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+Project Gutenberg's The Minstrel; or the Progress of Genius, by James Beattie
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Minstrel; or the Progress of Genius
+       with some other poems
+
+Author: James Beattie
+
+Release Date: November 9, 2008 [EBook #27221]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MINSTREL; PROGRESS OF GENIUS ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Irma Spehar and the Online Distributed
+Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was
+produced from scanned images of public domain material
+from the Google Print project.)
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+                               MINSTREL,
+                                 WITH
+                           SOME OTHER POEMS.
+
+
+                            [Illustration]
+
+
+                             THE MINSTREL;
+                                  OR,
+                        THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS.
+
+                                 WITH
+                           SOME OTHER POEMS.
+
+
+                       By JAMES BEATTIE, LL. D.
+
+
+                              EDINBURGH:
+                     PRINTED BY JAMES BALLANTYNE,
+                FOR WILLIAM CREECH, MANNERS AND MILLER,
+                       AND A. CONSTABLE AND CO.
+                                 1805.
+
+
+
+
+                                  TO
+                          SIR WILLIAM FORBES,
+                         OF PITSLIGO, BARONET,
+                AS A MARK OF RESPECT FOR HIS CHARACTER,
+           AND AS AN APPROPRIATE TRIBUTE TO ONE OF THE MOST
+                     VALUED FRIENDS OF THE AUTHOR,
+                             THIS EDITION
+                                OF THE
+                     POETICAL WORKS OF DR BEATTIE,
+                            _IS INSCRIBED_
+                                  BY
+                            THE PUBLISHERS.
+
+
+
+
+                               CONTENTS.
+
+
+                                                                   Page.
+The Minstrel, Book I.                                                 1
+              Book II.                                               35
+
+Retirement                                                           71
+
+Elegy                                                                76
+
+Ode to Hope                                                          81
+
+Pygmaeo-gerano-machia: The Battle of the Pigmies and Cranes           89
+
+Epistle to the Hon. C. B. 101
+
+The Hares: A Fable                                                  105
+
+Epitaph: being Part of an Inscription for a Monument,
+to be erected by a Gentleman to the Memory
+of his Lady                                                         118
+
+Ode on Lord H***'s Birth-Day                                        119
+
+To the Right Hon. Lady Charlotte Gordon, dressed in
+a Tartan Scotch Bonnet, with Plumes, &c.                            125
+
+The Hermit                                                          127
+
+Ode to Peace                                                        130
+
+Triumph of Melancholy                                               139
+
+
+
+
+                       PREFACE TO THE MINSTREL.
+
+
+The design was, to trace the progress of a Poetical Genius, born in a
+rude age, from the first dawning of fancy and reason, till that period
+at which he may be supposed capable of appearing in the world as a
+MINSTREL, that is, as an itinerant Poet and Musician;--a character,
+which, according to the notions of our fore-fathers, was not only
+respectable, but sacred.
+
+I have endeavoured to imitate SPENSER in the measure of his verse, and
+in the harmony, simplicity, and variety, of his composition. Antique
+expressions I have avoided; admitting, however, some old words, where
+they seemed to suit the subject; but I hope none will be found that
+are now obsolete, or in any degree unintelligible to a reader of
+English poetry.
+
+To those, who may be disposed to ask, what could induce me to write in
+so difficult a measure, I can only answer, that it pleases my ear, and
+seems, from its Gothic structure and original, to bear some relation
+to the subject and spirit of the Poem. It admits both of simplicity
+and magnificence of sound and of language, beyond any other stanza
+that I am acquainted with. It allows the sententiousness of the
+couplet, as well as the more complex modulation of blank verse. What
+some critics have remarked, of its uniformity growing at last tiresome
+to the ear, will be found to hold true, only when the poetry is faulty
+in other respects.
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+                               MINSTREL;
+                             IN TWO BOOKS.
+
+
+    _Me vero primum dulces ante omnia Musae,
+     Quarum sacra fero, ingenti perculsus amore,
+     Accipiant.----_
+
+                                         VIRGIL.
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+                               MINSTREL;
+                                  OR,
+                        THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS.
+
+
+
+
+                              BOOK FIRST.
+
+
+                          I.
+
+      Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb
+      The steep, where Fame's proud temple shines afar!
+      Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime
+      Has felt the influence of malignant star,
+      And waged with Fortune an eternal war!
+      Checked by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,
+      And Poverty's unconquerable bar,
+      In life's low vale remote has pined alone,
+    Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown!
+
+
+                         II.
+
+      And yet, the languor of inglorious days
+      Not equally oppressive is to all.
+      Him, who ne'er listened to the voice of praise,
+      The silence of neglect can ne'er appal.
+      There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call,
+      Would shrink to hear th' obstreperous trump of Fame;
+      Supremely blest, if to their portion fall
+      Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim
+    Had He, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim.
+
+
+                        III.
+
+      This sapient age disclaims all classic lore;
+      Else I should here, in cunning phrase, display,
+      How forth THE MINSTREL fared in days of yore,
+      Right glad of heart, though homely in array;
+      His waving locks and beard all hoary grey:
+      And, from his bending shoulder, decent hung
+      His harp, the sole companion of his way,
+      Which to the whistling wind responsive rung:
+    And ever as he went some merry lay he sung.
+
+
+                         IV.
+
+      Fret not yourselves, ye silken sons of pride,
+      That a poor Wanderer should inspire my strain.
+      The Muses fortune's fickle smile deride,
+      Nor ever bow the knee in Mammon's fane;
+      For their delights are with the village-train,
+      Whom Nature's laws engage, and Nature's charms:
+      They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain;
+      The parasite their influence never warms,
+    Nor him whose sordid soul the love of wealth alarms.
+
+
+                          V.
+
+      Though richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn,
+      Yet horror screams from his discordant throat.
+      Rise, sons of harmony, and hail the morn,
+      While warbling larks on russet pinions float;
+      Or seek, at noon, the woodland scene remote,
+      Where the grey linnets carol from the hill.
+      O let them ne'er, with artificial note,
+      To please a tyrant, strain the little bill!
+    But sing what heaven inspires, and wander where they will.
+
+
+                         VI.
+
+      Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand;
+      Nor was perfection made for man below.
+      Yet all her schemes with nicest art are planned,
+      Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe.
+      With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow,
+      If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise;
+      There, plague and poison, lust and rapine grow;
+      Here, peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies,
+    And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes.
+
+
+                        VII.
+
+      Then grieve not, thou, to whom the indulgent Muse
+      Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire;
+      Nor blame the partial fates, if they refuse
+      The imperial banquet, and the rich attire.
+      Know thine own worth, and reverence the lyre.
+      Wilt thou debase the heart which God refined?
+      No; let thy heaven-taught soul to heaven aspire,
+      To fancy, freedom, harmony, resigned;
+    Ambition's grovelling crew for ever left behind.
+
+
+                       VIII.
+
+      Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul
+      In each fine sense so exquisitely keen,
+      On the dull couch of Luxury to loll,
+      Stung with disease, and stupified with spleen;
+      Fain to implore the aid of Flattery's screen,
+      Even from thyself thy loathsome heart to hide,
+      (The mansion, then, no more of joy serene)
+      Where fear, distrust, malevolence, abide,
+    And impotent desire, and disappointed pride?
+
+
+                         IX.
+
+      O, how canst thou renounce the boundless store
+      Of charms which Nature to her votary yields!
+      The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
+      The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields;
+      All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
+      And all that echoes to the song of even,
+      All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,
+      And all the dread magnificence of heaven,
+    O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven!
+
+
+                          X.
+
+      These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health,
+      And love, and gentleness, and joy, impart.
+      But these thou must renounce, if lust of wealth
+      E'er win its way to thy corrupted heart;
+      For ah! it poisons like a scorpion's dart;
+      Prompting the ungenerous wish, the selfish scheme,
+      The stern resolve, unmoved by pity's smart,
+      The troublous day, and long distressful dream.
+    Return, my roving Muse! resume thy purposed theme.
+
+
+                         XI.
+
+      There lived, in Gothic days, as legends tell,
+      A shepherd-swain, a man of low degree;
+      Whose sires, perchance, in Fairyland might dwell,
+      Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady;
+      But he, I ween, was of the North Countrie:
+      A nation famed for song, and beauty's charms;
+      Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;
+      Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms;
+    Inflexible in faith; invincible in arms.
+
+
+                        XII.
+
+      The shepherd-swain, of whom I mention made,
+      On Scotia's mountains fed his little flock;
+      The sickle, scythe, or plough, he never swayed;
+      An honest heart was almost all his stock;
+      His drink the living water from the rock:
+      The milky dams supplied his board, and lent
+      Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's shock;
+      And he, though oft with dust and sweat besprent,
+    Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoe'er they went.
+
+
+                       XIII.
+
+      From labour health, from health contentment springs.
+      Contentment opes the source of every joy.
+      He envied not, he never thought of kings;
+      Nor from those appetites sustained annoy,
+      Which chance may frustrate, or indulgence cloy:
+      Nor fate his calm and humble hopes beguiled;
+      He mourned no recreant friend, nor mistress coy,
+      For on his vows the blameless Phoebe smiled,
+    And her alone he loved, and loved her from a child.
+
+
+                        XIV.
+
+      No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast,
+      Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife;
+      Each season looked delightful, as it past,
+      To the fond husband, and the faithful wife.
+      Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd life
+      They never roamed; secure beneath the storm
+      Which in Ambition's lofty land is rife,
+      Where peace and love are cankered by the worm
+    Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to deform.
+
+
+                         XV.
+
+      The wight, whose tale these artless lines unfold,
+      Was all the offspring of this simple pair.
+      His birth no oracle or seer foretold:
+      No prodigy appeared in earth or air,
+      Nor aught that might a strange event declare.
+      You guess each circumstance of EDWIN'S birth;
+      The parent's transport, and the parent's care;
+      The gossip's prayer for wealth, and wit, and worth;
+    And one long summer-day of indolence and mirth.
+
+
+                        XVI.
+
+      And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy;
+      Deep thought oft seemed to fix his infant eye.
+      Dainties he heeded not, nor gaude, nor toy,
+      Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy.
+      Silent when glad; affectionate, though shy;
+      And now his look was most demurely sad,
+      And now he laughed aloud, yet none knew why.
+      The neighbours stared and sighed, yet blessed the lad:
+    Some deemed him wondrous wise, and some believed him mad.
+
+
+                       XVII.
+
+      But why should I his childish feats display?
+      Concourse, and noise, and toil, he ever fled;
+      Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray
+      Of squabbling imps; but to the forest sped,
+      Or roamed at large the lonely mountain's head;
+      Or, where the maze of some bewildered stream
+      To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led,
+      There would he wander wild, 'till Phoebus' beam,
+    Shot from the western cliff, released the weary team.
+
+
+                      XVIII.
+
+      The exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed,
+      To him nor vanity nor joy could bring.
+      His heart, from cruel sport estranged, would bleed
+      To work the woe of any living thing,
+      By trap, or net; by arrow, or by sling;
+      These he detested, those he scorned to wield:
+      He wished to be the guardian, not the king,
+      Tyrant, far less, or traitor, of the field.
+    And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield.
+
+
+                        XIX.
+
+      Lo! where the stripling, wrapt in wonder, roves
+      Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine;
+      And sees, on high, amidst the encircling groves,
+      From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine:
+      While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join,
+      And Echo swells the chorus to the skies.
+      Would Edwin this majestic scene resign
+      For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies?
+    Ah! no: he better knows great Nature's charms to prize.
+
+
+                         XX.
+
+      And oft he traced the uplands, to survey,
+      When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn,
+      The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain grey,
+      And lake, dim-gleaming on the smoky lawn;
+      Far to the west the long, long vale withdrawn,
+      Where twilight loves to linger for a while;
+      And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn,
+      And villager abroad at early toil.
+    But, lo! the sun appears! and heaven, earth, ocean, smile.
+
+
+                        XXI.
+
+      And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb,
+      When all in mist the world below was lost.
+      What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime,
+      Like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast,
+      And view the enormous waste of vapour, tost
+      In billows, lengthening to the horizon round,
+      Now scooped in gulfs, with mountains now embossed!
+      And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound,
+    Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound!
+
+
+                       XXII.
+
+      In truth he was a strange and wayward wight,
+      Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene.
+      In darkness, and in storm, he found delight:
+      Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene
+      The southern sun diffused his dazzling shene.
+      Even sad vicissitude amused his soul:
+      And if a sigh would sometimes intervene,
+      And down his cheek a tear of pity roll,
+    A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wished not to controul.
+
+
+                      XXIII.
+
+      'O ye wild groves, O where is now your bloom!'
+      (The Muse interprets thus his tender thought.)
+      'Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom,
+      'Of late so grateful in the hour of drought!
+      'Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought
+      'To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake?
+      'Ah! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought!
+      'For now the storm howls mournful through the brake,
+    'And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake.
+
+
+                       XXIV.
+
+      'Where now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool,
+      'And meads, with life, and mirth, and beauty, crowned!
+      'Ah! see, the unsightly slime, and sluggish pool,
+      'Have all the solitary vale imbrowned;
+      'Fled each fair form, and mute each melting sound.
+      'The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray:
+      'And, hark! the river, bursting every mound,
+      'Down the vale thunders; and, with wasteful sway,
+    'Uproots the grove, and rolls the shattered rocks away.
+
+
+                        XXV.
+
+      'Yet such the destiny of all on earth:
+      'So flourishes and fades majestic man.
+      'Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth,
+      'And fostering gales awhile the nursling fan.
+      'O smile, ye heavens, serene; ye mildews wan,
+      'Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy prime,
+      'Nor lessen of his life the little span.
+      'Borne on the swift, though silent, wings of Time,
+    'Old-age comes on apace to ravage all the clime.
+
+
+                       XXVI.
+
+      'And be it so. Let those deplore their doom,
+      'Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn.
+      'But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb,
+      'Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.
+      'Shall spring to these sad scenes no more return?
+      'Is yonder wave the sun's eternal bed?
+      'Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn,
+      'And spring shall soon her vital influence shed,
+    'Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead.
+
+
+                      XXVII.
+
+      'Shall I be left abandoned in the dust,
+      'When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive?
+      'Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust,
+      'Bid him, though doomed to perish, hope to live?
+      'Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive
+      'With disappointment, penury, and pain?
+      'No: Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive;
+      'And man's majestic beauty bloom again,
+    'Bright through the eternal year of Love's triumphant reign.'
+
+
+                     XXVIII.
+
+      This truth sublime his simple sire had taught.
+      In sooth, 'twas almost all the shepherd knew.
+      No subtle nor superfluous lore he sought,
+      Nor ever wished his Edwin to pursue.
+      'Let man's own sphere (quoth he) confine his view,
+      'Be man's peculiar work his sole delight.'
+      And much, and oft, he warned him, to eschew
+      Falsehood and guile, and aye maintain the right,
+    By pleasure unseduced, unawed by lawless might.
+
+
+                       XXIX.
+
+      'And, from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Woe,
+      'O never, never turn away thine ear.
+      'Forlorn, in this bleak wilderness below,
+      'Ah! what were man, should Heaven refuse to hear!
+      'To others do (the law is not severe)
+      'What to thyself thou wishest to be done.
+      'Forgive thy foes; and love thy parents dear,
+      'And friends, and native land; nor those alone;
+    'All human weal and woe learn thou to make thine own.'
+
+
+                        XXX.
+
+      See, in the rear of the warm sunny shower,
+      The visionary boy from shelter fly!
+      For now the storm of summer-rain is o'er,
+      And cool, and fresh, and fragrant is the sky.
+      And, lo! in the dark east, expanded high,
+      The rainbow brightens to the setting sun!
+      Fond fool, that deem'st the streaming glory nigh,
+      How vain the chace thine ardour has begun!
+    'Tis fled afar, ere half thy purposed race be run.
+
+
+                       XXXI.
+
+      Yet couldst thou learn, that thus it fares with age,
+      When pleasure, wealth, or power, the bosom warm,
+      This baffled hope might tame thy manhood's rage,
+      And Disappointment of her sting disarm.----
+      But why should foresight thy fond heart alarm?
+      Perish the lore that deadens young desire!
+      Pursue, poor imp, the imaginary charm,
+      Indulge gay hope, and fancy's pleasing fire:
+    Fancy and Hope too soon shall of themselves expire.
+
+
+                      XXXII.
+
+      When the long-sounding curfew, from afar,
+      Loaded with loud lament the lonely gale,
+      Young Edwin, lighted by the evening star,
+      Lingering and listening, wandered down the vale.
+      There would he dream of graves, and corses pale;
+      And ghosts, that to the charnel-dungeon throng,
+      And drag a length of clanking chain, and wail,
+      Till silenced by the owl's terrific song,
+    Or blast that shrieks by fits the shuddering aisles along.
+
+
+                     XXXIII.
+
+      Or, when the setting moon, in crimson dyed,
+      Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep,
+      To haunted stream, remote from man, he hied,
+      Where fays, of yore, their revels wont to keep;
+      And there let Fancy roam at large, till sleep
+      A vision brought to his entranced sight.
+      And first, a wildly murmuring wind 'gan creep
+      Shrill to his ringing ear; then tapers bright,
+    With instantaneous gleam, illumed the vault of night.
+
+
+                      XXXIV.
+
+      Anon in view a portal's blazoned arch
+      Arose; the trumpet bids the valves unfold;
+      And forth an host of little warriors march,
+      Grasping the diamond lance, and targe of gold.
+      Their look was gentle, their demeanour bold,
+      And green their helms, and green their silk attire;
+      And here and there, right venerably old,
+      The long-robed minstrels wake the warbling wire,
+    And some with mellow breath the martial pipe inspire.
+
+
+                       XXXV.
+
+      With merriment, and song, and timbrels clear,
+      A troop of dames from myrtle bowers advance;
+      The little warriors doff the targe and spear,
+      And loud enlivening strains provoke the dance.
+      They meet, they dart away, they wheel askance;
+      To right, to left, they thrid the flying maze;
+      Now bound aloft with vigorous spring, then glance
+      Rapid along: with many-coloured rays
+    Of tapers, gems, and gold, the echoing forests blaze.
+
+
+                      XXXVI.
+
+      The dream is fled. Proud harbinger of day,
+      Who scar'dst the vision with thy clarion shrill,
+      Fell chanticleer! who oft hast reft away
+      My fancied good, and brought substantial ill!
+      O to thy cursed scream, discordant still,
+      Let Harmony aye shut her gentle ear:
+      Thy boastful mirth let jealous rivals spill,
+      Insult thy crest, and glossy pinions tear,
+    And ever in thy dreams the ruthless fox appear.
+
+
+                     XXXVII.
+
+      Forbear, my Muse. Let love attune thy line.
+      Revoke the spell. Thine Edwin frets not so.
+      For how should he at wicked chance repine,
+      Who feels, from every change, amusement flow?
+      Even now his eyes with smiles of rapture glow,
+      As on he wanders through the scenes of morn,
+      Where the fresh flowers in living lustre blow,
+      Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn,
+    A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are borne.
+
+
+                    XXXVIII.
+
+      But who the melodies of morn can tell?
+      The wild brook babbling down the mountain side;
+      The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell;
+      The pipe of early shepherd, dim descried
+      In the lone valley; echoing far and wide,
+      The clamorous horn, along the cliffs above;
+      The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide;
+      The hum of bees, and linnet's lay of love,
+    And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.
+
+
+                      XXXIX.
+
+      The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark;
+      Crowned with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings;
+      The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark!
+      Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings;
+      Through rustling corn the hare astonished springs;
+      Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour;
+      The partridge bursts away on whirring wings;
+      Deep mourns the turtle in sequestered bower,
+    And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tour.
+
+
+                         XL.
+
+      O Nature, how in every charm supreme!
+      Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new!
+      O for the voice and fire of seraphim,
+      To sing thy glories with devotion due!
+      Blessed be the day I 'scaped the wrangling crew,
+      From Pyrrho's maze, and Epicurus' sty;
+      And held high converse with the godlike few,
+      Who to the enraptured heart, and ear, and eye,
+    Teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody.
+
+
+                        XLI.
+
+      Hence! ye, who snare and stupify the mind,
+      Sophists, of beauty, virtue, joy, the bane!
+      Greedy and fell, though impotent and blind,
+      Who spread your filthy nets in Truth's fair fane,
+      And ever ply your venomed fangs amain!
+      Hence to dark Error's den, whose rankling slime
+      First gave you form! hence! lest the Muse should deign,
+      (Though loath on theme so mean to waste a rhyme),
+    With vengeance to pursue your sacrilegious crime.
+
+
+                       XLII.
+
+      But hail, ye mighty masters of the lay,
+      Nature's true sons, the friends of man and truth!
+      Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay,
+      Amused my childhood, and informed my youth.
+      O let your spirit still my bosom sooth,
+      Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings guide!
+      Your voice each rugged path of life can smooth;
+      For well I know, wherever ye reside,
+    There harmony, and peace, and innocence, abide.
+
+
+                      XLIII.
+
+      Ah me! abandoned on the lonesome plain,
+      As yet poor Edwin never knew your lore,
+      Save when against the winter's drenching rain,
+      And driving snow, the cottage shut the door.
+      Then, as instructed by tradition hoar,
+      Her legends when the Beldam 'gan impart,
+      Or chant the old heroic ditty o'er,
+      Wonder and joy ran thrilling to his heart;
+    Much he the tale admired, but more the tuneful art.
+
+
+                       XLIV.
+
+      Various and strange was the long-winded tale;
+      And halls, and knights, and feats of arms, displayed;
+      Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,
+      And sing, enamoured of the nut-brown maid;
+      The moon-light revel of the fairy glade;
+      Or hags, that suckle an infernal brood,
+      And ply in caves the unutterable trade,
+      'Midst fiends and spectres, quench the moon in blood,
+    Yell in the midnight storm, or ride the infuriate flood.
+
+
+                        XLV.
+
+      But when to horror his amazement rose,
+      A gentler strain the Beldam would rehearse,
+      A tale of rural life, a tale of woes,
+      The orphan-babes, and guardian uncle fierce.
+      O cruel! will no pang of pity pierce
+      That heart by lust of lucre seared to stone!
+      For sure, if aught of virtue last, or verse,
+      To latest times shall tender souls bemoan
+    Those helpless orphan-babes by thy fell arts undone.
+
+
+                       XLVI.
+
+      Behold, with berries smeared, with brambles torn,
+      The babes, now famished, lay them down to die;
+      'Midst the wild howl of darksome woods forlorn,
+      Folded in one another's arms they lie;
+      Nor friend, nor stranger, hears their dying cry:
+      'For from the town the man returns no more.'
+      But thou, who Heaven's just vengeance darest defy,
+      This deed with fruitless tears shalt soon deplore,
+    When Death lays waste thy house, and flames consume thy store.
+
+
+                      XLVII.
+
+      A stifled smile of stern vindictive joy
+      Brightened one moment Edwin's starting tear.--
+      'But why should gold man's feeble mind decoy,
+      'And innocence thus die by doom severe?'
+      O Edwin! while thy heart is yet sincere,
+      The assaults of discontent and doubt repel:
+      Dark even at noontide is our mortal sphere;
+      But let us hope; to doubt, is to rebel;
+    Let us exult in hope, that all shall yet be well.
+
+
+                     XLVIII.
+
+      Nor be thy generous indignation checked,
+      Nor checked the tender tear to misery given;
+      From Guilt's contagious power shall that protect,
+      This soften and refine the soul for heaven.
+      But dreadful is their doom, whom doubt hath driven
+      To censure Fate, and pious hope forego;
+      Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven,
+      Perfection, beauty, life, they never know,
+    But frown on all that pass, a monument of woe.
+
+
+                       XLIX.
+
+      Shall he, whose birth, maturity, and age,
+      Scarce fill the circle of one summer-day,
+      Shall the poor gnat, with discontent and rage,
+      Exclaim that Nature hastens to decay,
+      If but a cloud obstruct the solar ray,
+      If but a momentary shower descend!
+      Or shall frail man Heaven's dread decree gainsay,
+      Which bade the series of events extend
+    Wide through unnumbered worlds, and ages without end!
+
+
+                          L.
+
+      One part, one little part, we dimly scan,
+      Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream;
+      Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan,
+      If but that little part incongruous seem.
+      Nor is that part, perhaps, what mortals deem;
+      Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise.
+      O then, renounce that impious self-esteem,
+      That aims to trace the secrets of the skies:
+    For thou art but of dust; be humble, and be wise.
+
+
+                         LI.
+
+      Thus, Heaven enlarged his soul in riper years.
+      For Nature gave him strength, and fire, to soar,
+      On Fancy's wing above this vale of tears;
+      Where dark cold-hearted sceptics, creeping, pore
+      Through microscope of metaphysic lore:
+      And much they grope for truth, but never hit.
+      For why? their powers, inadequate before,
+      This art preposterous renders more unfit;
+    Yet deem they darkness light, and their vain blunders wit.
+
+
+                        LII.
+
+      Nor was this ancient dame a foe to mirth.
+      Her ballad, jest, and riddle's quaint device,
+      Oft cheered the shepherds round their social hearth;
+      Whom levity or spleen could ne'er entice
+      To purchase chat or laughter at the price
+      Of decency. Nor let it faith exceed,
+      That Nature forms a rustic taste so nice.
+      Ah! had they been of court or city breed,
+    Such delicacy were right marvellous indeed.
+
+
+                       LIII.
+
+      Oft when the winter-storm had ceased to rave,
+      He roamed the snowy waste at even, to view
+      The cloud stupendous, from the Atlantic wave
+      High-towering, sail along the horizon blue:
+      Where, 'midst the changeful scenery ever new,
+      Fancy a thousand wondrous forms descries,
+      More wildly great than ever pencil drew;
+      Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size,
+    And glittering cliffs on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise.
+
+
+                        LIV.
+
+      Thence, musing, onward to the sounding shore,
+      The lone enthusiast oft would take his way,
+      Listening, with pleasing dread, to the deep roar
+      Of the wide-weltering waves. In black array
+      When sulphurous clouds rolled on the vernal day,
+      Even then he hastened from the haunt of man,
+      Along the darkening wilderness to stray,
+      What time the lightning's fierce career began,
+    And o'er heaven's rending arch the rattling thunder ran.
+
+
+                         LV.
+
+      Responsive to the sprightly pipe, when all
+      In sprightly dance the village-youth were joined,
+      Edwin, of melody aye held in thrall,
+      From the rude gambol far remote reclined,
+      Soothed with the soft notes warbling in the wind.
+      Ah then, all jollity seemed noise and folly.
+      To the pure soul, by Fancy's fire refined,
+      Ah, what is mirth, but turbulence unholy,
+    When with the charm compared of heavenly melancholy!
+
+
+                        LVI.
+
+      Is there a heart that music cannot melt?
+      Ah me! how is that rugged heart forlorn!
+      Is there, who ne'er those mystic transports felt,
+      Of solitude and melancholy born?
+      He needs not woo the Muse; he is her scorn.
+      The sophist's rope of cobweb he shall twine;
+      Mope o'er the schoolman's peevish page; or mourn,
+      And delve for life, in Mammon's dirty mine;
+    Sneak with the scoundrel fox, or grunt with glutton swine.
+
+
+                       LVII.
+
+      For Edwin, Fate a nobler doom had planned;
+      Song was his favourite and first pursuit.
+      The wild harp rang to his adventurous hand,
+      And languished to his breath the plaintive flute.
+      His infant muse, though artless, was not mute:
+      Of elegance, as yet, he took no care;
+      For this of time and culture is the fruit;
+      And Edwin gained, at last, this fruit so rare:
+    As in some future verse I purpose to declare.
+
+
+                      LVIII.
+
+      Meanwhile, whate'er of beautiful, or new,
+      Sublime, or dreadful, in earth, sea, or sky,
+      By chance, or search, was offered to his view,
+      He scanned with curious and romantic eye.
+      Whate'er of lore tradition could supply
+      From Gothic tale, or song, or fable old,
+      Roused him, still keen to listen and to pry.
+      At last, though long by penury controuled,
+    And solitude, his soul her graces 'gan unfold.
+
+
+                        LIX.
+
+      Thus, on the chill Lapponian's dreary land,
+      For many a long month lost in snow profound,
+      When Sol from Cancer sends the season bland,
+      And in their northern cave the storms hath bound;
+      From silent mountains, straight, with startling sound,
+      Torrents are hurled; green hills emerge; and lo,
+      The trees with foliage, cliffs with flowers are crowned;
+      Pure rills through vales of verdure warbling go;
+    And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant's heart o'erflow.
+
+
+                         LX.
+
+      Here pause, my Gothic lyre, a little while.
+      The leisure hour is all that thou can'st claim.
+      But on this verse if MONTAGU should smile,
+      New strains, ere long, shall animate thy frame:
+      And his applause to me is more than fame;
+      For still with truth accords his taste refined.
+      At lucre or renown let others aim,
+      I only wish to please the gentle mind,
+    Whom Nature's charms inspire, and love of humankind.
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+                               MINSTREL;
+                             BOOK SECOND.
+
+
+    _Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam,
+     Rectique cultus pectora roborant._
+
+                                HORAT.
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+                               MINSTREL;
+                                  OR,
+                        THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS.
+
+
+
+
+                             BOOK SECOND.
+
+
+                          I.
+
+      Of chance or change, O let not man complain,
+      Else shall he never never cease to wail:
+      For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain
+      Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale,
+      All feel the assault of fortune's fickle gale;
+      Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doomed;
+      Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble vale;
+      And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entombed;
+    And where the Atlantic rolls wide continents have bloomed.
+
+
+                         II.
+
+      But sure to foreign climes we need not range,
+      Nor search the ancient records of our race,
+      To learn the dire effects of time and change,
+      Which in ourselves, alas! we daily trace.
+      Yet, at the darkened eye, the withered face,
+      Or hoary hair, I never will repine:
+      But spare, O Time, whate'er of mental grace,
+      Of candour, love, or sympathy divine,
+    Whate'er of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame, is mine.
+
+
+                        III.
+
+      So I, obsequious to Truth's dread command,
+      Shall here, without reluctance, change my lay,
+      And smite the Gothic lyre with harsher hand;
+      Now when I leave that flowery path, for aye,
+      Of childhood, where I sported many a day,
+      Warbling, and sauntering carelessly along;
+      Where every face was innocent and gay,
+      Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue,
+    Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwin's infant song.
+
+
+                         IV.
+
+      'Perish the lore that deadens young desire,'
+      Is the soft tenor of my song no more.
+      Edwin, though loved of heaven, must not aspire
+      To bliss, which mortals never knew before.
+      On trembling wings let youthful fancy soar,
+      Nor always haunt the sunny realms of joy,
+      But now and then the shades of life explore;
+      Though many a sound and sight of woe annoy,
+    And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy.
+
+
+                          V.
+
+      Vigour from toil, from trouble patience grows.
+      The weakly blossom, warm in summer bower,
+      Some tints of transient beauty may disclose;
+      But ah, it withers in the chilling hour.
+      Mark yonder oaks! Superior to the power
+      Of all the warring winds of heaven, they rise,
+      And from the stormy promontory tower,
+      And toss their giant arms amid the skies,
+    While each assailing blast increase of strength supplies.
+
+
+                         VI.
+
+      And now the downy cheek and deepened voice
+      Gave dignity to Edwin's blooming prime;
+      And walks of wider circuit were his choice,
+      And vales more wild, and mountains more sublime.
+      One evening, as he framed the careless rhyme,
+      It was his chance to wander far abroad,
+      And o'er a lonely eminence to climb,
+      Which heretofore his foot had never trode;
+    A vale appeared below, a deep retired abode.
+
+
+                        VII.
+
+      Thither he hied, enamoured of the scene:
+      For rocks on rocks piled, as by magic spell,
+      Here scorched with lightning, there with ivy green,
+      Fenced from the north and east this savage dell;
+      Southward a mountain rose with easy swell,
+      Whose long long groves eternal murmur made;
+      And toward the western sun a streamlet fell,
+      Where, through the cliffs, the eye, remote, surveyed
+    Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold arrayed.
+
+
+                       VIII.
+
+      Along this narrow valley, you might see
+      The wild deer sporting on the meadow ground,
+      And, here and there, a solitary tree,
+      Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crowned.
+      Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound
+      Of parted fragments tumbling from on high;
+      And, from the summit of that craggy mound,
+      The perching eagle oft was heard to cry,
+    Or on resounding wings to shoot athwart the sky.
+
+
+                         IX.
+
+      One cultivated spot there was, that spread
+      Its flowery bosom to the noon-day beam,
+      Where many a rose-bud rears its blushing head,
+      And herbs, for food, with future plenty teem.
+      Soothed by the lulling sound of grove and stream,
+      Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul:
+      He minded not the sun's last trembling gleam,
+      Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll,
+    When slowly on his ear these moving accents stole.
+
+
+                          X.
+
+      'Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast,
+      'And woo the weary to profound repose;
+      'Can passion's wildest uproar lay to rest,
+      'And whisper comfort to the man of woes!
+      'Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes,
+      'And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.
+      'O Solitude, the man who thee foregoes,
+      'When lucre lures him, or ambition stings,
+    'Shall never know the source whence real grandeur springs.
+
+
+                         XI.
+
+      'Vain man, is grandeur given to gay attire?
+      'Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid:
+      'To friends, attendants, armies, bought with hire?
+      'It is thy weakness that requires their aid:
+      'To palaces, with gold and gems inlaid?
+      'They fear the thief, and tremble in the storm:
+      'To hosts, through carnage who to conquest wade?
+      'Behold the victor vanquished by the worm!
+    'Behold what deeds of woe the locust can perform!
+
+
+                        XII.
+
+      'True dignity is his, whose tranquil mind
+      'Virtue has raised above the things below;
+      'Who, every hope and fear to heaven resigned,
+      'Shrinks not, though Fortune aim her deadliest blow.'
+      This strain, from midst the rocks, was heard to flow
+      In solemn sounds. Now beamed the evening-star;
+      And from embattled clouds, emerging slow,
+      Cynthia came riding on her silver car;
+    And hoary mountain-cliffs shone faintly from afar.
+
+
+                       XIII.
+
+      Soon did the solemn voice its theme renew;
+      (While Edwin, wrapt in wonder, listening stood)
+      'Ye tools and toys of tyranny, adieu;
+      'Scorned by the wise, and hated by the good!
+      'Ye only can engage the servile brood
+      'Of Levity and Lust, who, all their days,
+      'Ashamed of truth and liberty, have wooed,
+      'And hugged the chain, that, glittering on their gaze,
+    'Seems to outshine the pomp of heaven's empyreal blaze.
+
+
+                        XIV.
+
+      'Like them, abandoned to Ambition's sway,
+      'I sought for glory in the paths of guile;
+      'And fawned and smiled, to plunder and betray,
+      'Myself betrayed and plundered all the while;
+      'So gnawed the viper the corroding file.
+      'But now, with pangs of keen remorse, I rue
+      'Those years of trouble and debasement vile.
+      'Yet why should I this cruel theme pursue?
+    'Fly, fly, detested thoughts, for ever from my view!
+
+
+                         XV.
+
+      'The gusts of appetite, the clouds of care,
+      'And storms of disappointment, all o'erpast,
+      'Henceforth, no earthly hope with heaven shall share
+      'This heart, where peace serenely shines at last.
+      'And if for me no treasure be amassed,
+      'And if no future age shall hear my name,
+      'I lurk the more secure from fortune's blast,
+      'And with more leisure feed this pious flame,
+    'Whose rapture far transcends the fairest hopes of fame.
+
+
+                        XVI.
+
+      'The end and the reward of toil is rest.
+      'Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace.
+      'Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power possessed,
+      'Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease!
+      'Ah! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece,
+      'The lay, heaven-prompted, and harmonious string,
+      'The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece,
+      'All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring,
+    'If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride, the bosom wring!
+
+
+                       XVII.
+
+      'Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb
+      'With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown,
+      'In the deep dungeon of some Gothic dome,
+      'Where night and desolation ever frown.
+      'Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
+      'Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
+      'With here and there a violet bestrown,
+      'Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave;
+    'And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.
+
+
+                      XVIII.
+
+      'And thither let the village swain repair;
+      'And, light of heart, the village maiden gay,
+      'To deck with flowers her half-dishevelled hair,
+      'And celebrate the merry morn of May.
+      'There let the shepherd's pipe, the live-long day,
+      'Fill all the grove with love's bewitching woe;
+      'And when mild Evening comes with mantle grey,
+      'Let not the blooming band make haste to go;
+    'No ghost, nor spell, my long and last abode shall know.
+
+
+                        XIX.
+
+      'For though I fly to 'scape from fortune's rage,
+      'And bear the scars of envy, spite, and scorn,
+      'Yet with mankind no horrid war I wage,
+      'Yet with no impious spleen my breast is torn:
+      'For virtue lost, and ruined man, I mourn.
+      'O Man! creation's pride, heaven's darling child,
+      'Whom Nature's best, divinest, gifts adorn,
+      'Why from thy home are truth and joy exiled,
+    'And all thy favourite haunts with blood and tears defiled!
+
+
+                         XX.
+
+      'Along yon glittering sky what glory streams!
+      'What majesty attends night's lovely queen!
+      'Fair laugh our vallies in the vernal beams;
+      'And mountains rise, and oceans roll between,
+      'And all conspire to beautify the scene.
+      'But, in the mental world, what chaos drear!
+      'What forms of mournful, loathsome, furious mien!
+      'O when shall that eternal morn appear,
+    'These dreadful forms to chace, this chaos dark to clear!
+
+
+                        XXI.
+
+      'O Thou, at whose creative smile, yon heaven,
+      'In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light,
+      'Rose from the abyss; when dark Confusion, driven
+      'Down down the bottomless profound of night,
+      'Fled, where he ever flies thy piercing sight!
+      'O glance on these sad shades one pitying ray,
+      'To blast the fury of oppressive might,
+      'Melt the hard heart to love and mercy's sway,
+    'And cheer the wandering soul, and light him on the way.'
+
+
+                       XXII.
+
+      Silence ensued: and Edwin raised his eyes
+      In tears, for grief lay heavy at his heart.
+      'And is it thus in courtly life,' (he cries)
+      'That man to man acts a betrayer's part?
+      'And dares he thus the gifts of heaven pervert,
+      'Each social instinct, and sublime desire?
+      'Hail Poverty! if honour, wealth, and art,
+      'If what the great pursue, and learned admire,
+    'Thus dissipate and quench the soul's ethereal fire!'
+
+
+                      XXIII.
+
+      He said, and turned away; nor did the Sage
+      O'erhear, in silent orisons employed.
+      The Youth, his rising sorrow to assuage,
+      Home as he hied, the evening scene enjoyed:
+      For now no cloud obscures the starry void;
+      The yellow moonlight sleeps on all the hills;
+      Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoyed;
+      A soothing murmur the lone region fills,
+    Of groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills.
+
+
+                       XXIV.
+
+      But he, from day to day, more anxious grew.
+      The voice still seemed to vibrate on his ear.
+      Nor durst he hope the Hermit's tale untrue;
+      For man he seemed to love, and heaven to fear;
+      And none speaks false, where there is none to hear.
+      'Yet, can man's gentle heart become so fell?
+      'No more in vain conjecture let me wear
+      'My hours away, but seek the Hermit's cell;
+    'Tis he my doubt can clear, perhaps my care dispel.'
+
+
+                        XXV.
+
+      At early dawn the youth his journey took,
+      And many a mountain passed, and valley wide,
+      Then reached the wild; where, in a flowery nook,
+      And seated on a mossy stone, he spied
+      An ancient man: his harp lay him beside.
+      A stag sprang from the pasture at his call,
+      And, kneeling, licked the withered hand, that tied
+      A wreath of woodbine round his antlers tall,
+    And hung his lofty neck with many a floweret small.
+
+
+                       XXVI.
+
+      And now the hoary Sage arose, and saw
+      The wanderer approaching: innocence
+      Smiled on his glowing cheek, but modest awe
+      Depressed his eye, that feared to give offence.
+      'Who art thou, courteous stranger? and from whence?
+      'Why roam thy steps to this abandoned dale?'
+      'A shepherd-boy (the Youth replied), far hence
+      'My habitation; hear my artless tale;
+    'Nor levity nor falsehood shall thine ear assail.
+
+
+                      XXVII.
+
+      'Late as I roamed, intent on Nature's charms,
+      'I reached, at eve, this wilderness profound;
+      'And, leaning where yon oak expands her arms,
+      'Heard these rude cliffs thine awful voice rebound,
+      '(For, in thy speech, I recognise the sound.)
+      'You mourned for ruined man, and virtue lost,
+      'And seemed to feel of keen remorse the wound,
+      'Pondering on former days, by guilt engrossed,
+    'Or in the giddy storm of dissipation tossed.
+
+
+                     XXVIII.
+
+      'But say, in courtly life can craft be learned,
+      'Where knowledge opens, and exalts the soul?
+      'Where Fortune lavishes her gifts unearned,
+      'Can selfishness the liberal heart controul?
+      'Is glory there achieved by arts, as foul
+      'As those which felons, fiends, and furies plan?
+      'Spiders ensnare, snakes poison, tygers prowl;
+      'Love is the godlike attribute of man.
+    'O teach a simple Youth this mystery to scan!
+
+
+                       XXIX.
+
+      'Or else the lamentable strain disclaim,
+      'And give me back the calm, contented mind;
+      'Which, late, exulting, viewed, in Nature's frame,
+      'Goodness untainted, wisdom unconfined,
+      'Grace, grandeur, and utility combined.
+      'Restore those tranquil days, that saw me still
+      'Well pleased with all, but most with humankind;
+      'When Fancy roamed through Nature's works at will,
+    'Unchecked by cold distrust, and uninformed of ill.'
+
+
+                        XXX.
+
+      'Wouldst thou (the Sage replied) in peace return
+      'To the gay dreams of fond romantic youth,
+      'Leave me to hide, in this remote sojourn,
+      'From every gentle ear the dreadful truth:
+      'For if my desultory strain with ruth
+      'And indignation make thine eyes o'erflow,
+      'Alas! what comfort could thy anguish sooth,
+      'Shouldst thou the extent of human folly know?
+    'Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads to woe.
+
+
+                       XXXI.
+
+      'But let untender thoughts afar be driven;
+      'Nor venture to arraign the dread decree:
+      'For know, to man, as candidate for heaven,
+      'The voice of The Eternal said, Be free:
+      'And this divine prerogative to thee
+      'Does virtue, happiness, and heaven convey;
+      'For virtue is the child of liberty,
+      'And happiness of virtue; nor can they
+    'Be free to keep the path, who are not free to stray.
+
+
+                      XXXII.
+
+      'Yet leave me not. I would allay that grief,
+      'Which else might thy young virtue overpower;
+      'And in thy converse I shall find relief,
+      'When the dark shades of melancholy lower:
+      'For solitude has many a dreary hour,
+      'Even when exempt from grief, remorse, and pain:
+      'Come often then; for, haply, in my bower,
+      'Amusement, knowledge, wisdom, thou may'st gain:
+    'If I one soul improve, I have not lived in vain.'
+
+
+                     XXXIII.
+
+      And now, at length, to Edwin's ardent gaze
+      The Muse of History unrolls her page.
+      But few, alas! the scenes her art displays,
+      To charm his fancy, or his heart engage.
+      Here, chiefs their thirst of power in blood assuage,
+      And straight their flames with tenfold fierceness burn:
+      Here, smiling Virtue prompts the patriot's rage,
+      But lo, ere long, is left alone to mourn,
+    And languish in the dust, and clasp the abandoned urn.
+
+
+                      XXXIV.
+
+      'Ah, what avails (he said) to trace the springs
+      'That whirl of empire the stupendous wheel!
+      'Ah, what have I to do with conquering kings,
+      'Hands drenched in blood, and breasts begirt with steel!
+      'To those, whom Nature taught to think and feel,
+      'Heroes, alas! are things of small concern.
+      'Could History man's secret heart reveal,
+      'And what imports a heaven-born mind to learn,
+    'Her transcripts to explore what bosom would not yearn!
+
+
+                       XXXV.
+
+      'This praise, O Cheronean Sage, is thine.
+      '(Why should this praise to thee alone belong!)
+      'All else from Nature's moral path decline,
+      'Lured by the toys that captivate the throng;
+      'To herd in cabinets and camps, among
+      'Spoil, carnage, and the cruel pomp of pride;
+      'Or chaunt of heraldry the drowsy song,
+      'How tyrant blood, o'er many a region wide,
+    'Rolls to a thousand thrones its execrable tide.
+
+
+                      XXXVI.
+
+      'O, who of man the story will unfold,
+      'Ere victory and empire wrought annoy,
+      'In that elysian age (misnamed of gold)
+      'The age of love, and innocence, and joy,
+      'When all were great and free! man's sole employ
+      'To deck the bosom of his parent earth;
+      'Or toward his bower the murmuring stream decoy,
+      'To aid the floweret's long-expected birth,
+    'And lull the bed of peace, and crown the board of mirth.
+
+
+                     XXXVII.
+
+      'Sweet were your shades, O ye primeval groves,
+      'Whose boughs to man his food and shelter lent,
+      'Pure in his pleasures, happy in his loves,
+      'His eye still smiling, and his heart content.
+      'Then, hand in hand, Health, Sport, and Labour went.
+      'Nature supplied the wish she taught to crave.
+      'None prowled for prey, none watched to circumvent.
+      'To all an equal lot Heaven's bounty gave:
+    'No vassal feared his lord, no tyrant feared his slave.
+
+
+                    XXXVIII.
+
+      'But ah! the Historic Muse has never dared
+      'To pierce those hallowed bowers: 'tis Fancy's beam,
+      'Poured on the vision of the enraptured Bard,
+      'That paints the charms of that delicious theme.
+      'Then hail sweet Fancy's ray! and hail the dream
+      'That weans the weary soul from guilt and woe!
+      'Careless what others of my choice may deem,
+      'I long where Love and Fancy lead to go,
+    'And meditate on heaven; enough of earth I know.'
+
+
+                      XXXIX.
+
+      'I cannot blame thy choice (the Sage replied),
+      'For soft and smooth are Fancy's flowery ways.
+      'And yet, even there, if left without a guide,
+      'The young adventurer unsafely plays.
+      'Eyes, dazzled long by Fiction's gaudy rays,
+      'In modest Truth no light nor beauty find.
+      'And who, my child, would trust the meteor-blaze,
+      'That soon must fail, and leave the wanderer blind,
+    'More dark and helpless far, than if it ne'er had shined?
+
+
+                         XL.
+
+      'Fancy enervates, while it sooths, the heart,
+      'And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight:
+      'To joy each heightening charm it can impart,
+      'But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night.
+      'And often, where no real ills affright,
+      'Its visionary fiends, an endless train,
+      'Assail with equal or superior might,
+      'And through the throbbing heart, and dizzy brain,
+    'And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than mortal pain.
+
+
+                        XLI.
+
+      'And yet, alas! the real ills of life
+      'Claim the full vigour of a mind prepared;
+      'Prepared for patient, long, laborious strife,
+      'Its guide Experience, and Truth its guard.
+      'We fare on earth, as other men have fared:
+      'Were they successful? Let not us despair.
+      'Was disappointment oft their sole reward?
+      'Yet shall their tale instruct, if it declare,
+    'How they have borne the load ourselves are doomed to bear.
+
+
+                       XLII.
+
+      'What charms the Historic Muse adorn, from spoils,
+      'And blood, and tyrants, when she wings her flight,
+      'To hail the patriot Prince, whose pious toils
+      'Sacred to science, liberty, and right,
+      'And peace, through every age divinely bright,
+      'Shall shine the boast and wonder of mankind!
+      'Sees yonder sun, from his meridian height,
+      'A lovelier scene, than Virtue thus inshrined
+    'In power, and man with man for mutual aid combine!
+
+
+                      XLIII.
+
+      'Hail, sacred Polity, by Freedom reared!
+      'Hail, sacred Freedom, when by Law restrained!
+      'Without you what were man? A grovelling herd,
+      'In darkness, wretchedness, and want enchained.
+      'Sublimed by you, the Greek and Roman reigned
+      'In arts unrivalled: O, to latest days,
+      'In Albion may your influence, unprofaned,
+      'To godlike worth the generous bosom raise,
+    'And prompt the Sage's lore, and fire the Poet's lays.
+
+
+                       XLIV.
+
+      'But now let other themes our care engage.
+      'For lo, with modest, yet majestic grace,
+      'To curb Imagination's lawless rage,
+      'And from within the cherished heart to brace,
+      'Philosophy appears. The gloomy race,
+      'By Indolence and moping Fancy bred,
+      'Fear, Discontent, Solicitude give place,
+      'And Hope and Courage brighten in their stead,
+    'While on the kindling soul her vital beams are shed.
+
+
+                        XLV.
+
+      'Then waken from long lethargy to life
+      'The seeds of happiness, and powers of thought;
+      'Then jarring appetites forego their strife,
+      'A strife by ignorance to madness wrought.
+      'Pleasure by savage man is dearly bought
+      'With fell revenge, lust that defies controul,
+      'With gluttony and death. The mind untaught,
+      'Is a dark waste, where fiends and tempests howl;
+    'As Phoebus to the world, is Science to the soul.
+
+
+                       XLVI.
+
+      'And Reason, now, through Number, Time, and Space,
+      'Darts the keen lustre of her serious eye,
+      'And learns, from facts compared, the laws to trace,
+      'Whose long progression leads to Deity.
+      'Can mortal strength presume to soar so high?
+      'Can mortal sight, so oft bedimmed with tears,
+      'Such glory bear?--for lo, the shadows fly
+      'From Nature's face; Confusion disappears,
+    'And order charms the eyes, and harmony the ears.
+
+
+                      XLVII.
+
+      'In the deep windings of the grove, no more
+      'The hag obscene, and grisly phantom dwell;
+      'Nor in the fall of mountain-stream, or roar
+      'Of winds, is heard the angry spirit's yell;
+      'No wizard mutters the tremendous spell,
+      'Nor sinks convulsive in prophetic swoon;
+      'Nor bids the noise of drums and trumpets swell,
+      'To ease of fancied pangs the labouring moon,
+    'Or chace the shade that blots the blazing orb of noon.
+
+
+                     XLVIII.
+
+      'Many a long lingering year, in lonely isle,
+      'Stunned with the eternal turbulence of waves,
+      'Lo, with dim eyes, that never learned to smile,
+      'And trembling hands, the famished native craves
+      'Of Heaven his wretched fare: shivering in caves,
+      'Or scorched on rocks, he pines from day to day;
+      'But Science gives the word; and lo, he braves
+      'The surge and tempest, lighted by her ray,
+    'And to a happier land wafts merrily away.
+
+
+                       XLIX.
+
+      'And even where Nature loads the teeming plain
+      'With the full pomp of vegetable store,
+      'Her bounty, unimproved, is deadly bane:
+      'Dark woods and rankling wilds, from shore to shore,
+      'Stretch their enormous gloom; which, to explore,
+      'Even Fancy trembles, in her sprightliest mood;
+      'For there, each eyeball gleams with lust of gore,
+      'Nestles each murderous and each monstrous brood,
+    'Plague lurks in every shade, and streams from every flood.
+
+
+                          L.
+
+      'Twas from Philosophy man learned to tame
+      'The soil, by plenty to intemperance fed.
+      'Lo, from the echoing axe, and thundering flame,
+      'Poison, and plague, and yelling rage, are fled.
+      'The waters, bursting from their slimy bed,
+      'Bring health and melody to every vale:
+      'And, from the breezy main, and mountain's head,
+      'Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale,
+    'To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering gale.
+
+
+                         LI.
+
+      'What dire necessities, on every hand,
+      'Our art, our strength, our fortitude, require!
+      'Of foes intestine, what a numerous band
+      'Against this little throb of life conspire!
+      'Yet Science can elude their fatal ire
+      'Awhile, and turn aside Death's levelled dart,
+      'Sooth the sharp pang, allay the fever's fire,
+      'And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the heart,
+    'And yet a few soft nights and balmy days impart.
+
+
+                        LII.
+
+      'Nor less to regulate man's moral frame
+      'Science exerts her all-composing sway.
+      'Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame,
+      'Or pines, to indolence and spleen a prey,
+      'Or avarice, a fiend more fierce than they?
+      'Flee to the shade of Academus' grove;
+      'Where cares molest not, discord melts away
+      'In harmony, and the pure passions prove,
+    'How sweet the words of truth, breathed from the lips of Love.
+
+
+                       LIII.
+
+      'What cannot Art and Industry perform,
+      'When Science plans the progress of their toil!
+      'They smile at penury, disease, and storm;
+      'And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil.
+      'When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil
+      'A land, or when the rabble's headlong rage
+      'Order transforms to anarchy and spoil,
+      'Deep-versed in man, the philosophic Sage
+    'Prepares, with lenient hand, their phrenzy to assuage.
+
+
+                        LIV.
+
+      ''Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind,
+      'From situation, temper, soil, and clime
+      'Explored, a nation's various powers can bind,
+      'And various orders, in one form sublime
+      'Of polity, that, midst the wrecks of time,
+      'Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fear
+      'The assault of foreign or domestic crime,
+      'While public Faith, and public Love sincere,
+    'And Industry and Law maintain their sway severe.'
+
+
+                         LV.
+
+      Enraptured by the Hermit's strain, the Youth
+      Proceeds the path of science to explore.
+      And now, expanding to the beams of truth,
+      New energies, and charms unknown before,
+      His mind discloses: Fancy now no more
+      Wantons on fickle pinion through the skies;
+      But, fixed in aim, and conscious of her power,
+      Sublime from cause to cause exults to rise,
+    Creation's blended stores arranging as she flies.
+
+
+                        LVI.
+
+      Nor love of novelty alone inspires,
+      Their laws and nice dependencies to scan;
+      For, mindful of the aids that life requires,
+      And of the services man owes to man,
+      He meditates new arts on Nature's plan;
+      The cold desponding breast of Sloth to warm,
+      The flame of Industry and Genius fan,
+      And Emulation's noble rage alarm,
+    And the long hours of Toil and Solitude to charm.
+
+
+                       LVII.
+
+      But She, who set on fire his infant heart,
+      And all his dreams, and all his wanderings shared
+      And blessed, the Muse, and her celestial art,
+      Still claim the Enthusiast's fond and first regard.
+      From Nature's beauties variously compared,
+      And variously combined, he learns to frame
+      Those forms of bright perfection, which the Bard,
+      While boundless hopes and boundless views inflame,
+    Enamoured consecrates to never-dying fame.
+
+
+                      LVIII.
+
+      Of late, with cumbersome, though pompous show,
+      Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface,
+      Through ardour to adorn; but Nature now
+      To his experienced eye a modest grace
+      Presents, where Ornament the second place
+      Holds, to intrinsic worth and just design
+      Subservient still. Simplicity apace
+      Tempers his rage: he owns her charm divine,
+    And clears the ambiguous phrase, and lops the unwieldy line.
+
+
+                        LIX.
+
+      Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains)
+      What sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole,
+      When the great Shepherd of the Mantuan plains
+      His deep majestic melody 'gan roll:
+      Fain would I sing, what transport stormed his soul,
+      How the red current throbbed his veins along,
+      When, like Pelides, bold beyond controul,
+      Gracefully terrible, sublimely strong,
+    Homer raised high to heaven the loud, the impetuous song.
+
+
+                         LX.
+
+      And how his lyre, though rude her first essays,
+      Now skilled to sooth, to triumph, to complain,
+      Warbling at will through each harmonious maze,
+      Was taught to modulate the artful strain,
+      I fain would sing: but ah! I strive in vain.
+      Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound.
+      With trembling step, to join yon weeping train,
+      I haste, where gleams funereal glare around,
+    And, mixed with shrieks of woe, the knells of death resound.
+
+
+                        LXI.
+
+      Adieu, ye lays, that fancy's flowers adorn,
+      The soft amusement of the vacant mind!
+      He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn,
+      He, whom each virtue fired, each grace refined,
+      Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind!
+      He sleeps in dust. Ah! how should I pursue
+      My theme! To heart-consuming grief resigned,
+      Here, on his recent grave I fix my view,
+    And pour my bitter tears.--Ye flowery lays, adieu!
+
+
+                       LXII.
+
+      Art thou, my GREGORY, for ever fled!
+      And am I left to unavailing woe!
+      When fortune's storms assail this weary head,
+      Where cares long since have shed untimely snow,
+      Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go!
+      No more thy soothing voice my anguish chears:
+      Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow,
+      My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears.
+    'Tis meet that I should mourn:--flow forth afresh my tears.
+
+
+
+
+                                 POEMS
+                                  ON
+                          SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
+
+
+
+
+                                 POEMS
+                                  ON
+                          SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
+
+
+                              RETIREMENT.
+
+                                 1758.
+
+    When, in the crimson cloud of Even,
+    The lingering light decays,
+    And Hesper, on the front of heaven,
+    His glittering gem displays;
+    Deep in the silent vale, unseen,
+    Beside a lulling stream,
+    A pensive Youth, of placid mien,
+    Indulged this tender theme.
+
+    Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled,
+    High o'er the glimmering dale;
+    Ye woods, along whose windings wild,
+    Murmurs the solemn gale;
+    Where Melancholy strays forlorn,
+    And Woe retires to weep,
+    What time the wan moon's yellow horn
+    Gleams on the western deep.
+
+    To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms
+    Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,
+    'Scaped a tumultuous world's alarms,
+    To your retreats I fly.
+    Deep in your most sequestered bower,
+    Let me at last recline,
+    Where Solitude, mild, modest power,
+    Leans on her ivy'd shrine.
+
+    How shall I woo thee, matchless Fair!
+    Thy heavenly smile how win!
+    Thy smile, that smooths the brow of care,
+    And stills the storm within.
+    O wilt thou to thy favourite grove
+    Thine ardent votary bring,
+    And bless his hours, and bid them move,
+    Serene, on silent wing.
+
+    Oft let remembrance sooth his mind
+    With dreams of former days,
+    When, in the lap of peace reclined,
+    He framed his infant lays;
+    When Fancy roved at large, nor Care,
+    Nor cold Distrust alarmed,
+    Nor Envy, with malignant glare,
+    His simple youth had harmed.
+
+    'Twas then, O Solitude, to thee
+    His early vows were paid,
+    From heart sincere, and warm, and free,
+    Devoted to the shade.
+    Ah why did Fate his steps decoy
+    In stormy paths to roam,
+    Remote from all congenial joy?--
+    O take the Wanderer home!
+
+    Thy shades, thy silence, now be mine,
+    Thy charms my only theme;
+    My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pine
+    Waves o'er the gloomy stream,
+    Whence the scared owl, on pinions grey,
+    Breaks from the rustling boughs,
+    And down the lone vale sails away
+    To more profound repose.
+
+    O! while to thee the woodland pours
+    Its wildly warbling song,
+    And balmy from the bank of flowers
+    The zephyr breathes along;
+    Let no rude sound invade from far,
+    No vagrant foot be nigh,
+    No ray from Grandeur's gilded car,
+    Flash on the startled eye.
+
+    But if some pilgrim through the glade,
+    Thy hallowed bowers explore,
+    O guard from harm his hoary head,
+    And listen to his lore;
+    For he of joys divine shall tell,
+    That wean from earthly woe,
+    And triumph o'er the mighty spell,
+    That chains this heart below.
+
+    For me, no more the path invites
+    Ambition loves to tread;
+    No more I climb those toilsome heights
+    By guileful Hope misled;
+    Leaps my fond fluttering heart no more
+    To Mirth's enlivening strain;
+    For present pleasure soon is o'er,
+    And all the past is vain.
+
+
+
+
+                                ELEGY.
+
+
+    Still shall unthinking man substantial deem
+    The forms, that fleet through life's deceitful dream?
+    On clouds, where Fancy's beam amusive plays,
+    Shall heedless Hope the towering fabric raise?
+    Till at Death's touch the fairy visions fly,
+    And real scenes rush dismal on the eye;
+    And, from Elysium's balmy slumber torn,
+    The startled soul awakes, to think, and mourn.
+      O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance,
+    Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance,
+    Who flowery vales in endless view survey,
+    Glittering in beams of visionary day;
+    O, yet while Fate delays the impending woe,
+    Be roused to thought, anticipate the blow;
+    Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden ill
+    Flash to confound, and penetrate to kill;
+    Lest, thus encompassed with funereal gloom,
+    Like me, ye bend o'er some untimely tomb,
+    Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,
+    And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe.
+      Wise, beauteous, good! O every grace combined,
+    That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!
+    Fair, as the floweret opening on the morn,
+    Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!
+    Sweet, as the downy-pinioned gale, that roves
+    To gather fragrance in Arabian groves!
+    Mild, as the strains, that, at the close of day,
+    Warbling remote, along the vales decay!
+    Yet, why with these compared? What tints so fine,
+    What sweetness, mildness, can be matched with thine?
+    Why roam abroad? Since still, to Fancy's eyes,
+    I see, I see thy lovely form arise.
+    Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,
+    Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces smile;
+    That soul-expressing eye, benignly bright,
+    Where meekness beams ineffable delight;
+    That brow, where Wisdom sits enthroned serene,
+    Each feature forms, and dignifies the mein:
+    Still let me listen, while her words impart
+    The sweet effusions of the blameless heart,
+    Till all my soul, each tumult charmed away,
+    Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway.
+      By thee inspired, O Virtue! Age is young,
+    And music warbles from the faltering tongue:
+    Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow,
+    And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow,
+    Brightens the joyless aspect, and supplies
+    Pure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes:
+    But when Youth's living bloom reflects thy beams,
+    Resistless on the view the glory streams;
+    Love, Wonder, Joy, alternately alarm,
+    And Beauty dazzles with angelic charm.
+    Ah! whither fled! ye dear illusions, stay!
+    Lo, pale and silent lies the lovely clay!
+    How are the roses on that cheek decay'd,
+    Which late the purple light of youth display'd!
+    Health on her form each sprightly grace bestow'd;
+    With life and thought each speaking feature glow'd.
+    Fair was the flower, and soft the vernal sky;
+    Elate with hope, we deemed no tempest nigh;
+    When lo! a whirlwind's instantaneous gust
+    Left all its beauties withering in the dust!
+      All cold the hand, that soothed Woe's weary head!
+    And quenched the eye, the pitying tear that shed!
+    And mute the voice, whose pleasing accents stole,
+    Infusing balm into the rankled soul!
+    O Death! why arm with cruelty thy power,
+    And spare the idle weed, yet lop the flower?
+    Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driven?
+    Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven?
+    But peace, bold thought! be still my bursting heart!
+    We, not ELIZA, felt the fatal dart.
+    Scaped the dark dungeon, does the slave complain,
+    Nor bless the hand that broke the galling chain?
+    Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn,
+    On this dark wild condemned to roam forlorn?
+    Where Reason's meteor-rays, with sickly glow,
+    O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw?
+    Disclosing dubious to the affrighted eye
+    O'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high,
+    Black billowy seas in storm perpetual toss'd,
+    And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost.
+    O happy stroke, that bursts the bonds of clay,
+    Darts through the rending gloom the blaze of day,
+    And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar,
+    Where dangers threat, and fear alarms no more!
+      Transporting thought! here let me wipe away
+    The tear of grief, and wake a bolder lay.
+    But ah! the swimming eye o'erflows anew,
+    Nor check the sacred drops to pity due;
+    Lo! where in speechless, hopeless anguish, bend
+    O'er her loved dust, the Parent, Brother, Friend!
+    How vain the hope of man!--But cease the strain,
+    Nor Sorrow's dread solemnity profane;
+    Mixed with yon drooping mourners, on her bier
+    In silence shed the sympathetic tear.
+
+
+
+
+                             ODE TO HOPE.
+
+
+                       I. 1.
+
+    O thou, who glad'st the pensive soul,
+    More than Aurora's smile the swain forlorn,
+    Left all night long to mourn
+    Where desolation frowns, and tempests howl;
+    And shrieks of woe, as intermits the storm,
+    Far o'er the monstrous wilderness resound,
+    And cross the gloom darts many a shapeless form,
+    And many a fire-eyed visage glares around,
+    O come, and be once more my guest!
+    Come, for thou oft thy suppliant's vow hast heard,
+    And oft with smiles indulgent cheer'd,
+    And soothed him into rest.
+
+
+                       I. 2.
+
+    Smit by thy rapture-beaming eye,
+    Deep flashing through the midnight of their mind,
+    The sable bands combined,
+    Where Fear's black banner bloats the troubled sky,
+    Appalled retire. Suspicion hides her head,
+    Nor dares th' obliquely gleaming eye-ball raise;
+    Despair, with gorgon-figured veil o'erspread,
+    Speeds to dark Phlegethon's detested maze.
+    Lo, startled at the heavenly ray,
+    With speed unwonted Indolence upsprings,
+    And, heaving, lifts her leaden wings,
+    And sullen glides away.
+
+
+                       I. 3.
+
+    Ten thousand forms, by pining Fancy view'd,
+    Dissolve. Above the sparkling flood
+    When Phoebus rears his awful brow,
+    From lengthening lawn and valley low
+    The troops of fen-born mists retire.
+    Along the plain
+    The joyous swain
+    Eyes the gay villages again,
+    And gold-illumined spire;
+    While, on the billowy ether borne,
+    Floats the loose lay's jovial measure;
+    And light along the fairy Pleasure,
+    Her green robes glittering to the morn,
+    Wantons on silken wing. And goblins all
+    To the damp dungeon shrink, or hoary hall,
+    Or westward, with impetuous flight,
+    Shoot to the desart realms of their congenial Night.
+
+
+                      II. 1.
+
+    When first on Childhood's eager gaze
+    Life's varied landscape, stretch'd immense around,
+    Starts out of night profound,
+    Thy voice incites to tempt th' untrodden maze.
+    Fond he surveys thy mild maternal face,
+    His bashful eye still kindling as he views,
+    And, while thy lenient arm supports his pace,
+    With beating heart the upland path pursues:
+    The path that leads, where, hung sublime,
+    And seen afar, youth's gallant trophies, bright
+    In Fancy's rainbow ray, invite
+    His wingy nerves to climb.
+
+
+                      II. 2.
+
+    Pursue thy pleasurable way,
+    Safe in the guidance of thy heavenly guard,
+    While melting airs are heard,
+    And soft-eyed cherub forms around thee play:
+    Simplicity, in careless flowers array'd,
+    Prattling amusive in his accent meek;
+    And Modesty, half turning as afraid,
+    The smile just dimpling on his glowing cheek;
+    Content and Leisure, hand in hand
+    With Innocence and Peace, advance, and sing;
+    And Mirth, in many a mazy ring,
+    Frisks o'er the flowery land.
+
+
+                      II. 3.
+
+    Frail man, how various is thy lot below!
+    To-day though gales propitious blow,
+    And Peace, soft gliding down the sky,
+    Lead Love along and Harmony,
+    To-morrow the gay scene deforms;
+    Then all around
+    The thunder's sound
+    Rolls rattling on through heaven's profound,
+    And down rush all the storms.
+    Ye days, that balmy influence shed,
+    When sweet Childhood, ever sprightly,
+    In paths of pleasure sported lightly,
+    Whither, ah, whither are ye fled!
+    Ye cherub train, that brought him on his way,
+    O leave him not midst tumult and dismay;
+    For now youth's eminence he gains:
+    But what a weary length of lingering toil remains!
+
+
+                     III. 1.
+
+    They shrink, they vanish into air.
+    Now Slander taints with pestilence the gale;
+    And mingling cries assail,
+    The wail of Woe, and groans of grim Despair.
+    Lo, wizard Envy from his serpent eye
+    Darts quick destruction in each baleful glance;
+    Pride, smiling stern, and yellow Jealousy,
+    Frowning Disdain, and hagard Hate advance;
+    Behold, amidst the dire array,
+    Pale wither'd Care his giant-stature rears,
+    And lo, his iron hand prepares
+    To grasp its feeble prey.
+
+
+                     III. 2.
+
+    Who now will guard bewildered youth
+    Safe from the fierce assaults of hostile rage?
+    Such war can Virtue wage,
+    Virtue, that bears the sacred shield of Truth!
+    Alas! full oft on Guilt's victorious car
+    The spoils of Virtue are in triumph borne;
+    While the fair captive, marked with many a scar,
+    In lone obscurity, oppressed, forlorn,
+    Resigns to tears her angel form.
+    Ill-fated youth, then, whither wilt thou fly?
+    No friend, no shelter now is nigh,
+    And onward rolls the storm.
+
+
+                     III. 3.
+
+    But whence the sudden beam that shoots along?
+    Why shrink aghast the hostile throng?
+    Lo, from amidst Affliction's night,
+    Hope bursts, all radiant, on the sight:
+    Her words the troubled bosom sooth.
+    "Why thus dismayed?
+    "Though foes invade,
+    "Hope ne'er is wanting to their aid,
+    "Who tread the path of truth.
+    "'Tis I, who smooth the rugged way,
+    "I, who close the eyes of Sorrow,
+    "And with glad visions of to-morrow
+    "Repair the weary soul's decay.
+    "When Death's cold touch thrills to the freezing heart,
+    "Dreams of heaven's opening glories I impart,
+    "Till the freed spirit springs on high,
+    "In rapture too severe for weak Mortality."
+
+
+
+
+                        _PYGMAEO-GERANO-MACHIA_,
+                             THE BATTLE OF
+                        THE PIGMIES AND CRANES.
+
+                      FROM THE LATIN OF ADDISON.
+
+
+    The pygmy-people, and the feathered train,
+    Mingling in mortal combat on the plain,
+    I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs,
+    Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines;
+    The flashing swords and fluttering wings display,
+    And long bills nibbling in the bloody fray;
+    Cranes darting with disdain on tiny foes,
+    Conflicting birds and men, and war's unnumbered woes!
+      The wars and woes of heroes six feet long
+    Have oft resounded in Pierian song.
+    Who has not heard of Colchos' golden fleece,
+    And Argo, manned with all the flower of Greece?
+    Of Thebes' fell brethren, Theseus, stern of face,
+    And Peleus' son, unrivalled in the race,
+    AEneas, founder of the Roman line,
+    And William, glorious on the banks of Boyne?
+    Who has not learned to weep at Pompey's woes,
+    And over Blackmore's epic page to doze?
+    'Tis I, who dare attempt unusual strains,
+    Of hosts unsung, and unfrequented plains;
+    The small shrill trump, and chiefs of little size,
+    And armies rushing down the darkened skies.
+      Where India reddens to the early dawn,
+    Winds a deep vale from vulgar eyes withdrawn:
+    Bosomed in groves the lowly region lies,
+    And rocky mountains round the border rise.
+    Here, till the doom of Fate its fall decreed,
+    The empire flourished of the pygmy-breed;
+    Here Industry performed, and Genius planned,
+    And busy multitudes o'erspread the land.
+    But now to these lone bounds if pilgrim stray,
+    Tempting through craggy cliffs the desperate way,
+    He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth,
+    Its godlings mouldering on th' abandoned hearth;
+    And starts, where small white bones are spread around,
+    "Or little footsteps lightly print the ground;"
+    While the proud crane her nest securely builds,
+    Chattering amid the desolated fields.
+      But different fates befel her hostile rage,
+    While reigned, invincible through many an age,
+    The dreaded Pygmy: roused by war's alarms,
+    Forth rushed the madding Mannikin to arms.
+    Fierce to the field of death the hero flies;
+    The faint crane, fluttering, flaps the ground, and dies;
+    And by the victor borne (o'erwhelming load!)
+    With bloody bill loose-dangling marks the road.
+    And oft the wily dwarf in ambush lay,
+    And often made the callow young his prey;
+    With slaughtered victims heaped his board, and smiled,
+    To visit the sire's trespass on the child.
+    Oft, where his feathered foe had reared her nest,
+    And laid her eggs and household gods to rest,
+    Burning for blood, in terrible array,
+    The eighteen-inch militia burst their way:
+    All went to wreck; the infant foeman fell,
+    When scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell.
+      Loud uproar hence, and rage of arms arose,
+    And the fell rancour of encountering foes;
+    Hence dwarfs and cranes one general havoc whelms,
+    And Death's grim visage scares the pygmy realms.
+    Not half so furious blazed the warlike fire
+    Of Mice, high theme of the Meonian lyre;
+    When bold to battle marched the accoutered Frogs,
+    And the deep tumult thundered through the bogs.
+    Pierced by the javelin-bulrush on the shore,
+    Here, agonizing, rolled the mouse in gore;
+    And there the frog (a scene full sad to see!)
+    Shorn of one leg, slow sprawled along on three:
+    He vaults no more with vigorous hops on high,
+    But mourns in hoarsest croaks his destiny.
+      And now the day of woe drew on apace,
+    A day of woe to all the pygmy-race,
+    When dwarfs were doomed (but penitence was vain)
+    To rue each broken egg, and chicken slain.
+    For roused to vengeance by repeated wrong,
+    From distant climes the long-billed legions throng:
+    From Strymon's lake, Cayster's plashy meads,
+    And fens of Scythia green with rustling reeds;
+    From where the Danube winds through many a land,
+    And Mareotis laves the Egyptian strand,
+    To rendezvous they waft on eager wing,
+    And wait assembled the returning spring.
+    Meanwhile they trim their plumes for length of flight,
+    Whet their keen beaks, and twisting claws, for fight;
+    Each crane the pygmy power in thought o'erturns,
+    And every bosom for the battle burns.
+      When genial gales the frozen air unbind,
+    The screaming legions wheel, and mount the wind.
+    Far in the sky they form their long array,
+    And land and ocean stretch'd immense survey,
+    Deep, deep beneath; and triumphing in pride,
+    With clouds and winds commixed, innumerous ride;
+    'Tis wild obstreperous clangour all, and heaven
+    Whirls, in tempestuous undulation driven.
+      Nor less the alarm that shook the world below,
+    Where marched in pomp of war the embattled foe;
+    Where mannikins with haughty step advance,
+    And grasp the shield, and couch the quivering lance;
+    To right and left the lengthening lines they form,
+    And ranked in deep array await the storm.
+      High in the midst the chieftain-dwarf was seen,
+    Of giant stature, and imperial mien.
+    Full twenty inches tall, he strode along,
+    And viewed with lofty eye the wondering throng;
+    And, while with many a scar his visage frowned,
+    Bared his broad bosom, rough with many a wound
+    Of beaks and claws, disclosing to their sight
+    The glorious meed of high heroic might.
+    For with insatiate vengeance, he pursued,
+    And never-ending hate, the feathery brood.
+    Unhappy they, confiding in the length
+    Of horny beak, or talon's crooked strength,
+    Who durst abide his rage; the blade descends,
+    And from the panting trunk the pinion rends.
+    Laid low in dust the pinion waves no more,
+    The trunk, disfigured, stiffens in its gore.
+    What hosts of heroes fell beneath his force!
+    What heaps of chicken-carnage marked his course!
+    How oft, O Strymon, thy lone banks along,
+    Did wailing Echo waft the funeral song!
+      And now from far the mingling clamours rise,
+    Loud and more loud rebounding through the skies.
+    From skirt to skirt of heaven, with stormy sway,
+    A cloud rolls on, and darkens all the day.
+    Near and more near descends the dreadful shade,
+    And now in battleous array displayed,
+    On sounding wings, and screaming in their ire,
+    The cranes rush onward, and the fight require.
+      The pygmy warriors eye, with fearless glare,
+    The host thick swarming o'er the burthened air:
+    Thick swarming now, but to their native land
+    Doomed to return a scanty, straggling band.--
+    When sudden, darting down the depth of heaven,
+    Fierce on the expecting foe the cranes are driven.
+    The kindling phrensy every bosom warms,
+    The region echoes to the crash of arms:
+    Loose feathers from the encountering armies fly,
+    And in careering whirlwinds mount the sky.
+    To breathe from toil upsprings the panting crane,
+    Then with fresh vigour downward darts again.
+    Success in equal balance hovering hangs.
+    Here, on the sharp spear, mad with mortal pangs,
+    The bird transfixed in bloody vortex whirls,
+    Yet fierce in death the threatening talon curls;
+    There, while the life-blood bubbles from his wound,
+    With little feet the pygmy beats the ground;
+    Deep from his breast the short, short sob he draws,
+    And, dying, curses the keen-pointed claws.
+    Trembles the thundering field, thick covered o'er
+    With falchions, mangled wings, and streaming gore,
+    And pygmy arms, and beaks of ample size;
+    And here a claw, and there a finger lies.
+      Encompassed round with heaps of slaughtered foes,
+    All grim in blood the pygmy champion glows;
+    And on the assailing host impetuous springs,
+    Careless of nibbling bills, and flapping wings;
+    And midst the tumult wheresoe'er he turns,
+    The battle with redoubled fury burns.
+    From every side the avenging cranes, amain,
+    Throng, to o'erwhelm this terror of the plain.
+    When suddenly (for such the will of Jove)
+    A fowl enormous, sousing from above,
+    The gallant chieftain clutched, and, soaring high,
+    (Sad chance of battle!) bore him up the sky.
+    The cranes pursue, and, clustering in a ring,
+    Chatter triumphant round the captive king.
+    But, ah! what pangs each pygmy bosom wrung,
+    When, now to cranes a prey, on talons hung,
+    High in the clouds they saw their helpless lord,
+    His wriggling form still lessening as he soared!
+      Lo! yet again, with unabated rage,
+    In mortal strife the mingling hosts engage.
+    The crane with darted bill assaults the foe,
+    Hovering; then wheels aloft to scape the blow:
+    The dwarf in anguish aims the vengeful wound;
+    But whirls in empty air the falchion round.
+      Such was the scene, when midst the loud alarms
+    Sublime the eternal Thunderer rose in arms;
+    When Briareus, by mad ambition driven,
+    Heaved Pelion huge, and hurled it high at heaven.
+    Jove rolled redoubling thunders from on high,
+    Mountains and bolts encountered in the sky;
+    Till one stupendous ruin whelmed the crew,
+    Their vast limbs weltering wide in brimstone blue.
+      But now at length the pygmy legions yield,
+    And, winged with terror, fly the fatal field.
+    They raise a weak and melancholy wail,
+    All in distraction scattering o'er the vale.
+    Prone on their routed rear the cranes descend;
+    Their bills bite furious, and their talons rend:
+    With unrelenting ire they urge the chace,
+    Sworn to exterminate the hated race.
+      'Twas thus the Pygmy Name, once great in war,
+    For spoils of conquered cranes renown'd afar,
+    Perished. For, by the dread decree of Heaven,
+    Short is the date to earthly grandeur given,
+    And vain are all attempts to roam beyond
+    Where Fate has fixed the everlasting bound.
+    Fallen are the trophies of Assyrian power,
+    And Persia's proud dominion is no more;
+    Yea, though to both superior far in fame,
+    Thine empire, Latium! is an empty name.
+      And now, with lofty chiefs of antient time,
+    The pygmy heroes roam the Elysian clime.
+    Or, if belief to matron-tales be due,
+    Full oft, in the belated shepherd's view,
+    Their frisking forms, in gentle green arrayed,
+    Gambol secure along the moonlight glade.
+    Secure, for no alarming cranes molest,
+    And all their woes in long oblivion rest;
+    Down the deep dale, and narrow winding way,
+    They foot it featly, ranged in ringlets gay:
+    'Tis joy and frolic all, where'er they rove,
+    And Fairy-people is the name they love.
+
+
+
+
+                                EPISTLE
+                                  TO
+                         THE HONOURABLE C. B.
+
+
+                                    PETERHEAD, 1766.
+
+    When B*** invites me, and inviting sings,
+    Instant I'd fly, (had heaven vouchsafed me wings)
+    To hail him in that calm sequestered seat,
+    Whence he looks down with pity on the great;
+    And, midst the groves retired, at leisure wooes
+    Domestic love, contentment, and the Muse.
+    I wish for wings and winds to speed my course;
+    Since B----t and the fates refuse a horse.
+      Where now the Pegasus of antient time,
+    And Ippogrifo famed in modern rhime?
+    O, where that wooden steed, whose every leg
+    Like lightning flew, obsequious to the peg;
+    The waxen wings by Daedalus designed,
+    And China waggons wafted by the wind?
+    A Spaniard reached the moon, upborn by geese;
+    (Then first 'twas known that she was made of cheese.)
+    A fidler on a fish through waves advanced,
+    He twanged his catgut, and the Dolphin danced.
+    Hags rode on broom-sticks, heathen-gods on clouds;
+    Ladies, on rams and bulls, have dared the floods.
+    Much famed the shoes Jack Giant-killer wore,
+    And Fortunatus' hat is famed much more.
+    Such vehicles were common once, no doubt;
+    But modern versemen must even trudge on foot,
+    Or doze at home, expectants of the gout.
+      Hard is the task, indeed 'tis wondrous hard,
+    To act the Hirer, yet preserve the Bard.
+    "Next week, by----, (but 'tis a sin to swear)
+    "I give my word, sir, you shall have my mare;
+    "Sound wind and limb, as any ever was,
+    "And rising only seven years old next grass.
+    "Four miles an hour she goes, nor needs a spur;
+    "A pretty piece of flesh, upon my conscience, sir."
+      This speech was B----t's; and, tho' mean in phrase,
+    The nearest thing to prose, as Horace says,
+    (Satire the fourth, and forty-second line)
+    'Twill intimate that I propose to dine
+    Next week with B***. Muse, lend thine aid a while;
+    For this great purpose claims a lofty style.
+      Ere yonder sun, now glorious in the west,
+    Has thrice three times reclined on Thetis' breast;
+    Ere thrice three times, from old Tithonus' bed,
+    Her charms all glowing with celestial red,
+    The balmy morn shall rise to mortal view,
+    And from her bright locks shake the pearls of dew,
+    These eyes, O B***, shall hail thy opening glades,
+    These ears shall catch the music of thy shades;
+    This cherished frame shall drink the gladsome gales,
+    And the fresh fragrance of thy flowery vales.
+    And (for I know the Muse will come along)
+    To B*** I mean to meditate a song:
+    A song, adorned with every rural charm,
+    Trim as thy garden, ample as thy farm,
+    Sweet as thy milk, and brisk as bottled beer,
+    Wholesome as mutton, and as water clear,
+    In wildflowers fertile, as thy fields of corn,
+    And frolicksome as lambs, or sheep new shorn.
+      I ask not ortolans, or Chian wine,
+    The fat of rams, or quintessence of swine.
+    Her spicy stores let either India keep,
+    Nor El Dorado vend her golden sheep.
+    And to the mansion house, or council hall,
+    Still on her black splay feet may the huge tortoise crawl.
+    Not Parson's butt my appetite can move,
+    Nor, Bell, thy beer; nor even thy nectar, Jove.
+    If B*** be happy, and in health, his guest,
+    Whom wit and learning charm, can wish no better feast.
+
+
+
+
+                                 THE
+                                HARES,
+                               A FABLE.
+
+
+    Yes, yes, I grant the sons of earth
+    Are doomed to trouble from their birth:
+    We all of sorrow have our share;
+    But say, Is your's without compare?
+    Look round the world; perhaps you'll find
+    Each individual of our kind
+    Pressed with an equal load of ill,
+    Equal at least. Look further still,
+    And own your lamentable case
+    Is little short of happiness.
+    In yonder hut, that stands alone,
+    Attend to Famine's feeble moan;
+    Or view the couch where Sickness lies;
+    Mark his pale cheek, and languid eyes,
+    His frame by strong convulsion torn,
+    His struggling sighs, and looks forlorn.
+    Or see, transfixed with keener pangs,
+    Where o'er his hoard the miser hangs;
+    Whistles the wind; he starts, he stares,
+    Nor Slumber's balmy blessing shares;
+    Despair, Remorse, and Terror roll
+    Their tempests on his harassed soul.
+      But here, perhaps, it may avail
+    To enforce our reasoning with a tale.
+      Mild was the morn, the sky serene,
+    The jolly hunting band convene;
+    The beagle's breast with ardour burns;
+    The bounding steed the champaign spurns;
+    And fancy oft the game descries
+    Through the hound's nose, and huntsman's eyes.
+      Just then, a council of the hares
+    Had met, on national affairs.
+    The chiefs were set; while o'er their head
+    The furze its frizzled covering spread.
+    Long lists of grievances were heard,
+    And general discontent appeared.
+    "Our harmless race shall every savage,
+    "Both quadruped and biped, ravage?
+    "Shall horses, hounds, and hunters still
+    "Unite their wits to work us ill?
+    "The youth, his parent's sole delight,
+    "Whose tooth the dewy lawns invite,
+    "Whose pulse in every vein beats strong,
+    "Whose limbs leap light the vales along,
+    "May yet e'er noontide meet his death,
+    "And lie dismembered on the heath:
+    "For youth, alas! nor cautious age,
+    "Nor strength, nor speed, eludes their rage.
+    "In every field we meet the foe,
+    "Each gale comes fraught with sounds of woe:
+    "The morning but awakes our fears,
+    "The evening sees us bathed in tears.
+    "But must we ever idly grieve,
+    "Nor strive our fortunes to relieve?
+    "Small is each individual force,
+    "To stratagem be our recourse;
+    "And then, from all our tribes combined,
+    "The murderer to his cost may find,
+    "No foe is weak, whom Justice arms,
+    "Whom Concord leads, and Hatred warms.
+    "Be roused; or liberty acquire,
+    "Or in the great attempt expire."--
+    He said no more, for in his breast
+    Conflicting thoughts the voice suppressed:
+    The fire of vengeance seemed to stream
+    From his swoln eyeball's yellow gleam.
+      And now the tumults of the war,
+    Mingling confusedly from afar,
+    Swell in the wind. Now louder cries,
+    Distinct, of hounds and men arise.
+    Forth from the brake, with beating heart,
+    Th' assembled hares tumultuous start,
+    And, every straining nerve on wing,
+    Away precipitately spring.
+    The hunting band, a signal given,
+    Thick thundering o'er the plain are driven;
+    O'er cliff abrupt, and shrubby mound,
+    And river broad, impetuous bound;
+    Now plunge amid the forest shades,
+    Glance through the openings of the glades;
+    Now o'er the level valley sweep,
+    Now with short steps strain up the steep,
+    While backward from the hunter's eyes
+    The landscape like a torrent flies.
+    At last an ancient wood they gained,
+    By pruner's axe yet unprofaned.
+    High o'er the rest, by Nature reared,
+    The oak's majestic boughs appeared;
+    Beneath, a copse of various hue
+    In barbarous luxuriance grew;
+    No knife had curbed the rambling sprays,
+    No hand had wove th' implicit maze.
+    The flowering thorn, self-taught to wind,
+    The hazle's stubborn stem intwined,
+    And bramble twigs were wreathed around,
+    And rough furze crept along the ground.
+    Here sheltering, from the sons of murther,
+    The hares drag their tired limbs no further.
+      But, lo! the western wind erelong
+    Was loud, and roared the woods among:
+    From rustling leaves, and crashing boughs,
+    The sound of woe and war arose.
+    The hares, distracted, scour the grove,
+    As terror and amazement drove;
+    But danger, wheresoe'er they fled,
+    Still seemed impending o'er their head.
+    Now crowded in a grotto's gloom,
+    All hope extinct, they wait their doom:
+    Dire was the silence, till, at length,
+    Even from despair deriving strength,
+    With bloody eye, and furious look,
+    A daring youth arose, and spoke.
+      "O wretched race, the scorn of Fate,
+    "Whom ills of every sort await!
+    "O, cursed with keenest sense to feel
+    "The sharpest sting of every ill!
+    "Say ye, who, fraught with mighty scheme,
+    "Of liberty and vengeance dream,
+    "What now remains? To what recess
+    "Shall we our weary steps address,
+    "Since Fate is evermore pursuing
+    "All ways and means to work our ruin?
+    "Are we alone, of all beneath,
+    "Condemned to misery worse than death!
+    "Must we, with fruitless labour, strive,
+    "In misery worse than death to live!
+    "No. Be the smaller ill our choice:
+    "So dictates Nature's powerful voice.
+    "Death's pang will in a moment cease;
+    "And then, All hail, eternal peace!"
+    Thus while he spoke, his words impart
+    The dire resolve to every heart.
+      A distant lake in prospect lay,
+    That, glittering in the solar ray,
+    Gleamed through the dusky trees, and shot
+    A trembling light along the grot.
+    Thither with one consent they bend,
+    Their sorrows with their lives to end;
+    While each, in thought, already hears
+    The water hissing in his ears,
+      Fast by the margin of the lake,
+    Concealed within a thorny brake,
+    A linnet sate, whose careless lay
+    Amused the solitary day.
+    Careless he sung, for on his breast
+    Sorrow no lasting trace impressed;
+    When suddenly he heard a sound
+    Of swift feet traversing the ground.
+    Quick to the neighbouring tree he flies,
+    Thence, trembling, casts around his eyes;
+    No foe appeared, his fears were vain;
+    Pleased, he renews the sprightly strain.
+      The hares, whose noise had caused his fright,
+    Saw, with surprise, the linnet's flight.
+    Is there on earth a wretch, they said,
+    Whom our approach can strike with dread?
+    An instantaneous change of thought
+    To tumult every bosom wrought.
+    So fares the system-building sage,
+    Who, plodding on from youth to age,
+    At last, on some foundation-dream,
+    Has reared aloft his goodly scheme,
+    And proved his predecessors fools,
+    And bound all nature by his rules;
+    So fares he, in that dreadful hour,
+    When injured truth exerts her power,
+    Some new phenomenon to raise;
+    Which, bursting on his frighted gaze,
+    From its proud summit to the ground,
+    Proves the whole edifice unsound.
+      "Children," thus spake a hare sedate,
+    Who oft had known the extremes of Fate,
+    "In slight events the attentive mind
+    "May hints of good instruction find.
+    "That our condition is the worst,
+    "And we with such misfortunes cursed
+    "As all comparison defy,
+    "Was late the universal cry.
+    "When, lo! an accident so slight,
+    "As yonder little linnet's flight,
+    "Has made your stubborn hearts confess
+    "(So your amazement bids me guess)
+    "That all our load of woes and fears
+    "Is but a part of what he bears.
+    "Where can he rest secure from harms,
+    "Whom even a helpless hare alarms?
+    "Yet he repines not at his lot;
+    "When past, his dangers are forgot:
+    "On yonder bough he trims his wings,
+    "And with unusual rapture sings;
+    "While we, less wretched, sink beneath
+    "Our lighter ills, and rush to death.
+    "No more of this unmeaning rage,
+    "But hear, my friends, the word of age:
+      "When, by the winds of autumn driven,
+    "The scattered clouds fly cross the heaven,
+    "Oft have we, from some mountain's head,
+    "Beheld the alternate light and shade
+    "Sweep the long vale. Here, hovering, lowers
+    "The shadowy cloud; there, downward pours,
+    "Streaming direct, a flood of day,
+    "Which from the view flies swift away;
+    "It flies, while other shades advance,
+    "And other streaks of sunshine glance.
+    "Thus chequered is the life below
+    "With gleams of joy, and clouds of woe.
+    "Then hope not, while we journey on,
+    "Still to be basking in the sun;
+    "Nor fear, though now in shades ye mourn,
+    "That sunshine will no more return.
+    "If, by your terrors overcome,
+    "Ye fly before the approaching gloom,
+    "The rapid clouds your flight pursue,
+    "And darkness still o'ercasts your view.
+    "Who longs to reach the radiant plain,
+    "Must onward urge his course amain;
+    "For doubly swift the shadow flies,
+    "When 'gainst the gale the pilgrim plies.
+    "At least be firm, and undismayed
+    "Maintain your ground; the fleeting shade,
+    "Erelong, spontaneous glides away,
+    "And gives you back the enlivening ray.
+    "Lo! while I speak, our danger past!
+    "No more the shrill horn's angry blast
+    "Howls in our ear; the savage roar
+    "Of war and murder is no more.
+    "Then snatch the hour that Fate allows,
+    "Nor think of past and future woes."
+    He spoke; and hope revives; the lake
+    That instant, one and all forsake,
+    In sweet amusement to employ
+    The present sprightly hour of joy.
+      Now, from the western mountain's brow,
+    Compassed with clouds of various glow,
+    The sun a broader orb displays,
+    And shoots aslope his ruddy rays.
+    The lawn assumes a fresher green,
+    And dew-drops spangle all the scene.
+    The balmy zephyr breathes along,
+    The shepherd sings his tender song.
+    With all their lays the groves resound,
+    And falling waters murmur round;
+    Discord and care were put to flight,
+    And all was peace, and calm delight.
+
+
+
+
+                               EPITAPH:
+           BEING PART OF AN INSCRIPTION FOR A MONUMENT TO BE
+           ERECTED BY A GENTLEMAN TO THE MEMORY OF HIS LADY.
+
+
+    Farewell, my best beloved! whose heavenly mind
+    Genius with virtue, strength with softness, joined;
+    Devotion, undebased by pride or art,
+    With meek simplicity, and joy of heart;
+    Though sprightly, gentle; though polite, sincere;
+    And only of thyself a judge severe;
+    Unblamed, unequalled, in each sphere of life,
+    The tenderest Daughter, Sister, Parent, Wife.
+    In thee their patroness the afflicted lost;
+    Thy friends, their pattern, ornament, and boast;
+    And I----but, ah! can words my loss declare,
+    Or paint the extremes of transport and despair?
+    O Thou, beyond what verse or speech can tell,
+    My guide, my friend, my best-beloved, farewell!
+
+
+
+
+                                  ODE
+                                  ON
+                         LORD HAY'S BIRTH-DAY.
+
+                            13TH MAY, 1767.
+
+
+    A muse, unskilled in venal praise,
+    Unstained with flattery's art;
+    Who loves simplicity of lays
+    Breathed ardent from the heart;
+    While gratitude and joy inspire,
+    Resumes the long-unpractised lyre,
+    To hail, O HAY, thy natal Morn;
+    No gaudy wreath of flowers she weaves,
+    But twines with oak the laurel leaves,
+    Thy cradle to adorn.
+    For, not on beds of gaudy flowers
+    Thine ancestors reclined,
+    Where sloth dissolves, and spleen devours,
+    All energy of mind;
+    To hurl the dart, to ride the car,
+    To stem the deluges of war,
+    And snatch from Fate a sinking land;
+    Trample the invader's lofty crest,
+    And from his grasp the dagger wrest,
+    And desolating brand:
+
+    'Twas this that raised the illustrious line,
+    To match the first in fame;
+    A thousand years have seen it shine
+    With unabated flame:
+    Have seen thy mighty sires appear
+    Foremost in Glory's high career,
+    The pride and pattern of the brave.
+    Yet, pure from lust of blood their fire,
+    And from Ambition's wild desire,
+    They triumphed but to save.
+
+    The Muse with joy attends their way
+    The vales of peace along;
+    There, to its Lord the village gay
+    Renews the grateful song.
+    Yon castle's glittering towers contain
+    No pit of woe, nor clanking chain,
+    Nor to the suppliant's wail resound:
+    The open doors the needy bless.
+    The unfriended hail their calm recess,
+    And gladness smiles around.
+
+    There, to the sympathetic heart
+    Life's best delights belong,
+    To mitigate the mourner's smart,
+    To guard the weak from wrong.
+    Ye sons of luxury, be wise;
+    Know, happiness for ever flies
+    The cold and solitary breast;
+    Then let the social instinct glow,
+    And learn to feel another's woe,
+    And in his joy be blessed.
+
+    O yet, ere Pleasure plant her snare
+    For unsuspecting youth;
+    Ere Flattery her song prepare
+    To check the voice of Truth;
+    O may his country's guardian power
+    Attend the slumbering Infant's bower,
+    And bright, inspiring dreams impart;
+    To rouse the hereditary fire,
+    To kindle each sublime desire,
+    Exalt, and warm the heart.
+
+    Swift to reward a parent's fears,
+    A parent's hopes to crown,
+    Roll on in peace, ye blooming years,
+    That rear him to renown;
+    When, in his finished form and face,
+    Admiring multitudes shall trace
+    Each patrimonial charm combined;
+    The courteous yet majestic mien,
+    The liberal smile, the look serene,
+    The great and gentle mind.
+
+    Yet, though thou draw a nation's eyes,
+    And win a nation's love,
+    Let not thy towering mind despise
+    The village and the grove.
+    No slander there shall wound thy fame,
+    No ruffian take his deadly aim,
+    No rival weave the secret snare:
+    For Innocence, with angel smile,
+    Simplicity, that knows not guile,
+    And Love and Peace are there.
+
+    When winds the mountain oak assail,
+    And lay its glories waste,
+    Content may slumber in the vale,
+    Unconscious of the blast.
+    Through scenes of tumult while we roam,
+    The heart, alas! is ne'er at home;
+    It hopes in time to roam no more:
+    The mariner, not vainly brave,
+    Combats the storm, and rides the wave,
+    To rest, at last, on shore.
+
+    Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe,
+    How vain your mask of state!
+    The good alone have joy sincere,
+    The good alone are great:
+    Great, when, amid the vale of peace,
+    They bid the plaint of sorrow cease,
+    And hear the voice of artless praise;
+    As, when along the trophied plain,
+    Sublime they lead the victor train,
+    While shouting nations gaze.
+
+
+
+
+                        TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
+                         LADY CHARLOTTE GORDON,
+                  DRESSED IN A TARTAN SCOTCH BONNET,
+                          WITH FEATHERS, &c.
+
+
+    Why, Lady, wilt thou bind thy lovely brow,
+    With the dread semblance of that warlike helm,
+    That nodding plume, and wreath of various glow,
+    That graced the chiefs of Scotia's antient realm?
+
+    Thou knowest that virtue is of power the source,
+    And all her magic to thy eyes is given;
+    We own their empire, while we feel their force,
+    Beaming with the benignity of heaven.
+
+    The plumy helmet, and the martial mien,
+    Might dignify Minerva's awful charms;
+    But more resistless far the Idalian queen--
+    Smiles, graces, gentleness, her only arms.
+
+
+
+
+                              THE HERMIT.
+
+
+    At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
+    And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove,
+    When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
+    And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove:
+    'Twas then, by the cave of the mountain afar,
+    A Hermit his song of the night thus began;
+    No more with himself, or with nature, at war,
+    He thought as a sage, while he felt as a man:
+
+    "Ah! why thus abandoned to darkness and woe?
+    "Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain?
+    "For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
+    "And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain.
+    "Yet, if pity inspire thee, ah! cease not thy lay,
+    "Mourn, sweetest complainer! man calls thee to mourn:
+    "O sooth him, whose pleasures like thine pass away--
+    "Full quickly they pass--but they never return.
+
+    "Now gliding remote on the verge of the sky,
+    "The moon, half-extinguished, her crescent displays:
+    "But lately I marked, when majestic on high,
+    "She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
+    "Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
+    "The path that conducts thee to splendour again:
+    "But man's faded glory no change shall renew--
+    "Ah fool! to exult in a glory so vain!
+
+    "Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more:
+    "I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;
+    "For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
+    "Perfumed with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew.
+    "Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;
+    "Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save.--
+    "But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn?
+    "O, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave?"
+
+    'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betrayed,
+    That leads, to bewilder, and dazzles, to blind;
+    My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade,
+    Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
+    "O pity, great Father of light," then I cried,
+    "Thy creature, who fain would not wander from Thee!
+    "Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:
+    "From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free."
+
+    And darkness and doubt are now flying away:
+    No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn.
+    So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray,
+    The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
+    See Truth, Love, and Mercy, in triumph descending,
+    And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!
+    On the cold cheek of Death smiles and roses are blending,
+    And Beauty immortal awakes from the tomb!
+
+
+
+
+                             ODE TO PEACE.
+
+                       WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1756.
+
+
+                       I. 1.
+
+    Peace, heaven-descended maid! whose powerful voice
+    From antient darkness called the morn;
+    And hushed of jarring elements the noise,
+    When Chaos, from his old dominion torn,
+    With all his bellowing throng,
+    Far, far was hurled the void abyss along;
+    And all the bright angelic choir,
+    Striking, through all their ranks, the eternal lyre,
+    Poured, in loud symphony, the impetuous strain;
+    And every fiery orb and planet sung,
+    And wide, through Night's dark solitary reign,
+    Rebounding long and deep, the lays triumphant rung!
+
+
+                       I. 2.
+
+    Oh, whither art thou fled, Saturnian Age!
+    Roll round again, majestic years!
+    To break the sceptre of tyrannic Rage;
+    From Woe's wan cheek to wipe the bitter tears;
+    Ye years, again roll round!
+    Hark! from afar what desolating sound,
+    While echoes load the sighing gales,
+    With dire presage the throbbing heart assails!
+    Murder, deep-roused, with all the whirlwind's haste,
+    And roar of tempest, from her cavern springs,
+    Her tangled serpents girds around her waist,
+    Smiles ghastly fierce, and shakes her gore-distilling wings.
+
+
+                       I. 3.
+
+    The shouts, redoubling, rise
+    In thunder to the skies;
+    The nymphs, disordered, dart along,
+    Sweet powers of solitude and song,
+    Stunned with the horrors of discordant sound;
+    And all is listening, trembling round.
+    Torrents, far heard amid the waste of night,
+    That oft have led the wanderer right,
+    Are silent at the noise.
+    The mighty Ocean's more majestic voice,
+    Drowned in superior din, is heard no more;
+    The surge in silence seems to sweep the foamy shore.
+
+
+                      II. 1.
+
+    The bloody banner, streaming in the air,
+    Seen on yon sky-mixt mountain's brow,
+    The mingling multitudes, the madding car,
+    Driven in confusion to the plain below,
+    War's dreadful Lord proclaim.
+    Bursts out, by frequent fits, the expansive flame;
+    Snatched in tempestuous eddies, flies
+    The surging smoke o'er all the darkened skies;
+    The chearful face of heaven no more is seen;
+    The bloom of morning fades to deadly pale;
+    The bat flies transient o'er the dusky green,
+    And Night's foul birds along the sullen twilight sail.
+
+
+                      II. 2.
+
+    Involved in fire-streaked gloom, the car comes on.
+    The rushing steeds grim Terror guides.
+    His forehead writhed to a relentless frown,
+    Aloft the angry Power of Battles rides.
+    Grasped in his mighty hand,
+    A mace, tremendous, desolates the land;
+    The tower rolls headlong down the steep,
+    The mountain shrinks before its wasteful sweep.
+    Chill horror the dissolving limbs invades,
+    Smit by the blasting lightning of his eyes;
+    A deeper gloom invests the howling shades;
+    Stripped is the shattered grove, and every verdure dies.
+
+
+                      II. 3.
+
+    How startled Phrenzy stares,
+    Bristling her ragged hairs!
+    Revenge the gory fragment gnaws;
+    See, with her griping vulture claws
+    Imprinted deep, she rends the mangled wound!
+    Hate whirls her torch sulphureous round.
+    The shrieks of agony, and clang of arms,
+    Re-echo to the hoarse alarms,
+    Her trump terrific blows.
+    Disparting from behind, the clouds disclose,
+    Of kingly gesture, a gigantic form,
+    That with his scourge sublime rules the careering storm.
+
+
+                     III. 1.
+
+    Ambition, outside fair! within as foul
+    As fiends of fiercest heart below,
+    Who ride the hurricanes of fire, that roll
+    Their thundering vortex o'er the realms of woe,
+    Yon naked waste survey;
+    Where late was heard the flute's mellifluous lay;
+    Where late the rosy-bosomed hours,
+    In loose array, danced lightly o'er the flowers;
+    Where late the shepherd told his tender tale;
+    And, wakened by the murmuring breeze of morn,
+    The voice of chearful Labour filled the dale;
+    And dove-eyed Plenty smiled, and waved her liberal horn.
+
+
+                     III. 2.
+
+    Yon ruins, sable from the wasting flame,
+    But mark the once resplendent dome;
+    The frequent corse obstructs the sullen stream,
+    And ghosts glare horrid from the sylvan gloom.
+    How sadly silent all!
+    Save where, outstretched beneath yon hanging wall,
+    Pale Famine moans with feeble breath,
+    And Anguish yells, and grinds his bloody teeth.
+    Though vain the Muse, and every melting lay,
+    To touch thy heart, unconscious of remorse!
+    Know, monster, know, thy hour is on the way;
+    I see, I see the years begin their mighty course.
+
+
+                     III. 3.
+
+    What scenes of glory rise
+    Before my dazzled eyes!
+    Young zephyrs wave their wanton wings,
+    And melody celestial rings.
+    All blooming on the lawn the nymphs advance,
+    And touch the lute, and range the dance:
+    And the blithe shepherds, on the mountain's side,
+    Arrayed in all their rural pride,
+    Exalt the festive note,
+    Inviting Echo from her inmost grot----
+    But ah! the landscape glows with fainter light;
+    It darkens, swims, and flies for ever from my sight.
+
+
+                      IV. 1.
+
+    Illusions vain! Can sacred PEACE reside
+    Where sordid gold the breast alarms,
+    Where Cruelty inflames the eye of Pride,
+    And Grandeur wantons in soft Pleasure's arms?
+    Ambition, these are thine!
+    These from the soul erase the form divine;
+    And quench the animating fire,
+    That warms the bosom with sublime desire.
+    Thence the relentless heart forgets to feel,
+    And Hatred triumphs on the o'erwhelming brow,
+    And midnight Rancour grasps the cruel steel;
+    Blaze the blue flames of death, and sound the shrieks of woe.
+
+
+                      IV. 2.
+
+    From Albion fled, thy once beloved retreat,
+    What regions brighten in thy smile,
+    Creative PEACE! and underneath thy feet
+    See sudden flowers adorn the rugged soil?
+    In bleak Siberia blows,
+    Waked by thy genial breath, the balmy rose?
+    Waved over by thy magic wand,
+    Does life inform fell Lybia's burning sand?
+    Or does some isle thy parting flight detain,
+    Where roves the Indian through primaeval shades;
+    Haunts the pure pleasures of the sylvan reign,
+    And, led by Reason's light, the path of Nature treads?
+
+
+                      IV. 3.
+
+    On Cuba's utmost steep,
+    Far leaning o'er the deep,
+    The Goddess' pensive form was seen:
+    Her robe, of Nature's varied green,
+    Waved on the gale; grief dimmed her radiant eyes,
+    Her bosom heaved with boding sighs.
+    She eyed the main; where, gaining on the view,
+    Emerging from the ethereal blue,
+    Midst the dread pomp of war,
+    Blazed the Iberian streamer from afar:
+    She saw; and, on refulgent pinions borne,
+    Slow winged her way sublime, and mingled with the morn.
+
+
+
+
+                                  THE
+                        TRIUMPH OF MELANCHOLY.
+
+
+    Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought
+      These scenes so deeply stained with sorrow's dye?
+    Is there in all thy stores no cheerful draught,
+      To brighten yet once more in Fancy's eye?
+
+    Yes--from afar a landscape seems to rise,
+      Embellished by the lavish hand of spring;
+    Thin gilded clouds float lightly through the skies,
+      And laughing loves disport on fluttering wing.
+
+    How blest the youth in yonder valley laid!
+      What smiles in every conscious feature play!
+    While, to the murmurs of the breezy glade,
+      His merry pipe attunes the rural lay.
+
+    Hail, Innocence! whose bosom all serene,
+      Feels not, as yet, the internal tempest roll.
+    Oh, ne'er may care distract thy placid mein!
+      Ne'er may the shades of doubt o'erwhelm thy soul!
+
+    Vain wish! for lo, in gay attire concealed,
+      Yonder she comes! the heart-inflaming fiend!
+    (Will no kind power the helpless stripling shield!)
+      Swift to her destined prey see Passion bend!
+
+    O smile accurst, to hide the worst designs!
+      Now with blithe eye she wooes him to be blest;
+    While round her arm, unseen, a serpent twines----
+      And lo, she hurls it hissing at his breast!
+
+    And, instant, lo, his dizzy eyeball swims
+      Ghastly, and reddening darts a frantic glare;
+    Pain, with strong grasp, distorts his writhing limbs,
+      And Fear's cold hand erects his frozen hair.
+
+    Is this, O life, is this thy boasted prime!
+      And does thy spring no happier prospect yield!
+    Why should the sunbeam paint thy glittering clime,
+      When the keen mildew desolates the field!
+
+    How memory pains! Let some gay theme beguile
+      The musing mind, and sooth to soft delight.
+    Ye images of woe, no more recoil!
+      Be life's past scenes wrapt in oblivious night.
+
+    Now when fierce Winter, armed with wasteful power,
+      Heaves the wild deep that thunders from afar;
+    How sweet to sit in this sequestered bower,
+      To hear, and but to hear, the mingling war!
+
+    Ambition here displays no gilded toy,
+      That tempts on desperate wing the soul to rise;
+    Nor Pleasure's paths to wilds of woe decoy,
+      Nor Anguish lurks in Grandeur's proud disguise.
+
+    Oft has Contentment cheered this lone abode,
+      With the mild languish of her smiling eye;
+    Here Health in rosy bloom has often glowed,
+      While loose-robed Quiet stood enamoured by.
+
+    Even the storm lulls to more profound repose;
+      The storm these humble walls assails in vain.
+    The shrub is sheltered, when the whirlwind blows,
+      While the oak's mighty ruin strows the plain.
+
+    Blow on, ye winds! Thine, Winter, be the skies;
+      And toss the infuriate surge, and vales lay waste.
+    Nature thy temporary rage defies;
+      To her relief the gentler Seasons haste.
+
+    Throned in her emerald car, see Spring appear!
+      (As Fancy wills, the landscape starts to view.)
+    Her emerald car the youthful Zephyrs bear,
+      Fanning her bosom with their pinions blue.
+
+    Around the jocund Hours are fluttering seen,
+      And lo, her rod the rose-lip'd Power extends!
+    And lo, the lawns are decked in living green,
+      And Beauty's bright-eyed train from Heaven descends!
+
+    Haste, happy days, and make all Nature glad----
+      But will all Nature joy at your return?
+    O, can ye cheer pale Sickness' gloomy bed,
+      Or dry the tears that bathe the untimely urn?
+
+    Will ye one transient ray of gladness dart,
+      Where groans the dungeon to the captive's wail?
+    To ease tired Disappointment's bleeding heart,
+      Will all your stores of softening balm avail!
+
+    When stern Oppression, in his harpy fangs,
+      From Want's weak grasp the last sad morsel bears,
+    Can ye allay the dying parent's pangs,
+      Whose infant craves relief with fruitless tears?
+
+    For ah! thy reign, Oppression, is not past.
+      Who from the shivering limbs the vestment rends?
+    Who lays the once rejoicing village waste,
+      Bursting the ties of lovers and of friends!
+
+    But hope not, Muse, vain-glorious as thou art,
+      With the weak impulse of thy humble strain,
+    Hope not to soften Pride's obdurate heart,
+      When ERROL's bright example shines in vain.
+
+    Then cease the theme. Turn, Fancy, turn thine eye,
+      Thy weeping eye, nor further urge thy flight.
+    Thy haunts, alas! no gleams of joy supply,
+      Or transient gleams, that flash and sink in night.
+
+    Yet fain the mind its anguish would forego:
+      Spread, then, Historic Muse, thy pictured scroll;
+    Bid the great scenes in all their splendour glow,
+      And rouse to thought sublime the exulting soul.
+
+    What mingling pomps rush on the enraptured gaze!
+      Lo, where the gallant navy rides the deep!
+    Here, glittering towns their spiry turrets raise,
+      There, bulwarks overhang the shaggy steep.
+
+    Bristling with spears, and bright with burnished shields,
+      The embattled legions stretch their long array;
+    Discord's red torch, as fierce she scours the fields,
+      With bloody tincture stains the face of day.
+
+    And now the hosts in silence wait the sign.
+      Keen are their looks whom Liberty inspires!
+    Quick as the goddess darts along the line,
+      Each breast impatient burns with noble fires.
+
+    Her form how graceful! In her lofty mien
+      The smiles of love stern Wisdom's frown controul;
+    Her fearless eye, determined though serene,
+      Speaks the great purpose, and the unconquered soul.
+
+    Mark, where Ambition leads the adverse band,
+      Each feature fierce and hagard, as with pain!
+    With menace loud he cries, while from his hand
+      He vainly strives to wipe the crimson stain.
+
+    Lo, at his call, impetuous as the storms,
+      Headlong to deeds of death the hosts are driven;
+    Hatred, to madness wrought, each face deforms,
+      Mounts the black whirlwind, and involves the heaven.
+
+    Now, Virtue, now thy powerful succour lend,
+      Shield them, for Liberty who dare to die----
+    Ah, Liberty! will none thy cause befriend!
+      Are those thy sons, thy generous sons, that fly!
+
+    Not Virtue's self, when Heaven its aid denies,
+      Can brace the loosened nerves, or warm the heart;
+    Not Virtue's self can still the burst of sighs,
+      When festers in the soul misfortune's dart.
+
+    See, where by terror and despair dismayed,
+      The scattering legions pour along the plain!
+    Ambition's car, in bloody spoils arrayed,
+      Hews its broad way, as Vengeance guides the rein.
+
+    But who is He, that, by yon lonely brook,
+      With woods o'erhung, and precipices rude,
+    Lies all abandoned, yet, with dauntless look,
+      Sees streaming from his breast the purple flood?
+
+    Ah, BRUTUS! ever thine be Virtue's tear!
+      Lo, his dim eyes to Liberty he turns,
+    As, scarce supported on her broken spear,
+      O'er her expiring son the goddess mourns.
+
+    Loose to the wind her azure mantle flies;
+      From her dishevelled locks she rends the plume;
+    No lustre lightens in her weeping eyes,
+      And on her tear-stained cheek no roses bloom.
+
+    Meanwhile the world, Ambition, owns thy sway;
+      Fame's loudest trumpet labours with thy name;
+    For thee the Muse awakes her sweetest lay,
+      And Flattery bids for thee her altars flame.
+
+    Nor in life's lofty bustling sphere alone,
+      The sphere where monarchs and where heroes toil,
+    Sink Virtue's sons beneath Misfortune's frown,
+      While Guilt's thrilled bosom leaps at Pleasure's smile:
+
+    Full oft, where Solitude and Silence dwell,
+      Far, far remote, amid the lowly plain,
+    Resounds the voice of Woe from Virtue's cell:
+      Such is man's doom; and Pity weeps in vain.
+
+    Still grief recoils--How vainly have I strove,
+      Thy power, O Melancholy, to withstand!
+    Tired I submit; but yet, O yet remove,
+      Or ease the pressure of thy heavy hand.
+
+    Yet, for a while, let the bewildered soul
+      Find in society relief from woe;
+    O yield, a while, to Friendship's soft controul;
+      Some respite, Friendship, wilt thou not bestow?
+
+    Come then, PHILANDER! whose exalted mind
+      Looks down from far on all that charms the great;
+    For thou canst bear, unshaken and resigned,
+      The brightest smiles, the blackest frowns of Fate!
+
+    Come thou, whose love unlimited, sincere,
+      Nor faction cools, nor injury destroys;
+    Who lend'st to Misery's moan a pitying ear,
+      And feel'st with ecstasy another's joys:
+
+    Who know'st man's frailty, with a favouring eye
+      And melting heart, behold'st a brother's fall;
+    Who, unenslaved by Fashion's narrow tye,
+      With manly freedom follow'st Nature's call.
+
+    And bring thy DELIA, sweetly-smiling fair,
+      Whose spotless soul no rankling thoughts deform;
+    Her gentle accents calm each throbbing care,
+      And harmonize the thunder of the storm.
+
+    Though blest with wisdom, and with wit refined,
+      She courts no homage, nor desires to shine;
+    In her each sentiment sublime is joined
+      To female softness, and a form divine.
+
+    Come, and disperse the involving shadows drear;
+      Let chastened mirth the social hours employ.
+    O catch the swift-winged moment while 'tis near--
+      On swiftest wing the moment flies of joy.
+
+    Even while the careless disencumbered soul
+      Sinks, all dissolving, into pleasure's dream,
+    Even then to time's tremendous verge we roll,
+      With headlong haste, along life's surgey stream.
+
+    Can gaiety the vanished years restore,
+      Or on the withering limbs fresh beauty shed,
+    Or soothe the sad INEVITABLE HOUR,
+      Or cheer the dark, dark mansions of the dead?
+
+    Still sounds the solemn knell, in Fancy's ear,
+      That called ELIZA to the silent tomb;
+    With her how jocund rolled the sprightly year!
+      How shone the nymph in beauty's brightest bloom!
+
+    Ah! Beauty's bloom avails not in the grave!
+      Youth's lofty mien, nor Age's awful grace.
+    Moulder alike unknown the prince and slave,
+      Whelmed in the enormous wreck of human race.
+
+    The thought-fixed portraiture, the breathing bust,
+      The arch with proud memorials arrayed,
+    The long-lived pyramid shall sink in dust,
+      To dumb Oblivion's ever desert shade.
+
+    Fancy from joy still wanders far astray.
+      Ah Melancholy, how I feel thy power!
+    Long have I laboured to elude thy sway--
+      But 'tis enough, for I resist no more.
+
+    The traveller thus, that o'er the midnight waste,
+      Through many a lonesome path is doomed to roam,
+    Wildered and weary sits him down at last;
+      For long the night, and distant far his home.
+
+
+                                FINIS.
+
+
+                              EDINBURGH:
+
+                     Printed by JAMES BALLANTYNE.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Minstrel; or the Progress of Genius, by
+James Beattie
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