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 catch with fair hyprocrisy the heart Of idle faith? O no! with better cares The indulgent mother, conscious how infirm Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill, By this illustrious image, in each kind Still most illustrious where the object holds Its native powers most perfect, she by this Illumes the headstrong impulse of desire, And sanctifies his choice. The generous glebe Whose bosom smiles with verdure, the clear tract Of streams delicious to the thirsty soul, The bloom of nectar'd fruitage ripe to sense, And every charm of animated things, Are only pledges of a state sincere, The integrity and order of their frame, When all is well within, and every end Accomplish'd. Thus 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? O wherefore, with a rash impetuous aim, Seek ye those flowery joys with which the hand Of lavish fancy paints each flattering scene Where beauty seems to dwell, nor once inquire Where is the sanction 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 let the gleam Of youthful hope that shines upon your hearts, Be chill'd or clouded at this awful task, To learn the lore of undeceitful good, And truth eternal. Though the poisonous charms Of baleful superstition guide the feet
Of servile numbers, through a dreary way To their abode, through deserts, thorns and mire; And leave the wretched pilgrim all forlorn To muse at last, amid the ghostly gloom Of graves, and hoary vaults, and cloister'd cells; To walk with spectres through the midnight shade, And to the screaming owl's accursed song Attune the dreadful workings of his heart; Yet be not ye dismay'd. A gentler star Your lovely search illumines. From the grove Where wisdom talk'd with her Athenian sons, Could my ambitious hand entwine a wreath Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay, Then should my powerful verse at once dispel Those monkish horrors: then in light divine Disclose the Elysian prospect, where the steps Of those whom nature charms, through blooming walks,
Through fragrant mountains and poetic streams, Amid the train of sages, heroes, bards,
Led by their winged genius and the choir
Of laurel'd science, and harmonious art, Proceed exulting to the eternal shrine, Where truth conspicuous with her sister-twins, The undivided partners of her sway, With good and beauty reigns. O let not us, Lull'd by luxurious pleasure's languid strain, Or crouching to the frowns of bigot-rage, O let us not a moment pause to join That godlike band. And if the gracious power Who first awaken'd my untutor'd song, Will to my invocation breathe 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 bold virtue's unremitted nerve, And wake the strong divinity of soul
That conquers chance and fate; or whether struck For sounds of triumph, to proclaim her toils Upon the lofty summit, round her brow To twine the wreath of incorruptive praise; To trace her hallow'd light through future worlds, And bless heaven's image in the heart of man.
Thus with a faithful aim have we presum'd, Adventurous, to delineate nature's form; Whether in vast, majestic pomp array'd, Or drest for pleasing wonder, or serene In beauty's rosy smile. It now remains, Through various being's fair-proportion'd scale, To trace the rising lustre of her charms, From their first twilight, shining forth at length To full meridian splendour. Of degree The least and lowliest, in the effusive warmth Of colours mingling with a random blaze, Doth beauty dwell. Then higher in the line And variation of determin'd shape, Where truth's eternal measures mark the bound Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascent Unites this varied symmetry of parts With colour's bland allurement; as the pearl Shines in the concave of its azure bed, And painted shells indent their speckled wreath. Then more attractive rise the blooming forms Through which the breath of nature has infus'd Her genial power to draw with pregnant veins Nutritious moisture from the bounteous earth, In fruit and seed prolific: thus the flowers Their purple honours with the spring resume; And such the stately tree with autumn bends With blushing treasures. But more lovely still Is nature's charm, where to the full consent. Of complicated members, to the bloom Of colour, and the vital change of growth, Life's holy flame and piercing sense are given, And active motion speaks the temper'd soul: So moves the bird of Juno; so the steed With rival ardour beats the dusty plain, And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy Salute their fellows. Thus doth beauty dwell There most conspicuous, even in outward shape,
Where dawns the high expression of a mind: By steps conducting our enraptur'd search To that eternal origin, whose power, Through all the unbounded symmetry of things, Like rays effulging from the parent sun, This endless mixture of her charms diffus'd. Mind, mind alone, (bear witness earth and heaven!) The living fountains in itself contains
Of beauteous and sublime: here hand in hand, Sit paramount the graces; here enthron'd, Celestial Venus, with divinest airs, Invites the soul to never-fading joy. Look then abroad through nature, to the range Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres Wheeling unshaken through the void immense; And speak, O man! does this capacious scene With half that kindling majesty dilate Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose Refulgent from the stroke of Cæsar'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 his crimson steel, And bade the father of his country hail! For lo! the tyrant prostrate on the dust, And Rome again is free! Is aught so fair In all the dewy landscapes of the spring, In the bright eye of Hesper or the morn, In nature's fairest forms, is aught so fair As virtuous friendship? as the candid blush Of him who strives with fortune to be just? The graceful tear that streams for others woes? Or the mild majesty of private life, Where peace with ever-blooming olive crowns The gate; where honour's liberal hands effuse Unenvied treasures, and the snowy wings Of innocence and love protect the scene? Once more search, undismay'd, the dark profound Where nature works in secret; view the beds Of mineral treasure, and the eternal vault That bounds the hoary ocean; trace the forms Of atoms moving with incessant change Their elemental round: behold the seeds Of being, and the energy of life Kindling the mass with ever-active flame : Then to the secrets of the working mind Attentive turn; from dim oblivion call Her fleet, ideal band; and bid them, go! Break through time's barrier, and o'ertake the hour That saw the heavens created: then declare If aught were found in those external scenes To move thy wonder now. For what are all The forms which brute, unconscious matter wears, Greatness of bulk, or symmetry of parts? Not reaching to the heart, soon feeble grows The superficial impulse; dull their charms, And satiate soon, and pall the languid eye. Not so the moral species, nor the powers Of genius and design; the ambitious mind There sees herself: by these congenial forms Touch'd and awaken'd with intenser act She bends each nerve, and meditates well pleas'd
Her features in the mirror. For of all The inhabitants of earth to man alone Creative wisdom gave to lift his eye
To truth's eternal measures; thence to frame The sacred laws of action and of will Discerning justice from unequal deeds, And temperance from folly. But beyond This energy of truth, whose dictates bind Assenting reason, the benignant sire, To deck the honour'd paths of just and good, Has added bright imagination's rays: Where virtue, rising from the awful depth Of truth's mysterious bosom, doth forsake The unadorn'd condition of her birth; And dress'd by fancy in ten thousand hues, Assumes a various feature, to attract With charms responsive to each gazer's eye, The hearts of men. Amid his rural walk, The ingenious youth, whom solitude inspires With purest wishes, from the pensive shade Beholds her moving, like a virgin-muse That wakes her lyre to some indulgent theme Of harmony and wonder: while among The herd of servile minds her strenuous form Indignant flashes on the patriot's eye, And through the rolls of memory appeals To ancient honour, or, in act serene Yet watchful, raises the majestic sword Of public power, from dark ambition's reach To guard the sacred volume of the laws.
Genius of ancient Greece! whose faithful steps Well-pleas'd I follow through the sacred paths Of nature and of science; nurse divine Of all heroic deeds and fair desires! O! let the breath of thy extended praise Inspire my kindling bosom to the height Of this untempted theme. Nor be my thoughts Presumptuous counted, if amid the calm That soothes this vernal evening into smiles, I steal impatient from the sordid haunts Of strife and low ambition, to attend Thy sacred presence in the sylvan shade, By their malignant footsteps ne'er profan'd. Descend, propitious! to my favour'd eye; Such in thy mien, thy warm, exalted air, As when the Persian tyrant, foil'd and stung With shame and desperation, gnash'd his teeth To see thee rend the pageants of his throne; And at the lightning of thy lifted spear Crouch'd like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils, Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs, Thy smiling band of arts, thy godlike sires
Of civil wisdom, thy heroic youth
Warm from the schools of glory. Guide my way Through fair Lyceum's walk, the green retreats Of Academus and the thymy vale,
Where oft enchanted with Socratic sounds, Illissus pure devolv'd his tuneful stream In gentler murmurs. From the blooming store Of these auspicious fields, may I unblam'd Transplant some living blossoms to adorn My native clime: while far above the flight
Of fancy's plume aspiring, I unlock
The springs of ancient wisdom! while I join Thy name, thrice honour'd! with the immortal praise Of nature, while to my compatriot youth I point the high example of thy sons, And tune to Attic themes the British lyre.
When shall the laurel and the vocal string Resume their honours? When shall we behold The tuneful tongue, the Promethean hand, Aspire to ancient praise? Alas! how faint, How slow, the dawn of beauty and of truth Breaks the reluctant shades of Gothic night Which yet involve the nations! Long they groan'd Beneath the furies of rapacious force; Oft as the gloomy north, with iron-swarms Tempestuous pouring from her frozen caves, Blasted the Italian shore, and swept the works Of liberty and wisdom down the gulf Of all-devouring night. As long immur'd In noon-tide darkness by the glimmering lamp, Each Muse and each fair science pin'd away The sordid hours: while foul barbarian hands Their mysteries profan'd, unstrung the lyre, And chain'd tho soaring pinion down to earth. At last the Muses rose, and spurn'd their bonds, And, wildly warbling, scatter'd, as they flew, Their blooming wreaths from fair Valclusa's bowers To Arno's myrtle border and the shore Of soft Parthenope. But still the rage Of dire ambition and gigantic power, From public aims and from the busy walk Of civil commerce, drove the bolder train Of penetrating science to the cells, Where studious ease consumes the silent hour In shadowy searches and unfruitful care. Thus from their guardians torn, the tender arts Of mimic fancy and harmonious joy, To priestly domination and the lust Of lawless courts, their amiable toil For three inglorious ages have resign'd, In vain reluctant: and Torquato's tongue Was tun'd for slavish pæans at the throne Of tinsel pomp and Raphael's magic hand Effus'd its fair creation to enchant The fond adoring herd in Latian fanes
To blind belief; while on their prostrate necks The sable tyrant plants his heel secure. But now, behold! the radiant era dawns, When freedom's ample fabric, fixed at length For endless years on Albion's happy shore In full proportion, once more shall extend To all the kindred powers of social bliss A common mansion, a parental roof.
There shall the virtues, there shall wisdom's train, Their long-lost friends rejoicing, as of old, Embrace the smiling family of arts, The Muses and the Graces. Then no more Shall vice, distracting their delicious gifts To aims abhorr'd, with high distaste and scorn Turn from their charms the philosophic eye,
The patriot-bosom; then no more the paths Of public care or intellectual toil, Alone by footsteps haughty and severe In gloomy state be trod: the harmonious Muse And her persuasive sisters then shall plant Their sheltering laurels o'er the black ascent, And scatter flowers along the rugged way. Arm'd with the lyre, already have we dar'd To pierce divine philosophy's retreats, And teach the Muse her lore; already strove Their long-divided honours to unite. While tempering this deep argument we sang Of truth and beauty. Now the same glad task Impends; now urging our ambitious toil, We hasten to recount the various springs Of adventitious pleasure, which adjoin Their grateful influence to the prime effect Of objects grand and beauteous to enlarge The complicated joy. The sweets of sense, Do they not oft with kind accession flow, To raise harmonious fancy's native charm? So while we taste the fragrance of the rose, Glows not her blush the fairer? While we view Amid the noontide walk a limpid rill Gush through the trickling herbage, to the thirst Of summer yielding the delicious draught Of cool refreshment; o'er the mossy brink Shines not the surface clearer, and the waves With sweeter music murmur as they flow? Nor this alone; the various lot of life Oft from external circumstance assumes A moment's disposition to rejoice In those delights, which at a different hour Would pass unheeded. Fair the face of spring, When rural songs and odours wake the morn, To every eye; but how much more to his Round whom the bed of sickness long diffus'd Its melancholy gloom! how doubly fair, When first with fresh-born vigour he inhales The balmy breeze, and feels the blessed sun Warm at his bosom, from the springs of life Chasing oppressive damps and languid paiu!
Or shall I mention, where celestial truth Her awful light discloses, to bestow A more majestic pomp on beauty's frame? For man loves knowledge, and the beams of truth More welcome touch his understanding's eye, Than all the blandishments of sound his ear, Than all of taste his tongue. Nor ever yet The melting rainbow's vernal-tinctur'd hues To me have shone so pleasing, as when first The hand of science pointed out the path In which the sun-beams gleaming from the west Fall on the watery cloud, whose darksome veil Involves the orient; and that trickling shower Piercing through every crystaline convex Of clustering dew-drops to their flight oppos'd, Recoil at length where concave all behind The internal surface on each glassy orb Repels their forward passage into air; That thence direct they seek the radiant goal From which their course began; and, as they strike
In different lines the gazer's obvious eye, Assume a different lustre, through the brede Of colours changing from the splendid rose To the pale violet's dejected hue.
Or shall we touch that kind access of joy, That springs to each fair object, while we trace Through all its fabric, wisdom's artful aim Disposing every part, and gaining still By means proportion'd her benignant end? Speak, ye, the pure delight, whose favour'd steps The lamp of science through the jealous maze Of nature guides, when haply you reveal Her secret honours: whether in the sky, The beauteous laws of light, the central powers That wheel the pensile planets round the year; Whether in wonders of the rolling deep, Or the rich fruits of all-sustaining earth, Or fine-adjusted springs of life and sense, Ye scan the counsels of their author's hand. What, when to raise the meditated scene, The flame of passion through the struggling soul Deep-kindled, shows across that sudden blaze The object of its rapture, vast of size, With fiercer colours and a night of shade? What? like a storm from their capacious bed The sounding seas o'erwhelming, when the might Of these eruptions, working from the depth Of man's strong apprehension, shakes his frame Ev'n to the base; from every naked sense Of pain or pleasure dissipating all Opinion's feeble coverings, and the veil Spun from the cobweb fashion of the times To hide the feeling heart? Then nature speaks Her genuine language, and the words of men, Big with the very motion of their souls, Declare with what accumulated force The impetuous nerve of passion urges on The native weight and energy of things.
Yet more; her honours where no beauty claims, Nor shows of good the thirsty sense allure, From passion's power alone our nature holds Essential pleasure. Passion's fierce illapse Rouses the mind's whole fabric; with supplies Of daily impulse keeps the elastic powers Intensely pois'd, and polishes anew By that collision all the fine machine: Else rust would rise, and foulness, by degrees Encumbering, choke at last what heaven design'd For ceaseless motion and a round of toil. -But say, does every passion thus to man Administer delight? That name indeed Becomes the rosy breath of love; becomes The radiant smiles of joy, the applauding hand
Of admiration: but the bitter shower That sorrow sheds upon a brother's grave, But the dumb palsy of nocturnal fear, Or those consuming fires that gnaw the heart Of panting indignation, find we there To move delight?—Then listen while my tongue The unalter'd will of heaven with faithful awe Reveals; what old Harmodius wont to teach My early age; Harmodius, who had weigh'd Within his learned mind whate'er the schools
Of wisdom, or thy lonely-whispering voice, O faithful nature! dictate of the laws Which govern and support this mighty frame Of universal being. Oft the hours From morn to eve have stolen unmark'd away, While mute attention hung upon his lips, As thus the sage his awful tale began.
'Twas in the windings of an ancient wood, When spotless youth with solitude resigns To sweet philosophy the studious day, What time pale autumn shades the silent eve, Musing I rov'd. Of good and evil much, And much of mortal man my thought revolv'd; When starting full on fancy's gushing eye The mournful image of Parthenia's fate, That hour, O long belov'd and long deplor'd! · When blooming youth, nor gentlest wisdom's arts, Nor Hymen's honours gather'd for thy brow, Nor all thy lover's, all thy father's tears Avail'd to snatch thee from the cruel grave; Thy agonizing looks, thy last farewell Struck to the inmost feeling of my soul
As with the hand of death. At once the shade More horrid nodded o'er me, and the winds With hoarser murmuring shook the branches. Dark As midnight storms, the scene of human things Appear'd before me; deserts, burning sands, Where the parch'd adder dies; the frozen south; And desolation blasting all the west
With rapine and with murder, tyrant power, Here sits enthron'd with blood; the baleful charms Of superstition there infect the skies,
And turn the sun to horror. Gracious Heaven! What is the life of man? Or cannot these, Not these portents thy awful will suffice? That, propagated thus beyond their scope, They rise to act their cruelties anew In my afflicted bosom, thus decreed The universal sensitive of pain, The wretched heir of evils not its own!
Thus I impatient; when, at once effus'd, A flashing torrent of celestial day Burst through the shadowy void. With slow descent A purple cloud came floating through the sky, And pois'd at length within the circling trees, Hung obvious to my view, till opening wide Its lucid orb, a more than human form Emerging lean'd majestic o'er my head, And instant thunder shook the conscious grove. Then melted into air the liquid cloud, Then all the shining vision stood reveal'd. A wreath of palm his ample forehead bound, And o'er his shoulder, mantling to his knee, Flow'd the transparent robe, around his waist Collected with a radiant zone of gold Ethereal; there in mystic signs engrav'd, I read his office high and sacred name, Genius of human kind. Appall'd I gaz'd The godlike presence; for athwart his brow Displeasure, temper'd with a mild concern, Look'd down reluctant on me, and his words Like distant thunders broke the murmuring air. Vain are thy thoughts, O child of mortal birth!
And impotent thy tongue. Is thy short span Capacious of this universal frame? Thy wisdom all-sufficient? Thou, alas! Dost thou aspire to judge between the Lord Of nature and his works? to lift thy voice Against the sovereign order he decreed, All good and lovely? to blaspheme the bands Of tenderness innate and social love, Holiest of things! by which the general orb Of being, as by adamantine links, Was drawn to perfect union, and sustain'd From everlasting? Hast thou felt the pangs Of softening sorrow, of indignant zeal, So grievous to the soul, as thence to wish The ties of nature broken from thy frame; That so thy selfish, unrelenting heart Might cease to mourn its lot, no longer then The wretched heir of evils not its own? O fair benevolence of generous minds! O man by nature form'd for all mankind!
He spoke; abash'd and silent I remain'd, As conscious of my tongue's offence, and aw'd Before his presence, though my secret soul Disdain'd the imputation. On the ground I fix'd my eyes; till from his airy couch He stoop'd sublime, and touching with his hand My dazzling forehead, Raise thy sight, he cry'd, And let thy sense convince thy erring tongue.
I look'd, and lo! the former scene was chang'd; For verdant alleys and surrounding trees, A solitary prospect, wide and wild, Rush'd on my senses. 'Twas an horrid pile Of hills and many a shaggy forest mix'd, With many a sable cliff and glittering stream. Aloft recumbent o'er the hanging ridge,
The brown woods wav'd; while ever trickling springs
Wash'd from the naked roots of oak and pine The crumbling soil; and still at every fall Down the steep windings of the channel'd rock, Remurmuring rush'd the congregated floods With hoarser inundation; till at last
They reach'd a grassy plain, which from the skirts Of that high desert spread her verdant lap, And drank the gushing moisture, where confin'd In one smooth current, o'er the lilied vale Clearer than glass it flow'd. Autumnal spoils Luxuriant spreading to the rays of morn, Blush'd o'er the cliffs, whose half-encircling mound As in a sylvan theatre enclos'd
That flowery level. On the river's brink I spy'd a fair pavilion, which diffus'd Its floating umbrage 'mid the silver shade Of osiers. Now the western sun reveal'd Between two parting cliffs his golden orb, And pour'd across the shadow of the hills, On rocks and floods, a yellow stream of light That cheer'd the solemn scene. My listening powers Were aw'd, and every thought in silence hung, And wondering expectation. Then the voice Of that celestial power, the mystic show Declaring, thus my deep attention call'd. Inhabitants of earth, to whom is given
The gracious ways of providence to learn, Receive my sayings with a stedfast ear- Know then, the sov'reign spirit of the world, Though, self-collected from eternal time, Within his own deep essence he beheld The bounds of true felicity complete; Yet by immense benignity inclin'd To spread around him that primeval joy Which fill'd himself, he rais'd his plastic arm, And sounded through the hollow depth of space The strong, creative mandate. Straight arose These heavenly orbs, the glad abodes of life, Effusive kindled by his breath divine Through endless forms of being. Each inhal'd From him its portion of the vital flame,
In measure such, that, from the wide complex Of co-existent orders, one might rise, One order, all involving and intire. He too beholding in the sacred light Of his essential reason, all the shapes Of swift contingence, all successive ties Of action propagated through the sum Of possible existence, he at once, Down the long series of eventful time, So fix'd the dates of being, so dispos'd, To every living soul of every kind The field of motion and the hour of rest, That all conspir'd to his supreme design, To universal good: with full accord, Answering the mighty model he had chosen, The best and fairest of unnumber'd worlds That lay from everlasting in the store Of his divine conceptions. Nor content, By one exertion of creative power His goodness to reveal; through every age, Through every moment up the tract of time, His parent-hand with ever-new increase Of happiness and virtue has adorn'd The vast harmonious frame: his parent hand, From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore, To men, to angels, to celestial minds, For ever leads the generations on
To higher scenes of being; while supply'd From day to day with his enlivening breath, Inferior orders in succession rise
To fill the void below. As flame ascends, As bodies to their proper centre move, As the pois'd ocean to the attracting moon Obedient swells, and every headlong stream Devolves its winding waters to the main; So all things which have life aspire to God, The sun of being, boundless, unimpair'd, Centre of souls! Nor does the faithful voice Of nature cease to prompt their eager steps Aright; nor is the care of heaven withheld From granting to the task proportion'd aid; That in their stations all may persevere To climb the ascent of being, and approach For ever nearer to the life divine.
That rocky pile thou seest, that verdant lawn Fresh water'd from the mountains. Let the scene Paint in thy fancy the primeval seat
Of man, and where the will supreme ordain'd
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