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 POEMS, 
 
 MORAL, 
 ELEGANT AND PATHETIC 
 
 VIZ. 
 
 ESSAY ON MAN, BY POPE ; 
 THEMONKOFLA TRAPPE, 
 
 BY JERNINCHAM; 
 THE CRAVE, BY BLAIR; 
 
 AN ELEGY IN A COUNTRY 
 CHURCHYARD, BY CRAY! 
 THE HERMIT OF WARK- 
 WORTH, BY PERCY ; 
 
 Original Bonnets, 
 
 BY HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR E. NEWBERY, THE CORNER OF ST. PAUL'S 
 
 CHURCH - YARD ; 
 
 AND VERNOR AND HOOD, POULTRY; 
 By J. Cundcc, Ivy-Lane, Falcrnostcr-Sov.
 
 Contents. 
 
 EPAOE 
 SSAY on Man 1 
 
 The Universal Prayer 72 
 
 The Dying Christian to his Soul 76 
 
 The Funeral ; 79 
 
 The Grave 99 
 
 Elegy, written in a Country Church Yard 141 
 
 The Hermit of Warkworth 153 
 
 Sonnets from Paul and Virginia 211 
 
 I. To Love 213 
 
 II. To Disappointment 214 
 
 III. To Simplicity 215 
 
 IV. To the Strawberry 216 
 
 V. To the Curlew 217 
 
 VI. To the Torrid Zone 218 
 
 VII. To the Calbassia Tree 219 
 
 VIII. To the White Bird of the Tropic 220 
 
 4486
 
 ESSAY ON MAN.
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 IS? aierantict; Pope, 
 
 EPISTLE I. 
 
 JWAKE, my ST. JOHN ! leave all meaner things 
 To low ambition, and the pride of kings. 
 Let us (since life can little more supply 
 Than just to look about us and to die) 
 Expatiate free o'er all this scene of Man ; 
 A mighty maze! but not without a plan ; 
 A wild, where weeds and flow'rs promiscuous 
 
 shoot; 
 
 Or garden, tempting with forbidden fruit, 
 Together let us beat this ample field. 
 Try what the open, what the covert yield ; 
 8 2
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 The la tent tracts, the giddy heights, explore 
 Of all who blindly creep, or sightless soar ; 
 Eye Nature's walks, shoot Folly as it flies, 
 And catch the manners living as they rise ; 
 Laugh where we must, be candid where we can ; 
 But vindicate the ways of God to Man. 
 
 I. Say first, of God above, or Man below, 
 What can we reason, but from what we know : 
 Of Man, what see we but his station here, 
 From which to reason, or to which refer? 
 Thro' worlds unnumber'd tho' the God be known, 
 'Tis ours to trace him only in our own. 
 He, who thro' vast immensity can pierce, 
 See worlds on worlds compose one universe, 
 Observe how system into system runs, 
 What other planets circle other suns, 
 What vary'd being peoples every star, 
 May tell why Heav'n has made us as we are. 
 But of this frame, the bearings, and the ties, 
 The strong connexions, nice dependencies,
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 5 
 
 Gradations just, has thy pervading soul 
 
 Look'd through ? or can a part contain the whole ? 
 
 Is the great chain, that draws all to agree, 
 And drawn supports, upheld by God, or thee ? 
 
 II. Presumptuous Man ! the reason wouldst 
 
 thou find, 
 
 Why form'd so weak, so little, and so blind ? 
 First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess, 
 Why form'd no weaker, blinder, and no less. 
 Ask of thy mother earth, why oaks are made 
 Taller or stronger than the weeds they shade ? 
 Or ask of yonder, argent fields above, 
 Why Jove's satellites are less than Jove ? 
 
 Of systems possible, if 'tis confest 
 That Wisdom infinite must form the best, 
 Where all must full or not coherent be, 
 And all that rises, rise in due degree; 
 Then in the scale of reas'ning life, 'tis plain, 
 There must be, somewhere, such a rank as Man: 
 B 3
 
 6 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 And all thequestion (wrangle e'er so long) 
 Is only this, if God has plac'd him wrong ? 
 
 Respecting Man, whatever wrong we call, 
 May, must be right, as relative to all. 
 In human works, tho' labour'd on with pain, 
 A thousand movements scarce one purpose gain ; 
 In God's, one single can its end produce ; 
 Yet serves to second too some other use. 
 So Man, who here seems principal alone, 
 Perhaps acts second to some sphere unknown, 
 Touches some wheel, or verges to some goal ; 
 'Tis but a part we see, and not a whole. 
 
 When the proud steed shall know why Man 
 
 restrains 
 
 His fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains; 
 When the dull ox, why now he breaks the clod, 
 Is now a victim, and now ^Egypt's god : 
 Then shall Man's pride and dulness comprehend 
 His actions', passions', being's, use and end ;
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 7 
 
 Why doing, sufFring, check'd, impell'd ; and why 
 This hour a slave, the next a deity. 
 
 Then say not Man's imperfect, Heav'n in fault ; 
 Say rather, Man's as perfect as he ought : 
 His knowledge measur'd to his state and place; 
 His time a moment, and a point his space, 
 If to be perfect in a certain sphere, 
 What matter, soon or late, or here or there ; 
 The blest to day is as completely so, 
 As who began a thousand years ago. 
 
 III. Heav'n from all creatures hides the book 
 
 of fate, 
 
 All but the page prescrib'd, their present state : 
 From brutes what men. from men what spirits 
 
 know : 
 
 Or who could suffer being here below ? 
 The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed to day, 
 Had he thy reason, would he skip and play ? 
 Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flow'ry food, 
 And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood. 
 B 4
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Oh blindness to the future ! kindly giv'n, 
 
 That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heav'n: 
 
 Who sees with equal eye, as God of all, 
 
 A hero perish, or a sparrow fall, 
 
 Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd, 
 
 And now a bubble burst, and now a world. 
 
 Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar, 
 Wait the great teacher Death ; and God adore. 
 What future bliss he gives not thee to know, 
 But gives that hope to be thy blessing now. 
 Hope springs eternal in the human breast : . 
 Man never Is, but always To be blest : 
 The soul, uneasy and confin'd, from home, 
 Rests and expatiates in a life to come. 
 
 Lo, the poor Indian ! whose untutor'd mind 
 Sees God in clouds, or hears him in the wind; 
 His soul, proud science never taught to stray 
 Far as the solar walk, or milky way ; 
 Yet simple nature to his hope has giv'n, 
 Behind the cloud-topt hill, an humbler heav'n,
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 9 
 
 Some safer world in depth of woods embrac'd, 
 
 Some happier island in the watry waste, 
 
 Where slaves once more their native land behold, 
 
 No fiends torment, no Christians thirst for gold. 
 
 To Be, contents his natural desire, 
 
 He asks no angel's wing, no seraph's fire ; 
 
 But thinks, admitted to that equal sky, 
 
 His faithful dog shall bear him company. 
 
 IV. Go wiser thou ; and in thy scale of sense, 
 Weigh thy opinion against Providence ; 
 Call imperfection what thou fancy'st such, 
 Say, here he gives too little, there too much ; 
 Destroy all creatures for thy sport or gust, 
 Yet cry, If Man's unhappy, God's unjust; 
 If Man alone ingross not Heav'n's high care, 
 Alone made perfect here, immortal there: 
 Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod, 
 Re-judge his justice, be the god of God. 
 In pride, in reas'ning pride, our error lies ; 
 All quit their sphere, and rush into the skies.
 
 10 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Pride still is aiming at the blest abodes, 
 Men would be angels, angels would be Gods. 
 Aspiring to be Gods, if angels fell, 
 Aspiring to be angels, Men rebel : 
 And who but wishes to invert the laws 
 Of ORDER, sins against th' Eternal Cause. 
 
 V. Ask for what end the heav'nly bodies shine, 
 Earth for whose use ? Pride answers, " 'Tis for 
 
 mine : 
 
 " For me kind Nature wakes her genial pow'r, 
 " Suckles each herb, and spreads out ev'ry flow'r j 
 " Annual for me, the grape, the rose renew 
 " The juice nectareous, and the balmy dew ; 
 " For me, the mine a thousand treasures brings ; 
 " For me, health gushes from a thousand springs ; 
 " Seas roll to waft me, suns to light me rise ; 
 " My footstool earth, my canopy the skies." 
 
 But errs not Nature from this gracious end, 
 From burning suns when livid deaths descend,
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 11 
 
 When earthquakes swallow, or when tempests 
 
 sweep 
 
 Towns to one grave, whole nations to the deep ; 
 " No, ('tis replied) the first Almighty Cause 
 " Acts not by partial, but by gen'ral laws ; 
 " TV exceptions few ; somechange since all began : 
 " And what created perfect ?" Why then man ? 
 If the great end be human happiness, 
 Then nature deviates; and can man do less ? 
 As much that end a constant course requires 
 Of show'rs and sunshine, as of Man's desires ; 
 As much eternal springs and cloudless skies, 
 As Men for ever temp'rate, calm, and wise, 
 If plagues or earthquakes break not Heav'n'sdesign, 
 Why then a Borgia, or a Catiline ? 
 Who knows but he, whose hand the lightning 
 
 forms, 
 
 Who heaves old Ocean, and who wings the storms ; 
 Pours fierce ambition in a Caesar's mind, 
 Or turns young Ammon loose to scourge mankind?
 
 12 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 From pride, from pride, our very reas'ning springs; 
 Account for moral, as for nat'ral things ; 
 Why charge we Heav'n in those, in these acquit? 
 In both, to reason right is to submit. 
 
 Better for us, perhaps, it might appear, 
 Were there all harmony, all virtue here ; 
 That never air or ocean felt the wind ; 
 That never passion discompos'd the mind, 
 But ALL subsists by elemental strife ; 
 And passions are the elements of life. 
 The gen'ral ORDER, since the whole began, 
 Is kept in nature, and is kept in Man. 
 
 VI. What would this Man ! Now upward will 
 
 he soar, 
 
 And little less than angel, would be more ? 
 Now looking downwards, just as griev'd appears 
 To want the strength of bulls, the fur of bears. 
 Made for his use, all creatures if he call, 
 Say what their use, had he the pow'rs of all ?
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 13 
 
 Nature to these, without profusion, kind, 
 The proper organs, proper pow'rs assign'd ; 
 Each seeming want compensated of course ; 
 Herewith degrees of swiftness, there of force; 
 All in exact proportion to the state ; 
 Nothing to add, and nothing to abate. 
 Each beast, each insect, happy in its own ; 
 Is Heav'n unkind to Man, and Man alone ; 
 Shall he alone, whom rational we call, 
 Be pleas'd with nothing, if not bless'd with all ? 
 
 The bliss of Man (could pride that blessing find) 
 Is not to act or think beyond mankind ; 
 No pow'rs of body or of soul to share, 
 But what his nature and his state can bear. 
 Why has not Man a microscopic eye ? 
 For this plain reason, Man is not a fly. 
 Say what the use, were finer optics giv'n, 
 T' inspect a mite, not comprehend the heav'n ? 
 Or touch, if tremblingly alive all o'er, 
 To smart and agonize at ev'ry pore ?
 
 14 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Or quick effluvia darting thro' the brain, 
 
 Die of a rose in aromatic pain ? 
 
 If Nature thunder'd in his op'ning ears, 
 
 And stunn'd him with the music of the spheres, 
 
 How would he wish that Heav'n had left him still 
 
 The whisp'ring zephyr, and the purling rill ? 
 
 Who finds not Providence all good and wise, 
 
 Alike in what it gives and what denies ? 
 
 VII. Far as Creation's ample range extends, 
 The scale of sensual, mental pow'rs ascends : 
 Mark how it mounts, to Man's imperial race, 
 From the green myriads in the peopled grass : 
 What modes of sight betwixt each wide extreme, 
 The mole's dim curtain, and the lynx's beam : 
 Of smell, the headlong lioness between, 
 And hound sagacious on the tainted green : 
 Of hearing, from the life that fills the flood, 
 To that which warbles thro' the vernal wood ? 
 The spider's touch, how exquisitely fine ! 
 Feels at each thread, and lives along the line :
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 In the nice bee, what sense so subtly true 
 From pois'nous herbs extracts the healing dew ? 
 How instinct varies in the grov'ling swine, 
 ComparM, half-reas'ning elephant, with thine ! 
 Twixt that, and reason, what a nice barrier ? 
 For ever sep'rate, yet for ever near ! 
 Remembrance and reflexion, how ally'd j 
 What thin partition sense from thought divide ? 
 And middle natures, how they long to join, 
 Yet never pass th' insuperable line ! 
 Without this just gradation, could they be 
 Subjected, these to those, or all to thee ? 
 The pow'rs of all subdu'd by thee alone, 
 Is not thy reason all these pow'rs in one ! 
 VIII, See, thro' this air, this ocean, and this 
 
 earth, 
 
 All matter quick, and bursting into birth. 
 Above, how high, progressive life may go ! 
 Around, how wide ! how deep extend below!
 
 16 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Vast chain of being ! which from God began, 
 Nature ethereal, human, angel, man, 
 Beast, bird, fish, insect, what no eye can see, 
 No glass can reach ; from infinite to thee,. 
 From thee to nothing On superior pow'rs 
 Were we to press, inferior might on ours: 
 Or in the full creation leave a void, 
 Where, one step broken, the great scale's destroy'd: 
 From Nature's chain whatever link you strike, 
 Tenth, or ten thousandth, breaks the chain alike. 
 
 And, if each system in gradation roll 
 Alike essential to th' amazing whole, 
 The least confusion but in one, not all 
 That system only, but the whole must fall. 
 Let earth unbalanc'd from her orbit fly, 
 Planets and suns run lawless thro' the sky ; 
 Let ruling angels from their spheres be hurl'd, 
 Being on being wreck'd, and world on world ; 
 Heav'n's whole foundations to their centre nod, 
 And Nature trembles to the throne of God.
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 17 
 
 All this dread ORDER break for whom ? forthee ! 
 Vile worm ! oh madness ! pride ! impiety. 
 
 IX. What if the foot, ordain'd the dust to tread, 
 Or hand, to toil, aspirM to be the head ? 
 What if the head, the eye, or ear, repin'd 
 To serve mere engines to the ruling mind ? 
 Just as absurd for any part to claim 
 To be another, in this gen'ral frame : 
 Just as absurd to mourn the tasks or pains 
 The great directing MIND OF ALL ordains. 
 
 All are but parts of one stupendous whole, 
 Whose body Nature is. and God the soul ; 
 That, chang'd thro' all, and yet in all the same ; 
 Great in the earth, as in th' aethereal frame ; 
 Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, 
 Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees, 
 Lives thro' all life, extends thro' all extent, 
 Spreads undivided, operates unspent ; 
 Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part, 
 As full, as perfect in a hair as heart ;
 
 18 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 As full, as perfect, in vile Man that mourns, 
 As the rapt seraph that adores and burns : 
 To him no high, no low, no great, no small ; 
 He fills, he bounds, connects, and equals all. 
 
 X. Cease then, nor ORDER Imperfection name 
 Our proper bliss depends on what we blame. 
 Know thy own point : This kind, this due degree 
 Of blindness, weakness, Heav'n bestows on thee. 
 Submit. In this, or any other sphere, 
 Secure to be as blest, as thou canst bear : 
 Safe in the hand of one disposing Pow'r, 
 Or in the natal, or the mortal hour. 
 All nature is but art, unknown to thee ; 
 All chance, direction, which thou canst not see j 
 All discord, harmony not understood ; 
 All partial evil, universal good : 
 And, spite of pride, in erring reason's spite, 
 One truth is clear, WHATEVER is, is RIGHT.
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 19 
 
 EPISTLE II. 
 
 I. KNOW then thyself, presume not God to scan, 
 The proper study of mankind is Man. 
 Plac'd on this isthmus of a middle state, 
 A being darkly wise, and rudely great : 
 With too much knowledge, for the sceptic side, 
 With too much weakness for the stoic's pride, 
 He hangs between ; in doubt to act, or rest ; 
 In doubt to deem himself a god, or beast ; 
 In doubt his mind or body to prefer; 
 Born but to die, and reas'ning but to err ; 
 Alike in ignorance, his reason such, 
 Whether he think too little, or too much ; 
 Chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd ; 
 Still by himself abus'd, or disabused ; 
 Created half to rise, and half to fall; 
 Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all ; 
 c 2
 
 20 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd : 
 The glory, jest, and riddle of the world ! 
 
 Go, wondrous creature ! mount where Science 
 
 guides, 
 
 Go, measure earth, weigh air, and state the tides ; 
 Instruct the planets in what orbs to run, 
 Correct old Time, and regulate the sun : 
 Go, soar with Plato, to th' empyreal sphere, 
 To the first good, first perfect, and first fair j 
 Or tread the mazy round his follow'rs trod, 
 And quitting sense call imitating God ; 
 As eastern priests in giddy circle run, 
 And turn their heads to imitate the sun. 
 
 Go, teach Eternal Wisdom how to rule 
 
 Then drop into thyself, and be a fool ! 
 
 Superior beings, when of late they saw 
 A mortal Man unfold all Nature's law, 
 Admir'd such wisdom in an earthly shape, 
 And shew'd a NEWTON as we shew an ape. 

 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 21 
 
 Could he, whose rules the rapid comet bind, 
 Describe or fix one movement of his mind ? 
 Who saw its fires here rise, and there descend, 
 Explain his own beginning, or his end ? 
 Alas, what wonder ! Man's superior part 
 Uncheck'd may rise, and climb from art to art : 
 But when his own great work is but begun, 
 What Reason weaves, by Passion is undone. 
 
 Trace Science then, with Modesty thy guide ; 
 First strip off all her equipage of pride ; 
 Deduct what is but vanity, or dress, 
 Or learning's luxury, or idleness; 
 Or tricks to shew the stretch of human brain, 
 Mere curious pleasure, or ingenious pain ; 
 Expunge the whole, or lop th' excrescent parts 
 Of all our vices have created arts ; 
 Then see how little the remaining sum, 
 Which served the past, and must the times to come ! 
 
 II. Two principles in human nature reign ; 
 Self-love, to urge, and reason, to restrain ; 
 c.3
 
 22 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Nor this a good, nor that a bad we call, 
 Each works its end, to move or govern all : 
 And to their proper operation still, 
 Ascribe all Good, to their improper, 111. 
 Self-love, the spring of motion, acts the soul ; 
 Reason's comparing balance rules the whole. 
 Man, but for that, no action could attend, 
 And but for this, were active to no end : 
 Fix'd like a plant on his peculiar spot, 
 To draw nutrition, propagate, and rot ; 
 Or, meteor-like, flame lawless thro' the void, 
 Destroying others, by himself destroy'd. 
 Most strength the moving principle requires ; 
 Active its task, it prompts, impels, inspires ; 
 Sedate and quiet, the comparing lies, 
 FormM but to check, delib'rate, and advise. 
 Self-love still stronger, as its object's nigh; 
 Reason's at distance, and in prospect lie : 
 That sees immediate good by present sense; 
 Reason, the future and the consequence.
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 23 
 
 Thicker than arguments, temptations throng, 
 
 At best more watchful this, but that more strong ; 
 
 The action of the stronger to suspend 
 
 Reason still use, to Reason still attend. 
 
 Attention, habit and experience gains; 
 
 Each strengthens Reason, and Self-love restrains. 
 
 Let subtle schoolmen teach these friends to fight, 
 
 More studious to divide than to unite ; 
 
 And Grace and Virtue, Sense and Reason split, 
 
 With all the rash dexterity of wit. 
 
 Wits just like fools, at war about a name, 
 
 Have full as oft no meaning, or the same. 
 
 Self-love and Reason to one end aspire, 
 
 Pain their aversion, pleasure their desire ; 
 
 But greedy That, its object weuld devour, 
 
 This taste the honey, and not wound the flow'r : 
 
 Pleasure, or wrong, or rightly understood, 
 
 Our greatest evil, or our greatest good. 
 
 III. Modes of Self-love the passions we may call : 
 Tis real good, or seeming, moves them all : 
 c 4
 
 24 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 But since not ev'ry good we can divide, 
 And Reason bids us for our own provide ; 
 Passions, tho' selfish, if their means be fair, 
 List under Reason, and deserve her care ; 
 Those that imparted, court a nobler aim, 
 Exalt their kind, and take some virtue's name. 
 
 In lazy apathy let stoics boast 
 Their virtue fix'd ; 'tis fix'd as in a frost; 
 Contracted all, retiring to the breast ; 
 But strength of mind is exercise, not rest; 
 The rising tempest puts in act the soul, 
 Parts it may ravage, but preserves the whole. 
 On life's vast ocean diversely we sail, 
 Reason the card, but Passion is the gale. 
 Nor God alone in the still calm we find, 
 He mounts the storm, and walks upon the wind. 
 
 Passions, like elements, tho' born to fight, 
 Yet, mix'd, and soften'd in his work unite : 
 These, 'tis enough to temper and employ ; 
 But what composes Man, can Man destroy ?
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 25 
 
 Suffice that Reason keep to Nature's road, 
 Subject, compound them, follow her and God. 
 Love, Hope, and Joy, fair Pleasure's smiling train, 
 Hate, Fear, and Grief, the family of Pain, 
 These mix'd with art, and to due bounds confin'd, 
 Make and maintain the balance of the mind : 
 The lights and shades, whose well accorded strife 
 Gives all the strength and colour of our life. 
 Pleasures are ever in our hands or eyes; 
 And when, in act, they cease, in prospect, rise : 
 Present to grasp, and future still to find, 
 The whole employ of body and of mind. 
 All spread their charms, but charm not all alike; 
 On difFrent senses different objects strike ; 
 Hence difFrent passions more or less inflame, 
 As strong or weak the organs of the frame ; 
 And hence one MASTER PASSION in the breast, 
 Like Aaron's serpent, swallows up the rest. 
 
 As Man, perhaps, the moment of his breath, 
 Receives the lurking principle of death ;
 
 26 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 The young disease, that must subdue at length, 
 Grows with his growth, and strengthens with his 
 
 strength ; 
 
 So, cast and mingled with his very frame, 
 The mind's disease, its RULING PASSION came ; 
 Each vital humour which should feed the whole, 
 Soon flows to this, in body and in soul : 
 Whatever warms the heart, or fills the head, 
 As the mind opens, and its functions spread, 
 Imagination plies her dang'rous art, 
 And pours it all upon the peccant part. 
 Nature its mother, Habit is its nurse ; 
 Wit, Spirit, Faculties, but make it worse : 
 Reason itself but gives it edge and pow'r ; 
 As HeavVs blest beam turns vinegar more sour. 
 We, wretched subjects tho' to lawful sway, 
 In this weak queen, some fav'rite still obey : 
 Ah! if she lend not arms as well as rules, 
 What can she more than tell us we are fools ?
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 27 
 
 Teach us to mourn our nature, not to mend, 
 A sharp accuser, but a helpless friend ! 
 Or from a judge turn pleader, to persuade 
 The choice we make, or justify it made; 
 Proud of an easy conquest all along, 
 She but removes weak passions from the strong. 
 So, when small humours gather to a gout, 
 The doctor fancies he has driven them out. 
 
 Yes, Nature's road must ever be preferr'd : 
 Reason is here no guide but still a guard ; 
 'Tis her's to rectify, not overthrow, 
 And treat this passion more as friend than foe. 
 A mightier pow'r the strong direction sends, 
 And sev'ral Men impels to several ends : 
 Like varying winds, by other passions tost, 
 This drives them constant to a certain coast. 
 Let pow'r or knowledge, gold or glory, please, 
 Or (oft more strong than all) the love of ease ; 
 Thro' life 'tis follow'd, ev'n at life's expense ; 
 The merchant's toil, the sage's indolence,
 
 28 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 The monk's humility, the hero's pride, 
 All, all alike, find reason on their side. 
 
 Th' Eternal Art, educing good from ill, 
 Grafts on this passion our best principle : 
 *Tis thus the mercury of Man is fix'd, 
 Strong grows the virtue with his nature mix'd. 
 The dross cements what else were too refin'd, 
 And in one int'rest body acts with mind. 
 
 As fruits, ungrateful to the planter's care, 
 On savage stocks inserted, learn to bear ; 
 The surest virtues thus from passions shoot, 
 Wild nature's vigour working at the root. 
 What crops of wit and honesty appear 
 From spleen, from obstinacy, hate, or fear ? 
 See, anger, zeal and fortitude supply ; 
 Ev'n av'rice, prudence ; sloth, philosophy ; 
 Lust, thro' some certain strainers well refin'd, 
 Is gentle love, and charms all womankind ; 
 Envy, to which th' ignoble mind's a slave, 
 Is emulation in the learn'd or brave j
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 29 
 
 Nor virtue, male or female, can we name, 
 
 But what will grow on pride, or grow on shame. 
 
 Thus Nature gives us (let it check our pride) 
 The virtue nearest to our vice ally'd : 
 Reason the bias turns to good from ill, 
 And Nero reigns a Titus, if he will. 
 The fiery soul abhorrM in Catiline, 
 In Decius charms, in Curtius is divine : 
 The same ambition can destroy or save, 
 And makes a patriot as it makes a knave. 
 This light and darkness in our chaos join'd, 
 What shall divide ? The God within the mind. 
 
 Extremes in Nature equal ends produce, 
 In Man they join to some mysterious use ; 
 Tho' each by turns the other's bounds invade, 
 As, in some well-wrought picture, light and shade, 
 And oft so mix, the difference is too nice 
 Where ends the virtue, or begins the vice. 
 
 Fools ! who from hence into the notion fall, 
 That vice or virtue there is none at all.
 
 SO ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 If white and black, soften, and unite 
 A thousand ways, is there no black or white ? 
 Ask your own heart, and nothing is so plain ? 
 Tis to mistake them costs the time and pain, 
 
 Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
 As, to be hated, needs but to be seen : 
 Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
 We first endure, then pity, then embrace. 
 But where th' extreme of vice, was ne'er agreed : 
 Ask where's the north ? at York, 'tis on the Tweed ; 
 In Scotland, at the Orcades ; and there, 
 At Greenland, Zembla, or the Lord knows where. 
 No creature owns it in the first degree, 
 But thinks his neighbour further gone than he ; 
 Ev'n those who dwell beneath its very zone, 
 Or never feel the rage, or never own; 
 What happier nature shrinks at with affright, 
 The hard inhabitant contends is right. 
 
 Virtuous and vicious ev'ry Man must be, 
 Few in th' extreme, but all in the degree :
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 31 
 
 The rogue and foul, by fits, is fair and wise ; 
 
 And ev'n the best, by fits, what they despise. 
 
 'Tis but by parts we follow good or ill ; 
 
 For, vice or virtue, self directs it still; 
 
 Each individual seeks a sev'ral goal ; 
 
 But H E A v 'N 's great view is one, and that the whole. 
 
 That counter- works each folly and caprice; 
 
 That disappoints th' effect of ev'ry vice ; 
 
 That, happy frailties to all ranks apply'd ; 
 
 Shame to the virgin, to the matron pride, 
 
 Fear to the statesman, rashness to the chief, 
 To kings presumption, and to crowds belief; 
 That virtue's ends from vanity can raise, 
 Which seeks no int'rest, no reward but praise; 
 And build on wants, and on defects of mind, 
 The joy, the peace, the glory of Mankind. 
 
 Heav'n forming each on other to depend, 
 A master, or a servant, or a friend, 
 Bids each on other for assistance call, 
 Till one Man's weakness grows the strength of all.
 
 32 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Wants, frailties, passions, closer still ally 
 The common interest or endear the tie. 
 To these we owe true friendship, love sincere, 
 Each home-felt joy that life inherits here ; 
 Yet from the same we learn, in its decline, 
 Those jpys, those loves, those int'rests, to resign; 
 Taught half by reason, half by mere decay, 
 To welcome death, and calmly pass away. 
 
 Whate'er the passion, knowledge, fame, or pelf, 
 Not one will change his neighbour with himself. 
 The learn'd is happy nature to explore, 
 The fool is happy that he knows no more ; 
 The rich is happy in the plenty giv'n, 
 The poor contents him with the care of Heav'n. 
 See the blind beggar dance, the cripple sing, 
 The sot a hero, lunatic a king, 
 The starving chemist in his golden views 
 Supremely blest, the poet in his muse. 
 See some strange comfort ev'ry state attend, 
 And pride bestow'd on all, a common friend ;
 
 /, ///*,/ /-,y/" ./".': /- ""''< ."></ 
 
 > I. . *<*,-
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 33 
 
 See some fit passion ev'ry age supply, 
 
 Hope travels thro', nor quits us when we die. 
 
 Behold the child, by nature's kindly law, 
 Pleas'd with a rattle, tickled with a straw: 
 Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight, 
 A little louder, but as empty quite : 
 Scarfs, garters, gold, amuse his riper stage, 
 And beads and pray'r-books are the toys of age : 
 Pleas'd with this bauble still, as that before, 
 'Till tir'd he sleeps, and life's poor play is o'er. 
 Meanwhile opinion gilds the varying rays, 
 Those painted clouds that beautify our days : 
 Each want of happiness by hope supply'd, 
 And each vacuity of sense by pride : 
 These build as fast as knowledge can destroy, 
 In folly's cup still laughs the bubble, joy ; 
 One prospect lost, another still we gain ; 
 And not a vanity is giv'n in vain ; 
 Ev'n mean self-love becomes, by force divine, 
 The scale to measure other wants by thine, 
 
 D
 
 34- ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 See ! and confess one comfort still must rise ; 
 'Tis this, Tho' Man's a fool, yet, GOD is WISE. 
 
 EPISTLE III. 
 
 HERE then we rest : "The Universal Cause 
 " Acts to one end, but acts by various laws." 
 In all the madness of superfluous health, 
 The trim of pride, the impudence of wealth, 
 Let this great truth be present night and day, 
 But most be present, if we preach or pray, 
 
 Look round our world, behold the chain of love, 
 Combining all below and all above. 
 See plastic nature working to this end, 
 The single atoms each to other tend, 
 Attract, attracted to, the next in place 
 Form'd and impell'd its neighbour to embrace.
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 35 
 
 See matter next, with various life endu'd, 
 Press to one centre still, the gen'ral good. 
 See dying vegetables life sustain, 
 See life dissolving vegetate again ; 
 All forms that perish other forms supply, 
 (By turns we catch the vital breath, and die) 
 Like bubbles on the sea of matter borne, 
 They rise, they break, and to that sea return. 
 Nothing is foreign; parts relate to whole; 
 One all-extending, all-preserving Soul 
 Connects each being, greatest with the least; 
 Made beast in aid of Man, and Man of beast; 
 All serv'd, all serving: nothing stands alone! 
 The chain holds on, and where it ends, unknown. 
 Has God, thou fool ! work'd solely for thy good, 
 Thy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food? 
 Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn, 
 For him as kindly spread the flow'ry lawn. 
 Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings, 
 Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings? 
 D 2
 
 36 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat, 
 Loves of his own and raptures swell the note? 
 The bounding steed you pompously bestride, 
 Shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride. 
 Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain? 
 The birds of heav'n shall vindicate their grain. 
 Thine the full harvest of the golden year? 
 Part Pays, and justly, the deserving steer : 
 The hog, that ploughs not nor obeys thy call, 
 Lives on the labours of this lord of all. 
 
 Know, Nature's children shall divide her care : 
 The fur that warms the monarch, warm'd a bear. 
 While Man exclaims, " See all things for my use !" 
 " See Man for mine!" replies a pamper'd goose : 
 And just as short of reason he must fall, 
 Who thinks all made for one, not one for alL 
 Grant that the powerful still the weak controul : 
 Be Man the wit and tyrant of the whole : 
 Nature that tyrant checks: he only knows, 
 And helps another creature's wants and woes.
 
 KSSAY ON MAN. 37 
 
 Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, 
 Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove? 
 Admires the jay, the insect's gilded wings? 
 Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings ? 
 Man cares for all : to birds he gives his woods. 
 To beasts his pastures, and to fish his floods ; 
 For some his int'rest prompts him to provide, 
 For more his pleasure, yet for more his pride : 
 All feed on one vain patron, and enjoy 
 Th' extensive blessing of his luxury ; 
 That very life his learned hunger craves, 
 He saves from famine, from the savage saves ; 
 Nay, feasts the animal he dooms his feast, 
 And, 'till he ends the being, makes it blest; 
 Which sees no more the stroke, or feels the pain, 
 Than favour'd Man by touch ethereal slain. 
 The creature had his feast of life before ; 
 Thou too must perish, when thy feast is o'er ! 
 To each unthinking being, heav'n a friend, 
 Gives not the useless knowledge of its end: 
 D 3
 
 38 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 To Man imparts it ; but with such a view 
 As, while he dreads it, makes him hope it too i 
 The hour conceal'd, and so remote the fear, 
 Death still draws nearer, never seeming near. 
 Great standing miracle ! that Heav'n assign'd 
 Its only thinking thing this turn of mind. 
 
 II. Whether with reason, or with instinct blest, 
 Know, all enjoy that pow'r which suits them best j 
 To bliss alike by that direction tend, 
 And find the means proportion'd to their end. 
 Say, where full instinct is th' unerring guide, 
 What pope or council can they need beside ? 
 Reason, however able, cool at best> 
 Cares not for service, or but serves when pfest, 
 Stays 'till we call, and then 'not often near ; 
 But honest instinct comes a volunteer, 
 Sure never to o'ershoot, but just to hit; 
 While still too wide or short is human wit ; 
 Sure by quick nature happiness to gain, 
 Which heavier reason labours at in vain.
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 39 
 
 This too serves always, reason never long ; 
 One must go right, the other may go wrong. 
 See then the acting and comparing pow'rs 
 One in their nature, which are two in ours! 
 And reason raise o'er instinct as you can, 
 In this 'tis God directs, in that 'tis Man. 
 
 Who taught the nations of the field and wood 
 To shun their poison, and to choose their food ? 
 Prescient, the tides or tempests to withstand, 
 Build on the wave, or arch beneath the sand? 
 Who made the spider parallels design, 
 Sure as De-moivre, without rule or line? 
 Who bid the stork, Columbus like, explore 
 Hear'ns not his own, and worlds unknown before? 
 Who calls the council, states the certain day, 
 Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way ? 
 
 III. God, in the nature of each being, founds 
 Its proper bliss, and sets it proper bounds: 
 But as he fram'd a whole, the whole to bless, 
 On mutual wants built mutual happiness:
 
 40 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 So from the first, eternal ORDER ran, 
 
 And creature link'd to creature, man to man. 
 
 Whate'er of life all quick'ning aether keeps, 
 
 Or breathes thro* air, or shoots beneath the deeps, 
 
 Or pours profuse on earth, one nature feeds 
 
 The vital flame, and swells the genial seeds. 
 
 Not Man alone, but all that roam the wood, 
 
 Or wing the sky, or roll along the flood, 
 
 Each loves itself, but not itself alone, 
 
 Each sex desires alike, 'till two are one. 
 
 Nor ends the pleasure with the fierce embrace; 
 
 They love themselves a third time in their race. 
 
 Thus beast and bird their common charge attend, 
 
 The mothers nurse it, and the sires defend ; 
 
 The young dismiss'd to wander earth or air, 
 
 There stops the instinct, and there ends the care : 
 
 The link dissolves, each seeks a fresh embrace, 
 
 Another love succeeds, another race. 
 
 A longer care man's helpless kind demands; 
 
 That longer care contracts more lasting bands:
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 41 
 
 Reflection, reason, still the ties improve, 
 At once extend the int'rest, and the love; 
 With choice we fix, with sympathy we burn ; 
 Each virtue in each passion takes its turn : 
 And still new needs, new helps, new habits rise, 
 That graft benevolence on charities. 
 Still as one brood, and as another rose, 
 These nat'ral love maintain'd, habitual those : 
 The last, scarce ripen'd into perfect Man, 
 Saw helpless him from whom their life began; 
 Mem'ry and forecast just relurris engage, 
 That pointed back to youth, this on to age, 
 While pleasure, gratitude, and hope, combin'd, 
 Still spread the int'rest, and preserv*d the kind. 
 IV. Nor think, in NATURE'S STATE theyblindly 
 
 trod; 
 
 The state of nature was the reign of God : 
 Self-love and social at her birth began, 
 Union the bond of all things, and of Man.
 
 42 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Pride then was not ; nor arts, that pride to aid ; 
 Man walk'd with beast, joint tenant of the shade; 
 The same his table, and the same his bed; 
 No murder cloth'd him, and no murder fed. 
 In the same temple, the resounding wood, 
 All vocal beings hymn'd their equal God : 
 The shrine with gore unstained, with gold undrest, 
 Unbrib'd, unbloody, stood the blameless priest: 
 Heav'n's attribute was universal care, 
 And man's prerogative to rule, but spare. 
 Ah ! how unlike the man of times to come ! 
 Of half that live the butcher and the tomb ; 
 Who, foe to nature, hears the gen'ral groan, 
 Murders their species, and betrays his own. 
 But just disease to luxury succeeds, 
 And ev'ry death its own avenger breeds; 
 The fury-passions, from that blood began, 
 And turn'd on Man a fiercer savage Man. 
 See him from nature rising slow to artl 
 To copy instinct then was reason's part;
 
 ESSAY ON MAN; 43 
 
 Thus then to Man the voice of nature spake 
 " Go, from the creatures thy instructions take: 
 " Learn from the birds what food the thickets yield; 
 "Learn from the beasts the physic of the field; 
 "Thy arts of building from the bee receive; 
 " Learn of the mole to plow, the worm to weave ; 
 "Learn of the little Nautilus to sail, 
 "Spread the thin oar, and catch the driving gale, 
 "Here too all forms of social union find, 
 "And hence let Reason, late, instruct Mankind: 
 " Here subterranean works and cities see : 
 "There towns aerial on the waving tree. 
 " Learn each small people's genius, policies, 
 "The ants' republic, and the realm of bees ; 
 " How those in common all their wealth bestow, 
 "And anarchy without confusion know ; 
 "And these for ever, tho' a monarch reign, 
 "Their sep'rate cells and properties maintain. 
 " Mark what unvary'd laws preserve each state, 
 "Laws wise as nature, and as fixM as fate :
 
 44 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 " In vain thy reason finer webs shall draw, 
 "Entangle justice in her net of law ; 
 " And right, too rigid, harden into wrong ; 
 " Still for the strong too weak, the weak too strong, 
 " Yet go ! and thus o'er all the creatures sway, 
 " Thus let the wiser make the rest obey ; 
 "And for these arts mere insitinct could afford, 
 " Be crown'd as monarchs, or as gods ador'd." 
 
 V. Great Nature spoke; observant Men obey'd; 
 Cities were built, societies were made : 
 Here rose one little state ; another near 
 Grew by like means, and joined, thro' love or fear. 
 Did here the trees with ruddier burdens bend, 
 And there the streams in purer rills descend ? 
 What war could ravish, commerce could bestow, 
 And he return'd a friend, who came a foe. 
 Converse and love mankind might strongly draw, 
 When love was liberty, and nature law. 
 Thus states were form'd ; the name of king unknown , 
 'Till common int'rest plac'd the sway in one :
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 4,5 
 
 Twas VIRTUE ONLY (or in arts or arms, 
 Diffusing blessings, or averting harms), 
 The same which in a sire the sons obey'd, 
 A prince the father of a people made. 
 VI. Till then, by nature crown'd, each patri- 
 arch sate 
 
 King, priest, and parent, of his growing state; 
 On him their second providence they hung, 
 Their law his eye, their oracle his tongue. 
 He from the wond'ring furrow call'd the food, 
 Taught to command the fire, controul the flood, 
 Draw forth the monsters of th' abyss profound, 
 Or fetch th' aerial eagle to the ground. 
 'Till, drooping, sick'ning, dying, they began 
 Whom they rever'd as God to mourn as Man : 
 Then, looking up from sire to sire, explor'd 
 One great first Father, and that first ador'd. 
 Or plain tradition that this All begun, 
 Conveyed unbroken faith from sire to son ;
 
 4-6 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 The worker from the work distinct was known, 
 And simple reason never sought but one : 
 Ere wit oblique had broke that steady light, 
 Man, like his Maker, saw that all was right ; 
 To virtue, in the paths of pleasure, trod, 
 And own'd a Father when he own'd a God. 
 Lov E all the faith, and all th' allegiance then ; 
 For nature knew no right divine in Men, 
 No ill could fear in God ; and understood 
 A sovereign being but a sov' reign good. 
 True faith, true policy, united ran, 
 That was but love of God, and this of Man. 
 
 Who first taught souls enslav'd, and realms undone* 
 Th' enormous faith of many made for one ; 
 That proud exception to all nature's laws, 
 T' invert the world, and counterwork its Cause ? 
 Force first made conquest, and that conquest, law: 
 'Till Superstition taught the tyrant awe, 
 Then shar'd the tyranny, then lent it aid, 
 And gods of conqu'rors, slaves of subjects made :
 
 ESSAY ON MAN, 4-7 
 
 She 'midst the lightning's blaze, and thunder's sound, 
 When rock'd the mountains, and when groan'd the 
 
 ground, 
 
 She taught the weak to bend, the proud to pray, 
 To pow'r unseen, and mightier far than they: 
 She from the rending earth and bursting skies, 
 Saw gods descend, and fiends infernal rise: 
 Here fix'd the dreadful, there the blest abodes ; 
 Fear made her devils, and weak Hope her gods; 
 Gods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust, 
 Whose attributes were rage, revenge, or lust; 
 Such as the souls of cowards might conceive, 
 And, form'd like tyrants, tyrants would believe. 
 Zeal then, not charity, became the guide; 
 And hell was built on spite, and heav'n on pride. 
 Then sacred seem'd th' ethereal vault no more ! 
 Altars grew marble then, and reek'd with gore: 
 Then first the Flamen tasted living food; 
 Next his grim idol smear'd with human blood;
 
 48 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 With heav'n's own thunders shook the world below, 
 And play'd the god an engine on his foe. 
 
 So drives Self-love, thro' just, and thro' unjust, . 
 To one Man's pow'r, ambition, lucre, lust: 
 The same Self-love, in all, becomes the cause 
 Of what restrains him, government and laws, 
 For, what one likes if others like as well, 
 What serves one will, when many wills rebel ? 
 How shall he keep what, sleeping or awake, 
 A weaker may surprise, a stronger take ? 
 His safety must his liberty restrain : 
 All join to guard what each desires to gain. 
 Forc'd into virtue thus by self-defence, 
 Ev'n kings learnt justice and benevolence : 
 Self-love forsook the path it first pursu'd, 
 And found the private in the public good. 
 
 'Twas then, the studious head or gen'rous mind, 
 Follow'r of God, or friend of human-kind, 
 Poet or patriot, rose but to restore 
 The faith and moral, Nature gave before ;
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 49 
 
 Relum'd her ancient light, not kindled new; 
 If not God's image, yet his shadow drew: 
 Taught pow'r's due use to people and to kings ; 
 Taught nor to slack, nor strain its tender strings; 
 The less, or greater, set so justly true, 
 That touching one must strike the other too; 
 Till jarring int'rests, of themselves create 
 Th' according music of a well-mix'd state. 
 Such is the world's great harmony, that springs 
 From order, union, full consent of things; 
 Where small and great, where weak and mighty, 
 
 made 
 
 To serve, not suffer, strengthen, not invade; 
 More pow'rful each as needful to the rest, 
 And in proportion as it blesses, blest ; 
 Draw to one point, and to one centre bring 
 Beast, man, or angel, servant, lord, or king. 
 For forms of government let fools contest ; 
 Whate'er is best administer'd is best;
 
 50 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight ; 
 His can't be wrong whose life is in the right : 
 In faith and hope the world will disagree, 
 But all mankind's concern is charity; 
 All must be false that thwart this one great end; 
 And all of God, that bless mankind or mend. 
 
 Man, like the gen'rous vine, supported lives; 
 The strength he gains is from th' embrace he gives. 
 On their own axis as the planets run, 
 Yet make at once their circle round the sun ; 
 So two consistent motions act the soul ; 
 And one regards itself, and one the whole, 
 
 Thus God and nature link'd the gen'ral frame. 
 And bade self-love and social be the same
 
 BSSAY ON MAN. 51 
 
 EPISTLE IV. 
 
 OH HAPPINESS! our being's end and aim ! 
 Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er thy name : 
 That something still which prompts th' eternal sigh, 
 For which we bear to live, or dare to die, 
 Which still so near us, yet beyond us lies 
 O'erlook'd, seen double, by the fool and wise. 
 Plant of celestial seed ; if dropt below, 
 Say, in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow ; 
 Fair op'ning to some court's propitious shine, 
 Or deep with di'monds in the naming mine ? 
 Twin'd with the wreaths Parnassian laurels yield, 
 Or reap'd in iron harvests of the field ? 
 Where grows ? where grows it not? If vain our 
 
 toil, 
 
 We ought to blame the culture, not the soil : 
 E 2
 
 52 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere, 
 
 Tis no where to be found, or ev'ry where : 
 
 'Tis never to be bought, but always free, 
 
 And fled from monarchs, St. John! dwells with thee. 
 
 Ask of thelearn'dthe way? The learn 'dare blind; 
 This bids to serve, and that to shun mankind; 
 Some place the bliss in action, some in ease, 
 Those call it pleasure, and contentment these ; 
 Some sunk to beasts, find pleasure end in pain ; 
 Some swell'd to gods, confess ev'n virtue vain ; 
 Or indolent, to each extreme they fall, 
 To trust in ev'ry thing, or doubt of all. 
 
 Who thus define it, say they more or less 
 Than this, that happiness is happiness ? 
 Take nature's path, and mad opinions leave ; 
 All states can reach it, and all heads conceive ; 
 Obvious her goods, in no extreme they dwell ; 
 There needs but thinking right, and meaning well ; 
 And mourn our various portions as we please, 
 Equal is common sense, and common ease.
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 53 
 
 Remember, Man, " the Universal Cause 
 *' Acts not by partial, but by gen'ral laws ; " 
 And makes what happiness we justly call 
 Subsist not in the good of one, but all. 
 
 There's not a blessing individuals find, 
 But some way leans and hearkens to the kind, 
 No bandit fierce, no tyrant mad with pride, 
 No cavern'd hermit, rests self-satisfy'd ; 
 Who most to shun or hate Mankind pretend, 
 Seek an admirer, or would fix a friend : 
 Abstract what others feel, what others think, 
 All pleasures sicken, and all glories sink : 
 Each has his share; and who would more obtain, 
 SLall find, the pleasure pays not half the pain. 
 
 ORDER is Heav'n's first law; and this confest, 
 Some are, and must be, greater than the rest, 
 More rich, more wise; but who infers from hence 
 That such are happier, shocks all common sense. 
 Heav'n to Mankind impartial we confess, 
 If all are equal in their happiness ; 
 E 3
 
 54 ESSAY ON MAX. 
 
 But mutual wants this happiness increase ; 
 All Nature's difference keeps all Nature's peace. 
 Condition, circumstance, is not the thing ; 
 Bliss is the same in subject or in king, 
 In who obtain -defence, or who defend, 
 In him who is, or him who finds a friend: 
 Heav'n breathes thro' ev'ry member of the whole 
 One common blessing, as one common soul. 
 But fortune's gifts if each alike possest, 
 And each were equal, must not all contest ? 
 If then to all Men happiness was meant, 
 God in externals could not place content. 
 
 Fortune her gifts may variously dispose. 
 And these be happy call'd, unhappy those ; 
 But Heav'n's just balance equal will appear, 
 While those are plac'd in hope, and these in fear : 
 Not present good or ill, the joy or curse, 
 But future views of better, or of worse. 
 
 Oh sons of earth ! attempt ye still to rise, 
 By mountains pil'd on mountains, to the skies?
 
 ESSAY ON MAM. 55 
 
 Heav'n still with laughter the vain toil surveys, 
 And buries madmen in the heaps they raise. 
 Know, all the good that individuals find 
 Or God and Nature meant to mere mankind, 
 Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense, 
 Lie in three words, health, peace, and competence. 
 But health consists with temperance alone; 
 And peace, oh Virtue! peace is all thy own. 
 The good or bad the gifts of fortune gain ; 
 But these less taste them, as they worse obtain. 
 Say, in pursuit of profit or delight, 
 Who risk the most, that take wrong means or right ? 
 Of vice or virtue, whether blest or curst, 
 Which meets contempt, or which compassion first? 
 Count all th' advantage prosperous vice attains, 
 *Tis but what virtue flies from and disdains : 
 And grant the bad what happiness they wou'd, 
 One they must want, which is to pass for good. 
 Oh blind to truth, and God's whole scheme below, 
 Who fancy bliss to vice, to virtue woe ! 
 E 4
 
 56 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Who sees and follows that great scheme the best, 
 Best knows the blessing,, and will most be blest. 
 But fools alone the good unhappy call, 
 For ills or accidents that chance to all. 
 See FALKLAND dies, the virtuous and the just ! 
 See god-like TURENNE prostrate on the dust! 
 See SIDNEY bleed amid the martial strife ! 
 Was this their virtue or contempt of life ? 
 Say, was it virtue, more tho' Heav'n ne'er gave, 
 Lamented DIG BY ! sunk thee to the grave ? 
 Tell me, if virtue made the son expire, 
 Why, full of days and honour, lives the sire ? 
 Why drew Marseilles' good bishop purer breath, 
 When Nature sicken'd, and each gale was death; 
 Or why so long (in life if long can be) 
 Lent Heav'n a parent to the poor and me ? 
 
 What makes all physical or moral ill ? 
 There deviates nature, and here wanders will. 
 God sends not ill ; if rightly understood, 
 Or partial ill is universal good,
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 57 
 
 Or change admits, or Nature lets it fall j 
 Short and but rare, 'till Man improv'd it all. 
 We just as wisely might of Heav'n complain 
 That righteous Abel was destroy'd by Cain, 
 As that the virtuous son is ill at ease 
 When his lewd father gave the dire disease. 
 Think we, like some weak prince, th' Eternal Cause>. 
 Prone for his fav'rites to reverse his laws? 
 
 Shall burning ./Etna, if a sage requires, 
 Forget to thunder, and recall her fires ? 
 On air or sea new motions be imprest, 
 Oh blameless Bethel ! to relieve thy breast ? 
 When the loose mountain trembles from on high,. 
 Shall gravitation cease, if you go by ? 
 Or some old temple, nodding to its fall, 
 For Chartres' head reserve the hanging wall ? 
 
 But still this world (so fitted for the knave) 
 Contents us not. A better shall we have ? 
 A kingdom of the just then let it be : 
 But first consider how those just agree.
 
 58 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 The good must merit God's peculiar care: 
 
 But who, but God, can tell us who they are? 
 
 One thinks on Calvin HeavVs own spirit fell; 
 
 Another deems him instrument of hell : 
 
 If Calvin feel Heav'n's blessing, or its rod, 
 
 This cries, there is, and that, there is no God. 
 
 What shocks one part will edify the rest, 
 
 Nor with one system can they all be blest. 
 
 The very best will variously incline, 
 
 And what rewards your virtue, punish mine. 
 
 WHATEVER is, is RIGHT. This world, 'tis true, 
 
 Was made for Caesar, but for Titus too : 
 
 And which more blest? who chain'dhiscountry, say, 
 
 Or he whose virtue sigh'd to lose a day ? 
 
 " But sometimes virtue starves, while vice is fed." 
 What then ? Is the reward of virtue bread ? 
 That vice may merit, 'tis the price of toil ; 
 The knave deserves it, when he tills the soil, 
 The knave deserves it, when he tempts the main, 
 Where folly fights for kings, or dives for gain.
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 59 
 
 The good man may be weak, be indolent ; 
 
 Nor is his claim to plenty, but content. 
 
 But grant him riches, your demand is o'er ? 
 
 No shall the good want health, the good want 
 
 pow'r?" 
 Add health, and pow'r, and ev'ry earthly thing, 
 
 
 
 " Why bounded pow'r? why private? why no king? 
 " Nay, why external for internal giv'n ? 
 " Why is not man a God, and earth a Heav'n ?" 
 Who ask and reason thus, will scarce conceive 
 God gives enough, while he has more to give : 
 Immense the pow'r, immense were the demand ; 
 Say, at what part of nature will they stand ? 
 
 What nothing earthly gives, or can destroy, 
 The souls calm sunshine, and the heart-felt joy, 
 Is virtue's prize : a better would you fix, 
 Then give humility a coach and six, 
 Justice a conqu'rer's sword, or truth a gown, 
 Or public spirit its great cure, a crown.
 
 60 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Weak, foolish Man ! will Heav'n reward us there 
 
 With the same trash mad mortals wish for here ? 
 
 The Boy and Man an individual makes, 
 
 Yet sigh'st thou now for apples and for cakes ? 
 
 Go, like the Indian, in another life 
 
 Expect thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife : 
 
 As well as dream such trifles are assigned, 
 
 As toys and empires, for a god-like mind. 
 
 Rewards, that either would to virtue bring 
 
 No joy, or be destructive of the thing :. 
 
 How oft by these at sixty are undone 
 
 The virtues of a saint at twenty-one ! 
 
 To whom can riches give repute or trust, 
 
 Content or pleasure, but the good and just? 
 
 Judges and senates have been bought for gold, 
 
 Esteem and love were never to be sold. 
 
 Oh fool ! to think God hates the worthy mind, 
 
 The lover and the love of human kind, 
 
 Whoselife ishealthful, and whoseconscience clear, 
 
 Because he wants a thousand pounds a year.
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 61 
 
 Honour and shame from no condition rise, 
 Act well your part, there all the honour Hes. 
 Fortune in Men has some small difference made, 
 One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade ; 
 The cobler apron'd, and the parson gown'd, 
 The friar hooded, and the monarch crown'd. 
 "What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl?" 
 I'll tell you, friend ; a wise man and a fool. 
 You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, 
 Or, cobler-Iike, the parson will be drunk, 
 Worth makes the man, and want of it, the fellow ; 
 The rest is all but leather or prunella. 
 
 Stuck o'er with titles, and hung round with strings, 
 That thou may'st be by kings, or whores of kings ; 
 Boast the pure blood of an illustrious race, 
 In quiet flow from Lucrece to Lucrece : 
 But by your father's worth, if yours you rate, 
 Count me those only who were good and great. 
 Go ; if your ancient, but ignoble blood 
 Has crept thro' scoundrels ever since the flood,
 
 62 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Go ! and pretend your family is young ; 
 Nor own, your fathers have been fools so long. 
 What can ennoble sots, or slaves, or cowards ? 
 Alas ! not all the blood of all the HOWARDS. 
 
 Look next on greatness ; say where greatness lies, 
 " Where but among the heroes and the wise ?M 
 Heroes are much the same, the point's agreed, 
 From Macedonia's madman to the Swede; 
 The whole strange purpose of their lives, to find 
 Or make, an enemy of all mankind. 
 Not one looks backward, onward still he goes, 
 Yet ne'er looks forward further than his nose. 
 No less alike the politic and wise ; 
 All fly slow things, with circumspective eyes ; 
 Men in their loose unguarded hours they take, 
 Not that themselves are wise, but others weak, 
 But grant that those can conquer, these can cheat ; 
 'Tis phrase absurd to call a villain great : 
 Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave, 
 Is but the more a fool, the more a knave.
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 63 
 
 Who noble ends by noble means obtains, 
 Or failing, smiles in exile or in chains, 
 Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed 
 Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. 
 
 What's fame? a fancied life in other's breath, 
 A thing beyond us, ev'n before our death. 
 Just what you hear, you have, and what's unknown 
 The same (my lord) if Tully's or your own. 
 All that we feel of it begins and ends 
 In the small circle of our foes or friends ; 
 To all beside as much an empty shade 
 An Eugene living, as a Caesar dead ; 
 A like or when, or where, they shone, or shine, 
 Or on the Rubicon, or on the Rhine. 
 A wit's a feather, and a chief a rod ; 
 An honest Man's the noble work of God. 
 Fame but from death a villain's name can save, 
 As Justice tears his body from the gra've : 
 When what t' oblivion better were resign'd, 
 Is hung on high to poison half mankind.
 
 64- ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 All fame is foreign, but of true desert ; 
 
 Plays round the head, but comes not to the heart : 
 
 One self-approving hour whole years outweighs 
 
 Of stupid starers, and of loud huzzas ; 
 
 And more true joy Marcellus exil'd feels, 
 
 Than Caesar with a senate at his heels. 
 
 In parts superior what advantage lies ? 
 Tell (for you can) what is it to be wise ? 
 Tis but to know how little can be known : 
 To see all others' faults and feel our own : 
 Condemn'd in bus'ness or in arts to drudge, 
 Without a second, or without a judge. 
 Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land ? 
 All fear, none aid you, and few understand. 
 Painful pre-eminence! yourself to view 
 Above life's weakness, and its comforts too. 
 
 Bring then these blessings to a strict account ; 
 Make fair deductions ; see to what they 'mount : 
 How much of other each is sure to cost ; 
 How each for other oft is wholly lost ;
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 65 
 
 How inconsistent greater goods with these : 
 
 How sometimes life is risqu'd, and always ease : 
 
 Think, and if still the things thy envy call, 
 
 Say, would'st thou be the man to whom they fall? 
 
 To sigh for ribbands if thou art so silly, 
 
 Mark how they grace Lord Umbra, or Sir Billy. 
 
 Is yellow dirt the passion of thy life ? 
 
 Look but on Gripus, or on Gripus' wife. 
 
 If parts allure thee, think how Bacon shin'd, 
 
 The wisest, brightest, meanest of mankind : 
 
 Or ravish'd with the whistling of a name, 
 
 See Cromwell damn'd to everlasting fame ! 
 
 If all, united, thy ambition call, 
 
 From ancient story learn to scorn them all. 
 
 There, in the rich, the honoured, fam'd and great, 
 
 See the false scale of happiness complete ! 
 
 In hearts of kings, or arms of queens who lay, 
 
 How happy those to ruin, these betray ; 
 
 Mark by what wretched steps their glory grows, 
 
 From dirt and sea-weed as proud Venice rose.
 
 66 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 In each how guilt and greatness equal ran, 
 And all that rais'd the hero, sunk the man. 
 Now Europe's laurels on other brows behold, 
 But stain'cl with blood, or ill exchanged for gold : 
 Then see them broke with toils, or sunk in ease, 
 Or infamous for plundered provinces. 
 Oh wealth ill-fated ! which no act of fame 
 E'er taught to shine, or sanctify'd from shame ! 
 What greater bliss attends their close of life ? 
 Some greedy minion, or imperious wife, 
 The trophy'd arches, story'd halls invade, 
 And haunt their slumbers in the pompous shade. 
 Alas ! not dazzled with their noon-tide ray, 
 Compute the morn and ev'ning to the day ; 
 The whole amount of that enormous fame, 
 A tale, that blends their glory with their shame ! 
 Know then this truth (enough for man to know) 
 " Virtue alone is happiness below." 
 The only point where human bliss stands still, 
 And tastes that good without the fall to ill;
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 67 
 
 Where only merit constant pay receives, 
 Is blest in what it takes, and what it gives; 
 The joy unequall'd, if its end it gain, 
 And if it lose, attended with no pain : 
 Without satiety, tho' e'er so blest, 
 And but more relish'd as the more distress'd; 
 The broadest mirth unfeeling folly wears, 
 Less pleasing far than virtue's very tears : 
 Good, from each object, from each place acquir'd 
 For ever exercis'd, yet never tir'd ; 
 Never elated, while one man's oppress'd ; 
 Never dejected, while another's bless'd: 
 And where no wants, no wishes can remain, 
 Since but to wish more virtue is to gain. 
 
 See the sole bliss Heav'n could on all bestow i t 
 Which who but feels can tas'4e^bii.tftflink can know: 
 Yet poor with fortune, and with learning blind, 
 The bad must miss; the good, untaught, will find; 
 Slave to no sect, who takes no private road, 
 But looks thro' Nature, up to Nature** God ; 
 F 2
 
 68 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Pursues that chain which links th' immense design, 
 
 Joins heav'n and earth, and mortal and divine ; 
 
 Sees, that no being any bliss can know, 
 
 But touches some above, and some below ; 
 
 Learns from this union of the rising whole, 
 
 The first, last purpose of the human soul ; 
 
 And knows where faith, law, morals, all began, 
 
 All end, in LOVE OF GOD, and LOVE OF MAN. 
 
 For him alone, hope leads from goal to goal, 
 
 And opens still, and opens on his soul ; 
 
 Till lengthen'd on to FAITH, and unconfin'd, 
 
 It pours the bliss that fills up all the mind. 
 
 He sees why Nature plants in Man alone 
 
 Hope of known bliss, and faith in bliss unknown : 
 
 (Nature, whose dictates to no other kind 
 
 Are giv'n in vain, but what they seek they find) 
 
 Wise is her present j she connects in this 
 
 His greatest virtue with his greatest bliss ; 
 
 At once his own bright prospect to be blest, 
 
 And strongest motive to assist the rest.
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 69 
 
 Self-love thus push'd to social, to divine, 
 Gives theeto make thy neighbour's blessing thine. 
 Is this too little for the boundless heart? 
 Extend it, let thy enemies have part: 
 Grasp the whole worlds of reason, life, and sense, 
 In one close system of benevolence : 
 Happier as kinder, in whate'er degree. 
 And height of bliss but height of charity. 
 
 God loves from whole to parts: but human soul 
 Must rise from individual to the whole. 
 Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake, 
 As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake ; 
 The centre mov'd, a circle strait succeeds, 
 Another still, and still another spreads ; 
 Friend parent, neighbour, first it will embrace ; 
 His country next ; and next all human race : 
 Wide and more wide, th'o'erflowings of the mind 
 Take ev'ry creature in, of ev'ry kind ; 
 Earth smiles around, with boundless bounty blest, 
 And Heav'n beholds its image in his breast. 
 F 3
 
 70 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 Come then, my friend ! my genius ! come along! 
 Oh master of the poet and the song ! 
 And while the Muse now stoops, or now ascends, 
 To man's low passions, or their glorious ends^ 
 Teach me, like thee, in various nature wise, 
 To fall with dignity, with temper rise ; 
 Form'd by thy converse, happily to steer 
 From grave to gay, from lively to severe ; 
 Correct with spirit, eloquent with ease, 
 Intent to reason, or polite to please. 
 Oh! while along the stream of time thy name 
 Expanded flies, and gathers all its fame ; 
 Say shall my little bark attendant sail, 
 Pursue the triumph, and partake the gale ? 
 When statesmen, heroes, kings in dust repose, 
 Whose sons shall blush their fathers were thy foes; 
 Shall then this verse to future age pretend 
 Thou wert my guide, philosopher, and friend ? 
 That, urg'd by thee, I turn'd the tuneful art 
 From sounds to things, from fancy to the heart j
 
 ESSAY ON MAN. 
 
 71 
 
 For Wit's false mirror held up Nature's light ; 
 Shew'd erring Pride, WHATEVER is, is RIGHT; 
 That REASON, PASSION, answer one great aim j 
 That true SELF-LOVE and SOCIAL are the same; 
 That VIRTUE only makes our bliss below; 
 And all our knowledge is OURSELVES TO KNOW. 
 
 r 4
 
 72 
 
 THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 
 
 DEO OPT. MAX. 
 
 FATHER of all! in cv'ry age, 
 
 In ev'ry clime ador'd, 
 By saint, by savage, and by sage, 
 
 Jehovah, Jove, or Lord. 
 
 Thou Great First Cause, least understood: 
 
 Who all my sense confin'd 
 To know but this, that Thou art Good, 
 
 And that myself am blind ; 
 
 Yet gave me, in this dark estate, 
 
 To see the good from ill; 
 And binding nature fast in fate, 
 
 Left free the human will.
 
 UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 73 
 
 What Conscience dictates to be done, 
 
 Or warns me not to do, 
 This, teach me more than hell to shun, 
 
 That, more than heav'n pursue. 
 
 What blessings thy free bounty gives, 
 
 Let me not cast away ; 
 For God is paid when Man receives, 
 
 T enjoy is to obey. 
 
 Yet not to earth's contracted span 
 
 Thy goodness let me bound, 
 Or think Thee Lord alone of Man, 
 
 When thousand worlds are round : 
 
 Let not this weak unknowing hand 
 
 Presume thy bolts to throw, 
 And deal damnation round thy land 
 
 On each I judge thy foe.
 
 74- UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 
 
 If I am right, thy grace impart, 
 Still in the right to stay ; 
 
 If I am wrong, oh teach my heart 
 To find that better way. 
 
 Save me alike from foolish pride, 
 Or impious discontent; 
 
 At aught thy wisdom has deny'd, 
 Or aught thy goodness lent. 
 
 Teach me to feel another's woe, 
 
 To hide the fault I see; 
 That mercy I to others show, 
 That mercy show to me. 
 
 Mean tho' I am, not wholly so, 
 Since quick'ned by thy breath ; 
 
 Oh lead" me whereso'er I go, 
 Thro' this day's life or death.
 
 UNIVERSAL PRAYER. 
 
 This day, be bread and peace my lot t 
 
 All else beneath the sun, 
 Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not> 
 
 And let thy will be done, 
 
 To thee, whose temple is all space. 
 Whose altar, earth, sea, skies! 
 
 One chorus let all being raise ! 
 All nature's incense rise ! 
 
 75
 
 76 
 
 THE 
 
 DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL. 
 
 ODE. 
 
 VITAL spark of heav'nly flame, 
 Quit, oh quit this mortal frame: 
 Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, 
 Oh the pain, the bliss of dying : 
 
 Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, 
 
 And let me languish into life. 
 
 Hark ! they Whisper ; angels say, 
 
 Sister Spirit, come away. 
 
 What is this absorbs jne quite, 
 
 Steals my senses, shuts my sight, 
 Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? 
 Tell me, my soul, can this be death ?
 
 THE DYING CHRISTIAN. 77 
 
 The world recedes ; it disappears ! 
 Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears 
 
 With sounds seraphic ring : 
 Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly \ 
 O Grave ! Where is thy victory ? 
 
 O Death ! where is thy sting?
 
 THE FUNERAL OF ARABERT, 
 
 CEonk of la
 
 ^tfoertfeement 
 
 ARABF.RT, a young ecclesiastic, retired to the convent of 
 La Trapjie, in obedience to a vow he had taken during 
 a fit of illness: LEONORA, with whom he had lived in 
 the strictest intimacy, followed her lover, and by the 
 means of a disguise obtained admission into the mo- 
 nastery, where a few days after she assisted at her lover's 
 Funeral.
 
 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 BY MR. JERNINGHAM. 
 
 E 
 
 AIR LEONORA, by affliction led, 
 Sought the dread dome where sleep the hallow'd 
 
 dead. 
 
 The solemn edifice was wrapt around 
 In midnight darkness, and in peace profound : 
 A solitary lamp, with languid light, 
 Serv'd not to chase, but to disclose the night ; 
 Serv'd to disclose (the source of all her pains) 
 The tomb that gap'd for AR A BERT'S remains. 
 To this she sent the deep, the frequent sigh, 
 And spoke the warm tear rushing from her eye.
 
 82 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 ' Doom'd to receive all that my soul holds dear, 
 ' Give him that rest his heart refus'd him here : 
 ' Oh screen him from the pain the tender know, 
 ' The train of sorrows that from passion flow ! 
 ' And to his happier envied state adjoin 
 ' (Or all is vain) an ignorance of mine/ 
 
 As thus she mourn'd, an aged priest drew near, 
 (Whose pure life glided as the riv'let clear) 
 The virtuous ANSELM. Tho'in cloisters bred, 
 Still bright-ey'd Wisdom to his cell he led: 
 From paths of sophistry he lov'd to stray, 
 To tread the walk where Nature led the way. 
 The Prior's rank he long had held approv'd, 
 Esteem'd, rever'd, and as a parent lov'd : 
 Unskilful in the jargon of the schools, 
 He knew humanity's diviner rules : 
 To others gentle, to himself severe, 
 On sorrow's wound he dropt the healing tear. 
 In all the negligence of grief he found 
 The fair extended on the naked ground.
 
 THE FUNERAL. 83 
 
 Touch'd at her woe the sacred father said, 
 ' Well may'st thou droop if happiness be fled : 
 ' Sure, if at holy ARABERT'S decease 
 ' Impetuous sorrows rush upon thy peace, 
 ' Some much lov'd friend in him you must deplore, 
 ' Or, dearer still, a brother is no more : 
 ' Yet, as thro' life our weary steps we bend, 
 ' Let us not sink when beating storms descend : 
 ' Still let Religion hold unrivall'd sway 
 ' And Patience walk companion of our way. 
 ' Ah, lose not sight of that delightful shore, 
 ' Whose blissful bowers shall friends to friends 
 
 restore ! 
 
 ' Tho* here misfortune comes to blast our will, 
 ' The Heav'ns are just, and God a father still.* 
 
 ' Blest be the voice/ the rising mourner said, 
 ' That bids affliction raise her drooping head : 
 ' That bids me hope (beyond ev'n Death's domain) 
 ' These eyes shall banquet on my love again. 
 G 2
 
 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 ' Ah, start not, ANSELM for to truth ally'd, 
 ' Impiety now throws her mask aside: 
 ' No holy monk, by contemplation led, 
 ' To these sequesterM mansions of the dead j 
 ' No youth, devoted to religion's pow'r, 
 
 ' Implores thy pity at this awful hour. 
 
 ' The guilty secret I'll at length unfold 
 ' In me (forgive) a woman you behold. 
 ' Ah fly me not, let mercy now prevail, 
 ' And deign to mark my sad disastrous tale. 
 
 ' Known to misfortune from my tender years, 
 ' My parents' ashes drank my early tears : 
 * A barb'rous uncle, to each vice ally'd, 
 ' The office of a parent ill supplied : 
 ' Of my entire inheritance possessed, 
 ' By lucre prompted, and by fortune blest, 
 ' He pass'd the ocean never to return, 
 ' And left me weeping o'er my parents' urn: 
 ' Then ARABERT, the gen'rous stranger, came 
 ' To soothe my sorrows, and relieve my shame
 
 THE FUNERAL. 85 
 
 ' Beneath his tender care my woes decreas'd, 
 
 ' More than religion's, he was pity's priest : 
 
 ' To reach his bounty my affection strove, 
 
 * Till gratitude was heighten'd into love : 
 
 ' Nor he at length refus'd the lover's part, 
 
 ' The pity that adorn'd, betray 'd his heart, 
 
 ' How ardently he wish'd the nuptial rite, 
 
 ' In holy wedlock, might our hands unite : 
 
 ' But stern Religion at our vows exclaim'd, 
 
 < And tore the bands that Love and Nature fram'd : 
 
 ' For then devoted to her hallow'd shrine, 
 
 ' His country's laws forbade him to be mine. 
 
 ' Tho'from my mind each flatt'ring thought retir'd, 
 
 ' And in my bosom hope and peace expir'd ; 
 
 ' Yet on their ruins, love triumphant rose : 
 
 ' Enough shame o'er the rest a mantle throws. 
 
 ' At length remorse effac'd the guilty scene, 
 
 ' And to his breast apply'd her dagger keen; 
 
 * Restrain'd in full career the erring youth, 
 
 ' And led him back to innocence and truth.
 
 86 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 ' 'Twas then he fled from pleasure's rosy bow'rs, 
 ' To woo- religion in these gloomy tow'rs : 
 ' Yet ere he fled my bliss he fondly plann'd, 
 ' And scatter'd riches with a lavish hand. 
 ' Ah, what to me avail'd the golden store ? 
 ' The giver gone, the gift could charm no more. 
 ' While in the gloom his tedious absence cast, 
 ' My former life in fancy I repass'd, 
 ' Repentance gain'd admission to my breast, 
 Nor did it enter an unwelcome guest: 
 ' For ne'er to pleasure I dismiss'd the rein 
 ' Free and unconscious of reflection's pain : 
 < If hapless LEONORA lov'd too well, 
 ' Content, fair Virtue's friend, with Virtue ell : 
 ' But not my stubborn soul could pray'r subdue, 
 ' Ev'n grafted on remorse my passion grew ; 
 ' Too fatal passion by its impulse led, 
 ' In man's attire to this retreat I fled : 
 ' Yet then, ev'n then to bashful fear allied, 
 ' Still o'er my love did modesty preside.
 
 THE FUNERAL. 87 
 
 ' In those sweet moments that precede the night, 
 ' When peaceful nature wears a soften'd light, 
 1 1 met the youth within the solemn grove, 
 ' (His frequent walk) absorb'd in heavn'ly love: 
 ' By warm occasion eagerly impel I'd, 
 ' A sudden fear my ready steps withheld : 
 ' While God and he employ the trembling scene, 
 ' 'Twere sacrilege, I cried, to rush between : 
 ' Still from that hour my wishes I restrain'd, 
 ' And in my breast th' unwilling secret chain'd, 
 ' Unknown to him, yet half content I grew, 
 ' So that his form might daily charm my view. 
 * But new affliction, with relentless hand, 
 ' O'erthrew the project that my heart had plann'd: 
 ' Amid the horrors of the lonesome night, 
 ' A ghastly spectre rush'd upon my sight, 
 ' And pour'd these accents on my trembling ear, 
 ' Think not imjiiety shall triumph here : 
 ' Thy hopes are blasted Death's tremendous bell 
 ' Shall sound, ere many hours, tfy lover's knell. 
 G 4,
 
 88 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 * I started from my couch, with fright impress'd, 
 ' Flew to the fane to calm my anxious breast ; 
 
 ' By love then prompted yet by love dismay'd, 
 ' The peopled choir I tremblingly survey'd ; 
 ' Still 'raid th' innumerous monastic train 
 ' These eyes solicited his form in vain. 
 ' Nor in the field or pensive grove retir*d 
 ' Could I discover whom my heart requirM : 
 ' Then sure (I cried) at this unhappy hour 
 ' Does anguish o'er its cell diffuse its pow'r : 
 
 * Shall LEONORA not relieve his pain, 
 
 ' And with these arms his drooping head sustain ? 
 ' Say at the couch, when death is stalking round, 
 ' Shall not the spouse of his fond heart be found ! 
 ' Ah no th' affection that subdues me still, 
 
 * At that dread moment check'd my ardent will, 
 ' Lest rushing on his sight I should controul 
 
 ' The holy thoughts that hover'd o'er his soul. 
 
 ' This low'ring morn disclos'd the fatal truth : 
 ' Oh early lost oh lov'd oh hapless youth
 
 THE FUNERAL. 89 
 
 ' Fix'd to the column of the hallow'd porch 
 ' Twas scarcely light some Fury lent her torch 
 ' I read 
 
 The pious AR A B E R T'S no more, 
 The peace the dead require, for him implore. 
 
 ' Let peace, let joy (I said), his spirit join, 
 ' Nor joy, nor peace, must e'er encircle mine. 
 ' Lamented youth ! too tenderly allied, 
 ' In vain you fled me, and in vain you died ? 
 ' Still to your image, which this breast inurns, 
 f My constant heart a lamp perpetual burns. 
 
 ' But thou, to whom as friend he did impart 
 ' Each latent wish, and foible of the heart ; 
 * For well I know, where sorrow drops a tear, 
 ' Or misery complains, thou still art near? 
 ' Ah say, by love did my known image drest 
 ' Come to his mind thus welcome, thus carest? 
 ' Or on his soul come rushing undesir'd, 
 ' The fatal fair, by female arts inspir'd,
 
 90 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 ' Who dimm'd the lustre of his radiant name, 
 
 ' And from his temples tore the flow'r of fame : 
 
 ' Who thro' the labyrinth of Pleasure's bow'r 
 
 ' Allur'd (for beauty such as mine had pow'r) 
 
 ' Ev'n to the dang'rous steep and cast him down 
 
 ' From high repute to grov'ling disrenown. 
 
 ' Wretch that I am, to my distressful state 
 
 There wanted not th' addition of his hate : 
 
 ' For him I plung'd my artless youth in shame, 
 
 ' Unlock'd reserve, and sacrificed my fame. 
 
 ' Still, still I fear (unable to confide), 
 
 r Before my ARABERT, the lover died : 
 
 ' This thought (to thee I'll own) suspends my grief, 
 
 ' While cold indifference comes to my relief. 
 
 ' Say, virtuous AN s ELM, if this thought be vain, 
 
 ' And give, oh give me all my grief again !' 
 
 To her replied the pity-breathing seer, 
 ' Mark well my words, and lose thy idle fear : 
 ' When on the couch of death the victim lay, 
 ' Not in that moment was his friend away,
 
 THE FUNKKAf.. 91 
 
 ' As at his side I took my mournful stand, 
 ' With feeble grasp he seized my offer'd hand, 
 ' And thus began : " The fatal dart is sped, 
 ''Soon, soon shall ARABERT increase the dead. 
 ' 'Tis well for what can added life bestow, 
 'But days returning still with added woe. 
 ' Say, have I not secluded from my sight 
 ' The lovely object of my past delight ? 
 ' Ah, had I too dethron'd her from my mind, 
 ' When here the holy brotherhood I join'd, 
 ' Remorse would not, increasing my disease, 
 ' Prey on my soul, aud rob it of its ease : 
 ' And yet I strove, unequal to the part, 
 'Weak to perform the sacrifice of heart; 
 ' And now, ev'n now, too feeble to controul, 
 ' I feel her clinging to my parting soul." 
 ' He spoke (my sympathetic bosom bled) 
 1 And to the realms of death his spirit fled.' 
 
 The fair rejoin'd : Misled by foul distrust, 
 ' To him, whose heart was mine, am I unjust?
 
 92 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 ' Ah ARABERT, th' unwilling fault forgive, 
 ' Dead to th' alluring world, in thee I live ; 
 ' My thoughts, my deep regret, my sorrows own, 
 
 * No view, no object still, but thee alone ; 
 
 ' At all the vengeance bursting from above, 
 ' Alarm'd, I weep, I shudder, yet I love/ 
 
 As thus she spoke, the death-bell smote her ear, 
 While to the porch the fun'ral train drew near. 
 Ah, LEONORE, in that tremendous hour, 
 Didst thou not feel all heavVs avenging pow'r, 
 When, moving thro' the aisle, the choral band. 
 And vested priests, with torches in their hand, 
 Gave to thy view, unfortunately dear, 
 Thy lover sleeping on th' untimely bier? 
 
 Collecting now at length her scatter'd force, 
 With trembling footsteps she approach'd the corse, 
 And while she check'd the conflict in her breast, 
 The wide encircling throng she thus address'd : 
 
 * Well may ye mark me with astonish'd eyes, 
 ' Audacious hypocrite in man's disguise;
 
 THE FUNERAL. 93 
 
 ' Who, urg'd by passion, dar'd with steps profane 
 
 * Approach the hallow'd doom of virtue's train. 
 ' Lead me, ah lead me, to the dungeon's gloom, 
 ' The rack prepare I yield me to your doom : 
 
 ' Yet still should pity in your breast abide, 
 
 ' And pity sure to virtue is allied, 
 
 ' To my distress benign attention lend, 
 
 ' Your acts of rigor for a while suspend, 
 
 ' Till o'er this bier ('tis nature's kind relief) 
 
 ' I've pour'd my plaints, and paid the rites of grief. 
 
 * Ah, he was dearer to this bleeding heart, 
 ' Far dearer than expression can impart. 
 
 ' Thou who didst place us in this vale of tears, 
 ' Where sorrow blasts the plant that pleasure rears: 
 ' If, as the tenets of our creed require : 
 ' Thy waken'd justice breathe immortal ire ; 
 ' If love, from whence ev'n here misfortunes flow, 
 ' Beyond the grave you curse with endless woe ; 
 ' Ah not on ARABERT thy vengeance pour ! 
 ' On me, on me thy storm of anger show'r !
 
 94 THE FUNERAL 
 
 ' For I allurM him far from virtue's way, 
 
 ' And led his youthful innocence astray : 
 
 ' Ah, not in punishment our fate conjoin ; 
 
 ' He shar'd the rapture, but the guilt was mine.' 
 
 With trembling hand she now the veil withdrew, 
 When lo the well known features struck her view. 
 
 Absorpt in grief she cast a fond survey 
 
 At length her thoughts in murmurs broke away : 
 t That eye which shed on mine voluptuous light, 
 ' Alas, how sunk in everlasting night ! 
 ' See from those lips the living colour fled, 
 ''Where love resided, and where pleasure fed ! 
 ' And where bright eloquence had pour'd her store 
 ' Dumb horror sits and wisdom is no more. 
 ' Yet ere the worm (since this is doom'd its prey) 
 ' Shall steal the lingering likeness quite away, 
 'On that cold lip sure LEONORE may dwell, 
 ' And, free from guilt, imprint the long farewell.' 
 She added not but, bending low her head, 
 Three times the mourner kiss'd th' unconscious dead
 
 THE FUNERAL. 95 
 
 Now holy AM s ELM urg'd her to restrain 
 Her boundless grief, in rev'rence of the fane. 
 She answer'd, starting from the sable bier, 
 
 * Can I forget that ARABERT was dear ! 
 
 ' Can I, cold monitor, from hence remove, 
 ' His worth unrivall'd, and his lasting love ! 
 ' Can I forget, as destitute I lay, 
 ' To sickness, grief, and penury, a prey, 
 ' How eagerly he flew at pity's call, 
 
 * Put forth his hand, and rais'd me from my fall i 
 ' All unsolicited he gave me wealth, 
 
 ' He gave me solace, and he gave me health : 
 ' And, dearer than the bliss those gifts impart, 
 ' He strain'd me to his breast, and gave his heart. 
 
 * And shall these hallow'd walls and awful fane 
 
 ' Reproach the voice that pours the praiseful strain ? 
 'Say, at the friend's, the guardian's, lover's tomb, 
 ' Can sorrow sleep, and gratitude be dumb ? 
 ' But I submit and bend thus meekly low, 
 ' To kiss th' avenging hand that dealt the blow:
 
 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 ' ResignM I quit the losing path I trod, 
 ' Fall'n is my idol and I worship God.' 
 She ceas'd the choir intones the fun'ral song, 
 Which holy echoes plaintively prolong; 
 And now the solemn organ, tun'd to woe, 
 PourM the clear notes pathetically slow. 
 These rites perform'd along th' extending fane 
 She now attends the slow proceeding train; 
 Who o'er the mournful cypress-shaded way, 
 To the expecting tomb, the dead convey. 
 See now the priests the closing act prepare, 
 And to the darksome vault commit their care. 
 At this dread scene, too feelingly distress'd, 
 She pourM the last effusions of her breast : 
 Come, guardian seraph, from thy throne above* 
 ' And watch the tomb of my departed love/ 
 
 Shepaus'd then (o'er the yawning tomb reclin'd) 
 In all the tenderness of grief rejoin'd: 
 ' Oh beauty's flow'r oh pleasure ever new 
 ' Oh friendship, love, and constancy, adieu !
 
 THE FUNERAL. 97 
 
 ' Ye virtues that adorn'd th' unhappy youth, 
 ' Affection, pity, confidence, and truth, 
 ' Thegen'rous thoughts that with the feeling dwell^ 
 ' And sympathy of heart farewell, farewell ! 
 ' Not all of AR A BERT this tomb contains, 
 ' All is not here while LEONORE remains. 
 ' Methinks a voice e'n animates the clay, 
 ' And in low accents summons me away : 
 ' Haste LEONORE thy other self rejoin, 
 ' And let thy glowing ashes mix with mine. 
 ' Ah, trust me, ARABERT ! to share thy doom, 
 ' Prepar'd, resolv'd, I'll meet thee in the tomb. 
 ' Forbear, oh Heav'n, in pity to these tears, 
 ' To curse my sorrow with a length of years. 
 ' And when this drooping form shall press the 
 
 bier, 
 
 ' Say, virtuous ANSELM, wilt thou not be near? 
 ' The friendly requiem for my soul to crave, 
 ' And lay these limbs in this lamented grave ? 
 * Then, when this tortured heart shall cease to burn, 
 ' Our blended dust shall warm the faithful urn:
 
 98 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 ' Nor distant far is that releasing hour, 
 
 ' For Nature now oppress'd beyond her powV, 
 
 ' Resigns at length my troubled soul to rest, 
 
 ' And grief's last anguish rushes thro' my breast.' 
 
 Behold her now extended on the ground, 
 And see the sacred brethren kneeling round : 
 Them she addresses in a fault'ring tone, 
 ' Say cannot death my daring crime atone ? 
 ' Ah, let compassion now your hearts inspire, 
 ' Amid your prayers, I unalarm'd expire. 
 ' Thou who art ev'n in this dread moment dear, 
 'Oh, shade of AR A BERT, still hover near. 
 
 ' I come/ 
 
 And now emerging from her woes 
 ('Twas love's last effort) from the earth she rose ; 
 And, strange to tell, with strong affection fraught, 
 She headlong plung'd into the gloomy vault : 
 And there, what her impassion'd wish requir'd, 
 On the lov'd breast of ARABERT expir'd.
 
 THE GRAVE. 
 
 H 2
 
 THE GRAVE. 
 
 BY ROBERT BLAIR. 
 
 HILE some affect the sun, and some the 
 
 shade, 
 
 Some seek the city, some the hermitage ; 
 Their aims as various as the roads they take 
 In journeying thro* life ; the task be mine 
 To paint the gloomy horrors of the tomb ; 
 Th' appointed place of rendezvous, where all 
 These travelers meet. Thy succours I implore, 
 Eternal King ! whose potent arm sustains 
 The keysof death andhell, The Grave, dread thing ! 
 Men shiver when thou'rt nam'd : Nature appall'd, 
 Shakes off her wonted firmness. Ah ! how dark 
 H 3
 
 102 THE GRAVE. 
 
 Thy long-extending realms, and rueful wastes ! 
 Where nought but silence reigns, and night, dark 
 
 night, 
 
 Dark as was chaos, ere the infant sun 
 Was roll'd together, or had try'd its beams 
 Athwart the gloom profound ! The sickly taper, 
 By glimmering thro' thy low-brow'd misty vaults, 
 (Furr'd round with mouldy damps, and ropy slime,) 
 Lets fall a supernumerary horror, 
 And only serves to make thy night more irksome. 
 
 Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew, 
 Cheerless, unsocial plant ! that loves to dwell 
 Midst sculls and coffins, epitaphs and worms : 
 Where Hght-heel'd ghosts, and visionary shades, 
 Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports) 
 Embody'd thick perform their mystic rounds. 
 No other merriment, dull tree ! is thine. 
 
 See yonder hallow'd fane ! the pious work 
 Of names once fam'd, now dubious, or forgot, 
 And bury'd in the wreck, of things which were; 
 There lie interr'd the more illustrious dead.
 
 THE GRAVE. 103 
 
 The wind is up : hark ! how it howls ! methinks, 
 Till now, I never heard a sound so dread ! 
 Doors creak, and windows clap, and night's foul 
 
 bird, 
 
 Rook'd in the spire, screams loud I the gloomy aisles 
 Black plaister'd, and hung round with shreds of 
 
 'scutcheons 
 
 And tatter'd coats of arms, send back the sound, 
 Laden with heavier airs, from the low vaults, 
 The mansions of the dead. Rouz'd from their 
 
 slumbers, 
 
 In grim array thegrizly spectres rise, 
 Grin horrible, and obstinately sullen 
 Pass and repass, hush'd as the foot of night. 
 Again the screech owl shrieks ! ungracious sound ! 
 I'll hear no more it makes my blood run chill ! 
 
 Quite round the pile, a row of rev'rend elms, 
 Coeval near with that, all ragged shew, 
 Long lash'd by the rude winds : some rift half down 
 Their branchless trunks ; others so thin at top, 
 H 4
 
 104- THE GRAVE. 
 
 That scarce two crows could lodge in the same tree, 
 Strange things the neighbours say have happen'd 
 
 here: 
 
 Wild shrieks have issued from the hollow tombs, 
 Dead men have come again, and wallc'd about, 
 And the great bell has toll'd, unrung, untouch'd. 
 (Such tales their cheer, at wake or gossiping, 
 When it draws near to witching time of night.) 
 
 Oft in the lone church-yard at night I've seen, 
 By glimpse of moonshine checq'ring thro' the trees, 
 The school-boy, with his satchel in his hand, 
 Whistling aloud to bear his courage up, 
 And lightly tripping o'er the long flat stones, 
 (With nettles skirted, and moss o'ergrown) 
 That tell in homely phrase who lie below : 
 Sudden he starts and hears or thinks he hears 
 The sound of something purring at his heels : 
 Full fast he flies, and dares not look behind, 
 Till out of breath he overtakes his fellows, 
 Who gather round, and wonder at the tale
 
 / / 
 f f-rtr
 
 THE GRAVE. 105 
 
 Of horrid apparition, tall and ghastly, 
 That walks at dead of night, or takes his stand 
 O'er some new open'd Grave and, strange to tell ! 
 He vanishes at crowing of the cock. 
 
 The new made widow, too, I've sometimes 
 
 spy'd 
 
 Sad sight ! slow moving o'er the prostrate dead : 
 Listless, she crawls along in doleful black, 
 While bursts of sorrow gush from either eye, 
 Fast falling down her now untasted cheek. 
 Prone on the lowly Grave of the dear man 
 She drops ; whilst busy meddling memory, 
 In barbarous succession musters up 
 The past endearments of their softer hours, 
 Tenacious of its theme. Still, still she thinks 
 She sees him, and, indulging the fond thought, 
 Clings yet more closely to the senseless turf, 
 Nor heeds the passenger who looks that way. 
 
 Invidious Grave 1 , how dost thou rend in sunder 
 Whom love has knit, and sympathy made one ; 
 A tie more stubborn far than nature's band !
 
 106 THE GRAVE. 
 
 Friendship ! mysterious cement of the soul, 
 Sweet'ner of life, and solder of society ! 
 I owe thee much. Thou hastdeserv'd from me 
 Far, far beyond what I can ever pay. 
 Oft have I prov'd the labours of thy love, 
 And the warm efforts of the gentle heart 
 Anxious to please. Oh ! when my friend and I. 
 In some thick wood, have wander'd heedless on, 
 Hid from the vulgar eye, and sat us down 
 Upon the sloping cowslip-cover'd bank, 
 Where the pure limpid stream has slid along, 
 In graceful murmurs thro* the under-wood, 
 Sweet murmuring ! methought the shrill-tongu'd 
 
 thrush 
 
 Mended his song of love; the sooty blackbird 
 Mellow'd his pipe, and soften'd ev'ry note ; 
 The eglantine smell'd sweeter ; and the rose 
 AssumM a dye more deep ; whilst every flow'r 
 Vy'd with its fellow plant in luxury 
 Of dress. Oh ! then the longest summer's day
 
 THE GRAVE. 107 
 
 Seem'd too, too much in haste : still the full heart 
 Had not impared half: 'twas happiness 
 Too exquisite to last. Of joys departed 
 Not to return, how painful the remembrance ! 
 Dull Grave! thou spoil'st the dance of youthful 
 
 blood, 
 
 Strik'st out the dimple from the cheek of mirth, 
 And ev'ry smirking feature from the face : 
 Branding our laughter with the name of madness. 
 Where are the jesters now ? the men of health, 
 Complex ionally pleasant ? where the droll 
 Whose ev'ry look and gesture was a joke 
 
 To clapping theatres, and gaping crowds, 
 
 
 And made e'en thick-lip'd musing melancholy 
 
 To gather up her face into a smile 
 Before she was aware ? Ah ! sullen now, 
 And dumb as the green turf that covers them 1 . 
 Where are the mighty thunder-bolts of war ? 
 The Roman Caesars, and the Grecian chiefs, 
 The boast of slory ? Where the hot-brain'd youth,
 
 108 THE GRAVE. 
 
 Who the tiara at his pleasure tore 
 From kings of all the then discover'd globe, 
 And cry'd forsooth because his arm was hamper'd, 
 And had not room enough to do its work ! 
 Alas ! how slim, dishonourably slim ! 
 And crammM into a space we blush to name. 
 Proud royalty ! how alter'd are thy looks ! 
 How blank thy features ! and how wan thy hue ! 
 Son of the morning ! whither art thou gone ? 
 Where hast thou hid thy many-spangled head, 
 And the majestic menace of thine eyes, 
 Felt from afar ? Pliant and pow'rless now, 
 Like new-born infant wound up in his swathes, 
 Or victim tumbled flat upon its back, 
 That throbs beneath the sacrificer's knife : 
 Mute must thou bear the strife of little tongues, 
 And coward insults of the base-born crowd, 
 That grudge a privilege thou never hadst, 
 But only hop'd for in the peaceful Grave, 
 Of being unmolested and alone.
 
 THE CRAVE. 109 
 
 Arabia's gums and odoriferous drugs, 
 
 And honours by the heralds duly paid 
 
 In mode and form ev*n to a very scruple 
 
 O cruel irony ! these come too late, 
 
 And only mock whom they were meant to honour. 
 
 Surely there's not a dungeon slave that's buryM 
 
 In the highway, unshrouded and uncoffin'd, 
 
 But lies as soft, and sleeps as sound as he! 
 
 Sorry pre-eminence of high descent, 
 
 Above the vulgar born, to rot in state ! 
 
 But see ! the well-plum'd hearse comes nodding on, 
 
 Stately and slow, and properly attended 
 
 By the whole sable tribe, who painful watch 
 
 The sick man's door, and live upon the dead, 
 
 By letting out their persons by the hour 
 
 To mimic sorrow when the heart's not sad. 
 
 How rich the trappings, now they're all unfurl'd, 
 
 And glitt'ring in the sun ! Triumphant entries 
 
 Of conquerors, and coronation pomps, 
 
 In glory scarce exceed. Great gluts of people
 
 110 THE GRAVE. 
 
 Retard lh* unwieldy show ; while from the case- 
 ments 
 
 And houses tops, ranks behind ranks close wedg'd 
 Hang bellying o'er. But tell us, why this waste ? 
 Why this ado in earthing-up a carcase 
 That's fall'n into disgrace, and to the sense 
 Smells horrible ? Ye undertakers, tell us, 
 'Midst all the gorgeous figures ye exhibit, 
 Why is the principal conceal'd ? for which 
 Ye make such mighty stir ? 'Tis wisely done : 
 What would offend the eye in a good picture 
 The painter casts discreetly into shades. 
 
 Proud lineage ! now how little thou appear'st 
 Below the envy of the private man ! 
 Honour, that meddlesome officious ill, 
 Pursues theeev'n to death ; nor stops there short 
 Strange persecution ! when the Grave itself 
 Is no protection from rude sufferance. 
 
 Absurd ! to think to over-reach the Grave, 
 And from the wreck of names to rescue ours ! 
 The best concerted schemes men lay for fame
 
 THE GRAVE. Ill 
 
 Die fast away ; only themselves die faster. 
 The far-fam'd sculptor, and the laurell'd bard, 
 Those bold insurancers of deathless fame, ; 
 Supply their little feeble aids in vain. , 
 The tap'ring pyramid, th' Egyptian's pride, 
 And wonder of the world, whose spiky top 
 Has wounded the thick cloud, and long outliv'd 
 The angry shaking of the winter's storm ; 
 Yet spent at last by th' injuries of heaven, 
 Shatter'd with age, and furrow'd o'er with years, 
 The mystic cone, with hieroglyphics crusted 
 Give way. O lamentable sight ! at once 
 The labour of whole ages lumbers down, 
 Ahedious and mishapen length of ruins. 
 Sepulchral columns wrestle but in vain 
 With all-subduing time : his cank'ring hand 
 With calm delib'rate malice wastes them all: 
 Worn on the edge of days, the brass consumes, 
 The busto moulders, and the deep-cut marble, 
 Unsteady to the steel, gives up its charge :
 
 112 THE GRAVE. 
 
 Ambition, half convicted of her folly, 
 
 Hangs down her head, and reddens at the tale. 
 
 Here all the mighty troublers of the earth, 
 Who swam to sov'reign rule thro' seas of blood ; 
 TV oppressive sturdy, man-destroying villains, 
 Who ravag'd kingdoms, and laid empires waste, 
 And in a cruel wantonness of pow*r 
 Thinn'd states of half their people, and gave up 
 The rest to want now, like a storm that's spent, 
 Lie hush'd, and meanly sneak behind thy covert, 
 Vain thought ! to hide them from the gen'ral scorn, 
 That haunts and dogs them like an injur'd ghost 
 Implacable. Here, the petty tyrant, 
 Who fix'd his iron talons on the poor, 
 And grip'd them like some lordly beast of prey 
 Deaf to the forceful cries of gnawing hunger, 
 And piteous plaintive voice of misery 
 (As if a slave was not a shred of nature, 
 Of the same common feelings with his lord) 
 Now, tame and humble, like a child that's whip'd,
 
 THE GRAVE. 113 
 
 Shakes hands with dust, and calls the worm his 
 
 kinsman ; 
 
 Nor pleads his rank and birthright. Under ground 
 Precedency's a jest; vassal and lord, 
 Grossly familiar, side by side consume. 
 
 When self esteem, or other's adulation, 
 Would cunningly persuade us we are something 
 Above the common level of our kind, 
 The Grave gainsays the smooth complexion'd 
 
 flatt'ry, 
 And with blunt truth acquaints us what we are. 
 
 Beauty ! thou pretty plaything, dear deceit ! 
 That steals so softly o'er the stripling's heart, 
 And gives it a new pulse, unknown before, 
 The Grave discredits thee: thy charms expungM, 
 Thy roses faded, and thy lilies soil'd, 
 What hast thou more to boast of? Will thy lovers 
 Flock round thee now, to gaze and do thee homage ? 
 Methinks I see thee with thy head laid low ; 
 Whilst, surfeited upon thy damask cheek, '
 
 114 THE GRAVE. 
 
 The high-fed worm, in lazy volumes roll'd, 
 Riots unscar'd. For this was all thy caution ? 
 For this thy painful labours at the glass, 
 T' improve those charms, and keep them in repair? 
 For which the spoiler thanks thee not. Foul feeder ! 
 Coarse fare and carrion please thee full as well, 
 And leave as keen a relish on the sense. 
 Look, how the fair one weeps ! the conscious tears 
 Stand thick as dew-drops on the bells of flow'rs, 
 Honest effusion ! the swoln heart in vain 
 Labours to put a gloss on its distress. 
 
 Strength, too ! thou surly and less gentle boast 
 Of those that laugh loud at the village ring; 
 A fit of common sickness pulls thee down, 
 With greater ease than e'er thou didst the stripling, 
 That rashly dar'd thee to th* unequal fight. 
 What groan was that I heard? Deep groan indeed ! 
 With anguish heavy laden ; let me trace it j 
 From yonder bed it comes, where the strong man, 
 By stronger arm o'erpower'd, gasps for breath
 
 THE GRAVE. 115 
 
 Like a hard-hunted beast. How his great heart 
 Beats thick! his roomy chest by far too scant 
 To give the lungs full play ! What now avail 
 The strong-built sinewy limbs, and well-form'd 
 
 shoulders ? 
 
 See ! how he tugs for life, and lays about him, 
 Mad with his pain ! Eager he catches hold 
 Of what comes next to hand, and grasps it hard, 
 Just like a creature drowning Hedious sight ! 
 Oh ! how his eyes stand out, and stare full ghastly ! 
 While the distemper's rank and deadly venom 
 Shoots like a burning arrow across his bowels, 
 And drinks his marrow up. Heard you that groan? 
 It was his last. See how the great Goliah, 
 Just like a child that brawl'd itself to rest, 
 Lies still. What mean'st thou then, O mighty 
 
 boaster, 
 
 To vaunt of nerves like thine? Whatmeans the bull, 
 Unconscious of his strength, to .play the coward, 
 And flee before a feeble thing like man ; 
 i 2
 
 116 THE GRAVE. 
 
 That, knowing well the slackness of his arm, 
 Trusts only in the well-invented knife ? 
 
 With study pale, and midnight vigils spent, 
 The star-surveying sage close to his eye 
 Applies the sight-invigorating tube ; 
 And, traveling thro' the boundless length of space, 
 Marks well the courses of the far-seen orbs, 
 That roll with regular confusion there, 
 In ecstacy of thought. But, ah ! proud man ! 
 Great heights are hazardous to the weak head : 
 Soon, very soon, thy firmest footing fails, 
 And down thou drop'st into that darksome place 
 Where nor device nor knowledge ever came. 
 
 Here the tongue-warrior lies, disabled now, 
 Disarm'd, dishonour'd, like a wretch that's gagg'd, 
 And cannot tell his ail to passers by. 
 Greatmen of language, whence thismighty change, 
 This dumb despair, and drooping of the head ? 
 Tho' strong persuasion hung upon thy lip, 
 And sly insinuation's softer arts
 
 THE GRAVE. 117 
 
 In ambush lay about thy flowing tongue, 
 Alas! howchop-fall'nnow! thick mists and silence 
 Rest like a weary cloud upon thy breast 
 Unceasing. Ah ! where now's the lifted arm, 
 The strength of action, and the flow of words, 
 The well turn'd period, and harmonious voice, 
 With all the lesser ornaments of phrase ? 
 Ah ! fled for ever, as they ne'er had been ! 
 RazM from the book of fame ! or, what is worse, 
 Perhaps some hackney hunger-bitten scribbler 
 Insults thy memory, and blots thy tomb 
 With long flat narrative, or duller rhimes, 
 That drawl with heavy-halting pace along, 
 Enough to rouse a dead man into rage, 
 And warm with red resentment the wan cheek. 
 
 Here the great masters of the healing art, 
 These mighty mock-defrauders of the tomb, 
 Spite of their juleps and catholicons, 
 Resign to fate. Proud ^ESCULAPIUS' son, 
 Where are the boasted implements of art, 
 i 3
 
 118 THE GRAVE. 
 
 And all thy well cram'd magazines of health? 
 Nor hill, nor vale, as far as ship could go, 
 Nor margin of the gravel-bottom'd brook, 
 Escap'd thy rifling hand : from stubborn shrubs 
 Thou wrung'st their shy retiring virtues out, 
 And vex'd them in the fire ; nor fly, nor insect, 
 Nor writhy snake, escap'd thy deep research. 
 But why this apparatus ? why this cost ? 
 Tell us, thou doughty keeper from the Grave, 
 Where are thy recipes and cordials now, 
 With the long list of vouchers for thy cures ? 
 Alas ! thou speakest not. The bold imposter 
 Looks not more silly when his cheat's found out. 
 
 Here the lank-sided miser worst of felons, 
 Who meanly stole (discreditable shift !) 
 From back and belly too their proper cheer, 
 Eas'd of a tax it irk'd the wretch to pay 
 To his own carcase, now lies cheaply lodg'd, 
 By clam'rous appetites no longer teaz'd, 
 Nor tedious bills of charges and repairs.
 
 THE GRAVE. 119 
 
 But ah ! where are his rents, his comings in? 
 Now thou hast made the rich man poor indeed ! 
 Robb'd of his gods, what has he left behind ? 
 O cursed lust of gold ! how oft for thee 
 The fool throws up his int'rest in both worlds, 
 First starv'd in this, then damn'd in (hat to come ! 
 O death ! how shocking must thy summons be 
 To him who is at ease in his possession ; 
 Who, counting on long years of pleasure here, 
 Is quite unfurnish'd for the world to come ! 
 In that dread moment, how the frantic soul 
 Raves round the walls of her clay tenement, 
 Runs to each avenue, and shrieks for help. 
 But shrieks in vain! How wishfully she looks 
 On all she's leaving now no longer hers ! 
 A little longer, yet a little space ! 
 O might she stay to wash away her stains, 
 And fit her for her passage ! Mournful sight ! 
 Her very eyes weep blood; and ev'ry groan 
 
 She heaves is big with horror : but the foe, 
 i 4
 
 120 THE GKAVE. 
 
 Like a staunch murd'rer steady to his purpose, 
 Pursues her close thro' ev'ry lane of life, 
 Nor misses once the track ; but presses on, 
 Till, forc'd at last to the tremendous verge 
 At once she sinks in everlasting ruin. 
 
 Sure 'tis a serious thing, my soul, to die ! 
 What strange moment must it be, when near 
 Thy journey's end thou hast the gulf in view ! 
 That awful gulf no mortal e'er repass'd, 
 To tell what's doing on the further side. 
 Nature turns back, and shudders at the sight, 
 And ev'ry life-string bleeds at thought of parting j 
 For part they must : body and soul must part: 
 And couple, link'd more close than wedded pair ! 
 This wings its way to its almighty source, 
 The witness of its actions, now its judge ; 
 That drops into the dark and noisome Grave, 
 Like a disabled pitcher of no use. 
 
 If death was nothing, and nought after death, 
 If when men dy'd, at once they ceas'd to be,
 
 THE GRAVE. 121 
 
 Returning to the barren womb of nothing 
 Whence first they sprung, then might the de- 
 bauchee 
 Untrembling mouth the heav'ns: then might the 
 
 drunkard 
 
 Reel over his full bowl, and when 'tis drain'd 
 Fill up another to the brim, and laugh 
 At the poor bug-bear death : then might the wretch 
 That's weary of the world, and tir'd of life, 
 At once give each inquietude the slip, 
 By stealing out of being when he pleas'd, 
 And by what way, whether by hemp or steel : 
 Death's thousand doors standopen.Whocouldforce 
 The ill-pleas'd guest to sit out his full time, 
 Or blame him if he goes ? Sure he does well 
 That helps himself as timely as he can, 
 When in his pow'r. But if there's an hereafter, 
 And that there is, conscience, uninfluenc'd, 
 And suffer'd to speak out, tells ev'ry man ; 
 Then must it be an awful thing to die :
 
 122 THE GRAVE. 
 
 More horrid yet, to die by one's own hand. 
 Self-murder ! name it not our island's shame, 
 That makes her the reproach of neighb'ring states 
 Shall Nature, swerving from her earliest dictate, 
 Self-preservation, fall by her own act ? 
 Forbid it, Heaven ! let not, upon disgust, 
 The shameless hand be foully crimson'd o'er 
 With blood of his own lord. Dreadful attempt ! 
 Just reeking from self-slaughter, in a rage 
 To rush into the presence of our Judge 1 
 As if we challeng'd him to do his worst, 
 And matter'd not his wrath. Unheard-of tortures 
 Must be reserv'd for such ; these herd together; 
 The common damn'd shun their society, 
 And look upon themselves as fiends less foul. 
 Our time is fix'd, and all our days are number'd ! 
 How long, how short we know not : this we know. 
 Duty requires we calmly wait the summons, 
 Nor dare to stir 'till Heaven shall give permission : 
 Like sentries that must keep their destin'd stand,
 
 THE GRAVE. 123 
 
 And wait th' appointed hour, till they're reliev'd, 
 Those only are the brave, who keep their ground, 
 And keep it to the last. To run away 
 Is but a coward's trick : to run away 
 From this world's ills, that at the very worst 
 Will soon blow o'er, thinking to mend ourselves 
 By boldly vent'ring on a world unknown, 
 And plunging headlong in (he dark ; 'tis mad : 
 No frenzy half so desperate as this. 
 
 Tell us, ye dead ! will none of you, in pity 
 To those you left behind, disclose the secret ? 
 O that some courteous ghost would blab it out, - 
 What 'tis ye are, and we must shortly be ! 
 I've heard, that souls departed have sometimes 
 Forewarn'd men of their death: 'twas kindly done 
 To knock and give the alarm. But what means 
 This stinted charity? 'Tis but lame kindness 
 That does its work by halves. Why might you not 
 Tell us what 'tis to die? Do the strict laws 
 Of your society forbid your speaking
 
 124- THE GRAVE. 
 
 Upon a point so nice ? I'll ask no more: 
 Sullen, like lamps in sepulchres, ye shine, 
 Enlight'ning but yourselves. Well 'tis no matter; 
 A very little time will clear up all, 
 And make us learn'd as you are, and as close. 
 Death's shafts fly thick. Here falls the village 
 
 swain, 
 
 And there his pamper'd lord. The cup goes round ; 
 And who so artful as to put it by ? 
 'Tis long since death had the majority ; 
 Yet strange ! the living lay it not to heart. 
 See yonder maker of the dead man's bed, 
 The sexton ! hoary-headed chronicle, 
 Of hard unmeaning face, down which ne'er stole 
 A gentle tear ; with mattock in his hand 
 He digs thro' rows of kindred and acquaintance, 
 By far his juniors ; scarce a scull's cast up, 
 But well he knew its owner, and can tell 
 Some passage of his life. Thus hand in hand 
 The sot has walk'd with death twice twenty years,
 
 THE GRAVE. 125 
 
 And yet no youngster on the green laughs louder, 
 Or tells a smuttier tale. When drunkards meet, 
 None sings a merrier catch, nor lends i hand 
 More willing to his cup. Poor wretch! he minds not 
 That soon some trusty brother of the trade 
 Shall do for him what he has done for thousands. 
 
 On this side, and on that, men see their friends 
 Drop off like leaves in autumn ; yet launch out 
 Into fantastic schemes, which the long livers 
 In the world's hale and undegen'rate days, 
 Could scarce have leisure for. Fools that we are, 
 Never to think of death, and of ourselves 
 At the same time ! as if to learn to die 
 Were no concern of ours ! Oh ! more than sottish 
 For creatures of a day in gamesome mood 
 To frolic on eternity's dread brink, 
 Unapprehensive; when, for aught we know, 
 The very first swoln surge shall sweep us in. 
 Think we or think we not, time hurries on 
 With a resistless unremitting stream,
 
 126 THE GRAVE. 
 
 Yet treads more soft than e'er did midnight thief, 
 That slides his hand under the miser's pillow, 
 And carries off his prize. What is this world? 
 What but a spacious burial field, unwall'd, 
 Strew'd with death's spoils, the spoils of animals 
 Savage and tame, and full of dead men's bones ? 
 The very turf on which we tread, once liv'd ; 
 And we that live must lend our carcases 
 To cover our own offspring : in their turns 
 They too must cover theirs. 'Tis here all meet: 
 The shiv'ring Icelander, and sun-burnt Moor, 
 Men of all climes, that never met before, 
 And of all creeds the Christian, Turk, and Jew. 
 Here the proud prince, and favorite yet prouder: 
 His sov'reign's keeper, and the people's scourge, 
 Are huddled out of sight. Here lie abash'd 
 The great negociators of the earth, 
 And celebrated masters of the balance, 
 Deep read in stratagems, and wiles of courts : 
 Now vain their treaty skill ; death scorns to treat.
 
 THE GRAVE. 127 
 
 Here the o'erloaded slave flings down his burthen 
 From his gall'd shoulders; and when the cruel ty- 
 rant, 
 
 With all his guards and tools of pow'r about him, 
 Is meditating some unheard-of mischief, 
 Mocks his short arm, and, quick as thought, escapes 
 Where tyrants vex not, and the weary rest. 
 Here the warm lover, leaving the cool shade, 
 The tell-tale echo, and the bubbling stream, 
 (Time out of mind the fav'rite seats of love) 
 Fast by his gentle mistress lays him down, 
 Unblasted by foul tongue. Here friends and foes 
 Lie close, unmindful of their former feuds. 
 The lawn-rob'd prelate, and the plain presbyter, 
 Erewhile that stood aloof, as shy to meet, 
 Familiar mingle here, like sister streams 
 That some rude interposing rock had split. 
 Here is the large limb'd peasant here the child 
 Of a span long, that never saw the sun, 
 Nor press'd the nipple, strangled in life's porch :
 
 128 THE GRAVE. 
 
 Here is the mother, with her sons and daughters; 
 The barren wife ; and long-demurring maid, 
 Whose lonely unappropriated sweets 
 SimTd like yon knot of cowslips on the cliff, 
 Not to be come at by the willing hand. 
 Here are the prude severe, the gay coquette, 
 And sober widow; and the young green virgin, 
 Cropt like a rose, before 'tis fully blown, 
 Or half its worth disclos'd. Strange medley here ! 
 Here garrulous old age winds up his tale ; 
 And jovial youth, of lightsome vacant heart, 
 Whose ev'ry day was made of melody, 
 Hears not the voice of mirth: the shrill-tongued 
 
 shrew, 
 
 Meek as the turtle-dove, forgets her chiding. 
 Here are the wise, the generous, and brave, 
 The just, the good, the worthless, and profane; 
 The downright clown, the well-bred gentleman, 
 The fool, the churl, the liar, the knave, 
 The supple statesman, and the patriot stern ;
 
 THE GRAVE. 129 
 
 The wrecks of nations, and the spoils of time, 
 With all the lumber of six thousand years. 
 
 Poor man ! how happy once in thy first state ! 
 When, yet but warm from thy great Maker's hand, 
 He stamped thee with his image, and, well pleas'd, 
 Smil'd on his last fair work. Then all was well; 
 Sound was the body, and the soul serene; 
 Like two sweet instruments ne'er out of tune, 
 That play their several parts. Nor head nor heart 
 Offer'd to ach: nor was there cause they should ; 
 For all was pure within: no fell remorse, 
 Nor anxious castings up of what might be, 
 Alarm'd his peaceful bosom : summer seas 
 Shew not more smooth, when kiss'd by southern 
 
 winds 
 
 Just ready to expire. Scarce importun'd, 
 The gen'rous soil with a luxuriant hand 
 Offer'd the various produce of the year, 
 And ev'ry thing most perfect in its kind. 
 Blessed, thrice blessed days ! But, ah ! how short !
 
 130 THE GRAVE. 
 
 Bless'd as the pleasing dreams of holy men; 
 But fugitive like those, and quickly gone. 
 Oh, slipp'ry state of things ! What sudden turns, 
 What strange vicissitudes, in the first leaf 
 Of man's sad history ! To-day most happy, 
 And ere to-morrow's sun has set most abject ! 
 How scant the space between these vast extremes ! 
 Thus far'd it with our sire: nor long he enjoy'd 
 His paradise. Scarce had the happy tenant 
 Of the fair spot due time to prove its sweets 
 Or sum them up; when straight he must be gone, 
 Ne'er to return again. And must he go ? 
 Can nought compound for the first dire offence 
 Of erring man? Like one that is condemn'd, 
 Fain would he trifle time with idle talk, 
 And parley with his fate. But 'tis in vain. 
 Not all the lavish odours of the place, 
 Offer'd in incense, can procure his pardon, 
 Or mitigate his doom. A mighty angel, 
 With flaming sword, forbids his longer stay,.
 
 THE GRAVE. 131 
 
 And drives the loiterer forth ; nor must he take 
 One last and farewell round. At once he lost 
 His glory, and his GOD. If mortal now, 
 And sorely maim'd, no wonder ! Man has sinn'd. 
 Sick of his bliss, and bent on new adventures, 
 Evil he needs would try: nor try'd in vain. 
 (Dreadful experiment! destructive measure! 
 Where the worst thing could happen was success) 
 Alas ! too well he sped : the good he scorn'd 
 Stalk'd off reluctant, like an ill-us'd ghost, 
 Not to return ; or, if he did, its visits, 
 Like those of angels, short, and far between : 
 Whilst the black daemon, with his hell-scap'd train, 
 Admitted once into its better room, 
 Grew loud and mutinous, nor would be gone ; 
 Lording it o'er the man, who now too late 
 Saw the rash error which he could not mend ; 
 An error fatal not to him alone, 
 But to his future sons, his fortune's heirs. 
 Inglorious bondage ! human nature groans 
 K 2
 
 132 THE GRAV6. 
 
 Beneath a vassalage so vile and cruel, 
 And its vast body bleeds at ev'ry pore. 
 
 What havoc hast thou made, foul monster, sin! 
 Greatest and first of ills ! the fruitful parent 
 Of woes of all dimensions ! But for thee 
 Sorrow had never been. All noxious things, 
 Of vilest nature, other sorts of ills, 
 Are kindly circumscribed, and have their bound*. 
 The fierce volcano, from its burning entrails 
 That belches molten stone and glebes of fire, 
 Involved in pitchy clouds of smoke and stench. 
 Mars the adjacent fields for some leagues round, 
 And there it stops. The big-swoln inundation, 
 O^ mischief more diffusive, raving loud, 
 Buries whole tracts of country, threat'ningmore; 
 But that too has a shore it cannot pass. 
 More dreadful far than these, sin has laid waste. 
 Not here and there a country, but a world : 
 Dispatching at a wide-extended blow 
 Entire mankind ; and for their sakes defacing
 
 THE GRAVE. 133 
 
 A whole creation's beauty with rude hands ; 
 Blasting the foodful grain, the loaded branches, 
 And marking all along its way with ruin. 
 Accursed thing ! oh, where shall fancy find 
 A proper name to call thee by, expressive 
 Of all thy horrors ? pregnant womb of ills ! 
 Of temper so transcendently malign, 
 That toads and serpents of the most deadly kind, 
 Compar'd to thee, are harmless. Sicknesses 
 Of ev'ry size and symptom, racking pains, 
 And bluest plagues, are thine. See how the fiend 
 Profusely scatters the contagion round ! 
 Whilst deep-mouth'd slaughter, bellowing at her 
 
 heels, 
 
 Wades deep in blood new spilt; yet for to-morrow 
 Shapes out new work of great uncommon daring, 
 And idly pines till the dread blow is struck. 
 
 But hold I've gone too far ; too much disclos'd 
 My father's nakedness, and nature's shame. 
 Here let me pause, and drop an honest tear, 
 K 3
 
 134 THE GRAVE. 
 
 One burst of filial duty and condolence, 
 O'er all the ample desarts death hath spread ! 
 This chaos of mankind. O great man-eater ! 
 Whose ev'ry day is carnival, not sated yet! 
 Unheard-of epicure ! without a fellow ! 
 The veriest gluttons do not always cram j 
 Some intervals of abstinence are sought 
 To edge the appetite : thou seekest none. 
 Methinks the countless swarms thou hastdevour'd, 
 And thousands that each hour thou gobblest up, 
 This, less than this, might gorge thee to the full : 
 But, ah ! rapacious still, thou gap'st for more; 
 Like one whole days defrauded of his meals, 
 On whom lank hunger lays his skinny hand, 
 And whets to keenest eagerness his cravings, 
 (As if diseases, massacres, and poison, 
 Famine and war, were not thy caterers !) 
 
 But know, that thou must render up thy dead, 
 And with high int'rest too ! They are not thine. 
 But only in thy keeping for a season,
 
 THE GRAVE. 135 
 
 Till the great promis'd day of restitution ! 
 When loud diffusive sounds from brazen trump 
 Of strong-lung'd cherubs shall alarm thy captives, 
 And rouse the long, long sleepers into life. 
 Then must thy gates fly open, and reveal 
 The mines that long lay forming underground, 
 In their dark cells immur'd ; but now full ripe, 
 And pure as silver from the crucible, 
 That twice has stood the torture of the fire 
 And inquisition of the forge. We know 
 Th' illustrious deliv'rer of mankind, 
 TheSoNofGoo, oncevanquish'dthee. Hispow'r 
 Thou could'st not stand : self-vigorous he rose, 
 And, shaking off thy fetters, soon retook 
 Those spoils his voluntary yielding lent. 
 (Sure pledge of our releasement from Ihy thrall ;) 
 Twice twenty days he sojourn'd here on earth, 
 And shew'd himself alive to chosen witnesses, 
 By proofs so strong, that the most slow assenting 
 Had not a scruple left. This having done, 
 K 4
 
 136 THE GRAVE. 
 
 He mounted up to heav'n. Methinks I see him 
 Climb the aerial heights, and glide along 
 Across the severing clouds : but the faint eye, 
 Thrown back wards in thechase, soondropsitshold, 
 Disabled quite, and jaded with pursuing. 
 Heaven's portals wide expand to let him in ; 
 Nor are his friends shut out: as some great prince 
 Not for himself alone procures admission, 
 But for his train ; it was his royal will, 
 That where HE is, there should his followers be. 
 Death only lies between ; a gloomy path ! 
 Made yet more gloomy by our coward fears ! 
 But not untrod, nor tedious: the fatigue 
 Will soon go off. Besides, there's no by-road 
 To bliss . Then why, like ill-condition'd children, 
 Start we at transient hardships, in the way 
 That leads to purer air and softer skies, 
 And a ne'er-setting sun? Fools that we are ! 
 We wish to be where sweets unfading bloom ; 
 But straight our wish revoke, and will not go.
 
 THE GRAVE. 157 
 
 So have I seen upon a summer's eve, 
 Close by the riv'let's brink, a youngster play: 
 How wishfully he looks to stem the tide, 
 This moment resolute, next unresolv'd : 
 At last he dips his foot ; but, as he dips, 
 His fears redoubles, and he runs away 
 From th' inoffensive stream, unmindful now 
 Of all the flow'rs that paint the further bank, 
 And smil'd so sweet of late. Thrice welcome death ! 
 That after many a painful bleeding step 
 Conducts us to our home, and lands us safe 
 On the long wish'd-for shore. Prodigious change ! 
 Our bane turn'd to a blessing ! Death disarm'd 
 Loses his fellness quite. All thanks to HIM 
 Who scourg'd the venom out. Sure the last end 
 Of the good man is peace. How calm his exit ! 
 The night dews fall not gentlier to the ground, 
 Nor weary worn out winds expire so soft. 
 Behold him in the ev'ning-tide of life, 
 A life well spent, whose early care it wa
 
 138 THE GRAVE. 
 
 His riper years should not upbraid his youth: 
 By unperceiv'd degrees he wears away ; 
 Yet like the sun seems larger at his setting ! 
 High in his faith and hopes, look how he strives 
 To gain the prize in view ! and, like a bird 
 That's hamperM, struggles hard to get away ! 
 Whilst the glad gates of sight are wide expanded 
 To let new glories in, the first fair fruits 
 Of the first coming harvest. Then ; oh then ! 
 Each earth-born joy grows vile, or disappears, 
 Shrunk to a thing of nought. Oh ! how he longs 
 To have his passport sign'd, and be dismiss'd ! 
 'Tis done : and now he's happy : the glad soul 
 Has not a wish uncrown'd. Ev'n the lag flesh 
 Rests too in hope of meeting once again 
 Its better half, never to sunder more. 
 Nor shall it hope in vain : the time draws on 
 When not a single spot of burial earth, 
 Whether on land, or in the spacious sea, 
 But must give back its long committed dust
 
 THE GRAVE. 139 
 
 Inviolate : and faithfully shall these 
 
 Make up the full account : not the least atom 
 
 Embezzled, or mislaid, of the whole tale ; 
 
 Each soul shall have a body ready finish'd, 
 
 And each shall have his own. Hence, ye profane, 
 
 Ask not, how this can be ? Sure the same Pow'r 
 
 That rear'd the piece at first, and took it down, 
 
 Can reassemble the loose scatter'd parts, 
 
 And put them as they were. Almighty GOD 
 
 Has done much more; nor is his arm impair'd 
 
 Thro' length of days, and what he CAN he WILL: 
 
 His faithfulness stands bound to see it done. 
 
 When the dread trumpet sounds,theslumb'ringdust, 
 
 Not inattentive to the call, shall wake ; 
 
 And ev'ry joint possess its proper place 
 
 With a new elegance of form, unknown 
 
 To its first state. Nor shall the conscious soul 
 
 Mistake its partner ; but, amidst the crowd 
 
 Singling its other half, into its arms 
 
 Shall rush, with all th* impatience of a man
 
 140 THE GRAVE. 
 
 That's new come home, who, having long been 
 
 absent, 
 
 With haste runs over ev'ry different room, 
 In pain lo see the whole. Thrice happy meeting ! 
 Nor time, nor death, shall ever part them more. 
 'Tis but a night, a long and moonless night, 
 We make the grave our bed, and then are gone, 
 
 Thus, at the shut of eve, the weary bird 
 Leaves the wide air, and in some lonely brake 
 Cow'rs down, and dozes till the dawn of day, 
 Then claps his well-fledg'd wings, and bears away.
 
 JE1LEGY* 
 
 9 
 
 WRITTEN 
 
 IN A COUNTRY CHURCH YARD.
 
 ELEGY, 
 
 WRITTEN 
 
 IN A COUNTRY CHURCH YARD. 
 
 BY MR. GRAY. 
 
 JL HE curfew tolls the knell of parting day> 
 The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; 
 The plowman homeward plods his weary way, 
 And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 
 
 Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sighi, 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds, 
 Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight, 
 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds.;.
 
 144- ELEGY. 
 
 Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r 
 The moping owl does to the moon complain 
 Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bower, 
 Molest her ancient, solitary reign. 
 
 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mould'ring heap, 
 Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, 
 The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
 
 The breezy call of incense-breathing mom, 
 The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built shed, 
 The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, 
 No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 
 
 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
 No children run to lisp their sire's return, 
 Or climb his knees, the envied kiss to share.
 
 ELECT. 145 
 
 Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield ; 
 Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 
 How jocund did they drive their teams a-field ! 
 How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 
 
 Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 
 Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 
 Nor grandeur hear, with a disdai nful smile, 
 The short and simple annals of the poor. 
 
 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, 
 Await alike th' inevitable hour : 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave. 
 
 Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
 If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
 Where, thro' the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault , 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise.
 
 146 ELEGY. 
 
 Can storied urn, or animated bust, 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 
 Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust? 
 Or flatt'ry sooth the dull, cold ear of death ? 
 
 Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid 
 Some heart, once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
 Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, 
 Or wak'd to ecstacy the living lyre. 
 
 But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
 Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unrol ; 
 Chill penury repress'd their noble rage, 
 And froze the genial current of the soul. 
 
 Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 
 The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear ; 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air.
 
 ELEGY. 147 
 
 Some village Hampden, that with dauntless breast 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 
 Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest, 
 Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. 
 
 Th* applause of list'ning senates to command, 
 The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
 To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
 And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes, 
 
 Their lot forbade nor circumscrib'd alone 
 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confin'd ; 
 Forbad to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
 And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; 
 
 The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, 
 To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, 
 Or heap the shrine of luxury and pride, 
 With incense kindled at the muses' flame.
 
 148 ELEGY. 
 
 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, 
 Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray ; 
 Along the cool sequestered vale of life 
 They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 
 
 Yet e'en these bones, from insult to protect, 
 
 Some frail memorial still erected nigh, 
 
 With uncouth rhimes and shapeless sculpture 
 
 deck'd, 
 Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 
 
 Theirname, theiryears, speltby th'unletter'dmuse, 
 Their place of fame and elegy supply; 
 And many a holy text around she strews, 
 That teach the rustic moralist to die. 
 
 For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 
 This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd ; 
 Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, 
 Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind.
 
 , as de firf </ ' ,i,;, ,/,-,- ,,/,/<,/ 
 
 t a-rra/A- lAi r/,/ / >i /,<.,' ><''.> . 
 
 //..//,/.;/,;///, / ,, /,./, ;;</./ /, 
 
 . ty/. at. 17 f*. />
 
 ELEGY. 14-9 
 
 On some fond breast the parting soul relies, 
 Some pious drops the closing eye requires j 
 E'en from the tomb the voice of Nature cries, 
 E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. 
 
 For thee who, mindful of th* unhonour'd dead. 
 Dost in these lines their artless tales relate ; 
 If chance, by holy contemplation led, 
 Some kindred spirit should inquire thy fate : 
 
 Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, 
 " Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, 
 " Brushing with hasty steps the dew away, 
 " To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 
 
 " There at the foot of yonder nodding beach,. 
 " That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 
 " His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, 
 " And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.
 
 150 ELEGY. 
 
 " Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
 " Mutt'ring his wayward fancies, he would rove ; 
 " Now drooping woful wan, like one forlorn, 
 " Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love. 
 
 " One morn I miss'd him on the 'custom'd hill. 
 " Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree : 
 " Another came; nor yet beside the rill, 
 " Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. 
 
 " The next, with dirges due, in sad array. 
 " Slow thro' the church way path we saw him borne, 
 " Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay 
 " Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 
 
 THE EPITAPH. 
 
 HERE rests his head upon the lap of earth, 
 A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown ; 
 Fair science frown'd not on his humble birth, 
 And melancholy mark'd him for her own.
 
 ELECT. 151 
 
 Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, 
 Heaven did a recompense as largely send ; 
 He gave to misery all he had, a tear; 
 He gain'd from Heaven ('twas all he wish'd) a friend. 
 
 No further seek his merits to disclose, 
 Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, 
 (There they alike in trembling hope repose) 
 The bosom of his Father and his God. 
 
 L 4
 
 THE HERMIT 
 
 OF W4RKWORTH.
 
 THE 
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 BY THE REV. DR. PERCY. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 JLJ' ARK was the night, and wild the storm, 
 
 And loud the torrent's roar ; 
 And loud the sea was heard to dash 
 
 Against the distant shore. 
 
 Musing on man's weak hapless state 
 
 The lonely Hermit lay! 
 When, lo ! he heard a female voice 
 
 Lament in sore dismay.
 
 156 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 With hospitable haste he rose, 
 And, wak'd his sleeping fire ; 
 
 And, snatching up a lighted brand, 
 Forth hied the reverend sire. 
 
 All sad beneath a neighbouring tree 
 
 A beautious maid he found, 
 Who beat her breast, and with her tears 
 
 Bedew'd the mossy ground. 
 
 O weep not, lady, weep not so, 
 
 Nor let vain fears alarm ; 
 My little cell shall shelter thee, 
 
 And keep thee safe from harm. 
 
 It is not for myself I weep, 
 
 Nor for myself 1 fear ; 
 But for my dear and only friend, 
 
 Who lately left me here.
 
 & '/ . / A / 76. fy Venter */ff?J .
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 157 
 
 And while some sheltering bower he sought 
 
 Within this lonely wood, 
 Ah ! sore I fear his wandering feet 
 
 Have slipt in yonder flood. 
 
 O trust in Heav'n, the Hermit said, 
 
 And to my cell repair ; 
 Doubt not but I shall find thy friend, 
 
 And ease thee of thy care. 
 
 Then, climbing up his rocky stairs, 
 
 He scales the cliff so high ; 
 And calls aloud, and waves his light, 
 
 To guide the stranger's eye. 
 
 Among the thickets long he winds, 
 
 With careful steps and slow : 
 At length a voice return'd his call, 
 
 Quick answering from below.
 
 158 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 O tell me, father, tell me true, 
 
 If you have chanc'd to see 
 A gentle maid, I lately left 
 
 Beneath some neighbouring tree. 
 
 But either I have lost the place, 
 
 Or she hath gone astray : 
 And much I fear this fatal stream 
 
 Hath snatch'd her hence away. 
 
 Praise Heaven, my son, the Hermit said, 
 
 The lady's safe and well : 
 And soon he join'd the wand'ring youth, 
 
 And brought him to his cell. 
 
 Then well was seen those gentle friends 
 
 They lov'd each other dear: 
 The youth he press'd her to his heart ; 
 
 The maid let fall a tear.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 159 
 
 Ah ! seldom had their host, I ween, 
 
 Beheld so sweet a pair : 
 The youth was tall, with manly bloom ; 
 
 She slender, soft, and fair. 
 
 The youth was clad in forest green, 
 
 With bugle horn so bright; 
 She in a silken robe and scarf, 
 
 Snatch'd up in hasty flight. 
 
 Sit down, my children, says the sage; 
 
 Sweet rest your limbs require : 
 Then heaps fresh fewel on the hearth, 
 And mends his little fire. 
 
 Partake, he said, my simple store, 
 
 Dried fruits, and milk, and curds; 
 And, spreading all upon the board, 
 
 Invites with kindly words.
 
 160 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 Thanks, father, for thy bounteous fare, 
 
 The youthful couple say : 
 Then freely ate, and made good cheer, 
 
 And talk'd their cares away. 
 
 Now say, my children (for perchance 
 
 My counsel may avail) 
 What strange adventure brought you here 
 
 Within this lonely dale? 
 
 First tell me, father, said the youth, 
 (Nor blame mine eager tongue ) 
 
 What town is here? what lands are these? 
 And to what lord belong? 
 
 Alas ! my son, the Hermit said, 
 
 Why do I live to say, 
 The rightful lord of these domains 
 
 Is banish'd far away !
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 161 
 
 Ten winters now have shed their snows 
 
 On this my lowly hall, 
 Since valiant HOTSPUR (so the North 
 
 Our youthful lord did call) 
 
 Against Fourth HENRY BOLINGBROKE 
 
 Led up his northern powers, 
 And stoutly fighting lost his life 
 
 Near proud Salopia's towers. 
 
 One son he left, a lovely boy, 
 
 His country's hope and heir; 
 And oh ! to save him from his foes, 
 
 It was his grandsire's care. 
 
 In Scotland safe he plac'd the child, 
 
 Beyond the reach of strife, 
 Nor long before the brave old Earl 
 
 At Bramham lost his life. 
 
 M
 
 162 HKRMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 And now the PERCY name, so long 
 Our northern pride and boast, 
 
 Lies hid, alas ! beneath a cloud, 
 Their honours reft and lost. 
 
 No chieftain of that noble house 
 Now leads our youth to arms ; 
 
 The bordering Scots despoil our fields 
 And ravage all our farms. x 
 
 Their halls and castles, once so fair, 
 
 Now moulder in decay; 
 Proud strangers now usurp their lands, 
 
 And bear their wealth away. 
 
 Not far from hence, where yon full stream 
 
 Runs winding down the lea, 
 Fair Warkworth lifts her lofty towers, 
 
 And overlooks the sea.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 163 
 
 Those towers, alas ! now stand forlorn, 
 
 With noisome weeds o'erspread, 
 Where feasted lords and courtly dames, 
 
 And where the poor were fed. 
 
 Meantime far off, mid Scottish hills, 
 
 The PERCY lives unknown: 
 On strangers' bounty he depends, 
 
 And may not claim his own. 
 
 O might I with these aged eyes 
 
 But live to see him here, 
 Then should my soul depart in bliss 
 
 He said, and dropt a tear. 
 
 And is the PERCY still so lov'd, 
 
 Of all his friends and thee ? 
 Then, bless me, father, said the youth, 
 
 For I thy guest am He. 
 M 2
 
 164- HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 Silent jie gaz'd, then turn'd aside 
 
 To wipe the tears he shed ; 
 Then, lifting up his hands and eyes, 
 
 Pour'd blessings on his head : 
 
 Welcome, our dear and much-lov'd lord, 
 Thy country's hope and care 
 
 But who may this young lady be 
 That is so wondrous fair ? 
 
 Now, father, listen to my tale, 
 And thou shalt know the truth ; 
 
 And let thy sage advice direct 
 My unexperienc'd youth. 
 
 In Scotland I've been nobly bred 
 
 Beneath the regent's hand, 
 In feats of arms, and ev'ry lore 
 
 To fit me for command.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 165 
 
 With fond impatience long I burn'd 
 
 My native land to see : 
 At length I won my guardian friend 
 
 To yield that boon to me. 
 
 Then up and down in hunter's garb 
 
 I wander'd as in chase, 
 Till in the noble NEVILLE'S house 
 
 I gain'd a hunter's place. 
 
 Some time 1 liv'd with him unknown, 
 
 Till I'd the hap so rare 
 To please this young and gentle dame, 
 
 That baron's daughter fair. 
 
 Now, PERCY, said the blushing maid, 
 
 The truth I must reveal : 
 Soul great and generous, like to thine, 
 
 Their noble deeds conceal. 
 M 3
 
 166 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 It happen'd on a summer's day, 
 Led by the fragrant breeze, 
 
 1 wander'd forth to take the air, 
 Among the green-wood trees: 
 
 Sudden a band of rugged Scots, 
 
 That near in ambush lay, 
 Moss-troopers from the border-side, 
 
 There seiz'd me for their prey . 
 
 My shrieks had all been spent in vain, 
 But Heaven, that saw my grief, 
 
 Brought this brave youth within my call. 
 Who flew to my relief. 
 
 With nothing but his hunting spear, 
 
 And dagger in his hand, 
 He sprung like lightning on my foes, 
 
 And caus'd them soon to stand. 

 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 167 
 
 He fought till more assistance came ; 
 
 The Scots were overthrown : 
 Thus freed me, captive, from their bands, 
 
 To make me more his own. 
 
 O happy day ! the youth replied : 
 
 Blest were the wounds I bare ! 
 From that fond hour she deign'd to smile, 
 
 And listen to my prayer. 
 
 And when she knew my name and birth, 
 
 She vow'd to be my bride; 
 But oh ! we fear'd (alas, the while !) 
 
 Her princely mother's pride : 
 
 Sister of haughty BOLINGBROKE, 
 
 Our house's ancient foe, 
 To me I thought, a banish'd wight, 
 
 Could ne'er such favour show. 
 
 M 4-
 
 168 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 Despairing then to gain consent, 
 
 At length to fly with me, 
 I won this lovely timorous maid ; 
 
 To Scotland bound are we. 
 
 This evening, as the night drew on, 
 
 Fearing we were pursued, 
 We turn'd adown the right-hand path, 
 
 And gain'd this lonely wood. 
 
 Then lighting from our weary steeds, 
 To shun the pelting shower, 
 
 We met thy kind conducting hand, 
 And reach'd this friendly bower. 
 
 Now rest ye both, the Hermit said; 
 
 Awhile your cares forego : 
 Nor, lady, scorn my humble bed : 
 
 We'll pass the night below.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 169 
 
 PART II. 
 
 LOVELY smil'd the blushing morn, 
 
 And every storm was fled, 
 But lovelier far, with sweeter smile, 
 
 Fair ELEANOR left her bed. 
 
 She found her HENRY all alone, 
 And cheer'd him with her sight; 
 
 The youth, consulting with his friend, 
 Had watch'd the livelong night. 
 
 What sweet surprise o'erpower'd her breast ! 
 
 Her cheek what blushes dy'd, 
 When fondly he besought her there 
 
 To yield to be his bride.
 
 170 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 Within this lonely hermitage 
 
 There is a chapel meet : 
 Then grant, dear maid, my fond request, 
 
 And make my bliss complete. 
 
 O HENRY, when thou deign'st to sue, 
 
 Can I thy suit withstand ? 
 When thou, lov'd youth, hast won my heart, 
 
 Can I refuse my hand? 
 
 For thee I left a father's smiles. 
 
 And mother's tender care ; 
 And, whether weal or woe betide, 
 
 Thy lot I mean to share. 
 
 And wilt thou then, O generous maid, 
 
 Such matchless favour shew, 
 To share with me, a banish'd wight, 
 
 My peril, pain, or woe ?
 
 HERMIT OP WARKWORTH. 171 
 
 Now Heaven, I trust, hath joys in store 
 
 To crown thy constant breast: 
 For know, fond hope assures my heart 
 
 That we shall soon be blest. 
 
 Not far from hence stands Coquet Isle, 
 
 Surrounded by the sea; 
 There dwells a holy friar, well known 
 
 To all thy friends and thee : 
 
 'Tis father Bernard, so revered 
 
 For every worthy deed ; 
 To Raby castle he shall go, 
 
 And for us kindly plead. 
 
 r 
 
 To fetch this good and holy man 
 
 Our reverend host is gone ; 
 And soon, I trust, his pious hands 
 
 Will join us both in one.
 
 172 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 Thus they in sweet and tender talk 
 The lingering hours beguile : 
 
 At length they see the hoary sage 
 Come from the neighbouring isle. 
 
 With pious joy and wonder mix'd, 
 
 He greets the holy pair, 
 And glad consents to join their hands, 
 
 With many a fervent prayer. 
 
 Then straight to Raby's distant walls 
 
 He kindly wends his way; 
 Meantime in love and dalliance sweet 
 
 They spend the livelong day. 
 
 And now, attended by their host, 
 Tlje hermitage they viewed, 
 Deep hewn within a craggy cliflj 
 And overhung with wood.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 173 
 
 And near a flight of shapely steps, 
 
 All cut with nicest skill, 
 And piercing thro' a stony arch, 
 
 Ran winding up the hill. 
 
 There, deck'd with many a flower and herb, 
 
 His little garden stands ; 
 With fruitful trees in shady rows, 
 
 All planted by his hands. 
 
 Then, scoop'd within the solid rock, 
 
 Three sacred vaults he shows; 
 The chief a chapel, neatly arch'd, 
 
 On branching columns rose. 
 
 Each proper ornament was there, 
 
 That should a chapel grace : 
 The lattice for confession fram'd, 
 
 And holy water vase.
 
 174 HERMIT OF WAEKWORTH. 
 
 O'er either door a sacred text 
 
 Invites to godly fear ; 
 And in a little 'scutcheon hung 
 
 The cross, the crown, and spear. 
 
 Up to the altar's ample breadth 
 
 Two easy steps ascend; 
 And near a glimmering solemn light 
 
 Two well-wrought windows lend. 
 
 Beside the altar rose a tomb 
 
 All in the living stone ; 
 On which a young and beauteous maid 
 
 In goodly sculpture shone. 
 
 A kneeling angel fairly carv'd 
 Lean'd hovering o'er her breast; 
 
 A weeping warrior at her feet; 
 And near to these her crest.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 175 
 
 The cliff, the vault, but chief the tomb, 
 
 Attract the wond'ring pair; 
 Eager they ask what hapless dame 
 
 Lies sculptur'd here so fair, 
 
 The Hermit sigh'd, the Hermit wept, 
 
 For sorrow scarce could speak : 
 At length he wip'd the trickling tears 
 
 That all bedew'd his cheek ; 
 
 Alas ! my children, human life 
 
 Is but a vale of woe ; 
 And very mournful is the tale 
 
 Which ye so fain would know.
 
 176 HERMfT OF WARKWOKTH. 
 
 THE HERMIT'S TALE. 
 
 YOUNG lord, thy grandsire had a friend 
 
 In days of youthful fame; 
 Yon distant hills where his domains ; 
 
 Sir BERTRAM was his name. 
 
 Where'er the noble PERCY fought 
 
 His friend was at his side ; 
 And many a skirmish with the Scots 
 
 Their early valour try'd. 
 
 Young BERTRAM lov'd a beauteous maid, 
 
 As fair as fair might be; 
 The dew-drop on the lily's cheek, 
 
 Was not so fair as she.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 177 
 
 Fair WIDDRINGTON the maiden's name; 
 
 Yon tower's her dwelling place ; 
 Her sire an old Northumbrian chief, 
 
 Devoted to thy race. 
 
 Many a lord, and many knight, 
 
 To this fair damsel came; 
 But BERTRAM was her only choice 
 
 For him she felt a flame. 
 
 Lord PERCY pleaded for his friend, 
 
 Her father soon consents ; 
 None but the beauteous maid herself 
 
 His wishes now prevents. 
 
 But she with studied fond delays 
 
 Defers the blissful hour ; 
 And loves to try his constancy, 
 
 And prove her maiden power. 
 
 N
 
 178 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 That heart, she said, is lightly priz'd, 
 
 Which is too lightly won; 
 And long shall rue that easy maid 
 
 Who yields her love too soon. 
 
 Lord PERCY made a solemn feast 
 
 In Alnwick's princely hall ; 
 And there came lords, and there came knights, 
 
 His chiefs and barons all. 
 
 With wassail mirth and revelry 
 
 The castle rung around ; 
 Lord PERCY call'd for song and harp, 
 
 And pipes of martial sound. 
 
 The minstrels of thy noble house, 
 
 All clad in robes of blue, 
 With silver crescents on their arms, 
 
 Attend in order due.
 
 HERMIT OP WARKWORTH. 179 
 
 The great atchievements of thy race 
 
 They sung : their high command: 
 How valiant Mainfred o'er the seas 
 
 ' First led his northern band. 
 
 ' Brave Guilfred next to Normandy 
 
 ' With venturous Rollo came; 
 'And from his Norman castles won 
 
 ' Assumed the PERCY name/ 
 
 They sung 'how in the Conqueror's fleet 
 
 ' Lord William ship'd his powers, 
 ' And gain'd a fair young Saxon bride 
 
 ' With all her lands and towers: 
 
 j 
 
 ' Then journeying to the holy land, 
 
 ' There bravely fought and dy'd ; 
 ' But first the silver crescent won, 
 
 < Some Paynim Soldan's pride.' 
 N 2
 
 180 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 They sung ' how Agnus, beauteous heir, 
 * The queen's own brother wed, 
 
 'Lord Josceline, sprung from Charlemagne. 
 ' In princely Brabant bred. 
 
 ' How he the PERCY name reviv'd, 
 
 ' And how his noble line, 
 ' Still foremost in their country's cause, 
 
 ' With godlike ardour shine.' 
 
 With loud acclaims the listening crowd 
 
 Applaud the masters' song, 
 And deeds of arms and war became 
 
 The theme of every tongue. 
 
 Now high heroic acts they tell, 
 
 Their perils past recall : 
 When, lo ! a damsel young and fair 
 
 Stepp'd forward thro' the hall.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 181 
 
 She BERTRAM courteously address'd ; 
 
 And kneeling on her knee; 
 Sir knight, the lady of thy love 
 
 Hath sent this gift to thee. 
 
 Then forth she drew a glittering helme 
 
 Well-plated many a fold: 
 The casque was wrought of tempered steel, 
 
 The crest of burnish'd gold. 
 
 **' 
 Sir knight, thy lady sends thee this, 
 
 And yields to be thy bride, 
 When thou hast prov'd this maiden gift 
 Where sharpest blows are try'd. 
 
 Young BERTRAM took the shining helme, 
 
 And thrice he kiss'd the same; 
 Trust me, I'll prove this precious casque 
 
 With deeds of noblest fame. 
 N 3
 
 182 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 Lord PERCY and his barons bold 
 
 Then fix'd upon a day 
 To scour the marches, late oppress'd, 
 
 And Scottish wrongs repay. 
 
 The knights assembled on the hills 
 
 A thousand horse and more ; 
 Brave WIDDRINGTON, tho' sunk in years, 
 
 The PERCY-standard bore. 
 
 Tweed's limpid current soon they pass, 
 
 And range the borders round; 
 Down the green slopes of Tiviotdale 
 
 Their bugle horns resound. 
 
 As when a lion in his den 
 
 Hath heard the hunters' cries, 
 And rushes forth to meet his foes, 
 
 So did the DOUGLAS rise.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 183 
 
 Attendant on their chief's command 
 
 A thousand warriors wait ; 
 And now the fatal hour drew on 
 Of cruel keen debate. 
 
 A chosen troop of Scottish youths 
 
 Advance before the rest ; 
 Lord PERCY mark'd their gallant mien, 
 
 And thus his friend address'd : 
 
 Now, BERTRAM, prove thy lady's helme, 
 
 Attack yon forward band: 
 Dead or alive I'll rescue thee, 
 
 Or perish by their hand. 
 
 Young BERTRAM bow'd with glad assent, 
 
 And spurr'd his eager steed, 
 And, calling on his lady's name, 
 
 Rush'd forth with whirlwind speed. 
 
 N 4-
 
 As when a grove of sapling oaks 
 The livid lightning rends, 
 
 So fiercely, 'mid the opposing ranks, 
 Sir BERTRAM'S sword descends. 
 
 This way and that he drives the steel, 
 And keenly pierces through; 
 
 And many a tall and comely knight 
 With furious force he slew. 
 
 Now, closing fast on every side, 
 They hem Sir BERTRAM round : 
 
 But dauntless he repels their rage, 
 And deals forth many a wound. 
 
 The vigour of his single arm 
 Had well nigh won the field 
 
 When ponderous fell a Scottish axe, 
 And clove his lifted shield.
 
 HERMIT OP WARKWORTH. 185 
 
 Another blow his temples took, 
 
 And reft his helme in twain; 
 That beautious helme his lady's gift 
 
 His blood bedew'd the plain. 
 
 Lord PERCY saw his champion fall 
 
 Amid the unequal fight? 
 And now, my noble friends, he said, 
 
 Let's save this gallant knight. 
 
 Then rushing in with stretch'd-out shield 
 
 He o'er the warrior hung; 
 As some fierce eagle spreads her wing 
 
 To guard her callow young. 
 
 Three times they strove to seize their prey. 
 
 Three times they quick retire: 
 What force could stand his furious strokes, 
 
 Or meet his martial fire ?
 
 186 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 Now, gathering round on every part, 
 
 The battle rag'd amain ; 
 And many a lady wept her lord 
 
 That hour untimely slain, 
 
 PERCY and DOUGLAS great in arms, 
 There all their courage show'd ; 
 
 And all the field was strew'd with dead, 
 And all with crimson flow'd. 
 
 At length the glory of the day 
 
 The Scots reluctant yield, 
 And after wondrous valour shown, 
 
 They slowly quit the field. 
 
 All pale, extended on their shields. 
 
 And weltering in his gore, 
 Lord PERCY'S knights their bleeding friend 
 
 To Wark's fair castle bore.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 187 
 
 Well hast thou earn'd my daughter's love, 
 
 Her father kindly said : 
 And she herself shall dress thy wounds, 
 
 And tend thee in thy bed. 
 
 A message went, no daughter came ; 
 
 Fair ISABEL ne'er appears: 
 Beshrew me, said the aged chief, 
 
 Young maidens have their fears. 
 
 Cheer up, my son, thou shall her see 
 
 So soon as thou canst ride; 
 And she shall nurse thee in her bower, 
 
 And she shall be thy bride. 
 
 Sir BERTRAM at her name reviv'd, 
 
 He bless'd the soothing sound ; 
 Fond hope supplied the nurse's care 
 
 And heal'd his ghastly wound.
 
 188 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 ONE early morn, while dewy drops 
 Hung trembling on the tree, 
 
 Sir BERTRAM from his sick bed rose, 
 His bride he would go see. 
 
 A brother he had in prime of youth, 
 Of courage firm and keen. 
 
 And he would tend him on the way, 
 Because his wounds were green. 
 
 All day o'er moss and moor they rode 
 
 By many a lonely tower j 
 And 'twas the dew-fall of the night 
 
 Ere they drew near her bower.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 189 
 
 Most drear and dark the castle seem'd, 
 
 That wont to shine so bright; 
 And long and loud Sir BERTRAM call'd 
 
 Ere he beheld a light. 
 
 At length her aged nurse arose 
 
 With voice so shrill and clear: 
 What wight is this, that calls so loud, 
 
 And knocks so boldly here ? 
 
 Tis BERTRAM calls thy lady's love, 
 
 Come from his bed of care: 
 All day I've ridden o'er moor and moss 
 
 To see thy lady fair. 
 
 Now out, alas ! (she loudly shriek'd) 
 
 Alas ! how may this be ? 
 For six long days are gone and past 
 
 Since she set out to thee.
 
 190 HERMIT OP WARKWORTH. 
 
 Sad terror seizM Sir BERTRAM'S heart. 
 
 And ready was he to fall ; 
 When now the drawbridge was let down, 
 
 And gates were open'd all. 
 
 Six days, young knight, are pass'd and gone 
 
 Since she set out to thee; 
 And sure, if no sad harm had hap'd, 
 
 Long since thou would'st her see. 
 
 For when she heard thy grievous chance 
 
 She tore her hair, and cried, 
 Alas! Fve slain the comeliest knight 
 
 All thro' my folly and pride ! 
 
 And now, to atone for my sad fault, 
 
 And his dear health regain, 
 I'll go myself and nurse my love, 
 
 And sooth his bed of pain.
 
 HERMIT OP WARKWORTH. J91 
 
 Then mounted she her milk-white steed 
 
 One morn at break of day ; 
 And two tall yeomen went with her 
 
 To guard her on the way. 
 
 Sad terror smote Sir BERTRAM'S heart, 
 
 And grief o'erwhelm'd his mind; 
 Trust me, said he, I ne'er will rest 
 
 Till I thy lady find. 
 
 That night he spent in sorrow and care. 
 
 And with sad boding heart, 
 Or ere the dawning of the day 
 
 His brother and he depart. 
 
 Now, brother, we'll our ways divide, 
 
 O'er Scottish hills to range : 
 Do thou go north, and I'll go west ; 
 
 And all our dress we'll change.
 
 192 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 Some Scottish carle hath seiz'd my love, 
 
 And borne her to his den; 
 And ne'er will I tread English ground 
 
 Till she is restor'd agen. 
 
 The brothers straight their paths divide 
 
 O'er Scottish hills to range, 
 And hide themselves in quaint disguise, 
 
 And oft their dress they change. 
 
 Sir BERTRAM, clad in gown of gray, 
 
 Most like a palmer poor, 
 To halls and castles wanders round, 
 
 And begs from door to door. 
 
 Sometimes a minstrel's garb he wears, 
 With pipes so sweet and shrill; 
 
 And wends to every tower and town, 
 O'er every dale and hill.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 193 
 
 One day, as he sat under a thorn, 
 
 All sunk in deep despair, 
 An aged pilgrim pass'd him by, 
 
 Who mark'd his face of care. 
 
 All minstrels yet that e'er I saw 
 
 Are full of game and glee, 
 But thou art sad and woe-begone ! 
 
 1 marvel whence it be ! 
 
 Father, I serve an aged Lord, 
 
 Whose grief afflicts my mind ; / 
 His only child is stol'n away. 
 
 And fain I would her find. 
 
 Cheer up, my son ; perchance, he said, 
 
 Some tidings I may bear : 
 For oft when human hopes have faiPd, 
 
 Then heavenly comfort's near.
 
 194 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 Behind yon hills so steep and high, 
 
 Down in a lowly glen, 
 There stands a castle fair and strong, 
 
 Far from th' abode of men. 
 
 As late I chanc'd to crave an alms 
 
 About this evening hour, 
 Methought I heard a lady's voice 
 
 Lamenting in the tower. 
 
 And when I ask'd, what harm had hap'd, 
 
 What lady sick there lay ? 
 They rudely drove me from the gate. 
 
 And bade me wend away. 
 
 These tidings caught Sir BERTRAM'S ear, 
 
 He thank'd him for his tale ; 
 And soon he hasted o'er the hills, 
 
 And soon he reach'd the vale.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 195 
 
 Then, drawing near those lonely towers, 
 
 Which stood in dale so low, 
 And sitting down beside the gate, 
 
 His pipes he 'gan to blow. 
 
 Sir Porter, is thy lord at home, 
 
 To hear a minstrel's song ? 
 Or may I crave a lodging here, 
 
 Without offence or wrong? 
 
 My lord, he said, is not at home 
 
 To hear a minstrel's song : 
 And should I lend thee lodgings here 
 
 My life would not be long. 
 
 He play'd again so soft a strain, 
 
 Such power sweet sounds impart. 
 He won the churlish porter's ear, 
 
 And mov'd his stubborn heart. 
 o 2
 
 196 HERMIT OP WARKWO RTH. 
 
 Minstrel, he said, thou play'st so sweet, 
 Fair entrance thou should'st win ; 
 
 But, alas ! I am sworn upon the rood 
 To let no stranger in. 
 
 Yet, minstrel, in yon rising cliff 
 Thou'lt find a sheltering cave. 
 
 And here thou shall my supper share, 
 And there thy lodging have. 
 
 All day he sits beside the gate, 
 And pipes both loud and clear ; 
 
 All night he watches round the walls, 
 In hopes his love to hear. 
 
 The first night, as he silent watch'd, 
 
 All at the midnight hour, 
 He plainly heard his lady's voice 
 
 Lamenting in the tower.
 
 aAj- (As m^vn 
 
 a, fratuttenf
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 197 
 
 The second night the moon shone clear, 
 
 And gilt the spangled dew ; 
 He saw his lady thro* the grate, 
 
 But 'twas a transcient view. 
 
 The third night, wearied out, he slept 
 
 Till near the morning tide ; 
 When starting up; he seiz'd his sword, 
 
 And to the castle hy'd. 
 
 When, lo ! he saw a ladder of ropes 
 
 Depending from the wall ; 
 And o'er the mote was newly laid 
 
 A poplar strong and tall. 
 
 And soon he saw his love descend 
 
 Wrapt in a tartan plaid : 
 Assisted by a sturdy youth 
 
 In Highland garb y-clad. 
 o 3
 
 198 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 Amaz'd, confounded at the sight, 
 
 He lay unseen and still 
 And soon he saw them cross the stream. 
 
 And mount the neighbouring hill. 
 
 Unheard, unknown of all within, 
 
 The youthful couple fly; 
 But what can 'scape the lover's arm, 
 
 Or shun his piercing eye ? 
 
 With silent step he follows close 
 
 Behind the flying pair, 
 And saw her hang upon his arm, 
 
 With fond familiar air. 
 
 Thanks, gentle youth, she often said ; 
 
 My thanks thou well hast won : 
 For me what wiles hast thou contriv'd ! 
 
 For me what danger run !
 
 HERMIT OF WAR1CWORTH. 
 
 And ever shall my grateful heart 
 
 Thy services repay : 
 Sir BERTRAM would no further hear, 
 
 But cried, ' Vile traitor, stay ! 
 
 Vile traitor, yield that lady up !* 
 And quick his sword he drew. 
 
 The stranger turn'd in sudden rage, 
 And at Sir BERTRAM flew. 
 
 With mortal hate their vigorous arms 
 Gave many a vengeful blow : 
 
 But BERTRAM'S stronger hand prevail'd, 
 And laid the stranger low. 
 
 Die, traitor, die ! A deadly thrust 
 
 Attends each furious word. 
 Ah ! then fair ISABEL knew his voice, 
 
 And rush'd beneath his sword, 
 o 4
 
 200 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 O stop, she cried, O stop thy arm ! 
 
 Thou dost thy brother slay ! 
 And here the Hermit paus'dand wept: 
 
 His tongue no more could say. 
 
 At length he cried, Ye lovely pair, 
 
 How shall I tell the rest? 
 Ere I could stop my piercing sword, 
 
 It fell and stabb'd her breast. 
 
 Were thou thyself that hapless youth ? 
 
 Ah ! cruel fate ! they said : 
 The Hermit wept, and so did they ; 
 
 They sigh'd ; he hung his head. 
 
 O blind and jealous rage, he cried, 
 
 What evils from thee flow. 
 The Hermit paus'd ; they silent mourn'd ; 
 
 He wept, and they were woe.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 201 
 
 Ah ! when I heard my brother's name, 
 
 And saw my lady bleed, 
 I rav'd, 1 wept, I curst my arm 
 
 That wrought the fatal deed. 
 
 In vain I clasp'd her to my breast, 
 
 And clos'd the ghastly wound; 
 In vain I press'd his bleeding corse, 
 
 And rais'd it from the ground. 
 
 My brother, alas ! spake never more ; 
 
 His precious life was flown. 
 She kindly strove to soothe my pain, 
 
 Regardless of her own. 
 
 BERTRAM, she said, be comforted 
 
 And live to think on me. 
 May we in heaven that union prove, 
 
 Which here was not to be.
 
 202 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 BERTRAM, she said, I still was true; 
 
 Thou only hadst my heart : 
 May we hereafter meet in bliss ; 
 
 We now, alas ! must part. 
 
 For thee I left my father's hall, 
 
 And flew to thy relief, 
 When, lo! near Chiviot's fatal hills 
 
 I met a Scottish chief. 
 
 Lord Malcolm's son, whose profferM love 
 
 I had refus'd with scorn ; 
 He slew my guards, and seiz'd on me 
 
 Upon that fatal morn ; 
 
 And in these dreary hated walls 
 
 He kept me close confin'd ; 
 And fondly sued and warmly press'd 
 
 To win me to his mind.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 203 
 
 Each rising morn increas'd my pain, 
 
 Each night increas'd my fear ; 
 When, wandering in this northern garb, 
 
 Thy brother found me here. 
 
 He quickly form'd this brave design 
 
 To set me, captive, free; 
 And on the moor his horses wait 
 
 Ty'd to a neighbouring tree. 
 
 Then haste, my love, escape away. 
 
 And for thyself provide; 
 And sometimes fondly think on her 
 
 Who should have been thy bride. 
 
 Thus pouring comfort on my soul, 
 
 Even with her latest breath, 
 She gave one parting fond embrace 
 
 And clos'd her eyes in death.
 
 204- HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 In wild amaze, in speechless woe, 
 
 Devoid of sense I lay ; 
 Then sudden all in frantic mood 
 
 I meant myself to slay. 
 
 And, rising up in furious haste, 
 
 I seiz'd the bloody brand : 
 A sturdy arm here interpos'd, 
 
 And wrench'd it from my hand. 
 
 A crowd that from the castle came 
 Had miss'd their lovely ward; 
 
 And seizing me, to prison bare, 
 And deep in dungeon barr'd. 
 
 It chanc'd on that very morn 
 Their chief was prisoner ta'en : 
 
 Lord PERCY had us soon exchanged, 
 And strove to sooth my pain.
 
 HERMIT OF VTARKWORTH. 205 
 
 And soon these honoured dear remains 
 
 To England were conveyM; 
 And there within their silent tombs, 
 
 With holy rites were laid. 
 
 For me, I loath'd my wretched life, 
 
 And long to end it thought ; 
 Till time , and books, and holy men, 
 
 Had better counsels taught. 
 
 They rais'd my heart to that pure source 
 
 Whence heavenly comfort flows; 
 They taught me to despise the world, 
 
 And calmly bear its woes. 
 
 No more the slave of human pride, 
 
 Vain hope, and sordid care, 
 I meekly vow'd to spend my life 
 
 In penitence and prayer.
 
 206 
 
 The bold Sir BERTRAM now no more 
 Impetuous, haughty, wild; 
 
 But poor and humble Benedict, 
 Now lowly, patient, mild: 
 
 My lands I gave to feed the poor, 
 
 And sacred altars raise; 
 And here a lonely Anchorite 
 
 I came to end my days. 
 
 This sweet sequester'd vale I chose, 
 These rocks and hanging grove ; 
 
 For oft beside that murmuring stream 
 My love was wont to rove. 
 
 My noble friend approv'd my choice ; 
 
 This blest retreat he gave ; 
 And here I carv'd her beauteous form, 
 
 And scoop'd this holy cave.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 207 
 
 Full fifty winters, all forlorn, 
 
 My life I've linger'd here ; 
 And daily o'er this sculptur'd saint 
 
 I drop the pensive tear. 
 
 And thou dear brother of my heart, 
 
 So faithful and so true. 
 The sad remembrance of thy fate 
 
 Still makes my bosom rue. 
 
 Yet not unpitied passM my life. 
 
 Forsaken, or forgot, 
 The PERCY and his noble sons 
 
 Would grace my lowly cot. 
 
 Oft the great Earl, from toils of state 
 
 And cumbrous pomp of power, 
 Would gladly seek my little cell 
 
 To spend the tranquil hour.
 
 208 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 
 
 But length of life is length of woe ; 
 
 I liv'd to mourn his fall : 
 I liv'd to mourn his godlike sons, 
 
 And friends and followers all. 
 
 But thou the honours of thy race, 
 Lov'd youth, shalt now restore, 
 
 And raise again the PERCY name 
 More glorious than before. 
 
 He ceas'd, and on the lovely pair 
 
 His choicest blessings laid : 
 While they with thanks and pitying tears 
 
 His mournful tale repaid. 
 
 And now what present course to take 
 They asked the good old sire ; 
 
 And, guided by his sage advice, 
 To Scotland they retire.
 
 HERMIT OF WARKWORTH. 209 
 
 Meantime their suit such favour found 
 
 At Raby's stately hall, 
 Earl Neville and his princely spouse 
 
 Now gladly pardon all. 
 
 She suppliant at her nephew's throne 
 
 The royal grace implored: 
 To all the honours of his race 
 
 The PERCY was restored. 
 
 The youthful Earl still more and more 
 
 Admir'd his beauteous dame; 
 Nine noble sons to him she bore, 
 
 All worthy of their name.
 
 SONNETS
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 BY HELEN MARIA WILLIAMS. 
 
 SONNET I. 
 
 TO LOVE. 
 
 Love ! ere yet I knew thy fatal power, 
 Bright glow'd the colour of my youthful days, 
 As, on the sultry zone, the torrid rays 
 That paint the broad-leav'd plantain's glossy bower: 
 Calm was my bosom as this silent hour, 
 When o'er the deep, scarce heard, the zephyr stray 
 'Midst the cool tamarinds indolently plays, 
 Nor from the orange shakes its od'rous flower : 
 But ah ! since Love has all my heart possest, 
 That desolated heart what sorrows tear ? 
 Disturb'd, and wild as ocean's troubled breast, 
 When the hoarse tempest of the night is there ! 
 Yet my complaining spirit asks no rest; 
 This bleeding bosom cherishes despair, 
 p 3
 
 214- SONNETS. 
 
 SONNET II. 
 
 TO DISAPPOINTMENT. 
 
 PALE Disappointment ! at thy freezing name 
 Chill fears in ev'ry shiv'ring vein I prove, 
 My sinking pulse almost forgets to move, 
 And life almost forsakes my languid frame : 
 Yet thee, relentless nymph ! no more I blame. 
 Why do my thoughts midst vain illusions rove? 
 Why gild the charms of friendship and of love 
 With the warm glow of fancy's purple flame ? 
 When ruffling winds have some bright fane o'er- 
 
 thrown 
 
 Which shone on painted clouds, or seem'd to shine, 
 Shall the fond gazer dream for him alone 
 Those clouds were stable, and at fate repine ? 
 I feel, alas ! the fault is all my own, 
 And, ah ! the cruel punishment is mine !
 
 SONNETS 215 
 
 SONNET III. 
 
 TO SIMPLICITY. 
 
 NYMPH of the desert! on this lonely shore 
 
 Simplicity, thy blessings still are mine. 
 
 And all thou canst not give I pleas'd resign, 
 
 For all beside can sooth my soul no more. 
 
 I ask no lavish heaps to swell my store, 
 
 And purchase pleasures far remote from thine; 
 
 Ye joys, for which the race of Europe pine, 
 
 Ah, not for me your studied grandeur pour. 
 
 Let me, where yon tall cliffs are rudely pil'd, 
 
 Where towers the palm amidst the mountain trees, 
 
 Where pendent from the steep, with graces wild, 
 
 The blue liana floats upon the breeze, 
 
 Still haunt those bold recesses, nature's child, 
 
 Where thy majestic charms my spirit seize !
 
 216 SONNETS. 
 
 SONNET IV. 
 
 TO THE STRAWBERRY. 
 
 THE Strawberry blooms upon its lowly bed, 
 Plant of my native soil ! the lime may fling 
 More potent fragrance on the zephyrs wing; 
 The milky cocoa richer juices shed; 
 The white guava lovelier blossoms spread : 
 But not like thee to fond remembrance bring 
 The vanish'd hours of life's enchanting spring, 
 Short calendar of joys for ever fled ! 
 Thou bidst the scenes of childhood rise to view. 
 The wild-wood path which fancy loves to trace ; 
 Where, veil'd in leaves, thy fruit of rosy hue 
 Lurk'd on its pliant stem with modest grace : 
 But, ah ! when thought would later years renew, 
 Alas, successive sorrows crowd the space !
 
 SONNETS. 217 
 
 SONNET V. 
 
 TO THE CURLEW. 
 
 SOOTH'D by the murmurs on the sea-beat shore, 
 His dun-grey plumage floating to the gale, 
 The Curlew blends his melancholy wail 
 With those hoarse sounds the rushing waters pour. 
 Like thee, congenial bird ! my steps explore 
 The bleak lone sea-beach, or the rocky dale, 
 And shun the orange bower, the myrtle vale, 
 Whose gay luxuriance suits my soul no more. 
 I love the ocean's broad expanse, when drest 
 In limpid clearness, or when tempests blow; 
 When the smooth currents on its placid breast 
 Flow calm as my past moments used to flow ; 
 Or, when its troubled waves refuse to rest, 
 And seem the symbol of my present woe.
 
 218 SONNETS. 
 
 SONNET VI. 
 
 TO THE TORRID ZONE. 
 
 PATHWAY of light ! o'er thy empurpled zone, 
 With lavish charms perennial summer strays ; 
 Soft 'midst thy spicy groves the zephyr plays, 
 While far around the rich perfumes are thrown: 
 The amadavid-bird for thee alone, 
 Spreads his gay plumes that catch thy vivid rays; 
 For thee the gems with liquid lustre blaze, 
 And nature's various wealth is all thy own. 
 But, ah ! not thine is twilight's doubtful gloom, 
 Those mild gradations, mingling day with night; 
 Here, instant darkness shrouds thy genial bloom, 
 Nor leaves my pensive soul that ling'ring light, 
 When musing mem'ry would each trace resume 
 Of fading pleasures inisuccessive flight.
 
 SONNETS. 219 
 
 SONNET VII. 
 
 TO THE CALBASS1A TREE. 
 
 SUBLIME Calbassia! luxuriant tree, 
 How soft the gloom thy bright-hu'd foliage throws, 
 While from the pulp a healing balsam flows, ^ 
 Whose power the suff 'ring wretch from pain can 
 
 free. 
 
 My pensive footsteps ever turn to thee ! 
 Since oft, while musing on my lasting woes, 
 Beneath thy flow'ry white-bells I repose, 
 Symbol of friendship, dost thou seem to me : 
 For thus has friendship cast her soothing shade 
 O'er my unshelter'd bosom's keen distress ; 
 Thus sought to heal the wounds which love has 
 
 made, 
 
 And temper bleeding sorrow's sharp excess ! 
 Ah! not in vain she lends her balmy aid: 
 The agonies she cannot cure, are less!
 
 220 SONNETS. 
 
 SONNET VIII. 
 
 TO THE WHITE BIRD OF THE TROPIC. 
 
 BIRD of the Tropic ! thou who lov'st to stray 
 Where thy long pinions sweep the sultry line, 
 Or mark'st the bounds which torrid beams confine 
 By thy averted course, that shuns the ray 
 Oblique, enamour'd of sublimer day : 
 Oft on yon cliff thy folded plumes recline, 
 And drop those snowy feathers Indians twine 
 To crown the warrior's brow with honours gay. 
 O'er trackless oceans what impels thy wing ! 
 Does no soft instinct in thy soul prevail ? 
 No sweet affection to thy bosom cling, 
 And bid thee oft thy absent nest bewail ? 
 Yet thou again to that dear spot canst spring ; 
 But I my long-lost home no more shall hail ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 J. Cundcc, Printer, Ivy - Lane.
 
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 7 1994
 
 
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