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 POEMS 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ. 
 
 MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 LONDON: 
 PRINTED FOR CHARLES MASON, 
 
 WINE OFFICE COURT, FLEET STREET. 
 
 1837.
 
 LOXDON" : 
 LBIGHTON- AXD MURPHY, PRIKTERSs 
 
 Johnson's CouTt, Fleet Street.
 
 MEMOIR 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER. 
 
 The lives of men devoted to the quiet pursuits of 
 literature rarely aflFord much scope for the biographer ; 
 yet such is the respect paid to genius, that transactions, 
 most unimportant in themselves, are often made to 
 assume a degree of consequence when so allied, and the 
 minutest particulars are recorded with an avidity which 
 would be perfectly ridiculous but for such association. 
 Too much of this has been interwoven in the various 
 Memoirs of William Cowper, and, with it, by far too 
 much of the poet's predisposition to despondency. It is 
 not, however, our intention to render this record of his 
 life the vehicle for doleful lamentation— for we are far 
 from believing that the "gifted sons of genius" are 
 doomed to sufiFer miseries unknown to other men ; still 
 less would we encourage that morbid sensibility which 
 preys on the vitals of many worthy, though self-de- 
 luded characters, who, fancying themselves to be pre- 
 eminently endowed, affect to despise the plain dictates 
 of common sense, and have for their reward the bitter 
 fruits of talents misdirected, and of prudence disre- 
 garded. That our Author's life was overclouded with 
 mental aflBictions, the sequel will too truly prove ; but 
 the all-prevailing practice of over-colouring the evils of 
 life, and of describing them in the language of appeal- 
 ing sympathy, is an evil of no common magnitude, and 
 cught to be discountenanced.
 
 4 MEMOIR OF 
 
 William Cowper was the descendant of an ancient and 
 honourable family. His father was the second son ot 
 Spencer Cowper (a younger brother of the lord chan- 
 cellor Cowper) who was appointed chief justice of 
 Chester in 1717> and afterwards a judge in the court of 
 Common Pleas. The poet's father was rector of Great 
 Berkhampstead, in Hertfordshire, at which place Wil- 
 liam was bom, Nov. 26, 1731 ; and from his infancy he 
 appears to have been of a very delicate habit both of 
 mind and body. In 1737, the year of his mother's death, 
 he was sent to a school at Market-street, in Hertford- 
 shire, under the conduct of Dr. Pitman, but was re- 
 moved from it a few years afterwards, on accoiuit of a 
 complaint in his eyes, for which he was consigned to 
 the care of a female oculist for the space of two years. 
 
 Shortly after this he was sent to Westminster school, 
 where he is reported to have suffered much from the 
 wanton tyranny of his schoolfellows, who, with the 
 usual unthinking cruelty of youth, triumphed over the 
 gentleness and timidity of his spirit, so that in his ad- 
 vanced years he retained none but painful recollections 
 of what men in general remember with more pleasure 
 than any other period of their lives, and these recollec- 
 tions, no doubt, animated his pen with more than his 
 usual severity in exposing the abuses of public schools. 
 When he was eighteen years of age he left Westmin- 
 ster-school, and was articled for three years to Mr. 
 Chapman, an attorney ; in whose house he succeeded 
 in gaining the esteem of all around him, by the gentle- 
 ness of his manners and the amiability of his temper, 
 but suffering deeply from that incipient melancholy 
 which had taken possession of his mind, and with an 
 utter dislike to the study of the legal profession. Of 
 his conduct and pursuits there, he gives the following 
 account:— "I did actually live three years with Mr. 
 Chapman, a solicitor, that is to say, I slept three years in 
 his house ; but I lived, that is to say, I spent my days 
 in Southampton-row, as you very well remember. 
 There was I, and the future Lord Chancellor (Thur- 
 low), constantly employed from morning to night in 
 giggling and making giggle, instead of studying the 
 aw." Yet with this apparent gaiete de coeur, and with
 
 WILIALM COWPER. 5 
 
 every advantage, natural and acquired, that bade fair 
 for his advantage in pubUc life, he was kept back b> 
 an extreme degree of modesty and shyness from all 
 intercourse with the world, except the society of a few 
 friends who knew how to appreciate his character, and 
 among whom he found himself without restraint. The 
 loss of a friend and of a mistress appears, among other 
 adverse events, to have aggravated his sufferings at 
 this time, and to have strengthened that constitutional 
 melancholy which he delighted to paint, and which, we 
 firmly believe, from all that we can see in his writings, 
 he loved to indulge. 
 
 When he had fulfilled the terms of his engagement 
 with Mr. Chapman, he entered the Temple for the 
 purpose of finishing his studies as a barrister; but, 
 like many other men of genius, he neglected the law, 
 and gratified the bent of his mind in the cultivation 
 of poetry. Indeed, he appears to have aimed at the 
 character of a literary man, in the general sense of the 
 term ; for he is known to have assisted various cotem- 
 porary publications with prose essays as well as with 
 compositions in verse, and — what, considering his meek- 
 ness, diffidence, and purity of conduct, is certainly re- 
 markable — he cultivated the acquaintance of Churchill, 
 Thornton, Lloyd and Colman, who had been his school- 
 fellows at Westminster. It is, undoubtedly, to Churchill 
 and Lloyd that he alludes in a letter to Lady Hesketh, 
 dated September 4, 1705. " Two of my friends have 
 been cut off during my illness, in the midst of such a 
 life as it is frightful to look upon ; and here am I in 
 better health and spirits than I can almost remember to 
 have enjoyed before, after having spent months in the 
 apprehension of instant death. How mysterious are the 
 ways of Providence ! Why did I receive grace and 
 mercy ? Why was I preserved, afflicted for my good, 
 received, as I trust, into favour, and blessed with the 
 greatest happiness I can ever know, or hope for, in this 
 life, while these were overtaken by the great arrest, 
 unawakened, unrepenting, and every way unprepared 
 for it ?" 
 
 About the period alluded to» he assisted Colman with 
 some papers for the ' Connoiseur,' and contributed to
 
 6 MEMOIR OF 
 
 various other periodicals; but so little was known of 
 him in the literary world, that, on the appearance of 
 his first volume of poems, when he had reached his 
 fiftieth year, he was looked upon as a new writer. But 
 his general occupations wiU best appear in an extract 
 from one of his letters to Mr. Park, in 1792. "From 
 the age of twenty to thirty-three (when he left the 
 Temple), I was occupied, or ought to have been, in the 
 study of the law ; from thirty-three to sixty, I have 
 spent my time in the country, where my reading has 
 only been an apology for idleness, and where, when I had 
 not either a magazine or a review, I was sometimes a 
 carpenter, at others a bird-cage maker, or a gardener, or 
 a drawer of landscapes. At fifty years of age I com- 
 menced an author ;— it is a whim that has served me 
 longest and best, and will probably be my last" His 
 first poetical effort was a translation of an elegy of 
 TibuUus, made at the age of fourteen ; after which he 
 occasionally displayed his poetical talents in the com- 
 position of trifling pieces; but as little of his juvenile 
 poetry has been preserved, all the steps of his pro- 
 gress to that perfection which produced ' The Task,' 
 cannot now be traced. 
 
 Unfit as he was, from extreme diflfidence, to advance in 
 his profession, his family interest procured him a situa- 
 tion which seemed not ill adapted to gratify his very 
 moderate ambition, while it did not much interfere with 
 his reluctance to public life. In his thirty-fourth year 
 he was nominated to the oflBces of reading clerk and 
 clerk of the private committees of the House of Lorda- 
 But in this arrangement his friends were disappointed. 
 It presented the formidable danger of reading in public, 
 which he thought was nearly as bad as speaking iu 
 public ; his natural modesty, therefore, and, we may 
 add, his immanly diflSdence, recoiled at the thought, and 
 he resigned the office. On this his friends procured 
 him the place of clerk of the journals of the House of 
 Lords, the consequence of which is thus related by Mr. 
 Hayley : — " It was hoped, from the change of his station, 
 that his personal appearance in parliament might not 
 be required ; but a parliamentary dispute made it 
 necessary for him to appear at the bar of the House of
 
 WILLIAM COWPER. 7 
 
 Lords, to entitle himselfpublicly to the office." Speaking 
 of this important incident in a sketch, which he once 
 formed himself, of passages in his early life, he expresses 
 what he endured at the time in these remarkable, 
 words: — "They, whose spirits are formed like mine, 
 to whom a public exhibition of themselves is mortal 
 poison, may have some idea of the horrors of my situa- 
 tion : others can have none ." — His terrors on this occa- 
 sion rose to such an astonishing height, that they utterly 
 overwhelmed his reason; for although he had endea- 
 voured to prepare himself for his public duty, by 
 attending closely at the oflBce for several months, to 
 examine the parliamentary journals, his application was 
 rendered useless by that excess of diffidence, which made 
 him conceive, that, whatever knowledge he might pre- 
 viously acquire, it would all forsake him at the bar of 
 the House. This distressing apprehension increased to 
 such a degree as the time for his appearance approached, 
 that when the day so anxiously dreaded arrived, he 
 was unable to make the experiment. 
 
 It must, we think, be evident to all, that either from 
 his natural weakness in early life, his indulgence in 
 those habits of seclusion which unfitted him for the 
 society of his fellow-men, or from a train of morbid 
 thoughts having taken possession of his faculties, that 
 he was at this time labouring under hypochondria in its 
 worst form ; and that such was the opinions of his 
 friends, may be gathered from the fact of their placing 
 him under the care of Dr. Cotton, the eminent phy- 
 sician at St. Albans, in whose house he resided, from 
 December, 1763, to July, 1764. His disease, in truth, let 
 his biographers disguise it as they may, was that species 
 of insanity arising from religious melancholy. The at- 
 tention, however, he received during his stay with Dr. 
 Cotton, produced more cheering views, and he removed 
 to a private lodging in Huntingdon. He had not long 
 resided in this place, before he was introduced into a 
 family that had the honour, for many years, of admi- 
 nistering to his happiness, and of evincing a warmth 
 of friendship, of which there are few examples. This 
 intercourse was begun by Mr. Cawthorn Unwin, a stu- 
 dent of Cambridge, and son of the Rev. Mr. Unwin,
 
 8 MEMOIR OF 
 
 rector of Grimston, and at that time a resident in 
 Huntingdon. The younger Mr. Unwin was one day 
 so much attracted by Cowper's uncommon and interest- 
 ing appearance, that he attempted to form an acquain- 
 tance with him, and achieved this purpose with such 
 reciprocity of delight, that our author was finally in- 
 duced to take up his abode with his new friend's ami- 
 able family, which then consisted of the Rev. Mr, Unwin, 
 Mrs. Unwin, the son just mentioned, and a daugh- 
 ter ; the former of whom was, some time after, killed 
 by a fall from his horse, which melancholy accident 
 occasioned Cowper to remove with the family to Ol- 
 ney, in Buckinghamshire, the curacy of which was in 
 the hands of the venerable and pious John Newton, 
 afterwards rector of St. Mary Woolnorth, London, and 
 who was the intimate friend of the poet. Here they 
 removed in October, 1767; and their residence was en- 
 deared to the widow and her family, as well as their 
 guest, by the company and public services of their ex- 
 cellent curate. For some years Cowper continued to 
 enjoy the blessings of a retired and devotional life ; and 
 his correspondence during that period evinces a placid 
 train of sentiment, mixed with an air of innocent gaiety, 
 that must have afforded the highest satisfaction to his 
 friends. Among other pleasures of the purest kind, he 
 ielighted in acts of benevolence; and, as he was not 
 rich, he had the additional felicity of being employed 
 as an almoner in the secret benevolence of that most 
 charitable man, the late John Thornton, Esq., an opu- 
 lent merchant of London, whose name he has immor- 
 talized in his poem on Charity, and in some verses on 
 his death, which Mr. Hayley, first published. Mr. 
 Thornton statedly allowed Mr. Newton the sum of 
 £200 per annum, for the use of the poor of Olney ; 
 and it was the joint concern of Mr. Newton and Mr. 
 Cowjier to distribute this sum in the most judicious 
 and useful maimer. Such a bond of union could not 
 fail to increase their intimacy. " Cowper," says Mr. 
 Newton, "loved the poor; he often visited them in 
 their cottages, conversed with them in the most conde- 
 scending manner, sympathized with them, counselled 
 and comforted them in their distresses^ and those who
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 9 
 
 were seriously disposed were often cheered and aniraatp^ 
 by his prayers. Of their intimacy the same writer 
 speaks in these emphatic terms: — " For nearly twelve 
 years we were seldom separated for seven hours at a 
 time, when we were awake and at home. The first six 
 I passed in daily admiring and endeavouring to imitate 
 him : during the second six I walked pensively with 
 him in the valley of the shadow of death." Among 
 other friendly services about this time, he wrote for 
 Mr. Newton some beautiful hymns, which the latter in- 
 troduced in public worship, and published in a collec- 
 tion long before Cowper was known as a poet. 
 
 In 1770, his brother John died at Cambridge, an event 
 which made a lasting, but not unfavourable, impression 
 on the tender and affectionate mind of our poet. While 
 the circumstances of this event were recent, he com- 
 mitted them to paper, and they were published by Mr. 
 Newton, in 1802. Cowper afterwards introduced some 
 lines to his memory in ♦ The Task :' 
 
 I had a brother once. 
 
 Peace to the memory of a man of worth, 
 A man of letters, and of manners too," &c. 
 
 For some years this brother withstood, but finally 
 adopted our author's opinions in religious matters ; and 
 severely as the survivor felt the loss of so amiable a re- 
 lation, it produced no other eflTect on his mind than to 
 increase his confidence in the principles he had adopted, 
 and to rejoice in the consolations he had derived from 
 them. 
 
 From this period, his life affords little for narrative, un- 
 til 1773, when, in the language of his biographer," he sunk 
 into such severe paroxysms of religious despondency, 
 thatherequiredanattendantof the most gentle, vigilant, 
 and inflexible spirit. Such an attendant he found in 
 that faithful guardian (Mrs. Unwin), whom he had pro- 
 fessed to love as a mother, and who watched over him 
 during this long malady, extended through several 
 years, with that perfect mixture of tenderness and for- 
 titude, which constitutes the inestimable influence of 
 maternal protection.'' 
 
 His recovery was slow; and he knew enough of his 
 A2
 
 10 MEMOIR OF 
 
 malady, to abstain from literary employment, while his 
 mind was in any degree unsettled. The first amusement 
 which engaged his humane afifections, was the taming of 
 three hares ; a circumstance that would scarcely have de- 
 served notice, unless among the memoranda of natural 
 history, if he had not given to it an extraordinary in- 
 terest, by the animated account he wrote of this singu- 
 lar family. While he thus amused himself, his friends 
 were indefatigable in their endeavours to promote his 
 recovery ; and, in the summer of 1778, they had the gra- 
 tification of seeing their attentions rewarded by his re- 
 storation to health. 
 
 Our author continued to amuse himself with reading 
 such new books as his friends could procure, with writ- 
 ing short pieces of poetry, tending his tame hares and 
 birds, and drawing landscapes, a talent which he disco- 
 vered in himself very late in life, and in which he dis- 
 played considerable skill. In all this, perhaps, there 
 was not much labour, but it was not idleness. A short 
 passage in one of his letters to the Rev. William Unwin, 
 dated May, 1780, will serve to make the distinction. 
 " Excellence is providentially placed beyond the reach 
 of indolence, that success may be the reward of indus- 
 try, and that idleness may be punished with obscurity 
 and disgrace. So long as I am pleased with an employ- 
 ment, I am capable of unwearied appUcation, because 
 my feelings are all of the intense kind. I never re- 
 ceived a little pleasure from anything in my life: if I 
 am delighted, it is in the extreme. The unhappy con- 
 sequence of this temperament is, that my attachment to 
 any occupation seldom outlives the novelty of it." 
 
 Urged, however, by his amiable friend and com- 
 panion, Mrs. Unwin, he employed the winter of 1780-1, 
 in preparing his first volume of poems for the press, 
 consisting of ' The Table Talk,' ' Hope,' ' The Pro- 
 gress of Error,' ' Charity,' &:c. But such was his diffi- 
 dence m their success, that he appears to have been in 
 doubt whether any bookseller would be willing to print 
 them on his own account. He was fortunate enough, 
 however, to find in Mr. Johnson (his friend Mr. New- 
 ton's publisher), one whose spirit and liberality imme- 
 diately set his mind at rest. The volume was accord-
 
 WILLIAM COWPER. U 
 
 ingly published in 1782, but its success was by no means 
 equal to its merit ; for, as Mr. Hayley has observed, 
 •• it exhibits such a diversity of poetical powers as have 
 been given very rarely indeed to any individual of the 
 modern or of the ancient world." As an apology for 
 the inattention of the public to a present of such value, 
 Mr. Hayley has supposed that he gave offence by his 
 bold eulogy on Whitfield, "whom the dramatic satire 
 of Foote, in his- comedy of ' The Mirror,' had taught 
 the nation to deride as a mischievous fanatic;" and that 
 he hazarded sentiments too precise and strict for public 
 opinion. The character of Whitfield, however, had 
 long been rescued from the buffooneries of Foote, and 
 the public could now bear his eulogium with tolerable 
 patience ; but that there are austerities in these poems, 
 which indicate the moroseness of a recluse, Cowper was 
 not unwilling to allow. It may be added, that the 
 volume was introduced into the world without any of 
 the quackish parade so frequently adopted, and had 
 none of those embellishments by which the eye of the 
 purchaser is caught, at the expense of his pocket. The 
 periodical critics, whose opinion Cowper watched with 
 more anxiety than could have been wished, in a man so 
 superior to the common candidates for poetic fame, 
 were divided ; and even those who were most favour- 
 able, betrayed no extraordinary raptures. In the mean 
 time the work crept slowly into notice, and acquired the 
 praise of those who knew, the value of such an addition 
 to our stock of English poetry. 
 
 Some time before the publication of this volume, 
 Cowper made a most important acquisition in the 
 friendship and conversation of Lady Austen, widow of 
 Sir Robert Austen, whom he found a woman of elegant 
 taste, and such critical powers as enabled her to direct 
 his studies by her judgment, and encourage them by 
 her praise. An accidental visit which this lady made 
 to Olney served to introduce her to the Poet, whose 
 shyness generally gave way to a display of mental excel- 
 lence and polished manners. In a short time Lady 
 Austen shared his esteem with his older friend Mrs. 
 Unwin, although not without exciting some little de- 
 gree of jealousy, which Mr. Hayley has noticed with his
 
 12 MEMOIR OF 
 
 usual delicacy. Cowper, without at first suspecting 
 that the feelings of Mrs. Unwin could be hurt, " con- 
 sidered the cheerful and animating society- of his new 
 accomplished friend as a blessing conferred on him by 
 the signal favour of providence." Some months after 
 their first interview. Lady Austen quitted her house in 
 Loudon, and having taken up her residence in the par- 
 sonage-house of Olney, Cowper, Mrs. Unwin, and her- 
 self, became like one family, dining always together, 
 alternately in the houses of the two ladies. 
 
 Among other small pieces which he composed at the 
 suggestion of Lady Austen was the celebrated ballad of 
 ' John Gilpin,' the origin of which Mr. Hayley thus 
 relates ; — " It happened one afternoon that Lady Austen 
 observed him sinking into increasing dejection ; it was 
 her custom, on these occasions, to try all the resources 
 of her sprightly powers for his immediate relief. She 
 told him the story of John Gilpin (which had been 
 treasured in her memory from her childhood) to dissipate 
 the gloom of the passing hour. Its efifect on the fancy 
 of Cowper had the air of enchantment: he informed 
 her the next morning, that convulsions of laughter, 
 brought on by the recollection of her story, had kept 
 him awake during the greatest part of the night, and 
 that he had turned it into a ballad." Mrs. Unwin sent 
 it to the Public Advertiser, where Henderson the come- 
 dian first saw it, and conceiving it might display his 
 comic powers, read it at Freemason's Hall, in a course of 
 similar entertaiments given by himself and Mr. Thomas 
 Sheridan. It afterwards became extremely popular 
 among aU classes of readers, but was not generally known 
 to be Cowper's until it was added to his second volume. 
 
 The public was soon laid under a far higher obligation to 
 Lady Austen for having suggested our author's principal 
 poem, 'The Task,' — "a poem," says Mr. Hayley, "of 
 such infinite variety, that it seems to include every 
 subject, and every style, without any dissonance or 
 disorder ; and to have flowed without effort from in- 
 spired philanthropy, eager to impress upon the hearts 
 of all readers whatever may lead them most happily 
 to the fuU enjoj-ment of human life, and to the final 
 attainment of Heaven." This admirable poem appears
 
 WILLIAM COWPER, 13 
 
 to have been written in 1783 and 1784, but underwent 
 many careful revisions. The public had not done much 
 for Cowper, but he had too much regard for it, and his 
 own character, to obtrude what was incorrect, or might 
 be made better. It was his opinion, and we fully sub- 
 scribe to the doctrine, that poetry, in order to attain 
 excellence, must be indebted to labour; and it was his 
 correspondent practice to revise his poems with scru- 
 pulous care and severity. In November 1784, ♦ The 
 Task' was sent to press ; and he began the ' Tirocinium,' 
 the purport of which in his own words, was to censure 
 the want of discipline, and the scandalous inattention to 
 morals, that obtain in public schools, especially in the 
 largest, and to recommend private tuition as a motle 
 of education preferable on all accounts ; to call upon 
 fathers to become tutors of their own sons, where that 
 is practicable, to take home a domestic tutor, where it 
 is not, and if neither can be done, to place them under 
 the care of some rural clergyman, whose attention is 
 limited to a few. In 1735 this work was published 
 with other pieces, which composed his second volume, 
 and which soon engaged the attention and admiration 
 of the public, in a way that left him no regret for the 
 cool reception and slow progress of his first. Its success 
 also obtained for him another female friend and asso- 
 ciate. Lady Hesketh, his cousin, who had long been 
 separated from him. Their intercourse was first revived 
 by a correspondence, of which many interesting speci- 
 mens are given in Hay ley's Life of Cowper, and of which 
 it is there said, with great truth, that " Cowper's letters 
 are rivals to his poems in the rare excellence of repre- 
 senting life and nature with graceful and endearing 
 fidelity." In explaining the nature of his situation to 
 Lady Hesketh, who came to reside at Olney in the 
 month of June 1786, he informs her that he had lived 
 twenty years with Mrs. Unwin, to whose affectionate 
 care it was owing that he lived at all ; but that for 
 thirteen of those years he had been in a state of mind 
 which made all her care and attention necessary. He 
 tells her, at the same time, that dejection of spirits, 
 which may have prevented many a man from becoming 
 an authorj had made him one. He found employment
 
 14 MEMOIR OF 
 
 necessary, and therefore he took care to be constantly 
 employed. Manual occupations, as he well knew by 
 experience, do not engage the mind sufficiently; but 
 composition, especially of verse, absorbs it whoUy. It 
 was his practice, therefore, to write generally three 
 hours in the morning, and in the evening he transcribed. 
 He read also, but less than he wrote, for bodily exercise 
 was necessary, and he never passed a day without it. 
 All this shews that Cowper understood his own case 
 most exactly, and that he was not one of those melan- 
 cholies who give themselves up to the indulgence of 
 hopeless despair. 
 
 He now commenced his translation of Homer; and 
 by the kindness of Lady Hesketh he was enabled to 
 remove from Olney to Weston, about two miles dis- 
 tant, w^here the house provided for him was more 
 sequestered and commodious. Here, too, he had access 
 to the society of Mr. Throckmorton, a gentleman of 
 fortune in that neighbourhood, whose family had foi 
 some time studied to add to his comforts in a manner 
 the most delicate and affectionate. It must be admitted, 
 indeed, that Cowper was peculiar happy in his friend- 
 ships, for the kindnesses, sensibility, and attentions of 
 his friends went far beyond what we usually meet with 
 under the name of friendship. 
 
 At length, after innumerable interruptions, the trans- 
 lation of Homer was sent to press, and published in 
 two volumes quarto, in 1791 ; yet notwithstanding it 
 was nearly out of print in six months, it fell short of 
 the expectations formed by the public, and of the 
 perfection which he hoped he had attained ; so that 
 instead of printing a second edition, he began, at no 
 long distance of time, what may be termed a new 
 translation. To himself, however, his first attempt had 
 been of great advantage, nor were any of his years spent in 
 more general tranquillity, than the five which he had 
 dedicated to Homer. One of the greatest benefits 
 he derived from his attention to this translation, was 
 the renewed conviction that labour of this kind was, 
 with occasional remissions, absolutely necessary to his 
 health and happiness. This conviction led him very 
 soon to accede to a proposal made by his bookseller, to
 
 WILLIAM COWPER. 15 
 
 undertake a magnificent edition of Milton's works, the 
 beauties of which had engaged his wonder at a very 
 early period of life. These he was now to illustrate by 
 notes, original and selected, and to translate the Latin 
 and Italian poems, while Mr. Fuseli was to paint a 
 series of pictures to be engraved by the first artists. To 
 this scheme, when yet in its infancy, the public is 
 indebted for the friendship which Mr. Hayley contracted 
 with Cowper, and which eventually produced that ex- 
 cellent specimen of biography from which our present 
 notice is mainly derived. 
 
 It was about this period that Messrs. Boydell pub- 
 lished a splendid edition of Milton, for which Mr. Hayley 
 had written " a Life;" and being represented in a news- 
 paper as the rival of Cowper, he immediately wrote to 
 him on the subject, Cowper answered him in such a 
 manner as drew on a closer correspondence, which soon 
 terminated in mutual esteem and cordial friendship. 
 Personal interviews followed, and Mr. Hayley has grati- 
 fied his readers with a very interesting account of his 
 first visit to Weston, and of the return by Cowper and 
 Mrs. Unwin at his seat at Eastham in Sussex, in a style 
 • peculiarly affectionate. On Cowper's journey to Eastham 
 he passed through London, but without stopping, the 
 only time he had seen it for thirty years. 
 
 His spirits continued to hold good till the year 1794, 
 when his mind began rapidly to sink into its most 
 melancholy state of despondency. The health of his 
 watchful friend, Mrs. Unwin, had also undergone an 
 alarming change, and the united weight of time and 
 sickness had brought her to the last stage of helpless 
 and imbecile old age. Mr. Hayley and his other af- 
 fectionate acquaintances continued to visit him and use 
 every means to restore his health, but their solicitude 
 was vain, and he continued sunk in a melancholy which 
 could neither be removed nor alleviated. It was at 
 length determined to try the experiment of a change of 
 air, and his amiable relative, the Rev. Dr. Johnson, took 
 upon himself the charge of conducting him into Norfolk. 
 While residing at Dunham Lodge, and afterwards at 
 Mundsley, his spirits with slight exceptions continued in 
 Uie same state, and though an occasional glimpse of hope
 
 16 MEMOIR OF 
 
 now and then encouraged his desponding friends, they at 
 length saw the gradual and certain approaches of decay 
 under the most distressing circumstances in which death 
 can visit an intellectual and reasoning being. Cowper had 
 continued to compose several minor pieces of poetry, and 
 to employ himself occasionally in reading during some 
 time past ; but in January,1800,his strength began rapidly 
 to decline, and on the 2oth of April of the same year, he 
 yielding up his gentle and suffering spirit. 
 
 In summing up the character of Covs-per, a contempo- 
 rary biographer thus writes: "Among the few, the 
 very few, who have possessed that gift of a spirit full 
 of the sweetness and the music of poetry, with this 
 pure morality of purpose, is Cowper. The mind of this 
 admirable writer was marked with the genuine traits 
 which distinguish a poetical from other minds. He is, 
 it is true, not to be compared with the great masters 
 of the art, whose lofty and creative imaginations place 
 them in a sphere of their own, but he had a power of 
 collecting the scenes and harmonies of nature into the 
 focus of his own heart, and of embuing them there with 
 light and grace. He had an intensity and delicacy of 
 feeling which made him perceive what is most beautiful 
 in the complicated character of humanity, and he had that 
 intuitive sense of the mind's action, which enabled him to 
 present to others the objects and sentiments which influ- 
 encewith the greatest strength. By these qualities of his 
 intellect, by the tenderness of his heart, and the extreme 
 susceptibility of his nature, he was possessed of all the 
 qualities, with the exception of a powerful imagination, 
 which form the character of a poet ; and in being denied 
 the stronger excitements of fancy, he seems to have been 
 formed by Providence to produce the works he composed. 
 He was endowed with all the powers which a poet could 
 want who was to be the moralist of the world — the re- 
 prover, but not the satirist of men — theieacher of simple 
 truths, which were to be rendered gracious without en- 
 dangering their simplicity." 
 
 To add much to this sketch respecting the merit of 
 Cowper as a poet, would he superfluous. After passing 
 through the many trials which criticism has instituted, 
 he remains, by universal acknowledgmoit, one of the
 
 WILLIAM COWPER. 17 
 
 first poets of the eighteenth century. Even without 
 awaiting the issue of such trials, he attained a degree of 
 popularity which is almost without a precedent, while 
 the species of popularity which he has acquired is yet - 
 more honourable than the extent of it. No man's works 
 ever appeared with less of artificial preparation ; no ve- 
 nal heralds proclaimed the approach of a new poet, nor 
 told the world what it was to admire. He emerged from 
 obscurity, the object of no patronage, and the adherent 
 of no party. His fame, great and extensive as it is, 
 arose from gradual conviction, and gratitude for plea- 
 sure received. The genius, the scholar, the critic, the 
 devout man, and the man of the world, each found in 
 the works of Cowper something to excite their admira- 
 tion, something congenial with their habits and feelings, 
 something which taste readily selected, and judgment 
 decided! V confirmed.
 
 ORIGINAL PREFACE 
 
 TO THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 When an author, by appearing in print, request an 
 audience of the public, and is upon the point of speaking 
 for himself, whoever presumes to step before him with 
 a preface and to say, " Nay, but hear me first," should 
 have something worthy of attention to offer, or he will 
 bejustlydeemed officious and impertinent. The judi- 
 cious reader has probably, upon other occasions, been be- 
 forehand with me in this reflection ; and I am not very 
 willing it should now be applied to me, however I may 
 seem to expose myself to the danger of it. But the 
 thought of having my own name perpetuated in con- 
 nexion with the name in the title-page is so pleasing and 
 flattering to the feelings of ray heart, that I am content 
 to risk something for the gratification. 
 
 This preface is not designed to commend the Poems to 
 which it is prefixed. My testimony would be insufficient 
 for those who are not qualified to judge properly for 
 themselves, and unnecessary to those who are. Besides, 
 the reastfns which render it improperand unseemly for a 
 man to celebrate his own performances, or those of his 
 nearest relatives, will have some influence in suppressing 
 much of what he might otherwise wish to say in favour 
 o( a, friend, when that friend is indeed an alter idem, and 
 excites almost the same emotions of sensibility and affec- 
 tion as he feels for himself. 
 
 It is very probable these Poems may come into the 
 hands of some persons, in whom the sight of the author's 
 name will awaken a recollection of incidents and scenes, 
 which through length of time they had almost forgotten. 
 They will be reminded of one, who was once the compa- 
 nion of their chosen hours, and who setout with them in 
 early life in the paths which lead to literary honours, to 
 influence, and affluence, with equal prospects of success. 
 But he was suddenly and powerfully withdrawn from
 
 20 PREFACE. 
 
 those pursuits, and he left them without regret ; yet not 
 till he had sufficient opportunity of counting the cost, 
 and of knowing the value of what he gave up. If happi- 
 ness could have been found in classical attainments, in an 
 elegant taste, in the exertions of wit, fancy, and genius, 
 and in the esteem and converse of such persons, as in these 
 respects were most congenial with himself, he wouldhave 
 been happy : but he was not. He wondered (as thousands 
 in a similar situation still do) that he should continue 
 dissatisfied, with all the means apparently conducive to 
 satisfaction within his reach : but in due time the cause 
 of his disappointment was discovered to him. He had 
 lived without God in the world. In a memorable hour 
 the wisdom which is from above visited his heart. Then 
 he felt himself a wanderer, and then he found a guide. 
 Upon this change of views, a change of plan and conduct 
 followed of course. When he saw the biisi/ and the gaj/ 
 world in its true light, he left it with as little reluctance 
 «s a prisoner, when called to liberty, leaves his dungeon. 
 Not that he became a Cynic or an Ascetic A heart filled 
 with love to God, will assuredly breathe benevolence to 
 men. But the turn of his temper inclining him to rural 
 life, he indulged it ; and the providence of God evidently 
 preparing his way and marking out his retreat, he retired 
 into the country. By these steps the good hand of God, 
 unknown to me, was providing for me one of the prin- 
 cipal blessings of my life ; a friend and a counsellor, in 
 whose company for almost seven years, though we were 
 seldom seven successive waking hours separated, I always 
 found new pleasure : a friend who was not only a comfort 
 to myself, but a blessing to the afiectionate poor people, 
 Hmong whom I then lived. 
 
 Some time after inclination had thus removed him 
 from the hurry and bustle of life, he was still more 
 secluded by a long indisposition, and my pleasure was 
 succeeded by a proportionable degree of anxiety and con- 
 cern. But a hope that the God whom he served would 
 support him under his affliction, and at length vouch- 
 safe him a happy deliverance, neve'r forsook me. The 
 desirable crisis, I trust, is now nearly approaching. The 
 dawn, the presage of returning day, is already arrived. 
 He is again enabled to resume his pen, and some of the
 
 PREFACE. 21 
 
 first fruits of his recovery are here presented to the pub- 
 lic. In his principal subjects the same acumen which 
 distinguished him in the early period of life is hap- 
 pily employed in illustrating and enforcing the truths of 
 which he received such deep and unalterable impres- 
 sions in his maturer years. His satire, if it may be called 
 so, is benevolent (like the operations of the skilful and 
 humane surgeon, who wounds only to heal), dictated by 
 a just regard for the honour of God, and indignant grief 
 excited by the profligacy of the age, and a tender com- 
 passion for the souls of men. 
 
 His favourite topics are least insisted on in the piece 
 entitled ' Table Talk ;' which therefore, with some regard 
 to the prevailing taste, and that those, who are governed 
 by it, may not be discouraged at the very threshold from 
 proceeding farther, is placed first. In most of the larger 
 Poems which follow, his leading design is more explicitly 
 avowed and pursued. He aims to communicate his own 
 perceptions of the truth, beauty, and influence of the reli- 
 gion of the Bible — a religion, which however discredited 
 by the misconduct of many, who have not renounced the 
 Christian name, proves itself, when rightly understood 
 and cordially embraced, to be the grand desideratum, 
 which alone can relieve the mind of man from painful 
 and unavoidable anxieties, inspire it with stable peace 
 and solid hope, and furnish those motives and prospects, 
 which, in the present state of things, are absolutely 
 necessary to produce a conduct worthy of a rational 
 creature, distinguished by a vastness of capacity, which 
 no assemblage of earthly good can satisfy, and by a 
 principle and pre-intimation of immortality. 
 
 At a time when hypothesis and conjecture in philosophy 
 are so justly exploded, and little is considered as deservmg 
 the name of knowledge, which will not stand the test of 
 experiment, the very use of the term experimental in 
 religious concernments, is by too many unhappily rejected 
 with disgust. But we well know, that they, who affect 
 to despise the inward feelings which religious persons 
 speak of, and to treat them as enthusiasm and folly, have 
 inward feelings of their own, which, though they would, 
 they cannot suppress. We have been too long in the secret 
 ourselves, to account the proud, theambitious, or the vo-
 
 22 PREFACE. 
 
 luptuous happy. We must lose the remembrance of what 
 we once were, before we can believe that a man is satis- 
 fied with himself, merely because he endeavours to appear 
 so. A smile upon the face is often but a mask worn oc- 
 casionally and in company, to prevent, if possible, a sus- 
 picion of what at the same time is passing in the heart. 
 We know that there are people who seldom smile when 
 they are alone, who therefore are glad to hide themselves 
 in a throng from the violence of their own reflections, and 
 who, while by their looks and their language they wish 
 to persuade us they are happy, would be glad to change 
 their conditions with a dog. But in defiance of all their 
 efforts, they continue to think, forebode, and tremble. 
 This we know, for it has been our own state, and there- 
 fore we know how to commiserate it in others. — From 
 this state the Bible relieved us : when we were led to 
 read it with attention, we found ourselves described. 
 We learnt the causes of our inquietude — we were di- 
 rected to a method of relief— we tried, and we were not 
 disappointed. 
 
 Deus nobis hesc otia fecit. 
 
 We are now certain, that the Gospel of Christ is the 
 power of God unto salvation to every one that believeth. 
 It has reconciled us to God and to ourselves, to our duty 
 and our situation. It is the balm and cordial of the 
 present life, and a sovereign antidote against the fear 
 of death. 
 
 Sed hactenus licec. Some smaller pieces upon less 
 important subjects close the volume. Not one of them, 
 I believe was written with a view to publication, but 
 I was unwilling they should he omitted. 
 
 JOHN NEWTON. 
 
 Oiarles Square, Hoxton, 
 Fehruaty 18, 1/82.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAOE 
 
 Table Talk 25 
 
 Progress of Error 43 
 
 Truth 58 
 
 Expostulation 72 I 
 
 Hope 90, 
 
 Charity 109 I 
 
 Ck)nversation 124 
 
 Retirement 146 
 
 The Yearly Distress, or 
 Tithing time at Stock, < 
 
 in Essex 166 | 
 
 Sonnet to Henry Cowper, i 
 
 Lines addressed to Dr. Dar- 
 win ib. ! 
 
 On Mrs. Montagu's Feather I 
 
 Hangings 169 ; 
 
 Verses, supposed to be writ- 
 ten by Alexander Selkirk, 
 during his abode in the 
 Island of Juan Fernandez 170 
 On the promotion of Ed- 
 ward Thurlow, Esq. to the 
 Chancellorship of Eng- 
 land 172 
 
 Ode to Peace 173 
 
 Human Frailtv ib. 
 
 The Modem Patriot 174 
 
 On observing some names of 
 
 little note recorded in the 
 
 Biographia Britannica . . 175 
 
 Report of an adjudged Case, 
 
 not to be found in anv of 
 
 the Books '. , . ib. 
 
 On the Burning of Lord 
 
 Mansfield Library 176 
 
 On the same 177 
 
 The Love of the World re- 
 proved ib. 
 
 On the Death of Lady 
 Throckmorton's Bulfinch 178 
 
 The Rose 180 
 
 The Doves 181 
 
 A Fable 182 
 
 A Comparison 183 
 
 Another, addressed to a 
 young Lady 184 
 
 PAOK 
 
 The Poet's New Year's Gift 184 
 
 Ode to Apollo 186 
 
 Pairing Time Anticipated. 
 
 A Fable 186 
 
 The Dog and the Water- 
 Lily 188 
 
 The Poet, the Oyster, and 
 
 the Sensitive Plant 189 
 
 The Shrubbery 191 
 
 The Winter Nosegay ib. 
 
 Mutual Forbearance neces- 
 sary to the Happiness of 
 
 the Married state 192 
 
 The Negro's Complaint ... 194 
 
 Pity for Poor Africans 195 
 
 The Morning Dream 197 
 
 The Nightingale and Glow- 
 
 wonn 196 
 
 On a Goldfinch starved to 
 
 Death in his Cage 199 
 
 The Pineapple and the Bee 200 
 Horace, Book XL Ode 10. . . 301 
 A Reflection on the fore- 
 going Ode 202 
 
 The Lily and the Rose ib. 
 
 Idem Latine Rcdditum. ,. 203 
 
 The Poplar Field 204 
 
 Idem Latine Redditum ... ib. 
 Votum 205 
 
 Trantlatioru fi-om Fincent 
 Bourne. 
 
 Cicindela 205 
 
 The Glow-worm 206 
 
 Comicula; 207 
 
 The Jackdaw ib. 
 
 AdgOrillum. Anacreon- 
 
 ticum 208 
 
 the Cricket 209 
 
 Simile agit in Simile . . 210 
 
 The Parrot 211 
 
 Translation of Prior's Chloe 
 
 and Euphelia 213 
 
 The History of John Gilpin 213 
 Epistle to an afflicted Pro- 
 testant Lady in France. . 219 
 To the Rev. W. C. Unwin 221
 
 24 
 
 The TASK, in Six Books : 
 
 Book I. The Sofa 223 
 
 II. The Time-Piece 242 
 
 in. The Garden 262 
 
 IV. The Winter Eve- 
 
 nins 283 
 
 V. The Winter Morn- 
 ing Walk 302 
 
 VI. The Winter Walk 
 
 at Noon 324 
 
 Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq. 350 
 Tirocinium : or, ;a Review 
 
 of Schools 352 
 
 To the Rev. Mr. New-ton. . 375 
 
 Catharina 376 
 
 The MoralLzer corrected . . 377 
 
 The Faithful Bird 379 
 
 The Needless Alarm 380 
 
 Boadicea 383 
 
 Heroism 385 
 
 On the Receipt of my Mo- 
 ther's Picture out of Nor- 
 folk 387 
 
 Friendship 390 
 
 On a mischievous Bull, 
 which the Owner of him 
 sold at the Author's in- 
 stance 396 
 
 Annus Memorabilis, 1789 
 
 Page 
 Written in Commemora- 
 tion of his Majesty's happy 
 
 Recovery '. 397 
 
 H^-mn for the use of the 
 
 Sunday School at Olney 399 
 Stanzas subjoined to a Bill 
 of Mortality for the vear 
 
 1787 '. . . 400 
 
 The same for 1788 401 
 
 The same for 1789 403 
 
 The same for 1790 404 
 
 The same for 1792 405 
 
 The same for 1793 406 
 
 Epitaph on Mr. Hamilton 408 
 
 Epitaph on a Hare ib. 
 
 Epitaphium Alterum .... 409 
 Account of the Author's 
 
 Treatment of Hares 410 
 
 Fifth Satire of the First Bpok 
 
 of Horace 415 
 
 Ninth Satire of the First 
 
 Book of Horace 420 
 
 Tbanslatioxs of thb La- 
 tin AND Italian Pobms 
 
 op MiiTON 42* 
 
 Translations from thb 
 French of M.^oak£ 
 
 GuioN 474 
 
 To Mary 522
 
 COWPER'S POEMS. 
 
 TABLK TALK. 
 
 Si te forte meee gravis met sarcina chartse, 
 Abjicito. Hor. Lib. i, Epist. 13. 
 
 A. You told me, I remember, glory, built 
 On selfish principles, is shame and guilt; 
 The deeds, that men admire as half divine, 
 .Stark naught, because corrupt in their design. 
 .Strange doctrine this ! that without scruple tears 
 The laurel that the very lightning spares ; 
 Brings down the warrior's trophy to the dust, 
 And eats into his bloody sword like rust. 
 
 B. I grant that, men continuing what they are, 
 Fierce, avaricious, proud, there must be war: 
 And never meant the rule should be applied 
 
 To him that fights with justice on his side. 
 
 Let laurels, drenchd in pure Parnassian dews, 
 Reward his memory, dear to every muse, 
 Who, with a courage of unshaken root, 
 In honour's field advancing his firm foot. 
 Plants it upon the line that Justice draws. 
 And will prevail or perish in her cause. 
 'Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes 
 His portion in the good that Heaven bestows. 
 And when recording History displays 
 Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days, 
 Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died, 
 Where duty placed them, at their country's side; 
 The man, that is not moved with what he reads. 
 That takes not fire at their heroic deeds, 
 Unworthy of the blessings of the brave. 
 Is base in kind, and born to be a slave. 
 
 But let eternal infamy pursue 
 The wretch to naught but his ambition true : 
 Who, for the sake of filling with one blast 
 The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste.
 
 2G TABLE TALK. 
 
 Think yourself station'd on a towering rock. 
 To see a people scatter'd like a flock, 
 Some royal mastiff panting at their heels. 
 With all the savage thirst a tiger feels ; 
 Then view him self-proclaira'd in a gazette. 
 Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet. 
 The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced. 
 Those ensigns of dominion, how disgraced ! 
 The glass that bids man mark the fleeting hour. 
 And Death's own scythe, would better speak his power ; 
 Then grace the bony phantom in their stead, 
 "With the king's shoulder-knot and gay cockade; 
 Clothe the twin brethren in each other's dress. 
 The same their occupation and success. 
 
 A. 'Tis your belief the world was made for man ; 
 Kings do but reason on the self-same plan : 
 Maintaining yours, you cannot theirs condemn. 
 Who think, or seem to think, man made for them. 
 
 B. Seldom, alas! the power of logic reigns 
 With much sufficiency in royal brains ; 
 Such reasoning falls like an inverted cone. 
 Wanting its proper base to stand upon. 
 
 Man made for kings I those optics are but dim. 
 That tell you so — say, rather, they for him. 
 That were indeed a king-ennobling thought. 
 Could they, or would they, reason as they ought. 
 The diadem, with mighty projects lined. 
 To catch renown, by ruining mankind, 
 Is worth, with all its gold and gUttermg store. 
 Just what the toy will sell for, and no more. 
 
 Oh I bright occasions of dispensing good. 
 How seldom used, how little understood ! 
 To pour in Virtue's lap her just reward ; 
 Keep Vice restrain'd behind a double guard ; 
 To quell the faction that affronts the throne. 
 By silent magnanimity alone; 
 To nurse with tender care the thriving arts; 
 Watch every beam Philosophy imparts ; 
 To give Religion her unbridled scope. 
 Nor judge by statute a believer's hope ; 
 With close fidelity and love unfeign'd. 
 To keep the matrimonial bond unstain'd ;
 
 TABLE TALK. 27 
 
 Covetous only of a virtuous praise ; 
 His life a le?son to the land he sways; 
 To touch the sword with conscientious awe. 
 Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw; 
 To sheathe it in the peace-restoring close. 
 With joy beyond what victory bestows; — 
 Bless'd country, where these kingly glories shine I 
 Bless'd England, if this happiness be thine ! 
 
 A. Guard what you say ; the patriotic tribe 
 Will sneer, and charge you with a bribe. — B. A bribe ? 
 The worth of these three kingdoms I defy. 
 To lure me to the baseness of a lie: 
 And, of all lies (be that one poet's boast). 
 The lie that flatters I abhor the most. 
 Those arts be theirs, who hate his gentle reign : 
 But he that loves him has no need to feign. 
 
 A. Your smooth eulogium to one crown address'd 
 Seems to imply a censure on the rest. 
 
 B. Quevedo, as he tells his sober tale, 
 Ask'd, when in hell, to see the royal jail ; 
 Approved their method in all other things ; 
 But where, good sir, do you confine your kings ? 
 There — said his guide — the group is full in view. 
 Indeed ?— replied the don— there are but few. 
 His black interpreter the charge disdain'd — 
 Few, fellow ? — there are all that ever reign'd. 
 Wit, undistinguishing, is apt to strike 
 
 The guilty and not guilty both alike : 
 
 I grant the sarcasm is too severe. 
 
 And we can readily refute it here; 
 
 While Alfred's name, the father of his age, 
 
 And the sixth Edward's grace the historic page. 
 
 A. Kings then, at last, have but the lot of all : 
 By their own conduct they must stand or fall. 
 
 B. True. While they live, the courtly laureat pays 
 His quitrent ode, his peppercorn of praise; 
 
 And many a dunce whose fingers itch to write. 
 
 Adds, as he can, his tributary mite. 
 
 A subject's faults a subject may proclaim, 
 
 A monarch's errors are forbidden game ! 
 
 Thus, free from censure, overaw'd by fear, 
 
 And praised for virtues, that they scorn to wear,
 
 28 TABLE TALK. 
 
 The fleeting forms of majesty engage 
 Respect, while stalking o'er life's narrow stage; 
 Then leave their crimes for history to scan. 
 And ask, with busy scorn. Was this the man ? 
 
 I pity kings, whom Worship waits upon 
 Obsequious from the cradle to the throne ; 
 Before whose infant eyes the flatterer bows. 
 And binds a wreath about their baby brows ; 
 Whom education stiffens into state. 
 And death awakens from that dream too late. 
 
 Oh ! if Servility, with supple knees. 
 Whose trade it is to smile, to crouch, to please; 
 If smooth Dissimulation, skill'd to grace 
 A devil's purpose with an angel's face; 
 If smiling peeresses, and simperuig peers. 
 Encompassing his throne a few short years; 
 If the gilt carriage and the pamper'd steed. 
 That wants no driving and disdains the lead ; 
 If guards, mechanically form'd in ranks. 
 Playing, at beat of drum, their martial pranks. 
 Shouldering and standing as if struck to stone. 
 While condescending majesty looks on ! — 
 If monarchy consist in such base things, 
 Sighing, I say again, I pity kings ! 
 
 To be suspected, thwarted, and withstood. 
 E'en when he labours for his country's good; 
 To see a band, call'd patriot, for no cause, 
 But that they catch at popular applause. 
 Careless of all the anxiety he feels. 
 Hook disappointment on the public wheels ; 
 With all their fluent flippancy of tongue. 
 Most confident, when palpably most wrong ; — 
 If this be kingly, then farewell for me 
 All kingship ; and may I be poor and free ! 
 
 To be the Table Talk of clubs up-stairs. 
 To which th' unwash'd artificer repairs. 
 To indulge his genius after long fatigue. 
 By diving into cabinet intrigue 
 (For what kings deem a toil, as well they may, 
 To him is relaxation and mere play) ; 
 To win no praise when well- wrought plans prevail, 
 But to be rudely censured when they fail;
 
 TABLE TALK. 2» 
 
 To doubt the love his favourites may pretend. 
 And in reality to find no friend ; 
 If he indulge a cultivated taste. 
 His galleries with the works of art well graced. 
 To hear it call'd extravagance and waste; 
 If these attendants, and if such as these. 
 Must follow royalty, then welcome ease ; 
 However humble and confined the sphere, 
 Happy the state, that has not these to fear. [dwelt 
 
 A. Thus men, whose thoughts contemplative have 
 On situations, that they never felt, 
 
 Start up sagacious, cover'd with the dust 
 
 Of dreaming study and pedantic rust, 
 
 And prate and preach about what others prove. 
 
 As if the world and they were hand and glove. 
 
 Lea^e kingly backs to cope with kingly cares ; 
 
 They have their weight to carry, subjects theirs ; 
 
 Poets, of all men, ever least regret 
 
 Increasing taxes and the nation's debt. 
 
 Tould you contrive the payment, and rehearse 
 
 The mighty plan, oracular, in verse. 
 
 No bard, howe'er majestic, old or new. 
 
 Should claim my fix'd attention more than you. 
 
 B. Not Brindley nor Bridgewater would essay 
 To turn the course of Helicon that way ; 
 
 Nor would the Nine consent the sacred tide 
 Should purl amidst the traffic of Cheapside, 
 Or tinkle in 'Change Alley, to amuse 
 The leathern ears of stock-jobbers and Jews. 
 
 A. Vouchsafe, at least, to pitch the key of rhyme 
 To themes more pertinent, if less sublime. 
 When ministers and ministerial arts ; 
 Patriots, who love good places at their hearts ; 
 When admirals, extoll'd for standing still. 
 Or doing nothing with a deal of skill; 
 Generals, who will not conquer when they may, 
 Firm friends to peace, to pleasure, and good pay ; 
 When Freedom, wounded almost to despair. 
 Though Discontent alone can find out where 
 When themes like these employ the poet's ton ,'ue, 
 I hear as mute as if a syren sung. 
 Or tell me, if you can, what power maintains 
 A Briton's scorn of arbitrary chains ;
 
 30 TABLE TALK. 
 
 That were a theme might animate the dead, 
 
 And move the lips of poets cast in lead. [elude 
 
 B. The cause, though worth the search, may yet 
 Conjecture and remark, however shrewd. 
 They take perhaps a well-directed aim, 
 Who seek it in his climate and his frame. 
 Liberal in all things else, yet Nature here 
 With stem severity deals out the year. 
 Winter invades the spring, and often pours 
 A chilling flood on summers drooping flowers; 
 Unwelcome vapours quench autumnal beams, 
 L'ngenial blasts attending curl the streams : 
 The peasants urge their harvest, ply the fork 
 With double toil, and shiver at their work ; 
 Thus with a rigour, for his good design'd. 
 She rears her favourite man of all mankind. 
 His form robust and of elastic tone, 
 Proportion'd well, half muscle and half bone. 
 Supplies with warm activity and force 
 A mind well-lodged, and masculine of course. 
 Hence Liberty, sweet Liberty inspires 
 And keeps alive his fierce but noble fires. 
 Patient of constitutional control. 
 He bears it with meek manliness of soul; 
 But, if Authority grow wanton, woe 
 To him that treads upon his free-bom toe; 
 One step beyond the boundary of the laws 
 Fires him at once in Freedom's glorious cause. 
 Thus proud Prerogative, not much revered. 
 Is seldom felt, though sometimes seen and heard ; 
 And in his cage, like parrot fine and gay. 
 Is kept to strut, look big, and talk away. 
 
 Bom in a climate, softer far than ours. 
 Not form'd like us, with such Herculean powers. 
 The Frenchman, easy, debonair, and brisk. 
 Give him his lass, his fiddle, and his frisk. 
 Is always happy, reign whoever may. 
 And laughs the sense of misery far away. 
 He drinks his simple beverage with a gust. 
 And, feasting on an onion and a crust. 
 We never feel the alacrity and joy 
 With which he shouts and carols Vive le Rot,
 
 TABLE TALK. 31 
 
 Fill'd with as much true merriment and glee, 
 As if he heard his king say — Slave, be free. 
 
 Thus happiness depends, as Nature shews. 
 Less on exterior things than most suppose. 
 Vigilant over all that he has made, 
 Kind Providence attends with gracious aid; 
 Bids equity throughout his works prevail. 
 And weighs the nations in an even scale ; 
 He can encourage Slavery to a smile. 
 And fill with discontent a British isle. 
 
 A. Freeman and slave then, if the case be such. 
 Stand on a level ; and you prove too much : 
 
 If all men indiscriminately share 
 
 His fostering power, and tutelary care, 
 
 As well be yoked by Despotism's hand. 
 
 As dwell at large in Britain's charter'd land. 
 
 B. No. Freedom has a thousand charms to shew, 
 That slaves, howe'er contented, never know. 
 The mind attains, beneath her happy reign. 
 
 The growth that nature meant she should attain, 
 The varied fields of science, ever new, 
 Opening and wider opening on her view. 
 She ventures onward with a prosperous force, 
 While no base fear impedes her in her course. 
 Religion, richest favour of the skies. 
 Stands most reveal'd before the freeman's eyes ; 
 No shades of superstition blot the day. 
 Liberty chases all that gloom away ; 
 The soul emancipated, unoppress'd. 
 Free to prove all things, and hold fast the best, 
 Learns much; and to a thousand listening minds 
 Communicates with joy the good she finds: 
 Courage in arms, and ever prompt to shew^ 
 His manly forehead to the fiercest foe; 
 Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace, 
 His spirits rismg as his toils increase, 
 Guards well what arts and industry have won. 
 And Freedom claims him for her first-bom son. 
 Slaves fight for what were better cast away— 
 The chain that binds them, and a tyrant's sway : 
 But they that fight for freedom, undertake 
 The noblest cause mankind can have at stake :—
 
 32 TABLE TALK. 
 
 Religion, virtue, truth, whate'er we call 
 A blessing — freedom is the pledge of all. 
 O Liberty ! the prisoner's pleasing dream, 
 The poet's muse, his passion, and his theme ; 
 Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy's nurse; 
 Lost without thee the ennobling powers of verse; 
 Heroic song from thy free touch acquires 
 Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires: 
 Place me where Winter breathes his keenest air. 
 And I will sing, if Liberty be there ; 
 And I will sing at Liberty's dear feet. 
 In Afric's torrid clime, or India's fiercest heat. 
 
 A. Sing where you please; in such a cause I grant 
 An English poet's privilege to rant; 
 
 But is not Freedom, at least is not ours 
 Too apt to play the wanton with her powers. 
 Grow freakish, and, o'erleaping every mound. 
 Spread anarchy and terror all around ? 
 
 B. Agreed. But would you sell or slay your horse 
 For bounding and curvetting in his course? 
 
 Or if, when ridden with a careless rein.^ 
 
 He break away and seek the distant plain ? 
 
 No. His high mettle, under good control. 
 
 Gives hira Olympic speed, and shoots him to the goal. 
 
 Let Discipline employ her wholesome arts: 
 Let magistrates alert perform their parts; 
 Not skulk or put on a prudential mask. 
 As if their duty were a desperate task ; 
 Let active laws apply the needful curb. 
 To guard the peace, that Riot would disturb; 
 And Liberty, preserved from wild excess. 
 Shall raise no feuds for armies to suppress. 
 When Tumult lately burst his prison door. 
 And set plebeian thousands in a roar; 
 When he usurp'd Authority's just place. 
 And dared to look his master in the face; 
 AVhen the rude rabble's watchward was — Destroy, 
 And blazing London seemed a second Troy ; 
 Liberty blush'd, and hung her drooping head. 
 Beheld their progress with the deepest dread ; 
 Blush'd, that effects like these she should produce. 
 Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose.
 
 TABLE TALK. 33 
 
 She loses in such storms her very name, 
 
 And fierce Licentiousness should bear the blame. 
 
 Incomparable gem ! thy worth untold; [sold; 
 Cheap though blood-bought, and thrown away when 
 May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend 
 Betray thee, while professing to defend ! 
 Prize it, ye ministers ; ye monarchs, spare; 
 Ye patriots guard it with a miser's care. 
 
 A, Patriots, alas ! the few that have been found, 
 Where most they flourish, upon English groujii^ 
 The country's need have scantily supplied. 
 
 And the last left the scene, when Chatham died. 
 
 B. Not so — the virtue still adorns our age. 
 Though the chief actor died upon the stage. 
 In him Demosthenes was heard again: 
 Liberty taught him her Athenian strain ; 
 She clothed him with authority and awe, 
 Spoke from his lips, and in his looks gave law. 
 His speech, his form, his action, full of grace. 
 And all his country beaming in his face. 
 
 He stood as some inimitable hand 
 
 Would strive to make a Paul or Tully stand. 
 
 No sycophant or slave, that dared oppose 
 
 Her sacred cause, but trembled when he rose; 
 
 And every venal stickler for the yoke 
 
 Felt himself crush'd at the first word he spoke. 
 
 Such men are raised to station and command, 
 When Providence means mercy to a land. 
 He speaks, and they appear; to him they owe 
 Skill to direct, and strength to strike the blow ; 
 To manage with address, to seize with power, 
 The crisis of a dark decisive hour : 
 So Gideon earn'd a victory not his own; 
 Subserviency his praise, and that alone. 
 
 Poor England ! thou art a devoted deer, 
 Beset with every ill but that of fear. 
 Thee nations hunt ; all mark thee for a p'cy ; 
 They swarm around thee, and thou stand'st at hay, 
 Undaunted still, though wearied and perplex'd; 
 Once Chatham saved thee; but who saves thee next ? 
 Alas ! the tide of pleasure sweeps along 
 All that should be the boast of British song. 
 B2
 
 34 TABLE TALK. 
 
 'Tis cot the wreath, that once adorn'd thy brow, 
 The prize of happier times, will serve thee now. 
 Our ancestry, a gallant Christian race. 
 Patterns of every virtue, every grace, 
 Confess'd a God; they kneel'd before they fought. 
 And praised him in the victories he wrought. 
 Now from the dust of ancient days bring forth 
 Their sober zeal, integrity, and worth ; 
 Courage, ungi-aced by these, affronts the skies. 
 Is but the fire without the sacrifice. 
 The stream, that feeds the well-spring of the heart. 
 Not more invigorates life's noblest part. 
 Than virtue quickens, with a warmth divine. 
 The powers, that Sin has brought to a decline. 
 
 A. The inestimable Estimate of Brown 
 Rose like a paper kite, and charm'd the town; 
 But measures, plann'd and executed well, 
 Shifted the wind that raised it, an4 it fell. 
 He trod the very self -same ground you tread. 
 And Victory refuted all he said. 
 
 B. And yet his judgment was not framed amiss ; 
 It> error, if it errd, was merely this — 
 
 He thought the dying hour already come. 
 And a complete recovery struck him dumb. 
 
 But that efteminacy, folly, lust. 
 Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must; 
 And that a nation, shamefully debased. 
 Will be despised, and trampled on at last, 
 L'nless sweet Penitence her powers renew; 
 Is truth, if history itself be true. 
 There is a time, and Justice marks the date. 
 For long- forbearing clemency to wait; 
 That hour elapsed, the incurable revolt 
 Is punished, and down comes the thunderbolt. 
 If Mercy then put by the threatening blow. 
 Must she perform the same kind office now ? 
 May she! and, if oflended Heaven be still 
 Accessible, and prayer prevail, she will. 
 'Tis not, however, insolence and noise, 
 The tempest of tumultuary joys, 
 Xor is it yet despondence and dismay 
 Will win her visits, or engage her stay;
 
 TABLE TALK. 
 Prayer only, and the penitential tear. 
 Can call her smiling down, and fix her here. 
 
 But when a country (one that I could name) 
 In prostitution sinks the sense of shame ; 
 When infamous Venality, grown bold. 
 Writes on liis bosom, to be let or sold ,- 
 When Perjury, that Heaven-defying vice, 
 Sells oaths by tale, and at the lowest price; 
 Stamps God's own name upon a lie just made. 
 To turn a penny in the way of trade ; 
 When Avarice starves (and never hides his face) 
 Two or three millions of the human race, 
 And not a tongue inquires, how, where, or when. 
 Though conscience will have twinges now and then ; 
 When profanation of the sacred cause 
 In all its parts, times, ministry, and laws. 
 Bespeaks a land, once Christian, fallen and lost, 
 In all, that wars against that title most; 
 What follows next, let cities of great name, 
 And regions long since desolate proclaim. 
 Nineveh, Babylon, and ancient Rome, 
 Speak to the present times, and times to come ; 
 They cry aloud, in every careless ear, 
 Stop, while ye may ; suspend your mad career ; 
 O learn from our example and our fate, 
 Learn wisdom and repentance, ere too late ! 
 
 Not only Vice disposes and prepares 
 The Mind, that slumbers sweetly in her snares. 
 To stoop to Tyranny's usurp'd command. 
 And bend her polish'd neck beneath his hand, 
 (A dire effect by one of Nature's laws. 
 Unchangeably connected with its cause;) 
 But Providence himself will intervene. 
 To throw his dark displeasure o'er the scene. 
 All are his instruments ; each form of war. 
 What burns at home, or threatens from afar. 
 Nature in arms, her elements at strife. 
 The storms, that overset the joys of life, 
 Are but his rods to scourge a guilty land. 
 And waste it at the bidding of his hand. 
 He gives the word, and Mutiny soon roars 
 In all her gates, and shakes her distant shores ;
 
 36 TABLE TALK. 
 
 The standards of all nations are unfurl'd; 
 
 She has one foe, and that one foe the world ; 
 
 And, if he doom that people with a frown. 
 
 And mark them with a seal of wrath press'd down, 
 
 Obduracy takes place : callous and tough. 
 
 The reprobated race grows judgment-proof : 
 
 Earth shakes beneath them, and heaven roars above ; 
 
 But nothing scares them from the course they love. 
 
 To the lascivious pipe and wanton song 
 
 That charm down fear, they frolic it along. 
 
 With mad rapidity and unconcern, 
 
 Down to the gulf, from which is no return. 
 
 They trust in navies, and their navies fail — 
 
 God's curse can cast away ten thousand sail ! 
 
 They trust in armies, and their courage dies ; 
 
 In wisdom, wealth, in fortune, and in lies : 
 
 But all they trust in withers, as it must. 
 
 When He commands, in whom they place no trust. 
 
 \'engeance at last pours down upon their coast 
 
 A long despised, but now victorious, host ; 
 
 Tyranny sends the chain, that must abridge 
 
 The noble sweep of all their privilege; 
 
 Gives Liberty the last, the mortal shock ; 
 
 SUps the slave's coUar on, and snaps the lock. 
 
 A. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach : 
 Mean you to prophesy, or but to preach ? 
 
 B. I know the mind, that feels indeed the fire 
 The muse imparts, and can command the lyre. 
 Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal, 
 Whate'er the theme, that others never feeL 
 
 If human woes her soft attention claim, 
 
 A tender sympathy pervades the frame; 
 
 She pours a sensibility divine 
 
 Along the nerve of e\ery feeling line. 
 
 But if a deed, not tamely to be borne. 
 
 Tire indignation and a sense of scorn. 
 
 The strings are swept with such a power, so loud. 
 
 The storm of music shakes the astonishd crowd. 
 
 So when remote futurity is brought 
 
 Before the keen inquiry of her thought, 
 
 A terrible sagacity informs 
 
 The poet's heart ; he looks to distant storms ;
 
 TABLE TALK. 37 
 
 He hears the thunder ere the tempest lowers ; 
 
 And, armed with strength surpassing human powers. 
 
 Seizes events as yet unknown to man. 
 
 And darts his soul into the dawning plan. 
 
 Hence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name 
 
 Of prophet and of poet v/as the same ; 
 
 Hence British poets too the priesthood shared, 
 
 And every hallowed Druid was a bard. 
 
 But no prophetic fires to me belong; 
 
 I play with syllables, and sport in song. 
 
 A. At Westminster, where little poets strive 
 To set a distich upon six and five. 
 
 Where Discipline helps opening buds of sense. 
 And makes his pupils proud with silver pence, 
 I was a poet too ; but modern taste 
 Is so refined, and delicate, and chaste, 
 That verse, whatever fire the fancy warms. 
 Without a creamy smoothness has no charms. 
 Thus, all success depending on an ear, 
 And thinking I might purchase it too dear. 
 If sentiment were sacrificed to sound. 
 And truth cut short, to make a period round, 
 I judged a man of sense could scarce do worse 
 Than caper in the morris-dance of verse. 
 
 B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit, 
 And some wits flag through fear of losing it. 
 Give me the line that ploughs its stately course 
 Like a proud swan, conquering the stream by force. 
 That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart, 
 Quite unindebted to the tricks of art. 
 
 When Labour and when Dulness, club in hand, 
 Like the two figures at St. Dunstan's, stand, 
 Beating alternately in measur'd time. 
 The clock-work tintinnabulum of rhyme, 
 Exact and regular the sounds will be; 
 But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me. 
 From him, who rears a poem lank and long, 
 To him who strains his all into a song ; 
 Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air, 
 All birks and braes, though he was never there ; 
 Or, having whelped a prologue with great pains. 
 Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains ;
 
 38 TABLE TALK. 
 
 A prologue interdash'd with many a stroke — 
 
 An art contrived to advertise a joke. 
 
 So that the jest is dearly to be seen 
 
 Not in the words —but in the gap between : 
 
 Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ. 
 
 The substitute for genius, sense, and wit. 
 
 To dally much with subjects mean and low 
 Proves that the mind is weak, or makes it so: 
 Neglected talents rust into decay. 
 And every effort ends in push-pin play. 
 The man, that means success, should soar above 
 A soldier's feather, or a lady's glove ; 
 Else, summoning the muse to such a theme, 
 The fruit of all her labour is whipp'd cream. 
 As if an eagle flew aloft, and then — 
 Stoop'd from its highest pitch to pounce a wren. 
 As if the poet, purposing to wed. 
 Should carve himself a wife in gingerbread. 
 
 Ages elapsed ere Homer's lamp appear'd, 
 And ages ere the ]Mantuan swan was heard. 
 To carry Nature lengths unknown before. 
 To give a Milton birth, ask"d ages more. 
 Thus Genius rose and set at order'd times, 
 And shot a dayspring into distant climes. 
 Ennobling every region that he chose; 
 He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose : 
 And, tedious years of Gothic darkness pass'd, 
 Emerg'd all splendour, in our isle at last. 
 Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main. 
 Then shew far off their shining plumes again. 
 
 A. Is genius only found in epic lays ? 
 Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise. 
 Make their heroic powers your own at once, 
 Or candidly confess yourself a dunce. 
 
 B. These were the chief: each interval of night 
 Was graced with many an undulating light. 
 
 In less illustrious bards his beauty shone 
 A meteor, or a star ; in these the sun. 
 
 The nightingale may claim the topmost bough. 
 While the poor grasshopper must chirp below. 
 Like him unnoticed, I, and such as I, 
 Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly;
 
 TABLE TALK. 39 
 
 Perch'd on the meagre produce of the land, 
 An ell or two of prospect we command ; 
 But never peep beyond the thorny bound. 
 Or oaken fence that hems the paddock round. 
 
 In Eden, ere yet innocence of heart 
 Had faded, poetry was not an art : 
 Language, above all teaching, or, if taught. 
 Only by gratitude and glowing thought. 
 Elegant as simplicity, and warm 
 As ecstasy, unmanacled by form ; 
 Not prompted, as in our degenerate days. 
 By low ambition and the thirst of praise ; 
 Was natural as is the flowing stream. 
 And yet magnificent— a God the theme : . 
 That theme on Earth exhausted, though above 
 'Tis found as everlasting as his love. 
 Man lavish'd all his thoughts on human things— 
 The feats of heroes, and the wrath of kings ; 
 But still, while Virtue kindled his delight. 
 The song was moral and so far was right. 
 'Twas thus, till Luxury seduced the mind 
 To joys less innocent, as less refined: 
 Then Genius danced a bacchanal ; he crown'd 
 The brimming goblet, seized the thyrsus, bound 
 His brows with ivy, rush'd into the field 
 Of wild imagination, and there reel'd. 
 The victim of his own lascivious fires. 
 And, dizzy with delight, profaned the sacred wires. 
 Anacreon, Horace, play'd in Greece and Rome 
 This bedlam part ; and others nearer home. 
 When Cromwell fought for power, and while he reign'd 
 The proud protector of the power he gain'd. 
 Religion, harsh, intolerant, austere. 
 Parent of manners like herself severe. 
 Drew a rough copy of the Christian face. 
 Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace : 
 The dark and sullen humour of the time 
 Judged every effort of the muse a crime : 
 Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast. 
 Was lumber in an age so void of taste: 
 But when the second Charles assumed the sway. 
 And arts revived beneath a softer day.
 
 40 TABLE TALK. 
 
 Then, like a bow long forced into a curve, 
 
 The mind, released from too constrained a nerve, 
 
 Flew to its first position with a spring, 
 
 That made the vaulted roofs of Pleasure ring. 
 
 His court, the dissolute and hateful school 
 
 Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule, 
 
 Swarm'd with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid 
 
 With brutal lust, as ever Circe made. 
 
 From these a long succession, in the rage 
 
 Of rank obscenity, debauched their age ; 
 
 Nor ceas'd, till, ever anxious to redres.s 
 
 The abuses of her sacred charge, the press. 
 
 The muse instructed a well-nurtured train 
 
 Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain, 
 
 And claim the palm for purity of song. 
 
 That Lewdness had usurp'd and worn so long. 
 
 Then decent Pleasantry and sterling Sense, 
 
 That neither gave nor would endure offence, 
 
 Whipp'd out of sight, with satire just and keen. 
 
 The puppy pack, that had defiled the scene. 
 
 In front of these came Addison. In him 
 Humour in holiday and sightly trim. 
 Sublimity and Attic taste combined, 
 To polish, furnish, and delight the mind. 
 Then Pope, as harmony itself exact. 
 In verse well disciplined, complete, compact. 
 Gave virtue and morality a grace. 
 That, quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face. 
 Levied a tax of wonder and applause. 
 E'en on the fools that trampled on their laws. 
 But he (his musical finesse was such. 
 So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) 
 Made poetry a mere mechanic art ; 
 And every warbler has his tune by heart. 
 Nature imparting his satiric gift. 
 Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift, 
 With droll sobriety they raised a smile 
 At Folly's cast, themselves unmoved the while. 
 That constellation set, the world in vain 
 Must hope to look upon their like again. 
 
 A. Are we then left— B, Not wholly in the dark ; 
 Wit now and then, struck smartly, shews a spark,
 
 TABLE TALK. 41 
 
 Sufficient to redeem the modern race 
 From total night and absolute disgrace. 
 While servile trick, and imitative knack 
 Confine the million in the beaten track. 
 Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road. 
 Snuffs up the wind, and flings himself abroad. 
 
 Contemporaries all surpass'd, see one, 
 Short his career indeed, but ably run ; 
 Churchill, himself unconscious of his powers. 
 In penury consumed his idle hours ; 
 And, like a scattered seed at random sown, 
 Was left to spring by vigour of his own. 
 Lifted at length, by dignity of thought 
 And dint of genius, to an affluent lot. 
 He laid his head in Luxury's soft lap. 
 And took, too often, there his easy nap. 
 If brighter beams than all he threw not forth, 
 'Twas negligence in him, not want of worth. 
 Surly, and slovenly, and bold, and coarse. 
 Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force. 
 Spendthrift alike of money and of wit, 
 Always at speed, and never drawing bit. 
 He struck the lyre in such a careless mood. 
 And so disdain'd the rules he understood, 
 The laurel seemed to wait on his command, 
 He snatch'd it rudely from the Muses' hand. 
 Nature, exerting an unwearied power. 
 Forms, opens, and gives scent to every flower; 
 Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads 
 The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads ; 
 She fills profuse ten thousand little throats 
 With music, modulating all their notes; 
 And charms the woodland scenes, and wilds unknown. 
 With artless airs and concerts of her own : 
 But seldom (as if fearful of expense) 
 Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence — 
 Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought, 
 Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought; 
 Fancy, that, from the bow that spans the sky. 
 Brings colours, dipp'd in hettven, that never die ; 
 A soul exalted above earth, a mind 
 Skill'd in the characters that form mankind ;
 
 42 TABLE TALK. 
 
 And, as the sun in rising beauty dressd. 
 
 Looks to the westward from the dappled east, 
 
 And mark?, whatever clouds may interpose, 
 
 Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close; 
 
 An eye like his to catch the distant goal ; 
 
 Or, ere the wheels of verse begin to roll, 
 
 Like his to shed illuminating rays 
 
 On ever\- scene and subject it surveys : 
 
 Thus graced, the man asserts a poet's name, 
 
 And the world cheerfully admits the claim. 
 
 Pity Religion has so seldom found 
 
 A skilful guide into poetic ground ! 
 
 The flowers would spring where'er she deign'd to stray, 
 
 And every muse attend her in her way. 
 
 Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend. 
 
 And many a compliment politely penn'd; 
 
 But, unattired in that becoming vest 
 
 Religion weaves for her, and half undress'd. 
 
 Stands in the desert, shivering and forlorn, 
 
 A wintry figure, like a wither" d thorn. 
 
 The shelves are full, all other themes are sped; 
 
 Hackneyed and worn to the last flimsy thread. 
 
 Satire has long since done his best ; and cursed 
 
 And loathsome Ribaldry has done his worst ; 
 
 Fancy has sported all her powers away 
 
 In tales, in trifles, and in children's play; 
 
 And 'tis the sad complaint, and almost true, 
 
 Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new. 
 
 'Twere new indeed to see a bard all fire, 
 
 Touch'd with a coal from Heaven, assume the lyre. 
 
 And tell the world, still kindling as he sung. 
 
 With more than mortal music on his tongue. 
 
 That He, who died below, and reigns above. 
 
 Inspires the song, and that his name is Love. 
 
 For, after all, if merely to beguile. 
 By flowing numbers and a flowery style. 
 The taedium that the lazy rich endure. 
 Which now and then sweet poetry may cure ; 
 Or, if to see the name of idle self, 
 Stamp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf; 
 To float a bubble on the breath of Fame, 
 Prompt his endeavour and engage his aim ;
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 43 
 
 Debased to servile purposes of pride. 
 How are the powers of genius misapplied ! 
 The gift, whose office is the Giver's praise. 
 To trace him in his word, his works, his ways ! 
 Then spread the rich discovery, and invite 
 Mankind to share in the divine delight ; 
 Distorted from its use and just design, 
 To make the pitiful possessor shine. 
 To purchase, at the fool-frequented fair 
 Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear. 
 Is profanation of the basest kind — 
 Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind. 
 A. Hail Stemhold, then ; and Hopkins, hail— 
 B, Amen. 
 If flattery, folly, lust, employ the pen : 
 If acrimony, slander, and abuse, 
 Give it a charge to blacken and traduce; 
 Though Butler's wit. Pope's numbers. Prior's ease, 
 With all that fancy can invent to please, 
 Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall, 
 One madrigal of theirs is worth them all. 
 
 A. 'Twould thin the ranks of the poetic tribe, 
 To dash the pen through all that you proscribe. 
 
 B. No matter— we could shift when they were not ; 
 And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot. 
 
 PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 Si quid loquar audieudum.— ifor. Lib. iv. Od. 2. 
 
 SiNO, muse (if such a theme, so dark, so long, 
 May find a muse to grace it with a song), 
 By what unseen and unsuspected arts 
 The serpent Error twines round human hearts ; 
 Tell where she lurks, beneath what flowery shades. 
 That not a glimpse of genuine light pervades, 
 The poisonous, black, insinuating worm 
 Successfully conceals her loathsome form. 
 Take, if ye can, ye careless and supine. 
 Counsel and caution from a voice like mine !
 
 44 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 Truths, that the theorist could never reach. 
 And observation taught me, I would teach. 
 
 Not all, whose eloquence the fancy fills. 
 Musical as the chimes of tinkling rills. 
 Weak to perform, though mighty to pretend. 
 Can trace her mazy windings to their end ; 
 Discern the fraud beneath the specious lure. 
 Prevent the danger or prescribe the cure. 
 The clear harangue, and cold as it is clear, 
 Falls soporific on the listless ear ; 
 Like quicksilver the rhetoric they display 
 Shines as it runs, but grasp'd at, slips away. 
 
 Placed for his trial on this bustling stage. 
 From thoughtless youth to ruminating age. 
 Free in his will to choose or to refuse, 
 Man may improve the crisis, or abuse; 
 Else, on the fatalist's unrighteous plan. 
 Say to what bar amenable were man ? 
 With naught in charge, he could betray no trust ; 
 And, if he fell, would fall because he must ; 
 If Love reward him, or if Vengeance strike. 
 His recompense in both unjust alike. 
 Divine authority within his breast 
 Brings every thought, word, action, to the test; 
 W^arns him or prompts, approves him or restrains. 
 As Reason, or as Passion, takes the reins. 
 Heaven from above, and Conscience from within. 
 Cries in his startled ear — Abstain from sin ! 
 The world around solicits his desire. 
 And kindles in his soul a treacherous fire; 
 While, all his purposes and steps to guard. 
 Peace follows Virtue as its sure reward ; 
 And Pleasure brings as surely in her train 
 Remorse, and Sorrow, and vindictive Pain. 
 
 Man, thus endued with an elective voice. 
 Must be supplied with objects of his choice. 
 Where'er he turns, enjoyment and delight. 
 Or present, or in prospect, meet his sight ; 
 Those open on the spot their honied store ; 
 These call him loudly to pursuit of more. 
 His unexhausted mine the sordid vice 
 Avarice shews, and virtue is the price.
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR, 45 
 
 Her various motivps his ambition raise — 
 Power, pomp and splendour, and the tliirst of praise; 
 There beauty woos him with expanded arras : 
 E'en BacchanaHan madness has its charms. 
 
 Nor these alone, whose pleasures less refined 
 Might well alarm the most unguarded mind. 
 Seek to supplant his inexperienced youth. 
 Or lead him devious from the path of truth ; 
 Hourly allurements on his passions press 
 Safe in themselves, but dangerous in the excess. 
 
 Hark ! how it floats upon the dewy air ! 
 O what a dying, dying close was there I 
 'Tis harmony from yon sequester'd bower. 
 Sweet harmony, that soothes the midnight hour ! 
 Long ere the charioteer of day had run 
 His morning course, the enchantment was begun; 
 And he shall gild yon mountain's height again. 
 Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain. 
 
 Is this the rugged path, the steep ascent. 
 That Virtue points to ? Can a life thus spent 
 Lead to the bliss she promises the wise, 
 Detach the soul from earth, and speed her to the 
 
 skies ? 
 Ye devotees to your adored employ, 
 
 Enthusiasts, drunk with an unreal joy. 
 
 Love makes the music of the bless'd above. 
 
 Heaven's harmony is universal love ; 
 
 And earthly sounds, though sweet and well combined , 
 
 And lenient as soft opiates to the mind. 
 
 Leave Vice and Folly unsubdued behind. 
 Gray dawn appears ; the sportsman and his train 
 
 Speckle the bosom of the distant plain ; 
 
 'Tis he, the Nimrod of the neighbouring lairs ; 
 
 Save that his scent is less acute than theirs. 
 
 For persevering chase, and headlong leaps, 
 
 True beagle as the staunchest hound he keeps. 
 
 Charged with the folly of his life's mad scene. 
 
 He takes offence, and wonders what you mean; 
 
 The joy, the danger, and the toil o'erpays — 
 
 'Tis exercise, and health, and length of days. 
 
 Again impetuous to the field he flies ; 
 
 Leaps every fence but one, there falls and dies ;
 
 4b IHE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 Like a slain deer, the tumbrel brings him home 
 Unraiss'd but by his dogs and by his groom. 
 Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place. 
 Lights of the world, and stars of human race ; 
 But if eccentric ye forsake your sphere. 
 Prodigies ominous, and view'd with fear ; 
 The comet's baneful influence is a dream ; 
 Yours, real and pernicious in the extreme. 
 What then ! — are appetites and lusts laid down, 
 With the same ease that man puts on his gown ? 
 Will Avarice and Concupiscence give place, [Grace 
 Charm'd by the sounds— Your Reverence, or Your 
 No. But his own engagement binds him fast ; 
 Or, if it does not, brands him to the last. 
 What atheists call him— a designing knave, 
 A mere church juggler, hypocrite, and slave. 
 Oh, laugh or mourn with me the rueful jest, 
 A cassock'd huntsman, and a fiddling priest ! 
 He from Italian songsters takes his cue : 
 Set Paul to M usic, he shall quote him too. 
 He takes the field, the master of the pack 
 Cries- Well done, saint ! and claps him on the back- 
 Is this the path of sanctity ? Is this 
 To stand a way mark in the road to bliss ? 
 Himself a wanderer from the narrow way. 
 His silly sheep, what wonder if they stray ? 
 Go, cast your orders at your bishop'« feet. 
 Send your dishonour'd gown to Monmouth street ' 
 The sacred function in your hands is made — 
 Sad sacrilege ! no function, but a trade ! 
 
 Occiduus is a pastor of renown. 
 When he has pray'd and preach'd the sabbath down, 
 With wire and catgut he concludes the day. 
 Quavering and semiquavering care away. 
 The full concerto swells upon your ear : 
 All elbows shake. Look in, and you would swear 
 The Babylonian tyrant with a nod 
 Had summon'd them to serve his golden god. 
 So well that thought the employment seems to suit, 
 Psaltery and sackbut, dulcimer and flute. 
 O fie ! 'tis evangelical and pure : 
 Observe each face, how sober and demure :
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 47 
 
 Ecstasy sets her stamp on every mien ; 
 
 Chins fallen, and not an eyeball to be seen. 
 
 Still I insist, though music heretofore 
 
 Has charm'd me much (not e'en Occiduus more). 
 
 Love, joy, and peace, make harmony more meet 
 
 For sabbath evenings, and perhaps as sweet. 
 
 Will not the sickliest sheep of every flock 
 
 Resort to this example as a rock ; 
 
 There stand and justify the foul abuse 
 
 Of sabbath-hours with plausible excuse ? 
 
 If apostolic gravity be free 
 
 To play the fool on Sundays, why not we ? 
 
 If he the tinkling harpsichord regards 
 
 As inoffensive, what offence in cards ? 
 
 Strike up the fiddles, let us all be gay ; 
 
 Laymen have leave to dance, if parsons play. 
 
 Oh Italy !— thy sabbaths will be soon 
 Our sabbaths, closed with mummery and buffoon. 
 Preaching and pr*nks will share the motley scene, 
 Ours parcell'd out, as thine have ever been, 
 God's worship and the mountebank between. 
 What says the prophet ? Let that day be bless'd 
 With holiness and consecrated rest. 
 Pastime and business both it should exclude, 
 And bar the door the moment they intrude : 
 Nobly distinguish'd above all the six 
 By deeds, in v/hich the world must never mix. 
 Hear him again. He calls it a delight, 
 A day of luxury observed aright, 
 When the glad soul is made Heaven's welcome guest, 
 Sits banqueting, and God provides the feast. 
 But triflers are engaged, and cannot come ; 
 Their answer to the call is, — >,'ot at home. 
 
 O the dear pleasures of the velvet plain. 
 The painted tablets, dealt and dealt again ! 
 Cards with what rapture, and the polish'd die, 
 The yawning chasm of indolence supply ! 
 Then to the dance, and make the sober moon 
 AVitness of joys that shun the sight of noon. 
 Blame, cynic, if you can, quadrille or ball. 
 The snug close party, or the splendid hall. 
 Where night, down-stooping from her ebon throne. 
 Views constellations brighter than her own.
 
 48 THE PROGRESS OF ERROK. 
 
 'Tis mnocent, and harmless, and refin'd. 
 The balm of care, Elysium of the mind. 
 
 Innocent ! Oh, if venerable Time 
 Slain at the foot of Pleasure be no crime. 
 Then, with his silver beard and magic wand. 
 Let Comus rise archbishop of the land ; 
 Let him your rubric and your feasts prescribe. 
 Grand metropolitan of all the tribe. 
 
 Of manners rough, and coarse athletic cast. 
 The rank debauch suits Clodio's filthy taste. 
 Rufillus, exquisitely form'd by rule. 
 Not of the moral but the dancing school. 
 Wonders at Clodio's follies, m a tone 
 As tragical, as others at his own. 
 He cannot drink five bottles, bilk the score. 
 Then kill a constable, and drink five more; 
 But he can draw a pattern, make a tart. 
 And has the ladies' etiquette by heart. 
 Go, fool ; and, arm in arm with Clodio, plead 
 Your cause before a bar you little dread ; 
 But know, the law, that bids the drunkard die. 
 Is far too just to pass the trifler by. 
 Both baby-featured, and of infant size, 
 View'd from a distance, and with heedless eyes. 
 Folly and Innocence are so alike, 
 The difference, though essential, fails to strike. 
 Yet folly ever has a vacant stare, 
 A simpering countenance, and a trifling air; 
 But Innocence, sedate, serene, erect. 
 Delights us, by engaging our respect. 
 Man, Nature's guest, by invitation sweet. 
 Receives from her both appetite and treat ; 
 But if he play the glutton and exceed. 
 His benefactress blushes at the deed ; 
 For Nature, nice, as liberal to dispense, 
 Made nothing but a brute the slave of sense. 
 Daniel ate pulse by choice— example rare ! [fair. 
 Heaven bless'd the youth, and made him fresh and 
 Gorgonius sits, abdominous and wan. 
 Like a fat squab upon a Chinese fan : 
 He snuffs far oflfth' anticipated joy ; 
 Turtle and venison all his thoughts employ ;
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 49 
 
 Prepares for meals as jockeys take a sweat. 
 Oh, nauseous ! — an emetic for a whet ! 
 Will Providence o'erlook the wasted good? 
 Temperance were no virtue if he could. 
 
 That pleasures, therefore, or what such we call 
 Are hurtful, is a truth confess'd by all ; 
 And some, that seem to threaten virtue less, 
 Still hurtful, in the abuse, or by th' excess. 
 
 Is man then only for his torment placed 
 The centre of delights he may not taste ? 
 Like fabled Tantalus, condemned to hear 
 The precious stream still purling in his ear. 
 Lip-deep in what he longs for, and yet curs'd 
 With prohibition, and perpetual thirst ? 
 No wrangler — destitute of shame and sense, 
 The precept, that enjoins him abstinence. 
 Forbids him none but the licentious joy. 
 Whose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy 
 Remorse, the fatal egg by Pleasure laid 
 In every bosom where her nest is made, 
 Hatch'd by the beams of Truth, denies him rest, 
 And proves a raging scorpion in his breast, 
 No pleasure ? Are domestic comforts dead ? 
 Are all the nameless sweets of friendship fled ? 
 Has time worn out, or fashion put to shame [fame ? 
 Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good 
 All these belong to virtue, and all prove 
 That virtue has a title to your love. 
 Have you no touch of pity, that the poor 
 Stand starved at your inhospitable door? 
 Or if yourself too scantily supplied 
 Need help, let honest industry provide. 
 Earn, if >;_ou want; if you abound, impart: 
 These both are pleasures to the feeling heart. 
 No pleasure? Has some sickly eastern waste 
 Sent us a wind to parch us at a blast ? 
 Can British Paradise no scenes afford 
 To please her sated and indifferent lord ? 
 Are sweet philosophy's enjoyments run 
 Quite to the lees ? And has religion none ? 
 Brutes capable would tell you 'tis a lie. 
 And judge you from the kennel and the sty. 
 C
 
 50 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 Delights like these, ye sensual and profane, 
 Ye are bid, begg'd, besought to entertain; 
 Call'd to these crystal streams, do ye turn off 
 Obscene to swill and wallow at a trough ? 
 Envy the beast, then, on whom Heav'n bestows 
 Your pleasures, with no curses in the close. 
 
 Pleasure admitted in undue degree 
 Enslaves the will, nor leaves the judgment free. 
 'Tis not alone the grape's enticing juice 
 Unnerves the moral powers, and mars their use ; 
 Ambition, avarice, and the lust of fame, 
 And woman, lovely woman, does the same. 
 The heart, surrender'd to the ruling power 
 Of some ungovem'd passion every hour. 
 Finds by degrees the truths, that once bore sway. 
 And all their deep impressions, wear away ; 
 .So coin grows smooth, in traflfic current pass'd. 
 Till Caesar's image is effac'd at last. [wide. 
 
 The breach, though small at first, soon opening 
 In rushes folly with a full-moon tide. 
 Then welcome errors of whatever size, 
 To justify it by a thousand lies. 
 As creeping ivy clings to wood or stone. 
 And hides the ruin that it feeds upon ; 
 .So sophistry cleaves close to, and protects 
 Sin's rotten trunk, concealing its defects : 
 Mortals, whose pleasures are their only care, 
 First wish to be imposed on, and then are. 
 And, lest the fulsome artifice should fail. 
 Themselves will hide its coarseness with a veil. 
 Not more industrious are the just and true, 
 To give to Virtue what is Virtue's due — 
 The praise of wisdom, comeliness, and worth. 
 And call her charms to public notice forth — 
 Than Vice's mean and disingenuous race. 
 To hide the shocking features of her face. 
 Her form with dress and lotion they repair ; 
 Then kiss their idol, and pronounce her fair. 
 
 The sacred implement I now employ 
 Might prove a mischief, or at best a toy ; 
 A trifle, if it move but to amuse; 
 But, if to wrong the judgment and abuse.
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. jl 
 
 Worse than a poniard in the basest hand, 
 It stabs at once the morals of a land. 
 
 Ye writers of what none with safety reads, 
 Footing it in the dance that fancy leads ; 
 Ye novelists, who mar what ye would mend. 
 Snivelling and drivelling folly without end; 
 Whose corresponding misses fill the ream 
 With sentimental frippery and dream. 
 Caught in a delicate soft silken net. 
 By some lewd earl, or rakehell baronet : 
 Ye pimps, who, under virtue's fair pretence. 
 Steal to the closet of young innocence. 
 And teach her, unexperienced yet and green. 
 To scribble as you scribbled at fifteen ; 
 Who kindling a combustion of desire. 
 With some cold moral think to quench the fire ; 
 Though all your engineering proves in vain, ' 
 The dribbling stream ne'er puts it out again : 
 O that a verse had power, and could command 
 Far, far away, these flesh-flies of the land ; 
 Who fasten without mercy on the fair. 
 And suck, and leave a craving maggot there ! 
 Howe'er disguis'd the inflammatory tale. 
 And cover'd with a fine-spun specious veil; 
 Such writers, and such readers, owe the gust 
 And relish of their pleasure all to lust. 
 
 But the muse, eagle-pinion'd, has in view 
 A quarry more important still than you ; 
 Down, down the wind she swims, and sails away. 
 Now stoops upon it, and now grasps the prey. 
 
 Petronius ! all the muses weep for thee; 
 But every tear shall scald thy memory : 
 The graces too, while Virtue at their shrine 
 Lay bleeding under that soft hand of thine. 
 Felt each a mortal stab in her own breast, 
 Abhorr'd the sacrifice, and cursed the priest. 
 Thou polish'd and high finish'd foe to truth. 
 Gray beard corrupter of our listening youth. 
 To purge and skim away the filth of vice. 
 That so refined it might the more entice, 
 Then pour it on the morals of thy son ; 
 To taint his heart, was worthy ot thine own.'
 
 52 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 Now, while the poison all high life pervades. 
 Write, if thou canst, one letter from the shades ; 
 One, and one only, charged with deep regret 
 That thy worse part, thy principles, live yet : 
 One sad epistle thence may cure mankind 
 Of the plague spread by bundles left behind. 
 'Tis granted, and no plainer truth appears. 
 Our most important are our earliest years ; 
 The mind, impressible and soft, with ease 
 Imbibes and copies what she hears and sees. 
 And through life's labyrinth holds fast the clew- 
 That education gives her, false or true. 
 Plants raised with tenderness are seldom strong ; 
 Man's coltish disposition asks the thong; 
 And without discipline, the favourite child. 
 Like a neglected forester, runs wild 
 But we, as if good qualities would grow 
 Spontaneous, take but little pains to sow ; 
 We give some Latin, and a smatch of Greek ; 
 Teach him to fence and figure twice a week; 
 And having done, we think, the best we can. 
 Praise his proficiency, and dub him man. 
 
 From school to Cam or Isis, and thence home ; 
 And thence with all convenient speed to Rome, 
 With reverend tutor clad in habit lay, 
 To tease for cash, and quarrel with all day ; 
 With memorandum-book for every town. 
 And every post, and where the chaise broke down ; 
 His stock, a few French phrases got by heart, 
 With much to learn, but nothing to impart ; 
 The youth, obedient to his sire's commands. 
 Sets oflTa wanderer into foreign lands. 
 Surprised at all they meet, the gosling pair. 
 With awkward gait, stretch'd neck, and silly stare. 
 Discover huge cathedrals, built with stone. 
 And steeples towering high, much like our own ; 
 But shew peculiar light by many a grin, 
 At popish practices observed within. 
 
 Ere long, some bowing, smirking, smart abbe 
 Remarks two loiterers, that have lost their way ; 
 And being always primed with politesse 
 For men of their appearance and address.
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 53 
 
 With much compassion undertakes the task. 
 To tell them more than they have wit to ask; 
 Points to inscriptions wheresoe'er they tread. 
 Such as, when legible, were never read. 
 But being canker'd now, and half worn out. 
 Craze antiquarian brains with endless doubt ; 
 Some headless hero, or some Csesar shews — 
 Defective only in his Roman nose ; 
 Exhibits elevations, drawings, plans. 
 Models of Herculanean pots and pans ; 
 And sells them medals, which, if neither rare 
 Nor ancient, will be so, preserved with care. 
 
 Strange the recital ! from whatever cause 
 His great improvement and new light he draws. 
 The squire, once bashful, is shamefaced no more. 
 But teems with powers he never felt before; 
 Whether increased momentum, and the force. 
 With which from chme to clime he sped his course 
 (As axles sometimes kindle as they go). 
 Chafed him, and brought dull nature to a glow ; 
 Or whether clearer skies and softer air. 
 That make Italian flowers so sweet and fair. 
 Freshening his lazy spirits as he ran. 
 Unfolded genially and spread the man ; 
 Returning, he proclaims by many a grace. 
 By shrugs and strange contortions of his face. 
 How much a dunce, that has been sent to roam. 
 Excels a dunce that has been kept at home. 
 
 Accomplishments have taken virtue's place. 
 And wisdom falls before exterior grace : 
 We slight the precious kernel of the stone. 
 And toil to polish its rough coat alone. 
 A just deportment, manners graced with ease. 
 Elegant phrase, and figure form'd to please. 
 Are qualities that seem to comprehend 
 Whatever parents, guardians, schools intend; 
 Hence an unfumish'd and a listless mind. 
 Though busy, trifling ; empty, though refined ; 
 Hence all that interferes, and dares to clash 
 With indolence and luxury, is trash : 
 While learning, once the man's exclusive pride. 
 Seems verging fast toward the female side.
 
 54 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 Learning itself, received into a mind 
 
 By nature weak, or viciously inclined, 
 
 Serves but to lead philosophers astray. 
 
 Where children would with ease discern the way. 
 
 And of all arts sagacious dupes invent. 
 
 To cheat themselves and gain the world's assent, 
 
 The worst is — Scripture warp'd from its intent. 
 
 The carriage bowls along, and all are pleased 
 If Tom be sober, and the wheels well greased ; 
 But if the rogue have gone a cup too far. 
 Left out his linchpin, or forgot his tar. 
 It sufiTers interrtiption and delay. 
 And meets with hind'rance in the smoothest way. 
 When some hypothesis, absurd and vain. 
 Has fill'd with all its fumes a critic's brain. 
 The text, that sorts not with his darling whim. 
 Though plain to others, is obscure to him. 
 The will made subject to a lawless force. 
 All is irregular and out of course; 
 And Judgment drunk, and bribed to lose his way. 
 Winks hard, and talks of darkness at noon-day. 
 
 A critic on the sacred book should be 
 Candid and learn'd, dispassionate and free: 
 Free from the wayward bias bigots feel, 
 From Fancy's influence, and intemperate zeal: 
 But, above all (or let the wretch refrain. 
 Nor touch the page he cannot but profane) 
 Free from the domineering power of lust ; 
 A lewd interpreter is never just. 
 
 How shall I speak thee, or thy power address. 
 Thou god of our idolatry, the Press ? 
 By thee religion, liberty, and laws. 
 Exert their influence, and advance their cause : 
 By thee worse plagues than Pharaoh's land befell. 
 Diffused, make earth the vestibule of hell ; 
 Thou fountain, at which drink the good and wise ; 
 Thou ever-bubbling spring of endless lies : 
 Like Eden's dread probationary tree. 
 Knowledge of good and evil is from thee. 
 
 No wild enthusiast ever yet could rest. 
 Till half mankind were like himself posseso'd. 
 Philosophers, who darken and put out 
 Eternal truth by everlasting doubt ;
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 Church quacks, with passions under no command, 
 Who fill the world with doctrines contraband, 
 Discoverers of they know not what, confined 
 Within no bounds— the blind that lead the blind ; 
 To streams of popular opinion drawn. 
 Deposit in those shallows all their spawn. 
 The wriggling fry soon fill the creeks around. 
 Poisoning the waters where their swarms abound. 
 Scorn'd by the nobler tenants of the flood. 
 Minnows and gudgeons gorge th' unwholesome food. 
 The propagated myriads spread so fast, 
 E'en Leuwenhoeck himself would stand aghast, 
 Employ'd to calculate the enormous sum, 
 And own his crab-comi)uting powers o'ercome. 
 Is this hyperbole ? The world well known, 
 Your sober thoughts will hardly find it one. 
 
 Fresh confidence the speculatist takes 
 From every hair-brain'd proselyte he makes ; 
 And therefore prints. Himself but half-deceived, 
 Till others have the soothing tale believed. 
 Hence comment after comment, spun as fine 
 As bloated spiders draw the flimsy line : 
 Hence the same word, that bids our lusts obey. 
 Is misapplied to sanctify their sway. 
 If stubborn Greek refuse to be his friend, 
 Hebrew or Syriac shall be forced to bend : 
 If languages and copies all cry, No- 
 Somebody proved it centuries ago. 
 Like trout pursued, the critic in despair 
 Darts to the mud, and finds his safety there. 
 Woman, whom custom has forbid to fly 
 The scholar's pitch (the scholar best knows why). 
 With all the simple and unletter'd poor. 
 Admire his learning, and almost adore. 
 Whoever errs, the priest can ne'er be wrong. 
 With such fine words familiar to his tongue. 
 Ye ladies ! (for, indiffoient in your cause, 
 I should deserve to forfeit all applause,) 
 Whatever shocks or gives the least offence 
 To virtue, delicacy, truth, or sense, 
 (Try the criterion, 'tis a faithful guide). 
 Nor has, nor can have. Scripture on its side.
 
 56 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 
 
 None but an author kjiows an author's cares. 
 Or Fancy's fondness for the child she bears. 
 Committed once into the public arms. 
 The baby seems to smile with added charms. 
 Like something precious ventured far from shore, 
 'Tis valued for the danger's sake the more. 
 He views it with complacency supreme, 
 Solicits kind attention to his dream ; 
 And daily more enamour'd of the cheat. 
 Kneels, and asks Heaven to bless the dear deceit. 
 So one, whose story serves at least to shew 
 Men loved their own productions long ago, 
 Woo'd an unfeeling statue for his wife. 
 Nor rested till the gods had given it life. 
 If some mere driveller suck the sugar'd fib. 
 One that still needs his leading-string and bib. 
 And praise his genius, lie is soon repaid 
 In praise applied to the same part— his head : 
 For 'tis a rule, that holds for ever true. 
 Grant me discernment, and I grant it you. 
 
 Patient of contradiction as a child, 
 Afiable, humble, difiBdent, and mild ; 
 Such was Sir Isaac, and such Boyle and Locke: 
 Your blunderer is as sturdy as a rock. 
 The creature is so sure to kick and bite, 
 A muleteer's the man to set him right. 
 First Appetite enlists him Truth's sworn foe. 
 Then obstinate Self-will confirms hira so. 
 Tell him he wanders, that his error leads 
 To fatal ills ; that, though the path he treads 
 Be flowery, and he see no cause of fear. 
 Death and the pains of Hell attend him there : 
 In vain; the slave of arrogance and pride. 
 He has no hearing on the prudent side. 
 His still refuted quirks he still repeats; 
 New raised objections with new quibbles meets ; 
 Till, sinking in the quicksand he defends. 
 He dies disputing, and the contest ends — 
 But not the mischiefs ; they, still left behind. 
 Like thistle-seeds, are sown by every wind. 
 
 Thus men go wrong with an ingenious skill; 
 Bend the straight rule to their own crooked will;
 
 THE PROGRESS OF ERROR. 57 
 
 And with a clear and shining lamp supplied. 
 
 First put it out, then take it for a guide. 
 
 Halting on crutches of unequal size, 
 
 One leg by truth supported, one by lies ; 
 
 They sidle to the goal with awkward pace. 
 
 Secure of nothing— but to lose the race. 
 Faults in the life breed errors in the brain, 
 
 And these reciprocally those again. 
 
 The mind and conduct mutually imprint 
 
 And stamp their image in each other's mint: 
 
 Each, sire and dam, of an infernal race, 
 
 Begetting and conceiving all that's base. 
 None sends his arrow to the mark in view. 
 
 Whose hand is feeble, or his aim untrue. 
 
 For though, ere yet the shaft is on the wing. 
 
 Or when it first forsakes the elastic string, 
 
 It err but little from the intended line. 
 
 It falls at last far wide of his design : 
 
 So he, who seeks a mansion in the sky. 
 Must watch his purpose with a steadfast eye; 
 That prize belongs to none but the sincere; 
 The least obliquity is fatal here. 
 
 With caution taste the sweet Circean cup : 
 He that sips often, at last drinks it up. 
 Habits are soon assumed; but when we strive 
 To strip them off, 'tis being flay'd alive. 
 Call'd to the temple of impure delight. 
 He that abstains, and he alone, does right. 
 If a wish wander that way, call it home; 
 He cannot long be safe whose wishes roam. 
 But, if you pass the threshold, you are caught ; 
 Die then, if power Almighty save you not. 
 There hardening by degrees till double steel'd, 
 Take leave of nature's God, and God reveal'd; 
 Then laugh at all you trembled at before; 
 And joining the freethinker's brutal roar. 
 Swallow the two grand nostrums they dispense- 
 That scrii)ture lies, and blasphemy is sense ; 
 If clemency, revolted by abuse. 
 Be damnable, then damu'd without excuse. 
 
 Some dream that they can silence when they will 
 The storm of passion, and say, Peace, be still; 
 C 2
 
 58 TRUTH. 
 
 But ' Thus far and no farther,' when address'd 
 To the wild wave, or wilder human breast, 
 Implies authority that never can. 
 That never ought to be the lot of man. 
 
 But muse forbear; long flights forbode a fall ; 
 Strike on the deep-toned chord the sum of all. 
 
 Hear the just law— the judgment of the skies ! 
 He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies : 
 And he that ivill be cheated to the last. 
 Delusions strong as hell shall bind him fast. 
 But if the wand'rer his mistake discern, 
 Judge his own ways, and sigh for a return, 
 Bewilder'd once, must he bewail his loss 
 For ever and for ever ? No — the cross ! 
 There, and there only (though the Deist rave. 
 And Atheist, if earth bear so base a slave) ; 
 There, and there only is the power to save. 
 There no delusive hope invites despair ; 
 No mockery meets you, no deception there. 
 The spells and charms, that blinded you before. 
 All vanish there, and fascinate no more. 
 
 I am no preacher, let this hint suffice — 
 The cross once seen is death to every vice: 
 Else he that hung there suffered all his pain. 
 Bled, groan'd, and agonized, and died, in vain. 
 
 TRUTH. 
 
 Pensantur trutina.— ffor. Lib. ii. Epist. 1. 
 Max, on the dubious waves of error toss'd, 
 His ship half founder'd, and his compass lost. 
 Sees, far as human optics may command, 
 A sleeping fog, and fancies it dry land : 
 Spreads all his canvas, every sinew plies, 
 Pants for't, aims at it, enters it, and dies ! 
 Then farewell all self-satisfying schemes. 
 His well-built systems, philosophic dreams; 
 Deceitful views of future bliss farewell ! — 
 He reads his sentence at the flames of hell. 
 Hard lot of man— to toil for the reward 
 Of virtue, and yet lose it ! Wherefore hard >
 
 TRUTH. 59 
 
 He that would win the race must guide his horse 
 Obedient to the customs of the course ; 
 Else, though unequall'd to the goal he flies, 
 A meaner than himself shall gain the prize. 
 Grace leads the right way : if you choose the wrong. 
 Take it and perish; but restrain your tongue; 
 Charge not, with light sufficient, and let free. 
 Your wilful suicide on God's decree. 
 
 O how unlike the complex works of man. 
 Heaven's easy, artless, unencumber'd plan ! 
 No meretricious graces to beguile. 
 No clustering ornaments to clog the pile ; 
 From ostentation as from weakness free. 
 It stands like the cerulean arch we see, 
 Majestic in its own simplicity. 
 Inscribed above the portal, from afar 
 Conspicuous, as the brightness of a star. 
 Legible only by the light they give. 
 Stand the soul quickening words — Believe atid live. 
 Too many, shock'd at what should charm them most, 
 Despise the plain direction, and are lost. 
 Heaven on such terms ! (they cry with proud disdain,) 
 Incredible, impossible, and vain !— 
 Rebel, because 'tis easy to obey ; 
 And scorn, for its own sake, the gracious way 
 These are the sober, in whose cooler brains 
 Some thought of immortality remains ; 
 
 The rest too busy, or too gay to wait 
 
 On the sad theme, their everlasting state. 
 
 Sport for a day, and perish in a night, 
 
 The foam upon the waters not so light. 
 Who judged the Pharisee ? What odious cause 
 
 Exposed him to the vengeance of the laws? 
 
 Had he seduced a virgin, wrong'd a friend. 
 
 Or stabb'd a man to serve some private end ? 
 
 Was blasphemy his sin ? Or did he stray 
 
 From the strict duties of the sacred day ? 
 
 Sit long and late at the carousing board? 
 
 (Such were the sins with which he charged his Lord.) 
 
 No — the man's morals were exact, what then ? 
 
 'Twas his ambition to be seen of men ;
 
 60 TRUTH. 
 
 His virtues were his pride; and that one vice 
 Made all his virtues gewgaws of no price ; 
 He wore them as fine trappings for a show, 
 A praying, synagogue-frequenting beau. 
 
 The self-applauding bird, the peacock, see — 
 Mark what a sumptuous pharisee is he ! 
 Meridian sun-beams tempt him to unfold 
 His radiant glories, azure, green, and gold : 
 He treads as if, some solemn music near. 
 His measured step were govern'd by his ear : 
 And seems to say — Ye meaner fowl, give place, 
 1 am all splendour, dignity, and grace ! 
 
 Not so the pheasant on his charms presumes. 
 Though he too has a glory in his plumes. 
 He, Christian-like, retreats with modest mein 
 To the close copse, or far-sequestered green. 
 And shines without desiring to be seen. 
 The plea of works, as arrogant and vain, 
 Heaven turns from with abhorrence and disdain ; 
 Not more affronted by avow'd neglect. 
 Than by the mere dissembler's feign'd respect. 
 What is all righteousness that men devise? 
 What— but a sordid bargain for the skies ? 
 But Christ as soon would abdicate his own. 
 As stoop from heaven to sell the proud a throne. 
 
 His dwelling a recess in some rude rock. 
 Book, beads, and maple-dish, his meagre stock: 
 In shirt of hair and weeds of canvas dress'd. 
 Girt with a bell-rope that the pope has bless'd, 
 Adust with stripes told out for every crime. 
 And sore tormented long before his time ; 
 His prayer preferr'd to saints that cannot aid ; 
 His praise postponed, and never to be paid ; 
 See the sage hermit, by mankind admired. 
 With all that bigotry adopts inspired. 
 Wearing out life in his religious whim. 
 Till his reUgious whimsey wears out him. 
 His works, his abstinence, his zeal allow'd. 
 You think him humble — God accounts him proud ; 
 High in demand, though lowly in pretence. 
 Of all his conduct this the genuine sense —
 
 TRUTH. 61 
 
 My penitential stripes, my streaming blood, 
 Have purchased heaven, and prove my title good. 
 Turn eastward now, and Fancy shall apply 
 To your weak sight her telescopic eye. 
 The Bramin kindles on his own bare head 
 The sacred fire, self-torturing his trade. 
 His voluntary pains, severe and long, 
 Would give a barbarous air to British song; 
 No grand inquisitor could worse invent. 
 Than he contrives to suffer, well content. 
 
 Which is the saintlier worthy of the two ? 
 Past aU dispute, yon anchorite, say you. 
 Your sentence and mine differ. What's a name ? 
 I say the Bramin has the fairer claim. 
 If sufferings. Scripture nowhere recommends, 
 Devised by self to answer selfish ends, 
 Give saintship, then all Europe must agree 
 Ten starveling hermits suffer less than he. 
 
 The truth is (if the truth may suit your ear. 
 And prejudice have left a passage clear). 
 Pride has attained its most luxuriant growth. 
 And poisoned every virtue in them both. 
 Pride may be pamper'd while the flesh grows lean ; 
 Humility may clothe an English dean ; 
 That grace was Cowper's— his, confess'd by ail- 
 Though plac'd in golden Durham's second stall. 
 Not all the plenty of a bishop's board. 
 His palace, and his lackeys, and ' My Lord," 
 More nourish pride, that condescending vice, 
 Than abstinence, and beggary, and lice; 
 It thrives in misery, and abundant grows : 
 In misery fools upon themselves impose. 
 
 But why before us Protestants produce 
 An Indian mystic, or a French recluse ? 
 Their sin is plain ; but what have we to fear, 
 Reform'd and well instructed ? You shall hear. 
 
 Yon ancient prude, whose withered features shew 
 She might be young some forty years ago. 
 Her elbows pinion'd close upon her hips. 
 Her head erect, her fan upon her lips. 
 Her eye-brows arch'd, her eyes both gone astray 
 To watch yon amorous couple in their play,
 
 62 TRUTH. 
 
 With bony and unkerchief d neck defies 
 The rude inclemency of wintry skies. 
 And sails with lappet-head, and mincing airs 
 Duly at chink of bell to morning prayers. 
 To thrift and parsimony much inclined, 
 She yet allows herself that boy behind ; 
 The shivering urchin, bending as he goes. 
 With shp-shod heels and dewdrop at his nose ; 
 His predecessor's coat advanc'd to wear, 
 Which future pages yet aredoom'd to share. 
 Carries her Bible tuck'd beneath his arm. 
 And hides his hands to keep his fingers warm. 
 
 She, half an angel in her own account. 
 Doubts not hereafter with the saints to mount. 
 Though not a grace appears on strictest search, 
 But that she fasts, and item, goes to church. 
 Conscious of age, she recollects her youth, 
 And teUs, not always with an eye to truth. 
 Who spannd her waist, and who, where'er he came, 
 Scrawl'd upon glass Miss Bridget's lo%-ely name; 
 Who stole her slipper, filled it with tokay. 
 And drank the little bumper every day. 
 Of temper as envenom'd as an asp. 
 Censorious, and her every word a wasp ; 
 In faithful memory she records the crimes. 
 Or real, or fictitious, of the times; 
 Laughs at the reputations she has torn. 
 And holds them dangling at arm's length in scorn. 
 
 Such are the fruits of sanctimonious pride. 
 Of malice fed while flesh is mortified : 
 Take, madam, the reward of all your prayers. 
 Where hermits and where Bramins meet with theirs; 
 Your portion is with them. — Xay, never frown, 
 But, if you please, some fathoms lower down. 
 
 Artist attend— your brushes and your paint — 
 Produce them— take a chair— now draw a saint. 
 Oh, sorrowful and sad ! the streaming tears 
 Channel her cheeks— a Niobe appears ! 
 Is this a saint ? Throw tints and aU away- 
 True piety is cheerful as the day ; — 
 Will weep indeed, and heave a pitying groan 
 For others' woes, but smiles upon her own.
 
 TRUTH. I 
 
 What purpose has the King of saints in view ? 
 Why falls the Gospel like a gracious dew ? 
 To call up plenty from the teeming earth, 
 Or curse the desert with a tenfold dearth ? 
 Is it that Adam's offspring may be saved 
 From servile fear, or be the more enslaved ? 
 To loose the links that gall'd mankind before. 
 Or bind them faster on, and add still more ? 
 The freeborn Christian has no chains to prove. 
 Or, if a chain, the golden one of love : 
 No fear attends to quench his glowing fires. 
 What fear he feels his gratitude inspires. 
 Shall he, for such deliverance freely wrought. 
 Recompense ill ? He trembles at the thought. 
 His master's interest and his own combined 
 Prompt every movement of his heart and mind : 
 Thought, word, and deed his liberty evince ; 
 His freedom is the freedom of a prince. 
 
 Man's obligations infinite, of course 
 His life should prove that he perceives their force ; 
 His utmost he can render is but small — 
 The principle and motive all in all. 
 You have two servants — Tom, an arch, sly rogue. 
 From top to toe the Geta now in vogue. 
 Genteel in figure, easy in address. 
 Moves without noise, and swift as an express, 
 Reports a message with a pleasing grace. 
 Expert in all the duties of his place; 
 Say, on what hinge does his obedience move ? 
 Has he a world of gratitude and love ? 
 No, not a spark — 'tis all mere sharper's play ; 
 He like's your house, your housemaid, and your pay : 
 Reduce his wages, or get rid of her, 
 Tom quits you, with— Your most obedient. Sir, 
 
 The dinner served, Charles takes his usual stand, 
 Watches your eye, anticipates command ; 
 Sighs if perhaps your appetite should fail ; 
 And if he but suspects a frown turns pale ; 
 Consults all day your interest and your ease. 
 Richly rewarded if he can but please ; 
 And, proud to make his firm attachment known, 
 To save your life would nobly risk his own.
 
 G4 TRUTH. 
 
 Now which stands highest in your serious thought' 
 Charles, without doubt, say you— and so he ought ; 
 One act that from a thankful heart proceeds. 
 Excels ten thousand mercenar\- deeds. 
 
 Thus heaven approves as honest and sincere, 
 The work of generous love and filial fear; 
 But with averted eyes the omniscient Judge 
 Scorns the base hireling and the slavish drudge. 
 Where dwell these matchless saints? — old Curio cries. 
 E'en at your side, sir, and before your eyes, 
 The favour'd few— th' enthusiasts you despise. 
 And pleased at heart, because on holy ground 
 Sometimes a canting hypocrite is found, 
 Reproach a people with his single fall. 
 And cast his filthy raiment at them all. 
 Attend I— an apt similitude shall shew 
 Whence springs the conduct that offends you so. 
 
 See where it smokes along the sounding plain. 
 Blown all aslant, a driving, dashing rain. 
 Peal upon peal redoubling all around. 
 Shakes it again and faster to the ground ; 
 Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play. 
 Swift beyond thought the lightnings dart away. 
 Ere yet it came the traveller urged his steed. 
 And hurried but with unsuccessful speed ; 
 Now drench'd throughout, and hopeless of his case. 
 He drops the rein, and leaves him to his pace. 
 Suppose, unlook'd-for in a scene so rude. 
 Long hid by interposing hill or wood. 
 Some mansion, neat and elegantly dress'd, 
 By some kind hospitable heart possess'd. 
 Offer him warmth, security, and rest ; 
 Think with what pleasure, safe and at his ease 
 He hears the tempest howling in the trees; 
 What glowing thanks his lips and heart employ, 
 While danger past is turned to present joy ! 
 So fares it with the sinner when he feels 
 A growing dread of vengeance at his heels : 
 His conscience like a glassy lake before, 
 Lash'd into foaming waves, begins to roar ; 
 The law grown clamorous, though silent long, 
 Arraigns him— charges him with every wrong—
 
 TRUTH. 65 
 
 Asserts the rights of his offended Lord, 
 And death cr restitution is the word : 
 The last impossible, he fears the first. 
 And having well deserved, expects the worst. 
 Then welcome refuge and a peaceful home; 
 
 for a shelter from the wrath to come ! 
 Crush me, ye rocks ; ye falling mountains hide. 
 Or bury me in ocean's angry tide. — 
 
 The scrutiny of those all-seeing eyes 
 
 1 dare not — And you need not, God replies; 
 The remedy you want I freely give; 
 
 The Book shall teach— read, believe, and live ! 
 'Tis done — the raging storm is heard no more, 
 Mercy receives him on her peaceful shore : 
 And Justice, guardian of the dread command, 
 Drops the red vengeance from his willing hand. 
 A soul redeem'd demands a life of praise ; 
 Hence the complexion of his future days, 
 Hence a demeanour holy and unspeck'd. 
 And the world's hatred, as its sure effect. 
 
 Some lead a life unblamable and just. 
 Their own dear virtue their unshaken trust : 
 They never sin— or if (as all offend) 
 Some trivial slips their daily walk attend. 
 The poor are near at hand, the charge is small, 
 A slight gratuity atones for all. 
 For though the pope has lost his interest here, 
 And pardons are not sold as once they were. 
 No papist more desirous to compound. 
 Than some grave sinners upon English ground. 
 That plea refuted, other quirks they seek — 
 Mercy is infinite, and man is weak; 
 The future shall obliterate the past. 
 And heaven no doubt shall be their home at last. 
 
 Come then — a still small whisper in your ear- 
 He has no hope who never had a fear ; 
 And he that never doubted of his state. 
 He may perhaps— perhaps he may— too late. 
 
 The path to bliss abounds with many a snare; 
 Learning is one, and wit, however rare. 
 The Frenchman, first in literary fame 
 (Mention him if you please. Voltaire ? — The same).
 
 66 TRUTH. 
 
 With spirit genius, eloquence, supplied, 
 Liv'd long, wrote much, laughed heartily, and died. 
 The Scripture was his jest book, whence he drew 
 Bon mots to gall the Christian and the Jew ; 
 An infidel in health, but what when sick ? 
 Oh — then a text would touch him at the quick : 
 View him at Paris in his last career, 
 Surrounding throngs the demigod revere ; 
 Exalted on his pedestal of pride. 
 And fumed with frankincense on every side. 
 He begs their flattery with his latest breath. 
 And smother'd in't at last, is praised to death. 
 Yon cottager who weaves at her own door, 
 Pillow and bobbins all her little store ; 
 Content though mean, and cheerful if not gay, 
 ShufHing her threads about the livelong day. 
 Just earns a scanty pittance and at night 
 Lies down secure, her heart and pocket light : 
 She for her humble sphere by nature fit. 
 Has little understanding, and no wit. 
 Receives no praise ; but though her lot be such 
 (Toilsome and indigent), she renders much ; 
 Just knows, and knows no more, her Bible true — 
 A truth the brilliant Frenchman never knew; 
 And in that charter reads with sparkling eyes 
 
 Her title to a treasure in the skies. 
 O happy peasant ! O unhappy bard ! 
 
 His the mere tinsel, hers the rich reward : 
 
 He praised perhaps for ages yet to come. 
 
 She never heard of half a mile from home : 
 
 He lost in errors his vain heart prefers. 
 
 She safe in the simplicity of hers. 
 
 Not many wise, rich, noble, or profound 
 
 In science win one inch of heavenly ground. 
 
 And is it not a mortifying thought 
 
 The poor should gain it, and the rich should not ? 
 
 No — the voluptuaries who ne'er forget 
 
 One pleasure lost, lose heaven without regret ; 
 
 Regret would rouse them and give birth to prayer : 
 
 Prayer would add faith, and faith would fix them there. 
 Not that the Former, of us all, in this. 
 
 Or aught he does, is governed by caprice;
 
 TRUTH, 
 
 The supposition is replete with sin, 
 
 And bears the brand of blasphemy burnt in. 
 
 Not so — the silver trumpet's heavenly call 
 
 Sounds for the poor, but sounds alike tor all ; 
 
 Kings are invited, and, would kings obey. 
 
 No slaves on earth more welcome were than they : 
 
 But royalty, nobility, and state. 
 
 Are such a dead preponderating weight. 
 
 That endless bliss (how strange soe'er it seem) 
 
 In counterpoise, flies up and kicks the beam. 
 
 'Tis open and ye cannot enter— Why ? 
 
 Because ye will not, Conyers would reply — 
 
 And he says much that many may dispute. 
 
 And cavil at with ease, but none refute. 
 
 O bless'd effect of penury and want; 
 
 The seed sown there, how vigorous is the plant ? 
 
 No soil like poverty for growth divine. 
 
 As leanest land supplies the richest wine. 
 
 Earth gives too little, giving only bread. 
 
 To nourish pride, or turn the weakest head : 
 
 To them the sounding jargon of the schools 
 
 Seems what it is — a cap and bell for fools : 
 
 The light they walk by, kindled from above. 
 
 Shews them the shortest way to life and love : 
 
 They, strangers to the controversial field, 
 
 Where deists, always foil'd, yet scorn to yield. 
 
 And never check'd by what impedes the wise. 
 
 Believe, rush forward, ajid possess the prize. 
 
 Envy, ye great, the dull unletter'd small : 
 Ye have much cause for envy — but not all. 
 We boast some rich ones whom the Gospel sways, 
 And one who wears a coronet and prays ; 
 Like gleanings of an olive-tree they shew, 
 Here and there one upon the topmost bough, 
 
 How readily upon the Gospel plan, 
 That question has its answer — What is man ? 
 Sinful and weak, in every sense a wretch ; 
 An instrument whose chords, upon the stretch. 
 And strained to the last screw that he can bear, 
 Yield only discord in his Maker's ear : 
 Once the bless'd residence of truth divine, 
 Glorious as Solyma's interior shrine.
 
 68 TRUTH. 
 
 Where, in his own oracular abode, 
 
 Dwelt visibly the light-creating god ; 
 
 But made long since, like Babylon of old, 
 
 A den of mischiefs never to be told : 
 
 And she, once m.istress of the realms around. 
 
 Now scattered wide, and nowhere to be found. 
 
 As soon shall rise and reascend the throne. 
 
 By native power and energy her own. 
 
 As Nature, at her own peculiar cost. 
 
 Restore to man the glories he has lost. 
 
 Go — bid the winter cease to chill the year, 
 
 Replace the wandering comet in his sphere. 
 
 Then boast (but wait for that unhoped-for hour) 
 
 The self-restoring arm of human power. 
 
 But what is man in his own proud esteem ? 
 
 Hear him— himself the poet and the theme : 
 
 A monarch clothed with majesty and awe, 
 
 His mind his kingdom, and his will his law; 
 
 Grace in his mien, and glory in his eyes. 
 
 Supreme on earth, and worthy of the skies; 
 
 Strength in his heart, dominion in his nod. 
 
 And, thunderbolts excepted, quite a god ! 
 
 So sings he, charm'd with his own mind and form ; 
 
 The song magnificent — the theme a worm ! 
 
 Himself so much the source of his delight. 
 
 His Maker has no beauty in his sight. 
 
 See where he sits, contemplative and fix'd. 
 
 Pleasure and wonder in his features mixed; 
 
 His passions tamed and all at his control. 
 
 How perfect the composure of his soul ! 
 
 Complacency has breathed a gentle gale 
 
 O'er all his thoughts, and swell'd his easy sail : 
 
 His books well-trimm'd, and in the gayest style. 
 
 Like regimental coxcombs, rank and file. 
 
 Adorn his intellects as well as shelves. 
 
 And teach him notions splendid as themselves : 
 
 The Bible only stands neglected there. 
 
 Though that of all most worthy of his care ; 
 
 And like an infant troublesome awake. 
 
 Is left to sleep for peace and quiet' sake. 
 
 What shall the man deserve of human kind. 
 Whose happy skill and industry combined
 
 TRUTH. 69 
 
 Shall prove (what argument could never yeO 
 
 The Bible an imposture and a cheat ? 
 
 The praises of the libertine profess'd. 
 
 The worst of men, and curses of the best. 
 
 Where should the living, weeping o'er his woes ; 
 
 The dying, trembling at the awful close ; 
 
 Where the betray'd, forsaken, and oppress'd, 
 
 The thousands whom the world forbids to rest ; 
 
 Where should they find (those comforts at an end 
 
 The Scripture yields), or hope to find, a friend? 
 
 Sorrow might muse herself to madness then. 
 
 And, seeking exile from the sight of men. 
 
 Bury herself in solitude profound. 
 
 Grow frantic with her pangs, and bite the ground. 
 
 Thus often Unbelief, grown sick of life. 
 
 Flies to the tempting pool, or felon knife. 
 
 The jury meet, the coroner is short. 
 
 And lunacy the verdict of the court ; 
 
 Reverse the sentence, let the truth be known, 
 
 Such lunacy is ignorance alone ; 
 
 They knew not, what some bishops may not know, 
 
 That Scripture is the only cure of woe ; 
 
 That field of promise, how it flings abroad 
 
 Its odour o'er the Christian's thorny road ! 
 
 The soul, reposing on assured relief. 
 
 Feels herself happy amidst all her grief. 
 
 Forgets her labour as she toils along, 
 
 Weeps tears of joy, and bursts into a song. 
 
 But the same word, that, like the polished sliart", 
 Ploughs up the roots of a believer's care. 
 Kills too the flowery weeds, where'er they grow, 
 That bind the sinner's Bacchanalian brow. 
 Oh that unwelcome voice of heavenly love, 
 Sad messenger of mercy from above ! 
 How does it grate upon his thankless ear. 
 Crippling his pleasures with the cramp of fear ! 
 His will and judgment at continual strife. 
 That civil war embitters all his life; 
 In vain he points his powers against the skies, 
 In vain he closes or averts his eyes. 
 Truth will intrude — she bids him yet beware ; 
 And shakes the sceptic in the scomer's chair.
 
 70 TRUTH. 
 
 Though various foes against the Truth combine. 
 Pride above all opposes her design ; 
 Pride, of a growth superior to the rest, 
 The subtlest serpent with the loftiest crest, 
 Swells at the thought, and, kindling into rage. 
 Would hiss the cherub Mercy from the stage. 
 
 And is the soul indeed so lost— she cries. 
 Fallen from her glory, and too weak to rise ? 
 Torpid and dull beneath a frozen zone. 
 Has she no spark that may be deemed her own ? 
 Grant her indebted to what zealots call 
 Grace undeserved, yet surely not for all — 
 Some beams of rectitude she yet displays. 
 Some love of virtue, and some power to praise ; 
 Can lift herself above corporeal things. 
 And, soaring on her own unborrow'd wings, 
 Possess herself of all that's good or true. 
 Assert the skies, and vindicate her due. 
 Past indiscretion is a venial crime, 
 And if the youth, unmellow'd yet by time. 
 Bore on his branch, luxuriant then and rude. 
 Fruits of a blighted size, austere and crude, 
 Maturer years shall happier stores produce. 
 And meliorate the well-concocted juice. 
 Then, conscious of her meritorious zeal. 
 To Justice she may make her bold appeal. 
 And leave to Mercy, with a tranquil mind. 
 The worthless and unfruitful of mankind. 
 Hear then how Mercy, slighted and defied. 
 Retorts the affront against the crown of Pride. 
 
 Perish the virtue, as it ought, abhorr'd. 
 And the fool with it who insults his Lord. 
 Th' atonement, a Redeemer's love has wrought. 
 Is not for you— the righteous need it not. 
 Seest thou yon harlot, wooing all she meets. 
 The worn-out nuisance of the public streets, 
 Herself from moni to night, from night to morn. 
 Her own abhorrence, and as much your scoru r 
 The gracious shower, unlimited and free. 
 Shall fall on her, when heaven denies it thee. 
 Of all that wisdom dictates, this the drift. 
 That man is dead in sin, and life a gift.
 
 TRUTH. 71 
 
 Is virtue, then, unless of Christian growth, 
 Mere fallacy, or foolishness, or both ? 
 Ten thousand sages lost in endless woe, 
 For ignorance of what they could not know ? 
 That speech betrays at once a bigot's tongue. 
 Charge not a God with such outrageous wrong. 
 Truly not I — the partial light men have. 
 My creed persuades me, well employ'd, may save; 
 While he that scorns the noon-day beam, perverse. 
 Shall find the blessing unimproved a curse. 
 Let heathen worthies, whose exalted mind 
 Left sensuality and dross behind. 
 Possess for me their undisputed lot. 
 And take unenvied the reward they sought : 
 But still in virtue of a Saviour's plea. 
 Not blind by choice, but destined not to see. 
 Their fortitude and wisdom were a flame 
 Celestial, though they knew not whence it came. 
 Derived from the same source of light and grace. 
 That guides the Christian in his swifter race ; 
 Their judge was conscience, and her rule their law , 
 That rule, pursued with reverence and with awe, 
 Led them, however faltering, faint, and slow, 
 From what they knew, to what they wished to know. 
 But let not him, that shares a brighter day, 
 Traduce the splendour of a noontide ray, 
 Prefer the twilight of a darker time, 
 And deem his base stupidity no crime : 
 The wretch who slights the bounty of the skies, 
 And sinks, while favour'd with the means to rise. 
 Shall find them rated at their full amount; 
 The good he scorn'd all carried to account. 
 
 Marshalling all his terrors as he came, 
 Thunder, and earthquake, and devouring flame, 
 From Sinai's top Jehovah gave the law. 
 Life for obedience, death for every flaw. 
 When the great Sovereign would his will express, 
 He gives a perfect rule; what can he less ? 
 And guards it with a sanction as severe 
 As vengeance can inflict, or sinners fear: 
 And his own glorious rights he would disclaim, 
 Else man might safely trifle with his name.
 
 72 EXPOSTULATIOX. 
 
 He bids glow with unremitting love 
 
 To all ou earth, and to himself above; 
 
 Condemns the injurious deed, the slandrous tongue. 
 
 The thought that meditates a brother's wrong : 
 
 Brings not alone the more conspicuous part. 
 
 His conduct, to the test, but tries his heart. 
 
 Hark ! universal nature shook and groan'd, 
 'Twas the last trumpet — see the judge enthroned : 
 Rouse all your courage at your utmost need. 
 Now summon every virtue, stand and plead. 
 What ! silent ? Is your boasting heard no more ? 
 That self-renouncing wisdom, learn'd before. 
 Had shed immortal glories on your brow. 
 That all your virtues cannot purchase now. 
 
 All joy to the believer ! He can speak — 
 Trembling yet happy, confident, yet meek. 
 
 Since the dear hour, that brought me to thy foot 
 And cut up all my follies by the root, 
 I never trusted in an arm but thine. 
 Nor hoped, but in thy righteousness divine : 
 My prayers and alms, imperfect and defiled. 
 Were but the feeble efforts of a child ; 
 Howe'er perform'd, it was their brightest part. 
 That they proceeded from a grateful heart; 
 Cleansed in thine own all-purif\ing blood. 
 Forgive their evil, and accept their good; 
 I cast them at thy feet— my only plea 
 Is what it was, dependance upon thee. 
 While struggling in the vale of tears below, 
 That never fail'd, nor shall it fail me now. 
 Angelic gratulations rend the skies. 
 Pride falls unpitied, never more to rise, 
 Humility is crown'd, and Faith receives the prize. 
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 Tantane, tain patiens, nullo certamine tolli 
 Dona sines l—Virg. 
 
 Why weeps the muse for England ? What appears 
 In England's case, to move the muse to tears ? 
 From side to side of her delightful isle 
 Is she not clothed with a perpetual smile?
 
 . EXPOSTULATION. I'.i 
 
 Can Nature add a charm, or Art confer 
 A new-found luxury not seen in her ? 
 Where under heaven is pleasure more pursued. 
 Or where does cold reflection less intrude ' 
 Her fields a rich expanse of wavy corn, 
 Pour'd out from Plenty's overflowing horn : 
 Ambrosial gardens, in which art supplies 
 The fervour and the force of Indian skies ; 
 Her peaceful shores, where busy Commerce waits 
 To pour his golden tide through all her gates ; 
 Whom fiery suns, that scorch the russet spice 
 Of eastern groves, and oceans floor'd with ice. 
 Forbid in vain to push his daring way 
 To darker climes, or cliines of brigfiter day ; 
 Whom the winds waft where'er the billows roll. 
 From the world's girdle to the frozen pole; 
 The chariots bounding in her wheel-worn streets. 
 Her vaults below, where every vintage meets ; 
 Her theatres, her re\ els, and her sports ; 
 The scenes to which not youth alone resorts. 
 But age, in spite of weakness and of pain. 
 Still haunts, in hope to dream of youth again ; 
 All speak her happy : let the muse look round 
 From east to west, no sorrow can be found : 
 Or only what, in cottages confined. 
 Sighs unregarded to the passing wind. 
 Then wherefore weep for England ? What appears 
 In England's case, to move the muse to tears ? 
 The proi)het wept for Israel ; wish'd his eyes 
 Were fountains fed with infinite supplies : 
 For Israel dealt in robbery and wrong; 
 There were the scorner'sand the slanderer's tongue ; 
 Oaths, used as playthings or convenient tools, 
 As interest biass'd knaves, or fashion fools ; 
 Adultery, neighing at his neighbour's door ; 
 Oppression, labouring hard to grind the poor ; 
 The partial balance, and deceitful weight ; 
 The treacherous smile, a mask for secret hate ; 
 Hypocrisy, formality in prayer. 
 And the dull service of the lip were there. 
 Her women, insolent and self-caress'd, 
 By vanity's unwearied finger dress'd, 
 D
 
 74 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 Forgot the blush, that virgin fears impart 
 
 To modest cheeks, and borrow'd one from art ; 
 
 Were just such trifles, without worth or use. 
 
 As silly pride and idleness produce ; 
 
 Curi'd, scented, furbelow'd, and flounced around, 
 
 "With feet too delicate to touch the ground, 
 
 They strelch'd the neck, and roU'd the wanton eye, 
 
 And sigh'd for every fool that flutter'd by. 
 
 He saw his people slaves to every lust. 
 Lewd, avaricious, arrogant, unjust ; 
 He heard the wheels of an avenging God 
 Groan heavily along the distant road ; 
 Saw Babylon set wide her two-leaved brass 
 To let the military deluge pass ; 
 Jerusalem a prey, her glory soil'd. 
 Her princes captive, and her treasures spoiled; 
 Wept till all Israel heard his bitter cry, 
 Stamp'd with his foot, and smote upon his thigh : 
 But wept, and stamp'd, and smote his thigh in vain; 
 Pleasure is deaf when told of future pain. 
 And sounds prophetic are too rough to suit 
 Ears long accustom'd to the pleasing lute ; 
 They scom'd his inspiration and his theme, 
 Pronounced him frantic, and his fears a dream ; 
 With self-indulgence wing'd the fleeting hours. 
 Till the foe found them, and down fell the towers. 
 
 Long time Assyria bound them in her chain. 
 Till penitence had purg'd the public stain. 
 And Cyrus, with relenting pity moved, 
 Return'd them happy to the land they lov'd ; 
 There, proof against prosperity, awhile 
 They stood the test of her ensnaring smile. 
 And had the grace in scenes of peace to shew 
 The virtue they had learn'd in scenes of woe. 
 But man is frail, and can but ill sustain 
 A long immunity from grief and pain ; 
 And after all the joys that Plenty leads. 
 With tiptoe step Vice silently succeeds. 
 
 When he that ruled them with a shepherd's rod. 
 In form a man, in dignity a God, 
 Came, not expected in that humble gtxise. 
 To sift and search them with unerring eyes,
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 75 
 
 He found, conceal'd beneath a fair outside,. 
 The filth of rottenness, and worm of pride ; 
 Their piety a system of deceit. 
 Scripture employ'd to sanctify the cheat; 
 The Pharisee the dupe of his own art. 
 Self-idolized, and yet a knave at heart. 
 
 When nations are to perish in their sins, 
 'Tis in the church the leprosy begins ; 
 The priest, whose office is with zeal sincere 
 To watch the fountain, and preserve it clear, 
 Carelessly nods and sleeps upon the brink. 
 While others poison what the flock must drink ; 
 Or, waking at the call of lust alone. 
 Infuses lies and errors of his own ; 
 His unsuspecting sheep believe it pure; 
 And, tainted by the very means of cure. 
 Catch from each other a contagious spot. 
 The foul fore-runner of a general rot. 
 Then Truth is hush'd, that Heresy may preach; 
 And all is trash, that Reason cannot reach : 
 Then God's own image on the soul impress'd 
 Becomes a mockery, and a standing jest ; 
 And faith, the root whence only can arise 
 The graces of a life that wins the skies. 
 Loses at once all value and esteem, 
 Pronounced by graybeards a pernicious dream : 
 Then Ceremony leads her bigots forth, 
 Prepar'd to fight for shadows of no worth ; 
 While truths, on which eternal things depend, 
 Find not, or hardly find, a single friend : 
 As soldiers watch the signal of command, 
 They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand ; 
 Happy to fill religion's vacant place, 
 With hollow form, and gesture, and grimace. 
 
 Such, when the teacher of his church was tiiere. 
 People and priest, the sons of Israel were; 
 Stiff in the letter, lax in the design 
 And import, of their oracles divine; 
 Their learning legendary, false, absurd. 
 And yet exalted above God's own word ; 
 They drew a curse from an intended good, 
 Puff'd up with gifts they never understood.
 
 76 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 He judged them with as terrible a frown. 
 
 As if not love, but wrath, had brought him down : 
 
 Vet he was gentle as soft summer airs. 
 
 Had grace for others' sins, but not for theirs ; 
 
 Through all he spoke a noble plainness ran — 
 
 Rhetoric is artifice, the work of man ; 
 
 And tricks and turns, that fancy may devise. 
 
 Are far too mean for Him that rules the skies. 
 
 The astonish'd vulgar trembled when he tore 
 
 The mask from faces never seen before ; 
 
 He stripp'd the impostors in the noon-day sun, 
 
 Shew"d that they follow'd all they seem'd to shun ; 
 
 Their prayers made public, their excesses kept 
 
 As private as the chambers where they slept; 
 
 The temple and its holy rites profaned 
 
 By mummeries, he that dwelt in it disdain'd ; 
 
 Uplifted hands, that at convenient times 
 
 Could act extortion and the worst of crimes, 
 
 AVash'd with a neatness scrupulously nice, 
 
 And free from every taint but that of vice. 
 
 Judgment, however tardy, mends her pace 
 
 When Obstinacy once has conquer'd Grace. 
 
 They saw distemper heal'd, and life restored. 
 
 In answer to the fiat of his word ; 
 
 Confess' d the wonder, and with daring tongue 
 
 Blasphemed the authority from which it sprung. 
 
 They knew by sure prognostics seen on high. 
 
 The future tone and temper of the sky ; 
 
 But, grave dissemblers I could not understand 
 
 That Sin let loose speaks Punishment at hand. 
 
 Ask now of history's authentic page. 
 And call up evidence from every age; 
 Display with busy and laborious hand 
 The blessings of the most indebted land ; 
 What nation will you find, whose annals prove 
 So rich an interest in Almighty love ? 
 Where dwell they now, where dwelt in ancient day 
 A people planted, water'd, bless'd as they ? 
 Let Egv-pt's plagues and Canaan's woes proclaim 
 The favours pour'd upon the Jewish name ; 
 Their freedom purchased for them at the cost 
 Of all their hard oppressors valued most ;
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 Their title to a country not their own 
 Made sure by prodigies till then unknown ; 
 For them the states they left, made waste and void ; 
 For them the states to which they went, destroy'd ; 
 A cloud to measure out their march by day. 
 By night a fire to cheer the gloomy way ; 
 That moving signal summoning, when best. 
 Their host to move, and when it stay'd to rest. 
 For them the rocks dissolved into a flood ; 
 The dews condensed into angelic food. 
 Their very garments sacred, old yet new, 
 And Time forbid to touch them as he flew ; 
 Streams, swell'd above the bank, enjoin'd to stand. 
 While they pass'd through to their appointed land ; 
 Their leader arm'd with meekness, zeal, and love, 
 And graced with clear credentials from above ; 
 Themselves secured beneath the Almighty wing ! 
 Their God, their captain,* lawgiver, and king; 
 Crown'd with a thousand victories, and at last 
 Lords of the conquer'd soil — there rooted fast ; 
 In peace possessing what they won by war. 
 Their name far published, and levered as far ; 
 Where will you find a race like theirs, endow'd 
 With all that man e'er wish'd, or Heaven bestow'd ? 
 
 They, and they only, amongst all mankind. 
 Received the transcript of the Eternal Mind ; 
 Were trusted with his own engraven laws. 
 And constituted guardians of his cause ; 
 Theirs were the prophets, theirs the priestly call. 
 And theirs by birth the Saviour of us all. 
 In vain the nations, that had seen them rise 
 With fierce and envious, yet admiring, eyes. 
 Had sought to crush them, guarded as they were 
 By power divine, and skill that could not err, 
 Had they maintain'd allegiance firm and sure, 
 And kept the faith immaculate and pure. 
 Then the proud eagles of all-conquering Rome 
 Had found one city not to be o'ercome ; 
 And the twelve standards of the tribes unfurl'd 
 Had bid defiance to the warring world. 
 
 * Vide Joshua, v. 14.
 
 78 EXPOSTULATIOX. 
 
 But grace abused brings forth the foulest deeds. 
 As richest soil the most luxuriant weeds. 
 Cured of the golden calves, their fathers' sin. 
 They set up self, that idol god within ; 
 View'd a Deliv'rer with disdain and hate, 
 Who left them still a tributary state ; 
 Seized fast his hand, held out to set them free 
 From a worse yoke, and nail'd it to the tree ; 
 There was the consummation and the crown. 
 The flower of Israel's infamy full blown ; 
 Thence date their sad declension and their fall. 
 Their woes not yet repeal'd, thence date them all. 
 
 Thus fell the best instructed in her day. 
 And the most favour'd land, look where we may. 
 Philosophy indeed on Grecian eyes 
 Had pour'd the day, and clear'd the Roman skies ; 
 In other climes perhaps creative Art, 
 With power surpassing theirs, perform'd her part. 
 Might give more life to marble, or might fill 
 The glowing tablets with a juster skill. 
 Might shine in fable, and grace idle themes 
 With all th' embroidery of poetic dreams ; 
 'Twas theirs alone to dive into the plan 
 That Truth and Mercy had reveal'd to man ; 
 And -rs hile the world beside, that plan unknown, 
 Deified useless wood, or senseless stone. 
 They breathed in faith their well-directed prayers. 
 And the true God, the God of truth, was theirs. 
 
 Their glory faded, and their race dispersed. 
 The last of nations now, though once the first ; 
 They warn and teach the proudest, would they learn. 
 Keep wisdom or meet vengeance in your turn 
 If we escaped not, if Heaven spared not us, 
 Peel'd, scatter'd, and exterminated thus: 
 If Vice received her retribution due. 
 When we were visited, what hope for you ; 
 When God arises, with an a'wful frown. 
 To punish lust, or pluck presumption down ; 
 When gifts perverted, or not duly prized. 
 Pleasure o'ervalued, and his grace despised. 
 Provoke the vengeance of his righteous hand. 
 To pour down wrath upon a thankless land ;
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 79 
 
 He will be found impartially severe, 
 
 Too just to wink, or speak the guilty clear. 
 Oh, Israel, of all nations most undone I 
 
 Thy diadem displaced, thy sceptre gone ; 
 
 Thy temple, once thy glory, fallen and razed. 
 
 And thou a worshipper e'en where thou may'st ; 
 
 Thy services, once holy, without spot. 
 
 Mere shadows now, their ancient pomp forgot ; 
 
 Thy Levites, once a consecrated host, 
 
 No longer Levites, and their lineage lost. 
 
 And thou thyself, o'er every country sown. 
 
 With none on earth that thou canst call thine own ; 
 
 Cry aloud, thou that sittest in the dust. 
 
 Cry to the proud, the cruel, and unjust ; 
 
 Knock at the gates of nations, rouse their fears ; 
 
 Say wrath is coming, and the storm appears ; 
 
 But raise the shrillest cry in British ears. 
 
 What ails thee, restless as the waves that roar. 
 And fling their foam against thy chalky shore? 
 Mistress, at least while Providence shall please. 
 And trident-bearing queen of the wide seas — 
 Why, having kept good faith, and often shewn 
 Friendship and truth to others, find'st thou none ? 
 Thou that hast set the persecuted free. 
 None interposes now to succour thee. 
 Countries indebted to thy power, that shine 
 With light derived from thee, would smother thine : 
 Thy very children watch for thy disgrace— 
 A lawless brood, and curse thee to thy face. 
 Thy rulers load thy credit, year by year, 
 With sums Peruvian mines could never clear ; 
 As if, like arches built with skilful hand. 
 The more 'twere pressed the firmer it would stand. 
 
 The cry in all thy ships is still the same. 
 Speed us away to battle and to tame. 
 Thy mariners explore the wide expanse, 
 Impatient to descry the flags of France; 
 But, though they fight as thine have ever fought, 
 Return ashamed without the wreaths they sought. 
 Thy senate is a scene of civil jar, 
 Chaos of contrarieties at war;
 
 so EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 ^\■here sharp and solid, phlegmatic and light. 
 
 Discordant atoms meet, ferment, and fight ; 
 
 Where Obstinacy takes his sturdy stand. 
 
 To disconcert what Policy has plann'd ; 
 
 Where Policy is busied all night long 
 
 In setting right what Faction has set wrong 
 
 Where flails of oratory thrash the floor. 
 
 That yields them chaff and dust, and nothing more. 
 
 Thy rack'd inhabitants repine, complain, 
 
 Tax'd till the brow of Labour sweats in vain ; 
 
 War lays a burden on the reeling state. 
 
 And peace does nothing to relieve the weight : 
 
 Successive loads succeeding broils impose. 
 
 And sighing millions prophesy the close. 
 
 Is adverse Providence, when ponder'd well. 
 So dimly writ, or difficult to spell? 
 Thou canst not read with readiness and ease 
 Providence adverse in events like these. 
 Know then that heavenly wisdom on this ball 
 Creates, gives birth to, guides, consummates all ; 
 That, while laborious and quick-thoughted man 
 SnufiFs up the praise of what he seems to plan. 
 He first conceives, then perfects his design. 
 As a mere instrument in hands divine: 
 Bhnd to the working of that secret power. 
 That balances the wings of every hour. 
 The busy trifler dreams himself alone. 
 Frames many a purpose, and God works his own. 
 States thrive and wither as moons wax and wane. 
 E'en as his will and his decrees ordain ; 
 While honour, virtue, piety, bear sway. 
 They flourish ; and, as these decline, decay : 
 In just resentment of his injured laws. 
 He pours contempt on them and on their cause; 
 Strikes the rough thread of error right athwart 
 The web of every scheme they have at heart ; 
 Bids rottenness invade and bring to dust 
 The pillars of support, in which they trust. 
 And do his errand of disgrace and shame 
 On the chief strength and glory of the frame. 
 Xone ever yet impeded what he wrought. 
 None bars him out from his most secret thought :
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 81 
 
 Darkness itself before his eye is light. 
 And hell's close mischief naked in his sight. 
 
 Stand now and judge thyself— Hast thou incurr'rt 
 His anger, who can waste thee with a word. 
 Who poises and proportions sea and land. 
 Weighing them in the hollow of his hand. 
 And in whose awful sight all nations seem 
 As grasshoppers, as dust, a drop, a dream ? 
 Hast thou (a sacrilege his soul abhors) 
 Claim'd all the glory of thy prosperous wars ? 
 Proud of thy fleets and armies, stolen the gem 
 Of his just praise, to lavish it on them ? 
 Hast thou not learn'd, what thou art often told, 
 A truth still sacred, and believed of old, 
 That no success attends on spears and swords 
 Unbless'd, and that the battle is the Lord's ? 
 That courage is his creature ; and dismay 
 The post, that at his bidding speeds away. 
 Ghastly in feature, and his stammering tongue 
 With doleful humour and sad presage hung. 
 To quell the valour of the stoutest heart. 
 And teach the combatant a woman's part ? 
 That he bids thousands fly when none pursue, 
 Saves as he will by many or by few. 
 And claims for ever, as his royal right, ^ 
 
 The event and sure decision of the fight > 
 
 Hast thou, though suckled at fair Freedom's breast, 
 Exported slavery to the conquer'd east? 
 PuU'd down the tyrants India served with dread, 
 And raised thyself a greater, in their stead? 
 Gone thither arm'd and hungry, return'd full. 
 Fed from the richest veins of the Mogul, 
 A despot big with power obtained by wealth, 
 And that obtain'd by rapine and by stealth ? 
 With Asiatic vices stored thy mind, 
 But left their virtues and thine own behind ? 
 And, having truck'd thy soul, brought home the fee. 
 To tempt the poor to sell himself to thee ? 
 
 Hast thou by statute shoved from its design 
 The Saviour's feast, his own bless'd bread and wine. 
 And made the symbols of atoning grace 
 An office-key, a picklock to a place, 
 D 2
 
 82 EXPOSTULATION'. 
 
 That infidels may prove their title good 
 
 By an oath dipp'd in sacramental blood ? 
 
 A blot that will be still a blot, in spite 
 
 Of all that grave apologists may write ; 
 
 And though a bishop toil to cleanse the stain, 
 
 He wipes and scours the silver cup in vain. 
 
 And hast thou sworn on every slight pretence. 
 
 Till perjuries are common as bad pence. 
 
 While thousands, careless of the damning sin. 
 
 Kiss the books outside, who ne'er look'd within ? 
 
 Hast thou, when Heaven has clothed thee with disgrace. 
 And long provoked, repaid thee to thy face 
 (For thou hast kno\vn eclipses, and endured 
 Dimness and anguish, all thy beams obscured, 
 When sin has shed dishonour on thy brow ; 
 And never of a sabler hue than now). 
 Hast thou, with heart perverse and conscience sear'd, 
 Despising all rebuke, still persevered, 
 And having chosen evil, scorn'd the voice 
 That cried. Repent !— and gloried in thy choice ? 
 Thy fastings, when calamity at last 
 Suggest the expedient of a yearly fast. 
 What mean they ? Canst thou dream there is a power 
 In lighter diet at a later hour. 
 To charm to sleep the threatening of the skies. 
 And hide past folly from all-seeing eyes ? 
 The fast, that wins deliverance, and suspends 
 The stroke, that a vindictive God intends. 
 Is to renounce hypocrisy ; to draw 
 Thy life upon the pattern of the law ! 
 To war with pleasure, idolized before; 
 To vanquish lust, and wear its yoke no more. 
 All fasting else, whate'er be the pretence. 
 Is wooing mercy by renew'd ofi'ence. 
 
 Hast thou within the sin, that in old time 
 Brought fire from heaven, the sex-abusing crime. 
 Whose horrid perpetration stamps disgrace, 
 Baboons are free from, upon human race? 
 Think on the fruitful and well-water'd spot. 
 That fed the flocks and herds of wealthy Lot, 
 Where Paradise seem'd still vouchsafed on earth, 
 Burning and scorch'd into perpetual dearth.
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 Or, in his words who damn'd the base desire, 
 
 Suffering the vengeance of eternal fire : 
 
 Then Nature injured, scandalized, defiled, 
 
 Unveil'd her blushing cheek, looked on, and smiled; 
 
 Beheld with joy the lovely scene defaced. 
 
 And praised the wrath that laid her beauties waste. 
 
 Far be the thought from any verse of mine, 
 And farther still the form'd and fix'd design, 
 To thrust the charge of deeds that I detest. 
 Against an innocent, unconscious breast : 
 The man that dares traduce, because he can 
 With safety to himself, is not a man : 
 An individual is a sacred mark. 
 Not to be pierced in play, or in the dark ; 
 But public censure speaks a public foe. 
 Unless a zeal for virtue guides the blow. 
 
 The priestly brotherhood, devout, sincere. 
 From mean self-interest and ambition clear. 
 Their hope in Heaven, servility their scorn. 
 Prompt to persuade, expostulate, and warn. 
 Their wisdom pure, and given them from above. 
 Their usefulness ensured by zeal and love. 
 As meek as the man Moses, and withal 
 As bold as in Agrippa's presence Paul, 
 Should fly the world's contaminating touch. 
 Holy and unpolluted:— are thine such ? 
 Except a few, with Eli's spirit bless'd, 
 Hophni and Phineas may describe the rest. 
 
 Where shall a teacher look, in days like these. 
 For ears and hearts, that he can hope to please ? 
 Look to the poor — the simple and the plain 
 Will hear perhaps thy salutary strain : 
 Humihtyis gentle, apt to learn. 
 Speak but the word, will listen and return. 
 Alas ! not so : the poorest of the flock 
 Are proud, and set their faces as a rock ; 
 Denied that earthly opulence they choose, 
 God's better gift they scoff at and refuse. 
 The rich, the produce of a nobler stem. 
 Are more intelligent at least— try them. 
 Oh vain inquiry ! they without remorse 
 Are altogether gone a devious course ;
 
 S4 EXPOSTULATIOX. 
 
 When beckoniiig Pleasure leads them, wildly stray ; 
 Have burst the bands, and cast the yoke away. 
 Now borne upon the wings of truth sublime, 
 Re%iew thy dim original and prime. 
 This island, spot of unreclaim'd rude earth. 
 The cradle, that received thee at thy birth. 
 Was rock'd by many a rough Xorwegian blast. 
 And Danish howlings scared thee as they pass'd ; 
 For thou wast born amid the din of arms. 
 And suck'd a breast that panted with alarms. 
 While yet thou wast a grovelling puling chit. 
 Thy bones not fashlon'd, and thy joints not knit. 
 The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow. 
 Though twice a Csesar could not bend thee now. 
 His victory was that of orient light. 
 When the sun's shafts disperse the gloom of night. 
 Thy language at this distant moment shows 
 How much the countrs' to the conqueror owes ; 
 Expressive, energetic, and refined. 
 It sparkles with the gems he left behind : 
 He brought thy land a blessing when he came ; 
 He found thee savage, and he left thee tame; 
 Taught thee to clothe thy pink'd and painted hide. 
 And grace thy figure with a soldier's pride ; 
 H e sow'd the seeds of order where he went, 
 Improved thee far beyond his own intent ; 
 And, while he rul'd thee by the sword alone. 
 Made thee at last a warrior like his own. 
 Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, 
 N'eeds only to be seen to be admired; 
 But thine, as dark as witcheries of the night, 
 Was form'd to harden hearts and shock the sight : 
 Thy Druids struck the well-hung harps they bore 
 With fingers deeply dyed in human gore ;_ 
 And while the victim slowly bled to death. 
 Upon the rolling chords rung out his dying breath. 
 
 Who brought the lamp, that with awaking beams 
 Dispeird thy gloom, and broke away thy dreams. 
 Tradition, now decrepit and worn out. 
 Babbler of ancient fables, leaves a doubt : 
 But still hght reach'd thee; and those gods of thine, 
 Woden and Thor, each tottering in his shrine,
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 85 
 
 Fell broken and defaced at his own door. 
 
 As Dagon in Philistia long before. 
 
 But Rome, with sorceries and magic wand. 
 
 Soon rais'd a cloud that darken'd every land ; 
 
 And thine was sraother'd m the stench and fog 
 
 Of Tiber's marshes and the papal bog. 
 
 Then priests, with bulls, and briefs, and shaven crowns. 
 
 And griping fists, and unrelenting frowns. 
 
 Legates and delegates, with powers from hell, 
 
 Though heavenly in pretension, fleeced thee well ; 
 
 And to this hour, to keep it fresh in mind. 
 
 Some twigs of that old scourge are left behind.* 
 
 Thy soldiery, the Pope's well-managed pack. 
 
 Were train'd beneath his lash, and knew the smack; 
 
 And when he laid them on the scent of blood. 
 
 Would hunt a Saracen through fire and flood. 
 
 Lavish of life, to win an empty tomb. 
 
 That proved a mint of wealth, a mine to Rome, 
 
 They left their bones beneath unfriendly skies. 
 
 His worthless absolution all the prize. 
 
 Thou wast the veriest slave in days of yore. 
 
 That ever dragg'd a chain, or tugg'd an oar; 
 
 Thy monarchs arbitrary, fierce, unjust. 
 
 Themselves the slaves of bigotry or lust, 
 
 Disdain'd thy counsels, only in distress 
 
 Found thee a goodly sponge for power to press. 
 
 Thy chiefs, the lords of many a petty fee, 
 
 Provok'd and harass'd, in return plagued thee; 
 
 Call'd thee away from peaceable employ. 
 
 Domestic happiness and rural joy. 
 
 To wastp thy life in arms, or lay it down 
 
 In causeless feud and bickerings of their own. 
 
 Thy parliaments adored on bended knees 
 
 The sovereignty they were convened to please; 
 
 Whate'er was asked, too timid to resist. 
 
 Complied with, and were graciously disniiss'd ! 
 
 And if some Spartan soul a doubt exprcss'd, 
 
 And, blushing at the tameness of the rest, 
 
 Dared to suppose the subject had a choice. 
 
 He was a traitor by the general voice. 
 
 ♦ Wliich may be found at Djctors' Commons.
 
 86 EXPOSTULATION. 
 
 Oh slave ! with powers thou didst not dare exert, 
 
 Verse cannot stoop so low as thy desert ; 
 
 It shakes the sides of splenetic Disdain, 
 
 Thou self-entitled ruler of the main. 
 
 To trace thee to the date when yon fair sea. 
 
 That clips thy shores, had no such charms for thee; 
 
 When other nations flew from coast to coast. 
 
 And thou hadst neither fleet nor flag to boast. 
 
 Kneel now, and lay thy forehead in the dust ; 
 
 Blush, if thou canst; not petrified, thou must: 
 
 Act but an honest and a faithful part ; 
 
 Compare what then thou wast with what thou art ; 
 
 And God's disposing providence confess'd. 
 
 Obduracy itself must yield the rest — 
 
 Then thou art bound to serve him, and to prove. 
 
 Hour after hour, thy gratitude and love. 
 
 Has he not hid thee, and thy favour'd land. 
 For ages safe beneath his sheltering hand. 
 Given thee his blessing on the clearest proof. 
 Bid nations leagued against thee stand aloof, 
 And charged Hostility and Hate to roar 
 Where else they would, but not upon thy shore ? 
 His power secured thee, when presumptuous Spain 
 Baptized her fleet invincible in vain. 
 Her gloomy monarch, doubtful and resign'd 
 To every pang that racks an anxious mind, 
 Ask'd of the waves, that broke upon his coast. 
 What tidings ? and the surge replied— All lost ! 
 And when the Stuart, leaning on the Scot, 
 Then too much fear'd, and now too much forgot, 
 Pierced to the very centre of the realm. 
 And hoped to seize his abdicated helm, 
 'Twas but to prove how quickly with a frown 
 He that had raised thee could have pluck'd thee down. 
 Peculiar is the grace by thee possess'd. 
 Thy foes implacable, thy land at rest ; 
 Thy thunders travel over earth and seas. 
 And all at home is pleasure, wealth, and ease. 
 'Tis thus, extending his tempestuous arm. 
 Thy Maker fills the nations with alarm. 
 While his own heaven surveys the troubled scene, 
 And feels no change, unshaken and serene.
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 87 
 
 Freedom, in other lands scarce known to shine. 
 Pours out a flood of splendour upon thine; 
 Thou hast as bright an interest in her rays 
 As ever Roman had in Rome's best days. 
 True freedom is where no restraint is known, 
 That Scripture, justice, and good sense disown, 
 Where only vice and injury are tied. 
 And all from shore to shore is free beside. 
 Such freedom is — and Windsor's hoary towers 
 Stood trembling at the boldness of thy powers. 
 That won a nymph on that immortal plain 
 Like her the fabled Phoebus woo'd in vain : 
 He found the laurel only — happier you 
 The unfading laurel, and the virgin too !* 
 
 Now think, if Pleasure have a thought to spare ; 
 If God himself be not beneath her care ; 
 If Business, constant as the wheels of time. 
 Can pause an hour to read a serious rhyme; 
 If the new mail thy merchants now receive. 
 Or expectation of the next, give leave ; 
 Oh think ! if chargeable with deep arrears 
 For such indulgence gilding all thy years. 
 How much, though long neglected, shining yet. 
 The beams of heav'nly truth haveswell'd the debt. 
 When persecuting zeal made royal sport 
 With tortured innocence in Mary's court. 
 And Bonner, blithe as shepherd at a wake. 
 Enjoyed the show and danced about the stake; 
 The sacred Book, its value understood. 
 Received the seal of martyrdom in blood. 
 Those holy men, so full of truth and grace. 
 Seem to reflection of a different race; 
 Meek, modest, venerable, wise, sincere. 
 In such a cause they could not dare to fear ; 
 They could not purchase earth with such a prize, 
 Or spare a life too short to reach the skies. 
 From them to thee convey'd along the tide. 
 Their streaming hearts pour'd freely when they died ; 
 Those truths, which neither use nor years impair. 
 Invite thee, woo thee, to the bliss they share. 
 
 * Alluding to the grant of Magna Charta, which was extorted 
 from King John, by tne barons at Runnymtde, near Windsor.
 
 88 EXPOSTUL,\TIOX. 
 
 What dotage will not vanity maintain ? 
 
 What web too weak to catch a modern brain ? 
 
 The moles and bats in full assembly find. 
 
 On special search, the keen-eyed eagle blind. 
 
 And did they dream, and art thou wiser now ? 
 
 Prove it — if better, I submit, and bow. 
 
 Wisdom and goodness are twin-bom, one heart 
 
 Must hold both sisters, never seen apart. 
 
 So then — as darkness overspread the deep. 
 
 Ere Xature rose from her eternal sleep. 
 
 And this delightful earth, and that fair sky, 
 
 Leap'd out of nothing, call'd by the Most High : 
 
 By such a change thy darkness is made light, 
 
 Thy chaos order, and thy weakness might; 
 
 And He, whose power mere nullity obeys. 
 
 Who found thee nothing, form'd thee for his praise 
 
 To praise him is to serve him, and fulfil, 
 
 Doing and suffering his unquestion'd will ; 
 
 'Tis to believe what men inspired of old. 
 
 Faithful, and faithfully inform'd, unfold; 
 
 Candid and just, with no false aim in view. 
 
 To take for truth what cannot but be true ; 
 
 To learn in God's own school the Christian part. 
 
 And bind the task assign'd thee to thine heart : 
 
 Happy the man there seeking and there found, 
 
 Happy the nation where such men abound. 
 
 How shall a verse impress thee ? by what name 
 Shall I adjure thee not to court thy shame ? 
 By theirs, whose bright example unimpeach'd 
 Directs thee to that eminence they reach'd. 
 Heroes and worthies of days past, thy sires ? 
 Or his, who touch'd their hearts with hallow'd fires? 
 Their names, alas ! in vain reproach an age. 
 Whom all the vanites they scorn'd engage ! 
 And His, that seraphs tremble at, is hung 
 Disgracefully on every trifler's tongue. 
 Or serves the champion in forensic war 
 To flourish and parade with at the bar. 
 Pleasure herself perhaps suggests a plea. 
 If interest move thee, to persuade e'en thee ; 
 By every charm that smiles upon her face, 
 By joys possess'd, and joys still held in chase,
 
 EXPOSTULATION. 89 
 
 If dear society be worth a thought. 
 And if the feast of freedom cloy thee not. 
 Reflect that these, and all that seems thine own, 
 Held by the tenure of his will alone. 
 Like angels in the service of their Lord, 
 Remain with thee, or leave thee at his word ; 
 That gratitude and temperance in our use 
 Of what he gives, unsparing and profuse. 
 Secure the favour and enhance the joy, 
 That thankless waste and wild abuse destroy. 
 But above all, reflect, how cheap soe'er 
 Those rights, that millions envy thee, appear. 
 And, though resolved to risk them, and swim down 
 The tide of pleasure, heedless of His frown. 
 That blessings truly sacred, and when given, 
 Mark'd with the signature and stamp of Heaven, 
 The word of prophecy, those truths divine, 
 Which make that heaven, if thou desire it, thine 
 (Awful alternative! believed, beloved, — 
 Thy glory and thy shame if unimproved). 
 Are never long vouchsafed, if push'd aside 
 With cold disgust or philosophic pride • 
 And that, judicially withdrawn, disgrace, 
 Error, and darkness, occupy their place. 
 
 A world is up in arms, and thou, a spot 
 Not quickly found, if negligently sought. 
 Thy soul as ample as thy bounds are small, 
 Endur'st the brunt, and darest defy them all : 
 And wilt thou join to this bold enterprise 
 A bolder still, a contest with the skies ? 
 Remember, if He guard thee, and secure. 
 Whoe'er assails thee, thy success is sure ; 
 But if He leave thee, though the skill and power 
 Of nations sworn to spoil thee and devour. 
 Were all collected in thy single arm. 
 And thou couldst laugh away the fear of harm. 
 That strength would fail, opposed against the push 
 And feeble onset of a pigmy rush. 
 
 Say not (and if the thought of such defence 
 Should spring within thy bosom, drive it thence) 
 What nation amongst all my foes is free 
 From crimes as base as any charged on me ?
 
 90 HOPE, 
 
 Their measure fill'd, they too shall pay the debt, 
 Which God, though long forborne, will not forget. 
 But kno'.v that wrath divine, when most severe. 
 Makes justice still the guide of his career. 
 And wiU not punish, in one mingled crowd. 
 Them without light , and thee without a cloud. 
 
 Muse, hang this harp upon yon aged beech. 
 Still murmuring with the solemn truths I teach ; 
 And while at intervals a cold blast sings 
 Through the dry leaves, and pants upon the strings ; 
 My soul shall sigh in secret, and lament 
 A nation scourged, yet tardy to repent. 
 I know the warning song is sung in vain ; 
 That few will hear, and fewer heed the strain ; 
 But if a sweeter voice, and one design'd 
 A blessing to my country and mankind. 
 Reclaim the wandering thousands, and bring home 
 A flock so scatter'd and so wont to roam. 
 Then place it once again between my knees ; 
 The sound of truth wiU then be sure to please : 
 And truth alone, where'er my life be cast. 
 In scenes of plenty, or the pining waste. 
 Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 , doceasiter, et sacra otia pandas.— Fi><7. ^n. 6. 
 
 Ask what is human life — the sage replies. 
 With disappointment lowering in his eyes, 
 A painful passage o'er a restless flood, 
 A vain pursuit of fugitive false good, 
 A scene of fancied bUss and heart-felt care. 
 Closing at last in darkness and despair. 
 The poor, inured to drudgery and distress. 
 Act without aim, think little, and feel less. 
 And nowhere, but in feigned Arcadian scenes. 
 Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means.
 
 HOPE. 91 
 
 Riches are passed away from hand to hand, 
 
 As fortune, vice, or folly may command; 
 
 As in a dance the pair that take the lead 
 
 Turn downward, and the lowest pair succeed. 
 
 So shifting and so various is the plan. 
 
 By which Heaven rules the mix'd affairs of man ; 
 
 Vicissitude wheels round the motley crowd. 
 
 The rich grow poor, the poor become purse-proud : 
 
 Business is labour, and man's weakness such. 
 
 Pleasure is labour too, and tires as much ; 
 
 The very sense of it foregoes its use. 
 
 By repetition pall'd, by age obtuse. 
 
 Youth lost in dissipation we deplore. 
 
 Through life's sad remnant, what no sighs restore ; 
 
 Our years, a fruitless race without a prize. 
 
 Too many, yet too few to make us wise. 
 
 Dangling his cane about, and taking snuff, 
 Lothario cries. What philosophic stuff— 
 O querulous and weak ! — whose useless brain 
 Once thought of nothing, and now thinks in vain ; 
 Whose eye reverted weeps o'er all the past. 
 Whose prospect shews thee a disheartening waste ; 
 Would age in thee resign his wintry reign, 
 And youth invigorate that frame again, 
 Renew'd desire would grace with other speech 
 Joys always prized, when placed within our reach. 
 
 For lift thy palsied head, shake off the gloom 
 That overhangs the borders of thy tomb. 
 See Nature gay, as when she first began 
 With smiles alluring her admirer man ; 
 She spreads the morning over eastern hills, 
 Earth glitters with the drops the night distils ; 
 The sun obedient at her call appears. 
 To fling his glories o'er the robe she wears : [sounds. 
 Banks clothed with flowers, groves filled with sprightly 
 Thy yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, risinggrounds, 
 Streams edged with osiers, fattening every field, 
 Where'er they flow, now seen and now conceal'd ; 
 From the blue rim, where skies and mountains meet, 
 Down to the very turf beneath thy feet. 
 Ten thousand charms that only fools despise, 
 Or Pride can look at with indifferent eyes.
 
 92 HOPE. 
 
 All speak one language, all with one sweet voice 
 
 Cry to her universal realm. Rejoice 1 
 
 Man feels the spur of passions and desires, 
 
 And she gives largely more than he requires; 
 
 Not that his hours devoted all to Care, 
 
 Hollow-eyed Abstinence and lean Despair, 
 
 The \vretch may pine, while to his smeU, taste, sight. 
 
 She holds a paradise of rich delight ; 
 
 But gently to rebuke his awkward fear. 
 
 To prove that what she gives she gives sincere ; 
 
 To banish hesitation, and proclaim 
 
 His happiness, her dear, her only aim. 
 
 'Tis grave Philosophy's absurdest dream. 
 
 That Heaven's intentions are not what they seem, 
 
 That only shadows are dispensed below. 
 
 And earth has no reality but woe. 
 
 Thus things t-errestrial wear a dififerent hue. 
 As youth or age persuades ; and neither true. 
 So Flora's wreath through colour'd crystal seen. 
 The rose or Uly appears blue or green. 
 But stiU the imputed tints are those alone 
 The medium represents, and not their own. 
 
 To rise at noon, sit slipshod and undress'd. 
 To read the news, or fiddle, as seems best. 
 Till half the world comes rattling at his door. 
 To fill the duU vacuity till four ; 
 And, just when evening turns the blue vault giay. 
 To spend two hours in dressing for the day ; 
 To make the sun a bauble without use. 
 Save for the fruits his heavenly beams produce ; 
 Quite to forget, or deem it worth no thought. 
 Who bids him shine, or if he shine or not ; 
 Through mere necessity to close his eyes 
 Just when the larks and when the shepherds rise ; 
 Is such a life so tediously the same. 
 So void of all utility or aim. 
 That poor Jonquil with almost every breath. 
 Sighs for his exit, vulgarly call'd death : 
 For he, with all his follies, has a mind 
 Not yet so blank, or fashionably blind. 
 But now and then perhaps a feeble ray 
 Of distant wisdom shoots across his way.
 
 HOPE. 9:i 
 
 By which he reads, that life without a plan, 
 As useless as the moment it began. 
 Serves merely as a soil for discontent 
 To thrive in ; an encumbrance ere half spent. 
 Oh weariness beyond what asses feel, 
 That tread the circuit of the cistern wheel ; 
 A dull rotation never at a stay, 
 Yesterday's face twin image of to-day ; 
 While conversation an exhausted stock. 
 Goes drowsy as the clicking of a clock. 
 No need, he cries of gravity stuff' d out 
 With academic dignity devout. 
 To read wise lectures, vanity the text : 
 Proclaim the remedy, ye learned, next; 
 For truth self-evident, with pomp impress'd, 
 Is vanity surpassing all the rest. 
 
 That remedy, not hid in deeps profound, 
 Yet seldom sought where only to be found, 
 
 While passion turns aside from its due scope 
 
 The inquirer's aim, that rVmedy his hope. 
 
 Life is His gift, from whom whate'er life needs. 
 
 With every good and perfect gift, proceeds ; 
 
 Bestow'd on man, like all that we partake. 
 
 Royally, freely, for his bounty's sake : 
 
 Transient indeed as is the fleeting hour, 
 
 And yet the seed of an immortal flower; 
 
 Designed in honour of his endless love, 
 
 To fill with fragrance his abode above ; 
 
 No trifle, howsoever short it seem. 
 
 And, howsoever shadowy, no dream. 
 
 Its value, what no thought can ascertain, 
 
 Nor all an angel's eloquence explain ; 
 
 Men deal with life as children with their play. 
 
 Who first misuse, then cast their toys away : 
 
 Live to no sober purpose, and contend 
 
 That their Creator had no serious end. 
 
 When God and man stand opposite in view, 
 
 Man's disappointment must of course ensue. 
 
 The just Creator condescends to write, 
 
 In beams of inextinguishable light, 
 
 His names of wisdom, goodness, power, and love. 
 
 On all that blooms below or shines above ;
 
 94 HOPE, 
 
 To catch the wandering notice of mankind. 
 And teach the world if not perversely blind. 
 His gracious attributes, and prove the share 
 His offspring hold in his paternal care. 
 If, led from earthly things to things divine. 
 His creat-ures thwart not his august design. 
 Then praise is heard instead of reasoning pride, 
 And captious cavil and complaint subside. 
 Nature employ'd in her allotted place. 
 Is handmaid to the purposes of Grace ; 
 By good vouchsafed makes known superior good. 
 And bliss not seen by blessings understood : 
 That bliss reveal'd in Scripture, with a glow 
 Bright as the covenant-ensuring bow. 
 Fires all his feelings with a noble scorn 
 Of sensual evil, and thus Hope is bom. 
 
 Hope sets the stamp of vanity on all 
 That men have deem'd substiantial since the fall. 
 Yet has the wondrous virtue to educe 
 From emptiness itself a real use : 
 And while she takes, as at her father's hand. 
 What health and sober appetite demand, 
 From fading good derives, with chemic art. 
 That lasting happiness, a thankful heart. 
 Hope, with uplifted foot, set free from earth, 
 Pants for the place of her ethereal birth. 
 On steady wings sails through the immense abyss, 
 Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss. 
 And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner here, 
 With wreaths like those triumphant spirits wear. 
 Hope, as an anchor firm and sure, holds fast 
 The Christian vessel, and defies the blast. 
 Hope ! nothing else can nourish and secure 
 His new-born virtues, and preserve him pure. 
 Hope ! let the wretch, once conscious of the joy, 
 Whom now despairing agonies destroy. 
 Speak, for he can, and none so well as he. 
 What treasures centre, what delights in thee. 
 Had he the gems, the spices, and the land 
 That boasts the treasure, all at his command— 
 The fragrant grove, the inestimable mine. 
 Were light, when weigh'd against one smile of thine.
 
 HOPE. 95 
 
 Though clasp'd and cradled in his nurse's arms. 
 He shines with all a cherub's artless charrns, 
 Man is the genuine offspring of revolt. 
 Stubborn and sturdy, a wild ass's colt ; 
 His passions, like the watery stores that sleep 
 Beneath the smiling surface of the deep. 
 Wait but the lashes of a wintry storm, 
 To frown and roar, and shake his feeble form. 
 From infancy through childhood's giddy maze, 
 Froward at school and fretful in his plays. 
 The puny tyrant burns to subjugate 
 The free republic of the whip-gig state. 
 If one, his equal in athletic frame, 
 Or, more provoking still, of nobler name. 
 Dare step across his arbitary views. 
 An Iliad, only not in verse, ensues : 
 The little Greeks look trembling at the scales, 
 Till the best tongue, or heaviest hand prevails. 
 
 Now see him launch'd into the world at large ; 
 If priest, supinely droning o'er his charge. 
 Their fleece his pillow, and his weekly drawl, 
 Though short, too long, the price he pays for all. 
 If, lawyer, loud, whatever cause he plead. 
 But proudest of the worst, if that succeed. 
 Perhaps a grave physician, gathering fees. 
 Punctually paid for lengthening out disease ; 
 No Cotton, whose humanity sheds rays. 
 That make superior skill his second praise. 
 If arms engage him, he devotes to sport 
 His date of life so likely to be short ; 
 A soldier may be any thing, if brave. 
 So may a tradesman if not quite a knave. 
 Such stuff the world is made of; and mankind 
 To passion, interer.', pleasure, whim resign'd. 
 Insist on, as if each were his own pope. 
 Forgiveness, and the privilege of hope. 
 But Conscience, in some awful, silent hour, 
 When captivating lusts have lost their power. 
 Perhaps when sickness, or some fearful dream, 
 Reminds him of religion, hated theme ! 
 Starts from the down on which she lately slept. 
 And tells of laws despised, at least not kept :
 
 96 HOPE. 
 
 Shews with a poiuting finger, but no noise, 
 
 A pale procession of past sinful joys, 
 
 All witnesses of blessings foully scorn'd. 
 
 And life abused, and not to be subom'd. 
 
 Mark these, she says ; these summoned from afar. 
 
 Begin their march to meet thee at the bar ; 
 
 There find a Judge inexorably just. 
 
 And perish there, as all presumption must. 
 
 Peace be to those (such peace as earth can give) 
 Who live in pleasure, dead e'en while they live ; 
 Bom capable indeed of heavenly truth ; 
 But down to latest age, from earliest youth. 
 Their mind a wilderness through want of care. 
 The plough of wisdom never entering there. 
 Peace (if insensibility may claim 
 A right to the meek honours of her name) 
 To men of pedigree, their noble race. 
 Emulous always of the nearest place 
 To any throne, except the throne of Grace. 
 Let cottagers and unenlighten'd swains 
 Revere the laws they dream that Heaven ordains ; 
 Resort on Sundays to the house of prayer. 
 And ask, and fancy they find, blessings there. 
 Themselves, perhaps, when weary they retreat 
 T' enjoy cool nature in a countr\- seat. 
 To exchange the centre of a thousand trades. 
 For clumps and lawns, and temples and cascades. 
 May now and then their velvet cushions take. 
 And seem to pray for good example's sake; 
 Judging, in charity, no doubt, the town 
 Pious enough, and having need of none. 
 Kind souls ! to teach their tenantry to prize 
 What they themselves, without remorse, despise: 
 Nor hope have they, nor fear, of aught to come, 
 As well for them had prophecy been dumb ; 
 They could have held the conduct they pursue. 
 Had Paul of Tarsus lived and died a Jew. 
 And truth, proposed to reasoners wise as they. 
 Is a pearl cast — completely cast away. 
 
 They die — Death lends them, pleased, and as in sport. 
 All the grim honours of his ghastly court.
 
 HOPE. 97 
 
 Far other paintings grace the chamber now. 
 
 Where late we saw the mimic landscape glow: 
 
 The busy heralds hang the sable scene 
 
 With mournful 'scutcheons, and dim lamps between; 
 
 Proclaim their titles to the crowd around. 
 
 But they that wore them move not at the sound : 
 
 The coronet, placed idly at their head. 
 
 Adds nothing now to the degraded dead ; 
 
 And e'en the star, that glitters on the bier, 
 
 Can only say— Nobility lies here. 
 
 Peace to all such — 'twere pity to offend. 
 
 By useless censure, whom we cannot mend ; 
 
 Life without hope can close but in despair, 
 
 'Twas there we found them, and must leave them there. 
 
 As, when two pilgrims in a' forest stray, 
 Both may be lost, yet each in his own way; 
 So fares it with the multitudes beguiled 
 In vain Opinion's waste and dangerous wild ; 
 Ten thousand rove the brakes and thorns among, 
 Some eastward, and some westward, and all wrong. 
 But here, alas ! the fatal difference lies. 
 Each man's belief is right in his own eyes ; 
 And he that blames what they have blindly chose 
 Incurs resentment for the love he shews. 
 
 Say, botanist, within whose province fall 
 The cedar and the hyssop on the wall. 
 Of all that deck the lanes, the fields, the bowers, 
 What parts the kindred tribes of weeds and flowers ? 
 Sweet scent, or lovely form, or both combined. 
 Distinguish every cultivated kind: 
 The want of both denotes a meaner breed. 
 And Chloe from her garland picks the weed. 
 Thus hopes of every sort, whatever sect 
 Esteem them, sow them, rear them, and protect, 
 If wild in nature, and not duly found, 
 Gethsemane ! in thy dear hallow'd ground. 
 That cannot bear the blaze of Scripture light, 
 Nor cheer the spirit, nor refresh the sight. 
 Nor animate the soul to Christian deeds, 
 (Oh, cast them from thee !) are weeds, arrant weeds. 
 
 Ethelred's house, the centre of six ways, 
 Diverging each from each, like equal rays, 
 E
 
 98 HOPE. 
 
 Himself as bountiful as April rains. 
 
 Lord paramount of the surrounding plains, 
 
 Would give relief of bed and board to none 
 
 But guests that sought it in the appointed One, 
 
 And they might enter at his open door. 
 
 E'en till his spacious hall would hold no more. 
 
 He sent a servant forth by every road. 
 
 To sound his horn, and publish it abroad. 
 
 That all might mark — knight, menial, high, and low, 
 
 An ordinance it concem'd them much to know. 
 
 If, after all, some headstrong hardy lout 
 
 Would disobey, though sure to be shut out. 
 
 Could he with reason murmur at his case, 
 
 Himself sole author of his own disgrace ? 
 
 No ! the decree was just and without flaw ; 
 
 And he, that made, had right to make the law ; 
 
 His sovereign power and pleasure unrestrained. 
 
 The wrong was his who wrongfully complain'd. 
 
 V6t half mankind maintain a churlish strife 
 With Him, the Donor of eternal life. 
 Because the deed by which his love confirms 
 The largess he bestows, prescribes the terms. 
 Compliance with his will your lot ensures. 
 Accept it only, and the boon is yours. 
 And sure it is as kind to smile and give. 
 As with a frown to say. Do this, and live. 
 Love is not pedlar's trumpery bought and sold 
 He tvill give freely, or he tvill withhold ; 
 His soul abhors a mercenary thought. 
 And him as deeply who abhors it not ; 
 He stipulates, indeed, but merely this. 
 That man will freely take an unbought bliss. 
 Will trust him for a faithful generous part. 
 Nor set a price upon a willing heart. 
 Of all the ways that seem to promise fair. 
 To place you where his saints his presence share. 
 This only can ; for this plain cause, expressed 
 In terms as plain, Himself has shut the rest. 
 But oh the strife, the bickering, and debate, 
 The tidings of unpurchased Heaven create ! 
 The flirted fan, the bridle and the toss. 
 All speakers, yet aU language at a loss.
 
 HOPE. 99 
 
 From stuccoed walls smart arguments rebound ; 
 And beaus, adept in every thing profound, 
 Die of disdain, or whistle off the sound. 
 Such is the clamour of rooks, daws, and kites. 
 The explosion of the levell'd tube excites. 
 Where mouldering abbey-walls o'erhang the glade. 
 And oaks coeval spread a mournful shade; 
 The screaming nations, hovering in mid air. 
 Loudly resent the stranger's freedom there. 
 And seem to warn him never to repeat 
 His bold intrusion on their dark retreat. 
 
 Adieu, Vinosa cries, ere yet he sips 
 The purple bumper, trembling at his lips. 
 Adieu to all morality ! if grace 
 Make works a vain ingredient in the case. 
 The Christian hope is— Waiter, draw the cork — 
 If I mistake not— Blockhead ! with a fork ! 
 Without good works, whatever some may boastj 
 Mere folly and delusion — Sir, your toast. 
 My firm persuasion is, at least sometimes. 
 That Heaven will weigh man's virtues and his crimes 
 With nice attention, in a righteous scale. 
 And save or damn as these or those prevail. 
 I plant my foot upon this ground of trust, 
 And silence every fear with— God is just. 
 But if perchance on some dull drizzling day 
 A thought intrude, that says, or seems to say, 
 If thus the important cause is to be tried, 
 Suppose the beam should dip on the wrong side ; 
 I soon recover from these needless frights. 
 And— God is merciful— sets all to rights. 
 Thus between justice, as my prime support. 
 And mercy, fled to as the last resort, 
 I glide and steal along with heaven in view, 
 And,— pardon me, the bottle stands with you, 
 
 I never will believe, the Colonel cries, 
 The sanguinary schemes that some devise. 
 Who make the good Creator on their plan 
 A being of less equity than man. 
 If appetite, or what divines call lust. 
 Which men comply with, e'en because they musij
 
 100 HOPE. 
 
 Be punish'd with perdition, who is pure ? 
 Then theirs, no doubt, as well as mine is sure. 
 If sentence of eternal pain belong 
 To every sudden slip and transient wrong, 
 Then Heaven enjoins the fallible and frail 
 A hopeless task, and damns them if they fail. 
 My creed (whatever some creed-makers mean 
 By Athanasian nonsense, or Nicene) — 
 My creed is, he is safe that does his best. 
 And death's a doom sufficient for the rest 
 
 Right, says an Ensign ; and, for aught I see. 
 Your faith and mine substantially agree; 
 The best of every man's performance here 
 Is to discharge the duties of his sphere. 
 A lawyer's dealings should be just and fair. 
 Honesty shines with great advantage there. 
 Fasting and prayer sit well upon a priest, 
 A decent caution and reserve at least. 
 A soldier's best is courage in the field. 
 With nothing here that wants to be conceal'd. 
 Manly deportment, gallant, easy, gay ! 
 A hand as liberal as the light of day. 
 The soldier thus endow'd, who never shrinks. 
 Nor closets up his thoughts, whate'er he thinks. 
 Who scorns to do an injury by stealth. 
 Must go to heaven — and I must drink his health. 
 Sir Smug, he cries (for lowest at the board, 
 Just made fifth chaplain of his patron lord. 
 His shoulders witnessing, by many a shrug. 
 How much his feelings sufifer'd, sat Sir Smug), 
 Your office is to winnow false from true ; 
 Come, prophet, drink, and tell us what think you ? 
 
 Sighing and smiling as he takes his glass, 
 Which they that woo preferment rarely pass. 
 Fallible man, the church-bred youth replies, 
 Is still found fallible, however wise ; 
 And differing judgments serve but to declare, 
 That truth lies somewhere, if we knew but where. 
 Of all it ever was my lot to read. 
 Of critics now alive, or long since dead. 
 The book of all the world that charm'd me most 
 Was,— well-a-day, the title-page was lost ;
 
 HOPE. 101 
 
 The writer well remarks, a heart that knows 
 
 To take with gratitude what Heaven bestows, 
 
 With prudence always ready at our call. 
 
 To guide our use of it, is all in all. 
 
 Doubtless it is. — To which, of my own store, 
 
 1 superadd a few essentials more ; 
 
 But these, excuse the liberty I take, 
 
 I wave just now, for conversation's sake. — 
 
 Spoke like an oracle, they all exclaim. 
 
 And add Right Reverend to Smug's honour'd name. 
 
 And yet our lot is given us in a land, 
 Where busy arts are never at a stand ; 
 Where Science points her telescopic eye. 
 Familiar with the wonders of the sky ; 
 Where bold Inquiry diving out of sight. 
 Brings many a precious pearl of truth to light; 
 Where nought eludes the persevering quest 
 That fashion, taste, or luxury suggest. 
 
 But, above all, in her own light array'd. 
 See Mercy's grand Apocalypse display'd ! 
 The sacred book no longer suffers wrong, 
 Bound in the fetters of an unknown tongue ; 
 But speaks with plainness, art could never mend, 
 What simplest minds can soonest comprehend. 
 God gives the word, the preachers throng around, 
 Live from his lips, and spread the glorious sound : 
 That sound bespeaks Salvation on her way, 
 The trumpet of a life-restoring day ; 
 'Tis heard where England's Eastern glory shines. 
 And in the gulfs of her C'ornubian mines. 
 And still it spreads. See Germany send forth 
 Her sons* to pour it on the farthest north : 
 Fired with a zeal peculiar, they defy 
 The rage and rigour of a polar sky, 
 And plant successfully sweet Sharon's rose 
 On icy plains, and in eternal snows. 
 
 O bless'd within the enclosure of your rocks. 
 Nor herds ha\ e ye to boast, nor bleating flocks ; 
 No fertilizing streams your fields divide. 
 That shew reversed the villas on their side ; 
 
 * The Moravian Missionaries in Greenland.— See Krantz
 
 102 HOPE. 
 
 No groves have ye ; no cheerful sound of bird. 
 Or voice of turtle, in your land is heard ; 
 Nor grateful eglantine regales the smell 
 Of those, that walk at evening where ye dwell : 
 But Winter, arm'd with terrors here unknown. 
 Sits absolute on his unshaken throne; 
 Piles up his stores amidst the frozen waste. 
 And bids the mountains he has built stand fast ; 
 Beckons the legions of his storms away 
 From happier scenes, to make your land a prey ; 
 Proclaims the soil a conquest he has won. 
 And scorns to share it with the distant sun. 
 Yet Truth is yours, remote, unenvied isle ! 
 And Peace, the genuine offspring of her smile ; 
 The pride of letter'd Ignorance, that binds 
 In chains of error our accomplish'd minds. 
 That decks, with all the splendour of the true, 
 A false religion, is unknown to you. 
 Nature, indeed, vouchsafes for our delight 
 The sweet vicissitudes of day and night ; 
 Soft airs and genial moisture feed and cheer 
 Field, fruit, and flower, and every creature here ; 
 But brighter beams than his who fires the skies. 
 Have risen at length on your admiring eyes, 
 That shoot into your darkest caves the day. 
 From which our nicer optics turn away. 
 
 Here see the encouragement Grace gives to vice. 
 The dire effect of Mercy without price ! 
 What were they ? what some fools are made by art. 
 They were by nature, Atheists, head and heart. 
 The gross idolatry blind heathens teach 
 Was too refined for them, beyond their reach. 
 Not e'en the glorious sun, though men revere 
 The monarch most, that seldom will appear. 
 And though his beams, that quicken where they shine. 
 May claim some right to be esteem'd divine. 
 Not e'en the sun, desirable as rare. 
 Could bend one knee, engage one votary there ; 
 They were, what base Credulity beheves 
 True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards, thieves. 
 The full-gorged savage, at his nauseous feast, 
 Spent half the darkness, and snored out the rest.
 
 HOPE. 103 
 
 Was one, whom Justice on an equal plan. 
 Denouncing death upon the sins of man, 
 Might almost have indulged with an escape, 
 Chargeable only with a human shape. 
 
 What are they now ?— Morality may spare 
 Her grave concern, her kind suspicions there : 
 The wretch, who once sang wildly, danced, and laugh'd, 
 And suck'd in dizzy madness with his draught, 
 Has wept a silent flood, reversed his ways. 
 Is sober, meek, benevolent, and prays, 
 Feeds sparingly, communicates his store, 
 Abhors the craft he boasted of before. 
 And he that stole has learn'd to steal no more. 
 Well spake the prophet, Let the desert sing. 
 Where sprang the thorn the spiry fir shall spring, 
 And where unsightly and rank thistles grew. 
 Shall grow the myrtle and luxuriant yew. 
 
 Go now, and with important tone demand 
 On what foundation virtue is to stand. 
 If self-exalting claims be turned adrift, 
 And grace be grace indeed, and life a gift ; 
 The poor reclaim'd inhabitant, his eyes 
 Glistening at once with pity and surprise. 
 Amazed that shadows should obscure the sight 
 Of one, whose birth v/as in a land of light, 
 .Shall answer, Hope, sweet hope, has set me free. 
 And made all pleasures else mere dross to me. 
 
 These, amidst scenes as waste as if denied 
 The common care that waits on all beside. 
 Wild as if Nature there, void of all good, 
 Play'd only gambols in a frantic mood, 
 (Yet charge not heavenly skill with having plann'd 
 A plaything world, unworthy of his hand,) 
 Can see his love, though secret evil lurks 
 In all we touch, stamp'd plainly on his works, 
 Deem life a blessing with its numerous woes. 
 Nor spurn away a gift a God bestows. 
 Hard task, indeed, o'er arctic seas to roam • 
 Is hope exotic? Grows it not at home? 
 Yes, but an object, bright as orient morn, 
 May press the eye too closely to be borne;
 
 104 HOPE, 
 
 A distant virtue we cau all confess. 
 
 It hurts our pride, and moves our envy, less. 
 
 Leuconomus (beneath well-sounding Greek 
 1 slur a name a poet must not speak) 
 Stood pilloried on Infamy's high stage. 
 And bore the pelting scorn of half an age ; 
 The very butt of Slander, and the blot 
 For every dart that Malice ever shot. 
 The man that mention'd him at once dismiss'd 
 All mercy from his lips, and sneer' d and hiss'd ; 
 His crimes were such as Sodom never knew. 
 And perjury stood up to swear all true ; 
 His aim was mischief, and his zeal pretence. 
 His speech rebellion against common sense ; 
 A knave, when tried on honesty's plain rule ; 
 And when by that of reason, a mere fool ; 
 The world's best comfort was, his doom was pass'd; 
 Die when he might, he must be damn'd at last. 
 
 Now, Truth perform thine office ; waft aside 
 The curtain drawn by Prejudice and Pride, 
 Reveal (the man is dead) to wondering eyes 
 This more than monster, in his proper guise. 
 He loved the world that hated him : the tear 
 That dropp'd upon his Bible was sincere: 
 Assail'd by scandal and the tongue of strife. 
 His only answer was a blameless life ; 
 And he that forged, and he that threw the dart. 
 Had each a brother's interest in his heart, 
 Paul's love of Christ, and steadiness unbribed. 
 Were copied close in him, and well transcribed. 
 He foUow'd Paul ; his zeal a kindred flame. 
 His apostolic charity the same. 
 Like him, cross'd cheerfully tempestuous seas, 
 Forsaking country', kindred, friends, and ease ; 
 Like him he labour'd, and like him content 
 To bear it, suffer'd shame, where'er he went. 
 Blush, Calumny ! and write upon his tomb. 
 If honest Eulogy can spare the room. 
 Thy deep repentance of thy thousand lies. 
 Which, aim'd at him, have pierced the offended skies ; 
 And say. Blot out my sin, confess'd, deplored. 
 Against thine image, in thy saint, O Lord !
 
 HOPE. 105 
 
 No blinder bigot, I maintain it still. 
 Than he who must have pleasure, come what will : 
 He laughs, whatever weapon Truth may draw, 
 And deems her sharp artillery mere straw. 
 Scripture indeed is plain ; but God and he 
 On Scripture ground are sure to disagree; 
 Some wiser rule must teach him how to live. 
 Than this his Maker has seen fit to give ; 
 Supple and flexible as Indian cane. 
 To take the bend his appetites ordain ; 
 Contrived to suit frail nature's crazy case. 
 And reconcile his lusts with saving grace. 
 By this, with nice precision of design. 
 He draws upon life's map a zig-zag line. 
 That shews how far 'tis safe to follow sin. 
 And where his danger and God's wrath begin. 
 By this he forms, as pleased he sports along. 
 His well-poised estimate of right and wrong ; 
 And finds the modish manners of the day. 
 Though loose, as harmless as an infant's play. 
 
 Build by whatever plan Caprice decrees. 
 With what materials, on what ground you please ; 
 Your hope shall stand unblamed, i)orhaps admired, 
 If not that hope the Scripture has required. 
 The strange conceits, vain projects, and wild dreams. 
 With which hypocrisy for ever teems 
 (Though other follies strike the public eye, 
 And raise a laugh), pass immolested by ; 
 But if unblamable in word and thought, 
 A man arise, a man whom God has taught. 
 With all Elijah's dignity of tone. 
 And all the love of the beloved John. 
 To storm the citadels they build in air. 
 And smite the untemper'd wall; 'tis death to spare. 
 To sweep away all refuges of lies. 
 And place, instead of quirks themselves devise. 
 Lama Sabacthnni before their eyes ; 
 To prove that without Christ all gain is loss, 
 All hope despair, that stands not on his cross ; 
 Except the few his God may have impress'd, 
 A tenfold frenzy seizes all the rest. 
 E 2
 
 106 HOPE. 
 
 Throughout mankind, the Christian kind at least, 
 There dwells a consciousness in every* breast. 
 That folly ends were genuine hope begins. 
 And he that finds his heaven must lose his sins. 
 Nature opposes with her utmost force 
 This riving stroke, this ultimate divorce ; 
 And while religion seems to be her view. 
 Hates with a deep sincerity the true: 
 For this, of all that ever influenced man. 
 Since Abel worshipp'd, or the world began. 
 This only spares no lust, admits no plea. 
 But makes him, if at all, completely free; 
 Sounds forth the signal, as she mounts her car. 
 Of an eternal, universal war ; 
 Rejects all treaty, penetrates all wiles. 
 Scorns vdth the same indifference frowns and smiles ; 
 Drives through the realms of Sin, where Riot reels, 
 And grinds his crown beneath her burning wheels ! 
 Hence all that is in man, pride, passion, art. 
 Powers of the mind, and feelings of the heart. 
 Insensible of Truth's almighty charms. 
 Starts at her first approach, and sounds to arms I 
 While Bigotry, with well-dissembled fears. 
 His eyes shut fast, his fingers in his ears. 
 Mighty to parry and push by God's word, 
 With senseless noise, his argument the sword. 
 Pretends a zeal for godliness and grace. 
 And spits abhorrence in the Christian's face. 
 
 Parent of Hope, immortal Truth ! make known 
 Thy deathless wreaths, and triumphs all thine own : 
 The silent progress of thy power is such. 
 Thy means so feeble, and despised so much. 
 That few believe the wonders thou has wrought, 
 And none can teach them, but whom thou hast taught. 
 O see me sworn to serve thee, and command 
 A painter's skill into a poet's hand. 
 That, while I trembling trace a work divine. 
 Fancy may stand aloof from the design, 
 And light, and shade, and every stroke be thine. 
 
 If ever thou hast felt another's pain. 
 If ever when he sigh'd hast sigh'd again.
 
 HOPE. 107 
 
 If ever oh thy eyelid stood the tear, 
 
 That pity had engender'd, drop one here. 
 
 This man was happy— had the world's good word, 
 
 And with it every joy it can afford ; 
 
 Friendship and love seemed tenderly at strife, 
 
 Which most should sweeten his untroubled life ; 
 
 Politely leani'd, and of a gentle race. 
 
 Good breeding and good sense gave all a grace, 
 
 And whether, at the toilette of the fair, 
 
 He laughed and trifled, made him welcome there. 
 
 Or if in masculine debate he shared. 
 
 Ensured him mute attention and regard. 
 
 Alas, how changed ! Expressive of his mind. 
 
 His eyes are sunk, arms folded, head reclined ; 
 
 Those awful syllables, hell, death, and sin. 
 
 Though whisper'd, plainly tell what works within ! 
 
 That Conscience there performs her proper part. 
 
 And writes a doomsday sentence on his heart ; 
 
 Forsaking and forsaken of all friends. 
 
 He now perceives where earthly pleasure ends ; 
 
 Hard task ! for one who lately knew no care. 
 
 And harder still as learnt beneath despair; 
 
 His hours no longer pass unmark'd away, 
 
 A dark importance saddens every day ; 
 
 He hears the notice of the clock perplex'd. 
 
 And cries. Perhaps eternity strikes next ; 
 
 Sweet music is no longer music here, 
 
 And laughter sounds like madness in his ear : 
 
 His grief the world of all her power disarms. 
 
 Wine has no taste, and beauty has no charms : 
 
 God's holy word, once trivial in his view. 
 
 Now by the voice of his experience true. 
 
 Seems, as it is, the fountain whence alone 
 
 Must spring that hope he pants to make his own. 
 
 Now let the bright reverse be known abroad ; 
 Say man's a worm, and power belongs to God. 
 
 As when a felon, whom his country's laws 
 Have justly doom'd for some atrocious cause. 
 Expects in darkness and heart-chilling fears, 
 The shameful close of all his misspent years; 
 If chance, on heavy pinions slowly borne, 
 A tempest usher in the dreadful morn.
 
 108 HOPE. 
 
 Upon his dungeon walls the lightning play. 
 
 The thunder seems to summon him away, 
 
 T he warder at the door his key applies. 
 
 Shoots back the bolt, and all his courage dies : 
 
 If then, just then, all thoughts of mercy lost. 
 
 When Hope, long lingering, at last yields the ghost. 
 
 The sound of pardon pierce his startled ear. 
 
 He drops at once his fetters and his fear ; 
 
 A transport glows in all he looks and speaks. 
 
 And the first thankful tears bedew his cheeks. 
 
 Joy, far superior joy, that much outweighs 
 
 The comfort of a few poor added days. 
 
 Invades, possesses, and o'erwhelras the soul 
 
 Of him, whom hope has with a touch made whole. 
 
 'Tis Heaven, all heaven, descending on the wings 
 
 Of the glad legions of the King of kings ; 
 
 'Tis more — 'tis God diffused through every part, 
 
 'Tis God himself triumphant in his heart. 
 
 O welcome now the sun's once hated light. 
 
 His noonday beams were never half so bright. 
 
 Xot kindred minds alone are caU'd to employ 
 
 Their hours, their days, in listening to his joy ; 
 
 Unconscious nature, all that he surveys. 
 
 Rocks, groves, and streams, must join him in his praise. 
 
 These are thy glorious works, eternal Truth, 
 The scoff of wither'd age and beardless youth ; 
 These move the censure and illiberal grin 
 Of fools, that hate thee and delight in sin : 
 But these shall last when night has quench'd the pole. 
 And heaven is all departed as a scroll. 
 And when, as Justice has long since decreed. 
 This earth shall blaze, and a new world succeed. 
 Then these thy glorious works, and they who share 
 That hope, which can alone exclude despair, 
 shall live exempt from weakness and decay. 
 The brightest wonders of an endless day. 
 
 Happy the bard (if that fair name belong 
 To him that blends no fable with his song,) 
 Whose hnes uniting, by an honest art. 
 The faithful monitor's and poet's part. 
 Seek to deUght, that they may mend mankind. 
 And, while they captivate, inform the mind :
 
 CHARITY. 109 
 
 Still happier, if he till a thankful soil. 
 And fruit reward his honourable toil ; 
 But happier far, who comfort those that wait 
 To hear plain truth at Judah's hallow'd gate ; 
 Their language simple as their manners meek. 
 No shining ornaments have they to seek; 
 Nor labour they, nor time nor talents waste. 
 In sorting flowers to suit a fickle taste ; 
 But while they speak the wisdom of the skies, 
 Which art can only darken and disguise. 
 The abundant harvest, recompense divine. 
 Repays their work— the gleaning only mine. 
 
 CHARITY. 
 
 Quo nihil majas melinsve terrii 
 
 Fata donavSre, bonique di^^ ; 
 
 Nee dabunt, qnamvis ledeant in anrum 
 
 Tempora priscmn.— ^or. Lib. iv. Od. 2. 
 
 Fai RKST and foremost of the train that wait 
 
 On man's most dignified and happiest state. 
 
 Whether we name thoe Charity or Love, 
 
 Chief grace below, and all in all above. 
 
 Prosper (I press thee with a powerful plea) 
 
 A task I venture on, impell'd by thee: 
 
 O never seen but in thy bless'd effects, 
 
 Or felt but in the soul that Heaven selects ; 
 
 Who seeks to praise thee, and to make thee known 
 
 To other hearts, must have thee in his own. 
 
 Come, prompt me with benevolent desires. 
 
 Teach me to kindle at thy gentle fires. 
 
 And though disgracetl and slighted, to redeem 
 
 A poet's name by making thee the theme, 
 
 God, working ever on a social plan. 
 By various ties attaches man to man : 
 He made at first, though free and unconfined. 
 One man the common father of the kind ; 
 That every tribe, though placed as he sees best. 
 Where seas or deserts part them from the rest. 
 Differing in language, manners, or in face. 
 Might feel themselves allied to all the race.
 
 110 CHARITY. 
 
 When Cook— lamented, and with tears adjust 
 
 As ever mingled with heroic dust — 
 
 Steer'd Britain's oak into a world unknown. 
 
 And in his country's glory sought his own. 
 
 Wherever he found man to nature true. 
 
 The rights of man were sacred in his view ; 
 
 He soothed with gifts, and greeted with a smile, 
 
 The simple native of the new-found isle ; 
 
 He spurn'd the wretch, that slighted or withstood 
 
 The tender argument of kindred blood. 
 
 Nor would endure, that any should control 
 
 His freeborn brethren of the southern pole. 
 
 But though some nobler minds a law respect. 
 That none shall with impunity neglect. 
 In baser souls unnumbered evils meet. 
 To thwart its mfluence, and its end defeat. 
 While Cook is loved for savage lives he saved, 
 See Cortez odious for a world enslaved ! 
 Where wast thou then, sweet Charity ? where then, 
 Thou tutelary friend of helpless men ? 
 Wast thou in monkish cells and nunneries found, 
 Or building hospitals on English ground ? 
 No. — Mammon makes the world his legatee 
 Through fear, not love; and Heaven abhors the fee 
 Wherever found (and all men need thy care), 
 Nor age nor infancy could find thee there. 
 The hand, that slew till it could slay no more. 
 Was glued to the sword-hilt with Indian gore. 
 Their prince, as justly seated on his throne 
 As vain imperial Philip on his own, 
 Trick'd out of all his royalty by art. 
 That stripp'd him bare, and broke his honest heart. 
 Died by the sentence of a shaven priest. 
 For scorning what they taught him to detest. 
 How dark the veil that intercepts the blaze 
 Of Heaven's mysterious purposes and ways I 
 God stood not, though he seem'd to stand, aloof; 
 And at this hour the conqueror feels the proof; 
 The wreath he won drew down an instant curse. 
 The fretting plague is in the public purse. 
 The canker'd spoil corrodes the pining state, 
 Starv'd by that indolence their mines create.
 
 CHARITY. Ill 
 
 Oh could their ancient Incas rise again. 
 How would they take up Israel's taunting strain ! 
 Art thou too fallen, Iberia ? Do we see 
 The robber and the murderer weak as we ? 
 Thou, that hast wasted earth, and dared despise 
 Alike the wrath and mercy of the skies. 
 Thy pomp is in the grave thy glory laid 
 Low in the pits thine avarice has made. 
 We come with joy from our eternal rest, 
 To see the oppressor in his turn oppress'd. 
 Art thou the god, the thunder of whose hand 
 Roll'd over all our desolated land, 
 Shook principalities and kingdoms down. 
 And made the mountains tremble at his frown ? 
 The sword shall light upon thy boasted powers, 
 And waste them, as thy sword has wasted ours. 
 'Tis thus Omnipotence his law fulfils. 
 And Vengeance executes what Justice wills. 
 
 Again — the band of commerce was design'd 
 To associate all the branches of mankind ; 
 And if a boundless plenty be the robe, 
 Trade is the golden girdle of the globe. 
 Wise to promote whatever end he means, 
 God opens fruitful nature's various scenes : 
 Each climate needs what other climes produce. 
 And offers something to the general use ; 
 No land but listens to the common call, 
 And in return receives supply from all. 
 This genial intercourse, and mutual aid. 
 Cheers what were else an universal shade, 
 Calls Nature from her ivy-mantled den. 
 And softens human rock-work into men. 
 Ingenious Art, with her expressive face, 
 Steps forth to fashion and refine the race ; 
 Not only fills Necessity's demand. 
 But overcharges her capacious hand : 
 Capricious Taste itself can crave no more, 
 Than she supplies from her abounding store; 
 She strikes out all that luxury can ask, 
 And gains new vigour at her endless task. 
 Hers is the spacious arch, the shapely spire. 
 The painter's pencil, and the poet's lyre ;
 
 112 CHARITY. 
 
 From her the canvas borrows light and shade, 
 And verse, more lasting, hues that never fade. 
 She guides the finger o'er the dancing keys. 
 Gives difficulty all the grace of ease. 
 And pours a torrent of sweet notes around. 
 Fast as the thirsting ear can drink the sound. 
 
 These are the gifts of Art, and Art thrives most 
 Where commerce has enrich'd the busy coast ; 
 He catches all improvements in his flight. 
 Spreads foreign wonders in his country's sight. 
 Imports what others have invented well, 
 And stirs his own to match them, or excel. 
 'Tis thus reciprocating, each with each. 
 Alternately the nations learn and teach ; 
 While Providence enjoins to every soul 
 An union with the vast terraqueous whole. 
 
 Heaven speed the canvas, gallantly unfurl'd 
 To furnish and accommodate a world. 
 To give the pole the produce of the sun. 
 And knit the unsocial climates into one. — 
 Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave 
 Impel the fleet, whose errand is to save. 
 To succour wasted regions, and replace 
 The smile of Opulence in Sorrow's face. — 
 Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen. 
 Impede the bark, that ploughs the deep serene. 
 Charged with a freight transcending in its worth 
 1 he gems of India, Nature's rarest birth. 
 That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord's commands, 
 A herald of God's love to pagan lands. 
 But ah 1 what wish can prosper, or what prayer. 
 For merchants rich in cargoes of despair. 
 Who drive a loathsome traffic, gauge, and span. 
 And buy the muscles and the bones of man ! 
 The tender ties of father, husband, friend. 
 All bonds of nature in that moment end ; 
 And each endures, while yet he draws his breath, 
 A stroke as fatal as the scythe of Death. 
 The sable warrior, frantic with regret 
 Of her he loves, and never can forget. 
 Loses in tears the far-receding shore. 
 But not the thought that they must meet no more:
 
 CHARITY. 113 
 
 Deprived of her and freedom at a blow. 
 What has he left that he can yet forego ? 
 Yes, to deep sadness sullenly resign'd. 
 He feels his body's bondage in his mind ; 
 Puts off his generous nature; and, to suit 
 His manners and his fate, puts on the brute. 
 
 O most degrading of all ills, that wait 
 On many a mourner in his best estate ! 
 All other sorrows Virtue may endure. 
 And find submission more than half a cure ; 
 Grief is itself a medicine, and bestow'd 
 To improve the fortitude that bears the load, 
 To teach the wanderer, as his woes increase, 
 The path of wisdom, aU whose paths are peace ; 
 But slavery !— Virtue dreads it as her grave; 
 Patience itself is meanness in a slave ; 
 Or if the will and sovereignty of God 
 Bid suffer it awhile, and kiss the rod, 
 Wait for the dawning of a brighter day. 
 And snap the chain the moment when you may. 
 Nature imprints upon whate'er we see, 
 That has a heart and life in it. Be free ! 
 The beasts are charter'd— neither age nor force 
 Can quell the love of freedom in a horse : 
 He breaks the cord that held him at the rack; 
 And, conscious of an unincumber'd back. 
 Snuffs up the morning air, forgets the rein ; 
 Loose fly his forelock and his ample mane ; 
 Responsive to the distant neigh he neighs ; 
 Nor stops till, overleaping all delays. 
 He finds the pasture where his fellows graze. 
 
 Canst thou, and honour'd with a Christian name, 
 Buy what is woman-born, and feel no shame; 
 Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead 
 Experience as a warrant for the deed ? 
 So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold. 
 To quit the forest and invade the fold . 
 So may the ruffian, who, with ghostly glide. 
 Dagger in hand, steals close to your bedside ; 
 Not he, but his emergence forced the door. 
 He found it inconvenient to be poor.
 
 114 CHARITV. 
 
 Has God then giveu its sweetness to the cane. 
 Unless his laws be trampled on — in vain ? 
 Built a brave world, which cannot yet subsist. 
 Unless his right to rule it be dismiss'd ? 
 Impudent blasphemy ! So Folly pleads. 
 And Avarice being judge, with ease succeeds. 
 
 But grant the plea, and let it stand for just, 
 That man make man his prey, because he tniut; 
 Still there is room for pity to abate. 
 And soothe the sorrows of so sad a state. 
 A Briton knows, or if he knows it not, 
 The Scripture placed within his reach, he ought. 
 That souls have no discriminating hue. 
 Alike important in their maker's view ; 
 That none are free from blemish since the fall. 
 And love divine has paid one price for all. 
 The wretch, that works and weeps without reUef, 
 Has One that notices his silent grief. 
 He, from whose hands alone all power proceeds. 
 Ranks its abuse among the foulest deeds. 
 Considers all injustice with a frown ; 
 But marks the man that treads his fellow down. 
 Begone — the whip and bell in that hard hand 
 Are hateful ensigns of usurp'd command. 
 Not Mexico could purchase kings a claim 
 To scourge him, weariness his only blame. 
 Remember Heaven has an avenging rod : 
 To smite the poor is treason against God. 
 
 Trouble is grudgingly and hardly brook'd. 
 While life's subhmest joys are overlook'd : 
 We wander o'er a sunburnt thirsty soil, 
 Murmuring and weary of our daily toil. 
 Forget to enjoy the palm-tree's oflFerd shade. 
 Or taste the fountain in the neighbouring glade : 
 Else who would lose, that had the power to improve. 
 The occasion of transmuting fear to love ? 
 OI "tis a godlike privilege to save, 
 And he that scorns it is himself a slave. 
 Inform his mind ; one flash of heavenly day 
 Would heal his heart, and melt his chains away. 
 ♦ Beauty for ashes' is a gift indeed, 
 And slaves, by truth enlarged, are doubly freed.
 
 CHARITY' 115 
 
 Then would he say, submissive at thy feet, 
 While gratitude and love made service sweet, — 
 My dear deliverer, out of hopeless night. 
 Whose bounty bought me but to give me light, 
 I was a bondman on my native plain. 
 Sin forged, and ignorance made fast, the chain ; 
 Thy Hps have shed instruction as the dew. 
 Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue : 
 Farewell ray former joys ! I sigh no more 
 For Africa's once loved, benighted shore ; 
 Serving a benefactor I am free ; 
 At my best home, if not exiled from thee. 
 
 Some men make gain a fountain, whence proceeds 
 A stream of liberal and heroic deeds ; 
 The swell of pity, not to be confined 
 Within the scanty limits of the mind. 
 Disdains the bank, and throws the golden sands, 
 A rich deposit, on the bordering lands : 
 These have an ear for his paternal call. 
 Who makes some rich for the supply of all ; 
 God's gift with pleasure in his praise employ. 
 And Thornton is familiar with the joy. 
 
 O could I worship aught beneath the skies, 
 That earth has seen, or fancy can devise. 
 Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand. 
 Built by no mercenary vulgar hand. 
 With fragrant turf, and flowers as wild and fair 
 As ever dress'd a bank, or scented summer air. 
 Duly, as ever on the mountain's height 
 The peep of Morning shed a dawning light. 
 Again, when Evening, in her sober vest. 
 Drew the gray curtain of the fading west, 
 My soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise. 
 For the chief blessings of my fairest days : 
 But that were sacrilege — praise is not thine. 
 But his who gave thee, and preserves thee mine : 
 Else I would say, and as I spake bid fly 
 A captive bird into the boundless sky. 
 This triple realm adores thee — thou art come 
 From Sparta hither, and art here at home. 
 We feel thy force still active, at this hour 
 Enjoy immunity from priestly power.
 
 116 CHARITY. 
 
 While Conscience, happier than in ancient years. 
 Owns no superior but the God she fears. 
 Propitious spirit ! yet expunge a wrong 
 Thy rights have suffer'd, and our land, too long. 
 Teach mercy to ten thousand hearts, that share 
 The fears and hopes of a commercial care. 
 Prisons expect the wicked, and were built 
 To bind the lawless, and to punish guilt ; 
 But shipwreck, earthquake, battle, fire, and flood. 
 Are mighty mischiefs, not to be withstood ; 
 And honest Merit stands on slippery ground, 
 Where covert guile and artifice abound. 
 Let just Restraint, for public peace design'd. 
 Chain up the wolves and tigers of mankind ; 
 The foe of virtue has no claim to thee. 
 But let insolvent Innocence go free. 
 
 Patron of else the most despised of men. 
 Accept the tribute of a stranger's pen; 
 Verse, like the laurel, its immortal meed. 
 Should be the guerdon of a noble deed ; 
 I may alarm thee, but I fear the shame 
 (Charity chosen as my theme and aim) 
 I must incur, forgetting Howard's name. 
 Bless'd with all wealth can give thee, to resign 
 Joys doubly sweet to feelings quick as thine, 
 To quit the bliss thy rural scenes bestow. 
 To seek a nobler amidst scenes of woe. 
 To traverse seas, range kingdoms, and bring home. 
 Not the proud monuments of Greece or Rome, 
 But knowledge such as only dungeons teach. 
 And only sympathy like thine could reach ; 
 That grief, sequester'd from the public stage. 
 Might smooth her feathers, and enjoy her cage ; 
 Speaks a divine ambition, and a zeal 
 The boldest patriot might be proud to feeL 
 O that the voice of clamour and debate. 
 That pleads for peace till it disturbs the state. 
 Were hush'd in favour of thy generous plea. 
 The poor thy clients, and Heaven's smile thy fee ! 
 Philosophy, that does not dream or stray. 
 Walks arm in arm with Nature all his way ;
 
 CHARITY. 117 
 
 Compasses earth, dives into it, ascends 
 Whatever steep Inquiry recommends. 
 Sees planetary wonders smoothly roll 
 Round other systems under her control, 
 Drinks wisdom at the milky stream of light. 
 That cheers the silent journey of the night. 
 And brings at his return a bosom charged 
 With rich instruction, and a soul enlarged. 
 The treasured sweets of the capacious plan, 
 That Heaven spreads wide before the view of man. 
 All prompt his pleased pursuit, and to pursue 
 Still prompt him, with a pleasure always new ; 
 He too has a connecting power, and draws 
 Man to the centre of the common cause. 
 Aiding a dubious and deficient sight 
 With a new medium and a purer light. 
 All truth is precious, if not all divine ; 
 And what dilates the powers must needs refine. 
 He reads the skies, and, watching every change. 
 Provides the faculties an ampler range; 
 And wins mankind, as his attempts prevail, 
 A prouder station on the general scale. 
 But Reason still, unless divinely taught, 
 Whate'er she learns, learns nothing as she ought ; 
 The lamp of revelation only shews. 
 What human wisdom cannot but oppose, 
 • That man in nature's richest mantle clad. 
 And graced with all philosophy can add. 
 Though fair without, and luminous within. 
 Is still the progeny and heir of sin. 
 Thus taught, down falls the plumage of his pride. 
 He feels his need of an unerring guide, 
 And konws that falling he shall rise no more. 
 Unless the power that bade him stand restore. 
 This is indeed philosophy ; this known 
 Makes wisdom, worthy of the name, his own ; 
 And, without this, whatever he discuss; 
 Whether the space between the stars and us ; 
 Whether he measure earth, compute the sea, 
 Weigh sunbeams, carve a fly, or spit a flea, 
 The solemn trifler with his boasted skill 
 Toils much, and is a solemn trifler still :
 
 118 CHARITY'. 
 
 Blind was he born, and his misguided eyes 
 Grown dim in trifling studies, blind he dies. 
 Self-knowledge, truly learn'd, of course implies 
 The rich possession of a nobler prize ; 
 For self to self, and God to man reveal'd 
 Two themes to nature's eye for ever seal'd). 
 Are taught by rays, that fly with equal pace 
 From the same centre of enlightening grace. 
 Here stay thy foot ; how copious, and how clear, 
 The o'erflowing well of Charity springs here ! 
 Hark ! 'tis the music of a thousand riUs, 
 Some through the groves, some down the sloping hills 
 Winding a secret or an open course. 
 And all supplied from an eternal source, 
 The ties of Xature do but feebly bind ; 
 And commerce partially reclaims mankind ; 
 Philosophy, without his heavenly guide, 
 May blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride ; 
 But, while his promise is the reasoning part. 
 Has still a veil of midnight on his heart ; 
 'Tis Truth divine, exhibited on earth. 
 Gives Charity her being and her birth. 
 
 Suppose (when thought is warm and fancy flows. 
 What wiU not argument sometimes suppose ?) 
 An isle possess'd by creatures of our kind, 
 Endued with reason, yet by nature blind. 
 Let Supposition lend her aid once more, 
 And land some grave optician on the shore : 
 He claps his lens, if haply they may see. 
 Close to the part where vision ought to be ; 
 But finds, that, though his tubes assist-the sight, 
 They cannot give it, or make darkness light. 
 He reads wise lectures, and describes aloud 
 A sense they know not, to the wondering crowd ; 
 He talks of light, and the prismatic hues, 
 As men of depth in erudition use; 
 But all he gains for his harangue is — Weil — 
 What monstrous lies some travellers will teU ! 
 
 The soul, whose sight all-quickening grace renews, 
 Takes the resemblance of the good she views. 
 As diamonds stripp'd of their opaque disguise. 
 Reflect the noonday glory of the skies.
 
 CHARITY. 119 
 
 She speaks of him, her author, guardian, friend. 
 Whose love knew no beginning, knows no end. 
 In language warm as all that love inspires. 
 And in the glow of her intense desires. 
 Pants to communicate her noble fires. 
 She sees a world stark blind to what employs 
 Her eager thought, and feeds her flowing joys ; 
 Though Wisdom hail them, heedless of her call. 
 Flies to save some, and feels a pang for all : 
 Herself as weak as her support is strong. 
 She feels that frailty she denied so long ; 
 And, from a knowledge of her own disease. 
 Learns to compassionate the sick she sees. 
 Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence. 
 The reign of genuine Charity commence. 
 Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears, 
 She still is kind, and still she perseveres ; 
 The truth she loves a sightless world blaspheme, 
 'Tis childish dotage, a delirious dream ; 
 The danger they discern not, they deny; 
 Laugh at their only remedy, and die. 
 But still a soul thus touch'd can never cease, 
 Whoever threatens war, to speak of peace. 
 Pure in her aim, and in her temper mild, 
 Her wisdom seems the weakness of a child : 
 She makes excuses where she might condemn, 
 Reviled by those that hate her, prays for them ; 
 Suspicion lurks not in her artless breast. 
 The worst suggested, she believes the best ; 
 Not soon provoked, however stung and teased. 
 And, if perhaps made angry, soon appeased : 
 She rather waives than will dispute her right. 
 And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight. 
 
 Such was the portrait an apostle drew ; 
 The bright original was one he knew ; 
 Heaven held his hand, the likeness must be true. 
 
 When one, that holds communion with the skies, 
 Has filled his urn where these pure waters rise. 
 And once more mingles with us meaner things, 
 'Tis e'en as if an angel shook his wings ; 
 Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide. 
 That tells us whence his treasures are supplied.
 
 120 CHARITY. 
 
 So when a ship, well freighted with the stores 
 The sun matures on India's spicy shores. 
 Has dropp'd her anchor, and her canvas furl'd. 
 In some safe haven of our western world, 
 'Twere vain inquiry to what port she went. 
 The gale informs us, laden with the scent. 
 
 Some seek, when queasy conscience has its quabns. 
 To lull the painful malady with alms ; 
 But charity not feign'd intends alone 
 Another's good — theirs centres in their own ; 
 And, too short-lived to reach the realms of peace. 
 Must cease for ever when the poor shall cease. 
 Flavia, most tender of her own good name. 
 Is rather careless of her sister's fame : 
 Her superfluity the poor supplies, 
 But, if she touch a character, it dies. 
 The seeming virtue weighed against the vice. 
 She deems all safe, for she has paid the price : 
 No charity but alms aught values she. 
 Except in porcelain on her mantel-tree. 
 How many deeds, with which the world has rung. 
 From pride, in league with ignorance, have sprung 1 
 But God o'errules all human follies still. 
 And bends the tough materials to his will. 
 A conflagration, or a wintry flood. 
 Has left some hundreds without home or food : 
 Extravagance and Avarice shall subscribe. 
 While fame and self-complacence are the bribe. 
 The grief proclaimed, it visits every pew, 
 But first the 'squire's, a compliment but due : 
 With slow deliberation he unties 
 His glittering purse, that envy of all eyes. 
 And, while the clerk just puzzles out the psalm. 
 Glides guinea behind guinea in his palm. 
 Till finding, what he might have found before, 
 A smaller piece amidst the precious store, 
 Pinch'd close between his finger and his thumb. 
 He half exhibits, and then drops the sum. 
 Gold to be sure 1 — Throughout the town 'tis told. 
 How the good 'squire gives never less than gold. 
 From motives such as his, though not the best. 
 Springs in due time supply for the distress'd;
 
 CHARITY. 12 
 
 Not less effectual than what love bestows, 
 Except that ofiice clips it as it goes. 
 
 But, lest I seem to sin against a friend. 
 And wound the grace I mean to recommend 
 (Though vice derided with a just design 
 Implies no trespass against love divine), 
 Once more I would adopt the graver style, 
 A teacher should be sparing of his smile. 
 Unless a love of virtue light the flame. 
 Satire is, more than those he brands, to blame ; 
 He hides behind a magisterial air 
 His own offences, and strips others bare; 
 Affects indeed a most humane concern. 
 That men, if gently tutor'd, will not learn ; 
 That mulish Folly, not to be reclaim'd 
 By softer methods, m'.ist be made asham'd ; 
 But (I might instance in St. Patrick's dean) 
 Too often rails to gratify his spleen, 
 Most satirists are indeed a piiblic scourge : 
 Their mildest physic is a farrier's purge; 
 Their acrid temper turns, as soon as stirr'd, 
 The milk of their good purpose all to curd. 
 Their zeal begotten, as their works rehearse. 
 By lean Despair upon an empty purse. 
 The wild assassins start into the street. 
 Prepared to poinard whomsoe'er they meet. 
 No skill in swordmaiiship, however just. 
 Can be secure against a madman's thrust ; 
 And even Virtue, so unfairly match'd. 
 Although immortal, may be prick'd or scratch'd. 
 When scandal has new minted an old lie. 
 Or tax'd invention for a fresh supply, 
 'Tis call'd a satire, and the world ai)pears 
 Gathering around it with erected ears : 
 A thousand names are toss'd into the crowd ; 
 Some whisper'd softly, and some twang'd alQud, 
 Just as the sapience of an author's brain 
 Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain. 
 Strange ! how the frequent interjected dash 
 Quickens a market, and helps off the trash ; 
 The important letters that include the rest. 
 Serve as a key to those that are suppress'd; 
 F
 
 122 CHARITY 
 
 Conjecture gripes the victims in his paw, 
 
 The world is charm 'd, and Scrib escapes the law. 
 
 So, when the cold damp shades of night prevail. 
 
 Worms may be caught by either head or tail ; 
 
 Forcibly drawn from many a close recess. 
 
 They meet with little pity, no redress ; 
 
 Plunged in the stream they lodge upon the mud. 
 
 Food for the famish'd rovers of the flood. 
 
 All zeal for a reform, that gives offence 
 
 To peace and charity, is mere pretence : 
 
 A bold remark, but which, if well appUed, 
 
 Would humble many a towering poet's pride. 
 
 Perhaps the man was in a sportive fit, 
 
 And had no other play-place for his wit ; 
 
 Perhaps, enchanted with the love of fame. 
 
 He sought t*".e jewel in his neighbour's shame ; 
 
 Perhaps— whatever end he might pursue. 
 
 The cause of virtue could not be his view. 
 
 At every stroke wit flashes in our eyes; 
 
 The turns are quick, the polish'd points surprise. 
 
 But shine with cruel and tremendous charms. 
 
 That, while they please, possess us with alarms ; 
 
 So have I seen (and hasten'd to the sight 
 
 On all the wings of holiday dehght). 
 
 Where stands that monument of ancient power. 
 
 Named, with emphatic dignity, the Tower, 
 
 Guns, halberts, swords, and pistols, great and small. 
 
 In starry forms disposed upon the wall ; 
 
 We wonder, as we gazing stand below, 
 
 That brass and steel should make so fine a show ; 
 
 But, though we praise the exact designer's skill, 
 
 Account them implements of mischief still. 
 
 No works shall find acceptance in that day. 
 When all disguises shall be rent away. 
 That square not truly with the Scripture plan. 
 Nor spring from love to God, or love to man. 
 As he ordains things sordid in their birth 
 To be resolved into their parent earth ; 
 And though the soul shall seek superior orbs, 
 Whate'er this world produces, it absorbs; 
 So self starts nothing, but what tends apace 
 Home to the goal, where it began the race.
 
 CHARITY. 123 
 
 Such as our motive is, our aim must be ; 
 
 If this be servile, that can ne'er be free: 
 
 I f self employ us, whatsoe'er is wrought. 
 
 We glorify that self, not Him we ought ; 
 
 Such virtues had need prove their own reward, 
 
 The judge of all men owes them no regard. 
 
 True Charity, a plant divinely nursed. 
 
 Fed by the love from which it rose at first. 
 
 Thrives against hope, and, in the rudest scene. 
 
 Storms but enliven its unfading green: 
 
 Exuberant is the shadow it supplies. 
 
 Its fruit on earth, its growth above the skies. 
 
 To look at Him, who form'd us and redeem'd, 
 
 So glorious now, though once so disesteem'd. 
 
 To see a God stretch forth his human hand. 
 
 To uphold the boundless scenes of his command ; 
 
 To recollect that in a form like ours, 
 
 He bruised beneath his feet the infernal powers. 
 
 Captivity led captive, rose to claim 
 
 The wreath he won so dearly in our name; 
 
 That, throned above all height, he condescends 
 
 To call the few that trusts in him his friends ; 
 
 That, in the Heaven of heavens, that space he deems 
 
 Too scanty for the exertion of his beams, 
 
 And shines, as if impatient to bestow 
 
 Life and a kingdom upon worms below ; 
 
 That sight imparts a never-dying flame, 
 
 Though feeble in degree, in kind the same. 
 
 Like him the soul, thus kindled from above, 
 
 Spreads wide her arms of universal love; 
 
 And, still enlarged as she receives the grace. 
 
 Includes creation in her close embrace. 
 
 Behold a Christian ! and without the fires 
 
 The Founder of that name alone inspires. 
 
 Though all accomplishment, all knowledge meet. 
 
 To make the shining prodigy complete, 
 
 Whoever boasts that name— behold a cheat ! 
 
 Were love, in these the world's last doting years, 
 
 As frequent as the want of it ajipears, 
 
 The churches warm'd, they would no longer hold 
 
 Such frozen figures, stiff as they are cold ;
 
 CONVERSATION. 
 
 Relenting forms would lose their power, or cease; 
 And e'en the dipp'd and sprinkled live in peace : 
 Each heart would quit its prison in the breast, 
 And flow in free communion with the rest. 
 The statesman, skill'd in projects dark and deep, 
 Might burn his useless Machiavel, and sleep ; 
 His budget often fiU'd, yet always poor. 
 Might swing at ease behind his study-door. 
 No longer prey upon our annual rents. 
 Or scare the nation with its big contents : 
 Disbanded legions freely might depart. 
 And slaying man would cease to be an art. 
 No learned disputants would take the field. 
 Sure not to conquer, and sure not to yield 
 Both sides deceived, if rightly understood. 
 Pelting each other for the public good. 
 Did charity prevail, the press would prove 
 A vehicle of virtue, truth, and love ; 
 And I might spare myself the pains to shew 
 "What few can learn, and all suppose they know. 
 Thus have I sought to grace a serious lay 
 With many a wild, indeed, but flowery spray. 
 In hopes to gain what else I must have lost, 
 The attention pleasure has so much engross' d. 
 But if, unhappily deceived, I dream. 
 And prove too weak for so divine a theme. 
 Let Charity forgive me a mistake. 
 That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to make. 
 And spare the poet for his subject's sake. 
 
 CONVERSATION. 
 
 Nam neqne me tantnm venientis sibilns Anstri, 
 Nee percnssa juvant fincta tam litora, nee quae 
 Sasosas inter deeumiut flumina valles. — yirg. Eel. 5. 
 
 Though nature weigh our talents, and dispense 
 
 To every man his modicum of sense. 
 
 And Conversation, in its better part. 
 
 May be esteem'd a gift, and not an art. 
 
 Ye' much depends, as in the tiller's toil, 
 
 V. . Jiuxe, and the sowing of the soiL
 
 CONVERSATION. 125 
 
 Words learn'd by rote a parrot may rehearse. 
 But talking is not always to converse; 
 Not more distinct from harmony divine. 
 The constant creaking of a country sign. 
 As alphabets in ivory employ 
 Hour after hour the yet unletter'd boy. 
 Sorting and puzzling with a deal of glee 
 Those seeds of science call'd his A B C ; 
 So language in the mouth of the adult — 
 Witness its insignificant result — 
 Too often proves an implement of play, 
 A toy to sport with, and pass time away. 
 Collect at evening what the day brought forth. 
 Compress the sum into its solid worth. 
 And if it weigh the importance of a fly. 
 The scales are false, or algebra a lie. 
 Sacred interpreter of human thought. 
 How few respect or use thee as they ought ! 
 But all shall give account of every wrong. 
 Who dare dishonour or defile the tongue; 
 Who prostitute it in the cause of vice. 
 Or sell their glory at a market price ; 
 Who vote for hire, or point it with lampoon. 
 The dear-bought placeman, and the cheap buffoon. 
 
 There is a prurience in the speech of some, 
 Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them dumb: 
 His wise forbearance has their end in view. 
 They fill their measure, and receive their due. 
 The heathen lawgivers of ancient days, 
 Names almost worthy of a Christian's praise. 
 Would drive them forth from the resort of men. 
 And shut up every satyr ir. his den. 
 O come not ye near innocence and truth. 
 Ye worms that eat into the bud of youth ! 
 Infectious as impure, your blighting power 
 Taints in its rudiments the promised flower : 
 Its odour perish'd and its charming hue, 
 Thenceforth 'tis hateful, for it smells of you. 
 Not e'en the vigorous and headlong rage 
 Of adolescence, or a firmer age. 
 Affords a plea allowable or just 
 For making speech the pamperer of lust ;
 
 126 CONVERSATION. 
 
 But when the breath of age commits the fault, 
 'Tis nauseous as the vapour of a vault. 
 So wither'd stumps disgrace the sylvan scene. 
 No longer fruitful, and no longer green ; 
 The sapless wood, divested of the bark. 
 Grows fungous, and takes fire at every spark. 
 
 Oaths terminate, as Paul observes, all strife- 
 Some men have surely then a peaceful life ; 
 Whatever subject occupy discourse. 
 The feats of Vestris, or the naval force. 
 Asseveration blustering in your face 
 Makes contradiction such a hopeless case : 
 In every tale they tell, or false or true. 
 Well known, or such as no man ever knew, 
 They fix attention, heedless of your pain. 
 With oaths like rivets forced into the brain ; 
 And e'en when sober truth prevails throughout. 
 They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt. 
 A Persian, humble servant of the sun. 
 Who, though devout, yet bigotry had none. 
 Hearing a lawyer grave in his address, 
 With adiurations every word impress. 
 Supposed the man a bishop, or, at least, 
 God's name so much upon his lips, a priest ; 
 Bow'd at the close with all his graceful airs. 
 And begg'd an int'rest in his frequent prayers. 
 
 Go, quit the rank to which ye stood preferr'd. 
 Henceforth associate in one common herd : 
 Religion, virtue, reason, common sense, 
 Pronounce your human form a false pretence ; 
 A mere disguise, in which a devil lurks. 
 Who yet betrays his secret by Ms works. 
 
 Ye powers who rule the tongu.^, if such there are. 
 And make colloquial happiness your care. 
 Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, 
 A duel in the form of a debate. 
 The clash of arguments and jar of words. 
 Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords. 
 Decide no question with their tedious length. 
 For opposition gives opinion strength ; 
 Divert the champions prodigal of breath ; 
 And put the peaceably-disposed to death.
 
 CONVERSATION. 127 
 
 thwart me not, Sir Soph, at every turn, 
 Xor carp at every flaw you may discern ; 
 Though syllogisms hang not on my tongue, 
 
 1 am not surely always in the wrong ; 
 Tis hard if all is false that I advance, 
 
 A fool must now and then be right by chance. 
 
 Not that all freedom of dissent I blame; 
 
 No — there I grant the privilege I claim, 
 
 A disputable point is no man's ground ; 
 
 Rove where you please, 'tis common all around, 
 
 Discourse may want an animated — No, 
 
 To brush the surface and to make it flow; 
 
 Hut still remember if you mean to please. 
 
 To press your point with modesty and ease. 
 
 The mark, at which my juster aim I take. 
 
 Is contradiction for its own dear sake. 
 
 Set your opinion at whatever pitch. 
 
 Knots and impediments make something hitch , 
 
 Adopt his own, 'tis equally in vain, 
 
 Vour thread of argument is snapp'd again ; 
 
 The wrangler, rather than accord with you. 
 
 Will judge himself deceived, and prove it too. 
 
 Vociferated logic kills me quite, 
 
 A noisy man is always in the right: 
 
 F twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair. 
 
 Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare. 
 
 And when I hope his blunders are all out, 
 
 Reply discreetly — To be sure— no doubt ! 
 
 Dubi'us is such a scrupulous good man — 
 
 Ves— you may catch him tripping if you can. 
 
 He would not, with a peremptory tone. 
 
 Assert the nose upon his face his own ; 
 
 With hesitation admirably slow, 
 
 He humbly hopes — presumes — it may be so. 
 
 His evidence, if he were call'd by law 
 
 To swear to some enormity he saw. 
 
 For want of prominence and just relief, 
 
 Would hang an honest man, and save a thief. 
 
 Through constant dread of giving truth oSence, 
 
 He ties up all his hearers in suspense; 
 
 Knows what he knows, as if he knew it not : 
 
 What he remembers seems to have forgot ;
 
 128 COXVERSATION. 
 
 His sole opinion, whatsoe'er befall. 
 
 Centering at last in having none at all. 
 
 Vet, though he tease and balk your listening ear. 
 
 He makes one useful point exceeding clear ; 
 
 Howe'er ingenious on his darhng theme 
 
 A sceptic in philosophy may seem. 
 
 Reduced to practice, his beloved rule 
 
 Would only prove him a consummate fool ; 
 
 Useless in him alike both brain and speech. 
 
 Fate having placed all tru th above his reach. 
 
 His ambiguities his total sum. 
 
 He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb. 
 
 Where men of judgment creep and feel their way, 
 The positive pronounce without dismay ; 
 Their want of light and intellect supplied 
 By sparks absurdity strikes out of pride. 
 Without the means of knowing right from wrong. 
 They always are decisive, clear, and strong ; 
 Where others toil with philosophic force, 
 Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course ; 
 Flings at your head conviction in the lump, 
 And gains remote conclusions at a jump ; 
 Their own defect, invisible to them. 
 Seen in another, they at once condemn ; 
 And, though self-idolized in every case. 
 Hate their own likeness in a brother's face. 
 The cause is plain, and not to be denied. 
 The proud are always most provoked by pride : 
 Few competitions but engender spite ; 
 And those the most when neither has a right. 
 
 The point of honour has been deem'd of use. 
 To teach good manners and to curb abuse ; 
 Admit it true, the consequence is clear. 
 Our polish'd manners are a mask we wear, 
 And at the bottom, barbarous still and rude. 
 We are restrain'd, indeed, but not subdued. 
 The very remedy, however sure. 
 Springs from the mischief it intends to cure. 
 And savage in its principle appears. 
 Tried, as it should be, by the fruit it bears. 
 'Tis hard, indeed, if nothing will defend 
 Mankind from quarrels but their fatal end :
 
 CONVERSATION. 120 
 
 That now and then a hero must decease. 
 
 That the surviving world may live in peace. 
 
 Perhaps at last close scrutiny may shew 
 
 The practice dastardly, and mean, and low ; 
 
 That men engage in it compell'd by force. 
 
 And fear, not courage, is its proper source; 
 
 The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear 
 
 Lest fops should censure us, and fools should sneer. 
 
 At least to trample on our Maker's laws. 
 
 And hazard life for any or no cause. 
 
 To rush into a flx'd eternal state 
 
 Out of the very flames of rage and hate. 
 
 Or send another shiv'ring to the bar 
 
 With all the guilt of such unnatural war. 
 
 Whatever Use may urge, or Honour plead. 
 
 On Reason's verdict is a madman's deed. 
 
 Am I to set my life upon a throw. 
 
 Because a bear is rude and surly ? No — 
 
 A moral, sensible, and well-bred man 
 
 Will not aflfront me ; and no other can. 
 
 Were I empower'd to regulate the lists. 
 
 They should encounter with well-loaded fists ; 
 
 A Trojan combat would be something new. 
 
 Let Dares beat Entellus black and blue ; 
 
 Then each might shew, to his admiring friends, 
 
 In honourable bumps his rich amends, 
 
 And carry in contusions of his skull, 
 
 A satisfactory receipt in full. 
 
 A story in which native humour reigns. 
 Is often useful, always entertains; 
 A graver fact, enlisted on your side. 
 May furnish illustration, well applied; 
 But sedentary weavers of long tales 
 Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails. 
 'Tis the most asinine employ on earth, 
 To hear them tell of parentage and birth, 
 And echo conversations dull and dry, 
 Embellish'd with— He mid, and So said I. 
 At every interview their route the same, 
 The repetition makes attention lame: 
 Webusde up with unsuccessful speed, 
 And in the saddest part cry— Droll, indeed > 
 F 2
 
 130 CONVERSATION. 
 
 The path of narrative with care pursue. 
 Still making probability your clue : 
 On all the vestiges of truth attend. 
 And let them guide you to a decent end. 
 Of all ambitions man may entertain. 
 The worst that can invade a sickly brain. 
 Is that, wl.ich angles hourly for surprise. 
 And baits its hook with prodigies and lies. 
 Credulous infancy, or age as weak. 
 Are fittest auditors for such to seek. 
 Who to please others will themselves disgrace. 
 Yet please not, but affront you to your face. 
 A great retailer of this curious ware 
 Having unloaded and made many stare. 
 Can this be true ? — an arch observer cries. 
 Yes (rather moved), I saw it with these eyes. 
 Sir ! I believe it on that ground alone; 
 I could not, had I seen it with my own. 
 
 A tale should be judicious, clear, succinct? 
 The language plain, and incidents well link'd ; 
 Tell not as new what every body knows. 
 And, new or old, still hasten to a close ; 
 There, cent'ring in a focus round and neat. 
 Let all your rays of information meet. 
 What neither yields us profit nor delight 
 Is like a nurse's lullaby at night ; 
 Guy, earl of Warwick, and fair Eleanore, 
 Or giant-killing Jack, would please me more. 
 
 The pipe, with solemn interposing puff, 
 Makes half a sentence at a time enough ; 
 The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain. 
 Then pause, and puff— and speak, and pause again. 
 Such often, like the tube they so admire. 
 Important triflers ! have more smoke than fire. 
 Pernicious weed ! whose scent the fair annoys. 
 Unfriendly to society's chief joys. 
 Thy worst effect is banishing for hours 
 The sex whose presence civilizes ours: 
 Thou art indeed the drug a gardener wants. 
 To poison vermin that infest his plants ; 
 But are we so to wit and beauty blind. 
 As to despise the glory of our kind.
 
 CONVERSATION. 131 
 
 And shew the softest minds and fairest forms 
 As little mercy as the grubs and worms ? 
 They dare not wait the riotous abuse 
 Thy thirst-creating streams at length produce. 
 When wine has given indecent language birth. 
 And forc'd the floodgates of licentious mirth ; 
 For sea-born Venus her attachment shews 
 Still to that element, from which she rose, 
 And with a quiet, which no fumes disturb. 
 Sips meek infusions of a milder herb. 
 
 The emphatic speaker dearly loves to oppose 
 In contact inconvenient, nose to nose : 
 As if the gnomon on his neighbour's phiz, 
 Touch'd with the magnet, had attracted his. 
 His whisper'd theme, dilated and at large. 
 Proves after all a wind-gun s airy charge. 
 An extract of his diary — no more, 
 A tasteless journal of the day before. 
 He walk'd abroad, o'ertaken in the rain, 
 Call'd on a friend, drank tea, stepp'd home again, 
 Resum'd his purpose, had a world of talk 
 With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk. 
 J interrupt him with a sudden bow. 
 Adieu, dear sir ! lest you should lose it now. 
 
 I cannot talk with civet in the room, 
 A fine puss-gentleman that's all perfume ; 
 The sight's enough — no need to smell a beau— 
 Who thrusts his nose into a raree-sliow ! 
 His odoriferous attempts to please 
 Perhaps might prosper with a swarm of bees : 
 But we that make no honey though we sting, 
 Poets, are sometimes apt to maul the thing. 
 'Tis wrong to bring into a mix'd resort. 
 What makes some sick, and others a-la-mort: 
 An argument of cogence, we may say. 
 Why such a one should keep himself away. 
 
 A graver coxcomb we may sometimes see. 
 Quite as absurd, though not so light as he : 
 A shallow brain behind a serious mask. 
 An oracle within an empty cask. 
 The solemn fop ; significant and budge ; 
 A fool with judges, amongst fools a judge ;
 
 132 CONVERSATIOX. 
 
 He says but little, and that little said 
 
 Owes all its weight, like loaded dice, to lead. 
 
 His wit invites you by his looks to come. 
 
 But when you knock, it never is at home. 
 
 'Tis like a parcel sent you by the stage. 
 
 Some handsome present, as your hopes presage; 
 
 'Tis heavy, bulky, and bids fair to prove 
 
 An absent friend's fidelity and love: 
 
 But when unpack'd, your disappointment groans 
 
 To find it stuflF'd with brickbats, earth, and stones. 
 
 Some men employ their health, an ugly trick, 
 In making known how oft they have been sick. 
 And give us in recitals of disease 
 A doctor's trouble, but without the fees ; 
 Relate how many weeks they kept their bed. 
 How an emetic or cathartic sped; 
 Nothing is slightly touch'd, much less forgot. 
 Nose, ears, and eyes seem present on the spot. 
 Now the distemper, spite of draught or piU, 
 Victorious seem'd, and now the doctor's skill ; 
 And now — alas for unforeseen mishaps ! 
 They put on a damp nightcap and relapse ; 
 They thought they must have died, they were so bad; 
 Their peevish hearers almost wish they had. 
 
 Some fretful tempers wince at every touch. 
 You always do too little or too much : 
 You speak with life, in hopes to entertain. 
 Your elevated voice goes through the brain ; 
 You fall at once into a lower key. 
 That's worse — the drone pipe of an humble bee. 
 The southern sash admits too strong a light. 
 You rise and drop the curtain — now 'tis night. 
 He shakes with cold— you stir the fire, and strive 
 To make a blaze — that's roasting him alive. 
 Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish ; 
 AVith sole— that's just the sort he does not wish. 
 He takes what he at first profess'd to loath, 
 And in due time feeds heartily on both; 
 Yet still, o'erclouded with a constant frown. 
 He does not swallow, but he gulps it down- 
 Your hope to please him vain on every plan. 
 Himself should work that wonder, if he can—
 
 CONVERSATION. 133 
 
 Alas ! his efforts double his distress, 
 
 He likes yours little, and his own still less. 
 
 Thus always teasing others, always teased. 
 
 His only pleasure is — to be displeased. 
 I pity bashful men, who feel the pain 
 
 'Jf fancied scorn, and undeserved disdain. 
 
 And bear the marks upon a blushing face 
 
 ' >f needless shame, and self-imposed disgrace. 
 
 ' »ur sensibilities are so acute, 
 
 Ihe fear of being silent makes us mute. 
 
 ^Ve sometimes think we could a speech produce 
 
 Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose ; 
 
 But being tried, it dies upon the lip, 
 
 Kaint as a chicken's note that has the pip : 
 
 (Jur wasted oil uuprofitably bums. 
 
 Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral unis. 
 
 Fe9t Frenchmen of this evil have complain'd; 
 
 It seems as if we Britons were ordain'd, 
 
 Hy way of wholesome curb upon our pride. 
 
 To fear each other, fearing none beside. 
 
 The cause perhaps inquiry may descry. 
 
 Self -searching with an introverted eye, 
 
 Conceal'd within an unsuspected part. 
 
 The vainest comer of our own vain heart: 
 
 For ever aiming at the world's esteem. 
 
 Our self-importance ruins its own scheme; 
 
 In other eyes our talents rarely shewn. 
 
 Become at length so splendid in our own. 
 
 We dare not risk them into public view. 
 
 Lest' they miscarry of what seems their due. 
 
 True modesty is a discerning grace. 
 
 And only blushes in the proper place ; 
 
 But counterfeit is blind, and skulks through fear. 
 
 Where 'tis a shame to be ashamed t' appear : 
 
 Humility the parent of the first. 
 
 The last by vanity produced and nursed. 
 
 The circle form'd, we sit in silent state. 
 
 Like figures drawn upon a dial plate; 
 
 Yes, ma'am, and no, ma'am, uttered softly, shew 
 
 Every five minutes how the minutes go ; 
 
 Each individual, suffering a constraint 
 
 Poetry may, but colours cannot, paint ,
 
 134 COXVERSATIOX. 
 
 As if in close committee on the sky. 
 Reports it hot or cold, or wet or dry ; 
 And finds a changing clime a happy source 
 Of wise reflection, and well-tim'd discourse. 
 We next inquire, but softly and by stealth. 
 Like conservators of the public health. 
 Of epidemic throats, if such there are. 
 And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh. 
 That theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues, 
 FUl'd up at last with interesting news. 
 Who danced with whom, and who are like to wed. 
 And who is hang'd, and who is brought to bed : 
 But fear to caU a more important cause. 
 As if 'twere treason against English laws. 
 The visit paid, with ecstasy we come. 
 As from a seven years' transportation, home. 
 And there resume an unembarrass'd brow. 
 Recovering what we lost we know not how. 
 The faculties, that seem'd reduced to nought. 
 Expression, and the privilege of thought. 
 The reeking, roaring hero of the chase, 
 I give him over as a desperate case. 
 Physicians write in hopes to work a cure. 
 Never, if honest ones, when death is sure ; 
 And though the fox he follows may be tamed, 
 A mere fox- follower never is reclaimed. 
 Some farrier should prescribe his proper course, 
 Whose only fit companion is his horse. 
 Or if, deserving of a better doom. 
 The noble beast judge otherwise, his groom. 
 Vet evn the rogue that serves him, though he stand. 
 To take his honour's orders, cap in hand. 
 Prefers his feUow-grooms with much good sense. 
 Their skill a truth, his master's a pretence. 
 If neither horse nor groom afiect the squire. 
 Where can at last his jockeyship retire ? 
 O to the club, the scene of savage joys. 
 The school of coarse good-fellowship and noise ; 
 There, in the sweet society of those. 
 Whose friendship from his boyish years he chose. 
 Let him improve his talent if he can. 
 Till none but beasts acknowledge him a man.
 
 CONVERSATION 135 
 
 Man's heart had been impenetrably seal'd, 
 Like theirs that cleave the flood or graze the field. 
 Had not his Maker's all-bestowing hand 
 Giv'n him a soul, and bade him understand ; 
 The reasoning power vouchsafed of course inferr'd 
 The power to clothe that reason with his word ; 
 For all is perfect, that God works on earth. 
 And he, that gives conception, aids the birth. 
 If this be plain, 'tis plainly understood. 
 What uses of his boon the giver would 
 The mind dispatch'd upon her busy toil. 
 Should range where Providence has bless'd the soil ; 
 Visiting every flower with labour meet. 
 And gathering all her treasures sweet by sweet. 
 She should imbue the tongue with what she sips. 
 And shed the balmy blessing on the lips, , 
 
 That good diffused may more abundant grow. 
 And speech may praise the power that bids it flow 
 Will the sweet warbler of the livelong night> 
 That fills the listening lover with delight. 
 Forget his harmony, with rapture heard. 
 To learn the twittering of a meaner bird ? 
 Or make the parrot's mimicry his choice. 
 That odious libel on the human voice? 
 No — Nature, unsophisticate by man. 
 Starts not aside from her Creator's plan; 
 The melody, that was at first design'd 
 To cheer the rude forefathers of mankind. 
 Is note for note deliver'd in our ears. 
 In the last scene of her six thousand years. 
 Vet Fashion, leader of her chattering train. 
 Whom man for his own hurt permits to reign. 
 Who shifts and changes all things but his shape. 
 And would degrade her votary to an ape. 
 The fruitful parent of abuse and wrong. 
 Holds a usurp'd dominion o'er his tongue; 
 There sits and prompts him with his own disgrace. 
 Prescribes the theme, the tone, and the grimace. 
 And when accomplish'd in her wayward school. 
 Calls gentleman whom she has made a fool. 
 'Tis an unalterable fix'd decree. 
 That none could frame or ratify but she.
 
 136 CONVERSATION. 
 
 That heaven and hell, and righteousness and sm. 
 
 Snares m his path, and foes that lurk within, 
 
 God and his attributes (a field of day 
 
 Where 'tis an angel's happiness to stray). 
 
 Fruits of his love, and wonders of his might. 
 
 Be never nam'd in ears esteem'd polite. 
 
 That he who dares, when she forbids, be grave. 
 
 Shall stand proscribed, a madman or a knave, 
 
 A close designer, not to be believed. 
 
 Or, if excused that charge, at least deceived. 
 
 Oh, Folly, worthy of the nurse's lap. 
 
 Give it the breast, or stop its mouth with pap ! 
 
 Is it incredible, or can it seem 
 
 A dream to any, except those that dream. 
 
 That man should love his Maker, and that fire. 
 
 Warming his heart, should at his lips transpire ? 
 
 Know then, and modesty let fall your eyes, 
 
 And veil your daring crest that braves the skies ; 
 
 That air of insolence affronts your God, 
 
 You need his pardon, and provoke his rod : 
 
 Now in a posture that becomes you more 
 
 Than that heroic strut assumed before. 
 
 Know your arrears with every hour accrue 
 
 For mercy shewn, while wrath is justly due. 
 
 The time is short, and there are souls on earth. 
 
 Though future pain may serve for present mirth, 
 
 Acquainted with the woes, that fear or shame, 
 
 By Fashion taught, forbade them once to name. 
 
 And, having felt the pangs you deem a jest. 
 
 Have proved them trutlis too big to be express'd. 
 
 Go seek on revelation's hallow'd ground, 
 
 Sure to succeed, the remedy they found ; 
 
 Touch'd by that power that you have dared to mock. 
 
 That makes seas stable, and dissolves the rock. 
 
 Your heart shall yield, a bfe-renewing stream. 
 
 That fools, as you have done, shall call a dream. 
 
 It happen'd on a solemn eventide. 
 Soon after He that was our surety died. 
 Two bosom friends, each pensively inclined, 
 The scene of all those sorrows left behind. 
 Sought their own village, busied as they went 
 In musing worthy of the great event:
 
 CONVERSATION. 137 
 
 They spake of him they loved, of him whose life. 
 
 Though blameless, had incurr'd perpetual strife. 
 
 Whose deeds had left, in spite of hostile arts, 
 
 A deep memorial graven on their hearts. 
 
 The recollection, like a vein of ore. 
 
 The farther traced, enrich'd them still the more ; 
 
 They thought him, and they justly thought him, one 
 
 Sent to do more than he appear'd to have done ; 
 
 To exalt a people, and to place them high 
 
 Above all else, and vvonder'd he should die. 
 
 Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, 
 
 A stranger join'd them, courteous as a friend. 
 
 And ask'd them, with a kind, engaging air. 
 
 What their affliction was, and begg'd a share. 
 
 Inforra'd, he gather'd up the broken thread. 
 
 And, truth and wisdom gracing all he said, 
 
 Explain'd, illustrated, and search'd so well 
 
 The tender theme on which they chose to dwell. 
 
 That reaching home. The night, they said, is near. 
 
 We must not now be parted — sojourn here — 
 
 The new acquaintance soon became a guest. 
 
 And, made so welcome at their simple feast. 
 
 He bless'd the bread, but vanish'd at the word. 
 
 And left them both exclaiming, 'Twas the Lord f 
 
 Did not our hearts feel all he deign'd to say. 
 
 Did they not bum within us by the way ? 
 
 Now theirs was converse, such as it behoves 
 Man to maintain, and such as God approves: 
 Their views indeed were indistinct and dim. 
 But yet successful, being aimed at him. 
 Christ and his character their only scope, 
 Their object, and their subject, and their hope. 
 They felt what it became them much to feel. 
 And, wanting him to loose the sacred seal, 
 Found him as prompt, as their desire was true. 
 To spread their newborn glories in their view. 
 Well — what are ages and the lapse of time 
 March'd against truths, as lasting as sublime ? 
 Can length of years on God himself exact > 
 Or make that fiction, which was once a fact ? 
 No — marble and recording brass decay. 
 And like the graver's memory pass away ;
 
 138 CONVERSATION. 
 
 The works of man inherit, as is just. 
 
 Their author's frailty, and return to dust : 
 
 But truth divine for ever stands secure. 
 
 Its head is guarded, as its base is sure; 
 
 Fix'd in the rolling flood of endless years. 
 
 The pillar of the eternal plan appears. 
 
 The raving storm and dashing wave defies. 
 
 Built by that architect, who built the skies. 
 
 Hearts may be found, that harbour at this hour 
 
 The love of Christ, and all its quickening power; 
 
 And lips unstain'd by folly or by strife, 
 
 Whose wisdom, drawn from the deep well of life. 
 
 Tastes of its healthful origin, and flows 
 
 A Jordan for th' ablution of our woes. 
 
 O days of Heaven, and nights of equal praise. 
 
 Serene and peaceful as those heavenly days. 
 
 When souls drawn upwards in communion sweet 
 
 Enjoy the stillness of some close retreat. 
 
 Discourse, as if released and safe at home. 
 
 Of dangers pass'd, and wonders yet to come, 
 
 And spread the sacred treasures of the breast 
 
 Upon the lap of covenanted Rest, 
 
 What, always dreaming over heavenly things, 
 Like angel-heads in stone with pigeon- wings ? 
 Canting and wining out all day the word. 
 And half the night ? fanatic and absurd ! 
 Mine be the friend less frequent in his prayers. 
 Who makes no bustle with his soul's affairs. 
 Whose wit can brighten up a wintry day. 
 And chase the splenetic dull hours away; 
 Content on earth in earthly things to shine, 
 Who waits for Heaven ere he becomes divine ; 
 Leaves saints t' enjoy those altitudes they teach, 
 Aud plucks the fruit placed more within his reach. 
 
 Well spoken, advocate of sin and shame. 
 Known by thy bleating, Ignorance thy name. 
 Is sparkling wit the worlds exclusive right ? 
 The fix'd fee-simple of the vain and light? 
 Can hopes of Heaven, bright prospects of an hour, 
 That come to waft us out of Sorrow's power. 
 Obscure or quench a faculty, that finds 
 Its happiest soil in the serenest minds ?
 
 CONVERSATION 139 
 
 Religion curbs indeed its wanton play. 
 
 And brings the trifler under rigorous sway, 
 
 But gives it usefulness unknown before. 
 
 And, purifying, makes it shine the more 
 
 A Christian's wit is inoffensive light, 
 
 A beam that aids, but never grieves the sight ; 
 
 Vigorous in age as in the flush of youth, 
 
 'Tis always active on the side of truth ! 
 
 Temperance and peace ensure its healthful state. 
 
 And make it brightest at its latest date. 
 
 Oh I have seen (nor hope perhaps in vain. 
 
 Ere life go down, to see such sights again) 
 
 A veteran warrior in the Christian field. 
 
 Who never saw the sword he could not wield ; 
 
 Grave without dulness, learned without pride. 
 
 Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen-eyed ; 
 
 A man that would have foil'd at their own play 
 
 A dozen would-be's of the modem day ; 
 
 Who, when occasion justified its use, 
 
 Had wit as bright as ready to produce ; 
 
 Could fetch from records of an earlier age. 
 
 Or from philosophy's enlightened page. 
 
 His rich materials, and regale your ear 
 
 With strains it was a privilege to hear : 
 
 Yet above all, his luxury sui>reme. 
 
 And his chief glory, was the Gospel theme; 
 
 There he was copious as old Greece or Rome, 
 
 His happy eloquence seem'd there at home, — 
 
 Ambitious not to shine or to excel, 
 
 But to treat justly what he loved so well. 
 
 It moves me more perhaps than folly ought, 
 When some green heads, as void of wit as thought, 
 Suppose themselves monopolists of sense. 
 And wiser men's ability pretence. 
 Though time will wear us, and we must grow old, 
 Such men are not forgot as soon as cold. 
 Their fragrant memory will outlast their tomb, 
 Embalm'd for ever in its own perfume. 
 And to say truth, though in its early prime, 
 And when unstain'd with any grosser crime, 
 Youth has a sprightliness and fire to boast, 
 That in the valley of decline are lost.
 
 140 COMVERSATIOX. 
 
 And Virtue, with peculiar charms, appears 
 Crown'd with the garland of life's blooming years; 
 Yet age, by long experier.ce well inform'd, 
 Well read, well ♦^^emper'd, with religion warm'd. 
 That fire abated which impels rash youth. 
 Proud of his speed, to overshoot the truth, 
 As time improves the grape's authentic juice, 
 Mellows and makes the speech more fit for use. 
 And claims a reverence in its shortening day, 
 That 'tis an honour and a joy to pay. 
 The fruits of Age, less fair, are yet more sound, 
 Than those a brighter season pours around ; 
 And, like the stores autumnal suns mature. 
 Through wintry rigours unimpair'd endure. 
 
 What is fanatic frenzy, scorn'd so much. 
 And dreaded more than a contagious touch ? 
 I grant it dangerous, and approve your fear, 
 That fire is catching if you draw too near ; 
 But sage observers oft mistake the flame. 
 And give true piety that odious name. 
 To tremble (as the creature of an hour 
 Ought at the view of an Almighty power) 
 Before his presence, at whose awful throns 
 All tremble in all worlds, except our own ; 
 To supplicate his mercy, love his ways. 
 And prize them above pleasure, wealth, or praise ; 
 Though common sense, allow'd a casting voice, 
 .And free from bias, must approve the choice ; 
 Convicts a man fanatic in the extreme. 
 And wild as madness in the world's esteem. 
 But that disease, when soberly defined, 
 Is the false fire of an o'erheated mind ; 
 It views the truth with a distorted eye. 
 And either warps or lays it useless by ; 
 Tis narrow, selfish, arrogant, and draws 
 Its sordid nourishment from man's applause , 
 And while at heart sin unrelinquish'd lies. 
 Presumes itself ch, f favourite of the skies. 
 'Tis such a light as putrefaction breeds 
 In fly-blown flesh, whereon the maggot feeds. 
 Shines in the dark, but usher'd into day. 
 The stench remains, the lustre dies away.
 
 CONVERSATION. 141 
 
 True bliss, if man may reach it, is composed 
 Of hearts in union mutually disclosed; 
 And, farewell el^e all hope of pure delight, 
 Those hearts should be reclaim'd, renew'd, upright. 
 Bad men, profaning friendship's hallow'd name 
 Form, in its stead, a covenant of shame, 
 A dark confederacy against the laws 
 Of virtue, and religion's glorious cause : 
 They build each other up with dreadful skill, 
 As bastions set point blank against God's will; 
 Enlarge and fo nify the dread redoubt. 
 Deeply resolved to shut a Saviour out; 
 Call legions u j) from hell to back the deed ; 
 And, cursed with conquest, finally succeed. 
 But souls, that carry on a bless'd exchange 
 Of joys they meet with in their heavenly range, 
 And with a fearless confidence make known 
 The sorrows, sympathy esteems its own. 
 Daily derive increasing light and force 
 From such communion in their pleasant course. 
 Feel les& the journey's roughness and its length. 
 Meet their opposers with united strength. 
 And, one in heart, in interest, and design. 
 Gird up each other to the race divine. 
 
 But Conversation, choose what theme we may. 
 And chiefly when religion leads the way, 
 Should flow, like waters after summer showers. 
 Not as if raised by mere mechanic powers. 
 The Christian, in whose soul, though now distress'd. 
 Lives the dear thought of joys he once possess'd. 
 When all his glowing language issued forth 
 With God's deep stamp upon its current worth. 
 Will speak without disguise, and must impart. 
 Sad as it is, his undissembling heart, — 
 Abhors constraint, and dares not feign a zeal, 
 Or seem to boast a fire he does not feel. 
 The song of Zion is a tasteless thing, 
 Unless, when rising on a joyful wing, 
 The soul can mix with the celestial bands, 
 And give the strain the compass it demands. 
 
 Strange tidings these to tell a World, who treat 
 All but their own experience as deceit !
 
 142 COXVERSATIOX. 
 
 Will they believe, though credulous enough 
 
 To swallow much upon much weaker proof. 
 
 That there are bless'd inhabitants of earth. 
 
 Partakers of a new etherial birth, 
 
 Their hopes, desires, and purposes estranged 
 
 From things terrestrial, and divinely changed. 
 
 Their very language of a kind that speaks 
 
 The soul's sure interest in the good she seeks. 
 
 Who deal with Scripture, its importance felt. 
 
 As TuUy with Philosophy once dealt. 
 
 And in the silent watches of the night. 
 
 And through the scenes of toil-renewing light. 
 
 The social walk, or solitary ride, 
 
 Keep stiU the dear companion at their side ? 
 
 No — shame upon a self-disgracing age, 
 
 God's work may serve an ape upon a stage 
 
 With such a jest, as fill'd with hellish glee 
 
 Certain invisibles as shrewd as he ; 
 
 But veneration or respect finds none. 
 
 Save from the subjects of that work alone. 
 
 The world grown old her deep discernment shews. 
 
 Claps spectacles on her sagacious nose, 
 
 Peruses closely the true Christian's face. 
 
 And finds it a mere mask of sly grimace ; 
 
 Usurps God's oflfice, lays his bosom bare. 
 
 And finds hypocrisy close lurking there; 
 
 And, serving God herself through mere constraint. 
 
 Concludes his unfeign'd love of him a feint. 
 
 And yet, God knows, look human nature through 
 
 (And in due time the World shall know it too). 
 
 That since the flowers of Eden felt the blast. 
 
 That after man's defection laid all waste. 
 
 Sincerity towards the heart-searching God 
 
 Has made the new-born creature her abode. 
 
 Nor shall be found in unregenerate souls. 
 
 Till the last fire bum all between the poles. 
 
 Sincerity ! why 'tis his only pride. 
 
 Weak and imperfect in all grace beside. 
 
 He knows that God demands his heart entire. 
 
 And gives him all his just demands require. 
 
 Without it his pretensions were as vain. 
 
 As, having it, he deems the World's disdain ;
 
 CONVERSATION. 
 
 That great defect would cost him not alone 
 
 Man's favourable judgment, but his own; 
 
 His birthright shaken, and no longer clear. 
 
 Than while his conduct proves his heart sincere. 
 
 Retort the charge, and let the World be told 
 
 She boasts a confidence she does not hold ; 
 
 That, conscious of her crimes, she feels instead 
 
 A cold misgiving, and a killing dread: 
 
 That while in health, the ground of her support 
 
 Is madly to forget that life is short ; 
 
 That sick, she trembles, knowing she must die, 
 
 Her hope presumption, and her faith a lie ; 
 
 That while she dotes, and dreams that she believes. 
 
 She mocks her Maker, and herself deceives. 
 
 Her utmost reach, historical assent, v 
 
 The doctrines warp'd to what they never meant ; 
 
 That truth itself is in her head as dull 
 
 And useless as a candle in a skull, - 
 
 And all her love of God a groundless claim, 
 
 A trick upon the canvas, painted flame. 
 
 Tell her again, the sneer upon her face. 
 
 And all her censures of the work of grace. 
 
 Are insincere, meant only to conceal 
 
 A dread she would not, yet is forced to feel ; 
 
 That in her heart the Christian she reveres. 
 
 And while she seems to scorn him, only fears. 
 
 A poet does not work by square or line. 
 As smiths and joiners perfect a design ; 
 At least we moderns, our attention less. 
 Beyond the example of our sires digress. 
 And claim a right to scamper and run wide 
 Wherever chance, caprice, or fancy guide. 
 The world and I fortuitously met ; 
 I owed a trifle, and have paid the debt ; 
 She did me wrong, I recompensed the deed. 
 And, having struck the balance, now proceed. 
 Perhaps, however, as some years have pass'd 
 Since she and I conversed together last. 
 And I have lived recluse in rural shades. 
 Which seldom a distinct report pervades. 
 Great changes and new manners have occurr'd. 
 And bless'd reforms, that I have never heard.
 
 144 CONVERSATION. 
 
 And she may now be as discreet and wise. 
 
 As once absurd in all discerning eyes. 
 
 Sobriety perhaps may now be found. 
 
 Where once Intoxication press'd the ground ; 
 
 The subtle and injurious may be just, 
 
 And he grown chaste, that was the slave of lust; 
 
 Arts once esteem'd may be with shame dismiss'd ; 
 
 Charity may relax the miser's fist; 
 
 The gamester may have cast his cards away. 
 
 Forgot to curse, and only kneel to pray. 
 
 It has indeed been told me (\\ith what weight, 
 
 How credibly, 'tis hard for me to state). 
 
 That fables old, that seem'd for ever mute. 
 
 Revived, are hastening into fresh repute. 
 
 And gods and goddesses discarded long. 
 
 Like useless lumber, or a stroller's song. 
 
 Are bringing into vogue their heathen train. 
 
 And Jupiter bids fair to rule again ; 
 
 That certain feasts are instituted now, 
 
 ^Yhere Venus hears the lover's tender vow; 
 
 That all Olympus through the country roves. 
 
 To consecrate our few remaining groves. 
 
 And Echo learns politely to repeat 
 
 The praise of names for ages obsolete ; 
 
 That having proved the weakness, it should seem 
 
 Of revelation's ineffectual beam. 
 
 To bring the passions under sober sway. 
 
 And give the moral springs their proper play. 
 
 They mean to try what may at last be done. 
 
 By stout substantial gods of wood and stone. 
 
 And whether Roman rites may not produce 
 
 The virtues of old Rome for English use. 
 
 May such success attend the pious plan. 
 
 May Mercury once more embellish man, 
 
 Grace him again with long forgotten arts. 
 
 Reclaim his taste, and brighten up his parts. 
 
 Make him athletic, as in days of old, 
 
 Leam'd at the bar, in the palaestra bold. 
 
 Divest the rougher sex of female airs. 
 
 And teach the softer not to copy theirs : 
 
 The change shall please, nor shall it matter aught 
 
 Who works the wonder, if it be but wrought.
 
 CONVERSATION. 145 
 
 'Tis time, however, if the case stands thus, 
 For us plain folks, and all who side with us. 
 To build our altar, confident and bold. 
 And say, as stem Elijah said of old. 
 The strife now stands upon a fair award. 
 If Israel's Lord be God, then serve the Lord: 
 If he be silent, faith is all a whim. 
 Then Baal is the God, and worship him. 
 Digression is so much in modern use. 
 Thought is so rare, and fancy so profuse. 
 Some never seem so wide of their intent. 
 As when returning to the theme they meant ; 
 As mendicants, whose business is to roam, 
 Make every parish but their own their home. 
 Though such continual zig-zags in a book, 
 Slich drunken reelings have an awkward look, 
 And I had rather creep to what is true. 
 Than rove and stagger with no mark in view ; 
 Yet to consult a little, seem'd no crime. 
 The freakish humour of the present time; 
 But now to gathei up what seems dispersed. 
 And touch the subject I design'd at first. 
 May prove, though much beside the rules of art, 
 Best for the public, and my wisest part. 
 And first, let no man charge me, that I mean 
 To clothe in sable every social scene, 
 And give good company a face severe. 
 As if they met around a father's bier ; 
 For tell some men, that pleasure all their bent, 
 And laughter all their work, is life mispent. 
 Their wisdom bursts into this sage reply. 
 Then mirth is sin, and we should always cry. 
 To find the medium asks some share of wit. 
 And therefore 'tis a mark fools never hit. 
 But though life's valley be a vale of tears, 
 A brighter scene beyond that vale appears. 
 Whose glory, with a light that never fades. 
 Shoots between scatter'd rocks and opening shades. 
 And, while it shews the land the soul desires. 
 The language of the land she seeks inspires. 
 Thus touch'd, the tongue receives a sacred cure 
 Of all that was absurd, profane, impure ; 
 G
 
 146 RETIREMENT. 
 
 Held within modest bounds, the tide of speech 
 
 Pursues the course that Truth and Nature teach ; 
 
 No longer labours merely to produce 
 
 The pomp of sound, or tinkle without use : 
 
 Where'er it winds, the salutary stream. 
 
 Sprightly and fresh, enriches every theme ; 
 
 While all the happy man possess'd before. 
 
 The gift of nature or the classic store. 
 
 Is made subservient to the grand design. 
 
 For which Heaven form'd the faculty divine. 
 
 So, should an idiot, while at large he strays. 
 
 Find the sweet lyre on which an artist plays. 
 
 With rash and awkward force the chords he shakes. 
 
 And grins with wonder at the jar he makes ; 
 
 But let the wise and well-instructed hand 
 
 Once take the shell beneath his just command. 
 
 In gentle sounds it seems as it complain'd 
 
 Of the rude injuries it late sustain'd. 
 
 Till tuned at length to some immortal song. 
 
 It sounds Jehovah's name, and pours his praise along. 
 
 HETIREMENT. 
 
 studiis florens ignobilis ot!. 
 
 Firg. Geor. Lib. 4. 
 
 Hackxey'd in business, wearied at that oar. 
 
 Which thousands, once fast chain'd to, quit no more. 
 
 But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low, 
 
 All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego ; 
 
 The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade. 
 
 Pants for the refuge of some rural shade. 
 
 Where, aU his long anxieties forgot 
 
 Amid the charms of a sequester'd spot. 
 
 Or recollected only to gild o'er. 
 
 And add a smile to what was sweet before. 
 
 He may possess the joys he thinks he sees. 
 
 Lay his old age upon the lap of Ease, 
 
 Improve the remnant of his wasted span. 
 
 And having lived a trifler, die a man.
 
 RETIREMENT. 147 
 
 Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast. 
 
 Though long rebelled against, not yet suppress'd, 
 
 And calls a creature form'd for God alone. 
 
 For Heaven's high purposes, and not his own, 
 
 Calls him away from selfish ends and aims. 
 
 From what debilitates and what inflames. 
 
 From cities humming with a restless crowd. 
 
 Sordid as active, ignorant as loud, 
 
 Whose highest praise is that they live in vain. 
 
 The dupes of pleasure, or the slaves of gain, 
 
 Where works of man are cluster'd close around. 
 
 And works of God are hardly to be found. 
 
 To regions where, in spite of sin and woe. 
 
 Traces of Eden are still seen below. 
 
 Where mountain, river, forest, field, and grove, 
 
 Remind him of his Maker's power and love. 
 
 'Tis well, if look'd for at so late a day. 
 
 In the last scene of such a senseless play. 
 
 True wisdom will attend his feeble call. 
 
 And grace his action ere the curtain falL 
 
 Souls, that have long despised their heavenly birth, 
 
 Their wishes all impregnated with Earth, 
 
 For threescore years employ'd with ceaseless care, 
 
 In catching smoke and feeding upon air, 
 
 Conversant only with the ways of men. 
 
 Rarely redeem the short remaining ten. 
 
 Inveterate habits choke the unfruitful heart. 
 
 Their fibres penetrate its teuderest part. 
 
 And, draining its nutritious powers to feed 
 
 Their noxious growth, starve every better seed. 
 
 Happy, if full of days— but happier far, 
 If, ere we yet discern life's evening star. 
 Sick of the service of a world, that feeds 
 Its patient drudges with dry chaff and weeds. 
 We can escape from Custom's idiot sway. 
 To serve the Sovereign we were born t' obey. 
 Then sweet to muse upon his skill display'd 
 (Infinite skill) in all that he has made ! 
 To trace in Nature's most minule design 
 The signature and stamp of power divine. 
 Contrivance intricate, express'd with ease. 
 Where unassisted sight no beauty sees.
 
 U8 RETIREMENT. 
 
 The shapely limb and lubricated joint 
 
 Within the small dimensions of a point. 
 
 Muscle and nerve miraculously spun. 
 
 His mighty work, who speaks and it is done. 
 
 The invisible in things scarce seen reveal'd. 
 
 To whom an atom is an ample field ; 
 
 To wonder at a thousand insect forms, 
 
 These hatch'd, and those resuscitated worms. 
 
 New life ordain'd and brighter scenes to share. 
 
 Once prone on earth, now buoyant upon air. 
 
 Whose shape would make them, had they bulk and size. 
 
 More hideous foes than fancy can devise ; 
 
 With helmet-heads, and dragon-scales adom'd, 
 
 The mighty myriads, now securely scorn d. 
 
 Would mock the majesty of man's high birth. 
 
 Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth. 
 
 Then with a glance of fancy to survey. 
 
 Far as the faculty can stretch away. 
 
 Ten thousand rivers pour'd at his command. 
 
 From urns that never fail, through every land ; 
 
 These like a deluge with impetuous force. 
 
 Those winding modestly a silent course; 
 
 The cloud-surmounting Alps, the fruitful vales ; 
 
 Seas, on which every nation spreads her sails; 
 
 The sun, a world whence other worlds drink light. 
 
 The crescent moon, the diadem of night; 
 
 Stars countless, each in his appointed place. 
 
 Fast anchor'd in the deep abyss of space — 
 
 At such a sight to catch the poet's flame. 
 
 And with a rapture like his own exclaim. 
 
 These are thy glorious works, thou Source of good. 
 
 How dimly seen, how faintly understood ! 
 
 Thine, and upheld by thy paternal care. 
 
 This universal frame, thus wondrous fair ; 
 
 Thy power divine, and bounty beyond tliought, 
 
 Adored and praised in all that thou hast wrought. 
 
 Absorb'd in that immensity I see, 
 
 I shrink abased, and yet aspire to thee ; 
 
 Instruct me, guide me to that heavenly day. 
 
 Thy words more clearly than thy works, display. 
 
 That, while thy truths my grosser thoughts refme, 
 
 I may resemble thee, and call thee mine.
 
 RETIREMENT. 149 
 
 O bless'd proficiency ! surpassing all 
 That men erroneously their glory call, 
 The recompence that arts or arms can yield. 
 The bar, the senate, or the tented field. 
 Compared with this sublimest life below, 
 Ye kings and rulers, what have courts to shew ? 
 Thus studied, used, and consecrated thus. 
 On earth what is, seems form'd indeed for us : 
 Not as the plaything of a froward child. 
 Fretful, unless diverted and beguiled. 
 Much less to feed and fan the fatal fires 
 Of pride, ambition, or impure desires. 
 But as a scale, by which the soul ascends 
 From mighty means to more important ends. 
 Securely, though by steps but rarely trod. 
 Mounts from inferior beings up to God, 
 And sees, by no fallacious light or dim. 
 Earth made for man, and man himself for him. 
 
 Not that I mean t' approve, or would enforce, 
 A superstitious and monastic course ; 
 Truth is not local, God alike pervades 
 And fills the world of traffic and the shades. 
 And may be fear'd amidst the busiest scenes. 
 Or scorn'd where business never intervenes. 
 But 'tis not easy with a mind like ours. 
 Conscious of weakness in its noblest powers. 
 And in a world where, other ills apart. 
 The roving eye misleads the careless heart. 
 To limit thought by nature prone to stray 
 Wherever freakish fancy points the way ; 
 To bid the pleadings of self-love be still. 
 Resign our own and seek our Maker's will ; 
 To spread the page of Scripture, and compare 
 Our conduct with the laws engraven there; 
 To measure all that passes in the breast. 
 Faithfully, fairly, by that sacred test ; 
 To dive into the secret deeps within. 
 To spare no passion and no favourite sin. 
 And search the themes, important above all. 
 Ourselves, and our recovery from our fall. 
 But leisure, silence, and a mind released 
 From anxious thoughts how wealth may be increased.
 
 150 RETIREMEXT. 
 
 How to secure in some propitious hour, 
 The point of interest, or the post of power, 
 A soul serene, and equally retired 
 From objects too much dreaded or desired. 
 Safe from the clamours of perverse dispute. 
 At least are friendly to the great pursuit. 
 
 Opening the map of God's extensive plan. 
 We find a little isle, this life of man ; 
 Eternity's unknown expanse appears 
 Circling around and limiting his years. 
 The busy race examine and explore 
 Each creek and cavern of the dangerous shore. 
 With care collect what in their eyes excels. 
 Some shining pebbles, and some weeds and shells ; 
 Thus laden, dream that they are rich and great. 
 And happiest he that groans beneath his weight. 
 The waves o'ertake them in their serious play. 
 And every hour sweeps multitudes away ; 
 They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep. 
 Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep. 
 A few forsake the throng : with lifted eyes 
 Ask wealth of Heaven and gain a real prize. 
 Truth, wisdom, grace, and peace like that above, 
 Seal'd with his signet, whom they serve and love ; 
 Scorn'd by the rest, with patient hope they wait 
 A kind release from their imperfect state. 
 And unregretted are soon snatch'd away 
 From scenes of sorrow into glorious day. 
 
 Nor these alone prefer a life recluse. 
 Who seek retirement for its proper use; 
 The love of change, that lives in every breast. 
 Genius and temper, and desire of rest. 
 Discordant motives in one centre meet. 
 And each inclines its votary to »3treat. 
 Some minds by nature are averse to noise. 
 And hate the tumult half the world enjoys. 
 The lure of avarice, or the pompous prize. 
 That courts display before ambitious eyes ; 
 The fruits that hang on pleasure's flowery stem, 
 Whate'er enchants them, are no snares to them. 
 To them the deep recess of dusky groves, 
 Or forest, where the deer securely roves,
 
 RETIREMENT. 151 
 
 Tlie fall of waters, and the song of birds, 
 
 And hills that echo to the distant herds. 
 
 Are luxuries excelling all the glare 
 
 The world can boast, and her chief favourites share. 
 
 With eager step, and carelessly array'd. 
 
 For such a cause the poet seeks the shade. 
 
 From all he sees he catches new delight. 
 
 Pleased Fancy claps her pinions at the sight ; 
 
 The rising or the setting orb of day, 
 
 The clouds that flit, or slowly float away, 
 
 Nature in all the various shapes she wears, 
 
 Fro\vning in storms, or breathing gentle airs, 
 
 The snowy robe her wintry state assumes. 
 
 Her summer heats, her fruits, and her perfumes. 
 
 All, all alike transport the glowing bard. 
 
 Success in rhyme his glory and reward. 
 
 O Nature ! whose Elysian scenes disclose 
 
 His bright perfections, at whose word they rose. 
 
 Next to that power, who form'd thee and sustains. 
 
 Be thou the great inspirer of my strains. 
 
 Still, as I touch the lyre, do thou expand 
 
 Thy genuine charms, and guide an artless hand, 
 
 That I may catch a fire but rarely known. 
 
 Give useful light, though I should miss renown, 
 
 And, poring on thy page, whose every line 
 
 Bears proof of an intelligence divine. 
 
 May feel a heart enrich'd by what it pays, 
 
 That builds its glory on its Maker's praise. 
 
 Woe to the man whose wit disclaims its use. 
 
 Glittering in vain, or only to seduce. 
 
 Who studies nature with a wanton eye. 
 
 Admires the work, but slips the lesson by; 
 
 His hours of leisure and recess employs 
 
 In drawing pictures of forbidden joys. 
 
 Retires to blazon his own worthless name. 
 
 Or shoot the careless with a surer aim. 
 
 The lover, too, shuns business and alarms. 
 Tender idolater of absent charms. 
 Saints offer nothing in their warmest prayers. 
 That he devotes not with a zeal Hke theirs; 
 'Tis consecration of his heart, soul, time, 
 And every thought that wanders is a crime.
 
 152 RETIREMENT. 
 
 In sighs he worships his supremely fair. 
 
 And weeps a sad libation in despair ; 
 
 Adores a creature, and, devout in vain. 
 
 Wins in return an answer of disdain. 
 
 A s woodbine weds the plant within her reach. 
 
 Rough elm, or smooth-grain'd ash, or glossy beech. 
 
 In spiral rings ascends the trunk, and lays 
 
 Her golden tassels on the leafy sprays. 
 
 But does a mischief while she lends a grace. 
 
 Straitening its growth by such a strict embrace; 
 
 So love, that clings around the noblest minds. 
 
 Forbids the advancement of the soul he binds ; 
 
 The suitor's air indeed he soon improves. 
 
 And forms it to the taste of her he loves. 
 
 Teaches his eyes a language, and no less 
 
 Refines his speech, and fashions his address ; 
 
 But farewell promises of happier fruits. 
 
 Manly designs, and learning's grave pursuits -, 
 
 Girt with a chain he cannot wish to break. 
 
 His only bliss is sorrow for her sake ; 
 
 Who will may pant for glory and excel. 
 
 Her smile his aim, all higher aims farewell ■ 
 
 Thyrsis, Alexis, or whatever name 
 
 May least offend against so pure a flame. 
 
 Though sage advice of friends the most sincere 
 
 Sounds harshly in so delicate an ear. 
 
 And lovers, of all creatures, tame or wild. 
 
 Can least brook management, however mild. 
 
 Yet let a poet (poetry disarms 
 
 The fiercest animals with magic charms) 
 
 Risk an intrusion on thy pensive mood. 
 
 And woo and win thee to thy proper good. 
 
 Pastoral images and stiU retreats. 
 
 Umbrageous walks and solitary seatSj 
 
 Sweet birds in concert with harmonious stream*. 
 
 Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day dreams. 
 
 Are aU enchantments in a case hke thine. 
 
 Conspire against thy peace with one design. 
 
 Soothe thee to make thee but a surer prey. 
 
 And feed the fire that wastes thy powers away 
 
 Up— God has form'd thee with a wiser view. 
 
 Not to be led in chains, but to subdue ;
 
 RETIREMENT. 153 
 
 Calls thee to cope with enemies, and first 
 Points out a conflict with thyself, the worst. 
 Woman, indeed, a gift he would bestow 
 When he design'd a Paradise below. 
 The richest earthly boon his hands afford. 
 Deserves to be beloved, but not adored. 
 Post away swiftly to more active scenes. 
 Collect the scatter'd truths that study gleans. 
 Mix with the world, but with its wiser part. 
 No longer give an image all thine heart ; 
 Its empire is not hers, nor is it thine, 
 'Tis God's just claim, prerogative divine. 
 
 Virtuous and faithful Heberden, whose skill 
 Attempts no task it cannot well fulfil. 
 Gives melancholy up to Nature's care. 
 And sends the patient into purer air. 
 Look where he comes— in this embower'd alcove 
 Stand close conceal'd, and see a statue move : 
 Lips busy, and eyes fix'd, foot falling slow. 
 Arms hanging idly down, hands clasp'd below. 
 Interpret to the marking eye distress. 
 Such as its symptoms can alone express. 
 That tongue is silent now ; that silent tongue 
 Could argue once, could jest or join the song. 
 Could give advice, could censure or commend. 
 Or charm the sorrows of a drooping friend. 
 Renounced alike its office and its sport. 
 Its brisker and its graver strains fall short : 
 Both fail beneath a fever's secret sway. 
 And like a summer brook are pass'd away. 
 This is a sight for Pity to peruse. 
 Till she resemble faintly what she views, 
 Till Sympathy contract a kindred pain. 
 Pierced with the woes that she laments in vain. 
 This, of all maladies that man infest. 
 Claims most compassion, and receives the least : 
 Job felt it, when he groan'd beneath the rod 
 And the barb'd arrows of a frowning God ; 
 And such emollients as his friends could spare. 
 Friends such as his for modem Jobs prepare. 
 Bless'd, rather cursed, with hearts that never feel. 
 Kept snug in caskets of close-hammer'd steel, 
 G 2
 
 154 RETIREMENT. 
 
 With mouths made only to grin wide and eat. 
 
 And minds that deem derided pain a treat. 
 
 With limbs of British oak, and nerves of wire, 
 
 And wit that puppet-prompters might inspire. 
 
 Their sovereign nostrum is a clumsy joke 
 
 On pangs enforced with God's severest stroke. 
 
 But with a soul, that ever felt the sting 
 
 Of sorrow, sorrow is a sacred thing : 
 
 Not to molest, or irritate, or raise 
 
 A laugh at his expense, is slender praise ; 
 
 He that has not usurp'd the name of man, 
 
 Does all, and deems too Uttle all, he can. 
 
 To assuage the throbbings of the fester'd part. 
 
 And stanch the bleedings of a broken heart. 
 
 'Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose. 
 
 Forgery of fancy, and a dream of woes ; 
 
 Man is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, 
 
 Each yielding harmony disposed aright ; 
 
 The screws reversed (a task which, if he please. 
 
 God in a moment executes with ease). 
 
 Ten thousand thousand strings at once go loose. 
 
 Lost, till he tune them, all their power and use. 
 
 Then neither heathy wilds, nor scenes as fair 
 
 As ever recompensed the peasant's care. 
 
 Nor soft declivities with tufted hills. 
 
 Nor view of waters turning busy mills. 
 
 Parks in which Art preceptress Nature weds. 
 
 Nor gardens interspersed with flowery beds. 
 
 Nor gales, that catch the scent of blooming groves. 
 
 And waft it to the mourner as he roves, 
 
 Can call up life into his faded eye. 
 
 That passes all he sees unheeded by ; 
 
 No wounds like those a wounded spirit feels. 
 
 No cure for such, till God who makes them, heals; 
 
 And thou, sad sufferer under nameless ill. 
 
 That yields not to the touch of human skill. 
 
 Improve the kind occasion, understand 
 
 A father's frowu, and kiss his chastening hand. 
 
 To thee the dayspring, and the blaze of noon. 
 
 The purple evening and resplendent moon, 
 
 The stars, that sprinkled o'er the vault of night. 
 
 Seem drops descending in a shower of light,
 
 RETIREMENT. ' 155 
 
 Shine not, or undesired and hated shine. 
 
 Seen through the medium of a cloud like thine : 
 
 Yet seek him, in his favour life is found. 
 
 All bliss beside a shadow or a sound : 
 
 Then Heaven, eclipsed so long, and this dull Earth, 
 
 Shall seem to start into a second birth', 
 
 Nature, assuming a more lovely face. 
 
 Borrowing a beauty from the works of grace, 
 
 Shall be despised and overlook'd no more. 
 
 Shall fill thee with delights unfelt before. 
 
 Impart to things inanimate a voice. 
 
 And bid her mountains and her hills rejoice ; 
 
 The sound shall run along the winding vales, 
 
 And thou enjoy an Eden ere it fails. 
 
 Ye groves (the statesman at his desk exclaims, 
 
 Sick of a thousand disappointed aims). 
 
 My patrimonial treasure and my pride. 
 
 Beneath your shades your gray possessor hide. 
 
 Receive me, languishing for that repose 
 
 The servant of the public never knows. 
 
 Ye saw me once (ah those regretted days. 
 
 When boyish innocence was all my praise !) 
 
 Hour after hour delightfully allot 
 
 To studies then familiar, since forgot, 
 
 And cultivate a taste for ancient song. 
 
 Catching its ardour as I mused along; 
 
 Nor seldom, as propitious Heaven might send, 
 
 What once I valued and could boast, a friend, 
 
 Were witnesses how cordially I press'd 
 
 His undissembling virtue to my breast ; 
 
 Receive me now, not uncorrupt as then, 
 
 Nor guiltless of corrupting other men, 
 
 But versed in arts, that while they seem to stay 
 
 A fallen empire, hasten its decay. 
 
 To the fair haven of tny native home. 
 
 The wreck of what I was, fatigued I come ; 
 
 For once I can approve the patriot's voice, 
 
 And make the course he recommends my choice : 
 
 We meet at last in one sincere desire, 
 
 His wish and mine both prompt me to retire. 
 
 'Tis done— he steps into the welcome chaise, 
 Lolls at his ease behind four handsome bays.
 
 156 RETIREMENT. 
 
 That whirl away from business and debate 
 
 The disencumber'd Atlas of the stete. 
 
 Ask not the boy, who, when the breeze of mom 
 
 First shakes the glittering drops from every .thorn. 
 
 Unfolds his flock, then under bank or bush 
 
 Sits linking cherry-stones, or platting rush. 
 
 How fair is Freedom ? — he was always free 
 
 To carve his rustic name upon a tree. 
 
 To snare the mole, or with Ul-fashion'd hook 
 
 To draw the incautious miimow from the brook. 
 
 Are life's prime pleasures in his simple view. 
 
 His flock the chief concern he ever knew ; 
 
 She shines but little in his heedless eyes. 
 
 The good we never miss we rarely prize i 
 
 But ask the noble drudge in state affairs. 
 
 Escaped from oflBce and its constant cares. 
 
 What charms he sees in Freedom's smile express'd. 
 
 In Freedom lost so long, now repossess'd ; 
 
 The tongue, whose strains were cogent as commands. 
 
 Revered at home, and felt in foreign lands, 
 
 S-hall own itself a stammerer in that cause. 
 
 Or plead its silence as its best applause. 
 
 He knows indeed that whether dress'd or rude. 
 
 Wild without art, or artfully subdued. 
 
 Nature in every form inspires delight. 
 
 But never mark'd her with so just a sight. 
 
 Her hedge-row shrubs, a variegated store. 
 
 With woodbine and wild roses mantled o'er. 
 
 Green balks and furrow'd lands, the stream, that spreads 
 
 Its cooling vapour o'er the dewy meads. 
 
 Downs, that almost escape the inquiring eye. 
 
 That melt and fade into the distant sky. 
 
 Beauties he lately slighted as he pass'd. 
 
 Seem all created since he travell'd last. 
 
 Master of all the enjoyments he design'd. 
 
 No rough annoyance rankling in his mind. 
 
 What early philosophic hours he keeps. 
 
 How regular his meals, how sound he sleeps ! 
 
 Not'Bounder he, that on the mainmast head. 
 
 While morning kindles with a windy red. 
 
 Begins -a long look-out for distant land. 
 
 Nor quits till evening-watch his giddy stand;
 
 RETIREMENT. 157 
 
 Tneu swift descending with a seaman's haste. 
 
 Slips to his hammock, and forgets the blast. 
 
 He chooses company, but not the squire's. 
 
 Whose wit is rudeness, whose good-breeding tires ; 
 
 Nor yet the parson's, who would gladly come. 
 
 Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home ; 
 
 Nor can he much affect the neighbouring peer, 
 
 Whose toe of emulation treads too near ; 
 
 But wisely seeks a more convenient friend. 
 
 With whom, dismissing forms, he may unbend : 
 
 A man, whom marks of condescending grace 
 
 Teach, while they flatter him, his proper place ; 
 
 Who comes when call'd, and at a word withdraws. 
 
 Speaks with reserve, and listens with applause; 
 
 Some plain mechanic, who, without pretence 
 
 To birth or wit, nor gives nor takes ofFence ; 
 
 On whom he rests well-pleased his weary powers. 
 
 And talks and laughs away his vacant hours. 
 
 The tide of life, swift always in its course. 
 
 May run in cities with a brisker force. 
 
 But no where with a current so serene. 
 
 Or half so clear, as in the rural scene. 
 
 Yet how fallacious is all earthly bliss. 
 
 What obvious truths the wisest heads may miss ! 
 
 Some pleasures live a month, and some a year, 
 
 But short the date of all we gather here; 
 
 No happiness is felt, except the true. 
 
 That does not charm the more for being new. 
 
 This observation, as it chanced, not made. 
 
 Or, if the thought occurr'd, not duly weigh'd. 
 
 He sighs— for after all, by slow degrees. 
 
 The spot he loved has lost the power to please ; 
 
 To cross his ambling pony day by day. 
 
 Seems at the best but dreaming life away ; 
 
 The prospect, such as might enchant despair, 
 
 He views it not, or sees no beauty there ; 
 
 With aching heart, and discontented looks. 
 
 Returns at noon to billiards or to books. 
 
 But feels, while grasping at his faded joys, 
 
 A secret thirst of his renounced employs. 
 
 He chides the tardiness of every post. 
 
 Pants to be told of battles won or lost.
 
 158 RETIREMENT. 
 
 Blames his own indolence, observes, though late, 
 'Tis criminal to leave a sinking state. 
 Flies to the levee, and received with grace. 
 Kneels, kisses hands, and shines again in place. 
 
 Suburban viUas, highway-side retreats, 
 That dread the encroachment of our growing streets 
 Tight boxes, neatly sash'd, and in a blaze 
 With all a July sun's collected rays. 
 Delight the citizen, who gasping there. 
 Breathes clouds of dust, and calls it country air. 
 O sweet retirement, who would balk the thought. 
 That could afiford retirement, or could not ? 
 'Tis such an easy walk, so smooth and straight, 
 The second milestone fronts the garden-gate : 
 A step if fair, and, if a shower approach. 
 You find safe shelter in the next stage-coach. 
 There, prisoned in a parlour snug and small. 
 Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall. 
 The man of business and his friends compress'd. 
 Forget their labours, and yet find no rest ; 
 But still 'tis rural— trees are to be seen 
 From every window, and the fields are green ; 
 Ducks paddle in the pond before the door. 
 And what could a remoter scene shew more ; 
 A sense of elegance we rarely find 
 The portion of a mean or vulgar mind. 
 And ignorance of better things makes man, 
 Who cannot much, rejoice in what he can ; 
 And he, that deems his leisure well bestow'd 
 In contemplation of a turnpike road. 
 Is occupied as well, employs his hours 
 As wisely, and as much improves his powers. 
 As he that slumbers in pavilions graced 
 With all the charms of an accomplish'd taste. 
 Yet hence, alas ! insolvencies ; and hence 
 The unpitied victim of ill-judged expense. 
 From all his wearisome engagements freed. 
 Shakes hands with business, and retires indeed. 
 
 Your prudent grandmammas, ye modem belles, 
 Content with Bristol, Bath, and Tunbridge-wells, 
 When health required it would consent to roam. 
 Else more attach'd to pleasures foimd at home.
 
 RETIREMENT. 159 
 
 But now alike, gay widow, virgin, wife. 
 
 Ingenious to diversify dull life. 
 
 In coaches, chaises, caravans, and hoys. 
 
 Fly to the coast for daily, nightly joys ; 
 
 And all, impatient of dry land, agree 
 
 With one consent to rush into the sea. — 
 
 Ocean exhibits, fathomless and broad. 
 
 Much of the power and majesty of God. 
 
 He swathes about the swelling of the deep. 
 
 That shines and rests, as infants smile aud sleep ; 
 
 Vast as it is, it answers as it flows 
 
 The breathings of the lightest air that blows ; 
 
 Curling and whitening over all the waste. 
 
 The rising waves obey the increasing blast. 
 
 Abrupt and horrid as the tempest roars. 
 
 Thunder and flash upon the steadfast shores. 
 
 Till He, that rides the whirlwind, checks the rein. 
 
 Then all the world of waters sleeps again.— 
 
 Nereids or Dryads, as the fashion leads, 
 
 Now in the floods, now panting in the meads. 
 
 Votaries of pleasure still, where'er she dwells. 
 
 Near barren rocks, in palaces, or cells, 
 
 O grant a poet leave to recommend 
 
 (A poet fond of nature, and your friend) 
 
 Her slighted works to your admiring view ; 
 
 Her works must needs excel, who fashion'd you. 
 
 Would ye, when rambling in your morning ride, 
 
 With some unmeaning coxcomb at your side. 
 
 Condemn the prattler for his idle pains. 
 
 To waste unheard the music of his strains. 
 
 And, deaf to all the impertinence of tongue, 
 
 That, while it courts, affronts, and does you wrong, 
 
 Mark well the finish'd plan without a fault. 
 
 The seas globose and huge, the o'er-arching vault, 
 
 Earth's millions daily fed, a world employ'd 
 
 In gathering plenty yet to be enjoy'd. 
 
 Till gratitude grew vocal in the praise 
 
 Of God beneficent in all his ways ; 
 
 Graced with such wisdom, how would beauty shine' 
 
 Ye want but that to seem indeed divine. 
 
 Anticipated rents, and bills unpaid. 
 Force many a shining youth into the shade.
 
 IfiO RETIREMENT. 
 
 Not to redeem his time, but his estate, 
 
 And play the fool, but at a cheaper rate. 
 
 There, hid in loathed obscurity, removed 
 
 From pleasures left, but never more beloved. 
 
 He just endures, and with a sickly spleen 
 
 Sighs o'er the beauties of the charming scene. 
 
 Nature indeed looks prettily in rhyme ; 
 
 Streams tinkle sweetly in poetic chime : 
 
 The warbUngs of the blackbird, clear and strong. 
 
 Are musical enough in Thomson's song ; 
 
 And Cobham's groves and Windsor's green retreats, 
 
 When Pope describes them, have a thousand sweets ; 
 
 He Ukes the country, but in truth must own 
 
 Most likes it, when he studies it in town. 
 
 Poor Jack — no matter who — for when I blame, 
 I pity, and must therefore sink the name, 
 Liv'd in his saddle, loved the chase, the course. 
 And always, ere he mounted, kiss'd his horse. 
 The estate, his sires had own'd in ancient years. 
 Was quickly distanced, match'd against a peer's. 
 Jack vanish'd, was regretted and forgot ; 
 'Tis wild good-nature's never-failing lot. 
 At length when all had long supposed him dead. 
 By cold submersion, razor, rope, or lead. 
 My lord, alighting at his usual place. 
 The Crown, took notice of an ostler's face. 
 Jack knew his friend, but hoped in that disguise 
 He might escape the most observmg eyes. 
 And whistling, as if unconcem'd and gay. 
 Curried his nag, and look'd another way. 
 Convinced at last, upor a nearer view, 
 'T was he, the same, the very" Jack he knew, 
 O'erwhelm'd at once wiih wonder, grief, and joy. 
 He press'd him much to quit his base employ ; 
 His countenance, his purse, his heart, his hand. 
 Influence and power, were all at his command : 
 Peers are not always gen'rous as well bred. 
 But Granby was, meant truly what he said. 
 Jack bow'd, and was obliged — confess' d 'twas strange, 
 That so retired he should not wish a change. 
 But knew no medium between guzzling beer, 
 And his old stint — three thousand pounds a-year
 
 RETIREMENT. 161 
 
 Thus some retire to nourish hopeless woe ; 
 
 Some seeking happiness not found below ; 
 
 Some to comply with humour, and a mind 
 
 To social scenes by nature disinclined ; 
 
 Some sway'd by fashion, some by deep disgust ; 
 
 Some self-impoverish'd, and because they must; 
 
 But few, that court Retirement, are aware 
 
 Of half the toils they must encounter there. 
 Lucrative offices are seldom lost 
 
 For want of powers proportion'd to the post ; 
 
 Give e'en a dunce the employment he desires, 
 
 And he soon finds the talents it requires ; 
 
 A business with an income at its heels 
 
 Furnishes always oil for its own wheels. 
 
 But in his arduous enterprise to close 
 
 His active years with indolent repose. 
 
 He finds the labours of that state exceed 
 
 His utmost faculties, severe indeed. 
 
 'Tis easy to resign a toilsome place. 
 
 But not to manage leisure with a grace ; 
 
 Absence of occupation is not rest, 
 
 A mind quite vacant is a mind distress'd. 
 
 The veteran steed, excused his task at length, 
 
 In kind compassion of his failing strength. 
 
 And tum'd into the park or mead to graze. 
 
 Exempt from future service all his days. 
 
 There feels a pleasure perfect in its kind. 
 
 Ranges at liberty, and snuffs the wind : 
 
 But when his lord would quit the busy road. 
 
 To taste a joy like that he had bestow'd, 
 
 He proves less happy than his favour'd brute, 
 
 A life of ease a difficult pursuit. 
 
 Thought, to the man that never thinks, may seem 
 
 As natural as when asleep to dream ; 
 
 But reveries (for human minds will act; 
 
 Specious in show, impossible in fact, 
 
 Those flimsy webs, that break as soon as wrought. 
 
 Attain not to the dignity of thought: 
 
 Nor yet the swarms, that occupy the brain. 
 
 Where dreams of dress, intrigue, and pleasure reign ; 
 
 Nor such as useless conversation breeds. 
 
 Or lust engenders, and indulgence feeds.
 
 1G2 RETIREMENT. 
 
 Whence, and what are we ! to what end ordain'd? 
 What means the drama by the world sustain'd ? 
 Business or vain amusement, care or mirth. 
 Divide the frail inhabitants of earth. 
 Is duty a mere sport, or an employ ? 
 Life an intrusted talent, or a toy ? 
 Is there, as reason, conscience. Scripture, say. 
 Cause to provide for a great future day. 
 When, earth's assign'd duration at an end, 
 Man shall be summon' d and the dead attend ? 
 The trumpet — will it sound, the curtain rise. 
 And shew the august tribunal of the skies ; 
 Where no prevarication shall avail. 
 Where eloquence and artifice shall fail. 
 The pride of arrogant distinctions fall. 
 And conscience and our conduct judge us all ? 
 Pardon me, ye that give the midnight oil 
 To learned cares, or philosophic toil. 
 Though I revere your honourable names, 
 Your useful labours and important aims. 
 And hold the world indebted to your aid, 
 Enrich'd with the discoveries ye have made ; 
 Yet let me stand excused if I esteem 
 A mind eraploy'd on so sublime a theme. 
 Pushing her bold inquiry to the date 
 And outline of the present transient state. 
 And, after poising her adventurous wings. 
 Settling at last upon eternal things. 
 Far more intelligent and better taught. 
 The strenuous use of profitable thought. 
 Than ye, when happiest, and enlight^n'd most. 
 And highest in renown, can justly boast. 
 A mind unnerved, or indisposed to bear 
 The weight of subjects worthiest of her care. 
 Whatever hopes a change of scene inspires. 
 Must change her nature, or in vain retires. 
 An idler is a watch, that wants both hands. 
 As useless if it goes, as when it stands. 
 Books, therefore, not the scandal of the shelves. 
 In which lewd sensualists print out themselves ; 
 Nor those, in which the stage gives vice a blow— . 
 With what success let modem manners shew ;
 
 RETIREMENT. 163 
 
 Nor his, who for the bane of thousands bom. 
 Built God a church, and laugh'd his word to scorn. 
 Skilful alike to seem devout and just. 
 And stab religion with a sly side-thrust; 
 Nor those of leam'd philologists, who chaae 
 A panting syllable through time and space, 
 Start it at home, and hunt it in the dark. 
 To Gaul, to Greece, and into Noah's ark; 
 But such as Learning without false pretence. 
 The friend of Truth, the associate of sound Sense, 
 And such as, in the zeal of good design. 
 Strong judgment labouring in the Scripture mine. 
 All such as manly and great souls produce. 
 Worthy to live, and of eternal use ; 
 Behold in these what leisure hours demand. 
 Amusement and true knowledge hand in hand. 
 Luxury gives the mind a childish cast. 
 And, while she polishes, perverts the taste ; 
 Habits of close attention, thinking heads. 
 Become more rare as dissipation spreads. 
 Till authors hear at length one general cry, — 
 Tickle and entertain us, or we die. 
 The loud demand, from year to year the same, 
 Beggars Invention, and makes Fancy lame. 
 Till farce itself, most mournfully jejune. 
 Calls for the kind assistance of a tune ; 
 And novels (witness every month's review) 
 Belie their name, and offer nothing new. 
 The mind, relaxing into needful sport. 
 Should turn to writers of an abler sort. 
 Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style. 
 Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom smile. 
 Friends (for I cannot stint, as some have done. 
 Too rigid in my view, that name to one ; 
 Though one, I grant it, in the generous breast 
 Will stand advanced a step above the rest : 
 Flowers by that name promiscuously we call. 
 But one, the rose, the regent of them all — 
 Friends, not adopted with a school-boy's haste. 
 But chosen with a nice discerning taste. 
 Well-bom, well-disciplined, who, placed apart 
 From vulgar minds, have honour much at heart.
 
 164 RETIREMENT. 
 
 And though the world may think the ingredients odd,. 
 
 The love of virtue, and the fear of God ! 
 
 Such friends prevent what else would soon succeed, 
 
 A temper rustic as the life we lead. 
 
 And keep the polish of the mamiers clean 
 
 As theirs who bustle in the busiest sceile ; 
 
 For solitude, however some may rave, 
 
 Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grave, 
 
 A sepulchre, in which the living lie. 
 
 Where all good qualities grow sick and die, 
 
 I praise the Frenchman,* his remark was shrewd — 
 
 How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude ! 
 
 But grant me still a friend in my retreat. 
 
 Whom I may whisper— solitude is sweet. 
 
 Vet neither these delights, nor aught beside. 
 
 That appetite can ask, or wealth provide. 
 
 Can save us always from a tedious day, 
 
 Or shine the dulness of still Ufe away : 
 
 Divine communion, carefully enjoy'd. 
 
 Or sought with energy, must fill the void. 
 
 O sacred art, to which alone life owes 
 
 Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close, 
 
 Scorn'd in a world, indebted to that scorn 
 
 For evils daily felt and hardly home. 
 
 Not knowing thee, we reap with bleeding hands 
 
 Flowers of rank odour upon thorny lands. 
 
 And, while Experience cautions us in vain. 
 
 Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain. 
 
 Despondence, self-deserted in her grief. 
 
 Lost by abandoning her own relief. 
 
 Murmuring and ungrateful Discontent, 
 
 That scorns afflictions mercifuUy meant. 
 
 Those humours tart as wines upon the fret. 
 
 Which idleness and weariness beget ; 
 
 These, and a thousand plagues, that haunt the breast, 
 
 Fond of the phantom of an earthly rest. 
 
 Divine commimion chases as the day 
 
 Drives to their dens the obedient beasts of prey. 
 
 See Judah's promised king bereft of all. 
 
 Driven out an exile from the face of Saul, 
 
 » Bruyere.
 
 RETIREMENT. IG5 
 
 To distant caves the lonely wanderer flies, 
 To seek that peace a tyrant's frown denies. 
 Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice. 
 Hear him, o'erwhelmed with sorrow, yet rejoice. 
 No womanish or wailing grief has part. 
 No, not a moment, in his royal heart ; 
 Tis manly music such as martyrs make. 
 Suffering with gladness for a Saviour's sake; 
 His soul exults, hope animates his lays. 
 The sense of mercy kindles into praise. 
 And wilds, familiar with a lion's roar. 
 Ring with ecstatic sounds unheard before : 
 'Tis love like his, that can alone defeat 
 Tlie foes of man, or make a desert sweet. 
 Religion does not censure or exclude 
 Unnumber'd pleasures harmlessly pursued ; 
 To study culture, and with artful toil 
 To meliorate and tame the stubborn soil ; 
 To give dissimilar yet fruitful lands 
 The grain, or herb, or plant, that each demands ; 
 To cherish virtue in an humble state, 
 And share the joys your bounty may create; 
 To mark the matchless workings of the power 
 That shuts within its seed the future flower. 
 Bids these in elegance of form excel. 
 In colour these, and those delight the smell. 
 Sends Nature forth the daughter of the skies. 
 To dance on earth, and charm all human eyes ; 
 To teach the canvas innocent deceit. 
 Or lay the landscape on the snowy sheet — 
 These, these are arts pursued without a crime, 
 That leave no stain upon the wing of Time. 
 
 Me poetry (or rather notes that aim 
 Feebly and vainly at poetic fame) 
 Employs, shut out from more important views. 
 Fast by the banks of the slow winding Ouse : 
 Content if thus sequester'd I may raise 
 A monitor's though not a poet's praise. 
 And while I teach an art too little known, 
 To close life wisely, may not waste my own.
 
 16C 
 THE YEARLY DISTRESS ; 
 
 OR, TITHING TIMB AT STOCK, IN ESSEX. 
 
 Verses addressed to a country clergyman, complaining of the 
 disa^eeableness of the day annually appointed for receiving 
 the dues of the parsonage. 
 
 Come, ponder well, for 'tis no jest. 
 
 To laugh it would be wrong. 
 The troubles of a worthy priest. 
 
 The burthen of my song. 
 
 This priest he merry is and blithe 
 
 Three-quarters of a year. 
 But oh ! it cuts him like a ?cythe, 
 
 When tithing time draws near. 
 
 He then is full of fright and fears. 
 
 As one at point to die. 
 And long before the day appears 
 
 He heaves up many a sigh. 
 
 For then the farmers come jog, jog, 
 
 Along the miry road. 
 Each heart as heavy as a log. 
 
 To make their payments good. 
 
 In sooth, the sorrow of such days 
 
 Is not to be express'd, 
 When he that takes, and he that pays. 
 
 Are both alike distress'd. 
 
 Now all unwelcome at his gates. 
 The clumsy swains alight, 
 
 With rueful faces and bald pates- 
 He trembles at the sight. 
 
 And well he may, for well he knows 
 
 Each bumpkin of the clan. 
 Instead of paying what he owes. 
 
 Will cheat him if he can. 
 
 So in they come— each makes his leg, 
 
 And flings his head before. 
 And looks as if he came to beg, 
 
 And not to quit a score.
 
 THE YEARLY DISTRESS. 167 
 
 ' And how does miss and madam do, 
 
 The little boy and all ? ' 
 ' All tight and well. And how do you. 
 
 Good Mr. What-d'ye call ?' 
 
 The dinner comes, and down they sit ; 
 
 Were e'er such hungry folk ? 
 There's little talking and no wit ; 
 
 It is no time to joke. 
 
 One wipes his nose upon his sleeve. 
 
 One spits upon the floor. 
 Yet, not to give offence or grieve, 
 
 Holds up the cloth before. 
 
 The punch goes round, and they are dull 
 
 And lumpish still as ever ; 
 Like barrels with their bellies full. 
 
 They only weigh the heavier. 
 
 At length the busy time begins. 
 
 ' Come, neighbours, we must wag — ' 
 The money chinks, down drop their chins. 
 
 Each lugging out his bag. 
 
 One talks of mildew and of frost. 
 
 And one of storms of hail. 
 And one of pigs that he has lost 
 
 By maggots at the tail. 
 
 Quoth one, ♦ A rarer man than you 
 
 In pulpit none shall hear : 
 But yet, methinks, to tell you true. 
 
 You sell it plaguy dear.' 
 
 O why are farmers made so coarse. 
 
 Or clergy made so fine ? 
 A kick, that scarce would move a horse. 
 
 May kill a sound divine. 
 
 Then let the boobies stay at home ; 
 
 'Twould cost him, I dare say, 
 Less trouble taking twice the sum. 
 
 Without the clowns that pay.
 
 168 
 SONNET 
 
 ADDRESSED TO HEXEY COWPER, ESQ. 
 
 On his emphatical and interesting DeliTcry of the Defence of 
 Warren Hastings, Esq. in the House of Lords. 
 
 CowPER, whose silver voice, task'd sometimes hard. 
 
 Legends prolix delivers in the ears 
 
 (Attentive when thou read'st) of England's peers, 
 Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward. 
 
 Thou wast not heard with drowsy disregard. 
 Expending late on all that length of plea 
 Thy generous powers ; but silence honour'd thee, 
 
 Mute as e'er gazed on orator or bard. 
 
 Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside 
 Both heart and head : and couldst with music sweet 
 Of Attic phrase and senatorial tone. 
 Like thy renown'd forefathers, far and wide 
 Thy fame diffuse, prais'd not for utterance meet 
 Of others' speech, but magic of thj/ own. 
 
 LINES 
 
 ADDRESSED TO DR. DARWIN, 
 
 Author of ' The Botanic Garden.' 
 Two Poets* (poets, by report. 
 
 Not oft so well agree). 
 Sweet harmonist of Flora's court ! 
 
 Conspire to honour Thee. 
 
 They best can judge a poet's worth, 
 
 Who oft themselves have known 
 The pangs of a poetic birth 
 
 By labours of their own. 
 
 We therefore pleased extol thy song, 
 
 Though various, yet complete. 
 Rich in embellishment as strong, 
 
 And learned as 'tis sweet. 
 
 » Alluding to the poem by Mr. Hayley, which accompanied 
 these lines.
 
 FEATHER-HANGINGS. 169 
 
 No envy mingles with our praise. 
 
 Though, could our hearts repine 
 At any poet's happier lays. 
 
 They would— they must at thine. 
 But we, in mutual bondage knit 
 
 Of friendship's closest tie. 
 Can gaze on even Darwin's wit 
 
 With an unjaundiced eye ; 
 And deem the bard, whoe'er he be. 
 
 And howsoever known. 
 Who would not twine a wreath for Thee, 
 
 Unworthy of his own. 
 
 MRS. MONTAGU'S FEATHER. 
 HANGINGS. 
 
 The birds put off their every hue. 
 To dress a room for Montagu. 
 
 The peacock sends his heavenly dyes, 
 His rainbows and his starry eyes ; 
 The pheasant plumes, which round infold 
 His mantling neck with downy gold ; 
 The cock his arch'd tail's azure show ; 
 And, river blanch'd, the swan his snow. 
 All tribes beside of Indian name. 
 That glossy shine, or vivid flame. 
 Where rises, and where sets the day, 
 Whate'er they boast of rich and gay. 
 Contribute to the gorgeous plan. 
 Proud to advance it all they can. 
 This plumage neither dashing shower, 
 Nor blasts, that shake the dripping bower, 
 Shall drench again or discompose. 
 But, screen'd from every storm that blows. 
 It boasts a splendour ever new, 
 Safe with protecting Montagu. 
 
 To the same patroness resort. 
 Secure of favour at her court. 
 Strong Genius, from whose forge of thought 
 Forms rise, to quick perfection wrought, 
 II
 
 170 VERSES BY A. SELKIRK 
 
 Which, though new-bom, with vigour move. 
 Like Pallas sjiringing arm'd from Jove- 
 Imagination scattering round 
 Wild roses over furrow d ground. 
 Which Labour of his frown beguile. 
 And teach Philosophy a smile — 
 Wit flashing on Religion's side. 
 Whose fires, to sacred truth applied. 
 The gem, though luminous before,^ 
 Obtrude on human notice more. 
 Like sunbeams on the golden height 
 Of some tall temple, playing bright — 
 Well-tutord Learning, from his books 
 Dismiss'd with grave, not haughty, looks, 
 TAeJj- order on his shelves exact. 
 Net more harmonious or compact 
 Than that, to which he keeps confined 
 The various treasures of his mind — 
 All these to Montagu's repair. 
 Ambitious of a shelter there. 
 There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit, 
 Their rufSed plumage calm refit, 
 (For stormy troubles loudest roar 
 Around their flight who highest soar) 
 And in her eye, and by her aid. 
 Shine safe without a fear to fade. 
 
 She thus maintains divided sway 
 With yon bright regent of the day ; 
 The plume and poet both, we know. 
 Their lustre to his influence owe; 
 And she the works of Phoebus aiding. 
 Both poet saves and plume from fading. 
 
 VERSES. 
 
 Sunposedto be written by Alexander Selkirk, during his sol- 
 abode in the island of Juan Fernandez. 
 
 I AM monarch of aU I survey. 
 My right there is none to dispute ; 
 
 From the centre all round to the sea, 
 I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
 
 VERSES BY A. SELKIRK. 171 
 
 solitude ! where are the charms 
 That sages have seen in thy face ? 
 
 Better dwell in the midst of alarms. 
 Than reign in this horrible place. 
 
 1 am out of humanity's reach, 
 
 I must finish my journey alone. 
 Never hear the sweet music of speech, — 
 
 I start at the sound of my own. 
 The beasts, that roam over the plain. 
 
 My form with indiflference see ; 
 They are so unacquainted with man. 
 
 Their tameness is shocking to me. 
 
 Society, friendship, and love. 
 
 Divinely bestowed upon man, 
 O, had I the wings of a dove. 
 
 How soon would I taste you again ' 
 My sorrows I then might assuage 
 
 In the ways of religion and truth, 
 Might learn from the wisdom of age, 
 
 And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth. 
 
 Religion! what treasure untold 
 
 Resides in that heavenly word ! 
 More precious than silver and gold. 
 
 Or all that this earth can afford. 
 But the sound of the church-going bell 
 
 These valleys and rocks never heard. 
 Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell. 
 
 Or smiled when a sabbath appear 'd. 
 
 Ye winds, that have made me your sjiort. 
 
 Convey to this desolate shore 
 Some cordial endearing report 
 
 Of a land I shall visit no more. 
 My friends— do they now and then send 
 
 A wish or a thought after me ? 
 O tell me I yet have a friend, 
 
 Though a friend I am never to see. 
 
 How fleet is a glance of the mind ! 
 
 Compared with the speed of its flight, 
 The tempest itself lags behind, 
 
 And the swift-winged arrows of light.
 
 1/2 OX E. THURLOW, ESQ. 
 
 When I think of my own native land. 
 In a moment I seem to be there ; 
 
 But, alas ! recollection at hand 
 Soon hurries me back to despair. 
 
 But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest. 
 The beast is laid down in his lair ; 
 
 Even here is a season of rest. 
 And I to my cabin repair. 
 
 There's mercy in every place. 
 And mercy, encouraging thought ! 
 
 Gives even affliction a grace. 
 And reconciles man to his lot. 
 
 ON THE PROMOTION OP 
 
 EDWARD THURLOW, ESa 
 
 To the Lord High Chancellorship of England. 
 
 Round Thurlow's head in early youth 
 
 And in his sportive days. 
 Fair Science pour'd the light of truth. 
 
 And Genius shed his rays. 
 
 See ! with united wonder cried 
 
 The experienced and the sage. 
 Ambition in a boy supplied 
 
 With all the skill of age ! 
 
 Discernment, eloquence, and grace 
 
 Proclaim him bom to sway 
 The balance in the highest place. 
 
 And bear the palm away. 
 
 The praise bestow'd was just and wise ; 
 
 He sprang impetuous forth. 
 Secure of conquest, where the prize 
 
 Attends superior worth. 
 
 So the best courser on the plain 
 
 Ere yet he starts is known, 
 And does but at the goal obtain 
 
 What all had deem'd his own. 
 
 1
 
 ODE TO PEACE. 
 
 Come, peace of mind, delightful guest ! 
 Return, and make thy downy nest 
 
 Once more in this sad heart : 
 Nor riches I nor power pursue. 
 Nor hold forbidden joys in view ; 
 
 We therefore need not part. 
 
 Where wilt thou dweU, if not with me, 
 From avarice and ambition free. 
 
 And pleasure's fatal wiles ? 
 For whom, alas ! dost thou prepare 
 The sweets that I was wont to share. 
 
 The banquet of thy smiles ? 
 
 The great, the gay, shall they partake 
 The heaven that thou alone canst make ? 
 
 And wilt thou quit the stream 
 That murmurs through the dewy mead. 
 The grove and the sequester'd shed. 
 
 To be a guest with them ? 
 
 For thee 1 panted, thee I prized. 
 For thee I gladly sacrificed 
 
 Whate'er I loved before ; 
 And shall I see thee start away. 
 And helpless, hopeless, hear thee say— 
 
 Farewell ! we meet no more ! 
 
 HUMAN FRAILTY. 
 
 Weak and irresolute is man. 
 
 The purpose of to-day. 
 Woven with pains into his plan. 
 
 To-morrow rends away. 
 
 The bow well bent, and smart the spring. 
 
 Vice seems already slain ; 
 But Passion rudely snaps the string. 
 
 And it revives again.
 
 174 HUMAN FRAILTY. 
 
 Some foe to his upright intent 
 
 Finds out his weaker part ; 
 Virtue engages his assent. 
 
 But Pleasure wins his heart. 
 
 'Tis here the folly of the wise 
 Through all his heart we view; 
 
 And, while his tongue the charge denies, 
 His conscience owns it true. 
 
 Bound on a voyage of awful length 
 
 And dangers little known, 
 A stranger to superior strength, 
 
 Man vainly trusts his own. 
 
 But oars alone can ne'er prevail. 
 To reach the distant coast ; 
 
 The breath of heaven must swell the sail. 
 Or all the toil is lost. 
 
 THE MODERN PATRIOT. 
 
 Rebellion is my theme all day ; 
 
 I only wish 'twould come 
 (As who knows but perhaps it may !) 
 
 A little nearer home. 
 
 Yon roaring boys who rave and fight 
 
 On t'other side th' Atlantic, 
 I always held them in the right. 
 
 But most so when most frantic. 
 
 When lawless mobs insult the court. 
 That man shall be my toast, 
 
 If breaking windows be the sport. 
 Who bravely breaks the most. 
 
 But O ! for him my fancy culls 
 The choicest flowers she bears. 
 
 Who constitutionally pulls 
 Your house about your ears.
 
 REPORT OF A LAW CASE. 175 
 
 Such civil broils are my delight. 
 Though some folks can't endure them. 
 
 Who say the mob are mad outright. 
 And that a rope must cure them. 
 
 A rope ! I wish we patriots had 
 Such strings for all who need 'em — 
 
 What ! hang a man for going mad ? 
 Then farewell British freedom ! 
 
 ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE 
 NOTE RECORDED IN THE BIOGUAPIIIA 
 BRITANNICA. 
 
 Oh, fond attempt to give a deathless lot 
 To names ignoble, bom to be forgot ! 
 In vain, recorded in historic page, 
 They court the notice of a future age : 
 Those twinkling tiny lustres of the land 
 Drop one by one from Fame's neglecting hand ; 
 Letha;an gulfs receive them as they fall, 
 And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all. 
 
 So when a child, as playful children use. 
 Has burnt to tinder a stale last year's news, 
 The flame extinct, he views the roving fire — 
 There goes my lady, and there goes the 'squire. 
 There goes the parson, oh illustrious spark ! 
 And there, scarce less illustrious, goes the clerk ! 
 
 HEPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, NOT TO I5E 
 
 FOUND IN ANY OF THE BOOKS. 
 Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, 
 
 The spectacles set them unhappily wrong : 
 The point in dispute was, as all the world knows. 
 
 To which the said spectacles ought to belong. 
 
 So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause 
 With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning ; 
 
 While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws, 
 So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.
 
 176 LORD MANSFIELD'S LIBRARY. 
 
 In behalf of the Nose it will quickly appear. 
 And your lordship, he said, wiU undoubtedly find 
 
 That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear. 
 Which amounts to possession time out of mind. 
 
 Then holding the spectacles up to the court — 
 Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle. 
 
 As wide as the ridge of the Nose is ; in short, 
 Design'd to sit close to it, just like a saddle. 
 
 Again, would your lordship a moment suppose 
 {'Tis a case that has happen'd, and may be again) 
 
 That the visage or countenance had not a Nose, 
 Pray who would, or who could, wear spectacles then ? 
 
 On the whole it appears, and my argument shews. 
 With a reasoning the court will never condemn, 
 
 That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose, 
 And the Nose was as plainly intended for them. 
 
 Then shifting his side (as a lawyer knows how). 
 
 He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes : 
 But what were his arguments few people know. 
 
 For the court did not think they were equally wise. 
 
 So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone. 
 Decisive and clear, without one if or but — 
 
 That v/henever the Nose put his spectacles on. 
 By daylight or candlelight — Eyes should be shut J 
 
 ON THE BURNIXG OF LORD MAXSFIELD S 
 LlBRAllY, TOGETHER WITH HIS MSS., BY 
 THE MOB, IN THE MONTH OF JUNE, 1780 
 
 So then — the Vandals of our isle. 
 
 Sworn foes to sense and law. 
 Have burnt to dust a nobler pile 
 
 Than ever Roman saw ! 
 
 And Murray sighs o'er Pope and Swift, 
 
 And many a treasure more. 
 The well-judg'd purchase and the gift 
 
 That graced his letter'd store.
 
 HYPOCRISY DETECTED. 177 
 
 Their pages mangled, burnt, and torn. 
 
 The loss was his alone; 
 But ages yet to come shall mourn 
 
 The burning oi his own. 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 When wit and genius meet their doom 
 
 In all-devouring flame. 
 They tell us of the fate of Rome, 
 
 And bid us fear the same. 
 
 O'er Murray's loss the Muses wept. 
 
 They felt the rude alarm. 
 Yet bless'd the guardian care that kept 
 
 His sacred head from harm. 
 
 There Memory, like the bee that's fed 
 
 From Flora's balmy store, 
 The quintessence of all he read 
 
 Had treasured up before. 
 
 The lawless herd, with fury blind. 
 
 Have done him cruel wrong; 
 The flowers are gone— but still we find 
 
 The honey on his tongue. 
 
 THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVKD ; OR 
 HYPOCRISY DETECTED.* 
 
 Thus says the prophet of the Turk, 
 Good Mussulman, abstain from pork; 
 There is a part in every swine 
 No friend nor follower of mine 
 May taste, whate'er his inclination. 
 On pain of excommunication. 
 Such Mahomet's mysterious charge. 
 And thus he left the point at Inrge. 
 
 • It may be pro.ier to inform the reader, that this piece ha? 
 
 already appeared in print, having found its way, though "itli 
 
 some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, into the Lcvds 
 
 Journal, without the author's privity. 
 
 H 2
 
 LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFIXCH. 
 
 Had he the sinful part express'd. 
 They might with safety eat the rest ; 
 But for one piece they thought it hard 
 From the whole hog to be debarr'd ; 
 And set their wit at work to find 
 What joint the prophet had in mind. 
 Much controversy straight arose ; 
 These choose the back, the belly those ; 
 By some 'tis confidently said 
 He meant not to forbid the head ; 
 While others at that doctrine rail. 
 And piously prefer the taiL 
 Thus, conscience freed from every clog, 
 Mahometans eat up the hog. 
 
 You laugh — 'tis weU — The tale applied 
 May make you laugh on t'other side. 
 Renounce the world — the preacher cries ; 
 We do — a multitude replies. 
 While one as innocent regards 
 A snug and friendly game at cards : 
 And one, whatever you may say. 
 Can see no evil in a play ; 
 Some love a concert, or a race ; 
 And others shooting and the chase. 
 RevUed and loved, renounced and foUow'd, 
 Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallow'd ; 
 Each thinks his neighbour makes too free. 
 Yet likes a slice as well as he ; 
 With sophistry their sauce they sweeten. 
 Till quite from tail to snout 'tis eaten. 
 
 OX THE DEATH OF LADY THROCKMOKTOX's 
 BULFIXCH. 
 Ve nymphs ! if e'er your eyes were red 
 With tears o'er hapless favourites shed, 
 
 O share Maria's grief] 
 Her favourite, even in his cage, 
 (What will not hunger's cruel rage !) 
 Assassin'd bv a thief.
 
 LADY THROCKMORTON'S BULFIXCH. 179 
 
 Where Rhenus strays his vines among. 
 The egg was laid from which he sprung ; 
 
 And, though by nature mute. 
 Or only with a whistle bless'd. 
 Well taught, he all the sounds express'd 
 
 Of flageolet or flute. 
 
 The honours of his ebon poll 
 
 Were brighter than the sleekest mole ; 
 
 His bosom of the hue 
 With which Aurora decks the skies. 
 When piping winds shall soon arise. 
 
 To sweep away the dew. 
 
 Above, below, in all the house. 
 Dire foe alike of bird and mouse. 
 
 No cat had leave to dwell ; 
 And Bully's cage supported stood 
 On props of smoothest shaven wood, 
 
 Large built, and latticed welL 
 
 Well-latticed— but the grate, alas ! 
 Not rough with wire of steel or brass, 
 
 For Bully's plumage sake. 
 But smooth with wands from Ouse's side. 
 With which, when neatly peel d and dried. 
 
 The swains their baskets make. 
 
 Night veil'd the pole, all seem'd secure : 
 When led by instinct sharp and sure. 
 
 Subsistence to provide, 
 A beast forth sallied on the scout, 
 Long back'd, long tail'd, with whisker'd snout. 
 
 And badger-colour'd hide. 
 
 He, entering at the study door, 
 Its ample area 'gan t' explore ; 
 
 And something in the wind 
 Conjectured, sniffing round and round, 
 Better than all the books he found. 
 
 Food chiefly for the mind. 
 
 Just then, by adverse fate impress'd, 
 A dream disturb'd poor Bully's rest ;
 
 so THE ROSE. 
 
 In sleep he seem'd to view 
 A rat fast clijigirg to the cage, 
 And, screaming at the sad presage. 
 Awoke, and found it true. 
 
 For, aided both by ear and scent, 
 
 Right to his mark the monster went — 
 Ah, Muse ! forbear to speak 
 
 Minute the horrors that ensued ; 
 
 His teeth were strong, the cage was wood- 
 He left poor Bully's beak. 
 
 O had he made that too his prey ; 
 That beak, whence issued many a lay 
 
 Of such mellifluous tone. 
 Might have repaid him well, I wot. 
 For silencing so sweet a throat. 
 
 Fast stuck within his own. 
 
 Maria weeps— the Muses mourn — 
 So when, by Bacchanalians torn. 
 
 On Thracian Hebrus' side 
 The tree enchanter, Orpheus, fell. 
 His head alone remain 'd to tell 
 
 The cruel death he died. 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 Thk rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower, 
 
 Which Mary to Anna convey'd, 
 T le plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower. 
 
 And weigh'd down its beautiful head. 
 
 The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet, 
 
 And it seem'd, to a fanciful view. 
 To weep for the buds it bad left with regret 
 
 On the flourishing bush where it grew. 
 
 I hastily seized it, unfit as it was 
 For a nosegay so dripping and drown'd ; 
 
 And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas ! 
 I snapp'd it — it fell to the ground.
 
 THE DOVES. 181 
 
 And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part 
 
 Some act by the delicate mind, 
 Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart 
 
 Already to sorrow resign'd ! 
 
 This elegant rose, had I shaken it less. 
 Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile; 
 
 And the tear that is wiped with a little address 
 May be follow'd perhaps by a smile. 
 
 THE DOVES. 
 
 Reasoning at every step he treads, 
 Man yet mistakes his way. 
 
 While meaner things, whom instinct 1 
 Are rarely known to stray. 
 
 One silent eve I wander'd late. 
 And heard the voice of love ; 
 
 The turtle thus address'd her mate. 
 And soothed the listening dove : 
 
 Our mutual bond of faith and truth 
 
 No time shall disengage. 
 Those blessings of our early youth 
 
 Shall cheer our latest age : 
 
 While innocence without disguise, 
 
 And constancy sincere, 
 Shall fill the circles of those eyes. 
 
 And mine can read them there; 
 
 Those ills, that wait on all below, 
 
 Shall ne'er be felt by me, 
 Or gently felt, and only so. 
 
 As being shar'd with thee. 
 
 When lightnings flash among the trees 
 Or kites are hovering near, 
 
 I fear lest thee alone they seize. 
 And know no other fear.
 
 1S2 A FABLE. 
 
 'Tis then 1 feel myself a wife. 
 And press thy wedded side, 
 
 Resolv'd a union form'd for life 
 Death never shall divide. 
 
 But oh ! if fickle and unchaste 
 (Forgive a transient thought) 
 
 Thou couldst become unkind at last. 
 And scorn thy present lot. 
 
 No need of lightnings from on high. 
 Or kites with cruel beak ; 
 
 Denied the endearments of thine eye, 
 This widow'd heart would break. 
 
 Thus sang the sweet sequester'd bird. 
 Soft as the passing wind; 
 
 And I recorded what I heard, 
 A lesson for mankind. 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 A Raven, while with glossy breast 
 
 Her new-laid eggs she fondly press'd, 
 
 And on her wicker-work high mounted, 
 
 Her chickens prematurely counted 
 
 (A fault philosophers might blame 
 
 If quite exempted from the samei, 
 
 Enjoy'd at ease the genial day ; 
 
 'Twas April, as the bumpkins say. 
 
 The legislature call'd it May. 
 
 But suddenly a wind as high 
 
 As ever swept a winter sky. 
 
 Shook the young leaves about her ears, 
 
 And fiU'd her with a thousand fears. 
 
 Lest the rude blast should snap the bough, 
 
 And spread her golden hopes below. 
 
 But just at eve the blowing weather 
 
 And all her fears were hush'd together : 
 
 And now, quoth poor unthinking Ralph, 
 
 •Tis over, and the brood is safe
 
 A COMPARISON. 183 
 
 (For ravens, though as birds of omen 
 
 They teach both conjurers and old women 
 
 To tell us what is to befall. 
 
 Can't prophesy themselves at all). 
 
 The morning came, when neighbour Hodge, 
 
 Who long had mark'd her airy lodge. 
 
 And destined all the treasure there 
 
 A gift to his expectmg fair, 
 
 Climb'd like a squirrel to his prey. 
 
 And bore the worthless prize away. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 'Tis Providence alone secures. 
 In every change, both mine and yours : 
 Safety consists not in escape 
 From dangers of a frightful shape ; 
 An earthquake may be bid to spare 
 The man that's strangled by a hair. 
 Fate steals along with silent tread. 
 Found oftenest in what least we dread ; 
 Frowns in the storm with angry brow. 
 But in the sunshine strikes the blow. 
 
 A COMPARISON. 
 
 The lapse of time and rivers is the same. 
 Both speed their journey with a restless stream ; 
 The silent pace, with which they steal away. 
 No wealth can bribe, nor prayers persuade to stay ; 
 Alike irrevocable both when past, 
 And a wide ocean swallows both at last. 
 Though each resemble each in every part, 
 A difference strikes at length the musing heart : 
 Streams never flow in vain ; where streams abound, 
 How laughs the land with various plenty arown'd ! 
 But time, that should enrich the nobler mind, 
 Neglected, leaves a v/eary waste behind.
 
 184 
 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADV. 
 
 Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade. 
 
 Apt emblem of a virtuous maid — 
 
 Silent and chaste she steals along. 
 
 Far from the world's gay busy throng ; 
 
 With gentle yet prevailing force. 
 
 Intent upon her destined course ; 
 
 Graceful and useful all she does. 
 
 Blessing and bless'd where'er she goes, 
 
 Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass. 
 
 And heaven reflected in her face. 
 
 THE POETS NEW-YEAR'S GIFT. 
 
 TO LADY THROCKMOHTOK. 
 
 Maria ! I have every good 
 
 For thee wish'd many a time. 
 Both sad and in a cheerful mood, 
 
 But never yet in rhyme. 
 To wish thee fairer is no need, 
 
 More prudent or more sprightly. 
 Or more ingenious, or more freed 
 
 From temper-flaws unsightly. 
 What favour then, not yet possess'd 
 
 Can I for thee require. 
 In wedded love already bless'd 
 
 To thy whole heart's desire ? 
 None here is happy but in part : 
 
 Full bliss is bliss divine : 
 There dwells some wish in every heart. 
 
 And doubtless one in thine. 
 That wish, on some fair future day. 
 
 Which Fate shall brightly gild 
 ('Tis blameless, be it what it may), 
 
 I wish it all fulfill'd.. 

 
 185 
 
 ODE TO APOLLO. 
 
 ON' AN INK-GLASS ALMOST DRIED IN 
 
 THE SUN. 
 
 Patron of all those luckless brains 
 That, to the wrong side leaning. 
 
 Indite much metre with much pains. 
 And little or no meaning : 
 
 Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams. 
 
 That water all the nations. 
 Pay tribute to thy glorious beams. 
 
 In constant exhalations ; 
 
 Why, stooping from the noon of day. 
 
 Too covetous of drink, 
 Apollo, hast thou stolen away 
 
 A poet's drop of ink ? 
 
 Upborne into the viewless air. 
 
 It floats a vapour now, 
 Impell'd through regions dense and rare 
 
 By all the winds that blow. 
 
 Ordain'd perhaps, e'er summer flies. 
 Combined with millions more. 
 
 To form an Iris in the skies. 
 Though black and foul before. 
 
 Illustrious drop ! and happy then 
 
 Beyond the happiest lot, 
 Of all that ever pass'd my pen. 
 
 So soon to be forgot ! 
 
 Phoebus, if such be thy design. 
 
 To place it in thy bow. 
 Give wit, that what is left may shine 
 
 With equal grace below.
 
 1S6 
 PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 I SHALL not ask Jean Jacques Rousseau,* 
 
 If birds confabulate or no ; 
 
 'Tis clear, that they were always able 
 
 To hold discourse, at least in fable ; 
 
 And e'en the child, who knows no better 
 
 Than to interpret by the letter 
 
 A story of a cock and bull. 
 
 Must have a most uncommon skulL 
 
 It chanced then, on a winter's day. 
 But warm, and bright, and calm as May, 
 The birds, conceiving a design 
 To forestall sweet St. Valentine, 
 In many an orchard, copse, and grove, 
 Assembled on affairs of love. 
 And with much twitter aud much chatter, 
 Began to agitate the matter. 
 At length a Bulfinch, who could boast 
 More years and wisdom than the most, 
 Entreated, opening wide his beak, 
 A moment's liberty to speak ; 
 And, silence publicly enjoin'd, 
 Deliver'd briefly thus his mind : 
 
 My friends ! be cautious how ye treat 
 The subject upon which we meet ; 
 I fear we shall have winter yet. 
 
 A Finch, whose tongue knew no control, 
 
 • With golden wing, and satin poll, 
 
 A last year's bird, who ne'er had tried 
 "What marriage means, thus pert replied : 
 
 Methinks the gentleman, quoth she, 
 Opposite in the apple tree, 
 By his good will would keep us single. 
 Till yonder heaven and earth shall mingle, 
 
 * It was one of the whimsical speculations of this philosophpr, 
 that all fables which ascribe reason and speech to animals should 
 be withheld from children, as being only vehicles of deception. 
 But what child was ever d-;-;*"-^*'! by them, or can be, against 
 the evidence of hii .
 
 THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY. 187 
 
 Or (which is likelier to befall) 
 Till death exterminate us all. 
 I'll marry without more ado: 
 My dear Dick Redcap, what say you ? 
 
 Dick heard, and tweedling, ogling, bridling. 
 Turning short round, strutting, and sideling, 
 Attested, glad, his approbation 
 Of an immediate conjugation. 
 Their sentiments, so well express'd. 
 Influenced mightily the rest ; 
 All pair'd, and each pair built a nest. 
 
 But though the birds were thus in haste. 
 The leaves came on not quite so fast. 
 And Destiny that sometimes bears 
 An aspect stern on man's affairs. 
 Not altogether smil'd on theirs. 
 The wind, of late breathed gently forth. 
 Now shifted east, and east by north ; 
 Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know. 
 Could shelter them from rain or snow ; 
 Stepping into their nests they paddled. 
 Themselves were chill'd, their eggs were addled ; 
 Srx)n every father-bird and mother 
 Grew quarrelsome and peck'd each other. 
 Parted without the least regret. 
 Except that they had ever met. 
 And leam'd in future to be wiser 
 Than to neglect a good adviser. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Misses ! the tale that I relate 
 
 This lesson seems to carry- 
 Choose not alone a proper mate. 
 
 But proper time to marry.
 
 188 
 THE DOG AND THE WATER-LILY, 
 
 NO FABLE. 
 
 The noon was shady, and soft airs 
 
 Swept Ouse's silent tide. 
 When, 'scaped from literary cares, 
 
 I wander'd on his side. 
 My spaniel, prettiest of his race. 
 
 And high in pedigree 
 (Two nymphs* adom'd with every grace 
 
 That spaniel found for me). 
 Now wanton'd lost in flags and reeds. 
 
 Now starting into sight. 
 Pursued the swallow o'er the meads 
 
 With scarce a slower flight. 
 It was the time when Ouse display'd 
 
 His lilies newly blown ; 
 Their beauties I intent survey'd. 
 
 And one I wish'd my own. 
 With cane extended far I sought 
 
 To steer it close to land ; 
 But stiU the prize, though nearly caught. 
 
 Escaped my eager hand. 
 Beau mark'd my unsuccessful pains 
 
 With fix'd considerate face, 
 And puzzUng set his puppy brains 
 
 To comprehend the case. 
 But with a cherup clear and strong. 
 
 Dispersing all his dream, 
 I thence withdrew, and follow'd long 
 
 The windings of the stream. 
 My ramble ended, I returned ; 
 
 Beau, trotting far before. 
 The floating wreath again discern' d 
 
 And plunging left the shore. 
 1 saw him with that lily cropp'd 
 
 Impatient swim to meet 
 My quick approach, and soon he dropp'd 
 
 The treasure at my feet. 
 
 * 5ir Robert Gunning's daughtcus.
 
 THE POET, THE OYSTER, &c. 189 
 
 Charm'd with the sight. The world, I cried. 
 
 Shall hear of this thy deed : 
 My dog shall mortify the pride 
 
 Of man's superior breed : 
 
 But chief myself I will enjoin. 
 
 Awake at duty's call. 
 To shew a love as prompt as thine 
 
 To him who gives me alL 
 
 THE POET, THE OYSTER, AND 
 SENSITIVE PLANT, 
 
 An Oyster cast upon the shore. 
 Was heard, though never heard before. 
 Complaining in a speech well worded — 
 And worthy thus to be recorded : — 
 
 Ah, hapless wretch ! condemned to dwell 
 For ever in my native shell ; 
 Ordain'd to move when others please. 
 Not for my own content or ease ; 
 But toss'd and buffeted about. 
 Now in the water and now out. 
 'Twere better to be born a stone. 
 Of ruder shape, and feeling none. 
 Than with a tenderness like mine. 
 And sensibilities so fine ! 
 I envy that unfeeling shrub. 
 Fast rooted against every rub. 
 The plant he meant grew not far off. 
 And felt the sneer with scorn enough ; 
 Was hurt, disgusted, mortified, 
 And with asperity repUed. 
 
 When, cry the botanists, and stare. 
 Did plants call'd sensitive grow there ? 
 No matter when— a poet's muse is 
 To make them grow just where she chooses. 
 
 You shapeless nothing in a dish. 
 You that are but almost a fish, 
 I scorn your coarse insinuation, 
 And have most plentiful occasion
 
 190 THE POET, THE OYSTER, kc. 
 
 To wish myself the rock I view. 
 Or such another dolt as you : 
 For many a grave and learned clerk. 
 And many a gay unlettered spark. 
 With curious touch examines me. 
 If I can feel as well as he ; 
 And when I bend, retire, and shrink. 
 Says — Well, 'tis more than one would think : 
 Thus life is spent (oh fie upon't !) 
 In being touch'd, and crying — Don't ! 
 
 A poet, in his evening walk, 
 O'erheard and check'd this idle talk. 
 And your fine sense, he said, and yours. 
 Whatever evil it endures, 
 Deserves not, if so soon offended, 
 Much to be pitied or commended. 
 Disputes, though short, are far too long. 
 Where both alike are in the wrong ; 
 Your feelings, in their full amount. 
 Are aU upon your own account. 
 
 You in your grotto-work enclosed. 
 Complain of being thus exposed .' 
 Yet nothing feel in that rough coat. 
 Save when the knife is at your throat, 
 Wherever driven by wind or tide. 
 Exempt from every iU beside. 
 
 And as for you my Lady Squeamish, 
 Who reckon every touch a blemish, 
 If all the plants that can be found 
 Embellishing the scene around. 
 Should droop and wither where they grow, 
 You would not feel at all — not you. 
 The noblest minds their virtue prove 
 By pity, sympathy, and love : 
 These, these are feelings truly fine. 
 And prove their owner half divine. 
 
 His censure reach'd them as he dealt it, 
 And each by shrinking shew'd he felt it. 

 
 191 
 
 THE SHRUBBERY. 
 
 WRITTEN IN A TISIE OF AFFLICTION. 
 Oh, happy shades— to me unbless'd '. 
 
 Friendly to peace but not to me ! 
 How ill the scene that offers rest. 
 And heart that cannot rest, agree ! 
 
 This glassy stream, that spreading pine. 
 Those alders quivering to the breeze. 
 
 Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine. 
 And please, if anything could please. 
 
 But fix'd unalterable Care 
 Foregoes not what she feels within. 
 
 Shews the same sadness every where. 
 And shghts the season and the scene. 
 
 For all that pleased in wood or lawn. 
 While Peace possess'd these silent bowers, 
 
 I er animating smile withdrawn, 
 Has lost its beauties and its powers. 
 
 The saint or moralist should tread 
 This moss-grown alley musing slow ; 
 
 They seek like me the secret shade, 
 But not like me to nourish woe ! 
 
 Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste 
 
 Alike admonish not to roam ; 
 These tell me of enjoyments past. 
 
 And those of sorrows yet to come. 
 
 THE WINTER NOSEGAY. 
 
 Whai Nature, alas ! has denied 
 To the delicate growth of our isle. 
 
 Art has in a measure supplied, 
 And Wmter is deck'd with a smile.
 
 192 MUTUAL FORBEARANCE. 
 
 See, Mary, what beauties I bring 
 
 From the shelter of that sunny shed, 
 Where the flowers have the charms of the spring. 
 
 Though abroad they are frozen and dead. 
 
 'Tis a bower of Arcadian sweets. 
 
 Where Flora is still in her prime, 
 A fortress to which she retreats 
 
 From the cruel assaults of the clime. 
 While earth wears a mantle of snow, 
 
 These pinks are as fresh and as gay 
 As the fairest and sweetest that blow 
 
 On the beautiful bosom of May. 
 
 See how they have safely survived 
 
 The frowns of a sky so severe : 
 Such Mary's true love, that has lived 
 
 Through many a turbulent year. 
 The charms of the late blowing rose 
 
 Seem graced with a livelier hue. 
 And the winter of sorrow best shews 
 
 The truth of a friend such as you. 
 
 ^MUTUAL FORBEARANCE 
 
 NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF 
 MARRIED STATE. 
 The lady thus addressed her spouse :— 
 What a mere dungeon is this house ! 
 By no means large enough ; and was it. 
 Yet this dull room, and that dark closet, 
 Those hangings with their worn-out graces 
 Long beards, long noses, and pale faces, 
 Are such an antiquated scene. 
 They overwhelm me with the spleen. 
 Sir Humphrey shooting in the dark. 
 Makes answer quite beside the mark : 
 No doubt, my dear, I bade him come, 
 Engaged myself to be at home, 
 And shall expect him at the door. 
 Precisely when the clock strikes four.
 
 MUTUAL FORBEARANCE. 193 
 
 You are so deaf, the lady cried 
 (And raised her voice, and frown'd beside). 
 You are so sadly deaf, my dear. 
 What shall I do to make you hear ? 
 Dismiss poor Harry ! he replies; 
 Some people are more nice than wise : 
 For one slight trespass all this stir ? 
 What if he did ride whip and spur, 
 'Twas but a mile— your favourite horse 
 Will never look one hair the worse. 
 
 Well, I protest 'tis past all bearing- 
 Child ! I am rather hard of hearing- 
 Yes, truly ; one must scream and bawl : 
 I tell you, you can't hear at all ! 
 Then, with a voice exceeding low. 
 No matter if you hear or no. 
 
 Alas ! and is domestic strife, 
 That sorest ill of human life, 
 A plague so little to be fear'd, 
 As to be wantonly incurr'd. 
 To gratify a fretful passion. 
 On every trivial provocation ' 
 The kindest and the happiest pair 
 Will find occasion to forbear; 
 And something, every day they live. 
 To pity, and perhaps forgive. 
 But if infirmities, that fall 
 In common to the lot cf ali, 
 A blemish or a sense impair'd. 
 Are crimes so little to be spared, 
 Then farewell all that must create 
 The comfort of the wedded state ; 
 Instead of harmony, 'tis jar, 
 And tumult, and intestine war. 
 
 The love that cheers life's latest stage, 
 Proof against sickness and old age. 
 Preserved by virtue from declension, 
 Becomes not weary of attention ; 
 But lives, when that exterior grace. 
 Which first inspired the flame, decays. 
 'Tis gentle, delicate, and kind, 
 To faults compassionate or blind, 
 I
 
 194 THE XEGRO'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 And will with sympathy endure 
 Those evils, it would gladly cure ; 
 But angry, coarse, and harsh expression 
 Shews love to be a mere profession ; 
 Proves that the heart is none of his ; 
 Or soon expels him if it is. 
 
 THE NEGRO'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 Forced from home and all its pleasures, 
 
 Afric's coast I left forlorn ; 
 To increase a stranger's treasures. 
 
 O'er the raging billows borne. 
 5Ien from England bought and sold me. 
 
 Paid my price in paltry gold ; 
 But, though slave they have enroll'd me. 
 
 Minds are never to be sold. 
 Still in thought as free as ever. 
 
 What are England's rights, I ask. 
 Me from my delights to sever. 
 
 Me to torture, me to task ? 
 Fleecy locks and black complexion 
 
 Cannot forfeit nature's claim; 
 Skins may differ, but affection 
 
 Dwells in white and black the same. 
 "Why did all-creating Nature 
 
 Make the plant for which we toil ? 
 Sighs must fan it, tears must water, 
 
 Sweat of ours must dress the soil. 
 Think, ye masters iron-hearted. 
 
 Lolling at your jovial boards ; 
 Think how many backs have smarted 
 
 For the sweets your cane affords. 
 Is there, as ye sometimes tell us. 
 
 Is there one, who reigns on high ? 
 Has he bid you buy and sell us. 
 
 Speaking from his throne the sky ? 
 Ask him, if your knotted scourges. 
 
 Matches, blood-extorting screws. 
 Are the means that duty urges. 
 
 Agents of his will to use ?
 
 PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS. 195 
 
 Hark ! he answers— wild tornadoes. 
 
 Strewing yonder sea with wrecks, 
 Wasting towns, plantations, meadows. 
 
 Are the voice with which he speaks. 
 He, foreseeing what vexations 
 
 Afric's sons should undergo, 
 Fix'd their tyrants' habitations 
 
 Where his whirlwinds answer— No. 
 
 By our blood in Afric wasted. 
 
 Ere our necks received the chain ; 
 By the miseries that we tasted. 
 
 Crossing in your barks the main ; 
 By our sufferings, since ye brought us 
 
 To the man-degrading mart ; 
 All sustain'd by patience taught us 
 
 Only by a broken heart : 
 
 Deem our nation brutes no longer. 
 
 Till some reason ye shall find 
 Worthier of regard and stronger 
 
 Than the colour of our kind. 
 Slaves of gold, whose sordid dealings 
 
 Tarnish all your boasted powers, 
 Prove that you have human feelings, 
 
 Ere you proudly question ours I 
 
 PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS. 
 
 ' Video meliora prohoquo, 
 Deteriora sequor.' — 
 
 I OWN I am shock'd at the purchase of slaves. 
 And fear those who buy them and sell them, are knaves ; 
 What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and groans, 
 Is almost enough to draw pity from stones. 
 
 I pity them greatly, but 1 must be mum, 
 For how could we do without sugar and rum ? 
 Especially sugar, so needful we see ; 
 What, give up our deserts, our coffee, and tea I
 
 196 PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS. 
 
 Besides, if we do, the French, Dutch, and Danes 
 Will heartily thank us, no doubt, for our pains ; 
 If we do not buy the poor creatures, they will. 
 And tortures and groans will be multiplied stilL 
 
 If foreigners likewise would give up the trade, 
 Much more in behalf of your wish might be said ; 
 But, while they get riches by purchasing blacks. 
 Pray tell me why we may not also go snacks ? * 
 
 Your scruples and arguments bring to my mind 
 A story so pat, you may think it is coin'd, 
 On purpose to answer you, out of my mint ; 
 But I can assure you I saw it in print 
 
 A youngster at school, more sedate than the rest. 
 Had once his integrity put to the test ; 
 His comrades had plotted an orchard to rob, 
 And asked him to go and assist in the job. 
 
 He was shock'd, sir, like you, and answer'd, ' Oh no ! 
 What I rob our good neighbour 1 I pray you don't go ; 
 Besides the man's poor, his orchard's his bread. 
 Then think of his children, for they must be fed.' 
 
 • You speak very fine, and you look very grave. 
 But apples we want, and apples we'll have ; 
 If you will go with us, you shall have a share. 
 If not, you shall have neither apple nor pear." 
 
 They spoke, and Tom ponder'd — ' I see they will go : 
 Poor man ! what a pity to injure him so ! 
 Poor man ! I would save him his fruit if I could. 
 But staying behind will do him no good. 
 
 ' If the matter depended alone upon me. 
 His apples might hang, till they drop from the tree ; 
 But, since they will take them, I think I'll go too. 
 He will lose none by me, though I get a few.' 
 
 His scruples thus silenced, Tom felt more at ease. 
 And went with his comrades the apples to seize ; 
 He blamed and protested, but join'd in the plan ; 
 He shar'd in the plunder, but pitied the man.
 
 197 
 THE MORNING DREAM. 
 
 •TwAS in the glad season of spring. 
 
 Asleep at the dawn of the day, 
 I dream'd what I cannot but sing. 
 
 So pleasant it seem'd as I lay. 
 I dream'd that, on ocean afloat. 
 
 Far hence to the westward I sail'd. 
 While the billows high-lifted the boat, 
 
 And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail'd. 
 
 In the steerage a woman I saw. 
 
 Such at least was the form that she wore. 
 Whose beauty impress'd me with awe, 
 
 Ne'er taught me by woman before. 
 She sat, and a shield at her side 
 
 Shed light, like a sun on the waves, 
 And smiling divinely, she cried — 
 
 ♦ I go to make freemen of slaves.' 
 
 Then raising her voice to a strain. 
 
 The sweetest that ear ever heard. 
 She sung of the slave's broken chain. 
 
 Wherever her glory appear'd. 
 Some clouds, which had over us hung. 
 
 Fled, chased by her melody clear. 
 And methought while she liberty sung, 
 
 'Twas liberty only to hear. 
 
 Thus swiftly dividing the flood. 
 
 To a slave-cultured island we came. 
 Where a demon, her enemy, stood — 
 
 Oppression his terrible name. 
 In his hand, as the sign of his sway, 
 
 A scourge hung with lashes he bore. 
 And stood looking out for his prey 
 
 From Africa's sorrowful shore. 
 
 But soon as approaching the land 
 That goddess-like woman he view'd. 
 
 The scourge he let fall from his hand. 
 With blood of his subjects imbrued.
 
 198 NIGHTINGALE AND GLOW-WORM. 
 
 I saw him both sicken and die, 
 And the moment the monster expired, 
 
 Heard shouts that ascended the sky 
 From thousands with rapture inspired. 
 
 Awaking, how could I but muse 
 
 At what such a dream should betide ? 
 But soon my ear caught the glad news, 
 
 Which served my weak thought for a guide — 
 That Britannia, renown'd o'er the waves 
 
 For the hatred she ever has shewn 
 To the black-sceptred rulers of slaves. 
 
 Resolves to have none of her own. 
 
 NIGHTINGAIE AND GLOW-WORM. 
 
 A NIGHTINGALE, that all day long 
 Had cheer'd the village with his song, 
 Nor yet at eve his note suspended. 
 Nor yet when eventide was ended, 
 Began to feel, as well he might. 
 The keen demands of appetite ; 
 When, looking eagerly around. 
 He spied far off, upon the ground, 
 A something shining in the dark. 
 And knew the glow-worm by his spark ; 
 So stooping down from hawthorn top. 
 He thought to put him in his crop. 
 The worm, aware of his intent. 
 Harangued him thus, right elc-quent : — 
 
 Did you admire my lamp, quoth he, 
 As much as I your minstrelsy. 
 You would abhor to do me wrong. 
 As much as I to spoil your song ; 
 For 'twas the self-same Power divine 
 Taught you to sing and me to shine; 
 That you with music, I with light. 
 Might beautify and cheer the night. 
 
 The songster heard his short oration, 
 And, warbling out his approbation.
 
 ON A GOLDFINCH. 199 
 
 Released him, as my story tells, 
 And found a supper somewhere else. 
 
 Hence jarring sectaries may learn 
 Their real interest to discern ; 
 That brother should not war with brother. 
 And worry and devour each other ! 
 But sing and shine by sweet consent, 
 Till life's poor transient night is spent. 
 Respecting in each other's case 
 The gifts of nature and of grace. 
 
 Those Christians best deserve the name, 
 Who studiously make peace their aim ; 
 Peace both the duty and the prize 
 Of him that creeps and him that flies. 
 
 ON A GOLDFINCH, 
 
 STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE- 
 
 TI^^E was when I was free as air, 
 The thistle's downy seed my fare. 
 
 My drink the morning dew : 
 I perch'd at will on every spray, 
 My form genteel, my plumage gay. 
 
 My strains for ever new. 
 
 But gaudy plumage, sprightly strain. 
 And form genteel, were all in vain. 
 
 And of a transient date ; 
 For caught and caged, and starved to death. 
 In dying sighs my little breath 
 
 Soon pass'd the wiry grate. 
 
 Thanks, gentle swain, for all my woes. 
 And thanks for this effectual close 
 
 And cure of every ill ; 
 More cruelty could none express : 
 And I, if you had shewn me less. 
 
 Had been your prisoner stilL
 
 200 
 
 THE 
 
 PINEAPPLE AND THE BEE. 
 
 The pineapples, in triple row. 
 Were basking hot, and all in blow ; 
 A bee of most discerning taste. 
 Perceived the fragrance as he pass'd. 
 On eager wing the spoiler came. 
 And search'd for crannies in the frame. 
 Urged his attempt on every side. 
 To every pane his trunk applied : 
 But still m vain, the frame was tight. 
 And only pervious to the light : 
 Thus having wasted half tlie day. 
 He trimm'd his flight another way. 
 
 Methinks, I said, in thee I find 
 The sin and madness of mankind. 
 To joys forbidden man aspires. 
 Consumes his soul with vain desires ; 
 Folly the spring of his pursuit. 
 And disappointment all the fruit. 
 While Cynthio ogles, as he passes. 
 The nymph between two chariot glasses. 
 She is the pineapple, and he 
 The silly unsuccessful bee. 
 The maid who views with pensive air 
 The show-glass fraught with glittering ware. 
 Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lockets, 
 But sighs at thought of empty pockets ; 
 Like thine her appetite is keen. 
 But ah ! the cruel glass between ! 
 
 Our dear delights are often such. 
 Exposed to view but not to touch ; 
 The sight our foolish heart inflames. 
 We long for pineapples in frames ; 
 With hopeless wish one looks and lingers ; 
 One breaks the glass and cuts his fingers : 
 But they whom truth and wisdom lead. 
 Can gather honey from a weed.
 
 201 
 HORACE. 
 
 Book 11. Ode 10. 
 Reckive, dear friend, the truths i teach, 
 So Shalt thou live beyond the reach 
 
 Of adverse Fortune's power ; 
 Not always tempt the distant deep. 
 Not always timorously creep 
 
 Along the treacherous shore. 
 
 He that holds fast the golden mean, 
 And lives contentedly between 
 
 The little and the great, 
 Feels not the wants that pinch the poor. 
 Nor plagues that haunt the rich man's door, 
 
 Imbittering all his state. 
 
 The tallest pines feel most the power 
 Of wintry blasts ; the loftiest tower 
 
 Comes heaviest to the ground ; 
 The bolts that spare the mountain side, 
 His cloud-capp'd eminence divide, 
 
 And spread the ruin round. 
 
 The well-inform'd philosopher 
 Rejoices with a wholesome fear, 
 
 And hopes, in spite of pain : 
 If Winter bellow from the north. 
 Soon the sweet Spring comes dancing forth. 
 And Nature laughs again, 
 
 What if thine heaven be overcast. 
 The dark appearance will not last ; 
 
 Expect a brighter sky. 
 The god that strings the silver bow. 
 Awakes sometimes the muses too, 
 
 And lays his arrows by. 
 If hindrances obstruct thy way. 
 Thy magnanimity display. 
 
 And let thy strength be seen ; 
 But O ! if fortune fill thy sail 
 With more than a propitious gale. 
 Take half thy canvas in. 
 12
 
 204 
 
 THE POPLAll FIELD. 
 
 The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade, 
 And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade ; 
 The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, 
 N'or Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 
 
 Twelve years have elapsed, since I last took a view 
 Of my favourite field and the bank where they grew ; 
 And now in the grass behold they are laid. 
 And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. 
 
 The blackbird has fled to another retreat. 
 Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat. 
 And the scene, where his melody charm'd me before. 
 Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 
 
 My fugitive years are all hasting away. 
 And I must ere long lie as lowly as they. 
 With a turf on my breast and a stone at ray head, 
 Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 
 
 'Tis a sight to engage me if anything can. 
 To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; 
 Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, 1 see. 
 Have a being less durable even than he.* 
 
 IDEM LATINE EEDDITUM. 
 
 PopuLE^ cecidit gratissima copio silva>, 
 Conticuere, susurri omnisque evauiiit umbra. 
 Nullae jam levibus se miscent frondibus aurse, 
 Et nulla in fluvio ramorum ludit imago. 
 
 Hei mihi I bis senos dum luctu torqueor annos. 
 His cogor silvis suetoque carere recessu. 
 Cum sero rediens, stratasque in gramine cemens, 
 Insedi arboribus, sub quels errare solebam. 
 
 • Mr. Cowper afteniards altered this last stanza in th 
 low ing maimer : — 
 
 The change both my heart and my fancy employs, 
 I reflect on the frailty of man and his joys : 
 Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see, 
 Have u stil! shorter date, and die sooner than we.
 
 CICINDELA. 205 
 
 Ah ubi nunc nierulae cantus ? Felicior ilium 
 Silva tegit, durac nondum permissa bipenni ; 
 Scilicet exustos coUes camposque patentes 
 Odit, et indignans et non rediturus abivit. 
 
 Sed qui succisas doleo succidar et ipse, 
 Et prius huic parilis quam creverit altera silva 
 Flebor, et, exsequiis parvis donatus, habebo 
 Defixum lapidem tumulique cubantis acervum. 
 
 Tam subito periisse videns tarn digna manere, 
 Agnosco humanas sortes et tristia fata— 
 Sit licet ipse brevis, volucrique simillimus umbrsc, 
 Est homini brevior citiusque obitura voluptas. 
 
 VOTUM. 
 
 O MATUTiNi rores, aurseque salubres, 
 O nemora, et lastas rivis felicibus herba?, 
 Graminei colles, et amccnae in vallibus umbrae ! 
 Fata modo dederint quas olim in rure paterno 
 Delicias, procul arte, procul formidine novi. 
 Quam vellem ignotus, quod mens mea semper avebat. 
 Ante larem proprium placidam expectare senectam. 
 Turn demum, exactis non infeliciter annis, 
 Sortiri tacitum lapidem, aut sub caspite condi ! 
 
 CICINDELA. 
 
 BY VINCENT BOURNE. 
 
 Sub sepe exiguum est, nee rare in margine ripa", 
 
 Reptile, quod lucet nocte, diequelatet. 
 Vermis habet speciem, sed habet de lumine nomen ; 
 
 At prisca a fama non liquet, unde micet. 
 Plerique a cauda crcdunt procedere lumen ; 
 
 Nee desunt, credunt qui rutilare caput. 
 Nam superas Stellas quae nox accendit, et illi 
 
 Parcam eadem lucem dat, moduloque parem. 
 Forsitan hoc prudens voluit Natura caveri, 
 
 Ne pede quis duro reptile contereret : 
 Exiguam, in tenebris ne gressum offenderet ullus, 
 
 Prajtendi voluit forsitan ilia facem.
 
 204 
 
 THE POPLAR FIELD. 
 
 The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade, 
 And the whispering sound of the cool colonnade ; 
 The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves. 
 Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. 
 
 Twelve years have elapsed, since I last took a view 
 of my favourite field and the bank where they grew ; 
 And now in the grass behold they are laid. 
 And the tree is my seat that once lent me a shade. 
 
 The blackbird has fled to another retreat, 
 Where the hazels afiford him a screen from the heat. 
 And the scene, where his melody charm'd me before. 
 Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. 
 
 My fugitive years are all hasting away. 
 And I must ere long lie as lowly as they, 
 With a turf on my breast and a stone at my head. 
 Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. 
 
 'Tis a sight to engage me if anything can. 
 To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; 
 Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see, 
 Have a being less durable even than he.* 
 
 IDEM LATINE EEDDITUM. 
 
 PopuLE^ cecidit gratissima copio silva^, 
 Conticuere, susurri omnisque evauuit umbra. 
 N'uUa; jam levibus se miscent frondibus aurae, 
 Et nulla in fluvio ramorum ludit imago. 
 
 Hei mihi ! bis senos dum luctu torqueor annos. 
 His cogor silvis suetoque carere recessu. 
 Cum sero rediens, stratasque in gramine cemens, 
 Insedi arboribus, sub quels errare solebam. 
 
 • Mr. Cowper aftemards altered this last stanza in the fol- 
 low in? manner : — 
 
 The change both my heart and my fancy employs, 
 I reflect on the frailty of man and' his joys : 
 Short-lived as we are, yet our pleasures, we see. 
 Have a stil! shorter date, and die sooner than we.
 
 CICINDELA. 205 
 
 Ah ubi nunc nierulae cantus ? Felicior ilium 
 Silva tegit, durae nondum permissa bipenni ; 
 Scilicet exustos colles camposque patentes 
 Odit, et indignans et non rediturus abivit. 
 
 Sed qui succisas doleo succidar et ipse, 
 Et prius huic parilis quam creverit altera silva 
 Flebor, et, exsequiis parvis donatus, habebo 
 Defixum lapidem tumulique cubantis acervum. 
 
 Tarn subito periisse videns tarn digna manere, 
 Agnosco humanas sortes et tristia fata — 
 Sit licet ipse brevis, volucrique simillimus umbrae, 
 Est homini brevior citiusque obitura voluptas. 
 
 VOTUM. 
 
 O MATUTiNi rores, aura;que salubres, 
 O nemora, et lastae rivis felicibus herbai, 
 Graminei colles, et amcciiae in vallibus umbra? ! 
 Fata modo dederint quas olim in rure paterno 
 Delicias, procul arte, procul formidine novi. 
 Quam vellem ignotus, quod mens mea semper avebat. 
 Ante larem proprium placidam expectare senectam. 
 Turn demum, exactis non infeliciter annis, 
 Sortiri taciturn lapidem, aut sub caespite condi ! 
 
 CICINDELA. 
 
 BY VINCENT BOURNE. 
 
 Sub sepe exiguum est, nee raro in margine ripa>. 
 
 Reptile, quod lucet nocte, diequelatet. 
 Vermis habet speciem, sed habet de lumine nomcn ; 
 
 At prisca a fama non liquet, unde micet. 
 Plerique a cauda credunt proccdere lumen ; 
 
 Nee dcsunt, credunt qui rutilare caput. 
 Nam superas Stellas quae nox accendit, et illi 
 
 Parcam eadem lucem dat, moduloque parem. 
 Forsitan hoc prudens voluit Natura caveri, 
 
 Ne pede quis duro reptile contereret : 
 Exiguam, in tenebris ne gressum offenderet ullus, 
 
 Prajtendi voluit forsitan ilia facem.
 
 20G THE GLOW-WORM. 
 
 Sive usum hunc Natura parens, seu maluit ilium, 
 Haud frustra accensa est lux, radiique dati. 
 
 Ponite vos fastus, humiles nee spemite, magni ; 
 Quando habet et minimum reptile, quod niteat. 
 
 I.— THE GLOW-WORM. 
 
 TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING. 
 
 Beneath the hedge, or near the stream, 
 
 A worm is known to stray ; 
 That shews by night a lucid beam, 
 
 Which disappears by day. 
 
 Disputes have been, and still prevail, 
 From whence his rays proceed ; 
 
 Some give that honour to his tail, 
 And others to his head. 
 
 But this is sure — the hand of night. 
 
 That kindles up the skies. 
 Gives him a modicum of light 
 
 Proportioned to his size. 
 
 I'erhaps indulgent Nature meant. 
 
 By such a lamp bestow'd. 
 To bid the traveller, as he went, 
 
 Be careful where he trod ; 
 
 Nor crush a worm, whose useful light 
 Might serve, however small. 
 
 To shew a stumbling-stone by night, 
 And save him from a fall. 
 
 Whate'er she meant, this truth divine 
 
 Is legible and plain, 
 'Tis power Almighty bids him shine. 
 
 Nor bids him shine in vain. 
 
 Ye proud and wealthy, let this theme 
 Teach humbler thoughts to you, 
 
 Since such a reptile has its gem. 
 And boasts its splendour too.
 
 207 
 CORNICULA. 
 
 BY VINCENT BOURNE. 
 
 NiGRAS inter aves avis est, quse plurima turres, 
 
 Antiquas ades, celsaque fana colit. 
 Nil tain sublime est, quod non audace volatu, 
 
 Aeriis sperncns, inferiora, ])etit. 
 Quo nemo ascendat, cui non vertigo cerebrum 
 
 Corripiat, ccrte hunc seligit ilia locum. 
 Quo vix a terra tu suspicis absque tremore. 
 
 Ilia metfls expers incolumisque sedet. 
 Lamina delubri supra fastigia, ventus 
 
 Qua cceli spiret de regione, docet ; 
 Hanc ea prae reliquis mavult, secura pericli. 
 
 Nee curat, nedum cogitat, unde cadat. 
 Res inde humanas, sed summa per otia, spectat, 
 
 Et nihil ad sese, quas videt, esse videt. 
 Concursus spectat, plateaque negotia in omni, 
 
 Omnia pro nugis at sapienter habet. 
 Clamores, quas infra audit, si forsitan audit. 
 
 Pro rebus nihili negligit, et crocitat. 
 Ille tibi invideat, felix Cornicula, pennas. 
 
 Qui sichumanis rebus abesse velif. 
 
 II.— THE JACKDAW. 
 
 TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOIXG. 
 
 There is a bird, who, by his coat, 
 And by the hoarseness of his note. 
 
 Might be supposed a crow ; 
 A great frequenter of the church. 
 Where bishop-like he finds a perch. 
 
 And dormitory too. 
 
 Above the steeple shines a plate. 
 That turns and turns to indicate 
 
 From what point blows the weather : 
 Look up— your brains begin to swim, 
 'Tis in the clouds— that pleases him ; 
 
 He chooses it the rather.
 
 208 AD GRILLUM, 
 
 Fond of the speculative height. 
 Thither he wings his airy flight. 
 
 And thence securely sees 
 The bustle and the raree-show. 
 That occupy mankind below. 
 Secure and at his ease. 
 
 You think, no doubt, he sits and muses 
 On future broken bones and bruises. 
 
 If he should chance to fall. 
 No ; not a single thought like that 
 Employs his philosophic pate. 
 
 Or troubles it at all. 
 
 He sees, that this great roundabout. 
 The world, with all its motley rout. 
 
 Church, army, physic, law. 
 Its customs, and its businesses. 
 Is no concern at all of his. 
 
 And says — what says he ? — Caw. 
 
 Thrice happy bird ! I too have seen 
 Much of the vanities of men ; 
 
 And, sick of having seen 'em. 
 Would cheerfully these limbs resign 
 For such a pair of wings as thine. 
 
 And such a head between 'em. 
 
 AD GRILLUM. 
 
 Anacreonticuiv. 
 BY VINCEXT BOURKE. 
 
 O QUI meae culinse 
 Argutulus choraules, 
 Et hospes es canorus, 
 Quacunque commoreris, 
 Felicitatis omen ; 
 Jucundiore cantu 
 Siquando me salutes, 
 Et ipse te rependam, 
 Et ipse, qua valebo, 
 Remunerabo musa.
 
 THE CRICKET. 209 
 
 Diceris innocensque 
 Et gratus inquilinus ; 
 Nee victitans rapinis, 
 Ut sorices voraces, 
 Muresve curiosi, 
 Fururaque delicatum 
 Vulgus domesticorum ; 
 Sed tutus in catnini 
 Recessibus, quiete 
 Contentus et calore. 
 
 Beatior Cicada, 
 Quaj te referre formS, 
 Qxix voce te videtur ; 
 Et saltitans per herbas, 
 Unius, baud secunds, 
 ^statis est chorista ; 
 Tu carmen integratum 
 Reponis ad Decembrem, 
 La:tus per universum 
 Incontinenter annum. 
 Te nulla lux relinquit, 
 Te nulla nox revisit, 
 Non musicaj vacantem, 
 Curisve non solu um : 
 Quin amplies canendo, 
 Quin amplies fruendo, 
 iEtatulam, vel omni, 
 Quam nos homunciones 
 Absumimus querendo, 
 jEtate longiorem. 
 
 III.— THE CRICKET. 
 
 THANSLATION FllOM THE FOREGOING. 
 
 Little inmate, full of mirth. 
 Chirping on my kitchen hearth, 
 Wheresoe'er be thine abode. 
 Always harbinger of good, 
 
 Pay me for thy warm retreat 
 With a song more soft and sweet, 
 
 In return thou shalt receive 
 
 Such a strain as I can give.
 
 210 SIMILE AGIT IX SIMILE. 
 
 Thus thy praise shaU be express'd. 
 Inoffensive, welcome guest i 
 While the rat is on the scout, 
 And the mouse with curious snout, 
 With what vermin else infest 
 Every dish, and spoil the best ; 
 Frisking thus before the fire 
 Thou hast all thine heart's desire. 
 
 Though in voice and shape they be 
 Form'd as if akin to thee, 
 Thou surpassest happier far. 
 Happiest grasshoppers that are ; 
 Theirs is but a summer's song, 
 Thine endures the winter long ; 
 Unirapair'd, and shrill, and clear. 
 Melody throughout the year. 
 
 Neither night, nor dawn of day, 
 Puts a period to thy play : 
 Sing then — and extend thy span 
 Far beyond the date of man. 
 Wretched man, whose years are spent 
 In repining discontent. 
 Lives not, aged though he be. 
 Half a span compared with the. 
 
 SIMILE AGIT IX SIMILE. 
 
 BV VIXCENT BOURNE 
 
 Christatus, pictisque ad Thaida Psittacus alis 
 
 Missus ab Eoo munus amante venit. 
 Ancillis mandat primam formare loquelam, 
 
 Archididascaliae dat sibi Thais opus, 
 Psittace, ait Thais fingitque sonantia moUe 
 
 Basia, quae docilis molle refingit avis. 
 Jam captat, jam dimidiat tyrunculus ; et jam 
 
 Integrat auditos articulatque sonos. 
 Psittace mi pulcher pulchelle, hera dicit alumno ; 
 
 Psittace mi pulcher, reddit alumnus herae. 
 Jamque canit, ridet, deciesque a?grotat in hora, 
 
 Et vocat ancillas nomine quamque suo.
 
 THE PARROT 21] 
 
 Multaque scurratur mendax, et multa jocatur, 
 
 Et lepido populum detiuet augurio. 
 Nunc tremulum illudet fratrem, qui suspicit, et Pol ! 
 
 Canialis, quisquis te docet, inquit, homo est; 
 Arguta? nunc stridet an (is argutulus instar ; 
 
 Respicit, et nebulo es, quisquis es, inquit anus. 
 Quando fuit raelior tyro, raeliorve magistra I 
 
 Quando duo ingeniis tam coiere pares ! 
 Ardua discenti nulla est, res nulla docenti 
 
 Ardua ; cum doceat fcemina, discat avis. 
 
 lY.— THE PAimOT. 
 
 TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING. 
 
 Iv painted plumes superbly dress'd, 
 A native of the gorgeous east. 
 
 By many a billow toss'd, 
 Poll gains at length the British shore, 
 Part of the captain's precious store, 
 
 A present to his toast. 
 
 Belinda's maids are soon preferred. 
 To teach him now and then a word. 
 
 As Poll can master it ; 
 But 'tis her own important charge. 
 To qualify him more at large, 
 
 And make him quite a wit. 
 
 Sweet Poll ! his doting mistress cries, 
 Sweet Poll; the mimic bird replies; 
 
 And calls aloud for sack. 
 She next instructs him in the kiss; 
 'Tis now a little one, like Miss, 
 
 And now a hearty smack. 
 
 At first he aims at what he hears ; 
 And listening close with both his ears. 
 
 Just catches at the sound ; 
 But soon articulates aloud, 
 Much to the amazement of the crowd, 
 
 And stuns the neighbours round.
 
 212 CHLOE AND EUPHELIA, 
 
 A querulous old woman's voice 
 His humorous talent next employs ; 
 
 He scolds and gives the lie. 
 And now he sings, and now is sick. 
 Here Sally, Susan, come, come quick, 
 
 Poor Poll is like to die ! 
 
 Belinda and her bird ! 'tis rare 
 
 To meet with such a well-match'd pair. 
 
 The language and the tone. 
 Each character in every part 
 Sustain'd with so much grace and art. 
 
 And both in unison. 
 
 When children first begin to spell. 
 And stammer out a syllable. 
 
 We think them tedious creatures : 
 But diflBculties soon abate. 
 When birds are to be taught to prate, 
 
 And women are the teachers. 
 
 TRAXSLATION OF 
 
 PRIOR'S CHLOE AND EUPHELIA. 
 
 Mercator, vigiles oculos ut fallere possit, 
 
 Nomine sub ficto trans mare mittit opes ; 
 Lene sonat liquidumque meis Euphelia chordis, 
 
 Sed solam exoptant te, mea vota, Chloe. 
 Ad speculum omabat nitidos Euphelia criiies. 
 
 Cum dixit mea lux, Heus, cane, sume lyram. 
 Namque lyram juxta positam cum carmine vidit. 
 
 Suave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram. 
 Fila lyrae vocemque paro, suspiria surgunt, 
 
 Et miscent numeris murmura raoesta meis, 
 Dumque tuae memoro laudes, Euphelia, formae, 
 
 Tota anima interea pendet ab ore Chlbes. 
 Subrubet ilia pudore, et contrahit altera frontem, 
 
 Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo; 
 Atque Cupidinea dixit Dea cincta corona, 
 
 Hcu ! fallendi artem quam didicere parura.
 
 213 
 
 THE DIVEKTING 
 
 HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN. 
 
 Shewing how he went farther than he intended, and came safe 
 home again. 
 
 John Gilpin was a citizen 
 
 Of credit and renown, 
 A train-band captain eke was he 
 
 Of famous London town. 
 
 John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear. 
 Though wedded we have been 
 
 These twice ten tedious years, yet we 
 No holiday have seen. 
 
 To-morrow is our wedding-day. 
 
 And v/e will then repair 
 Unto the Bell at Edmonton, 
 
 All in a chaise and pair. 
 
 My sister, and my sister's child. 
 
 Myself, and children three. 
 Will fill the chaise; so you must ride 
 
 On horseback after we. 
 
 He soon replied, I do admire 
 
 Of womankind but one. 
 And you are she, my dearest dear, 
 
 Therefore it shall be done. 
 
 I am a linen-draper bold. 
 
 As all the world doth know. 
 And my good friend the calender 
 
 Will lend his horse to go. 
 
 Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, That's well said ; 
 
 And for that wine is dear, 
 We will be furnish'd with our own, 
 
 Which is both bright and clear. 
 
 John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife; 
 
 O'erjoyed was he to find. 
 That though on pleasure she was bent. 
 
 She had a frugal mind.
 
 214 HISTORY OF 
 
 The morning came, the chaise was brought. 
 
 But yet was not allow'd 
 To drive up to the door, least all 
 
 Should say that she was proud. 
 So three doors ofF the chaise was stay'd, 
 
 Where they did all get in ; 
 Six precious souls, and all agog 
 
 To dash through thick and thin. 
 Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, 
 
 Were never folks so glad, 
 The stones did rattle underneath, 
 
 As if Cheapside were mad. 
 John Gilpin at his horse's side 
 
 Seized fast the flowing mane. 
 And up he got, in haste to ride. 
 
 But soon came down again ; 
 For saddle-tree scarce reach' d had he. 
 
 His journey to begin. 
 When turning round his head he saw 
 
 Three customers come in. 
 So down he came ; for loss of time. 
 
 Although it griev'd him sore; 
 Yet loss of pence, fuU weU he knew. 
 
 Would trouble him much more. 
 'Twas long before the customers 
 
 Were suited to their mind, 
 When Betty screaming came down stairs, 
 
 ' The wine is left behind 1' 
 Good lack ! quoth he —yet bring it mc, 
 
 My leathern belt likewise. 
 In which I bear my trusty sword, 
 
 When I do exercise. 
 Now mistress Gilpin (careful soul !) 
 
 Had two stone bottles found. 
 To hold the liquor that she loved. 
 
 And keep it safe and sound. 
 Each bottle had a curling ear. 
 
 Through which the belt he drew. 
 And hung a bottle on each side, 
 To make his balance true.
 
 JOHN GILPIN. 215 
 
 Then over all, that he might be 
 
 Equipp'd from top to toe. 
 His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat. 
 
 He manfully did throw. 
 Now see him mounted once again 
 
 Upon his nimble steed. 
 Full slowly pacing o'er the stones. 
 
 With caution and good heed. 
 But finding soon a smoother road 
 
 Beneath his well-shod feet, 
 The snorting beast began to trot, 
 
 Which gall'd him in his seat. 
 So, fair and softly ! John he cried. 
 
 But John he cried in vain ; 
 That trot became a gallop soon. 
 
 In spite of curb and rein. 
 So stooping down, as needs he must 
 
 Who cannot sit upright. 
 He grasp'd the mane with both his hands. 
 
 And eke with all his might. 
 His horse, who never in that sort 
 
 Had handled been before. 
 What thing upon his back had got 
 
 Did wonder more and more. 
 Away went Gilpin, neck or nought ; 
 
 Away went hat and wig ; 
 He little dreamt, when he set out. 
 
 Of running such a rig. 
 The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, 
 
 Like streamer long and gay. 
 Till, loop and button failing both, 
 
 At last it flew away. 
 Then might all people well discern 
 
 The bottles he had slung ; 
 A bottle swinging at each side. 
 
 As hath been said or sung. 
 The dogs did bark, the children scrcam'd. 
 
 Up flew ihe windows all ; 
 And every soul cried out. Well done ! 
 As loud as he could bawl.
 
 216 HISTORY OF 
 
 Away went Gilpin — who but he ? 
 
 His fame soon spread around. 
 He carries weight ! he rides a race 1 
 
 'Tis for a thousand pound ! 
 And still, as fast as he drew near, 
 
 'Twas wonderful to view. 
 How in a trice the turnpike men 
 
 Their gates wide open threw. 
 And now, as he went bowing down 
 
 His reeking head full low. 
 The bottles twain behind his back 
 
 Were shatter'd at a blow. 
 Down ran the wine into the roadj 
 
 Most piteous to be seen. 
 Which made his horse's flanks to smoke 
 
 As they had basted been. 
 But still he seem'd to carry weight. 
 
 With leathern girdle braced ; 
 For all might see the bottle-necks 
 
 Still dangling at his waist. 
 Thus all through merry Islington 
 
 These gambols he did play. 
 Until he came unto the Wash 
 
 Of Edmonton so gay ; 
 And there he threw the wash about 
 
 On both sides of the way. 
 Just like unto a trundling mop, 
 
 Or a wild goose at play. 
 At Edmonton his loving wife 
 
 From the balcony spied 
 Her tender husband, wondering much 
 
 To see how he did ride. 
 Stop, stop, John Gilpin !— Here's the house- 
 
 They all at once did cry ; 
 The dinner waits, and we are tired ; 
 
 Said Gilpin — So am I ! 
 But yet his horse was not a whit 
 
 Inclined to tarry there ! 
 For why ? — his owner had a house 
 
 Full ten miles off, at Ware.
 
 JOHN GILPIN. 217 
 
 So like au. arrow swift he flew, 
 
 Shot by an archer strong ; 
 So did he fly — which brings me to 
 
 The middle of my song. 
 Away went Gilpin out of breath, 
 
 And sore against his will. 
 Till at his friend the calender's 
 
 His horse at last stood still. 
 
 The calender, amazed to see 
 
 His neighbour in such trim. 
 Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate. 
 
 And thus accosted him : 
 What news? what news ? your tidings tel! -, 
 
 Tell me you must and shall — 
 Say why bareheaded you are come. 
 
 Or why you come at all ? 
 Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit. 
 
 And loved a timely joke ; 
 And thus unto the calender 
 
 In merry guise he spoke : 
 I came because your horse would come ; 
 
 And, if I well forebode, 
 My hat and wig will soon be here, 
 
 They are upon the road. 
 The calender, right glad to find 
 
 His friend in merry pin, 
 jKeturn'd him not a single word, 
 ^ But to the house went in ; 
 Whence straight he came with hat and wig; 
 
 A wig that flow'd behind, 
 A hat hot much the worse for wear. 
 
 Each comely in its kind. 
 He held them up, and in his turn 
 
 Thus shew'd his ready wit. 
 My head is twice as big as yours. 
 
 They therefore needs must fit. 
 But let me scrape the dirt away. 
 
 That hangs upon your face ; 
 And stop and eat, for well you may 
 
 Be in a hungry case. 
 K
 
 218 JOHN GILPIN. 
 
 Said John, It is my wedding-day. 
 And all the world would stare. 
 
 If wife should dine at Edmonton, 
 And I should dine at Ware. 
 
 So turning to his horse, he said, 
 
 I am iu haste to dine ; 
 'Twas for your pleasure you came here. 
 
 You shall go back for mine. 
 
 Ah ! luckless speech, and bootless boast ! 
 
 For which he paid fuU dear ; 
 For, while he spake, a braying ass 
 
 Did sing most loud and clear ; 
 Whereat his horse did snort, as he 
 
 Had heard a lion roar, 
 And gallop'd off with all his might. 
 
 As he had done before. 
 Away went Gilpin, and away 
 
 Went Gilpin's hat and wig : 
 He lost them sooner than at first. 
 
 For why ? — they were too big. 
 Now mistress Gilpin, when she saw 
 
 Her husband posting down 
 Into the country far away. 
 
 She pull'd out half-a-crown ; 
 And thus unto the youth she said 
 
 That drove them to the Bell, 
 This shall be yours, when you bring back 
 
 My husband safe and well. 
 The youth did ride, and soon did meet 
 
 John coming back amain : 
 Whom in a trice he tried to stop. 
 
 By catching at his rein ; 
 But not performing what he meant. 
 
 And gladly would have done. 
 The frighted steed he frighted more. 
 
 And made him faster run. 
 Away went Gilpin, and away 
 
 Went postboy at his heels. 
 The postboy's horse right glad to miss 
 
 The lumbering of the wheels.
 
 EPISTLE TO A LADY IN FRANCE. 219 
 
 Six gentlemen upon the road. 
 
 Thus seeing Gilpin fly. 
 With postboy scampering in the rear. 
 
 They raised the hue and cry :— 
 Stop thief! stop thief !— a highwayman ! 
 
 Not one of them was mute ; 
 And all and each that pass'd that way 
 
 Did join in the pursuit. 
 And now the turnpike-gates again 
 
 Flew open in short space ; 
 The toll-men thinking as before. 
 
 That Gilpin rode a race. 
 And so he did, and won it too. 
 
 For he got first to town ; 
 Nor stopp'd till where he had got up 
 
 He did again get down. 
 Now let us sing, long live the king. 
 
 And Gilpin long live he ; 
 And, when he next doth ride abroad. 
 
 May I be there to see I 
 
 AN EPISTLE 
 
 TO AN AFFLICTED PllOTESTANT LADY 
 IN FRANCE. 
 Madam, 
 A stranger's purpose in these lays 
 Is to congratulate, and not to praise ; 
 To give the creature the Creator's due 
 Were sin in me, and an offence to you. 
 From man to man, or e'en to woman paid, 
 Praise is the medium of a knavish trade, 
 A coin by craft for folly's use design'd. 
 Spurious, and only current with the blind. 
 The path of sorrow, and that path alone, 
 Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown ; 
 No traveller ever reach'd that bless'd abode. 
 Who found not thorns and briers in his road. 
 The world may dance along the flowery plain, 
 Cheer'd as they go by many a sprightly strain
 
 220 EPISTLE TO A LADY IN FRANCE. 
 
 Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread 
 
 With unshod feet they yet securely tread, 
 
 Admonish'd, scorn the caution and the friend, 
 
 Bent all on pleasure, heedless of its end. 
 
 But he, who knew what human hearts would prove. 
 
 How slow to learn the dictates of his love. 
 
 That, hard by nature, and of stubborn wiU, 
 
 A life of ease would make them harder still. 
 
 In pity to the souls his grace design'd 
 
 To rescue from the ruins of mankind, 
 
 Call'd for a cloud to darken all their years, 
 
 And said, « Go, spend them in the vale of tears.' 
 
 O balmy gales of soul-reviving air ! 
 
 O salutary streams, that murmur there ! 
 
 These flowing from the fount of grace above. 
 
 Those breath'd from lips of everlasting love. 
 
 The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys ; 
 
 Chill blasts of trouble nip their springing joys. 
 
 An envious world will interpose its frown. 
 
 To mar delights superior to its own ; 
 
 And many a pang, experienced still within. 
 
 Reminds them of their hated inmate. Sin : 
 
 But ills of every shape and every nam.e, 
 
 Transform'd to blessings, miss their cruel aim ; 
 
 And every moment's calm that soothes the breast. 
 
 Is given in earnest of eternal rest. 
 
 Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast 
 Far from the flock, and in a boundless waste ! 
 No shepherd's tents within thy view appear. 
 But the chief Shepherd even there is near ; 
 Thy tender sonows and thy plaintive strain 
 Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ; 
 Thy tears all issue from a source divine. 
 And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine— 
 So once in Gideon's fleece the dews were found, 
 And drought on all the drooping herbs around.
 
 221 
 
 TO THE 
 
 RKV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN. 
 
 Umwin, I should but ill repay 
 
 The kindness of a friend. 
 Whose worth deserves as warm a lay 
 
 As ever friendship penn'd, 
 Thy name omitted in a page, 
 That would reclaim a vicious age. 
 
 A union form'd, as mine with thee. 
 
 Not rashly, or in sport, 
 May be as fervent in degree. 
 
 And faithful in its sort, 
 And may as rich in comfort prove, 
 As that of true fraternal love. 
 
 The bud inserted in the rind, 
 
 The bud of peach or rose, 
 Adorns, though differing in its kind. 
 
 The stock whereon it grows. 
 With flower as sweet, or fruit as fair. 
 As if produced by Nature there. 
 
 Not rich, I render what I may, 
 
 I seize thy name in haste. 
 And place it in this first essay, 
 
 Lest this should prove the last. 
 'Tis where it should be— in a plan 
 That holds in view the good of man. 
 
 The poet's lyre, to fix his fame, 
 Should be the poet's heart ; 
 
 Aflfection lights a brighter flame 
 Than ever blazed by art. 
 
 No muses on these lines attend, 
 
 I sink the poet in the friend.
 
 THE TASK. 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The history of the following productiou is briefly this : 
 A lady, fond of blank verse, demanded a poem of that 
 kind from the author, and gave him the SOFA for a 
 subject. He obeyed ; and having much leisure, con- 
 nected another subject with 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 flrst intended, a serious affair — a Volume. 
 
 In the poem on the subject of Education, he would 
 be very sorry to stand suspected of having aimed his 
 censure at any particular school. His objections are 
 such as naturally apply themselves to schools in gene- 
 ral. If there were not, as for the most part there is, 
 wilful neglect in those who manage them, and an omis- 
 sion even of such discipline as they are susceptible of, 
 the objects are yet too numerous for minute attention : 
 and the aching hearts of ten thousand parents, mourn- 
 ing under the bitterest of all disappointments, attest the 
 truth of the allegation. His quarrel, therefore, is with 
 the mischief at large, and not with any particular in- 
 stance of it.
 
 THE TASK. 
 
 BOOK I. 
 
 Historical deduction of seats, from the stool to the Sofa. — A 
 schoolboy's ramble. — A walk in the country. — The scene de- 
 scribed. — Rural sounds a.s well as sights deliffhtful. — 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 
 the benefits of exercise. — The works of nature superior to, and 
 in some instances inimitable by, art. — The wearisomeness of 
 what is commonly called a life of pleasure. — Change of scene 
 sometimes expedient. — A common described, and the charac- 
 ter of Crazy Kate introduced. — Gipsies. — The blessings of civi- 
 lized life.— That state most favourable to virtue. — The South 
 Sea islanders compassionated, but chiefly Omai. — His present 
 state of mind supposed. — Civilized life friendly to virtue, but 
 not great cities. — Great cities, and London in particular, al- 
 lowed their due praises, but censured. — Fete champ6tre. — The 
 book concludes with a reflection on the fatal effects of dissipa 
 tion and effeminacy upon our public measures. 
 
 THE SOFA. 
 
 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. 
 
 Escaped with pain from that adventurous flight. 
 
 Now seek repose upon an humbler theme; 
 
 The theme though humble, yet august and proud 
 
 The occasion— for the Fair commands the song. 
 
 Time was, when clothing sumptuous or for use. 
 Save their own painted skins, our sires had none. 
 As yet black breeches were not ; satin smooth, 
 Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile : 
 The hardy chief upon the rugged rock 
 Wash'd by the sea, or on the gravelly bank 
 Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud, 
 Fearless of wrong, reposed his wearied strength. 
 Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next 
 The birth-day of Invention : weak at first, 
 Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. 
 Joint-stools were then created ; on three legs 
 Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm 
 * See Poems, pages 58, 90, 109.
 
 224 THE TASK. 
 
 A massy slab, 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. 
 
 And driU'd in holes, the solid oak is found. 
 
 By worms voracious eaten through and through. 
 
 At length a generation more refined 
 Improved the simple plan ; made three legs four, 
 Gave them a twisted form vermicular. 
 And o"er the seat, with plenteous wadding stuff' d, 
 Induced a splendid cover, green and blue, 
 Yellow and red, of tap'stry richly wrought 
 And woven close, or needle-work sublime. 
 There might ye see the peony spread wide, 
 The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass. 
 Lap-dog and lambkin with black staring eyes. 
 And parrots with twin cherries in their beak. 
 
 Now came the cane from India, smooth and bright 
 With Nature's varnish ; sever'd into stripes, 
 That interlaced each other, these supplied 
 Of texture firm a lattice-work, that braced 
 The new machine, and it became a chair. 
 But restless was the chair ; the back erect 
 Distress'd the weary loins, that felt no ease ; 
 The slippery seat betray' d the sliding part. 
 That press'd it, and the feet hung dangling down. 
 Anxious in vain to find the distant floor. 
 These for the rich, the rest, whom Fate had placed 
 In modest mediocrity, content 
 With base materials, sat on well-tann'd hides. 
 Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth. 
 With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn. 
 Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fix'd. 
 If cushion might be called, what harder seem'd 
 Than the firm oak, of which the frame was form'd. 
 No want of timber then was felt or fear'd 
 In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood 
 Ponderous and fixed by its own massy weight. 
 But elbows still were wanting ; these, some say, 
 An alderman of Cripplegate contrived ; 
 And some ascribe the invention to a priest.
 
 THE SOFA. 22 
 
 Burly, and big, and studious of his ease. 
 But rude at first, and not with easy slope 
 Receding wide, they press'd against the ribs. 
 And bruised the side ; and, elevated high. 
 Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. 
 Long lime elapsed or ere our rugged sires 
 Complain'd, though incommodiously pent in, 
 And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 
 Gan murmur, as became the softer sex: 
 Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased 
 Than when employ'd t' accommodate the fair. 
 Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised 
 The soft settee; one elbow at each end. 
 And in the midst an elbow it received. 
 United yet divided, twain at once. 
 So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne. 
 And so two citizens, who take the air. 
 Close pack'd, and smiling, in a chaise and one, 
 But relaxation of the languid frame. 
 By soft recumbency of outstretch'd limbs, 
 Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slow 
 The growth of what is excellent ; so hard 
 To obtain perfection in this nether world. 
 Thus first Necessity invented stools. 
 Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs, 
 And Luxury the accomplish'd Sofa last. 
 
 The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sirk 
 Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he 
 Who quits the coach-box at the midnight hour. 
 To sleep within the carriage more secure. 
 His legs depending at the open door. 
 Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk. 
 The tedious rector drawling o'er his head : 
 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 ; 
 Nor yet the dozings of the clerk, are sweet, 
 Compared with the repose the Sf>fa yields. 
 
 O may I live exempted (while 1 live 
 Guiltless of pamper'd appetite obscene) 
 K2
 
 226 THE TASK. 
 
 From pangs arthritic, that invest the toe 
 
 Of libertine excess. The Sofa suits 
 
 The gouty limb, 'tis true ; but gouty limb, 
 
 Though on a Sofa, may I never feel . 
 
 For I have loved the rural walk through lanes 
 
 Of grassy swarth, close cropp'd by nibbling sheep. 
 
 And skirted thick with intertexture firm 
 
 Of thorny boughs ; have loved the rural walk 
 
 O'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers' brink. 
 
 E'er since a truant boy I pass'd my bounds, 
 
 T' enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames ; 
 
 And still remember, nor without regret. 
 
 Of hours that sorrow since has muchendear'd. 
 
 How oft, my shce of pocket store consumed. 
 
 Still hungering, pennyless, and far from home, 
 
 I fed on scailet hips and stony haws. 
 
 Or blushing crabs, or berries, that emboss 
 
 The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. 
 
 Hard fare ! but such as boyish appetite 
 
 Disdains not ; nor the palate, undepraved 
 
 By culinary arts, unsavoury deems. 
 
 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. 
 
 And not a year but pilfers as he goes 
 
 Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep ; 
 
 A tooth, or auburn lock, and by degress 
 
 Their length and colour from the locks they spare; 
 
 The elastic spring of an unwearied foot. 
 
 That mounts the stile with ease, or leaps the fence. 
 
 That play of lungs, inhaling and again 
 
 Respirmg freely the fresh air, that makes 
 
 Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me. 
 
 Mine have not pilfer'd yet, nor yet impair'd 
 
 My relish of fair prospect : scenes that soothed 
 
 Or charm'd me young, no longer young, I find 
 
 Still soothirg, and of power to charm me still. 
 
 And witness, dear companion of my walks, 
 
 Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive 
 
 Fast lock'd in mine, with pleasure such as love.
 
 THE SOFA. 227 
 
 Confiim'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. 
 
 And that my raptures are not conjur'd up 
 
 To serve occasions of poetic pomp. 
 
 But genuine, and art partner of them all. 
 
 How oft upon yon eminence our pace 
 
 Has slacken'd to a pause, and we have borne 
 
 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 
 
 His labouring team, that swerved not from the track. 
 
 The sturdy swain diminish'd to a boy ! 
 
 Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain 
 
 Of spacious meads with cattle sprinkled o'er, 
 
 Conducts the eye along his sinuous course 
 
 Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank, 
 
 Stand, never overlook'd, our favourite elms. 
 
 That screen the herdsman's solitary hut ; 
 
 While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, 
 
 That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, 
 
 The sloping land recedes into the clouds, 
 
 Displaying on its varied side the grace 
 
 Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower, 
 
 Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells 
 
 Just undulates upon the listening ear. 
 
 Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote. 
 
 Scenes must be beautiful, which daily view'd 
 
 Please daily, and whose novelty survives 
 
 Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years : 
 
 I'raise justly due to those that I describe. 
 
 Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds. 
 Exhilarate the spirit, and restore 
 The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds. 
 That sweep the skirt of some far spreading wood 
 Of ancient growth, make music not unlike 
 The dash of Ocean on his winding shore. 
 And lull the spirit while they fill the mind ; 
 Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast.
 
 228 THE TASK 
 
 And all their leaves fast fluttering, all at once. 
 
 Nor less composure waits upon the roar 
 
 Of distant floods, or on the softer voice 
 
 Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that slip 
 
 Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall 
 
 Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length 
 
 In matted grass, that with a livelier green 
 
 Betrays the secret of their silent course. 
 
 Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds. 
 
 But animated nature sweeter still. 
 
 To soothe and satisfy the human ear. 
 
 Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one 
 
 The livelong night : nor these alone, whose notes 
 
 Nice finger'd Art must emulate in vain. 
 
 But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime 
 
 In still repeated circles, screaming loud. 
 
 The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl. 
 
 That hails the rising moon, have charms for me : 
 
 Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh. 
 
 Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns^ 
 
 And only there, please highly for their sake. 
 
 Peace to the artist whose ingenious thought 
 Devised the weather-house, that useful toy ! 
 Fearless of humid air and gathering rains. 
 Forth steps the man— an emblem of myself ! 
 More delicate, his timorous mate retires. 
 When Winter soaks the fields, and female feet. 
 Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay. 
 Or ford the rivulets, are best at home. 
 The task of new discoveries falls on me. 
 At such a season, and with such a charge. 
 Once went I forth ; and found, till then unknown, 
 A cottage, whither oft we since repair : 
 'Tis perch'd upon the green-hill top, but close 
 Environ'd with a ring of branching elms. 
 That overhang the thatch, itself unseen 
 Peeps at the vale below : so thick beset 
 With foliage of such dark redundant growth, 
 I call'd the low roof 'd lodge the Peawnfs Ne^t. 
 And, hidden as it is, and far remote 
 From such unpleasing sounds, as haunt the ear 
 In village or in town, the bav of curs
 
 THE SOFA. 229 
 
 Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels. 
 And infants clamorous, whether pleased or pain'd, 
 Oft have I wished the peaceful covert mine. 
 Here, I have said, at least I should possess 
 The poet's treasure, silence, and indulge 
 The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure. 
 Vain thought ! the dweller in that still retreat 
 Dearly obtains the refuge it affords. 
 Its elevated site forbids the wretch 
 To drink sweet waters of the crystal well; 
 He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch. 
 And heavy laden, brings his beverage home, 
 Far fetch'd and little worth ; nor seldom waits. 
 Dependent on the baker's punctual call. 
 To hear his creaking panniers at the door. 
 Angry and sad, and his last crust consumed. 
 So farewell envy of the Peasant's Nest! 
 If solitude make scant the means of life. 
 Society for me !— thou seeming sweet. 
 Be still a pleasing object in my view ; 
 My visit still, bat never mine alx)de. 
 
 Not distant far, a length of colonnade 
 Invites us. Monument of ancient taste, 
 Now scom'd, but worthy of a better fate. 
 Our fathers knew the value of a screen 
 From sultry suns: and, in their shaded walks 
 And long protracted bowers, enjoy'd at noon 
 The gloom and coolness of declining day. 
 We bear our shades about us ; self-deprived 
 Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread. 
 And range an Indian waste without a tree. 
 Thanks to Benevolus*— he spares me yet 
 These chesnuts ranged in corresponding lines; 
 And, though himself so polish'd, still reprieves 
 The obsolete prolixity of shade. 
 
 Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) 
 A sudden steep, upon a rustic bridge 
 We pass a gulf, in which the willows dip 
 Their pendent boughs, stoojiing as if to drink. 
 Hence, ankle-deep in moss and flowery thyme. 
 We mount again, and feel at every step 
 
 * John Courtney Throckmorton, Esq., of Weston UnderwooiJ.
 
 230. THE TASK. 
 
 Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft, 
 Raised by the mole, the miner of the soiL 
 He, not unlike the great ones of mankind. 
 Disfigures earth ; and, plotting in the dark. 
 Toils much to earn a monumental pile. 
 That may record the mischiefs he has done. 
 
 The summit gain'd, behold the proud alcove 
 That crowns it ! yet not all its pride secures 
 The grand retreat from injuries impress'd 
 By rural carvers, who with knives deface 
 The pannels, leaving an obscure, rude name, 
 In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss. 
 So strong the zeal to immortalize himself 
 Beats in the breast of man, that e'en a few. 
 Few transient years, won from the abyss abhorr'd 
 Of blank oblivion, 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 
 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 th£ sun-burnt hay-field homeward creej: 
 The loaded wain ; while lighten'd of its charge, 
 The wain that meets it passes swiftly by ; 
 The boorish driver leaning o'er his team 
 Vociferous, and impatient of delay. 
 Nor less attractive is the woodland scene. 
 Diversified with trees of every growth. 
 Alike yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks 
 Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine. 
 Within the twilight of their distant shades ; 
 There, lost behind a rising ground, the wood 
 Seems sunk, and shortened to its topmost boughs. 
 No tree in all the grove but has its charms. 
 Though each its hue peculiar ; paler some. 
 And of a wannish gray ; the willow such. 
 And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf. 
 And ash far-stretching his umbrageous arm ; 
 Of deeper green the elm ; and deeper still. 
 Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak.
 
 THE SOFA. 231 
 
 Some glossy-leav'd and shining in the sun. 
 The maple, and the beech of oily nuts 
 Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve 
 Diffusing odours : nor unnoted pass 
 The sycamore, capricious in attire, 
 Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet 
 Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours bright. 
 O'er these, but far beyond (a spacious map 
 Of hill and valley interposed between). 
 The Ouse, dividing the well-water'd land. 
 Now glitters in the sun, and now retires. 
 As bashful, yet impatient to be seen. 
 
 Hence the declivity is shjirp and short, 
 And such the re-ascent ! between them weeps 
 A little naiad her impoverish'd urn 
 All summer long, which winter fills again. 
 The folded gates would bar my progress now. 
 But that the lord* of this inclosed demesne. 
 Communicative of the good he ownis. 
 Admits me to a share ; the guiltless eye 
 Commits no wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys. 
 Refreshing change ! whore now tlie blazing sun ? 
 By short transition we have lost his glare. 
 And stepi)'d at once into a cooler clime. 
 Ye fallen avenues ! once more I mourn 
 Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice 
 That yet a remnant of your race survives. 
 How airy and how light the graceful arch. 
 Yet awful as the consecrated roof 
 Re-echoing pious anthems ! while beneath 
 The checker'd earth seems restless as a flood 
 Brush'd by the wind. So sportive is the light 
 Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance. 
 Shadow and sunsliine intermingling quick. 
 And darkening and enlightening, as the loaves 
 Play wanton, every moment, every spot. 
 
 And now, with nerves new-braced and spirits cheerM, 
 We tread the wilderness, whose wcll-roU'd walks. 
 With curvature of slow and easy sweep — 
 Deception innocent — give ample space 
 To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next ; 
 « See the foregoing note.
 
 232 THE TASK. 
 
 Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms 
 We may discern the thresher at his task. 
 Thump after thump resounds the constant flail, 
 That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls 
 Full on the destined ear. Wide flies the chaff. 
 The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist 
 Of atoms, sparkling in the noonday beam. 
 Come hither, ye that press your beds of dotv-n, 
 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 
 Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan. 
 
 By ceaseless action all that is subsists. 
 Constant rotation of the unwearied wheel, 
 That Nature rides upon, maintains her health. 
 Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads 
 An instant's pause, and lives but while she moves. 
 Its own revolvency upholds the world. 
 Winds from all quarters agitate the air. 
 And fit the limpid element for use. 
 Else noxious ; oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams, 
 All feel the fresh'ning impulse, and are cleansed 
 By restless undulation : e'en the oak 
 Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm : 
 He seems indeed indignant, and to feel 
 The impression of the blast with proud disdain. 
 Frowning, as if in his unconscious arm 
 He held the thunder : but the monarch owes 
 His firm stability to what he scorns. 
 More fix'd below, the more disturb'd above. 
 The law, by which all creatures else are bound, 
 Binds man, the lord of all. Himself derives 
 No mean advantage from a kindred cause. 
 From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease. 
 The sedentary stretch their lazy length 
 When Custom bids, but no refreshment find. 
 For none they need ; the languid eye, the cheek 
 Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk. 
 And wither'd muscle, and the vapid soul, 
 Reproach their owner with that love of rest. 
 To which he forfeits e'en the rest he loves. 
 Not such the alert and active. Measure life
 
 THE SOFA. 233 
 
 Hy its true worth, the comforts it affords, 
 \ik1 theirs alone seems worthy of the name, 
 (lood health, and its associate in the most, 
 (rood temper ; spirits prompt to undertake. 
 And not soon spent, though in an arduous task ; 
 The powers of fancy and strong thought are theirs ; 
 E'en age itself seems privileged in them 
 With clear exemption from its own defects. 
 A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front 
 The veteran shews, and gracing a gray beard 
 With youthful smiles, descends toward the grave 
 Sprightly, and old almost without dec^y. 
 
 Like a coy maiden. Ease, when courted most. 
 Farthest retires— an idol, at whose shrine 
 Who oftenest sacrifice are favoured least. 
 The love of Nature, and the scenes she draws, 
 Is Nature's dictate. Strange ! there should be 
 Who, self-imprison'd in their proud saloons. 
 Renounce the odours of the open field 
 For the unscented fictions of the loom ; 
 Who, satisfied with only pencill'd scenes, 
 Prefer to the performance of a God 
 The inferior wonders of an artist's hand ! 
 Lovely indeed the mimic works of Art ; 
 But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire. 
 None more admires, the painter's magic skill, 
 Who shews me that which I shall never see. 
 Conveys a distant country into mine. 
 And throws Italian light on English walls : 
 But imitative strokes can do no more 
 Than please the eye— sweet Nature's every sense, 
 The-eir salubrious of her lofty hills. 
 The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales. 
 And music of her woods — no v/orks of man 
 May rival these, these all bespeak a power 
 Peculiar, and exclusively her own. 
 Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast ; 
 'Tis free to all— 'tis every day renew'd ; 
 Who scorns it starves deservedly at home. 
 He does not scorn it, who imprisoned long 
 In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey 
 To sallow sickness, which the vapours, dank
 
 234 THE TASK. 
 
 And clammy, of his dark abode have bred. 
 
 Escapes at last to liberty and light ; 
 
 His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue; 
 
 His eye relumiues its extinguish'd fires : 
 
 He walks, he leaps, he runs— is wing'd with joy. 
 
 And riots in the sweets of every breeze. 
 
 He does not scorn it who has long endured 
 
 A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs. 
 
 Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflamed 
 
 With acrid salts : his very heart athirst 
 
 To gaze at Nature in her green array. 
 
 Upon the ship's tall side he stands possess'd 
 
 With visions prompted by intense desire : 
 
 Fair fields appear below, such as 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; 
 The lowering eye, the petulance, the frown, 
 And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort. 
 And mar the face of beauty, when no cause 
 For such immeasurable woe appears. 
 These Flora banishes, and gives the fair 
 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 life 
 A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down. 
 Health suffers, and the spirits ebb, the heart 
 Recoils from its own choice — at the full feast 
 Is famish' d — finds no music in the song. 
 No smartness in the jest; and wonders why. 
 Yet thousands still desire to journey on, 
 Though halt, and weary of the path they tread. 
 The paralytic who can hold her cards. 
 But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand 
 To deal and shuffie, to divide and sort 
 Her mingled suits and sequences ; and sits. 
 Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad 
 And silent cipher, while her proxy plays. 
 Others are dragg'd into the crowded room 
 Between supporters ; and once seated, sit. 
 Through downright inability to rise.
 
 THE SOFA. 235 
 
 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, 
 
 Yet scorn the purposes for which they live. 
 
 Then wherefore not renounce them ? No— the dread. 
 
 The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds 
 
 Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame. 
 
 And their inveterate habits, all forbid. 
 Whom call we gay ? That honour has been long 
 
 The boast of mere pretenders to the name. 
 
 The innocent are gay — the lark is gay. 
 
 That dries his feathers, saturate with dew. 
 
 Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams 
 
 Of dayspring overshoot his humble nest. 
 
 The peasant too, a witness of his song. 
 
 Himself a songster, is as gay as he. 
 
 But save me from the gaiety of those 
 
 Whose head-aches nail them to a noonday-bed ; 
 
 And save me too from theirs, whose haggard eyes 
 
 Flash desperation, and betray their pangs 
 
 For i)roj)erty stripp'd off by cruel chance; 
 
 From gaiety, that fills the bones with pain. 
 
 The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe. 
 The earth was made so various, that the mind 
 Of desultory man, studious of change. 
 And pleased with novelty, might be indulged. 
 Prospects, however lovely, may be seen 
 Till half their beauties fade ; the weary sight. 
 Too well acquainted with their smile, slides off 
 Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes. 
 Then snug enclosures in the shclter'd vale. 
 Where frequent hedges intercept the eye. 
 Delight us ; happy to renounce awhile. 
 Not senseless of its charms, what still we love, 
 That such short absence may endear it more. 
 Then forest, or the savage rock, may please, 
 That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts ■ 
 Above the reach of man. His hoary head. 
 Conspicuous many a league, the mariner 
 Bound homeward, and in hope already there.
 
 235 THE TASK. 
 
 Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist, 
 A girdle of half-wither'd shrubs he shews. 
 And at his feet the baffled billows die. 
 The common, overgrown with fern, and rough 
 With prickly gorse, that shapeless and deform'd. 
 And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom. 
 And decks itself with ornaments of gold. 
 Yields no unpleasing ramble ; there the turf 
 Smells fresh, and rich in odoriferous herbs 
 And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense 
 With luxury of unexpected sweets. 
 
 There often wanders one, whom better days 
 Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimm'd 
 With lace, and hat with splendid ribbon bound. 
 A serving maid was she, and fell in love 
 With one who left her, went to sea, and died. 
 Her fancy foUow'd him through foaming waves 
 To distant shores : and she would sit and weep 
 At what a sailor suffers ; fancy too. 
 Delusive most where warmest wishes are. 
 Would oft anticipate his glad return. 
 And dream of transports she was not to know. 
 She heard the doleful tidings of his death — 
 And never smil'd again ! and now she roams 
 The dreary waste ; there spends the livelong day. 
 And there, unless when charity forbids. 
 The livelong night. A tatter'd apron hides. 
 Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown 
 More tatter'd still ; and both but ill conceal 
 A bosom heaved with never-ceasing sighs. 
 She begs an idle pin of all she meets. 
 And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food. 
 Though press'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, 
 Though pinch'd with cold, asks never. — Kate is craz'd. 
 
 I see a column of slow-rising smoke 
 O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild, 
 A vagabond and useless tribe there eat 
 Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung 
 Between two poles upon a stick transverse. 
 Receives the morsel— flesh obscene of dog. 
 Or vermin, or at best of cock purloin'd 
 From his accustom'd perch. Hard-faring race
 
 THE SOFA. 237 
 
 They pick their fuel out of every hedge, 
 Which, kindled with dry leaves, just saves uiiquench'd 
 The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide 
 Their fluttering rags, and shews a tawny skin. 
 The vellum of the pedigree they claim. 
 Great skill have they in palmistry, and more 
 To conjure clean away the gold they touch. 
 Conveying worthless dross into its place; 
 Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. 
 Strange ! that a creature rational, and cast 
 In human mould, should brutalize by choice 
 His nature; and, though capable of arts. 
 By which the world might profit, and himself, 
 Self-banish"d from society, prefer 
 Such squalid sloth to honourable toil ! 
 \'et, even these, though, feigning sickness oft, 
 They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, 
 And vex their flesh with artificial sores. 
 Can change their whine into a mirthful note, 
 When safe occasion offers; and with dance. 
 And music of the bladder and the bag. 
 Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. 
 Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy 
 The houseless rovers of the sylvan world : 
 And breathing wholesome air, and wandering much. 
 Need other physic none to heal the effects 
 Of loathesome diet, penury, and cold. 
 
 Blest he, though undistinguish'd from the crowd 
 By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure. 
 Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside 
 His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn. 
 The manners and the arts of civil life. 
 His wants indeed are many ; but supply 
 Is obvious, placed within the easy reach 
 ( >f temperate wishes and industrious hands. 
 Here Virtue thrives as in her proper soil ; 
 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 barbarous climes, where violence prevails, 
 And strength is lord of all ; but gentle, kind. 
 By culture tamed, by liberty refresh'd,
 
 238 THE TASK. 
 
 And all her fruits by radiant truth matured. 
 War and the chase engross the savage whole ! 
 War, follow'd for revenge, or to supplant 
 The envied tenants of some happier spot : 
 The chase for sustenance, precarious trust ! 
 His hard condition with severe constraint 
 Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth 
 Of wisdom, proves a school, in which he learns 
 Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate. 
 Mean self -attachment, and scarce aught beside. 
 Thus fare the shivering natives of the north. 
 And thus the rangers of the western world. 
 Where it advances far into the deep. 
 Towards the antarctic. 5'en the favoured isles 
 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. 
 These therefore I can pity, placed remote 
 From all that science traces, art invents, 
 Or inspiration teaches ; and enclosed 
 In boundless oceans never to be pass'd 
 By navigators uninform'd as they. 
 Or plough'd perhaps by British bark again ; 
 But far beyond the rest, and with most cause. 
 Thee, gentle savage 1* whom no love of thee 
 Or thine, but curiosity perhaps. 
 Or else vain glory, prompted us to draw 
 Forth from thy native bowers, to shew thee here 
 With what superior skill we can abuse 
 The gifts of Providence, and squander life. 
 The dream is past ; and thou hast found again 
 Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, 
 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 music ; are thy simple friends. 
 Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights, 
 As dear to thee as once ? And have thy joys 
 » Omai.
 
 THE SOFA. 239 
 
 Lost nothing by comparison with ours ? 
 Rude as thou art (for we returned thee rude 
 And ignorant except of outward show), 
 I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart 
 And spiritless, as never to regret 
 Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. 
 Methinks I see thee straying on the beach. 
 And asking of the surge, that bathes thy foot. 
 If ever it has washed our distant shore. 
 I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, 
 A patriot's for his country ; thou art sad 
 At thought of her forlorn and abject state, 
 From which no power of thine can raise her up. 
 Thus fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err. 
 Perhaps errs little, when she paints thee thus. 
 She tells me too, that duly every morn 
 Thou climb'st the mountain-top, with eager eye 
 Exploring far and wide the watery waste 
 For sight of ship from England. Every speck 
 Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale 
 With conflict of contending hopes and fears. 
 But comes at last the dull and dusky eve. 
 And sends thee to thy cabin, well prepared 
 To dream all night of what the day denied. 
 Alas ! expect it not. We found no bait 
 To tempt us in thy country. Doing good, 
 Disinterested good, is not our trade. 
 We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought ; 
 And must be bribed to compass earth again 
 By other hopes and richer fruits than yours. 
 
 But though true worth and virtue in the mild 
 And genial soil of cultivated life 
 Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, 
 Yet not in cities oft: in proud, and gay. 
 And gain-devoted cities. Thither flow. 
 As to a common and most noisome sewer, 
 The dregs and feculence of every land. 
 In cities foul example on most minds 
 Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds, 
 In gross and pamper'd cities, sloth, and lust, 
 And wantonness, and gluttonous excess. 
 In cities vice is hidden with most ease.
 
 240 THE TASK. 
 
 Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue, taught 
 
 By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there 
 
 Beyond the achievement of successful flight. 
 
 I do confess them nurseries of the arts. 
 
 In which they flourish most; where, in the beams 
 
 Of warm encouragement, and in the eye 
 
 Of public note, they reach their perfect size. 
 
 Such London is, oy 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 
 
 A lucid mirror, in which Xature 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 
 
 The powers of sculpture, but the style as much ; 
 
 Each province of her art her equal care. 
 
 With nice incision of her guided steel 
 
 She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil 
 
 So sterile with what charms soe'er she will, 
 
 Therichest scenery 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 As London — opulent, enlarged, and still 
 
 Increasing, London ? Babylon of old 
 
 Not more the glory of the earth than she, 
 
 A more accomplish'd worlds chief glory now. 
 
 She has her praise. Xow mark a spot or two. 
 That so much beauty would do well to purge; 
 And shew this queen of cities, that so fair 
 May yet be foul ; so witty, yet not wise. 
 It is not seemly, nor of good report. 
 That she is slack in discipline ; more prompt 
 To avenge than to prevent the breach of law
 
 THE SOFA. 241 
 
 That she is rigid in denouncing death 
 
 On petty robbers, and indulges life 
 
 And liberty, and oft-times honour too. 
 
 To peculators of the public gold : 
 
 That thieves at home must hang ; but he, that puts 
 
 Into his overgorged and bloated purse 
 
 The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes. 
 
 Nor is it well, nor can it come to good. 
 
 That, through profane and infidel contempt 
 
 Of holy writ, she has presumed to annul 
 
 And abrogate, as roundly as she may. 
 
 The total ordinance and will of God ; 
 
 Advancing Fashion to the post of Truth, 
 
 And centring all authority in modes 
 
 And customs of her own, till sabbath rites 
 
 Have dwindled into unrespected forms. 
 
 And knees and hassocks are well nigh divorced- 
 
 God made the country, and man made the town. 
 What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts 
 That can alone make sweet the bitter draught 
 That life holds out to all, should most abound 
 And least be threatened in the fields and groves ? 
 Possess ye therefore, ye who, borne about 
 In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue 
 But that of idleness, and taste no scenes 
 But such as art contrives, possess ye still 
 Your element ; there only can ye shine; 
 There only minds like yours can do no harm. 
 Our groves were planted to console at noon 
 The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve 
 The moon-beam, sliding softly in between 
 The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish. 
 Birds warbling all the music. We can spare 
 The splendour of your lamps ; they but eclipse 
 Our softer satellite. Your songs confound 
 Our more harmonious notes : the thrush departs 
 Scared, and the offended nightingale is mute. 
 There is a public mischief in your mirth ; 
 It plagues your country. Folly such as yours, 
 Graced with a sword, and worthier of a fan. 
 Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done. 
 Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you, 
 A mutilated structure, soon to fall. 
 L
 
 242 
 
 BOOK II. 
 
 Reflections suggested by the conclusion of the former book.— 
 Peace among the nations recommended, on the ground of their 
 common fellowship in sorrow. — Prodigies enumerated. — Sici- 
 lian earthquakes. — Man rendered obnoxious to these calami- 
 ties by sin.— -God the agent in them.— The philosophy that stops 
 at secondary causes reproved. — Our own late miscarriages ac- 
 counted for.' — Satirical notice taken of our trips to Fontainbleau. 
 —But the pulpit, not satire, the proper engine of reformation.— 
 The Reverend Advertiser of engraved sermons. — Petit-maltre 
 parson. — The good preacher. — Picture of a theatrical clerical 
 coxcomb. — Story-tellers and jesters in the pulpit reproved. — 
 Apostrophe to popular applause. — Retailers of ancient philoso- 
 phy expostulated with.— Sum of the whole matter.— Effects of 
 sacerdotal mismanagement on the laity. — Their folly and extra- 
 vagance. — The mischiefs of profusion. — Profusion itself, with all 
 its consequent evils, ascribed, as to its principal cause, to the 
 want of discipline in the universities. 
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. , 
 
 O FOR a lodge in some vast wilderaess. 
 Some boundless contiguity of shade. 
 Where rumour of oppression and deceit. 
 Of unsuccessful or successful war. 
 Might never reach me more. My ear is pain'd. 
 My soul is sick with every day's report 
 Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fill'd. 
 There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart; 
 It does not feel for man ; the natural bond 
 Of brotherhood is sever'd as the flax. 
 That falls asunder at the touch of fire. 
 He finds his fellow guilty — of a skin 
 Not colour'd like his own ; and having power 
 To enforce the \vTong, for such a worthy cause 
 Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. 
 Lands intersected by a narrow frith 
 Abhor each other. Mountains interposed 
 Make enemies of nations, who had else. 
 Like kindred drops, been mingled into one. 
 Thus man devotes his brother and destroys ; 
 And worse than all, and most to be deplored. 
 As human nature's broadest, foulest blot. 
 Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 243 
 
 With stripes, that Mercy with a bleeding heart 
 Weeps, when she sees inflicted on a beast : 
 Then what is man ? And what man seeing this. 
 And having human feelings, does not blush. 
 And hang his head, to think himself a man ? 
 I would not have a slave to till my ground, 
 To carry me, to fan me while I sleep. 
 And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 
 That sinews bought and sold have ever eam'd. 
 No : dear as freedom is, and in my heart's 
 Just estimation prized above all price, 
 I had much rather be myself the slave. 
 And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 
 We have no slaves at home— then why abroad ? 
 And they themselves once ferried o'er the wave 
 That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. 
 Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs 
 Receive our air, that moment they are free ; 
 They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 
 That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
 And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then. 
 And let it circulate through every vein 
 Of all your empire ; that, where Britain's power 
 Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. 
 Sure there is need of social intercourse. 
 Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid. 
 Between the nations in a world, that seems 
 To toll the death-bell of its own disease. 
 And by the voice of all its elements 
 To preach the general doom.* When were the wind 
 Let slip with such a warrant to destroy ? 
 When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap 
 Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry ? 
 Fires from beneath, and meteorsf from above, 
 Portentous, unexampled, unexplained. 
 Have kindled beacons in the skies ; and the old 
 And crazy earth has had her shaking fits 
 More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. 
 Is it a time to wrangle, when the props 
 And pillars of our planet seem to fail, 
 
 * Alluding to the calamities in Jamaica, 
 t August 18, 1783.
 
 244 THE TASK. 
 
 And Nature* with a dim and sickly eye 
 To wait the close of all? But grant her end 
 More distant, and that prophecy demands 
 A longer respite, unaccomplish'd yet ; 
 Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak 
 Displeasure in His breast, who smites the earth 
 Or heals it, makes it languish or rejoice. 
 And 'tis but seemly, that, where all deserve 
 And stand exposed by common peccancy 
 To what no few have felt, there should be peace. 
 And brethren in calamity should love. 
 Alas for Sicily ! rude fragments now 
 Lie scatter* d, where the shapely column stood. 
 Her palaces are dust. In all her streets 
 The voice of singing and the sprightly chord 
 Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show. 
 Suffer a s\'ncope and solemn pause ; 
 While God performs upon the trembling stage 
 Of his own works his dreadful part alone. 
 How does the earth receive him ? — with what sign* 
 Of gratulation and delight her king ? 
 Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad. 
 Her sweetest flowers, her aromatic gums. 
 Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads ? 
 She quakes at his approach. Her hollow womb. 
 Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps 
 And fiery caverns, roars beneath his foot. 
 The hUls move lightly, and the mountains smoke, 
 For he has touch'd them. From the extremest point 
 Of elevation down into the abyss 
 His wrath is busy, and his frown is felt. 
 The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise. 
 The rivers die into offensive pools, 
 And, charged with putrid verdure, breathe a gross 
 And mortal nuisance into all the air. 
 What solid was, by transformation strange. 
 Grows fluid; and the fix'd and rooted earth, 
 Tormented into billows, heaves and swells. 
 Or with vertiginous and hideous whirl 
 Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense 
 
 * Alluding to the tag, that covered bolt Iturop« and Asia duriui 
 the whole summer of 1733.
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 245 
 
 The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs 
 And agonies of human and of brute 
 Multitudes, fugitive on every side. 
 And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene 
 Migrates uplifted; and with all its soil 
 Alighting in far distant fields, finds out 
 A new possessor, and survives the change. 
 Ocean has caught the frenzy, and, upwrought 
 To an enormous and o'erbearing height. 
 Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice 
 Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore 
 Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, 
 Upridged so high, and sent on such a charge, 
 Possess'd an inland scene. Where now the throng. 
 That press'd the beach, and, hasty to depart, 
 Look'd to the sea for safety ? They are gone, 
 Gone with the refluent wave into the deep— 
 A prince with half his people ! Ancient towers. 
 And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes 
 Where beauty oft and letter'd worth consume 
 Life in the unproductive shades of death. 
 Fall prone : the pale inhabitants come forth. 
 And, happy in their imforeseen release 
 From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy 
 The terrors of the day, that sets them free. 
 Who then, that has thee, would not hold thee fast. 
 Freedom ! whom they that lose thee so regret. 
 That e'en a judgment, making way for thee. 
 Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake ? 
 
 Such evils Sin hath wrought ; and such a flame 
 Kindled in heaven, that it burns down to earth. 
 And in the furious inquest that it makes 
 On God's behalf, lays waste his fairest works. 
 The very elements, though each be meant 
 The minister of man, to serve his wants. 
 Conspire against him. With his breath he draws 
 A plague into his blood ; and cannot use 
 Life's necessary means, but he must die. 
 Storms rise to o'erwhelm him ; or, if stormy winds 
 Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise. 
 And, needing none assistance of the storm, 
 Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there.
 
 246 THE TASK. 
 
 The earth shall shake him out of aU his holds, 
 Or make his house his grave : nor so content, 
 Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood, 
 And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs. 
 What then ! — were they the wicked above aU, 
 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 
 Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose his mark : 
 May punish, if he please, the less, to warn 
 The more malignant. If he spared not them, 
 Tremble and be amazed at thine escape, . 
 Far guiltier England, lest he spare not thee ! 
 Happy the man who sees a God employ'd 
 In aU the good and ill that chequer life ! 
 Resolving all events, with their effects 
 And manifold results, into the will 
 And arbitration wise of the Supreme. 
 Did not his eye rule all things, and intend 
 The least of our concerns (since from the least 
 The greatest oft originate) ; could chance 
 Find place in his dominion, or dispose 
 One lawless particle to thwart his plan ; 
 Then God might be surprised, and unforeseen 
 Contingence might alarm him, and disturb 
 The smooth and equal course of his affairs. 
 This truth Philosophy, though eagle-eyed 
 In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks ; 
 And, having found his instrument, forgets. 
 Or disregards, or more presumptuous still. 
 Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims 
 His hot displeasure against foolish men. 
 That live an atheist life : involves the heavens 
 In tempests ; quits his grasp upon the winds, 
 And gives them all their fury ; bids a plague 
 Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin. 
 And putrefy the breath of blooming Health. 
 He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend 
 Blows mildew from between his shrivell'd lips. 
 And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines.
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 247 
 
 And desolates a nation at a blast. 
 Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells 
 Of homogeneal and discordant springs 
 And principles ; of causes how they work 
 By necessary laws their sure effects ; 
 Of action and reaction : he has found 
 The source of the disease, that nature feels. 
 And bids the world take heart, and banish fear. 
 Thou fool ! Will thy discovery of the cause 
 Suspend the 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 
 Than a capacious reservoir of means 
 Form'd for his use, and ready at his will ? 
 Go, dress thine eyes with eye-slave ; ask of him. 
 Or ask of whomsoever he has taught ; 
 And learn, though late, the genuine cause of alL 
 England, with all thy faults, I 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 
 With dripping rains, or wither'd by a frost, 
 I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies. 
 And fields without a flower, for warmer France 
 With all her vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves 
 Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers. 
 To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime 
 Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire 
 Upon thy foes, was never meant my task : 
 But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake 
 Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart 
 As any thunderer there. And I can feel 
 Thy follies too ; and with a just disdain 
 Frown at effeminates, whose very looks 
 Reflect dishonour on the land I love. 
 How, in the name of soldiership and sense. 
 Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth 
 And tender as a girl, all essenced o'er 
 With odours, and as profligate as sweet ; 
 Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath.
 
 248 THE TASK. 
 
 And love wheu they should fight ; when such as these 
 
 Presume to lay their hands upon the ark 
 
 Of her magnificent and awful cause? 
 
 Time was when it was praise and boast enough 
 
 In every clime, and travel where we might. 
 
 That we were bom her children. Praise enough 
 
 To fill the ambition of a private man. 
 
 That Chatham's language was his mother-tongue, 
 
 And Wolfe's great naine compatriot with his own. 
 
 Farewell those honours, and farewell with them 
 
 The hope of such hereafter ! they have fallen 
 
 Each in his field of glory ; one in arms. 
 
 And one in council — Wolfe upon the lap 
 
 Of smiling Victory that moment won. 
 
 And Chatham heart-sick of his country's shame ! 
 
 They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still 
 
 Consulting England's happiness at home. 
 
 Secured it by an unforgiving frown. 
 
 If any wrong'd her, Wolfe, where'er he fought. 
 
 Put so much of his heart into his act. 
 
 That his example had a magnet's force. 
 
 And all were swift to follow whom all loved. 
 
 Those suns are set. O rise some other such ! 
 
 Or all that we have left is empty talk 
 
 Of old achievements, and despair of new. 
 
 Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float 
 Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck 
 With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets. 
 That no rude savour maritime invade 
 The nose of nice nobility ! breathe soft 
 Ye clarionets, and softer still ye flutes ; 
 That winds and waters, luU'd by magic sounds, 
 May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore ! 
 True, we have lost an empire — let it pass. 
 True; we may thank the perfidy of France, 
 That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown, 
 With all the cunning of an envious shrew. 
 And let that pass — 'twas but a trick of state ! 
 A brave man knows no malice, but at once 
 Forgets in peace the injuries of war. 
 And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace. 
 And, shamed as we have been, to the verv beard
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 249 
 
 Braved and defied, and in our own sea proved 
 Too weak for those decisive blows that once 
 Ensured us mastery there, we yet retain 
 Some small pre-eminence ; we justly boast 
 At least superior jockeyship, and claim 
 The honours of the turf as all our own ! 
 Go, then, well worthy of the praise ye seek. 
 And shew the shame ye might conceal at home. 
 In foreign eyes !— be grooms and win the plate. 
 Where once your nobler fathers won a crown !— 
 'Tis generous to communicate your skill 
 To those that need it. Folly is soon learn'd : 
 And under such preceptors who can fail ? 
 
 There is a pleasure in poetic pains. 
 Which only poets know. The shifts and turns, 
 The expedients and inventions multiform. 
 To which the mind resorts, in chase of terms 
 Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win — 
 To arrest the fleeting images, that fill 
 The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast, 
 And force them sit, till he has pencill'd off 
 A faithful likeness of the forms he views ; 
 Then to dispose his copies with such art, 
 That each may find its most propitious light. 
 And shine by situation, hardly less 
 Than by the labour and the skill it cost; 
 Are occupations of the poet's mind 
 So pleasing, and that steal away the thought 
 With such address from themes of sad import. 
 That, lost in his own musings, happy man ! 
 He feels the anxieties of life, denied 
 Their wonted entertainment, all retire. 
 Such joys has he that sings. But ah ! not such, 
 Or seldom such, the hearers of his song. 
 Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps 
 Aware of nothing arduous in a task 
 They never undertook, they little note 
 His dangers or escapes, and haply find 
 Their least amusement where he found the most. 
 But is amusement all ? Studious of song. 
 And yet ambitious not to sing in vain, 
 I would not trifle merely, though the world 
 L2
 
 250 THE TASK. 
 
 Be loudest in their praise, who do no more. 
 Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay ? 
 It may correct a foible, may chastise 
 The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress. 
 Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch ; 
 But where are its sublimer trophies found ? 
 What vice has it subdued ? whose heart reclaim'd 
 By rigour, or whom laugh'd into reform ? 
 Alas ! Leviathan is not so tamed : 
 Laugh'd at, he laughs again ; and stricken hard. 
 Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales. 
 That fear no discipline of human hands. 
 
 The pulpit, therefore (and I name it, fill'd 
 With solemn awe, that bids me well beware 
 With what intent I touch that holy thing) — 
 The pulpit (when the satirist has at last. 
 Strutting and vapouring in an empty school. 
 Spent all his force and made no proselyte) — 
 I say the pulpit (in the sober use 
 Of its legitimate, peculiar powers) 
 Must stand acknowledged, while the world shall stand. 
 The most important and effectual guard. 
 Support and ornament of Virtue's cause 
 There stands the messenger of truth : there stands 
 The legate of the skies !— His theme divine. 
 His oflBce sacred, his credentials clear. 
 By him the violated law speaks out 
 Its thunders; and by him, in strains as sweet 
 As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace. 
 He 'stabUshes the strong, restores the weak. 
 Reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart 
 And, arm'd himself in panoply complete 
 Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms 
 Bright as his own, and trains, by every rule 
 Of holy discipline, to glorious war. 
 The sacramental host of God's elect ! 
 Are all such teachers ? — would to heaven all were ! 
 But hark — the doctor's voice ! — fast wedged between 
 Two empirics he stands, and with swollen cheeks 
 Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far 
 Than all invective is his bold harangue. 
 While through that public organ of report
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 251 
 
 He hails the clergy ; and, defying shame. 
 
 Announces to the world his own and theirs ! 
 
 He teaches those to read whom schools dismiss'd, 
 
 '\nd colleges, untaught ; sells accent, tone, 
 
 And emphasis in score, and gives to prayer 
 
 The adagio and andante it demands. 
 
 He grinds divinity of other days 
 
 Down into modern use ; transforms old print 
 
 To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes 
 
 Of gallery critics by a thousand arts. 
 
 Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware ? 
 
 O, name it not in Gath ! — it cannot be. 
 
 That grave and learned clerks should need such aid. 
 
 He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll. 
 
 Assuming thus a rank unknown before — 
 
 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. 
 To such I render more than mere respect. 
 Whose actions say, that they respect themselves. 
 But loose in morals, and in manners vain, 
 In conversation frivolous, in dress 
 Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse ; 
 Frequent in park with lady at his side. 
 Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes ; 
 But rare at home, and never at his books. 
 Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card ; 
 Constant at routs, familiar with a round 
 Of ladyships, a stranger to the poor ; 
 Ambitious of preferment for its gold, 
 And, well prepared, by ignorance and sloth, 
 By infidelity and love of world. 
 To make God's work a sinecure ; a slave 
 To his own pleasures and his patron's pride ; 
 From such apostles, O ye mitred heads. 
 Preserve the church ! and lay not careless hands 
 On skulls, that cannot teach, and will not learn. 
 
 Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, 
 Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own, 
 Paul should himself direct me. I would trace
 
 252 THE TASK. 
 
 His master-strokes, and draw from his design. 
 I would express him simple, grave, sincere ; 
 In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain. 
 And plain in manner ; decent, solemn, chaste. 
 And natural in gesture ; much impress'd 
 Himself, as conscious of his awful charge. 
 And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds 
 May feel it too ; affectionate in look. 
 And tender in address, as well becomes 
 A messenger of grace to guilty men. 
 Behold the picture !— Is it like !— Like whom ? 
 The things that mount the rostrum with a skip. 
 And then skip down again ; pronounce a text ; 
 Cry — hem ! and reading, what they never wrote. 
 Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work. 
 And with a well-bred whisper close the scene I 
 
 In man or woman, but far most in man. 
 And most of all in man that ministers 
 And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe 
 All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn ; 
 Object of my implacable disgust. 
 What ! — will a man play tricks, will he indulge 
 A silly fond conceit of his fair form. 
 And just proportion, fashionable mien. 
 And pretty face, in presence of his God ? 
 Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes. 
 As with the diamond on his lily hand. 
 And play his brilliant parts before my eyes, 
 When I am hungry for the bread of life ? 
 He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
 His noble office, and, instead of truth. 
 Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock. 
 Therefore avaunt aU attitude, and stare, 
 And start theatric, practised at the glass ! 
 I seek divine simplicity in him. 
 Who handles things divine ; and all besides. 
 Though learn'd with labour, and though much admirevJ 
 By curious eyes and judgments ill inform'd. 
 To me is odious as the nasal twang 
 Heard at conventicle, where worthy men. 
 Misled by custom, strain celestial themes 
 Through the press'd nostril, spectacle-bestrid.
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 25'i 
 
 Some decent in demeanour while they preach, 
 
 That task perform'd, relapse into themselves ; 
 
 And having spoken wisely, at the close 
 
 Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye, 
 
 Whoe'er was edified, themselves were not ! 
 
 Forth comes the pocket mirror. — First we stroke 
 
 An eyebrow ; next compose a straggling lock ; 
 
 Then, with an air most gracefully perform'd, 
 
 Fall back into our seat, extend an arm. 
 
 And lay it at its ease with gentle care. 
 
 With handkerchief in hand depending low : 
 
 The better hand more busy gives the nose 
 
 Its bergamot, or aids the indebted eye 
 
 With opera glass, to watch the moving scene, 
 
 And recognise the slow retiring fair.>— 
 
 Now this is fulsome, and offends me more 
 
 Than in a churchman slovenly neglect 
 
 And rustic coarseness would. A heavenly mind 
 
 May be indifferent to her house of clay. 
 
 And slight the hovel as beneath her care ; 
 
 But how a body so fantastic, trim. 
 
 And quaint in its deportment and attire. 
 
 Can lodge a heavenly mind — demands a doubt. 
 
 He that negotiates between God and man, 
 As God's ambassador, the grand concerns 
 Of judgment, and of mercy, should beware 
 Of lightness in his speech. 'Tis pitiful 
 To court a grin, when you should woo a soul ; 
 To break a jest when pity would inspire 
 Pathetic exhortation ; and to address 
 The skittish fancy with facetious tales. 
 When sent with God's commission to the heart ! 
 So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip 
 Or merry turn in all he ever wrote. 
 And I consent you take it for your text, 
 Your only one, till sides and benches fail. 
 No : he was serious in a serious cause. 
 And understood too well the weighty terms 
 That he had taken in charge. He would not stoop 
 To conquer those by jocular exploits, 
 Whom truth and soberness assail'd in vain. 
 
 O Popular Applause ! what heart of man
 
 254 THE TASK. 
 
 Is proof against thy sweet seducing charms '. 
 
 The wisest and the best feel urgent need 
 
 Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales ; 
 
 But swell'd into a gust — who then, alas ! 
 
 With all his canvas set, and inexpert. 
 
 And therefore heedless, can withstand thy power ? 
 
 Praise from the rivell'd lips of toothless, bald 
 
 Decrepitude, and in the looks of lean 
 
 And craving Poverty, and in the bow 
 
 Respectful of the smutch'd artificer. 
 
 Is oft too welcome, and may much disturb 
 
 The bias of the purpose. How much more, 
 
 Pour'd forth by beauty splendid and polite. 
 
 In language soft as Adoration breathes ? 
 
 Kh, 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. 
 
 All truth is from the sempiternal source 
 Of light divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome 
 Drew from the stream below. More favour'd we 
 Drink, when we choose it at the fountain-head. 
 To them it flow'd much mingled and defiled 
 With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams 
 Illusive of philosophy, so caU'd, 
 But falsely. Sages after sages strove 
 In vain to filter ofi" a crystal draught 
 Pure from the lees, which often more enhanced 
 The thirst, than slaked it, and not seldom bred 
 Intoxication and deUrium wild. 
 In vain they push'd inquiry to the birth 
 And spring-time of the world; ask'd. Whence is man 
 Why form'd at all ? and wherefore as he is ? 
 Where must he find his Maker ? with what rites 
 Adore him ? Will he hear, accept, and bless ? 
 Or does he sit regardless of his works ? 
 Has man within him au immortal seed ? 
 Or does the tomb take all ? If he survive 
 His ashes, where? and in what weal or woe ? 
 Knots worthy of solution, which alone 
 A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague. 
 And all at random, fabulous and dark. 
 Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life.
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 255 
 
 Defective and unsanction'd, proved too v- eak 
 To bind the roving appetite, and lead 
 Blind nature to a God not yet reveal'd, 
 Tis Revelation satisfies all doubts. 
 Explains all mysteries, except her own. 
 And so illuminates the path of life. 
 That fools discover it, and stray no more. 
 Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir. 
 My man of morals, nurtured in the shades 
 Of Academus — is this false or true ? 
 Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools ? 
 If Christ, then why resort at every turn 
 To Athens, or to Rome, for wisdom short 
 Of man's occasions, when in him reside 
 Grace, knowledge, comfort— an unfathom'd store! 
 How oft, when Paul has served us with a text. 
 Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preach'd ! 
 Men that, if now alive, would sit content 
 And humble learners of a Saviour's worth. 
 Preach it who might Such was their love of truth. 
 Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too ! 
 
 And thus it is. — The pastor, either vain 
 By nature, or by flattery made so, taught 
 To gaze at his own splendour, and to exalt 
 Absurdly, not his office, but himself; 
 Or uneulighten'd, and too proud to learn; 
 Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach ; 
 Perverting often by the stress of 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. 
 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 the exterior form 
 And mode of its conveyance by such tricks 
 As move derision, or by foppish airs 
 And histrionic mummery, that let down 
 The pulpit to the level of the stage ; 
 Drops from the lips a disregarded thing.
 
 256 THE TASK. 
 
 The weak perhaps are moved, but are not taught, 
 While prejudice in men of stronger minds 
 Takes deeper root, confirm'd by what they see. 
 A relaxation of religion's hold 
 Upon the roving and untutor'd heart 
 Soon follows, and, the curb of conscience snapp'd, 
 The laity rim wild. — But do they now ? 
 Note their extravagance, and be convinced. 
 
 As nations, ignorant of God, contrive 
 A wooden one ; so we, no longer taught 
 By monitors that mother-church supplies. 
 Now make our own. Posterity will ask 
 (If e'er posterity see verse of mine) 
 Some fifty or a hundred lustrums hence. 
 What was a monitor in George's days ? 
 My very gentle reader, yet unborn. 
 Of whom I needs must augur better things. 
 Since Heaven would sure grow weary of a world 
 Productive only of a race like ours, 
 A monitor is wood— plank shaven Ihin. 
 We wear it at our backs. There, closely braced 
 And neatly fitted, it compresses hard 
 The prominent and most unsightly bones, 
 .\nd binds the shoulders flat. We prove its use 
 Sovereign and most effectual to secure 
 A form, not now g^Tnnastic as of yore. 
 From rickets, and distortion, else our lot. 
 But thus admonish'd, we can walk erect — 
 One proof at least of manhood ! while the friend 
 Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his charge. 
 Our habits, costlier than Lucullus wore. 
 And by caprice as multiplied as his. 
 Just please us while the fashion is at full. 
 But change with every moon. The sycophant. 
 Who waits to dress us, arbitrates their date : 
 Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye; 
 Finds one ill made, another obsolete. 
 This fits not nicely, that is ill conceived ; 
 And, making prize of all that he condemns, 
 With our expenditure defrays his own. 
 Variety's the very spice of life. 
 That gives it all its flavour. We have run
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 257 
 
 Through every change, that Fancy, at the loom 
 
 Exhausted, has had genius to supply ; 
 
 And, studious of mutation still, discard 
 
 A real elegance, a little used. 
 
 For monstrous novelty, and strange disguise. 
 
 We sacrifice to dress, till household joys 
 
 And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry. 
 
 And keeps our larder lean ; puts out our fires ; 
 
 And introduces hunger, frost, and woe. 
 
 Where peace and hospitality might reign. 
 
 What man that lives, and that knows how to live, 
 
 Would fail to exhibit at the public shows 
 
 A form as splendid as the proudest there. 
 
 Though appetite raise outcries at the cost ? 
 
 A man of the town dines late, but soon enough. 
 
 With reasonable forecast and dispatch. 
 
 To ensure a side-box station at half-price. 
 
 You think perhaps, so delicate his dress, 
 
 His daily fare as delicate. Alas ! 
 
 He picks clean teeth, and busy as he seems 
 
 With an old tavern quill, is hungry yet ! 
 
 The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws 
 
 With magic wand. So potent is the spell. 
 
 That none decoy'd into that fatal ring. 
 
 Unless by Heaven's peculiar grace, escape. 
 
 There we grow early gray, but never wise: 
 
 There form connexions, but acquire no friend ; 
 
 Solicit pleasure hopeless of success ; 
 
 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, ^ 
 
 Who squander time and treasure with a smile. 
 
 Though at their own destruction. She that asks 
 
 Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, 
 
 And hates their coming. They (what can they less ?) 
 
 Make just reprisals ; and, with cringe and shrug. 
 
 And bow obsequious, hide their hate of her. 
 
 All catch the frenzy, downward from her grace. 
 
 Whose flambeaux flash against the morning skies, 
 
 And gild our chamber ceilings as they pass,
 
 258 THE TASK. 
 
 To her, who, frugal only that her thrift 
 
 May feed excesses she can iU afford, 
 
 Is hackuey'd home unlackey'd ; who, in haste 
 
 Alighting, turns the key in her own door. 
 
 And, at the watchman's lantern borrowing light. 
 
 Finds a cold bed her only comfort left. 
 
 Wives beggar husbands, husbands starve their wives. 
 
 On Fortune's velvet altar offering up 
 
 Their last poor pittance — Fortune,, most severe 
 
 Of goddesses yet known, and costlier far 
 
 Than all, that held their routs in Juuo's heaven. — 
 
 So fare we in this prison-house the World ; 
 
 And 'tis a fearful spectacle to see 
 
 So many maniacs dancing in their chains. 
 
 They gaze upon the links that hold them fast. 
 
 With eyes of anguish execrate their lot, 
 
 Then shake them in despair, and dance again ! 
 
 Now basket up the family of plagues, 
 That waste our vitals ; peculation, sale 
 Of honour, perjury, corruption, frauds 
 By forgery, by subterfuge of law. 
 By tricks and lies as numerous and as keen 
 As the necesities their authors feel; 
 Then cast them, closely bundled, every brat 
 At the right door. Profusion is the sire. 
 Profusion unrestrain'd, with aU that's base 
 In character, has Utter'd all the land. 
 And bred, within the memory of no few, 
 A priesthood such as Baal's was of old, 
 A people, such as never was tiU now. 
 It is a Hungry vice : — it eats up all 
 That gives society its beauty, strength. 
 Convenience, and security, and use ; 
 Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapp'd 
 And gibbeted, as fast as catchpole claws 
 Can seize the slippery prey ; unties the knot 
 Of union, and converts the sacred band. 
 That holds mankind together, to a scourge. 
 Profusion, deluging a state with lusts 
 Of grossest nature and of worst effects. 
 Prepares it for its ruin : hardens, blinds. 
 And warps the consciences of public men.
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 259 
 
 Till they can laugh at Virtue; mock the fools 
 That trust them ; and in the end disclose a face 
 That would have shcck'd Credulity herself, 
 Unmask'd, vouchsafing this their sole excuse — 
 Since all alike are selfish, why not they ? 
 TTiis does Profusion, and the accursed cause 
 Of such deep mischief has itself a cause. 
 
 In colleges and halls in ancient days. 
 When learning, virtue, piety, and truth 
 Were precious, and inculcated with care. 
 There dwelt a sage call'd Discipline. His head. 
 Not yet by time completely silver'd o'er. 
 Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth. 
 But strong for service still, and unimpair'd. 
 His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile 
 Play'd on his lips ; and in his speech was heard 
 Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love. 
 The occupation dearest to his heart 
 Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke 
 The head of modest and ingenuous worth. 
 That blush'd at its own praise; and press the youth 
 Close to his side that pleased him. Learning grew 
 Beneath his care, a thriving vigorous plant ; 
 The mind was well inform'd, the passions held 
 Subordinate, and diligence was choice. 
 If e'er it chanced, as sometimes chance it must. 
 That one among so many overleap'd 
 The limits of control, his gentle eye 
 Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke : 
 His frown was full of terror, and his voice 
 Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe, 
 As left him not, till penitence had won 
 Lost favour back again, and closed the breach. 
 But Discipline, a faithful servant long. 
 Declined at length into the vale of years : 
 A palsy struck his arm ; his sparkling eye 
 Was quench'd in rheums of age ; his voice, unstrung, 
 Grew tremulous, and moved derision more 
 Than reverence in perverse, rebellious youth. 
 So colleges and halls, neglected much 
 Their good old friend ; and Discipline at length, 
 O'erlook'd and unemploy'd, fell sick and died.
 
 260 THE TASK. 
 
 Then Study languish'd. Emulation slept, 
 
 And Virtue fled. The schools became a scene 
 
 Of solemn farce, where Ignorance in stilts. 
 
 His cap well lined with logic not his own, 
 
 With parrot tongue perform'd the scholar's part, 
 
 Proceeding soon a graduated dunce. 
 
 Then Compromise had place, and Scrutiny 
 
 Became stone blind ; Precedence went in truck. 
 
 And he was competent whose purse was so. 
 
 A dissolution of all bonds ensued : 
 
 The curbs invented for the mulish mouth 
 
 Of headstrong youth were broken ; bars and bolts 
 
 Grew rusty by disuse ; and massy gates 
 
 Forgot their ofEce, opening with a touch ; 
 
 Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade. 
 
 The tassel'd cap and the spruce band a jest, 
 
 A mockery cf the world ! What need of these 
 
 For gamesters, jockeys, brothellers impure. 
 
 Spendthrifts, and booted sportsmen, oftener seen 
 
 With belted waist and pointers at their heels. 
 
 Than in the bounds of duty ? What was leam'd, 
 
 If aught was leam'd in childhood, is forgot ? 
 
 And such expense, as pinches parents blue, 
 
 And mortifies the liberal hand of love. 
 
 Is squandered in pursuit of idle sports 
 
 And vicious pleasures : buys the boy a name. 
 
 That sits a stigma on his father's house, 
 
 And cleaves through Ufe inseparably close 
 
 To him that wears it. What can after games 
 
 Of riper joys, and commerce with the world. 
 
 The lewd vain world, that must receive him soon. 
 
 Add to such erudition, thus acquired. 
 
 Where science and where virtue are profess'd ? 
 
 They may confirm his habits, rivet fast 
 
 His folly, but to spoil him is a task 
 
 That bids defiance to the united powers 
 
 Of fashion, dissipation, taverns, stews. 
 
 Now blame we most the nurslings or the nurse ? 
 
 The children crook'd, and twisted, and deform'd. 
 
 Through want of care; or her, whose winking eye 
 
 And slumbering oscitancy mars the brood ? 
 
 The nurse no doubt Regardless of her charge.
 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 261 
 
 She needs herself correction ; needs to learn, 
 That it is dangerous sporting with the world. 
 With things so sacred as a nation's trust. 
 The nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge. 
 
 All are not such. I had a brother once— 
 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-nature dresses her in smiles. 
 He graced a college,* in which order yet 
 Was sacred, and was honour'd, loved, and wept, 
 By more than one, themselves conspicuous there. 
 Some minds are t«mper'd happily, and mix'd 
 With such ingredients of good sense, and taste 
 Of what is excellent in man; they thirst 
 With such a zeal to be what 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 
 (Jf vice in others but enhancing more 
 The charms of virtue in their just esteem. 
 If such escape contagion, and emerge 
 Pure from so foul a pool to shine abroad, 
 And give the world their talents and themselves, 
 Small thanks to those whose negligence or sloth 
 Exposed their inexperience to the snare. 
 And left them to an undirected choice. ' 
 
 See then the quiver broken and decay'd, 
 In which are kept our arrows ! Rusting there 
 In wild disorder, and unfit for use. 
 What wonder if, discharged into the world, 
 They shame their shooters with a random flight, 
 Their points obtuse, and feathers drunk with wine ! 
 Well may the church wage unsuccessful war 
 With such artillery arm'd. Vice parries wide 
 The undrep.ded volley with a sword of straw. 
 And stands an impudent and fearless mark. 
 
 Have we not track'd the felon home, and found 
 His birth-place and his dam ? The country mourns, 
 Mourns because every plague, that can infest 
 Society, and that saps and worms the base 
 * Benet Coll. Cambridge
 
 262 THE TASK. 
 
 Of the edifice, that Policy has raised. 
 Swarms in all quarters : meets the eye, the ear, 
 And suffocates the breath at every turn. 
 Profusion breeds them ; and the cause itself 
 Of that calamitous mischief has been found : 
 Found too, where most offensive, in the skirts 
 Of the robed pedagogue ! Else let the arraign'd 
 Stand up unconscious, and refute the charge. 
 So when the Jewish leader stretch'd his arm. 
 And waved his rod divine, a race obscene, 
 Spawn'd in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth. 
 Polluting Egypt : gardens, fields, and plains 
 Were cover'd with the pest ; the streets were filled ; 
 The croaking nuisance lurk'd in every nook ; 
 Nor palaces, nor even chambers, 'scaped : 
 And the land stank— so numerous was the fry. 
 
 BOOK III. 
 
 Self-recollection and reproot — Address to domestic happiness. 
 — Some account of myself. — The vanity of many of their pur- 
 suits who are reputed wise. — Justification of my censures 
 
 Divine illimiination necessary to the most expert philosopher. 
 —The question, What is truth ? answered by other questions. 
 — Domestic happiness addressed again. — Few lovers of the 
 country. — My tame hare. — Occupations of a retired gentleman 
 in his garden. — Pruning. — Framing. — Green-house. — Sowing 
 of flower-seeds. — The country preferable to the town even in 
 •winter. — Reasons why it is deserted at that season. — Ruinous 
 effects of gaming, and of expensive improvement, — Book con- 
 cludes with an apostrophe to the metropolis. 
 
 THE GARDEN. 
 
 AS one, who long in thickets and in brakes 
 Entangled, winds now this way and now that 
 His devious course uncertain, seeking home ; 
 Or, having long in miry ways been foil'd 
 And sore discomfited, from slough to slough 
 Plunging, and half despairing of escape ; 
 If chance at length he find a greensward smooth 
 And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise. 
 He cherups brisk his ear-erecting steed. 
 And winds his way with pleasure and with ea'te ; 
 So I, designing other themes, and call'd
 
 THE GARDEN. 263 
 
 To adorn the Sofa with eulogium due, 
 To tell its slumbers and to paint its dreams. 
 Have rambled wide : in country, city, seat 
 (Jf academic fame (howe'er deserved). 
 Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last. 
 But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road 
 I mean to tread : I feel myself at large, 
 Courageous, and refresh'd for future toil. 
 If toil await me, or if dangers new. 
 
 Since pulpits fail, and sounding boards reflect 
 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 
 Crack the satiric thong ? 'Twere wiser far 
 For me enamour'd of sequester'd scenes. 
 And charm'd with rural beauty, to repose. 
 Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine. 
 My languid limbs, when summer sears the plains, 
 Or when rough winter rages, on the soft 
 And shelter'd sofa, while the nitrous air 
 Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth ; 
 There undisturb'd by Folly, and apprized 
 How great the danger of disturbing her. 
 To muse in silence, or, at least, confine 
 Remarks, that gall so many, to the few 
 My partners in retreat. Disgust conceal'd 
 Is oft-times proof of wisdom, when the fault 
 Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach. 
 
 Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss 
 Of paradise, that hast survived the fall ! 
 Though few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure. 
 Or tasting long enjoy thee ! too infirm. 
 Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets 
 Unmix'd with drops of bitter, which neglect. 
 Or temper, sheds into thy crystal cup ; 
 Thou art the nurse of Virtue, in thine arms 
 She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is. 
 Heaven-born, and destined to the skies again. 
 Thou art not known where Pleasure is adored. 
 That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist 
 And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm
 
 264 THE TASK. 
 
 Of Novelty, her fickle, frail support ; 
 
 For thou art meek and constant, hating change. 
 
 And finding in the calm of truth-tried love 
 
 Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. 
 
 Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made 
 
 Of honour, dignity, and fair renown ! 
 
 Till prostitution elbows us aside 
 
 In all our crowded streets ; and senates seem 
 
 Convened for purposes of empire less. 
 
 Than to release the adulf ress from her bond. 
 
 The adult'ress ! what a theme for angry verse ! 
 
 What provocation to the indignant heart. 
 
 That feels for injured love ! but I disdain 
 
 The nauseous task to paint her as she is, 
 
 Cruel, abandon'd, glorying in her shame I 
 
 No I let her pass, and charioted along 
 
 In guilty splendour, shake the public ways ; 
 
 The frequency of crimes has wash'd them white. 
 
 And verse of mine shall never brand the wTetch, 
 
 Whom matrons now of character unsmirch'd, 
 
 And chaste themselves, are not ashamed to own. 
 
 Virtue and vice had boundaries in old time. 
 
 Not to be pass'd : and she, that had renounced 
 
 Her sex's honour, was renounced herself 
 
 By all that prized it ; not for prudery's sake. 
 
 But dignity's, resentful of the wrong. 
 
 'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif, 
 
 Desirous to return, and not received : 
 
 But 'twas a wholesome rigour in the main, 
 
 And taught the unblemish'd to preserve with care 
 
 That purity, whose loss was loss of all. 
 
 Men too were nice in honour in those days, 
 
 And judged offenders well. Then he that sharp'd. 
 
 And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain 'd. 
 
 Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. He that sold 
 
 His country, or was slack when she required 
 
 His every nerve in action and at stretch. 
 
 Paid with the blood that he had basely spared. 
 
 The price of his default. But now — yes, now 
 
 We are become so candid and so fair. 
 
 So liberal in construction, and so rich 
 
 In Christian charity, (good natured age .')
 
 THE GARDEN. 26) 
 
 That they are safe, sinners of either sex, 
 
 Transgress what laws they may. Well dr(ss'(l, well breJ, 
 
 Well equipaged, is ticket good enough 
 
 To pass us readily through every door. 
 
 Hypocrisy, detest her as we may 
 
 (And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet). 
 
 May claim this merit still— that she admits 
 
 The worth of what she mimics with such care. 
 
 And thus gives virtue indirect applause ; 
 
 But she has burnt her mask, not needed here. 
 
 Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts 
 
 And specious semblances have lost their use. 
 
 I was a stricken deer, that left the herd 
 Long since. With many an arrow deep infix'd 
 My panting side was charged, when 1 withdrew 
 To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 
 There was I found by one who had himself 
 Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore. 
 And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. 
 With gentle force soliciting the darts. 
 He drew them forth, and heal'd, and bade mc live. 
 Since then, with few associates, in remote 
 And silent woods I wander, far from those 
 My former partners of the j)eopled scene; 
 With few associates, and not wishing more. 
 Here much I ruminate, as much I may. 
 With other views of men and manners now 
 Than once, and others of a life to come. 
 I see that all are wanderers, gone astray 
 Each in his own delusions ; they are lost 
 In chase of fancied happiness, still woo'd 
 And never won. Dream after dream ensues ; 
 And still they dream that they shall still succeed, 
 And still are disappointed. Kings the world 
 With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind. 
 And add two-thirds of the remaining half. 
 And find the total of their hopes and fears 
 Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay 
 As if created only like the fly. 
 That spreads his motley wings in the eye of noon, 
 To sport their season, and be seen no more. 
 The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise, 
 M
 
 266 THE TASK. 
 
 And pregnant with discoveries new and rare. 
 
 Some write a narrative of wars, and feats 
 
 Of heroes little known ; and call the rant 
 
 A history : describe the man, of whom 
 
 His own coevals took but little note, 
 
 And paint his person, character and views. 
 
 As they had known him from his mother's womb. 
 
 They disentangle from the puzzled skein. 
 
 In which obscurity has wrapp'd them up. 
 
 The threads of politic and shrewd design. 
 
 That ran through all his purposes, and charge 
 
 His mind with meanings that he never had. 
 
 Or, having, kept conceal'd. Some drill and bore 
 
 The solid earth, and from the strata there 
 
 Extract a register, by which we learn. 
 
 That he who made it, and reveal'd its date 
 
 To Moses, was mistaken in its age. 
 
 Some, more acute, and more industrious still. 
 
 Contrive creation ; travel Nature up 
 
 To the sharp peak of her subhmest height, 
 
 And tell us whence the stars ; why some are fix'd. 
 
 And planetary some ; what gave them first 
 
 Rotation, from what fountain flow'd their light. 
 
 Great contest follows, and much learned dust 
 
 Involves the combatants ; each claiming truth, 
 
 And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend 
 
 The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp 
 
 In playing tricks with Nature, giving laws 
 
 To distant worlds, and trifling in their own. 
 
 Is't not a pity now that tickling rheums 
 
 Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight 
 
 Of oracles like these ? Great pity too, 
 
 That having wielded the elements, and built 
 
 A thousand systems, each in his own way. 
 
 They should go out in fume, and be forgot ? 
 
 Ah ! what is life thus spent ? and what are they 
 
 But frantic who thus spend it ? all for smoke — 
 
 Eternity for bubbles proves at last 
 
 A senseless bargain. When I see such games 
 
 Play'd by the creatures of a Power who swears 
 
 That he will judge the earth, and call the fool 
 
 To a sharp reckoning, that has lived iu vaiu ;
 
 THE GARDEN. 267 
 
 And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well. 
 And prove it in the infallible result 
 So hollow and so false— I feel my heart 
 Dissolve in pity, and account the learn'd, 
 I f this be learning, most of all deceived. 
 Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps. 
 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 u)) ! 
 
 'Twere well, says one sage erudite, profound. 
 Terribly arch'd, and aquiline his nose, 
 And overbuilt with most impending brows, 
 'Twere well, could you permit the world to live 
 As the world pleases : what's the world to you ? 
 Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk 
 As sweet as charity from human breasts. 
 I think, articulate, I laugh and weep, 
 And exercise all functions of a man. 
 How then should I and any man that lives 
 IJe strangers to each other ? Pierce my vein, 
 Take of the crimson stream meandering 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, 
 What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose 
 Keen enough, wise and skilful has thou art, 
 To cut the link of brotherhood, by which 
 (Jne common Maker bound me to the kind ? 
 True ; I am no proficient, I confess, 
 In arts like yours. I cannot call tlie swift 
 And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds, 
 And bid them hide themselves in earth benealli ; 
 I cannot analyze the air, nor catch 
 The parallax of yonder luminous point. 
 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. 
 
 God never meant that man should scale the heavens
 
 268 THE TASK. 
 
 By strides of human wisdom, in his works, 
 
 Though wondrous ; he commands us in his Word 
 
 To seek him rather where his merc\- shines. 
 
 The mind, indeed, enhghten'd from above. 
 
 Views him in all ; ascribes to the grand cause. 
 
 The grand effect ; acknowledges vrith joy 
 
 His manner, and with rapture tastes his style. 
 
 But never yet did philosophic tube. 
 
 That brings the planets home into the eye 
 
 Of Observation, and discovers, else 
 
 Not visible, his family of worlds. 
 
 Discover Him that rules them : such a veil 
 
 Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth. 
 
 And dark in things divine. Full often too 
 
 Our wayward intellect, the more we learn 
 
 Of nature, overlooks her author more ; 
 
 From instrumental causes proud to draw 
 
 Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake. 
 
 But, if His "Word once teach us, shoot a ray 
 
 Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal 
 
 Truths undiscem'd but by that holy light. 
 
 Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptized 
 
 In the pure fountain of eternal love. 
 
 Has eyes indeed : and viewing all she sees 
 
 As meant to indicate a God to man. 
 
 Gives Him his praise, and forfeits not her own. 
 
 Learning has borne such fn.ut in other days 
 
 On all her branches : piety has found 
 
 Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer 
 
 Has flow'd from lips wet with CastiMan dews. 
 
 Such was thy wisdom, Newton, child-Uke sage! 
 
 Sagacious reader of the works of God, 
 
 And in his word sagacious. Such too thine, 
 
 Milton, whose genius had angelic wings. 
 
 And fed on manna ! And such thine, in whom 
 
 Our British Themis gloried with just cause, 
 
 Immortal Hale; for deep discernment praised. 
 
 And sound integrity, not more than famed 
 
 For sanctity of manners undefiled. 
 
 All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades 
 Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind ; 
 Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream.
 
 THE GARDEN 269 
 
 The man we celebrate must find a tomb, 
 
 And we that worship him ignoble graves. 
 
 Nothing is proof against the general curse 
 
 Of vanity, that seizes all below. 
 
 The only amaranthine flower on earth 
 
 Is virtue : the only lasting treasure, truth. 
 
 But what is truth ? 'Twas Pilate's question put 
 
 To Truth itself, that deign'd him no reply. 
 
 And wherefore ? Will not God impart his light 
 
 To them that ask it ?— Freely— 'tis his joy. 
 
 His glory, and his nature, to impart. 
 
 But to the proud, uncandid, insincere, 
 
 Or negligent inquirer, not a spark. 
 
 What's that, which brings contempt upon a book, 
 
 And him who writes it, though the style be neat. 
 
 The method clear, and argument exact ? 
 
 That makes a minister in holy things 
 
 The joy of many, and the dread of more. 
 
 His name a theme for praise and for reproach ? — 
 
 That, while it gives us worth in God's account, 
 
 Depreciates and undoes us in our own ? 
 
 What pearl is it, that rich men cannot buy. 
 
 That learning is too proud to gather up: 
 
 But which the poor, and the despised of all. 
 
 Seek and obtain, and often find unsought ? 
 
 Tell me— and I will tell thee what is truth. 
 
 O friendly to the best pursuits of man. 
 Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace. 
 Domestic life in rural pleasure pass'd ! 
 Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweets ; 
 Though many boast thy favours, and affect 
 To understand and choose thee for their own. 
 But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss. 
 E'en as his first progenitor, and quits. 
 Though placed in Paradise (for earth has still 
 Some traces of her youthful beauty left), 
 Substantial happiness for transient joy. 
 Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse 
 The growing seeds of wisdom ; that suggest. 
 By every pleasing image they present, 
 Reflections such as meliorate the heart, 
 Compose the passions, and exalt the mind.
 
 2tO THE TASK. 
 
 Scenes such as these 'tis his supreme dehght 
 
 To fill with riot and defile with blood. 
 
 Should some contagion, kind to the poor brutes 
 
 "We persecute, annihilate the tribes, 
 
 That draw the sportsman over hill and dale 
 
 Fearless, and rapt away from all his cares : 
 
 Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again, 
 
 Nor baited hook deceive the fish's eye ; 
 
 Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song. 
 
 Be quell'd in all our summer-months' retreats ; 
 
 How many self-deluded nymphs and swains. 
 
 Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves. 
 
 Would find them hideous nurseries of the spleen. 
 
 And crowd the roads impatient for the town ! 
 
 They love the country-, and none else, who seek 
 
 For their own sake its silence, and its shade. 
 
 Delights which who would leave, that has a heart 
 
 Susceptible of pity, or a mind 
 
 Cultured and capable of sober thought. 
 
 For all the savage din of the swift pack, 
 
 And clamours of the field ?— Detested sport. 
 
 That owes its pleasures to another's pain ; 
 
 That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks 
 
 Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endued 
 
 With eloquence, that agonies inspire. 
 
 Of silent tears and heart-distending sighs I 
 
 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 
 
 Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. 
 
 Innocent partner of my peaceful home. 
 
 Whom ten long years' experience of my care 
 
 Has made at last familiar ; she has lost 
 
 Much of her vigilant instinctive dread. 
 
 Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. 
 
 Yes— thou may'st eat thy bread, and lick the hand 
 
 That feeds thee; fhou may'st frolic on the floor 
 
 At evening, and at night retire secure 
 
 To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm'd ; 
 
 For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledgd 
 
 All that is hum.an in me, to protect
 
 THE GARDEN. 271 
 
 Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. 
 If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave; 
 And, when I place thee in it, sighing say, 
 I knew at least one hare that had a friend.* 
 
 How various his employments whom the world 
 Calls idle ; and who justly in return 
 Esteems that busy world an idler too ! 
 Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen. 
 Delightful industry enjoy'd at home. 
 And Nature in her cultivated trim 
 Dress'd to his taste, inviting him abroad— 
 Can he want occupation who has these ? 
 Will he be idle who has much to enjoy ? 
 Me therefore, studious of laborious ease. 
 Not slothful, happy to deceive the time. 
 Not waste it, and aware that human life 
 Is but a loan to be repaid with use, 
 When He shall call his debtors to account. 
 From whom are all our blessings, business finds 
 E'en here : while sedulous I seek to improve. 
 At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd, 
 The mind he gave me ; driving it, though slack 
 Too oft, and much impeded in its work 
 By causes not to be divulged in vain, 
 To its just point— the service of mankind. 
 He, that attends to his interior self. 
 That has a heart, and keeps it ; has a mind 
 That hungers, and supplies it ; and who seeks 
 A social not a dissipated life. 
 Has business ; feels himself engaged to achieve 
 No unimportant, though a silent, task. 
 A life all turbulence and noise may seem 
 To him that leads it wise, and to be praised; 
 But wisdom is a pearl with most success 
 Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies : 
 He that is ever occupied in storms. 
 Or dives not for it, or brings up instead. 
 Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. 
 
 The morning finds the self-sequester'd man 
 Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. 
 Whether inclement seasons recommend 
 
 * Sec the uote at tho end of tliis volume.
 
 272 THE TASK. 
 
 His warm but simple home, where he enjoys 
 
 With her, who shares his pleasures and his heart. 
 
 Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph, 
 
 Vv'hich neatly she prepares ; then to his book 
 
 Well chosen, and not sullenly perused 
 
 In selfish silence, but imparted oft. 
 
 As ought occurs, that she may smile to hear. 
 
 Or turn to nourishment, digested well. 
 
 Or if the garden with its many cares. 
 
 All well repaid, demand him, he attends 
 
 The welcome call, conscious how much the hand 
 
 Of lubbard Labour needs his watchful eye. 
 
 Oft loitering lazily, if not o'erseen, 
 
 Or misapplying his unskilful strength. 
 
 jVor does he govern only or direct. 
 
 But much performs himself. No works indeed. 
 
 That ask robust, tough sinews, bred to toil. 
 
 Servile employ ; but such as may amuse. 
 
 Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. 
 
 Proud of his weU-spread walls, he views his trees, 
 
 That meet, no barren interval between, 
 
 With pleasure more than e'en their fruits afford ; 
 
 Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel. 
 
 These therefore are his own peculiar charge; 
 
 No meaner hand may discipline the shoots. 
 
 None but his steel approach them. What is weak. 
 
 Distempered, or has lost prolific powers, 
 
 Impair'd by age, his unrelenting hand 
 
 Dooms to the knife; nor does he spare the soft 
 
 And succulent, that feeds its giant growth. 
 
 But barren at the expense of neighbouring twig? 
 
 Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick 
 
 With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left 
 
 That may disgrace his art, or disappoint 
 
 Large expectation, he disposes neat 
 
 At measured distances, that air and sun. 
 
 Admitted freely, may aflford their aid. 
 
 And ventilate and warm the swelling buds. 
 
 Hence Summer has her riches, Autumn hence, 
 
 And hence e'en Winter fills his wither'd hand 
 
 With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own.* 
 
 * Miraturque novos fructus et non sua poma.— Tir^
 
 THE GARDEN. 273 
 
 Fair recompence of labour well bcstow'd, 
 And wise precaution ; which a clime so rude 
 Makes needful still, whose Spring is but the child 
 Of churlish Winter, in her froward moods 
 Discovering much the temper of her sire. 
 For oft, as if in her the stream of mild 
 Maternal nature had reversed its course. 
 She brings her infants forth with many smiles ; 
 But, once deliver'd, kills them with a frown. 
 He therefore, timely warn'd, himself supplies 
 Her want of care, screening and keeping warm 
 The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep 
 His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft 
 As the sun peeps, and vernal airs breathe mild. 
 The fence withdrawn, he gives them every beam. 
 And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day. 
 To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd. 
 
 So grateful to the palate, and when rare 
 
 So coveted, else base and disesteem'd— 
 Food for the vulgar merely — is an art 
 That toiling ages have but just matured. 
 
 And at this moment unessay'd in song. 
 
 Vet gnats have had, and frogs and mice, long si-icc, 
 
 Their eulogy ; these sang the Mantuan bard, 
 
 And these the Grecian in ennobling strains; 
 
 And in thy numbers, Phillips, shines for aye 
 
 The solitary shilling. Pardon, then. 
 
 Ye sage dispensers of poetic fame. 
 
 The ambition of one meaner far, whose powers. 
 
 Presuming an attempt not less sublime. 
 
 Pant for the praise of dressing to the taste 
 
 Of critic appetite, no sordid fare, 
 
 A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce. 
 The stable yields a stercoraceous heap. 
 
 Impregnated with quick fermenting salts. 
 
 And potent to resist the freezing blast: 
 
 For, ere the beach and elm have cast their leaf 
 
 Deciduous, when now November dark 
 
 Checks vegetation in the torpid plant 
 
 Exposed to his cold breath, the task begins. 
 
 Warily, therefore, and with prudent heed, 
 
 He seeks a favour'd spot ; that where he builJj 
 M2
 
 274 THE TASK. 
 
 The 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 
 
 Dry fern or litter'd hay, that may imbibe 
 
 The ascending damps ; then leisurely impose. 
 
 And lightly, shaking it with agile hand 
 
 From the full fork, the saturated straw. 
 
 What longest binds the closet forms secure, 
 
 The shapely side, that as it rises takes," 
 
 By just degrees, an overhanging breadth. 
 
 Sheltering the base with its projected eaves • 
 
 The uplifted frame, compact at ever joint. 
 
 And overlaid with clear translucent glass. 
 
 He settles next upon the sloping mount. 
 
 Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure 
 
 From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls. 
 
 He shuts it close, and the first labour ends. 
 
 Thrice must the voluble and restless Earth 
 
 Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth. 
 
 Slow gathering in the midst, through the square mass 
 
 Diffused, attain the surface : when behold ! 
 
 A pestilent and most corrosive steam. 
 
 Like a gross fog Boeotian, rising fast. 
 
 And fast condensed upon the dewy sash. 
 
 Asks egress ; which obtained, the overcharged 
 
 And drench'd conservatory breathes abroad. 
 
 In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank ; 
 
 And, purified, rejoices to have lost 
 
 Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage 
 
 The impatient fervour, which it first conceives 
 
 Within its reeking bosom, threatening death 
 
 To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. 
 
 Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft 
 
 The way to glory by miscarriage foul. 
 
 Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch 
 
 The auspicious moment, when the temper'd heat, 
 
 Friendly to vital motion, may afford 
 
 Soft fomentation, and invite the seed. 
 
 The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth 
 
 And glossy, he commits to pots of size 
 
 Diminutive, well-filled with well-prepared
 
 THE GARDEN. 275 
 
 And fruitful soil, that has been treasur'd long, 
 
 And drank no moisture from the dripping clouds. 
 
 These on the warm and genial earth, that hides 
 
 The smoking manure, and o'erspreads it all. 
 
 He places lightly, and, as time subdues 
 
 The rage of fermentation, plunges deep 
 
 In the soft medium, till they stand immersed. 
 
 Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick. 
 
 And spreading wide their spongy lobes, at first 
 
 Pale, wan, and livid ; but assuming soon, 
 
 If fann'd by balmy and nutricious air, 
 
 Strain'd through the friendly mats, a vivid green. 
 
 Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves. 
 
 Cautious he pinches from the second stalk 
 
 A pimple, that portends a future sprout. 
 
 And interdicts its growth. Then straight succeed 
 
 The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish ; 
 
 Prolific all, and harbingers of more. 
 
 l"he crowded roots demand enlargement now. 
 
 And transplantation in an ampler space. 
 
 Indulged in what they wish, they soon supply 
 
 Large foliage, o'ershadowing golden flowers. 
 
 Blown on the summit of the apparent fruit. 
 
 These have their sexes ! and when summer shint"?, 
 
 The bee transports the fertilizing meal 
 
 From flower to flower, and e'en the breathing air 
 
 Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use. 
 
 Not so when winter scowls. Assistant 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 numerous half 
 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 exercised, and hang 
 Upon the ticklish balance of susi)ensc, 
 That ye may garnish your profuse regales 
 With summer fruits brought forth by wintry suns. 
 Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart 
 The process. Heat, and cold, and wind, and steam.
 
 27C THE TASK. 
 
 Moisture and drought, mire, worms, and swarming flies, 
 ISIinute 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 the expedients and the shifts. 
 Which he that fights a season so severe 
 Devises, while he guards his tender trust ; 
 And oft at last in vain. The leam'd and wise 
 Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song 
 Cold as its theme, and like its theme the fruit 
 Of too much labour, worthless when produced. 
 Who loves a garden loves a green-house too. 
 Unconscious of a less propitious clime, 
 There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug, 
 While the winds whistle, and the snows descend. 
 The spiry myrtle with unwithering leaf 
 Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast 
 Of Portugal and western India there. 
 The ruddier orange, and the paler lime, 
 Peep through their polished foliage at the storm, 
 And seem to smile at what they need not fear. 
 The amomum there with intermingling flowers 
 And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts 
 Her crimison honours ; and the spangled beau, 
 Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long. 
 All plants, of every leaf, that can endure 
 The winter's frown, if screen'd from his shrewd bite, 
 I^ive there, and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, 
 Levantine regions these ; the Azores send 
 Tlieir jessamine, her jessamine remote 
 Caffraria; foreigners from many lands, 
 They form one social shade, as if convened 
 By magic summons of the Orphean lyre. 
 Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass 
 But by a master's hand, disposing well 
 The gay diversities of leaf and flower, 
 ]\Tust lend its aid t' illustrate all their charms. 
 And dress the regular yet varied scene. 
 Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van 
 The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but still 
 Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. 
 So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome,
 
 THE GARDEN. . 277 
 
 A noble show ! while Roscius trod the stage ; 
 And so, while Garrick, as renown'd as he, 
 The sons of Albion ; fearing each to lose. 
 Some note of Nature's music from his lips. 
 And covetous of Shakspeare's beauty, seen 
 In every flash of his far-beaming eye. 
 Nor taste alone and well contrived display 
 Suffice to give the marshall'd ranks the grace 
 Of their complete effect. Much yet remains 
 Unsung, and many cares are yet behind. 
 And more laborious; cares on which depends 
 Their vigour, injur'd soon, not soon restor'd. 
 The soil must be renew'd, which often wash'd 
 Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, 
 And disappoints the roots; the slender roots 
 Close interwoven where they meet the vase 
 Must smooth be shorn away; the sapless branch 
 Must fly before the knife; the wither'd leaf, 
 Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor 
 Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else 
 Contagion, and disseminating death. 
 Discharge but these kind offices, (and who 
 Would spare, that loves them, offices like these ?) 
 Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleased. 
 The scent regaled, each odoriferous leaf. 
 Each opening blossom, freely breathes abroad 
 Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets. 
 
 So manifold, all pleasing in their kind. 
 All healthful, are the employs of rural life, 
 Reiterated as the wheel of time 
 Runs round; still ending, and beginning still. 
 Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll , 
 That softly swell'd and gaily dress'd appears 
 A flowery island from the dark green lawn 
 Emerging, must be deem'd a labour due 
 To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. 
 Here also grateful mixture of well match'd 
 And sorted hxies (each giving each relief. 
 And by contrasted beauty shining more) 
 Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous spade. 
 May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home; 
 But elegance chief grace the garden shews,
 
 279 THE TASK. 
 
 And most attractive, is the fair result 
 
 Of thought, the creature of a polish'd mind. 
 
 Without it, all is Gothic as the scene 
 
 To which the insipid citizen resorts 
 
 Near yonder heath ; where Industry mispent. 
 
 But proud of his uncouth Ul-chosen task. 
 
 Has made a heaven on earth ; with suns and moons 
 
 Of close-ramm'd stones has charged th' encumber'd soil. 
 
 And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust. 
 
 He, therefore, who would see his flowers disposed 
 
 Sightly and in just order, ere he gives 
 
 The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, 
 
 Forecasts the future whole; that when the scene 
 
 Shall break into its preconceived display, 
 
 Each for itself, and all as with one voice 
 
 Conspiring, may attest his bright design. 
 
 Nor even then, dismissing as perform'd 
 
 His pleasant work, may he suppose it done. 
 
 Few self-supported flowers endure the wind 
 
 Uninjured, but expect the upholding aid 
 
 Of the smooth-shaven prop, and neatly tied. 
 
 Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age. 
 
 For interest-sake, the living to the dead. 
 
 Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffused 
 
 And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair. 
 
 Like virtue, thriving most where little seen : 
 
 Some more aspiring catch the neighbour-shrub 
 
 With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch. 
 
 Else unadorn'd, with many a gay festoon 
 
 And fragrant chaplet, recompensmg well 
 
 The strength they borrow with the grace they lend. 
 
 All hate the rank society of weeds. 
 
 Noisome and ever greedy to exhaust 
 
 Th' impoverish'd earth ; an overbearing race. 
 
 That like the multitude made faction-mad. 
 
 Disturb good order, and degrade true worth. 
 
 O bless'd seclusion from a jarring world. 
 Which he thus occupied enjoys ! Retreat 
 Cannot indeed to guilty man restore 
 Lost innocence or cancel follies past ; 
 But it has peace, and much secures the mind 
 From all assaults of evil ; proving still
 
 THE GARDEN. 279 
 
 A faithful barrier, not o'erleaped with ease 
 
 By vicious custom, raging uncontroll'd 
 
 Abroad, and desolating public life. 
 
 When fierce Temptation, seconded within 
 
 By traitor Appetite, and arm'd with darts 
 
 Temper'd in hell, invades the throbbing breast. 
 
 To combat may be glorious, and success 
 
 Perhaps may crown us ; but to fly is safe. 
 
 Had I the choice of sublunary good. 
 
 What could I wish, that I possess not here ? 
 
 Health, leisure, means to improve it, friendship, peace. 
 
 No loose or wanton, though a wandering, muse. 
 
 And constant occupation without care. 
 
 Thus hless'd, I draw a picture of that bliss: 
 
 Hopeless, indeed, that dissipated minds, 
 
 And profligate abusers of a world 
 
 Created fair so much in vain for them. 
 
 Should seek the guiltless joys, that I describe, 
 
 Allured by my report: but sure no less. 
 
 That self condemn'd they must neglect the prize. 
 
 And what they will not taste must yet approve. 
 
 What we admire we praise ; and when we praise 
 
 Advance it into notice, that its worth 
 
 Acknowledged, others may admire it too. 
 
 I therefore recommend, though at the risk 
 
 Of popular disgust, yet boldly still, 
 
 The cause of piety, and sacred truth, 
 
 And virtue, and those scenes, which God ordain'd 
 
 Should best secure them, and promote them most ; 
 
 Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive 
 
 Forsaken, or through folly not enjoy'd. 
 
 Pure is the nymph, though liberal of her smiles. 
 
 And chaste, though unconfined, whom I extol. 
 
 Not as the prince in Shushan, when he call'd, 
 
 Vain-glorious of her charms, his Vashti forth, 
 
 To grace the full pavilion. His design 
 
 Was but to boast his own peculiar good. 
 
 Which all might view with envy, none partake. 
 
 My charmer is not mine alone; my sweets, 
 
 And she that sweetens all my bitters too. 
 
 Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form 
 
 And lineaments divine, I trace a hand
 
 280 THE TASK. 
 
 That errs not, and find raptures still renevs'd. 
 
 Is free to all men — universal prize. 
 
 Strange that so fair a creature should yet want 
 
 Admirers, and be destined to divide 
 
 With meaner objects e'en the few she finds ! 
 
 Stripp'd of her ornaments, her leaves and flowers, 
 
 She loses all her influence. Cities then 
 
 Attract us, and neglected Nature pines 
 
 Abandon"d as unworthy of our love. 
 
 But are not wholesome airs, though unperfumed 
 
 By roses ; and clear suns, though scarcely felt ; 
 
 And groves, if unharmonious, yet secure 
 
 From clamour, and whose very silence charms ; 
 
 To be preferr'd to smoke, to the eclipse 
 
 That metropolitan volcanoes make, 
 
 Whose Stj-gian throats breathe darkness all day long. 
 
 And to the stir of Commerce, driving slow, 
 
 And thundering loud, with his ten thousand wheels? 
 
 They would be, were not madness in the head. 
 
 And folly m the heart ; were England now. 
 
 What England was, plain, hospitable, kind. 
 
 And undebauch'd. But we have bid farew^ell 
 
 To all the virtues of those better days. 
 
 And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once 
 
 Knew their own masters; and laborious hinds, 
 
 Who had survived the father, served the son. 
 
 Now the legitimate and righcful lord 
 
 Is but a transient guest, newly arrived. 
 
 As soon to be supplanted. He, that saw 
 
 His patrimonial timber cast its leaf. 
 
 Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price 
 
 To some shrewd sharper, ere it buds again. 
 
 Estates are landscapes, gazed upon a while. 
 
 Then advertised, and auctioneer'd away. 
 
 The country starves, and they, that feed the o'ercharged 
 
 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. 
 
 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.
 
 THE GARDEN. 281 
 
 Is fed with many a victim. Lo, he comes ! 
 
 The omnipotent magician. Brown, appears I 
 
 Down falls the venerable pile, the abode 
 
 Of our forefathers — a grave whisker'd race. 
 
 But tasteless. Springs a palace in its stead. 
 
 But in a distant spot ; where more exposed 
 
 It may enjoy the advantage of the north. 
 
 And anguish east, till time shall have transform'd 
 
 Those naked acres to a sheltering grove. 
 
 He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn : 
 
 Woods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise ; 
 
 And streams, as if created for his use. 
 
 Pursue the track of his directing wand, 
 
 Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow, 
 
 Now murmuring soft, now roaring m cascades — 
 
 E'en as he bids ! The enraptured owner smiles. 
 
 'Tis finish'd, and yet, finished as it seems. 
 
 Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could shew, — 
 
 A mine to satisfy the enormous cost. 
 
 Drain'd to the last poor item of his wealth. 
 
 He sighs, departs, and leaves the accomplish'd plan. 
 
 That he has touch'd, retouch'd, many a long day 
 
 Labour'd, and many a niglU pursued in dreams. 
 
 Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the heaven 
 
 He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy ! 
 
 And now perhaps the glorious hour is come, 
 
 When having no stake left, no pledge to endear 
 
 Her interests, or that gives her sacred cause 
 
 A moment's operation on his love. 
 
 He burns witli most intense and flagrant zeal 
 
 To serve his country. Ministerial grace 
 
 Deals him out money from the public chest ; 
 
 Or, if that mine be shut, some private purse 
 
 Supplies his need with a usurious loan. 
 
 To be refunded duly when his vote 
 
 Well managed shall have eam'd its worthy price 
 
 O innocent, compared with arts like these. 
 
 Crape, and cock'd pistol, and the whistling ball 
 
 Sent through the traveller's temples! He, that finds 
 
 One drop of Heaven's sweet mercy in his cup, 
 
 Can dig, beg, rot, and perish, well content. 
 
 So he may wrap himself in honest rags
 
 282 THE TASK. 
 
 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 sickening at his own success. 
 
 Ambition, avarice, penury incurr'd 
 By endless riot, vanity, the lust 
 Of pleasure and variety, despatch, 
 As duly as the swallows disappear. 
 The world of wandering knights and squires to town. 
 London ingulphs them all ! The shark is there. 
 And the shark's prey ; the spendthrift, and the leech 
 That sucks him ; there the sycophant, and he 
 Who, with bareheaded and obsequious bows. 
 Begs a warm office, doom'd to a cold jail 
 And groat per diem, if his patron frown. 
 Tlie levee swarms, as if in golden pomp 
 Were character'd on every statesman's door, 
 • Batter'd and bankrupt fortunes mended here.' 
 These are the charms that sully and eclipse 
 The charms of nature. 'Tis the cruel gripe 
 That lean, hard-handed Poverty inflicts. 
 The hope of better things, the chance to win. 
 The wish to shine, the thirst to be amused. 
 That at the sound of Winter's hoary wing 
 Unpeople all our counties of such herds 
 Of fluttering, loitering, cringing, begging, loose. 
 And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast 
 And boundless as it is, a crowded coop. 
 
 O thou, resort and mart of all the earth, 
 Chequer'd with all complexions of mankind. 
 And spotted with all crimes; in whom I see 
 Much that I love, and more that I admire. 
 And all that I abhor; thou freckled fair. 
 That pleasest and yet shock'st me, I can laugh. 
 And I can weep, can hope, and can despond. 
 Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee ! 
 Ten righteous would have saved a city once. 
 And thou hast many righteous. — Well for thee — 
 That salt preserves thee; more corrupted else. 
 And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour. 
 Than Sodom in her day had power to be. 
 For whom God heard his Abraham plead in vain.
 
 2S3 
 
 BOOK IV. 
 
 The post comes in. — The newspaper is read. — The world contem- 
 plated at a distance. — Address to Winter. — The rural amuse- 
 ments of a winter evening compared with the f<ishionable ones. 
 —Address to Evening.— A brown study.— Fall of snow in the 
 evening. — The waggoner. — .\ poor family-piece. — The rural 
 thief.— Public houses.— The multitude of them censured.— The 
 farmer's daughter : what she was— what she is. — The simpli 
 eity of country manners almost lost. — Canses of the change. — 
 Desertion of the countrj- by the rich. — Neglect of magistrates. 
 —The militia principally in lault.— The new recruit and his 
 transformation. — Reflection on bodies corporate. — The love of 
 rural objects natural to all, and never to be totally extin 
 fished. 
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 
 
 Hark ! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge 
 That with its wearisome but needful length 
 Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon 
 Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright ; — 
 He comes, the herald of a noisy world. 
 With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks ; 
 News from all nations lumbering at his back. 
 True to liis charge, the close pack'd load behind. 
 Yet careless what he brings, his one concern 
 Is to conduct it to the destin'd inn ; 
 And, having dropp'd the expected bag, pass on. 
 He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch. 
 Cold and yet cheerful : messenger of grief 
 Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some; 
 To him indifferent whether grief or joy. 
 Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks. 
 Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet 
 With tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks 
 Fast as the periods from his fluent quill. 
 Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains. 
 Or nymphs responsive, equally affect 
 His horse and him, unconscious of them all. 
 But O the important budget ! usher'd in 
 With such heart-shaking music, who can say 
 What are its tidings ? have our troops awaked ? 
 Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd, 
 .Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic v/ave ? 
 Is India free ? and does she wear her plumed
 
 284 THE TASK. 
 
 And jewell'd turban with a smile of peace ; 
 Or do we grind her still ? The grand debate, 
 The popular harangue, the tart reply. 
 The logic, and the wisdom and the wit. 
 And the loud laugh— I long to know them all , 
 I bum to set the imprisou'd wranglers free. 
 And give them voice and utterance once again. 
 Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, 
 Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round. 
 And, while the bubbling and loud hissing um 
 Throws up a steamy column, and the cups. 
 That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each. 
 So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 
 Not such his evening, who with shining face 
 Sweats in the crowded theatre, and squeezed 
 And bored with elbow-points through both his sides, 
 Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage : 
 Nor his, who patient stands tiU his feet throb, 
 And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath 
 Of patriots bursting with heroic rage. 
 Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. 
 This foUo of four pages, happy work ! 
 Which not e'en critics criticise ; that holds 
 Inquisitive Attention, while I read. 
 Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair. 
 Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break ; 
 What is it, but a map of busy life. 
 Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ? 
 Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge. 
 That tempts Ambition. On the summit see 
 The seals of office glitter in his eyes ; 
 He climbs, he pants, he grasps them ! At his heels, 
 Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends. 
 And with a dextrous jerk soon twists him down. 
 And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. 
 Here rills of oily eloquence in soft 
 Oleanders lubricate the course they take ; 
 The modest speaker is ashamed and grieved. 
 To engross a moment's notice ; and yet begs. 
 Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts. 
 However trivial all that he conceives. 
 Sweet bashfulness I it claims at least this praise:
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 285 
 
 The dearth cf information and good sense. 
 
 That it foretels us, always comes to pass. 
 
 Cataracts of declamation thunder here; 
 
 There forests of no meaning spread the page. 
 
 In which all comprehension winders lost ; 
 
 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 cheeky 
 
 And lilies for the brows of faded age; 
 
 Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, 
 
 Heaven, earth, and ocean plunder'd of their sweets, 
 
 Nectareous essences, Olympian dews. 
 
 Sermons, and city-feasts, and favourite airs, 
 
 Etherial journeys, submarine exploits. 
 
 And Katerfelto, with his hair on end 
 
 At his own wonders, wondering for his bread. 
 
 'Tis pleasant through the loop-holes of retreat 
 To peep at such a world ; to see the stir 
 Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; 
 To hear the roar she sends through all her gates 
 At a safe distance, where the dying sound 
 Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear. 
 Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease 
 The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced 
 To some secure and more than mortal height. 
 That 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 
 Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me; 
 Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride 
 And avarice, that make man a wolf to man ; 
 Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats, 
 By which he speaks the language of his heart. 
 And sigh, but never tremble at the sound. 
 He travels and expatiates, as the bee 
 From flower to flower, so he from land to land ; 
 The manners, customs, policy, of all 
 Pay contribution to the store he gleans; 
 He sucks intelligence in every clime. 
 And spreads the honey of his deep research
 
 286 THE TASK. 
 
 At his return — a rich repast for me. 
 He travels, and I too. I tread his deck. 
 Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes 
 Discover countries ; with a kindred heart 
 Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes ; 
 While fancy, like the finger of a clock. 
 Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. 
 
 O Winter, ruler of the inverted year. 
 Thy scattered hair with sleet like ashes fill'd. 
 Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
 Fring'd with a beard made white with other snows 
 Than those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in clouds, 
 A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 
 A sliding car, indebted to no wheels. 
 But urged by storms along its slippery way 
 I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, 
 And dreaded as thou art ! Thou hold"st the sun 
 A prisoner in the yet undawning east. 
 Shortening his journey between mom and noon. 
 And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 
 Down to the rosy west ; but kindly stiU 
 Compensating his loss with added hours 
 Of social converse and instructive ease. 
 And gathering, at short notice, in one group 
 The family dispersed, and fixing thought, 
 Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. 
 I crown thee king of intimate dehghts. 
 Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness. 
 And all the comforts that the lowly roof 
 Of undisturb'd Retirement, and the hours 
 Of long uninterrupted evening, know. 
 No rattling wheels stop short before these gates ; 
 No powder'd pert, proficient in the art 
 Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors 
 Till the street rings ; no stationary steeds 
 Cough their own knell, while heedless of the sound. 
 The silent circle fan themselves, and quake : 
 But here the needle plies its busy task. 
 The pattern grows, the well depicted flower. 
 Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn. 
 Unfolds its bosom ; buds, and leaves, and sprigs. 
 And curling tendrils, gracefully disposed.
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 287 
 
 Follow the nimble finger of the fair ; 
 
 A wreath, that cannot fade, of flowers that blow 
 
 With most success when all besides decay. 
 
 The poet's or historian's page by one 
 
 Made vocal for the amusement of the rest ; 
 
 The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds 
 
 The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out ; 
 
 And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct. 
 
 And in the charming strife triumphant still ; 
 
 Beguile the night, and set a keener edge 
 
 On female industry : the threaded steel 
 
 Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. 
 
 The volume closed, the customary rites 
 
 Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal ; 
 
 Such as the mistress of the world once found 
 
 Delicious, when her patriots of high note. 
 
 Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors. 
 
 And under an old oak's domestic shade, 
 
 Enjoy"d spare feast ! a radish and an egg. 
 
 Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull, 
 
 Nor such as with a frown forbids the play 
 
 Of fancy, or prescribes the sound of mirth ; 
 
 Nor do we madly, like an impious world. 
 
 Who deem religion frenzy, and the God 
 
 That made them an intruder on their joys. 
 
 Start at his awful name, or deem his praise 
 
 A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone. 
 
 Exciting oft our gratitude and love. 
 
 While we retrace with Memory's pointing wand. 
 
 That calls the past to our exact review, 
 
 The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare. 
 
 The disappointed foe, deliverance found 
 
 Unlook'd for, life preserved, and peace restored. 
 
 Fruits of omnipotent eternal love. 
 
 O evenings worthy of the gods! exclaim'd 
 
 The Sabine bard. O evenings, I reply. 
 
 More to be prized and coveted than yours, 
 
 As more illumined, and with nobler truths. 
 
 That I, and mine, aTid those we love enjoy. 
 
 Is Winter hideous in a garb like this ? 
 Needs he the tragic fur, the smoke of lamps, 
 The pent-up breath of an unsavoury throng.
 
 288 THE TASK. 
 
 To thaw him into feeling : or the smart 
 
 And snappish dialogue, that flippant wits 
 
 Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile? 
 
 The self-complacent actor, when he views 
 
 (Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house) 
 
 The slope of faces, from the floor to th' roof 
 
 (As if one master spring controU'd them all) 
 
 Relax'd into an universal grin, 
 
 Sees not a countenance there that speaks of joy 
 
 Half so refined or so sincere as ours. 
 
 Cards were superfluous here, with all the tricks 
 
 That idleness has ever yet contrived 
 
 To fill the void of an unfurnish'd brain. 
 
 To palliate dulness, and give time a shove. 
 
 Time, as he passes us has a dove's wing, 
 
 Unsoil'd and swift, and of a silken sound ; 
 
 But the world's Time, is Time in masquerade ! 
 
 Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledged 
 
 With motley plumes ; and, where the peacock shews 
 
 His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red. 
 
 With spots quadrangular of diamond form. 
 
 Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife. 
 
 And spades the emblem of untimely graves. 
 
 What should be, and what was an hour-glass once. 
 
 Becomes a dice-box and a billiard-mace : 
 
 Well does the work of his destructive scythe. 
 
 Thus deck'd, he charms a world whom fashion blinds 
 
 To his true worth, most pleased when idle most ; 
 
 Whose only happy are their wasted hours. 
 
 E'en misses, at whose age their mothers wore 
 
 The backstring and the bib, assume the dress 
 
 Of womanhood, fit pupils in the school 
 
 Of card-devoted Time, and night by night 
 
 Placed at some vacant comer of the board. 
 
 Learn every 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 mouldering tower, 
 
 Which seen delights him not ; then coming home 
 
 Describes and prints it, that the world may know 
 
 How far he went for what was nothing worth ;
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 289 
 
 So I, with brush in hand, and palette spread. 
 With colours mix'd for a far different use, 
 Paint cards, and dolls, and every idle thing. 
 That Fancy finds in her excursive flights. 
 
 Come, Evening, once again, season of peace; 
 Return, sweet Evening, and continue long ! 
 Methinks I see thee in the streaky west. 
 With matron step slow moving, while the Night 
 Treads on thy sweeping train ; one hand employ'ci 
 In letting fall the curtain of repose 
 On bird and beast, the other charged for man 
 With sweet oblivion of the cares of day : 
 Not sumptuously adoni'd, not needing aid. 
 Like homely-featur'd Night, of clustering gems ; 
 A star or two, just twinkling on thy brow. 
 Suffices thee; save that the moon is thine 
 No less than hers, not worn indeed on high 
 With ostentatious pageantry, but set 
 With modest grandeur in thy purple zone, 
 Resplendent less, but of an ampler round. 
 Come then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm, 
 Or make me so. Composure is thy gift : 
 And, whether I devote thy gentle hours 
 To books, to music, or the poet's toil. 
 To weaving nets for bird-alluring fruit ; 
 Or twining silken threads round ivory reels. 
 When they command whom man was born to please, 
 I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. 
 
 Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze 
 With lights, by clear reflection multiplied 
 From many a mirror, in which he of Gath, 
 Goliah, might have seen his giant bulk 
 Whole without stooping, towering crest and all. 
 My pleasures too begin. But me perhaps 
 The glowing hearth may satisfy awhile 
 With faint illumination, that uplifts 
 The shadows to the ceiling, there by fits 
 Dancing uncouthly to the quivering flame. 
 Not undelightful is an hour to me 
 So spent in parlour-twilight : such a gloom 
 Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind. 
 The mind contemplative, with some new theme 
 N
 
 290 THE TASK. 
 
 Pregnant, or indisposed alike to alL 
 
 Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial powers. 
 
 That never felt a stupor, know no pause. 
 
 Nor need one ; I am conscious, and confess 
 
 Fearless, a soul that does not always think- 
 
 Me oft has Fancy ludicrous and wild 
 
 Soothed with a waking dream of houses, towers, 
 
 Trees, churches, and strange visages, express'd 
 
 In the red cinders, while with poring eye 
 
 1 gazed, myself creating what I saw. 
 
 Nor less amused have I quiescent watch'd 
 
 The sooty films, that play upon the bars 
 
 Pendulous, and foreboding in the view 
 
 Of superstition, prophesying still. 
 
 Though stiU deceived, some stranger's near approaci 
 
 'Tis thus the understanding takes repose 
 
 In indolent vacuity of thought. 
 
 And sleeps, and is refresh" d. Meanwhile the face 
 
 Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask 
 
 Of deep deliberation, as the man 
 
 Were task'd to his fuU strength, absorb'd and lost. 
 
 Thus oft, reclin'd at ease, I lose an hour 
 
 At evening, till at length the freezing blast. 
 
 That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons home 
 
 The recollected powers : and snapping short 
 
 The glassy threads, with which the fancy weaves 
 
 Her brittle toils, restores me to myself. 
 
 How calm is my recess ; and how the frost. 
 
 Raging abroad, and the rough wind endear 
 
 The silence and the warmth enjoy'd within ! 
 
 I saw the woods and fields at close of day 
 
 A variegated show ; the meadows green, 
 
 Though faded ; and the lands, where lately waved 
 
 The golden harvest, of a mellow brown. 
 
 Upturn' d so lately by the forceful share. 
 
 I saw far off the weedy fallows smile 
 
 With verdure not unprofitable, grazed 
 
 By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each 
 
 His favourite herb ; while all the leafless groves 
 
 That skirt the horizon, wore a sable hue. 
 
 Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of eve. 
 
 To-morrow brings a change ! a total change !
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 291 
 
 Which even now, though silently perform'd 
 And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face 
 Of universal nature undergoes. 
 Fast falls a fleecy shower : the downy flakes 
 Descending, and, with never ceasing lapse, 
 Softly alighting upon all below, 
 Assimilate all objects. Earth receives 
 Gladly the thickening mantle; and the green 
 And tender blade, that fear'd the chilling blast, 
 Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil. 
 
 In such a world, so thorny, and where none 
 Finds happiness unblighted, or, if found. 
 Without some thistly sorrow at its side. 
 It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin 
 Against the law of love, to measure lots 
 With less distinguished than ourselves ; that thus 
 We may with patience bear our moderate ills, 
 And sympathize with others suffering more. 
 Ill fares the traveller now, and he that stalks 
 In ponderous boots beside his reeking team. 
 The wain goes heavily, impeded sore 
 By congregating loads adhering close 
 To the clogg'd wheels ; and in its sluggish pace 
 Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. 
 The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide. 
 While every breath, by respiration strong 
 Forced downward, is consolidated soon 
 Upon their jutting chests. He, form'd to bear 
 The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, 
 With half-shut eyes, and pucker'd cheeks, and teeth 
 Presented bare against the storm, plods on. 
 One hand secures his hat, save when with both 
 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 endued, thrice happy thou ! 
 Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed 
 The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd. 
 The learned finger never need explore 
 Thy vigorous pulse; and the unhealthful eafet, 
 That breathes the spleen, and searches every bone
 
 292 THE TASK. 
 
 Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee, 
 Thy days roll on exempt from household care. 
 Thy waggon is thy wife ; and the poor beasts. 
 That drag the dull companion to and fro. 
 Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care. 
 Ah ! treat them kindly ; rude as thou appearest. 
 Yet shew that thou hast mercy, which the great. 
 With needless hurry whirl'd from place to place. 
 Humane as they would seem, not always shew. 
 
 Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, 
 Such claim compassion in a night like this. 
 And have a friend in every feeling heart. 
 Warm'd while it lasts, by labour, all day long 
 They brave the season, and yet find at eve, 
 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 terrestial joys. 
 The few small embers left she nurses well ; 
 And while her infant race, with outspread hands. 
 And crowded knees, sit cowering o'er the sparks. 
 Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd. 
 The man feels least, as more inured than she 
 To winter, and the current in his veins 
 More briskly moved by his severer toil ; 
 Y et he too finds his own distress in theirs. 
 The taper soon exringuish'd, which I saw 
 Dangled along at the cold finger's end. 
 Just when the day declined ; and the brown loaf 
 Lodged on the shelf, half eaten without sauce 
 Of savour}' cheese, or butter, costlier still ; 
 Sleep seems their only refuge : for, alas ! 
 Where penury is felt the thought is chaiu'd. 
 And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few. 
 With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care 
 Ingenious Parsimony takes, but just 
 Saves the small inventory, bed, and stool. 
 Skillet, and old carved chest, from public sale. 
 They live, and live without extorted alms 
 From grudging hands ; but other boast have none. 
 To soothe their honest pride, that scorns to beg, 
 >for comfort else but in their mutual love.
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 293 
 
 1 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 
 The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs 
 Of knaves in office, partial in the work 
 Of distribution ; liberal of their aid 
 To clamorous importunity in rags. 
 But oft-times deaf to suppUants, who would blush 
 To wear a tatter'd garb, however coarse, 
 Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth : 
 These ask with painful shyness, and, refused 
 Because deserving, silently retire ! 
 But be ye of good courage ! Time itself 
 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, 
 Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may send. 
 I mean the man, who when the distant poor 
 Need help, denies them nothing but his name. 
 But poverty with most, who whimper forth 
 Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe ; 
 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. 
 Woe to the gardener's pale, the farmer's hedge, 
 Plash'd neatly, and secured with driven stakes 
 Deep in the loamy bank ! Uptom by strength. 
 Resistless in so bad a cause, but lame 
 To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil. 
 An ass's burden, and when laden most 
 And heaviest, light of foot steals fast away. 
 Nor does the boarded hovel better guard 
 The well-stack'd pile of riven logs and roots 
 From his pernicious force. Nor will he leave 
 Unwrench'd the door, however well secured. 
 Where chanticleer amidst his harem sleeps 
 In unsuspecting pomp. 'Twitch'd from the perch. 
 He gives the princely bird, with all his wives.
 
 294 THE TASK. 
 
 To his voracious bag, struggling in vain. 
 And loudly wondering at the sudden change. 
 Nor this to feed his own. 'Twere some excuse. 
 Did pity of their sufferings warp aside 
 His principle, and tempt him into sin 
 For their support, so destitute. But they 
 Neglected pine at home; themselves, as more 
 Exposed 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 
 His every action, and imbrutes the man. 
 O for a law to noose the villain's neck. 
 Who starves his own ; who persecutes the blood 
 He gave them in his children's veins, and hates 
 And wrongs the woman he has sworn to love I 
 
 Pass where we may, through city or through town. 
 Village, or hamlet, of this merry land. 
 Though lean and beggar'd, every twentieth pace 
 Conducts the unguarded nose to such a whiff 
 Of stale debauch, forth issuing from the styes 
 That law has licensed, as makes Temperance reel. 
 There sit, involved and lost in curling clouds 
 Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor, 
 The lackey, and the groom : the craftsman there 
 Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil ; 
 Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the shears. 
 And he that kneads the dough ; all loud alike, 
 All learned, and all drunk ! the fiddle screams 
 Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd 
 Its wasted tones and harmony unheard: 
 Fierce the dispute, whate'er the theme; while she. 
 Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, 
 Perch'd on the sign-post, holds with even hand 
 Her undecisive scales. In this she lays 
 A weight of ignorance ; in that, of pride ; 
 And smiles delighted with the eternal poise. 
 Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound. 
 The cheek-distending oath, not to be praised 
 As ornamental, musical, polite. 
 Like those, which modem senators employ. 
 Whose oath is rhetoric, and who swear for fame !
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 295 
 
 Behold the schools in which plebeian minds 
 
 Once simple are initiated in arts. 
 
 Which some may practise with politer grace. 
 
 But none with readier skill ! 'tis here they learn 
 
 The road that leads from competence and peace 
 
 To indigence and rapine ; till at last 
 
 Society, grown weary of the load. 
 
 Shakes her encumber'd lap, and casts them out. 
 
 But censure profits little : vain the attempt 
 
 To advertise in verse a public pest. 
 
 That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds 
 
 His hungry acres, stinks, and is of use. 
 
 The excise is fatten'd with the rich result 
 
 Of all this riot ; and ten thousand casks, 
 
 For ever dribbling out their base contents, 
 
 Touch'd by the Midas finger of the state. 
 
 Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. 
 
 Drink, and be mad then ; 'tis your country bids ! 
 
 Gloriously drunk, obey the important call ! 
 
 Her cause demands the assistance of your throats ; — 
 
 "V'e all can swallow, and she asks no more. 
 
 Would I had fallen upon those happier days 
 That poets celebrate ; those golden times. 
 And those Arcadian scenes, that Maro sings, 
 And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose. 
 Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts 
 That felt their virtues: Innocents, it seems. 
 From courts dismiss'd, found shelter in the groves ; 
 The footsteps of Simplicity, impress'd 
 Upon the yielding herbage (so they sing). 
 Then were not all effaced : then speech profane. 
 And manners profligate, were rarely found. 
 Observed as prodigies, and soon reclaim'd. 
 Vain wish ! those days were never ; airy dreams 
 Sat for the picture; and the poet's hand, 
 Imparting substance to an empty shade. 
 Imposed 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 
 Impossible, when Virtue is so scarce. 
 That to suppose a scene where she presides. 
 Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief.
 
 296 THE TASK. 
 
 No : we are polish'd now. The rural lass. 
 
 Whom once her virgin modesty and grace. 
 
 Her artless manners, and her neat attire. 
 
 So dignified, that she was hardly less 
 
 Than the fair shepherdess of old romance. 
 
 Is seen no more. The character is lost ! 
 
 Her head, adom'd with lappet's pinn'd aloft. 
 
 And ribbons streaming gay, superbly raised. 
 
 And magnified beyond all human size, 
 
 Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand 
 
 For more than half the tresses it sustains ; 
 
 Her elbows rufiBed, and her tottering form 
 
 Ill-propp'd upon French heels j she might be deem'd 
 
 (But that the basket dangling on her arm 
 
 Interprets her more truly) of a rank 
 
 Too proud for dairy work, or sale of eggs. 
 
 Expect her soon with footboy at her heels. 
 
 No longer blushing for her awkward load. 
 
 Her train and her umbrella all her care ! 
 
 The town has ting'd the country ; and the stain 
 Appears a spot upon a vestal's robe. 
 The worse for what it soils. The fashion runs 
 Down into the scenes still rural; but, alas ! 
 Scenes rarely grac'd with rural manners now • 
 Time was, when in the pastoral retreat 
 The unguarded door was safe ; men did not watch 
 To invade another's right, or guard their own. 
 Then sleep was undisturb'd by fear, unscared 
 By drunken bowlings ; and the chilling tale 
 Of midnight murder was a wonder, heard 
 With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes. 
 But farewell now to unsuspicious nights. 
 And slumbers unalarm'd ! Now, ere you sleep, 
 See that your polish'd arms be primed with care. 
 And drop the night-bolt ; ruflJans are abroad ; 
 And the first larum of the cock's shrill throat 
 May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear 
 To horrid sounds of hostile feet within. 
 E'en daylight has its dangers ; and the walk 
 Through pathless wastes and woods, unconscious once 
 Of other tenants than melodious birds. 
 Or hannless flocks, is hazardous and bold.
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 297 
 
 Lamented change ! to which full many a cause 
 Inveterate, hopeless of a cure, conspires. 
 The course of human things from good to ill. 
 From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails. 
 Increase of power begets increase of wealth, 
 Wealth luxury, and luxury excess ; 
 Excess the scrofulous and itchy plague, 
 That seizes first the opulent, descends 
 To the next rank contagious, and in time 
 Taints downward all the graduated scale 
 Of order, from the chariot to the plough. 
 The rich, and they that have an arm to check 
 The licence of the lowest in degree. 
 Desert their office ; and themselves, intent 
 On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus 
 To all the violence of lawless hands 
 Resign the scenes their presence might protect. 
 Authority herself not seldom sleeps. 
 Though resident, and witness of the wrong. 
 The plump convivial parson often bears 
 The magisterial sword in vain, and lays 
 His reverence and his worship both to rest 
 On the same cushion of habitual sloth. 
 Perhaps timidity restrains his arm ; 
 When he should strike he trembles, and sets free, 
 Himself enslaved by terror of the ban. 
 The audacious convict whom he dares not bind. 
 Perhaps, though by profession ghostly pure. 
 He too may have his vice, and sometimes prove 
 Less dainty than becomes his grave outside 
 In lucrative concerns. Examine well 
 His milk-white hand; the palm is hardly clean — 
 But here and there an ugly smutch appears. 
 Foh ! 'twas a bribe that left it : he has touch'd 
 Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here 
 Propitious pays his tribute, game or fish. 
 Wild-fowl or venison ! and his errand speeds. 
 But faster far, and more than all the rest, 
 A noble cause, which none, who bears a spark 
 Of public virtue, ever wish'd removed, 
 Works the deplored and mischievous effect. 
 Tis universal soldiership has stabb'd 
 ■N2
 
 293 THE TASK. 
 
 The heart of merit in the meaner class. 
 Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage 
 Of those that bear them, in whatever cause, 
 Seera most at variance with all moral good. 
 And incompatible with serious thought. 
 The clown, the child of nature, without guile, 
 Bless'd with an infant's ignorance of all 
 But his own simple pleasures ; now and then 
 A wrestling-match, a foot-race, or a fair ; 
 Is ballotted, and trembles at the news : 
 Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears 
 A Bible-oath to be whate'er they please; 
 To do he knows not what. The task perform'di 
 That instant he becomes the Serjeant's care. 
 His pupil, and his torment, and his jest. 
 His awkward gait, his introverted toes. 
 Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks, 
 Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees. 
 Unapt to learn and form'd of stubborn stuff. 
 He yet by slow degrees puts off himself. 
 Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well ; 
 He stands erect : his slouch becomes a walk ; 
 He steps right onward, martial in his air, 
 His form, and movement; is as smart above 
 As meal and larded locks can make him ! wears 
 His hat, or his plumed helmet, with a grace; 
 And, his three years of heroship expired. 
 Returns indignant to the slighted plough. 
 He hates the field, in which no fife or drum 
 Attends him ; drives his cattle to a march , 
 And sighs for the smart comrades he has left. 
 'Twere well if his exterior change were all — 
 But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost 
 His ignorance and harmless manners too. 
 To swear, to game, to drink ; to shew at home 
 By lewdness, idleness, and sabbath-breach. 
 The great proficiency he made abroad ; 
 To astonish and to grieve his gazing friends. 
 To break some maiden's and his mother's heart : 
 To be a pest where he was useful once ; 
 Are his sole aim, and all his glory, now. 
 Man in society is like a flower
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 299 
 
 Blown in its native bed : 'tis there alone 
 
 His faculties, expanded in full bloom, 
 
 Shine out ; there only reach their proper use. 
 
 But man associated and leagued with man 
 
 By regal warrant, or self-join' d by bond 
 
 For interest-sake, or swarming into clans 
 
 Beneath one head, for purposes of war. 
 
 Like flowers selected from the rest, and bound 
 
 And bundled close to fill some crowded vase. 
 
 Fades rapidly, and, by compression marr d, 
 
 Contracts defilement not to be endured. 
 
 Hence charter'd boroughs are such public plagues; 
 
 And burghers, men immaculate perhaps 
 
 In all their private functions, once combined. 
 
 Become a loathsome body only fit 
 
 For dissolution, hurtful to the main. 
 
 Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin 
 
 Against the charities of domestic life. 
 
 Incorporated, seem at once to lose 
 
 Their nature ; and, disclaiming all regard 
 
 For mercy and the common rights of man, 
 
 Build factories with blood, conducting trade 
 
 At the sword's point, and dyeing the white robe 
 
 Of innocent commercial Justice red. 
 
 Hence to the field of glory, as the world 
 
 Misdeems it, dazzled by its bright array, 
 
 With all its majesty of thundering pomp. 
 
 Enchanting music, and immortal wreaths. 
 
 Is but a school, where thoughtlessness is taught 
 
 On principle, where foppery atones 
 
 For folly, gallantry for every vice. 
 
 But slighted as it is, and by the great 
 Abandon'd, and, which still I more regret. 
 Infected with the manners and the modes 
 It knew not once, the country wins me still. 
 I never framed a wish, or form'd a plan, 
 That flatter'd me with hopes of earthly bliss, 
 But there I laid the scene. There early stray 'd 
 My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice 
 Had found me, or the hope of being free. 
 My very dreams were rural ; rural too 
 The first-born efforts of my youthful muse,
 
 ;<00 THE TASK. 
 
 Sportive and jingling her poetic bells, 
 
 Ere yet her ear was mistress of their powers. 
 
 No bard could please me but whose lyre was tuned 
 
 To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats 
 
 Fatigued me, never weary of the pipe 
 
 Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang. 
 
 The rustic throng beneath his favourite beech. 
 
 Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms : 
 
 New to my uste, his Paradise surpass'd 
 
 The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue 
 
 To speak its exceUenee. I danced for joy. 
 
 I marvell'd much, that, at so ripe an age 
 
 As twice seven years, his beauties had then first 
 
 Engaged my wonder ; and admiring still. 
 
 And still admiring, with regret supposed 
 
 The joy half lost, because not sooner found. 
 
 There too, enamour'd of the life I loved. 
 
 Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit 
 
 Determined, and possessing it at last 
 
 With transports, such as favour'd lovers feel, 
 
 I studied, prized, and wish'd that I had known 
 
 Ingenuous Cowley ! and, though now reclaim'd 
 
 By modem lights from an erroneous taste, 
 
 I cannot but lament thy splendid wit 
 
 Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools. 
 
 I still revere thee, courtly though retired ' 
 
 Though stretch'd at ease in Chertsey's silent bowers. 
 
 Not unemploy'd : and finding rich amends 
 
 For a lost world in solitude and verse. 
 
 'Tis bom with all : the love of nature's works. 
 
 Is an ingredient in the compound man 
 
 Infused at the creation of the kind. 
 
 And, though the Almighty Maker has throughout 
 
 Discriminated each from each, by strokes 
 
 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. 
 
 But none without some relish, none unmoved. 
 
 It is a flame that dies not even there
 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 301 
 
 Where nothing feeds it: neither business, crowds, 
 
 Nor habits of luxurious city-life. 
 
 Whatever else they smother of true worth 
 
 In human bosoms, quench it or abate. 
 
 The villas with which London stands begirt. 
 
 Like a swarth Indian, with his belt of beads. 
 
 Prove it. A breath of unadulterate air. 
 
 The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer 
 
 The citizeu, and brace his languid frame ! 
 
 E'en in the stifling bosom of the town 
 
 A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms 
 
 That soothe the rich possessor ; much consoled 
 
 That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint. 
 
 Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well 
 
 He cultivates. These serve him with a hint 
 
 That Nature lives ; that sight-refreshing green 
 
 Is still the livery she delights to wear. 
 
 Though sickly samples of the exuberant whole. 
 
 What are the casements lined with creeping herbs. 
 
 The prouder sashes fronted with a range 
 
 Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed. 
 
 The Frenchman's darling ?* are they not all proofs. 
 
 That man, immured in cities, still retains 
 
 His inborn inextinguishable thirst 
 
 Of rural scenes, compensating his loss 
 
 By supplementary shifts, the best he may ? 
 
 The most unfurnish'd with the means of life. 
 
 And they, that never pass their brick-wall bounds. 
 
 To range the fields and treat their lungs with air. 
 
 Yet feel the burning instinct : over head 
 
 Suspend their crazy boxes, planted thick 
 
 And water'd duly. There the pitcher stands 
 
 A fragment, and the spoutless tea-pot there ; 
 
 Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets 
 
 The country, with what ardour he contrives 
 
 A peep at Nature, when he can no more. 
 
 Hail, therefore, patroness of health and ease. 
 And contemplation, heart-consoling joys, 
 And harmless pleasures, in the throng'd abode 
 Of multitudes unknown ; hail, rural life ! 
 Address himself who will to the pursuit 
 * Mignoaette.
 
 302 THE TASK. 
 
 Of honours, or emolument, or fame : 
 
 I shall not add myself to such a chase. 
 
 Thwart his attempts, or envy his success. 
 
 Some must be great. Great ofHces will have 
 
 Great talents ; and God gives to every man 
 
 The virtue, temper, understanding, taste. 
 
 That lifts him into life, and lets him fall 
 
 Just in the niche he was ordained to fill. 
 
 To the deliverer of an injured land 
 
 He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, a heart 
 
 To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs : 
 
 To monarchs dignity ; to judges sense ; 
 
 To artists ingenuity and skiU ; 
 
 To me, an unambitious mind, content 
 
 In the low vale of life, that early felt 
 
 A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long 
 
 Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd. 
 
 BOOK V. 
 
 A frosty morning.— The foddering of cattle.— The woodman and 
 his dog.— The poultry.— Whimsical effects of frost at a water- 
 falL — The empress of Russia's palace of ice. — Amusements of 
 monarchs. — War one of them. — Wars, whence. — And whence 
 monarchy. — The evils of it. — English and French loyalty con- 
 trasted.— The Bastille, and a prisoner there. — Liberty the chief 
 recommendation of this country. — Modern patriotism questioil- 
 able, and why. — The perishable nature of the best human in- 
 stitutions. — Spiritual liberty not perishable. — The slavish state 
 of man by nature. — Deliver him, Deist, if yon can. — Grace 
 must do it. — The respective merits of patriots and martyrs 
 stated. — Their different treatment. — Happy freedom of the 
 man whom grace makes free. — His relish of the works of God. 
 —Address to the Creator. 
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 
 
 'Tis morning ; and the sun, with ruddy orb 
 Ascending, fires th' horizon ; while the clouds. 
 That crowd away before the driving wind. 
 More ardent as the disk emerges more. 
 Resemble most some city in a blaze, 
 Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray 
 Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale. 
 And, tinging all with his own rosy hue.
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 303 
 
 From every herb and every spiry blade 
 Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field. 
 Mine, spindling into longitude immense. 
 In spite of gravity, and sage remark 
 That I myself am but a fleeting shade, 
 Provokes me to a smile. W ith eye askance 
 I view the muscular proportion'd limb 
 Transform'd to a lean shank. The shapeless pair, 
 As they design'd to mock me, at ray side 
 Take step for step ; and, as I near approach 
 The cottage, walk along the plaster'd wall. 
 Preposterous sight ! the legs without the man. 
 The verdure of the plain lies buried deep 
 Beneath the dazzling deluge ; and the bents. 
 And coarser grass, upspearing o'er the rest. 
 Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine 
 Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad. 
 And, fledged with icy feathers, nod superb. 
 The cattle mourn in comers, where the fence 
 Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep 
 In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait 
 Their wonted fodder ; not like hungering man. 
 Fretful if unsupplied : but silent, meek. 
 And patient of the slow-paced swain's delay. 
 He from the stack carves out the accustom'd load, 
 Deep-plunging, and again deep-plunging oft. 
 His broad keen knife into the solid mass : 
 Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands, 
 With such undeviating and even force 
 He severs it away : no heedless care. 
 Lest storms should overset the leaning pile 
 Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight. 
 Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcem'd 
 The cheerful haunts of man ; to wield the axe, 
 And drive the wedge, in yonder forest drear. 
 From mom to eve his solitary task. 
 Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears. 
 And tail cropp'd short, half lurcher, and half cur. 
 His dog attends him. Close behind his heel 
 Now creeps he slow ; and now, witli many a frisk 
 Wide-scampering, snatches up the drifted snow 
 With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout:
 
 304 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 
 
 To adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube, 
 
 That fumes beneath his nose : the trailing cloud 
 
 Streams far behind him, scenting all the air. 
 
 Now from the roost, or from the neighbouring pale, 
 
 Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam 
 
 Of smiling day, they gossip'd side by side. 
 
 Come trooping at the housewife's well-known call 
 
 The feather'd tribes domestic. 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 sheltering eaves. 
 
 To seize the fair occasion ; well they eye 
 
 The scatter'd grain, and thievishly resolved 
 
 To escape the impending famine, often scr.red 
 
 As oft return, a pert voracious kind. 
 
 Clean riddance quickly made, one only care 
 
 Remains to each, the search of sunny nook. 
 
 Or shed impervious to the blast. Resign'd 
 
 To sad necessity, the cock foregoes 
 
 His wonted strut : and wading at their head 
 
 With well-consider" d steps, seem to resent 
 
 His alter'd gait and stateliness retrench'd. 
 
 How find the myriads, that in summer cheer 
 
 The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs. 
 
 Due sustenance, or where subsist they now ? 
 
 Earth yields them naught ; the iraprison'd worm is safe 
 
 Beneath the frozen clod ; all seeds of herbs 
 
 Lie cover'd close; and berry-bearing thorns, 
 
 That feed the thrush (whatever some suppose), 
 
 Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. 
 
 The long-protracted rigour of the year 
 
 Thins all their numerous flocks. In chinks and holes 
 
 Ten thousand seek an unmolested end, 
 
 As instinct prompts ; self-buried ere they die. 
 
 The very rooks and daws forsake the fields 
 
 Where neither grub, nor root, nor earth-nut, now 
 
 Repays their labour more ; and perch'd aloft 
 
 By the wayside, or stalking in the path.
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 305 
 
 Lean pensioners upon the traveller's track. 
 
 Pick up their nauseous dole, though sweet to them. 
 
 Of voided pulse or half-digested grain. 
 
 The streams are lost amid the splendid bank, 
 
 O'erwhelming all distinction. On the flood. 
 
 Indurated and fix'd, the snowy weight 
 
 Lies undissolv'd, while silently beneath. 
 
 And unperceived, the current steals away. 
 
 Not so where, scornful of a check, it leaps 
 
 The mill-dam, dashes ou the restless wheel. 
 
 And wantons in the pebbly gulf below : 
 
 No frost can bind it there ; its utmost force 
 
 Can but arrest the light and smoky mist, 
 
 That in its .fall the liquid sheet throws wide. 
 
 And see where it has hung the embroider'd banks 
 
 With forms so various, that no powers of art. 
 
 The pencil or the pen, may trace the scene ! 
 
 Here glittering turrets rise, upbearing high 
 
 (Fantastic misarrangement !) on the roof 
 
 Large growth of what may seem the sparkling trees 
 
 And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops. 
 
 That trickle down the branches, fast congeal'd, 
 
 Shoot into pillars of pellucid length. 
 
 And prop the pile they but adorn'd before. 
 
 Here grotto within grotto safe defies 
 
 The sun-beam ; there, emboss'd and fretted wild. 
 
 The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes 
 
 Capricious, in which fancy seeks in vain 
 
 The likeness of some object seen before. 
 
 Thus Nature works as if to mock at Art, 
 
 And in defiance of her rival powers ; 
 
 By these fortu tous and random strokes 
 
 Performing such inimitable feats. 
 
 As she with all her rules vun never reach. 
 
 Less worthy of applause, though more aamired. 
 
 Because a novelty, the work of man, 
 
 Imperial mistress of the fur-clad lluss, 
 
 Tby most magnificent and mighty freak. 
 
 The wonder of the North. No forest fell. 
 
 When thou wouldst build, no quarry sent its stores 
 
 To enrich thy walls : but thou didst hew the floods. 
 
 And make thy marble of the glassy wave.
 
 306 THE TASK. 
 
 In such a palace Aristaus found 
 
 Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale 
 
 Of his lost bees to her maternal ear : 
 
 In such a palace Poetry might place 
 
 The armoury of Winter ; where his troops, 
 
 The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet, 
 
 Skin-piercing volley, blossom-bruising hail, 
 
 And snow, that often blinds the traveller's course. 
 
 And wraps him in an unexpected tomb. 
 
 Silently as a dream the fabric rose ; 
 
 No sound of hammer or of saw was there : 
 
 Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts 
 
 Were soon conjoined, nor other cement ask'd 
 
 Than water interfused to make them one. 
 
 Lamps gracefully disposed and of all hues, 
 
 Illumined every side ; a watery light 
 
 Gleam'd through the clear transparency, that seem'd 
 
 Another moon new risen, or meteor fallen 
 
 From heaven to earth, of lambent flame serene. 
 
 So stood the brittle prodigy ; though smooth 
 
 And slippery the materials, yet frost-bound 
 
 Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within. 
 
 That royal residence might well befit. 
 
 For grandeur or for use. Long wavy wreaths 
 
 Of flowers, that fear'd no enemy but warmth, 
 
 Blush'd on the pannels. Mirror needed none 
 
 Where all was vitreous ; but in order due 
 
 Convivial table and commodious seat 
 
 (What seem'd at least commodious seat) were there ; 
 
 Sofa, and couch, and high-built throne august, 
 
 The same lubricity was found in all. 
 
 And all was moist to the warm touch ; a scene 
 
 Of evanescent glory, once a stream. 
 
 And soon to slide into a stream again. 
 
 Alas ! 'twas but a mortifying stroke 
 
 Of undesign'd severity, that glanced 
 
 (Made by a monarch) on her own estate. 
 
 On human grandeur and the courts of kings. 
 
 'Twas transient in its nature, as in show 
 
 'Twas durable; as worthless as it seem'd 
 
 Intrinsically precious ; to the foot 
 
 Treacherous and false ; it smiled, and it was cold.
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 307 
 
 Great princes have great playthings. Some have play'd 
 At hewing moxintains into men, and some 
 At building human wonders mountain-high. 
 Some have amused the dull sad years of Ufe 
 (Life spent in indolence, and therefore sad) 
 With schemes of monumental fame ; and sought 
 By pyramids and mausolean pomp, 
 Short-lived themselves, to immortalize their bones. 
 Some seek diversion in the tented field, 
 And make the sorrows of mankind their sport. 
 But war's a game, which, were their subjects wise, 
 Kings would not play at. Nations would do well 
 To extort their truncheons from the puny hands 
 Of heroes, whose infirm and baby minds 
 Are gratified with mischief; and who spoil. 
 Because men sufifer it, their toy the World. 
 
 When Babel was confounded, and the great 
 Confederacy of projectors wild and vain 
 Was split into diversity of tongues. 
 Then, as a shepherd separates his flock. 
 These to the upland, to the valley those, 
 God drave asunder, and assign'd their lot 
 To all the nations. Ample was the boon 
 He gave them, in its distribution fair 
 And equal ; and he bade them dwell in peace. 
 Peace was awhile their care ; they plough'd and sow'd, 
 And reai)'d their plenty without grudge or strife. 
 But violence can never longer sleep 
 Than human passions please. In every heart 
 Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war ; 
 Occasion needs but fan them, and they blaze. 
 Cain had already shed a brother's blood : 
 The Deluge wash'd it out; but left unquench'd 
 The seeds of murder in the breast of man. 
 Soon by a righteous judgment in the line 
 Of his descending progeny was found 
 The first artificer of death; the shrewd 
 Contriver, who first sweated at the forge. 
 And forced the blunt and yet unbloodied steel 
 To a keen edge, and made it bright for war. 
 Him, Tubal named, the Vulcan of old times. 
 The sword and falchion their inventor claim :
 
 308 THE TASK. 
 
 And the first smith was the first murderer's son. 
 
 His art survived the waters ; and ere long. 
 
 When man was multiplied and spread abroad 
 
 In tribes and clans, and had begun to call 
 
 These meadows and that range of hills his own. 
 
 The tasted sweets of property begat 
 
 Desire of more, and industry in some. 
 
 To improve and cultivate their just demesne. 
 
 Made others covet what they saw so fair. 
 
 Thus war began on earth : These fought for spoil. 
 
 And those in self-defence. Savage at first 
 
 The onset and irregular. At length 
 
 One eminent above the rest for strength. 
 
 For stratagem, for courage, or for all. 
 
 Was chosen leader ; him they served in war. 
 
 And him in peace, for sake of warhke deeds 
 
 Reverenced no less. Who could with him compare ? 
 
 Or who so worthy to control themselves. 
 
 As he whose prowess had subdued their foes ? 
 
 Thus war, affording field for the display 
 
 Of virtue, made one chief, whom times of peace. 
 
 Which have their exigencies too, and call 
 
 For skill in government, at length made king. 
 
 King was a name too proud for man to wear 
 
 With modesty and meekness ; and the crown 
 
 So dazzling, in their eyes, who set it on. 
 
 Was sure to intoxicate the brows it bound. 
 
 It is the abject property of most. 
 
 That, being parcel of the common mass. 
 
 And destitute of means to raise themselves. 
 
 They sink, and settle lower than they need. 
 
 They know not what it is to feel within 
 
 A comprehensive faculty, that grasps 
 
 Great purposes with ease, that turns and wields. 
 
 Almost without an effort, plans too vast 
 
 For their conception which they cannot move. 
 
 Conscious of impotence they soon grow drunk 
 
 With gazing, when they see an able man 
 
 Step forth to notice: and besotted thus. 
 
 Build him a pedestal, and say, ' Stand there, 
 
 And be our admiration and our praise.' 
 
 They roll themselves before him in the dust.
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 309 
 
 Then most deserving in their own account. 
 
 When most extravagant in his applause: 
 
 As if exalting him they raised themselves. 
 
 Thus by degrees, self-cheated of their sound 
 
 And sober judgment, that he is but man. 
 
 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 
 
 The World was made in vain, if not for him. 
 
 Thenceforth they are his cattle : drudges, born 
 
 To bear his burdens, drawing in his gears. 
 
 And sweating in his service, his caprice 
 
 Becomes the soul that animates them all. 
 
 He deems a thousand, or ten thousand lives, 
 
 Spent in the purchase of renown for him, 
 
 An easy reckoning ; and they think the same. 
 
 Thus kings were first invented, and thus kings 
 
 Were burnished into heroes, and became 
 
 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. 
 
 E'en in the cradled weakness of the world ! 
 
 Still stranger much, that when at length mankind 
 
 Had reach'd the sinewy firmness of their youth, 
 
 And could discriminate and argue well 
 
 On subjects more mysterious, they were yet 
 
 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, 
 
 Can even now, when they are grown mature 
 
 In wisdom, and with philosophic deeds 
 
 Familiar, serve to emancipate the rest ! 
 
 Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone 
 
 To reverence what is ancient, and can plead 
 
 A. course of long observance for its use. 
 
 That even servitude, the worst of ills,
 
 310 THE TASK, 
 
 Because delivered down from sire to son, 
 
 Is kept and guarded as a sacred thing. 
 
 But is it fit, or can it bear the shock 
 
 Or rational discussion, that a man. 
 
 Compounded and made up like other men 
 
 Of elements tumultuous, in whom lust 
 
 And folly in as ample measure meet. 
 
 As in the bosoms of the slaves he rules. 
 
 Should be a despot absolute, and boast 
 
 Himself the only freeman of his land I 
 
 Should, when he pleases, and on whom' he will, 
 
 Wage war, with any or with no pretence 
 
 Of provocation given, or wrong sustain'd. 
 
 And force the beggarly last doit, by means 
 
 That his own humour dictates, from the clutch 
 
 Of Poverty, that thus he may procure 
 
 His thousands, weary of penurious life, 
 
 A splendid opportunity to die ? 
 
 Say ye, who {with less prudence than of old 
 
 Jotham ascribed to his assembled trees 
 
 In politic convention) put your trust 
 
 In the shadow of a bramble, and reclined 
 
 In fancied peace beneath his dangerous branch, 
 
 Rejoice in him, and celebrate his sway. 
 
 Where find ye passive fortitude ? Whence springs 
 
 Your self-denying zeal, that holds it good. 
 
 To stroke the prickly grievance, and to hang 
 
 His thorns with streamers of continual praise ? 
 
 We too are friends to loyalty. We love 
 
 The king who loves the law, respects his bi^unds, 
 
 And reigns content within them ; him we serve 
 
 Freely and with delight, who leaves us free : 
 
 But recollecting still that he is man. 
 
 We trust him not too far. King though he be, 
 
 And king in England too, he may be weak. 
 
 And vain enough to be ambitious still ; 
 
 May exercise amiss his proper powers, 
 
 Or covet more than freemen choose to grant ; 
 
 Beyond that mark is treason. He is ours. 
 
 To administer, to guard, to adorn the state. 
 
 But not to warp or change it. We are his. 
 
 To serve him nobly in the common cause.
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 311 
 
 True to the death, but not to be his slaves. 
 Mark now the difference, ye that boast your love 
 Of kings, between your loyalty and ours. 
 We love the man, the paltry pageant you : 
 We the chief patron of the commonwealth, 
 You the regardless author of its woes : 
 We for the sake of liberty a king, 
 You chains and bondage for a tyrant's sake. 
 Our love is principle, and has its root 
 In reason, is judicious, manly, free: 
 Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to the rod. 
 And licks the foot that treads it in the dust. 
 Were kingship as true treasure as it seems, 
 Sterling, and worthy of a wise man's wish, 
 I would not be a king to be beloved 
 Causeless, and daub'd with undisceniing praise. 
 Where love is mere attachment to the throne ; 
 Not to the man who fills it as he ought. 
 
 Whose freedom is by sufferance, and at will 
 Of a superior, he is never free. 
 Who lives and is not weary of a life 
 Exposed to manacles, deserves them well. 
 The state, that strives for liberty, though foil'd. 
 And forced to abandon what she bravely sought. 
 Deserves at least applause for her attempt. 
 And pity for her loss. But that's a cause 
 Not often unsuccessful : power usurp'd 
 Is weakness when opposed ; conscious of wrong, 
 'Tis pusillanimous and prone to flight. 
 But slaves, that once conceive the glowing thouglu 
 Of freedom, in that hope itself possess 
 All that the contest calls for; spirit, strength. 
 The scorn of danger, and united hearts : 
 The surest presage of the good they seek.* 
 
 Then shame to manhood, and opprobrious motf 
 To France than all her losses and defeats. 
 Old or of later date, by sea or land, 
 Her house of bondage, worse than that of old 
 
 * The author hopps th.it he shall not be censuroil for unneces- 
 sary warmth upon so interesting a suhjcct. He is aware, that it 
 is become almost fashionable to stigmatise such scntimenu as 
 no better than empty declamatiou ; but it is an ill symptom, nnU 
 peculiar to modem times.
 
 312 THE TASK. 
 
 "Which God avenged on Pharaoh— the Bastile, 
 Ye horrid towers, the abode of broken hearts ; 
 Ve dungeons, and ye cages of despair. 
 That monarcbs have suppUed from age to age 
 With music, such as suits their sovereign ears. 
 The sighs and groans of miserable men ! 
 There's not an Enghsh heart that would not leap 
 To hear that ye were fallen at last ; to know 
 That e"en our enemies, so oft employ'd 
 In forging chains for us, tliemselves were free. 
 For he who values Liberty, confines 
 His zeal for her predominance within 
 No narrow bounds ; her cause engages him 
 Wherever pleaded. 'Tis the cause of man. 
 There dwell the most forlorn of human kind, 
 [mmured, though unaccused, condemned untried, 
 Cruelly spared and hopeless of escape. 
 There, like the visionary emblem seen 
 By him of Babylon, hfe stands a stump. 
 And, fiUeted about with hoops of brass, 
 Still lives, though all its pleasant boughs are gona 
 To count the hour-bell and expect no change ; 
 And ever, as the suUen sound is heard. 
 Still to reflect that, though a joyous note 
 To him whose moments all have one duU pace, 
 Ten thousand rovers in the world at large 
 Account it music ; that it summons some 
 To theatre or jocund feast, or ball : 
 The wearied hireling finds it a release 
 From labour, and the lover, who has chid 
 Its long delay, feels every welcome stroke 
 Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delight- 
 To fly for refuge from distracting thought 
 To such amusements as ingenious woe 
 Contrives, hard-shifting, and without her tools— 
 To read engraven on the mouldy walls, 
 In staggering types, his predecessor's tale, 
 A sad memorial, and subjoin his own — 
 To turn purveyor to an overgorged 
 And bloated spider, till the pamper'd pest 
 Is made famiUar, watches his approach, 
 Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend —
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 313 
 
 To wear out time in numbering to and fro 
 
 The studs, that thick emboss his iron door ; 
 
 Then downward and then upward, then aslant 
 
 And then alternate; with a sickly hope 
 
 By dint of change to give his tasteless task 
 
 Some relish ! till the sura, exactly found 
 
 In all directions, he begins again — 
 
 Oh comfortless existence ! 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, 
 
 Abridge him of his just and native rights. 
 
 Eradicate him, tear him from his hold 
 
 Upon the endearments of domestic life. 
 
 And social, nip his fruitfulness and use. 
 
 And doom him, for perhaps a heedless word, 
 
 To barrenness, and solitude, and tears. 
 
 Moves indignation, makes the name of king 
 
 (Of king whom such prerogative can please) 
 
 As dreadful as the Manichean god. 
 
 Adored through fear, strong only to destroy. 
 
 'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower 
 Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume ; 
 And we are weeds without it. All constraint, 
 Except what wisdom lays on eVil men, 
 Is evil : hurts the faculties, impedes 
 Their progress in the road of science ; blinds 
 The eyesight of Discovery : and begets 
 In those that suffer it a sordid mind. 
 Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit 
 To be the tenant of man's noble form. 
 Thee therefore still, blameworthy as thou art. 
 With all thy loss of empire, and though squeezed 
 By public exigence, till annual food 
 Fails for the craving hunger of the state, 
 Thee I account still happy, and the chief 
 Among the nation^, seeing thou art free. 
 My native nook of earth 1 Thy clime is rude. 
 Replete with vapours, and disposes much 
 All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine. 
 Thine unadulterate manners are less soft 
 And plausible than social life requires, 
 O
 
 314 THE TASK. 
 
 And tho'i hast need of discipline and art 
 To give thee what politer Fiance receives 
 From Nature's bounty — that humane address 
 And sweetness, without which no pleasure is 
 In converse; either starved by cold reserve. 
 Or flush'd with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl. 
 Yet being free, I love thee : for the sake 
 Of that one feature, can be well content, 
 Disgraced as thou hast been, poor as thou art. 
 To seek no sublunary rest beside. 
 But, once enslaved, farewell ! I could endure 
 Chains no where patiently ; and chains at home, 
 Where I am free by birthright, not at all. 
 Then what were left of roughness in the grain 
 Of British natures, wanting its excuse 
 That it belongs to freemen, would disgust 
 And shock me. I should then with double pain 
 Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime ; 
 And, if I must bewail the blessing lost. 
 For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, 
 I would at least bewail it under skies 
 Milder, among a people less austere; 
 In scenes, which, having never known me free, 
 Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. 
 Do I forebode impossible events. 
 And tremble at vain dreams ? Heaven grant I may 
 But the age of virtuous politics is past. 
 And we are deep in that of cold pretence. 
 Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere, 
 And we too wise to trust them. He that take= 
 Deep in his soft credulity the stamp 
 Design'd by loud declaimers on the part 
 Of liberty, themselves the slaves of lust, 
 Incurs derision for his easy faith. 
 And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough : 
 For when was public virtue to be found. 
 Where private was not ? Can he love the whole. 
 Who loves no part f He be a nation's friend, 
 Who is in truth the friend of no man there ? 
 Can he be strenuous in his country's cause. 
 Who slights the charities for whose dear sake 
 That country, if at all, must be beloved ? 
 'Tis therefore sober and good men are sad
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 315 
 
 For England's glory, seeing it wax pale 
 
 And sickly, while her champions wear Iheir hearts 
 
 !50 loose to private duty, that no brain. 
 
 Healthful and undisturb'd by factious fumes, 
 
 Can dream them trusty to the ger.eral weal. 
 
 Such were not they of old, whose tcmpcr'd blades 
 
 Dispcrs'd the shackles of usurp'd control. 
 
 And hew'd them link from link ; then Albion's sons 
 
 Were sons indeed : they felt a filial heart 
 
 Beat high within Ihem at a mother's wrongs; 
 
 And, shining each in his domestic sphere. 
 
 Shone brighter still, once call'd to public view. 
 
 'Tis therefore many, whose setjuester'd lot 
 
 Forbids their interference, looking on. 
 
 Anticipate perforce some dire event ; 
 
 And, seeing the old castle of the stale. 
 
 That promised once more firmness, so assail'd, 
 
 That all its tempest-beaten turrets shake. 
 
 Stand motionless expectants of its falL 
 
 -Ml has its date below ; the fatal hour 
 
 Was register'd in Heav'n ere time began. 
 
 We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works 
 
 Die too; the deep foundations that we lay, 
 
 Time ploughs them up, and not a trace remains. 
 
 We build with what we deem eternal rock: 
 
 .\ distant age asks where the fabric stood ; 
 
 And in the dust, sifted and search'd in vain. 
 
 The undiscovcrable secret sleeps. 
 
 Rut there is yet a liberty, unsung 
 Ry poets, and by senators unpraised, 
 Wliich monarchs caimot grant, nor all the powers 
 Of earth and hell confederate take away : 
 A liberty, which persecution, fraud, 
 Ojipression, prisons, have no power to bind; 
 Which whoso tastes can be enslaved no more. 
 'Tis liberty of heart derived from Heaven, 
 Bought with His blood, who gave it to mankind. 
 And seal'd with the same token. It is held 
 By charter, and that charter sanction'd sure 
 By the unimpeachable and awful oath 
 And promise of a God. His other gifts 
 All bear the royal stamp, that speaks them his,
 
 316 THE TASK. 
 
 And are august ; but this transcends them all. 
 His other works, the visible display 
 Of all-creating energy and might. 
 Are grand no doubt, and worthy of the word. 
 That, finding an interminable space 
 Unoccupied, has fiU'd the void so well. 
 And made so sparkling what was dark before. 
 But these are not his glory, Man, 'tis true, 
 Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene. 
 Might v.ell suppose the Artificer divine 
 Meant it eternal, had he not himself 
 Pronounced it transient, glorious as it is. 
 And, still desigiing a more glorious far, 
 Doom'd it as insufficient for his praise. 
 These therefore are occasional, and pass : 
 Form'd for the confutation of the fool. 
 Whose lying heart disputes against a God ; 
 That office serv'd, they must be swept away. 
 Not so the labours of his love : they shine 
 In other heavens than these that we behold. 
 And fade not. There is Paradise that fears 
 No forfeiture, and of its fruits he sends 
 Large prelibation oft to saints below. 
 Of these the first in order, and the pledge. 
 And confident assurance of the rest. 
 Is liberty ; a flight into his arms. 
 Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way* 
 A clear escape from tyrannizing lust, 
 And full immunity from penal woe. 
 
 Chains are the portion of revolted man. 
 Stripes, and a dungeon ; and his body serves 
 The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul. 
 Opprobrious residence he finds them all. 
 Prepense his heart to idols, he is held 
 In silly dotage on created things. 
 Careless of their Creator. And that low 
 And sordid gravitation of his powers 
 To a vile clod so draws him, with such force 
 Resistless from the centre he should seek. 
 That he at last forgets it. All his hopes 
 Tend downward ; his ambition is to sink. 
 To reach a depth profounder still, and still
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 317 
 
 Profounder, in the fathomless abyss 
 Of folly, plunging in pursuit of death. 
 But ere he gain the comfortless repose 
 He seeks, and acquiescence of his soul 
 In heaven-renouncing exile, he endures — 
 What does he not, from lusts opposed in vain, 
 And self-reproaching conscience? He foresees 
 The fatal issue to his health, fame, peace. 
 Fortune, and dignity ; the loss of all 
 That can ennoble man, and make frail life. 
 Short as it is, supportable. Still worse. 
 Far worse than all the plagues, with which his sins. 
 Infect his happiest moments, he forebodes 
 Ages of hopeless misery. Future death. 
 And death still future. Not a hasty stroke. 
 Like that which sends him to the dusty grave ; 
 But unrepealable enduring death. 
 Scripture is still a trumpet to his fears : 
 What none can prove a forgery may be true ; 
 What none but bad men wish exploded must. 
 That scruple checks him. Riot is not loud 
 Nor drunk enough, to drown it. In the midst 
 Of laughter his compunctions are sincere ; 
 And he abhors the jest by which he shines. 
 Remorse begets reform. His master-lust 
 Falls first before his resolute rebuke. 
 And seems dethroned and vanquish'd. Peace ensues. 
 But spurious and short-lived, the puny child 
 Of self-congratulating Pride, begot 
 On fancied innocence. Again he falls. 
 And fights again ; but finds his best essay 
 A presage ominous, portending still 
 Its own dishonour by a worse relapse. 
 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 
 Perversely, which of late she so condemned ; 
 With shallow shifts and old devices, worn 
 And tatter'd in the service of debauch, 
 Covering his shame from his offended sight. 
 ' Hath God indeed given appetites to man.
 
 318 THE TASK. 
 
 And stored 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 
 
 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 
 
 Their weekly dole of edifying strains, 
 
 Attend to their own music ? have they faith 
 
 In what, with such solemnity of tone 
 
 And gesture, they propound to our belief? 
 
 Nay— conduct hath the loudest tongue. The voice 
 
 Is but an instrument, on which the priest 
 
 May play what tune he pleases. In the deed, 
 
 The unequivocal, authentic deed. 
 
 We find sound argument, we read the heart.' 
 
 Such reasonings (if that name must needs belong 
 To excuses in which reason has no part) 
 Serve to compose a spirit well inclined 
 To live on terms of amity with vice, 
 And sin without disturbance. Often urged 
 (As often as libidinous discourse 
 Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes 
 Of theological and grave import) 
 They gain at last his unreserved assent 
 Till, hardeu'd his heart's temper in the forge 
 Of lust, and on the anvil of despair, 
 He slights the strokes of conscience. Nothing move?; 
 Or nothing much, his constancy in ill ; 
 Vain tampering has but foster'd his disease ; 
 'Tis desperate, and he sleeps the sleep of death. 
 Haste now, philosopher, and set him free. 
 Charm the deaf serpent wisely. Make him hear 
 Of rectitude and fitness, moral truth 
 How lovely, and the moral sense how sure, 
 Consulted and obey'd, to guide his steps 
 Directly to the^r^^ and onhj fair. 
 Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the power. 
 Of rant and rhapsody in virtue's praise ;
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 319 
 
 Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand, 
 And with poetic trappings grace thy prose. 
 Till it outmantle all the pride of verse. — 
 Ah, tinkling cymbal, and high-sounding brass. 
 Smitten in vain ! such music cannot charm 
 The eclipse, that intercepts truth's heavenly beam, 
 And chills and darkens a wide-wandering souL 
 The still small voice is wanted. He must speak, 
 Whose word leaps forth at once to its effect ; 
 Who calls for things that are not, and they come. 
 
 Grace makes the slave a freeman. 'Tis a change. 
 That turns to ridicule the turgid speech 
 And stately tone of moralists, who boast. 
 As if, like him of fabulous renown, 
 They had indeed ability to smooth 
 The shag of savage nature, and were each 
 An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song; 
 But transformation of apostate man 
 From fool to wise, from earthly to divine. 
 Is work for Him that made him He alone. 
 And he by means in philosophic eyes 
 Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves 
 The wonder : humanizing what is brute 
 In the lost kind, extracting from the lips 
 Of asps their venom, overpowing strength 
 By weakness, and hostility by love. 
 
 Patriots havetoil'd, and in their country's cause 
 Bled nobly ; and their deeds, as they deserve. 
 Receive proud recompence. We give in charge 
 Their names to the sweet lyre. Th' historic muse, 
 Proud of the treasure, marches with it down 
 To latest times; and Sculpture, in her turn. 
 Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass 
 To guard them, and to immortalize her trust: 
 But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid. 
 To those, who, posted at the shrine of Truth, 
 Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood, 
 Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed. 
 And for a time ensure, to his loved land 
 The sweets of liberty and equal laws; 
 But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize. 
 And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed
 
 320 THE TASK. 
 
 In confirmation of the noblest claim. 
 
 Our claim to feed upon immortal truth. 
 
 To walk with God, to be divinely free, 
 
 To soar, and to anticipate the skies. 
 
 Yet few remember them. They lived unknown. 
 
 Till persecution dragg'd them into fame. 
 
 And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew 
 
 — No marble tells us whither. With their names 
 
 No bard embalms and sanctifies his song ; 
 
 And hi&tory, so warm on meaner themes. 
 
 Is cold on this. She execrates indeed 
 
 The tyramiy, that doom'd them to the fire. 
 
 But gives the glorious sufferers little praise.* 
 
 He is the freeman, whom the truth makes free. 
 And all are slaves besides. There's not a chain. 
 That hellish foes, confederate for his harm. 
 Can wind around him, but he casts it off 
 With as much ease as Samson his green withes. 
 He looks abroad into the varied field 
 Of nature, and though poor perhaps compared 
 With those whose mansions glitter in his sight. 
 Calls the delightful scenery all his own. 
 His are the mountains, and the valleys his. 
 And the resplendent rivers : his to enjoy 
 With a propriety that none can feel. 
 But who, with filial confidence inspired. 
 Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye. 
 And smiling say — • My Father made them all !' 
 Are they not his by a peculiar right. 
 And by an emphasis of interest his. 
 Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy. 
 Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind 
 With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love. 
 That plann'd, and built, and still upholds, a world 
 So clothed with beauty for rebellious man? 
 Yes— ye may fill your garners, ye that reap 
 The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good 
 In senseless riot ; but ye will not find 
 In feast, or in the chase, in song or dance, 
 A liberty like his, who unimpeach'd 
 Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, 
 * See Hianc
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 321 
 
 Appropriates nature as his Father's work, 
 
 And has a richer use of yours than you. 
 
 He is iiideed a freeman. Free by birth 
 
 Of no mean city ; plann'd or ere the hilis 
 
 Were built, the fountains cpeu'd, or the £.\i, 
 
 With all his roaring multitude of waves. 
 
 His freedom is the same in every state; 
 
 And no condition of this changeful life. 
 
 So manifold in cares, whose every day 
 
 Brings its own evil with it, makes it less: , 
 
 For he has wings, that neither sickness, pain, 
 
 Nor penury, can cripple or confine. 
 
 No nook so narrow but he spreads them there 
 
 With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds 
 
 His body bound, but knows not what a range 
 
 His spirit takes unconscious of a chain ; 
 
 And that to bind him is a vain attempt. 
 
 Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells. 
 
 Acquaint thyself with God, if tliou wouldst taste 
 His works. Admitted once to his embrace. 
 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, 
 And eyes intent upon the scanty herb 
 It yields them ; or, recumbent on its brow. 
 Ruminate heedless of the scene outspread 
 Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away 
 From inland regions to the distant main. 
 Man views it, and admires ; but rests content 
 With what he views. The landscape has his praise, 
 But not its Author. Unconcern'd who form'd 
 The Paradise he sees, he finds it such. 
 And, such well pleased to find it, aslis no more. 
 Not so the mind that has been touch'd from heaven. 
 And in the school of sacred wisdom taught 
 To read his wonders, in whose thought the world, 
 Fair as it is, existed eic it was. 
 Not for its own sake merely, but for his 
 Much more, who fashion'd it, he gives it praise; 
 Praise that from Earth resulting, as it ought, / 
 
 02
 
 322 THE TASK. 
 
 To Earth's acknowledged Sovereign, finds at once 
 Its only just proprietor in Him. 
 The soul that sees him, or receives sublimed 
 New faculties, or learns at least to employ 
 More worthily the powers she own'd before. 
 Discerns in all things what, with stupid gaze 
 Of ignorance, till then she overlook'd, 
 A ray of heavenly light, gilding all forms 
 Terrestrial in the vast and the minute; 
 tf he unambiguous footsteps of the God, 
 Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing. 
 And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. 
 Much conversant with Heaven, she often holds 
 With those f?,ir ministers of light to man, 
 That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp. 
 Sweet conference. Inquires what strains were tiiey 
 With which Heaven rang, when every star, in haste 
 To gratulate the new-created Earth, 
 Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God 
 Shouted for joy. — • Tell me, ye shining hosts 
 That navigate a sea that knows no storms. 
 Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud. 
 If from your elevation, whence ye view 
 Distinctly scenes invisible to man. 
 And systems, of whose biith no tidings yet 
 Have reach'd this nether world, ye spy a race 
 Favour'd as ours ; trangressors from the womb. 
 And hasting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise. 
 And to possess a brighter heaven than yours ? 
 As one, who, long detain'd on foreign shores. 
 Pants to return, and when he sees afar 
 His country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd rocks 
 From the green wave emerging, darts an eye 
 Radiant with joy towards the happy land ; 
 So I with animated hopes behold. 
 And many an aching wish, your beamy fires. 
 That shew like beacons in the blue abyss, 
 Ordain'd to guide th* embodied spirit home 
 From toilsome life to never-ending rest. 
 Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires. 
 That give assurance of their own success. 
 And that, infused from Heaven, Jttust thither tend.'
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 323 
 
 So reads he Nature, whom the lamp of truth 
 Illuminates. Thy lamfi, mysterious Word ! 
 Which whoso sees no longer wanders lost. 
 With intellects bemazed in endless doubt. 
 But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built 
 With means, that were not, till by thee employed. 
 Worlds, that had never been hadst thou in strength 
 Been less, or less benevolent than strong. 
 They are thy witnesses, who speak thy power 
 And goodness infinite, but speak in ears 
 That hear not, or receive not their report. 
 In vain thy creatures testify of tliee, 
 Till thou proclaim thyself. Theirs is indeetl 
 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. 
 Till thou art heard, imaginations vain 
 Possess the heart, and fables false as Hell ; 
 Yet, deem'd oracular, lure down to death 
 The uninform'd and heedless souls of men. 
 We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind, 
 The glory of thy work ; which yet appears 
 Perfect and unimpeachable of blame. 
 Challenging human scrutiny, and proved 
 Then skilful most when most severely judged. 
 But chance is not ; or is not where thou reign'st : 
 Thy providence forbids that fickle power 
 (If power she be, that works but to confound) 
 To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. 
 Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can 
 Instruction, and inventing to ourselves 
 Gods, such as guilt makes welcome ; gods that sleep. 
 Or disregard our follies, or that sit 
 Amused spectators of this bustling stage. 
 Thee we reject, unable to abide 
 Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure. 
 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 Heaven 
 Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. 
 A voice is heard, that mortal ears hear not,
 
 ^4 THE TASK. 
 
 Till thou hsst touch'd them ; 'tis the voice or song, 
 A loud Hosanna sent from all thy works ; 
 Which he that hears it with a shout repeats. 
 And adds his rapture to the general praise. 
 In that bless'd moment Nature, throwing wide 
 Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile 
 The author of her beauties, who, retired 
 Behind his own creation, works unseen 
 By the impure, and hears his power denied. 
 Thou art the source and centre of all minds, 
 Their only point of rest, eternal Word ! 
 From thee departing they are lost, and rove 
 At random, without honour, hope, or peace. 
 From thee is all that soothes the life of man. 
 His high endeavour, and his glad success. 
 His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. 
 But oh ! thou bounteous Giver of all good. 
 Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown ! 
 Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor : 
 And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. 
 
 BOOK VI. 
 
 Bells at a distance.— Their effect.— A fine noou in winter.— A 
 sheltered 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 de- 
 scribed. — A mistake concerning the course of nature corrected — 
 God maintains it by an unremitted act. — The amusements fashion- 
 able at this hour of the- dav reproved. — Anircals happy, a de- 
 lightful sight.— Origin of cru'em- to animals.— That it is a great 
 crime proved from Scripture.— That proof illustrated by a tale.— 
 A line drawn between the lawful and unlawful destruction of 
 them. — Their good and useful properties insisted on. — .\pologj' 
 for the encomiums bestowed by the author on animals. — In- 
 stances of man's extravagant praise of man.— The groans of the 
 creation shall have an end. — A view taken of the restoration of 
 all things. — An invocation and an invitation of Him who shall 
 bring it to pass.— The retired man vindicated from the charge of 
 uselessness.- Conclusion. 
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 
 
 There is in souls a sympathy with sounds. 
 And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleased 
 With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave; 
 Some chord in unison with what we hear
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 825 
 
 Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies. 
 
 How soft the music of those village bells. 
 
 Falling at intervals upon the ear 
 
 In cadence sweet, now dying all nway. 
 
 Now pealing loud again, and louder still, 
 
 Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on ! 
 
 With easy force it opens all the cells 
 
 Where Mem'ry slept. Wherever I have heard 
 
 A kindred melody, the scene recurs. 
 
 And with it all its pleasures and its pains. 
 
 Such comprehensive views the spirit takes. 
 
 That in a few short moments I retrace 
 
 (As in a map the voyager his course) 
 
 The windings of my way through many years. 
 
 Short as in retrospect the journey seems. 
 
 It seem'd not always short ; the rugged path, 
 
 And prospect oft, so dreary and forlorn, 
 
 Moved many a^igh at its disheart'niiig length. 
 
 Vet feeling present evils, v/hile the past 
 
 Faintly impress the mind, or not at all, 
 
 How readily we wish time spent revoked, 
 
 That we might try the ground again where once 
 
 (Through inexperience, as we now perceive) 
 
 We miss'd that happiness we might have found ! 
 
 Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend, 
 
 A father, whose authority, in show 
 
 When most severe, and mustering all its force. 
 
 Was but the graver countenance of love ; 
 
 Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lower. 
 
 And utter now and then an awful voire, 
 
 Jiut had a blessing in its darkest frown, 
 
 rhrcat'ningat once and nourishing the plant : 
 
 We loved, but not enough, the gentle hand 
 
 That rear'd us At a thoughtless age, allured 
 
 By every gilded folly, we renounced 
 
 His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent 
 
 That converse, which we now in vain regret. 
 
 How gladly would the man recal 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, 
 
 Sorrow I'.as, since they went, subdued and tamed
 
 326 THE TASK. 
 
 The playful humour ; he could now endure 
 
 (Himself grown sober in the vale of tears). 
 
 And feel a parent's presence no restraint. 
 
 But not to understand a treasure's worth. 
 
 Till time has stolen away the slighted good. 
 
 Is cause of half the poverty we feel. 
 
 And makes the world the wilderness it is. 
 
 The few that pray at all pray oft amiss. 
 
 And, seeking grace to improve the prize they hold. 
 
 Would urge a wiser suit than asking more. 
 
 ^' The night was winter in his roughest mood ; 
 
 The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon 
 
 Upon the southern side of the slant hills, 
 
 And where the woods fence off the northern blast, 
 
 The season smiles, resigning all its rage. 
 
 And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue 
 
 Without a cloud, and white without a speck 
 
 The dazzling splendour of the scene belflw. 
 
 Again the harmony comes o'er the vale ; 
 
 And through the trees I view th' embattled tower. 
 
 Whence all the music. I again perceive 
 
 The soothing influence of the wafted strains. 
 
 And settle in soft musings as I tread 
 
 The walk, still verdant, under oaks and elms. 
 
 Whose outspread branches overarch the glade. 
 
 The roof, though moveable through all its length 
 
 As the wind sways it, has yet well sufficed. 
 
 And, intercepting in their silent fall 
 
 The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. 
 
 No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. 
 
 The redbreast warbles still, but is content 
 
 With slender notes, and more than half suppress'd ; 
 
 Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light 
 
 From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes 
 
 From many a twig the pendant drops of ice. 
 
 That tinkle in the wither'd leaves below. 
 
 Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft. 
 
 Charms more than silence. Meditation here 
 
 May think down hours to moments. Here the heart 
 
 May give a useful lesson to the head. 
 
 And learning wiser grow without his books. 
 
 Knowledge and Wisdom, far from being one.
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 327 
 Have oft-times no connexion. Knowledge dwells 
 In heads replete with thoughts of other men 
 Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. 
 Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass. 
 The mere materials with which Wisdom builds. 
 Till smooth'd, and squared, and fitted to its place. 
 Does but encumber wliom it seems t' enrich. 
 Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much ; 
 Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. 
 Books are not seldom talismans and spells 
 By which the magic art of shrewder wits 
 Holds an unthinking multitude enthrall'd. 
 Some to the fascination of a name 
 Surrender judgment, hoodwink'd. Some the style 
 Infatuates, and through labyrinths and wilds 
 Of error leads them, by a tune entranced. 
 While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear 
 The insupportable fatigue of thought. 
 And swallowing therefore, without pause or choice. 
 The total grist unsifted, husks and all. 
 But trees and rivulets whose rapid course 
 Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer. 
 And sheep-walks populous with bleating lambs, 
 And lanes in which the primrose ere her time 
 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 
 By slow solicitation, seize at once 
 The roving thought, and fix it on themselves. 
 What prodigies can power divine perform 
 
 More grand than it produces year by year. 
 
 And all in sight of inattentive man ? 
 
 Familiar with the effect we slight the cause, 
 
 And in the constancy of nature's course, 
 
 The regular return of genial months, 
 
 And renovation of a faded world, 
 
 See nought to wonder at. Should God again, 
 
 As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race 
 
 Of the undeviating and punctual sun. 
 
 How would the world admire ! but speaks it less 
 
 An agency divine, to make him know 
 
 His moment when to sink and when to rise,
 
 328 THE TASK. 
 
 Age after age, than to arrest his course ? 
 All we behold is miracle ; but seen 
 So duly, all is miracle in vain. 
 Where now the vital energy, that moved. 
 While summer was, the pure and subtle lyraj-.h 
 Through the imperceptible meandering veins "^ 
 Of leaf and flower ? It sleeps ; and the icy touch 
 Of unprolific winter has impress'd 
 A cold stagnation on the intestine tide. 
 But let the months go round, a few short months, 
 And all shall be restored. These naked shoots. 
 Barren as lances, among which the wind 
 Tilakes wintry music, sighing as it goes. 
 Shall put their graceful foliage on again. 
 And more aspiring, and with ampler spread, 
 Shall boast new charms, and more than they have lost. 
 Then each, in its pecuUar honours clad. 
 Shall pubhsh even to the distant eye 
 Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich 
 In streaming gold ; syringa, ivory pure ; 
 The scentless and the scented rose ; this red. 
 And of an humbler growth, the other* tall. 
 And throwing up into the darkest gloom 
 Of neighbouring cypress, or more sable yew, 
 Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf 
 That the wind severs from the broken wave ; 
 The lilac, various in array, now white. 
 Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set 
 With purple spikes pyramidal, as if 
 Studious of ornament, yet unresolved 
 Which hue she most approved, she chose them all ; 
 Copious of flowers the woodbine, pale and wan. 
 But well compensating her sickly looks 
 With never-cloying odours, early and late ; 
 Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm 
 Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rodi, 
 That scarce a leaf appears ; mezereon too. 
 Though leafless, well-attired, and thick beset 
 With blushing wreaths, investing every spray ; 
 Althaea with the purple eye ; the broom. 
 Yellow and bright, as bullion uualloy'd, 
 » The Guelder-rose.
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON 329 
 
 Her blossoms ; and luxuriant above all 
 
 The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, 
 
 The deep dark green of whose unvarnish'd leaf 
 
 Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more 
 
 The bright profusion of her scatter'd stars. — 
 
 These have been, and these shall be in their day ; 
 
 And all this uniform uncolour'd scene 
 
 Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load. 
 
 And flush into variety again. 
 
 From dearth to jjlenty, and from death to life, 
 
 Is Nature's progress, when she lectures man 
 
 In heavenly truth ; evincing, as she makes 
 
 The grand transition, that there Uves and works 
 
 A soul in all things, and that soul is God. 
 
 The beauties of the wilderness are his. 
 
 That makes so gay the solitary place, 
 
 Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms. 
 
 That cultivation glories in, are his. 
 
 He sets the bright procession on its way, 
 
 And marshals all the order of the year ; 
 
 He marks the bounds, which Winter may not pass. 
 
 And blunts his pointed fury ; in its case. 
 
 Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ. 
 
 Uninjured, with inimitable art ; 
 
 And, ere one flowery season fades and dies. 
 
 Designs the blooming wonders of the next. 
 
 Some say that in the origin of things. 
 When all creation started into birth. 
 The infant elements received a law. 
 From which they swerve not since. That under force 
 Of that controlling ordinance they move. 
 And need not his immediate hand who first 
 Prescribed their course to regulate it now. 
 Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God 
 The encumbrance of his own concerns, and spare 
 The great artificer of all that moves 
 The stress of a continual act, the pain 
 Of unremitted vigilance and care. 
 As too laborious and severe a task. 
 ■30 man, the moth, is not afraid, it seems. 
 To span omnipotence, and measure might, 
 That knows no measure, by the scanty rule
 
 330 THE TASK. 
 
 And standard of his own, that is to-day. 
 
 And is not ere to-morrows sun go down. 
 
 But how should matter occupy a charge, 
 
 Dull as it is, and satisfy a law 
 
 So vast in its demands, unless irapell'd 
 
 To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force. 
 
 And under pressure of some conscious cause? 
 
 The Lord of all, him.self through all diflfiised. 
 
 Sustains, and is the life of all that Uves. 
 
 Nature is but a name for an effect. 
 
 Whose cause is God. He feeds the sacred fire 
 
 By which the mighty process is niaintain'd, 
 
 "Who sleeps not, is not weary ; in whose sight 
 
 Slow circling ages are as transient days ; 
 
 Whose work is without labour ; whose designs 
 
 No flaw deforms, no difHculty thwarts ; 
 
 And whose beneficence no charge exhausts. 
 
 Him blind antiquity profaned, not served. 
 
 With self-taught rites, and under various names, 
 
 Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan, 
 
 And Flora, and Vertumnus peopling earth 
 
 With tutelary goddesses and gods. 
 
 That were not ; and commending as they would 
 
 To each some province, garden, field, or grove. 
 
 But all are under one. One spirit — His, 
 
 Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows, 
 
 Rules universal nature. Not a flower 
 
 But shews some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain, 
 
 Of his unrivall'd pencil. He inspires 
 
 Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues. 
 
 And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes. 
 
 In grains as countless as the sea-side sands. 
 
 The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. 
 
 Happy who walks with him ! whom what he finds 
 
 Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower. 
 
 Or what he views of beautiful or grand 
 
 In nature, from the broad majestic oak 
 
 To the green blade that twinkles in the sun. 
 
 Prompts with remembrance of a present God. 
 
 His presence, who made all so fair, perceived, 
 
 ■Makes all stiU fairer. As with him no scene 
 
 Is dreary, so with him all seasons please.
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 331 
 
 Though winter had been none, had man been true, 
 
 And earth be punish'd for its tenant's sake. 
 
 Yet not in vengeance ; as this smiling sky, 
 
 So soon succeeding such an angry night. 
 
 And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream 
 
 Recovering fast its liquid music, prove. 
 
 Who then, that has a mind well-strung and tuned 
 To contemplation, and within his reach 
 A scene so friendly to his favourite task. 
 Would waste attention at the checker'd board, 
 His host of wooden warriors to and fro 
 Marching and counter-marching, with an eye 
 As fix'd as marble, with a forehead ridged 
 And furrow'd into storms, and with a hand 
 Trembling, as if eternity were hung 
 In balance on his conduct of a pin ? 
 Nor envies he aught more their idle sport. 
 Who pant with application misapplied 
 To trivial toys, and, pushing ivory balls 
 Across a velvet level, feel a joy 
 Akin to rapture, when the bauble finds 
 Its destined goal, of difficult access. 
 Nor deems he wiser him, who gives his noon 
 To Miss, the mercer's plague, from shop to shop 
 Wandering, and littering with unfolded silks 
 The polish'd counter, and approving none. 
 Or promising with smiles to call again. 
 Nor him, who by his vanity seduced. 
 And soothed into a dream that he discerns 
 The difference of a Guido from a daub. 
 Frequents the crowded auction : stationed 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 with ease ; 
 Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls, 
 He notes it in his book, then raps his box, 
 Swears 'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate, 
 That he has let it pass — but never bids. 
 
 Here unmolested, through whatever sign 
 The sun proceeds, I wander. Neither mist, 
 Nor freezing sky nor sultry, checking me.
 
 332 THE TASK. 
 
 Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy. 
 
 E'en in the spring and playtime of the year. 
 
 That calls the unwonted villager abroad 
 
 With all her little ones, a sportive train. 
 
 To gather kingcups in the yellow mead. 
 
 And prink their hair with daisies, or to pick 
 
 A cheap but wholesome salad from the brook. 
 
 These shades are all my own. The timorous hare, 
 
 Grown so famiUar with her frequent guest. 
 
 Scarce shuns me ; and the stockdove unalarm'd 
 
 Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspends 
 
 His long love-ditty for my near approach. 
 
 Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm. 
 
 That age or injury has hollow'd deep. 
 
 Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves. 
 
 He has outslept the winter, ventures forth 
 
 To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun. 
 
 The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play ; 
 
 He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird. 
 
 Ascends the neighbouring 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. 
 
 The heart is hard in nature, and unfit 
 For human fellowship, as being void 
 Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike 
 To love and friendship both, that is not pleased 
 With sight of animals enjoying life. 
 Nor feels their happiness augment his own. 
 The bounding fawn that darts across the glade 
 When none pursues, through mere delight of heart. 
 And spirits buoyant with excess of glee ; 
 The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet. 
 That skims the spacious meadow at full speed, 
 Then stops, and 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. 
 That leads the dance, a summons to be gay. 
 Though wild their strange vagaries and uncouth 
 Their efforts, yet resolved with one consent 
 To give such act and utterance, as they may
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON 333 
 
 To ecstasy too big to be suppress'd — 
 These, and a thousand images of bliss, 
 With which kind nature graces every scene, 
 Where cruel man defeats not her desi2n, 
 Impart to the benevolent, who wish 
 All that are capable of pleasure pleased, 
 A far superior happiness to theirs. 
 The comfort of a reasonable joy. 
 
 Man scarce had risen, obedient to his call 
 Who form'd him from the dust, his future grave, 
 When he was crown'd as never king was since. 
 God set the diadem upon his head, 
 And angel choirs attended. Wondering stood 
 The new-made monarch, while before him pass'd. 
 All happy, and all perfect in their kind. 
 The creatures summon'd from their various haunts. 
 To see their sovereignj and confess his sway. 
 Vast was his empire, absolute his power, 
 Or bounded only by a law, whose force 
 'Twas his sublimest privilege to feel 
 And own, the law of universal love. 
 He ruled with meekness, they obey'd with joy ; 
 No cruel purpose lurk'd within his heart. 
 And no distrust of his intent in theirs. 
 So Eden was a scene of harmless sport. 
 Where kindness on his part, who ruled the whole. 
 Begat a tranquil confidence in all. 
 And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear. 
 But sin marr'd all ; and the revolt of man. 
 That source of evil not exhausted yet. 
 Was punish'd with revolt of his from him. 
 Garden of God, how terrible the change 
 Thy groves and lawns then witness'd ! Every heart, 
 Each animal, of every name, conceived 
 A jealousy, and an instinctive fear. 
 And, conscious of some danger, either fled 
 Precipitate, the loath'd abode of man. 
 Or growl'd defiance in such angry sort. 
 As taught him too to tremble in his turn. 
 Thus harmony and family accord 
 Were driven from Paradise ; and in that hour 
 The seeds of cruelty, that since have swefl'd
 
 334 THE TASK. 
 
 To such gigantic and enormous growth, 
 Were sown in human nature's fruitful soiL 
 Hence date the persecution and the pain. 
 That man inflicts on all inferior kinds. 
 Regardless of their plamts. To make him sport. 
 To gratify the frenzy of his vrrath. 
 Or his base gluttony, are causes good 
 And just in his account, why bird and beast 
 Should suffer torture, and the streams be dyed 
 ■\Vith biood of their inhabitants impaled. 
 Earth groans beneath the burden of a war 
 Waged with defenceless innocence, while he. 
 Not satisfied to prey on all around, 
 Adds tenfold bitterness to death by pangs 
 Needless, and first torments ere he devours. 
 Now happiest they, that occupy the scenes 
 The most remote from his abhorr'd resort, 
 V.'hom once, as delegate of God on earth. 
 They fear'd, and, as his perfect image, loved. 
 The wilderr.ess is theirs, with all its caves. 
 Its hollow glens, its thickets, and its plains, 
 Unvisited by man. There they are free. 
 And howl and roar as likes them uncoatroUd ; 
 Nor ask his leave to slumber or to play. 
 Woe to the tyrant if he dare intrude 
 Within the confines of their wild domain : 
 The lion tells him— I asn monarch here — 
 And, if he spare him, spares him on the terms 
 Of royal mercy, and through gea'rous scorn 
 To rend a victim trembling at his foot- 
 In measure, as by force of instinct drawn. 
 Or by necessity constraiu'd, they live 
 Dependent upon man ; those in his fields, 
 These at his crib, and some beneath his roof. 
 They prove too often at how dear a rate 
 He sells protection.— Witness at his foot 
 The spaniel dying for some venial fault 
 Under dissection of the knotted scourge ; 
 Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells 
 Driven to the slaughter, goaded, as he runs. 
 To madness ; while the savage at his heels 
 Lauglis at the frantic sufiF' rer's fury, spent
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 335 
 
 Upon the guiltless passenger o'erthrown. 
 
 He too is witness, noblest of the train 
 
 That wait on man, the flight-performing horse ; 
 
 With unsuspecting readiness he takes 
 
 His murderer on his back; and push'd all day 
 
 With bleeding sides and flanks, that heave for life. 
 
 To the far distant gaol, arrives and dies. 
 
 So little mercy shews who needs so much ! 
 
 Does law, so jealous in the cause of man, 
 
 Denounce no doom on the delinquent ? None. 
 
 He lives, and o'er his brimming beaker boasts 
 
 (As if barbarity were liigh desert) 
 
 The inglorious feat, and clamorous in praise 
 
 Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose 
 
 The honours of hii matchlpss horse his own. 
 
 But many a crime, deem'd innocent on earth. 
 
 Is register'd in heav'n ; and these no doubt 
 
 Have each their record, with a curse annex'd. 
 
 Man may dismiss compassion from his heart. 
 
 But God will never. When he charged the Jew 
 
 To assist his foe's down-fallen beast to rise ; 
 
 And when the bush-exploring boy, that seized 
 
 The young, to let the parent bird go free ; 
 
 Proved he not plainly, that his meaner works 
 
 Are yet his care, and have an interest all. 
 
 All, in the universal Father's love? 
 
 On Noah, and in him on all mankind. 
 
 The charter v.as conferr'd by which we hold 
 
 The flesh of animals in fee, and claim 
 
 O'er all we feed on power of life and death. 
 
 But read the instrument, and mark it well: 
 
 The oppression of a tyrannous control 
 
 Can find no warrant there. Feed, then, and yield 
 
 Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous, through sin, 
 
 Feed on the slain, but spare the living brute ! 
 
 The Govenor of all, himself to all 
 So bountiful, in whose attentive ear 
 The unfledged raven and the lion's whelp 
 Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs 
 Of hunger unassauged, has interposed. 
 Not seldom, his avenging arm to smite 
 The injurious trampier upon nature's law.
 
 336 THE TASK. 
 
 That claims forbearance even for a brute. 
 
 He hates the hardness of a Balaam's heart ; 
 
 And, prophet as he was, he might not strike 
 
 The blameless animal, without rebuke. 
 
 On which he rode. Her opportune offence 
 
 Saved him, or the unrelenting seer had died. 
 
 He sees that human equity is slack 
 
 To interfere, though in so just a cause ; 
 
 And makes the task his own. Inspiring dumb 
 
 And helpless victims with a sense so keen 
 
 Of injury, with such knowledge of their strength, 
 
 And such sagacity to take revenge. 
 
 That oft the beast has seem'd to judge the ntan. 
 
 An ancient, not a legendary tale. 
 
 By one of sound intelligence rehearsed 
 
 (If such who plead for Providence may seem 
 
 In modem eyes), shall make the doctrine clear. 
 
 Where England, stretch'd towards the setting sun. 
 Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave, 
 Dwelt young Misagathus ; a scomer he 
 Of God and goodness, atheist in osteut. 
 Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce. 
 He journey'd ; and his chance was, as he went, 
 To join a traveller of far different note, 
 Evander, famed for piety, for years 
 Deserving honour, but for wisdom more. 
 Fame had not left the venerable man 
 A stranger to the manners of the youth. 
 Whose face too was familiar to his view. 
 Their way was on the margin of the land. 
 O'er the green summit of the rocks, whose base 
 Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high. 
 The charity, that warm'd his heart, was moved 
 At sight of the man-monster. With a smile 
 Gentle, and affable, and full of grace. 
 As fearful of offending whom he wish'd 
 Much to persuade, he plied his ear with truths 
 Not harshly thunder'd forth, or rudely press'd ; 
 But, like his purpose, gracious, kind and sweet. 
 « And dost thou dream,' the impenetrable man 
 Exclaim'd, * that me the lullabies of age, 
 And fantasies of dotards such as thou.
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOOK. 337 
 
 Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me ? 
 Mark now the proof I give thee, that the brave 
 Need no such aids, as superstition lends 
 To steel their hearts against the dread of death.' 
 He spoke, and to the precipice at hand 
 Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks. 
 And the blood thrills and curdles, at the thought 
 Of such a gulf as lie dcsign'd his grave. 
 But, though the felon on his back could dare 
 The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed 
 Declined the death, and wheeling swiftly rouud 
 Or ere his hoof had press'd the crumbling verge, 
 Baffled his rider, saved against his will. 
 The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd 
 By medicine well applied, but without grace 
 The heart's insanity admits no cure. 
 Enrag'd the more, by what might have reform'd 
 His horrible intent, again he sought 
 Destruction, with a zeal to be destroy'd. 
 With sounding whip, and rowels dyed in blood. 
 But still in vain. The Providence, that meant 
 A longer date to the far nobler beast. 
 Spared yet again the ignoble for his sake. 
 And now, his prowess proved, and his sincere 
 Incurable obduracy evinced. 
 
 His rage grew cool ; and, pleas'd perhaps to have eani'd 
 So cheaply the renown of that attempt, 
 V/ith looks of some complacence he resumed 
 His road, deriding much the blank amaze 
 Of good Evander, still where he was left 
 Fix'd motionless, and petrified with dread. 
 So on they fared. Discourse on other themes 
 Ensuing seem'd to obliterate the past; 
 And tamer far for so much fury shewn 
 (As is the course of rash and fiery men). 
 The rude companion smiled, as if transform'd. 
 But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near. 
 An unsuspected storm. His hour was come. 
 The impious challenger of Power divine 
 Was now to learn that Heaven, though slow to wrath, 
 Is never with impunity defied. 
 His horse, as he had caught his master's mood, 
 P
 
 338 THE TASK. 
 
 Snorting, and starting into sudden rage. 
 Unbidden, and not now to be controll'd, 
 Rush'd to the cliif, and, having reach'd it stood. 
 At once the shock unseated him : he flew 
 Sheer o'er the craggy barrier ; and, immersed 
 Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not. 
 The death he had deserved, and died alone. 
 So God wrought double justice; made the fool 
 The victim of his own tremendous choice. 
 And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. 
 
 I would not enter on my list of friends 
 (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 evening in the public path; 
 But he that has humanity, forewam'd. 
 Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 
 The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight. 
 And charg'd perhaps with venom, that intrudes 
 A visitor unwelcome, into scenes 
 Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove. 
 The chamber, or refectory, may die : 
 A necessary acts incurs no blame. 
 Not so when, held within their proper bounds. 
 And guiltless of offence, they range the air. 
 Or take their pastime in the spacious field ; 
 There they are privileged ; and he that hunts 
 Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong. 
 Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm, 
 Who, when she form'd, design'd them an abode. 
 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 aU— the meanest things that are. 
 As free to live, and to enjoy that life. 
 As God was free to form them at the first. 
 Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all. 
 Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons 
 To love it too. The springtime of our years 
 Is soon dishonour'd and defiled in most 
 By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 339 
 To check them. But, alas ! none sooner shoots. 
 If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth. 
 Than cruelty, most devilish of them all. 
 Mercy to him that shews it, is the rule 
 And righteous limitation of its act. 
 By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man ; 
 And he that shews none, being ripe in years. 
 And conscious of the outrage he commits. 
 Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn. 
 
 Distinguish'd much by reason, and still more 
 By our capacity of Grace divine. 
 From creatures, that exist but for our sake. 
 Which, having served us, perish, we are held 
 Accountable ; and God some future day 
 Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse 
 Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust. 
 Superior as we are, they yet depend 
 Not more on human help than we on theirs. 
 Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given 
 In aid of our defects. In some are found 
 Such teachable and apprehensive parts. 
 That man's attainments in his own concerns, 
 Match'd with the expertness of the brutes in theirs. 
 Are ofttimes vanquish'd, and thrown far behind. 
 Some shew that nice sagacity of smell. 
 And read with such discernment, in the port 
 And figure of the man, his secret aim. 
 That oft we owe our safety to a skill 
 We could not teach, and must despair to learn. 
 But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop 
 To quadruped instructors, many a good 
 And useful quality, and virtue too, 
 Aarely exemplified among ourselves ; 
 Attachment never to be wean'd, or changed 
 By any change of fortune : proof alike 
 Against unkindness, absence, and neglect ; 
 Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat 
 Can move or warp ; and gratitude for small 
 And trivial favours, lasting as the life. 
 And glistening even in the dying eye. 
 
 Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms 
 Wins public honour; and ten thousand sit
 
 340 THE TASK. 
 
 Patiently present at a sacred song, 
 
 Commemoration-mad ; content to hear 
 
 (O wonderful effect of music's power !) 
 
 Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake. 
 
 But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve — 
 
 (For, was it less, what heathen would have dared 
 
 To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath. 
 
 And hang it up in honour of a man ?) 
 
 Much less might serve, when all that we design 
 
 Is but to gratify an itching ear. 
 
 And give the day to a musician's praise. 
 
 Remember Handel ! Who, that was not born 
 
 Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets. 
 
 Or can, the more than Homer of his age ? 
 
 Ves — we remember him ; and, while we praise 
 
 A talent so divine, remember too 
 
 That His most holy book, from whom it came. 
 
 Was never meant, was never used before. 
 
 To buckram out the mem'ry of a man. 
 
 But hush ! — the Muse perhaps is too severe ; 
 
 And with a gravity beyond the size 
 
 And measure of the offence, rebukes a deed 
 
 Less impious than absurd, and owing more 
 
 To want of judgment than to wrong design. 
 
 So in the chapel of old Ely House, 
 
 When wandering Charles, who meant to be the third, 
 
 Had fled from William, and the news was fresh. 
 
 The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce. 
 
 And eke did rear right merrily, two staves. 
 
 Sung to the praise and glory of King George ! 
 
 — Man praises man ; and Garrick's memory next. 
 
 When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made 
 
 The idol of our worship while he lived 
 
 The god of our idoltary once more. 
 
 Shall have its altar ; and the world shall go 
 
 In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. 
 
 The theatre too small shall suffocate 
 
 Its squeezed contents, and more than it admits 
 
 Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return 
 
 Ungratified : for there some noble lord 
 
 Sliall stuff his shoulders with King Richard'* bunch 
 
 Or wrap himsef in Hamlet's inky cloak,
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 341 
 And strut, and storm, and straddle, stamp and stare, 
 To shew the world how Garrick did not act. 
 For Garrick was a worshipper himself; 
 He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites 
 And solemn ceremonial of the day. 
 And call'd the world to worship on the banks 
 Of Avon, famed in song. Ah, pleasant proof 
 That piety has still in human hearts 
 Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. 
 The mulberry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths ; 
 The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance ; 
 The mulberry-tree was hymn'd with dulcet airs ; 
 And from his touch-wood trunk the mulberry-tree 
 Supplied such relics as devotion holds 
 Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. 
 So 'twas a hallow'd time: decorum reign'd. 
 And mirth without offence. No few return'd, 
 Doubtless, much edified, and all refresh'd. 
 — Man praises man. The rabble all alive, 
 From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and sties. 
 Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, 
 A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes. 
 Some shout him, and some hang upon his car. 
 To gaze in's eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave 
 Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy : 
 While others, not so satisfied, unhorse 
 The gilded equipage, and, turning loose 
 His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve. 
 Why? what has charm'd them ? Math he saved the state ? 
 No. Doth he purpose its salvation ? No. 
 Enchanting novelty, that moon at full. 
 That finds out every crevice of the head 
 That is not sound and perfect, hath in theirs 
 Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near, 
 And his own cattle must suffice him soon. 
 Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise, 
 And dedicate a tribute, in its use 
 And just direction sacred, to a thing 
 Doom'd to the dust, or lodged already there. 
 Encomium in old time was poet's works ; 
 But poets having lavishly long since 
 Exhausted all materials of the art,
 
 342 THE TASK. 
 
 The task now falls into the public hand ; 
 And I, contented with a humbler theme. 
 Have pour'd my stream of panegyric down 
 The vale of Nature, where it creeps, and winds 
 Among her lovely works with a secure 
 And unambitious course, reflecting clear. 
 If not the virtues, yet the worth, of brutes. 
 And I am recompensed, and deem the toils 
 Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine 
 May stand between an animal and woe, 
 And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. 
 
 The groans of Nature in this nether world. 
 Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end. 
 Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung. 
 Whose fire was kindled at the prophet's lamp. 
 The time of rest, the promised sabbath, comes. 
 Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh 
 FulfiU'd their tardy and disastrous course 
 Over a sinful world ; and what remains 
 Of this tempestuous state of human things 
 Is merely as the working of a sea 
 Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest : 
 For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds 
 The dust that waits upon his sultry march. 
 When sin hath moved him, and his wrath is hot. 
 Shall visit earth in mercy ; shall descend 
 Propitious in his chariot paved with love; 
 And what his storms have blasted and defaced 
 For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. 
 
 Sweet is the harp of prophecy ; too sweet 
 Not to be wrong'd by a mere mortal touch : 
 Nor can the wonders it records be sung 
 To meaner music, and not suffer loss. 
 But when a poet, or when one like me, 
 Happy to rove among poetic flowers. 
 Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last 
 On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair. 
 Such is the impulse and the spur he feels. 
 To give it praise proportion'd to its worth. 
 That not to attempt it, arduous as he deems 
 The labour, were a task more arduous still. 
 
 O scenes surpassing fable, and yet true.
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 343 
 
 Scenes of accomplish'd bliss ; which who can see. 
 
 Though but in distant prospect, and not feel 
 
 His soul refresh'd with foretaste of the joy ? 
 
 Rivers of gladness water all the earth. 
 
 And clothe all climes with beauty ; the reproach 
 
 Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field 
 
 Laughs with abundance ; and the land, once lean. 
 
 Or fertile only in its own disgrace. 
 
 Exults to see its thistly curse repeal'd. 
 
 The various seasons woven into one. 
 
 And that one season an eternal spring. 
 
 The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, 
 
 For there is none to covet ; all are full. 
 
 The lion, and the libbard, and the bear. 
 
 Graze with the fearless flocks ; all bask at noon 
 
 Together, or all gambol in the shade 
 
 Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. 
 
 Antipathies are none. No foe to man 
 
 Lurks in the serpent now : the mother sees. 
 
 And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand 
 
 Stretch'd forth to dally with the crested worm, 
 
 To stroke his azure neck, or to receive 
 
 The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. 
 
 All creatures worship man, and all mankind 
 
 One Lord, one Father. Error has no placet 
 
 That creeping pestilence is driven away ; 
 
 The breath of heaven has chased it. In the heart 
 
 No passion touches a discordant string. 
 
 But all is harmony and love. Disease 
 
 Is not : the pure and uncontaminate blood 
 
 Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. 
 
 One song employs all nations ; and all cry, 
 
 ♦ Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us I* 
 
 The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks 
 
 Shout to each other, and the mountain-tops 
 
 From distant mountains catch the flying joy; 
 
 Till, nation after nation taught the strain, 
 
 Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round. 
 
 Behold the measure of the promise fiU'd ; 
 
 See Salem built, the labour of a God ! 
 
 Bright as a sun the sacred city shines ; 
 
 AU kingdoms and all princes of the earth
 
 314 THE TASK. 
 
 Flock to that light, the glory of all lands 
 Flows into her; unbounded is her joy. 
 And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, 
 Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there;* 
 The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, 
 And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there. 
 Praise is in all her gates ; upon her walls. 
 And in her streets, and in her spacious courts. 
 Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there 
 Kneels with the native of the farthest west ; 
 And /Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand. 
 And worships. Her report has travell'd forth 
 Into all lands. From every clime they come 
 To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, 
 O Sion ! an assembly such as earth 
 Saw never, such as heaven stoops down to see. 
 
 Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were once 
 Perfect, and all must be at length restored. 
 So God has greatly purposed ; who would else 
 In his dishonour'd works himself endure 
 Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress. 
 Haste then, and wheel away a shatter'd world. 
 Ye slow-revolving seasons ! we would see 
 (A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) 
 A world, that does not dread and hate his laws. 
 And suffer for its crime; would learn how fair 
 The creature is that God pronounces good. 
 How pleasant in itself what pleases him. 
 Here every drop of honey hides a sting ; 
 Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flowers ; 
 And e'en the joy, that haply some poor heart 
 Derives from Heaven, pure as the fountain is. 
 Is sullied in the stream, taking a taint 
 From touch of human lips, at best impure. 
 O for a world in principle as chaste 
 As this is gross and selfish ! over which 
 Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway. 
 That govern all things here, shouldering aside 
 The meek and modest Truth, and, forcing her 
 
 « Nelaioth and Kedar, the sons cf Ishmael, and progenitors 
 of the Arabs, in the prophetic scripture here alluded to, may b? 
 reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large.
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 34o 
 
 To seek a refuge from the tongue of Strife 
 In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men: 
 Where violence shall never lift the sword. 
 Nor Cunning justify the proud man's wrong. 
 Leaving the poor no remedy but tears : 
 Where he, that fills an oflBce, shall esteem 
 The occasion it presents of doing good 
 More than the perquisite: where Law shall speak 
 Seldom, and never but as Wisdom prompts 
 And Equity : not jealous more to guard 
 A worthless form than to decide aright : 
 Where Fashion shall not sanctify abuse. 
 Nor smooth Good-breeding (supplemental grace) 
 With lean performance ape the work of Love 
 Come then, and, added to thy many crowns. 
 Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth. 
 Thou who alone art worthy ! It was thine 
 By ancient covenant, ere Nature's birth ; 
 And thou hast made it thine by purchase since. 
 And overpaid its value with thy blood. 
 Thy saints proclaim thee king ; and in their heartx 
 Thy title is engraven with a pen 
 Dipp'd in the fountain of eternal love. 
 Thy saints proclaim thee king I and thy delay 
 Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see 
 The dawn of thy last advent, long desired. 
 Would creep into the bowels of the hills. 
 And flee for safety to the falling rocks. 
 The very spirit of the world is tired 
 Of its own taunting question, ask'd so long, 
 — * Where is the promise of your Lord's approach ?' 
 The infidel has shot his bolts away. 
 Till, his exhausted quiver yielding none. 
 He gleans the blunted shafts, that have recoil'd. 
 And aims them at the shield of Truth again. 
 The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands. 
 That hides divinity from mortal eyes; 
 And all the mysteries to faiih proposed. 
 Insulted and traduced, are cast aside. 
 As useless, to the moles and to the bats. 
 They now are deem'd the faithful, and are praised. 
 Who, constant only in rejecting thee, 
 P 2
 
 346 THE TASK. 
 
 Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal. 
 
 And quit their office for their error's sake. 
 
 Blind, and in love with darkness ! yet e'en these 
 
 Worthy compared with sycophants, who kneel. 
 
 Thy 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 
 
 To wandering sheep, resolved to follow none. 
 
 Two gods divide them all— Pleasure and Gain : 
 
 For these they live, they sacrifice to these. 
 
 And in their service wage perpetual war 
 
 With conscience and with thee. Lust in their hearts, 
 
 And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth. 
 
 To prey upon each other : stubborn, fierce. 
 
 High-minded, foaming out their own disgrace. 
 
 Thy prophets speak of such ; and noting down 
 
 The features of the last degenerate times. 
 
 Exhibit every lineament of these. 
 
 Come then, and, added to thy many crowns. 
 
 Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest. 
 
 Due to thy last and most effectual work. 
 
 Thy word fulfiU'd, the conquest of a world ! 
 
 He is the happy man whose Ufe e'en now 
 Shews 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 lus fate his choice ; whom peace, the fruit 
 Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith. 
 Prepare for happiness ; bespeak him one 
 Content indeed to sojourn while he must 
 Below the skies, but having there his home. 
 The world o'erlooks him in her busy search 
 Of objects more illustrious in her view; 
 And, occupied as earnestly as she, 
 Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world. 
 She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not ; 
 He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain. 
 He cannot skim the ground like summer birds 
 Pursuing gilded flies ; and such he deems 
 Her honours, her emoluments, her joys. 
 Therefore in contemplation is his bliss.
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 3 
 
 Whose power is such, that whom she lifts from earth 
 
 She makes famihar with a heaven unseen. 
 
 And shews him glories yet to be reveal'd. 
 
 Not slothful he, though seeming unemploy'd, 
 
 And censured oft as useless. Stillest streams 
 
 Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird. 
 
 That flutters least, is longest on the wing. 
 
 Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has raised. 
 
 Or what achievements of immortal fame 
 
 He purposes, and he shall answer— None. 
 
 His warfare is within. There unfatigued 
 
 His fervent spirit labours. There he fights. 
 
 And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself. 
 
 And never-withering wreaths, compared with which, 
 
 The laurels that a Cjesar reaps are weeds. 
 
 Perhaps the self-approving haughty world. 
 
 That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks, 
 
 Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see. 
 
 Deems him a cypher in the works of God, 
 
 Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, 
 
 Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes 
 
 Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring 
 
 And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes, 
 
 When, Isaac like, the solitary saint 
 
 Walks forth to meditate at eventide. 
 
 And think on her who thinks not for herself. 
 
 Forgive him then, thou bustler in concerns 
 
 Of little worth, an idler in the best. 
 
 If, author of no mischief and some good. 
 
 He seek his proper happiness by means 
 
 That may advance, but cannot hinder, thine. 
 
 Nor, though he tread the secret path of life. 
 
 Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease. 
 
 Account him an encumbrance on the state. 
 
 Receiving benefits, and rendering none. 
 
 His sphere though humble, if that humble sphere 
 
 Shine with his fair example, and though small 
 
 His influence, if that influence all be spent 
 
 In soothing sorrow, and in quenching strife. 
 
 In aiding helpless indigence, in works. 
 
 From which at least a grateful few derive 
 
 Some taste of comfort in a world of woe,
 
 348 THE TASK. 
 
 Then let the supercilious great confess 
 
 He serves his country, recompenses well 
 
 The state, beneath the shadow of whose vine 
 
 He sits secure, and in the scale of life 
 
 Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place. 
 
 The man, whose virtues are more felt than seen. 
 
 Must drop indeed the hope of public praise ; 
 
 But he may boast, what few that win it can. 
 
 That, if his country stand not by his skill. 
 
 At least his follies have not wrought her fall. 
 
 Polite Refinement offers him in vain 
 
 Her golden tube, through which a sensual world 
 
 Draws gross impurity, and likes it well. 
 
 The neat conveyance hiding all the oS'ence. 
 
 Not that he peevishly rejects a mode 
 
 Because that world adopts it. If it bear 
 
 The stamp and clear impression of good sense. 
 
 And be not costly more than of true worth-. 
 
 He puts it on, and for decorum sake 
 
 Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she. 
 
 She judges of refinement by the eye. 
 
 He by the test of conscience, and a heart 
 
 Not soon deceived ; aware that what is base 
 
 No polish can make sterling ; and that vice. 
 
 Though well perfum'd and elegantly dress'd. 
 
 Like an unburied carcase trick'd with flowers. 
 
 Is but a gamish'd nuisance, fitter far 
 
 For cleanly riddance, than for fair attire. 
 
 So life glides smoothly and by stealth away, 
 
 More golden than that age of fabled gold 
 
 Renown'd in ancient song: not vex'd with care 
 
 Or stain'd with guilt, beneficent, approved 
 
 Of God and man, and peaceful in its end. 
 
 So glide my life away, and so at last. 
 
 My share of duties decently fulfilled. 
 
 May some disease, not tardy to perform 
 
 Its destined ofl&ce, yet with gentle stroke. 
 
 Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat, 
 
 Beneath the turf, that I have often trod. 
 
 It shall not grieve me then, that once, when call'd 
 
 To dress a Sofa with the flowers of verse^ 
 
 I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair.
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 34f) 
 
 With that light task ; but soon, to please her more. 
 
 Whom flowers alone I knew would little please. 
 
 Let fall the unfinish'd wreath, and roved for fruit ; 
 
 Roved far, and gather'd much ; some harsh, 'tis true, 
 
 Pick'd from the thorns and briers of reproof. 
 
 But wholesome, well digested ; grateful some 
 
 To palates that can taste immortal truth ; 
 
 Insipid else, and sure to be despised. 
 
 But all is in His hand, whose praise I seek. 
 
 In vain the poet sings, and the world hears. 
 
 If he regard not, though divine the theme. 
 
 'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime 
 
 And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre, 
 
 To charm his ear, whose eye is on the heart ; 
 
 Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain. 
 
 Whose approbation— prosper even mine.
 
 350 
 
 AN EPISTLE 
 
 TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. 
 
 Dear Joseph — five and twenty years ago— 
 Aias, how time escapes !— 'tis even so — 
 With frequent intercourse, and always sweet, 
 And always friendly, we were wont to cheat 
 A tedious hour — and now we never meet ! 
 As some grave gentlemen in Terence says 
 ('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days). 
 Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings — 
 Strange fluctuation of all human things ! 
 True. Changes will befal, and friends may part, 
 But distance only cannot change the heart : 
 And, were I call'd to prove th' assertion true, 
 One proof should serve — a reference to you. 
 
 Whence comes it, then, that in the wane of life. 
 Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife. 
 We find the friends we fancied we had won. 
 Though numerous once, reduced to few or none ? 
 Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch ? 
 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 overawed 
 Lest he should tresspass, begg'd to go abroad. 
 Go, fellow ! — whither ?— turning short about — 
 Nay. Stay at home — you're always going out. 
 'Tis but a step, sir ; just at the street's end. — 
 For what ? — An please you, sir, to see a friend. — 
 A friend ! Horatio cried, and seem'd to start — 
 Yea marry shalt thou, and with all my heart. — 
 And fetch my cloak; for, though the night be raw, 
 I'll see him too — the first I ever saw. 
 
 I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, 
 And was his plaything often when a child ; 
 But somewhat at that moment pinch'd liim close. 
 Else he was seldom bitter or morose.
 
 EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL. ESQ. 351 
 
 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 pleasanty 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 emperor, a wise man. 
 No matter where, in China or Japan, 
 Decreed, that whosoever should offend 
 Against the well-knovra duties of a friend, 
 Convicted once, should ever after wear 
 I5ut half a coat, and shew his bosom bare. 
 The pimishment importing this, no doubt, 
 That all was naught within, and all found out. 
 
 O happy Britain ! we have not to fear 
 Such hard and arbitrary measure here 
 Else, could a law, like that which I relate, 
 Once have the sanction of our triple state. 
 Some few, that I have known in days of old. 
 Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold ; 
 While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow, 
 Might traverse England safely to and fro. 
 An honest man close button'd to the chin, 
 Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within.
 
 TIROCINIUM ; 
 
 OB, 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 
 
 Kf2)a>^jov J>j 'Ttai^iia; OfSti Tfoifj. — Plato. 
 
 Af'XJ) icoXiTna; aicurn; yiwy Tfo^a. — Diog. Laert. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO THE REV. WM. CAWTHORNK UNWI.H. 
 
 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 Uves. 
 That form indeed, the associate of a mind 
 Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind, 
 That form, the labour of Almighty skill. 
 Framed for the service of a freeborn will. 
 Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control. 
 But borrows all its grandeur from the soul. 
 Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne, 
 An intellectual kingdom all her own. 
 From her the Memory fills her ample page 
 With truths pour'd down from every distant age; 
 For her amasses an unbounded store. 
 The wisdom of great nations, now no more ; 
 Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil ; 
 Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil; 
 When copiously supplied, then most enlarg'd ; 
 Still to be fed, and not to be surcharg'd. 
 For her the Fancy, roving unconfined. 
 The present muse of every pensive mind. 
 Works magic wonders, adds a brighter hue 
 To Nature's scenes than Nature ever knew.
 
 A REVIEW OP SCHOOLS. 353 
 
 At her command winds rise, and waters roar, 
 Again she lays them slumbering on the shore 
 Wilh flower and fruit the wilderness supplies. 
 Or bids the recks in ruder pomp arise. 
 For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife. 
 That grace and nature have to wage through life. 
 Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill. 
 Appointed sage preceptor to the Will, 
 Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice 
 Guides the decision of a doubtful choice. 
 
 Why did the fiat of a God give birth 
 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 power on every shore he laves ? 
 Why do the seasons still enrich the year. 
 Fruitful and young as in their first career ? 
 Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees, 
 Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze ; 
 Summer in haste the thriving charge receives 
 Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves. 
 Till autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews 
 Dye them at last in all their glowing hues, — 
 'Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste. 
 Power misemploy'd, munificence misplaced. 
 Had not its author dignified the plan. 
 And crown'd it with the majesty of man. 
 Thus form'd, thus placed, intelligent, and taught, 
 Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought. 
 The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws 
 Finds in a sober moment time to pause. 
 To press th' important question on his heart, 
 • Why formed 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; 
 Endued with reason only to descry 
 His crimes and follies with an aching eye; 
 With passions, just that he may prove with pain. 
 The force he spends against their fury vain ; 
 And if, soon after having burnt, by turns, 
 With every lust with which frail nature bums.
 
 S54 TIROCINIUM: OR, 
 
 His being end, where death dissolves the bond. 
 The tomb take all, and all be blank beyond ; 
 Then he, of all that Nature has brought forth. 
 Stands self-impeach'd the creature of least worth. 
 And useless while he lives, and when he dies. 
 Brings into doubt the wisdom of the skies. 
 
 Truths that the leam'd pursue with eager thought. 
 Are not important always as dear-bought. 
 Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, 
 A childish waste of philosophic pains ; 
 But truths on which depend our main concern, 
 That 'tis our shame and misery not to learn. 
 Shine by the side of every path we tread 
 With such a lustre, he that runs may read. 
 'Tis true that, if to trifle life away 
 Down to the sunset of their latest day. 
 Then perish on futurity's wide shore 
 Like fleeting exhalations, found no more, 
 Were all that heaven requred of humankind. 
 And all the plan their destiny design'd, 
 W"hat none could reverence all might justly blame. 
 And man would breathe but for his Maker's shame. 
 But reason heard, and nature well perused. 
 At once the dreaming mind is disabused. 
 If all we find possessing earth, sea, air. 
 Reflect his attributes, who placed them there. 
 Fulfil the purpose, and appear design'd 
 Proofs of the wisdom of the ail-seeing mind, 
 'Tis plain the creature, whom he choose to invest 
 With kingship and dominion o'er the rest. 
 Received his nobler nature, and was made 
 Fit for the power, in which he stands array'd ; 
 That first, or last, hereafter, if not here. 
 He too might make his Author's wisdom clear. 
 Praise him on earth, or obstinately dumb. 
 Suffer his justice in a world to come. 
 This once believed, 'twere logic misapplied. 
 To prove a consequence by none denied. 
 That we are bound to cast the minds of youth 
 Betimes into the mould of heavenly truth. 
 That taught of God they may indeed be wisa 
 Nor ignorantly wandering miss the skies.
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 355 
 
 In early days the conscience has in most 
 A quickness, which in latter life is lost : 
 Preserved from guilt by salutary fears. 
 Or guilty, soon relenting into tears. 
 Too careless often, as our years proceed. 
 What friends we sort with, or what books we read, 
 Our parents yet exert a prudent care. 
 To feed our infant minds with proper fare; 
 And wisely store the nursery by degrees 
 With wholesome learning, yet acquired with ease. 
 Neatly secur'd from being soil'd or torn 
 Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn, 
 A book (to please us at a tender age 
 'Tis call'd a book, though but a single page) 
 Presents the prayer the Saviour deign'd to teach. 
 Which children use, and parsons — when they preach. 
 Lisping our syllables, we scramble next 
 Through moral narrative, or sacred text ; 
 And learn with wonder how this world began. 
 Who made, who marr'd, and who has ransom'd man : 
 Points, which, unless the Scripture made them plain. 
 The wisest heads might agitate in vain. 
 
 thou, whom, borne on fancy's eager wing 
 Back to the season of life's happy spring, 
 
 1 pleased remember, and, while memory yet 
 Holds fast her office here, can ne'er forget ; 
 Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale 
 Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail ; 
 
 Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple style. 
 May teach the gayest, make the gravest smile ; 
 Witty, and well employ'd, and, like thy Lord, 
 Speaking in parables his slighted word ; 
 I name thee not, lest so despised a name 
 Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame; 
 Yet e'en in transitory life's late day. 
 That mingles all my brown with sober gray, 
 Revere the man, whose pilcp-im marks the road, 
 And guides the progress of the soul to God. 
 'Twere well with most, if books, that could engage 
 Their childhood, pleased them at a riper age; 
 The man approving what had charm'd the boy. 
 Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy ;
 
 356 TIROCIXIUM: OR, 
 
 And not with curses on his head, who stole 
 
 The gem of trath from his unguarded souL 
 
 The stamp of artless piety impress'd 
 
 By kind tuition on his yielding breast. 
 
 The youth now bearded, and yet pert and raw. 
 
 Regards with scorn, though once received with awe ; 
 
 And warp'd into the labyrinth of lies. 
 
 That babblers, call'd philosophers, devise, 
 
 Blasphemes his creed, as founded on a plan 
 
 Replete with dreams, un^.orthy of a man. 
 
 Touch but his nature in its ailing part, 
 
 Assert the native evil of his heart. 
 
 His pride resents the charge, although the proof* 
 
 Rise in his forehead, and seem rank enough : 
 
 Point to the cure, describe a Saviour's cross 
 
 As Gods expedient to retrieve his loss. 
 
 The young apostate sickens at the view. 
 
 And hates it with the malice of a Jew. 
 
 How weak the barrier of mere Nature proves. 
 Opposed against the pleasures Nature loves ! 
 While self-betray'd, and wilfully undone. 
 She longs to yield, no sooner woo'd than won. 
 Try now the merits of this bless'd exchange 
 Of modest truth for wit's eccentric range. 
 Time was, he closed as he began the day. 
 With decent duty, not ashamed to pray : 
 The practice was a bond upon his heart, 
 A pledge he gave for a consistent part ; 
 Nor could he dare presumptuously displease 
 A Power, confess'd so lately on his knees. 
 But now farewell all legendary tales. 
 The shadows fly, philosophy prevails; 
 Prayer to the winds, and caution to the waves ; 
 Religion makes the free by nature slaves. 
 Priests have invented, and the world admired 
 What knavish priests promulgate as inspired ; 
 Till reason, now no longer overawed, 
 Resumes her powers, and spurns the clumsy fraud ; 
 And, common-sense diffusing real day. 
 The meteor of the Gospel dies away. 
 
 « See 2 Chrcn. ch. xxri. yer. 19.
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 357 
 
 Such rhapsodies our shrewd discerning youth 
 
 Learn from expert inquiries after truth ; 
 
 Whose only care, might truth presume to speak, 
 
 Is not to find what they profess to seek. 
 
 And thus, well-tutord only while we share 
 
 A mother's lectures and a nurse's care ; 
 
 And taught at schools much mythologic stuff,* 
 
 But sound religion sparingly enough; 
 
 Our early notices of truth, disgraced. 
 
 Soon lose their credit, and are all effaced. 
 
 Would you your son should be a sot or dunce, 
 Lascivious, headstrong, or all these at once; 
 That in good time the stripling's finished taste 
 For loose expense, and fashionable waste. 
 Should prove your ruin, and his o\vn at last ; 
 Train him in public with a mob of boys. 
 Childish in mischief only and in noise. 
 Else of a mannish growth, and five in ten 
 In infidelity and lewdness men. 
 There shall he loam, ere sixteen winters old. 
 That authors arc most useful pawn'd or sold ; 
 That pedantry is all that schools impart. 
 But taverns teach the knowledge of the heart ; 
 There waiter Dick, with Bacchanalian lays. 
 Shall win his heart, and have his drunken praise. 
 His counsellor and bosom-friend shall prove. 
 And some street-pacing harlot his first love. 
 Schools, unless discipline were doubly strong. 
 Detain their adolescent cliarge too long : 
 The management of tiroes of eighteen 
 Is difficult ; their punishment obscene. 
 The stout tall captain, whose superior size 
 The minor heroes view with envious eyes. 
 Becomes their pattern, upon whom they fix 
 Their whole attention, and ape all his tricks. 
 His pride, that scorns to obey or to submit. 
 With them is courage; his cfirontery wit. 
 
 * The ftuthnr begs loave to explain. —SonsiW? that, without 
 such knowledge, neither the ancient poets nor hi.torians can l»» 
 tasted, or indeed understood, he does not mo.'in to censure th/» 
 pains that are taken to instruct a schoolboy in the rcliijion of U«» 
 heathen, but merely that neglect of Christian culture wlijch 
 leave* him shamefully ignorant of his own.
 
 358 TIROCINIUM : OR, 
 
 His wild excursions, window-breaking feats, 
 
 Robbery of gardens, quarrels in the streets, 
 
 His hairbreadth 'scapes, and all his daring schemes. 
 
 Transport them, and are made their favourite themes. 
 
 In little bosoms such achievements strike 
 
 A kindred spark : they bum to do the like. 
 
 Thus half-accomplish'd ere he yet begin 
 
 To shew the peeping down upon his chin ; 
 
 And, as maturity of years comes on, 
 
 Make just th' adept that you design'd your son; 
 
 To ensure the perseverance of his course. 
 
 And give your monstrous project all its force, 
 
 Send him to college. If he there be tamed. 
 
 Or in one article of vice reclaim'd, 
 
 Where no regard of ordinance is shewn 
 
 Or look'd for now, the fault must be his own. 
 
 Some sneaking virtue lurks in him no doubt. 
 
 Where neither strumpets' charms, nor drinking bout, 
 
 Nor gambling practises, can find it out. 
 
 Such youths of spirit, and that spirit too. 
 
 Ye nurseries of our boys, we owe to you : 
 
 Though from ourselves the mischief more proceeds, 
 
 For public schools "tis public folly feeds. 
 
 The slaves of custom and establish'd mode. 
 
 With packhorse constancy we keep the road. 
 
 Crooked or straight, through quags or thorny dells, 
 
 True to the jingling of our leader's bells. 
 
 To follow foolish precedents, and wink 
 
 With both our eyes, is easier than to think : 
 
 And such an age as ours balks no expense, 
 
 Except of caution, and of common sense : 
 
 Else sure notorious fact, and proof so plain. 
 
 Would turn our steps into a wiser train. 
 
 I blame not those, who with what care they can, 
 
 O'erwatch the numerous 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, 
 
 A ubiquarian presence and control, 
 
 Elisba's eye, that, when Gehazi stray'd. 
 
 Went with him, and saw all the game he play'd ? 
 
 Yes — ye are conscious ; and on all the shelves
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 359 
 
 Your pupils strike upon, have struck yourselves. 
 
 Or if, by nature sober, ye had then. 
 
 Boys as ye were, the gravity of men ; 
 
 Ye knew at least, by constant proofs address'd 
 
 To ears and eyes, the vices of the rest. ^ 
 
 But ye connive at what ye cannot cure. 
 
 And evils, not to be endured, endure. 
 
 Lest power exerted, but without success. 
 
 Should make the little ye retain still less. 
 
 Ye once were justly famed for bringing forth 
 
 Undoubted scholarship and genuine worth ; 
 
 And in the firmament of fame still shines 
 
 A glory, bright as that of all the signs. 
 
 Of poets raised by you, and statesmen, and divines. 
 
 Peace to them all ! those brilliant times are fled. 
 
 And no such lights are kindling in their stead. 
 
 Our striplings shine indeed, but with such rays 
 
 As set the midnight riot in a blaze ; 
 
 And seem, if judged by their expressive looks. 
 
 Deeper in none than in their surgeons* books. 
 
 Say, Muse (for, education made the song. 
 No Muse can hesitate, or linger long). 
 What causes move us, knowing as we must. 
 That these mhiageries all fail their trust, 
 To send our sons to scout and scamper there. 
 While colts and puppies cost us so much care ? 
 
 Be it a weakness, it deserves some praise. 
 We love the play-place of our early days; 
 The scene is touching, and the heart is stone 
 That feels not at that sight, and feels at none. 
 The wall on which we tried our graving skill. 
 The very name we carved subsisting still ; 
 The bench on which we sat while deep employ'd. 
 Though mangled, hack'd, and hew'd, not yet destroy 'd 
 The little ones, unbutton'd, glowing hot. 
 Playing our games, and on the very spot ; 
 As happy as we once, to kneel and draw 
 The chalky ring, and knuckle down at taw ; 
 To pitch the ball into the grounded hat. 
 Or drive it devious with a dexterous pat ; 
 The pleasing spectacle at once excites 
 Such recollection of our own delights.
 
 360 TIROCINIUM: OR, 
 
 That, viewing it, vre seem almost to obtain 
 
 Our innocent sweet simple years again. 
 
 This fond attachment to the well-known place. 
 
 Whence first we started into life's long race. 
 
 Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway. 
 
 We feel it e'en in a^e, and at our latest day. 
 
 Hark ! how the sire of chits, whose future share 
 
 Of classic food begins to be his care, 
 
 With his own likeness placed on either knee. 
 
 Indulges all a father's heart-felt glee ; 
 
 And tells them, as he strokes their silver locks, 
 
 That they must soon learn Latin, and to box : 
 
 Then turning, he regales his listening wife 
 
 With all the adventures of his early life ; 
 
 His skill in coachmanship, or driving chaise. 
 
 In bilking tavern bills, and spouting plays; 
 
 What shifts he used, detected in a scrape, 
 
 How he was flogg'd, or had the luck t'escape; 
 
 What sums he lost at play, and how he sold 
 
 Watch, seals, and all — till all his pranks are told. 
 
 Retracing tlius his fmlics ('tis a name 
 
 That palliates deeds of folly and of shame). 
 
 He gives the local bias all its sway ; 
 
 Resolves that where he play'd his sons shall play, 
 
 And destines their bright genius to be shewn. 
 
 Just in the scene where he display'd his own. 
 
 The meek and bashful boy will soon be taught 
 
 To be as bold and forward as he ought ; 
 
 The rude will scuffle through with ease enough, 
 
 Great schools suit best the sturdy and the rough. 
 
 Ah, happy designation, prudent choice, 
 
 The event is sure ; expect it ; and rejoice ! 
 
 Soon see your wish fulCll'd in either cliild, 
 
 The pert made perter, and the tame made wild. 
 
 The great, indeed, by titles, riches, birth. 
 Excuse the encumbrance of more solid worth. 
 Are best disposed of where with most success 
 They may acquire that confident address. 
 Those habits of profuse and lewd expense. 
 That scorn of all delights but those of sense. 
 Which, though in plain plebeians we condemn. 
 With so much reason all expect from them.
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 361 
 
 But families of less illustrious fame, 
 Whose chief distinction is their spotless name. 
 Whose heirs, their honours none, their income small, 
 Must shine by true desert, or not at all, 
 What dream they of, that with so little care 
 They risk their hopes, their dearest treasure, there . 
 They dream of little Charles or William graced 
 With wig prolix, down flowing to his waist ; 
 They see th' attentive crowds his talents draw. 
 They hear him speak— the oracle of law. 
 The father, who designs his babe a priest. 
 Dreams him espiscopally such at least ; 
 And, while the playful jockey scours the room 
 Briskly, astride upon the parlour broom. 
 In fancy sees him more superbly ride 
 In coach with purple lined, and mitres on its side. 
 Events improbable and strange as these. 
 Which only a parental eye foresees, 
 A public school shall bring to pass with ease. 
 But how ? resides such virtue in that air. 
 As must create an appetite for prayer ? 
 And will it breathe into him all the zeal. 
 That candidates for such a prize should feel. 
 To take the lead and be the foremost still 
 In all true worth and literary skill ? 
 
 •Ah, blind to bright futurity, untaught 
 The knowledge of the world, and dull of thought .' 
 Church-ladders are not always mounted best 
 By learned clerks, and Latinists profess'd. 
 The exalted prize demands an upward look, 
 Not to be found by poring on a book. 
 Small skill in Latin, and still less in Greek, 
 Is more than adequate to all I seek. 
 Let erudition grace him, or not grace, 
 I give the bauble but the second place ; 
 His wealth, fame, honours, all that I intend, 
 Subsist and centre in one point— a friend. 
 A friend, whate'er he studies or neglects. 
 Shall give him consequence, heal all defects. 
 His intercourse with peers and sons of peers — 
 There dawns the splendour of his future years : 
 In that bright quarter his propitious skies 
 Shall blush betimes, and there his glory rise, 
 Q
 
 362 TIROCLVIUM; OR 
 
 Your Lordship ! and Your Grace! what school can teach 
 
 A rhetoric equal to those parts of speech ? 
 
 What need of Homer's verse, or Tully's prose. 
 
 Sweet interjections ! if he learn but those ? 
 
 Let rev'rend churls his ignorance rebuke. 
 
 Who starve upon a dog's-ear'd Pentateuch, 
 
 The parson knows enough, who knows a duke !' 
 
 Egregious purpose ! worthily begun 
 
 In barbarous prostitution of your son ; 
 
 Press'd on his part by means that would disgrace 
 
 A scriv'ner's clerk, or footman out of place, 
 
 And ending, if at last its end be gain'd. 
 
 In sacrilege, in God's own house profaned. 
 
 It may succeed ; and, if his sins should call 
 
 For more than common punishment, it shall ; 
 
 The wretch shall rise, and be the thing on earth 
 
 Least qualified in honour, learning, worth, 
 
 To occupy a sacred, awful post, 
 
 In which the best and worthiest tremble most. 
 
 The royal letters, are a thing of course, 
 
 A king, that would, might recommend his horse ; 
 
 And deans, no doubt, and chapters, with one voice. 
 
 As bound in duty, would confirm the choice. 
 
 Behold your bishop ; well he plays his part. 
 
 Christian in name, and infidel in heart. 
 
 Ghostly in office, earthly in his plan, 
 
 A slave at court, elsewhere a lady's man. 
 
 Dumb as a senator, and as a priest, 
 
 A piece of mere church furniture at best ; 
 
 To live estranged from God his total scope. 
 
 And his end sure, without one glimpse of hope. 
 
 But fair although and feasible it seem. 
 
 Depend not much upon your golden dream ; 
 
 For Providence, that seems concern'd to exempt 
 
 The hallow'd bench from absolute contempt. 
 
 In spite of all the wrigglers into place. 
 
 Still keeps a seat or two for worth and grace ; 
 
 And therefore 'tis, that though the sight be rare, 
 
 We sometimes see a Lowth or Bagot there. 
 
 Besides, school-friendships are not always found. 
 
 Though fair in promise, permanent and sound ; 
 
 The most disinterested and virtuous minds. 
 
 In early years connected, time unbinds;
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 363 
 
 New situations give a different cast 
 
 Of habit, inclination, temper, taste; 
 
 And he that seem'd our counterpart at first. 
 
 Soon shews the strong similitude reversed, 
 
 \'oung heads are giddy, and young hearts are warm. 
 
 And make mistakes for manhood to reform. 
 
 Boys are at best but pretty buds unblown. 
 
 Whose scent and hues are rather guess'd than known; 
 
 Each dreams that each is just what he appears. 
 
 But learns his error in maturer years. 
 
 When disposition like a sail urfurl'd. 
 
 Shews all its rents and patches to the world. 
 
 If, therefore e'en when honest in design, 
 
 A boyish friendship may so soon decline, 
 
 'Twere wiser sure, t' inspire a little heart 
 
 With just abhorrence of so mean a part. 
 
 Than set your son to work at a vile trade 
 
 For wages so unlikely to be paid. 
 
 Our public hives of puerile resort. 
 That are of chief and most approved report, 
 To such base hopes, in many a sordid soul. 
 Owe their repute in part, but not the whole. 
 A principle whose proud pretensions pass 
 Unquestion'd, though the jewel be but glass — 
 That with a world not often over-nice. 
 Hanks as a virtue, and is yet a vice ; 
 Or rather a gross compound, justly tried, 
 Of envy, hatred, jealousy, and pride- 
 Contributes most perhaps t' enhance their fains; 
 And emulation is its specious name. 
 Boys, once on fire with that contentious zeal. 
 Feel all the rage that female rivals feel : 
 The prize of beauty in a woman's eyes 
 Not brighter than in their's the scholar's prize. 
 The spirit of that competition burns 
 With all varieties of ills by turns ; 
 Each vainly magnifies his own success. 
 Resents his fellow's, wishes it were less, 
 Exults in his miscarriage if he fail. 
 Deems his reward too great if he prevail, 
 And labours to surpass him day and night, 
 Less from improvement than to tickle spite.
 
 364 TIROCINIUM : OR, 
 
 The spur is powerful, 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 : 
 But judge, where so much evil intervenes. 
 The end, though plausible, not worth the means. 
 Weigh, for a moment, classical desert 
 Against a heart depraved and temper hurt ; 
 Hurt too perhaps for life ; for early WTong, . 
 Done to the nobler part, affects it long ; 
 And you are staunch indeed in learning's cause. 
 If you can crown a discipline that draws 
 Such mischiefs after it, with much applause. 
 
 Connexion form'd for interest, and endear'd 
 By selfish views, thus censured and cashier'd; 
 And emulation, as engendering hate, 
 Doom'd to a no less ignominious fate : 
 The props of such proud seminaries fall. 
 The Jachin and the Boaz of them all. 
 Great schools rejected then, as those that swell 
 Beyond a size that can be managed well. 
 Shall royal institutions miss the bays. 
 And small academies win all the praise ? 
 Force not my drift beyond its just intent ; 
 I praise a school as Pope a govenment : 
 So take my judgment in his language dress'd, 
 ' Whate'er is best administer'd is best.' 
 Few boys are bom with talents that excel. 
 But all are capable of living well ; 
 Then ask not. Whether limited or large ? 
 But, Watch they strictly, or neglect their charge i 
 If anxious only that their boys may learn, 
 While morals languish, a despised concern. 
 The great and small deserve one common blame. 
 Different in size, but in effect the same. 
 Much zeal in virtue's cause all teachers boast. 
 Though motives of mere lucre sway the most : 
 Therefore in towns and cities they abound. 
 For there the game they seek is easiest found ; 
 Though there, in spite of all that care can do. 
 Traps to catch youth are most abundant too. 
 If shrewd, and of a well-constructed brain. 
 Keen in pursuit, and vigorous to retain.
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 3o5 
 
 Your son come forth a prodigy of skill ; 
 As, wheresoever taught, so form'd he will 
 The pedagogue, with self-complacent air. 
 Claims more than half the praise as his due share. 
 But if, with all his genius, he betray. 
 Not more intelligent than loose and gay. 
 Such vicious habits as disgrace his name. 
 Threaten his health, his fortune and his fame ; 
 Though want of due restraint alone have bred 
 The symptoms, that you see with so much dread ; 
 Unenvied there, he may sustain alone 
 The whole reproach, the fault was all his own. 
 
 O 'tis a sight to be with joy perused. 
 By all whom sentiment has not abused; 
 New-fangled sentiment, the boasted grace 
 Of those who never feel in the right place ; 
 A sight surpass'd by none that we can shew. 
 Though Vestris on one leg still shine below; 
 A father bless'd with an ingenuous son. 
 Father, and friend, and tutor, all in one. 
 How !— turn again to tales long since forgot, 
 JEsop, and Phajdrus, and the rest ? — Why not ? 
 He will not blush, that has a father's heart. 
 To take in childish plays a childish part ; 
 But bends his sturdy back to any toy 
 That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy ; 
 Then why resign into a stranger's hand 
 A task as much within your own command. 
 That God and nature, and your interest too. 
 Seem with one voice to delegate to you ? 
 Why hire a lodging in a house unknown 
 For one whose tenderest thoughts aU hover round your 
 This second weaning, needless as it is, [own 
 
 How does it lacerate both your heart and his ! 
 The indented stick, that loses day by day 
 Notch after notch, till all are smoothed away. 
 Bears witness, long ere his dimission come. 
 With what intense desire he wants his home. 
 But though the joys he hopes beneath your roof 
 Bid fair enough to answer in the proof. 
 Harmless and safe, and natural, as they are, 
 A disappointment waits him even there:
 
 366 TIROCINIUM: OR, 
 
 Arrived, he feels an unexpected change. 
 
 He blushes, hangs his head, is shy and strange ; 
 
 No longer takes, as once, with fearless ease, 
 
 His favourite stand between his father's knees. 
 
 But seeks the comer of some distant seat. 
 
 And eyes the door, and watches a retreat. 
 
 And least familiar where he should be most. 
 
 Feels all his happiest privileges lost. 
 
 A 135, poor boy !— the natural effect 
 
 Of love by absence chill'd into respect. 
 
 Say, what accomplishments at school acquired. 
 
 Brings he, to sweeten fruits so undesired ? 
 
 Thou well deservest an alienated son, 
 
 Unless thy conscious heart acknowledge — none ; 
 
 None that, in thy domestic snug recess. 
 
 He had not made his owti with more address. 
 
 Though some perhaps, that shock thy feeling mind, 
 
 And better never learn'd, or left behind. 
 
 Add too, that, thus estranged, thou canst obtain 
 
 By no kind arts his confidence again ; 
 
 That here begins with most that long compla 
 
 Of filial franknese lost, and love grown faint. 
 
 Which, oft neglected, in life's waning years 
 
 A parent pours into regardless ears. 
 
 Like caterpillars, dangling under trees 
 By slender threads, and swinging in the breeze, 
 Which filthily bewray and sore disgrace 
 The boughs in which are bred the unseemly race ; 
 While every worm industriously weaves 
 And winds his web above the rivell'd leaves ; 
 So numerous are the folhes, that annoy 
 The mind and heart of every sprightly boy ; 
 Imaginations noxious and perverse. 
 Which admonition can alone disperse. 
 Th' encroaching nuisance asks a faithful hand. 
 Patient, aifectionate, of high command, . 
 To check the procreation of a breed 
 Sure to exhaust the plant on which they feed. 
 'Tis not enough, that Greek or Roman page. 
 At stated hours, his freakish thouglits engage; 
 E'en in his pastimes he requires a friend. 
 To wara, and teach him safely to unbend ;
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. SOT 
 
 O'er all his pleasures gently to preside. 
 
 Watch his emotions, and control their tide; 
 
 And levying thus, and with an easy sway, 
 
 A tax of profit from his very play, 
 
 T' impress a value, not to be erased. 
 
 On moments squander'd else, and running all to waste. 
 
 And seems it nothing in a father's eye. 
 
 That unimproved those many moments fly ? 
 
 And is he well content his son should find 
 
 No nourishment to feed his growing mind. 
 
 But conjugated verbs, and nouns declined ? 
 
 For such is all the mental food purvey'd 
 
 By public hackneys in the schooUng trade ; 
 
 Who feed a pupil's intellect with store 
 
 Of syntax, truly, but with little more; 
 
 Dismiss their cares when they dismiss their flock. 
 
 Machines themselves, and govern'd by a clock. 
 
 Perhaps a father, bless'd with any brains. 
 
 Would deem it no abuse, or waste of pains. 
 
 To improves this diet, at no great expense. 
 
 With savoury truth and wholesome common sense; 
 
 To lead his son, for prospects of delight. 
 
 To some not steep, though philosophic, height, 
 
 Thenc? to exhibit to his wondering eyes 
 
 You ciicling worlds, their distance, and their size; 
 
 The moons of Jove, and Saturn's belted ball. 
 
 And th' harmonious order of them nil ; 
 
 To shew him in an insect or a flower 
 
 Such microscopic proof of skill and power. 
 
 As, hid from ages past, God now displays. 
 
 To combat atheists with in modern days ; 
 
 To spread the earth before him, and commend. 
 
 With designation of the finger's end. 
 
 Its various parts to his attentive note, 
 
 Thus bringing home to him the most remote; 
 
 To teach his heart to glow with generous flame. 
 
 Caught from the deeds of men of ancient fame : 
 
 \nd, 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 sohd, not too weighty for his years.
 
 368 TIROCINIUM: OR, 
 
 Sweet in itself, and not forbidding sport. 
 
 When health demands it, of athletic •sort. 
 
 Would make him— what some lovely boys have been, 
 
 \nd more than one perhaps that I have seen— 
 
 An evidence and reprehension both 
 
 Of the mere scholboy's lean and tardy growth. 
 
 Art thou a man professionally tied. 
 With all thy faculties elsewhere applied. 
 Too busy to intend a meaner care. 
 Than how t' enrich thyself, and next thine heir ; 
 Or art thou (as, though rich, perhaps thou art) 
 But poor in knowledge, having none t' impart :— 
 Behold that figure, neat, though plainly clad ; 
 His sprightly mingled with a shade of sad; 
 Not of a nimble tongue, though now and then 
 Heard to articulate iTke 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. 
 Not English stifT, but frank, and form'd to please ; 
 Low in the world, because he scorns its arts ; 
 A man of letters, manners, morals, parts ; 
 Unpatronized, and therefore little known ; 
 Wise for himself and his few friends alone — 
 In him thy well-appointed proxy see, 
 Arm'd for a work too difficult for thee; 
 Prepared by taste, by learning, and true worth. 
 To form thy son, to strike his genius forth ; 
 Beneath thy roof, beneath thine eye, to prove 
 The force of discipline, when back'd by love ; 
 To double all thy pleasure in ihy child. 
 His mind inform'd, his morals undefiled. 
 Safe under such a wing, the boy shall shew 
 No spots contracted among grooms below. 
 Nor taint his speech with meannesses, design'd 
 By footman Tom for witty and refined. 
 There, in his commerce with the liveried herd. 
 Lurks the contagion chiefly to be feared ; 
 For since (so fashion dictates) all, who claim 
 A higher than a mere plebeian fame. 
 Find it expedient, come what mischief may. 
 To entertain a thief or two in pay
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 339 
 
 (And they that can afford the expense of more, 
 Some half a dozen, and some half a score). 
 Great cause occurs to save him from a band 
 So sure to spoil him, and so near at hand ; 
 A point secured, if once he be supplied 
 With some such Mentor always at his side. 
 Are such men rare ? Perhaps they would abound. 
 Were occupation easier to be found. 
 Were education, else so sure to fail, 
 Conducted on a manageable scale. 
 And schools, that have outlived all just esteem. 
 Exchanged for the secure domestic scheme. — 
 But having found him, be thou duke or earl. 
 Shew thou hast sense enough to prize the pearl. 
 And, as thou wouldst the advancement of thine heir 
 In all good faculties beneath his care. 
 Respect, as is but rational and just, 
 A man deem'd worthy of so dear a trust. 
 Despised by thee, what more can he expect 
 From youthful folly than the same neglect ? 
 A flat and fatal negative obtains 
 That instant upon all his future pains ; 
 His lessons tire, his mild rebukes offend. 
 And all the instructions of thy sou's best friend 
 Are a stream choked, or trickling to no end. 
 Doom him not then to solitary meals; 
 But recollect that he has sense, and feels ; 
 And that, possessor of a soul refined. 
 An upright heart, and cultivated mind. 
 His post not mean, his talents not unknown. 
 He deems it hard to vegetate alone. 
 And, if admitted at thy board he sit. 
 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 ; 
 Xor frown, unless he vanish with the cloth. — 
 And, trust me, his utility may reach 
 To more than he is hired or bound to teach; 
 Much trash unutter'd, and some ills undone. 
 Through reverence of the censor of thy son. 
 Q d
 
 370 TIROCINIUM: OR, 
 
 But, if thy table be indeed unclean. 
 Foul with excess, and with discourse obscene. 
 And thou a wretch, whom, following her old plan. 
 The world accounts an honourable man. 
 Because forsooth thy courage has been tried. 
 And stood the test perhaps on the wrong side ; 
 Though thou hadst never grace enough to prove 
 That any thing but vice could win thy love ; 
 Or hast thou a polite card-playing wife, 
 Chain'd to the routs that she frequents for life; 
 Who, just when industry begins to snore, 
 Flies, wing'd with joy, to some coach-crowded door ; 
 And thrice in every winter throngs thine own 
 With half the chariots and sedans in town. 
 Thyself meanwhile e'en shifting as thou may'st , 
 Not very sober though, nor very chaste ? 
 Or is thine house, though less superb thy rank, 
 If not a scene of pleasure, a mere blank. 
 And thou at best, and in thy soberest mood, 
 A trifler vain, and empty of all good ? 
 Though mercy for thyself thou canst have none. 
 Hear nature plead, shew mercy to thy son. 
 Saved from his home, where every day brings forth 
 Some mischief fatal to his future worth, 
 Find him a better in a distant spot, 
 Within some pious pastor's humble cot. 
 Where vile example (yours I chiefly mean. 
 The most seducing, and the oftenest seen) 
 May never more be stamp'd upon his breast. 
 Not yet perhaps incurably impress'd. 
 Where early rest makes early rising sure. 
 Disease or comes not, or finds easy cure. 
 Prevented much by diet neat and plain ; 
 Or, if it enter, soon starved out again; 
 Where all th' attention of his faithful host. 
 Discreetly limited to two at most, 
 May raise such fruits as shall reward his care. 
 And not at last evaporate in air ; 
 Where, stillness aiding study, and his mind 
 Serene, and to his duties much inclined, 
 Not occupied in day-dreams, as at home. 
 Of pleas'wes past, or folliea yet to come,
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 371 
 
 His virtuous toil may terminate at last 
 In settled habit and decided taste. — 
 But whom do I advise? the fashion -led, 
 The incorrigibly wrong, the deaf, the dead, 
 Whom care and cool deliberation suit 
 Not better much than spectacles a brute ; 
 Who, if their sons some slight tuition share. 
 Deem it of no great moment whose, or where; 
 Too proud to adopt the thoughts of one unknown, 
 And much too gay to have any of their own. 
 • But courage, man !' methought the muse replied, 
 « Mankind are various, and the world is wide: 
 The ostrich, silliest of the feather'd kind. 
 And form'd of God without a parent's mind. 
 Commits her eggs incautious to the dust. 
 Forgetful that the foot may crush the trust ; 
 And, while on public nurseries they rely. 
 Not knowing, and too oft not caring, why, 
 Irrational in what they thus prefer. 
 No few, that would seem wise, resembles her. 
 But all are not alike. Thy warning voice 
 May here and there prevent erroneous choice ; 
 And some perhaps, who, busy as they are. 
 Yet make their progeny their dearest care 
 (Whose hearts will ache, once told what ills may reach 
 Their offspring, left upon so wild a beach). 
 Will need no stress of argument to enforce 
 The expedience of a less adventurous course: 
 The rest will slight thy counsel, or condemn : 
 But they have human feelings; turn to them.' 
 To you, then, tenant of Ufe's middle state. 
 Securely placed between the small and great. 
 Whose character, yet undebauch'd, retains 
 Two-thirds of all the virtue that remains : 
 Who, wise yourselves, desire your son should learn 
 Your wisdom and your ways— to you I turn. 
 Look round you on a world perversely blind; 
 See what contempt has fallen on human kind ; 
 See wealth abused and dignities misplaced. 
 Great titles, offices, and trusts disgraced. 
 Long lines of ancestry, renown'd of old. 
 Their noble qualities all quench'd and cold ;
 
 372 TIROCINIUM: OR, 
 
 See Bedlam's closetted and haud-cufif'd charge 
 
 Sui-pass'd in frenzy by the man at large; 
 
 See great commanders making war a trade. 
 
 Great lau-yers, lawyers without study made ; 
 
 Churchmen, in whose esteem their bless'd employ 
 
 Is odious, and their wages all their joy ; 
 
 ■\Vho, far enough from furnishing their shelves 
 
 With Gospel lore, turn infidels themselves ; 
 
 See womanhood despised, and manhood shamed 
 
 "With infamy too nauseous to be named. 
 
 Fops at all comers, lady-like in mien, 
 
 Civeted fellows, smelt ere they are seen ; 
 
 Else coarse and rude in manners, and their tongue 
 
 On fire with curses, and with nonsense hung ; 
 
 Xow ^ush'd with drunkenness, now with whoredom pale, 
 
 Their breath a sample of last night's regale : 
 
 See volunteers in all the vilest arts. 
 
 Men weU endow' d, of honourable parts. 
 
 Design'd by Nature wise, but self-made fools ; 
 
 All these, and more like these, were bred at schools. 
 
 And if it chance, as sometimes chance it v>-ill. 
 
 That though school-bred the boy be virtuous still, 
 
 3uch rare exceptions, shining in the dark, 
 
 Prove, rather than impeach, the just remark ; 
 
 As here and there a twinkling star descried 
 
 Serves but to shew how black is all beside. 
 
 Now look on him, whose ver^' voice in tone 
 
 Just echoes thine, whose features are thine own. 
 
 And stroke his polish'd cheek of purest red. 
 
 And lay thine hand upon his flaxen head. 
 
 And say, * My boy, the unwelcome hour is come. 
 
 When thou, transplanted from thy genial home. 
 
 Must find a colder soil and bleaker air. 
 
 And trust for safety to a stranger's care : 
 
 What character, what turn thou wilt assume 
 
 From constant converse with I know not whom ; 
 
 Who there wiU court thy friendship, with what views. 
 
 And, artless as thou art, whom thou wilt choose ; 
 
 Though much depends on what thy choice shall be. 
 
 Is all chance-medley, and unknown to me.' 
 
 Canst thou, the tear just trembling on thy lids 
 
 And while the dreadful risk foreseen forbids.
 
 A REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 373 
 
 Free too, and under no constraining force. 
 
 Unless the sway of custom warp thy course; 
 
 Lay such a stake upon the losing side. 
 
 Merely to gratify so blind a guide ? 
 
 Thou canst not ! Nature, pulling at thine heart. 
 
 Condemns the unfatherly, the imprudent part. 
 
 Thou wouldst not, deaf to Nature's tenderest plea. 
 
 Turn him adrift upon a rolling sea, 
 
 Nor say. Go thither, conscious that there lay 
 
 A brood of asps, or quicksands in his way; 
 
 Then, only govem'd by the self-same rule 
 
 Of natural pity, send him not to school. 
 
 No — guard him better. Is he not thine own. 
 
 Thyself in miniature, thy flesh, thy bone ? 
 
 And hop'st thou not ('tis every father's hope) 
 
 That since thy strength must with thy years elope. 
 
 And thou wilt need some comfort, to assauge 
 
 Health's last farewell, a staff of thine old age. 
 
 That then, in recompense of aU thy cares. 
 
 Thy child shall shew respect to thy gray hairs ; 
 
 Befriend thee, of all other friends bereft. 
 
 And give thy life its only cordial left? 
 
 Aware then how much danger intervenes. 
 
 To compass that good end, forecast the means. 
 
 His heart, now passive, yields to thy command; 
 
 Secure it thine, its key is in thine hand. 
 
 If thou desert thy charge, and throw it wide, 
 
 Nor heed what guests there enter and abide. 
 
 Complain not if attachments lewd and base 
 
 Supplant thee in it, and usurp thy place. 
 
 But if thou guard its sacred chambers sure 
 
 From vicious inmates, and delights impure, 
 
 Either his gratitude shali hold him fast. 
 
 And keep him warm and filial to the last : 
 
 Or. if lie prove unkind (as who can say 
 
 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. 
 
 Oh, barbarous ! wouldst thou with a Gothic hand 
 Pull down the schools— what !— all the schools i' th' land ; 
 Or throw them up to livery-nags and grooms, 
 Or turn them iYito shops and auction-rooms i—
 
 374 TIROCINIUM. 
 
 A captious question, sir (and yours is one). 
 Deserves an answer similar or none. 
 Wouldst thou, possessor of a flock, employ 
 (Apprized that he is 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. 
 From education, as the leading cause. 
 The public character its colour draws ; 
 Thence the prevailing manners take their cast, 
 Extravagant or sober, loose or chaste. 
 And though I would not advertise them yet. 
 Nor write on each— This building to be let. 
 Unless the world were all prepared to embrace 
 A plan well worthy to supply their place ; 
 Yet, backward as they are, and long have been, 
 To cultivate and keep the morals clean, 
 (Forgive the crime) I wish them, 1 confess. 
 Or better managed, or encouraged less.
 
 TO 
 
 THE REVEREND 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. 
 
 The keenest frost that binds the stream. 
 
 The wildest wind that blows, 
 Are neither felt nor fear'd by them. 
 
 Secure of their repose. 
 
 But man. all feeling and awake, 
 
 The gloomy scene surveys; 
 With present ills his heart must ache. 
 
 And pant for brighter days. 
 
 Old Winter, halting o'er the mead. 
 
 Bids me and Mary mourn ; 
 But lovely Spring peeps o'er his head. 
 
 And whispers your return. 
 
 Then April, with her sister May, 
 Shall chase him from the bowers. 
 
 And weave fresh garlands every day. 
 To crown the smiling hours. 
 
 And if a tear, that speaks regret 
 
 Of happier times, appear, 
 A glimpse of joy that we have met. 
 
 Shall shine, and dry the tear.
 
 CATHARINA. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MISS STAPLETON, 
 
 (AFTEFnV^\RD MRS. COURIXEY.) 
 
 She came — she is gone — v/e have met — 
 
 And meet perhaps never again ; 
 The sun of that moment is set. 
 
 And seems to have risen in vain. 
 Catharina has fled like a dream — 
 
 (So vanishes pleasure, alas!) 
 But has left a regret and esteem. 
 
 That will not so suddenly pass. 
 
 The last evening ramble we made, — 
 
 Catharina, Maria, and I, 
 Our progress was often delay'd 
 
 By the nightingale warbling nigh. 
 We paused under many a tree. 
 
 And much she was charm'd with a tone 
 Less sweet to Maria and me. 
 
 Who so lately had 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 into 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. 
 
 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 lirass 
 
 On the banks of our river, I know, 
 .Are sweeter to her many times 
 
 Than aught that the city canthc-w.
 
 THE MORALIZER CORRECTED. 377 
 So it is, when the mind is endued 
 
 With a weN 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 valleys, 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 
 
 MORALIZER CORRECTED. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 A Hermit (or if chance you hold 
 That title now too trite and old), 
 A man, once young, who lived retired 
 As hermit could have well desired. 
 His hours of study closed at last. 
 And finish'd his concise repast.
 
 378 THE MORALIZER CORRECTED. 
 Stoppled his cruise, replaced his book 
 "Within its customary nook. 
 And, staff in hand, set forth to share 
 The sober cordial of sweet air. 
 Like Isaac, with a mind applied 
 To serious thought at ev'ning tide. 
 Autumnal rains had made it chill. 
 And from the trees that fringed his hill. 
 Shades slanting at the close of day, 
 Chill'd more his else delightful way. 
 Distant a little mile he spied 
 A western bank's still sunny side. 
 And right toward the favour'd place 
 Proceeding with his nimblest pace, 
 In hope to bask a little yet. 
 Just reach'd it when the sun was set. 
 
 Your hermit, young and jovial sirs ! 
 Learns something from whatever 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 every hue. 
 That can seduce him not to spare 
 His powers of best exertion there. 
 But youth, health, vigour to expend 
 On so desirable an end. 
 Ere long approach life's evening shades. 
 The glow, that fancy gave it, fades ; 
 And earn'd too late, it wants the grace 
 That first engaged him in the chase. — 
 True, answer'd an angelic guide. 
 Attendant at the senior's side — 
 But whether all the time it cost. 
 To urge the fruitless chase be lost. 
 Must be decided by the worth 
 Of that which call'd his ardour forth. 
 Trifles pursued, whate'er the event, 
 Must cause him shame or discontent; 
 A vicious object still is worse, 
 Successful there he wins a curse;
 
 THE FAITHFUL BIRD, 379 
 
 But he, whom e'en in life's last stage. 
 Endeavours laudable engage, 
 If paid, at least in peace of mind. 
 And sense of having well design'd ; 
 And if, ere he attain his end, 
 His sun precipitate descend, 
 A brighter prize than that he meant 
 Shall recompense his mere in tent. 
 No virtuous wish can bear a date 
 Either too early or too late. 
 
 THE FAITHFUL BIRD. 
 
 The greenhouse is my summer seat ; 
 My shrubs displaced from that retreat 
 
 Enjoy' d the open air : 
 Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song 
 Had been their mutual solace long. 
 
 Lived happy prisoners there. 
 
 They sang, as blithe as finches sing. 
 That flutter loose on golden wing. 
 
 And frolic where they list ; 
 Strangers to liberty, 'tis true. 
 But that delight they never knew. 
 
 And therefor never raiss'd. 
 
 But nature works in every breast. 
 With force not easily suppressed; 
 
 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 confined; 
 And Dick, although his way was clear, 
 Was much too gen'rous and sincere. 
 
 To leave his friend behind.
 
 380 THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 
 
 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 
 Till I with slow and cautious hand. 
 
 Return' d him to his own. 
 
 O ye, who never taste the joys 
 
 Of Friendship, satisfied with noise. 
 
 Fandango, ball, and rout ! 
 Blush, when I tell you how a bird, 
 A prison with a friend preferr'd 
 
 To liberty without. 
 
 THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 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. 
 Reserved to solace many a neighbouring squire. 
 That he may follow them through brake and brier. 
 Contusion hazarding of neck, or spine. 
 Which rural gentlemen call sport divine. 
 A narrow brook, by rushy banks conceal'd. 
 Runs in a bottom, and divides the field ; 
 Oaks intersperse it, that had once a head, 
 But now wear crests of oven-wood instead; 
 And where the land slopes to its watery bourn. 
 Wide yawns a gulf beside a ragged thorn ; 
 Bricks line the sides, but shiver' d long ago. 
 And horrid brambles intertwine below ; 
 A hollow scoop'd, I judge, in ancient time. 
 For baking earth, or burning rock to lime. 
 
 Nor yet the hawthorn bore her berries red. 
 With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed; 
 Nor Autumn yet had brush'd from every spray. 
 With her chill hand, the mellow leaves away )
 
 THE NEEDLESS ALARM. 381 
 
 But corn was housed, and beans were in the stack. 
 
 Now therefore issued forth the spotted pack. 
 
 With tails high mounted, ears hung low, and throats. 
 
 With a whole gamut fill'd of heavenly notes. 
 
 For which, alas ! my destiny severe. 
 
 Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear. 
 
 The sun, accomplishing his early march. 
 His lamp now planted on Heaven'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-raised horn's melodious clang 
 All Kilwick and all Dinglederry* rang. 
 
 Sheep grazed the field ; some with soft bosom press'd 
 The herb as soft, while nibbling strayed the rest; 
 Nor noise was heard but of the hasty brook. 
 Struggling, detain'd in many a pretty 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 music speak. 
 And from within the wood that crash was heard, 
 Though not a hound from whom it burst appear'd, 
 The sheep recumbent, and the sheep that grazed, 
 All huddling into phalanx, stood and gazed. 
 Admiring, terrified, the novel strain. 
 Then coursed the field around, and coursed it round 
 
 again ; 
 But, recollecting with a sudden thought, 
 That flight in circles urged advanced them nought, 
 They gather'd close around the old pit's brink. 
 And thought again — but knew not what to think. 
 
 The man to solitude accustom'd long 
 Perceives in every thing that lives a tongue ; 
 Not animals alone, but shrubs and trees 
 Have speech for him, and understood with ease ; 
 After long drought, when rains abundant fall. 
 He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all ; 
 Knows what the freshness of their hue implies. 
 How glad they catch the largess of the skies ; 
 
 * Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Esq.
 
 382 THE XEEDlESS alarm. 
 
 But, with precision nicer still, the mind 
 
 He scans of every locomotive kind ; 
 
 Birds of all feather, beasts of every name, 
 
 That serve mankind, or shun them, wild or tame ; 
 
 The looks and gestures of their griefs and fears 
 
 Have all articulation in his ears ; 
 
 He spells them true by intuition's light, 
 
 And needs no glossary to set him right. 
 
 This truth premised was needful as a text. 
 To win due credence to what follows next. 
 
 Awhile they mused ; surveying every face. 
 Thou hadst supposed them of superior race ; 
 Their periwigs of wool, and fears combined, 
 Stamped on each countenance such m.arks of mind. 
 That sage they seern'd, as law^-ers o'er a doubt. 
 Which, puzzling long, at last they puzzle out ; 
 Or academic tutors, teaching youths. 
 Sure ne'er to want them, mathematic truths ; 
 When thus a mutton, statelier than the rest, 
 A ram, the ewes and wethers sad address'd : 
 
 Friends I we have lived too long. I never heard 
 Sounds such as these, so worthy to be fear'd. 
 Could I believe, that winds for ages peat 
 In earth's dark womb have found at last a vent, 
 And from their prison-house below arise. 
 With all these hideous howling? to the skies, 
 I could be muclj composed, nor should appear. 
 For such a cause, to feel the slightest fear : 
 Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders roil'd 
 All night, me resting quiet in the fold ; 
 Or heard we that tremendous bray alone, 
 I could expound the melancholy tone ; 
 Should deem it by our old companion made. 
 The ass ; for he, we know, has lately stray'd. 
 And being lost perhaps, and wandering wide. 
 Might be supposed to clamour for a guide. 
 But, ah ! those dreadful yells what soul can hear 
 That owns a carcass, and not quake with fear ? 
 Demons produce them, doubtless ; brazen claw'd 
 And fang'd with brass, the demons are abroad : 
 I hold it therefore wisest and most fit. 
 That, life to save, we leap into the pit.
 
 BOADICEA, 383 
 
 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 dll into the grave ? 
 For can we find it less ? Contemplate first 
 The depth how awful ! falling there, we burst ; 
 Or should the brambles, interposed, our fall 
 In part abate, that happiness were small : 
 For with a race like theirs no chance I see 
 Of peace or ease to creatures clad as we. 
 Meantime, noise kills not. Be it Dapple's bray. 
 Or be it not, or be it whose it may. 
 And rush those other sounds, that seem by tongues 
 Of demons utter'd, from whatever lungs. 
 Sounds are but sounds ; and till the cause appear, 
 We have at least commodious standing here. 
 Come fiend, come fury, giant, monster, blast 
 From earth or hell, we can but plunge at last. 
 
 While thus she spake, I fainter heard the peals. 
 For Reynard, close attended at his heels 
 By panting dog, tired man, and spatter'd horse. 
 Through mere good fortune, took a different course. 
 The flock grew calm again; and I, the road 
 Following, that led me to my own abode. 
 Much wonder'd that the silly sheep had found 
 Such cause of terror in an empty sound. 
 So sweet to huntsman, gentleman, and hound. 
 
 MORAL. 
 
 Beware of desperate steps. The darkest day. 
 Live till to morrow, will have pass'd away. 
 
 BOADICEA. 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 When the British warrior-queen, 
 Bleeding from the Roman n^ds. 
 
 Sought, with an indignant mien. 
 Counsel of her country's gods ;
 
 384 BOADICEA. 
 
 Sage beneath the spreading oak 
 Sat the Druid, hoary chief; 
 
 Every burning word he spoke 
 Full of rage and full of grief. 
 
 Princess I if our aged eyes 
 
 Weep upon thy matchless wrongs, 
 Tis because resentment ties 
 
 All the terrors of our tongues. 
 Rome shall perish — write that word 
 
 In the blood that she has spilt ; 
 Perish, hopeless and abhorr'd. 
 
 Deep in ruin as in guilt. 
 Rome, for empire far renown'd, 
 
 Tramples on a thousand states ; 
 Soon her pride shall kiss the ground — 
 
 Hark ! the Gaul is at her gates ' 
 Other Romans shall arise. 
 
 Heedless of a soldier's name ; 
 Sounds, not arms, shall win the prize. 
 
 Harmony the path to fame. 
 Then the progeny that springs 
 
 From the forests of our land, 
 Arm'd with thunder, clad with wings. 
 
 Shall a wider world command. 
 Regions Caesar never knew 
 
 Thy posterity shall sway ; 
 Where his eagles never flew. 
 
 None invincible as they. 
 
 Such the bard's prophetic words. 
 
 Pregnant with celestial fire. 
 Bending as he swept the chords 
 
 Of his sweet but awful lyre. 
 She, with all a monarch's pride. 
 
 Felt ihem in her bosom glow 
 Rush'd to battle, fought and died I 
 
 Dying hurl'd them at the foe. 
 Ruffians, pitiless as proud. 
 
 Heaven awards the vengeance due. 
 Empire is on us bestow'd. 
 
 Shame and ruin wait for you.
 
 3S5 
 
 HEROISM. 
 
 Thehk was a time when ^Etna's silent fire 
 Slept unperceived, the mountain yet entire ; 
 When, conscious of no dange; from below, 
 She tower'd a cloud-capp'd pyramid of snow. 
 No thunders shook with deep intestine sound 
 The blooming groves that girdled her around. 
 Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines 
 (Unfelt the fury of those bursting mines). 
 The peasant's hopes, and not in vain, assured. 
 In peace upon her sloping sides matured. 
 When on a day, like that of the last doom, 
 A conflagration labouring in her womb. 
 She teem'd and heaved with an infernal birth, 
 That shook the circling seas and solid earth. 
 Dark and voluminous the vapours rise. 
 And hang their horrors in the neighbouring skies. 
 While through the Stygian veil that blots the day, 
 In dazzling streaks the vivid lightnings play, 
 But, oh ! what muse, and in what powers of song. 
 Can trace the torrent as it burns along ? 
 Havoc and devastation in the van. 
 It marches o'er the prostrate works of man ; 
 Vines, olives, herbage, forests disappear. 
 And all the charms of a Sicilian year. 
 
 Revolving seasons, fruitless as they pass. 
 See it an uninform'd and idle mass; 
 Without a soil t' invite the tiller's care. 
 Or blade, that might redeem it from despair. 
 Yet time at length (what will not time achieve ?) 
 Clothes it with earth, and bids the produce live. 
 Once more the spiry myrtle crowns the glade. 
 And ruminating flocks enjoy the shade. 
 O bliss precarious, and unsafe retreats, 
 O charming paradise of short-lived sweets ! 
 The self-same gale that wafts the fragrance round. 
 Brings to the distant ear a sullen sound : 
 Again the mountain feels tlie imprison'vi foe. 
 Again pours ruin on the vale below. 
 H
 
 SS6 HEROISM. 
 
 Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore. 
 That only future ages can restore. 
 
 Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honour draws. 
 Who write in blood the merits of your cause. 
 Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence^ 
 Glory your aim, but justice your pretence ; 
 Behold in Etna's emblematic fires, 
 The mischiefs your 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 rue 
 Their only crime, vicinity to you ! 
 The trumpet sounds, your legions swarm abroad. 
 Through the ripe harvest lies their destined road ; 
 At every step beneath their feet they tread 
 The life of multitudes, a nation's bread ! 
 Earth seems a garden in its loveliest dress 
 Before them, and behind a wilderness. 
 Famine, and Pestilence, her first-bom son. 
 Attend to finish what the sword begun ; 
 And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn. 
 And Folly pays, resoimd 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 shew 
 What scourges are the gods that rule below. 
 
 Yet man, laborious man, by slow degrees 
 (Such is his thirst of opulence and ease). 
 Plies all the sinews of industrious toil. 
 Gleans up the refuse of the general spoil. 
 Rebuilds the towers, that smoked upon the plain, 
 And the sun gilds the shining spires again. 
 
 Increasing commerce and reviving art 
 Renew the quarrel on the conqueror's part ; 
 And the sad lesson must be learn'd once more. 
 That wealth within is ruin at the door. 
 What are ye, monarchs, laurell'd heroes, say. 
 But iEtnas of the suffering %voild ye sway ? 
 Sweet Nature stripp'd of her embroider'd robe. 
 Deplores the wasted regions of her globe ;
 
 MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. 387 
 
 And stands a witness at Truth's awful bar. 
 To prove you there destroyers as ye are. 
 
 O place me in some Heaven-protected isle. 
 Where Peace, and Equity, and Freedom smile ; 
 Where no volcano pours his fiery flood, 
 No crested warrior dips his plume in blood: 
 Where Power secures what Industry has won ; 
 Where to succeed is not to be undone ; 
 A land, that distant tyrants hate in vain. 
 In Britain's isle, beneath a George's reign. 
 
 ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE 
 OUT OF NORFOLK; THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN 
 ANN RODHAM. 
 
 O THAT those lips had language ! Life has pass'd 
 With me but roughly since I heard thee last. 
 Those lips are thine — thy own sweet smile I see. 
 The same that oft in childhood solaced me ; 
 Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, 
 ' Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away !' 
 The meek intelligence of those dear eyes 
 (Bless'd be the art that can immortalize. 
 The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim 
 To quench it) here shines on me still the same. 
 Faithful remembrancer of one 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 my relief. 
 Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, 
 A momentary dream that thou art she. 
 
 My mother! when I learn'd that thou wast dead, 
 Say, wast thou conscious of the tears I shed ? 
 Hover'd thy spirit o'er thy sorrowing son, 
 Wretch even then, life's journey just begun ?
 
 388 OX THE RECEIPT OF 
 
 Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss : 
 
 Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bliss— 
 
 Ah that maternal smile ! It answers— Yes. 
 
 I heard the beU toU'd on thy burial day, 
 
 I saw the hearse that bore thee slow away. 
 
 And, turning from my nursery window, drew 
 
 A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu ! 
 
 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, grieved themselves at my concern. 
 
 Oft gave me promise of thy quick return. 
 
 What ardently I wished, I long believed. 
 
 And, disappointed still, was stiU deceived. 
 
 By expectation every day beguiled. 
 
 Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. 
 
 Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went. 
 
 Till, all my stock of infant sorrow spent, 
 
 I leam'd at last submission to my lot; 
 
 But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. 
 
 Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more. 
 
 Children not thine h-ave trod my nursery floor ; 
 
 And where the gardener Robin, day by day. 
 
 Drew me to school along the public way, 
 
 Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd 
 
 In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap, 
 
 'Tis now become a history little known. 
 
 That once we caU'd the pastoral house our own. 
 
 Short-lived possession ! but the record fair. 
 
 That memory keeps of all thy kindness there. 
 
 Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced - 
 
 A thousand other themes less deeply traced. 
 
 Thy nightly visits to my chamber made. 
 
 That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid ; 
 
 Thy morning bounties ere I lefi my home. 
 
 The biscuit or confectionary plum ; 
 
 The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow'd 
 
 By thy own hand, tiU fresh they shone and glow'd ; 
 
 All this, and more endearing still than aU, 
 
 Thy constant flow of love, that knev/ no fall.
 
 MY MOTHER'S PICTURE. 3S9 
 
 Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and breaks. 
 That humour interposed too often makes; 
 All this still legible in memory's page. 
 And still to be so to my latest age. 
 Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay 
 Such honours to thee as my numbers may ; 
 Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere. 
 Not scom'd in Heaven, though little noticed here. 
 
 Could Time, his flight reversed, restore the hours. 
 When, playing with thy vesture's tissued flowers. 
 The violet, the pink, and jessamine, 
 I prick'd them into paper with a pin, 
 (And thou wast happier than myself the while, 
 Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile). 
 Could those few pleasant days again appear. 
 Might one wish bring them, would I wish them hare? 
 I would not trust my heart— the dear delight 
 Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might. — 
 But no — what here we call our life is such 
 So little to be loved, and thou so much, 
 That I should ill requite thee to constrain 
 Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. 
 
 Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast 
 (The storms all weather d and the ocean cross'd). 
 Shoots into port at some well haven'd isle, 
 Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile. 
 There sits quiescent on the floods, that shew 
 Her beauteous form reflected clear below, 
 While airs impregnated with incense play 
 Around her, fanning light her streamers gay ; 
 So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reached the shore, 
 • Where tempests never beat nor billows roar,'* 
 And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide 
 Of life long since has anchor'd by thy side. 
 But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest. 
 Always from port withheld, always distress' d — 
 Me howling blasts drive devious, tempest-toss'd, 
 Sails ripp'd, seams opening wide, and compass lost. 
 And day by day some current's thwarting force 
 Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. 
 
 « Garth.
 
 390 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 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 enthroned, 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 unrevoked has nm 
 His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done. 
 By contemplation's help, not sought in vain, 
 I seem to have lived my childhood o'er again ; 
 To have renew'd the joys that once were mine. 
 Without the sin of violating thine : 
 And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, 
 And I can view this mimic show of thee. 
 Time has but half succeeded in his theft — 
 Thyself removed, thy power lo soothe me left 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 What virtue, or what mental grace, 
 But men unqualified and base 
 
 Will boast it their possession ? 
 Profusion apes the noble part 
 Of liberality of heart, 
 
 And dulness of discretion. 
 
 If every 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 deceive. 
 But prove as ready to believe, 
 
 And dream that he had found one.
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 39J 
 
 Candid, and generous, and just. 
 Boys care but little whom they trust, 
 
 An error 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. 
 
 An acquisition rather rare 
 . s yet no subject of despair ; 
 
 Nor is it wise complaining. 
 If either on forbidden ground. 
 Or where it was not to be found. 
 
 We sought without attaining. 
 
 No friendship will abide the test, 
 That stands on sordid interest, 
 
 Or mean self-lov; erected ; 
 Nor such as may awhile subsist. 
 Between the sot and sensualist. 
 
 For vicious ends connected. 
 
 Who seek a friend should come disposed. 
 To exhibit in full bloom disclosed 
 
 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.
 
 392 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 But will sincerity suffice ? 
 It is indeed above all price, 
 
 And must be made the basis : 
 But every viri:ue of the soul 
 Must constitute the charming whole, 
 
 AU 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. 
 
 In vain the talkative unite 
 
 In hopes of permanent delight— 
 
 The secret just committed. 
 Forgetting its important weight. 
 They drop through mere desire to prate. 
 
 And bv themselves outv.itted. 
 
 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 liim 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
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 393 
 
 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 heai 
 
 The trumpet of contention ; 
 Aspersion is the babbler's trade, 
 To listen is to lend him aid. 
 
 And rush into dissension. 
 
 A friendship, that in frequent fits 
 Of controversial rage emits 
 
 The sparks of disputation. 
 Like haud-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 
 
 Unmoved and without quaking. 
 R2
 
 394 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 Courtier and patriot cannot mix 
 Their heterogeneous politics 
 
 Without an eflFervescence, 
 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 stiflfer. 
 
 To prove at last my main intent 
 Needs no expense of argument. 
 
 No cutting and contriving — 
 Seeking a real friend we seem 
 To adopt the chjTnist's golden dream. 
 
 With still less hope of thriving. 
 
 Sometimes the fault is all our own. 
 Some blemish in due time made known 
 
 By trespass or omission ; 
 Sometimes occasion brings to light 
 Our friend's defect, long hid from sight. 
 
 And even from suspicion. 
 
 Then judge yourself, and prove your man 
 As circumspectly as you can. 
 
 And, having made election. 
 Beware no negligence of yours. 
 Such as a friend but iU endures. 
 
 Enfeeble his affection. 
 
 That seaets 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.
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 395 
 
 But 'tis not timber, lead, and stone 
 An architect requires alone. 
 
 To finish a fine building — 
 The palace were but half coM\plete, 
 f f he could possibly forget 
 
 The carving and the gilding. 
 
 The man that hails you Tom or Jack, 
 And proves by thumps upon your back 
 
 How he esteems your merit. 
 Is such a friend, that one had need 
 Be very much his friend indeed. 
 
 To pardon or to bear it. 
 
 As similarity of mind, 
 
 Or something not to be defined. 
 
 First fixes our attention ; 
 So manners decent and polite. 
 The same we practised at first sight. 
 
 Must save it from declension. 
 
 Some act upon this prudent plan, 
 • Say little and hear all you can :' 
 
 Safe policy, but hateful — 
 So barren sands imbibe the shower, 
 But render neither fruit nor flower, 
 
 Unpleasant and ungrateful. 
 
 The man I trust, if shy to me. 
 Shall find me as reserved as he ; 
 
 No subterfuge or pleading 
 Shall win my confidence again ; 
 I will by no means entertain 
 
 A spy on my proceeding. 
 
 These samples— for alas ! at last 
 These are but samples, and a taste 
 
 Of evils yet unmention'd— 
 May prove the task a task indeed, 
 In which 'tis much if we succeed. 
 
 However well intention'd.
 
 396 ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL- 
 
 Pursue the search, and you will find 
 Good sense and knowledge of mankind 
 
 To be at least expedient ; 
 And, after summing all the rest. 
 Religion ruhng in the breast 
 
 A principal ingredient. 
 
 The noblest friendship ever shewn 
 The Saviour's history makes known. 
 
 Though some have turn'd and tum'd it ; 
 And, whether being crazed or blind. 
 Or seeking with a biass'd mind. 
 
 Have not, it seems, discem'd iu 
 
 O, Friendship, if my soul forego 
 "^ ,- dear delights while here below ; 
 
 To mortify and grieve me, 
 May I myself at last appear 
 Unworthy, base, and insincere. 
 
 Or may my friend deceive me I 
 
 ON 
 
 A MISCHIEVOUS BULL, 
 
 WHICH THE OWXER OF HI3I SOLD AT THE 
 author's INSTAXCE. 
 
 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 woodpeckers explore the sides 
 
 Of rugged oaks for worms. 
 
 The sheep here smoothes the knotted thorn. 
 
 With frictions of her fleece ; 
 And here I wander eve and mora. 
 
 Like her a friend to peace.
 
 ANNUS MEMORABILIS. 397 
 
 Ah ! — I could pity thee exiled 
 
 From this secure retreat — 
 I would not lose it to be styled 
 
 The happiest of the great. 
 
 But thou canst taste no calm delight ; 
 
 Thy pleasure is to shew 
 Thy magnanimity iu fight, 
 
 Thy prowess — therefore go— 
 
 I care not whether east or north. 
 
 So I no more may find thee ; 
 The angry Muse thus sings thee forth, 
 
 And claps the gate behind thee. 
 
 ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 1789. 
 
 written in commemoration of his 
 
 majesty's happy recovery. 
 
 I ransack'd, for a theme of song, 
 
 Much ancient chronicle, and long ; 
 
 I read of bright embattled fields, 
 
 Of trophied helmets, spears» and shields, 
 
 Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast 
 
 Prowess to dissipate a host : 
 
 Through tombs of fable and of dream 
 
 I sought an eligible theme, 
 
 But none I found, or found them shared 
 
 Already by some happier bard. 
 
 To modern times, with Truth to guide 
 My busy search, I next applied; 
 Here cities won, and fleets dispersed. 
 Urged loud a claim to be rehearsed. 
 Deeds of unperishing renown. 
 Our fathers' triumphs and our own. 
 
 Thus, as the bee, from bank to bower. 
 Assiduous sips at every flower. 
 But rests on none, till that be found. 
 Where most nectareous sweets abound. 
 So I, from theme to theme displayed 
 In many a page historic stray'd,
 
 39S ANNUS MEMORABILIS, 
 
 Siege after siege, fight after fight. 
 Contemplating with small delight, 
 (For feats of sanguinary hue 
 Not always glitter in my view) ; 
 Till, settling on the current year, 
 I found the far-sought treasure near. 
 A theme for poetry divine, 
 A theme to ennoble even mine. 
 In memorable eighty-nine. 
 
 The spring of eighty -nine shall be 
 An era cherish'd long by me. 
 Which joyful I will oft record. 
 And thankful at my frugal board ; 
 For then the clouds of eighty-eight. 
 That threaten'd England's trembling state 
 With loss of what she least could spare. 
 Her sovereign's tutelary care. 
 One breath of Heaven, that cried— Restore 
 Chased, never to assemble more : 
 And for the richest crown on earth. 
 If valued by its wearer's worth. 
 The symbol of a righteous reign 
 Sat fast on George's brows again. 
 
 Then peace and joy again possess'd 
 Our Queen's long-agitated breast : 
 Such joy and peace as can be known 
 By sufferers like herself alone. 
 Who losing, or supposing lost. 
 The good on earth they valued most, 
 For that dear sorrow's sake forego 
 All hope of happiness below. 
 Then suddenly regain the prize. 
 And flash thanksgivings to the skies ! 
 - O, Queen of Albion, queen of isles ! 
 Since all thy tears were changed to smiles. 
 The eyes, that never saw thee, shine 
 With joy not unallied to thine. 
 Transports not chargeable with art 
 Illume the land's remotest part. 
 And strangers to the air of courts, 
 Both in their toils and at their sports.
 
 HYMN. 399 
 
 The happiness of answer'd prayers, 
 That gilds thy features, shew in theirs. 
 
 If they, who on thy state attend. 
 Awe-struck, before thy presence bend, 
 'Tis but the natural effect 
 Of grandeur that ensures respect ; 
 But she is something more than queen. 
 Who is beloved where never seen. 
 
 HYMN, 
 
 FOR THE USE OF THE SUNDAY SCHOOL 
 AT OLNEY. 
 
 Hear, Lord, the song of praise and prayer. 
 
 In heaven thy dweUing-place, 
 From infants made the public care. 
 
 And taught to seek thy face. 
 
 Thanks for thy word, and for thy day. 
 
 And grant us, we implore. 
 Never to waste in sinful play 
 
 Thy holy sabbaths more. 
 
 Thanks that we hear, — but O impart 
 
 To each desires sincere. 
 That we may listen with our heart, 
 
 And learn as well as hear ! 
 
 For if vain thoughts the minds engage 
 
 Of older far than we. 
 What hope, that, at our heedless age, 
 
 Our minds should e'er be free ? 
 
 Much hope, if thou our spirits take 
 
 Under thy gracious sway. 
 Who canst the wisest wiser make, 
 
 And babes as wise as they. 
 
 Wisdom and bliss thy word bestows, 
 
 A sun that ne'er declines. 
 And be thy mercies shower'd on those. 
 Who placed us where it shines.
 
 400 
 
 STANZAS 
 
 SUBJOINED TO THE YEARLY BILL OF MORTALITY 
 OF THE PARISH OF ALL-SAINTS, NORTHAMP- 
 TON;* FOR THE YEAR 1787. 
 
 Pallida Mors sequo pulsat pede pauperum tabemas, 
 Regmnque terres.— Hor. 
 
 Pale Death with equal foot strikes wide the door 
 Of royal halls, and hovels of the poor. 
 
 While thirteen moons saw smoothly run 
 
 The Xen'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 plagne prevail. 
 
 That so much death appears ? 
 
 No : these were vigorous as their sires. 
 
 Nor plague nor famine came ; 
 This annual tribute Death requires. 
 
 And never waives his claim. 
 
 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. 
 
 * Cotnposed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampton.
 
 BILL OF MORTALITY 401 
 
 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 scom'd as is my strain, 
 These truths, though known, too much forgot, 
 
 I may not teach in vain. 
 
 So prays your clerk with all his heart, 
 
 And, ere he quits the pen, 
 Begs you for once to take his pare. 
 
 And answer all — Amen ! 
 
 ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 
 
 FOR THE YEAK 1788. 
 
 Quod adest, monicnto 
 Componere osquus. Caetera fluminis 
 Ritu feruntur.— Hot. 
 
 Improve the present hour, for all beside 
 Is a mere leather on a torrent' ;i tide. 
 
 Could I, from Heaven inspired, as sure presage 
 To whom the rising year shall prove his last. 
 
 As I can number in my punctual page. 
 And item down the victims of the past ; 
 
 How each would trembling wait the mournful sheet. 
 On which the press might stamp him next to die; 
 
 And, reading here his sentence, how replete 
 With anxious meaning, heavenward turn his eye !
 
 402 BILL OF MORTALITV. 
 
 Time then would seem more precious than the joys 
 In which he sports away the treasure now; 
 
 And prayer more seasonable than the noise 
 Of drunkards, or the music-drawing bow. 
 
 Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink 
 Of this world's hazardous and headlong shore. 
 
 Forced to a pause, would feel it good to think. 
 Told that his setting sun must rise no more. 
 
 Ah, self-deceived ! Could I prophetic say 
 Who next is fated, and who next to fall. 
 
 The rest might then seem privileged to play ; 
 But naming none, the voice now speaks to all. 
 
 Observe the dappled foresters, how light 
 
 They bound and airy o'er the sunny glade — 
 One falls— the rest, wide-scatt£r'd with affright. 
 
 Vanish at once into the darkest shade. 
 Had we their wisdom, should we, often wam'd, 
 
 Still need repeated warnings, and at last, 
 A thousand awful admonitions scorn' d. 
 
 Die self-accused of life run all to waste ? 
 
 Sad waste ! for which no after-thrift atones : 
 The grave admits no cure of guilt or sin ; 
 
 Dew-drops may deck the turf, that hides the bones, 
 But tears of godly grief ne'er flow within. 
 
 Learn then, ye living ! by the mouths be taught 
 Of all these sepulchres, instructors true. 
 
 That, soon or late, death also is your lot. 
 And the next opening grave may yawn for you.
 
 403 
 ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 
 
 FOa THE YEAR 1789. 
 
 — Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit. — Virg. 
 There calm at length he breathed his soul away. 
 
 • O MOST delightful hour by man 
 
 ♦ Experienced here below, 
 
 ' The hour that terminates his span, 
 
 ♦ His folly and his woe ! 
 
 • 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 heaven unfolded to my eyes, 
 
 ' I have no sight for you.' 
 
 So spake Aspasio, firm possess'd 
 
 Of faith's supporting rod. 
 Then breath'd his soul into its rest, 
 
 The bosom of his God. 
 
 He was a man among the few 
 
 Sincere on virtue's side; 
 And all his strength from Scripture drew, 
 
 To hourly use applied 
 
 That rule he prized, by that he fear'd. 
 
 He hated, hoped, and loved ; 
 Nor ever frown'd, or sad appear'd. 
 
 But when his heart had roved. 
 
 For he was frail, as thou or I, 
 
 And evil felt within: 
 But, when he felt it, heaved a sigh. 
 
 And loathed the thought of sin.
 
 404 BILL OF MORTALITY. 
 
 Such lived Aspasio ; and at last 
 Call'd up from earth to heaven, 
 
 The gulf of death triumphant pass'd. 
 By gales of blessing driven. 
 
 His joys be mine, each Reader cries. 
 When my last hour arrives ; 
 
 They shall be yours, my rse replies, 
 Such only be your lives. 
 
 ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 
 
 FOR THE YEAR 1790. 
 
 Ne commonentem recta speme. — 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 what he has sung. 
 
 Where the watchman in his round 
 Nightly lifts his voice on high. 
 
 None, accustom'd to the sound. 
 Wakes the sooner for his cry. 
 
 So yoar verse-man I, and clerk. 
 Yearly in my song proclaim 
 
 Death at hand — yourselves his mark — 
 And the foe's 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 monitor^.' strain. 
 
 Oft repeated in your ears. 
 Seems to sound too much in vain. 
 
 Wins no notice, wakes no fears.
 
 BILL OF MORTALITY. 405 
 
 Can a truth, by all confess'd 
 
 Of such magnitude and weight. 
 Grow, by being 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 we must die. 
 
 ON A SIMILAR OCCASION, 
 
 FOR THE YEAR 1792. 
 
 Felix, qui potuit rerum co^noscere causas, 
 
 Atque metus omiiri et incxorabile fatum 
 
 Subjecit pedibus, strtpitumque Acherontis avari '.— firg. 
 
 Happv the mortal, who lias traced effects 
 
 To their first cause, cast ff.ir benenth his feet. 
 
 And Death, and roaring Hell's voracious Dres ! 
 
 Thankless for favours from on high, 
 
 Man thinks he fades too soon. 
 Though 'tis his privilege to die. 
 
 Would he improve the boon. 
 
 But he, not wise enough to scan 
 
 His bless'd concerns aright, 
 Would gladly stretch life's little span 
 
 To ages if ho might. 
 
 To ages in a world of pain. 
 
 To ages where he goes 
 Gall'd by affliction's heavy chain, 
 
 And hopeless of repose.
 
 406 BILL OF MORTALITY 
 
 Strange fondness of the human heart, 
 
 Enamour'd of its harm ! 
 Strange world ! that costs it so much smart. 
 
 And still has power to charm. 
 
 Whence has the world her magic power ? 
 
 Why deem we death a foe ? 
 Recoil from weary life's best hour. 
 
 And covet longer woe ? 
 
 The cause is Conscience — Conscience oft 
 
 Her tale of guilt renews : 
 Her voice is terrible though soft. 
 
 And dread of death ensues. 
 
 Then, anxious to be longer spared, 
 Man mourns his fleeting breath : 
 
 All evils then seem light, compared 
 With the approach of Death. 
 
 'Tis judgment shakes him; there's the fear 
 That prompts the wish to stay ; 
 
 He has incurr'd a long arrear. 
 And must despair to pay. 
 
 Pai/ ! — follow Christ, and all is paid; 
 
 His death your peace ensures ; 
 Think on the grave where he was laid. 
 
 And calm descend to your/s. 
 
 ON A SIMILAR OCCASION. 
 
 FOR THE YEAR 1793. 
 
 De saeris autem ha?c sit una sententia, ut consen-entur.— Or. 
 de Leg. 
 
 But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that thing* sacred 
 oe 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.
 
 BILL OF MORTALITY. 407 
 
 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 comprised. 
 Is falsely named, and no such thing. 
 
 But rather death disguised. 
 
 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 diseased, yet nothing feel ; 
 
 Much menaced, nothing dread ; 
 Have wounds which only God can heal, 
 
 Yet never ask his aid ? 
 
 Who deem his house a useless place. 
 
 Faith, want of common sense; 
 And ardour in the Christian race, 
 
 A hypocrite's pretence ? 
 
 Who trample order ; and the day. 
 
 Which God asserts his own, 
 Dishonour with unhallow'd play. 
 
 And worship chance alone ? 
 
 If scorn of God's commands, impress'd 
 
 On word and deed, imply 
 The better part of man unbless'd 
 
 With life that cannot die ; 
 
 Such want it, and that want, uncured 
 
 Till man resigns his breath. 
 Speaks him a criminal, assured 
 
 Of everlasting death. 
 
 Sad period to a pleasant course I 
 
 Yet so will God repay 
 Sabbaths profaned without remorse. 
 
 And mercy cast away.
 
 408 
 INSCRIPTION 
 
 FOR THE TOMB OF MH. 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 delight ; a heart untaught to sigh ? 
 Vet fear. Youth, oft-times healthful and at ease. 
 Anticipates a day it never sees ; 
 And many a tomb, like Hamilton's, aloud 
 Exclaims, ' Prepare thee for an early shroud.' 
 
 EPITAPH ON A HARE. 
 
 Here lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue. 
 Nor swifter greyhound follow. 
 
 Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew, 
 Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo. 
 
 Old Tiney, surliest of his kind. 
 Who nursed with tender care. 
 
 And to domestic bounds confined. 
 Was still a wild jack-hare. 
 
 Though duly from my hand he took 
 
 His pittance every 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 scour his maw. 
 
 On twigs of hawthorn he regaled ; 
 
 On pippins' russet peel. 
 And, when his juicy salads fail'd. 
 
 Sliced carrot pleased him well.
 
 EPITAPH ON A HARE. 409 
 
 A Turkey carpet wacs his lawn. 
 
 Whereon he loved to bound. 
 To skip and gambol like a fawn, 
 
 And swing his rump around. 
 His frisking was at evening hours. 
 
 For then he lost his fear. 
 But most before approaching showers. 
 
 Or when a storm drew near- 
 Eight years and five round rolling moons 
 
 He thus saw steal away. 
 Dozing out all his idle noons. 
 
 And every 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 force me to a smile. 
 But now beneath his walnut shade 
 
 He finds his long last home. 
 And waits, in snug concealment laid, 
 
 Till gentler Puss shall come. 
 He, still more aged, feels the shocks, 
 
 From which no care can save. 
 And, partner once of Tiney's box, 
 
 Must soon partake his grave. 
 
 EPITAPHIUM ALTERUM. 
 
 Hic etiam jacet. 
 
 Qui totum novennium vixit, 
 
 Puss, 
 
 Siste paulisper, 
 
 Qui prceteriturus es, 
 
 Et tecum sic reputa: — 
 
 Hunc neque canis venaticus, 
 
 Nee plumbum missile, 
 
 Nee laques, 
 
 Nee imbres nimii, 
 
 Confecere : 
 
 Tatem mortuus est — 
 
 Et moriar ego. 
 
 S
 
 410 
 
 The fcllowing account of the treatment of his Hares was 
 inserted hy Mr. Cowper in the Gentleman'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 anything that 
 •<Tould engage my attention, without fatiguing it. The 
 children of a neighbour of mine had a leveret given 
 them for a plaything ; it was at that time about three 
 months old. Understanding better how to tease the 
 poor creature than to feed it, and soon becoming weary 
 of their charge, they readily consented that their father, 
 who saw it pining and growing leaner every day, should 
 offer it to my acceptance. I was willing 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 my 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 offered to me as would have stocked a paddock. 
 I undertook the care of three, which it is necessary that 
 I should here distinguish by the names I gave them — 
 Puss, Tiney, and Bess. Notwithstanding the two femi- 
 nine appellatives, I must inform you that they were all 
 males. Iminediately commencing carpenter, I built them 
 houses to sleep in; each had a separate apartment so 
 contrived that their ordure would pass through the 
 bottr.m of it ; an earthen pan placed under each received 
 wh xtsoever fell, which being duly emptied and washed, 
 t'.ey were thus kept perfectly sweet and clean. In the 
 day-time they had the range of a hall, and at night 
 retired each to his own bed, never intruding into that of 
 another. 
 
 Puss grew presently familiar, would leap into my lap, 
 raise himself upon his hinder feet, and bite the hair 
 from my temples. He would sufifer me to take him up, 
 and carry him about in my arms, and has more than 
 once fallen fast asleep upon my knee. He was ill three
 
 TREATMENT OF HARES. 411 
 
 days, during which time I nursed him, and kept him 
 apart from his fellows, that they might not molest him 
 (for, like many other wild animals, they persecute one 
 of their own species that is sick), and by constant care, 
 and trying him with a variety of herbs, restored him to 
 perfect health. No creature could be more grateful 
 than my patient after his recovery ; a sentiment which 
 he most significantly expressed by licking my hand, first 
 the back of it, then the palm, then every finger sepa- 
 rately, then between all the fingers, 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 extremly tractable, I made it my custom to 
 carry him always after breakfast into the garden, where 
 he hid himself generally under the leaves of a cucumber 
 vine, sleeping or chewing the cud till evening; in the 
 leaves also of that vine he found a favourite repast. I 
 had not long habituated him to this state 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 expression, as it was not possible to misinterpret. 
 If this rhetoric did not immediately succeed, he would 
 take the skirt of my coat between his teeth, and pull at 
 it with all his force. Thus Puss might be said to be per- 
 fectly tamed, the shyness of his nature was done away, and 
 on the whole it was visible by many symptoms, which I 
 have not room to enumerate, that he was happier in 
 human society, than when shut up with his natural 
 companions. 
 
 Not so Tiney: upon him the kindest treatment had 
 not the least effect. He too was sick, and in his sickness 
 had an equal share of my attention 5 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 m his play 
 he preserved such an air of gravity, and performed his 
 feats with such a solemnity of manner, that in him 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 his
 
 412 TREATMEXT OF HARES, 
 
 box, which had been washed, while it was yet damp, 
 was a hare of great humour and drollery. Puss was 
 tamed by gentle usage ; Tiney was not to be tamed at 
 all; and Bess had a courage and confidence that made 
 him tame from the beginning. I always admitted them 
 into the parlour after supper, when, the carpet affording 
 their feet a firm hold, they would frisk, and bound, and 
 play a thousand gambols, in which Bess, being remark- 
 ably strong and fearless, was always superior to the rest, 
 and proved himself the Vestris of the party. One even- 
 ing the cat being in the room, had the hardiness to pat 
 Bess upon the cheek, an indignity which he resented by 
 driimraing upon her back with such violence, that the 
 cat was happy to escape from under his paws, and hide 
 herself. 
 
 I describe these animals as having each a character 
 of his own. Such they were in fact, and their coun- 
 tenances were so expressive of that character, that, 
 when I looked only on the face of either, I immediately 
 knew which it was. It is said, that a shepherd, however 
 numerous his flock, soon becomes so familiar with their 
 features, that he can, by that indication only, distin- 
 guish 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 coun- 
 tenances would be discoverable in hares, and am per- 
 suaded that among a thousand of them, no two can be 
 found exactly similar: a circumstance little suspected 
 by those who have not had opportunity to observe 
 it. These creatures have a singular sagacity in dis- 
 covering the minutest alteration that is made in the 
 place to which they are accustomed, and instantly apply 
 their nose to the examination of a new object. A small 
 hole being burnt in the carpet, it was mended with a 
 patch, and that patch in a moment underwent the strict- 
 est 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 
 oe reconciled, and would even scream when they at- 
 tempted 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 mv inti-
 
 TREATMENT OF HARES. 413 
 
 mate acquaintance with these specimens of the kind 
 has taught me to hold the sportsman's amusement in 
 abhorrence; he little knows what amiable creatures he 
 persecutes, of what gratitude they are capable, how 
 cheerful they are in their spirits, what enjoyment they 
 have of life, and that, impressed as they seem with a 
 peculiar dread of man, it is only because man gives them 
 peculiar cause for it. 
 
 That I may not be tedious, I will just give a short 
 summary of those articles of diet that suit them best. 
 
 I take it to be a general opinion that they graze, but 
 it is an erroneous one, at least grass is not their staple; 
 they seem rather to use it medicinally, soon quitting it 
 for leaves of almost any kind. Sow-thistle, dandelion, 
 and lettuce, are their favourite vegetables, especially 
 the last. I discovered by accident, that fine white sand 
 is in great estimation with them ; I suppose as a digestive. 
 It happened that I was cleaning a bird-cage while the 
 hares were with me: I placed a pot filled with such 
 sand upon the floor, which being at once directed to by 
 a strong instinct, they devoured voraciously ; since that 
 time I have generally taken care to see them well sup- 
 plied with it. They account green com 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 ui)on oats, but if fur- 
 nished with clean straw never want them ; it serves them 
 also for a bed, and, if shaken up daily, will be kept sweet 
 and dry for a considerable time. They do not indeed 
 require aromatic herbs, but will eat a small quantity of 
 them with great relish, 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, filling a pan 
 with it cut into small squares, placed it every evening 
 in their chambers, for they feed only at evening and in 
 the night : during the winter, when vegetables were not 
 to be got, I mingled this mess of bread with shreds of 
 carrot, adding to it the rind of apples cut extremely thin ; 
 for, though they are fond of the paring, the apple itself 
 disgusts them. These, however, not being a sufficient
 
 414 TREATMENT OF HARES. 
 
 substitute for the juice of summer herbs, they must at 
 this time be supplied with water: but so placed, that 
 they caimot overset it in their beds. I must not omit, 
 that occasionally they are much pleased 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 stiU living, and 
 has just completed his tenth year, discovering no signs 
 of decay, nor even of age, except that he is grown more 
 discreet, and less frolicsome than he was. I cannot con- 
 clude without observing, that I have lately introduced a 
 dog to his acquaintance, a spaniel that had never seen a 
 hare, to a hare that had never seen a spaniel. I did it 
 with great caution, but there was no real need of it. Puss 
 discovered no token of fear, nor Marquis the least symp- 
 tom of hostility. There is, therefore, it should seem, no 
 natural antipathy between dog and hare, but the pursuit 
 of the one occasions the flight of the other, and the dog 
 pursues because he is trained to it ; they eat bread at the 
 same timeout of the same hand, and are in all respects 
 sociable and friendly. 
 
 I should not do complete j"ustice 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 furnished them with 
 a brush under each foot ; and that they are never infested 
 by any vermin. 
 
 May 28, 1784. 
 
 Jdemomndum found among Mr. Cotcper'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.
 
 415 
 
 FIFTH SATIRE OF THE FIRST 
 BOOK OF HORACE. 1759. 
 
 A humorous Description of the Author's Journsy 
 from Rome to Drundusium. 
 
 'TwAs a long journey lay before us. 
 When I, and honest Heliodorus, 
 Who far in point of rhetoric 
 Surpasses ev'ry living Greek, 
 Each leaving our respective home 
 Together sallied forth from Rome. 
 
 First at Aricia we alight. 
 And there refresh, and pass the night. 
 Our entertainment rather coarse 
 Than sumptuous, but I've met with worse. 
 Thence o'er the causeway soft and fair 
 To Appiiforum we repair. 
 But as this road is well supplied 
 (Temptation strong!) on either side 
 With inns commodious, snug, and warm. 
 We split the journey, and perform 
 In two days' time what's often done 
 By brisker travellers in one. 
 Here, rather choosing not to sup 
 Than with bad water mix my cup, 
 After a warm debate, in spite 
 Of a provoking appetite, 
 I sturdily resolv'd at last 
 To balk it, and pronounce a fast. 
 And in a moody humour wait. 
 While my less dainty comrades ba^t. 
 Now o'er the spangled hemisphere 
 Diffus'd the starry train appear. 
 When there arose a desp'rate brawl ; 
 The slaves and bargemen, one and all, 
 Rending their throats (have mercy on us !) 
 As if they were resolved to stun us. 
 * Steer the barge this way to the shore; 
 I tell you we'll admit no more ;
 
 416 JOURNEY TO BRUXDUSIUM, 
 
 Plague I will you never be couteut ?' 
 Thus a whole hour at least is spent, 
 WhUe they receive the sev'ral fares. 
 And kick the mule into his gears. 
 Happy, these difficulties past. 
 Could we have fall'n asleep at last ! 
 But, what with humming, croaking, biting. 
 Gnats, frogs, and all their plagues uniting. 
 These tuneful natives of the lake 
 Conspir'd to keep us broad awake. 
 Besides, to make the concert full. 
 Two maudlin wights, exceeding dull. 
 The bargeman and a passenger. 
 Each in his turn, essay'd an air 
 In honour of his absent fair. 
 At length the passenger, opprest 
 With wine, left oft, and snor'd the rest. 
 The weary bargeman too gave o'er. 
 And hearing his companion snore, 
 Sei^'d the occasion, fixed the barge, 
 Tum'd out his mule to graze at large. 
 And slept forgetful of his charge. 
 And now the sun o'er eastern hUl, 
 Discover'd that our barge stood still ; 
 When one, whose anger vex'd him sore. 
 With malice fraught, leaps quick on shore ' 
 Plucks up a stake, with many a thwack 
 Assails the mule and driver's back. 
 
 Then slowly moving on with pain. 
 At ten Feronia's stream we gain. 
 And in her pure and glassy wave 
 Our hands and faces gladly lave. 
 Climbing three miles, fair Anxur's height 
 We reach, with stony quarries white. 
 While here, as was agreed, we wait. 
 Till, charg'd with business of the state, 
 Mascenas and Cocceius come. 
 The messengers of peace from Rome. 
 My eyes, by wat'ry humours blear 
 And sore, I with black balsam smear. 
 At length they join us, and with them 
 Our worthy friend Fonteius came;
 
 JOURNEY TO BRUNDUSIUM. 417 
 
 A man of such complete desert, 
 Autony lov'd him at his heart. 
 At Fundi we refus'd to bait, 
 And laugh'd at vain Aufidius' state, 
 A praetor now, a scribe before. 
 The purple-border'd robe he wore. 
 His slave the smoking censer bore. 
 Tir'd, at Muraena's we repose, 
 At Formia sup at Capitos. 
 
 With smiles the rising morn we greet. 
 At Sinuessa pleas'd to meet 
 With Plotius, Varius, and the bard. 
 Whom Mantua first with wonder heard. 
 The world no purer spirits knows ; 
 For none my heart more warmly glows. 
 O ! what embraces we bestow'd, 
 And with what joy our breasts o'erflow'd ! 
 Sure, while my sense is sound and clear, 
 Long as I live, I shall prefer 
 A gay, good natur'd, easy friend. 
 To every blessing Heav'n can send. 
 At a small village the next night 
 Near the Vulturnous we alight ; 
 Where, as employ'd on state affairs. 
 We were supplied by the purvey'rs 
 Frankly at once, and without hire, 
 With food for man and horse, and fire. 
 Capua next day betimes we reach. 
 Where Virgil and myself, who each 
 Labour'd with different maladies. 
 His such a stomach, mine such eyes. 
 As would not bear strong exercise, 
 In drowsy mood to sleep resort ; 
 Maecenas to the tennis-court. 
 Next at Cocceius' farm we're treated. 
 Above the Caudian tavern seated ; 
 His kind and hospitable board 
 With choice of wholesome food was stor'd. 
 
 Now, O ye Nine, inspire my lays ! 
 To nobler themes my fancy raise ! 
 Two combatants, who scorn to yield 
 The noisy, tongue-disputed field, 
 S 2
 
 418 JOURNEY TO BRUNDUSIUM. 
 
 Sarmentus and Cicirrus, claim 
 
 A poet's tribute to their fame ; 
 
 Cicirrus of true Oscian breed, 
 
 Sarmentus, who vras never freed, 
 
 But ran away. We don't defame him ; 
 
 His lady lives, and still may claim hin). 
 
 Thus dignified, in harder fray 
 
 These champions their keen wit display. 
 
 And first Sarmentus led the way. 
 
 ' Thy locks (quoth he), so rough and coarse. 
 
 Look like the mane of some wild horse.' 
 
 We laugh : Cicirrus undismay'd— 
 
 ' Have at you !' — cries, and shakes his head. 
 
 ' 'Tis well (Sarmentus says) you've lost 
 
 That horn your forehead once could boast ; 
 
 Since, maim'd and mangled as you are. 
 
 You seem to butt.' A hideous scar 
 
 Improv'd ('tis true) with double grace 
 
 The native horrors of his face. 
 
 Well. After much jocosely said 
 
 Of his grim front, so fiery red 
 
 (For carbuncles had blotch'd it o'er. 
 
 As usual on Campania's shore), 
 
 ' Give us (he cried), since you're so big, 
 
 A sample of the Cyclops' jig ! 
 
 Your shanks methinks no buskins ask. 
 
 Nor does your phiz require a mask.' 
 
 To this Cicirrus. ' In return 
 
 Of you. Sir, now I fain would learn. 
 
 When 'twas, no longer deem'd a slave, 
 
 Your chains you to the Lares gave. 
 
 For tho' a scriv'ner's right your claim. 
 
 Your lady's title is the same. 
 
 But what could make you run away, 
 
 Since, pigmy as you are, each day 
 
 A single pound of bread would quite 
 
 O'erpow'r your puny appelte?' 
 
 Thus jok'd the champions, while we laugh'd. 
 
 And many a cheerful bumper quafTd. 
 
 To Beneventum next we steer; 
 Where our good host by over care. 
 In roasting thrushes lean as mice, 
 Had almost fall'n a sacrifice.
 
 JOURNEY TO BRUNDUSIUM 419 
 
 The kitchen soon was all on fire. 
 
 And to the roof the flames aspire. 
 
 There might you . vach man and master 
 
 Striving, amidst t..« sad disaster. 
 
 To s« ve the supper. Then they came 
 
 With speed enough to quench the flame. 
 
 From hence we first at distance see 
 
 Th' Apulian hills, well known to me, 
 
 Parch'd by the sultry western blast ; 
 
 And which we never should have past. 
 
 Had not Trivicius by the way 
 
 Receiv'd us at the close of day. 
 
 But each was forc'd at enfring here 
 
 To pay the tribute of a tear. 
 
 For more of smoke than fire was seen — 
 
 The earth was piled with logs so green. 
 
 From hence in chaises we were carried 
 
 Miles twenty-four, and gladly tarried 
 
 At a small town whose name my verse 
 
 <So barb'rous is it) can't rehearse. 
 
 Know it you may by many a sign. 
 
 Water is dearer far than wine. 
 
 There bread is deem'd such dainty fare. 
 
 That ev'ry prudent traveller 
 
 His wallet loads with many a crust; 
 
 For at Canusium you might just 
 
 As well attempt to gnaw a stone 
 
 As think to get a morsel down : 
 
 That too with scanty streams is fed ; 
 
 Its founder was brave Diomed. 
 
 Good Varius (ah, that friends must part !) 
 
 Here left us all with aching heart. 
 
 At Rubi we arriv'd that day. 
 
 Well jaded by the length of way. 
 
 And sure poor mortals ne'er were wetter : 
 
 Next day no weather could be better ; 
 
 No roads so bad; we scarce could crawl 
 
 Along to fishy Barium's wall. 
 
 Th' Egnatians next, who by the rules 
 
 Of common sense are knaves or fools. 
 
 Made all our sides with laughter heave. 
 
 Since we with them must needs believe.
 
 420 DESCRIPTION OF 
 
 That incense in their temples bums. 
 
 And without fire to ashes turns. 
 
 To circumcision's bigots tell 
 
 Such tales ! for me, I know full well. 
 
 That in high Heav'n, unmov'd by care. 
 
 The Gods eternal quiet share: 
 
 Nor can I deem their spleen the cause. 
 
 Why fickle nature breaks her laws. 
 
 Brundusium last we reach : and there 
 
 Stop short the muse and traveller. 
 
 NINTH SATIRE 
 
 OF THB 
 
 FIRST BOOK OF HORACE. 
 
 THE DESCRIPTION OF AX 1MPEB.TIXENT 
 
 (Adapted to the present times, 1759). 
 
 Saunt'rino along the street one day. 
 On trifles musing by the way— 
 Up steps a free familiar wight. 
 (I scarcely knew the man by sight.) 
 
 * Carlos (he cried), your hand, my dear i 
 Gad, I rejoice to meet you here ! 
 
 Pray Heav'n 1 see you well ?' — 'So so; 
 Ev'n well enough as times now go. 
 The same good wishes. Sir, to you.' 
 Finding he still pursued me close — 
 
 * Sir, you have business I suppose.* 
 
 * My business, Sir, is quickly done, 
 'Tis but to make my merit known. 
 Sir, I have read' — ' O learned Sir, 
 \'ou and your learning I revere.' 
 Then, sweating with anxiety. 
 And sadly longing to get free, 
 Gods, how I scamper'd, scufiBed for't. 
 Ran, halted, ran again, stopp'd short, 
 Beckon'd ray boy, and pull'd him near» 
 And whisper'd nothing in lus ear.
 
 AN IMPERTINENT. 421 
 
 Teas'd with his loose unjointed chat — 
 
 • What street is this ? What house is that ?' 
 
 Harlow, how I envied thee 
 Thy uuabash'd ^rontery. 
 
 Who dar'st a foe with freedom blame, 
 And call a coxcomb by his name ! 
 When I return'd him answer none. 
 Obligingly the fool ran on, 
 
 • I sec you're dismally distress'd, 
 Would give the world to be releas'd. 
 But, by your leave. Sir, I shall still 
 Stick to your skirts, do what you will; * 
 Pray which way does your journey tend ?' 
 
 • O 'tis a tedious way, my friend ; 
 
 Across the Thames, the Lord knows where, 
 
 1 would not trouble you so far. 
 
 • Well I'm at leisure to attend you.' 
 
 • Are you ? (thought I) the De'il befriend you.' 
 No ass with double panniers rack'd, 
 Oppress'd, o'erladen, broken-back'd. 
 
 E'er look'd a thousandth part so dull 
 
 As I, nor half so like a fooL 
 
 ' Sir, I know little of myself, 
 
 (Proceeds the pert conceited elf) 
 
 If Gray or Mason you will deem 
 
 Than me more worthy your esteem. 
 
 Poems I write by folios 
 
 As fast as other men write prose; 
 
 Then I can sing so loud, so clear. 
 
 That Beard cannot with me compare. 
 
 In dancing too I all surpass. 
 
 Not Cooke can move with such a grace.* 
 
 Here I made shift with much ado 
 
 To interpose a word or two — 
 
 ' Have you no parents. Sir, no friends, 
 
 Whoso welfare on your own depends ?' 
 
 • Parents, relations, say you ? No. 
 They're all dispos'd of long ago.' — 
 ' Happy to be no more perplex'd ! 
 My fate too threatens, I go next. 
 Dispatch me, Sir, 'tis now too late, 
 Alas ! to struggle with my fate !
 
 422 DESCRIPTIOX OF 
 
 Well I'm convinc'd my time is come — 
 When, young, a gipsy told my doom. 
 The beldame shook her palsied head. 
 As she perus'd my palm, and said : 
 Of poison, pestilence, or war. 
 Gout, stone, defluxion, or catarrh. 
 You have no reason to beware. 
 Beware the coxcomb's idle prate ; 
 Chiefly, my son, beware of that. 
 Be sure, when you behold him, fly 
 Out of all earshot, or you die,' 
 
 To Rufus' Hall we now draw near ; 
 Where he was summon'd to appear. 
 Refute the charge the plaintiff brought. 
 Or suffer judgment by default. 
 ' For Heav'n's sake, if you love me, wait 
 One moment ! I'll be with you straight' 
 Glad of a plausible pretence — 
 ' Sir, I must beg you to dispense 
 With my attendance in the court. 
 My legs will surely suffer for't.' — 
 Nay, prithee, Carlos, stop awhile !* 
 ' Faith, Sir, in law I have no skUl. 
 Besides I have no time to spare, 
 I must be going you know where.' 
 ' Well I protest I'm doubtful now. 
 Whether to leave my suit or you !' 
 ' Me without scruple I (I reply) 
 Me by aU means Sir !' — ' No ; not I. 
 AlJons Monsieur !' 'Twere vain (you know) 
 To strive with a victorious foe. 
 So I reluctantly obey. 
 And follow, where he leads the way. 
 
 ' You, and Newcastle are so close. 
 Still hand and glove. Sir— I suppose.' — 
 ' Newcastle (let me tell you, Sir) 
 Has not his equal every where.' 
 ' WelL There indeed your fortune's made. 
 Faith, Sir, you understand your trade. 
 Would you but give me your good word 
 Just introduce me to my lord. 
 I should serve charmingly by way 
 Of second fiddle, as they say ;
 
 AN IMPERTINENT. 423 
 
 What think you, Sir ? 'twere a good jest. 
 
 'Slife we should quickly scout the rest.*— 
 
 ' Sir, you mistake the matter far. 
 
 We liave no second fiddles there. — 
 
 Richer than I some folks may be ; 
 
 More learned, but it hurts not me. 
 
 Friends tho' he has of diff'rent kind. 
 
 Each has his proper place assign'd.' 
 
 ' Strange matters these alleg'd by you !'— 
 
 ' Strange they may be, but they are true.'— 
 
 ' Well then, I vow, 'tis mighty clever. 
 
 Now I long ten times more than ever 
 
 To be advanc'd extremely near 
 
 One of his shining character. 
 
 Have but the will — there wants no more, 
 
 'Tis plain enough you have the pow'r. 
 
 His easy temper (that's the worst) 
 
 He knows, and is so shy at first.— 
 
 But such a cavalier as you — 
 
 Lord, Sir, you'll quickly bring him to !— 
 
 Well ; if I fail in my design. 
 
 Sir, it shall be no fault of mine. 
 
 If by the saucy servile tribe 
 
 Denied, what think you of a bribe ? 
 
 Shut out to-day, not die with sorrow. 
 
 But try my luck again to-morrow. 
 
 Never attempt to visit him 
 
 But at the most convenient time. 
 
 Attend him on each levee day. 
 
 And there my humble duty pay. 
 
 Labour, like this, our want supplies ; ^ 
 
 And they must stoop, who mean to rise.* 
 
 While thus he wittingly harangu'd. 
 For which you'll guess I wish'd him hang'd, 
 Campley, a friend of mine, came by, 
 Who knew his humour more than I. 
 We stop, salute, and—' Why so fast. 
 Friend Carlos ? Whither all this haste ?' 
 Fir'd at the thoughts of a reprieve, 
 I pinch him, pull him, twitch his sleeve. 
 Nod, beckon, bite my lips, wink, pout. 
 Do ev'ry thing but speak plain out :
 
 424 DESCiilPTION, &c. 
 
 While he, sad dog, from the beginning 
 Determin'd to mistake my meaning, 
 Instead of pitying my curse. 
 By jeering made it ten times worse. 
 ' Campley, what secret (pray !) was that 
 You wanted to communicate !' 
 ' I recollect. But 'tis no matter. 
 Carlos, we'll talk of that hereafter. 
 E'en let the secret rest. 'Twill tell 
 Another time, Sir, just as welL' 
 Was ever such a dismal day ? 
 Unlucky cur, he steals away. 
 And leaves me, half bereft of life. 
 At mercy of the butcher's knife; 
 When sudden, shouting from afar. 
 See his ai^tagonist appear ! 
 The bailififseiz'd him quick as thought, 
 ' Ho, Mr. Scoundrel ! Are you caught ? 
 Sir, you are witness to th' arrest.' 
 ' Aye, marry. Sir, I'll do my best.' 
 The mob huzzas. Away they trudge. 
 Culprit and all, before the judge. 
 Meanwhile I luckily enough 
 (Thanks to Apollo) got clear off.
 
 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 LATIN AND ITALIAN POEMS OF MILTON. 
 
 [nKGUN SBPTEWBBR 1791; FINISHED MARCH 1/92.] 
 
 ELEGIES. 
 
 ELEGY I. 
 
 TO CHARLES DEODATL 
 
 At length, my friend, the far-sent letters come, 
 Charged with thy kindness, to their destin'd home. 
 They come, at length, from Deva's western side, 
 Where prone she seeks the salt Vergivian tide. 
 Trust me, my joy is great that thou shouldst be, 
 Though bom of foreign race, yet born for me, 
 And that my sprightly friend now free to roam. 
 Must seek again so soon his wonted home. 
 I well content, where Thames with influent tide 
 My native city laves, meantime reside. 
 Nor zeal nor duty, now, my steps impel 
 To reedy Cam, and my forbidden cell. 
 Nor aught of pleasure in those fields have I, 
 That, to the musing bard, all shade deny. 
 'Tis time, that I a pedant's threats disdain, 
 And fly from wrongs, my soul will ne'er sustain. 
 If peaceful days, in letter'd leisure spent, 
 Beneath my father's roof, be banishment. 
 Then caU me banish'd, I will ne'er refuse 
 A name expressive of the lot I choose.
 
 426 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 I would, that, exu'd to the Pontic shore, 
 
 Rome's hapless bard had suffer'd nothing more. 
 
 He then had equall'd even Homer's lays. 
 
 And Virgil I thou hadst won but second praise : 
 
 For here I woo the muse, with no control : 
 
 Aad here mv books — znj life — absorb me whole. 
 
 Here too I visit, or to smile, or weep. 
 
 The winding theatre's majestic sweep ; 
 
 The grave or gav colloquial scene recruits 
 
 My spirits, spent in learning's long pursuits ; 
 
 Whether some senior shrewd, or spendthrift heir. 
 
 Suitor or soldier, now unarm'd, be there. 
 
 Or some coif d brooder o'er a tea years' cause, 
 
 Thunder the Norman gibb'rish of the laws. 
 
 The lacquey, there, oft dupes the wary sire. 
 
 And artful, speeds th' enamour'd son's desire. 
 
 There, virgins oft, unconscious what they prove. 
 
 What love is, know not, yet unknowing love. 
 
 Or if impassion'd Tragedy wield high 
 
 The bloody sceptre, give her locks to fly 
 
 Wild as the *-inds, and roU her haggard eye, 
 
 I gaze, and grieve, still cherishing my grief, 
 
 .\t times, e'en bitter tears I yield sweet relief. 
 
 As when from bliss untasted torn away. 
 
 Some youth dies, hapless on his bridal day. 
 
 Or when the ghost sent back from shades below, 
 
 Fills the assassin's heart with vengeful woe. 
 
 When Troy, or .Argos, the dire scene affords. 
 
 Or Creon's hall laments its guilty lords. 
 
 Nor always city-pent, or pent at home, 
 
 I dwell ; but, when spring calls me forth to roam, 
 
 Expatiate in our proud suburban shades 
 
 Of branching elm, that never sun pervades. 
 
 Here many a virgin tr»op I may descry. 
 
 Like stars of mildest influence, gliding by. 
 
 Oh forms divine ! Oh looks that might inspire 
 
 E'en Jove himself, grown old, with young desire, 
 
 Oft have I gazed on gem-surpassing eyes, 
 
 Out-sparkling every star, that gilds the skies. 
 
 N ecks whiter than the ivory arm bestowed 
 
 By Jove on Pelops, or the milky road ! 
 
 Bright locks. Love's golden snare '. these falling low. 
 
 Those playing wanton o'er the graceful brow :
 
 FROM MILTON. 427 
 
 Cheeks too, more winning sweet than after show'r 
 Adonis turn'd to Flora's fav'rite flower ! 
 Yield, heroines, yield, and he who shar'd th' embrace 
 Of Jupiter in ancient times, give place ! 
 Give place, ye turban'd fair of Persia's coast ! 
 And ye, not less renown'd, Assyria's boast ! 
 Submit, ye nymphs of Greece ! ye, once the bloom 
 Of Ilion ! and all ye, of haughty Rome, 
 Who swept, of old, her theatres with trains 
 Redundant, and still live in classic strains ! 
 To British damsels beauty's palm is due. 
 Aliens ! to follow them is fame for you. 
 Oh city, founded by Dardanian hands. 
 Whose towering front the circling realms commands. 
 Too blest abode ! no loveliness we see 
 In all the earth, but it abounds in thee. 
 The virgin multitude that daily meets. 
 Radiant with gold and beauty, in thy streets. 
 Out-numbers all her train of starry fires. 
 With which Diana gilds thy lofty spires. 
 Fame says, that wafted hither by her doves. 
 With all her host of quiver-bearing loves, 
 Venus, preferring Paphian scenes no more. 
 Has fix'd her empire on thy nobler shore. 
 But lest the sightless boy enforce my stay, 
 I leave these happy walk, while yet I may 
 Immortal Moly shall secure my heart 
 From all the sorc'ry of Circaeau art. 
 And I will e'en repass Cam's reedy pools 
 To face once more the warfare of the schools. 
 Meantime accept this trifle ! rhymes though few. 
 Yet such, as prove thy friend's remembrance true '
 
 428 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 ELEGY II. 
 
 DEATH OF THE UNIVERSITY BEADLE 
 
 AT CAMBRIDGE. 
 Composed by Milton, in the l^th year of his age. 
 
 Thek, whose refulgent staff, and summons dear, 
 Minerva's flock long time was wont t' obey. 
 
 Although thyself an herald, famous here. 
 The last of heralds. Death, has snatch'd away. 
 
 He calls on all alike, nor even deigns 
 
 To spare the office, that himself sustains. 
 
 Thy locks were whiter than the plumes display'd 
 
 By Leda's paramour in ancient time. 
 But thou wast worthy ne'er to have decay'd. 
 
 Or ^son-like to know a second prime. 
 Worthy, for whom some goddess should have won 
 New life, oft kneeling to Apollo's son. 
 
 Commission'd to convene, with hasty call, 
 The gowned tribes, how graceful wouldst thou stand 
 
 So stood Cyllenius erst in Priam's hall, 
 
 Wing-footed messenger of Jove's command ! 
 
 And so Eurybates, when he address'd 
 
 To Peleus' son, Atrides' proud behest. 
 
 Dread queen of sepulchres ! whose rig'rous laws 
 And watchful eyes, run through the realms below. 
 
 Oh, oft too adverse to Minerva's cause ! 
 Too often to the muse not less a foe ! 
 
 Choose meaner marks, and with more equal aim 
 
 Pierce useless drones, earth's burthen, and its shame ! 
 
 Flow, therefore, tears for him, from evry eye, 
 
 All ye disciples of the muses, weep ! 
 Assembling, all, in robes of sable dye. 
 
 Around his bier, lament his endless sleep ! 
 And let complaining elegy rehearse, 
 In every school, her sweetest, saddest verse.
 
 FROM MILTOX. 429 
 
 ELEGY III. 
 
 ON THE 
 
 DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF WINCHESTER. 
 
 Composed in the Author's I'ith Year. 
 
 Silent I sat, dejected, and alone. 
 Making, in thought, the public woes my own, 
 When, first, arose the image in my breast 
 Of England's sufifering by that scourge, the Pest ! 
 How Death, his fun'ral torch and scythe in hand. 
 Entering the lordliest mansions of the land. 
 Has laid the gem-illumin'd palace low, 
 And levell'd tribes of nobles at a blow. 
 I, next, deplor'd the fam'd paternal pair. 
 Too soon to ashes tum'd, and empty air ! 
 The heroes next, whom snatch'd into the skies. 
 All Belgia saw, and follow'd with her sighs. 
 But thee far most I moum'd, regretted most, 
 Wint'ous chief shepherd, and her worthiest boast ! 
 Pour'd out in tears I thus complaining said: 
 ' Death, next in pow'r to him who rules the dead ! 
 Is't not enough that all the woodlands yield 
 To thy fell force, and ev'ry verdant field ; 
 That lilies, at one noisome blast of thine, 
 And e'en the Cyprian queen's own roses, pine ; 
 That oaks themselves, although the running rill 
 Suckle their roots, must wither at thy will ; 
 That all the winged nations, even those 
 Whose heav'n-directed flight the future shows, 
 And all the beasts, that in dark forests stray. 
 And all the herds of Proteus are thy prey. 
 Ah envious ! arm'd with pow'rs so unconfin'd ! 
 Why stain thy hands with blood of human kind ? 
 Why take delight, with darts, that never roam. 
 To chase a heav'n-born spirit from her home ?' 
 
 While thus I moum'd, the star of evening stood. 
 Now newly ris'n above the western flood. 
 And Phcebus from his morning-goal again 
 Had reach'd the gulfs of the Iberian main.
 
 430 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 I wish'd repose, and on my couch reclin'd 
 
 Took early rest, to night and sleep resign'd: 
 
 When — Oh for words to paint what I beheld ' 
 
 I seem'd to wander in a spacious field. 
 
 Where all the champaign glow'd with purple light 
 
 Like that of sun-rise on the mountain height ; 
 
 Flow'rs over aU the field, of ev'ry hue 
 
 That ever Iris wore, luxuriant grew. 
 
 Nor Chloris, with whom am'rous Zephyrs play, 
 
 E'er dress'd Alcinous' garden half so gay. 
 
 A silver current, like the Tagus, roll'd 
 
 O'er golden sands, but sands of purer gold. 
 
 With dewy airs Favonius fann'd the flow'rs, 
 
 With airs awaken'd under rosy bow'rs. 
 
 Such, poets feign, irradiated all o'er 
 
 The sun's abode, on India's utmost shore. 
 
 While I, that splendour, and the mingled shade 
 Of fruitful vines, with wonder fixt survey'd. 
 At once, with looks that beam'd celestial grace, 
 The seer of Winton stood before my face. 
 His snowy vesture's hem descending low. 
 His golden sandals swept, and pure as snow 
 New-faUen shone the mitre on his brow. 
 Where'er he trod a tremulous sweet sound 
 Of gladness shook the flow'ry scene around : 
 Attendant angels clap their starry wings. 
 The trumpet shakes the sky, all aether rings. 
 Each chaunts his welcome, folds him to his breast. 
 And thus a sweeter voice than all the rest : 
 • Ascend, my son ! thy father's kingdom share ! 
 My son ! henceforth be freed from ev'ry care !' 
 
 So spake the voice, and at its tender close 
 With psaltry's sound th' angelic band arose. 
 Then night retired, and chas'd by dawning day 
 The visionary bliss pass'd all away. 
 I mourn' d my banish' d sleep, with fond concern ; 
 Frequent to me may dreams like this return !
 
 FROM MILTON' 431 
 
 ELEGY IV. 
 
 TO HIS TUTOR, THOMAS YOUNG, 
 
 CHAPLAIN TO THE EXGLISH FACTORY AT 
 HAMBURGH. 
 
 Written in the Author's I8«/» Year. 
 
 Hence ray epistle — skim the deep — fly o'er 
 
 Yon smooth expanse to the Teutonic shore ! 
 
 Haste— lest a friend should grieve for thy delay — 
 
 And the gods grant, that nothing thwart thy way ' 
 
 I will myself invoke the king, who binds, 
 
 In his Sicanian echoing vault, the winds. 
 
 With Doris and her nymphs, and all the throng 
 
 Of azure gods, to speed thee safe along. 
 
 But rather to ensure thy happier haste. 
 
 Ascend Medea's chariot if thou may's! ; 
 
 Or that, whence young Triptolemus of yore 
 
 Descended, welcome on the Scythian shore. 
 
 The sands, that line the German coast, descried. 
 
 To opulent Haraburga turn aside ! 
 
 So called, if legendary fame be true. 
 
 From Hama whom a club-arm'd Cymbrian slew ! 
 
 There lives, deep-learn'd and primitively just, 
 
 A faithful steward of his Christian trust, 
 
 "My friend, and favourite inmate of my heart, 
 
 That now is forced to want its better part ! 
 
 What mountains now, and seas, alas ! how wide I 
 
 From me this other, dearer self divide. 
 
 Dear, as the sage renown'd for moral truth 
 
 To the prime spirit of the Attic youth ! 
 
 Dear, as the Stagy rite to Ammon's son. 
 
 His pupil, who disdain'd the world he won ! 
 
 Nor so did Chiron, or so Phoenix shine 
 
 In young Achilles' eyes as he in mine. 
 
 First led by him thro' sweot Aonian shade. 
 
 Each sacred haunt of Pindus I survey'd ! 
 
 And favour'd by the muse, whom I implor'd, 
 
 Thrice on my lip the hallow'd stream I pour'd.
 
 432 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 But thrice the sun's resplendent chariot roU'd 
 To Aries, has new ting'd his fleece with gold. 
 And Chloris twice has dress'd the meadows gaj'. 
 And twice has summer parch'd their bloom away. 
 Since last delighted on his looks I hung. 
 Or my ear drank the music of his tongue : 
 Fly, therefore, and surpass the tempest's speed : 
 Aware thyself, that there is urgent need ! 
 Him, entering, thou shalt haply seated see 
 Beside his spouse, his infants on his knee. 
 Or turning, page by page, with studious look. 
 Some bulky father, or God's holy book. 
 Or minist'ring (which is his weightiest care) 
 To Christ's assembled flock their heavenly farr. 
 Give him, whatever his employment be. 
 Such gratulation, as he claims, from me ! 
 And, with a down-cast eye, and carriage meek. 
 Addressing him, forget not thus to speak : 
 
 * If compass'd round with arms thou canst attend 
 To verse, verse greets thee from a distant friend. 
 Long due, and late, I left the English shore : 
 But make me welcome for that cause the more ! 
 Such from Ulysses, his chaste wife to cheer. 
 The slow epistle came tho' late, sincere. 
 But wherefore this ? why palliate I the deed. 
 For which the culprit's self could hardly plead ? 
 Self-charged, and self-condemn'd, his proper part 
 He feels neglected, with an aching heart ! 
 But thou forgive — delinquents, who confess, 
 And pray forgiveness, merit anger less ; 
 From timid foes the lion turns away. 
 Nor yawns upon or rends a crouching prey ; 
 Even pike-wielding Thracians learn to spare. 
 Won by soft influence of a suppliant prayer ; 
 And Heav'n's dread thimderbolt arrested stands 
 By a cheap victim, and uplifted hands. 
 Long had he wish d to write, but was withheld. 
 And, writes at last, by love alone compell'd ; 
 For fame, too often true, when she alarms. 
 Reports thy neighbouring fields a scene of arms ; 
 Thy city against fierce besiegers barr'd, 
 And all the Saxon chiefs for fight prepar'd.
 
 FROM MILTON. 433 
 
 Enyo wastes thy country wide around. 
 
 And saturates with blood the tainted ground ; 
 
 Mars rests contented in his Thrace no more. 
 
 But goads his steeds to fields of German gore; 
 
 The ever-verdant olive fades and dies. 
 
 And Peace, the trumpet-hating goddess, flies. 
 
 Flies from that earth which justice long had lelt. 
 
 And leaves the world of its last guard bereft. 
 
 Thus horror girds thee round. Meantime alone 
 Thou dwell'st, and helpless in a soil unknown ; 
 Poor, and receiving from a foreign hand 
 The aid denied thee in thy native land. 
 Oh, ruthless country, and unfeeling more 
 Than thy own billow-beaten chalky shore ! 
 Leav'st thou to foreign care the worthies, given 
 By Providence, to guide thy steps to heav'n ? 
 His ministers, commission'd to proclaim 
 Eternal blessings in a Saviour's name? 
 Ah then most worthy, with a soul unfed. 
 In Stygian night to lie for ever dead ! 
 So once the venerable Tishbite stray'd 
 An exil'd fugitive from shade to shade. 
 When, flying Ahab, and his fury wife. 
 In lone Arabian wilds, he shelter'd life ; 
 So> from Philippi, wander'd forth forlorn 
 Cilician Paul, with sounding scourges torn ; 
 And Christ himself, so left, and trod no more. 
 The thankless Gergesene's forbidden shore. 
 
 But thou take courage ! strive against despair ! 
 Quake not with dread, nor nourish anxious care! 
 Grim war indeed on ev'ry side appears. 
 And thou art menaced by a thousand spears ; 
 Yet none shall drink thy blood, or shall offend 
 E'en the defenceless bosom of my friend. 
 For thee the ^Egis of thy God shall hide, 
 Jehovah's self shall combat on thy side. 
 The same, who vanquish'd under Sion's tow'rs 
 At silent midnight, all Assyria's pow'rs ; 
 The same, who overthrew in ages past, 
 Damascus' sons that laid Samaria waste ! 
 Their king he fiU'd and them with fatal fears 
 By mimic sounds of clarions in their eprs, 
 T
 
 434 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 Of hoofs, and wheels, and neighings from afar. 
 Of clashing armour, and the din of war. 
 
 Thou, therefore (as the most afflicted may). 
 Still hope, and triumph, o'er thy evil day ! 
 Look forth, expecting happier times to come, 
 And to enjoy, once more, thy native home ! 
 
 ELEGY V. 
 
 ON THE APPROACH OF SPRING. 
 
 Written in the Author's 20th Year. 
 
 Time, never wand'ring from his annual round, 
 
 Bids Zephyr breathe the spring, and thaw the ground ; 
 
 Bleak winter flies, new verdure clothes the plain. 
 
 And earth assumes her transient youth again. 
 
 Dream I, or also to the spring belong 
 
 Increase of genius, and new pow'rs of song ? 
 
 Spring gives them, and, how strange soe'er it seems. 
 
 Impels me now to some harmonious themes. 
 
 Caatalia's fountafti, and the forked hill 
 
 By day, by night, my raptur'd fancy fill ; 
 
 My bosom burns and heaves, I hear within 
 
 A sacred sound, that prompts me to begin. 
 
 Lo ! Phoebus comes, with his bright hair he blends 
 
 The radiant laurel-wreath ; Phoebus descends ; 
 
 I mount, and, undepress'd by cumb'rous clay, 
 
 Through cloudy regions win my easy way ; 
 
 Rapt through poetic shadowy haunts I fly : 
 
 The shrines all open to my dauntless eye. 
 
 My spirit searches all the realms of light. 
 
 And no Tartarean gulfs elude my sight. 
 
 But this ecstatic trance — this glorious stonn 
 
 Of inspiration— what will it perform ? 
 
 Spring claims the verse, that with his influence glows. 
 
 And shall be paid with what himself bestows.
 
 FROM MILTON. 435 
 
 Thou, veil'd with op'ning foliage, lead'st the throng 
 Of feather'd minstrels, Philomel ! in song ; 
 Let us, in concert, to the season sing. 
 Civic and sylvan heralds of the spring ! 
 
 With notes triumphant spring's approach declare ; 
 To spring, ye Muses, annual tribute bear ! 
 The Orient left, and ^Ethiopia's plains. 
 The Sun now northward turns his golden reins ; 
 Night creeps not now ; yet rules with gentle sway ; 
 And drives her dusky horrors swift away ; 
 Now less fatigued, on this aethereal plain 
 BoCtes follows his celestial wain ; 
 And now the radiant centinels above. 
 Less num'rous, watch around the courts of Jove, 
 For, with the night, force, ambush, slaughter fly. 
 And no gigantic guilt alarms the sky. 
 Now haply says some shepherd, while he views. 
 Recumbent on a rock, the redd'ning dews. 
 This night, this surely, Phoebus miss'd the fair. 
 Who stops his chariot by her am'rous care. 
 Cynthia, delighted by the morning's glow. 
 Speeds to the woodland, and resumes her bow ; 
 Resigns her beams, and, glad to disappear. 
 Blesses his aid, who shortens her career. 
 Come — Phoebus cries — Aurora come— too late 
 Thou ling'rest, slumb'ring, with thy wither'd mate ' 
 Leave him, and to Hymettus's top repair! 
 Thy darling Cephalus expects thee there. 
 The goddess, with a blush, her love betrays. 
 But mounts, and driving rapidly, obeys. 
 Earth now desires thee, Phoebus 1 and t' engage 
 Thy warm embrace, casts off the guise of age ; 
 Desires thee, and deserves ; for who so sweet. 
 When her rich bosom courts thy genial heat ? 
 Her breath imparts to every breeze that blows 
 Arabia's harvest, and the Paphian rose. 
 Her lofty front she diadems around 
 With sacred pines, hke Ops on Ida crown'd ; 
 Her dewy locks, with various flow'rs new-blown, 
 She interweaves, various, and all her own, 
 For Proserpine, in such a wreath attired, 
 Tsenarian Dis himself with love inspired.
 
 •436 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 Fear not, lest, cold and coy, the njTnph nifuse ! 
 Herself, with all her sighing Zephyrs, sues ; 
 Each courts thee, fanning soft his scented wing. 
 And all her groves with warbled wishes ring. 
 Nor, unendow'd and indigent, aspires 
 The am'rous Earth to engage thy warm desires, 
 But, rich in balmy drugs, assists thy claim. 
 Divine Physician ! to that glorious name. 
 If splendid recompence, if gifts can move 
 Desire in thee (gifts often purchase love), 
 She offers all the wealth her mountains hide. 
 And all that rests beneath the boundless tide. 
 How oft, when headlong from the heav'nly steep. 
 She sees thee playing in the western deep, 
 How oft she cries — ' Ah Phoebus ! why repair 
 Thy wasted force, why seek refreshment there ? 
 Can Tethys win thee? wherefore shouldst thou lave 
 A face so fair in her unpleasant wave ? 
 Come, seek my green retreats, and rather choose 
 To cool thy tresses in my crystal dews. 
 The grassy turf shall yield thee sweeter rest ; 
 Come, lay thy evening glories on my breast. 
 And breathing fresh, through many a humid rose. 
 Soft whispering airs shall lull thee to repose ! 
 No fears I feel like Semele to die. 
 Nor let thy burning wheels approach too nigh. 
 For thou canst govern them — here therefore rest, 
 And lay thy evening glories on my breast !' 
 
 Thus breathes the wanton Earth her am'rous flame. 
 And all her countless offspring feel the same ; 
 For Cupid now through every region strays, 
 Bright'ning his faded fires with solar rays : 
 His new-strung bow sends forth a deadlier sound. 
 And his new-pointed shafts more deeply wound; 
 Nor Dian's self escapes him now untried. 
 Nor even Vesta at her altar-side ; 
 His mother too repairs her beauty's wane. 
 And seems sprung newly from the deep again. 
 Exulting youths the Hymeneal sing, 
 With Hymen's name roofs, rocks, and valleys ring; 
 He, new-attired, and by the season drest. 
 Proceeds, all fragrant, in his paffron vest.
 
 FROM MILTON 437 
 
 Now, many a golden-cinctur'd virgin roves 
 
 To taste the pleasures of the fields and groves ; 
 
 All wish, and each alike, some fav'rite youth 
 
 Hers, in the bonds of Hymeneal truth. 
 
 Now pipes the shepherd through his reeds again, 
 
 Nor Phillis wants a song, that suits the strain ; 
 
 With songs the seaman hails the starry sphere. 
 
 And dolphins rise from the abyss to hear ! 
 
 Jove feels himself the season, sports again 
 
 With his fair spouse, and banquets all his train. 
 
 Now too the Satyrs, in the dusk of eve. 
 
 Their mazy dance through flowery meadows weave ,• 
 
 And neither god nor goat, but both in kind, 
 
 Sylvanus, wreath'd with cypress, skips behind. 
 
 The Dryads leave their hollow sylvan cells. 
 
 To roam the banks and solitary dells ; 
 
 Pan riots now ; and from his amorous chafe 
 
 Ceres and Cybele seem hardly safe. 
 
 And Faunus, all on fire to reach the prize. 
 
 In chase of some enticing Oread flies ; 
 
 She bounds before, but fears too swift a bound. 
 
 And hidden lies, but wishes to be found. 
 
 Our shades entice th' Immortals from above. 
 
 And some kind pow'r presides o'er every grove ! 
 
 And long, ye pow'rs, o'er every grove preside. 
 
 For all is safe, and blest, where ye abide ! 
 
 Return, O Jove ! the age of gold restore — 
 
 Why choose to dwell where storms and thunders roar? 
 
 At least thou, Phoebus ! moderate thy speed ! 
 
 Let not the vernal hours too swift proceed. 
 
 Command rough Winter back, nor yield the pole 
 
 Too soon to Night's encroaching long control '.
 
 438 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 ELEGY VI. 
 
 TO CHARLES DEODATI, 
 
 Who wliile he spent his Christmas in the country, sent the Au- 
 thor a poetical Epistle, in which he requested that his verses, 
 if not so good as usual, might be excused on account of the 
 many feasts to which his friends invited him, and which would 
 not allow hi^j leisure to finish them as he wished. 
 
 With no rich viands overcharg'd I send 
 
 Health, which perchance you want, my pamper'd friend : 
 
 But wherefore should thy muse tempt mine away 
 
 From what she loves, from darkness into day ? 
 
 Art thou desirous to be told how well 
 
 I love thee, and in verse ? verse cannot tell. 
 
 For verse has bounds, and must in measure move ; 
 
 But neither bounds nor measure knows my love. 
 
 How pleasant, in thy lines describ'd, appear 
 
 December's harmless sports, and rural cheer ! 
 
 French spirits kindling with casrulean fires. 
 
 And all such gambols, as the time inspires ! 
 
 Think not that wine against good verse offends ; 
 The muse and Bacchus have been always friends. 
 Nor Phoebus blushes sometimes to be found 
 With ivy, rather than with laurel crown'd. 
 The Nine themselves oft-times have join'd the song. 
 And revels of the Bacchanalian throng ; 
 Not even Ovid could in Scythian air 
 Sing sweetly — why ? no vine would flourish there. 
 What in brief numbers suug Anacreon's muse ? 
 Wine, and the rose, that sparkling wine bedews. 
 Pindar with Bacchus glows— his every line 
 Breathes the rich fragrance of inspiring wine. 
 While, with loud crash o'erturn'd the chariot lies. 
 And brown with dust the fiery courser flies. 
 The Roman lyrist steep's in wine his lays 
 So sweet in Glycera's, and Chloe's praise. 
 Now too the plenteous feast and mantling bowl 
 Nourish the vigour of thy sprightly soul ; 
 The flowing goblet makes thy numbers flow. 
 And casks not wine alone, but verse, bestow.
 
 FROM MILTON. 439 
 
 Thus Phcebus favours, and the arts attend, 
 Whom Bacchus, and whom Ceres, both befriend. 
 What wonder then thy verses are so sweet. 
 In which these triple powers so kindly meet ! 
 The lute now also sounds, with gold in-wrought, 
 And touch'd, with flying fingers, nicely taught. 
 In tap'stried halls, high roof 'd, the sprightly lyre 
 Directs the dancers of the virgin choir. 
 If dull repletion fright the Muse away. 
 Sights, gay as these, may more invite her stay ; 
 And trust me, while the iv'ry keys resound, 
 Fair damsels sport, and perfumes steam around, 
 Apollo's influence, like a;thereal flame. 
 Shall animate, at once, thy glowing flame. 
 And all the Muse shall rush into thy breast. 
 By love and music's blended pow'rs possest. 
 For num'rous pow'rs light Elegy befriend. 
 Hear her sweet voice, and at her call attend ; 
 Her, Bacchus, Ceres, Venus, all approve. 
 And with his blushing mother, gentle Love. 
 Hence to such bards we grant the copious use 
 Of banquets, and the vine's delicious juice. 
 But they, who demi-gods and heroes praise. 
 And feats perform'd in Jove's more youthful days, 
 Who now the counsels of high heaven explore. 
 Now shades, that echo the Cerberean roar. 
 Simply let these, like him of Samos live. 
 Let herbs to them a bloodless banquet give ; 
 In beechen goblets let their bev'rige shine, 
 Cool from the crystal spring, their sober wine ! 
 Their youth should pass, in innocence, secure 
 From stain licentious, and in manners pure, 
 Pure as the priest, when rob'd in white he stands, 
 The fresh lustration ready in his hands. 
 Thus Linus liv'd, and tlius as poets write, 
 Tiresias, wiser for his loss of sight ! 
 Thus exil'd Chalcas, thus the bard of Thrace, 
 Melodious tamer of the savage race ! 
 Thus train'd by temp' ranee. Homer led, of yore. 
 His chief of Ithaca from shore to shore. 
 Through magic Circe's monster-peopled reign, 
 And shoals insidious with the siren train ;
 
 440 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 And through the realms, where grizly spectres dwell, 
 Whose tribes he fetter* d in a gory spell ; 
 For these are sacred bards, and, from above. 
 Drink large infusions from the mind of Jove ! 
 
 Would'st thou {perhaps 'tis hardly worth thine ear), 
 Would'st thou be told my occupation here ? 
 The promis'd King of peace employs my pen, 
 Th' eternal cov'nant made for guilty men. 
 The new-bom Deity with infant cries 
 Filling the sordid hovel, where he lies ; 
 The hymning angels, and the herald star, 
 That led the wise, who sought him from afar. 
 And idols on their own unhallow'd shore 
 Dash'd, at his birth, to be revered no more ! 
 
 This theme on reeds of Albion I rehearse •. 
 The dawn of that blest day inspired the v^ . 
 Verse, that, reserv'd in secret, shall attend 
 Thy candid voice, my critic, and my friend ' 
 
 ELEGY VII. 
 
 Composed in the Author's \9th Year. 
 
 As yet a stranger to the gentle fires 
 
 That Amathusia's smiling queen inspires. 
 
 Not seldom I derided Cupid's darts. 
 
 And scom'd his claim to rule all human hearts. 
 
 * Go, child,' I said, ' transfix the tim'rous dove! 
 
 An easy conquest suits an infant love; 
 
 Enslave the sparrow, for such prize shall be 
 
 Sufficient triumph to a chief like thee ! 
 
 Why aim thy idle arms at human kind ? 
 
 Thy shafts prevail not 'gainst the noble mind.' 
 
 The Cyprian heard, and kindling into ire 
 (None kindles sooner), burn'd with double fire. 
 
 It was the spring, and newly risen day 
 Peep'd o'er the hamlets on the first of May ; 
 My eyes too tender for the blaze of light. 
 Still sought the shelter of retiring night. 
 When Love approach'd, in painted plumes array'd 
 Th' insidious god his rattling darts betray'd.
 
 FROM MILTON. 441 
 
 Nor less his infant features, and the sly. 
 Sweet intimations of his threat'ning eye. 
 
 Such the Sigeian boy is seen above. 
 Filling the goblet for imperial Jove; 
 Such he, on whom the nymphs bestow'd their charms, 
 Hylas, who perish'd in a Naiad's arms. 
 Angry he seem'd, yet graceful in his ire, 
 And added threats, not destitute of fire. 
 * My power,' he said, ' by others' pain alone, 
 'Twere best to learn ; now learn it by thy own .' 
 With those, who feel my power, that pow'r attest ! 
 And in thy anguish be my sway confest ! 
 I vanquished Phoebus, though returning vain 
 From his new triumph o'er the Python slain. 
 And, when he thinks on Daphne, even he 
 Will yield the prize of archery to me. 
 A dart less true the Parthian horseman sped, 
 Behind him kill'd, and conquer'd as he fled : 
 Less true th' expert Cydonian, and less true 
 The youth, whose shaft his latent Procris slew, 
 Vanquish'd by me see huge Orion bend. 
 By me Alcides, and Alcides' friend. 
 At me should Jove himself a bolt design, 
 His bosom first should bleed transfixt by mine. 
 But all thy doubts this shaft will best explain. 
 Nor shall it reach thee with a trivial pain. 
 Thy Muse, vain youth ! shall not thy peace ensure. 
 Nor Phoebus' serpent yield thy wound a cure.' 
 
 He spoke, and, waving a bright shaft in air. 
 Sought the warm bosom of the Cyprian fair. 
 
 That thus a child should bluster in my ear, 
 Provok'd my laughter, more than moved my fear. 
 I shunn'd not, therefore, public haunts, but stray 'd 
 Careless in city, or suburban shade. 
 And passing, and repassing, nymphs, that mov'd 
 With grace divine, beheld where'er I rov'd. 
 Bright shone the vernal day, with double blaze. 
 As beauty gave new force to Pjioebus' rays. 
 By no grave scruples check'd, I freely eyed 
 The dang'rous show, rash youth my only guid«« 
 And many a look of many a fair unknown 
 Met full, unable to control my own.
 
 442 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 But one I mark'd (then peace forsook my breast) 
 
 One — oh how far superior to the rest ! 
 
 What lovely features ! such the Cyprian queen 
 
 Herself might wish, and Juno wish her mien. 
 
 The very nymph was she, wnom when I dar'd 
 
 His arrows, Love had even then prepar'd ! 
 
 Nor was himself remote, nor unsupplied 
 
 With torch'd well-trimm'd and quiver at his side; 
 
 Now to her lips he clung, her eyelids norw. 
 
 Then settled on her cheeks, or on her brow ; 
 
 And with a thousand wounds from ev'ry part 
 
 Pierced, and transpierced, my undefended heart. 
 
 A fever, new to me, of fierce desire 
 
 Now seiz'd my soul, and I was all on fire. 
 
 But she, the while, whom only I adore. 
 
 Was gone, and vanish'd, to appear no more. 
 
 In silent sadness I pursue my way ; 
 
 I pause, I turn, proceed, yet wish to stay. 
 
 And while I follow her in thought, bemoan 
 
 With tears, my soul's delight so quickly flown. 
 
 When Jove had hurl'd him to the Lemnian coast. 
 
 So Vulcan sorrow'd for Olympus lost. 
 
 And so Oeclides, sinking into night, 
 
 From the deep gulf look'd up to distant light. 
 
 Wretch that I am, what hopes for me remain. 
 Who cannot cease to love, yet love in vain ? 
 O could I once, once more behold the fair. 
 Speak to her, teU her, of the pangs I bear. 
 Perhaps she is not adamant, would show 
 Perhaps some pity at my tale of woe. 
 Oh inauspicious flame — 'tis mine to prove 
 A matchless instance of disastrous love. 
 Ah spare me, gentle pow'r !— If such thou be. 
 Let not thy deeds, and nature, disagree. 
 Spare me, and I will worship at no shrine 
 With vow and sacrifice, save only thine. 
 Now I revere thy fires, thy bow, thy darts : 
 Now own thesov'reign of all human hearts. 
 Remove ! no— grant me stiU this raging woe ! 
 Sweet is the wretchedness that lovers know ; 
 But pierce hereafter (should I chance to see 
 One destin'd mine) at once both her and me.
 
 FROM MILTON. 443 
 
 Such were the trophies, that in earlier days. 
 By vanity seduced, I toil'd to raise. 
 Studious, yet indolent, and urg'd by youth. 
 That worst of teachers ! from the ways of truth ; 
 Till Learning taught me, in his shady bow'r. 
 To quit Love's servile yoke, and spurn his pow'r. 
 Then, on a sudden, the fierce flame supprest. 
 A frost continual settled on my breast. 
 Whence Cupid fears his flames extinct to see. 
 And Venus dreads a Diomede in me. 
 
 EPIGRAMS. 
 
 ON THE INVENTOR OF GUNS. 
 
 Praise in old times the sage Prometheus won. 
 Who stole aetherial radiance from the sun ; 
 But greater he, whose bold invention strove 
 To emulate the fiery bolts of Jove. 
 
 [The Poems on the subject of the Gunpowder Treason I have 
 not translated, both because the matter of them is unpleasant, 
 and because they are written with an asperity, which, however 
 it might be warranted in Milton's day, would be extremely un- 
 seasonable now.] 
 
 TO LEONORA SINGING AT ROME.* 
 Another Leonora once inspir'd 
 Tasso, with fatal love to phrensy fir'd; * 
 
 But how much happier, liv'd he now, were he, 
 Pierc'd with whatever pangs for love of thee ! 
 Since could he hear that heavenly voice of thine. 
 With Adriana's lute of sound divine. 
 Fiercer than Pentheus' tho' his eye might roll. 
 Or idiot apathy benumb his soul. 
 You still, with medicinal sounds might cheer 
 His senses wandering in a blind career ; 
 And sweetly breathing through his wounded breast. 
 Charm with soul-soothing song, his thoughts to rest. 
 
 « I have translated only two of the three poetical compliments 
 .iddressed to Leonora, as they appear to mc far superior tu wliat 
 I have omitted.
 
 444 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 
 Naples, too credulous, ah ! boast uo more 
 The sweet-voic'd Syren buried on thy shore. 
 That, when Parthenope deceas'd, she gave 
 Her sacred dust to a Chalcidic grave. 
 For still she lives, but has exchang'd the hoarse 
 Pausilipo for Tiber's placid course. 
 Where, idol of all Rome, she now in chains 
 Of magic song both gods and men detains. 
 
 THE COTTAGER AND HIS LANDLORD. 
 A FABLE. 
 
 A Peasant to his lord paid yearly court, 
 Presenting pippins, of so rich a sort 
 That he, displeas'd to have a part alone, 
 Remov'd the tree that all might be his own. 
 The tree, too old to travel, though before 
 So fruitful, wither'd, and would yield no more. 
 The squire, perceiving all his labour void, 
 Curs'd his own pains so foolishly employ'd; 
 And ' Oh' he cried, ' that I had liv'd content 
 With tribute, small indeed, but kindly meant ! 
 My av'rice has expensive prov'd to me 
 Has cost me both my pippins, and my tree.' 
 
 TO CHRISTINA QUEEN OF SWEDEN, WITH 
 CROMWELL'S PICTURE. 
 
 Christina, maiden of heroic mien 
 
 Star of the North ! of northern stars the queen ' 
 
 Behold what wrinkles I have eam'd, and how 
 
 The iron casque still chafes my vet'ran brow, 
 
 While following fate's dark footsteps, I fulfil 
 
 The dictates of a hardy people's will. 
 
 But soften'd, in thy sight, my looks appear. 
 
 Not to all Queens or Kings ^ke severe.
 
 445 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 ox THE DEATH OF THE VICE-CHANCELLOR, 
 
 A PHYSICIAN. 
 
 Learn, ye nations of the earth, 
 The condition of your birth, 
 Now be taught your feeble state ! 
 Know, that all must yield to f^te 
 
 If the rnoumful rover. Death, 
 Say but once — ' Resign your breath !' 
 Vainly of escape your dream. 
 You must pass the Stygian stream. 
 
 Could the stoutest overcome 
 Death's assault, and baffle doom, 
 Hercules had both withstood, 
 Undiseas'd by Nessus' blood. 
 
 Ne'er had Hector press'd the plain 
 By a trick of Pallas slain. 
 Nor the chief to Jove allied 
 By Achilles' phantom died. 
 
 Could enchantments life prolong, 
 Circe sav'd by magic song. 
 Still had liv'd, and equal skill 
 Had preserv'd Medea still. 
 
 Dwelt in herbs, and drugs, a pow'r 
 To avert man's destined hour, 
 Learn'd Machaon should have known 
 Doubtless to avert his own. 
 
 Chiron had surviv'd the smart 
 Of the Hydra-tainted dart. 
 And Jove's bolt had been, with ease, 
 Foil'd by Asclepiades.
 
 44G TRANSLATIONS 
 
 Thou too, sage ! of whom forlorn 
 Helicon and Cirrha mourn. 
 Still hadst fill'd thy princely place. 
 Regent of the gowned race ; 
 
 Hadst advanc'd to higher fame 
 Still thy much ennobled name. 
 Nor in Charon's skiff explored 
 The Tartarean gulf abhorr'd. 
 
 But resentful Proserpine, 
 Jealous of thy skill divine. 
 Snapping short thy vital thread. 
 Thee too number'd with the dead. 
 
 Wise and good ! untroubled be 
 The green turf that covers thee ! 
 Thence, in gay profusion grow 
 All the sweetest flow'rs that blow : 
 
 Pluto's consort bid thee rest ! 
 .^acus pronounce thee blest ! 
 To her home thy shade consign ! 
 Make Elysium ever thine ! 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF THE BISHOP OF ELY 
 
 Written in the Author's I7th Year. 
 
 My lids with grief were tumid yet. 
 
 And still my sullied cheek was wet 
 
 With briny tears, profusely shed 
 
 For venerable Winton dead ; 
 
 When Fame, whose tales of saddest sound, 
 
 Alas ! are ever truest found. 
 
 The news through all our cities spread 
 
 Of yet another mitred head 
 
 By ruthless fate to death consign'd, 
 
 Ely, the honour of his kind I 
 
 At once, a storm of passion heav'd 
 My boiling bosom, much I griev'd. 
 But more I rag'd, at ev'ry breath 
 Devoting Death himself to death.
 
 FROM MILTON. -i 
 
 With less revenge did Naso teem. 
 When hated Ibis was his theme; 
 With less, Archilochus, denied 
 The lovely Greek, his promis'd bride. 
 
 But lo ! while thus I execrate, 
 Incens'd, the minister of fate, 
 Wond'rous accents, soft, yet clear. 
 Wafted on the gale I hear. • 
 
 ' Ah, much deluded ! lay aside 
 Thy threats and anger misapplied ! 
 Art not afraid with sounds like these 
 T' offend, where thou canst not appease .' 
 Death is not (wherefore dream'st thou thus ?; 
 The son of Night and Erebus ; 
 Nor was of fell Erynnis born 
 On gulfs, where Chaos rules forlorn : 
 But, sent from God, his presence leaves. 
 To gather home his ripen'd sheaves. 
 To call encumber'd souls away 
 From fleshly bonds to boundless day, 
 (As when the winged hours excite. 
 And summon forth the morning-light). 
 And each to convoy to her place 
 Before th' Eternal Father's face. 
 But not the wicked — them, severe 
 Yet just from all their pleasures here 
 He hurries to the realms below. 
 Terrific realms of penal woe ! 
 Myself no sooner heard his call. 
 Than, 'scaping through my prison-wall, 
 I bade adieu to bolts and bars. 
 And soar'd, with angels, to the stars. 
 Like him of old, to whom 'twas giv'n 
 To mount, on fiery wheels to heav'n. 
 Bootes' waggon, slow with cold, 
 Appall'd me not ; nor to behold 
 The sword, that vast Orion draws. 
 Or e'en the Scorpion's horrid claws. 
 Beyond the Sun's bright orb I fly, 
 And, far beneath my feet, descry 
 Night's dread goddess, seen with awe. 
 Whom her winged dragons draw.
 
 448 TRANSLATION'S 
 
 Thus ever wond'riag at my spfied. 
 
 Augmented still as I proceed, 
 
 I pass the planetary sphere. 
 
 The Milky Way — and now appear 
 
 Heav'n's crystal battlements, her door 
 
 Of massy pearl and em'rald floor. 
 
 But here I cease. For never can 
 The tongue of once a mortal man 
 In suitable description trace 
 The pleasures of that happy place; 
 Suflice it, that those joys divine 
 Are all, and all for ever, mine !' 
 
 NATURE UNIMPAIRED BY TIME. 
 
 Ah, how the human mind wearies itself 
 
 With her own wand'rings, and involv'd in gloom 
 
 Impenetrable, speculates amiss ! 
 
 Measuring, in her folly, things divine 
 
 By human; laws inscrib'd ou adamant 
 
 By laws of man's device, and counsels fixt 
 
 For ever, by the hours, that pass and die. 
 
 How ?— shall the face of nature then be ploughd 
 Into deep wrinkles, and shall years at last 
 On the great Parent fix a sterile curse ? 
 Shall even she confess old age and halt. 
 And, palsy-smitten, shake her starry brows ? 
 Shall foul Antiquity with rust and drought. 
 And Famine, vex the radiant worlds above ? 
 Shall Time's unsated maw crave and ingulf 
 The very heav'us, that regulate his flight ? 
 And was the Sire of aU able to fence 
 His works, and to uphold the circling worlds, 
 But, through improvident and heedless haste. 
 Let slip th' occasion ? — so then— all is lost — 
 And in some future evil hour, yon arch 
 Shall crumble, and come thund'ring down the poles. 
 Jar in collision, the Olympian king 
 Fall with his throne, and Pallas, holding forth
 
 FROM MILTON 449 
 
 The terrors of the Gorgou shield in vain. 
 Shall rush to the abyss like Vulcan hurl'd 
 Down into Lemnos, through the gate of heav'n. 
 Thou also, with precipitated wheels, 
 Phoebus ! thy own son's fall shalt imitate. 
 With hideous ruin shalt impress the deep 
 Suddenly, and the flood shall reek, and hiss. 
 At the extinction of the lamp of day. 
 Then too shall Hemus, cloven to his base. 
 Be shatter'd, and the huge Ceraunian hills. 
 Once weapons of Tartarean Dis, immers'd 
 In Erebus, shall fill himself with fear. 
 
 No. The Almighty Father surer laid 
 His deep foundations, and providing well 
 For the event of all, the scales of Fate 
 Suspended in just equipoise, and bade 
 His universal works, from age to age. 
 One tenour hold, perpetual, undisturb'd. 
 
 Hence the prime mover wheels itself about 
 Continual, day by day, and with it bears 
 In social measure swift the heav'ns around. 
 Not tardier now is Saturn than of old. 
 Nor radiant less the burning casque of Mars. 
 Phoebus, his vigour unimpair'd, still shows 
 Th' effulgence of his youth, nor needs the god 
 A downward course, that he may warm the vales 
 But, ever rich in influence, runs his road. 
 Sign after sign, through all the heavenly zone. 
 Beautiful, as at first, ascends the star 
 From odorifrous Ind, whose office is 
 To gather home betimes th* ethereal flock, 
 To pour them o'er the skies again at eve. 
 And to discriminate the night and day. 
 Still Cynthia's changeful horn waxes, and wanes. 
 Alternate, and with arms extended still, 
 She welcomes to her breast her brother's beams. 
 Nor have the elements deserted yet 
 Their functions ; thunder, with as loud a stroke 
 As er»t, smites thro' the rocks, and scatters them. 
 The east still howls, still the relentless north 
 Invades the shudd'ring Scythian, still he breathes 
 The winter, and still rolls the storms along.
 
 450 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 The king of ocean, with his wonted force, 
 Beats on Pelorus, o'er the deep is heard 
 The hoarse alarm of Triton's sounding shell. 
 Nor swim the monsters of the ^gean sea 
 In shallows, or beneath diminish'd waves. 
 Thou too, thy ancient vegetative pow'r 
 Enjoy'st, O earth ! Narcissus still is sweet. 
 And, Phoebus ! still thy favourite, and still 
 Thy fav'rite Cytherea ! both retain 
 Their beauty, nor the mountains, ore-eurich'd 
 For punishment of man, with purer gold 
 Teem'd ever, or with brighter gems the Deep. 
 
 Thus, in unbroken series, all proceeds , 
 And shall, till wide involving either pole. 
 And the immensity of yonder heav'n. 
 The final flames of destiny absorb 
 The world, consum'd in one enormous pyre ! 
 
 ON THE PLATONIC IDEA, 
 
 AS IT WAS UNDERSTOOD BY ARISTOTLK. 
 
 Ye sister pow'rs who o'er the sacred groves 
 Preside, and thou, fair mother of them all, 
 Mnemosyne ! and thou, who in thy grot 
 Immense, reclin'd at leisure, hast in charge 
 The archives, and the ord'nances of Jove, 
 And dost record the festivals of heav'n. 
 Eternity I — Inform us who is He, 
 That great original by nature chos'n 
 To be the archetj-pe of human kind. 
 Unchangeable, immortal, with the poles 
 Themselves coeval, one, yet ev'ry where, 
 An image of the god who gave him being ? 
 Twin-brother of the goddess born from Jove, 
 He dwells not in his father's mind, but though 
 Of common nature with ourselves, exists 
 Apart, and occupies a local home. 
 Whether, companion of the stars, he spend 
 Eternal ages, roaming at his will
 
 FROM MILTON. 451 
 
 From sphere to sphere the tenfold heav'ns, or dwell 
 
 On the moon's side, that nearest neighbours earth. 
 
 Or torpid on the banks of Lethe sit 
 
 Among the multitude of souls ordain'd 
 
 To flesh and blood, or whether (as may chance) 
 
 That vast and giant model of our kind 
 
 In some far distant region of this globe 
 
 Sequester'd stalk, with lifted head on high 
 
 O'ertow'ring Atlas, on whose shoulders rest 
 
 The stars, terrific even to the gods. 
 
 Never the Theban seer, whose blindness prov'd 
 
 His best illumination, him beheld 
 
 In secret vision ; never him the son 
 
 Of Pleione, amid the noiseless night 
 
 Descending, to the prophet-choir reveal'd ; 
 
 Him never knew th' Assyrian priest, who yet 
 
 The ancestry of Ninus chronicles, 
 
 And Belus, and Osiris, far renow'd ; 
 
 Nor even thrice great Hermes, although skill'd 
 
 So deep in myst'ry, to the worshij)pers 
 
 Of Isis show'd a prodigy like him. 
 
 And thou, who hast immortaliz'd the shades 
 Of Academus, if the schools receiv'd 
 This monster of the fancy first from thee. 
 Either recall at once the banish'd bards 
 To thy republic, or thyself evinc'd 
 A wilder fabulLst, go also forth. 
 
 TO HIS FATHER. 
 
 Oh that Pieria's spring would thro' my breast 
 
 Pour its inspiring influence, and rush 
 
 No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood ! 
 
 That, for my venerable Father's sake 
 
 All meaner themes renounc'd, my muse, on wings 
 
 Of duty borne, might reach a loftier strain. 
 
 For thee, my Father ! howsoe'er it please. 
 
 She frames this slender work, nor know I aught 
 
 That may thy gifts more suitably requite;
 
 452 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 Though to requite them suitably would ask 
 Returns much nobler, and surpassing far 
 The meagre stores of verbal gratitude : 
 But, such as I possess, I send thee alL 
 This page presents thee in their full amount 
 With thy son's treasures, and the sum is nought ; 
 Nought, save the riches that from airy dream 
 In secret grottos, and in laurel bow'rs, 
 I have, by golden's Clio's gift acquir'd. 
 
 Verse is a work divine ; despise not thou 
 Verse therefore, which evinces (nothing more) 
 Man's heavenly source, and which, retaining still 
 Some scintillations of Promethean fire. 
 Bespeaks him animated from above. 
 The Gods love verse ; the infernal Pow'rs themselves 
 Confess the influence of verse, which stirs 
 The lowest deep, and binds in triple chains 
 Of adamant both Pluto and the Shades. 
 In verse the Delphic priestess, and the pale 
 Tremulous Sybil, make the future known, 
 And he who sacrifices, on the shrine 
 Hangs verse, both when he smites the threat'ning bull, 
 And when he spreads his reeking entrails wide 
 To scrutinize the Fates enveloped there. 
 We too, ourselves, what time we seek again 
 Our native skies, and one eternal now 
 Shan be the only measure of our being, 
 Crown'd aU with gold, and chanting to the lyre 
 Harmonious verse, shall range the courts above. 
 And make the starry firmament resound. 
 And, even now, the fiery spirit pure 
 That wheels yon circling orbs, directs, himself. 
 Their mazy dance with melody of verse 
 Unutt'rable, immortal, hearing which 
 Huge Ophiuchus holds his hiss suppress'd, 
 Orion soften'd, drops his ardent blade. 
 And Atlas stands unconscious of his load. 
 Verse grac'd of old the feasts of kings, ere yet 
 Luxurious dainties, destin'd to the gulf 
 Immense of glutonny, were known, and ere 
 Lyaeus delug'd yet the temp'rate board. 
 Then sat the bard a customary guest
 
 FROM MILTON". 453 
 
 To share the banquet, and, his length of locks 
 
 With beechen honours bound, proposed in verse 
 
 The characters of heroes, and their deeds. 
 
 To imitation, sang of Chaos old, 
 
 Of nature's birth, of gods that crept in search 
 
 \)f acorns fall'n, and of the thunder-bolt 
 
 Not vet produc'd from Etna's fiery cave. 
 
 And what avails, at last, tune without voice. 
 
 Devoid of matter ? Such may suit perhaps 
 
 The rural dance, but such was ne'er the song 
 
 Of Orpheus, whom the streams stood still to hear, 
 
 And the oaks follow'd. Not by chords alone 
 
 Well touch'd, but by resistless accents more 
 
 To sympathetic tears the ghosts themselves 
 
 He moved : these praises to his verse he owes. 
 
 Nor thou persist, I pray thee, still to slight 
 The sacred Nine, and to imagine vain 
 And useless, pow'rs, by whom inspir'd, thyself 
 Art skilful to associate verse with airs 
 Harmonious, and to give the human voice 
 A thousand modulations, heir by right 
 Indisputable of Arionj fame. 
 Now say what wonder is it, if a son 
 Of thine delight in verse, if so conjoin'd 
 In close affinity, we sympathize 
 In social arts, and kindred studies sweet ? 
 Such distribution of himself to us 
 Was Phoebus' choice ; thou hast thy gift, and I 
 Mine also, and between us we receive. 
 Father and son, the whole inspiring God. 
 
 No ! howsoe'er the semblance thou assume 
 Of hate, thou hatest not the gentle Muse, 
 My Father I for thou never bad'st me tread 
 The beaten path, and broad, that leads right on 
 To opulence, nor didst condemn thy son 
 To the insipid clamours of the bar. 
 To laws voluminous, and ill observ'd ; 
 But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill 
 My mind with treasure, led'st me far away 
 From city din to deep retreats, to banks 
 And streams Aonian, and, with free consent. 
 Didst place me happy at Apollo's side.
 
 454 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 I speak not now, on more important themes 
 Intent, of common benefits, and such 
 As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts. 
 My Father ! who, when I had open'd once 
 The stores of Roman rhetoric, and leam'd 
 The full-ton'd language of the eloquent Greeks, 
 Whose lofty music grac'd the lips of Jove, 
 Thyself didst counsel me to add the flow'rs 
 That Gallia boasts; those too with which the smooth 
 Italian his degen'rate speech adorns. 
 That witnesses his mixture with the Goth ; 
 And Palestine's prophetic songs divine. 
 To sum the whole, whate'er the heav'n contains. 
 The earth benealh it, and the air between. 
 The rivers and the restless deep, may all 
 Prove intellectual gain to me, my wish 
 Concurring with thy will ; science herself, 
 All cloud remov'd, inclines her beauteous head. 
 And offers me the lip, if, dull of heart, 
 I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon. 
 Go now, and gather dross, ye sordid minds 
 That covet it ; what could my Father more ? 
 What more could Jove himself, unless he gave 
 His own abode, the heav'n in which he reigns ? 
 More eligible gifts than these were not 
 Apollo's to his son, had they been safe. 
 As they were insecure, who made the boy 
 The world's vice luminary, bade him rule 
 The radiant chariot of the day, and bind 
 To his young brows his own all dazzling wreath. 
 I therefore, although last and least, my place 
 Among the learned in the laurel grove 
 Will hold, and where the conqu'ror's ivy twines. 
 Henceforth exempt from the unletter'd throng 
 Profane, nor even to be seen by such. 
 Away then, sleepless Care, Complaint, away. 
 And, Envy, with thy 'jealous leer malign 1' 
 Nor let the monster Calumny shoot forth 
 Her venom'd tongue at me. Detested foes ! 
 Ye all are impotent against my peace. 
 For I am privileg'd, and bear my breast 
 Safe, and too high, for your viperean wound.
 
 FROM MILTON. 455 
 
 But thou, my Father ! since to render thanks 
 Equivalent, and to requite by deeds 
 Thy liberaUty, exceeds my power. 
 Suffice it, that I thus record thy gifts. 
 And bear them treasur'd in a grateful mind ! 
 Ye too, the favourite pastime of my youth. 
 My voluntary numbers, if ye dare 
 To hope longevity, and to survive 
 Your master's funeral, not soon absorb'd 
 In the oblivious Lethasan gulf. 
 Shall to futurity perhaps convey 
 This theme, and by these praises of my sire 
 Improve the Fathers of a distant age 
 
 TO SALSILLUS, A ROMAN POET, 
 
 MUCH INDISPOSED. 
 
 The original is written in a measure called Scojion, which sig- 
 nifies limping, and the measure is so denominated, because, 
 though in other respects Iambic, it terminates with a Spondee, 
 and has consequently a more tardy movement. 
 
 The reader will immediately see that this property of tlie Latin 
 verse cannot be imitated in English, 
 
 My halting Muse, that dragg'st by choice along 
 Thy slow, slow step, in melancholy song. 
 And lik'st that pace, expressive of thy cares. 
 Not less than Diopeia's sprightlier airs. 
 When, in the dance, she beats, with measur'd tread, 
 Heav'n's floor, in front of Juno's golden bed; 
 Salute Salsillus, who to verse divine 
 Prefers, with partial love, such lays as mine. 
 Thus writes that Milton then, who wafted o'er 
 From his own nest, on Albion's stormy shore. 
 Where Eurus, fiercest of the jEolian band. 
 Sweeps, with ungovern'd rage, the blasted land. 
 Of late to more serene Ausonia came 
 To view her cities of illustrious name. 
 To prove, himself a witness of the truth. 
 How wise her elders, and how learn'd her youth.
 
 456 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Much good, Salsillus ! and a body free 
 
 From all disease, that Milton asks for thee, 
 
 Who now endur'st the languor, and the pains, 
 
 That bile inflicts, diffused through all thy veins, 
 
 Relentless malady ! not mov'd to spare 
 
 By thy sweet Roman voice, and Lesbian air I 
 
 Health, Hebe's sister, sent us from the skies. 
 And thou, Apollo, whom aU sickness flies, 
 Pythius, or Pasan, or what name divine 
 Soe'er thou choose, haste, heal a priest of thine I 
 Ve groves of Faunus, and ye hills, that melt 
 With vinous dews, where meek Evauder dwelt I 
 If aught salubrious in your confines grow. 
 Strive which shall soonest heal your poet's woe. 
 That, render'd to the Muse he loves, again 
 He may enchant the meadows with his strain. 
 Numa reclin'd in everlasting ease. 
 Amid the shade of dark embow'ring trees. 
 Viewing with eyes of unabated fire 
 His lov'd jEgeria, shall that strain admire ; 
 So sooth'd, the tumid Tiber shall revere 
 The tombs of kings, nor desolate the year. 
 Shall curb his waters with a friendly rein. 
 And guide them harmless, till they meet the main.
 
 FROM MILTON. 457 
 
 TO 
 
 GIOVANNI BATTISTA MANSO, 
 
 MARQUIS OF VILLA. 
 
 MILTOX'S ACCOUNT OF MAKSO. 
 
 Giovanni Battista Manso, Marquis of Villa, is an Italian no- 
 bleman of the highest estimation among his countr>'men, for 
 genius, literature, and militarj- accomplishments. To him Tor 
 quato Tasso addressed his Dialogues on Friendship, for he was 
 much the friend of Tasso, who has also celebrated him among 
 the other princes of his counti-j-, in his poem entitled Gerusa 
 lemme Conquistata, Book xx. 
 
 Fra cavalier magnanimi, e cortea, 
 Risplende U Manto. 
 
 During the Author's stay at Naples, he received at the hands of 
 the Marquis a thousand kind oliices and civilities, and desirous 
 not to appear ungrateful, sent him this poem a short time before 
 his departure from that city. 
 
 These verses also to thy praise the Nine, 
 Oh Manso ! happy in that theme design. 
 For, Gallus, and Maecenas gone, they see. 
 None such besides, or whom they love as thee, 
 And, if my verse may give the meed of fame. 
 Thine too shall prove an everlasting name. 
 Already such, it shines in Tasso's page 
 (For thou wast Tasso's friend) from age to age, 
 And, next, the Muse consign d (not unaware 
 How high the charge) Marino to thy care. 
 Who, singing to the nymphs, Adonis' praise, 
 Boasts thee the patron of his copious lays. 
 To thee alone the poet would entrust 
 His latest vows, to thee alone his dust; 
 And thou with punctual piety hast paid. 
 In labour'd brass, thy tribute to his shade. 
 Nor this contented thee— but lest the grave 
 Should aught absorb of theirs, which thou could. t save, 
 All future ages thou hast deign'd to teach 
 The life, lot, genius, character of each, 
 U
 
 458 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 Eloquent as the Carian sage, who true 
 
 To his great theme, the life of Homer drew. 
 
 I, therefore, tho' a stranger youth, who come 
 Chill'd by rude blasts, that freeze my northern hon^e. 
 Thee dear to Clio, confident proclaim. 
 And thine, for Phoebus' sake, a deathless name. 
 Nor thou, so kind, wilt view with scornful eye 
 A muse scarce rear'd beneath our sullen sky. 
 Who fears not, indiscreet as she is young. 
 To seek in Latium hearers of her song. 
 We too, where Thames with his unsullied waves 
 The tresses of the blue-hair'd Ocean laves, 
 Hear oft by night, or, slumb'ring, seem to hear. 
 O'er his wide stream, the swan's voice warbling clear, 
 And we could boast a Tityrus of yore. 
 Who trod, a welcome guest, your happy shore. 
 
 Ves— dreary as we own our northern clime. 
 E'en we to Phoebus raise the pohsh'd rhyme. 
 We too serve Phoebus ; Phoebus has receiv'd 
 (If legends old may claim to be believ'd) 
 No sordid gifts from us, the golden ear, 
 The bumish'd apple, ruddiest of the year, 
 T he fragrant crocus, and to grace his fane. 
 Fair damsels chosen from the Druid train : 
 Druids, our native bards in ancient time. 
 Who gods and heroes praised in haUow'd rhyme I 
 Hence, often as the maids of Greece surround 
 Apollo's shrine with hymns of festive sound. 
 They name the virgins, who arriv'd of yore. 
 With British offrings, on the Deliau shore ; 
 Loxo, from giant Corineus sprung, 
 Upis, on whose blest lips the future hung. 
 And Hecaerge, with the golden hair. 
 All deck'd with Pictish hues, and all with bosoms bare. 
 
 Thou, therefore, happy sage, whatever clime 
 Shall ring with Tasso's praise in after-time, 
 Or with Marino's, shalt be known their friend. 
 And with an equal flight to fame ascend. 
 The world shall hear how Phoebus, and the Nine, 
 Were inmates once, and willing guests of thine. 
 Yet Phoebus, when of old constrain'd to roam 
 The earth, an exile from his heavenly home.
 
 FROM MILTON. 459 
 
 Enter'd, no willing guest, Admetus' door. 
 Though Hercules had ventur'd there before. 
 But gentle Chiron's cave was near, a scene 
 Of rural peace, cloth'd with perpetual green. 
 And thither, oft as respite he requir'd 
 From rustic clamours loud, the god retir'd. 
 There, many a time, on Peneus' bank reclin'd 
 At some oak's root, with ivy thick entwin'd. 
 Won by his hospitable friend's desire, 
 He sooth'd his pains of exile with the lyre. 
 Then shook the hills, then trembled Peneus' shore. 
 Nor Oeta felt his load of forests more ; 
 The upland elms descended to the plain. 
 
 And soften'd lynxes wonder'd at the strain. 
 Well may we think, O dear to all above ! 
 
 Thy birth distmguish'd by the smile of Jove, 
 
 And that Apollo shed his kindliest pow'r, 
 
 And Maia's son, on that propitious hour, 
 
 .Since only minds so born can comprehend 
 
 A iKjet's worth, or yield that worth a friend. 
 
 Hence, on thy yet unfaded cheek appears 
 
 The ling'ring freshness of thy greener years ; 
 
 Hence, in thy front, and features, we admire 
 
 Nature unwither'd and a mind entire. 
 
 Oh might so true a friend to me belong, 
 
 So skill'd to grace the votaries of song, 
 
 Should I recall hereafter into ryhme 
 
 The kings, and heroes of my native clime, 
 
 Arthur the chief, who even now prepares, 
 
 In subterraneous being, future wars. 
 
 With all his martial knights, to be restor'd. 
 
 Each to his seat, around the fed'ral board, 
 
 And oh, if spirit fail me not, disperse 
 
 Our Saxon plund'rers, in triumphant verse ! 
 
 Then, after all, when, with the past content, 
 
 A life I finish, not in silence spent. 
 
 Should he, kind mourner, o'er my death-bed bend, 
 
 I shall but need to s.iy— • Be yet my friend .' 
 
 He, too, perhaps, shall bid the marble breathe 
 
 To honour me, and with the graceful wreath 
 
 Or of Parnassus, or the Paphian isle. 
 
 Shall bind my brows— but T sliaU rest the while.
 
 460 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 Then also, if the fruits of Faith endure. 
 And virtue's promis'd recompence be sure. 
 Borne to those seats, to which the blest aspire 
 By purity of soul, and virtuous fire. 
 These rites, as Fate permits, I shall survey 
 With eyes illumin'd by celestial day. 
 And, ev'ry cloud from my poor spirit driv'n, 
 Joy in the bright beatitude of Heav'n ! 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF DAMON. 
 
 THE ARGUMEXT. 
 
 Thyrsis and' Damon, shepherds and neighbours, had always 
 pursued the same studies, and had, from their earliest days, been 
 united in the closest friendship. Thyrsis, while trayelling for im- 
 provesiEnt, received intelligence of the death of Damon, and, 
 after a time, returning and finding it true, deplores himseU; and 
 his solitary condition, in this poem. 
 
 By Damon is to be understood Charles Deodati, connected 
 with the Italian city of Lucca by his father's side, in other n- 
 pects an Englishman ; a youth of uncommon genius, erudition, 
 and virtue. 
 
 Yb nymphs oi Himera (for ye have shed 
 
 ErewhUe for Daphnis, and for Hylas dead. 
 
 And over Bion's long-lamented bier. 
 
 The fruitless meed of many a sacred tear). 
 
 Now through the villas lav'd by Thames, rehearse 
 
 The woes of Thyrsis in Sicilian verse. 
 
 What sighs he heav'd, and how with groans profound 
 
 He made the woods, and hollow rocks resound. 
 
 Young Damon dead ; nor even ceased to pour 
 
 His lonely sorrows at the midnight hour. 
 
 The green wheat twice had nodded in the ear. 
 And golden harvest twice enrich'd the year. 
 Since Damon's lips had gasp'd for vital air 
 The last, last time, nor Thyrsis yet was there 
 For he enamour'd of the muse remain'd 
 In T'iscan Fiorenza long detain'd.
 
 FROM MILTON. 46J 
 
 But, stor'd at length with all he wish'd to learn. 
 
 For his flock's sake now hasted to return ; 
 
 And when the shepherd had resum'd his seat 
 
 At the elm's root, within his old retreat. 
 
 Then 'twas his lot, then, all his loss to know. 
 
 And, from his burthen'd heart, he vented thus his woe. 
 
 ♦ Go, seek your home, my lambs ; ray thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 
 Alas ! what deities shall I suppose 
 In heav'n, or earth, concern'd for human woes. 
 Since, oh my Damon ! their severe decree 
 So soon condemns me to regret of thee ! 
 Depart'st thou thus, thy virtues unrepaid 
 With fame and honour, like a vulgar shade I 
 Let him forbid it, whose bright rod controls. 
 And sep'rates sordid from illustrious souls. 
 Drive far the rabble, and to thee assign 
 A happier lot, with spirits worthy thine ! 
 
 • Go, seek your home, my lambs : my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 
 Whate'er befall, unless by cruel chance 
 The wolf first give me a forbidding glance. 
 Thou shalt not moulder undeplor'd, but long 
 Thy praise shall dwell on ev'ry shepherd's tongue ; 
 To Daphnis first they shall delight to pay. 
 And, after him, to thee the votive lay, 
 While Pales shall the flocks, and pastures, love. 
 Or Faunus to frequent the field, or grove. 
 At least, if ancient piety and truth, 
 With all the learned labours of thy youth, 
 May serve thee aught, or to have left behind 
 A sorrowing friend, and of the tuneful kind. 
 
 ' Go, seek your home, my lambs; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 Yes, Damon ! such thy sure reward shall be ; 
 But ah, what doom awaits unhappy me ? 
 Who, now, my pains and perils shall divide. 
 As thou wast wont, for ever at my side, 
 Both when the rugged frost annoy'd our feet. 
 And when the herbage all was parch'd with heat ' 
 Whether the grim wolf's ravage to prevent. 
 Or the huge lion's, arm'd with darts we went?
 
 462 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 Whose converse, now, shall calm my stormy day 
 With charming song, who now beguile my way ? 
 
 ' Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 In whom shall I confide ? whose counsel find 
 A balmy med'cine for my troubled mind ? 
 Or whose discourse, with innocent delight. 
 Shall fill me now, and cheat the wint'ry night, 
 While hisses on my hearth the pulpy pear. 
 And black'ning chesnuts start and crackle there; 
 While storms abroad the dreary meadows whelm. 
 And the wind thunders thro' the neighb'ring elm ? 
 
 * Go, seek your home, my lambs : my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feedmg you. 
 
 Or who, when summer suns their summit reach, 
 And Fan sleeps hidden by the shelt'ring beech. 
 When shepherds disappear, nymphs seek the sedge. 
 And the stretch'd rustic snores beneath the hedge. 
 Who then shall render me thy pleasant vein 
 Of Attic wit, thy jests, thy smiles again? 
 
 •' Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 Where glens and vales are thickest overgrown 
 With tangled boughs, I wander now alone. 
 Till night descend, while blust'ring wind and slww'r 
 Beat on my temples through the shatter'd bow'r. 
 
 ' Go, seek your home, my Iambs ; my thoughts are due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 Alas ! what rampant weeds now shame my fields. 
 And what a mildew'd crop the furrow yields ! 
 My rambling vines, unwedded to the trees. 
 Bear shrivell'd grapes, my myrtles fail to please. 
 Nor please me more ray flocks ; they, slighted, turn 
 Their unavailing looks on me, and mourn. 
 
 ♦ Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts aie due 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 
 iEgon invites me to the hazeJ grove, 
 
 Amyntas, on the river's bank to rove. 
 
 And young Alphesibceus to a seat 
 
 Where branching elms exclude the mid-day heat. 
 
 " Here fountains spring— here mossy hillocks rise ; 
 
 " Here Zephyr whispers, and the stream replies."
 
 FROM MILTON. 463 
 
 Thus each persuades, but, deaf to ev'ry call, 
 
 I gain the thickets, and escape them all. 
 ' Go, seek your home, my lambs ; my thoughts are due 
 
 To other cares, than those of feeding you. 
 . Then Mopsus said (the same who reads so well 
 
 The voice of birds, and what the stars foretell, 
 
 For he by chance had noticed my return), 
 
 •* What means thy sullen mood, this deep concern ? 
 
 Ah Thyrsis ! thou art either craz'd with love. 
 
 Or some sinister influence from above; 
 
 Dull Saturn's influence oft the shepherds rue ; 
 
 His leaden shaft oblique has pierc'd thee through." 
 ' Go, go, my lambs, unpastur'd as ye are ; 
 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 
 The nymphs amaz'd, my melancholy see, 
 
 .\nd, " Thyrsis," cry — " what will become of thee ! 
 
 What would'st thou, Thyrsis ? such should not appear 
 
 The brow of youth, stern, gloomy, and severe ; 
 
 Brisk youth should laugh, and love — ah shun the fate 
 
 Of those, twice wretched mopes ! who love too late l" 
 'Go, go, my lambs, unpastur'd as ye are; 
 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care, 
 ^gle with Hyas came, to soothe my pain. 
 And Baucis' daughter, Dryope, the vain. 
 Fair Dryope, for voice and finger neat 
 Known far and near, and for her self-conceit; 
 Chloris too came whose cottage on the lands. 
 That skirt the Idumanian current, stands; 
 But all in vain they came, and but to see 
 Kind words, and comfortable, lost on me. 
 
 ' Go, go, my lambs, unpastur'd as ye are ; 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 Ah, blest indiflT'rence of the playful herd. 
 None by his fellow chosen, or prcferr'd ! 
 No bonds of amity the flocks enthrall. 
 But each associates, and is pleas'd with all ; 
 So graze the dappled deer in numerous droves. 
 And all his kind alike the zebra loves; 
 The same law governs, where the billows roar. 
 And Proteus' shoals o'crspread the desert shore; 
 The sparrow, meanest of the feather d race. 
 His fit companion finds in ev'ry place,
 
 484 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 With whom he picks the grain that suits him best, 
 Flirts here and there, and late returns to rest. 
 And whom if chance the falcon make his prey. 
 Or hedger with his well-aim'd arrow slay. 
 For no such loss the gay survivor grieves ; 
 New love he seeks, and new delight receives. 
 We only, an obdurate kind, rejoice. 
 Scorning all otliers, in a single choice. 
 We scarce in thousands meet one kindred mind, 
 And if the long-sought good at last we find. 
 When least we fear it. Death our treasure steals. 
 And gives our heart a wound, that nothing heals. 
 
 ' Go, go, my lambs, unpastur'd as ye are; 
 My thoughts ar€ all now due to other care. 
 Ah, what delusion lur'd me from my flocks. 
 To traverse Alpine snows, and rugged rocks . 
 What need so great had I to visit Rome, 
 Now sunk in ruins, and herself a tomb ? 
 Or, had she flourish'd still as when of old. 
 For her sake Tityrus forsook his fold, 
 What need so great had I t' incur a pause 
 Of thy sweet intercourse for such a cause. 
 For such a cause to place the roaring sea. 
 Rocks, mountains, woods, between my friend and me : 
 Else, had I grasp'd thy feeble hand, compos'd 
 Thy decent limbs, thy drooping eyelids clos'd. 
 And, at the last, had said — " Farewell— ascend — 
 Nor even in the skies forget thy friend I" 
 
 ' Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 Although well-pleas'd, ye tuneful Tuscan swains ! 
 My mind the mcra'ry of your worth retains. 
 Yet not your worth can teach me less to mourn 
 My Damon lost— He too was Tuscan born. 
 Bom in your Lucca, city of renown ! 
 And wit possess'd, and genius, like your own. 
 Oh how elate was I, when stretch'd beside 
 The murm'riug course of Arno's breezy tide. 
 Beneath the poplar grove I pass'd my hours. 
 Now cropping myrtles, and now vernal flow'rs. 
 And hearing, as I lay at ease along. 
 Your swains contending for the prize of song '-
 
 FROM MILTON. 465 
 
 I also dar'd attempt (and, as it seems, 
 
 Not much displeas'd attempting) various themes, 
 
 For even I can presents boast from you. 
 
 The shepherd's pipe, and ozier basket too, 
 
 And Dati, and Francini, both have made 
 
 My name familiar to the beechen shade, 
 
 And they are leam'd, and each in ev'ry place 
 
 Renown'd for song, and both of Lydian race. 
 
 • Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare; 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 
 While bright the dewy grass with moon-beams shone. 
 
 And I stood hurdling in my kids alone. 
 
 How often have I said (but thou hadst found 
 
 Ere then thy dark cold lodgment under ground) 
 
 Now Damon sings, or springes sets for hares, 
 
 Or wicker-work for various use prepares ! 
 
 How oft, indulging fancy, have I plann'd 
 
 New scenes of pleasure, that I hop'd at hand. 
 
 Called thee abroad as I was wont, and cried — 
 
 •♦ What hoa ! my friend — come lay thy task aside, 
 
 Haste, let us forth together, and beguile 
 
 The heat, beneath yon whisp'ring shades awhile, 
 
 Or on the margin stray of Colne's clear flood 
 
 Or where Cassibelan's grey turrets stood ! 
 
 There thou shalt cull me simples, and shalt teach 
 
 Thy friend the name, and healing pow'rs of each, 
 
 From the tall blue- bell to the dwarfish weed, 
 
 What the dry land, and what the marshes breed, 
 
 For all their kinds alike to thee are known. 
 
 And the whole art of Galen is thy owti." 
 
 Ah, }>erish Galen's art, and wither'd be 
 
 The useless herbs, that gave not health to thee : 
 
 Twelve evenings since, as in poetic dream 
 
 I meditating sat some statelier theme, 
 
 The reeds no sooner touch'd my lip, though new, 
 
 And unessay'd before, than wide they flew. 
 
 Bursting their waxen bands, nor could sustam 
 
 The deep-ton'd music of the solemn strain : 
 
 And I am vain perhaps, but I will tell 
 
 How proud a theme I choose — ye groves farewell ! 
 
 • Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; 
 My thoughts are all now due to other care. 
 
 U2
 
 466 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 Of Brutus, Dardan chief, ray song shall be. 
 
 How with his barks he plough'd the British sea. 
 
 First from Rutupia's tow'ring headland seen. 
 
 And of his consort's reign, fair Imogen ; 
 
 Of Brennus and Belinus, brothers bold. 
 
 And of Arviragus, and how of old 
 
 Our hardy sires th' Armorican controll'd. 
 
 And of the wife of Gorlois, who, surprised 
 
 By Uther, in her husband's form disguis'd, 
 
 (Such was the force of Merlin's art) became 
 
 Pregnant with Arthur of heroic fame. 
 
 These themes I now revolve — and oh — if Fate 
 
 Proportion to these themes my lengthen'd date. 
 
 Adieu my shepherd's reed— yon pine-tree bough 
 
 Shall be thy future home, there dangle thou 
 
 Forgotten and disus'd, unless ere long 
 
 Thou change thy Latian for a British song; 
 
 A British ? — even so— the pow'rs of man 
 
 Are bounded ; little is the most he can ; 
 
 And it shall well suffice me, and shall be 
 
 Fame, and proud recompence enough for me. 
 
 If Usa, golden-hair'd my verse may learn. 
 
 If Alain bending o'er his crystal urn. 
 
 Swift whirling Abra, Trent's o'ershadow'd stream, 
 
 Thames, loveher far than all in my esteem, 
 
 Tamar's ore-tinctur'd flood, and, after these. 
 
 The wave-worn shores of utmost Orcades. 
 
 'Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare ; 
 My thoughts are aU now due to other care. 
 All this I kept in leaves of laurel-rind 
 Enfolded safe, and for thy view design'd. 
 This— and a gift from Manso's hand beside, 
 (Manso, not least his native city's pride) 
 Two cups, that radiant as their giver shone, 
 Adom'd by sculpture with a double zone. 
 The spring was graven there ; here slowly wind 
 The Red-s^a shores with groves of spices lin'd; 
 Her plumes of various hues amid the boughs 
 The sacred solitary Phoenix shows, 
 And watchful of the dawn reverts her head. 
 To see Aurora leave her wat'ry bed
 
 FROM MILTON. 437 
 
 —In other part th' expansive vault above. 
 And there too, even there, the god of love : 
 With quiver arm'd he mounts, his torch displays 
 A vivid light, his gem-tip t arrows blaze. 
 Around his bright and fiery eyes he rolls. 
 Nor aims at vulgar minds, or little souls, 
 Nor deigns one look below, but aiming high 
 Sends every arrow to the lofty sky ; 
 Hence forms divine, and minds immortal, learn 
 The pow'r of Cupid, and enamour'd burn. 
 • Thou also, Damon, (neither need I fear 
 That hope delusive), thou art also there; 
 For whither should simplicity like thine 
 Retire ? where else such spotless virtue shine ? 
 Thou dwell'st not (thought profane) in shades below. 
 Nor tears suit thee — cease then my tears to flow ; 
 Away with grief ! on Damon ill bestow'd ! 
 Who, pure himself, has found a pure abode. 
 Has pass'd the show'ry arch, henceforth resides 
 With saints and heroes, and from flowing tides 
 Quaffs copious immortality, and joy. 
 With hallow'd lips :— Oh ! blest without alloy. 
 And now enrich'd, with all that faith can claim. 
 Look down, entreated by whatever name. 
 If Damon please thee most (that rural sound 
 Shall oft with echoes fill the groves around), 
 Otr if Diodatus, by which alone 
 In those etherial mansions thou art known. 
 Thy blush was maiden, and thy youth the taste 
 Of wedded bliss knew never, pure and chaste, 
 The honours, therefore, by divine decree 
 The lot of virgin worth, are given to thee; 
 Thy brows encircled with a radiant band, 
 And the green palm-branch waving in thy hand, 
 Thou in immortal nuptials shalt rejoice. 
 And join with seraphs thy according voice. 
 Where rapture reigns, and the ecstatic lyre 
 Guides the blest orgies of the blazing quire.'
 
 4C8 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 AN ODE. 
 
 ADDRESSED TO MR. JOHN ROUSE, 
 
 LIBRARIAN OP THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 
 
 Oil a lost Volume of my Poems, which he desired me tQ 
 
 replace, that he might add them to my other 
 
 WorTis deposited in the Library. 
 
 This Ode is rendered without rhrme, that it mig^ht more ade- 
 quately represent the original, which, as Milton himself informs 
 ns, is of no certain measure. It may possibly for this reason dis- 
 appoint the reader, though it cost the writer more labour than 
 the translation of any other piece in the whole collection. 
 
 My two-fold book ! single in show- 
 But double in contents. 
 Neat but not curiouly adorn'd, 
 
 Which in his early youth, 
 A poet gave, no lofty one in truth, 
 Although an earnest wooer of the Muse — 
 Say while in cool Ausonian shades. 
 
 Or British wilds he roam'd. 
 
 Striking by turns his native lyre. 
 
 By turns the Daunian lute. 
 
 And stepp'd almost in air, — 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 Say, little book, what furtive hand 
 Thee from thy fellow-books convey'd. 
 What time at the repeated suit 
 Of my most learned friend, 
 I sent thee forth, an honour'd traveller. 
 From our great city to the source of Thames,
 
 FROM MILTON. 469 
 
 Coerulean sire! 
 Where rise the fountains, and the raptures ring. 
 Of the Aonian clioir, 
 Durable as yonder spheres, 
 And through the endless lapse of years 
 
 Secure to be admired ? 
 
 STROPHE II. 
 
 Now what god, or demigod. 
 For Brltian's ancient genius moved 
 (If our afflicted land 
 Have expiated at length the guilty sloth 
 Of her degenerate sons) 
 Shall terminate our impious feuds. 
 And discipline, with hallow'd voice recall ? 
 Recall the Muses too, 
 Driv'n from their ancient seats. 
 In Albion, and well nigh from Albion's shore. 
 And with keen Phcebean shafts 
 Piercing th' unseemly birds. 
 Whose talons menace us, 
 Shall drive the harpy race from Helicon afar ? 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd. 
 Whether by teach'ry lost. 
 Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault. 
 From all thy kindred books. 
 To some dark cell, or cave forlorn. 
 Where thou endur'st, perhaps. 
 The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand. 
 Be comforted — 
 For lo, again the splendid hope appears 
 
 That thou may'st yet escape 
 The gulfs of Lethe, and on oary wings 
 Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove ! 
 
 STROPHE III. 
 
 Since Rouse desires thee, and complains. 
 
 That, though by promise his, 
 Thou yet appear'st not in thy place 
 Among the literary noble stores, 
 Giv'n to his care.
 
 47D TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 But, absent, leav'st his numbers incomplete. 
 He, therefore, gaurdian vigilant 
 Of that unperishing wealth. 
 Calls thee to the interior shrine, his charge. 
 Where he intends a richer treasure far 
 Than Ion kept (Ion, Erectheus* son. 
 Illustrious, of the fair Creusa bom) 
 In the resplendent temple of his god. 
 Tripods of gold, and Delphic gifts divine. 
 
 AN'TISTROPHE. 
 
 Haste, then, to the pleasant groves. 
 The Muses' fav'rite haunt ; 
 Resume thy station in Apollo's dome. 
 
 Dearer to him 
 Than Delos, or the fork'd Parnassian hill ! 
 
 Exulting go, 
 Since now a splendid lot is also thine. 
 And thou art sought by my propitious friend ; 
 For there thou shalt be read 
 With authors of exalted note. 
 The ancient glorious lights of Greece and Rome. 
 
 Ye then, my works, no longer vain, 
 And worthless deem'd by me ! 
 Whate'er this steril genius has produced 
 Expect, at last, the rage of envy spent, 
 An unmolested happy home. 
 Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful fnend, 
 Where never flippant tongue profane 
 Shall entrance find. 
 And whence the coarse unletter'd multitude 
 Shall babble far remote. 
 Perhaps some future distant age. 
 Less ting'd with prejudice, and better taught. 
 Shall furnish minds of pow'r 
 To judge more equally. 
 Then, malice silenc'd in the tomb. 
 Cooler heads and sounder hearts. 
 Thanks to Rouse, if aught of praise 
 I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim.
 
 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 THE ITALIAN POEMS. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Fair Lady ! whose harmonious name the Rhine, 
 Through all his grassy vale, delights to hear. 
 Base were indeed the wretch who could forbear 
 
 To love a spirit elegant as thine, 
 
 That manifests a sweetness all divine. 
 Nor knows-a thousand winning acts to spare. 
 And graces, which Love's bow and arrows are, 
 
 Temp'ring thy virtues to a softer shine. 
 
 When gracefully thou speak'st, or singest gay. 
 Such strains, as might the senseless forest move. 
 
 Ah then— turn each his eyes, and ears, away. 
 Who feels himself unworthy of thy love ! 
 
 Grace can alone preserve him, ere the dart 
 
 Of fond desire yet reach his inmost heart. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 As on a hill-top rude, when closing day 
 Imbrowns the scene, some past'ral maiden fair 
 Waters a lovely foreign plant with care. 
 Borne from its native genial airs away. 
 That scarcely can a tender bud display ; 
 So, on ray tongue these accents, new, and rare. 
 Are flow'rs exotic, which Love waters there. 
 While thus, O sweetly scornful ! I essay 
 Thy praise, in verse to British ears unknown, 
 And Thames exchange for Amo's fair domain ; 
 So Love has will'd, and oftimes Love has shewn. 
 That what he wills, he never wills in vain. 
 Oh that this hard and steril breast might be 
 To him, who plants from heav'n, a soil as free !
 
 472 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 CANZONE. 
 
 They mock my toil, the nymphs and am'rous swains. 
 And whence this fond attempt to write, they crj-. 
 Love songs in language that thou little know'st ? 
 How dar'st thou risk to sing these foreign strains ? 
 Say truly. Find'st not oft thy purpose cross'd. 
 And that thy fairest flow'rs here fade and die ? 
 Then with pretence of admiration high — 
 Thee other shores expect, and other tides ; 
 Rivers, on whose grassy sides 
 Her deathless laurel-leaf, with which to bind 
 Thy flowing locks, already Fame provides; 
 W hy then this burthen, better far declined ? 
 
 Speak, Muse ! for me.— The fair one said who guides 
 My willing heart, and all my fancy's flights, 
 • This is the language in which love delights.' 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 TO CHARLES DIODATI. 
 
 Charles— and I say it wond'ring— thou must know 
 That I, who once assum'd a scornful air. 
 And scoff 'd at Love, am fallen in his snare. 
 (Full many an upright man has fallen so) 
 Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow 
 (>f golden locks, or damask cheek ; more rare 
 The heart-felt beauties of my foreign fair ; 
 A mien majestic, with dark brows, that shew 
 The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind ; 
 Words exquisite, of idioms more than one. 
 And song, whose fascinating pow'r might bind. 
 And from her sphere draw down the lab'ring Moon, 
 With such fire-darting eyes, that should I fill 
 My ears with wax, she would enchant me still.
 
 FROM MILTON 473 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Lady ! it cannot be but that thine eyes 
 Must be my sun, such radiance they display. 
 And strike me ev'n as Phoebus him, whose way 
 Through horrid Lybia's sandy desert lies. 
 Meantime, on that side steamy vapours rise 
 Where most I suffer. Of what kind are they. 
 New as to me they are, I cannot say. 
 But deem them, in the lover's language— sighs. 
 Some, though with pain, my bosom close conceals. 
 Which, if in part escaping thence, they tend 
 To soften time, thy coldness soon congeals. 
 While others to my tearful eyes ascend. 
 Whence my sad nights in show'rs are ever drown'd. 
 Till my Aurora comes, her brow with roses bound. 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 Enamoub'd, artless, young, on foreign ground, 
 Uncertain whither from myself to fly. 
 To thee, dear Lady, with an humble sigh 
 Let me devote my heart, which I have found 
 By certain proofs, not few, intrepid, sound, 
 Good, and addicted to conceptions high ; 
 When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky, 
 It rests in adamant self- wrapt around. 
 As safe from envy, and from outrage rude. 
 From hopes and fears, that vulgar minds 'abuse. 
 As fond of genius, and fixt fortitude, 
 Of the resounding lyre, and every Muse. 
 Weak you will find it in one only part. 
 Now pierc'd by Love's immedicable dart.
 
 POEMS, 
 
 TRANSLATED TROM THE FREXCH 
 MADAME DE LA MOTHE GUION. 
 
 THE NATIVITY. 
 
 'Tis folly all— let me no more be told 
 Of Parian porticos, and roofs of gold; 
 Delighted views of Nature, dress'd by Art, 
 Enchant no longer this indifferent heart ; 
 The Lord of aU things, in his humble birth. 
 Makes mean the proud magnificence of Earth ; 
 The straw, the manger, and the mould'ring wall. 
 Eclipse its lustre ; and I scorn it all. 
 
 Canals, and fountains, and delicious vales. 
 Green slopes and plains, whose plenty never fails; 
 Deep-rooted groves, whose heads sublimely rise. 
 Earth-bom, and yet ambitious of the skies; 
 The abundant foliage of whose gloomy shades, 
 Vainly the sun, in all its pow'r, invades ; 
 Where warbled airs of sprightly birds resound. 
 Whose verdure lives while Winter scowls around 
 Rocks, lofty mountains, caverns dark and deep. 
 And torrents raving down the rugged steep. 
 Smooth downs, whose fragrant herbs the spirits cheer; 
 Meads crown'd with flowrs ; streams musical and clear. 
 Whose silver waters, and whose murmurs, join 
 Their artless charms, to make the scene divine; 
 The fruitful vineyard, and the furrow'd plain. 
 That seems a rolling sea of golden grain : 
 All, all have lost the charms they once possess'd ; 
 An infant God reigns sov'reign in my breast ; 
 From Bethl'hem's bosom I no more will rove ; 
 There dwells the Saviour, and there rests my love.
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 475 
 
 Ye mightier rivers, that, with sounding force, 
 Urge down the valleys your impetuous course ! [heads. 
 Winds, clouds, and lightnings ! and ye waves, whose 
 Curl'd into monstrous forms, the seaman dreads ! 
 Horrid abyss, where all experience fails. 
 Spread with the wreck of planks and shattered sails ; 
 On whose broad back grim Death triumphant rides, 
 While havoc floats on all thy swelling tides, 
 Thy shores a scene of ruin, strew'd around 
 With vessels bulg'd, and bodies of the drown'd ! 
 
 Ye fish, that sport beneath the boundless waves. 
 And rest, secure from man, in rocky caves ; 
 Swift-darting sharks, and whales of hideous size 
 Whom all th* acquatic world with terror eyes ! 
 Had I but faith immovable and true, 
 I might defy the fiercest storm, like you ; 
 The world, a more disturb'd and boist'rous sea. 
 When Jesus shews a smile, affrights not me ; 
 He hides me, and in vain the billows roar. 
 Break harmless at my feet, and leave the shore. 
 
 Thou azure vault, where through the gloom of night. 
 Thick sown, we see such countless worlds of light ! 
 Thou Moon, whose car, encompassing the skies. 
 Restores lost Nature to our wond'ring eyes ; 
 Again retiring, when the brighter Sun 
 Begins the course he seems in haste to run ! 
 Behold him where he shines ! His rapid rays. 
 Themselves unmeasur'd, measure all our days ; 
 Nothing impedes the race he would pursue. 
 Nothing escapes his penetrating view, 
 A thousand lands confess his quick'ning heat. 
 And all he cheers are fruitful, fair, and sweet. 
 
 Far from enjoying what these scenes disclose, 
 I feel the thorn, alas ! but miss the rose ; 
 Too well I know this aching heart requires 
 More solid good to fill its vast desires ; 
 In vain they represent his matchless might. 
 Who call'd them out of deep primaeval night ; 
 Their form and beauty but augment my woe: 
 I seek the giver of those charms and shew : 
 Nor, Him beside, throughout the world he made, 
 Lives there in whom I trust for cure or aid.
 
 476 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Infinite God, thou great unrivall'd One ! 
 Whose glory makes a blot of yonder sun ; 
 Compar'd with thine, how dim his beauty seems. 
 How quench'd the radiance of his golden beams ! 
 Thou art my bliss, the hght by which I move ; 
 In thee alone dw ells all that I can love ; 
 All darkness flies when thou art pleas' d t' appear, 
 A sudden spring renews the fading year ; 
 Where'er I turn, I see thy pow'r and grace. 
 The watchful guardians of our heedless race ; 
 Thy various creatures in one strain agree. 
 All, in all times and places, speak of thee ; 
 Ev'n I, with trembling heart and stamm'ring tongue. 
 Attempt thy praise, and join the gen'ral song. 
 
 Almighty Former of this wondrous plan. 
 Faintly reflected in thine image, Man- 
 Holy and just — the Greatness of whose name 
 Fills and supports this universal frame, 
 Diffus'd throughout th' infinitude of space, 
 Who art thyself thine own vast dweUing place ; 
 Soul of our soul, whom yet no sense of ours 
 Discerns, eluding our most active pow'rs ; 
 Encircling shades attend thine awful throne. 
 That veil thy face, and keep thee still unknown ; 
 Unknown, though dwelling in our inmost part. 
 Lord of the thoughts, and Sov'reign of the heart ! 
 
 Repeat the charming truth, that never tires. 
 No God is like the God my soul desires ; 
 He at whose voice Heav'n trembles, even He, 
 Great as he is, knows how to stoop to me — 
 Lo ! there he lies— that smiling infant said, 
 ' Heav'n, Earth, and Sea, exist !' — and they obey'd. 
 Ev'n He, whose being swells beyond the skies, 
 Is born of woman, lives, and mourns, and dies ; 
 Eternal and Immortal, seems to cast 
 That glory from his brows, and breathes his last. 
 Trivial and vain the works that man has wrought. 
 How do they shrink and vanish at the thought 1 
 
 Sweet Solitude, aqd scene of my repose ! 
 This rustic sight assuages all my woes— 
 That crib contains the Lord, whom I adore ; 
 And Earth's a shade, that I pursue no more.
 
 MADAME GUION. 477 
 
 He is my firm support, my rock, my tow'r, 
 
 I dwell secure beneath his sheltering power. 
 
 And hold this mean retreat for ever dear. 
 
 For all I love, my soul's delight, is here. 
 
 1 see th' Almighty swath'd in infant bands. 
 
 Tied helpless down the Thunder-bearer's hands ! 
 
 And, in this shed, that mystery discern. 
 
 Which Faith and Love, and they alone, can learn. 
 Ye tempests, spare the slumbers of your Lord ! 
 
 Ye zephyrs, all your whisper'd sweets afford ! 
 
 Confess the God, that guides the rolling year ; 
 
 Heav'n, do him homage ; and thou. Earth, revere ! 
 
 Ye shepherds, monarchs, sages, hither bring 
 
 Your hearts an off'ring, and adore your King ! 
 
 Pure be those hearts, and rich in faith and love ; 
 
 Join, in his praise, th* harmonious world above; 
 
 To Beth'lem haste, rejoice in his repose. 
 
 And praise him there for all that he bestows ; 
 Man, busy Man, alas ! can ill afTord 
 
 T* obey the summons, and attend the Lord ; 
 
 Perverted Reason revels and runs wild. 
 
 By glitt'ring shows of pomp and wealth beguil'd ; 
 
 And, blind to genuine excellence and grace. 
 
 Finds not her author in so mean a place. 
 
 Ye unbelieving ! learn a wiser part. 
 
 Distrust your erring sense, and search your heart ; 
 
 There, soon ye shall perceive a kindling flame 
 
 Glow for that Infant God, from whom it came; 
 
 Resist not, quench not, that divine desire. 
 
 Melt all your adamant in heav'nly fire ! 
 
 Not so will I requite thee, gentle Love ! 
 Yielding and soft this heart shall ever prove; 
 And every heart beneath thy power should fall. 
 Glad to submit, could mine contain them alL 
 But I am poor, oblation I have none. 
 None for a Saviour, but Himself alone : 
 Whate'er I render thee, from thee it came ; 
 And, if I give my body to the flame. 
 My patience, love, and energy divine 
 Of heart, and soul, and spirit, all are thine. 
 Ah, vain attempt, t' expunge the mighty score ! 
 The more I pay, I owe thee still the more.
 
 478 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Upon my meanness, poverty, and guilt, 
 The trophy of thy glory shall be built ; 
 My self-disdain shall be th' unshaken base. 
 And my deformity its fairest grace ; 
 For destitute of good, and rich in ill. 
 Must be my state and my description stilL 
 
 And do I grieve at such an humbling lot ? 
 Nay, but I cherish and enjoy the thought- 
 Vain pageantry and pomp of Earth, adieu ! 
 I have no wish, no memory for you ; 
 The more I feel my mis'ry, I adore 
 The sacred Inmate of my soul the more ; 
 Rich in his love, I feel my noblest pride 
 Spring from the sense of having nought beside. 
 
 In thee I find wealth, comfort, virtue, might ; 
 My wanderings prove thy wisdom infinite ; 
 All that I have, I give thee ; and then see 
 All contrarieties unite in thee ; 
 For thou hast join'd them, taking up our woe. 
 And pouring out thy bliss on worms below, 
 By filling with thy grace and love divine 
 A gulf of evil in this heart of mine. 
 This is indeed to bid the vallies rise. 
 And the hills sink — 'tis matching Earth and Skie* i 
 I feel my weakness, thank thee, and deplore 
 An aching heart, that throbs to thank thee more : 
 The more I love thee, I the more approve 
 A soul so lifeless, and so slow to love ; 
 Till, on a deluge of thy mercy toss'd, 
 I plunge into that sea, and there am lost.
 
 MADAME GUION. 479 
 
 GOD NEITHER KNOWN NOR LOVED BV THE 
 WORLD. 
 
 Vb Linnets, let us try, beneath this grove. 
 Which shall be loudest in our Maker's praise ! 
 
 In quest of some forlorn retreat I rove. 
 For all the world is blind, and wanders from his ways. 
 
 That God alone should prop the sinking soul. 
 Fills them with rage against his empire now ; 
 
 I traverse Earth in vain from pole to pole, 
 To seek one simple heart, set free from all below. 
 
 They speak of love, yet little feels its sway. 
 While in their bosoms many an idol lurks : 
 
 Their base desires, well satisfied, obey. 
 Leave the Creator's hand, and lean upon his works. 
 
 'Tis therefore I can dwell with man no more ; 
 
 Your fellowship, ye warblers ! suits me best ; 
 Pure love has lost its price, though prizd of yore, 
 
 Profan'd by modern tongues, and slighted as a jest. 
 
 My God, who form'd you for his praise alone, 
 Beholds his purpose well fulfilld in you ; 
 
 Come, let us join the choir before his throne, 
 Partaking in his praise with spirits just and true ! 
 
 Yes, I will always love; and, as I ought, 
 Tune to the praise of love my ceaseless voice ; 
 
 Preferring Love too vast for human thought, 
 In spite of erring men who cavil at my choice. 
 
 Why have I not a thousand thousand hearts, 
 Lord of ray soul ! that they might all be thine ? 
 
 If thou approve — the zeal thy smile inparts, 
 How should it ever fail ! Can such a fire decline ? 
 
 Love, pure and holy, is a deathless fire ; 
 
 Its object heav'nly, it must ever blaze : 
 Eternal love a God must needs inspire. 
 
 When once he wins the heart, and fits it for his praise.
 
 4S0 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Self-love dismiss'd — 'tis then we live indeed— 
 In her embrace, death, only death is found : 
 
 Come then, one noble efifort, and succeed. 
 Cast off the chain of Self with which thy soul is bound I 
 
 Oh ! I would cry, that all the world might hear. 
 Ye self-tormentors, love your God alone ; 
 
 Let his unequall'd excellence be dear. 
 Dear to your inmost souls, and makeiiim all your own ! 
 
 They hear me not — alas ! how fond to rove 
 In endless chase of Folly's specious lure ! 
 
 'Tis here alone, beneath this shady grove, 
 I taste the sweets of Truth— here only am secure. 
 
 THE SWALLO\y. 
 
 I AM fond of the swallow — I learn from her flight. 
 Had I skill to improve it, a lesson of love : 
 
 How seldom on earth do we see her alight ! 
 She dwells in the skies, she is ever above. 
 
 It is on the wing that she takes her repose, 
 Suspended and pois'd in the regions of air, 
 
 'Tis not in our fields that her sustenance grows. 
 It is wing d like herself, 'tis etheral fare. 
 
 She comes in the spring, all the summer she stays. 
 And, dreading the cold, still follows the sun — ' 
 
 So, true to our Love, we should covet his rays. 
 And the place where he shines not, immediately shun. 
 
 Our light should be love, and our nourishment pray'r. 
 It is dangerous food that we find upon earth ; 
 
 The fruit of this world is beset with a snare. 
 In itself it is hurtful, as vile in its birth. 
 
 'Tis rarely, if ever, she settles below. 
 And only when building a nest for her young ; 
 
 Were it not for her brood, she would never bestow 
 A thought upon any thing filthy as dung.
 
 MADAME GUION. 4S1 
 
 Let us leave it ourselves 'tis a mortal abode). 
 
 To bask every moment in mfinite love ; 
 Let us fly the dark winter, and follow the road, 
 
 That leads to the day-spring appearing above 
 
 THE 
 
 TRIUMPH OF HEAVENLY LOVE DESIRED 
 
 Ah ! reign, wherever man is found, 
 
 My Spouse, beloved and divine ! 
 Then I am rich, and I abound. 
 
 When ev'ry human heart is thine. 
 
 A thousand sorrows pierce my soul, 
 To think that all are not thine own : 
 
 Ah ! be ador'd from pole to pole ; 
 
 Where is thy zeal ? arise ; be known ! 
 
 All hearts are cold, in ev'ry place. 
 
 Yet earthly good with warmth pursue; 
 
 Dissolve them with a flash of grace. 
 Thaw these of ice, and give us new ! 
 
 A FIOURATIVB DESCRIPTION 
 
 OF THE PROCEDURE OF DIVINE LOVE. 
 
 'TwAS my purpose, on a day. 
 
 To embark, and sail away ; 
 
 As I climb'd the vessel's side. 
 
 Love was sporting in the tide : 
 
 ♦ Come,' he said,—* ascend — make haste. 
 
 Launch into the boundless waste.' 
 
 Many mariners were there. 
 Having each his sep'rate care ; 
 They that row'd us, held their eyes 
 Fix'd upon the starry skies ; 
 Others steer'd, or turned the sails 
 To receive the shifting gales. 
 X
 
 482 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Love, with pow"! divine supplied. 
 Suddenly my courage tried ; 
 In a moment it was night. 
 Ship and skies were out of sight ; 
 On the briny wave I lay. 
 Floating rushes all my stay. 
 
 Did I with resentment bum 
 At this unexpected turn ? 
 Did I wish myself on shore. 
 Never to forsake it more ? 
 No — ' My soul,' I cried, 'be still ; 
 If I must be lost, I will.' 
 
 Next, he hasten'd to convey 
 Both my frail supports away ; 
 Seiz'd my rushes ; bade the waves 
 Yawn into a thousand graves : 
 Down I went, and sunk as lead. 
 Ocean closing o'er my head. 
 
 Still, however, life was safe ; 
 And I saw him turn and laugh : 
 • Friend,' he cried, ' adieu ! lie low. 
 While the wintry storms shall blow ; 
 When the spring has calm'd the main. 
 You shall rise and float again.' 
 
 Soon I saw him, with dismay. 
 Spread his plumes, and soar away ; 
 Now I mark his rapid flight ; 
 Now he leaves my aching sight ; 
 He is gone whom I adore, 
 'TIS in vain to seek him more. 
 
 How I trembled then and fear'd. 
 When my love had disappear'd ! 
 ' Wilt thou leave me thus,' I cried, 
 ' Whelm'd beneath the roUing tide ?' 
 Vain attempt to reach his ear ! 
 Love was gone, and would not hear.
 
 MADAME GUION. 483 
 
 Ah ! return, and love me still ; 
 See me subject to thy will; 
 Frown with wrath, or smile with grace. 
 Only let me see thy face ! 
 F.vii I have none to fear, 
 n is good, if thou art near. 
 
 Yet he :->aves me— cruel fate ! 
 Leaves me In my lost estate — 
 Have I sinn'd ? Oh say wherein ; 
 Tell me, and forgive my sin ! 
 King, and Lord, whom I adore, 
 Shall I see thy face no more ? 
 
 Be not angry ; I resign. 
 
 Henceforth, all my will to thine; 
 
 I consent that thou depart. 
 
 Though thine absence breaks my heart ; 
 
 Go then, and for ever too; 
 
 All is right that thou wilt do. 
 
 This was just what Love intended. 
 He was now no more offended; 
 Soon as I became a child, 
 Love retum'd to me and smil'd : 
 Never strife shall more betide 
 'Twixt the Bridegroom and his Bride. 
 
 A CHILD OF GOD LONGING TO 
 SEE HIM BELOVED. 
 
 There's not an Echo round me. 
 
 But I ara glad should learn, 
 How pure a fire has found me, — 
 
 The love with which I bum. 
 For none attends with pleasure, 
 
 To what I would reveal ; 
 They slight me out of measure. 
 
 And laugh at all I feel.
 
 484 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 The rocts receive less proudly 
 
 The story of my flame ; 
 When I approach, they loudly 
 
 Reverberate his name. 
 I speak to them of sadness. 
 
 And comforts at a stand ; 
 They bid me look for gladness, 
 
 And better days at hand. 
 
 Far from all habitation, 
 
 I heard a happy sound ; 
 Big with the consolation. 
 
 That I have often found, 
 I said, ' my lot is sorrow, 
 
 My grief has no aUoy ;' 
 The rocks replied—' to-morrow. 
 
 To-morrow brings thee joy.' 
 
 These sweet and secret tidings. 
 
 What bliss it is to hear ! 
 For, spite of all my chidings. 
 
 My weakness and my fear, 
 No sooner I receive them. 
 
 Than I forget my pain. 
 And, happy to believe them, 
 
 I love as much again. 
 
 I fly to scenes romantic. 
 
 Where never men resort ; 
 For in an age so frantic. 
 
 Impiety is sport. 
 For riot and confusion. 
 
 They barter things above; 
 Condemning, as delusion. 
 
 The joy of perfect love. 
 In this sequester'd comer, 
 
 None hears what I express ; 
 Deliver'd from the scomer. 
 
 What peace do I possess ! 
 Beneath the boughs reclining. 
 
 Or roving o'er the wild, 
 I live, as undesigniug. 
 
 And harmless as a child
 
 MADAME GUION. 485 
 
 No troubles here surprise me, 
 
 I innocently play. 
 While Providence supplies me. 
 
 And guards me all the day : 
 My dear and kind Defender 
 
 Preserves me safely here. 
 From men of pomp and splendour. 
 
 Who fill a child with fear. 
 
 ASPIRATIONS OF THE SOUL AFTER GOD. 
 
 My Spouse I in whose presence I live. 
 
 Sole object of all my desires, 
 Who know'st what a flame I conceive 
 
 And canst easily double its fires ; 
 How pleasant is all that I meet ! 
 
 From fear of adversity free, 
 I find even sorrow made sweet ; 
 
 Because 'tis assign'd me by Thee. 
 
 Transported I see thee display 
 
 Thy riches and glory divine ; 
 I have only my life to repay, 
 
 Take wliat I would gladly resign. 
 Thy will is the treasure I seek. 
 
 For thou art as faithful as strong ; 
 There let me, obedient and meek, 
 
 Repose myself all the day long. 
 
 My spirit and faculties fail ; 
 
 Oh finish what love has begun ! 
 Destroy what is sinful and frail, 
 
 And dwell in the soul thou hast won! 
 Dear theme of my wonder and praise, 
 
 I cry, who is worthy as Thou ! 
 I can only be silent and gaze ; 
 
 'Tis all that is left to me now. 
 
 Oh glory, in which I am lost. 
 
 Too deep for the plummet of thought ; 
 
 On an ocean of deity toss'd, 
 
 I am swallow'd, I sink into nought:
 
 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Vet, lost and absorb'd as I seem, 
 I chaunt to the praise of my King ; 
 
 And though overwhehn'd by the theme, 
 Am happy whenever I sing. 
 
 GRATITUDE AND LOVE TO GOD. 
 
 All are indebted much to Thee, 
 
 But I far more than all. 
 From many a deadly snare set free. 
 
 And raised from many a fall. 
 Overwhelm me, from above. 
 Daily, with thy boundless Love. 
 
 What bonds of Gratitude I feel. 
 
 No language can declare ; 
 Beneath th' oppressive weight I reel, 
 
 'Tis more than I can bear : 
 When shall I that blessing prove, 
 To return thee Love for Love ? 
 
 Spirit of Charity, dispense 
 
 Thy grace to ev'ry heart ; 
 Expel all other Spirits thence. 
 
 Drive self from ev'ry part; 
 Charity divine, draw nigh. 
 Break the chains in which we lie ! 
 
 All selfish souls, whate'er they feign. 
 
 Have still a slavish lot; 
 They boast of liberty in vain. 
 
 Of Love, and feel it not. 
 He whose bosom glows with Thee, 
 He, and he alone, is free. 
 
 Oh blessedness, all bliss above. 
 
 When thy pure fires prevail ! 
 Love only teaches what is Love; 
 
 All other lessons fail : 
 We learn its name, but not its pow rs. 
 Experience only makes it ours.
 
 MADAME GUION. 4»7 
 
 HAPPY SOLITUDE-UNHAPPY MEN. 
 
 My heart is easy, and my burden light : 
 
 I smile, though sad, when thou art in my sight ; 
 
 The more my woes in secret I deplore, 
 
 I taste thy goodness, and I love thee more. 
 
 There, while a solemn stillness reigns around. 
 Faith, Love, and Hope, within my soul abound ! 
 And, while the world suppose me lost in care, 
 The joys of angels, unperceiv'd, I share. 
 
 Thy creatures wrong thee, O thou sov'reign Good ! 
 Thou art not lov'd, because not understood ; 
 This grieves me most, that vain pursuits beguile 
 Ungrateful men, regardless of thy smile. 
 
 Frail beauty, and false honour, are ador'd ; 
 While thee they scorn, and trifle with thy word 
 Pass, unconcern'd, a Saviour's sorrows by ; 
 And hunt their ruin with a zeal to die. 
 
 LIVING WATER. 
 
 The fountain in its source, 
 No drought of summer fears ; 
 
 The farther it pursues its course. 
 The nobler it appears. 
 
 But shallow cisterns yield 
 
 A scanty, short supply ; 
 The morning sees them amply fill' 
 
 At ev'ning they are dry.
 
 488 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 TRUTH AND DIVINE LOVE REJECTED 
 BY THE WORLD. 
 
 O Love, of pure and heav'nly birth ! 
 O simple Truth, scarce known on earth ! 
 Whom men resist with stubborn wiU; 
 And, more perverse and daring still. 
 Smother and quench with reas'nings vain. 
 While Error and Deception reign. 
 
 Whence comes it, that, your pow'r the same 
 As His on high, from whence you came, 
 Ye rarely find a list'ning ear, 
 Or heart that makes you welcome here ? 
 Because you bring reproach and pain. 
 Where'er ye visit, in your train. 
 
 The world is proud, and cannot bear 
 The scorn and calumny ye share; 
 The praise of men the mark they mean. 
 They fly the place where ye ar-e seen ; 
 Pure Love, with scandal in the rear. 
 Suits not the vain : it costs too dear. 
 
 Then, let the price be what it may. 
 Though poor, I am prepared to pay ; 
 Come shame, come sorrow ; spite of tears. 
 Weakness, and heart-oppressing fears ; 
 One soul, at least, shall not repine. 
 To give you room ; come, reign in mine I 
 
 DIVINE JUSTICE AMIABLE. 
 
 Thou hast no lightnings, O thou just ! 
 
 Or I their force should know; 
 And, if thou strike me into dust. 
 
 My soul approves the blow.
 
 MADAME GUION. 4Sr 
 
 The heart, that values less its ease, 
 
 Than it adores thy ways. 
 In thine avenging anger sees 
 
 A subject of its praise. 
 
 Pleas'd I could lie, conceal'd and lot.. 
 
 In shades of central night ; 
 Not to avoid thy wrath, thou know'i 
 
 But lest I grieve thy sight. 
 
 Smite me, O thou, whom I provoke I 
 
 And I will love thee still ; 
 The well-deserv'd, and righteous stroke.. 
 
 Shall please me, though it kill. 
 
 Am I not worthy to sustain 
 
 The worst thou canst devise; 
 And dare I seek thy throne again. 
 
 And meet thy sacred eyes ? 
 
 Far from afflicting, thou art kind ; 
 
 And in my saddest hours. 
 An unction of thy grace I find 
 
 Pervading all my pow'rs. 
 
 Alas ! thou spar'st me yet again ; 
 
 And when thy wrath should move. 
 Too gentle to endure my pain. 
 
 Thou sooth'st me with thy love. 
 
 I have no punishment to fear ; 
 
 But ah ! that smile from thee. 
 Imparts a pang far more severe, 
 
 Than woe iUelf would be. 
 
 THE SOUL THAT LOVES GOD FINDS Hl.M 
 EVERY WHERE. 
 
 Oh thou, by long experience tried, 
 Near whom no grief can long abide : 
 My Love ! how full of sweet content 
 I pass my years of banishment ! 
 X 2
 
 490 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 All scenes alike engaging prove, 
 To souls impress'd with sacred love ! 
 Where'er they dwell, they dwell in thee : 
 In heav'n, in earth, or on the sea. 
 
 To me remains nor place nor time; 
 My country is in ev'ry clime ; 
 I can be calm and free from care 
 On any shore, since God is there. 
 
 AYhile place we seek, or place we shun. 
 The soul finds happiness in none ; 
 But with a God to guide our way, 
 'Tis equal joy to go or stay. 
 
 Could I be cast where thou art not, 
 That were indeed a dreadful lot : 
 But regions none remote I caU, 
 Secure of finding God in aU. 
 
 My country. Lord, art thou alone : 
 Nor other can I claim or own ; 
 The point where all my wishes meet : 
 My Law, my Love ; life's only sweet ! 
 
 I hold by nothing here below ; 
 
 Appoint my journey, and I go ; 
 
 Though pierc'd by scorn, oppress'd by prid«, 
 
 I feel thee good — feel nought beside. 
 
 No frowns of men can hurtful prove 
 To souls on fire with heav'nly love ; 
 Though men and devils both condemn. 
 No gloomy days arise from them. 
 
 Ah then ! to his embrace repair ; 
 My soul, thou art no stranger there ; 
 There love divine shall be thy guard. 
 And peace and safety thy reward.
 
 MADAME GUION. 491 
 
 THE TESTIMONY OF DIVINE ADOPTION. 
 
 How happy are the new-born race. 
 Partakers of adopting grace : 
 
 How pure the bliss they share '. 
 Hid from the world and all its eyes. 
 Within their heart the blessing lies. 
 
 And conscience feels it there. 
 
 The moment we believe, 'tis ours ; 
 And if we love with all our pow'rs 
 
 The God from whom it came. 
 And if we serve with hearts sincere, 
 'Tis still discernible and clear. 
 
 An undisputed claim. 
 
 But ah ! if foul and wilful sin 
 Stain and dishonour us within. 
 
 Farewell the joy we knew ; 
 Again the slaves of Nature's sway. 
 In lab'rinths of our own we stray, 
 
 Without a guide or clue. 
 
 The chaste and pure who fear to grieve 
 The gracious Spirit they receive, 
 
 His work distinctly trace; 
 And, strong in undissembling love. 
 Boldly assert and clearly prove. 
 
 Their hearts his dwelling-place. 
 
 Oh messenger of dear delight. 
 Whose voice dispels the deepest night. 
 
 Sweet peace-proclaiming Dove ! 
 With thee at hand to soothe our pains 
 No wish unsatisfied remains. 
 
 No task, but that of love. 
 
 'Tis love unites what sin divides ; 
 The centre where all bliss resides ; 
 
 To which the soul once brought, 
 Reclining on the first great Cause, 
 From his abounding sweetness draws 
 
 Peace passing human thought
 
 492 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Sorrow foregoes its nature there. 
 And life assumes a tranquil air. 
 
 Divested of its woes 5 
 There sov'reign goodness soothes the breast. 
 Till then, incapable of rest. 
 
 In sacred sure repose. 
 
 DIVINE LOVE ENDURES NO RIVAL. 
 
 Love is the Lord whom T obey, 
 Whose will transported 1 perform ; 
 
 The centre of my rest, my stay. 
 Love's all in all to me, myself a worm. 
 
 For uncreated charms I burn, 
 Oppress'd by slavish fear no more : 
 
 For one, in whom I may discern, 
 Ev'n when he frowns, a sweetness 1 adore. 
 
 He little loves Him, who complains. 
 And finds him rig'rous and severe ; 
 
 His heart is sordid, and he feigns. 
 Though loud in boasting of a soul sincer^. 
 
 Love causes grief, but 'tis to move 
 And stimulate the slumb'ring mind ; 
 
 And he has never tasted Love, 
 Who shuns a pang so graciously design'd. 
 
 Sweet is the cross, above all sweets. 
 To souls enamour'd with thy smiles '. 
 
 The keenest woe life ever meets. 
 Love strips of all its terrors, and beguiles. 
 
 Tis just, that God should not be dear, 
 Where self engrosses all the thought. 
 And groans and murmurs make it clear. 
 Whatever else is lov'd, the Lord is not. 
 
 The love of Thee flows just as much 
 As that of ebbing self subsides ; 
 
 Our hearts— their scantiness is such- 
 Bear not the conflict of two rival tide«.
 
 MADAME GL'ION. 403 
 
 Both cannot govern in one soul ; 
 
 Then let self-love be dispossess'd ; 
 The love of God deserves the whole. 
 
 And will not dwell with so despis'd a guest. 
 
 iJELF-DIFFIDENCE. 
 
 Source of love, and light of day, 
 Tear me from myself away f 
 Ev'ry view and thought of mine. 
 Cast into the mould of thine; 
 Teach, O teach this faithless heart, 
 A consistent constant part ; 
 Or, if it must live to grow 
 More rebellious, break it now ! 
 
 Is it thus, that I requite 
 Grace and goodness infinite ? 
 Ev'ry trace of ev'ry boon, 
 Cancell'd and eras'd so soon ! 
 Can I grieve thee, whom I love ; 
 Thee, in whom I hve and move? 
 If my sorrow touch thee still, 
 Save me from so great an ill ! 
 
 Oh ! th' oppressive, irksome weight. 
 Felt in an uncertain state ; 
 Comfort, peace, and rest, adieu. 
 Should I prove at last untrue ! 
 Still I choose thee, follow still 
 Ev'ry notice of thy will : 
 But, unstable, strangely weak. 
 Still let slip the good I seek. 
 Self-confiding wretch, I thought. 
 I could serve thee as I ought. 
 Win thee, and deserve to feel 
 All the love thou canst reveal ! 
 Trusting self, a bruised reed, 
 Is to be deceiv'd indeed: 
 Save me from this harm and loss. 
 Lest my gold turn all to dross.
 
 494 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Self is earthly— Faith alone 
 Makes an unseen world our own ; 
 Faith relinquish'd, how we roam. 
 Feel our way, and leave our home ! 
 Spurious gems our hopes entice. 
 While we scorn the pearl of price ; 
 And, preferring servants' pay. 
 Cast the children's bread away. 
 
 THE ACQUIESCENCE OF PURE LOVE. 
 
 Love ! if thy destin'd sacrifice am I, 
 Come, slay thy victim, and prepare thy fires ; 
 
 Plung'd in thy depths of mercy, let me die 
 The death, which ev'ry soul that lives desires ' 
 
 I watch my hours, and see them fleet away ; 
 
 The time is long, that I have languish'd here ; 
 Yet all my thoughts thy purposes obey. 
 
 With no reluctance, cheerful and sincere. 
 
 To me 'tis equal, whether Love ordain 
 My hfe or death, appoint me pain or ease ; 
 
 My soul perceives no real ill in pain ; 
 In ease or health no real good she sees. 
 
 One good she covets, and that good alone; 
 
 To choose thy will, from selfish bias free ; 
 And to prefer a cottage to a throne. 
 
 And grief to comfort, if it pleases Thee. 
 
 That we should bear the cross, is thy command, 
 Die to the world, and live to self no more; 
 
 Suffer, unmov'd, beneath the rudest hand. 
 As pleas'd when shipwreck' d, as wheu safe on shore.
 
 MADAME GUIOX. 495 
 
 REPOSE IN GOD. 
 
 Blest ! who, far from all mankind. 
 This world's shadows left behind. 
 Hears from heav'n a gentle strain 
 Whisp'ring love, and loves again. 
 
 Blest ! who, free from self-esteem. 
 Dives into the Great Supreme, 
 All desires beside discards, 
 Joys inferior none regards. 
 
 Blest ! who in thy bosom seeks 
 Rest that nothing earthly breaks. 
 Dead to self and worldly things. 
 Lost in thee, thou King of Kings I 
 
 Ye that know my secret fire. 
 Softly speak and soon retire ; 
 Favour my divine repose. 
 Spare the sleep a God bestows. 
 
 GLORY TO GOD ALONE. 
 
 Oh lov'd ! but not enough— though dearer far 
 Than self and its most lov'd enjoyments are ; 
 None duly loves thee, but who, nobly free 
 From sensual objects, finds his all hi thee. 
 
 Glory of God ! though stranger here below, 
 Whom man nor knows, nor feels a wish to know 
 Our Faith and Reason are both shock'd to find 
 Man in the post of honour— Thee behind. 
 
 Reason exclaims—' Let ev'ry creature fall, 
 • Asham'd, abas'd, before the Lord of all ;' 
 And Faith, o'erwhelm'd with such a dazzling blaze. 
 Feebly describes the beauty she surveys.
 
 496 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Yet raau, dim-sighted man, and rash as blind. 
 Deaf to the dictates of his better mind. 
 In frantic competition dares the skies. 
 And claims precedence of the Only-wise, 
 
 Oh lost in vanity, till once self-known ! 
 Nothing is great, or good, but God alone; 
 When thou shalt stand before his awful face. 
 Then, at the last, thy pride shall know His place. 
 
 Glorious, Almighty, First, and without end ! 
 When wilt thou melt the mountains, and descend ? 
 When wilt thCa shoot abroad thy conqu'ring rays, 
 And teach these atoms, thou hast made, thy praise* 
 
 Thy Glory is the sweetest heaven I feel ; 
 And, if I seek it with too fierce a zeal. 
 Thy love, triumphant o'er a selfish will. 
 Taught me the passion, and inspires it still. 
 
 My reason, all my faculties, unite, 
 To make thy Glory their supreme delight ; 
 Forbid it, Fountain of my brighter days. 
 That I should rob thee, and usurp thy praise I 
 
 My soul ! rest happy in thy low estate. 
 Nor hope, nor wish, to be esteem'd or great ; 
 To take th' impression of a will divine. 
 Be that thy glory, and those riches thine. 
 
 Confess Him righteous in his just decrees, 
 Love what he loves, and let his pleasure please ; 
 Die daily; from the touch of sin recede; 
 Then thou hast crown'd him, and he reigns indeed. 
 
 SELF-LOVE AND TRUTH INCOMPATIBLE. 
 
 From thorny wilds a monster came. 
 That fill'd my soul with fear and shame ; 
 The birds, forgetful of their mirth, 
 Droop'd at the sight, and fell to earth ; 
 When thus a sage address'd mine ear. 
 Himself unconscious of a fear :
 
 MADAME GUION 41)7 
 
 ' Whence all this terror and surprise. 
 Distracted looks, and streaming eyes? 
 Far from the world and its afiFairs, 
 The joy it boasts, the pain it shares. 
 Surrender, without guile or art, 
 To God, an undivided heart ; 
 The savage form, so fear'd before. 
 Shall scare your trembling soul no more ; 
 For, loathsome as the sight may be, 
 'Tis but the Love of self you see. 
 Fix all your love on God alone, 
 Choose but His will, and hate your own ; 
 No fear shall in your path be found. 
 The dreary waste shall bloom around. 
 And you, through all your happy days. 
 Shall bless his name, and sing his praise.' 
 
 Oh lovely solitude, how sweet 
 The silence of this calm retreat ! 
 Here Truth, the fair whom I pursue. 
 Gives all her beauty to my view ; 
 The simple, unadom'd display. 
 Charms ev'ry pain and fear away. 
 O Truth, whom millions proudly slight; 
 O Truth, my treasure and delight; 
 Accept this tribute to thy name. 
 And this poor heart, from which it came ! 
 
 THE LOVE OF GOD, THE END OF LIFE. 
 
 Since life in sorrow must be spent. 
 So be it— I am well content, 
 And meekly wait my last remove. 
 Seeking only growth in Love. 
 
 No bliss I seek, but to fulfil 
 In life, in death, thy lovely will ; 
 No succours in my woes I want, 
 Save what thou art pleas'd to grant.
 
 iOS ' TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Our days are numbefd, let us spare 
 Our anxious hearts a needless care : 
 'Tis thine, to number out our days ; 
 Ours, to give them to thy praise. 
 
 Love is our only bus'ness here. 
 Love, simple, constant, and sincere ; 
 O blessed days, thy servants see .' 
 Spent, O Lord ! in pleasing Thee. 
 
 LOVE FAITHFUL IN THE ABSENCE OF 
 THE BELOVED. 
 
 In vain ye woo me to your harmless joys. 
 Ye pleasant bow'rs, remote from strife and noise ; 
 Your shades, the witnesses of many a vow, 
 Breath'd forth in happier days, are irksome now ; 
 Denied that smile, 'twas once ray heav'n to see. 
 Such scenes, such pleasures, are all past with me. 
 
 In vain he leaves me, I shall love him still; 
 And, though I mourn, not murmur at his will ; 
 I have no cause— an object all divine 
 Might well grow weary of a soul like mine *. 
 Yet pity me, great God I forlorn, alone. 
 Heartless and hopeless. Life and Lore all gone. 
 
 LOVE PURE AND FERVENT. 
 
 Jealous, and with Love o'erflowing, 
 God demands a fervent heart-, 
 
 Grace and boiuity still bestowing. 
 Calls us to a grateful part. 
 
 Oh, then, with supreme affection, 
 
 His paternal Will regard ! 
 If it costs us some dejection, 
 
 Ev'ry sigh has its reward.
 
 MADAME GUION. 499 
 
 Perfect Love has pow'r to soften 
 Cares that might our peace destroy. 
 
 Nay, does more — transforms them often, 
 Changing sorrow into joy. 
 
 Sov'reign Love appoints the measure. 
 
 And the number of our pains ; 
 And is pleased when we find pleasure 
 
 In the trials he ordains. 
 
 THE ENTIRE SURRENDER. 
 
 Peace has unveil'd her smiling face. 
 And woos thy soul to her embrace ; 
 Enjoy'd with ease, if thou refrain 
 From earthly love, else sought in vain ; 
 She dwells with all who Truth prefer. 
 But seeks not them who seek not her. 
 
 Yield to the Lord, with simple heart, 
 All that thou hast, and all thou art; 
 Renounce all strength but strength divine ; 
 And peace shall be for ever thine : 
 Behold the path which I have trod, 
 My path, till I go home to God. 
 
 THE PERFECT SACRIFICE. 
 
 I PLACE an off ring at thy shrine. 
 From taint and blemish clear, 
 
 Simple and pure in its design. 
 Of all that I hold dear. 
 
 I yield thee back thy gifts again, 
 Thy gifts which most I prize; 
 
 Desirous only to retain 
 The notice of thine eyes.
 
 500 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 But if, by thine ador'd decree. 
 That blessing is deny'd ; 
 
 Resign'd, and unreluctant, see 
 My ev'ry wish subside. 
 
 Thy will in all things I approve. 
 Exalted or cast down ! 
 
 Thy will in ev'ry state I love, 
 And even in thy frown. 
 
 GOD HIDES HIS PEOPLE. 
 
 To lay the soul that loves him low. 
 
 Becomes the Only-wise : 
 To hide, beneath a veil of woe, 
 
 The children of the skies. 
 
 Man, though a worm, would yet be great. 
 Though feeble, would seem strong; 
 
 Assumes an independent state. 
 By sacrilege and wrong. 
 
 Strange the reverse, which, once abas'd. 
 The haughty creature proves ! 
 
 He feels his soul a barren waste. 
 Nor dares affirm, he loves. 
 
 Scom'd by the thoughtless and the vain. 
 
 To God he presses near ; 
 Superior to the world's disdain. 
 
 And happy in its sneer. 
 
 Oh welcome, in his heart he says. 
 
 Humility and shame ! 
 Farewell the wish for human praise. 
 
 The music of a name ! 
 
 But will not scandal mar the good 
 
 That I might else perform ? 
 And can God work it, if he would. 
 
 By so despis'd a worm ?
 
 MADAME GUION. 501 
 
 Ah, vainly anxious .'—leave the Lord 
 
 To rule thee, and dispose; 
 Sweet is the mandate of his word, 
 
 And gracious all he does. 
 
 He draws from human littleness 
 
 His grandeur and renown ; 
 And gen'rous hearts with joy confess 
 
 The triumph all his own. 
 
 Down then with self-exalting thoughts ; 
 
 Thy faith and hope employ. 
 To welcome all that he allots. 
 
 And suffer shame with joy. 
 
 No longer, then, thou wilt encroach 
 
 On his eternal right ; 
 And he shall smile at thy approach. 
 
 And make thee his delight. 
 
 THE SECRETS OF DIVINE LOVE ARE 
 TO BE KEPT. 
 
 Sun ! stay thy course, this moment stay — 
 
 Suspend th' o'erflowing tide of day. 
 
 Divulge not such a love as mine. 
 
 Ah ! hide the mystery divine. 
 
 Lest man, who deems my glory shame. 
 
 Should learn the secret of my flame. 
 
 O night ! propitious to my views, 
 Thy sable awning wide diffuse ; 
 Conceal alike my joy and pain. 
 Nor draw thy curtain back again. 
 Though morning, by the tears she shews. 
 Seems to participate my woes. 
 
 Ye stars ! whose faint and feeble fires 
 
 Express my languishing desires. 
 
 Whose slender beams pervade the skies 
 
 As silent as my secret sighs. 
 
 Those emanations of a soul. 
 
 That darts her fires beyond the Pole ;
 
 502 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Your rays, that scarce assist the sight. 
 That pierce, but not displace the night. 
 That shine indeed, but nothing show 
 Of all those various scenes below. 
 Bring no disturbance, rather prove 
 Incentives to a sacred Love. 
 
 Thou Moon ! whose never-failing course 
 Bespeaks a providential force. 
 Go, tell the tidings of my flame 
 To him who calls the stars by name ; 
 Whose absence kills, whose presence cheers ; 
 "Who blots, or brightens, all my years. 
 
 While, in the blue abyss of space, 
 Thine orb performs its rapid race ; 
 Still whisper in his list'ning ears 
 The language of my sighs and tears ; 
 Tell him, I seek him, far below. 
 Lost in a wilderness of woe. 
 
 Ye thought-composing, silent hours, 
 DifiFusing peace o'er aU my pow'rs ! 
 Friends of the pensive ! who conceal. 
 In darkest shades, the flames I feel ; 
 To you I trust, and safely may. 
 The Lovo that wastes my strength away. 
 
 In sylvan scenes, and caverns rude, 
 I taste the sweets of solitude; 
 Retir'd indeed, but not alone, 
 I share them with a Spouse unknow n. 
 Who hides me here, from envious eyes. 
 From all intrusion and surprise. 
 
 Imbow'ring shades, and dens profound I 
 Where echo rolls the voice around ; 
 Mountains ! whose elevated heads 
 A moist and misty vdl o'erspreads ; 
 Disclose a solitary Bride 
 To him I love — to none beside.
 
 MADAME GUION. 503 
 
 Ye rills ! that, murm'ring all the way. 
 Among the polish'd pebbles stray; 
 Creep silently along the ground, 
 Lest, drawn by that harmonious sound, 
 Some wand'rer, whom I would not meet, 
 Should stumble on my lov'd retreat. 
 
 Enamell'd meads, and hillocks green. 
 And streams, that water all the scene ! 
 Ye torrents, loud in distant ears ! 
 Ye fountains, that receive my tears ! 
 Ah ! still conceal, with caution due, 
 A charge, I trust with none but you. 
 
 If, when my pain and grief increase, 
 I seem t' enjoy the sweetest peace. 
 It is because I find so fair 
 The charming object of my care. 
 That I can sport and pleasure make 
 Of torment sufifer'd for his sake. 
 
 Ye meads and groves, unconscious things ! 
 Ye know not whence my pleasure springg ; 
 Ye know not, and ye cannot know. 
 The source from which my sorrows flow ; 
 The dear sole Cause of all I feel,— 
 He knows, and understands them well. 
 
 Ye deserts ! where the wild beast roves. 
 Scenes sacred to my hours of love ; 
 Ye forests ! in whose shades I stray. 
 Benighted under burning day ; 
 Ah ! whisper not how blest am I, 
 Nor while I live, nor when I die. 
 
 Ye lambs ! who sport beneath these shades, 
 
 And bound along the mossy glades ; 
 
 Be taught a salutary fear, 
 
 And cease to bleat when I am near : 
 
 The wolf may hear your harmless cry, 
 
 Whom ye should dread, as much as I.
 
 504 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 How calm, amid these scenes, my mind '. 
 
 How perfect is the peace I find ! 
 
 Oh hush ! be still my ev'ry part. 
 
 My tongue, my pulse, my beating heart ! 
 
 That love, aspiring to its cause. 
 
 May suffer not a moment's pause. 
 
 Ye swift-finn'd nations, that abide 
 In seas as fathomless as wide ; 
 And, unsuspicious of a snare. 
 Pursue at large your pleasures there : 
 Poor sportive fools ! how soon does man 
 Vour heedless ignorance trepan ! 
 
 Away ! dive deep into the brine. 
 Where never yet sunk plummet line; 
 Trust me, the vast leviathan 
 Is merciful, compar'd with man ; 
 Avoid his arts, forsake the beach. 
 And never play within his reach. 
 
 My soul her bondage ill endures ; 
 
 I pant for liberty like yours ; 
 
 I long for that immense profound. 
 
 That knows no bottom, and no bound ; 
 
 Lost in infinity to prove 
 
 Th' Incomprehensible of Love. 
 
 Ye birds ! that lessen as ye fly. 
 And vanish in the distant sky ; 
 To whom yon airy waste belongs. 
 Resounding with your cheerful songs ; 
 Haste to escape from human sight ; 
 Fear less the vulture and the kite. 
 
 How blest, and how secure am I, 
 When, quitting earth, I soar on high : 
 When lost, like you I disappear. 
 And float in a sublimer sphere ! 
 Whence falling, within human view, 
 I am ensnar'd, and caught like you.
 
 MADAME GUION. 505 
 
 Omniscient God, whose notice deigns 
 To try the heart and search the reins. 
 Compassionate the num'rous woes, 
 I dare not, ev'n to thee disclose ; 
 Oh save me from the cruel hands 
 Of men, who fear not thy commands ! 
 
 Love, all-subduing and divine, 
 Care for a creature truly thine ; 
 Reign in a heart, dispos'd to own 
 No sov'reign, but thyself alone; 
 Cherish a Bride, who cannot rove. 
 Nor quit thee for a meaner Love ! 
 
 THE VICISSITUDES EXPERIENCED IN 
 THE CHRISTIAN LIFE. 
 
 I SUFFER fruitless anguish day by day. 
 Each moment, as it passes, marks my pain 
 
 Scarce knowing whither, doubtfully I stray, 
 And see no end of all that I sustain. 
 
 The more I strive, the more I am withstood ; 
 
 Anxiety increasing ev'ry hour. 
 My spirit finds no rest, performs no good. 
 
 And nought remains of all my former pow'r. 
 
 My peace of heart is fled, I know not where; 
 
 My happy hours, like shadows, pass'd away ; 
 Their sweet remembrance doubles all my care. 
 
 Night darker seems, succeeding such a day. 
 
 Dear faded joys, and impotent regret. 
 What profit is there in incessant tears ? 
 
 Oh thou, whom, once beheld, we ne'er forget, 
 Reveal thy love, and banish all my fears ! 
 
 Alas ! — ^he flies me — treats me as his foe, 
 Views not my sorrows, hears not when I plead ; 
 
 Woe such as mine, despis'd, neglected woe. 
 Unless it shortens life, is vain indeed. 
 Y
 
 506 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Pierc'd with a thousand wounds, I yet survive; 
 
 My pangs are keen, but no complaint transpires; 
 And, while in terrors of thy wrath I live. 
 
 Hell seems to loose its less tremendous fires. 
 
 Has hell a pain I would not gladly bear. 
 So thy severe displeasure might subside ? 
 
 Hopeless of ease, I seem already there. 
 My life extinguish'd, and yet death denied. 
 
 Is this the joy so promis'd — this the love, 
 Th' unchanging love, so sworn in better days ? 
 
 Ah ! dang'rous glories ! shewn me, but to prove 
 How lovely thou, and I how rash to gaze. 
 
 Why did I see them ? had I still remain'd 
 Untaught, still ignorant how fair thou art. 
 
 My humbler wishes I had soon obtain'd. 
 Nor known the torments of a doubting heart. 
 
 Depriv'd of all, yet feeling no desires, 
 Whence then, I ciy, the pangs that I sustain ? 
 
 Dubious and uninform'd, my soul inquires, 
 Ought she to cherish, or shake off her pain. 
 
 Suff'ring, I suffer not — sincerely love. 
 Vet feel no touch of that enliv'ning flame ; 
 
 As chance inclines me, unconcem'd I move. 
 All times, and all events, to me the same. 
 
 I search my heart„ and not a wish is there. 
 But bums with zeal that hated self may fall ; 
 
 Such is the sad disquietude I share, 
 A sea of doubts, and self the source of all. 
 
 I ask not life, nor do I wish to die ; 
 
 And, if thine hand accomplish not my cure, 
 I would not purchase, with a single sigh, 
 
 A free discharge from all that I endure. 
 
 T groan in chains, yet want not a release ; 
 
 Am sick, and know not the distemper'd part ; 
 Am just as void of purpose, as of peace ; 
 
 Have neither plan, nor fear, nor hope, nor heart.
 
 MADAME GUION. o07 
 
 My claim to life, though sought with earnest care. 
 
 No light within me, or without mc, shews; 
 Once I had faith ; but now, in self-despair 
 
 Find my chief cordial, and my best repose. 
 
 My soul is a forgotten thing ; she sinks. 
 Sinks and is lost, without a wish to rise ; 
 
 Feels an indiff'rence she abhors, and thinks 
 Her name eras'd for ever from the skies. 
 
 Language affords not my distress a name, — 
 
 Yet is it real, and no sickly dream ; 
 'Tis Love inflicts it ; though to feel that flame, 
 
 Is all I know of happiness supreme. 
 
 When Love departs, a chaos wide and vast, 
 And dark as hell, is open'd in the soul ; 
 
 When Love returns, the gloomy scene is past, 
 No tempests shake her, and no fears control. 
 
 Then tell me, why these ages of delay ? 
 
 Oh Love, all-excellent, once more appear ; 
 Disperse the shades, and snatch me into day. 
 
 From this abyss of night, these floods of fear ! 
 
 No — Love is angry, will not now endure 
 
 A sigh of mine, or suflfer a complaint ; 
 He smites me, wounds me, and withholds the cure; 
 
 Exhausts my pow'rs, and leaves me sick and faint. 
 
 He wounds, and hides the hand that gave the blow ; 
 
 He flies, he re-appears, and wounds again — 
 Was ever heart that lov'd thee treated so ? 
 
 Yet I adore thee, though it seem in vain. 
 
 And wilt thou leave me, whom, when lost and blind; 
 
 Thou didst distinguish, and vouchsafe to choose, 
 Before thy laws were written in my mind. 
 
 While yet the world had all my thoughts and views ' 
 
 Now leave me ? when, enamour'd of thy laws, 
 I make thy glory my supreme delight ; 
 
 Now blot me from thy register, and cause 
 A faithful soul to perish from thy sight ?
 
 508 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 What can have caus'd the change which I deplore! 
 
 Is it to prove me, if my heaTt be true ! 
 Permit me then, while prostrate I adore. 
 
 To draw, and place its picture in thy view. 
 
 'Tis thine without reserve, most simply thine ; 
 
 So giv'n to thee, that it is not my own ; 
 A willing captive of thy grace divine ; 
 
 And loves, and seeks thee, for thyself alone. 
 
 Pain cannot move it, danger cannot scare ; 
 
 Pleasure and wealth, in its esteem, are dust : 
 It loves thee ev'n when least inclin'd to spare 
 
 Its tend'rest feelings, and avows thee just. 
 
 'Tis all thine own ; my spirit is so too. 
 An undivided oCF'ring at thy shrine ! 
 
 It seelis thy glory with no double view. 
 Thy glory, with no secret bent to mine. 
 
 Love, holy Love ! and art thou not severe. 
 To slight me, thus devoted, and thus fix'd .' 
 
 Mine is an everlasting ardour, clear 
 From all self -bias, gen'rous and unmix'd. 
 
 But I am silent, seeing what I see — 
 And fear, with cause, that I am self-deceiv'd ; 
 
 Not ev'n my faith is from suspicion free. 
 And, that I love, seems not to be believ'd. 
 
 Live thou, and reign, for ever, glorious Lord ! 
 
 My last, least off'ring, I present thee now— 
 Renounce me, leave me, and be still ador'd ! 
 
 Slay me, my God. and I applaud the blow. 
 
 WATCHING UNTO GOD IN THE NiOHT 
 
 SEASON. 
 
 Sleep at last has fled these eyes. 
 
 Nor do I regret his flight. 
 More alert my spirits rise. 
 
 And my heart is free and light
 
 MADAME GUION. 509 
 
 Nature silent all around. 
 
 Not a single witness near ; 
 God as soon as sought is found ; 
 
 And the flame of love burns clear. 
 
 Interruption, all day long, 
 
 Checks the cunent of my joys ; 
 Creatures press mfc with a throng. 
 
 And perplex me wth their noise. 
 
 Undisturb'd I muse all night. 
 
 On the first Eternal Fair; 
 Nothing there obstructs delight. 
 
 Love is renovated there. 
 
 Life with its perpetual stir. 
 
 Proves a foe to Love and me : 
 Fresh entanglements occur— 
 
 Comes the night, and sets me fret. 
 Never more, sweet sleep, suspend 
 
 My enjoyments, always new ; 
 Leave me to possess my Friend ; 
 
 Other eyes and hearts subdue. 
 Hush the world, that I may wake 
 
 To the taste of pure delights ; 
 Oh the pleasures I partake— 
 
 God, the partner of my nights ! 
 David, for the self-same cause. 
 
 Night preferr'd to busy day ; 
 Hearts, whom heavenly beauty draws. 
 
 Wish the glaring sun away. 
 Sleep, self-lovers, is for you — 
 
 Souls that love celestial know. 
 Fairer scenes by night can view. 
 
 Than the sun could ever show. 
 
 ON THE SAME. 
 
 Skason of my purest pleasure. 
 Sealer of observing eyes ! 
 
 When, in larger, freer measure, 
 I can commune with the skies ;
 
 510 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 While, beneath thy shade extended, 
 Weary man forgets his woes ; 
 
 I, my daily trouble ended. 
 Find, 'n watching, my repose. 
 
 Silence all around prevailing. 
 
 Nature hush'd in slumber sweet. 
 No rude noise mine ears assailing. 
 
 Now my God and I can meet : 
 Universal nature yi umbers. 
 
 And my soul partakes the calm. 
 Breathes her ardour out in numbers. 
 
 Plaintive song or lofty psalm. 
 
 Now my pission, pure and holy. 
 
 Shines ^ind bums, without restraint ! 
 Which ^he day's fatigue and folly 
 
 Cai'se to languish dim and faint : 
 Channing hours of relaxation ! 
 
 How I dread th' ascending sun ! 
 Surely, idle conversation 
 
 Is an evil match'd by none. 
 
 Worldly prate and babble hurt me ; 
 
 Unintelligible prove; 
 Neither teach me nor divert me ; 
 
 I have ears for none but Love. 
 Me, they rude esteem, and foolish. 
 
 Hearing my absurd replies ; 
 I have neither art's fine polish. 
 
 Nor the knowledge of the wise. 
 
 Simple souls and unpolluted. 
 
 By conversing with the Great, 
 Have a mind and taste, ill suited 
 
 To their dignity and state ; 
 All their talking, reading, writing. 
 
 Are but talents misapplied ; 
 Infants' prattle I delight in. 
 
 Nothing human choose beside. 
 
 'Tis the secret fear of sinning 
 Checks my tongue, or I should say. 
 
 When I see the night beginning, 
 I am glad of parting day ;
 
 MADAME GUION 511 
 
 Love, this gentle admonition 
 
 Whispers soft within my breast ; 
 ♦ Choice befits not thy condition 
 
 ♦Acquiescence suits thee best.' 
 
 Henceforth, the repose and pleasure 
 
 Night affords me, I resign : 
 And thy will shall be the measure, 
 
 Wisdom infinite ! of mine : 
 Wishing is but inclination 
 
 Quarrelling with thy decrees ; 
 Wayward nature finds th' occasion — 
 
 'Tis her folly and disease. 
 
 Night, with its sublime enjoyments. 
 
 Now no longer will I choose ; 
 Nor the day with its employments, 
 
 Irksome as they seem, refuse ; 
 Lessons of a God i inspiring, 
 
 Neither time nor place impedes ; 
 From our wishing and desiring. 
 
 Our unhappiness proceeds. 
 
 ON THE SAME, 
 
 Night ! how I love thy silent shades. 
 
 My spirits they compose ; 
 The bliss of heav'n my soul pervades. 
 
 In spite of all my woes. 
 
 While sleep instils her poppy dews 
 
 In ev'ry slumb'ring eye, 
 I watch to meditate and muse. 
 
 In blest tranquillity. 
 
 And when I feel a God immense 
 
 Familiarly impart. 
 With ev'ry proof he can dispense, 
 
 His favour to my heart
 
 512 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 My native-meanness I lament, 
 Though most divinely fill'd 
 
 With all th* inefifable content. 
 That Deity can yield. 
 
 His purpose and his course he keeps ; 
 
 Treads all my reas'nings down ; 
 Commands me out of nature's deeps. 
 
 And hides me in his own. 
 
 When in the dust, its proper place. 
 Our pride of heart we lay, 
 
 'Tis then, a deluge of his grace 
 Bears all our sins away. 
 
 Thou, whom I ser^-e, and whose I am , 
 Whose influence from on high 
 
 Refines, and still refines my flame. 
 And makes my fetters fly. 
 
 How wretched is the creature's state. 
 Who ^warts thy gracious pow'r ; 
 
 Crush'd under sin's enormous weight. 
 Increasing ev'ry hour ! 
 
 The night, when pass'd entire with thet 
 
 How luminous and clear ! 
 Then sleep has no delights for me. 
 
 Lest Thou should'st disappear. 
 
 My Saviour ! occupy me still 
 
 In this secure recess ; 
 Let Reason slumber if she will. 
 
 My joy shall not be less : 
 
 Let Reason slumber out the night ; 
 
 But if Thou deign to make 
 My soul th' abode of truth and light, 
 
 Ah, keep my heart awake !
 
 MADAME GUION olo 
 
 THE JOY OF THE CROSS. 
 
 Long plung'd in sorrow, I resign 
 My soul to that dear hand of thine, 
 
 Without reserve or fear ; 
 That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes, 
 Or into smiles of glad surprise 
 
 Transform the falling tear. 
 
 My sole possession is thy love ; 
 In earth beneath, or heav'n above, 
 
 1 have no other store ; 
 And, though with fervent suit I pray. 
 And importune thee night and day, 
 
 I ask thee nothing more. 
 
 My rapid hours pursue the course 
 Prescrib'd them by love's sweetest force ! 
 
 And I, thy sov'reign Will, 
 Without a wish t' escape ray doom ; 
 Though still a sufif'rer from the womb, 
 
 And doom'd to suffer still. 
 
 By thy command, where'er I stray. 
 Sorrow attends me all my way, 
 
 A never-failing friend ; 
 And if my sufTrings may augment 
 Thy praise, behold me well content- 
 Let sorrow still attend ! 
 
 It costs me no regret, that she. 
 
 Who follow'd Christ should follow me. 
 
 And though, where'er she goes. 
 Thorns spring spontaneous at her feet, 
 I love her, and extract a sweet 
 
 From all my bitter woes. 
 
 Adieu ! ye vain delights of earth ; 
 Insipid sports, and childish mirth, 
 
 1 taste no sweets in you ; 
 Unknown delights are in the Cross, 
 All joy beside, to me is dross ; 
 
 And Jesus thought so too. 
 Y 2
 
 514 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 The Cross ! Oh ravishment and bliss — 
 How grateful ev'n its anguish is ; 
 
 Its bitterness, how sweet ! 
 There ev'ry sense, and all the mind 
 In all her faculties refin'd. 
 
 Tastes happiness complete. 
 
 Souls once enabled to disdain 
 Base sublunary joys, maintain 
 
 Their dignity secure ; 
 The fever of desire is pass'd. 
 And Love has all its genuine taste, 
 
 Is delicate and pure. 
 
 Self-love no grace in sorrow sees. 
 Consults her own pecular ease ; 
 
 'Tis all the bliss she knows ; 
 But nobler aims true Love employ , 
 In self-denial is her joy. 
 
 In suffring, her repose. 
 
 Sorrow, and Love, go side by side; 
 Nor height, nor depth, can e'er divide 
 
 Their heav'n-appointed bands; 
 Those dear associates still are one, 
 Nor, till the race of life is run. 
 
 Disjoin their wedded hands. 
 
 Jesus, avenger of our fall. 
 Thou faithful Lover, above aU 
 
 The Cross has ever borne ! 
 Oh tell me, — life is in thy voice — 
 How much afflictions were thy choice, 
 
 And sloth and ease thy scorn ! 
 
 Thy choice and mine shaU be the same 
 Inspirer of that holy flame. 
 
 Which must for ever blaze ! 
 To take the cross and follow thee. 
 Where love and duty lead, shall be 
 
 My portion and my praise.
 
 MADAME GUION. 515 
 
 JOY IN MARTYRDOM. 
 
 SwEKT tenants of this grove ! 
 
 Who sing, without design, 
 A song of artless love, 
 
 In unison with mine : 
 These echoing shades return 
 
 Full many a note of ours. 
 That wise ones cannot learn. 
 
 With all their boasted pow'rs. 
 
 O thou ! whose sacred charms 
 
 These hearts so seldom love. 
 Although thy beauty warms 
 
 And blesses all above ; 
 How slow are human things 
 
 To choose their happiest lot ! 
 All-glorious King of kings. 
 
 Say, why we love thee not ? 
 
 This heart, that cannot rest. 
 
 Shall thine for ever prove ; 
 Though bleeding and distress'd, 
 
 Yet joyful in thy love : 
 'Tis happy, though it breaks 
 
 Beneath thy chast'ning hand ; 
 And speechless, yet it speaks 
 
 What thou canst understand. 
 
 SIMPLE TRUST. 
 
 Still, still, without ceasing, 
 
 1 feel it increasing. 
 This fervour of holy desire: 
 
 And often exclaim. 
 
 Let me die in the flame 
 Of a love that can never expire '
 
 516 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Had I words to explain 
 
 What she must sustain. 
 Who dies to the -world and its ways ; 
 
 How joy and and affright. 
 
 Distress and delight. 
 Alternately chequer her days ; 
 
 Thou, sweetly severe ! 
 
 I would make thee appear. 
 In all thou art pleas'd to award. 
 
 Not more in the sweet. 
 
 Than the bitter I meet. 
 My tender and merciful Lord. 
 
 This faith in the dark. 
 
 Pursuing its mark. 
 Through many sharp trials of love, 
 
 Is the sorrowful waste. 
 
 That is to be pass'd. 
 In the way to the Canaan above. 
 
 THB 
 
 NECESSITY OF SELF-ABASEMENT. 
 
 Source of Love, my brighter Sun. 
 
 Thou alone my comfort art ; 
 See, my race is almost run : 
 
 Hast thou left this trembling heart f 
 
 In my youth, thy charming eyes 
 Drew me from the ways of men ; 
 
 Then I drank unmingled joys ; 
 Frown of thine, saw never then. 
 
 Spouse of Christ was then my name ; 
 
 And devoted all to thee. 
 Strangely jealous I became. 
 
 Jealous of this Self, m me.
 
 MADAME GUION. 517 
 
 Thee to love, and none beside, 
 
 Was my darling, sole employ ; 
 While alternately I died, 
 
 Now of grief, and now of joy. 
 
 Through the dark and silent night. 
 
 On thy radiant smiles I dwelt ; 
 And to see the dawning light. 
 
 Was the keenest pain I felt. 
 
 Thou ray gracious teacher wert ! 
 
 And thine eye, so close applied. 
 While it watch'd thy pupil's heart, 
 
 Seem'd to look at none beside. 
 
 Conscious of no evil drift. 
 
 This, I cried, is Love indeed — 
 'Tis the Giver, not the gift, 
 
 Whence the joys I feel proceed. 
 
 But soon humbled, and laid low, 
 
 Stript of all thou hast conferr'd. 
 Nothing left but sin and woe, 
 
 I perceiv'diiow I had err'd. 
 
 Oh, the vain conceit of man. 
 
 Dreaming of a good his own. 
 Arrogating all he can. 
 
 Though the Lord is good alone ! 
 
 He, the graces Thou hast wrought. 
 
 Makes subservient to his pride; 
 Ignorant, that one such thought 
 
 Passes all his sin beside. 
 
 Such his folly— prov'd, at last. 
 
 By the loss of that repose 
 Self-complacence cannot taste. 
 
 Only Love divine bestows. 
 
 •Tis by this reproof severe. 
 
 And by this reproof alone. 
 His defects at last appear, 
 
 Man is to himself made known
 
 518 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Learn, all Earth ! that feeble Mari, 
 Sprung from this terrestial clod, 
 
 Nothing is, and nothing can : 
 Life, and pow'r, are all in God. 
 
 LOVE INCREASED BY SUFFERING. 
 
 ' I LOVE the Lord,' is still the strain 
 
 This heart dehghts to sing ; 
 But I reply— your thoughts are vain. 
 
 Perhaps 'tis no such thing. 
 
 Before the pow'r of Love divine, 
 
 Creation fades away ! 
 TiU only God is seen to shine 
 
 In all that we survey. 
 
 In gulfs of awful night we find 
 
 The God of our desires ; 
 'Tis there he stamps the yielding mind. 
 
 And doubles all its fires. 
 
 Flames of encircling Love invest. 
 And pierce it sweetly through^ 
 
 'Tis fiU'd with sacred joy, yet press'd 
 With sacred sorrow too. 
 
 Ah Love ' my heart is in the right- 
 Amidst a thousand woes. 
 
 To thee, its ever new delight. 
 And all its peace, it owes. 
 
 Fresh causes of distress occur. 
 
 Where'er I look or move ; 
 The comforts, I to all prefer. 
 
 Are solitude and love. 
 
 Nor exile I, nor prison fear; 
 
 Love makes my courage great ; 
 I find a Saviour ev'ry where. 
 
 His grace in ev'ry state.
 
 MADAME GUION. 519 
 
 Nor castle walls, nor dungeons deep. 
 
 Exclude his quick'ning beams ; 
 There I can sit, and sing, and weep, 
 
 And dwell on heav'nly themes. 
 
 There, sorrow, for his sake, is found 
 
 A joy beyond compare ; 
 There, no presumptuous thoughts abound, 
 
 No pride can enter there. 
 
 A Saviour doubles all my joys. 
 
 And sweetens all my pains. 
 His strength in my defence employs. 
 
 Consoles me and sustains. 
 
 I fear no ill, resent no wrong ; 
 
 Nor feel a passion move. 
 When malice whets her sland'rous tongue ; 
 
 Such patience is in Love. 
 
 SCENES FAVOURABLE TO MEDITATION. 
 
 Wilds horrid and dark with o'ershadowing trees. 
 
 Rocks that ivy and briers enfold. 
 Scenes nat-ure with dread and astonishment sees, 
 
 But I with a pleasure untold. 
 
 Though awfully silent, and shaggy, and rude, 
 I am charm'd with the peace ye afford. 
 
 Your shades are a temple where none will intrude. 
 The abode of ray Lover and Lord. 
 
 I am sick of thy splendour, O fvixntain of day. 
 
 And here I am hid from its beams, 
 Here safely contemplate a brighter display 
 
 Of the noblest and holiesi of themes. 
 
 Ye forests, that yield me my sweetest repose 
 
 Where stillness and solitude reign. 
 To you I securely and boldly disclose 
 
 The dear anguish of which I complain.
 
 520 TRANSLATIONS FROM 
 
 Here, sweetly forgetting and wholly forgot 
 By the world and its turbulent throng, 
 
 The birds and the streams lend me many a note 
 That aids meditation and song. 
 
 Hear, waiid'rlng in scenes that are sacred to night, 
 Love wears me and wastes me away. 
 
 And often the sun has spent much of his light, 
 Ere yet I perceive it is day. 
 
 While a mantle of darkness envelops the sphere. 
 
 My sorrows are sadly rehaars'd. 
 To me the dark hours are all equally dear. 
 
 And the last is as sweet as the first. 
 
 Here I and the beasts of the deserts agree. 
 
 Mankind are the wolves that I fear. 
 They grudge me my natural right to be free. 
 
 But nobody questions it here. 
 
 Though little is found in this dreary abode 
 
 That appetite wishes to find. 
 My spirit is sooth'd by the presence of God, 
 
 And appetite wholly resign'd. 
 
 Ye desolate scenes, to your solitude led. 
 
 My life I in praises employ. 
 And scarce know the source of the tears that I shed. 
 
 Proceed they from sorrow or joy. 
 
 There's nothing I seem to have skill to discern, 
 
 I feel out my way in the dark. 
 Love reigns in my bosom, I constantly burn. 
 
 Yet hardly distinguish the spark. 
 
 I live, yet I seem to myself to be dead. 
 
 Such a riddle is not to be found, 
 I am nourish'd without knowing how I am fed, 
 
 I have nothing, and yet I abound. 
 
 Oh Love ! who in darkness art pleased to abide. 
 
 Though dimly, yet surely I see. 
 That these contrarieties only reside 
 
 In the soul that is chosen of thee.
 
 MADAME GUION. 521 
 
 Ah send me not back to the race of mankind. 
 
 Perversely by folly beguil'd, 
 For where in the crowds I have left, shall I find 
 
 The spirit and heart of a child. 
 
 Here let me, though flx'd in a desert, be free ; 
 
 A little one whom they despise. 
 Though lost to the world, if in union with thee. 
 
 Shall be holy, and happy, and wise.
 
 Loyoox : 
 
 LEIGHTON- AND Ml RPHY, PRIXTERS, 
 
 Johnson's Co'art, Fleet Street.
 
 UC SOUTHERN REG : 
 
 B 000 002 202
 
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