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diff --git a/5198-0.txt b/5198-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8d83ed9 --- /dev/null +++ b/5198-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,736 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 5198 *** +"THE LIBRARY", by GEORGE CRABBE + + + + +THE ARGUMENT. {1} + + +Books afford Consolation to the troubled Mind by substituting a +lighter kind of Distress for its own--They are productive of other +Advantages--An Author's Hope of being known in distant times-- +Arrangement of the Library--Size and Form of the Volumes--The +ancient Folio, clasped and chained--Fashion prevalent even in this +Place--The Mode of publishing in Numbers, Pamphlets &c.--Subjects of +the different Classes--Divinity--Controversy--The Friends of +Religion often more dangerous than her Foes--Sceptical Authors-- +Reason too much rejected by the former Converts; exclusively relied +upon by the latter--Philosophy ascending through the Scale of Being +to Moral Subjects--Books of Medicine: their Variety, Variance, and +Proneness to System: the Evil of this, and the Difficulty it +causes--Farewell to this Study--Law: the increasing Number of its +Volumes--Supposed happy State of Man without Laws--Progress of +Society--Historians: their Subjects--Dramatic Authors, Tragic and +Comic--Ancient Romances--The Captive Heroine--Happiness in the +perusal of such Books: why--Criticism--Apprehensions of the Author: +removed by the Appearance of the Genius of the Place; whose +Reasoning and Admonition conclude the subject. + +When the sad soul, by care and grief oppress'd, +Looks round the world, but looks in vain for rest; +When every object that appears in view +Partakes her gloom and seems dejected too; +Where shall affliction from itself retire? +Where fade away and placidly expire? +Alas! we fly to silent scenes in vain; +Care blasts the honours of the flow'ry plain: +Care veils in clouds the sun's meridian beam, +Sighs through the grove, and murmurs in the stream; +For when the soul is labouring in despair, +In vain the body breathes a purer air: +No storm-tost sailor sighs for slumbering seas,- +He dreads the tempest, but invokes the breeze; +On the smooth mirror of the deep resides +Reflected woe, and o'er unruffled tides +The ghost of every former danger glides. +Thus, in the calms of life, we only see +A steadier image of our misery; +But lively gales and gently clouded skies +Disperse the sad reflections as they rise; +And busy thoughts and little cares avail +To ease the mind, when rest and reason fail. +When the dull thought, by no designs employ'd, +Dwells on the past, or suffer'd or enjoy'd, +We bleed anew in every former grief, +And joys departed furnish no relief. + Not Hope herself, with all her flattering art, +Can cure this stubborn sickness of the heart: +The soul disdains each comfort she prepares, +And anxious searches for congenial cares; +Those lenient cares, which with our own combined, +By mix'd sensations ease th' afflicted mind, +And steal our grief away, and leave their own behind; +A lighter grief! which feeling hearts endure +Without regret, nor e'en demand a cure. + But what strange art, what magic can dispose +The troubled mind to change its native woes? +Or lead us willing from ourselves, to see +Others more wretched, more undone than we? +This BOOKS can do;--nor this alone; they give +New views to life, and teach us how to live; +They soothe the grieved, the stubborn they chastise, +Fools they admonish, and confirm the wise: +Their aid they yield to all: they never shun +The man of sorrow, nor the wretch undone: +Unlike the hard, the selfish, and the proud, +They fly not sullen from the suppliant crowd; +Nor tell to various people various things, +But show to subjects what they show to kings. + Come, Child of Care! to make thy soul serene, +Approach the treasures of this tranquil scene; +Survey the dome, and, as the doors unfold, +The soul's best cure, in all her cares, behold! +Where mental wealth the poor in thought may find, +And mental physic the diseased in mind; +See here the balms that passion's wounds assuage; +See coolers here, that damp the fire of rage; +Here alt'ratives, by slow degrees control +The chronic habits of the sickly soul; +And round the heart and o'er the aching head, +Mild opiates here their sober influence shed. +Now bid thy soul man's busy scenes exclude, +And view composed this silent multitude:- +Silent they are--but though deprived of sound, +Here all the living languages abound; +Here all that live no more; preserved they lie, +In tombs that open to the curious eye. + Blest be the gracious Power, who taught mankind +To stamp a lasting image of the mind! +Beasts may convey, and tuneful birds may sing, +Their mutual feelings, in the opening spring ; +But Man alone has skill and power to send +The heart's warm dictates to the distant friend; +'Tis his alone to please, instruct, advise +Ages remote, and nations yet to rise. + In sweet repose, when Labour's children sleep, +When Joy forgets to smile and Care to weep, +When Passion slumbers in the lover's breast, +And Fear and Guilt partake the balm of rest, +Why then denies the studious man to share +Man's common good, who feels his common care? + Because the hope is his, that bids him fly +Night's soft repose, and sleep's mild power defy; +That after-ages may repeat his praise, +And fame's fair meed be his, for length of days. +Delightful prospect! when we leave behind +A worthy offspring of the fruitful mind! +Which, born and nursed through many an anxious day, +Shall all our labour, all our care repay. + Yet all are not these births of noble kind, +Not all the children of a vigorous mind; +But where the wisest should alone preside, +The weak would rule us, and the blind would guide; +Nay, man's best efforts taste of man, and show +The poor and troubled source from which they flow; +Where most he triumphs we his wants perceive, +And for his weakness in his wisdom grieve. +But though imperfect all; yet wisdom loves +This seat serene, and virtue's self approves:- +Here come the grieved, a change of thought to find; +The curious here to feed a craving mind; +Here the devout their peaceful temple choose; +And here the poet meets his favouring Muse. + With awe, around these silent walks I tread; +These are the lasting mansions of the dead:- +"The dead!" methinks a thousand tongues reply; +"These are the tombs of such as cannot die!" +Crown'd with eternal fame, they sit sublime, +"And laugh at all the little strife of time." + Hail, then, immortals! ye who shine above, +Each, in his sphere, the literary Jove; +And ye the common people of these skies, +A humbler crowd of nameless deities; +Whether 'tis yours to lead the willing mind +Through History's mazes, and the turnings find; +Or, whether led by Science, ye retire, +Lost and bewilder'd in the vast desire; +Whether the Muse invites you to her bowers, +And crowns your placid brows with living flowers; +Or godlike Wisdom teaches you to show +The noblest road to happiness below; +Or men and manners prompt the easy page +To mark the flying follies of the age: +Whatever good ye boast, that good impart; +Inform the head and rectify the heart. +Lo, all in silence, all in order stand, +And mighty folios first, a lordly band ; +Then quartos their well-order'd ranks maintain, +And light octavos fill a spacious plain: +See yonder, ranged in more frequented rows, +A humbler band of duodecimos; +While undistinguish'd trifles swell the scene, +The last new play and fritter'd magazine. +Thus 'tis in life, where first the proud, the great, +In leagued assembly keep their cumbrous state; +Heavy and huge, they fill the world with dread, +Are much admired, and are but little read: +The commons next, a middle rank, are found; +Professions fruitful pour their offspring round; +Reasoners and wits are next their place allowed, +And last, of vulgar tribes a countless crowd. + First, let us view the form, the size, the dress; +For these the manners, nay the mind, express: +That weight of wood, with leathern coat o'erlaid; +Those ample clasps, of solid metal made; +The close-press'd leaves, unclosed for many an age; +The dull red edging of the well-fill'd page; +On the broad back the stubborn ridges roll'd, +Where yet the title stands in tarnish'd gold; +These all a sage and labour'd work proclaim, +A painful candidate for lasting fame: +No idle wit, no trifling verse can lurk +In the deep bosom of that weighty work; +No playful thoughts degrade the solemn style, +Nor one light sentence claims a transient smile. + Hence, in these times, untouch'd the pages lie, +And slumber out their immortality: +They HAD their day, when, after after all his toil, +His morning study, and his midnight oil, +At length an author's ONE great work appeared, +By patient hope, and length of days, endear'd: +Expecting nations hail'd it from the press; +Poetic friends prefix'd each kind address; +Princes and kings received the pond'rous gift, +And ladies read the work they could not lift. +Fashion, though Folly's child, and guide of fools, +Rules e'en the wisest, and in learning rules; +From crowds and courts to "Wisdom's seat she goes +And reigns triumphant o'er her mother's foes. +For lo! these fav'rites of the ancient mode +Lie all neglected like the Birthday Ode. + Ah! needless now this weight of massy chain; {2} +Safe in themselves, the once-loved works remain; +No readers now invade their still retreat, +None try to steal them from their parent-seat; +Like ancient beauties, they may now discard +Chains, bolts, and locks, and lie without a guard. + Our patient fathers trifling themes laid by, +And roll'd, o'er labour'd works, th' attentive eye: +Page after page the much-enduring men +Explored the deeps and shallows of the pen: +Till, every former note and comment known, +They mark'd the spacious margin with their own; +Minute corrections proved their studious care; +The little index, pointing, told us where; +And many an emendation show'd the age +Look'd far beyond the rubric title-page. + Our nicer palates lighter labours seek, +Cloy'd with a folio-NUMBER once a week; +Bibles, with cuts and comments, thus go down: +E'en light Voltaire is NUMBER'D through the town: +Thus physic flies abroad, and thus the law, +From men of study, and from men of straw; +Abstracts, abridgments, please the fickle times, +Pamphlets and plays, and politics and rhymes: +But though to write be now a task of ease, +The task is hard by manly arts to please, +When all our weakness is exposed to view, +And half our judges are our rivals too. + Amid these works, on which the eager eye +Delights to fix, or glides reluctant by, +When all combined, their decent pomp display, +Where shall we first our early offering pay? + To thee, DIVINITY! to thee, the light +And guide of mortals, through their mental night; +By whom we learn our hopes and fears to guide; +To bear with pain, and to contend with pride; +When grieved, to pray; when injured, to forgive; +And with the world in charity to live. + Not truths like these inspired that numerous race, +Whose pious labours fill this ample space; +But questions nice, where doubt on doubt arose, +Awaked to war the long-contending foes. +For dubious meanings, learned polemics strove, +And wars on faith prevented works of love; +The brands of discord far around were hurl'd, +And holy wrath inflamed a sinful world:- +Dull though impatient, peevish though devout, +With wit disgusting, and despised without; +Saints in design, in execution men, +Peace in their looks, and vengeance in their pen. + Methinks I see, and sicken at the sight, +Spirits of spleen from yonder pile alight; +Spirits who prompted every damning page, +With pontiff pride and still-increasing rage: +Lo! how they stretch their gloomy wings around, +And lash with furious strokes the trembling ground! +They pray, they fight, they murder, and they weep,- +Wolves in their vengeance, in their manners sheep; +Too well they act the prophet's fatal part, +Denouncing evil with a zealous heart; +And each, like Jonah, is displeased if God +Repent his anger, or withhold his rod. + But here the dormant fury rests unsought, +And Zeal sleeps soundly by the foes she fought; +Here all the rage of controversy ends, +And rival zealots rest like bosom-friends: +An Athanasian here, in deep repose, +Sleeps with the fiercest of his Arian foes; +Socinians here with Calvinists abide, +And thin partitions angry chiefs divide; +Here wily Jesuits simple Quakers meet, +And Bellarmine has rest at Luther's feet. +Great authors, for the church's glory fired, +Are for the church's peace to rest retired; +And close beside, a mystic, maudlin race, +Lie "Crumbs of Comfort for the Babes of Grace." + Against her foes Religion well defends +Her sacred truths, but often fears her friends: +If learn'd, their pride, if weak, their zeal she dreads, +And their hearts' weakness, who have soundest heads. +But most she fears the controversial pen, +The holy strife of disputatious men; +Who the blest Gospel's peaceful page explore, +Only to fight against its precepts more. + Near to these seats behold yon slender frames, +All closely fill'd and mark'd with modern names; +Where no fair science ever shows her face, +Few sparks of genius, and no spark of grace; +There sceptics rest, a still-increasing throng, +And stretch their widening wings ten thousand strong; +Some in close fight their dubious claims maintain; +Some skirmish lightly, fly, and fight again; +Coldly profane, and impiously gay, +Their end the same, though various in their way. + When first Religion came to bless the land, +Her friends were then a firm believing band; +To doubt was then to plunge in guilt extreme, +And all was gospel that a monk could dream; +Insulted Reason fled the grov'lling soul, +For Fear to guide, and visions to control: +But now, when Reason has assumed her throne, +She, in her turn, demands to reign alone; +Rejecting all that lies beyond her view, +And, being judge, will be a witness too: +Insulted Faith then leaves the doubtful mind, +To seek for truth, without a power to find: +Ah! when will both in friendly beams unite, +And pour on erring man resistless light? + Next to the seats, well stored with works divine, +An ample space, PHILOSOPHY! is thine; +Our reason's guide, by whose assisting light +We trace the moral bounds of wrong and right; +Our guide through nature, from the sterile clay, +To the bright orbs of yon celestial way! +'Tis thine, the great, the golden chain to trace, +Which runs through all, connecting race with race; +Save where those puzzling, stubborn links remain, +Which thy inferior light pursues in vain:- + How vice and virtue in the soul contend; +How widely differ, yet how nearly blend; +What various passions war on either part, +And now confirm, now melt the yielding heart: +How Fancy loves around the world to stray, +While Judgment slowly picks his sober way; +The stores of memory, and the flights sublime +Of genius, bound by neither space nor time; - +All these divine Philosophy explores, +Till, lost in awe, she wonders and adores. + From these, descending to the earth, she turns, +And matter, in its various forms, discerns; +She parts the beamy light with skill profound, +Metes the thin air, and weighs the flying sound; +'Tis hers the lightning from the clouds to call, +And teach the fiery mischief where to fall. + Yet more her volumes teach,--on these we look +As abstracts drawn from Nature's larger book: +Here, first described, the torpid earth appears, +And next, the vegetable robe it wears; +Where flow'ry tribes, in valleys, fields, and groves, +Nurse the still flame, and feed the silent loves; +Loves where no grief, nor joy, nor bliss, nor pain, +Warm the glad heart or vex the labouring brain; +But as the green blood moves along the blade, +The bed of Flora on the branch is made; +Where, without passion love instinctive lives, +And gives new life, unconscious that it gives. +Advancing still in Nature's maze, we trace, +In dens and burning plains, her savage race +With those tame tribes who on their lord attend, +And find in man a master and a friend; +Man crowns the scene, a world of wonders new, +A moral world, that well demands our view. + This world is here; for, of more lofty kind, +These neighbouring volumes reason on the mind; +They paint the state of man ere yet endued +With knowledge;--man, poor, ignorant, and rude; +Then, as his state improves, their pages swell, +And all its cares, and all its comforts, tell: +Here we behold how inexperience buys, +At little price, the wisdom of the wise; +Without the troubles of an active state, +Without the cares and dangers of the great, +Without the miseries of the poor, we know +What wisdom, wealth, and poverty bestow; +We see how reason calms the raging mind, +And how contending passions urge mankind: +Some, won by virtue, glow with sacred fire; +Some, lured by vice, indulge the low desire; +Whilst others, won by either, now pursue +The guilty chase, now keep the good in view; +For ever wretched, with themselves at strife, +They lead a puzzled, vex'd, uncertain life; +For transient vice bequeaths a lingering pain, +Which transient virtue seeks to cure in vain. + Whilst thus engaged, high views enlarge the soul, +New interests draw, new principles control: +Nor thus the soul alone resigns her grief, +But here the tortured body finds relief; +For see where yonder sage Arachne shapes +Her subtile gin, that not a fly escapes! +There PHYSIC fills the space, and far around, +Pile above pile her learned works abound: +Glorious their aim- to ease the labouring heart; +To war with death, and stop his flying dart; +To trace the source whence the fierce contest grew, +And life's short lease on easier terms renew; +To calm the phrensy of the burning brain; +To heal the tortures of imploring pain; +Or, when more powerful ills all efforts brave, +To ease the victim no device can save, +And smooth the stormy passage to the grave. + But man, who knows no good unmix'd and pure, +Oft finds a poison where he sought a cure; +For grave deceivers lodge their labours here, +And cloud the science they pretend to clear; +Scourges for sin, the solemn tribe are sent; +Like fire and storms, they call us to repent; +But storms subside, and fires forget to rage. +THESE are eternal scourges of the age: +'Tis not enough that each terrific hand +Spreads desolations round a guilty land; +But train'd to ill, and harden'd by its crimes, +Their pen relentless kills through future times. + Say, ye, who search these records of the dead- +Who read huge works, to boast what ye have read; +Can all the real knowledge ye possess, +Or those--if such there are--who more than guess, +Atone for each impostor's wild mistakes, +And mend the blunders pride or folly makes ? + What thought so wild, what airy dream so light, +That will not prompt a theorist to write? +What art so prevalent, what proof so strong, +That will convince him his attempt is wrong? +One in the solids finds each lurking ill, +Nor grants the passive fluids power to kill; +A learned friend some subtler reason brings, +Absolves the channels, but condemns their springs; +The subtile nerves, that shun the doctor's eye, +Escape no more his subtler theory; +The vital heat, that warms the labouring heart, +Lends a fair system to these sons of art; +The vital air, a pure and subtile stream, +Serves a foundation for an airy scheme, +Assists the doctor, and supports his dream. +Some have their favourite ills, and each disease +Is but a younger branch that kills from these; +One to the gout contracts all human pain; +He views it raging in the frantic brain; +Finds it in fevers all his efforts mar, +And sees it lurking in the cold catarrh: +Bilious by some, by others nervous seen, +Rage the fantastic demons of the spleen; +And every symptom of the strange disease +With every system of the sage agrees. + Ye frigid tribe, on whom I wasted long +The tedious hours, and ne'er indulged in song; +Ye first seducers of my easy heart, +Who promised knowledge ye could not impart; +Ye dull deluders, truth's destructive foes; +Ye sons of fiction, clad in stupid prose; +Ye treacherous leaders, who, yourselves in doubt, +Light up false fires, and send us far about;- +Still may yon spider round your pages spin, +Subtile and slow, her emblematic gin! +Buried in dust and lost in silence, dwell, +Most potent, grave, and reverend friends--farewell! + Near these, and where the setting sun displays, +Through the dim window, his departing rays, +And gilds yon columns, there, on either side, +The huge Abridgments of the LAW abide; +Fruitful as vice the dread correctors stand, +And spread their guardian terrors round the land; +Yet, as the best that human care can do +Is mix'd with error, oft with evil too, +Skill'd in deceit, and practised to evade, +Knaves stand secure, for whom these laws were made, +And justice vainly each expedient tries, +While art eludes it, or while power defies. +"Ah! happy age," the youthful poet sings, +"When the free nations knew not laws nor kings, +When all were blest to share a common store, +And none were proud of wealth, for none were poor, +No wars nor tumults vex'd each still domain, +No thirst of empire, no desire of gain; +No proud great man, nor one who would be great, +Drove modest merit from its proper state; +Nor into distant climes would Avarice roam, +To fetch delights for Luxury at home: +Bound by no ties which kept the soul in awe, +They dwelt at liberty, and love was law!" + "Mistaken youth! each nation first was rude, +Each man a cheerless son of solitude, +To whom no joys of social life were known, +None felt a care that was not all his own; +Or in some languid clime his abject soul +Bow'd to a little tyrant's stern control; +A slave, with slaves his monarch's throne he raised, +And in rude song his ruder idol praised; +The meaner cares of life were all he knew; +Bounded his pleasures, and his wishes few; +But when by slow degrees the Arts arose, +And Science waken'd from her long repose; +When Commerce, rising from the bed of ease, +Ran round the land, and pointed to the seas; +When Emulation, born with jealous eye, +And Avarice, lent their spurs to industry; +Then one by one the numerous laws were made, +Those to control, and these to succour trade; +To curb the insolence of rude command, +To snatch the victim from the usurer's hand; +To awe the bold, to yield the wrong'd redress, +And feed the poor with Luxury's excess." {3} + Like some vast flood, unbounded, fierce, and strong, +His nature leads ungovern'd man along; +Like mighty bulwarks made to stem that tide, +The laws are form'd, and placed on ev'ry side; +Whene'er it breaks the bounds by these decreed, +New statutes rise, and stronger laws succeed; +More and more gentle grows the dying stream, +More and more strong the rising bulwarks seem; +Till, like a miner working sure and slow, +Luxury creeps on, and ruins all below; +The basis sinks, the ample piles decay; +The stately fabric, shakes and falls away; +Primeval want and ignorance come on, +But Freedom, that exalts the savage state, is gone. + Next, HISTORY ranks;--there full in front she lies, +And every nation her dread tale supplies; +Yet History has her doubts, and every age +With sceptic queries marks the passing page; +Records of old nor later date are clear, +Too distant those, and these are placed too near; +There time conceals the objects from our view, +Here our own passions and a writer's too: +Yet, in these volumes, see how states arose! +Guarded by virtue from surrounding foes; +Their virtue lost, and of their triumphs vain, +Lo! how they sunk to slavery again! +Satiate with power, of fame and wealth possess'd, +A nation grows too glorious to be blest; +Conspicuous made, she stands the mark of all, +And foes join foes to triumph in her fall. + Thus speaks the page that paints ambition's race, +The monarch's pride, his glory, his disgrace; +The headlong course, that madd'ning heroes run, +How soon triumphant, and how soon undone; +How slaves, turn'd tyrants, offer crowns to sale, +And each fall'n nation's melancholy tale. + Lo! where of late the Book of Martyrs stood, +Old pious tracts, and Bibles bound in wood; +There, such the taste of our degenerate age, +Stand the profane delusions of the STAGE: +Yet virtue owns the TRAGIC MUSE a friend, +Fable her means, morality her end; +For this she rules all passions in their turns, +And now the bosom bleeds, and now it burns; +Pity with weeping eye surveys her bowl, +Her anger swells, her terror chills the soul; +She makes the vile to virtue yield applause, +And own her sceptre while they break her laws; +For vice in others is abhorr'd of all, +And villains triumph when the worthless fall. + Not thus her sister COMEDY prevails, +Who shoots at Folly, for her arrow fails; +Folly, by Dulness arm'd, eludes the wound, +And harmless sees the feather'd shafts rebound; +Unhurt she stands, applauds the archer's skill, +Laughs at her malice, and is Folly still. +Yet well the Muse portrays, in fancied scenes, +What pride will stoop to, what profession means; +How formal fools the farce of state applaud; +How caution watches at the lips of fraud; +The wordy variance of domestic life; +The tyrant husband, the retorting wife; +The snares for innocence, the lie of trade, +And the smooth tongue's habitual masquerade. + With her the Virtues too obtain a place, +Each gentle passion, each becoming grace; +The social joy in life's securer road, +Its easy pleasure, its substantial good; +The happy thought that conscious virtue gives, +And all that ought to live, and all that lives. + But who are these? Methinks a noble mien +And awful grandeur in their form are seen, +Now in disgrace: what though by time is spread +Polluting dust o'er every reverend head; +What though beneath yon gilded tribe they lie, +And dull observers pass insulting by: +Forbid it shame, forbid it decent awe, +What seems so grave, should no attention draw! +Come, let us then with reverend step advance, +And greet--the ancient worthies of ROMANCE. + Hence, ye profane! I feel a former dread, +A thousand visions float around my head: +Hark! hollow blasts through empty courts resound, +And shadowy forms with staring eyes stalk round; +See! moats and bridges, walls and castles rise, +Ghosts, fairies, demons, dance before our eyes; +Lo! magic verse inscribed on golden gate, +And bloody hand that beckons on to fate:- +"And who art thou, thou little page, unfold? +Say, doth thy lord my Claribel withhold? +Go tell him straight, Sir Knight, thou must resign +The captive queen;--for Claribel is mine." +Away he flies; and now for bloody deeds, +Black suits of armour, masks, and foaming steeds; +The giant falls; his recreant throat I seize, +And from his corslet take the massy keys:- +Dukes, lords, and knights, in long procession move, +Released from bondage with my virgin love:- +She comes! she comes! in all the charms of youth, +Unequall'd love, and unsuspected truth! +Ah! happy he who thus, in magic themes, +O'er worlds bewitch'd, in early rapture dreams, +Where wild Enchantment waves her potent wand, +And Fancy's beauties fill her fairy land; +Where doubtful objects strange desires excite, +And Fear and Ignorance afford delight. + But lost, for ever lost, to me these joys, +Which Reason scatters, and which Time destroys; +Too dearly bought: maturer judgment calls +My busied mind from tales and madrigals; +My doughty giants all are slain or fled, +And all my knignts--blue, green, and yellow--dead! +No more the midnight fairy tribe I view, +All in the merry moonshine tippling dew; +E'en the last lingering fiction of the brain, +The churchyard ghost, is now at rest again; +And all these wayward wanderings of my youth +Fly Reason's power, and shun the light of Truth. + With Fiction then does real joy reside, +And is our reason the delusive guide? +Is it then right to dream the syrens sing? +Or mount enraptured on the dragon's wing? +No; 'tis the infant mind, to care unknown, +That makes th' imagined paradise its own; +Soon as reflections in the bosom rise, +Light slumbers vanish from the clouded eyes: +The tear and smile, that once together rose, +Are then divorced; the head and heart are foes: +Enchantment bows to Wisdom's serious plan, +And Pain and Prudence make and mar the man. + While thus, of power and fancied empire vain, +With various thoughts my mind I entertain; +While books, my slaves, with tyrant hand I seize, +Pleased with the pride that will not let them please, +Sudden I find terrific thoughts arise, +And sympathetic sorrow fills my eyes; +For, lo! while yet my heart admits the wound, +I see the CRITIC army ranged around. + Foes to our race! if ever ye have known +A father's fears for offspring of your own; +If ever, smiling o'er a lucky line, +Ye thought the sudden sentiment divine, +Then paused and doubted, and then, tired of doubt, +With rage as sudden dash'd the stanza out;- +If, after fearing much and pausing long, +Ye ventured on the world your labour'd song, +And from the crusty critics of those days +Implored the feeble tribute of their praise; +Remember now the fears that moved you then, +And, spite of truth, let mercy guide your pen. + What vent'rous race are ours! what mighty foes +Lie waiting all around them to oppose! +What treacherous friends betray them to the fight! +What dangers threaten them--yet still they write: +A hapless tribe! to every evil born, +Whom villains hate, and fools affect to scorn: +Strangers they come, amid a world of woe, +And taste the largest portion ere they go. + Pensive I spoke, and cast mine eyes around; +The roof, methought, return'd a solemn sound; +Each column seem'd to shake, and clouds, like smoke, +From dusty piles and ancient volumes broke; +Gathering above, like mists condensed they seem, +Exhaled in summer from the rushy stream; +Like flowing robes they now appear, and twine +Round the large members of a form divine; +His silver beard, that swept his aged breast, +His piercing eye, that inward light express'd, +Were seen,--but clouds and darkness veil'd the rest. +Fear chill'd my heart: to one of mortal race, +How awful seem'd the Genius of the place! +So in Cimmerian shores, Ulysses saw +His parent-shade, and shrunk in pious awe; +Like him I stood, and wrapt in thought profound, +When from the pitying power broke forth a solemn sound:- +"Care lives with all; no rules, no precepts save +The wise from woe, no fortitude the brave; +Grief is to man as certain as the grave: +Tempests and storms in life's whole progress rise, +And hope shines dimly through o'erclouded skies. +Some drops of comfort on the favour'd fall, +But showers of sorrow are the lot of ALL: +Partial to talents, then, shall Heav'n withdraw +Th' afflicting rod, or break the general law? +Shall he who soars, inspired by loftier views, +Life's little cares and little pains refuse? +Shall he not rather feel a double share +Of mortal woe, when doubly arm'd to bear? + "Hard is his fate who builds his peace of mind +On the precarious mercy of mankind; +Who hopes for wild and visionary things, +And mounts o'er unknown seas with vent'rous wings; +But as, of various evils that befall +The human race, some portion goes to all; +To him perhaps the milder lot's assigned +Who feels his consolation in his mind, +And, lock'd within his bosom, bears about +A mental charm for every care without. +E'en in the pangs of each domestic grief, +Or health or vigorous hope affords relief; +And every wound the tortured bosom feels, +Or virtue bears, or some preserver heals; +Some generous friend of ample power possess'd; +Some feeling heart, that bleeds for the distress'd; +Some breast that glows with virtues all divine; +Some noble RUTLAND, misery's friend and thine. + "Nor say, the Muse's song, the Poet's pen, +Merit the scorn they meet from little men. +With cautious freedom if the numbers flow, +Not wildly high, nor pitifully low; +If vice alone their honest aims oppose, +Why so ashamed their friends, so loud their foes? +Happy for men in every age and clime, +If all the sons of vision dealt in rhyme. +Go on, then, Son of Vision! still pursue +Thy airy dreams; the world is dreaming too. +Ambition's lofty views, the pomp of state, +The pride of wealth, the splendour of the great, +Stripp'd of their mask, their cares and troubles known, +Are visions far less happy than thy own: +Go on! and, while the sons of care complain, +Be wisely gay and innocently vain; +While serious souls are by their fears undone, +Blow sportive bladders in the beamy sun, +And call them worlds! and bid the greatest show +More radiant colours in their worlds below: +Then, as they break, the slaves of care reprove, +And tell them, Such are all the toys they love." + + + + +Footnotes: + +{1} Indentation and punctuation as original. + +{2} In ancient libraries, works of value and importance were +fastened to their places by a length of chain; and might so be +perused, but not taken away. + +{3} See Blackstone's Commentaries, i. 131, 359; iv. 432. + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 5198 *** |