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diff --git a/old/ttask10.txt b/old/ttask10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..474a410 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/ttask10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6349 @@ +Project Gutenberg Etext The Task and Other Poems, by William Cowper +#1 in our series by William Cowper + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the laws for your country before redistributing these files!!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. + +Please do not remove this. + +This should be the first thing seen when anyone opens the book. +Do not change or edit it without written permission. 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In the summer of 1781, when his first volume was +being printed, Cowper met Lady Austen and her sister in the +street at Olney, and persuaded Mrs. Unwin to invite them to +tea. Their coming was the beginning of a cordial friendship. +Lady Austen, without being less earnest, had a liveliness that +satisfied Cowper's sense of fun to an extent that stirred at +last some jealousy in Mrs. Unwin. "She had lived much in +France," Cowper said, "was very sensible, and had infinite +vivacity." + +The Vicar of Olney was in difficulties, with his affairs in +the hands of trustees. The duties of his office were entirely +discharged by a curate, and the vicarage was to let. Lady +Austen, in 1782, rented it, to be near her new friends. There +was only a wall between the garden of the house occupied by +Cowper and Mrs. Unwin and the vicarage garden. A door was +made in the wall, and there was a close companionship of +three. When Lady Austen did not spend her evenings with Mrs. +Unwin and Cowper, Mrs. Unwin and Cowper spent their evenings +with Lady Austen. They read, talked, Lady Austen played and +sang, and they all called one another by their Christian +names, William, Mary (Mrs. Unwin), and Anna (Lady Austen). In +a poetical epistle to Lady Austen, written in December, 1781, +Cowper closes a reference to the strength of their friendship +with the evidence it gave,-- + + "That Solomon has wisely spoken,-- + 'A threefold cord is not soon broken.'" + +One evening in the summer of 1782, when Cowper was low- +spirited, Lady Austen told him in lively fashion the story +upon which he founded the ballad of "John Gilpin." Its +original hero is said to have been a Mr. Bayer, who had a +draper's shop in London, at the corner of Cheapside. Cowper +was so much tickled by it, that he lay awake part of the night +rhyming and laughing, and by the next evening the ballad was +complete. It was sent to Mrs. Unwin's son, who sent it to the +Public Advertiser, where for the next two or three years it +lay buried in the "Poets' Corner," and attracted no particular +attention. + +In the summer of 1783, when one of the three friends had been +reading blank verse aloud to the other two, Lady Austen, from +her seat upon the sofa, urged upon Cowper, as she had urged +before, that blank verse was to be preferred to the rhymed +couplets in which his first book had been written, and that he +should write a poem in blank verse. "I will," he said, "if +you will give me a subject." "Oh," she answered, "you can +write upon anything. Write on this sofa." He playfully +accepted that as "the task" set him, and began his poem called +"The Task," which was finished in the summer of the next year, +1784. But before "The Task" was finished, Mrs. Unwin's +jealousy obliged Cowper to give up his new friend--whom he had +made a point of calling upon every morning at eleven--and +prevent her return to summer quarters in the vicarage. + +Two miles from Olney was Weston Underwood with a park, to +which its owner gave Cowper the use of a key. In 1782 a +younger brother, John Throckmorton, came with his wife to live +at Weston, and continued Cowper's privilege. The +Throckmortons were Roman Catholics, but in May, 1784, Mr. +Unwin was tempted by an invitation to see a balloon ascent +from their park. Their kindness as hosts won upon Cowper; +they sought and had his more intimate friendship, till in his +correspondence he playfully abused the first syllable of their +name and called them Mr. and Mrs. Frog. + +Cowper's "Task" went to its publisher and printing was begun, +when suddenly "John Gilpin," after a long sleep in the Public +Advertiser, rode triumphant through the town. A favourite +actor of the day was giving recitations at Freemason's Hall. +A man of letters, Richard Sharp, who had read and liked "John +Gilpin," pointed out to the actor how well it would suit his +purpose. The actor was John Henderson, whose Hamlet, Shylock, +Richard III., and Falstaff were the most popular of his day. +He died suddenly in 1785, at the age of thirty-eight, and it +was thus in the last year of his life that his power of +recitation drew "John Gilpin" from obscurity and made it the +nine days' wonder of the town. Pictures of John Gilpin +abounded in all forms. He figured on pocket-handkerchiefs. +When the publisher asked for a few more pages to his volume of +"The Task," Cowper gave him as makeweights an "Epistle to +Joseph Hill," his "Tirocinium," and, a little doubtfully, +"John Gilpin." So the book was published in June, 1785; was +sought by many because it was by the author of "John Gilpin," +and at once won recognition. The preceding volume had not made +Cowper famous. "The Task" at once gave him his place among +the poets. + +Cowper's "Task" is to this day, except Wordsworth's +"Excursion," the best purely didactic poem in the English +language. The "Sofa" stands only as a point of departure:--it +suits a gouty limb; but as the poet is not gouty, he is up and +off. He is off for a walk with Mrs. Unwin in the country +about Olney. He dwells on the rural sights and rural sounds, +taking first the inanimate sounds, then the animate. In muddy +winter weather he walks alone, finds a solitary cottage, and +draws from it comment upon the false sentiment of solitude. +He describes the walk to the park at Weston Underwood, the +prospect from the hilltop, touches upon his privilege in +having a key of the gate, describes the avenues of trees, the +wilderness, the grove, and the sound of the thresher's flail +then suggests to him that all live by energy, best ease is +after toil. He compares the luxury of art with wholesomeness +of Nature free to all, that brings health to the sick, joy to +the returned seafarer. Spleen vexes votaries of artificial +life. True gaiety is for the innocent. So thought flows on, +and touches in its course the vital questions of a troubled +time. "The Task" appeared four years before the outbreak of +the French Revolution, and is in many passages not less +significant of rising storms than the "Excursion" is +significant of what came with the breaking of the clouds. + +H. M. + + + +THE TASK. + + + +BOOK I. THE SOFA. + +["The history of the following production is briefly this:--A +lady, fond of blank verse, demanded a poem of that kind from +the author, and gave him the SOFA for a subject. He obeyed, +and having much leisure, connected another subject with it; +and, pursuing the train of thought to which his situation and +turn of mind led him, brought forth, at length, instead of the +trifle which he at first intended, a serious affair--a +volume.] + + +I sing the Sofa. I, who lately sang +Truth, Hope, and Charity, and touched with awe +The solemn chords, and with a trembling hand, +Escaped with pain from that advent'rous flight, +Now seek repose upon a humbler theme: +The theme though humble, yet august and proud +The occasion--for the Fair commands the song. + +Time was, when clothing sumptuous or for use, +Save their own painted skins, our sires had none. +As yet black breeches were not; satin smooth, +Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile: +The hardy chief upon the rugged rock +Washed by the sea, or on the gravelly bank +Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud, +Fearless of wrong, reposed his weary strength. +Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next +The birthday of invention; weak at first, +Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. +Joint-stools were then created; on three legs +Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm +A massy slab, in fashion square or round. +On such a stool immortal Alfred sat, +And swayed the sceptre of his infant realms; +And such in ancient halls and mansions drear +May still be seen, but perforated sore +And drilled in holes the solid oak is found, +By worms voracious eating through and through. + +At length a generation more refined +Improved the simple plan, made three legs four, +Gave them a twisted form vermicular, +And o'er the seat, with plenteous wadding stuffed, +Induced a splendid cover green and blue, +Yellow and red, of tapestry richly wrought +And woven close, or needlework sublime. +There might ye see the peony spread wide, +The full-blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, +Lapdog and lambkin with black staring eyes, +And parrots with twin cherries in their beak. + +Now came the cane from India, smooth and bright +With Nature's varnish; severed into stripes +That interlaced each other, these supplied, +Of texture firm, a lattice-work that braced +The new machine, and it became a chair. +But restless was the chair; the back erect +Distressed the weary loins that felt no ease; +The slippery seat betrayed the sliding part +That pressed it, and the feet hung dangling down, +Anxious in vain to find the distant floor. +These for the rich: the rest, whom fate had placed +In modest mediocrity, content +With base materials, sat on well-tanned hides +Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth, +With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn, +Or scarlet crewel in the cushion fixed: +If cushion might be called, what harder seemed +Than the firm oak of which the frame was formed. +No want of timber then was felt or feared +In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood +Ponderous, and fixed by its own massy weight. +But elbows still were wanting; these, some say, +An alderman of Cripplegate contrived, +And some ascribe the invention to a priest +Burly and big, and studious of his ease. +But rude at first, and not with easy slope +Receding wide, they pressed against the ribs, +And bruised the side, and elevated high +Taught the raised shoulders to invade the ears. +Long time elapsed or e'er our rugged sires +Complained, though incommodiously pent in, +And ill at ease behind. The ladies first +Gan murmur, as became the softer sex. +Ingenious fancy, never better pleased +Than when employed to accommodate the fair, +Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised +The soft settee; one elbow at each end, +And in the midst an elbow, it received, +United yet divided, twain at once. +So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne; +And so two citizens who take the air, +Close packed and smiling in a chaise and one. +But relaxation of the languid frame +By soft recumbency of outstretched limbs, +Was bliss reserved for happier days; so slow +The growth of what is excellent, so hard +To attain perfection in this nether world. +Thus first necessity invented stools, +Convenience next suggested elbow-chairs, +And luxury the accomplished Sofa last. + +The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick, +Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he +Who quits the coach-box at the midnight hour +To sleep within the carriage more secure, +His legs depending at the open door. +Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk, +The tedious rector drawling o'er his head, +And sweet the clerk below; but neither sleep +Of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead, +Nor his who quits the box at midnight hour +To slumber in the carriage more secure, +Nor sleep enjoyed by curate in his desk, +Nor yet the dozings of the clerk are sweet, +Compared with the repose the Sofa yields. + +Oh, may I live exempted (while I live +Guiltless of pampered appetite obscene) +From pangs arthritic that infest the toe +Of libertine excess. The Sofa suits +The gouty limb, 'tis true; but gouty limb, +Though on a Sofa, may I never feel: +For I have loved the rural walk through lanes +Of grassy swarth, close cropped by nibbling sheep, +And skirted thick with intertexture firm +Of thorny boughs: have loved the rural walk +O'er hills, through valleys, and by river's brink, +E'er since a truant boy I passed my bounds +To enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames. +And still remember, nor without regret +Of hours that sorrow since has much endeared, +How oft, my slice of pocket store consumed, +Still hungering penniless and far from home, +I fed on scarlet hips and stony haws, +Or blushing crabs, or berries that emboss +The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. +Hard fare! but such as boyish appetite +Disdains not, nor the palate undepraved +By culinary arts unsavoury deems. +No Sofa then awaited my return, +No Sofa then I needed. Youth repairs +His wasted spirits quickly, by long toil +Incurring short fatigue; and though our years, +As life declines, speed rapidly away, +And not a year but pilfers as he goes +Some youthful grace that age would gladly keep, +A tooth or auburn lock, and by degrees +Their length and colour from the locks they spare; +The elastic spring of an unwearied foot +That mounts the stile with ease, or leaps the fence, +That play of lungs inhaling and again +Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes +Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me, +Mine have not pilfered yet; nor yet impaired +My relish of fair prospect; scenes that soothed +Or charmed me young, no longer young, I find +Still soothing and of power to charm me still. +And witness, dear companion of my walks, +Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive +Fast locked in mine, with pleasure such as love, +Confirmed by long experience of thy worth +And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire-- +Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long. +Thou know'st my praise of Nature most sincere, +And that my raptures are not conjured up +To serve occasions of poetic pomp, +But genuine, and art partner of them all. +How oft upon yon eminence, our pace +Has slackened to a pause, and we have borne +The ruffling wind scarce conscious that it blew, +While admiration feeding at the eye, +And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene! +Thence with what pleasure have we just discerned +The distant plough slow-moving, and beside +His labouring team, that swerved not from the track, +The sturdy swain diminished to a boy! +Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain +Of spacious meads with cattle sprinkled o'er, +Conducts the eye along his sinuous course +Delighted. There, fast rooted in his bank +Stand, never overlooked, our favourite elms +That screen the herdsman's solitary hut; +While far beyond and overthwart the stream +That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, +The sloping land recedes into the clouds; +Displaying on its varied side the grace +Of hedgerow beauties numberless, square tower, +Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells +Just undulates upon the listening ear; +Groves, heaths, and smoking villages remote. +Scenes must be beautiful which daily viewed +Please daily, and whose novelty survives +Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years: +Praise justly due to those that I describe. + +Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds +Exhilarate the spirit, and restore +The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds, +That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood +Of ancient growth, make music not unlike +The dash of ocean on his winding shore, +And lull the spirit while they fill the mind, +Unnumbered branches waving in the blast, +And all their leaves fast fluttering, all at once. +Nor less composure waits upon the roar +Of distant floods, or on the softer voice +Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that slip +Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall +Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length +In matted grass, that with a livelier green +Betrays the secret of their silent course. +Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, +But animated Nature sweeter still +To soothe and satisfy the human ear. +Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one +The livelong night: nor these alone whose notes +Nice-fingered art must emulate in vain, +But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime +In still repeated circles, screaming loud, +The jay, the pie, and even the boding owl +That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. +Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, +Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, +And only there, please highly for their sake. + +Peace to the artist, whose ingenious thought +Devised the weather-house, that useful toy! +Fearless of humid air and gathering rains +Forth steps the man--an emblem of myself! +More delicate his timorous mate retires. +When Winter soaks the fields, and female feet, +Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay, +Or ford the rivulets, are best at home, +The task of new discoveries falls on me. +At such a season and with such a charge +Once went I forth, and found, till then unknown, +A cottage, whither oft we since repair: +'Tis perched upon the green hill-top, but close +Environed with a ring of branching elms +That overhang the thatch, itself unseen +Peeps at the vale below; so thick beset +With foliage of such dark redundant growth, +I called the low-roofed lodge the PEASANT'S NEST. +And hidden as it is, and far remote +From such unpleasing sounds as haunt the ear +In village or in town, the bay of curs +Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels, +And infants clamorous whether pleased or pained, +Oft have I wished the peaceful covert mine. +Here, I have said, at least I should possess +The poet's treasure, silence, and indulge +The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure. +Vain thought! the dweller in that still retreat +Dearly obtains the refuge it affords. +Its elevated site forbids the wretch +To drink sweet waters of the crystal well; +He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch, +And heavy-laden brings his beverage home, +Far-fetched and little worth: nor seldom waits +Dependent on the baker's punctual call, +To hear his creaking panniers at the door, +Angry and sad and his last crust consumed. +So farewell envy of the PEASANT'S NEST. +If solitude make scant the means of life, +Society for me! Thou seeming sweet, +Be still a pleasing object in my view, +My visit still, but never mine abode. + +Not distant far, a length of colonnade +Invites us; monument of ancient taste, +Now scorned, but worthy of a better fate. +Our fathers knew the value of a screen +From sultry suns, and, in their shaded walks +And long-protracted bowers, enjoyed at noon +The gloom and coolness of declining day. +We bear our shades about us; self-deprived +Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, +And range an Indian waste without a tree. +Thanks to Benevolus--he spares me yet +These chestnuts ranged in corresponding lines, +And, though himself so polished, still reprieves +The obsolete prolixity of shade. + +Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) +A sudden steep, upon a rustic bridge +We pass a gulf, in which the willows dip +Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink. +Hence ankle-deep in moss and flowery thyme +We mount again, and feel at every step +Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft, +Raised by the mole, the miner of the soil. +He, not unlike the great ones of mankind, +Disfigures earth, and plotting in the dark +Toils much to earn a monumental pile, +That may record the mischiefs he has done. + +The summit gained, behold the proud alcove +That crowns it! yet not all its pride secures +The grand retreat from injuries impressed +By rural carvers, who with knives deface +The panels, leaving an obscure rude name +In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss. +So strong the zeal to immortalise himself +Beats in the breast of man, that even a few +Few transient years, won from the abyss abhorred +Of blank oblivion, seem a glorious prize, +And even to a clown. Now roves the eye, +And posted on this speculative height +Exults in its command. The sheepfold here +Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe. +At first, progressive as a stream, they seek +The middle field; but scattered by degrees, +Each to his choice, soon whiten all the land. +There, from the sunburnt hay-field homeward creeps +The loaded wain; while, lightened of its charge, +The wain that meets it passes swiftly by, +The boorish driver leaning o'er his team, +Vociferous, and impatient of delay. +Nor less attractive is the woodland scene +Diversified with trees of every growth, +Alike yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks +Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine, +Within the twilight of their distant shades; +There, lost behind a rising ground, the wood +Seems sunk, and shortened to its topmost boughs. +No tree in all the grove but has its charms, +Though each its hue peculiar; paler some, +And of a wannish gray; the willow such, +And poplar that with silver lines his leaf, +And ash far-stretching his umbrageous arm; +Of deeper green the elm; and deeper still, +Lord of the woods, the long-surviving oak. +Some glossy-leaved and shining in the sun, +The maple, and the beech of oily nuts +Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve +Diffusing odours; nor unnoted pass +The sycamore, capricious in attire, +Now green, now tawny, and ere autumn yet +Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours bright. +O'er these, but far beyond (a spacious map +Of hill and valley interposed between), +The Ouse, dividing the well-watered land, +Now glitters in the sun, and now retires, +As bashful, yet impatient to be seen. + +Hence the declivity is sharp and short, +And such the re-ascent; between them weeps +A little Naiad her impoverished urn, +All summer long, which winter fills again. +The folded gates would bar my progress now, +But that the lord of this enclosed demesne, +Communicative of the good he owns, +Admits me to a share: the guiltless eye +Commits no wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys. +Refreshing change! where now the blazing sun? +By short transition we have lost his glare, +And stepped at once into a cooler clime. +Ye fallen avenues! once more I mourn +Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice +That yet a remnant of your race survives. +How airy and how light the graceful arch, +Yet awful as the consecrated roof +Re-echoing pious anthems! while beneath, +The chequered earth seems restless as a flood +Brushed by the wind. So sportive is the light +Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance, +Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick, +And darkening and enlightening, as the leaves +Play wanton, every moment, every spot. + +And now, with nerves new-braced and spirits cheered, +We tread the wilderness, whose well-rolled walks, +With curvature of slow and easy sweep-- +Deception innocent--give ample space +To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next; +Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms +We may discern the thresher at his task. +Thump after thump resounds the constant flail, +That seems to swing uncertain and yet falls +Full on the destined ear. Wide flies the chaff, +The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist +Of atoms, sparkling in the noonday beam. +Come hither, ye that press your beds of down +And sleep not: see him sweating o'er his bread +Before he eats it.--'Tis the primal curse, +But softened into mercy; made the pledge +Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan. + +By ceaseless action, all that is subsists. +Constant rotation of the unwearied wheel +That Nature rides upon, maintains her health, +Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads +An instant's pause, and lives but while she moves. +Its own revolvency upholds the world. +Winds from all quarters agitate the air, +And fit the limpid element for use, +Else noxious: oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams +All feel the freshening impulse, and are cleansed +By restless undulation: even the oak +Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm: +He seems indeed indignant, and to feel +The impression of the blast with proud disdain, +Frowning as if in his unconscious arm +He held the thunder. But the monarch owes +His firm stability to what he scorns, +More fixed below, the more disturbed above. +The law, by which all creatures else are bound, +Binds man the lord of all. Himself derives +No mean advantage from a kindred cause, +From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease. +The sedentary stretch their lazy length +When custom bids, but no refreshment find, +For none they need: the languid eye, the cheek +Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk, +And withered muscle, and the vapid soul, +Reproach their owner with that love of rest +To which he forfeits even the rest he loves. +Not such the alert and active. Measure life +By its true worth, the comforts it affords, +And theirs alone seems worthy of the name +Good health, and, its associate in the most, +Good temper; spirits prompt to undertake, +And not soon spent, though in an arduous task; +The powers of fancy and strong thought are theirs; +Even age itself seems privileged in them +With clear exemption from its own defects. +A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front +The veteran shows, and gracing a gray beard +With youthful smiles, descends towards the grave +Sprightly, and old almost without decay. + +Like a coy maiden, Ease, when courted most, +Farthest retires--an idol, at whose shrine +Who oftenest sacrifice are favoured least. +The love of Nature and the scene she draws +Is Nature's dictate. Strange, there should be found +Who, self-imprisoned in their proud saloons, +Renounce the odours of the open field +For the unscented fictions of the loom; +Who, satisfied with only pencilled scenes, +Prefer to the performance of a God +The inferior wonders of an artist's hand. +Lovely indeed the mimic works of Art, +But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire, +None more admires, the painter's magic skill, +Who shows me that which I shall never see, +Conveys a distant country into mine, +And throws Italian light on English walls. +But imitative strokes can do no more +Than please the eye, sweet Nature every sense. +The air salubrious of her lofty hills, +The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales, +And music of her woods--no works of man +May rival these; these all bespeak a power +Peculiar, and exclusively her own. +Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast; +'Tis free to all--'tis ev'ry day renewed, +Who scorns it, starves deservedly at home. +He does not scorn it, who, imprisoned long +In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey +To sallow sickness, which the vapours dank +And clammy of his dark abode have bred +Escapes at last to liberty and light; +His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue, +His eye relumines its extinguished fires, +He walks, he leaps, he runs--is winged with joy, +And riots in the sweets of every breeze. +He does not scorn it, who has long endured +A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs. +Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflamed +With acrid salts; his very heart athirst +To gaze at Nature in her green array. +Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possessed +With visions prompted by intense desire; +Fair fields appear below, such as he left +Far distant, such as he would die to find-- +He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. + +The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns; +The lowering eye, the petulance, the frown, +And sullen sadness that o'ershade, distort, +And mar the face of beauty, when no cause +For such immeasurable woe appears, +These Flora banishes, and gives the fair +Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own. +It is the constant revolution, stale +And tasteless, of the same repeated joys +That palls and satiates, and makes languid life +A pedlar's pack that bows the bearer down. +Health suffers, and the spirits ebb; the heart +Recoils from its own choice--at the full feast +Is famished--finds no music in the song, +No smartness in the jest, and wonders why. +Yet thousands still desire to journey on, +Though halt and weary of the path they tread. +The paralytic, who can hold her cards +But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand +To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort +Her mingled suits and sequences, and sits +Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad +And silent cipher, while her proxy plays. +Others are dragged into the crowded room +Between supporters; and once seated, sit +Through downright inability to rise, +Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again. +These speak a loud memento. Yet even these +Themselves love life, and cling to it as he, +That overhangs a torrent, to a twig. +They love it, and yet loathe it; fear to die, +Yet scorn the purposes for which they live. +Then wherefore not renounce them? No--the dread, +The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds +Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame, +And their inveterate habits, all forbid. + +Whom call we gay? That honour has been long +The boast of mere pretenders to the name. +The innocent are gay--the lark is gay, +That dries his feathers saturate with dew +Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams +Of day-spring overshoot his humble nest. +The peasant too, a witness of his song, +Himself a songster, is as gay as he. +But save me from the gaiety of those +Whose headaches nail them to a noonday bed; +And save me, too, from theirs whose haggard eyes +Flash desperation, and betray their pangs +For property stripped off by cruel chance; +From gaiety that fills the bones with pain, +The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe. + +The earth was made so various, that the mind +Of desultory man, studious of change, +And pleased with novelty, might be indulged. +Prospects however lovely may be seen +Till half their beauties fade; the weary sight, +Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides off +Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes. +Then snug enclosures in the sheltered vale, +Where frequent hedges intercept the eye, +Delight us, happy to renounce a while, +Not senseless of its charms, what still we love, +That such short absence may endear it more. +Then forests, or the savage rock may please, +That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts +Above the reach of man: his hoary head +Conspicuous many a league, the mariner, +Bound homeward, and in hope already there, +Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist +A girdle of half-withered shrubs he shows, +And at his feet the baffled billows die. +The common overgrown with fern, and rough +With prickly gorse, that, shapeless and deformed +And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom, +And decks itself with ornaments of gold, +Yields no unpleasing ramble; there the turf +Smells fresh, and, rich in odoriferous herbs +And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense +With luxury of unexpected sweets. + +There often wanders one, whom better days +Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimmed +With lace, and hat with splendid ribbon bound. +A serving-maid was she, and fell in love +With one who left her, went to sea and died. +Her fancy followed him through foaming waves +To distant shores, and she would sit and weep +At what a sailor suffers; fancy too, +Delusive most where warmest wishes are, +Would oft anticipate his glad return, +And dream of transports she was not to know. +She heard the doleful tidings of his death, +And never smiled again. And now she roams +The dreary waste; there spends the livelong day, +And there, unless when charity forbids, +The livelong night. A tattered apron hides, +Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown +More tattered still; and both but ill conceal +A bosom heaved with never-ceasing sighs. +She begs an idle pin of all she meets, +And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food, +Though pressed with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, +Though pinched with cold, asks never.--Kate is crazed! + +I see a column of slow-rising smoke +O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild. +A vagabond and useless tribe there eat +Their miserable meal. A kettle slung +Between two poles upon a stick transverse, +Receives the morsel; flesh obscene of dog, +Or vermin, or, at best, of cock purloined +From his accustomed perch. Hard-faring race! +They pick their fuel out of every hedge, +Which, kindled with dry leaves, just saves unquenched +The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide +Their fluttering rags, and shows a tawny skin, +The vellum of the pedigree they claim. +Great skill have they in palmistry, and more +To conjure clean away the gold they touch, +Conveying worthless dross into its place; +Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. +Strange! that a creature rational, and cast +In human mould, should brutalise by choice +His nature, and, though capable of arts +By which the world might profit and himself, +Self-banished from society, prefer +Such squalid sloth to honourable toil. +Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft +They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, +And vex their flesh with artificial sores, +Can change their whine into a mirthful note +When safe occasion offers, and with dance, +And music of the bladder and the bag, +Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. +Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy +The houseless rovers of the sylvan world; +And breathing wholesome air, and wandering much, +Need other physic none to heal the effects +Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold. + +Blest he, though undistinguished from the crowd +By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure +Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside +His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn +The manners and the arts of civil life. +His wants, indeed, are many; but supply +Is obvious; placed within the easy reach +Of temperate wishes and industrious hands. +Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil; +Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns, +And terrible to sight, as when she springs +(If e'er she spring spontaneous) in remote +And barbarous climes, where violence prevails, +And strength is lord of all; but gentle, kind, +By culture tamed, by liberty refreshed, +And all her fruits by radiant truth matured. +War and the chase engross the savage whole; +War followed for revenge, or to supplant +The envied tenants of some happier spot; +The chase for sustenance, precarious trust! +His hard condition with severe constraint +Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth +Of wisdom, proves a school in which he learns +Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate, +Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside. +Thus fare the shivering natives of the north, +And thus the rangers of the western world, +Where it advances far into the deep, +Towards the Antarctic. Even the favoured isles +So lately found, although the constant sun +Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile, +Can boast but little virtue; and inert +Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain +In manners, victims of luxurious ease. +These therefore I can pity, placed remote +From all that science traces, art invents, +Or inspiration teaches; and enclosed +In boundless oceans, never to be passed +By navigators uninformed as they, +Or ploughed perhaps by British bark again. +But far beyond the rest, and with most cause, +Thee, gentle savage! whom no love of thee +Or thine, but curiosity perhaps, +Or else vain-glory, prompted us to draw +Forth from thy native bowers, to show thee here +With what superior skill we can abuse +The gifts of Providence, and squander life. +The dream is past. And thou hast found again +Thy cocoas and bananas, palms, and yams, +And homestall thatched with leaves. But hast thou found +Their former charms? And, having seen our state, +Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp +Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports, +And heard our music; are thy simple friends, +Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights +As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys +Lost nothing by comparison with ours? +Rude as thou art (for we returned thee rude +And ignorant, except of outward show), +I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart +And spiritless, as never to regret +Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. +Methinks I see thee straying on the beach, +And asking of the surge that bathes the foot +If ever it has washed our distant shore. +I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, +A patriot's for his country. Thou art sad +At thought of her forlorn and abject state, +From which no power of thine can raise her up. +Thus fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err, +Perhaps errs little when she paints thee thus. +She tells me too that duly every morn +Thou climb'st the mountain-top, with eager eye +Exploring far and wide the watery waste, +For sight of ship from England. Every speck +Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale +With conflict of contending hopes and fears. +But comes at last the dull and dusky eve, +And sends thee to thy cabin, well prepared +To dream all night of what the day denied. +Alas, expect it not. We found no bait +To tempt us in thy country. Doing good, +Disinterested good, is not our trade. +We travel far, 'tis true, but not for naught; +And must be bribed to compass earth again +By other hopes, and richer fruits than yours. + +But though true worth and virtue, in the mild +And genial soil of cultivated life +Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, +Yet not in cities oft. In proud and gay +And gain-devoted cities, thither flow, +As to a common and most noisome sewer, +The dregs and feculence of every land. +In cities, foul example on most minds +Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds +In gross and pampered cities sloth and lust, +And wantonness and gluttonous excess. +In cities, vice is hidden with most ease, +Or seen with least reproach; and virtue, taught +By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there, +Beyond the achievement of successful flight. +I do confess them nurseries of the arts, +In which they flourish most; where, in the beams +Of warm encouragement, and in the eye +Of public note, they reach their perfect size. +Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaimed +The fairest capital in all the world, +By riot and incontinence the worst. +There, touched by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes +A lucid mirror, in which nature sees +All her reflected features. Bacon there +Gives more than female beauty to a stone, +And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips. +Nor does the chisel occupy alone +The powers of sculpture, but the style as much; +Each province of her art her equal care. +With nice incision of her guided steel +She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil +So sterile with what charms soe'er she will, +The richest scenery and the loveliest forms. +Where finds philosophy her eagle eye, +With which she gazes at yon burning disk +Undazzled, and detects and counts his spots? +In London. Where her implements exact, +With which she calculates, computes, and scans +All distance, motion, magnitude, and now +Measures an atom, and now girds a world? +In London. Where has commerce such a mart, +So rich, so thronged, so drained, and so supplied, +As London, opulent, enlarged, and still +Increasing London? Babylon of old +Not more the glory of the earth, than she +A more accomplished world's chief glory now. + +She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two +That so much beauty would do well to purge; +And show this queen of cities, that so fair +May yet be foul; so witty, yet not wise. +It is not seemly, nor of good report, +That she is slack in discipline; more prompt +To avenge than to prevent the breach of law: +That she is rigid in denouncing death +On petty robbers, and indulges life +And liberty, and ofttimes honour too, +To peculators of the public gold: +That thieves at home must hang; but he, that puts +Into his overgorged and bloated purse +The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes. +Nor is it well, nor can it come to good, +That through profane and infidel contempt +Of holy writ, she has presumed to annul +And abrogate, as roundly as she may, +The total ordinance and will of God; +Advancing fashion to the post of truth, +And centring all authority in modes +And customs of her own, till Sabbath rites +Have dwindled into unrespected forms, +And knees and hassocks are wellnigh divorced. + +God made the country, and man made the town. +What wonder, then, that health and virtue, gifts +That can alone make sweet the bitter draught +That life holds out to all, should most abound +And least be threatened in the fields and groves? +Possess ye therefore, ye who, borne about +In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue +But that of idleness, and taste no scenes +But such as art contrives, possess ye still +Your element; there only ye can shine, +There only minds like yours can do no harm. +Our groves were planted to console at noon +The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve +The moonbeam, sliding softly in between +The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, +Birds warbling all the music. We can spare +The splendour of your lamps, they but eclipse +Our softer satellite. Your songs confound +Our more harmonious notes. The thrush departs +Scared, and the offended nightingale is mute. +There is a public mischief in your mirth; +It plagues your country. Folly such as yours, +Graced with a sword, and worthier of a fan, +Has made, which enemies could ne'er have done, +Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you, +A mutilated structure, soon to fall. + + + +BOOK II. + +THE TIMEPIECE. + +Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness, +Some boundless contiguity of shade, +Where rumour of oppression and deceit, +Of unsuccessful or successful war, +Might never reach me more! My ear is pained, +My soul is sick with every day's report +Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled. +There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart, +It does not feel for man. The natural bond +Of brotherhood is severed as the flax +That falls asunder at the touch of fire. +He finds his fellow guilty of a skin +Not coloured like his own, and having power +To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause +Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. +Lands intersected by a narrow frith +Abhor each other. Mountains interposed +Make enemies of nations, who had else +Like kindred drops been mingled into one. +Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys; +And worse than all, and most to be deplored, +As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, +Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat +With stripes, that mercy, with a bleeding heart, +Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. +Then what is man? And what man, seeing this, +And having human feelings, does not blush +And hang his head, to think himself a man? +I would not have a slave to till my ground, +To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, +And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth +That sinews bought and sold have ever earned. +No: dear as freedom is, and in my heart's +Just estimation prized above all price, +I had much rather be myself the slave +And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. +We have no slaves at home--then why abroad? +And they themselves, once ferried o'er the wave +That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. +Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs +Receive our air, that moment they are free, +They touch our country and their shackles fall. +That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud +And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, +And let it circulate through every vein +Of all your empire; that where Britain's power +Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. + +Sure there is need of social intercourse, +Benevolence and peace and mutual aid, +Between the nations, in a world that seems +To toll the death-bell to its own decease; +And by the voice of all its elements +To preach the general doom. When were the winds +Let slip with such a warrant to destroy? +When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap +Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry? +Fires from beneath and meteors from above, +Portentous, unexampled, unexplained, +Have kindled beacons in the skies, and the old +And crazy earth has had her shaking fits +More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. +Is it a time to wrangle, when the props +And pillars of our planet seem to fail, +And nature with a dim and sickly eye +To wait the close of all? But grant her end +More distant, and that prophecy demands +A longer respite, unaccomplished yet; +Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak +Displeasure in His breast who smites the earth +Or heals it, makes it languish or rejoice. +And 'tis but seemly, that, where all deserve +And stand exposed by common peccancy +To what no few have felt, there should be peace, +And brethren in calamity should love. + +Alas for Sicily, rude fragments now +Lie scattered where the shapely column stood. +Her palaces are dust. In all her streets +The voice of singing and the sprightly chord +Are silent. Revelry and dance and show +Suffer a syncope and solemn pause, +While God performs, upon the trembling stage +Of His own works, His dreadful part alone. +How does the earth receive Him?--With what signs +Of gratulation and delight, her King? +Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad, +Her sweetest flowers, her aromatic gums, +Disclosing paradise where'er He treads? +She quakes at His approach. Her hollow womb, +Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps +And fiery caverns roars beneath His foot. +The hills move lightly and the mountains smoke, +For He has touched them. From the extremest point +Of elevation down into the abyss, +His wrath is busy and His frown is felt. +The rocks fall headlong and the valleys rise, +The rivers die into offensive pools, +And, charged with putrid verdure, breathe a gross +And mortal nuisance into all the air. +What solid was, by transformation strange +Grows fluid, and the fixed and rooted earth +Tormented into billows, heaves and swells, +Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl +Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense +The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs +And agonies of human and of brute +Multitudes, fugitive on every side, +And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene +Migrates uplifted, and, with all its soil +Alighting in far-distant fields, finds out +A new possessor, and survives the change. +Ocean has caught the frenzy, and upwrought +To an enormous and o'erbearing height, +Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice +Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore +Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, +Upridged so high, and sent on such a charge, +Possessed an inland scene. Where now the throng +That pressed the beach and hasty to depart +Looked to the sea for safety? They are gone, +Gone with the refluent wave into the deep, +A prince with half his people. Ancient towers, +And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes +Where beauty oft and lettered worth consume +Life in the unproductive shades of death, +Fall prone: the pale inhabitants come forth, +And, happy in their unforeseen release +From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy +The terrors of the day that sets them free. +Who then, that has thee, would not hold thee fast, +Freedom! whom they that lose thee so regret, +That even a judgment, making way for thee, +Seems in their eyes a mercy, for thy sake. + +Such evil sin hath wrought; and such a flame +Kindled in heaven, that it burns down to earth, +And, in the furious inquest that it makes +On God's behalf, lays waste His fairest works. +The very elements, though each be meant +The minister of man to serve his wants, +Conspire against him. With his breath he draws +A plague into his blood; and cannot use +Life's necessary means, but he must die. +Storms rise to o'erwhelm him: or, if stormy winds +Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise, +And, needing none assistance of the storm, +Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there. +The earth shall shake him out of all his holds, +Or make his house his grave; nor so content, +Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood, +And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs. +What then--were they the wicked above all, +And we the righteous, whose fast-anchored isle +Moved not, while theirs was rocked like a light skiff, +The sport of every wave? No: none are clear, +And none than we more guilty. But where all +Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts +Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose His mark, +May punish, if He please, the less, to warn +The more malignant. If He spared not them, +Tremble and be amazed at thine escape, +Far guiltier England, lest He spare not thee! + +Happy the man who sees a God employed +In all the good and ill that chequer life! +Resolving all events, with their effects +And manifold results, into the will +And arbitration wise of the Supreme. +Did not His eye rule all things, and intend +The least of our concerns (since from the least +The greatest oft originate), could chance +Find place in His dominion, or dispose +One lawless particle to thwart His plan, +Then God might be surprised, and unforeseen +Contingence might alarm Him, and disturb +The smooth and equal course of His affairs. +This truth, philosophy, though eagle-eyed +In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks; +And, having found His instrument, forgets +Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still, +Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims +His hot displeasure against foolish men +That live an Atheist life: involves the heaven +In tempests, quits His grasp upon the winds +And gives them all their fury; bids a plague +Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin, +And putrefy the breath of blooming health. +He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend +Blows mildew from between his shrivelled lips, +And taints the golden ear. He springs His mines, +And desolates a nation at a blast. +Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells +Of homogeneal and discordant springs +And principles; of causes how they work +By necessary laws their sure effects; +Of action and reaction. He has found +The source of the disease that nature feels, +And bids the world take heart and banish fear. +Thou fool! will thy discovery of the cause +Suspend the effect, or heal it? Has not God +Still wrought by means since first He made the world, +And did He not of old employ His means +To drown it? What is His creation less +Than a capacious reservoir of means +Formed for His use, and ready at His will? +Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve, ask of Him, +Or ask of whomsoever He has taught, +And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. + +England, with all thy faults, I love thee still-- +My country! and while yet a nook is left, +Where English minds and manners may be found, +Shall be constrained to love thee. Though thy clime +Be fickle, and thy year most part deformed +With dripping rains, or withered by a frost, +I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies +And fields without a flower, for warmer France +With all her vines; nor for Ausonia's groves +Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers. +To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime +Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire +Upon thy foes, was never meant my task; +But I can feel thy fortune, and partake +Thy joys and sorrows with as true a heart +As any thunderer there. And I can feel +Thy follies too, and with a just disdain +Frown at effeminates, whose very looks +Reflect dishonour on the land I love. +How, in the name of soldiership and sense, +Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth +And tender as a girl, all essenced o'er +With odours, and as profligate as sweet, +Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath, +And love when they should fight; when such as these +Presume to lay their hand upon the ark +Of her magnificent and awful cause? +Time was when it was praise and boast enough +In every clime, and travel where we might, +That we were born her children. Praise enough +To fill the ambition of a private man, +That Chatham's language was his mother tongue, +And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. +Farewell those honours, and farewell with them +The hope of such hereafter. They have fallen +Each in his field of glory; one in arms, +And one in council;--Wolfe upon the lap +Of smiling victory that moment won, +And Chatham, heart-sick of his country's shame. +They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still +Consulting England's happiness at home, +Secured it by an unforgiving frown +If any wronged her. Wolfe, where'er he fought, +Put so much of his heart into his act, +That his example had a magnet's force, +And all were swift to follow whom all loved. +Those suns are set. Oh, rise some other such! +Or all that we have left is empty talk +Of old achievements, and despair of new. + +Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float +Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck +With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets, +That no rude savour maritime invade +The nose of nice nobility. Breathe soft, +Ye clarionets, and softer still, ye flutes, +That winds and waters lulled by magic sounds +May bear us smoothly to the Gallic shore. +True, we have lost an empire--let it pass. +True, we may thank the perfidy of France +That picked the jewel out of England's crown, +With all the cunning of an envious shrew. +And let that pass--'twas but a trick of state. +A brave man knows no malice, but at once +Forgets in peace the injuries of war, +And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace. +And shamed as we have been, to the very beard +Braved and defied, and in our own sea proved +Too weak for those decisive blows that once +Insured us mastery there, we yet retain +Some small pre-eminence, we justly boast +At least superior jockeyship, and claim +The honours of the turf as all our own. +Go then, well worthy of the praise ye seek, +And show the shame ye might conceal at home, +In foreign eyes!--be grooms, and win the plate, +Where once your nobler fathers won a crown!-- +'Tis generous to communicate your skill +To those that need it. Folly is soon learned, +And, under such preceptors, who can fail? + +There is a pleasure in poetic pains +Which only poets know. The shifts and turns, +The expedients and inventions multiform +To which the mind resorts, in chase of terms +Though apt, yet coy, and difficult to win-- +To arrest the fleeting images that fill +The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast, +And force them sit, till he has pencilled off +A faithful likeness of the forms he views; +Then to dispose his copies with such art +That each may find its most propitious light, +And shine by situation, hardly less +Than by the labour and the skill it cost, +Are occupations of the poet's mind +So pleasing, and that steal away the thought +With such address from themes of sad import, +That, lost in his own musings, happy man! +He feels the anxieties of life, denied +Their wonted entertainment, all retire. +Such joys has he that sings. But ah! not such, +Or seldom such, the hearers of his song. +Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps +Aware of nothing arduous in a task +They never undertook, they little note +His dangers or escapes, and haply find +There least amusement where he found the most. +But is amusement all? studious of song +And yet ambitious not to sing in vain, +I would not trifle merely, though the world +Be loudest in their praise who do no more. +Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay? +It may correct a foible, may chastise +The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress, +Retrench a sword-blade, or displace a patch; +But where are its sublimer trophies found? +What vice has it subdued? whose heart reclaimed +By rigour, or whom laughed into reform? +Alas, Leviathan is not so tamed. +Laughed at, he laughs again; and, stricken hard, +Turns to the stroke his adamantine scales, +That fear no discipline of human hands. + +The pulpit therefore--and I name it, filled +With solemn awe, that bids me well beware +With what intent I touch that holy thing-- +The pulpit, when the satirist has at last, +Strutting and vapouring in an empty school, +Spent all his force, and made no proselyte-- +I say the pulpit, in the sober use +Of its legitimate peculiar powers, +Must stand acknowledged, while the world shall stand, +The most important and effectual guard, +Support, and ornament of virtue's cause. +There stands the messenger of truth; there stands +The legate of the skies; his theme divine, +His office sacred, his credentials clear. +By him, the violated Law speaks out +Its thunders, and by him, in strains as sweet +As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace. +He stablishes the strong, restores the weak, +Reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart, +And, armed himself in panoply complete +Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms +Bright as his own, and trains, by every rule +Of holy discipline, to glorious war, +The sacramental host of God's elect. +Are all such teachers? would to heaven all were! +But hark--the Doctor's voice--fast wedged between +Two empirics he stands, and with swollen cheeks +Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far +Than all invective is his bold harangue, +While through that public organ of report +He hails the clergy, and, defying shame, +Announces to the world his own and theirs, +He teaches those to read whom schools dismissed, +And colleges, untaught; sells accents, tone, +And emphasis in score, and gives to prayer +The adagio and andante it demands. +He grinds divinity of other days +Down into modern use; transforms old print +To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes +Of gallery critics by a thousand arts.-- +Are there who purchase of the Doctor's ware? +Oh name it not in Gath!--it cannot be, +That grave and learned Clerks should need such aid. +He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll, +Assuming thus a rank unknown before, +Grand caterer and dry-nurse of the Church. + +I venerate the man whose heart is warm, +Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life, +Coincident, exhibit lucid proof +That he is honest in the sacred cause. +To such I render more than mere respect, +Whose actions say that they respect themselves. +But, loose in morals, and in manners vain, +In conversation frivolous, in dress +Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse, +Frequent in park with lady at his side, +Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes, +But rare at home, and never at his books +Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card; +Constant at routs, familiar with a round +Of ladyships, a stranger to the poor; +Ambitions of preferment for its gold, +And well prepared by ignorance and sloth, +By infidelity and love o' the world, +To make God's work a sinecure; a slave +To his own pleasures and his patron's pride.-- +From such apostles, O ye mitred heads, +Preserve the Church! and lay not careless hands +On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn. + +Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, +Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own, +Paul should himself direct me. I would trace +His master-strokes, and draw from his design. +I would express him simple, grave, sincere; +In doctrine uncorrupt; in language plain, +And plain in manner; decent, solemn, chaste, +And natural in gesture; much impressed +Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, +And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds +May feel it too; affectionate in look +And tender in address, as well becomes +A messenger of grace to guilty men. +Behold the picture!--Is it like?--Like whom? +The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, +And then skip down again; pronounce a text, +Cry--Hem; and reading what they never wrote, +Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, +And with a well-bred whisper close the scene. + +In man or woman, but far most in man, +And most of all in man that ministers +And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe +All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn; +Object of my implacable disgust. +What!--will a man play tricks, will he indulge +A silly fond conceit of his fair form +And just proportion, fashionable mien, +And pretty face, in presence of his God? +Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes, +As with the diamond on his lily hand, +And play his brilliant parts before my eyes, +When I am hungry for the Bread of Life? +He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames +His noble office, and, instead of truth, +Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock! +Therefore, avaunt, all attitude and stare +And start theatric, practised at the glass. +I seek divine simplicity in him +Who handles things divine; and all beside, +Though learned with labour, and though much admired +By curious eyes and judgments ill-informed, +To me is odious as the nasal twang +Heard at conventicle, where worthy men, +Misled by custom, strain celestial themes +Through the prest nostril, spectacle-bestrid. +Some, decent in demeanour while they preach, +That task performed, relapse into themselves, +And having spoken wisely, at the close +Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye-- +Whoe'er was edified themselves were not. +Forth comes the pocket mirror. First we stroke +An eyebrow; next compose a straggling lock; +Then with an air, most gracefully performed, +Fall back into our seat; extend an arm, +And lay it at its ease with gentle care, +With handkerchief in hand, depending low: +The better hand, more busy, gives the nose +Its bergamot, or aids the indebted eye +With opera glass to watch the moving scene, +And recognise the slow-retiring fair. +Now this is fulsome, and offends me more +Than in a Churchman slovenly neglect +And rustic coarseness would. A heavenly mind +May be indifferent to her house of clay, +And slight the hovel as beneath her care. +But how a body so fantastic, trim, +And quaint in its deportment and attire, +Can lodge a heavenly mind--demands a doubt. + +He that negotiates between God and man, +As God's ambassador, the grand concerns +Of judgment and of mercy, should beware +Of lightness in his speech. 'Tis pitiful +To court a grin, when you should woo a soul; +To break a jest, when pity would inspire +Pathetic exhortation; and to address +The skittish fancy with facetious tales, +When sent with God's commission to the heart. +So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip +Or merry turn in all he ever wrote, +And I consent you take it for your text, +Your only one, till sides and benches fail. +No: he was serious in a serious cause, +And understood too well the weighty terms +That he had ta'en in charge. He would not stoop +To conquer those by jocular exploits, +Whom truth and soberness assailed in vain. + +Oh, popular applause! what heart of man +Is proof against thy sweet seducing charms? +The wisest and the best feel urgent need +Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales; +But swelled into a gust--who then, alas! +With all his canvas set, and inexpert, +And therefore heedless, can withstand thy power? +Praise from the riveled lips of toothless, bald +Decrepitude, and in the looks of lean +And craving poverty, and in the bow +Respectful of the smutched artificer, +Is oft too welcome, and may much disturb +The bias of the purpose. How much more, +Poured forth by beauty splendid and polite, +In language soft as adoration breathes? +Ah, spare your idol! think him human still; +Charms he may have, but he has frailties too; +Dote not too much, nor spoil what ye admire. + +All truth is from the sempiternal source +Of light divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome +Drew from the stream below. More favoured, we +Drink, when we choose it, at the fountain head. +To them it flowed much mingled and defiled +With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams +Illusive of philosophy, so called, +But falsely. Sages after sages strove, +In vain, to filter off a crystal draught +Pure from the lees, which often more enhanced +The thirst than slaked it, and not seldom bred +Intoxication and delirium wild. +In vain they pushed inquiry to the birth +And spring-time of the world; asked, Whence is man? +Why formed at all? and wherefore as he is? +Where must he find his Maker? With what rites +Adore Him? Will He hear, accept, and bless? +Or does He sit regardless of His works? +Has man within him an immortal seed? +Or does the tomb take all? If he survive +His ashes, where? and in what weal or woe? +Knots worthy of solution, which alone +A Deity could solve. Their answers vague, +And all at random, fabulous and dark, +Left them as dark themselves. Their rules of life, +Defective and unsanctioned, proved too weak +To bind the roving appetite, and lead +Blind nature to a God not yet revealed. +'Tis Revelation satisfies all doubts, +Explains all mysteries, except her own, +And so illuminates the path of life, +That fools discover it, and stray no more. +Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir, +My man of morals, nurtured in the shades +Of Academus, is this false or true? +Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools? +If Christ, then why resort at every turn +To Athens or to Rome for wisdom short +Of man's occasions, when in Him reside +Grace, knowledge, comfort, an unfathomed store? +How oft when Paul has served us with a text, +Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preached! +Men that, if now alive, would sit content +And humble learners of a Saviour's worth, +Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth, +Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too. + +And thus it is. The pastor, either vain +By nature, or by flattery made so, taught +To gaze at his own splendour, and to exalt +Absurdly, not his office, but himself; +Or unenlightened, and too proud to learn, +Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach, +Perverting often, by the stress of lewd +And loose example, whom he should instruct, +Exposes and holds up to broad disgrace +The noblest function, and discredits much +The brightest truths that man has ever seen. +For ghostly counsel, if it either fall +Below the exigence, or be not backed +With show of love, at least with hopeful proof +Of some sincerity on the giver's part; +Or be dishonoured in the exterior form +And mode of its conveyance, by such tricks +As move derision, or by foppish airs +And histrionic mummery, that let down +The pulpit to the level of the stage; +Drops from the lips a disregarded thing. +The weak perhaps are moved, but are not taught, +While prejudice in men of stronger minds +Takes deeper root, confirmed by what they see. +A relaxation of religion's hold +Upon the roving and untutored heart +Soon follows, and the curb of conscience snapt, +The laity run wild.--But do they now? +Note their extravagance, and be convinced. + +As nations, ignorant of God, contrive +A wooden one, so we, no longer taught +By monitors that Mother Church supplies, +Now make our own. Posterity will ask +(If e'er posterity sees verse of mine), +Some fifty or a hundred lustrums hence, +What was a monitor in George's days? +My very gentle reader, yet unborn, +Of whom I needs must augur better things, +Since Heaven would sure grow weary of a world +Productive only of a race like us, +A monitor is wood--plank shaven thin. +We wear it at our backs. There, closely braced +And neatly fitted, it compresses hard +The prominent and most unsightly bones, +And binds the shoulders flat. We prove its use +Sovereign and most effectual to secure +A form, not now gymnastic as of yore, +From rickets and distortion, else, our lot. +But thus admonished we can walk erect, +One proof at least of manhood; while the friend +Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his charge. +Our habits costlier than Lucullus wore, +And, by caprice as multiplied as his, +Just please us while the fashion is at full, +But change with every moon. The sycophant, +That waits to dress us, arbitrates their date, +Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye; +Finds one ill made, another obsolete, +This fits not nicely, that is ill conceived; +And, making prize of all that he condemns, +With our expenditure defrays his own. +Variety's the very spice of life, +That gives it all its flavour. We have run +Through every change that fancy, at the loom +Exhausted, has had genius to supply, +And, studious of mutation still, discard +A real elegance, a little used, +For monstrous novelty and strange disguise. +We sacrifice to dress, till household joys +And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, +And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires, +And introduces hunger, frost, and woe, +Where peace and hospitality might reign. +What man that lives, and that knows how to live, +Would fail to exhibit at the public shows +A form as splendid as the proudest there, +Though appetite raise outcries at the cost? +A man o' the town dines late, but soon enough, +With reasonable forecast and despatch, +To ensure a side-box station at half-price. +You think, perhaps, so delicate his dress, +His daily fare as delicate. Alas! +He picks clean teeth, and, busy as he seems +With an old tavern quill, is hungry yet. +The rout is folly's circle which she draws +With magic wand. So potent is the spell, +That none decoyed into that fatal ring, +Unless by Heaven's peculiar grace, escape. +There we grow early gray, but never wise; +There form connections, and acquire no friend; +Solicit pleasure hopeless of success; +Waste youth in occupations only fit +For second childhood, and devote old age +To sports which only childhood could excuse. +There they are happiest who dissemble best +Their weariness; and they the most polite, +Who squander time and treasure with a smile, +Though at their own destruction. She that asks +Her dear five hundred friends, contemns them all, +And hates their coming. They (what can they less?) +Make just reprisals, and, with cringe and shrug +And bow obsequious, hide their hate of her. +All catch the frenzy, downward from her Grace, +Whose flambeaux flash against the morning skies, +And gild our chamber ceilings as they pass, +To her who, frugal only that her thrift +May feed excesses she can ill afford, +Is hackneyed home unlackeyed; who, in haste +Alighting, turns the key in her own door, +And, at the watchman's lantern borrowing light, +Finds a cold bed her only comfort left. +Wives beggar husbands, husbands starve their wives, +On Fortune's velvet altar offering up +Their last poor pittance--Fortune, most severe +Of goddesses yet known, and costlier far +Than all that held their routs in Juno's heaven.-- +So fare we in this prison-house the world. +And 'tis a fearful spectacle to see +So many maniacs dancing in their chains. +They gaze upon the links that hold them fast +With eyes of anguish, execrate their lot, +Then shake them in despair, and dance again. + +Now basket up the family of plagues +That waste our vitals. Peculation, sale +Of honour, perjury, corruption, frauds +By forgery, by subterfuge of law, +By tricks and lies, as numerous and as keen +As the necessities their authors feel; +Then cast them, closely bundled, every brat +At the right door. Profusion is its sire. +Profusion unrestrained, with all that's base +In character, has littered all the land, +And bred within the memory of no few +A priesthood such as Baal's was of old, +A people such as never was till now. +It is a hungry vice:--it eats up all +That gives society its beauty, strength, +Convenience, and security, and use; +Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapped +And gibbeted, as fast as catchpole claws +Can seize the slippery prey; unties the knot +Of union, and converts the sacred band +That holds mankind together to a scourge. +Profusion, deluging a state with lusts +Of grossest nature and of worst effects, +Prepares it for its ruin; hardens, blinds, +And warps the consciences of public men +Till they can laugh at virtue; mock the fools +That trust them; and, in the end, disclose a face +That would have shocked credulity herself, +Unmasked, vouchsafing this their sole excuse;-- +Since all alike are selfish, why not they? +This does Profusion, and the accursed cause +Of such deep mischief has itself a cause. + +In colleges and halls, in ancient days, +When learning, virtue, piety, and truth +Were precious, and inculcated with care, +There dwelt a sage called Discipline. His head, +Not yet by time completely silvered o'er, +Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth, +But strong for service still, and unimpaired. +His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile +Played on his lips, and in his speech was heard +Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love. +The occupation dearest to his heart +Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke +The head of modest and ingenuous worth, +That blushed at its own praise, and press the youth +Close to his side that pleased him. Learning grew +Beneath his care, a thriving, vigorous plant; +The mind was well informed, the passions held +Subordinate, and diligence was choice. +If e'er it chanced, as sometimes chance it must, +That one among so many overleaped +The limits of control, his gentle eye +Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke; +His frown was full of terror, and his voice +Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe +As left him not, till penitence had won +Lost favour back again, and closed the breach. +But Discipline, a faithful servant long, +Declined at length into the vale of years; +A palsy struck his arm, his sparkling eye +Was quenched in rheums of age, his voice unstrung +Grew tremulous, and moved derision more +Than reverence in perverse, rebellious youth. +So colleges and halls neglected much +Their good old friend, and Discipline at length, +O'erlooked and unemployed, fell sick and died. +Then study languished, emulation slept, +And virtue fled. The schools became a scene +Of solemn farce, where ignorance in stilts, +His cap well lined with logic not his own, +With parrot tongue performed the scholar's part, +Proceeding soon a graduated dunce. +Then compromise had place, and scrutiny +Became stone-blind, precedence went in truck, +And he was competent whose purse was so. +A dissolution of all bonds ensued, +The curbs invented for the mulish mouth +Of headstrong youth were broken; bars and bolts +Grew rusty by disuse, and massy gates +Forgot their office, opening with a touch; +Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade; +The tasselled cap and the spruce band a jest, +A mockery of the world. What need of these +For gamesters, jockeys, brothellers impure, +Spendthrifts and booted sportsmen, oftener seen +With belted waist, and pointers at their heels, +Than in the bounds of duty? What was learned, +If aught was learned in childhood, is forgot, +And such expense as pinches parents blue +And mortifies the liberal hand of love, +Is squandered in pursuit of idle sports +And vicious pleasures; buys the boy a name, +That sits a stigma on his father's house, +And cleaves through life inseparably close +To him that wears it. What can after-games +Of riper joys, and commerce with the world, +The lewd vain world that must receive him soon, +Add to such erudition thus acquired, +Where science and where virtue are professed? +They may confirm his habits, rivet fast +His folly, but to spoil him is a task +That bids defiance to the united powers +Of fashion, dissipation, taverns, stews. +Now, blame we most the nurselings, or the nurse? +The children crooked and twisted and deformed +Through want of care, or her whose winking eye +And slumbering oscitancy mars the brood? +The nurse no doubt. Regardless of her charge, +She needs herself correction; needs to learn +That it is dangerous sporting with the world, +With things so sacred as a nation's trust; +The nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge. + +All are not such. I had a brother once-- +Peace to the memory of a man of worth, +A man of letters and of manners too-- +Of manners sweet as virtue always wears, +When gay good-nature dresses her in smiles. +He graced a college in which order yet +Was sacred, and was honoured, loved, and wept, +By more than one, themselves conspicuous there. +Some minds are tempered happily, and mixt +With such ingredients of good sense and taste +Of what is excellent in man, they thirst +With such a zeal to be what they approve, +That no restraints can circumscribe them more +Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom's sake. +Nor can example hurt them. What they see +Of vice in others but enhancing more +The charms of virtue in their just esteem. +If such escape contagion, and emerge +Pure, from so foul a pool, to shine abroad, +And give the world their talents and themselves, +Small thanks to those whose negligence or sloth +Exposed their inexperience to the snare, +And left them to an undirected choice. + +See, then, the quiver broken and decayed, +In which are kept our arrows. Rusting there +In wild disorder and unfit for use, +What wonder if discharged into the world +They shame their shooters with a random flight, +Their points obtuse and feathers drunk with wine. +Well may the Church wage unsuccessful war +With such artillery armed. Vice parries wide +The undreaded volley with a sword of straw, +And stands an impudent and fearless mark. + +Have we not tracked the felon home, and found +His birthplace and his dam? The country mourns-- +Mourns, because every plague that can infest +Society, that saps and worms the base +Of the edifice that Policy has raised, +Swarms in all quarters; meets the eye, the ear, +And suffocates the breath at every turn. +Profusion breeds them. And the cause itself +Of that calamitous mischief has been found, +Found, too, where most offensive, in the skirts +Of the robed pedagogue. Else, let the arraigned +Stand up unconscious and refute the charge. +So, when the Jewish leader stretched his arm +And waved his rod divine, a race obscene, +Spawned in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth +Polluting Egypt. Gardens, fields, and plains +Were covered with the pest. The streets were filled; +The croaking nuisance lurked in every nook, +Nor palaces nor even chambers 'scaped, +And the land stank, so numerous was the fry. + + + +BOOK III. + +THE GARDEN. + +As one who, long in thickets and in brakes +Entangled, winds now this way and now that +His devious course uncertain, seeking home; +Or, having long in miry ways been foiled +And sore discomfited, from slough to slough +Plunging, and half despairing of escape, +If chance at length he find a greensward smooth +And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise, +He chirrups brisk his ear-erecting steed, +And winds his way with pleasure and with ease; +So I, designing other themes, and called +To adorn the Sofa with eulogium due, +To tell its slumbers and to paint its dreams, +Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat +Of academic fame, howe'er deserved, +Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last. +But now with pleasant pace, a cleanlier road +I mean to tread. I feel myself at large, +Courageous, and refreshed for future toil, +If toil await me, or if dangers new. + +Since pulpits fail, and sounding-boards reflect +Most part an empty ineffectual sound, +What chance that I, to fame so little known, +Nor conversant with men or manners much, +Should speak to purpose, or with better hope +Crack the satiric thong? 'Twere wiser far +For me, enamoured of sequestered scenes, +And charmed with rural beauty, to repose, +Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine +My languid limbs, when summer sears the plains; +Or when rough winter rages, on the soft +And sheltered Sofa, while the nitrous air +Feeds a blue flame and makes a cheerful hearth; +There, undisturbed by folly, and apprised +How great the danger of disturbing her, +To muse in silence, or at least confine +Remarks that gall so many to the few, +My partners in retreat. Disgust concealed +Is ofttimes proof of wisdom, when the fault +Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach. + +Domestic happiness, thou only bliss +Of Paradise that has survived the fall! +Though few now taste thee unimpaired and pure, +Or, tasting, long enjoy thee, too infirm +Or too incautious to preserve thy sweets +Unmixed with drops of bitter, which neglect +Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup. +Thou art the nurse of virtue. In thine arms +She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is, +Heaven-born, and destined to the skies again. +Thou art not known where Pleasure is adored, +That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist +And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm +Of Novelty, her fickle frail support; +For thou art meek and constant, hating change, +And finding in the calm of truth-tried love +Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. +Forsaking thee, what shipwreck have we made +Of honour, dignity, and fair renown, +Till prostitution elbows us aside +In all our crowded streets, and senates seem +Convened for purposes of empire less, +Than to release the adult'ress from her bond. +The adult'ress! what a theme for angry verse, +What provocation to the indignant heart +That feels for injured love! but I disdain +The nauseous task to paint her as she is, +Cruel, abandoned, glorying in her shame. +No; let her pass, and charioted along +In guilty splendour shake the public ways; +The frequency of crimes has washed them white, +And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch +Whom matrons now of character unsmirched +And chaste themselves, are not ashamed to own. +Virtue and vice had boundaries in old time +Not to be passed; and she that had renounced +Her sex's honour, was renounced herself +By all that prized it; not for prudery's sake, +But dignity's, resentful of the wrong. +'Twas hard, perhaps, on here and there a waif +Desirous to return, and not received; +But was a wholesome rigour in the main, +And taught the unblemished to preserve with care +That purity, whose loss was loss of all. +Men, too, were nice in honour in those days, +And judged offenders well. Then he that sharped, +And pocketed a prize by fraud obtained, +Was marked and shunned as odious. He that sold +His country, or was slack when she required +His every nerve in action and at stretch, +Paid with the blood that he had basely spared +The price of his default. But now,--yes, now, +We are become so candid and so fair, +So liberal in construction, and so rich +In Christian charity (good-natured age!) +That they are safe, sinners of either sex, +Transgress what laws they may. Well dressed, well bred, +Well equipaged, is ticket good enough +To pass us readily through every door. +Hypocrisy, detest her as we may +(And no man's hatred ever wronged her yet), +May claim this merit still--that she admits +The worth of what she mimics with such care, +And thus gives virtue indirect applause; +But she has burnt her mask, not needed here, +Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts +And specious semblances have lost their use. + +I was a stricken deer that left the herd +Long since; with many an arrow deep infixt +My panting side was charged, when I withdrew +To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. +There was I found by one who had himself +Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore, +And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. +With gentle force soliciting the darts +He drew them forth, and healed and bade me live. +Since then, with few associates, in remote +And silent woods I wander, far from those +My former partners of the peopled scene, +With few associates, and not wishing more. +Here much I ruminate, as much I may, +With other views of men and manners now +Than once, and others of a life to come. +I see that all are wanderers, gone astray +Each in his own delusions; they are lost +In chase of fancied happiness, still woo'd +And never won. Dream after dream ensues, +And still they dream that they shall still succeed, +And still are disappointed: rings the world +With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind, +And add two-thirds of the remaining half, +And find the total of their hopes and fears +Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay +As if created only, like the fly +That spreads his motley wings in the eye of noon, +To sport their season and be seen no more. +The rest are sober dreamers, grave and wise, +And pregnant with discoveries new and rare. +Some write a narrative of wars, and feats +Of heroes little known, and call the rant +A history; describe the man, of whom +His own coevals took but little note, +And paint his person, character, and views, +As they had known him from his mother's womb; +They disentangle from the puzzled skein, +In which obscurity has wrapped them up, +The threads of politic and shrewd design +That ran through all his purposes, and charge +His mind with meanings that he never had, +Or, having, kept concealed. Some drill and bore +The solid earth, and from the strata there +Extract a register, by which we learn +That He who made it and revealed its date +To Moses, was mistaken in its age. +Some, more acute and more industrious still, +Contrive creation; travel nature up +To the sharp peak of her sublimest height, +And tell us whence the stars; why some are fixt, +And planetary some; what gave them first +Rotation, from what fountain flowed their light. +Great contest follows, and much learned dust +Involves the combatants, each claiming truth, +And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend +The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp +In playing tricks with nature, giving laws +To distant worlds, and trifling in their own. +Is't not a pity now, that tickling rheums +Should ever tease the lungs and blear the sight +Of oracles like these? Great pity, too, +That having wielded the elements, and built +A thousand systems, each in his own way, +They should go out in fume and be forgot? +Ah, what is life thus spent? and what are they +But frantic who thus spend it? all for smoke-- +Eternity for bubbles proves at last +A senseless bargain. When I see such games +Played by the creatures of a Power who swears +That He will judge the earth, and call the fool +To a sharp reckoning that has lived in vain, +And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well, +And prove it in the infallible result +So hollow and so false--I feel my heart +Dissolve in pity, and account the learned, +If this be learning, most of all deceived. +Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps +While thoughtful man is plausibly amused. +Defend me, therefore, common sense, say I, +From reveries so airy, from the toil +Of dropping buckets into empty wells, +And growing old in drawing nothing up! + +'Twere well, says one sage erudite, profound, +Terribly arched and aquiline his nose, +And overbuilt with most impending brows, +'Twere well could you permit the world to live +As the world pleases. What's the world to you?-- +Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk +As sweet as charity from human breasts. +I think, articulate, I laugh and weep, +And exercise all functions of a man. +How then should I and any man that lives +Be strangers to each other? Pierce my vein, +Take of the crimson stream meandering there, +And catechise it well. Apply your glass, +Search it, and prove now if it be not blood +Congenial with thine own; and if it be, +What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose +Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art, +To cut the link of brotherhood, by which +One common Maker bound me to the kind? +True; I am no proficient, I confess, +In arts like yours. I cannot call the swift +And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds, +And bid them hide themselves in the earth beneath; +I cannot analyse the air, nor catch +The parallax of yonder luminous point +That seems half quenched in the immense abyss: +Such powers I boast not--neither can I rest +A silent witness of the headlong rage, +Or heedless folly, by which thousands die, +Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine. + +God never meant that man should scale the heavens +By strides of human wisdom. In His works, +Though wondrous, He commands us in His Word +To seek Him rather where His mercy shines. +The mind indeed, enlightened from above, +Views Him in all; ascribes to the grand cause +The grand effect; acknowledges with joy +His manner, and with rapture tastes His style. +But never yet did philosophic tube, +That brings the planets home into the eye +Of observation, and discovers, else +Not visible, His family of worlds, +Discover Him that rules them; such a veil +Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth, +And dark in things divine. Full often too +Our wayward intellect, the more we learn +Of nature, overlooks her Author more; +From instrumental causes proud to draw +Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake: +But if His Word once teach us, shoot a ray +Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal +Truths undiscerned but by that holy light, +Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptised +In the pure fountain of eternal love, +Has eyes indeed; and, viewing all she sees +As meant to indicate a God to man, +Gives HIM His praise, and forfeits not her own. +Learning has borne such fruit in other days +On all her branches. Piety has found +Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer +Has flowed from lips wet with Castalian dews. +Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage! +Sagacious reader of the works of God, +And in His Word sagacious. Such too thine, +Milton, whose genius had angelic wings, +And fed on manna. And such thine, in whom +Our British Themis gloried with just cause, +Immortal Hale! for deep discernment praised, +And sound integrity not more, than famed +For sanctity of manners undefiled. + +All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades +Like the fair flower dishevelled in the wind; +Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream; +The man we celebrate must find a tomb, +And we that worship him, ignoble graves. +Nothing is proof against the general curse +Of vanity, that seizes all below. +The only amaranthine flower on earth +Is virtue; the only lasting treasure, truth. +But what is truth? 'twas Pilate's question put +To truth itself, that deigned him no reply. +And wherefore? will not God impart His light +To them that ask it?--Freely--'tis His joy, +His glory, and His nature to impart. +But to the proud, uncandid, insincere, +Or negligent inquirer, not a spark. +What's that which brings contempt upon a book +And him that writes it, though the style be neat, +The method clear, and argument exact? +That makes a minister in holy things +The joy of many, and the dread of more, +His name a theme for praise and for reproach?-- +That, while it gives us worth in God's account, +Depreciates and undoes us in our own? +What pearl is it that rich men cannot buy, +That learning is too proud to gather up, +But which the poor and the despised of all +Seek and obtain, and often find unsought? +Tell me, and I will tell thee what is truth. + +Oh, friendly to the best pursuits of man, +Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace, +Domestic life in rural leisure passed! +Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweets, +Though many boast thy favours, and affect +To understand and choose thee for their own. +But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss, +Even as his first progenitor, and quits, +Though placed in paradise, for earth has still +Some traces of her youthful beauty left, +Substantial happiness for transient joy. +Scenes formed for contemplation, and to nurse +The growing seeds of wisdom; that suggest, +By every pleasing image they present, +Reflections such as meliorate the heart, +Compose the passions, and exalt the mind; +Scenes such as these, 'tis his supreme delight +To fill with riot and defile with blood. +Should some contagion, kind to the poor brutes +We persecute, annihilate the tribes +That draw the sportsman over hill and dale +Fearless, and rapt away from all his cares; +Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again, +Nor baited hook deceive the fish's eye; +Could pageantry, and dance, and feast, and song +Be quelled in all our summer months' retreats; +How many self-deluded nymphs and swains, +Who dream they have a taste for fields and groves, +Would find them hideous nurseries of the spleen, +And crowd the roads, impatient for the town! +They love the country, and none else, who seek +For their own sake its silence and its shade; +Delights which who would leave, that has a heart +Susceptible of pity, or a mind +Cultured and capable of sober thought, +For all the savage din of the swift pack, +And clamours of the field? Detested sport, +That owes its pleasures to another's pain, +That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks +Of harmless nature, dumb, but yet endued +With eloquence, that agonies inspire, +Of silent tears and heart-distending sighs! +Vain tears, alas! and sighs that never find +A corresponding tone in jovial souls. +Well--one at least is safe. One sheltered hare +Has never heard the sanguinary yell +Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. +Innocent partner of my peaceful home, +Whom ten long years' experience of my care +Has made at last familiar, she has lost +Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, +Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. +Yes--thou mayst eat thy bread, and lick the hand +That feeds thee; thou mayst frolic on the floor +At evening, and at night retire secure +To thy straw-couch, and slumber unalarmed; +For I have gained thy confidence, have pledged +All that is human in me to protect +Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. +If I survive thee I will dig thy grave, +And when I place thee in it, sighing say, +I knew at least one hare that had a friend. + +How various his employments, whom the world +Calls idle, and who justly in return +Esteems that busy world an idler, too! +Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, +Delightful industry enjoyed at home, +And nature in her cultivated trim +Dressed to his taste, inviting him abroad-- +Can he want occupation who has these? +Will he be idle who has much to enjoy? +Me, therefore, studious of laborious ease, +Not slothful; happy to deceive the time, +Not waste it; and aware that human life +Is but a loan to be repaid with use, +When He shall call His debtors to account, +From whom are all our blessings; business finds +Even here: while sedulous I seek to improve, +At least neglect not, or leave unemployed, +The mind He gave me; driving it, though slack +Too oft, and much impeded in its work +By causes not to be divulged in vain, +To its just point--the service of mankind. +He that attends to his interior self, +That has a heart and keeps it; has a mind +That hungers and supplies it; and who seeks +A social, not a dissipated life, +Has business; feels himself engaged to achieve +No unimportant, though a silent task. +A life all turbulence and noise may seem, +To him that leads it, wise and to be praised; +But wisdom is a pearl with most success +Sought in still water, and beneath clear skies. +He that is ever occupied in storms, +Or dives not for it or brings up instead, +Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. + +The morning finds the self-sequestered man +Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. +Whether inclement seasons recommend +His warm but simple home, where he enjoys, +With her who shares his pleasures and his heart, +Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph +Which neatly she prepares; then to his book +Well chosen, and not sullenly perused +In selfish silence, but imparted oft +As aught occurs that she may smile to hear, +Or turn to nourishment digested well. +Or if the garden with its many cares, +All well repaid, demand him, he attends +The welcome call, conscious how much the hand +Of lubbard labour needs his watchful eye, +Oft loitering lazily if not o'erseen, +Or misapplying his unskilful strength. +Nor does he govern only or direct, +But much performs himself; no works indeed +That ask robust tough sinews, bred to toil, +Servile employ--but such as may amuse, +Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. +Proud of his well-spread walls, he views his trees +That meet, no barren interval between, +With pleasure more than even their fruits afford, +Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel. +These, therefore, are his own peculiar charge, +No meaner hand may discipline the shoots, +None but his steel approach them. What is weak, +Distempered, or has lost prolific powers, +Impaired by age, his unrelenting hand +Dooms to the knife. Nor does he spare the soft +And succulent that feeds its giant growth, +But barren, at the expense of neighbouring twigs +Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick +With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left +That may disgrace his art, or disappoint +Large expectation, he disposes neat +At measured distances, that air and sun +Admitted freely may afford their aid, +And ventilate and warm the swelling buds. +Hence Summer has her riches, Autumn hence, +And hence even Winter fills his withered hand +With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own, +Fair recompense of labour well bestowed +And wise precaution, which a clime so rude +Makes needful still, whose Spring is but the child +Of churlish Winter, in her froward moods +Discovering much the temper of her sire. +For oft, as if in her the stream of mild +Maternal nature had reversed its course, +She brings her infants forth with many smiles, +But, once delivered, kills them with a frown. +He therefore, timely warned, himself supplies +Her want of care, screening and keeping warm +The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep +His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft +As the sun peeps and vernal airs breathe mild, +The fence withdrawn, he gives them ev'ry beam, +And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day. + +To raise the prickly and green-coated gourd, +So grateful to the palate, and when rare +So coveted, else base and disesteemed-- +Food for the vulgar merely--is an art +That toiling ages have but just matured, +And at this moment unessayed in song. +Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice long since, +Their eulogy; those sang the Mantuan bard, +And these the Grecian in ennobling strains; +And in thy numbers, Philips, shines for aye +The solitary Shilling. Pardon then, +Ye sage dispensers of poetic fame! +The ambition of one meaner far, whose powers +Presuming an attempt not less sublime, +Pant for the praise of dressing to the taste +Of critic appetite, no sordid fare, +A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce. + +The stable yields a stercoraceous heap +Impregnated with quick fermenting salts, +And potent to resist the freezing blast. +For ere the beech and elm have cast their leaf +Deciduous, and when now November dark +Checks vegetation in the torpid plant +Exposed to his cold breath, the task begins. +Warily therefore, and with prudent heed +He seeks a favoured spot, that where he builds +The agglomerated pile, his frame may front +The sun's meridian disk, and at the back +Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge +Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread +Dry fern or littered hay, that may imbibe +The ascending damps; then leisurely impose, +And lightly, shaking it with agile hand +From the full fork, the saturated straw. +What longest binds the closest, forms secure +The shapely side, that as it rises takes +By just degrees an overhanging breadth, +Sheltering the base with its projected eaves. +The uplifted frame compact at every joint, +And overlaid with clear translucent glass, +He settles next upon the sloping mount, +Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure +From the dashed pane the deluge as it falls. +He shuts it close, and the first labour ends. +Thrice must the voluble and restless earth +Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth +Slow gathering in the midst, through the square mass +Diffused, attain the surface. When, behold! +A pestilent and most corrosive steam, +Like a gross fog Boeotian, rising fast, +And fast condensed upon the dewy sash, +Asks egress; which obtained, the overcharged +And drenched conservatory breathes abroad, +In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank, +And purified, rejoices to have lost +Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage +The impatient fervour which it first conceives +Within its reeking bosom, threatening death +To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. +Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft +The way to glory by miscarriage foul, +Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch +The auspicious moment, when the tempered heat, +Friendly to vital motion, may afford +Soft fermentation, and invite the seed. +The seed selected wisely, plump and smooth +And glossy, he commits to pots of size +Diminutive, well filled with well-prepared +And fruitful soil, that has been treasured long, +And drunk no moisture from the dripping clouds: +These on the warm and genial earth that hides +The smoking manure, and o'erspreads it all, +He places lightly, and, as time subdues +The rage of fermentation, plunges deep +In the soft medium, till they stand immersed. +Then rise the tender germs upstarting quick +And spreading wide their spongy lobes; at first +Pale, wan, and livid; but assuming soon, +If fanned by balmy and nutritious air +Strained through the friendly mats, a vivid green. +Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves, +Cautious he pinches from the second stalk +A pimple, that portends a future sprout, +And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed +The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish, +Prolific all, and harbingers of more. +The crowded roots demand enlargement now +And transplantation in an ampler space. +Indulged in what they wish, they soon supply +Large foliage, overshadowing golden flowers, +Blown on the summit of the apparent fruit. +These have their sexes, and when summer shines +The bee transports the fertilising meal +From flower to flower, and even the breathing air +Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use. +Not so when winter scowls. Assistant art +Then acts in nature's office, brings to pass +The glad espousals and insures the crop. + +Grudge not, ye rich (since luxury must have +His dainties, and the world's more numerous half +Lives by contriving delicates for you), +Grudge not the cost. Ye little know the cares, +The vigilance, the labour, and the skill +That day and night are exercised, and hang +Upon the ticklish balance of suspense, +That ye may garnish your profuse regales +With summer fruits, brought forth by wintry suns. +Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart +The process. Heat and cold, and wind and steam, +Moisture and drought, mice, worms, and swarming flies +Minute as dust and numberless, oft work +Dire disappointment that admits no cure, +And which no care can obviate. It were long, +Too long to tell the expedients and the shifts +Which he, that fights a season so severe, +Devises, while he guards his tender trust, +And oft, at last, in vain. The learned and wise +Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song +Cold as its theme, and, like its theme, the fruit +Of too much labour, worthless when produced. + +Who loves a garden, loves a greenhouse too. +Unconscious of a less propitious clime +There blooms exotic beauty, warm and snug, +While the winds whistle and the snows descend. +The spiry myrtle with unwithering leaf +Shines there and flourishes. The golden boast +Of Portugal and Western India there, +The ruddier orange and the paler lime, +Peep through their polished foliage at the storm, +And seem to smile at what they need not fear. +The amomum there with intermingling flowers +And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts +Her crimson honours, and the spangled beau, +Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long, +All plants, of every leaf, that can endure +The winter's frown if screened from his shrewd bite, +Live there and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, +Levantine regions these; the Azores send +Their jessamine; her jessamine remote +Caffraria: foreigners from many lands, +They form one social shade, as if convened +By magic summons of the Orphean lyre. +Yet such arrangement, rarely brought to pass +But by a master's hand, disposing well +The gay diversities of leaf and flower, +Must lend its aid to illustrate all their charms, +And dress the regular yet various scene. +Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van +The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but still +Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. +So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome, +A noble show, while Roscius trod the stage; +And so, while Garrick, as renowned as he, +The sons of Albion, fearing each to lose +Some note of Nature's music from his lips, +And covetous of Shakespeare's beauty, seen +In every flash of his far-beaming eye. +Nor taste alone and well-contrived display +Suffice to give the marshalled ranks the grace +Of their complete effect. Much yet remains +Unsung, and many cares are yet behind +And more laborious; cares on which depends +Their vigour, injured soon, not soon restored. +The soil must be renewed, which often washed +Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, +And disappoints the roots; the slender roots, +Close interwoven where they meet the vase, +Must smooth be shorn away; the sapless branch +Must fly before the knife; the withered leaf +Must be detached, and where it strews the floor +Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else +Contagion, and disseminating death. +Discharge but these kind offices (and who +Would spare, that loves them, offices like these?) +Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleased, +The scent regaled, each odoriferous leaf, +Each opening blossom, freely breathes abroad +Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets. + +So manifold, all pleasing in their kind, +All healthful, are the employs of rural life, +Reiterated as the wheel of time +Runs round, still ending, and beginning still. +Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll +That, softly swelled and gaily dressed, appears +A flowery island from the dark green lawn +Emerging, must be deemed a labour due +To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. +Here also grateful mixture of well-matched +And sorted hues (each giving each relief, +And by contrasted beauty shining more) +Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous spade, +May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home, +But elegance, chief grace the garden shows +And most attractive, is the fair result +Of thought, the creature of a polished mind. +Without it, all is Gothic as the scene +To which the insipid citizen resorts, +Near yonder heath; where industry misspent, +But proud of his uncouth, ill-chosen task, +Has made a heaven on earth; with suns and moons +Of close-rammed stones has charged the encumbered soil, +And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust. +He, therefore, who would see his flowers disposed +Sightly and in just order, ere he gives +The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, +Forecasts the future whole; that when the scene +Shall break into its preconceived display, +Each for itself, and all as with one voice +Conspiring, may attest his bright design. +Nor even then, dismissing as performed +His pleasant work, may he suppose it done. +Few self-supported flowers endure the wind +Uninjured, but expect the upholding aid +Of the smooth-shaven prop, and neatly tied +Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age, +For interest sake, the living to the dead. +Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffused +And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair; +Like virtue, thriving most where little seen. +Some, more aspiring, catch the neighbour shrub +With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch, +Else unadorned, with many a gay festoon +And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well +The strength they borrow with the grace they lend. +All hate the rank society of weeds, +Noisome, and very greedy to exhaust +The impoverished earth; an overbearing race, +That, like the multitude made faction-mad, +Disturb good order, and degrade true worth. + +Oh blest seclusion from a jarring world, +Which he, thus occupied, enjoys! Retreat +Cannot, indeed, to guilty man restore +Lost innocence, or cancel follies past; +But it has peace, and much secures the mind +From all assaults of evil; proving still +A faithful barrier, not o'erleaped with ease +By vicious custom raging uncontrolled +Abroad and desolating public life. +When fierce temptation, seconded within +By traitor appetite, and armed with darts +Tempered in hell, invades the throbbing breast, +To combat may be glorious, and success +Perhaps may crown us, but to fly is safe. +Had I the choice of sublunary good, +What could I wish that I possess not here? +Health, leisure; means to improve it, friendship, peace, +No loose or wanton though a wandering muse, +And constant occupation without care. +Thus blest, I draw a picture of that bliss; +Hopeless, indeed, that dissipated minds +And profligate abusers of a world +Created fair so much in vain for them, +Should seek the guiltless joys that I describe, +Allured by my report; but sure no less +That self-condemned they must neglect the prize, +And what they will not taste, must yet approve. +What we admire we praise; and when we praise +Advance it into notice, that, its worth +Acknowledged, others may admire it too. +I therefore recommend, though at the risk +Of popular disgust, yet boldly still, +The cause of piety and sacred truth +And virtue, and those scenes which God ordained +Should best secure them and promote them most; +Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive +Forsaken, or through folly not enjoyed. +Pure is the nymph, though liberal of her smiles, +And chaste, though unconfined, whom I extol. +Not as the prince in Shushan, when he called, +Vain-glorious of her charms, his Vashti forth, +To grace the full pavilion. His design +Was but to boast his own peculiar good, +Which all might view with envy, none partake. +My charmer is not mine alone; my sweets, +And she that sweetens all my bitters, too, +Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form +And lineaments divine I trace a hand +That errs not, and find raptures still renewed, +Is free to all men--universal prize. +Strange that so fair a creature should yet want +Admirers, and be destined to divide +With meaner objects even the few she finds. +Stript of her ornaments, her leaves and flowers, +She loses all her influence. Cities then +Attract us, and neglected Nature pines, +Abandoned, as unworthy of our love. +But are not wholesome airs, though unperfumed +By roses, and clear suns, though scarcely felt, +And groves, if unharmonious yet secure +From clamour and whose very silence charms, +To be preferred to smoke--to the eclipse +That Metropolitan volcanoes make, +Whose Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long, +And to the stir of commerce, driving slow, +And thundering loud with his ten thousand wheels? +They would be, were not madness in the head +And folly in the heart; were England now +What England was, plain, hospitable, kind, +And undebauched. But we have bid farewell +To all the virtues of those better days, +And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once +Knew their own masters, and laborious hands +That had survived the father, served the son. +Now the legitimate and rightful lord +Is but a transient guest, newly arrived +And soon to be supplanted. He that saw +His patrimonial timber cast its leaf, +Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price +To some shrewd sharper, ere it buds again. +Estates are landscapes, gazed upon awhile, +Then advertised, and auctioneered away. +The country starves, and they that feed the o'er-charged +And surfeited lewd town with her fair dues, +By a just judgment strip and starve themselves. +The wings that waft our riches out of sight +Grow on the gamester's elbows, and the alert +And nimble motion of those restless joints, +That never tire, soon fans them all away. +Improvement too, the idol of the age, +Is fed with many a victim. Lo! he comes-- +The omnipotent magician, Brown, appears. +Down falls the venerable pile, the abode +Of our forefathers, a grave whiskered race, +But tasteless. Springs a palace in its stead, +But in a distant spot; where more exposed +It may enjoy the advantage of the North +And aguish East, till time shall have transformed +Those naked acres to a sheltering grove. +He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn, +Woods vanish, hills subside, and valleys rise, +And streams, as if created for his use, +Pursue the track of his directed wand +Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow, +Now murmuring soft, now roaring in cascades, +Even as he bids. The enraptured owner smiles. +'Tis finished. And yet, finished as it seems, +Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could show, +A mine to satisfy the enormous cost. +Drained to the last poor item of his wealth, +He sighs, departs, and leaves the accomplished plan +That he has touched and retouched, many a day +Laboured, and many a night pursued in dreams, +Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the heaven +He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy. +And now perhaps the glorious hour is come, +When having no stake left, no pledge to endear +Her interests, or that gives her sacred cause +A moment's operation on his love, +He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal +To serve his country. Ministerial grace +Deals him out money from the public chest, +Or, if that mine be shut, some private purse +Supplies his need with an usurious loan, +To be refunded duly, when his vote, +Well-managed, shall have earned its worthy price. +Oh, innocent compared with arts like these, +Crape and cocked pistol and the whistling ball +Sent through the traveller's temples! He that finds +One drop of heaven's sweet mercy in his cup, +Can dig, beg, rot, and perish well-content, +So he may wrap himself in honest rags +At his last gasp; but could not for a world +Fish up his dirty and dependent bread +From pools and ditches of the commonwealth, +Sordid and sickening at his own success. + +Ambition, avarice, penury incurred +By endless riot, vanity, the lust +Of pleasure and variety, despatch, +As duly as the swallows disappear, +The world of wandering knights and squires to town; +London engulfs them all. The shark is there, +And the shark's prey; the spendthrift, and the leech +That sucks him. There the sycophant, and he +That with bare-headed and obsequious bows +Begs a warm office, doomed to a cold jail +And groat per diem if his patron frown. +The levee swarms, as if in golden pomp +Were charactered on every statesman's door, +'BATTERED AND BANKRUPT FORTUNES MENDED HERE.' +These are the charms that sully and eclipse +The charms of nature. 'Tis the cruel gripe +That lean hard-handed poverty inflicts, +The hope of better things, the chance to win, +The wish to shine, the thirst to be amused, +That, at the sound of Winter's hoary wing, +Unpeople all our counties of such herds +Of fluttering, loitering, cringing, begging, loose +And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast +And boundless as it is, a crowded coop. + +Oh thou resort and mart of all the earth, +Chequered with all complexions of mankind, +And spotted with all crimes; in whom I see +Much that I love, and more that I admire, +And all that I abhor; thou freckled fair +That pleases and yet shocks me, I can laugh +And I can weep, can hope, and can despond, +Feel wrath and pity when I think on thee! +Ten righteous would have saved a city once, +And thou hast many righteous.--Well for thee-- +That salt preserves thee; more corrupted else, +And therefore more obnoxious at this hour +Than Sodom in her day had power to be, +For whom God heard his Abram plead in vain. + + + +BOOK IV. + +THE WINTER EVENING. + +Hark! 'tis the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge, +That with its wearisome but needful length +Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon +Sees her unwrinkled face reflected bright;-- +He comes, the herald of a noisy world, +With spattered boots, strapped waist, and frozen locks, +News from all nations lumbering at his back. +True to his charge the close-packed load behind, +Yet careless what he brings, his one concern +Is to conduct it to the destined inn, +And, having dropped the expected bag--pass on. +He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, +Cold and yet cheerful: messenger of grief +Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some; +To him indifferent whether grief or joy. +Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, +Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet +With tears that trickled down the writer's cheeks, +Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, +Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains, +Or nymphs responsive, equally affect +His horse and him, unconscious of them all. +But oh, the important budget! ushered in +With such heart-shaking music, who can say +What are its tidings? have our troops awaked? +Or do they still, as if with opium drugged, +Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave? +Is India free? and does she wear her plumed +And jewelled turban with a smile of peace, +Or do we grind her still? The grand debate, +The popular harangue, the tart reply, +The logic and the wisdom and the wit +And the loud laugh--I long to know them all; +I burn to set the imprisoned wranglers free, +And give them voice and utterance once again. + +Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast, +Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, +And while the bubbling and loud-hissing urn +Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, +That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, +So let us welcome peaceful evening in. +Not such his evening, who with shining face +Sweats in the crowded theatre, and squeezed +And bored with elbow-points through both his sides, +Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage; +Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb +And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath +Of patriots bursting with heroic rage, +Or placemen all tranquillity and smiles. +This folio of four pages, happy work! +Which not even critics criticise, that holds +Inquisitive attention while I read +Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, +Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break, +What is it but a map of busy life, +Its fluctuations and its vast concerns? +Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge +That tempts ambition. On the summit, see, +The seals of office glitter in his eyes; +He climbs, he pants, he grasps them. At his heels, +Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, +And with a dextrous jerk soon twists him down +And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. +Here rills of oily eloquence, in soft +Meanders, lubricate the course they take; +The modest speaker is ashamed and grieved +To engross a moment's notice, and yet begs, +Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, +However trivial all that he conceives. +Sweet bashfulness! it claims, at least, this praise, +The dearth of information and good sense +That it foretells us, always comes to pass. +Cataracts of declamation thunder here, +There forests of no meaning spread the page +In which all comprehension wanders lost; +While fields of pleasantry amuse us there, +With merry descants on a nation's woes. +The rest appears a wilderness of strange +But gay confusion; roses for the cheeks +And lilies for the brows of faded age, +Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, +Heaven, earth, and ocean plundered of their sweets. +Nectareous essences, Olympian dews, +Sermons and city feasts and favourite airs, +Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits, +And Katterfelto with his hair on end +At his own wonders, wondering for his bread. + +'Tis pleasant through the loopholes of retreat +To peep at such a world; to see the stir +Of the great Babel and not feel the crowd; +To hear the roar she sends through all her gates +At a safe distance, where the dying sound +Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear. +Thus sitting and surveying thus at ease +The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced +To some secure and more than mortal height, +That liberates and exempts me from them all. +It turns submitted to my view, turns round +With all its generations; I behold +The tumult and am still. The sound of war +Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me; +Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride +And avarice that makes man a wolf to man; +Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats +By which he speaks the language of his heart, +And sigh, but never tremble at the sound. +He travels and expatiates, as the bee +From flower to flower so he from land to land; +The manners, customs, policy of all +Pay contribution to the store he gleans, +He sucks intelligence in every clime, +And spreads the honey of his deep research +At his return--a rich repast for me. +He travels and I too. I tread his deck, +Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes +Discover countries, with a kindred heart +Suffer his woes and share in his escapes; +While fancy, like the finger of a clock, +Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. + +Oh Winter, ruler of the inverted year, +Thy scattered hair with sleet-like ashes filled, +Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks +Fringed with a beard made white with other snows +Than those of age, thy forehead wrapped in clouds, +A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne +A sliding car indebted to no wheels, +But urged by storms along its slippery way, +I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, +And dreaded as thou art. Thou hold'st the sun +A prisoner in the yet undawning East, +Shortening his journey between morn and noon, +And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, +Down to the rosy west; but kindly still +Compensating his loss with added hours +Of social converse and instructive ease, +And gathering at short notice in one group +The family dispersed, and fixing thought +Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. +I crown thee king of intimate delights, +Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, +And all the comforts that the lowly roof +Of undisturbed retirement, and the hours +Of long uninterrupted evening know. +No rattling wheels stop short before these gates; +No powdered pert proficients in the art +Of sounding an alarm, assault these doors +Till the street rings; no stationary steeds +Cough their own knell, while heedless of the sound +The silent circle fan themselves, and quake: +But here the needle plies its busy task, +The pattern grows, the well-depicted flower, +Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn, +Unfolds its bosom; buds and leaves and sprigs +And curly tendrils, gracefully disposed, +Follow the nimble finger of the fair; +A wreath that cannot fade, of flowers that blow +With most success when all besides decay. +The poet's or historian's page, by one +Made vocal for the amusement of the rest; +The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds +The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out; +And the clear voice symphonious, yet distinct, +And in the charming strife triumphant still, +Beguile the night, and set a keener edge +On female industry; the threaded steel +Flies swiftly, and unfelt the task proceeds. +The volume closed, the customary rites +Of the last meal commence: a Roman meal, +Such as the mistress of the world once found +Delicious, when her patriots of high note, +Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors, +And under an old oak's domestic shade, +Enjoyed--spare feast!--a radish and an egg. +Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull, +Nor such as with a frown forbids the play +Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth; +Nor do we madly, like an impious world, +Who deem religion frenzy, and the God +That made them an intruder on their joys, +Start at His awful name, or deem His praise +A jarring note; themes of a graver tone +Exciting oft our gratitude and love, +While we retrace with memory's pointing wand +That calls the past to our exact review, +The dangers we have scaped, the broken snare, +The disappointed foe, deliverance found +Unlooked for, life preserved and peace restored, +Fruits of omnipotent eternal love:-- +Oh evenings worthy of the gods! exclaimed +The Sabine bard. Oh evenings, I reply, +More to be prized and coveted than yours, +As more illumined and with nobler truths, +That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy. + +Is Winter hideous in a garb like this? +Needs he the tragic fur, the smoke of lamps, +The pent-up breath of an unsavoury throng +To thaw him into feeling, or the smart +And snappish dialogue that flippant wits +Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile? +The self-complacent actor, when he views +(Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house) +The slope of faces from the floor to the roof, +As if one master-spring controlled them all, +Relaxed into an universal grin, +Sees not a countenance there that speaks a joy +Half so refined or so sincere as ours. +Cards were superfluous here, with all the tricks +That idleness has ever yet contrived +To fill the void of an unfurnished brain, +To palliate dulness and give time a shove. +Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, +Unsoiled and swift and of a silken sound. +But the world's time is time in masquerade. +Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledged +With motley plumes, and, where the peacock shows +His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red +With spots quadrangular of diamond form, +Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, +And spades, the emblem of untimely graves. +What should be, and what was an hour-glass once, +Becomes a dice-box, and a billiard mast +Well does the work of his destructive scythe. +Thus decked he charms a world whom fashion blinds +To his true worth, most pleased when idle most, +Whose only happy are their wasted hours. +Even misses, at whose age their mothers wore +The back-string and the bib, assume the dress +Of womanhood, sit pupils in the school +Of card-devoted time, and night by night, +Placed at some vacant corner of the board, +Learn every trick, and soon play all the game. +But truce with censure. Roving as I rove, +Where shall I find an end, or how proceed? +As he that travels far, oft turns aside +To view some rugged rock, or mouldering tower, +Which seen delights him not; then coming home, +Describes and prints it, that the world may know +How far he went for what was nothing worth; +So I, with brush in hand and pallet spread +With colours mixed for a far different use, +Paint cards and dolls, and every idle thing +That fancy finds in her excursive flights. + +Come, Evening, once again, season of peace, +Return, sweet Evening, and continue long! +Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, +With matron-step slow moving, while the night +Treads on thy sweeping train; one hand employed +In letting fall the curtain of repose +On bird and beast, the other charged for man +With sweet oblivion of the cares of day; +Not sumptuously adorned, nor needing aid, +Like homely-featured night, of clustering gems, +A star or two just twinkling on thy brow +Suffices thee; save that the moon is thine +No less than hers, not worn indeed on high +With ostentatious pageantry, but set +With modest grandeur in thy purple zone, +Resplendent less, but of an ampler round. +Come, then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm, +Or make me so. Composure is thy gift; +And whether I devote thy gentle hours +To books, to music, or to poet's toil, +To weaving nets for bird-alluring fruit, +Or twining silken threads round ivory reels +When they command whom man was born to please, +I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. + +Just when our drawing-rooms begin to blaze +With lights, by clear reflection multiplied +From many a mirror, in which he of Gath, +Goliath, might have seen his giant bulk +Whole without stooping, towering crest and all, +My pleasures too begin. But me perhaps +The glowing hearth may satisfy a while +With faint illumination, that uplifts +The shadow to the ceiling, there by fits +Dancing uncouthly to the quivering flame. +Not undelightful is an hour to me +So spent in parlour twilight; such a gloom +Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind, +The mind contemplative, with some new theme +Pregnant, or indisposed alike to all. +Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial powers +That never feel a stupor, know no pause, +Nor need one; I am conscious, and confess. +Fearless, a soul that does not always think. +Me oft has fancy ludicrous and wild +Soothed with a waking dream of houses, towers, +Trees, churches, and strange visages expressed +In the red cinders, while with poring eye +I gazed, myself creating what I saw. +Nor less amused have I quiescent watched +The sooty films that play upon the bars +Pendulous, and foreboding in the view +Of superstition, prophesying still, +Though still deceived, some stranger's near approach. +'Tis thus the understanding takes repose +In indolent vacuity of thought, +And sleeps and is refreshed. Meanwhile the face +Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask +Of deep deliberation, as the man +Were tasked to his full strength, absorbed and lost. +Thus oft reclined at ease, I lose an hour +At evening, till at length the freezing blast +That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons home +The recollected powers, and, snapping short +The glassy threads with which the fancy weaves +Her brittle toys, restores me to myself. +How calm is my recess! and how the frost +Raging abroad, and the rough wind, endear +The silence and the warmth enjoyed within! +I saw the woods and fields at close of day +A variegated show; the meadows green +Though faded, and the lands, where lately waved +The golden harvest, of a mellow brown, +Upturned so lately by the forceful share; +I saw far off the weedy fallows smile +With verdure not unprofitable, grazed +By flocks fast feeding, and selecting each +His favourite herb; while all the leafless groves +That skirt the horizon wore a sable hue, +Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of eve. +To-morrow brings a change, a total change, +Which even now, though silently performed +And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face +Of universal nature undergoes. +Fast falls a fleecy shower; the downy flakes, +Descending and with never-ceasing lapse +Softly alighting upon all below, +Assimilate all objects. Earth receives +Gladly the thickening mantle, and the green +And tender blade, that feared the chilling blast, +Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil. + +In such a world, so thorny, and where none +Finds happiness unblighted, or if found, +Without some thistly sorrow at its side, +It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin +Against the law of love, to measure lots +With less distinguished than ourselves, that thus +We may with patience bear our moderate ills, +And sympathise with others, suffering more. +Ill fares the traveller now, and he that stalks +In ponderous boots beside his reeking team; +The wain goes heavily, impeded sore +By congregating loads adhering close +To the clogged wheels, and, in its sluggish pace, +Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. +The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide, +While every breath, by respiration strong +Forced downward, is consolidated soon +Upon their jutting chests. He, formed to bear +The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, +With half-shut eyes, and puckered cheeks, and teeth +Presented bare against the storm, plods on; +One hand secures his hat, save when with both +He brandishes his pliant length of whip, +Resounding oft, and never heard in vain. +Oh happy, and, in my account, denied +That sensibility of pain with which +Refinement is endued, thrice happy thou! +Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed +The piercing cold, but feels it unimpaired; +The learned finger never need explore +Thy vigorous pulse, and the unhealthful East, +That breathes the spleen, and searches every bone +Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. +Thy days roll on exempt from household care, +Thy waggon is thy wife; and the poor beasts, +That drag the dull companion to and fro, +Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care. +Ah, treat them kindly! rude as thou appearest, +Yet show that thou hast mercy, which the great, +With needless hurry whirled from place to place, +Humane as they would seem, not always show. + +Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, +Such claim compassion in a night like this, +And have a friend in every feeling heart. +Warmed while it lasts, by labour, all day long +They brave the season, and yet find at eve, +Ill clad and fed but sparely, time to cool. +The frugal housewife trembles when she lights +Her scanty stock of brushwood, blazing clear, +But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys; +The few small embers left she nurses well. +And while her infant race with outspread hands +And crowded knees sit cowering o'er the sparks, +Retires, content to quake, so they be warmed. +The man feels least, as more inured than she +To winter, and the current in his veins +More briskly moved by his severer toil; +Yet he, too, finds his own distress in theirs. +The taper soon extinguished, which I saw +Dangled along at the cold finger's end +Just when the day declined, and the brown loaf +Lodged on the shelf, half-eaten, without sauce +Of sav'ry cheese, or butter costlier still, +Sleep seems their only refuge. For alas, +Where penury is felt the thought is chained, +And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few. +With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care +Ingenious parsimony takes, but just +Saves the small inventory, bed and stool, +Skillet and old carved chest, from public sale. +They live, and live without extorted alms +From grudging hands, but other boast have none +To soothe their honest pride that scorns to beg, +Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love. +I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair, +For ye are worthy; choosing rather far +A dry but independent crust, hard-earned +And eaten with a sigh, than to endure +The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs +Of knaves in office, partial in their work +Of distribution; liberal of their aid +To clamorous importunity in rags, +But ofttimes deaf to suppliants who would blush +To wear a tattered garb however coarse, +Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth; +These ask with painful shyness, and, refused +Because deserving, silently retire. +But be ye of good courage! Time itself +Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase, +And all your numerous progeny, well trained, +But helpless, in few years shall find their hands, +And labour too. Meanwhile ye shall not want +What, conscious of your virtues, we can spare, +Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may send. +I mean the man, who when the distant poor +Need help, denies them nothing but his name. + +But poverty with most, who whimper forth +Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe, +The effect of laziness or sottish waste. +Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad +For plunder; much solicitous how best +He may compensate for a day of sloth, +By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong, +Woe to the gardener's pale, the farmer's hedge +Plashed neatly and secured with driven stakes +Deep in the loamy bank. Uptorn by strength +Resistless in so bad a cause, but lame +To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil-- +An ass's burden,--and when laden most +And heaviest, light of foot steals fast away. +Nor does the boarded hovel better guard +The well-stacked pile of riven logs and roots +From his pernicious force. Nor will he leave +Unwrenched the door, however well secured, +Where chanticleer amidst his harem sleeps +In unsuspecting pomp; twitched from the perch +He gives the princely bird with all his wives +To his voracious bag, struggling in vain, +And loudly wondering at the sudden change. +Nor this to feed his own. 'Twere some excuse +Did pity of their sufferings warp aside +His principle, and tempt him into sin +For their support, so destitute; but they +Neglected pine at home, themselves, as more +Exposed than others, with less scruple made +His victims, robbed of their defenceless all. +Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst +Of ruinous ebriety that prompts +His every action, and imbrutes the man. +Oh for a law to noose the villain's neck +Who starves his own; who persecutes the blood +He gave them in his children's veins, and hates +And wrongs the woman he has sworn to love. + +Pass where we may, through city, or through town, +Village or hamlet of this merry land, +Though lean and beggared, every twentieth pace +Conducts the unguarded nose to such a whiff +Of stale debauch, forth-issuing from the styes +That law has licensed, as makes temperance reel. +There sit involved and lost in curling clouds +Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor, +The lackey, and the groom. The craftsman there +Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil; +Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the shears, +And he that kneads the dough: all loud alike, +All learned, and all drunk. The fiddle screams +Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wailed +Its wasted tones and harmony unheard; +Fierce the dispute, whate'er the theme; while she, +Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, +Perched on the sign-post, holds with even hand +Her undecisive scales. In this she lays +A weight of ignorance, in that, of pride, +And smiles delighted with the eternal poise. +Dire is the frequent curse and its twin sound +The cheek-distending oath, not to be praised +As ornamental, musical, polite, +Like those which modern senators employ, +Whose oath is rhetoric, and who swear for fame. +Behold the schools in which plebeian minds, +Once simple, are initiated in arts +Which some may practise with politer grace, +But none with readier skill! 'Tis here they learn +The road that leads from competence and peace +To indigence and rapine; till at last +Society, grown weary of the load, +Shakes her encumbered lap, and casts them out. +But censure profits little. Vain the attempt +To advertise in verse a public pest, +That, like the filth with which the peasant feeds +His hungry acres, stinks and is of use. +The excise is fattened with the rich result +Of all this riot; and ten thousand casks, +For ever dribbling out their base contents, +Touched by the Midas finger of the state, +Bleed gold for Ministers to sport away. +Drink and be mad then; 'tis your country bids! +Gloriously drunk, obey the important call, +Her cause demands the assistance of your throats;-- +Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more. + +Would I had fallen upon those happier days +That poets celebrate; those golden times +And those Arcadian scenes that Maro sings, +And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose. +Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts +That felt their virtues. Innocence, it seems, +From courts dismissed, found shelter in the groves; +The footsteps of simplicity, impressed +Upon the yielding herbage (so they sing), +Then were not all effaced. Then speech profane +And manners profligate were rarely found, +Observed as prodigies, and soon reclaimed. +Vain wish! those days were never: airy dreams +Sat for the picture; and the poet's hand, +Imparting substance to an empty shade, +Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. +Grant it: I still must envy them an age +That favoured such a dream, in days like these +Impossible, when virtue is so scarce +That to suppose a scene where she presides +Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief. +No. We are polished now. The rural lass, +Whom once her virgin modesty and grace, +Her artless manners and her neat attire, +So dignified, that she was hardly less +Than the fair shepherdess of old romance, +Is seen no more. The character is lost. +Her head adorned with lappets pinned aloft +And ribbons streaming gay, superbly raised +And magnified beyond all human size, +Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand +For more than half the tresses it sustains; +Her elbows ruffled, and her tottering form +Ill propped upon French heels; she might be deemed +(But that the basket dangling on her arm +Interprets her more truly) of a rank +Too proud for dairy-work, or sale of eggs; +Expect her soon with foot-boy at her heels, +No longer blushing for her awkward load, +Her train and her umbrella all her care. + +The town has tinged the country; and the stain +Appears a spot upon a vestal's robe, +The worse for what it soils. The fashion runs +Down into scenes still rural, but alas, +Scenes rarely graced with rural manners now. +Time was when in the pastoral retreat +The unguarded door was safe; men did not watch +To invade another's right, or guard their own. +Then sleep was undisturbed by fear, unscared +By drunken howlings; and the chilling tale +Of midnight murder was a wonder heard +With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes +But farewell now to unsuspicious nights, +And slumbers unalarmed. Now, ere you sleep, +See that your polished arms be primed with care, +And drop the night-bolt. Ruffians are abroad, +And the first larum of the cock's shrill throat +May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear +To horrid sounds of hostile feet within. +Even daylight has its dangers; and the walk +Through pathless wastes and woods, unconscious once +Of other tenants than melodious birds, +Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold. +Lamented change! to which full many a cause +Inveterate, hopeless of a cure, conspires. +The course of human things from good to ill, +From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails. +Increase of power begets increase of wealth; +Wealth luxury, and luxury excess; +Excess, the scrofulous and itchy plague +That seizes first the opulent, descends +To the next rank contagious, and in time +Taints downward all the graduated scale +Of order, from the chariot to the plough. +The rich, and they that have an arm to check +The licence of the lowest in degree, +Desert their office; and themselves, intent +On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus +To all the violence of lawless hands +Resign the scenes their presence might protect. +Authority itself not seldom sleeps, +Though resident, and witness of the wrong. +The plump convivial parson often bears +The magisterial sword in vain, and lays +His reverence and his worship both to rest +On the same cushion of habitual sloth. +Perhaps timidity restrains his arm, +When he should strike he trembles, and sets free, +Himself enslaved by terror of the band, +The audacious convict whom he dares not bind. +Perhaps, though by profession ghostly pure, +He, too, may have his vice, and sometimes prove +Less dainty than becomes his grave outside +In lucrative concerns. Examine well +His milk-white hand. The palm is hardly clean-- +But here and there an ugly smutch appears. +Foh! 'twas a bribe that left it. He has touched +Corruption. Whoso seeks an audit here +Propitious, pays his tribute, game or fish, +Wildfowl or venison, and his errand speeds. + +But faster far and more than all the rest +A noble cause, which none who bears a spark +Of public virtue ever wished removed, +Works the deplored and mischievous effect. +'Tis universal soldiership has stabbed +The heart of merit in the meaner class. +Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage +Of those that bear them, in whatever cause, +Seem most at variance with all moral good, +And incompatible with serious thought. +The clown, the child of nature, without guile, +Blest with an infant's ignorance of all +But his own simple pleasures, now and then +A wrestling match, a foot-race, or a fair, +Is balloted, and trembles at the news. +Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears +A Bible-oath to be whate'er they please, +To do he knows not what. The task performed, +That instant he becomes the serjeant's care, +His pupil, and his torment, and his jest; +His awkward gait, his introverted toes, +Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks, +Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees, +Unapt to learn and formed of stubborn stuff, +He yet by slow degrees puts off himself, +Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well. +He stands erect, his slouch becomes a walk, +He steps right onward, martial in his air, +His form and movement; is as smart above +As meal and larded locks can make him: wears +His hat or his plumed helmet with a grace, +And, his three years of heroship expired, +Returns indignant to the slighted plough. +He hates the field in which no fife or drum +Attends him, drives his cattle to a march, +And sighs for the smart comrades he has left. +'Twere well if his exterior change were all-- +But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost +His ignorance and harmless manners too. +To swear, to game, to drink, to show at home +By lewdness, idleness, and Sabbath-breach, +The great proficiency he made abroad, +To astonish and to grieve his gazing friends, +To break some maiden's and his mother's heart, +To be a pest where he was useful once, +Are his sole aim, and all his glory now! +Man in society is like a flower +Blown in its native bed. 'Tis there alone +His faculties expanded in full bloom +Shine out, there only reach their proper use. +But man associated and leagued with man +By regal warrant, or self-joined by bond +For interest sake, or swarming into clans +Beneath one head for purposes of war, +Like flowers selected from the rest, and bound +And bundled close to fill some crowded vase, +Fades rapidly, and by compression marred +Contracts defilement not to be endured. +Hence chartered boroughs are such public plagues, +And burghers, men immaculate perhaps +In all their private functions, once combined, +Become a loathsome body, only fit +For dissolution, hurtful to the main. +Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin +Against the charities of domestic life, +Incorporated, seem at once to lose +Their nature, and, disclaiming all regard +For mercy and the common rights of man, +Build factories with blood, conducting trade +At the sword's point, and dyeing the white robe +Of innocent commercial justice red. +Hence too the field of glory, as the world +Misdeems it, dazzled by its bright array, +With all the majesty of thundering pomp, +Enchanting music and immortal wreaths, +Is but a school where thoughtlessness is taught +On principle, where foppery atones +For folly, gallantry for every vice. + +But slighted as it is, and by the great +Abandoned, and, which still I more regret, +Infected with the manners and the modes +It knew not once, the country wins me still. +I never framed a wish or formed a plan +That flattered me with hopes of earthly bliss, +But there I laid the scene. There early strayed +My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice +Had found me, or the hope of being free. +My very dreams were rural, rural too +The first-born efforts of my youthful muse, +Sportive, and jingling her poetic bells +Ere yet her ear was mistress of their powers. +No bard could please me but whose lyre was tuned +To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats +Fatigued me, never weary of the pipe +Of Tityrus, assembling as he sang +The rustic throng beneath his favourite beech. +Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms: +New to my taste, his Paradise surpassed +The struggling efforts of my boyish tongue +To speak its excellence; I danced for joy. +I marvelled much that, at so ripe an age +As twice seven years, his beauties had then first +Engaged my wonder, and admiring still, +And still admiring, with regret supposed +The joy half lost because not sooner found. +Thee, too, enamoured of the life I loved, +Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit +Determined, and possessing it at last +With transports such as favoured lovers feel, +I studied, prized, and wished that I had known, +Ingenious Cowley: and though now, reclaimed +By modern lights from an erroneous taste, +I cannot but lament thy splendid wit +Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools. +I still revere thee, courtly though retired, +Though stretched at ease in Chertsey's silent bowers, +Not unemployed, and finding rich amends +For a lost world in solitude and verse. +'Tis born with all. The love of Nature's works +Is an ingredient in the compound, man, +Infused at the creation of the kind. +And though the Almighty Maker has throughout +Discriminated each from each, by strokes +And touches of His hand, with so much art +Diversified, that two were never found +Twins at all points--yet this obtains in all, +That all discern a beauty in His works, +And all can taste them: minds that have been formed +And tutored, with a relish more exact, +But none without some relish, none unmoved. +It is a flame that dies not even there, +Where nothing feeds it. Neither business, crowds, +Nor habits of luxurious city life, +Whatever else they smother of true worth +In human bosoms, quench it or abate. +The villas, with which London stands begirt +Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads, +Prove it. A breath of unadulterate air, +The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer +The citizen, and brace his languid frame! +Even in the stifling bosom of the town, +A garden in which nothing thrives, has charms +That soothe the rich possessor; much consoled +That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint, +Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well +He cultivates. These serve him with a hint +That Nature lives; that sight-refreshing green +Is still the livery she delights to wear, +Though sickly samples of the exuberant whole. +What are the casements lined with creeping herbs, +The prouder sashes fronted with a range +Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed, +The Frenchman's darling? are they not all proofs +That man, immured in cities, still retains +His inborn inextinguishable thirst +Of rural scenes, compensating his loss +By supplemental shifts, the best he may? +The most unfurnished with the means of life, +And they that never pass their brick-wall bounds +To range the fields, and treat their lungs with air, +Yet feel the burning instinct: over-head +Suspend their crazy boxes planted thick +And watered duly. There the pitcher stands +A fragment, and the spoutless tea-pot there; +Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets +The country, with what ardour he contrives +A peep at nature, when he can no more. + +Hail, therefore, patroness of health and ease +And contemplation, heart-consoling joys +And harmless pleasures, in the thronged abode +Of multitudes unknown, hail rural life! +Address himself who will to the pursuit +Of honours, or emolument, or fame, +I shall not add myself to such a chase, +Thwart his attempts, or envy his success. +Some must be great. Great offices will have +Great talents. And God gives to every man +The virtue, temper, understanding, taste, +That lifts him into life, and lets him fall +Just in the niche he was ordained to fill. +To the deliverer of an injured land +He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, a heart +To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs; +To monarchs dignity, to judges sense; +To artists ingenuity and skill; +To me an unambitious mind, content +In the low vale of life, that early felt +A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long +Found here that leisure and that ease I wished. + + + +BOOK V. + + + +THE WINTER MORNING WALK. + +'Tis morning; and the sun, with ruddy orb +Ascending, fires the horizon; while the clouds, +That crowd away before the driving wind, +More ardent as the disk emerges more, +Resemble most some city in a blaze, +Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray +Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale, +And, tingeing all with his own rosy hue, +From every herb and every spiry blade +Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field, +Mine, spindling into longitude immense, +In spite of gravity, and sage remark +That I myself am but a fleeting shade, +Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance +I view the muscular proportioned limb +Transformed to a lean shank; the shapeless pair, +As they designed to mock me, at my side +Take step for step, and, as I near approach +The cottage, walk along the plastered wall, +Preposterous sight, the legs without the man. +The verdure of the plain lies buried deep +Beneath the dazzling deluge, and the bents +And coarser grass upspearing o'er the rest, +Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine +Conspicuous, and, in bright apparel clad, +And fledged with icy feathers, nod superb. +The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence +Screens them, and seem, half petrified, to sleep +In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait +Their wonted fodder, not, like hungering man, +Fretful if unsupplied, but silent, meek, +And patient of the slow-paced swain's delay. +He from the stack carves out the accustomed load, +Deep-plunging, and again deep-plunging oft +His broad keen knife into the solid mass: +Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands, +With such undeviating and even force +He severs it away: no needless care, +Lest storms should overset the leaning pile +Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight. +Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcerned +The cheerful haunts of man, to wield the axe +And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear, +From morn to eve his solitary task. +Shaggy and lean and shrewd, with pointed ears +And tail cropped short, half lurcher and half cur, +His dog attends him. Close behind his heel +Now creeps he slow, and now with many a frisk, +Wide-scampering, snatches up the drifted snow +With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout; +Then shakes his powdered coat and barks for joy. +Heedless of all his pranks the sturdy churl +Moves right toward the mark; nor stops for aught, +But now and then, with pressure of his thumb, +To adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube, +That fumes beneath his nose; the trailing cloud +Streams far behind him, scenting all the air. +Now from the roost, or from the neighbouring pale, +Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam +Of smiling day, they gossiped side by side, +Come trooping at the housewife's well-known call +The feathered tribes domestic; half on wing, +And half on foot, they brush the fleecy flood, +Conscious, and fearful of too deep a plunge. +The sparrows peep, and quit the sheltering eaves +To seize the fair occasion; well they eye +The scattered grain, and, thievishly resolved +To escape the impending famine, often scared +As oft return, a pert, voracious kind. +Clean riddance quickly made, one only care +Remains to each, the search of sunny nook, +Or shed impervious to the blast. Resigned +To sad necessity the cock foregoes +His wonted strut, and, wading at their head +With well-considered steps, seems to resent +His altered gait, and stateliness retrenched. +How find the myriads, that in summer cheer +The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs, +Due sustenance, or where subsist they now? +Earth yields them naught: the imprisoned worm is safe +Beneath the frozen clod; all seeds of herbs +Lie covered close, and berry-bearing thorns +That feed the thrush (whatever some suppose), +Afford the smaller minstrel no supply. +The long-protracted rigour of the year +Thins all their numerous flocks. In chinks and holes +Ten thousand seek an unmolested end, +As instinct prompts, self-buried ere they die. +The very rooks and daws forsake the fields, +Where neither grub nor root nor earth-nut now +Repays their labour more; and perched aloft +By the way-side, or stalking in the path, +Lean pensioners upon the traveller's track, +Pick up their nauseous dole, though sweet to them, +Of voided pulse, or half-digested grain. +The streams are lost amid the splendid blank, +O'erwhelming all distinction. On the flood +Indurated and fixed the snowy weight +Lies undissolved, while silently beneath +And unperceived the current steals away; +Not so where, scornful of a check, it leaps +The mill-dam, dashes on the restless wheel, +And wantons in the pebbly gulf below. +No frost can bind it there. Its utmost force +Can but arrest the light and smoky mist +That in its fall the liquid sheet throws wide. +And see where it has hung the embroidered banks +With forms so various, that no powers of art, +The pencil, or the pen, may trace the scene! +Here glittering turrets rise, upbearing high +(Fantastic misarrangement) on the roof +Large growth of what may seem the sparkling trees +And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops +That trickle down the branches, fast congealed, +Shoot into pillars of pellucid length +And prop the pile they but adorned before. +Here grotto within grotto safe defies +The sunbeam. There imbossed and fretted wild, +The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes +Capricious, in which fancy seeks in vain +The likeness of some object seen before. +Thus nature works as if to mock at art, +And in defiance of her rival powers; +By these fortuitous and random strokes +Performing such inimitable feats, +As she with all her rules can never reach. +Less worthy of applause though more admired, +Because a novelty, the work of man, +Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ, +Thy most magnificent and mighty freak, +The wonder of the North. No forest fell +When thou wouldst build; no quarry sent its stores +To enrich thy walls; but thou didst hew the floods, +And make thy marble of the glassy wave. +In such a palace Aristaeus found +Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale +Of his lost bees to her maternal ear. +In such a palace poetry might place +The armoury of winter, where his troops, +The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet, +Skin-piercing volley, blossom-bruising hail, +And snow that often blinds the traveller's course, +And wraps him in an unexpected tomb. +Silently as a dream the fabric rose. +No sound of hammer or of saw was there. +Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts +Were soon conjoined, nor other cement asked +Than water interfused to make them one. +Lamps gracefully disposed, and of all hues, +Illumined every side. A watery light +Gleamed through the clear transparency, that seemed +Another moon new-risen, or meteor fallen +From heaven to earth, of lambent flame serene. +So stood the brittle prodigy, though smooth +And slippery the materials, yet frost-bound +Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within +That royal residence might well befit, +For grandeur or for use. Long wavy wreaths +Of flowers, that feared no enemy but warmth, +Blushed on the panels. Mirror needed none +Where all was vitreous, but in order due +Convivial table and commodious seat +(What seemed at least commodious seat) were there, +Sofa and couch and high-built throne august. +The same lubricity was found in all, +And all was moist to the warm touch; a scene +Of evanescent glory, once a stream, +And soon to slide into a stream again. +Alas, 'twas but a mortifying stroke +Of undesigned severity, that glanced +(Made by a monarch) on her own estate, +On human grandeur and the courts of kings +'Twas transient in its nature, as in show +'Twas durable; as worthless, as it seemed +Intrinsically precious; to the foot +Treacherous and false; it smiled, and it was cold. + +Great princes have great playthings. Some have played +At hewing mountains into men, and some +At building human wonders mountain high. +Some have amused the dull sad years of life +(Life spent in indolence, and therefore sad) +With schemes of monumental fame, and sought +By pyramids and mausoleum pomp, +Short-lived themselves, to immortalise their bones. +Some seek diversion in the tented field, +And make the sorrows of mankind their sport. +But war's a game which, were their subjects wise, +Kings should not play at. Nations would do well +To extort their truncheons from the puny hands +Of heroes whose infirm and baby minds +Are gratified with mischief, and who spoil, +Because men suffer it, their toy the world. + +When Babel was confounded, and the great +Confederacy of projectors wild and vain +Was split into diversity of tongues, +Then, as a shepherd separates his flock, +These to the upland, to the valley those, +God drave asunder and assigned their lot +To all the nations. Ample was the boon +He gave them, in its distribution fair +And equal, and he bade them dwell in peace. +Peace was a while their care. They ploughed and sowed, +And reaped their plenty without grudge or strife, +But violence can never longer sleep +Than human passions please. In every heart +Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war, +Occasion needs but fan them, and they blaze. +Cain had already shed a brother's blood: +The Deluge washed it out; but left unquenched +The seeds of murder in the breast of man. +Soon, by a righteous judgment, in the line +Of his descending progeny was found +The first artificer of death; the shrewd +Contriver who first sweated at the forge, +And forced the blunt and yet unblooded steel +To a keen edge, and made it bright for war. +Him Tubal named, the Vulcan of old times, +The sword and falchion their inventor claim, +And the first smith was the first murderer's son. +His art survived the waters; and ere long, +When man was multiplied and spread abroad +In tribes and clans, and had begun to call +These meadows and that range of hills his own, +The tasted sweets of property begat +Desire of more; and industry in some +To improve and cultivate their just demesne, +Made others covet what they saw so fair. +Thus wars began on earth. These fought for spoil, +And those in self-defence. Savage at first +The onset, and irregular. At length +One eminent above the rest, for strength, +For stratagem, or courage, or for all, +Was chosen leader. Him they served in war, +And him in peace for sake of warlike deeds +Reverenced no less. Who could with him compare? +Or who so worthy to control themselves +As he, whose prowess had subdued their foes? +Thus war, affording field for the display +Of virtue, made one chief, whom times of peace, +Which have their exigencies too, and call +For skill in government, at length made king. +King was a name too proud for man to wear +With modesty and meekness, and the crown, +So dazzling in their eyes who set it on, +Was sure to intoxicate the brows it bound. +It is the abject property of most, +That being parcel of the common mass, +And destitute of means to raise themselves, +They sink and settle lower than they need. +They know not what it is to feel within +A comprehensive faculty, that grasps +Great purposes with ease, that turns and wields, +Almost without an effort, plans too vast +For their conception, which they cannot move. +Conscious of impotence they soon grow drunk +With gazing, when they see an able man +Step forth to notice; and besotted thus +Build him a pedestal and say--Stand there, +And be our admiration and our praise. +They roll themselves before him in the dust, +Then most deserving in their own account +When most extravagant in his applause, +As if exalting him they raised themselves. +Thus by degrees, self-cheated of their sound +And sober judgment that he is but man, +They demi-deify and fume him so +That in due season he forgets it too. +Inflated and astrut with self-conceit +He gulps the windy diet, and ere long, +Adopting their mistake, profoundly thinks +The world was made in vain if not for him. +Thenceforth they are his cattle: drudges, born +To bear his burdens, drawing in his gears, +And sweating in his service. His caprice +Becomes the soul that animates them all. +He deems a thousand, or ten thousand lives, +Spent in the purchase of renown for him +An easy reckoning, and they think the same. +Thus kings were first invented, and thus kings +Were burnished into heroes, and became +The arbiters of this terraqueous swamp; +Storks among frogs, that have but croaked and died. +Strange that such folly, as lifts bloated man +To eminence fit only for a god, +Should ever drivel out of human lips, +Even in the cradled weakness of the world! +Still stranger much, that when at length mankind +Had reached the sinewy firmness of their youth, +And could discriminate and argue well +On subjects more mysterious, they were yet +Babes in the cause of freedom, and should fear +And quake before the gods themselves had made. +But above measure strange, that neither proof +Of sad experience, nor examples set +By some whose patriot virtue has prevailed, +Can even now, when they are grown mature +In wisdom, and with philosophic deeps +Familiar, serve to emancipate the rest! +Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone +To reverence what is ancient, and can plead +A course of long observance for its use, +That even servitude, the worst of ills, +Because delivered down from sire to son, +Is kept and guarded as a sacred thing. +But is it fit, or can it bear the shock +Of rational discussion, that a man, +Compounded and made up like other men +Of elements tumultuous, in whom lust +And folly in as ample measure meet, +As in the bosoms of the slaves he rules, +Should be a despot absolute, and boast +Himself the only freeman of his land? +Should when he pleases, and on whom he will, +Wage war, with any or with no pretence +Of provocation given, or wrong sustained, +And force the beggarly last doit, by means +That his own humour dictates, from the clutch +Of poverty, that thus he may procure +His thousands, weary of penurious life, +A splendid opportunity to die? +Say ye, who (with less prudence than of old +Jotham ascribed to his assembled trees +In politic convention) put your trust +I' th' shadow of a bramble, and recline +In fancied peace beneath his dangerous branch, +Rejoice in him and celebrate his sway, +Where find ye passive fortitude? Whence springs +Your self-denying zeal that holds it good +To stroke the prickly grievance, and to hang +His thorns with streamers of continual praise? +We too are friends to loyalty; we love +The king who loves the law, respects his bounds. +And reigns content within them; him we serve +Freely and with delight, who leaves us free; +But recollecting still that he is man, +We trust him not too far. King though he be, +And king in England, too, he may be weak +And vain enough to be ambitious still, +May exercise amiss his proper powers, +Or covet more than freemen choose to grant: +Beyond that mark is treason. He is ours, +To administer, to guard, to adorn the state, +But not to warp or change it. We are his, +To serve him nobly in the common cause +True to the death, but not to be his slaves. +Mark now the difference, ye that boast your love +Of kings, between your loyalty and ours. +We love the man; the paltry pageant you: +We the chief patron of the commonwealth; +You the regardless author of its woes: +We, for the sake of liberty, a king; +You chains and bondage for a tyrant's sake. + +Our love is principle, and has its root +In reason, is judicious, manly, free; +Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to the rod, +And licks the foot that treads it in the dust. +Were kingship as true treasure as it seems, +Sterling, and worthy of a wise man's wish, +I would not be a king to be beloved +Causeless, and daubed with undiscerning praise, +Where love is more attachment to the throne, +Not to the man who fills it as he ought. + +Whose freedom is by sufferance, and at will +Of a superior, he is never free. +Who lives, and is not weary of a life +Exposed to manacles, deserves them well. +The state that strives for liberty, though foiled +And forced to abandon what she bravely sought, +Deserves at least applause for her attempt, +And pity for her loss. But that's a cause +Not often unsuccessful; power usurped +Is weakness when opposed; conscious of wrong, +'Tis pusillanimous and prone to flight. +But slaves that once conceive the glowing thought +Of freedom, in that hope itself possess +All that the contest calls for; spirit, strength, +The scorn of danger, and united hearts, +The surest presage of the good they seek. * + +* The author hopes that he shall not be censured for +unnecessary warmth upon so interesting a subject. He is aware +that it is become almost fashionable to stigmatise such +sentiments as no better than empty declamation. But it is an +ill symptom, and peculiar to modern times.-C. + +Then shame to manhood, and opprobrious more +To France than all her losses and defeats, +Old or of later date, by sea or land, +Her house of bondage worse than that of old +Which God avenged on Pharaoh--the Bastille! +Ye horrid towers, the abode of broken hearts, +Ye dungeons and ye cages of despair, +That monarchs have supplied from age to age +With music such as suits their sovereign ears, +The sighs and groans of miserable men! +There's not an English heart that would not leap +To hear that ye were fallen at last, to know +That even our enemies, so oft employed +In forging chains for us, themselves were free. +For he that values liberty, confines +His zeal for her predominance within +No narrow bounds; her cause engages him +Wherever pleaded. 'Tis the cause of man. +There dwell the most forlorn of humankind, +Immured though unaccused, condemned untried, +Cruelly spared, and hopeless of escape. +There, like the visionary emblem seen +By him of Babylon, life stands a stump, +And filleted about with hoops of brass, +Still lives, though all its pleasant boughs are gone. +To count the hour bell and expect no change; +And ever as the sullen sound is heard, +Still to reflect that though a joyless note +To him whose moments all have one dull pace, +Ten thousand rovers in the world at large +Account it music; that it summons some +To theatre, or jocund feast, or ball; +The wearied hireling finds it a release +From labour, and the lover, that has chid +Its long delay, feels every welcome stroke +Upon his heart-strings trembling with delight;-- +To fly for refuge from distracting thought +To such amusements as ingenious woe +Contrives, hard-shifting and without her tools;-- +To read engraven on the mouldy walls, +In staggering types, his predecessor's tale, +A sad memorial, and subjoin his own;-- +To turn purveyor to an overgorged +And bloated spider, till the pampered pest +Is made familiar, watches his approach, +Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend;-- +To wear out time in numbering to and fro +The studs that thick emboss his iron door, +Then downward and then upward, then aslant +And then alternate, with a sickly hope +By dint of change to give his tasteless task +Some relish, till the sum, exactly found +In all directions, he begins again:-- +Oh comfortless existence! hemmed around +With woes, which who that suffers would not kneel +And beg for exile, or the pangs of death? +That man should thus encroach on fellow-man, +Abridge him of his just and native rights, +Eradicate him, tear him from his hold +Upon the endearments of domestic life +And social, nip his fruitfulness and use, +And doom him for perhaps a heedless word +To barrenness and solitude and tears, +Moves indignation; makes the name of king +(Of king whom such prerogative can please) +As dreadful as the Manichean god, +Adored through fear, strong only to destroy. + +'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower +Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume, +And we are weeds without it. All constraint, +Except what wisdom lays on evil men, +Is evil; hurts the faculties, impedes +Their progress in the road of science; blinds +The eyesight of discovery, and begets, +In those that suffer it, a sordid mind +Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit +To be the tenant of man's noble form. +Thee therefore still, blameworthy as thou art, +With all thy loss of empire, and though squeezed +By public exigence, till annual food +Fails for the craving hunger of the state, +Thee I account still happy, and the chief +Among the nations, seeing thou art free, +My native nook of earth! Thy clime is rude, +Replete with vapours, and disposes much +All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine; +Thine unadulterate manners are less soft +And plausible than social life requires. +And thou hast need of discipline and art +To give thee what politer France receives +From Nature's bounty--that humane address +And sweetness, without which no pleasure is +In converse, either starved by cold reserve, +Or flushed with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl; +Yet, being free, I love thee; for the sake +Of that one feature, can be well content, +Disgraced as thou hast been, poor as thou art, +To seek no sublunary rest beside. +But once enslaved, farewell! I could endure +Chains nowhere patiently; and chains at home, +Where I am free by birthright, not at all. +Then what were left of roughness in the grain +Of British natures, wanting its excuse +That it belongs to freemen, would disgust +And shock me. I should then with double pain +Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime; +And, if I must bewail the blessing lost +For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, +I would at least bewail it under skies +Milder, among a people less austere, +In scenes which, having never known me free, +Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. +Do I forebode impossible events, +And tremble at vain dreams? Heaven grant I may, +But the age of virtuous politics is past, +And we are deep in that of cold pretence. +Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere, +And we too wise to trust them. He that takes +Deep in his soft credulity the stamp +Designed by loud declaimers on the part +Of liberty, themselves the slaves of lust, +Incurs derision for his easy faith +And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough. +For when was public virtue to be found, +Where private was not? Can he love the whole +Who loves no part? he be a nation's friend +Who is, in truth, the friend of no man there? +Can he be strenuous in his country's cause, +Who slights the charities for whose dear sake +That country, if at all, must be beloved? +--'Tis therefore sober and good men are sad +For England's glory, seeing it wax pale +And sickly, while her champions wear their hearts +So loose to private duty, that no brain, +Healthful and undisturbed by factious fumes, +Can dream them trusty to the general weal. +Such were not they of old whose tempered blades +Dispersed the shackles of usurped control, +And hewed them link from link. Then Albion's sons +Were sons indeed. They felt a filial heart +Beat high within them at a mother's wrongs, +And shining each in his domestic sphere, +Shone brighter still once called to public view. +'Tis therefore many, whose sequestered lot +Forbids their interference, looking on, +Anticipate perforce some dire event; +And seeing the old castle of the state, +That promised once more firmness, so assailed +That all its tempest-beaten turrets shake, +Stand motionless expectants of its fall. +All has its date below. The fatal hour +Was registered in heaven ere time began. +We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works +Die too. The deep foundations that we lay, +Time ploughs them up, and not a trace remains. +We build with what we deem eternal rock; +A distant age asks where the fabric stood; +And in the dust, sifted and searched in vain, +The undiscoverable secret sleeps. + +But there is yet a liberty unsung +By poets, and by senators unpraised, +Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the power +Of earth and hell confederate take away; +A liberty, which persecution, fraud, +Oppression, prisons, have no power to bind, +Which whoso tastes can be enslaved no more: +'Tis liberty of heart, derived from heaven, +Bought with His blood who gave it to mankind, +And sealed with the same token. It is held +By charter, and that charter sanctioned sure +By the unimpeachable and awful oath +And promise of a God. His other gifts +All bear the royal stamp that speaks them His, +And are august, but this transcends them all. +His other works, this visible display +Of all-creating energy and might, +Are grand, no doubt, and worthy of the Word +That, finding an interminable space +Unoccupied, has filled the void so well, +And made so sparkling what was dark before. +But these are not His glory. Man, 'tis true, +Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene, +Might well suppose the Artificer Divine +Meant it eternal, had He not Himself +Pronounced it transient, glorious as it is, +And still designing a more glorious far, +Doomed it, as insufficient for His praise. +These, therefore, are occasional, and pass; +Formed for the confutation of the fool +Whose lying heart disputes against a God; +That office served, they must be swept away. +Not so the labours of His love; they shine +In other heavens than these that we behold, +And fade not. There is Paradise that fears +No forfeiture, and of its fruits He sends +Large prelibation oft to saints below. +Of these the first in order, and the pledge +And confident assurance of the rest, +Is liberty; a flight into His arms +Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way, +A clear escape from tyrannising lust, +And fill immunity from penal woe. + +Chains are the portion of revolted man, +Stripes and a dungeon; and his body serves +The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul, +Opprobrious residence, he finds them all. +Propense his heart to idols, he is held +In silly dotage on created things +Careless of their Creator. And that low +And sordid gravitation of his powers +To a vile clod, so draws him with such force +Resistless from the centre he should seek, +That he at last forgets it. All his hopes +Tend downward, his ambition is to sink, +To reach a depth profounder still, and still +Profounder, in the fathomless abyss +Of folly, plunging in pursuit of death. +But ere he gain the comfortless repose +He seeks, and acquiescence of his soul, +In heaven renouncing exile, he endures +What does he not? from lusts opposed in vain, +And self-reproaching conscience. He foresees +The fatal issue to his health, fame, peace, +Fortune, and dignity; the loss of all +That can ennoble man, and make frail life, +Short as it is, supportable. Still worse, +Far worse than all the plagues with which his sins +Infect his happiest moments, he forebodes +Ages of hopeless misery; future death, +And death still future; not a hasty stroke, +Like that which sends him to the dusty grave, +But unrepealable enduring death. +Scripture is still a trumpet to his fears: +What none can prove a forgery, may be true; +What none but bad men wish exploded, must. +That scruple checks him. Riot is not loud +Nor drunk enough to drown it. In the midst +Of laughter his compunctions are sincere, +And he abhors the jest by which he shines. +Remorse begets reform. His master-lust +Falls first before his resolute rebuke, +And seems dethroned and vanquished. Peace ensues, +But spurious and short-lived, the puny child +Of self-congratulating Pride, begot +On fancied Innocence. Again he falls, +And fights again; but finds his best essay, +A presage ominous, portending still +Its own dishonour by a worse relapse, +Till Nature, unavailing Nature, foiled +So oft, and wearied in the vain attempt, +Scoffs at her own performance. Reason now +Takes part with appetite, and pleads the cause, +Perversely, which of late she so condemned; +With shallow shifts and old devices, worn +And tattered in the service of debauch, +Covering his shame from his offended sight. + +"Hath God indeed given appetites to man, +And stored the earth so plenteously with means +To gratify the hunger of His wish, +And doth He reprobate and will He damn +The use of His own bounty? making first +So frail a kind, and then enacting laws +So strict, that less than perfect must despair? +Falsehood! which whoso but suspects of truth, +Dishonours God, and makes a slave of man. +Do they themselves, who undertake for hire +The teacher's office, and dispense at large +Their weekly dole of edifying strains, +Attend to their own music? have they faith +In what, with such solemnity of tone +And gesture, they propound to our belief? +Nay--conduct hath the loudest tongue. The voice +Is but an instrument on which the priest +May play what tune he pleases. In the deed, +The unequivocal authentic deed, +We find sound argument, we read the heart." + +Such reasonings (if that name must needs belong +To excuses in which reason has no part) +Serve to compose a spirit well inclined +To live on terms of amity with vice, +And sin without disturbance. Often urged +(As often as, libidinous discourse +Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes +Of theological and grave import), +They gain at last his unreserved assent, +Till, hardened his heart's temper in the forge +Of lust and on the anvil of despair, +He slights the strokes of conscience. Nothing moves, +Or nothing much, his constancy in ill; +Vain tampering has but fostered his disease, +'Tis desperate, and he sleeps the sleep of death. +Haste now, philosopher, and set him free. +Charm the deaf serpent wisely. Make him hear +Of rectitude and fitness: moral truth +How lovely, and the moral sense how sure, +Consulted and obeyed, to guide his steps +Directly to the FIRST AND ONLY FAIR. +Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the powers +Of rant and rhapsody in virtue's praise, +Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand, +And with poetic trappings grace thy prose +Till it outmantle all the pride of verse.-- +Ah, tinkling cymbal and high-sounding brass +Smitten in vain! such music cannot charm +The eclipse that intercepts truth's heavenly beam, +And chills and darkens a wide-wandering soul. +The still small voice is wanted. He must speak, +Whose word leaps forth at once to its effect, +Who calls for things that are not, and they come. + +Grace makes the slave a freeman. 'Tis a change +That turns to ridicule the turgid speech +And stately tone of moralists, who boast, +As if, like him of fabulous renown, +They had indeed ability to smooth +The shag of savage nature, and were each +An Orpheus and omnipotent in song. +But transformation of apostate man +From fool to wise, from earthly to divine, +Is work for Him that made him. He alone, +And He, by means in philosophic eyes +Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves +The wonder; humanising what is brute +In the lost kind, extracting from the lips +Of asps their venom, overpowering strength +By weakness, and hostility by love. + +Patriots have toiled, and in their country's cause +Bled nobly, and their deeds, as they deserve, +Receive proud recompense. We give in charge +Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic muse, +Proud of the treasure, marches with it down +To latest times; and sculpture, in her turn, +Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass, +To guard them, and to immortalise her trust. +But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid, +To those who, posted at the shrine of truth, +Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood +Well spent in such a strife may earn indeed, +And for a time ensure to his loved land, +The sweets of liberty and equal laws; +But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize, +And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed +In confirmation of the noblest claim, +Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, +To walk with God, to be divinely free, +To soar, and to anticipate the skies! +Yet few remember them. They lived unknown, +Till persecution dragged them into fame +And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes flew +--No marble tells us whither. With their names +No bard embalms and sanctifies his song, +And history, so warm on meaner themes, +Is cold on this. She execrates indeed +The tyranny that doomed them to the fire, +But gives the glorious sufferers little praise. + +He is the freeman whom the truth makes free, +And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain +That hellish foes confederate for his harm +Can wind around him, but he casts it off +With as much ease as Samson his green withes. +He looks abroad into the varied field +Of Nature, and, though poor perhaps compared +With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, +Calls the delightful scenery all his own. +His are the mountains, and the valleys his, +And the resplendent river's. His to enjoy +With a propriety that none can feel, +But who, with filial confidence inspired, +Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, +And smiling say--My Father made them all! +Are they not his by a peculiar right, +And by an emphasis of interest his, +Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy, +Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind +With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love +That planned, and built, and still upholds a world +So clothed with beauty, for rebellious man? +Yes--ye may fill your garners, ye that reap +The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good +In senseless riot; but ye will not find +In feast or in the chase, in song or dance, +A liberty like his, who, unimpeached +Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, +Appropriates nature as his Father's work, +And has a richer use of yours, than you. +He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth +Of no mean city, planned or e'er the hills +Were built, the fountains opened, or the sea +With all his roaring multitude of waves. +His freedom is the same in every state; +And no condition of this changeful life +So manifold in cares, whose every day +Brings its own evil with it, makes it less. +For he has wings that neither sickness, pain, +Nor penury, can cripple or confine. +No nook so narrow but he spreads them there +With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds +His body bound, but knows not what a range +His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain; +And that to bind him is a vain attempt, +Whom God delights in, and in whom He dwells. + +Acquaint thyself with God if thou wouldst taste +His works. Admitted once to His embrace, +Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before; +Thine eye shall be instructed, and thine heart, +Made pure, shall relish, with divine delight +Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. +Brutes graze the mountain-top with faces prone, +And eyes intent upon the scanty herb +It yields them; or, recumbent on its brow, +Ruminate, heedless of the scene outspread +Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away +From inland regions to the distant main. +Man views it and admires, but rests content +With what he views. The landscape has his praise, +But not its Author. Unconcerned who formed +The paradise he sees, he finds it such, +And such well pleased to find it, asks no more. +Not so the mind that has been touched from heaven, +And in the school of sacred wisdom taught +To read His wonders, in whose thought the world, +Fair as it is, existed ere it was. +Nor for its own sake merely, but for His +Much more who fashioned it, he gives it praise; +Praise that from earth resulting as it ought +To earth's acknowledged Sovereign, finds at once +Its only just proprietor in Him. +The soul that sees Him, or receives sublimed +New faculties or learns at least to employ +More worthily the powers she owned before; +Discerns in all things what, with stupid gaze +Of ignorance, till then she overlooked, +A ray of heavenly light gilding all forms +Terrestrial, in the vast and the minute +The unambiguous footsteps of the God +Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing +And wheels His throne upon the rolling worlds. +Much conversant with heaven, she often holds +With those fair ministers of light to man +That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp +Sweet conference; inquires what strains were they +With which heaven rang, when every star, in haste +To gratulate the new-created earth, +Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God +Shouted for joy.--"Tell me, ye shining hosts +That navigate a sea that knows no storms, +Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud, +If from your elevation, whence ye view +Distinctly scenes invisible to man +And systems of whose birth no tidings yet +Have reached this nether world, ye spy a race +Favoured as ours, transgressors from the womb +And hasting to a grave, yet doomed to rise +And to possess a brighter heaven than yours? +As one who, long detained on foreign shores, +Pants to return, and when he sees afar +His country's weather-bleached and battered rocks, +From the green wave emerging, darts an eye +Radiant with joy towards the happy land; +So I with animated hopes behold, +And many an aching wish, your beamy fires, +That show like beacons in the blue abyss, +Ordained to guide the embodied spirit home +From toilsome life to never-ending rest. +Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires +That give assurance of their own success, +And that, infused from heaven, must thither tend." + +So reads he Nature whom the lamp of truth +Illuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious Word! +Which whoso sees, no longer wanders lost +With intellect bemazed in endless doubt, +But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built, +With means that were not till by Thee employed, +Worlds that had never been, hadst Thou in strength +Been less, or less benevolent than strong. +They are Thy witnesses, who speak Thy power +And goodness infinite, but speak in ears +That hear not, or receive not their report. +In vain Thy creatures testify of Thee +Till Thou proclaim Thyself. Theirs is indeed +A teaching voice; but 'tis the praise of Thine +That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn, +And with the boon gives talents for its use. +Till Thou art heard, imaginations vain +Possess the heart, and fables, false as hell, +Yet deemed oracular, lure down to death +The uninformed and heedless souls of men. +We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind, +The glory of Thy work, which yet appears +Perfect and unimpeachable of blame, +Challenging human scrutiny, and proved +Then skilful most when most severely judged. +But chance is not; or is not where Thou reign'st: +Thy providence forbids that fickle power +(If power she be that works but to confound) +To mix her wild vagaries with Thy laws. +Yet thus we dote, refusing, while we can, +Instruction, and inventing to ourselves +Gods such as guilt makes welcome--gods that sleep, +Or disregard our follies, or that sit +Amused spectators of this bustling stage. +Thee we reject, unable to abide +Thy purity, till pure as Thou art pure, +Made such by Thee, we love Thee for that cause +For which we shunned and hated Thee before. +Then we are free: then liberty, like day, +Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from heaven +Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. +A voice is heard that mortal ears hear not +Till Thou hast touched them; 'tis the voice of song, +A loud Hosanna sent from all Thy works, +Which he that hears it with a shout repeats, +And adds his rapture to the general praise. +In that blest moment, Nature, throwing wide +Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile +The Author of her beauties, who, retired +Behind His own creation, works unseen +By the impure, and hears His power denied. +Thou art the source and centre of all minds, +Their only point of rest, eternal Word! +From Thee departing, they are lost and rove +At random, without honour, hope, or peace. +From Thee is all that soothes the life of man, +His high endeavour, and his glad success, +His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. +But, oh, Thou Bounteous Giver of all good, +Thou art of all Thy gifts Thyself the crown! +Give what Thou canst, without Thee we are poor, +And with Thee rich, take what Thou wilt away. + + + +BOOK VI. + + + +THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. + +There is in souls a sympathy with sounds, +And as the mind is pitched the ear is pleased +With melting airs or martial, brisk or grave; +Some chord in unison with what we hear +Is touched within us, and the heart replies. +How soft the music of those village bells +Falling at intervals upon the ear +In cadence sweet, now dying all away, +Now pealing loud again, and louder still, +Clear and sonorous as the gale comes on. +With easy force it opens all the cells +Where memory slept. Wherever I have heard +A kindred melody, the scene recurs, +And with it all its pleasures and its pains. +Such comprehensive views the spirit takes, +That in a few short moments I retrace +(As in a map the voyager his course) +The windings of my way through many years. +Short as in retrospect the journey seems, +It seemed not always short; the rugged path, +And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn, +Moved many a sigh at its disheartening length. +Yet feeling present evils, while the past +Faintly impress the mind, or not at all, +How readily we wish time spent revoked, +That we might try the ground again, where once +(Through inexperience as we now perceive) +We missed that happiness we might have found. +Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend +A father, whose authority, in show +When most severe, and mustering all its force, +Was but the graver countenance of love; +Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lower, +And utter now and then an awful voice, +But had a blessing in its darkest frown, +Threatening at once and nourishing the plant. +We loved, but not enough, the gentle hand +That reared us. At a thoughtless age allured +By every gilded folly, we renounced +His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent +That converse which we now in vain regret. +How gladly would the man recall to life +The boy's neglected sire! a mother too, +That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still, +Might he demand them at the gates of death. +Sorrow has since they went subdued and tamed +The playful humour; he could now endure +(Himself grown sober in the vale of tears) +And feel a parent's presence no restraint. +But not to understand a treasure's worth +Till time has stolen away the slighted good, +Is cause of half the poverty we feel, +And makes the world the wilderness it is. +The few that pray at all, pray oft amiss, +And, seeking grace to improve the prize they hold, +Would urge a wiser suit than asking more. + +The night was winter in his roughest mood, +The morning sharp and clear; but now at noon +Upon the southern side of the slant hills, +And where the woods fence off the northern blast, +The season smiles, resigning all its rage, +And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue +Without a cloud, and white without a speck +The dazzling splendour of the scene below. +Again the harmony comes o'er the vale, +And through the trees I view the embattled tower +Whence all the music. I again perceive +The soothing influence of the wafted strains, +And settle in soft musings, as I tread +The walk still verdant under oaks and elms, +Whose outspread branches overarch the glade. +The roof, though movable through all its length, +As the wind sways it, has yet well sufficed, +And, intercepting in their silent fall +The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. +No noise is here, or none that hinders thought: +The redbreast warbles still, but is content +With slender notes and more than half suppressed. +Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light +From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes +From many a twig the pendant drops of ice, +That tinkle in the withered leaves below. +Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft, +Charms more than silence. Meditation here +May think down hours to moments. Here the heart +May give an useful lesson to the head, +And learning wiser grow without his books. +Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, +Have ofttimes no connection. Knowledge dwells +In heads replete with thoughts of other men; +Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. +Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, +The mere materials with which wisdom builds, +Till smoothed and squared and fitted to its place, +Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. +Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much, +Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. +Books are not seldom talismans and spells +By which the magic art of shrewder wits +Holds an unthinking multitude enthralled. +Some to the fascination of a name +Surrender judgment hoodwinked. Some the style +Infatuates, and, through labyrinths and wilds +Of error, leads them by a tune entranced. +While sloth seduces more, too weak to bear +The insupportable fatigue of thought, +And swallowing therefore without pause or choice +The total grist unsifted, husks and all. +But trees, and rivulets whose rapid course +Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer, +And sheep-walks populous with bleating lambs, +And lanes, in which the primrose ere her time +Peeps through the moss that clothes the hawthorn root, +Deceive no student. Wisdom there, and truth, +Not shy as in the world, and to be won +By slow solicitation, seize at once +The roving thought, and fix it on themselves. + +What prodigies can power divine perform +More grand than it produces year by year, +And all in sight of inattentive man? +Familiar with the effect we slight the cause, +And in the constancy of Nature's course, +The regular return of genial months, +And renovation of a faded world, +See nought to wonder at. Should God again, +As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race +Of the undeviating and punctual sun, +How would the world admire! but speaks it less +An agency divine, to make him know +His moment when to sink and when to rise +Age after age, than to arrest his course? +All we behold is miracle: but, seen +So duly, all is miracle in vain. +Where now the vital energy that moved, +While summer was, the pure and subtle lymph +Through the imperceptible meandering veins +Of leaf and flower? It sleeps: and the icy touch +Of unprolific winter has impressed +A cold stagnation on the intestine tide. +But let the months go round, a few short months, +And all shall be restored. These naked shoots, +Barren as lances, among which the wind +Makes wintry music, sighing as it goes, +Shall put their graceful foliage on again, +And more aspiring and with ampler spread +Shall boast new charms, and more than they have lost. +Then, each in its peculiar honours clad, +Shall publish even to the distant eye +Its family and tribe. Laburnum rich +In streaming gold; syringa ivory pure; +The scented and the scentless rose; this red +And of a humbler growth, the other tall, +And throwing up into the darkest gloom +Of neighbouring cypress, or more sable yew, +Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf +That the wind severs from the broken wave; +The lilac various in array, now white, +Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set +With purple spikes pyramidal, as if +Studious of ornament, yet unresolved +Which hue she most approved, she chose them all; +Copious of flowers the woodbine, pale and wan, +But well compensating their sickly looks +With never-cloying odours, early and late; +Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm +Of flowers like flies, clothing her slender rods, +That scarce a leaf appears; mezereon too, +Though leafless, well attired, and thick beset +With blushing wreaths investing every spray; +Althaea with the purple eye; the broom, +Yellow and bright as bullion unalloyed +Her blossoms; and luxuriant above all +The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets, +The deep dark green of whose unvarnished leaf +Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more +The bright profusion of her scattered stars.-- +These have been, and these shall be in their day, +And all this uniform uncoloured scene +Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load, +And flush into variety again. +From dearth to plenty, and from death to life, +Is Nature's progress when she lectures man +In heavenly truth; evincing, as she makes +The grand transition, that there lives and works +A soul in all things, and that soul is God. +The beauties of the wilderness are His, +That make so gay the solitary place +Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms +That cultivation glories in, are His. +He sets the bright procession on its way, +And marshals all the order of the year. +He marks the bounds which Winter may not pass, +And blunts his pointed fury. In its case, +Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ +Uninjured, with inimitable art, +And, ere one flowery season fades and dies, +Designs the blooming wonders of the next. + +Some say that in the origin of things, +When all creation started into birth, +The infant elements received a law +From which they swerve not since; that under force +Of that controlling ordinance they move, +And need not His immediate hand, who first +Prescribed their course, to regulate it now. +Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God +The encumbrance of His own concerns, and spare +The great Artificer of all that moves +The stress of a continual act, the pain +Of unremitted vigilance and care, +As too laborious and severe a task. +So man the moth is not afraid, it seems, +To span Omnipotence, and measure might +That knows no measure, by the scanty rule +And standard of his own, that is to-day, +And is not ere to-morrow's sun go down. +But how should matter occupy a charge +Dull as it is, and satisfy a law +So vast in its demands, unless impelled +To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force, +And under pressure of some conscious cause? +The Lord of all, Himself through all diffused +Sustains and is the life of all that lives. +Nature is but a name for an effect +Whose cause is God. He feeds the secret fire +By which the mighty process is maintained, +Who sleeps not, is not weary; in whose sight +Slow-circling ages are as transient days; +Whose work is without labour, whose designs +No flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts, +And whose beneficence no charge exhausts. +Him blind antiquity profaned, not served, +With self-taught rites and under various names +Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan, +And Flora and Vertumnus; peopling earth +With tutelary goddesses and gods +That were not, and commending as they would +To each some province, garden, field, or grove. +But all are under One. One spirit--His +Who bore the platted thorns with bleeding brows-- +Rules universal nature. Not a flower +But shows some touch in freckle, streak, or stain, +Of His unrivalled pencil. He inspires +Their balmy odours and imparts their hues, +And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, +In grains as countless as the sea-side sands, +The forms with which He sprinkles all the earth. +Happy who walks with Him! whom, what he finds +Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower, +Or what he views of beautiful or grand +In nature, from the broad majestic oak +To the green blade that twinkles in the sun, +Prompts with remembrance of a present God. +His presence, who made all so fair, perceived, +Makes all still fairer. As with Him no scene +Is dreary, so with Him all seasons please. +Though winter had been none had man been true, +And earth be punished for its tenant's sake, +Yet not in vengeance; as this smiling sky, +So soon succeeding such an angry night, +And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream, +Recovering fast its liquid music, prove. + +Who then, that has a mind well strung and tuned +To contemplation, and within his reach +A scene so friendly to his favourite task, +Would waste attention at the chequered board, +His host of wooden warriors to and fro +Marching and counter-marching, with an eye +As fixt as marble, with a forehead ridged +And furrowed into storms, and with a hand +Trembling, as if eternity were hung +In balance on his conduct of a pin? +Nor envies he aught more their idle sport, +Who pant with application misapplied +To trivial toys, and, pushing ivory balls +Across the velvet level, feel a joy +Akin to rapture, when the bauble finds +Its destined goal of difficult access. +Nor deems he wiser him, who gives his noon +To Miss, the Mercer's plague, from shop to shop +Wandering, and littering with unfolded silks +The polished counter, and approving none, +Or promising with smiles to call again. +Nor him, who, by his vanity seduced, +And soothed into a dream that he discerns +The difference of a Guido from a daub, +Frequents the crowded auction. Stationed there +As duly as the Langford of the show, +With glass at eye, and catalogue in hand, +And tongue accomplished in the fulsome cant +And pedantry that coxcombs learn with ease, +Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls +He notes it in his book, then raps his box, +Swears 'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate +That he has let it pass--but never bids. + +Here unmolested, through whatever sign +The sun proceeds, I wander; neither mist, +Nor freezing sky, nor sultry, checking me, +Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy. +Even in the spring and play-time of the year +That calls the unwonted villager abroad +With all her little ones, a sportive train, +To gather king-cups in the yellow mead, +And prank their hair with daisies, or to pick +A cheap but wholesome salad from the brook, +These shades are all my own. The timorous hare, +Grown so familiar with her frequent guest, +Scarce shuns me; and the stock-dove unalarmed +Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspends +His long love-ditty for my near approach. +Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm +That age or injury has hollowed deep, +Where on his bed of wool and matted leaves +He has outslept the winter, ventures forth +To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun, +The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play. +He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird, +Ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks his brush, +And perks his ears, and stamps and scolds aloud, +With all the prettiness of feigned alarm, +And anger insignificantly fierce. + +The heart is hard in nature, and unfit +For human fellowship, as being void +Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike +To love and friendship both, that is not pleased +With sight of animals enjoying life, +Nor feels their happiness augment his own. +The bounding fawn that darts across the glade +When none pursues, through mere delight of heart, +And spirits buoyant with excess of glee; +The horse, as wanton and almost as fleet, +That skims the spacious meadow at full speed, +Then stops and snorts, and throwing high his heels +Starts to the voluntary race again; +The very kine that gambol at high noon, +The total herd receiving first from one, +That leads the dance, a summons to be gay, +Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth +Their efforts, yet resolved with one consent +To give such act and utterance as they may +To ecstasy too big to be suppressed-- +These, and a thousand images of bliss, +With which kind nature graces every scene +Where cruel man defeats not her design, +Impart to the benevolent, who wish +All that are capable of pleasure pleased, +A far superior happiness to theirs, +The comfort of a reasonable joy. + +Man scarce had risen, obedient to His call +Who formed him from the dust, his future grave, +When he was crowned as never king was since. +God set His diadem upon his head, +And angel choirs attended. Wondering stood +The new-made monarch, while before him passed, +All happy and all perfect in their kind, +The creatures, summoned from their various haunts +To see their sovereign, and confess his sway. +Vast was his empire, absolute his power, +Or bounded only by a law whose force +'Twas his sublimest privilege to feel +And own, the law of universal love. +He ruled with meekness, they obeyed with joy. +No cruel purpose lurked within his heart, +And no distrust of his intent in theirs. +So Eden was a scene of harmless sport, +Where kindness on his part who ruled the whole +Begat a tranquil confidence in all, +And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear. +But sin marred all; and the revolt of man, +That source of evils not exhausted yet, +Was punished with revolt of his from him. +Garden of God, how terrible the change +Thy groves and lawns then witnessed! every heart, +Each animal of every name, conceived +A jealousy and an instinctive fear, +And, conscious of some danger, either fled +Precipitate the loathed abode of man, +Or growled defiance in such angry sort, +As taught him too to tremble in his turn. +Thus harmony and family accord +Were driven from Paradise; and in that hour +The seeds of cruelty, that since have swelled +To such gigantic and enormous growth, +Were sown in human nature's fruitful soil. +Hence date the persecution and the pain +That man inflicts on all inferior kinds, +Regardless of their plaints. To make him sport, +To gratify the frenzy of his wrath, +Or his base gluttony, are causes good +And just in his account, why bird and beast +Should suffer torture, and the streams be dyed +With blood of their inhabitants impaled. +Earth groans beneath the burden of a war +Waged with defenceless innocence, while he, +Not satisfied to prey on all around, +Adds tenfold bitterness to death by pangs +Needless, and first torments ere he devours. +Now happiest they that occupy the scenes +The most remote from his abhorred resort, +Whom once as delegate of God on earth +They feared, and as His perfect image loved. +The wilderness is theirs with all its caves, +Its hollow glens, its thickets, and its plains +Unvisited by man. There they are free, +And howl and roar as likes them, uncontrolled, +Nor ask his leave to slumber or to play. +Woe to the tyrant, if he dare intrude +Within the confines of their wild domain; +The lion tells him, "I am monarch here;" +And if he spares him, spares him on the terms +Of royal mercy, and through generous scorn +To rend a victim trembling at his foot. +In measure, as by force of instinct drawn, +Or by necessity constrained, they live +Dependent upon man, those in his fields, +These at his crib, and some beneath his roof; +They prove too often at how dear a rate +He sells protection. Witness, at his foot +The spaniel dying for some venial fault, +Under dissection of the knotted scourge; +Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells +Driven to the slaughter, goaded as he runs +To madness, while the savage at his heels +Laughs at the frantic sufferer's fury spent +Upon the guiltless passenger o'erthrown. +He too is witness, noblest of the train +That wait on man, the flight-performing horse: +With unsuspecting readiness he takes +His murderer on his back, and, pushed all day, +With bleeding sides, and flanks that heave for life, +To the far-distant goal, arrives and dies. +So little mercy shows who needs so much! +Does law, so jealous in the cause of man, +Denounce no doom on the delinquent? None. +He lives, and o'er his brimming beaker boasts +(As if barbarity were high desert) +The inglorious feat, and, clamorous in praise +Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose +The honours of his matchless horse his own. +But many a crime, deemed innocent on earth, +Is registered in heaven, and these, no doubt, +Have each their record, with a curse annexed. +Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, +But God will never. When He charged the Jew +To assist his foe's down-fallen beast to rise, +And when the bush-exploring boy that seized +The young, to let the parent bird go free, +Proved He not plainly that His meaner works +Are yet His care, and have an interest all, +All, in the universal Father's love? +On Noah, and in him on all mankind, +The charter was conferred by which we hold +The flesh of animals in fee, and claim, +O'er all we feed on, power of life and death. +But read the instrument, and mark it well; +The oppression of a tyrannous control +Can find no warrant there. Feed then, and yield +Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous, through sin, +Feed on the slain, but spare the living brute. + +The Governor of all, Himself to all +So bountiful, in whose attentive ear +The unfledged raven and the lion's whelp +Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs +Of hunger unassuaged, has interposed, +Not seldom, His avenging arm, to smite +The injurious trampler upon nature's law, +That claims forbearance even for a brute. +He hates the hardness of a Balaam's heart, +And, prophet as he was, he might not strike +The blameless animal, without rebuke, +On which he rode. Her opportune offence +Saved him, or the unrelenting seer had died. +He sees that human equity is slack +To interfere, though in so just a cause, +And makes the task His own; inspiring dumb +And helpless victims with a sense so keen +Of injury, with such knowledge of their strength, +And such sagacity to take revenge, +That oft the beast has seemed to judge the man. +An ancient, not a legendary tale, +By one of sound intelligence rehearsed, +(If such, who plead for Providence may seem +In modern eyes) shall make the doctrine clear. + +Where England, stretched towards the setting sun, +Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave, +Dwelt young Misagathus; a scorner he +Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent, +Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce. +He journeyed, and his chance was, as he went, +To join a traveller of far different note-- +Evander, famed for piety, for years +Deserving honour, but for wisdom more. +Fame had not left the venerable man +A stranger to the manners of the youth, +Whose face, too, was familiar to his view. +Their way was on the margin of the land, +O'er the green summit of the rocks whose base +Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high. +The charity that warmed his heart was moved +At sight of the man-monster. With a smile +Gentle and affable, and full of grace, +As fearful of offending whom he wished +Much to persuade, he plied his ear with truths +Not harshly thundered forth or rudely pressed, +But, like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet. +"And dost thou dream," the impenetrable man +Exclaimed, "that me the lullabies of age, +And fantasies of dotards such as thou, +Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me? +Mark now the proof I give thee, that the brave +Need no such aids as superstition lends +To steel their hearts against the dread of death." +He spoke, and to the precipice at hand +Pushed with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks, +And the blood thrills and curdles at the thought +Of such a gulf as he designed his grave. +But though the felon on his back could dare +The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed +Declined the death, and wheeling swiftly round, +Or ere his hoof had pressed the crumbling verge, +Baffled his rider, saved against his will. +The frenzy of the brain may be redressed +By medicine well applied, but without grace +The heart's insanity admits no cure. +Enraged the more by what might have reformed +His horrible intent, again he sought +Destruction, with a zeal to be destroyed, +With sounding whip and rowels dyed in blood. +But still in vain. The Providence that meant +A longer date to the far nobler beast, +Spared yet again the ignobler for his sake. +And now, his prowess proved, and his sincere, +Incurable obduracy evinced, +His rage grew cool; and, pleased perhaps to have earned +So cheaply the renown of that attempt, +With looks of some complacence he resumed +His road, deriding much the blank amaze +Of good Evander, still where he was left +Fixed motionless, and petrified with dread. +So on they fared; discourse on other themes +Ensuing, seemed to obliterate the past, +And tamer far for so much fury shown +(As is the course of rash and fiery men) +The rude companion smiled as if transformed. +But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near, +An unsuspected storm. His hour was come. +The impious challenger of power divine +Was now to learn that Heaven, though slow to wrath, +Is never with impunity defied. +His horse, as he had caught his master's mood, +Snorting, and starting into sudden rage, +Unbidden, and not now to be controlled, +Rushed to the cliff, and having reached it, stood. +At once the shock unseated him; he flew +Sheer o'er the craggy barrier, and, immersed +Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not, +The death he had deserved, and died alone. +So God wrought double justice; made the fool +The victim of his own tremendous choice, +And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. + +I would not enter on my list of friends +(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, +Yet wanting sensibility) the man +Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. +An inadvertent step may crush the snail +That crawls at evening in the public path; +But he that has humanity, forewarned, +Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. +The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, +And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes +A visitor unwelcome into scenes +Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, +The chamber, or refectory, may die. +A necessary act incurs no blame. +Not so when, held within their proper bounds +And guiltless of offence, they range the air, +Or take their pastime in the spacious field. +There they are privileged; and he that hunts +Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong, +Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm, +Who, when she formed, designed them an abode. +The sum is this: if man's convenience, health, +Or safety interfere, his rights and claims +Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. +Else they are all--the meanest things that are-- +As free to live and to enjoy that life, +As God was free to form them at the first, +Who in His sovereign wisdom made them all. +Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons +To love it too. The spring-time of our years +Is soon dishonoured and defiled in most +By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand +To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots, +If unrestrained, into luxuriant growth, +Than cruelty, most devilish of them all. +Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule +And righteous limitation of its act, +By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man; +And he that shows none, being ripe in years, +And conscious of the outrage he commits, +Shall seek it and not find it in his turn. + +Distinguished much by reason, and still more +By our capacity of grace divine, +From creatures that exist but for our sake, +Which having served us, perish, we are held +Accountable, and God, some future day, +Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse +Of what He deems no mean or trivial trust. +Superior as we are, they yet depend +Not more on human help, than we on theirs. +Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given +In aid of our defects. In some are found +Such teachable and apprehensive parts, +That man's attainments in his own concerns, +Matched with the expertness of the brutes in theirs, +Are ofttimes vanquished and thrown far behind. +Some show that nice sagacity of smell, +And read with such discernment, in the port +And figure of the man, his secret aim, +That oft we owe our safety to a skill +We could not teach, and must despair to learn. +But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop +To quadruped instructors, many a good +And useful quality, and virtue too, +Rarely exemplified among ourselves; +Attachment never to be weaned, or changed +By any change of fortune, proof alike +Against unkindness, absence, and neglect; +Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat +Can move or warp; and gratitude for small +And trivial favours, lasting as the life, +And glistening even in the dying eye. + +Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms +Wins public honour; and ten thousand sit +Patiently present at a sacred song, +Commemoration-mad; content to hear +(Oh wonderful effect of music's power!) +Messiah's eulogy, for Handel's sake. +But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve-- +(For was it less? What heathen would have dared +To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath +And hang it up in honour of a man?) +Much less might serve, when all that we design +Is but to gratify an itching ear, +And give the day to a musician's praise. +Remember Handel! who, that was not born +Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets, +Or can, the more than Homer of his age? +Yes--we remember him; and, while we praise +A talent so divine, remember too +That His most holy Book from whom it came +Was never meant, was never used before +To buckram out the memory of a man. +But hush!--the muse perhaps is too severe, +And with a gravity beyond the size +And measure of the offence, rebukes a deed +Less impious than absurd, and owing more +To want of judgment than to wrong design. +So in the chapel of old Ely House, +When wandering Charles, who meant to be the third, +Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, +The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce, +And eke did rear right merrily, two staves, +Sung to the praise and glory of King George. +--Man praises man; and Garrick's memory next, +When time has somewhat mellowed it, and made +The idol of our worship while he lived +The god of our idolatry once more, +Shall have its altar; and the world shall go +In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. +The theatre, too small, shall suffocate +Its squeezed contents, and more than it admits +Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return +Ungratified. For there some noble lord +Shall stuff his shoulders with King Richard's bunch, +Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak, +And strut, and storm, and straddle, stamp, and stare, +To show the world how Garrick did not act, +For Garrick was a worshipper himself; +He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites +And solemn ceremonial of the day, +And called the world to worship on the banks +Of Avon famed in song. Ah! pleasant proof +That piety has still in human hearts +Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. +The mulberry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths, +The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance, +The mulberry-tree was hymned with dulcet airs, +And from his touchwood trunk the mulberry-tree +Supplied such relics as devotion holds +Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. +So 'twas a hallowed time: decorum reigned, +And mirth without offence. No few returned +Doubtless much edified, and all refreshed. +--Man praises man. The rabble all alive, +From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, +Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, +A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes; +Some shout him, and some hang upon his car +To gaze in his eyes and bless him. Maidens wave +Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy +While others not so satisfied unhorse +The gilded equipage, and, turning loose +His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve. +Why? what has charmed them? Hath he saved the state? +No. Doth he purpose its salvation? No. +Enchanting novelty, that moon at full +That finds out every crevice of the head +That is not sound and perfect, hath in theirs +Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near, +And his own cattle must suffice him soon. +Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise, +And dedicate a tribute, in its use +And just direction sacred, to a thing +Doomed to the dust, or lodged already there. +Encomium in old time was poet's work; +But, poets having lavishly long since +Exhausted all materials of the art, +The task now falls into the public hand; +And I, contented with a humble theme, +Have poured my stream of panegyric down +The vale of Nature, where it creeps and winds +Among her lovely works, with a secure +And unambitious course, reflecting clear +If not the virtues yet the worth of brutes. +And I am recompensed, and deem the toil +Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine +May stand between an animal and woe, +And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. + +The groans of Nature in this nether world, +Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end. +Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung, +Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp, +The time of rest, the promised Sabbath, comes. +Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh +Fulfilled their tardy and disastrous course +Over a sinful world; and what remains +Of this tempestuous state of human things, +Is merely as the working of a sea +Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest. +For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds +The dust that waits upon His sultry march, +When sin hath moved Him, and His wrath is hot, +Shall visit earth in mercy; shall descend +Propitious, in His chariot paved with love, +And what His storms have blasted and defaced +For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. + +Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet +Not to be wronged by a mere mortal touch; +Nor can the wonders it records be sung +To meaner music, and not suffer loss. +But when a poet, or when one like me, +Happy to rove among poetic flowers, +Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last +On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, +Such is the impulse and the spur he feels +To give it praise proportioned to its worth, +That not to attempt it, arduous as he deems +The labour, were a task more arduous still. + +Oh scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, +Scenes of accomplished bliss! which who can see, +Though but in distant prospect, and not feel +His soul refreshed with foretaste of the joy? +Rivers of gladness water all the earth, +And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach +Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field +Laughs with abundance, and the land once lean, +Or fertile only in its own disgrace, +Exults to see its thistly curse repealed. +The various seasons woven into one, +And that one season an eternal spring, +The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, +For there is none to covet, all are full. +The lion and the libbard and the bear +Graze with the fearless flocks. All bask at noon +Together, or all gambol in the shade +Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. +Antipathies are none. No foe to man +Lurks in the serpent now. The mother sees, +And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand +Stretched forth to dally with the crested worm, +To stroke his azure neck, or to receive +The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. +All creatures worship man, and all mankind +One Lord, one Father. Error has no place; +That creeping pestilence is driven away, +The breath of heaven has chased it. In the heart +No passion touches a discordant string, +But all is harmony and love. Disease +Is not. The pure and uncontaminated blood +Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. +One song employs all nations; and all cry, +"Worthy the Lamb, for He was slain for us!" +The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks +Shout to each other, and the mountain-tops +From distant mountains catch the flying joy, +Till nation after nation taught the strain, +Each rolls the rapturous Hosanna round. +Behold the measure of the promise filled, +See Salem built, the labour of a God! +Bright as a sun the sacred city shines; +All kingdoms and all princes of the earth +Flock to that light; the glory of all lands +Flows into her, unbounded is her joy +And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, +Nebaioth,* and the flocks of Kedar there; +The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, +And Saba's spicy groves pay tribute there. +Praise is in all her gates. Upon her walls, +And in her streets, and in her spacious courts +Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there +Kneels with the native of the farthest West, +And AEthiopia spreads abroad the hand, +And worships. Her report has travelled forth +Into all lands. From every clime they come +To see thy beauty and to share thy joy, +O Sion! an assembly such as earth +Saw never; such as heaven stoops down to see. + +* Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and progenitors of +the Arabs, in the prophetic scripture here alluded to may be +reasonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at +large.--C. + +Thus heavenward all things tend. For all were once +Perfect, and all must be at length restored. +So God has greatly purposed; who would else +In His dishonoured works Himself endure +Dishonour, and be wronged without redress. +Haste then, and wheel away a shattered world, +Ye slow-revolving seasons! We would see +(A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) +A world that does not dread and hate His laws, +And suffer for its crime: would learn how fair +The creature is that God pronounces good, +How pleasant in itself what pleases Him. +Here every drop of honey hides a sting; +Worms wind themselves into our sweetest flowers, +And even the joy, that haply some poor heart +Derives from heaven, pure as the fountain is, +Is sullied in the stream; taking a taint +From touch of human lips, at best impure. +Oh for a world in principle as chaste +As this is gross and selfish! over which +Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway, +That govern all things here, shouldering aside +The meek and modest Truth, and forcing her +To seek a refuge from the tongue of strife +In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men, +Where violence shall never lift the sword, +Nor cunning justify the proud man's wrong, +Leaving the poor no remedy but tears; +Where he that fills an office, shall esteem +The occasion it presents of doing good +More than the perquisite; where laws shall speak +Seldom, and never but as wisdom prompts, +And equity, not jealous more to guard +A worthless form, than to decide aright; +Where fashion shall not sanctify abuse, +Nor smooth good-breeding (supplemental grace) +With lean performance ape the work of love. + +Come then, and added to Thy many crowns +Receive yet one, the crown of all the earth, +Thou who alone art worthy! it was Thine +By ancient covenant, ere nature's birth, +And Thou hast made it Thine by purchase since, +And overpaid its value with Thy blood. +Thy saints proclaim Thee King; and in their hearts +Thy title is engraven with a pen +Dipt in the fountain of eternal love. +Thy saints proclaim Thee King; and Thy delay +Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see +The dawn of Thy last advent, long-desired, +Would creep into the bowels of the hills, +And flee for safety to the falling rocks. +The very spirit of the world is tired +Of its own taunting question, asked so long, +"Where is the promise of your Lord's approach?" +The infidel has shot his bolts away, +Till, his exhausted quiver yielding none, +He gleans the blunted shafts that have recoiled, +And aims them at the shield of truth again. +The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands, +That hides divinity from mortal eyes; +And all the mysteries to faith proposed, +Insulted and traduced, are cast aside, +As useless, to the moles and to the bats. +They now are deemed the faithful and are praised, +Who, constant only in rejecting Thee, +Deny Thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal, +And quit their office for their error's sake. +Blind and in love with darkness! yet even these +Worthy, compared with sycophants, who kneel, +Thy Name adoring, and then preach Thee man! +So fares Thy Church. But how Thy Church may fare, +The world takes little thought; who will may preach, +And what they will. All pastors are alike +To wandering sheep resolved to follow none. +Two gods divide them all, Pleasure and Gain; +For these they live, they sacrifice to these, +And in their service wage perpetual war +With conscience and with Thee. Lust in their hearts, +And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth +To prey upon each other; stubborn, fierce, +High-minded, foaming out their own disgrace. +Thy prophets speak of such; and noting down +The features of the last degenerate times, +Exhibit every lineament of these. +Come then, and added to Thy many crowns +Receive yet one as radiant as the rest, +Due to Thy last and most effectual work, +Thy Word fulfilled, the conquest of a world. + +He is the happy man, whose life even now +Shows somewhat of that happier life to come; +Who, doomed to an obscure but tranquil state, +Is pleased with it, and, were he free to choose, +Would make his fate his choice; whom peace, the fruit +Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith, +Prepare for happiness; bespeak him one +Content indeed to sojourn while he must +Below the skies, but having there his home. +The world o'erlooks him in her busy search +Of objects more illustrious in her view; +And occupied as earnestly as she, +Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world. +She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not; +He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain. +He cannot skim the ground like summer birds +Pursuing gilded flies, and such he deems +Her honours, her emoluments, her joys; +Therefore in contemplation is his bliss, +Whose power is such, that whom she lifts from earth +She makes familiar with a heaven unseen, +And shows him glories yet to be revealed. +Not slothful he, though seeming unemployed, +And censured oft as useless. Stillest streams +Oft water fairest meadows; and the bird +That flutters least is longest on the wing. +Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has raised, +Or what achievements of immortal fame +He purposes, and he shall answer--None. +His warfare is within. There unfatigued +His fervent spirit labours. There he fights, +And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself, +And never-withering wreaths, compared with which +The laurels that a Caesar reaps are weeds. +Perhaps the self-approving haughty world, +That, as she sweeps him with her whistling silks, +Scarce deigns to notice him, or if she see, +Deems him a cipher in the works of God, +Receives advantage from his noiseless hours +Of which she little dreams. Perhaps she owes +Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring +And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes +When, Isaac-like, the solitary saint +Walks forth to meditate at eventide, +And think on her who thinks not for herself. +Forgive him then, thou bustler in concerns +Of little worth, and idler in the best, +If, author of no mischief and some good, +He seeks his proper happiness by means +That may advance, but cannot hinder thine. +Nor, though he tread the secret path of life, +Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease, +Account him an encumbrance on the state, +Receiving benefits, and rendering none. +His sphere though humble, if that humble sphere +Shine with his fair example, and though small +His influence, if that influence all be spent +In soothing sorrow and in quenching strife, +In aiding helpless indigence, in works +From which at least a grateful few derive +Some taste of comfort in a world of woe, +Then let the supercilious great confess +He serves his country; recompenses well +The state beneath the shadow of whose vine +He sits secure, and in the scale of life +Holds no ignoble, though a slighted place. +The man whose virtues are more felt than seen, +Must drop, indeed, the hope of public praise; +But he may boast, what few that win it can, +That if his country stand not by his skill, +At least his follies have not wrought her fall. +Polite refinement offers him in vain +Her golden tube, through which a sensual world +Draws gross impurity, and likes it well, +The neat conveyance hiding all the offence. +Not that he peevishly rejects a mode +Because that world adopts it. If it bear +The stamp and clear impression of good sense, +And be not costly more than of true worth, +He puts it on, and for decorum sake +Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she. +She judges of refinement by the eye, +He by the test of conscience, and a heart +Not soon deceived; aware that what is base +No polish can make sterling, and that vice, +Though well-perfumed and elegantly dressed, +Like an unburied carcass tricked with flowers, +Is but a garnished nuisance, fitter far +For cleanly riddance than for fair attire. +So life glides smoothly and by stealth away, +More golden than that age of fabled gold +Renowned in ancient song; not vexed with care, +Or stained with guilt, beneficent, approved +Of God and man, and peaceful in its end. + +So glide my life away! and so at last, +My share of duties decently fulfilled, +May some disease, not tardy to perform +Its destined office, yet with gentle stroke, +Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat +Beneath the turf that I have often trod. +It shall not grieve me, then, that once, when called +To dress a Sofa with the flowers of verse, +I played awhile, obedient to the fair, +With that light task, but soon to please her more, +Whom flowers alone I knew would little please, +Let fall the unfinished wreath, and roved for fruit; +Roved far and gathered much; some harsh, 'tis true, +Picked from the thorns and briars of reproof, +But wholesome, well-digested; grateful some +To palates that can taste immortal truth; +Insipid else, and sure to be despised. +But all is in His hand whose praise I seek, +In vain the poet sings, and the world hears, +If He regard not, though divine the theme. +'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime +And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre, +To charm His ear, whose eye is on the heart; +Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, +Whose approbation--prosper even mine. + + + +THE DIVERTING HISTORY OF JOHN GILPIN; + +SHOWING HOW HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED, AND CAME SAFE +HOME AGAIN. + +John Gilpin was a citizen + Of credit and renown, +A train-band captain eke was he + Of famous London town. + +John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, + "Though wedded we have been +These twice ten tedious years, yet we + No holiday have seen. + +"To-morrow is our wedding-day, + And we will then repair +Unto 'The Bell' at Edmonton, + All in a chaise and pair. + +"My sister and my sister's child, + Myself and children three, +Will fill the chaise; so you must ride + On horseback after we." + +He soon replied, "I do admire + Of womankind but one, +And you are she, my dearest dear, + Therefore it shall be done. + +"I am a linen-draper bold, + As all the world doth know, +And my good friend the Calender + Will lend his horse to go." + +Quoth Mistress Gilpin, "That's well said; + And, for that wine is dear, +We will be furnished with our own, + Which is both bright and clear." + +John Gilpin kissed his loving wife; + O'erjoyed was he to find +That though on pleasure she was bent, + She had a frugal mind. + +The morning came, the chaise was brought, + But yet was not allowed +To drive up to the door, lest all + Should say that she was proud. + +So three doors off the chaise was stayed, + Where they did all get in; +Six precious souls, and all agog + To dash through thick and thin. + +Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, + Were never folk so glad; +The stones did rattle underneath + As if Cheapside were mad. + +John Gilpin at his horse's side + Seized fast the flowing mane, +And up he got, in haste to ride, + But soon came down again; + +For saddle-tree scarce reached had he, + His journey to begin, +When, turning round his head, he saw + Three customers come in. + +So down he came; for loss of time, + Although it grieved him sore, +Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, + Would trouble him much more. + +'Twas long before the customers + Were suited to their mind. +When Betty, screaming, came down stairs, + "The wine is left behind!" + +"Good lack!" quoth he; "yet bring it me, + My leathern belt likewise, +In which I bear my trusty sword, + When I do exercise." + +Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!) + Had two stone bottles found, +To hold the liquor that she loved, + And keep it safe and sound. + +Each bottle had a curling ear, + Through which the belt he drew, +And hung a bottle on each side, + To make his balance true. + +Then over all, that he might be + Equipped from top to toe, +His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, + He manfully did throw. + +Now see him mounted once again + Upon his nimble steed, +Full slowly pacing o'er the stones + With caution and good heed! + +But, finding soon a smoother road + Beneath his well-shod feet, +The snorting beast began to trot, + Which galled him in his seat. + +So, "Fair and softly," John he cried, + But John he cried in vain; +That trot became a gallop soon, + In spite of curb and rein. + +So stooping down, as needs he must + Who cannot sit upright, +He grasped the mane with both his hands, + And eke with all his might. + +His horse, who never in that sort + Had handled been before, +What thing upon his back had got + Did wonder more and more. + +Away went Gilpin, neck or naught; + Away went hat and wig; +He little dreamt, when he set out, + Of running such a rig. + +The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, + Like streamer long and gay, +Till, loop and button failing both, + At last it flew away. + +Then might all people well discern + The bottles he had slung; +A bottle swinging at each side, + As hath been said or sung. + +The dogs did bark, the children screamed, + Up flew the windows all; +And every soul cried out, "Well done!" + As loud as he could bawl. + +Away went Gilpin--who but he? + His fame soon spread around-- +He carries weight! he rides a race! + 'Tis for a thousand pound! + +And still, as fast as he drew near, + 'Twas wonderful to view +How in a trice the turnpike men + Their gates wide open threw. + +And now, as he went bowing down + His reeking head full low, +The bottles twain behind his back + Were shattered at a blow. + +Down ran the wine into the road, + Most piteous to be seen, +Which made his horse's flanks to smoke + As they had basted been. + +But still he seemed to carry weight, + With leathern girdle braced; +For all might see the bottle-necks + Still dangling at his waist. + +Thus all through merry Islington + These gambols he did play, +And till he came unto the Wash + Of Edmonton so gay. + +And there he threw the wash about + On both sides of the way, +Just like unto a trundling mop, + Or a wild goose at play. + +At Edmonton, his loving wife + From the bal-cony spied +Her tender husband, wondering much + To see how he did ride. + +"Stop, stop, John Gilpin!--here's the house!" + They all at once did cry; +"The dinner waits, and we are tired." + Said Gilpin, "So am I!" + +But yet his horse was not a whit + Inclined to tarry there; +For why?--his owner had a house + Full ten miles off, at Ware. + +So like an arrow swift he flew, + Shot by an archer strong; +So did he fly--which brings me to + The middle of my song. + +Away went Gilpin, out of breath, + And sore against his will, +Till at his friend the Calender's + His horse at last stood still. + +The Calender, amazed to see + His neighbour in such trim, +Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, + And thus accosted him:-- + +"What news? what news? your tidings tell: + Tell me you must and shall-- +Say why bareheaded you are come, + Or why you come at all." + +Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, + And loved a timely joke; +And thus unto the Calender + In merry guise he spoke: + +"I came because your horse would come; + And if I well forebode, +My hat and wig will soon be here; + They are upon the road." + +The Calender, right glad to find + His friend in merry pin, +Returned him not a single word, + But to the house went in; + +Whence straight he came with hat and wig, + A wig that flowed behind, +A hat not much the worse for wear, + Each comely in its kind. + +He held them up, and, in his turn, + Thus showed his ready wit,-- +"My head is twice as big as yours; + They therefore needs must fit. + +"But let me scrape the dirt away + That hangs upon your face; +And stop and eat, for well you may + Be in a hungry case." + +Says John, "It is my wedding-day, + And all the world would stare, +If wife should dine at Edmonton, + And I should dine at Ware." + +So turning to his horse, he said, + "I am in haste to dine; +'Twas for your pleasure you came here, + You shall go back for mine." + +Ah, luckless speech, and bootless boast! + For which he paid full dear; +For while he spake, a braying ass + Did sing most loud and clear; + +Whereat his horse did snort as he + Had heard a lion roar, +And galloped off with all his might, + As he had done before. + +Away went Gilpin, and away + Went Gilpin's hat and wig; +He lost them sooner than at first, + For why?--they were too big. + +Now Mistress Gilpin, when she saw + Her husband posting down +Into the country far away, + She pulled out half-a-crown. + +And thus unto the youth she said, + That drove them to "The Bell," +"This shall be yours when you bring back + My husband safe and well." + +The youth did ride, and soon did meet + John coming back amain, +Whom in a trice he tried to stop + By catching at his rein; + +But not performing what he meant, + And gladly would have done, +The frighted steed he frighted more, + And made him faster run. + +Away went Gilpin, and away + Went postboy at his heels, +The postboy's horse right glad to miss + The lumbering of the wheels. + +Six gentlemen upon the road + Thus seeing Gilpin fly, +With postboy scampering in the rear, + They raised the hue and cry: + +"Stop thief! stop thief!--a highwayman!" + Not one of them was mute; +And all and each that passed that way + Did join in the pursuit. + +And now the turnpike gates again + Flew open in short space, +The tollmen thinking, as before, + That Gilpin rode a race. + +And so he did, and won it too, + For he got first to town; +Nor stopped till where he had got up + He did again get down. + +Now let us sing, "Long live the king, + And Gilpin, long live he; +And when he next doth ride abroad, + May I be there to see!" + + + +AN EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. + +DEAR JOSEPH,--five and twenty years ago-- +Alas, how time escapes!--'tis even so-- +With frequent intercourse, and always sweet +And always friendly, we were wont to cheat +A tedious hour--and now we never meet. +As some grave gentleman in Terence says +('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days), +"Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings-- +Strange fluctuation of all human things!" +True. Changes will befall, and friends may part, +But distance only cannot change the heart: +And were I called to prove the assertion true, +One proof should serve--a reference to you. + +Whence comes it, then, that in the wane of life, +Though nothing have occurred to kindle strife, +We find the friends we fancied we had won, +Though numerous once, reduced to few or none? +Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch? +No. Gold they seemed, but they were never such. +Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe, +Swinging the parlour-door upon its hinge, +Dreading a negative, and overawed +Lest he should trespass, begged to go abroad. +"Go, fellow!--whither?"--turning short about-- +"Nay. Stay at home; you're always going out."-- +"'Tis but a step, sir; just at the street's end." +"For what?"--"An please you, sir, to see a friend." +"A friend!" Horatio cried, and seemed to start; +"Yea, marry shalt thou, and with all my heart-- +And fetch my cloak, for though the night be raw +I'll see him too--the first I ever saw." + +I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, +And was his plaything often when a child; +But somewhat at that moment pinched him close, +Else he was seldom bitter or morose. +Perhaps, his confidence just then betrayed, +His grief might prompt him with the speech he made; +Perhaps 'twas mere good-humour gave it birth, +The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. +Howe'er it was, his language in my mind +Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind. + +But not to moralise too much, and strain +To prove an evil of which all complain +(I hate long arguments, verbosely spun), +One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. +Once on a time, an emperor, a wise man. +No matter where, in China or Japan, +Decreed that whosoever should offend +Against the well-known duties of a friend, +Convicted once, should ever after wear +But half a coat, and show his bosom bare; +The punishment importing this, no doubt, +That all was naught within and all found out. + +Oh happy Britain! we have not to fear +Such hard and arbitrary measure here; +Else could a law, like that which I relate, +Once have the sanction of our triple state, +Some few that I have known in days of old +Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold. +While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow, +Might traverse England safely to and fro, +An honest man, close buttoned to the chin, +Broad-cloth without, and a warm heart within. + + + +TO MARY. + +The twentieth year is well-nigh past +Since first our sky was overcast, +Ah, would that this might be the last! + My Mary! + +Thy spirits have a fainter flow, +I see thee daily weaker grow-- +'Twas my distress that brought thee low, + My Mary! + +Thy needles, once a shining store, +For my sake restless heretofore, +Now rust disused, and shine no more, + My Mary! + +For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil +The same kind office for me still, +Thy sight now seconds not thy will, + My Mary! + +But well thou playedst the housewife's part, +And all thy threads with magic art +Have wound themselves about this heart, + My Mary! + +Thy indistinct expressions seem +Like language uttered in a dream; +Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, + My Mary! + +Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, +Are still more lovely in my sight +Than golden beams of orient light, + My Mary! + +For could I view nor them nor thee, +What sight worth seeing could I see? +The sun would rise in vain for me, + My Mary! + +Partakers of thy sad decline, +Thy hands their little force resign; +Yet gently prest, press gently mine, + My Mary! + +Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st, +That now at every step thou mov'st +Upheld by two, yet still thou lov'st, + My Mary! + +And still to love, though prest with ill, +In wintry age to feel no chill, +With me, is to be lovely still, + My Mary! + +But ah! by constant heed I know, +How oft the sadness that I show, +Transforms thy smiles to looks of woe, + My Mary! + +And should my future lot be cast +With much resemblance of the past, +Thy worn-out heart will break at last, + My Mary! + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext The Task and Other Poems, by William Cowper + |