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Betrays the secret of their silent course.
An instant's pause, and lives but while she more Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds,
Its own revolvency upholds the world. But animated nature sweeter still,
Winds from all quarters agitate the air, To soothe and satisfy the human ear.
And fit the limpid element for use, Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one
Else noxious; oceans, rivers, lakes, and streans, The livelong night: nor these alone, whose notes All feel the freshening impulse, and are cleansed Nice-fingered art must emulate in vain,
By restless undulation: even the oak
He seems indeed indignant, and to feel
The impression of the blast with proud disdain, That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. Frowning, as if in his unconscious arm Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, He held the thunder: but the monarch owes Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, His firm stability to what he scorns, And only there, please highly for their sake. More fixt below, the more disturbed above.
The law, by which all creatures else are bound,
Binds man the lord of all. Himself deriva ON THE TOWN AND COUNTRY.
No mean advantage from a kindred cause,
From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease.
When custom bids, but no refreshment find,
For none they need: the languid eye, the cheet The folded gates would bar my progress now,
Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk, But that the lord of this enclosed demesne,
And withered muscle, and the vapid soul, Communicative of the good he owns,
Reproach their owner with that love of rest,
To which he forfeits even the rest he loves.
And theirs alone seems worthy of the name.
Good health, and, its ass
iate in the most, Ye fallen avenues! once more I mourn
Good temper; spirits prompt to undertake, Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice
And not soon spent, though in an arduous task; That yet a remnant of your race survives.
The powers of fancy and strong thought are theirs; How airy and how light the graceful arch,
Even age itself seems privileged in them, Yet awful as the consecrated roof
With clear exemption from its own defects.
A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front
With youthful smiles, descends toward the grase Shot through the bouglis, it dances as they dance, Sprightly, and old almost without decay. Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick,
Like a coy maiden, ease, when courted mosi, And darkening and enlightening, as the leaves
Farthest retires-an idol, at whose shrine Play wanton, every moment, every spot. [cheered,
Who oftenest sacrifice are favoured least. And now, with nerves new-braced and spirits
The love of Nature, and the scenes she draws, We tread the wilderness, whose well-rolled walks, Is nature's dictate. Strange! there should be found, With curvature of slow and easy sweep
Who, self-imprisoned in their proud saloors, Deception innocent-give ample space
Renounce the odours of the open field To narrow bounds. The grove receives us next;
For the unscented fictions of the loom; Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms Who, satisfied with only pencilled scenes, We may discern the thresher at his task.
Prefer to the performance of a God Thump after thump resounds the constant flail,
The inferior wonders of an artist's hand! That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls Lovely indeed the mimic works of art; Full on the destined ear. Wide di the chaff,
But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire,
Who shows me that which I shall never see,
But imitative strokes can do no more
Than please the eye-sweet Nature's every sens. Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan. The air salubrious of her lofty hills, By ceaseless action all that is subsists.
The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales, Constant rotation of the unwearied wheel
And music of her woods-10 works of man That nature rides upon maintains her health, May rival these, these all bespeak a power Her beauty; her fertility. She dreads
Peculiar, and exclusively her own,
Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast; Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams
Of day-spring overshoot his humble nest.
The peasant too, a witness of his song,
Himself a songster, is as gay as he.
But save me from the gaiety of those,
And save me too from theirs, whose haggard eyes
Flash desperation, and betray their pangs
For property stripped off by cruel chance;
From gaiety, that fills the bones with pain,
The earth was made so various, that the mind
Of desultory man, studious of change,
And pleased with novelty, might be indulged.
Prospects, however lovely, may be seen
Till half their beauties fade; the weary sight,
Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides off
Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes.
Then snug enclosures in the sheltered vale,
Where frequent hedges intercept the eye,
Delight us; happy to renounce awhile,
Not senseless of its charms, what still we love,
That such short absence may endear it more. The lowering eye, the petulance, the frown,
Then forests, or the savage rock, may please,
That hides the sea-mew in his hollow clefts
Above the reach of man.
His hoary head,
Conspicuous many a league, the mariner
Bound homeward, and in hope already there,
A girdle of half-withered shrubs he shows,
And at his feet the baffled billows die.
And decks itself with ornaments of gold,
Yields no unpleasing ramble; there the turf
Smells fresh, and rich in odoriferous herbs
And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense
There often wanders one, whom better days
With lace, and hat with splendid ribband bound.
A serving maid was she, and fell in love
With one who left her, went to sea, and died.
Her fancy followed him through foaming waves Others are dragged into the crowded rooin
To distant shores; and she would sit and weep
At what a sailor suffers ; fancy too,
Delusive most where warmest wishes are,
Would oft anticipate his glad return,
And dream of transports she was not to know.
She heard the doleful tidings of his death
And never smiled again! and now she roams
The dreary waste; there spends the livelong day,
And there, unless when charity forbids,
The livelong night. A tattered apron hides,
Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gowo
More tattered still; and both but ill conceal
A bosom heaved with never-ceasing sighs.
She begs an idle pin of all she meets,
And hoards them in her sleeve; but needful food,
Though pressed with hunger oft, or comelier That dries his feathers, saturate with dew,
Though pinched with cold, asks never.-Kate is Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside. crazed.
Thus fare the shivering natives of the north, I see a column of slow-rising smoke
And thus the rangers of the western world, O'ertop the lofty wood, that skirts the wild.
Where it advances far into the deep, A vagabond and useless tribe there eat
Towards the Antarctic. Even the favoured isles Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung
So lately found, although the constant sun Between two poles upon a stick transverse,
Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile, Receives the morsel-flesh obscene of dog,
Can boast but little virtue; and inert Or vermin, or at best of cock purloined
Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain From his accustomed perch. Hard-faring race ! In manners-victims of luxurious ease. They pick their fuel out of every hedge,
These therefore I can pity, placed remote Which, kindled with dry leaves, just saves un- From all that science traces, art invents, quenched
Or inspiration teaches; and enclosed The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide In boundless oceans never to be passed Their fluttering rags, and shows a tawny skin, By navigators uninformed as they, The vellum of the pedigree they claim.
Or ploughed perhaps by British bark again:
Or thine, but curiosity perhaps,
Forth from thy native bowers, to shew thee here
The gifts of Providence, and squander life. By which the world might profit, and himself, The dream is past; and thou hast found again Self-banished from society, prefer
Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, (bend Such squalid sloth to honourable toil!
And homestall thatched with leaves. But has iten Yet even these, though feigning sickness oft Their former charms? And having seen our stake, They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp And vex their flesh with artificial sores,
Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports, Can change their whine into a mirthful note, And heard our music; are thy simple friends, When safe occasion offers; and with dance, Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights, And music of the bladder and the bag,
As dear to thee as once? And have thy joys Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. Lost nothing by comparison with ours? Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy
Rude as thou art, (for we returned thee rude The houseless rovers of the sylvan world;
And ignorant, except of outward sbow) And, breathing wholesome air, and wandering much, I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart Need other physic none to heal the effects
And spiritless, as never to regret Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold.
Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as knowo. Blest he, though undistinguished from the crowd Methinks I see thee straying on the beach, By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure,
And asking of the surge, that bathes thy foot, Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside
If ever it has washed our distant shore. His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn, I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, The manners and the arts of civil life.
A patriot's for his country: thou art sad His wants indeed are many; but supply
At thought of her forlorn and abject state, Is obvious, placed within the easy reach
From which no power of thine can raise her up: Of temperate wishes and industrious hands.
Thus fancy paints thee, and though apt to eff. Here virtue thrives as in her proper soil;
Perhaps errs little when she paints thee ihus. Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns,
She tells me too that duly every moru And terrible to sight, as when she springs
Thou climb'st the mountain top, with eager efe (If e'er she spring spontaneous) in remote And barbarous climes, where violence prevails,
Exploring far and wide the watery waste
For sight of ship from England. Every speck
With conflict of contending hopes and fears.
But comes at last the dull and dusky eve, War and the chase engross the savage whole;
And sends thee to thy cabin, well prepared War followed for revenge, or to supplant
To dream all night of what the day denied. The envied tenants of some happier spot:
Alas! expect it not. We found no bait The chase for sustenance, precarious trust!
To tempt us in thy country. Doing good, His hard condition with severe constraint
Disinterested good, is not our trade. Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth
We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought; Of wisdom, proves a school, in which he learns And must be bribed to compass earth again Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate,
By other hopes and richer fruits than yours.
But though true worth and virtue in the mild That, through profane and infidel contempt
Of holy writ, she has presumed to aonul
The total ordinance and will of God;
Advancing fashion to the post of truth,
And centering all authority in modes
And customs of her own, till sabbath rites
Have dwindled into unrespected forms,
God made the country, and man made the town.
What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts,
That can alone make sweet the bitter draught,
In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue
But such as art contrives, possess ye still
Our groves were planted to console at noon
The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve
The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish,
Birds warbling all the music. We can spare Gives more than female beauty to a stone,
The splendour of your lamps; they but eclipse
Our softer satellite. Your songs confound
Our more harmonious notes: the thrush departs
There is a public mischief in your mirth ;
It plagues your country. Folly such as yours,
Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done,
Our arch of empire, stedfast but for you,
A mutilated structure, soon to fall.
VANITY OF IIUMAN PURSUITS.
Long since; with many an arrow deep infixt
My panting side was charged, when I withdrew
Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore,
And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars,
With gentle force soliciting the darts,
She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two, Since then, with few associates, in remote
My former partners of the peopled scene;
With few associates, and not wishing more.
Here much I ruminate, as much as I may,
With other views of men and manners now
Than once, and others of a life to come.
I see that all are wanderers, gone astray
Each in his own delusions; they are lost
In chase of fancied happiness, still wooed
And never won. Dream after dream ensues;
And still are disappointed. Rings the world The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes.
With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind,
And add two thirds of the remaining half,
And find the total of their hopes and fears
'Twere well, could you permit the world to live Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay As the world pleases. What's the world to you! 017 As if created only like the fly,
Much. I was born of woman, and drew milk That spreads his motley wings in the eye of noon, As sweet as charity from human breasts.
Ld To sport their season, and be seen no more.
I think, articulate, I laugh and weep,
And exercise all functions of a man.
Be strangers to each other? Pierce my vein,
Take of the crimson stream meandering there, Ea A history: describe the man, of whom
And catechise it well; apply thy glass, His own coevals took but little note,
Search it, and prove now if it be not blood And paint his person, character, and views,
Congenial with thine own; and, if it be, As they had known him from his mother's womb. What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose They disentangle from the puzzled skein,
Keen enough, wise and skilful as thouart, In which obscurity has wrapped them up,
To cut the link of brotherhood, by which
One common Maker bound me to the kind!
And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath; Extract a register, by which we learn,
I cannot analyze the air, nor catch That he who made it, and revealed its date
The parallax of yonder luminous point, To Moses, was mistaken in its age.
That seems half quenched in the immense abys: Some, more acute, and more industrious still, Such powers I boast not-neither can I rest Contrive creation ; travel nature up
A silent witness of the headlong rage, To the sharp peak of her sublimest height,
Or heedless folly, by which thousands die, And tell us whence the stars; why some are fixed, Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine. And planetary some; what gave them first
God never meant that man should scale the heavens Rotation, from what fountain flowed their light. By strides of human wisdom. In his works Great contest follows, and much learned dust Though wondrous, he commands us in his word Involves the combatants; each claiming truth, To seek him rather, where his mercy shines. And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend The mind indeed, enlightened from abore, The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp
Views him in all; ascribes to the grand cause In playing tricks with nature, giving laws
The grand effect; acknowledges with joy To distant worlds, and trifling in their own. His manner, and with rapture tastes his style. Is't not a pity now, that tickling rheums
But never yet did philosophic tube, Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight That brings the planets home unto the eye Of oracles like these ? Great pity too,
Of observation, and discovers, else That having wielded the elements, and built Not visible, his family of worlds, A thousand systems, each in his own way,
Discover him, that rules them; such a veil They should go out in fume, and be forgot? Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth, Ah! what is life thus spent? and what are they And dark in things divine. Full often too But frantic, who thus spend it i all for smoke- Our wayward intellect, the more we learn Eternity for bubbles proves at last
Of nature, overlooks her author more; A senseless bargain. When I see such games From instrumental causes proud to draw Played by the creatures of a power, who swears Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake. That he will judge the earth, and call the fool But if his word once teach us, shoot a ray To a sharp reckoning that has lived in vain; Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well, Truths undiscerned but by that holy light, And prove it in the infallible result
Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptized So hollow and so false-I feel my heart
In the pure fountain of eternal love, Dissolve in pity, and account the learned,
Has eyes indeed; and viewing all she sees
As meant to indicate a God to man,
On all her branches: piety has found
Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer Of dropping buckets into empty wells,
Has flowed from lips wet with Castalian dews. And growing old in drawing nothing up!
Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage! 'Twere well, says one sage erudite, profound, Sagacious reader of the works of God, Terribly arched and aquiline his nose,
And in his word sagacious. Such too thine, And overbuilt with most impending brows, Milton, whose genius had angelic wings,