/ # WfflLOAM ©©WlFiilK POEMS BY WILLIAM COWPER, Esq. OF THE INNER TEMPLE. WITH A LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. EDINBURGH : Printed at the University Press, for THOMAS NELSON AND PETER BROWN. ■4 CONTENTS. Life of the Author, Table Talk, Progress of Errour, . Truth, . , . Expostulation, Mope, Charity, Conversation, Retirement, The Task, Book 1. The Sofa, 2. The Time-i)iece, 3. The Garden, 4. The Winter Evening, 5. The Winter Morning Walk, 6. The Winter Walk at Noon, Tirocinium ; or a Review of Schools, The Yearly Distress, or Tithing Time, Sonnet addressed to Henry Cowper, Esq Lines addressed to Dr. Darwin, On Mrs. Montagu's Feather-Hangings,. . .. . . . . . Verses supposed to be \vritten by Alex. Selkirk, . On the promotion of Edward Thurlow, Esq. ... Ode to peace, Haman Frailty, The Modem Patriot, On some Names in the Boig. Britannica, BOTort of an adjudged Case, On the burning of Lord Mansfield’s Library,.. .. On the same, The Love of the World reproved, On the death of Lady Throckmorton’s Bulfinch, The Rose, The Doves, A Fable,.., A Comparison, Another, addressed to a Young Lady, The Poet’s New Year’s Gift, Ode to Apollo, Pairing Time anticipated, The Dog and the Water-Lily, The Poet, the Oyster, and Sensitive Plant,, The Shrubbery, The Winter Nosegay, Mutual Forbearance necessary, The Negro’s complaint, . 4 ^. , Pity for poor AfricansvVT The Morning Dream; The Nightingale and Glow-worm, Oo a Goldfinch, starved to death in his cage. The Pineapple and the Bee, Horace, Book II. Ode X, A Reflection on the foregoing Ode,. The Lily and the'Rpse, Idem Latine Reditum, .20 36 ..69 ..88 .104 .126 .147 .167 .188 .209 .229 .252 .278 .301 .303 , .ib. .304 .306 .307 .308 ,•309 ..ib. .310 .311 .312 . .ib. ,.313 ,.3i4 ,.316 ..317 .318 .319 . .ib. ,.320 . .ib. .321 ..323 ..324 ..3S6 ..327 ..328 ..329 ..331 ..332 ,.334 ..335 . . . lb. ..336 . 337 ..338 . ..ib IV CONTENTS The Poplar Field, JLatine Reditum, W.'. . * ’■ Votum, ' ' \ Y. Translations from Vincent Bourne, Translation of Prior’s Chloe and Euphelia,., The divrerting History of John Gilpin, An Epistle to a Protestant lady in France,. . io the Rev. W. Cawthome Unwin, An Epistle to Joseph Hill, Esq To the Rev. Mr Newton, Catharina, addressed to Miss Stapleton’ ! The Moralizer corrected, a Tale. . . Jhe Faithful Bird, .'.'.V. ' ' ' ’-I he Needless Alarm, a Taie, . . . .’. Jioadicea, an Ode, Heroism, On the Receipt of my Mother’s Picture. Friendship, ’ The Enchantment Dissolved, . . . .V.'.’.*.’.*.’.’.'. .* Eight shining out of Darkness, Temptation, ’ ” Submission, S^zas subjoined to the Bill of Mortality for the year 1787 1 he same for 1788, The same for 1789, The same for 1790, !!!'.!!!’!’’ The same for 1792, The same for 1793, Inscription for the Tomb of Mr Hamludn,’ .’ .' .’ .’ .' 1 o Warren Hastings, ' * ' ‘ To Mary, T. On the Ice Islands, seen in the German ’Ocean,’ .’ .’ .’ .’ .’ .' .’ .’ .’ .’ ‘ The Cast-away, On the loss of the Royal George, 1782, . . Sonnet to Mrs. Unwin, V. Gratitude, addressed to Lady Hesketh The Retired Cat, Shortness of human life, V.’.".’. On the indecent liberties taken with the remains of Milton. Milton's Sonnet to Diodati, ^ Milton’s Sonnet to a lady, To a Nightingale singing on new year’s day, To Wilberforce, To Hajley, 1 1 Verses to lady Austen, Song for lady Austen, ....!.. . . . . Song for do ” To G. Romney, on Cowper’s portrait, To Anne Bodham, " ; Epitaph on Dr. Johnson, .’.W The bird’s nest at Glasgow Hymn for the Sabbath School at Olney,. Epitaph on a Hare, Epitaphium alterum, Cowperis Treatment of his Hares Page ...339 ...340 ..341 ...ib. ...348 ,..349 ..356 ..358 . ■ .ib. ..360 ..361 .369 .370 .373 .376 .382 .ib. .384 .385 .392 .393 .ib. .394 .395 .397 399 .400 .401 .402^ .405 .406 .ib. .407 .ib. .408 ..ib. ..410 ..ib. .411 ..412 ..ib. . .ib. .415 .416 .417 .418 THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. W^iLLiAM CowPER was a descendant of a very ancient and honourable family. His father was se- cond son of Spencer Cowper, who was appointed chief justice of Chester in 1717, and afterwards a judge in the court of common pleas. He entered into the church, and became rector of Great Berk- hampstead in Hertfordshire. He married Anne, daughter of Roger Donne, Esq. of Ludham-hall in Norfolk, by whom he had several children who died in infancy, and two sons, William and John, who survived their mother. William was born at Berkhampstead, Nov. 26, 1731, and from his infan- cy appears to have been of a very delicate habit both of body and mind. In 1737, the year in which his mother died, he was sent to a school in Market Street in Hertfordshire, but was removed from it, on account of a complaint in his eyes. He was afterwards placed at Westminster School, where he finished his education, and left it in 1749, having acquired great proficiency in the Classics. He is said to have suffered much from the tyranny of his school-fellows, who, with the unthinking cruelty of youth, domineered over his quiet and inoffensive disposition, and the timidity of his spirit, — and no doubt these recollections gave ener^ to his pen, when with more than his usual severity, he exposed the abuses of Public Schools. At the age of eighteen, he was articled for three years to Mr. Chapman, an Attorney. In one of his letters, he gives the following account of himself at this period “ I did actually live three years with Mr. Chapn^an, 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 re- member. There was I and the future Lord Chancel- lor (Thurlow) constantly employed from inorning to night in giggling and making giggle, instead of studying the Law.”— Notwithstanding all this appa- rent light-heartedness, and although he possessed e- very acquired advantage for his advancement in his vi THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. profession, the natural shyness of his disposition and dread of mixing with the world, frustrated all the views which his friends had entertained of the dis- play of his abilities in the Law. j^^Jidered unfit for his profession, by his extreme diffidence, Cowper, in the 34th year of his age, through the interest of his family, was nominated to the Offices of Reading Clerk, and Clerk of the Private Committees in the House of Lords; but here again, from his unfortunate turn of mind, and dread of a public exhibition of himself, his friends were to meet with another disappointment, for he resigned the office. After this they procured him one less irksome, though less profitable, namely, that of Clerk to the Journals of the House of Lords, the consequence of which appointment is thu^s related by Mr. Hayley. ‘‘ It was hoped from the change of his station, that his personal appearance in Parlia- ment might not be required ; but a parliamentary dispute made it necessary for him to appear at the Bar of the House of Lords, to entitle himself pub- licly to the office. Speaking of this important inci- dent in a sketch which he once formed himself, of passages in his early life, he expresses what he en- dured at the time, in these remarkable words : ‘ They whose spirits are formed like mine, to whom a pub- lic exhibition of themselves is mortal poison, may have some idea of the horrors of my situation : others can have none.’ His terrors on this occasion arose to such an astonishing height, that they utterly over- whelmed his reason ; for although he had endea- voured to prepare himself for his public duty, by at- tending closely at the office for several months, to examine the Parliamentary Journals, liis applica- tion was rendered useless by that excess of diffidence which made him conceive that, whatever knowledge he might previouslv acquire, it would all forsake him at the Bar of the House. This distressing ap- prehension 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. The very friends who called on him for the purpose of attending him to the House THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR. vii of Lords, acauiesced in the cruel necessity of his re- linquishing the prospect of a station so severely for- midable to a frame of such singular sensibility. The conflict between the wishes of just affectionate ambition, and the terrors of diffidence, so entirely overwhelmed his health and faculties, that after two learned and benevolent divines, (Mr. John Cowper his brother, and the celebrated Mr, Martin Madan his first cousin) had vainly endeavoured to establish a lasting tranquillity in his mind, by friendly and reli- gious conversation, it was found necessary to remove him to St. Alban’s, where he resided a considerable time under the care of that eminent physician. Dr. Cotton. The great care paid by the excellent Dr. Cotton to his patient, aided by the rational views of reli- gion which he endeavoured to instil into his mind, at length succeeded in releasing him from his men- tal thraldom ; but it was not until a twelvemonth after his recovery that he quitted St. Alban’s and took lodgings at Huntingdon, where he became acquainted with younff Mr. Unwin, with whose fa- mily he soon formed the most intimate friendship. Cowper appears to have become an immate in this amiable family about February, 1766, which was destined in the July in the following year to lose one of its most beloved members : for Mr. Unwin, se- nior, was killed by a fall which he received from his horse. Shortly after this melancholy event, it was deter- mined that the family should leave Huntingdon, which they accordingly did soon afterwards, to Olney, in Buckinghamshire, where Cowper added the Keve- rend John Newton, then Rector of that place, (but after of St. Mary Woolnoth, London,) to his list of’ mends. — Hither Mrs. Unwin, with her daughter, her son, and the poet, removed on the 14th of Oc- tober, 1767. .Cowper seems to have derived the most essential benefit from his intimacy with this truly pious di- vine, and we can gather from the spirit of his cor- respondence,. at this time, that he enjoyed more placid feelings than the morbid nature of his mind Vlll THE LIFE OP THE AUTHOR. a}3pears hitherto to have allowed him. Conjointly with Mr. Newton, during this interval, he produced that fine Collection of Hymns, known as The Ol- ney Hymns.” Of these sixty-eight were the com- position of Cowper, and the rest were the production of Mr. Newt(^. The celebrated ballad of “John Gilpin,” was suggested by Lady Austen, the origin of which Mr. Hayley thus writes. “ It . happened one afternoon, that Lady Austen observed him sinking into in- creasing dejection : it was her custom on these oc- casions, to try all the resourses of her sprightly pow- ers 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 effect on the fancy of Cow- per had the air of enchantment. He informed her the next morning that convulsions of laughter, brought on by his recollection of her story, had kept nim waking during the greatest part of the night, and that he had turned it into a ballad.” Several of his other poems originated from the suggestion of this lady, to whom, the public are un- questionably indebted for the finest of his composi- tions, namely “ The Task.” Early in the year 1794, he sunk into a fit of hope- less dejection ; and his mental powers appeared to have ceased their operations. In this deplorable state he continued a long time, during which, however, a pension of £300 per annum was bestowed upon him by his Majesty. Lord Thurlow had given him a pledge to that effect some years before, and it was now obtained for him through the immediate inter- est of Earl Spencer ; but it arrived too late to be ox permanent use or gratification to him. In the spring of 1800, his strength declining apace, after a few weeks confinement to this room,-^on the afternoon of the 25th of April, he breathed his last, so imperceptibly as for some minutes to be unob- served by any of his attendants. His mortal remains were buried in the church of East Dereham, and a monument erected to his memory. TABLE TALK. Si te forte raeae gravis uret sarcina charts, 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, drench’d in pure Parnassian dews, Keward his mem’ry, dear to ev’ry 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 wiH prevail or perish in her cause. ’Tis to the virtues of such men, man owes His portion in the good, that Heav’n bestows. And when recording History displays Feats of renown, though wrought in ancient days ; Tells of a few stout hearts, that fought and died, Where duty placed them, at their country’s side ; The man, that is not moved with what he reads, That takes not fire at their heroic deeds. Unworthy of the blessings of the brave. Is base in kind, and born to be a slave. ' But let eternal infamy pursue The wretch, to nought but his ambition true ; A TABLE TALK. 2 Who, for the sake of filling with one blast The post-horns of all Europe, lays her waste. Think yourself station’d on a tow’ring 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 h^m self-proclaim’d in a gazette. Chief monster that has plagued the nations yet The globe and sceptre in such hands misplaced, Those ensigns of dominion, how disgraced ! The glass, that' bids man mark the fleeting hour, ^ And death’s own scythe would better speak his pow’r ; 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 reas’ning falls like an inverted cone. Wanting its proper base to stand upon. Man made for kings ! those optics are but dim, That tell you sQt— 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 bj ruining mankind, Is worth, with all its gold and glitt’ring store. Just what the toy will sell for, and no more. Oh ! bright occasions of dispensing good, How seldom used, how little understood ! To pour in Virtue’s lap her just reward ; Keep Vice restrain’d behind a double guard ; To quell the faction, that affronts the throne, By silent magnanimity alone ; ^ ^ To riurse with tender care the thriving arts, atch every beam Philosophy imparts ; To give Religion her unbrWled scope, Nor judge by statute a believer’s hope ; TABLE TALK. 3 With close fidelity and love unfeign’d, To keep the matrimonial bond unstain’d ; Covetous only of a virtuous praise ; His life a lesson to the land he sways ; To touch the sword with conscientious awe, Nor draw it but when duty bids him draw ; To sheath it in the peace-restoring close, With joy beyond what victory best®ws ; — Blest country, where these kingly glories shine ! Blest England, if this happiness be thine ! A, Guard what you say ; the patriotic tribe Will sneer and charge you with a bribe — B. A The worth of his three kingdoms I defy, [bribe ? 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 kin^s ? 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 th’ 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 His quit-rent ode, his peppercorn of praise : [pays 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 ! 4 TABLE TALK. Thus, free from censure, overaw’d by fear, And praised for virtues, that they scorn lo wear, The fleeting forms of majesty engage Respect, while stalking o’er life’s narrow stage ; Then leave their crimes for history to scan, And ask, with busy scorn. Was this the man ? I pity kings, whom Worship waits upon Obsequious from the cradle to the throne ; Before- whose infant eyes the flatt’rer 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 simp’ring 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, Should’ring, and standing as if struck to stone, While condescending majesty looks on ! If monarchy consist in such base things. Sighing, I sav again, I pity kings ! To be suspected, thwarted, and withstood. Even 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 th’ anxiety he feels. Hook disappointment on the public wheels ; With all their flippant fluency of tongue, Most confident, when palpably most wrong; — If this be kingly, then farewell for me All kingship : and may I be poor and free ! To be the Table Talk of clubs up-stairs. To which th’ un wash’d artificer repairs, T’ 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) ; TABLE TALK. 5 To win no praise when well- wrought plans prevail, But to be rudely censured when they fail ; To doubt the love his fav’rites 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. A, Thus men, whose thoughts contemplative have dwelt 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. Leave kingly backs to cope with kingly cares ; They have their weight to carry, subjects theirs ; Poets, of all men, ever least regret Increasing taxes.and the nation’s debt. Could you contrive the payment, and rehearse The mighty plan, oracular, in verse. No bard, howe’er majestic, old or new. Should claim my fix’d attention more than you. B. Not Brindley nor Bridgewater would essay To turn the course of 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 stockjobbers and Jews. A. Vouchsafe, at least, to pitch the key of rhime To themes more pertinent, if less sublime. When ministers and ministerial arts ; * Patriots, who love good places at their hearts ; When admirals, extoU’d for standing still, Or doing nothing with a deal of skill ; Gen’rals, 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 ; a2 TABLE TALK. 6 Y/hen themes like these employ the poet’s tongue, 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 : That were a theme might animate the dead, And move the lips of poets cast in lead. B. The cause, tho’ worth the - earch, may yet elude Conjecture and remark, however shrewd. They take perhaps a well-directed aim. Who seek it in his climate and h=s frame. Lib’ral in all things else, yet Nature here With stern severity deals out the year. Winter invades the spring, and often pours A chilling flood on summer^s drooping flowers ; Unwelcome vapours quench autumnal beams, Ungenial blasts attending curl the streanis ; 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 fav’rite man ot all mankind. His form robust and of elastic tone. Proportion’d well, half muscle and half bone. Supplies with warm activity and torce A mind v/ell-lodged, and masculine of course. Hence Liberty, sweet Liberty, inspires And keeps alive his fierce but noble fires. Patient of constitutional control. He bears it with meek manliness of soul ; But, if Authority grow wanton, woe To him that treads upon his free-born toe ; One step beyond the boundary of the laws Fires him at once in Freedom’s glonous cause. Thus proud Prerogative, not much revered. Is seldom felt, though sometimes seen and heard ; And in his cage, like parrot fine and gay. Is kept to strut, look big, and talk away. Born in a clim.ate 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. TABLE TALK. 7 He drinks his simple bev’rage 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 Roy^ Fill’d with as much true merriment and glee, As if he heard his king say — Slave, be free. Thus happiness depends, as Nature shows, 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 Slav’ry to a smile. And fill with discontent a British isle. A. Freeman and slave then, if the case he 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 showi, That slaves, howe’er contented, never know. The mind attains, beneath her happy reign. The growth, that Nature meant she shoufd attain ; The varied fields of science, ever new*, . Opening and wider opening on her view. She ventures onward with a prosp'rous 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 list’ning minds Communicates with joy the good she finds ; Courage in arms, and ever prompt to show His manly forehead to the fiercest foe ; Glorious in war, but for the sake of peace. His spirits rising as his toils increase. Guards well what arts and industry have won, And Freedom claims him for her hrst-born son. 8 TABLE TALK. 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 : — Religion, virtue, truth, whate’er we call A blessing — freedom is the pledge of all. O Liberty ! the pris’ner’s pleasing dream. The Poet’s muse, his passion, and his theme ; Genius is thine, and thou art Fancy’s nurse ; Lost without thee th’ ennobling powers of verse ; Heroic song from thy free touch ac 5 [uires Its clearest tone, the rapture it inspires : Place me where Winter breathes nis keenest air. And 1 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 moun.d? 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 metal, under good control. Gives him Olympic speed, and shoots him to the goal. Let Discipline employ her wholesome arts ; Let magistrates alert perform their parts. Not skiJk or put on a prudential mask, As if their duty were a desp’rate 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 usurped Authority’s just place, And dared to look his master in the face ; When the rude rabble’s watchword was — Destroy, And blazing London seem’d a second Troy ; TABLE TALK, 9 Liberty blush’d, and hung her drooping head, Beheld their progress with the deepest dread ; Blush’d, that effects like these she should produce. Worse than the deeds of galley-slaves broke loose. She loses in such storms her very name. And fierce Licentiousness should bear the blame. Incomparable gem ! thy worth untold ; Cheap though blood-bought, and thrown away when May no foes ravish thee, and no false friend [sold ; Betray thee, while professing to defend ! Prize it, ye ministers ; ye monarchs, spare ; Ye patriots, guard it with a miser’s care. A. Patriots, alas ! the few that have been found. Where most they flourish, upon English ground. The country’s need have scantily supplied. And the last left the scene when Chatham died. B. Not so — the virtue still adorns our age. Though the chief actor died upon the stage. In him Demosthenes was heard again ; Liberty taught him her Athenian strain ; She 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 ! thoi\ art a devoted deer, Beset with ev’ry ill but that of fear. Thee nations hunt ; all mark thee for a prey ; They swarm around thee, and thou stand’st at bay, 10 TABLE TALK 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. ’Tis not the wreath, that once adorn’d thy brow. The prize of happier times, will serve thee now. Our ancestry, a gallant, Christian race, Patterns of every virtue, every grace. Confess’d a Grod ; they kneel’d before they fought. And praised him in the victories he wrought. . Now from the dust of ancient days bring forth Their sober zeal, integrity, and worth ; Courage, ungraced by these, aff’-onts 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 8in has brought to a decline. The inestimable estimate of Brown Rose like a paper-ki^e, and charm’d the town ; But measures, plann’d and executed well. Shifted the wind that raised it, and it fell. He trod the very self-same ground you tread. And Victory refuted all he said. R. And yet hLs judgment was not framed amiss ; Its error, if it err’d, was merely this — He thought the dying hour already come. And a complete recovery struck him dumb. But that effeminacy, folly., lust. Enervate and enfeeble, and needs must ; And that a nation shamefully debased. Will be despised and trampled on at last. Unless sweet Penitence her powers renew. Is truth, if history itself be true. There is a time, and Justice marks the date. For long-forbearing Clemency to wait; That hour elapsed, the incurable revolt Is punish’d, and down comes the thunderbolt. If Mercy then put by the threat’ning blow. Must she perform the same kind office ho-v ? May she ! and, if offended Heaven be still Accessible, and prayer prevail, she will. TARLE TALK. 11 ’Tis not, however, insolence and noise, The tempest of tumultuary joys, Nor is it yet despondence and dismay Will win her visits, or engage her stay ; Pray’r 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, \Vrites on his bosom. To he 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 Av’rice 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, fall’n 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, 12 TABLE TALK. Are but his rods to scourge a guilty land, And waste it at the bidding of his hand. He gives the word, and Mutiny soon roars In all her gates, and shakes her distant shores ; The standards of all nations are unfurl’d ; She has one foe, and that one foe the world. And, if he doom that people with a frown. And mark them with a seal of wrath press’d 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 gulph, 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. Vengeance at last pours down upon their coast, A long despised, but now victorious, host ; Tyranny sends the chain, that must abridge The noble sweep of all their privilege ; Gives liberty the last, tlie mortal shock ; Slips the slave’s collar on, and snaps the lock. A. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach ; Mean you to prophesy, or but to preach ? B. I know the mind, that feels indeed the fire The muse imparts, and can command the lyre, Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal, Whate’er the theme, that others never feel. If human woes her soft attention claim, A tender sympathy pervades the frame ; She pours a sensibility divine Along the nerve of every feeling line. But if a deed, not tamely to be borne. Fire indignation and a sense of scorn. The strings are swept with such a power, so loud, The storm of music shakes th’ astonished crowd. TABLE TALK. IS So, when remote futurity is brought Before the keen inquiry of her thought, A terrible sagacity informs The poet’s heart ; he looks to distant storms ; He hears the thunder ere the tempest lowers ; And, arm’d with strength surpassing human powers^ Seizes events as yet unknown to man, And darts his soul into the dawning plan. Hence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name Of prophet and of poet was the same ; Hence British poets to the priesthood shared, And every hallow’d druid was a bard. But no prophetic fires to me belong ; I play with syllables, and sport in song. A. At Westminster, where little poets strive To set a distich upon six and five, Where Discipline helps th’ 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. Thus reputation is a spur to wit. And some wits fiag through fear of losing it. Give me the line, that ploughs its stately course Like a proud swan, conqu’ring the stream by force ; That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart, Quite unindebted to the tricks of art. When Labour and when Dulness, club in hand. Like the two figures at St. Dunstan’s, stand. Beating alternately, in measured time. The clock-work tintinabulum 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; TABLE TALE. 14 Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air. All birks and braes, though he was never there ; Or, having whelp’d a prologue with great pains. Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains ; A prologue inter dash’d with many a stroke — An art contrived to advertise a joke, So that the jest is clearly to be seen. Not in the words— but in the gap between : Manner is ail 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 decajr. 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 appeared, And ages ere the 3Iantuan 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 day-spring into distant climes, Ennobling every region that he chose ; He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose ; And, tedious years of Gothic darkness pass d, Emerged, all splendour, in our isle at last. Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main, Then show 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. , ^ • v,*- B. These were the chief: each interval of nignt Was graced with many an undulating light. In less illustrious bards his beauty shone A meteor, or a star ; in these, the sun. TABLE TALK. 15 The nightingale may claim the topmost bough, While the poor grasshopper must chirp below. Like him unnoticed, I, and such as I, Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly : Perch’d on the meagre produce of the land, An ell or two of prospect we command ; But never peep beyond the thorny bound, Or oaken fence, that hems the paddock round. 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, ^nd warm As ecstacy, unmanacled by form ; Not prompted, as in our degen’rate 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 ; Bitt 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, [reign’d When Cromwell fought for power, and while he 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 ; TABLE TALK. 16 Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast, Was lumber in an age so void of taste ; But when the Second Charles assumed the sway. And arts revived beneath a softer day. Then, like a bow long forced into a curve, The mind, released from too constrain’d 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, debauch’d their age ; Nor ceased, till, ever anxious to redress 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 trirn. Sublimity and Attic taste, combined. To polish, furnish, and delight the mind. Then Pope, as harmony itself exact. In verse well disciplined, complete, compact, Gave virtue and morality a grace, % ^ „ That, quite eclipsing Pleasure’s painted face, Levied a tax of wonder and applause. E’en on the fools that trampled on their laws. But he (his musical finesse was such. So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) Made poetry_a mere mechanic art ; And every warbler has his tune by heart. Nature imparting her satiric gift. Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Switt. With droll sobriety they raised a smile At Folly’s cost, themselves unmoved the while TABLE TALK. 17 That constellation set, the world in vai?a 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, shows a spark, Sufficient to redeem the modern race From total night and absolute disgrace. While servile trick and imitative knack Confine the million in the beaten track, Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road. Snuffs up the wind, and flings himself abroad. Contemporaries all surpass’d, see one ; Short his career indeed, but ably run ; Churchill, himself unconscious of his powers. In penury consumed his idle hours ; And, like a scatter’d seed at random sown, Was left to spring by vigour of hi^ own. Lifted at length, by dignity of thought And dint of genius, to un 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 seem’d to wait on his command, He snatch’d it rudely from the Muse’s hand. Nature, exerting an unwearied power. Forms, opens, and gives scent to ev^-ry flower; Spreads tne 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; [known. And charms the woodland scenes and wilds uii- 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 exquisitelv sought ; B ^ 18 TABLE TALK, Fancy, that, from the bow that spans the sky. Brings colours, dipp’d in heaven, that never die ; A soul exalted above earth, a mind _ Skill’d in the characters that form mankind ; And, as the sun in rising beauty dress’d. Looks to the westward from the dappled east, And marks, whatever clouds may interpose, Ere yet his race begins, its glorious close ; An eye like his to catch the distant goal ; Or, ere the wheels of verse begin to roll, like his to shed illuminating rays On every scene and subject it surveys : Thus graced, the man asserts a poet s name. And the world cheerfully admits the claim. Pity Religion has so seldom found A skilful guide into poetic ground i ^ . LStray^ The flowers would spring where er she deign d to And every muse attend her jn her way. Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming triend, And many a compliment politely penn d ; But, unattired in that becoming vest Religion weaves for her, and halt undress a. Stands in the desert, shiv’ring and forlorn, A wintry flgure, like a wither’d thorn. The shelves are full, all other themes are sped ; Hackney’d and worn to the last flimsy thread. Satire has 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 bar'd all nre. Touch’d with a coal from heaven, a^ume the lyre, And tell the world, stiU 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 naine is Love. For, after all, if merely to beguile. By flowing numbers and a flowery style, The tedium that the lazy rich endure. Which now and then sweet poetry may cure; TABLE TALK. 19 ^r, 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, 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, h'is works, his ways ^ Then spread the rich discovery, and invite Mankind to share in the diyine delight ; Distorted from its use and just design, To make the pitiful possessor shine. To purchase, at the fool-frequented fair Of vanity, a v^reath for self to wear. Is profanation of the basest kind — Proof of a trifling and a worthless mind. A, Hail Sternhold, 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. THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. Si qxiid loquar andiervdum. Hor. Lib. iv. Od. 2. Sing, muse (if such a theme, so dark, so long, May find a muse to grace it with a song). By what unseen and unsuspected arts The serpent Errour 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 ! Truths, that the theorist could never reach, And observation taught me, I would teach. Not all, whose eloquence the fancy fills, Musical as the chime 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 rhet’ric 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 ? THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 21 With nought in charge, he could betray no trust ; And, if he fell, would fall because he must ; If liove reward him, or if Vengeance strike, His recompense in both unjust alike. Divine authority within his breast Brings every thought, word, action, to the test ; Warns him or prompts, approves him or restrains, As Reason, or as Passion, takes the reins. Heaven from above, and Conscience from within. Cries in his startled ear — Abstain from sin ! The world around solicits his desire. And kindles in his soul a treacherous fire ; While, all his purposes and steps to guard, Peace follows Virtue as its sure reward ; And Pleasure brings as surely in her train Remorse, and Sorrow, and vindictive Pain. Man, thus endued with an elective voice, IMust be supplied with objects of his choice. Where’er he turns, enjoyment and delight. Or present, or in prospect, meet his sight ; Those open on the spot their honey’d store; These call him loudly to pursuit of more. His unexhausted mine the sordid vice Avarice shows, and virtue is the price. Her various motives his ambition raise — [praise ; Pother, pomp, and splendour, and the thirst of There Beauty wooes him with expanded arms ; E’en Bacchanalian 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 I O what a dying, dying close was there ! ’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, th’ enchantment was begun ; And he shall gild yon mountain’s height again, Ere yet the pleasing toil becomes a pain. 22 THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 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 Ye devotees to your ador’d employ, ^ [skies ? Enthusiasts, drunk with an unre^ joy. Love makes the music of the bliss’d above, Heaven’s harmony is universal love ; And earthly sounds, tho’ 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 neighb’ring 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 Hfe’s mad scene. He takes offence, and wonders what you mean ; The joy, the danger, and the toil o’erpays — ’Tis exercise, and health, and length of days. Again impetuous to the field he flies ; Leaps every fence but one, there falls and dies ; Like a slain deer, the tumbrel brings him home, Unmiss’d but by his dogs and by his groom. Ye clergy, while your orbit is your place. Lights of the world, and stars of human race ; 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 Av’rice and Concupiscence give place, Charm’d by the sounds— Your Rev’rence, or your Grace ? . . r 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 ’ THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 2B He from Italian songsters takes his cue ; Set Paul to music, he shall quote him too. He takes the field, the master of the pack Cries— Well done saint ! and claps him on the back. Is this the path of sanctity ? Is this To stand a waymark in the road to bliss ? Himself a wanderer from the narrow way, His silly sheep, what wonder if they stray ? Go, cast your orders at your bishop’s feet. Send your dishonour’d gown to Monmouth-street ! The sacred function in your hands is 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, Quav’ring and semiquav’ring 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 th’ employment seems to suit. Psaltery and sackbut, dulcimer and flute. Oh fie ! ’tis evangelical and pure. Observe each face, how sober and demure I Ecstacy sets her stamp on every mien ; Chins fallen, and not an eye-ball to be seen. Still I insist, though music heretofore Has charm’d me much (not e’en Occiduus more). 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 mumm’ry and buffoon. £ 2 24 THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. Preaching and pranks will share the motely scene, Our’s parceird out, as thine have ever been, God’s worship and the mountebank between. What says the prophet ? Let that day be bless’d With holiness and consecrated rest. Pastime and business both it should exclude, And bar the door the moment they intrude ; Nobly distinguish’d above all the six By deeds, in which the world must never mix. Hear him again. He calls it a delight, A day of luxury observed aright, [guest, When the glad soul is made Heaven’s welcome Sits banquetting, and God provides the feast. But triflers are engaged and cannot come ; Their answer to the call is — at home. O the dear pleasures of the velvet plain. The painted tablets, dealt and dealt again ! Cards with what rapture, and the polish’d die, The yawning chasm of indolence supply ! Then to the dance, and make the sober moon Witness of joys that shun the sight of noon. Blame, Cynic, if you can, quadriUe or ball. The snug close party, or the splendid hall. Where Night, down-stooping from her ebon throne, Views constellations brighter than her own. ’Tis innocent, and harmless, and refined, The balm of care, Elysium of the mind. 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, llufillus, exquisitely form’d by rule. Not of the moral but the dancing school, Wonders at Clodio’s follies in a tone As tragical, as others at his own. He cannot drink five bottles, bilk the score, Then kill a constable, and drink five niore ; But he can draw a pattern, make a tart, And has the ladies’ etiquette by hearu THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 25 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 difF’rence, though essential, fails to strike. Yet Folly ever has a vacant stare, ^ A simp’ring count’nance, 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 lib’ral to dispense, Made nothing but a brute the slave of sense. Daniel ate pulse by choice-example rare ! Heaven bless’d the youth, and made him fresh and Gorgonius sits, abdominous and wan, [fair, liike a fat squab upon a Chinese fan : He snuffs far off th’ anticipated joy ; Turtle and ven’son all his thoughts employ ; Prepares for meals as jocke)^s take a sweat, Oh, nauseous !— an emetic for a whet I 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 th’ abuse, or by th’ excess. Is man then only for his torment placed The centre of delights be may not taste ? Like fabled Tantalus, condenin’d to hear The precious stream still purling in his ear, Lip-deep in what he longs for, and yet cursed With prohibition, and perpetual thirst ? No, wrangler — destitute ot shame and sense, The precept that enjoins him abstinence. Forbids him none but the licentious joy. Whose fruit, though fair, tempts only to destroy. 26 THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 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, Good sense, good health, good conscience, and good All these belong to virtue, and all prove [fame ? 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 you want ; if you abound, impart : These both are Pleasures to the feeling heart. No pleasure ? Has some sickly eastern waste Sent us a wind to parch us at a blast ? Can British Paradise no scenes aftbrd To please her sated and indiif’rent 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. 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 swallow at a trough ? Envy the beast then, on whom Heaven 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, av’rice; and the lust of fame, And woman, lovely woman, does the same. The heart, surrender’d to the ruling power Of some ungovern’d passion every hour. Finds by degress the truths, that once bore sway And all their deep impressions, wear away ; So coin grows smooth, in traffic current pass’d, Till Caesar’s image is effaced at last. THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 27 The breach, tho’ small at first, soon opening wide* In rushes folly with a full-moon tide. Then welcome errours, 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— Then Vice’s mean and disingenuous race. To hide the shocking features of her face. Her form with dress and lotion they repair ; Then kiss their idol, and pronounce her fair. The sacred implement I now employ Might prove a mischief, or at best a toy ; A trifle, if it move but to amuse ; But, if to wrong the judgment and abuse. Worse than a poniard in the basest hand. It stabs at once the morals of a land. Ye writers of what none with safety reads, Footing it in the dance that Fancy leads ; Ye novelists, who mar what you would mend, Sniv’lling and driv’Uing 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 baronel : Ye pimps, who under virtue’s fair pretence, Steal to the closet of young innocence. And teach her, inexperienced 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 : 28 THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. O that a verse had power, and could command Far, far away these flesh-flies af the land ; • Who fasten without mercy on the fair, And suck, and leave a craving maggot there ! Howe’er disguised th’ inflammatory tale, And covered 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, Greybeard corrupter of our list’ning youth. To purge and skim away the filth of vice. That so refined it might J:he more entice, Then pour it on the morals of thy son ; To taint his heart, was worthy of thine own ! Now, while the poison all high life pervades. Write, if thou canst, one letter from the shades,. One, and one only, charged with deep regret. That thy worst 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 clue 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 ; THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 29 We eive some Latin, and a smatch of Gteek ; Team 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 lepn, but nothing to impart. The youth, obedient to his sire’s commands. Sets off a wanderer into foreign lands. Su^rised at all they meet, the gosling pair. With awkward gait, stretched neck, and silly stare. Discover huge cathedrals built with stone. And steeples towering high much like our own ; But show 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 v^ray ; And being always primed with politesse For men of their appearance and address. With much compassion undertakes the task, To tell them more than they have wit to ask; Points to inscriptions wheresoe’er they tread. Such as, when legible, were never read. But, being cankered now and half worn out. Craze antiquarian brains with endless doubt ; Sorne headless hero, or some Cassar shows— 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 v/ith 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 clime to cHme he sped his course 30 THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. (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, Fresh’ning 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 formed to please. Are qualities, that seem to comprehend Whatever parents, guardians, schools intend ; Hence an unfurnished 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 towards the female side. 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 aU arts sagacious dupes invent. To cheat themselves and gain the world’s assent. The worst is — Scripture warped 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, licft out his linchpin, or forgot his tar, It suffers interruption and delay, And meets with hindrance in the smoothest way. When some hypothesis, absurd and vain. Has filled 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 PROGRESS OF ERROUR. 31 The will made subject to a lawless force, All is irre^iar and out of course ; And Judgment drunk, and bribed to lose his way, Winks hard, and talks of darkness at noonday. A critic on the sacred book should be Candid and learned, 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 the 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 possess’d. Philosophers, who darken and put out Eternal truth by everlasting doubt ; 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, Pois’ning the waters where their swarms abound. Scorn’d by the nobler tenants of the flood. Minnows and gudgeons gorge th’ unwholesome The propagated myriads spread so fast, [food. E’en Lewenhoeck himself would stand aghast, Employ’d to calculate th’ enormous sum, And own his crab- computing powers o’ercome. Is this hyperbole ? The world well known. Your sober thoughts will hardly find it one. B2 THE PROGRESS OF ERROUR. Fresh confidence the speculatist takes From every hair-brain’d proselyte he makes ; And therefore prints. Himseli 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 Harts to the mud, and finds his safety there. Woman, whom custom has forbid to fly The scholar’s pitch (the scholar best knows 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 indifTrent in your cause, I should deserve to forfeit all applause) Whatever shocks or gives the least offence To virtue, delicacy, truth, or sense, His dwelling a recess in some rude rock, Books, beads, and maple-dish his meagre stock ; In shirt of hair and weeds of canvass dress’d. Girt with a beU-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 religious whimsy wears out him. His works, his abstinence, his zeal allow’d, Y ou think him humble — God accounts him proud ; High in demand, though lowly in pretence. Of all his conduct this the genuine sense 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 barb’rous air to British song : No grand inquisitor could worse invent, Than he contrives to suffer, well content. Which is the saintlier worthy of the two ? Past all dispute, yon anchorite, say you. Your sentence and mine differ. What’s a name ? I say the bramin has the fairer claim. If suff’rings. Scripture no where recommends, Devised by self to answer selfish ends, Give saintship, then alJ Europe must agree Ten starveling hermits suffer less than he. The tmth is (if the truth may suit your ear. And prejudice have left a passage clear). Pride has attain’d its most luxuriant growth, And poison’d every virtue in them both. TRUTH. 39 Pride may be pamper’d while the flesh grows lean ; ' Humility may dome an English dean ; That grace was Cowper’s — his, confess’d hy all — Though placed in golden Durham’s second stall. Not all the plenty of a bishop’s board, His palace, and his lacqueys, 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 wither’d features show 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 eyebrows arch’d, her eyes both ^one astray To watch yon am’rous couple in their play, With bony and unkerchier’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 slipshod heels, and dewdrop at his nose ; His predecessors’s coat advanced to wear. Which future pages yet are doom’d to share, Carries her Bible tuck’d beneath his arm, And hides his hands to keep his fingers warm. She, half an angel in her own account, Doubts not hereafter with the saints to mount. Though not a grace appears on strictest search, But that she fasts, and iterri^ goes to church. Conscious of age she recollects her youth. And tells, not always with an eye to truth. Who spann’d her waist, and who, where’er he came. Scrawl’d upon glass Miss Bridget’s lovely name ; MTio stole her dipper, fill’d it with tokay, And drank the little bumper every day. ' 40 TRUTH. Of temper as envenom’d as an asp. Censorious, and her every word a wasp ; In faithful mem’ry 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 — Nay, 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 all away — True Piety is cheerful as the day. Will weep indeed and heave a pitying groan For others’ woes, but smiles upon her own. What purpose has the King of saints in view ? Why falls the Grospel 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, <)r, 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 deliv’rance freely wrought. Recompense ill ? He trembles at the thought. His Master’s int’rest 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 and aU. TRUTH. You have two servants— Tom, an arch, sly rogue, From top to toe the Geta now in vogue, Genteel in figure, easy in address. Moves without noise, and swift as an express, Reports a message with a pleasing grace, Expert in all the duties of his place ; Say, on what hinge does his obedience move . Has he a world of gratitude and love ? No, not a spark — ’tis all mere sharper’s play ; He likes your house, your housemaid, and your Reduce his wages, or get red 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 int’rest and your ease, Richly rewarded if he can but please ; And, proud to make his firm attachinent known. To save your life would nobly risk his own. 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 mercenary deeds. Thus heaven approves, as honest and sincere, The work of gen’rous love and filial fear ; But with averted eyes th’ 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 ! — an apt similitude shall show 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 ; TRUTH. Now flashing wide, now glancing as in play fewiit beyond thought the lightnings dart away. ^re yet it came the traveller urged his stead. 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, ouppose, 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, lie hears the tempest howling in the trees ; glowing thanks his lips and heart employ, Vy hile danger past is turn’d to present joy. So fares it with the sinner, when he feels A growing dread of vengeance at his heels : His conscience, like a glassy lake before. Lash’d into foaming waves begins to roar ; The law grown clamorous, though silent long. Arraigns him — charges him with every wrongs Asserts the rights of his offended Lord, And death or restitution is the word : The last impossible, he fears the first, And, having well deserved, expects the worst. 1 hen welcome refuge, and a peaceful home ; Oh for a shelter from the wrath to come ! Crush me ye rocks ! ye falling mountains hide. Or bury me in ocean’s angry tide. The scrutiny of those all-seeing eyes I dare not — And you need not, God replies ; The remedy you want 1 freely give : The Book shall teach you — read, believe, and live ! ^Tis done— the raging storm is heard no more, Mercy receives him on her peaceful shore : And Justice, guardian of the dread command. Drops the red vengeance from his willing hand. A soul redeem’d demands a life of praise ; Hence the complexion of his future days, Hence a demeanour holy and unspeck’d. And the world’s hatred, as its sure effect. , TRUTH. 43 Some lead a life unblameable and just, Their own dear virtue their unshaken trust t 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 int’rest here, And pardons are not sold as once they were, No papist more desirous to compound. Than some grave sinners upon English p*ound. That plea refuted, other quirks they seek — IVI ercy 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 ; Ivearning is one, and wit, however rare. The Frenchman, first in literary fame, (Mention him if you please. Voltaire ? — The same.) VTith spirit, genius, eloquence, supplied. Lived long, wrote much, laugh’d 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 witn 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. Shuffling her threads about the livelong day. Just earns a scanty pittance, and at night Lies down secure, her heart and pocket light ; She, for her humble sphere by nature fit. Has little understanding, and no wit, 44j TRUTH. 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 tq come, She never heard of half a mile from home ; He lost in errours 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 grotmd. And is it not a mortifying thought The poor should gain it, and the rich should not ? No — the voluptuaries, who ne’er forget One pleasure lost, lose heaven without regret ; Regret would rouse them, and give birth to prayer ; Prayer would add faith, and faith would fix them Not that the Former of us all, in this, [there Or aught he does, is govern’d by caprice ; The supposition is replete with sin. And bears the brand of blasphemy burnt in. Not so — the silver trumpet’s heavenly call Sounds for the poor, but sounds alike for all : Kings are invited, and would 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 vig’rous 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 : TRUTH, 45 To them the sounding jargon of the schools Seems wnat it is — a cap and bell for fools : The light they walk by, kindled from above, Shows them the shortest way to life and love : They, strangers to the controversial field. Where deists, always foil’d, yet scorn to yield, And never check’d by what impedes the wise. Believe, rush forward, and possess the prize. Envy, ye great, the dull unletter’d small ; Ye have much cause for envy — but not all. We boast some rich ones whom the gospel sways. And one who wears a coronet and prays ; Like gleamngs of an olive-tree they snow. Here and mere 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 strain’d to the last screw that he can bear. Yield only discord in his Maker’s ear : Once the bless’d residence of truth divine. Glorious as Solyma’s interior shrine, Where, in his own oracular abode. Dwelt visibly the light-creating God ; But made long since, like Babylon of old, A den of mischiefs never to be told : And she, once mistress of the realms around. Now scatter’d wide, and no where to be found,, As soon shall rise and re-ascend the throne. By native power and energy her own. As Nature, at her own peculiar cost. Restore to man the glories he has lost. Go — bid the winter cease to chill the year. Replace the wandering comet in his sphere, Then boast (but wait for that unhoped-for hour) The self- restoring arm of human power. But what is man in his own proud esteem ? Hear him — ^himself the poet and the theme : A monarch 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. 46 TRUTH. 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 ! Hmiself so much the source of his delight, His JMaker has no beauty in his sight. See where he sits, contemplative and fix’d. Pleasure and wonder in his features mix’d. His passions tamed and all at his control, How perfect the composure of his soul ! Complacency has breathed a gentle gale O’er all his thoughts, and s well’d his easy sail : His books well trimm’d and in the gayest style, Like regimented 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 niost worthy of his care ; And, like an infant troublesome awake, Is left to sleep for peace and quiet’s sake. What shall the man deserve of human kind, Whose happy skill and industry combined Shall prove (w^hat argument could never yet) The bible an imposture and a cheat ? The praises of the libertine profess’d. The worst of men, and curses of. the best. Where should the living, weeping o’er his woes ; The dying, trembling at the awful close ; Where the betray’d, forsaken, and oppress’d. The thousands whom the world forbids to rest ; Where should they find (those comforts at an end The scripture yields) or h(me 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 ; TRUTH. 47 They knew not, what some bishops may not know, That scripture is the only cure of wo ; That field of promise, how it flings abroad Its odour o’er the Christian’s thorny road [ The soul, reposing on assured relief. Feels herself happy amidst all her grief. Forgets her labour as she toils along. Weeps tears of joy, and bursts into a song. But the same word, that, like the polish’d share, Ploughs up the roots of a believer’s- care. Kills too the flowery weeds, where’er they grow, That bind the sinner’s bacchanalian brow. Oh that unwelcome voice of heavenly love, Sad messenger of mercy from above ! How does it grate upon his thankless ear, Crippling his pleasures with the cramp of fear ! His will and judgment at continual strife. That civil war^imbitters all his life : In vain he points his powers against the skks. In vain he closes or averts his eyes. Truth will intrude — she bids him yet beware ; And shakes the sceptic in the scorner’s chair. 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, Fall’n from her glory, and too weak to rise ? Torpid and dull beneath a frozen zone. Has she no spark that may be deem’d her own ? Grant her indebted to what zealots call Grace undeserved, yet surely not for 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 Que. Past indiscretion is a venial crime. And if the youth, unmellow’d yet by time, TRUTH, 4B 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 th’ afiront 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 you harlot, wooing all she meets. The worn out nuisance of the public streets. Herself from morn to night, from night to morn, Her own abhorrence, and as much your scorn : The gracious shower, unlimited and ftee, 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. Is virtue, then, unless of Christian growth. Mere fallacy, or foolishness, or both ? Ten thousand sages lost in endless wo. 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 noonday beam, perverse. Shall find the blessing, unirnproved, 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 ; TRUTH. 49 Their judge wa's 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 sjjlendour 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 favoured 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 Sov’reign would his will express. He gives a perfect rule ; v/hat can he less ? And guards it with a sanction as severe As vengeance can inflict, or sinners fear ; Else his own glorious Tights he would disclaim, And man might safely trifle with his name. He bids him glow with unremitting love To all on earth, and to himself above ; Condemns th’ injurious ^eed, the sland’rous 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 groaned, ’Twas the last trumpet — see the Judge enthroned j 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, learned 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 rny follies by the root, I never trusted in an arm but thine. Nor hoped, but in thy righteousness divine : 50 TRUTH. My prayers and alms, imperfect and defiled, W ere 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-purifying blood, Forgive their evil, and accept their good ; I cast them at thy feet — ^my only plea Is what it was, dependence upon thee, While struggling in the vale of tears below, That never fail’d, nor shall it fail me now. Angelic gratulations rend the skies. Pride falls unpitied, never more to rise. Humility is crown’d, and Faith receives the prize. EXPOSTULATION. Tantane, tam patiens, nullo certamine tolli Dona sines ? Virg. Why ? What appears In England’s case, to move ihe^use to tears ? From side to side of her delightful isle Is she not clothed with a perpetual smile ? 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 aU her gates ; Whom fiery suns, that scorch the russet spice Of eastern groves, and oceans floor’d with ice, Forbid in vain to push his daring way To darker climes, or climes of brighter day ; Whom the winds waft where’er the billows roll. From the world’s girdle to the frozen pole ; The chariots bounding in her wheel-worn streets ; Her vaults below, whgre every vintage meets Her theatres, her revels, and her sports ; The scenes to which not youth alone resorts. But age, in spite of weakness and of pain. Still haunts, in hope to dream of youth again ; All speak her happy : let the muse look round From east to west, no sorrow can be found : Or only what, in cottages confined, Sighs unregarded to the passing wind. Then wherefore weep for England ? \^^hat appears In England’s case to move tne muse to tears ? EXPOSTULATION. 52 The prophet wept for Israel; wish’d his eyes Were fountains fed with infinite supplies : For Israel dealt in robbery and wrong ; There were the scorner’s and the slanderer’s tongue ; Oaths, used as playthings or convenient tools. As int’rest biass’d knaves, or fashion fools ; Adult’ry, neighing at his neighbour’s door ; Oppression, lab’ ring hard to grind the poor ; The partial balance, and deceitful weight ; The treach’rous 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, 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 ; Curl’d, scented, furbelow’d, and flounced around, With feet too delicate to touch the ground. They stretch’d the neck, and roll’d the wanton 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 spoil d ; 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 scorn’d his inspiration and his theme. Pronounced him frantic, and his fears a dream ; With self-indulgence wing the fleeting hours. Till the foe found them, and down fell the towers. Long time Assyria bound them in her chain. Till penitence had purged the public stain, EXPOSTULATION. And Cyrus, with relenting pity moved, Return’d them happy to the land they loved ; There, proof against mosperity, a while They stood the test of her ensnaring smile. And had the grace in scenes of peace to show 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 guise, To sift and search them with unerring eyes. 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, W-hile others poison what the flock must drink ; Or, waking at the call of lust alone. Infuses lies and errours of his own ; His unsuspecting sheep believe it pure ; And, tainted by the very means ot cure. Catch from each other a contagious spot, The foul forerunner 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 cair arise The graces of a life that wins the skies. Loses at once all value and esteem, Pronounced by greybeards a pernicious dream : Then Ceremony leads her bigots forth. Prepared to fight for shadows of no worth ; b2 54 EXPOSTULATION While truths, on which eternal things depend. Find not, or hardly find, a single friend : As soldiers watch the signal of command. They learn to bow, to kneel, to sit, to stand ; Happy to fill religion’s vacant place With hollow form, and gesture, and grimace. Such, when the Teacher of his church was there. People and Priest, the sons of Israel were ; Stiff in the letter, lax in the design And import, of their oracles divine ; Their learning legendary, false, absurd. And yet exalted above God’s own word ; Th^ drew a curse from an intended good. Puff’d up with gifts they never understood. He judged them with as terrible a frown. As if not love, but wrath, had brought liim down. Yet he was gentle as soft summer airs. Had grace for others’ sins, but none for theirs ; Through all he spoke a noble plainness ran — Khet’ric is artifice, the work of man ; And tricks and turns, that fancy may devise, 'Are far too mean for him that rules the skies. Th’ astonish’d vulgar trembled while he tore The mask from faces never seen before ; He stripp’d th’ impostors in the noonday sun, Show’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 mumm’ries, he that dwelt in it disdain’d ; Uplifted hands, that at convenient times Could act extortion and the worst of crimes, Wash’d with a neatness scrupulously nice^ And free from every taint but that of vice. Judgment, however tardy, mends her pace When Obstinacy once has cdnquer’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 Blasphem’d the authority from which it sprung. They knew by sure prognostics seen on high. The future tone and temper of the sky ; EXPOSTULATION. 55 But, grave dissemblers ! could not understand That Sin let loose speaks Punishment at hand. Ask now of history’s authentic page, And call up evidence from every age ; Display with busy and laborious hand The blessings of the most indebted land ; What nation will you find, whose annals prove So rich an int’rest in Almighty love ? Where dwell they now, where dwelt in ancient day A people planted, water’d, bless’d as they ? Let Egypt’s plagues and Canaan’s woes proclaim The’ favours pour’d upon the J ewish name ; Their freedom purchased for them at the cost Of all their hard oppressors valued most ; 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 tliem 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 th’ Almighty wing ! Their God, their captain,* lawgiver, and king ; Crown’d with a thousand vict’ries, and at last Lords of the conquer’d soil, there rooted fast. In peace possessing what they won by war. Their name far publish’d, and revered as far ; Where will you find a race like theirs, endow’d With all that man e’er wish’d, or Heaven bestow’d ? They, and they only, amongst all mankind, Received the transcript of th’ eternal mind ; * Vide Joshua, v. 14. 56 EXPOST UI»ATIO^^. W ere 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. 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 Deliverer 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 ail. 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, flight give more life to marble, or might fill I'he glowing tablets with a juster skill ; Might shine in fable ; and grace idle themes With all th’ embroid’ry of poetic dreams ; ’Twas theirs alone to dive into the plan That Tmth and Mercy had reveal’d to man ; And while 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. EXPOSTULATION. 57 Their glory faded, and their race dispersed, The last of nations now, though once the first ; They warn and teach the proudest, would they learn, Keep wisdom, or meet vengeance in your turn : If we escaped not, if Heaven spared not us, Peel’d, scatter’d, and exterminated thus ; If Vice received her retribution due. When we were visited, what hope for you ? When God arises with an awful frown To punish lust, or pluck presumption down ; When gifts perverted, or not duly prized. Pleasure o’ervalued, and his grace despised, Provoke the vengeance of his righteous hand. To pour down wrath upon a thankless land ; He will be found impartially severe, Too just to wink, or speak the guilty clear. O Israel, of all nations most undone ! Thy diadem displaced, thy sceptre gone ; Thy temple, once thy glory, fallen and razed. And thou a worshipper e’en where thou mayst. Thy services once holy, without spot, 31 ere shadows now, their ancient pomp forgot ; Thy Levites, once a consecrated host. No longer I^evites, 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 shown Friendship and truth to others, find’st thou none ? Thou that hast set the persecuted free, None inte^oses now to succour thee. Countries indebted to thy power, that shine With light derived from thee, would smother thine ; 58 EXPOSTULATION. Thy very children watch for thy disgrace — A lawless brood, and curse thee to thy face. Thy rulers load thy credit, year by year, With sums Peruvian mines could never clear ; As if, like arches built with skilful hand. The more ’twere press’d, the firmer it would stand. The cry in all thy ships is still the same. Speed us away to battle and to fame. Thy mariners explore the wild 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 ; Where sharp and solid, phlegmatic and light. Discordant atoms meet, ferment, and fight ; Where Obstinacy takes his sturdy stand, To disconcert what Policy has plann’d ; Where Policy is busied all night long In setting right what Faction has set wrong ; Where flails of oratory thrash the floor. That yields them chaff and dust, and nothing 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, ^ves birth to, guides, consummates all ; That, v/hjde laborious and quick-thoughted man Snuffs up the praise of what he seems to plan. He first conceives, then perfects his design. As a mere instrument in hands divine : Blind to the working of that secret power, That balances the wings of every hour. The busy trifler dreams himself alone. Frames many a purpose, and God works his own. EXPOSTULATION. 59 states thrive or wither as moons wax and wane, S’en as his will and his decrees ordain ; ^hile honour, virtue, piety, bear sway, rhey flourish ; and as these decline, decay : [n just resentment of his injured laws, _ tie pours contempt on them and on their cause ; Strikes the rough thread of errour right athwart rhe web of every , scheme they have at heart ; Bids rottenness invade and bring to dust, rhe pillars of support, in which they trust, \nd do his errand of disgrace and shame 3n the chief strength and glory of the frame. Sfone ever yet impeded what he wrought, Mone bars him out from his most secret thought : Darkness itself before his eye is light, And Hell’s close mischief naked in his sight. Stand now and judge thyself— Hast thou incurr’d His anger, who can waste thee with a word, Who poises and proportions sea and land. Weighing them in the hollow of his hand, And in whose awfvil 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 prosp’rous wars ? Proud of thy fleets and armies, stolen the gem Df 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 LJnbless’d, and that the battle is the Lord’s ? That courage is his creature ; and dismay The post, that at his bidding speeds away, Grhastly in feature, and his stamm’ring 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 royals ri^ht, Th’ event and sure decision of the hght ? Hast thou, tho’ suckled at fair Freedom’s breast, Exported slavery to the conquer’d east ? 60 EXPOSTULATION. Pull’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 JMogul, A despot big with power obtain’d by wealth, And that obtain’d by rapine and by stealth ? With Asiatic vices stored thy mind, But left their virtues and thine own behind ? And, having truck’d thy soul, brought home the To tempt the poor to sell himself to thee ? [fee. 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, That infidles 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 stane, He wipes and scours the silver cup in vain. And hast thou sworn on every slight pretence, Till perjuries are common as bad pence, While thousands, careless of the damning sin. Kiss the book’s outside, who ne’er look’d within ? Hast thou, when Heaven has clothed thee with dis- And, long provoked, repaid thee to thy face, [grace, (For thou hast known eclipses, and endured Dimness and anguish, all thy beams obscured. When sin has shed dishonour on thy brow ; And never of a sabler hue than now,) Hast thou, with heart perverse and conscience Despising all rebuke, still persevered, [sear’d, And having chosen evil, scorn’d the voice That cried, repent ! — and gloried in thy choice ? ' Thy fastings, when calamity at last Suggests th’ expedient of a yearly fast. What mean they? Canst thou dream there is a In lighter diet, at a later hour, [power To charm to sleep the threat’ning of the skies. And hide past folly from all-seeing eyes ? The fast, that wins deliv’rance, and suspends The stroke, that a vindictive God intends, EXPOSTULATION. 61 [s 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, whatever be the pretence, Is wooing mercy by renew’d offence. Hast thou within the sin, that in old time Brought fire from Heaven, the sex-abusing crime, W'hose 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. Or, in ms words who damn’d the base desire, Suff’ring the vengeance of eternal fire : Then nature injured, scandalized, defiled. Unveil’d her blushing cheek, look’d on, and smiled ; Beheld with joy the lovely scene defaced. And praised the wrath that laid her beauties waste. Far be the thought from any verse of mine. And farther still the 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 guide the blow. The priestly brotherhood, devout, sincere. From mean self-int’rest and ambition clear. Their hope in heaven, servility their scorn. Prompt to persuade, expostulate, and warn. Their wisdom pure, and given them from above. Their usefulness ensured by zeal and love. As meek as the man Moses, and withal As bold as in Agrippa’s presence Paul, Should fly the world’s contaminating touch. Holy and unpolluted : — are thine such ? Except a few with Eli’s spirit bless’d, Hophni and Phineas may describe the rest. 62 EXPOSTULATION. 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 tne plain Will hear perhaps thy salutary strain : Humility is gentle, apt to learn, Speak but the word, will listen and return. Alas, not so ! the poorest of the flock Are proud, and set their faces as a rock ; Denied that earthly 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. O vain inquiry ! they without remorse Are altogether goae a devious course ; Where beck’ning Pleasure leads them, wildly stray ^ Have burst the brands, and cast the yoke away. Now borne upon the wings of truth sublime. Review thy dim original and prime. This island, spot of unreclaim’d rude earth. The cradle that received thee at thy birth, Was rock’d by many a rough Norwegian blast, And Danish bowlings 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 grov’ling puling chit, Thy bones not fashion’d, and thy joints not knit. The Roman taught thy stubborn knee to bow, Though twice a Cssar 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 country to the conqu’ror 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 ; He sow’d the seeds of order where he went, Improved thee far beyond his own intent. And, while he ruled thee by the sword alone, Made thee at last a warrior like his own. EXPOSTULATION. 63 Religion, if in heavenly truths attired, Needs only to be seen to be admired ; But thine, as dark as witch’ries 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 Dispell’d thy gloom, and broke away thy dreams. Tradition, now decrepit and worn out. Babbler of ancient fables, leaves a doubt : But still light reach’d thee ; and those gods of thine, Woden' and Thor, each tott’ring in his shrine, Fell broken and defaced at his own door. As Dagon in Philistia long before. But Rome, with sorceries and magic wand, Soon raised a cloud that darken'd every land ; And thine was smother’d in the stench and fog Of Tiber’s marshes and the papal bog. [crowns Then priests, with bulls and briefs, and shaven And griping fists, and unrelenting frowns. Legates and delegates with powers from hell. Though heavenly in pretension, fieeced 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 fiood. 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. Disdained thy counsels, only in distress Found thee a goodly sponge for power to press. Which may be found at Doctors’ Commons. EXPOSTULATION. 64 Thy chiefs, the lords of many a petty fee, Provoked and harass’d, in return plagued thee ; Call’d thee away from peaceable employ, Domestic happiness and rural joy. To waste thy life in arms, or lay it down In causeless feuds and bick’rings of their own. Thy parliaments adored on bended knees The sov’reignty, they were convened to please ; Whate’er was ask’d, too timid to resist, Complied with, and were graciously dismiss’d ; And if some Spartan soul a doubt express’d, ' And, blushing at the tameness of the rest. Dared to suppose ihe subject had a choice, He was a traitor by the general voice. Oh slave ! with powers thou didst not dare exert. Verse cannot stoop so low as thy desort ; 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 laithful 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 ! EXPOSTULATIONT. 65 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 Peculiar is the grace by thee possess’d, [down. 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. 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 Th’ 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 I or such indulgence gilding all thy years, How much, though long neglected, shining yet. The beams of heavenly truth have swell’d the debt When persecuting zeal made royal sport With tortured innocence in Mary’s court. to the grant of Magna Charta, which was extorted from l\)ng John by the barons at Rannymcde near 'Windsor. E 66 EXPOSTULATION. And Bonner, blithe as shepherd at a wake. Enjoy’d the show, and danced about the stake ; The sacred Book, its value understood, Received the seal of nnartyrdom in blood. ’ Those holy men, so full of truth and grace, Seem to reflection of a diff’’rent 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. 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-born, one hear/ Must hold both sisters, never seen apart. So then — as darkness overspread the deep, Ere Nature rose from her eternal sleep, And this delightful earth, and that fair sky, licap’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 suflf’ring, his unquestion’d will ; ’Tis to believe what men inspired of old, Faithful, and faithfully informed, 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 ^all I adjure thee not to court thy shame ? EXPOSTULATION. 67 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 vanities 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, 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 temp’rance in our use Of what he gives, unsparing and profuse, Secure the ijavour, 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, Errour, and darkness, occupy their place. A world is up in arms, and thou, a spot Vot quickly found if negligently sought, rhy soul as ample as thy bounds are small, Gndur’st the brunt, and dar’st defy them all : EXPOSTULATION. 68 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 ot hann. That strength would fail, opposed against the push And feeble onset of a pigmy rush. Say not (and if the thought of such deience 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 • Their measure fill’d, they too shall pay the debt. Which God, though long forborne, will not forget. But know that Wrath divine, when most severe, Makes Justice still the guide of his career, And will not punish, in one mingled crowd. Them without light, and thee without a cloud. Muse, hang this harp upon yon aged beech. Still murm’ring 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 wand’ring thousands, and bring home A flock so scatter’d and so wont to roam. Then place it once again between my knees ; The sound of truth will then be sure to please : And truth alone, where’er my life be cast. In scenes of plenty, or the pining waste. Shall be my chosen theme, my glory to the last. HOPE. doceas iter^ et sacra ostia pandas. Virg. ^n. vi. 109. Ask what is human life — the sage replies, With disappointment low’ring in his eyes, A painful passage o’er a restless flood, A vain pursuit of fugitive false good, A scene of fancied bliss and heartfelt care, dosing at last in darkness and despair ; The poor, inured to drudgery and distress, Act without aim, think little, and feel less, And no where, but in feign’d Arcadian scenes, Taste happiness, or know what pleasure means. Kiches are pass’d 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 verjr sense of it forgoes its use, By repetition pall’d, by a'ge obtuse. Y outn 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 takir^ snuff, liOthario cries, What philosophic stufK-- O querulous and weak ! — whose useless brain Once thought of nothing, and now thinks in vain ; Who?e eye reverted weeps o’er all the past, V^hose prospect shows thee a disheartening waste ; Would age in thee resign his wintry reign, And youth invigorate that frame again, HOPE. 70 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 fiing his glories o’er the robe she wears ; Banks clothed with flowers, groves fill’d with sprightly sounds. The yellow tilth, green meads, rocks, rising grounds, Streams edged with osiers, fatt’ning every field, Where’er tney flow, now seen and now conceal’d ; From the blue rim, where skies and mountains meet, Down to the very turf beneath thy feet. Ten thousand charms, that only fools despise. Or pride can look at with indifferent eyes. All speak one language, all with one sweet voice Cry to her universal realm. Rejoice ! 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 wretch may pine, while to his smell, taste. She holds a paradise of rich delight ; [sight. 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, hex 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 terrestrial wear a different hue. As youth or age persuades ; and neither true. So Flora’s wreath through colour’d crystal seen. The rose or lily appears blue or green. But still th’ imputed tints are those alone The medium represents, and not their own. HOPE. 71 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 dull vacuity till four ; And, just when evening turns the blue vault gray. 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 itworth 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 ; jFor 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, 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, Grows 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 Th’ inquirer’s aim, that remedy is hope. Life is His gift, from whom whate’er life needs, With every good and perfect gift, proceeds ; 72 HOPE. Bestow’d on man, like all that we partake, Boyally, freely, for his bounty’s sake ; Transient indeed, as is the fleeting hour, And yet the seed of an immortal flower ; Design’d in honour of his endless love, To fill with fragrance his abode above ; No trifle, howsoever short it seem, And, howsoever shadowy, no dream ; Its value, what no thought 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 ; liive 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 ; To catch the wand’ring 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 creature thwart not his august design, Then praise is heard instead of reasoning pride, And captious cavil and complaint subside. Nature, employ’d in her allotted place. Is handmaid to the purposes of Grace ; By good vouchsafed makes known superior good, And bliss not seen by blessings understood : That bliss, reveal’d in Scripture, with a glow. Bright as the covenant-insuring bow ; Fires all his feelings with a noble scorn Of sensual evil, and thus Hope is born. Hope sets the stamp of vanity on all That men have deem’d substantial since the fall. Yet has the wondrous virtue to educe From emptiness itself a real use ; And while she takes, as at a father^s hand, AV'hat health and sober appetite demand. HOPE. 73 From fading good derives, with chymic art, That lasting happiness, a thankful heart. Hope, with uplifted foot, set free from earth. Pants for the place of her ethereal birth. On steady wings sails through th’ immense abyss. Plucks amaranthine joys from bowers of bliss. And crowns the soul, while yet a mourner 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, th’ inestimable mine. Were light, when weigh’d against one smile of thine. Though clasp’d and cradled in his nurse’s arms. He shines with all a cherub’s artless charms, Man is the genuine offspring of revolt. Stubborn and sturdy, a wild ass’s colt ; His passions, like the wat’ry 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 arbitrary views, An Iliad, only not in verse, ensues : The little Greeks look trembling at the scales. Till the best tongue, or heaviest hand, prevails. Now see him launch’d into the world at 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. 74 HOPE, If lawyer, loud whatever cause he plead, But proudest of the worst, if that succeed. Perhaps a grave physician, gath’ring 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. i Such stulF the world is made of ; and mankind To passion, interest, pleasure, whim resign’d. Insist on, as if each were his own pope, Forgiveness, and the privilege of hope. But Conscience, in some awful silent hour. When captivating lusts have lost their power, Perhaps when sickness, or some fearful dream, • Reminds him of religion, hated theme ! Starts from the down, on which she lately slept, And tells of laws despised, at least not kept : Shows with a pointing 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 suborn’d. Mark these, she says ; these summon’d from afar, Begin their march to meet thee at the bar ; There find a Judge inexorably just. And perish there, as all presumption must. Peace be to those (such peace as Earth can give) Who live in pleasure, dead even while they live ; Born capable indeed of heavenly truth ; But down to latest age, from earliest youth. Their mind a wilderness through want of care, The plough of wisdom never ent’ring 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 thev dream that tleaven ordains ; HOPE. 75 Resort on Sundays to the house of prayer, And ask, and fancy they find, blessings there. Themselves, perhaps, when weary they retreat eujoy cool nature in a country seat, T’ exchange the centre of a thousand trades. For clumps, and lawns, and temples, and cascades. May now and then their velvet cushions take, And seem to pray for good example’s sake ; Judging, in charity no doubt, the town Pious enough, and having need of none. ^ Kind souls ! to teach their tenantry to prize What they themselves, without remorse, despise : Nor hope have they, nor fear of aught to come, As well for them had prophecy been dumb ; They could have held the conduct they pursue, Had Paul of Tarsus lived and died a Jew ; And truth, proposed to reas’ners 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. 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 be- tween ; 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 even 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, [there. ’Twas there we found them, and must leave them As, when two pilgrims in a forest stray. Both may be lost, yet each in his own way ; So fares it wich the multitudes beguiled In vain Opinion’s waste and dang’rous wild ; Ten thousand rove the brakes and thorns among. Some eastward, and some westward, and all wrong. 76 HOPE. But here, alas ! the fatal difF’rence 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 shows. 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 tnem, 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, 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 th’ 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, [low, That all might mark — knight, menial, high, and An ord’nance it concern’d them much to know. If, after all, some headstrong hardy lout Would disobey, though sure to be shut out, Could he with reason murmur at his case. Himself sole author of his own disgrace ? No ! the decree was just and without flaw ; And he, that made, had right to make, the law ; His sov’reign power and pleasure unrestrain’d. The wrong was his who wrongfully complain’d. Yet half mankind maintain a churlish strife \Yith Him, the Donor of eternal life. HOPE. 77 Because the deed, by which his love coiifirms The largess he bestows, prescribes the terms. Compliance with his will your lot insures, Accept it only, and the boon is yours. And sure it is as kind to smile and mve, As with a frown to say, Do this and live. Love is not pedlar’s trumpery bought and sold ; He will give freely, or he will 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 gen’rous part. Nor set a price upon a willing heart. Of all the ways that seem to promise fair. To place you where his saints his presence share. This only can ; for this plain cause, express’d In terms as plain. Himself has shut the rest. But oh the strife, the bick’ring, and debate. The tidings of unpurchased Heaven create ! The flirted fan, the bridle, and the toss, All speakers, yet all language at a loss. From stucco’d walls smart arguments rebound, And beaux, adept in every thing profound. Die of disdain, or whistle off the sound. Such is the clamour of rooks, daws, and kites, Th’ explosion of the levell’d tube excites, Where mould’ ring abbey-walls o’erhang the glade. And oaks coeval spread a mournful shade. The screaming nations, hov’ring 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 IMake works u vain ingredient in the case. The Christian hope is — Waiter, draw the cork — If I mistake not — Blockhead ! v;ith a fork ! Without good works, whatever some may boast, i^Iere folly and delusion — Sir, your toast. 78 HOPE, 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 th’ important cause is to be tried. Suppose the beam should dip on the wrong side ; I soon recover from these needless frights. And God is merciful — sets all to rights. Thus between justice, as my prime support, And mercy, fled to as the last resort, I glide and steal along with Heaven in view, And, — pardon me, the bottle stands with you. I never will believe, the Colonel cries, ^ The Sanguinary schemes that some devise*. Who make the good Creator on their plan A being of less equity than man. If appetite, or what divines call lust. Which men comply with, e’en because they must. 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 ; HOPE. 70 Manly deportment, gallant, easy, gay ; A hand as liberal as the light of day. The soldier thus endow’d, who never shrinks. Nor closets up his thoughts, whate’er he thinks, Who scorns to do an injury by stealth. Must go to Heaven — and I must drink his health. Sir Smug) he cries, (for lowest at the board. Just made fifth chaplain of his patron lord, His shoulders witnessing, by many a shrug. How much his feelings suffer’d, sat Sir Smug), Your office is to winnow false from true ; Come prophet, drink, and tell us what think you ? 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 diff’ring 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, — welladay, the titlepage was lost ; 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 ray own store, I superadd a few essentials more ; But these, excuse the liberty 1 take, I wave just now, for conversation’s sake. — Spoke like an oracle, they all exclaim. And add Right Rev’rend 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 ! 80 HOPE. 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 Cornubian mines. And still it spreads. See Germany send forth Her sons * to pour it on the farthest north : Fired with a zeal peculiar, they defy The rage and rigour of a polar sky. And plant successfully sweet Sharon’s rose On icy plains, and in eternal snows. O bless’d within th’ enclosure of your rocks. Nor herds have ye to boast, nor bleating flocks ; No fertilizing streams your fields divide. That show reversed the villas on their side ; No groves have ye ; no cheerful sound of bird. Or vice 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 terrours 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 errour 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 ; The Moravian Missionaries in Greenland. See Krantz HOPE, 81 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 th’ 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 tor them, beyond their reach. Not e’en the glorious Sun, though men revere The monarch most,' that seldom will appear. And tho’ 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 vot’ry there ; They were what base Credulity believes True Christians are, dissemblers, drunkards, thieves. The full-gorged savage, at his nauseous feast. Spent half the darkness, and snored out the rest, 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, F HOPE. 82 If self-exalting claims be turn’d adrift, And grace be grace indeed, and life a gift ; The poor reclaim’d inhabitant, his ey^ Glistening at once with j)ity and surprise, ^ Amazed that shadows snould obscure the sight Of one, whose birth was in a land of light. Shall answer, Hope, sweet Hope, has set me free, And made all pleasures else mere dross to me. These, amidst scenes as waste as if denied The common care that waits on all beside. Wild as if Nature there, void of all good, Play’d only gambols in a frantic mood, (Yet charge not heavenly skill with having plann a 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 num’rous 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 ; A distant virtue we can all confess, It hurts our pride, and moves our eiivy, less. Leuconomus (beneath well-sounding Greek, I slur a name a poet must not speak) Stood pilloried on Infamy’s high stage, And bore the pelting scorn of half an age ; The very butt of Slander, and the blot For every dart that Malice ever shot. ^ The man that mention’d him at once dismiss d All mercy from his lips, and sneer’d and hiss’d ; 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 inere 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, HOPE. 83 Keveal (the man is dead) to wond’ring 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 int’rest in his heart. Paul’s love of Christ, and steadiness unbribed, M^ere copied close in him, and well transcribed He follow’d Paul ; his zeal a kindred flame. His apostolic charity the same. Like nim, cross’d cheerfully tempestuous seas. Forsaking country, kindred, friends, and ease : Like him he labour’d, and like him content To bear it, suffer’d shame where’er he went. Blush Calumny ! and write upon his tomb, If honest Eulogy can spare thee room. Thy deep repentance of thy thousand lies. Which, aim’d at him, have pierced th’ offended skies, And say. Blot out mj^ sin, confess’d, deplored. Against thine image, in thy saint, O Lord ! 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 zigzag line, That shows 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. hope- 84 Build by whatever plan Caprice decrees, With what materials, on what ground you please ? Your hope shall stand unblamed, perhaps admired^ If not that hope the Scripture has required. The strange conceits, vain projects, and wild dreams. With which hypocrisy for ever teems, (Though other follies strike the public eye, And raise a laugh,) pass unmolested by ; But if, umblameable 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. Arid smite th’ untemper’d wall ; ’tis death to spare. To sweep away all refuges of lies. And place, instead of quirks themselves devise, Lama Salaclhani 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. Throughout mankind, the Christian kind at least. There dwells a consciousness in every breast. That folly ends where genuine hope begins. And he that finds his ijeaven must lose his sms. 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 oil wiles, Scorns with the same indiff’rence 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, HOPE, 85 Insensible of Truth’s almighty charms, Starts at her first approach, and sounds to arms ! While Bigotry, with well-dissembled fears, His eyes shut fast, his fingers in his ears, ]\jighty to parry and push by God’s word With senseless noise, his argumont 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 hast 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 he thine. If ever thou hast felt another’s pain. If ever when he sigh’d hast sigh’d again. If ever on 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 seem’d tenderly at strife, Which most should sweeten his untroubled life ; Politely learn’d, and of a gentle race. Good breeding and good sense gave all a grace, And whether at the toilet of the fair He laugh’d and trifled, made him welcome there, Or if in masculine debate he shared, Insured him mute attention ^nd 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 aU friends. He now perceives where earthly pleasure ends ; r2 HOPE. 86 Hard task ! for one who lately knew no care. And harder still as learnt beneath despair ; His hours no longer pass unmarked 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. Upon his dungeon walls the lightning play. The thunder seems to summon him away. The warder at the door his key applies. Shoots back the bolt, and all his courage dies : If then, just then, all thoughts of mercy lost. When Hope, long ling’ring, at last yields the ghost. The sound of pardon pierce his stptled ear. He drops at once his fetters and his fear ; A transport glows in ail he looks and speaks. And the first thankful tears bedew his cheeks. Joy, far superior joy, that much outweighs The comfort of a few poor added days. Invades, possesses, and o’erwhelms the soul Of him, whom Hope has with a touch made whole. ’Tis Heaven, all Heaven descending on the wings Of the glad legions of the King of kings ; ’Tis more ’tis God 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. HOPE. 87 Not kindred minds alone are call’d t’ employ Their hours, their days, in list’ning 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 And Heaven is all departed as a scroll, [pole. 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 lines uniting, by an honest art. The faithful monitor’s and poet’s part. Seek to delight, that they may mend mankind. And while they captivate, inform the mind : 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, Th’ abundant harvest, recomj)ense divine. Repays their work— the gleaning only mine. CHARITY. ^uo nihil majus meliusve tenris Fata donavfire, bonique divi ; Nec dabaiit, quamvis redeant in aurum Tempora priscum. Hor. Lib. iv. Od. 2. Fairest and foremost of the train, that wait On man’s most dignified and happiest state, Whether we name thee Charity or Love, Chief grace below, and all in all above, Prosper (I press thee with a powerful plea) A task I venture on, impell’d by thee : O never seen but in thy blessed 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, Ahd, though disgraced and slighted, to redeem A poet’s name, by making thee the theme. # God, working ever on a social plan. By various ties attaches man to man : He made at first, though free and unconfined. One man the common father of the kind ; That every tribe, though placed as he sees best, Where seas or deserts part them from the rest, Diff’ring in language, manners, or in face. Might feel themselves allied to all the race. When Cook — lamented, and with tears as just 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 sooth’d with gifts, and greeted with a smile, . The simple native of the new-found isle ; He spurn’d the wretch, that slighted or withstood The tender argument of kindred blood. V CHARITY. 89 Nor would endure, that any should control His freeborn brethern of the southern pole. But though some noble? minds a law respect, That none shall with impunity neglect, In baser souls unnumbered evils meet. To thwart its influence, 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 arid nunn’ries found, Or building hospitals on English ground ? No,— Mammon makes the World his legatee Through fear, not love ; and Heaven abhors the fee. Wherever found, (and all men need thy care,) Nor age nor infancy could find thee there. The hand, that slew till it could slay no more Was glued to the sword-hilt with Indian gore. Their prince, as justly seated on his throne As vain imperial Philip on his own. Trick’d out of all his royalty by art, That stripp’d him bare, and broke his honest heart, Died by the sentence of a shaven priest. For scorning what they taught him to detest. How dark the veil, that intercepts the blaze Of Heaven’s mysterious purposes and ways ; God stood not, though he seem’d to stand, aloof; And at this hour the conqu’ror feels the proof : The wreath he won drew down an instant curse, The fretting plague is in the public purse, The canker’d spoil corrodes the pining state. Starved by that indolence their minds create. Oh could their ancient Incas rise again, How would they take ^ip Israel’s taunting strain ! Aft thou too fallen Iberia ? Do we see The robber and the murd’rer 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. \Vc come with joy from our eternal rest. To see th’ oppressor in his turn oppress’d. 90 CHARITY. 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 OmnijJotence his law fulfils. And Vengeance executes what Justice wills. Again — the band of commerce was design’d T’ 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 a 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 ; From her the canvass 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, CHARITY. 91 Imports what others have invented well, And stirs his own to match them or excel. ’Tis thus reciprocating, each with each. Alternately the nations learn and teach ; While Providence enjoins to every soul A union with the vast terraqueous whole. Heaven speed the canvass, gallantly unfurl’d To furnish and accommodate a world, To give the pole the produce of the sun. And knit th’ unsocial climates into oiie — ■ Soft airs and gentle heavings of the wave Impel the fleet, whose errand is to save. To succour wasted regions, and replace The smile of Opulence in Sorrow’s face — Let nothing adverse, nothing unforeseen. Impede the bark that ploughs the deep serene, Charged with a freight transcending in its worth The gems of India, Nature’s rarest birth, That flies, like Gabriel on his Lord’s commands, A herald of God’s love to pagan lands. But ah ! 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 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, with his fate, puts on the brute. Oh most degrading of all ills, that wait On man, a mourner in his best estate ! All other sorrows Virtue may endure. And find submission more than half a cure ; 92 CHARITY. Grief is itself a medicine, and bestow’d T’ improve the fortitude that bears the load, To teach the wand’rer, as his woes increase. The path of Wisdom, all whose paths are peace ; But slavery ! — Virtue dreads it as her grave : Patience itself is meanness in a slave ; Or if the will and sovereignty of God Bid suffer it a while, and kiss the rod, Wait for the dawning of a brighter day. And snap the chain the moment when you may. Nature imprints upon whate’er we see. That has a heart and life in it. Be free ; The beasts are charter’d — neither age nor force Can quell the love of freedom in a horse : He breaks the cord that held him at the rack ; And. conscious of an unencumber’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-bom, and feel no shame ; Trade in the blood of innocence, and plead Expedience as a warrant for the deed ? So may the wolf, whom famine has made bold, To quit the forest and invade the fold : So may the ruffian, who, with ghostly glide, Dagger in hand, steals close to your bedside ; Not he, but his emergence forced the door, He found it inconvenient to be poor. Has God then given its sweetness to the cane. Unless his laws be trampled on — ^in vain ? Built a brave world, which cannot yet subsist, Unless his right to rule it be dismiss’d ? Impudent blasphemy ! So Folly pleads, And, Avarice being judge, with ease succeeds. But grant the plea, and let it stand for just. That man make man his prey, because he must ; Still there is room for pity to abate. And soothe the sorrows of so sad a state. CHARITY. 93 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 weejrs without relief. 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 sublimest joys are overlook’d : We wander o’er a sunburnt thirsty soil, Murm’ring and weary of our daily toil. Forget t’ enjoy the palm-tree’s offer’d shade. Or taste the fountain in the neighb’ring glade : Else who would lose, that had the power t’ improve Th’ occasion of transmuting fear to love ? 0 ’tis a goodlike 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. 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, 1 was a bondman on my native plain, Sin forged, and Ignorance made fast, the chain ; Thy lips have shed instruction as the dew. Taught me what path to shun, and what pursue Farewell my former joys ! I sigh no more For Africa’s once loved, benighted shore ; 94 CHARITY. Serving a benefactor 1 am’free ; At my best home, if not exiled from thee. Some men make gain a fountain, whence pro A stream of liberal and heroic deeds ; [ceed; swell of pity, not to be confined Within the scanty limits of the mind, Disd^ns the bank, and throws the golden sands, A rich deposit, on the bord’ring 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. mP eould I worship aught beneath the skies. That Earth has seen, or fancy can devise, Thine altar, sacred Liberty, should stand, E’jilt 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. Brew the gray curtain of the fading west, My soul should yield thee willing thanks and praise, F or 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. W e feel thy force still active, at this hour Enjoy immunity from priestly power. While Conscience, happier than in ancient years, Owns no superior but the God she fears. Propitious spirit ! yet expunge a wrong Thy rights have sufler’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 ; CHARITY* 95 And honest Merit stands on slipp’ry ground, Vyhere 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 Innoc'tence go free. Patron of else the most despised of men. Accept the tribute of a stranger’s pen ; yerse, like the laurel, its immortal meed, Should be the guerdon of, a noble deed ; I may alarm thee, but 1 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 wo, 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 symjiathy 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 ; 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, 96 CHARITY. 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 shows. What human wisdom cannot but oppose. That man, in nature’s richest mantle clad. And graced with all philosophy can add. Though fair without, and luminous within. Is still the progeny and heir of sin. Thus taught, down falls the plumage of his pride He feels his need of an unerring guide. And knows that falling he shall rise no more. Unless the power that bade him stand restore. This is indeed philosophy ; this known Makes wisdom, worthy of the name, his own ; And, without this, whatever he discuss ; Whether the space between the stars and us ; IVhether 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 : Blind was he born, and his misguided eyes Orown 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 enlight’ning grace. Here stay thy foot ; how copious, and now clear, Th' o’ernowing well of Charity springs here ! CHARITY. 97 ark ! ’tis the music of a thousand rills, Some thro’ the groves, some down the sloping hills, Winding a secret or an open course. And all supplied from an eternal source. The ties of Nature do but feebly bind ; And Commerce partially reclaims mankind ; Philosophy, withouf'his heavenly guide, May blow up self-conceit, and nourish pride, I But, while his promise is the reasoning part. Has still a veil of midnight on his heart : ’Tis Truth divine, exhibited on earth. Gives Charity her being and her birth. Suppose (when thought is warm, and fancy flows, What will not argument sometimes suppose ?) An isle possess’d by creatures of our kind. Endued with reason, yet by nature blind. Let Supposition lend her aid once more. And land some grave optician on the shore : !He claps his lens, if haply they may see, i Close to the part where vision ought to he ; 1 But finds, that, though his tubes assist the sight, iThey cannot give it, or make darkness light. He reads wise lectures, and describes aloud A sense they know not, to the wond’ring crowd ; He talks of light, and the prismatic hues. As men of depth in erudition use ; But all he gains for his harangue is — Well, — What monstrous lies some travellers will tell ! The soul, whose sight aU-quick’ning 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. She speaks of him, her author, guardian, friend, Whose love knew no. beginning, knows no end, [n 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 ; I Though Wisdom hail them, heedless of her call, I Flies to save some, and feels a pang for all : G 98 CHARITY. Herself as weak as her support is strong, She feels that frailty she denied so long ; And, from a knowledge of her own disease, jLearns to compassionate the sick she sees. , Here see, acquitted of all vain pretence. The reign of genuine Charity cominence. Though scorn repay her sympathetic tears. She still 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 waves than will dispute her right. And, injured, makes forgiveness her delight. Such was the portrait an apostle drew. The bright original was one he knew ; Heaven held his hand, the likeness must be true. When one, that holds communion with the skies, Has fill’d his urn where these pure waters rise. And once more mingles with us meaner things, ’Tis even as if an angel shook his wings ; Immortal fragrance fills the circuit wide, That tells us whence his treasures are supplied. So when a ship, well freighted with the stores The sun matures on India’s spicy shores. Has dropp’d her anchor, and her canvass 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 qualms, j| To lull the painful malady with alms ; . CHARI TY. 99 But chanty not feign’d intends alone Another’s good— their’s 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 tame ; Her superfluity the poor supplies. But, if she touch a cliaracter, it dies. The seeming virtue weigh’d against the vice. She deems all safe, for she has paid the price : JVo charity but alms aught values she. Except in porcelain on her mantle-tree. How many deeds, with which the world has rung. From Pride, in league with Ignorance, have sprung ! But God o’errules all human follies still. And bends the tough materials to his will. A conflagration, or a wintry flood, Has left some hundreds without home or food ; Extravagance and Avarice shall subscribe. While fame and self-complacence are the bribe. The brief proclaim’d, it visits every pew. But first the squire’s, a compliment but due : With slow deliberation he unties His glitt’ring purse, that envy of all eyes. And, while the clerk just puzzles out the psalm, Slides guinea behind guinea in his palm ; Till finding, what he might have found before, A smaller piece amidst the precious store, Pinch’d close between his finger and his thumb. He half exhibits, and then drops the sum. Gold to be sure !_Throughout 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 tinie supply for the distress’d ; INot less effectual than what love bestows, Except that office clips it as it goes. ^ But lest I seem to sin against a friend, And wound the grace I mean to recommend, (Though vice derided with a just design Implies no trespass against love divine,) Once more I would adopt the graver style, A teacher should be sparing of his smile. CHARITY. 100 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, must be made ashamed ; But (I might instance in St. Patrick’s dean) Too often rails to gratify his spleen. Most sat’rists are indeed a public scourge; Their mildest physic is a farrier’s purge ; Their acrid temper turns, as soon as stirr d, The milk of their good purpose all to curd. Their zeal begotten, as their works rehearse, By lean despair upon an empty purse, Tbe wild assassins start into the street. Prepared to poniard whomsoe’er they meet No skill in swordmanship, 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 appears Gath’ring around it with erected ears : A thousand names are toss’d into the crowd ; Some whisper’d softly, and some twang’d aloud ; Just as the sapience of an author’s bram Suggests it safe or dangerous to be plain. Strange ! how the freqaent interjected dash Quickens a maiket, and helps off the trash ; Th’' important letters, that include the , Serve as a key to those that are suppress’d ; Conjecture gripes the victims iri 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 thev lodge upon the mud, Food for the famish’d rovers of the flood. CHARITY, 101 All zeal for a reform, that gives offence ro peace and charity, is mere pretence : A bold remark, but which, if well applied, Would humble many a towering poet’s pride. Perhaps the man was in a sportive fit, And had no other play-place for his wit ; Perhaps enchanted with the love of fame. He sought the jewel in his neighbour’s shame ; Perhaps— whatever end he might ’pursue. The cause of virtue could not be his view. At every stroke wit flashes in our eyes ; The turns are quick, the polish’d points surprise. But shine with cruel and tremendous charms. That, while they please, possess us with alarms ; So have I seen (and hasten’d to the sight On all the wings of holiday delight). Where stands that monument of ancient power, Named, with emphatic dignity, the Tower, Guns, halberts, swords, and pistols, great and small, In starry forms disposed upon the wall ; We wonder, as we gazing stand below. That brass and steel should make so fine a show ; But though we praise th’ 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 v/hat tends apace Home to the goal, where it began the race. Such as our motive is, our aim must be ; If this be servile, that can ne’er be free : If self employ us, whatsoe’er is wrought. We glorify that self, not him we ought ; Such virtues had need prove their own reward. The judge of all men owes them no regard. True Charity, a plant divinely nursed. Fed by the love, from which it rose at first, a 2 102 CHARITY. Thrives against hope, and, in the rudest scene, Storms but enliven its unfading green : ExubTant 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, T’ uphold the boundless scenes of his command ; To recollect, that, in a form like ours. He bruised beneath his feet th’ 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 trust in him his friends ; That, in the Heaven of heavens, that space he deems Too scanty for th’ 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 o^it appears. The churches warm’d, they would no longer hold Such frozen figures, stiff as they are cold ; Relenting forms would lose their power, or cease ; And even 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 fill’d, yet always poor. Might swing at ease behind his study door, CHARITY. 103 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 held. 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 loye ; And I might spare myself the pains to show 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, Th’ attention pleasure has so much engross d. But if, unhappily deceived, I dream. And prove too weak for so divine a theme, liet Charity forgive me a mistake, , That zeal, not vanity, has chanced to make. And spare the poet for his subject’s sake. CONVERSATION. Nam neque me tantum venientis sibilus austri, Nec perciissa juvant fluctu tarn littora, ne* quae baxosas inter decurrunt flumina valles. Virg. 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 ; Yet much depends, as in the tiller’s toil On culture, and the sowing of the soil. 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 sconce call’d his A B C ; So language in the mouths 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 th’ 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. CONVERSATION. 105 There is a prurience in the speech of some, Wrath stays him, or else God would strike them His wise forbearance has their end in view, [dumb ; They fill their measure, and receive their due. The heathen lawgivers of ancient days. Names almost worthy of a Christian’s praise, Would drive them forth from the resort of men. And shut up every satyr in his den. 0 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 even the vigorous and headlong rage Of adolescence, or a firmer age, Affords a plea allowable or just For making speech the pamperer of lust ; 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 blust’ring 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 even when sober truth prevails throughout. They swear it, till affirmance breeds a doubt. A Persian, humble servant of the sun, Who, though devout, yet bigotry had none. Hearing a lawyer, grave in his address, With adjurations every word impress. Supposed the man a bishop, or, at least, God’s name so much upon his lips, a priest ; 106 CONVERSATION. Bow’d at the close with all his graceful airs. And begg’d an interest 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 his works. Ye powers who rule the tongue, if such there are. And make colloquial happiness your care. Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate, A duel in the form of a debate. The clash of arguments and jar of words, Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords, Decide no question with their tedious length, For opposition gives opinion strength, Divert the champions prodigal of breath ; And put the peaceably -disposed to death. 0 thwart me not, Sir Soph, at every turn, Nor 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 ; But still remember, if you mean to please. To press your point with modesty and ease. The mark, at which my juster aim I take, Is contradiction for its own dear sake. Set your opinion at whatever pitch. Knots and impediments make something hitch ; Adopt his own, ’tis equally in vain. Your thread of argument is snapp’d again ; The wrangler, rather than accord with you, Will judge himself deceived, and prove it too. Vociferated logic kills me quite, A noisy man is always in the right : CONVERSATION. 107 I twirl my thumbs, fall back into my chair, Fix on the wainscot a distressful stare. And, when I hope his blunders are all out, Reply discreetly — To be sure— no doubt ! DuUus is such a scrupulous good man— ^ Yes— 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 it he were call’d by law To swear to some enormity he saw. For want of prominence and just relief. Would hang an honest man, and save a thief. Through constant dread of giving truth offence. He ties up all his hearers in suspense ; Knows what he knows, as if he knew it not ; What he remembers, seems to have forgot ; His sole opinion, whatsoe’er befall, Centring at last in having none at all. Yet, though he tease and balk your listening ear. He makes one useful point exceeding clear ; Howe’er ingenious on his darling theme A sceptic in philosophy may seem. Reduced to practice, his beloved rule Would only prove him a consummate tool ; Useless in him alike both brain and speech. Fate having placed all truth above his reach. His ambiguities has total sum, i ^ v. He might as well be blind, and deaf, and dumb. Where men of judgment creep and feel then The positive pronounce without dismay ; [wayi, 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 an other, they at once condemn ; 108 CONVERSATION. And, though self-idolized in every case, Hate their own likeness in a brother’s face. The cause is plain, and not to be denied. The proud are always most provoked by pride Few competitions but engender spite ; And those the most, where neither has a right. ^ The point of honour has been deem’d of use, xo 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, barb’rous 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 ; That now and then a hero must decease. That the surviving world may live in peace. Perhaps at last close scrutiny may show The practice dastardly, and mean, and low ; That men engage in it compell’d by force, A nd fear, not courage, is its proper source ; The fear of tyrant custom, and the fear Lest fops should censure us, and fools should sneer At least, to trample on our Maker’s laws, And hazard life for any or no cause. To rush into a fix’d eternal state Out of the very flames of rage and hate, Or send another shiv’ring to the bar With all the guilt of such unnat’ral 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 affront 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 Eniellus black and blue ; CONVERSATION. 109 rhen each might show, to his admiring friends, In honourable bumps his rich amends, ^nd carry, in contusions of his skull, A satisfactory receipt in full. A story, in which native humour reigns, [s often useful, always entertains : A graver fact, enlisted on your side, iMay furnish illustration, well applied ; But sedentary weavers of long tales Give me the fidgets, and my patience fails. ‘Tis the most asinine employ on earth, To hear them tell of parentage and birth. And echo conversations, dull and dry. Embellish’d with — He said^ and So said /. At every interview their route the same. Their repetition makes attention lame : We bustle up with unsuccessful speed. And in the saddest part cry— Droll indeed I The path of narrative with care pursue, Still making probability your clew ; On all the vestiges of truth attend. And let them guide you at a decent end. Of all ambitionsi man may entertain, ^ The worst, that can invade a sickly brain, Is that which angles hourly for surprise. And baits its hqok with prodigies and hes. 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, centring in a focus round and neat, Let all your rays of information meet. no CONVERSATION. 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 gard’ner 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. And show the softest minds and fairest forms As»little mercy, as he grubs and worms ? They dare not wait the riotous abuse, Thy thrist-creating steams at length produce, When wine has given indecent language birth. And forced the floodgates of licentious mirth ; ^ For sea-born Venus her attachment shows Still to that element, from which she rose. And with a quiet, which no fumes disturb. Sips meek infusions of a milder herb. Th’ emphatic speaker dearly loves t’ oppose In contact inconvenient, nose to nose. As if the gnomon on his neighbour’s phiz,j - Touch’d with a 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. Resumed his purpose, had a world of talk With one he stumbled on, and lost his walk. I interrupt him with a sudden bow. Adieu, dear sir ! lest you should lose it now. CONVERSATION. Ill I cannot talk with civet in the room, A fine puss-gentleman that’s all perfume ; The sight’s enough— no need to smell a beau— Who thrusts his nose into a raree-show ? 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 ; 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 stuft’d with brickbats, earth, and stones. Some men employ their health, an ugly trick, In making known how oft they have been sick. And give us in recitals of disease A doctor’s trouble, but without the fees ; Relate how many weeks they kept their bed, How an emetic or cathartic sped ; Nothing is slightly touch’d, much less forgot. Nose, ears, and eyes, seem present on the spot. Now the distemper, spite of draught or pill. Victorious seem’d, and now the doctor’s skill ; And now — alas for unforeseen mishaps ! They put on a damp nightcap and relapse ; They thought they must have died, they were so Their peevish hearers almost wish they had. [bad ; 112 CONVERSATION. 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 its night. He shakes with cold — you stir the fire and strive To make a blaze — that’s roasting him alive. Serve him with venison, and he chooses fish ; With soal — that’s just the sort he would 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— Alas ! his efforts double his distress. He kkes yours little, and his own still less. Thus always teasing others, always teased. His only pleasure is — to be displeased. I pity bashful men, who feel the pain Of fancied scorn and undeserved disdain. And bear the marks upon a blushing face Of needless shame, and self-imposed disgrace. Our sensibilities are so acute, The fear of being silent makes us mute. We sometimes think we could a speech produce Much to the purpose, if our tongues were loose ; But being tried, it dies upon the lip, Faint as a chicken’s note that has the pip : Our wasted oil unprofitably burns. Hike hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns. Few Frenchmen of this evil have complain’d ; It seems as if we Britons were ordain’d, By way of wholesome curb upon our pride, To fear pach other, fearing none beside. The cause perhaps inquiry may descry. Self-searching with an introverted eye, Concealed within an unsuspected part, The \ainest corner of our own vain heart ; CONVERSATION. 113 For ever aiming at the world’s esteem, Our self-importance ruins its own scheme ; In other eyes our talents rarely shown, 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 ; Ves ma’am, and no ma’am, uttered softly, show Every five minutes how the minutes go ; Each individual, sufF’ring a constraint Poetry may, but colours cannot paint ; 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 □f wise reflection, and well-timed discourse. We next inquire, but softly and by stealth, Like conservators of the public health, Of epidemic throats, if such there are. And coughs, and rheums, and phthisic, and catarrh, rhat theme exhausted, a wide chasm ensues, Fill’d up at last with interesting news, IVho danced with whom, and who are like to wed, And who is bang’d, and who is brought to bed : But fear to call a more important cause, As if ’twere treason against English laws, rhe visit paid, with ecstacy we come, As from a seven years’ transportation, home, And there resume an unembarrass’d brow, flecovering what we lost we know not how, rhe faculties, that seem’d reduced to nought ; Expression and the privilege of thought. The reeking, roaring hero of the chase, [ give him over as a desperate case. Physicians write in hopes to work a cure. Soever, if honest ones, when deatli is sure ; CONVERSATION. 114 And though the fox he follows may he tamed, A mere fox-^foll’wer never is reclaim’d. Some farrier should prescribe his proper course, Whose only fit companion is his horse ; Or if, deserving of a better doom, The noble beast judge otherwise, his grooin. Yet even the rogue that serves him, though he stand, To take his honour’s orders, cap in hand. Prefers his fellow grooms with much good sense. Their skill a truth, his master’s a pretence. If neither horse nor groom affect the squire. Where can at last his jockeyship retire ? O to the club, the scene of savage joys, The school of coarse good fellowship and noise ; There, in the sweet society of those. Whose friendship from his boyish years he chose, Let him improve his talent if he can. Till none but beasts acknowledge him a man. 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 Given him a soul, and bade him understand. The reas’ning 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, despatched upon her busy toil. Should range wnere 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 live-long night, That fills the list’ning lover with delight, Forget his harmony, with rapture heard. To learn the twitt’ring of a meaner bird ? . Or make the parrot’s mimicry his choice, That odious libel on a human voice ? CONVERSATION. 115 No — Nature, unsophisticate by man. Starts not aside from her Creator’s plan ; The melody, that was at first design’d To cheer the rude forefathers of mankind, Is note for note deliver’d in our ears, In the last scene of her six thousand years. Yet Fashion, leader of a chatt’ring train. Whom man, for his own hurt, permits to reign. Who shifts and changes all things but his shape, And would degrade her vot’ry to an ape. The fruitful parent of abuse and wrong. Holds an 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. That heaven and hell, and righteousness and sin. Snares in his path, and foes that lurk within, God and his attributes (a field of day Where ’tis an angel’s happiness to stray), - . Fruits of his love and wonders of his might, Be never named in ears esteem’d polite. That he who dares, when she forbids, be grave, ' Shall stand proscribed a madman or a knave, A close designer not to be 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 modestly let fall your eyes. And veil your daring crest that braves the skies ; That air of insolence affronts your God, You need his pardon, and provoke his rod : Now, in a posture that becomes you more Than that heroic strut assumed before. Know, your arrears with every hour accrue For mercy shown, while wrath is justly due. 116 CONVERSATION. 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 truths too big to be express’d. Go seek on revelation’s hallow’d ground. Sure to succeed, the remedy they found ; Touch’d by that bower that you have dared to mock, That makes seas stable, and dissolves the rock, Your heart shall yield a life-renewing stream. That fools, as you have done, shall call a dream. It happened 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 musings worthy of the great event ; 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 appeared t’ have done ; T’ exalt a people, and to place them high Above all else, and wondered he should die. Ere yet they brought their journey to an end, A stranger joined them, courteous as a friend, And asked them, with a kind, engaging air, What their affliction was, and begg’d a share. Inform’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, W^e must not now be parted, sojourn here — The pew 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 ! CONVERSATION. 117 Did not our hearts feel all he deign’d to say, Did they not burn within us by the way ? Now theirs was converse, such as it behoves Man to maintain, and such as God approvp ; Their views, indeed, were indistinct and dim,. But yet successful, being aim d at him. Christ and his character their only scope, Their object, and their subject, They felt what it became them much to feel, And wanting him to loose the sacred seal. Found to as prompt, as their desire was true, To spread the new-born glories in their view. Well— what are ages and the lapse of time ^ Match’d against truths, as Jesting 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 ineniory, pass away ; The- works of man inherit, as is just, Their author’s frailty, and return to dust : But truth divine for ever stands secure, Tts head is guarded as its base is sure ; Fix’d in the rolling flood of endless years. The pillar of th’ eternal plan appears. The raving storm and dashing wave defies, Built by that architect who built the skies. Hearts may be found, that harbour at this hour ^ That love of Christ, in all its quick ning power ; And lips unstain’d by folly or by strife, Whose wisdom, drawn from tne 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 When souls drawn upwards in communion sweet Enioy the stillness of some close retreat, Discourse, as if released and safe at home. Of dangers past, and wonders 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 ? H 2 118 CONVERSATIOK. Canting and whining out all day the word, And h^ 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 yi earthly things to shine, Who waits for heaven ere he becomes divine, Leaves saints t’ enjoy those altitudes they teach, And plucks the fruit placed more within his reach- Well spoken, advocate of sin and shame, Khown by thy bleating, Ignorance thy name. Is sparkling wit the world’s exclusive right ? The fix’d fee-simple of the vain and light ? Can hopes of heaven, bright prospects of an hour. That come to waft us out of Sorrow’s power, Obscure or quench a faculty, that finds -Its happiest soil in the serenest minds ? Religion curbs indeed its wanton play, And brings the trifler under rig’rous 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 ; Vig’rous in age as in the flush of youth, •’Tis always active on the side of truth ; Temp’rance and peace insure 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 dullness, learned without pride, Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen-eyed ; A man that would have foil’d at their own play A dozen would-be’s of the modern day ; Who, when occasion justified its use. Had wit as bright as ready to produce ; Could fetch from records of an earlier age, Or from philosophy’s enlighten’d page, His rich materials, and regale your ear With strains it was a privilege to hear : CONVERSATION. Il9 Yet above all, his luxury supreme, Ar»d his chief glory, was the gospel theme , There L was fopious as old Greece or Rome, Hk happy eloquence seem’d there at home ; Bm’'tnrTat7ustVwhat“he^ Whers™re“"Lrd;Tt-^^ as thought, Suppose themselves monopolists ot sense, - m- g." Embalm’d for ever in its own perfume. And to say truth, though in its early prime. And when unstain’d with any ’ Youth has a sprighthness and hre to boast. That in the valley of decline are lost, And Virtue with peculiar charms appears, down’d whh the^garland of Hfe’.bbm years; Vet A we hv long experience well inform a. Well read;lell fempL’d, with religion warm’d. That fire abated, which ^ Yout , Proud of his speed, to overshoot the As time improves the grape’s authentic juice, ^XwVa7d makes thi more fit for use. And claims a reverence in its short ning day. Than those a brighter ’ And, like the stores autumnal suns mature. Through wintry rigours What is fanatic frenzy, scorn d so much, ^ And dreaded more than a contagious touch . I grant it dangerous, and approve your tear, Mat fire is catching if you ^^w ^oo near , But sage observers oft mistake the flame. And give true piety that odious name. To tremble (as the creature of an hour Ought at the view of an almighty power) Before his presence, at whose awful throne All tremble in all worlds, except our own. CONVERSATION. To supplicate his mercy, love his ways, And pnze them above pleasure, wealth, or praise, 1 noi^h common sense, allow’d a casting voice. And tree from bias, inust approve the choice, Convicts a man fanatic in th’ extreme. And wild as madness in the world’s esteem. But that disease, when soberly defined. Is the false fire of an 6’erheated mind ; It views the truth with a distorted eye. And either warps or lays it useless by ; Iis narrow, selfish, arrogant, and draws A * nourishment from man’s applause ; And while at heart *in unrelinquish’d lies, ^^esumes itself chief fav’rite of the skies. ^ light as putrefaction breeds In fiy-blown flesh, whereon the maggot feeds, .Jiines in the dark, but, usher’d into day. The stench remains, the lustre dies away. man may reach it, is composed Ot hearts in union mutually disclosed ; And, farewell else all hope of pure delight, o hearts should be reclaim’d, renew’d, upricli Bad men, profaning friendship’s hallow’d name," 4 stead, a covenant of shame, A dark confed’racy 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 fortify the dread redoubt. Deeply resolved to shut a Saviour out ; Call legions up from hell to back the deed ; And, cursed with conquest, finally succeed. But souls, that carry on a bless’d exchange Of joys, they meet with in their heavenly range. And with a fearless confidence make known The sorrows, sympathy esteems its own. Daily derive increasing light and force From such communion in their pleasant course, T eel less the journey’s roughness and its length, fiieet their opposers with united strength. And, one in heart, in interest, and design. Gird up each other to the race divine. CONVERSATION. 121 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 s})eak 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 Sion is a tasteless thing. Unless, when rising on si 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 ! '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 ethereal birth. Their hopes, desires, and purposes estranged From things terrestrial, and divinely changed, Their very language, of a kind, that speaks The soul’s sure interest in the good she seeks. Who deal with Scripture, its importance felt. As Tully with philosophy once dealt. And in the silent watches of the night, And through the scenes of toil-renewing light, The social walk, or solitarj^ ride,. Keep still the dear companion at their side ? No— shame upon a self-disgracing age, God’s work may serve an ape upon a stage With such a jest, as fill’d with hellish glee Certain invisibles as shrewd as he ; But veneration or respect finds none. Save from the subjects of that work alone. The World grown old her deep discernment shows Claps spectacles on her sagacious nose. Peruses closely the true Christian’s face, And finds it a mere mask of sly grimace ; 122 CONVERSATIOIJ. Usurps God’s office, lays his bosom bare, And finds hypocrisy close lurking there ; And, serving God herself throuA mere constraint. Concludes his unfeign’d love of him a feint. And yet, God knows, look human nature through, (And in due time the W orld shall know it too) That since the flowers of Eden felt the blast, That after m^’s defection laid all waste. Sincerity tow’rds the heart-searching God Has made the new-born creature her abode. Nor shall be found in unregenerate souls. Till the last fire burn all between the poles. Sincerity ! why ’tis his only pride. Weak and imperfect in all grace beside. Pie 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 ; That great defect would cost him not alone Man’s favourable judgment, but his own ; Plis 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 wnile she dotes, and dreams that she believes. She mocks her IMaker, and herself deceives. Her utmost reach, historical assent. The doctrines warp’d to what they never meant ; That truth itself is in her head as dull And useless as a candle in a skull. And all her love of God a groundless claim, A trick upon the canvass, 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 ; CONVERSATION. 123 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 th’ example of our sires digress. And claim a right to scamper and run wide, Wherever chance, caprice, or fancy gs^ide. 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 passed, 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 occur d. And bless’d reforms, that 1 have never heard, 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 (with what weight. How credibly, ’tis hard for me to state) That fables old, that seem’d for ever mute, Revived, are hast’ning into fresh repute, And gods and goddesses, discarded long Like useless lumber, or a stroller’s song, ^ Are bringing into vogue their heathen train, And Jupiter bids fair to rule again ; That certain feasts are instituted now. Where Venus hears the lover’s tender vow ; That all Olympus through the country roves,. To consecrate our few remaining groves, And Echo learns politely to repeat The praise of names for ages obsolete : 124 CONVERSATION. 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, Ijearn’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 worlvs the wonder, if it be but wrought. ’Tis time, however, if the case stand thus, For us plain folks, and all who side with us, To build our altar, confident and bold, Arid say as stern Elijah said of old, The strife now stands upon a fair award, If Israel’s Lord be God, then serve the Lord : If he be silent, faith is all a whim. Then Baal is the God, and worship him. Digression is so much in modern use. Thought is so rare, and fancy so profuse. Some never seem so wide of their intent. As when returning to the theme they meant ; As mendicants, whose business is to roam, Make every parish but their own their home. Though such continual zigzags in a book. Such drunken reelings have an awkward look, And I had rather creep to what is true, Than rove and stagger with no mark in view ; Yet to consult a little, seem’d no crime. The freakish humour of the present time : But now to gather up what seems dispersed, And touch me subject I design’d at first, IMay prove, though much beside the rules of art, Best for the pubhc, and my wisest part. CONVERSATION. 125 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 hier ; For tell some men, that pleasure all their bent, And laughter all their work, is life misspent. Their wisdom bursts into this sage reply, — Then mirth is sin, and we should always cry. To find the medium asks some share of wit. And therefore ’tis a mark fools never hit. But though life’s valley be a vale of tears, A brighter scene beyond that vale appears, ■ Whose glory, with a light that never fades. Shoots between scatter’d rocks and opening shades, And, while it shows 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 ; Held within modest bounds, the tide ot 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. RETIREMENT. stxidiis florentem ignobilis oti. Virg. Geor. lib. 4. hackneyed in business, wearied at that oar, Which thousands, once fast chain’d to, quit no more, But which, when life at ebb runs weak and low, All wish, or seem to wish, they could forego ; The statesman, lawyer, merchant, man of trade, Pants for the refuge of some rural shade, Where, all his long anxieties forgot Amid the charms of a sequester’d spot. Or recollected only to gild o’er. And add a smile to what was sweet before, He may possess the joys he thinks he sees. Lay his old age upon the lap of Ease, Improve the remnant of his wasted span, And, having lived a trifler, die a man. Thus Conscience pleads her cause within the breast, Though long rebell’d against, not yet suppress’d, And calls a creature form’d for God alone. For Heaven’s high purposes, and not his own. Calls him away from selfish ends and aims. From what debilitates and what inflames, Frona cities humming with a restless crowd. Sordid as active, i^orant 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 wo, 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. retirement. 127 True wisdom will attend his feeble call. And grace his action ere the curtain tall. , • V 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. Invet’rate habits choke th’ unfruitful heart, Their fibres penetrate its tend’rest 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, AFe can escape from Custom’s idiot sway. To serve the sovereign we were born t’ obey. Then sweet to muse upon his skill display’d (Infinite skill) in all that he has made ! To trace in Nature’s most minute design The signature and stamp of power divine. Contrivance intricate, express’d with ease. Where unassisted sight no beauty sees. 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, Th’ 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 31 ore hideous foes than fancy can devise ; Lsize, With helmet-heads and dragon-scales adorn d. The mighty myriads, now securely scorn’d. Would mock the majesty of man’s high birth. Despise his bulwarks, and unpeople earth. Then with a glance of fancy to survey, Far as the faculty can stretch away. 123 retirement. Ten thousand rivers poured at his command T ram urns, that never fail, through every land • These like a deluge with impetuous forc^ ’ Those winding modestly a silent course ; Seat e'oud.sunnounting Alps, the fruitful vales ; feeas, on which every nation spreads her sales ; T he sun, a world whence other worlds drink light, 1 he crescent moon, the diadem of night ; btars countless, each in his appointed place, ^t anchored in the deep abyss of space— At such a sight to catch the poet’s flame. And with a rapture like his own exclaim. How ^^orious works, thou source of good, How dimly seen, how faintly understood ! ^ Ihine, and upheld by thy paternal care, 1 his universal frame, thus wondrous fair • beyond thought, aU that thou hast wrought. Absorbed in that immensity I see, 1 shrink abased, and yet aspire to thee • Instruct ine, guide me to that heavenly ’day, Th»t 'l^vf ’ in'"® display, I m»v yil grosser thoughts refiM, ^ thee, and callthee min^ U bless d proficiency ! surpassing all. That men erroneously their gloty rail. The recompense that arts or arms can yield, 1 he bar, the senate, or the tented field. Compared with this sublimest life below. Ye kinp and rulers, what have courts to show ? 1 hus studi^, used, and consecrated thus. On earth what is, seems form’d indeed for us : Not as the plaything of a forward child, fretful unless diverted and beguiled. Much l^ss to feed and fan the fatal fires Ut pride, ambition, or impure desires, Hut as^a scale, by whidi the soul ascends from mighty means to more important ends, feecurely, though by steps but rarely trod. Mounts from inferior beings up to God, And sees, by no fallacious light or dim, Haith made for man, and man himself for him. RETIREMENT. 129 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 nevp intervenes. But ’tis not easy with a mind like ours. Conscious of weakness in its noblest powers. And in a world where, pther ills apart. The roving eye misleads the careless heart, To limk 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 fav’rite sin. And search the themes, important above ail. Ourselves, and our recovery from our fall. But leisure, silence, and a mind released From anxious thoughts how wealth may be in- How to secure, in some propitious hour, [creased, 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 ; 130 RETIREMEOT. They shriek and sink, survivors start and weep, Pursue their sport, and follow to the deep. A few forsake the throng ; with lifted eyes A sk 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 retreat. ^ Some minds by nature are averse to noise, And hate the tumult half the world enjoys. The lure of avarice, or the pompous prize. That courts display before ambitious eyes ; The fruits that nang on pleasure’s flowery steni, Whate’er enchants them, are no snares to them. To them the deep recess of dusky groves. Or forest, where the deer securely roves. The fall of waters, and the song of birds. And hills that echo to the distant herds. Are luxuries excelling aU the glare The world can boast, and her chief fav’rites shar With eager step, and carelessly array’d, For such a cause the poet seeks the shade. From all he sees he catches new delight. Pleased Fancy claps her pinions at the sight. The rising or the setting orb of day. The clouds that flit, or slowly float away, Nature in all the various shapes she wears. Frowning in storms, or breatning gentle airs ; The snowy robe her wintry state assumes, . Her summer heats, her fruits, and her perfumes All, aU alike transport the glowing bard, Success in rhyme his glory and reward. O Nature i whose Elysian scenes disclose His bright perfections, at whose word they rose^ retirement. 131 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 ^ 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 hne 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. Wo to the man, whose wit disclaims its use, Glitt’ring 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 eniploys 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 idolator of absent charms. Saints offer nothing in their warmest payers, That he devotes not with a zeal like theirs ; ’Tis consecration of his heart, soul, time, And every thought that wanders is a crime. In sighs he worships his suppmely lair. And weeps a sad libation in despair ; Adores a creature, and, devout in yam. Wins in return an answer of disdain. As woodbine weds the plant withm 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 spmys. But does a mischief while she lends a grap, Strait’ning its growth by such a strict embrace ; So love, that clings around the noblest pinds. Forbids th’ 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 : m RETIREMENT* Oirt 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 friend^ the most since 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 seats. Sweet birds in concert with harmonious streams Soft airs, nocturnal vigils, and day dreams, Are all enchantments in a case like thine, Conspire against thy peace with one design, Soothe thee to make thee but a 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 ; 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 p>:rer air. Look where he comes — in this embower’d alcove Htand close conceal’d, and see a statute move : retirement. 133 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 spor^ Its brisker and its graver strains fall short ; Both fail beneath a fever’s secret swa}^ And like a summer brook are past 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 niodern Jobs prepare. Bless’d, rather cursed, with hearts that never leel, Kept snug in caskets of close-hammer d steel, 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 sovereijzn 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 ot man. Does all, and deems too little all, he can, T’ assuage the throbbings of the fester d part. And staunch the bleedings of a broken heart. ’Tis not, as heads that never ache suppose. Forgery of fancy, and a dream of woes ]\Ian is a harp, whose chords elude the sight, Each yielding harmony disposed aright ; 134 RETIREMENT. 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 frown, and kiss his chastening hand. To thee the dayspring, and the blaze of noon, The purple evening and resplendent moon, The stars, that, sprinkled o’er the vault of night, Seem drops descending in a shower of light. 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, Borr’wing a beauty from the works of grace, Shall be despised and overlook’d no more, Shall Ml 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, retirement. 135 Receive me languishing for that repose, The servant of the public never knows, vrsaw me once (ah, those revetted days, When boyish innocence was all my praise .) ; Hour, after hour delightfully allot To studies then familiar, since forgot, \nd cultivate a taste for ancient song,^ f atchinff its ardour as I mused along ; Vor Sm, as propitious Heaven ^ight^end. What once 1 valued and could boast, a iriena, Were witnesses how cordially I press d ^ His undissemhling virtue to my breast ; Receive me now, not incorrupt as then. Nor guiltless of corrupting other men. But versed in arts, that, while they seem to stay A. falling empire, hasten its decay. To the fair haven of my native home ^ The wreck of what I was, fatigued I come , For once 1 can approve the patriot ® • . 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, ioUs at his ease behind four handsome bays. Chat whirl away from business and debate Che disencumber’d Atlas of the state. Uk notX boy, who, when the breeze of mom v?st shaket th^gliue’ring drops from every thorn, Infolds his flock, then under ba";! ;its linking cherry-stones, or ^1“’ . low fair is Freedom ?— he was always tree . fo carve his rustic name "P®" ^ u p fo snare the mole, or with lU-fashim “ p Co draw th’ incautious minnow ft®™, ’ \re life’s prime pleasures in his simple view, ais flock the chief concern he ever knew ; :She shines but little in his heedless ejjes,^ The good we never miss we rarely prize . But ask the noble drudge in state attairs, Kseaned from office and its constant cares, tVhat charms he sees in Freedom’s smile express , in Freedom lost so long, now repossess d; RETIREMENT. The tongue, whose strains were cogent, as com- Revered at home, and felt in foreign lands, [mands, bnall own itself a stammerer in that cause, Ur plead its silence as its best applause. S®. , j whether dress’d or rude. Wild without art or artfully subdued, Nature in every form inspires delight, But never marked her with so just a sight. Her hedge-row shrubs, a variegated store, With woodbine and wild roses mantled o’er. Green balks and furrow’d lands, the stream, that Its cooling vapour o’er the dewy meads, [spreads Howns, that almost escape th’ inquiring eye. That melt and fade into the distant sky, Beauties he latelv slighted a^ he pass’d, Seem all created since he travell’d last. Master of all th’ enjoyments he design’d. No rough annoyance rankling in his mind. What early philosophic hours he keeps. How regular his meals, how sound he sleeps ! Not sounder he, that on the mainmast head. While morning kindles with a windy red. Begins a long look-out for distant land. Nor quits till evening watch his giddy stand. Then swift descending with a seaman’s haste. Slips to his hammock, and forgets the blast. He chooses company, but not the squire’s. Whose wit is rudeness, whose good-breeding tires ; Nor yet the parson’s, who would gladly come. Obsequious when abroad, though proud at home ; Nor can he rnuch affect the neighbouring peer. Whose toe of emulation treads too near ; But wisely seeks a more convenient friend, W^ith whom, dismissing forms, he may unbend ! A man, whom marks of condescending grace Teach, while they flatter him, his proper place ; Who conies 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. retirement. 137 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 mere ; 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. Blames his own indolence, observes, though late, ’Tis criminal to leave a sinking state. Flies to the levee, and, received with grace. Kneels, kisses hands, and shines again in place. Suburban villas, highway-side retreats. That dread th’ 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 thougnt. That could afford retirement, or could not . ’Tis such an easy walk, so smooth and straight, The second mile-stone fronts the garden gate ; A step if fair, and, if a shower approach. You find safe shelter in the next stage-coach. There, prison’d in a parlour snug and small Like bottled wasps upon a southern wall, 138 RETIREMENT. 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 show 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 ; A.nd he, that deems his leisure well bestow’d {n contemplation of a turnpike-road, fs 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 Th’ unpitied victim of ill-judged expense. From all his wearisome engagements freed. Shakes hands with business, and retires indeed. Your prudent grand-mammas, ye modern belles, Content with Bristol, Bath, and Tunbridge-wells, When health required it would consent to roam. Else more attach’d to pleasures found at home. 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 Ood. He swathes about the swelling of the deep, That shines and rests, as infants smile and sleep ; Vast as it is, it answers as it flows The breathings of the lightest air that blows ; Curling and whitening over aU the waste. The rising waves obey th’ increasing blast, Vbrupt and horrid as the tempest roars. Thunder and flash upon the stedfast shores. Till he, that rides the whirlwind, checks the rein, Then all the world of waters sleeps again. — retirement. 139 Nereids or Dryads, as the fashion leads. Now in the floods, now panting m the meads, Vot’ries 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 m your morning nde. 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 th’ impertinence of tongue. That, while it courts, affronts and does you wrong, Mark well the finish’d plan without a mult. The seas globose and huge, th o er-arching vau , Earth’s millions daily fed, ,a world employ d In gathering plenty yet to be enjoyed, 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. 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 m rhyme ; Streams tinkle sweetly in poetic chime : The warblings of the blacfcird, clear and strong. Are musical enough in Thomson s song ; [treats. And Cobham’s groves, and Windsors green re- When Pope describes them, have a thousand sweets , He likes me country, but in truth must own JMost likes it, when he studies it in town. Poor Jack — no matter who— for when I blame, I pity, and must therefore sink the name. Lived in his saddle, loved the chase, the course. And always, ere he mounted, kissed his horse. 140 RETIREMENT. Th’ estate, his sires had owned in ancient years, Was quickly distanced, match’d against a peer’s. Jack vanished, was regretted and forgot ; ’Tis wild good-nature’s never-failing lot. At length, when all had long supposed him dead, By cold submersion, razor, rope, or lead, My lord, alighting at his usual place, The Crown, took notice of an ostler’s face. Jack knew his friend, but hoped in that disguise He might escape the most observing eyes, And whistling, as if unconcerned and gay. Curried his nag, and looked another way. Convinced at last, upon a nearer view, ’Twas he, the same, the very Jack he knew, O’er whelmed at once with wonder, grief, and joy. He press’d him much to quit his base employ ; His countenance, his purse, his heart, his hand, Influence and power, were all at his command : Peers are nof always generous as well-bred. But Granby was, meant truly what he said. Jack bowed, and was obliged— confessed ’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. Thus some retire to nourish hopeless wo ; Some seeking happiness not found below; Some to comply with humour, and a mind To social scenes by nature disinclined ; Some svv^ay’d by fashion, some by deep disgust ; Some self-impoverished, and because they must ; But few, that court Betirement, are aware Of half the toils they must encounter there. Lucrative offices are seldom lost For want of powers proportioned to the post ; Give even a dunce th’ 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. retirement. 141 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 distressed. The veteran steed, excused his task at length, In kind compassion of his failing strength. And turned 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 snulfs the wind : But when his lord would quit the busy road, To taste a joy like that he had bestowed. He proves, less happv 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, Wheie dreams of dress, intrigue, and pleasure reign ; Nor such as useless conversation breeds. Or lust engenders, and indulgence feeds. 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 show th’ 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 ? 142 RE r I REM ENT. Pardon me, ye that give the midnight oil To learned cares, or philosophic tod. Though I revere your honourable names, Your useful labours and important aims, And hold the world indebted to your aid, Enrich’d with the discoveries ye have made ; Yet let me stand excused, if I esteem A mind employ’d on so sublime a theme, Pushing her bold inquiry to the date And outline of the present transient state. And, after poising her advent’rous wings, Settling at last upon eternal things, Far more intelligent, and better taught The strenuous use of profitable thought. Than ye, when happiest, and enlighten’d most, And highest in renown, can justly boast. A mind unnerved, or indisposed to bear The weight of subjects worthiest of her care, M^hatever 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 modern manners show ; Nor his,* who, for the bane of thousands born. Built God a church, and laugh’d his word to scorn. Skilful alike to seem devout and just. And stab religion with a sly side-thrust ; Nor those of learn’d philologists, who chase A panting syllable tnrough 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, th’ associate ot 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, VForthy to live, and of eternal use : * Voltaire built a church at Femey, with this inscription, “ DEO EREXIT VOLTAIRE.- retirement. 143 Rehold in these what leisure hours demand, Amusement and true knowledge band m hand. Luxury gives the min^ 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 I ancy lame , TiU 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, ishouM turn to writers of an abler sort, - , , Whose wit well managed, and whose classic style, Give truth a lustre, and make wisdom senile. Friends (for I cannot stint, as some have done, Too riffid in my view, that name to one ; Though one, I grant it, in the generous breast Will stand advanced a step above the lest . Flowers by that name promiscuously we call, But one, the rose, the regent of them aU)— Friends, not adopted with a schoolboy s haste, But chosen with a nice discerning taste. Well-born, well-disciphned, who, placed, apajj From vulgar minds, have honour much at heart. And, though the World W, think th mgredients The love of Virtue, and the fear of God I Louti, Such friends prevent what else would soon succeed, A temper rustic as the life we lead, And keep the polish of the manners clean As theirs who bustle in the busiest scene ; For solitude, however some may rave, Seeming a sanctuary, proves a grpe, A sepulchre in which the living he. Where all good qualities grow sick and die. 1 praise the Frenchman,* his remark was shrewd- How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude . Brnyere. iU RETIREMENT. But grant me still a friend in my retreat, Whom 1 may whisper — solitude is sweet. ^ Yet neither these delights, nor aught beside, That appetite can ask, or wealth provide, Can save us always from a tedious day. Or shine the dulness of still life away : Divine communion, carefully enjoy’d Or sought with energy, must fill the void. % O sacred art, to which alone life owes Its happiest seasons, and a peaceful close. Scorn’d in a world, indebted to that scorn For evils daily felt and hardly borne. Not knowing thee, we reap with bleeding hands Flowers of rank odour upon thorny lands. And, while Experience cautions us in vain, Grasp seeming happiness, and find it pain. Despondence, self-deserted in her grief. Lost by abandoning her own relief, Murmuring and ungrateful Discontent, That scorns afflictions mercifully meant. Those humours, tart as vdnes upon the fret. Which idleness and weariness beget; liiese, and a thousand plagues, that haunt the Fond of the phantom of an earthly rest, [breast, Divine communion chases, as the day Drives to tJheir dens th’ obedient beasts of prey. See Judah’s prornised king, bereft of all, Driven out an exile from the face of Saul, To distant caves the lonely wand’rer flies. To seek that peace a tyrant’s frown denies. Hear the sweet accents of his tuneful voice, Hear him, oer’whelm’d with sorrow, yet rejoice ; No womanish or wailing grief has part. No, not a moment, in his royal heart ; ’Tis manly music, such as martyrs make, SufTring with gladness for a Saviour’s sake ; His soul exults, hope animates his lays, The sense of mercy kindles into praise, And wilds, famdiar with the lion’s roar, Bing with ecstatic sounds unheard before ; ’Tis love like his, that can alone defeat The foes of man, or make a desert sweet. RETIREMENT. 145 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 ; I’o 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 huma,n 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 hy 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. K ADVERTISEMENT. The history of the following production is briefly this : A lady, fond of blank verse, demanded a poem of that kind from the author, and gave hiffi the Sofa for a subject. He obeyed ; and, having much lei- sure, connected another subject with it ; and pursuing the train of thought to which his situation and turn of mind led him, brought forth at length, instead of the trifle which he at first intended, a serious affair— a Volume. In the poem on the subject of Education, he would be very sorry to stand suspected of having aimed his censure at any particular school. His objections are such as naturally apply themselves to schools in general. If there were not, as for the most part there IS, wilful neglect in those who manage them, and an omission even of such discipline as they are suscep- tible of, the objects are yet too numerous for minute attention ; and the aching hearts of ten thousand parents, mourning under the bitterest of all disap- pointments, attest the truth of the allegation. His quarrel, therefore, is with the mischief at large, and | not with any particular instance of it. THE TASK. BOOK I. THE SOFA. Argument of tlie first Book. Historical deduction of Seats, from the stool to the Sofa— A Schoolboy’s ramble A walk in the country— The scene described — Rural sounds as well as sights delightful— Another walk— Mistake concerning the charms of solitude corrected — Colonnades commended — Alcove, and the view from it— The wilderness— The grove— The thrasher — 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 some- times expedient—A common described, and the character of crazy Kate introduced— Gipsies— The blessings of civilized life— That state most favourable to virtue— The South Sea islanders compassion ated, but chiefly Omai— His present state of mind supposed— Civi- lized life friendly to virtue, but not great cities— Great cities, and London in particular, allowed their due praise, but censured— Fete champetre — The book concludes with a reflection on the fatal effects of dissipation and effeminacy upon our public measures. 1 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 advent’rous flight. Now seek repose upon an humbler theme ; The theme though humble, yet august and proud Th’ occasion — for the Fair commands the song. Time was, when clothing sumptuous or for use, Save their own 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 grav’Uy bank Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud, . Fearless of wrong, reposed his weary strength. Those barb’rous ages past, succeeded next 148 THE TASK. [book I. The birth-day of Invention ; weak at first, Dull in desi^, and clumsy to perform. Jomt-stools were then created; on three legs Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm 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 stiU be seen ; but perforated sore. And drill’d in holes, the solid oak is found. By worms voracious eating through and through. At length a generation more refined Improved the simple plan ; made three legs four, Gave them a twisted form vermicular. And o’er the seat, with plenteous wadding stuff’d, Induced a splendid cover, green and blue. Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wrought And woven close, or needlework sublime. There might ye see the piony spread wide. The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, Lapdog and lambkin with black staring eyes. And parrots with twin cherries in their beak. Now came the cane from India, smopth and bright With Nature’s varnish ; severed into stripes, That interlaced each other, these supplied Of texture firm a lattice-work, that braced The new machine, and it became a chair. But restless was the chair ; the back erect Distress’d the weary loins, that felt no ease ; The slipp’ry seat betray’d the sliding part. That press’d it, and the feet hung dangling down. Anxious in vain to find the distant floor. These for the rich ; the rest, whom Fate had placed In modest mediocrity, content With base materials, sat on well-tann’d hides, Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth. With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn. Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fix’d. If cushion might be call’d, what harder seem’d Than the firm oak, of which the frame was form’d. No want of timber then was felt or feared In Albion’s happy isle. The lumber stood THE SOFA. 149 Pond’rous and fix’d by its own massy weight. But elbows still were wanting : these, some say, An alderman of Cripplegate contrived ; And some ascribe th’ invention to a priest, Burly, and big, and studious of his ease. But rude at first, and not with easy slope ^ Beceding wide, they pressed against the ribs, And bruised the side ; and, elevated high, Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. Long time elapsed or e’er our rugged sires Complained, 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 employed t’ accommodate the fair Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised The soft settee ; one elbow ^ 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 packed, and smiling, in a chaise and one. But relaxation of the languid frame, ^ By soft recumbency of outstretched lirnbs. Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slow The growth of what is excellent ; so hard T’ attain perfection in this nether world. Thus first Necessity invented stools. Convenience next suggested elbow chairs, And Luxury th’ accomplish’d Sofa last. The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick. Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he, ■^^o 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 jieither oleep Of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead ; Nor his, who quits the box at midnight hour, To slumber in the carriage mqre secure ; ^ Nor sleep enjoy’d by curate in his desk; 150 THE TASK. [book I. Nor yet the dozings of the clerk, are sweet, Compared with the repose the Sofa yields. O may I live exempted (while I live Guiltless of pamper’d appetite obscene) From pangs arthritic, that infest 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 cropped 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 much endear’d, How oft, my slice of pocket store consumed. Still hung’nng, pennyless, and far from home, I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws. Or blushing crabs, or berries, that emboss The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. Hard fare ! but such as boyish appetite Disdains not ; nor the palate, undepraved By culinary arts, unsav’ry deenisi 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 glady keep ; A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees Their length and colour from the locks they spare ; Th’ elastic spring of an unwearied foot. That mounts the stile with ease, or leaps the fence. That play of lungs, inhaling and again Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me. Mine have not pilfer’d yet, nor yet impair’d My relish of fair prospect ; scenes that soothed Or charm’d me young, no longer young, I find THE SOFA. 151 Still soothing, and of power to charm me still. And witness, dear companion of my walks, Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive Fast lock’d in mine, with pleasure sach as love, Confirm’d by long experience of thy worth And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire — Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long. Thou know’st my praise of nature most sincere. And that my raptures are not conjured up To serve occasions of poetic pomp. But genuine, and art partner of them all. How oft upon 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 lab’ring 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 his 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 undidates upon the list’ning ear. Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote. Scenes must be beautiful, which daily view’d Please daily, and whose novelty survives Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years : Praise justly due to those that I describe. Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds. Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds. That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood 152 THE TASK. [book I. Of ancient growth, make music not unlike The dash of Ocean on his winding shore, And lull the spirit while they fUl the lAind ; Unnumber’d branches waving in the blast, And all their leaves fast flutt’ring, all at once. Nor less composure waits upon the roar Of distant floods, or on the softer voice Of neighb’ring fountain, or of riUs 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-fin^-er’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 even 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 hi^ly for their sake. Peace to the artist whose ingenious thought Devised the weather-house, that useful toy ! Pearless of humid air and gathering rains, Forth steps the man — an emblem of myself ! More delicate his tim’rous mate retires. When Winter soaks the flelds, and female feet, Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay, Or ford the rivulets, are best at home. The task of new discov’ries falls on me. At such a season, and with such a charge, Once went I forth ; and found, till then unknown, A cottage, whether 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, 153 THK SOFA. I caU’d the low-roof’d lodge the •peasants nest. And i^fants clamW, whether pleased or pain d, Oft have I wish’d the peaceful covert mine.. Here, I have said, at least I should possess The poet’s treasure, silence, and The dreams of fancy, tranquil t 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 crystd well , He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch. And, heavy laden, brings his bev Far fetch’d^ and little worth ; nor seldom waits, Dependent on the baker s pmictual call. To near his creaking panniers at the door, in^ and sad, and\is last crust consmned. So Farewell envy of the peasant s nest ! If solitude make scant the nieans ot lite, Society for me !— thou seeing sweet. Be still a pleasing object in my view ; My -visit still, but never mine abode. Not distant far, a length of TOlonnade Invites us. Monument of Now scorn’d, but worthy of a better fate. Our fathers knew the value of a screen From sultry suns : and, in their sl^oded walk. And long protracted bowers, enjoy d at noon The glooni 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 ae . TTiPtsp rhcsnuts ranged in corresponding lines , Sd, tSulh Self so polish’d^ stiU reprieves The obsolete proUxity of shade. Descending now (but cautious, lest too last) * John Courtney Thjockmorton, Esq. of Weston Underwood. 154 THE TASK. [book I. A sudden steep, upon a rustic bridge We pass a gulf, in which the willows dip 1 heir pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink. Hence, ancle deep in moss and flowery thyme. We mount again, and feel at every step Uur foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft, Kaised by the mole, the miner of the soil. He not unl^e the great ones of mankind. Disfigures Earth ; and, plotting in the dark, 1 oils much to earn a monumental pile. 1 to may record the mischiefs he has done. The summit gain’d, behold the proud alcove That crowns it ! yet not all its pride secures 1 He grand retreat from injuries impress’d By rural carvers, who with knives deface Ihe pannels, leaving an obscure, rude name. In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss, feo strong the zeal t’ immortalize himself Heats in the breast of man, that even a few, won from th’ abyss abhorr’d Ut 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 ^ours out Its fleecy tenants o’er the glebe. And first, progressive as a stream, they seek Ihe middle field ; but, scatter’d by degrees. Each to his choice, soon whiten all the land. here from the sunburnt hayfield homeward creeps Ihe loaded wain ; while, lightened of its charge, 1 he wain that meets it passes swiftly by : Ihe boorish driver leaning o’er his team V ocit rous, and impatient of delay. Nor less attractive is the woodland scene, Hiyersmed with trees of every growth, AHke, yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks Ot ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine Within the twilight of their distant shades ; 1 here, lost behind a rising ground, the wood feeems sunk, and shortened to its topmost boughs. No tree in all the grove but has its charms, 1 hough each its hue peculiar ; ij'aler some the sofa. 155 And of a wannish gray ; willow such. And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf. And ash far^tretching his umbrageous arm ; Of deeper green the elm ; and deeper still. Lord ohhe woods, the long- surviving oak. Some glossy-leaved, and shining in the sun, The maple, and the beech of oily nuts Prolific, and the hme at dewy eve Diffusing odours ; nor unnoted pass The sycamore, capricious in attire. Now green, now lawny, and ere autumn yet Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours brij^ht. O’er these, but far beyond (a spacious map Of hill and valley interposed between). The Ouse, dividing the well-water d land, Now glitters in the sun, and now retires, As bashful, yet impatient to be seen. Hence the declivity is sharp and short, And such the reascent ; between them weeps A little naiad her impov’rished urn All summer long, which winter fills again. The folded gates would bar my progress now, But that the lord * of this enclosed demesne, Communicative of the good he owns. Admits me to a share ; the guiltless eye Commits no wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys. ^ Refreshing change ! where now the blazing sun . By short transition we have lost his glare. And stepped at once into a cooler chme. 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 root . Re-echoing pious anthems ! while beneath The checker’d earth seems restless as a fiood Brushed by the wind. So sportive is the light Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance, Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick. And darkening and enlightening, ^s the leaves * See the foregoing note. 156 the task. [book r. Play wanton, every moment, every spot. And now, with nerves new-braced and spirits cheer’d, ^ We tread the wilderness, whose weU-rolled walks. With curvature of slow and easy sweep Reception innocent — give ample space lo narrow bounds. The grove receives us next; lietween the upright shafts of whose tall elms We may discern the thrasher at his task. I hump after thump resounds the constant flail, lhat seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls 1 ull on the destined ear. Wide flies the chaff, i he rustling straw sends up a frequent mist Ut atoms, sparkling in the noonday beam. Come hither, ye that press your beds of down, And sleep not ; see him sweating o’er his bread Before he eats it. ’Tis the primal curse, But softened into mercy ; made the pledge Ut cheerful days, and nights without a groan. By ceaseless action all that is subsists. Constant rotation of th’ unwearied wheel, That Nature rides upon, maintains her health. Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads An instant’s pause, and lives but whUe 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 teel the fresh’ning impulse, and are cleansed By restless undulation : even the oak Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm : We seems indeed indignant, and to feel Th’ impression of the blast with proud disdain, i rowmng, 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 disturbed above. 1 ne law, by which all creatures else are bound. Binds man, the lord of all. Himself derives Ao mean advantage from a kindred cause, i rom strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease. The sedentary stretch their lazy length THE SOFA. 157 V’hen Custom bids, but no refreshment find, 'or none they need : the languid eye, the cheek )eserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk, Lnd wither'd muscle, and the vapid soul, leproach their owner with that love of rest, ro which he forfeits even the rest he loves, s^ot such th’ alert and active. Measure life }y its true worth, the comforts it affords, ^nd theirs alone seems worthy of the name. Jood health, and, its associate in the most, xood temper ; spirits prompt to undertake, ^nd not soon spent, though in an arduous task ; rhe powers of fancy and strong thought are theirs ; 5ven age itself seems privileged in them >V^ith clear exemption from its own defects. ^ sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front rhe vet’ran shows, and,, gracing a gray beard i^ith youthful smiles, descends toward the grave Uprightly, and old almost without decay. Like a coy maiden, Ease, when courted most, farthest retires — an idol, at whose shrine iVho oftenest sacrifice are favoured least, rhe love of Nature, and the scenes she draws, [s Nature’s dictate. Strange ! there should be found Who^ self-imprisoned 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 rh’ 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 shows me that which I shaU 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 every sense. The air salubrious of her lofty hills. The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales And music of her^woods — no works of man May rival these, these all bespeak a power 158 THE TASK. [book Peculiar, and exclusively her own. Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast ; ’Tis free to all — ’tis every day renewed ; 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 And clammy, of his dark abode nave bred. Escapes at last to liberty and light : His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue ; His eye relumines its extinguished fires ; He walks, he leaps, he runs — is winged 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, possessed 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 wo 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 THE SOFA. 159 To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort Her mingled suits and sequences ; and sits, Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad And silent cipher, while her proxy plays. Others are dragg’d into the crowded rooin Between supporters ; and, once seated, sit. Through downright inability to rise. Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again. These speak a loud memento. Yet even these Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he. That overhangs a torrent, to a twig. They love it, and yet loath 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 invet’rate 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 headachs nail them to a noonday bed ; And save me too from theirs, wliose haggard eyes Flash desperation, and betray their pangs For property stripp’d off by cruel chance ; From gaiety, that fills the bones with pain, The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with wo. The earth was made so various, that the mind Of desultory man, studious of change. And pleased with novelty, might be indulged. Prospects, however lovely, may be seen Till half their beauties fade ; the weary sight. Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides off Fastidious*, seeking less familiar scenes. Then snug enclosures in the shelter’d vale Where frequent hedges intercept the eye. Delight us ; happy to renounce a while. 160 THE TASK. [book I Not senseless of its charms, what still we love, That such short absence may endear it more. Then forests, or the savage rock, may please, That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts Above the reach of man. His hoary head. Conspicuous many a league, the mariner Bound homeward, and in hope already there. Greets v/ith three cheers exulting. At his waist A girdle of half- wither’d shrubs he shows. 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, nas yet its bloom, And decks itself with ornaments of gold, Yields no unpleasing ramble ; there the turf Smells fresh, and, rich in odorif’rous herbs And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense With luxury of unexpected, sweets. There often wanders one, whom better days Saw better clad, in clo’ak of satin trimm’d With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound. A serving maid was she, and fell in love With one who left her, went to sea, and died. Her fancy follow’d him through foaming 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 smiled 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 JMore 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, Tho’ pinch’d with cold, asks never Kate is crazed. I see a column of slow -rising smoke THE SOFA. 161 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, Beceives the morsel — flesh obscene of dog, Or vermin, or at best of cock purloin’d From his accustom’d perch. Hard faring race ! They pick their fuel out of every hedge, [quench’d Which, kindled with dry leaves,, just saves un- The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide Their fluttering rags, and shows 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-banished from society, prefer Such squalid sloth to honourable toil ! Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft, They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, And vex their flesh with artificial sores. Can change their whine into a mirthful note. When safe occasion offers ; and with dance. And music of the bladder and the bag. Beguile their woes, and make the w^oods resound. Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy The houseless rovers of the sylvan world ; And, breathing wholesome air, and wand’ring much, Need other physic none to heal th’ effects Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold. Bless’d 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 learn’d, though slow to learn, The manners and the arts of civil life. His wants indeed are many ; but supply Is obvious, placed within the easy reach Of temperate wishes and industrious hands. L 162 THE TASK. [book I. 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 springs spontaneous) in remote And barb’rous climes, where violence prevails, And strength is lord of all ; but gentle, kind, By culture tamed, by liberty refresh’d, And all her fruits by radiant truth matured : War and the chase engross the savage whole. War followed 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 shiv’ring natives of the north, And thus the rangers of the western world, Where it advances far into the deep, Tow’rds the antarctic. Even the favour’d 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 Prom ail that science traces, art invents. Or inspiration teaches ; and enclosed In boundless oceans, never to be pass’d By navigators uninform’d as they. Or plough’d perhaps by British bark again : But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, Thee, gentle savage !* whom no love of tliee Or thine, but curiosity perhaps, Or else vain glory, prompted us to draw Forth from thy native bowers, to show thee here With what superior skill we can abuse The mfts of Providence, and squander life. The dream is past ; and thou hast found again Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, * Ooiai. 163 THE SOFA. 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 Lost nothing by comparison with ours ? Rude as thou art (for we return’d thee rude And ignorant, except of outward show) I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart And spiritless, as never to regret Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. Methinks I see thee straying on the beach. And asking of the surge, that bathes thy foot. If ever it has wash’d our distant shore. I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, A patriot’s for his country : thou art sad At thought of her forlorn and abject state. From which no power of thine can raise her up. Thus Fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err, Perhaps errs little, when she paints thee thus. She tells me too, that duly every morn Thou climb’st the mountain top, with eager eye Exploring far and wide the wat’ry waste For sight of ship from England. Every spesck 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 sod of cultivated life Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, Yet not in cities oft ; in proud, and gay, 164 . THE TASK. •[book I. 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, ■Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue, taught By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there Beyond th’ achievement of successful flight. I do confess them nurs’ries 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, by taste and wealth proclaim’d The fairest capital of all the world. By riot and incontinence the worst. There, touch’d by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees All her reflected features. Bacon there Gives more than female beauty to a stone, And Chatham’s eloquence to marble lips. Nor does the chisel occupy alone The powers of sculpture, but the style as much ; Each province of her art her equal care. With nice incision of her guided steel She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil So sterile with what charms soe’er she will. The richest scenery and the loveliest forms. Where finds Philosophy her eagle eye. With which she gazes at yon burning disk 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. THE SOFA. 165 A more accomplish’d world’s chief glory now. She has her praise. Now tnark a spot or two, That so much beauty would do well to purge ; And show this queen of cities, that so fair May yet be foul ; so witty, yet not wise. It is not seemly, nor of ^oqd report. That she is slack in discipline ; more prompt T’ avenge than to prevent the breach of law : That she is rigid in denouncing death On petty robbers, and indulges life And liberty, and ofttimes honour too. To peculators of the public gold : 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 t’ annul And abrogate, a^ 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 threaten’d in the fields and groves ? Possess ye therefore, ye who, borne about In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue But that of idleness, and taste no scenes But such as art contrives, possess ye still Your element ; there only ye can shine ; There only minds like yours can do no harm. Our groves were planted to console at noon The pensive wand’rer in their shades. At eve The moonbeam, 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 THE TASK. 166 [book u Our softer satellite. Your songs confound Our more harmonious notes ; the thrush departs Scared, and th’ olFended nightingale is mute. There is a public mischief in your mirth ; It plagues your country. Folly such as yotirs, Graced with a sword, and worthier of a f^^ti, Has made>. which enemies could ne’er have doncj Our arcn of empire, stedfast but for you, A mutilated structure, soon to fall. THE TASK. BOOK II. THE TIMEPIECE. Argument oftlie Second Book. BpflflTtions sueeested by the conclusion of the former bodk-Eeaee ^^ong the nations recommended, on fellowship in sorrow-Prodigies enujnerated-Sicihan ^rthquate Man r^dered obnoxious to these calamities by sm— God the agent in them— The philosophy that stops at secondary causes reproved— Our own late miscarriages accounted for— Satirical notice taken of nur trios to Fountainbleau— But the pulpit, not satire, the proper en- Se of reformation-The Bevgrend Advertiser of engraved sermons ^ Petit-maitre parson — The good preacher— Picture of a theatrical clerical coxcomb— Story-tellers and jesters in the pidpit reproved— A?ostrophe to popular Ypplause-Retailersrf ancimt m^ateSTwith— Sum of the whole matter— Effects of sacerdotal nnsm^. Semenron the laity— Their folly and extravagince- The mischiefs ^SSLn-Profusion itself, with all its consequent evils, ascnbed, as to its principal cause, to the want of discipline m the universities. O FOR a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguitjr 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 , 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 nat ral bond Of brotherhood is sever’d as the fl^. That falls asunder at the topch. of fire. He finds his fellow guilty of a skin Not colour’d like his own ; and having power T’ enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. Lands intersected by a narrow frith Abhor each other. Mountains interposed ) 168 THE TASK. [book H Make enemies of nations, who had else L^e 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 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 ? 1 would not have a slave to till my ground. To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, t^?^ble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earn’d. No : dep 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 loos’d. Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free ; They touch our country, and their shackles fall. That’s noble, and bespeaks a nation proud And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, And let it circulate through 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 deathbell of its own decease, And by the voice of all its elements To preach the general doom.* When were the winds Eet slip with such a warrant to destroy ? Whp did the waves so haughtily o’erleap Their ancienjt barriers, deluging the dry ? Fires from beneath, and meteorsf from above, * Alludiug to the calamities in Jamaica, t August 18, 1783. THE TIMEPIECE. 169 Portentous, unexampled, unexplain’d, Have kindled beacons in the skies ; and th old And crazy Earth has had her shaking hts More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. Is it a time to wrangle, when the props And pillars of our planet seem to fail, And Nature* with a dim and sickly eye To wait the close of all ? But grant her end 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 syncope and solemn pause ; While God performs upon the trembling stage Of his own works his dreadful part alone. How does the Earth receive him ?— with what signs Of gratulation and delight her king ? Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad. Her sweetest flowers, her aromatic gums. Disclosing Paradise where’er he treads ? She quakes at his approach. Her hoUow womb, Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps And fiery caverns, roars beneath his foot. The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke, For he has touch’d them. From th’ extremest pom t Of elevation down into th’ abyss His wrath is busy, and his frown is felt. The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise. The rivers die into offensive pools, t Alluding to the fog, that covered both Europe and Asia during the whole summer of 1783. ^ the task. [book II And, charged with putrid verdure, breathe a gross And mortal nuisance into all the air. What solid was, by transformation stran^. Grows fluid ; and the fix’d and rooted earth, rorrnented into billows, heaves and swells, Or with vertiginous and hideous whirl Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs And agonies of human and of brute JVIultitudes, 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, liook’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, Maiere beauty oft and letter’d worth consume Infe in the unproductive shades of death, Fall prone : the pale inhabitants come forth. And, happy in their unforeseen release From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy The terrors of the day that sets them free. Who then, that has thee, would not hold thee fast. Freedom ? whom they that lose thee so regret That even a judgment, making way for thee, Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake ? Such evil Sin hath wrought ; and such a flame Kindled in Heaven, that it burns down to earth, And in me 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, THE TIMEPIECE. 171 Conspire against him. With his br^th he draws A plague into his blood ; and cannot use T ifr’s necessary means, but he must die. _ sior4 ^e To^erwheli him : or if stormy winds Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise. And, needing none assistance of the stom, Shall roll themselves ashore, The earth shall shake him out of all ^is holds. Or make his house his grave : Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood. And drown him in her dry and dusty golfs. What then !— were they the mcked above all. And we the righteous, whose fast-anchor d isle Moved not, w^ile *eirs was rock ff. The sport of every wave ? No . ““"f r And none than we more ^afte Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the snatts ^ Of wrath obnoxious, God may * May punish, if he please, the less, to warn The more malignant. If he spare not them, Tremble and be amazed at thine o^oape, ^ Far guiltier England, lest he smre not thee . nippy the man, who sees a G^od employ d In all the good and ill, .tjjat checker life 1 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 inten The least of our concerns (since from th® least The greatest oft originate) ; could chance Find place in his dominion, or dispose One lawless particle to thwart his plan ; Theii God rmght be surprised, and ^^foreseen Contingence might alarm him, and 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 passt ’ To her, who, frugal only that her thrift May feed excesses she can ill affbrd. Is hapkney’d home unlackey’d ; who, in haste Alighting, turns the key in her own door, And, at the watchman’s lantern borr’wing light, Finds a cold bed her only comfort left. Wit^s beggar husbands, husbands starve their wives On Fortune’s velvet alter offering up Their last poor pittance— Fortune, most severe Of goddesses yet known, and costlier far Than all, that held their routs in Juno’s heaven.— So fare we in this prison-house the World ; And ’tis a fearful spectacle to see So many maniacs dancing in their chains. They gaze upon the links, that hold them fast, With eyes of anguish, execrate their lot, Then shake them in despair, and dance again ! Now basket u^^ the family of plagues. That waste our vitals ; peculation, sale Of honour, perjury, corruption, frauds By forgery, by subterfuge of law. By tricks and lies as numerous and as keen As the necessities their authors feel ; Then cast them, closely bundled, every brat At the right door. Profusion is the sire. Profusion unrestrain’d, with all that’s base In character, has litter’d all the land. And bred, within the mem’ry of no few, A priesthood, such as Baal’s was of old, A people, such as never was till now. It IS a hungry vice:— it eats up all That gives society its beauty, strength. Convenience, and security, and use : Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be tranp'd THE TASK. BOOK II. And gibbeted, as fast as a catchpole claws Can seise the slipp’ry 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. Till they can laugh at Virtue ; mock the fools. That trust them ; and in th’ end disclose a face, That would have shock’d Credulity herself. Unmask’d, vouchsafing this their sole excuse — Since all alike are selfish, why not they ? This does Profusion, and th’ accursed cause Of such deep mischief has itself a cause. In colleges and halls in ancient days. When learning, virtue, piety, ^d 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 his own praise ; and press the youth Close to his side, that pleased him. Learning grew Beneath his care a thriving vig’rous 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, the timepiece. 185 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 rev’rence in perverse, rebellious youtti. So coUeges and halls neglected much Their good old friend ; and Discipline at length, O’erlook’d and unemploy’d, fell sick and died. 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 diinc^ Then Compromise nad place, and Scrutiny Became stone blind ; Precedence went m 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 oflice, opening with a touch ; Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade, The tassel’d cap, and the spruce band a jest, A mock’ry of the world ! V^hat need -of these For gamesters, jockeys, broth ellers impure. Spendthrifts, and booted sportsmen, oft ner seen With belted waist and pointers at their heels. Than in the bounds of duty ? What was learn d, If aught was learn’d in'childhood, is forgot ; And such expense, as pinches parents blue, And mortifies the liberal hand of love, Is squander’d in pursuit of idle sports And vicious pleasures ; buys the boy a name, That sits a stigma on his father’s house. And cleaves through life inseparably close To him that wears it. What can after-games Of riper joys, and commerce with the world. The lewd vain world, that must receive him soon, Add to such erudition, thus acquired. Where science and where virtue are profess d . They may confirm his habits, rivet fast 186 the task. book ii. His foUy, but to spoil him is a task, That bids defiance to th’ united pow’rs 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 slumb’ring oscitancy mars the brood ? T^e nurse no doubt. Regardless of her charge, 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 onc e Peace to the mem’ry 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 W^ as sacred ; and was honour’d, loved, and wept. By more than one, themselves conspicuous there. Some mjnds are temper’d happily, and mix’d With such ingredients of good sense, and taste Of what is excellent in man, they thirst W^ith such a zeal to be what they approve, That no restraints can circumscribe them more Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom’s sake. Nor can example hurt them : what they see Of vice 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, » Ben et Coll. Cambrid^. THE TIMEPIECE. 187 Tlieir points obtuse, and feathers drunk with wine ! Well may the church wage unsuccessful war With such artill’ry arm’d. Vice parries wide Th’ un dreaded volley with a sword of straw, And stands an impudent and fearless mark. Have we not track’d the felon home, and found His birthplace, and his dam ? The country mourns, Mourns because every plague, that can infest Society, and that saps and worms the base Of th’ 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 th’ rob’d pedagogue ! Else let th’ arraigned Stand up unconscious, and refute the charge. So when the Jewish leader stretch’d his arm, And waved his rod divine, a race obscene. Spawn’d in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth, Polluting Egypt ; gardens, fields, and plains. Were cover’d with the pest : the streets were fill’d ; The croaking nuisance lurk’d in every nook ; Nor palaces, nor even chambers, ’scaped ; And the land stank — so num’rous was the fry. THE TASK. BOOK III. THE GARDEN. Argument of the Third ^ook. Self-recollection and reproof — Address to domestic happiness-^ome account of myself— The vanity of many of their pursuits who are reputed wise — Justification of my censures — Divine illumination ne- cessary to the most expert philosopher — The question, what is trutn . answered by other questions— Domestic happiness addressed 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 the wmter —Reasons why it is deserted at that season— Ruinous effects of Gaming and of expensive improvement— Book concludes vith an apostrophe to the metropolis. As one, who long in thickets and in brakes Entangled, winds now this way and now that His devious course uncertain, seeking home ; Or, having long in miry ways been foil’d And sore discomfited, from slough to slough Plunging, and half despairing of escape ; If chance at length he find a greensward smooth And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise. He chirrups brisk his ear-erecting steed. And winds his way with pleasure and with ease ; So I, designing other themes, and call’d T’ adorn the Sofa with eulogium due. To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams. Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat Of academic fame (howe’er deserved). Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last. But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road I mean to tread. I feel myself at large, THE GARDEN. 189 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 ine, 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 apprised 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 ofxtimes 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 unimpaired 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 teihper 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 eye^, still leaning on the arm Of Novelty, her fickle, frail support ; For thou art meek and constant, hating change, And finding in the calm of truth-tried love Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. Forsaking thee what shipwreck have we made Of honour, dignity, and fair renown ! Till prostitution elbows us aside 109 THE TASK. [book III. In all our crowded streets ; and senates seem Convened for purposes of empire less, Than to release tn’ adulteress from her bpnd. Th’ adulteress ! what a theme for angry verse ! What provocation to th’ indignant heart, That feels for injured love ! but I disdain The nauseous task to paint her as she is, Cruel, abandoned, glorying in her shame ! No let her pass, and charioted along In guilty splendour, shake the public ways ; The frequency of crimes has wash’d them white. And verse. of mine shall never brand the wretch. Whom matrons now of character unsmirch’d, And chaste themselves, are not ashamed to own. Virtue and vice had bound’ries 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, resenthil of the wrong. ’Twas heard perhaps on here and there a waif. Desirous to return, and not received ; But ’twas a wholesome rigour in the main, And taught th’ unblemish’d to preserve with care That purity, whose loss was loss of aU. 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 everv 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 !) That they are safe, sinners of either sex, Transgress what laws they may. Well dress’d, well bred. 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) THE GARDEN. 191 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 burn’d her mask, not needed here. Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts And specious semblances have lost their use. I was a stricken deer, that left the herd Long since. With many an arrow deep infix’d My panting side was charged, when I withdrew To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 1 himself In his side he bore, And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. With gentle force soliciting the darts. He drew them forth, and heal’d, and bade me live. Since then, with few associates, in remote And silent woods I wander, far from those My former partners of the peopled scene ; With few associates, and not wishing more. Here much I ruihinate, as much I may. With other views of men and manners now Than once, and others of a life to come. I see that all are wanderers, gone astray Each in his own delusions ; they are lost In chase of fancied happiness, still woo’d And never won. Dream after dream ensues ; And still they dream, that they shall still succeed, And still are disappointed. Rings the world With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind. And add two thirds of the remaining half. And find the total of their hopes and fears Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay As if created only like the fly That spreads his motley wings in th’ eve of noon, To sport their season, and be seen no more. The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise, And pregnant with discoveries new and rare. Some write a narrative of wars, and feats Of heroes little known ; and call the rant A history : describe the man, of whom His own coevals took bht little note. And paint his person, character, and views. 192 THE TASK. [book III. 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 snrewd design, That ran through all his purposes, and charge His mind with meanings that he never had. Or, having, kept conceal’d. Some drill and bore The solid earth, and from the strata there Extract a register, by which we learn. That he who made it, and reveal’d its date To Moses, was mistaken in its age. ^ Some, more acute, and more industrious still. Contrive creation ; travel nature up To the sharp peak of her sublimest height. And tell us whence the stars ; why some are fix’d. And planetary some ; what gave them first Rotation, from what fountain flow’d their light. Oreat 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 teaze the lungs, and blear the sight, Of oracles like these ? Great pity too. That having wielded th’ 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, v/ho 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 reck’ning, that has lived in vain : And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well, And prove it in th’ infallible result So hollow and so false — I feel my heart Dissolve in pit^r, and account the leam’d, If this be learning, most of all deceived. Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps, THE GARDEN. 193 While thoughtful man is plausibly amused. Defend me therefore, common sense, say I, From reveries so airy, from the toil Of dropping buckets into empty wells. And growing" old in drawing nothing up ! ’Twere well, says one sage erudite, profound, Terribly arch’d, and aquiline ^is nose. And overbuilt with most impending brows, ’Twere well could you permit the world to live As the world pleases : what’s tlie 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. g ow then should I and any man that lives e strangers to each other ? Pierce my vein, Take of the crimson stream meandring 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 as thou art. To cut the link of brotherhood, by which One common Maker bound me to the kind ? True ; I am no proficient, I confess. In arts like yours. 1 cannot call the swift And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds. And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath ; I cannot analyze the air, nor catch The parallax of yonder lum’nous point. That seems half quench’d in the immense abyss : Such powers 1 boast not— neither can I rest A silent witness of the headlong rage. Or heedless folly, by which thousands die. Bone of ray bone, and kindred souls to mine.. God never meant that man should scale the By strides of human wisdom, in his works, [heavens lliough wondrous : he commands us in his word To seek him rather where his mercy shines. The mind, indeed, enlighten’d from above. Views him in all ; ascribes to the grand cause The grand effect ; acknowledges with joy 194 THE TASK. [book III. His manner, and with rapture tastes his style. Hut never yet did philosophic tube, That brings the planets home into the eye Of Observation, and discovers, else Not visible, his family of worlds. Discover him that rules them ; such a veil Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth. And dark in things divine. Full often too Our wayward intellect, the more we learn Of nature, overlooks her author more ; From instrumental causes proud to draw Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake. But if his word once teach us, shoot a ray Through all the heart’s dark chambers, and reveal Truths undiscern’d but by that holy light. Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptized In the pure fountain Of eternal love. Has eyes indeed ; and viewing all she sees As meant to indicate a God to man. Gives him his praise, and forfeits not her own. Beaming has borne such fruit in other days On all her branches : piety has found Friends in the friends of science, and tme prayer Has flow’d from lips wet with Castalian dews. Such was thy wisdom, Newton, child-like sage ! Sagacious reader of the works of God, And in his word sagacious. Such too thine, Milton, whose genius had angelic wings. And fed on manna ! 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 Bike the fair flower dishevell’d in the wind ; niches have wings, and grandeur is a dream. 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 ; th’ only lasting treasure, truth. THE GARDEN. 195 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 leisure pass’d ! Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweets; Though many boast thy favours, and affect To understand and choose thee for their own. But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss. Even 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, Befiections such as meliorate the heart. Compose the passions, and exalt the mind ; Scenes such as these ’tis his supreme delight To fin with riot, and defile witn blood. Should some contagion, kind to the poor brutes We persecute, annihilate the tribes. That draw the sportsman over hill and dale Fearless, and wrapt away from aH his cares; 596 the task. [book hi. 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-distendmg sighs ? Vain tears, alas, and sighs that never find A corresponding tone in jovial souls ! Well— one at least is safe. One shelter’d hare Has never heard the sanguinary yeU 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 mayst eat thy bread, and lick the hand That feeds thee ; thou mayst frolic on the floor A evening, and at night retire secure To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm’d ; For I have gain’d thy confidence, have pledged All that is human in me, to protect Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave ; And, when I place thee in it, sighing say, I knew at least one hare that had a tnend. See the note at the end ot the volume. THE GARDEN. 197 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 t’ 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 rex)aid with use. When He shall call his debtors to account, From whom are all our blessings, business finds Even here : while sedulous I seek t’ improve. At least neglect not, or leave unemploy’d. The mind he gave me ; driving it, though slack Too oft, and much impeded in its work 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 nimself engaged t’ achieve No unimportant, though a silent, task. A life all turbulence and noise may seem To him that leads it wise, and to be 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 His warm but simple home, where he enjoys With her, who shares his pleasures and his heart. Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph, Which neatly she prepares ; then to his book Well chosen, and not sullenly perused THE TASK. [book III. 198 In selfish silence, but imparted oft. As ought occurs, that she may smile to near, Or turn to nourishment, digested well, Or if the garden with its many cares. All well repaid, demand him, he atteMs The welcome call, conscious how inuch the hand Of luhbard I^abour needs his watchful eye, Oft loitering lazily, if not o’erseen, Or misapplying his unskilful strength. Nor does he govern only or direct, , . ^ But much performs himself. No works indeed. That ask robust, tough sinews, bred to toil. Servile employ ; but such as may ^use. Not tire, demanding rather skill than torce. Proud of his well-spread walls, he views his trees, That meet, no barren interval between. With pleasure more than even their fruits aftord ; W^hich, save himself who trains them, none can These therefore are his own peculiar charge ; Lteel. No meaner hand may discipline the None but his steel approach them. What is weak. Distemper’d, 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 th’ expense of neighb rmg twigs Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion lett, That may disgrace his art, or disappoint Large expectation, he disposes neat At measured distances, that air and sun. Admitted freely, may afiord their aid. And ventilate and warm the swelling buds. Hence Summer has her riches. Autumn hence. And hence even Winter fills his wither d hand With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own. Fair recompense of labour well bptow 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 • ‘ Mitaturque novos fiructus et non sna poma.’— Virg- THE GARDEN. 199 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 w:ithdrawn, 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 unassay’d in song. Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice, long since, Their eulogy ; those sang the Mantuan bard, And these the Grecian, in ennobling strains ; And in thy numbers, Phillips, shines for aye The solitary shilling. Pardon then, Ye sage dispensers of poetic fame, Th’ 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 beech 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 builds Th’ agglomerated pile his frame may front The sun’s meridian disk, and at the back Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, oi hedge Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread THE TASK. 200 [book III. Dry fern or littered hay, that may imbihe Th’ ascending damps ; thp leisurely impose. And lightly, shaking it with agile hand From uie full fork, the saturated straw. What longest binds the closest form^ secure The shapely side, that as it rises takes. By just degrees, an overhanging breadth. Sheltering the base with its projected eaves ; Th! uplifted frame, compact at every joint, And overlaid with clear translucent glass, He settles next upon the sloping mount. Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure From the dashed 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, [mass Slow gathering in the midst, through the square Diffused, attain the surface ! when, behold ! A pestilent and most corrosive steam, Eixe a gross fog Boeotian, rising fast. And fast condensed upon the dewy sash. Asks egress ; which obtain’d, the overcharged And drenched conservatory breathes abroad. In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank ; And, purified, rejoices to have lost Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage Th’ 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 Th’ auspicious moment, when the tempered 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 fill’d with well-^prepared And fruitful soil, that has been treasured long. And drank no moisture froin the dripping clouds. These on the warm and genial earth, that hides The smoking manure, and o’erspreads it all, THE GARDEN. 201 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 lived ; but assuming soon. If fann’d by balmy and nutritious air. Strained through the friendly mats, a vivid green. Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves, Cautious he pinches from the second stack A pimple, that portends a future sprout. And interacts its growth. ^ Thence straight succeed The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish ; Prolific all, and harbingers of more. The crowded roots demand enlargement now. And transplantation in an ampler space. Indulged in what they wish, they soon supply Large foliage, overshad’wing golden flowers,^ Blown on the summit of th’ apparent fruit. These have their sexes ! and, when summer shines, The bee transports the fertilizing meal From flower to flower, and even the breathing air Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use. Not sa when winter scowls. Assistant Art Then acts in Nature’s office, brings to pass The glad espousals, and insures 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. Y e little know the cares. The vigilance, the labour, and the skill. That day and night are exercised, and hang Upon the ticklish balance of suspense. That ye may garnish your profuse regales With summer fruits brougnt forth by wintry suns. Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart The process. Heat and cold, and wind, and steam. Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming flies. Minute as dust, and numberless, oft work Dire disappointment, that admits no cure. And which no care can obviate. It were long. THE TASK. 202 [book III. Too long, to tell th’ 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 learned 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 un withering 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. Th’ amomum there with intermingling flowers And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts Her crimson honours ; and the spangled beau, Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long. All plants, of every leaf, that can endure The winter’s frown, if screened from his shrewd bite. Live there and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, Levantine regions these ; th’ Azores send Their jessamine, her jessamine remote Caffraia : foreigners from many lands, They form one social shade, as if convened By magic summons of th’ Orphean lyre. Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass But by a master’s hand, disposing well The gay diversities of leaf and flower. Must lend its aid t’ illustrate aU their charms, And dress the regular yet various scene. Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but stiU Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome, A noble show ! while Roscius trod the stage. And so, while Garrick, as renowned as he. The sons of Albion ; fearing each to lose Some note of Nature’s music from his lips, THE GARDEN, 203 And covetous of Shakspeare’s beauty, seen In every flash of his far-beaming eye. Nor taste alone and well-contrived display Suffice to give the marshall’d ranks the grace Of their complete effect. Much yet remains Unsung, and many cares are yet behind. And more laborious ; cares on which depends Their vigour, injured soon, not soon restored. The soil must be renew’d, which often wash’d Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, And disappoints the roots ; the slender roots Close interwoven, where they meet the vase Must smooth be shorn away ; the sapless branch Must fly b^for6 the knife ; the wither’d leaf Must be detach’d, and where it strews the floor Swept with a woman’s neatness, breeding else Ck)ntagion, 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 odorif’rous 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 tn’ 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 hues ( each giving each relief. And by contrasted beauty shining more) Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous spade, May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home ; But elegance, chief grace the garden- shows. 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 th’ insipid citizen resorts THE TASK. 204 ? [book III Near yonder heath ; where Industry misspent, But proud of his uncouth ill chosen task, Has made a heaven on earth ; with suns and moons Of close-ramm’d stones has charged th’ encumber’d And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust. [soU, 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, m.ay 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 th’ 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 leeds 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, recompensing 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 A faithful barrier, not o’erleap’d with ease By vicious Custom, raging uncontroU’d Abroad, and desolating public life. When fierce Temptation, seconded within THE GARDEN. 205 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 ch oice of sublunary good. What could I wish, that I possess not here ? [peace. Health, leisure, means t’ improve it, friendship, No loose or wanton, though a wandering, muse. And constant occupation without care. Thus bless’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, th^t, its worth Acknowledged, others may admire it too. I therefore recommend, though at the risk Of popular dis^st, 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 un confined, 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. BJy 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 That errs not, and find raptures still renew’d. Is free to all men— universal prize. Strange that so fair a creature should yet want Admirers, and be destined to divide THE TASK. 206 [book hi. With meaner objects even 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 sileiice charms ; To be preferr’d to smoke, to the echpse. That metropolitan volcanoes make, [lotig ; Whose Stygian throats breathe darkness all day 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 in the heart ; were England now, What England was, plain, hospitable, kind, And undebauch’d. But we have bid farewell 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 rightful lord Is but a transient guest, newly arrived. And soon to be supplanted. He, that saw His patrimonial timber cast its leaf. Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price To some shrewd sharper, ere it buds again. Estates are landscapes, gazed upon a vdiile. Then advertised, and auctioneer’d away. The country starves, and they, that feed th’ o’er- charged And surfeited lewd towm with her fair dues. By a just judgment strip and starve thenaselves. The wings, that waft our riches out of sight. Grow on the gamester’s elbows, and th’ alert And nimble motion of those restless joints, That never tire, soon fans them all away. Improvement too, the idol of the age. Is fed with many a victim. liO, he coihes ! Th’ omnipotent magician. Brown, appears ! Down falls the venerable pile, th’ abode THE GARDEN. 207 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 th’ advantage of the north, And aguish east, till time shall have transform’d Those naked acres to a sheltering grove. He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn ; Woods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise ; And streams, as if created for his use, Pursue the track of his directing wand. Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow. Now murmuring soft, now roaring in cascades— Even as he bids ! Th’ enraptured owner smiles. Tis finish’d, and yet, finish’d as it seems. Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could show, A mine to satisfy th’ enormous cost. Drained to the last poor item of his wealth. He sighs, departs, and leaves th’ accomplish’d plan. That he has touch’d, retouch’d many a long day Labour’d, and many a night pursued in dreams. Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the heaven He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy ! And now perhaps the glorious hour is come. When, having no stake left, no pledge t’ endear Her interests, or that gives her sacred cause A moment’s operation on his love. He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal To serve his country. Ministerial grace Deals him out money from the public chest ; Or if that niine be shut, some, private purse ^pplies his need with an usurious loan. To be refunded duly, when his vote W ell-managed shall have earn’d its worthy price. 0 innocent, compared with arts like these. Crape, and cock’d pistol, and the whistling ball feent 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, bo he may wrap himself in honest rags At his last gasp ; but could not for a world Fish up his dirty and dependent bread 1 rom pools and ditches of the commonwealth, THE TASK. 203 THE TASK. [book III. Sordid and sick’ning at his own success. Ambition, avarice, penury incurr a By endless riot, vanity, the l^st Of pleasure and variety, dispatch, As duly as the swallows disappear, . tL world of wandering knights and squires to liondon ingulfs them all ! The shark is there. And the shark’s prey ; the spendthrift, and *e 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. The levee swarms, as if in golden pomp Were character’d on every statesman s door, ^ ‘ Batter d and bankrupt fortunes mended here. These are the charms,, that sully and eclipse The charms of nature. ’Tis the cruel gripe. That lean, hard-handed Poverty inflicts. The hope of better things, the chance to win. The wish to shine, the thirst to be amused. That at the sound of Winter’s hoary wing Unpeople all our counties of such herds OfLttering, loitering, crmgt«gi And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast And boundless as it is, a crowded coop O thou, resort and mart of all the earth. Checker’d with all complexions of mankind. And spotted with all crimes ; m 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 l ean weep, can I'®?®’ Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee . Ten righteous would have saved a city c^ce. And tfou hast many righteous— M That salt preserves thee ; more corrupted else. And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour, Than Sodom in her day had power to he. For whom God heard his Abraham plead in vain. THE TASK BOOK IV. THE WINTER EVENING. Argument of the Fourth Book. The post comes in— The newspaper is read— The world contemplated at a distance— Address to Winter— The rural amusements of a winter evening compared with the fashionable ones— Address to Evenine— A brown study— Fall of snow in the evening— The waggoner— A poor family piece— The rural thief— Public houses— The multitude ■ of them censured— The farmer’s daughter : what she was— what i^The simplicity of country manners almost lost— Causes of the change— Desertion of the country by the rich— Neglect of magis- trate^The militia principally in fault— The new recruit and his transformation — Reflection on bodies corporate — The love of rural ob jects natural to all, and never to be totally extinguished. Hark ! ’tis the twanging horn o’er yonder bridge, That with its wearisome but needful length Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon Sees her un wrinkled face reflected bright He comes, the herald of a noisy world, [locks ; With spatter’d boots, strapp’d waist, and frozen News from all nations lumbering at his back. True to his charge, the close pack’d load behind. Yet careless what he brings, his one concern Is to conduct it to the destined inn ; And, having dropp’d th’^ 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 v/et With tears, that trickled down the writer’s cheeks O THE TASK. 210 [book IV. Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, Or charged with am’rous sighs of absent swains, Or nymphs responsive, equally affect His horse and him, unconscious ol them ail. But O til’ 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 th’ Atlantic wave . Is India free ? and does she wear her plumed And iewell’d turban with a smile of peace, Or do we grind her still ? The grand debate, The popular harangue, the tart reply. The loric, and the wisdom, and the wit, And the loud laugh-I long to know them all ; I burn to set th’ imprisoned wranglers tree. And give them voice and utterance once again. Now stir the fire, and close the shutters last. Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round. And, while the bubbling and loud hissing urn Throws up a steamy column, and the cup^s. That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each. So let us welcome peaceful evening in. Not such his evening, who with shining tace Sweats in the crowded theatre, , And bored with elbow-points through both his sides, Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage : Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb. And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage, Or placemen, all tranliuillity and smiles. This folio of four pages, happy work ! Which not even critics criticise ; tnat holds Inquisitive Attention, while I read. Fast bound in chains of silence, which the tair. Though eloquent themselves, yet tear 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 ; e climbs, he pants, he grasps (hem ! At his heels, THE WINTER EVENING. 211 Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, And with a dexterous jerk, soon twists him down. And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. Here riUs of oily eloquence in soft Meanders lubricate the course they take; The modest speaker is ashamed and grieved, T’ engross a moment’s notice ; and yet begs. Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, However trivial all that he conceives. Sweet bashfulness ! it claims at least this praise ; The dearth of information and good sense. That it foretells us, always comes to pass. Cat’racts of declamation thunder here ; There forests of no meaning spread the page. In which all comprehension wanders 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 cheeks. 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, ’ ^rmons, and city feasts, and fav’rite airs, ySthereal journies, submarine exploits. And Katerfelto, with his hair on end At his own wonders, wondering for his bread. ’Tis pleasant, through the loopholes 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 th’ 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 dl. Ij t^rns submitted to my view, turns round W ith all its generations ; I behold The tumult, and am still. The sound of wai Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me ; Grieves, but alarms me not I mourn the pride THE TASK. 212 [book IV. 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. Fay contribution to the store he gleans ; He sucks intelligence in every clime. And spreads the honey of his deep research At his return— a rich repast for me. He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes Discover countries, with a kindred heart Suffer his woes, and share in his escapes ; While fancy, like the finger of a clock, Buns the great circuit, and is still at home. O Winter, ruler of th’ inverted year, Thy scatter’d hair with sleet like ashes fill d, Thy breath congeal’d upon thy lips, thy cheeks Fringed with a beard made v/hite 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 I A pris’ner in the yet undawning east, I Shortening his journey between morn and noon. And hurrying him, impatient of his stoy , i Down to the rosy west ; but kindly still r Compensating his loss with added hours f Of social converse, and instmctiye ease, L And gathering, at short notice, in one group W The mmily dispersed, and fixing thought, [ Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. I I crown thee king of intimate delights, K Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiness, I And aU the comforts, that the lowly roof ^ Of undisturb’d Retirement, and the hours W Of long uninterrupted evening, know. ■ No rattling wheels stop short before these gates ^ THE WINTER EVENING. 213 No powder’d pert, proficient in the art Of sounding an alarm, assaults these doors Till the street rin ^s ; 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, 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 tli’ amusement of the rest ; The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds The touch from inany a trembling chord shakes out ; And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct, And in the charming strife triumphant still ; Beguile the night, and set a keener edge On female industry : the threaded steel Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. The volume closed, the customary rites Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal ; Such as the mistress of the world once found Delicious, when her patriots of high note, Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors, And under an old oak’s domestic shade. Enjoy’d, spare feast ! a radish and an egg. Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull. Nor such as with a frown forbids the play Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth : Nor do we madly, like an impious world. Who deem religion frenzy, and the God That made them, an intruder on their joys. Start at his awful name, or deem his praise A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone, Exciting oft our gratitude and love. While we retrace with Mem’ry’s pointing wand, That calls the past to our exact review. The dangers we have ’scaped, the broken snare. The disappointed foe, deliverance found o2 THE TASK. 214 [book IV. Unlook’d for, life presei-ved, 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, and diose we love, enjoy. Is Winter hideous in a garb like this ? Needs he the tragic fur, the smoke m lamps, The pent-up breath of an unsav’ry throng, 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 "^ews (Stealing s sidelong glance at a full ^ouse) The slope of faces, from the floor to th (As if one master-spring controll’d them all) Relax’d into a universal grin, , r • Sees not a countenance there, that speaks or joy Half so refined or so sincere as ours. . Cards were superfluous here, with all the tncks 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, ha^ his pmions fledged Witli motley plumes ; and, where thepea^ck shows His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red With spots quadrangular of diamond form. Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of striie. And spades, the emblem of untimely graves. What should be, and what was^ an hourglass once, Becomes a dice-box, and a billiard-mace Well does the work of his destructive scy the. 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. Even misses, at whose age their mothers wore The backstring and the bib, assume the dress Of womanhood, fit pupils in the school THE WINTER EVENING. Of card-devoted Time, and night by night Placed at some vacant corner of the board, Learn every trick, and soon play all the game. But truce with censure. Roving as I rove. Where shall 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 delicts him not ; then coming home Describes and prints it, that the world may know How far he went for what was nothing worth ; So I, with brush in hand, and pallet 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 ! ]\Iethinks I see thee in the streaky west, With matron step slow moving, while the Night Treads on thy sweeping train ; one hand employ’d In letting fall the curtain of repose On bird and beast, the other charged for man With sweet oblivion of the cares of day : Not sumptuously adorn’d, nor needing aid. Like homely-featured 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 vot’ry calm, Or makes 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 216 THE TASK. [^BOOK IV. WTiole without stooping, towering crest and all, ]\Iy pleasures too begin. But me perhaps The glowing hearth may satisfy a while With faint illumination, that uplifts The shadow to the ceiling, there by fits Dancing uncouthly to the quivering flame. Not undelightful is an ho\ir to me So spent in parlour-twilight ; such a gloom. Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind. The mind contemplative, with some new theme 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 lias 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 I gazed, myself creating what I saw. Nor less amused have I quiescent watch’d The sooty films, that play upon the bars Pendidous, and foreboding in the view Of superstition, prophesying stiU, [proach. Though still deceived, some stranger’s near ap- ’Tis thus the understanding takes repose In indolent vacuity of thought. And sleeps and is refresh’d. Meanwhile the face Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask Of deep deliberation, as the man Were task’d to his full strength, absorb’d and lost. Thus oft, reclined 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 toys, restores me to myself. How cdm is my recess ; and how the frost. Raging abroad, and the rough wind endear The silence and the warmth enjoy’d within 1 saw the woods and fields at close of day A variegated show ; the meadows green, THE WINTER EVENING. 217 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 tlie weedy fallows smile With verdure not unprofitable, grazed By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each His fav’rite herb ; while all the leafless groves That skirt th’ horizon, wore a sable hue. Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of eve. To-morrow brings a change, a total change ! Which even now, though silently perform’d. And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face Of universal nature undergoes. 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 distinguish’d than ourselves ; that thus We may with patience bear our mod’rate ills. And sympathise with others suff‘’ring more. lU fares the trav’Uer now, and he that stalks In ponderous boots beside his reeking team. . The wain goes heavily, impeded sore By congregated loads adhearing 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 THE TASK. 218 [book IV. 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 hapny thou ! Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair’d. The learned finger never need explore Thy vig’rous pulse ; and the unhealthful east, That breathes the spleen, and searches every bone 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 tnem kindly ! rude as thou appear’st, Yet show that thou hast mercv ! which the great. With needless hurry whirl’d from place to place. Humane as they would seem, not always show. Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, Such claun compassion in a night like this. And have a friend in every feeling heart. W'arm’d, while it lasts, by labour, all day long They brave the season, and yet find at eve, 111 clad, and fed but sparely, time to cool. The frugal housewife trembles when she lights Her scanty stock of brushwood, blazing clear. But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys. The few small embers left she nurses well ; And, while her infant race, with outspread hands. And crowded knees, sit cowering o’er the sparks, Retires, content to quake, so they be warm’d. The man feels least, as more inured than she To winter, and the current in his veins More briskly moved by his severer toil ; Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs. The taper soon extinguish’d, which I saw Dangled along at the cold finger’s end Just when the day declined ; and the brown loaf Lodged on the shelf, half-eaten without sauce Of sav’ry cheese, or butter, costlier still ; Sleep seems their only refuge : for, alas, THE WINTER EVENING. 219 Where penury is felt the thought is chain’d, And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few. With aU 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, J>^or comfort else, but in their mutual love. I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair, For ye are worthy ; choosing rather far A dry but independent crust, hard earn’d. And eaten with a sigh, than to endure The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs Of knaves in office, partial in the work Of distribution '; liberal of their aid To clam’rous Importunity in rags. But ofttimes deaf to suppliants, who would blush To wear a tatter’d garb however coarse. Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth : These ask with painful shyness, and, refused Because deserving, silently retire ! But be ye of good courage ! Time itself Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase ; And all your num’rous 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 wo ; Th’ 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. Wo to the gardner’s pale, the farmer’s hedge. Plash’d neatly, and secured with driven stakes Deep in the loamy bank. Uptorn by strength. THE TASK. [book IV. 220 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 rwts From his pernicious force. Nor. wiU he leave Un wrench’d the door, however well secured. Where Chanticleer amidst his haram sleeps In unsuspecting pomp. ’Twitch’d f mm the perch, He gives the princely bird, with all his wives, 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 principal, and tempt him mto sin For their support, so destitute. But they Neglected pine at home ; themselves, as more Exposed than others, with less scruple made His victim’s robb’d of their defenceless aU. Cruel is all he does. ’Tis quenchless thirst Of ruinous ebriety, that prompts His every action, and imbrutes the inan. 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 ! 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 th’ unguarded nose to such a whitt Of stale debauch, forth issuing from the styes That Law has licensed, as inakes Temp ranee reel. There sit, involved and lost in curlmg 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, cobler, joiner, he that plies the shears. And he that kneads the dough ; all loud alike. All learned, and all drunk ! the fid^e screams Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wailed Its wasted tones and harmony unheard : THE WINTER EVENING. 221 Fierce the dispute whate’er the theme ; while she, Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, Perch’d on the signpost, holds with even hand Her undecisive scales. In this she lays A weight of ignorance ; in that, of pride ; And smiles delighted with th’ eternal poise. Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound. The cheek-distending oath, not to be praised As ornamental, musical, polite. Like those, which modern senators employ, Whose oath is rhet’ric, and who swear for fame ! Behold the schools, in which plebeian minds Once simple are initiated in arts. Which some may practise with politer grace, But none with readier skill ! — ’tis here 3iey leam The road, that leads from competence and peace To indigence and repine ; till at last Society, grown weary of the load, Shakes her encumber’d lap, and casts them out. But censure profits little : vain th’ attempt To advertise in verse a public pest. That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds His hungry acres, stinks, and is of use. Th’ excise is fattened with the rich result Of all this riot ; and ten thousands casks, For ever dribbling out their base contents, Touched by the ^lidas finger of the state, Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. Drink, and be mad then ; ’tis your country bids ! Gloriously drunk obey th’ important call ! Her cause demands th’ assistance of your throats ; — Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more. Would I had fallen upon those happier days. That poets celebrate ; 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 : Innocence, 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, THE TASK. 222 [book IV. 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 favoured 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 aU belief. No : we are polished 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, adorn’d with lappets pinn’d aloft. And ribands streaming gay, superbly raised, And magnified beyond all human size. Indebted to some smart wig-weaver’s hand For more than half the tresses it sustains ; Her elbows ruffled, and her tottering form Ill-propped upon French heels ; she might be deem d (But that the basket dangling on her arm Interprets her more truly) of a rank Too proud for dairy-work, or sale of eggs. Expect her soon with foot-boy at her heels. No longer blushing for her awkward load. Her train and her umbrella all her care ! The town has tinged the country ; and the stain Appears a spot upon a vestal’s robe, Tne worse for what it soils. The fashion runs Down into scenes still rural ; but alas, Scenes rarely graced with rural manners now ! Time was when in the pastoral retreat Th’ unguarded door was safe ; men did not watch T’ inva'^e 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. THE WINTER EVENING. 231 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 nightbolt ; ruffians are abroad ; And the first larum of the cock’s shrill throat May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear To horrid sounds of hostile feet within. Even daylight has its dangers ; and the walk Through pathless wastes and woods, unconscious Of other tenants than melodious birds, [once Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold. 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 license of the lowest in degree. Desert their office ; and themselves, intent On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus To all the violence of lawless hands. Resign the scenes their presence might protect. Authority herself not seldom sleeps. Though resident, and witness of the wrong. The plunip convivial parson often bears The magisterial sword in vain, and lays His reverence and his worship both to rest On the same cushion of habitual sloth. Perhaps timidity restrains his arm ; When he should strike he trembles, and sets free. Himself enslaved by terror of the band, Th’ audacious convict, whom he dares not bind. Perhaps, though by profession ghostly pure. He too may have his vice, and sometimes prove Less dainty than becomes his ^rave outside In lucrative concerns. Examine well THE TASK. 224 [book IV. His milk-white hand ; the palm is hardly clean— But here and there an ugly smutch appears. Foh I ’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 venision ; 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 The heart of merit in the meaner class. Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage Of those that bear them, in whatever cause^ Seen 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 d. That instant he becomes the sergeant’s care. His pupil, and his torment, and his jest. His awkward gait, his introverted toes, Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks Procure him many a curse. By slow degr^s. Unapt to learn, and form’d of stubborn stuff. He yet by slow degrees puts off* himself. Grows conscious of a change, and hkes it • 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 lett. THE WINTER EVENING. 225 ’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 show at home By lewdhess, idleness, and Sabbath-breach, The great proficiency he made abroad ; T’ 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. IVJ an in society is like a fiower 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, Becorne a loathsome body, only fit For dissolution, hurtful to the main. Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin Against the charities of domestic life. Incorporated, seem at once to lose Their nature ; and, disclaiming all regard For mercy and the common rights of man. Build factories with blood, conducting trade At the sword’s point, and dyeing the white robe Of innocent commercial Justice red. Hence too the field of glory, as the world Misdeems it, dazzled by its bright array, With all its majesty of thundering pomp, Enchanting music, and immortal wreaths, Is but a school, where thoughtlessness is taught On principle, where foppery atones For folly, gallantry for every vice. P 226 THE TASK. I^BOOK TV. But slighted as it is, and bv the great Abandon’d, and, which still I more re^et, Infected with the manners and the modes It knew not once, the country wins me still. I never framed a wish, or formed a plan. That flattered 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. Mv very dreams were rural ; rural too The first-born efforts of my youthful muse. Sportive and jingling her Ere yet her ear was mistress of their powers. No 4rd could please me but whose lym was tuned No Nature’s praises. Heroes and their teats Fatigued me, neyer weary of the pipe Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang. The rustic throng beneath his fav nte beech. Then Milton had indeed a poet s charms : New to my taste his Paradise surpass d The struggling efforts of iny boyish tongue, To speak its excellence. 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 ioy half lost, because not sooner found. , Thee 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 kn^n Ingenious Cowley ! and, though now reclaim d Bv modern lights from an erroneous taste, I cannot but lament thy splendid wit Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools. I still revere thee, courtly though retired ! Worigh 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 born with all : the love of Nature s works Is an ingredient in the compound man, THE WINTER EVENING, 227 Infused at the creation of the kind. And, though th’ 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. Where nothing feeds it: neither business, crowd. 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 unadult’rate air. The gjlimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer The citizen, and brace his languid frame ! Even 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 wall 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 th’ 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 Bv supplemental 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 * Mignonnette. THE TASK. 228 [book IV# Suspend their crazy boxes, planted thick And tvatered duly. There the pitcher stands A fragment, and the spoutless tea-pot there ; Sad witnesses how close-pent m^ regrets The country, with what ardour he contrives A peep at Nature, when he can no inore. Hail, therefore, patroness of health and ease. And contemplation, heart-consoling joys. And harmless pleasures, in the throng d aboue Of multitudes unknown ; hail, rural lite . Address himself who wiU to the pursuit Of honours, or emolument, or fame ; I shall not add myself to such a chase, Thwart his attempts, or envy ^s success. Some must be great. Great offices will have Great talents. And God gives to every man The virtue, temper, understanding, taste, That lifts him into life, and [^ts him taU Just in the niche he was ordain d to hU. To the deliverer of an injured land He gives a tongue t’ enlarge upon, a heart To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs ; To monarchs dignity ; to judges sense ; To artists ingenuity and skill; To me, an unambitious mind, content In the low vale of life, that early felt A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long Found here that leisure, and that ease I wish d THE TASK BOOK V. THE WINTER MORNING WALK. Argument of the Fifth Boole* A frosty moming— The foddering of cattle— The woodman and his dog— The poultry— Whimsical effects of frost at a waterfall— The Empress of Russia’s palace of ice— Ainusenients of monarchs— War one of them — Wars, whence — And whence monarchy — The evils of it — English and French loyalty contrasted— The Bastile, and a pris- oner there— Liberty the chief recommendation of this country Mo- dern patriotism questionable, and why— The perishable nature of the best human institutions — Spiritual liberty not perishable — The slavish state of man by nature— Deliver him. Deist, if you can— Grace must do it — The respective merits of patriots and martyrs stated— Their different treatment — Happy freedom of the man whom grace makes free — His relish of the works of God — Address to the Creator. ’Tis morning ; and the sun, with ruddy orb A scending, fires th’ horison ; 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. From every herb and every spiry blade Stretches a length of shadow o’er the field. Mine, spindling into longitude immense, In spite of gravity, and sage remark That I myself am but a fleeting shade. Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance I view the muscular proportion’d limb Transform’d to a lean shank. The shapeless pair, As they design’d to mock me, at my side Take step for step ; and, as I near approach P 2 THE TASK. 230 [book V. The cottage, walk along the plaster’d wall, Preposterous sight \ the legs without the man. The verdure of the plain lies buried deep Beneath the .dazzling deluge ; and the bents. And coarser grass, upspearing o’er the rest, Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad. And, fledged with icy feathers, nod superb. The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence Screens diem, and seem half petrifled 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 th’ 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 H e severs it away : no needless care, Lest storms should overset the leaning pile Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight. Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcern d The cheerful haunts of man ; to wield the axe, And drive the wedge, in yonder forest drear, From morn 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 ^ Nov/ creeps he slow ; and now, with many a fnsk Wide-scampering, snatches up the dr^ted snow With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout ; 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 thi^b T’ adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube. That fumes beneath his nose : the traihng cloud Streams far behind him, scenting all ^e air. Now from the roost, or from the neighb nng pale. Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam Of smiUng day, they gossip’d side by side, THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 231 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 T’ escape th’ impending famine, often scared As oft return, a pert voracious kind. Clean riddance quickly made, one only care Remains to each, the search of sunny nook. Or shed impervious to the blast. Resign’d To sad necessity, the cock forgoes His wonted strut ; and, wading at their head With well-consider’d steps, seems to resent ; His alter’d gait and stateliness retrench’d. How find the myriads, that in summer cheer The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs. Due sustenance, or where subsist they now ? Earth yields them nought ; th’ imprison’d wonn is Bpeath the frozen clod ; all seeds of herbs [safe Lie cover’d close ; and berry-bearing tl^orns. 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. Lean pensioners upon the trav’Uer’s track. Pick up their nauceous dole, though sweet to them. Of voided pulse or half-digested grain. The streams are lost amid the splendid blank, O’erwhelniing all distinction. On the flood, Indurated and fix’d, the snowy weight Lies undissolved ; while silently beneath, And unperceived, the current steals away. Not so where, scornful of a check, it leaps The mildam, dashes on the restless wheel, 232 THE TASK. [book V. And wantons in the pebbly gulf below ; No frost can bind it there ; its utmost force Can but arrest the light and smocky mist. That in its fall the liquid sheet throws wide. And see where it has hung th’ embroidered 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 a , Shoot into pillars of pellucid length. And prop the pile, they but adorn’d before. Here grotto within grotto safe defies The sunbeam ; there, emboss d and fretted wilu. The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes Capricious, in which fancy seeks in vain The likeness of some object seen before. Thus Nature works as if to mock at Art, And in defiance of her rival powers ; . By these fortuitous and random strokes Performing such inimitable feats. As she with all her rules can never reach. Less worthy of applause, though more admired. Because a novelty, the work of m^. Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ, Thy most magnificent and mighty freak. The wonder of the North. No forest feU, When thou wouldst build; no quarry sent its T’ enrich thy walls : but thou didst hew the floods. And make thy marble of the glassy wave. In such a palace AristsBus found Cyrene, when he borQ 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. THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 233 Silently as a dream the fabric rose ; No sound of hammer or of saw was there : Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts Were soon conjoin’d, nor other cement ask’d Than water interfused to make them one. Lamps gracefully disposed, and of all hues, Illumined evrery 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 frostbound 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. Great princes have great playthings. Some have At hewing m*ountains into men, and some [play’d At building human wonders mountain-high. Some have amused the dull, sad years of life, (Life spent in indolence, and therefore sad). With schemes of monumental fame ; and sought By pyramids and mausolean pomp. 234 THE TASK. [book V. Short-lived themselves, t’ 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 T’ extort their truncheons from the puny hands Of heroes, whose infirm and baby minds Are gratified with mischief ; and who spoil, Because men suffer it, their toy the World. When Babel was confounded, and the great Confederacy of projectors wild and vain, Was split into diversity of tongues, Then, as a shepherd separates his flock, These to the upland, to the valley those, God drave asunder, and assign’d their lot To all the nations. Ample was the boon He gave them, in its destribution fair And equal ; and he bade them dwell in peace. Peace was a while their care ; they plough’d and sow’d. And reap’d their plenty without grudge or strife. But violence can never longer sleep. Than human passions please. In every heart Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war ; Occasion needs but fan them, and they blaze. Cain had already shed a brother’s blood : The deluge wash’d it out ; but left unquench’d The seeds of murder in the breast of rnan. 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 ; 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 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 235 Desire of more, and industry in some, T’ improve and cultivate their just deiriesne, 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, or courage, or for all. Was chosen leader; him they served in war. And him in peace, for sake of warlike deeds Reverenced no less. Who could with him compare ? Or who so worthy to control themselves. As he, whose prowess had subdued their foes ? Thus war, affording field for the display Of virtue, made one chief, whom times of peace. Which have their exigencies too, and call F^or skill in government, at length made king. King was a name too proud for man to wear With modesty and meekness ; and the crown. So' dazzling in their eyes, who set it on. Was sure t’ intoxicate the brows it bound. 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. Then most deserving in their own account. When most extravao-ant 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 demideify and fume him so, THE TASK. [book V. 236 That in due sea^son 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 reck’ning; and they think the same. Thus kings were first invented, and thus kings Were burnish’d into heroes, and became The arbiters of this terraqueous swamp ; Storks among 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. Even in the cradled weakness of the World • Still stranger much, that when at length manland 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 prooi Of sad experience, nor examples set By some, whose patriot virtue has prevailed. Can even now, when they are grown mature In wisdom, and with philosophic deeps Familiar, serve t’ 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 qt lUs, 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 Of rational discussion, that a man. Compounded and made up like other men Of elements tumultuous, in whom lust THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 237 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 ? 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 I’ th’ 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-denymg zeal, that holds it good, To stroke the prickly grievance, and to hang His thorns witn streamers of continual praise ? We too are friends to loyalty. We love The king, who loves the law, respects his bounds, And reigns content within them ; him we serve Freely and with delight, who leaves us free : But recollecting still that he is man, We trust him not too far. King though he be. And king in England too, he may be weak, And vain enough to be ambitious still ; May exercise amiss his proper powers. Or covet more than freemen choose to grant ; Beyond that mark is treason. He is ours, T’ administer, to guard, t’ adorn the state. But not to warp or change it. W e are his, To serve him nobly in the common cause. True to the death, but not to be his slaves. Mark now the dift’’rence, 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 : THE TASK. [book V. ^38 We for the sake of liberty a king, You chains and bondage for a tyrant’s sake. 3 Our love is principle, and has its root In reason, is judicious, manly, free ; Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to the rod. And licks the foot that treads it in the dust. Were kingship as true treasure as it seems, Sterling, and ■worthy of a wise man’s wish, I would not be a king to be beloved Causeless, and daub’d with undiscerning praise. Where love is mere attachment to the throne, Not to the man, who fills it as he ought. Whose freedom is by sufF’rance, 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 foiled, And forced t’ 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 thought. Of freedom, in that hope itself possess All that the contest calls for ; spirit, strength, The scorn of danger, and united hearts ; The surest presage of the good they seek.* Then shame to manhood, and opprobrious more To France than all her losses and defeats. Old or of later date, by sea or land, Her house of bondage, worse than that of old ^Yhich God avenged on Pharaoh— the Bastile. Ye horrid towers, th’ abode of broken hearts : Ye dungeons and ye cages of despair. That monarchs have supplied from age to age With music, such as suits their sovereign ears. The sighs and groans of miserable men ! There’s not an English heart that would not leap. * The author hopes that he shall not be censured for unnecessary- warmth upon so interesting a subject. He is aware, f most fashionable to stigmatize such sentiments ^ no better than empty declamation ; but it is an Ul symptom, and peculiar to modem times. THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 239 To hear that ye were fallen at last ; to know That even our enemies, so oft employed In forging chains for us, themselves were free. For he, who values Liberty, confines His zeal for her predominance within No narrow bounds ; her cause engages him Wherever pleaded. ’Tis the cause of man. There dwell the most forlorn of humankind. Immured though unaccused, condemned untried, Cruelly spared, and hopeless of escape. There, like the visionary emblem seen By him of Babylon, life stands a stump, And, filletted about with hoops of brass, StiU lives, though all its pleasant boughs are gone. To count the hour-bell and expect no change ; And ever, as the sullen sound is heard. Still to reflect, that, though a joyless note . To him, whose moments all have one dull pace, Ten thousand rovers in the world at large ’ Account it music ; that it summons some To theatre, or jocund feast, or ball ; The wearied hireling finds it a release From labour ; and the lover, who has chid « Its long delay, feels every welcome stroke Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delight To fly for refuge from distracting thought To such amusements as ingenuous wo 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 familiar, watches his approach. Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend— 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 ; v/ith a sickly hope By dint of change to give his tasteless task Some relish ;*till the sum, exactly found In all directions, he begins again ^40 the task. [book V. 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 th’ 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 w.e 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 ; bhnds 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 nations, seeing thou art free ; My native nook of earth ! Thy clime is lude. 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. And thou hast need of discipline and art To give thee what politer France receives From Nature’s bounty— that humane addrws 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 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 241 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 m the gram 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 bewafi the blessing lost. For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, I would at least bewail it under skies IMilder, among a people less austere ; In scenes, which, having never known me free. Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. Do I forbode impossible events, ^ And tremble at vain dreams ? Heaven grant I may ! 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 takes Deep in his soft credulity the stamp Design’d by loud declaimers on the part Of liberty, themselves the slaves of lust. Incurs derision for his easy faith. And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough : For when was public virtue to be found. Where private was not ? Can he love the whole, Who loves no part ? He be a nation’s friend. Who is in truth the friend of no man there ? Can he be strenuous in his country’s cause. Who slights the charities, for whose dear sake That country, if at all, must be beloved ? ’Tis therefore sober and good men are sad For England’s glory, seeing it wax pale ^ And sickly, while her champions wear their hearts So loose to private duty, that no brain. Healthful and undisturb’d by factious fumes. Can dream them trusty to the general weal. Such were they not of old, whose temper’d blades 242 THE TASK. [book V. -Dispersed the shackles of usurp’d control, Andhew’d them link from link ; then Albion’s sons Where sons indeed • they felt a filial heart Beat high within them at a mother’s wrongs ; And, shining each in his domestic sphere. Shone brighter still, once call’d to public view. Tis therefore many, whose sequester’d lot ^ F orbids their interference, looking on. Anticipate perforce some dire event ; And, seeing the old castle of the state. That promised once more firmness, so assail’d. That ail its tempest-beaten turrets shake. Stand motionless expectants of its fall. All has its date below ; the fatal hour Was register’d in Heaven 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 : A distant age asks where the fabric stood ; And in the dust, sifted and search’d in vain, The undiscoverable secret sleeps. But there is yet a liberty, unsung By poets, and by senators unpraised. Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the powers Of earth and hell confederate, take away ; A liberty, which persecution, fraud. Oppression, prisons, have no power to bind ; Wkich 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 th’ unimpeachable and awful oath And promise of a God. His other gifts All bear the royal stamp, that speaks them his. And are august ; but this transcends them all. His other works, the visible display Of all-creating energy and miglit. Are grand no doubt, and worthy of the word. That, finding an interminable space Unoccupied, has fill’d the void so well. THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 24S And made so sparkling what was dark before. But these are not his glory. Man, ’tis true, Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene, Might well suppose, tb’ artificer divine Meant it eternal, had he not himself Pronounced it transient, glorious as it is. And, still designing 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 served, they must be swept away. Not so the labours of his love : they shine In other heavens than these that we behold, And fade not. There is Paradise that fears No forfeiture, and of its fruits he sends Barge 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 wo. Chains are the portion of revolted man. Stripes, and a dungeon ; and his body serves The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul. Opprobrious residence he finds them all. Propense his heart to idols, he is held In silly dotage on created things, Careless of their Creator. And that low And sordid gravitation of his 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 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. 244 THE TASK. [book V. 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 unrepeal able 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, [sues. And seems dethorned and vanquish’d. Peace en- 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 condemn’d ; With shallow shifts and old devices, worn And tatter’d in the service of debauch, Covering his shame from his offended sight. ‘ Hath God indeed given appetites to man. 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 strick, that less than perfect must despair ? THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 245 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 T’ excuses in which reason has no part) Serve to compose a spirit well inclined, To live on terms of amity with vice, And sin without disturbance. Often urged, (As often as libidinous discourse Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes Of theological and grave import,) They gain at last his unreserved assent ; Till, harden’d his heart’s temper in the forge Of lust, and on the anvil of despair, He slights the strokes of conscience. Nothing Or nothing much, his constancy in ill ; [moves, 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 ih^Jirst and only fair. Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the powers Of rant and rhapsody in virtue’s praise : 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 Th’ eclipse, that intercepts truth’s heavenly beam, Q 2 246 THE TASK. [book V. 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 smoothe • The shag of savage nature, and were each An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song ; But transformation of apostate man From fool to wise, from earthly to divine. Is work for Him that made him. He alone, And he by means in philosophic eyes Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves The wonder ; humanizing what is brute In the lost kind, extracting from the lips •Of asps their venom, overpowering strength By weakness, and hostility by love. Patriots have toil’d, and in their country’s cause Bled nobly ; and their deeds, as they deserve, Receive proud recompense. We give in charge Their names to the sweet lyre. Th’ historic muse, Proud of the treasure, marches with it down To latest times ; and Sculpture, in her turn. Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass To guard them, and t’ immortalize her trust : But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid, To those, who, posted at the shrine of Truth, Have fall’n in her defence. A patriot’s blood, Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed. And for a time insure, to his loved land The sweets of liberty and equal laws ; But mact3rrs struggle for a brighter prize. And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed In confirmation of the noblest claim. Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, To walk v/ith 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, tjie winter morning walk. 247 And chased them up to Heaven. Their ashes flew ^No"e ^ With their names No bard embalms and sanctifies his song : And history, so warm on meaner themes, Is cold on this. She execrates indeed The tyranny that doom’d them to the nre, But gives the glorious sufferers little praise. He is the freeman, whom the truth makes free, And all are slaves beside. There’s not a chain, That hellish foes, confederate for his h^m, Can wind around him, but he casts it ott. With as much ease as Sampson his green withes. He looks abroad into the varied held Of nature, and though poor perhaps, compared With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, CaUs the delightful scenery all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his. And the resplendent rivers : his t’ enjoy With a propriety that none can feel. But who, with filial confidence inspired. Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye. And smiling say — ^ My Father made them all . Are they not his by a peculiar ri^ht. 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, m dance, A liberty like his, who unimpeach d Of usurpation, and to no man’s wrong. Appropriates nature as his Father’s work. And has a richer use of yours than you. He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth Of no mean city ; plann’d or ere the hills Were built, the fountains open’d, or the sea * SeeHume. THE TASK, r BOOk 248 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. Th’ oppressor holds His body bound, but knows not what a range His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain ; And that to bind him is a vain attempt, Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells. Acquaint thyself with God, if thou wouldst taste His works. Admitted once to his embrace, Thou shalt perceive that thou wert blind before : Thine eye shall be instructed ; and thine heart, IMade pure, shall relish, with divine delight Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. Brutes graze the mountain-top, with faces prone. And eyes intent upon the scanty herb It yields them ; or, recumbent on its brow, Ruminate heedless of the scene outspread Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away From inland regions to the distant main. Man views it, and admires; but rests content With what he views. The landscape has his praise. But not its author. Unconcern’d who form’d The paradise he sees, he finds it such, And, such well-pleased to find it, asks no more. Not so the mind, that has been touch’d from Heaven, And in the school of sacred wisdom taught. To read his wonders, in whose thought the world, Fair as it is, existed ere it was. Not for its own sake merely, but for his ]\Iuch more, who fashion’d it, he gives it praise : Praise that from Earth resulting, as it ougnt. 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 t’ employ More worthily the powers she own’d before, THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 249 Discerns in all things what, with stupid gaze Of ignorance, till then she overlook d, A ray of heavenly light, gilding all forms Terrestrial in the vast and the minute ; The unambiguous footsteps of the God, Who gives its lustre to an insect’s wing. And wheels his throne upon the rolhng worlds. Much conversant with Heaven, she often holds With those fair ministers of light to man. That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp, Sweet conference. Inquires what strains were they With which Heaven rang, when every star in haste To gratulate the new-created Earth, Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God Shouted for joy.-‘ Tell me, ye shining hosts, > That navigate a sea that knows no storms, ‘ Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud, ‘ If from your elevation, whence ye view ‘ Distinctly scenes invisible to man, ‘ And systems, of whose birth no tidings yet ‘ Have reach’d this nether world, ye spy a race ‘ Favour’d as ours ; transgressors from the womb, ‘ And hasting to a grave, yet doom’d to rise, ‘ And to possess a brighter heaven than yours ? ‘ As one, who, long detain’d on foreign shores, ‘ Pants to return, and when he sees afar ‘ His country’s weather-bleach’d and batter d rocks, ‘ From the green wave emerging, darts an eye ‘ Radiant with joy towards the happy land ; ^ So I with animated hopes behold, ‘ And many an aching wish, your beamy hres, ‘ That show 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, must thither tend. So reads he nature, whom the lamp of truth Illuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious Word ! Which whoso sees no longer wanders lost. With intellects bemazed in endless doubt. But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built 250 THE TASK. [book V. With means, that were not till by thee employed, Worlds, that had never been hadst thou in stren^h Been less, or less benevolent than strong. They are thy witnesses, who speak thy power And goodness infinite, but speak in ears That hear not, or receive not their report. In vain thy creatures testify of thee, Till thou proclaim thyself. Theirs is indeed A teaching voice ; but ’tis the praise of thine. That whom it teaches it makes prompt 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. W e 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 ; Th)r providence forbids that fickle power (If power she be, that works but to confound) To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. Y et 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 mortS ears hear not. Till thou hast touch’d them ; ’tis the voice of song, A loud Hosanna sent from all thy works ; \Yhich he that hears it with a shout repeats. And adds his rapture to the generd praise. In that bless’d moment Nature, throwing wide THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 251 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 mmds, Their only point of rest, eternal Word ! From thee departing they are lost, and rove At random without honour, iiope, 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 wiU to serve. But O thou bounteous Giver of all good. Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown ! Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor , And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. THE TASK, BOOK VI. THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. - Argument of the Sixth Book. Bells at a distance— Their effect— A fine noon 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 transforma- tion that spring effects in a shrubbery described— A mistake concern- ing the course of nature corrected— God maintains it by an unremitted act— The amusements fashionable at this hour of the day repro'ved— Animals happy, a delightful sight— Origin of cruelty to animals That it is a great crime proved from Scripture— That proof illustrat- ed by a tale— A line drawn between the lawful and unlawful destruc- tion of them — Their good and useful properties insisted on — Apology for the encomiums bestowed by the author on animals— Instances of man’s extravagant praise of man— The groans of the creation shall have an end— A view taken of the restoration of all things— An in- vocation and an invitation of Him, who shall bring it to pass— The retired man vindicated from the charge of uselessness— Conclusion. There is in souls a s)nTipathy 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 Is touch’d within us, and the heart replies. How soft the music of those village bells. Falling at intervals upon the ear In cadence sweet, now dying all away. Now pealing loud again, and louder still, Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on ! 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 tlie spirit takes, That in a few short moments I retrace THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 253 (As in a map the voyager his course) The windings of my way through many years. Short as in retrospect the journey seems, It seem’d not always short ; the rugged path, And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn, Moved many a sigh at its disheartening length. Yet feeling present evils, while the past Faintly impress the mind, or not at a.11. 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 inight have lound . Some friend is gone, perhaps his son’s best inend, A father, whose authority, in show When most severe, and mustering all its force, Was but the graver countenance of love ; ^ Whose favour, hke the clouds of spring, might low r, And utter now and then an awful voice, But had a blessing in its darkest frown. Threatening at once and nourishing the plant. We loved, but not enough, the gentle hand That rear’d us. At a thoughtless age, allured By every gilded folly, we renounced His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent That converse, which we now in vain regret. How gladly would the man recall to life The boy’s neglected sire I a mother too. That softer friend, perhaps more gladly stiU, Might he demand them at the gates ot death. Sorrow has, since they went, subdued ^d tamed 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 t’ 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, ^54# THE TASK. [book VI. Upon the southern side of the slant hills, And where the woods fence off the northern blast, The season smiles, resigning all its rage. And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue Without a cloud, and white without a speck The dazzling splendour of the scene below. Again the harmony comes o’er the vale ; And through the trees I view th’ embattled tower, Whence all the music. I again jierceive The soothing influence of the waited strains, And settle in soft musing^s 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 suppressed ; Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light From spray to spray, where’er he rests he shakes From many a twig the pendent drops of ice, That tinkle in the withered 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. Ejiowledge and Wisdom, far from being one, Have ofttimes no connexion. Emowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men ; Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. Ejiowledge, a rude unprofitable mass. The mere materials with which Wisdom builds. Till smooth’d and squar’d, and fitted to its place, Does but encumber whom it seems t’ enrich. Knowledge is proud that he has leam’d so much ; Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. Books are not seldom talismans and spells, By which the magic art of shrewder wits Holds an unthinking multitude enthrall’d. THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 255 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 thro’ 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 th’ 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, 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 lymph Through th’ imperceptible meand’ring veins Of leaf and flower ? It sleeps ; and th’ icy touch Of unprolific winter has impress’d A cold stagnation on th’ 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 256 THE TASK. [book VI. Makes wintrjr 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 Then each, in its peculiar honours clad, {lost. Shall publish even to the distant eye Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich In streaming gold ; syringa, ivory pure ; The scentless and the scented rose ; this red. And of an humbler growth, the other* taU, And throwing up into the darkest gloom Of neighboring 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 rods. That scarce a leaf appears ; mezereon too. Though leafless, well-attired, and thick beset With blushing wreaths, investing every spray ; Althae with the purple eye ; the broom. Yellow and bright, as buUion unalloy’d. Her blossoms ; and luxuriant above all The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, The deep dark green of whose unvarnish’d leaf Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more. The bright profusion of her scatter’d stars — These have been, and these shall be in their day ; And all this uniform uncolour’d scene Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load. And flush into variety again. From dearth to plenty, and from death to life. Is Nature’s progress, when she lectures man • Tlw Guelder-rose. THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 257 In heavenly truth ; evincing, as she makes The grand transition, that there lives and works A soul in all things, and that soul is God. The beauties of the wilderness are his. That makes so gay the solitary place. Where no eye sees them. And the 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 firs Prescribed their course, to regulate it now. Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God Th’ encumbrance of his own concerns, and spare The great artificer of all that moves The stress of a continual act, the pain Of unremitted vigilance and care. As too laborious and severe a task. So man, the moth, is not afraid, it seems. To span omnipotence, and measure might. That knows no measure, by the scanty rule And standard of his own, that is to-day. And is not ere to-morrow’s sun go down. But how should matter occupy a charge. Dull as it is, and satisfy a law So vast in its demands, unless impeli’d To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force. And under pressure of some conscious caUse ? The Lord of all, himself through all difiused, Sustains, and is the life of all that lives. Nature is but a name for an effect. Whose cause is God. He feeds the secret fire R 258 the task. £bOOK VI. By which the mighty process is maintain d. Who sleeps not, is not weary ; m whose sight Slow circling ages are as transient days ; Whose work is without labour ; whose designs No flaw deforms, no difliculty thwarts ; And whose beneficence no charge exhausts. Him blind antiquity profaned, not served, WUh sSf.taught rites\ and under various names, Female and male, Pomona, Pales, ran, And Flora, and Vertumnus ; peopling earth To each some province, garden, fielc^pr grove. Sl'ss £.’!i jn:Ss« b„.., Of his unrivall’d pencil. He mspura Their balmy odours, and imparts their And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, In grains as countless as the garth The forms, with which he sprinkles all the ^ru 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, PrompI with remembrance of a present God His presence, who made aU so fair, perceived, IMakes all still fairer. As with him no scene Is dreary, so with him all seasons please. 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 ^^A^y mg , And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream, Ppeoverinfi fast its liquid music, prove. . ^ Who thin, that has a mind weU strung and tuned To contemplation, and within his reach A scene so friendly to his fav rite task. Would waste attention at the checker d board. His host of wooden warnors to and tro THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 269 Marching and countermarching, with an eye As fix’d as marble, with a forehead ridged And fiirrow’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 ho discerns The difference of a Guido from a daub. Frequents the crowded auction : station’d there As duly as the liangford of the show. With glass at eye, and catalo^e 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. Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy. Even in the spring and playtime of the year, That calls th’ 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 ^ades are all my own. The tim’rous hare. Grown so familiar with her frequent guest. Scarce shuns me ; and the stockdove un alarm’d Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspends THE TASK. 260 [book VI. 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 a while, and bask in the warm sun, The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play ; He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, [brush. Ascends the neighb’ring beech ; there whisks his And perks his ears, and stamps, and cries aloud. With all the prettiness of feign’d alarm. And anger insignificantly fierce. The heart is hard in nature, and unfit For human fellowship, as being void Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike To love and friendship both, that is not pleased With sight of animals enjoying life, Nor feels their happiness augment his own. The bounding fawn, that darts across the glade When none pursues, through mere delight of heart. And spirits buoyant with excess of glee ; The horse as wanton, and almost as fleet, That skims the spacious meadow at full speed. Then stops, and snorts, and throwing high his heels, Starts to the voluntary race again ; The very kine, that gamble 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. To ecstacy 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 design. Impart to the benevolent, who wish All that are capable of pleasure pleased, A far superior happiness to theirs. The coinfort 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. THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 261 God set the diadem upon his head. And angel choirs attended. Wondering stood The new-made monarch, while before him pass’d, All happy, and all perfect in their kind. The creatures, summon’d from their various haunts, To see their sovereign, and confess his sway. Vast was his empire, absolute his power. Or bounded only by a law, whose force ’Twas his sublimest privilege to feel And own, the law oi universal love. He ruled ^ith 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 aU, And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear. But sin marr’d all ; and the revolt of man. That source of evils not exhausted yet, Was punish’d with revolt of his from him. 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 loathed 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 tfiat hour The seeds of cruelty, that since have swell’d To such gigantic and enormous growth. Were sown in human nature’s fruitful soil. Hence date the persecution and the pain. That man inflicts on all inferior kinds, Regardless of their plaints. To make him sport, To gratify the frenzy of his wrath, Or his base gluttony, are causes good And just in his’ account, why bird and beast Should suffer torture, and the streams be dyed With blood of their inhabitants impaled. Earth groans beneath the burden of a war II 2 262 THE TASK. [book VI. Waged with defenceless innocence, while he, Not satisfied to prey on all around, Adds tenfold bitterness of death by pangs Needless, and first torments ere he devours. Now happiest they, that occupy the scenes The most remote from his abhorr’d resmt. Whom once, as delegate of God on earth, They fear’d, and as his perfect image loved. The wilderness is theirs, with all its caves. Its hollow glens, its thickets, and its plains. Unvisited by man. There they are free. And howl and roar as likes them, uncontroll d , Nor ask his leave to slumber or to play. Wo to the tyrant, if he dare intrude Within the confines of their wild domain : The lion tells him— 1 am monarch her^ And, if he spare him, spares him on the terms Of royal mercy, and through generous scorn To rend a victim trembling at his foot. In measure, as by force of instinct drawn. Or by necessity constrain’d, they li^ Dependent upon man ; those in his fields. These at his crib, and some beneath his roof. They prove too often at how dear a rate He sells protection — Witness at his foot The spaniel dying for some venial fault Under dissection of the knotted scourge ; Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells Driven to the slaughter, goaded, as he runs, To madness ; while the savage at his heels Laughs at the frantic sufferer’s fury, spent Upon the guiltless passenger o’erthrown. He too is witness, noblest of the tram That wait on man, the flight-performing horse ; With unsuspecting readiness he takes His murderer on his back, and push d aU day With bleeding sides and flanks, that heave lor life, To the far distant goal, arrives and dies. So little mercy shows who needs so much . Does law, so jealous in the cause of man. Denounce no doom on the delinquent ? None. He lives, and o’er his brimming beaker boasts THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 263 As if barbarity were high desert) Th’ inglorious feat, and clamorous in praise Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose The honours of his matchless horse his own. But many a crime, deem’d innocent on earth, , Is register’d in heaven ; 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 T’ 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 aU mankind. The charter was conferr’d, by which we hold The flesh of animals in fee, and claim O’er aU we feed on power of life and death. But read the instrument, and mark it well : Th’ oppression of a tyrannous control Can find no warmth there. Feed then, and yield Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous, through sin. Feed on the slain, but spare the living brute ! The Governor of all, himself to aU So bountiful, in whose attentive ear The unfledged raven and the lion’s whelp Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs Of hunger unassuaged^ has interposed. Not seldom, his avengmg arm, to smite Th’ injurious trampler upon nature’s law, 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 th’ 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, THE TASK. [book VI. 264 ^ And such sagacity to take revenge, That oft the beast has seem’d to judge the man. An ancient, not a legendary tale, By one of sound intelligence rehearsed (If such who plead for Providence may seem In modern eyes), shall make the doctrine clear. W^ere England, stretch’d towards the setting sun^ Narrow and long, o’erlooks the western wave, Dwelt young Misagathus ; a scorner he Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent, Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce. He journey’d ; and his chance was, as he went. To join a traveller, of far difPrent 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,’ th’ impenetrable man Exclaim’d, ‘ that me the lullabies of age, ‘ And fantasies of dotards such as thou, ‘ 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 he design’d his grave. But, though the felon on his back could dare The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed Declined the death, and wheeling swiftly round, THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 26 ^ Or e’er 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 med’cine well applied, but without grace The heart’s insanity admits no cure. Enraged the more, by what might have reform d His horrible intent, again he sought Destruction, with a zeal to be destroy’d. With sounding whip, and rowels dyed in blood. But still in vain. The Providence, that meant A longer date to the far nobler beast, Spared yet again th’ ignobler for his sake. And now, his prowess proved, and his sincere Incurable obduracy evinced. His rage grew cool ; and, pleased perhaps t nave earn’d So cheaply the renown of that attempt, With looks of some complacence he resumed His road, deriding much the blank amaze Of good Evander, still where he was left Fix’d motionless, and petrified with dread. So on they fared. Discourse on other themes Ensuing seem’d t’ obliterate the past ; And tamer far for so much fury shown (As is the course of rash and fier^ 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, tho’ slow to wrath Is never with impunity defied.^ His horse, as he nad caught his master’s mood. Snorting, and starting into sudden rage. Unbidden, and not now to be controll’d. Rush’d to the cliff, and, having reach’d it, stood. At once the shock unseated him : he flew Sheer o’er the craggy barrier ; and immersed Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not, The death he had deserved, and died alone. So God wrought double justice ; made the fool The victim of his own tremendous choice, And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. THE TASK. 266 [book VI. I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polish’d manners and fine Yet wanting sensibility) the man [sense, 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, forewarned. Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight. And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, A visitor unwelcome, into scenes Sacred to neatness and repose, th’ alcove. The chamber, or refectory, may die ; A necessary act incurs no blame. Not so when, held within their proper bounds, And guiltless of offence, they range the air. 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 all— the meanest things that are, As free to live, and to enjoy that life. As God was free to form tnem 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 dishonoured and defiled in most By bud^ng ills, that ask a prudent hand To check them. But alas ! none sooner shoots If unrestrained into luxuriant growth. Than cruelty, most devilish of them all. Mercy to him, that shows it, is the rule And righteous limitation of its act, By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man ; And he that shows none, being ripe in years, And conscious of the outrage he commits, Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn. Distinguish’d much by reason, and stiU more THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 267 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 th’ expertness of thebrutes in theirs, Are ofttimes vanquish’d, and thrown far behind. Some show that nice sagacity of smell. And read with such discernment, in the port And figure of the man, his secret aim, That oft we owe our safety to a skill We could not teach, and must despair to learn. But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop To quadruped instructors, many a good And useful quality, and virtue too, Rarely exemplified among ourselves ; Attachment never to be wean’d, or changed] By any change of fortune ; proof alike Against unkindness, absence, and neglect ; Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat Can move or warp ; and gratitude for small And trivial favours, lasting as the life, And glistening even in the dying eye. Man praises man. Desert in arts or ams W^ins public honour ; and ten thousand sit 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, 268 The task. [book vi And give the day to a musician’s praise. Remember Handel ? Who, that was not bom Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets. Or can, the more than Homer of nis age ? Yes— we remember him ; and, while we praise A talent so divine, remember too That His most holy book, from whom it came. Was never meant, was never used before, To buckram out the memory of a man. But hush ! — the muse perhaps is too severe ; And with a gravity beyond the size And measure of th’ 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 ! — Blan praises man ; and Garrick’s memory next, When time hath somewhat mellowed it, and made The idol of our worship while he lived. The God of our idolatry once more Shall have its altar ; and the world shall go In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. The theatre too small shall suffocate Its squeezed contents, and more than it admits Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return Ungratified : for there some noble lord Shall stuff his shoulders with king Richard’s bunch Or wrap himself in Hamlet’s inky cloak, And strut and storm, and straddle, stamp and stare To show the world how Garrick did not act. For Garrick was a worshipper himself ; He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites And solemn ceremonial of the day, And called 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 mulb’rry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 269 The mulb’rry-tree stood centre of the dance : The mulb’rry-tree was hymn’d with dulcet airs ; And from his touchwood trunk the mulb’rry-tree Supplied such relics as devotion holds Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. So ’twas a hallowed time : decorum reigned, And mirth without offence. No few returned. Doubtless, much edified, and all refreshed. — 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 ear. 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 thev weU deserve. Why ? what has charmed tnem ? Hath 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 Doomed to the dust, or lodged already there. Encomium in old time was poets’ work ; But poets, having lavishly long since Exhausted aU materials of the art. The task now falls into the public hand ; And I, contented with an humble theme. Have poured 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 THE TASK. [book VI. 270 May stand between an animal and wo, And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. The groans of Nature in this nether world, Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end. Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung. Whose fire was kindled at the prophets’ lamp. The time of rest, the promised Sabbath, comes. Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh Fulfill’d their tardy and disastrous course Over a sinful world ; and what remains Of this tempestuous state of human things Is merely as the working of a sea Beforp 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, M^en 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, Th^ not t’ attempt it, arduous as he deems The labour, were a task more arduous still. Oh scenes surpassing fable, and yet true. 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 WINTER WALK AT NOON. 271 The various seasons woven into one, And that one season an eternal spring, The garden fears no bUght, 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 daUy with the crested worm. To stroke his azure neck, or to receive The lambent homage of his arrowy ton^e. All creatures worship man, and all mankind One Lord, one Father. Error has no place : That creeping pestilence is driven away ; The breath of Heaven has chased it. In the heart No passion touches a discordant string. But all is harmony and love. Disease Is not : the pure and uncontaminate blood Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. One song employs all nations ; and aU cry, ^ W^orthy the Lamb, for he was slain tor us . The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other, and the mountain tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy ; Till, nation after nation taught the strain, Earth rolls the rapturous Hosanna round. Behold the measure of the promise hll d ; See Salem built, the labour of a God ! Brio-ht as a sun the sacred city shines ; Allliingdoms and all princes of the earth 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, * Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and progenitors of AraS in the propheUc scripture here alluded to, may be reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large. 272 THE TASK. [book VlJ 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 J ava there Kneels with the native of the farthest west ; And ^Ethiopia spreads abroad the hand, And worships. Her report has tra veil’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 eartn Saw never, such as Heaven stoops down to see. Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were Perfect, and all must be at length restored, [once 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 even 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 semsh ! over which Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway. That govern all things here, shouldering aside The meek and modest Truth, and forcing her 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 ofiice, shall esteem Th’ occasion it presents of doing good More than the perquisite : where Law shall speak THJE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 273 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 hearts 1 ny title is engraven with a pen Lipp’d in the fountain of eternal love. • proclaim thee king ; and thy delay Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see The dawn of thy last advent, long desired. Would creep into the bowels of the hills And flee for safety to the falling rocks. ’ The very spirit of the world is tired Of its own taunting question, ask’d so long, promise of your Lord’s approach The infldel 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 faith 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. Deny thy Godhead with a martyr’s zeal, And quit their office for their error’s sake. Blind, and in love with darkness ! yet, even 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 rhe world takes little thought. Who will may preach And what they will. All pastors are alike^ ^ ’ S. THE TASK. 274 [book VI. To wandering sheep, resolvrf to fo^ow none. Two gods divide them aU— Pleasure and Gain . For these they Uve, they sacrifice to these, And in their service wage perpetual war Ihearte^ With Conscience and with thee. And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth. To prey upon each other : stubborn, Hi^-minded, foaming out their own dis^ace. Thy prophets speak of such ; and, noting down The features of the last degenerate times. Exhibit every lineament of these. Kthen, and, a^ded to thy many crowns. Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest. Due to thy last and most effectual work. Thy word fulfill’d, the conquest of a world He is the happy man, whose life even now Shows somewhat of that happier life to come ; Who, doom’d to an obscure but tranquil state, Ts nleased with it, and, were he free to choose, wLld make his fate his choice ; 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 hiin in her busy search Of objects, more illustrious in her view ; And occunied as earnestly as she. Though nmre sublimely, he o’erlooks th® world. ^ She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not , He see“t hL for he has moved them yam. He cannot skim the ground like summCT birds Pursuing gilded flies ; and such he deems Her honours, her emoluments, her joys. Therefore in conternplation is his bhss. Whose power is such, that w^hom shehfts from earta She maLs familiar with a heaven unseen, And shows him glories yet to be reveal d. Not slothful he, though seeming unemploy d, AndtZxed oft as ^eless. ftfflest streams Oft water fairest meadows, and the Dira That flutters least, is longest on Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has raised, THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 275 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 lights, And there obtains fresh triumphs o’er himself, And never-withering wreaths, compared with which The laurels that a Caesar reaps are weeds. Perhaps the self-approving haughty world. That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see Deems him a cipher in the works of God, Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes, When, Isaac like, the solitary saint Walks forth to meditate at eventide, And think on her, who thinks not for herself. Forgive him 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 hfe, 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 wmch at least a grateful few derive Some taste of comfort in a world of wo ; Then let the supercilious great confess He serves his country, recompenses well The state, beneath the shadow of whose 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, THE TASK. 276 [book VI. That, if his country stand not by his skill, At least his follies have not wrought her fall. Polite Refinement offers him in vain &er golden tube, through which a sensual world Draws gross impurity, and likes it well. The neat conveyance hiding all the offence. Not that he peevishly rejects a mode Because that world adopts it. If it bear The stamp and clear impression of good sense. And he not costly more than of true worth, He puts it on, and for decorum’s sake Can wear it even 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 b^e No polish can make sterling ; and that vice, Though well perfumed and elegantly dress’d, Like an unburied carcass trick’d with flowers, Is but a garnish’d nuisance, fitter far For cleanly riddance, than for fair attire. So life glides smoothly and by stealth away. More golden than that age of fabled gold Renown’d in ancient song ; not vex’d with care Or Stain’d with guilt, beneficent, approved Of God and man, and peaceful m its end. So glide my life away ! and so at last. My share of duties decently fulfill’d. May some disease, not tardy to perform Its destined office, yet with gentle stroke. Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat. Beneath the turf, that I have often trod. It shall not grieve me then, that once, when call a To dress a Sofa, with the flowers of verse, I play’d a while, obedient to the fair. With that light task ; but soon, to please her more Whom flowers alone I knew would little please. Let fall th’ unfinish’d wreath, and roved for fruit ; Roved far, and gather’d much : some harsh, tis Pick’d frorn the thorns and briers of reproof. But wholesome, well-digested ; grateful some To palates that can taste immorUl truth ; THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 277 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, thoilgh 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. To the Rev. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UNWIN, of Stock in Essex, the Tutor of his two Sons, the fol^wing POEM, recom- mending Private Tuition in perterence to an Edo afaon at School, » inscribed by the Author. TIROCINIUM : OR, A REVIEW OF SCHOOIiS. KinpotXaiov e^6'/i reotp^. Plato ftoXiTUxs xirxa''/is vicuv r^otpx- Diog» Laert. It is not from his form, in which we trace Strength join’d with heaxxty, dignity with grace, That man, the master of this globe, derives His right of empire over all that lives. That form indeed, th’ associate of a mind Vast in its powers, ethereal in its kind. That form, the labour of almighty skiU, Framed for the service of a freeborn will. Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control, But borrows all its grandeur from the soul. Hers is the state, the splendour, and the throne, An intellectual kingdom, all her own. For her the Memory fills her ample page With truths pour’d down from every distant age ; For her amasses an unbounded store, The wisdom of great nations, now no more ; Though laden, not encumber’d with her spoil ; Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil ; When copiously supplied, then most enlarged ; Still to be fed, and not to be surcharged. REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 279 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. At her command winds rise, and waters roar, Again she lays them slumbering on the shore ; With flower and fruit the wilderness supplies, Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise. For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife. That Grace and Nature have to wage through life. Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill. Appointed sage preceptor to the Will, Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice Guides the decision of a doubtful choice. ’^ly 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, Hock’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, H ad 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 wiU, 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 form’d at all, and wherefore as thou art ?’ If man be what he seems, this hour a slave. The next mere dust and ashes in the grave ; Endued with reason only to descry His crimes and follies with an aching eye ; 280 TIROCINIUM : OR, A With passions, just that he may prove, with pain, The force he spends against their fury vain ; And if, soon after having bum’d, by turns. With every lust, with which frail Nature burns. 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 learn’d pursue with eager thought. Are not important always as dear bought. Proving at last, though told in pompous strains, A childish waste of philosophic pains ; But truths, on which depends our main concern, That His 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 required of human kind, ' And all the plan their destiny design’d. What none could reverence all might justly blame, And man would breathe but for his Maker’s shame. But reason heard, and nature well perused, At once the dreaming mind is disabused. If all we find possessing earth, sea, air. Reflect his attributes, who placed them there. Fulfil the purpose, and appear design’d Proofs of the wisdom of th’ all-seeing mind, ’Tis plain the creature, whom he chose t’ 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, review of schools. 281 That we are bound to cast the minds of youth Betimes into the mould of heavenly truth, That taught of God they may indeed be wise, Nor ignorantly wand’ring miss the skies. In early days the conscience has m most A quickness, which in later life is lost ; Preserved from guilt by salutary fears, Or guilty soon relenting into tears. Too careless often, as our years proceed. What friends we sort with, or what books we read, Our parents yet exert a prudent care. To feed our infant minds with proper fare ; And wisely store the nursery by decrees With wholesome learning, yet acquired with ease. Neatly secured from being soil’d or torn Beneath a pane of thin translucent horn, A book (to please us at a tender age ’Tis call’d a book, though but a single page) Presents the prayer the Saviour deign d to teach. Which children use, and parsons — wlien they Lisping our syllables, we scramble next Lpreach. 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. 0 thou, whom, borne on Fancy’s eager wing Back to the season of life’s happy spring, 1 pleased remember, and, while meinory yet Holds fast her office here, can ne’er forget ; Ingenious dreamer, in whose well-told tale ‘ Sweet fiction and sweet truth alike prevail ; Lstyle, Whose humorous vein, strong sense, and simple May teach the gayest, make the gravpt smile ; Witty, and well employ’d, and, like thy Lora, Speaking in parables his slighted word ; I name thee not, lest so despised a name Should move a sneer at thy deserved fame ; Yet even in transitory life’s late day. That mingles all my brown with sober gray. Revere the man, whose Pilgrim marks the road. And guides the Progress of the soul to God. 282 tirocinium: or, a ’Twere well with most, if books, that could engage Their childhood, pleased them at a riper age ; The man, approving what had charmed the boy, Would die at last in comfort, peace, and joy ; And not with curses on his art, who stole The gem of truth from his unguarded soul. The stamp of artless piety impressed 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, warped into the labyrinth of lies. That babblers, called philosophers, devise. Blasphemes his creed, as founded on a plan Replete with dreams, unworthy of a man. Touch but his nature in its ailing part. Assert the native evil of his heart. His pride resents the charge, although the. proof* Rise in his forehead, and seem rank enough ; Point to the cure, describe a Saviour’s cross As God’s expedient to ret,rieve 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-betrayed, and wilfully undone. She longs to yield, no sooner wooed than won. Try now the merits of this blest 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, confessea 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 ; See 2 CSuron. cb. xxvi. vor. 19. REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 283 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. Such rhapsodies our shrewd discerning youth Liearn from expert inquirers after truth ; Whose only care, might truth presume to speak, Is not to find what they profess to seek. And thus, well-tutor’d only while we share 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 own at last ; Train him in public with a mob of boys. Childish in mischief only and in noise. Else of a manish growth, and five in ten In infidelity and lewdness men. There shall he learn, ere sixteen winters old. That authors are most useful pawn’d or sold ; That pedantry is all that schools impart, But taverns teach the knowledge of the heart ; There waiter Dick, with Bacchanalian lays. Shall win his heart, and have his drunken praise. His counsellor and bosom-friend shall prove, And some street-pacing harlot his first love. Schools, unless discipline were doubly strong. Detain their adolescent charge too long ; The management of tyros of eighteen Is difficult, their punishment obscene. The stout tall captain, whose superior size The minor heroes view witji envious eyes, •The author begs leave to explain.— Sensible that, vrithout such fcno-wledge, neither the ancient poets nor historians can be tasted, or in- deed understood, he does not mean to censure the pains that are taken to instruct a schoolboy in the religion of the Heathen, but merely that neglect of Christian culture which leaves him shamefully ignorant of his own. 284 TIROCINIUM : OR, A Becomes their pattern, upon whom they fix Their whole attention, and ape all his tricks. His pride, that scorns t’ obey or to submit, With them is courage, his effrontery wit. His wild excursions, window-breaking feats, Robbery of gardens, quarrels in the streets, His hair -breadth ’scapes, and all his daring schemes, Transport them, and are made their fav’rite themes. In little bosoms, such achievements strike A kindred spark : they burn to do the like. Thus, half-accomplish’d ere he yet begin To show the peeping down upon his chin ; And, as maturity of years comes on, Made just th’ adept that you design’d your son T’ insure 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 ord’nances is shot^m Or look’d for now, the fault must be his own. Some sneaking virtue lurks in him, no doubt, Where neither strumpets’charms, nor drinking-bout, Nor gambling practices, can find it out. Such youths of spirit, and that spirit too, Ve nurs’ries of our boys, we owe to you : Though from ourselves the miscliief 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 baulks 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’er watch the numerous and unruly clan ; Or, if I blame, ’tis only that they dare Promise a work, of which they must despair. REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 285 Have ye, ye sage intendants of the whole, An ubiquarian presence and control ? Elisha’s eye, that, when Gehazi stray’d. Went with him, and saw all the pme he play d. Yes— ye are conscious ; and on all the shelves Your pupil 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 brillant times are fled. And no such lights are kindling in their stead. Our striplings snine 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 menageries 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, Tho’ 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 ; 286 TIROCINIUM ; OR, A As happy as we once, to kneel and draw The chalky ring, and knucle down at taw ; To pitch the ball into the grounded hat, Or drive it devious with a dext’rous pat ; The pleasing spectacle at once excites Such recollection of our own delights, That, viewing it, we seem almost t’ obtain Our innocent sweet simple years again. This fond attachment to the well-known place, Whence first we started into life’s long race. Maintains its hold with such unfailing sway, We feel it even in age, and at our latest day. Hark ! how the sire of chits, whose future share Of classic food begins to be his care. With his own likeness placed on either knee. Indulges all a father’s heart-felt glee ; And tells them, as he strokes their silver locks. That they must soon learn Latin, and to box ; Then turning he regales his listening wife With all th’ adventures of his early life ; His skill in coachmanship, or driving chaise. In bilking tavern bills, and spouting plays ; What shifts he used, detected in a scrape. How he was flogg’d, or had the luck t’ escape ; What sums he lost at play, and how he sold Watch, seals, and all — till all his pranks are told. Retracing thus YmiroUcs (’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 shown Just in the scene where he display’d his own. The meek and bashful boy will soon be taught. To be as bold and forward as he ought ; The rude will scuffle through with ease enough, Great schools suit best the sturdy and the rough. Ah happy designation, prudent choice, Th’ event is sure ; expect it ; and rejoice ! Soon see your wish fulfill’d in either child. The pert made perter, and the tame made wild. The great indeed, by titles, riches, birth. Excused th’ encumbrance of more solid worth. REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 287 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. But families of less illustrious fame. Whose chief distinction is their spotless name. Whose heirs, their honours none, their income Must shin^ by true desert, or not at all, [small, 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 episcopally such at least ; And, while the playful jockey scours the room Briskly, astride upon the parlour broom, In fancy sees him more superbly ride In coach with purple lined, and mitres on its side. Events improbable and strange as these. Which only a parental eye foresees, A public school shall bring to pass with ease. But how ? resides such virtue in that air. As must create an appetite for prayer ? And will it breathe into him all the zeal. That candidates for such a prize should feel. To take the lead and be the foreniost 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. * Th’ exalted prize demands an upward look, ‘ Not to be found by poring on a book. ‘ Small skill in Latin, and still less in Greek, ‘ Is more than adequate to all I seek. ‘ Let erudition grace him, or not grace, ‘ I give the bauble but the second place ; 288 TIROCINIUM : or, a ‘ 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. ‘ Your Lordship^ and Your Grace ! what school can teach ‘ A rhet’ric equal to those parts of speech ? ‘ What need of Homer’s verse, or Tully’s prose, ‘ Sweet interjections ! if he learn but those ? ‘ Let reverend 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 barb’rous prostitution of your son ; Press’d on hie part by means, that would disgrace A scrivener’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 ; REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 289 For Providence, that seems concern’d t’ 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 Baggot there. Besides, school-friendships are not always found. Though fair in promise, permanent and' sound ; ' The most disint’rested and virtuous minds, In early years connected, time unbinds ; New situations give a different cast Of habit, inclination, temper, taste ; And he, that seem’d our counterpart at first. Soon shows the strong similitude reversed. ' 1 oungheads are giddy, and young hearts are warm. And make mistakes for manhood to reform. Boys are at best but pretty buds unblown, [known ; Whose scent and hues are rather guess’d than Bach dreanis that each is just what he appears, But learns his error in maturer years When disposition, like a sail unfurl’d. Shows all Its rents and patches to the world. If, tiierefore, even when honest in design, A boyish friendship may so scon decline, f were 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 lor wages so unlikely to be paid. Our public hives of puerile resort, That are of chief and most approved report, lo 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— I hat with a world, not often over nice, Bs-nks as a virtue, and is yet a vice ; Or rather a gross compound, justly tried, Or enw, hatred, jealousy, and pride — Contributes most perhaps t’ enhance their fame, And emulation is its specious name. Boys, once on fire with that contentious zeal, I eel all the rage, that female rivals feel ; T TIROCINIUM : OR, A 290 The prize of beauty in a woman’s eyes Not brighter than in theip the scholar s prize. The spirit of that competition burns A^^ith all varieties of ill by turns ; Each vainly magnifies his own success, Resents his fellow’s, wishes it were less, Exults in his miscarriage, if he Jail, Deems his reward too great, if he Pjevpl, And labours to surpass him day and nignt. Less for improvement than to tickle spite^ The spur is powerful, and I grant its lorce ; 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 iudge, 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 wrong Done to the nobler part, alFects 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 selilsh views, thus censured and cashier Q , And emulation, as engendering hate. Doom’d to a no less ignominious laty The props of such proud seminaries tail. The Jachin and the Boaz of them all. Great schools rejected then, as those that sweU Beyond a size that can be managed weu. Shall royal institutions miss the bays, And small academies win all the praise . Force not my drift beyond its just intent, I praise a school as Pope a government ; So take my judgment in his lan^age djss d ^ Whate’er is best administer d IS best. Few boys are born with talents that excel. But all are capable of living well ; Then ask not. Whether limited or large ? But, Watch they strictly, or neglect their charge REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 291 If anxious only, that their boys may learn While morals languish, a despised concern, The great and small deserve one common blame, Diff’rent 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. 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 ; TJnenvied 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 show. 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, iEsop, and Phaedrus, and the rest ? — Why not ? He will not blush, that has a father’s heart, To take in childish plays a childish part ; But bends his sturdy back to any toy. That youth takes pleasure in, to please his boy ; Then why resign into a stranger’s hand A task as much within your own comiiiand,' That God and nature, and your interest too, Seem with one voice to delegate to you ? 292 tirocinium : OR, A your own ? . . This second weaning, needless j his ' How does it lacerate both your heart and his . Th’ indented stick, that loses day "‘*5' Notch after notch, till aU are smooth d away, Be1?s witoess, long ere home. With what intense desire he wants ms nome. Sit though the joys he hoi.es benea* your roof T^id fair enough to answer in the prom, “s: ani safe, and natura , as they are, A disappointment waits h'“ even there . Arrived he feels an unexpected change, He blushes, hangs his easf No longer takes, as once, with tearless ease. His favourite stand between his fatner s knees. But seeks the corner of some distant seat, And eyes the door, and watches . And, feast fainhiar where he should be most. Feels all his happiest privileges lost. Alas noor boy ’—the natural ettect Of love by absence chill’d into reject. Say, what accomplishments, at school acquire , BrlAgT he, to sweeten fruits so undesired ? Thou well deserv’st an alienated son, ^ Unless thy conscious heart acknowledg^none , None that, in thy domestic snug ^ooess, Kat -ind. Idd KaTthur^Lngk thou canst obtain "Ryr nn k’i'nd arts his confidence again , T^at here begins with most that long complaint Omial ftSess lost, and W Which, oft neglected, in life s waning years A parent pours into regardless ears. Like caterpiUars, dangling By slender threads, and ’ Whirh filthily bewray and sore disgrace xLe tughs ^i which are bred th’ unseemly race ; REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 293 While every worm industriously weaves And winds his web about the rivell’d leaves ; So numerous are the follies^ that annoy The mind and heart of every sprightly boy ; Imaginations noxious and perverse, Which admonition can alone disperse. Th-’ encroaching nuisance asks a faithful hand , Patient, affectionate, of high command. To check the procreation of a breed Sure to exhaust the plant on which they feed. ’Tis not enough, that Greek or Enman page, At stated hours, his freakish thoughts engage ; Even in his pastimes he requires a friend. To warn, and teach him safely to unbend ; O’er all liis 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 tc 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 schooling trade ; \\^o feed a pupil’s intellect with store Of syntax, truly, hut 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, T’ improve this diet, at no great expense. With sav’ry truth and wholesome common sense ; To lead his son, for prospects of delight. To some not steep, though philosophic, height. Thence to exhibit to his wond’ring eyes Yon circling worlds, their distance, and their size, The moons of Jove, and Saturn’s belted ball. And the harmonious order of them aU ; T 2 294 tirocinium : or, a To show 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 tame : And, more than aR, with commendation due. To set some living worthy in his view. Whose fair example may at once inspire A wish to copy what he must admire. - Such knowledge gain’d betimes, and which appears. Though solid, not too weighty for his years, Sweet in itself, and not forbidding sport, ^ _ When health demands it, of athletic sort, Would make him— what some lovely boys have And more than one perhaps that I have seen— An evidence and reprehension both Of the mere schoolboy’s lean and tardy growth. Art thou a man professionally tied. With all thy faculties elsewhere apphed. 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 like other men ; No jester, and yet lively in discourse. His phrase well chosen, clear, and full of force , And his address, if not quite French in ease. Not English stiff*, 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 ; REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 295 Prepared by taste, by learning, and true worth, To form thy son, to strike his genius forth ; Beneath thy roof, beneath thine eye, to prove The force of discipline, when back’d by love ; ' To double all thy pleasure in thy child. His mind inform’d, his morals undefiled. Safe under such a wing, the boy shall show 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, liurks the contagion chiefiy to be fear’d ; For since (so fashion dictates) all who claim A higher than a mere plebeian fame. Find it expedient, come what mischief may, To entertain a thief or two in pay ; (And they that can afford th’ 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, Show thou hast sense enough to prize the pearl, And, as thou wouldst th’ advancement of thine heir In all good faculties beneath his care. Respect, as is but rational and just, 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 th’ instructions of thy son’s best friend Are a stream choked, or trickling to no end. 296 TIROCINIUM : or, a 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 ; IMuch less transfix his feelings with an oath ; Nor frown, unless he vanish with the cloth — And, trust me, his utility may reach To more than he is hired or bound to teach ; JMuch trash unutter’d, and some ills undone. Through reverence of the censor of thy son. But, if thy table be indeed unclean. Foal 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 whe-n industry begins to snore, Flies, wing’d with joy, to some coach-crowded door ; And thrice in every mnter throngs thine own With half the chariots and sedans in town. Thyself meanwhile even shifting as thou mayst ; 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 trifier Vain, and empty of aU good ; Though mercy for thyself thou canst have none. Hear Nature plead, show mercy to thy son. Saved from his home, where every day bnngs forth Some mischief fatal to his future worth. Find him a better in a distant spot. Within some pious pastor’s humble cot, REVIEW OF SCHOOLS. 297 Where vile example (yours I chiefly mean, The most seducing, and the oft’nest 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 ^et 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 pleasures past, or follies yet to come. His virtuous toil may terminate at last In settled habit, and decided taste. — But whom do I advise ? the fashion-led, Th’ incorrigibly wrong, the deaf, the dead, Whom care and cool deliberation suit Not better much than spectacles a brute : Who, if their sons some slight tuition share, Deem it of no great moment whose, or where ; Too proud t’ adopt the thoughts of one unknown, And much too gay t’ have any of their own. But courage, man ! methought the muse replied, Mankind are various, and the world is wide : The ostrich, silliest of the feather’d kind, And form’d of God without a parent’s mind. Commits her eggs incautious to the dust. Forgetful that the foot may crush the trust ; And, while on public nurseries they rely. Not knowing, and too oft not caring, why. Irrational in what they thus prefer. No few, that would seem wise, resemble her. But all are not alike. Thy warning voice May here and there prevent erroneous choice ; And some, perhaps, who, busy as they are. Yet make their progeny their dearest care, (Whose hearts will acne, once told what ills may Their offspring, left upon so wild a beach,) [reach 298 TIROCINIUM : or, a Will need no stress of argument t’ enforce Th' expedience of a less advent’rous course : The rest will slight thy counsel, or condemn ; But they have human feelings, turn to them. To you then, tenants of life’s middle state. Securely placed between the small and great. Whose character, yet undebauch’d, retains Two-thirds of all the virtue that remains, W^ho, wise yourselves, desire your son should learn Your wisdom and your ways, to you I turn. Look round you on a world perversely blind ; See what contempt is fallen on humankind ; See wealth abused, and dignities misplaced, Great titles, offices, and trusts disgraced, I^ong lines of ancestry, renown’d of old, Their noble qualities all quench’d and cold ; See Bedlam’s closetted and hand-cuff ’d charge, Surpass’d in phrenzy by the mad at large ; See great commanders making war a trade, Great lawyers, lawyers without study made ; Churchmen, in whose esteem their blest employ Is odious, and their wages all their joy. Who, far enough from furnishing their shelves With Gospel lore, turn infidels themselves ; See womanhood despised, and manhood shamed With infamy too nauseous to be named. Fops at all corners, ladylike in mien, Civetted fellows, smelt ere they are seen, Else coarse and rude in manners, and their tongue On fire with curses, and with nonsense hung, Now flush’d with drunkenness, now with whoredom pale. Their breath a sample of last night’s regale ; See volunteers in all the vilest arts. Men well endow’d, of honourable parts. Design’d by Nature wise, but self-made fools; All these, and more like these, were bred at schools. And if it chance, as sometimes chance it will. That though school-bred, the boy be virtuous still ; Such rare exceptions, shining in the dark. Prove, rather than impeach, the just remark : REVIEW OF SCHOOLS, 299 As here and there a twinkling star descried Serves but to show hov/ black is all beside. Now look on him, whose very voice in tone Just echoes thine, whose features are thine own. And stroke his polish’d cheek of purest red. And lay thine hand upon his flaxen head. And say. My boy, th’ 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 will court thy friendship, with what views. And, artless as thou art, whom thou wilt choose ; Though much depends on what thy choice shall be , Is all chance-medley, and unknown to me. Canst thou, the tear just trembling on thy lids, - And while the dreadful risk foreseen forbids, Free too, and under no constraining force, Unless the sway of custom warp thy course ; Lay such a stake upon the losing side. Merely to gratify so blind a guide ? Thou canst not ! Nature, pulling at thine heart Condemns th’ unfatherly, th’ imprudent part. Thou wouldst not, deaf to Nature’s tend’rest plea, Turn him adrift upon a rolling sea, Nor say. Go thither^ conscious that there lay A brood of asps, or quicksands in his way ; Then, only govern’d by the self-same rule Of natural pity, send him not to school. No — guard him better. Is he not thine own, I Thyself in miniature, thy flesh, thy bone ? And hopest thou not (’tis every father’s hope)] That, since thy strength must with thy years elope And thou wilt need some comfort, to assuage ^ Health’s last farewell, a staff of thine old age, That then, in recompense of all thy cares. Thy child shall show respect to thy grey 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. 300 TIROCINIUM. 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, I^or heed what guests there enter and ^ide, Complain not if attachments lewd and base Supplant thee in it, and usurp thy place. But, if thou guard its secret chambers sure From vicious inmates, and delights impure, Either his gratitude shall hold hini last. And keep him warm and filial to the la^t ; Or, if he 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 % , Oh, barb’rous ! 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 into shops and auction-rooms .— A captious question, sir, (and yours is one,) Deserves an answer similar, or none. Wouldst thou, possessor of a flock, employ (Apprised that he is such) a careless boy , And feed him well, and give him handsome pay, Merely to sleep, and let them run astray i 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— T/iw luilding to he Unless the world were all prepared t embrace A plan well worthy to supply their place ; Yet, backward as they are, and long have been, To cultivate and keep the morals clean, (Forgive the crime) I wish them, I coniess, Or better managed, or encouraged less. 301 THE YEARLY DISTRESS, OR TITHING TIME AT STOCK, IN ESSEX. Verses addressed to a country Clergyman complaining of the disagreea- bleness of the day annually appointed for receiving the dues at the parsonage. Come, ponder well, for ’tis no jest. To laugh it would be wrong. The troubles of a worthy priest The burden of my gong. This priest he merry is and blithe Three quarters of a year, But oh ! it cuts him like a scythe. 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 sign. JF^or 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 clurpsy 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. 302 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. ‘ 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-caU ?’ 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, Blay kill a sound divine. 303 Then let the boobies stay at home ; ’T would cost him, I dare say, Less trouble taking twice the sum, Without the clowns that pay. SONNET ADDRESSED TO HENRY COWPER, ESa. On his emphatical and interesting delivery 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 Of Attic phrase and senatorial tone, [sweet Like thy renown’d forefathers, far and wide Thy fame diffuse, praised not for utterance meet Of others^ speech, but magic of thy own* LINES ADDRESSED TO DR. DARWIN, Author of * The Botanic Geurden.’ Two Poets* (poets, by report Not oft so well agree). Sweet Harmonist of Flora’s court ! Conspire to honour Thee. Alluding to the poem by Mr. Hayley, which accompanied these lines. 304 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. 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 tor 1 nee, Unworthy of his own. ON MRS. MONTAGU’S FEATHER-HANGINGS. The birds put otF their every hue. To dress a room for JMontagu. The Peacock sends his heavenly e yes. His rainbows and his starry eyes ; . The Pheasant plumes, which round intold 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, oi 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. 305 This plumage neither dashing shower, Nor blasts, that shake the dripping bower, Shall drench again or discompose. But, screened 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, Which, though new-born, with vigour move, Like Pallas springing armed from Jove— Iniagination scattering round Wild roses over furrowed 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 bemre. Obtrude on human notice more, Like sunbeams on the golden height Of some tall temple playing bright Well-tutored Learning, from his books Dismiss’d with grave, not haughty, looks. Their order on his shelves exact, Not more harmonious or compact Than that, to which he keeps confined The various treasures of his mind— All these to Montagu’s repair, Ambitious of a shelter there. There Genius, Learning, Fancy, Wit, Their ruffled plumage calm refit, (For stormy troubles loudest roar Around their flight who highest soar) And in her eye, and by her aid. Shine safe without a fear to fade. She thus maintains divided sway With yon bright regent of the day ; The plume and poet both, we know, Their lustre to his influence owe ; And she the works of Phoebus aiding, Both poet saves and plume from fading. 306 VERSES SuppMrf lo be writMn b, Alejarfe. SeWr^uring hU solitan jibode in the island of Jnan Fernandez. I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. 0 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^ T start at the sound of my own. The beasts, that roam over the plain,. My form with indifference see ; They are so unacquainted with man. Their tameness is shocking to me. Society, friendship, and love. Divinely bestowed upon man, O, had I the wings of a dove. How soon would I taste you again ! My sorrows I then inight assuage In the ways of religion and truth. Might learn from the wisdom of age. And be cheered by the sallies of vouth. 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 h^rd. Never sighed at the sound of a knell. Or smiled when a Sabbath appear d. 307 Ye winds that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report Of a land I shall visit no more. My fripds, 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. 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 seafowl is gone to her nest. The beast is laid down in his lair ; Even here is a season of rest, And I to my cabin repair. There’s mercy in every place. And mercy, encouraging thought ! Gives even affliction a grace, And reconciles man to his lot. ON THE PROMOTION OF EDWARD THURLOW, Esq, TO THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLORSHIP OF ENGLAND. Round Thurlow’s head in early youth, And in his sportive days. Fair Science poured the light of truth, And Genius shed his rays. 308 See ! with united wonder cried Th’ experienced and the sage, Ambition in a boy supplied With all the skill of age ! Discernment, eloquence, and grace Proclaim him born to sway The balance in the highest place. And bear the palm away. The praise bestowed 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 deemed his own. ODE TO PEACE. Come, Peace of mind, delightful guest Return, and make thy downy nest Once more in this sad heart : Nor Viches I nor power pursue, Nor hold forbidden joys in view ; We therefore need not part. Where wilt thou dwell, if not with me, From av’rice 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 ? 309 For thee I panted, thee I prized, For thee I gladly sacrificed Whate’er I loved before ; And shall 1 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. 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 art 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 v2 310 (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. 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 ^ — What ! hang a man for going mad ! Then farewell British freedom. ON OBSERVING SOME NAMES OF LITTLE NOTE RECORDED IN THE BIOGRAPHIA BRITANNICA. Oh, fond attempt to give a deathless lot To names ignoble, born to be forgot I 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 ; i Lethaean gulfs receive them as they fall. And dark oblivion soon absorbs them all. So when a child, as playful children use. Has burn’d to tinder a stale last year’s news. 311 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 ! REPORT OF AN ADJUDGED CASE, NOT TO BE FOUND IN ANV OF THE BOOKS. j Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose, I The spectacles set them unhappily wrong ; The point in dispute was, as all the world knows. To which they said spectacles ought to belong. So Tongue was the lawyer, and argued the cause With a great deal of skiU, and a wig full of learning 'ViTiile chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws. So famed for his talent in nicely discerning. In behalf of the Nose it will quickly ^appear. And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find, That^he Nose has nad 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 shows. 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 or the Eyes ; 312 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 solenrn tone. Decisive and clear, without on^ if or hut — That, whenever the Nose put his spectacles on. By daylight or candlelignt — ^Eyes should be shut . ON THE BURNING OF LORD MANSFIELD’S LIBRARY, 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-judged purchase, and the gift. That graced his letter’d store. Their pages mangled, burn’d, and torn, The loss was his alone ; But ages yet to come shall mourn The burning of his own. ON THE SAME. When wit and genius meet their doom In all-devouring flame. They tell us of the fate of Rome, And bid us fear the same. O’er Murray’s loss the muses wept, They felt the rude alarm. Yet bless’d the guardian care that kept His sacred head from harm. 313 cA There Mem’ry 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 st2l we find The honey on his tongue. THE LOVE OF THE WORLD REPROVED ; OR, HYPOCRISY DETECTED.-j- Thus says the prophet of the Turk, Good Mussulman, abstain from pork ; There is a part in every swine No friend or follower of mine May taste, whate’er his inclination. On pain of excommunication. Such Mahomet’s mysterious charge. And thus he left the point at large. Had he the sinM 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 And What joint the prophet had in mind. Much controversy straight arose, These choose the back, the belly those ; By some ’tis confldently said He meant not to forbid tbe head ; While others at that doctrine rail. And piously prefer the tail. f It may be proper to inform the reader, that this piece has already appeared in print, havkig found its way, though with some unnecessary additions by an unknown hand, into the Leeds Journal, without the au thor’s privity. 314 Thus, conscience freed from every clog, Mahometans eat up the hog. You laugh— ’tis well— 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. Reviled and loved, renounced and followed, Thus, bit by bit, the world is swallowed ; Each thinks his neighbour makes too free, Y et likes a slice as well as he ; With sophistry their sauce they sweeten. Till quite from tail to snout ’tis eaten. ON THE DEATH OF MRS. (now lady) THROCKMORTON’s BULFINCH. Ye nymphs ! if e’er your eyes were red With tears o’er hapless fav’rites shed, O share Maria’s grief ! Her fav’rite, even in his cage, (What will not hunger’s cruel rage ?) Assassin’d by a thief. Where Rhenus strays his vines among, Ilie egg was laid from which he sprung ; And, though by nature mute. Or only with a whistle bless’ d, Well-iaught he all the sounds express’d Of flagelet or flute. The honours of his ebon poll M^ere brighter than the sleekest mole ; ' His bosom of the hue 315 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 to bird and mouse. No cat had leave to dwell ; And Bully’s cage supported stood On props of smoothest-shavfen 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 veiled 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 explore ; And something in the wind Conjectured, sniffing round and round. Better than ail the books he found. Food chiefly for the mind. Just then, by adverse fate impress’d, A dream ffisturbed poor Bully’s rest ; In sleep he seem’d to view A rat fast clinging 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. 316 He left it, but he should have ta’en That beak, whence issued many a strain Of such mellifluous tone, Might have repaid him well, I wote, 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. The rose had been wash’d, just wash’d in a shower. Which Mary to Anna convey’d. The plentiful moisture encumber’d the flower, And weigh’d down its beautiful head. The cup was all fill’d, and the leaves were all wet, And it seem’d to a fanciful view. To weep for the buds it had left with regret. On the flourishing bush where it grew. I hastily seized it, unfit as it was For a nosegay, so dripping and drown’d, And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas ! I snapp’d it, it fell to the ground. 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 a while ; And the tear, that is wiped with a little address. May be followed perhaps by a smile. 317 THE DOVES. Reas’ning at every step he treads, Man .yet mistakes his way, While meaner things, whom instinct leads, 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 list’ning dove : Our mutual bond of faith and truth No time shall disengage, Those blessings of our early youth Shall cheer our latest age. While innocence without disguise. And constancy sincere. Shall fill the circles of those eyes, And mine can read them there ; Those ills that wait on all below, Shall ne’er be felt by me. Or gently felt, and only so. As being shared with thee. When lightnings flash among the trees. Or kites are hov’ring near, I fear lest thee alone tney seize, And know no other fear. ’Tis then I feel myself a wife. And press thy wedded side, Resolved a union form'd for life Death never shall divide. But oh ! if fickle and unchaste, (Forgive a transient thought) Thou could become unkind at last, And scorn thy present lot. No need of lightnings from on high. Or kites with cruel beak ; 318 Denied th’ 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 wickerwork high mounted. Her chickens prematurely counted, (A fault philosophers might blame If quite exempted from the same,) Enjoy’d at ease the genial day ; ’Twas April, as the bumpkins say, The legislature call’d it 3Iay. But suddenly a wind as high. As ever swept a winter sky, Shook the young leaves about her eai.i. And fill’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 ; (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 expected fair, ^ Climb’d like a squirrel to his dray. And bore the worthless prize away. 319 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 oft’nest 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, no 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 diff’rence strikes at length thejmusing heart ; Streams never flow in vain ; where streams abound. How laughs the land with various plenty crown’d i But time, that should enrich the nobler mind, Neglected leaves a dreary waste behind. ANOTHER, ADDRESSED TO A YOUNG LADY. Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade, A])t 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 ; Oraceful and useful all she does. Blessing and bless’d where’er she goes, Pure-bosom’d as that wat’ry glass, And heaven reflected in her face. 35^0 THE POETS NEW-YEAR’S GIFT. * TO MRS. (now RADY) THROCKMORTON. Maria ! I have every good For thee wish’d many a time, Both sad, and in a cheerful mood. But nevet yet in rhime. To wish thee fairer is no need, IMore 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) 1 wish it all fulfill’d. ODE TO APOLLO. ON AN INKGLASS ALMOST DRIED IN THE SUN. Patron of all those luckless brains. That, to the wrong side leaning, Indite much metre with much pains. And Utde or no meaning : Ah why, since oceans, rivers, streams, That water all the nations. Pay tribute to thy glorious beams, In constant exhalations. 32 ] 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, Impeli’d through regions dense and rare, By aU the winds that blow. Ordain’d perhaps ere summer flies. Combined with millions more. To form an Iris in the skies. Though black and foul before. Illustrious dron ! and happy then Beyond the nappiest lot. Of all that ever jpass’d my pen. So soon to be forgot ! Phoebus, if pch be thy design. To place it in thy bov% Give wit, that what is left may shine With equal grace below. PAIRING TIME ANTICIPATED. A FABLE. I SHALL not ask Jean Jaques Rousseau* If birds confabulate or no ; ’Tis clear, that they were always able To hold discourse, at least in fable ; And even 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, whimsical speculabons of this philosopher, that all animals should be withheld as being only vehicles of deception. But what child was ever deceived bj them, or can be, against the evidence of his senses ? The birds, conceiving a design To forestal sweet St. Valentine, In many an orchard, copse, and grove. Assembled on alFairs of love, And with much twitter and 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 sp^k ; 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 eartli shall mmgle, Or (which is likelier to befall) Till death exterminate us aU. I marry without more ado, Mv dear Dick Redcap, what say you f 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 smiled on theirs. The wind, of late breath d gently forth. Now shifted east, and east by north ; 328 Bare trees and shrubs but ill, you know, Could shelter them from rain or snow. Stepping into their nests, they paddled. Themselves were chill’d, their eggs were addled ; Soon every father bird and mother Grew quarrelsome, and peck’d each other. Parted without the least regret, Except that they had ever met, And learn’d in future to be 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. 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'^ adorn’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. * Sir Robert Gunning’s daughters 324 M^ith cane extended far I sought To steer it close to land ; But still the prize, though nearly caught. Escaped my eager hand. Beau mark’d my unsuccessful pains With fix’d consid’rate face. And puzzling set his puppy brains To comprehend the case. But with a cherup clear and strong, Dispersing all his dream, I thence withdrew, and follow’d long The windings of the stream. My ramble ended, I return’d ; jBmw trotting far before. The floating wreath again discern’d, And plunging left tne shore. 1 saw him with that lily cropp’d Impatient swim to meet 3lly quick approach, and soon he dropp d The treasure at my feet. Charm’d with the sight, the world, I cried. Shall hear of this thy deed ; IMy dog shall mortify the pride Of man’s superior breed ; But chief myself 1 will enjoin. Awake at duty’s call, To show 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, W^as heard, though never heard before. Complaining in a speech well worded — And worthy thus to be recorded : — S25 Ah ! hapless wretch, condemn’d to dwell For ever in my native shell ; Ordain’d to move when others please, Not for my own content or ease ; But toss’d and buffetted about, Now %n 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 tar ott. And felt the sneer with scorn enough ; Was hurt, disgusted, mortifaed, And with asperity rephed. When, cry the botanists, and s^e. 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 course insinuation. And have most plentiful occasion. To wish myself the rock I view, Or such another dolt as you: For many a grave and learn d clerK, And many a gay unletter d sparK, With curious touch examines me. If I can feel as weU 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 „ And your fine sense, he said, and yours, Whatever evil it endures. Deserves not, if so soon onended. Much to be pitied or commended. Disputes, though short, are far too long,. Where both alike are in the wrong ; X A 326 Your feelings in their full amount, Are all upon your own account. You, in your grotto- work inclosed. Complain of being thus exposed ; Yet nothing feel in that rough coat. Save when the knife is at your throat. Wherever driven by wind or tide. Exempt' from every ill beside. And as for you, my I^ady 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, Y"ou would not feel at all — not you. The noblest minds their virtue prove pity, S)nnpathy, 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 show’d he felt it. THE SHRUBBERY. WRITTEN IN A TIME 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 quiv’ring to the Ineeze, Might sooth a soul less hurt than mine. And please, if any thing could please. But fix’d unalterable Care Foregoes not what she feels within, Shows the same sadness every where. And slights the season and the scene. For all that pleased in wood or lawn. While Peace possess’d these silent bowers. 327 Her animating smile withdrawn, Has lost its beauties and its powers. The saint or moralist should tread This moss-grown alley musing, slow ; They seek like me the secret shade, But not like me to nourish wo ! Me fruitful scenes and prospects waste Alike admonish not to roam ; These tell me of enjoyments past. And those of sorrows yet to come. THE WINTER NOSEGAY. What Nature, alas ! has denied To the delicate growth of our isle. Art has in a measure supplied. And Winter is deck’d with a smile. 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’d graced with a livelier hue. And die winter of sorrow best shows The truth of a friend such as you. 328 MUTUAL FORBEARANCE NECESSARY TO THE HAPPINESS OF THE MARRIED STATE. The lady thus address’d her spouse — What a mere dungeon is this house ! By no means large enough ; and was it, Y et 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. 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 ?j What if he did ride whip and spur, ’Twas but a mile — your fav’rite 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 ? 329 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 faU In common to the lot of all, A blemish or a sense impair’d, Are crimes, so little to be spared. Then farewell all that must create The comfort of the wedded state ; Instead of harmony, ’tis jar, And tumult, and intestine war. The love that cheers life s latest stage, Proof against sickness and old age, Preserved by virtue from 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, And will with sympathy endure Those evils it would gladly cure : But angry, coarse, and harsh expression Shows 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. Men from England bought and sold me. Paid my price in paltry gold ; But, though theirs they have enroll d me, Minds are never to be sold. Still in thought as free as ever. What are England’s right’s, I ask, 3S0 Me from my delights to sever, Me to torture, me to task ? Fleecy locks and black comj)lexion Cannot forfeit nature’s claim ; Skins may differa hut affection 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 paust dress the soil. Think, ye master s iron -hearted. Lolling at your jovial hoards ; Think how many hacks 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 an*d sell us. Speaking from his throne the sky ? Ask him, if your knotted scourges. Matches, blood-extorting screws, Are the means which duty urges, Agents of his will to use ? Hark ! he answers — wUd tornadoes. Strewing yonder seas 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 tyrant’s habitations Where his whirlwinds answer — no. By our blood in Afrie wasted. Ere our necks received the chain ; By the mis’ries we have tasted, Crossing in your barks the main ; By our suff’rings, since ye brought us To the man-degrading mart ; All sustain’d by patience, taught us Only by a broxen heart : 331 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 hunaan feelings, Ere you proudly question ours ! PITY FOR POOR AFRICANS. Video meliora proboque, Deteriora sequor — I OWN I am shock’d at the purchase of slaves, And fear those who buy them and sell them, are What I hear of their hardships, their tortures, and groans. Is almost enough to draw pity from stones. I pity them greatly, but I must be mum. For how could we do without sugar and rum ? E^ecially sugar, so needful we see ? What, give up our desserts, our coffee, and tea ! 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 teU 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 1 saw it in print. 332 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 ask’d him to go and assist in the job. He was shock’d, sir, like you, and answer’d — ‘ Oh no ! j , What ! rob our good neighbour ! I pray you don t go ; Besides, the man’s poor, his orchard’s his bread, Then think of his cnildren, 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— 1 see they will Poor man ! what a pity to injure him so ! Lgo • 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, [tree ; His apples might hang, till they dropp’d from the But, since they will take them, 1 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 shared in the plunder, but pitied the man. 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, Whfie the billows high-lifted the boat. And the fresh-blowing breeze never fail d. 333 In the steerage a woman I saw. Such at least was the form that she wor^. Whose beauty impress’d me with awe, Ne’er taugnt me by woman before. She sat, and a shield at her side Shed light, like a sun on the waves, And, smihng 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, Wheilever 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 si^ of his sway, A scourage 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. 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 shown To the black-sceptered rulers of slaves, Resolves to have none of her own. 334 THE » NIGHTINGALE 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 eloquent — - 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 selfsame 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. Released him, as my story tells. And found a supper somewhere else. Hence jarring sectaries may learn Their real int’rest 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. 335 ON A GOLDFINCH STARVED TO DEATH IN HIS CAGE. Time was when I was free ^ air. The thistle’s downy seed my tare, My drink the morning dew ; I perch’d at will on every spray, My form genteel, my plumage gay, My strains for ever new. KessripS's;"' r.“u fe In dyini sighs my little breath Soon pass’d the wiry grate. Thanks, gentle swain, for all iny woes. And thanks for this effectual close And cure of every ill I IMore cruelty could none express ; And I, if you had shown me less, Had been your pns’ner still. THE PINEAPPLE AND THE BEE. The pineapples, in tripple row, Were basking hot, and all m blow ; A Bee of most discerning taste, Perceived the fragrance as he past, On eager wing the spoiler came. And search’d for crannies in the frame, Urged his attempt 6n every side, To every pane his trunk applied ; But still in vain, the frame was tight, And only pervious to the light : 336 Thus having wasted half the day, He trimiA’d his flight another way. Methinks, I said, in thee I And The sin and madness of mankind. To joys forbidden man aspires, Consumes his soul with vain desires ; Folly the spring of his pursuit. And disappointment all the fruit. While Cynthio ogles, as she passes. The nymph between two chariot glasses, She is the pineapple, and he The silly unsuccessful bee. The maid, who views with pensive air The show-glass fraught with glittering ware, Sees watches, bracelets, rings, and lo^ets. 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. HORACE, Book II. Ode X. Receive, dear friend, the truths I teach. So shalt thou live beyond the reach Of adverse Fortune’s power ; Not always tempt the distant deep. Nor always timorously creep Along the treach’rous shore. He that holds fast the golden mean. And lives contentedly between The little and the great, S37 Feels not the wants that pinch the poor. Nor plagues that haunt the rich man’s door, Irabitt’ring 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’s side, His cloud-capt 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 ml thy sail With more than a propitious gale, Take half thy canvas in. A REFLECTION ON THE FOREGOING ODE. And is this all ? Can Reason do no more, Than bid me shun the deep, and dread the shore ? Sweet moralist ! afloat on life’s rough sea. The Christian has an art unknown to thee. He holds no parley with unmanly fears ; Where Duty bids, he confidently steers, Faces a thousand dangers at her call, And, trusting in his God, surmounts them alU Y 338 THE LILY AND THE ROSE. The nymph must lose her female friend, If more admired than she— - But where will fierce contention end. If fiowers can disagree. Within the garden’s peaceful scene Appear’d two lovely foes, Aspiring to the rank of queen, The Lily and the Rose. The Rose soon redden’d into rage, And, swelling with disdain, Appeal’d to many a poet’s page To prove her right to reign. The Lily’s height bespoke command, A fair imperial flower ; She seem’d designed for Flora’s hand. The sceptre of her power. This civil hick’ring and debate The goddess chanced to hear. And flew to save, ere yet too late, The pride of the pkterre. Yours is, she said, the nobler hue,' And yours the statelier mien ; And, till a third surpasses you. Let each be deemed a queen. Thus, soothed and reconciled, each seeks The fairest British fair : The seat of empire is her cheeks. They reign united there. IDEM LATINE REDITUM. Heu inimicitias quoties parit aemula forma, Quam raro pnlchrae pulchra placere potest ? Sed fines ultra solitos discordia tendit. Cum flores ipsos bilis et ira movent. 339 Hortus ubi dulces praebet tacitosque recessus, Se rapit in partes gens animosa duas ; Hie sibi regales Andaryllis Candida cultus, lllic purpureo vindicat ore Rosa. Ira Rosam et meritis quaesita superbia tangunt, Multaque ferventi yix cobibenda sinu, Hum sibi fautorum ciet undique nomina vatum, Jusque suum, multo carmine fulta, probat. Altior emicat ilia, et celso vertice nutat, . Ceu flores inter non habitura parem, Fastiditque alios, et nata videtur in usus Imperii, sceptrum, Flora quod ipsa gerat. Nec Hea non sensit civilis murmura rixae, Cui curse est pictas pandere ruris opes. Heliciasque suas nunquam non prompta tueri, Hum licet et locus est, ut tueatur, adest. Et tibi forma datur procerior omnibus,^ inquit ; , Et tibi, principibus qui solet esse, color ; Et donee vincat quaedam formosiqr ambas, Et tibi reginsB nomen, et esto tibi. His ubi sedatus furor est, petit utraque nympham, Qualem inter Veneres Anglia sola pant Hanc penes imperium est, nihil optantamplius, nujus Regnant in nitidis, et sine lite, genis. THE POPLAR FIELD. The poplars are felled, farewell to the shade, And tne whispering sound of the cool colonnade ; The winds play no longer and sing in the leaves, Nor Ouse on his bosom their image receives. Twelve years have elapsed, since I last took a view Of my favourite field, and the bank where they grew And now in the grass behold they are laid, And the tree is my seat, that once lent me a shade. The blackbird has fled to another retreat. Where the hazels afford him a screen from the heat, 340 And the scene, where his melody charm’d me before, Resounds with his sweet-flowing ditty no more. My fugitive years are all hasting away. And I must ere long lie as lowly as they. With a turf on my breast, and a stone at my head^ Ere another such grove shall arise in its stead. ’Tis a sight to engage me, if any thing can. To muse on the perishing pleasures of man ; Though his life be a dream, his enjoyments, I see, Have a being less durable even than he.* :iDEM LATINE REDITUM. PopULE^ cecidit gratissima copia silvae, Conticuere susurri, omnisque evanuit umbra. Nullae jam levibus se miscent frondibus aurse, Et nulla in fluvio ramorum ludit imago. Hei mihi ! bis senos dum luctu torqueor annos^ His cogor silvis suetoque carere recessu. Cum serd rediens, stratasque in gramine cernens^ Insedi arboribus, sub queis errare solebam. Ah ubi nunc merulae cantus ? Felicior ilium Sflva tegit, dura0 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, exequiis parvis donatus, habebo Defixum lapidem tumulique cubantis acervum. • Mr Cowper afterwards altered this last stanza in the following 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 onr pleasures, we see. Have a still shorter date, and die sooner than we. 341 Tam subito periisse videns tam digna manere, Agnosco humanas sortes et tristia fata — Sit licet ipse brevis, volucrique simillimus umbrse, Est homini brevior citiiisque obitura voluptas. VOTUM. O MAT UT INI rores, auraeque salubres, O nemora, et laetae rivis felicibus herbae, Graminei colies, et amaenae in vallibus umbrae ! Fata modo dederint quas olim in rure paterno Delicias, procul arte, procul formidine novi, Quam veUem ignotus, quod mens mea semper ave- bat. Ante larem proprium placidam expectare senectam Turn demum, exactis non infeliciter annis, Sortiri taciturn lapidem, aut sub cespite condi ! CICINDELA, BY VINCENT BOURNE. Sub sepe exiguum est, nec raro in margine ripae, Reptile, quod lucet nocte deique latet. Vermis habet speciem, sed habet de lumine nomen : At prisca a lama non liquet, unde micet. Plerique a cauda credunt procedere lumen ; Nec 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, Praetendi voluit forsitan ilia facem. Sive usum hunc Natura parens, seu maluit iUum, Hand frustra accensa est lux, radiique dati. Ponite VOS fastus, humiles nec spernite, magni ; Quando habet et minimum reptile, quod nitet. Y 2 342 I. THE glow-worm. TRANSLATION OP THE FOREGOING. Beneath the hedge, or near the stream, A worm is known to stray ; That shows 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 might. That kindles up the skies, Gives him a modicum of hght Proportion’d to his size. Perhaps indulgent Nature meant, By such a lamp bestow d, To bid the trav’ller, as he went. Be careful where he trod : Nor crush a worm, whose useful light Might serve, however smaU, To show a stumbling-stone by mght. And save him from a fall. Whate’er she meant, this truth divine Is legible and plain, ’Tis power almighty bids hun 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. 343 CORNICULA, BY VINCENT BOURNE. Nigras inter aves avis est, quae plurima turres, Antiquas sBdes, celsaque fana colit. Nil tam sublime est, quod non audace volatu, Aeriis spernens inferiora, petit. Quo nemo ascendat, cui non vertigo cerebrum Gorripiat, certe hunc seligit ilia locum. Quo vix a terra tu suspicis absque tremore. Ilia metus expers incoluniisque sedet. Lamina delubri supra fastigia, ventus Qua coeli spiret de regione, docet ; Hanc ea prse reliquis mavult, secura perich, Nec 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 nabet. Clamores, quas infra audit, si forsitan audit, Pro rebus nihili negligit, et crocitat. lUe tibi invideat, felix Cornicula, pennas, Qui sic humanis rebus abesse velit. IL THE JACKDAW. TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING. There is a bird, who by his coat, And by the hoarseness of his note, Might be supposed a crow ; A great frequenter of the church. Where bishop-like he finds a perch, And dormitory too. Above the steeple shines a plate, That turns and turns, to indicate From what point blows the Weather 5 Look up — your brains begin to swim, ’Tis in the clouds— that pleases him, He chooses it the rather. Fond of the speculative height. Thither he wings his airy night, And thence securely sees The bustle and the rareeshow, 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. Anacreonticum* BY VINCENT BOURNE. O QUi me® culinae Ar^tulus choraules, Et hospes es canorus, Quacunque commoreris, Felicitatis omen ; Jucundiore cantu Siquando me salutes, Et ipse te rependam, Et ipse, qua valebo, Reihunerabo musd. 345 Biceris innocensque Et gratus inquilinus ; Nec victitans rapinis, Ut sorices voraces, Muiesvi curiosi, Furumque delicatum Vulgus domesticorum ; Sed tutus in camini Recessibus, quiete Contentus et calore. Beatior Cicada, Quae te referre formS, Quae voce te videtur ; Et saltitans per herbas, Unius, baud secundae, ^statis est chorista ; Tu carmen integratum Reponis ad Decembrem, Laetus per universum Incontinenter annum. Te nulla lux relinquit, Te nulla nox revisit, Non musicae vacantem, Curisve non solutum : Quin amplies canendo, Quin amplies frnendo, jEtatulam, vel omni, Quam nos homunciones Absumimus querendo, " ^tate longiorem. III. THE CRICKET. TRANSLATION OF THE FOREGOING. Little inmate, full of mirth. Chirping on my kitchen hearth. Wheresoe’er be thine abode. Always harbinger of good, 346 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. Thus thy praise shall be express’d, Inoffensive, welcome guest ! While the rat is on the scout. And the mouse with curious snout, With what vermin else infest Everj^ dish, and spoil the best ; Frisking thus before the fire. Thou hast aU 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. Unimpair’d, and shrill, and clear, Melody throughout the year. Neither night, nor dawn of day, Puts a period to thy play : Sing then — and extend thy span Far beyond the date of man. Wretched man, whose years are spent In repining discontent. Hives not, aged though he be. Half a span, compared with thee. SIMILE agit: in simile, BY VINCENT BOURNE. Cristatus, pictisque ad Thaida Psittacus alis. Missus ab Eoo munus amante venit. Ancillis mandat primam form are loquelam, Archididascaliae dat sibi Thais opus. Psittace, ait Thais, fingitque sonantia molle Basia, quae docilis molle refihgit avis. 347 Tam captat, jam dimidiat tyrunculus ; et jam ^ fiesScit, et nebulo es, quisquis es. inquit anus> Qu^aXfoU melior Ij^ro meUorve magtstra ! ^Quando duo rngenus tam coiere P^es • Ardua discenti nulla est, res nulla Ardua ; cum doceat faemma, discat avis. IV. THE PARROT. TRANSLATION OP THE FOREGOING. In painted plumes superbly dress’d, A native of the gorgeous east, Bv many a billow toss d, ^ Poll gains at length the Bn*tish shore, Part of the captain’s precious store, A present to his toast* Belinda’s maids are soon preferr’d, To teach him now and then a word, As Poll can master it ; But ’tis her own important charge, To qualify him more at large, And make him quite a wit. Sweet Poll ! his doting mistress cries, Sweet Poll I the mimic bird rephes ; And calls aloud for sack. ^ She next instructs him m the kiss > ’Tis now a little one like Miss, 348 At first he aims at what he hears, And, hst ning close with both his ears, J ust catches at the sound ; But soon articulates aloud, th’ amusement of the crowd, And stuns the neighbours round. A querulous old woman’s voice hum’rous talent next employs ; He scolds, and gives the He. 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, 1 he language and the tone, Each character in every part Sustained with so much grace and art, And both in unison. When children first begin to spell. And stainmer out a syllable, We^ think them tedious creatures ; But difficulties soon abate, W|ien birds are to be taught to prate. And women are the teachers. TRANSLATION OF PRIOR’S CHLOE AND EUPHELIA. vigiles oculos ut fallere possit, JVomine sub ficto trans mare mittit op6s ; sonat Hquidumque meis EupheHa chordis, feed solam exoptant te, mea vota, Chloe. Ad speculum ornabat nitidos EupheKa crines, Cum dixit mea lux, Heus, cane, sume lyram. jNamque lyram juxta positam cum carmine viffit, feuave quidem carmen dulcisonamque lyram. 349 Fila lyrae vocemque paro, suspiria surgunt, Et miscent numens murmura niffista meis, Dumque tuae memoro laudes, Euphelia, lonnae, Tota anima interea pendet ab ore Chloes. Subrubet ilia pudore, et contrahit altera frontem, Me torquet mea mens conscia, psallo, tremo ; Atque Cupidinea dixit Dea cincta corona, Heu ! fallendi artem quam didicere parum. the diverting HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN ; Showing how he went farther than he intended, and came safe home again* John Gilpin was a citizen Of credit and renown, A trainband captain eke was he Of famous London town. John Gilpin’s spouse said to her dear, Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen. To-morrow is our wedding-day, And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton All in a chaise and pair. My sister, and my sister’s child. Myself, and children three, Will fill the chaise ; so you must nde On horeseback after we. He soon replied, I do admire Of womankind but one. And you are she, my dearest dear, Therefore it shall be done. 350 I am a linen draper bold, As all the world doth know. And my good friend the calender Will lend his horse to go. Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, That’s well said ; And for that wine is dear. We will be furnish’d with our own. Which is both bright and clear. John Gilpin kiss’d his loving wife ; O’erjoy’d was he to find, That, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind. The morning came, the chaise was brought, But yet was not allow’d To drive up to the door, lest all Should say that she was proud. So three doors off the chaise was staid, 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 folk 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 saddletree scarce reach’d had he, His journey to begin. When, turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in. So down he came ; for loss of time. Although it grieved him sore. Yet loss of pence, full well he knew Would trouble him much more. 351 ’Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty screaming came down stairs ^ The wine is left behind !’ Good lack ! quoth he— yet bring it me. My leathern belt likewise. In which I bear my trusty sword, When I do exercise. Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul !) Had two stone bottles found. To hold the liquor that she 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. 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 |)acing 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 ^e with all his might. 352 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 dream’d-» 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 scream’d, Up flew the windows all ; And every soul cried out. Well done ! As loud as he could bawl. Away went Gilpin — who but he ? His fame soon, spread around. He carries weight ! he rides a race ! ’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 W ere shatter’d at a blow. Down ran the wine into the road. Most piteous to be seen. Which made his horse’s flanks to smoke As they had basted been. 353 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, wond’ring 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. So like an arrow swift he flew. Shot by an archer strong ; So did he fly — v/hich brings me to The middle of my song. Away went Gilpin out of breath, And sore against his will. Till at his friend’s the calender 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 : Z 354 What news ? what news ? your tidings tell ! 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 c^ender 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 friehd in merry pin. Return’d him not a single word, But to the house went in ; Whence straight he came with hat and wig A wig that flow’d behind, A hat not much the worse for wear. Each comely in its kind. He held them up, and in his turn Thus show’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. Said John, it is my wedding-day. And all the world would stare. If wife should dine at Edmonton, And I should dine at Ware. So turning to his horse, he said, I am in haste to dine ; ’Twas for your pleasure you came here. You shall go back for mine. 355 Ah luckless speech, and bootless boast I For which he paid full dear ; For, while he spake, a braying ass Did sing most loud and clear. Whereat his horse did snort, as he Had heard a lion roar. And gallopp’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 IMrs. 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 spoil 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 Gil])in, and away Went postboy at his heels. The postboy’s horse right glad to miss The lumb’ring of the wheels. Six gentlemen upon the road, , Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With postboy scamp’ring in the rear, They raised the hue and cry : — 3^6 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 tollmen 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 ! AN EPISTLE TO AN AFFLICTED PROTESTANT LADY IN FRANCE, Madam, A stranger’s purpose in these lays Is to congratulate, and not to praise. To give the creature her Creator’s due Were sin in me, and an offence to you. From man to man, or even 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 trav’ller 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. Where Nature has her mossy velvet spread. With unshod feet they yet securely tread, 357 Admonish’d, scorn the caution and the friend, Bent upon pleasure, heedless of its end. But he, who knew what human hearts would prove, How slow to learn the dictates of his love. That, hard by nature and of stubborn will, A life of easp would make them harder still, In pity to the sinners he 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 breathed from lips of everlasting love. The flinty soil indeed their feet annoys ; And sudden sorrow nips their sprinmng joys ; An envious world will interpose its frown. To mar delights superior to its own ; And many a pang, experienced still within. Reminds them of their hated inmate, Sin ; But ills of every shape and every name. Transform’d to blessings, miss their cruel aim ; And every moment’s calm that soothes the breast, Is given in earnest of eternal rest. Ah, be not sad, although thy lot be cast Far from the flock, and in a distant waste ! No shepherds’ tents within thy view appear, But the chief Shepherd is for ever near ; Thy tender sorrows and thy plaintive strain Flow in a foreign land, but not in vain ; Thy tears all issue from a source divine. And every drop bespeaks a Saviour thine — ’Twas thus in Gideon’s fleece the dews were found, And drought on aU the drooping herbs around. z 2 358 TO THE EEV. W. CAWTHORNE UNWIN. Unwin, 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, nor 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 diff’ring 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, 1 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 ; Affection lights a brighter flame Than ever blazed % art. No muses on these lines attend, I sink the poet in the friend. AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, Esq. Dear Joseph — five and twenty years ago — Alas, how, time escapes ! — ’tis even so — S59 With frequent intercourse, and always sweet, And always friendly, we were wont to cheat A tedious hour— and now we never meet ! As some grave gentleman in Terence says (’Twas therefore much the same in ancient days). Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings— Strange fluctuation of all human things ! True. Changes wiU befall, and friends may part. But istance 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 oi Iite. Though nothing have occurr’d to kindle strife. We find the friends we fancied we had won, Though num’rous 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 trespass, 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.— Bor what ? — An please you, sir, to see a iriend. A friend ! Horatio cried, and seem’d to start — Yea marry shalt thou, and with all my heart. And fetch rny cloak ; for, though the mght 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 chdd ; But somewhat at that moment pinch’d him close. Else he was seldom bitter or morose. Perhaps his confidence just then betray’d, Lmade ; His grief might prompt him with the speech he Perhaps ’twas mere good humour gave it birth. The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. Howe’er it was, his language, m my tnmd. Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind. But not to moralize too much, and strain To prove an evil, of which all complain, 360 (I hate long arguments verbosely spun), One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. Once on a time an emp’ror, a wise man, No matter where, in China or Japan, Decreed, that whosoever should offend Against the well-known duties of a friend, Convicted once should ever after wear But half a coat, and show his bosom bare. The punishment importing this, no doubt, That all was naught within, and all found out. O happy Britain ! 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. Broad cloth without, and a warm heart within. TO THE REVEREND MR. NEWTON. All 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. 361 Old Winter, halting o’er the meatl, 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, (NOW MRS. COURTNEY.) She came— she is gone— we have met— And meet perhaps never again ; The sun of that moment is set, And seems to have risen in vain. Catharina has fled 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. 362 The longer I heard, I esteem’d The work of my fancy the more, And even to myself never seem’d So tuneful a poet before. Through the pleasures of London exceed In number the days of the year, Catharina, did nothing impede, W ould feel herself happier here ; For the close- woven arches of limes On the banks of our river, I know. Are sweeter to her many times Than aught that the city can show. So it is, when the mind is endued With a well -judging taste from above ; Then, whether embellish’d or rude, ’Tis nature alone that we love. The achievements of art may amuse. May even our wonder excite. But groves, hills, and 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. ^^h hp book, and her voice, and her lyre. To wing aU her moments at home ; And with scenes that new rapture inspire. As oft as it pits 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 363 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. Stoppled his cruise, replaced his book Within its customary nook. And, stalFin hand, set forth to share The sober cordial of sweet air. Like Isaac, with a mind applied To serious thought at evening tide. Autumnal rains had made it chill. And from the trees, that fringed his hill, Shades slanting at the close ot day Chill’d more his else delightful way. Distant a little mile he spied A western bank’s still sunny side. And right toward the favour’d place Proceeding with his nimblest pace, In hope to bask a little yet. Just reach’d it when the sun was set. Your hermit, young and jovial sirs . Learns something from whate er 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 spre His powers of best exertion there. But youth, health, vigout, to expend On so desirable an end. Ere long approach life’s evping shades. The glow, that fancy gave it, fades ; And, earn’d too late, it wants the ^ace Which first engaged him in the chase. 364 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 m call’d his ardour forth. Trifles pursued, whate’er th’ event, Must cause him shame or discontent • A vicious object still is worse, ’ Successful there he wins^ a curse • But he, whom even in life’s last stage iiindeavours laudable engage, Is paid, at least in peace of mind. And sense of having well design’d • And if, ere he attain his end, ’ His sun precipitate descend, A brighter pnze than that he meant ShaU recompense his mere intent. No virtuous wish can bear a date Hither too early or too late. THE FAITHFUL BIRD. The greenhouse is my summer seat : My ^rubs displaced from that retreat Hnjoy’d the open air ; Two goldfinches, whose sprightly song Had been their mutual solace long, liived happy pris’ners there. They sang as blithe as finches sing, Ifiat flutter loose on golden wing, And frolic where they list ; Strangers to liberty, ’tis true, But that delight they never knew, And therefore never miss’i But nature works in every breast, Instinct is never quite suppress’d ; And Hick felt some desires, 365 Which, 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 generous and sincere. To leave his friend behind. For, settling on his grated roof. He chirped and kissed him, giving proof That he desired no more ; Nor would forsake his cage at last Till gently seized I shut him fast, A prisoner as before. O ye, who never knew 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 T 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 neighb’ring squire. That he may follow them through brake and brier. Contusion hazarding of neck, or spine. Which rural gentlemen call sport ^iivine. 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 ; 366 And where the land slopes to its wat’ry bourn, Wide yawns a gulf beside a ragged thorn ; Bricks line the sides, but shiver’d long ago, And horrid brambles intertwine below ; A hollow scoop’d, I judge, in ancient time. For baking earth, or burning rock to lime. Not yet the hawthorn bore her berries red. With which the fieldfare, wintry guest, is fed ; Nor Autumn yet had brush’d from every spray, W^ith her chill hand, the mellow leaves away ; 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, F or which, alas ! my destiny severe, Though ears she gave me two, gave me no ear. The Sun, accomplishing his earthly 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 stray’d the rest ; Nor noise was heard blit of the hasty brook. Struggling, detain’d in many a petty nook. All seem’d so peaceful, that, from them convey’d To me their peace by kind contagion spread. But when the huntsman, with distended cheek, 'Gan make his instrument of 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 noval strain. Then coursed the field around, and coursed it round again ; • Two woods belonging to John Throckmorton, Es/j. 367 ■Rut. 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 taU, He hears the herbs and flowers rejoicing all; Knows what the freshness of their hue imphes. How glad they catch the largess of the skies ; 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 tears Have all articulation in his ears ; He speUs 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. A while they mused ; surveying every tace, Thou hadst supposed them of superior race ; Their periwigs of wool, and fears combined, ^ Stamp’d on each countenance such marks ot mind. That sage they seem’d as lawyers o’er a doubt, AVhich, 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 ! we have lived too long. I never heard Sounds such as these, so worthy to be tear d. Could I believe, that winds for ages pent In earth’s dark womb have found at last a vent. And from their prison-house below arise. With all these hideous bowlings to the skies, I could be much composed, nor should appear. For such a cause, to feel the slightest fear. Yourselves have seen, what time the thunders roll a All night, me resting quiet in the fold. 368 Or heard we that tremendous bray alone, I could expound the melancholy tone ; Should deem it by our old companion made, 1 he ass ; for he, we know, has lately stray’d. And being lost perhaps, and wand’ring wide. Might be supposed to clamour for a guide. But ah ! those dreadful yells what soul can hear 1 hat owns a carcass and not quake for fear ? Demons produce them doubtless, brazen-claw’d And fang’d with brass the demons are abroad ; 1 hold It therefore wisest and most fit. That, life to save, we leap into the pit. Him answer’d then his loving mate and true, But more discreet than he, a Cambrian ewe. How ? leap into the pit our life to save ? To save our life leap all into the grave ? For can we find it less ? Contemplate first The depth how awful ! falling mere, 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 nian, and spatter’d horse, Through mere good fortune, took a diif’rent 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. 369 MORAL. Beware of desp’rate 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 rods. Sought, with an indignant mien. Counsel of her country’s gods, Sage beneath the spreading oak Sat the Druid, hoary chief ; Every burning word he spoke Full of rage, and full of grief. Princess ? 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, '2 A ■ 370 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 hard’s prophetic words. Pregnant with celestial fl^®9 Bending as he swept the chords ^ Of his sweet but awful lyre. She, with all a monarch’s pride, Felt them in her bosom glow : Rush’d to battle, fought, and died ; Dying, hurl’d them at the toe. Ruffians, pitiless as proud, Heaven awards the vengeance due ; Empire is on us bestow’d, Shame and ruin wait for you. heroism. There was a time when ^Etna’s sdent fire Slept unperceived, the rnountain ’ -.TriT— nr» danger from below. No thunders shook with deep i The blooming groves, that girdled her around Her unctuous olives, and her purple vines, (Unfelt the fury of those burstmg The peasant’s hopes, and not in vain, assure , In peace upon her sloping sides When on a day, like that of the last doom, A conflagration lab’rmg m h^r womb. She teem’d and heaved with an infernal birth, That shook the circling seas and solid eartn. Dark and voluminous the vapours rise. And hang their horrors m the neighb ring skies. 371 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 th’ imprison’d foe, . Again pours ruin on the vale below. Ten thousand swains the wasted scene deplore, That only future ages can restore. Ye monarchs, whom the lure of honour draws, Who write in blood the merits of your cause, Who strike the blow, then plead your own defence. Glory your aim, but justice your pretence ; Behold in j^^tna’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 neighbour’s, 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. 372 Famine, and Pestilence, her first-born son. Attend to finish what the sword begun • And echoing praises, such as fiends might earn. And Folly pays, resound at your return. o/hlr./fT- her train Or heartfelt joys, succeeds not soon again. And years of pining indigence must show H^at scourges are the gods that rule below. /o laborious man, by slow degrees, ^uch IS his thirst of opulence and ease) ^hes all the smews of industrious toil, Cleans up the refuse of the general spoil, -Kebuilds the towers that smoked upon the plain And the sun gilds the shining spires again. ’ Increasing commerce and reviving art ^enew the quarrel on the conqueror’s part ; And the sadT lesson must be learn’d once more ihat wealth within is ruin at the door. M^hat are ye, monarchs, laurell’d heroes, say. But iEtnas of the suff ’ring world ye sway ^ Sweet Nature, stripp’d of her embroider’d robe, -Ueplores the wasted regions of her globe ; And stands a witness at Truth’s awful bi. To prove you their destroyers as you are. some Heaven-protected isle, H here Peace, and Equity, and Freedom smile ; Where no volcano pours his fiery flood, No crested warrior dips his plume in blood ; U here Power secures what Industry has won • w here to' succeed is not to be undone ; A land, that distant tyrants hate in vain. In Britain’s isle, beneath a George’s reign ! 373 ON THE EECEIPT OF MY MOTHER’S PICTURE OUT OF NORFOLK, The gift of my cousin^ Ann Bodham. 1790. 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 ckim To quench it) here shines on me still the same. Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, 0 welcome guest, though unexpected here ! Who bidd’st me honour with an artless song. Affectionate, a mother lost ^o long. 1 will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly, as the precept were her own : And, while that face renews my filial griet. Fancy shall weave a charm for my reliet. Shall steep me in Elysian reverie, A momentary dream, that thou art she. IVJy mother i when I learn’d that thou wast dead. Say, wast thou conscious oi the tears I shed ? Hover’d thy spirit o’er thy sorrowing son. Wretch even then, fife’s journey just begun? Perhaps thou gavest me, though unfelt, a kiss ; Perhaps a tear, if souls can weep in bl^s Ah, that maternal smile ! it answers—! es. I heard the bell toll’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. 2 A 2 374 May I but meet thee on that peaceful shore. The parting word shall pass my Ups no more ! Jtny maidens, gneyed themselves at my concern, Ult gave me promise of thy quick return. What ardently I wish’d I long beHeved, And, disappointed still, was still deceived. By expectation every day beguiled. Dupe of to-morrow even from a child. Thus many a sad to-morrow came and went, lill, aU my stock of infant sorrow spent, I learn’d at last submission to my lot, though I less deplored thee, ne’er forgot. ^ here once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Ciiiilclren not thine\have trod my nursery floor • And where the gardener Robin, day by day, ’ Drew me to school along the public way. Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp’d In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet capp’d, Tis now become a history little known, ^[^at once we call’d the past’ral house our own. Short-lived possession ! but the record fa^r. That memory keeps of all thy kindness there. Still outlives many a storm, that has effaced ^ thousand other themes less deeply traced. Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, ^hat thou might’st know me safe and warmly laid * 1 hy morning bounties ere I left my borne, I he biscuit, or confectionary plum ; The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestow’d By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glow’d • AU this, and more endearing stiU than aU, Thy constant flow of love, that knew no faU, Ae er roughen’d by those cataracts and breaks, ihat humour interposed too often makes ; All this stUl legible in memory’s page. And still to be so to my latest age. Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay feuch honours to thee as my numbers may Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere. Not scor.^d in Heaven, though little noticed here. his flight reversed, restore the hours. When, playing with thy vesture’s tissued flowers, 375 The violet, the pink, and jessamine, I prick’d them into paper with a pin, (And thou wast happier than myself the while, Wouldst softly speak, and stroke my head, and smile) Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish them here . I wWd not trust my heart— the dear delight Seems so to be desired, perhaps I might.— But no— what here we caU our life is such. So little to he 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 show Her beauteous form reflected clear below. While airs impregnated with mcense play Around her, fanning light her streamer s gay ; So thou, with sails how swift ! hast reach d the shore, ^ Where^tempests never beat nor billows roar, And thy loved consort on the dangerous tide Of life long since has anchor’d by thy side. But me, scarce 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 d^Tby day some current’s thwarting force Sets me more distant from a prosp’rous course. But oh the thought, that thou art safe, and he I That thought is joy, arrive what niay 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 run His wonted course, yet what I wish d is done. By contemplation’s help, not sought in vain, I seemed t’ have lived my childhood o er again ; • Garth. 376 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 to 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. 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, I jest, having misapplied our eyes, And taken trash lor treasure, 377 We should unwarily conclude Friendship a false ideal good, A mere Utopian pleasure. An acquisition rather rare Is yet no subject of despair ; Nor is it wise complaining. If either on forbidden ground, Or where it was not to be found, We sought without attaining. No friendship will abide the test. That stands on sordid interest. Or mean self-love erected ; Nor such as may a while subsist. Between the sot and sensualist. For vicious ends connected. Who seeks a friend should come disposed, T’ 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. But wiU sincerity suffice ? It is indeed above all price, And must be made the basis ; But every virtue of the soul Must constitute the charming whole. All shining in their places. A fretful temper will divide . The closest knot that may be tied, By ceaseless sharp corrosion ; 378 A temper passionate and fierce JMay suddenly your joys disperse -At one immense explosion. In vain the talkative unite In hopes of permanent delight— I he secret just committed, Forgetting its important weight. They drop through mere desire to prate And by themselves outwitted. ^ ’ How bright soe’er the prospect seems, ship are but dreams, All thoughts of friendship art II envy chance to creep in • An envious man, if you succeed. May prove a dang’rous foe indeed. But not a friend worth keeping. As envy pines at good possess’d, feo jealousy looks forth distress’d that seems approaching; And, if success his steps attend, ^ ^ ^ friend. And hates him for encroaching. Hence authors of illustrious name. Unless belied by common fame. Are sadly prone to quarrel, To deem the wit a friend displays Praise, And pluck each other’s laurel. A man renown ’d for repartee Will seldom scmple to make free With friendship’s finest feeling. Will thrust a dagger at your breast, A^ say he wounded you in jest. By way of balm for hea lin g. Whoever keeps an open ear lor tattlers will be sure to hear -the trumpet of contention ; 379 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 hand in hand insurance plates, Most unavoidably creates The thought of conflagration. Some fickle creatures boast a soul True as a needle to the pole, Their humour yet so various— They manifest their whole life through The needle’s deviations too, Their love is so precarious. The great and small but rarely meet On terms of amity complete ; Plebeians must surrender And yield so much to noble folk, Jt 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. -J Courtier and patriot cannot mix Their het’rogeneous politics Without an effervescence, Like that of salts with lemon juice, Which does not yet like that produce A friendly coalescence. Religion should extinguish strife. And make a calm of human life ; But friends that chance to differ 380 On points, which God has left at large, How freely will they meet and charge ! JNo combatants are stifFer. To prove at last my main intent N^ds no expense of argument. No cutting and contriving— Peeking a real friend we seem T adopt the chemist’s golden dream, Vr ith still less hope of thriving. Sometimes the fault is aU our own, blemish in due time made known By trespass or omission ; ^metimes occasion brings to light Our friend’s defect long hid front 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, Su^h as a friend but ill endures. Enfeeble his affection. That secrets are a sacred trust, ^ mu should be sincere and just, 1 hat constancy befits them, Are observations on the case. That savour much of common -place. And all the world admits them. But tis not timber, lead, and stone. An architect requires alone. To finish a fine building The palace were but half complete. If he could possibly forget The carving and the gilding. The man that hails you Tom or Jack, And proves by thumps upon your back How he esteems your merit. Is such a friend, that one had need Be very much his friend indeed, To pardon or to bear it. 381 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 wiU by no means entertain A spy on my proceeding. These samples — for alas ! at last These are but samples, and a taste Of evils yet unmention’d — May prove the task a task indeed. In which ’tis much if we succeed^ However well intention’d. Pursue the search, and you will find. Good sense and knowledge of mankind To be at least expedient, And, after summing all the rest. Religion ruling in the breast A principal ingredient. The noblest Friendship ever shown The Saviour’s history makes known, Though some have turn’d and turn’d it And, whether bein^ crazed or blind, Or seeking with a biass’d mind, ^ Have not, it seems, discern’d it. O Friendship, if my soul forego Thy dear delights while here blow ; ^ To mortify and grieve me, 382 May I myself at last api)ear Unworthy, base, and insincere. Or may my friend deceive me I THE ENCHANTMENT DISSOLVED Blinded in youth by Satan’s arts, The world to our unpractised hearts A flattering prospect shows ; Our fancy forms a thousand schemes Of gay delights, and golden dreams. And undisturb’d repose. So in the desert’s dreary waste By magic power produced in hatse, (As ancient fables say), Castles, and groves, and music sweet, The senses of the traveller meet. And stop him in his way. But while he listens with surprise, The charm dissolves, the vision dies, ’Twas but enchanted ground : Thus if the Lord our spirit touch. The world, which promised us so much, A wilderness is found. At first we start and feel distress’d. Convinced we never can have rest In such a wretched place ; But He whose mercy breaks the charm. Reveals his own Almighty arm. And bids us seek his face. Then we begin to live iiTdeed When from our sin and bondage freed By his beloved Friend ; We follow him from day to day. Assured of grace through all the way, And glory at the end. 383 LIGHT SHINING OUT OF DARKNESS. God moves in a mysterious way, His wonders to perform ; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill, He treasures up his bright designs, And works his sovereign will. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take. The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense. But trust him for his grace ; Behind a frowning Providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast. Unfolding every hour ; The bud may have a bitter taste. But sweet will be the flower. Blind unbelief is sure to err * And scan his work in vain ; God is his own interpreter, And he will make it plain. TEMPTATION. The billows^well, the winds are high. Clouds overcast my wintry sky ; Out of the depths to thee I call, 31 y fears are great, my strength is small. • John xiii. 7, S84) A perform, Control the waves, say, ‘ PeaK’stffl.- Amidst the roaring of the sea. My soul still hangs her hope on thee * ‘I’y carl, ’ is ah that saves me from despair. Attend the followers of the Lamb, Who leave the world’s deceitful shore. And leave it to return no more. Though tempest-toss’d and half a wreck I ^ •T"'' *?*’■?"«'' floods I seek • ’ K *1 ’’ '^'”'1® Stormy main ’ Force back my shatter’d baric again. SUBMISSION. ® fulfll, T V resign “asjssit’-”' gracious hand lliat wipes away my tears ? freely yield 'iTnf ^ Pr^ze to Thee • ~ "S£iS5V;“t-. 385 Wisdom and mercy guide my way, Shall I resist them both ? A poor blind creature of a day, And crush’d before the moth . But ah ! my inward spirit cries, Still bind me to thy sway ; Else the next cloud that veils my skies, Drives all these thoughts away. STANZAS Subjoined to the Yearly Bill of Mortality of the Parish ofAlUSaints, Northampton^* * Anno Domini^ 1787 » Pallida Mors sequo pvdsat pede paupenim tabe^, Regumque turres. Horace. Pale Death, with equal foot, strikes wide the door Of royal halls, and hovels of the poor. While thirteen moons saw smoothly run The Nen’s barge-laden wave, All these, life’s rambling journey done. Have found their home, the grave. Was man (frail always,) made more frail • Than in foregoing years ? Did famine or did plague prevail. That so much death appears ? No ; these were vig’rous as their sires. Nor plague nor famine came : This annual tribute Death requires, And never waves 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. • Composed for John Cox, parish deArf Northampton. 386 Green as the bay. tree, ever green, With its new foliage on. The gay, the thoughtless, I have seen, I pass’d—and they were gone. Read, ye that run, the solemn 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 insure For yet an hour to come ; No medicine, though it often cure. Can always baulK the tomb. And O ! that humble as my lot, And scorn’d as is my strain. These truths, though known, too much forgov I may not teach in vain. So prays your clerk with all his heart. And ere he quits the pen,^ Begs you for once to take his part. And answer all — Amen ! ON A SIMILAR OCCASION. For the year 1788. Quod adeet, memento Coraponere eequus. Caetexa flumlnl* Ritu fenintur. Horace. Improve the present hour, fear all beside Is a mere feather on a torrent's tide. Could I, from Heaven inspired, as sure presage To whom the rising year shall prove his last. As I can number in my punctual page. And item down the victims of the past ; How each would, trembling wait the mournful sheet On which the press might stamp him next to die ; 387 And, reading here his sentence, how replete With anxious meaning. Heavenward turn his eye ! Time then would seem more precious than the joys, In which he sports away the treasure now ; And prayer more seasonable than the noise Of drunkards, or the music-drawing bow. Then doubtless many a trifler, on the brink Of this world’s hazardous and headlong shore. Forced to a pause, would feel it good to think, Told that his setting 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 wowc, the Voice now speaks to ALL. Observe the dappled foresters, how light They bound and airy o’er the sunny glade— One falls— the rest, wide scatter’d with affright. Vanish at once into the darkest shade. Had we their wisdom, should we, often warn’d. Still need repeated warnings, and at last, A thousand awful admonitions scorn’d. Die self-accused of life run ^1 to waste ? Sad waste ! for which no after-thrift atones. The grave admits no cure for guilt or sin ; Dew-drops may deck the turf that hides the bones. But tears of godly grief ne’er flow within. Learn then, ye living ! by the mouths be taught Of aU these sepulchres, instructors true. That, soon or late, death also is your lot. And the next opening grave may yawn for you. 388 ON A SIMILAR OCCASION. For tJie year 1789. — Placidaque ibi demum morte quievit. Virgil. There calm at length he breathed his soul a-way. 0 MOST delightful hour by man ‘ Experienced here below, • The hour that terminates his span, ‘ His folly; and his wo ! ‘ Worlds should not bribe me back to tread ‘ Again life’s dreary waste, * To see again my day o’erspread With all the gloomy past. My home henceforth is in the skies, ‘ Earth, seas, and sun, adieu ! All heaven unfolded to my eyes, ‘ 1 have no sight for you.’ So spoke Aspasio, firm possess’d 01 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 aU 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. 389 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 he mine^ each Reader cries, When my last hour arrives : They shall be yours, my Verse 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 that 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 your 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 monitory strain. Oft repeated in your ears, Seems to sound too much in vain, Wins no notice, wakes no fears. 2 B 2 390 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 renim cognoscere caiisas, Atque metus omnes et inexorabile fatum ^ Subjecit pedibus, strepitumque Acbeiontis avari ! Virgil. Happy the mortal, who has traced effecte ToWeir first cause, cast fear benea^ his feet. And Death and roaring Hell’s voracious fires. Thankless for favours from on high, Man thinks he fades too soon ; Though ’tis his privilege to die. Would he improve tne boon. 5 But he, not wise enough to scan His best concerns aright, Would gladly stretch life's httle span To ages, it he might. 391 To ages in a world of pain, To ages where he goes ') Gall’d by affliction’s heavy chain, And hopeless of repose. Strange fondness of the human heart. Enamour’d of its harm ! 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 wo ? The cause is Conscience — Conscience oft Her tale of guilt renews : Her voice is terrible though soft, , And dread of death ensues. Then anxious to be longer 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. j»ay /—follow Christ, and all is paid ; His death your peace insures ; Think on the grave where he was laid And calm descend to yours* 392 ON A SIMILAR OCCASION. For the year 1793. De sacris autem heec sit una sententia> ut conserventur. Cic. de Leg, But let us all concur in this one sentiment, that things sacred be nviolate. He lives, who lives to God alone, And all are dead beside ; For other source than God is none Whence life can be supplied. To live to God is to requite His love as best we may ; To make his precepts our delight, His promises our stay. But life, within a narrow ring Of giddy joys comprised. Is falsely named, and no such thing, But rather death disguised. Can life in them deserve the name, Who only live to nrove For what poor toys tiiey can disclaim An endless life above ? Who, much diseased, ^et 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 trarnple^jorder ; and the day Which God asserts his own, Dishonour with unhallow’d play And worship chance alone 393 If scorn of God’s commands, impress’d On word and deed, imply The better part of man unbless’d With life that cannot die ; Such want it, and that want, uncured Till man resigns his breath, Speaks him a criminal, assured Of everlasting death. Sad period to a pleasant course ! Yet so will God repay Sabbaths profaned without remorse, And mercy cast away. INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB OF MR. HAMILTON. Pause here, and think ; a monitory rh)ane 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 ? Yet fear. Youth, ofttimes healthful and at ease, Anticipates a day it never sees ; And many a tomb, like Hamilton ^ aloud Exclaims, ‘ Prepare thee for an early shroud.’ TO WARREN HASTINGS, Esq. BY AN OLD SCHOOLFELLOW OP HIS AT WESTMINSTER. Mai/, 1792. Hastings ! I knew thee young, and of a mind While young, humane, conversable, and kind : 394 Not can 1 well believe thee gentle then", Now grown a villain, and the worst of men. ‘ But rather some suspect, who have oppress’d And worried thee, as not themselves the best. TO MARY, 1793. The twentieth year is well nigh past,' Since first our sKy was overcast, Ah would that this might be the last ! My Mary ! Thy spirits have a fainter flow, I see tnee daily weaker grow — ’Twas my distress that brought thee low. My Mary ! Thy needles, once a shining store. For my sake restless heretofore, Now rust disused, and shine no more ; My Mary ! For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me stiU, Thy sight now seconds not thy will. My Mary ! But well thou play’dst the housewife’s part. And all thy threads with magic art Have wound themselves about this heart. My Mary ! Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language utter’d in a dream ; Yet me they charm, whate’er the theme. My Mary ! Thy silver locks, once auburn bright. Are still more lovely in my sight Than golden beams of orient light. My Mary ! 395 For could I view nor them nor thee. What sight worth seeing could I see ? The sun would rise in vain for me^ ^ Partakers of thy sad decline, Thy hands their little force resign ; Yet gently press’d, , Such feebleness of limbs thou proy’st. That now at every step thou moy st Upheld by two, yet stil thou 1“^*’ , And stiU to love, though press’d with iU, In wint’ry age to feel no chill, With me is to be lovely still, ^ But ah ! by constant heed I know, How oft the sadness that I show. Transforms thy smiles ! And should my future lot be cast With much resemblance ot the past, Thy worn-out heart will break , ON THE ICE ISLANDS, SEEN FLOATING IN THE GERMAN OCEAN. What portents, from what Unseen till now in ours, th astonish d tide . In affes past, old Proteus, with his droves Of sfa calves, sought the’mountains and thejjoves. But now, descending whence ® ^^theXod Themselves the mountams seem to rove * times were they, fuU-charged with human And these, scarce less calamitous than those. 396 What view we now ? More wondrous still ! Be- hold ! Like burnish’d brass they shine, or beaten gold • And all around the peafl’s pure splendour show,’ And all around the ruby’s nery glow. Come they from India, where the burning Earth, AU bounteous, gives her richest treasures birth ; And where the costly gems, that beam around 1 ne brows of mightiest potentates, are found ? ^^ver such a countless dazzling store Had left, unseen, the Ganges’ peopled shore. Bapacious hands, and ever- watchful eyes, giould sooner far have mark’d and seized the prize. Whence sprang they then ? Ejected have they come ' From Ves’vius’, or from Etna’s burning womb ? 1 bus shine they self-illumin’d, or but display p ^ borrowed splendours of a cloudless day ^ With borrowed beams they shine. The gales, that breathe Now landward, and the current’s force beneath, Have borne them nearer : and the nearer sight. Advantaged more, contemplates them aright. 1 heir lofty summits crested high, they show, With mingled sleet, and long-incumbent snow. I he rest is ice. Far hence, where, most severe. Bleak winter well-nigh saddens aU the year, I heir infant growth began. He bade arise Iheir uncouth forms, portentous in our eyes. Oft as dissolved by transient suns, the snow Left the tall cliff, to join the flood below ; He caught, and curdled with a freezing blast Ihe current, ere it reach’d the boundless waste, By slow degrees uprose the wondrous pile. And long successive ages roll’d the while ; I lU, ceaseless in its growth, it claim’d to stand, I all as Its rival mountains on the land. Thus stood, and, unremovable by skill. Or force of man, had stood the structure still ; But that, though firmly fixed, supplanted yet By pressure of its own enormous weight, 397 It left the shelving beach— and, with a sound, That shook the bellowing waves and rocks around, Self-launch’d, and swiftly, to the briny wave, As if instinct, with strong desire to lave, Down went the pond’rous mass. So bards of old, How Delos swam th’ Aegean deep, have told. But not of ice was Delos. Delos bore Herb, fruit, and flower. She, crown’d with laurel, wore. Even under wintry skies, a summer smile ; And Delos was Apollo’s fav’rite isle. But, horrid wand’rers of the deep, to you He deems Cimmerian darkness only due. Your hated birth he deign’d not to survey. But, scornful, turned his glorious eyes away. Hence ! Seek your home, nor longer rashly dare The darts of Phoebus, and a softer air ; Lest ye regret, too late, your native coast. In no congenial gulf for ever lost ! THE CAST-AWAY. Obscurest night involved the sky ; Th’ Atlantic billows roar’d. When such a destined wretch as I, Wash’d heedlong from on board. Of friends, of hope, of all bereft. His floating home for ever left. No braver chief could Albion boast. Than he, with whom he went. Nor ever ship left Albion’s coast, With warmer wishes sent. He loved them both, but both in vain. Nor him beheld, nor her again. Not long beneath the whelming brine. Expert to swim, he lay ; Nor soon he felt his strength decline, Or courage die away ; 398 But waged with death a lasting strife, Supported by despair of life. He shouted ; nor his friends had fail’d To check the vessel’s course. But so the furious blast prevail’d, That, pitiless perforce, They left their outcast mate behind, And scudded still before the wind. Some succour yet they could afford ; And, such as storms allow. The cask, the coop, the floated cord, Delay’d not to bestow, But he (they knew) nor ship nor shore, What’er they gave, should visit more. Nor, cruel as it seem’d, could he Their haste himself condemn. Aware that flight, in such a sea. Alone could rescue them ; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld : And so long he, with unspent power His destiny repell’d : And ever, as the minutes flew, Entreated help, or cried,.— ‘‘ Adieu !” At length, his transient respite past. His comrades, who before Had heard his voice in every blast, Could catch the sound no more. F or then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave, and then he sank. No poet wept him : but the page Of narrative sincere. That tells his name, his worth, ms age, Is wet with Anson’s tear. And tears by bards or heroes shed. Alike immortalize the dead. 399 I therefore purpose not, or dream, Descanting on . To give the melancholy theme A more enduring date. But misery still delights to trace Its ’semblance in another s case. No voice divine the storm allay’d. We perish’d, each alone : But 1 beneath a And whelm’d m deeper gulfs than he. ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE. Written tvTien the news arrived, 1782. Toll for the brave ! The brave that are no more . All sunk beneath the wave. Fast by their native shore . Eight hundred of the brave, Whose courage well was triea, Had made the vessel heel. And laid heron her side. A land breeze shook the shrouds, And she was overset ; Down went the Royal George, With all her crew complete. Toll for the brave ! , Brave Kempenfelt is gone ; His last sea-fight is fought ; His work of glory done. 400 It was not in the battle ; No tempest gave the shock ; She sprang no fatal leak ; She ran upon no rock. His sword was in its sheath ; His fingers held the pen, When Kempenfelt went down, With twice four hundred men. Weigh the vessel up Once dreaded by our foes ! And mingle with our cup, The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again, Full-charged with England’s thunder. And plough the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone. His victories are o’er ; And he and his eight hundred. Shall plough the wave no more. SONNET TO MRS. UNWIN. 1793 . Mary ! I want a lyre with other strings ; Such aid from heaven as some have feign’d they drew ! An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new, And undebased by praise of meaner things. That, ere through age or wo I shed my wings I may record thy worth, with honour due, In verse as musical as thou art true, Verse that immortalizes whom it sings. But thou hast little need : there is a book By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly fight, On which the eyes of God not rarely look ; A chronicle of actions, just and bright; 401 There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine, And since thou own’st that praise, I spare thee mine. GRATITUDE. ADDRESSED TO LADY HESKETH. 1786 . This cap that so stately appears. With ribbon-bound tassel on high, W'hich seems by the crest that it rears, Ambitious of brushing the sky : This cap to my cousin I owe. She gave it, and gave me beside. Wreathed into an elegant bow. The ribbon with which it is tied. This wheel-footed studying chair. Contrived both for toil and repose, Wide elbow’d and wadded with hair, In which I both scribble and dose. Bright studded, to dazzle the eyes, And rival in lustre of that In which, or astronomy lies. Fair Cassiopeia sat. These carpets so soft to the foot, Caledonia’s traffic and pride ! Oh spare them, ye knights of the boot. Escaped from a cross country ride ! This table and mirror within. Secure from collision and dust, At which I oft shave cheek and chin. And periwig nicely adjust. This moveable structure of shelves. For its beauty admired and its use. And charged with octavos and twelves. The gayest I had to produce ; Where, flaming in scarlet and gold. My poems enchanted I view, And hope in due time to behold My Iliad and Odyssey too. 402 This china that decks the alcove, Which here people call a bulFet, But what tlie gods call it above, Has ne’er been revealed to us yet. These curtains that keep the room warm Or cool, as the season demands ; Those stoves, that for pattern and form. Seem the labour of Mulciber’s hands. All these are not half that I owe To One, from our earliest youth To me ever ready to show Benignity, friendship, and truth ; For Time, the destroyer declared And foe of our perishing kind, If even her face he has spared Much less could he alter her mmd. Thus compass’d about with the goods And chattels of leisure and ease, I indulge my poetical moods In many such fancies as these ; And fancies I fear they will seem— Poets’ goods are not often so fine ; The poets will swear that I dream, When I sing of the splendour of mine. THE RETIRED CAT — 1791. A Poet’s cat, sedate and ^ve As Poet well could wish to have, Was much addicted to incjuire For nooks to which she might retire. And where, secure as mouse m chink. She might repose or sit and think. I know not where she caught the tnck, Nature perhaps herself has cast her. In such a mould philosopMque^ Or else she learn’d it other master. Sometimes ascending, debonnair. An apple tree, or lofty pear. 403 Lodged with convenience in the fork, She watch’d the gard’ner at his work ; Sometimes her ease and solace sought In an old empty watering pot. There, wanting nothing save a fan, To seem some nymph in her sedan, Apparell’d in exactest sort. And ready to be borne to court. But love of change, it seems, has place !Not only in our wiser race ; Cats also feel, as well as we. That passion’s force, and so did she. i Her climbing, she began to find. Exposed her too much to the wind. And the old utensil of tin Was cold and comfortless within ; She therefore wish’d instead of those Some place of more serene repose. Where neither cold might come, nor air, Too rudely wanton with her hair. And sought it in the likeliest mode. Within h^er master’s snug abode. A drawer it chanced at bottom lined With linen of the softest kind. With such as merchants introduce From India, for the ladies’ use. A drawer impending o’er the rest. Half open in the topmost chest. Of depth enough and none to spare. Invited her to slumber there ; Puss, with delight beyond expression. Survey’d the scene, and took possession. Recumbent at her ease, ere long, And lull’d by her own humdrum song, She left the cares of life behind. And slept as she would sleep her last. When in came, housewifely inclined. The chamber maid, and shut it fast ; By no malignity impell’d. But all unconscious whom, it held. Awaken’d by the shock, (cried puss), ‘ Was ever cat attended thus ? 404 The open drawer was left, I sec, Merely to prove a nest for me. For soon as I was well composed, Then came the maid, and it was closed. How smooth these kerchiefs and how sweet Oh what a delicate retreat ! I will resign myself to rest Till Sol, declining in the west, Shall call to supper, when, no doubt, Susan will come and let me out.* The evening came, the sun descended, And puss remain’d still unattended. The night roll’d tardily away. With her indeed ’twas never day. The sprig;htly morn her course renewed, The evening grey again ensued. And puss came into mind no more Than if entomb’d the day before. W ith hunger pinch’d and pinch’d for room, She now presaged approaching doom, Nor slept a single wink or purr’d Conscious of jeopardy incurr’d. That night by chance, the poet watching, Heard an inexplicable scratching ; His noble heart went pit-a-pat, And to himself he said — What’s that ?” He drew the curtain at his side. And forth he peep’d, but nothing spied. Yet, by his ear directed, guess’d Something imprison’d in the chest. And, doubtful what, with prudent care Resolv’d it should continue there. At length a voice which he well knew, A long and melancholy mew. Saluting his poetic ears. Consoled him and dispell’d his fears ; He left his bed, he trod the floor. He ’gan in haste the drawers explore ; The lowest first, and without stop, The rest in order to the top. For ’tis a truth well known to most, That whatsoever thing is lost, 405 We seek it ere it come to light, In every cranny but the right. Forth slapp’d the cat, not now replete As erst with airy self-conceit ; ^ Nor in her own fond apprehension A theme for all the world’s attention ; But modest, sober, cured of all Her notions hyperbolical, And wishing for a place of rest Any thing rather than a chest. Then stepp’d the poet into bed With this reflection in his head. MORAL. Beware of too sublime a sense Of your own worth and consequence ; The man who dreams himself so great, And his importance of such weight. That all around, in all that’s done, Must move and act for him alone, Will learn in school of tribulation, The folly of his expectation. ON THE SHORTNESS OF HUMAN LIFE Suns that set, and moons that wane, Rise, and are restored again ; Stars that orient day subdues, Night at her return renews. Herbs and flowers, the beauteous birth Of the genial womb of earth. Suffer but a transient death. From the winter’s cruel breath, Zephyr speaks ; serener skies ^ Warm the glebe, and they arise. We, alas ! earth’s haughty kings. We, that promise mighty things, Losing soon life’s happy prime, , Droop, and fade in little time. Spring returns, but not our bloom. Still ’tis wpter in the tomb. 406 ON THE LATE INDECENT LIBERTIES TAKEN' WITH THE REMAINS OF MILTON. — 1790 . “ Me too, perchance, in future days, “ The sculptured stone shall show. With Paphian myrtle or with bays Parnassian on my brow. “ But I, or ere that season come, “ Kscaped from every care, “ 'Shall reach my refuge in the tomb, “ And sleep securely there.” So sang, in Roman tone and style, i The youthful bard, ere long Ordain’d to grace his native isle With her sublimest song. Who then but must conceive disdain. Hearing the deed unblest. Of wretches who have dared profane His dread sepulchral rest ? Ill fare the hands that heaved the stones Where Milton’s ashes lay. That trembled not to grasp his bones . And steal his dust away ! O ill-requited bard ! neglect Thy living worth repaid. And blind idolatrous respect As much affronts thee dead. MILTON’S SONNET. TO DIODATI, FROM THE ITALIAN. Charles — and I say it wond’ring — ^t}iou must know That 1, who once assumed a scornful air. And scoff’d at Love, am fallen in his snare. (Full many an upright man has fallen so) Yet think me not thus dazzled by the flow 407 Of golden locks, or damask cheek ; more rare The heart-felt beauties of my foreign fair ; A mien majestic, with dark brows, that show The tranquil lustre of a lofty mind ; Words exquisite, of idioms more than one, ; .Ajid song, whose fascinating power might bind, And from her sphere draw down the lab’ring moon. With such fire-darting eyes, that should I fiU Bly ears with wax, she would enchant me stub MILTON’S SONNET TO A LADY, FROM THE ITALIAN. Enamoured, artless, young, on foreign ground, Uncertain whither from myself to fly, To thee dear lady, with an humble sigh Let me devote my heart, which I have found. By certain proofs, not few, intrepid, sound, Good, and addicted to conceptions high : When tempests shake the world, and fire the sky , It rests in adamant self-wrapt around. As safe from envy, and, from outrage rude. From hopes and fears that vulgar minds abuse. As fond of genius and fix’d fortitude, Of the resounding l)^e, and. every Muse, Weak you will find it only in one part. Now pierced with love’s immedicable dart. TO THE NIGHTINGALE, WHICH THE AUTHOR HEARD SING ON NEW year’s day, 1792 . Whence is it, that amazed I hear From yonder wither’d spray, This foremost mom of all the year, The melody of May. 408 And why, since thousands would be proud, Of such a favour shown, Am I selected from the crowd. To witness it alone ? Sing’st thou, sweet Philomel, to me, For that I also long Have practised in the groves like thee, Though not like thee in song ? Or sing’st thou rather under force Of some divine command, Commission’d to presage a course Of happier days at hand ? Thrice welcome then ! for many a long And joyless year have I, As thou to-day, put forth my song Beneath a wintry sky. But thee no wintry skies can harm, Who only need’st to sing. To make e’en January charm, And every season spring. TO WILLIAM WILBERFORCE, Esq. 1792 . ! Thy country, Wilberforce, with just disdain, Hears thee by cruel men and impious, called Fanatic, for thy zeal to loose th’ enthrall’d From exile, public sale, and-slavery’s chain. Friend of the poor, the wronged, the fetter-gall’d. Fear not, lest labour such as thine be vain. Thou hast achieved a part ; hast gain’d the ear Of Britain’s senate to thy glorious cause ; Hope smiles, joy springs, and though cold caution pause And weave delay, the better hour is near Tliat shall remunerate thy toils severe. By peace for Afric, fenced with British laws. Enjoy what thou hast won, esteem and love From all the just on earth, and aU the bless’d above. 409 TO WILLIAM HALEY, Esq. 1793. Dear architect of fine chateaux in air. Worthier to stand for ever, if they could, Than any built of stone, or yet of wood. For back of royal elephant to bear ! O for permission from the skies to share. Much to my own, though little to thy good. With thee (not subject to the jealous mood !) A partnership of literary ware ! But I am bankrupt now ; and doom’d henceforth To drudge, in descant dry, on others’ lays ; Bards, I acknowledge, of unequall’d worth ! But what is commentator’s happiest praise ? That he has furnish’d lights for other eyes. Which they, who need them, use, and then despise. VERSES SENT TO LADY AUSTEN, DURING THE TIME OF A FLOOD, AUGUST 1782. To watch the storms, and hear the sky Give all our almanacs the lie ; To shake with cold, and see the plains In Autumn drown’d with wintry rains; ’Tis thus I spend my moments here. And wish myself a Dutch mynheer ; 1 then should have no need of wit ; For lumpish Hollander unfit ! Nor should I then repine at mud. Or meadows deluged with a flood ; But in a bo^ live well content. And find it just my element ; Should be a clod, and not a man ; Nor wish in vain for sister Ann, 410 With charitable aid to drag My mind out of its j)roper quag ; Should have the genius of a boor, And no ambition to have more. SONG, ON PEACE, WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTEN, 1783. No longer I follow a sound ; No longer a dream I pursue : 0 happiness ! not to be found, Unattainable treasure adieu ! 1 have sought thee in splendour and dress, In the regions of pleasure and taste ; I have sought thee, and seem’d to possess. But have proved thee a vision at last. An humble ambition and hope The voice of true wisdom inspire ; ’Tis sufficient, if Peace be the scope, And the summit of all our desires. Peace may be the lot of the mind That seeks it in meekness and love But rapture and bliss are confined To the glorified spirits above. SONG, WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF LADY AUSTEN. When all within is peace. How nature seems to smile ! Delights that never cease. The livelong day beguile. From morn to dewy eve. With open hand she showers 411 Fresh blessings to deceive And soothe the silent hours. It is content of heart Gives nature power to please ; The mind that feels no smart, Enlivens all it sees ; Can make a wintry sky Seem bright as smiling May, And evening’s closing eye As peep of early day. The vast majestic globe. So beauteously array’d In nature’s various robe, With wondrous skill display’d, Is to a mourner’s heart A dreary wild at best ; It flutters to depart, And longs to be at rest. TO GEORGE ROMNEY, Esq. ON HIS PICTURE OF ME IN CRAYONS, DRAWN AT EARTHAM. — 1792 . Romney, expert infallibly to trace On chart or canvas, not the form alone, And semblance, but however faintly shown. The mind’s impression too on every face — With strokes that time ought never to erase Thou hast so pencil’d mine, that though I own The subject worthless, I have never known The artist shining with superior grace. But this I mark — that symptoms none of woe In thy incomparable work appear. Well — I am satisfied it should be so. Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear ; For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see When I was Hayley’s guest, and sat to thee ? 412 TO MY COUSIN ANNE BODHAM, ON KECEIVING FROM HER A PURSE. — 1793. My gentle Anne, whom heretofore, When I was young, and thou no more Than plaything for a nurse, I danced and fondled on my knee, A kitten both in size and glee, I thank thee for my purse. Gold pays the worth of all things here ; But not of love ; — that gem’s too dear For richest rogues to win it ; I therefore, as a proof of love. Esteem thy present far above The best things kept within it. EPITAPH ON JOHNSON. [ JANUARY, 1785. Here Johnson lies — a sage by all allow’d. Whom to have bred, may well make JEngland proud. Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught. The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought ; Whose verse may claim — giave^ masculine, and • strong, Superior praise to the mere poet’s song ; Who many a noble gift from heaven possess’d. And faith at last, alone worth all the rest. O man, immortal by a double prize, By fame on earth, — by glory in the skies ! THE BIRD’S NEST, A TALE 1793. This Tale is founded on an anecdote which the Author found in the Buckinghamshire Herald, for Saturday, June 1st, 1793, in the following words:-— 413 Glasgow^ May 23. — In a block or pulley, near the head of the mast of a gabert, now lying at the Broomielaw, there is a Chaffinch’s nest and four eggs. The nest was built while the vessel lay at Greenock, and was followed hither by both birds. Though the block is occasionally lowered for the in- spection of the curious, the birds have not forsaken the nest. The cock, however, visits the nest but seldom, while the hen never leaves it, but when she descends to the hull for food. In Scotland’s realm, where trees are few Nor even shrubs abound ; But where, however bleak the view, Some better things are found ! For husband there and wife may boast Their union undefiled, And false ones are as rare almost As hedge rows in the wild. In Scotland’s realm forlorn and bare. The history chanced of late-.- This history of a wedded pair, A chaffinch and his mate. The spring drew near, each felt a breast With genial instinct fill’d ; They paired and would have built a nest. But found not where to build. The heaths uncovered and the moors, Except with snow ^nd sleet. Sea-beaten rocks and naked shores Could yield them no retreat. Long time a breeding place they sought, Till both grew vexed and tired ; At length a ship arriving, brought The good so long desir^. A ship ! — could such a restless thing Afford them place of rest ? Or was the merchant charged to bring The homeless birds a nest ? 414 Hush ! — silent hearers profit most — This racer of the sea Proved kinder to them than the coast, It served them with a tree. But such a tree ? ’twas shaven deal, The tree they call a mast, And had a hollow, with a wheel Through which the tacle pass’d. Within that cavity aloft, Their roofless home they fix’d ; Formed with materials neat and soft. Bents, wool, and feathers mixed. Four ivory eggs soon pave its floor, With russet specks bedight. The vessel weighs, forsakes the shore, And lessens to the sight. The mother bird is gone to sea, As she had changed her kind ; But goes the male ? Far wiser he, Is doubtless left behind ! No ! — soon as from the shore he saw The winged mansion move, He flew to reach it, by a law Of never-failing love. Then perching at his consort’s side. Was briskly borne along, The billows and the blast defied. And cheered her with a song. The seaman with sincere delight. His feathered shipmates eyes. Scarce less exulting in the sight Than when he tows a prize. For seamen much believe in signs, And from a chance so new. Each some approaching good divines. And may nis hopes be true ! 415 Hail honoured land ! a desert where Not even birds can hide, Yet parent of this loving pair Whom nothing could divide. And ye who rather than resign Your matrimonial plan, Were not afraid to plough the brme In company with man. To whose lean country much disdain We English often show. Yet from a richer nothing gain But wantonness and woe. Be it your fortune year by year. The same resourse to proVe, And may ye sometimes, landing here. Instruct us how to love. A HYMN. for the use of the SUNDAY SCHOOL AT OLNEY Hear, Lord, the song of praise and prayer In Heaven thy dwelling place. From infants made thy 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, oh ! 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 then we. What hope that, at our heedless age, Our minds should e’er be free ? 416 hope, if thou our spirit 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, mercies shower’d on those Who placed us where it shines. EPITAPH ON A HARE. H^e lies, whom hound did ne’er pursue. Nor swifter greyhound follow. Whose foot ne’er tainted morning dew. Nor ear heard huntsman’s hallo’. Tiney, surliest of his kind, A ho, nursed with tender care. And to domestic bounds confined. Was stiU 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, mUk, and oats, and straw ; Ihistles, or lettuces instead, With sand to scour his maw. On twigs of hawthorn he regaled. On pippins’ russet peel, ^ 01-’ salads fail’d, bhced carrot pleased him well. his lawn, Whereon he loved to bound, ship and gambol like a fawn, And swing his rump around. 419 Puss grew presently familiar, would leap into my lap, raise himself upon his hinder feet, and bite the bair from niy temples. He would suffer me to take iiim up, and to carry him about in my arms, and has more than once fallen fast asleep upon my knee. He was ill three days, during which time I nursed him, kept him apart from hia fellows, that they might not molest him, (for, like many other wild animals, they persecute one of their own species that is SICK,) arid 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 . recovery ; a sentiment which he most signihcantly expressed by licking my hand, first the back or It, then the palm, then every finger separ- ately, then between all the fingers, as if anxious to eave no part of it unsaluted ; a ceremony which he never performed but once again upon a similar occa- sion. finding him extremely tractable, I made it my custom to carry him always after breakfast into the garden, where he hid himself generally under leaves of a cucumber vine, sleeping or chewing the cud till evening ; in the leaves also of that vine he tound a favourite repast. I had not long habitu- ated him to this taste of liberty, before he began to be impatient for the return of the time when he might enjoy it. He would invite me to the garden by drumming upon my knee, and by a look of such expression, as it was not possible to misinterpret. wnnM ^mediately succeed, he anH between his teeth and puU at it with aU his force. Thus Puss miijht be said to be perfectly tamed, the shyness of fiis TOible by many symptoms, which I have not room o enumerate, that he was happier in human society, thM when shut up with his natural companions. ^ Aot M Tiney : upon him the kindest treatment M not the least effect. He too was sick, and in butif affprh^*^ ““ “y attention; but II, alter his recovery, I took the liberty to stroke him, he would grunt, strike with his fore fe^et, spring 420 forward, and bite. He was, however, very enter- taining in his way ; even his surliness was matter of mirth ; and in bis play he preserved such an air of gravity, and performed his feats with such a solem- nity 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 box, which had been washed, while it was yet damp, was a hare of great humour and drollery. Buss was tamed by gentle usage ; Tiney was not to be tamed at all ; and Bess had a courage and con- fidence that made.him tame from the beginning. I always admitted them into the parlour after supper, when, the carpet aifording their feet a firm hold, they would frisk, and bound, and play a thousand gambols, in which Bess, being remarkably strong and fearless, was always superior to the rest, and proved himself the Vestris of the party. One even- ing the cat, being in the room, had the hardiness to pat Bess upon the check, an indignity which he- resented by drumming upon her back with such violence, that the cat was happy to escape from un- der his paws, and hide herself. I describe these animals as having each a charac- ter of his own. Such they were in fact, and their countenances were so expressive of that character, that when I looked only on the face of either, 1 immediately knew which it was. It is said that a shepherd, however numerous his flock, soon be- comes so familiar with their features, that he can, \ by that indication only, distinguish each from all the rest ; and yet, to a common observer, the dif- ference is hardly perceptible. I doubt not that the same discrimination in the cast of countenances would be discoverable in hares, and am persuaded that among a thousand of them, no two could be found exactly similar : a circumstance little sus- pected by those who have not had opportunity to ob- serve it. These creatures have a singular^sagacity in discovering the minutest alteration that is made 421 in the place to which they are accustomed, and in- examination of a new object. A small hole being burned in the carpet, it was mended with a patch, and that patch in a mo- ment underwent the strictest scrutiny. They seem too to be very much directed by the smell in t^ choice of their favourites : to some persons, though they saw them daily, they could never be reconcile! and would even scream when they attempted to touch them; but a miller coming in engaged thdr affections at once ; his powdered coat had charms ^at were irresistible. It is no wonder that my inti- mate acquaintance with these specimens of the kind has taught me to hold the sportman’s amusement in abhorrence; he little knows^ what amiablfcSrS he persecutes, of what gratitude they are caSe how cheerful they are iif their spirits, what eniov S Jrit^ a ^ j ‘h|t,^impressed as they '^an, it is onlybe- cause man gives them peculiar cause for it. ^ inat I may not be tedious, I will iustffivea short ^""rSe^ifto b ® diet than suit^them best! 1 taKe It to be a general opinion that they graze stenle at least grass is noUheu rather to use it medicinally, soon almost any kind/ Sow. lettuce, are their favourite Sent ®th I discovered by tkh thL* T f estimation witn them , I suppose as a digestive. It happened with ® hird-cagewhUe the hares were thefl^r' Jjnl ■ ® ^<=1* sand upon 5rstinc7’th? i* once directed to by a string mstinct, they devoured voraciously ; since that time 5ued;i?rrV''“ s^ee’themwdl‘su“! bot.the^eartheTseldom eaT- Other of especially wheat-straw, is ani oSs bm i? f a’’ gf^dily upm ♦ 1,0 ’ v iumished with clean straw never want W dail/ ITh andriFsirken up aaily, will be kept sweet and dry for a consider- 422 able time. They do not indeed require aromatic herbs, but will eat a small quantity of them with great relish, and are particulary 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 evp- ing in their chambers, for they feed only at evening and in the night : during the winter, when vegeta- bles were not to be got, I mingled this iness of bread with shreds of carrot, adding to it the rind of apples cut extremely thin ; for though they are fond of the paring, the apple itself disgusts them. These however not being a sufficient substitute for the juice of summer herbs, they must at this time be supplied with water ; but so placed, that they cannot overset it into 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 still living, and has just completed his tenth year, discovering no signs of decay, nor even of age, ex- cept that he is grown more discreet and less frolic- some than he was. I cannot conclude without ob- serving, that I have lately introduced a dog to his acquaintance ; a spaniel that had never seen a hare, to a hare that had never seen a spaniel. I did it with great caution, but there was no real need of it. Puss discovered no token of fear, nor Marquis the least symptom of hostility. There is therefore, it should seem, no natural antipathy between dog and hare, but the pursuit of the one occasions the flight of the other, and the dog pursues because he is trained to it ; they eat bread at the same time out of the same hand, and are in all respects sociable and friendly. I should not do complete justice to my subject, 423 did I not add, that they have no ill scent belonging to them, that they are indefatigably nice in keafnng themselves clean, for which purpose nature has fur- nished them with a brush under each foot ; and that they are never infested by any vermin. May 28, 1784. f Memorandum found among Mr* Co^wper'^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. FINIS Edmburgti : — Duncan Stevenson, Printer to the University. > i UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 3 0112 09987OQnfi