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 POEMS, 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ. 
 
 OP THE I5NER TBMPEE. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. II. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY T. H. CARTER St CO. BOSTON. 
 
 33cjJton : 
 
 PUBLISHED BY TIMOTHY BEDLINGTON, 
 
 No. 31, Washington-street. 
 J82G.
 
 V 
 
 SlacR STick 
 
 ^3 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 »»*«#«« 
 
 The history of the following production, is briefly 
 this : A lady, fond of blank verse, demanded a poem 
 of that kind from the author, and gavd him the Sofa 
 for a subject. He obeyed ; and, having much leisure, 
 connected another subject with it ; and pursuing the 
 train of thought to which his situation and turn of 
 mind led him, brought forth, at length, instead of the 
 trifle which he at first intended, a serious affair — a 
 Volume ' 
 
 In the poem on the subject of Education, he would 
 be very sorry to stand suspected of having aimed hi^ 
 censure at any particular school. His objections are 
 such as naturally apply themselves to schools in ge- 
 neral. If there were not, as for the most part there is, 
 wilful neglect in those who manage them, and an 
 omission even of such discipline as they are suscepti-
 
 4. ADVERTISEMENT*. 
 
 ble of, the objects are yet too numerous for minute 
 attention : and the aching hearts of ten thousand pa- 
 rents, mourning under th*» bitterest of all disappoint- 
 ments, attest the truth of the allegation. His quarrel, 
 therefore, is with the mischief at large, and not with 
 ^ny particular instance of it.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 The Task, in Six books. Page 
 
 Book I. The Sofa, 7 
 
 II. The Time-piece, . . - - 29 
 
 III. The Garden, . - - - 52 
 
 IV. The Winter Evening, - , - 76 
 
 V. The Winter Morning Walk, - - 98 
 
 VI. The Winter Walk at noon, - - 123 
 Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. - - - - 155 
 Tirocinium : or, a Review of Schools, - - ib. 
 To the Reverend Mr. Newton, - - - 180 
 On the Receipt of my Mother's Picture out of 
 
 Norfolk, 181 
 
 Friendship, 185 
 
 The Moralizer corrected, - - - . 191 
 
 Catharina, - - 193 
 
 The Faithful Bird, 195 
 
 The Needless Alarm, - - - ^ - - 196 
 
 Boadicea, ..-.-.- 200 
 
 Heroism, 202 
 
 On a mischievous Bull, which the Owner of 
 
 him sold at the Author's instance, - - 205 
 Annus Memorablis, 1789. Written in comme- 
 moration of his majesty's happy's reco- 
 very, 206 
 
 Hymn for the use of the Sunday School at 01- 
 
 ney, 208
 
 6 CONTENTS. 
 
 Pago 
 Stanzas subjoined to a Bill of Mortality for the 
 
 year 1787, 209 
 
 The same for 1788, 211 
 
 The same for 1789, 213 
 
 The same for 1790, 214 
 
 The same for 1792, ----- 216 
 
 The same for 1793, - - . - - - 218 
 
 Inscription for the tomb of Mr. Hamilton, - 220 
 
 Epitaph on a Hare, - - - - - • ib. 
 
 Epitaphium Alteram, 222 
 
 Account of the Author's treatment of HareS| - 223
 
 THE TASK, 
 
 THE SOFA. 
 
 ARGUMExVT OF THE FIRST BOOK. 
 
 Historical deduction of seats, from the Stool to the Sofa — A 
 Scnoolboy's ramble — A walk in the country — The scene described 
 — Rural sound? as well as sights delijjbtful — Another walk — 
 Mistake concerning the charms of solitude corrected — Colonnades 
 commended — Alcove, and the view from it — The wilderness — 
 The grove — The thresher — The necessity and benefit of exorcise 
 — The works of nature superiour to, and in some instances inimi- 
 table by, art — The wearisomeness of what is commonly called a 
 life of pleasure — Change of scene sometimes expedient — A com- 
 mon desciibed, and the character of crazy Kate introduced — 
 Gipsies — The blessings of civili/.ed life — That state most favour- 
 able to virtue — The South Sea islanders compassionated, but 
 chiefly Omai — His present state of mind supposed — Civilized 
 life friendly to virtue, but not great cities — Great cities, and Lon- 
 don in particular, allowed their due praise, but censured — Fete 
 champetre — Tiie book concludes with a reflection on the fatal" 
 effects of dissipation and effeminacy upon our public measures. 
 
 I SING the Sofa. I. who lately sang 
 
 Truth, Hope, and Charity,* and touch'd with awe 
 
 The solemn chords, and, with a trembling hand, 
 
 Escap'd with pain from that advent'rous flight, 
 
 Now seek repose upon an humbler theme ; 5 
 
 The theme, though humble, yet august and proud 
 
 Th' occasion — for the fair commands the song. 
 
 Time was, when clothing, sumptuous or for use, 
 Save their own 4)ainted skins, our sires had none. 
 As yet black breeches were not ; satin smooth, 10 
 
 Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile : 
 The hardy chief, upon the rugged rock 
 Wash'd by the sea, or on the gravelly banls. 
 * {?ee Poem?-. Vol. I^
 
 8 "'the task. 
 
 Thrown up hy wintry torrents roaring loud. 
 
 Fearless of wrong, repcs'd his weary strenglh. Jo 
 
 Those barb"rous ages past, succeeded next 
 
 The birthday of Invention ; weak at first, 
 
 Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. 
 
 Joint-stools were then created ; on three legs 
 
 Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm 20 
 
 A massy tlab, in fashion square or round. 
 
 On such a stool immortal Alfred sat, 
 
 And sway'd the sceptre of his infant realms : 
 
 And such in ancient halls and mansions drear 
 
 May still be seen ; but perforated sore, 25 
 
 And drill'd in holes, the solid oak is found, 
 
 By worms voracious eating through and through . 
 
 At length a generation more refin'd 
 Improved the simple plan ; made three legs four, 
 Gave them a twisted form vermicular, 30 
 
 And o'er the seat, with plenteous wadding stufTd, 
 Induc'd a splendid cover, green and blue, • 
 Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wrought ■* 
 
 'And woven close, or needlework sublime. 
 
 'iliere might ye see the piony spread wide, 35 
 
 jl^lic full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, 
 jjj.apdoo; and lambkin with black staring eyes, 
 >^Ai\d»*^arrots with twin cherries in their beak. 
 *V^' iS^ow came the cane from India, smooth and bright, 
 ^ith nature's varnish ; sever'd into stripes, 40 
 
 That interlaced each other, these supplied 
 .Of texture firm a lattice-work, that brac'd 
 The new machine, and it became a chair. 
 But restless was the chair ; the back erect 
 Distressd the weary loins, that felt no ease ; 45 
 
 The slipp'ry seat betrayed the sliding part 
 Thatpressd it, and the feet hung dangling down, 
 Anxious in vain to find the distant floor. 
 These for the rich ; the rest, whom Fate had plac'd 
 In modest mediocrity, content 50 
 
 "With base materials, sat on well-tann'd hides;
 
 THE SOFA. 'J 
 
 Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth, 
 With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn. 
 Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fix'd, 
 If cushion might be call'd, what harder seem'd 55 
 Than the firm oak, of which the frame was form'd. 
 No want of timber then was felt or fear'd 
 In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood 
 Pond'rous and fix'd by its own massy weight. 
 But elbows still were wanting ; these, some say, 60 
 An alderman of Cripplegate contrived ; 
 And some ascribe th' invention to a priest 
 Burly, and big, and studious of his ease. 
 But rude at first, and not with easy slope 
 Receding wide, they press'd against the ribs, 65 
 
 And bruis'd the side ; and, elevated high, 
 Taught the rais'd shoulders to invade the ears. 
 Long time elaps'd or e'er our rugged sires 
 Complain'd, though incommodiously pent in, 
 And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 70 
 
 'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex. 
 Ingenious Fancy, never better pleas'd 
 Than w^hen employ'd t' accommodate the fair, 
 Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devis'd 
 The soft settee ; one elbow at each end, 75^ 
 
 And in the midst an elbow it receiv'd, 
 United, yet divided, twain at once. 
 So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne ; 
 And so two citizens, who take the air, 
 Close pack'd, and smiling, in a chaise and one. EO 
 
 But relaxation of the languid frame, 
 By soft recumbency of outstretch'd limbs, 
 "Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slow 
 The growth of what is excellent ; so hard 
 T' attain perfection in this nether world. 85 
 
 Thus first Necessity invented stools, 
 Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs, 
 And Luxury th' accomplish'd Sofa last.
 
 10 THE lASK. 
 
 The nurse sleeps sweetly, hir'd to watch the sick, 
 Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he, 90 
 
 Who quits the coach-box at a midnight hour, 
 To sleep w^ithin the carriage more secure, 
 His legs depending at the open door. 
 Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk, 
 The tedious rector drawling o'er his head ; 95 
 
 And sweet the clerk below. But neither sleep 
 Of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead ; 
 Nor his, who quits the box at midnight hour 
 To slumber in the carriage more secure ; 
 Nor sleep enjoy "d by curate in his desk ; 100 
 
 Nor yet the dozings of the clerk, are sweet, 
 Compar'd with the repose the Sofa yields. 
 
 O may I live exemoted (while 1 live 
 Guiltless of pamper'd appetite obscene) 
 From pangs arthritic, that infest the toe 105 
 
 Of libertine Excess. The Sofa suits 
 The gouty limb, 'tis true : but gouty limb, 
 Though on a Sofa, may I never feel : 
 For I have lovd the rural walk through lanes 
 Of grassy swarth, close cropp'd by nibbling sheep, 110 
 And skirted thick with intertexture firm 
 Of thorny boughs ; have lov'd the rural walk 
 O'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers' brink, 
 E'er since a truant boy I pass'd my bounds 
 T' enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames ; 115 
 
 And still remember, not without regret. 
 Of hours, that sorrow since has much endear'd, 
 How oft, my slice of pocket store consum'd. 
 Still hung'ring, pennyless, and far from home, 
 I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws, 120 
 
 Or blushing crabs, or berries, that emboss 
 The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. 
 Hard fare ! but such as boyish appetite 
 Disdains not ; nor the palate, undeprav'd 
 By culinary arts, unsav'ry deems. 125
 
 THE SOFA. 11 
 
 No Sofa then awaited my return ; 
 Nor Sofa then I needed. Youth repairs 
 His wasted spirits quickly, by long toil 
 Incurring short fatigue ; and, though our years, 
 As life declines, speed rapidly away, 130 
 
 And not a year but pilfers as he goes 
 Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep ; 
 A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees 
 Their length and colour from the locks they spare ; 
 The elastick spring of an unwearied foot, 135 
 
 That mounts the stile v/ith ease, or leaps the fence ; 
 That play of lungs, inhaling and again 
 Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes 
 Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me. 
 Mine have not pilfer'd yet ; nor yet impair d 140 
 
 My relish of fair prospect ; scenes that soothd 
 Or charm 'd me young, no longer young, I find 
 Still soothing, and of pow"r to charm me still. 
 And witness, dear companion of my walks, 
 Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive 145 
 
 Fast lock'd in mine, with pleasure such as love, 
 Confirm'd by long experience of thy worth 
 And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire — 
 Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long. 
 Thou know'st my praise of nature most sincere, 150 
 And that my raptures are not conjur'd up 
 To serve occasiocs of poetic pomp. 
 But genuine, and art partner of them all. 
 How oft upon yon eminence our pace 
 Has slacken'd to a pause, and we have borne 155 
 
 The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew, 
 While Admiration, feeding at the eye, 
 And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene. 
 Thence, with what pleasure have we just discern'd 
 The distant plough slow moving, and beside 160 
 
 His lab'ring team, that swerv'd not from the track, 
 The sturdy swain diminish'd to a boy ! 
 Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain
 
 12 THE TASK. 
 
 Of spacious meads, with cattle sprinkled oer. 
 
 Conducts the eye along his sinuous course 165 
 
 Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank, 
 
 Stand, never overlook'd, our fav'rite elms, 
 
 That screen the herdsman's solitary hut ; 
 
 While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, 
 
 That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, 170 
 
 The sloping land recedes into the clouds ; 
 
 Displaying on its varied side the grace 
 
 Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tow'r, 
 
 Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells 
 
 Just undulates upon the list'ning ear, 175 
 
 Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote. 
 
 Scenes must be beautiful, which daily view'd 
 
 Please daily, and whose novelty survives 
 
 Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years. 
 
 Praise justly due to those that I describe. 180 
 
 Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, 
 Exhilarate the spirit, and restore 
 The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds, 
 That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood 
 Of ancient growth, make music not unlike 185 
 
 The dash of Ocean on his winding shore. 
 And lull the spirit while they fill the mind ; 
 Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast. 
 And all their leaves fast flutt'ring, all at once. 
 Nor less composure waits upon the roar 190 
 
 Of distant floods, or on the softer voice 
 Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that slip 
 Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall 
 Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length 
 In matted grass, that with a livelier green 195 
 
 Betrays the secret of their silent course. 
 Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, 
 But animated nature sweeter still, 
 To sooth and satisfy the human ear. 
 Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one 200 
 The livelong night ; nor these alone, wJiose notes
 
 THE SOFA. J3 
 
 Nice-fingerd Art must emulate in vain, 
 
 But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime 
 
 In still-repeated circles, screaming loud, 
 
 The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl, 2Q5 
 
 That hails the rising moon, have charms for me, 
 
 Sounds inh.rmonious in themselves and harsh, 
 
 Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, 
 
 And only there, please highly for their sake. 
 
 Peace to the artist, whose mgenious thought 210 
 Devis'd the weatherhouse, that useful toy ! 
 Fearless of humid air and gath'ring rains, 
 Forth steps the man — an emblem of myself ! 
 More delicate his tim'rous mate retires. 
 When Winter soaks the fields, and female feet, 215 
 Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay, 
 Or ford the rivulets, are best at home, 
 The task of new discoveries falls on me. 
 At such a season, and with such a charge, 
 Once went I forth ; and found, till then unknown, 220 
 A cottage, whither oft we since repair : 
 'Tis perchd upon the green hill top, but close 
 Environ'd with a ring of branching elms, 
 That overhang the thatch, itself unseen 
 Peeps at the vale below ; so thick beset 225 
 
 With foliage of such dark redundant growth, 
 I caird the low-roofd lodge the peasant's nest. 
 And, hidden as it is, and far remote 
 From such unpleasing sounds as haunt the ear 
 In village or in town, the bay of curs 230 
 
 Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels, 
 And infants clam'rous whether pleas'd or pain'd, 
 Oft have I wish'd the peaceful coveret mine. 
 Here, I have said, at least I should possess 
 The poet" s treasure. Silence, and indulge 235 
 
 The dreaifis of fancy, tranquil and secure. 
 Vain thought '. the dweller in that still retreat 
 Dearly obtains the refuge it affords. 
 Its elevated site forbids the wretch 
 Vol. If 2
 
 14 THE TASK. 
 
 To drink sweet waters of the crystal w^ell ; 240 
 
 He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch. 
 
 And, heavy laden, brings his bev'rage home, 
 
 Far fetch'd and little worth ; nor seldom waits, 
 
 Dependent on the baker's punctual call, 
 
 To hear his creaking panniers at the door, 245 
 
 Angry, and sad, and his last crust consum'd. 
 
 So farewell envy of the peasant's nest ! 
 
 If solitude make scant the means of life, 
 
 Society for me ! — thou seeming sweet. 
 
 Be still a pleasing object in my view ; 250 
 
 My visit still, but never mine abode. 
 
 Not distant far, a length of colonnade 
 Invites us. Monument of ancient taste, 
 Now scorn'd, but v/orthy of a better fate. 
 Our fathers knew the value of a screen 255 
 
 From sultry suns : and, in their shaded walks 
 And long protracted bow'rs, enjoy 'd at noon 
 The gloom and coolness of declining day. 
 We bear our shades about us ; self-depriv'd 
 Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, 260 
 
 And range an Indian waste without a tree. 
 Thanks to Benevolus — he spares me yet 
 These chestnuts rang'd in corresponding lines ; 
 And, though himself so polish'd, still reprieves 
 The obsolete prolixity of shade. 2G5 
 
 Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) 
 A sudden steep upcn a rustic bridge, 
 We pass a gulf, in which the willows dip 
 Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink. 
 Hence, ankle deep in moss and flow'ry thyme, 270 
 We mount again, and feel at ev'ry step 
 Our foot half sunk iii hillocks green and soft, 
 Kais'd by the .nole, the mmer of the soil. 
 He, not unlike the great ones of mankind, 
 Disfigures Earth : and, plotting in the dark, 275 
 
 * John Courtney Throckmorton, Esq. of Weston Un'lct- 
 
 M'OOd.
 
 TPIE SOFA. 15 
 
 Toils much to earn a monumental pile 
 That may record the mischief he has done. 
 
 The summit gain'd, behold the proud alcove 
 That crowns it ! 3'et not ail its pride secures 
 The grand retreat from injuries impress"d 280 
 
 By rural carvers, who witli knives deface 
 The panels, leaving an obscure, rude name, 
 In characters uncoutli, and spelt amiss. 
 So strong the zeal t' iminortalize himself 
 Beats in the breast of man, that e'en a few, 285 
 
 Few transient years, won from th' abyss abhorr'd 
 Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize, 
 And even to a clown. Now roves the eye ; 
 And, posted on this speculative height, 
 Exults in its command. The sheepfold here 290 
 
 Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe. 
 At first, progressive as a stream, they seek 
 The middle field ; but, scatter'd by degrees, 
 Each to his choice, soon whiten all the land. 
 There from the sunburnt hay field homeward creeps 
 The loaded wain ; while, lighten'd of its charge, 296 
 The wain that meets it passes swiftly by ; 
 The boorish driver leaning o'er his team 
 "Vocif rous, and impatient of delay. 
 Nor less attractive is the woodland scene, 300 
 
 Diversified with trees of ev'ry growth, 
 Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks 
 Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine. 
 Within the twilight of their distant shades ; 
 There, lost behind a rising ground, the wood 305 
 
 Seems sunk, and shorten'd to its topmost boughs. 
 No tree in all the grove but has its charms, 
 Though each its hue peculiar ; paler some, 
 And of a wannish gray ; the willow such, 
 And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf, 310 
 
 And ash far-stretching his umbrageous arm ; 
 Of deeper green the elm ; and deeper still. 
 Lord of the woods, the long surviving oak.
 
 16 THE TASK. 
 
 Some glossy leav'd, and shining in the sun, 
 
 The maple and the beech of oily nuts 315 
 
 Prolifick, and the lime at dewy eve 
 
 Diffusing odov*rs : nor unnoted pass 
 
 The sycamo^r-c, capricious in attire, 
 
 Now greer,. now tawny, and, ere autumn yet 
 
 Have ch'sng'd the woods, in scarlet honours bright. 
 
 O'er thr-ic, but, far beyond (a spacious map 321 
 
 Of hi]i and valley interpos'd between) 
 
 The Ouse, dividing the well-water'd land, 
 
 Now glitters in the sun, and now retires, 
 
 As bashfulj yet impatient to be seen. 335 
 
 Hence the declivity is sharp and short, 
 
 And such the reascent ; between them weeps 
 
 A little naiad her impov'rish'd urn 
 
 All summer long, which winter fills again. 
 
 The folded gates would bar my progress now, 33^ 
 
 But that the lord* of this enclos'd demesne. 
 
 Communicative of the good he owns, 
 
 Admits me to a share ; the guiltless eye 
 
 Commits no VvTong, nor wastes what it enjoys. 
 
 Refreshing change ! where now the blazing sun .-* 335 
 
 By short transition we have lost his glare, 
 
 And stepp'd at once into a cooler clime. 
 
 Ye fallen avenues ! once more I mourn 
 
 Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice 
 
 That yet a remnant of your race survives. 340 
 
 How airy and how light the graceful arch, 
 
 Yet awful as the consecrated roof 
 
 Re-echoing pious anthems ! while beneath 
 
 The checker'd earth seems restless as a flood 
 
 Brush'd by the wind. So sportive is the light 345 
 
 Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance, 
 
 Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick, 
 
 And dark'ning, and enlight'ning, as the leaves 
 
 Play wanton, ev'ry moment, ev'ry spot. 
 
 And now, with nerves new brac'd and spirits cheer'd,. 
 * See the foregoing note.
 
 THE SOFA. 17 
 
 We tread the wilderness, v/hose well-roll'd walks, 351 
 With curvature of slow and easy sweep — 
 Deception innocent — give ample space 
 To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next ; 
 Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms 355 
 We may discern the thresher at his task. 
 Thump after thump resounds the constant flail, 
 That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls 
 Full on the destind ear. Wide flies the chaff, 
 The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist 360 
 
 Of atoms, sparkUng in the noonday beam. 
 Come hither, ye that press your beds of down, 
 And sleep not ; see him sweating o'er his bread 
 Before he eats it. — 'Tis the primal curse, 
 But soften'd into mercy ; made the pledge 365 
 
 Of cheerful days and nights without a groan. 
 
 By ceaseless action all that is subsists. 
 Constant rotation of th' unwearied wheel 
 That Nature rides upon, maintains her health, 
 Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads 370 
 
 An instant's pause, and lives but v.4iile she moves ; 
 Its own revolvency upholds the World, 
 Winds from all quarters agitate the air, 
 And fit the limpid element for use. 
 Else noxious ; oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams, 375 
 All feel the fresh"ning impulse, and are cleans'd 
 By restless undulation : e'en the oak 
 Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm . 
 He seems indeed indignant, and to feel 
 Th' impression of the blast with proud disdain, 380 
 Frowning, as if in his unconscious arm 
 He held the thunder : but tho monarch owes 
 His firm stability to what he scorns. 
 Mure fix'd below, the more disturb"d above. 
 The law, by which all creatures else are bound, 385 
 Binds man, the Lord of all. Himself derives 
 No mean advantage from a kindred cause, 
 F'om strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease.
 
 13 THE TASK. 
 
 The sedentary stretch their lazy length 
 
 When Custom bids, but no refreshment find, 390 
 
 For none they need : the languid eye, the cheek 
 
 Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk, 
 
 And wither'd muscle, and the vapid soul. 
 
 Reproach their owner with that love of rest, 
 
 To which he forfeits e'en the rest he loves. 395 
 
 Not such the alert and active. Measure life 
 
 By its true worth, the comforts it affords, 
 
 And theirs alone seems worthy of the name. 
 
 Good health, and its associate in the most. 
 
 Good temper ; spirits prompt to undertake, 400 
 
 And not soon spent, though in an arduous task ; 
 
 The pow'rs of fancy and strong thought are theirs j 
 
 E'en age itself seems privileg'd in them 
 
 With clear exemption from its own defects. 
 
 A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front 405- 
 
 The vet'ran shows, and, gracing a gray beard 
 
 With youthful smiles, descends toward the grave 
 
 Sprightly, and old almost without decay. 
 
 Like a coy maiden, Ease, when courted most, 
 Furthest retires — an idol, at whose shrine 410 
 
 Who oft'nest sacrifice are favour'd least. 
 The love of Nature, and the scenes she draws, 
 Is nature's dictate. Strange ! there should be found, 
 Who, self-imprisond in their proud saloons, 
 Renounce the odours of the open field 415- 
 
 For the unscented fictions of the loom ; 
 Who, satisfied vvith only penciii'd scenes, 
 Prefer to the performance of a God 
 Th' inferiour wonders of an artist's hand ! 
 Lovely indeed the rai)nick works of Art ; 420 
 
 But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire, 
 None more admires the painter's magick skill ; 
 Who shows me that which I shall never see, 
 Conveys a distant country into mine. 
 And throws Italian light on English walls : 425 
 
 But imitative strokes can do no mare
 
 THE SOFA. ID 
 
 Than please the eye — sweet Nature's ev'ry sense. 
 The air salubrious of her lofty hills, 
 The cheering fragance of Jier dewy vales, 
 And musick of her woods — no works of man 430 
 
 May rival these, these all bespeak a pow'r 
 Peculiar, and exclusively her own. 
 Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast } 
 'Tis free to all — 'tis ev'ry day renew'd ; 
 Who scorns it starves deservedly at home. 435 
 
 He does not scorn it, who, imprison'd long 
 In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey 
 To sallow sickness, which the vapours, dank 
 And clammy, of his dark abode have bred, 
 Escapes at last to liberty and light : 440 
 
 His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue ; 
 His eye relumines its extinguish d fires ; 
 He walks, he leaps, he runs — is wing'd with joy, 
 And riots in the sweets of ev'ry breeze. 
 He does not scorn it, who has long endur'd 445 
 
 A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs. 
 Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflam'd 
 With acrid salts ; his very heart athirst, 
 To gaze at Nature in her green array, 
 Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possess 'd 450 
 
 With visions prompted by intense desire ; 
 Fair fields appear below, such as he left 
 Far distant, such as he would die to find — 
 He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. 
 
 The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns ; 455 
 The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown, 
 And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort, 
 And mar. the face of Beauty, when no cause 
 For such immeasurable wo appears. 
 These Flora banishes, and gives the fair 460 
 
 Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own. 
 It is the constant revolution, stale 
 And tasteless, of the same repeated joys, 
 That palls and satiates, and makes languid lif?
 
 20 THE TASK. 
 
 A pedler's pack, that bows the bearer down. 465 
 
 Health suffers, and the spirits ebb, the heart 
 
 Recoils from its own choice — at the full feast 
 
 Is famish'd — finds no musick in the song. 
 
 No smartness in the jest ; and wonders why. 
 
 Yet thousands still desire to journey on, 470 
 
 Though halt, and weary of the path they tread. 
 
 The paralytick, who can hold her cards, 
 
 But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand, 
 
 To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort 
 
 Her mingled suits and sequences ; and sits, 475 
 
 Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad 
 
 And silent cipher, while her proxy plays. 
 
 Others are dragged into a crowded room 
 
 Between supporters ; and, once seated, sit, 
 
 Through downright inability to rise, 480 
 
 Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again. 
 
 These speak a loud memento. Yet e'en these 
 
 Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he 
 
 That overhangs a torrent, to a twig. 
 
 They love it, and yet loathe it ; fear to die, 485 
 
 Yet scorn the purposes for which they Uve. 
 
 Then wherefore not renounce them .'* No — the dread, 
 
 The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds 
 
 Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame. 
 
 And their invet'rate habits, all forbid. 490 
 
 Whom call we gay ? That honour has been long 
 The boast of mere pretenders to the name. 
 The innocent are gay — the lark is gay, 
 Tliat dries his feathers, saturate with dew, 
 Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams 49S 
 
 Of day spring overshoot his liurnble nest. 
 The peasant too, a witness of his song, 
 Himself a songster, is as gay as he. 
 
 But save me from the gayety of those. 
 Whose headachs nail them to a noonday bed ; 500 
 
 And save me too from theirs, whose haggard cyei; 
 Flash desperation, and betray their pangs
 
 THE SOFA. 2i 
 
 For property stripp'd off by cruel chance ; 
 
 From gayety, that fills the bones with pain, 
 
 The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with wo. 505 
 
 The earth was made so various, that the mind 
 Of desultory man, studious of change, 
 And pleas'd with novelty, might be indulg'd. 
 Prospects, however lovely, may be seen 
 Till half their beauties fade : the weary sight 510 
 Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides off, 
 Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes. 
 Then snug enclosures in the shelter'd vale, 
 Where frequent hedges intercept the eye, 
 Delight us ; happy to renounce awhile, 515 
 
 Not senseless of its charms, what still we love. 
 That such short absence may endear it more. 
 Then forests, or the savage rock, may please, 
 That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts 
 Above the reach of man. His hoary head, 520 
 
 Conspicuous many a league, the mariner 
 Bound homeward, and in hope already there, 
 Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist 
 A girdle of half-wither'd shrubs he shows, 
 And at his feet the baffled billows die. 525 
 
 The common, overgrown with fern, and rough 
 With prickly gorse, that, shapeless and deform'd, 
 And dang'rous to the touch, has yet its bloom. 
 And decks itself with ornaments of gold, 
 Yields no unpleasing ramble ; there the turf 530 
 
 Smells fresh, and, rich m odorif'rous herbs 
 And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense 
 With luxury of unexpected sv\^eets. 
 
 There often wanders one, whom better days 
 Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimm'd 535 
 
 With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound, 
 A serving maid was she, and fell in love 
 With one who left her, went to sea, and died. 
 Her fancy follow'd him through foaming waves 
 To distant shores ; and she would sit and weep 540
 
 22 THE TASK. 
 
 At what a sailor suffers ; fancy too, 
 
 Delusive most where warmest wishes are, 
 
 Would oft anticipate his glad return, 
 
 And dream of transports she was not to know. 
 
 She lieard the doleful tidings of his death — 545 
 
 And never smil'd again ! and now she roams 
 
 The dreary waste ; Ihere spends the livelong day, 
 
 And there, unless when charity forbids. 
 
 The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides, 
 
 "Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown 550 
 
 More tatter'd still ; and both but ill conceal 
 
 A bosom heav'd with never-ceasing sighs. 
 
 She begs an idle pin of all she meets. 
 
 And hoards them in her sleeve ; but needful food, 554 
 
 Though press'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, 
 
 Though pinch'd with cold, asks never. — Kate is craz'd. 
 
 I see a column of slow rising smoke 
 O'ertop the lofty wood, that skirts the wild. 
 A vagabond and useless tribe there eat 
 Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung 5G0 
 
 Between two poles upon a stick transverse. 
 Receives the )norsel — flesh obscene of dog. 
 Or vermin, or at best of cock purloin'd 
 From his accustom 'd perch. Hard faring race ! 
 They pick their fuel out of ev'ry hedge, 5G5 
 
 Which, kindled with dry leaves, just saves unquench'd 
 The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide 
 Their flutt'ring rags, and shows a tawny skin. 
 The vellum of the pedigree they claim. ' 
 Great skill have they in palmistr}', and more 570 
 
 To conjure clean away the gold they touch. 
 Conveying worthless dross into its place ; 
 Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. 
 Strange ! that a creature rational, and cast 
 In human mould, sliould brutalize by choice 575 
 
 His nature ; and, though capable of arts, 
 By which the world might profit, and himself 
 Self-banish'd from society, prefer
 
 THE SOFA. 23 
 
 Such squalid sloth to honourable toil ! 
 
 Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft 580 
 
 They swatlie the forehead; drag the limping limb. 
 
 And vex their flesh with artificial sores, 
 
 Can change their whine into a mirthful note, 
 
 VVben safe occasion offers ; and with dance, 
 
 And musick of the bladder and the bag, 585 
 
 Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. 
 
 Such health and gayety of heart enjoy 
 
 The houseless rovers of the sylvan world ; 
 
 And, breathing wholesome air, and wand'ring much, 
 
 Need other physick none to heal th' effects 59C 
 
 Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold. 
 
 Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd 
 By wealth or dignity, who dvv'ells secure. 
 Where man by nature fierce, has laid aside 
 His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn, 
 The manners and the arts of civil life. 59G 
 
 His wants indeed are many ; but supply 
 Is obvious, plac'd wdthin the easy reach 
 Of temp'rate wishes and industrious hands. 
 Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil ; GOO 
 
 Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns, 
 And terrible to sight, as when she springs, 
 (If e'er she spring spontaneous,) in remote 
 And barb'rous climes, where violence prevails, 
 And strength is lord of all ; but gentle, kind, G05 
 
 By culture tam'd, by liberty refresh'd, 
 And all her fruits by radiant truth matur'd. 
 War and the chase engross the savage whole ; 
 War foUow'd for revenge or to supplant 
 The envied tenants of some happier sj)ot : 610 
 
 The chase for sustenance, precarious trust ! 
 His hard condition with severe constraint 
 Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth 
 Of wisdom, proves a school, in which he learns 
 Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate, 615 
 
 Monn self-aita^hment. and scarce ausrht beside.
 
 24 THE TASK. 
 
 Thus fare the shiv'ring natives of the north, 
 
 And thus the rangers of the western world, 
 
 Where it advances far into the deep, 
 
 Tow'rds the antarctick. E'en the favour'd isles C20 
 
 So lately found, although the constant sun 
 
 Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile, 
 
 Can boast but little virtue ; and inert 
 
 Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain 
 
 In manners — victims of luxurious ease. C25 
 
 These therefore 1 can pity, plac'd remote 
 
 From all that science traces, art invents, 
 
 Or inspiration teaches ; and enclos'd 
 
 In boundless oceans never to be pass'd 
 
 By navigators uninform'd as they, C30 
 
 Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again . 
 
 But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, 
 
 Thee, gentle savage !* whom no love of thee 
 
 Or thine, but curiosity perhaps, 
 
 Or else vain glory, prompted us to draw 635 
 
 Forth from thy native bow'rs, to show thee here 
 
 With what superiour skill we can abuse 
 
 The gifts of Providence, and squander life. 
 
 The dream is past ; and thou hast found again 
 
 Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, 640 
 
 And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast thou 
 
 found 
 Their former charms .'' And, having seen our state, 
 Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp 
 Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports, 
 And heard our musick ; are thy simple friends, 645 
 Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights, 
 As dear to thee as once .' And have thy joys 
 Lost nothing by comparison with ours ? 
 Rude as thou art, (for we return'd thee rudo 
 And ignorant, except of outward show,) 650 
 
 I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart 
 And spiritless, as nevor to regret 
 * Omai.
 
 THE SOFA. 25 
 
 Sweets lasted here, and left as soon as known. 
 
 Methinks I see thee straying on the beach, 
 
 And asking of the surge, that bathes thy foot, 655 
 
 If ever it has wash'd our distant shore. 
 
 I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, 
 
 A patriots for his country : thou art sad 
 
 At thought of her forlorn and abject state, 
 
 From which no pow'r of thine can raise her up. 660 
 
 Thus fancy paintsthee, and, though apt to err, 
 
 Perhaps errs little, when she paints thee thus. 
 
 She tells me too, that duly ev'ry morn 
 
 Thou climbst the mountain top, with eager eye 
 
 Exploring far and wide the wat'ry waste 665 
 
 For sight of ship from England. Ev'ry speck 
 
 Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale 
 
 With conflict of contending hopes and fears. 
 
 But comes at last the dull and dusky eve, 
 
 And sends thee to thy cabin, well prepar'd 670 
 
 To dream all night of what the day denied. 
 
 Alas I expect it not. We found no bait 
 
 To tempt us in thy country. Doing good. 
 
 Disinterested good, is not our trade. 
 
 We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought ; 675 
 
 And must be brib'd to compass Earth again 
 
 By other hopes and richer fruits than yours. 
 
 But though true worth and virtue in the mild 
 And genial soil of cultivated life 
 
 Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, 660 
 Yet not in cities oft : in proud, and gay, 
 And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow. 
 As to a common and most noisome sewer, 
 The dregs and feculence of every land. 
 In cities, foul example on most minds 685 
 
 Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds, 
 In gross and pamper 'd cities, sloth, and lust, 
 And wantonness, and gluttonous excess. 
 In cities, vice is hidden with most ease, 
 Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue, taught 690 
 
 Vor., IT. 3
 
 26 THE TASK. 
 
 By frequent lapse,, can hope no triumph there 
 
 Beyond th' achievement of successful flight. 
 
 I do confess them nurseries of the arts, 
 
 In which they flourish most ; where in the beams 
 
 Of warm encouragement, and in the eye 695 
 
 Of publick note, they reach their perfect size. 
 
 Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim'd 
 
 The fairest capital of all the world, 
 
 By riot and incontinence the worst. 
 
 There touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes 700 
 
 A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees 
 
 All her reflected features. Bacon there 
 
 Gives more than female beauty to a stone, 
 
 And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips. 
 
 Nor does the chisel occupy alone 705 
 
 The pow'rs of sculpture, but the style as much ; 
 
 Each province of her art her equal care. 
 
 With nice incision of her guided steel 
 
 She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil 
 
 So sterile with what charms sooer she will, 710 
 
 The richest scenerj' and the loveliest forms. 
 
 "Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye, 
 
 With which she gazes at yon burning disk 
 
 Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots .' 
 
 In London. Where her implements exact, 7J5 
 
 With which she calculates, computes, and scans, 
 
 All distance, motion, magnitude, and now 
 
 Measures an atom, and now girds a world .' 
 
 In London. Where has commerce such a mart, 
 
 So rich, so throng'd, so drain'd, and so supplied, 720 
 
 As London — opulent, enlarg'd, and still 
 
 Increasing London ? Babylon of old 
 
 Not more the glory of the Earth, than she, 
 
 A more accomplish'd world's chief glory now. 
 
 She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two, 725 
 That so much beauty would do well to purge ; 
 And show this queen of citie?, that so fair, 
 Mav vet be foul ; so wittv- vet v.o\ wisr>.
 
 THE SOFA. 27 
 
 It is not seemly, nor of good report, 
 
 That she is slack in discipline ; more prompt 730 
 
 T" avenge than to prevent the breach of law : 
 
 That she is rigid in denouncing death 
 
 On petty robbers, and indulges life, 
 
 And liberty, and ofttimes honour too, 
 
 To peculators of the public gold : 735 
 
 That thieves at home must hang ; but he that puts 
 
 Into his overgorg'd and bloated purse 
 
 The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes. 
 
 Nor is it well, nor can it come to good, 
 
 That, through profane and infidel contempt 740 
 
 Of holy writ, she has presum'd t' annul 
 
 And abrogate, as roundly as she may. 
 
 The total ordinance and will of God ; 
 
 Advancing Fashion to the post of Truth, 
 
 And centring all authority in modes 745 
 
 And customs of her own, till sabbath rites 
 
 Have dwindled into unrespected forms, 
 
 And knees and hassocks are well-nigh divorc'd. 
 
 God made the countr}', and man made the town. 
 What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts 750 
 That can alone make sweet the bitter draught 
 That life holds out to all, should most abound 
 And least be threaten'd in the fields and groves ? 
 Possess ye, therefore, ye who, borne about 
 In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue 755 
 
 But that of idleness, and taste no scenes 
 But such as art contrives, possess ye still 
 Your element, thoro only can ye shine ; 
 There only minds like yours can do no harm. 
 Our groves were planted to console at noon 760 
 
 The pensive wand'rer in their shades. At eve 
 The moon-beam, sliding softly in between 
 The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, 
 Birds warbling all the musick. We can spare 
 The splendour of your lamps ; they but eclipse 765 
 Onr softer satellite. Your songs confound
 
 28 THE TASK. 
 
 Our more harmonious notes : the thrush departs. 
 Scar'd, and th' offended nightingale is mute. 
 There is a publick mischief in your mirth ; 
 It plagues your country. Folly such as yours, 770 
 Grac'd with a sword, and worthier of a fan, 
 Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done, 
 Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you, 
 A mutilated structure soon to fall.
 
 THE TASK. 
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 
 
 ARGUMENT OF THE SECOND BOOK. 
 
 Reflections suggested by the conclusion of the former book — Peace 
 among the nations reconiineuiied on the ground of their common 
 fellowship in sorrow — Prodigies enumerated — Sicilian earth- 
 Huake-i — Man rendered obnoxious to these calainities by sin — 
 God the agent in the!'!— The philosophy that stops at secondary 
 (•auses re()rov9d — Our own late miscarriages accounied for — 
 Satirical notice taken of our trips to Fontainbleau — But the 
 ])uli)it, not satire, the proper engine of reformation — The Rove- 
 rend Advertiser of engraved sermons — Petit-maitre parson — The 
 good preacher — Picture of a theatrical clerical coxcomb — Story- 
 tellers and jesters in the pulpit reproved — Apostrophe to popular 
 applause — jtetailers of ancient philosophy expostulated with — 
 Sum of the whole matter — Effects of sacerdotal mismanagement 
 on the laity — Their folly and extravagance — The mischiefs of 
 profusion — Profusion itself with all its consequent evils, ascribed, 
 as to its principal cau-ie, to the want of discipline in the univer- 
 sitioi. 
 
 O FOR. a lodge in some vast wildernesSj 
 
 Some boundless contiguity of shade, 
 
 Where rumour of oppression and deceit, 
 
 Of unsuccessful or successful war, 
 
 Might never reach me more ! My ear is pain'd, 5 
 
 My soul is sick with ev'r}"^ day's report 
 
 Of wrong and outrage with which eartli is fiU'd. 
 
 There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart ; 
 
 It does not feel for man ; the natural bond 
 
 Of brothcrliood is several; as the flax', JO
 
 00 THE TASK. 
 That falls asunder at the touch of fire. 
 He finds his fellow guilty of a skin 
 
 Not colour'd like his own ; and having powr 
 
 T' enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause 
 
 Dooms and devotes him as a lawful prey. 15 
 
 Lands intersected by a narrow frith 
 
 Abhor each other. Mountains interpos'd 
 
 Make enemies of nations, who had else 
 
 Like kindred drops been mingled into one. 
 
 Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ; 20 
 
 And worse than all, and most to be deplor'd, 
 
 As human nature's broadest, foulest blot. 
 
 Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat 
 
 With stripes, that Mercy with a bleeding heart, 
 
 Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. 25 
 
 Then what is man ? And what man, seeing this, 
 
 And having human feelings, does not blush, 
 
 And hang his head, to think himself a man ? 
 
 1 would not have a slave to till my ground, 
 
 To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, 30 
 
 And tremble when I wake, for aH the wealth 
 That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd 
 No : dear as freedom is, and in my heart's 
 Just estunation priz'd above all price, 
 1 had much rather be myself the slave, 35 
 
 And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 
 We have no slaves at home. — Then why abroad .'' 
 And they themselves, once ferried oer the wave 
 That parts us, are emancipate and loosd. 
 Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs 40 
 Receive our air, that moment they are free : 
 They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 
 That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
 And jealous of the blessing. Spread it, then, 
 And let it circulate through ev'ry vein 45 
 
 Of all your empire ; that, where Britain's pow'r 
 Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. 
 Sure there is need of social intercourse,
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. '31 
 
 Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid, 
 Between the nations, in a world that seems 50 
 
 To toll the death-bell of its own decease, 
 And by the voice of all its elements 
 To preach the gen'ral doom* When were the winds 
 Let slip with such a warrant to destroy ? 
 When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap 55 
 
 Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry ? 
 Fires from beneath, and nieteorst from above, 
 Portentous, unexampled, unexplain'd. 
 Have kindled beacons in the skies ; and th' old 
 And crazy Earth has had her shaking tits 60 
 
 More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. 
 Is it a time to wrangle, when the props 
 And pillars of our planet seem to fail, 
 And Nature with a dim and sickly eyet 
 To wait the close of all ? But grant her end 65. 
 
 More distant, and that prophecy demands 
 A longer respite, unacconiplisii'd yet ; 
 Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak 
 Displeasure in his breast who smites the Earth 
 Or heals it, makes it languish or rejoice. 70. 
 
 And 'tis but seemly, that, whire all deserve 
 And stand expos'd by common peccanc)^ 
 To what no few have felt, there should be peace, 
 And brethren in calamity should love. 
 
 Alas for Sicily ! rude fragments now T^o 
 
 Lie scatter'd, where the shapely columns stood. 
 Her palaces are dust. In all her streets 
 The voice of singing and the sprightly chord 
 Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show, 
 Suffer a syncope and solemn pause ; 80 
 
 While God performs upon the trembling stage 
 Of his own works his dreadful part alone. 
 How does the earth receive him 1 with what signs 
 
 * Alluding to the calamities in Jamaica, 
 t August, 18, 1783. 
 
 t Alluding- to the fog that covered both Europe and Asia 
 rfurins the whole gummer of 1783.
 
 1?2 THE TASK. 
 
 Of gratulallon and deliglit her king ': 
 
 Pours she not. all her choicest fruits abroad, 85 
 
 Her sweetest fiow'rs, her aromatick gums, 
 
 Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads ? 
 
 She quakes at his approach. Her hollow womb, 
 
 Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps 
 
 And fiery caverns roars beneath his foot. 90 
 
 The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke, 
 
 For lie has touchd them. From th' e.xtremest point 
 
 Of elevation down into the a])yss 
 
 His wrath is busy, and his frown is ^dt. 
 
 The rocks fall headlong, and the valley.s rise, 05 
 
 The rivers die into offensive pools, 
 
 And, charg'd with putrid verdure, hreatlic a gross 
 
 And mortal nuisance into ail the air. 
 
 What solid v/as, by transformation strange. 
 
 Grows fluid ; and tlie fix'd and rooted earth, 100 
 
 Tormented into ])illows, heaves and swells, 
 
 Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl 
 
 Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense 
 
 The tumult and tbe overthrow, the pangs 
 
 And agonies of human and of brute 105 
 
 Multitudes, fugitive on evry side. 
 
 And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene 
 
 Migrates uplifted : and, with all its soil 
 
 Alighting in far <listar.t fields, finds out 
 
 A new possessor, and survives the change. ] 10 
 
 Ocean has caught the frenzy, and, upwrought 
 
 To an enormous and o'erbcaring height. 
 
 Not by a migiity wind, but by that voice 
 
 Which winds and waves obey, invades tiie shore 
 
 Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, ^ 115 
 
 Upridg'd so high, and sent on such a charge, 
 
 Possess'd an inland scene. AViiere now the throng 
 
 That press'd the beach, and, hasty to depart, 
 
 Look'd to the sea for safety .^ They are gone, 
 
 Gone with the refluent wave into the deep — ISO 
 
 A prince v/ith half his people ' Ancient tow'rs,
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 33 
 
 And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes 
 
 Where beauty oft and letter'd worth consume 
 
 Life in the unproductive shades of death, 
 
 Fall prone : the pale inhabitants come forth, 1.25 
 
 And, happy in their unforeseen release 
 
 From all the rigours of restraint,, enjoy 
 
 The terrours of the day that sets them free. 
 
 Who, then, that has thee, would not hold thee fast, 
 
 Freedom ! whom they that lose thee so regret, 130 
 
 That een a judgment, making way for thee, 
 
 Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake ? 
 
 Such evil Sin hath wrought ; and such a flame 
 
 Kindled in Heav'n, that it burns down to Earth, 
 
 And in the furious inquest that it makes 135 
 
 On God's behalf, lays was.^ nis fairest works. 
 
 The very elements, though each be meant 
 
 The minister of man, to serve his wants, 
 
 Conspire against him. With his breath he draws 
 
 A plague into his blood ; and cannot use 140 
 
 Life's necessary means, but he must die. 
 
 Storms rise t' o'erwhelm him ; or if stormy winds 
 
 Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise, 
 
 And, needing none assistance of the storm, 
 
 Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there. 145. 
 
 The earth shall shake him out of all his holds, 
 
 Or make his house his grave : nor so content. 
 
 Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood, 
 
 And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs. 
 
 What then 1 — were they the wicked above all, 150 
 
 And we the righteous, whose fast-anchor'd isle 
 
 Mov'd not, while theirs was rock'd, like a light skiff, 
 
 The sport of every wave ? No ; none are clear, 
 
 And none than we more guilty. But, where all 
 
 Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts 155 
 
 Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark : 
 
 May punish, if he please, the less, to warn 
 
 The more malignant. If he spar'd not thenv,
 
 34 THE TASK. 
 
 Tremble and be amaz'd at thine escape, 
 
 Far guiltier England, lest he spare not thee ! 160 
 
 Happy the man, who sees a God employ'd 
 In all the good and ill that checker lite ! 
 Resolving all events, with their effects 
 And manifold results, into tlie will 
 And arbitration wise of the Supreme. 165 
 
 Did not his eye rule all things, and intend 
 The least of our concerns ; (since from the least 
 The greatest oft originate ;.) could chance 
 Find place in his dominion, or dispose 
 One lawless particle to tliwart his plan ; 170 
 
 Then God might be surprisd, and unforeseen 
 Contingencc might alarm him, and disturb 
 The smooth and equal course of his affairs. 
 This truth Philosophy, though eagle-ey'd 
 In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks ; 175 
 
 And, having found his instrument, forgets, 
 Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still, 
 Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims 
 His hot displeasure against foolish men, 
 That live an atheist life ; involves the Heavens 180 
 lu tempests ; quits his grasp upon the winds, 
 And gives them all their fury ; bids a plague 
 Kindle a fiery bile upon the skin, 
 And putrefy the breath of blooming Health. 
 He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend 185 
 
 Blows mildew from between his shrivell'd lips, 
 And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines, 
 And desolates a nation at a blast. 
 Forth steps the spruce Philosopher, and tells 
 Of homogeneal and discordant springs, 190 
 
 And principles ; of causes how they work 
 By necessary laws their sure effects 
 Of action and reaction : he has found 
 The source of the disease that nature feels, 
 And bids the world take heart and banish fear. 195
 
 THE TliME-PIECE. .3^ 
 
 Thou fool ? will thy discov'ry of the cause 
 Suspend th' effect, or heal it ? Has not God 
 Still wrought by means since first he made the world ? 
 And did he not of old employ his means 
 To drown it ? What is his creation less, 200 
 
 Than a capacious reservoir of means, 
 Form'd for his use, and ready at his will ? 
 Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve ; ask of Him, 
 Or ask of whomsoever he has taught ; 
 And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. 205 
 
 England, wnth all thy faults, I love thee still — 
 My country ! and, while yet a nook is left, 
 Where English minds and manners may be found, 
 Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime 
 Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd 210 
 
 With dripping rains, or wither 'd by a frost, 
 I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies. 
 And fields without a flow'r, for warmer France 
 With all her vines : nor for Ausonia's groves 
 Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bow'rs. 213 
 
 To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime 
 Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire 
 Upon thy foes, was never meant my task : 
 But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake 
 Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart 220 
 
 As any thund'rer there. And I can feel 
 Thy follies too ; and with a just disdain 
 Frown at effeminates, whose very looks 
 P^eflect dishonour on the land I love. 
 How in the name of soldiership and sense, 223 
 
 Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth 
 And tender as a girl, all essenc'd o'er 
 AViih odours, and as profligate as sweet ; 
 Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath, 
 And love when they should fight : when such as these 
 Presume to lay their hand upon the ark 231 
 
 Of her magnificent and awful cause ? 
 Time was v/hcn it was praise and boast enough
 
 30 THE TASK. 
 
 In every clime, and travel where we might, 
 
 That we were born her children. Praise enough 235 
 
 To fill th' ambition of a private man 
 
 That Chatliam's language was his mother-tongue, 
 
 And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. 
 
 Farewell those honours, and farewell with them 
 
 The hope of such hereafter ! They have fall'n 240 
 
 Each in his field of glory ; one in arms, 
 
 And one ni council — Wolfe upon the lap 
 
 Of smiling Victory that moment won, 
 
 And Chatham heart-sick of his country's shame I 
 
 They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still 245 
 
 Consulting England's happiness at home, 
 
 Secur'd it by an unforgiving frown, 
 
 If any wrongd her. Wolfe, where'er he fought, 
 
 Put so much of his heart into his act, 
 
 TJiat his example had a magnet's force, 250 
 
 And all were swift to follow whom all lov'd. 
 
 Those suns are set. O rise some other such ? 
 
 Or all that we have left is empty talk 
 
 Of old achievements and despair of new. 
 
 Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float 255 
 Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck 
 With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets, 
 That no rude savour maritime invade 
 The nose of nice nobility ! Breathe soft, 
 Ye clarionets ; and softer still, ye flutes ; 260 
 
 That winds and waters, lull'd by magick sounds, 
 May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore. 
 True, we have lost an empire — let it pass. 
 True, we may thank the perfidy of France, 
 That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown, 265 
 With all the cunning of an envious shrew. 
 And let that pass — 'twas but a trick of state— 
 A brave man knows no malice, but at once 
 Forgets in peace the injuries of war. 
 And gives his direst foe a friends embrace. 270 
 
 And sliam'd as we have been, to th' very beard
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 37 
 
 Brav'd and defied, and in our own sea provd 
 Too weak for those decisive blows that once 
 Ensur'd us mast'ry tliere, we yet retain 
 Some small pre-eminence ; we justly boast 27i 
 
 At least superiour jockeyship, and claim 
 The honours of the turf as all our own ! 
 Go, then, well worthy of the praise ye seek, 
 And show the shame ye niight conceal at home, 
 In foreign eyes ! — be grooms and win the plate, 2b0 
 Where once your nobler fathers won a crown ' — 
 'Tis gen'rous to communicate }t»ur skill 
 To those that need it. Folly is soon learn'd : 
 And under such preceptors who can fail .' 
 
 There is a pleasure in poetick pains, 2S5 
 
 Which only poets know. The shifts and turns, 
 Th' expedients and inventions multiform. 
 To which the mind resorts, in chase of terms, 
 Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win — 
 T' arrest the fleeting images, that fill 230 
 
 The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast, 
 And force them sit, till he has pencil'd oft' 
 A faithful lilieness of the forms he views ; 
 Then to dispose iiis copies with such art, 
 That each may find its most propitious light, 295 
 
 And shine by situation, hardly less 
 Than by the labour and the skill it cost ; 
 Are occupations of the poet's mind 
 So pleasing, and that steal away the thought, 
 With such address from themes of sad import, 30O 
 That, lost in his own musings, happy man 1 
 He feels the anxieties of life denied 
 Their wonted entertainment ; all retire. 
 Such joys has he that sings. But ah ! not such, 
 Or seldom such, the hearers of his song. 305 
 
 Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps 
 Aware of nothing arduous in a task 
 They never undertook, they little note 
 His dangers or escapes, and haplv find 
 
 Vol. H 4 ' "
 
 38 THE TASK. 
 
 Their least amusement where he found the most. 310 
 
 But is amusement all ? Studious of song, 
 
 And yet ambitious not to sing in vain, 
 
 I would not trifle merely, though the world 
 
 Be loudest in their praise who do no more. 
 
 Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay ? 315 
 
 It may correct a foible, may chastise 
 
 The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress, 
 
 Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch; 
 
 But where are its sublimer trophies found ? 
 
 What vice has it subdued .'' whose heart reclaim'd 320 
 
 By rigour, or whom laugh'd into reform.'' 
 
 Alas ! Leviathan is not so tam'd : 
 
 Laughd at, he laughs again ; and stricken hard, 
 
 Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales, 
 
 That fear no discipline of human hands. 325 
 
 The pulpit, therefore — (and I name it fill'd 
 With solemn awe, that bids me well beware 
 With what intent I touch that holy thing) — 
 The pulpit — (when the safrist has at last, 
 Strutting and vapring in an empty school, 330 
 
 Spent all his force, and made no proselyte^ 
 I say the pulpit (in the sober use 
 Of its legitimate peculiar pow'rs) 
 Must stand acknowledg'd, while the world shall stand, 
 The most important and effectual guard, 335 
 
 Support, and ornament, of Virtues cause. 
 There stands the messenger of truth ; there stands 
 The legate of the skies I — His theme divine, 
 His office sacred, his credentials clear. 
 By him the violated law speaks out 340 
 
 Its thunders : and by him, in strains as sweet 
 As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace. 
 He 'stablishes the strong, restores the weak. 
 Reclaims the wand'rer, binds the broken heart, 
 And, arm'd himself in panoply complete 345 
 
 Of heav'nly temper, furnishes with arms 
 Bright as his own, and trains, by every rule
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 39 
 
 Of holy discipline, to glorious war 
 The sacramental host of God's elect : 349 
 
 Are all such teachers ? — would to Heav'n all were ! 
 But hark — the doctors voice I — fast wedg'd between 
 Two empiricks he stands, and with swoln cheeks • 
 Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far 
 Than all invective is his bold harangue, 
 While through that publick organ of report 355 
 
 He hails the clergy ; and, defying shame. 
 Announces to the world his own and theirs ! 
 He teaches those to read whom schools dismiss'd, 
 And colleges, untaught : sells accent, tone, 
 And emphasis in score, and gives to pray'r 360 
 
 Th' adagio and andante it demands. 
 He grinds divinity of other days 
 Down into modern use ; transforms old print 
 To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes 
 Of gall'ry critics by a thousand arts. 365 
 
 Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware .'' 
 O, name it not in Gath ! — it cannot be, 
 That grave and learned clerks should need such aid. 
 He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll, 
 Assuming thus a rank unknown before — 370 
 
 Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the church ! 
 I venerate the man, whose heart is warm. 
 Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, 
 Coincident, exhibit lucid proof 
 
 That he is honest in the sacred cause. 375 
 
 To such I render more than mere respect, 
 Whose actions say that they respect themselves. 
 But loose in morals and in manners vain. 
 In conversation frivolous, in dress 
 Extreme at once rapacious and profuse ; 380 
 
 Frequent in park with lady at his side, 
 Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes ; 
 But rare at home, and never at his books, 
 Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card ; 
 Constant at routSj familiar with a round 385
 
 40 THE TASK 
 
 Of ladyships, a stranger to tlie poor ; 
 
 Ambitious of preferment for its gold, 
 
 And well prepar'd, by ignorance and sloth, 
 
 B}' infidelity and love of world, 
 
 To make God's work a sinecure ; a slave 390 
 
 To his own pleasures and his patron's pride ', 
 
 From such apostles, O ye mitred heads, 
 
 Preserve tlie church ! and lay not careless hands 
 
 On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn. 
 
 Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, 395 
 
 "Were he on Earth, would hear, approve, and own, 
 Paul should himself direct me. I would trace 
 His master-strokes, and draw from his design. 
 I would express him simple, grave, sincere ; 
 In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain, 400 
 
 And plain in manner ; decent, solemn, chaste, 
 And natural in gesture ; much impress'd 
 Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, 
 And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds 
 May feel it too ; affectionate in look, 405 
 
 And tender in address, as well becomes 
 A messenger of grace to guilty men. 
 Behold the picture ! — Is it like ? — Like whom ? 
 The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, 
 And then skip down again ; pronounce a text ; 410 
 Cry — hem ; and, reading what they never wrote 
 Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, 
 And with a well-bred whisper close the scene ! 
 
 In man or woman, but Jar most in man, 
 And most of all in man that ministers 415 
 
 And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe 
 All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn ; 
 Object of my implacable disgust. 
 What ! — will a man play tricks — v.'ill he indulge 
 A silly fond conceit of his fair form, 430 
 
 And just proportion, fashionable mien. 
 And pretty face, in presence of his God ? 
 Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes,
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 41 
 
 As with the diamond on his lily hand, 
 And play his brilliant parts before my eyes, 425 
 
 When I am hungry for the bread of life ? 
 He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
 His noble office, and, instead of truth. 
 Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock. 
 Therefore avaunt all attitude and stare, 430 
 
 And start theatrick. practis"d at the glass ! 
 I seek divine r-implicity in liim 
 Who handles things divine ; and all besides, 
 Though learn d with labour, and though much admit a 
 By curious eyes and judgments ill-inform'd, 435 
 
 To me is odious as the nasal twang 
 Heard at conventicle where worthy men, 
 Mi-sled by custom, strain celestial themes 
 Through the press'd nostril, spectacle-bestrid. 
 Some, decent in demeanour while they preach, 440 
 That task perform'd, relapse into themselves ; 
 And, having spoken wisely, at the close 
 Grow wanton, and give proof to ev'ry eye, 
 Whoe'er was edify 'd, themselves were not ! 
 Forth comes the pocket-mirror. First we stroke 445 
 An eyebrow ; next compose a straggling lock ; 
 Then with an air most gracefully perform'd, 
 Fall back into our seat, extend an arm. 
 And lay it at its ease with gentle care, 
 With handkerchief in hand depending low ; 450 
 
 The better hand more busy gives the nose 
 Its bergamot, or aids th' indebted eye 
 With op'ra glass, to watch the moving scene, 
 And recognise the slow retiring fair. — 
 Now this is fulsome ; and offends me more 455 
 
 Than in a churchman slovenly neglect 
 And rustic coarseness would. A heavenly mind 
 May be indifFrent to her house of clay. 
 And slight the hovel as beneath her care ; 
 But how a body so fantastic, trim, 460 
 
 4«
 
 42 THE TASK. 
 
 And quaint, in its deportment and attire, 
 Can lodge a heav'nly mind — demands a doubt. 
 
 He that negotiates between God and man, 
 As God's ambassador, the grand concerns 
 Of judgment and of mercy, should beware 465 
 
 Of lightness in his si>eech. 'Tis pitiful 
 To court a grin, when you should woo a soul : 
 To break a jest, when pity would inspire 
 Pathetick exhortation ; and t' address 
 The skittish fanc}'' w:th facetious tales, 470 
 
 When sent with God's commission to the heart ! 
 So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip 
 Or merry turn in all he ever wrote, 
 And I consent you take it for 3'our test, 
 Your only one, till sides and benches fail. 475 
 
 ISo : he was serious in a serious cause, 
 And understood too well the weighty terms. 
 That he had ta'on in charge. He would not stoop 
 To conquer those by jocular exploits, 
 Whom truth and soberness assail'd in vain. 480 
 
 O Popular Applause ! what heart of man 
 Is proof against thy sweet seducing cliarms .' 
 The wisest and the best feel urgent need 
 Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales ; 
 But swell'd into a gust — who. then, alas ! 485 
 
 With all his canvass set, and inexpert, 
 And therefore heedless, can withstand thy pow'r ? 
 Praise from the rivell'd lips of toothless, bald 
 Decrepitude, and in the looks of lean 
 And craving Poverty, and in the bow 490 
 
 Respectful of the smutch'd artificer. 
 Is oft too welcome and may much disturb 
 The bias of the purpose. 17 ow much more, 
 Pour'd forth by beauty splendid and polite, 
 In language soft as Adoration breathes 'f 495 
 
 Ah, spare your idol, think him human still. 
 Charms he may have, but he has frailties too ! 
 Dote not too much nor spoil what ye admire.
 
 THE TLME-PIECE. 43 
 
 All truth is from the sempiternal source 
 Of light divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome, 500 
 Drew from the stream below. More favour 'd, we 
 Drink when we choose it, at the fountain head. 
 To them it flowd much mingled and defil'd 
 With hurtful errour, prejudice, and dreams 
 Illusive of philosophy, so calld, 505 
 
 But falsely. Sages after sa^^es strove 
 In vain to filter otf a crystal draught 
 Pure from the lees, which often more enhanc'd 
 The thirst than slakd it, and not seldom bred 
 Intoxication and delirium wild. 510 
 
 In vain they push'd inquiry to the birth 
 And spring-time of the world ; ask'd, Whence is man ? 
 Why formd at all ' and wherefore as he is ? 
 Where must he find his maker ? with what rites 
 Adore him .' Will he hear, accept, and bless .^ 515 
 
 Or does he sit regardless of his works .'' 
 Has man within him an immortal seed .'' 
 Or does the tomb take all .' If he survive 
 His ashes, where .'' and in what weal or wo .' 
 Knots worthy of solution, which alone 520 
 
 A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague 
 And all at random, fabulous and dark. 
 Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life 
 Defective and unsanctiond, provd too weak 
 To bind the roving appetite, and lead 525 
 
 Blind nature to a God not yet reveal'd. 
 'Tis Revelation satisfies all doubts, 
 Explains all mysteries, except her own, 
 And so illuminates the path of life 
 That fools discover it, and stray no more. 530 
 
 Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir, 
 My man of morale, nurlur'd in the shades 
 Of Academus — is this false or true ? 
 Is Christ the abler teacher or the schools 
 If Christ, then why resort at ev'ry turn 535 
 
 To Athens, or to Rome, for wisdom shore
 
 44 THE TASK. 
 
 Of man's occasions, when in him reside 
 
 Grace, knowledge, comfort — an unfathom'd store ? 
 
 How oft, when Paul has serv'd us with a text, 
 
 Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preach'd ! 540 
 
 Men that, if now alive, would sit content 
 
 And humble learners of a Saviour's worth. 
 
 Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth, 
 
 Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too. 
 
 And thus it is. — The pastor, either vain 545 
 
 hy nature, or by flatt'ry made so, taught 
 To gaze at his own splendour, and t' exalt 
 Absurdly, not his office, but himself; 
 Or unenlighten d and too proud to learn; 
 Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach } 550 
 
 Perverting often by the stress ot lewd 
 And loose example, whom he should instruct ; 
 Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace, 
 The noblest function, and discredits much 
 The brightest truths that man has ever seen. 555 
 
 For ghostly counsel ; if it either fall 
 Below the exigence, or be not back'd 
 With show of love, at least with hopeful proof 
 Of some sincerity on the giver's part ; 
 Or be dishonour'd in th' exteriour form 560 
 
 And mode of its conveyance, by such tricks 
 As move derision, or by foppish airs 
 And histrionick mumm'ry that let down 
 The pulpit to the level of the stage ; 
 Drops from the lips a disregarded thing. 565 
 
 The weak perhaps are mov'd, but are not taught 
 While prejudice in men of stronger minds 
 Takes deeper root, confirmed by what they see 
 A relaxation of religion's hold 
 
 Upon the roving and untutor'd heart 570 
 
 Soon follows, and, the curb of conscience snappd 
 The laity run wild. But do they now -" 
 Note their extravagance, and be convinc'd. 
 
 As nations, ignorant of God, contrive
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 45 
 
 A wooden one : so we, no longer taught 575 
 
 By monitors, that mother church supplies, 
 Now make our own. Posterity will ask, 
 (If e'er posterity see verse of mine,) 
 Some fifty or a hundred lustrums hence. 
 What was a monitor in George's days .' 580 
 
 My very gentle reader, yet unborn, 
 Of whom I needs must augur better things, 
 Since Heav'n would sure grow weary of a. world 
 Productive only of a race like uurs, 
 A monitor is v/ocd — plank sharcn thin. 585 
 
 We wear it at our backs. There, closely brac'd 
 And neatly fitted, it compresses hard 
 The prominent and most unsightly bones, 
 And binds the shoulder flat. We prove its use 
 Sov'reign and most effectual to secure 590 
 
 A form, not nov/ gymnastick as of yore, 
 From rickets, and distortion, else our lot. 
 But thus admonish'd, we can walk erect — 
 One proof at least of manliood ! while the friend 
 Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his charge. 595 
 
 Our habits, costlier than Lucullus wore, 
 And by caprice as multiplied as his. 
 Just please us while the fashion is at full, 
 But change with ev'ry moon. The sycophant, 
 Who waits to diess us, arbitrates their date ; 600 
 
 Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye ; 
 Finds one ill made, another obsolete, ' 
 
 This fits not nicely, that is ill conceiv'd; 
 And, making prize of all that he condemns, 
 With our expenditure defrays his own. 605 
 
 Variety's the very spice of life. 
 That gives it all its flavour. We have run 
 Through ev'ry change, that Fancy at the loom 
 Exhausted, has had genius to supply ; 
 And studious of mutation still, discard 610 
 
 A real elegance, a little us'd, 
 For monstrous novelty and strange disguise.
 
 4G THE TASK. 
 
 We sacrifice to dress, till household joys 
 
 And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, 
 
 And keeps our larder lean ; puts out our fires; 615 
 
 And introduces hunger, frost, and wo, 
 
 Where peace and hospitality might reign. 
 
 What man that lives, and that knows how to live, 
 
 Would fail t' exhibit at the publick shows 
 
 A form as splendid as the proudest there, 620 
 
 Though appetite raise outcries at the cost ? 
 
 A man o' th' town dines late, but soon enough, 
 
 With reasonable forecast and despatch, 
 
 T' ensure a side-box station at half price. 
 
 You think, perhaps, so delicate his dress, 625 
 
 His daily fare as delicate Alas ! 
 
 He picks clean teeth, and, busy as he seems 
 
 With an old tavern quill, is hungry yet ! 
 
 The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws 
 
 With magick wand. So potent is the spell, 630 
 
 That none, decoy'd into that fatal ring. 
 
 Unless by Heav'n's peculiar grace, escape. 
 
 There we grow early gray, but never wise ; 
 
 There form connexions, but acquire no friend ; 
 
 Solicit pleasure hopeless of success ; 635 
 
 Waste youth in occupations only fit 
 
 For second childhood, and devote old age 
 
 To sports, which only childhood could excuse. 
 
 There, they are happiest who dissemble best 
 
 Their weariness ; and they the most polite 640 
 
 Who squander time and treasure with a smile. 
 
 Though at their own destruction. She that asks 
 
 Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, 
 
 And hates their coming. They (what can they less .') 
 
 Make just reprisals ; and with cringe and shrug, 645 
 
 And bow obsequious, hide their hate of her. 
 
 All catch the frenzy, downward from her grace, 
 
 Whose flambeaux flash against the morning skies, 
 
 And gild our chamber ceilings as they pass, 
 
 To her, v;ho, frugal only that her thrift 650
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 47 
 
 May feed excesses she can ill afford, 
 
 Is hackney "d home unlackey'd ; who, in haste 
 
 Alighting, turns the key in her own door, 
 
 And, at the watchman's lantern borrowing hght, 
 
 Finds a cold bed her only comfort left. G55 
 
 Wives beggar husbands, husbands starve their wives. 
 
 On Fortune's velvet altar off ring up 
 
 Their last poor pittance — Fortune, most severe 
 
 Of goddesses yet known, and costlier far 
 
 Than all that held their routs in Juno's Heav'n. — 660 
 
 So fare we in this prison-house, the World ; 
 
 And 'tis a fearful spectacle to see 
 
 So many maniacks dancing in their chains. 
 
 They gaze upon the links, that hold them fast, 
 
 With eyes of anguish, execrate their lot, 065 
 
 Then shake them in despair, and dance again I 
 
 Now basket up the family of plagues. 
 That waste our vitals ; peculation, sale 
 Of honour, perjury, corruption, frauds 
 By forgery, by subterfuge of law, 670 
 
 By tricks and lies as num'rous and as keen 
 As the necessities their authors feel : 
 Then cast them, closely bundled, ev'ry brat 
 At the right door. Profusion is the sire. 
 Profusion unrestrain'd, with all that's base 675 
 
 In character, has litter'd all the land. 
 And bred, within the mem'ry of no few, 
 A priesthood, such as Baals was of old, 
 A people, such as never was till now. 
 It is a hungry vice : — it eats up all 680 
 
 That gives society its beauty, strength, 
 Convenience, security, and use : 
 Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapp'd 
 And gibbeted, as fast as catchpole claws 
 Can seize the slippery prey : unties the knot 685 
 
 Of union, and converts the sacred band 
 That holds mankind together, to a scourge. 
 Profiision dclnnrinfr a state wltli lusts
 
 48 THE TASK. 
 
 Of grossest nature and of worst effects, 
 
 Prepares it for its ruin : hardens, blinds, 690 
 
 And warps, the consciences of publick men. 
 
 Till they can laugh at Virtue ; mock the fools 
 
 That trust them ; and in th' end disclose a face, 
 
 That would have sliock'd Credulity herself. 
 
 Unmask'd, vouchsafing this their sole excuse — 695 
 
 Since all alike are selfish, why not they ? 
 
 This does Profusion, and th' accursed cause 
 
 Of such deep mischief has itself a cause. 
 
 In colleges and halls in ancient days, 
 When learning, virtue, piety, aiid truth, 700 
 
 Were precious and inculcated with care, 
 There dwelt a sage calFd Discipline, His head, 
 Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er, 
 Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youtli, 
 But strong for service still, and unimpaird. 705 
 
 His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile 
 Play'd on his lips ; and in his speech was heard 
 Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love. 
 The occupation dearest to his heart 
 Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke 710 
 The head of modest and ingenious worth, 
 That blush'd at his own praise : and press the youtlj 
 Close to his side that pleasd him. Learning grew 
 Beneath iiis care, a thriving vig'rous plant ; 
 The mind was well informed, the passions held 715 
 Subordinate, and diligence was choice. 
 If e'er it chanc'd, as sometimes chance it must, 
 That one among so many overleap 'd 
 The limits of control, his gentle eye 
 Grew stern, and darted a severe rebultc ; 720 
 
 His frown was full of terrour, and his voice 
 Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe, 
 As left him not, till penitence had won 
 Lost favour back again, and clos'd the breach. 
 But Discipline, a faithful servant long, 725 
 
 Declin'd at lerff^h into the vale of vcars •
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 49 
 
 A palsy struck his arm ; his sparkhng eye 
 Was quenclied in rheums of age ; his voice, unstrung, 
 Grew tremulous, and movd derision more 
 Than rev'reucc, in perverse rebeUious youth. 730 
 
 So colleges and halls neglected much 
 Their good old friend ; and Discipline at length, 
 0'erlook"d and unemploy"d, fell sick and died. 
 Then Study languished, Emulation slept, 
 And Virtue fled. The schools became a scene 735 
 Of solemn farce, where Ignorance in stilts, 
 His cap well lind with logick not his own, 
 With parrot tongue perform 'd the scholar's part, 
 Proceeding soon a graduated dunce. 
 Then compromise had place, and scrutiny 740 
 
 Became stone blind ; precedence went in trucit, 
 And he was competent whose purse was so. 
 A dissolution of all bonds ensued ; 
 The curbs invented for the mulish mouth 
 Of headstrong youth were broken ; bars and bolts 745 
 Grew rusty by disuse ; and massy gates 
 Forgot their office, op'ning with a touch ; 
 Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade, 
 The tassel'd cap and the spruce band a jest, 
 A mock'ry of the world ! What need of these 750 
 
 For gamesters, jockeys, brothelers impure. 
 Spendthrifts, and booted sportsmen, oft'ner seen 
 With belted waist and pointers at their heels, 
 Than in the bounds of duty ? What was learn'd, 
 If aught was learn'd in childhood, is forgot : 755 
 
 And such expense, as pinches parents blue, 
 And mortifies the lib'ral hand of love, 
 Is squander'd in pursuit of idle sports 
 And vicious pleasures ; buys the boy a name 
 That sits a stigma on his father's house, 760 
 
 And cleaves through life inseparably close 
 To him that wears it. What can after games 
 Of riper joys, and commerce with the vrorld, 
 Vor. If.
 
 oO THE TASK. 
 
 The lewd vain world, that must receive him soon, 
 
 Add to such erudition, thus acquired, 765 
 
 Where science and where virtue are professed .'' 
 
 They may confirm his habits, rivet fast 
 
 His folly, but to spoil him is a task 
 
 That bids defiance to th' united powers 
 
 Of fashion, dissipation, taverns, stews. 770 
 
 Now blame we most the nurselings or the nurse .'' 
 
 The children crookd, and twisted, and deform'd, 
 
 Through want of care ; or her, whose winking eye 
 
 And slumb'ring oscitancy mars the brood ? 
 
 The nurse, no doubt. Ptegardiess of her charge, 775 
 
 She needs herself correction ; needs to learn 
 
 That it is dang'rous sporting with the world, 
 
 With things so sacred as a nation's trust, 
 
 The nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge. 
 
 All are not such. I had a brother once — 780 
 
 Peace to the memory of a man of worth, 
 A man of letters, and of manners too ! 
 Of manners sweet as Virtue always wears, 
 When gay good-natured dresses her in smiles. 
 He grac'd a college,* in which order yet 785 
 
 Was sacred ; and was honour'd, lov'd, and wept 
 By more than one, themselves conspicuous there. 
 Some minds are temper'd happily, and mix'd 
 With such ingredients of good sense, and taste 
 Of what is excellent in man, they thirst 790 
 
 With such a zeal to be what they approve, 
 That no restraints can circumscribe them more 
 Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom's sake. 
 Nor can example hurt them ; what they see 
 Of vice ir others but enhancing more 795 
 
 The charms of virtue in their just esteem. 
 If such escape contagion, and emerge 
 Pure from so foul a pool to shine abroad, 
 And give the world their talents and themselves, 
 
 Bcne't Coll. Cambridge.
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 51 
 
 Small thanks to those whose necrligence or sloth 800 
 Expos'd their inexperience to tlie snare, 
 And left them to an undirected choice. 
 
 See then the quiver broken and decay'd, 
 In which are kept our arrows ! Rusting there 
 In wild disorder, and unlit for use, 805 
 
 What wonder, if dischargd into the world, 
 They shame their shooters with a random flight, 
 Their points obtuse, and feathers drunk with wine ! 
 Well may the church wage unsuccessful war 
 With such artillry arm'd. Vice parries wide 810 
 
 Th' undreaded volley with a sword of straw, 
 And stands an impudent and fearless mark. 
 
 Have we not track'd the felon home, and found 
 His birthplace and his dam .-' The country mourns, 
 Mourns because ev'ry plague that can infest 815 
 
 Society, and that saps and worms the base 
 Of th' edifice that policy has rais'd, 
 Swarms in all quarters : meets the eye, the ear, 
 And suffocates the breath at ev'ry turn. 
 Profusion breeds them ; and the cause itself 820 
 
 Of that calamitous mischief has been found : 
 Found, too, where most offensive, in the skirts 
 Of the rob'd pedagogue ! Else let th' arraign'd 
 Stand up unconscious, and refute the charge. 
 So when the Jewish leader stretch 'd his arm, 825 
 
 And wav'd his rod divine, a race obscene, 
 Spav/n'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forfTi, 
 Polluting Egypt : gardens, fields, and plains. 
 Were cover'd with the pest ; the streets were fill'd ; 
 The croaking nuisance lurk'd in ev'ry nook ; 830 
 
 Nor palaces, nor even chambers, 'scap'd ; 
 And the land stank — so num'rous was the fry.
 
 THE TASK. 
 
 - ' -^ 
 
 THE GARDEN. 
 
 ARGUMENT OF THE THIRD BOOK. 
 
 Self-recollection, and reproof— Address to domestick Lappiness — 
 Some account of myself — The vanity of many of their pursuits, 
 who are reputed wise — Justification of my censures — Divine il- 
 lumination necessary to the most expert philosopher. — The ques- 
 tion, What is truth ' answered by other questions — Domestick 
 happiness addressed again — Few lovers of the country — My tame 
 hare — Occupations of a retired gentleman in his garden — Pruning 
 — Framing-— Greenhouse — Sowing of flower seeds — Tlie country 
 preferable to the town even in the winter — Reasons why it is 
 deserted at that season — Ruinous effects of gaming and of ex- 
 pensive improvement — Book concludes with an apostrophe to the 
 metropolis. 
 
 AS one, who long in thickets and in brakes 
 
 Entangled, winds now this way and now that 
 
 His devious course uncertain, seeking home; 
 
 Or, having long in miry ways been foil'd 
 
 And sore discomfited, from slough to slough 5 
 
 Plunging, and half despairing of escape ; 
 
 If chance at length he find a greensward smooth 
 
 And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise, 
 
 He cherups brisk his ear-erecting steed, 
 
 And winds his way with pleasure and with ease ! 10 
 
 So I, designing other themes, and call'd 
 
 T' adorn the Sofa with eulogium due,
 
 THE GARDEN. 53 
 
 To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreamSj 
 
 Have rambled wide. In country, city, scat 
 
 Of academick fame, (howe'er deserv'd.) 15 
 
 Long held, and scarcely disengag'd at last : 
 
 But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road 
 
 I mean to tread. I feel myself at large, 
 
 Courageous, and refresh 'd lor future toil, 
 
 If toil await me, or if dangers new. 20 
 
 Since pulpits fail, and sounding boards reflect 
 Most part an empty ineffectual sound, 
 What chance that I, to fame so little known, 
 Nor conversant with men or manners much, 
 Should speak to purpose, or with better hope 25 
 
 Crack the satirick thong 'i 'Twere wiser far 
 For m.e, enamour'd of sequestcr'd scenes, 
 And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose 
 Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine, 
 My languid limbs ; when summer sears the plains ; 30 
 Or, when rough winter rages, on the soft 
 And shelter'd Sofa, while the nitrous air 
 Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth ; 
 There, undisturbd by Folly, and apprizd 
 How great the danger of disturbing her, 35 
 
 To muse in silence, or at least confine 
 Remarks, that gall so many, to the few 
 My partners in retreat. Disgust conceal'd 
 Is ofttimes proof of wisdom, when the fault 
 Ts obstinate, and cure beyond our reach. 40 
 
 Domestick happiness, thou only bliss 
 Of Paradise, that has surviv'd the fall ! 
 Though few now taste thee unimpfiird .and pure, 
 Or tasting, long enjoy thee ! too infirm, 
 Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets 45 
 
 Unmix"d with drops of bitter, which neglect 
 Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup ; 
 Thou art the nurse of Virtue — in thine arms 
 She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is, 
 Heav'n-born, and destin'd to the skies acrain. 50
 
 54 THE TASK. 
 
 Thou art n-ot known where Pleasure is ador d, 
 
 That reeling goddess, with the zoneless waist 
 
 And wand'ring eyes, still leaning on the arm 
 
 Of Novelty, her fickle, frail support ; 
 
 For thou art meek and constant, hating change, 55 
 
 And finding in the calm of truth-tried love, 
 
 Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. 
 
 Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made 
 
 Of honour, dignity, and fair renown ! 
 
 Till prostitution elbows us aside 60 
 
 In all our crowded streets ; and senates seem 
 
 Conven'd for purposes of empire less 
 
 Than to release the adultress from her bond. 
 
 Th' adulfress ! what a tlieme for angry verse ! 
 
 What provocation to th' indignant heart, C5 
 
 That feels for injur'd love ! but I disdain 
 
 The nauseous task to paint her as she is. 
 
 Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame ? 
 
 No : — let her pass, and, charioted along 
 
 In guilty splendour, shake the publick ways ; 70 
 
 The frequency of crimes has washd them white, 
 
 And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch, 
 
 Whom matrons now of character unsmirch'd 
 
 And chaste themselves, are not asham'd to own. 
 
 Virtue and vice had boundaries in old time, 75 
 
 Not to be pass'd : and she that had renounced 
 
 Her sex's honour, was renounc'd herself 
 
 By all that priz'd it ; not for prud'ry"s sake 
 
 But dignity's, resentful of the wrong. 
 
 'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif, 80 
 
 Desirous to return and not received : 
 
 But was a wholesome rigour in the main. 
 
 And taught th' unblemish'd to preserve with care 
 
 That purity, whose loss was loss of all. 
 
 Men too were nice in honour in those days, 85 
 
 And judg'd offenders well. Tlian he that sharp'd, 
 
 And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain'd. 
 
 Was mark'd and shunn'd as odinu;;. He that sold
 
 THE GARDEN. 55 
 
 His country, or was slack when she requird 
 
 His ev'ry nerve in action and at stretch, 90 
 
 Paid with the blood that he had basely spar'd 
 
 The price of his default. But now — yes, now 
 
 We are become so candid and so fair 
 
 So lib'ral in construction, and so rich 
 
 In christian charity, (good natur'd age !) 95 
 
 That they are safe ; sinners of either sex 
 
 Transgress what laws they may. Well dress'd, well 
 
 bred. 
 Well equipagd, is ticket good enough, 
 To pass as readily through ev'ry door. 
 Hypocrisy, detest her as w^e may, 100 
 
 (And no man s hatred ever wrongd her yet, 
 May claim this merit still — that she admits 
 The vi?^orth of what she mimicks, with such care, 
 -And thus gives virtue indirect applause ; 
 But she has burnt her mask, not needed here, 105 
 
 Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts 
 And specious semblances have lost their use. 
 
 I was a stricken deer, that left the herd 
 Long since. With many an arrow deep infix 'd 
 My panting side was charg'd, when I withdrew 110 
 To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 
 There was I found by one who had himself 
 Been hurt by th' archers. In his side he bore, 
 And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. 
 With gentle force soliciting the darts, 115 
 
 He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade me live. 
 Since then, with few associates, in remote 
 And silent woods I wander, far from those 
 My former partners of the peopled scene ; 
 With few associates, and not wishing mors. 120 
 
 Here much 1 ruminate, as much I may. 
 With other views of men and manners now 
 Than once, and others of a life to come ■ 
 I pee that all are wandrers, gone astray 
 Each in his own delusions ; they are lost IS9
 
 56 THE TASK. 
 
 In chase of fancied happiness, still wood 
 
 And never won. Dream after dream ensues ; 
 
 And still they dream that they shall still succeed. 
 
 And still are disappointed. Rings the world 
 
 With the vain si ir. I sum up hail mankind 130 
 
 And add two thirds of the remaining half, 
 
 And find the total of their hopes and fears 
 
 Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay, 
 
 As if created only like the fiy. 
 
 That spreads his motley wings in th' eye of noon, 135 
 
 To sport their season, and be seen no more. 
 
 The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise, 
 
 And pregnant with discoveries new and rare. 
 
 Some write a narrative of wars, and feats 
 
 Of heroes little known ; and call the rant 140 
 
 A history : describe the man, of whom 
 
 His own coevals took but little note. 
 
 And paint his person, character, and views, 
 
 As they had known him from his mother's womb. 
 
 They disentangle from the puzzled skein, 145- 
 
 In which obscurity has wrapp'd them up. 
 
 The threads of politick and shrewd design. 
 
 That ran through all his purposes, and charge 
 
 His mind with meanings that he never had. 
 
 Or, having, kept conceaFd. Some drill and bore 150 
 
 The solid earth, and from the strata there 
 
 Extract a register, by which we learn, 
 
 That he who made it and reveal'd its date 
 
 To Moses, was mistaken in its age. 
 
 Some, more acute, and more industrious still, 155 
 
 Contrive creation ; travel nature up 
 
 To the sharp peak of her sublimest height, 
 
 And teil us whence the stors; why some are fix'd. 
 
 And planetary some ; what gave them first 
 
 Rotation, from what fountain flow'd their light. 160 
 
 Great contest follov.'s, and much learned dust 
 
 Involves the combatants ; each claiming truth. 
 
 And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend
 
 THE GARDEN. 57 
 
 The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp 
 In playing tricks with nature, giving laws 165 
 
 To distant worlds, and trifling in their own. 
 Is't not a pity now, that tickling rheums 
 Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight 
 Of oracles like these ? Great pity, too, 
 That having wielded th' elements, and built 170 
 
 A thousand systems, each in his own way, 
 They should go out in fume, and be forgot ! 
 Ah ! what is life thus spent ? and what are they 
 But frantick, who thus spend it .'' all for smoke — 
 Eternity for bubbles, proves at last 175 
 
 A senseless bargain. When 1 see such games 
 Playd by the creatures of a pow'r who swears 
 That he will judge the Earth, and call the fool 
 To a sharp reck'ning, that has livd in vain ; 
 And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well, 180 
 
 -And prove it in th' infallible result 
 So hollow and so false — I feel my heart 
 Dissolve in pity, and account the learn'd, 
 If this be learning, most of ali deceiv d. 
 Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps, 185 
 "While thoughtful man is plausibly amused. 
 Defend me, therefore, common sense, say I, 
 From reveries so airy, from the toil 
 Of dropping buckets into empty wells, 
 And growing old in drawing nothing up ! 190 
 
 'Twere well, says one. sage, erudite, profound 
 Terribly arch'd and aquiline his nose, 
 And overbuilt with most impending brows, 
 'Twere well, could you permit the World to live 
 As the world pleases : what's the World to you .'' 193 
 Much. I was uorn of woman, and drew milk 
 As sweet as charity from human breasts. 
 I think, articulate — I laugh and weep, 
 And exercise all functions of a man. 
 How then should I and any man that lives 200 
 
 IBe strangers to each other ? Pierce my vein,
 
 58 THE TASK. 
 
 Take of the crimson stream meand'ring there, 
 And catechise it well : apply thy glass, 
 Search it, and prove now if it be not blood 
 Congenial with thine own : and, if it be, 205 
 
 What edge of subtlety canst thou*€uppo9e 
 Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art. 
 To cut the link of brotherhood, by which 
 One common Maker bound me to the kind ? 
 True ; I am no proficient, I confess, 2J0 
 
 In arts like yours. I cannot call the swifl 
 And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds, 
 And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath ; 
 I cannot analyze the air, nor catch 
 The parallax of yonder luminous point, 215 
 
 That seems half quench'd in the immense abyss : 
 Such powers I boast not — neither can I rest 
 A silent witness of the headlong rage. 
 Or heedless folly, by which thousands die, 
 Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine. 220 
 
 God never meant that man should scale the Heav'ns 
 By strides of human wisdom. In his works, 
 Though wondrous, he commands us in his word 
 To seek him rather where his mercy shines. 
 The mind, indeed, enUghten'd from above, 225 
 
 Views him in all ; ascribes to the grand cause 
 The grand effect ; acknowledges with joy 
 His manner, and with rapture tastes his style. 
 But never yet did philosophick tube, 
 That brings the planets home into the eye 230 
 
 Of observation, and discovers, else 
 Not visible, his family of worlds. 
 Discover him that rules them ; such a veil 
 Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth, 
 And dark in things divine. Full often too, 235 
 
 Our wayward intellect, the more we learn 
 Of nature, overlooks her author more ; 
 From instrumental causes proud to draw 
 Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake.
 
 THE GARDEN. 59 
 
 But if his word once teach us — shoot a ray 240 
 
 Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal 
 Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light ; 
 Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptiz'd 
 In the pure fountain of eternal love, 
 Has eyes indeed ; and viewing all she sees 245 
 
 As meant to indicate a God to man, 
 Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own. 
 Xicarning has borne such fruit in other days 
 On all her branches : piety has found 
 Friends in the friends of science, and true pray'r 250 
 Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews. 
 Such was tlw wisdom, Newton, childlike sage ! 
 Sagacious reader of the works of God, 
 And in his word sagacious. Such, too, thine, 
 Milton, whose genius had angelick wings, 255 
 
 And fed on manna 1 And such thine, in whom 
 Our British Themis gloried with just cause, 
 Immortal Hale ! for deep discernment prais'd, 
 And sound integrity, not more than fam'd 
 For sanctity of manners undeiird. 260 
 
 All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades 
 Like the fair flow'r dishevell'd in the wind ; 
 Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream } 
 The man we celebrate must find a tomb, 
 And we that worship him, ignoble graves. 265 
 
 Nothing is proof against the gen'ral curse 
 Of vanity that seizes all below. 
 The only amaranthine flowr on earth 
 Is virtue ; th' only lasting treasure, truth. 
 But what is truth ? 'Twas Pilate's question put 270 
 To Truth itself, that deign 'd him no reply. 
 And wherefore ? will not God impart his light 
 To them that ask it .' — Freely — 'tis his joy, 
 Plis glory, and his nature, to impart. 
 But to the proud, uncandid, insincere, 275 
 
 Or negligent inquirer, not a spark. 
 "What's that wliic)) brings contempt upon a book,
 
 00 THE TASK. 
 
 And him who writes it, though the style be neat, 
 
 The method clear, and argument exact : 
 
 That makes a minister in holy tnings 280 
 
 The joy of many, and the dread of more. 
 
 His name a theme for praise and for reproach ? — 
 
 That, while it gives us worth in God's account, 
 
 Depreciates and undoes us in our own .'' 
 
 What pearl is it, that rich men cannot buy, 285 
 
 That learning is too proud to gather up ; 
 
 But which the poor, and the despis'd of all, 
 
 Seek and obtain, and often find unsought ; 
 
 Tell me — and I will tell thee what is truth. 
 
 O friendly to the best pursuits of man, 290 
 
 Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace ! 
 Domestick life in rural leisure pass'd ! 
 Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweets ; 
 Though many boast thy favours, and affect 
 To understand and choose thee for their own. 295 
 
 But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss, 
 E'en as his first progenitor, and quits, 
 Though plac'd in Paradise, (for earth has still, 
 Some traces of her youthful beauty left) 
 Substantial happiness for transient joy : 300 
 
 Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse 
 The growing seeds of v/isdom ; that suggest 
 By ev'ry pleasing image they present, 
 Reflections such as meliorate the heart, 
 Compose the passions, and exalt the mind ; 305 
 
 Scenes such as these 'tis his supreme delight 
 To fill with riot, and defile with blood. 
 Should some contagion, kind to the poor brutes 
 We persecute, annihilate the tribes 
 That draw the sportsman over hill and dale, 310 
 
 Fearless and wrapt away from all his cares ; 
 Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again, 
 Nor baited hook deceive the fish's eye ; 
 Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song, 
 Be quell'd in all our summer-months' retreats ; 315
 
 THE GARDEN. 61 
 
 How many self-deluded nymphs and swains, 
 
 Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves, 
 
 Would find them hideous nurs"ries of the spleen, 
 
 And crowd the roads, impatient for the town ! 
 
 They love the country, and none else, who seek, 320 
 
 For their own sake, its silence and its shade. 
 
 Delights which who would leave that has a heart 
 
 Susceptible of pity, or a mind 
 
 Cultur'd and capable of sober thought 
 
 For all the savage din of the swift pack 325 
 
 And clamours of the field ? — Detested sport, 
 
 That owes its pleasures to another's pain ; 
 
 That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks 
 
 Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endued 
 
 With eloquence, that agonies inspire, 330 
 
 Of silent tears and heart-distending sighs ? 
 
 Vain tears, alas, and sighs that never find 
 
 A corresponding tone in jovial souls ! 
 
 Well — one at least is safe. One shelter'd hare 
 
 Has never heard the sanguinary yell 335 
 
 Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. 
 
 Innocent partner of my peaceful home, 
 
 Whom ten long years' experience of my care 
 
 Has made at last familiar : she has lost 
 
 Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, 340 
 
 Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. 
 
 Yes — thou mayst eat thy bread, and lick the hand 
 
 That feeds thee ; thou mayst frolick on the floor 
 
 At ev'ning, and at night retire secure 
 
 To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm'd •, 345 
 
 For I have gained thy confidence, have pledg'd 
 
 All that is human in me, to protect 
 
 Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. 
 
 If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave ; 
 
 And, when I place thee in it, sighing say, 350 
 
 I knew at least one hare that had a friend.* 
 
 '' See the note ai ilie end. 
 Vol,. TI. «j
 
 62 THE TASK. 
 
 How various his employments, whom the world 
 Calls idle ; and who justly in return 
 Esteems that busy world an idler too ! 
 Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, 355 
 Delightful industrj- enjoy'd at home, 
 And nature in her cultivated trim 
 Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad— 
 Can he want occupation who has the so ? 
 Will he be idle who has much t' enjoy ? 360 
 
 Me therefore studious of laborious ease, 
 Not slothful, happy to deceive the time, 
 Not waste it, and aware that human life 
 Is but a loan to be repaid with use, 
 "When He shall call his debtors to account, 365 
 
 From whom are all our blessings, business finds 
 E'en here : while sedulous I seek t' improve, 
 At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd, 
 The mind he gave me ; driving it, though slack 
 Too oft, and much impeded in its work 370 
 
 By causes not to be divulg'd in vain. 
 To its just point — the service of mankind. 
 He that attends to his interiour self, 
 That has a heart, and keeps it ; has a mind 
 That hungers and supplies it ; and who seeks 375 
 A social, not a dissipated life. 
 Has business ; feels himself engag'd t' achieve 
 No unimportant, though a silent task. 
 A life all turbulence and noise may seem 
 To him that leads it wise, and to be prais'd; 380 
 
 But wisdom is a pearl with most success 
 Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies. 
 He that is ever occupied in storms, 
 Or dives not for it, or brings up instead, 
 Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. 3^ 
 
 The morning finds the self-sequester'd man 
 Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. 
 Whether inclement seasons recommend 
 His warm but simple home, where he enjoys
 
 THE GARDEN. 63 
 
 With her who shares his pleasures and his heart, 390 
 
 Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph, 
 
 Which neatly she prepares : then to his book 
 
 Well chosen, and not sullenly perus'd 
 
 In selfish silence, but imparted, oft 
 
 As aught occurs that she may smile to hear, 395 
 
 Or turn to nourishment, digested well. 
 
 Or if the garden with its many cares, 
 
 All well repaid, demand him, he attends 
 
 The welcome call, conscious how much the hand 
 
 Of lubbard Labour needs his watchful eye, 400 
 
 Oft loit'ring lazily, if not o'erseen, 
 
 Or misapplying his unskilful strength. 
 
 Nor does he govern only, or direct, 
 
 But much performs himself No works indeed, 
 
 That ask robust, tough sinews bred to toil, 405 
 
 Servile employ ; but such as may amuse, 
 
 Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. 
 
 Proud of his well-spread walls, he views his trees. 
 
 That meet, no barren interval between, 
 
 With pleasure more than e'en their fruits afford ; 410 
 
 Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel. 
 
 These therefore are his own pecuhar charge ; 
 
 No meaner hand may discipline the shoots, 
 
 None but his steel approach them. What is weak, 
 
 Distemper'd; or has lost prolifick pow'rs, 415 
 
 Impaired by age, his unrelenting hand 
 
 Dooms to the knife : nor does he spare the soft 
 
 And succulent, that feeds its giant growth, 
 
 But barren, at th' expense of neighb'ring twigs 
 
 Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick 420 
 
 With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left 
 
 That may disgrace his art, or disappoint 
 
 Large expectation, he disposes neat 
 
 At measur'd distances, that air and sun, 
 
 Admitted freely may afford their aid, 425 
 
 And ventilate and warm the swelling buds. 
 
 Hence summer has her riche '. *"t.umn hence,
 
 C4 THE TASK. 
 
 And hence e'en Winter fills his wilherd hand 
 
 With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own." 
 
 Fair recompense of labour well bestow'd, 430 
 
 And wise precaution ; which a clime so rude 
 
 Makes needful still, whose Spring is but the child 
 
 Of churlish Winter, in her froward moods 
 
 Discov'ring much the temper of her sire. 
 
 For oft, as if in her the stream of mild 435 
 
 Maternal nature had revers'd its course, 
 
 She brings her infants forth with many smiles ; 
 
 But once deliver'd, kills them with a frown. 
 
 He therefore, timely warn'd, himself supplies 
 
 Her want of care, screening and keeping warm 440 
 
 The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep 
 
 His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft 
 
 As the sun peeps, and vernal airs breathe mild, 
 
 The fence withdrawn, he gives them ev'ry beam, 
 
 And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day. 445 
 
 To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd, 
 So grateful to the palate, and when rare 
 So coveted; else base and disesteem'd — 
 Food for the vulgar merely — is an art 
 That toiling ages have but just matur'd, 450 
 
 And at this moment unessay'd in song. 
 Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice, long since, 
 Their eulogy ; those sang the Mantuan bard, 
 And these the Grecian, in ennobling strains ; 
 And in thy numbers, Philips, shines for aye 455 
 
 The solitary shilling. Pardon, then, 
 Ye sage dispensers ot poetick fame, 
 Th' ambition of one meaner far, whose pow'rs, 
 Presuming an attempt not less sublime. 
 Pant for the praise of dressing to the taste 460 
 
 Of critick appetite, no sordid fare, 
 A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce. 
 
 The stable yields a stercoraceous heap, 
 
 * Miraturque novos fruclus et non sua poma. Virg,
 
 THE GARDEN. 65 
 
 Impregnated with quick fermenting salts, 
 And potent to resist the freezing blast : 4G5 
 
 For ere the beech and elm have cast their leaf 
 Deciduous, wlien now November dark 
 Checks vegetation in the torpid plant 
 Expos'd to his cold breath, the task begins. 
 Warily, therefore, and with prudent heed, 470 
 
 He seeks a favour'd spot ; that where he builds 
 Th' agglomerated pile his frame may front 
 The sun's meridian disk, and at the back 
 Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge 
 Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread 475 
 
 Dry fern or litter 'd hay, that may imbibe 
 Tlr ascending damps; then leisurely impose, 
 And lightly shaking it with agile hand 
 From the full fork, the saturated straw. 
 What longest binds the closest forms secure 480 
 
 The shapely side, that as it rises takes, 
 By just degrees, an overhanging breath, 
 Shelfring the base with its projected eaves ; 
 Th' uplifted frame, compact at ev'ry joint, 
 And overlaid with clear translucent glass, 485 
 
 He settles next upon the sloping mount, 
 Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure 
 From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls. 
 He shuts it close, and the first labour ends. 
 Thrice must the voluble and restless Earth 490 
 
 Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth, 
 Slow gath'ring in the midst, through the square mass 
 Diffused, attain the surface ; when, behold ! 
 A pestilent and most corrosive stream. 
 Like a gross foff Boeotian; rising fast, 495 
 
 And fast condens'd upon t!iv^ dewy sash, 
 Asks egress ' which obtain d, the overcharg'd 
 And drench"d conservatory breathes abroad. 
 In volumes wheeling slow the vapour dank ; 
 And, purified, rejoices to have lost 500 
 
 Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage 
 6=*
 
 GO THE TASK. 
 
 Th' impatient fervour, wliich it first conceives 
 
 Within its reeking bosom, threat'ning death 
 
 To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. 
 
 Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft 505 
 
 The way to glory by miscarriage foul. 
 
 Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch 
 
 Th' auspicious moment, when the temper'd heat, 
 
 Friendly to vital motion, may afford 
 
 Soft fomentation, and invite the seed. 510 
 
 The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth, 
 
 And glossy, he commits to pots of size 
 
 Diminutive, well fill'd with well-prepar'd 
 
 And fruitful soil, that has been treasur'd long, 
 
 And drank no moisture from the dripping clouds. 515 
 
 These on the warm and genial earth that hides 
 
 The smoking manure, and o'erspreads it all, 
 
 He places lightly, and, as time subdues 
 
 The rage of fermentation, plunges deep 
 
 In the soft medium, till they stand immers'd. 520 
 
 Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick 
 
 And spreading wide their spongy lobes ; at first 
 
 Pale, wan, and livid ; but assuming soon, 
 
 If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air, 
 
 Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green. 525 
 
 Two leaves produc'd, two rough indented loaves, 
 
 Cautious he pinches from the second stalk 
 
 A pimple that portends a future sprout. 
 
 And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed 
 
 The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish ; 530 
 
 Prolifick all, and harbingers of more. 
 
 The crowded roots demand enlargement now, 
 
 And transplantation in an ampler space. 
 
 Indulg'd in what they wish, they soon supply 
 
 Large foliage, overshadowing golden flow'rs, 535 
 
 Blown on the summit of the apparent fruit. 
 
 These have their sexes ; and when summer shines, 
 
 The bee transports the fertilizing meal 
 
 From flow'r to flow'r, and e'en the breathing air
 
 THE GARDEN 6? 
 
 Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use. o"40. 
 
 Not so when winter scowls. Assistant Art 
 Then acts in Nature's office, brings to pass 
 The glad espousals, and ensures the crop. 
 
 Grudge not, ye rich, (since Luxury must have 
 His dainties, and the World's more num'rous half 54o 
 Lives by contriving delicates for yoU;) 
 Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares 
 The vigilance, the labour, and the skill. 
 That day and night are exercis'd, and hang 
 Upon the ticklish balance of suspense, 550 
 
 That ye may garnish your profuse regales 
 With summer fruits brought forth by wintry suns. 
 Ten thousand dangers lie in v/ait to thwart 
 The process. Heat, and cold, and wind, and steam, 
 Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming 
 flies, 555 
 
 Minute as dust, and numberless, oft work 
 Dire disappointment, that admits no cure, 
 And which no care can obviate. It were long. 
 Too long, to tell th' expedients and the shifts, 
 Which he that fights a season so severe 560 
 
 Devises while he guards his tender trust ; 
 And oft at last in vain. The learn'd and wise 
 Sarcastick would exclaim, and judge the song 
 Cold as its theme, and like its theme the fruit 
 Of too much labour, worthless when produc'd. 565 
 
 Who loves a garden loves a green-house too 
 Unconscious of a less propitious clime. 
 There blooms exotick beauty, warm and snug, 
 While the winds whistle and the snows descend, 
 The spiry myrtle with unwith'ring leaf 570 
 
 Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast 
 Of Portugal and western India there, 
 The ruddier orange, and the paler lime 
 Peep through their pohsh'd foliage at the storm, 
 And seem to smile at what they need not fear. 575 
 The amomum there with intermingling flow'rs
 
 <'^ THE TASK. 
 
 And cherries Jiangs lier twigs. Geranium boasts 
 
 Her crimson honours ; and the spanieled faeau, 
 
 Ficoides glitters bright the winter long. 
 
 All plants of ev'ry leaf, that can endure 5S0 
 
 The Avinter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bite, 
 
 Live there, and prosper. Those Ausonia claim?, 
 
 Levantine regions these ; th' Azores send 
 
 Their jessamine, her jessamine remote 
 
 CafFraria : foreigners from many lands, 5S5 
 
 They form one social shade, as if conven'd 
 
 By magick summons of th' Orphean lyre. 
 
 Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass 
 
 But by a master's hand, disposing well 
 
 The gay diversities of leaf and flow'r, 590 
 
 Must lend its aid t' illustrate all their charms, 
 
 And dress the regular yet various scene. 
 
 Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van 
 
 The dwarlish, in the rear retir'd, but still 
 
 Subhme above the rest, the statelier stand. 595 
 
 So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome, 
 
 A noble show ! while R-oscius trod the stage ; 
 
 And so, while Garrick, as renown'd as he, 
 
 The sons of Albion ; fearing each to lose 
 
 i5ome note of Nature's musick from his lips, 600 
 
 And covetous of Shakspoare's beauty, seen 
 
 In ev'ry flash of his far-beaming eye. 
 
 Nor taste alone and well-contriv'd display 
 
 Suffice to give the marshall'd ranks the grace 
 
 Of their complete effect. Much yet remains 605 
 
 Unsung, and many cares are yet behind, 
 
 And more laborious ; cares on which depend 
 
 Their vigour, injur'd soon, not soon restor'd. 
 
 The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'd 
 
 Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, CIO 
 
 And disappoints the roots ; the slender roots 
 
 Close interwoven, Avhere they meet the vase, 
 
 Must smooth be shorn away ; the sapless branch, 
 
 Must fly before the knife ; the wither'd leaf
 
 THE GARDEN. CS 
 
 Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor Glo 
 Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else 
 Contagion and disseminating death. 
 Discharge but these kind offices, (and who 
 Would spare, that loves them, offices like these ?) 
 Well they repay the toil. The sight is pleased, 020 
 The scent regal'd, each odorif'rous leaf, 
 Each op'ning blossom, freely breathes abroad 
 Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets. 
 
 So manifold, all pleasing in their kind, 
 All healthful, are th' employs of rural life. Q2o 
 
 Reiterated as the wheel of time 
 Runs round ; still ending, and beginning still. 
 Nor are these all. To deck the shapely kjioll 
 That softly swell'd and gayly dress'd appears 
 A flow'ry island, from the dark green lawn 630 
 
 Emerging, must be deera'd a labour due 
 To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. 
 Here also grateful mixture of well-match'd 
 And sorted hues, (each giving each relief, 
 And by contrasted beauty shining more,) G35 
 
 Is needful. Strength may wield the pond'rous spade. 
 May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home : 
 But elegance, chief grace the garden shows. 
 And most attractive, is the fair result 
 Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind. 64.0. 
 
 Without it all is Gothick as the scene 
 To which th' insipid citizen resorts 
 Near yonder heath ; where industry mispent, 
 But proud of his uncouth, ill-chosen task, 
 Has made a Heav'n on Earth ; with suns and moons 
 Of close-ramm'd stones has charg'd th' encumber'd 
 soil, 646 
 
 And fairly laid the zodiack in tlic dust. 
 He, therefore, who would see his flow'rs dispos'd 
 Sightly and in just order, ere he gives 
 The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, 650 
 
 Forecasts the future whole ; that, when the scene
 
 70 THE TASK. 
 
 Shall break into its pteconceiv'd display, 
 
 Each for itself, and all as with one voice 
 
 Conspiring, may attest his bright design, 
 
 Nor even then dismissing as perform'd, 655 
 
 His pleasant work, may he suppose it done. 
 
 Few self-supported flow"rs endure the wind 
 
 Uninjur'd, but expect the upholding aid 
 
 Of the smooth shaven prop, and, neatly tied, 
 
 Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age, 660 
 
 For int'rest sake, the living to the dead. 
 
 Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far difFus'd 
 
 And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair, 
 
 Like virtue, thriving most where little seen : 
 
 Some more aspiring catch the neighbour shrub 665 
 
 With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch, 
 
 Else unadorn'd, with many a gay festoon 
 
 And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well 
 
 The strength they borrow with the grace they lend. 
 
 All hate the rank society of weeds, 670 
 
 Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust 
 
 Th' impov'rishd earth ; an overbearing race, 
 
 Tbat, like the multitude made faction mad, 
 
 Disturb good order, and degrade true worth. 
 
 O blest seclusion from a jarring world, 675 
 
 Which he, thus occupied, enjoys! Retreat 
 Cannot indeed to guilty man restore 
 Lost innocence, or cancel follies past ; 
 But it has peace, and much secures the mind 
 From all assaults of evil ; proving still 630 
 
 A faithful barrier, not o'erlcapd with ease 
 By vicious Custom, raging uncontroll'd 
 Abroad, and desolating publick life, 
 When fierce Temptation, seconded within 
 By traitor Appetite, and arm'd with darts 685 
 
 Temper'd in Hell, invades the throbbing breast, 
 To combat may be glorious, and success 
 Perhaps may crown us ; but to fly is safe. 
 Had I the choice of sublunary good,
 
 THE GARDEN. Tl 
 
 What coa.d 1 wish, that I possess not here ? 690 
 
 Health, leisure, means t' hnprove it, friendship, peace, 
 
 No loose or wanton, though a wandring muse, 
 
 And constant occupation without care. 
 
 Thus blest, I draw a picture of that bliss; 
 
 Hopeless, indeed, that dissipated minds, 695 
 
 And profligate abusers of a world 
 
 Created fair so much in vain for them, 
 
 Should seek the guiltless joys that I describe, 
 
 Allur'd by my report : but sure no less 
 
 That self-condemnd they must neglect the prize, 7U0 
 
 And what they will not taste must yet approve. 
 
 What we admire we praise ; and when we praise 
 
 Advance it into notice, that, its worth 
 
 Acknowledg'd, others may admire it too. 
 
 J therefore recommend, though at the risk 705 
 
 Of popular disgust, yet boldly still, 
 
 The cause of piety and sacred truth, 
 
 And virtue, and those scenes which God ordain'd 
 
 Should best secure them, and promote them most; 
 
 Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive 710 
 
 Forsaken, or through folly not enjoy'd. 
 
 Pure is the nymph, though lib'ral of her smiles, 
 
 And chaste, though unconfin'd, whom I extol. 
 
 Not as the prince in Shushan, when he call'd, 
 
 Vain-glorious of her charms, his Vashti forth, 715 
 
 To grace the full pavilion. His design 
 
 Was but to boast his own peculiar good, 
 
 Which all might view with envy, none partake. 
 
 My charmer is not mine alone ; my sweets. 
 
 And she that sweetens all my bitters too, 720 
 
 Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form 
 
 And lineaments divine I trace a hand 
 
 Tiiat errs not, and find raptures still rCi^ew'd, 
 
 Is free to all men — universal prize. 
 
 Strange that so fair a creature should yet want 725 
 
 Admirers, and be destind to divide 
 
 With moaner obiects e'en th<2 few t^Iio finds '.
 
 72 THE TASK. 
 
 Stripp'd of her ornaments, her leaves and flow'rs, 
 
 She loses all her influence. Cities then 
 
 Attract us, and neglected Nature pines 730 
 
 Abandon'd as unworthy of our love. 
 
 But are not wholesome airs, though unperfum'd 
 
 By roses ; and clear suns, though scarcely felt ; 
 
 And groves, if unharraonious, yet secure 
 
 From clamour, and whose very silence charms ; 735 
 
 To be preferred to smoke, to the eclipse, 
 
 That metropolitan volcanoes make, 
 
 Whose Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long ; 
 
 And to the stir of Commerce, driving slow, 
 
 And thund'ring loud, with his ten thousand wheels ? 
 
 They would be, v^ere not madness in the head, 741 
 
 And folly in the heart ; were England now, 
 
 AVhat England was, plain, hospitable, kind, 
 
 And undebauch'd. But we have bid farewell 
 
 To all the virtues of those better days, 745 
 
 And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once 
 
 Knew their own masters ; and laborious hinds, 
 
 Who had surviv'd the father, serv'd the son. 
 
 Now, the legitimate and rightful lord 
 
 Is but a transient guest, newly arriv'd, 750 
 
 And soon to be supplanted. He that saw 
 
 His patrimonial timber cast its leaf. 
 
 Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price 
 
 To some shrewd sharper, ere it buds again. 
 
 Estates are landscapes, gaz'd upon a while, 755 
 
 Then advertis'd, and auctioneer 'd away. 
 
 The country starves, and they that feed th' o'ercharg'd 
 
 And surfeited lewd town with her fair dues. 
 
 By a just judgment strip and starve themselves. 
 
 The wings that waft our riches out of sight, 760 
 
 Grow on the gamester's elbows, and the alert 
 
 And nimble motion of those restless joints, 
 
 That never tire, soon fans them all away. 
 
 Improvement, too, the idol of the age, 
 
 Is fed with many a victim. Lo. he comes ! 7C5r
 
 THE GARDEN. 73 
 
 Til' omnipotent magician, Brown, appears I 
 Down falls the venerable pile, th' abode 
 Of our forefathers — a grave whisker'd race. 
 But tasteless. Springs a palace in its stead, 
 But in a distant spot ; where more expos'd 77Q 
 
 It may enjoy th' advantage of the north, 
 And aguish east, till time shall have transforra'd 
 Those naked acres to a sheltering grove. 
 He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn j 
 Woods vanish, hiils subside, and valleys rise : 775 
 
 And streams, as if created for his use. 
 Pursue the track of his directing wand. 
 Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow, 
 Now murm'ring soft, now roaring in cascades — 
 E'en as he bids ! Th' enraptur'd owner smiles. 760 
 'Tis fmish'd, and yet, fmish'd as it seems, 
 Btill wants a grace, the loveliest it could show, 
 A mine to satisfy th' enormous cost. 
 Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealth, 
 He sighs, departs, and leaves th' accomplish'd plan 785 
 That ho has touch'd, retouch'd, many a long day 
 Labour d, and many a night pursu'd in dreams, 
 Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the Heav'n 
 He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy I 
 And now perhaps the glorious hour is come, 790 
 
 When, having no stake left, no pledge t' endear, 
 Her int'rests, or that gives her sacred cause 
 A moment's operation on his love, 
 He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal 
 To serve his country. Ministerial grace 79^3 
 
 Deals him out money from the publick chest ; 
 Or, if that mine be shut, some private purse 
 Supplies his need with a usurious loan, 
 To be refunded duly, when his vote 
 Well-manag'd shall have earn'd its worthy prico. 800 
 O innocent, compar'd with arts like these. 
 Crape, and cock'd pistol, and the whistling ball 
 Sent through the trav'ller's temples ! He that firtds 
 Vor. ir. 7
 
 74 THE TASK. 
 
 One drop of Heav'n's sweet mercy in his cup, 
 
 Can dig, beg, rot, and perish, well content, 805 
 
 So he may wrap himself in honest rags 
 
 At his last gasp ; but could not for a world 
 
 Fish up his dirty and dependent bread 
 
 From pools and ditches of the commonwealth, 
 
 Sordid and sick'ning at his own success. 810 
 
 Ambition, avarice, penury, incurr'd 
 By endless riot, vanity, the lust 
 Of pleasure and variety, despatch 
 As duly as the swallows disappear, 
 The world of wand'ring knights and squires to town. 
 London ingulfs them all ! The shark is there, 816 
 
 And the shark's prey ; the spendthrift, and the leech 
 That sucks him • there the sycophant, and ho 
 Who, with bareheaded and obsequious bows, 
 Begs a warm office, doom'd to a cold jaU 820 
 
 And groat per diem, if his patron frown. 
 The levee swarms, as if in golden pomp 
 Were character'd on ev'ry statesman's door, 
 " Batter' d and bankrupt fortunes mended here" 
 These are the charms that sully and eclipse 825 
 
 The charms of nature. 'Tis the cruel gripe, 
 That lean, hard-handed Poverty inflicts. 
 The hope of better things, the chance to win, 
 The wish to shine, the thirst to be amus'd, 
 That at the sound of Winter's hoary wing 830 
 
 Unpeople all our countries of such herds 
 Of flutt'ring, loit'ring, cringing, begging, loose, 
 And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast 
 And boundless as it is, a crowded coop. 
 
 O thou resort and mart of all the earth, 835 
 
 Checker'd with all complexions of mankind, 
 And spotted with all crimes ; in whom I see 
 Much that I love, and more that I admire. 
 And all tnat 1 abhor ; thou freckled fair. 
 That pleasest and yet shock'st me ! I can laug'j, S40 
 And I can v.-eep, can iione and can desnond
 
 THE GARDEN. 75 
 
 Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee ! 
 
 Ten righteous would have sav'd a city once, 
 
 And thou hast many righteous. — Well for thee— 
 
 That salt preserves thee ; more corrupted else, 645 
 
 And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour, 
 
 Than Sodom in her day had pow'r to be, 
 
 For whom God heard his Abr'hara plead in vain.
 
 THE TASK< 
 
 THE WINTER EVENING 
 
 ARGUMENT OF THE FOURTH BOOK. 
 
 The post comes in — The newspaper is read — The World contera- 
 plated at a distance — Address to Winter — Tlic rural amusements 
 of a winter evening compared with the fashionable ones — Ad- 
 dress to evening — A brown study — Fall of snow in the evening — 
 The wagoner — A poor family piece — The rural thief— Publick 
 houses — The multitude of them censured — The farmer's daugh- 
 tci- : what she was, — what she is — The simplicity of country 
 manners almost lost — Causes of the change — Desertion of the 
 country by the rich— Neglect of the magistrates— The militia prin- 
 cipally in fault — The new recruit and his transformation — Re- 
 flection on bodies corporate — The love of rural objects natutal to 
 all, and never to be totally extinguished. 
 
 HARK ! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge, 
 
 That with its wearisome but needful length 
 
 Bestrides the wintry flood ; in which the moon 
 
 Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright : — 
 
 He comes, the herald of a noisy world, 5 
 
 With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks, 
 
 News from all nations lumb'ring at his back. 
 
 True to his charge, the close-pack'd load behind, 
 
 Yet careless what he brings, his one concern 
 
 Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn ; 10 
 
 And having dropp'd th' expected bag, pass on. 
 
 He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch.
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 77 
 
 Cold and yet cheerful : messenger of grief 
 Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some ; 
 To him indiff 'rent whether grief or joy. 13 
 
 Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, 
 Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet 
 With tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks 
 Fast as the periods from his fluent quill. 
 Or chargd with am'rous sighs of absent swains, 20 
 Or nymphs responsive, equally affect 
 His horse and him, unconscious of them all. 
 But O, th' important budget I usher'd in 
 With such heart-shaking rnusick, who can say 
 What are its tidings ? have our troops awak'd ? 2o 
 Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd, 
 Snore to the murmurs of th' Atlantick wave 
 Is India free ? and does she wear her plum'd 
 And jewel'd turban with a smile of peace, 
 Or do we grind her still .' The grand debate, 30 
 
 The popular harangue, the tart reply, 
 The logick, and the wisdom, and the w-it, 
 And the loud laugh — I long to know them all ; 
 I burn to set th' imprison'd wranglers free, 
 And give them voice and uttrance once again. 35. 
 
 Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, 
 Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, 
 And, while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn 
 Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, 
 That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, 40 
 
 So let us welcome peaceful ev'ning in. 
 Not such his ev'ning, who with shining face 
 Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeez'd 
 And bor'd with elbow points through both liis sides, 
 Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage : 45 
 
 Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb, 
 And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath 
 Of patriots, bursting with heroick rage, 
 Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. 
 This folio of four pages happy work ! 50
 
 7JS THE TASK. 
 
 Which not e'en criticks criticise ; that holds 
 Inquisitive attention, while I read, 
 Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, 
 Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break ; 
 What is it, but a map of busy life, Ti 
 
 Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ? 
 Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge, 
 That tempts Ambition. On the summit see 
 The seals of office glitter in his eyes ; 
 He climbs, he pants, he grasps them 1 At Jus heels CO 
 Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends,^-' . 
 And with a dext'rous jerk soon twists hhSf'down, 
 And wins them, but to lose them isi his turn. 
 Here rills of oily eloquence, in soft 
 Meanders lubricate the course they take ; 65 
 
 The modest speaker is asham'd and griev'd, 
 T' engross a moment's notice ; and yet begs, 
 Begs a propitious ear for bis poor thoughts, 
 However trivial, all that he conceives. 
 Sweet bashfulness ; it claims at least this praise : 70 
 The dearth of information and good sensb 
 That it foretells us always comes to pas?. 
 Cataracts of declamation thnnder here ; 
 There forests of no meaning spread the page, 
 In which all comprehension Vyfanders, lost ; 75 
 
 While fields of pleasantry amuse us there 
 With merry descants on a nation's woes-. 
 The rest appears a wilderness of strange 
 But gay confusion ; roses for the cheeks. 
 And lilies for the brows of faded age, 80 
 
 Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, 
 Heav'n, earth, and oceaii, plundered of their sweets, 
 Nectareous essences, Olympian devrs, 
 Sermons, and city feasts, and fav'rite airs, 
 iEthercal journeys, submarine exploits, 85 
 
 And Katterfelto, with his hair on end 
 At his own wonders, wond'ring for his bread. 
 'Tis ple.aeant; through the loopholes of retreat,
 
 THE WLNTLR EVENING. 79 
 
 To peep at such a world ; to see the stir 
 Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; 00 
 
 To hear the roar she scuds through all her gates 
 At a safe distance, where the dying sound 
 Falls a soft murmur on th' uninjur"d ear. 
 Thus sitting, and surveying tiius at ease 
 The globe and its concerns, I seem advanc'd 95 
 
 To some secure and more than mortal height, 
 That liberates and exempts me from them all. 
 It turns submitted to my view, turns round 
 With all its generations ; I behold 
 The tumult, and am still. The sound of war 100 
 
 Has lost its terrours ere it reaches me ; 
 Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride 
 And av'rice tiiat make man a wolf to man ; 
 Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats, 
 By which he spealis the language of his heart, 105 
 And sigh, but never tremble at the soimd. 
 He travels and expatiates, as the bee 
 From flow'r to flow"r, so he from land to land; 
 The manners, customs, policy, of all 
 Pay contribution to the store he gleans ; 110 
 
 He sucks intelligence in ev'ry clime, 
 And spreads the honey of his deep research 
 At his return — a rich repast for me. 
 He travels, and I too. 1 tread his deck, 
 Ascend his topmast through his peering eyes 1 15 
 
 Discover countries, with a kindred heart 
 Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes ; 
 While fancy, like the finger of a clock, 
 P«.uns the great circuit, and is still at home. 
 
 O Winter, ruier of th" inverted year, 120 
 
 Thy scatterd ha.ir with sleet lilie ashes fiU'd, 
 Thy breath congeai'd upon thy lips, thy crieeks 
 Fringd with a beard made white with other snows 
 Thau those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in clouds, 
 A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 125 
 
 A sliding car, indebted to no wheek,
 
 80 THE TASK. 
 
 But urgu by stornis along its slipp'ry way, 
 
 I love thee, ail unlovely as thou seem'st, 
 
 And dreaded as thou art ! Thou hold'st the sun 
 
 A prisner in the yet undawning east, 130 
 
 Short'ning his journey between morn and noon, 
 
 And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 
 
 Down to the rosy west : but kindly still 
 
 Compensating his loss with added hours 
 
 Of social converse and instructive ease, 135 
 
 And gath'ring, at short notice, in one group 
 
 The family dispersed, and fixing thought, 
 
 Not less dispers'd by daylight and its cares. 
 
 I crown thee king of intimate delights, 
 
 Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiness, 140 
 
 And all the comforts that the lowly roof 
 
 Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours 
 
 Of long, uninterrupted ev'ning know. 
 
 No rattling wheels stop short before these gates ; 
 
 No powder 'd pert proficient in the art 145 
 
 Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors 
 
 Till the street rings ; no stationary steeds 
 
 Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound, 
 
 The silent circle fan themselves, and quake ; 
 
 But here the needle plies its busy task, 150 
 
 The pattern grows, the well-depicted flowT, 
 
 Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn, 
 
 Unfolds its bosom ; buds, and leaves, and sprigs, 
 
 And curling tendrils, gracefully dispos'd, 
 
 Follow the nimble finger of the fair ; 155 
 
 A wreath, that cannot fade, or flow'rs that blow 
 
 With most success when all besides decay. 
 
 The poet's or historian's page by one 
 
 Made vocal for th' amusement of the rest : 159 
 
 The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds 
 
 The touch from many a trembling chord shalies out ; 
 
 And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct, 
 
 And in the charming strife triumphant still. 
 
 Beguile the night, and set a keener edge
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 81 
 
 On female industry : the threaded steel 165 
 
 Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. 
 
 The volume clos'd, the customary rites 
 
 Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal: 
 
 Such as the mistress of the world once found 
 
 Delicious, when her patriots of high note, 170 
 
 Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors, 
 
 And under an old oak's domestick shade, 
 
 Enjoy'd, spare feast ! a radish and an egg. 
 
 Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull, 
 
 Nor such as with a frown forbids the play 175 
 
 Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth : 
 
 Nor do we madly, like an impious World, 
 
 Who deem religion frenzy, and the God 
 
 That made them an intruder on their joys, 
 
 Start at his awful name, or deem his praise 180 
 
 A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone 
 
 Exciting oft our gratitude and love, 
 
 While we retrace with Mem'ry's pointing wand, 
 
 That calls the past to our exact review, 
 
 The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare, 165 
 
 The disappointed foe, deliv'rance found 
 
 Unlook'd for, life preserv'd, and peace restor'd — 
 
 Fruits of omnipotent eternal love. 
 
 O ev'nings worthy of the gods! exclaim 'd 
 
 The Sabine bard. O ev'nings, I reply, 190 
 
 More to be priz'd and coveted than yours, 
 
 As more illumin'd, and with nobler truths. 
 
 That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy. 
 
 Is Winter hideous in a garb like this .'' 
 Needs he the tragick fur, the smoke of lamps, 195 
 The pent-up breath of an unsav'ry throng, 
 To thaw him into feeling, or the smart 
 And snappish dialogue, that flippant Avits 
 Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile ? 
 The self-complacent actor, when he views 200 
 
 (Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house) 
 Tiie slope of faces, from the floor to th' roof
 
 62 THE TASK. 
 
 (As if one master spring controU'd them all,) 
 
 Relax'd into a universal grin, 
 
 Sees not a count'nance there, that speaks of joy 205 
 
 Half so refin'd or so sincere as ours. 
 
 Cards were superfluous here, with all the tricks 
 
 That idleness has ever yet contrivd 
 
 To fill the void of an unfurnish'd brain, 
 
 To palliate dulness, and give time a shove. 210 
 
 Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, 
 
 Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound ; 
 
 But the world's Time is Time in masquerade ! 
 
 Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledg'd, 
 
 With motley plumes ; and where the peacock shows 
 
 His azure eyes, is tinctur'd black and red 216 
 
 With spots quadrangular of diamond form, 
 
 Ensanguin'd hearts, clubs typical of strife, 
 
 And spades, the emblem of untimely graves. 
 
 What should be, and what was an hourglass once, 220 
 
 Becomes a dicebox, and a billiard mace 
 
 Well does the work of his destructive sithe. 
 
 Thus deck'd, he charms a World whom Fashion blinds 
 
 To his true worth, most pleas'd when idle most: 
 
 Whose only happy, are their idle hours. 225 
 
 E'en misses, at whose age their mothers wore 
 
 The backstring and the bib, assume the dress 
 
 Of womanhood, sit pupils in the school 
 
 Of card devoted Time, and, night by night, 
 
 Plac'd at some vacant corner of the board, 230 
 
 Learn ev'ry trick, and soon play all the game. 
 
 But truce with censure. Roving as I rove, 
 
 Where shall I find an end, or how proceed ? 
 
 As he that travels far oft turns aside, 
 
 To view some rugged rock or mould'ring tow'r, 235 
 
 Which seen, delights him not ; then coming home, 
 
 Describes and prints it, that the v/orld may know 
 
 How far he went for what was nothing worth : 
 
 So I, with brush in hand and pallet spread, 
 
 With colours mix'd for a far diffrent use, 240
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 83 
 
 Paint cards, and dolls, and ev'ry idle thing, 
 That Fancy finds in her exc\irsive flights. 
 
 Come, Evning, once again, season of peace, 
 Return, sweet Ev'ning, and continue long ! 
 Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, 246 
 
 With matron step slow -moving, while the Night 
 Treads on thy sweeping train ; one hand employ'd 
 In letting fall the curtain of repose 
 On bird and beast, the other charg'd for man 
 With sweet oblivion of the cares of day : 2o0 
 
 Not sumptuously adorn'd, nor needing aid, 
 Like homely-featur'd Night, of clust'ring gems } 
 A star or two, just twinkling on thy brow, 
 Suffices thee ; save that the moon is thine 
 No less than hers, not worn indeed on high 255 
 
 With ostentatious pageantry, but set 
 With modest grandeur in thy purple zone, 
 Resplendent less, but of an ampler round. 
 Come then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm, 
 Or make me so. Composure is thy gift ; 2G0 
 
 And, whether I devote thy gentle hours 
 To books, to musick, or the poet's toil ; 
 To weaving nets for bird-alluring fruit ; 
 Or twining silken threads round ivory reels. 
 When they command whom man was born to please ; 
 I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. 2G6 
 
 Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze 
 With lights, by clear reflection multiplied 
 From many a mirror, in which he of Gath, 
 Goliath, might have seen his giant bulk 270 
 
 Whole without stooping, tow'ring crest and all, 
 My pleasures, too, begin. But me perhaps 
 The glowing hearth may satisfy awhile 
 With faint illumination, that uplifts 
 The shadows to the ceiling, there by fits 275 
 
 Dancing uncouthly to the quiv'ring flame, 
 Not undelightful is an hour to me 
 So spent in parlour twiliglit : Buch a gloom
 
 64 THE TASK. 
 
 Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind, 
 
 The mind contemplative, with some new theme 280 
 
 Pregnant, or indispos'd alike to all. 
 
 Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial pow'rs, 
 
 Tha4; never feel a stupor, know no pause, 
 
 Nor need one ; I am conscious, and confess 
 
 Fearless, a soul that does not always think. 285 
 
 Me oft has Fancy, ludicrous and wild, 
 
 Sooth'd with a waking dream of houses, tow'rs, 
 
 Trees, churches, and strange visages, express'd 
 
 In the red cinders, while with poring eye 
 
 I gaz'd, myself creating what I saw. 290 
 
 Nor less amus'd have I quiescent watch'd 
 
 The sooty films that play upon the bars 
 
 Pendulous, and foreboding in the view 
 
 Of superstition, prophesying still, 
 
 Though still deceiv'd, some stranger's near approach. 
 
 'Tis thus the understanding takes repose 296 
 
 In indolent vacuity of thought. 
 
 And sleeps, and is refreshd. Meanwhile the face 
 
 Conceals the rnood lethargick with a mask 
 
 Of deep deliberation, as the man 300 
 
 Were task'd to his full strength, absorb'd and lost. 
 
 Thus oft, reclin'd at ease, I lose an hour 
 
 At ev'ning, till at length the freezing blast 
 
 That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons home 
 
 The recollected pow'rs ; and snapping short S05 
 
 The glassy threads, with which the Fancy weaves 
 
 Her brittle toils, restores me to myself. 
 
 How calm is my recess ; and how the frost. 
 
 Raging abroad, and the rough wind, endear 
 
 The silence and the warmth enjoy 'd within ! 310 
 
 I saw the woods and fields at close of day, 
 
 A variegated show ; the meadov.'s green, 
 
 Though faded ; and the lands, where lately wav'd 
 
 The golden harvest, of a mellow brown, 
 
 Upturn'd so lately by the forceful share. 315 
 
 I gaw far off the weedv fallows ^mile
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 85 
 
 With verdure not unprofitable, graz'd 
 By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each 
 His fav'rite herb : while all the leafless groves 
 That skirt th' horizon wore a sable hue, 320 
 
 Scarce notic'd in the kindred dusk of eve. 
 To-morrow brings a change, a total change ! 
 Which even now, though silently perform'd, 
 And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face 
 Of universal nature undergoes. 325 
 
 Fast falls a fleecy show'r : the downy flakes 
 Descending, and with never-ceasing lapse, 
 Softly alighting upon all below, 
 Assimilate all objects. Earth receives 
 Gladly the thick'ning mantle ; and the green 330 
 
 And tender blade, that fear'd the chilling blast. 
 Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil. 
 
 In such a world, so thorny, and where none 
 Finds happiness unblighted, or, if found, 
 Without some thistly sorrow at its side ; 335 
 
 It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin 
 Against the law of love, to measure lots 
 With less distinguish'd than ourselves ; that thus 
 We may with patience bear our moderate ills, 
 And sympathize with others suff'ring more. 340 
 
 III fares the trav'ller now, and he that stalks 
 In pond'rous boots beside his reeking team 
 The wain goes heavily, impeded sore 
 By congregated loads adhering close 
 To the clogg'd wheels ; and in its sluggish paco y45 
 Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. 
 The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide, 
 While ev'ry breath, by respiration strong 
 Forc'd downward, is consolidated soon 
 Upon their jutting chests. He, form'd to bear 350 
 The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, 
 With half shut eyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teeth 
 Presented bare against the storm, plods on. 
 One hand secures his hat. save when with bafli 
 
 Vor.. IT. S
 
 86 THE TASK. 
 
 He brandishes his pliant length of whip, 
 
 Resounding oft, and never heard in vain. 
 
 O happy ; and in my account denied 
 
 That sensibility of pain with which 
 
 Refinement is endu"d, thrice happy tliou ! 
 
 Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed 
 
 The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd. 
 
 The learn'd finger never need explore 
 
 Thy vig'rous pulse ; and the unheathful east, 
 
 That breathes the spleen, and searches ev'ry bone 
 
 Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. 
 
 Thy days roll on exempt from household care ; 
 
 Thy wagon is thy wife ; and the poor beasts, 
 
 That drag the dull companion to and fro, 
 
 Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care. 
 
 Ah, treat them kindly ; rude as thou appear'st, 
 
 Yet show that thou hast mercy ! which the great, 
 
 With needless hurry whirl'd from place to place, 
 
 Humane as they would seem, not always show. 
 
 Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat. 
 Such claim compassion in a night like this, 
 And have a friend in ev'ry feeling heart. 
 Warm'd, while it lasts, by labour, all day long 
 They brave the season, and yet find at eve, 
 111 clad, and fed but sparely, time to cool. 
 The frugal housewife trembles when she lights 
 Her scanty stock of brushwood blazing clear, 
 But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys. 
 The few small embers left she nurses well j 
 And, while her infant race, with outspread hands 
 And crowded knees, sit cow'ring o'er the sparks, 
 Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd. 
 The man feels least, as more inur'd than she 
 To winter, and the current in his veins 
 More briskly mov'd by his severer toil; 
 Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs. 
 The taper soon extinguish'd, which I saw 
 Pangled along at the cold finger's end
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 87 
 
 Just when the day declin'd : and the brown loaf 
 Lodg'd on the shelf half eaten without sauce 
 Of sav'ry cheese, or butter, costlier still; 395 
 
 Sleep seems their only refuge : for, alas ! 
 Where penury is felt the thought is chain'd. 
 And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few ! 
 With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care, 
 Ingenious Parsimony takes, but just 400 
 
 Saves the small inventory, bed, and stool, 
 Skillet, and old carv'd chest, from publick sale. 
 They live, and live without extorted alms 
 From grudging hands : but other boast have none, 
 To sooth their honest pride, that scorns to beg, 405 
 Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love. 
 I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair, 
 For ye are worthy ; choosing rather far 
 A dry but independent crust, hard earn'd, 
 And eaten with a sigh, than to endure 410 
 
 The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs 
 Of knaves in office, partial in the work 
 Of distribution ; lib'ral of their aid 
 To clam'rous Importunity in rags, 
 But ofttimes deaf to suppliants, who would blush 415 
 To wear a tatter'd garb, however coarse, 
 Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth : 
 These ask with painful shyness, and, refus'd 
 Because deserving, silently retire ! 
 But be ye of good courage ! Time itself 420 
 
 Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase ; 
 And all your numerous progeny, well train'd, 
 But helpless, in few years shall find their hands. 
 And labour too. Meanwhile ye shall not want 
 What, conscious of your virtues, we can spare, 425 
 Nor what a wealthier than ol^rselves may send. 
 I mean the man, who, when the distant poor 
 Need help, denies them nothing but his name. 
 But poverty with most, who whimper forth 
 Their long complaints, is self-inflicted wo ; 430
 
 88 THE TASK. 
 
 The effect of laziness or sottish waste. 
 Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad 
 For plunder ; much solicitous how best 
 He may compensate for a day of sloth 
 By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong. 435 
 
 Wo to the gard'ner's pale, the farmer's hedge, 
 Plash'd neatly, and secur'd with driven stakes 
 Deep in the loamy bank. Uptorn by strength, 
 Resistless in so bad a cause, but lame 
 To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil, 440 
 
 An ass's burden, and, when laden most 
 And heaviest, light of foot, steals fast away 
 Nor does the bordered hovel better guard 
 The well-stack'd pile of riven logs and roots 
 From his pernicious force. Nor will he leave 445 
 Unwrench'd the door, however well secur'd, 
 Where Chanticleer amidst his haram sleeps 
 In unsuspecting pomp. Twitch'd from the perch, 
 He gives the princely bird, with all his wives, 
 To his voracious bag, struggling in vain, 450 
 
 And loudly wond'ring at the sudden change. 
 Nor this to feed his own. 'Tvvere some excuse 
 Did pity of their suff'rings warp aside 
 His principle, and tempt him into sin 
 For their support, so destitute. But they 455 
 
 Neglected, pine at home ; themselves, as more 
 Expos'd than others, with less scruple made 
 His victims, robb'd of their defenceless all. 
 Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst 
 Of ruinous ebriety, that prompts 460 
 
 His ev'ry action, and imbrutes the man. 
 O for a law to noose the villain's neck 
 Who starves his own ; who persecutes the blood 
 He gave them in his children's veins, and hates 
 And wrongs the woman he has sworn to love ! 465 
 Pass where we may, through city or through town, 
 Village or hamlet, of this merry land, 
 Though lean and beggar'd, every twentieth pace
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 89 
 
 Conducts tli' unguarded nose to such a whifF 
 Of stale debauch, forth-issuing from the sties 470 
 
 That law has licensed, as makes Temp'rance reel. 
 There sit, involv'd and lost in curling clouds 
 Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor, 
 The lackey, and the groom ; the craftsman there 
 Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil , 475 
 
 Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the shears, 
 And he that kneads the dough : all loud alike, 
 All learned and all drunk ! the fiddle screams 
 Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and -vvail'd 
 Its wasted tones and harmony unheard, 480 
 
 Fierce the dispute, whatc'er the theme ; while she, 
 Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, 
 Perch'd on the signpost, holds with even hand 
 Her undecisive scales. In this she lays 
 A weight of ignorance ; in that, of pride ; 485 
 
 And smiles delighted with the eternal poise. 
 Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound, 
 The cheek distending oath, not to be prais'd 
 As ornamental, musical, polite, 
 
 Like those w^hich modern senators employ, 400 
 
 Whose oath is rhet'rick, and who swear for fame ! 
 Behold the schools, in which plebeian minds. 
 Once simple, are initiated in arts 
 Which some may practise with politer grace, 
 But none with readier skill I — "Tis here they learn 
 The read that leads from competence and peace 496 
 To indigence and rapine ; till at last 
 Society, grown weary of ihe load, 
 Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out. 
 But censure profits little ; vain th" attempt 500 
 
 To advertise in verse a publick pest. 
 That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds 
 His hungry acres, stinks, and is of use. 
 Th' excise is fatten"d with the rich result 
 Of all this riot ; and ten thousand casks, 505 
 
 For ever dribbling out tlieir base contents,
 
 90 THE TASK. 
 
 Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state. 
 
 Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. 
 
 Drink, and be mad then ; 'tis your country bids I 
 
 Gloriously drunk, obey th' important call.' 510 
 
 Her cause demands th' assistance of your throats j 
 
 Ye all can swallow, and she asks no moiw). 
 
 Would I had fall'n upon those happier days 
 That poets celebrate : those golden times, 
 And those Arcadian scenes that Maro sings, 515 
 
 And Sidney, warbler of poetick prose. 
 Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts 
 That felt their virtues : Innocence, it seems. 
 From courts dismiss'd, found shelter in the groves ; 
 The footsteps of simplicity, impress'd 52ft 
 
 Upon the yielding herbage, (so they sing.) 
 Then were not all efFac'd : then speech profane, 
 And manners profligate, were rarely found, 
 Observ'd as prodigies, and soon reclaim'd. 
 Vain wish ! those days were never ; airy dreams 52J> 
 Sat for the picture : and the poet's hand, 
 Imparting substance to an empty shade, 
 Impos'd a gay delirium for a truth. 
 Grant it : I still must envy them an age 
 That favour'd such a dream : in days like these 530 
 Impossible when Virtue is so scarce. 
 That to suppose a scene wliere she presides 
 Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief. 
 No : we are polish'd now The rural lass, 
 Whom once her virgin modesty and grace, 535 
 
 Her artless manners, and her neat attire, 
 So dignified, that she was liavdly less 
 Than the fair shepherdess of old romance, 
 Is seen no more. The character is lost ! 
 Her head, adorn'd with lappets pinn'd aloft, 540 
 
 And ribands streaming gay, superbly rais'd, 
 And magnified beyond all human size, 
 Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand 
 For more than half the tresses it sustains t
 
 THE WINTER EVEiNING. 9J 
 
 Her elbows ruffled, and her tott'ring form 543 
 
 111 propp'd upon French heels ; she might be deem'd 
 
 (But that the basket dangling on her arm 
 
 Interprets her more truly) of a rank 
 
 Too proud for dairy work, or sale of eggs — 
 
 Expect her soon with footboy at her heels, 550 
 
 No longer blushing for her awkward load, 
 
 Her train and her umbrella all her care ! 
 
 The town has ting'd the country ; and the stain 
 Appears a spot upon a vestal's robe. 
 The worse for what it soils. The fashion runs 555 
 Down into scenes still rural ; but, alas, 
 Scenes rarely gracd with rural manners now ! 
 Time was when in the pastoral retreat 
 Th' unguarded door was safe ; men did not watch 
 T' invade another's right, or gaard their own. 560 
 
 Then sleep was undisturb'd by fear, unscar'd 
 By drunken howlings ; and the chilling tale 
 Of midnight murder was a wonder heard 
 With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes. 
 But farewell now to unsuspicious nights, 565 
 
 And slumbers unalarm'd ! Now, ere you sleep. 
 See that your polish'd arms be prim'd with care, 
 And drop the night-bolt ; — ruffians are abroad ; 
 And the first larum of the cock's shrill throat 
 May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear 570 
 
 To horrid sounds of hostile feet within. 
 E'en daylight has its dangers ; and the walk 
 Through pathless vrastes and woods, unconscious once 
 Of other tenants than melodious birds, 
 Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold. 575 
 
 Lamented change ! to which full many a cause 
 Invet'rate, hopeless of a cure, conspires. 
 The course of human things from good to ill, 
 F^om ill to worse, is fatal, never fails. 
 Increase of pow'r begets inr.roase of wealth j 580 
 
 ^ health luxury, and luxury excess ; 
 Kxces?, the scrofulous and itchy plague,
 
 Dri THE TASK. 
 
 That seizes first the opulent, descends 
 
 To the next rank contagious, and in time 
 
 Taints downward all the graduated scale 585 
 
 Of order, from the chariot to the plough. 
 
 The rich, and they that have an arm to check 
 
 The license of the lowest in degree, 
 
 Desert their office ; and themselves, intent 
 
 On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus 590 
 
 To all the violence of lawless hands 
 
 Resign the scenes their presence might protect. 
 
 Authority herself not seldom sleeps, 
 
 Though resident, and witness of the wrong. 
 
 The plump convivial parson often bears 595 
 
 The magisterial sword in vain, and lays 
 
 His rev'rence and his worship both to rest 
 
 On the same cushion of habitual sloth. 
 
 Perhaps timidity restrains his arm ; 
 
 When he should strike he trembles, and sets free, COO 
 
 Himself enslav'd by terrour of the band — 
 
 Th' audacious convict whom he dares not bind. 
 
 Perhaps though by profession ghostly pure, 
 
 He, too, may have his vice, and sometimes prove 
 
 Less dainty than becomes his grave outside G05 
 
 In lucrative concerns. Examine well 
 
 His! milk-white hand ; the palm is harldly clean — 
 
 But here and there an ugly smutch appears. 
 
 Foh ! 'twas a bribe that left it : he has touch'd 
 
 Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here 610 
 
 Propitious, pays his tribute, game or fish, 
 
 Wild fowl or venison : and his errand speeds. 
 
 But faster far, and more than all the rest, 
 A noble cause, which none, who bears a spark 
 Of publicK. virtue, ever wish"d remov'd, 015 
 
 Works the deplored and mischievous effect. 
 'Tis universal soldiership has stabb'd 
 The heart of merit in the meaner class. 
 Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage 
 Of those that bear them, in whatever cause, C^
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 9S 
 
 S'ftcm most at variance with all moral good, 
 And incompatible with serious thought. 
 The clown, the child of nature, without guile, 
 Blest with an infant's ignorance of all 
 But his owTi simple pleasures ; now and then 625 
 
 A wrestling match, a foot-race, or a fair ; 
 Is balloted, and trembles at the news : 
 Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears 
 A bible oath to be whaie'er they please, 
 To do he knows not what. The task perform'd, 630 
 That instant he becomes the sergeant's care, 
 His pupil, and his torment, and his jest. 
 His awkward gait, his introverted toes, 
 Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks, 
 Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees, 635 
 Unapt to learn, and form'd of stubborn stuff, 
 He yet by slow degrees puts off himself, 
 Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well: 
 He stands erect : his slouch becomes a walk ; 
 He steps right onward, martial in his air, 640 
 
 His form and movement ; is as smart above 
 As meal and larded locks can make him ; wears 
 His hat, or his plumd helmet, with a grace ; 
 And, his three years of herdship expir'd, 
 Returns indignant to the slighted plough. 645 
 
 He hates the field, in which no fife or drum 
 Attends him ; drives his cattle to a march ; 
 And sighs for the smart comrades he has left. 
 'Twere well if his exteriour change were ail- 
 But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost 650 
 His ignorance and harmless manners too. 
 To swear, to game, to drink ; to show at home 
 By lewdness, idleness, and sabbath breach, 
 The great proficiency he made abroad ; 
 T' astonish, and to grieve his gazing friends ; 655 
 To break some maiden's and his mother's heart: 
 To be a pest where he was useful once ; 
 Are his sole aim, and all his glory, now.
 
 94 THE TASK. 
 
 Man in society is like a flow'r 
 Blown in its native bed ; 'tis there alone 6G0 
 
 His faculties, expanded in full bloom, 
 Shine out ; there only reach their proper use. 
 But man, associated and leagued with man 
 By regal warrant or self-join'd by bond 
 For int'rest sake, or swarming into clans 665 
 
 Beneatli one head for purposes of war, 
 Like flow'rs selected from the rest, and bound 
 And bundled close to fill some crowded vase, 
 Fades rapidly, and, by compression marr'd, 
 Contracts defilement not to be endur'd. 670 
 
 Hence charter'd boroughs are such publick plagues 
 And burghers, men immaculate perhaps 
 In all their private functions, once combin'd, 
 Become a loathsome body, only fit 
 For dissolution, hurtful to the main. 675 
 
 Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin 
 Against the charities of dornestick life, 
 Incorporated, seem at once to lose 
 Their nature ; and, disclaiming all regard 
 For mercy and the common rights of man, 680 
 
 Build factories witli blood, conducting trade 
 At the sword's point, and dying the white robe 
 Of innocent commercial Justice red. 
 Hence, too, the field of glory, as the world 
 Misdeems it, dazzled by its bright array, 685 
 
 With all its majesty of thund'ring pomp, 
 Enchanting musick, and immortal wreaths, 
 Is but a school, where thoughtlessness is taught 
 On principle, where foppery atones 
 For folly, gallantry for ev'ry vice. 690 
 
 But slighted as it is, and by the great 
 Abandon'd, and, which still I more regret, 
 Infected with the manners and the modes 
 It knew not once, the country wins me still. 
 1 never fram'd a wish, or form'd a plan, 695 
 
 That flatter'd me with hopes of earthly bliss,
 
 THE WLXTEIl EVENING. 05 
 
 But there I laid the scene. There early stray'd 
 My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice 
 Had found me, or the hope of being free. 
 My very dreams were rural ; rural too 700 
 
 The first-born eiforts of m}' youthful muse, 
 Sportive and jingling her poetick bells, 
 Ere yet her ear was mistress of their pow'rs. 
 'So bard could please me but whose lyre was tun'd 
 To Nature's praises. Pleroes and their feats 705 
 
 Fatigud me, never weary of the pipe 
 Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang. 
 The rustick throng beneath his fav'rite beecli. 
 Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms : 
 New to my taste, his Paradise surpass'd 710 
 
 The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue 
 To speak its excellence. I danc'd for joy. 
 I marvell'd much that, at so ripe an age 
 As twice seven years, his beauties had then first 
 Engag'd my wonder ; and admiring still, 715 
 
 And still admiring, with regret suppos'd 
 The joy half lost, because not sooner found. 
 There, too. enamour 'd of the life I lov'd, 
 Pathetick in its praise, in its pursuit 
 Determin'd and possessing it at last, 720 
 
 With transports such as favour'd lovers feel, 
 I studied, priz'd, and wish'd that I had known, 
 Ingenious Cov.'ley ! and, though now reclaimed 
 By modern lights from an erroneous taste, 
 I cannot but lament thy splendid wit 725 
 
 Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools. 
 I still revere thee, courtly though retir'd; 
 Though stretch'd at ease in Chertsey's silent bow'rs, 
 Not unemploy'd ; and finding rich amends 
 For a lost world in solitude and verse. 730 
 
 'Tjs born with all : the love of Nature's works 
 Is an ingredient in the compound man, 
 InfSs'd at the creation of the kind. 
 And, though tH' Almightv Maker has throughout
 
 96 THE TASK. 
 
 Discriminated each from each, by strokes 73S 
 
 And touches of his hand, with so much art 
 Diversified, that two were never found 
 Twins at all points — yet this obtains in all 
 That all discern a beauty in his works, 
 And all can taste them : minds that have been form'd 
 And tutor'd with a relish more exact, 741 
 
 But none without some relish, none unmov'd. 
 It is a flame that dies not even there, 
 Where nothing feeds it : neither business, crowds, 
 Nor habits of luxurious city life, 745 
 
 Whatever else they smother of true worth 
 In human bosoms, quench it or abate. 
 The villas, with which London stands begirt, 
 Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads 
 Prove it. A breath of unadult'rate air 750 
 
 The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer 
 The citizen, and brace his languid frame ! 
 E'en in the stifling bosom of the town 
 A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms 
 That sooth the rich possessor ; much consol'd, 755 
 That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint 
 Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well 
 He cultivates. These serve him with a hint 
 That Nature lives ; that sight-refreshing green 
 Is still the liv'ry she delights to wear, 760 
 
 Though sickly samples of th' exub'rant whole. 
 What are the casements lin'd with creeping herbs, 
 The prouder sashes fronted with a range 
 Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed, 
 The Frenchman's darling .''* are they not all proofs, 
 That man, immur'd in cites, still retains 766 
 
 His inborn inextinguishable thirst 
 Of rural scenes, compensating his loss 
 By supplemental shifts, the best he may .'' 
 The most unfurnish'd with the means of life, 770 
 
 And they, that never pass their brick-wall bounds, 
 * Mignionelte.
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 97 
 
 To range the fields, and treat their lungs witn air, 
 
 Yet feel the burning instinct ; over head 
 
 Suspend their crazy boxes planted thick, 
 
 And water'd duly. There the pitcher stands 775 
 
 A fragment, and the spoutless teapot there ; 
 
 Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets 
 
 The country, with what ardour he contrives 
 
 A peep at Nature, when he can no more. 
 
 Hail, therefore, patroness of health and ease, 780 
 And contemplation, heart-consoling joys, 
 And harmless pleasures in the throng'd abode 
 Of multitudes unknown ! hail, rural life ' 
 Address himself who will to the pursuit 
 Of honours, or emolument, or fcime ; 785 
 
 I shall not add myself to such a chase, 
 Thwart his attempts, or envy his success. 
 Some must be great. Great offices will have 
 Great talents. And God gives to ev'ry man 
 The virtue, temper, understanding, taste, 790 
 
 That lifts him into life, and lets him fall 
 Just in the niche he was ordain'd to fill. 
 To the deliverer of an injur "d land 
 He gives a tongue t' enlarge upon, a heart 
 To feel, and courage to redress, her wrongs; 795 
 
 To monarchs dignity ; to judges sense ; 
 To artists ingenuity and skill ; 
 To me, an unambitious mind, content 
 In the low vale of life, that early felt 
 A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long SCO 
 
 Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd. 
 
 Vol. II. 9
 
 THE TASK, 
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 
 
 ARGUMENT OF THE FIFTH BOOK. 
 
 A frosty morning — The foddering of cattle — The woodman ami 
 his dog — The poultry — Whimsical efl'ects of a frost at a waterfall 
 — The empress of Russia's palace of ice — Amusements of mo- 
 narchs — Vv^ar, one of them — Wars, whence — And whence mo- 
 narchy — The evils of it — English and French loyalty contrasted 
 — The Bastile, and a prisoner there — Liherty the chief recom- 
 mendation of this country — Modern patriotism questionable, 
 and why — The perishable nature of the best human institutions 
 — Spiritual liberty not perishable — The slavish state of man by 
 nature — Deliver him, Deist, if you can — Grace must do it — The 
 respective merits of patriots and martyrs stated — Their diiferent 
 treatment— JIappy freedom of tlie man whom grace makes free — 
 His lelish of the "works of God — Address to the Creator. 
 
 'TIS morning ; and the sun, with ruddy orb 
 
 Ascending, fires th' horizon ; while the clouds 
 
 That crowd away before the driving wind, 
 
 More ardent as the disk emerges more, 
 
 Resemble most some city in a blaze, 5 
 
 Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray 
 
 Slides ineftectual down the snowy vale, 
 
 And, tinging all with his own rosy hue, 
 
 From ev'ry herb and ev'ry spiry blade 
 
 Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field. 10 
 
 Mine spindling into longitude immense, 
 
 In spite of gravity, and sage remark
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 99 
 
 That I myself am but a fleeting shade, 
 
 Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance, 
 
 I view the muscular proportion 'd limb 15 
 
 Transform'd to a lean shank. The shapeless pair, 
 
 As they designed to mock me, at my side, 
 
 Take step for step ; and, as I near approach 
 
 The cottage, walk along the plaster'd wall, 
 
 Prepost'rous sight ! the legs without the man. 20 
 
 The verdure of the plain lies buried deep 
 
 Beneath the dazzling deluge ; and the bents, 
 
 And coarser grass, upspearing o'er the rest, 
 
 Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine 
 
 Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad, 25 
 
 And, fledg'd with icy feathers, nod superb. 
 
 The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence 
 
 Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep 
 
 In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait 
 
 Their wonted fodder ; not like hungring man, 30 
 
 Fretful if unsupplied ; but silent, meek. 
 
 And patient of the slow-pac'd swain's delay. 
 
 He from the stack carves out the accustom'd load, 
 
 Deep plunging, and again deep-plunging oft. 
 
 His broad keen knife into the soUd mass ; 35 
 
 Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands, 
 
 With such undeviating and even force 
 
 He severs it away ; no needless care, 
 
 Lest storm should overset the leaning pile 
 
 Deciduous, or its own unbalanc'd \A'eight. 40 
 
 Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern'd 
 
 The cheerful haunts of man ; to wield the axe, 
 
 And drive the wedge, in yonder forest drear, 
 
 From morn to eve his solitary task. 
 
 Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears 45 
 
 And tail cropp'd short, half lurcher and half cur — 
 
 His dog attends him. Close behind his heel 
 
 Now creeps he slow ; and now, with many a frisk 
 
 Wide-scamp'ring, snatches up the drifted snow 
 
 With iv'ry teeth, or ploughs it with his snout \ 50
 
 100 THE TASK. 
 
 Then shakes his powder'd coat, and barks for joy. 
 Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy churl 
 Moves right toward the mark ; nor stops for aught, 
 But now and then with pressure of his thumb 
 T' adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube, 55 
 
 That fumes beneath his nose : the trailing cloud 
 Streams far behind him, scenting all the air. 
 Now from the roost, or from the neighb'ring pale 
 Where diligent to catch the first faint gleam 
 Of smiling day, they gossip'd side by side, 60 
 
 Come trooping at the housewife's well known call 
 The feather'd tribes domestick. Half on wing, 
 And half on foot, they brush the fleecy flood, 
 Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge. 
 The sparrows peep, and quit the shelt'ring eaves, 65 
 To seize the fair occasion ; well they eye 
 The scatter'd grain, and thievishly resolv'd 
 T' escape th' impending famine, often scar'd 
 As oft return — a pert voracious kind. 
 Ci3an riddance quickly made, one only care 70 
 
 Remains to each, the search of sunny nook, 
 Or shed impervious to the blast. Resign'd 
 To sad necessity, the cock foregoes 
 His wonted strut ; and, wading at their head 
 With well-consider'd steps, seems to resent 75 
 
 His alter'd gait, and stateUness retrenched. 
 How find the myriads, that in summer cheer 
 The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs, 
 Due sustenance, or v/here subsist they now .'' 
 Earth yields them naught ; th' imprison'd worm is 
 safe 60 
 
 Beneath the frozen clod ; all seeds of herbs 
 Lie cover'd close ; and berry-bearing thorns, 
 That feed the thrush, (whatever some suppose,) 
 Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. 
 The long-protracted rigour of the year 85 
 
 Thins all their num'rous flocks. In chinks and holes 
 Ten thousand seek an unmolested end,
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 101 
 As instinct prompts ; self-buried ere they die. 
 The very rooks and daws forsake the fields, 
 Where neither grub, nor root, nor earth nut, now 90 
 Repays their labour more ; and perch"d aloft 
 By tlie way-side, or stalking in the path. 
 Lean pensioners upon the trav'ller's track, 
 Pick up their nauseous dole, though sweet to them, 
 Of voided pulse or half-digested grain. 95 
 
 The streams arc lost amid the splendid blank, 
 O'erwhelming all distinction. On the flood, 
 Indurated and fixd, the snovvy weight 
 Lies undissolvd ; while silently beneath. 
 And unpcrceiv'd, the current steals away. 100 
 
 Not so where, scornful of a check, it leaps 
 The mill-dam. dashes on the restless wheel. 
 And wantons in the pebbly gulf below : 
 No frost can bind it there : its utmost force 
 Can but arrest the light and smoky mist, 105 
 
 That in its fall the licuid sheet throws wide. 
 And see where it has hung the embroider'd banks 
 "With forms so various, that no pov/'rs of art, 
 The pencil, or the pen, may trace the scene ! 
 Here glitfring turrets rise, upbearing high, 110 
 
 (Fantastick misarrangenient !) on the roof 
 Large grovv'th of what may seem the sparkling trees 
 And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops 
 That trickled down the branches, fast congcal'd, 
 Shoot into pillars of pellucid length, 115 
 
 And prop the pile they but adornd before. 
 Here grotto within grotto safe defies 
 The sunbeam ; there, ernboss'd and fretted wild, 
 The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes 
 Capricious, in which fancy seeks in vain 120 
 
 The likeness of some object seen before. 
 Thus N iture works as if to mock at Art, 
 And in defiance of her rival pov/'rs ; 
 By these fortuitous and random strokes 
 Performing such inimitable fcats; 125
 
 102 THE TASK. 
 
 As she witli all her rules can never reach. 
 
 Less worthy of applause, though more admir'd, 
 
 Because a novelty, the work of man, 
 
 Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ, 
 
 Thy most magnficent and mighty freak, 130 
 
 The wonder of the North. No forest fell 
 
 When thou wouldst build ; no quarry sent its stores, 
 
 T' enrich thy walls : but thou didst hew the floods, 
 
 And make thy marble of the glassy wave. 
 
 In such a palace Aristaeus found 135 
 
 Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale 
 
 Of his lost bees to her maturnal ear: 
 
 In such a palace poetry might place 
 
 The armoury of Winter ; where his troops, 
 
 The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet 140 
 
 Skin-piercing volley, blossom-bruising hail, 
 
 And snow, that often blinds the traveler's course. 
 
 And wraps him in an unexpected tomb. 
 
 Silently as a dream the fabrick rose ; 
 
 No sound of hammer or of saw was there : 145' 
 
 Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts 
 
 Were soon conjoind, nor other cement ask'd 
 
 Than water interfusd, to make them one. 
 
 Lamps gracefully dispos'd. and of all hues, 
 
 lUumin'd ev'ry side : a wat'ry light 150 
 
 Gleam'd through the clear transparency, that seem'd 
 
 Another moon new ris'n, or meteor fall'n 
 
 From Heav'n to Earth, of lambent flame serene 
 
 So stood the brittle prodigy ; though smooth 
 
 And slippry the materials, yet frost-bound 155 
 
 Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within 
 
 That royal residence might well befit, 
 
 For grandeur or for use. Long vvavy wreaths 
 
 Of flow'rs that fear'd no enemy but warmth, 
 
 Blush d on the pannels. Mirror needed none IGO 
 
 Where all was vitreous ; but in order due 
 
 Convivial table and commodious seat 
 
 (What seera'd at least commodioxis seat) were there ;
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 103 
 Sofa, and couch, and high-built throne august. 
 The same lubricity was found in all, 165 
 
 And all was moist to the warm touch ; a scene 
 Of evanescent glory, once a stream, 
 And soon to slide into a stream again. 
 Alas 1 'twas but a mortifying stroke 
 Of undesign'd severity, that glanc'd, 170 
 
 (Made by a monarch.) on her own estate, 
 On human grandeur and the courts of kings. 
 'Twas transient in its nature, as in show 
 'Twas durable ; as worthless, as it seem'd 
 Intrinsically precious ; to the foot 175 
 
 Treach'rous and false ; it smil'd, and it was cold. 
 
 Great princes have great play-things. Some have 
 play'd 
 At hewing mountains into men, and some 
 At building human wonders mountain-high. 
 Some have amus'd the dull, sad years of life, 180 
 
 (Life spent in indolence, and therefore sad,) 
 With schemes of monumental fame ; and sought 
 By pyramids and mausolean pomp, 
 Short liv'd themselves, f immortalize their bones. 
 Some seek diversion in the tented field, 185 
 
 And Biake tl\e sorrows of mankind their sport. 
 But wars a game, which, were their subjects wise, 
 Kings would not play at. Nations would do well, 
 T' extort their truncheons from the puny hands 
 Of heroes, whose infirm and baby minds 190 
 
 Are gratified with mischief; and who spoil, 
 Because men suffer it, their toy, the world. 
 
 When Babe] was conf funded, and the great 
 Confed"rac3' of projectors wild and vain 
 Was spht into diversity of tun-iues, 195 
 
 Then, as a shepherd .separates iiis flock, 
 These to the upland, to the valley those, 
 God drove asunder, and assign'd their lot 
 To all the nations. Ample was the boon 
 He gave them, in its distribution fair .200
 
 l^U THE TASK. 
 
 And equal ; and he bade them dwell in peace. 
 
 Peace was awliile their care ; they plough'd. Jind sow'd, 
 
 And reap'd their plenty without grudge or strife. 
 
 But violence can never longer sleep 
 
 Than human passions please. In every heart 205 
 
 Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war ; 
 
 Occasion needs but fan them, and they blaze. 
 
 Cain had already shod a brothers blood : 
 
 The deluge wash'd it out ; but left unquench"d 
 
 The seeds of murder in the breast of man, 210 
 
 Soon by a righteous judgment in the line 
 
 Of his descending progeny was found 
 
 The first artificer of death ; the shrewd 
 
 Contriver, who first sweated at the forge,. 
 
 And forc'd the blunt and yet unbloodied steel 215 
 
 To a keen edge, and made it bright for war. 
 
 Him, Tubal nam'd, the Vulcan of old times, 
 
 The sword and filchion their inventor claim ; 
 
 And the first smith was the first murdrer's son. 
 
 His art surviv'd the waters ; and ere long, 220 
 
 When man was multiplied and spread abroad 
 
 In tribes and clans, and had begun to call 
 
 These meadows ami that range of hills his own, 
 
 The tasted sweets of propcrt}' begat 
 
 Desire of more ; and inaustry in some, 225 
 
 T' improve and cultivate their just demesne, 
 
 Made others covet what they saw so fair. 
 
 Thus war began on Earth : these fought for spoil, 
 
 And those in self-defence. Savage at first 
 
 The onset, and irregular. At length 230 
 
 One eminent above the rest for strength, 
 
 For stratagem, for courage, or for all, 
 
 Wa« chosen leader ; him they sorv'd in w^ar, 
 
 And him in peace, for sake of warlike deeds, 
 
 Rev'renc'd no les'.j. Who could with him compare ? 
 
 Or who so worthy to control themselves, 236 
 
 As he, whose prowess had subdu'd their foes ? 
 
 Thire war, affording field for the display
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 105 
 Of virtue, made one chief, whom times of peace, 
 Which have their exigencies too, and call 240 
 
 For skill in government, at length made king. 
 King was a name too proud for man to v/ear 
 With modesty and meekness ; and the crown 
 So dazzling in their eyes, who set it on, 
 Was sure t' intoxicate the brows it bound 245 
 
 It is the abject property of most, 
 That, being parcel of the common mass, 
 And destitute of means to raise themselves, 
 They sink, and settle lower than they need. 
 They know not what it is to feel within 250 
 
 A comprehensive faculty, that grasps 
 Great purposes with ease, that turns and wields, 
 Almost without an effort, plans too vast 
 For their conception, which they cannot move. 
 Conscious of impotence they soon grow drunk 255 
 With gazing, when they see an able man 
 Step forth to notice ; and, besotted thus, 
 Build him a pedestal, and say, " Stand there, 
 " And be our admiration and our praise." 
 They roll themselves before him in the dust, 2^0 
 
 Then most deserving in their own account 
 When most extravagant in his applause, 
 As if, exalting him, they rais'd themselves. 
 Thus by degrees, self-cheated of their sound 
 And sober judgment, that he is but man, S65 
 
 They demi-deify and fume him so. 
 That in due season he forgets it too. 
 Inflated and astrut with self conceit. 
 He gulps the windy diet ; and ere long, 
 Adopting their mistake, profoundly thinks 279 
 
 The world was made in vain, if not for him. 
 Thenceforth they are his cattle ; drudges, born 
 To bear his burdens, drawing in his gears. 
 And sweating in his service, his caprice 
 Becomes the soul that animates them all. .275 
 
 He deems a thousand, or ten thousand lives-.
 
 100 THE TASK. 
 
 Spent in tlie purchase of renown for him, 
 
 An easy reck'ning : and they think the same. 
 
 Thus kings were first invented, and thus kings 
 
 Were burnish'd into heroes, and became 280 
 
 The arbiters of this terraqueous swamp ; 
 
 Storks among frogs, that have but croak'd and died. 
 
 Strange, that such folly, as lifts bloated man 
 
 To eminence, fit only for a god. 
 
 Should ever drivel out of human lips, 285 
 
 E'en in the cradled weakness of the world ! 
 
 Still stranger much, that, when at length mankind 
 
 Had reachd the sinewy firmness of their youth, 
 
 And could discriminate and argue well 
 
 On subjects more mysterious, they were yet 290 
 
 Babes in the cause of freedom, and should fear 
 
 And quake before the gods themselves had made : 
 
 But above measure strange, that neither proof 
 
 Of sad experience, nor examples set 
 
 By some whose patriot virtue has prevail'd, 295 
 
 Can even nov,'', when they are grown mature 
 
 In wisdom, and with philosophick deeds 
 
 Familiar, serve t' emancipate the rest ! 
 
 Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone 
 
 To rev'rence what is ancient, and can plead 300 
 
 A course of long observance for its use. 
 
 That even servitude, the worst of ills, 
 
 Because dcliver'd down frorn sire to son, 
 
 Is kept and guarded as a sacred thing. 
 
 But is it fit, or can it bear the shock 305 
 
 Of rational discussion, that a m.an. 
 
 Compounded and made up like other men 
 
 Of elements tumultuous, in whom lust 
 
 And folly in as ample measure meet 
 
 As in the bosoms of the slaves he rules, 31(^ 
 
 Should be a despot absolute, and boast 
 
 Himself the only freeman of his land ? 
 
 Should, when he pleases, and on whom he will, 
 
 Wage war, with any or with no pretence
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 107 
 
 or provocation giv'n, or wrong sustain'd, 315 
 
 And force the beggarly last doit hy means 
 
 That his own humour dictates, from the clutch 
 
 Of Poverty, that thus he may procure 
 
 His thousands, weary of penurious life, 
 
 A splendid opportunity to die ? «20 
 
 Say ye, who (with less prudence than of old 
 
 J-otham ascrib'd to his assembled trees 
 
 In politick convention) put your trust 
 
 I' th' shadow of a bramble, and, reclin'd 
 
 In fancied peace beneath his dangrous branch, 325 
 
 Rejoice in him, and celebrate his sway, 
 
 Where find ye passive fortitude ? Whence springs 
 
 Your self-denying zeal, that holds it good 
 
 To stroke the prickly grievance, and to hang 
 
 His thorns with streamers of continual praise ? 2^30 
 
 We too are friends to loyalty. We love 
 
 The king who loves the law, respects Ids bounds, 
 
 And reigns content within them : him we serve 
 
 Freely and with delight, who leaves us free : 
 
 But recollecting still that he is man, 335 
 
 We trust him not too far. King though he be. 
 
 And king in England too, he may be weak 
 
 And vain enough to be ambitious still ; 
 
 May exercise amiss his proper pow'rs, 
 
 Or covet more than freemen choose to grant ! 340 
 
 Beyond that mark is treason. He is ours, 
 
 T' administer, to guard, t' adorn the state, 
 
 But not to v^rarp or change it. We are his, 
 
 To serve him nobly in the common cause, 
 
 True to the death ; but not to be his slaves. 345 
 
 INIark now the difference, ye that boast your lore 
 
 Of kings, between your loyalty and ours. 
 
 We love the man ; the paltry pageant, you : 
 
 W^e the chief patron of the commonwealth ; 
 
 You, the regardless author of its woes : 350 
 
 We, for the sake of hberty, a king ; 
 
 You, chains and bondage for a tyrant's sake
 
 108 THE TASK. 
 
 Our love is principle, and nas its root 
 
 In reason ; is judicious, manly, free ; 
 
 Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to the rod, 355 
 
 And licks the foot that treads it in the dust. 
 
 Were kingship as true treasure as it seems, 
 
 Sterling, and worthy of a wise man's wish, 
 
 I would not be a king to be belov'd 
 
 Causeless, and daub'd with undiscerning praise, 360 
 
 Where love is mere attachment to the throne, 
 
 Not to the man who fills it as he ought. 
 
 Whose freedom is by suflTrance, and at wUl 
 Of a superiour, he is never free. 
 
 Who lives, and is not weary of a life 365 
 
 Expos'd to manacles, deserves them well. 
 The state that strives for liberty, though foil'd, 
 And forc'd to abandon what she bravely sought, 
 Deserves at least applause for her attempt, 
 And pity for her loss. But that's a cause 370 
 
 Not often unsuccossfiil : pow'r usurp'd 
 Is weakness when oppos'd ; conscious of wrong, 
 'Tie pusillanimous and prone to flight. 
 But slaves, that once conceive the glowing thought 
 Of freedom, in that hope itself possess 375 
 
 All that the contest calls for ; spirit, strength, 
 The scorn of danger, and united hearts ; 
 The surest presage of the good they seek.* 
 
 Then shame to manhood, and opprobrious more 
 To France than all her losses and defeats, 380 
 
 Old or of later date, by sea or land, 
 Her house of bondage, worse than that of old 
 Which God aveng'd on Pharaoh — the Bastile 
 Ye horrid tow'rs, th' abode of broken hearts : 
 Ye dungeons, and ye cages of despair, 385 
 
 That monarchs have supplied from age to age 
 
 • The author hopes that he shall not be censured for un- 
 necessary warmth upon so interesting a subject. He is 
 aware, that it is become ahnost fashionable, to stigmatize 
 such sentiments as no better than empty declamation ; but it 
 is an ill symptom; and peculiar to modern times.
 
 THE WL\TER MORNING WALK. 109 
 
 With musick, such as suits their sov'reign ears — 
 The sighs and groans of miserable men ! 
 There's not an English heart that would not leap 
 To hear that ye were fall'n at last ; to know 390 
 
 That e'en our enemies, sc oft employ "d 
 In forging chains for us, themselves were free. 
 For he who values Liberty, confines 
 His zeal for her predominance within 
 No narrow bounds ; her cause engages him 395 
 
 Wherever pleaded. 'Tis the cause of man. 
 There dwell the most forlorn of human kind, 
 Immur'd though unaccus'd, condemn'd untried, 
 Cruelly spar'd, and hopeless of escape. 
 There, like the visionary emblem seen 400 
 
 By him of Babylon, life stands a stump, 
 And, filleted about with hoops of brass, 
 Still lives, though all his pleasant boughs are gone. 
 To count the hour-bell and expect no change ; 
 And ever as the sullen sound is heard, 405 
 
 Still to reflect, that, though a joyless note 
 To him whose moments all have one dull pace, 
 Ten thousand rovers in the world at large 
 Account it musick ; that it summons some 
 To theatre, or jocnnd feast, or ball ; 410 
 
 The wearied hireling finds it a releasee 
 From labour ; and the lover, who has chid 
 Its long delay, feels ev'ry welcome stroke 
 Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delight — 
 To fly for refuge from distracting thought 415 
 
 To such amusements as ingenious wo 
 Contrives, hard shifting, and without her tools — 
 To read engraven on the mouldy walls, 
 In stagg'ring types, his predecessor's tale, 
 A sad memorial, and subjoin his own— 420 
 
 To turn purveyor to an overgorg'd 
 And bloatefl spider, till the pamper'd pest 
 Is made familiar, watches his approach, 
 Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend — 
 VoL.TI. 10
 
 110 THE TASK. 
 
 To wear out time in numb 'ring to and fro 425 
 
 The studs that thick emboss his iron door ; 
 
 Then downward and then upward, then aslant, 
 
 And then aUernate ; with a sickly hope 
 
 By dint of change to give his tasteless task 
 
 Some relish ; till the sum, exactly found 430 
 
 In all directions, he begins again — 
 
 O comfortless existence I hemm'd around 
 
 With woes, which who that suffers would not kneel 
 
 And beg for exile, or the pangs of death ? 
 
 That man should thus encroach on fellow man, 435 
 
 Abridge him of his just and native rights, 
 
 Eradicate him, tear him from his hold 
 
 Upon th' endearments of domestick life 
 
 And social, nip his fruitfulness and use, 
 
 And doom him for perhaps a heedless word 440 
 
 To barrenness, and solitude, and tears, 
 
 Moves indignation, makes the name of king, 
 
 (Of king whom such prerogative can please) 
 
 As dreadful as the Manichean god, 
 
 Ador'd through fear, strong only to destroy. 445 
 
 'Tis liberty alone, that gives the flow'r 
 Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume j 
 And we are weeds without it. All constraint, 
 Except what wisdom lays on evil men, 
 Is evil : hurts the faculties, impedes 450 
 
 Their progress in the road of science ; blinds 
 The eyesight of Discovery ; and begets, 
 In those that suffer it, a sordid mind, 
 Bestial, a meager intellect, unfit 
 
 To be the tenant of man's noble form. 455 
 
 Thee therefore still, blameworthy as thou art. 
 With all thy loss of empire, and though squeez'd 
 By publick exigence, till annual food 
 Fails for the craving -lunger of the state, 
 Thee 1 account still happy, and the chief 460 
 
 Among the nations, seeing thou art free ; 
 My native nook of earth ! Thy clime is rude,
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. Ill 
 Replete with vapours, and disposes much 
 All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine : 
 Thine unadulterate manners are less soft 465 
 
 And plausible than social life requires, 
 And thou hast need of discipline and art, 
 To give thee what politer France receives 
 From Nature's bounty — that humane address 
 And sweetness, without which no pleasure is 470 
 
 In converse, either starv d by cold reserve, 
 Or flushd by fierce dispute, a senseless brawl. 
 Yet, being free, I love thee : for the sake 
 Of that one feature can be well content, 
 Disgrac'd as thou hast been, poor as thou art, 475 
 
 To seek no sublunary rest beside. 
 But once enslav'd, farewell ! I could endure 
 Chains no where patiently ; and chains at home, 
 Where I am free by birthright, not at all. 
 Then what were left of roughness in the grain 450 
 Of British natures, wanting its excuse 
 That it belongs to freemen, would disgust 
 And shock me. I should then with double pain 
 Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime ; 
 And, if I must bewail the blessing lost, 485 
 
 For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, 
 I would at least bewail it under skies 
 Milder, among a people less austere ; 
 In scenes, which having never known me free, 
 Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. 490 
 
 Do 1 forebode impossible events. 
 And tremble at vain dreams ? Heav"n grant I may ! 
 But th' age of virtuous politicks is past, 
 And we are deep in that of cold pretence. 
 Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere, 495 
 
 And we too wise to trust them. He that takes 
 Deep in his soft credulity the stamp 
 Designed by loud declaimers on the part 
 Of liberty, (themselves the slaves of lust.) 
 Incurs derision for his easy faith 500
 
 112 THE TASK. 
 
 And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough : 
 For when was publick virtue to be found, 
 Where private was not ? Can he love the whole, 
 Who loves no part ? Ho be a nation's friend, 
 Who is in trutli the friend of no man there ? 505 
 
 Can he be strenuous in his country's cause, 
 Who slights the charities, for whose dear sake 
 That country, if at all, must be belov'd ? 
 
 'Tis therefore sober and good men are sad 
 For England's glory, seeing it wax pale 510 
 
 And sickly, w^hile her champions wear their hearts 
 So loose to private duty, that no brain 
 Healthful and undisturb'd by factious fumes, 
 Can dream them trusty to the gen'ral weal. 
 Such were they not of old, whose temper'd blades 515 
 Dispers'd the shackles of usurp'd control, 
 And hew'd them link from link ; then Albion's sons 
 Were sons indeed ; they felt a filial heart 
 Beat high w-itliin them at a mother's wrongs ) 
 And, shining each in his domestick sphere, 520 
 
 Shone brighter still, once call'd to publick view. 
 'Tis therefore many, whose sequester'd lot 
 Forbids their interference, looking on 
 Anticipate perforce some dire event ; 
 And seehig the old castle of the state, 525 
 
 That promis'd once more firmness, so assail'd, 
 That all its tem-pest-beaten turrets shake, 
 Stand motionless expectants of its fall. 
 All has its date below ; the fatal hour 
 Was register 'd in Heav n ere time began. 530 
 
 We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works 
 Die too : the deep foundations that we lay, 
 Time ploughs them up, and not a trace remains. 
 We build with what we deem eternal rock ; 
 A distant age asks where the fabrick stood ; 535 
 
 And in the dust, sifted and search'd in vain, 
 The undiscoverablc secret sleeps. 
 
 But there is yet a liberty, unsung
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. U:i 
 By poets, and by senators unprais'd, 
 Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the pow'rs 540 
 Of Earth and Hell confed'rate take away : 
 A liberty, which persecution, fraud, 
 Oppression, prisons, have no pcw'r to bind 
 Which whoso tastes can be enslav'd no more. 
 'Tia liberty of heart derived from Heav'n, 545 
 
 Bought with his blood, who gave it to mankind, 
 And seal'd with the same token. It is held 
 By charter, and that charter sanctiond sure 
 By th' unimpeachable and awful oath 
 And promise of a God. His other gifts 550 
 
 All bear the royal stamp that speaks them his, 
 And are august ! but this transcends them all. 
 His other works, tke visible display 
 Of all-creating energy and might, 
 Are grand, no doubt, and worthy of the word 555 
 
 That, finding an interminable space 
 Unoccupied, has filVd the void so well, 
 And made so sparkling what was dark before. 
 But these are not his glory. Man, 'tis true, 
 Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene, 560 
 
 Might well suppose th' artificer dK^ine 
 Meant it eternal, had he not himself 
 Pronounc'd it transient, glorious as it is, 
 And, still designing a more glorious far, 
 Doom'd it as insufficient for his praise. 565 
 
 These therefore are occasional, and pass; 
 Form'd for the confutation of tho fool, 
 Whose lying heart disputes against a God ; 
 That office serv'd, they must be swept away. 
 Not so the labours of his love ; they shine 579 
 
 In other heav'ns than these that we behold, 
 And fade not. There is Paradise that fears 
 No forfeiture, and of its frnits he sends 
 Large prelibatiun oft to saints below. 
 Of these the first in order, and the pledge, 575 
 
 And confident assurance of the rest, 
 10^
 
 114 THE TASK. 
 
 Is liberty ; a flight into his arms. 
 
 Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way; 
 
 A clear escape from tyrannising lust, 
 
 And full immunity from penal wo. 580' 
 
 Chains are the portion of revolted man, 
 Stripes, and a dungeon ; and bis body serves 
 The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul, 
 Opprobrious residence, he finds them all. 
 Propense his heart to idols, he is held 5^ 
 
 In silly dotage on created things, 
 Careless of their Creator. And that low 
 And sordid gravitation of his pow'rs 
 To a vile clod, so draws him, with such force 
 Resistless from the centre he should seek, 590 
 
 That he at last forgets it. All his hopes 
 Tend downward ; his ambition is to sink, 
 To reach a depth profounder still, and still 
 Profounder, in the fatliomless abyss 
 Of folly, plunging in pursuit of death. 5^ 
 
 But ere he gain the comfortless repose 
 He seeks, and acquiescence of his soul 
 In Heav'n-renouncin^ exile, he endures — 
 AVhat does he not, from lusts oppos'd in vain, 
 And self-reproaching conscience ? He foresees 600 
 The fatal issue to his health, fame, peace, 
 Fortune, and dignity ; the loss of all 
 That can ennoble man and make frail life, 
 Short as it is, supportable. Still worse. 
 Far worse than all the plagues with which his sins 
 Infect his happiest moments, he forbodes GOG 
 
 Ages of hopeless mis'ry. Future death, 
 And death still future. Not a hasty stroke, 
 Like that which sends him to the dusty grave ; 
 But unrepealable, enduring, death. €10 
 
 Scripture is still a trumpet to his fears : 
 What none can prove a forgery, may be true ; 
 What none but bad men wish exploded, must. 
 That scruple checks him. Riot is not loud
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 115 
 Nor drunk enough to drown it. In the midst Clo 
 
 Of laughter his compunctions are sincere ; 
 And he abhors the jest by which he shines. 
 Remorse begets reform. His master-lust 
 Falls first before his resolute rebuke, 
 And seems dethron'd and vanquish d. Peace ensues, 
 But spurious and short liv'd : the puny child 621 
 
 Of seif-congratulating Pride begot 
 On fancied Iraiocence. Again he falls, 
 And fights again ; but finds, his best essay 
 A presage ominous, portending still 625 
 
 Its own dishonour by a worse relapse. 
 Till Nature, unavailing Nature, foil'd 
 So oft, and wearied in the vain attempt, 
 Scoffs at her own performance. Reason now 
 Takes part with appetite, and pleads the cause 630 
 Perversely, which of late she so condemn'd ; 
 With shallow shifts and old devices, worn 
 And tatter'd in the service of debauch, 
 Cov'ring his shame from his offended sight, 
 
 '• Hath God indeed givn appetites to man, 035 
 
 And stor'd the earth so plenteously with means 
 To gratify the hunger of his wish ; 
 And doth he reprobate, and will he damn 
 The use of his own bounty ? making first 
 So frail a kind, and then enacting laws 640 
 
 So strict, that less than perfect must despair ? 
 Falsehood ! which whoso but suspects of truth, 
 Dishonours God, and makes a slave of man. 
 Do they themselves, who undertake for hire 
 The teacher's office, and dispense at large 645 
 
 Their weekly dole of edif^-zing strains, 
 Attend to their own musick ? have they faith 
 In what, with such solemnity of tone 
 And gesture, they propound to our belief.'* 
 Nay — Conduct hath the loudest tongue The voice 
 Is but an instrument, on which the priest 651 
 
 May play what tune he pleases. In the deed,
 
 116 THE TASK. 
 
 The unequivocal, authentick deed, 
 
 We find sound argument, we read the heart." 
 
 Such reas'nings (if that name must needs belong 
 T' excuses in which reason has no part) 656 
 
 Serve to compose a spirit well inclin'd 
 To live on terms of amity with vice, 
 And sm without disturbance. Often urg'd, 
 (As often as, libidinous discourse 660 
 
 Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes 
 Of theological and grave import,) 
 They gain at last his unreservd assent ; 
 Till, harden'd his heart's temper in the forge 
 Of lust, and on the anvil of despair, 665 
 
 He shghts the strokes of conscience. Nothing moves, 
 Or nothing much, his constancy in ill ; 
 Vain tamp'ring has but foster'd his disease ; 
 'Tis desp'rate, and he sleeps the sleep of death. 
 Haste, now, philosopher, and set him free. 670 
 
 Charm the deaf serpent wisely. Make him hear 
 Of rectitude and fitness, moral truth 
 How lovely, and the moral sense how sure, 
 Consulted and obey'd, to guide his steps 
 Directly to the first and only fair. 675 
 
 Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the pow'rs 
 Of rant and rhapsody in virtue's praise ; 
 Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand, 
 And with poetick trappings grace thy prose, 
 Till it out-mantle all the pride of verse. — 680 
 
 Ah, tinkling cymbal, and high sounding brass. 
 Smitten in vain 1 such musick cannot charm 
 The eclipse, that intercepts truth's heav'nly beam 
 And chills and darkens a wide wand 'ring soul. 
 The still small voice is wanted He must speak, 685 
 Whose v^ord leaps forth at once to its effect ; 
 Who calls for things that are not, and they come. 
 
 Grace makes the slave a freeman. 'Tis a change 
 That turns to ridicule the turgid speech 
 And stately tone of moralists, who boast 690
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 117 
 As if, like him of fabulous renown, 
 They had indeed ability to smooth 
 The shag of savage nature, and were each 
 An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song ; 
 But transformation of apostate man 695 
 
 From fool to wise, from earthly to divine, 
 Is work for Him that made him. He alone. 
 And he by means in philosophick eyes 
 Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves 
 The wonder ; humanizing what is brute 700 
 
 In the lost kind, extracting from the lips 
 Of asps their venom, overpow'ring strength 
 By weakness, and hostility by love. 
 
 Patriots have toil'd, and, in their country's cause 
 Bled nobly ; and their deeds, as they deserve, 705 
 
 Receive proud recompense. We give in charge 
 Their names to the sweet lyre. Th" historick muse, 
 Proud of the treasure, marches with it down 
 To latest times ; and Sculpture, in her turn, 
 Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass 710 
 
 To guard them, and t' immortalize her trust : 
 But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid, 
 To those who, posted at the shrine of Truth, 
 Have fall'n in her defence. A patriot's blood. 
 Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed, 715 
 
 And, for a time, ensure to his lov'd land 
 The sweets of liberty and equal laws ; 
 But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize, 
 And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed 
 In connrrnation of the noblest claim — 720 
 
 Our claim to feed upon immortal truth. 
 To walk vath God, to be divinely free, 
 To soar, and to anticipate the skiesi 
 Yet few remember them. They liv'd unknown, 
 Till persecution dragg'd them into fame, 725 
 
 And chas"d them up to Heaven. Their ashes flew 
 — No marble tolls us whither. With their names 
 No bard embalms and sanctifies his song :
 
 118 THE TASK. 
 
 And history, so warm on meaner themes, 
 
 Is cold on this. She execrates indeed 730 
 
 The tyranny that doom'd them to the fire, 
 
 But gives the glorious sufF'rers little praise.* 
 
 He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, 
 And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain 
 That hellish foes, confed'rate for his harm, 735 
 
 Can wind around him, but he casts it off 
 With as much ease as Samson his green withes. 
 He looks abroad mto the varied field 
 Of nature, and though poor, perhaps, compar'd 
 With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, 740 
 Calls the dehghtrul scenery all his own. 
 His are the mountains, and the valleys his, 
 And the resplendent rivers. His t' enjoy 
 With a propriety that none can feel, 
 But who, with filial confidence inspir'd, 745 
 
 Can lift to heav n an unpresumptuous eye. 
 And smiling say — " My Father made them all !" 
 Are they not his by a peculiar right, 
 And by an emphasis of int'rest his, 
 Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy, 750 
 
 Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind 
 With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love, 
 That plannd, and built, and still upholds a world 
 So clothd with beauty for rebellious man i 
 Yes — ye may fill your garners, ye that reap 755 
 
 The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good 
 In senseless riot ; but ye will not find 
 In feast or in the chase, in song or dance, 
 A liberty like his. who, unimpeach'd 
 Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, 760 
 
 Appropriates nature as his Father's work. 
 And has a richer use of yours than you. 
 He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth 
 Of no mean city ; plann'd or ere the hills 
 
 * See Hume.
 
 THE WLXTER MORNING WALK, 119 
 Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea, 765 
 
 With all his roaring multitude of waves. 
 His freedom is the same in ev'ry state ; 
 And no condition of this changeful life, 
 So manifold in cares, whose ev'ry day 
 Brings its own evil with it, makes it less : 770 
 
 For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain, 
 Nor penury, can cripple or confine. 
 No nook so narrow, but he spreads them there 
 With ease, and is at large. Th' oppressor holds 
 His body bound ; but knows not what a range 775 
 His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain; 
 And that to bind him is a vain attempt, 
 Whom God delights in, and in whom He dwells. 
 
 Acquaint thyself with God, if thou would'st taste 
 His works. Admitted once to his embrace, 760 
 
 Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before : 
 Thine eye shall be instructed ; and thine heart, 
 Made pure, shall relish with divine delight, 
 Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. 
 Brutes graze the mountain-top, with faces prone, 785 
 And eyes intent upon the scanty herb 
 It yields them ; or, recumbent on its brow, 
 Rummate heedless of the scene outspread 
 Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away 
 From inland regions to the distant main. 790 
 
 Man views it, and admires ; but rest^ content 
 With what he views. The landscape has his praise, 
 But not its author. Unconcern'd who form'd 
 The Paradise he sees, he finds it such, 
 And such well pleas'd to find it, asks no more. 795 
 Not so the mind that has been touch "d from Heav'n, 
 And in the school of sacred wisdoiii taught 
 To read His wonders, in whose thought the world, 
 Fair as it is, existed ere it was. 
 
 Nor for its own sake merely, but for his 800 
 
 Much more who fashion'd it, he gives it praise ; 
 Praise that from earth resulting, as it ought,
 
 120 THE TASK. 
 
 To earth's acknowledgd sov'reign, finds at once 
 
 Its only just proprietor in Him. 
 
 The soul that sees him, or receives sublim'd 805 
 
 New faculties, or learns at least t' employ 
 
 More worthily the powers she own'd before, 
 
 Discerns in all things what, with stupid gaze 
 
 Of ignorance, till then she overlook'd, 
 
 A ray of heavenly light, gilding all forms 81 
 
 Terrestrial in the vast and the minute ; 
 
 The unambiguous footsteps of the God, 
 
 Who gives its lustre to an insects wing, 
 
 And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. 
 
 Much conversant with Heaven, she often holds 815 
 
 With those fair ministers of light to man, 
 
 That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp, 
 
 Sweet conference. Inquires what strains were they 
 
 With which Heaven rang, when every star, in haste 
 
 To gratulate the new-created earth, 620 
 
 Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God 
 
 Shouted for joy. — •' Tell me, ye shining hosts, 
 
 That navigate a sea that knows no storms, 
 
 Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud, 
 
 If from your elevation, whence ye view 825 
 
 Distinctly scenes invisible to man. 
 
 And systems, of whose birth no tidings yet 
 
 Have reached this nether world, ye spy a race 
 
 Favour'd as ours ; transgressors from the womb 
 
 And hasting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise, 830 
 
 And to possess a brighter Heaven than yours .'' 
 
 As one, who, long detained on foreign shores, 
 
 Pants to return, and when he sees afar 
 
 His country's weather-bleachd and batter'd rocks, 
 
 From the green wave emerging, darts an eye 835 
 
 Radiant with joy toward the happy land; 
 
 So I v/ith animated hopes behold. 
 
 Ana many an aching wish, your beamy fires, 
 
 That show like beacons in the blue abyss, 
 
 Ordain'd to guide th' embodied spirit home 840
 
 THE WINTER MORNLNG WALK 121 
 
 From toilsome life to never-ending rest. 
 
 Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires 
 
 That give assurance of their own success, 
 
 And that, infus'd from Heaven, must thither tend." 
 
 So reads he Nature, whom the lamp of truth 845 
 Illunnnates. Thy lamp, mysterious Word ! 
 Which whoso sees, no longer wanders lost, 
 With intellects bemaz'd in endless doubt, 
 But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built 
 With means that were not, till by thee employ'd, 850 
 Worlds that had never been, hadst thou in strength 
 Been less, or less benevolent than strong. 
 They are thy witnesses, who speak thy pow'r 
 And goodness infinite, but speak in ears 
 That hear not, or receive not their report. 855 
 
 In vain thy creatures testify of thee, 
 Till thou proclaim thyself Theirs is indeed 
 A teaching voice ; but 'tis the praise of thine, 
 That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn, 
 And with the boon gives talents for its use. 860 
 
 Till thou art heard, imaginations vain 
 Possess the heart, and fables false as hell : 
 Yet deem'd oracular, lure down to death 
 The uninformd and heedless souls of men. 
 We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind, 
 The glory of thy vroik ; which yet appears 866 
 
 Perfect and uiximjjeachabb of blame, 
 Cliallenging human scrutiny, and prov'd 
 Then skilful most when most severely judg'd. 
 But chance is not ; or is not where thou reign'st : 870 
 Thy providence forbids that fickle pow'r 
 (If pow'r she be, that works but to confound) 
 To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. 
 Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can 
 Instruction, and inventing to ourselves 875 
 
 Gods such as guilt makes welcome ; god? that sleep, 
 Or disregard our follies, or that sit 
 Amusd spectators of this bustling stage. 
 
 Vor,. IT. n
 
 122 THE TASK. 
 
 Thee we reject, unable to abide 
 
 Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure, 880 
 
 Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause, 
 
 For which we shunn'd and hated thee before. 
 
 Then we are free. Then liberty, like day, 
 
 Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from heav'n 
 
 Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. 885 
 
 A voice is heard that mortal ears hear not, 
 
 Till thou hast touch'd them ; 'tis the voice of song, 
 
 A loud Hosanna sent from all thy works ; 
 
 Which he that hears it, with a shout repeats, 
 
 And adds his rapture to the general praise ! 890 
 
 In that blest moment, Nature, throwing wide 
 
 Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile 
 
 The author of her beauties, who, retir'd 
 
 Behind his own creation, works unseen 
 
 By the impure, and hears his powr denied : 895 
 
 Thou art the source and centre of all minds, 
 
 Their only point of rest, eternal Word ! 
 
 From thee departing, they are lost, and rove 
 
 At random, without honour, hope, or peace. 
 
 From thee is all that sooths the life of man, 900 
 
 His high endeavour, and his glad success, 
 
 His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. 
 
 But O thou bounteous Giver of all good, 
 
 Thou art of all thy gifts thyself k,he crown ! 
 
 Give what thou canst, without thee we ire poor ; 905 
 
 And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.
 
 THE TASK< 
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 
 
 ARGUMENT OF THE SIXTH BOOK 
 
 Bells at a distance — Their effect — A fine noon in winter — A shel- 
 tered walk — Meditation better than books — Our familiarity with 
 the course of Nature makes it appear less wonderful than 'it is — 
 The transformation that spring effects in a shrubbery, described 
 — A mistake concerning the course of Nature corrected — God 
 maintains it by an unremitted act — The amusements fashionabla 
 at this hour of the day reproved — Animals happy, a delight- 
 ful sight — Origin of cruelty to animals — That it is a great 
 crime proved from Scripture — That proof illustrated by a tale— » 
 A liae drawn between the lawful and unlawful destruction of 
 them — Their good and useful properties insisted on — Apology 
 for the encom.iums bestowed by the author on animals — Instances 
 of man's extravagant praise of man — The groans of the crea- 
 tion shall have an end— A view taken of the restoration of all 
 thiiigs — An invocation and an invitation of Him who shall bri«»g 
 it ,Uj pass — The retired man vindicated from the charge of us«- 
 lessuess — Conclusion. 
 
 THERE is in souls a sympathy with sounds, 
 
 And as the mind is pitch'd, the ear is pieas'd 
 
 W^ith melting airs or martial, brisk, or grave; 
 
 Some chord in unison with what we hear 
 
 Is touch'd within us, and the heart rephes, 5 
 
 How soft the musick of those village bells, 
 
 Falling at intervals upon the ear 
 
 In cadence sweet, now dying all away, 
 
 Now pealing loud again, and louder still, 
 
 Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on ! 10
 
 124 THE TASK. 
 
 With easy force it opens all the cells 
 
 Where Mem'ry slept. Wherever I have heard 
 
 A kindred melody, the scene recurs, 
 
 And with it all its pleasures and its paina. 
 
 Such comprehensive views the spirit takes, 15 
 
 That in a few short moments I retrace 
 
 (As in a map the voyager his course) 
 
 The windings of my way through many years. 
 
 Short as in retrospect the journey seems, 
 
 It seem'd not always short ; the rugged path, 20 
 
 And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn, 
 
 Mov'd many a sigh at its disheart'ning length. 
 
 Yet feeling present evils, while the past 
 
 Faintly impress the mind or not at all, 
 
 How readily we wish time spent revok'd, 25 
 
 That we might try the gromid again, where once 
 
 (Through inexperience as we'now perceive) 
 
 We miss'd that happiness we might have found ! 
 
 Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend! 
 
 A father, whose authority, in show 30 
 
 When most severe, and must'ring all its force, 
 
 Was but the graver countenance of love ; 
 
 Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might low'r, 
 
 And utter now and then an awful voice, 
 
 But had a blessing in its darkest frown, 35 
 
 Threatening at once and nourishing the plant. 
 
 We lov'd, but not enough, the gentle hand 
 
 That rear'd us. At a thoughtless age, allur'd 
 
 By ev'ry gilded folly, we renuunc'd 
 
 His shelt'ring side, and wilfu'.ly forewent 40 
 
 That converse which we now in vain regret. 
 
 How gladly would the man recall to life 
 
 The boy's neglected sire ! a mother too, 
 
 That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still, 
 
 Might he demand them at the gates of death. 4*5 
 
 Sorrow has, since they went, subdu'd and tam'd 
 
 The playful humour : he could now endure, 
 
 (Himself grown sober in the vale of tears.)
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 125 
 
 And feel a parent's presence no restraint. 
 
 But not to understand a treasure's worth, 50 
 
 Till time has stoln away the slighted good, 
 
 Is caase of half the povery we feel, 
 
 And makes the World the wilderness it is. 
 
 The few that pray at all. pray oft amiss, 
 
 And, seekmg grace t' improve the prize they hold, 55 
 
 Would urge a wiser suit than asking more. 
 
 The night was winter in its roughest mood ; 
 The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon 
 Upon the southern side of the slant hills. 
 And where the woods fence off the northern blast, GO 
 The season smiles, resigning all its rage, 
 And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue 
 Without a cloud, and white without a speck 
 The dazzling splendour of the scene below. 
 Again the harmony coanes o'er the vale ; 65 
 
 Aiid through the trees I view th' embattled tow'r, 
 Whence all the musick. I again perceive 
 The soothing influence of the wafted strains, 
 And settle in soft musings as I tread 
 The walk, still verdant, under oaks and elms, 70 
 
 Whose outspread branches overarch the glade. 
 The roof, though moveable through all its length 
 As the wind sways it, has yet v;ell suffic'd, 
 And, intercepting in their silent fall 
 The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. 75 
 
 No noise is here, or none that hinders thought 
 The red-breast warbles still, but is content 
 With slender notes, and more than half suppress'd: 
 Pleas'd with his solitude, and flitting light 
 From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes 60 
 From many a twig the pendent drops of ice, 
 That tinkle in the withered h.-aves below. 
 Stillness, accompanied with .sounds bo soft, 
 Charms more than silence Meditation ht»re 
 May think down hours to moments. Here the heart 85 
 May give a useful lesson to the head, 
 11*
 
 126 THE TASK. 
 
 And Learning wiser grow without his books. 
 
 Knowledge and Wisdom, far from being one, 
 
 Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells 
 
 In heads replete with thoughts of other men ; 90 
 
 Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. 
 
 Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass. 
 
 The mere materials with which Wisdom builds, 
 
 Till smooth'd, and squar'd, and fitted to its place, 
 
 Does but encumber whom it seems t' enrich. 95 
 
 Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much ; 
 
 Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. 
 
 Books are not seldom talismans and spells, 
 
 By which the magick art of shrewder wits 
 
 Hold an unthinking multitude enthrall'd. 100 
 
 Some to the fascination of a name, 
 
 Surrender judgment hood-wink'd. Some the style 
 
 Infatuates, and through labyrinths and wilds 
 
 Of errour leads them, by a tune entranc'd. 
 
 While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear 105 
 
 The insupportable fatigue of thought, 
 
 And swallowing, therefore, without pause or choice 
 
 The total grist unsifted, husks and all. 
 
 But tree and rivulets, whose rapid course 
 
 Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer, 110 
 
 And sheep-walks populous with bleating lambs, 
 
 And lanes, in which the primrose ere her time 
 
 Peeps through the moss, that clothes the hawthorn 
 
 root, 
 Deceive no student. Wisdom there, and truth, 
 Not shy, as in the world, and to be won 115 
 
 By slow solicitation, seize at once 
 The roving thought, and fix it on themselv - ;. 
 
 Wliat prodigies can pow'r divine perform 
 More grand than it produces year by year, 
 And all in sight of inattentive man .' 120 
 
 Familiar with th' eflfect, we slight the cause, 
 And in the constancy of Nature's course, 
 The regular return of genial months,
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 127 
 And renovation of a faded world, 
 See nought to wonder at. Should God again, 135 
 As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race 
 Of th' undeviating and punctual sim, 
 How would the world admire 1 But speaks it less 
 An agency divine, to make him know 
 His moment when to sink and when to rise^ 130 
 
 Age after ege, than to arrest his course ? 
 All we behold is miracle ; but seen 
 So duly, all is miracle in vain. 
 Where now the vital energy, that mov'd 
 While summer was, the pure and subtle lymph 135 
 Throngh th' imperceptible meand'ring veins 
 Of leaf and flnw'r ? It sleeps ; and th' icy touch 
 Of unproliSck winter has impress'd 
 A cold stagnation on th" intestine tide. 
 But let the months go round, a few short months, 140 
 And all shall be restor'd. These naked shoots, 
 Barren as lances, among which the wind 
 Makes wintry musick, sighing as it goes, 
 Shall put their graceful foliage on again, 
 And. more aspiring, and with ampler spread, 145 
 
 Shall boast new charms, and more than they have lost. 
 Then each in its peculiar honours clad, 
 Shall publish even to the distant eye 
 Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich 
 In streaming gold ; syringa, iv'ry pure 150 
 
 The scentless and the scented rose ; this red 
 And of a humbler growth, the other" tall, 
 And throwing up into the darkest g]oora 
 Of neighb'ring cypress, or more sable yew', 
 Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf, 155 
 
 That the wind severs from the broken wave *, 
 The iilack, variou? in array, nrsw white, 
 Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set 
 Wiih purple spikes pyramidal, as if 
 Studious of ornament, yet unresolv'd 160 
 
 " The Guelder Rose.
 
 128 * THE TASK. 
 
 Which hue she most approv'd, she chose them all ; 
 Copious of flowers, the woodbine, pale and wan, 
 But well compensating her sickly looks 
 With never cloying odours, early and late ; 
 Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm 165 
 
 Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods, 
 That scarce a leaf appears ; mezereon, too, 
 Thouf^h leafless, well-attir'd and thick beset 
 With blushing wreaths, investing every spray ; 
 Althsea with the purple eye ; the broom 170 
 
 Yellow and bright, as bullion unalloy'd, 
 Her blossoms ; and luxuriant above all 
 The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, 
 The deep dark green of whose unvarnished leaf 
 Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more 175 
 
 The bright profusion of her scatterd stars. — 
 These have been, and these shall be in their day ; 
 And ail this uniform uncolour'd scene 
 Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load, 
 And flush into variety again. 180 
 
 From dearth to plenty, and from death to life, 
 Is Nature's progress, when she lectures man 
 In heavnly truth ; evincing, as she makes 
 The grand transition, that their lives and works 
 A soul in all things, and that sou! is God. 185 
 
 The beauties of the wilderness are his, 
 That makes so gay the solitary place, 
 Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms, 
 That cultivation glories in, are his. 
 He sets the bright procession on its way, 190 
 
 And marshriis all the order of the year ; 
 He marks the bounds, which winter may not pass, 
 And blunts his pointed fury ; in Its case, 
 Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ, 
 Uninjurd, with inimitable art ; 195 
 
 And. ere one flow'ry season fades and dies, 
 Designs the blooming wonders of the next. 
 Some say that in the origin of tilings,
 
 HE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 129 
 
 When ail creation started into birth, 
 
 The infant elements receiv d a law 200 
 
 From which they swerv'd not since. That under force 
 
 Of that controlling ordinance they move, 
 
 And need not His immediate hand who first 
 
 Prescrib'd their course, to regulate it now. 
 
 Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God 205 
 
 Th' encumbrance of his own concerns, and spare 
 
 The great artificer of all that moves 
 
 The stress of a continual act, the pain 
 
 Of unremitted vigilance and care, 
 
 As too laborious and severe a task. 210 
 
 So man, the moth, is not afraid, it seems, 
 
 To span omnipotence, and measure might 
 
 That knows no measure, by the scanty rule 
 
 And standard of his own, that is to-day, 
 
 And is not ere to-morrow's sun go down. 215 
 
 But how should matter occupy a charge, 
 
 Dull as it is, and satisfy a law 
 
 So vast in its demands, unless impell'd 
 
 To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force, 
 
 And under pressure of some conscious cause ? 220 
 
 The Lord of all, himself through all diffus'd, 
 
 Sustains, and is the life of all that lives. 
 
 Nature is but a name for an effect. 
 
 Whose cause is God. He feeds the secret fire, 
 
 By v/hich the mighty process is maintain'd, 225 
 
 Who sleeps not, is not weary ; in whose sight 
 
 Slow circling ages are as transient days ; 
 
 Whose work is without labour ; whose designs 
 
 No flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts ; 
 
 And whose beneficence no charge exhausts. 230 
 
 Him blind antiquity profan'd, not serv'd, 
 
 With self-taught rites, and under various names, 
 
 Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan, 
 
 And Flora, and Vertumnus ; peopling earth 
 
 With tutelary goddesses and gods, S35 
 
 That were not ; and commending as they would
 
 130 THE TASK. 
 
 To each some provkice, garden, field, or grove. 
 
 But all are under one. One spirit — His 
 
 Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows — 
 
 Rules universal nature. Not a flower 240 
 
 But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain, 
 
 Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires 
 
 Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues, 
 
 And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, 
 
 In grains as countless as the seaside sands, 245 
 
 The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. 
 
 Happy who walks with him ! whom what he finds 
 
 Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower, 
 
 Of what he views of beautiful or grand 
 
 In nature, from the broad majestick oak 250 
 
 To the green blade that twinkles in the sun. 
 
 Prompts with remembrance of a present God 
 
 His presence, who made all so fair, perceiv'd, 
 
 Makes all still fairer As with him no scene 
 
 Is dreary, so with him all seasons please. 255 
 
 Though winter had been none, had man been true 
 
 And earth be punish'd for its tenant's sake, 
 
 Yet not in vengeance ; as this smiling sky, 
 
 So soon succeeding such an angry night, 
 
 And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream 260 
 
 Recov'ring fast its liquid musick, prove. 
 
 Who, then, that has a mind well strung and tun d 
 To contemplation, and within his reach 
 A scene so friendly to his fav'rite task. 
 Would waste attention at the checker "d board. 265 
 His host of wooden warriours to and fro 
 Marching and countermarching, with an eye 
 As fix'd as marble, with a forehead ridg'd 
 And furrow'd into storms, and with a hand 
 Trembling, as if eternity were hung 270 
 
 In balance on his conduct of a pin ? 
 Nor envies he aught more their idle sport, 
 Who pant with application misapplied 
 To trivial toys, and, pushing iv'ry balls
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 131 
 
 Across a velvet level, feel a joy 275 
 
 Akin to rapture, when the bauble finds 
 
 Its destind goal, of difficult access. 
 
 Nor deems he wiser him, who gives his noon 
 
 To miss, the mercer's plague from shop to shop 
 
 Wand'ring, and litt'ring with unfolded silks 280 
 
 The polish'd counter, and approving none, 
 
 Or promising with smiles to call again. 
 
 Nor him, who by his vanity seduc'd, 
 
 And sooth"d into a dream, that he discerns 
 
 The diff rence of a Guido from a daub, 285 
 
 Frequents the crowded auction : station 'd there 
 
 As duly as the Langford of the show, 
 
 With glass at eye, and catalogue in hand, 
 
 And tongue accomplish'd in the fulsome cant 
 
 And pedantry that coxcombs learn wnth ease •• 290 
 
 Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls. 
 
 He notes it in his book, then raps his box. 
 
 Swears 'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate, 
 
 That he has let it pass — but never bids ! 
 
 Here unmolested, through whatever sign 295 
 
 The sun proceeds, I wander. Neither mist, 
 Nor freezing sky nor sultry, checking me, 
 Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy. 
 E'en in the spring and playtime of the year, 
 That calls the unwonted villager abroad 300 
 
 With all her little ones, a sportive train. 
 To gather kingcups in the yellow mead. 
 And prink their hair with daisies, or to pick 
 A cheap but wholesome salad from the brook — 
 These shades are all my own. The tim'rous hare, 
 Grown so familiar with her frequent guest, 306 
 
 Scarce shuns lue , and the stock-dove, iinalarm'd. 
 Sits cooing in the pinetree, nor suspends 
 His long love ditty for my near approach. 
 Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm, 310 
 
 That age or injury has hollow'd deep, 
 Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves.
 
 132 THE TASK. 
 
 He has outslept the winter, ventures forth, 
 
 To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun, 
 
 The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play ', 315 
 
 He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, 
 
 Ascends the neighb'ring beech ; there whisks his brush, 
 
 And perks his ears, and stamps, and cries aloud, 
 
 With all the prettiness of feign'd alarm, 
 
 And anger insignificantly fierce. 320 
 
 The heart is hard in nature, and unfit 
 For human fellowship, as being void 
 Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike 
 To love and friendship both, that is not pleas'd 
 V/ith sight of animals enjoying life, 325 
 
 Nor feels their happiness augment his own. 
 The bounding fawn, that darts across the glade 
 When none pursues, through mere delight of heart 
 And spirits buoyant with excess of glee ; 
 The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet, 330 
 
 That skims the spacious meadow at full speed, 
 Then stops, and snorts, and, throwing high his heels, 
 Starts to the voluntary race again ; 
 The very kine that gambol at high noon, 
 The total herd receiving first from one, 335 
 
 That leads the dance, a summons to be gay, 
 Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth 
 Their eflforts, yet resolv'd, with one consent. 
 To give such act and utt'rance as they may 
 To ecstasy too big to be suppress'd — 340 
 
 These, and a thousand images of bliss, 
 With which kind Nature graces ev'ry scene. 
 Where cruel man defeats not her design, 
 Impart to the benevolent, who wish 
 All that are capable of pleasure pleas'd, 345 
 
 A far superioiir happiness to theirs. 
 The comfort of a reasonable joy. 
 
 Man scarce had ris'n, obedient to his call 
 Who foriri'd him from the dust, his future grave. 
 When ho was crown'd as never king was since. 350
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 133 
 
 God set the diadem upon his head, 
 And angel choirs attended. Wond'ring stood 
 The new-made monarchy while before him pass'd, 
 All happy, and all perfect in their kind. 
 The creatures, summon 'd from their various haunts, 
 To see their sovereign, and confess his sway. 356 
 
 Vast was his empire, absolute liis pow'r, 
 Or boanded only by a law, whose force 
 'Twas his sublimest privilege to feel 
 And own— the law of universal love. 3G0 
 
 He ruld with meekness, they obey'd with joy ; 
 No cruel purpose lurk'd within his heart, 
 And no distrust of his intent in theirs. 
 So Eden was a scene of harmless sport, 
 Where kindness on his part who ruld the whole, 365 
 Begat a tranquil confidence in all, 
 And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear. 
 But sin marr'd all ; and the revolt of man, 
 That source of evils not exhausted yet, 
 Was punish'd with revolt of his from him. 370 
 
 Garden of God, how terrible the change 
 Thy groves and lawns then witness"d ! Ev'ry heart, 
 Each animal, of ev"ry name, conceiv"d 
 A jealousy and an instinctive fear, 
 And, conscious of some danger, either fled 375 
 
 Precipitate the loath'd abode of man. 
 Or growVd defiance in such angry sort, 
 As taught him too to tremble in liis turn. 
 . Thus harmony and family accord 
 Were driv'n from Paradise ; and in that hour 380 
 
 The seeds of cruelty, that since have swell'd 
 To such gigantick and enormous growth, 
 Were sown in human nature's fruitful soil. 
 Hence date the persecution and the pain, 
 That man inflicts on all inferiour kinds, 385 
 
 Regardless of their plaints. To make him sport, 
 To gratify the frenzy of his wrath, 
 Or his base glut ton v, are causes good 
 Vor. TI. ' 11
 
 134 THE TASK. 
 
 And just in hi^ account, why bird and beast 
 
 Should suffer torture, and the streams be died 390 
 
 With blood of their inhabitants impal'd. 
 
 Earth groans beneath the burden of a war 
 
 Wag'd with defenceless innocence, while he, 
 
 Not satisfied to prey on all around, 
 
 Adds tenfold bitterness to death by pangs 395 
 
 Needless, and first torments ere he devours. 
 
 Now happiest they that occupy the scenes 
 
 The most remote from his abhorrd resort, 
 
 Whom once, as delegate of God on earth. 
 
 They fear d, and as his perfect image, lov'd. 400 
 
 The wilderness is theirs, with all its caves, 
 
 Its hollow glens, its thickets, and its plains, 
 
 Unvisited by man. There tliey are free, 
 
 And howl and roar as likes them, uncontroll'd ; 
 
 Nor ask his lea\e to slumber or to play. 405 
 
 Wo to the tyrant, if he dare intrude 
 
 W^ithin the confines of their wild domain : 
 
 The lion tells him — I am monarch here — 
 
 And if he spare him, spares him on the terms 
 
 Of royal mercy, and through gen'rous scorn 410 
 
 To rend a victim trembling at his foot. 
 
 In measure, as by force of instinct drawn, 
 
 Or by necessity constrained, they live 
 
 Dependent upon man ; those in his fields, 
 
 These at his crib, and some beneath his roof. 415 
 
 They prove too often at how dear a rate 
 
 He sells protection — Witness at his foot 
 
 The spaniel dying for some venial fault 
 
 Under dissection of the knotted scourge ; 
 
 Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells 420 
 
 Driv'n to the slaughter, goaded, as he runs. 
 
 To madness ; while the savage at his heels 
 
 Laughs at the frantick suffrer's fury, spent 
 
 Upon the guiltless passenger o'erthrown. 
 
 He too is witness, noblest of the train 425 
 
 That wait on man. the flight -performing liorsc ;
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 135 
 
 With unsuspecting readiness he takes 
 
 His murd'rer on his back, and, push'd all day 
 
 With bleeding sides and flanks that heave for life, 
 
 To the far distant goal arrives and dies. 430 
 
 So little mercy shows who needs so much ! 
 
 Does law, so jealous in the cause of man, 
 
 Denounce no doom on the delinquent ? None. 
 
 He lives and oer his brimming beaker boasts 
 
 (As if barbarity were high desert,) 435 
 
 Th' inglorious feat, and clanaorous in praise 
 
 Of the poor biute, seems wisely to suppose 
 
 The honours of his matchless horse his own. 
 
 But many a crime, deem'd innocent on earth, 
 
 Is registerd in Heav'n ; and these no doubt, 440 
 
 Have each their record, with a curse annex'd. 
 
 Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, 
 
 But God will never. When he charg'd the Jew 
 
 T' assist his foes down-fallen beast to rise ; 
 
 And when the bush-exploring boy, that seiz'd 445 
 
 The young, to let the parent bird go free ; 
 
 Prov'd he not plainly, that his meaner works . 
 
 Are yet his care, and have an mt'rest all, 
 
 All, in the universal Father's love ? 
 
 On Noah, and in him on all mankind, 450 
 
 The charter was conferr'd by which we hold 
 
 The flesh of animals in fee, and claim 
 
 0"er all we feed on pow'r of life and death. 
 
 But read the instrument, and mark it well : 
 
 Th' oppression of a tyrannous control 455 
 
 Can find no warrant there. Feed then, and yield, 
 
 Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous, through sin, 
 
 Feed on the slain, but spare the living brute ? 
 
 The Governor of all. himself to all 
 So bountiful, in whose attentive ear 460 
 
 The unfledgd raven and the lion s whelp 
 Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs 
 Of hunger unassuagd, has interpos'd, 
 Not seldom, his avenging arm, to smite
 
 136 THE TASK. 
 
 Th' injurious trampler upon Nature's law, 4C5 
 
 That claims forbearance even for a brute. 
 
 He hates the hardness of a Balaam's heart ; 
 
 And, prophet as he was, he might not strike 
 
 The blameless animal, without rebuke, 
 
 On which he rode. Her opportune offence 470 
 
 Sav'd him, or the unrelenting seer had died. 
 
 He sees that human equity is slack 
 
 To interfere, though in so just a cause : 
 
 And makes the task his own. Inspiring dumb 
 
 And helpless victims with a sense so keen 475 
 
 Of injury, with such knowledge of their strength 
 
 And such sagacity to take revenge. 
 
 That oft the beast has seem'd to judge the man. 
 
 An ancient, not a legendary tale. 
 
 By one of sound intelligence rehears'd, 480 
 
 (If such who plead for Providence may seem 
 
 In modern eyes.) shall make the doctrine clear. 
 
 Where England, stretchd towards the setting sun, 
 Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave, 
 Dwelt young Misagathus ; a scorner he 485 
 
 Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent, 
 Vicious in act, in temper savage -fierce. 
 He journey 'd : and his chance was, as he went, 
 To join a trav'ller, of far different note, 
 Evander, fam'd for piety, for years 490 
 
 Deserving honour, but for wisdom more. 
 Fame had not left the venerable man 
 A stranger to the manners of the youth. 
 Whose face, too, was familiar to his view. 
 Their way was on the margin of the land, 495 
 
 O'er the green summit of the rocks, whoso base 
 Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high. 
 The charity that warm'd his heart, was mov'd 
 At sight of the man-monster. With a smile 
 Gentle and affable, and full of grace, 500 
 
 As fearful of oflending whom he wish'd 
 Much to persuade; he plied his ear with truths
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 137 
 Not harldly thunder 'd forth, or rudely pressd, 
 But, hke his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet 
 " And dost thou dream," th" impenetrable man 505 
 Exclaim d, " that me the lullabies of age, 
 And fantasies of dotards, such as thou, 
 Can cheat, or move a moments fear in me ? 
 Mark now the proof I giv^e thee, that the brave 
 Need no such aidr? as superstition lends 510 
 
 " To steel their hearts against the dread of death." 
 Pie spoke, and to the precipice at hand 
 Push'd vv'ith a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks, 
 And the blood thrills and curdles at the thought 
 Of such a gulf as he design'd his grave. 515 
 
 But though the felon on his back could dare 
 The dreadful leap, more rational, liis steed 
 Declind the death, and wheeling swiftly round, 
 Or ere his hoof had press'd the crumbling verge, 
 Baffled his rider, savd against his will. 520 
 
 The frenzy of the brain may be redressed 
 By mcdcine well applied, but without grace 
 The hearts insanity admits no cure. 
 Enragd the more, by what might have reform'd 
 His horrible intent, again he sought 525 
 
 Destruction, with a zeal to be destroyed. 
 With sounding whip, and rowels died in blood, 
 But still in vain. The Providence that meant 
 A longer date to the far nobler beast, 
 Spard yet again th' ignobler for his sake. 530 
 
 And now, his prowess prov'd, and his sincere 
 Incurable obduracy evinc"d. 
 
 His rage grew cool, and, pleas"d perhaps t' have earn'd 
 So cheaply, the renown of that attempt, 
 With looks of some complacence he resum'd 535 
 
 His road, deriding much the blank amaze 
 Of good Evander, still where he was left 
 Fix"d motionless, and petrified witn dread. 
 So on they far'd. Discourse on other themes 
 Ensuing .seem'd t' obliterate the past ; 540 
 
 12^
 
 138 THE TASK. 
 
 And tamer far for so much fury shown, 
 
 (As is the course of rash and fiery men,) 
 
 The rude companion smil'd, as if transform'd — 
 
 But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near 
 
 An unsuspected storm. His liour was come. 545 
 
 The impious challenger of Pow'r divine 
 
 Was now to learn, tliat Heav'n, though slow to wrath, 
 
 Is never with impunity defied. 
 
 His horse, as he had caught his master's mood, 
 
 Snorting, and starting into sudden rage, 550 
 
 Unbidden, and not now to be controll'd, 
 
 Rush'd to the clifi:', and, having reach'd it, stood. 
 
 At once the shock unseated him : he flew 
 
 Sheer o'er the craggy barrier ; and immers'd 
 
 Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not, 555 
 
 The death he had deserv'd, and died alone. 
 
 So God wrought double justice ; made the fool 
 
 The victim of his ov/n tremendous choice. 
 
 And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. 
 
 I would not enter on my list of friends, 560 
 
 (Though grac'd with polish'd manners and fine sense, 
 Yet wanting sensibility,) the man 
 Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 
 An inadvertent step may crush the snail 
 That crawls at ev'ning in the publick path ; 565 
 
 But he that has humanity, forewarn'd, 
 Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 
 The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight. 
 And charg'd perhaps with venom, that intrudes, 
 A visitor unwelcome, into scenes 570 
 
 Sacred to neatness and repose, th' alcove, 
 The chamber, or refectory, iuay die ; 
 A necessary act incurs no blame. 
 Not so when, held within their proper bounds, 
 And guiltless of ofl^cncC; they range the air, 575 
 
 Or take their pastime in the spacious fi.:)ld : 
 There they are privileg d ; and he that hunts 
 Or harms them there is guilty of a wroilg';
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 139 
 Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm, 
 Who. when she form'd, designd them an abode. 5S0 
 The sum is this : If man's convenience, health, 
 Or safety, interfere, his rights and claims 
 Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. 
 Else they are all — the meanest things that are — 
 As free to live, and to enjoy that life, 585 
 
 As God was free to form them at the first. 
 Who in his sov'reign wisdom made them all. 
 Ya, therefore, who love mercy, teach jvour sons 
 To love it too. The spring time of our years 
 Is soon dishonour'd and defil'd in most 590 
 
 By buddiiig ills, that ask a prudent hand 
 To check them. But, alas ! none sooner shoots, 
 If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth, 
 Than cruelty, most dev'lish of them all. 
 Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule .595 
 
 And righteous limitation of its act, 
 By which Heav'n moves in pard'ning guilty man ; 
 And he that shows none, being ripe in years, 
 And conscious of the outrage he commits, 
 Sliall seek it, and not find it, in his turn. 600 
 
 DistinguLshd much by reason, and still more 
 By our capacity of grace divine, 
 From creatures, that exist but for our sake, 
 Which having servd us, perish, we are held 
 Accountable ; and God some future day 605 
 
 Will reckon with us roundly for th' abuse 
 Of what he deems no mean nor trivial trust. 
 Superiour as we are, they yet depend 
 Not more on human help than we on tiieirs. 
 Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were giv'n 610 
 In old of our defects. In some are found 
 Such teachable and apprehensive parts. 
 That man s attainments in his own concerns, 
 Match'd with ih' expertness of the brutes in theirs, 
 Are oftti;uoi vanquish'd and throvvn far behind. 615 
 Some show that nice sagacity of smell,
 
 .140 THE TASK. 
 
 And read uitli such discernment, in the port 
 And figure of the man, his secret aim^ 
 That oft we owe our safety to a skill 
 We could not teach, and must despair to learn. 6^0 
 But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop 
 To quadruped instructers many a good 
 And useful quality, and virtue too, 
 Rarely exemplified among ourselves. 
 Attachment never to be wean'd, or chang'd 625 
 
 By any change of fortune : proof alike 
 Against unkindncss. absence, and neglect; 
 Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat 
 Can move or warp ; and gratitude for small 
 And trivial favours, lasting as the life, 630 
 
 And glisfning even in the dying eye. 
 Man praises man. Desert in arts or arm.s 
 Wins publick honour ; and ten thousand sit 
 Patiently present at a sacred song, 
 Commemoration mad ; content to hear 635 
 
 <0 wonderful effect of musick's power !) 
 IMcssiah's eulogy for Handcrs sake 1 
 But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve — • 
 (For. was it less, what heathen would liave dar'd 
 To strip Joves statue of liis oaken wreath, 640 
 
 And hang it up in honour of a man .') 
 Much less might serve, when all that we design 
 Is but to gratify an itching ear, 
 And give the day to a musician's praise. 
 Remember Handel ? Who, that was not born C45 
 Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets, 
 Or can, the more than Homer of his age ? 
 Yes — we remember him ; and while we praise 
 A talent so divine, remember too 
 
 That His most holy book from vrliora it came, 650 
 Was never meant, was never us'd before, 
 To buckram out the mem'ry of a man. 
 But hush ! — the Muse perhaps is too severe 
 And with a gravity beyond the size
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 141 
 
 And measure of tli' offence, rebukes a deed 655 
 
 Less impious than absurd, and owing ore 
 
 To want of judgment than to wrong design 
 
 So in the cliapel of old Ely House, 
 
 When wandring Charles, who meant to be the third, 
 
 Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, 660 
 
 The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce. 
 
 And eke did roar right merrily, two staves, 
 
 Sung to the praise and glory of King George ! 
 
 — Man praises man : and Garricks mem'ry next. 
 
 When tmie hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made 665 
 
 The idol of our worship while he liv"d 
 
 The God of our idolatry once more. 
 
 Shall have its altar ; and the world shall go 
 
 In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. 
 
 The theatre too small, shall suffocate 670 
 
 Its squeez'd contents, and more than it admits 
 
 Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return 
 
 Ungratified ; for there some noble lord 
 
 Shall stuff his shoulders with King Richard's bunch, 
 
 Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak, 675 
 
 And strut, and storm, and straddle, stamp, and stare, 
 
 To show the world how Garrick did not act. 
 
 For Garrick was a worshipper himself; 
 
 He drew the liturgy, and fram'd the rites 
 
 And solemn ceremonial of the day, 680 
 
 And call'd the world to Vv^orship on the banks 
 
 Of Avon, famd in song. Ah, pleasant proof 
 
 That piety has still in human hearts 
 
 Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. 
 
 The mulb'rry tree was hung with blooming wreaths; 
 
 The mulbriy tree stood centre of the dance ; 68G 
 
 The mulb'rry tree was hymn'd with dulcet airs; 
 
 And from his touchwood trunk the mulb'rry tree 
 
 Supplied such relicks as devotion holds 
 
 Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. 690 
 
 So 'twas a hallow'd time : decorum rcign'd, 
 
 And mirth without offence. No few returned,
 
 142 THE TASK. 
 
 Doubtless, much edified, and all refresli'd. 
 
 — Man praises man. The rabble all alive 
 
 From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, G95 
 
 Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, 
 
 A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes. 
 
 Some shout him, and some hang upon his car, 
 
 To gaze in "s eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave 
 
 Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy : 700 
 
 While others, not so satisfied, unhorse 
 
 The gilded equipage, and turning loose 
 
 His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve. 
 
 Why ? what has charm'd them .' Hath he saved the 
 
 state .-" 
 No. Doth he purpose its salvation ? No. 705 
 
 Enchanting novelty, that moon at full, 
 That finds out evry crevice of the head 
 That is not sound, and perfect, hath in theirs 
 Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near, 
 And his own cattle must suffice him soon. 710 
 
 Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise. 
 And dedicate a tribute, in its use 
 And just direction sacred, to a thing 
 Doom'd to the dust, or lodg'd already there. 
 Encomium in old time was poet's work ; 715 
 
 But poets, having lavishly long since 
 Exhausted all materials of the art, 
 The task now falls into the publick hand ; 
 And I contented with an humbler theme. 
 Have pour'd my stream of panegyrick down 720 
 
 The vale of Nature, where it creeps and winds 
 Among her lovely works with a secure 
 And unambitious course, reflecting clear. 
 If not the virtues, yet the worth of brutes. 
 And I am recompensed, and deem the toils 725 
 
 Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine 
 May stand between an animal and wo, 
 And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. 
 The groans of Nature in this nether world.
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOOiV. 143 
 
 Which heav'n has heard for ages, have an end 730 
 
 Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung, 
 
 Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp ; 
 
 The time of rest, the promis'd sabbath, comes 
 
 Six thousand years of sorrow have well nig 
 
 Fulfilld their tardy and disastrous course 735 
 
 Over a sinful world ; and what remains 
 
 Of this tempestuous state of human things 
 
 Is merely as the working of a sea 
 
 Before a calm that rocks itself to rest ; 
 
 For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds 740 
 
 The dust that waits upon his sultry march, 
 
 When sin hath movd him, and his wrath is hot, 
 
 Shall visit earth in mercy ; shall descend 
 
 Propitious in his chariot pav'd with love ; 
 
 And what his storms have blasted and defac'd 745 
 
 For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. 
 
 Sweet is the harp of prophecy ; too sweet 
 Not to be wrong 'd by a mere mortal touch ; 
 Nor can the wonders it records be sung 
 To meaner musick, and not suffer loss. 750 
 
 But when a poet, or when one like me, 
 Happy to rove among poetick flow'rs, 
 ThougJi poor in skill to rear them, lights at last 
 On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, 
 Such is the impulse and the spur he feels, 755 
 
 To give it praise proportion'd to its worth, 
 Th^-' not t' attempt it, arduous as he deems 
 The labour, were a task more arduous still. 
 
 O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, 
 Scenes of accomplish'd bliss 1 which who can see, 760 
 Though but in distant prospect, and not feel 
 His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the joy ? 
 Rivers of gladness water all the earth, 
 And clothe all climes with beauty ; the reproac' 
 Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field 765 
 
 Laughe with abundance ; and the land, once lean,
 
 144 THE TASK. 
 
 Or fertile only in its own disgrace, 
 
 Exults to see its thistly curse repeal'd. 
 
 The various seasons woven into one, 
 
 And that one season an eternal spring, 770 
 
 The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, 
 
 For there is none to covet, all are full. 
 
 The lion, and the libbard, and the bear, 
 
 Graze with the fearless flocks ; all bask at noon 
 
 Together, or all gambol in the shade ?75 
 
 Of the same grove, and drink one common stream j 
 
 Antipathies are none. No foe to man 
 
 Lurks in the serpent now ; the mother sees, 
 
 And smiles to see, her infants playful hand 
 
 Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm, 780 
 
 To stroke his azure neck, or to receive 
 
 The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. 
 
 All creatures worship man, and all mankind 
 
 One Lord, one Father. Errour has no place ; 
 
 That creeping pestilence in driv'n away ; 785 
 
 The breath of Heav'n has clias'd it. In the heart 
 
 No passion touches a discordant string, 
 
 But all is harmony and love. Disease 
 
 Is not : the pure and uncontaminate blood 
 
 Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. 790 
 
 One song employs all nations ; and all cry, 
 
 '• Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us !" 
 
 The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks 
 
 Shout to each other, and the mountain tops 
 
 From distant mountains catch the flying joy, 795 
 
 Till, nation after nation taught the strain. 
 
 Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round. 
 
 Behold the measure of the promise fill'd ; 
 
 See Salem built, the labour of a God ! 
 
 Bright as a sun the sacred city shines ; 800 
 
 All kirigdoms and all princes of the earth 
 
 Flock to that light ; the glory of all lands 
 
 Flows into her ; unbounded is her joy,
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 145 
 
 And endless her increase. Thy rams are there 
 
 Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there f 805 
 
 The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, 
 
 And Sabas spicy groves pay tribute there. 
 
 Praise is in all her gates ; upon her walls, 
 
 And in her streets, and in her spacious courts, 
 
 Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there 810 
 
 Kneels with the native of the farthest west ; 
 
 And Ethiopia spreads abroad the band, 
 
 And worships. Her report has travell'd forth 
 
 Into all lands. From ev"ry clinie they come 
 
 To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, 815 
 
 O Sion I an assembly such as Earth 
 
 Saw never, such as Heav'n stoops down to see. 
 
 Thus heav'nward all things tend. For all were once 
 Perfect, and all must be at length restor'd. 
 So God has greatly purposed ; who would else 820 
 In his dishonour'd works himself endure 
 Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress. 
 Haste, then, and wheel away a shattered world, 
 Yc slow-revolving seasons ! we would see 
 (A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) 825 
 
 A world, that does not dread and hate his laws, 
 And suffer for its crime ; would learn how fair 
 The creature is, that God pronounces good ; 
 How pleasant in itself what pleases him. 
 Here ev'ry drop of honey hides a sting : 830 
 
 Worms wind themselves into our sweetest fiow'rs 
 And e'en the joy, that haply some poor heart 
 Derives from Heav'n, pure as the fountain is. 
 Is sullied in the stream, taking a taint 
 From touch of human lips, at best impure. 835 
 
 O for a world in principle as chaste 
 As this is gross and selfish ! over which 
 
 * Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and progenitors 
 of the Arabs in the propheliok Scripture here alluded to, may 
 be reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles al 
 large. 
 
 VoT,. n. 13
 
 I 
 
 146 THE TASK. ' 
 
 Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway, 
 
 That govern all things here, should Ting aside 
 
 The raeek and modest Truth, and forcing her 840 
 
 To seek a refuge from the tongue of Strife 
 
 In nooks obscure, far from the Vv'ays of men ; 
 
 Where Violence shall never lift the sword, 
 
 Nor Cunning justify the proud man's wrong, 
 
 Leaving the poor no remedy but tears : 845 
 
 Where he that fills an office, shall esteem 
 
 Th' occasion it presents of doing good 
 
 More than the perquisite : where Law shall speak 
 
 Seldom, and never but as Wisdom prompts 
 
 And Equity ; not jealous more to guard 850 
 
 A worthless form than to decide aright ; 
 
 Where Fashion shall not sanctify abuse, 
 
 Nor smooth Good-breeding (supplemental grace) 
 
 With lean performance ape the work of Love ! 
 
 Come, then, and, added to thy many crowns, 855 
 Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth. 
 Thou who alone art worthy ! It was thine 
 By ancient covenant, ere Nature's birth ; 
 And thou hast made it thine by purchase since ; 
 And oerpaid its value with thy blood. 860 
 
 Thy saints proclaim thee king ; and in their hearts 
 Thy title is engraven with a pen 
 Dipp'd in the fountain of eternal love. 
 Thy saints proclaim thee king ; and thy delay 
 Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see 865 
 The dav/n of thy last advent, long desir'd, 
 Would creep into the bowels of the hilis, 
 And flee for safety to the falling rocks. 
 The very spirit of the woild is tir'd 
 Of its own taunting question, ask'd so long, 870 
 
 " Where is the promise of your Lord's approach ?" 
 The infidel has shot his bolts away, 
 Till his exhausted quiver yielding none. 
 He gleans the blunted shafts, that have recoil'd, 
 And aims them at the shield of Truth again. 875
 
 THE WINTER "WALK AT NOON. 147 
 
 The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands, 
 
 That hides divinity from mortal eyes ; 
 
 And all the mysteries to faith propos'd, 
 
 Insulted and tradued are cast aside, 
 
 As useless, to the moles and to the hats. 880 
 
 They now are deemd the faithful, and are prais'd, 
 
 Who, constant only in rejecting Thee. 
 
 Deny thy Godhead with a martyr s zeal, 
 
 And quit their office for their errour's sake. 
 
 Blind and in love with darkness ! yet e'en these 6S5 
 
 Worthy, compar d with sycophants, who knee 
 
 Thy name adoring, and then preach thee man ; 
 
 So fares thy church. But how thy church may fare 
 
 The world takes little thought. Who will may preach, 
 
 And what they will. All pastors are alike 890 
 
 To wandring sheep, resolv'd to follow none. 
 
 Two gods divide them all — Pleasure and Gain ; 
 
 For these they live, they sacrifice to these, 
 
 And in their service wage perpetual war 894 
 
 With Conscience and with Thee. Lust in their hearts, 
 
 And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth 
 
 To prey upon each other ; stubborn, fierce, 
 
 High-minded, foaming out their own disgrace. 
 
 Thy prophets speak of such : and noting down 
 
 The features of ihe last degen'rate times, 900 
 
 Exhibit eVery lineament of these. 
 
 Come, then, and, added to thy many crowns, 
 
 Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest, 
 
 Due to thy last and most eifectual work, 
 
 Thy word fulfilld, the conquest of a world ! 905 
 
 He is the happy man, whose life o'en now 
 Shows somewhat of that happier life to come ; 
 Who, doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state. 
 Is pleas"d with it, and, were he free to choose. 
 Would make his fate his choice ; whom peace, the fruit 
 Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faitli, OH 
 
 Prepare for happiness ; bespeak him one 
 Content indeed to cojourn while he must
 
 146 THE TASK. 
 
 Below the skies, but having there his home. 
 
 The world o'erlooks him in her bus^v search 915 
 
 Of objects more illustrious in her view ; 
 
 And occupied as earnestly as she, 
 
 Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the World. 
 
 She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not ; 
 
 He seeks not hers, for he has prov'd them vain. 920^ 
 
 He cannot skim the ground like summer birds 
 
 Pursuing gilded flies ; and such he deems 
 
 Her honours, her emoluments, her joys. 
 
 Therefore in contemplation is his bliss, 
 
 Whose pow'r is such, that whom she lifts from earth 
 
 She makes familiar with a Heav'n unseen, 926 
 
 And shows him glories yet to be reveal'd. 
 
 ^^ot slothful he, though seeming unemployed, 
 
 And censur'd oft as useless. Stillest streams 
 
 Oft water f;urest meadows, and the bird 930 
 
 That flutters least is longest on the wing. 
 
 Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has rais'd, 
 
 Or what achievements of immortal fame 
 
 He purposes, and he shall answer — None. 
 
 His warfare is within. There, unfatigu'd, 935 
 
 His fervent spirit labours. There he fights 
 
 And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself. 
 
 And never-with'ring wreaths, compar'd with which, 
 
 The laurels that a Ceesar reaps are weeds. 
 
 Perhaps the self-approving, haughty world, 940 
 
 That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks 
 
 Scarce deigns to notice him, or if slie see, 
 
 Deems him a cipher in the works of God, 
 
 Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, 
 
 Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes 945 
 
 Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring 
 
 And plenteous harvest, to the pray'r he makes, 
 
 When, Isaac like, the solitary saint 
 
 Walks forth to meditate at eventide, 
 
 And think on her who thinks not for herself 950 
 
 Forgive him, then, thou bustler in concerns
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 149 
 
 Of little worth, an idler in the best, 
 If, author of no mischief and some good, 
 He seeks his proper happiness by means 
 That may advance, but cannot hinder, thine. 955 
 
 Nor, thoucrh he tread the secret path of life, 
 Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease. 
 Account him an encumbrance on the state, 
 Receiving benefits, and rendring none. 
 His sphere, though huinble, if that humble sphere 
 Shine with his fair example ; and though small 9GI 
 His influence, if that influence all be spent 
 In soothing sorrow, and in quenching strife, 
 In aiding helpless indigence in works 
 From which at least a grateful few derive 965 
 
 Some taste of comfort in a v/orld of wo ; 
 Then let the supercilious great confess 
 He serves his country, reco-mpenses well 
 The state beneath the shadow of whose vino 
 He sits secure, and in the scale of life 970 
 
 Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place. 
 The man, whose virtues are more felt than seen. 
 Must drop indeed the hope of publick praise ; 
 Rut he may boast, what few that win it can, 
 That if his country stand not by his skill, 975 
 
 At least his follies have not wrought her fall. 
 Polite Refinement offers him in vain 
 Her golden tubr, through wiiicli a sensual World 
 Draws gross impurity, and likes it well. 
 The neat conveyance hiding all the offence. 980 
 
 Not that he peevishly rejects a mode, 
 Because that World adopts it. If it bear 
 The stamp and clear impression of good serse, 
 And be not costly more than of true worth 
 He puts it on, and for decorum sake 985 
 
 Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she. 
 She judges «f refinement by the eye ; 
 Hs, by the test of conscience, and a heart 
 r*,?t soon deceivd ; av^are, that what is bas<j 
 33*
 
 150 THE TASK. 
 
 No polish can make sterling ; and that vice, 990 
 
 Though well pcrfuia'd and elegantly dress'd, 
 
 Like an unburied carcass trick'd with flow'rs, 
 
 Ib but a garnish'd nuisance, fitter far 
 
 For cleanly riddance than for fair attire. 
 
 fro life glides smoothly and by stealth away, 905 
 
 More golden than tliat age of fibled gold 
 
 Renown'd in ancient song ; not vex'd with care 
 
 Or stain'd with guilt, beneficent, approvVi 
 
 Of God and man, and peaceful in its end. 
 
 So glide my life away ! and. so at last, lOOO 
 
 Ivly sliare of duties decently iuKill'd, 
 
 May some disease, not tardy to perform 
 
 Its dcstin'd office, yet with gentle stroke, 
 
 Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat, 
 
 Beneath tlie turf that I have often trod. 1005 
 
 It shall not grieve me then, that once, when call'd 
 
 To dress a Sofa with the flow'rs of verse, 
 
 I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair, 
 
 With that hght Task ; but soon, to p!ease her more, 
 
 Whom flowers alone I knew would little please, 1810 
 
 Let fall th' unfinished wreatli, and rova for fruit ; 
 
 Rovd far, and gathcr'd much ; some harsh, 'tis true, 
 
 Pick'd from the thorns and briars of reproof. 
 
 But wholesome, well digested ; grateful some 
 
 To palates that can taste immortal truth ; 1015 
 
 Insipid else, and sure to be despis'd. 
 
 But all is in His hand whose praise I seek. 
 
 In vain the poet sings, and the World hears. 
 
 If he regard not, though divine the theme. 
 
 'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime 1020 
 
 And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre. 
 
 To charm His oar whose eye is on the heart, 
 
 Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain. 
 
 Whose approbation — prosper even mine.
 
 r i.-.i > 
 
 AN 
 
 EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESa 
 
 DEAR JOSEPH— five and twenty years ago— 
 Alas, how time escapes ! 'tis even so — 
 With frequent intercourse, ahd always sweet, 
 And always friendly, we were wont to cheat 
 A tedious hour — and now we never meet ! 
 As some grave gentleman in Terence says, 
 ('Tv/as therefore much the same in ancient days,) 
 Good lack, we know not wiiat to-inorrow brings — 
 Strange fluctuation of all human things 1 
 True. Changes will befall, and friends may part 
 Bat distance only cannot change the heart ; 
 And, where 1 call'd to prove th' assertion true, 
 One proof should serve — a reference to you. 
 
 Whence conies it, then, that in the vane of life, 
 Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife. 
 We find the friends we fancied we had won, 
 Though numerous once, reduc'd to few or none ? 
 Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch ^ 
 No ; gold they seem'd, but they were never such. 
 
 Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe, 
 Swinging the parlour door upon its hinge. 
 Dreading a negative, and overaw'd 
 Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad. 
 Go, fellow, — whither ? — turning short about — 
 Nay — Stny at home — you're always going out. 
 'Tis but a step, sir, just at tlie streets end. — 
 For what .'' — An please you. sir, to see a friend. — 
 A friend ! Horatio cried, and seem'd to start — 
 Yea, marrv shalt thou, and with all niv heaxt — • 
 
 K
 
 352 EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 And fetch my cloak ; for, though the night be raw, 
 I'll see him too — the first I ever saw. 
 
 I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, 
 And was his plaything often when a child ; 
 But somewhat at that moment pinchd him close, 
 Else he was seldom bitter or morose. 
 Perhaps his confidence just then betray 'd, 
 His grief might prompt him with the speech he made 
 Perhaps "twas mere good humour gave it birth. 
 The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. 
 Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind, 
 Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind. 
 
 But not to moralize too much, and strain. 
 To prove an evil, of which all complain, 
 (I hate long arguments verbosely spun,) 
 One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. 
 Once on a time, an empror, a v/ise inan, 
 No matter where, in China or Japan, 
 Decreed, that whosoever should offend 
 Against the well-known duties of a friend. 
 Convicted once, should ever after wear 
 But half a coat, and show his bosom bare. 
 The punishment importing this, no doubt. 
 That all was naught within, and all found out 
 
 O happy Britain ! v.^e have not to fear 
 Such hard and arbitrary measure here ; 
 Else; could a law like that which I relate. 
 Once have the sanction of our triple state. 
 Some few, that I have known in days of old, 
 Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold ; 
 While you, my friend, whatever w'iid should blow 
 Might traverse England safely to and fro, 
 An honest man, close button'd to the cliin. 
 Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within.
 
 TIROCINroM : 
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 
 
 KeipaXatov 6r} TtaiSeia; op^rj rpotpr) PLATO. 
 
 Apxv Tro\iTeias airaaris veuv rpo^a DI06. LA£RT.
 
 TO THE 
 
 REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UNWIN 
 
 RECTOR OF STOCK IN ESSEX, 
 
 THE TUTOR OF HIS TWO SONS, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING 
 
 RECOMMENDING PRIVATE TUITION, IN PREFERENCE 
 
 TO AN EDUCATION AT SCHOOL, 
 
 IS INSCRIBED, 
 
 BY HIS AFFECTIONATE FRIEND, 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER. 
 
 Olney, Nov. 6, 1784.
 
 TIROCINIUM. 
 
 IT is not from his form, in which we trace 
 Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace, 
 That man, the master of this globe, derives 
 His right of empire over all that lives. 
 That form, indeed, th' associate of a mind 5 
 
 Vast in its pow'rs, ethereal in its kind 
 That form, the labour of almighty skill, 
 Fram'd for the service of a freeborn will, 
 Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control, 
 But borrows all its grandeur from the soul. 10 
 
 Here is the state, the splendour, and the throne, 
 An intellectual kingdom, all her own. 
 For her the Mem"ry fills her ample page 
 With truths pcur'd down from ev'ry distant age ; 
 For her amasses an unbounded store, 15 
 
 The wisdom of great nations, now no more ; 
 Though laden, not encumberd with her spoil j 
 Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil ; 
 When copiously supplied, then most enlarg'd, 
 Still to be fed, and not to be surcharg'd. 20 
 
 For her the Fancy, roving unconfin'd, 
 The present muse of ev'ry pensive mind, 
 Works magick wonders, adds a brighter hue 
 To Nature's scenes than Nature ever knew. 
 At her command winds rise, and waters roar, 25 
 
 Again she lays them slumbering on the shore ;
 
 156 TIROCINIUM : OR, 
 
 With flow'r and fruit the wilderness supplies, 
 
 Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise. 
 
 For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife, 
 
 That Grace and Nature have to wage through hfe, 30 
 
 Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill, 
 
 Appointed sage preceptor to the will, 
 
 Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice 
 
 Guides tho decision of a doubtful choice. 
 
 "Why did the fiat of a God give birth . 35 
 
 To yon fair Sun, and his attendant Earth ? 
 And when, descending, he resigns the skies, 
 Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise, 
 Whom Ocean feels through all his countless waves, 
 And owns her pow'r on evry shore he laves ? 40 
 
 Why do the seasons still enrich the year. 
 Fruitful and young as in their first career ? 
 Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, 
 Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze ; 
 Summer in haste the thriving charge receives 45 
 
 Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves, 
 Till Autumns fiercer heats and plenteous dews 
 Die them at last in all their glowing hues — 
 'Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste, 
 Pow'r misemployed, munificence misplac'd, 50 
 
 Had not its author dignified the plan, 
 And crown d it with the majesty of man. 
 Thus form'd, thus plac'd, intelligent, and taught. 
 Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought, 
 The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws 55 
 
 Finds in a sober moment time to pause. 
 To press th' important question on his heart, 
 *' Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art .'"' 
 If man be what he seems, this hour a slave, 
 The next mere dust and ashes in the grave ; 60 
 
 Endu'd with reason only to descry 
 His crimes and follies with an aching eye ; 
 With passions, just that he may prove, with pain, 
 The force he spends against their fury vain ;
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 157 
 
 And if, soon after having burn'd, by turns, 65 
 
 With ev'ry lust with which frail Nature burns, 
 His being end where death desolves the bond, 
 The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond ; 
 Then he of all that Nature has brought forth, 
 Stands self-impeach'd the creature of least worth, 70 
 And useless while he lives and vrhen he dies, 
 Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies. 
 
 Truths, that the learn'd pursue with eager thought, 
 A.re not important always as dear bought, 
 Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, 75 
 A childish waste of philosophick pains ; 
 But truths, on v.'hich depends our main concern, 
 That 'tis our shame and mis'ry not to learn, 
 Shine by the side of ev'ry path we tread 
 With such a lustre, he that runs may read. 80 
 
 ^Tis true, that if to trifle life away 
 Down to the sunset of their latest day, 
 Then j)erish on futurity's wide shore. 
 Like fleeting exhalations, found no more, 
 "Were all that Heav'n requir'd of human kind, 85 
 
 And all the plan their destiny design'd. 
 What none could rev'rence all might justly blame, 
 And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame. 
 But reason heard, and nature well perus'd, 
 At once the dreaming mind is disabus'd. 90 
 
 If all we find possessing earth, sea, air, 
 Reflect his attributes who plac'd them there, 
 Fulfil the purpose, and appear design'd 
 Proofs of the wisdom of the all-seeing Mind, 
 'Tis plain the creature, whom he chose t' invest 95 
 With kingship and dominion o'er the rest, 
 Receiv'd his nobler nature, and was Made 
 Fit for the pow'r in which he stands array 'd ; 
 That first, or last, hereafter, if not here. 
 He too might make his author's wisdom clear, 100 
 Praise him on earth, or, obstinately dumb, 
 Suffer his justice in a v/orld to come. 
 
 Ynr.. TT. T 1
 
 153 TIROCINIUM: OR, 
 
 This oncebeliev'd, "twere logick misapplied, 
 
 To prove a consequence by none denied, 
 
 That we are bound to cast the minds of youth 105 
 
 Betimes into the mould of heavnly truth, 
 
 That taught of God they may indeed be wise, 
 
 Nor, ignorantly wand'ring, miss the skies. 
 
 In early days the conscience has in most 
 A quickness, which in later life is lost : 110 
 
 Preserv"d from guilt by salutary fears, 
 Or, guilty, soon relenting into tears. 
 Too careless often, as our years proceed. 
 What friends we sort with, or what books we read, 
 Our parents yet exert a prudent care, 115 
 
 To feed our infant minds with proper fare ; 
 And wisely store the nurs'ry by degrees 
 With wholesome learning, yet acquir'd with ease. 
 Neatly secur'd from being soil'd or torn 
 Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn, 120 
 
 A book, (to please us at a tender age 
 'Tis calFd a book, though but a single page.) 
 Presents the pray'r the Saviour deign'd to teach, 
 Which children use, and parsons — when they preach. 
 Lisping our syllables, we scramble next 125 
 
 Through moral narrative, or sacred text ; 
 And learn with wonder how this world began. 
 Who made, who marrd, and who has ransom'd man. 
 Points which, unless the Scripture made them plain, 
 The wisest heads might agitate in vain. 130 
 
 thou, whom, borne on fancy's eager wing 
 Back to the season of life's happy spring, 
 
 1 pleas'd remember, and, while mem'ry yet 
 Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget ; 
 Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale 135 
 Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail ; 
 
 Whose hum'rous vein, strong sense, and simple style, 
 May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile ; 
 Witty, and well emiiloy'd, and like thy Lord, 
 Speaking in parables his slighted word ; 140
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 159 
 
 I name thee not, lest so dcspis"d a name 
 Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame ; 
 Yet e'en in transitory life's late day, 
 That mingles all my brown with sober gray, 
 Revere the man. whose Pilgrim marks the road, 145 
 And guides the progress of the soul to God. 
 'Tw^ere well with most, if books, that could engage 
 Their childhood, pleasd them at a riper age ; 
 The man approving what had charm'd the boy, 
 Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy ; 150 
 
 And not with curses on his heart, who stole 
 The gem of truth from his unguarded soul. 
 The stamp of artless piety impressd 
 By kind tuition on his yielding breast, 
 The youth now bearded, and yet pert and raw, 155 
 Regards with scorn, though once receiv'd with awe; 
 And, v^'arp'd into the labyrinth of lies, 
 That babblers, call'd philosophers, devise, 
 Blasphemes his creed, as founded on a plan 
 Replete wuth dreams, unworthy of a man IGO 
 
 Touch but his nature in its ailing part, 
 Assert the native evil of his heart, 
 His pride resents the charge, although the proof 
 Rise in his foreliead, and seem rank enough ; 
 Point to the cure describe a Saviour's cross 165 
 
 As God's expedient to retrieve his loss, 
 The young apostate sickens at the view, 
 And hates it with the malice of a Jew. 
 
 How weak the barrier of mere Nature proves, 
 Oppos'd against the pleasures Nature loves ! 170 
 
 While self-betray'd and wildfully undone, 
 She longs to yield, no sooner wood than won. 
 Try now the merits of this bless d exchange, 
 Of modest truth for wit's eccentrick range. 
 Time was, he clos'd as he began the day 175 
 
 With decent duty, not asham'd to pray : 
 
 *" See 2 Chron. cli. xxvi. ver. 19.
 
 J GO TIROCINlUxM : OR; 
 
 The practice was a bond upon his heart, 
 
 A pledge he gave for a consistent part ; 
 
 Nor could he dare presumptuously displease 
 
 A pow'r confess'd so lately on his knees. 180 
 
 But now farewell all legendary tales, 
 
 The shadows fly, philosophy prevails ; 
 
 Pray'r to the winds, and caution to the waves •, 
 
 Religion makes thee free by nature slaves ) 
 
 Priests have invented, and the world admir'd 185 
 
 What knavish priests promulgate as inspired ; 
 
 Till Reason, now no longer overaw'd, 
 
 Resumes her powers, and spurns the clumsy fraud ; 
 
 And, common sense diffusing real day, 
 
 The meteor of the Gospel dies away 190 
 
 Such rhapsodies our shrewd discerning youth 
 
 Learn from expert inquirers after truth ; 
 
 Whose only care, might truth presume to speak, 
 
 Is not to find what they profess to seek. 
 
 And thus, well-tutor'd only while we share 195 
 
 A mother's lectures and a nurse's care ; 
 
 And taught at schools much mythologick stuff,* 
 
 But sound religion sparingly enough ; 
 
 Our early notices of truth, disgrac'd, 
 
 Soon lose their credit, and are all effac'd. 200 
 
 Would you your son should be a sot or dunce, 
 Lascivious, headstrong, or all these at once ; 
 That in good time the stripling's finish 'd taste 
 For loose expense, and fashionable waste, 
 Should prove your ruin and his own at last ; 205 
 
 Train him in publick with a mob of boys, 
 Childish in mischief only and in noise, 
 Else of a mannish growtli, and five in ten 
 In infidelity and lewdness men. 
 
 * The author be^s leave to explain. Sensible that without 
 such knowledg'e neither the ancient poets nor historians can 
 be tasted, or indeed understood, be does not mean to censure 
 the pains that are taken to instruct a school boy in the religion 
 of the Heathen, but merely that neglect of Christian culture, 
 which leaves him shamefully ignorant of his own.
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. IGl 
 
 There shall he leapti, ere sixteen winters old, 210 
 
 That authors are most useful, pawnd or sold; 
 
 That pedantry is all that schools impart, 
 
 But taverns teach the linowledge of the heart; 
 
 There v;aiter Dick, with Bacchanalian lays, 
 
 Shall win his heart, and have his drunken praise ; 215 
 
 His counsellor and bosom friend shall prove, 
 
 And s<jme street-pacing harlot his first love. 
 
 Schools, unless discipline were doubly strong, 
 
 Detain their adolescent charge too long ; 
 
 The management of tyroes of eighteen 220 
 
 Is difHcuIt, their punishment obscene. 
 
 The ptout tali captain, whose superiour size 
 
 The minor heroes view with envious eyes, 
 
 Becomes their pattern, upon whom they fix 
 
 Their whole attention, and ape all his tricks. 225 
 
 His pride, that scorns t' obey or to submit, 
 
 With them is courage ; his cfFront'ry, wit. 
 
 His wild excursions, window-breaking feats, 
 
 Robb'ry of gardens, quarrels in the streets, 229 
 
 His hairbreadth 'scapes, and all his daring schemes, 
 
 Transport them, and are made their fav"rite themes. 
 
 In little bosoms such achievements strike 
 
 A kindred spark : tjiey burn to do the like : 
 
 Thus half accomplishd ere he yet begin 
 
 To show the peeping down upon his chin ; 235 
 
 And, as maturity of years comes on, 
 
 Made just th' adept that you designed your son ; 
 
 T' ensure the perseverance of Lis course. 
 
 And give your monstrous project all its force, 
 
 Send him to college. If he there be tam'd, 240 
 
 Or in one article of vice reclaim d. 
 
 Where no regard of ord'nances is shown 
 
 Or look'd for now, the fault must be his own, 
 
 Some sneaking virtue lurks in him, no doubt, 
 
 Where neither strumpets charms nor drinking bout, 
 
 Nor gambhng practices, can find it out. 246 
 
 Such youlho of spirit, and that spirit too,
 
 162 TIROCINIUM : OR, 
 
 Ye nurs'ries of our boys, we owe to you : 
 
 Though from ourselves the mischief more proceeds, 
 
 For publick schools 'tis publick folly feeds. 250 
 
 The slaves of custom and establishd mode, 
 
 With packhorse constancy we keep the road, 
 
 Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, 
 
 True to the jingling of our leader's bells. 
 
 To follow foolish precedents, and wink 255 
 
 With both our eyes, is easier than to think ; 
 
 And such an age as ours balks no expense, 
 
 Except of caution, and of common sense ; 
 
 Else sure notorious fact and proof so plain, 
 
 Would tarn our steps into a wiser train. 260 
 
 I blame not those who, with what care they can, 
 
 O'erwatch the num'rous and unruly clan ; 
 
 Or, if I blame, 'tis only that they dare 
 
 Promise a work, of which they must despair. 
 
 Have ye, ye sage intendants of the whole, 265 
 
 A ubiquarian presence and control — 
 
 Elisha's eye, that, when Gehazi stray'd. 
 
 Went with hun, and saw all the game he play'd .' 
 
 Yes — ye are conscious ;. and on all the shelves 
 
 Your pupils strike upon, have struck yourselves, 270 
 
 Or if, by nature sober, ye had then, 
 
 Boys as ye were, the gravity of men ; 
 
 Ye knew at least, by constant proofs address'd 
 
 To ears and eyes, the vices of the rest. 
 
 But ye connive at what ye cannot cure, 275 
 
 And evils, not to be cndurd, endure. 
 
 Lest pow'r exerted, but without success, 
 
 Should make the little ye retain still less. 
 
 Ye once v/ere justly fam'd for bringing forth 
 
 Undoubted scholarship and genuine worth ; 280 
 
 And in the firmament of fame still shines 
 
 A glory, bright as that of all the signs, 
 
 Of poets rais'd by you, and statesmen, and divines. 
 
 Peace to them ail 1 those brilliant times are fled, 
 
 And no such lights are kindling- in their stead, 285
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 1G3 
 
 Our striplings shine indeed, but with such rays, 
 As set the inidnigiit riot in a blaze ; 
 And seem, if judg d by their expressive looks, 
 Deeper in none than in their surgeons' books. 
 
 Saj', Muse, (for education made the song, 290 
 
 No muse can hesitate, or Iniger long,) 
 What causes move us, knowing as we must, 
 That these menageries all fail their trust, 
 To send our sons to scout and scamper there, 
 While colts and puppies cost us so much caite .'' 295 
 
 Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise. 
 We love the play -place of our early days ; 
 The scene is touching, and the heart is stone 
 That feels not at that sight, and feels at none. 
 The wall on v/hich we tried our graving skill, 300 
 The very name we carv'd subsisting still ; 
 The bench on which v/e sat while deep employ'd, 
 Tho' mangled, hack'd, and hew'd, not yet destroy'd ; 
 The little ones, unbottond, glowing hot, 
 Playing our games, and on the very spot ; 305 
 
 As happy as we once, to kneel and draw 
 The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw ; 
 To pitch the ball into tlie grounded hat. 
 Or drive it devious 'v-ith a dext'rous pat ; 
 The pleasing spectacle ai once excites 310 
 
 Such recollection of our own delights, 
 That, viewing it, we seem almost t' obtain 
 Our innocent sweet simple years again. 
 This fond attachment to the well-knov.'n place. 
 Whence first we started into life's long race, 315 
 
 Maintains its hold with suck unfailing sway. 
 We feel it e'en in age, and at our latest day. 
 Hark ! how the sire of chits, whose future share 
 Of classick food begins to be his care. 
 With his ovvn likeness plac'd en either knee, 320 
 
 Indulges all a father's heart-felt glee ; 
 And tells them, as he strokes their silver locks, 
 That they must soon learn Latin, and to box ;
 
 164 TIROCINIUM: OR, 
 
 Then turning, he regales liis list'ning wife 
 
 With all the adventures of his early life ; 325 
 
 His skill in coachmanship, or driving chaise, 
 
 In bilking tavern bills, and spouting plays; 
 
 What shifts he usd, detected in a scrape, 
 
 How he was lloggd or had the luck t' escape ; 
 
 What sums he lost at play, and how he sold 330 
 
 AVatch, seals, and all — till all his pranks are told. 
 
 Retracing thus his fi-ollcks, ('tis a name 
 
 That palliates deeds of folly and of shame,) 
 
 He gives the local bias all its sv/ay ; 
 
 Resolves that v/here he play'd his sons shall play, 335 
 
 And destines their bright genius to be shown 
 
 Just in the scene where he display d his own. 
 
 The meek and bashful boy will soon be taught, 
 
 To be as bold and forward as he ought ; 
 
 The rude will scuffle through with ease enovigh, 340 
 
 Great schools suit best the sturdy and Che rough. 
 
 Ah happy designation, prudent choice, 
 
 Th' event is sure ; expect it, and rejoice I 
 
 Soon see 3'our wish fuliilld in either child — 
 
 Tiie pert made pertcr, and the tame made wild. 345 
 
 The great, indeed, by titles, riches, birth, 
 Excus'd th' encumbrance of more solid worth. 
 Are best dispos'd of where v/ith most success 
 They may acquire that confident address. 
 Those habits of profuse and lewd expense, 350 
 
 That scorn of all delights but those of sense, 
 Which, though in plain plebeians we condemn, 
 With so much reason all expect from them. 
 But families of less illustrious fame, 
 Whose chief distinction is their spotless name, 355 
 Whose heirs, their honours none, their income small, 
 Must shine by true desert, or not at all. 
 What dream they of, that with so little care 
 They risk their hopes, their dearest treasure there ? 
 They dream of little Charles or William grac'd 360 
 With wig prolix. dov>'n flowing to his waist :
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 3G5 
 
 They see th' attentive crowds his talents draw : 
 They hear him speak — the oracle of law. 
 The father, who designs his babe a priest, 
 Dreams him episcopally such at least ; 365 
 
 And Vv-hile the playful jockey scours the room 
 Briskly, astride upon the j!:irlour broona, 
 In fancy sees him more superbly ride 
 In coach with purple lin'd, and mitres on its side. 
 Events improbable and strange as these, 370 
 
 Which only a parental eye foresees, 
 A publick school shall bring to pass with ease. 
 But how ! Resides such virtue in that air, 
 As must create an appetite for pray'r ? 
 And will it breathe into him all the zeal, 375 
 
 That candidates for such a prize should feel. 
 To take the lead and be the foremost still 
 In all true worth and literary skill ? 
 " Ah, blind to bright futurity, untaaght 
 The knowledge of the world, and dull of thought.'' 
 Church-ladders are not always mounted best 381 
 
 By learned clerks, and Latinists profess'd. 
 Th' exalted prize demands an upward look, 
 Not to be found by poring on a book. 
 Small skill in Latin, and still less in Greek, 385 
 
 Is more than adequate to ail I seek. 
 Let erudition grace hun or not grace, 
 I give the bauble but the second place ; 
 His wealth, fame, honours, all that I intend, 
 Subsist and centre in one point — a friend. 390 
 
 A friend, whate'er he studies or neglects. 
 Shall give him consequence, heal all defects. 
 His intercourse with peers and sons of peers, 
 There da was the splendour of his future years : 
 [n that bright quarter his propitious skies 395 
 
 Shall blush betimes, and there his glory rise. 
 Your Lordship and Your Grace ! what school can teach 
 A rhet'rick equal to those parts of speech ! 
 What need of Homer's verse, or Tully's prose,
 
 166 TIROCINIUM: OR, 
 
 Sweet interjections ! if he learn but those ? 400 
 
 Let rev'rend churls his ignorance rebuke, 
 
 Who star\r'd upon a dog^s-ear'd Pentateuch, 
 
 The parson knows enough, who knows a duke." 
 
 Egregious purpose ! worthily begun 
 
 In barb 'reus prcstitution of your son ; 405 
 
 Press'd on his part by means that would disgrace 
 
 A scriv'ner s clerk, or footman out of place, 
 
 And ending, if at last its end be gain'd, 
 
 In sacrilege, in God's own house profan'd ! 
 
 It may succeed ; and, if his sins should call 410 
 
 For more than common punishment, it shall ; 
 
 The wretch shall rise, and be the thing on earth 
 
 Least qualified in honour, learning, worth. 
 
 To occupy a sacred awful post. 
 
 In which the best and worthiest tremble most. 415 
 
 The royal letters are a thing of course, 
 
 A king, tliat would, might recommend his horse ; 
 
 And deans, no doubt, and chapters with one voice, 
 
 As bound in duty, would confirm the choice. 
 
 Behold 3'our bishop ; well he plays his part, 420 
 
 Christian in name, and infidel in heart. 
 
 Ghostly in office, earthly in his plan, 
 
 A slave at court, elsewhere a lady's man. 
 
 Dumb as a senator, and as a priest 
 
 A piece of mere church furniture at best ; 425 
 
 To live estrang'd from God his total scope. 
 
 And his end sure, without one glimpse of hope. 
 
 But fair although and feasible it seem, 
 
 Depend not much upon your golden dream : 
 
 For Providence, that seems concern'd t' exempt 430 
 
 The hallow'd bench from absolute contempt. 
 
 In spite of all the wrigglers into place, 
 
 Still keeps a seat or two for worth a,nd grace ; 
 
 And therefore 'tis that though the sight be rare, 
 
 We sometimes see a Lowth or Bagot there. 435 
 
 Besides, school-friendships are not always found, 
 
 Though fair in promise, permanent and sound :
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 167 
 
 The most disint'rested and virtuous minds, 
 
 In early years connected, time unbinds, 
 
 New situations give a difF'rent cast 440 
 
 Of habit, incUnation, temper, taste ; 
 
 And he that seem'd our counterpart at first. 
 
 Soon shows the strong similitude i-evefs"d. 
 
 Young heads are giddy, and young hearts are warm, 
 
 And make mistakes for manhood to reform. 445 
 
 Boys are at best but pretty buds unblown, 
 
 Whose scent and hues are rather guess'd than known ; 
 
 Each dreams that each is just what he appears, 
 
 But learns his errour in maturcr 3'ears, 
 
 When disposition, like a sail unfurl'd, 450 
 
 Shows all its rents and patches to the world : 
 
 If, therefore, e"en v.-hen honest in design, 
 
 A boyish friendship may so soon decline, 
 
 'Twere wiser sure f inspire a little heart 
 
 With just abhorrence of so mean a part, 455 
 
 Than set your son to work at a vile trade 
 
 For wages so ur«ikely to be paid. 
 
 Our publick hives of puerile resort, 
 That are of chief and most approv'd report. 
 To such base hopes, in many a sordid soul, 460 
 
 Owe their repute in part, but not the whole. 
 A principle, v.'hose proud pretensions pass 
 Unquestion'd, though the jewel be but glass — 
 That with a world, not often over nice. 
 Ranks as a virtue, and is yet a vice ; 465 
 
 Or rather a gross compound, justly tried. 
 Of envy, hatred, jealousy, and pride — 
 Contributes most perhaps t' enhance their fame ; 
 And emulation is its specious name. 
 Boys, once on tire with that contentious zeal, 470 
 
 Feel all the rage that female rivals feel ; 
 The prize of beauty in a woman "s eyes 
 Not brighter than in theirs the scholar's prize. 
 The spirit of that competition burns 
 With all varieties of ill Viv turns ] 475
 
 168 
 
 Each vainly magnifies his own success, 
 
 Resents his fel]ow"s, wishes it were less, 
 
 Exults in his miscarriage if he fail, 
 
 Deems his reward too great if he prevail, 
 
 And labours to surpass hiin day and night, 480 
 
 Less for improvement than to tickle spite. 
 
 The spur is powrful, and I grant its force ; 
 
 It pricks the genius forward in its course. 
 
 Allows short time for play, and none for sloth ; 
 
 And, felt alike by each, advances both : 485 
 
 But judge, where so much evil intervenes. 
 
 The end, though plausible, not worth the means. 
 
 Weigh, for a moment, classical desert 
 
 Against a heart deprav'd and temper hurt ; 
 
 Hurt, too, perhaps, for life ; for early wrong, 490 
 
 Done to the nobler part, affects it long ; 
 
 And you are stanch indeed in learning's cause, 
 
 If you can crou'n a discipline, tliat draws 
 
 Such mischiefs after it with much applause. 
 
 Connexion form'd for int'rest, and endear'd 495 
 
 By selfish views, thus censur'd and cashier'd : 
 And emulation, as engend'ring hate, 
 Doomd to a no less igno^iiinious fate : 
 The props of such proud seminaries fall, 
 The Jachin and the Boaz of them all. 500 
 
 Great schools rejected then, as those that swell 
 Beyond a size that can be manag'd well, 
 Shall royal institutions miss the bays, 
 And small academies win all the praise .'' 
 Force not my drift beyound its just intent, 505 
 
 I praise a school as Pope a government ; 
 So take my judgment in his language dress'd, 
 " Whate'er is best administer"d is best." 
 Few boys are born v/ith talents that excel, 
 But all are capable of living well ; 510 
 
 Therti ask not. Whether limited or large .'* 
 But, Walch they strictly, or neglect their charge ?
 
 A RKVIEVV OF SCHOOLS. 169 
 
 If anxious only, that their boys may learn, 
 
 While morals languish, a despis'd concern, 
 
 The great and small deserve one common blame, 515 
 
 DifFYent in size, but in eftect tlie same. 
 
 Much zeal in virtue's cause all teachers boast. 
 
 Though motives of mere lucre sway the most ; 
 
 Therefore in towns and cities they abound. 
 
 For there the game they seek is easiest found ; 520 
 
 Though there, in spite of all that care can do, 
 
 Traps to catch youth are more abundant too. 
 
 If shrewd, and of a well-constructed brain, 
 
 Keen in pursuit, and vig'rous to retain. 
 
 Your son come forth a prodigy of skill ; 525 
 
 As, wheresoever taught, so form"d he will ; 
 
 The pedagogue, with self-complacent air, 
 
 Claims more than half the praise as his due share. 
 
 But if, with all his genius, he betray, 
 
 Not more intelligent than loose and gay, 530 
 
 Such vicious habits as disgrace his name. 
 
 Threaten his health, his fortuns, and his fame ; 
 
 Though want of due restraint alone have bred 
 
 The symptoms, that you see with so much dread : 
 
 Unenvied there, he may sustain alone 535 
 
 The whole reproach, the fault v/as all his own. 
 
 O 'tis a sight to be with joy perus'd, 
 By all whom sentiment has not abus'd ; 
 New-fangled sentiment, the boasted grace 
 Of those who never feel in the right place ; 540 
 
 A sight surpass'd by none that we can show, 
 Though Vestris on one leg still shine below ; 
 A father blest with an ingenuous son, 
 Father, and friend, and tutor, all in one ; 
 How ! — turn again to tales long since forgot, 545 
 
 ^sop, and Phaedrus, and the rest r" — Why not ? 
 He will not blush, that has a father's heart, 
 To take in childish plays a childish part ; 
 But bends his sturdy back to any toy 
 That youth takes pleasure in. to pkase his boy ; 550 
 
 Vol. n. 35
 
 170 TIROCINIUM: OR, 
 
 Then why resign into a stranger's hand 
 
 A task as much within your own command, 
 
 Tliat God and Nature, and your infrest too, 
 
 Seem with one voice to delegate to you ? 
 
 Why hire a lodging in a house unknown 555 
 
 For one, whose tend'rest thoughts all hover round 
 
 your own ? 
 This second weaning, needless as it is, 
 How does it lac"rate both your heart and his! 
 ' '^h' indented stick, that loses day by day 
 
 Notch after notch, till all are smooth'd away, 560 
 
 Bears witness, long ere his dismission come. 
 
 With what intense desire he wants his home. 
 
 But though the joys he hopes beneath your roof 
 
 Bid fair enough to answer in the proof, 
 
 Harmless, and safe, and nafral, as they are 565 
 
 A disappointment v/aits him even there ; 
 
 Arriv'd, he feels an unexpected change, 
 
 He blushes, hangs his head, is shy and strange ; 
 
 No longer takes, as once, with fearless ease. 
 
 His fav'rite stand between his father's knees, 570 
 
 But seeks the corner of some distant seat. 
 
 And eyes the door, and watches a retreat ; 
 
 And, least familiar where lie should be most. 
 
 Feels all his happiest privileges lost. 
 
 Alas, poor boy ! — the natural effect 575 
 
 Of love by absence chill'd into respect. 
 
 Say, what accomplishments, at school acquir'd, 
 
 Brings he to sweeten fruits so undesir'd ? 
 
 Thou well deserv'st an alienated son, 
 
 Unless thy conscious heart acknowledge — none ; 580 
 
 None that, in thy domestick snug recess, 
 
 He had not made his own with more address. 
 
 Though some, perhaps, tlmt shock thy feeling mind. 
 
 And better never learn'd, or left behind. 
 
 Add, too, that, thus estrang'd, thou canst obtain 585 
 
 Bv no kind arts his confidence asrain ;
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 171 
 
 That liere begins with most that long complaint 
 Of filial frankness lost, and love grown faint ; 
 Which, oft neglected in life's waning years 
 A parent pours into regardless ears. 590 
 
 Like caterpillars dangling under trees 
 By slender threads, and swinging in the breeze, 
 Which filthily bewray and sore disgrace 
 The boughs in which are bred th' unseemly race ; 
 While ev'ry worm industriously weaves 595 
 
 And winds his web about the rivell'd leaves ; 
 So num'rous are the follies that annoy 
 The mind and heart of ev'ry sprightly boy; 
 Imaginations noxious and perverse, 
 Which admonition can alone disperse, 600 
 
 Th' encroaching nuisance asks a faithful hand, 
 Patient, affectionate, of high command, 
 To check the procreation of a breed 
 Sure to exhaust the plant on which they feed. 
 'Tis not enough, that Greek or Pvoman page, 605 
 
 At stated hours, his freakish thoughts engage ; 
 E'en in his pastimes he requires a friend 
 To warn, and teacli him safely to unbend 
 O'er all his pleasures gently to preside, 
 Watch his emotions, and control their tide ; 610 
 
 And levying thus, and with an easy sway, 
 A tax of profit from his very play, 
 T' impress a value not to be eras'd, 
 On moments squander'd else, and running all to waste 
 And seems it nothing in a father's eye, 615 
 
 That unimprov'd those many moments fly 
 And is he well content his son sliould find 
 No nourishment to feed his growing mind. 
 But conjugated verbs, and nouns declined .' 
 For such is all tlie mental food purvey'd 620 
 
 By pubhck hacknies in the schooling trade ; 
 Who feed a pupils intellect with store 
 Of syntax, truly, but with little more ;
 
 172 TIROCINIUM : OR, 
 
 Dismiss their cares, when they dismiss their flock, 
 
 Machines themselves, and govern'd by a clock. 625 
 
 Perhaps a father, bless'd with any brains. 
 
 Would deem it no abuse, or waste of pains, 
 
 T' improve this diet, at no great expense, 
 
 With sav'ry truth and wholesome common sense : 
 
 To lead his son, for prospects of delight, 630 
 
 To some not steep, though philosophick height, 
 
 Thence to exhibit to his wond'ring eyes 
 
 Yon circling worlds, their distance and their size, 
 
 The moons of Jove, and Saturn's belted ball. 
 
 And the harmonious order of them all ; 635 
 
 To shov/ him in an insect or a flow'r 
 
 Such microscopick proof of skill and powT, 
 
 As, hid from ages past, God now displays, 
 
 To combat atheists with in modern days ; 
 
 To spread the earth before him, and commend 640 
 
 With designation of the fingers' end, 
 
 Its various parts to his attentive note. 
 
 Thus bringing liome to him the most remote ; 
 
 To teach his heart to glow with gen'rous flame, 
 
 Caught from the deeds of men of ancient fame ; 645 
 
 And. more than all, with commendation due, 
 
 To set some living worthy in his view, 
 
 Whose fair example may at once inspire 
 
 A wish to copy what he must admire. 
 
 Such knowledge gain'd betimes, and which appears 
 
 Though solid, not too weighty for his years, 651 
 
 Sv/eet in itself, and not forbidding sport. 
 
 When health demands it, of athletick sort, 
 
 Would make him — what some lovely boys have been. 
 
 And more than one, perhaps, that I have seen-- 655 
 
 An evidence and reprehension both 
 
 Of the mere school-boy's lean and tardy growth. 
 
 Art thou a man professionally tied, 
 With all thy faculties elsewhere applied. 
 Too busy to intend a meaner care, 660 
 
 Than how t' enrich thvself. and next thine heir :
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 373 
 
 Or art thou (as, though rich, perhaps thou art ) 
 
 But poor in knowledge, having none t' impart: 
 
 Behold that figure, neat, thougli plainly clad ; 
 
 His sprightly mingled with a shade of sad ; 665 
 
 Not of a nimble tongue, though now and then 
 
 Heard to articulate like other men ; 
 
 No jester, and yet lively in discourse, 
 
 His phrase well chosen, clear, and full of force; 
 
 And his address, if not quite French in ease, 670 
 
 Not English stitf, but frank, and form'd to please ; 
 
 Lov/ in the world because he scorns its arts ; 
 
 A man of letters, manners, morals, parts ; 
 
 Unpatronis'd, and therefore little known ; 
 
 Wise for himself and his few friends alone — 675 
 
 In him thy well-appointed proxy see, 
 
 Arm'd for a work too difucult for thee ; 
 
 Prepar'd by taste, by learning, and true worth, 
 
 To form thy son, to strike his genius forth ; 
 
 Beneath thy roof, beneath thine eye, to prove GSO 
 
 The force nf discipline when back'd by love ; 
 
 To double all thy pleasure in thy child, 
 
 His mind inform'd, his morals undefil'd. 
 
 Safe under such a wing, the l)oy shall show 
 
 No spots contracted among grooms below, 685 
 
 Nor taint his speech with meannesses design'd 
 
 By footman Tom for witty and refind. 
 
 There, in his commerce with the liv'ried herd, 
 
 Lurks the contagion chiefly to be fear'd ; 
 
 For since, (so fashion dictates,) all who claim 690 
 
 A higher than a mere plebeian fame, 
 
 Find it expedient, come what mischief may. 
 
 To entertain a thief or two in pay, 
 
 (And they that can afford th' expense of more, 
 
 Some half a dozen, and some half a score,) 695 
 
 Great cause occurs, to save him from a band 
 
 So sure to spoil him, and so near at hand ; 
 
 A point sccurd, if once he be supply'd 
 
 "With some such Mentor always at his side.
 
 374 TlROCINnjiM : OR, 
 
 Are such men rare ? perhaps they would abound, 700 
 
 Were occupation easier to be found, 
 
 Were education, else so sure to fail, 
 
 Conducted on a manageable scale, 
 
 And schools, that have -outliv'd all just esteem, 
 
 Exchang'd for the secine. doraestick scheme. — 705 
 
 But, having found him, be thou duke or earl. 
 
 Show thou hast sense enough to prize the pearl. 
 
 And, as thou wouldst th' advancement of thine heir 
 
 In all good faculties beneath his care. 
 
 Respect, as is but rational and just, 710 
 
 A man deem'd worthy of so dear a trust. 
 
 Despis'd by thee, what more can he expect 
 
 From youthful folly than the same neglect ? 
 
 A flat and fatal negative obtains, 
 
 That instant, upon all his future pains ; 715 
 
 His lessons tire, his mild rebukes offend, 
 
 And all th' instructions of thy son's best friend 
 
 Are a stream chok'd, or trickling to no end. 
 
 Doom him not then to solitary meals ; 
 
 But recollect that he has sense, and feels •■ 720 
 
 And that; possessor of a soul refin"d, 
 
 An upright heart and cultivated mind, 
 
 His post not mean, his talents not unknown, 
 
 He deems it hard to vegetate alone. 
 
 And, if admitted at thy board he sit, 785 
 
 Account him no just mark for idle wit ; 
 
 Offend not him, whom modesty restrains 
 
 From repartee, with jokes that he disdains •, 
 
 Much less transfix his feelings with an oath ; 
 
 Nor frown, unless he vanish with the cloth. 730 
 
 And, trust me, his utility may reach 
 
 To more than he is hir'd or bound to teach ; 
 
 Much trash unutter'd, and some ills undone, 
 
 Through rev'rence of the censor of thy son. 
 
 But, if thy table be indeed unclean, 735 
 
 Foul with excess, and with discourse obscene,
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 175 
 
 And thou a wretch, whom, foil' wing her own plan 
 The world accounts an honourable man, 
 Because Ibrsooth thy courage has been tried 
 And stood the test, perhaps on the wrong side ; 740 
 Though thou hadst never grace enough to prove 
 That any llxing but vJce could win thy love ; — 
 Or hast thou a polite, card-playing wife, 
 Chaiu'cl t¥ the routs that she frequents for life ^ 
 Who, just when industry begins to snore, 745 
 
 Flies, wing'd with ioy, to some coach-crowded door ; 
 And thrice in every winter throngs thine own 
 With half the chariots and sedans .n town, 
 Thyjelf meanwhile e'en shifting as thoumayst; 
 Not very sober though, nor very chaste ; 750 
 
 Or is thine house, though less superb thy rank; 
 If not a scene of pleasure, a mere blank, 
 And thou at best, and in thy sobrest mood, 
 A trifler, vain and empty of all good ; 
 Though mercy for thyself thou canst have none, 755 
 Hear Nature plead, show mercy to thy son. 
 Sav'd from his home, where every day brings forth 
 Some mischief fatal to his future worth, 
 Find him a better in a distant spot^ 
 Within some pious pastor's humble cot, 760 
 
 Where vile example, (yours I chiefly mean, 
 The most seducing, and the oft'nest seen,) 
 May never more be stamp'd upon his breast, 
 Nor yet perhaps incurably impress'd. 
 Where early rest makes early rising sure, 765 
 
 Disease or comes not, or finds easy cure 
 Prevented much by diet neat and plain ; 
 Or, if it enter, soon slarv'd out again : 
 Where all th' attention of his faithful host. 
 Discreetly limited to two at most, 770 
 
 May raise such fruits as shnll reward his care, 
 And not at last evaporate in air ; 
 Where, f illness aiding study, and his mind 
 Serene, ivA to his duties mucli inclin'd.
 
 JTG TIROCIiNIUM : OK, 
 
 Kot ocnupied in day-dreams, as at home, 775 
 
 Of pleasures past, or follies yet to come, 
 
 His virtuous toil may terminate at last 
 
 In settled habit and decided taste. — 
 
 But whom do I advise ? the fashion led, 
 
 Th' incorrigibly wrong-, the deaf, the dead, 780 
 
 Whom care and cool deliberation suit 
 
 Not better much than spectacles a brute ; 
 
 "VVho, if their sons some= slight tuition share, 
 
 Deem it of no great moment whose, or where ; 
 
 Too proud t' adopt the thoughts of one unknown, 785 
 
 And much too gay t' have any of their own. 
 
 But courage, man ! methought the nuise replied 
 
 Mankind are various, and the world is wide : 
 
 The osti.ch, silliest of the feather'd kind, 
 
 And form'd of God without a parent's mind, 790 
 
 Commits her eggs, incautious, to the dust, 
 
 forgetful that the foot may crush the trust ; 
 
 And, while on publick nurs'ries they rely. 
 
 Not knowing, and too oft not caring, why, 
 
 Irrational in what they thus prefer 795 
 
 No few, that would seem wise, resemble her. 
 
 But all are not alike Thy warning voice 
 
 May here and there prevent erroneous choice ; 
 
 And some perhaps, who, busy as they are, 
 
 Yet make their progeny their dearest care, 800 
 
 (Whose hearts will ache, once told what ills may 
 
 reach 
 Their offspring, left upon so wild a beach,) 
 Will need no stress of argument t' enforce 
 Th' expedience of a less advent'rous course ; 
 The rest will slight thy counsel or condemn ; 805 
 
 But they have human feelings — turn to them. 
 To you then, tenants of life's middle state, 
 Securely plac'd between the small and great, 
 Whose character, yet undebauch'd, retains 
 Two thirds of all the virtue that remains, 810 
 
 1
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 177 
 
 Who, wise yourselves, desire your son should learn 
 
 Your wisdom and your ways — to you I turn. 
 
 Look round you on a world perversely blind : 
 
 See what contempt is falln on human kind ; 
 
 See w^ealth abus'd, and dignities misplac'd, 815 
 
 Great titles, offices, and trusts disgrac"d, 
 
 Long lines of ancestry, renown"d of old, 
 
 Their noble qualities all quench'd and cold ; 
 
 See Bedlams closeted and hand-caffd charge 
 
 Surpass"d in frenzy by the mad at large ; 620 
 
 See great commanders making war a trade ; 
 
 Great lawyers lawyers without study made : 
 
 Churchmen, in whose esteem their best employ 
 
 Is odious, and their wages all their joy ; 
 
 Who, far enough froni furnishing their shelves S2S 
 
 With gospel lore, turn infidels themselves ; 
 
 See womanhood despisd. and manhood sham'd 
 
 With infamy too nauseous to be nam'd ; 
 
 Fops at all corners, lady-like in mien, 
 
 Civeted fellows, smelt ere they are seen, 830 
 
 Else coarse and rude in manners, and their tongue 
 
 On fire with curses, and with nonsense hung, 
 
 Now flush"d with drunkenness, now with whoredom 
 
 pale. 
 Their breath a sample of last night's regale ; 
 See volunteers in all the vilest arts 835 
 
 Man well endow d, of honourable parts, 
 Designed by Nature wise, but self-made fools , 
 All these, and more like these, were bred at schools, 
 And if it chance, as sometimes chance it will, 
 That though school-bred the b* .y be virtuous still ; 840 
 Such rare exceptions, shining in the dark 
 Prove, rather than impeach, the just remark : 
 As here and there a twinkling star descried. 
 Serves but to show how black is all beside. 
 Now look on him, whose very voice in tone 845 
 
 Just echoes thine, whose features are thine ©wn,
 
 178 TIROCINIUM: OR, 
 
 And stroke his polish'd cheek of purest red, 
 
 And lay thme hand upon his flaxen head, 
 
 And say, My boy, th' unwelcome hour is come, 
 
 When thou, transplanted from thy genial home, 850 
 
 Must find a colder soil and bleaker air, 
 
 And trust for safety to a stranger's care ; 
 
 What character, what turn thou wilt assume 
 
 From constant converse with I know not whom ; 
 
 Who there will court thy friendship, with what views, 
 
 And, artless as thou art, whom thou wilt choose ; 850 
 
 Though much depends on what thy choice shall be, 
 
 Is all chaaco-medley, and unknown to me. 
 
 Canst thou, the tear just trembling on thy lids, 
 
 And while the dreadful risk foreseen forbids ; SCO 
 
 Free too, and under no constraining force, 
 
 Unless the sway of custom warp thy course ; 
 
 Lay such a stake upon the losing side 
 
 Merely to gratify so blind a guide ? 
 
 Thou canst not ! Nature, pulling at thine heart, 8G5 
 
 Condenms th' unfatherly, th' imprudent part. 
 
 Thou wouldst not, deaf to Nature's teudrest plea, 
 
 Turn him adrift upon a rolling sea. 
 
 Nor say, Ga thither, conscious that there lay 
 
 A brood of asps or quicksands in his way ; 870 
 
 Then, only govern'd by the self-same rule 
 
 Of nat'ral pity, send hini not to school. 
 
 No — guard him better. Is he not thine own. 
 
 Thyself in miniature, thy flesli, thy bone .' 
 
 And hop'st thou not, ('tis ev'ry father's liope,) 875 
 
 That since thy strength must with thy years elope. 
 
 And thou wilt need some comfort to assuage 
 
 Health's last farewell, a staff in thine old age, 
 
 That then, in recompense of all thy cares. 
 
 Thy child shall sh&v/ respect to tliy gray hairs, 880 
 
 Befriend thee, of all other friends bereft, 
 
 And give Ihy life its only cordial left ! 
 
 Av.'are then how much danger intervenes, 
 
 To compass that good end ibrecast the means^
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 179 
 
 His heart, now passive, yields to thy command ; 885 
 Secure it thine, its key is in thine hand. 
 If thou desert thy charge, and throw it wide, 
 Nor heed what guest there enter and abide, 
 Complain not if attachments lewd and base 
 Supplant thee in it, and usurp thy place 890 
 
 But, if thou guard its sacred chambers sure 
 From vicious inmates and delights impure, 
 Either his gratitude shall hold him fast, 
 And keep him warm and filial to the last ; 
 Or, if he prove unkind, (as vrho can say 895 
 
 But, being man, and therefore frail, he may ?) 
 One comfort yet shall cheer thine aged heart, 
 Howe'er he slight thee, thou hast done thy part. 
 
 O barb"rous 1 wouldst thou with a Gothick hand 
 Pull down the schools — what ! — all th' schools i' th' 
 land ; 900 
 
 Or throw them up to liv'ry nags and grooms, 
 Or turn them into shops and auction rooms ? 
 A captious question, sir, (and yours is one,) 
 Deserves an answer similar or none. 
 Wouldst thou, possessor of a flock, employ, 905 
 
 (Appris'd that he is such.) a careless boy, 
 And feed him well, and give him handsome pay, 
 Merely to sleep, and let them run astray ? 
 Survey our schools and colleges, and see 
 A sight not much unlike my simile. 910 
 
 From education, as tlie leading cause, 
 The publick character its colour draws ; 
 Thence the prevailing manners take their cast, 
 Extravagant or sober, loose or chaste. 
 And, though I would not advertise them yet, 915 
 
 Nor write on each — This huildins to be let, 
 Unless the world were all prepar'd t' embrace 
 A plan well worthy to supply their place ; 
 Yet, backward as they are, and long have been, 
 To cultivate and keep the morals clean, 920 
 
 ^Forgive the crime,) I wish them, I confess, 
 (^r bolter manag'd, or encourag'd less-
 
 (ISO) 
 TO THE REV. MR. NEWTON. 
 
 AN INVITATION INTO THE COUNTRY* 
 
 THE swallows in their torpid state 
 
 Compose their useless wing, 
 And bees in hives as idly wait 
 The call of early Spring. 
 II. 
 The keenest frost that binds the stream, 
 
 The wildest wind that blows, 
 Are neither felt nor fear'd by them, 
 Secure of their repose. 
 III. 
 But man, all feeling and awake, 
 
 The gloomy scene surveys ! 
 With present ills his heart must aclie, 
 And pant for brighter days. 
 IV. 
 Old Winter, halting o'er the mead, 
 
 Bids me and Mary mourn ; 
 But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head, 
 And whispers your return. 
 V. 
 Then April with her sister May, 
 
 Shall chase him from the bow'rs, 
 And weave fresh garlands ev'ry day. 
 To crown the smiling hours. 
 VI. 
 And if a tear, that speaks regret, 
 
 Of happier times, appear, 
 A glimpse of joy, that we have met, 
 Shall sliine and drv the tear.
 
 (181) 
 
 On the receipt of my Mother's Picture out of Kot^ 
 folkf the gift of my cousin Ann Bodham. 
 
 O THAT those lips had language ! Life has passd 
 With me but roughly since I heard thee last. 
 Those lips are tliine — thy own sweet smile I sec, 
 The same, that oft in childhood solac'd me ; 
 Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, 
 '• Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away !" 
 The meek intelligence of those dear eyes, 
 (Biess'd be the art that can immortalize, 
 The art that baffles Time's tyrannick claim 
 To quench it,) here shines on me still the same. 
 
 Faithful remembrancer of ono so dear, 
 
 welcome guest, though unexpected here ! 
 Who bidd'st me honour with an artless song, 
 Affectionate, a mother lost so long. 
 
 1 will obey, not willingly alone, 
 
 But gladly, as the precept were her own : 
 And, while that face renews my filial grief. 
 Fancy shall weave a charm for ray relief, 
 Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, 
 A momentary dream, that thou art she. 
 
 My mother ! when I learn'd that thou wast dead, 
 Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
 Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
 Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ? 
 Perhaps thou gav'st me, though unfelt, a kiss. 
 Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss — 
 Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers — Yes. • 
 I heard the beH toll'd on thy burial daV; 
 
 Vol. TI. 10
 
 I£2 ON THE RECEIPT OF 
 
 I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away, 
 
 And turning from my nurs'ry window, drew 
 
 A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! 
 
 But was it such ? — It was — where thou art gone, 
 
 Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown. 
 
 May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore, 
 
 The parting word shall pass my lips no more ! 
 
 Thy maidens, griev'd themselves at niy concern. 
 
 Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 
 
 What ardently I wish'd, I long believ'd. 
 
 And disappointed still, was still deceiv'd. 
 
 By expectation ev'ry day beguil'd. 
 
 Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 
 
 Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, 
 
 Till all my stock of infant sorrows spent, 
 
 I learn'd at last submission to my lot, 
 
 But though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot. 
 
 Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more,. 
 Children not thine have trod my nurs'ry floor j 
 And where the gard'ner, Robin, day by day, 
 Drew me to school along the publick way, 
 Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd 
 In Gcarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap, 
 'Tis now become a hist'ry little known, 
 That once wo call'd the past'ral house our own. 
 Short -liv'd possession ! but the record fair. 
 That mem'ry keeps of all thf kindness there. 
 Still outlives many a storm, that has efFac'd 
 A thousand other themes less deeply trac'd. 
 Thy nightly visits to my chamber made. 
 That thou mightst know rae safe and warmly laid j 
 Thy morning bounties ere I left my home. 
 The biscuit, or confectionary plum. 
 The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd 
 By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow'd : 
 All this, and more endearing still than all. 
 Thy constant flow of Iovc> that knew no fall.
 
 MY MOTHER S PICTURE. IS'^ 
 
 Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and brealcs 
 That humour interpos'd too often makes ; 
 All this still legible in mem'ry's page, 
 And still Id be so to my latest age, 
 Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 
 Such honours to thee as my numbers may : 
 Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, 
 JVot scornd in Heav'n, though little notic'd here. 
 
 Could Time, his flight revers'd, restore the hours, 
 When, playing with thy vesture's tissu'd flow'rs, 
 The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 
 I prick'd them into paper witli a pm, 
 (And thou wast happier than myself the while- 
 Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head ajid smile,) 
 Could those few pleasant days again appear, 
 Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here ? 
 I would not trust my heart — the dear delight 
 Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might — 
 But no — what here we call our life is such, 
 So little to be lov'd, and thou so much. 
 That I should ill requite thee to constrain 
 Tliy unbound spirit into bonds again. 
 
 Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast, 
 (The storms all weather 'd and the ocean cross'd,) 
 Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle, 
 Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, 
 There sits quiescent on the floods that shov/ 
 Her beauteous form reflected clear below. 
 While airs impregnated with incense play 
 Around her fanning light her streamers gay ; 
 So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reach'd the shore, 
 " Where tempests never beat nor billows roar/'^ 
 And thy lov'd consort on the dang'rous tide 
 Of life long since has anchor 'd by thy side. 
 But rae, scarce hoping to attain that rest, 
 Always from port withheld, always distress'd 
 * Garth.
 
 184 ON THE RECEIPT OF, &c. 
 
 Me howling blasts drive devious, tempcst-toss'd, 
 Sails ripp'd, seams op'ning wide, and compass lost;. 
 And day by day some current's thwarting force 
 Sets rae more distant from a prosperous course. 
 Yet O the thought, that thou art safe, and he ! 
 That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. 
 My boast is not, that I deduce my birth 
 From loins enthron'd, and rulers of the Earth } 
 But higher far my proud pretensions rise— 
 The son of parents pass'd into the skies. 
 And now farewell — Time unrevok'd has run 
 His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done, 
 By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
 I seem t' have liv'd my childhood o'er again ; 
 To have renew'd the joys that once were mine, 
 Without the sin of violating thine ; ' 
 
 And while the wings of Fancy still are free, 
 And I can view this mimick show of thee, 
 Time has but half succeeded in his theft — 
 Thyself remov'd, thy pow'r to sooth me left.
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 WHAT virtue, or what mental grace; 
 But men unqualified and base 
 
 Will boast it their possession ? 
 Profusion apes the nobler part 
 Of liberality of heart, 
 
 And dulness of discretion. 
 
 If ev'iy polish'd gem we find 
 Illuminating heart or mind, 
 
 Provoke to imitation ; 
 No wonder friendship does the same, 
 That jewel of the purest flame, 
 
 Or rather constellation 
 
 No knave but boldly will pretend 
 The requisites that form a friend, 
 
 A real and a sound one ; 
 Nor any fool, he would decef\'C, 
 But proves as ready to believe, 
 
 And dream that he had found one. 
 
 Candid, and generous, and just, 
 Boys care but little whom they trust, 
 
 An errour soon corrected — 
 For who but learns in riper years, 
 That man, when smoothest he appears, 
 
 Is most to be suspected ? 
 
 But here again a danger lies, 
 Lest, having misapplied our eyes, 
 
 And taken trash for treasure, 
 We should unwarily conclude 
 Friendship a false ideal good, 
 
 A mere Utopian pleasure.
 
 186 1-RlENDSHIF. 
 
 An acquisition rather rare 
 Is yet no subject of despair ; 
 
 Nor is it wise complaining, 
 If either on forbiddden ground, 
 Or where it was not to be found, 
 
 We sought without attaining. 
 
 No friendship will abide the test, 
 That stands on sordid interest. 
 
 Or mean self-love erected : 
 Nor such as may awhile subsist, 
 Between the sot and sensualist. 
 
 For vicious ends connected. 
 Who seeks a friend should come dispos'd 
 T' exhihit m full bloom disclos'd 
 
 The graces and the beauties, 
 That form the character he seeks. 
 For 'tis a union that bespeaks 
 
 Reciprocated duties. 
 Mutual attention is implied, 
 And equal truth on either side. 
 
 And constantly supported ; 
 'Tis senseless arrogance t' accuse 
 Another of sinister views, 
 
 Our own as much distorted. 
 
 But will sincerity suffice .' 
 It is indeed above all price. 
 
 And must be made the basis ; 
 But ev'ry virtue of the soul 
 Must constitute the charming whole, 
 
 All shining in their places. 
 
 A fretful temper will divide 
 
 The closest knot that may be tied, 
 
 By ceaseless sharp corrosion ; 
 A temper passionate and fierce 
 May suddenly your joys disperse 
 
 At one immense explosion.
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 187 
 
 In vain the talkative unite 
 
 In hopes of permanent delight — 
 
 The se«ret just coininitted, 
 Forgetting its important weight, 
 They drop through mere desire to prate, 
 
 And by themselves outwitted. 
 
 How bright soe'er the prospect seems, 
 All thoughts of friendship are but dreams, 
 
 If envy chance to creep in ; 
 An envious man, if you succeed, 
 May prove a dangerous foe indeed, 
 
 But not a friend worth keeping. 
 
 As envy pines at good possess'd, 
 So jealousy looks forth distress'd 
 
 On good, that seems approaching ; 
 And if success his steps attend, 
 Discerns a rival in a friend, 
 
 And hates him for encroaching. 
 
 Hence authors of illustrious name 
 Unless belied by common fame, 
 
 Are sadly prone to quarrel. 
 To deem the wit a friend displays 
 A tax upon their own just praise, 
 
 And pluck each other's laurel. 
 
 A man renown'd for repartee, 
 Will seldom scruple to make free 
 
 With friendship's finest feeling ; 
 Will thrust a dagger at your breast, 
 And say he wounded you in jest, 
 
 By way of balm for healing. 
 
 Whoever keeps an open ear 
 For tattlers, will be sure to hear 
 
 The trumpet of contention j 
 Aspersion is the babbler's trade, 
 To listen is to lend him aid, 
 
 And rush into dif^sension.
 
 188 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 A friendship, that in frequent fits 
 Of controversial rage emits 
 
 The sparks of disputation, 
 Like hand in hand insurance plates, 
 Most unavoidably creates 
 
 The thought of conflagration. 
 
 Some fickle creatures boast a soul 
 True as a needle to the pole, 
 
 Their humour yet so various, 
 They manifest their whole life through 
 The needle's deviations too, 
 
 Their love is so precarious. 
 
 The great and small but rarely meet 
 On terms of amity complete. 
 
 Plebeians must surrender 
 And yield so much to noble folk, 
 It is combining fire with smoke, 
 
 Obscurity with splendour. 
 
 Some are so placid and serene 
 (As Irish bogs are always green,) 
 
 They sleep secure from waking : 
 And are indeed a bog that bears 
 Your unparticipated cares 
 
 Unmov'd and without quaking. 
 
 Courtier and patriot cannot mix 
 Their het'rogeneous politicks, 
 
 Without an effervescence, 
 Like that of salts with lemon juice, 
 Which does not, yet like that produce 
 
 A friendly coalescence. 
 
 Religion should extinguish strife, 
 And make a calm of human life ; 
 
 But friends that chance to differ 
 On points which God has left at large, 
 How freely will they meet and charge ! 
 
 No combatants are stiffer.
 
 FRIENDSHIP. IW 
 
 To prove at last my main intent 
 Needs no expense of argument, 
 
 No cutting and contriving — 
 Seeking a real friend we seem 
 T' adopt the chemist's golden dream, 
 
 With still less hope of thriving. 
 
 Sometimes the fault is all our own, 
 Some blemish in due time made known 
 
 By trespass or omission ; 
 Sometimes occasion brings to light 
 Our friends defect long hid from sight. 
 
 And even from suspicion. 
 
 Then judge yourself, and prove your maji 
 As circumspectly as you can, 
 
 And, having made election, 
 Beware no negligence of yours, 
 Such as a friend but ill endures, 
 
 Enfeeble his affection. 
 
 That secrets are a sacred trust. 
 
 That friends should be sincere and just, 
 
 That constancy befits them, 
 Are observations on the case, 
 That savour much of common-place, 
 
 And all the world admits them. 
 
 But "tis not timber, lead, and stone, 
 An architect requires alone. 
 
 To finish a fine building — 
 The palace were but half complete, 
 If he could possibly forget 
 
 The carving and the gilding. 
 The man that hails you Tom or Jack 
 And proves by thumps upon your back 
 
 How he esteems your merit. 
 Is such a friend, that one had need 
 Be very much his friend indeed, 
 
 To pardon or to bear it-.
 
 190 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 As similarity of mind, 
 Or something not to be defin'd. 
 
 First fixes our attention : 
 So manners decent and polite, 
 The same we practis'd at first sight, 
 
 Must save it from declension. 
 Some act upon this prudent plan, 
 '' Say little, and hear all you can." 
 
 Safe policy, but hateful — 
 So barren sands iiTibibe the showr. 
 But render neithti fruit nor flowr 
 
 Unpleasant and ungrateful. 
 
 The man I trust, if shy to me, 
 Shall find me as reserv'd as he, 
 
 No subterfuge or pleading 
 Shall win my confidence again — • 
 I will by no means entertain 
 
 A spy on my proceeding. 
 
 These samples — for alas ! at last 
 These are but samples, and a taste 
 
 Of evils yet unmention'd — 
 May prove the task a task indeed. 
 In which 'tis much if we succeed, 
 
 However well intention'd. 
 
 Pursue the search, and you will find 
 Good sense and knowledge of mankind 
 
 To be at least expedient, 
 And, after summing all the rest, 
 Religion ruling in the breast 
 
 A principal ingredient. 
 
 The noblest Friendship ever shown 
 The Saviour's history makes known, 
 
 Though some have turn'd and turn'd it ; 
 And whether being craz'd or blind, 
 Or seeing with a biass'd mind, 
 
 Have not, it seems, discern'd it.
 
 THE MORALIZEIl CORRECTED. VJl 
 
 O Friendship ! if my soul forego 
 Thy dear dehghts Avhile here below 
 
 To mortify and grieve me, 
 May I myself at last appear 
 Unworthy, base, and insincere, 
 
 Or may my friend deceive me ! 
 
 THE MORALIZER CORRECTED. 
 
 A HERMIT, (or if 'chance you hold 
 That title now too trite and old ,) 
 A man, once young, who liv'd retii'd 
 As hermit could have well desir'd, 
 His hours of study clos'd at last, 
 And finsh'd his concise repast, 
 Stoppled his cruise, replacd his book 
 Within his customary nook, 
 And, staff in hand, set fortii to share 
 The sober cordial of sweet air, 
 Like Isaac, with a mind applied 
 To serious thought at ev'ning tide. 
 Autumnal rains had made it chill, 
 And from the trees that fring'd his hill. 
 Shades slanting at the close of day 
 Chill'd more his else delightful way , 
 Distant a little mile he spied 
 A western bank's still sunny side, 
 And right toward the favour'd place 
 Proceeding with his nimblest pace, 
 In hope to bask a little yet, 
 JuBt reach'd it when the sun was set
 
 192 THE MORALIZEJl CORRECTED. 
 
 Your hermit, young and jovial sirs ! 
 Learns something from whate'er occurs — 
 And hence, he said, my mind computes 
 The real worth of man's pursuits. 
 His object chosen, wealth, or fame, 
 Or other sublunary game, 
 Imagination to his view 
 Presents it deck'd with ev'ry hue 
 That can seduce him not to spare 
 His pow'rs of best exertion there. 
 But youth, health, vigour, to expend 
 On so desirable an end. 
 Ere long approach life's ev'ning shades, 
 The glow that fancy gave it fades ; 
 And, earn'd too late, it wants the grace 
 That first engag'd him in the chaso. 
 
 True, answer'd an angelick guide, 
 Attendant at the senior's side — 
 But whether all the time it cost, 
 To urge the fruitless chaso be lost, 
 Must be decided by the worth 
 Of that which call'd his ardour forth. 
 Trifles pursu'd, whate'er th' event, 
 Must cause him shame or discontent ; 
 A vicious object still is worse. 
 Successful there he wins a curse. 
 But he, whom e'en in life's last stage 
 Endeavours laudable engage, 
 Ts paid, at least in peace of mind, 
 And sense of having well design'd ; 
 And if, ere ho attain his end, 
 His sun precipitate descend, 
 A brighter prize than that he meant 
 Shall recompense his mere intent. 
 No virtuous wish can bear a date 
 Either too early or too late.
 
 CATHARINA. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON, 
 (now MRS. COURTNEY.) 
 
 SHE came — she is gone — we have met— 
 
 And meet perhaps never again ; 
 The sun of that moment is set, 
 
 And seems to have risen in vain. 
 Catharina has fled Hke a dream — 
 
 (So vanishes pleasure, alas !) 
 But has left a regret and esteem, 
 
 That will not so suddenly pass. 
 
 The last ev'ning ramble we made, 
 
 Catharina, Maria, and 1, 
 Our progress was often delay'd 
 
 By the nightingale warbling nigh. 
 We paus'd under many a tree, 
 
 And much she was charm'd with a tone 
 Less sweet to Maria and me, 
 
 Who so lately had witness'd her own. 
 
 My numbers that day she had sung, 
 
 And gave them a grace so divine, 
 As only her musical tongue 
 
 Could infuse iiito numbers of mine. 
 The longer I heard, I esteem'd 
 
 The work of my fancy the more, 
 And e'en to myself never seem'd 
 
 So tuneful a poet before. 
 Vor„ II. 17
 
 194 CATHARTNA 
 
 Though the pleasures of London exceed 
 
 In number the days of the year, 
 Catharina, did nothing impede, 
 
 Would feel herself happier here ; 
 For the close-woven arches of limes 
 
 On the banks of our river, I know, 
 Are sweeter to her many times 
 
 Than aught that the city can show. 
 
 So it is, when the mind is endu'd 
 
 With a well-judging taste from above, 
 Then whether embellish'd or rude 
 
 'Tis nature alone that we love ; 
 The achievements of art may amuse, 
 
 May even our wonder excite, 
 But groves, hills, and vallies, diffuse 
 
 A lasting, a sacred delight. 
 
 Since, then, in the rural recess 
 
 Catharina alone can rejoice, 
 May it still be her lot to possess 
 
 The scene of her sensible choice ! 
 To inhabit a mansion remote 
 
 From the clatter of street-pacing steeds, 
 And by Philomel's annual note 
 
 To measure the life that she leads. 
 
 With her book, and her voice, and her lyre 
 
 To wing all her moments at home ; 
 And with scenes that new rapture inspire, 
 
 As oft as it suits her to roam ; 
 She will have just the life she prefers, 
 
 With little to hope or to fear, 
 And ours would be pleasant as hers, 
 
 Might we view her enjoying it here.
 
 THE FAITHFUL BIRD. 
 
 THE green house is my summer seat ; 
 My shrubs displacd from that retreat 
 
 Enjoyd the open air ; 
 Two Goldfinches, whose sprightly song, 
 Had been their mutual solace long, 
 
 Liv'd happy pris'ners there. 
 
 They sang as blithe as finches sing, 
 That flutter loose on golden wing, 
 
 And frolick where they list ; 
 Strangers to liberty, 'tis true, 
 But that delight they never knew 
 
 And therefore never miss'd. 
 
 But nature works in every breast, 
 With force not easily suppress'd ; 
 
 And Dick felt some desires, 
 That after many an effort vain, 
 Instructed him at length to gain 
 
 A pass between his wires. 
 
 The open windows seem'd t' invite 
 The freeman to a farewell flight : 
 
 But Tom was still confin'd : 
 And Dick, although his way was clear, 
 Was much too gen'rous and sincere, 
 
 To leave his friend behind. 
 So settling on his cage, by play. 
 And chirp, and kiss he seem'd to say, 
 
 You must not live alone — 
 Nor would he quit that chosen stand, 
 Ti.'l I, with slow and cautious hand, 
 
 Retnrn'd him to his own.
 
 196 THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 
 
 O ye who never taste the joys 
 Of Friendship, satisfied with noise, 
 
 Fandango, ball, and rout ! 
 Blush, when I tell you how a bird, 
 A prison with a friend preferr'd 
 
 To liberty without. 
 
 THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 
 
 THERE is a field, through which I often pass 
 Thick overspread with moss and silky grass, 
 Adjoining close to Kilwick's echoing wood, 
 Where oft the bitch fox hides her hapless brood, 
 Reserv'd to solace many a neighb'ring squire, 
 That he may follow them through brake and brier, 
 Contusion, hazarding of neck, or spine. 
 Which rural gentlemen call sport divine. 
 A narrow brook, by rushy banks conceal'd 
 Runs in a bottom, and divides the field ; 
 Oaks intersperse it, that had once a head, 
 But now wear crests of oven- wood instead ', 
 And where the land slopes to its wat'ry bourn, 
 Wide yawns a gulf beside a ragged thorn ; 
 Bricks line the sides, but shiver'd long ago, 
 And horrid brambles intertwine below ; 
 A hollow scoop'd, I judge, in ancient time. 
 For baking earth, or burning rock to lime. 
 
 Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red, 
 With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed ; 
 Nor autumn yet had brush'd from ev'ry spray, 
 With her chill hand the mellow leaves away ;
 
 THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 197 
 
 But corn was housd, and beans were in the stack ; 
 Now therefore issu'd forth the spotted pack, 
 With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats, 
 With a whole gamut fill d of heav'nly notes, 
 For which, alas ! my destiny severe, 
 Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear. 
 
 The sun, accompUshing his early march, 
 His lamp now planted on Heav'n's topmost arch, 
 When, exercise and air my only aim, 
 And heedless whither, to that field I came. 
 Ere yet with ruthless joy the happy hound 
 Told hill and dale that Reynard's track was found, 
 Or with the high-raisd horn's melodious clang 
 All Kilwick* and all Dinglederry* rang. 
 
 Sheep graz'd the field ; some with soft bosom press'd 
 The herb as soft, while nibbling stray'd the rest ; 
 Nor noise was heard but of the hasty brook, 
 Struggling, detain'd in many a petty nook. 
 All seem'd so peaceful, that, from them convey'd. 
 To me their peace by kind contagion spread. 
 
 But when the huntsman with distended cheek, 
 'Gan make his instrument of musick speak. 
 And from within the wood that crash was heard, 
 Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd, 
 The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that graz'd, 
 All huddling into phalanx, stood and gaz'd, 
 Admiring, terrified, the novel strain. 
 Then cours'd the field around, and cours'd it round 
 * again ; 
 
 But, recollecting with a sudden thought, 
 That flight in circles urg'd advanc'd them nought, 
 They gather'd close around the old pit's brink. 
 And thought again — but knew not what to think. 
 
 • Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esq. 
 17-
 
 193 THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 
 
 The man to solitude accustom'd long 
 Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue , 
 Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees, 
 Have speech for him, and understood with ease j 
 After long drought when rains abundant fall, 
 He hears the herbs and flow'rs rejoicing all ; 
 Knows what the freshness of their hue implies, 
 How glad they catch the largess of the skies ; 
 But, with precision nicci still, the mind 
 He scans of ev'ry locomotive kind ; 
 Birds of all feather, beasts of ev'ry name, 
 That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame ; 
 The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears 
 Have all articulation in his ears ; 
 He spells them true by intuition's light, 
 And needs no glossary to set him right. 
 
 This truth premis'd was needful as a text, 
 To win due credence to what follows next. 
 
 Awhile they mus'd ; surveying ev'ry face, 
 Thou hadst Bupposd them of superiour race ; 
 Their periwigs of wool, and fears combined 
 Starap'd on each countenance such marks of mind, 
 Tliat sage they seem'd as lawyers o'er a doubt, 
 Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out ; 
 Or academick tutors, teaching youths, 
 Sure ne'er to want them, mathematick truths ; 
 Wlien thus a mutton, statelier than the rest, 
 A ram, the ewes and wethers sad, address'd. 
 
 Friends ! we have liv'd too long. I never heard ^ 
 Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fear'd. ^ 
 
 Could I believe, that winds for ages pent 
 In Earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, 
 And from their prison-house below arise, 
 With all these hideous bowlings to the skies, 
 I could be much compos'd, nor should appear, 
 For such a caupe, to feel the sliffhtcst fear.
 
 THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 190 
 
 Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders roU'd 
 All night, ine resting quiet in the fold, 
 Or heard we that tremendous bray alone, 
 I could expound the melancholy tone ; 
 Should deem it by our old companion made, 
 The ass ; for he, we know, has lately stray 'd, 
 And being lost, perhaps, and wand'ring wide, 
 Might be suppos'd to clamour for a guide. 
 But ah i those dreadful yells what soul can hear 
 That owns a carcass and not quake for fear ? 
 Demons produce them doubtless, brazen-claw'd. 
 And fang d vdth brass, the d&omons are abroad ; 
 I hold it therefore wisest and most fit, 
 That, life to save, we leap into the pit. 
 
 Him answer'd then his loving mate and true, 
 But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe. 
 
 How ! leap into the pit our life to save ? 
 To save our life leap all into the grave ? 
 For can we find it less ? Contemplate first 
 The depth how awful ! falling there we burst ; 
 Or should the brambles, interpos'd, our fall 
 In part abate, that happiness were small : 
 For with a race like theirs no chance I see 
 Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. 
 Meantime, n^ise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray, 
 Or be it not, or be it whose it may. 
 And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues 
 X)f demons utterd from whatever lungs, 
 Sounds are but sounds, and till the cause appear, 
 We have at least commodious standing here. 
 CUne fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast 
 From Earth or Hell, we can but plunge at last. 
 
 While chus she spake, I fainter heard the peals, 
 For Reynard, close attended at his heels 
 By panting dog, tir'd man, and spatter'd horse, 
 Through mere good fortune, took a diflPrent course
 
 ^00 BOADICEA. 
 
 The flock grew calm again, and I tae road 
 Foll'wing, that led me to my own abode. 
 Much wonder'd that the silly sheep had found 
 Such cause of terrour in an empty sound, 
 So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Beware of desp'rate steps. The darkest day, 
 Live till to-morrow, will have pass'd away. 
 
 BOADICEA 
 
 1. 
 
 WHEN the British warriour queen, 
 Bleeding from the Roman rods, 
 
 Sougl*:, with an indignant mien, 
 Counsel of her country's gods. 
 
 [L 
 
 Sage beneath the spreading oak 
 Sat the Druid, hoary chief; 
 
 Ev'ry burning word he spoke 
 Full of rage, and full of grief 
 
 in. 
 
 Princess ! if our aged eyes 
 
 Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 
 'Tis because resentment ties 
 
 All the terrours of our toncrues.
 
 BOADICEA. 201 
 
 Home shall perish — write that word 
 
 In the blood that she hast spill'd ; 
 Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd, 
 
 Deep in ruin as in guilt 
 
 V. 
 
 Rome, for empire far renown'd, 
 
 Tramples on a thousand states ; 
 Soon her pride shall kiss the ground — 
 
 Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Other Romans shall arise. 
 
 Heedless of a soldier's name ; 
 Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize, 
 
 Harmony the path to fame. 
 
 VII. 
 Then tlie progeny that springs 
 
 From the forests of our land, 
 Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings, 
 
 Shall a wider world command. 
 
 vni. 
 
 Regions Caesar never knew 
 
 Thy posterity shall sway ; 
 Where his eagles never flew, 
 
 iNone invincible as they. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Such the bard's prophetick words, 
 
 Pregnant with celestial fire. 
 Bending as he swept the chords 
 
 Of his sweet but awful lyre. 
 
 X. 
 
 She, with all a monarch's pride, 
 
 Felt them in her bosom glow ; 
 Rush'd to battle, fought, and died ; 
 
 Dying hurl'd them at the foe.
 
 202 HEROISM 
 
 Xi. 
 
 Ruffians, pitiless as proud, 
 
 Heav'n awards the vengeance due • 
 Empire is on us bestow'd, 
 
 Shame and ruin wait for you. 
 
 HEROISM. 
 
 THERE was a time when Etna's silent fire 
 Slept unperceiv'd, the mountain yet entire ; 
 When, conscious of no danger from below, 
 She tower'd a cloudcapt pyramid of snow. 
 No thunders shook with deep intestine sound 
 The blooming groves that girdled her around. 
 Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines, 
 (Unfclt the fury of those bursting mines,) 
 The peasant's hopes, and not in vam, assur'd, 
 In peace upon her sloping sides matur'd. 
 When on a day, like that of the last doom, 
 A conflagration lab'ring in her womb. 
 She teem'd and heav'd with an infernal birth, 
 That shook the circling seas and solid earth. 
 Dark and voluminous the vapours rise, 
 And hang their horrours in the neighb'ring skies, 
 While through the stygian veil that blots the day, 
 In dazzling streaks the vivid lightnings play. 
 But O ' what muse, and in what pow'rs of song, 
 Can trace the torrent as it burns along .'' 
 Havock and devastation in the van. 
 It marches o'er the prostrate works of man, 
 Vines, olives, herbage, forests, disappear, 
 And all the charms of a Sicilian year.
 
 HEROISM. 203 
 
 Revolving seasons fruitless as they pass, 
 See it an uninform'd and idle mass ; 
 Without a soil t' invite the tiller's care, 
 Or blade that might redeem it from despair. 
 Yet time, at length, (what will not time achieve r) 
 Clothes it with earth, and bids the produce live. 
 Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade, 
 And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade. 
 O bliss precarious and unsafe retreats, 
 O charming Paradise of short-liv'd sweets ! 
 The self-same gale that wafts the fragrance round, 
 Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound : 
 Agahi the mountain feels the imprison 'd foe, 
 Again pours ruin on the vale below. 
 Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore, 
 That only future ages can restore. 
 
 Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honour draws, 
 Who write in blood the merits of your cause, 
 Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence, 
 Glory your aim, but justice your pretence ; 
 Behold in Etna's emblematick fires 
 The mischiefs your ambitious pride inspires. 
 
 Fast by the stream that bounds your just domain, 
 And tells you where ye have a right to reign, 
 A nation dwells, not envious of your throne, 
 Studious of peace, their neighbours' and their own. 
 Ill-fated race ! how deeply must they iue 
 Their ©nly crime, vicinity to you ! 
 The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad, 
 "IPhrough the ripe harvest lies their destin'd road j 
 At ev'ry step beneath their feet they tread 
 The life of multitudes, a nation's bread ! 
 Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress 
 Before them, and behind a wilderness. 
 Famine, and Pestilence, her first-born son, 
 Attend to finish wliat the sword begun •
 
 204 HEROISM. 
 
 And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn. 
 And Folly pays, resound at your return. 
 A calm succeeds — but Plenty, with her train 
 Of heart-felt joys, succeeds not soon again, 
 And years of pining indigence must show 
 What scourges are the gods that rule below. 
 Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees, 
 (Such is his thirst of opulence and ease,) 
 Plies all the sinews of industrious toil. 
 Gleans up the refuse of the gen'ral spoil, 
 Rebuilds the tow'rs, that smok'd upon the plain. 
 And the sun gilds the shining spires again. 
 
 Increasing commerce and reviving art 
 Renew the quarrel on the conqu'ror's part ; 
 A.nd the sad lesson must be learn'd once more, 
 That wealth within is ruin at the door. 
 What are ye, monarchs, laurelld heroes, say, 
 But .^itnas of the suffring world ye sway ? 
 Sweet Nature, stripped of her embroider'd robe, 
 Deplores the wasted regions of her globe ; 
 And stands a witness at Truth s awful bar. 
 To prove you there destroyers as ye are. 
 
 O place me in some Heav'n-protccted isle, 
 Where Peace, and Equity, and Freedom smile: 
 Where no volcano pours his fiery flood, 
 No crested warriour dips his plume in blood ; 
 Where Pow'r secures what Industry has won j 
 Where to succeed is not to be undone ; 
 A land, that distant tyrants hate in vain, 
 In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign ?
 
 (205) 
 
 On a mischievous bull, which the owner op him 
 
 SOLD AT THE AUTIIOR's INSTANCE. 
 
 GO — thou art all unfit to share 
 
 The pleasures of this place 
 With such as its old tenants are, 
 
 Creatures of gentler race. 
 
 The squirrel here his hoard provides 
 
 Aware of wintry storms, 
 And wood-peckers explore the sides 
 
 Of rugged oaks for v/orms. 
 
 The sheep here smooths the knotted thorn 
 
 With frictions of her fleece ; 
 And here I wander eve and morn, 
 
 Like her, a friend to peace. 
 
 Ah ! — I could pity thee exil'd 
 
 From this secure retreat — 
 JfWould not lose it to be styl'd 
 
 The happiest of the great. 
 
 But thou canst taste no calm delight j 
 
 Thy pleasure is to show 
 Thy magnanimity in fight, 
 
 Thy prowess — therefore go — 
 
 I care not whether east or north, 
 
 So 1 no more may find thee ; 
 The angry muse thus sings thee forth, 
 
 And claps the gate behind thee. 
 Vol. II. 18
 
 (206) 
 
 ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789. 
 
 Written in commemoration of his majesty's 
 happy recovery. 
 
 1 RANSACK'D for a theme of song, 
 ^luch ancient chronicle, and long ; 
 I read of bright embattled fields. 
 Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields, 
 Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast 
 Prowess to dissipate a liost ; 
 Through tomes of fable and of dream 
 I sought an eligible theme, 
 But none I found, or found them shar'd 
 Already by some happier bard. 
 
 To modern times, with Truth to guide 
 My busy search, I next applied ; 
 Here cities won, and fleets dispers'd, 
 Urg'd loud a claim to be rchears'd, 
 Deeds of unperishing renown, 
 Our fathers' triumphs and our own. 
 
 Thus, as the bee, from bank to bow'r, 
 Assiduous sips at ev'ry flow'r, 
 But rests on none, till that be found, 
 Where most nectareous sweets abound — 
 So I, from theme to theme display'd 
 In many a page historick stray 'd, 
 Siege after siege, fight after fight 
 Contemplating with small delight, 
 (For feats of sanguinary hue 
 T^ot ahvays glitter in my view.)
 
 ANNUS MEMORABILIS. 207 
 
 Till, settling on the current year, 
 1 found the far-sought treasure near ; 
 A theme for poetry divine, 
 A theme t' ennoble even mine, 
 In memorable eighty-nine. 
 
 The spring of eighty-nine shall be 
 An era chcrish'd long by me, 
 Which joyful I will oft record, 
 And thankful at my frugal board ; 
 For then the clouds of eighty-eight 
 That threatend England's trembling state 
 With loss of what she least could spare, 
 Her sovereign's tutelary care, 
 One breath of Heaven, that cried — Restore '. 
 Chas'd, never to assemble more ; 
 And far the richest crown on earth, 
 If valued by its vrearer's worth, 
 The symbol of a righteous reign 
 Sat fast on George's brows again. 
 
 Then peace and joy again possess'd 
 Our Queen's long agitated breast ; 
 Such joy and peace as can be known 
 By sufFrers like herself alone. 
 Who, losing, or supposing lost, 
 The good on earth they valu'd most, 
 For that dear sorrows' sake forego 
 All hope of happiness below. 
 Then suddenly regain the prize. 
 And flash thanksgivings to the skies ! 
 
 f) Queen of Albion, queen of isles ! 
 Since all thy tears were chang'd to smiles, 
 The eyes that never saw thee shine 
 With joy not unallied to thine, 
 Transports not chargeable with art 
 Illume the land's remotest part.
 
 203 HYMN. 
 
 And strangers to the air of courts, 
 Both in their toils and at their sports, 
 The happiness of answer'd pray'rs, 
 That gilds thy features, show in theirs. 
 
 If they who on thy state attend, 
 Awe-struck, before thy presence bend, 
 'Tis but the natural effect 
 Of grandeur that ensures respect ; 
 But she is something more than queen, 
 Who is belov'd where never seen. 
 
 HYMN, 
 
 For the ivse of the Sunday School at Olney^ 
 
 HEAR, Lord, the song of praise and prayr 
 
 In heav'n thy dwelling place, 
 From infants made the publick care, 
 
 And taught to seek thy face. 
 
 Thanks for thy word and for thy day, 
 
 And grant us, we implore, 
 Never to waste, in sinful play 
 
 Thy holy sabbaths more. 
 
 Thanks that we hear — but O impart 
 
 To each desires sincere. 
 That we may listen with our heart, 
 
 And learn as well as hear. 
 
 For if vain thoughts the minds engage 
 
 Of older far than we, 
 What hope that at our heedless age, 
 
 Our minds should e'er be free .'
 
 STANZAS. 209 
 
 Much hope, if thou our spirits take 
 
 Under thy gracious sway, 
 Who canst the wisest wiser make, 
 
 And babes as wise as they. 
 
 Wisdom and biiss thy word bestows, 
 
 A sun that ne'er declines, 
 And be thy mercies shower'd on those, 
 
 Who plac'd us where it shines 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 Subjoined to the Yearly Bill of Mortality of the Parish 
 of All- Saints, JVorthampton,^ Anno Domini 1787. 
 
 Pallida Mors, cequo pidsat pede pauperum tahernaSj 
 
 Regumque turres. Horace. 
 
 Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door 
 Of royal halls, and hovels of the poor. 
 
 WHILE thirteen moons saw smoothly run 
 
 The Nen's barge-laden wave, 
 All these, life's rambling journey done, 
 
 Have found their home, the grave. 
 
 Was man, (frail always) made more frail 
 
 Than in foregoing years ? 
 Did famine or did plague prevail, 
 
 That so much death appears ? 
 
 Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of North amptem 
 
 18^
 
 :IU BiLi. OF xMORTALlTY. 
 
 No ; tliese were vif 'reus as their sires, 
 
 Nor plague nojr famine came.; 
 This annual tribute Death requires, 
 
 And never waves his clabii. 
 
 Like crowded forest-trees we stand, 
 
 And some are mark'd to fall ; 
 The axe will smite at God's command, 
 And soon shall smite us all. 
 
 Green as the bay-tree, ever green, 
 
 With its new foliage on, 
 The gay, the thoughtless, have I seen, 
 
 I pass'd — and they were gone. 
 
 Read, ye that run, the awful truth, 
 
 With which I charge my page } 
 A worm is in the bud of youth, 
 
 And at the root of age. 
 
 No present health can health ensure 
 
 For yet an hour to come ; 
 No med'cine, though it oft can cure, 
 
 Can always balk the tomb. 
 
 And O ! that humble as my lot. 
 
 And scorn'd as is my strain, 
 These truths, though known, too much forgot, 
 
 I may not teach in vain. 
 
 So prays your clerk with all his heart, 
 
 And ere he quits the pen, 
 Begs i\ou for once to take Ms part, 
 
 And answer all — Amen !
 
 ,211) 
 ON A SIMII/AR OCCASION 
 
 FOR THE YEAR 1788. 
 
 Quod adest, memento 
 Componere cequus. CcBtera flumiiiis 
 Ritu fcrunter. Horace. 
 
 Improve the present hour, for all beside 
 Is a mere feather on a torrent's tide. 
 
 COULD I, from Heav'n inspir'd, as sure presage 
 To whom the rising year shall prove his last, 
 
 As I can number in my punctual page, '••^ 
 And item down the victims of the past ; -^^g^ 
 
 How each would trembling v/ait the mournful slieet 
 On which the press might stamp him next to die, 
 
 And reading here his sentence, how replete 
 
 With anxious meaning, heav'nward turn his eye I 
 
 Time then would seem more precious than the joys 
 In which he sports away the treasure now ; 
 
 And pray'r more seasonable than the noise 
 Of drunkards, or the musick-drawing bow. 
 
 Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink 
 Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore, 
 
 Forc'd to a pause, would feel it good to think, 
 Told that his setting sun must rise no more.
 
 212 BILL Of MORTALITY. 
 
 Ah eelf-deceiv'd ! Could I prophetick say 
 
 Who next is fated, and who next to fall, 
 The rest might then seem privileg'd to play ; 
 
 But naming jione, the voice now speaks to ALL. 
 
 Observe the dappled foresters, how light 
 They bound and airy oer the sunny glade — 
 
 One falls — the rest, wide scatter'd with affright, 
 Vanish at once into the darkest shade. 
 
 Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn'd, 
 Still need repeated warnings, and at last, 
 
 A thousand awful admonitions scorn'd. 
 Die self-accus'd of life run all to waste ? 
 
 Sad waste ! for which no after-thrift atones, 
 The grave admits no cure for guilt or sin ; 
 
 Dew-drops may deck the turf that hides the bones, 
 Bat tears of godly grief ne'er flow within. 
 
 Learn then ye living ! by the mouths be taught 
 Of all these sepulchres, instructers true, 
 
 That, soon or late, death also is your lot, 
 And the next op'ning grave may yawn for you.
 
 (213) 
 ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 
 
 FOR THE YEAR 1789. 
 
 ....Placidaque ihi demum morte qnievit. ViFC 
 
 There calm at length he breath'd his soul away. 
 
 '•' O MOST delightful hour by man 
 
 Experienc'd here below, 
 The hour that terminates his span. 
 
 His folly, and his wo ! 
 
 Worlds should not bribe me back to tread 
 
 Again life's dreary waste. 
 To see again my day o'erspread 
 
 With all the gloomy past. 
 
 My home henceforth is in the skies, 
 
 Earth, seas, and sun, adieu ! 
 All Heav'n unfolded to my eyes, 
 
 I have no sight for you." 
 
 So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd 
 
 Of faith's suppc^rtmg rod, 
 Then breath'd his soul into its rest, 
 
 The bosom of his God. 
 
 He was a man among the few 
 
 Sincere on virtue's side ; 
 And all his strength from Scripture drew, 
 
 To hourly use applied.
 
 214 BILL OF MORTALITY. 
 
 That rule he priz'd, by that he fear'd^ 
 He hated, hop'd, and lov'd ; 
 
 Nor ever frown'd, or sad appear'd 
 But when his heart had rov'd. 
 
 For he. was frail as thou or I, 
 
 And evil felt within ; 
 But when he felt it heav'd a sigh, 
 
 And loath'd the thought of sin. 
 
 Such liv'd Aspasio ; and at last 
 Caird up from Earth to Heav'n, 
 
 The gulf of death triumphant pass'd, 
 By gales of blessing driv'n. 
 
 His joys be mine, each Reader cries, 
 When my last hour arrives : 
 
 They shall be yours, my verse replies, 
 Such coily be your lives. 
 
 ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 
 
 FOR THE YEAR 1790. 
 
 j\'*e commonentem recta sperne. Buchanan. 
 
 Despise not my good counsel. 
 
 HE who sits from day to day, 
 "Where the prison'd lark is hung, 
 
 Heedless of his loudest lay. 
 Hardly knows that he has sung".
 
 BILL OF MORTALITY. 2i; 
 
 Where tlie watchman in his round 
 
 Nightly Ufts his voice on high, 
 None, accustora'd to the sound, 
 
 Wakes the sooner for his cry. 
 
 So your verseraan I and clerk, 
 
 Yearly in my song proclaim 
 Death at hand — yourselves his mark- 
 
 And the foes unerring aim. 
 
 Duly at my time I come. 
 
 Publishing to all aloud — 
 Soon the grave must be your home, 
 
 And your only suit, a shroud. 
 
 But the monitory strain, 
 
 Oft repeated in your ears, 
 Seems to sound too much in vain, 
 
 Wins no notice, wakes no fears. 
 
 Can a truth, by all confess'd 
 
 Of such magnitude and weight, * 
 
 Grow, by l)cing oft impress'd, 
 
 Trivial as a parrot's prate ? 
 
 Pleasure's call attention wins, 
 
 Hear it often as we may ; 
 New as ever seem our sins, 
 
 Though committed every day. 
 
 Death and Judgment, Heaven and Hell — 
 
 These alone, so often heard, 
 No more move us than the bell, 
 
 When some stranger is interr'd. 
 
 O then, ere the turf or tomb 
 
 Cover us from every eye. 
 Spirit of instruction come. 
 
 Make us learn, that wc must die.
 
 (216) 
 ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 
 
 FOR THE YEAR 1792. 
 
 Felix, qui potvit rerum cognoscere causas, 
 Atque metus omnes el inexorabile fatum 
 Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Jlcherontis atari ! 
 
 Virg 
 Happy the mortal, who has trac'd effects 
 Ta their first cause, cast fear beneath his feet, 
 Ajid death, and roarin^ Hell's voracious fires ! 
 
 THANKLESS for favours from on high 
 Man thinks he fades too soon ; 
 
 Though 'tis his privilege to die, 
 Would he improve the boon. 
 
 But he, not wise enough to scan 
 
 His best concerns aright. 
 Would gladly stretch Ufe's little span 
 
 To ages, if he might. 
 
 To ages in a world of pain, 
 
 To ages, where he goes 
 Gall'd by affliction's heavy chain, 
 
 And hopeless of repose. 
 
 Strange fondness of the human heart, 
 
 Enamour'd of its harm 1 
 Strange world, that costs it so much smart, 
 
 And still has pow'r to charm.
 
 BILL OF MORTALITY. 217 
 
 Whence has the world her magick pow'r ? 
 
 Why deem we death a foe ? 
 Recoil from weary life's best hour, 
 
 And covet longer wo ? 
 
 The cause is Conscience — Conscience oft 
 
 Her tale of guilt renews ; 
 Her voice is terrible, though soft, 
 
 And dread of death ensues. 
 
 Then, anxious to be longer spar'd, 
 
 Man mourns his fleeting breath : 
 All evils then seem light, corapar'd 
 
 With the approach of Death. 
 
 'Tis judgment shakes him, there's the feat 
 
 That prompts the wish to stay : 
 He has incurr'd a long arrear, 
 
 And must despair to pay. 
 
 Pay ! — follow Christ, and all is paid : 
 
 His death your peace ensures ; 
 Think on the grave where he was laid, 
 And calm descend to yours. 
 Vol. II. 19
 
 (218) 
 ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 
 
 FOR THE YEAR 1793. 
 
 De sacris autcm hoc sic una sententia, ut conserventur. 
 
 Cic. de Leg. 
 But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that 
 things sacred be inviolate. 
 
 He lives, who lives to God alone, 
 
 And all are dead beside ; 
 For other source than God is none 
 
 Whence life can be supplied. 
 
 To live to God is to requite 
 
 His love as best we may : 
 To make his precepts our delight, 
 
 His promises our stay. 
 
 But life, within a narrow ring 
 
 Of giddy joys compris'd, 
 Is falsely nam'd, and no such thing, 
 
 But rather death disguis'd. 
 
 Can life in them deserve the name, 
 
 Who only live to prove 
 For what poor toys they can disclaim 
 
 An endless life above. 
 
 Who much diseas'd, yet nothing feel ; 
 
 Much menac'd, nothing dread ; 
 Have wounds, which only God can heal. 
 
 Yet never ask his aid .''
 
 BILL OF MORTALITY. 2J9 
 
 Who deem his house a useless place, 
 
 Faith want of common sense ; 
 And ardour in the Christian race, 
 
 A hypocrite's pretence ? 
 
 Who trample order ; and the day, 
 
 Which God asserts his own, 
 Dishonour with unhallow'd play, 
 
 And worship chance alone ? 
 
 If scorn of God's commands, impress'd 
 
 On word and deed, imply 
 The better part of man unbless'd 
 
 With life that cannot die ; 
 
 Such want it, and that want uncur'd 
 
 Till man resigns his breath, 
 Speaks him a criminal, assur'd 
 
 Of everlasting death. 
 
 Sad period to a pleasant course ' 
 
 Yet so will God repay 
 Sabbaths profan'd without remorso, 
 
 And mercy cast awaj.
 
 ( 220 ) 
 INSCRIPTION, 
 
 FOR THE TOMB OF MR. HAMILTON. 
 
 PAUSE here, and think : a monitory rhyme 
 Demands one moment of thy fleeting time. 
 
 Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein ; 
 Seems it to say — " Health here has long to reign ?' 
 Hast thou the vigour of thy youth ? an eye 
 That beams nelight ? a heart untaught to sigh .' 
 Yet fear. Youth, ofttimes healthful and at ease. 
 Anticipates a day it never sees ; 
 And many a tomb, like Hamilton's, aloud 
 Exclaims, *' Prepare thee for an early shroud.'*^ 
 
 EPITAPH ON A HARE. 
 
 HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue.. 
 
 Nor swifter grayhound follow, 
 Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, 
 
 Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo. 
 
 Old Tincy, surliest of his kind, 
 Who, nurs'd with tender care. 
 
 And to domestick bounds confin'd^ 
 Was still a v.'ild Jack-hare
 
 EPITAPH ON A HARE. 22 1 
 
 Though duly from my hand he took 
 
 His pittance ev'ry night, 
 He did it with a jealous look, 
 
 And, when he could, would bite, 
 
 His diet was of wheaten bread, 
 
 And milk, and oats, and straw ; 
 Thistles, or lettuces instead, 
 
 With sand to so^ur his maw. 
 
 On twigs of hawthorn he regal'd. 
 
 On pippen's russet peel, 
 And, when his juicy salads fail'd, 
 
 Slic'd carrot pleas'd him welL 
 
 A turkey caroet was his lawn, 
 
 Whereon ne lov'd tc bound, 
 To skip and gambol like a fawn^ 
 
 And swing his rump around. 
 
 His frisking v/as at ev'ning hours, 
 
 For then he lost his fear. 
 But most before approaching showVs, 
 
 Or when a storm drew near- 
 Eight years and five round rolling moons 
 
 He thus saw steal away. 
 Dozing out all his idle noons, 
 
 And ev'ry night at play. 
 
 I kept him for his humour's sake, 
 
 For he would oft beguile 
 My heart of thoughts, that made it ache, 
 
 And forc^ me to a smile. 
 
 But now beneath this walnut shade 
 
 He finds his long last home, 
 And waits, in snug concealment laid, 
 
 Till gentler Puss shall come 
 19^
 
 a22 EPITAPHIUM ALTERUM, 
 
 He, still more aged, feels the shocks, 
 
 From which no care can save, 
 And, partner once of Tiney's box, 
 
 Must soon partalve his grave. 
 
 EPITAPHIUM ALTERUM. 
 
 Hie etiam jacet, 
 Qui totum novennium vixit. 
 
 Siste paulisper, 
 
 Qui praeteriturus es, 
 
 Et tecum sic reputa — 
 
 Hunc neque canis venaticus. 
 
 Nee plumbum missile, 
 
 Nee laqueus, 
 
 Nee imbres nimii, 
 
 Confecere : 
 
 Tamen mortuus est — 
 
 Et moriar ego.
 
 ( 2-^3 } 
 
 The following account of the treatment of his 
 hares was inserted by mr. cowper in the gen- 
 tleman's magazine, whence it is transcribed. 
 
 IN the year 1774, being much indisposed both in 
 mind and body, incapable of diverting myself either 
 with company or books, and yet in a condition that 
 made some diversion necessary, I was glad of any 
 thing that would engage my attention without fa- 
 tiguing it. The children of a neighbour of mine had 
 a leveret given them for a plaything ; it was at that 
 time about three months old. Understanding better 
 how to tease the poor creature than to feed it, and 
 soon becoming weary of their charge, they readily con- 
 sented that their father, who saw it pining and grow- 
 ing leaner every day, should offer it to my acceptance. 
 I was wilhng enough to take the prisoner under my 
 protection, perceiving that, in the management of such 
 an animal, and in the attempt to tame it. I should find 
 just that sort of employment which ray case required. 
 It was soon known among the neighbours that I was 
 pleased with the present ; and the consequence was, 
 that in a short time I had as many leverets oiFered to 
 rae as would have stocked a paddock. I undertook the 
 care of three, which it is necessary that I should here 
 distinguish by the names I gave them— Puss, Tiney, 
 and Bess. Notwithstanding the two feminine appella- 
 tives, I must inform you that they were all males. Im- 
 mediately commencing carpenter, I built them houses 
 to sleep in ; each had a separate apartment, so contriv- 
 ed, that their ordure would paos through the bottom 
 of it ; an earthen pan placed under each received what- 
 soever fell, which being duly emptied and washed, 
 they were thus kept perfectly sweet and clean. In the 
 daytime they had the range of a ha.ll. and at night re-
 
 ( 224 ) 
 tired, eacli to his own bed, never intruding into that of 
 another. 
 
 Puss grew presently famiUar, would leap into my 
 lap, raise himself upon his hinder feet, and bite the 
 hair from my temples. He would suiier me to take 
 him up, and to carry him about in my arms, and has 
 more than once fallen fast asleep upon my knee. He 
 was ill three days, during which time I nursed him, 
 kept him apart from his fellows, that they might not 
 molest him, (for, like many other wild animals, they 
 persecute one of their own species that is sick,) and by 
 constant care, and trying him with a variety of herbs, 
 restored him to perfect health. No creature could be 
 more grateful than my patient after his recovery ; a 
 sentiment which he most significantly expressed by 
 licking my hand, first the back of it, then the palm, 
 then every finger separately, then between all the fin- 
 gers, as if anxious to leave no part of it unsaluted ; a 
 ceremony which he never performed but once again 
 ■upon a similar occasion. Finding him extremely tract- 
 able, I made it my custom to carry him always after 
 breakfast into the garden, where he hid himself gene- 
 rally under the leaves of a cucumber vine, sleeping or 
 chewing the cud till evening : in the leaves also of 
 that vine he found a favourite repast. I had not long 
 habituated him to this taste of liberty, before he began 
 to be impatient for the return of the time when he 
 might enjoy it. He would invite me to the garden by 
 drumming upon my knee, and by a look of such ex- 
 pression, as it w^s not possible to misinterpret. If this 
 rhetorick did not immediately succeed, he would take 
 the skirt of my coat between his teeth, and pull at it 
 with all his force. Thus Puss might be said to.be per- 
 fectly tamed, the shyn'Hss of his nature was done away, 
 and on the whole it was visible by many sj'mptoms, 
 which 1 have not room to enumerate, that he was hap- 
 pier m human society than when shut up with his na« 
 tural companion.s.
 
 ( 2-25 ) 
 
 Not so IHney ; upon him the kindest treatment iiad 
 not the least effect. He, too, was sick, and in his sick- 
 ness had an equal share of my attention ; but if after 
 his recovery I took the liberty to stroke him, he would 
 grunt, strike with his fore feet, spring forward, and 
 bite. He was, however, very entertaining in his way ; 
 even his surliness was matter of mirth ; and in his 
 play he preserved such an air of gravity, and perform- 
 ed his feats with such a solemnity of manner, that in 
 liim, too, I had an agreeable companion. 
 
 Bess, who died soon after he was full grown, and 
 whose death was occasioned by his being turned into 
 Jiis box, which had been washed, while it was yet damp, 
 was a hare of great humour and drollery. Puss was 
 tamed by gentle usage ; Tiney was not to be tamed at 
 all : and Bess had a courage and confidence that made 
 him tame from the beginning. I always admitted them 
 into the parlour after supper, when the carpet afford- 
 ing their feet a firm hold, they would frisk, and bound 
 and play a thousand gambols, in which Bess, being re- 
 markably strong and fearless, v/as always superiour to 
 the rest, and proved himself the Vestris of the party. 
 One evening the cat, being in the room, had the hardi- 
 ness to pat Bess upon the cheek, an indignity which 
 he resented by drimiming upon her back with such 
 violence, that the cat was happy to escape from under 
 his paws, and hide herself. 
 
 I describe these animals as having each a charac- 
 ter of his own. Such they were in fact, and their 
 countenances were so expressive of that character, 
 that, when I looked only on the face of either, I im- 
 mediately knew which it was. It is said that a shep- 
 herd, however numerous his flock, soon becomes so 
 familiar with their features, that he can, by that indi- 
 cation only, distinguish each from all the rest ; and 
 yet, to a common observer, the difference is hardly 
 perceptible. I doubt not that the same discrimination 
 in the cast of countenances would be discoverable iu
 
 ( 226 ) 
 hares, and am persuaded that amon^ a thousand of 
 them, no two could be found exactly similar ) a circum- 
 stance little suspected by those who have not had op- 
 portunity to observe it. These creatures have a sin- 
 gular sagacity in discovering the minutest alteration 
 that is made in the place to which they are accustom- 
 ed, and instantly apply tlieir nose to the examinj^on 
 of a new object. A small hole being burnt in the car- 
 pet, it was mended with a patch, and that patch in a 
 moment underwent the strictest scrutiny. They seem, 
 too, to be very much directed by the smell in the choice 
 of their favourites ; to some persons, though they saw 
 them daily, they could never be reconciled, and would 
 even scream when they attempted to touch them ; but 
 a miller coming in, engaged their affections at once : 
 his powdered coat had charms that were irresistible. 
 It is no wonder that my intimate acquaintance with 
 these specimens of the kind, has taught me to hold the 
 sportsman's amusement in abhorrence : he little knows 
 what amiable creatures he persecutes, of what grati- 
 tude they are capable, how cheerful they are in their 
 spirits, what enjoyment they have of life, and that, 
 impressed as they seem with a peculiar dread of man, 
 it is only because man gives them peculiar cause for it. 
 
 That I may not be tedious, I will just give a short 
 summary of these articles of diet that suit them best. 
 
 I take it to be a general opinion that they graze, but 
 it is an erroneous one ; at least grass is not their sta- 
 ple ; they seem rather to use it medicinally, soon quit- 
 ting it for leaves of almost any kind. Sowthlstle, dan- 
 delion, and lettuce, are their favourite vegetables, es- 
 pecially the last. I discovered by accident that fine 
 white sand is in great estimation with them ; I sup- 
 pose as a digestive. It happened that I was cleaning 
 a bird cage while the hares were with me : I placed a 
 pot filled with such sand upon the floor, which, being 
 at once directed to by a strong instinct, they devoured 
 vnraciouslv : sinr^e that time I iiave o-enerallv taken
 
 care to see them well supplied with it. They account 
 green corn a delicacy, both blade and stalk, but the ear 
 they seldom eat : straw of any kind, especially wheat 
 straw, is another of their dainties ; they will feed 
 greedily upon oats, but if furnished with clean straw, 
 never want them ; it serves thern also for a bed. and 
 if sHaken up daily, v/ill be kept sweet and dry for a 
 considerable time. They do not indeed require aro- 
 matick herbs, but v/ill eat a small quantity of them 
 with great relish, and are particularly fond of the plant 
 called musk : they seem to resemble sheep in this, that 
 if their pasture be too succulent, they are very subject 
 to the rot : to prevent which, I always made bread 
 their principal nourishment, and, filhng a pan with it 
 cut into small squares, placed it every evening in their 
 chambers, for they feed only at evening, and in the 
 night : during the winter, when vegetables were not 
 to be got, I mingled this mess of bread with shreds of 
 carrot, adding to it the rind of apples cut extremely 
 thin ; for, though they are fond of the paring, the ap- 
 ple itself disgusts them. These, hov»^ever, not being 
 a sufficient substitute for the juice of summer herbs, 
 they must at this time be supplied with water ; but so 
 placed, that they cannot overset it into their beds. I 
 must not omit, that occasionally they are much pleas- 
 ed with twigs of hawthorn and of the common brier, 
 eating even the very wood when it is of considerable 
 thickness. 
 
 Bess, I have said, died young ; Tiney lived to be 
 nine years old, and died at last. I have reason to 
 think, of some hurt in his loins by a fall : Puss is still 
 living, and has just completed his tenth year, disco- 
 vering no signs of decay, nor even of age, except that 
 he is grown more discreet and less frolicksome than 
 he was. I cannot conclude without observing, that I 
 have lately introduced a dog to his acquaintance — a 
 spaniel that had never seen a hare, to a hare that had 
 never seen a soaniel. I did it v;ith great caution; but
 
 ( 228) 
 there was no real need of it. Puss discovered no to- 
 ken of fear, nor Marquis the least symptom of hostility. 
 There is, therefore, it should seem, no natural antipa- 
 thy between dog- and hare, but the pursuit of the one 
 occasions the flight of the other, and the dog pursues 
 because he is trained to it ; they eat bread at the same ■ 
 time out of the same hand, and are in all resjftcts 
 sociable and friendly. 
 
 I should not do complete justice to my subject, did 
 I not add, that they have no ill scent belonging to 
 them ; that they are indefatigably nice in keeping 
 themselves clean, for which purpose nature has fur- 
 nished them with a brush under each foot ; and that 
 they are never infested by any vermin. 
 May 28, 1784. 
 
 Memorandum found aviong Mr. Cowper's papers. 
 
 Tuesday, March 9, 1786. ^ 
 This day died poor Puss, aged eleven years eleven 
 months. He died between twelve and one at noon, of 
 mere old age, and apparently without pain. 
 
 END OF VOL. ir. 

 
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