BOOK THIRD.

ENDNOTE X.

'_Where the powers

Of Fancy_,' etc.--P. 46.

The influence of the imagination on the conduct of life is one of

the most important points in moral philosophy. It were easy, by an

induction of facts, to prove that the imagination directs almost all

the passions, and mixes with almost every circumstance of action or

pleasure. Let any man, even of the coldest head and soberest industry,

analyse the idea of what he calls his interest; he will find that it

consists chiefly of certain degrees of decency, beauty, and order,

variously combined into one system, the idol which he seeks to enjoy

by labour, hazard, and self-denial. It is, on this account, of the

last consequence to regulate these images by the standard of nature

and the general good; otherwise the imagination, by heightening some

objects beyond their real excellence and beauty, or by representing

others in a more odions or terrible shape than they deserve, may, of

course, engage us in pursuits utterly inconsistent with the moral

order of things.

If it be objected that this account of things supposes the passions

to be merely accidental, whereas there appears in some a natural and

hereditary disposition to certain passions prior to all

circumstances of education or fortune, it may be answered, that

though no man is born ambitious or a miser, yet he may inherit from

his parents a peculiar temper or complexion of mind, which shall

render his imagination more liable to be struck with some particular

objects, consequently dispose him to form opinions of good and ill,

and entertain passions of a particular turn. Some men, for instance,

by the original frame of their minds, are more delighted with the

vast and magnificent, others, on the contrary, with the elegant and

gentle aspects of nature. And it is very remarkable, that the

disposition of the moral powers is always similar to this of the

imagination; that those who are most inclined to admire prodigious

and sublime objects in the physical world, are also most inclined to

applaud examples of fortitude and heroic virtue in the moral. While

those who are charmed rather with the delicacy and sweetness of

colours, and forms, and sounds, never fail in like manner to yield

the preference to the softer scenes of virtue and the sympathies of

a domestic life. And this is sufficient to account for the objection.

Among the ancient philosophers, though we have several hints

concerning this influence of the imagination upon morals among the

remains of the Socratic school, yet the Stoics were the first who

paid it a due attention. Zeno, their founder, thought it impossible

to preserve any tolerable regularity in life, without frequently

inspecting those pictures or appearances of things, which the

imagination offers to the mind (_Diog. Laërt_. I. vii.) The

meditations of M. Aurelius, and the discourses of Epictetus, are

full of the same sentiment; insomuch that the latter makes the

[Greek: Chresis oia dei, fantasion], or right management of the

fancies, the only thing for which we are accountable to Providence,

and without which a man is no other than stupid or frantic (_Arrian_.

I. i. c. 12. and I. ii. c. 22). See also the _Characteristics_,

vol. i. from p. 313 to 321, where this Stoical doctrine is embellished

with all the elegance and graces of Plato.

ENDNOTE Y.

'_How Folly's awkward arts_,' etc.--P. 47.

Notwithstanding the general influence of ridicule on private and

civil life, as well as on learning and the sciences, it has been

almost constantly neglected or misrepresented, by divines especially.

The manner of treating these subjects in the science of human nature,

should be precisely the same as in natural philosophy; from

particular facts to investigate the stated order in which they appear,

and then apply the general law, thus discovered, to the explication

of other appearances and the improvement of useful arts.

ENDNOTE Z.

'_Behold the foremost band_,' etc.--P. 48.

The first and most general source of ridicule in the characters

of men, is vanity or self-applause for some desirable quality or

possession which evidently does not belong to those who assume it.

ENDNOTE AA.

'_Then comes the second order_,' etc.--P, 49.

Ridicule from the same vanity, where, though the possession be real,

yet no merit can arise from it, because of some particular

circumstances, which, though obvious to the spectator, are yet

overlooked by the ridiculous character.

ENDNOTE BB.

'_Another tribe succeeds_,' etc.--P. 50.

Ridicule from a notion of excellence in particular objects

disproportioned to their intrinsic value, and inconsistent with the

order of nature.

ENDNOTE CC.

'_But now, ye gay_,' etc.--P. 51.

Ridicule from a notion of excellence, when the object is absolutely

odious or contemptible. This is the highest degree of the ridiculous;

as in the affectation of diseases or vices.

ENDNOTE DD.

'_Thus far triumphant_,' etc.--P. 51

Ridicule from false shame or groundless fear.

ENDNOTE EE.

'_Last of the motley bands_,' etc.--P. 52.

Ridicule from the ignorance of such things as our circumstances

require us to know.

ENDNOTE FF.

'_Suffice it to have said_,' etc.--P. 52.

By comparing these general sources of ridicule with each other, and

examining the ridiculous in other objects, we may obtain a general

definition of it, equally applicable to every species. The most

important circumstance of this definition is laid down in the lines

referred to; but others more minute we shall subjoin here.

Aristotle's account of the matter seems both imperfect and false.

[Greek: To ghar geloion], says he, [Greek: estin hamartaema ti kai

aischos]: 'The ridiculous is some certain fault or turpitude without

pain, and not destructive to its subject' (_Poet_. c. 5). For

allowing it to be true, as it is not, that the ridiculous is never

accompanied with pain, yet we might produce many instances of such a

fault or turpitude which cannot with any tolerable propriety be

called ridiculous. So that the definition does not distinguish the

thing designed. Nay, further, even when we perceive the turpitude

tending to the destruction of its subject, we may still be sensible

of a ridiculous appearance, till the ruin become imminent, and the

keener sensations of pity or terror banish the ludicrous

apprehension from our minds; for the sensation of ridicule is not a

bare perception of the agreement or disagreement of ideas, but a

passion or emotion of the mind consequential to that perception; so

that the mind may perceive the agreement or disagreement, and yet

not feel the ridiculous, because it is engrossed by a more violent

emotion. Thus it happens that some men think those objects ridiculous,

to which others cannot endure to apply the name, because in them

they excite a much intenser and more important feeling. And this

difference, among other causes, has brought a good deal of confusion

into this question.

'That which makes objects ridiculous is some ground of admiration or

esteem connected with other more general circumstances comparatively

worthless or deformed; or it is some circumstance of turpitude or

deformity connected with what is in general excellent or beautiful:

the inconsistent properties existing either in the objects themselves,

or in the apprehension of the person to whom they relate, belonging

always to the same order or class of being, implying sentiment or

design, and exciting no acute or vehement emotion of the heart.'

To prove the several parts of this definition: 'The appearance of

excellence or beauty connected with a general condition

comparatively sordid or deformed' is ridiculous; for instance,

pompous pretensions of wisdom joined with ignorance or folly in the

Socrates of Aristophanes, and the ostentations of military glory

with cowardice and stupidity in the Thraso of Terence.

'The appearance of deformity or turpitude in conjunction with what

is in general excellent or venerable,' is also ridiculous: for

instance, the personal weaknesses of a magistrate appearing in the

solemn and public functions of his station.

'The incongruous properties may either exist in the objects

themselves, or in the apprehension of the person to whom they relate:'

in the last--mentioned instance, they both exist in the objects; in

the instances from Aristophanes and Terence, one of them is

objective and real, the other only founded in the apprehension of

the ridiculous character.

'The inconsistent properties must belong to the same order or class

of being.' A coxcomb in fine clothes, bedaubed by accident in foul

weather, is a ridiculous object, because his general apprehension of

excellence and esteem is referred to the splendour and expense of

his dress. A man of sense and merit, in the same circumstances, is

not counted ridiculous, because the general ground of excellence and

esteem in him is, both in fact and in his own apprehension, of a

very different species.

'Every ridiculous object implies sentiment or design.' A column

placed by an architect without a capital or base is laughed at: the

same column in a ruin causes a very different sensation.

And lastly, 'the occurrence must excite no acute or vehement emotion

of the heart,' such as terror, pity, or indignation; for in that case,

as was observed above, the mind is not at leisure to contemplate the

ridiculous. Whether any appearance not ridiculous be involved in

this description, and whether it comprehend every species and form

of the ridiculous, must be determined by repeated applications of it

to particular instances.

ENDNOTE GG.

_'Ask we for what fair end'_, etc.--P. 53.

Since it is beyond all contradiction evident that we have a natural

sense or feeling of the ridiculous, and since so good a reason may

be assigned to justify the supreme Being for bestowing it, one cannot,

without astonishment, reflect on the conduct of those men who

imagine it is for the service of true religion to vilify and blacken

it without distinction, and endeavour to persuade us that it is

never applied but in a bad cause. Ridicule is not concerned with

mere speculative truth or falsehood. It is not in abstract

propositions or theorems, but in actions and passions, good and evil,

beauty and deformity, that we find materials for it; and all these

terms are relative, implying approbation or blame. To ask them

whether ridicule be a test of truth, is, in other words, to ask

whether that which is ridiculous can be morally true, can be just and

becoming; or whether that which is just and becoming can be

ridiculous?--a question that does not deserve a serious answer. For

it is most evident, that, as in a metaphysical proposition offered

to the understanding for its assent, the faculty of reason examines

the terms of the proposition, and finding one idea, which was

supposed equal to another, to be in fact unequal, of consequence

rejects the proposition as a falsehood; so, in objects offered to

the mind for its esteem or applause, the faculty of ridicule,

finding an incongruity in the claim, urges the mind to reject it

with laughter and contempt. When, therefore, we observe such a claim

obtruded upon mankind, and the inconsistent circumstances carefully

concealed from the eye of the public, it is our business, if the

matter be of importance to society, to drag out those latent

circumstances, and, by setting them in full view, to convince the

world how ridiculous the claim is: and thus a double advantage is

gained; for we both detect the moral falsehood sooner than in the

way of speculative inquiry, and impress the minds of men with a

stronger sense of the vanity and error of its authors. And this, and

no more, is meant by the application of ridicule.

But it is said, the practice is dangerous, and may be inconsistent

with the regard we owe to objects of real dignity and excellence. I

answer, the practice fairly managed can never be dangerous; men may

be dishonest in obtruding circumstances foreign to the object, and

we may be inadvertent in allowing those circumstances to impose upon

us: but the sense of ridicule always judges right. The Socrates of

Aristophanes is as truly ridiculous a character as ever was drawn:

--true; but it is not the character of Socrates, the divine moralist

and father of ancient wisdom. What then? did the ridicule of the

poet hinder the philosopher from detecting and disclaiming those

foreign circumstances which he had falsely introduced into his

character, and thus rendered the satirist doubly ridiculous in his

turn? No; but it nevertheless had an ill influence on the minds of

the people. And so has the reasoning of Spinoza made many atheists:

he has founded it, indeed, on suppositions utterly false; but allow

him these, and his conclusions are unavoidably true. And if we must

reject the use of ridicule, because, by the imposition of false

circumstances, things may be made to seem ridiculous, which are not

so in themselves; why we ought not in the same manner to reject the

use of reason, because, by proceeding on false principles,

conclusions will appear true which are impossible in nature, let the

vehement and obstinate declaimers against ridicule determine.

ENDNOTE HH.

_'The inexpressive semblance'_, etc.--P. 53.

This similitude is the foundation of almost all the ornaments of

poetic diction.

ENDNOTE II.

_'Two faithful needles'_, etc.--P. 55.

See the elegant poem recited by Cardinal Bembo in the character of

Lucretius.-_Strada Prolus_. vi. _Academ_. 2. c. v.

ENDNOTE JJ.

_'By these mysterious ties'_, etc.--P. 55.

The act of remembering seems almost wholly to depend on the

association of ideas.

ENDNOTE KK.

_'Into its proper vehicle'_, etc.--P. 57.

This relates to the different sorts of corporeal mediums, by which

the ideas of the artists are rendered palpable to the senses: as by

sounds, in music; by lines and shadows, in painting; by diction, in

poetry, etc.

ENDNOTE LL.

_'One pursues

The vast alone'_, etc.--P. 61.

See the note to ver. 18 of this book.

ENDNOTE MM.

_'Waller longs'_, etc.--P. 61.

Oh! how I long my careless limbs to lay

Under the plantane shade; and all the day

With amorous airs my fancy entertain, etc.

_WALLER, Battle of the Summer-Islands_, Canto I.

And again,

While in the park I sing, the list'ning deer

Attend my passion, and forget to fear, etc.

At Pens-hurst.

ENDNOTE NN.

_'Not a breeze'_, etc.--P. 63.

That this account may not appear rather poetically extravagant than

just in philosophy, it may be proper to produce the sentiment of one

of the greatest, wisest, and best of men on this head; one so little

to be suspected of partiality in the case, that he reckons it among

those favours for which he was especially thankful to the gods, that

they had not suffered him to make any great proficiency in the arts

of eloquence and poetry, lest by that means he should have been

diverted from pursuits of more importance to his high station.

Speaking of the beauty of universal nature, he observes, that there

'is a pleasing and graceful aspect in every object we perceive,'

when once we consider its connexion with that general order. He

instances in many things which at first sight would be thought

rather deformities; and then adds, 'that a man who enjoys a

sensibility of temper with a just comprehension of the universal

order--will discern many amiable things, not credible to every mind,

but to those alone who have entered into an honourable familiarity

with nature and her works.'

--_M. Antonin_. iii. 2.

THE

PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION.

A POEM.

GENERAL ARGUMENT.

The pleasures of the imagination proceed either from natural objects,

as from a flourishing grove, a clear and murmuring fountain, a calm

sea by moonlight; or from works of art, such as a noble edifice, a

musical tune, a statue, a picture, a poem. In treating of these

pleasures, we must begin with the former class; they being original

to the other; and nothing more being necessary, in order to explain

them, than a view of our natural inclination toward greatness and

beauty, and of those appearances, in the world around us, to which

that inclination is adapted. This is the subject of the first book

of the following poem.

But the pleasures which we receive from the elegant arts, from music,

sculpture, painting, and poetry, are much more various and

complicated. In them (besides greatness and beauty, or forms proper

to the imagination) we find interwoven frequent representations of

truth, of virtue and vice, of circumstances proper to move us with

laughter, or to excite in us pity, fear, and the other passions.

These moral and intellectual objects are described in the second book;

to which the third properly belongs as an episode, though too large

to have been included in it.

With the above-mentioned causes of pleasure, which are universal in

the course of human life, and appertain to our higher faculties,

many others do generally occur, more limited in their operation, or

of an inferior origin: such are the novelty of objects, the

association of ideas, affections of the bodily senses, influences of

education, national habits, and the like. To illustrate these, and

from the whole to determine the character of a perfect taste, is the

argument of the fourth book.

Hitherto the pleasures of the imagination belong to the human

species in general. But there are certain particular men whose

imagination is endowed with powers, and susceptible of pleasures,

which the generality of mankind never participate. These are the men

of genius, destined by nature to excel in one or other of the arts

already mentioned. It is proposed, therefore, in the last place, to

delineate that genius which in some degree appears common to them all;

yet with a more peculiar consideration of poetry: inasmuch as poetry

is the most extensive of those arts, the most philosophical, and the

most useful.

BOOK I. 1757.

ARGUMENT.

The subject proposed. Dedication. The ideas of the Supreme Being, the

exemplars of all things. The variety of constitution in the minds of

men; with its final cause. The general character of a fine

imagination. All the immediate pleasures of the human imagination

proceed either from Greatness or Beauty in external objects. The

pleasure from Greatness; with its final cause. The natural connexion

of Beauty with truth [2] and good. The different orders of Beauty in

different objects. The infinite and all-comprehending form of Beauty,

which belongs to the Divine Mind. The partial and artificial forms

of Beauty, which belong to inferior intellectual beings. The origin

and general conduct of beauty in man. The subordination of local

beauties to the beauty of the Universe. Conclusion.

With what enchantment Nature's goodly scene

Attracts the sense of mortals; how the mind

For its own eye doth objects nobler still

Prepare; how men by various lessons learn

To judge of Beauty's praise; what raptures fill

The breast with fancy's native arts endow'd,

And what true culture guides it to renown,

My verse unfolds. Ye gods, or godlike powers,

Ye guardians of the sacred task, attend

Propitious. Hand in hand around your bard 10

Move in majestic measures, leading on

His doubtful step through many a solemn path,

Conscious of secrets which to human sight

Ye only can reveal. Be great in him:

And let your favour make him wise to speak

Of all your wondrous empire; with a voice

So temper'd to his theme, that those who hear

May yield perpetual homage to yourselves.

Thou chief, O daughter of eternal Love,

Whate'er thy name; or Muse, or Grace, adored 20

By Grecian prophets; to the sons of Heaven

Known, while with deep amazement thou dost there

The perfect counsels read, the ideas old,

Of thine omniscient Father; known on earth

By the still horror and the blissful tear

With which thou seizest on the soul of man;

Thou chief, Poetic Spirit, from the banks

Of Avon, whence thy holy fingers cull

Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf

Where Shakspeare lies, be present. And with thee 30

Let Fiction come, on her aërial wings

Wafting ten thousand colours, which in sport,

By the light glances of her magic eye,

She blends and shifts at will through countless forms,

Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre,

Whose awful tones control the moving sphere,

Wilt thou, eternal Harmony, descend,

And join this happy train? for with thee comes

The guide, the guardian of their mystic rites,

Wise Order: and, where Order deigns to come, 40

Her sister, Liberty, will not be far.

Be present all ye Genii, who conduct

Of youthful bards the lonely wandering step

New to your springs and shades; who touch their ear

With finer sounds, and heighten to their eye

The pomp of nature, and before them place

The fairest, loftiest countenance of things.

Nor thou, my Dyson, [3] to the lay refuse

Thy wonted partial audience. What though first,

In years unseason'd, haply ere the sports 50

Of childhood yet were o'er, the adventurous lay

With many splendid prospects, many charms,

Allured my heart, nor conscious whence they sprung,

Nor heedful of their end? yet serious Truth

Her empire o'er the calm, sequester'd theme

Asserted soon; while Falsehood's evil brood,

Vice and deceitful Pleasure, she at once

Excluded, and my fancy's careless toil

Drew to the better cause. Maturer aid

Thy friendship added, in the paths of life, 60

The busy paths, my unaccustom'd feet

Preserving: nor to Truth's recess divine,

Through this wide argument's unbeaten space,

Withholding surer guidance; while by turns

We traced the sages old, or while the queen

Of sciences (whom manners and the mind

Acknowledge) to my true companion's voice

Not unattentive, o'er the wintry lamp

Inclined her sceptre, favouring. Now the fates

Have other tasks imposed;--to thee, my friend, 70

The ministry of freedom and the faith

Of popular decrees, in early youth,

Not vainly they committed; me they sent

To wait on pain, and silent arts to urge,

Inglorious; not ignoble, if my cares,

To such as languish on a grievous bed,

Ease and the sweet forgetfulness of ill

Conciliate; nor delightless, if the Muse,

Her shades to visit and to taste her springs,

If some distinguish'd hours the bounteous Muse 80

Impart, and grant (what she, and she alone,

Can grant to mortals) that my hand those wreaths

Of fame and honest favour, which the bless'd

Wear in Elysium, and which never felt

The breath of envy or malignant tongues,

That these my hand for thee and for myself

May gather. Meanwhile, O my faithful friend,

O early chosen, ever found the same,

And trusted and beloved, once more the verse

Long destined, always obvious to thine ear, 90

Attend, indulgent: so in latest years,

When time thy head with honours shall have clothed

Sacred to even virtue, may thy mind,

Amid the calm review of seasons past,

Fair offices of friendship, or kind peace,

Or public zeal, may then thy mind well pleased

Recall these happy studies of our prime.

From Heaven my strains begin: from Heaven descends

The flame of genius to the chosen breast,

And beauty with poetic wonder join'd, 100

And inspiration. Ere the rising sun

Shone o'er the deep, or 'mid the vault of night

The moon her silver lamp suspended; ere

The vales with springs were water'd, or with groves

Of oak or pine the ancient hills were crown'd;

Then the Great Spirit, whom his works adore,

Within his own deep essence view'd the forms,

The forms eternal of created things:

The radiant sun; the moon's nocturnal lamp;

The mountains and the streams; the ample stores 110

Of earth, of heaven, of nature. From the first,

On that full scene his love divine he fix'd,

His admiration: till, in time complete,

What he admired and loved his vital power

Unfolded into being. Hence the breath

Of life informing each organic frame:

Hence the green earth, and wild-resounding waves:

Hence light and shade, alternate; warmth and cold;

And bright autumnal skies, and vernal showers,

And all the fair variety of things. 120

But not alike to every mortal eye

Is this great scene unveil'd. For while the claims

Of social life to different labours urge

The active powers of man, with wisest care

Hath Nature on the multitude of minds

Impress'd a various bias, and to each

Decreed its province in the common toil.

To some she taught the fabric of the sphere,

The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,

The golden zones of heaven; to some she gave 130

To search the story of eternal thought;

Of space, and time; of fate's unbroken chain,

And will's quick movement; others by the hand

She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore

What healing virtue dwells in every vein

Of herbs or trees. But some to nobler hopes

Were destined; some within a finer mould

She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame.

To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds,

In fuller aspects and with fairer lights, 140

This picture of the world. Through every part

They trace the lofty sketches of his hand;

In earth, or air, the meadow's flowery store,

The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's mien

Dress'd in attractive smiles, they see portray'd

(As far as mortal eyes the portrait scan)

Those lineaments of beauty which delight

The Mind Supreme. They also feel their force,

Enamour'd; they partake the eternal joy.

For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd 150

Through fabling Egypt, at the genial touch

Of morning, from its inmost frame sent forth

Spontaneous music, so doth Nature's hand,

To certain attributes which matter claims,

Adapt the finer organs of the mind;

So the glad impulse of those kindred powers

(Of form, of colour's cheerful pomp, of sound

Melodious, or of motion aptly sped),

Detains the enliven'd sense; till soon the soul

Feels the deep concord, and assents through all 160

Her functions. Then the charm by fate prepared

Diffuseth its enchantment Fancy dreams,

Rapt into high discourse with prophets old,

And wandering through Elysium, Fancy dreams

Of sacred fountains, of o'ershadowing groves,

Whose walks with godlike harmony resound:

Fountains, which Homer visits; happy groves,

Where Milton dwells; the intellectual power,

On the mind's throne, suspends his graver cares,

And smiles; the passions, to divine repose 170

Persuaded yield, and love and joy alone

Are waking: love and joy, such as await

An angel's meditation. Oh! attend,

Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch;

Whom Nature's aspect, Nature's simple garb

Can thus command; oh! listen to my song;

And I will guide thee to her blissful walks,

And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,

And point her gracious features to thy view.

Know then, whate'er of the world's ancient store, 180

Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected scenes,

With love and admiration thus inspire

Attentive Fancy, her delighted sons

In two illustrious orders comprehend,

Self-taught: from him whose rustic toil the lark

Cheers warbling, to the bard whose daring thoughts

Range the full orb of being, still the form,

Which Fancy worships, or sublime or fair,

Her votaries proclaim. I see them dawn:

I see the radiant visions where they rise, 190

More lovely than when Lucifer displays

His glittering forehead through the gates of morn,

To lead the train of Phoebus and the Spring.

Say, why was man so eminently raised

Amid the vast creation; why empower'd

Through life and death to dart his watchful eye,

With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame;

But that the Omnipotent might send him forth,

In sight of angels and immortal minds,

As on an ample theatre to join 200

In contest with his equals, who shall best

The task achieve, the course of noble toils,

By wisdom and by mercy preordain'd?

Might send him forth the sovereign good to learn;

To chase each meaner purpose from his breast;

And through the mists of passion and of sense,

And through the pelting storms of chance and pain,

To hold straight on, with constant heart and eye

Still fix'd upon his everlasting palm,

The approving smile of Heaven? Else wherefore burns 210

In mortal bosoms this unquenchèd hope,

That seeks from day to day sublimer ends,

Happy, though restless? Why departs the soul

Wide from the track and journey of her times,

To grasp the good she knows not? In the field

Of things which may be, in the spacious field

Of science, potent arts, or dreadful arms,

To raise up scenes in which her own desires

Contented may repose; when things, which are,

Pall on her temper, like a twice-told tale: 220

Her temper, still demanding to be free;

Spurning the rude control of wilful might;

Proud of her dangers braved, her griefs endured,

Her strength severely proved? To these high aims,

Which reason and affection prompt in man,

Not adverse nor unapt hath Nature framed

His bold imagination. For, amid

The various forms which this full world presents

Like rivals to his choice, what human breast

E'er doubts, before the transient and minute, 230

To prize the vast, the stable, the sublime?

Who, that from heights aërial sends his eye

Around a wild horizon, and surveys

Indus or Ganges rolling his broad wave

Through mountains, plains, through spacious cities old,

And regions dark with woods, will turn away

To mark the path of some penurious rill

Which murmureth at his feet? Where does the soul

Consent her soaring fancy to restrain,

Which bears her up, as on an eagle's wings, 240

Destined for highest heaven; or which of fate's

Tremendous barriers shall confine her flight

To any humbler quarry? The rich earth

Cannot detain her; nor the ambient air

With all its changes. For a while with joy

She hovers o'er the sun, and views the small

Attendant orbs, beneath his sacred beam,

Emerging from the deep, like cluster'd isles

Whose rocky shores to the glad sailor's eye

Reflect the gleams of morning; for a while 250

With pride she sees his firm, paternal sway

Bend the reluctant planets to move each

Round its perpetual year. But soon she quits

That prospect; meditating loftier views,

She darts adventurous up the long career

Of comets; through the constellations holds

Her course, and now looks back on all the stars

Whose blended flames as with a milky stream

Part the blue region. Empyréan tracts,

Where happy souls beyond this concave heaven 260

Abide, she then explores, whence purer light

For countless ages travels through the abyss,

Nor hath in sight of mortals yet arrived.

Upon the wide creation's utmost shore

At length she stands, and the dread space beyond

Contemplates, half-recoiling: nathless, down

The gloomy void, astonish'd, yet unquell'd,

She plungeth; down the unfathomable gulf

Where God alone hath being. There her hopes

Rest at the fated goal. For, from the birth 270

Of human kind, the Sovereign Maker said

That not in humble, nor in brief delight,

Not in the fleeting echoes of renown,

Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap,

The soul should find contentment; but, from these

Turning disdainful to an equal good,

Through Nature's opening walks enlarge her aim,

Till every bound at length should disappear,

And infinite perfection fill the scene.

But lo, where Beauty, dress'd in gentler pomp, 280

With comely steps advancing, claims the verse

Her charms inspire. O Beauty, source of praise,

Of honour, even to mute and lifeless things;

O thou that kindlest in each human heart

Love, and the wish of poets, when their tongue

Would teach to other bosoms what so charms

Their own; O child of Nature and the soul,

In happiest hour brought forth; the doubtful garb

Of words, of earthly language, all too mean,

Too lowly I account, in which to clothe 290

Thy form divine; for thee the mind alone

Beholds, nor half thy brightness can reveal

Through those dim organs, whose corporeal touch

O'ershadoweth thy pure essence. Yet, my Muse,

If Fortune call thee to the task, wait thou

Thy favourable seasons; then, while fear

And doubt are absent, through wide nature's bounds

Expatiate with glad step, and choose at will

Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains,

Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air, 300

To manifest unblemish'd Beauty's praise,

And o'er the breasts of mortals to extend

Her gracious empire. Wilt thou to the isles

Atlantic, to the rich Hesperian clime,

Fly in the train of Autumn, and look on,

And learn from him; while, as he roves around,

Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove,

The branches bloom with gold; where'er his foot

Imprints the soil, the ripening clusters swell,

Turning aside their foliage, and come forth 310

In purple lights, till every hillock glows

As with the blushes of an evening sky?

Or wilt thou that Thessalian landscape trace,

Where slow Penéus his clear glassy tide

Draws smooth along, between the winding cliffs

Of Ossa and the pathless woods unshorn

That wave o'er huge Olympus? Down the stream,

Look how the mountains with their double range

Embrace the vale of Tempé: from each side

Ascending steep to heaven, a rocky mound 320

Cover'd with ivy and the laurel boughs

That crown'd young Phoebus for the Python slain.

Fair Tempé! on whose primrose banks the morn

Awoke most fragrant, and the noon reposed

In pomp of lights and shadows most sublime:

Whose lawns, whose glades, ere human footsteps yet

Had traced an entrance, were the hallow'd haunt

Of sylvan powers immortal: where they sate

Oft in the golden age, the Nymphs and Fauns,

Beneath some arbour branching o'er the flood, 330

And leaning round hung on the instructive lips

Of hoary Pan, or o'er some open dale

Danced in light measures to his sevenfold pipe,

While Zephyr's wanton hand along their path

Flung showers of painted blossoms, fertile dews,

And one perpetual spring. But if our task

More lofty rites demand, with all good vows

Then let us hasten to the rural haunt

Where young Melissa dwells. Nor thou refuse

The voice which calls thee from thy loved retreat, 340

But hither, gentle maid, thy footsteps turn:

Here, to thy own unquestionable theme,

O fair, O graceful, bend thy polish'd brow,

Assenting; and the gladness of thy eyes

Impart to me, like morning's wishèd light

Seen through the vernal air. By yonder stream,

Where beech and elm along the bordering mead

Send forth wild melody from every bough,

Together let us wander; where the hills

Cover'd with fleeces to the lowing vale 350

Reply; where tidings of content and peace

Each echo brings. Lo, how the western sun

O'er fields and floods, o'er every living soul,

Diffuseth glad repose! There,--while I speak

Of Beauty's honours, thou, Melissa, thou

Shalt hearken, not unconscious, while I tell

How first from Heaven she came: how, after all

The works of life, the elemental scenes,

The hours, the seasons, she had oft explored,

At length her favourite mansion and her throne 360

She fix'd in woman's form; what pleasing ties

To virtue bind her; what effectual aid

They lend each other's power; and how divine

Their union, should some unambitious maid,

To all the enchantment of the Idalian queen,

Add sanctity and wisdom; while my tongue

Prolongs the tale, Melissa, thou may'st feign

To wonder whence my rapture is inspired;

But soon the smile which dawns upon thy lip

Shall tell it, and the tenderer bloom o'er all 370

That soft cheek springing to the marble neck,

Which bends aside in vain, revealing more

What it would thus keep silent, and in vain

The sense of praise dissembling. Then my song

Great Nature's winning arts, which thus inform

With joy and love the rugged breast of man,

Should sound in numbers worthy such a theme:

While all whose souls have ever felt the force

Of those enchanting passions, to my lyre

Should throng attentive, and receive once more 380

Their influence, unobscured by any cloud

Of vulgar care, and purer than the hand

Of Fortune can bestow; nor, to confirm

Their sway, should awful Contemplation scorn

To join his dictates to the genuine strain

Of Pleasure's tongue; nor yet should Pleasure's ear

Be much averse. Ye chiefly, gentle band

Of youths and virgins, who through many a wish

And many a fond pursuit, as in some scene

Of magic bright and fleeting, are allured 390

By various Beauty, if the pleasing toil

Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn

Your favourable ear, and trust my words.

I do not mean on bless'd Religion's seat,

Presenting Superstition's gloomy form,

To dash your soothing hopes; I do not mean

To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens,

Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth,

And scare you from your joys. My cheerful song

With happier omens calls you to the field, 400

Pleased with your generous ardour in the chase,

And warm like you. Then tell me (for ye know),

Doth Beauty ever deign to dwell where use

And aptitude are strangers? is her praise

Confess'd in aught whose most peculiar ends

Are lame and fruitless? or did Nature mean

This pleasing call the herald of a lie,

To hide the shame of discord and disease,

And win each fond admirer into snares,

Foil'd, baffled? No; with better providence 410

The general mother, conscious how infirm

Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,

Thus, to the choice of credulous desire,

Doth objects the completest of their tribe

Distinguish and commend. Yon flowery bank

Clothed in the soft magnificence of Spring,

Will not the flocks approve it? will they ask

The reedy fen for pasture? That clear rill

Which trickleth murmuring from the mossy rock,

Yields it less wholesome beverage to the worn 420

And thirsty traveller, than the standing pool

With muddy weeds o'ergrown? Yon ragged vine

Whose lean and sullen clusters mourn the rage

Of Eurus, will the wine-press or the bowl

Report of her, as of the swelling grape

Which glitters through the tendrils, like a gem

When first it meets the sun. Or what are all

The various charms to life and sense adjoin'd?

Are they not pledges of a state entire,

Where native order reigns, with every part 430

In health, and every function well perform'd?

Thus, then, at first was Beauty sent from Heaven,

The lovely ministress of Truth and Good

In this dark world: for Truth and Good are one;

And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her,

With like participation. Wherefore then,

O sons of earth, would ye dissolve the tie?

Oh! wherefore with a rash and greedy aim

Seek ye to rove through every flattering scene

Which Beauty seems to deck, nor once inquire 440

Where is the suffrage of eternal Truth,

Or where the seal of undeceitful Good,

To save your search from folly? Wanting these,

Lo, Beauty withers in your void embrace;

And with the glittering of an idiot's toy

Did Fancy mock your vows. Nor yet let hope,

That kindliest inmate of the youthful breast,

Be hence appall'd, be turn'd to coward sloth

Sitting in silence, with dejected eyes

Incurious and with folded hands; far less 450

Let scorn of wild fantastic folly's dreams,

Or hatred of the bigot's savage pride

Persuade you e'er that Beauty, or the love

Which waits on Beauty, may not brook to hear

The sacred lore of undeceitful Good

And Truth eternal. From the vulgar crowd

Though Superstition, tyranness abhorr'd,

The reverence due to this majestic pair

With threats and execration still demands;

Though the tame wretch, who asks of her the way 460

To their celestial dwelling, she constrains

To quench or set at nought the lamp of God

Within his frame; through many a cheerless wild

Though forth she leads him credulous and dark

And awed with dubious notion; though at length

Haply she plunge him into cloister'd cells

And mansions unrelenting as the grave,

But void of quiet, there to watch the hours

Of midnight; there, amid the screaming owl's

Dire song, with spectres or with guilty shades 470

To talk of pangs and everlasting woe;

Yet be not ye dismay'd. A gentler star

Presides o'er your adventure. From the bower

Where Wisdom sat with her Athenian sons,

Could but my happy hand entwine a wreath

Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay,

Then (for what need of cruel fear to you,

To you whom godlike love can well command?),

Then should my powerful voice at once dispel

Those monkish horrors; should in words divine 480

Relate how favour'd minds like you inspired,

And taught their inspiration to conduct

By ruling Heaven's decree, through various walks

And prospects various, but delightful all,

Move onward; while now myrtle groves appear,

Now arms and radiant trophies, now the rods

Of empire with the curule throne, or now

The domes of contemplation and the Muse.

Led by that hope sublime, whose cloudless eye

Through the fair toils and ornaments of earth 490

Discerns the nobler life reserved for heaven,

Favour'd alike they worship round the shrine

Where Truth conspicuous with her sister-twins,

The undivided partners of her sway,

With Good and Beauty reigns. Oh! let not us

By Pleasure's lying blandishments detain'd,

Or crouching to the frowns of bigot rage,

Oh! let not us one moment pause to join

That chosen band. And if the gracious Power,

Who first awaken'd my untutor'd song, 500

Will to my invocation grant anew

The tuneful spirit, then through all our paths

Ne'er shall the sound of this devoted lyre

Be wanting; whether on the rosy mead

When Summer smiles, to warn the melting heart

Of Luxury's allurement; whether firm

Against the torrent and the stubborn hill

To urge free Virtue's steps, and to her side

Summon that strong divinity of soul

Which conquers Chance and Fate: or on the height, 510

The goal assign'd her, haply to proclaim

Her triumph; on her brow to place the crown

Of uncorrupted praise; through future worlds

To follow her interminated way,

And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man.

Such is the worth of Beauty; such her power,

So blameless, so revered. It now remains,

In just gradation through the various ranks

Of being, to contemplate how her gifts

Rise in due measure, watchful to attend 520

The steps of rising Nature. Last and least,

In colours mingling with a random blaze,

Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the forms

Of simplest, easiest measure; in the bounds

Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascent

To symmetry adds colour: thus the pearl

Shines in the concave of its purple bed,

And painted shells along some winding shore

Catch with indented folds the glancing sun.

Next, as we rise, appear the blooming tribes 530

Which clothe the fragrant earth; which draw from her

Their own nutrition; which are born and die,

Yet, in their seed, immortal; such the flowers

With which young Maia pays the village maids

That hail her natal morn; and such the groves

Which blithe Pomona rears on Vaga's bank,

To feed the bowl of Ariconian swains

Who quaff beneath her branches. Nobler still

Is Beauty's name where, to the full consent

Of members and of features, to the pride 540

Of colour, and the vital change of growth,

Life's holy flame with piercing sense is given,

While active motion speaks the temper'd soul:

So moves the bird of Juno: so the steed

With rival swiftness beats the dusty plain,

And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy

Salute their fellows. What sublimer pomp

Adorns the seat where Virtue dwells on earth,

And Truth's eternal day-light shines around,

What palm belongs to man's imperial front, 550

And woman powerful with becoming smiles,

Chief of terrestrial natures, need we now

Strive to inculcate? Thus hath Beauty there

Her most conspicuous praise to matter lent,

Where most conspicuous through that shadowy veil

Breaks forth the bright expression of a mind,

By steps directing our enraptured search

To Him, the first of minds; the chief; the sole;

From whom, through this wide, complicated world,

Did all her various lineaments begin; 560

To whom alone, consenting and entire,

At once their mutual influence all display.

He, God most high (bear witness, Earth and Heaven),

The living fountains in himself contains

Of beauteous and sublime; with him enthroned

Ere days or years trod their ethereal way,

In his supreme intelligence enthroned,

The queen of love holds her unclouded state,

Urania. Thee, O Father! this extent

Of matter; thee the sluggish earth and tract 570

Of seas, the heavens and heavenly splendours feel

Pervading, quickening, moving. From the depth

Of thy great essence, forth didst thou conduct

Eternal Form: and there, where Chaos reign'd,

Gav'st her dominion to erect her seat,

And sanctify the mansion. All her works

Well pleased thou didst behold: the gloomy fires

Of storm or earthquake, and the purest light

Of summer; soft Campania's new-born rose,

And the slow weed which pines on Russian hills 580

Comely alike to thy full vision stand:

To thy surrounding vision, which unites

All essences and powers of the great world

In one sole order, fair alike they stand,

As features well consenting, and alike

Required by Nature ere she could attain

Her just resemblance to the perfect shape

Of universal Beauty, which with thee

Dwelt from the first. Thou also, ancient Mind,

Whom love and free beneficence await 590

In all thy doings; to inferior minds,

Thy offspring, and to man, thy youngest son,

Refusing no convenient gift nor good;

Their eyes didst open, in this earth, yon heaven,

Those starry worlds, the countenance divine

Of Beauty to behold. But not to them

Didst thou her awful magnitude reveal

Such as before thine own unbounded sight

She stands (for never shall created soul

Conceive that object), nor, to all their kinds, 600

The same in shape or features didst thou frame

Her image. Measuring well their different spheres

Of sense and action, thy paternal hand

Hath for each race prepared a different test

Of Beauty, own'd and reverenced as their guide

Most apt, most faithful. Thence inform'd, they scan

The objects that surround them; and select,

Since the great whole disclaims their scanty view,

Each for himself selects peculiar parts

Of Nature; what the standard fix'd by Heaven 610

Within his breast approves, acquiring thus

A partial Beauty, which becomes his lot;

A Beauty which his eye may comprehend,

His hand may copy, leaving, O Supreme,

O thou whom none hath utter'd, leaving all

To thee that infinite, consummate form,

Which the great powers, the gods around thy throne

And nearest to thy counsels, know with thee

For ever to have been; but who she is,

Or what her likeness, know not. Man surveys 620

A narrower scene, where, by the mix'd effect

Of things corporeal on his passive mind,

He judgeth what is fair. Corporeal things

The mind of man impel with various powers,

And various features to his eye disclose.

The powers which move his sense with instant joy,

The features which attract his heart to love,

He marks, combines, reposits. Other powers

And features of the self-same thing (unless

The beauteous form, the creature of his mind, 630

Request their close alliance) he o'erlooks

Forgotten; or with self-beguiling zeal,

Whene'er his passions mingle in the work,

Half alters, half disowns. The tribes of men

Thus from their different functions and the shapes

Familiar to their eye, with art obtain,

Unconscious of their purpose, yet with art

Obtain the Beauty fitting man to love;

Whose proud desires from Nature's homely toil

Oft turn away, fastidious, asking still 640

His mind's high aid, to purify the form

From matter's gross communion; to secure

For ever, from the meddling hand of Change

Or rude Decay, her features; and to add

Whatever ornaments may suit her mien,

Where'er he finds them scatter'd through the paths

Of Nature or of Fortune. Then he seats

The accomplish'd image deep within his breast,

Reviews it, and accounts it good and fair.

Thus the one Beauty of the world entire, 650

The universal Venus, far beyond

The keenest effort of created eyes,

And their most wide horizon, dwells enthroned

In ancient silence. At her footstool stands

An altar burning with eternal fire

Unsullied, unconsumed. Here every hour,

Here every moment, in their turns arrive

Her offspring; an innumerable band

Of sisters, comely all! but differing far

In age, in stature, and expressive mien, 660

More than bright Helen from her new-born babe.

To this maternal shrine in turns they come,

Each with her sacred lamp; that from the source

Of living flame, which here immortal flows,

Their portions of its lustre they may draw

For days, or months, or years; for ages, some;

As their great parent's discipline requires.

Then to their several mansions they depart,

In stars, in planets, through the unknown shores

Of yon ethereal ocean. Who can tell, 670

Even on the surface of this rolling earth,

How many make abode? The fields, the groves,

The winding rivers and the azure main,

Are render'd solemn by their frequent feet,

Their rites sublime. There each her destined home

Informs with that pure radiance from the skies

Brought down, and shines throughout her little sphere,

Exulting. Straight, as travellers by night

Turn toward a distant flame, so some fit eye,

Among the various tenants of the scene, 680

Discerns the heaven-born phantom seated there,

And owns her charms. Hence the wide universe,

Through all the seasons of revolving worlds,

Bears witness with its people, gods and men,

To Beauty's blissful power, and with the voice

Of grateful admiration still resounds:

That voice, to which is Beauty's frame divine

As is the cunning of the master's hand

To the sweet accent of the well-tuned lyre.

Genius of ancient Greece, whose faithful steps 690

Have led us to these awful solitudes

Of Nature and of Science; nurse revered

Of generous counsels and heroic deeds;

Oh! let some portion of thy matchless praise

Dwell in my breast, and teach me to adorn

This unattempted theme. Nor be my thoughts

Presumptuous counted, if, amid the calm

Which Hesper sheds along the vernal heaven,

If I, from vulgar Superstition's walk,

Impatient steal, and from the unseemly rites 700

Of splendid Adulation, to attend

With hymns thy presence in the sylvan shade,

By their malignant footsteps unprofaned.

Come, O renownèd power; thy glowing mien

Such, and so elevated all thy form,

As when the great barbaric lord, again

And yet again diminish'd, hid his face

Among the herd of satraps and of kings;

And, at the lightning of thy lifted spear,

Crouch'd like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils, 710

Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs,

Thy smiling band of Arts, thy godlike sires

Of civil wisdom, thy unconquer'd youth,

After some glorious day rejoicing round

Their new-erected trophy. Guide my feet

Through fair Lycéum's walk, the olive shades

Of Academus, and the sacred vale

Haunted by steps divine, where once, beneath

That ever living platane's ample boughs,

Ilissus, by Socratic sounds detain'd, 720

On his neglected urn attentive lay;

While Boreas, lingering on the neighbouring steep

With beauteous Orithyía, his love tale

In silent awe suspended. There let me

With blameless hand, from thy unenvious fields,

Transplant some living blossoms, to adorn

My native clime; while, far beyond the meed

Of Fancy's toil aspiring, I unlock

The springs of ancient wisdom; while I add

(What cannot be disjoin'd from Beauty's praise) 730

Thy name and native dress, thy works beloved

And honour'd; while to my compatriot youth

I point the great example of thy sons,

And tune to Attic themes the British lyre.

[Footnote 2: Truth is here taken, not in a logical, but in a mixed

and popular sense, or for what has been called the truth of things;

denoting as well their natural and regular condition, as a proper

estimate or judgment concerning them.]

[Footnote 3: 'Dyson:' see _Life_.]

BOOK II. 1765.

ARGUMENT.

Introduction to this more difficult part of the subject. Of Truth

and its three classes, matter of fact, experimental or scientifical

truth (contra-distinguished from opinion), and universal truth;

which last is either metaphysical or geometrical, either purely

intellectual or perfectly abstracted. On the power of discerning

truth depends that of acting with the view of an end; a circumstance

essential to virtue. Of Virtue, considered in the divine mind as a

perpetual and universal beneficence. Of human virtue, considered as

a system of particular sentiments and actions, suitable to the

design of Providence and the condition of man; to whom it

constitutes the chief good and the first beauty. Of Vice, and its

origin. Of Ridicule: its general nature and final cause. Of the

Passions; particularly of those which relate to evil natural or moral,

and which are generally accounted painful, though not always

unattended with pleasure.

Thus far of Beauty and the pleasing forms

Which man's untutor'd fancy, from the scenes

Imperfect of this ever changing world,

Creates; and views, enarnour'd. Now my song

Severer themes demand: mysterious Truth;

And Virtue, sovereign good: the spells, the trains,

The progeny of Error; the dread sway

Of Passion; and whatever hidden stores

From her own lofty deeds and from herself

The mind acquires. Severer argument: 10

Not less attractive; nor deserving less

A constant ear. For what are all the forms

Educed by fancy from corporeal things,

Greatness, or pomp, or symmetry of parts?

Not tending to the heart, soon feeble grows,

As the blunt arrow 'gainst the knotty trunk,

Their impulse on the sense: while the pall'd eye

Expects in vain its tribute; asks in vain,

Where are the ornaments it once admired?

Not so the moral species, nor the powers 20

Of Passion and of Thought. The ambitious mind

With objects boundless as her own desires

Can there converse: by these unfading forms

Touch'd and awaken'd still, with eager act

She bends each nerve, and meditates well pleased

Her gifts, her godlike fortune. Such the scenes

Now opening round us. May the destined verse

Maintain its equal tenor, though in tracts

Obscure and arduous! May the source of light,

All-present, all-sufficient, guide our steps 30

Through every maze! and whom, in childish years,

From the loud throng, the beaten paths of wealth

And power, thou didst apart send forth to speak

In tuneful words concerning highest things,

Him still do thou, O Father, at those hours

Of pensive freedom, when the human soul

Shuts out the rumour of the world, him still

Touch thou with secret lessons; call thou back

Each erring thought; and let the yielding strains

From his full bosom, like a welcome rill 40

Spontaneous from its healthy fountain, flow!

But from what name, what favourable sign,

What heavenly auspice, rather shall I date

My perilous excursion, than from Truth,

That nearest inmate of the human soul;

Estranged from whom, the countenance divine

Of man, disfigured and dishonour'd, sinks

Among inferior things? For to the brutes

Perception and the transient boons of sense

Hath Fate imparted; but to man alone 50

Of sublunary beings was it given.

Each fleeting impulse on the sensual powers

At leisure to review; with equal eye

To scan the passion of the stricken nerve,

Or the vague object striking; to conduct

From sense, the portal turbulent and loud,

Into the mind's wide palace one by one

The frequent, pressing, fluctuating forms,

And question and compare them. Thus he learns

Their birth and fortunes; how allied they haunt 60

The avenues of sense; what laws direct

Their union; and what various discords rise,

Or fixed, or casual; which when his clear thought

Retains and when his faithful words express,

That living image of the external scene,

As in a polish'd mirror held to view,

Is Truth; where'er it varies from the shape

And hue of its exemplar, in that part

Dim Error lurks. Moreover, from without

When oft the same society of forms 70

In the same order have approach'd his mind,

He deigns no more their steps with curious heed

To trace; no more their features or their garb

He now examines; but of them and their

Condition, as with some diviner's tongue,

Affirms what Heaven in every distant place,

Through every future season, will decree.

This too is Truth; where'er his prudent lips

Wait till experience diligent and slow

Has authorised their sentence, this is Truth; 80

A second, higher kind: the parent this

Of Science; or the lofty power herself,

Science herself, on whom the wants and cares

Of social life depend; the substitute

Of God's own wisdom in this toilsome world;

The providence of man. Yet oft in vain,

To earn her aid, with fix'd and anxious eye

He looks on Nature's and on Fortune's course:

Too much in vain. His duller visual ray

The stillness and the persevering acts 90

Of Nature oft elude; and Fortune oft

With step fantastic from her wonted walk

Turns into mazes dim; his sight is foil'd;

And the crude sentence of his faltering tongue

Is but opinion's verdict, half believed,

And prone to change. Here thou, who feel'st thine ear

Congenial to my lyre's profounder tone,

Pause, and be watchful. Hitherto the stores,

Which feed thy mind and exercise her powers,

Partake the relish of their native soil, 100

Their parent earth. But know, a nobler dower

Her Sire at birth decreed her; purer gifts

From his own treasure; forms which never deign'd

In eyes or ears to dwell, within the sense

Of earthly organs; but sublime were placed

In his essential reason, leading there

That vast ideal host which all his works

Through endless ages never will reveal.

Thus then endow'd, the feeble creature man,

The slave of hunger and the prey of death, 110

Even now, even here, in earth's dim prison bound,

The language of intelligence divine

Attains; repeating oft concerning one

And many, past and present, parts and whole,

Those sovereign dictates which in furthest heaven,

Where no orb rolls, Eternity's fix'd ear

Hears from coeval Truth, when Chance nor Change,

Nature's loud progeny, nor Nature's self

Dares intermeddle or approach her throne.

Ere long, o'er this corporeal world he learns 120

To extend her sway; while calling from the deep,

From earth and air, their multitudes untold

Of figures and of motions round his walk,

For each wide family some single birth

He sets in view, the impartial type of all

Its brethren; suffering it to claim, beyond

Their common heritage, no private gift,

No proper fortune. Then whate'er his eye

In this discerns, his bold unerring tongue

Pronounceth of the kindred, without bound, 130

Without condition. Such the rise of forms

Sequester'd far from sense and every spot

Peculiar in the realms of space or time;

Such is the throne which man for Truth amid

The paths of mutability hath built

Secure, unshaken, still; and whence he views,

In matter's mouldering structures, the pure forms

Of triangle or circle, cube or cone,

Impassive all; whose attributes nor force

Nor fate can alter. There he first conceives 140

True being, and an intellectual world

The same this hour and ever. Thence he deems

Of his own lot; above the painted shapes

That fleeting move o'er this terrestrial scene

Looks up; beyond the adamantine gates

Of death expatiates; as his birthright claims

Inheritance in all the works of God;

Prepares for endless time his plan of life,

And counts the universe itself his home.

Whence also but from Truth, the light of minds, 150

Is human fortune gladden'd with the rays

Of Virtue? with the moral colours thrown

On every walk of this our social scene,

Adorning for the eye of gods and men

The passions, actions, habitudes of life,

And rendering earth like heaven, a sacred place

Where Love and Praise may take delight to dwell?

Let none with heedless tongue from Truth disjoin

The reign of Virtue. Ere the dayspring flow'd,

Like sisters link'd in Concord's golden chain, 160

They stood before the great Eternal Mind,

Their common parent, and by him were both

Sent forth among his creatures, hand in hand,

Inseparably join'd; nor e'er did Truth

Find an apt ear to listen to her lore,

Which knew not Virtue's voice; nor, save where Truth's

Majestic words are heard and understood,

Doth Virtue deign to inhabit. Go, inquire

Of Nature; not among Tartarian rocks,

Whither the hungry vulture with its prey 170

Returns; not where the lion's sullen roar

At noon resounds along the lonely banks

Of ancient Tigris; but her gentler scenes,

The dovecote and the shepherd's fold at morn,

Consult; or by the meadow's fragrant hedge,

In spring-time when the woodlands first are green,

Attend the linnet singing to his mate

Couch'd o'er their tender young. To this fond care

Thou dost not Virtue's honourable name

Attribute; wherefore, save that not one gleam 180

Of Truth did e'er discover to themselves

Their little hearts, or teach them, by the effects

Of that parental love, the love itself

To judge, and measure its officious deeds?

But man, whose eyelids Truth has fill'd with day,

Discerns how skilfully to bounteous ends

His wise affections move; with free accord

Adopts their guidance; yields himself secure

To Nature's prudent impulse; and converts

Instinct to duty and to sacred law. 190

Hence Right and Fit on earth; while thus to man

The Almighty Legislator hath explain'd

The springs of action fix'd within his breast;

Hath given him power to slacken or restrain

Their effort; and hath shewn him how they join

Their partial movements with the master-wheel

Of the great world, and serve that sacred end

Which he, the unerring reason, keeps in view.

For (if a mortal tongue may speak of him

And his dread ways) even as his boundless eye, 200

Connecting every form and every change,

Beholds the perfect Beauty; so his will,

Through every hour producing good to all

The family of creatures, is itself

The perfect Virtue. Let the grateful swain

Remember this, as oft with joy and praise

He looks upon the falling dews which clothe

His lawns with verdure, and the tender seed

Nourish within his furrows; when between

Dead seas and burning skies, where long unmoved 210

The bark had languish'd, now a rustling gale

Lifts o'er the fickle waves her dancing prow,

Let the glad pilot, bursting out in thanks,

Remember this; lest blind o'erweening pride

Pollute their offerings; lest their selfish heart

Say to the heavenly ruler, 'At our call

Relents thy power; by us thy arm is moved.'

Fools! who of God as of each other deem;

Who his invariable acts deduce

From sudden counsels transient as their own; 220

Nor further of his bounty, than the event

Which haply meets their loud and eager prayer,

Acknowledge; nor, beyond the drop minute

Which haply they have tasted, heed the source

That flows for all; the fountain of his love

Which, from the summit where he sits enthroned,

Pours health and joy, unfailing streams, throughout

The spacious region flourishing in view,

The goodly work of his eternal day,

His own fair universe; on which alone 230

His counsels fix, and whence alone his will

Assumes her strong direction. Such is now

His sovereign purpose; such it was before

All multitude of years. For his right arm

Was never idle; his bestowing love

Knew no beginning; was not as a change

Of mood that woke at last and started up

After a deep and solitary sloth

Of boundless ages. No; he now is good,

He ever was. The feet of hoary Time 240

Through their eternal course have travell'd o'er

No speechless, lifeless desert; but through scenes

Cheerful with bounty still; among a pomp

Of worlds, for gladness round the Maker's throne

Loud-shouting, or, in many dialects

Of hope and filial trust, imploring thence

The fortunes of their people: where so fix'd

Were all the dates of being, so disposed

To every living soul of every kind

The field of motion and the hour of rest, 250

That each the general happiness might serve;

And, by the discipline of laws divine

Convinced of folly or chastised from guilt,

Each might at length be happy. What remains

Shall be like what is past; but fairer still,

And still increasing in the godlike gifts

Of Life and Truth. The same paternal hand,

From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore,

To men, to angels, to celestial minds,

Will ever lead the generations on 260

Through higher scenes of being; while, supplied

From day to day by his enlivening breath,

Inferior orders in succession rise

To fill the void below. As flame ascends,

As vapours to the earth in showers return,

As the poised ocean towards the attracting moon

Swells, and the ever-listening planets, charm'd

By the sun's call, their onward pace incline,

So all things which have life aspire to God,

Exhaustless fount of intellectual day! 270

Centre of souls! Nor doth the mastering voice

Of Nature cease within to prompt aright

Their steps; nor is the care of Heaven withheld

From sending to the toil external aid;

That in their stations all may persevere

To climb the ascent of being, and approach

For ever nearer to the life divine.

But this eternal fabric was not raised

For man's inspection. Though to some be given

To catch a transient visionary glimpse 280

Of that majestic scene which boundless power

Prepares for perfect goodness, yet in vain

Would human life her faculties expand

To embosom such an object. Nor could e'er

Virtue or praise have touch'd the hearts of men,

Had not the Sovereign Guide, through every stage

Of this their various journey, pointed out

New hopes, new toils, which, to their humble sphere

Of sight and strength, might such importance hold

As doth the wide creation to his own. 290

Hence all the little charities of life,

With all their duties; hence that favourite palm

Of human will, when duty is sufficed,

And still the liberal soul in ampler deeds

Would manifest herself; that sacred sign

Of her revered affinity to Him

Whose bounties are his own; to whom none said,

'Create the wisest, fullest, fairest world,

And make its offspring happy;' who, intent

Some likeness of Himself among his works 300

To view, hath pour'd into the human breast

A ray of knowledge and of love, which guides

Earth's feeble race to act their Maker's part,

Self-judging, self-obliged; while, from before

That godlike function, the gigantic power

Necessity, though wont to curb the force

Of Chaos and the savage elements,

Retires abash'd, as from a scene too high

For her brute tyranny, and with her bears

Her scornèd followers, Terror, and base Awe 310

Who blinds herself, and that ill-suited pair,

Obedience link'd with Hatred. Then the soul

Arises in her strength; and, looking round

Her busy sphere, whatever work she views,

Whatever counsel bearing any trace

Of her Creator's likeness, whether apt

To aid her fellows or preserve herself

In her superior functions unimpair'd,

Thither she turns exulting: that she claims

As her peculiar good: on that, through all 320

The fickle seasons of the day, she looks

With reverence still: to that, as to a fence

Against affliction and the darts of pain,

Her drooping hopes repair--and, once opposed

To that, all other pleasure, other wealth,

Vile, as the dross upon the molten gold,

Appears, and loathsome as the briny sea

To him who languishes with thirst, and sighs

For some known fountain pure. For what can strive

With Virtue? Which of Nature's regions vast 330

Can in so many forms produce to sight

Such powerful Beauty? Beauty, which the eye

Of Hatred cannot look upon secure:

Which Envy's self contemplates, and is turn'd

Ere long to tenderness, to infant smiles,

Or tears of humblest love. Is aught so fair

In all the dewy landscapes of the Spring,

The Summer's noontide groves, the purple eve

At harvest-home, or in the frosty moon

Glittering on some smooth sea; is aught so fair 340

As virtuous friendship? as the honour'd roof

Whither, from highest heaven, immortal Love

His torch ethereal and his golden bow

Propitious brings, and there a temple holds

To whose unspotted service gladly vow'd

The social band of parent, brother, child,

With smiles and sweet discourse and gentle deeds

Adore his power? What gift of richest clime

E'er drew such eager eyes, or prompted such

Deep wishes, as the zeal that snatcheth back 350

From Slander's poisonous tooth a foe's renown;

Or crosseth Danger in his lion walk,

A rival's life to rescue? as the young

Athenian warrior sitting down in bonds,

That his great father's body might not want

A peaceful, humble tomb? the Roman wife

Teaching her lord how harmless was the wound

Of death, how impotent the tyrant's rage,

Who nothing more could threaten to afflict

Their faithful love? Or is there in the abyss, 360

Is there, among the adamantine spheres

Wheeling unshaken through the boundless void,

Aught that with half such majesty can fill

The human bosom, as when Brutus rose

Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate

Amid the crowd of patriots; and his arm

Aloft extending like eternal Jove

When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud

On Tully's name, and shook the crimson sword

Of justice in his rapt astonish'd eye, 370

And bade the father of his country hail,

For lo, the tyrant prostrate on the dust,

And Rome again is free? Thus, through the paths

Of human life, in various pomp array'd

Walks the wise daughter of the judge of heaven,

Fair Virtue; from her father's throne supreme

Sent down to utter laws, such as on earth

Most apt he knew, most powerful to promote

The weal of all his works, the gracious end

Of his dread empire. And, though haply man's 380

Obscurer sight, so far beyond himself

And the brief labours of his little home,

Extends not; yet, by the bright presence won

Of this divine instructress, to her sway

Pleased he assents, nor heeds the distant goal.

To which her voice conducts him. Thus hath God,

Still looking toward his own high purpose, fix'd

The virtues of his creatures; thus he rules

The parent's fondness and the patriot's zeal;

Thus the warm sense of honour and of shame; 390

The vows of gratitude, the faith of love;

And all the comely intercourse of praise,

The joy of human life, the earthly heaven!

How far unlike them must the lot of guilt

Be found! Or what terrestrial woe can match

The self-convicted bosom, which hath wrought

The bane of others, or enslaved itself

With shackles vile? Not poison, nor sharp fire,

Nor the worst pangs that ever monkish hate

Suggested, or despotic rage imposed, 400

Were at that season an unwish'd exchange,

When the soul loathes herself; when, flying thence

To crowds, on every brow she sees portray'd

Pell demons, Hate or Scorn, which drive her back

To solitude, her judge's voice divine

To hear in secret, haply sounding through

The troubled dreams of midnight, and still, still

Demanding for his violated laws

Fit recompense, or charging her own tongue

To speak the award of justice on herself. 410

For well she knows what faithful hints within

Were whisper'd, to beware the lying forms

Which turn'd her footsteps from the safer way,

What cautions to suspect their painted dress,

And look with steady eyelid on their smiles,

Their frowns, their tears. In vain; the dazzling hues

Of Fancy, and Opinion's eager voice,

Too much prevail'd. For mortals tread the path

In which Opinion says they follow good

Or fly from evil; and Opinion gives 420

Report of good or evil, as the scene

Was drawn by Fancy, pleasing or deform'd;

Thus her report can never there be true

Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye

With glaring colours and distorted lines.

Is there a man to whom the name of death

Brings terror's ghastly pageants conjured up

Before him, death-bed groans, and dismal vows,

And the frail soul plunged headlong from the brink

Of life and daylight down the gloomy air, 430

An unknown depth, to gulfs of torturing fire

Unvisited by mercy? Then what hand

Can snatch this dreamer from the fatal toils

Which Fancy and Opinion thus conspire

To twine around his heart? Or who shall hush

Their clamour, when they tell him that to die,

To risk those horrors, is a direr curse

Than basest life can bring? Though Love with prayers

Most tender, with affliction's sacred tears,

Beseech his aid; though Gratitude and Faith 440

Condemn each step which loiters; yet let none

Make answer for him that if any frown

Of Danger thwart his path, he will not stay

Content, and be a wretch to be secure.

Here Vice begins then: at the gate of life,

Ere the young multitude to diverse roads

Part, like fond pilgrims on a journey unknown,

Sits Fancy, deep enchantress; and to each

With kind maternal looks presents her bowl,

A potent beverage. Heedless they comply, 450

Till the whole soul from that mysterious draught

Is tinged, and every transient thought imbibes

Of gladness or disgust, desire or fear,

One homebred colour, which not all the lights

Of Science e'er shall change; not all the storms

Of adverse Fortune wash away, nor yet

The robe of purest Virtue quite conceal.

Thence on they pass, where, meeting frequent shapes

Of good and evil, cunning phantoms apt

To fire or freeze the breast, with them they join 460

In dangerous parley; listening oft, and oft

Gazing with reckless passion, while its garb

The spectre heightens, and its pompous tale

Repeats, with some new circumstance to suit

That early tincture of the hearer's soul.

And should the guardian, Reason, but for one

Short moment yield to this illusive scene

His ear and eye, the intoxicating charm

Involves him, till no longer he discerns,

Or only guides to err. Then revel forth 470

A furious band that spurn him from the throne,

And all is uproar. Hence Ambition climbs

With sliding feet and hands impure, to grasp

Those solemn toys which glitter in his view

On Fortune's rugged steep; hence pale Revenge

Unsheaths her murderous dagger; Rapine hence

And envious Lust, by venal fraud upborne,

Surmount the reverend barrier of the laws

Which kept them from their prey; hence all the crimes

That e'er defiled the earth, and all the plagues 480

That follow them for vengeance, in the guise

Of Honour, Safety, Pleasure, Ease, or Pomp,

Stole first into the fond believing mind.

Yet not by Fancy's witchcraft on the brain

Are always the tumultuous passions driven

To guilty deeds, nor Reason bound in chains

That Vice alone may lord it. Oft, adorn'd

With motley pageants, Folly mounts his throne,

And plays her idiot antics, like a queen.

A thousand garbs she wears: a thousand ways 490

She whirls her giddy empire. Lo, thus far

With bold adventure to the Mantuan lyre

I sing for contemplation link'd with love,

A pensive theme. Now haply should my song

Unbend that serious countenance, and learn

Thalia's tripping gait, her shrill-toned voice,

Her wiles familiar: whether scorn she darts

In wanton ambush from her lip or eye,

Or whether, with a sad disguise of care

O'ermantling her gay brow, she acts in sport 500

The deeds of Folly, and from all sides round

Calls forth impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke;

Her province. But through every comic scene

To lead my Muse with her light pencil arm'd;

Through every swift occasion which the hand

Of Laughter points at, when the mirthful sting

Distends her labouring sides and chokes her tongue,

Were endless as to sound each grating note

With which the rooks, and chattering daws, and grave

Unwieldy inmates of the village pond, 510

The changing seasons of the sky proclaim;

Sun, cloud, or shower. Suffice it to have said,

Where'er the power of Ridicule displays

Her quaint-eyed visage, some incongruous form,

Some stubborn dissonance of things combined,

Strikes on her quick perception: whether Pomp,

Or Praise, or Beauty be dragg'd in and shewn

Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds,

Where foul Deformity is wont to dwell;

Or whether these with shrewd and wayward spite 520

Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien,

The charms of Beauty, or the boast of Praise.

Ask we for what fair end the Almighty Sire

In mortal bosoms stirs this gay contempt,

These grateful pangs of laughter; from disgust

Educing pleasure? Wherefore, but to aid

The tardy steps of Reason, and at once

By this prompt impulse urge us to depress

Wild Folly's aims? For, though the sober light

Of Truth slow dawning on the watchful mind 530

At length unfolds, through many a subtle tie,

How these uncouth disorders end at last

In public evil; yet benignant Heaven,

Conscious how dim the dawn of Truth appears

To thousands, conscious what a scanty pause

From labour and from care the wider lot

Of humble life affords for studious thought

To scan the maze of Nature, therefore stamp'd

These glaring scenes with characters of scorn,

As broad, as obvious to the passing clown 540

As to the letter'd sage's curious eye.

But other evils o'er the steps of man

Through all his walks impend; against whose might

The slender darts of Laughter nought avail:

A trivial warfare. Some, like cruel guards,

On Nature's ever-moving throne attend;

With mischief arm'd for him whoe'er shall thwart

The path of her inexorable wheels,

While she pursues the work that must be done

Through ocean, earth, and air. Hence, frequent forms 550

Of woe; the merchant, with his wealthy bark,

Buried by dashing waves; the traveller,

Pierced by the pointed lightning in his haste;

And the poor husbandman, with folded arms,

Surveying his lost labours, and a heap

Of blasted chaff the product of the field

Whence he expected bread. But worse than these,

I deem far worse, that other race of ills

Which human kind rear up among themselves;

That horrid offspring which misgovern'd Will 560

Bears to fantastic Error; vices, crimes,

Furies that curse the earth, and make the blows,

The heaviest blows, of Nature's innocent hand

Seem sport: which are indeed but as the care

Of a wise parent, who solicits good

To all her house, though haply at the price

Of tears and froward wailing and reproach

From some unthinking child, whom not the less

Its mother destines to be happy still.

These sources then of pain, this double lot 570

Of evil in the inheritance of man,

Required for his protection no slight force,

No careless watch; and therefore was his breast

Fenced round with passions quick to be alarm'd,

Or stubborn to oppose; with Fear, more swift

Than beacons catching flame from hill to hill,

Where armies land: with Anger, uncontroll'd

As the young lion bounding on his prey;

With Sorrow, that locks up the struggling heart;

And Shame, that overcasts the drooping eye 580

As with a cloud of lightning. These the part

Perform of eager monitors, and goad

The soul more sharply than with points of steel,

Her enemies to shun or to resist.

And as those passions, that converse with good,

Are good themselves; as Hope and Love and Joy,

Among the fairest and the sweetest boons

Of life, we rightly count: so these, which guard

Against invading evil, still excite

Some pain, some tumult; these, within the mind 590

Too oft admitted or too long retain'd,

Shock their frail seat, and by their uncurb'd rage

To savages more fell than Libya breeds

Transform themselves, till human thought becomes

A gloomy ruin, haunt of shapes unbless'd,

Of self-tormenting fiends; Horror, Despair,

Hatred, and wicked Envy: foes to all

The works of Nature and the gifts of Heaven.

But when through blameless paths to righteous ends

Those keener passions urge the awaken'd soul, 600

I would not, as ungracious violence,

Their sway describe, nor from their free career

The fellowship of Pleasure quite exclude.

For what can render, to the self-approved,

Their temper void of comfort, though in pain?

Who knows not with what majesty divine

The forms of Truth and Justice to the mind

Appear, ennobling oft the sharpest woe

With triumph and rejoicing? Who, that bears

A human bosom, hath not often felt 610

How dear are all those ties which bind our race

In gentleness together, and how sweet

Their force, let Fortune's wayward hand the while

Be kind or cruel? Ask the faithful youth,

Why the cold urn of her whom long he loved

So often fills his arms; so often draws

His lonely footsteps, silent and unseen,

To pay the mournful tribute of his tears?

Oh! he will tell thee that the wealth of worlds

Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego 620

Those sacred hours when, stealing from the noise

Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes

With Virtue's kindest looks his aching breast,

And turns his tears to rapture. Ask the crowd,

Which flies impatient from the village walk

To climb the neighbouring cliffs, when far below

The savage winds have hurl'd upon the coast

Some helpless bark; while holy Pity melts

The general eye, or Terror's icy hand

Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair; 630

While every mother closer to her breast

Catcheth her child, and, pointing where the waves

Foam through the shatter'd vessel, shrieks aloud

As one poor wretch, who spreads his piteous arms

For succour, swallow'd by the roaring surge,

As now another, dash'd against the rock,

Drops lifeless down. Oh! deemest thou indeed

No pleasing influence here by Nature given

To mutual terror and compassion's tears?

No tender charm mysterious, which attracts 640

O'er all that edge of pain the social powers

To this their proper action and their end?

Ask thy own heart; when at the midnight hour,

Slow through that pensive gloom thy pausing eye,

Led by the glimmering taper, moves around

The reverend volumes of the dead, the songs

Of Grecian bards, and records writ by fame

For Grecian heroes, where the sovereign Power

Of heaven and earth surveys the immortal page,

Even as a father meditating all 650

The praises of his son, and bids the rest

Of mankind there the fairest model learn

Of their own nature, and the noblest deeds

Which yet the world hath seen. If then thy soul

Join in the lot of those diviner men;

Say, when the prospect darkens on thy view;

When, sunk by many a wound, heroic states

Mourn in the dust and tremble at the frown

Of hard Ambition; when the generous band

Of youths who fought for freedom and their sires 660

Lie side by side in death; when brutal Force

Usurps the throne of Justice, turns the pomp

Of guardian power, the majesty of rule,

The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe,

To poor dishonest pageants, to adorn

A robber's walk, and glitter in the eyes

Of such as bow the knee; when beauteous works,

Rewards of virtue, sculptured forms which deck'd

With more than human grace the warrior's arch,

Or patriot's tomb, now victims to appease 670

Tyrannic envy, strew the common path

With awful ruins; when the Muse's haunt,

The marble porch where Wisdom wont to talk

With Socrates or Tully, hears no more

Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks,

Or female Superstition's midnight prayer;

When ruthless Havoc from the hand of Time

Tears the destroying scythe, with surer stroke

To mow the monuments of Glory down;

Till Desolation o'er the grass-grown street 680

Expands her raven wings, and, from the gate

Where senates once the weal of nations plann'd,

Hisseth the gliding snake through hoary weeds

That clasp the mouldering column: thus when all

The widely-mournful scene is fix'd within

Thy throbbing bosom; when the patriot's tear

Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm

In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of Jove

To fire the impious wreath on Philip's brow,

Or dash Octavius from the trophied car; 690

Say, doth thy secret soul repine to taste

The big distress? Or wouldst thou then exchange

Those heart-ennobling sorrows for the lot

Of him who sits amid the gaudy herd

Of silent flatterers bending to his nod;

And o'er them, like a giant, casts his eye,

And says within himself, 'I am a King,

And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woe

Intrude upon mine ear?' The dregs corrupt

Of barbarous ages, that Circaean draught 700

Of servitude and folly, have not yet,

Bless'd be the Eternal Ruler of the world!

Yet have not so dishonour'd, so deform'd

The native judgment of the human soul,

Nor so effaced the image of her Sire.

BOOK III. 1770.

What tongue then may explain the various fate

Which reigns o'er earth? or who to mortal eyes

Illustrate this perplexing labyrinth

Of joy and woe, through which the feet of man

Are doom'd to wander? That Eternal Mind

From passions, wants, and envy far estranged,

Who built the spacious universe, and deck'd

Each part so richly with whate'er pertains

To life, to health, to pleasure, why bade he

The viper Evil, creeping in, pollute 10

The goodly scene, and with insidious rage,

While the poor inmate looks around and smiles

Dart her fell sting with poison to his soul?

Hard is the question, and from ancient days

Hath still oppress'd with care the sage's thought;

Hath drawn forth accents from the poet's lyre

Too sad, too deeply plaintive; nor did e'er

Those chiefs of human kind, from whom the light

Of heavenly truth first gleam'd on barbarous lands,

Forget this dreadful secret when they told 20

What wondrous things had to their favour'd eyes

And ears on cloudy mountain been reveal'd,

Or in deep cave by nymph or power divine,

Portentous oft, and wild. Yet one I know.

Could I the speech of lawgivers assume,

One old and splendid tale I would record,

With which the Muse of Solon in sweet strains

Adorn'd this theme profound, and render'd all

Its darkness, all its terrors, bright as noon,

Or gentle as the golden star of eve. 30

Who knows not Solon,--last, and wisest far,

Of those whom Greece, triumphant in the height

Of glory, styled her fathers,--him whose voice

Through Athens hush'd the storm of civil wrath;

Taught envious Want and cruel Wealth to join

In friendship; and, with sweet compulsion, tamed

Minerva's eager people to his laws,

Which their own goddess in his breast inspired?

'Twas now the time when his heroic task

Seem'd but perform'd in vain; when, soothed by years 40

Of flattering service, the fond multitude

Hung with their sudden counsels on the breath

Of great Pisistratus, that chief renown'd,

Whom Hermes and the Idalian queen had train'd,

Even from his birth, to every powerful art

Of pleasing and persuading; from whose lips

Flow'd eloquence which, like the vows of love,

Could steal away suspicion from the hearts

Of all who listen'd. Thus from day to day

He won the general suffrage, and beheld 50

Each rival overshadow'd and depress'd

Beneath his ampler state; yet oft complain'd,

As one less kindly treated, who had hoped

To merit favour, but submits perforce

To find another's services preferr'd,

Nor yet relaxeth aught of faith or zeal.

Then tales were scatter'd of his envious foes,

Of snares that watch'd his fame, of daggers aim'd

Against his life. At last, with trembling limbs,

His hair diffused and wild, his garments loose, 60

And stain'd with blood from self-inflicted wounds,

He burst into the public place, as there,

There only, were his refuge; and declared

In broken words, with sighs of deep regret,

The mortal danger he had scarce repell'd.

Fired with his tragic tale, the indignant crowd,

To guard his steps, forthwith a menial band,

Array'd beneath his eye for deeds of war,

Decree. Oh! still too liberal of their trust,

And oft betray'd by over-grateful love, 70

The generous people! Now behold him fenced

By mercenary weapons, like a king,

Forth issuing from the city-gate at eve

To seek his rural mansion, and with pomp

Crowding the public road. The swain stops short,

And sighs; the officious townsmen stand at gaze,

And shrinking give the sullen pageant room.

Yet not the less obsequious was his brow;

Nor less profuse of courteous words his tongue,

Of gracious gifts his hand; the while by stealth, 80

Like a small torrent fed with evening showers,

His train increased; till, at that fatal time

Just as the public eye, with doubt and shame

Startled, began to question what it saw,

Swift as the sound of earthquakes rush'd a voice

Through Athens, that Pisistratus had fill'd

The rocky citadel with hostile arms,

Had barr'd the steep ascent, and sate within

Amid his hirelings, meditating death

To all whose stubborn necks his yoke refused. 90

Where then was Solon? After ten long years

Of absence, full of haste from foreign shores,

The sage, the lawgiver had now arrived:

Arrived, alas! to see that Athens, that

Fair temple raised by him and sacred call'd

To Liberty and Concord, now profaned

By savage hate, or sunk into a den

Of slaves who crouch beneath the master's scourge,

And deprecate his wrath, and court his chains.

Yet did not the wise patriot's grief impede 100

His virtuous will, nor was his heart inclined

One moment with such woman-like distress

To view the transient storms of civil war,

As thence to yield his country and her hopes

To all-devouring bondage. His bright helm,

Even while the traitor's impious act is told,

He buckles on his hoary head; he girds

With mail his stooping breast; the shield, the spear

He snatcheth; and with swift indignant strides

The assembled people seeks; proclaims aloud 110

It was no time for counsel; in their spears

Lay all their prudence now; the tyrant yet

Was not so firmly seated on his throne,

But that one shock of their united force

Would dash him from the summit of his pride,

Headlong and grovelling in the dust. 'What else

Can reassert the lost Athenian name,

So cheaply to the laughter of the world

Betray'd; by guile beneath an infant's faith

So mock'd and scorn'd? Away, then: Freedom now 120

And Safety dwell not but with Fame in arms;

Myself will shew you where their mansion lies,

And through the walks of Danger or of Death

Conduct you to them.'--While he spake, through all

Their crowded ranks his quick sagacious eye

He darted; where no cheerful voice was heard

Of social daring; no stretch'd arm was seen

Hastening their common task: but pale mistrust

Wrinkled each brow; they shook their head, and down

Their slack hands hung; cold sighs and whisper'd doubts 130

From breath to breath stole round. The sage meantime

Look'd speechless on, while his big bosom heaved,

Struggling with shame and sorrow, till at last

A tear broke forth; and, 'O immortal shades,

O Theseus,' he exclaim'd, 'O Codrus, where,

Where are ye now behold for what ye toil'd

Through life! behold for whom ye chose to die!'

No more he added; but with lonely steps

Weary and slow, his silver beard depress'd,

And his stern eyes bent heedless on the ground, 140

Back to his silent dwelling he repair'd.

There o'er the gate, his armour, as a man

Whom from the service of the war his chief

Dismisseth after no inglorious toil,

He fix'd in general view. One wishful look

He sent, unconscious, toward the public place

At parting; then beneath his quiet roof

Without a word, without a sigh, retired.

Scarce had the morrow's sun his golden rays

From sweet Hymettus darted o'er the fanes 150

Of Cecrops to the Salaminian shores,

When, lo, on Solon's threshold met the feet

Of four Athenians, by the same sad care

Conducted all, than whom the state beheld

None nobler. First came Megacles, the son

Of great Alcmaeon, whom the Lydian king,

The mild, unhappy Croesus, in his days

Of glory had with costly gifts adorn'd,

Fair vessels, splendid garments, tinctured webs

And heaps of treasured gold, beyond the lot 160

Of many sovereigns; thus requiting well

That hospitable favour which erewhile

Alcmaeon to his messengers had shown,

Whom he, with offerings worthy of the god,

Sent from his throne in Sardis, to revere

Apollo's Delphic shrine. With Megacles

Approach'd his son, whom Agarista bore,

The virtuous child of Clistheues, whose hand

Of Grecian sceptres the most ancient far

In Sicyon sway'd: but greater fame he drew 170

From arms controll'd by justice, from the love

Of the wise Muses, and the unenvied wreath

Which glad Olympia gave. For thither once

His warlike steeds the hero led, and there

Contended through the tumult of the course

With skilful wheels. Then victor at the goal,

Amid the applauses of assembled Greece,

High on his car he stood and waved his arm.

Silence ensued: when straight the herald's voice

Was heard, inviting every Grecian youth, 180

Whom Clisthenes content might call his son,

To visit, ere twice thirty days were pass'd,

The towers of Sicyon. There the chief decreed,

Within the circuit of the following year,

To join at Hymen's altar, hand in hand

With his fair daughter, him among the guests

Whom worthiest he should deem. Forthwith from all

The bounds of Greece the ambitious wooers came:

From rich Hesperia; from the Illyrian shore,

Where Epidamnus over Adria's surge 190

Looks on the setting sun; from those brave tribes

Chaonian or Molossian, whom the race

Of great Achilles governs, glorying still

In Troy o'erthrown; from rough Aetolia, nurse

Of men who first among the Greeks threw off

The yoke of kings, to commerce and to arms

Devoted; from Thessalia's fertile meads,

Where flows Penéus near the lofty walls

Of Cranon old; from strong Eretria, queen

Of all Euboean cities, who, sublime 200

On the steep margin of Euripus, views

Across the tide the Marathonian plain,

Not yet the haunt of glory. Athens too,

Minerva's care, among her graceful sons

Found equal lovers for the princely maid:

Nor was proud Argos wanting; nor the domes

Of sacred Elis; nor the Arcadian groves

That overshade Alpheus, echoing oft

Some shepherd's song. But through the illustrious band

Was none who might with Megacles compare 210

In all the honours of unblemish'd youth.

His was the beauteous bride; and now their son,

Young Clisthenes, betimes, at Solon's gate

Stood anxious; leaning forward on the arm

Of his great sire, with earnest eyes that ask'd

When the slow hinge would turn, with restless feet,

And cheeks now pale, now glowing; for his heart

Throbb'd full of bursting passions, anger, grief

With scorn imbitter'd, by the generous boy

Scarce understood, but which, like noble seeds, 220

Are destined for his country and himself

In riper years to bring forth fruits divine

Of liberty and glory. Next appear'd

Two brave companions, whom one mother bore

To different lords; but whom the better ties

Of firm esteem and friendship render'd more

Than brothers: first Miltiades, who drew

From godlike Æacus his ancient line;

That Æacus whose unimpeach'd renown

For sanctity and justice won the lyre 230

Of elder bards to celebrate him throned

In Hades o'er the dead, where his decrees

The guilty soul within the burning gates

Of Tartarus compel, or send the good

To inhabit with eternal health and peace

The valleys of Elysium. From a stem

So sacred, ne'er could worthier scion spring

Than this Miltiades; whose aid ere long

The chiefs of Thrace, already on their ways,

Sent by the inspired foreknowing maid who sits 240

Upon the Delphic tripod, shall implore

To wield their sceptre, and the rural wealth

Of fruitful Chersonesus to protect

With arms and laws. But, nothing careful now

Save for his injured country, here he stands

In deep solicitude with Cimon join'd:

Unconscious both what widely different lots

Await them, taught by nature as they are

To know one common good, one common ill.

For Cimon, not his valour, not his birth 250

Derived from Codrus, not a thousand gifts

Dealt round him with a wise, benignant hand;

No, not the Olympic olive, by himself

From his own brow transferr'd to soothe the mind

Of this Pisistratus, can long preserve

From the fell envy of the tyrant's sons,

And their assassin dagger. But if death

Obscure upon his gentle steps attend,

Yet fate an ample recompense prepares

In his victorious son, that other great 260

Miltiades, who o'er the very throne

Of Glory shall with Time's assiduous hand

In adamantine characters engrave

The name of Athens; and, by Freedom arm'd

'Gainst the gigantic pride of Asia's king,

Shall all the achievements of the heroes old

Surmount, of Hercules, of all who sail'd

From Thessaly with Jason, all who fought

For empire or for fame at Thebes or Troy.

Such were the patriots who within the porch 270

Of Solon had assembled. But the gate

Now opens, and across the ample floor

Straight they proceed into an open space

Bright with the beams of morn: a verdant spot,

Where stands a rural altar, piled with sods

Cut from the grassy turf and girt with wreaths,

Of branching palm. Here Solon's self they found

Clad in a robe of purple pure, and deck'd

With leaves of olive on his reverend brow.

He bow'd before the altar, and o'er cakes 280

Of barley from two earthen vessels pour'd

Of honey and of milk a plenteous stream;

Calling meantime the Muses to accept

His simple offering, by no victim tinged

With blood, nor sullied by destroying fire,

But such as for himself Apollo claims

In his own Delos, where his favourite haunt

Is thence the Altar of the Pious named.

Unseen the guests drew near, and silent view'd

That worship; till the hero-priest his eye 290

Turn'd toward a seat on which prepared there lay

A branch of laurel. Then his friends confess'd

Before him stood. Backward his step he drew,

As loath that care or tumult should approach

Those early rites divine; but soon their looks,

So anxious, and their hands, held forth with such

Desponding gesture, bring him on perforce

To speak to their affliction. 'Are ye come,'

He cried, 'to mourn with me this common shame?

Or ask ye some new effort which may break 300

Our fetters? Know then, of the public cause

Not for yon traitor's cunning or his might

Do I despair; nor could I wish from Jove

Aught dearer, than at this late hour of life,

As once by laws, so now by strenuous arms,

From impious violation to assert

The rights our fathers left us. But, alas!

What arms? or who shall wield them? Ye beheld

The Athenian people. Many bitter days

Must pass, and many wounds from cruel pride 310

Be felt, ere yet their partial hearts find room

For just resentment, or their hands indure

To smite this tyrant brood, so near to all

Their hopes, so oft admired, so long beloved.

That time will come, however. Be it yours

To watch its fair approach, and urge it on

With honest prudence; me it ill beseems

Again to supplicate the unwilling crowd

To rescue from a vile deceiver's hold

That envied power, which once with eager zeal 320

They offer'd to myself; nor can I plunge

In counsels deep and various, nor prepare

For distant wars, thus faltering as I tread

On life's last verge, ere long to join the shades

Of Minos and Lycurgus. But behold

What care employs me now. My vows I pay

To the sweet Muses, teachers of my youth

And solace of my age. If right I deem

Of the still voice that whispers at my heart,

The immortal sisters have not quite withdrawn 330

Their old harmonious influence. Let your tongues

With sacred silence favour what I speak,

And haply shall my faithful lips be taught

To unfold celestial counsels, which may arm,

As with impenetrable steel your breasts,

For the long strife before you, and repel

The darts of adverse fate.'--He said, and snatch'd

The laurel bough, and sate in silence down,

Fix'd, wrapp'd in solemn musing, full before

The sun, who now from all his radiant orb 340

Drove the gray clouds, and pour'd his genial light

Upon the breast of Solon. Solon raised

Aloft the leafy rod, and thus began:--

'Ye beauteous offspring of Olympian Jove

And Memory divine, Pierian maids,

Hear me, propitious. In the morn of life,

When hope shone bright and all the prospect smiled,

To your sequester'd mansion oft my steps

Were turn'd, O Muses, and within your gate

My offerings paid. Ye taught me then with strains 350

Of flowing harmony to soften war's

Dire voice, or in fair colours, that might charm

The public eye, to clothe the form austere

Of civil counsel. Now my feeble age,

Neglected, and supplanted of the hope

On which it lean'd, yet sinks not, but to you,

To your mild wisdom flies, refuge beloved

Of solitude and silence. Ye can teach

The visions of my bed whate'er the gods

In the rude ages of the world inspired, 360

Or the first heroes acted; ye can make

The morning light more gladsome to my sense

Than ever it appear'd to active youth

Pursuing careless pleasure; ye can give

To this long leisure, these unheeded hours,

A labour as sublime, as when the sons

Of Athens throng'd and speechless round me stood,

To hear pronounced for all their future deeds

The bounds of right and wrong. Celestial powers!

I feel that ye are near me: and behold, 370

To meet your energy divine, I bring

A high and sacred theme; not less than those

Which to the eternal custody of Fame

Your lips intrusted, when of old ye deign'd

With Orpheus or with Homer to frequent

The groves of Hæmus or the Chian shore.

'Ye know, harmonious maids, (for what of all

My various life was e'er from you estranged?)

Oft hath my solitary song to you

Reveal'd that duteous pride which turn'd my steps 380

To willing exile; earnest to withdraw

From envy and the disappointed thirst

Of lucre, lest the bold familiar strife,

Which in the eye of Athens they upheld

Against her legislator, should impair

With trivial doubt the reverence of his laws.

To Egypt therefore through the Ægean isles

My course I steer'd, and by the banks of Nile

Dwelt in Canopus. Thence the hallow'd domes

Of Sals, and the rites to Isis paid, 390

I sought, and in her temple's silent courts,

Through many changing moons, attentive heard

The venerable Sonchis, while his tongue

At morn or midnight the deep story told

Of her who represents whate'er has been,

Or is, or shall be; whose mysterious veil

No mortal hand hath ever yet removed.

By him exhorted, southward to the walls

Of On I pass'd, the city of the sun,

The ever-youthful god. Twas there, amid 400

His priests and sages, who the livelong night

Watch the dread movements of the starry sphere,

Or who in wondrous fables half disclose

The secrets of the elements, 'twas there

That great Paenophis taught my raptured ears

The fame of old Atlantis, of her chiefs,

And her pure laws, the first which earth obey'd.

Deep in my bosom sunk the noble tale;

And often, while I listen'd, did my mind

Foretell with what delight her own free lyre 410

Should sometime for an Attic audience raise

Anew that lofty scene, and from their tombs

Call forth those ancient demigods, to speak

Of Justice and the hidden Providence

That walks among mankind. But yet meantime

The mystic pomp of Ammon's gloomy sons

Became less pleasing. With contempt I gazed

On that tame garb and those unvarying paths,

To which the double yoke of king and priest

Had cramp'd the sullen race. At last, with hymns 420

Invoking our own Pallas and the gods

Of cheerful Greece, a glad farewell I gave

To Egypt, and before the southern wind

Spread my full sails. What climes I then survey'd,

What fortunes I encounter'd in the realm

Of Croesus or upon the Cyprian shore,

The Muse, who prompts my bosom, doth not now

Consent that I reveal. But when at length

Ten times the sun returning from the south

Had strow'd with flowers the verdant earth, and fill'd 430

The groves with music, pleased I then beheld

The term of those long errors drawing nigh.

Nor yet, I said, will I sit down within

The walls of Athens, till my feet have trod

The Cretan soil, have pierced those reverend haunts

Whence Law and Civil Concord issued forth

As from their ancient home, and still to Greece

Their wisest, loftiest discipline proclaim.

Straight where Amnisus, mart of wealthy ships,

Appears beneath famed Cnossus and her towers, 440

Like the fair handmaid of a stately queen,

I check'd my prow, and thence with eager steps

The city of Minos enter'd. O ye gods,

Who taught the leaders of the simpler time

By written words to curb the untoward will

Of mortals, how within that generous isle

Have ye the triumphs of your power display'd

Munificent! Those splendid merchants, lords

Of traffic and the sea, with what delight

I saw them, at their public meal, like sons 450

Of the same household, join the plainer sort

Whose wealth was only freedom! whence to these

Vile envy, and to those fantastic pride,

Alike was strange; but noble concord still

Cherish'd the strength untamed, the rustic faith,

Of their first fathers. Then the growing race,

How pleasing to behold them in their schools,

Their sports, their labours, ever placed within,

O shade of Minos! thy controlling eye.

Here was a docile band in tuneful tones 460

Thy laws pronouncing, or with lofty hymns

Praising the bounteous gods, or, to preserve

Their country's heroes from oblivious night,

Resounding what the Muse inspired of old;

There, on the verge of manhood, others met,

In heavy armour through the heats of noon

To march, the rugged mountain's height to climb

With measured swiftness, from the hard-bent bow

To send resistless arrows to their mark,

Or for the fame of prowess to contend, 470

Now wrestling, now with fists and staves opposed,

Now with the biting falchion, and the fence

Of brazen shields; while still the warbling flute

Presided o'er the combat, breathing strains

Grave, solemn, soft; and changing headlong spite

To thoughtful resolution cool and clear.

Such I beheld those islanders renown'd,

So tutor'd from their birth to meet in war

Each bold invader, and in peace to guard

That living flame of reverence for their laws, 480

Which nor the storms of fortune, nor the flood

Of foreign wealth diffused o'er all the land,

Could quench or slacken. First of human names

In every Cretan's heart was Minos still;

And holiest far, of what the sun surveys

Through his whole course, were those primeval seats

Which with religious footsteps he had taught

Their sires to approach; the wild Dictaean cave

Where Jove was born: the ever verdant meads

Of Ida, and the spacious grotto, where 490

His active youth he pass'd, and where his throne

Yet stands mysterious; whither Minos came

Each ninth returning year, the king of gods

And mortals there in secret to consult

On justice, and the tables of his law

To inscribe anew. Oft also with like zeal

Great Rhea's mansion from the Cnossian gates

Men visit; nor less oft the antique fane

Built on that sacred spot, along the banks

Of shady Theron, where benignant Jove 500

And his majestic consort join'd their hands

And spoke their nuptial vows. Alas, 'twas there

That the dire fame of Athens sunk in bonds

I first received; what time an annual feast

Had summon'd all the genial country round,

By sacrifice and pomp to bring to mind

That first great spousal; while the enamour'd youths

And virgins, with the priest before the shrine,

Observe the same pure ritual, and invoke

The same glad omens. There, among the crowd 510

Of strangers from those naval cities drawn

Which deck, like gems, the island's northern shore,

A merchant of Ægina I descried,

My ancient host; but, forward as I sprung

To meet him, he, with dark dejected brow,

Stopp'd half averse; and, "O Athenian guest,"

He said, "art thou in Crete, these joyful rites

Partaking? Know thy laws are blotted out:

Thy country kneels before a tyrant's throne."

He added names of men, with hostile deeds 520

Disastrous; which obscure and indistinct

I heard: for, while he spake, my heart grew cold

And my eyes dim; the altars and their train

No more were present to me; how I fared,

Or whither turn'd, I know not; nor recall

Aught of those moments, other than the sense

Of one who struggles in oppressive sleep,

And, from the toils of some distressful dream

To break away, with palpitating heart,

Weak limbs, and temples bathed in death-like dew, 530

Makes many a painful effort. When at last

The sun and nature's face again appear'd,

Not far I found me, where the public path,

Winding through cypress groves and swelling meads,

From Cnossus to the cave of Jove ascends.

Heedless I follow'd on; till soon the skirts

Of Ida rose before me, and the vault

Wide opening pierced the mountain's rocky side.

Entering within the threshold, on the ground

I flung me, sad, faint, overworn with toil.' 540

* * * * *

THE BEGINNING OF THE FOURTH BOOK

OF THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION, 1770.

One effort more, one cheerful sally more,

Our destined course will finish; and in peace

Then, for an offering sacred to the powers

Who lent us gracious guidance, we will then

Inscribe a monument of deathless praise,

O my adventurous song! With steady speed

Long hast thou, on an untried voyage bound,

Sail'd between earth and heaven: hast now survey'd,

Stretch'd out beneath thee, all the mazy tracts

Of Passion and Opinion; like a waste 10

Of sands and flowery lawns and tangling woods,

Where mortals roam bewilder'd: and hast now

Exulting soar'd among the worlds above,

Or hover'd near the eternal gates of heaven,

If haply the discourses of the gods,

A curious, but an unpresuming guest,

Thou mightst partake, and carry back some strain

Of divine wisdom, lawful to repeat,

And apt to be conceived of man below.

A different task remains; the secret paths 20

Of early genius to explore: to trace

Those haunts where Fancy her predestined sons,

Like to the demigods of old, doth nurse

Remote from eyes profane. Ye happy souls

Who now her tender discipline obey,

Where dwell ye? What wild river's brink at eve

Imprint your steps? What solemn groves at noon

Use ye to visit, often breaking forth

In rapture 'mid your dilatory walk,

Or musing, as in slumber, on the green?-- 30

Would I again were with you!-O ye dales

Of Tyne, and ye most ancient woodlands; where,

Oft as the giant flood obliquely strides,

And his banks open, and his lawns extend,

Stops short the pleased traveller to view

Presiding o'er the scene some rustic tower

Founded by Norman or by Saxon hands:

O ye Northumbrian shades, which overlook

The rocky pavement and the mossy falls

Of solitary Wensbeck's limpid stream; 40

How gladly I recall your well-known seats

Beloved of old, and that delightful time

When all alone, for many a summer's day,

I wander'd through your calm recesses, led

In silence by some powerful hand unseen.

Nor will I e'er forget you; nor shall e'er

The graver tasks of manhood, or the advice

Of vulgar wisdom, move me to disclaim

Those studies which possess'd me in the dawn

Of life, and fix'd the colour of my mind 50

For every future year: whence even now

From sleep I rescue the clear hours of morn,

And, while the world around lies overwhelm'd

In idle darkness, am alive to thoughts

Of honourable fame, of truth divine

Or moral, and of minds to virtue won

By the sweet magic of harmonious verse;

The themes which now expect us. For thus far

On general habits, and on arts which grow

Spontaneous in the minds of all mankind, 60

Hath dwelt our argument; and how, self-taught,

Though seldom conscious of their own employ,

In Nature's or in Fortune's changeful scene

Men learn to judge of Beauty, and acquire

Those forms set up, as idols in the soul

For love and zealous praise. Yet indistinct,

In vulgar bosoms, and unnoticed lie

These pleasing stores, unless the casual force

Of things external prompt the heedless mind

To recognise her wealth. But some there are 70

Conscious of Nature, and the rule which man

O'er Nature holds; some who, within themselves

Retiring from the trivial scenes of chance

And momentary passion, can at will

Call up these fair exemplars of the mind;

Review their features; scan the secret laws

Which bind them to each other: and display

By forms, or sounds, or colours, to the sense

Of all the world their latent charms display;

Even as in Nature's frame (if such a word, 80

If such a word, so bold, may from the lips

Of man proceed) as in this outward frame

Of things, the great Artificer portrays

His own immense idea. Various names

These among mortals bear, as various signs

They use, and by peculiar organs speak

To human sense. There are who, by the flight

Of air through tubes with moving stops distinct,

Or by extended chords in measure taught

To vibrate, can assemble powerful sounds 90

Expressing every temper of the mind

From every cause, and charming all the soul

With passion void of care. Others mean time

The rugged mass of metal, wood, or stone,

Patiently taming; or with easier hand

Describing lines, and with more ample scope

Uniting colours; can to general sight

Produce those permanent and perfect forms,

Those characters of heroes and of gods,

Which from the crude materials of the world, 100

Their own high minds created. But the chief

Are poets; eloquent men, who dwell on earth

To clothe whate'er the soul admires or loves

With language and with numbers. Hence to these

A field is open'd wide as Nature's sphere;

Nay, wider: various as the sudden acts

Of human wit, and vast as the demands

Of human will. The bard nor length, nor depth,

Nor place, nor form controls. To eyes, to ears,

To every organ of the copious mind, 110

He offereth all its treasures. Him the hours,

The seasons him obey, and changeful Time

Sees him at will keep measure with his flight,

At will outstrip it. To enhance his toil,

He summoneth, from the uttermost extent

Of things which God hath taught him, every form

Auxiliar, every power; and all beside

Excludes imperious. His prevailing hand

Gives, to corporeal essence, life and sense

And every stately function of the soul. 120

The soul itself to him obsequious lies,

Like matter's passive heap; and as he wills,

To reason and affection he assigns

Their just alliances, their just degrees:

Whence his peculiar honours; whence the race

Of men who people his delightful world,

Men genuine and according to themselves,

Transcend as far the uncertain sons of earth,

As earth itself to his delightful world,

The palm of spotless Beauty doth resign. 130

* * * * *

ODES ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS, IN TWO BOOKS.

BOOK I.

ODE I.

PREFACE.

1 Off yonder verdant hillock laid,

Where oaks and elms, a friendly shade,

O'erlook the falling stream,

O master of the Latin lyre,

A while with thee will I retire

From summer's noontide beam.

2 And, lo, within my lonely bower,

The industrious bee from many a flower

Collects her balmy dews:

'For me,' she sings, 'the gems are born,

For me their silken robe adorn,

Their fragrant breath diffuse.'

3 Sweet murmurer! may no rude storm

This hospitable scene deform,

Nor check thy gladsome toils;

Still may the buds unsullied spring,

Still showers and sunshine court thy wing

To these ambrosial spoils.

4 Nor shall my Muse hereafter fail

Her fellow labourer thee to hail;

And lucky be the strains!

For long ago did Nature frame

Your seasons and your arts the same,

Your pleasures and your pains.

5 Like thee, in lowly, sylvan scenes,

On river banks and flowery greens,

My Muse delighted plays;

Nor through the desert of the air,

Though swans or eagles triumph there,

With fond ambition strays.

6 Nor where the boding raven chaunts,

Nor near the owl's unhallow'd haunts

Will she her cares employ;

But flies from ruins and from tombs,

From Superstition's horrid glooms,

To day-light and to joy.

7 Nor will she tempt the barren waste;

Nor deigns the lurking strength to taste

Of any noxious thing;

But leaves with scorn to Envy's use

The insipid nightshade's baneful juice,

The nettle's sordid sting.

8 From all which Nature fairest knows,

The vernal blooms, the summer rose,

She draws her blameless wealth;

And, when the generous task is done,

She consecrates a double boon,

To Pleasure and to Health.

ODE II.

ON THE WINTER-SOLSTICE. 1740.

1 The radiant ruler of the year

At length his wintry goal attains;

Soon to reverse the long career,

And northward bend his steady reins.

Now, piercing half Potosi's height,

Prone rush the fiery floods of light

Ripening the mountain's silver stores:

While, in some cavern's horrid shade,

The panting Indian hides his head,

And oft the approach of eve implores.

2 But lo, on this deserted coast,

How pale the sun! how thick the air!

Mustering his storms, a sordid host,

Lo, Winter desolates the year.

The fields resign their latest bloom;

No more the breezes waft perfume,

No more the streams in music roll:

But snows fall dark, or rains resound;

And, while great Nature mourns around,

Her griefs infect the human soul.

3 Hence the loud city's busy throngs

Urge the warm bowl and splendid fire:

Harmonious dances, festive songs,

Against the spiteful heaven conspire.

Meantime, perhaps, with tender fears

Some village dame the curfew hears,

While round the hearth her children play:

At morn their father went abroad;

The moon is sunk, and deep the road;

She sighs, and vonders at his stay.

4 But thou, my lyre, awake, arise,

And hail the sun's returning force:

Even now he climbs the northern skies,

And health and hope attend his course.

Then louder howl the aerial waste,

Be earth with keener cold embraced,

Yet gentle hours advance their wing;

And Fancy, mocking Winter's might,

With flowers and dews and streaming light

Already decks the new-born Spring.

5 O fountain of the golden day,

Could mortal vows promote thy speed,

How soon before thy vernal ray

Should each unkindly damp recede!

How soon each hovering tempest fly,

Whose stores for mischief arm the sky,

Prompt on our heads to burst amain,

To rend the forest from the steep,

Or, thundering o'er the Baltic deep,

To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain!

6 But let not man's unequal views

Presume o'er Nature and her laws:

'Tis his with grateful joy to use

The indulgence of the Sovereign Cause;

Secure that health and beauty springs

Through this majestic frame of things,

Beyond what he can reach to know;

And that Heaven's all-subduing will,

With good, the progeny of ill,

Attempereth every state below.

7 How pleasing wears the wintry night,

Spent with the old illustrious dead!

While, by the taper's trembling light,

I seem those awful scenes to tread

Where chiefs or legislators lie,

Whose triumphs move before my eye,

In arms and antique pomp array'd;

While now I taste the Ionian song,

Now bend to Plato's godlike tongue

Resounding through the olive shade.

8 But should some cheerful, equal friend

Bid leave the studious page a while.

Let mirth on wisdom then attend,

And social ease on learned toil.

Then while, at love's uncareful shrine,

Each dictates to the god of wine

Her name whom all his hopes obey,

What flattering dreams each bosom warm,

While absence, heightening every charm,

Invokes the slow-returning May!

9 May, thou delight of heaven and earth,

When will thy genial star arise?

The auspicious morn, which gives thee birth,

Shall bring Eudora to my eyes.

Within her sylvan haunt, behold,

As in the happy garden old,

She moves like that primeval fair:

Thither, ye silver-sounding lyres,

Ye tender smiles, ye chaste desires,

Fond hope and mutual faith, repair.

10 And if believing love can read

His better omens in her eye,

Then shall my fears, O charming maid,

And every pain of absence die:

Then shall my jocund harp, attuned

To thy true ear, with sweeter sound

Pursue the free Horatian song:

Old Tyne shall listen to my tale,

And Echo, down the bordering vale,

The liquid melody prolong.

FOR THE WINTER SOLSTICE, DECEMBER 11, 1740.

AS ORIGINALLY WRITTEN.

1 Now to the utmost southern goal

The sun has traced his annual way,

And backward now prepares to roll,

And bless the north with earlier day.

Prone on Potosi's lofty brow

Floods of sublimer splendour flow,

Ripening the latent seeds of gold,

Whilst, panting in the lonely shade,

Th' afflicted Indian hides his head,

Nor dares the blaze of noon behold.

2 But lo! on this deserted coast

How faint the light, how chill the air!

Lo! arm'd with whirlwind, hail, and frost,

Fierce Winter desolates the year.

The fields resign their cheerful bloom,

No more the breezes breathe perfume,

No more the warbling waters roll;

Deserts of snow fatigue the eye,

Successive tempests bloat the sky,

And gloomy damps oppress the soul.

3 But let my drooping genius rise,

And hail the sun's remotest ray:

Now, now he climbs the northern skies,

To-morrow nearer than to-day.

Then louder howl the stormy waste,

Be land and ocean worse defaced,

Yet brighter hours are on the wing,

And Fancy, through the wintry gloom,

Radiant with dews and flowers in bloom,

Already hails th' emerging spring.