glows As with the blushes of an evening sky? Or wilt thou that Thessalian landscape trace, Where slow Peneus 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 Tempe: 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 Tempe! 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 wished 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 renowned 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 Lyceum'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 Orithyia, 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 scorned 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 Peneus 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 AEacus his ancient line; That AEacus 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 Haemus 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 AEgean 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 AEgina 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.

4 O fountain of the golden day! Could mortal vows but urge thy speed, How soon before thy vernal ray Should each unkindly damp recede! How soon each tempest hovering fly, That now fermenting loads the sky, Prompt on our heads to burst amain, To rend the forest from the steep, And thundering o'er the Baltic deep, To whelm the merchant's hopes of gain!

5 But let not man's imperfect views Presume to tax wise Nature's laws; 'Tis his with silent joy to use Th' indulgence of the Sovereign Cause; Secure that from the whole of things Beauty and good consummate springs, Beyond what he can reach to know; And that the providence of Heaven Has some peculiar blessing given To each allotted state below.

6 Even now how sweet the wintry night Spent with the old illustrious dead! While, by the taper's trembling light, I seem those awful courts to tread, Where chiefs and legislators lie, Whose triumphs move before my eye, With every laurel fresh display'd; While charm'd I rove in classic song, Or bend to freedom's fearless tongue, Or walk the academic shade.



ODE III.

TO A FRIEND, UNSUCCESSFUL IN LOVE.

1 Indeed, my Phaedria, if to find That wealth can female wishes gain, Had e'er disturb'd your thoughtful mind, Or caused one serious moment's pain, I should have said that all the rules You learn'd of moralists and schools Were very useless, very vain.

2 Yet I perhaps mistake the case— Say, though with this heroic air, Like one that holds a nobler chase, You try the tender loss to bear, Does not your heart renounce your tongue? Seems not my censure strangely wrong To count it such a slight affair?

3 When Hesper gilds the shaded sky, Oft as you seek the well-known grove, Methinks I see you cast your eye Back to the morning scenes of love: Each pleasing word you heard her say, Her gentle look, her graceful way, Again your struggling fancy move.

4 Then tell me, is your soul entire? Does Wisdom calmly hold her throne? Then can you question each desire, Bid this remain, and that be gone? No tear half-starting from your eye? No kindling blush, you know not why? No stealing sigh, nor stifled groan?

5 Away with this unmanly mood! See where the hoary churl appears, Whose hand hath seized the favourite good Which you reserved for happier years: While, side by side, the blushing maid Shrinks from his visage, half afraid, Spite of the sickly joy she wears.

6 Ye guardian powers of love and fame, This chaste, harmonious pair behold; And thus reward the generous flame Of all who barter vows for gold. O bloom of youth, O tender charms Well-buried in a dotard's arms! O equal price of beauty sold!

7 Cease then to gaze with looks of love: Bid her adieu, the venal fair: Unworthy she your bliss to prove; Then wherefore should she prove your care? No: lay your myrtle garland down; And let a while the willow's crown With luckier omens bind your hair.

8 O just escaped the faithless main, Though driven unwilling on the land; To guide your favour'd steps again, Behold your better Genius stand: Where Truth revolves her page divine, Where Virtue leads to Honour's shrine, Behold, he lifts his awful hand.

9 Fix but on these your ruling aim, And Time, the sire of manly care, Will fancy's dazzling colours tame; A soberer dress will beauty wear: Then shall esteem, by knowledge led, Enthrone within your heart and head Some happier love, some truer fair.



ODE IV.

AFFECTED INDIFFERENCE. TO THE SAME.

1 Yes: you contemn the perjured maid Who all your favourite hopes betray'd: Nor, though her heart should home return, Her tuneful tongue its falsehood mourn, Her winning eyes your faith implore, Would you her hand receive again, Or once dissemble your disdain, Or listen to the siren's theme, Or stoop to love: since now esteem And confidence, and friendship, is no more.

2 Yet tell me, Phaedria, tell me why, When, summoning your pride, you try To meet her looks with cool neglect, Or cross her walk with slight respect (For so is falsehood best repaid), Whence do your cheeks indignant glow? Why is your struggling tongue so slow? What means that darkness on your brow, As if with all her broken vow You meant the fair apostate to upbraid?



ODE V.

AGAINST SUSPICION.

1 Oh, fly! 'tis dire Suspicion's mien; And, meditating plagues unseen, The sorceress hither bends: Behold her touch in gall imbrued: Behold—her garment drops with blood Of lovers and of friends.

2 Fly far! Already in your eyes I see a pale suffusion rise; And soon through every vein, Soon will her secret venom spread, And all your heart and all your head Imbibe the potent stain.

3 Then many a demon will she raise To vex your sleep, to haunt your ways; While gleams of lost delight Raise the dark tempest of the brain, As lightning shines across the main Through whirlwinds and through night.

4 No more can faith or candour move; But each ingenuous deed of love, Which reason would applaud, Now, smiling o'er her dark distress, Fancy malignant strives to dress Like injury and fraud.

5 Farewell to virtue's peaceful times: Soon will you stoop to act the crimes Which thus you stoop to fear: Guilt follows guilt; and where the train Begins with wrongs of such attain, What horrors form the rear!

6 'Tis thus to work her baleful power, Suspicion waits the sullen hour Of fretfulness and strife, When care the infirmer bosom wrings, Or Eurus waves his murky wings To damp the seats of life.

7 But come, forsake the scene unbless'd, Which first beheld your faithful breast To groundless fears a prey: Come where, with my prevailing lyre, The skies, the streams, the groves conspire To charm your doubts away.

8 Throned in the sun's descending car, What power unseen diffuseth far This tenderness of mind? What Genius smiles on yonder flood? What God, in whispers from the wood, Bids every thought be kind?

9 O Thou, whate'er thy awful name, Whose wisdom our untoward frame With social love restrains; Thou, who by fair affection's ties Giv'st us to double all our joys, And half disarm our pains;

10 If far from Dyson and from me Suspicion took, by thy decree, Her everlasting flight; If firm on virtue's ample base Thy parent hand has deign'd to raise Our friendship's honour'd height;

11 Let universal candour still, Clear as yon heaven-reflecting rill, Preserve my open mind; Nor this nor that man's crooked ways One sordid doubt within me raise To injure human kind.



ODE VI.

HYMN TO CHEERFULNESS.

How thick the shades of evening close! How pale the sky with weight of snows! Haste, light the tapers, urge the fire, And bid the joyless day retire.— Alas, in vain I try within To brighten the dejected scene, While, roused by grief, these fiery pains Tear the frail texture of my veins; While Winter's voice, that storms around, And yon deep death-bell's groaning sound 10 Renew my mind's oppressive gloom, Till starting Horror shakes the room.

Is there in nature no kind power To soothe affliction's lonely hour? To blunt the edge of dire disease, And teach these wintry shades to please? Come, Cheerfulness, triumphant fair, Shine through the hovering cloud of care: O sweet of language, mild of mien, O Virtue's friend and Pleasure's queen, 20 Assuage the flames that burn my breast, Compose my jarring thoughts to rest; And while thy gracious gifts I feel, My song shall all thy praise reveal.

As once ('twas in Astraea's reign) The vernal powers renew'd their train, It happen'd that immortal Love Was ranging through the spheres above, And downward hither cast his eye The year's returning pomp to spy. 30 He saw the radiant god of day Waft in his car the rosy May; The fragrant Airs and genial Hours Were shedding round him dews and flowers; Before his wheels Aurora pass'd, And Hesper's golden lamp was last. But, fairest of the blooming throng, When Health majestic moved along, Delighted to survey below The joys which from her presence flow, 40 While earth enliven'd hears her voice, And swains, and flocks, and fields rejoice; Then mighty Love her charms confess'd, And soon his vows inclined her breast, And, known from that auspicious morn, The pleasing Cheerfulness was born.

Thou, Cheerfulness, by heaven design'd To sway the movements of the mind, Whatever fretful passion springs, Whatever wayward fortune brings 50 To disarrange the power within, And strain the musical machine; Thou Goddess, thy attempering hand Doth each discordant string command, Refines the soft, and swells the strong; And, joining Nature's general song, Through many a varying tone unfolds The harmony of human souls.

Fair guardian of domestic life, 59 Kind banisher of homebred strife, Nor sullen lip, nor taunting eye Deforms the scene where thou art by: No sickening husband damns the hour Which bound his joys to female power; No pining mother weeps the cares Which parents waste on thankless heirs: The officious daughters pleased attend; The brother adds the name of friend: By thee with flowers their board is crown'd, With songs from thee their walks resound; 70 And morn with welcome lustre shines, And evening unperceived declines.

Is there a youth whose anxious heart Labours with love's unpitied smart? Though now he stray by rills and bowers, And weeping waste the lonely hours, Or if the nymph her audience deign, Debase the story of his pain With slavish looks, discolour'd eyes, And accents faltering into sighs; 80 Yet thou, auspicious power, with ease Canst yield him happier arts to please, Inform his mien with manlier charms, Instruct his tongue with nobler arms, With more commanding passion move, And teach the dignity of love.

Friend to the Muse and all her train, For thee I court the Muse again: The Muse for thee may well exert Her pomp, her charms, her fondest art, 90 Who owes to thee that pleasing sway Which earth and peopled heaven obey.

Let Melancholy's plaintive tongue Repeat what later bards have sung; But thine was Homer's ancient might, And thine victorious Pindar's flight: Thy hand each Lesbian wreath attired: Thy lip Sicilian reeds inspired: Thy spirit lent the glad perfume Whence yet the flowers of Teos bloom; 100 Whence yet from Tibur's Sabine vale Delicious blows the enlivening gale, While Horace calls thy sportive choir, Heroes and nymphs, around his lyre. But see, where yonder pensive sage (A prey perhaps to fortune's rage, Perhaps by tender griefs oppress'd, Or glooms congenial to his breast) Retires in desert scenes to dwell, And bids the joyless world farewell. 110

Alone he treads the autumnal shade, Alone beneath the mountain laid He sees the nightly damps ascend, And gathering storms aloft impend; He hears the neighbouring surges roll, And raging thunders shake the pole; Then, struck by every object round, And stunn'd by every horrid sound, He asks a clue for Nature's ways; But evil haunts him through the maze: 120 He sees ten thousand demons rise To wield the empire of the skies, And Chance and Fate assume the rod, And Malice blot the throne of God.— O thou, whose pleasing power I sing, Thy lenient influence hither bring; Compose the storm, dispel the gloom, Till Nature wear her wonted bloom, Till fields and shades their sweets exhale, And music swell each opening gale: 130 Then o'er his breast thy softness pour, And let him learn the timely hour To trace the world's benignant laws, And judge of that presiding cause Who founds on discord beauty's reign, Converts to pleasure every pain, Subdues each hostile form to rest, And bids the universe be bless'd.

O thou, whose pleasing power I sing, If right I touch the votive string, 140 If equal praise I yield thy name, Still govern thou thy poet's flame; Still with the Muse my bosom share, And soothe to peace intruding care. But most exert thy pleasing power On friendship's consecrated hour; And while my Sophron points the road To godlike wisdom's calm abode, Or warm in freedom's ancient cause Traceth the source of Albion's laws, 150 Add thou o'er all the generous toil The light of thy unclouded smile. But if, by fortune's stubborn sway From him and friendship torn away, I court the Muse's healing spell For griefs that still with absence dwell, Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams To such indulgent placid themes, As just the struggling breast may cheer, And just suspend the starting tear, 160 Yet leave that sacred sense of woe Which none but friends and lovers know.