"That, in proportion as each being stays In perfect life, it rises and decays- Is Nature's law-to forms alone confin'd, The laws of matter act not on the Mind. Too feebly, sure, its faculties must grow, And Reason brings her borrow'd light too slow."
O! still censorious? art thou then possest Of reason's power, and does she rule thy breast? Say what the use- had Providence assign'd To infant years maturity of mind?
That thy pert offspring, as their father wise, Mightscorn thy precepts, and thypow'r despise? Or mourn, with ill-match'd faculties at strife, O'er limbs unequal to the task of life? To feel more sensibly the woes that wait On every period, as on every state; And slight, sad convicts of each painful truth, The happier trifles of unthinking youth?
Conclude we then the progress of the mind
Ordain'd by wisdom infinitely kind: No innate knowledge on the soul imprest, No birthright instinct acting in the breast, No natal light, no beam from Heav'n display'd, Dart through the darkness of the mental shade. Perceptive powers we hold from Heav'n's decree, Alike to knowledge as to virtue free, In both a liberal agency we bear, The moral here, the intellectual there; And hence in both an equal joy is known, The conscious pleasure of an act our own.
From low pursuits the ductile mind to save, Creeds that contract, and vices that enslave; O'er life's rough seas its doubtful course to steer, Unbroke by av'rice, bigotry, or fear! For this fair Science spreads her light afar, And fills the bright urn of her eastern star. The liberal power in no sequester'd cells. No moonshine-courts of dreaming schoolmen dwells;
Distinguish'd far her lofty temple stands, Where the tall mountain looks o'er distant land, All round her throne the graceful arts appear, That boast the empire of the eye or ear
See favour'd first, and nearest to the throne By the rapt mien of musing Silence known, Fled from herself, the Pow'r of Numbers plac'd, Her wild thoughts watch'd by Harmony and
There (but at distance never meant to vie), The full-form'd image glancing on her eye, See lively Painting! on her various face, Quick-gliding forms a moment find a place; She looks, she acts the character she gives, And a new feature in each feature lives.
Sce Attic ease in Sculpture's graceful air, Half loose her robe, and half unbound her hair, To life, to life, she smiling seems to call, And down her fair hands negligently fall.
Last, but not meanest, of the glorious choir, See Music, list'ning to an angel's lyre.
Simplicity, their beauteous handmaid, drest By Nature, bears a field-flower on her breast. O Arts divine! O magic Powers that move The springs of truth, enlarging truth and love! Lost in their charms each mean attachment ends,
When first the trembling eye receives the day, And Taste and Knowledge thus are Virtue's
External forms on young perception play; External forms affect the mind alone,
Their diff'ront pow'rs and properties unknown. See the pleas'd infant court the flaming brand, Eager to grasp the glory in its hand! The crystal ware as eager to pervade, Stretch its fond arms to meet the smiling shade! When Memory's call the mimic words obey, And wing the thought that falters on its way; When wise experience her slow verdict draws, The sure effect exploring in the Cause, In Nature's rude, but not unfruitful wild, Reflection springs, and Reason is her child. On her fair stock the blooming scyon grows, And brighter through revolving seasons blows. All beanteous flower! immortal shalt thou shine, When dini with age yon golden orbs decline; Thy orient bloom, unconscious of decay, Shall spread, and flourish in eternal day.
O! with what art, my friend, what early care, Should wisdom cultivate a plant so fair! How should her eye the rip'ning mind revise, And blast the buds of folly as they rise! How should her hand with industry restrain The thriving growth of passion's fruitful train, Aspiring weeds, whose lofty arms would tow'r With fatal shade o'er reason's tender flow'r!
Thus nature deigns to sympathize with art, And leads the moral beauty to the heart; There, only there, that strong attraction lies, Which makes the soul, and bids her graces rise,
Lives in those powers of harmony that bind Congenial hearts, and stretch from mind to mind Glow'd in that warmth, that social kindness gave,
Which onee - the rest is silence and the grave. O tears, that warm from wounded friendship flow!
O thoughts, that wake to monuments of woe! Reflection keen, that points the painful dart; Mem'ry, that speeds its passage to the heart; Sad monitors, your cruel power suspend, And hide, for ever hide, the buried friend: -In vain-confest I see my Craufurd stand, And the pen falls-falls from my trembling hand; E'en death's dim shadow seeks to hide, in vain, That lib'ral aspect, and that smile humane; E'en Death's dim shadow wears a languid light, And his eye beams through everlasting night. Till the last sigh of Genius shall expire, His keen eye faded, and extinct his fire, Till time, in league with Envy and with Death, Blast the skill'd hand, and stop the tuneful breath, My
My Craufurd still shall claim the mournful song, So long remember'd, and bewail'd so long.
§34. The Universal Prayer. Pope. Deo. Opt. Max.
FATHER of All! in ev'ry age, In ev'ry clime, ador'd, By Saint, by Savage, and by Sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!
Thou Great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confin'd
To know but this, that Thou art good,
And that myself am blind:
Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
And, binding nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.
What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do,
This teach me more than hell to shun, That more than heav'n pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives Let me not cast away; For God is paid when man receives, T'enjoy is to obey.
Yet not to earth's contracted span Thy goodness let me bound, Or think Thee Lord alone of man, When thousand worlds are round.
Let not this weak, unknowing hand Presume thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace iinpart, Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, oh teach my heart To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride, Or impious discontent,
At aught thy wisdom has deny'd,
Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe, To hide the fault I see; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me.
Mean tho' I am, not wholly so, Since quicken'd by thy breath, O lead me wheresoe'er I go, Thro' this day's life, or death. This day, be bread and peace my lot. All else beneath the sun, Thou know'st if best bestow'd or not; And let thy will be done. /
To Thee, whose temple is all space, Whose altar, earth, sea, skies! One chorus let all Being raise! All Nature's incense rise!
§ 35. Messiah, a Sacred Eclogue. POPE.
YE Nymphs of Solyma! begin the song; To heavenly themes sublimer strains belong. The mossy fountains and the sylvan shades, The dreams of Pindus and the Aonian inaids, Delight no more. - O Thou my voice inspire, Who touch'd Isaiah's hallowed lips with fire!
Rapt into future times, the bard begun : A Virgin shall conceive, a Virgin bear a Son! From Jesse's root behold a branch arise, Whose sacred flow'r with fragrance fills the skies; Th'ethereal spirit o'er its leaves shall move; And on its top descends the mystic Dove. Ye heav'ns! from high the dewy nectar pour, And in soft silence shed the kindly show'r! The sick and weak the healing plant shall aid, From storms a shelter, and from heat a shade. All crimes shall cease, and antient fraud shall fail, Returning Justice lift aloft her scale; Peace o'er the world her olive wand extend, And white rob'd Innocence from heav'n descend. Swift fly the years, and rise th' expected morn! Oh spring to light auspicious Babe, be born! See Nature hastes her earliest wreaths to bring, With all the incense of the breathing spring: Sce lofty Lebanon his head advance, See nodding forests on the mountains dance; See spicy clouds from lowly Saron rise, And Carmel's flow'ry top perfuines the skies! Hark! a glad voice the lonely desert cheers; Prepare the way! a God, a God appears! A God, a God! the vocal hills reply: The rocks proclaim th' approaching Deity. Lo, earth receives him from the bending skies! Sink down, ye mountains, and, ye vallies, rise! With heads declin'd, ye cedars, homage pay; Be smooth, ye rocks; ye rapid floods, give way! The Saviour comes! by antient bards foretold; Hear him, ye deaf! and, all ye blind behold! He from thick films shall purge the visual ray, And on the sightless eye-ball pour the day: 'Tis he th' obstructed paths of sound shall clear, And bid new music charnı th' unfolding ear; The dumb shall sing, the lame his crutch forego, And leap exulting, like the bounding roe. No sigh, no murmur, the wide world shall hear: From ev'ry face he wipes off ev'ry tear.
In adamantine chains shall death be bound, And hell's grim tyrant feel th' eternal wound. As the good shepherd tends his fleecy care, Seeks freshest pasture, and the purest air, Explores the lost, the wand'ring sheep directs, By day o'ersees them, and by night protects; The tender lambs he raises in his arms, Feeds from his hand, and in his bosom warms; Thus shall mankind his guardian care engage, The promis'd Father of the future age. No more shall nation against nation rise, Nor ardent warriors meet with hateful eyes, Nor fields with gleaming steel be cover'd o'er, The brazen trumpets kindle rage no more; But useless lances into scythes shall bend, And the broad faulchion in a plough-share end.
Then palaces shall rise: the joyful son Shall finish what his short-liv'd sire begun : Their vines a shadow to their race shall yield, And the same hand that sow'd, shall reap the field. The swain in barren desarts, with surprise, Sees lilies spring, and sudden verdure rise; And starts, amidst the thirsty wilds to hear New falls of water murmuring in his car. On rifted rocks the dragon's late abodes, The green reed trembles, and the bulrush nods, Waste sandy valleys, once perplex'd with thorn, The spiry fir and shapely box adorn: To leafless shrubs the flow'ring palms succeed And od'rous myrtle to the noisome weed. [mead, The lambs with wolves shall graze the verdant And boys in flow'ry bands the tiger lead; The steer and lion at one crib shall meet, And harmless serpents lick the pilgrim's feet. The smiling infant in his hand shall take The crested basilisk and speckled snake, Pleas'd the green lustre of their scales survey, And with their forky tongue shall innocentlyplay. Rise, crown'd with light, imperial Salem, rise! Exalt thy tow'ry head, and lift thy eyes; See a long race thy spacious courts adorn; See future sons and daughters, yet unborn, In crowding ranks on ev'ry side arise, Demanding life, impatient for the skies! See barb'rous nations at thy gates attend, Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend; See thybright altars throng'd with prostratekings, And heap'd with products of Sabean springs! For thee Idume's spicy forests blow, And seeds of gold in Ophir's mountains glow. See heav'n its sparkling portals wide display, And break upon thee in a flood of day. No more the rising sun shall gild the morn, Nor ev'ning Cynthia fill her silver horn, But lost, dissolv'd in thy superior rays, One tide of glory, one unclouded blaze, O'erflow thy courts: the Light himself shallshine Reveal'd, and God's eternal day be thine! The seas shall waste, the skies in sinoke decay, Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away; But fix'd his word, his saving pow'r remains: Thy realm for ever lasts, thy own Messiah reigns!
§36. The Prize of Virtue. Pope. WHAT nothing earthly gives or can destroy, The soul's calm sunshine, and the heart-felt
Is Virtue's prize; a better would you fix? Then give Humility a cosch-and-six? Justice a conqueror's sword, or Truth a gown, Or Public Spirit its great cure, a crown. Weak, foolish Man! will leav'n reward us there
With the same trash mad mortals wish for here? The boy and inan au individual makes, Yet sigh'st thou now for apples and for cakes? Go, like the Indian, in another life Expert thy dog, thy bottle, and thy wife! As well as dream such trifles are assign'd, As toys and empires for a godlike mind;
Rewards, that either would to Virtue bring No joy, or be destructive of the thing. How oft by these at sixty are undone The virtue's of a saint at twenty-one!
To whom can riches give repute or trust, Content, or pleasure, but the good and just? Judges and Senates have been bought for gold, Esteem and love were never to be sold. Oh fool; to think God hates the worthy mind, The lover, and the love of human kind, Whoselifeishealthful, and whose conscienceclear, Because he wants a thousand pounds a year.
$37. An Elegy, written in Yard. Gray. THE curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The plowman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his drony flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tow'r, The moping owl does to the Moon complain Of such, as wand'ring near her secret bow'r,
Molest her antient solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heares the turf in many a mould'ring Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, [heap, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, [shed, The swallow twitt'ring from the straw-built The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing earth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care. Nor children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share.
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield; Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their teams afield! How bow'd the woods beneath their sturdy stroke;
Let not ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys and destiny obscure, Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of pow'r, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await, alike, th' inevitable hour;
The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault,
If mem'ry o'er their tomb no trophies raise. Where thro' the long-drawn isle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise,
Can storied urn, or animated bust, Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or flatt'ry sooth the dull cold ear of death? Perhaps
Perhaps in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire: Hands, that the rod of empire might have sway'd, Or wak'd to extasy the living lyre.
But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of Time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repress'd their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear; Full many a flow'r is born to blush unseen. And waste its sweetness on the desart air.
Some village-Hampden, that withdauntlessbreast The little-tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest: Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood. Th' applause of list'ning senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land,
And read their hist'ry in a nation's eyes.
Their lot forbade: nor circumscrib'dalone [fin'd; Their growing virtues, but their crimes con- Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride
With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learn'd to stray; Along the cool sequester'd vale of life,
They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet ev'n these bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial still erected nigh,
With uncouth rhimes and shapeless sculpture Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. [deck'd Their name, their years, spelt by th' unletter'd The place of faine and elegy supply: [muse, And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one longing, ling'ting look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires: Er'n from the tomb, the voice of nature cries, Ev'n in our ashes live their wonted sires.
For thee, who, mindful of th' unhonour'd dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate;
chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate. Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, "Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn, Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn; There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that bubbles by.
Hard by you wood, now smiling, as in scorn, Motring his way ward fancies, he would rove; Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, Or craz'd with care, or cross'd in hopeless love:
One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill, Along the heath, and near his fav'rite tree; Another came; nor yet beside the rill,
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he The next, with dirges due, in sad array, [borne: Slow thro' the church-yard path we saw him Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, Grav'd on the stone beneath yon aged thorn."
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, A Youth to Fortune and to Fame unknown, Fair Science frown'd not on his humble birth, And Melancholy mark'd him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heavy'n did a recompence as largely send: He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear; [a friend. He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) No farther seck his merits to disclose,
Or draw his frailties from their dread abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose)
The bosom of his Father and his God.
§ 38. Death. Dr. Porteus, Bp. of London. FRIEND to the wretch whom every friend forsakes,
I woo thee, Death! In fancy's fairy paths Let the gay songster rove, and gently trill The strain of empty joy. Life and its joys I leave to those that prize them. At this hour, This solemn hour, when silence rules the world, And wearied nature makes a gen'ral pause; Wrapt in night's sable robe, through cloysters And charnels pale, tenanted by a throng [drear Of meagre phantoms shooting cross my path With silent glance, I seek the shadowy vale Of Death. Deep in a murky cave's recess, Lav'd by oblivion's listless stream, and fenc'd By shelving rocks, and intermingled horrors Of yew and cypress shade, from all intrusion Of busy noontide beam, the Monarch sits In unsubstantial majesty enthron'd. At his right hand, nearest himself in place And frightfulness of form his parent Sin With fatal industry and cruel care Busies herself in pointing all his strings, And tipping every shaft with venom drawn From her infernal store: around him rang'd In terrible array, and inixture strange Of uncouth shapes, stand his dread Ministers. Foremost Old Age, his natural ally And firmest friend: next him Diseases thick, A motley train; Fever, with check of fire; Consumption wan; wan; Palsy, half warm with life, And half a clay-clod lump; joint-tort'ring Gout, And ever-guawing Rheum; Convulsion wild; Swoln Dropsy; panting Asthma; Apoplex Full-gorg'd. There too the Pestilence that walks In darkness, and the Sickness that destroys
At broad noon-day. These, and a thousand more, So merciful is Heav'n) this toil became
Horrid to tell, attentive wait; and, when
By Heav'n's command Death waves his ebon Sudden rush forth to execute his purpose, [wand, And scatter desolation o'er the Earth.
Ill-fated Man, for whom such various forms Of mis'ry wait, and mark their future prey; Ah! why, all-righteous Father, didst thou make This creature, Man? why nake th' unconscious To life and wretchedness? O better far Still had he slept in uncreated night, If this the lot of Being! Was it for this Thy breath divine kindled within his breast The vital flame? For this was thy fair image Stampt on his soul in godlike lineaments? For this dominion giv'n him absolute
O'er all thy works, only that he might reign Supreme in woe? From the blest source of Good, Could Pain and Death proceed? Couldsuch foulills Fall from fairMercy's hands? Far be the thought, The impious thought! God never made a creature But what was good. He made a living Soul; The wretched Mortal was the work of Man.
Forth from his Maker's hands he sprung to life, Fresh with immortal bloom; no pain he knew. No fear of change, no check to his desires, [stood Save one command. That one command, which 'Twixt him and Death, the test of his obedience, Urg'd on by wanton curiosity,
He broke. There in one moment was undone The fairest of God's works. The same rash hand, That pluck'd in evil hour the fatal fruit, Unbarr'd the gates of Hell, and let loose Sin And Death, and all the family of Pain, To prey upon Mankind. Young Nature saw The monstrous crew, and shookthro'all her frame. Then fled her new-born lustre, then began Heav'n's cheerful face to low'r, then vapours choak'd
The troubled air, and form'd a veil of clouds To hide the willing Sun. The earth convuls'd With painful throes threw forth a bristly crop Of thorns and briars; and Insect, Bird, and Beast, That wont before with admiration fond To gaze at Man, and fearless crowd around him, Now fled before his face, shuuning in haste Th' infection of his misery. He alone Who justly might, th' offended Lord of Man, 'Turn'd not away his face; he, full of pity, Forsook not in this uttermost distress His best lov'd work. That comfort still remain'd (That best, that greatest comfort in affliction) The countenance of God, and thro' the gloom Shot forth some kindlygleams, to cheer and warın Th'offender'ssinking soul. Hope sentfrom Heav'n Uprais'd his drooping head, and shew'd afar A happier scene of things; the Promis'd Seed Trampling upon the Serpent's humbled crest: Death of his sting disarm'd; and the dark grave, Made pervious to the realms of endless day,
No more the limit but the gate of life. [ground Cheer'd with the view, Man went to till the From whence he rose; sentenc'd indeed to toil As to a punishment, (ev'n in wrath,
The solace of his woes, the sweet employ Of many a live-long hour, and surest guard Against Disease and Death. Death, tho' de- Was yet a distant ill, by feeble arm [nounced, Of Age, his sole support, led slowly on. Not then, as since the short-liv'd sons of men Flock'd to his realms in countless multitudes; Scarce in the course of twice five hundred years, One solitary ghost went shiv'ring down To his unpeopled shore. In sober state, Through the sequester'd vale of rural life, The venerable Patriarch guileless held The tenor of his way; Labour prepar'd His simple fare, and Temperance rul'd his board. Tir'd with lais daily toil, at early eve
He sunk to sudden test; gentle and pure As breath of evening Zephyr, and as sweet, Were all his slumbers; with the Sun he rose, Alert and vigorous as He, to run [strength His destin'd course. Thus nerv'd with giant He stemm'd the tide of time, and stood the shock Of ages rolling harinless o'er his head. At life's meridian point arriv'd, he stood, And, looking round, saw all the valleys fill'd With nations from his loins; full-well content To leave his race thus scatter'd o'er the earth, Along the gentle slope of life's decline He bent his gradual way, till, full of years, He dropp'd like mellow fruit into his grave.
Such in the infancy of Time was Man; So calm was life, so impotent was Death! O had he but preserv'd these few remains, The shatter'd fragments, of lost happiness, Snatch'd bythe hand of Heav'n from he sad wreck Of innocence primæval; still had he liv'd In ruin great; tho' fall'n, yet not forlorn; Though mortal, yet not every where beset With Death in every shape! But he, impatient To be completely wretched, hastes to fill up The measure of his woes. - 'Twas Man himself Brought Death into the world; and Man himself Gave keenness to his darts, quicken'd his pace, And multiply'd destruction on mankind.
First Envy, eldest born of Hell, embrued Her hands in blood, and taught the Sons of Men To make a Death which Nature never made, And God abhorr'd; with violence rude to break The thread of life ere half its length was run, And rob a wretched brother of his being. With joy Ambition saw, and soon improv'd The execrable deed. 'Twas not enough By subtle fraud to snatch a single life, Puny impiety! whole kingdoms fell To sate the lust of power: more horrid still, The foulest stain and scandal of our nature, Became its boast. One Murder made a Villain; Millions a Hero. Princes were privileg'd To kill, and numbers sanctified the crime. Ah! why will Kings forget that they are Men? And Men that they are brethren? Why delight In human sacrifice? Why burst the ties Of Nature, that should knit their souls together In one soft bond of amity and love?
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