5 Titles and honours (if they prove his fate)
He lays aside to find his dignity;
No dignity they find in aught besides.
They triumph in externals, (which conceal
Man's real glory,) proud of an eclipse:
Himself too much he prizes to be proud;
And nothing thinks so great in man, na man.
Too dear he holds his int'rest to neglect
Another's welfare, or his right invade ;
Their int'rest, like a lion, lives on prey.
6 They kindle at the shadow of a wrong;
Wrong he sustains with temper, looks on heav'n,
Nor stoops to think his injurer his foe:
Nought, but what wounds his virtue, wounds his peace A cover'd heart their character defends; A cover'd heart denies him half his praise. 7 With nakedness his innocence agrees! While their broad foilage testifies their fall! Their no joys end, where his full feast begins; His joys create, theirs murder, future bliss. To triumph in existence, his alone; And his alone triumphantly to think
II is true existence is not yet begun.
His glorious course was, yesterday, complete:
Death, then, was welcome; yet life still is sweet.-YOUNG.
SECTION VIII.
The Pleasures of Retirement..
O KNEW he but his happiness, of men
The happiest he! who, far from public rage,
Deep in the vale, with a choice few retir'd,
Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life.
2 What tho' the dome be wanting, whose proud gate
Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd
Of flatterers false, and in their turn abus'd?
Vile intercourse! What though the glitt'ring robe,
Of ev'ry hue reflected light can give,
Or Loated loose, or stiff with mazy gold,
The pride and gaze of fools, oppress him not?
What though, from utmost land and sea purvey'd
For him each rarer tributary life
Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps
With luxury, and death? What though his bowl
Flames not with costly juice; nor sunk in bedr
Oft of gay care, hesses out the night,
Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state?
What though he knows not those fantastic joys,
That still amuse the wanton, still deceive;
A lace of pleasure, but a heart of pain;
Their hollow moments undelighted all ?
Sure peace is his: a solid life estrang'd
To disappointment and fallacious hope.
Rich in content, in nature's bounty rich,
In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the spring,
When heaven descends in showers; or bends the bough
When summer reddens, and when autumn beams:
Or in the wintry glebe, whatever lies
Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest sap:
These are not wanting; nor the milky drove,
Luxuriant spread o'er all the lowing vale ;
Nor bleating mountains; nor the chide of streams,
And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere
Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade,
Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay;
Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song,
Dim grottos, gleaming lakes, and fountains clear.
4 Here too dwells simple truth; plain innocence;
Unsullied beauty; sound unbroken youth,
Patient of labour, with a little pleas'd;
Health ever blooming; unambitious toil;
Calm contemplation, and poetic ease.—THOMPSON.
SECTION IX.
The Pleasure and Benefit of an improved and well-directed
Imagination.
OH! blest of Heav'n, who not the languid songs
Of luxury, the siren! not the bribes
Of sordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils
Of pageant Honour, can seduce to leave
Those ever-blooming sweets, which, from the store
Of nature, fair imagination culis,
To charm th' enliven'd soul! What though not all
Of mortal offspring can attain the height
Of envied life; though only few possess
Patrician treasures, or imperial state:
Yet nature's care, to all her children just,
With richer treasures, and an ampler state,
Endows at large whatever happy man
Will deign to use them.
His the city's pomp.
The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns
The princely dome, the column, and the arch,
The breathing marble and the sculptur'd gold,
Beyond the proud possessors narrow cla'm,
His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the spring
Destills her dews, and from the silken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds; for him, the hand
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch
With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn.
Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings;
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,
And loves unfelt attract him.
Not a breeze
Flies o'er the meadow; not a cloud imbibes
The setting sun's effulgence; not a strain
From all the tenants of the warbling shade
Ascends; but whence his bosom can partake
Fresh pleasure, unreprov'd. Nor thence partakes
Fresh pleasure only; for th' attentive mind,
By this harmonious action on her powers,
Becomes herself harmonious: wont so oft
In outward things to meditate the charm
Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home,
To find a kindred order; to exert
Within herself this elegance of love,
This fair inspir'd delight: her temper'd pow'rs Refine at length, and every passion wears A chaster, milder, more attractive mein. 4 But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze On nature's form, where negligent of all These lesser graces, she assumes the port Of that Eternal Majesty that weigh'd The world's foundations; if to these the mind Exalts her daring eye; then mightier far Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms Of servile custom cramp her gen'rous pow'rs? Would sordid policies, the barb'rous growth Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear? 5 Lc! she appeals to nature, to the winds And rolling waves, the sun's unwearîed course, The elements and seasons: all declare For what the eternal MAKER has ordain'd The pow'rs of man: we feel within ourselves His energy divine; he tells the heart,
He meant, he made us to behold and love
What he beholds and loves, the general orb
Of life and being; to be great like Him,
Beneficent and active. Thus the men
Whom nature's works instruct, with God himself
Hold converse; grow familiar, day by day,
With his conceptions; act upon his plan;
And form to his, the relish of their souls.~AKENSIDE
CHAPTER V.
PATHETIC PIECES.
AT the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove;
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the
'Twas thus by the cave of the mountain afar,
While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began ;
No more with himself or with nature at war,
He thought as a sage, tho' he felt as a man.
“Ah! why, all abandon'd to darkness and wo;
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall?
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthral.
But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay;
Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mours O scoth him whose pleasures like thine pass away; Full quickly they pass--but they never return. 3" Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,
The moon half extinguish'd her crescent displays;
But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high
She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue
The path that conducts thee to splendoar again:
But man's faded glory what change shall renew!
Ah fool! to exult in a glory so vain!
4 "Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more:
I mourn; but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you;
For morn is approaching your charms to restore,
Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew.
Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn :
Kind nature the embryo blossom will save :
But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn!
O when shall day dawn on the night of the grave ! 5"'Twas thus by the glare of false science betray'd, That leads, to bewilder, and dazzles, to blind; My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
O pity, great Father of light, then I cried,
Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee. Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride;
From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free 6"And darkness and doubt are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn: So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending, And nature all glowing in Edeu's first bloom! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb."
SECTION II.
The Beggar's Petition.
PITY the sorrows of a poor old man,
Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Oh! give relief, and Heaven will bless your store.
2 These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak;
These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years:
And many a furrow in my grief-worn cheek,
Has been the channel to a flood of tears.
3 Yon house, erected on the rising ground,
With tempting aspect drew me frer my road;
For plenty there a residence has found,
And grandeur a magnificent abode.
4 Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor!
Here, as I crav❜d a morsel of their bread,
A pamper'd menial drove me from the door,
To seek a shelter in an humbler shed.
Oh! take me to your hospitable dome;
Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold!
Snort is my passage to the friendly tomb ;
For I am poor, and miserably old.
6 Should I reveal the sources of my grief,
If scft humanity e'er touch'd your breast,
Your hands would not withhold the kind relief,
And tears of pity, would not be represk
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