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."
BEGINNING OF THE FOURTH BOOK
PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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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