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My course I steer'd, and by the banks of Nile
Dwelt in Canopus. Thence the hallow'd domes
Of Saïs, and the rites to Isis paid,

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 remov❜d.
By him exhorted, southward to the walls
Of On I pass'd, the city of the Sun,
The ever-youthful god. 'Twas there amid
His priests and sages, who the live-long 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 Psenophis taught my raptur'd 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
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 walk among mankind. But yet meantime
The mystic pomp of Ammon's gloomy sons
Became less pleasing. With contempt I gaz'd
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
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
The groves with music, pleas'd I then beheld
The term of those long errours drawing nigh.
Nor yet, I said, will I sit down within

The walls of Athens, till my feet have trod
The Cretan soil, have pierc'd 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 fam'd Cnossus and her towers
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 displayed
Munificent! Those splendid merchants, lords
Of traffic and the sea, with what delight
I saw them at their public meal, like sons
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 untam'd, the rustic faith,
Of their first fathers. Then the growing race,
How pleasing to behold them in their schools,

Their sports, their labours, ever plac'd within,
O shade of Minos, thy controlling eye!
Here was a docile band in tuneful tones
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 inspir'd of old;
There, on the verge of manhood, others met,
In heavy armour through the heats of noon
To march, the rugged mountains height to climb
With measur'd swiftness, from the hard-bent bow
To send resistless arrows to their mark,
Or for the fame of prowess to contend,
Now wrestling, now with fists and staves oppos'd,
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
Which, nor the storms of fortune, nor the flood
Of foreign wealth diffus'd 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 Dictæan cave
Where Jove was born; the ever-verdant meads
Of Ida, and the spacious grotto, where
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
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 receiv'd; 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
Of strangers from those naval cities drawn
Which deck, like gems, the island's northern shore,
A merchant of Ægina I describ'd,

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
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 far'd,
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 bath'd in death-like dew,
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 pierc'd the mountain's rocky side.
Entering within the threshold, on the ground
I flung me, sad, faint, overworn with toil."

THE

BEGINNING OF THE FOURTH BOOK

OF THE

PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION.

M.DCC.LXX.

ONE effort more, one cheerful sally more,
Our destin'd 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 sur-
vey'd,

Stretch'd out beneath thee, all the mazy tracts
Of Passion and Opinion; like a waste

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,

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 wisdoin, move me to disclaim
Those studies which possess'd me in the daw
Of life, and fix'd the colour of my mind
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 fo virtue won
By the sweet magic of harmonious verse;
The themes which now expeet us.
For thus far
On general habits, and on arts which grow
Spontaneous in the minds of all mankind,
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 unnotic'd lie
These pleasing stores, unless the casual force
Of things external prompt the heedless mind
To recognize her wealth. But some there are
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,
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

Thou might'st partake, and carry back some strain To human sense.

Of divine wisdom, lawful to repeat,

And apt to be conceiv'd of man below.

A different task remains; the secret paths
Of early genius to explore: to trace

Those haunts where Fancy her predestin'd 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?
--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;
How gladly I recall your well-known scats
Belov'd of old, and that delightful time
When all alone, for many a summer's day,

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
Expressing every temper of the mind
From every cause, and charming all the soul
With pass on 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
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,
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.
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.

Nor where the boding raven chants,
Nor near the owl's unhallowed haunts
Will she her cares employ;

But flies from ruins and from tombs,
From Superstition's horrid glooms,
To day-light and to joy.

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.

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.

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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!

But let not man's imperfect views,

Presume to tax wise Nature's laws: "Tis his with silent joy to use

The 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.

Ev'n now how sweet the wintery night Spent with the old illustrious dead: While, by the taper's trembling light,

I seem the awful course 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.

No. II.

ON THE WINTER SOLSTICE,

M. DCC. XL.

THE radiant ruler of the year

At length his wintery goal attains; Seems 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.

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.

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 wonders at his stay.

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 aërial waste, Be Earth with keener cold embrac'd,

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.

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!

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 sovran 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.

How pleasing wears the wintery 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.

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!

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,

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, attun'd 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.

ODE III.

TO A FRIEND,

UNSUCCESSFUL IN LOVE.

INDEED, my Phædria, if to find

That wealth can female wishes gain,
Had e'er disturb'd your thoughtful mind,
Or cost 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.

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?

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.

Then tell me, is your soul entire?

Does Wisdom calmly hold her throne? Then can you question each desire,

Bid this remain, and that begone? No tear half-starting from your eye? No kindling blush you know not why? No stealing sigh, nor stifled groan

Away with this unmanly mood!

See where the hoary churl appears, Whose hand bath seiz'd the favourite good Which you reserv'd for happier years: While, side by side, the blushing maid Shrinks from his visage, half afraid,

Spite of the sickly joy she wears.

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!

Cease then to gaze with looks of love:
Bid her adieu, the venal fair:
Inworthy 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.

O just escap'd 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.

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.

YES, you contemn the perjur'd 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,
At once dissemble your disdain,
Or listen to the syren's theme,

Or stoop to love: since now esteem,
And confidence, and friendship, is no more.

Yet tell me, Phædria, 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.

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

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.

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.

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