sterile breast might be
To Him, who plants from Heaven, a soil as free!
I563
663




ï~~146        TRANSLATIONS

CANZONE.
THEY mock my toil-the nymphs and amorous
swains--
And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry,
Love-songs in language that thou little know'st?
How darest thou risk to sing these foreign strains
Say truly. Find'st not oft thy purpose cross'd
And that thy fairest flowers here fade and die
Then with pretence of admiration high--
Thee other shores expect, and other tides,
Rivers, oh whose grassy sides
Her deathless laurel leaf, with which to bihd
Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides;
Why then this burthen, better fsr declined?
Speak, muse I for me-the fair one said, who guides
My willing heart, and all my fancy's flights,
Â~ This is the language in which Love delights.'
SONNET,
TQ CHARLES DEODATI.
CHARLES--and I say it wondering-thou must know
That I, who once assumed a scornful air
And scoff'd at Love, am fallen in his snare,
(Full many an upright man has fallen so:)
Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow
Of golden locks, or damask cheek; more rare
The heartfelt beauties of my foreign fair;
A mien majestic, with dark brows that show
The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind;
Words exquisite, of idioms more than one,
And song, whose fascinating power might bind,
And from her sphere draw do*n the labouring moon;
With such fire-darting eyes that, should I fill
gy ears with wax, she would enchant me still.
664




ï~~FROM MILTON.

147

SONNET.
LADY! It cannot be but that thine eyes
Must be my sun, such radiance they display,
And strike me e'en as Phoebus him whose way
Through horrid Libya's sandy desert lies.
Meantime, on that side steamy vapours rise
Where most I suffer. Of what kind are they,
New as to me they are, I cannot say,
But deem them, in the lover's language-sighs.
Some, though with pain, my bosom close conceals,
Which, if in part escaping thence, they tend
To soften thine, thy coldness soon congeals.
While others to my teartul eyes ascend,
Whence my sad nights in showers are ever drown'd
Till my Aurora comes, her brow with roses bound.
SONNET.
ENAMOUR'D, artless, young, on foreign ground,
Uncertain whither from myself to fly;
To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh
Let me devote my heart, which I have found
By certain proofs, not few, intrepid, sound,
Good, and addicted to conceptions high:
When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky,
It rests in adamant self-wrapt around,
As safe from envy, and from outrage rude,
From hopes and fears that vulgar minds abuse,
As fond of genius, and fix'd fortitude,
Of the resounding lyre, and every muse.
Weak you will find it in one only part,
Now pierced by love's immedicable dart.

IW




ï~~148     TANL       fit    Fl~) 11A. ILTON
SIMILE iN PARADISE LOST.
So when, fromu mountain tops, the dusky clouds
Ascending,' &c.
Quales atrii montis de vertice nuabes
Caur surgunt, et jam Boreae tumida ora quierntn
Ctelsar hilaares abdit, spisus caliginae, vultus:
Turn si jucundo tandem sol prodeat ore,
Et croceo rnontes et pascua lumnine tingat,
Gaudent ounnia, asres mulcent conacentibus agrox,
Balatuque ovivum colles vallesque resultant.
TRANSLATION OF DRYDEN'S EPIGRAM ON
MILTON.
TRES tria, ned longd distantia, seccula vates
Ostentant tribus e genatibus eximios.
Graecia sublimem, cum majestate diserturn
Romna tut, felix Angiia utrique paremn.
Partubus ex binis Natura exhaausta, coacta eo
Tertius ut fiuret, consociare duos.
July, 174Q.




ï~~149

TRANSLATIONS
FROM
VINCENT BOURNE,
THE THRACIAN.
THRACIAN parents, at his birth,
Mourn their babe with many a tear
Baut with undissembled mirth
Place him breathless on his bier.
Greece and Rome with equal scorn,
' O the savages!' exclaim,
'Whether they rejoice or mourn,
Well entitled to the name!'
But the cause or this concern,
And this pleasure, would they trace,
Even they might somewhat learn
From the savages of Thrace.
RECIPROCAL KINDNESS THE PRIMARY
LAW OF NATURE.
ANu ocuas, from his injured lord, in dread
Of instant death, to Libya's desert tied.
Tired with his toilsome flight, and parch'd with heat,
H  spied at length a cavern's cool retreat;
But scarce had given to rest his weary frame,
When, hugest of his kind, a lion came:
He roar'd approaching: but the savage din
To plaintive murmurs changed-arrived within,
And with expressive looks, his lifted paw
Presenting, aid implored from whom he saw.
367




ï~~160            TRANSLATIONS
The fugitive, through terror at a stand,
Dared not awhile afford his trembling hand;
But bolder grown, at length inherent found
A pointed thorn, and drew it from the wound.
The cure was wrought; he wiped the sanious blood,
And firm and free from pain the lion stood.
Again he seeks the wilds, and day by day
Regales his inmate with the parted prey.
Nor he disdains the dole, though unprepared,
Spread on the ground, and with a lion shared.
But thus to live-still lost-sequester'd stillScarce seem'd his lord's revenge a heavier ill.
Home I native home! 0 might he but repair!
He must-he will, though death attends him there.
He goes, and doom'd to perish on the sands
Of the full theatre unpitied stands:
When lo I the selfsame lion from his cage
Flies to devour him, famish'd into rage.
He flies, but viewing in his purposed prey
The man, his healer, pauses on his way,
And, soften'd by remembrance into sweet
And kind composure, crouches at his feet.
Mute with astonishment, the assembly gaze:
But why, ye Romans    Whence your mute amaze I
All this is natural: nature bade him rend
An enemy; she bids him spare a friend.
A MANUAL,
MORE ANCIENT THAN THE ART OF PRINTING', AND
NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANY CATALOGUER.
THERE is a book, which we may call
(Its excellence is such)
Alone a library, though small;
The ladies thumb it much.
Words none, things numerous it contains:
And things with words compared,
Who needs be told, that has his brains,
Which merits most regard?
568




ï~~FROM VINCENT BOURNE.               lS
Ofttimes its leaves of scarlet hue
A golden edging boast;
And open'd, it displays t6 view
Twelve pages at the most.
Nor name nor title, stamp'd behind.
Adorns its outer part;
But all within 'tis richly lined,
A magazine of art..
The whitest hands that secret hoard
Oft visit: and the fair
Preserve it in their bosoms stored
As with a miser's care.
Thence implements of every size,
And form'd for various use,
(They need but to consult their eyes)
They readily produce.
The largest and the longest kind
Possess the foremost page,
A sort most needed by the blind,
Or nearly such from age.
The full-charged leaf, which next ensues,
Presents in bright aray
The smaller sort, which matrons use,
Not quite so blind as they.
The third, the fourth, the fifth supply
What their occasions ask,
Who with a more discerning eye
Perform a nicer task.
But still with regular decrease
From size to size they fall,
In every leaf grow less and less;
The last are least of all.
O 1 what a fund of genius, pent
in narrow space is here I
This volume's method and inten
How luminous and clear.
1O                 m




ï~~152            TRANSLATIONS
It leaves no reader at a loss
Or posed, whoever reads:
No commentator's tedious gloss,
Nor even index needs.
Search Bodley's many thousands o'er
No book is treasured there,
Nor yet in Granta's numerous store
That may with this compare.
No I-rival none in either host
Of this was ever seen,
Or that contents could justly boast
So brilliant and so keen.
AN ENIGMA.
A NEEDLE, small as small can be,
In bulk and use surpasses me,
Nor is my purchase dear;
For little, and almost for nought,
As many of my kind are bought
As days are in the year.
Yet though but little use we boast,
And are procured at little cost,
The labour is not light;
Nor few artificers it asks,
All skilful bi their several tasks,
To fashion us aright.
One fuses metal o'er the fire,
A second draws it into wire,
The shears another plies,
Who clips in length the brazen thread
For him who, chafing every shred
Gives all an equal size.
o7

II                                                                                                                                5'




ï~~FROM VINCENT BOURNE.

353

A fifth prepares, exac.t and round,
The knob with which it must be crown'd
His follower makes it fast:
And with hismallet and his file
To shape the point, employs awhile
The seventh and the last.
Now therefore, (Edipus! declare
What creature, wonderful, and rare,
A processthat obtains
Its purpose with so amuch ado
At last produces!-tell me true,
And take me for your pains I
SPARROWS SELF-DOMESTICATED IN
TRINITY COLLEGE, CAMBRIDGE.
NONE ever shared the social feast,
Or as an inmate or a guest,
Beneath the celebrated dome
Where once Sir Isaac had his home,
Who saw not (and with some delight
Perhaps he view'd the novel sight)
How numerous, at the tables there,
The sparrows beg their daily fare.
For there, in every nook and cell
Where such a family may dwell,
Sure as the vernal season comes
Their nest they weave in hope of crumbs,
Which kindly given, may serve with food
Convenient their unfeather'd brood;
And oft as with its summons clear
The warning bell salutes their ear,
Sagacious listeners to the sound,
They flock from all the fields around,
To reach the hospitable hall,
None more attentive to the call.
Arrived, the pensionary band
Hopping and chirping, close at hand,
H2
571I




ï~~15             TRANSLATIONS
Solicit what they soon receive,
The sprinkled, plenteous donative.
Thus is a multitude, though large,
Supported at a trivial charge:
A single doit would overpay
The expenditure of every day,
And who can grudge so small a grace
To.suppliants, natives of the place
FAMILIARITY DANGEROUS.
As in her ancient mistress' lap
The youthful tabby lay,
They gave each other many a tap,
Alike disposed to play.
But strife ensues. Puss waxes warm,
And with protruded claws
Ploughs all the length of Lydia's arm,
Mere wantonness the cause.
At once, resentful of the deed,
She shakes her to the ground
With many a threat that she shall bleed
With still a deeper wound.
But, Lydia, bid thy fury rest:
It was a venial stroke:
For she that will with kittens jest
Should bear a kitteh's joke.
INVITATION TO THE REDBREAST
Swar bird, whom the winter constraineAnd seldom another it canTo seek a retreat while he reigns
In the well-shelter'd dwellings of man
572




ï~~FROM VINCENT BOURNE.              155
Who never can seem to intrude,
Though in all places equally free,
Come, oft as the season is rude,
Thou art sure to be welcome to me.
At sight of the first feeble ray
That pierces the clouds of the east,
To inveigle thee every day
My windows shall shew thee a feast.
For, taught by experience, I know
Thee mindful of benefit long;
And that, thankful for all I bestow,
Thou wilt pay me with many a song.
Then, soon as the swell of the buds
Bespeaks the renewal of spring,
Fly hence, if thou wilt, to the woods,
Or where it shall please thee to sing:
And shouldst thou, compell'd by a frost,
Come again to my window or door,
Doubt not an affectionate host,
Only pay as thou paid'st me before.
Thus music must needs be confess'd
To flow from a fountain above;
Else how should it work in the breast
Unchangeable friendship and love?
And who on the globe can be found,
Save your generation and ours,
That can be delighted by sound,
Or boasts any musical powers?
STRADA'S NIGHTINGALE.
'THE shepherd touch'd his reed; sweet Philomel
Essayd, and oft essay'd to catch the strain,
And treasuring, as on her ear they fell,
The numbers, echo'd note for note again.
573




ï~~156            TRANSLATIONS
The peevish youth, who ne'er had fouhd before
A rival of his skill, indignant heard,
And soon (for various was his tuneful store)
In loftier tones defied the simple bird.
She dared the task, and, rising as he rose,
With all the force that passion gives inspired,
Return'd the sounds awhile, but in the close
Exhausted fell, and at his feet expired.
Thus strength, not skill prevail'd. 0 fatal strife,
By thee, poor songstress, playfully begun;
And, O sad victory, which cost thy life,
And he may wish that he had never won I
ODE ON THE DEATH OF A -LADY,
RHO IUVED ONE HUNDRED YEARS, AND DIED ON     M
BIRTHDAY, 1728.
ANCIENT dame, how wide and vast
To a race like ours appears,
Rounded to an orb at last,
All thy multitude of years!
We, the herd of human kind,
Frailer and of feeblel powers;
We, to narrow bounds confined,
Soon exhaust the sum of ours.
Death's delicious banquet-we
Perish even from the womb,
Swifter than a shadow flee,
Nourish'd but to feed the tomb,
Seeds of merciless disease
Lurk in all that we enjoy;
Some that waste us by degrees,
Some that suddenly destroy.

~374




ï~~FROM VINCENT BOURNE.              15'7
And, if life o'erleap the bourn
Common to the sons of men,
What remains, butthat we mourn,
Dream, and dote, and drivel then?
Fast as moons can wax and wane
Sorrow comes; and while we groan,
Pant with anguish, and complain,
Half our years are fled and gone.
If a few'(to few 'tis given),
Lingering on this earthly stage,.
Creep and halt with steps uneven
To the period of an age,
Wherefore live they, but to see
Cunning, arrogance, and force,
Sights lamented much by thee,
Holding their accustom'd course?
Oft was seen, in ages past,
All that we with wonder view;
Often shall be to the last;
Earth produces nothing new.
Thee we gratulate, qontent
Should propitious heaven design
Life for us as calmly spent,
Though but half the length of thin.
THE CAUSE WON.
Two neighbours furiously dispute.;
A field-the subject of the suit.
Trivial the spot, yet such the rage
With which the combatants engage,
'Twere hard to tell who covets most
The prize-  at whatsoever cost.
The pleadings swell. Words still  eafflee.
No single wordbut has its price.
as5

b'                                                                                                                1




ï~~158            TRANSLATIONS
No term but yields some fair pretence
For novel and increased expense.
Defendant thus becomes a name,
Which he that bore it may disclaim,
Since both, in one description blended,
Are plaintiffs-when the suitis ended.
THE SILKWORM.
THE beams of April, ere it goes,
A worm, scarce visible, disclose;
All winter long content to dwell
The tenant of his native shell
The same prolific season gives
The sustenance by which he lives,
The mulberry leaf, a simple store,
That serves him-till he needs no more t
For, his dimensions once complete,.
Thenceforth none ever sees him eat;
Though till his growing time be past
Scarce ever is he seen to fast.
That hour arrived, his work begins,
Hie spins and weaves, and weaves and spinsg
Till circle upon circle wound
Careless around him and around,
Conceals him with a veil, though slight,
Impervious to the keenest sight.
Thus self-enclosed as in a cask,
At length he finishes his task;
And, though a worm when he was lost,
Or caterpillar at the most,
When next we see him, wings he wears5
And in papilio pomp appears;
Becomes oviparous; supplies
With future. worms and future fliea
The next ensuing year-and dies!
Well were it for the world, if all
Who creep about this earthly ball,
Thoughtx shorter lived thahi most he
Were useful in their kind as he..
576




ï~~FROM VINCENT BOURNE.              159
THE INNOCENT THIEF.
NoT a flower can be found in the fields,
Or the spot that we till for our pleasure,
From the largest to the least, but it yields
The bee, never wearied, a treasure.
Scarce any she quits"unexplore%
With a diligence truly exact;
Yet, steal what she may for her hoard,
Leaves evidence none of the fact.
Her lucrativy task she pursues,
And pilfers with so. much address,
That none of their odour they lose,
Nor charm by their beauty the less.
Not thus inoffensively-preys
The cankerworm in-dwelling foe I
His voracity not thus allays
The sparrow, the finch, or the crow.
The worm, more expensively fed,
The pride of the garden devours;
And birds peck the seed from the bed,
Still less to be spared than the owers.
But she with such delicate skill
Her -pillage so fits for her use,
That the chemist in vain with his still
Would labour the like to produce.
Then grudge not her temperate meals,
Nor a benefit blame as a theft;
Since, stole she not all that she steals,
Neither honey nor wax would be left.
DENNER'S OLD WOMAN.
I  this mimic form of a matron in years,
Iow plainly the pencil of Denner appears! I
The matron herself, in whose old age we see
Nd6t a trace of decline what a winder is shel
577

r




ï~~160            TRANSLATIONS
No dimness of eye, and no cheek hanging low,
No wrinkle, or deep-furrow'd frown on the brow I
Her forehead indeed is here circled around
With locks like the ribbon with which they are bound;
While glossy and smooth, and as soft as- the skin
Of a delicate peach, is the down of her chin;
But nothing unpleasant, or sad, or severe,
Or that indicates life in its winter-is here.
Yet all is express'd with fidelity due,
Nor a pimple or freckle conceal'd from the view.
Many fond of new sights, or who cherish a taste
For the labours of art, to the spectacle haste.
The youths all agree, that could old age inspire
The passion of love, her's would kindle the fire,
And the matrons with pleasure confess that they see
Ridiculous nothing or hideous in thee.
The nymphs for themselves scarcely hope a decline,
O wonderful woman! as placid as thine.
Strange magic of art I which the youth can engage
To peruse, half enamour'd, the features of age;
And force from the virgin a sigh of despair,
That she when as old shall be equally fair I
How great is the glory that Denner has gain'd,
Since Apelles not more for his Venus obtain'd.
THE TEARS OF A PAINTER.
APELLES, hearing that his boy
Had just expired-his only joy!
Although the sight with anguish tore him
Bade place his dear remains before him.
He seized his brush, his colours spread;
And-' Oh! my child, accept,'-he said,
I ('Tis all that I can now bestow),
This tribute of a father's woe!'
Then, faithful to the twofold part,
Both of his feelings and his art,
He closed his eyes with tender care,
And form'd at once a fellow pair.
His brow with amber locks beset,
And lips he drew not livid yet;




ï~~FROM VINCENT BOURNE.             161
And shaded all that he had done
To a just image of his son.
Thus far is well. But view again
The cause of thy paternal pain!
Thy melancholy task fulfil!
It needs the last, last touches still.
Again his pencil's powers he tries,
For on his lips a smile he spies;
And still his cheek unfaded shows
The deepest damask of the rose.
Then, heedful to the finish'd whole,
With fondest eagerness he stole,
Till scarce himself distinctly knew
The cherub copied from the true.
Now, painter, cease I Thy task is done.
Long lives this image of thy son;
Nor short-lived shall the glory prove
Or of thy labour or thy love.
THE MAZE.
FROM right to left, and to and fro,
Caught in a labyrinth you go,
And turn, and turn, and turn again,
To solve the mystery, but in vain;
Stand still, and breathe, and take from me
A clue, that soon shall set you free!
lNot Ariadne, if you meet her,
Herself could serve you with a better.
You enter'd easily-find whereAnd make with ease your exit there!
NO SORROW PECULIAR TO THE SUFFERER
THB lover, in melodious verses,
His singular distress rehearses.
Still closing with a rueful cry,
' Was ever such a wretch as I 1'
579




ï~~162             TRANSLATION
Yes i thousands have endured before
All thy distress; some, haply, more.
Unnumbr'd Corydons complain,
And Strephons, of the like disdain;
And if thy Chloe be of steel,
Too <leaf to hear, too hard to feel;
Not her alone that censure fits,
Nor thou alone hast lost thy wits.
THE SNAIL.
To grass, or leaf, or fruit, or wall,
The Snail sticks close, nor fears to fall,
As if he grew there, house and all
Together.
Within that house secure he hides,
When danger imminent betides
Of storm, or other harm besides
Of weather.
Give but his horns the slightest touch,
His self-collecting power is such,
He shrinks into his house, with much
Displeasure
Where'er he dwells, he dwells alone,
Except himself has chattels none,
Well satisfied to be his own
Whole treasure.
Thus, hermit-like, his life he leads,
Nor partner of his banquet needs,
And if he meets one, only feeds
The faster.
Who seeks him must be worse than blind
(He and his house are so combined)
If, finding it, he fails to find
Its master.

b80




ï~~FROM VINCENT BOURNE.

1634

THE CANTAB.
WITH two spurs or one, and no great matter which,
Boots bought, or boots borrow'd, a whip or a switch,
Five shillings or less for the hire of his beast,
Paid part into hand; you must wait for the rest.
Thus equipt, Academicus climbs up his horse,
And out they both sally for better or worse;
His heart void of fear, and as light as a feather;
And in violent haste to go not knowing whither:
Through the fields and the towns; (see!) he
scampers along,
And is look'd at and laugh'd at by old and by young.
Till at length overspent, and his sides smear'd with
blood,
Down tumbles his horse, man and all in the mud.
In a waggon or chaise, shall he finish his route?
Oh I scandalous fate I he must do it on foot.
Young gentlemen, hear!-I am older than you!
The advice that I give I have proved to be true,
Wherever your journey may be, never doubt it,
The faster you ride, you're the longer about it.
ON THE PICTURE OF A SLEEPING CHILD.
SWEET labe! whose image here express'd
Does thy peaceful slumbers show;
Guilt or fear, to break thy rest,
Never did thy spirit know.
Soothing slumbers! soft repose!
Such as mock the painter's skill,
Such as innocence bestows,
Harmless infant! lull thee still!

581




ï~~164

MINOR POEMS
VERSES WRITTEN AT BATH, ON FINDING
THE HEEL OF A SHOE.
FORTUNE! I thank thee: gentle goddess! thanks!
Not that my muse, though bashful, shall deny
She would have thank'd thee rather hadst thou Cast
A treasure in her way; for neither meed
Of early breakfast, to dispel the-fumes,
And bowel-racking pains of emptiness,
Nor noontide feast, nor evening's cool repast,
Hopes she from this-presumptuous, though,perhaps
The cobbler, leather-carving artist! might.
Nathless she thanks thee, and accepts thy boon,
Whatever; not as erst, the fabled cock,
Vain-glorious fool! unknowing what he found,
Spurn'd the rich gem thou gavest him. Wherefore, ab I
Why not on me that favour, (worthier sure!)
Conferr'dst thou, goddess! Thou art blind, thou sayst:
Enough!-thy blindness shall excuse the deed.
Nor does my muse no benefit exhale
From this thy scant indulgence ---even here
Hints worthy sage philosophy are found;
Illustrious hints, to moralize my song!
This ponderous heel of perforated hide
Compact, with pegs indented, many a row,
Haply (for such its massy form bespeaks)
The weighty tread of some rude peasant clown
Upbore: on this supported oft, he stretch'd,
With uncouth strides, along the furrow'd glebe,
Flattening the stubborn clod, till cruel time
(What will not cruel time) on a wry step
Severed the strict cohesion; when, alas!
He, who could erst, with even, equal pace,
Pursue his destined way with symmetry,
And some proportion form'd, now on one Fide,
582




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 16G
Curtail'd and maim'd, the sport of vagrant boys,
Cursing his frail supporter, treacherous prop.
With toilsome steps. and difficult, moves on:
Thus fares it oft with other than the feet
Of humble villager-the statesman thus,
Up the steep road where proud ambition leads,
Aspiring, first, uninterrupted winds
His prosperous way; nor fears miscarriage foul,
While policy prevails, and friends prove true:
But that support soon failing, by him left,
On whom he most depended, basely left,
Betray'd, deserted; from his airy height
headlong he falls; and through the rest of life
Drags the dull load of disappointment on.
1748.
AN ODE,
ON READING RICHARDSON'S HISTORY OP
SIR CHARLES GRANDISON.
SAY, ye apostate and profane,
Wretches, who blush not to disdain
Allegiance to your God,Did e'er your idly wasten love
Of virtue for her sake remove,
And lift you from the crowd
Would you the race of glory run,
Know the devout, and they alone,
Are equal to the task
The labours of the illustrious course
Far other than the unaided force
Of human vigour ask.
To arm against reputed ill
The patient heart too brave to feel
The tortures of despair
Nor safer yet high-crested pride,
When wealth flows in with every tide
To gain admittance there.
E83




ï~~LG6            MINOR POEMS.
To rescue from the tyrant's sword
The oppress'd;-unseen and unimplaored,
To cheer the face of woe;
From lawless insult to defend
An orphan's right-a fallen fritend,
And a forgiven foe;
These, these distinguish from the crowd,
And these alone, the great and good,
Thie guardians of mankind;
Whose bosoms with these virtues heave,
O, with what matchless speed they leave
The multitude behind!
Then a4k ye, from what cause on earth
Virtues like these derive their birth.
Derived from Heaven alone;
Full on that favour'd breast they shine,
Where faith and resignation join
To call the blessing down.
Such is that heart:-but while the muse
Thy theme, O Richardson, pursues
Her feeble spirits faint:
She cannot reach, and would not wrong,
That subject for an angel'. song,
The hero, and the saint!
1753.
AN EPISTLE TO ROBERT LLOYD, ESQ.
'Tis not that I design to rob
Thee of thy birthright, gentle Bob,
For thou art born sole heir, and single,
Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle;
Not that I mean, while thus I knit
My threadbare sentiments together,
564




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 13'
To Asow my genius or my wit,
When God and you know I have neitherz;
Or such as might be better shown
By letting poetry alone.
'Tis not with either of these views
That I presumed to address the muse:
But to divert a fierce banditti,
(Sworn foes to every thing that's wittyl
That, with a black, infernal train,
Make cruel inroads in my brain,
And daily threaten to drive thence
My little garrison of sense;
The fierce banditti which I mean
Are gloomy thoughts, led on by spleen
Then there's another reason yet,
Which is, that I may fairly quit
The debt, which justly became due
The moment when I heard from you:
And you might grumble, crony mine,
If paid in any other coin;
Since twenty sheets of lead, God knows,
(I would say twenty sheets of prose)
Can ne'er be deem'd worth half so much
As one of gold, and your's was such.
Thus, the preliminaries settled,
I fairly find myself pitchkettled,
And cannot see, though few see better,
How I shall hammer out a letter.
First, for a thought-since all agreeA thought--I have it-let me see'Tis gone again-plague on'ti I thought
I had it-but I have it not.
Dame Gurton thus, and Hodge her son,
That useful thing, her needle, gone I
Rake well the cinders, sweep the floor,
And sift the dust behind the doot;
While eager Hodge beholds the prize
In old grimalkin's glaring eyes;
* Pltebhkettled, a favourite phrase at the time when Us
Epistle was written, expressive of being puzzled, or what In
the SwLtator's time woald have been called bamboozled.
585~




ï~~168             MINOR POEMS.
And gammer finds it on her knees
In every shiing straw she sees.
This simile were apt enough;
But I've another, critic proof
The virtuoso thus, at noon,
Broiling beneath a July sun,
The gilded butterfly pursues,
O'er hedge and ditch, through gaps and 7ews:
And, after many a vain essay,
To captivate the tempting prey,
Gives him at length the lucky pat,
And has him safe beneath his hat:
Then lifts it gently from the ground;
But ah! 'tis lost as soon as found;
Culprit his liberty regains,
Flits out of sight, and mocks his pains.
The sense was dark; 'twas therefore fit
With simile to illustrate it;
But as too much obscures the sight,
As often as too little light,
We have our similes cut short,
For matters of mlore grave import.
That Matthew's numbers run with ease,
Each mani of common sense agrees!
All nren of common sense allow
That Robert's lines are easy too:
Where then the preference shall we place,
Or how do justice in this case I
Matthew (says Fame) with endless pains
Smooth'd and refined the meanest strains;
Nor suffer'd one ill chosen rhyme'
To escape him at the idlest time;
And thus o'er all a lustre cast,
That, while the language lives, shal last,
An't please your ladyship (quoth 1),
Por 'tis my business to reply;
Sure so much labour, so much toil,
Bespeak at least a stubborn soil:
Theirs be the laurel-wreath decreed,
Who both write well, and write full speed
Who throw their Heli-on about
As freely as a conduit spout t
588




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                169
Friend Robert, thus like chien scavant,
Lets fall a poem en passant,
Nor needs his genuine ore refine!
'Tis ready polish'd from the 'mine.
1754
THE FIFTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK
OF HORACE.
& HUMOROUS DESCRIPTION OFIrHR AUTRO'S JOURNIY
FROM ROME TO BRUNDUSIUM.
'Twas a long journey lay before us,
When I and honest Heliodorus,
Who far in point of rhetoric
Surpasses every living Greek,
Each leaving our respective home,
Together sallied forth from Rome.
First at Aricia we alight,
And there refresh, and pass the night,
Our entertainment rather coarse
Than sumptuous, but I've met with worse.
Thence o'er the causeway soft and fair
To Appiiforum we repair.
But as this road is well supplied
(Temptation strong!) on either side
With inns commodious, snug, and warm,
We split the journey, and perform
In two days' time what's often done
By brisker travellers in one.
Here, rather choosing not to sup
Than with bad water mix my cup,
After a warm debate, in spite
Of a provoking appetite,
I sturdily resolved at last
To balk it, and pronounce a fast,
And in a moody humour wait,
While my less dainty comrades bait,
Now o'er the spangled hemisphere
Diffused the starry train appear,
I

i




ï~~170             MINOR POEMS.
When there arose a desperate brawl;
The slaves and bargemen, one and all,
Rending their throats (have mercy on us)
As if they were resolved to stun us.
' Steer the barge this way to the shore;
I tell you we'll admit no more;
Plague! will you never be content?'
Thus a whole hour at least is spent,
While they receive the several fares,
And kick the mule into his gears.
Happy, these difficulties past,
Could we have fallen asleep at last!
But, what with humming, croaking, biting,
Gnats, frogs, and all their plagues uniting,
These tuneful natives of the lake
Conspired to keep us broad awake.
Besides, to make the concert full,
Two maudlin wights, exceeding dull,
The bargeman and a passenger,
Each in his turn, essay'd an air
In honour of his absent fair.
At length the passenger, opprest
With wine, left off, and snored the rest.
The weary bargeman too gave o'er,
And hearing his companion snore,
Seized the occasion, fix'd the barge,
Turn'd out his mule to graze at large,
And slept forgetful of his charge.
And now the sun o'er eastern hill
Discover'd that our barge stood still;
When one, whose anger vex'd him sore,
With malice fraught, leaps quick on shore
Plucks up a stake, with many a thwack
Assails the mule and driver's back.
Then slowly moving on with pain,
At ten Feronia's stream we gain,
And in herpure and glassy wave
Our hands and faces gladly lave.
Climbing three miles, fair Anxur's height
We reach, with stony quarries white.
While here, as was agreed, we wait,
Till, charged with business of the state,
588




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                171
Maecenas and Cocceus corme,
The messengers of peace from  Rome.
My eyes by watery humours blear
And sore I with black balsam smear.
At length they join us, and with them
Our worthy friend Fonteius came;
A man of such complete desert,
Antony loved him at his heart.
At Pundi we refused to bait,
And laugh'd at vin Aufidius' state,
A pretor now, a scribe before,
The purple-border'd robe he wore,
His slave the smoking censor bore.
Tired, at Murana's we repose,
At Formil sup at Capito's.
With smiles the rising morn we greet,
At Sinuessa pleased to meet
With Plotius, Varius, and the bard
Whom Mantua first with wonder heard.
The world no purer spirits knows;
For none my heart more warmly glows.
0 O what embraces we bestow'd,
And with what joy our breasts o'erflow'd
Sure, while my sense is sound and clear,
Long as I live, I shall prefer
A gay, good-natured, easy friend,
To every blessing Heaven can send.
At a small village the next night
Near the Vulturnus we alight;
Where, as employ'd on state affairs;
We were supplied by the purveyors
Frankly at once, and without hire,
With food for man and horse, and fire.
Capua next day betimes we reach,
Where Virgil and myself, who each
Labour'd with different maladies.
His such a stomach, mine such eyes,
As would not bear strong exercies,
In drowsy mood to sleep resort;
Maecenas to the tennis-court.
Next at Cocceius' farm were treated,
Above the Caudian tavern seated;




ï~~172            MINOR POEMS,
His kind and hospitable board
With choice of wholesome food was stored
Now, O ye Nine, inspire my laysl
To nobler themes my fancy raise!
Two combatants, who scorn to yield
The noisy, tongue-disputed field,
Sarmentus and Cicirrus, claim
A poet's tribute to their fame;
Cicirrus of true Oscian breed,
Sarmentus, who was never freed,
But ran away. We don't defame him;
His lady lives, and still may claim him.
Thus dignified, in harder fray
These champions their keen wit display,
And first Sarmentus led the way.
SThy locks,' quoth he, ' so rough and coarse
Look like the mane of some wild horse.'
We laugh: Cicirrus undismay'd' Have at you!'-cries, and shakes his hea4
S'Tis well,' Sarmentus says, ' you've lost
That horn your forehead once could boast;
Since, maim'd and mangled as you are,
You seem to butt.' A hideous scar
Improved, 'tis true, with double grace
The native horrors of his face.
Well. After much jocosely said
Of his grim front, so fiery red,
(For carbuncles had blotch'd it o'er,
As usual on Campania's shore)
' Give us,' he cried, ' since you're so big,
A sample of the Cyclops' jig!
Your shanks methinks no buskins ask,
Nor does your phiz require a mask.'
To this Cicirrus: ' In return
Of you, Sir, now I fain would learn,
When 'twas, no longer deem'd a slave,
Your chains you to the Lares gave.
For though a scrivener's right you claim
Your lady's title is the same,
But what could make you run away,
Since, pigmy as you are, each day
59o




ï~~MINOR POEMS.               173
A single pound of bread would quite
O'erpower your puny appetite?'
Thus joked the champions, while we laugh'd
And many a cheerful buniper quaff'd.
To Beneventum next we steer;
Where our good host by over care
In roasting thrushes lean as mice
Had almost fallen a sacrifice.
The kitchen soon was all on fire,
And to the roof the flames aspire;
There might you see each man and master
Striving, amidst this sad disaster,
To save the supper. Then they'came
With speed enough to quench the flame.
From hence we first at distance see
The Apulian hil.s, well known to me,
Parch d by the sultry western blast;
And which we never should have past,
Had not Trivicius by the way
Received us at the close of day.
But each was forced at entering here
To pay the tribute of a tear,
For more of smoke than fire was seenThe hearth was piled with logs so green
From hence in chaises we were carried
Miles twenty-four, and gladly tarried
At a small town, whose name my verse
(So harbarou is it) can't rehearse.
Know it you may by many a sign,
Water is dearer far than wine.
There bread is deem'd such dainty fare
That every prudent traveller
Hii. wallet loads with many a crust;
For at Canusium you might just
As well attempt to gnaw a stone
As think to get a morsel down:
That too with scanty strams is fe 1;
Its founder was brave l'ioned.
Godl Varius (ah, that fr-ends must part
Here'left us all with aching heart
At Rubi we arrived that day,
Well jaded by the length of way,
491




ï~~f74            mrNjR POEMS,
And sure poor mortals ne'er were wettev
Next day no weather could be better;
No roads so bad; we scarce coud crawl
Along to fishy Barium's wall.
The Egnatians next, who by the rules
Of common sense are knaves or foole,
Made all our sides with laughter heave,
Since we with thern must needs believe
That incense in their temples burns,,And without fire to ashes turns.
To circumcision's bigots tell
Such tales I for me, I know full well
That in high heaven, unmoved by care,
The gods eternal quiet share:
Nor can I deem their spreen the cause,
While fickle Nature breaks her laws.
Brundusium last we reach: and there
Stop short the muse and traveller.
1759.
THE NINTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST BOOK
OF HORACE.
DESCRIPTION OF AN IMPERTINENT. ADAPTED TO TH*
PRESENT TIMES, 1759.
SAUNTERING along the street one day,
On trifles musing by the wayUp steps a free familiar wight,
(I scarrely knew the man by sight)
" Carlos,' he cried, ' your hand, my dear;
Gad, I rejoice to meet you here I
Pray heaven I see you well ' ' So so;
E'en well enough as times now go.
The same good wishes, Sir, to you.'
Finding he still pursued me closeSir, you have business I suppose.'
My business, Sir, is quickly done,
'Tis but to make my merit known.
Sir, 1 have read '-' 0 learned Sira,




ï~~i

MINGlR POEMS.                175
You and your learning I revere.'
Then sweating with an..iety,
And sadly longing to get free,
Gods, how I scamper'd, scuffled for't,
Ran, balted, ran again, stopp'd short,
Beckon'd my boy, and pull'd him near,
And whisper'd nothing in his ear.
Teased with his loose unjoiited chat'What street is this? What house is that V
0 Harlow, how I envied thee
Thy unabash'd effrontery,
Who darest a foe with freedom blame,
And call a coxcomb by his name I
When I return'd him answer none,
Obligingly the fool ran on,
' I see you're dismally distress'd,
Would give the world to be released.
But by your leave, Sir, I shall still
Stick to your skirts, do what you will.
Pray which way does your journey tend?'
O, 'tis a tedious way, my friend;
Across the Thames, the Lord knows where,
I would not trouble you so far.'
SWell, I'm at leisure to attepd you.'
'Are you?' thought I, 'the de'il befriend you.'
No ass with double panniers rack'd,
Oppress'd, o'erladen, broken-back'd,
E'er look'd a thousandth part so dull
As I, nor half so like a fool.
' Sir, I know little of myself,
(Proceeds the pert conceited elf)
If Gras or Mason you will deem
Than me more worthy your esteem.
Poems I write by folios
As fast as other men write prose;
Then I can sing so loud, so clear,
That Beard cannot with me compare.
In dancing too I all surpass,
Not Cooke can move with such a grace.'
Herq I made shift with much ado
To interpose a word or two.SHave you no parents, Sir, no friends,




ï~~176           MINOR POEMS.
Whose welfare on your own dependa?
'Parents, relations, say you? No.
They're all diopoed of long ag.'Happy to be no more perplex'd I1
My fate too threatens, I go next
Dispatch me, Sir, tis now too late,
Alas! to struggle with my fate!
Well, I'm convinced my time is come--
When young, a gipsy told my doom.
The beldame shook her palAied head,
As she perused my palm, and said
Of poison, pestilence, or war,
Gout, stone, defluxion, or catarrh,
You have no reason to beware.
Beware the coxcomb's idle prate;
Chiefly, my son, beware of that.
Be sure, when you behold him, fly
Out of all earshot, or you die.'
To Rufus' Hall we now draw near;
Where he was summon'd to appear,
Refute the charge the plaintiff' brought,
Or sufler judgment by default.
SFor Heaven's sake, if you love me, wait
One moment! 1 11 be with you straight.'
Glad of a plausible pretenceSS:r, I must beg you to dispense
With my attendance in the court.
My legs will surely suffer for't.'
t Nay, prithee, Carlos, stop awhile!'
Faith, Sir, in law I have no skill.
Besides I have no time to spare,
Imusit be going you know where.
SWell, I protest I'm doubtful now
Whether to leave my suit or you!'
' Me withqut scruple!' I reply,
* Me by all means, Sir!'-' No, not I.
Allois, Monsieurl' 'Twere -vain, you klow,
To strive with a victorious foe.
So I ielutantly obey,
Anrid follow where he leads the way.
' You and Newcastle are so clome,
Still hand and glove, Sir--I suppose. -
594
I,




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                17
' Newcastle, let me tell you, Sir,
IHas not his equal every where.'
' W ell. There indeed your fortune's made.
Faith, Sir, you understand your trade.
Would you but give me your good word:
Just introduce me to my lord,
I should serve charmingly by way
Of second fiddle as they say:
Wbat think you, Sir? twere a good jest.
'Slife, we should quickly scout the rest.'
'Sir, you mistake the matter far,
We have no second fiddles thereRicher than I some folks may be;
More learned, but it hurts not me.
Friends though he has of diflerent kind,
Each has his proper place assign'd.'
' Strange matters these alleged by you!'SStrange they may be, but they are true.'' Well then, I vow, 'tis mighty clever,
Now I long ten times more than ever
To be advanced extremely near
One of his shining character.
Have but the will-there wants no more,
'Tis plain enough you have the power.
His easy temper (that's the worst)
He knows, and is so shy at first.But such a cavalier as youLord, Sir, you'll quickly bring him to I--
Well; if I fail in my design,
Sir, it shall be no fault of mine.
If by the saucy servile tribe
Denied, what think you of a bribe?
Shut out to-day, not die with sorrow,
But try my luck again to-morrow.
Never attempt to visit him
But at the most convenient time,
Attend him on each levee day,
And there my humble duty pay,
Labour, like this, our want supplies;
And they must stoop who mean to ris.'
While thus he wittingly harangued,
For which you'll guess I wish'd him hang'ds
12
5955




ï~~178            MINOR POEMS.
Campley, a friend of mine, came by,
Who knew his hunimut more than I;
We stop, salute, and-' Why so fast,
Friend Carlos'? Whither all this haste?'Fired at the thoughts of a reprieve,
I pinch him, pull him, twitch his sleeve,
Nod, beckon, bite my lips, wink, pout,
Do every thing but speak plain out:
While he, sad dog, from the beginning
Detirmined to mistake my meaning,
Instead of pitying my curse,
By jeering made it ten times worse.
Campley, what secret (pray!) was that
Yoa wanted to communicate l'
' I recollect. But 'tis no matter.
Cai los, we'll talk of that hereafter.
E'en let the secret rest. 'Twill tell
Another time, Sir, just as well.'
Was ever such a dismal day?
Unlucky car, he steals away,
And leaves me, half bereft of life,
At mercy of the butcher's knife;
When sudden, shouting from afar,
See his antagonist appearl
The bailiff seized him quick as thought,
' Ho, Mr. Scoundrel! Are you caught?,
Sir, you are witness to the arrest.'
' Ay, marry, Sir, I'll do my best.'
The mob huzzas. Away they trudge,
Culprit arid all, before the judge.
Meanwhile I luckily, enough
(Thanks to Apollo) got clear off.
A TALE, FOUNDED ON A FACT,
WHICH HAPPENED IN JANTARY 17t9.
WnsRe Humber pours his rich commercial stream
There dwelt a wretch, who breath'd but to blaspheme
In subterraneous caves his life he led,
Black as the mine in which he wrought for bread
sm




ï~~MINOR POEMS.

170

When on a day, emerging from the deep,
A sabbath-day, (such sabbaths thousands keep I
The wages of his weekly toil he bore
To buy a cock-whose blood might win him more;
As if the noblest of the feather'd kind
Were but for battle and for death design'd;
As if the consecrated hours were meant
For sport, to minds on cruelty intent;
It chanced (such chances Providence obey)
He met a fellow-labourer on the way,
Whose heart the same desires had once inflamed;
But now the savage temper was reclaim'd,
Persuasion on his lips had taken place;
For all plead well who plead the cause of grace.
His iron heart with scripture he assail'd,
Woo'd him to hear a sermon, and prevail'd.
His faithful bow the mighty preacher drew,
Swift as the lightning-glimpse the arrow flew.
Ile wept; he trembled; cast his eyes around,
To find a worse than he; but none he found.
He felt his sins, and wonder'd he should feel.
Grace made the wound, and grace alone could heal.
Now farewell oaths, and blasphemies, and lies!
He quits the sinner's for the martyr's prize.
That holy day was wash'd with many a tear,
Gilded with hope, yet shaded too by fear.
The next, his swarthy brethren of the mine
Learn'd, by his alter'd speech, the change divine I
Langh'd when they should have wept, and swore the
Was nigh "'hen he would swear as fast as they. [day
' No,' said the penitent, ' such words shall share
This breath no more; devoted now to prayer.
O! if Thou seest (thine eye the future sees)
That I shall yet again blaspheme, like these;
Now strike me to the ground on which I kneel,
Ere yet this heart relapses into steel:
Now take me to that Heaven 1 once defied,
Thy presence, thy embrace!'-He spoke, and died I




ï~~180         MINOR POEMS.

TP THE REV. MR. NEWTON, ON HIS RETURN
FROM RAMSGATE.
THAT ocean you have late survey'd,
Those rocks I too have seen,
But I afflicted and dis-iay'd,
You tranquil and serene.
You from the flood-controlling steep
Saw stretch'd before your view,
With conscious joy, the threatening deep,
No longer such to you.
To me the waves, that ceaseless broke
Upon the dangerous coast,
Huarsely and ominously spoke
Of all my treasure lost.
Your sea of troubles you have past,
And found the peaceful shore;
I, tempest-toss'd, and wreck'd at last,
Come home to port no more.
Oct. 1780.
LOVE ABUSED.
WHAT is there in the vale of life
Half so delightful as a wife,
When friendship, love, and peace combine
To stamp the marriage-bond divine?
T'he stream of pure and genuine love
Derives its current from above;
And earth a second Eden shows,
Where'er the healing water flows:
But ah, if from the dykes and drains
Of sensual nature's feverish veins,
Lust, like a lawless headstrong flood,
Impregnated with ooze and mud,
Descending fast on every side,
O ace mingles with the sacred tide,
698




ï~~MiNO(R P OEMS.              181
Farewell the soul-enli ening scene!
The banks that wore a smiling green,
With rank defilement overspread,
Bewail their flowery beauties dead.
The stream polluted, dark, and dull,
DItfused into a Stygian pool,
Through life's last melancholy years
is fed with ever-flowing tears:
Complaints supply the zephyr's part,
And sighs that heave a breaking heart.
A POETICAL EPISTLE TO LADY AUSTEN.
DEAR ANNA-between friend and friend
Prose answers every common end;
Serves, in a plain and homel; way,
To express the occurrence of the day;
Our health, the weather, and the news;
What walks w   take, what books we choose;
And all the floating thoughts we find
Upon the surface of the mind.
But when a poet takes the pen,
Far more alive than other men,
He feels a gentle tingling come
Down to his finger and his thumb,
Derived from natuie's noblest part,
The centre of a glowing heart:
And this is what the world, who knows
No flights above the pitch of prose,
I-is more sublime vagaries slighting,
Denominates an itch for writing.
N  wonder I, who scribble rhyme
To catch the triflers of the time,
And tell them truths divine and clear
Which, couch'd in prose, they will not hear;
Who labour hard to allure and draw
The loitel ers I never saw,
Should feel that itching, and that tAgling,
With all my purpose intermingling,




ï~~182             MINOR POEMS.
To your intrinsic merit true,
When call'd to address myself to you.
Mysterious are His ways whose power
Brings forth that unexpected hour,
When minds, that never met before,
Shall meet, unite, and part no more:
It is the allotment of the skies,
The hand of the Supremely Wise,
That guides and governs our affections,
And plans and orders our connexions:
Directs us in our distant road,
And marks the bounds of our abode.
Thus we were settled when you found us,
Peasants and children all around us,
Not dreaming of so dear a friend,
Deep in the abyss of Silver-End.*
Thus Martha, e'en against her will,
Perch'd on the top of yonder hill;
And you, though you mnst needs prefer
The fairer scenes of sweet Sancerre,t
Are come from distant Loire, to choose
A cottage on the banks of Ouse.
This page of providence quite new,
And now just opening to our view,
Employs our present thoughts and pains
To guess and spell what it contains:
But day by day, and year by year,
Will make the dark enigma clear;
And furnish us, perhaps, at last,
Like other scenes already past,
With proof, that we, and our aflfairs,
Are part of a Jehovah's cares:
For God unfolds by slow degrees
The purport of his deep decrees;
Sheds every hour a clearer light
In aid of our defective sight;
And spreads, at length, before the soul,
A beautiful and perfect whole,
Which busy man's inventive brain
* An obscure part of Olney, adjoining to the residence of
Cowper, which faced the market-Dlace.
t Lady Austen's resideace in France.
600




ï~~i

MINOR POEMS.
Toils to anticipate in vain.
Say, Anna, had you never known
The beauties of a rose full blown,
Could you, though luminous your eye,
By looking on the bud, descry,
Or guess, with a prophetic power,
The future splendour of the flower
Just so the Omnipotent, who turns
The system of a world's concerns,
From mere minutiae can educe
Events of most important use;
And bid a dawning sky display
The blaze of a meridian day.
The works of man tend, one and all,
As needs they must, from great to small;
Andl vanity absorbs at length
The monuments of human strength.
But who can tell how vast the plan
Which this day's incident began?
Too small, perhaps, the slight occasion
For our dim-sighted observation;
It pass'd unnoticed, as the bird
That cleaves the yielding air unheard,
And yet may prove, when understood,
A harbinger of endless good.
Not that I deem, or mean to call
Friendship a blessing cheap or small:
But merely to remark, that ours,
Like some of nature's sweetest flowers,
Rose from a seed of tiny size,
That seem'd to promise no such prize;
A transient visit intervening,
And made almost without a meaning,
(Hardly the effect of inclination,
Much less of pleasing expectation)
Produced a friendship, then begun,
That has cemetted us in one;
And placed it ir our power to prove
By long fidelity and love,
That Solomon has wisely spoken;
SA threefold cord is not soon broken.
sc. 17S1.

601




ï~~t8         MINOIR POEMS.

THE COLUBRIA.
SCLOSE by the threshold of a door nail'd fast
Three kittens sat; each kitten look'd aghast.
I, passing swift and inattentive by,
At the three kittens cast a careless eye;
Not much concern'd to know what they did there;
Not deeming kittens worth a poet's care.
But presently a loud and furious hiss
Caused me to stop, and to exclaim,' What's this '
When lo! upon the threshold met my view,
With head erect, and eyes of fiery hue,
A viper, long as Count de Grasse's queue.
Forth from his head his forked tongue he throws,
Darting it full against a kitten's nose;
Who having never seen, in field or house,
The like, sat still and silent as a mouse;
Only projecting, with attention due,
Her whisker'd face, she ask'd him, 'Who are yout
On to the hall went I, with pace not slow,
But swift as lightning, for a long Dutch hoe:
With which well arm'd I hasten'd to the spot,
To find the viper, but I found him not.
And turning up the leavds and shrubs around,
Found only that he was not to be found.
But still the kittens, sitting as before,
Sat watching close the bottom of the door.
' I hope,' said I, ' the villain I would kill
Has slipp'd between the door and the door sill;
And if I make dispatchl, and follow hard,
No doubt but I shall find him in the yard:'
For long ere now it should have been rehearsed,
'Twas in the garden that I found him first.
E'en there I found him, there the full grown cat
His head, with velvet paw, did gently pat;
As curious as the kittens erst had been
To learn what this phenomenon might mean.
Fill'd with heroic ardour at the sight,
And fearing every moment he would bite,




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 185
And rob our household of our only cat
That was of age to combat with a rat;
With outstretch'd hoe I slew him at the doer,
And taught him NEVER TO COME THERE NO MORE
1782.
ON FRIENDSHIP.
Amidtia ns in ater boaos ease non potest. r
WHAT virtue can we name, or grace,
But men unqualified and base
Will boast it their possession t
Profusion apes the noble part
Of liberality of. heart,
And dulness of discretion.
But, as the gem of richest cost
Is ever counterfeited most,
So, always, imitation
Employs the utmost skill she can
To counterfeit the faithful man,
The friend of long duration.
Some will pronounce me too severeBut long experience speaks me clear;
Therefore, that censure scorning,
I will proceed to mark the shelves
n which so many dash themniselves,
And give the simple warning.
Youth, unadmonish'd by a guide,
Will trust to any fair outside;
An error soon corrected;
For who but learns with riper years,
That man, when smootkest he appears
Is most to be suspected?
603




ï~~186             MINOR l'OEMb.
But here again a danger lies;
Lest thus deluded by our eyes,
And taking trash for treasure,
We should, when undeceived, conclude
Friendship imaginary good,
A mere Utopian pleasure.
An acquisition, rather rare,
Is yet no subject of despair;
Nor should it seem distressful
If, either on forbidden ground,
Or where it was not to be found,
We sought it unsuccessful.
No friendship will abide the test
That stands on sordid interest
And mean self-love erected;
Nor such as may awhile subsist
'Twixt sensualist and sensualist
For vicious ends connected.
Who hopes a friend, should have a heart
Himself well furnish'd for the part,
And ready on occasion
To shew the virtue that he seeks;
For 'tis a union that bespeaks
A just reciprocation.
A fretful temper will divide
The closest knot that may be tied,
By ceaseless sharp corrosion:
A temper passionate and fierce
May suddenly your joys disperse
At one immense explosion.
In vain the talkative unite
With hope of permanent delight:
The secret just committed
They drop through mere desire to prate,
Forgetting its important weight,
And by themselves outwitted.
004




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 187
Iow bright soeer the prospect seems,
All thoughts of friendship are but dieams,
if envy chance to creep in;
An envious man, if you succeed,
May prove a dangerous foe indeed,
But not a friend worth keeping.
As envypines at good possess'd,
So jealousy looks forth distress'd
On good that seems approaching;
And, if success his steps attend,
Discerns a rival in a friend,
And hates him fot encroaching.
Hence authors of illustrious name
(Unless belied by common fame)
Are sadly prone to quarrel;
To deem the wit a friend displays
So much of loss to their own praise,
And pluck each other's laurel.
A man renown'd for repartee
Will seldom scruple to make free
With friendship's finest feeling;
Will thrust a dagger at your breast,
And tell you 'twas a special jest,
By way of balm for healing.
Beware of tatlers; keep your ear
Close stopt against the tales they bear,
Fruits of their own invention;
The separation of chief friends
Is what their kindness most intends;
Their sport is your dissension.
Friendship that wantonly admits
A joco-serious play of wits
In brilliant altercation,
Is union such as indicates,
Like hand-in-hand insurance-plates,
Danger of conflagration
608




ï~~188             MINOR POEMS.
Some fickle creatures boast a soul
True as the needle to the pole;
Yet shifting like the weather,
The needle's constancy forego
For any novelty, and show
its variations rather.
Insensibility makes some
Unseasonably deaf and dumb,
When most you need their pity;
'Tis waiting till the tears shall fall
From Gog and Magog in Guildhall,
Those playthings of the city.
The great and small but rarely meet
On terms of amity complete:
The attempt would scarce be madder,
Should any from the bottom hope,
At one huge stride to reach the top
Of an erected ladder.
Courtier and patriot cannot mix
Their heterogeneous politics
Without an effervescence,
Such as of salts with lemon juice,
But which is rarely known to induce,
Like that, a coalescence.
Religion should extinguish strife,
And make a calm of human life:.
But even those, who differ
Only on topics left at large,
How fiercely will they meet and charge
No combatants are stiffer.
To prove, alas! my main intent,
Needs no great cost of argument,
No cutting and contriving;
Seeking a real friend, we seem
To adopt the. chymist's golden dream
With still less hope of thriving.
a0C




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 189
Then judge, or ere you choose your man,
As circumspectly as you can,
SAnd, having made election,
See that no disrespect of yours,
Such as a friend but ill endures,
Enfeeble his affection.
It is not timber, lead, and stone,
An architect requires alone,
To finish a great building;
The palace were but half complete
Could he by any chance forget
The carving and the gilding.
As similarity of mind,
Or something not to be defined,
First rivets our attention;
So manners, decent and polite,
The same we practised at first sight,
Must save it from declension.
The man who hails you Tom-or Jack,
And proves by thumping on your back
His sense of your great merit,
Is such a friend, that one had need
Be very much his friend indeed,
To pardon or to bear it.
Some friends make this their prudent planSSay little, and hear all you can;'
Safe policy, but hateful.
So barren sands imbibe the shower,
But render ineither fruit nor flower,
Unpleasant and ungrateful.
They whisper trivial things, and small
But to communicate at all
Things serious deem improper;
Their feculeuce and froth they show,
But keep the best contents below,
Just like a simmering copper.
Sol7




ï~~190             MINOR POEMS.
These samples (for, alas! at last
These are but samples, and a taste
Of evils yet unmention'd
May prove the task a task indeed,
In which 'tis much if we succeed,
However well intention'd.
Pursue the theme, and you shall find
A disciplined and furnish'd mind
To be at least expedient,
And, after summinig all the rest,
Religion ruling in the breast
A principal ingredient.
True friendship has, in short, a grace
More than terrestrial in its face;
That proves it heaven-descended
M4n's love of woman not so pure,
Nor, when sincerest, so secure
To last till life is ended.
1753
ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGI.
WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED.
TO SIE MARCH IN SCIPIO.
TOLL for the brave!
The brave that are no more I
All sunk beneath the wave,
Fast by their native shore!
Eight hundred of the brave,
Whose courage well was tried&,
Had made the vessel heel,
And laid her on her side.
A land breeze shook the shrouds,
And she was overset;
Down went the Royal George,
With all her crew complete,.        ea




ï~~MINORi POEMS.               191
Toll for the brave!
Brave Kempenfelt is gone;
His last sea-fight is fought;
His work of glory done.
It was not in the battle;
No tempest gave the shock;
She sprang no fatal leak;
She ran upon no rock.
His sword was in its sheath;
His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down
With twice four hundred men.
Weigh the vessel up,
Once dreaded by our foes!
And mingle with our cup
The tear that England owes.
Her timbers yet are sound,
And she may float again
Full charged with England's thynder,
And plough the distant main.
But Kempenfelt is gone,
His victories are o'er;
And he and his eight hundred
Shall plough the wave no more.
Sept. 1782.
IN SUBMERSIONEM NAVICII, CUI GEORGIUS
REGALE NOMEN INDITUM.
PLAN.IMUS fortes. Perire fortes,
Patrium propter periere littus
Bis quatdr centunim; subitd sub alto
Aiquore mersi.
Navis, innitens lateri, jacebat,
M  alus ad summas trepidabat undas,
COm levis, funes quatiens ad imum
Depulit aura
609




ï~~1W2         MINOR POEMS.
Plangimus fortes. Nimis, heu, caducam
Fortibus vitera volu~re 'parce,
Nec sinunt ultra tibi Dos recentes
Nectere laurus,
Magne, qui nomen, 11cMt incanoruan,
Traditumn ex multis atavis tulisti!
At tuos olim memorabit wvum
Omne triumphos.
Non hyems illos furibunnda merst
Non mari in clauso scopuli latentes,
Fissa nion rimis abies, nec atroZt
Abstulit ensis.
Ravitae sed turn nimium jocosi
Voce fallebant hilari laborem,
Et quiescebat, calamoque dextram imspleverat heros.
Vos, quibus cordi est grave opus piumque,
Humidum ex alto s~oliatm levate,
Et putrescentes sub aquis amicos
Reddite amnicis!
Hi quidem (sic dos placuit)1'ugre:
Sed ratis, nondium putris, ire possit
Rursfas in bellum, Britonumque nornen
Tollere ad astra.
BONG. ON PEACE.
WRITTEN IN THE SUMMER OF 1783, AT THE k5;QUT
OF LALIY AUSTEN, WHO GAVE THE SENTINMETr.
AIR-' $MY FOND SHEPHERDS OF LITS.
No longer I follow a sound;
No longer a dream I pursue:
O happiness! not to be found,
Unattainable treasure adieu I




ï~~MINOR POEMS.               193
I have sought thee in splendour and dress
In the regions of pleasure and taste;
I have sought thee, and seem'd to possess,
But have proved thee a vision at last.
An humble ambition and hope
The voice of true wisdom inspires;
Tis sufficient, if peace be the scope,
And the summit of all our desires.
Peace may be the lot of the mind
That seeks it in meekness and love;
But rapture and bliss are confined
To the glorified spirits above.
SONG.
"SO WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTINE.
AIR-' THE LASS OF PATTIE'S MILL.
WHEN all within is peace
How nature seems to smile!
Delights that never cease
The livelong day beguile.
Prom morn to dewy eve
With open hand she showers
Fresh blessings, to deceive
And soothe the silent hours.
It is content of heart
Gives nature power to please;
The mind that feels no smart
Enlivens all it sees;
Can make a wintry sky
Seem bright as smiling May,
And evening's closing eye
As peep of early day.
The vast majestic globe,
So beauteously array'd
In gatitre's various robe,
W th wondrous skill display'd,
K
au




ï~~194             MINOR POEMS.
Is to a mourner's heart
A dreary wild at best;
It flutters to depart,
And longs to be at rest.
VERSES SELECTED FROM AN OCCASIONAL
POEM ENTITLED VALEDICTION.
On Friendship! cordial of the human breast 1
So little felt, so fervently profess'd!
Thy blossoms deck our unsuspecting years;
The promise of delicious fruit appears:
We bug the hopes of constancy and truth,
Such is the folly of our dreaming youth;
But soon, alas! detect the rash mistake
That sanguine inexperience loves to make;
And view with tears the expected harvest lost,
Decay'd by time, or wither'd by a frost.
Whoever undertakes a friend's great part
Should be renew'd in nature, pure in heart,
Prepared for martyrdom, and strong to prove
A thousand ways the force of genuine love.
He may be call'd to give up health and gain,
To exchange content for trouble, ease for pain,
To echo sigh for sigh, and groan for groan,
And wet his cheeks with sorrows not his own.
The heart of man, for such a task too frail,
When most relied on is most suire to fail;
And, summon'd to partake its fellow's woe,
Starts from its office like a broken bow.
Votaries of business and of pleasure prove
Faithless alike in friendship and in love.
Retired from all the circles of the gay,
And all the crowds that bustle life away,
To scenes where competition, envy, strife,
Beget no thunder-clouds to trouble life,
Let me, the charge of some good angel, find
One who has known, and has escaped manknd;
612




ï~~MINOR POEMS..95
Polite, yet virtuous, who has brought away
The manners, not the morals, of the day:
With him, perhaps with her (for men have known
No firmer friendships than the fair have shown),
Let me enjoy, in some unthought-of spot,
All former friends forgiven, and forgot,
Down to the close of life's fast-fading stene,
Union of hearts without a flaw between.
'Tis grace, 'tis bounty, and it calls for praise,
If God give health, that sunshine of our days!
And if he add, a blessing shared by few,
Content of heart, more praises still are dueBut if he grant a friend, that boon possess'd
Indeed is treasure, and crowns all the rest;
And giving one, whose heart is in the skies,
Born from above and made divinely wise,
He gives, what bankrupt nature never can,
Whose noblest coin is light and brittle man,
Gold, purer far than Ophir ever knew,
A soul, an image of himself, and therefore true.
Nov. 1783.
IN BREVITATEM VIT/E SPATII HOMINIBUS
CONCESSI.
RT Un. JORTIN.
HEI mihi I Lege rata sol occidit atque resurgit,
Lunaque mutate reparat dispendia formse,
Astraque, purpurei telis extincta diei,
Rursus nocte vigent. Humiles telluris alumni,
Graminis herba virens, et florum picta propago,
Quos crudelis hyems lethali tabe peredit,
Cum Zephyri vox blanda vocat, rediitque sereai
Temperies anni, feecundo 6 cespite surgunt.
Nos domini rerum, nos, magna et pulchra minati,
Cum breve ver vitae robustaque transiit etas,
Deficimus; nee nos ordo revolubilis auras
Reddit in vathereas, tumuli neque claustra resolvt.
013




ï~~196        MINOR POEMS.

ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFB.
TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING.
SUNS that set, and noons that wane,
Rise and are restored again;
Stars that orient day subdues,
Night at her return renews.
Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth
Of the genial womb of earth,
Suffer but a transient death
From the winter's cruel breath.
Zephyr speaks; serener skies
Warm the glebe, and they arise.
We, alas! earth's haughty kings,
We, that promise mighty things,
Losing soon life's happy primue,
Droop, and fade, in little time.
Spring returns, but not our bloom;
Still 'tis winter in the tomb.
Jan. 1784.
EPITAPH ON DR. JOHNSON.
Hz1 Johnson lies-a sage by all allow'd,
Whom to have bred may well make England proud,
Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught,
The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought;
Whoseverse may claim-grave, masculine, and strong
Superior praise to the mere poet's song;
Who mnany a noble gift from heaven possess'd,
And faith at last, Alone worth all the rest.
O man, immortal by a double prize,
By fame on earth-by glory in the skies!
Jan. 1785.
614




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                1g
TO MISS C-, ON HER BIRTHDAY.
How many between east and west
Disgrace their parent earth,
Whose deeds constrain us to detest
The day that gave them birth I
Not so when Stella's natal morn
Revolving months restore,
We can rejoice that she was born,
And wish her born once morel
1766.
GRATITUDE.
ADDIRSSED TO LADY RESKM.
TaH s cap, that so stately appears,
With ribbon-bound tassel on high,
Which seems by the crest that it rears
Ambitious of brushing the sky:
This cap to my cousin I owe,
She gave it, and gave me beside,
Wreath'd into an elegant bow,
The ribbon with which it is ties.
This wheel-footed studying chair,
Contrived both for toil and repose,
Wide-elbow'd, and wadded with hair,
In which I both scribble and dose
Bright-studded to dazzle.the eyes,
And rival in lustre of that
In which, or astronomy lies,
Fair Cassiopeia sat:
These carpets, so soft to the foot,
Caledonia's traffic and pride I
Oh spare them, ye knights of the boot,
Escaped from a cross-country ride I
s15




ï~~1              MINOR POEMS.
Tia table and mirror within;
Secure from collision and dust,
At which I oft shave cheek and chin,
And periwig nicely adjust:
This movable structure of shelves,
For its beauty admired and its use,
And charged with octavos and twelves
The gayest I had to produce;
Where, flaming in scarlet and gold,
lily poems enchanted I view,
And hope in due time, to behold
Afy Iliad and Odyssey too:
This china, that decks the alcove,
Which here people call a boufet,
But what the gods call it above
Has ne'er been reveal'd to us yet:
These curtains, that keep the room warm
Or cool, as the season dcmands,
Those stoves that for pattern and form
Seem the labour of Mulciber's hands:
All these are not half that I owe
To one, from our earliest youth
To me ever ready to show
Benignity, friendship, and truth;
For Time, the destroyer declared
And foe of our perishing kind,
If even her face he has spared,
Much less could he alter her mind.
Thus compass'd about with the goods
And chattels of leisure and ease,
I indulge my poetical moods
In many such fancies as these;
And fancies I fear they. will seemPoets' goods are not often so fine;
The poets will swear that I dream
When I sing of the splendour of mih
1796

i

618




ï~~MINOR POEMS.

LINES COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF
ASHLEY COWPER       ESQ.
AXYEDIATELY AFTER HIS DEATH, MY HIS NEPMEW
WILLIAM OF WESTON.
FAREWEL.L! endued with all that could engage
All hearts to love thee, both in youth and age
In prime of life, for sprightliness enroll'd
Among the gay, yet virtuous as the old;
In life's last stage, (O blessings rarely found 1)
Pleasant as youth with all its blossoms crown'd;
Throue h every period of this changeful state
Unchanged thyself--wise, good, affectionate I
Marble may flatter, and lest this should seem
O'ercharged with p&aises on so dear a theme,
Although thy worth vs more than half supprest
Love shall be satisfied, and veil the rest.
June, 1788.
ON THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON,
tHE NIGHT OF THE SEVENTEENTH OF MARCH, 170
WHEN, long sequester'd from his throne,
George took his seat again,
By right of worth, not blood alone,
Entitled here to reign,
Then loyxaIty, with all his lamps
New trimm'd, a gallant show
Chasing the darkness and the damps,
Set London in aflow.




ï~~g(1         3INOR POEMS.
'Twas hard to tell, of streets or squares,
Which form'd the chief display,
These most resembling cluster'd stars,
Those the long milky way.
Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spirm
And rockets flew, self-driven,
To hang their momentary tires
Amid the vault of heaven.
So fire with water to compare,
The ocean serv.es, on high
Up-spouted by a whale in air,
To express unwieldy joy.
Had all the pageants of the world
In one procession join'd,
And all the banners been unfurl'd
That heralds e'er design'd,
For no such sight had England's Queer.
Forsaken her retreat,
Where George, recover'd, ni de a scent
Sweet always doubly sweet.
Yet glad she came that night to prove,
A witness undescried,
How much the object of her love
Was loved by all beside.
Darkness the skies had mantled o'er
In aid of her desihn--
Darkness, O Queen   ne'er call'd before
To veil a deed of thine 1
On borrow'w heels away she flies,
Resolved to be unknown,
And gratify no curious eyes
That night except her own.
Arrived, a night like noon she sees,
And hears the million hum:
As all by instinct, like the bees,
Had known their sovereign come.
618




ï~~M IN 0 t..                201
Pleased she beheld aloft portray'd,
On many a splendid wall,
Emblems of health and heavenly aid,
And George the theme of all.
Unlike the enigmatic line,
So difficult to spell,
Which shook Relshazzar at his wins
The night his city fell.
Soon watery grew her eyes and dim,
But with a joyful tear,
None else, except in prayer for him,
George ever drew from her.
It was a scene in every part
Like those in fable feign'd,
And seem'd by some magician's art
Created and sustain'd.
But other magic there, she knew,
Had been exerted none,
To raise such wonders in her view,
Save love of George alone.
That cordial thought her spirit cheer'l,
And through the cumbrous throng,
Not else unworthy to be fear'd,
Convey'd her calm along.
So, ancient poets say, serene
The sea-maid rides the waves,
And fearless of the billowy scene
Her peaceful bosom laves.
With more than astronomic eyes
She view'd the sparkling show;
One Georgian star adorns the skies,
She myriads found below.
Yet let the glories of a night
Like that, once seen, suffice,
Heaven grant us no such future sight
Such previous woe the price 1
K2
mS




ï~~2M_       MINOR POEMS.

TilE COCK-FIGHTER'S GARLAND!*
IfUSE-hide his name of whom I sing,
Lest his surviving house thou bring
For his sake into acorn,
Nor speak the school from which he drew
The much or little that he knew,
Nor place where he was born.
That such a man once was, may seem
Worthy of record (if the theme
Perchance may credit win),
For proof to man; what -man may proma
If grace depart, and demons move.The source of guilt within.
This man (for since the howling wild
isclaims him, man. he must he styled)
Wanted no good below;
Gentle he was, if gentle birth
Could make him such, and he bad worth,
If wealth can worth bestow.
" Written on reading the following In the ohitnary of the
Gbntleisian' Magacise, for April, 178.- At Titui lo, Johni
Ardle-nif, Esq., a votong ian of large fortiae, ai d ini thse
splendotir of hlo rarri.et and lorox rtivale by frw eiointry
genitlesmen. iIs table as tat of hospitality, where, it nioo be
said, be sat rificed too mtuci to conviviality; hot, if be hai te
foileo he hal his nierits alle, that fir otwigheed themi. Mr. A.
wao ter' food of i orb beateing anl ha d a ftosnite cock, upon
which lie had won mianv pirofitible matihes. The lot bet he
laid titos thit cork hr lost; which so car ic ed himi, that he had
the bird tietd to as pit aid rotsted alive bifitre a latre fire. The
errenis of the mtiseriable aniwal were so slieti tati witae
gntlemten who were tpresent aittamptedi to interfere whichI so
enrared Sir. A. that lie seiued ipokter, mud a'ith the ncwl
faius veheimence det-tired, that he wotitld kill the first mian
who interpoed; bat, is te mitlst of hio peelonate aaotveritii-ii,
he fell dews lead thiou the tpot. Such, we are ssatretd, were
ther clrt-ttostascs which atteuded the death of this great piliaf
of heasausity.'
020




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 20
In social talk and ready jest
lie shone superior at the feast,
And qualities of mind,
Illustrious in the eyes of those
Whose gay society he chose,
Possess'd of every kind.
Afethinks I see him powder'd red,
With bushy locks his well-dress'd heaM
Wing'd broad on either side,
The mossy rosebud not so sweet;
His steeds superb, his carriage neat,
As luxury could provide.
Can such be crr el? Such can be
Cruel as hell, and so was he;
A tyrant entertain'd
With barbarous sports, whose fell delight
Was to encourage mortal fight
'Twixt birds to battle train'd.
One feather'd champion he possess'd,
His darling far beyond the rest,
Which never knew disgrace,
Nor e'er had fought but he made flow
The life-blood of his fiercest foe
The Caesar of his race.
It chanced at last, when on a day,
He push'd him to the desperate fray,
His courage droop'd, he fled.
The master storm'd, the prize was lost,
And, instant, frantic at the cost,
He doom'd his favourite dead.
He seized him fast, and from the pit
Flgw to the kitchen, snatch'd the spit,
And, Bring me cord, he cried;
The cord was brought, and, at his words
To that dire implement the bird,
Alive and struggling, thed.
du




ï~~04            MINOR POEMS
The horrid sequel asks a veil;
And all the terrors of the tale
That can be shall be sunkLed by the sufferer's screams aright
His shock'd companions view the sight,
And him with fury drunk.
All, suppliant, beg a milder fate
For the old warrior at the grate:
He, deaf to pity's call,
Whirl'd round him rapid as a wheel
His culinary club of steel,
Death menacing on all.
But vengeance hung not far remote,
For while he stretch'd his 0amorous throat,
And heaven and earth defied,
Big with a curse too closely pent,
That struggled vainly for a vent,
He totter'd, reel'd, and died.
'Tis not for us, with rash surmise,
To point the judgment of the skies;
But judgments plain as this.
That, sent for man's instruction, bring
A written label on their wing,
Tis hard to read amiss.
May, 1789.
TO WARREN HASTINGS, ESQ.
BY AN OLD SCHOOLFILLOW OF HIS AT VWESTVMINSTIL
HASTINGS! I knew thee young, and of a mind
While young humane, conversable, and kind,
Nor can I well believe thee, gentle then,
Now grown a villain, and the worst of men.
But rather some suspect, who have oppress'd
And worried thee, as not themselves the best.




ï~~gINOR POEMS.                   2O.
VERSES TO THE MFAMORY OF DR. LLOYD f
SPOKEN AT THE WESTMINSTER ElECTIOUN NEIT
&I'LI HIS IJECEASE.
Aw IT senex! periit senex amiabilis!
Quot nonu tutit jucundior.
Lugete vos, wctas qoibus uw~turior
Seuem colendum pr esttit,
Aeu ijomiido, viribus valeiitioi-ibus
Firmoque fretus peuctore,
Floreitiori ens jus citute excolens
Cur-ii fovebat patiA,
Seu quando frActus, jamque donatus ru~e,
ult110 siecs unue bisllulo,
Miscere gaudebat sutas facetias
His amIiuis leporibos.
Vixit probis, purique simplex indole,
BlaIdisqlue comic nooribus,
Et dives quA niente-charas omnibus,
UnuS+ alletitS munere.
Ite titii! meritis beatinribus
Aptate lstides debitas l
Nee ilividebat ille, ci quibu s favens
Fortuna plus an iserat.
Pl-r'ide senex! leviQjiscas crespite,
Etsi su~perbuml nc* Sit) tibi
Decus; sit biithmm, nie mortuo
Lapis notatus Yinmute.
f   naie no apnosi for the lntrodnustion of the fsllouing
usis",: herhgt I isisr tir learned who wrote themt. Their eice
gttiee ill ruollioil rvoilo-jul  t hits to,t trt,.,f tiarl.
All vis  f-v. Ve escorkt 4i the wor hy ma %%bom dtye iv li-bratl
ale I rosilpted file ts this esshsitvor.
W. C( iIPR..!_ fie wnt tsihr tond ntuolr-nuostE if We-mmo. sir treat tilt
year.;al ri-tiret free his-.scsltltios whuh lie Wil ea sCevea.%y
wi a hauletit pe ubini froas the ki.




ï~~I06          fNOR POEMS~,

TH SAME IN ENGLISH.
Ora good old friend is gone, gone to his rest,
Whose social converse was, itself, a feast.
O ye of riper age, who recollect
How once ye loved, and eyed trim with respect,
Both in the firmness of his better day,
While yet he ruled you with a father's sway,
And when, impair'd by time and glad to rest,
Yet still with kooks in mild complacence drests
Hle took his annual seat and mingled here
His sprightly vein with yours-now drop a tear.
In morals blameless as in manners meek,
He knew no wish that he might blush to speak,
But, happy in whatever state below,
And richer than the rich in being so,
Obtain'd the hearts of all, and such a meed
At length from one,* as made him rich indeed.
Hence, then, ye titles, hence, not wanted here,
Go, garnish merit in a brighter sphere,
The brows of those whose more exalted lot
He could congratulate, but envied not.
Light lie the turf, good senior! on thy breast,
And tranquil as thy mind was be thy rest!
Though, living, thou hadst more desert than fame,
And not a stone now chronicles thy name.
TO MRS. THROCKMORTON,
ON lER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT or HORACt'S ODEs
$AD LIBRUM SUUM.'
IMTaiA, could Horace have guess'd
What honour awaited his ode
To his own little volume address'd,
The honour which you have bestow'd;

* See the note in the Latllcpp.

LI




ï~~MINOR POEMS.               207
Whi have traced it in characters here,
So elegant, even, and neat,
lie had laugh'd at the critical sneer
Which he seems to have trembled to meet,
And sneer, if you please, he had said,
A nymph shall hereafter arise
Who shall give me, when you are all dead,
The glory your malice denies;
Shall dignity give to my lay,
Although but a mere bagatelle;
And even a poet shall say,
Nothing ever was written so well
Feb. 179o.
TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE
HALIBUT,
0, WHICH I DINED THIS DAY, MONDAY, APRIb, 1784,
WHERE hast thou floated, in what seas pursued
Thy pastime? when wast thou an egg new spawn'd,
Lost in the immensity of ocean's waste?
Roar as they might, the overbearing winds'
That rock'd the deep, thy cradle, thou wast safeAnd in thy minikin and embryo state,
Attach'd to the firm leaf of some salt weed,
Didst outlive tempests, such as wrung and rack'd
The joints of many a stout and gallant bark,
And whelm'd them in the unexplored abyss
Indebted to no magnet and no chart,
Nor under guidance of the polar fire,
Thou wast a voyager on many coasts,
Grazing at large in meadows submarine,
Where flat Batavia jast emerging peeps
Above the brine-where Caledonia's rocks
Beat back the surge-and where Hibernia shoots
Her wondrous causeway far into the main.
625




ï~~_ r

98             MINOR POEMS.
--Wherever thou hast fed, thou little thought'st,
And I not more, that I should feed on thee.
Peac,, therefore, and good hedth, and much good fish,
To hiim who sent thee I and success, as oft
As ii descends into the billowy.gulf,
To the same drag that caught thee I-Fare thee well'
Thy lot th brethren of the slimy fin
Would envy, could they know that thou wast uoom'd
To feed a bard, and to be praised in verse.
INSCRIPTION FOR A STONE
BRICTF.D AT THE SOWING OP A GROVE OF OAKS AT CHILLINGITON, THE SEAT OF T. GIFFARD, ESQ., 1790.
OTHER stones the era tell
When some feeble mortal fell;
I stand here to date the birth
Of these hardy sons of earth.
Which shall longest brave the sky,
Storm and frost--these oaks or 1 l
Pass an age or two away,
I must moulder and decay,
But the years that crumble me
Shall invigorate the tree,
Spread its branch, dilate its size,
Lift its summit to the skies.
Cherish honour, virtue, truth,
So shalt thou prolong thy youth:
Wanting these, however fast
Man be fix'd and form'd to last,
He is lifeless even now,
stme at heart, and cannot grow.
Jones 17




ï~~MINCR POEMS.

209

ANOTHER,
For a stone erected on a similar oreasion at the same place
in the followiu year.
REAbER I behold a monument
That asks no sigh or tear,
Though it perpetuate the event
Of a great burial here.
Anno 1791.
TO MRS. KING,
On her kind present to the anthor, a patchwork counterpene
of her own making.
THE bard, if e'er he feel at all,
Must sure be quicien'd by a call
Both on his heart and head,
To pay with tuneful thanks the care
And kindness of a lady fair
Who deigns to deck his bed.
A bed like this, in ancient time,
On Ida's barren top sublime,
(As Homer's epic shows)
Composed of sweetest vernal flowers,
Without the aid of sun or showers,
For Jove and Juno rose.
Less beautiful, however gay,
Is that which in the scorching day
Receives the weary swaini,
Who, laying his long scythe aside,
Sleeps on some bank with daisies pied,
Till roused to toil again.
What labours of the loom I see!
Looms numberless have groan'd for me I
Should every maiden come
To scramble for the patch that bears
The impress of the robe she wears,
The bell would toll for some.
cay




ï~~210              MINOR POEMS.
And oh, what havoc would ensue I
This bright display of every hue
All in a moment fled!
As if a storm should strip the bowers
Of all their tendrils, leaves, and flowersEach pocketing a shred.
Thanks then to every gentle fair
Who will not come to peck me bare
As bird of borrow'd feather,
And thanks to one above them all,
The gentle fair of Pertenhal'.
Who put the whole together.
August, 1790.
TRANSLATION OF AN EPIGRAM OP HOME?*
PAY me my price, potters! and I will sing.
Attend, O Pallas! and with lifted arm
Protect their oven; let the cups and all
The sacred vessels blacken well, and, baked
With good success, yield them both fair renown
And profit, whether in the market sold
Or streets, and let no strife ensue between us.
But, oh ye potters I if with shameless front
Ye falsify your promise, then I leave
No mischief uninvoked to avenge the wrong.
Come, Syntrips, Smaragus, Sabactes, come,
And Asbetus, nor let your direst dread,
Omodamus, delay! Fire seize your house,
May neither house nor vestibule escape,
May ye lament to see confusion mar
And mingle the whole labour of your hands
* No title is prefixed to this piece, but it appears to he a tra
lation of one of the ETreypappara of homer called 'O,laevo, or the Furnace. Herodotuts, or whoever was the
Author of the Life of Honmer ascribed to him, observes, ' certain
ptt ers. while they were busied in baking their ware, seeing
Homer at a saal1 distance, and havin, heard anch sail of his
wisdom, called to him, and promised him apresent of their ceomndity and of such other things as they could afford, if he wcild
lag to themi-when he sang as follows.'
628

Ii




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                211
And may a sound fill all your oven, such
As of a horse grinding his provender,
While all your pots and flagons bounce within.
Come hither also, daughter of the sun,
Circe the sorceress,,and with thy drugs
Poison themselves, and all that they have made'
Come also, Chiron, with thy numerous troop
Of centaurs, as well those who died beneath
The club of Hercules, as who escaped,
And stamp their crockery to dust; down fall
Their chimney; let them see it with their eyes
And howl to see the ruin of their art,
While I rejoice; and if a potter stoop
To peep into his furnace, may the fire
Flash in his face and scorch it, that all men
Observe, thenceforth, equity and good faith.
Oct. 1790.
IN MEMORY OF
THE LATE JOHN THORNTON, ESQ.
POETs attempt the noblest task they can,
Praising the Author of all good in man,
And, next, commemorating worthies lost,
The dead in whom that good abounded most.
Thee, therefore, of commercial fame, but more
Famed for thy probity from shore to shore,
Thee, Thornton! worthy in some page to shine,
As honest and more eloquent than mine,
I mourn; or, since thrice happy thou must be,
The world, no longer thy abode, not thee.
Thee to deplore were grief misspent indeed;
It - ere to weep that goodness has its meed,
That there is bliss prepared in yonder sky,
And glory for the virtuous when they die.
What pleasure can the miser's fondled hoard,
Or spendthrift's prodigal excess afford
Sweet as the privilege of healing woe
By virtue stlifer'd combating below
(180




ï~~212             MINOR POEMS.
That privilege was thine; Heaven gave thee means
To illumine with delight the saddest scenes,
fill thy appearance chased the gloom, forlorn
As midnight, and despairing of a morn.
Thou hadst an indtistry in doiW good,
Restless as his who toils and sweats for food;
Avarice in thee was the desire of wealth
By rust unperishable or by stealth,
And if the genuine' worth of goild depend
On application to its noblest end,
Thine had a value in the scales of Heaven
Surpassing all that mine or mint had,-gNiven.
And, though   od made thee of a nature prone
To distribution boundless of thy owr,
And still by motives of religious force
Impell'd thee more to that heroic course,
Yet was thy liberality discreet,
Nice in its choice, and of a temper'd heat;
And though in act unwearied, secret still,
As in some solitude the summer rill
Refreshes, " here it winds, the faded green,
And cheers the drooping flowers, unheard, unseen,
Such was thy charity; no sudden start,
After long sleep, of passion in the heart,
But steadfast principle, and, in its kind,
Of close relation to the Eternal Mind,
Traced easily to its true source above,
To Him whose works bespeak his nature, love.
Thy bounties all were Christian, and I make
This record of thee for the Gospel's sake;
That the incredulous themselves may see
Its use and power exemplified in thee.
Nov. 179o.
THE FOUR AGES.
(A BRIEF FRAGMENT OF AN EXTENSIVE PROJECTED PORw.)
'I COULD be well content, allow'.d the use
Of past experience, and the wisdom glean'd
From worn-out fjllies, now acknowledged such,
630




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                213
To recommence life's trial, in the hope
Of fewer errors, on a second proof!'
Thus, while gray eveniig lul'd the wind, and call'd
Fresh odurs from the shrubbery at my side,
Taking my lonely winding walk, I mused,
And held accustom'd conference with my heart;
When from within it thus. a voice replied: [length
SCouldst thou in truth? and art thou taught at
This wisdom, and but this, from ali the past'?
Is not the pardon of thy long arrear,
Time wasted, violated laws, abuse
Of talents, judgment, mercies, better far
Than-opportunity, vouchsafed to err
With less excuse, and, haply, worse effect '
I heard, and acquiesced: then to and fro
Oft pacing, as the mariner his deck,
My gravblly bounds, from self to human kind
I pass'd, and next consider'd-what is man.
Knows he his origin? can he ascend
By reminiscence to his earliest date?
Sept he in Adam I And in th >se from him
Through numerous generations, till he found
At length his destined moment to be born 1
Or was he not, till fashion'd in the womb?  [toil'd
Deep mysteries both! which schoolmen miast have
To unriddle, and have left them nuyctsC  st ill
It is an evil incident to man,
And of the worst, that unexplored he leaves
Truths useful and attainable with ease,
To dearch forbidden deeps, where mystery lies
Not to be solved, and useless if it might.
Mysteries are food for angels; they digest
'With ease, and find them nutriment; but man,
While yet he dwells below, must stoop to glean
His manna from the ground, or starve and die,
Nay, 1791.

631




ï~~2I4       MINOR POEMS.

THE RETIRED CAT.*
A Powr's cat sedate and grave,
As poet well could wish to have,
Was much addicted to inquire
FPor nooks to which she might retire,
And where, secure as mouse in chink,
She might repose, or sit and think.
I know not where she caught the trickNature perhaps herself had cast her
In such a mould philosophique,
Or else she learn'd it of her master.
Sometimes ascending, debonnair,
An apple tree, or lofty pear,
Lodged with convenience in the fork,
She watch'd the gardener at his work;
Sometimes her ease and solace sought
In an old empty watering pot:
There, wanting-nothing save a fan,
To seem some nymph in her sedan
Apparell'd in exactest sort,
And ready to be borne to court.. But love of change, it seems, has place
Not only in our wiser race,
Cats also feel, as well as we,
That passion's force, and so did she.
Her climbing, she began to find,
Exposed her too much to the winid,
* Cowper's partiality to animals is well known. Lady Hesketh,
in one of iher letters, states, ' that he had, at one time, five
rabbits, three hares, two guinea-pigs, a nagpie, a jay, and b
starling: besides two goldfinches, two catart bird, ano two
dogs. It is ait azing how the three hares 'an find room.to
gambol and frolic (as thty certainly do) in his snall pariour;'
adl add,, ' I foreot to eiinerate a squirrel, which he had at
the same time, and which usbd to play with one of the hares
contanually. Onie evening the eat giving one of the hares a
sound box on the ear, the hare ran after her, and haviiie caught
her, puisheid ier by druinig or her btk with her ivn feet,
as hard as drumsticks till the creature would have actually been
killed, had not Mrs Lnwin rescued her,'
632




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                215
And the old utensil of tin
Was cold and comfortless within:
She therefore wish'd instead of those
Some place of more serene repose.
Where neither cold might come, nor aa
Too rudely wanton with her hair,
And sought it in the likeliest mode
Within her master's snug abode.
A drawer, it chanced, at bottom lined
With linen of the softest kind,
With such as merchants introduce
From India, for the ladies' use,
A drawer impending o'er the rest,
Half open in the topmost chest,
Of depth enough, and none to spare,
Invited her to slumber there;
Puss with delight beyond expression
Survey'd the scene, and took possession.
Recumbent at her ease, ere long,
And lull'd by her own humdrum song,
She left the cares of life behind,
And slept as she would sleep her last,
When in came, housewifely inclined,
The chambermaid, and shut it fast;
By no malignity impell'd,
But all unconscious whom it held.
Awaken'd by the shock--cried Puss,
' Was ever cat attended thus?
The open drawer was left, I see,
Merely to prove a nest for me,
For soon as I was well composed,
Then came the maid, and it was closed,
How smooth these 'kerchiefs, and how sw t!
O what a delicate retreat I
I will resign myself to rest
Till Sol, declining in the west,
Shall call to supper, when, no doubt,
Susan will come and let me out.'
The evening came, the sun descended,
And Puss remain'd still unattended.
The night roll'd tardily away
(With her indeed 'twas never day),
2S




ï~~Z16             MINOR POEMS.
The sprightly morn her course renew'd,
The evening gray again ensued,
And Puss came into mind no more
Than if entomb'd the day before.
With hunger pinch'd, and pinch'd for room,
She now presaged approaching doom,
Nor slept a single wink, or purr'd,
Conscious of jeopardy incurr'd.
That night, by chance, the poet watchiags
Heard an inexplicable scratching;
His noble heart went pit-a-pat,
And to himself he said-' What's that?'
He drew the curtain at his side,
And forth he peep'd, but nothing spied
Yet, by his ear directed, guess'd
Something imprison'd in the chest,
And, doubtful what, with prudent care
Resolved it should continue there.
At length a voice which well he knew,
A long and melancholy mew,
Saluting his poetic ears,
Consoled him and dispell'd his fears:
He left his bed, he trod the floor,
He 'gan in haste the drawers explore,
The lowest first, and without stop
The rest in order to the top.
For 'tis a truth well known to most,
That whatsoever thing is lost,
We seek it, ere it come to light,
In every cranny but the right.
Forth skipp'd the cat, not now replete
As erst with airy self-conceit,
Nor in her own fond apprehension
A theme for all the world's attentieo
But modest, sober, cured of all
Her notions hyperbolical,
And wishing for a place of rest,
Any thing rather than a chest.
Then stepp'd the poet into bed
With this reflection in his head.

G34




ï~~MINOR POEMS..               217
MORAL.
Beware of too sublime a sense
Of your own worth and consequence:
The man who dreams himself so great,
And his importance of such weight,
That all around, in all that's done,
Must move and act for him alone,
Will learn in school of tribulation
The folly of his expectation.
179!.
THE JUDGMENT OF THE POETS.
Two nymphs, both nearly of an age,
Of numerous charms possess'd,
A warm dispute once chanced to wage,
Whose temper was the best.
The worth of each had been complete
Had both alike been mild:
But one, although her smile was sweet,
Frown'd oftener than she smiled.
And in her humour, when she frown'd,
Would raise her voice, and roar,
And shake with fury to the ground
The garland tlhat she wore.
The other was of gentler cast,
From all such frenzy clear,
Her fro*ns were seldom known to last,
And never proved severe.
To poets of renown in song
The nymphs referr'd the cause,
Who, strange to tell, all judged it wrong,
And gave misplaced applause.
L
O35




ï~~218             MINOR.POEMS.
They gentle call'd, and kind and soft,
The flippant and the scold,
And though she changed her mood so ott,
That failing left untold.
No judges, sure, were e'er so mad,
Or so resolved to errIn short, the charms her sister had
They lavish'd all on her.
Then thus the God whom fondly they
Their great inspirer call,
Was heard, one genial summer's day,
To reprimand them all.
Since thus ye have combined,' he said,
' My favourite nymph to slight,
Adorning May, that peevish maid,
With June's undoubted right,
' The minx shall, for your folly's sake,
Still prove herself a shrew,
Shall make your scribbling fingers ache,
And pinch your noses blue.'
May, 1791.
YARDLEY OAK.
SURVIVOR sole, and hardly such, of all
That once lived here, thy brethren, at my birth
(Since which I number threescore winters past),
A shatter'd veteran, hollow-trunk'd perhaps,
As now, and with excoriate forks deform
1helics of ages! could a mind, imbued
With truth from heaven, created thing adore,
I might with reverence kneel, and worship thee
It seems idolatry with some excuse,
When our forefather druids in their oaks
Imagined sanctity. The conscience, yet
636




ï~~MINOR POEMS.               219
Unpurified by an authentic act
Of amnesty, the meed of blood divine,
Loved not the light, but, gloomy, into gloom
Of thickest shades, like Adam after taste
Of fruit proscribed, as to a refuge, fled.
Thou wast a bauble once, a cup and ball
Which babes might play with; and the thievish jay,
Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd
The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down
Thy yet close folded latitude of boughs
And all thine embryo vastness at a gulp.
But fate thy growth decreed; autumnal rains
Beneath thy parent tree mellow'd the soil
Design'd thy cradle; and a skipping deer,
With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepared
The soft receptacle, in which, secure,
Thy rudiments should sleep the winter through.
So fancy dreams. Disprove it, if ye can,
Ye reasoners broad awake, whose busy search
Of argument, employ'd too oft amiss,
Sifts half the pleasures of short life away!
Thou fell'st mature; and, in the loamy clod
Swelling with vegetative force instinct,
Didst burn thine egg, as theirs the fabled twins,
Now stars; two lobes, protruding, pair'd exact;
A leaf succeeded, and another leaf,
And, all the elements thy puny growth
Fostering propitious, thou becamest a twig.
Who lived when thou wast such? Oh, couldst thou
As in Dodona once thy kindred trees     [speak,
Oracular, I would not curious ask
The future, best unknown, but at thy mouth
Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past.
By thee I might correct, erroneous oft,
The clock of history, facts and events
Timing more punctual, unrecorded facts
Recovering, and misstated setting rightDesperate attempt, till trees shall speak again!
Time made thee what thou wast, king of the woods;
And time hath made thee what thou art-a cave
For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading boughs
O'erhung the champaign; and the numerous flocks
637




ï~~220             MINOR PO EMS.
That grazed it stood beneath that ample cope
Uncrowded, yet safe shelter'd from the storm.
No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast outlived
Thy popularity, and art become
(Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing
Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth.
While thus through all the stages thou hast push'd
Of treeship--first a seedling, hid in grass;
Then twig; then sapling; and, as century roll'a
Slow after century, a giant bulk
Of girth enormous, with moss-cushion'd root
Upheaved above the soil, and sides emboss'd
With prominent wens globose-till at the last
The rottenness, which time is charged to inflict
On other mighty ones, found also thee.
What exhibitions various hath the world
Witness'd of mutability in all
That we account most durable below!
Change is the diet on which all subsist,
Created changeable, and change at last
Destroys them. Skies uAertain now the heat
Transmitting cloudless, and the solar beam
Now quenching in a boundless sea of cloudsCalm and alternate storm, moisture, and drought,
Invigorate by turns the springs of life
In all that live, plant, animal, and man,
And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads,
Fine passing thought, e'en in their coarsest worka,
Delight in agitation, yet sustain
The force that agitates not unimpair'd;
But worn by frequent impulse, to the cause
Of their best tone their dissolution owe.
Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still
The great and little of thy lot, thy growth
From almost nullity into a state
Of matchless grandeur, anid declension thence,
Slow, into such magnificent decay.
Time was when, settling on thy leaf, a fly
Could shake thee to the root--and time has been
When tempests could not. At thy firmest age
Thou hadst within thy hole solid contents
That might have ribb'd the sides and plank'd the deck
638

L




ï~~MINOR POEMS

221

Of some fagg'd admiral; and tortuous arms,
The shipwrights darling treasure, didst present
To the four-quarter'd winds, robust and bold,
Warp'd into tough knee-timber, many a load!*
But the axe spared thee. In those thriftier days
Oaks fell not, hewn by thousands, to supply
The bottomless demands of contest waged
For senatorial honours. Thus to time
The task was left to whittle thee away
With his sly scythe, whose ever-nibbling edge,
Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more,
Disjoining from the rest, has, unobserved,
Achieved a labour which had, far and wide,
By man perform'd, made all the forest ring.
Embowel'd now, and of thy ancient self
Possessing nought but the scoop'd rind that seems
A huge throat calling to the clouds for drink,
Which it would give in rivulets to thy root,
Thou temptest none, but rather much forbidst
The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill requite.
Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock,
A quarry of stout spurs and knotted fangs,
Which, crook'd into a thousand whimsies, clasp
The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect.
So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet
Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid,
Though all the superstructure, by the tooth
Pulverized of venality, a shell
Stands now, avd semblance only of itself!      [off
Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent them
Long since, and rovers of the forest wild
With bow and shaft have burnt them. Some have left
A splinter'd stump bleach'd to a snowy white;
And some memorial none where once they grew.
Yet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth
Proof not contemptible of what she dan,
Even where death predominates. The spring
Finds thee not less alive to her sweet force
* Knee-timber is found in the crooked arms of oak, wbhich, by
reason of their distortion, are easily adijusted to the angle formed
where the deck and the ship's sides meet.
039




ï~~222            MINOR POEMS.
Than yonder upstarts of the neighbouring wood,
So much thy juniors, who their birth received
Half a millennium since the date of thine.
But since, although well qualified by age
To teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voice
May be expected from thee, seated here
On thy distorted root, with hearers none,
Or prompter, save the scene, I will perform
Myself the oracle, and will discourse
In my own ear such matter as I may.
One man alone, the father of us all,
Drew not his life from woman; never gazed,
With mute unconsciousness of what he saw,
On all around him; learn'd not by degrees,
Nor owed articulation to his ear;
But, moulded by his Maker into man
At once,upstood intelligent, survey'd
All creatures, with precision understood
Their purport, uses, properties, assign'd
To each his name significant, and, fill'd
With love and wisdom, render'd back to Heaven
In praise harmonious the first air he drew.
He was excused the penalties of dull
Minority. No tutor charged his hand
With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his mind
With problems. History, not wanted yet,
Lean'd on her elbow, watching time, whose course,
Eventful, should supply her with a theme;....
1791.Â~

TO THE NIGHTINGALE,
W'RICH THE AUTROR HEARD SING ON NEW YEARt'S DI
WHENCE is it that, amazed, I hear
From.yonder wither'd spray,
This foremost morn of all the year,
The melody of May.
640




ï~~MINOR POEMS.               223
And why, since thousands would be kroud
Of such a favour shown,
Am I selected from the crowd
To witness it alone
Sing'st thou, sweet Philomel, to me,
For that I also long
Have practised in the groves like thee
Though not like thee in song
Or sing'st thou, rather, under force
Of some divine command,
Commission'd to presage a course
Of happier days at hand I
Thrice welcome then! for many a long
And joyless year have I,
As thou to-day, put forth my song
Beneath a wintry sky.
But thee no wintry skies can harm,
Who only need'st to sing
To make e'en January charm,
And every season spring.
1792.
LINES WRITTEN IN AN ALBUM
SN MISS PATTY MORB'S, SISTER OF HANNAH MORE.
IN vain to live from age to age
While modern bards endeavour,
I write my name in Patty's page,
And gain my point for ever
W. Cowpm.
March 6, 1792.




ï~~224         MINOR POEMS.

SONNET TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, ESQ
THy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain,
Hears thee by cruel men and impious call'd
Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose the inthral'd
From exile, public sale, and slavery's chain.
Friend of the poor, the wrong'd, the fetter-gall'd,
Fear not lest labour such as thine be vain.
Thou hast achieved a part; bast gain'd the ear
Of Britain's senate to thy glorious cause-  lpause
Hope smiles, joy springs, and, though c6ld caution
And weave delay, the better hour is near
That snall remunerate thy toils severe
By peace for Afric, fenced with British laws.
Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love
From all the just on earth, and all the blest alb  p
April 16, 1792.
EPIGRAM
PRINTED IN THE NORTHAMPTON MERCURY.
To purify their wine some people bleed
A lamb into the barrel, and succeed;
No nostrum, planters say, is half so good
To make fine sugar as a negro's blood.
Now lambs and negroes beth ave harmless things,
And thence perhaps this wondrous virtue springs,
'Tis in the blood of innocence alone--
Good cause why planters never try their own.
TO DR. 4USTIN, OF CECIL STREET, LONDON,
AuslTIN! accept a grateful verse from me,
The poet's treasure, no inglorious fee.
Loved by the muses, thy ingenuous mind
Pleasing requital in my verse may find
642




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 25
terse oft has dash'd the scythe of time aside,
mmortalizing names which else had died:
Lnd 01 could I command the glittering wealth
Vith which sick kings are glad to purchase health!
ret, it extensive fame, and sure to live,
Vere in the power of verse like mine to give,.
would not recompense his art with less,
Vho, giving Mary health, heals my distress.
Friend of my friend 1 * I love thee, tho' unknow3,
md boldly call thee, being his, my own.
May 26, 1792.
CATHARINA:
THE SECOND PART: ON HER MARRIAGE TO GExot9
COURTENAY, ESQ.
BELIEVE it or not, as you choose,
The doctrine is certainly true,
That the future is known to the muse,
And poets are oracles too.
I did but express a desire
To see Catharina at home,
At the side of my friend George's fire,
And lo-she is actually come.
Such prophecy some may despise,
But the wish of a poet and friend
Perhaps is approved in the skies,
And therefore attains to its end.
'Twas a wish that flew ardently forth
From a bosom effectually warm'd
With the talents, the graces, and worth
Of the person for whom it was form'a.
Mariat would leave us, I knew,
To the grief and regret of us all,
But less to our grief, could we view
Catharina the Queen of the Hall.
* Havley.    t Lady Throckmorton.
L2
6o




ï~~f              MINOR POEMS.
And therefore I wish'd as I did,
And therefore this union of hands
Not a whisper was heard to forbid,
But all cry-Amen-to the bans.
Since, therefore, I seem to incur
No danger of wishing in vain
When making good wishes for her,
I will e'en to my wishes againWith one I have made her a wife,
And now I will try with another,
Which I cannot suppress for my lifeHow soon I can make her a mother.
June, 1792.
EPITAPH ON FOP,
A DOG BELONGING TO LADY THROCKMORTON.
THOUGH once a puppy, and though Fop by name,
Here moulders one whose bones some honour claim.
No sycophant, although of spaniel race,
And though no hound, a martyr to the chaseYe squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice,
Your haunts no longer echo to his voice;
This record of his fate exulting view,
He died worn out with vain pursuit of you.
' Yes,'-the mindinant shade of Fop repliesAnd  prn with vain pursuit man also dies.'
August, 1795.




ï~~MINOR POEMS.
SONNET
TO GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ.
On his Picture of me in Crayons, drawn at Eartham in the
61st year of my age, and in the months of August and
September, 1792.
ROMNEY, expert infallibly to trace
On chart or canvas, not the form alone
And semblance, but, however faintly shown,
The mind's impression too on every faceWith strokes that time ought never to erase
Thou hast so pencil'd mine, that though I own
The subject worthless, I have never known
The artist shining with superior grace.
But this I mark-that symptoms none of woe
In thy incomparable work appear.
Well-I am satisfied it should be so,
Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear;
For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see
When I was Hayleys guest, and sat to thee?
October, 1792.
MARY AND JOHN.
IF John marries Mary, and Mary alone,
'Tis a very good match between Mary and John.
Should John wed a score, Oh, the claws and the
scratches I
It can't be a match:-'tis a bundle of matches.

tr.O




ï~~228       MINOR POEMS

EPITAPH
ON MR. CHESTER, OF CHICHELEY.
TEARas flow, and cease not, where the good man lies
Till all who knew him follow to the skies.
Tears therefore fall where Chester's ashes sleep;
Him wife, friends, brothers, children, servants, weep--
And justly-few shall ever him transcend
As husband, parent, brother, master, friend.
April, 1793.
TO MY COUSIN, ANNE BODHAM,
ON RECEIVING FROM HER A NETWORK PORS, M%=
BY HERSELF.
MY gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
When I was young, and thou no mora
Than plaything for a nurse,
I danced and fondled on my knee
A kitten both in size aid glee,
I thank thee for my purse.
Gold pays the worth of all things here;
But not of love;-that gem's too dear
For richest rogues to win it;
I, therefore, as a proof of love,
Esteem thy present far above
The best things kept within it.
IMay 4, 1793.
INSCRIPTION FOR A HERMITAGE IN THFE
AUTHOR'S GARDEN.
THIs cabin, Mary, in my sight appears,
Built as it has been in our waning years,
A rest afforded to our weary feet,
Preliminary to-the last retreat.
May, 1793.
646




ï~~MINOR POEMS.

29.9

TO MRS. TINWIN.
MARY! I want a lyre with other strings,   [drew,
Such aid from heaven as some have feign'd they
An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new
And undebased by praise of meaner things,
That, ere through age or woe 1 shed my wings,
I may record thy worth with honour due,
In verse as musical as thou art true,
And that immortahzes whom it sings.
But thou hast little need. There is a book
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light,
On which the eyes of God not rarely look,
A chronicle of actions just and bright;
There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine,
And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee mine.
May, 1793.
TO JOHN JOHNSON,
ON HIS PRESENTING ME WITH AN ANTIQUE BUSt OF
HOMER.
KINSMAN beloved, and as a son, by me!
When I behold this fruit of thy regard,
The sculptured form of my old favourite bard,
I reverence feel for him, and love for thee.
Joy too and grief. Much joy that there should be
Wise men and learn'd, who grudge not to reward
With some applause my bold attempt and hard,
Which others scorn; critics by courtesy.
The grief is this, that, sunk in Homer's mine,
I lose my precious years, now soon to fail
Handling his gild, which, howsoe'er it shine,
Proves dross when balanced in the Christian scale,
Be wiser thou-like our forefather Donne,
Seek heavenly wealth and work for God alone.
May, 1793.
647




ï~~230         MINOR POEMS.

TO A YOUNG FRIEND,
ON HIS ARRIVING AT CAMBRIDGE WET WHIEN             NO
RAIN   HAD FALLEN THERE.
Iv Gideon's fleece, which drench'd with dewhe found,
While moisture none refresh'd the herbs around,
Might fitly represent the church endow'd
With heavenly gifts to heathens not allow'a;
In pledge, perhaps, of favours from on high,
Thy locks were wet when others' locks were dry.
Heaven grant us half the omen-may we see
Not drought on others, but much dew on thee!
May, 1798.
A TALE.
IN Scotland's realms, where trees are few,
Nor even shrubs abound;
But where, however bleak the view,
Some better things are found:
For hisband there and wife may boast
Their union undefiled,
And false ones are as rare almost
As hedge rows in the wild.
* This tale Is founded on an article which appeared in the
Buckinghamshire Herald, for Saturday, June 1, 1793:-' Glasgow, May 23. Io a block, or pulley, near the head of the mast of
a gabert, now I ngat the Broomielaw, them isa chaxffinch's nest
and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at
Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the
block is occasionally lowered for the inspection of the curious,
the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock, however, visits
the nest but seldom, while the hen never leaves it, but when she
descend to the hull for food.'
648




ï~~231

MINOR POEMS.
In Scotland's realm, forlorn and bare,
The history chanced of lateThis history of a wedded pair,
A chaffinch and his mate.
The spring drew near, each felt a brea
With genial instinct ftill'd;
They pair'd, and would have built a ne,
But found not where to build.
The heaths uncover'd and the moors
Except with snow and sleet,
Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores
Could yield them no retreat.
Long time a breeding place they sought
Till both grew vex'd and tired;
At length a ship arriving brought
The good so long desired.
A ship?-could such a restless thing
Afford them place of rest?
Or was the merchant charged to bring
The homeless birds a nest?
Hush--silent hearers profit mostThis racer of the sea
Proved kinder to them than the coastIt served them with a tree.
But such a tree! 'twas shaven deal,
The tree they call'd a mast,.
And had a hollow with a wheel
Through which the tackle pass' d.
Within that cavity aloft
Their roofless home they fix'd,.
Form'd with materials heat and soft,
Bents, wool, and feathers mix'd.
four ivory eggs soon pave its floor
With russet specks bedightThe vessel weighs, forsakes the shore,
And lessens to the sight.
2T              agn




ï~~M

22              11lN OR POEMS.
The mother-bird is gone to sea,
As she had changed her kind;
But goes the male? Far wiser, he
Is doubtless left behind.
No-soon as from the shore he saw.The winged mansion move,
He flew to reach it, by a law
Of never-failing love;
Then perching at his consort's side,
Was briskly borne along,
The billows and the blast defied,
And cheer'd her with a song.
The seaman with sincere delight
His feather'd shipmates eyes,
Scarce less exulting in the sight
Than when he tows a prize.
For seamen much believe in signs
And from a chance so new
Each some approaching good divines5
And may his hopes be trueI
Hail, honour'd land I a desert wher&
Not even birds can hide,
Yet parent of this loving pair
Whom nothing could divide.
And ye who, rather than resign
Your matrimonial plan,
Were not afraid to plough the brine
In company with Than.
For whose lean country much disdain
We English often show,
Yet from a richer nothing gain
But wantonness and woe.
Be it your fortune, year by year,
The same resource to prove,
And may ye, sometimes landing herea
Instruct us how to loveI
Iaee, 179,
650




ï~~MINOR POEMS.

23

ON A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU, KILLING
A YOUNG BIRD.
A SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you,
Well fed, and at his ease,
Shatild wiser be than to pursue
Each trifle that he sees.
But you have kil'd a tiny bird,
Which flew not till to-day,
Against my orders, whom yon heard
Forbidding you the prey.
Nor did you kill that you might eat
And ease a doggish pain,
For him, though chased with furious heat,
You left where he was slain.
Nor was he of the thievish sort
Or one whom blood allures,
But innocent was all his sport
Whom you have torn for yours
My dog! what remedy remains,
Since, teach you all I can,
I see you, after all my pains,
So much resemble man?
July 15, 1793.
BEAU'S REPLY.
Sma, when I flew to seize the bird
In spite of your command, o
A louder voice than yours I heard,
And harder to withstand.
You cried-Forbear-but in my breast
A mightier cried-Proceed--
'7was nature, Sir, whose strong behest
Impell'd me to the deed.
451




ï~~234             MINOR POEMS.
Yet, much as nature I respect,
I ventured once to break
(As you perhaps may recollect)
Her precept for your sake;
And when your linnet on a day,
Passing his prison door,
Had flutter'd all his strength away,
And panting press'd the floor,
Well knowing him a sacred thing,
Not destined to my tooth,
I only kiss'd his ruffled wing,
And lick'd the feathers smooth.
Let my obedience then excuse
My disobedience now,
Nor some reproof yourself refuse
From your aggrieved bow-wow:
If killing birds be such a crime
(Which I can hardly see)
What think you, Sir, of killing time
With verse address'd to me! Â~
TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ.
DEAR architect of fine chateaux in air,
Worthier to stand for ever, if they could,
Than any built of stone, or yet of wood,
For back of royal elephant to bear!
O for permission from the skies to share,
Much to my own, though little to thy good,
With thee (not subject to the jealous mood 1)
A partnership of literary ware!
But I am bankrupt now; and doom'd henceforth.
To drudge, in descant dry, on others' lays;
Bards, I acknowledge, of unequal'd birth!
But what his commentators' happiest praise I
That he has furnish'd lights for other eyes,
Which they who need them use, and then despise
June 29, 1793.
65a




ï~~MINORt POEMIS.   23

2W

ANSWER
foStanzersddressed to Ladv Hesketh, b7- MisCatbarine Fanubsue,
In returning a Pocnm of S~r. Cowper s, len't to her, on madidoa
shte should neither show it, nor take a Copy.
To be remnember'd thus is fame,
And in the first degree;
And did the few like her the same,.
The press inight sleep for'me.
So Homer, in the memory stored
Of many a Grecian belle,
Was once preserved--a richer hoard,
But never lodged so well.
ON FLAXMAN'S PENELOPE.
Tts suitors sinn'd, but with a fair excuse,,
Whom all thin elegance might well seduce;
Nor csn our censure on the hushand fall,
'Who, for a wife so lovely, slew them all.
Septembher, 1793.
10 THE SPANISH ADMIRAL COUNT GRAVINA,
On his translating the Author's Song on a Rose Into
Italian Verse.
Mt rose, Gravina, blooms anew,
And, steep'd not now in rain,
But in Castalian streams by you,
Will never fade sgain.

M5




ï~~2W6             MINOR POEMS.
TO MARY
THE twentieth year is well nigh past
Since first our sky was overcast;
Ah would that this might be the last!
My Mary!
Thy spirits have a fainter flow,
I see thee daily weaker grow
'Twas my distress that brought thee low,
My Mary'
Thy needles, once a shining store,
For my sake restless heretofore,
Now rust disused, and shine no more;
My Mary!
For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil
The same kind office for me still,
Thy sight now seconds not thy will,
My Mary l
But well thou play'dst the housewife's part,
And all thy threads with magic art
Have wound themselves about this heart,
My Mary!
Thy indistinct expressions seem
Like language utter'd in a dream;
Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme,
My Mary!
Thy silver locks, once auburn bright,
Are still more lovely in my sight
Than golden beams of orient light.
My Mary I
For, could I view nor them nor thee,
What sight worth seeing could I see I
The asun would rise in vain for me,
My Mary I
Partakers of thy sad decline,
Thy hands their little force resign;
Yet gently press'd, press gently mine,
My Mary!
04




ï~~r

MINOR POEMS.                 2
Such feebleness of limbs thou provest,
That now at'every step thou movest
Upheld by two; yet still thou lovest,
My Mary
And still to love, though press'd with ill,
In wintry age to feel nso chill,
With toe is to be lovely still,
My Maryt
But ahI by constant heed I know.,
How oft the sadness that 1 show
Transforms thy- smiles to looks of woe,
My Maryl
And should miv future lot be cast
Withi much resemblance of the past,
Thy worn-out heart will break at last,
My Maryl
Autairan of 1793.
KONTES GLACIALES, IN OCFANO GERMA,
NICO NATANTES.
ENi. quae prodigia, ex. ois allata, remotis,
0,-as adveniunt pavefacta per afquora nostrasl
Non equidemo priscte sweclum redjisse videtur
Pyrrhae, cumt Protens pecus almos visere msontes
Et. Sylvas, egit. Sed tempora vix leviora
Adsunt, evulsi quando radicitils alti
In mare descendunt mnontes, fluctusque pererrant.
Quid venb hoc mnonstri eat magis et mirabile visa?
Splendentes video, ceu pulchro ex sere vel auro
Condlatos, rutilisque accinctos undique gemmis,
Bacci caerulea, et flammas imitante pyropo.
Ex -oriente adsunt, ubi gazas optima tellus
Particrit omnigenas, qaibus aiva per omnia sumpta
llsgenti finxbre sibi diademata reges?




ï~~2313.        MINOR POEMS.
Vix hoc crediderini. Non fallunt taha aeft~
Mercatoruni oculos: prius et quaim littora Gan&i
Liquissent, avidis gratitssima praeda fissent.
Ortos ande putemius? An illos Ves'vius atroi
Protulit, ignivomisve ejecit faucibus R~tna 3
Luce micant propril, Phoebive, per aera purim
Nunc stimulantis equos, argenteas tela retorquentf
Pheebi Puce mic ant. Ventis et fluctibus altis
Appulsi, et rapidis subter currentibus undis,
Tandem. non fallunt oculos. Capita alta videre est
Multi onerata nive et cans conspersa prainis.
*Caetera sunt glacies. Procul hinc, nbi Bruma ferb
Contristattmenses,portentahaechorridanobis tomnel
lla strni voluit. Quoties de culmine summno.
Clivorom fluerent in littora prona, solutte
Sole, nives, propero tendentes in mare cursu,
lia gelu fixit. Paulatimn attollere sese
Mirun coepit opus; glaeieque ab origine reram
In glaciern aggestl sublimes vertice tandem?aquavit montes, non crescere nescia moles.
Sic immensa diu stetit, sternuxoque stetisset
Congeries, hominumo neqae vi neque mobilis arts,
Littora ni tandem declivia deseruisset,
Pondere victa suo. Dilabitur. Omnia circumn
Antra et saxa gemuat, subito concussa fragore,
Duet ruit in pelagum, tanquanm studiosa natandi,
Ingens tota straes. Sic Delos dicitur olim,
Insula, in Ailgio finitisse erratica ponto.
Sed non ex glacie Delos; neque torpida Delum
Brumna inter ropes genuit nudum sterilemique.
Sed vestita herbis erat illa, ornataq-'se nunquam
Decidua lauro; et Dehun dilexit Apollo.
At vos, errone.S horrendi, et caliegine digni
Cimmeria, Deus idem odit. N atalia vestra,
Nubibus involvens frontem, non ille tueri
Sustinuit. Patrium vos ergo requirite cielm i
Ite! Recite I Timete mnoras; ni lenittr austro
Spirante, et nitidas Phebe jaculante sagitta
HostMl vebis, pereatis gurgite misti!I
March 11, 1799.

we8




ï~~MINOR POEMS.

239

ON THE ICE ISLANDS, SEEN FLOATING IN
THE GERMAN OCEAN.
WHAT portents, from what distant region ride,
Unseen till now in ours, the ajtonish'd tide?
In ages past, old Proteus, with his droves
Of sea-calves, sought the mountains and the groves.
But now, descending whence of late they stood,
Themselves the mountains seem to rove the flood.
Dire times were they, full charged with human woes;
And these, scarce less calamitous than those.
What view we now? More wondrous still I Behold!
Like burnish'd brass they shine, or beaten gold;
And all around.the.pearl's pure splendour show,
And all around the ruby's fiery glow.
Come they from India, where the burning earth,
All bounteous, gives her richest treasures birth;
And where the costly gems, that beam around
The brows of mightiest potentates, are found?
No. Never such a countless dazzling store
Had left unseen the Ganges' peopled shore.
Rapacious hands, and ever watchful eyes,
Should sooner far have mark'd and seized the prize.
Whence sprang they then? Ejected have they come
From Vesuvius', or from 'Etna's burning womb;
Thus shine they self illumed, or but display
The borrow'd splendours of a cloudless day 3
With borrow'd beams they shine. The gales that
breathe
Now landward, and the current's force beneath,
Have borne them nearer: and the nearer sight,
Advantaged more, contemplates them aright.
Their lofty summits crested high they show,
With mingled sleet, and long-incumbent snow.
The rest is ice. Far hence, where, most severe,
Bleak winter well nigh saddens all the year,
Their infant growth began. He bade arise
Their uncouth forms, portentous m our eyes.
657




ï~~240             MINOR POEMS.
Oft as dissolveI by transient suns, the snow
Left the tall cliff, to join the flood below;
He caught, and curdled with a freezing blast
The current, ere it reach'd the boundless waste.
By slow degrees uprose the wondrous pile,
And long successive ages roll'd the while,
Till, ceaseless in its growth, it claim'd to stand
Tall as its rival mountains on the lana.
Thus stood, and, unremovable by skill
Or force of man, had stood the structure still,
But that, though firmly fix'd, supplanted yet
By pressure of its own enormous weight,
It left the shelving beach-and, with a sound
That shook the bellowing waves and rocks around,
Self-launch'd, and swiftly, to the briny wave,
As if instinct with strong desire to lave,
Down went the ponderous mass. So bards of old
How Delos swam the iEgean deep have told.
But not of ice was Delos  Delos bore
Herb,fruit, and flower. She,crown'd with laurel, wore
E'en under wintry skies, a summer smile;
And Delos was Apollo's favourite isle.
But, horrid wanderers of the deep, to you
He deems Cimmerian darkness only due.
Your hated birth he deign'd not to survey,
But, scornful, turn'd his glorious eyes away.
Hence, seek your home, nor longer rashly dare
The darts of Phoebus, and a softer air;
Lest ye,regret, too late, your native coast,
In no congenial gulf for ever lost!
March 19, 1799.
THF. CASTAWAY.
OaSCUREST night involved the sky,
The Atlantic billows roar'd,
When such a destined wretch as I
Wash'd headlong from on board,
Of friends, of hope, of all bereft,
His floating home for ever left.
058




ï~~MIN.i, POEMS.               241
No braver chief could Albion boast
Than he with whom he went,
Nor ever ship left ALion's coast
With warmer wishes sent.
He loved them both, but both in yain,
Nor him beheld, nor her again.
Not long beneath the whelming brine,
Expert to swim he lay;
Nor soon he felt his strength decline,'
Or courage die away:
IHut waged with death a lasting strife,
Supported by despair of life.
He shouted; nor his friends had fail'd
To check the vessel's course,
But so the furious blast prevail'd
That, pitiless perforce,
They left their outcast mate behind,
And scudded still before the wind.
Some succour yet they could afford;
And, such as storms allow,
The cask, the coop, the floated cord,
Delay'd not to bestow:
But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore,
Whate'er they gave, should visit more.
Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he
Their haste himself condemn,
Aware that flight, in such a sea,
Alone could rescue them;
Yet bitter felt it still to die
Deserted, and his friends so nigh.
He lonig survives, who lives an hour
In ocean, self-upheld:
And so long he, with unspent power
His destiny repell'd:
And ever, as the minutes flew,
Entreated help, or cried-' Adieu P
M
m5




ï~~4              MINOR POEMS.
At length, his transient respite past
His comrades, who before
Had heard his voice in every blast,
Could catch the sound no more:
For then, by toil subdued, he drank
The stilling wave, and then he sank.
No poet wept him; but the page
Of narrative sincere,
That tells his name, his worth, his age,
Is wet with Anson's tear:
And tears by bards or heroes shed,
Alike immortalize the dead.
I therefore purpose not, or dream,
Descanting on his fate,
To give the melancholy theme
A more enduring date:
But misery still delights to trace
Its semblance in another's case.
No voice divine the storm allay'd,
No light propitious shone;
Whben, snatch'd from all effectual aid,
We perish'd, each alone:
But I beneath a rougher sea,
And whelm'd in deeper gulfs than he.
March 26, 1799.
THE SALAD, BY VIRGIL.
Taxm winter night now well n.igh worn away,
The wakefhl cock proclaim'd approaching day,
When Simulus, poor tenant of a farm
Of narrowest limits, heard the shrill alarm,
Yiwn'd, stretch'd his limbs, and anxious to provid
Against the pangs of hunger unsupplied,
160

OF m                                                                                  0-!L!....                                                                                                      -




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 243
By slow degtees his tatter'd bed forsook,
And poking in the dark explored the nook
Where embers slept with ashes heap'd around,
And with burnt fingers'-ends the treasure found.
It chanced that from a brand beneath his nose,
Sure proof of latent fire, some smoke arose;
When trimming with a pin the incrusted tow,
And stooping it towards the coals below,
He toils, with cheeks distended, to excite
The lingering flame, and gains at length a light.
With prudent heed he spreads his hand before
The quivering lamp, and opes his granary door.
Small was his stock, but taking for the day
A measured stint of twice eight pounds away,
With these his mill he seeks. A shelf a. hand
Fix'd in the wall, affords his lamp a stand:
Then baring both his arms-a sleeveless coat
He girds, the rough exuvin of a goat:
And with a rubber, for that use design'd,
Cleansing his mill within-begins to grind;
Each hand has its employ; labouring amain,
This turns the winch, while that supplies the grain.
The stone revolving rapidly, now glows,
And the bruised corn a mealy current flows;
While he, to make his heavy labour light,
Tasks oft his left hand to relieve his right;
And chants with rudest accent, to beguile
His ceaseless toil, as iude a strain the while.
And now, 'Dame Cybale, come forth ' he cries;
Bit Cybale, still slumbering, nought replies.
From Afric she, the swain's sole serving-maid,
Whose face and form alike her birth betray'd.
With woolly locks, lips tumid, sable skin,
Wide bosom, udders flaccid, belly thin,
Legs slender, broad and most misshapen feet,
Chapp'd into chinks, and parch'd with solar heat.
Such, summon'd oft, she came; at his command
Fresh fuel heap'd, the sleeping embers fann'd,
And made in haste her simmering skillet steam,
Replenish'd newly from the neighbouring stream.
The labours of the mill perform'd, a sieve
The mingled flour and bran must next receive,
61




ï~~244             MINOR POEMS.
Which shaken oft shoots Ceres through refined,
And better dress'd, her husks all left behind.
This done at once, his future plain repast
Unleaven'd on a shaven board he cast,
With tepid lymph first largely soak'd it all,
Then gather'd it with both hands to a ball,
And spreading it again with both hands wide,
With sprinkled salt the stiffen'd mass supplied;
At length the stubborn substance, duly wrought,
Takes from his palms impress'd the shape it ought
Becomes an orb-and quarter'd into sharesr
The faithful mark of just division bears.
Last, on his hearth it finds convenient space,
For Cybale before had swept the place,
And there, with tiles and embers overspread,
She leaves it-reeking in its sultry bed.
Nor Simulus, while Vulcan thus alone
His part perform'd, prove heedless of his own;
But sedulous, not merely to subdue
His hunger, but to please his palate too,
Prepares more savoury food. His chimney side
Could boast no gammon, salted well and dried,
And hook'd behind him; but sufficient store
Of bundled anise, and a cheese it bore;
A broad round cheese, which, through its centre strung
With a tough broom twig, in the corner hung;
The prudent hero, therefore, with address
And quick dispatch, now seeks another mess.
Close to his cottage lay a garden ground,
With reeds and osiers sparely girt around:
Small was the spot, but liberal to produce;
Nor waitrd aught that serves a peasant's use,
And sometimes e'en the rich would borrow thence
Although its tillage was his sole expense.
For oft as from his toils abroad he ceased,
Home-bound by weather, or some stated feast,
His debt of culture here he duly paid,
And only left the plough to wield the spade.
He knew to give each plant the soil it needs,
To drill the ground and cover close the seeds;
And could with ease compel the wanton rill
To turn and wind obedient to his will
062




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                  24
There flourish'd star-wort, and the branching beet,,
The sorrel acid, and the mallow sweet,
The skirret, and the leek's aspiring kind,
The noxious poppy-quencher of the mind!
Salubrious sequel of a sumptuous board,
The lettuce, and the long huge-bellied gourd;.
But these (for none his appetite control'd
With stricter sway) the thrifty rustic sold;
With broom twigs neatly bound, each kind apart,
He bore them ever to the public mart:
Whence laden still, but with a lighter load,
Of cash well earn'd, he took his homeward road,
Expending seldom, ere he quitted Rome,
His gains in flesh-meat for a feast at home.
There, at no cost, on onions, rank and red,
Or the curl'd endive's bitter leaf he fed:
On scallions sliced, or with'a sensual gust,
On rockets-foul provocatives of lust I
Nor even shunn'd with smarting gums to press
Nasturtium-pungent face-distorting mess!
Some such regale now also in his thought,
With hasty steps his garden ground he sought;
ThereAelving with his hands, he first displaced
Four plan's of garlick, large, and rooted fast;
The tender tops of parsley next he culls,
Then the old rue bush shudders as he pulls;
And corander last to these succeeds,
That hi ngs on slightest threads her tremblixig seeds
Placed near his sprigbtly fire he now demands
The mortar at his sable servant's hands;
When stripping all his garlick first, he tore
The exterior coats, and cast them on the floor,
Then cast away with like contempt the skin,
Flimsier concealment of the cloves within.
These search'd, and perfect found, he one by one
Rinsed, and disposed within the hollow stone.
Salt added, and a lump of salted cheese,
With his injected herbs he cover'd these,
And tucking with his left his tunic tight,
And seizing fast the pestle with his right,
The garlick bruising first he soon express'd,
And mix'd the various juices of the rest.
663




ï~~21             MINOR POEMS.
He grinds, and by degrees his herbs below,
Lost in each other, their own powers forego,
And with the cheese in compound, to the sight
Nor wholly green appear, nor wholly white.
His nostrils oft the forceful fume resent,
He cursed full oft his dinner for its scent;
Or with wry faces, wiping as he spoke
The trickling tears, cried, 'vengeance on the smoke'
The work proceeds: not roughly turns he now
The pestle, but in circles smooth and slow;
With cautious hand, that grudges what it spills,
Some drops of olive oil he next instills.
Then vinegar with caution scarcely less,
And gathering to a ball the medley mess,
Last, with two fingers frugally applied,
Sweeps the small remnant from the mortar's side
And thus complete in figure and in kind,
Obtains at length the salad he design'd.
And now black Cybale before him stands,
The cake drawn hewly glowing in her hands,
He glad receives it, chasing faraway
All fears of famine for the passing day;
His legs enclosed in buskins, and his head
In its tough casque of leather, forth he led
And yoked his steers, a dull obedient pair,
Then drove afield, and plunged the pointed share.
June, 2799.
TO SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS.
DEAR President, whose art sublime
Gives perpetuity to time,
And bids transactions of a day,
That fleeting hours would waft away
To dark futurity, snrvive,
And in unfading beauty liver--
664




ï~~w..ti                                                       IY                                                                        n. 4            _._..  ilYiY/

MINOR POEMS.
You cannot with a -race decline
A special mandate of the NineYourself, whatever task you choose,
So much indebted to the Muse.
Thus say the sisterhood:-We come
Fix well your pallet on your thumb,
Prepare the pencil and the tintsWe come to furnish you with hint.
French disappointment, British glory,
Must be the subject- of the story.
First strike a curve, a graceful bow~
Then slope it to a point below;
Your outline easy, airy, light,
Fill'd up becomes-a gaper kite.
Let independence, sanguine, horrid,
Blaze, like a meteor in the forehead:
Beneath (but lay aside your graces)
Draw six-and-twenty rueful faces,
Each with a staring, steadfast eye,
Fix'd on his great and good ally.
France flies the kite-'tis on the wingsBritania's lightning outs the string.
The wind that raised it, ere it ceases,
Just rends it intu thirteen pieces,
Takes charge of every fluttering sheet,
And lays them all at George's feet.
Iberia, trembling from afar,
Renounces the confederate war.
Her efforts and her arts o'ercome,
France calls her shatter'd Lavies home i
Repenting Holland learns to mourn
The sacred treaties she has torn;
Astonishment and awe profound
Are stamp'd upon the nations round;
Without one friend, above all foes,
Britannia gives the world repose

2WI




ï~~so      MINOR POEMS

ON THE AUTHOR OF LETTERS ON
LITERATURE.*
Tics genius of the Augustan age
His bead among Rome's ruins rear'd,
And bursting with heroic rage,
When literary Heron appear'd.
Thou hast, he cried, like him of old
Who set the Ephesian dome on fire,
By being scandalously bold,
Attain'd the mark of thy desire.
And for traducing Virgil's name
Shalt share his merited reward;
A perpetuity of fame,
That rots and stinks, and is abhon'd.
STANZAS.
ON TUB LATE INDECENT LIBERTIES TAKEN WITH UR8
REMAINS OF MILTON.t ANNO 17M0
Mz too, perchance, in future days,
The sculptured stone shall show,
With Paphian myrtle or with bays
Parnassian on my brow.
0 Nominally by Rofiert Heron, Esq. but suppesed to bare bees
wnttten b77 Jobn inPkerton. Svo. 1785.
iThe bones of Milton, wbo lies buried in Cripple ate church
were disinterred; a panmphlet by Le Neva wss publishedt at the
time, ct'nus ala account of wli~t appeared Q3 opening bis coffis.




ï~~UMINOR POEMS.                  24
But I, or ere that season come,
Escaped from every care,
Shall reach my refuge in the-tomb
And sleep securely there.'*
So sang, in Roman tone and style,
The youthful bard, ere long
Ordain'd to grace his native isle
With her sublimest song.
Who then but must coneeive disdain,
Hearing the deed unblest
Of wretches who have dared profane
His dread sepulchral rest?
Ill fare the hands that heaved the stonest
Where Milton's ashes lay,
That trembled not to grasp his bones
And steal his dust away!
O ill-requited bard! neglect
Thy living worth repaid,
And blind idolatrous resect
As much affronts thee dead.
August, 1790.
TO THE REV. WILLIAM BULL.
MY DEAR FRIEND,                       June 22, 1782.
IF redding verse be your delight,
'Tis mine as much, or more, to write;
But what we would, so weak is man,
Lies oft remote from what we can.
* Forsitan et nostros ducat de marmore vultus
Nectens aut Paihia myrti ant Pernasside lauri
Fronde comas-At ego secura pace quiescam.
Milton in MMs.e
t Cowper, no doubt, hd In his memory the lines said to have
been written by Shakspeare on his tomb
' Good friend, for Jesus' sake srbear
To di- the dnst inclosed here.
Blest le the man that spares these stones,
And curst be he that moves my bones.'
M2




ï~~2(              MINOR lPOEMS.
For instance, at this very time
I feel a wish by cheerful rhyme
To soothe my friend, and. had I power,
To cheat' him of an anxious hour;
Not meaning (for I must confess,
It were but folly to suppress)
His pleasure, or his good alone,
But squinting partly at my own.
But though the sun is flaming high
In the centre of yon arch, the sky,
And he had opce (and who but he)
The name for setting genius free,
Yet whether poets of pat days
Yielded him undeserved praise,
And he by no uncommon lot
Was famed for virtues hehad not;
Or whether, which is like enough,.
His Highness may have taken huff,
So seldom sought with invocation,
Since it has been the reigning fashion
To disregard his inspiration,
I seem no brighter in my wits,
For all the radiance he emits,
Than if I saw, through midnight vapour,
The glimmering of a farthing taper.
Oh for a succedaneum, then,
To accelerate a creeping pen t
Oh for a ready succedaneum,
Quod caput, cerebrum, et cranium
Pondere liberet exoso,
Et morbo jam caliginoso I
'Tis here; this oval box well fll'Pd
With best tobacco, finely mill'd,
Beats all Anticyra's pretences
To disengage th' encumber'd senses.
Oh Nymphs of transatlantic fame,
Where'er thine haunt, whate'er thy nam%
Whether reposing on the side
Of Oroonoquo's spacious tide,
Or listening *th delight not small
To Niagara's distant fall,

6&




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                251
'Tis thine to cherish and to feed
The pungent nose-refreshing weed,
Which, whether pulverized it gain
A speedy passage to thebrain,
Or whether, touch'd with fire, it rise
In ciircling eddies to the skies,
Does thought moire quicken and refine
Than all the breath of all the NineForgive the bard, if bard he be,
Who once too wantonly made free
To touch with a satiric wipe
That symbol of thy power, the pipe;
So may no blight infest thy plains,
And no unseasonable rains;
And so may smiling peace once more
Visit America's sad shore;
And thou, secure from all alarms,
Of thundering drums, and glittering arms?
Rove unconfined beneath the shade
Thy wide expanded leaves have made;
So may thy votaries increase,
And fumigation never cease.
May Newton with renew'd delights
Perform thine odoriferous rites,
While clouds of incense half divine
Involve thy disappearing shrine;
And so may smoke-inhaling Bull
Be altays filling, never full.
MONUMENTAL INSCRIPTION TO WILLIAM
NORTHCOT.
Hic sepultus est
Inter suorum lacrymas
OGULEI.MUS NORTHCOTf
GULIELMI et MARnI filius
Unicus, unic6 dilectus,
Q1l floris ritu succisus est semildiantis,
Aprilis die septimo,
1780, Et. 10.
O00

is




ï~~252            MINOR POEMS.
"are, vale! Sed non mterntfm, care, valeto!
Namque iteritm tecum, sim mod5 dignus, eroa.
Turn nihil amplexus poterit divellere nostros,
Nec tu marcesces, nec lacrymabor ego.
TRANSLATION.
FAREWELL I " But not for ever," Hope replies,
Trace but his steps and meet him in the skies!
There nothing shall renew our parting pain,
Thou shalt not wither, nor I weep, again.
EPITAPH.
ON MRS. M. RIGGINS, OF WESTON.
LAURELS may flourish round the conqueror's tomb,
But happiest they who win the world to come:
Believers have a silent field to fight,
And their exploits are veil'd from human sight.
They in some nook, where little known they dwell,
Kneel, pray in faith, and rout the hosts of hell;
Eternal triumphs crown their toils divine,
And all those triumphs, Mary, now are thine.
1791.
A RIDDLE.
I AM just two and two, I am warm, I am cold,
And the parent of numbers that cannot be told.
I am lawful, unlawful-a duty, a fault,
I am often sold dear, good for nothing when bought
An extraordinary boon, and a matter of course,
And yielded with pleasure when taken by force.
670




ï~~MINOR POEMS.       25

2U,4NSWNB FROM TUBZ GENTLEMAN'S MAGAZI~ik
VOL nail. p. 1224.
A anunux by Cowper
Made me swear like a trooper;
But my anger, alas I was iii vain;
For, rennenubering the blis
-Of beauty's soft Kiss,
I now long for' such riddles again.
J. T.
-COWPER had sind with some excuse,
If, bound in rhymiing tethers,
fie had committed this abuse
Of changing ewes for wethers;
But, male for female is a trope,
Or rather hold misnomer,
That would have startled eveiY Pope.,
When he translated Homer..
IN SEDITIONEM HORRENDAM,
CORRUPTELIS 4ALLIcis, UT FEIITUR, LONDINI RUFXZ
EXLORTASI.
PERFIDA, crudelis, victa et lymphata furore,
Notn armis., laurum Gallia fraude petit.
Venalem pretio plebem conducit, et urit
Undique privatas.patriciasque domoa.
",f have heard ahoat my wether mutton fram various quarters
It was a blunder hardly Ipardoashle in a man who has lixed alt
fiels and invadins,-grized by sheep, alniosi thexe thirty years.
I have accordimrly satirized utysrrlf In two atanzas which I
cemiwind last night, while I lay awahe, tormnented with pain,
and well doied with laudanuom.  If yos fiud them  not verb
brilliant, therefore, you will kow how to account for it.L.ter ts Jiseph Mll, Esq. daled April 15, 1792.
671




ï~~*1

#254           MINOR POEMS'.
NequieqnAm conata sus, foedissima sperat
Posse tanaen nostr& flos superare mans.
Gallia, vana stris i Precibus nuns uterel YMum,
Niam mites timidis,, supplicibusque suxnas.
TRANBSTION,
FAlUe, cruel, disappointed,, stung to the heart,
Prance quits the warrior's for the.assassins per t,
To dirty hands a dirty bribe conveys.,
Bids the law street and lofty palace blaze.
Her sons, too weak to vanquish us alone,
She hires the worst and basest of our own.
Kneel, France!t a suppliant conquers us with emsep
We always spare a coward en his knees.
TRANSLATIONS OF GREEK VERSE.
FROM THE GREEK( Off JUIIANU&~
A SPARTAN, his compapion slain,
Alone from battle fled;
His mother, kindling with -disdains
That she had borne him, struck him dead''s
For courage, and not birth alone,
In Sparta, testifies, a son.!
k. ON THE SAME BY FALAADA&~
A aPARTAx 'scaping from the fight
His mother met him in his flight,
'Upheld a falehion. to his breast,
And thus the fugitive addresW4L.



ï~~MINOR POEMS.                2W
6 Thou canst but live to blot with shame
Indelibly thy mother's name,
While every breath that thou shalt draw
Offends against thy country's law;
But, if thou perish by this hand,
Myself indeed throughout the land,
To my dishonour, shall be known
The mother still of such a son;
But Sparta will be safe and free,
And that shall serve to comfort me.'
AN EPITAPH.
Mr name-my country-what are they to thee I
What, whether base or proud my pedigree
Perhaps I far surpass'd all other menPerhaps I fell below them all-what then I
Suffice it, stranger I that thou seest a tombThou know'st its use-it hides-no matter whom.
ANOTHER.
TAKE to thy bosom, gentle earth, a swain
With much hard labour in thy service worn
He set the vines that clothe yon ample plain
And he these olives that the vale adorn.
He fill'd with grain the glebe; the rills he led
Through this green herbage, and those fruitful bowers;
Thou, therefore, earth! lie lightly on his head,
His hoary head, and-deck his grave with flowers.
ANOTHER.
PAINTER, this likeness is too strong,
And we shall mourn the dead too long.
8l3

r




ï~~296        MINOR POEMS.

ANOTHER.
AT threescore winters' end I died
A cheerless being, sole and sad;
The nuptial knot I never tied,
And wish my fathler nevet had.
BY CALLIMACHUS.
AT morn we placed on his funereal bier
Young Melanippus; and at eventide,
Unable to sustain a loss so dear,
By her own hand his blooming sister died.
Thus Aristippus mourn'd his noble race,
Annihilated by a double blow,
Nor son could hope, nor daughter more to embrace,
And all Cyrene sadden'd at his woe.
ON MILTIADES.
MILTIADES ' thy valour best
(Although in every region known)
The men of Persia can attest,
Taught by thyself at Marathon.
ON AN INFANT.
BEWAIL not much, my parents l me, the prey
Of ruthless Ades, and sepulchred here.
An infant, in my fifth scarce-finishl'd year,
He found all sportive, innocent, and gay,
Your young Callimachus; and if I knew
Not many joys, my griefs were also few.
674




ï~~MINOlI l'OEAIS.

BY HERACLIDES
I nidCdus born, the consort I became
Of Euphron. Aretimias was my name.
His bed I shared, nor proved a barren bride,
But bore two children at a birth, and died.
One child I leave to solace and uphold
Euphron hereatter, when infirm and old.
And one for his remembrance sake I bear
To Pluto's realm, till he shall join me there.
ON THE REED.
I w's of late a barren plant,
Useless, insignificant,
Nor fig, nor grape, nor apple bore,
A native of the marshy shore;
But gather'd for poetic use,
And plunged into a sable juice,
Of which my modicum I sip
With narrow mouth and slender lip,
At once, although by nature dumb,
All eloquent I have become,
And speak with flub cy untired,
As if by Phoe us' self inspired.
TO HEALTH.
ELDEST born of powers divine I
Bless'd H ygeia l be it mine
To enjoy what thou canst give,
And henceforth with thee to live t
For in power if pleasure be,
Wealth, or numerous progeny,
67b




ï~~258             MINOR POEMS.
Or in amorous embrace,
Where no spy infests the place;
Or in aught that heaven bestows
To alleviate human woes,
When the wearied heart despairs
Of a respite from its cares;
These and every true delight
Flourish only in thy sight;
And the sister Graces three,
Owe, themselves, their youth to thee,
Without whom we may possess
Much, but never happiness.
ON INVALIDS.
Pan happier are the dead, methinks, than they
Who look for death, and fear it, every day
ON THE ASTROLOGERS.
Tua astrologers did all alike presage
My uncle's dying in extreme old age;
One only disagreed. But hewas wise,
And spoke not till he heard the funeral cries.
ON AN OLD WOMAN.
Mycu.A dyes her locks, 'tis said;
But 'tis a foul aspersion;
She buys them black; they therefore need
No subsequent immersion.

676




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 259
ON FLATTERERS.
No mischief worthier of our fear
In nature can be found
Than friendship, in ostent sincere,
But.hollow and unsound.
For luU'd into a dangerous dream
We close infold a foe,
Who strikes, when most secure we seem,
The inevitable blow.
ON A TRUE FRIEND.
HAsT thou a friend? Thou hast indeed
A rich and large supply,
Treasure to serve your every need,
Well managed, tiV you die.
TO THE SWALLOW.
Akrric maid! with honey fed,
Bear'st thou to thy callow brood
Yonder locust from the mead,
Destined their delicious food?
Ye have kindred voices clear,
Ye alike unfold the wing,
Migrate hither, sojourn here,
Both attendant on the spring
Ah, for pity drop the prize;
Let it not with truth be sal,
That a songster gasps and dies,
That a songster may be fed.

t




ï~~aw6       MINOR POEMS.

ON LATE-ACQUIRED WEALTH.
Poon in my youth, and in life's later scenes
Rich to no end, I curse my natal hour,
Who nought enjoy'd while young, denied the means;
And nought when old enjoy'd, denied the power.
ON A BATH, BY PLATO
Din Cytherea to the skies
From this pellucid lymph arise
Or was it Cytherea's touch
When bathing here, that made it such I
ON A FOWLER, BY ISIODORUS.
WITH seeds and birdlime, from the desert air,
Eumelus gather'd free, though scanty; fare.
No lordly patron's hand he deign'd to kiss,
Nor luxury knew, save liberty, nor bliss.
Thrice thirty years he lived, and to his hei~s
His seeds bequeath'd, his.birdlime, and his snares.
ON NIOBE.
CHARoN I receive a family on board
Itself sufficient for thy crazy yawlA
Apollo and Diana, for a word
By me too proudly spoken, slew us all.
678




ï~~MINOR POEMS.

261

ON A GOOD MAN.
tVEzLLEs, regret not me; for thou shalt find
Just cause of sorrow none in my decease,
ho, dying, children's children left behind,
And with one wife lived many a year in peace:
tree virtitous youths espoused my daughters three
And oft their infants in my bosom lay,
Dr saw I one, of all derived from me,
Toueh'd with disease, or torn by death away.
Leir duteous hands my funeral rites bestow'd,
And me, by blameless manners fitted well
seek it, sent to the serene abode
Where shades of pious men for ever dwell.
ON A MISER.
THEY call thee rich-I deem thee poor,
Since, if thou darest not use thy store,
But savest it only for thine heirs,
The treasure is not thine, but theirs.
ANOTHER.
A MISEa, traversing his house,
Espied, unusual there, a mouse,
And thus his uninvited guest
Briskly inquisitive address'd:
STell me, my dear, to what cause is it
I owe this unexpected visit V
The mouse her host obliquely eyed;
And, smiling, pleasantly replied:
' Fear not, good fellow, for your hoard I
I come to lodge, and not to board.'
079




ï~~20        MINOR POEMS.

ANOTHER.
ART thou some individual of a kind
Long lived by nature as the rook or hind?
Heap treasure, then, for if thy need be such,
Thou hast excuse, and scarce canst heap too much.
But man thou seem'st, clear therefore from thy breast
This lust of treasure-folly at the best I
Foi why shouldst thou go wasted to the tomb,
To fatten with thy spoils thou know'st not whom I
ON FEMALE INCONSTANCY.
RICH, thou hadst many lovers-poor, hast none
So surely want extinguishes the flame,
And she who call'd thee once her pretty one,
And her Adonis, now inquires thy name.
Where wast thou born, Sosicrates, and where
In what strange country can thy parents live,
Who seem'st, by thy complaints, not yet aware
That want's a crime no woman can forgive
ON THE GRASSHOPPER.
HAPPY songster, perch'd above,
On the summit of the grove,
Whom a dew-drop cheers to sing
With the freedom of a king.
From thy perch survey the fields
Where prolific nature yields
Nought that, willingly as she,
Man surrenders not to thee.
O6




ï~~MINO R 1t EMS.              0
For hostility or hate
None thy pleasures can create.
Thee it satisfies to sing
Sweetly the return of spring,
Herald of the genial hours,
Harming neither herbs nor flowers.
Therefore inan thy voice attends
Gladly-thou and he are friends;
Nor thy never-ceasing strains
Phoebus or the muse disdains
As too simple or too long,
For themselves inspire the song.
Earth-born, bloodless, undecaying,
Ever singing, sporting, playing,
What has nature else to show
Godlike in its kind as thou?
ON HERMOCRATIA.
HERMOCRATIA named-save Jmly oneTwice fifteen births I bore, and buried none;
For neither Phoebus pierced my thriving joys
Nor Dian-she my girls, or he my boys.
Beat Dian rather, when may daughters lay
In parturition, chased their pangs away.
And all my sons, by Phoebus' bounty, shared
A vigorous youth, by sickness unimpair'd.
O Niobe I far less prolific! see
Thy boast against Latona shamed by me?
FROM MENANDER.
FOND youth! I who dream'st that hoarded g
Is needful, not alone to pay
For all thy various items sold,
To serve the wants of every day;
2 xi1




ï~~264             MINOR POEM&.
Bread, vinegar, and oil, and meat,
For savoury viands season'd high;
But somewhat more important yetI tell thee what t canhot buy.
No treasure, hadst thou more amass'a
Than fame to Tantalus assign'd,
Would save thee from a tomb at last,
But thou must leave it all behin&
I give thee, therefore, counsel wise;
Confide not vainly in thy store,
However large-much less despise
Others comparatively poor;
But in thy more exalted state
A just and equal temper show,
That all who see thee rich and great
May deem thee worthy to be so.
ON PALLAS BATHING, FROM A HYMN              OW
(                     CALLIMACHUS.
Non oils of balmy scent produce,
Nor mirror for Minerva's use,
Ye nymphs who lave her; she, array'%
In genuine beauty, scorns their aid.
Not even when they left the skies
To seek on Ida's head the prize
From Paris' hand, did Juno deign,
Or Pallas in the crystal plain
Of Simois' stream her locks to trac%
Or in the mirror's polish'd face,
Though Venus oft with anxious care
Adjusted twice a single hair.!s




ï~~MINOR POEMS.

TO DEMOSTHENES.
iT flatters and deceives thy view,
This mirror of ill polish'd ore;.
For were it just, and told thee true,
Thou wouldst consult it never more.
ON A SIMILAR CHARACTER.
You give your cheeks a rosy stain,
With washes dye your hair;
But paint and washes both are vain
To give a youthful air.
Those wrinkles mock your daily toil,
No labour will efface 'em
You wear a mask of smoothest oil,
Yet still with ease we trace 'em.
An art so fruitless then forsake,
Which though you much excel in,
You never cai contrive to make
Old Hecuba young Helen.
ON AN UGLY FELLOW.
BawiAn, my friend! of crystal brook
Or fountain, lest that hideous hook,
Thy nose, thou chance to see;
Narcissus' fate would then be thine,
And self-detested thou wouldst pine,
As self-enamour'd he:
N
683




ï~~26              MINoR POEMS
ON A BATTERED BEAUTY.
HAIR, wax, rouge, honey, teeth you buy
A multifarious store!
A mask at once would all supply,
Nor would it cost you more.
ON A THIEF.
WHEN AulUs, the noctural thief, made prize
Of Hermes, swift-wing'd envoy of the skies,
Hermes, Arcadia's king, the thief divine,
Who when an infant stole Apollo's kine,
And whom, as arbiter and overseer
Of our gymnastic sports, we planted here;
Hermes,' he cried, ' you meet no new disaster;
Ofttimes the pupil goes beyond his master.'
ON PEDIGREE.
FROM BPICHARMUS.
MY mother! if thou love me, name no more
My noble birth! Sounding at every breath
'My noble birth, thou kill'st me. Thither fly,
As to their only refuge, all from whom
Nature withholds all good besides; they boast
Their noble birth, conduct us to the tombs
Of their forefathers, aind, from age to age
Ascending, trumpet their illustrious race:
But whom hast thou beheld, or canst thou name,
Derived from no forefathers? Such a man
Lives not; for how could such be boin at all I
And if it chance that, native of a land
Far distant, or in infancy deprived
084




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                207
Of all his kindred, one, who cannot trace
His origin, exist, why deem him sprung
From baser ancestry than theirs who can?
My mother! he whom nature at his birth
Endow'd with virtuous qualities, although
An JEthiop and a slave, is nobly born.
ON ENVY.
Prry, says the Theban bard,
From my wishes I discard;
Envy, let me rather be,
Rather far, a theme for thee 1
Pity to distress is shown,
Envy to the great aloneSo the Theban-But to shine
Less conspicuous be mine 1
j                I prefer the golden mean,
Pomp and penury between;
For alarm and peril wait
Ever on the loftiest state,
And the lowest to the end
Onloquy and scorn attend.
BY MOSCHUS.
I SLE r when Venus enter'd: to my bed
A Cupid in her beauteous hand she led,
A bashful seeming boy, and thus she said:
' Shepherd, receive my little one! I bring
An untaught love, whom thou must teach to sing.
She said, and left him. I, suspecting nought,
Mlany a sweet strain my subtle pupil taught,
How reed to reed Pan first with osier bound,
Hqw Pallas form'd the pipe of softest sound,
How Hermes gave the lute, and how the quire
Of Phoebus owe to Phoebus' self the lyre.
Â~85




ï~~268             MINOR POEMS.
Such were my themes; my themes nought heeded he,
But ditties sang of amorous sort to me,
The pangs that mortals and immortals prove
From Venus' influence, and the darts of love.
Thus was the teacher by the pupil taught;
His lessons I retain'd, and mine forgot.
BY PHILEMON.
OFT we enhance our ills by discontent,
And give them bulk beyond what nature meant.
A parent, brother, friend deceased, to cry' He's dead indeed, but he was born to die 'Such temperate grief is suited to the size
And burthen of the loss; is just and wise
But to exclaim, ' Ah I wherefore was I born,
Thus to be left for ever thus forlorn?'
Who thus laments his loss invites distress,
And magnifies a woe that might be less,
Through dull despondence to his lot resign'd,
And leaving reason's remedy behind.
EPIGRAMS TRANSLATED FROM TIIE
LATIN OF OWEN,
ON ONE IGNORXNT AND ARROGANT.
Tuou mayst of double ignorance boast,
Who know'st not that thou nothing know'st.
PRUDENT SIMPLICITY.
T'AT thou mayst injure no man, dove-like be,
And serpent-like, that none may injure thee I
S86




ï~~MINOR POEMS.

269

TO A FRIEND IN DISTRESS.
I wisH thy lot, now bad, still worse, my friend;
For when at worst, they say, things always mend.
RETALIATION.
T'HE works of ancient bards divine,
Aulus, thou scorn'st to read;
And should posterity read thine,
It would be strange indeed 1
WHEN little more than boy ion age,
I deem'd myself almost a sage:
But now seem worthier to be styled,
For ignorance, almost a child.
SUNSET AND SUNRISE.
CONTEMPLATE, when the sun declines,
Thy death with deep reflection I
And when again he rising shiues,
Thy day of resurrection 1
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE FABLES
OF GAY.
LEPUS MULTIS AMICUS.
Lusus amicitia est, uni nisi dedita, ceu fit,
Simplice ni nexus foedere, lusus amor.
Incerto genitore puer, non swpe patern
Tutamen novit, deliciasque domis:
7




ï~~27-4            AIIN (Y  POEM.
Quique sibi fidos fore multos sperat, amicum,
Mirim cst huic misero Ai ferat uilius opem.
Corms eraf, mitisque, et nolle et velle paratlis
Cum quovis, Gaii more modoque,. Lepus.
Ille, quot in sylvis et %tiot spatiantur in agris
Quadrupedes, ndrat conciliare sibi;
Et quisque innocuto,,irvitoque lacessere quenquaw
La:,ra tenus saftem fidus amicus erat.
Ortum sub lucis dum pressa cubilia linqmt,
iRorantes herbas, pabula sueta, petens,
Venatoram audit clangores pons seqnentem,
Fuimineumnque sonum territus erro fogit.
Corda pavor pulsat, sursuim sedet, erigit aures,
Respicit, et sevtit jam prope adesse necens.
Utque canes fallat late circuimvagus, illuc,
Unade abuit, mira calliditate redit;
Viribus at fractistandem se projicit ohmr
In mediA sniseram semianimenmque ii.
Vix ibi stratus, equi sonitum pedis audit, et, oil sp
Quamn leta adventa cor agitatur equi I
Dorsum (inquit) miii, chare, tumn concede, tuoque
Auxilio nares fallere, vimique canum.
Me meus, lit nosti, pes prodit-:fidus amicus
Pert quodcunque lubens, nec grave sentit, onto!
Belle miselle lepuscule,, (eqous respondet) amara
Omnia quee tibi sunt, sunt et amara mnihi.
Veruin age-sume animos--multi, me pone, bonique
Adveniunt, quorum is citb salvits ope.
Proximus armuenti dominus bos solicitatus
Auxilium his verbis se dare posse negat.
Quando quadrapedum, quot vivunt, nullus am;cunm
Me nescire potest usque fuisse tibi,
Libertate aequus, quam cedita micus asnic%
Utar, et absque metu ne tibi displiceam;
Hinc me mandat amor..Iuxta istum messis acervumn
Me inca, proe cunctis chara, juvenca manet;
Et quis non ultro quoecunque negotia linqusit,
Pareat at dominw, cum vocat ipse sum?
Neu me cradelem dicas--discedo-sed hiircus,
Cujus ope eflugiss integer, hircus adest [languent i
Pebrem alt hircus) habes. lHeu, sicca Ut lumine
Utque caput, col~o deficiente, jacett
anS




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 271
flirsutum mihi tergum; et forsan laeserit segrum,
Vellere eris melius fultus, ovisque venit.
Me milli fecit onus natura, ovis inquit, anhelans
Sustineo laute pondera tanta mete;
Me nee velocem nec' fortem jacto, solentq
lNos etiamn soevi dilacerare canes.
Ultimus accedit vitulus, suseepero tantam
Ut periturum alias ocyus er'ipiat.
Remne ego, 1 espondet vitulus, vitulnmqne precatmr
Non depulsus adhuc ubere, natms hesi?
Te, quem -inaturi canibus validique relinquumt,
Incoltimem. potero reddere parvus ego?
Prweterea tollens quen llii aversantur, amicis
Forte parum videar consuluisse meis.
Ignoscas oro. Fidissima dissociantur
Corda, et tale tibi sat liquet esse meum.
Ecce autem ad calces canis est! te quanta perelpto
Tristitia est nobis ingruitura!-Vale 1
AVARUS ET PLUJTUS
IcTs fenestra Euri flatu stridebat, avarus
Ex somno trepidus surgit, opumque memor.
Lata silenter humi ponit vestigia, qaemquxe
Respicit ad sonitum respiciensque tremit;
Angustissima quoeque foramina lampade visit,
Ad vectes, obices, fertque refertque manum.
Dein reserat crebis junctam compagibus arcam
Exultansque omnes conspicit intus opes.
Sed tandem furiis ultricibus actus ob artes
Queis sua res tenuis creverat in cumulum.
Contortis manibus nunc stat, nunc pectora pulsans
Aarum execratur, perniciemque vocat;
o mihi, ait, misero mens quam tranquilla fuisset,
Hoc celasset adhuc si modo terra maliun 1
'ha're autem virtus ipsa est venalis; et auruim
Quid c,  tra vitii tormina steva valet?
o inimicuin aa-um! 0 homnini infestissima peiti;
Cui datur illecebras vincere posse teas?

I,




ï~~272             MiNO,. ekES
Aurumhoinines suasi't contenmere quicquid honestuma
E~t prx~ter nomien nil retinere boni.      rest
Aurum cuncta mali per terras semira sparsit;
Aurum nocturnis furibus arna dedit.
Bella docet fortes, tiniidosque ad pessima ducit.
Fuedifragas artes, multiplicesque dolos,
Nee vitii quicquam est, quod non inveneris ortum
Ex malesuadd auri sacrilegflqie fame.
Dixit, et intgemuit; Plutusque suum sibi numen
Ante oculos, ira.fervidus, ipse stetit.
Arcam clausit avarus, et ora horrentia rugis
()stendens; tremnulum sic Deus increpuit
Questibits his raucis uiihi cur, st-alte, obstrepis
Ista tui simiilis tristia quisque tanit.  [aures.I
Commaculavi egone humnanumn genus, iinproire?
C ulpa,
Dumn rapis, et captas onmia, culpa tu~a est.
Mene execrandium censes, quia tam prrtiosa
Criminibus fiunt perniciosa tuis?
Virtutis specie, pulchro ceu pallio amictus
Quisqne catus nebulo sordida facta tegit.
Atque suis manibus commnissa potentia, durum
Et dirum subito vergit ad imperium.
Hinc, nimnium dank latro auru n detrudit in arcam,
Idem aurum latet in pectore pestis eda$.
Nutrit avaritiamn et fastum, suspendere adunco
Suadet naso inopes, et vitium omne docet.
Auri et larga probo si copia contigit, instar
Roris dilapsi ex aethere cuncta beat:
Turn, quasi numen inesset, alit, fovet, reducat orbo.,
Et viduas lacrymis ora rigare vetat.
Quo sua crinsina jure auro derivet avarus,
Awnum animee pretiumn qui cupit aque capit?
Lege parl Kladiuso incuset sicarius atrox
Ceeso homine, et ferrume judicet ease reum.
PAPILIO ET LIMAX.
Qux subito ex imis inerns in fastigia suret
N.ativaa sordes, quicquid agatur, olet..
690




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 273
TRANSLATION FROM VIRGIL.
AENEID, BOOK VIII, LINE 18.
TUies Italy was moved-nor did the chief
Aineas in his mind less tumult feel.
On every side his anxious thought he turns,
Restless, unfix'd, not knowing what to choose.
And as a cistern that in brim of brass
Confines the crystal flood, if chance the sun
Smile.on it, or the moon's resplendent orb,
The quivering li: ht now flashes on the walls,
Now. leaps uncertain to the vaulted roof:
Such were the wavering motions of his mind.
'Twas night-and weary nature sunk to rest.
The birds, the bleating flocks, were heard no more.
At length, on the cold ground, beneath the damp
And dewy vault, fast by the river's brink,
The father of his country sought repo-.
When lo! among the spreading poplar boughs,
Forth from his pleasant stream, propitious rose
The god of Titer: clear transparent gaume
Infolds his loins, his brows with reeds are crowu'd:
And these his gracious words to soothe his care:
' Heaven-born, who bring'st our kindred home
Rescued, and givest eternity to Troy,     [again,
Long have Laurgntum and the Latian plains
Expected thee; behold thy fix'd abode.
Fear not the threats of war, the storm is pass'c,
The gods appeased. For proof that what thou heat'st
Is no vain forgery or delusive dream,
Beneath the grove that borders my green bank,
A milk white swine, with thirty milk-white young,
Shall greetthywondering eyes. Mark well the place;
For 'tis thy place of rest, there end thy toils:
There, twice ten years elapsed, fair Alba's walls
Shall rise, fair Alba, by Ascanius' hand.
Thus shall it be-now listen, while I teach
The means to accomplish these events at hand.
The Arcadians here, a race from Pallas sprung,
Following Evander's standard and his fate,
N2




ï~~274             MINOR POEMS.
High on these mountains, a well-chosen spot,
Have built a city, for their grandsire's sake
Named Pallanteum. These perpetual war
Wage with the Latians: join'd in faithful league
And arms corifederate, add them to your camp.
11 yself between my winding banks will speed
Your well-oar'd barks to stem the opposing tide.
Rise, goddess-born, arise; and with the first
Declining stars seek Juno in thy prayer,
And vanquish all her wrath with suppliant vows.
When conquest crowns thee, then remember me.
I am the Tiber, whose caerulean stream
Heaven favours; I with copious flood divide
These grassy banks, and cleave the fruitful meads.
My mansion, this-and lofty cities crown
My fountain head.'--He spoke and sought the deep,
And plunged his form beneath the closing flood.
Eneas at the morning dawn awoke,
And,'rising, with uplifted eye beheld
The orient sun then dipp'd his palms, and scoop'd
The brimmming stream, and thus address'd the skies:
'Ye nymphs, Laurentian nymphs, who feed the
source
Of many a stream, and thou, with thy blest flood,
O Tiber, hear. accept me, and afford,
At length afford, a shelter from my woes
Where'er in secret cavern under ground
Thy waters sleep, where'er they spring to light,
Since thou hast pity for a wretch like me,
My offerings and my vows shall wait thee still:
Great horned Father of Hesperian floods,
Be gracious now and ratify thy word.'
He said, and chose two galleys from his fleet,
Fits them with oars, and clothes the crew in arms.
When lo! astonishing and pleasing sight,
The milk-white dam, with her unspotted brood,
Lay stretch'd upon the bank, beneath the grove.
To thee, the pious Prince, Juno, to thee
Devotes them all, all on thine altar bleed.
That livelong night old Tiber smooth'd his flood,
And so restrain'd it that it seem'd to stand
Motionless as a pool, or silent lake,
a12




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 275
That not a billow might resist their oars.
With cheerful sound of exhortation soon
Their voyage they begin; the pitchy keel
Slides through the gentle deep, the quiet.-*ream
Admires the unwonted burthen that it bears,
Well-polish'd arms, and vessels painted gay.
Beneath the shade of various trees, between
The umbrageous branches of the spreading groves,
They cut their liquid way, nor day nor night
The3 slack their course, unwinding as they go
The long meanders of the peaceful tide.
The glowing sun was in meridian height,
When from afar they saw the humble walls,
And the few scatter'd cottages, which now
The Roman power has equall'd with the clouds;
But such was then Evander's scant domain.
They steer to shore, and hasten to the town.
It chanced the Arcadian monarch on that day,
Before the walls, beneath a shady grove,
Was celebrating high, in solemn feast,
alcides and his tutelary gods.
Pallas, his son, was there, andthere the chief
Of all his youth; with these, a worthy tribe,
His poor but venerable senate, burnt
Sweet incense, and their altars smoked with blood.
Soon as they saw the towering masts approach,
Sliding between the trees, while the crew rest
Upon their silent oars, amazed they rose,
Not without fear, and all forsook the feast.
But Pallas undismay'd, his javelin seized,
Rush'd to the bank, and from a rising ground
Forbade them to disturb the sacred rites.
' Ye stranger youth! What prompts you to explore
This untried way? and whither do ye steer?
Whence, and who are ye? Bring ye peace or wart'
Eneas from his lofty deck holds forth
The peaceful olive-branch, and thus replies:
' Trojans and enemies to the Latian state,
Whom they with unprovoked hostilities
Have driven away, thou see'st. We seek EvanderSay this-and say beside, the Trojan chiefs
Are come, and seek his friendship and his aid.




ï~~-,r

276             lIN    POEMIS.
Pallas with wonder heard that awful name,
And ' Whosoe'er thou art,' he cried, ' come forth
Bear thine own tidingg to my father's ear,
And be a welcome guest beneath our roof.'
He said, and press'd the stranger to his breast:
Then led him from the river to the grove,
Where, courteous, thus Eneas greets the king:
' Best of the Grecian race, to whom I bow
(So wills my fortune) suppliant, and stretch fort
In sign of amity this peaceful branch,
I fear'd thee not, although I kew thee well
A Grecian leader, born in Arcady,
And kinsman of the Atride. Me my virtue,
That means no wrong to thee-the Oracles,
Our kindred families allied of old,
And thy renown diffused through every land,
Have all conspired to bind in friendship to thee,
And send me not unwilling to thy shores.
Dardanus, author of the Trojan state,
(So say the Greeks) was fair Electra's son;
Electra boasted Atlas for her sire,:  -
Whose shoulders'high sustain the asthereal orbs.
Your sire is Mercury, whom Maia bore,
Sweet Maia, on Cyllene's hoary top.
Her, if we credit aught tradition old,
Atlas of yore, the selfsame Atlas, claimn'd
His daughter. Thus united close in blood,
Thy race and ours one common sire confess.
With these credentials fraught, I would not send
Ambassadors with artful phrase to sound
And win thee by degrees-but came myselfMe, therefore, me thou seest; my life the stake:
'Tis I, /Eneas, who implore thine aid.
Should Daunia, that pow aims the blow at'thee,
Prevail to conquer us, nought then, they think,
Will hinder,'but Hesperia must be theirs,
All theirs, from the upper to the nether sea.
Take then our friendship, and return us thine.
We too have courage, we have noble minds,
And youth well tried, and exercised in arms.'
Thus spoke JEneas-He with fix'd regard
Survey'd him speaking, features, form, and mien.
(.o.




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                2
Then briedy thus-' Thou noblest of thy name,
How gladly do I take thee to my heart,
Hcw gladly thus confess thee for a friend!
In thee I trace Anchises; his thy speech,
Thy voice, thy countenance. For I well remember
Many a day since, when Priam journey'd forth
To Salamis, to see the land where dwelt
Hesione, his sister, he push'd on.
E'en to Arcadia's frozen bounds.  was then
The bloom of youth was glowing-on my cheek;
Much I admired the Trojan chiefs, and much
Their king, the son of great Laomedon,
But most Anchises, towering o'er them all.
A youthful longing seized me to accost
The hero, and embrace him; I drew near,
And gladly led him to the walls of Pheneus.
Departing, he distinguish'd me with gifts,
A costly quiver stored with Lycian darts,
A robe inwove with gold, with gold imbess'd,
Two bridles, those which Pallas uses now.
The friendly league thou hast solicited
I gi:e thee, therefore, and to-morrow all
My chosen youtI shall wait on your return.
Meanwhile, since thus in friendship ye are come,
Rejoice with us, and join to celebrate
These annual rites, which may not be delar'd,
And be at once familiar at our board.'
He said, and bade replace the feast removed;
Himself upon a grassy bank disposed
The crew; but for Eneas order'd forth
A couch spread with a lion's tawny shag,
And bade him share the honours of his throne.
The appointed youth with glad alaerity
Assist the labouring priest to load the board
With roasted entrails ef the slaughter'd beeves,
Well-kneaded bread and mantling bowls. Well
Eneas and the Trojan youth regale    ([pleased,
On the huge length of a well-pastured thine.
Hunger appeased, and tables all despatch'd,
Thus spake Evander: ' Superstition here,
In this old solemn feasting, has no part.
No, Trojan friend, from utmost danger saved,




ï~~278             MINOR POEMS.
In gratitude this worship we renew.
Behold that rock which nods above the vale,
Those bulks of broken stone dispersed around,
How desolate the shatter'd cave appears,
And what a ruin spreads the incumber'd plain.
Within this pile, but far within, was once
The den of Cacus; dire his hateful form
That shunn'd the day, half monster and half man.
Blood newly shed stream'd ever on the ground
Smoking, and many a visage pale and wan
Nail'd at his gate, hung hideous to the sight.
Vulcan begot the brute: vast was his size,
And from his throat he belch'd his father's fires.
But the day came that brought us what we wish'd
The assistance and the presence of a God.
Flush'd with his victory, and the spoils he won
From triple-form'd Geryon lately slain.
The great avenger, Hercules, appear'd.
Hither he drove his stately bulls, and pour'd
His herds along the vale. But the sly thief
Cacus, that nothing might escape his hand
Of villany or fraud, drove from the stalls
Four of the lordliest of his bulls, and four
The fairest of his heifers; by the tail
He dragg'd them to his den, that there conceal'd,
No footsteps might betray the dark abode.
And now his herd with provender sufficed,
Alcides would be gone: they as they went
Still bellowing loud, made the deep echoing woods
And distant hills resound: when hark I one ox,
Imprison'd close within the vast recess,
Lows in return, and frustrates all his hope.
Then fury seized Alcides, and his breast
With indignation heaved: grasping his club
Of knotted oak, swift to the mountain top
He ran, he flew. Then first wew vA    seen
To tremble, and his eyes bespoke his fears.
Swift as an eastern blast he sought his den,
And dread, increasing, wing'd him as he went.
Drawn up in iron slings above the gate
A rock was hung enormous. Such his haste,
He burst the chains, and dropp'd it at the door,
096




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 g7
Then grappled it with iron work within
Of bolts and bars by Vulcan's art contrived.
Scarce was he fast, when panting for revenge
Came Hercules; he gnash'd his teeth with rage,
And quick as lightning glanced his eyes around
In quest of entrance. Fiery red and stung
With indignation, thrice he wheel'd his course
About the mountain; thrice, but thrice in vain,
He strove to force the quarry at the gate,
And thrice sat down o'erwearied in the vale.
There stood a pointed rock, abrupt and rude,
That high oerlook'd the rest, close at the hack
Of the fell monster's den, where birds obscene
Of ominous note resorted, choughs and daws.
This, as it lean'd obliquely to the left,
Threatening the stream below, he from the right
Push'd with his utmost strength, and to and fro
He shook the mass, loosening its lowest base;
Then shoved it from its seat; down fell the pile;
Sky thunder'd at the fall; the banks give Wa,
The affrighted stream flows upward to his source.
Behold the kennel of the brute exposed,
The gloomy vault laid open. So, if chance
Earth yawning to the centre should disclose
The mansions, the pale mansions of the dead,
Loath'd by the gods, such would the gulf appear
And the ghosts tremble at the sight of day.
The monster braying with unusual din
Within his hollow lair, and sore amazed
To see such sudden inroads of the light,
Alcides press'd him close with what at hand
Lay readiest, stumps of trees, and fragments huge
Of millstone size. He, (for escape was none)
Wondrous to tell! forth from his gorge discharged
A smoky cloud that darken'd all the den;
Wreath after wreath he vomited amain,
The smothering vapour mix'd with fiery sparks.
No sight could penetrate the veil obscure.
The hero, more provoked, endured not this,
But with a headlong leap he rush'd to where
The thickest cloud enveloped his abode.
There grasp'd he Cacus, spite of all his fires,

2Y

699




ï~~280             IIrNOR POEMS.
Till crush'd within his arms, the monster shows
His bloodless throat, now dry with panting hard,
And his press'd eyeballs start. Soon he tears down
The barricade of rock, the dark abyss
Lies open; and the imprisun'd bulls, the theft
He had with oaths denied, are brought to light;
By the heels the miscreant carcass is dragg'd forth,
His face, his eyes, all terrible, his breast
Beset with bristles, and his sooty jaws,
Are view'd with wonder never to be cloy'd.
Hence the celebrity thou seest, and hence
This festal day, Potitius'first enjoin'd
Posterity these solemn rites, he first
With those who bear the great Pinarian name
To Hercules devoted, in the grove
This altar built, deem'd sacred in the highest
By us, and sacred ever.to be deem'd.
Come, then,my friends, and bind your youthfulbrows
In praise of such deliverance, and hold forth
The brimming cup; your deities and ours                       I
Are now the same, then drink, and freely too.
So saying, he twisted round his reverend locks
A variegated poplar wreath, and fill'd
His right hand with a consecrated bowl.
At once all pour libations on the board,
All offer prayer. And now the radiant sphere
Of day descending, eventide drew near.
When first Potitius with the priests advanced,
Begirt with skins, and torches in their bands.
High piled with meats of savoury taste, they ranged
The chargers, and renew'd the grateful feast.
Then came the Salii, crown'd with poplar too,
Circling the blazing altars; here the youth
Advanced, a choir harmonious, there were heard
The reverend seers responsive; praise they sung,
Much praise in honour of Alcides' deeds;
How first with infant gripe two serpents huge
He strangled, sent from Juno; next they sung,
How Troja and (Echalia he destroy'd,
Fair cities both, and many a toilsome task
Beneath Eurystheus (so his stepdame will'd)
Achieved victorious. Thou, the cloud-born pair,
699

I
1
i
i
I




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                281
Hyleus fierce and Pholus, monstrous twins
Thou slew'st the minotaur, the plague of Crete
And the vast lion of the Nemean rock;
Thee hell, and Cerberus, hell's porter, fear'd$
Stretch'd in his den upon his half-gnaw'd bones.
Thee no abhorred form, not e'en the vast
Typhoeus could appal, though clad in arms.
Hail, true-born son of Jove, among the gods
At length enroll'd, nor least illustrious thou,
Haste thee propitious, and approve our songs:Thus hymn'd the chorus; above all they sing
The cave of Cacus, and the flames he breath'd.
The whole grove echoes, and the-hills rebound.
The rites perform'd, all hasten to the town.
The king, bending with age, held as he went
]Eneas and his Pallas by the hand,
With much variety of pleasing talk
Shortening the way. JEneas, with a smile,
Looks round him, charm'd with the delightful scene,
And many a question asks, and much he learns.,
Of heroes far renown'd in ancient times.
Then spake Evander. These extensive groves
Were once inhabited by fauns and nymphs
Produced beneath their shades, and a rude race
Of men, the progeny uncouth of elms
And knotted oaks. TIhey no refinement knew
Of laws or manners civilized, to yoke
The steer, with forecast provident to store
The hoarded grain, or manage what they had,
But browsed like beasts upon the leafy boughs,
Or fed voracious on their hunted prey.
An exile from Olympus, and expell'd
His native realm by thunder-bearing Jove,
First Saturn came. He from the mountains drew
This herd of men untractable and fierce,
And gave them laws: and c all'd his hiding place
This growth of forests, Latum. Such the peace
His land possess'd, the golden age was then,
So famed in story; till by slow degrees
Far other times, and of far different hue,
Succeeded, thirst of gold and thirst of blood.
Then came Ausonian bands, and armed hosts
699




ï~~282             MINOR POEMS.
Prom Sicily, and Latium often changed
Her master and her name. At length arose
Kings, of whom Tybris of gigantic form
Was chief; and we Italians since have call'd
The river by his name; thus Albula
(So was the country call'd in ancient days)
Was quite forgot. Me from my native land
An exile, through the dangerous ocean drivesn
Resistless fortune and relentless fate,
Placed where thou seest me. Phoebus, and
The nymph Carmentis, with maternal care
Attendant on my wanderings, fix'd me here.
[Ten lines omitted.]
He spid, and show'd him the Tarpeian rock,
And the rude spot where now the capitol
Stands all magnificent and bright with gold,
Then overgrown with thorns. And yet e'en then
The swains beheld that sacred scene with awe;
The grove, the rock, inspired religious fear
This grove, he said, that crowns the lofty top
Of this fair hill, some deity, we know,
Inhabits, but what deity we doubt.
The Arcadians speak of Jupiter himself,
That they have often seen him, shaking here
His gloomy )Egis, while the thunder storms
Came rolling all around him. Turn thine eyes,
Behold that ruin; those dismantled walls,
Where once two towns, laniculum --,
By Janus this, and that by Saturn built,
Saturnia. Such discourse brought them beneath
The roof of poor Evander; thence they saw,
Where now the proud and stately forum stands,
The grazing herds wide scatter'd o'er the field.
Soon ashe enter'd-Hercules, he said,
Victorious Hercules, on this threshold trod,
These walls contain'd him, humble as they are.
Dare to despise magnificence, my friend,
Prove thy divine descent by worth divine,
Nor view with haughty scorn this mean abode.
So saying, he led Eneas by the hand,
700




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 23
And placed him on a cushion stuff'd with leaves,
Spread with the skin of a Lybistian bear.
[The Episode of Venus and Vulcan omitted.]
While thus in Lemnos Vulcan was employ'd,
Awaken'd by the gentle dawn of day,
And the shrill song of birds beneath the eaves
Of his low mansion, old Evander rose.
His tunic, and the sandals on his feet,
And his good sword well girded to his side,
A panther's skin dependent from his left,
And over his right shoulder thrown aslant.
Thus was the clad. Two mastiffs follow'd him,
His whole retinue and his nightly guard.
OVID. TRIST. LIB. V. ELEG. XII:
Scribis, ut oblectem.
You bid me write to amuse the tedious hours,
And save from withering my poetic powers;
Hard is the task, my friend, for verse should flow
From the free mind, not fetter'd down by woe;
Restless amidst unceasing tempests toss'd,
Whoe'er has cause for sorrow, I have most.
Would you bid Priam laugh, his sons allslain,
Or childless Niobe from tears refrain,
Join the gay dance, and lead the festive tain?
Does grief or study most befit the mind
To this remote, this barbarous nook confined?
Could you impart to my unshaken breast.
The fortitude by Socrates possess'd,
Soon would it sink beneath such woes as mine,
For what is human strength to wrath divine?
Wise as he was, and heaven pronounced him so,
My sufferings would have laid that wisdom low.
Could I forget my country, thee and all,
And e'en the offence to which I owe my fall,
701




ï~~2U               MINOR POEMS.
Yet fear alone would freeze the poet's vein,
While hostile troops swarm o'er the dreary plain.
Add that the fatal rust of long disuse
Unfits me for the service of the muse.
Thistles and weeds are all we can expect
From the best soil impoverished by neglect;
Unexercised, and to his stall confined,
The fleetest racer would be left behind;
The best built bark that cleaves the watery way,
Laid useless by, would moulder and decayNo lope remains that time shall me restore,
Mean as I was, to what I was before.
Think how a series of desponding cares
Benumbs the genius, and its force impairs.
How oft, as now, on this devoted sheet,
My verse constrain'd to move with measured feet,
Reluctant and laborious limps along,
And proves itself a wretched exile's song.
What is it tunes the most melodious lays?
'Tis emulation and the thirst of praise,
A noble thirst, and not unknown to me,
While smoothly wafted on a calmer sea.
But can a wretch like Ovid pant for fame?
No, rather let the world forget my name.
Is it because that world approved my strain,
You prompt me to the same pursuit again?
No, let the Nine the ungrateful truth excuse,
I charge my hopeless ruin on the muse,
And, like Perillus, meet my just desert,
The victim of my own pernicious art;
Fool that I was to be so warn'd in vain,
And shipwreck'd once, to tempt the deep again.
Ill fares the bard in this unletter'd land,
None to consult, and none to understand.
The purest verse has no admirers here,
Their own rude language only'suits their ear.
Rude as it is, at length familiar grown,
1 learn it, and almost unlearn my ownYet to say truth, e'en here the muse disdains
Confinement, and attempts her former strains,
But finds the strong desire is not the power,
And what her taste condemns, the flames devour.
702




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                2
A part, perhaps, like this, escapes the doom
And though unworthy, finds a friend at Rome
But oh the cruel art, that could undo
Its votary thus! I would that could perish too I
110HR. LIB. I. ODE IX.
Vides, ut alta stet nive candidum
Soracte;....
SEE'ST thou yon mountain laden with deep snow,
The groves beneath their fleecy burthen bow,
The streams, congeal'd, forget to flow,
Come, dhaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile
Of fuel on the hearth;
Broach the best cask, and make old winter smile
With seasonable mirth.
This be our part-let Heaven dispose the rest
If Joye command, the winds shall sleep
That now wage war upon the foamy deep,
And gentle gales spring from the balmy west.
E'en let us shift to-morrow as we may,
When to-morrow's pass'd away,
We at least shall have to say,
We have lived another day;
Your auburn locks will soon be silver'd o'er,
Old age is at otr heels, and youth returns.no more.
HOR. LIB. 1. ODE XXXVIII.
Persicos odi, puer, apparatus.
Boy, I hate their empty shows,
Persian garlands I detest,
Bring not me the late-blown rose,
Lingering after all the rest.
703




ï~~286             MINOR POEMS.
Plainer myrtle pleases me,
Thus outstretch'd beneath my vine;
Myrtle more becoming thee,
Waiting with thy master's wine.
HOR. LIB. I. ODE XXXVIII.
Bo! I detest all Persian fopperies,
Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting;
Task not thyself with any search, I charge thee
Where latest roses linger,
3ring me alone (for thou wilt find that readily)
Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparage
Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking,
Beneath my vine's coot shelter.
HOR. LIB. II. ODE XVI.
Otium Divos regat in patenti.
EAss is the weary merchant's prayer,
Who ploughs by night the 1Egean flooa,
When neither moon nor stars appear,
Or faintly glimmer through the clou&.
For ease the Mede with quiver graced,
For ease the Thracian hero sighs,
Delightful ease all pant to taster
A blessing which no treasure buys.
For neither gold can lull to rest,
Nor all a Consul's guard beat off
The tumults of a troubled breast,
The cares that haunt a gilded root
happy the man whose table shows
A few clean ounces of old plate,
No fear intrudes on his repose,
No sordid wishes to be greaL
704




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 28
Poor short-lived things, what plans we lay!
Ah, why forsake our native home!
To distant climates speed away;
For self sticks close where'er we roam.
Care follows hard, and soon o'ertakes
The well-rigg'd ship, the warlike steed
Her destined quarry ne'er forsakes,
Not the wind flies with half her speed.
From anxious fears of future ill
Guard well the cheerful, happy now;
Gild e'en your sorrows with a smile,
No blessing is unmix'd below.
Thy neighing steeds and lowing herds,
Thy numerous flocks around thee graze,
And the best purple Tyre affords
Thy robe magnificent displays.
On me indulgent Heaven bestow'd
A rural mansion, neat and small;
This lyre;-and as for yonder crowd,
The happiness to hate them all.
ON THE BENEFIT RECEIVED BY HIS MA.
JESTY FROM     SEA-BATHING IN THE YEAR
1789.
O SOVEREIGN of an isle renown'd
For undisputed sway
Wherever o'er yon gulf profound
Her navies wing their way,.
With juster claim she builds at length
Her empire on the sea,
AnAl well may boast the waves her strength
Which strength restored to thee.

Q05




ï~~288         MINOR POEMS.

ADDRESSED TO MISS -- ON READING THE
PRAYER* FOR INDIFFERENCE.*
AND dwells there in a female heart,
By bounteous heaven design'd,
The choicest raptures to impart,
To feel the most refinedDwells there a wish in such a breast
Its nature to forego,
To smother in ignoble rest,
At once both bliss and woe!
Far be the thought, and far the strain
Which breathes the low desire,
How sweet soe'er the verse complain,
Though Phoebus string the lyre.
Come, then, fair maid (in nature wise)
Who. knowing them, can tell
From geneious sympathy what joys
The glowing bosom swell:
In justice to the various powers
Of pleasing, which you share,
Join me, amid your silent hours,
To forni the better prayer.
With lenient balm may Oberon hence
To fairy land be driven,
With every herb that blunts the sense
Mankind received from heaven.
SOh! if my sovereign Author please,
Far be it from my fate
To live, unbless'd, in torpid ease,
And slumber on in state.
* For Mrs. Greville's Ode, see Annual Register, vol. v. p. 502.
700




ï~~MINOR POEMS.
SEach tender tie of life defied
Whence social pleasures spring,
Unmoved with all the world beside,
A solitary thing-'
Some Alpine mountain, wrapt in snow,
Thus braves the whirling blast,
Eternal winter doom'd to know,
No genial spring to taste.
In vain warm suns their influence shed,
The zephyrs sport in vain,
He rears unchanged his barren head,
Whilst beauty decks the plain.
What though in scaly armour dress'd,
Indifference may repel
The shafts of woe-in such a breast
No joy can ever dwell.
'Tis woven in the world's great plan,
And fix'd by heaven's decree,
That all te true delights of man
Should spring from sympathy.
'Tis nature bids, and whilst the laws
Of nature we retain,
Our self-approving bosom draws
A pleasure from its pain.
Thus grief itself has comforts dear
The sordid never know;
And ecstasy attends the tear
When virtue bids it flow.
For when it streams from that pure source
No bribes the heart can win,
To check or alter from its course,
The luxury within.
Peace to the phlegm of sullen elves,
Who, if from labour eased,
Exte-nd no care beyond themselves,
Unpleasing and unpleased.
O
w18




ï~~290O            MINOR.POEMS.
Let no low thought suggest the prayer,
Oh! grant, kind Heaven, to me
Long as I draw ethereal air,
Sweet sensibility.
Where'er the heavenly nymph is seen,
With lustre-beaming eye,
A train, attendant on their queen,
(Her rosy chorus) fly.
The jocund loves in Hymen's band,
With torches ever bright,
And generous friendship hand in handi
With pity's watery sight:
The gentler virtues too are join'd
In youth immortal warm;
The soft relations, which, combined,
Give life her every charm.
The arts come smiling in the close,
And lend celestial fire;
The marble breathes, the canvas glowa,
The muses sweep the lyre.
SStill may my melting bosom cleave
To sufferings not my own,
And still the sigh responsive heave
Where'er is heard a groan.
' So pity shall take virtue's part,
Her natural ally,
And fashioning my soften'd heart,
Prepare it for the sky.'
This artless vow may heaven receive,
And you, fond maid, approve:
So may your guiding angel give
Whate'er you wish or love.
So may the rosy-finger d hours
Lead on the various year,
And every joy, which now is yours,
Extend a larger sphere.
709




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                291
And suns to come, as round they wheel,
Your golden moments bless
With all a tender heart can feel,
Or lively fancy guess.
1786.
FROM A LETTER TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON,
LATE RECTOR OF ST. MARY WvOOLNOTH.
SAYs the pipe to the snuffbox, I can't understand
What the ladies and gentlemen see in your facij,
That you are in fashion all over the land,
And I am so much fallen into disgrace.
Do but see what a pretty contemplative air
I give to the company-pray do but note 'emYou would think that the wise men of Greece were
all there,                       [Gotham.
Or, at least, would suppose them the wise men of
My breath is as sweet as the breath of blown roses,
While you are a nuisance where'er you appear;
There is nothing but sniveling and blowing of noses,
Such a noise as turns any man's stomach to hear.
Then lifting his lid in a delicate way,
And opening his mouth with a smile quite engaging,
The box in reply was heard plainly to say,
What a silly dispute is this we are waging I
If you have a little of merit to claim,
You may thank the sweet-smelling Virginian weed,
And I, if I seem to deserve any blame,
The before mentioned drug in apology plead.
Thus neither the praise nor the blame, is our own,
No room for a sneer, much less a cachinnus,
We are vehicles, not of tobacco alone,
But of anything else they may choose to put in us.
709




ï~~22       MINOR POEMS.

THE FLATTING MILL.
AN ILLUSTRATION.
WHEN a bar of pure silver or ingot of gold
Is sent to be flatted or wrought into length,
It is pass'd between cylinders often, and roll'd
In an engine of utmost mechanical strength.
Thus tortured and squeezed, at last it appears
Like a loose heap of ribbon, a glittering show
Like music it tinkles and rings in your ears,
And, warm'd by the pressure, is all in a glow.
This process achieved, it is doom'd to sustain
The thump after thump of a gold-beater's mallet
And at last is of serv ce in sickness or pain
To cover a pill for a denlicate palate.
Alas for the poet! who dares undertake
To urge reformation of national illHis head and his heart are both likely to ache
With the double employment of mallet and mill
If he wish to instruct, he must learn to delight,
Smooth, ductile, and even his fancy must flow,
Must tinkle and glitter like gold to the sight,
And catch in its progress a sensible glow.
After all he must beat it as thin and as fine
As the leaf that enfolds what an invalid swallows,
For truth is unwelcome, however divine,
And unless you adorn it, a nausea follows.

119




ï~~MINOR POEMS.

293

EPITAPH
ON A FREE BUT TAME REDBREAST,
A FAVOURITE OF MISS SALLY HURDIS.
THEss are not dew-drops, these are tears,
And tears by Sally shed
For absent Robin, who she fears,
With too much cause, is dead.
One morn he came not to her hand
As he was wont to come,
And, on her finger pef'ch'd, to stand
Picking his breakfast-crumb.
Alarm'd, she all'd him, and perplex'd
She sought him, but in vainThat day he came not, nor the next,
Nor ever came again.
She thereire raised him here a tomb,
Though where he fell, or how,
None knows, so secret was his doom,
Nor where he moulders now.
Had half a score of coxcombs died
In social Robin's stead,,
Poor Sally's tears had soon been dried,
Or haply never shed.
But Bob was neither rudely bold
Nor spiritlessly tame;
Nor was, like theirs, his bosom co@p
But always in a flame.
March, 17M.

TA

i




ï~~MINOR POEMS.

SONNET.
ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM HAYLE' ESQ.
HAYLEY-thy tenderness fraternal shown
In our first interview, delightful guest!
To Mary, and me for her dear sake distress'd,
Such as it is has made my heart thy own,
Though heedless now of new engagements grown
For threescore winters make a wintry breast,
And I had purposed ne'er to go in quest
Of friendship more, except with God alone.
But thou hast won me; nor is God my foe,
Who, ere this last afflictive scene began,
Sent thee td mitigate the dreadful blow,
My brother, by whose sympathy I know
Thy true deserts infallibly to scan,
Not more to admire the hard than love the man.
June 2, 1792.
AN EPITAPH.
HERE lies one who never drew
Bloaod himself, yet many slew;
Gave the gun its aim, and figure
Made in field, yet ne'er pull'd trigger.
Armed men have gladly made
Him their guide, and him obey'd;
At his signified desire
Would advance, present, and fire--
Stout he was, and large of limb,
Scores have fled at sight of him I
And to all this fame he rose
Only following his nose.
Neptune was he call'd, not he
Who controls the boisterous sea

12




ï~~MINOR POEMS                2U
Rat of happier command,
leptune of the furrow'd land;
And, your wonder vain to shorten,
Pointer to Sir John Throckmortona.
ON RECEIVING HAYLEY'S PICTURE.
IN language warm as could be breath'd or pena'4
Thy pinture speaks the original my friend,
Not by those looks that Indicate thy 'mindThey only speak thee friend of all mankind;
Expression here more soothing still I see,
That friend of all a partial friend to me.
Janar, 1793.
ON A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S BOWER,
DESIGNED TO COVER A GARDEN-SEA?.
THRIVE, gentle plant! and weave a bower
For Mary and for me,
And deck with'many a splendid fower
Thy foliage large and free.
Thou camest from Eartham, and wilt shae
(If truly I divine
Some future day the illustrious head
S Of him who made thee mine.
Should Daphne show a jealous frown,
And envy seize the bay,
Affirming none so fit to crown
Such honour'd brows as they,
Thy cause with zeal we shall defend
And with convincing power;
For why should not the virgin's friend
Be trown'd with virgin's bower?
Spring of 1793.

27.

rII

e




ï~~290              AIINOR POEMS
ON RECEIVING HEYNE'S VIRGIL
FROM MR. HAYLEY.
I SHOULD have deem'd it once an effort vain
To sweeten more sweet Maro's matchless straio
But from that error now behold me free
Since I received him as a gift from thee.
Oct. 1793.
ON THE DEATH OF SIR WILLIAM RUSSELL
DOOM'D as I am in solitude to waste
The present moments, and regret the past;
Deprived of every joy 1 valued most,
My friend torn from me and my mistress lost;
Call not this gloom I wear, this anxious mien,
The dull effect of business or of spleen.
Still, still, I mourn, with each returning day,
Him snatch'd by fate in early youth away;
And her through tedious years of doubt and pain
Fix'd in her choice, and faithful, but in vain.
O prone to pity, generous and sincere,
Whose eye ne'er yet refused the wretch a tear;
Whose heart the real claim of friendship knows,
Nor thinks a lover's are but fancied woes;
See me, ere yet my destined course half done,
Cast forth a wanderer on a world unknown:
See me neglected on the world's rude coast,
Each dear companion of my voyage lost;
Nor ask why clouds of sorrow shade my brow,
And ready tears wait only leave to flow;
Why al! that soothes a heart from anguish free,
All that delights the happy, palls with me.
EPIGRAM
ON HIS MISTAKE IN TRANSLATING HOMER
COWPER had sinn'd with some excuse,
If, bound in rhyming tethers
He had committed this abuse
Of changing ewes for wethers;
But, male for female is a trope,
Or rather bold misnomer,
That would have startled even Pope,
When he translated Homer.
714




ï~~MINOR POEMS.         29s

ANTI-THELYPHTHORA.
A TALE, IN VERSE.
Ah miser,
Quanta laboras in Charybdi --Hor. lib. I. Ode Wf.
AmIRY DEL CASTRO was as bold a knight
As ever earn'd a lady's love in fight.
Many he sought, but one above the rest
His tender heart victoriously impress'd;
In fairy-land was born the matchless dame,
The land of jreams, Hypothesis her name.
There Fancy nursed her in ideal bowers,
And laid her soft in amaranthine flowers;
Delighted with her babe, the enchantress smiled,
And graced with all her gifts tihe favourite child.
Her woo'd Sir Airy, by meandering streams,
In daily musings and in nightly dreams;
With all the flowe;; he found, he wove in haste
Wreathes for her blow, and girdles for her waist;
His time, his talents, and his ceaseless care
All consecrated to adorn the fair;
No pastime but with her he deign'd to take,
An,-if he studied, studied for her sake.
And, for Hypothesis was somewhat long,
Nor soft enough to suit a lover's tongue,
He call'd her Posy, with an amorous art,
And graved it on a gem, and wore it next his heart,
But she, inconstant as the beams that play
On rippling waters in an April day,
With many a freakish trick deceived his pains,
To pathless wilds and unfrequented plains
Enticed him from his oaths of knighthood far,
Forgetful of the glorious toils of war.
'Tis thus the tenderness that love inspires
Too oft betrays the votaries of his fires;
Borne far away on elevated wings,
They sport like wanton doves in airy rings,
And laws and duties are neglected things.
Nor he alone address'd the wayward fair;
Full many a knight had been entangled there.
But still, whoever woo'd her or embraced,
On every mind some mighty spell she cast.
Some she would teach (for she was wondrous wise,
And made her dupes see all things with her eyes)
That forms material, whatsoe'er we dream,
Are not at all, or are not what they seem;
That substances and modes of every-kind
Are mere impressions on the passive mind;
02

i

7.15




ï~~2
n

M8              MINOR POEMS.
And he that splits his cranium, breaks at most
A fancied head against a fancied post:
Others, that earth, ere sin had drown'd it all,
Was smooth and even as an ivory ball;
That all the various beauties we survey,
Hills, valleys, rivers, and tne boundless sea,
Are but departures from the first design,
Effects of punishment and wrath divine.
She tutor'd some in Dwdalus's art,
Anid promised they should act his wildgoose part,
On waxen pinions soar without a fall,
Swift as the proudest gander of them all.
But fate reserved Sir Airy to maintain
The wildest project of her teeming brain f'
That wedlock is not rigorous as supposed,
But man, within a wider pale enclosed,
May rove at will, where appetite shall lead,
Free as the lordly bull that ranges o'er the mead;
That forms and rites are tricks of human law,
As idle as the chattering of a daw;
That lewd incontinence and lawless rape,
Are imai"riage in its true and proper shape;
That man by faith and truth is made a slave,.
The ring a bauble and the priest a knave.
Fair fall the deed! the knight exulting cried,
Now is the time to make the maid a bride!
'Twas on the noon of an autumnal day,
October hight, but mild and fair as May;
When scarlet fruits the.russet hedge adorn,
And floating films envelop every thorn;
When gently as in June, the rivers glide,
And only miss the flowers that graced their side;
The linonet twitter'd out his parting song,
With many a chorister the woods among;
On southern banks the ruminating sheep
Lay snug and warm;-'twas summer's farewell peelp
Propitious to his fond intent there grew
An arbour near at hand of thickest yew,
With many a boxen bush, close clipt between,
And phillyrea of a gilded green.
But what old Chaucer's merry page befits,
The chaster muse of modern days omits.
Suffice it then in decent terms to say,
She saw, and turn'd her rosy cheek away.
Small need of prayer-book or of priest, I weean,
Where parties are agreed, retired the scene,'
Occasion prompt, and appetite so keen.
Hypothesis (for with such magic power
Fancy endued her in her natal hour)
From many a steaming lake and reeking bog,
Bale rise in haste a dank and drizzling fog,
716




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                  29
That curtain'd round the scene where they reposed,
And wood and lawn in dusky folds enclosed.
Fear seized the trembling sex;. in every grove
They wept the wrongs of honourable love.
In vain, they cried, are hymeneal rites,
Vain our delusive hope of constant knights;
The marriage bond has lost its power to bind,
And flutters loose, the sport of every wind.
The bride, while yet her bride's attire is on,
Shall mourn her absent lord, for he is gone,
Satiate of her, and weary of the same,
To distant wilds, in quest of other game.
Ye fair Cirfassians! all your lutes employ,
Seraglios sing, and harems dance for joy!
For British nymphs whose lords were lately true,
Nymphs quite as fair, and happier once than you,
Honour, esteem, and confidence forgot,
Feel all the meanness of your slavish lot.
O curst Hypothesis! your hellish arts
Seduce our husbands, and estrange their hearts.
Will none arise? no knight who still retains
'The blood of ancient worthies in his veins,
To assert the charter of the chaste and fair,
Find out her treacherous heart, and plant a dagger
there!
A knight-(can he that serves the fair do less?)
Starts at the call of beauty in divcr-ss;
And he that does not, whatsoe'er occurs,
Is recreant, and unworthy of his spurs.
Full many a champion, bent on hardy deed,
Call'd for his arms and for his princely steed.
So swarm'd the Sabine youth, and grasp'd the shield,
When Roman rapin4g, by no laws withheld,
Lest Rome should end with her first founders' lives,
Made half their maids, sans ceremony, wives.
But not the mitred few, the soul their charge,
They left these bodily concerns at large;
Forms or no forms, pluralities or pairs,
Right reverend sirs! was no concern of theiss.
The rest, alert and active as became
A courteous knighthood, caught the generous iami
One was accoutred when the cry began,
Knight of the Silver Moon, Sir Marmadan.
Oft as his patroness, who rules the night,
Hangs out her lamp in yon caerulean height,
His vow was (and he well perform'd his vow),
Arm'd at all points, with terror on his brow,
To judge the land, to purge atrocious crimes,
And quell the shapeless monsters of the times.
For cedars famed, fair Lebanon supplied
The well-poised lance that quiver'd at his sides




ï~~a00             MINOR POEMS.
Truth arm'd it with a point so keen, f^ ijst,
No spell or charm was proof against the thrust
He couch'd it firm upon his puissant thigh,
And darting through his helm an eagle's eye,
On all the wings of chivalry advanced
To where the fond Sir Airy lay entranced.
lie dreamt not of a foe, or if his fear
Foretold one, dreamt not of a foe so near.
Far other dreams his feverish mind employ'd,
Of rights restored, variety enjoy'd;
Of virtue too well fenced to fear a flaw;
Vice passing current by the stamp of law;
Large population on a liberal plan,
And woman trembling at the foot of man;
How simple wedlock fornication works,
And Christians marrying may convert the Turka
The trumpet now spoke Marmadan at hand,
A trumpet that was heard through all the land.
His high.bred steed expands his nostrils wide,.
And snorts aloud to cast the mist aside;
But he, the virtues of his lance to show,
Struck thrice the point upon his saddle-bow;
Three sparks ensued that chased it all away,
And set the unseemly pair in or-m day.
'To horse!' he cried, 'or, by this good right hand
And better spear, I smite you where you stand.'
Sir Airy, not a whit dismay'd or scared,
Buckled his helm, and to his steed repair'd;
Whose bridle, while he cropp'd the grass below,
Hung not far off upon a myrtle bough.
He mounts at once,-such confidence infused
The insidious witch that had his wits abused;
And she, regardless of her softer kind,
Seized fast the saddle and sprang up behind.
'Oh shame to knighthood!' his assailant cried;
'Oh shame!' ten thousand echoing nymphs replin
'aced with advantage at his listening ear,
She whisper'd still that he had nought to fear;
That he was cased in such enchanted steel,
So polish'd and compact from head to heel,
' Come ten, come twenty, should an army call
Thee to the field, thou shouldst withstand them alL'
' By Dian's beams,' Sir Marmadan exclaim'd,
'The guiltiest still are ever least ashamed!
But guard thee well, expect no feign'd attack;
And guard beside the sorceress at thy back!'
He spoke indignant, and his spurs applied,
Though little need, to his good palfrey's side;
The barb sprang forward, and his lord, whose br.
Was equal to the swiftness of his horse,
718*




ï~~Rush'd with a whirl-ind 's furv on the foe,
And, Phmneas-likv. transfix d thern at a hlow.
Then sang the married an I the maiden throng,
LIove graed the theme, andi harmony the song;
The Faunms and Satyrs, a lascivious race.
Shrwki at the sight, and, -onscious, fled the place
And Hymen, trimming his drn torch anew,
His snorv mantle o'er his shoulders threw;
He stun', and view'd it oft on every side,
And reddening with a just and generous pride,
Blevs'd the gliad heams of that prupitious day,
The spot he loath'd so much for ever cleansed away.
'I
THE DISTRESSED TRAVELLERS;
OlR,
LABOUR IN VAIN.
A1 EXCELLENT NEW SONG, TO A TUNE NEVER SUNG BEFORS.
*1                           1.
I sING, of a journey toClifton,
We would have perform'd if we could,
tWithuut car or bharrow to lift on
I               Poor Mary and me through the mud:
Slee sla slud,
Stuck in the mud,
Oh it is pretty to wade through a floodI
2.
So away we went slipping and sliding,
Hp, hop, a la mode de deux frogs,
'Tis near as good walking as riding,
When ladies are dressed in their clogs.
Wheels, no doubt,
Go briskly about,
But they clatter and rattle, and make such a r=4
3.
SHE.
siy.
Well! nnw I protest it is charming;
How Onely the weather improves!
That cloud, though, is rather alarming;
How slowly and stately it m ves.

im'l- 4a,




ï~~g               MINOR POEMS&
HE.
Pshaw I never mind;
'Tis not in the wind;
We are travelling south. and shall leave it behid
SHE.
I am glad we are come for an airing,
For folks may be pounded and penn'd4
Until they grow rusty, not caring
To stir half a mile to an end.
H.
The longer we stay,
The longer we may;
W's a folly to think about weather or way.
S.
SHE.
But now I begin to be frighted:
If I fall, what a way I shouid roll!
I am glad that the bridge was indicted,Stop stop! I am sunk in a hole!
HE.
Nay, never care t
'Tis a common affair;
You'll not be the last that will set a foot there
6.
sI.
Let me breathe now a little, and ponder
On what it were better to do.
That terrible lane, I see yonder,,
I think we shall never get through t
HE.
So think 1;
But, by the bye,
We never shall know, if we never should try.
7.
SHE.
But should we get there, how shall we get home?
What a terrible deal of bad road we have peak
Slipping and sliding; and it we should come
To a ditbicult stile, I am ruin'd at last.
Oh this lane!
Now it is plain
That struggling and striving is labour n vain.




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                 303
8.
HEL
Stick fast there, while I go and look.
SHE
Don't go away, for fear I should fall!
HE
I have examined it every nook,
And what you have here is'a sample of all
Come, wheel round;
The dirt we have found
Would be an estate at a farthing a pound.
9.
Now, Sister Anne, the guitar you must take;
Set it, and sing it, and make it a song.
I have vari'd the verse for variety sake,
And cut it off short, because it was long.
'Tis hobbling and lame,
Which critics won't blame,
For the sense and the sound, they say, should be the
same.
OF HIMSELF.
TO MISS THEODORA JANE COWPER.
WILLIAM was once a bashful youth;
His modesty was such,
That one might say (to say the truth)
He rather had too much.
Some said that it was want of sense,
And others want of spirit,
(So blest a thing is impudence)
While others could not bear it.
But some a different notion had,
And at each other winking,
Observed, that though he little said,
He paid it off with thinking.
Howe'er it happen'd, by degrees,
He mended, and grew perter;
In company, was more at ease,
And dress'd a little smatter;
724




ï~~MINOR POEMS.
Nay, now and then would look quite gay,
As other people do;
And sometnimes said, or tried to say,
A witty thing or so.
He eyed the women, and made free
To' comment on their shapes;
So that there was, or seen'd to be,
No fear,f a relapse.
The women said, who thought him rough,
But now no longer foolish,
'The creature may. do well enough,
But wants a deal of polish.'
At length, improved from head to heel,
'Twere scarce too much to say,
No dancing bear was so genteel,
Or half so ddgag6.
Now, that a miracle so strange
May not in vain be shown, -
Let the dear maid who wrought the change
Even claim him for her own.
WRITTEN
AFTER LEAVING HER AT NEW            BURNS
How quick the change from joy to woe!
How cheqter'd is our lot below!
Seldom we view the prospect fair;
Dark clouds of sorrow, pain, and care,
(Some pleasing intervals between)
Scowl over more than half the scene.
Last week with DI)elia, gentle maid,
Far hence in appier fields I stray'd.
Five suns successive rose and set,
And saw no monarch in his state,
Wrapp'd in the blaze of majesty,
So free from every care as.LNext day the scene was overcast;
Such day till then I never pass'd,For on that day, relentless fate!
Delia and I must separate.
Yet ere we look'd our last farewell,
From bier dear lips this comfort fell
'Fear not that time, where'er we rove
Or absence, shall abate my love.'
722




ï~~)

MI1NORt POEMS.      30

305

C~OMPIimentarij 2lo a5 to f[iltoin,
TRANSLATLi FROM THE LATIN AND IT4LtAN,
THlE NEAPOLITAN. JOEHN BAPTIST MANSO,
MARQUIS OF VILLA,
TO THE E NGLISHMIAN, JOHN MILTON.
XVIIAr features, form, mien, manners, with a mind
0 how intelligent: and how rehinedl!
Were but. the piety fromt fault. as free,
''i,~ u would'st no Angle hut an Angel be.
AN EPI(!RA'M
AO)DRESSVD TO) THE ENGLISHMAN, JOHN MILTON, A FuRl
W ORTHY OF THREE LAURIEL, THE GRECIAN, LATIN,
ANU) ETRUSCAN, BY JOHN SALSILI.1, OF Rom%.
MELts and N icmo, both your urns depress'
S!.lsetus, bosast henceforth thy 'l'asso less!
But let the Thames n'erpeer all floods, since he
For Milton famed shall, single, match the three.
TO JOHN MILTON.
GREEC'E, sound thy Hom~er's. Rotme, thy Virgil's name,
But England's Milton equals both its fame.
SELVAGO!.
AN ODE
ADDRESSED TO THE ILLUSTRtOUS ENGLISHMAN, MsR.,
JOHN MILTON, BY SIGNOR ANTONIO FRANClNI,
GENTLEMAN, OF FLORENCE.
EXALT me, Clio, to th6 skies,
That I may form a_ starry crown
Beyond what Helieon sutpplies
In laureate garlands of renown;
To nobler worth tbe brighster glory given
And to a heavenly mind a recompense ironm heaven.




ï~~30              MINOR P'OEMS..
Time's wasteful hunger cannot prey
On everlasting high desert,
Nor can oblivion steal away
Its record graven on the heart;
Lodge brit an arrow, virtue, on the bow
That binds my lyre, and death shall be a vanquish'd
foe.
In ocean's blazing flood enshrined
Whose vassal tide around her swells,
Albion, from other climes disjoin'd,
The prowess of the world excels;
She teems with heroes, that to glory rise,
With more than human force in our astonish'd eyes.
To virtue, driven from other lands,
Their bosom yields a safe retreat;
Her law alone the deed commands:
Her smiles they feel divinely sweet.
Confirm my record, Milton, generous youth I
And by true virtue prove thy virtue's praise a truth.
Zeuxis, all energy and flame,
Set ardent forth in his career;
Urged to his task by Helen's fame
Resounding ever in his ear;
To make his image to her beauty true,
From the collected fair each sovereign charm he drew.
The bee, with subtlest skill endued,
Thus toils to earn her precious juice
From all the flowery myriads strew'd -
O'er meadow and parterre, profuse;
Confederate voices one sweet air compound,
And various chords consent in one harmonious sound.
An artist of celestial aim,
Thy genius caught by moral grace,
With ardent emulation's flame
The steps of virtue toil'd to trace,
Observed in every land who brightest shone,
And, blending all their best, made perfect good thy
own.
From all, in Florence born, or taught
Our country's sweetest accent there,
Whose works, with learned labour wrought,
Immortal honours justly share,
Thou hast such treasure drawn of purest ore,
T.hat not even Tuscan bards can boast a richer stor.




ï~~MINOR POEMS.                  35
Babel confused, and with her towers
Unfinish'd spreading wide the plain,
Has served but to evince thy powers
With all her tongues confused in vain,
Since not alone thy England's purest phrase
But every polished realm thy various speech displays.
The secret things of heaven and earth
By nature, too reserved, conceal'd
From other minds of highest worth,
To thee are copiously reveal'd;
Thou know'st them clearly, and thy views attain
The utmost bounds prescribed to moral truths' domain.
Let time no sore his wing display,
And boast his ruinous career,
For virtue rescued from his sway
His injuries may cease to fear;
Since all events, that claim remembrance, find
A chronicle exact in thy capacious mind.
Give me, that I may praise thy song,
Thy lyre by which alone I can,;
Which, lacing thee the stars among.
Already proves thee more than man;
Andi Thames shall seem Permessus, while his stream
Graced with a swan like thee, shall be my favourite
theme.
I, who, beside the Arno, strain
To match thy merit with my lays,
Learn, after many an effort vain,
To admire thee rather than to praise
And that by mute astonishment alone,
Not by the faltering tongue, thy warth may best be
shown,




ï~~308
ADAM:
A   SACRED      DRAMA.
TRANSLATED
PROM THE ITALIAN OF GIO. BATTISTA ANDREIIfI
BY COWPER AND HAYLEY,
TO THE COURTEOUS READER.
HAVING satiated and fatigued my eyes, gentle reader,
by too intent an observation of what is passing on earth;
and raising therefore my thoughts to higher contempla.
tions, to the wonders diffused by the supreme Being,
for the benefit of man; through the universe; I felt my
heart penetrated by a certain Christian compunction, in
reflecting how his inexpressible goodness, though perpetually and grievously offended by us, still shows itself
in the highest degree indulgent towards us in preserving
those wonders with a continual influence to our advan.
tage; and how, on the first provocation to vengeance,
Almighty Power does not enlarge the ocean to pass its
immense boundary, does not obscure the light of the
sun, does not impress sterility on the earth, to ingulf us,
to blind us, and finally to destroy us. Softened and absorbed in these divine emotions, I felt myself transported
and hurried by a delightful violence into a terrestrial
paradise, where 1 seemed to behold the first man Adam,
a creature dear to God, the friend of angels, the heir of
heaven, familiar with the stars, a compendium of all
created things, the ornament of all, the miracle of ua.
ture, the lord of the animals, the only inhabitant of the
universe, and enjoyer of a scene so wonderfully grand.
Whence charmed more than ever, I resolved, with the
favour of the blessed God, to usher into the light of tue
world, what I bore in the darkness of my imagination;
both to render it known in some measure, that, I know
myself, and the infinite obligations that I have to God;
and that others, who do not know, may learn, the true
nature of man, and from the low contemplation of
earthly things, may raise their minds to things celestial
and divine.
I remained however a considerable time in doubt if I
ought, or if I were able to undertake a composition
most difficult to me on many accounts, since in begin.




ï~~ADAM: A SACRED DRAMA.               09
naing the sacred subject from man's creation to the point
where he is driven from the terrestrial paradise, a
period of six years (as St. Augustin relates in his book
on the City of God), I did not clearly perceive, how an
action so brief, could be formed into five acts, especially allowing to every act the number of at least six
or seven scenes,-difficult from the dispute that the devil
maintained with Eve, first that he might induce her to
eat the apple, since we have only the text that mentions
it, in saying ' nequaquam moriemini, et eritis sicut Dii
scientes bonum et mrnalum,'-difficult from the words
of Eve in persuading Adam (who had indeed the gift
of knowledge infused) to taste the appe;-but difficult
above all, from my own infirmity, since the composition
must remain deprived of those poetic ornaments, so
dear to the muses: deprived of the power to draw
comparisons from implements of art introduced in the
course of years, since in the time of the first man there
was no such thing: deprived also of naming (at least
while Adam speaks, or discourse is held with him), for
example, bows, arrows, hatchets, urns, knives, swords,
spears, trumpets, drums, trophies, banners, lists, hammers, torches, bellows, funeral piles, theatres, exchequers,
infinite things of a like nature, introduced by the ne.
cessities of sin; and yet, as circumstances of affliction
and punishment, they ought not to pass through the
mind or through the lips of Adam, although he had
knowledge infused into him, as one who lived most
happy in a state of innocence: deprived moreover of
introducing points of history sacred or profane, of relating fictions of fabulous deities, of rehearsing loves,
furies, sports of hunting or fishing, triumphs, shipwrecks,
conflagrations, enchantments, and things of a like nature,
that are in truth the ornament and the soul of poetry:
difficult from not knowing in what style Adam ought
to speak, since in respect to his knowledge it might be
proper to assign to him verses of a high majestic and
flowing style; but considering him as a shepherd and
inhabitant of the woods, it appears that he should be
simple and sweet in his discourse, and I endeavoured
on that account to render it such, as much as I could,
by variety of versification. And here taking courage in
my greatest doubt, I formed, I know not how, a begin
ning; I advanced, if I may say so, without any deter
mined plan; and arrived at the end before I was aware.
VN hence I am inclined to believe that the favour of
God, regarding rather my good intention than my defects (for as he often withdraws the heart of man from
evil, so he conducts it insensibly to good), gave direction
727




ï~~S10                  ADAM:
to my hand, and completed my work. Wherefore to
that alone I am indebted for the little grace that may
perhaps be found in the present labour; knowing, that as
Omnipotence is accustomed to produce wonders from the
rude and 'unformed chaos, so, from the still ruder chaos
of my mind, it may have called forth this production, if
not for any other purpose, yet to be sacred, and to make
as it were a mute speak in my person, in despite of
poverty of genius, as on the other hand it is accustomed
to strike mute the most eloquent tongues when they employ themselves on subjects low and profane. Let it be
surveyed, thergfore, with an eye of indulgence, and
blame not the poverty of style, the want of dignity in
the conduct of the circumstances, sterility of conceits,
weakness of spirit, insipid jokes, and extravagant episodes, to mention (without speaking of an infinitude of
other things) that the world, the flesh, and the devil,
present themselves in human shapes to tempt Adam,
since there was then in the universe no other man or
woman, and the serpent discovered himself to Eve with
a human similitude; moreover this is done, that the
subject may be comprehended by the understanding
through the medium of the senses: since the great
temptations that Adam and Eve at once sustained, were
indeed in the interior of their own mind, but could not
be so comprehended by the spectator; nor is it to be
believed that the serpent held a long dispute with Eve,
since he tempted her rather by a suggestion to her
mind than by the conference, saying these words,' nequaquam moriemini, et eritissieut Dii scientes bonum
et maltem,' and yet it will be necessary, in order to express those internal contentions, to find some expedient
to give them an outward representation. But, if it is
permitted to the painter, who is a dumb poet, to express
by colours God the Father under the person of a man silvered by age, and to describe under the image of a white
dove the purity of the Spirit, and to figure the divine
messengers, or angels, in the shape of winged youths;
why is it not permitted to the poet, who is a speaking
painter, to represent in his theatrical production another
man and another woman besides Adam and Eve, and to
represent their internel conflicts through the medium of
images and voices entirely human? not to mention that
it appears more allowable to introduce in this work thd
devil under a human shape, than it is to introduce into it
the Eternal Father, and even an angel; and if this is permitted, and seen every day exhibited in sacred represen.
tations, why should it not be allowed in the present, where,
if the greater evil is allowable, surely the lesser should




ï~~A SACRED) DRAMA.               311
be allowed? Attend therefore, gentle reader, more to the
substance than to the accident, considering in the work
the great end of introducing into the theatre of the soul
the misery and lamentation of Adam, to make your
heart a spectator of them, in order to raise it from
these dregs of earth, to the magnificence 'f heaven,
through tl.e medium of virtue and the assistance ofGod;
by whom may you be blessed!
THE CHARACTERS.
Choru  of Seraphim, Cherubim, and Angel.,.
The ARCHANGEL MICIHAEL.
ADAM.
EV.
A Cherub, the Guardian of Adam.
LUOIFER.
SATAN.
BEELZEBUB.
Seven MORTAL SIRs.
The WORLD.
The FLESH.
FAMINE.
LABOUR.
DESPAIR.
DEATH.
VAIN GLORY.
The SERPENT.
VOLANO, an Tnfernal Meue8 ger.
A Chorus of Phantoms.
A Chorus of Fiery, Airy, Aquatic, and infeausal
Spirits.




ï~~t

ADAM.
CHORUS OF ANGELS
SINGING THE GLORY OP GOD.
To heaven's bright lyre let Iris be the bow.
Adapt the spheres for chords, for notes the stafts
Let new-born gales discriminate the bars,
Nor let old tinle to meiasure times be slow.
Hence to new music of the eternal lyre
Add richer harmony and praise to praise
For him who now his wondrous might displays~
And shows the universe its awful Sire.
O Thou who, ere the world or heaven was made,
Didst in thyself, that world, that heaven enjoy,
How does thy bounty all its powers employ;
What inexpressive good hast thou display'd!
O Thou of sovereign love almighty source,
Who know'st to make thy works thy love express
Let pure devotion's fire the soul possess,
And give the heart and hand a kindred farce.
Then shalt thou hear how, when the world began,
Thy life-producing voice gave myriads birth,
Call'd forth from nothing all in heaven and earth,
Bless'd in thy light as eagles in the sun.
ACT I.
SCENE THE FIRST.
GOD THE FATHER-CHORUS OF ANGELS.
RAISE from this dark abyss thy horrid visage,
O Lucifer! aggrieved by light so potent,
Shrink from the blaze of these refulgent planss,
And pant beneath the rays of no fierce un;
Read in the sacred volumes of the sky,
The mighty wonders of a hand divine.
Behold, thou frantic rebel,
How ea~y is the task,
To the great Sire of Worlds,
To raise his empyrean seat sublime:




ï~~ADAM: A SACRED DRAMA.             318
Lifting humility
Thither whence p:ide hath fallen.
From thence with oitter grief,
Inhabitant of fire, and mole of darkness,
Let the perverse behold,
Despairing his escape and my compassion,
His own perdition in another's good,
And heaven, now closed to him, to others open'd;.
And, sighing from the bottom of his heart,
Let him in homage to my power exclaim,
Ah, this creative Sire,
(Wretch as I am!) I see,
Hath need of nothing but himself alone
To re-establish all.
THE SERAPHIM SIN6.
O scene worth heavenly musing,
With sun and moon their glorious light diflst-;
Where to angelic voices,
Sphere circling sphere rejoices,
How dost thou rise, exciting
Man to fond contemplation
Of his benign creation!
THE CHERUBIM SING.
The volume of the stars
The sovereign Author plann'd,
Inscribing it with his eternal hand,
And his benignant aim
Their beams in lucid characters proclaim;
And man in these delighting,
Feels their bright beams inviting,
And seems, though prison'd in these mortal bars,
Walking on earth, to mingle with the stars.
GOD THE FATHER
Angels, desert your heaven! with you to earth
That Power descends, whom heaven accompanies;
Let each spectator of these works sublime
Behold, with meek devotion,
Earth into flesh transform'd, and clay to man,
Man to a sovereign lord,
And souls to Seraphim.
THE SERAPHIM SING.
Now let us cleave the sky with wings of gold;
The world be paradise,
Since to its fruitful breast
Now the great Sovereign of our quire descemdsj
Now let us cleave the sky with wings of gold;
P
731




ï~~814                ADAM:
Strew yourselves flowers beneath the step divine,
Ye rivals of the stars!
Summon'd from every sphere,
Ye gems of heaven, heaven's radiant wealth appear;
Now let us cleave the sky with wings of gold!
GOD THE FATHER.
Behold, ye springing herbs and new-born flowers,
The step that used to press the stars alone
And the sun's spacious road,
This day begins, along the sylvan scene,
To leave its grand impression:
To low materials now I stretch my han
To form a work sublime.
THE ANGELS SING.
Lament, lament in anguish,
Angel to God rebellious!
See, on a sudden rise
The creature doom'd to fill thy radiant seat!
Foolish thy pride took fire
Contemplating thy birth;
But he o'er pridg shall t-;rinph,
Acknowledging he spru: from humble dust
From hence he shall ac,e
As much as thou hast l( t;
Since the Supreme Inbalitant of heaven
Receives the humble and dethrones the proud.
GOD THE FATHER.
Adam, arise, since I to thee impart
A spirit warm from my benignant breath;
Arise, arise, first man,
And joyous let the world
Embrace its living miniature in thee!
ADAM. O marvels new, 0 hallow'd, 0 diviam
Eternal object of the angel host:
Why do I not possess tongues numerous
As now the stars in heaven?
Now then, before
A thing of earth so mean,
See I the great Artificer divine?
Mighty Ruler supernal,
If 'tis denied this tongue
To match my obligation with my thanks,
Behold my heart's affection,
And hear it speaking clearer than my tongue,
And to thee bending lower
Than this my humble knee.
Now, now, O Lord, in ecstacy devout,




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.
Let my mind mount, and passing all the clouds,
Passing each sphere, even up to heaven ascend,
And there behold the stars, a seat for man!
Tnou Lord, who all the fire of genuine love
Gonvertest to thyself,
Transform me into thee, that I a part
Even of thyself, may thus acquire the power
To offer praises not unworthy thee.
THE ANGELS SING.
To smile in paradise,
Great demi-god of earth, direct thy step;
There, like the tuneful spheres,
Circle the murmuring rills
Of limpid water bright;
There the melodious birds
Rival angelic quires;
There lovely flowers profuse
Appear as vivid stars;
The snowy rose is there
A silver moon, the heliotrope a sun:
What more can be desired,
By earth's new lord in fair corporeal vest,
Than in the midst of earth to find a heaven P
ADAM. 0 ye harmonious birds!
Bright scene of lovely flowers!
But what delightful slumber
Falls on my closing eyes?
I lay me down, adieu
Unclouded light of day, sweet air adieu!
GOD THE FATHER.
Adam, behold I come,
Son dear to me, thou son
Of an indulgent sire;
Behold the hand that never works in vain:
Behold the hand that join'd the elements,
That added heaven to heavens,
That fill'd the stars with light,
Gave lustre to the moon,
Prescribed the sun his course,
And now supports the world,
And forms a solid stage for thy firm step.
Now sleeping, Adam, from thy open'd side
The substance I will take,
That shall have woman's name, and lovely foM
THE ANGELS SING.
Immortal works of an immortal Makert
Ye high and blessod seats
733




ï~~i

816                ADAM:
Of this delightful world,
Ye starry seats of heaven,
Trophies divine, productions pre-ordain'd:
O power! O energy!
Which out of shadowy horror form'd the sun!
EvE. What heavenly melody pervades my heart,
Ere yet the sound my ear! inviting me
To gaze on wonders, what 'do I beholi,
What transformations new;
Is earth become the heaven?
Do I behold His light
Whose splendour dazzles the meridian sun?
Am I the creature of that plastic hand,
Who form'd of nought the angels and the heavens P
Thou sovereign Lord! whom lowly I adore,
A love so tender penetrates my heart,
That while my tongue ventures on utterance,
The words with difficulty
Find passage from my lips;
For in a tide of tears
(That sighs have caused to flow) they seem absorb'd.
Thou pure celestial love
Of the benignant power,
Who pleased to manifest on earth his glory,
Now to this world descends,
To draw from abject clay
The governor of all created things:
Lord of the hallow'd and conceal'd affection,
Thou in whom love glows with such fervent flame,
Inspirit even my tongue
With suitable reply, that these dear vales
And sylvan scenes may hear
Thanks, that to thee I should devote, my $tre;
But if my tongue be mute, speak thou, my heart.
GOD THE FATHER.
Adam, awake! and cease
To meditate in rapturous trance profound
Things holy and abstruse,
And the deep secrets of the Trinal Lord.
A,~M. Where am I? where have I been? what
Of triple influence that dims the day    [Sun
Now from my eye withdraws, where is he vanish'd?
O hallow'd miracles
Of this imperial seat,
Of these resplendent suns,
Which, though divided, form
A single ray of light immeasurable,
Embellishing all heaven,
And giving grace and lustre

734




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               $17
To every winged Seraph!
Divine mysterious light,
Flowing from sovereign Good,
To him alone thou art known,
Who mounts to thee an eagle in his faith.
What rose of snowy hue and sacred form,
In these celestial bowers,
Wet with empyreal dews, have I beheld
Opening its bosom to the suns! or rather
One of these suns making the rose its heaven
And in a moment's space,
(O marvels most sublime!)
With deluges of light,
And in a lily's form,
Rise from that lovely virgin bosom blest!
Can suns be lilies then,
And lilies children of the maiden rose?
GOD THE FATHER.
The heavens too lofty, and too low the world;
Suffice it that in vain
Man's humble intellect
Attempts to sound the depth of deeds divine;
Press in the foid embraces of thy heart
The consort of thy bosom,
And let her name be Eve.
ADAM. O my beloved companion,
Support of my existence,
My glory and my power,
Flesh of my flesh, and of my bone the bone,
Behold I clasp thy bosom
In plenitude of pure and hallow'd love.
GOD THE FATHER.
I leave you now, my children; rest in peace,
Receive my blessing, and so fruitful prove
That for your offspring earth may scarce suffice1
Man, be thou lord of all that now the sun
Warrps or the ocean laves; impose a name
On every thing that flies, or runs, or swims.
Now through the ear descending to your soul
Receive the immutable decree; hear, Adam,
Let thy companion hear, and in your hearts,
Made the abode of love,
Cherish the mighty world!
Of fruits whatever from a spreading branch
Each copious tree may offer to your hando,
Of dainty viands whatsoe'er abound,
In this delightful garden,
This paradise of flowers




ï~~is_               ADAM:
The gay delight of man,
The treasure of the earth,
The wonder of the world, the work of God,
These, O my son, these thou art free to taste
But of the tree comprising good and evil,
Under the pain of dying
To him who knows not death,
Be now the fruit forbidden!
I leave ye now, and through my airy road,
Departing from the world; return to heaven.
THE SERAPHIM SING.
Let every airy cloud on earth descend,
And luminous and light
Repose with God upon this glowing sphere!
Then let the stars descend;,
Descend the moon and sun,
Forming bright steps to the empyreal world,
And each rejoice that-the supreme Creator
Has deign'd to visit what his hand produced.
ADAM. O scene of splendour, viewing which I u
The glories of my God in lovelier light,
How through my eyes do you console my heart!
See, at a single nod of our great Sire
(Dear partner of my life),
Fire bursting forth with elemental power!
The sea, heaven, earth, their properties assume,
And air grows air, although there were before
Nor fire, nor heaven, nor air, nor earth, nor sea.
Behold the azure sky, in which ofttimes
The lovely glittering star
Shall wake the dawn, attired in heavenly light,
The herald of the morn,
To spread the boundless lustre of the day;
Then shall the radiant sun,
To gladden all the world,
Diffuse abroad his energy of light;
And when his eye is weary of the earth,
The pure and silvery moon
And tne minuter stars
Shall form the pomp of night.
Behold where fire o'er every element,
Lucid and light, assumes its lofty seat.
Behold the simple field of spotless.ir
Made the support of variegated birds,.
That with their tuneful notes
Guide the delightful hours!
See the great bosom of the fertile earth
With flowers embellish'd and with fruits maturel
See on her verdant brow she seems to beTr




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               819
Hills as her crown, and as her sceptre trees
Behold the ocean's fair cerulean plain,
That 'midst its humid sands and vales profound,
And 'midst its silent and its scaly tribes,
Rolls over buried gold and precious pearl,
And crimson coral raising to the sky
Its wavy head, with herbs and amber crown'd!
Stupendous all proclaim
Their Maker's power and glory.
EvE. All manifest thy might,
O Architect divine!
ADAM. Dear partner, let us go
Where to invite our step
God's other wonders shine, a countless tribe.
SCENE THE SECOND.
LUCIFER. Who from my dark abyss
Calls me to gaze on this excess of light?
What ihiracles unseen
Show'st thou to me, 0 God?
Art thou then tired of residence in heaven?
Why hast thou form'd on earth
This lovely paradise?
And wherefore place in it
Two earthly demi-gods of human mould?
Say thou vile Architect,
Forming thy work of dust,
What will befall this naked helpless man,
The sole inhabitant of glens and woods?
Does he then dream of treading on the stars
Heaven is impoverish'd, and I, alone
The cause, enjoy the ruin I produced.
Let him unite above
Star upon star, moon, sun,
And let his Godhead toil
To re-adorn and re.illume his heaven!
Since in the end derision
Shall prove his works, and all his efforts, vain:
For Lucifer alone was that full light
Which scatter'd radiance o'er the plains of heaven
But these his present fires are shade and smoke,
Base counterfeits of my more potent beams.
I reck not what he means to make his heaven,
Nor care I what his creature man may be.
Too obstinate and firm
Is my undaunted thought,
In proving that I am implacable
'Gainst heaven,'gainst man, the angels,and their God

737




ï~~8O

ADAM:

SCENE THE THIRD.
SATAN, BEELZEBUB, arnd LUCIFER.
SATAN. To light, to light raise the embattled brow94
A symbol of the firm and generous heart
That ardent dwells in the unconquer'd breast!
Must we then suffer such excessive wrong?
And shall we not with hands, thus talon.arm'd,
Tear out the stars from their celestial seat;
And, as our sign of conquest,
Down in our dark abyss
Shall we not force the sun and moon to blaze,
Since we are those, who in dread feats of arms
Warring amongst the stars,
Made the bright face of heaven turn pale with fear?
To arms! to arms! redoubted Beelzebub!
Ere yet 'tis heard around,
To our great wrong and memorable shame,
That by the race of man (mean child of clay)
The stars expect a new sublimity.
BEELZEBUB. I burn with such fierce flame,
Such stormy venom deluges my soul,
That with intestine rage                 [ning,
My groans like thunder sound, my looks are light.
And my extorted tears are fiery showers!
'Tis needful therefore from my brow to shake
The hissing serpents that o'ershade my visage,
To gaze upon these mighty works of heaven,
And the new demi-gods.
Silent be he, who thinks
(Now that this man is form'd)
To imitate his voice and thus exclaim,
Distressful Satan, ye unhappy spirits,
How wretched is your lot, from being first,
Fallen and degenerate. lost as ye are,
Heaven was your station once, your seat the stars,
And your great Maker God!
'Now abject wretches, having lost for ever,
Eternal morn and each celestial light,
Heaven calls you now the denizens of woe.
Instead of moving in the solar road,
You press the plains of everlasting night;
And for your golden tresses
And looks angelical,
Your locks are snaky, and your glance malign,
Your burning lips a murky vapour breathe,
And every tongue now teems with blasphemy;
And all blaspheming raise
A cloud a.'rpbureous of foam and fire;
738




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               321
Arm'd with the eagle's talon, feet of goat,
And dragon's wing. your residence in fire,
Profoundest Tartarus unblest and dark,
The theatre of anguish,
That shuts itself against the beams of day!
Since the dread angel, born to brook no law,
To desolate the sky,
And raise the powers of nell,
Ought to breathe sanguine fire, and on his brow
Display the ensign of sublimest horror.  Cbeak,
SATAN. Though arm'd with talons keen, and eagle
Snaky our tresses, and our aspect fierce,
Cloven our feet, our frames with horror plumed,
And though our deep abode
Be fix'd in shadowy scenes of darkest night,
Let us be angels still in dignity;
As far surpassing others as the Lord
Of highest power, his low and humble slaves.
If far from heaven our pennons we expand,
Let us remember still
That we alone are lords, and they are slaves,
4nd that resigning meaner seats in heaven,
We in their stead have raised a royal throne
Immense and massy, where the mighty chief
Of all our legions higher lifts his brow
Than the proud mountain that upholds your heaven;
And there with heaven still waging endless war,
Threatening the stars, our adversaries ever,
Bears a dread sceptre kindling into flame,
That, while he wheels it round, darts forth a biaze
More dazzling than the sun's meridian ray.
LUctFtR 'Tis time to show my power, my brave
compeers,
Magnanimous and mighty;
Angels endow'd with martial potency,
I know the grief that gives you living death,
Is to see man exalted
To stations so sublime,
That all created things to him submit;
S nce ye already doubt,
That to those lofty seats of flaming glory
(Our treasure once and pride, but now renounced)
This pair shall one day rise,
With all the numerous train
Of their posterity.
SATAN. Great Lord of the infernal deep abyss,
To thee I bow, and speak
Thle anguish of my soul,
That for this man grows hourly more severe,
Fearlng the Incarnation of the Word.
PY2
739




ï~~22                 ADAM:
LUCIFER. Can it be true, that from so litte dust
A deity shall rise!
That flesh, that deity, that lofty power,,
That chains us to the deep?
To this vile clod of earth,
He who himself yet claims to be adored?
Shall angels then do homage thus to men?
And can then flesh impure
Give to angelic nature higher powers?
Can it. be true, and to devise the mode
Escape our intellect, ours who so dear
Have bought the boast of wisdom?
I yet am He, I am,
Who would not suffer, that above in heaven,
Your lofty nature should submit to outrage,
When that insensate wish
Possess'd the tyrant of the starry throne,
That you should prostrate fall,
Before the Incarnate Word:
I am that Spirit, I, who for your sake
Collecting dauntless courage, to the north
Led you far distant from the senseless will
Of him who boasts to have created heaven.
And ye are those, your ardour speaks you well,
And your bold hearts, that o'er the host of heaven
Gave me assurance of proud victory.
Arise! let glory's flame
Blaze in your breast; nor be it ever heard,
That him whom ye disdain
To worship in the sky,
Ye stoop to worship in the depth of hell!
Such were your oaths to me,
By your inestimable worth in arms,
Your worth, alas, so great
That heaven itself deserved not to enjoy it.
Oh, 'twere an outrage and a shame too great
Were we not ready to revenge it all!
I see already, flaming in your looks,
The matchless valour of your ardent hearts;
Already see your pinions spread in air,
To overwhelm the world and highest heaven,
That, all creation sunk in the abyss,
This mortal may be found
Instantly crush'd, and buriedin his birth..
SATAN. At length pronounce thy orders!
Say what thou wilt, and with a hundred tongues
Speak, speak! that instant in a hundred works
Satan may toil, and hellstrain all her powers. [way
LucIFER. Behold, to smooth the rough and arduous
By which they deem'd they may ascend to glory,
740




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               $23
Behold a God assumes
A human form in vain!
A mode too prompt and easy,
To crush the race of mortals,
The ancient God affords to new.born man.
Nature herself too much inclines, or rathelif
Forces this creature, to support his life,
Frequent to feed on various viands; hence,
Since on delicious dainties
His bitter fall depends,
He may be tempted now to fruit forbidden,
And by the paths of death,
As he was nothing once, return to nothing.
BEELZEBUB. Great Angel! greatly thought!
LucIrFER. Rather the noble spirit
Of higher towering thought prompts me to speak,
That God perchance indignant that his hands
Have stoop'd to stain themselves in abject clay,
Seeing how different angel is from man,
Repenting of his work,
Forbad him to support his frail existence
Upon this sweet allurement; hence to sin
Prompted by natural motives, though tyrannic,
He should himself the earth's destroyer prove,
Converting his vile clay to dust again;
And plucking up again
The rooted world, thus to the highest heaven
Open a faithful passage,
Repenting of his wrong to us of old
Its ornament3 sublime!
SATAN. Pardon, O pardon, if my humble thought,
Aspiring by my tongue
Too high, perhaps offend your sovereign ear!
Long as this man shall rest
Alive, and breathe on earth,
Exhausted we must bear
Fierce war, in endless terror of the Word.
LUCIFER. Man yet shall rest alive, he yet shall
breathe,
And sinning even to death,
This new-made race of mortals
Shall cover all the earth,
And reign o'er all its creatures;
His soul shall prove eternal,
The image of his God.
Yet shall the Incarnate Word, I trust, be foil'd.
BEELZEBUB. Oh! precious tidings to angelic ears,
That heal the wounds of all our shattered host.
LUCIFER. Let man exist to sin, since he by sinning
Shall make the weight of sin his heritage,
741




ï~~824                ADAM:
Which shall be in his race
Proclaim'd original;
So that mankind existing butto sin,
And sinning still to d(ath,
And still to error born,
In evil hour the Word
Will wear the sinner's form, if rightly deem'd
The enemy of sin.
Now rise, ye Spirits, from the dark abyss,
You who would rest assured
That man the sinner is now doomin'd to death.
SCENE THE FOURTH.
MBLRCANO, LURCONE, LUCIFER, SATAN, BEELZELUj.
MELECANO. Command us, mighty Lord; what aer
thy wishes?
Wouldst thou extinguii the new-risen sun?
Behold what stores I bring
Of.darkness and of fire!
Alas! with fury Melecano burns.
LvacoNn. Behold Lurcone, thou supreme of hell,
Who 'gainst the highest heaven
Pants to direct his rage, whence light of limb,
Though loaded deep with wrath,
He stands with threatening aspect in thy presence.
LucIFER. Thou, Melecan, assume the name of
Pride;
Lurcone, thou of Envy, both united
(Since power combined with power
Acquires new force) to man direct your way:
Nor him alone essay; it is my will
That woman also mourn;
Contrive that she may murmur at her God,
Because in birth not prior to the man;
Since every future man is now ordain'd
To draw his life from woman, with such thoughts
Let her wax envious, that she cannot soar
Above the maS, as high as now below him.
Hence, Lurcon, be it thine to make her proud;
Let her give law to her Creator God,
Wishing o'er man priority of birth.     fnes,
MELECANO. Behold, where Melecan, a dog in fierce.
The savage dog of hell,
Darts growling to his prey!
He flies, and he returns
All cover'd and -ail dreach'd with human gore.
742




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               325
LURCONE. I rapid too depart,
And, on a swifter wing
Than through the cloudless air
Darts the keen eagle to his earthly prey.
Behold, I too return;
My beak with carnage fill'd, and talons full.
LUCIFER. Haste, Arfarat and Ruspican, rise all,
Rise from the centre to survey the earth!
SCENE THE FIFTH.
RUsaPICAN, ARFARAT, LUCIFER, SATAN, BEELZEBUB,
RT SPICAN Soon as I heard the name of Ruspican,
Wit, rapid pinions spread, I sought the skies,
To bend before the great Tartarean chief,
An.i aggravate the woes
Of this new mortal, blest with air and light.
ARFARAT. Scarce had thy mighty voice
Re-echoed through the deep,
When the Tartarean fires
Flying I left for this serener sky,
Forth from my lips, and heart,
Breathing fierce rancour 'gainst the life of man.
LUCIFER. Fly, Ruspican, with all your force and
fury!
Since'now I call thee by the name of Anger;
Find Eve, and tell her that the fair endowment
Of her free will, deserves-not she should live
In vassalage to man;
That she alone in value far exceeds
All that the sun in his bright circle warms;
That she from flesh, man from the meaner dust,
Arose to life-in the fair garden she
Created pure, he in the baser field.
RUSPICAN. I joy to change the name of Ruspican
For Anger, nark and deadly:
Hence now, oy my tremendous aid, destructive
And deadly be this day!
Behold I go with all my force and fury;
Behold I now transfuse
My anger all into the breast of womoan!
LUCIFEsR. Of Avarice I give,
O Arfarat, to thee the name and works;
Go, see, contend, and conquer!
Contrive that wandering Eve,
With down.cast eyes, may in the fruitful gardea
Search with solicitude for hidden treasure:
Then stimulate her heart
743




ï~~326                ADAM:
To wish no other Lord,
Except herself, of Eden and the world.
ARFARAT. See me already plumed
With wings of gems and gold;
See with an eye of sapphire
I gaze upon the fair;
Behold, to her I speak,
With lips that emulate the ruby's lustre.
Receive now as thy own
(Thus I accost her) all the world's vast wealtht
If she reject my gift,
Then will I tempt her with a shower of pearls,
A fashion yet unknown;
Thus will she melt, and thus I hope at last
In chains of gold to drag her to destruction.
LUCIFER. Rise Guliar, Dulciato, and Maltia!
To make the band of enemies complete,
That, like a deadly hydra,
Shall dart against this man
Your seven crests portentous and terrific.
SCENE THE SIXTH.
MALTIA, DULCIATO, GULIAR, LUCIFER, SATAN,
BEELZEBUB.
BEHOLD! we come with emulation fierce
To your severe command:
In prompt obedience let us rise to heaven;
Let us with wrath assail
This human enemy of abject clay.
LucIFER. Maltia, thou shalt take the name of Sloth:
Sudden invest thyself with drowsy charms
And mischievous repose;
Now wait on Eve, in slothfulness absorb'd,
Let all this pomp of flowers,
And all these tuneful birds,
Be held by her in scorn;
And from her consort flying,
Now let her feel no wishes but for death.
MALTIA. What shall I say? shall I, to others mute,
Announce to thee my sanguinary works;
Savage and silent, I
Would be loquacious in my deeds alone.
LUCYPER. Thee, Dulciato, we name Luxury;
Haste thou to Eve, and fill her with desires
To decorate her fragile form with flowers,
To bind her tresses with a golden fillet,
144




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA:               =7
With various vain devices to allure
A new-found paramour;
And to her heart suggest,
That to exchange her love may prove delightitfuL
DULCIATO. Can Lord so mighty, from his humble
slave
Demand no higher task P
The way to purchase honour
Now will I teach all hell,
By the completion of my glorious triumph.
Already Evebeside a-crystal fount
Exults to vanquish the vermilion rose
With cheeks of sweeter bloom,
And to exceed the lily
By her yet whiter bosom;
Now heauteous threads of gold
She thriks her tresses floating in the air;
Now amorous and charming
Her radiant eyes she reckons suns of love,
Fit to inflame the very coldest heart.
LUCIFER. Guliar,%e thou call'd Gluttony; now go,
Reveal to Eve that the forbidden fruit
Is manna all within,
And that such food in heaven
Forms the repast of angels and of God.
GULIAR. Of all the powerful foes
Leagued against man, Guliar is only he
Who can induce him to oppose his Maker;
Hence rapidly I fly
To work the woe of mortals.
SATAN. To arms, to arms! to ruin and to blood!
Yes, now to blood, infernal leeches all!
Again, again proclaiming war to heaven;
And let us put to flight
Every audacious foe
That ventures to disturb our ancient peace.
BEELZEBUB. Now, now, great chief, with feet
That testify thy triumph,
I see thee crush the sun,
The moon, and all the stars;
Fof where thy radiance shines,
O Lucifer! all other beams are blind.
LUCIFER. Away. Heaven shudders at the mighty
ruin
That threatens it from our infernal host;
Already I behold the moon opaque,
And light-supplying sun,
The wandering stars, and fix'd,
With ten or pale, and sinking in eclipme.




ï~~$g                 ADAM:
ACT II.
SCENE THE FIRST.
CHORUS OF ANGELS SINGIN&
Now let us garlands weave
Of all the fairest flowers,
Now at this early dawn,
For new-made man, and his companion deatr
Let all with festive joy,
And with melodious song,
Of the great Architect
Applaud this noblest work,
And speak the joyous sound,
Man is the wonder both of earth and heaven.
FIRST ANGEL.
Your warbling now suspend,
You pure angelic progeny of God,
Behold the labour emulous of heaven r
Behold the woody scene
Deck'd with a thousand flowers of grace divine,
Here man resides, here ought he to enjoy
In his fair mate eternity of bliss.
SECOND ANGEL.
How exquisitely sweet
This rich display of flowers,
This airy wild of fragrance,
So lovely to the eye,
And to the sense so sweet.
THIRD ANGEL.
O the sublime Creator,
How marvellous his works, and more his powert
Such is the sacred flame
Of his celestial love,
Not able to confine it in himself,
He breathed as fruitful sparks
From his creative breast,.
The angels, heaven, man, woman, and the worldK
FOURTH ANGEL.
Yes, mighty Lord! yes, hallow'd Love divine
Who, ever in thyself completely blest,
Unconscious of a want,
Who from thyself alone, and at thy wilL
BJight with benignant flames,
Withour the aid of matter or of form,
741




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.              32g
By efficacious power
Hatt of mere nothing form'd
The whole angelic host;
With potency endow'd,
And that momentous gift,
Either by sin to fail,
Or by volition stand.
FIFTH ANGEL.
Hence, our Almighty Maker,
To render us more worthy of his heaven,
And to confirm us in eternal grace,
Presented to our homage
The pure Incarnate Word;
That as a recompense for hallow'd toil
So worthily achieved,
We might adore him humble;
For there's a writteri law
In the records of heaven,
That not a work of God that breathes and lives,
And is endow'd with reason,
Shall hold a seat in heaven,
If it incline not first, with holy zeal,
In tender adoration to the Word.
SIXTH ANGEL.
Justly each spirit in the realms above,
And all of mortal race,
And every foe to heaven,
Should bow the knee in reverence of the Word;
Since this is he whom from eternity
God in the awful depth
Of his sublime and fruitful mind produced;
He is not accident, but substance true,
As rare as perfect, and as truly great
As his high Author holy and divine.
SEVENTH ANGEL.
This living Word, image express of God,
Is a resemblance of his mighty substance;
Whence he is call'd the Son, the Son of God,
Even as the Father, Ged;
The generated Word
By generatioil yields not unto time,
Since from eternity the eternal Father
Produced this Son, whence he rejoices there,
Great offspring of great Father there for ever
For ever he is born;
There he is fed, and foster'd
With plenitude of grace
Imparted by his Sire:
747




ï~~830                ADAM:
There was the Father ever, and the Son
Was ever at his side, or in the Father;
Nor younger is the Son
Than his Almighty Sire,
Nor elder is the Father
Than his eternal Son.
EIGHTH ANGEL.
O Son, O Sire, O God, O Man, 0 Word,
Let all, with bended knee,
With humble adoration reverence you!
NINTH ANGEL.
O Lucifer, now doom'd to. endless pain,
Hadst thou been join'd with us
In worship of the Word,
How hadst thou now been blessed in thy God!
But thou in pride alone, yes, thou alone
In thy great wisdom foolish,
Hast scorn'd the Paragon,
And would'st not reverence the Incarnate God;
Whence by thy folly thou hast fallen as far
As thy proud soul expected to ascend.
TENTH ANGEL.
Monster of fierceness, dwell
t*In thy obscure recess;
And for thy weighty crime
Incessant feel and infinite thy pain,
For infinite has been thy vast offence.
ELEVENTH ANGEL.
Reside for ever in the deep abyss;
For well the world's eternal Master knows
Again to fill those high celestial seats,
That by your ruin you have vacant left;
Behold man fashion'd from the earth, who liver,
Like plants that vegetate;
See in a moment's space
How the pure breath of life,
Breathed on his visage by the power divine,
Endows the wondrous creature with a soul,
A pure immortal soul,
That graced, and lovely with exalted powers,
Shnes the great faithful image of its God.
Behold, it has the gift to merit highly,
The option to deserve or heaven or hell,
In free-will perfect, as the first of angels.
TWELFTH ANGEL.
Yes, man alone was form'd in just derision
Of all the infernal host,
748




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.                g
As lord of this frail world and all that lives.
The ornament of all,
The miracle of nature,
The perfect heir of heaven,
Related to the angels,
Adopted son of God,
And semblance of the Holy Trinity; -
What could'st thou hope for more, what more attal,
Creature miraculous.
In whom twe eternal Lord
Has now vouchsafed to signalize his power 2
THIRTEENTH ANGEL.
How singular and worthy is his form,
Upright in stature, meek in dignity;
Well fashion'd are his limbs, and his complexion
Well temper'd, with a high majestic brow,
A brow turn'd upward to his native sky;
In language eloquent, in thought sublime,
For contemplation of his Maker form'd.
FOURTEENTH ANGEL.
Placed in a state of innocence is man;
Primeval justice is his blessed gift;
Hence are his senses to his reason subject,
His body to his mind.
Enjoying reason as his prime endowment,
FIFTEENTH ANGEL.
Supernal love held him too highly dear,
To let him dwell alone:
And thence of lovely woman
(Fair faithful aid) bestow'd on man the gift
Adam, 'tis thine alone
To keep thy duty to thy Lord unstain'd;
In his command of the forbidden fruit,
Thy gift of freedom keep inviolate;
Since he who fashion'd thee, without thy aid,
Think not without thy aid he means to sare thee?
But since, descendipg from the heights of hea' en,
We come as kind attendants upon man,
Now let us haste to Eden's flowery banks.
ALL THE ANGELS SING.
Now take we happy flight
To Paradise, adorn'd with fairest flowers;
There let us almost worship.
The mighty lord of this transcendent world,
And joyous let us sing
This flowery heaven, and Adam as its god.
i




ï~~$32                ADAM.
SCENE THE SECOND.
ADAM. 0 mighty Lord of mighty things sublime
O my supreme Creator!
O bounteous in thy love
To me thy humble servant! such rare blessings
With liberal hand thou givest;
Where'er I turn my eyes,
I see myself revered
Approach ye animals that range the field!
And ye now close your variegated wings,
Ye pleasing birds! in me you look on Adam,
On him ordain'd to name
All things that gracious God has made for man;
And praise, with justice praise
Him who created me, who made you all,
And in his bounteous love with me rejoice.
But what do I behold? blest that I am,
My dear, my sweet companion!
Who comes to hail me with a gift of flowers,
And with these sylvan honours crown my brow.
Go, stately lion, go! and thou with scales
Impenetrable arm'd
Rhinoceros, whose pride can strike to earth
The unconquer'd elephant!
Thou fiery courser bound along the fields,
And with thy neighing shake the echoing vale;
Thou camel, and all here, or beast or bird,
Retire, in homage to approaching Eve!
EVE. 0 what delight more dear,
Than that which Adam in my sight enjoys,
Draws him far off from me? Ye tender flowers,
Where may I find on you
The traces of his step?
LuRacONE. See man and woman! hide thyself and
Swatch!
ADAM. No more fatigue my eyes,
Nor with thy animated glances dart,
Such radiant lightning round;
Turn the clear heaven of thy serener face,
To him who loves its light;
See thy beloved Adam,
Behold him, my sweet love:
O thou, who art alone
Joy of the world, and dear delight of man!
LURCONE. Dread the approach of ev il!
GuvLaR. Dread the deceit of hell!
Evs. By sovereign content
I feel my tongue enchain'd;
But though my voice be mute,
750




ï~~A SACRED Eii AM,.           333
My countenance may seem more eloquent,
Expressmg, though in silence, all my joy.
ADAM. O my companion dear!
IrscoNE. And soon perchance thy foe!
ADA M. 0 thou my sweetest life!
Grissa Perchance thy hitter death!
EvE. Take, gentle Adam, from my hand these
flowers;
With these, my gift, let me entwine thy locks.
AoAM. Ye lilies and ye shrubs of snowy hue,
Jasmine as ivory pure,
Ye spotless graces of the shining field;
And thou most lovely rose
Of tint most delicate.
Fair consort of tie morn,
DLelilnted to imbibe
The genial dew of heaven,
Rich vegetation's vermil-tinctured gentm,
April's enchanting heral,
iThou flower supremely blest,
And queen of all the flowers,
Thou form'st around my locks
A garland of such fragrance,
That up to heaven itself
Thy baimy sweets ascend.
Let us in pure embraces
So twine ourselves, my love,
That we may seem united.
One well-compact and intricate acanthus.
LIRCONE. Soon shall the fetters of infernal A
So spread around ye both
The indissoluble bond,
No mortal effort shall have power to break!
EvE. Now, that with flowers so lovely
We have adorn'd our tresses,
Here let us both with humble reverence kneel,
And praise our mighty Maker.
From this my thirsting heart
No longer can refrain.
ADAM. At thy engaging words,
And thy pure heart's desire,
On these pure herbs and flowers
I bend my willing knee in hallow'd bliss.
LUJRCONE. Away! far off must I
From at' so meekly just
Furiouo depart, and leave the light of day.
GULisA.i. I must partake thy flight,
And follow thee, alas! surcharged with grief.
ADamNT Now that these herbs and flowers to oe
Such easy rest afford,             [beat knees
751




ï~~Â~34                 ADAM:
Let us with zealous ardour raise our eyes,
Contemplating with praise our mighty Makerl
First then, devout and favour'dc Eve, do thotus
With sacred notes invite
To deeds so fair thy Adam.
Eve. My Lord Omnipotent,
I* his celestial essence
Is first, supreme, unlimited, alone,
Eternal, uncompounded,
He no beginning had, no end will have.
SADAM. My sovereign Lord, so great,
Is irresistible, terrific, just,
Gracious, benign, indulgent,
Divine, unspotted, holy, loving, good,.
In justice most revered,
Ancient of days, in his sublimest court.
Evs. He rests in highest heaven,
Yet more exalted in his boundless self;
Thence his all-searching eye looks down on all;
Nought is from him conceal'd
Since all exists in him
Without him nothing could retain existence,
Nor is there aught that he
For his perfection needs,
Except himself alone.
ADAM. He every place pervades,
But is confined in none;
In him the limits of all grandeur lie,
But he exists unlimited by space.
EvE. Above the universe, himself he raised,
Yet he behind it rests;
The whole he now encircles, now pervades.
Now dwells apart from all,
So great, the universe
To comprehend him fails.
ADAM. If he to all inclines,
In his just balance all be justly weighs;
From him if all things flow,
All things in him acknowledge their support,
But he on nothing rests.
Eva. To time my great director is not subject;,
For time in him sees no vicissitude:
In awful and sublime eternity
One being stands for ever;
For ever stands one instant,
And hence this power assumes the name of Go d
ADAM. It is indeed a truth,
That my eternal mighty Lord is God j
This deity incomprehensible
Th,, ere the heaven was mada,
13




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               am
Dwelt only in himself, and heaven in him.
Eve, let us joyous rise; in other scenes,
With admiration of celestial splendour
And of this lovely world,
With notes of hallow'd bliss
Let us again make the glad air resound.
Eve. Lead on, my faithful guide;
Quick is my willing foot to follow thee,
Since my fond soul believes
That I in praising heaven to heaven ascend;
So my pure bosom feels
Full of divine content.
ADAM. To speak on every theme
Our mighty Maker made thee eloquent,
So that in praising heaven thou seemest there.
My fair associate! treasure of my life I
Upon the wings of this exalted praise
Devotion soars so high, that if her feet
Rest on the earth, her spirit reaches heaven.
SCENE THE THIRD.
The SERPENr, SATAN, SPIRITs.
SERPENT. To arms, to battle, O ye sons of powesrt
Ye warring spirits of the infernal field!
A new and wondrous war
Awaits you now, within the lists of earth;
Most strange indeed the mode
Of warring there, if triumph, war's great end,
Proves its beginning now
Behold the sun himself turn pale with terror,
Behold the day obscured!
Behold each.rapid bird directs his flight
Where thickest foliage spreads,
But shelter geeks in vain;
The leaves of every bough,
As with a palsy struck,
Affright him more, and urge his wings to flight.
I would not as a warrior take the field
Against the demi-goddess girt with angels
Since she has now been used
To gaze on spirits tender and benign,
Not su-h as I, of semblance rough and fierce,
For battles born to subjugate the sky.
In humanu form I would not
Defy her to a great important conflict,
The world she knows contains one only man.
1W3

r.  r                r w.rrrrrrr..r                +rr                rrrrrrrrr  rrrrr....rr




ï~~r                                                                                                                                       -

336                ADAM:
Nor would I of the tiger
Or the imperious lion
Or other amnimal assume the shape;
For well she knows they could not reason with her,
Who are of reason void.
To make her knowledge vain,
That I exist to the eternal Maker
A source of endless fear,
Wrapt in the painted serpent's scaly folds,
Part of myself I hide, giving the rest
A human semblmnce and a damsel's face.
Gi eat things I tell thee, and behold I see
My adversary prompt to parley with me.
Of novelty to hear
How eager woman is!
Now, now I lose my tongue,
And shall entangle her in many a snare.
St raN. But what discordant sound
Rises from hell, where all was lately concord?
Why do hoarse trumpets bellow through the deep P
SCENE THE FOURTH.
VOLAN, the SERPENT, SPIRITs, SATAN.
VOLAN. Great lord, ordain'd to found infernat
real ms,
And look with scorn upon the pomp of heaven,
Behold thy Volan fly
To pay his homage at thy scaly feet!
The chieftains of Avernus,
The prime infernal powers
TI'o rise in rivalship
Of heaven in all, as in that lofty seat,
(The Word to us reveal'd,
The source of such great strife)
They wish, that on the earth
A goddess should prepare a throne for man,
And lead him to contemn
His own Almighty Maker:
Yet more the inhabitants of fire now wish
That having conquer'd man,
And with s,h triumph gay,
To the great realms of deep and endless flames
Ye both with exultation may descend:
Then shall I see around
Hell dart its rays, and hold the sun in scor.
But if this man resist,
754




ï~~A S, f'RED I)DAMA.?
Then losing every hope
Of farther victory,
They wish that on the throne
Of triumph he may as a victor sit,
Who teaches it to move,
And thou perform the office
With an afflicted partner,
With him, who labours to conduct the car;
That cloth'd in horrid pomp
The region of Avernus
May speak itself the seat of endless pain,
And, at the sound of inauspicious trumpets,
The heavens may shake, the universe re-echo.
SCENE THE FIFTH.
VAIN GLORY drawn by a Want, VOLAN, the SERuEN'r,
SATAN aNd S PIaRI'S.
VAIN GLORY. King of Avernus, at this harp's glad
sound
I weave a starry garland for thy locks,  a
For well I see thy lovely scales portend
Honour tome, ruin and shame to man.
I am Vain Glory, and I sit on high,
Exulting Victress of the mighty Giant:
He has his front in heaven, on earth his feet,
A faithful image of man's mighty worth:
But shake not thou with fear! strong as he is,
So brittle is the crown of glass he wears
That at my breath, which drives him fiercely on,
Man loses power, and falls a prey to death.
SERPENT. Angel, or Goddess, from thy lofty triumph
Descend with me at the desire of hell!
Haste to a human conflict;
You all so light and quick,
That by your movement not a leaf is shaken
In all these woods around,
Your mighty triumphs now together hide;
Now that in silence we may pass unseen,
Quick let us enter neighbouring paradise.
VAIN GLORY. Wherefore delay? Point out the
Since prompt to follow thee,      [path we goI
Full as I am of haughtiness and pride,
With expeditious foot
I will advance
Among these herbs and flowers;
And let infernal laurels
Circle thy towering crest and circle mie,
Q
756




ï~~M                  ADAM.
SERP'ENT. What tribes of beauteous ficwrs,
And plants now new and vivid!
How desolate shall I
Soon make these verdant scenes of plant and flowert
Behold! how with my foot
I now as much depress them,
As they shoot forth with pride to rear their heads.
Behold! their humid life
I wither with my step of blasting fire.
IHow I enjoy, as I advance through these
Fair bowers of rapid growth,
To poison with my breath the leaf and flower,
Embittering all these sweet and blooming fruits.
We are arrived; behold the lovely tree
Prohibited by heaven;
There mount, and be embower'd
In the thick foliage of a wood so fair!
VAIN GLORY. See, I prepare to climb:
I am already high,
And in the leaves conceal'd.
Climb thou, great chief, and rapidly encircle,
And with thy scaly serpent train ascend
The tree; be quick, since now arising higher
I can discern where lonely Eve advances.
SERPENT. Behold, enraged I twine around the trunk
With these my painted and empoison'd folds;
Behold, I breathe towards this woman, love,
Though hate is in my heart:
Behold me now; more beautiful than ever,
Though now of each pestiferous cruel monster,
In poison and in rage, 1 am the model;
Now I behold her, now
In silence I conceal my gift of speech,
Among these leaves embower'd.
SCENE THE SIXTH.
Evra, SERPENT, anod VAIN GLORY.
EvE. I ought, the servant of a mighty Lord,
A servant low and humble,
With reverential knee bending to earth,
I ought to praise the boundless love of him,
Since he has made me queen
Of all the sun delights to view on earth.
But if to heaven I raise my eyes and heart,
Clearly can Eve not see
She was created for there great, etprnsa,
Celestial miracle?




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               359
So that in spirit or in mortal frame,
She ever must enjoy or earth or-heaven.
Hence this fair flowering tree
Wreathing abroad its widely branching arms,
As if desirous to contend with heaven,
Seems willing in my locks
To spread a shining heaven of verdant leav s
And if 1 pass among the herbs andti flowers.
Those, I behold, that by my step are pres',,
Arise more beautiful; the very buds
Expand, to form festoons
To decorate the grassy scene around.
Other new flowers with freshest beauty fait,
That stand from me sequester'd,
Form'd into groups or scatter'd in the vale,
Seem with delight to view me, and to say,
The neighbouring flowers rejoice
To give thy foot support,
But we, aspiring eagles,
From far behold thy visape,
Mild portraiture of the almighty form;
While other plants and flowers,
Wishing that 1 may form my seat among '- m.r
Above their native growth
So seem to raise themselves, that of swe"..
A fragrant hedge they form;
And others in a thousand tender ties,
Form on the ground so intricate a sn r.,
That the inedutious hand which aims t:
Tihe captive foot, must be itself ensnare:
If food I wish, or draught,
Lo! various fruit, lo! honey, milk, and -,
Behuld from many a fount and many a ri!l
The crystal beauty of the cooling stream
If melody, behold the tuneful birds,
Behold angelic bands!
If welcome day,
Or mild and wish'd.for night,
Behold the sun, behold the moon and stars'
If I a fri:'nd require,
Adam, sweet friend, replies;
And if my God in heaven, the Eternal Maker
Dwelkls not unmindful, but regards my speech.
If creatures subject to my will I wish,
Lo! at mny side all subject to my will..
What more can I desire, what more obtain?
Now nothing more, my Sovereign;
Eve is with honour loaded.
But what's before me? do 1 wake or dream?
Among these boughs I see
Tor




ï~~340                ADAM:
A human visage fair what! are there then
More than myself and Adam,
Who view the glorious sun?.
O marvellous, though I am distant far,
I yet discern the truth; with arms, with hands,
A human breast it has,
The rest is serpent all;
O, how the sun, emblazing with.his rays
These gorgeous scales, with glowing colours bright,
O'erwhelms my dazzled eyes!
I would approach it.
SEaPENT. Now, then, at length you see
I have precisely ta'en the semblance fit,
To overcome this woman.
h vE. The nearer I approach, more and more lovely
His semblance seems of emerald and sapphire,
Now ruby and now amethyst, and now
Of jasper, pearl, and flaming chrysolite,
Each fold it waving forms around the trunk
Of this fair flowering tree!
SERPEN r. 1 will assail my foe.
Come to survey me better,
Thou dazzler of the eye,
Enchantress of the soul,
Soft idol of the heart,
Fair nymph, approach! Lo, I display myself,
Survey me all; now satisfy thine eyes!
View me attentive, paragon of beauty,
Thou noblest ornament of all the world,
Thou lovely pomp of nature,
Thou little. paradise,
To whom all things do homage!
Where lonely from thy friend, thy Adam, far
Where art thou? now advancing where
The numerous bands of Angels
Become such fond admirers of thy beauty?
Happy 1 deem myself, supremely happy,
Since 'tis my blessed lot,
With two fond eyes alone to gaze on that,
Which, with unnumber'd eyes,heaven scarce surveys
Trust me, if all the loveliness of heaven
Would wrap itself within a human veil,
Nought but thy beauteous bosom
Could form a mansion worthy such a guest.
How well I see, full well,
That she above with thy light agile feet
Imprints her step in heaven, and there she smiles
With thy enchanting lip,
To scatter joy around those blessed spheres;
Yes, with thy lips above,
75




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA:                41
Fhe breathes, she speaks, she pauses,
And with thine eves communicates a lustre
To all that's fair in heaven or fair on earth.
Eve. And wh, art thou,;o eager
To lavish praise on me?
Yet never did mine eyes see form like thine.
SERPENT. Can I bP silent low?
Too much, too much, I pant
To please the lovely model of all grace.
Know, when the world was fashion'd out of nought,
And this most fruitful garden,
I was ordain'd to dwell a gardener here,
By him who cultivates
IThe fair celestial fields;
Here joyful I ascend,
To watch that no voracious bird may seize
On such delicious fruit;
BH ere it is my delight,
Though all be marvellously fair around,
Lily to blend with lily, rose with rose,
And now the fragrant hedge
To form, and now between the groups of flowers,
And o'er the tender herb
To guide the current of the crystal stream.
Oh what sweet scenes to captivate the eye
Of such a lovely virgin,
Will I disclose around!
Thou, if thou canst, return
To this alluring spot,
And ever with fresh myrtle and new flowers
More beauteous thou shalt find it;
This wondrous faculty I boast infused
By thy supernal Maker,
To guard in plant and flower their life and fragrance,
EvE. Since I have found thee courteous
No less than wise, reveal to me thy name;
Speak it to me: unless
I seek to know too much.
SERPENT. Wisdom, I name myself,
Sometimes I Life am call'd, *
For this my double nature, sincee I am
One part a serpent and the other human.  [why
SEvE. Strange things this day I hear; but tell me
Thou serpent art combined with human form?
SERPENT. I will inform thee; when the sovereign
On nothing resting, yet gave force to all,  [God
To balance all things in an even scale
The sage of heaven desired,
And not from opposite extremities
To pass without a medium ustly founded:




ï~~ADAM:
Hence 'tween the brute and man
It pleased him to creale this serpent kind;
And even this participates in reason,
And with a human face has human speech.
But what can fail to honour with submission
The demi god of earth?
Oh! if proportion'd to thy charms, or equal
To the desert of man.
You had high knowledge, doubt not but in all
Ye would be reckon'd as immortal gods;
Since the prime power of lofty science is
One of the first and greatest
Of attributes divine; Oh, could this be,
Descending from the base
Of this engaging plant,
How as a goddess should I here adore thee!
EvE. What, dost thou think so little then the sum
Of knowledge given to man? does he not know
Of overy living herb and flower and plant,
Of,ninerals and of unnumber'd gems,
Of fish, of fowl, and every animal,
In water or on earth, of fire, of air,
Of this fair starry heaven,
And of tihe moon and sun,
The virtues most conceal'd?
SERPENT. Ah, this is nothing; since it only serves
To make the common things of nature known;
And I, although I am
Greatly inferior in my rank to man,
Yet, one by one, even I can number these.
More worthy it would be
To know both good and ill;
This, this is the supreme
Intelligence, and mysteries most high,
That on the earth would make you like to God.
EvE. That which hath power sufficient to impart
This knowledge so sublime of good and ill
(But mix; with mortal anguish),
Is this forbidden tree, on which thou sittest.
SERPENT. And tell me why a law
So hitter rises from a fruit so sweet?
Where, then, where is the sense
That you so lately boasted as sublime?
Observe, if it be just,
That man so brave, so lovely, man that rules
The world with skilful hand, man that so much
Pleased his creating God, when power almighty
Fashion'd the wonders both of earth and heaven,
That man at last a little fruit should crush,
And all be form'd for nothing, or at best
760




ï~~A  ACRED DRAMA.              8
But for a moment's space f
No, no, far from thee, far be such a doubt!
Let colour to thy check, and to thy lip
The banish'd rose return!
Say,-but I know-thy Leact
Within thee speaks the language that I speak!
EVE. The Lord commanded me I should not tasts
This fruit; and to obey himn is my joy.
SERPENT. If 'tis forbidden thee
To taste a fruit so fair,
Heaven does not choose that man should be a god.
But thou, with courtesy, to my kind voico
Lend an attentive ear: say, if your Maker
Required such strict obedience, that you might
Depend but on his word to move and guard you;
Was there not power sufficient in the laws
Sublime of hope, of faith, and charity?
Why then, fair creature, why, without occasion,
Thus should he multiply his laws for man,
For ever outraging with such a yoke
Your precious liberty, and of great lords
Making you slaves, nay, in one point inferior
Even to the savage beasts,
Whom he would not reduce to any law?
Who does not know that loading you so much
With precepts, he has lessen'd the great blessing
Of joyous being, that your God first gave you?
Perchance he dreaed that ye soon might grow
His equals both, in knowledge, and be gods
No, for though like to God you might become
By such experiment, the difference still
Between you must be great, since this your know.
And acquisition of divinity,           rledgce
Could be but imitation, and effect
Of the first cause divine that dwells above.
And can it then be true,
That such a vital band
Can do a deadly deed?
Oh hadst thou tasted this, how would'st thou gain
Advantage of the Lord, how then with him
Would thy conversing tongue
Accuse the latent mysteries of heaven!
Far other flowers, and other plants, and fields,
And elements, and spheres,
Far different suns, and different moons, and stars,
There are above, from those thou viewest here,
Buried below these; all to thee are near,
Observe how near! but at the very distance
This apple is from thee. Extend thy hand,
Boldly extend it,-ah! why dost thou pause f
R '70




ï~~341                ADAM:
EvE. What shoull I do? Who counsels me, 0 God?
Hope bids me live, and fear at once destroys me.
But say, how art thou able
To know such glorious things exist above,
And that on earth, one tLas may equal God,
By feeding on this apple,
If thou in heaven wert never,
And ne'er permitted of the fruit to taste?
SERPENT. Ah! is there ought I can deny to her
Whose happiness I wish? Now listen to me.
When of this garden I was made the keeper,
By him who fashi'n'd thee,
All he has said to thee, to me he said;
And opening to me heaven's eternal bosom.
With all his infinite celestial pomp,
He satiated my eyes, and then thus spake:
Thy paradise thou hast enjoy'd, 0 Serpent,
No more thou shalt behold it; now retain
Memory of heaven on earth,
Which thou may'st do by feeding on such fruit.
A heavenly seat alone is fit for man,
For that's the seat of beauty;
Since thou art partly man and partly brute,
'Tis just- thou dwell on earth,
The world was made for various beasts to dwell in,
He added, nor canst thou esteem it hard,
Serpent and man, to dwell on earth for ever,
Since thou already in thy human portion
Most fully hast enjoy'd thy bliss above.
Thus I eternal live,
Forming my banquet of this savoury fruit,
And paradise is open to my eyes,
By the intelligence through me transfused
From this delicious viand.
EVE. Alas!. what should I do? to whom apply?
My heart, what is thy counsel?
SERPENT. 'Tis true, thy sovereign has imposed upon
Under the pain of death,                [th
To taste not of this fruit;
And to secure from thee
A dainty so delightful,
The watchful guard he made me
Of this forbidden tree;
So that if I consent, both man and thou,
His beautiful companion,
May rise to equal God in happiness.
'Tis. but too true that to participate
in food and beverage with savage beast,
Gii es us in this similitude to them;
It i not just you both,
102




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               54
Works of a mighty Maker,
Great offspring of great God,
Should in a base condition,
Among these groves and woods,
Lead a life equal to the lowest beast.
EVE. Ah! why art thou so eager
That I should taste of this forbidden food?
SERPENT. Wosldst thou that I should tell?
EvE. 'Tis all my wish.
SERPENT. Now lend thine ear, now arch,
With silent wonder, both thy beauteous brows I
For two proud joys of mine,
Not for thy good alone, I wish to fnake thee
This liberal overture, and swear to keep
Silence while thou shalt seize the fruit denied.
First to avenge that high unworthy wrong
Done me by God, in fashioning my shape;
For I was deem'd the refuse of his heaven,
For these my scaly 'parts,
That ever like a snake I trail behind;
And then, because he should to me alone
Have given this world, and o'er the numerous beasts
Have made me lord, not wholly of their kind;
But this my empire mighty and supreme,
O'er all these living things,
While man is doom'd
To breathe on vital air,
Must seem but low and servile vassalage;
Since man, and only man
Was chosen high and mighty lord of all
This wondrous scene, and he thus raised to grandeur
Was newly form'd of nought.
But when the fairest of all Eden's fruits
Is snatch'd and tasted, when you rise to gods,
'Tis just that both ascending from this world
Should reach the higher spheres;
So that on earth to make me
Of every creature lord,
Of human error I my virtue make:
Know, that command is grateful even to e,
Grateful to man, and grateful to the serpent.
Eva. I yield obedience: ah! what is't I do?
SERPENT. Rather, what do you not? Ah, boldly
taste,
Make me a god on earth, thyself in heaven.
EVE. Alas, how I perceive
A chilling tremour wander through my bones,
That turns my heart to ice!
SERPENT. It is thy mortal part that now begins
To languish, as o'ercome by the divine,
Q2
763




ï~~346               ADAM:
Which o'er its lowly partner
In excellence ascends.
Behold the pleasant plant,
More lovely and more rich
Than if it raised to heaven branches of go ld,
And bore the beauteous emerald as leaves,
With roots of coral and a trunk of silver
Behold this jewell'd fruit,
That gives enjoyment of a state divine
How fair it is, and how
It takes new colours from the solar rays
Bright as the splendid train
Of the gay peacock, when he whirls it round
Full in the sun, and lights his thousand eyes|
Behold how it invites!
'Tis all delicious, it is sweetness all
Its charms are not deceitful,
Thine eye can view them well.
Now take it! Now I watch
If any angel spy thee! Dost thou pause?
Up! for once more I am thy guide; at last
The victory, is thine!
EvE. At length behold me the exalted mistres
Of this most lovely fruit!
But why, alas, does my cold brow distil
These drops, that overwhelm me?
SERPENT. Lovely Virgin,
Will not our reason tell us
Supreme felicity is bought with pain?
Who from my brow will wipe
These drops of keener pain.
Who dissipate the dread that loads my heart?
EVE. Tell me what would'st thou? tell me who
afflicts thee?
SERPENT, The terror of thy Lord; and hence I
pray thee
That when thou hast enjoy'd
That sweet forbidden fruit,
When both of you become eternal gods,
That you would guard me from the wrath of Heaved;
Since well indeed may he,
Whom we call God, kindle his wrath against me,
Having to you imparted
Taste of this fruit against his high command.
But tell him, my desire
To make 'ne lord of this inferior world,
Like man a god in heaven,
Render'd me mute while Eve attain'd the apple.
SEVE. The gift I owe thee, Serpent, well deserves
That I should ne'er forget thee,
I06




ï~~:ACi'ED DRAMA.
_E5PEN.r. Now in these verdant leaves I hide my. -
Till thou with sounds of joy             [self
Shalt call and re-assure me.
EvE. Now then conceal thyself: I promise thee
To be thy shield against the wrath of God.
O what delicious odour! 'tis so sweet
That I can well believe
That all the lovely flowers
From this derive their fragrance.
These dewy leaves to my conception seem
Moistened with manna, rather than with dew.
Ah, it was surely right
That fruit so exquisite
Should flourish to impart new life to man,
Not waste its sweets upon the wind and sun.
Nothing for any ill
To man could spring from God's creative hand:
Since he for man assuredly has felt
Such warmth of love unbounded, I will taste it.
How sweet it is! how far
Surpassing all the fruits of every kind,
Assembled in this soil!
But where is Adam now? O, Adam! Adam!
He answers not; then thou with speed depart
To find him; but among these flowers and leaves
Conceal this lovely apple, lest the angels,
Descrying it, forbid
Adam to taste its sweets,
And so from man be made a mighty god.
SERPENT. Extinguish in the waves thy rays, 0 seat
Nor more distribute light!
Thus Lucifer ordains, and thus the apple!
Man, Man is now subdued!
VAIN GLoaRY. O joyous day! O day
To hell of triumph, and of shame to heaven
Eve has enjoy'd the apple,
And now contrives-that man may taste it.
Now see by direst fate
Life is exchanged for death!
Now I exulting sing,
And hence depart with pride,
Since man's high boast is crush'd,
And his bright day now turn'd to hideous lght

g6;




ï~~i

us                 ADAM:
ACT III.
SCENE THE FIRST.
ADAM and EvE.
ADAM. On, my beloved companion t
Oh thou of my existence,
The very heart and soul!
Hast thou, with such excess of tender haste,
With ceaseless pilgrimage,
To find again thy Adam,
Thus solitary wander'd?
Behold him! Speak! what are tby gentle orders?
Why dost thou pause? what asx of God? what doet
thou?
EvE. Adam, my best beloved
My guardian and my guide!
Thou source of all my comfort, all my joy I
Thee, thee alone I wish,
And in these pleasing shades
Thee only have I sought.
ADAM. Since thou has call'd thy Adam
(Most beautiful companion!)
The source and happy fountain of thy joy;
Eve, if to walk with me
It now may please thee, I will show thee, love,
A sight thou hast not seen;
A sight so lovely, that in wonder thou
Wilt arch thy graceful brow.
Look thou, my gentle bride, towards that path
Of this so intricate and verdant grove,
Where sit the birds embower'd;
Just there, where now, with soft and snowy plumes,
Two social doves have spread their wings for flight,
Just there, thou shalt behold (oh, pleasing wonder!)
Springing amid the flowers,
A living stream, that with a winding course
Flies rapidly away;
And as it flies, allures
And tempts you to exclaim, Sweet river, stay!
Hence, eager in pursuit
You follow, and the stream, as if it had
Desire to sport with you,
Through many a florid, many a grassy way,
Well known to him, in soft concealment flies:
But when at length he hears
You are afflicted to have lost his sight,
He rears his watery locks, and seems to say,
Gav with a gurgling smile,
70




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.                249
'Follow! ah follow still my placid course!
If thou art pleased with me, with thee I sport.'
And thus with sweet deceit he leads you on
To the extremest bound
Of a fair flowery meadow; then at once,
With quick impediment,
Says, ' Stop! Adieu! for now, yes, now I leave you:
Then down a rock descends:
There, as no human foot can follow farther,
The eye alone must follow him, and there,
In little space you see a mass of water,
Collected in a deep and fruitful vale,
With laurel crown'd and olive,
With cypress, oranges, and lofty pines.
The limpid water in the sun's bright ray
A perfect crystal seems;
Hence in its deep recess,
In the translucent wave,
You see a precious glittering sand of gold,
And bright as moving silver,
Innumerable fish;
Here with melodious notes
The snowy swans upon the shining streams
Form their sweet residence;
And seem in warbling to the wind to say,
' Here let those rest who wish for perfect joy I'
So that, my dear companion,
To walk with me will please thee.
EVE. So well thy language to my sight has brought
What thou desir'st to show me,
I see thy flying river as it sports,
And hear it as it murmurs.
And beauteous also is this scene, where now
Pleased we sojourn; and here, perhaps, even here
The lily whitens with the purest lustre,
And the rose reddens with the richest hue.
Here also bathed in dew
Plants of minutest growth
Are painted all with flowers.
Here trees of amplest leaf
Extend their rival shades
And stately rise to heaven.
ADAM. Now by these cooling shades,
The beauty of these plants,
By these delightful mTeadows,
These variegated flowers,
By the soft music of the rills and blrd9
Let us sit down in joy!
EvE. Behold then I am seated!
How I rejoice in viewing not alone




ï~~-,

SN0                ADAM:
These flowers, these herbs, these high and graceful
But Adam, thou, my lover,              [plants.
Thou, thou art he, by whom the meadows seem
More beautiful to me,
The fruit more blooming, and the streams more clear
ADAM. The decorated fields
With all their flowery tribute cannot equal
Those lovelier flowers, that with delight I view
In the fair garden of your beauteous face.
Be pacified, you flowers,
My words are not untrue;
You shine besprinkled with ethereal dew,
You give the humble earth to glow with joy
At one bright sparkle of the blazing sun;
But with the falling sun ye also fall:
But these more living flowers
Of my dear beauteous Eve
Seem freshen'd every hour
By soft devotion's dew,
That she with pleasure sheds
Praising her mighty Maker:
And by the rays of two terrestrial suns
In that pure heaven, her face,
They rise, and not to fall,.
Decking the paradise
Of an enchanting visage.
EvE. Dear Adam, do not seek
With tuneful eloquence
To soothe may ear by speaking of thy love!
The heart is confident,
That fondly flames with pure and hallow'd ardo.
In sweet exchange accept, my gentle love,
This vermeil-tinctured gift, you know it well;
This is the fruit forbidden,
This is the blessed apple.
ADMA. Alas! what see I? ah! what hast thou done
Invader of the fruit
Forbidden by thy God?
Eva. It would be long to tell thee
The reason that induced me
To make this fruit my prey; let it suffice
I gain'd thee wings to raise thy flight to heaven.
AnAM. Ne'er be it true, ah never,
That to obtain thy favour,
I prove to heaven rebellious and ungratefUl,
And to obey a woman,
So disobey my Maker and my God!
Then did not death denounced
With terror's icy paleness blanch thy cheek f
Ev. And think'st thou, if the apple




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               351
Were but the food of death,
The great Producer would have raised it there,
Where being is eternal?
Think'st thou, that if of error
This fruit-tree were the cause,
In man's delighted eye
So fertile and so fair
lie would have form'd it flourishing in air?
Ah! were it so, he would indeed have given
A cause of high offence;
Since nature has ordain'd
(A monitress sagacious),.
That to support his being, man must eat,
And trust in what looks fair, as just and good.
ADAM. If the celestial tiller,
Who the fair face of heaven
Has thickly sown with stars,
Amidst so many plants fruitful and fair,
Placed the forbidden apple,
The fairest and most sweet,
'Twas to make proof of man,
As a wise keeper of his heavenly law,
And to afford him scope for high desert;
For he alone may gain the name of brave,
Who rules himself and all his own desires.
Man might indeed find some excuse for sin,
If scantily with fruits
This garden were supplied;
But this abounding in so many sweets,
Man ought not to renounce
The clear command of heaven.
EvE. And is it thus you love me?
Ne'er he it true, ah never,
That I address you as my heart, my life!
From you I'll only wander,
Bathed in my tears, and sighing,
And hating even myself,
I'll hide me from the sun.
ADAM. Dear Eve! my sweetest love!
My spirit and my heart!
Oh haste to dry thine eyes;
For mine are all these tears
That bathe thy cheek, and stream upon thy bosom.
EVE. Ah, my unhappy state!
I that so much have said, so much have done
To elevate this man
Above the highest heaven, and now so little
Can he or trust or love me!
ADAM. Ah, do not grieve, my life!
Too much it wounds my soul
To see thee in affliction.
Z7J




ï~~32                 ADAM.
EVE. I know your sole desire
Is to be witness to my sighs and tears;
Hence to the winds and seas
I pay this bitter tribute.
ADAM. Alas! my heart is splitting.
What can I do? When I look up to heaven,
I feel an icy tremour
Even to my bones oppress me,
Anxious alone to guard the heavenly precept:
If I survey my partner,
I share her tears and echo back her sighs.
'Tis torture and distraction
To wound her with refusal: my kind heart
Would teach my opening hand to seize the apple,
But in my doubtful breast
My spirit bids it close.
Adam! thou wretch! how many
Various desires besiege thy trembling heart!
One prompts thee now to sigh,
Another to rejoice; nor canst thou know
Which shall incline thee most,
Or sighs, or joyous favour,
From woman, or from God.
EVE. Yet he reflects, and wishes
That Eve should now forsake
Her hope of being happy
In elevating man
Even while I hold the fruit of exaltation!
ADAM. Though mute, yet eloquent
Are all your looks, my love!
Alas! whate'er you ask
You're certain to obtain;
And my heart grants before your tongue can speak.
Eyes, that to me are suns,
The heaven of that sweet face
No more, no more obscure!
Return! alas! return
To scatter radiance o'er that cloudy cheek!
Lift up, 0 lift thy brow
From that soft mass of gold that curls around it,
Locks like the solar rays,
Chains to my heart and lightning to my eyes!
O let thy lovely tresses,
Now light and unconfined,
Sport in the air, and all thy face disclose
That paradise, that speaks a heart divine!
I yield thee full'obedience;
Thy prayers are all commands;
Dry, dry thy streaming eyes, and on thy lips
Let tender smiles like harmless lightning play
EvE. Ah, misbelieving Adam,




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               85
Be now a kind receiver
Of this delightful fruit!
Hasten, now hasten to extend thy hand
To press this banquet of beatitude!
ADAM. Oh, my most sweet companion,
Behold thy ardent lover!
Now banish from his heart
The whirlpool of affliction, turn'd to him
His dearest guide, his radiant polar star!
Show me that lovely apple,
Which, 'midst thy flowers and fruits,
Ingenious plunderer, thy hidest from me!
EvE. Adam, behold the apple!
What say'st thou? I have tasted, and yet live.
Ah, 'twill insure our lives,
And make us equal to our God in heaven.
But first the fruit entire
We must between us eat;
And when we have enjoy'd it,
Then to a radiant throne, a throne of stars,
Exalting angels will direct our flight.
ADAM. Give me the pilfer'd fruit,
Thou courteous pilferer,
Give me the fruit that charms thee,
And let me yield to her,
Who to make me a god has toil'd and wept!
- Alas! what have I done?
How sharp a thorn is piercing to my heart
With instantaneous anguish!
How am I overwhelm'd
In a vast flood of sorrow!
Eva. Alas! what do I see?
Oh bitter knowledge! unexpected sight!
All is prepared for human misery.
ADAM. O precious liberty! where art thou fled P
Evg. O precious liberty! O dire enthralment!
ADAM. Is this the fruit so sweet,
The source of so much bitter?
Say, why would'st thou betray me?
Ah, why of heaven deprive me!
Why make me forfeit thus
My state of innocence,
Where cheerful I enjoy a blissful life?
Why make me thus a slave
To the fierce arms of death,
Thou, whom I deem'd my life?
EvE. I have been blind to good,
Quick-sighted but to evil,
An enemy to Adam,
A rebel to my God;
771




ï~~364                ADAM:
For daring to exalt me
To the high gates of heaven,
I fall presumptuous to the depths of hell.
ADAM. Alas, what dart divine appears in heaven,
Blazing with circling flame?
EvE. What punishment,
Wretch that I am, hangs cfer me? /Am I naked f
And speaking still to Adam?
ADAM. Am I too naked? hide me! hence!
Ev$. I fly.
SCENE THE SECOND.
VOLANO. Thou'rt fallen, at length thou'rt fallcs,
O thou presuming
With new support from the resplendent stars,
To mount to seats sublime!
Adam, at length thou'rt fallen to the deep,
As far as thy ambition hoped to soar;
Now see thou hast attain'd,
To learn the distance between heaven and hell
Now let Avernus echo
To the hoarse sound of the funereal trumpet!
Joyful arise to light,
And pay your homage to the prince of hell.
SCENE THE THIRD.
SATAN, VOLANO, Chorus8 of SPIRITS, with theiriag
flying and infernal instruments.
VoLANo. Man is subdued, subdued!
Palms of eternal glory I
Why pause ye now? to your infernal reeds
And pipes of hoarsest sound, with pitch cemented,
And various instruments of discord,
Now let the hand and lip be quick applied!
Behold how triumph now to us returns,
As rightly he foretold
Our Stygian Emperor I Spread to the wind
Your fluttering banners! Oh thou festive day
To hell of glory, and to heaven of shame!
SCENE THE FOURTH.
SERPENT, VAIN GLORY, SATAN, VoLANo, and SPIRITS,
SERPENT. To pleasures and to joys,
Ye formidable dark sulphureous warriors I
772




ï~~A  iACRED DRAMA.              Sg
Let fame to heaven now on her raven plumes
Direct her rapid flight,
Of man's completed crime
The mournful messenger.
SA rAN. Behold, again expanded in the air
The insignia of hell!
Hear now the sounds of triumph,
And voices without number
That raise to heaven the shout of victory!
SERPENT. Lo, Ireturn, ye spirits of Avernus,
And, as I promised, a proud conqueror!
Lo, to these deep infernal realms of darkness
I bring transcendent light, transcendent joy;
Thanks to my fortitude, which from that giant
Now wretched, and in tears,
Forced his aspiring crown of fragile glass;
And thanks to her, this martial heroine,
Vain Glory, whom to my proud heart I press.
SATAN. The torrent hastes not to the sea so rapid,
Nor yet so rapid in the realm of fire
Flashes kindle and die,
As the quick circling hours
Of good are join'd to evil
In life's corrupted state;
The work of my great lord, nor Thess the work
Of thee, great goddess of the scene condemn'd;
Up, up with homage quick
To show ourselves of both the blest adorers!
SERPENT. Now, from their bended knees let all
And to increase our joys,              [Eirise,
Let thy glad song, Canoro,
Now memorize the prosperous toil of hell.
CANORO. Happy Canoro, raised to matchless bliss,
Since 'tis thy lot to speak
The prosperous exploits of Lucifer!
Behold, I bend the knee,
And sing thy triumph in a joyous strain!
Behold, the glorious triumph
Of that unconquer'd power
Who every power surpasses,
The mighty monarch of the deadly realm!
Now raise the tumid form,
Avernus, banish grief;
Man is involved in snares,
And Death is glutted with his frail existence.
This is the potent, brave,
And ancient enemy
Of man, the dauntless foe,
And dread destroyer of the starry court.
No more contentment dwell
T73




ï~~856               ADAM:
In the terrestrial seat:
Thou moon and sun be darken'd,
And every element to chaos turn!
Man is at length subdued.
From a corrupted source,
A weak and hapless offspring,
Thanks to the fruit, his progeny shall prove.
To that exalted seat
By destiny our due,
Can death's vile prey ascend,
Who now lies prostrate at the fed.t of hell?
SERPENT. Silence, no more! Now in superior joys
Ye quick and fluttering spirits,
Now, now, your wings expand,
And, active in your pleasure,
Weave a delightful dance!
SCENE THE FIFTH.
A Chorus of SPRIGHTs in the shape of ANTIcS, SEm
PENT, SATAN, VOLANO, CANORO, VAIN GLORYT,
and SPIRITS.
So thee behold us flying,
ound thee behold us sporting,
O monarch of Avernus!
To recreate thy heart in joyous dance.
Come, let us dance, happy and light,
Ye little Sprights;
Man was of flesh, now all dust,
Such is the will of hideous death;
A blessed lot
No more is his, wretched in all.
Now let us weave, joyous and dancing,
Ties as many
As now hell's prosperous chieftain
Spreads around man, who weeps and wails,
And now lifeless
Is almost render'd by his anguish.
Enjoy, enjoy in fragile vesture,
Man, 0 heaven;
Stygian Serpent has o'erwhelm'd him;
Wherefore let each dance in triumph,
Full of glory,
Since onr king has proved victorious.
But, what think'st thou? Heaven in sorrow,
On the sudden,
He will spring to scenes celestial;
And he there will wreak his venveance
On the Godhead,
774




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.                5
That is now in heaven so troubled.
SERPENT. Ah, what lofty sounding trumpets
Through the extensive fields of heaven rebellow?
VAIN GLORY. Ah, from my triumph now I fall to
hell,
Through subterraneous scenes exhaling fire,
With all my fatal pomp at once I sink!
SERPENT. And I, alas, am plunging
With thee to deepest horror!
SATAN. Avoid, avoid, companions,
This unexpected lustre,
That brings, alas, to us a night of hbrror!
VoLANo. Alas, why should we tarry?
Fly all, O fly with speed
This inimical splendour,
These dread and deadly accents,
The utterance of God!
SCENE THE SIXTH.
GOD THE FATHER, ANGELS, ADAMv and Eva.
GOD THE FATTER.
And is it thus you keep the law of heaven,
Adam and Eve?. O ye too faithless found,
Ye children of a truly tender father;
Thou most unhappy, how much hast thou lost,
And in a moment, Adam!
Fool, to regard the Serpent more than God.
Ah could repentance e'er belong to Himn
Who cannot err, then might I well repent me
Of having made this man.
Now, Adam, thou hast tasted
The apple, thou hast sinn'd,
Thou hast corrupted God's exalted bounty
The elements, the heavens,
The stars, the moon, the sun, and-whatsoever
Has been for man created,
Now seems by man abhorr'd; and as unworthy
Now to retain existence,
To his destruction he solicits death.
But since 'tis just that I, who had proportion'd
Reward to merit, should now make chastisement,
Keep pace with guilt, contemplating myself,
I view Astrea, in whose righteous stroke
Lo, I myself descend, for I am justice.
Why pausest thou, O sinner, in his presence,
Who on a starry throne,
As an o"ended judge prepares thy sentence?
775




ï~~9A8 ADAM:
Appear! to whom do I address me? Adam,
Adam, where art thou? say! dost thou not hear?
ADAM. Great Sovereign of Heaven! if to thow
accents,
Of which one single one form'd earth and heaven,
My God, if to that voice,
That call'd on Adam, a deaf asp I seem'd,
It was terror struck me dumb:
Since to my great confusion,
I was constrain'd, naked, to come before thee.
GOD THE FATHER.
And who with nakedness has made acquainted
Him, who although he was created naked,
With innocence was clothed?
ADAM. Of knowledge the dread fruit that I have
The fault of my companion!            [tasted;
EvE. Too true it is, that the malignant serpent
Made me so lightly think of thy injunction,
That the supreme forbiddance
Little or nought I valued.
GOD THE FATHER.
Adam, thou sinner! 0 thou bud corrupted
By the vile worm of error!
Though eager to ascend celestial seats,
An angel in thy pride, thy feeble wings
Left thee to fall into the depths of hell.
By thy disdain of life,
Death is thy acquisition;
Unworthy now of favour,
I strip thee of thy honours;
And soon thou shalt behold the herbs and floweri
Turn'd into thorns and thistles,
The earth itself this day by me accurst.
Then shalt thou utter sighs in want of food,
And from thy alter'd brow thou shalt distil
Streams of laborious sweat,
A supplicant for bread;
Nor ever shall the strife of man have end,
Till, as he rose from dust, to dust he turn.
And thou, first author of the first offence,
With pain thou shalt produce the human birth,
As thou hast taught, with anguish infinite,
The world this fatal day to bring forth sin.
Thee, cruel Serpent, I pronounce accursed;
Be it henceforth thy destiny to creep
Prone on the ground, and on the dust to feed.
Eternal strife between thee and the woman,
Strife barbarous and deadly,




ï~~'I

A SACRED DRAMA.
This day do I denounce:
If one has fallen, the othei, yet victorious,
Shall li e to bruise tby formidable head.
Now, 'm  dst the starry spheres,
Myself I will seclude from human sight.
SCENE THE SEVENTH.
An ANOEL, ADAM, and EvI.
ANGEL. Ah Eve, what hast thou lost,
Of thy dread Sovereign slighting the commands'
Thou Adam, thou hast sinn'd;
And Eve too sinning with thee,
Ye have together, of the highest heaven
Shut fast the gates, and open'd those of hell!
In seeking sweeter life,
Ye prove a bitter death;
And for a short delight
A thousand tedious sufferings.
How much it had been better for this man
To say, I have offended, pardon, Lord!
Than to accuse his partner, she the serpent:
Hence let these skins of beasts, thrown over hot,
Become yeur humble clothing;
And hence let each be taught
That God approves the humble,
And God in anger punishes the proud.
ADAM. 0 man! 0 dust! 0 my frail destiny
O my offence! O death!
EVE. 0 woman! O of evil
Sole gluttonous producer!
O fruit! my sin! 0 serpent! 0 deceit!
A NGEL. Now let these skins that you support upon
Tell you the grievous troubles          [youe
That you have to sustain.;
Rude vestments are these skins,
From whence you may perceive
That much of misery must be endured
Now in the field of life,
Till death shall reap ye both.
Now, now lament and weep,
From him solicit mercy,
For still your mighty Maker may be found
Gracious in heaven, indulgent to the world,
Most merciful to man,
If equal to the pride
That made him err, his penitence will weep.
ADAM. Ahl whither art thou fled?
Where lonely dust thou leave me?
0 too disgusting apple,.8 D.;




ï~~A1)                ADAM
If thou canst render man to angels hateful
Alas, my dread destruction
Springs from a source so high,
That it will find no end.
Most miserable Adam! if thou fallest,
Ah, who will raise thee up?
If those eternal hands
That should uphold the heaven, the world, and man,
Closed for thy good, are open for thy al,
How much should'st thou express! but tears and grief
Fetter the tongue and overwhelm the heart!
0 sin! O agony!
EVE. Adam, my Adam, I will callthee mine,
Although I may have lost thee!
Unhappy Eve acknowledges her error,
ohle weeps, and she laments it.
She sees thee in great anguish:
O could her tears wash out the grievous stain
Thou hast upon thy visage!
Adam! alas thou answerest not, and I
Suffer in seeing thee so pale and pensive,
Thy hands united in the folds of pain!
But if through deed of mine thou hast occasios
For endless shame and silence,
Wilt thou reply to me? do I deserve it?
I merit only woe by being woman;
Eve has invented weeping,
Eve has discover'd anguish,
Labour and lassitude,
Distraction and affright;
Eve, Eve has minister'd to death and hellt
ADAM. Enjoy, enjoy, O woman,
My anguish, my perdition, and my death;
Banish me hence for loving thee too well!
Ah, if thou wert desirous of my tears,
Now, now extend thy hands, receive these streama
That I must pour abundant from mine eyes;
If thou didst wish my sighs, 1o t sighs I give thee
If anguish, view it; if my blood, 'tis thine;,
Rather my death, it will be easy to thee,
Now to procure my death,
It thou hast render'd me of life unworthy.
SCENE THE EIGHTH.
The ARCHANGEL MICHAEL, ADAM and Eva
MICHAEL. Why this delay? come on, be quick,
depart,
Crrupted branches, from this fair and 1eauteoas
Terrestrial paradise! Are ye so bold,




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.              81
Ye putrid worms? come on, be quick, depart,
Since with a scourge of fire I thus command you.
ADAM. Alas! I am destroy'd
By the fierce blow of this severe avenger!
EVE. Now sunk in vital power
I feel my sad existence,
Even at the menace from this scourge of fire. [foot
MIcHAEL. These stony plains now must thy naked
Press, in the stead of sweet and beauteous flowers,
Since thy erroneous folly
Forbids thy dwelling in this pleasant garden.
Behold in me the punisher of those
Who 'gainst their God rebel, and hence I bear
These radiant arms that with tremendous power
Make me invincible. I was the spirit
Who, in the mighty conflict,
Advancing to thenorth,
Struck down great Lucifer, the haughty leader
Of wicked angels, so that into hell
They plunged precipitate and all subdued;
And thus it has seem'd good to my tremendous
Celestial chief, that 1 shall also drive
Man, rebel to his God, with this my sword
Of ever-blazing fire,
Drive him for ever from this seat of bliss.
You angels all depart, and now with me
Expand your plumes for heaven;
As it has been your lot,
Like mine, on earth here to rejoice with man,
Man once a demi-god, and now but dust,
Here soon with falchions arm'd,
Falchions that blaze with fire,
As guardians of these once delightful gates,
The brave and active Cherubim shall aid you.
SCENE THE NINTH.
Chorus of ANGELs that i ng, ARCHANGEL, ADAh,
and Evs.
ADIEU, remain in peae!
O thou that liv'st in war!
Alas, how much it grieves us,
Great sinner, to behold thee now but dust.
Weep! weep! indulge thy sighs,
And view thy lost possession now behind thee;
Weep! weep! for all thy sorrow
Thou yet may'st see exchanged for songs of joy:
This promise to the sinner heaven affords
Who contrite turns to heaven with holy zeal.
R
779




ï~~5862              ADAM:
ACT IV.
SCENE THE FIRST.
VOLANO, Chorus of FIERY, AIRY, EARTHLY, aGd
AQUATIC SPIRITS.
VOLANO. Forth from- a thousand clouds of flame
and smoke
From the deep bosom of the spacious earth,
I to these scenes a messenger return.
Now to the fatal sound
Of these entwisted pipes,
By hissing snakes united,
And all attuned to the fierce notes of death,
Now cease, now cease ye all,
Ye potent spirits, to reside in fire,
Or in the air, in water, or in earth.
Appear! why pause ye? such is the command
Of your brave emperor, the chief of hell.
Hark! hear ye not the sound
That calls you forth from outt your various dwellings a
Behold! how from the sphere of blazing fire
Arsiccio, of the blazing legion prince,
Comes to pay homage to his mighty lord.
ARION. Lo, from the field of air I too descend,
I who am called Arion,
The mighty ruler of this winged band,
At the cdnmand of hell.
TARPALCE. Of the infernal palace
To bend before the prince,
Forth from a thousand subterraneous paths
The great Tarpalce, chief of earthly sprights,
Raises his brow to heaven.
ONDoso. From many a vein of water,
From many a rising fount,
From rills, and rivers, torrents, floods and streams,
And from a thousand marshes, pools, and lakes,
Such as I am, Ondoso, of soft spirits
The humid, floating ruler, now on wing,
Here even I attend, to reverence
The subterranean power.
VOLANO. Lo, from the dark abyss to lightsosie Wt
Great Lucifer now rising, and with him
The most sagacious band
Of hellish counsellors.




ï~~A SACRIED DRAMA.

SCENE THE SECOND.
Lt,'FFR, FIERY, AIRY, EARTHLY, AQUATIQ,
INFERNAL SPIRITS, and VOLANO.
LVci')R. Ah light! detested light!
et once again I look towards thy rays,
The sightless mole of hell,
And like a frantic angel,
Dazzled and grieved at heart,
Immortally I die.
BELIAR. Qf what dost thous omplain? why grigles
our god?
Clear up thy countenance, and see around
How thy palms shake; thy banners float in air,
Signs of;hat valour which has conquer'd heaven,
And now in triumph may enjoy the world;
Ah, too imperfect is the victor's glory,
If he exult not in his victory.
LUCIFER. Destructive victory! unworthy boast!
Laughter to weeping turn'd,
Is that which thou esteem'st the praise of hell.
Ah, heaven's high power has found
A new expedient to our endless shame,
To make our vanquish'd foe remain the victor,
And triumph, though defeated.
MIRIM. What barbed arrows in my wounded heart,
Great lord, hast thou enfix'd!
LUCIFE$. Ah! for no other purpose have I call'd
From realms of air and fire,              Eyou
From earth, from water, and the central depths,
Save that we might project in council here
How man may fall entirely overwhelm'd,
If to destroy him by the fruit I fail'd.
DIGRIGNAN. Ah, how can Adam live,
If he indeed has eat the fruit forbidden,
Condemning him tb death?
Now well may we exclaim,
That heaven this day inures itself to falsehood.
LUCIFER. Hear it, oh hell, and shudder at the
sound,
And let thy lively joys now turn to languo.
Tell me, thou Beliar, how seems to thee,
After the tasted fruit, man on the sudlen
Discover'd naked, and amid the branches
Of thickest growth hastening to hide his shame P
BELIAR. In viewing his own nakedness, he shows ua
The tasted fruit has robbh'd him of all grace;
The very foliage where he hides informs him
He is become a beast,
781




ï~~364                ADAM:
And, like a beast, is doom'd in death to lose
His body and his soul.
LucIFER. Thou, Coriban, relate why man has
With the fig's ample leaf             [form'd
A mantle for his waist.
CORIBaAN. I'll tell you,-'tis the nature of tlhe fig
To rise not high, and prove of short duration;
Still less may man expect to glory's height
To raise himself; for short shall be his date.
All the contentious elements at war,
Occasion'd by his sin, now in their conflict
Shall overwhelm him, and the hope with souls
More to embellish heaven shall be in vain.  [pent,
LucIFER. And thou, Ferea, what denotes the ser.
Whom in his anger God is pleased to curse?
FEREA. I will be brief in telling all that's true
When he pronounced a curse upon the serpent,
Man had already heard his malediction;
And thus to that he added,
Prone on thy belly, Serpent, thou shalt grovel,As if to man suggesting,
Dark as a riddling god, man is of clay;
And clay shall now be destitute of soul,
As destitute of soul each other reptile.
LUCIPER. Thou, Solobrico, tell me, what think'st
thou
Of this strange speech to manThou by thy sweat must gain
The bread that forms thy food.
SoLoBRIco. This bread to us discovers
The life of man's frail body,
A body form'd of earth, as now indeed
Grain must be drawn from earth to make this bread,
The vital element:
His sweat denotes the element of water,
His countenance is air, his labour fire;
So that this dark expression
Of being doom'd to gain his bread by sweat,
To man says, Thou shalt live,
In many griefs and troubles,
A short space in the world;
Then is thy lot to die,
Turning again to earth, air, water, fire.
LUCIFER. And, Gismon, thou, to woman when he
That with the pangs of birth            [aid,
She should produce her offspring, say what meaning
Lurk'd in that new expression to bring forth?
GIsMsoN. This said expression birth
Denotes the being born,
When her young progeny shall rise to light:,78%




ï~~A SAititE) IDR XMA.          S
He also might denote a new partition
By this new word bring forth,
Innumerable pains,
In which the suffering parents
Shall both participate to rear their children.
Of body and of soul
The certain death 1 see in this expression:
That this may be, turning to man he said,
That he should die, and then to Eve he added,
That she with bitter anguish should bring forth.
Now this mysterious saying nothing means,
If not that man is meant
By death corporeal, and his frail companion
By death that strikes the soul;
Thus from mortality,
With loss reciprocal, the soul is taken:
And thus, when each has languish'd,
The body in its dying,
The soul in its departure,
Leaving at length its transient dear abode;
So verified shall blie the mighty sentence
From him, the mighty Judge,
Of bringing forth with dire excess of pain.
IA)fIFER. All you, that most sagacious
I re-kon'd once in my infernal kingdoms,
I find now least sagacious.
To thee I turn, Arsiccio, tell me now
What means that mystery,
The cursine of the earth?
A Rsicilo. And to the blame of man I too retura
Can it he true this cursing of the earth?
What does the mystery mean?
Means it indeed the earth?
Foolish i  he who thinks so! what offence
Has she committed? no,'twas not the earth
Was cursed, hut only man. who is of earth;
And human nature all is cursed with him;
And that decree, it should no more bear fruit,
Was utter'd for no purpose
Buit to proclalim to man,
That, as a stoner, heaven is shut against him.
L    aIFER. Arion, thou exalt thyself in air;
Do thou mtnform me why with skins of beasts
'his man and his companion were array'd.
A ttas This clearly shows to us
That God no longer makes account of man.
Hear me ugconquer'd sovereign:
ltis.iothing Adam with the lifeless skins
Of 1:veeed animals to us imports,
Tihat, as with dying beast.

~~1~~~~~~~




ï~~36W                ADAMW:
The body, soul, and spirit, also die;
So death shall also prove
The dread destroying ravager of men
By the dread fruit's effect.
LuclSFER. Ondoso, thou who art profest a diV
Canst thou pervade the depth
Of these confused decrees? inform me now
What means the mystery
Of cherubim with fiery falehions
Forbidding entrance to the gates of Eden.
ONDOsO. No mystery, great king,
But the destruction of the hamaan rare
Portended by these falchions
They mean indeed the death
Of man's terrestrial form,
And their fierce blades of fire
Damnation to his soul:
So that when struck by death
The body shall be ashes, and the soul
Shall by eternal justice
Within the dark Avernus
Become a prisoner, lost to light ard heaves
Now blest are we, since we behold it clear,
That, rising to the realms above, 'tis ours
To make Olympus joyful, since when we
Resign'd our seat in heaven,
At those exalted gates
No armed cherubim was placed to guard
Thus all is justly weigh'd,
And in an even balance;
For now the world's inhabitants shall be
The birds, the fish, the beasts;
Of the Tartarean gulf
Man and his numerous race;
We only on gay wing shall soar to heaven,
On this supreme condition,
That heaven's great Lord shall pardon ask of the,
Repenting of his error, and that both
Shall rule the realm of heaven,
Both Lucifer and God.
LUciFER. Tarpalce, say what thinkest thou of manI
TARPALCE. 'Tis not my sentiment man can be saved
In short, this man has sinn'd;
And he who draws from mesn his flesh and life,
He shall be eall'd a sinner;
And he who is a sinner shak be da 'd;
And since it is denied
That these the seats of heaven, that once were ouea,
Neglected shall be left, and void of glory,
Well may we re-ascend, with brave condition,
784




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.                WI
The heaven once more returning to itself.
Sufficiertly we know
It other-says would still be void of splendour,
Since God no longer knows
What to achieve that inay embellish heaven.
LeCIFER. Alas, 'tis fit that 1
From a deep silence now
Loose this chill'd tongue, chill'd though it seems to
With cruel deadly rage!                 [burs
My heart is bursting only at the thpught
O(f what I must relate;
Now with great efforts vanquishing myself,
Let that be heard which anguish bids me tteglt
The fear he felt to show himself when naked
Was from the mighty shame
To see himself bespotted
With sin's deformity.
His flight with rapid steps towards the woods,
As to the sea the swollen torrent flies,
Denotes his great repentance of his sin.
That leafy screen in which he hid himself
Denotes his coarse and rustic penitence,
Till with long abstinence he shall atone
With punishment for sin.
The harsh and ample leaf
Of fig, still more expressive,
Tells it will be man's lot
With coarse and hairy vest
To cover every fault;
And as upon the fig,
Among its harshest leaves, a dulcet fruit
Arises, thus at last shall man himself,
'Midst all his penitence, enjoy the fruit
So sweet and dear of heaven, that he had lost:
The verdure of the leaf
Afford% a certain hope
That man may have of God's returning grace;
That he at length in heaven
Shall know a blooming spring of highest glory
The double summons, thus bestow'd on man,
Tells us he shall have time
To weep, though sinning, his repented sin,
If he was pleased to execrate the serpent,
There hell may understand
That it was not the serpent
Who then offended God; from whence he sai4,
Prone on.thy belly, Serpent, thou shalt creep
Alas, too clearly saying,
Quit every hope, 0 ye that now abikde
By the infernal streams,
78




ï~~368                ADAM:
Quit every hope of heaven!
And when between this woman and the serpent
His word denounced, alas! eternal war,
Ah then he comprehended human nature,
Which bears a female name.
What then are now our direst enemies?
Inhabitants of heaven!
So that our most tormenting adversary
Is now no other but this human nature,
Made an eternal denizen of heaven.
What more, alas! (have I the force to speak it?)
The saying thatAthe woman
Shall one day bruise his head,
With mystery severe
Shows us the incarnation of the Word.
Saying to man his bread
He now by sweat must earn, is it not saying
After hard toil thou shalt to heaven ascend?
Alas! perhaps it means
That bread may 'life denote,
Since man is destined to have life in heaven.
If for the apple God was pleased to say
That man transgressing shall be doom'd to death,
-He of the body spake;
The spirit is immortal.
When in his speech to Eve
He doom'd her to bring forth, that indicates
Eternity assign'd to human nature.
The guard of cherubim that wheel around
Their fiery swords, forbidding
All feet to tread on that delicious garden,
I would declare to meanBut to cold marble turns my faltering tongue.
BRIAR. Shall it be said that Briar checks his tongue?
Believe not thou, our lord,
That man to heaven shall soar;
Too feeble are his wings;
Had he no other bar,
I am alone prepared to give him death,
Arm'd with a mighty club, or with a stone,
Though sure to be condemn'd
Myself alone to all the pains of hell;
Since I can well discern,
That in continual thinking of my glory,
Infernal pain will turn to heavenly joy.
Luci['ER. O noble, generous ardour!
Trust oie, not less avails
A heart magnanimous for glory panting,
Than a decided triumph.
Let us remain in hell,
786




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.
Since there is more content
To live in liberty, though all condemn'd,
Than, as his vassals, blest.
Up from these filthy dregs,
A hideous mass, sulphureous, rough, and round,
Let there be raised to light;
So wills the mighty chieftain of damnation.
SCENE THE THIRD.
The infernal Cyclops, armed woith hammers, and all
those of the preceding Scene.
BEHOLD the smiths of hell,
That, worn with toil and smoke,
To heaven are raising this enormous ball,
Now fashion'd fs Avernus
LuciFER. Now as a perfect rival
Of God, I will, that Lucifer be seen.
He highly seated, on his throne in heaven,
To us reveal'd the world, and thence arose
Our banishment from heaven, and I this day,
Raising Vain Glory to a throne of splendour,
Have now contrived to exterminate mankind.
If he from nothing made the ample world,
I too a nothing will now make of worlds,
Or of the world a nothing.
Now let this dark and misty mass dissolve,
And in the place of elements, and heavens,
Of all the stars, the moon, and radiant suns,
Let there come forth a strange unfinish'd monster.
ONDoso. O what a stormy burst, what monsters rise,
All horrible and hissing,
With forms enormous howling,
And breathing blasts of fire.
LUCIFER. Thou that now seem'st a dark and hideous
monster,
f will array thee in a human semblance,
Though but of vapour form'd;
Thou shalt be call'd the World.
Instead of shags, and vestments wild,
Sweat thou beneath a load of gems and gold,
For well I know how henceforth in my service
Gold may be used in tempting man to sin.
Such thou shalt have around thee;
On thee I will bestow voice, gesture, snares,
In strictest tie to catch
The human foot of clay that walks incautious;
And all that thou canst wish
R2
787




ï~~370                ADAM:
To overwhelm this mnan, all thou shalt have.
Thou beast of monstrous shape,
Thou like a lovely damsel shalt appear,
Thou shalt be call'd the Flesh,
With wiles, deceits, and ardotrs,in thy train.
Whence man may fall in unbecoming errors:
And, monster, thou that art
0o hideous and so meagre, Death be call'd:
Be thou all human bone,
All ice, all madness, all a mass of horror
To the unhappy sinner.
Ye four terrific forms, of wildest semblance,
For horrid deeds I choose you,
Ill omen'd words, and acts of cruel nature,
Your fashion to display.
Up, up, let each return
To his own element, his proper sphere!
Come! why delay to fire?
Haste all with me,
And hence in silence glide,
Abandoning the light.
SCENE THE FOURTH.
ADAM. Wretch that thou art! now cast thine eyes
No longer shalt thou see             [around,
Aught to console thy pain.
Ah! in that very thought,
Sorrow so wounds my heart,
My tears so overwhelm me,
That in a sigh I seem to breathe my last.
Where, Adam, is thy beauty? where thy grace,
That made thee dear to angels and to God?
Ah! thou alone hast dared
To stain thy nature, and to wound thy soul!
I, this, is this the way
To please that Being who on thee bestow'd
Whate'er thou seest around thee, with a promise
To give thee in the stars a heavenly mansion P
Rather on fruit forbidden
To feed, than on the living words of God,
Has been thy choice; and lo,
Thou from an angel to a beast art changed!
And, more than other beasts
Driven as a monster from this pleasant gardens,
And thus in skins array'd! Alas! I dare not
Lift up my eyes to heaven, yet it becomes me,
Low on my knees, to view the good I lost,
788




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA:               $71
And in lamenting say,Dear seat of God, thou should'st have been the "eat
Of Adam also; but thou art lost to me,
Thee have I lost, alas! and found instead
Of thee, both death and hell.
O hide, in pity hide, thy splendotr, heaven!
Since Adam is a sinner.
Conceal your light, ye stars;
Vanish, thou moon and sun
Eternal horror be the fate of man,
Since Adam is a sinner.
Now in the faithful choir of angels cease,
Ye soothing melodies,
Since Adam is a sinner.
Behold, with pain behold,
How, from thy dread offence,
All things this day appear to change their form,
All hold thee in abhorrence,
All from thy aspect fly!
Ah, thou may'st well exclaim,
There, from the verdant stem and parent tree,
The rose is fled, and leaves thee but the thorn!
There sinks each flower, within the grassy earth
Hiding its head precipitate, and scarce
Where it display'd its pride now shows its stalk
Well may'st thou add, in plucking here the apple
Thou gavest a fatal shake to every tree,
Then bringing to the ground
Each leaf, each flower, and every blooming fruit.
Ah, how despoil'd and waste
All now appears to me; all shade and horrors;
Produced by man's rebellion to his God.
Where, where are now the gay and sprightly birds
That on their painted plumes
Round me were used to sport and flutter here?
Ah, your closed wings I see
Amidst the thickest leaves, and fearing all
The deadly snares of Adam.
Where, where is now the tiger, bear, and lion,
The wolf, the pard, and thousand other beddts,
Obedient all to man, and in his train
Alas! now made voracious
Of human carnage and of smokinfg blood
I now behold you all,
Sharpening 'gainst man the talon 6nd the tooth.
Where now, ah where,,their young
May all the fleecy kind
Let fall in safety? for, alas, I see
No longer will they offer
Their milky dogs to thee, their dugs or offspring
Since to escape from man,
4 69t




ï~~372                ADAM:
Now, now, I see them eager,
Man turn'd into a wolf
By having seized an apple.
All fly, and all abhor thee,
And from thee, barbarous, learn barbarity.
Hence in the earth and sea,
Beyond their custom, now
All fish, and all the beasts,
To battle seem to invite thee;
See now the wolf and lamb,
She who of late not far from him might wander,
See how she bleating flies fronr4 is unfaithful
Tusk, now expecting bloody violence!
Behold the hare, behold
How timid she is made, and the dog fierce
In striving for her life,
While more than native fear to flight inclines her
Behold that dusky beast,
That with white tusks of an enormous size
Extends its weighty jaw,
That now forgetting to revere the moon,
Intractable, ferocious,
Beyond its native temper,
Rushes in anger with its fibrous trunk
That serves it for a nose,
Against the horn which the rhinoceros
Sharpens of hardest stone!
Behold the sea enraged,
Now, by thy rage, the very sea inflamed
Takes up the fish within its watery arms,
And in a thousand caverns,
Against the mossy stones
Now strikes, and now entombs them.
At length, behold that ox,
That now beneath thy crooked yoke of wood
To turn the sterile earth
Thou must contrive to couple,
See how he darts an eye of fire upon thee,
And foaming now, and panting, fle eely points
His crooked horn, and threatens thee with death.
And more, yet more, the earth
Provokes thee now to conflict,
Thanks to thy dire offence;
And since her bosom must by thee be wounded,
Strives with thee for thy viands, arm'd herself
With thistles and with thorns.
I've sinn'd, O Lord, I've sinn'd!
I've sinn'd, and for my fault
My mournful heart in weeping I distil
Why wretched do I speak? see what a band
790




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.              373
Of beasts made barbarous,
Of hostile beasts, now wet
With crimson's deadly stain,
I see around me, darting from their caves!
Alas! what see I more? wretch that J am!
Behold, from them affrighted Eve is flying!
SCENE THE FIFTIH.
ADAM and EVE.
EVE. Ah whither shall I fly? and where conceal
ADAM. Haste to my arms, 0 haste!      [me?
Let him who sinn'd like thee,
Like thee become of savage beasts the prey!
EVE. Ah, every path becomes
The pass of death to one of life unworthy;
Here in this cavern's depth,
Here let us plunge, O Adam.
ADAM. Ah, they-at length depart; yet not from
Will misery depart, or mortal anguish.  [man
Oh wondrous wretchedness, even pleasure weeps,
Joy wears the form of sorrow,
And life itself now dies.
Eva. Ah, how I grieve, 0 Adam!
Oh heaven! what tears I shed,
How do I sigh O God, wounded in heart,
Now, nor alive nor dead!
ADAM. But hark, what horrid roarings
Make air rebellow, and the valleys shake!
SCENE THE SIXTH.
FAMINE, THIRST, LASSITUDE, DESPAIR, ADAM, EVE.
FAMINE In vain from our quick grasp
You strive to fly, vile offspring of the earth!
And from the thousand ills that heaven intends thee;
Fly not, for 'tis in vain. Ye now around
Block up the paths, and guard each avenue!
Famine am 1, who in this hideous form
Now show myself to man,
To prove how keen I am,
With bitterness to poison all his sweets;
And from the semblance I reveal, thou wretch,
Clearly shalt thou perceive,
Beyond ail other creatures,
791




ï~~274                 ADAM:
How sharply Famine's piercing shaft shall wound
And as I now devour these tender shoots  [thee;
Of the young fruitful vine,
And suck, with eager thirst, the dulcet juice,
So from thy feeble bones, that now derive
Infirmity from sin,
Soon will I tear the flesh,
And suck thXs fiercely from thy veins the blood.
And this fierce monster that you now behold,
Keen at the limpid fountain
To satiate its thirst, and foil'd, attempting
With harpy talon to pollute the water,
This is call'd Thirst; and now, in such a form,
Both horrible and fierce,
To thee appears, that thou may'st comrprehend
How wildly raging thou shalt feel its fury.
And this is Lassitude,
That Lassitude which now on thee shall pour
The mighty streams of sorrow.
See how her figure melts in drops of anguish,
In raising on her back
That heavy burden of enormous weight!
'Tis hers to make thee, Adam,
So worn with toil, that from thy pallid visage
The copious streams of painful sweat shall pour;
And Lassitude shall so annoy thy frame,
That thou shalt hate thy life.
Hence, at the last, perforce ye both shall pass
Through unaccustom'd ways of wretchedness
To this dire monster, savage and tremendous,
Who henceforth on the earth
Shall bear of Desperation
The desperate name; look, and behold how fiercely
He in convulsion rolls, aind shrieks, and roars;
See how he tears his hair and grinds his teeth,
Wourds all his frame, and makes his breast re-eche
With his repeated blows!
This fierce, relentless monster
Shall so affict thee, that thou shalt he eager
To turn, and hasten to an end more wretched:
And if, perchance, thou think'st I speak not trtle,
See him, who from his deep and dark domain
In blackest vapour w rapt,
Circled with globes of fire, appears before thee!

791




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.

SCENE THE SEVENTH.
DEATu., ADAM, and Evz.
DEATH. Thou art the creature, Woman,
Who first hast summon'd me,
And with a sinful voice,
From the Tartarean shades;
Thou. perishable flesh and form of clay,
Hast call'd this fearful monster,
Of human bones compacted,
This day to look upon the light of heaven.
Say now what would'st thou speak?
Dost thou abhor thy life?
Behold the sickle-bearer, and the sickle
That now invites thee to desert the day.
Now with a lynx's eye,
I see, in looking into future time,
T my dread name and these ungodly arms,
What fatal trophies rise.
But what! not here shall end the full perdition
With which heaven threatens thee; such mighty evils
Hell now prepares for.thee,
And such excess of horrors,
That I, I who am Death,
Wish for destruction to escape their sight.
Thou art condemu'd to die,
Thy residqnce is hell,
Become a rebel to thy mighty Maker.
ADAM. Oh source of tears! Oh sorrow!
Oh miserable sinner!
EVE. Ah me! most wretched Eve!
The origin of sin.                 [withdraws
ADAM. Ah, how the heaven grows dark, how it
Its light from us, who are of light unworthy!
But ah! what flame in heaven quickens and dies,
Dazzling our sight, and sudden darts away,
A serpent all of fire?
EvE. Alas! not here the wrath of heaven shall
First we must suffer death.             [end,
ADAM. Ah, what rebellowing sounds I hear above!
Perchance with such a voice
Offended Heaven now drives us from the world,
And sends us banish'd to the gulfs below)
What shafts, how numberless
Strike down the woods and groves! with. what wild
The raging winds contend!               [force
Now rushes from the sky
Water congeal'd to forceful globes of haill
8 E                 793




ï~~376                ADAM:
Eva. Alas! how from on high
The swelling waters pour,
That rising o'er their banks,
The proud o'erflowing river
Now put the beasts to flight,
And in the groves and woods
Precipitately drive the fish to dwell!
ADAM. Fly! let us iaste to fly
Up to those lofty mountains,
Where heaven now seems at last
Satiate with ceaseless thundering to reposeT
ACT V.
SCENE THE FIRST.
TaHS FLESH and ADAM.
THE FLESH.
IF in a bosom form'd in lonely woods,
An amorous lure, the engine of deceit,
May wake a blazing spark,
And raise an inextinguishable fire;
This day to me shall shine a day of triumph,
When in desire's fierce flames
I shall behold that heart,
Which love's devouring flame yet has not touch%
And now, if aught of potency resides
In golden tresses or a breast of snow,
A radiant eye, a cheek of rose and lily,
And teeth of pearl, and lips that vie with coral,
In beauty, grace, allurements, arts and gestures,
To make a wretched mortal heart their captive,
Such tresses, such a breast,
A cheek, and teeth, and lips,
And my intelligent engaging manners,
Will hold thee fetter'd in a thousand snares.
Behold, not distant far, the simple bird
I opportunely see,
Who for my tempting lure
His habitation quits, and his companion,
To fall at once by amorous deceit:
O how to earth dejected,
He bends his watery eyes in deep affliction!
Thou art not yet transfix'd
By my prevailing shaft, but now it seeks thee;
794




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               377
SHE SINGS.
Dearest Adam, grieved and fainting,
Let my song thy spirit comfort!
And with thee,
O let me
Lead a life of true enjoyment!
Gentle Adam, son of glory,
Hearken, hearken! meek and humble
Sounds the artless song unpolish'd
That invites thee
But to kindness;
Give, O give me ease and quiet,
Gentle Adam, son of glory!
But if thou with different feelings
Wish to wound this tender bosom,
See it naked!
Strike! O cruel,
Wherefore pause you? Haste to kill me!
By your hand I fall contented.
ADAM. O thou all-seeing Lord,
If real grief may touch thee,
Survey the contrite sinner,
Who through his eyes distils his heart in tears.
No! of thy mercy do not close the hand,
Since what sustains me now must fall and perish.
Behold, behold, dread Lord! unhappy man,
Who from the fatal fruit
Has to encounter all the snares of hell;
Defend him; he is thine, thine thou hast call'd him,
And having once been thine, thou must have loved
him.
THE FLESH.
Go, full of terror and desire! I must
With the impetuous be meek and coy,
And with the timid bold, and urge him on
Till love's keen canker-worm
Prey on the simple heart,
That never yet has felt the sting of passion.
ADAM. Who may this be? alas, both hope and fear
Urge me to seek, and bid me still be silent.
THE FLESH.
This lowliness, and this affected coyness
With an undaunted lover, this presumption
With one more soft and timid, are so prevailing
They seem two strong incentives
To kindle the fierce flame of love's desire:
Whence I a skilful mistress
Brandish my tongue,




ï~~378                ADAM:
And give a mortalwound.
Say, why art thou so pensive,
O my most gentle Adam?
ADAM. Restrain, restrain thy step,
Whoe'er thou art, nor with thy songs inveigleHim, who has only cause for ceaseless tears.
THE FLESH.
Without thy strict injunction,
Creature of noble semblance,
To stand aloof from thee
Grieves me; I want the courage to approach
The flowery bloom of thy engaging face,
Fearing lest serpents ii thy radiant eyes
For ever on the watch,
With stings devoid of pity pierce my heart.
But every bitter root
That leads thee to suspicion,
I from thy breast will pluck; for know, I am
The very soul of love; yes! of that love
Which has induced thy Maker
From nothing to make all:
And since in that debased
Condition into which thy sorrows sunk thee,
This love alone can draw thee,
To the low world I took my flight from heaven.
Perchance thou may'st suppose, enjoying love,
That thou must therefore lead a savage life,
A lover of the brutes;
No, no, adorning all thy form with flowers,
And wearing on thy locks a wreath of palm,
Thou shalt enjoy a vest of gold and silver,
Such as I wear, and such as high in heaven
The radiant tissue shines, when sun and moon
Weave their united rays.
Thine eyes shall sparkle with resplendent fire,
On thy warm cheek a graceful blush shall glow
And when in ecstacy thy lip is press'd,
Its richer hues shall make the coral pale.
Say, at the very sound dost thou not feel
Thy heart dissolve in amorous joy? I see
Thou art delighted, Adam.
ADAM. I love, in truth I love,
But only burn with love
For my almighty Maker.
THE FLESH.
The soul alone can love,
Can love this heavenly Lord:
But in these sublunary woodland scenes,
Love has delights of a corporeal kind.
T"O




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               379
ADAM. The love thou speak'st of it is mine to pwyVe
With my beloved consort.
THE FLESH.
Yes! that is true; yet only sons of death
Can spring from your affection.
ADAM. Sad fruit of my offence!
THE FLESH.
Ah, but immortal children
From me shall spring, if thou wilt yield to me.
Amidst these herbs and flowers
Be ours sublimest love!
Simple! extend thy hand,
Behold, and touch my breast, that thou wilt find
Far different from the breast of mortal Eve.
If thou wilt love, shall I not make thee worthy
Of the unbounded joy
To steal thee from thyself? Ah come, ah come,
To this pure bosom that I show thee, Adam!
Oh say to me, I love thee!
Perchance thou may'st believe,
Each man to spring from thee
Ought to be happy with a single woman;
Each woman too contented
To love one man alone!
Simple, if such thy thought:
For all the sweets of love
Become more poignant by the change of lovers.
See how eacn animal, that dwells on earth,
Leads a delicious life,
By changing its affection;
And thou, sole sovereign of each living creature,
Shalt thou content thee with a single lover?
ADAM. Let sorrow's flame convert my heart to
ashes,
Rather than it may burn with double love!
Hence then! depart! for a blind mole am I
To all thy proffer'd beauty;
And truly in thy presence
I feel no touch of love.
THE FLESH.
O thou most icy heart!
Now kindle with the flame of my affection.
Behold this ample cavern of the earth
Lo, it was made for love; whate'er it holds
Within its spacious circuit,
Of love perceives the fire.
Love rules the earth, the sea, the air, and fire
797




ï~~380                ADAM:
With endless love a hundred genial stars,
Not moving from their sphere,
Scatter their flames through heaven;
And other wandering planets
Through those exalted regions
Direct their golden steps.
What river, fount, or stream.
Unconscious flows, and destitute of love?
What frozen sea does love not penetrate
With his imperious ardour?
What glowing ocean does not oft discover
A visage pale and wan,
As if infirm with love?
What flower, what plant, or stone,
Wishes for love in vain, of love deprived?
Whate'er inhabits heaven, or earth, or sea,
Burns in the flame of love.
Behold that sportive bird of painted wing,
That goes with fluttering joy from bough to bough,
And in his song declares he sings of love I
Behold the sweet and oft-repeated kisses
Of those two doves, what dost thou think of them?
Of love they are the kisses.
The beauteous peacock see,
That gaily fondles his attractive mate;
He whirls the plume of love.
Hear you that nightingale, does she not mourn
Now does she not exult? now 'tis her joy
With her melodious warble
To stun the valleys, and make glad the hills.
Simple, what dost thou think?
'Tis love that makes her tuneful.
Behold that river with its banks of flowers,
Its stream of purest silver,
And of fine gold its sand;
Behold, dost thou not see within its bosom
A thousand fishes glide?
They lead the dance of love.
Behold that sportive goat, that butting runs
Exulting o'er the plain,
His conflicts are from love.
Look there, and see amidst a thousand folds
Those close entwisted snakes,
That in a single being seem combined:
Coy Adam, even these
Weave the close web of love.
Behold, at length where yonder clustering vine
Her amorous arms around the elm extends;
She also burns with love.
Even that flower, that ever courts the sun,




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA:                381
Thus in its glances speaks,
I dart the glance of love!
And thou unmelting soul! wilt thou alone,
Wilt thou disdain to feel
That which all creatures prove?
Nought can resist my golden pungent dart,
Nor air, nor fire, nor sea, nor earth, ndr heaven.
SCENE THE SECOND.
LucsPtR, THE FLESH, and ADAM.
THE FLEsH.
Now burn with love, and bless the fond desire
Of her, whom the Creator
Made blazing all with love.              [locks
AnDAs. And who art thou, whose thick and bushy
And beard of silver shade thy head and face?
LucIFE. Adam, I am a man; I amithy brother,
But of a higher rank;
Since I have drawn the vital air of heavenThou, in this lower world;
For well thou know'st, that station
Affords an airy grandeur to our birth.
In years too I surpass thee;
My voice, too, and my language
Declare me old, as these my locks of silver;
Now if all elder things
Are deem'd superior to their successors,
In this my merit must be more than thine.
ADAM. How I should answer thee, my tongue knows
Thou lofty Lord of Heaven!                 [not
Since my sad error with so thick a cloud
Of ever-during fear
O'ershades my eyes and heart.
LUCIFER. Oh, Adam, do not fear!
THE FLESH.
Wait thou a little! soon
That shall be known to thee, which now is hid:
All for thy good alone,
And to save man from many griefs and pakh.
LucIFER. Now, Adam, understand
How having made me in his lofty heaven,
He next created thee;
For a new wish he forrn'd
To mate another man, and give the world
790




ï~~382                ADAM:
io be his grateful residence, and then.
Clay he made flesh, and of that flesh made ma$
Then from the side of man he woman drew,
And then ordain'd the law,
Prohibiting the apple,
Which if he tasted, man
Must be deprived of his celestial home.
Hence is it thou hast felt,
Hence is it thou hast seen
Clouds rolling through the air,
And fiery scintillations in the sky,
Rebellowing thunder and its rattling bolts,
And the tempestuous crash.
These mournful pomps of horror,
Say, say, what canst thou think
That they portend below to new-made man P
All these appear'd in heaven, because from herven
Now the celestial Adam is dislodged.
As to terrestrial man
(As if the world would drive him from the woriA,
The earth itself grew barren,
And every fruit grew harsh,
The waters full of turbulence and gall,
And every creature sharpen'd
His beak, or tusk, or talon.
Behold at last, O heaven! a pair of brothers
The citizens of earth.
O, Adam, do not grieve,
That I by fault of thine have now lost heaven,
Since to have haply found
Thee, my beloved brother,
Now makes me not to feel the loss of heaven:
And happy we will live
In this, a sylvan, and a sunny scene;
Or emulous of heaven, in God's own heaven
Raised to a noble seat,
1 will, that we ascend,
And underneath our feet
Joy to behold the congregated choirs,
Even like the blessed choirs,
The children of this man.
Now if we wish success to our desires,
And should delight to see
Springing like grass, and frequent as the lowet
Our children rapidly arise to light,
Turn we our eyes and heart
To this fair goddess of delightful love!
For easy 'tis to her
To form in sweet array the troops we wish,
A plant so sweetly fruitful
f0o

z




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.
Is not; nor is the earth herself so fertile;
Nor does it raise so soon
Its nutritive production,
As she will raise, if we are so disposed,
The fruit of lovely children.
Then to the lily whiteness
Of her enchanting cheek
Advance the living roses of the lip!
And of so sweet a flower
For this love's goddess let us form a garland;
Oh to the living ruby
Of this sweet fount of kisses,
If he for kisses thirst,
Thehart of love shall run,
There bathe his thirsty lip,
And there on kisses quench his mighty ardour.
THE FLEsH.
Why this delay, O Adam?
Approach, approach, my heart!
Satiate thy thirst of love!
LUCIFER. What! dost thou fear, and tremble P
Now let the empty cloud
Of all thy vain suspicion
Disperse'before the sun of heavenly truth!
Extend, extend thy arms
And in one dear embrace encircle both!
Happy who pants for thee! alas, what dost thou?
At once thou givest, and again draw'st back
Thy blandishments, like lightning,
That in appearing flies and vanishes.
ADAM. What fear assaults my heart I cannot tell,
But feel that like a timid deer I pant
At the dire barking of blood-thirsty hounds.
SCENE THE THIRD.
CHERUBIM, GUARDIAN OF ADAM, ADAM, THE FLESH,
and LUCIFER.
CHERUBIM. 'Tis time to succour man. Alas I what
Most miserable Adam?                Edost thou,
LUCIFER. Why dost thou silent stand? what are
thy thoughts?
ADAM. I seem'd to hear a plaintive, pleasing voice
That in this manner spoke: Alas! what dost thou?
Most miserable Adam!
8.3




ï~~384                ADAM:
THE FLESH.
A vain desire, and dread,
Now lords it o'er thy heart,
CHERUBIM. Since thy heart trembles, evils must be
ADAM. I tremble at deceit.            [nigh.
LUCIFER. Thqu must have lost thy reason,
If thou canst fear thy mistress, and thy brother.
CHERUBIM. Fear! for they are thy foes.
ADAM. Thou say'st thou art my brother, she my
But if ye were my foes!-             [mistress;
TYE FLESH.
Cryil to treat us so!
What enemy can man now have on earth?
CIIERUBIM. The enemy of Eve.
ADAM. He, who occasion'd misery to Eve,
And ne, who was the cause, that from this brow
The painful sweat must now descend in streams.
LUCIFER. So little wilt thou trust us?
So lightly dost thou love us?
Yet it is fit thy fault
Call forth the tears to flow into thy bosom.
THE FLESH.
With treachery 'tis fit to treat with man
In gesture, tears, and voice,
Only to plunge him in Tartarean fires.
ADAM. They weep in such abundance
That every tear they shed strikes on my bosom;
And though like marble hard,
I fear, I fear, that if it does not split,
It may at least be soften'd.
ANOGEL. These are the poisonous waters of Avernus,
(Incautious man!) that from their eyes distil.
LUCIFaR. Ahl heaven! why didst thou form me?
Why didst thou join my lot
With this ungrateful, misbelieving Adam,
That feels not his own good, or my affliction?
SADAM. Restrain thy grief, thy tears! and suffer me
(If it is true, thy soul desires my good)
To speak to thee apart,
And I to thee will open all my thoughts.
LUCIFER. Hast thou no other wish?
ADAM. No! I require no more.
LUCIFER. Behold us now apart! behold us far!
If any other wish
Strike thee, command! behold! we are obedient
Not to thy words alone, but to thy nod.
ADAM. What would'st thou, 0 my heart?
What is thy wish, my soul?
Now quiet thy desires! quiet thy pains!
802




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.              365
CHERUBIM. Tell him, if he's thy brother,
And both descendants from the starry sphere,
They should with thee, in pure and perfect zeal,
Adore the Maker of the heaven and earth.
ADAM. That which my heart suggests, I now will do.
THE FLESH.
0 tempter! now I fear
Some singular mischance.
CHERUBIM. NOW, now the fraud is known.
ADAM. Now, brother, if you wish,
With this your pure celestial paramour,
Hail'd as the soul of love,
That I should think the one a heavenly Adam,
And her the only love of our great Maker,
Now bend with me your humble knees to earth
LucIFER. How in one instant can two opposites,
Humility and pride,
Together reign in me?
ADAM. Can Adam so delay?
LUCIFRsa. I'll tell thee; ah, it seems a thing unfit
That a celestial knee
Should bend to this vile earth.
ADAM. Thou hast" already told me,
That in the high celestial plains above
Thou must no longer dwell,
But here with me enjoy delightful days,
Amid these sunny spots;
Let it not then displease thee
With earthly habitudes
To have thy breast, O Adam, fraught like mine
THE FLESH.
Well dost thou speak, O Adam! I am ready
To pay thee prompt obedience.
LUCIFER. And I will also show,
This fair one's pleasure shall my pleasure be.
ADAM. Behold I bow.myself! behold me bend!
Now let united hands be raised to heaven.
LUCIFER. To make palm meet with palm, in vain
Swe strive.
ADAM. In truth there seems much pain.
LUCIFER. Perhaps you wish
Our hands united thus?
ADAM. No! what,-do you not see
That both united form a knot together,
Finger entwisting finger?
THE FLESH.
Perhaps you choose them thus?
8
03




ï~~$s6               ADAM:
ADAM. Alas! the example,
That with my hands before your eyes I show you,
Serves it so little? heavens! what do I see?
So destitute of sense
Are heavenly creatures 7
LUCIFER.           NOW behold them join'd.
THE FLESH.
In truth I cannot tell,
If hell this day more tries the strength of Adam,
Or Adam more torments the powers of hell
LucIFER. Vigar! soul! animation!
For in proportion as our strife is bloody,
So will our palm of conquest rise in glory.
ADAM. Why do you thus apart
In sch confusion speak?
Now raise your eyes to heaven,
And with delight contemplate
Of all those starry sapphires
The pure resplendent rays,
And those fair blessed seats!
Alas, thou shutt'st thine eyes,
That stream upon the ground.
LUCIFER. O Adam, cease at length.
Those rays so splendid dazzle us too much.
ADAM. This is my foe: I now discern him welL
The eagle of the sun
Is used with pleasure on the sun to gaze;
And thou, a heavenly eagle,
Accustom'd to the brightest rays of heaven,
Dost thou disdain or shun them,
Dazzled, and in confusion?
THE FLESH.
Who knows what splendours in high heaven are
He, who surveys them oft,            [kindled?
Is satiated at last;
There's nought created so divine and dear,
That in long intercourse becomes not tiresome.
ADAM. Celestial good ne'er satiates, but delights,
And magnifies itself in God's perfection;
As the fair landscape's beauty
(Though 'tis a low example)
Becomes more perfect, and more flowery seems,
When the sun gilds the valleys and the hills.
But as I wish what ye too both desire,
Now let your eyes be closed;
And with your opening lips pronounce these words
'Thee I adore.'
LUCIFER. Go on!
804




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               3
ADAM. Say, then, 'Thee I adore.'
LUCIFER. Go on! for such a memory have I,
That by a single effort
I will repeat thy words.
ADAM.             I am contented;
Yet thou observe my words! Thee I adore,
Thus with my knees to earth, and streaming eyes,
Lord of the empyrean!
Great sovereign of the heavens, and only God!
Holy, firm, formidable, just, and pious!And still dost thou delay?
LUCIFER. I meditate thy speech,
Which to me seems so long,
I doubt my power to speak it,
ADAM. Shall I again pronounce it?
LUCIFER. This I cannot.desire,
But find a great defect
In this imploring speech.
ADAM.                Pray tell me what?
LUCIFER. No humble worshipper, not the adorer,
Dut the adored, 'tis just that I should be.
Alas! I can no longer
Such outrages endure:
No! who I am, I must at length reveal.
THE FLESH,
Alas! the same thing even I must do.
ADAM. Alas! what do I see?
What horrid form, amidst the clustfring trees,
Does this false denizen of heaven assume?
And his immodest partner?
Alas! their winged feet
The false ones move to me,
And from their pomp and gold
Breathe forth infuriate flame!
Succour me! help, O God!
Take pity on my failing!
LUCIFER. Fly, as thou canst, from these my rapid
Thy flying must'be vain.                [wings
Alas! to my great grief, this day I see
Who has the prize of conquest,
Who soonest yields, and from his rival flies.
So that I well can say
To the eternal gulf,
That in this hard and perilous contention,
The toil belongs to hell; to man the glory.
I lose, alas! I lose: now with what face
Can this my foot be turn'd again to hell?
THE FLESH.
Ah! sad and dire event! ah strife! ah death!
80




ï~~388                ADAM:
LUCIFEr. Yes, yes, 'tis just that my infernal rage
Should all now turn on me
Since I have vainly tried
To work the condemnation of this man.
But can this be? (ah! hard is my belief!)
Exalted providence!
CasasussI. Thou caust not mount, fierce monster!
I affirmn it,
By this high brandish'd dart of penal fire.
LUCIFER. Ah, for the seats of hell
I spread my rapid wings.
CHERUBIM. And 1 these happier wings, lucid and
Will exercise around,                   [light,
For man's protection, and in scorn of hell.
SCENE THE FOURTIH.
THE WORLD.
How fine I now appear! no more I seem
A monster now of horror,
But of a lofty spot
The blissful habitant, and call'd The World;
That so adorn'd and splendid,
Amidst thy prime delights,
Laughter, and songs, and amorous affections,
My snares of silver, and my nets of gold
I may extend for man,
That he may slide and fall, to rise no more;
And try in vain to heaven
Again to rise upon the wings of zeal
And should he seem for ever
Bent to survey the lovely azure heaven,
The sun's bright lustre, and the lunar ray,
And trembling stellar fires,
T will delude him so
With other lovely skies, that from tho first
Quick he shall turn his view.
I will that my fair heaven
Shall be of living sapphire; there shall shine
'un of bright pyropus, and a moon
Form'd of the beamy diamond's spotless light.
A thousand and a thousand sparkling stars,
Of jewels rich and rare;
Apd if amidst this lightning it may thunder
And burning bolts may seem to dart arow
My lightning be the ruby,'
My thunder sounding silver,
806




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               389
Witlh thunderbolts of gold, and storms of pearl'
As a proud sovereign of so rich a heaven,
The World shall still exult,
And this new man shall bend to me in worship;
And thus of these my pumps,
My luxuries, and joys,
The numerous sons of man become enamour'd,
Shall never know repose;
But with destructive force
Each shall endeavour of his wretched brother
To gain the envied finery and wealth.
Man I behold already for this gold,
And for the world's delights,
In horrid mansion full of smoke-and fire,
Tempering the deadly steel;
Now at the anvil, see!
How striking frequent with his iron mace,
He forms the coat of mail; makes it his vest,
And for destruction draws the blade of steel.
Another see, converting
Cold iron into fire,
Tapers and twists it round;
And now a hatchet forms; now see him eager
To level trees and woods;
And now, with numerous planks,
Behold him raise a work
Fit to sustain the fury of the sea.
Others I see toiling to pass o'er alps,
To pass o'er mountains and the ris en rock:
Leeches that prey on ore,
And from earth's bosom suck great veins of gold.
Lo! others in the deep
Trying the fertile sea, plunge through the waves,
Fearless encountering its tempestuous pride,
If they from crusted shell, or craggy rock
May coral draw, or pearl.
Ahl, labour as thou wilt, and sigh, or sweat,
In this pursuit of gold,
Thy cares and woes shall gather in proportion
To all thy gather'd wealth.
Lo! to preserve thy jewels and thy wealth,
SThou hidest them under earth,
And gold forbids thee to enjoy thy gold.
Hence treacherous we see
The servant to his lord,
And through his breast and heart
He thrusts the faithless sword,
Through eagerness of gold.
Hence on the table of a royal house
There stands the statue of a unicor,
807




ï~~390                ADAM:
As if in scorn of man;
Since, giving safety to a mighty lord,
The beast exposes human cruelty.
Hence is it that the son,
Greedy of gold, becomes his father's foe,
Wishes him short existence,
Flies him, and steals his wealth,
So that to make him glad, his sire may pine.
Hence is it that, for gold,
Brothers, becoming frantic,
Brandish the hostile steel,
And deem this gold more precious than their bloc&
Here by the blaze of gold
The eyes of womandazzled
See not her husband, nor regard her children,
While, on the wings of passion,
She with the adulterer flies, nor yet perceives
That for this gold (vile dust!)
She has resolved to quit her very flesh.
What more? what more? not only
By gold's possession thou shalt prove the foe
Of wife, of father, brother, and of friend,
But rebel even to God;
Since with intemperate zeal
Mere idols form'd of gold
Thou shalt proclaim the only powers of heaven.
But what do I behold? blest that I am!
I see fair Eve approach! on her soft back
Bearing a load of many leafy boughs:
What she now means to do
Here will I watch, conceal'dAmidst this bower.
SCENE THE FIFTH.
Eva and THEn WORLD.
Eva. Canst thou presume, afflicted, wretched Eva
To the bright sun to raise again thine eyes?
No! no! thou art unworthy well thou seest:
Thou could'st behold him once,
And gaze delighted on his golden splendour;
Now if thou darest to view him,
His radiance dazzles thee; rather thou seem'st,
When thou hast dared to meet his potent beams,
To have thy fading eyes
Wrapt in a dusky veil.
Alas! it is too true,
That I in darkness dwell,
S0




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               U
And in the formidable clouds of sin
I have o'erwhelm'd the light of innocence.
Ah, wretched, mournful Eve!
If now thou turn'st thy foot,
Eager to taste the pure and limpid stream.
Alas, how troubled dost thou find the water,
Or else the fountain dry!
If with quick appetite thou chance to turn,
Anxious from lovely plants to pluck the fruit,
How dost thou find it crude,
Or made the dark recess of filthy worms!
If weary, 'midst the flowers
Thou seek'st to close thine eyes,
Behold! with fluttering pinions at thy feet,
A serpent 'midst the flowers darts and hisses.
Now to avoid the heat
Of the fierce sun if thou would'st seek the shade
Of the thick wood. or of the leafy grove,
Thou fear'st the rage ef monsters, and must tremble
Like the light leaf that shakes at every breeze.
And hence it is thy wish
To fasten bough to bough, and trunk to trunk,
Raising some safe asylum
From serpents, monsters, tempests, and the sum.
To you then will I turn me, verdant boughs,
That hither on my back with toil I bore,
Do you detend me now! now rise you here,
Afford a safe retreat
To Eve so wretched! Lo! I thus begin.
It will suffice, if I with tender hand
lust shadow, what with far superior strength
And more enlighten'd sense,
The sinner, Adam, here may terminate.
THE WORLD.
Abode more firm and faithful.
Hell now prepares for thee, or rather Death.
8 ihold, behold, how she
Employs herself in placing these green boughs!
To Eve I will unveil me. Ah! what dost thou?
Why art thou raising thus,
Eve, gentle fair one, these thy leafy boughs?
Tell me, what would'st thou do,
Why dost thou toil and sigh?
EvE. Alas! what do I see?
Do not approach me! no from me be far?
THE WORLD.
What canst thou fear, 0 lovely,
Sweet angel of the earth?
3 1F 809




ï~~SY                 ADAM:
Joy of all hearts, and honour of the world?
EVE. Thou Lord, who didst create me,
This stranger, who now rich in gold and gems
Courteous accosts me with a human face,
Do thou to me reveal;
Nor let our God consen t,
That Eve again, or man,
Precipitately fall in fatal error t
Alas! with human face
An artful base deceiver,
Led me to taste the interdicted apple
And thence my heart must dread
Other infernal guile,
Since in the world one man alone exists.
THE WORLD.
Before my light, as at the radiant sun
Darkness itself is used to disappear,
Drive from thy heart this cloud,
That makes thy visage pale;
And from the lovely cave of glowing rubies,
Now closed to guard, as in the depth of Gange4
The treasure of inestimable pearls,
Send forth thy tender sighs
And if, thou fair one, 'tis thy wish to sigh,
Let all thy sighs he sweet!
EVE. And who art thou, so eager
To change the tears of woman into smiles?
THE WORL.
Know, gentle fair one, you in me behold
As much as you can see,
Raising your eyes to heavenr,
Or turning them to earth;
An indigested mass,
Chaos I once wascalld, now fair and fine,
Heaven, earth, and sea, salute me as The 'ArI-A
T too have had my residence amidst
The miracles above;
But 0! a fault of mine,
Which now to tell thee would be out of season,
Induced the sacred Resident above
From his eternal dome in wrath to drive me;
And from a bright and fine
Trophy of paradise,
Into a shapeless mass
Of hideous matter he converted me.
At last my mighty Maker, having seen
That my condition balanced my offence,
Bestow'd upon me soon another form,
a818




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA:                g9
Far from his highest heaven, and thus at once
Annihilated that tremendous prison,
Dreary and dark; he made me in exchange
The luminous gay World.
EvE. Alas! my first alarm
So deeply wounds and lords it o'er my heart,
I know not what to credit, what to do.
THE WORLD.
Now, since there's nothing that to me affords
Such infinite disgust,
As to behold aught dirty and neglected,
I pray thee, lovely fair, be it thy study
With purple, gold, and robes adorn'd with pearl,
To grace thy gentle form, and cast to earth
Those skins of animals that shock the sight.
Observe how much more pleasing and majestic
Man may be render'd by a graceful dress!
Compared to me dost thou not seem a beast?
Rather among the beasts
Dost thou not seem the vilest animal?
Dost thou not see, that every abject creature,
Or of the foaming sea,
Or of the fields of air,
Or of the woods and mountains
Are deck'd with humid scales,
Gay feathers, shaggy skins, or painted bristles?
And if on earth thou wert created naked,
Yet well array'd with reason
Appear'd thy noble soul, by which thou might'st
(Made empress of the world)
Deck thee with radiant gems, and robes of gold.
Too vile a mansion are the woods for thee,
In nakedness surpassing even the beasts.
Fo what end dost thou think,
The great exalted hand
Created in a moment
Gold, silver, and rich gems?
Perchance, perchance thou think'st
It may be right that these
Bright wonders of the world
Rest ever buried in a blind oblivion.
No! no! thou simpleton, it is that man,
Sweating in their pursuit,
May decorate himself; and as the sun
Flames in full splendour in a sapphire sky,
Or 'mid the stars of gold
The bright and silvery moon,
He thus may glitter in this earthly heaven.
What more! behold what gems the sea conceale
S2
811




ï~~M                   ADAM:
Or the rich earth embraces,
Which, tempting man to joy,
Display their rare endowments:
Whence it is just to say,.
They were for man created; and if blind
Through ignorance he slights them,
Or shows himself ungrateful,
Why has such treasure been for man created P
Shall it be true, that you, the sovereign fair,
The gentle ruler of this worldly realm,
Can prove to God ungrateful? to the World
Like earth's vile offspring? Rise! assume this gold,
The topaz, ruby, pearls, and splendid purple,
Bright robes of gold, and rich habiliments!
In worldly trophies like our lofty queen
Shine, Eve, and let all creatures worship thee!
O how in viewing thee, thou radiant fair,
Cover'd with gems and gold,
I seem to joy! 0 how,
While you majestically move along,
The flowers appear before your feet to weave
A sweet impediment!
Rather I seem to see the stars from heaven
Innumerous descend,
Here for your feet to form a bright support.
What dost thou, pensive fair?
Now of thy radiant locks, that stream at length,
A store of jewels, of fine threads you weave
For hearts a net of gold.
Now let a charming smile
Enliven thy sweet cheek!
Then shalt thou hear in accents of delight
The birds around miraculously say,' 0 what a lip of coral!
And what fair teeth of pearl,
Has Eve's sweet mouth, so delicately small!
How sweet is her discourse,
That seems to be below, what, in high heaven,
The voice of God is to the blessed host.'
Arise, arise! be warm,
Thou spring of tenderness, and flame of souls!
Come! leave! 0 leave the woods
To creatures of the forest;
And with resplendent brass,
And snowy shining marble,
Let a proud palace now be raised to heaven,
To form a worthy mansion for thy merit!
To. make this easy to thee
The World will not find difficult. That wood,
Which you have wish'd to join,
812




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.
Fearing the fury of the savage beasts,
Let that now form a seat
With walls of silver, and a roof of gold,
Of emerald its pillars,
And hung on golden hinges, gates of pearl
EVE. Oh heaven! what do I see? what's this,
0 God?
THE WORLD.
What hast thou more to say? Ah, simple, enter
With light and speedy foot, there, where alone
Thou find'st a fit abode!
Then wilt thou truly be of thy great Maker
The image and ingenious imitator,
Sirnce he among so many
Legions in heaven, as much as he excels them
In najesty, so much himself he raised
On his exalted throne, in highest heaven.
Thus here below let man amid these tribes
Of fishes and of birds,
And of unnumber'd beasts,
Possess a mansion worthy
Both of his name and empire!
EvE. In truth, when I behold your mighty pomps
That might so soon be counted as my own,
I will not say that my high heart feels not
The goading of ambition; but in turning
My eyes upon the precept of my Father,
I will disdain, and from your proffers fly,
As from vile dirt the snowy ermine flies;
And this poor skin alone
Shall be my golden robe adorn'd with pearl;
A cave my proud abode;
The troubled water and rude herbs to me
Dear beverage and food.
No! no! I will not to my first dread fault
Now add a second like it; making thus
A path more recent to the gulf of ruin.
THE WORLD.
0 simple fair, come forth!
Come forth, ye fair and gentle virgins all,
From this my golden palace!
Be you devoted handmaids
Around this fair, and 'midst your tuneful songs
Preseat to her rich robes, adorn'd with gold!

G18




ï~~86

ADAM:

SCENE THE SIXTH.
CHORUS OF NYMPHS, EVE, THE WORLD, and ADAIL
BEHOLD in dance, O joyful World,
Little virgins;
See these maidens,
With their treasure bright and cheerful;
Hearaen now how they are singing,
Eve alone invoke, and honour!
See their robes with gold inwoven;
See their vestments
Shedding lustre
From the treasure of theirjewels!
Bright the crown and rich the sceptre,
That to Eve is now presented.
If in heaven, nor sun nor planet
Shed its ardour
And its radiance,
Heaven would be a mass of horror;
But with light so pure and radiant
Heaven is term'd the seat of splendour.
He, who made so many-wonders,
Fair and beauteous,
Is desirous
All that's fair to have before him:
Deck thyself then, O thou coy one,
If thy God delights in beauty.
ADAM. What dost thou, Eve, not see
That if uncautious to these charms thou yield.st,
We shall sink deeper in the snares of hell
Eva Alas! what do I hear?
ADAM. Hence, ye rebellious crew!
By virtue of my God depart confounded,
To the infernal realms!
CHORUS. Ah, thou must then avoid this light of day
Thou sightless mole of hell I
THE WORLD.
Ah flesh infected-!
Await, 0 yet await
Fit punishment to your presumptuous rago!
And hast thou dared so highly,
Thou creature of corruption,
that this bright palace which for Eve I raised,
Speaking thou hast ingulf'd,
And from the day hast banish'd
A numerous group of fair and graceful nymphs!
Come forth, now all come forth,
Ye horrid monsters, from the caves of hellt
814




ï~~A SACRED D3RAMA.              W
Let us this hour display
Our utmost fortitude, and force suprem.
Now let this man be chain'd;
Fix him a prisoner in the depths of hell,
And let his victor reap the glory due.
EVE Succour, O God! O succour!
Lord show thy nercy to my great off'enze!
Atws-. Ah. do not fear, my love,
But hope, still hope in heaven; hope, for at last
Celestial grace was never slow to save.
SCENE THE SEVENTH.
LUCIFER, DEATH, Tie WORLD, CHORUS OF D EMOs
armed with various arms.
Luciea. Thou fool, in vain thou toil'st
To invocate high heaven; thy God m~ay arrA,
If he is not abased, and with him arm
Has flying warriors all,
From our infernal chains
Andi these sharp talons, now to draw thee forth;
To his first loss, and first discomfiture,
A second like the first shall soon be join'd.
Of his supernal loss has he not heal'd
The painful memory,
The ruin of his angels?
That now, inflamed with anger,
He seeks in heaven another mightier ruin?
To arms! at length to arms,
Satanic warriors all!
And let his wretched residue of angels,
All falling out of heaven,
Be all ingulf'd in hell!
Lo, meteors in the air and storms at sea
I kindle and I raise:
Lo, Tartarus his wings
Spreads for celestial seats
Behold the stars of God
By Lucifer's proud foot crush'd and extinguish'd;
And girt for war and glory,
Let Tartarus through heaven proclaim a triumph!

815




ï~~AIYA 

SCENE THE EIGHTH.
A RHANGEL MICHAEL, CHORUS OF ANGELSs Cvow
OF D MONS.
MICHAEL. Tremble, thou sont of wrath,
At this sharp dart's inevitable glance,
At the dread stroke of the celestial leader.
Not against God, against thyself alone,
Thou raisest wrath, and wounding woubd'st thyself,
Sink into shade, misguided, wretched spirit?
Utterly void of all angelic light,
Be blind in gazing on that.heavenly lustre,
To me imparted by the Lord of light,
The dazzler of the sun.
Fly, ye infected crew,
Ye enemies of God,
Nor let the breathing whirlwind,
With blast from hell, the yet unruin'd life
Of man o'erwhelm with deeper shades of darkness.
No more thy fatal hiss, thou snake of hell,
Shall by its discord stun;
Since pierced and panting now
Thou faintest, poison'd by thy own contagion.
LUCIeER. Heaven's talking minister,
With rays more loaded than inspired with courage
Soft creature of the sky,
Thou angel of repose,
In solemn indolence,
Humility's calm nest, a seat of peace,
A warrior but in name,
Whose countenance is fear, whose heart confusion?
Spread, spread thy pinions for the arms of God,
Take refuge there, and there be confident!
For too unequal would the combat be
'Twixt cowardice and valour,
The warrior and the slave,
Infirmity and strength, and, let me say,
Betwixt vile Michael and brave Lucifer.
But if such daring can inflame thy heart
As now to rescue from this warlike arm
That man, mere flesh and clay,
That animated dust, I warn thee well
Of mortal conflict sharp, where thou shalt see,
By this avenging hand
All the large family of God extmnguish'd.
MICHAEL. Such mournful victory,
O Belial, in thy frenzy desperate,
As once in heaven thou gain'st, now with mankind




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               899
Subduing the deceived,
And hence the conquer'd conquers,
Freed is the captive, and th.yself ensnared.
Now be it manifest
What palms of victory 'tis thine to raise.
Behold against thee, thou unfaithful spirit,
Michael become compassionately cruel.
LucIFER. If at the early sound of war, the first
Encounter of our arms,
'Twas given a mighty warrior to destroy
A third part of the stars,
See in what brief assault
I can demolish the great seat of God!
Be dazzled now before this warlike blaze,
That from the brow of death 1 now diffuse,
Whirling in bloody circle
From my high front these death-denouncing comets!
Behold! behold at length
Heaven yields no more a refuge to its angels!
Since to a fate more joyous,
A happy pass expands, and seems to say,
Begone, at length begone,
Ye frighten'd angels, now relinquish heaven
The warrior docm'd to hell
Becomes the blessed lord of these bright seats.
MICHAEL. Why longer pause to crush the proud
loquacity
Of this presumptuous and insulting rebel
Soon with a pen of adamant, with striking
Dread characters of blood,
Within the volume of eternal woe
The glory shall be blazon'd
Of thy lost victory.
To arms! at length to arms,
To spread dismay through hell!
Joy, man! smile, heaven! and Tartarus, lamer t'
LUCIFER. Seldom upon the vaunting
Of a proud tongue too bold
Boldness of hand attends. To arms! to arms
Thou fight with me; and you, my followers, all
Unconquerable warriors,
Transpierce and put to flight this abject crew,
The timid partisans
Of an unwarlike leader!
Ah! him who favours brief and endless shame
Possess'd in heaven, and now on earth display'd
Great fortitude but with unequal force,
Him a celestial stroke
Now drives confounded to the blind abyss;
And justice here decrees
817




ï~~400                ADAM:
That he who lost the fight should loseth  n.
Angels and God, at length ye are triumph,..U!
Now, now is Lucifer
O'erwhelm'd, and all his legion
Sinks from the light of day to endless nigli.
MICHAEL. Fall thou at length, fall wo u.:Â~,ld
Fierce monster of the shades,        [suirup,:
To death's deep horrors, there be doom'd to die
By an immortal death!
Nor hope thy wings to heaven
Ever to spread again! that wish, too bold
For thee. so desperate and unrepenting.
Thou'rt fallen, at length thou'rt fallen,
Most arrogant of monsters!
In pain thou sink'st as low,
As high in joy it was thy hope to soar.
Again thou learn'st to fall,
Transfix'd with thunder to the drear abyss.
Fool! thou hast wish'd to take this man thy captive,
And thou alone hast plunged
Within the deepest gulf:
Hence pierced and overwhelm'd,
Sinking to Tartarus,
The flame of wrath eternal
Bore thee to hell, the hell of hottest fires.
A spotless angel, O thou prince of falsehood,
Thy folly hope d to put to flight and woundi
But thou. opposed to him,
1ast yielded, plying thy wing'd feet in haste.
Thou too hast hoped to turn the spacious world,
In hostile flame, to ashes,
And at thy ardent blast and baleful breathing
Clouds. lightning, and tempestuous bursts of thunder,
With rattling deadly bolts of arrowy flame,
Roll'd through the air, whence all the mountains
And all the voles re-echoed in convulsion.  [shook,
And yet. beholdc, in heaven
The spheres move round more musical than ever,
And all the azure sky
The lucid sun with brighter beam adorns:
Behold the ocean, tremulously placid,
And from his Persian gulf
In gay abundance scattering pearl and coral;
Nor weary are the sportive fish in gliding
Along the trembling sapphire.
Behold, what verdant and what flowery brows
These pleasant vales in exultation raise!
Hark, to the grateful accents
Of every flying songster.
Inhabitant of air,
818




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               401
That in his flight now gives
Voice to the woods and music to the vales.
Now, all rejoicing in a day so noble,
To the confusion and.the shame of hell,
Let every spotless ensign rise to heaven,
And fluttering sportwith the exulting winds;
Let all the instruments of heavenly glory
Sound through tl, sky the victories of heaven
SCENE THE NINTH.
ADAM, EvE, CHORUS OF ANGELS.
ADAM. O sounds beloved, that call us now in joy,
To scenes we left in sorrow; ah! I fear
To taint the fragrance of the heavenly host,
Stain'd as I am with sin.
O thoud, that haply of celestial ruby
Wearest the blazing mail,
Hallow'd and brave Archangel,
Brave, yet compassionate, thy golden locks,
Radiant as light, thy glittering helmet covers;
Thou in thy right hand shakest the spear of victory
And raisest in thy left a golden balance;
Close, close thy painted plumes so rich in gold,
And cast a gentle look
On him who, prostrate. honours and adores thee
EvE. O happy dawn of the eternal sun,
Thou courteous kind restorer,
To these my blinded eyes
With sorrow darken'd, and bedew'd with tears;
Now, of thy rays a fix'd contemplator,
The mole of error stands;
Now on your voice depends
An asp, once deaf to heaven's most friendly dictates
I, wavering wanderer,
Who undissembling own
The fault in which I fell, to thee I bend,
Nor in my speech deny
That I am Eve, the cause
Of human kind's perdition.
Now let thy guardian hand
(O in the deeds of God thou faithful servaMti)
Relieve me from the depth
Of my so great offences.
ADA M. Of heavenly mysteries
And secret will of God,
Thou hallow'd blest revealer,
11




ï~~r.

4W                 ADAM:
Angel of eloquence!
The fatal presages
Of mournful Eve and Adam
Now quiet with the breath
Of thy exalted converse;
So that this troubled flood
That strikes the heart, in issuing from the eys,
No more may make me seem
A rock of sorrow in a sea of tears.
MICHAEL. Arise, O both arise, you who of God
Are creatures so regarded,
Dismiss your fears of the infernal portent
If your eternal Lord
Corrects you with one hand,
He with the other proffers your protection.
With happy auspices,
He who delivers souls,
On his light wings directs his flight to you,
In God's dread warfare harbinger of peace.
The mighty Fount of life,
The Artificer of souls,
The Architect of worlds,
The mighty Lord of heaven,
Maker of angels and of all things made,
The ihfinite Creator,
To safety summons you,
And to short war a lasting peace ordains.
Now from those double fountains
The warm and gushing streams
Of sorrow, Eve, restrain!
Thou hast been culpable
In rashly seizing the forbidden fruit;
To man thou hast occasion'd
Anguish and grief; thou hast indeed converted
Peace into war, and life into perdition:
Now by the aid of Him,
Whose handmaid nature is, and servant fate,
Who can restrain the sun,
And motion give to this unmoving mass,
Even yet may Eve enjoy
In prison liberty;
May be unbound, though fetter'd,
And triumph, while she is o'ercome, and vanquish
Now, since there shines in heaven
The star of love and peace,
And to the shame of hell,
The victor to the vanquish'd yields his palm,
Ah now let each, with humble eyes to heaven,
Incline the knee to earth,
And supplicant in prayer, give God the praise
82,




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.                40
Of goodness infinite;
For you shall find, to recompense your zeal,
That God your father is, your mansion heaven.
ADAM. Thou mighty Lord, who, resting high above
With regulated errors
And with discordant union guidest heaven;
O of the fair eternal realms of light
Thou Lord immutable, resplendent power,
Thou dazzler and obscurer of the sun!
Now in these weeping eyes
And on this humid cheek
I dry my bitter tears, I cheer my heart.
Now, by thy zealous mercy,
Though spotted, I have safety;
Security in hazard, love in hate;
And sinking into hell,
Am yet a citizen of highest heaven.
EVE. With dissolution life,
With strife and contest peace,
With ruin victory,
With deep offence salvation,
With powers of darkness heaven,
These to unite is not a human talent,
But of the eternal hand,
Omnipotence supreme; hence is it, Lord,
That wounded Eve is whole,
Triumphs in loss, and, though subdued, has glory.
My guide, I will obey thee;
Since, 0 benignant Lord,
Thy service is dominion,
And to obey thee, glory.
If pain allow not that I speak the pain
Which wounds my heart so deeply,
Thou most indulgent Father
Givest to the heart and soul a new existence:
Awaken'd by affliction,
Raising my voice to heaven,
I'll teach resounding echo
To carry to the sky my humble song,
Dev'oted to thy praise.
MICHAEL. Ye victims cleansed by tears,
Ye martyrs in affliction,
Amidst your blessed pains,
Ye holocausts of life and of content!
Now call the stars i.o more
Vindictive; war is now
Converted into peace,
4nd death turn'd into life.
Hence mortal Adam is now made immortal,
And Eve, though dead in many parts, revive
821




ï~~404                ADAM:
The potent fire of love,
In which the tender God of mercy blazes
Inflames him with pure zeal to save the sinner
Contend, resist, and bravely
Wage with the hostile Serpent constant war;
It is man's province now
To conquer hell, and triumph over death.
Creatures of grace! feel deeply now for ever,
That your most gracious Father
Would not direct towards the ground your face,
As he has made the brute, but up to heaven;
So that, for ever mindful of their source,
Your happy souls may point towards their home!
For the high realm of heaven
Is as a shining glass, in which of God
The glories ever blaze.
Inure yourselves to water, sun, and winds,
And in the stony caves,
In the most barren desert
That the sun visits when he blazes most,
There both exert your powers;
There many years and many,
United ye shall dwell in hallow'd love;
And from your progeny henceforth the world
Exulting shall derive fertility.
And now to you, ye mortal pair, I promise,
As ye together sinn'd,
If ye in penitence have join'd together,
Together even in heaven,
In a corporeal veil
Contemplating the sacred face of God,
Ye shall enjoy the bliss of paradise.
ADAM. Greater than my offence I now acknowledge
Your mercy, O my God!
Since you, become the sovereign friend of man,
To him, thoigh ruin'd, now extend your hand'
Eve. As I have known to sin,
So shall I know to weep;
For who in sinning knew forbidden joy,
Humble in punishment, should kaow to suffer
Be mute, be mute, my tongue;
Speak thou within, my heart,
And say with words of love,
See how to mortals, even in perdition,
The hand of heavenly succour was extended?!
MICHAEL. At length, since now with joy
Man, being thus delivered
From hell's keen talon, feels unbounded transport,
And in his rapture deems
Earth turn'd to heaven, this world a paradise;
821S




ï~~A SACRED DRAMA.               405
By these pure splendid dazzling rays of heaven,
By these delightful fires,
That in the light of God more lovely blaze,
Rich with new beams, and with new suns this day,
Day of festivity,
The day of paradise, rather a day
Blest in itself, and blessing every other I"
Let all with festive joy
Of God's indulgencesing;
Of Adam and of Eve,
Now made on earth the denizens of heaven;
And let your tuneful songs
Become the wonder of futurity.
ANGELS SING.
Move, let us move our feet
There, where this man shall now
Wash out his past offence
With humble, hallow'd drops;
And of the mighty Maker
Praise we the love and mercy,
That in this day to man's envenom'd aound
Suddenly gives his pity's healing aid;
Rejects him and receives,
Deeming his every wrong and error light,
And now at last with more benignant zeal,
And in despite of Satan,
Gives him, redeem'd from hell,
A seat amid the golden stars of heaven.
Ye progeny of Adam,
Whose race we shall behold adorn the world,
Ye shall not pray in vain
To your high Lord, the fountain of all mercy.
Be leaves of that pure branch,
Or which the Word Incarnate shall be grafted!
Thunder, infuriate hell,
Be s:ormy! yet his leaf shall never fall:
To him a joyous offspring
Is promised -by the Lord of heaven's great vineyaord,
Stricken, transfix'd, enkindled in a blaze,
And burning with eternal love for man.

THE END.




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