~*J. 
 
 
 :;
 
 ^^
 
 WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 MARK AKINSIDE, M.D. 
 
 IN 
 
 HIS LIFE, A FAC SIMILE OF HIS HAND- WRITING, 
 
 AND 
 
 AN ESSAY ON THE FIRST POEM, 
 BY MRS. BARBAULD. 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
 " -A/ay no foul discord here invade, 
 " Nor let thy strings one accent inuve, 
 " Except ziihat Farth^s iinlroublcd eat, 
 " 'Mid all her social Iril/ts iriui/ hear, 
 "And Heaven's unerring Throne approve." 
 
 BookL Ode XIII. 
 
 NE,W-BRUNSWICK, NEW-JEBSETt 
 
 Printtd by William Elliot, 
 
 f O K JOHN GAUNETT. 
 
 S')LD IN Nnw-YORK, BY T. AKn J. SvORDS; ISI PhiI ADEI.I'HIA, BY 
 
 Samusl F. Brawosp : and in liosTON, BY Thomas and Andrews
 
 ^ ADVERTISEMENT A: 
 
 TO THE EDITION OF 1772. '^/ 
 
 X 1 Ills volume contains a complete Collection of the 
 V Poems of the late Dr. Akinside, either reprinted from 
 ^ the original editions, or faithfully published from copies 
 which had been prepared by himself for publication. 
 
 That the principal Poem should appear in so disad- 
 vantageous a state, may require some explanation. The 
 first publication of it was at a very early part of the 
 Author's life. That it wanted revision and correction, 
 he was sufficiently sensible ; but so quick was the de- 
 i^^ mand for several successive republications, that in any 
 *\ of the intervals to have completed the whole of his cor- 
 rections was utterly impossible ; and yet to have gone 
 . ^ on from time to time making farther improvements in 
 *^ every new edition would (he thought) have had the ap- 
 pearance at least of abusing the favour of the public. 
 He chose therefore to continue for some time reprinting 
 it without alteration, and to forbear publishing any cor- 
 rections or improvements until he should be able at once 
 to give them to the public complete. And with this view 
 he went on for several years to review and correct the 
 ;J Poem at his leisure ; till at length he found the task 
 grow so much upon his hands, that, despairing of ever 
 being able to execute it sufficiently to his own satisfac- 
 tion, he abandoned the puqxjse of correcting, and re- 
 solved to write the Poem over anew upon a somewhat 
 different and an enlarged plan. And in the execution 
 of this design he had made a considerable progress. 
 What reasfjn there may be to regret that he did not 
 live to execute the whole of it, will best appear from 
 the perui^al of the plan itself, as stated in the General 
 Argument, and of the parts which he had executed, 
 and which are here published. For the person, * to 
 whom he entrusted the disposal of tiis papers, would 
 have thought himself wanting, as well to tlie service of 
 the public, as to the fame of his friend, if he had not 
 produced as much of the work as appeared to have been 
 prepared for publication, in this light he considered 
 
 The Right Honourable Jtretniah DjsOn.
 
 A D V R T I S E M E N T. 
 
 the intire first and second books, of whicli a few copies 
 had been printed for the use only of the Author and 
 certain friends : also a very considerable part of the 
 third book, which had been transcribed in order to its 
 being printed in the same manner: and to these is ^ 
 added the Introduction to a subsequent book, which in l 
 the manuscript is called the fourth, and which appears 
 to have been composed at the time when the Author 
 intended to comprise the whole in four books ; bat 
 which, as he had afterwards determined to distribute 
 the Poem into more books, might perhaps more proper- 
 ly be called the last book. And this is all that is exe- 
 cuted of the new work, which although it appeared to 
 the Editor too valuable, even in its imperfect state, to be 
 withholden from the public, yet (he conceives^) takes in ^ 
 by much too small a part of the original Poem to sup- . 
 ply its place, and to supercede the re-publication of it. * 
 For which reason both the Poems are inserted in this ' 
 collection. 
 
 Of the Odes the Author had designed to make up 
 two Books, consisting of twenty Odes each, including 
 the several Odes which he bad before published at dit- 
 ferent times. 
 
 The Hymn to the Naiads is reprinted from the sixth 
 volume of Dodhley's Miscellanies, w ith a few correc- ' 
 tions and the addition of some notes. 
 
 To the inscriptions taken from the same volume three . 
 new Inscriptions are added ; the last of which is the ,' 
 only instance wherein a liberty has been taken of in-t 
 serting any thing in this Collection, v\hich did not ap-^1^ 
 pear to have been intended by the Autlwr for publica- '. 
 tion ; among whose papers no copy of this was found, 
 but It is printed from a copy which he had many years 
 since given to Mr. Dyson. 
 
 The pieces now first added, in this edition, ixith ufac 
 si7nile of his hand-xvritittg, besides being highly intctHiSt- 
 ing, are ktwim to be genuine, and are ccrtainlj/ no dis- 
 credit to the author. 
 
 ERRATA. 
 F&ge 27, line 528, for summetry read symmetry 
 Page 112, line 715, for elected read erected.
 
 THE LIFE OF AKINSIDE. 
 
 Mark AKINSIDF, " the British lAiCretins," wns born nt Ncw- 
 fa.-;tle-i)pon-Tyne, Nov. 9, iT'il. His father, W:\rk Akiriside, was 
 a substantial butc,her in that town, iiis mother, Mary Limisdmi, 
 was probably of Si-ottish extraction. Both parenis wero Di>senttrs. 
 Mr. lhan;i the prcicnt vicr.r of Newcastle, in bis " Oi).-frvat;<.ns 
 on popular Antiqtiitie.s," ailtges, thiu a halt which he ha<l in his gait 
 V as G(ca^il)ne(] by the falling of a cleaver from iiis failier's t-tail upon 
 iiim, w hen he was f. boy. 
 
 He received the fir^t part of his education at the free, school of 
 Newcastle, and was afterwards placed under the care of Mr. Wilson, 
 a di.s cnling minister, who kept an academy in ihnt tov.n, v.here he 
 lirst began t > write verses. The Virtuoso and 'Ihe Pod, a Rhajnodjj, 
 wri'ten at Ihe age of 16; hrce, an I'l'gij; a British Pkillipir; 
 and a f'yir.ti lu ydence, at 17, omitted in the pubjicati'n of lis 
 works by Mr. Dyson, are to be found in volumes 7 and 8 of i\n: 
 Gentleman's Ma.KaziFie, dated fiom Nowcaslle, and signed Murtus. 
 They bear evident mrirK> of early genius. 
 
 At the a^'( of eightii-n lie as sent to the rnivrr.-^ity of Winbiirgh, 
 that he ini^-lit qualify liimseif for the otlice of a dissenting minister, 
 and received some assista/;ce from the fund which the dissenters em- 
 ploy in educating young men of scanty fortune, lie prosecuted his 
 studies for one winter, upon tliis plan: but a wider view of the 
 world, prompting' other hopes, he determined to rtiidy physic; and 
 repaid, afterwards, liiat contriljuiion which, bciis^j received for ;i dif- 
 ferent purpose, he justly thought it dishonourable lo retain. 
 
 It is said that his greatest work, 1 he Plcasiira nf Ji/>a':^inal'o'>, 
 was written at M iroeth, on the bimks of tJie VVen.vlwok, which he 
 lias celebrated in his verses, while h;; was on aiisit to his rihiiions, 
 befjre h.e. went to the liiiversily of Kdinburgli. 
 
 At Kdini)ur-.'li, he dislinguished himse'f lil;e\\!sc hv iiis poetical 
 oonijK .sit ions. His ('de on ll.c Winter SoLllo-, wliich is d.'J; d 174<', 
 was certainly coin|>osed at tliat place. 
 
 His taste for poetry facilitated bis iiitro<]i ctioii to tlu; most re- 
 s])ectable !i! -rpry assixlations among his fellow itialents, by whom 
 liis geniu:- and learning were hi.^iily rispcctid ; toid his pinii'soplii- 
 cal kno^^I'dr^e ensily procured him ;uhni.'>ioii in!.) iha ' Medical So- 
 ciety," an inlilut:ou co^Md uitb the st;.'.)li.>li!;ient of a regular 
 .school of ph\sic in th;' liiiversity, of whicii he was elected a mcni- 
 Urr, Dei:.inl) T :5i), I'iC. 
 
 In 17 rl, af;er .-tr.yinsr tla'c >' rirs at Kdinbnr.L'h, he rrni''.vcd <u 
 I.eyden, in p' rsnit of ni(:.;i<;.l knowledge, vlier.t he conti acted an 
 intimate frii nilship V. l;h Jc. un'a'i I':, i"i. I. so. who v. as jT', scenting 
 the study of the civil lav.iniL.it IniMr-irv-. After re- ui'tig three 
 y<;irs ar Lt ydcn, he took his degree of l)M-lor in }'liysic, M;iy I*^, 
 \1\l, and published an inai'gnrid dis.s('rl;it'Oi!, aci'oidin'^ to the C!>- 
 'om of the Dutch Ui.'ivcrjitie.'., /'c ortu i:t iicrcmcnlu laius h:<ir:ii:t,
 
 vi THELIFEOFAKINSIDE. 
 
 in which he displaj-ed his medical sagacity, by attacking some opin- 
 ions of I,euweiihoek, and other writers, at that time very generally 
 received, and by proposing an hypothesis, which has been since a- 
 dopted by the best physicians and philosopliers. 
 
 He now returned to England with his friend Mr. Dyson, and the 
 same year published The Pleasures of Imagination, which was in 
 general received with great applause. 
 
 When the copy was ofl'cred to Dodsley, by whom it was publish- 
 ed, the price demanded for it, which was 120/. being such as he 
 was not inclined to give precipitately, he carried the work to Pope, 
 who, having looked into it, advised him not to make a niggardly of- 
 fer, for " this was no evei-y-day poet.'' 
 
 Warburton being dissatisfied with a note in the third book, in which 
 he adopts Shaftesbury's assertion of the efficacy of ridicule for the 
 discovery of truth, thought proper, in a preface to one of his publi- 
 cations, to make some severe strictures upon him ; in which, how- 
 ever, he was attacked as a philosopher, not as a poet. 
 
 He was defended by liis friend Mr. Dyson, in an anonymous 
 " Epistle to Mr. Warburton, occasioned by his treatment of the 
 Auth(!r of the Pleasures of Imagination,'' in which there are several 
 sensible observations ; but the style is uncouth and unpleasant. 
 
 Warbiirtou's strictures on Akinside, were afterwards reprinted in 
 the postscript to the dedication to the " Free-thinker,'' prefi.xed to 
 the tlr.->t volume of the " Divine Legation," without, however, any 
 notice being taken of what had been written in his defence. 
 
 Bfing now to live by his profession, he first commenced Physi- 
 cian at Northampton, where Dr. Stonehouse then practised, with 
 such reputation and success, that a stranger was not likely to gain 
 ground upon him. 
 
 Dr. Kippis, who then resided at Northampton fur education, re- 
 lates, that Dr. Doddridge and Akinside carried on an amicable de- 
 bate concerning the opiniens of the ancients, with regard to a future 
 state of rewards and punishmfnts, in which Akinside supported tht: 
 firm l)ehcf of Cicero in pai-ticular, in this great article of natural 
 religii.i:>. 
 
 On his quitting Xorthampton, iic would perliaps Iiavc been re- 
 duced to great exigencies in making his way as a physician; but 
 that Mr. Dyson, with an ardour of friendship that has no examples, 
 supported iiim wl)ile Ik; was endeavouring to make himself known. 
 
 Mr. Dys )n had studied the law, and Ijecn called to the bar; but 
 in a .^hort time, having imrchased of Mr. Hardinge his place of 
 clerk of the House of Commons, he quitted Westminster Hall, and 
 i :: the purpose of introducing Akinside to acquaintance in an opu- 
 lent neighbourliood near the town, bought a house at North-E,id, 
 Hampstead, where they dwelt together during the summer season ; 
 frequenting the long-room, and all clubs and assemblies of the 
 inh.ibitants. 
 
 At these meetings. Sir John Ha-mkins relates, that Akinside was 
 for dispiriyi.i;,' those talents which had acquired him the reputation 
 he enioyed in other companies ; " bat here," he observes, " they 
 were of little use to him; on the contrary, they tended to engag'-
 
 THE LIFE OF AKINSIDE. vii 
 
 him in disputes that betrayed him into a contempt of those that dif- 
 fered in opinion from him." 
 
 It was found out that lie was a man of low birth, and a dependpnt 
 on Mr. Djson; circumstances that furnished those whom he of- 
 fended with a ground of reproach that reduced him to the necessity 
 of asserting that he was a gentleman. 
 
 Little could be done at Hampstead after matters had pi-oceedcd 
 to this extremity. Mr. Dyson parted with his villa at North-Eiul, 
 and settled his friend in a small house in Bloomsbury Square, as- 
 signing him, with unexampled liberality, 300/. a year, which en- 
 abled him to keep a chariot, and make a proper appearance in the 
 world. 
 
 " If our princes and nobles," says Mr. Hayley, " have not equal- 
 led those of other kingdoms in liberality to the great poets of their 
 countrj', England may yet boast the name of a private gentleman, 
 who discovered, in this respect, a most princely spirit. No nation, 
 eitiier ancient or modern, can produce an example of muniitcence 
 more truly noble than the annual gratuity which Akinside reoeived 
 from Mr. Dyson ; a tribute of generous and alTectiouate admiration, 
 endeared to its worthy possessor by every consideiation which could 
 make it honourable both to liimscif and to his [matron.'' 
 
 At London he was ki...wn as a poet by The Pieas'ircs of Imagina- 
 tion, and the I'.pi lie to titiio, which were followed in 1745, by Orf<?i- 
 on several Sn'-'j'xts, written, as he tt-lls us, " at very diflerent inter- 
 vals, and with a view to very different manners of expression and 
 ver.-iitlcation." 
 
 These performances apper.red bcf )re he was 24 years of age ; hv.i 
 he uas afterwards more slov.- in his publication*. His Ode to the j-'art 
 o'" Huntingdon came out in 1748, and in 1758 he attempted to rouse 
 the national spirit by an O.le to the Connfii/ (ientlcmcn of ['.upland. 
 
 His poetical repulatiou was now coiiiplftely e.-tablished. Uv ad- 
 vaac-:;:] gradually in miidical reputation, but never atlainod any great 
 extent of pracfict; or ('minence of popularity. 
 
 Akiiisiil; a;;i)rars to ha\c used every endeavour to become popit- 
 hr; " btit f! ; .itcd t!i( in all,'' says Sr J ihn Hawkin-^, " by the 
 high opiiii.j.) lie (vtry wlu re nmnifested of himself, and the little 
 condescension he showed t'j m,n of inferior endov.mcnt.-." 
 
 He >cems, iiowever, to !ir.\e possessed more discretion than Sir 
 Ji.lin Hawkins allows liini; ftr besides his eagerness in forcing liim- 
 s.;lf into u'itice, hy an ambitious ostentation of elegance and litera- 
 ture, he p!ac(.l himself in view l)y all the common nK(lio<ls ; and 
 anivi-d at most of the honours incident to his profes-ion. He be- 
 came a Fi How of the Koyai Sucitty, ns admitted by ni.uidanu s 'o 
 the <legrec of Dfjctor in I'liysic in the I niversity of ( nnibridsc, be- 
 came Piiysician to St. Tho.ua^'s Hospital, v.as elected I'e'l f the 
 College of Physicians, cho-f,n Ileadcr of the Gulstonian and C'n*jiiau 
 I-ectnrcs, and, on the establishment of the Queen's household, ap- 
 pointed one <jf the Physicians to Inr Majesty. 
 
 He contributed to the " Philosophiial Transsactions,'' 1757, 
 Obserjalions on the Oii'/in ami I'se <f the Lymphatic f'esaels in 
 AnimaU, being an extract from the Gulstonian Lectures, read
 
 vUi THE LIFE OF AKINSIDE. 
 
 in the tlientre of the College of Physicians, in June 17,55. Dr. 
 .Monro at Edinburgh having taken notice of some inaccuracies in this 
 
 of 
 
 'I Blozv on the Heart, and its Effects. Orat'w Anniversaria ex Imti- 
 fflo Hiir-ceii, &;c. Anno 1759, 4to. 17G0, to the first volume of 
 tlK! Medioal Transactions," he contributed Obseivutions on Can- 
 'tis ; of ike Use of Jpecacuhana in Asthmas, and a Method of treat- 
 n-s: White Swellings of the Joints. He read at the College, some ob- 
 soryations made in St. Thomas's Hospital, on the putrid Erysi]>elas, 
 whioh he intended for the second \X)lume of the " Medical Trans- 
 act ions, 'but it was not returned at the time of his death. He be- 
 gan to give fur the Cronian Lecture, A History of the Revival of 
 /earning, fi am wiiich he soon desisted, as it was suppose*!, in dis- 
 gust,, souje one of tlie College having objected that he had chosen a 
 subject foreign to the institution. 
 
 In 1761, the celebrated Thomas HoUis, Esq. purchased a bed 
 which once belonged to Milton, and in wliich he died. This bed he 
 h-ent as a present to Akinside, with the fjHowing card : " An Eng- 
 li-ii gcntle.aian is desirous of having the honour to present a bed, 
 which oce bclon-ed to John Milton, and on which he died and if 
 the Doc'tor-'s genius, believing himself ob!ig(;d, and having slept oh 
 that bed, should proiiipt him to write an ode to the memory of John 
 Millon, and the asfertor of P.ritish Lilierty, that gentleman would 
 think himself abundantly recompensed.'' Akinside, it is said, .seem- 
 fd won.lcj-fulty delighteil with this bed, and had it put up in his 
 house ; but it dves net annear that he took any otlier notice of Mr. 
 Rollis's bencficiiou and request. 
 
 In the ap;.'endlx to the " Memoirs of Mr. HoUi.s," are two letters 
 extracted from the ' Public Advertiser,'' relative to his Ode to 
 Thomas Edu-ards, Esq. and to his supposed Rejlerthms on the 'Hcrgy, 
 in a passage in 7he Pleasures of Jmoginaiwn. Among Dr. Birch's 
 papers in (he Briti'^h Museum, are several letters written to him 
 by Akinside. 
 
 Af.cr he came into considerable reputation and practice, he wrote 
 little pf>etry, but published, from time to time, medical essays and 
 observations, in the "Transactions'' of the Royal Society, and ol 
 the College of Physicians. 
 
 Sir yohn Haivkir.s, in his " Life of Dr. Johnson," has drawn 
 Akinside's character somewhat at large ; and it is, with a few 
 exceptions, highly to his advantage. 
 
 ' Akinside was a man of religion and strict virtue, a philo- 
 sopher, a scholar, and a fine poet. His conversation was of 
 the most delightful kind, learned, instructive, and without 
 any affectation of wit, cheerful, and entertaining. One of the 
 pleasantest days of my life. I passed with him, Mr. Dyson, and 
 another friend at Putney bowling-green-house, where a neat 
 and elegant dinner, the enlivening sunhinc of a summer day, and 
 the view of an unclouded sky, were the least of our gratifica- 
 tions. In perfect good humour vvitli himself and all around
 
 THE LIFE OFAKIN SIDE. ix 
 
 him, he seemed to feel a joy that he lived ; and poured out his 
 gratulationsto the great Disposer of all felicity, in expressions 
 that Plato himself might have uttered on such an occasion. 
 In conversation with select friends, and those whose course 
 of study had been nearly the same with his own, it was an 
 usual thing with liim, in libations to the memory of eminent 
 men among the ancients, to bring their characters into view, 
 and thereby give occasion fb expatiate on those particulars of 
 their lives that had rendered them famous. His method was 
 to arrange them into three classes, philosophers, poets, and 
 legislators" 
 
 Akinside was very much devoted to the study of ancient 
 literature, and was a great admirer of the best philosophers of 
 antiquity, particularly of Plato and Cicero. His pliilosophi- 
 cal knowledge and classical taste are conspicuous in liis poems, 
 and in the notes and illustrations wliicli he has annexed to 
 tliem. Of the modern philosophers, Siiaftesbury and Hutche- 
 son were his greatest favourites. His high veneration for tlie 
 Supreme Being, his noble sentiments of the wisdom and be- 
 nevolence of the Divine Providence, and his zeal for the cause 
 of virttie, are apparent in all his poems. His Ode to WUliatii 
 driall, Esq. with the works of Chaulieu, condemns the licenti- 
 ousness of that poet. His regard to the Christian I'evelation, 
 and his solicitude to liave it preserved in its native purity, 
 are displayed in the Ode to the Bishop of Winchester. The Ode 
 to the Author of the Memoirs of the Home of Brander.burgh, 
 seems to have been written on purpose to expose the irreli- 
 gious tenets of the royal liistorian. He v.'p.s warmly attached 
 to the ciuse of civil and religious liberty. His zeal for free- 
 dom is a (li.<-tinguisl)ed feature, and peculiar cxctilence in th.e 
 cliaracter of Iis poetry. His pvodi;ctions uiiiformly glow v/itii 
 The sacred fire of liberty, ipsomucli that he well deserves to be 
 uliletl, " liic Poet of tiie Community." Two of his principal 
 odes are directly consecrated to it, the OJe to tJ,c E :r[ cf 
 Huntingdon, and that to the Bishop of Winchester. 
 
 His Oijifttilio dc l>y<?>iifri:j, puLhshe'l in ]76i, v. hioh has 
 been twice tran.slatod into I'njrlish, was considiTod as a vrry e ni- 
 spicuoiis specimiii of I.atiiiity, fliat entitled him to the srimc hfijr'.it 
 of place jiiuoni; tli'j scliol.irs as he ])os.-ess<j(l before amonu tlio v\it< ; 
 and he mi.'^hf iiave risen to a f^realer elevation of ciiaraclcr, hut thnt 
 Ills (.luilie.s were en Id with his life, by a imtrid fcNcr, .hiiio 'Ji, 
 1770, in the 49l!i year ol' his nz''. 11'^ was hiuii .1 in the parish 
 elnircii of .St .lames'.-, Ve^tuiin-l.i-r. Hi-, el'rets, and par'ioulail/ 
 liLi. i)')ks and jjrints, which last he was fi.nl of fi,U<(.U\r^, heean.i 
 the pioiKTty of his great a'ld intimate friend, Mr. l)\soii. 
 
 AKINSIDE, considered ;s a didactic an<l lyric poet, ranks 
 with the most eminent writers of didactic and lyric poetry, in 
 ancient or modern times. In his Pleasures of Itnaginatior. he 
 has attempted the most rich and poetical form of didactic
 
 X THE LIFE OF A K I N S I D E. 
 
 writing; and tliough, in the execution of the whole, he is not 
 equal, he has, in several parts, succeeded happily, and dis- 
 played much genius- *' For my own part, I am of opinion, 
 says Cooper, in his " Letters on Taste," " that there is now 
 living', a poet of as genuine a genius as this kingdom ever pro- 
 duced, Shakespeare alone excepted. The gentleman I mean 
 is Dr. Akinside, the worthy author of The Pleasures of Imagi- 
 nation, the most beautiful didactic poem tliat ever adorned tlie 
 English language." On the other hand, Gray, writing to Dr. 
 Wharton, says : " I will tell you, though I have rather turned 
 over than read the poemof your young friend (Dr. Akinside), 
 that it seems to me above the middling, and now and then, 
 for a little while, rises even to the best, particularly in de- 
 scription. It is often obscure, and often unintelligible, and 
 too much infected with the Hutchcsonian jargon. In short, its 
 great fault is, that it was published at least nine years too 
 early." This opinion hastily delivered in a private letter, be- 
 fore the poem had been maturely examined, must be consid- 
 ered as too severe. The obscurity of 'J he Pleasures of Ima- 
 gination, when read with attention, will cliicily be found in the 
 allegory of the second book. It might likewise have been 
 better if the peculiar language of Hutciicson, or railier of 
 Sliaftesbury, had sometimes been omitted. But thougli it is 
 perhaps defective in some respects, and redundant in others, 
 yet it is a noble and beautiful poem, exliiliiting many bright 
 displays of genius and faiic}-, and holdisig out sublime views 
 of nature, providence, and morality. Akinside himself was 
 convinced that it was publi&hed too caily. " That it wanted 
 revision and correction," says his friend and editor, Mr. Dy- 
 son, " lie was sufficiently sensible ; but so quick was the de- 
 mand for several successive republications, th:it, in any of the 
 intervals, to have completed the whole of liis coi-rcctioiis was 
 u'tcrly impossible. He chose therefore to continue for some 
 time reprinting it without any alteration, and to forljcar pub- 
 lishing any alterations or improvements, till he sliould be able 
 at (ince to give the whole to the public complete. And, with 
 this view, lie went on for several years to review and correct 
 liib poem at his leisure, till at lei.glh he found llie task grow 
 so much upon his h.inds, that, despairing of evei' being ajjlc 
 to execute it sutlicicntly to his own satisfaction, he abandon- 
 ed the j)ur[.ose of cori'ecting, and resol'.ed to v.rire tliC poem 
 over .".new, upon somewhat a different :ind enlarged plan." 
 
 HiK Inscriptions are for the most part, simiilc, energetic, 
 and suihciently poetical. His l.ynin to the '^aiads is iusily 
 esteemed a cl.issical performance. Lloyd, speaking of Ho- 
 mer's hynnis, which he had some tlioughts of translating, 
 says: " They who would form the justest idea of this sort 
 of composition among the ancients, may be better informed 
 by perusing Dr. Akinside's most classicid I-yfnn to the Naiads, 
 than from anv translation of Homer or CaUimachus." The
 
 THE LIFE OF AKlNSIDE. xi 
 
 same writer concluiles liis " Ode to Genius," with the fol- 
 lowing apostroplie to Akinside. 
 
 And thou, blest bard! arovind whose sacred brow- 
 Great Findars's delegated wreath is hung ; 
 Arise and snatch the majesty of song 
 
 From dulness' servile tribe, and art's unhallow'd throng. 
 
 Cooper, the " English Aristippus," with ^eat propriety, 
 addressed his ' Call of Aristippus" to Akinside, by tlie de- 
 signation of" two-fold disciple of Apollo;" in which he tells 
 him, that, in Elysium, Plato and Virgil shall weave him a 
 never-fading crown ; while Lucretius, Pmdar, and Horace, 
 should yield liim precedence with pleasure." 
 
 Mr. Murphy, in his ' ' Poetical Epistle to Dr. Johnson," 
 has joined Akinside with Gray among the examples which he 
 enumerates of "wealthy genius pining amidst its store." 
 
 Even Gray unwilling strikes his living lyre. 
 And wishes, not content, for Pindar's fire : 
 And that sweet bard, who to our fancy brings, 
 ' The gayest, happiest attitudes of tilings." 
 His raptured verse can throw neglected by, 
 And to Lucretius lift a reverend eye. 
 
 Dr. Wharton, in his excellent " Essay on Pope," calls Akin- 
 side a didactic poet, who has happily indulged Iiimself in 
 bolder flights of enthusiasm, supported by a more figurative 
 style than was used by Pope ; and, after jn-oducing a passage 
 frcjm The Pleasures of Iviagination, adds: " We have here a 
 striking example of iliat poetic spirit, that liarmoniovis and 
 varied versification, and that strength of imagery which con- 
 spire to excite our admiration of this beautiful poem." 
 
 Tlie ciiaracter of Akinside, as given by Dr. ^obasoa, n\- 
 thougli lie acknowledges, that in ttie f;ibricati()ii of his lines 
 he is superior to any other writer of l)lank verse, is so unjust 
 and degrading, that he must either liavc been blinded by pre- 
 judice, or possibly have never read him willi the attention he 
 merits; as a proof of tlie latter, I need only copy tlie follow- 
 ing passage from his Life by ^uhason ; wherein lie adopts a 
 remark made by Walker in his " Exercises for Improvement 
 in Elocution." Speaking of Akinside. " His picture of ni.iii 
 " is grand and beautiful, but nntii'.ishyd. Tiie inuriortality of 
 " the soul, which is the natural consequence of t!;e-ap]ietitcs 
 ' and powers she is invested witli, is scarcely once !-.:nt'-d 
 ' throughout the poem. This deficic-iicy is .imjjly sup])l:( d Ijy 
 " the masterly pencil of Dr. Young; v. Iid, H!;c a go;iJ pliilosf)- 
 " pher, has invincibly piovc<ltl'.': immortality of man, iVoin the 
 " grandeur of his conceptions, and liie 'Duwities^ and misery ol 
 " his state ; i'ur this reason, a fi^w paisa;^cs are selected from 
 
 * See l!ic Iruiiilitci Miottt> f/.jin rpi<'tiMi-, ^.ire I.
 
 xii THE LIFE OF A K I N S I D E. 
 
 " the " Niirlit Thoughts," which, with those from Akiiiside, 
 ' seem to form ;i comi^lete view of the powers, situation, and 
 ' endof man." But there is scarcely a page of Akinside that 
 does not contradict tiiis remark ; refer only to the first poem, 
 book i. hnes 20'3, (with its note) and 436; hoolt ii. lines 343 
 and 456: also in tlu; enlarged work, book i. line 238, and 
 book ii. line 142, whicJi last includes lliat sublime passaije 
 
 " Thence Jie deems of his own lot," &c. 
 and it will appear i!;i:iccountable how yohnson could have 
 lepcated so unfounded an aspersion. 
 
 Dr. Davxin (as Mms Seward relates) ever maintained a 
 preference of Akinsidc's blank verse to Milton's; declarins};' it 
 was of higher polish, more classical piii'ity, and more digni- 
 fied construction. 
 
 Dr. Jikin, in his " Letters on English Poetry," speaking of 
 " The Pleasures of Lnagination," says, " A more splendid 
 " poem, replete witli rich and lofty iniagery, will not easily 
 " be found within the range of English composition, but that it 
 " cannot be fully comprelicndcd without a close and attentive 
 " perusal, and therefore not calculated to become a favourite; 
 " with cursory readers. The versihcation is perhaps tlie most 
 ' perfect specimen of blank verse that the language affords. 
 " If it has not the compass of melod}' sometimes attained by 
 " Milton, it is free from his inequalities Not a line is harsh 
 ' nor defective, and the pauses are continually varied with 
 " the skill of a master. His sentiments are all of the elevated 
 ' and generous kind; his morality is pure and libcial ; his 
 " theology simple and sublime. He was the perjietual fue of 
 " Tyranny and Superstition, and stands prominent in the rank 
 " of the friends of light and liberty. His Hyvin to the Naiadu 
 " is reputed to be one of the m.ost classical ])oems in the Eng- 
 " lish language." 
 
 We cannot close tliese testimonies of the Auilior's excel- 
 lence better than by the same words that Dr. y-j'jr.sun finishes 
 the Life of Thompson. 
 
 " The highest piaise which he has received ought not to 
 " be suppressed. It is said by Lord I^yttleton, in the Prologue 
 " to TLoinpson's posthumous play, that his works contained 
 
 " No line lihic/t, dj/in-^, he could ivis/i to blot." 
 
 T!iis can with Jiiore justice be said of AKINSIDE.* 
 
 * We have taken this mode of tpeUing his name from hi.s ov.-u hand urit- 
 uc, as \\e!l as iii., iiri . editions ot his Poems.
 
 ESSAY ON 
 THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. 
 
 Of all the subjects which have engaged the attention of Di- 
 dactic Poets, there is not perhaps a happier tlian that made 
 choice of by Akinside, Tie Pleasuret of Imagination ; in 
 which every step of the disquisition calls up objects of the 
 most attractive kind, and Fancy is made as it were to hold a 
 miror to her own charms. Imagination is the very source and 
 well-head of Poetry, and nothing forced or foreign to the Muse 
 could easily flow from such a subject. Accordingly we see 
 that the author has kept close to his system, and has admit- 
 ted neither episode nor digression : tlie allegory in the second 
 book, which is introduced for the purpose of illustrating his 
 theory, being all that can properly be called ornament in this 
 wliole Poem. It must be acicnowledged, however, that en- 
 gaging as his subject is to minds prepared to examine it, to 
 the generality of readers it must appear dry and abstruse. It 
 is a work which offers us entertainment, but not of that easy 
 kind amidst whicli the mind remains passive, and has nothing 
 to do but t receive impressions. Those who have studied 
 the metapliysics of mind, and who are accustomed to investi- 
 gate abstract ideas, will read it witli a lively pleasure; but 
 those who seek mere amusement in a Poem, will find many 
 far inferior ones better suited to their purpose. The judicious 
 admirer of Akinside will not call people from the fields and 
 the highways to partake of his feast ; he will wish none to read 
 that are not capable of understanding him. 
 
 The ground-work oi Tlie Pleasures of Imagination is to be 
 found in Addison's Essays on the same subject, published in 
 the Spectator. Except in the book wliich treats on Ridicule, 
 nd even of that the hint is there given, our author follows 
 nearly the sanx; track ; and he is indebted to them not only 
 for the leading thouglits and grand division of his subject, but 
 for much of llie colouring also: for tiie papers ofAnuisoir 
 arc wrought up witli so much elegance of langnage, and adorn- 
 ed with s(j many beautiful illustrations, that they are equal t 
 the most finished Poem. Perhaps the obligations of the 
 Poet to tlie Essay-writer arc not sufficiently .-ulverted to, the 
 latter beiii^r only slightly mentioned in the i)reface to the Poem. 
 It is not meant, however, to insinuate tiiat Akinside had 
 not various other sources of his ideas. He sat down to this 
 work, whicli was publislied at the early age of three and twen- 
 ty, warm from the scliools of oiicient philosophy, whose spirit 
 he had deeply imbibed, and full of enthusiasm for the treas- 
 ures of Greek and Koman literature. The works of no author 
 have a more classic air tijan those of our I'oet. His h\nin to 
 the Naiads shows the most intimate acquaintance with tiieir 
 nivtliology. Their laws, their arts, tlicir liberty, were equally 
 objects of his warm admiration, and are frcquenll/ rcfi-rrcd to 
 jn rarious ;,;irts of his Poems. He was fond of the Platonic 
 philosophy, and mingled with the splendid visions of tlie Ac- 
 c
 
 xlv- E S S A Y O N T H E 
 
 ademic school, ideas of the fair and beautiful, in morals and 
 in taste, g'athered from the writings of Shaftesbury, Hut- 
 ch ixson, and others of that stamp, who then very much en- 
 gaged the notice of tiie public- Educated in the university 
 of Edinburgh, he joined to Ills classic literature the keen dis- 
 criminating spirit of metaphyslc inquiry, and the taste for 
 moral beauty which has so much distinguished our Northern 
 seminaries, and which the celebrity of their professors, and 
 the genius of the place, has never failed of communicating 
 to their disciples. Thus prepared, by nature with genius, and 
 by educatif)n with the previous studies and habits of think- 
 ing, he was peculiarly fitted for writing a philosophical Poem. 
 
 The first lines contain the definition of Ills subject, which 
 he hss judiciously varied from his master, Addisov, who 
 expressly confines the pleasures of imagination to "such as 
 arise from visible objects only ;" and divides them into " tlie 
 prlm.ary pleasures of the Imagination, which Intirely proceed 
 from such objects as are before our eyes, and those secon- 
 dary pleasures of the iniagination which flow from the ideas 
 of visible objects, wlien the objects are not actually before 
 the eye, but are called up Into our memories, or formed into 
 agreeable visions of thmgs tliat are eltlicr absent or fictitious." 
 Tills de'dnition seems to exclude a blind man from any share 
 whatever of those pleasures ; and yet who would deny that 
 the elegant mind of Bt.acklock was capable of receiving, 
 and even of impaitir.g tliem, in no small degree. Our author, 
 therefore, includes every source, by which, through any of 
 our senses or perceptions, we receive notices of the world 
 around. us ; as well as the reflex pleasures derived fi*om the 
 imitative aits. 
 
 With what uttracfive charms this goodly frame. &c. 
 
 After this clear and concise definition, and a lively and 
 appropriate invocation to the poweis of Fancy, guided by 
 Truth and Liberty, the author begins by uiifolding the Pla- 
 tonic idea that the universe, with all its forms of material 
 beauty, was called into being from its prototype, existing 
 from iill eternity In the Divine Mind. The <li<]erent prcpeii- 
 sities that human beings arc born with to various pursuits, 
 are enumerated in some very beautiful lines, and those are 
 declared to be the most noble which lead a chosen few to 
 the love and contemplation of the Supreme Beauty, by the 
 love and contemplation of his works. The Poet thus imme- 
 diately, and at the very outset, dignifies his theme, by con- 
 necting it with the sublimest feelings the human mind Is ca- 
 pable Of entertaining, feelings without which the various 
 scenes of this beautiful universe degenerate into gaudy shows, 
 fit to catch the eve of children, but uninteresting to the heart 
 and afi'ectioiis ; .and those laws and properties about which 
 Philosophy busies herself, into a bewildering mass of uncon- 
 nected experiments and independent facts. The lines allbrd
 
 PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. xv 
 
 more than one example of climax, graceful repetition, and 
 richness of poetic language. The subject is then branched 
 out into the three grand divisions marked by Addison, the 
 Sublime, the Wonderful, and the Beautiful. Each is exempli- 
 fied witli equal judgment and taste, but the sublime is per- 
 haps expressed with most energ}', as it certainly was most 
 congenial to the mind of our author. The passage of which 
 the tliought Is borrowed from Longinus, Say why tuas man 
 ,*o eminently raised, is almost une(jualled in grandeur of thouglit 
 and loftiness of expression, yet it has not the appearance, as 
 some other parts of the Poem have, of being laboured into 
 excellence, but rather of being thrown off' at once amidst the 
 swell and fervency of a kindled imagination. The final cause 
 of each of these propensities is happily insinuated; of the 
 sense of the sublime, to lead us to the contemplation of the 
 Supreme Being; of that of novelty to awaken us to constant 
 activity ; of beauty to mark out to us the objects most per- 
 fect in their kind. Thus does he make Pliiioso'phy and Poetry 
 to go hand ^nd l)and. The exemplification of" the love of 
 .novelty in the ai:dience of the village matron, who tells of 
 M;itcbing rhymes and evil spirits, is highly wrought. The au- 
 thor, however, had doubtless in iiis mind not only tiie Essays 
 of Addison, which were immediately jinder his eye, but 
 that passage. in another paper where he represents the circle 
 at his land-kdy's closing their ranks, and crov^dirg round the 
 fire at the conclusion of every story of ghosts: Around the 
 btddain all arrect they iumi^; Congealed ivith shivering sighs, 
 very happily e.-^presses llie effects of that kind of terror, 
 which makes a man shrink into himself, and feel afraid, as it 
 er, to draw a full inpiration. It may be doubted, how- 
 ever, whfctiier the attraction which is felt' towards these kind 
 of sensations when they rise to terror, can be fairly referred 
 to the l)ve of novelty. It seems rather to depend on that 
 charm, afterwards touched upon, which is attatched to evcrv 
 thingthr.t strongly stirs and agitates Uie mind. In his de'- 
 scnption of Beauty, w hich is adorned with all the graces of 
 the chaster Venus, the author takes occasion to aim a pal- 
 pable stroke at the " Nigiu Thoughts" of Dr. Young, which 
 He: here characterized by " the ghostlv gloom of graves 
 ..iu\ hoary vaults, and ch,i.stered cells,' hv walking- witli 
 spectres through the midnight shade, and attuning the dread- 
 lul workings (,f his he.irt to the accursed song of the scream- 
 ing ow . /^I'C same allusion is repeated in one of his Odes. 
 
 Jhe Hies from ruins and from tombs." 
 
 This antipathy is not surprising ; for never were two Poets 
 more coiUrasted. Our author had more of taste and judtr- 
 ment. Young more of o.igiual.ty. Akins.de maintains 
 throughout an uniform dignity, Young has been character- 
 istically described in a late Poem as one in whom 
 Still gleams and still expires the cloudy day 
 .Of genuine Poetry.
 
 xvi K S S A Y O N T Jl fi 
 
 The genius of the one was clouded over with tht deepest 
 glooms of Calvinism, to which system, however, he owed 
 some of his most striking beauties, The religion of the 
 ther, all at least that appears of it, and all indeed that could 
 with propriety appear in such a Poem, is the purest Theism : 
 liberal, cheerful, and sublime ; or, if admitting any mixture, 
 Le seems inclined to tincture It with the mysticism of Plato, 
 and the gay fables of ancient mythology. The one declaims 
 against infidels, the other against monks ; the one resembles 
 the Gothic, the other the Grecian architecture ; the one has 
 been read with deep interest by many who, when they have 
 abandoned the tenets of orthodoxy can scarcely bear to re- 
 peruse him ; ihe other dealing more in general truths, will 
 always be read with pleusure, though he will never make so 
 deep an impression. 
 
 The Poem goes on to trace the connection of Beauty 
 with Truth, by showing that all the Beauty we admire in vege- 
 table or animal life results fi-om the fitness of the object to 
 the use for which it is intended, and serves as a kind of stamp, 
 set by.the Creator to point out the health, soundness, and 
 perfection of the form in which it resides. This leads him 
 on to ^eak of moral Beauty, and tracing the regidar grada- 
 tions of Beauty through colour, shape, symmetry, and grace, 
 to its highest character in the expression of moral feel- 
 ings, he breaks out inlo an animated apostrophe. 
 
 Mind, mind alone the living fountain iu itself contains 
 Of beauteous and sublime. 
 
 The Poem continues in a hgh strain of noble enthusiasm 
 to the end of the book, and concludes with an invocation to 
 tlie genius of ancient Greece, with whose philosopliy and 
 high sense of liberty he was equally enamoured. It is easy 
 for the reader who is conversant in tlic writings of Shaftes- 
 bury and Hutchinson to perceive how much their elegant 
 and fascinating system is adapted to ennoble our author's 
 subject, and how much The Pleasures of Imagination are rais- 
 ed In value and importance by building the throne of Virtue 
 so near the bower of Beauty. The book is complete in it- 
 self; and if we may be allowed, to hazard a conjecture, con- 
 tains nearly the whole of ,what the author on the first view 
 might think necessary to his subject. 
 
 The second book opens with a complaint founded, perhaps, 
 rather in a partiality for the ancients than attention to fact, 
 of the disunion in modern times of Plulosophy and Poetry. To 
 the same classic prejudice (to wlilch a good scholar is very 
 prone) may be attributed the mention of the courtly compli- 
 ments which debased the verse of Tasso : and the supersti- 
 ous legends which employed the pencil of Raphael In con- 
 tradistinction to the works of the ancients, as if, in sober 
 truth, any one was prepared to assert that there was less flat- 
 tery in the Augustine age, and less superstition in the idle 
 mythology of HoMrn and Ovid. Such prejudices ouglit to
 
 PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. xvii 
 
 be laid aside with tlie gradus of the school-boy. The Poet 
 proceeds to consider the accession to the Pleasures of Ima- 
 gination from adventitious circumstances, of which he gives 
 various instances : that of the Newtonian theory of the rain- 
 bow seems too abstruse even for a philosophical Poem ; it 
 may be doubted whether, if understood, it is of a nature to 
 mix well with the pleasure of colours ; it certainly does not 
 accord well with that of verse. The influence of Passion is 
 next considered, and the mysterious pleasure which is 'mixed 
 with the energies and emotions of those passions that are in 
 tlieir own nature painful. To solve this problem, which has 
 been one in all ages, a long allegory is introduced, which 
 though wrought up with a good deal of the decoration of 
 Poetry, is nearly as difficult to comprehend as the problem 
 itself.' It begins with presenting a scene of desolation, vbere 
 the parched adder dies ; this vanishes, and another is presented. 
 What we hoped to have heard from the Poet, we are direct- 
 ed to learn from old Harmodics. Harmodius is only intro- 
 duced to refer us to the Genius, and the Genius shifts his 
 scones like the pictures of a magic lantern, heftre he explains 
 tons the scope and purport of the visions. The figures of 
 Pleasure and Virtue are in a good measure copied from the 
 choice of Hercules, only that, as Euphrosyne is the God- 
 dess of innocent pleasure, every thing voluptuous is left out 
 of the picture. The description of the son of Nemesis is 
 wrought up with much strength of colouring. The story is 
 in fact the introduction of evil, accounted for by the necessity 
 of training the pupil of Providence to the love of virtue, the 
 supreme good, by withdrawing from him for a while the al- 
 lurements of pleasure ; but why his very suffering should be 
 attended with pleasure, which was the phenomenon to be ac- 
 counted for, is not so clearly made out. We are told indeed 
 that the votith is willing to bear the frowns of the son of Ne- 
 mesis in all their horrors, provided Euphuosvne will bless 
 Jiim witli her smiles, that is to say, he is willing to be miser- 
 able provided he may be happy at the same time. Upon this 
 EuPHROsvNK appcnrs, and declares that she will always be 
 present for tlie future, whenever, stipported by Virtue, he 
 s^istains a comb.it with Pain. So far indeed we may gather 
 from this representation, that pleasure is always annexed to 
 the exercise of our moral feelings, which is probably the true 
 account of the matter ; b\!t this truth is rather darkened than 
 dluslratcd by the fable, wliich does not satisfactorily expluin 
 hifij the connection is produred. The allegory is not very 
 consistent in another place, where we are told that Virt<l|?t ha<l 
 left the youth, while at the same time x'.j^e/est innocence illu. 
 mined his bttshful eyes. He had already fallen, and ye. he had 
 n .t loit his innocence ; the storm of wrath which falls upon 
 him is therefore unaccounted for. Upan the whole, though 
 
 " Whii:li Virtuf inixrj " Sf'P p. '.i, 1. (>79 to '!, an'l p. Ti-V, 1. t'"V " '''>
 
 xviii ESSAY ON THE 
 
 this allegory is in many parts ing^enious, and is laboured into 
 splendid poetry, we fear it has the effect upon most readers 
 which it seems it had upcn the author himself, who tells us 
 that Awhile he stood 
 
 Perjjiex'd and giddy. 
 
 It may be doubted whether this discussion is strictly with- 
 in the bounds of the subject, the Pleasures of Imagination \ 
 since the instances given are not conlined to scenic represen- 
 tations, but I'efer to the primaiy feeUngs of the passions. 
 What has * imagination to do with 
 
 The bitter shower 
 Which sorrow sheds upon a brother's grave ? 
 
 The book concludes with an animated and pathetic exem- 
 plification of the gratification felt in the indulgence of mourn- 
 ful sympathy, or generous indignation ; the latter pointed 
 against the two things the author most hated, superstition 
 and tyranny. 
 
 The third book touches upon a difficult and ungrateful 
 subject for the poetic art, the Pleasures of Ridicule. It in- 
 volves the question, much agitated at that time, whether 
 ridicule be the test of truth. Our autlior follows the system 
 of Shaftesbury, which drew upon him an attack from Bisliop 
 Wahburton', and he was defended by his friend and patron 
 Jeremiah Dysom. To say truth, it is easier to defend the 
 Philosopher than the Poet. There is mucli acuteness in the 
 theory, and much art exhibited in giving a poetical dress to 
 the various illustrations he makes use of: but after all, the 
 subject is so barren in itself, and so unsuitable to the solemn 
 manner of Akinside, that we admire without pleasure, and 
 acquiesce without interest. He ))romises indeed to 
 Unbend his serious measure 
 
 But he has not kept his promise : neither indeed could lie, 
 for besides that no one was ever less capable than our author 
 o^ unbending, the object of his disquisitijn is not to make us 
 laugh, but to tell us why we laugh : a very different problem, 
 and very remote from any ideas of pleasantry. Nor could 
 he, without violating uniformity, change the measure of his 
 P>)em, otherwise this p.art of his subject not affording any 
 play for the hig-Jier beauties and bolder sweep of blank versq, 
 would have been better treated of in the neat and terse cou]i- 
 let, after the manner of Pope's Ethical Epistles, or Young's 
 Satires. He begins, agreeably to the sysiem he had embrac- 
 ed, with deducing all deviations from rectitude or propriety, 
 from false opinions, imbibed in early youth, which attract the 
 imaginjiation by fallacious sliows of good. Of these false opin- 
 ions the more serious lead to vice, while those which refer to 
 the less important particulars of our conduct betray to ridi- 
 cule, the source of which is incongruity, audits final cause 
 the assisting the tardy deductions of reason by the quick im- 
 pulse of an instinctive sense- 
 
 U inny either iT-roise or le'sen it Edit.
 
 PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. xlx 
 
 The theory is beautiful and well supported. Illustrations 
 of every diftereat species of the ridiculous are g-iven in the 
 Poem, the notes are judicious, and tend still more to illuci- 
 date the subject. Still it must be confessed the theme is 
 not a poetical one ; and it may be even questioned how far it 
 is connected with the subject; for the sense of ridicule is of 
 a very peculiar nature, and is hardly included, in common 
 language, among the Pleasures of the Imagination. If how- 
 ever the reader is inclined to be dissatisfied with this part of 
 his entertainment, let him recollect, that if it affords him less 
 pleasure, it probably cost the author more pains than any 
 other portion of his.Poem. It is asserted that under the ap- 
 pellation of MoMioN, the writer has thrown out a sarcasm, 
 not undeserved, against the celebrated author of the Dunciad ; 
 for surely no man of a just moral taste can reflect, without 
 regret, that a capital work of one of our best Poets, composed 
 in the height of iiis reputation, and during the perfection of 
 all his powers, should have no other end than to gratify the 
 spleen of an offended author, and to record the petty war- 
 fare of rival wits. It is an observation of the excellent Hart- 
 LEY, that those studies wiiich confine the mind witl)in tite 
 exercise of its own powers, as criticism, poetry, and most 
 philological pursuits, are apt to generate a supercilious de- 
 ponment and an anxious and selfish regard to reputation : 
 whereas the pursuit of truth, carrying tJie mind out of it.<^elf 
 to large views of nature and providence, fills it with sublime 
 and generous feelings. The remark must undoubtedly be 
 taken with great latitude, but it seems to be not entirely 
 unfounded. 
 
 Having dismissed the account of Ridicule, so little sus- 
 rcptible of being adorned by his efTorfs, t!ic Poet rises into a 
 liigher strain, and investigates tliat wort'erful phenomenon 
 from whence the Pleasures of IniaRinalion ciiieflv seem to 
 arise, the mysterious connection of moral ideas with visible 
 objects. Why, he asks, docs the deep sliade of a thick 
 wood strike us witli religious awe? Why does the liglit- 
 someness and variety of a more airv l.-ir.dscape sugi^est to us 
 the idea of gaiety and social mirth ' Is there really any re- 
 semi>lance, or is it owing to e.irlv ai'd frcqui-iit nssociatioiis ? 
 He decides for the latter, and beautifully ilhistrnU s ihat great 
 law on which the power of memorv- entirely lcpcnds. Tiiis 
 leads him to consider the powers of imagiialinn as rt.<:i<lii'g 
 in the human mind, wlien after being stored bv m( .in^ I'.f 
 memorv-, with ideas <.f all tliut is great and beMi'tiful in na- 
 ture, the cliild of fancy coniljines :.!itl varies li'cin in a new 
 creation of its own, from whence the origin n'! Music, Paint- 
 ing, Poetry, and all those arts which give rise to the second- 
 ary or re flcK i)le.isurcs, referred to in the latter part of his 
 definition. This is .icrompanied by a glowing and animated 
 description of the proress of composition, written e\ideiii!v 
 with tl.e pleasure a \ er o;i f f gm'tis must h.v.c felt, whcp ic-
 
 X* ESSAYONTHE&c. 
 
 fleeting with conscious triumph that be is exercising the 
 powers lie so well describes. He had probably likewise in 
 his eye the well known lines of Shakespeare, 
 
 The Poet's eye in a fine frenzy rolling. &,c. 
 
 The simile of tlie Parhelion is new and beautiful. Tlie 
 harp of Memnon struck by the rays of the sun supplies him 
 with another, and the s\aipathetic needles of Strada with a 
 third, which are the only ones in the Poem. 
 
 The Cauiie is next considered of the pleasure which we re- 
 ceive from all that strikes us with the sensation of Beauty in 
 the material world. Concerning this there cxi.st two opin- 
 ions. One, that those objects we call beautiful are so really, 
 and in tiieir own nature, and must appear so to any being - 
 possessed of faculties capable of appreciating tliem. The 
 other, that Beaijty is a mere arbitrary thing, a sort of pleas- 
 ing enchantment spread over the face of nature, a delusion, 
 under which we see charms that do not at all result from the 
 real properties of things, and which other intelligent beings it 
 is probable do not perceive. This latter opinion our autlior 
 has embraced as the most philosophical. It is not, we pi"e- 
 sume, the most pleasing, nor the most favourable to the dig- 
 nity and importance of the Pleasures of Imagination ; for 
 their boasted connection with truth vanishes, except indeed 
 in this sense that Beauty as an arbitrary mark is used with 
 precision, and is coustantly found to denote the health and 
 sovmdness of the object in whicli it appears to reside, and 
 consequently is made subservient to utility ; but the beautiful 
 cclimax is destroyed by which the inferior kinds are connect- 
 ed with moral Beauty ; for how can what is real be connected 
 with wliat is imaginary ? unless indeed, what would be a very 
 dangerous doctrine, the sense of moral Beauty itself were 
 supposed to be dependent on our i)eculiar formation, and 
 adapted only to our present state of existence- The Poet has 
 here closely copied from Addison, both in opening the 
 thought, and in the simile with wliicii he illustrates it. He 
 loses sight however of this in)poetical philosophy towards 
 the conclusion, where liaving observed that taste results from 
 the natural quickness of all the perceptions he has enumerat- 
 ed, strengthened by adequate culture, he observes, that cul- 
 ture will not however destroy the peculiar bias whicli is im- 
 pressed upon different minds towards the great, or the soft 
 and beautiful. Tliis he exemplifies in Waller and Shake- 
 sPEAHE. He then winds up the whole by that noble and ani- 
 mated eulogium on the taste for tlie beauties of nature, 
 
 O blest of lieaven, whom &.c. 
 And having led the lover of the fair and beauliful through 
 all tlie different gi'adations of excellence, he leaves the mind 
 where alone it should rest, in tlie contemplation of the Su- 
 preme Excellence, and closes with the boblime idea, that in 
 admiring the works of nature, we form our taste upon the 
 conceptions of the Deity himself. I
 
 PLEASURES 
 
 OF 
 
 IMAGINATION: 
 
 A POEM, 
 
 IN THREE BOOKS, 
 MDCCXLIV. 
 
 Epict. apud Arrian. II, 23. 
 
 GocVs bounties are reviled by the impious. 
 
 THE D E S I G N. 
 
 X HERE are certain powers in human nature Mhich 
 seem to hold a middle place between the organs of bod- 
 ily sense and the faculties of moral perception : They 
 hare been called by a very general name. The Poit:crs 
 of Imagination. Like the external senses, they relate 
 to matter and motion ; and, at the same time, give the 
 mind ideas analogous to those of moral approbation and 
 dislike. As they are the inlets of some of the most ex- 
 quisite pleasures with which we are acquainted, it has 
 naturally happened, that men of warm and sensible 
 tempers have sought means to recal the delightful per- 
 ceptions which they afford, independent of the objects 
 which originally produced them. This gave rise to the 
 imitative or designing arts ; some of which, as painting 
 
 A
 
 2 T II E D E S I G N. 
 
 and sculpture, directly copy the external appearances 
 which were admh-ed in nature; others, as music and 
 poetry, bring them back to remembrance by signs uni- 
 versally established and understood. 
 
 But these arts, as they grew more correct and delib- 
 erate, were of course led to extend their imitation be- 
 yond the peculiar objects of the imaginative powers; 
 especially poetry, which, making use of language as 
 the instrument by which it imitates, is consequently 
 become an unlimited representative of every species and 
 mode of being. Yet, as their intention was only to ex- 
 press the objects of imagination, and as they still 
 abound chiefly in ideas of that class, they of course re- 
 tain their original character; and all thediflerent plea- 
 sures which they excite, are termed, in general. Plea- 
 sures of Imas;ination. 
 
 The design of the following poem is to give a view of 
 these in the largest acceptation of the term; so that 
 'whatever our imagination feels from the agreeable ap- 
 pearances of nature, and all the various entertainment ixe 
 meet vcith either in poetri/, painting, music, or any of 
 the elegant arts, 7night be deducible from one or other of 
 those principles in the constitution of the human mind, 
 ii'hich are Itere established and explained. 
 
 In executing this general plan, it was necessary, first 
 of all, to distinguish the Imagination from our other 
 faculties ; and, in the next place, to characterise those 
 original forms or properties of being, about which it is 
 conversant, and which are by nature adapted to it, as 
 light is to the eyes, or truth to the understanding. These 
 properties Mr. Addisonhad reduced to the three general 
 classes of Greatness, Novelty, and Beauty; and
 
 T H E D E S I G X. -J 
 
 hi to these we may analyse every object, however com- 
 plex, which, properly speaking, is delightful to the im- 
 agination. But such an object may also include many [ 
 other sources of pleas-ure ; and its beauty, or novelty, 
 or grandeur, will make a stronger impression by rea- 
 son of this concurrence. Besides which, the imitative 
 arts, especially poetry, owe much of their effect to a 
 similar exhibition of properties quite foreign to the ima- 
 gination, insomuch, that in every line of the most ap- 
 plauded poems, we meet with either ideas drawn from 
 the external senses, or truths discovered to the under- 
 standing, or illustrations of contrivance and final causes, 
 or, above all the rest, with circumstances proper to 
 awaken and cn^age^ the pasiions. It was thej-eforc ne- 
 cessary to enumerate and exemplify these diflerent spe- 
 cies of pleasure; especially that from the passions, 
 which, as it is supreme in the noblest works of human 
 genius, so being in some particulars not a little surpris- 
 ing, gave an opportunity to enliven the didactic turn of 
 the poem, by introducing an allegory to account for 
 the appearance. 
 
 After these parts of the subject which hold chieily 
 o{ ail/niration, or naturally warm and interest the mind; 
 H pleasure of a very dillercnt nature, that which arises 
 from riiliculf, came next to be considered. As this is 
 the foundation of the comic manner in all the arts, and 
 has been but very imperfectly treated by moral writers, 
 it was thought proj.er to give it a j)articular illustration, 
 and to distinguish the general sources from which the 
 ridicule of characters is derived. Here too a change of 
 style became necessary; such a one as might yet be 
 consistent, if possible, with the general taste of comj)o-
 
 -I- T H E D E S I G N. 
 
 sition in the serious parts of the subject : nor is it ati 
 easy tas-k to give any tolerable force to images of this 
 kind, without running either into the gigantic expres- 
 sions of the mock heroic, or the familiar and poetical 
 raillery of professed satire; neither of which would have 
 been proper here. 
 
 The materials of all imitation being thus laid open> 
 nothing now remained but to illustrate some particular 
 pleasures which arise either from the relations of differ- 
 ent objects one to another, or from the nature of imita- 
 tion itself. Of the first kind is that various and com- 
 plicated resemblance existing between several parts of 
 the material and immaterial worlds, which is the foun- 
 dation of metaphor and \vit As it seems in a great 
 measure to dejx^nd on the tarly association of our ideas,^ 
 iin.l as this habit of associating is the source of many 
 pleasures and pains in life, and on that account bears 
 a great share in the influence of poetry and the other 
 ails, it is therefore mentioned here, and its eflects de- 
 scribed. Then follows a general account of the produc- 
 tion of these elegant arts, and of the secondary plea- 
 sure, as it is called, arising from the resemblance of 
 their imitations to the original appearances of Nature: 
 After which, the work concludes with some reflections 
 on the general conduct of th<j powers of imagination, 
 and on their natural and moral usefulness in life. 
 
 Concerning the manner or turn of composition which 
 prevails in this piece, little can be said with propriety 
 by the author. He had two models ; that ancient and 
 simple one of the i'lVbt Grecian poets, as it is refined by 
 Virgil in the Ceorgics, and the familiar epistolary way 
 of Horace. This latter has several advantages. It ad-
 
 T H E D E S I G N. 5 
 
 mits of a greater variety of style ; it more readily en- 
 gages the generality of readers, as partaking more of 
 the air of conversation ; and, especially with the assist- 
 ance of rhyme, leads to a closer and more concise ex- 
 pression. Add to this the example of the most perfect 
 of mcxlern poets, who has so happily applied this man- 
 ner to the noblest parts of philosophy, that the public 
 taste is in a great measure formed to it alone. Yet, af- 
 ter all, the subject before us, tending almost constantly 
 to admiration and enthusiasm, seemed rather to de- 
 mand a more open, pathetic and figured style. This 
 too appeared m.ore natural, as the author's aim was not 
 so much to give formal precepts, or enter into the way 
 of direct argumentation, as, by exhibiting the most in- 
 S'^'S^^S pJ^'pccts of Nature, to enlarge and harmonize 
 the imagination, and by that means insensibly dispose 
 the minds of men to a similar taste and habit of think- 
 ing in religion, morals, and civil life. 'Tis on this ac- 
 count that he is so careful to point out the benevolent in- 
 tention of the Althor of Xatcre in every principle of 
 the human con.^titution here insisted on ; and also to 
 unite the moral excellencies of life in the same point of 
 view with the mere external objects of good taste; thus 
 recommending them in common to our natural propen- 
 sity fur admiring whut is beautiful and lovely. 1 he 
 same view> have a^so led him to introduce tou.e senti- 
 ments which may perhaps be loc)ked u]on as not cjuite 
 direct to the subject ; but, since they liear an olnious 
 relation to it, the authority of Vir^zl, the laultliss mo- 
 del of didactic poetry, will be^t siiiiport him in tbi^ par- 
 ticular. For the sentiments themselves, he makes no 
 apology. 
 
 B2
 
 A R G U M E N T 
 
 THE. FIRST BOOK. 
 
 THE subject proposed. Difficulty of treating^ it poetically. The 
 ideas of the divine mind, the origin of every quality pleasing to 
 the imagination The natural variety of CMistitution in the minds 
 of men, with its final cause. The idea of a fine imagination, 
 and the state of the mind in the enjoyment of those pleasures 
 which it affords. All the primary pleasures of the imagination 
 result fronithe perception of greatness, or wonderfulness, or beau- 
 ty in objects. The pleasure from greatness, with its final cause. 
 Pleasure from novelty or wonderfulness, with its final cause. 
 Pleasure from beauty, with its final cause. Tlie connexion of 
 beauty with truth and good, appliecl to the conduct of life. In- 
 Titation to the studj' of njoral philosophy. The different degrees 
 of beauty irt diflierent sjjecies of objects : colour j shape; natural 
 concretes^ vegetables; animak; the mind. The sublime, the 
 fair, the wonderful of the mind. The connexion of the imagina- 
 tion and the moral faculty. Conclusion. 
 
 N. B. Thejigures at the bottom of the page, in leth the Poems, 
 refer to the iimilar passages in each, for the convenience of those ttko 
 mat/ -ivish to compare them.
 
 THE 
 
 PLEASURES 
 
 OF 
 
 IMAGINATION. 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 W^ITH what attractive charms this goodly frame 
 Of nature touches the consenting hearts 
 Of mortal men ; and what the pleasing stores 
 Which beauteous imitation thence derives. 
 To deck the poet's or the painter's toil ; 5 
 
 My verse unfojds. Attend, ye gentle powers 
 Of musical delight ! and while I sing 
 Your gifts, your honours, dance around my strain. 
 Thou,* smiling queen of every tuneful breast. 
 Indulgent Fancy I from the fruitful banks 10 
 
 Of Avon, whence thy rosy fingers cull 
 Fresh flow'rs and dews to sprinkle on the turf 
 Where Shakespeare lies, be present : and with thee 
 Let Fiction come, upon her vagrant wings 
 Wafting ten thousand colours through the air : 15 
 Which, by the glances of her magic eye. 
 She blends and shifts at will, through countless forms, 
 Her wild creation, (ioddessf of the lyre. 
 Which rules the accents of the moving sphere, 
 * fide liuok I, line 27. f Look 1, line :>!'
 
 8 THE PLEASURES OF . 
 
 Wilt * thou, eternal Harmony ! descend 20 
 
 And join this festive train ? for with thee comes 
 
 The guide, the guardian of their lovely sports. 
 
 Majestic Truth ; and where Truth deigns to come, 
 
 Her sister Liberty will not be far. 
 
 Be present all ye Genii, who conduct 25 
 
 The wandering footsteps of the youthful bard. 
 
 New to your springs and shades : who touch his ear 
 
 With finer sounds : who heighten to his eye 
 
 The bloom of nature, and before him turn 
 
 The gayest, happiest attitude of things. 30 
 
 Oft have the laws of each poetic strain 
 The critic-verse employ'd ; yet still unsung 
 Lay this prime subject, though importing most 
 A poet's name : for fruitless is the attempt. 
 By dull obedience and by creeping toil, 35 
 
 Obscure to conquer the severe ascent 
 Of high Parnassus. Nature's kindling breath 
 Must fire the chosen genius; nature's hand 
 Must string his nerves, and imp his eagle-wings. 
 Impatient of the painful steep, to soar 40 
 
 High as the summit ; there to breathe at large 
 Ethereal air : with bards and sages old. 
 Immortal sons of praise. These flattering scenes. 
 To this neglected labour court my song; 
 Yet not unconscious what a doubtful task 45 
 
 To paint the finest features of the mind. 
 And to most subtile and mysterious things 
 Give '"olour, strength, and motion. But the love 
 Of nature and the muses bids explore, 
 Through secret paths erewhile untrod by man, 50 
 
 * Book I, line 37.
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 9 
 
 The fair poetic region, to detect 
 
 Untasted springs, to drink inspiring draughts. 
 
 And shade my temples with unfading flowers 
 
 CuU'd from the laureate vale's profound recess. 
 
 Where never poet gain'd a wreath before. 55 
 
 From * heaven my strains begin ; from heaven de-'- 
 scends 
 The flame of genius to the human breast. 
 And love and beauty, and poetic joy 
 And inspiration. Ere the radiant sun 
 Sprang from the east, or 'mid the vault of night 60 
 The moon suspended her serener lamp j 
 Ere mountains, woods, or streams adorn'd the globe. 
 Or wisdom taught the sons of men her lore ; 
 Tlien liv'd the almighty One : thcii, deep-retir'd 
 In his unfathom'd essence, view'd the forms, 65 
 
 The forms eternal of created things ; 
 The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp. 
 The mountains, woods aad streams, the rolling globe. 
 And wisdom's mien celestial : From the first 
 Of days, on them his love divine he fix'd, 70 
 
 His admiration : till in time compleat. 
 What he admir'd and lov'd, his vital smile 
 Unfolded into being. Hence the breath 
 Of life informing each organic frame; 
 Ilcnce the green earth, and wild resounding wares; 75 
 Hence light and shade alternate; warmth and cold ; 
 And clear aytuuKial j^kies and vernal showers, 
 And all the fair variety of things. 
 
 But t not alike to every mortal eye 
 Is this great scene unveil'd. For since the claims 3i> 
 * L'ooi I, line 9S. f L'vok I, !ine Ul-
 
 10 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 ( Of social life, to clifFerent labours urge 
 The active powers of mau ; with wise intent 
 The hand of nature on peculiar minds 
 Imprints a different biass^ and to each 
 Decrees its province in the common toil. 85 
 
 To some she taught |^e fabric of the sphere^ 
 The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars. 
 The golden zones of heaven : to some she gave 
 To weigh the moment of eternal things, 
 Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken chain, 60 
 
 And will's quick impulse: others by the hand 
 She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore 
 What healing virtue swells the tender veins- 
 Of herbs and flowers; or what the beams of morn 
 Draw forth, distilling from the clifled rind 95 
 
 I In balmy tears. But some, to higher hopes 
 Were destin'd ; soaie within a finer mould 
 She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame : 
 To these the Sire Om.nu'Otent unfolds 
 The world's harmonious volume ; there to read 100 
 The transcript of himself. On every part 
 They trace the bright impressions of his hand : 
 In earth or air, the meadow's purple stores, 
 'i'he moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's form 
 Blooming with rosy smiles; they see portray 'd 105 
 That uncreated beauty, which delights 
 The mind supreme ; they also feel her charms, 
 1 namour'd ; they partake the eternal joy. 
 
 For * as old Memnon's image, long renown'd 
 By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch 1 10 
 
 Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string 
 Book I, ItnclBQ.
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK I. 11 
 
 Consenting, sounded through the warbling air 
 
 Unbidden strains ; even so did nature's hand. 
 
 To certain species of external things 
 
 Attune the liner organs of the mind : 315 
 
 So the glad impulse of congenial powers. 
 
 Or of sweet sound, or fair proportion'd form. 
 
 The grace of motion, or the bloom of light. 
 
 Thrills through imagination's tender frame. 
 
 From nerve to nerve : all naked and alive 120 
 
 They catch the spreading rays : till now the soul 
 
 At length discloses every tuneful spring. 
 
 To that harmonious movement from without 
 
 Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain 
 
 Diffuses its inchantment : Fancy * dreams 1 25 
 
 Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves. 
 
 And vales of bliss : the intellectual power 
 
 Bends from his awftil throne a wondering ear. 
 
 And smiles : the passions gently sooth 'd away. 
 
 Sink to divine repose, and love and joy 130 
 
 Alone are waking ; love and joy, serene 
 
 As airs that fan the summer. O ! attend. 
 
 Whoe'er thou art, whom these delights can touch. 
 
 Whose candid bosom the refining love 
 
 Of nature warms, O ! listen to my song ; 1 3 j 
 
 And I will gaide thee to her lavourite walks. 
 
 And teach thy solitude her voice to hear. 
 
 And point her loveliest features to thy view. 
 
 Know t then, whate'er of nature's pregnant store?, 
 Whate'er of mimic art's reflected forms 1 iO 
 
 With love and admiration thus inllame 
 Tlie powers of fancy, her delighted sons 
 
 Book I, line 162. f Booli 1, line 180.
 
 12 THE PLEASURES Ot? 
 
 To three illustrious orders have referr'd ; 
 
 Three sister-graces, whom the painter's hand. 
 
 The poet's tongue confesses ; the Sublime, 145 
 
 The WoNDEBFUt, the Fair. I see them da^vn ! 
 
 I see the radiant visions, where they rise. 
 
 More lovely than when Lucifer dis])lays 
 
 His beaming forehead through the gates of mom. 
 
 To lead the train of Phoebus and the spring. 150 
 
 Say, * why was man so eminently rais'd 
 Amid the vast creation ; why ordain'd 
 Through life and death to dart his piercing eye, 
 "With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame; 
 But that the Omnipotent might send him forth 155 
 In sight of mortal and immortal powers, 
 As on a boundless theatre, to run 
 The great career of justice ; to exalt 
 His generous aim to all diviner deeds ; 
 To chase each partial purpose from his breast; 160 
 
 * BooJc I, line 194. 
 
 Sat/, Kkij tvas man, &)C. "] In apologizing for the frequent negli- 
 gences of the sublimest authors of Greece, Those godlike geniuses, 
 s:iys Longinus, 'xere tcell assured, ihat Nature had not inieyided man 
 for a loic-spiritcd or ignoble being : but bringing us into life and the 
 midst of this tvide universe, as before a multitude assonUcd at same he' 
 roic solemnity, that we might be spectators of all her magnificence, and 
 candidates high in emulation for the prize of glory ; she has therefore 
 implanted in our souls an inextinguishable love of every thing great and 
 exalted, of every thing which appears divine beyond our comprehension, 
 frhence it annes to pass, thai even the vchole nvrld is not an object 
 anfjicicnt for the depth and rapidity of human imagination, which often 
 sallies forth beyond the limits of all that surroujtds us. Let any man. 
 cait his eye through the whole circle of our existence, and consider hozu 
 especially it abounds in excellent and grand objects, he sill soon ac' 
 knovsltdge for zvhat enjoyments and pursuits ice iLore destined. Thus 
 ly the very propensity of nature zve are led to admire, not little springs 
 or shalloti- rivulets, hoivever clear and delicious, but the Nile, the Rhine, 
 the Danube, and, much more than all, the Ocean, &]"c. Dionj'i, 
 l/)ng'm. dc Siibliin. xxiv.
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK I. IS 
 
 And through the mist of passion and of sanse. 
 And through the tossii^ tide of chance and pain. 
 To hold his course unfaultering, while the voice 
 Of Truth and Virtue, up the steep ascent 
 Of Nature, calls him to his high reward, 165 
 
 The applauding smile of heaven? * Else wherefore burns 
 In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope. 
 That breathes from day to day sublimer things. 
 And mocks possession ? wherefore darts the mind. 
 With such resistless ardour to embrace 17 
 
 Majestic forms ; impatient to be free. 
 Spurning the gross control of wilful might; 
 Proud t of the strong contention of her toils ; 
 Proud to be daring ? Who but rather turns 
 To heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view, 175 
 
 Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame ? 
 Who that, from Alpine heights, his labouring eye 
 Shoots round the wide horizon, to survey 
 Nilus or Ganges rolling his bright wave 
 Through mountains, plains, through empires black with 
 shade jgO 
 
 And continents of sand ; will turn his gaze 
 To mark the windings of a scanty rill 
 That murmurs at his feet ? The high-born soul 
 Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing 
 Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth 185 
 
 And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft 
 Through fields of air ; pursues the flying storm ; 
 Rides on the vollied lightning through the heavens j 
 Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blast. 
 Sweeps the long tract of day. |Then high she soars 190 
 
 Book I, line 210. t Hook I, lic 221. t Book I, /; 24.^. 
 
 B
 
 U THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 The blue profound, and hovering round the sun^ 
 
 Beholds him pouring the redundant stream 
 
 Of light; beholds his unrelenting sway 
 
 "Send the reluctant planets, to absolve 
 
 The fated rounds of time. Thence far effused 19' 
 
 She darts her swiftness up the long career 
 
 Of devious comets ; through its burning signs. 
 
 Exulting measures the perennial wheel 
 
 Of Nature, and looks back on all the stars. 
 
 Whose blended light, as with a milky zone, 200 
 
 Invests the orient. Now amazed she views 
 
 The empyreal waste,* where happy spirits hold. 
 
 Beyond this concave heaven, their calm abode ; 
 
 And fields of radiance, t whose unfading light 
 
 Has traveU'd the profound six thousand years, 20v> 
 
 Nor^et arrives in sight of mortal things. 
 
 Even on the barriers of the world, untired. 
 
 She meditates the eternal depth below ; 
 
 Till half recoiling, down the headleng steep 
 
 She plunges; soon o'erwhelni'd and swallowM up 210 
 
 In that immense of being. | There her hopes 
 
 Rest at the fated goal. Eor from the birth 
 
 * V. 202. The empyreal waslt. ] Nc se pcut-il puini gi/'il y a un grand 
 espacc au <lela do la )ei2,ion des elvUca'^ Sue re soi/ k cicl empyr^e, ou 
 rwn, toujourf cet espace iiiimense qui environne toute cetfe reffon, pourra 
 etre rempli de bunheur iS" dc glolre. II pourra vtre coii<;ii comme I'ocean, 
 ou se rendent Ics fcuvcs de tuiiles les creatures hicnbeureuies, guaiid 
 elles serunt venues ci leur perfection dans Ic systemc des etoiles. Leib- 
 nitz dans la Theodicee, part. i. 19 
 
 j- V. 204. H hone unfading light, &c. ] It was a notion of (he 
 groat Mr. Iluygens, that there may be fixed star.s at such a distance 
 from our solar system, as that their light i-hould not have 1 iid time 
 to reach us, even frf>m the creation of tlie world to this day. Mr. 
 HerschcU su{)|iose.-; that the light of some star^, discoverable by his 
 tclcscopo.s has probably taken sonc millions of yeai-s to reach us !! 
 See book II, line 234 to 242. Ed. 
 
 ; Book I, line 269.
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOKL 15 
 
 Of mortal man, the Soy ran Maker said. 
 
 That not in humble nor in brief delight, 
 
 Not in the fading echoes of Renown, 215 
 
 Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap. 
 
 The soul should find enjoyment : but from these 
 
 Turning disdainful to an equal good. 
 
 Through all the ascent of things enlarge her view. 
 
 Till every bound at length should disappear, 220 
 
 And infinite perfection close the scene. 
 
 Call now to mind what high capacious powers 
 Lie folded up in man ; how far beyond 
 The praise of mortals, may the eternal growth 
 Of nature, to perfection half divine, 225 
 
 Expand the blooming soul ? What pity then 
 Should Sloth's unkindly fogs depress to earth 
 Her tender blossom ; clioak the streams of life. 
 And blast her spring ! Far otherwise design'd 
 Almighty Wisdom ; Nature's happy cares 230 
 
 The obedient heart far otherwise incline. 
 Witness the sprightly joy, when aught unknown 
 Strikes the quick sense, and wakes each active power 
 Vo brisker measures : * witness the neclect 
 
 V. 234, the ne/ikct 
 
 Of all famiUar prospects, &c. 3 It is here said, that in consequence 
 of the love of novelty, objects which at first were highly delightful 
 t') the mind, lose that effect by repeated attention to them- But 
 the instance of habit is opi)ose<i to this observation j for there, ob- 
 jects at fir*t distasteful are in time rendered entirely agreeable by 
 rcpeateil attention. 
 
 The didiciilty in this case will l>e removed, if we consider, that, 
 when objects at first agreeable, lose that influence by frequently re- 
 curring, the mind is wholy passive, and the preception involuntary; 
 but habit, on the other hand, e;enerally supposes choice tm<i activity 
 accompaaying it : so that the pleasure arises here not from the ob- 
 ject, but from the mm<i's conscious determination of itsowD activity j
 
 i6 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Of all familiar prospects, tliough beheld 235 
 
 With transport once ; the fond attentive gaze 
 
 Of young astonishment ; the sober zeal 
 
 Of Age, commenting on prodigious things. 
 
 For such the bounteous Providence of heaven. 
 
 In every breast implanting, this desire 24-0 
 
 Of * objects new and strange, to urge us on> 
 
 With unrentiitted labour to pursue 
 
 Those sacred stores, that wait the ripening soal. 
 
 and consequently increases in proiwrtion to the frequency of Uiat 
 determination. 
 
 It will still be urged perhaps, that a familiarity with disasrreeablo 
 objects renders them at length acceptable, even when there is no 
 room for the mind to resolve or act at all. In this case, the appear- 
 ance must be accounted for, one of these ways. 
 
 'JTie pleasure from habit may be merely negative. The object at 
 frst gave uneasiness : this neasines gradually wears oflra<! the ob- 
 ject grows familiar: and the mind, finding it at last entirely remov-. 
 Vd, reckons its situation really pleasurable, compared with what it 
 had experienced before. 
 
 The dislike conceived of the object at first,, might Iw owing to pre- 
 judice or want of attention. Consequently the mind being nt^ossi- 
 tated to review it often, may at length perceive its own mistake, and 
 be reconciled to what it had looked on with aversion. In whirli onsc, 
 a sort of instinctive justice naturally leads it to make amends fvir 
 the injurj', by running towjjrd the otlier extnnne of fondness and at- 
 tachment. 
 
 Or lastly, though the object Itsolf should always continue dis- 
 agrt^eoble, yet circumstances of pleasure or pood fortune may occur 
 along with it- Thus an ass'X-iation may arise in ttie min'l, and the 
 ol)ject never be remembered without those phasing cirfnnistances 
 attending it; by which mf^ans the disagroeatilo impression lui;l-. it 
 St first occasioned will in time be quite oblitoMted. 
 
 V. 240. this desire 
 
 Ofobjectsvew a.vrf strange ] The>*e two ideas are often con- 
 founded-; though it is evident the mere naveUi/ of an object makes 
 it asreeable, even where the mind is not atVected with the least de- 
 gree ofuvnaW: whereas lumder indeed always implies tioiflt;/, being 
 never excited bv common or well-known appeirauces. But the 
 pleas'ire in b<ith "cases i.< esi)licable from the same final cause, th 
 acquisition of knowledge and enlargement of our views of nature : on 
 this account, it is natural to treat of them together.
 
 IMAGINATION, BOOK I. 17 
 
 In Truth's exhaustless bosom. What need words 
 
 To paint its power ? For this the daring youth 24-5 
 
 Breaks from his weeping mother's anxious arms. 
 
 In forcijrn chmes to rove : the pensive sage, 
 
 Heedless of sleep, or midnight's harmful damp, 
 
 Ilaugs o'er the sickly taper ; and untired 
 
 The virgin follows, with inchanted step, 250 
 
 The mazes of some wild and wonderous tale. 
 
 From morn to eve ; unmindful of her form. 
 
 Unmindful of the happy dress that stole 
 
 The wishes of the youth, when e*^ry maid 
 
 With envy pined. Hence, finally, by night 255 
 
 The villagc-jnatron, round the blazing hearth. 
 
 Suspends the infant-audience with her tales. 
 
 Breathing astonishment ! of witching rhimes. 
 
 And evil spirits ; of the death-bed call 
 
 Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd 260 
 
 The orphan's portion ; of unquiet souls 
 
 Risen from the grave, to ease the heavy guilt 
 
 Of deeds in life conceal'd ; of shapes that walk 
 
 At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave 
 
 The torch of hell around the murderer's bed. 2C5 
 
 At every solemn pause the crowd recoil. 
 
 Gazing each other sjiecchless, and congcal'd 
 
 With shivering sighs : till eager for the event. 
 
 Around the beldam all arrect they hang, 
 
 Kach trembling heart with grateful terrors cjuell'd, 270 
 
 But * lo ! disclos'd in all her smiling pomp. 
 Where Bp.auty onward moving, claims the verse 
 Her charms inspire : the freely -flowing verse 
 In thy immortal praise, O form divine ! 
 * Book I, hc 280. 
 1) '
 
 18 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Smooths her mellifluent stream. Thee, Beai;ty, thee 275 
 The regal dome, and thy enlivening ray 
 The mossy roofs adore : thou, better Sun ! 
 For ever beamest on the enchanted heart 
 Love, and harmonious wonder, and delight 
 Poetic. Brightest progeny of heaven ! 280 
 
 How shall I trace thy features ? where select 
 The roseate hues to emulate thy bloom ? 
 Haste then my song, through Nature's wide expanse. 
 Haste then, and gather all her comeliest weaith, 
 Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains, 285 
 Whatever the waters, or the liquid air. 
 To deck thy lovely labour. * Wilt thou fly 
 With laughing Autumn to the Atlantic isles. 
 And range with him the Hesperian field ; and see 
 Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove, 290 
 
 The branches shoot with gold ; where'er his step 
 Marks the glad soil, the tender clusters grow 
 With purple ripeness, and invest each hill 
 As with the blushes of an evening sky ? 
 Or wilt thou rather stoop thy vagrant plume, 295 
 
 Where gliding through his daughter's honour'd shades. 
 The smooth Peneus from his glassy flood 
 Pteflects purpureal Tempe's pleasant scene ? 
 Fair Tempe ! haunt belov'd of Sylvan powers. 
 Of Nymphs and Fauns ; where in the Golden Age 300 
 They play'd in secret on the shady brink 
 With ancient Pan : while round their choral steps 
 Young Hours and genial gales with constant hand 
 Shower'd blossoms, odours, shovver'd ambrosial dews. 
 And Spring's Elysian bloom. Her flowery store 305 
 Bool: I, Hue 303.
 
 IMAGINATION, BOOK I. 19 
 
 To thee nor Tempe shall refuse ; nor watch 
 Of winged Hydra, guard Hesperian fruits 
 From thy free spoil. O bear then, unreprov'd. 
 Thy smiling treasures to the green recess 
 Where young Dione stays. With sweetest airs 31* 
 Entice her forth to lend her angel-form 
 For Beauty's honoured image.* Hither turn 
 Tliy graceful footsteps ; hither gentle maid ! 
 Incline thy polish'd forehead : let thy eyes 
 Effuse the mildness of their azure dawn ; 315 
 
 And may the fanning breezes waft aside 
 Thy radiant locks : disclosing, as it bends 
 With airy softness from the marble neck. 
 The cheek fair-blooming and the rosy lip. 
 Where winning smiles and pleasures sweet as love, 320 
 With sanctity and wisdom, tempering blend 
 Their soft allurement. Then the pleasing force 
 Of Nature, and her kind parental care 
 Worthier I'd sing : then all the enamour'd youth. 
 With each admiring virgin, to my lyre 325 
 
 Should throng attentive, while I point on high. 
 Where Beauty's living image, like the morn 
 That wakes in Zephyr's arms the blushing May, 
 Moves onward ; or as Venus, when she stood 
 Effulgent on the pearly car, and smiled, 330 
 
 Fresh from the deep, and conscious of her form, 
 To see the Tritons tune their vocal shells. 
 And each ccurulean sister of the flood 
 With loud acclaim attend her o'er the waves. 
 To seek the Idalian bow'r. Ye smiling band 33J 
 
 Of youths and virgins, who through all the maze 
 *Boiil,line 341.
 
 20 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Of young desire, with rival-steps pursue 
 
 This charm of Beauty; if the pleasing toil 
 
 Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn 
 
 Your favourable ear^ and trust my words; ' 340 
 
 I * do not mean to wake the gloomy form 
 
 Of Superstition dress'd in Wisdom's garb. 
 
 To damp your tender hopes ; I do not mean 
 
 To bid the jealous Thunderer fire the heavens. 
 
 Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth 34-5 
 
 To fright you from your joys ; my cheerful song 
 
 With better omens calls you to the field, 
 
 Pleas'd with your generous ardour in the chace. 
 
 And warm like you. Then tell me, for ye know. 
 
 Does Beauty ever deign to dwell where Health 350 
 
 And active Use are strangers ? Is her charm 
 
 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, 35^5 
 
 And catch with fair hypocrisy the heart 
 
 Off 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 360 
 
 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 'S65 
 
 Of streams delicious to the thirsty soul. 
 
 The bloom of nectar'd fruitage ripe to sense, 
 
 Pooi I, line 394. + Bock I, line 410.
 
 IMAGINATION, BOOK L 5fl 
 
 And every charm of animated things. 
 Are only pledges of a state sincere. 
 The integrity and order of their frame, 370 
 
 When all is well within, and every end 
 Accomplish'd. f Thus was Beauty sent from heaven, 
 Tlie lovely ministress of Truth and Good 
 In this dark world : for Truth and Good are one, X | 
 f Bovk I, line 432. 
 
 % V. 374. Truth and good are one, 
 And beauty divells in them, ATc] J)o you imagine, says 
 Socrates to Aristippus, that altat is good is not beautiful ? Have you 
 not observed that these appearances always coincide ? Virtue, for in- 
 stance, in the same respect as to lehich rre call it good, is ever mknov:- 
 ledged to be beautiful also. In the characters of men tee ahca^is * 
 join the two denominations together. The beauty of human bodies 
 corresponds, in Hie manner, with that economy of parts tchich cnnsti' 
 t'ltes them good; end in every circumstance of life, the same object is 
 constantly accounted both bcauliful and good, inasmuch as it (innvers, 
 the purposes for which it ues designed. Xenophoiit. Meinorab. Suciat. 
 J. iii. 0. 8. 
 
 7'his excellent obsenation lias been illustrated ant! rxtrndod by 
 the noble restorer of ancient philosopliy ; see the Ci.aracterislichs, 
 vol. ii. p. 339 and 422. and vol. iii. p. 181. Aid another inginious 
 author has particularly shewn, that it hulds in the (,'eiienil laws of 
 nature, in the v.'crks of art, and the conduct of the science s. /- 
 ^uiry info the original of our ideas of beauty and iiit'ie. Treat, i. ^ S. 
 As t'l the connection l)et'neen beauty and truth, there arc tv.o opin- 
 ions concerning it. .S-Jine philosophtrs assort an indtpendent and 
 invariable law in natui-e, in conscfjnciice of which <dl rational beings 
 must alike perceive beauty in some certain proportions, and dcforjnity 
 in the contrary. And this necessity beinp fup|K)sed the same with 
 that which commaHcls the a'^sent or di-:s(;nt of the understandintr, 
 it follows of course that /,esu/// is founded on the universal and un- 
 changeable law of truth. 
 
 But others there are, who believe beauty to be merely a relative 
 and arbitrary thing; that indeed it was a benevolent provision in na- 
 ture to annex so flrlishlfid a sensatim to those ol)iects which arf 
 best and 7nost perfect m themselves, that so we mii^ht be ensrajred to 
 the choice of them at < iice and without staying to infer their vse- 
 Julness from their stnielure and efl'ects; but that it i? not impossible, 
 )n a physical sense, that two beings, of equal capacities for truth, 
 
 This the Athenians did in a yemVur manner, l>y tl,c word )tX:)Ci:fV,&o?j 
 r.K'K'^KoifciSi'x,
 
 22 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 And Beauty dwells in them, and they in her, 375 
 
 With like participation : wherefore then, 
 
 O sons of earth ! would 3'e 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, 380 
 
 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 foUy 1 Wanting these, 
 
 Lo ! Beauty withers in your void embrace, 385 
 
 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, 390 
 
 And Truth eternal.* Though the poisonous charms 
 
 Of baleful Superstition, guide the feet 
 
 Of servile nunjbers through a dreary way 
 
 To their abode ; through desarts, thorns and mire. 
 
 And leave the wretched pilgrim all forlorn, 395 
 
 To muse at last, amid the ghostly gloom 
 
 should perceive, one of them beauty, and the other deformity, in the 
 same proportions. And upon this supposition, by that /;?///; which 
 is always connected with beauty, nothing more can b* meant than 
 the conformity of any object to those proportions ajjon luch, af- 
 ter careful examination, the beauty of that species is found to de- 
 pend. Polyclctiis, for instance, a famous ancient sculptor, from 
 an accurate mensuration of the several parts of the most perfect hu- 
 man bodies, deduced a canon or system of proportions, \\hich vas 
 the rule of all succeeding artists. Suppose a statue modelled accord- 
 ing this; a man of mere natural taste, ujxjn looking at it, without 
 (entering into its proportions, confesses and admires its heaut<j; 
 wiiereas a professor of the art applies his measures to the head, the 
 neck, or the hand, and, without attending to its beauty, pronouuccs 
 the workmanship to hcjuat and true. 
 
 * JJooh T. Unc \5Q.
 
 IMAGINATION, BOOK I. 23 
 
 Of graves, and hoary vaults, and cloistcr'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; 400 
 
 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 intwine a wreath 
 
 Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay, 405 
 
 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, thro' blooming walks. 
 
 Through fragrant mountains and poetic streams, 410 
 
 Amid the train of sage;-, heroes, bards. 
 
 Led by their winged Genius and the choir 
 
 Of laurell'd Science and harmonious Art, 
 
 Proceed exulting to the eternal shrine. 
 
 Where Truth conspicuous with her sister-twins, 415 
 
 The undivided partners of her sway. 
 
 With Good and Beauty reigns. t 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 4'2' 
 
 That godlike band. And if the gracious power, 
 
 t Who first awaken'd my untutored song. 
 
 Will to my invocation breathe anew 
 
 Tlie tuneful spirit; then through all our paths. 
 
 Ne'er shall the sound of this devoted lyre 425 
 
 Be wanting ; whether on the rosy mead. 
 
 When summer smiles, to warn the melting heart 
 
 *JJooi I, line 472. f Ihok I, iine 4f>5.
 
 24 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Of Luxury's allurement; whether iirm 
 
 Against the torrent and the stubborn hill 
 
 To * urge bold Virtue's unremitted nerve, 436 
 
 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 ; 435 
 
 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 j 
 Whether in vast majestic pomp array'd, 4-10 
 
 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, 44j 
 To full meridian splendor. Of degree 
 The least and lowliest, in the eflusive warmth 
 Of Colours mingling with a random blaze. 
 Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the line 
 And variation of determin'd shape, 450 
 
 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, 455 
 
 And painted shells indent their speckled wreath. 
 Then more attractive rise the blooming forms. 
 Through which the breath of Nature has infused 
 * Booh I, \ineb\^.
 
 1[MAGINATION, BOOK t 2 
 
 Her genial power, to draw with pregnant veins 
 Nutritious moisture from the bounteous earth, 460 
 
 In fruit and seed prolific : thus the flowers 
 Their purple honours with the Spring resume ; 
 And such the stately tree which Autumn bends 
 With blushing treasures. * But more lovely still 
 Is Nature's charm, where to the full consent 4G5 
 
 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 mdUon speaks the temper'd soul : 
 So moves the bird of Juno; so the steed +"0 
 
 With rival ardour beats the dusty plain. 
 And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy 
 Salute their fellows, f _Thus doth Beauty dwell 
 There most conspicuous, even in outward shape. 
 Where dawns the high expression of a mind : 4*7 "> 
 
 By steps conducting our inraptured search 
 To that Etersal Ouigin whose power. 
 Through all the unbounded symmetry of things. 
 ' f -ike rays effulging from the parent sun. 
 This endlos mixture of her charms diffused. 4S0 
 
 Mind, I Minu alone, bear witness, carlU and heaven ! 
 The living fountains in itself contains 
 Of Bealteou'j and Str.uME : here hand in hand. 
 Sit paramount the Graces ; here enthroned, 
 ' (I'lestial Venus, with divinest airs, 1^ > 
 
 Invites the soul to never-fading joy. 
 Look then abroad through Nature, to the range 
 W|| planets, suns, and adamantine splieres 
 
 Bxi I, line b'Ji'. A Boil: F, line bb?). % Boole I, lim: bCC 
 . ]'; H'xjv II, line C61. 
 
 c
 
 26 THE PLEASURES 0*F 
 
 Wheeling: unshaken through the void immense; 
 
 And speak, O man ! does this capacious scene 490 
 
 With half that kindling majesty dilate 
 
 Thy strong conception, as when Bnurus rose* 
 
 Refulgent from the stroke of Cesar's fate. 
 
 Amid the croud of patriots; and his arm 
 
 Aloft extending, like eternal Jove 495 
 
 When Guilt brings down the thunder, called 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 ? f Is aught so fair ^00 
 
 In all the dewy landscaj'^s of the spring. 
 
 In the bright eye of Hesper or the morn. 
 
 In Nature's fairest forms, is ought so fair 
 
 As virtuous Friendship ? as the candid blush ' 
 
 Of him who strives with fortune lo be just? 505 
 
 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 efluse 
 
 Unenvied treasures, and the snowy wings 510 
 
 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 cccan ; trace the forms 5k'> 
 
 Of atoms moving with incessant change 
 
 * As li-hen Brutus rose, &c.] Cicero Iiimself describes this 
 fact Ccrsare intrrfectu^-slaihn crucntum alie eitullrns M. Bruins 
 pi/oimem, Cicrronem nomhiatim exclamavit, atqiie ci reaij:eralai7i 
 liberlatem I'st patit/aius. Cic. Philipp.ii. 1'2 
 
 f Booi II, line 33\
 
 IMAGINATION, BOOK I. 27 
 
 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 520 
 
 Attentive turn ; from dim Oblivion call 
 
 Iler fleet, ideal band ; and bid them go ! 
 
 Break through Time's barrier, and overtake the hour 
 
 That saw the heavens created : then declare 
 
 If aught v^ere found in those external scenes 525 
 
 To move thy wonder now. * For what are all 
 
 The forms, which brute, unconscious Matter wears. 
 
 Greatness of bulk, or summetry of parts? 
 
 Not reaching to the heart, soon feeble grows 
 
 The superficial impulse ; dull their charms, 530 
 
 And satiate soon, and pall the languid eye. 
 
 Not t so the IVIoKAL species, nor the powers 
 
 Of Gesics and Design; the ambitious mind 
 
 There sees herself: by these congenial forms 
 
 Touch 'd and awaken'd, with intenser act 535 
 
 She bends each nerve, and meditates well-pleased 
 
 Ikr features in the mirror. For of all 
 
 The inhabitants of earth, to man alone 
 
 Creative Wisdom gave to lift his eye 
 
 To Trcth's eternal measures ; thence to frame 540 
 
 The sacred laws of Action and of Will, 
 
 Discerning justice from unequal deeds. 
 
 And temperance from folly. But beyond 
 
 This energy of Tkl'tit, whose dictates bind 
 
 Assenting Keasoii, the benignant .Sua:, 545 
 
 To deck the honoured paths of Jlst and Goou, 
 
 Has added bright Imagination's rays : 
 
 Bx.k If, liHf ! '. -I Bik U, tinf '10.
 
 28 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Where * Virtue risinjj from the awful depth 
 
 Of truth's in3'Sterious bosom, doth forsake 
 
 The unadorned condition of her birth ; 350 
 
 And dressed by Fancy in ten thousand hues, 
 
 j^ssumes a various feature, to attract. 
 
 With charms responsive to each gazer's eye. 
 
 The hearts of men. Amid his rural walk. 
 
 The ingenuous youth, whom Solitude inspires 555 
 
 With purest wishes, from the pensive shade 
 
 Eeholds 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 iCO. 
 
 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 5G5. 
 
 To guard the sacred volume of the laws. 
 
 Genius of ancient Greece ! whose faithful steps f 
 Well-plcas'd I follow through the sacred paths 
 ' Of Nature and of Science; nurse divine 
 Of all heroic deeds and fair desires ! 570 
 
 O ! let the breath of thy extended praise 
 Inspire my kindling bosom to the height 
 Of this untemper'd theme. Nor be my thoughts 
 Presumptuous counted, if, amid the calm 
 That sooths this vernal evening into smiles, ' 575 
 
 * V. .548. Where virtue rising from the awful dcj,th 
 Of Truth's mysterious bosom, &c.] According to the opin- 
 ion of those who assert rtioral obligation to be founded on an immu- 
 table and nnivcrsal law, and that pathetic feeling, which is usually 
 called the moral soisc, to be determined by the peculiar temper., 
 of the imagination and t)ie earliest associations of ideas, 
 t J^ouk I, line 6^0.
 
 IMAGINATION, BOOK I. 
 
 29 
 
 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 profaned. 
 
 Descend, propitious ! to my favour'd eye ; 580 
 
 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 585 
 
 Crouch'd like a slave. Bring all thy martial Spoils 
 
 Thy Palms, thy Laurels, thy triwmphal Songs, 
 
 Thy smiling band of Arts, t'ly godhke Siues 
 
 Of civil wisdom, thy heroic Yov th 
 
 Warm from the schools of glory. * Guide my way 590 
 
 Through fair Lyceum's 1 walk, the green retreats 
 
 Of Academus, 1 and the thymy vale, 
 
 Where oft enchanted with Socratic sounds, 
 
 Ilissus pure devolv'd his tuneful stream 
 
 In gentler nmrmurs. From the blooming s-tore 595 
 
 Of these auspicious field!, may I unl)latned, 
 
 Transplant some living blossoms to adorn 
 
 My native clime : w hile far above the flight 
 
 Of fancy's plume Hspiring, I uidock 
 
 The sprujgs of ancient wisdom ; while I join (-00 
 
 Thy name, thrice honour'd ! with the imui rlal pra.sc 
 
 Of Nature ; while to my compatriot youth 
 
 I point the high example of thy sons. 
 
 And tune to Attic themes the British lyre. 
 
 * nu<,i I, line ChO. f V. .')y\. l.yi''<i"i. T\if scIiojI of AiLmU-. 
 +' V. .')<.'2. Acadcmu ,.'] I'lif >ch'<')l of /'/'". 
 
 V ')Pi Uitus.'] Om; of ih- n-'^i-- on wl.ich Alhvn- was miu- 
 atcd. Jlu'n, in Mm..,- of Lis f.m^t <l r.l -gif S I^'vs the .c r.- ui ti,e 
 convcr-a! ion with .S'lu/u'''- on it'^ biinks
 
 ARGUMENT 
 
 OF 
 
 THE SECOND BOOK 
 
 THE separation of the works of imagination from philosophy, tlte 
 cause of thejr abuse among the moderns. Prospect of their re- 
 union under the infloence of pubUc liberty. Enumeratiun of ac* 
 cidental pleasures, which increase tlie effect of objects delightful 
 to the imagination. The pleasures of sense. Particular circum- 
 stances of the mind. Discovery of truth. Perception of contriv- 
 ance and design. Emotion of the passions. All the natural pas- 
 sions partake of a pleading sensation ^ with the final cause of this 
 constitution illustrated by an allegorical vi$ion> and exempUHett 
 in sarrow, pi^,. terror, and indignation.
 
 THE 
 PLEASURES 
 
 IMAGINATION. 
 
 V 
 
 BOOK THE SECONB. 
 
 W HEN shall the laurel an d the vocal string: 
 
 Resume their honours ? When shall we behold 
 
 The tuneful tongue, the Promethean hand 
 
 Aspire to ancient praise } Alas 1 how iaint. 
 
 How slow the dawn of Beauty and of Truth 5 
 
 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, 10 
 
 Blasted the Italian shore, and swept the works 
 
 Of Liberty and Wisdom down the gulph 
 
 Of all-devouring night. As long immured 
 
 In noon>tide darkness by the glimmering lamp. 
 
 Each Muse and each fair Scien'ce pined away 15 
 
 The sordid hours : while foul, barbarian hands 
 
 Their mysteries profaned, unstrung the lyre. 
 
 And chain'd the soaring pinion down to earth.
 
 32 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 At* last, the muses rose and spurned their bonds. 
 
 And, wildly warbling, scatter'd, as they flew, 20 
 
 Their blooming wreaths from fair Valclusa's bowers t 
 
 To Arno's myrtle border and the shore I 
 
 Of soft Parthenope. But still the rage 
 
 Of ^ dire ambition and gigantic power. 
 
 From public aims and from the busy walk 25 
 
 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 || 30 
 
 V. 19. At lust the muses rose, &c.] About the age of Ihifrh Ctiju , 
 founder of the third race of French kings, the poets of Provence were 
 in high reputation; a sort of strolling hards or rhapsodist^, who went 
 about the courts of princes and noblemen, entertaining them at fes- 
 tivals with music and poetry- They attempted both the epic, ode, 
 and satire; and abounded in a wild and fantastic vein of fable, part- 
 ly allegorical, and partly founded on traditionary legends of the 
 Saracen war?. These were the rudiments of Italian poetry. But 
 their taste and composition must have bren extremely barbarous, as 
 we may judge by those who followed the turn of their fable in much 
 politer times; ^\eh as Buiardn, Bcrnaido Tasso, Aiiasio, &V. 
 
 f V. 21. ValclnsaJ^ The famous retreat of /V((ja>co Fetrraclia, the 
 father of Italian poetry, and \\'v. nvistress l.n'ira, a lady of /iv!f;non. 
 
 X V. 22. Arno.'] The river which runs by Florence, the birth place 
 of Dante and Roccacio- 
 
 V. 2.'3. Parthenope.'] Or Naples, the birth place of SannaTarO' The 
 great Turguato fasso was born at Sorrento in tlie kingdom of yaplcs. 
 
 Ibid. the ra<^c 
 
 f V.2k Of flire ambition fife] This relates to the cruel wars annong 
 the republics of //a';/, and abominable politic^ of its little princes, about 
 the fif{.5enth centuiy. These at last, in coniunction with the papal 
 power, entirsly extinguished the spirit of liberty in that co'tutry, 
 and established that abuse of the fine arts wliich has been since pro- 
 pagated over all Furopc. 
 
 (I V. 30. Thus from their guardian', torn, the tender arts, &c.] Nor were 
 they only losers by the separation. For philosophy it.iclf, to use 
 the words of a noble philosopher, hein^ thus severed from the sprightly 
 arti and science;, must consequently prou; dronish, insipid, pedant:c, 
 u:ele::s, and directbj opposite to the real kH0ttled;'e and practice of the 
 xeorld. Insomuch that a gentleman, says another excellent writer, 
 cannot easily bring liimiclf to like so austere aid ungainly a form : .'o
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 33 
 
 Of mimic fancy and harmonious joy. 
 
 To priestly domination and the hist 
 
 Of lawless courts, their amiable toil 
 
 For three inglorious ages have resign'd ; 
 
 In vain reluctant : and Torquato's tongue 35 
 
 Was tuned for slavish paeans at the throne 
 
 Of tinsel pomp: and Raphael's magic hand 
 
 EfFused its fair creation to enchant 
 
 The fond adoring herd in Latiati fanes 
 
 To blind belief; while on their prostrate necks 40 
 
 The sable tyrant plants his heel secure. 
 
 But now, behold ! the radiant a^ra dawns, 
 
 When Freedom's ample fabric, tix'd at length 
 
 For endles> years on Albion's happy shore 
 
 In full proportion, once more shall extend 4.3 
 
 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 rejoining, as of old. 
 
 Embrace the smiling family of Arts, 30 
 
 The Muses and the Graces. Then no moie 
 
 Shall vice, distracting their delicious gifts 
 
 "reallij is it changed from what -das oi.ce the delight of the fincJ. 
 gentlemen of antiipnty, and their recreation after the hurrn of piihlir 
 u'J'uirs.' From this t-oiKliliuti it cannot be ie:oveie(l but by niiilin;; 
 it once more with the works of imagination; and wc have had the 
 pleasure ofsteerv'.u;-' a very great progress made towards their union 
 in lui^ltunl within thf'ic few years. It is hanily iiusiule to conctive 
 them at a greater distance from c-acli other than at the KcMihitimi, 
 when Inch: st<Kl at the liea<l of one parly, and Dnjthn of tiie 
 other. IJi.t the u'eueral spirit of liberty, whieh ha-i evi r -iiii <: Ihcd 
 growing, naturally i.ivilcd our mm of wit and ptniiis to impioie 
 thatinliuenec, which the arts cf persuasion ga\ethcm with the peo- 
 ple, by applyiiifC tlum to sulyects of iinpoitunce to society. Thus 
 poetry and e! If jnenc'- beeanic considcrabh' j and philosophy is non 
 of course oblijied to burrow of their cinb( llirhniciit-', in older <.-.eu 
 t^) gain aiidie!i'.;e iih the piiMic.
 
 34 T41E PLEASURES 01^ 
 
 To aims abhorr'd, with high distaste and scorn 
 Turn from their charms the philosophic eye. 
 The ])atriot-bosom ; then no more the paths 55- 
 
 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 bleak ascent, GO^ 
 
 And scatter flowers along the rugged way. 
 Arm'd with the lyre, already have we dared 
 To pierce divine Philosophy's retreats, 
 And teach the Muse her lore ; already strove 
 Their long-divided honours to unite, 65 
 
 While tempering this deep argument we sang 
 Of TauTH and Beauty. Now the same glad task 
 Impends; now urging our ambitious toih* 
 We hasten to recount the various springs 
 Of adventitious pleasure, which adjoin 70 
 
 Their grateful influence to the prime effect 
 Of objects Grand or Beauteous, and irdarge 
 The complicated joy. The sweets of sense. 
 Do they not oft with kind accession flow, 
 To raise harmonious Fancy's native charm ? 75 
 
 So while we tas-te 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 
 or .>,ummcr, yielding the delicious draught RO 
 
 Of cool refrcilunent; o'er the mossy blink 
 J' hints not tiie surface clearer, and the waves 
 With sweeter music nan'uiur as they flow r 
 Nor tiiis alone : the various lot of lif"^
 
 IMAGINATION, BOOK II. 35 
 
 Ofi from external circumstance, assumes 85 
 
 A moment's disposition lo 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 90 
 
 Round whom the bed of sickness long diffused 
 Its melancholy gloom ! how doubly fair. 
 When first with fresh-born vigour lie inhales 
 The balmy breeze, and feels the blessed sun 
 Warm at his bosom, from the springs of life 95 
 
 Chasing oppressive damps and languid pain ! 
 Or shall I mention, where coelestial Truth 
 Her awful light discloses, to bestow 
 A more majestic pomp on Bealty's frame ? 
 For man loves knowledge, and the beams of truth 100 
 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-tinctured hues 
 To me have shone so pkasing, as when first lOj 
 
 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 
 Imxlves the orient ; and that trickling shower 
 Piercing through every crystalline convex ] IC 
 
 Of clustering dew-drops to their flight opposed. 
 Recoil at length where concave all Ijchind, 
 The internal surface of each glassy orb 
 Repels their forward passage into air; 
 That thence direct they seek the radiant goal, J ]j 
 
 From which their course began, and, as they strike
 
 30 THE PLEASURES 6 ii- 
 
 In diffefent lines the gazer's oLvious eye. 
 
 Assume a different lustre, through the brede 
 
 Of colours changiny^ from the splendid rose 
 
 To the pale violet's dejected hue. 126 
 
 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 proportioned, her benignant End ? 125 
 
 Speak, ye, the pure delight whose favoured steps 
 The lamp of science through the jealous maze 
 Of Nature guides, vt'hen haply you reveai 
 Her secret honours : whether in the sky. 
 The beauteous laws of light, the central powers 130 
 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 Authou's hand. 135 
 
 What, when to raise the meditated scene. 
 The Piame 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 r 140 
 
 V/hat r like a storm from their capacious bed 
 The sounding seas overwhelming, when the might 
 Of these eruptions, working from the depth 
 Of man's strong apprehension, shakes his frame 
 liven to the base ; from every naked sense I l-.i 
 
 Of pain or pleasure dissipating all 
 Opinion's feeble coverings, and the veil 
 Spun from the coi)v.eb fashion of the times
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK 11. 37 
 
 To hide the feeUng heart ? ITien Nature speaks 
 
 Her genuine language, and the words of men, 150 
 
 Big with the very motion of their souls. 
 
 Declare with what accumulated force. 
 
 The impetuous nerve ef Passion urges oil 
 
 The native weight and energy of things. 
 
 Yet more: her honours where nor Beauty claims, 155 
 Nor shews of gciod the thirsty sense allure. 
 From * passion's power alone our nature holds / 
 Essential pleasure. Passion's fierce illapse y* 
 
 Rouses the mind's whole fabric ; with supplies 
 Of daily impulse keeps the elastic powers 100 
 
 Intensely poized, and polishes anew \ 
 
 By that collision all the fine machine : 
 Else rust would rise, and foulness by degrees 
 Incumbering, choak at last what Heaven design 'd 
 For ceaseless motion, and a round of toil. 1 (55 
 
 But say, does every passion thus to man 
 Administer delight? That name indeed 
 Becomes the rosy breath of love ; becomes 
 
 ^ *. V 157. FromPussion's j)Ou:er alone, &>. ] Tlil=; verj' myslerious 
 kind of pleastire, which is often found in the exercise of passions 
 (renerally counted painful, lias been taken notice of by several 
 authors. iMcret'ius resolves it into self-love : 
 
 Suave mari maf!,no, &c. lib. ii. 1. 
 As if a man was never pleased in Ixiing moved at the distress of a 
 trage<ly, without a Cfxjl reflection t'iiat though these fictitious per- 
 sonages where so unhappy, yet he himself was perfectly at case and 
 in safety. The ingenious auttior of tlie lieflect'wns critiques iur la 
 Poesie s svr la Peininre, accounts for it by the general delight 
 which the mind takes in its own activity, apd ihe abhorrence it 
 feels of ail indohnt and inattentive state : and this, joinwl witli the 
 moral approbation of its own temper, which attends these emt.t ions 
 when natural and just, is certainly tlie true foundation of the pleas- 
 ure, which, as it is tlie orizin and basis of tragrdy and epic, de- 
 served a very particular consideration in this poem. X 
 
 D
 
 38 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 The radiant smiles ofjqy, the applauding hand 
 
 Of admiration ; but the bitter shower 1"0 
 
 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 175 
 
 The unalter'd will of Heaven with faithful awe 
 
 Reveals ; what old Harmodius wont to teach 
 
 ]VIy early age ; IIarmobius, who had weigh'd 
 
 Within his learned mind whate'cr the schools 
 
 Of wisdom, or thy lonely-whispering voice, 180 
 
 O faithful Nature ! dictate of the laws 
 
 Which govern and support this mighty frame 
 
 Of universal being. Oft the hours, 
 
 I-'rom morn to eve, have stolen unmark'd away, 
 
 While mute attention hung upon his lips, 1 85 
 
 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, 190 
 Musino- I roved. Of Goon and Evil much. 
 And much of mortal Man my thought revolved ; 
 When started full on Fancy's gushing eye. 
 The mournful image of Parthenia's fate : 
 That hour, O long beloved and long deplored ! 195 
 When blooming Youth, nor gentlest Wisdom's arts, 
 Nor Hymen's honours gathered for thy brow. 
 Nor all thy Lover's, all thy Father's tears 
 Availed to snatch thee from the cruel grave : 
 Thy agonizing looks, thy last farewel 200
 
 IMAGINATION, BOOK II. 39 
 
 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 205 
 
 Appear'd before nae ; desarts, 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 enthroned with blood ; the baleful charms 210 
 
 Of Superstition there infect the skies. 
 
 And turn the sub to horror. Gracious Heaven ! 
 
 What is the life of man ? Or cannot these. 
 
 Not these portents thy awful will suffice r 
 
 That, propagated thus beyond their scope, 215 
 
 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 effused, 220 
 
 A flashing torrent of coelestial day 
 Burst through the shadowy void. With slow descent 
 A purple cloud came floating through the sky. 
 And poized at length within the circling trees, 
 Hung obvious to my view ; till opening wide 225 
 
 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. 
 And all the shining vision stood reveal'd. 2,10 
 
 A wreath of palm his ample forehead bound. 
 And o'er his shoulder, mantling to his knee,
 
 40 THE PLEASURES 01- 
 
 Flow'd the transparent robe, around his waist 
 
 Collected with a radiant zone of gold 
 
 jEthereal : there in mystic signs ingravcd 235 
 
 I read his ofllce high and sacred name, 
 
 GENIUS OF HUMAN KIND. Appall'd I gazed 
 
 The godlike presence j for athwart his brow 
 
 Displeasure, tempered with a mild concern, 
 
 Look'd down reluctant on me, and his words 210 
 
 Like distant thunders broke the murmuring air. 
 
 Vain are thy thoughts, O child of mortal birth I 
 And impotent thy^ tongue. Is thy short span 
 Capacious of this universal frame ? 
 Thy wisdom all-sufficient ? Thou, alas ! 2 1-,5 
 
 Dost thou aspire to judge between the Lori> 
 Of Nature and his works? to lift thy voice 
 Against the sovran order he decreed. 
 All Good and Lovt.i.y ? to blaspheme the bands 
 Of tenderness innate and sociallove, 250 
 
 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 2.5,3 
 
 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 cf evils not its own ? 260 
 
 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*"'
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 41 
 
 Before his presence, though my secret soul 265 
 
 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 dazzled forehead. Raise thy sight, he cried. 
 
 And let thy sense convince thy erring tongue. 270 
 
 I looked, and lo ! the former scene was changed ; 
 
 For verdant alleys and surrounding trees, 
 
 A solitary prospect, wide and wild, 
 
 Riish'd^Mi my senses. 'Twas a horrid pile 
 
 Of hills with many a shaggy forest mix'd, 275 
 
 With many a sable clift'and glittering stream. 
 
 Aloft recumbent oVr the hanging ridge. 
 
 The brown woods waved ; while ever-trickling springs, 
 
 Wash'd from the naked roots of oak and pine. 
 
 The crumbling soil ; and still at every fall 280 
 
 Down the steep windings of the channel'd rock, 
 
 Kemurmuring rush'd the congregated floods 
 
 With hoarder inundation ; till at last 
 
 They readi'd a grassy plain, which from the skirts 
 
 Of that high depart spread her verdant lap, 285 
 
 And drank the gushing moisture, where confined 
 
 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 clifts, whose half-incircling mound 20O 
 
 As in a sylvan theatre inclosed 
 
 That flowery level. On the river's brink 
 
 I spied a fair pavilion, which diffused 
 
 Its floating umbrage 'mid the silver shade 
 
 Of osiers. Now the western sun reveal'd 295 
 
 J'>etw\cn two parting clitt's his rroUien orb, 
 ]) 2 "
 
 42 THE PLEASURES OP 
 
 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 list'niiig pow ers 
 Were awed, and every thought in silence hung, 300 
 And wondering expectation. Then the voice 
 Of that coslestial power, the mystic show 
 Declaring, thus my deep attention call'd. 
 Inhabitant of earth, * to whom is given 
 
 * V. 304. Inhabitant of earth, &c.] The account of the ccconomy 
 of providence here introduced, as the most proper to calm and sa- 
 tisfy the mind when under the compunction of private evils, seems 
 to have come originally from the Pythagorean school : but of the 
 ancient philosophers, Plato has most largely insisted ujwn it, has 
 established it with all the strength of his capacious understanding, and 
 ennobled \t with all themagiiilicenee of his divine imagination. He 
 has one passage so full and clear on this head, tiiat I am persuaded- 
 the reader will be pleased to see it here, though somewhat long. 
 Addressing himself to such as are not satisfied concerning divine 
 providence : The Being "jcho presides over the ivholc, says he, kus, 
 diiposed and complicated all things for the happiness and virtue of the 
 jshole, evtru part of vchivh, according to the extent of its injlucnccy 
 does andsujj'ers what is Jit and proper. One of tiieie parts is yours, O 
 unhappy man, tchick though in itself most inconsidv ruble and minute, 
 yet being connected uith the universe, ever seeis to co-operate with 
 that supreme order. You in the mean time are ignorant vf the veri/ 
 end for n'hich all particular nciliircs are Itrought intoe: istence, that the 
 all-comprehetding nature of the whole may be perfect and hapjry ; ex- 
 isting, as it does, not for your sake, but the cause and reason of your 
 existence, xahich, as in the symmetry of every artificial icork, must of 
 necessity concur with the general design of the artist, and be subserti- 
 ent to the xchole of which it is a part. Your complaint therefore is ig- 
 norant and groundless i since, according to the various energy of cre- 
 ation, anl the common laics of nature, there is a constant proii'.ion of 
 that which is Lest at the same time for you and fur the whole. For the 
 governing Intelligence clearly beholding all the actions of animated and 
 self-moving creature , and that mi.xtare of good and evil zihich diversi- 
 fies them, considered first of all by what disjiosition of things, and by 
 what jituation of each individual irt the general system, vice might be 
 depressed u'hI subdued, and virtue made secure of victory and happi- 
 ness with the greatest facility and in the, highest degree possible: In 
 this manner he ordered through the entire circle of being, the internal 
 constitut'iO'i of every mi::d, where should be its station in the universal 
 fabric, arid through what variety of circumstances it should proceed in 
 the uhulf tenor of its existence. He goes on in his sublime manner 
 to assiTt a future state of retribntion, as well for thvse who, by the
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 43 
 
 The gracious ways of Providence to learn, 305 
 
 Receive my saying-s with a steadfast ear 
 
 Know then, the Sovran Spirit of the world. 
 
 Though self-collected from. eternal time. 
 
 Within his own deep essence he beheld 
 
 The bounds of true Felicity complete; 310 
 
 Yet by immense benignity inclined 
 
 To spread around him that primaeval joy 
 
 Which fill'd himself, he raised his plastic arm. 
 
 And sounded, through the hollow depth of space 
 
 The strong, creative mandate. Strait arose 3]5> 
 
 These heavenly orbs, the glad abodes of life. 
 
 Effusive kindled by his breath divine 
 
 Tlirough endless forms of being. Each inhaled 
 
 From him its [)ortion of the vital flame. 
 
 In measure such, that, from the wide complex 320. 
 
 Of co-existent orders * one mic^ht rise, 
 
 One order, all-involving and entire. 
 
 He too beholding, in the sacred light 
 
 Of his essential reason, all the shapes 
 
 Of swift contingence, all successive ties 325 
 
 Of action propagated through the sum 
 
 exercise of goofl diifiositions LeiAg harmonized and assimilated to the 
 di'/ine virtue, are consequently removed to a place of unblemished sane- 
 fit;/ anil hafipiness; as of those who by the mo.:t J^agitiuiis arts have 
 ri^cn from (.oittcmptible be;rj,inings to the gr(a!est ajfbience and poufr, 
 and ivhum ijou therefore look Vjxjn as unansicera/ile instances of negli- 
 gence in the g(xls, because i/i/u aie ignorard of the purjmics to u.hick 
 they are snb:;eivie/it, and in zihat manner Ihey contribute to that sn- 
 preme intention of 'f^ood to the zihole. Plato <!e Leg. x. 16. 
 
 This theory has been delivered of late, es|K;(;ial!y abroad, in a 
 manner wliicli subverts the freedom of human .^ctions j wlnrras 
 Flato ap[>ears very carefid to preserve it, and has been in that 
 respect imitated by the best of his follo>*crs 
 
 V. C!21. one might ri^e. 
 
 One order, iCc.'\ i'ee the Meditations of Antoninm 
 and the Chanicteristics of loi-d Shaflsbury, passim.
 
 U THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Of possible existence, he at once, 
 
 Down the long series of eventful time. 
 
 So * fix'd the dates of being, so disposed. 
 
 To every living soul of every kind, 33 
 
 The field of motion and the hour of rest. 
 
 That all conspired to his supreme design. 
 
 To universal good : with full accord 
 
 Answering the mighty model he had chosen. 
 
 The best and fairest f of unnumbered worlds 335 
 
 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 310 
 
 His parent-hand with ever-new increase 
 
 Of happiness and virtue has adorn 'd 
 
 The vast harmonious frame : his t parent-hand. 
 
 From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore, 
 
 To men, to angels, to coelestial minds, 345 
 
 For ever leads the generations on 
 
 To higher scenes of being ; while supplied 
 
 From day to day with his enlivening breath. 
 
 Inferior orders in succession rise 
 
 Booi II, line 247. 
 f V. 335. The best and fairest, AV-] Tliis opinion is so oW, (liat 
 TinKTUs Locrus calls the supreme being '^r.u.mzyoc Tu BiXW'.y'^, 
 the artificer of that xi-kich is leH ; and represents him as resohing in 
 the beginning to j)roduee tlie most excellent work, and as copying 
 the world most exactly from his own intelligible and essential idea ; 
 io that it yi't remains, as it j.as at Jirit, perfect in beant'j, and u "7/ 
 never stand in need cf an;/ correction or improvement. 'I'hcre can be 
 no room for a caution here, to understand the expressions, not of, 
 any i)ar^icular circumstances of human life separatel\' considered, 
 but of the sum or universal system of life and being. See also tli<- 
 \ is'on at the end of the T/ieodic^e of Leibnitz. 
 t B'jol: IT, line 257.
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOKII. 45 
 
 To fill the void below. As * flame ascends, 350 
 
 As bodies to their proper centre move. 
 
 As the poized 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, 355 
 
 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 proportioned aid ; 36Q 
 
 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 see'st, that verdant lawn 
 Fresh-water'd from the mountains. Let the scene 365 
 Paint in thy fancy the primccval seat 
 Of man, and where the will supreme ordain'd- 
 His mansion, that pavilion fair-diffused 
 Along the shady brink ; in this recess 
 To wear the appointed season of his youth, 370 
 
 Till ri[)er hours sliould open to his toil 
 The high communion of superior minds. 
 Of consecrated, heroes and of gods. 
 Nor did the Sire OMMPorrxr forget 
 His tender bloom to cherish; nor withheld ."57 i 
 
 Cnelestial footste|)s from his green abf)de. 
 Oft from the radiant honours of his throne, 
 He sent whom mot^t he loved, the Sovkan F'aiii 
 
 V. 3.50. As fame n>ren.'<, ,SV.] Tliis ojjinion, thoi-'Ii not. 
 lu'W by P,'n/o nor any of the aniirnts, i.s ypt ;j very natural ninsc- 
 quenoe of hw principlrs. But fhf; (li<.qui>itiiin i< too c()inpl<;x aiil 
 cxtenMvc to Uc rnt'-rcJ iij>ii h<rc.
 
 40 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 The Effcuence of,his Glory whom he placed 
 
 Before his eyes for evec to behold; 3 SO 
 
 'Die goddess from whose inspiration flows 
 
 'I'he toil of patriots, the dehght of friends ; 
 
 \Yithout whose work divine, in heaven or earth. 
 
 Nought lovely, nought propitious comes to pass. 
 
 No J- hope, nor praise, nor honour. Her, the Sibb 385. 
 
 G;ive it in charge to rear the blooming mind; 
 
 The folded powers to open, to direct 
 
 The growth lu^i^rjant of his yoimg desires. 
 
 And from the laws of this majestic world 
 
 To teach him what was good. As thus the nymph S9Q 
 
 Jier daily care attended, by her side 
 
 With constant steps her gay companion stay'd, 
 
 Tjie fair Euphrosyne', the gentle queen 
 
 Of smiles, and graceful gladness, and delights 
 
 That cheer alike the hearts of mortal men 3&5 
 
 And powers immortal. See the shining pair ! 
 
 Behold, where from his dwelling now disclosed 
 
 They, quit their youthful charge and seek the skies. 
 
 I looked, and on the flowery turf there stood 
 B,etvveen two radiant forms a smiling youth 400 
 
 Whose tender cheeks display 'd the vernal flower 
 Of Beauty ; sweetest innocence illumed 
 His bashful eyes, and on his polish 'd brow 
 Sate young Simplicity. With fond regard 
 lie view'd the associates, as their steps they moved; 40 ; 
 The younger chief his ardent eyes detain'd. 
 With mild regret invoking her return. 
 Bright as the star of evening she appear'd 
 Amid the dusky scene. Eternal youth 
 O'er all her form its glowing honours breathed ; 410
 
 1MA LOCATION. BOOK II. 4>t 
 
 And smiles ^terhial from her candid eyes 
 
 Flow'd, like the dewy lustre of the morn 
 
 Eflusive trembling on the placid waves. 
 
 The spring of heaven had shed its blushing spoils 
 
 To bind her sable tresses : full difiused 415 
 
 Her yellow mantle floated in the breeze ; 
 
 And in her hand she waved a living branch 
 
 Rich with immortal fruits, of power to calm 
 
 The wrathful heart, and from the brightening ^yes. 
 
 To chase the cloud of sadness. More sublime 420 
 
 The heavenly partner moved. The prime of age 
 
 Composed her steps. The presence of a god, 
 
 High on the circle of her brow enthroned. 
 
 From each majestic motion darted awe. 
 
 Devoted awe ! till, cberish'd W her looks 42,5 
 
 Benevolent and meek, confiding love 
 
 To filial rapture soflen'd all the soul. 
 
 Free in her graceful hand she poized the sword 
 
 Of chaste dominion. An heroic crown 
 
 Display'd the old simplicity of pomp 430 
 
 Around her honour'd head. A matron's rol)e. 
 
 White as the sunshine streams through vernal clouds. 
 
 Her stately form invested. Hand in hand 
 
 The immortal pair for.ook the enameii'd green. 
 
 Ascending slowly. Rays of limpid light 4:3,5 
 
 Gleam'd round their path; ccclcstial sounds were heard. 
 
 And through the fragrant air aethereal dews 
 
 Di.still'd around them ; till at once the clouds 
 
 Disparting wide in midway sky, withdrew 
 
 Their airy veil, and left a bright expanse 4 i<^ 
 
 Of empyrean flame, where spent and drown'd, 
 
 Afilicted vision plunged in vain to scan
 
 48 THE 'PLEASURES OF 
 
 What object it involved. My feeble eyes 
 Indured not. Bending down to earth I stood, "- 
 With dumb attention. Soon a female voice, 445 
 
 As watery murmurs sweet, or warbling shades. 
 With sacred invocation thus began. 
 
 Father of gods and mortals ! whose right arm 
 With reins eternal guides the moving heavens. 
 Bend thy propitious ear. Behold well-pleased ibO 
 I seek to finish thy divine decree. 
 With frequent steps I visit yorider seat 
 Of man, thy offspring; from the tender seeds 
 Of justice and of wisdom, to evolve 
 The latent honours of his generous frame ; 455 
 
 Till thy conducting hand shall raise his lot 
 From earth's dim scene to these cethercal walks. 
 The temple of thy glory. But not me. 
 Not my directing voice he -oft requires. 
 Or hears delighted : this inchanting maid, 460 
 
 The associate thou hast given me, her alone 
 He loves, O Father ! absent, her he craves ; 
 And but for her glad presence ever join'd. 
 Rejoices not in mine : that all my hopes 
 This thy benignant purpose to fulfil, '165 
 
 I deem uncertain; and my daily cares 
 Unfruitful all and vain, unless by thee 
 Still farther aided in the work divine. 
 
 She ceased ; a voice more awful thus replied. 
 O thou ! in whom for ever I delight, 47'^ 
 
 Fairer than all the inhabitants of heaven. 
 Best image of thy Author ! far from thee 
 Be disappointment, or distaste, or blame ; 
 Who soon or late shall every work fulfil.
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 49 
 
 And no resistance find. If man refuse 47 5 
 
 To hearken to thy dictates; or, allured 
 By meaner joys, to any other power 
 Transfer the honours due to thee alone ; 
 That joy which he pursues he iie'er shall taste, 
 That power in xdtom delighteth ne'er behold. 4S0 
 
 Go then once more, and happy be thy toil ; 
 Go then ! but let not this thy smiling friend 
 Partake thy footsteps. In her stead, behold ! 
 With thee the son of * Nemesis I send ; 
 The fiend abhorr'd, whose vengeance takes account 483 
 Of sacred Order's violated laws. 
 See where he calls thee, burning to be gone. 
 Fierce to exhaust the tempest of his wrath 
 On yon devoted head. But thou, my child. 
 Control his cruel phrenzy, and protect 490 
 
 Thy tender charge; that when despair shall grasp 
 His agonizing bosom, he may learn. 
 Then he may learn to love thy gracious hand ; 
 Alone sufficient in the hour of ill, 
 
 To save his feeble spirit; then confess 493 
 
 Thy genuine honours, O excelling fair ! 
 When all the plagues that wait the deadly will 
 Of this avenging diemon, all the storms 
 Of night infernal, serve but to display 
 The energy of thy superior charms; 3U(J 
 
 With mildest awe triumphant o'er his rage, 
 -And shining clearer in the horrid gloom. 
 
 Here ceased that\awful voice, and soon I felt 
 The cloudy curtain of refreshing eve 
 
 * V. 4Si. Xrnir/n the l'",:hd abhorr'd ice] was suppfWf] to be 
 one of the rate,-. The jtiw of Nomesis htre means sf/icrW///. ro. 
 
 E
 
 50 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Was closed once more, from that immortal fire 505 
 
 Sheltering my eyelids. Looking up, I view'd 
 
 A vast gigantic spectre striding on 
 
 Through murmuring thunders and a waste of clouds, 
 
 With dreadful action. Black as night, his brow 
 
 Relentless frowns involved. His savage limbs 510 
 
 With sharp impatience violent he writh'd. 
 
 As through convulsive anguish ; and his hand, 
 
 Arm'd with a scorpion-lash, full oft he raised 
 
 In madness to his bosom ; while his eyes 
 
 Rain'd bitter tears, and bellowing loud he shook 515 
 
 The void with horror. Silent by his side 
 
 The virgin came. No discomposure stirr'd 
 
 Her features. From the glooms which hung around 
 
 No stain of darkness mingled with the beam 
 
 Of her divine effulgence. Now they stoop 520 
 
 L'pon the river-bank ; and now to hail 
 
 His wonted guests, with eager steps advanced 
 
 The unsuspecting inmate of the shade. 
 
 As when a famish'd wolf, that all night long 
 Had ranged the Alpine snows, by chance at morn 525 
 Sees from a clill" incumbent o'er the smoke 
 Of some lone village, a neglected kid 
 That strays along the wild for herb or spring ; 
 Down from the winding ridge he sweeps amain. 
 And thinks he tears him : so with tentbld rage, 530 
 The monster sprung remorseless on his prey. 
 Amazed the stripling stood : with pantuig breast 
 F'cebly he pour'd the lamentable wail 
 Of helpless consternation, struck at once. 
 And rooted to the grouiid. The queen beheld 535 
 
 His terror, and with looks of tenderest care
 
 liMAGl NATION. BOOK II. oi 
 
 Advanced to save him. Soon the tyrant felt 
 Her awful power. His keen, tempestuous arm 
 Hung nerveless, nor descended where his rage 
 Had aim'd the deadly blow : then dumb retired 540 
 With sullen rancour. Lo ! the Sovran Maid 
 Folds with a mother's arms the fainting boy. 
 Till life rekindles in his rosy cheek ; 
 Then grasps his hand and cheers him with her tongue. 
 O wake thee, rouse thy spirit ! Shall the spite 5i5 
 Of yon tormentor thus appal thy heart. 
 While I, thy friend and guardian, am at hand 
 To rescue and to heal ? O let thy soul l 
 
 Remember, what the will of Heaven ordains I 
 Is ever good for all; and if for all, 550 
 
 Then good for thee. Nor only by the warmth 
 And soothing sunshine of delightful things. 
 Do minds grow up and flourish : oft misled 
 By that bland light, the young unpractised views 
 Of reason wander through a fatal road, 555 
 
 Far from their native aim : as if to lie 
 Inglorious in the fragrant shade, and wait 
 The soft access of ever-circling joys. 
 Were all the End of Being Ask thyself. 
 This pleasing error, did it never lull 5G0 
 
 Tiiy wishes ? lias thy constant heart refused 
 The silken fetters of delicious ease ? 
 Or when divine Euphrosyne' appear'd 
 Within this dwelling, did not thy desires 
 Hang far below the measure of thy fate, 565 
 
 Which I reveal'd before thee ? and thy eyes, 
 Impatient of my counsels, turn away 
 To drink the soft effusion of her smiles ?
 
 b2 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Know then, for this the everlasting Sire 
 ; Deprives thee of her presence, and instead, 570 
 
 O wise and still benevolent ! ordains 
 This horrid visage hither to pursue 
 My steps j that so thy nature may discern 
 Its real good, and what alone can save 
 lliy feeble spirit in this hour of ill 575 
 
 I'runi folly and despair. O yet beloved ! 
 Let not this headlong terror quite o'erwhelm 
 Thy scatter^ powers ; nor fatal deem the rage 
 Of this tormentor, nor his proud assault. 
 While I am here to vindicate thy toil, 580 
 
 Above the generous question of thy arm. 
 Brave by tly fears and in tl>t/ weakness strong, 
 This hour he triumphs : but confront his might. 
 And dare him to the combat, then with ease 
 Disarm'd and quell\l, his fierceness he resigns 585 
 
 To bondage and to scorn : while thus inured 
 By watchful danger, by unceasing toil, 
 The Immortal Mind, superior to his fate. 
 Amid the outrage of external things, 
 ViYva as the solid base of this great world, 590 
 
 Rests on his own foundations. Blow, ye winds ! 
 Ye waves ! ye thunders ! roll your tempest on ; 
 .Shake, ye old pillars of the marble sky ! 
 Till all its orbs and all its worlds of fire 
 Be loosen'd from their seats ; yet still serene, 595 
 
 The unconquer'd mind looks down upon the wreck ; 
 And ever stronger as the storms advance. 
 Film through the closing ruin holds his way. 
 Where Nature calls him to the destin'd goal. 
 So spake the goddess ; while through all her frame 600
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 53 
 
 Coelestial raptures flow'd, in every word. 
 In every motion kindling warmth divine 
 To seize who listen'd. Vehement and swift 
 As hghtening fires the aromatic shade 
 In .Ethiopian fields, the stripling felt 605 
 
 Her inspiration catch his fervid soul. 
 And starting from his languor thus exclaim'd. 
 Then let the trial come ! and witness thou. 
 If terror be upon me ; if I shrink 
 
 To meet the storm, or falter in my strength 610 
 
 When hardest it besets me. Do not think 
 That I am fearful and infirm of soul. 
 As late thy eyes beheld : for thou hast changed 
 I\Ty nature ; thy commanding voice has waked 
 My languid powers to bear me boldly on, 615 
 
 Where'er the will divine my path ordains 
 Through toil or peril : only do not thou 
 Forsake me ; O be thou for ever near. 
 That I may listen to thy sacred voice. 
 And guide by thy decrees my constant feet. 620 
 
 But say, forever are my eyes bereft 
 
 Say, shall the fair Euphuosyse' not once 
 Appear again to charm mc ? Thou, in heaven ! 
 /O thou Eternal Arbiter of things ! 
 I Be thy great bidding done : for who am I, 625 
 
 ',To question thy appointment ? Let the frowns 
 Of this avenger every morn o'ercast 
 The cheerful dawn, and every evening damp 
 With double night my dwelling; I will learn 
 To hail them both^ and unrcpiuing bear 630 
 
 His hateful presence ; but permit my tongue 
 One glad request, and if my deeds may find 
 
 r: 2
 
 5i THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Thy awful eye propitious, O restore 
 
 The rosy- featured maid; again to cheer 
 
 This lonely seat, and bless me with her smiles. 635 
 
 He spoke ; when instant through the sable glooms 
 
 With which that furious presence had involsed 
 
 The ambient air, a flood of radiance came 
 
 Swift as the lightning flash ; the melting clouds 
 
 I'lew diverse, and amid the blue serene 640 
 
 Eui'iirosyne' appeared. With sprighly step 
 
 The nymph alighted on the irriguous lawn. 
 
 And to her wondering audience thus began. 
 
 Lo ! I am here to "answer to your vows. 
 And be the inecting fortunate ! I come 64'5 
 
 With joyful tidings ; We shall part no more 
 Hark ! how the gentle echo from her cell 
 Talks through ^he cliffs, and murmuring o'er the stream 
 Repeats the accents ; we shall part no more. 
 O my delightful friends ! well-pleased on high 650 
 The father has beheld you, while the might 
 Of that stern foe with bitter trial proved 
 Your equal doings; then for ever spake 
 The High Decrke : that Ihou, ccelestial maid ! 
 Ilowe'er that grisly phantom on thy steps 655 
 
 May sometimes dare intrude, yet never more 
 Shalt thou, descending to the abode of man^ 
 Alone endure the rancour of his arm. 
 Or leave thy loved Elphkosyne' behind. 
 
 She ended ; and the whole romantic scene G60 
 
 Immediate vanish'd; rocks, and woods, and rills. 
 The mantling tent, and each mysterious form 
 llew like the pictures of a morning dream, 
 Vv hen sun-shine fills the bed. A while I stood
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK II. 55 
 
 Perplex'd and giddy ; till the radiant Power 605 
 
 Who bade the visionary landscape rise. 
 As up to him I turn'd, with gentlest looks 
 Preventing my enquiry, thus began. 
 
 There let thy soul acknowledge its complaint 
 How blind, how impious ! There behold the ways 670 
 Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man. 
 For ever just, benevolent and wise: 
 That Virtue's awful steps, howe'cr pursued 
 By vexing fortune and intrusive pain 
 Should never be divided from her chaste, 675 
 
 Her fair attendant. Pleasure. Need I urge 
 Thy tardy thought through all the various round 
 Of this existence, that thy softening soul 
 At length may learn what energy the hand 
 Of virtue mingles in the bitter tide 6S0 
 
 Of passion swelling with distress and pain. 
 To mitigate the sharp with gracious drops 
 Of cordial pleasure .' Ask f the faithful youth. 
 Why the cold urn of her whom long he loved. 
 So often fills his arms ; so often draws 685 
 
 His lonely footsteps at the silent.hour. 
 To pay the mournful tribute of his tears ? 
 O ! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds 
 Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego 
 That sacred hour, when stealing from the noise 690 
 Of care and envy, sweet remembrance sooths 
 With virtue's kindest looks his aking breast. 
 And turns his tears to rapture. Ask t the crowd 
 Which flies imjjatient from the village-walk 
 To chmb the neighljourmg clills, when far below 695 
 ^ Book II, line 614. + Hook II, line 624.
 
 56 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 The cruel winds have hurl'd upon the coast 
 
 Some helpless bark : while sacred Pity melts 
 
 The general eye, or Terror's icy hand 
 
 Smiles their distorted limbs and horrent hair ; 
 
 While every mother closer to her breast 700 
 
 Catches her child, and pointing where the waves 
 
 Foam through the shatter'd vessel, shrieks aloud 
 
 As one poor wretch who spreads his piteous arms 
 
 For succour, swallow'd by the roaring surge ; 
 
 As now another, dash'd against the rock, 705 
 
 Drops lifeless down. * O ! deemest thou indeed 
 
 No kind endearment here by Nature given 
 
 To mutual terror and Compassion's tears r 
 
 No sweetly-melting softness which attracts. 
 
 O'er all that edge of pain the social powers, 7 10 
 
 To this their proper action and their end ? 
 
 Ask t thy own heart; when at the midnight hour. 
 
 Slow through that studious gloom thy pausing eye 
 
 Led by the glimmering taper moves around 
 
 The sacred volumes of the dead, the songs 715 
 
 Of Grecian bards, and records writ by fame 
 
 For Grecian heroes, where the Present Power 
 
 Of heaven and earth surveys the immortal page 
 
 Even as a Father ; blessing while he reads 
 
 The praises of his son. If then thy soul, 720 
 
 Spurning the yoke of these inglorious days. 
 
 Mix in their deeds and kindle with their flame ; 
 
 Say, when the prospect blackens on thy view. 
 
 When rooted from the base, heroic states 
 
 iMourn in the dust and tremble at the frown 725 
 
 Of curst ambition ; when the pious i band 
 
 Bwk 11, line 637. f Boole II, Vne 643. 
 
 t V. 726. The sacred battalion of Thebes at the battle of Ckocron^a-
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK 11. 57 
 
 Of youths who fought for freedom and their sires. 
 
 Lie side by side in gore ; when ruffian pride 
 
 Usurps the throne of justice, turns the pomp 
 
 Of public power, the majesty of rule, 730 
 
 The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe. 
 
 To slavish empty pageants, to adorn 
 
 A tyrant's walk, and glitter in the eyes 
 
 Of such as bow the knee ; when * honour'd urns 
 
 Of patriots and of chiefs, the awful bust 735 
 
 And storied arch, to glut the coward-rage 
 
 Of regal envy, strew the public way 
 
 With hallow'd ruins ; when the Muse's haunt. 
 
 The marble porch where wisdom wont to talk 
 
 With Socrates or Tully, hears no more, 740 
 
 Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks> 
 
 Or female superstition's midnight prayer; 
 
 When ruthless rapine from the liand of Time 
 
 Tears the destroying scythe, with surer blow 
 
 To sweep the works of glory from their ba^e j 7-1.5 
 
 Till desolation o'er the grass-grown street 
 
 FA'pands his raven-wings, and up the wall. 
 
 Where f senates once the price of monarchs tlcom'd, 
 
 Hisses the gliding snake through hoary weeds 
 
 That clasp the mouldering column ; thus defaced, 7,iO 
 
 Thus widely niourufnl, when the prospect thrills 
 
 Thy beating bosom, when the patriot's tear 
 
 Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm 
 
 In fancy hurls the tliwndtrbolt of.lovii 
 
 To fire the impious wrealh on X Philip's brow, 755 
 
 I \ -y, /'W/(/..] Til- Mu'.c'!onui-i.
 
 58 THE PLEASURES OF&e. 
 
 Or dash Octavius from the trophied car; 
 
 Say, does* thy secret soul repine to taste 
 
 The big distress ? Or would'st thou then exchange 
 
 Those heart-ennobhng sorrows for the lot 
 
 Of him who sits amid the gaudy herd 760 
 
 Of mute barbarians bending to his nod. 
 
 And bears aloft his gold-invested front 
 
 And says within himself, " I am a king, 
 
 "And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woe 
 
 "Intrude upon mine ear r " The baleful dregs 765 
 
 Of these late ages, this inglorious draught 
 
 Of servitude and folly, have not yet. 
 
 Blest be the Eternal Ruler of the world ! 
 
 Defiled to such a depth of sordid shame 
 
 The native honours of the human soul, 770 
 
 Nor so effaced the image of its Sire. 
 
 * Booi II, line 691. 
 
 THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND.
 
 THE 
 PLEASURES 
 
 OF 
 
 IMAGINATION. 
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 PLEASURE in obsening the tempers and manners of men, even 
 where vicious or absurd. The origin of vice, from false repre- 
 sentations of the fancy, producing false opinions concerning good 
 and evil. Inquiry into ridicule. The general soui-ces of ridicule 
 in the minds and characters of men, enimierated. Final cause 
 of the senie of ridicule. 1 lie resemblance of certain aspects of 
 inanimate things to the sensations and properties of the mind. 
 The operations of the mind in the production of the works of 
 imagination, described. Tlie secondary pleasure from imitation. 
 The benevolent order of the world illustrated in the arbitrary 
 connexion of the.*e pleasures with the objects which excite, them. 
 The nature and conduct of taste. Concluding with an account 
 of the natural and moral advantages resulting from a sent^ible 
 and well-formed imagi.iation, 
 
 ^^ HAT wonder therefore, since the omleariiig tie.< 
 Ofpasiion link the itnivcrsal kind 
 Of man so close, what wonder if to search 
 This common nature through the various change 
 Of iex, and age, and fortune, and tiie frame .> 
 
 <^)f each peculiar, draw the hu'^y mind 
 With unrebi.>ted charms r The spacious wc.^t. 
 And all the teeming- regions of the south 
 Hold not a (juarry, to the curious flight
 
 60 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Of knowledge, half so tempting or so fair, 19 
 
 As man to man. Nor only where the smiles 
 
 Of love invite ; nor only where the applause 
 
 Of cordial honour turns the attentive eye 
 
 On virtue's graceful deeds. For since the course 
 
 Of things external acts in different ways 15 
 
 On human apprehensions, as the hand 
 
 Of Nature temper'd to a different frame 
 
 Peculiar minds ; so haply where * the powers 
 
 * V. 18. zvhere the poners' 
 
 Of fancy, &c.'J The influence of tlie imagination on the 
 conduct of life, is one of Uie most important points in moral phi- 
 losophy. It were easy by an induction of facts to prove tiiat the 
 imagination directs almost all the passions, and mixes with almost 
 every circumstance of action or pleasure. Let any man, even of 
 the coldest head and soberest industrj', analyse the idea of what he 
 <;alls his interest; he will tind that it consists chietly of certain de- 
 ijrees of decency, beauty, and order, variously combined into one 
 >ystem, the idol which he seeks to enjoy by labour, hazard, and 
 self-denial. It is on this account of the last consequence to regulate 
 these images by the standard of nature and the general good ; other- 
 wise the imagination, by heightening some objects beyond their real 
 excellence and beauty, or by representing otiiers in a more otlious 
 or terrible shape than they deserve, may of course engage us in 
 pursuits utterly inconsistcBt with the moral order of things. 
 
 If it be objected that this account of things supposes the passions 
 to be merely accidental, whereas there appears in some a natural 
 and hereditary disposition to certain passions prior to all circum- 
 stances of education or fortune; it ma)^ be answ-ercd, that though 
 no man is b)rn ambUious or a miser, yet he may inherit from his 
 parents a pecidiar temper or complexion of mind, which shall ren- 
 der his imagination more liable to be struck with some particular 
 objects, consequently dispose him to form opinions of gix)d and ill, 
 ami entertain passions of a particular turn. Sjine men, for instance, 
 by the original frame of their minds, are more deligi.tcd with the 
 vast and magnilicent, others on the contrary with the elegant and 
 gentle aspects of nature. And it is very remarkable, that the dis 
 position f)f the moral powers is always similar to this of tl.e imagin- 
 .idon ; that those who afc most inclined to admire prodigious and 
 sublinie objects in tlic physical world, are also most inclined to .ip- 
 laiid exranples of fortitude and heroic virtue in the moral. While 
 tlKjse who are charmed rather with the delicuci/ and s-^-eeinpss of co- 
 lours, and forms, and sounds, never fail in like manner to yield the 
 preference to the softer scenes of virtue and the ympatliies of a do- 
 inestic l:fe. And this is sulRcient to aceo-.mt for the objection.
 
 1 M AGINATION. BOOK III. Gl 
 
 Of fancy neither lessea nor enlarge ( 
 
 The images of things, but paint in all 20 
 
 Their genuine hues, the features whicli" they wore 
 
 In Nature ; there opinion will be true. 
 
 And action right ; fivir * action treads the path 
 
 In which Opinion says he follows good. 
 
 Or flies from evil ; and Opinion gives 25 
 
 Report of good or evil, as the scene 
 
 Was drawn by Fancy, lovely or deform'd : 
 
 Thus her report can never there be true 
 
 Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye. 
 
 With glaring colours and distorted lines. , 30 
 
 Is there a man, who at the sound of death. 
 
 Sees ghastly shapes of terror conjured up. 
 
 And black before him ; nought but death-bed groans. 
 
 And fearful prayers, and plunging from the brink 
 
 Of light and being, down the gloomy air, 3j 
 
 An unknown depth ? Alas ! in such a mind. 
 
 If no bright forms of excellence attend 
 
 The iaiage of his country ; nor the pomp 
 
 Of sacred senates, nor the guardian voice 
 
 Among the ancient philosophers, thoiig]i we have several hints 
 concerning this influence of the imagination upon morals among 
 the remains of the Socratic school, yet the S/oics were the first wlio 
 paid it a due attention. Zeno, their founder, thought it impossihle 
 to prcser%e any tolerable regularity in life, without frequently in- 
 specting those pictures or appearances of things, which tlie iuia^'n- 
 ation offers to tlie mind /'D/og. /^/eV/. J. \ii.) The meditations of 
 .\T. Aurelius, and th<; discourses of I'.jnctelus, are full of the same 
 :-(ntiment; insomuch that the latter makes the Y^^nai^ oW ch, 
 <Pi<.-/]tx.crtxv, or right niann^xmciit of (he fancies, the only thing for 
 which we are accountable to providence, and witliout wh.icli a man 
 is no other than stupid or frantic. Arriuv. 1. i. c. 12. &. 1 ii. c. 22. 
 Sf-e also the Cfwraclciu/ir.^, vol. i. from p. 31. j, to 521. where this 
 Stoic'il d'jctrine is embellished with all the ehgnnce and graces of 
 Plalv. 
 
 * Bjok II, llneM9. 
 

 
 62 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Of Justice on her throne, nor aught that wakes 4Q 
 
 The conscious bosom with a patriot's flame ; 
 M'ill not Opinion tell him, that to die. 
 Or stand the * hazard, is a greater ill 
 Than to betray his country ? Anu in act 
 Will he not chuse t be a wretch and live ? 45 
 
 Here vice begins thtn. From the enchanting cup 
 Which Fancy holds to all, the unwary thirst 
 Of youth oft swallows a Circasan draught. 
 That sheds a baleful tincture o'er the eye 
 Of Reason, till no longer he discerns, 59 
 
 And only guides to err. Then f revel forth 
 A furious band that spurn him from the throne; 
 And all is uproar. Thus Ambition grasps 
 Tlie empire of the soul : thus pale Revenge 
 Unsheaths her murderous dagger ; and the hands '55 
 Of Lust and Rapine, with unholy arts. 
 Watch to o'erturn the barrier of the laws 
 That keeps them from their prey : thus all the plagues 
 The wicked bear, or o'er the trembling scene 
 The tragic muse discloses, under shapes 60 
 
 Of honour, safety, pleasure, ease or pomp. 
 Stole first into the mind. Yet not by all 
 Those lying forms which Fancy in the brain 
 Engenders, are the kindling passions driven. 
 To guilty deeds ; nor Reason bound in chains, Gj 
 
 That Vice alone may lord it ; t oft adorn'd 
 With solemn pageants. Felly mounts his throne. 
 And plays her idiot-anticks, like a queen. 
 A thousand garbs she wears ; a thousand ways 
 She wheels her giddy empire. Lo ! thus far 70 
 
 Booh IF, line 457. f Book II, line -470. + Book II, line 487.
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 63 
 
 With bold adventure, to the Mantuan lyre 
 
 I sing of Nature's charms, and touch well-pleased 
 
 A stricter note : now haply must my song 
 
 Unbend her serious measure, and reveal 
 
 In lighter strains, how * Folly's aukward arts 75 
 
 Excite impetuous laughter's gay rebuke ; 
 
 The sportive province of the comic Muse. 
 
 See ! in what crouds the uncouth forms advance ; 
 Each would outstrip the other, each prevent 
 Our careful search, and ofier to your gaze, 80 
 
 Unasked, his motley features. Wait awhile, 
 My curious friends ! and let us first arrange 
 In proper orders your promiscuous throng. 
 
 Behold + the foremost band ; of slender thought. 
 And easy faith; whom flattering Fancy sooths 85 
 
 With lying spectres, in themselves to view 
 Illustrious forms of Excellence and Good, 
 That scorn the mansion. With exulting hearts 
 They spread their spurious treasures to the sun. 
 And bid the world admire ! but chief the glance 90 
 Of wishful envy draws their joy bright eyes, 
 And lifts with self-applause each lordly brow. 
 In number boundless as the blooms of spring, 
 
 V. T.). ko-^' folhfs auktcard art", &.C.] NotHitlistaiidiiig the 
 gpncral infliu-iice of ridicule on private ami civil lift', as well as on 
 Iiariiiiig anil the sciences, it has been almo.-t constantly neglecti.tl 
 or niisrcprp.sfntcd, by divines esf)ccially. The manner of treating 
 th<:se sutijccis in the scienre of human nature, siioiihl be prircisely 
 the same as in natural pliil>jso|i)iy; from particular facts t<> investi- 
 gate the stilted order in which tiiey appear, and then apply the sjen- 
 cral law, thus iliscovereil, to the explication of other appearances 
 and the improvement of useful art. 
 
 \\'. 84. Behold the fore moit band, &c.] The first and most 
 general wjiirce of ridicule in the characters of men, is vanity, or 
 ielf-applauM; for some desirable cpiality or poi;ies?ion which evident- 
 ]y d'Hjs not belong to those who assume it.
 
 fiJ. THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Behold their glaring idols, empty shades 
 By Fancy gilded o'er, and then set up 95 
 
 For adoration. Some in learning's garb. 
 With formal band, and sable-cinctur'd gown. 
 And rags of mouldly volumes. Some elate 
 With martial splendor, steely pikes, and swords 
 Of costly frame, and gay Phoenician robes lOd 
 
 Inwrought with flowery gold, assume the port 
 Of stately valour : listening by his side 
 There stands a female form ; to her, with looks 
 Of earnest import, pregnant with amaze, 
 He talks af deadly deeds, of breaches, storms, 105 
 
 And sulphurous mines, and ambush : then at once 
 Breaks tff, and smiles to see her look so pale. 
 And asks some wondering question of her fears. 
 Others of graver mien ; behold, adorn d 
 With holy ensigns, how sublime they move, 110 
 
 And bending oft their sanctimonious eyes 
 Take homage of the simple-minded throng; 
 Ambassadors of heaven ! Nor much unlike 
 Is he whose visage, in the lazy mist 
 That mantles every feature, hides a brood 1 1 5 
 
 Of politic conceits ; of whispers, nods, 
 And hints deep omen'd with unwieldiy schemes, 
 And dark portents of state. Ten thousand more. 
 Prodigious habits and tumultuous tongues. 
 Pour dauntless in and swell the boastful band. 120 
 
 Then * comes the second order ; all w ho seek 
 
 * V. 121. 7'hen comes the second order, &.C.3 Ridicule from Ihtt 
 same vanity, where, though the possession he real, vf t no mirit 
 can arise from it, because of some particular circumstances, v.iiicli, 
 though obvious to the spectator, are yet o\erlooked by the ridjcu. 
 lous character.
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 65 
 
 The debt of praise, where watchful unbelief 
 
 Darts through the thin pretence her squinting eye 
 
 On some retired appearance which belies 
 
 The boasted virtue, or annuls the applause 125 
 
 That justice else would pay. Here side by side 
 
 I see two leaders of the solemn train. 
 
 Approaching ; one a female, old and grey. 
 
 With eyes demure and wrinkle- furrow 'd brow. 
 
 Pale as the' cheeks of death ; yet still she stuns 130 
 
 The sickening audience with a nauseous tale; 
 
 How many youths her myrtle-chains have worn. 
 
 How many virgins at her triumphs pined ! 
 
 Yet how resolved she guards her cautious heart ; 
 
 Such is her terror at the risks of love, 1 35 
 
 And man's seducing tongue ! The other seems 
 
 A bearded sage, ungentle in his mien. 
 
 And sordid all his habit ; peevish want 
 
 Grins at his lieels, while down the gazing throng 
 
 He stalks, resounding in magnific phrase 140 
 
 The vanity of riches, the contempt 
 
 Of pomp and power. Be prudent in your zeal. 
 
 Ye grave associates! let the silent grace 
 
 Of her who blushes at the fond regard 
 
 Her charms inspire, more eloquent unfold 1 1-5 
 
 The praise of spotless honour : let the man 
 
 Whose eye regards not his illustrio'js pomp 
 
 And ample store, but as indulgent streams 
 
 To cheer the barren soil, and spread the fruits 
 
 Of joy ; let him by juster measures fix 150 
 
 The price of riches and the end of power.
 
 66 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Another * tribe succeeds; deluded long 
 By Fancy's dazzling optics, these behold 
 The images of son>e peculiar things 
 With brighter hues resplendent, and portray 'd. 155 
 With features nobler far than e'er adorn'd 
 Their genuine objects. Hence the fever'd heart 
 Pants with delirious hope for tinsel charms; 
 Hence oft obtrusive on the eye of scorn, 
 Untimely zeal her witless pride betrays ; 160 
 
 And serious manhood from the towering aim 
 Of wisdom, stoops to emulate the boast 
 Of childish toil. Behold yon mystic form, 
 Eedeck'd with feathers, insects, weeds and shells ! 
 Not with intenser view the Samian sage 165 
 
 Bent his fixt eye on heaven's eternal fires. 
 When first the order of that radiant scene 
 Swell'd his exulting thought; than this surveys 
 A muckworm's entrails or a spider's fang. 
 Next him a youth, with flowers and myrtles crown'd, 170 
 Attends that virgin form, and blushing kneels. 
 With fondest gesture and a suppliant's tongue. 
 To win her coy regard : adieu, for him. 
 The dull engagements of the bustling world ! 
 Adieu the sick impertinence of praise ! 175 
 
 And hope, and action ! for with her alone. 
 By streams and shades, to steal the sighing hours. 
 Is all he asks, and all that fate can give ! 
 Thee too, facetious Momion, wandering here. 
 Thee dreaded censor ! oft have I beheld ] 80 
 
 V. ^52. Another tribe succeeds, &c.] Ridicule from a notion 
 of excellence in jjarti^ular objects disproportioned to their iutrinstie 
 value, aad ii.co'isistcat wilh th order of nature.
 
 IMAGINATION BOOK III. 67 
 
 Bevvilder'd unawares : alas ! too long 
 
 Flush'd with thy comic triumphs and the spoils 
 
 Of sly derision ! till on ertry side 
 
 Hurling thy random bolts, offended truth 
 
 Assign'd thee here tby station with the slaves 185 
 
 Of FOLLY. Thy once formidable name 
 
 Shall grace her humble records, and be heard 
 
 In scoffs and mockery bandied from the lips 
 
 Of all the vengeful brotherhood around. 
 
 So oft the patient victims of thy scorn. 190 
 
 But * now, ye gay ! to whom indulgent Fate, 
 Of -all the must's empire hath assign'd 
 The fields of Folly, hither each advance 
 Your sickles; here the teeming soul affords 
 Its richest growth. A favourite brood appears ; 195 
 In whom the daemon, with a mother's joy. 
 Views all her charms reflected, all her cares 
 At full repay'd. Ye most illustrious band ! 
 Who, scorning Reason's tame, pedantic rules. 
 And Order's vulgar bondage, never meant 200 
 
 For souls sublime as yours, with generous zeal 
 Pay Vice the reverence Virtue long usurp'd. 
 And yield Deformity the fond applause 
 Which Beauty wont to claim ; forgive my song. 
 That for the blushing diffidence of youth, 205 
 
 It shuns the anequal province of your praise. 
 
 Thus t far triumphant in the pleasing guile 
 Of bland imagination. Folly's train 
 
 * V. 191. But now, yet gay, S^c."] Fidiciile from a notion of 
 excellence, when the object i.s ah'>lutely otiious or contemptible. 
 This is the highest degree of the ridiculous; as in the: aliectaticn of 
 diseases fir vices. 
 
 t V. 207. Thus far triumphant, cVc] Ridicule from false shame 
 or groundless fear.
 
 C8 THEPLEASURESOF 
 
 Have dared our search : but now a dastard-kind 
 
 Advance reluctant, and with faltering feet 210 
 
 Shrink from the gazer's eye : enfeebled hearts 
 
 Whom Fancy chills with visionary fears. 
 
 Or bends to servile tameness with conceits 
 
 Of shame, of evil, or of base defect 
 
 Fantastic and delusive. Here the slave 1 15 
 
 Who droops abash'd when sullen pomp surveys 
 
 His humbler habit ; here the trembling wretch 
 
 Unnerved and struck with terror's icy bolts ; 
 
 Spent in weak wailings, drown'd in shameful tears. 
 
 At every dream of danger : here subdued 220 
 
 By frontless laughter and the hardy scorn 
 
 Of old, unfeeling vice, the abject soul. 
 
 Who blushing half resigns the candid praise 
 
 Of temperance and honour ; half disowns 
 
 A freeman's hatred of tyrannic pride ; 225 
 
 And hears with sickly smiles the venal mouth 
 
 With foulest licence mock the patriot's name. 
 
 Last * of the motley bands, on whom the pov. er 
 Of gay derision bends her hostile aim. 
 Is that, where shameful Ignorance presides. 230 
 
 Beneath her sordid banners, lo ! they march. 
 Like blind and lame. Whate'cr their doubtful hands 
 Attempt, confusion straight appears behind. 
 And troubles all the work. Through many a maze, 
 Perplcx'd they struggle, changing every path, 235 
 
 O'erturning every purpose ; then at last 
 Sit dovvn dismay 'd, and leave the entangled scene 
 For scorn to sport with. Such then is the abode 
 
 * V. 228. Last of the, ^c] Ridicule from the ignorance of 
 such things as our circumstauces require us to know.
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 69 
 
 Of Folly in the mind ; and such the shapes 
 
 In which she governs her obsequious train. 2i0 
 
 Through* every scene of Ridicule in things 
 To lead the tenor of my devious lay ; 
 Through every swift occasion, which the hand 
 Of Laughter points at, when the mirthful sting 
 Distends her sallying nerves and choaks her tongue j 245 
 What were it but to count each crystal drop 
 Which Morning's dewy fingers on the blooms 
 Of May distil ? f Suffice it to have said* 
 
 * ooi II, line 503. 
 
 f V.248. Suffice it to have said, A'c] By comparing these 
 general sources of ridicule with each other, and examining the ridic- 
 ulous in other objects, we may obtain a general definition of it, 
 equally applicable to every species. The most imjiortant circum- 
 stance of this definition is laid down in the lines referred to ; but 
 others more minute we shall subjoin here. Aristotle's account of the 
 matter seems both imperfect and fiilse j .^o 7f yiXo^o-.', says he, 
 IrkV njAfnixoi, Ti K.xl ah'x^, huovmi xai a (fGapTiXov : the ri- 
 diculous is some certain fault or turpitude without pain, and not de- 
 structive to its subject. {Poet. c. 5.) For allowing it to be true, as 
 it is not, that the ridiculous is never accompanied with pain, yet 
 we might produce many instances of such a fault or turpitude which 
 cannot with any toleraljle propriety I>e calle<l ridiculous. So that 
 the definition d'jes not distinguish the thing designed. Nay farther; 
 even when we perceive the turpitude tpading to the destruction of 
 its subiect, we may still be sensible of a ridiculous appearance, till 
 tiie ruin become imminent, and the keener bcnsations of pity or tcr- 
 ror banish the ludicrous apprehension from our m'nds. For the 
 sensation of ridicule is not a bare perception of the agreement or 
 disagreement of ideas ; but a passion or emotion of the mind con- 
 sequential to that perception. !so that the mind may perceive the 
 agreement or disagreement, and yel not feel the ridiculous, because 
 it is engrossed by a more violent emotion. Thus it hap|)ns that 
 some men think those objects ridiculous, to whicli othcr^^ cannot en- 
 dure to apply the name; because in them they exeite a much in- 
 tenser and more imp'jrtint feeling. And this dilierence, among 
 other causes, has broiijiit a good deal of Confusion into this ques- 
 tion. 
 
 7'hat xthich makes ohji'.cis ndiculuHS, it soine ground of adniirati*n 
 or esteem connected mtli othar more general circumslanccs compara- 
 tively worthless or deformed ; or it is some circumstance of turpitude oi 
 deformity connected ^ilh i<;I:af is general excellent or licauttful ; .';,-
 
 70 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Where'er the power of Ridicule displays 
 
 Her quaint-eyed visage, some incongruous form, 250 
 
 Some stubborn dissonance of things combined. 
 
 Strikes on the quick observer : whether pomp. 
 
 Or praise, or beauty, mix their partial claim 
 
 Where sordid fJishions, where ignoble deeds, 
 
 Wherfe foul deformity are wont to dwell j 255 
 
 inconsistent projierties existing cither in the objects themselves, or in 
 the apprehension of the person to whom they relate ; belonging always 
 to the same order or class of being ; implying sentiment or design , 
 and exciting no acute or vehement emotion of the heart. 
 
 To prove the several parts of this definition: The appearance of 
 excellence or beauty connected with a general condition comparatively 
 sordid or deformed, is ridiculous : for instance, jximpons pretensions 
 of uisdom joined with ignorance and folly in the Socrates of Aristo- 
 phanes ; and the ostentations of military glory with cowardice and 
 stupiJity in the Thraso of Terence. 
 
 the appearnce of deformity or turpitude in conjunction with what is 
 in general excellent or venerable, is also ridiculous : for instance, the 
 ptrsonal weaknesses of a magistrate appearing in the solemn and 
 public functions of his station. 
 
 The incongruous properties may either exist in the objects them' 
 selves, or in apprehcmicn of the person to whom they relate : in the 
 las;, nentioned instance, the}' both exist in the objecls; in the in- 
 Etai'Ces from Aristophanes and Terence, one of them is objective and 
 viti), the other only founded in the apprehension of the ridiculous 
 cliaracter. 
 
 The inconsident properties must belong to the same order or class (if 
 being. A coxcomb in fine clothes, bedaubed by accident in foul 
 wvather, is a ridiculous object ; because his general apprehension 
 of excellence and esteem is referred to the splendour and cxpence of 
 liii dress. A man of sense and merit, in the same circumstances, 
 is i!ot counted ridiculous; because the general ground of excellence 
 and esteem in liim, \%, both in fact and in liis own apprehension, of 
 a \ery difl'erent species. 
 
 t'rcery ridiculous object implies sentiment or dcsii^n. A column 
 placed by an architect without a capital or base, is lauglied at : the 
 same column in a ruin causes a very difl'erent sensation. 
 
 Aiid lastly, the ociurcnce must excite no acute or vehement emotion 
 of the heart, such as terror, pity, or indignation ; fir in that case, 
 a-* was vjb.-erved above, the mind is not at leisure to contemplate the 
 ridic;;hus. 
 
 ^Vhethcrany appearance not ridiculous be involved in this de- 
 scription, and whether it comprehend evcrj' species and form of the 
 ri:licuIo;:s, must be dctsniiitied by repeated applications of it t* 
 particular initauces.
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK lU. 71 
 
 Or whether these with violation loath'd. 
 Invade resplendent ponmp's imperious mien. 
 The charms of beauty or the boast of praise. 
 Ask * we for what lair end, the Almighty Sike 
 
 * Book II, line 523. 
 259. Ask lie for icJiat fair end, &c.] SiHce it is beyond all 
 contradiction evident that we have a natural sense or feeling of the 
 ridiculous, and since so gix)d a reason may be assigned to justify 
 the Supreme Being for besto\v in^ it; one cannot without astonish- 
 ment reflect on the conduct of those men v. ho imagine it is for the 
 service of true religion to vilify and blacken it without distinction, 
 aud endeavour to persuade us that it is never applied but in a bad 
 cause. Ridicule is not concerned with mere speculative truth or 
 felsehixxl. It is not in abstract propositions or theorem?, but in 
 actions and pasbions, gon<l and evil, beauty and deformity, that wc 
 find materials for it ; and all these terras are relative, implying ap- 
 pnbation or blame. To ask then whether ridicule he a tat of truth, 
 is, in other words, to ask whether that which is ridiculous can be 
 morally true, can be just and becoming; or whether that which is 
 just and becoming can be ridiculous. A question that does not de- 
 serve a serious answer. For it is most evident, that, as in a meta- 
 physical propooition offered to the understanding for its assent, the 
 faculty of reason examir.i-s t'.e terms of the proposition, and finding 
 one i<loa, which was supposed equal to another, to be in fact une- 
 qual, of consequence rejects the proposition as a falsehood ; fo, in 
 objects offered to the mind for its esteem or applause, the faculty of 
 ridicule, finding an incongruity in the claim, urges tiie mind to re- 
 ject it with laugliter and contempt. When therefore we obferve 
 such a claim obtruded upon mankind, and the inconsistent circum- 
 stances carefully concealed from the eye ofthe publii;, it is our bu- 
 siness, if the matter be of importance to society, to drr.g oi;t those 
 latent circumstances, and, by setting them in full view, to con- 
 vince the world how ridiculuits the claim is: and thus a double ad- 
 vantage is gained; for we both detect the moral falsehood sooner 
 than in the way of sj)eculative inquirv-, and impress the minds of 
 men witii a stronger sense of the vanity and erior of its aiithors. 
 And this and no more is meant by tlie application of ridicule. 
 
 But it is .<aid, tiie practice is dangerous, and may b-* inconsistent 
 with the rctanl Wt- owe to objects of real dignity and excelifncc 
 I answer, the practice fairly managed can never be dangerous; men 
 may be di>honest in oiUruding cireumstanres f m iun to the object, 
 and we may Ie inadvertent in allowing those cin-umstances to im- 
 pose ujjon us: but t!ie s<nsc of ridicule always judges right, 'i'he 
 Socrates of Arisiif!:anrs is as trnly ri^'TuIous a character as c^er was 
 drawn: True ; but it is not t!ie ejiaracter of Socrates, the divine 
 moralist and father of anci.Tif widoin. \V1 at tiien? did t!.e ridi- 
 cule of the poet hindiT the philosopher from detecting and disclaim- 
 ing tliose foreign circums'.'.uces whicli he hnd faiscK introduced iut
 
 72 ' THE PLEASURES O^F 
 
 In mortal boSoms wakes this gay contempt, 2(50 
 
 ITiese grateful stings of laughter, from disgust 
 
 Edilcing pleasure ? * Wherefore, but to aid 
 
 The tardy steps of reason, and at once 
 
 By this prompt impulse urge us to depress 
 
 The giddy aims of Folly ? Though the light 265 
 
 Of truth slow-dawning on the inquiring mind. 
 
 At length unfolds, through many a subtile tie. 
 
 How these uncouth disorders end at last 
 
 In public evil ! yet benignant Heaven, 
 
 Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears 270 
 
 To thousands; conscious what a scanty pause 
 
 From labours and from care, the wider lot 
 
 Of humble life affords for studious thought 
 
 To scan the maze of Nature ; therefore stamp'd 
 
 The glaring scenes with characters of scorn, 275 
 
 As broad, as obvious, to the passing clown. 
 
 As to the letter'd sage's curious eye. 
 
 Such are the various aspects of the mind- 
 Some heavenly genius, whose unclouded thoughts 
 Attain that secret harmony which blends 280 
 
 The tethereal spirit with its mould of clay ; 
 O ! teach me to reveal the grateful charm 
 That searchless Nature o'er the sense of man 
 
 his character, and thus rcnclering the satirist doubly ridiculuus in his 
 turn? No; but it nevertheless had an ill influence on liie minds of 
 the people. And so has the reasoning of Spinoza made many 
 atheists: he founded it indeed on suppositions utterly false; but 
 allow him these, and his conclusions arc unavoidably true. And if 
 v,e must reject the use of ridicule, because, by tiie imposition of false 
 circumstances, things may be made to seem ridiculotis, which are 
 not so in themselves ; why we ought not in the same manner to re- 
 ject the use of reasoii, because, bj' proceeding on false principles, 
 conclusions will appear true which are impossible in nature, let the 
 \chement and obstinate declaimers against ridicule determine. 
 * Hvcji II, line 526. .
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK 111. 73 
 
 BifTuses, to behold, in lifeless things, 
 
 The * inexpressive semblance of himself, 285 
 
 Of thought and passion. Mark the sable woods 
 
 That shade sublime yon mountain's nodding brow ; 
 
 With what religious awe the solemn scene 
 
 Commands your steps ! as if the reverend form 
 
 Of Minos or of Numa should forsake 290 
 
 The Elysian seats, and down the embowering glade. 
 
 Move to your pausing eye ! behold the expanse 
 
 Of yon gay laiKlscapc, where the silver clouds 
 
 Flit o'er the heavens before the sprightly breeze ; 
 
 Now their grey cincture skirts the doubtful sun ; 295 
 
 Now streams of splendor, through their <>pening veil 
 
 Effulgent, sweep from off the gilded lawn 
 
 The aerial shadows; on the the curling brook. 
 
 And on the shady margin's quivering leaves 
 
 With quickest lustre glancing : while you view 300 
 
 The prospect, say, within your cheerful breast 
 
 Plays not the lively sense of winning mirth 
 
 With clouds and sun-shine chequer'd, while the round 
 
 Of social converse, to the inspiring tongue 
 
 Of some gay nymph amid her subject train, .305 
 
 Moves all obsetjuious ? Whence is this eflect. 
 
 This kindred power of such discordant things ? 
 
 Or flows their semblance from that mystic tone 
 
 To which the new-born mind's harmonious powers 
 
 At first were strung? Or rather from the links 310 
 
 Which artful custom twines around her frame? 
 
 For when the diflerent images of things. 
 By chance combined, have struck the attentive soul 
 
 * V.285. The ine.rprcsike semblance, &c.] This similitude is the 
 tbundation of almost all the ornaments of jwctic <!!' lion 
 G
 
 74 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 With deeper impulse, or connected long, x> 
 
 Have drawn her frequent eye ; howe'er distinct 315 
 
 The external scenes, yet oft the ideas gam 
 
 From that conjunction an eternal tie. 
 
 And sympathy unbroken. Let the mind 
 
 Recal one partner of the various league. 
 
 Immediate, lo ! the firm confederates rise, 320 
 
 And each his former station straight resumes : 
 
 One movement governs the consenting throng. 
 
 And all at once with rosy pleasure shine. 
 
 Or all are sadden'd with the glooms of care. 
 
 'Twas thus, if ancient fame the truth unfold, 325 
 
 Two * faithful needles, from the informing touch 
 
 Of the same parent-stone, together drew 
 
 Its mystic virtue, and at first conspired 
 
 With fatal impulse quivering to the pole : 32!) 
 
 Then, tho' disjoined by kingdoms, tho' the main 
 
 Roll'd its broad surge betwixt, and diflerent stars 
 
 Beheld their wakeful motions, yet preserved 
 
 The former friendship, and remembcr'd still 
 
 The alliance of their birth: whate'er the line 
 
 Which one possess'd, nor pause, nor quiet knew 355 
 
 The sure associate, ere with trtnibling speed 
 
 He found ils patn and fix'd unerring there. 
 
 Such is the secret union, when we feel 
 
 A soj2g, Ajioii:er, a mane, at once restore 339 
 
 Those long-connected scenes where first they moved 
 
 The attention : backward through her mazy walks 
 
 Guidmg the wanton fancy to her scope, 
 
 * V. 3<26. Ticn faithful needles, &c. ] See the elegant poem re. 
 cited by Ordinal Bembo in the chaLracter oi Liccretius ; Strada Fro- 
 lus. vi. Academ, 2. c. v.
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 75 
 
 To temples, ceurts or fields ; with all the band 
 Of painted forms, of passions and designs 
 Attendant : whence, if pleasing in itself, 345 
 
 The prospect from'that sweet accession gains 
 Redoubled influence o'er the listening mind. 
 
 By * these mysterious ties the busy power / 
 Of memory her ideal train preserves ( 
 
 Entire ; or, when they would elude her watch, 350 
 Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste 
 Of dark oblivion ; thus collecting all 
 The various forms of being, to present. 
 Before the curious aim of mimic art, 
 Their largest choice : like spring's unfolded blooms 
 Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee 356 
 
 IMay taste at will, from their selected spoils 
 To work her dulcet food. For not the expanse 
 Of living lakes in summer's noontide calm. 
 Reflects the bordering shade, and sun-bright heavens 
 With fairer semblance ; not the sculptured gold 361 
 More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace. 
 Than he whose birth the sister powers of art 
 Propitious vicw'd, and from his genial star 
 yiied influence to the seeds of fancy kind ; 365 
 
 Than liis attempered bosom must preserve 
 The seal of Nature. There alone unchanged 
 Iler form remains. The balmy walks of May 
 There breathe perennial sweets : the trembling chord 
 Resounds forever in the abstracted ear, 370 
 
 ?.Ielo<.lious : and the virgiu's radiant eye, 
 Superior to disease, to grief, and time, 
 
 V. 348. By these mysterious ties &.e. ] The act of reincmbcr- 
 ioff seems alimrit wholly to d'';)ond on the association of iUeai.-
 
 7t> THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 Shines with unbating lustre. Thus at length 
 
 Endow'd with all that Nature can bestow. 
 
 The child of Fancy oft in silence bends 37 3 
 
 O'er these ntiiSt treasures of his pregnant breast 
 
 With conscious pride. From them he oft resolves 
 
 To frame he knows not what excelling things ; 
 
 And win he knows not what sublime reward 
 
 Of praise and wonder. By degrees, the mind iSO 
 
 Feels her young nerves dilate : the plastic powers 
 
 Labour for action : blind emotions heave 
 
 His bosom ; and with loveliest frenzy caught, 
 
 From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye, 
 
 I'rom heaven to earth. Anon ten thousand shapes, 3S3 
 
 Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call. 
 
 Flit swift l)efore him. From the wo'nb of earth, 
 
 I'rom ocean's bed they come : the eternal heavens 
 
 Disclose their splendors, and the dark abyss 
 
 Pours out her births unknown. With fixed gnze 390 
 
 lie marks the rising phantoms; now compares 
 
 Their different forms j now blends them, now divides. 
 
 Enlarges and extenuates by turns j 
 
 Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands. 
 
 And infinitely varies. Hither now, 395 
 
 Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim. 
 
 With endless choice perplex'd. At length his plan 
 
 Begins to open : lucid order dawns ; 
 
 And as from Chaos old the jarring seeds 
 
 Of Nature at the voice divine repair'd 400 
 
 Each to its place, till rosy earth unveil'd 
 
 Her fragrant bosom, and the joyful sun 
 
 Sprung up the blue serene; by swift degrees 
 
 Thus disentangled, his entire design
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 77 
 
 Emerges. Colours mingle, features join, 405 
 
 And lines converge : the fainter parts retire; 
 The fairer, eminent in light advance ; 
 And every image on its neighbour smiles. 
 A while he stands, and with a father's joy- 
 Contemplates ; then with Promethean art, 410 
 Into its proper vehicle he breathes 
 The fair conception; which, embodied thus,' 
 And permanent, becomes to eyes or ears 
 An object ascertain'd : while thus informed. 
 The various organs of his mimic skill, 415 
 The consonance of sounds, the featured rock. 
 The shadowy picture and impassion'd verse. 
 Beyond their proper powers attract the soul 
 By that expressive semblance, while in sight 
 Of Nature's great original we scan 420 
 The lively child of Art ; while line by line. 
 And feature after feature we refer 
 To that sublime exemplar whence it stole 
 Those animating charms. Thus Beauty's palm 
 Betwixt them wavering hangs : applauding Love 425 
 Doubts where to chuse ; and mortal man aspires 
 To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud 
 Of gathering hail with limpid crusts of ice 
 Inclosed and obvious to the beaming sun. 
 Collects his large effulgence ; straight the heavens 430 
 With equal flames present on either hand 
 The radiant visage : Persia stands at gaze, 
 Appall'd; and on the brink of Gan:>ts dcubts 
 
 * V. 41 1. Into its proper vehicle, &.c. ] This relates to the dif- 
 ferent sorts of corporeal mediums, by which tlic ideas of the artists 
 arc rcTidered palpable to he senses; as by soimds, in music; by 
 lines and s-hadows, in painting; by diction, in poetry, &c. 
 G 2
 
 78 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 The snowy-vested seer, in Mithka's name. 
 
 To wliich the fragrance of the jouth shall burn, 43 5 
 
 To which his warbled orisons ascend. 
 
 Such various bliss the well-tuned heart enjoys. 
 Favoured of Heaven ! while plunged in sordid cares. 
 The unfeeling vulgar mock the boon divine : 
 And harsh Austerity, from whose rebuke -iW 
 
 Young Love and smiling Wonder shrink away 
 Abash'd and chill of heart, with sager frowns 
 Condemns the fair enchantment. On my strain. 
 Perhaps even now, some cold, fastidious judge 
 Casts a disdainful eye ; and calls my toil, ^i5 
 
 And calls the Love and Beauty which I sing, 
 The dream of Folly. Thou, grave censor ! say. 
 Is Beauty then a dream, because the glooms 
 Of dulness hang too heavy on thy sense. 
 To let her shine upon thee .'' So the man 450 
 
 Whose eye ne'er open'd on the light of heaven. 
 Might smile with scorn while raptured vision tells 
 Of the gay-colour'd radiance flushing bright 
 O'er all creation. From the wise be far 
 Such gross unhallow'd pride ; nor needs my song 455 
 Descend so low ; but rather now unfold. 
 If human thought can reach, or words unfold. 
 By what mysterious fabric of the mind. 
 The deep-felt joys and harmony of sound. 
 Result from airy motion ; and from shape 460 
 
 The lovely phantoms of sublime and fair. 
 By what fine ties hath God connected things 
 When present in the mind, which in themselves 
 Have no connection ? Sure the rising sun 
 O'er the cseralean convex of the sea, 465
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 79 
 
 With equal brightness and with equal warmth 
 
 Might roll bis fiery orb; nor yet the soul 
 
 Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers 
 
 Exulting in the splendor she beholds ; 469 
 
 Like a young conqueror moving through the pomp 
 
 Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve. 
 
 Soft murmuring streams and gales of gentlest breath 
 
 Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain 
 
 Attemper ; could not man's discerning ear 
 
 TJirough all its tones the sympathy pursue, 475 
 
 Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy 
 
 Steal through his veins and fan the awaken'd heart. 
 
 Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song ? 
 
 But were not Nature still endow'd at lar^e 
 With all that life requires, though unadorn'd 480 
 
 With such enchantment > Wherefore then her form 
 S exquisitely fair ? her breath perfumed 
 With such oethereal sweetness ? whence her voice 
 Inform'd at will to raise or to depress 
 The impassion'd soul ? and whence the robes of light 
 Which thus invest her with more lovely pomp 486 
 
 Than fancy can describe ? Whence but from thee, 
 O Source Divine of ever-flowing love ! 
 And thy unmeasured goodness ? Not content 
 With every food of life to nourish man ; 490 
 
 By kind illusions of the wondering ^ense 
 Thou makest all Nature beauty to his eye. 
 Or music to his ear : well-pltased he scans 
 Tlie goodly prospect, and with inward smiles. 
 Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain ; 495 
 
 Beholds the azure canopy of heaven, 
 And living lamps, that over-arch his head
 
 80 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 ) With more than regal splendor ; bends his ears 
 To the full choir of water, air, and earth ; 
 Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought, 500 
 
 Nor doubts the paii>ted green or azure arch. 
 Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds 
 Than space, or motion, er eternal time ; 
 So sweet he feels their influence to attract 
 The fixed soul; to brighten the dull glooms 505 
 
 Of care, and make the destin'd road of life 
 Delightful to his feet. So fables tell. 
 The adventurous hero, bound on hard exploits. 
 Beholds with glad surprise, by secret spells 
 Of some kind sage, the patron of his toils, 510 
 
 A visionary paradise disclosed 
 Amid the dubious wild : with streams and shades. 
 And airy songs, the enchanted landscape smiles. 
 Cheers his long labours and renews his frame. 
 l" What then is Taste, but these internal powers 515 
 Active, and strong, and feelingly alive 
 To each fine impulse ? a discerning sense 
 Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust 
 From things deformed, or disarrang'd> or gross 
 In species ? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold, 520 
 Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow ; 
 But God alone, when first his active hand 
 Imprints the secret bias of the soul. 
 He, mighty parent! wise and just in all. 
 Free as the vital breeze or light of heaven, 525 
 
 Reveals the charms of Nature. Ask the swain 
 Who journeys homeward from a summer-day's 
 Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils 
 And due repose, be loiters to behold
 
 IMAGINATION BOOK III. 81 
 
 The sunshine gleaming as through amber clouds, 530 
 
 O'er all the western sky ; full soon, I ween. 
 
 His rude expression and untutor'd airs. 
 
 Beyond the power of language, will unfold 
 
 The form of Beauty smiling at his heart. 
 
 How lovely ! how commanding ! But though heaven 
 
 In every breast hath sown these early seeds 53^ 
 
 Of love and admiration, yet in vain. 
 
 Without fair culture's kind parental aid. 
 
 Without enlivening suns, and genial showers. 
 
 And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope 540 
 
 The tender plant should rear its blooming head. 
 
 Or yield the harvest promised in its spring. 
 
 Nor yet will every soil with equal stores 
 
 Repay the tiller's labour; or attend 
 
 His will, obsequious, whether to produce 545 
 
 The olive or the laurel. Different minds 
 
 Incline to different objects : * one pursues N 
 
 The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild ; 
 
 Another sighs for harmony, and grace, 549 
 
 And gentlest beauty. Hence when lightning fires 
 
 The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground. 
 
 When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air. 
 
 And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed. 
 
 Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky ; 
 
 Amid the mighty uproar, while below 555 
 
 The nations tremble, Shakesfeare looks abroad 
 
 From some high clillj superior, and enjoys 
 
 V. 547, One pursiits 
 
 The voit alo'ic, ice] See the nota to verse 18 of this book.
 
 82 THE PLEASURES OF 
 
 The elemental war ; but * Waller longs. 
 
 All on the margin of some flowery stream, 
 
 To spread his careless limbs, amid the cool 560 
 
 Of plantane shades, and to the listening deer 
 
 The tale of slighted vows, and love's disdain 
 
 Resound soft-warbling all the live-long day : 
 
 Consenting Zephyr sighs, the weeping rill 
 
 Joins in his plaint, melodious ; mute the groves ; 565 
 
 And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn. 
 
 Such and so various are the tastes of men ! 
 
 Oh blest of Heaven ! whom not the languid songs 
 Of Luxury, the Siren ; not the bribes 
 Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils 570 
 
 Of pageant Honour, can seduce to leave 
 Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store 
 Of Nature fair Imagmation culls 
 To charm the enliven'd soul ! What though not all 
 Of mortal ofl'spring can attain the heights 575 
 
 Of envied life ; though only few possess 
 Patrician treasures or imperial state j 
 Yet Nature's care, to all her children just. 
 With richer treasures and an ampler state. 
 Endows at large whatever happy man 58 
 
 Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp. 
 The rural honours his : whatever adorns 
 
 '^ V, 568. WaVer longs, &c.] 
 
 O! how I long my careless limbs to lay 
 Under the plantane shade; and all the day 
 V/ith amorous airs my fancy entertain, &c. 
 
 Waller, Battle of the Suinaier-Islands, Canto I. 
 
 And ngain. 
 
 f^ hile in the pari I sing, the listening deer 
 Atic-.d my passion, and forget to fear, &c. 
 
 At Fens-hurst.
 
 IMAGINATION. BOOK III. 83 
 
 The princely dome, the column and the arch. 
 
 The breathing marbles and the sculptured gold. 
 
 Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim 585 
 
 Hi* tuneful breast enjoys. For him the Spring 
 
 Distils 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 : 590 
 
 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 inabibes 
 
 The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain 595 
 
 From all the tenants of the warbling shade 
 
 Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake 
 
 Fresh pleasure unreproved : uor thence partakes 
 
 Fresh pleasure only ; for the attentive mind 
 
 By this harmonious action on her powers 600 
 
 Becomes herself harmonious : wont so oft 
 
 In outward things to meditate the charm 
 
 Of sacred Order, soon she seeks at home 
 
 V. 39.0. Xot a breeze, 6)'c ] That this acconnt may not 
 
 appear rather poetically extraragant than just in philosophy, it may 
 be proper to produce the sentiment of one of the greatest, w ise-t, 
 and best of men on this head ; one so little to be suspected of par- 
 tiality in the case, that he reckons it among those favours for which 
 he was esixrially thankful to the god.^, that they had not Mifieicd 
 him to make any great proficiency in the arts of eloquence apl poe- 
 try, lest by that means he shovdd have b' en diverted from j u^^;llits 
 of niore importance to his high station. Speaking of the beau: . of 
 universal Nature, he oh.sf-rves, that there is aplcaxinp; and graceful 
 aqicct In every object we fierccivc, vvhen once we considt r its connec- 
 tion wi h that general order. He inst.nces in many things which 
 at fir t i'/ht would be thought rather deformities, luid then adds, 
 that a ma-i u;bu enjoys <i .en.si'^Utlij of temper, luilh a just comprehension 
 of the universal order will disceru many amiable things, not credible 
 to eve, y i.uiud, but to those alone who have entered into an honourubli 
 familiarity with Saiwe and her works. M. .Antonin. iii. '2.
 
 84 THE PLEASURES OF &c. 
 
 To find a kindred Order, to exert 
 
 Within lierself this elegance of love, 60j 
 
 This fair-inspired delight : her temper'd powers 
 
 Refine at length, and every passion wears 
 
 A chaster, milder, more attractive, mien. 
 
 But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze 
 
 On Nature's form, where, negligent of all 610 
 
 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 6 1 a 
 
 Of servile custom cramp her generous powers ? 
 
 Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth 
 
 Of Ignorance and Rapine, bow her down 
 
 To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear ? 
 
 Lo ! she appeals to Nature, to the winds 020 
 
 And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course, 
 
 The elements and seasons : all declare 
 
 For what the eternal maker has ordain'd 
 
 The powers of man : we feel within ourselves 
 
 His energy divine : he tells the heart 625 
 
 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 629 
 
 Whom Nature's works can charm 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. 633 
 
 THE END OF BOOK THE THIRD.
 
 THE 
 
 PLEASURE S 
 
 IMAGINATION 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 ENLARGED. 
 
 *' TVte child of Fancy oft in silence bends 
 
 " O'er these mix'd treasures of his pregnant breast 
 
 *' With conscious pride." 
 
 11
 
 86 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 THE GENERAL ARGUMENT. 
 
 THE Pleasures of the Imagination proceed either from 
 natural objects, as from a flourishing grove, a clear and 
 7nurmuring fountain, a calm sea by moonlight; or from 
 works of art, such as a noble edifice, a musical tune, a 
 statue, a picture, a poem. In treating of these Pleasures 
 ivc must begin with the former class, they being original 
 to the other ; and nothing more being necessary, in order 
 to explain them, than a view of our natural inclination 
 toward greatness and beauty, and of those appearances 
 in the world around us, to which that inclination is 
 adapted. This is the subject of the First Book of the 
 following Poem. 
 
 But the Pleasures which we receive from the elegant arts, 
 from music, sculpture, painting, and poetry, are much 
 more various and complicated. In them (besides great- 
 71CSS and beauty, or forms proper to the Imagination) we 
 find interwoven frequent representatidns of truth, of 
 virtue and vice, of circumstances proper to viove us 
 with laughter, or to excite in us pity, fear, and the oilier 
 passions. These inoral and inteUecliial objects are de- 
 scribed in the Second Book; to which the Tliird proper- 
 ly belongs as an episode, though too large to have been 
 included in it. 
 
 Willi the above-mentioned causes oj pleasure, which arc 
 universal in the course of human life and appertain to 
 our high.er faculties, many others do generally concur.
 
 IMAGINATION, ^7 
 
 >.>_>.>.>,.....>.>.>.>..>->->.>..>-.>..>>>>>>>->->->>>>>>>>>"">> 
 
 THE GENERAL ARGUMENT. 
 
 more limited in their operation, or of an inferior ori- 
 gin : such are the novelty of objects, the association 
 of ideas, affections of the bodily senses, influences of ed- 
 ucation, national habits, and the like. To illustrate 
 these, and from the nhole to determine the character 
 of a perfect taste, is the argument of the Fourth Book. 
 
 Hitherto the pleasures of the imagination belong to the 
 hvnan species in general. But there are certain par- 
 ticular men whose imagination is endov^ed with poxuers, 
 and susceptible of pleasures, which the generality of 
 mankind never participate : these are the men of genius, 
 
 destined by nature to excel in one or other of the arts 
 already mentioned. It is proposed therefore, in the 
 last place, to delineate that genius which in some degree 
 appears common to them all; yet with a more peculiar 
 consideration of poetry : inasmuch as poetry is the most 
 extensive of those arts, the most philosophical, and the 
 most useful. 
 
 N. B. The f;;;urc3 at the bottom of the page in both thr poems, 
 refer to the similar passages in each, for the convenience of those 
 who may wish to compare them.
 
 ARGUMENT 
 
 THE FIRST BOOK, 
 
 THE subject proposed. Dedication. The ideas of the supreme 
 being, the exemplars of all things. The variety of constituiioa 
 in the minds of men; with its final cause. The general charac- 
 ter of a fine imagination. All the immediate pleasures of the 
 human imagination proceed either from greatness or beauty in 
 external objects. Tlie pleasure from greatness; with its final 
 cause. The natural connection of beauty with * truth and good* 
 The different orders of beauty in dift'erent objects. The infinite 
 and all-comprehending form of beauty, which belongs to the di- 
 vine mind. The partial and artificial forms of beauty, which 
 belong to inferior intellectual beings. The orij,'in and general con- 
 duct of beauty in man. The subordination of local beauties to 
 to the beauty of the universe. Conclusion. 
 
 * Truth is here taken rot hi a logical, but in a mixed and ]>opiifar 
 soisc, or fur -xhat Aa* been called the truth of thin gi ; dgiiotini; as tuf/l 
 their natural and regular eomlition, as a proper otimatc or j-'idi^^iun: 
 concerning them.
 
 THE 
 
 PLEASURES 
 
 IMAGINATION 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 MDCCLVII. 
 
 With what inchantment Nature's goodly scene 
 Attracts the sense of mortals ; how the mind 
 For its own eye doth objects nobler still 
 Prepare ; how men by various lessons learn 
 To judge of Beauty's praise; what raptures fill 5 
 
 The breast with Fancy's native arts endow'd 
 And what true culture glides it to renown ; 
 My verse unfolds. Ye gods, or godlike powers. 
 Ye guardians of the sacred task, attend 
 Propitious. Hand in hand around your bard 10 
 
 Move in majestic measures, leading on 
 His doubtful step through many a solemn path. 
 Conscious of secrets which to human sight 
 Ye only can reveal. Be great in him : 
 H 2
 
 90 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 And let your favour make him wise to speak 15 
 
 Of all your wonderous empire ; with a voice 
 So temper'd to his theme, that those, who hear. 
 May yield perpetual homage to yourselves. 
 Thou chief, O daughter of eternal Love ! 
 Whate'er thy name; or Muse, or Grace, adored 20 
 By Grecian prophets; to the sons of heaven 
 Known, while with deep amazement thou dost there 
 The perfect counsels read, the ideas old. 
 Of thine OmnisciExNt Father ; known on earth 
 By the still horror and the blissful tear 25 
 
 With which thou seizest on the soul of man ; 
 Thou * chief. Poetic Spirit, from the banks 
 Of Avon, whence thy holy fingers cull 
 Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf 
 Where Shakrspear lies, be present ; and with thee 30 
 Let Ftcxion come, on her aerial wings 
 Wafting ten thousand colours; which in sport. 
 By the light glances of her magic eye. 
 She blends and shifts at will through countless forms. 
 Her wild creation. Goddess t of the lyre, 35 
 
 Whose awful tones control the moving sphere. 
 Wilt t thou, eternal Harmony, descend. 
 And join this happy train ? for with thee comes 
 The guide, the guardian of their mystic rites. 
 Wise Order : and, where Order deigns to come, 40 
 Her sister. Liberty, will not be far. 
 Be present all ye Genii, who conduct 
 Of youthful bards the lonely-wandering step 
 New to your springs and shades ; who touch their ear 
 With finer sounds, and heighten to their eye 43 
 
 Booi I, line 9. f Book I, line 13. + Book I, line 20. '
 
 IMAGINATION. B. I. 91 
 
 The pomp of Nature, and before them place 
 The fairest, loftiest countenance of things. 
 Nor thou, my Dyson, to the lay refuse 
 Thy wonted partial audience. What, though first 
 In years unseason'd, haply ere the sports 50 
 
 Of childhood yet were o'er, the adventurous lay 
 With many splendid prospects, many charms. 
 Allured my heart, nor conscious whence they sprung. 
 Nor heedful of their end ? yet serious truth 
 Her empire o'er the calm, sequester'd theme 55 
 
 Asserted soon ; while falsehood's evil brood, 
 Vice and deceitful pleasure, she at once 
 Excluded, and my fancy's careless toil 
 Drew to the better cause. Maturer aid 
 Thy friendship added, in the paths of life, 60 
 
 Tlie busy paths, my unaccustom'd feet 
 Preserving : nor to Truth's recess divine. 
 Through this wide argument's unbeaten space. 
 Withholding surer guidance; while by turns 
 We traced the sages old, or while the queen 65 
 
 Of Sciences (whom manners and the mind 
 Acknowledge) to my true companion's voice 
 Not unattentive, o'er the wintery lamp 
 Inclined her sceptre, favouring. Now the Fates 
 Have other tasks imposed. To thee, ray friend, 70 
 The ministry of freedom, and the faith 
 Of popular decrees, in early youth. 
 Not vainly thry committed. Me they sent 
 To wait on pain ; and silent arts to urge. 
 Inglorious: not ignoble ; if my cares, 75 
 
 To such as languish on a grievous bed.
 
 92 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Ease and the sweet forgetfulness of ill 
 
 Conciliate : nor deligbtless ; if the Muse, 
 
 Her shades to visit and to taste her springs. 
 
 If some distinguisbM hours the bounteous Muse 80 
 
 Impart, and grant (what she, and she alone 
 
 Can grant to mortals) that my hand those wreaths 
 
 Of fame and honest favour, which the bless'd 
 
 Wear in Elj'sium, and which never felt 
 
 The breath of envy or malignant tongues, 85 
 
 That these my hand for thee and for myself 
 
 May gather. Meanwhile, O my faithful friend, 
 
 O early chosen, ever found the same. 
 
 And trusted and beloved ! once more the verse 
 
 Long destin'd, always obvious to thine ear, 90 
 
 Attend, indulgent. So in latest years, 
 
 When time thy head with honours shall have cloth 'd 
 
 Sacred to even virtue, may thy mind. 
 
 Amid the calm review of seasons past. 
 
 Fair offices of friendship, or kind peace, 95 
 
 Or public zeal ; may then thy mind well pleased 
 
 Recal these happy studies of our prime. 
 
 From * heaven my strains begin. From heaven de- 
 The flame of genius to the chosen breast, [scends 
 
 And beauty with poetic wonder join'd, 100 
 
 And inspiration. Ere the rising sun 
 Shone o'er the deep, or 'mid the vault of night 
 The moon her silver lamp suspended : ere 
 The vales with springs were water'd, or with groves 
 Of oak or pine the ancient hills were crown 'd ; 105 
 Then the Great Spirit, whom his works adore. 
 Within his own deep essence view'd the forms, 
 * Beoi I, line 56.
 
 IMAGINATION. B. I. 93 
 
 The forms eternal of created things ; 
 
 The radiant sun ; the moon's nocturnal lamp ; 
 
 The mountains and t^ie streams ; the ample stores 1 10 
 
 Of earth, of heaven, of nature. From the lirst. 
 
 On that full scene his love divine he fixM, 
 
 His admiration. Till, in time complete. 
 
 What he admired and loved, his vital power 
 
 Unfolded into being. Hence the breath 115 
 
 Of life informing each organic frame : 
 
 Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves : 
 
 Hence light, and shade alternate ; warmth and cold ; 
 
 And bright autumnal skies, and vernal showers. 
 
 And all the fair variety of things. 12 
 
 But t not alike to every mortal eye. 
 Is this great scene unveil'd. For, while the claims 
 Of social life to different labours urge 
 The active powers of man, with wisest care 
 Hath Nature on the multitude of minds 135 
 
 Impress'd a various bias; and to each 
 Decreed its province in the common toil. 
 To some she taught the fabric of the sphere, 
 l"he changeful moon, the circuit of the star?. 
 The golden zones of heaven. To some she gave 130 
 To search the story of eternal thought; 
 Of space, and time ; of fate's unbroken chain. 
 And will's quick movement : others by the hand 
 She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore 
 What healing virtue dwells in every vein 135 
 
 Of herbs or trees. But some to nobler hopes 
 Were destined : some within a finer mould 
 She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame. 
 i- Booi I, line I'X
 
 fM. THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 To these the Sibe Omnipotent unfohls. 
 
 In fuller aspects and with fairer lights, 1 10 
 
 This PICTURE OF THE WORLD : througli every part 
 
 'I'hey trace the lofty sketches of his hand : 
 
 In earth, or air, the meadow's flowery store. 
 
 The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's mien 
 
 Dress'd in attractive smiles, they see portray 'd 145 
 
 (As far as mortal eyes the portrait scan) 
 
 Those lineaments of beauty which delight 
 
 The mind supreme; they also feel their force, 
 
 Enamour'd : they partake the eternal joy. 
 
 For * as old Memnon's image, long rcnown'd 150 
 Tiirough fabling Egypt, at the genial touch 
 Of morning, from its inmost frame sent forth 
 Spontaneous music ; so doth Nature's hand. 
 To certain attributes which matter claims. 
 Adapt the finer organs of the mind : 155 
 
 So the glad impulse of those kindred powers 
 (Of form, of colour's cheerful pomp, of sound 
 INIelodious, or of motion aptly sped) 
 Detains the enliven'd sense ; till soon the soul 
 Feels the deep concord, and assents through all 160 
 Her functions. Then the charm by Fate prepared 
 Citfuseth its inchantment : Fancy f dreams. 
 Rapt into high discourse with prophets old. 
 And wandering through Elysium, Fancy dreams 
 or sacred fountains, of o'ershadowing groves, 165 
 
 Whose walks with godlike harmony resound : 
 Fountains, which Homer visits ; happy groves. 
 Where Milton dwells. The intellectual power. 
 On the mind's throne, suspends his graver cares, 
 ? Booh I. line 10, f Book I, line 125.
 
 IMAGINATION. B. I. 95 
 
 And smiles. The passions, to divine repose, 170 
 
 t*ersuaded yield : and love and joy alone 
 
 Are waking : love and joy, such as await 
 
 An angel's meditation. O ! attend. 
 
 Whoe'er thou art whom these deliglits can touch ; 
 
 Whom Nature's aspect. Nature's simple garb, 175 
 
 Can thus command : O ! listen to my song. 
 
 And I will guide thee to her blissful walks. 
 
 And teach thy solitude her voice to hear. 
 
 And point her gracious features to thy view. 
 
 Know * then, whate'er of the world's ancient store, 
 Whate'er of mimic art's reflected scenes, 181 
 
 With love and admiration thus inspire 
 Attentive Fancy ; her delighted sons 
 In two illustrious orders comprehend. 
 Self-taught. From him, -whose rustic toil the lark 185 
 Cheers warbling, to the bard, whose daring thoughts 
 Range the full orb of being, still the form, 
 Which Fancy worships, or sublime or fair 
 Her votaries proclaim. I see them dawn : 
 I see the radiant visions, where they rise 1 90 
 
 More lovely, than when Lucifer displays 
 His glittering forehead through the gates of morn. 
 To lead the train of Phoebus and the Spring. 
 
 Say, i why was MAN so eminently raised 
 Amid the vast creation ; why impower'd 105 
 
 Through life and death to dart his watchful eye. 
 With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame ; 
 But that the Omnipotent might send liiinforih, 
 In sight of angels and immortal minds, 
 A3 on an ample theatre, to join gOO 
 
 * Book r, iuu ir/.i. t '<'"-'f ^ /'" i-^!-
 
 9 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 In contest with his equals, who shall best 
 
 The task atchievej the course of noble toils. 
 
 By WISDOM and by mercy preordain'd ? 
 
 Might send him forth the sovran cood to learn ; 
 
 To chace each meaner purpose from his breast j 205 
 
 And through the mists of passion and of sense. 
 
 And through the pelting storms of chance and pain. 
 
 To hold straight on with constant heart and eye 
 
 Still fix'd upon his everlasting palm. 
 
 The approving smile of Heaven ? * Else, wherefore burns 
 
 In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope, 21 1 
 
 That seeks from day to day sublimer ends ; 
 
 Happy, though restless ? Why departs the soul. 
 
 Wide from the track and journey of her times. 
 
 To grasp the good she knows not ? in the field 215 
 
 Of things which may be, in the spacious field 
 
 Of science, potent arts, or dreadful arms ; 
 
 To raise up scenes, in which her own desires 
 
 Contented may repose; when things, which are. 
 
 Pall on her temper, like a twice-told tale ; " 220 
 
 Her temper still demanding to be free ; 
 
 Spurning the rude control of wilful Might ; 
 
 Proud t of her dangers braved, her griefs endured, 
 
 Her strength severely proved ? To these high aims. 
 
 Which reason and affection prompt in man, 225 
 
 Not adverse nor unapt hath Nature framed 
 
 His bold imagination. For, amid 
 
 The various forms which this full world presents 
 
 Like rivals to his choice, what human breast 
 
 E'er doubts, before the transient and minute, 230 
 
 To prize the vast, the stable, the sublime ? 
 
 * Book T, line 166 f -^o^^ ^> '''^^ ^"3-
 
 IMAGINATION. B. L 97 
 
 Who, that from heights aerial sends his ^ye 
 Around a wild horizon, and surveys 
 Indus or Ganges rolling his broad wave 234 
 
 Thro' mountains, plains, thro' spacious cities }d. 
 And regions dark with woods-; will turn away 
 To mark the path of some penurious rill 
 Which murmureth at his feet ? Where does the soul 
 Consent her soaring fancy to restrain. 
 Which bears her op, as on an eagle's wings, 210 
 
 Destin'd for highest heaven; or which of Fate's 
 Tremendous barriers shall confine her flight 
 To any humbler quarry ? The rich earth 
 Cannot detain her; nor the ambient air 
 With all its changes : t for a while, with joy 2i5 
 She hovei-s o'er the sun, and views the small 
 Attendant orbs, beneath his sacred beam, 
 Emerging from the deep, like cluster 'd isles. 
 Whose rocky shores to the glad sailor's eye 
 Reflect the gleams of morning : for a while, 250 
 
 With pride she sees his firm paternal sway- 
 Bend the reluctant pkmets, to move each 
 Hound its perpetual year : but soon she quits 
 Tliat prospect : meditating lofti^ views. 
 She darts adventurous up the lo^ career ^253 
 
 Of comets; through the constellations holds 
 Her course, and now looks back on all the stars, 
 Whose blended flames as with a milky stream 
 Part the blue region : empyrean * tracts. 
 Where happy souls beyond this concave heaven 260 
 Abide, she then explores ; whence purer light 
 For countless ages travels through the abyss, 
 
 t Book I, itne 1?0. Bo-ji I, lint 2QJ!-
 
 93 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Nor hath in sight of mortals yet arrived : 
 
 Upon the wide creation's utmost shore 
 
 At length she stands, and the dread space beyond 265 
 
 Contemplates, half recoiling ; nathless, down 
 
 The gloomy void, astonished, yet unquell'd. 
 
 She plungeth ; down the unfathomable gulf 
 
 Where God alone hath being : there * her hopes 
 
 Rest at the fated goal: for from the birth 27^ 
 
 Of human kind, the Sovran Maker said. 
 
 That not in humble, nor in brief delight. 
 
 Not in the fleeting echoes of Renown, 
 
 Power's purple robe, nor Pleasure's flowery lap. 
 
 The SOUL should find contentment ; but from these 27 5 
 
 Turning disdainful to an equal good. 
 
 Through Nature's opening walks enlarge her aim. 
 
 Till every bound at length should disappear. 
 
 And INFINITE PERFECTION fill the sccne. 279 
 
 But t lo ! where Beauty, dress'd in gentler pompj 
 With comely steps advancing, claims the verse 
 Her charms i-nspire. O Beauty! source of praise. 
 Of honour, e'en to mute and lifeless things; 
 O thou, that kindlest in each human heart 
 Love, and the wish ofjjoets, when their tongue 2SS 
 Would teach to other TJosoms what so charms 
 Their own ! O child of Nature and the soul. 
 In happiest hour brought forth; the doubtful garb 
 Of words, of earthly language, all too mean. 
 Too lowly 1 account, in which .to clothe 290 
 
 Thy form divine. For thee the mind alone 
 Beholds ; nor half thy brightness can reveal 
 Tluougb those dim organs, whose corporeal touch 
 Book \, line 211. -j Book I, line 271.
 
 IMAGINATION. B.I. .99 
 
 G'ershadoweth thy pure essence. Yet, my Muse, 
 
 If fortune call thee to the task, wait thou 295 
 
 Thy favourable seasons : then, while fear 
 
 And doubt are absent, through wide Nature's bounds 
 
 Expatiate with glad step, and choose at will 
 
 Wbate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains, 
 
 Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air, SOO 
 
 To manifest unblemish'd Beauty's pr".:se. 
 
 And o'er the breasts of mortals to extend 
 
 Her gracious empire. * Wilt thou, to the isles 
 
 Atlantic, to the rich Hesperian clime 
 
 Fly in the train of Autumn ; and look on, 305 
 
 And learn from him ; while, as he roves around. 
 
 Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove. 
 
 The branches bloom with gold ; where'er his foot 
 
 Imprints the soil, the ripening clusters swell. 
 
 Turning aside their foliage, and come forth 310 
 
 In purple lights, till every hilloc glows 
 
 As with the blushes ot an evening sky ? 
 
 Or wilt thou that Thessaliau landscape trace. 
 
 Where slow Peneus his clear glassy tide 
 
 Draws smooth along, between the winding clifls 315 
 
 Of Oisa, and the pathless woods unshorn 
 
 That wave o'er huge Olympus ? fp)own the stream. 
 
 Look how the mountains with their double range 
 
 Embrace the vale of Tempe ; from each side 
 
 Ascending steep to heaven, a rocky mound 320 
 
 Cover'd with ivy and the laurel boughs 
 
 That crown'd young Phoebus for the Python slain. 
 
 Fair Tempe! on whose primrose banks the morn 
 
 Awoke most fragrant, and the noon reposed 
 
 * Ikm!; I, ime '27.
 
 100# THE PLEASURES OF TBE 
 
 In pomp of lights and sliadows most sublime : 325 
 
 Whose lawns, whose glades, cfc human footsteps yet 
 
 Had traced an entrance, were the hallow'd haunt 
 
 Of sylvan powers immortal : where they sate 
 
 Oft in the golden age, the Nymphs and Fauns, 
 
 Beneath some arbour branching o'er the flood, 330 
 
 And leaning round, hung on the instructive lips 
 
 Of hoary Pan, or o'er some open dale 
 
 Danced in light measures to his sevenfold pipe. 
 
 While Zephyr's wanton hand along their path 
 
 Flung showers of painted blossoms, fertile dews, 335- 
 
 And one perpetual spring. But if our task 
 
 More lofty rites demand, with all good vows 
 
 Then let us hasten to the rural haunt 
 
 Where young Melissa dwells. Nor thou refuse 
 
 The voice which calls thee from thy loved retreat. 
 
 But * hither, gentle maid, thy footsteps turn : 3i> 
 
 Here, to thy own unquestionable theme, 
 
 O fair ! O graceful ! bend thy polish'd brow. 
 
 Assenting ; and the gladness of thy eyes 
 
 Impart to me, like morning's wished light 34-5 
 
 Seen through the vernal air. By yonder stream. 
 
 Where beech and elm along the bordering mead 
 
 Send forth wild melojly from every bough. 
 
 Together let us wander ; where the hills 
 
 Cover'd with fleeces to the lowing vale S59 
 
 Reply ; where tidings of content and peace 
 
 Each echo brings. Lo, how the western sun. 
 
 O'er fields and floods, o'er every living soul, 
 
 Diftuseth glad repose ! There, while I speak 
 
 Of Bealty's honours, thou, Melissa, thou 35 '' 
 
 Book I, line 312.
 
 IMAGINATION. B.I. ^101 
 
 Shalt hearken, not unconscious : while I tell 
 How first from heaven she came ; how after all 
 The works of life, the elemental scenes, 
 The hours, the seasons, she had oft explored. 
 At length her favourite mansion and her throne 360 
 She fix'd in woman's form : what pleasing ties 
 To virtue bind her; what effectual aid 
 They lend each other's power ; and how divine 
 Their union, should some unambitious maid, 
 To all the inchantment of the Idalian queen, 365 
 
 Add sanctity and wisdom. While my tongue 
 Prolongs the tale, INIelissa, thou may'st feign 
 To wonder whence my rapture is inspired ; 
 But soon the smile which dawns upon tby lip 
 Shall tell it, and the tenderer bloom o'er all 370 
 
 That soft cheek springing to the marble neck. 
 Which bends aside in vain, revealing more 
 What it would thus keep silent, and in vain 
 The sense of praise dissembling. Then my song 
 Great Nature's winning arts, which thus inform 37.5 
 With joy and love the rugged breast of man. 
 Should sound in numbers worthy such a theme : 
 While all whose souls have ever felt the force 
 Of those inchanting passions, to my lyre 
 Should throng attentive, and receive once more 380 
 Their influence, unobscured by any cloud 
 Of vulgar care, and purer than the hand 
 Of fortune can bestow : nor, to confirm 
 Their sway, should awful Contemplation scorn 
 To join his dictates to the genuine strain 385 
 
 Of Pleasure's tongue ; nor yet should Pleasure's ear 
 Be much averse. Ye chiefly, gentle band 
 12
 
 102^ THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Of youths and virgins, who, through many a wish 
 
 And many a fond pursuit, as in some scene 
 
 Of magic bright and fleeting, are allured 390 
 
 By various beauty ; if the pleasing toil 
 
 Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn 
 
 Your favourable ear, and trust roy words. 
 
 I * do not mean, on bless'd Religion's seat 
 
 Presenting Superstition's gloomy form, 395 
 
 To dash your soothing hopes ; I do not mean 
 
 To bid the jealous Thunderer fire the heavens. 
 
 Or shapes infernal r^nd the groaning earth. 
 
 And scare you from your joys: my cheerful song 
 
 With happier omens calls you to the field ; 400 
 
 Pleased with your generous ardour in the chase. 
 
 And warm like you. Then tell me (for ye know) 
 
 Doth t Beauty ever deign to dwell, where Use 
 
 And Aptitude are strangers t is her praise 
 
 Confess'd in aught whose most peculiar ends 403 
 
 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 win each fond admirer into snares, 
 
 Foil'd, baffled ? No : t with better providence 410 
 
 The general Mother, conscious how infirm 
 
 Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill. 
 
 Thus to the choice of credulous desire. 
 
 Doth objects the completest of their tribe 
 
 Distinguish and comtnend. Yon flowej-y bank, 415 
 
 uok I, line 341. 
 
 -5- Ver.'jslas, et pukhritudo corporis secerrdnon jKitcst a ia!e(iuUne. 
 
 ' ' Cicero. 
 
 i BooJc I, -ine 557.
 
 I MxiGl NATION. B.I. ^103 
 
 Clothed in the soft magnificence of Spring, 
 
 Will not the flocks approve it ? will they ask 
 
 The reedy fen for pasture ? That clear rill. 
 
 Which trickleth murmuring from the mossy rock. 
 
 Yields it less wholesome beverage to the worn 420 
 
 And thirsty traveller, than the standing pool 
 
 With muddy weeds o'ergrown ? Yon ragged vine. 
 
 Whose lean and sullen clusters mourn the rage 
 
 Of Eurus, will the wine-press or the bowl 
 
 Report of her, as of the swelling grape 42J 
 
 Which glitters through the tendrils, like a gem 
 
 When first it meets the sun ? Or what are all 
 
 The various charms, to life and sense adjoin'd ? 
 
 Are they not pledges of a state entire. 
 
 Where native order reigns, with every part 430 
 
 In health, and every function well perform'd ? 
 
 Thus t then at first was Beauty sent from heaven, 
 Tlie lovely ministress of Truth and Goon 
 In this dark world ; for Truth and Good are one. 
 And Beauty dwells in them and they in her 435 
 
 With like participation. Wherefore then, 
 O sons of earth ! would ye dissolve the tie ? 
 O ! wherefore, with a rash and greedy aim. 
 Seek ye to rove through every flattering scene 
 WTiich Beauty seems to deck, nor once inquire 440 
 Where is the suffrage of eternal TnuTH, 
 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 44.") 
 
 Did Fancy mock your vows. Nor yet let Hope, 
 t Book I, line 372.
 
 lot THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 That kindliest inmate of the youthful breast. 
 
 Be hence appall'd ; be turn'd to coward Sloth, 
 
 Sitting in silence, with dejected eyes. 
 
 Incurious, and with folded hands : far less 4.501 
 
 Let scorn of wild fantastic Folly's dreams. 
 
 Or hatred of the bigot's savage pride, 
 
 Persuade you e*er that Beauty, or the love 
 
 Which waits on Beauty, may not brook to hear 
 
 The sacred lore of undeceitful Good 45i> 
 
 And Truth eternal. * From the vulgar crowd 
 
 Though Superstition, tyranness abhorr'd I 
 
 The reverence due to this majestic pair 
 
 With threats and execration still demands ; 
 
 Though the tame wretch, who asks of her the way 460 
 
 To their celestial dwelling, she constrains 
 
 To quench or set at nought the lamp of God 
 
 Within his frame ; through many a cheerless wild 
 
 Though forth she leads him, credulous and dark. 
 
 And awed with dubious notion; though at length 465 
 
 Haply she plunge him into cloister'd cells. 
 
 And mansions unrelenting as the grave. 
 
 But void of quiet ; there to watch the hours 
 
 Of midnight ; there, amid the screaming owl's 
 
 Dire song, with spectres or with guilty shades, 470 
 
 To talk of pangs and everlasting woe ; 
 
 Yet be not ye dismayed ; f a gentler star 
 
 Presides o'er your adventure. From the bower 
 
 Where Wisdom sat with her Athenian sons. 
 
 Could but my happy hand intwine a wreath 475 
 
 Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay. 
 
 Then (for what need of cruel fear to you, 
 
 * J9eoA- I, line 391 f Booi I, I'me 401.
 
 IMAGINATION. B. I. J05 
 
 To you wbom godlike love can well command r) 
 
 Then should my powerful voice at once dispel 
 
 Those monkish horrors ; should in words divine 480 
 
 Relate how favour'd minds, like you inspired. 
 
 And taught their inspiration to conduct 
 
 By ruling-heaven's decree, through various walks. 
 
 And prospects various, but delightful all. 
 
 Move onward ; while now myrtle groves appear, 43 5 
 
 Now arras and radiant trophies, now the rods 
 
 Of empire with the curule throne, or now 
 
 The domes of Contemplation and the Muse. 
 
 Led by that hope sublime, whose cloudless eye 
 
 Through the fair toils and ornaments of earth 490 
 
 Discerns the nobler life reserved for heaven, 
 
 Favor'd alike they worship round the shrine 
 
 Where Truth conspicuous with her sister-twins. 
 
 The undivided partners of her sway. 
 
 With Good and Beauty reigns. * O ! let not us, 49f 
 
 By Pleasure's lying blandishments detain'd. 
 
 Or crouching to the frowns of bigot-rage, 
 
 O ! let not us one moment pause to join 
 
 That chosen band. And if the gracious power, 
 
 Who first awaken'd my untutor'd song, 500 
 
 Will to my invocation grant 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 505 
 
 Of Luxury's allurement ; whether firm 
 
 Against the torrent and the stubborn hill 
 
 To urge free Virtue's steps, and to her side 
 
 ^ L'o"i I, line -117.
 
 K>6 TirE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Summon that strong divinity of soul 
 
 Which conquers Chance and Fate; or on the height, 
 
 Tbe goal assign'd her, haply to proclaim 511 
 
 Her triumph-; on her brow to place the crown 
 
 Of uncorrupted praise; through future worlds 
 
 To follow her interminated way. 
 
 And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man. 515 
 
 Such * is the worth of Beauty ; such her power. 
 So blameless, so revered. It now remains. 
 In just gradation through the various ranks 
 Of being, to contemplate how her gifts 
 Rise in due measure, watchful to attend 520 
 
 The steps of rising Nature. Last and least. 
 In colours mingling with a random blaze, 
 Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the forms 
 Of simplest, easiest measure : in the bounds 
 Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascent 525 
 
 To symmetry adds colour : thus the pearl 
 Shines in the concave of its purple bed. 
 And painted shells along some winding shore 
 Catch with indented folds the glancing sun. 
 Next as we rise, appear the blooming tribes 530 
 
 Which clothe the fragrant earth ; which draw from her 
 Their own nutrition ; which are born and die ; 
 Yet, in their seed, immortal : such the flowers 
 With which young Maia pays the village-maids 
 That hail her natal morn; and such the groves 535 
 Which blitlie Pomona rears on Vaga's bank. 
 To feed the bowl of Ariconian swains 
 \V'ho quaft' beneath her branches, f Nobler still 
 Is Beau iy's name ; where, to the full consent 
 
 * Bo'j/^ I, Iwc 438. t J^'-'^ ^> '-'fK-' iC4.
 
 ' ^IttMilN'ATmN. B.I. 107 
 
 Of members and of features, to the pride 
 
 Of colour, and the vital change of growth; 540 
 
 Life's holy flame with piercing sense is given, 
 
 ^Vhile active motion speaks the tempered soul-: 
 
 So moves the bird of Juno : so the steed 
 
 With rival swiftness beats the dusty plain, d'iS 
 
 And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy 
 
 Salute their fellows. What sublimer pomp 
 
 Adorns the seat where Virtue dwells on earth. 
 
 And Truth's eternal day-light shines around;; 
 
 What palm belongs to man's imperial front, 55Q 
 
 And woman, powerful with becoming smiles. 
 
 Chief of terrestrial natures; need we now 
 
 Strive to inculcate ? f Thus hath Beauty there 
 
 Her most conspicuous praise to matter lent. 
 
 Where most conspicuous through that shadowy veil 
 
 Breaks forth the bright expression of a mind ; 530 
 
 By steps directing our enraptwred search 
 
 To him the first of minds, the chief, the sole ; 
 
 From whom, through this wide complicated world 
 
 Did all her various lineaments besrin ; 5 GO 
 
 To whom alone, consenting and entire. 
 
 At once their mutual influence all display. 
 
 lie, * God most high, (bear witness earth and heaven) 
 
 The bring fountains in himself contains 
 
 Of beauteous and sublime. With him inthroned. 
 
 Ere dnys or years trod their ethereal way, 560 
 
 In his supreme intelligence inthroned. 
 
 The queen of Love holds her unclouded state, 
 
 Urania, Tbee, O 1'ather ! this extent 
 
 Of matter ; thee, the sluggish earth and tract 570 
 
 Book I, line 431. f Ikai I, line 4-73.
 
 108 THE PLEASURES Ol? THE 
 
 Of seas, the heavens and heavenly splendors feel, 
 
 I'ervading, quickening, moving. From the depth 
 
 Of thy great essence, forth didst thou conduct 
 
 Eternal form, and there, where Chaos reign'd, 
 
 Gavest her dominion to erect her seat. 
 
 And sanctify the mansion. All her works 573 
 
 Well-pleased thou didst behold ; the gloomy fires 
 
 Of storm or earthquake, and the purest light 
 
 Of summer; soft Campania's new-born rose, 
 
 And the slow weed which pines on Russian hills, 580 
 
 Comely alike to thy full vision stand ; 
 
 To thy surrounding vision, which unites 
 
 All essences and powers of the great world 
 
 In one sole order ; fair alike they stand. 
 
 As features well consenting, and alike 585 
 
 Kcquired by Nature ere she could attain 
 
 Her just resemblance to the perfect shape 
 
 Of universal beauty, which with thee 
 
 Dwelt from the first. Thou also, ancient mind ! 
 
 V/hom love and free beneficence await 590 
 
 In all thy doings ; to inferior minds 
 
 Thy offspring, and to man thy youngest son. 
 
 Refusing no convenient gift nor good. 
 
 Their eyes didst open in this earth, yon Iteaven, 
 
 Those starry worlds, the countenance divine 595 
 
 Of Beauty to behold : but not to them 
 
 Didst thou her awful magnitude reveal. 
 
 Such as before thine own unbounded sight 
 
 She stands, (for never shall created soul 
 
 Conceive that object) nor to all their kind?, COO 
 
 The same in shape or features didst thou frame 
 
 Her image. Measuring well their difierent spheres
 
 IMAGINATION. B. L I0# 
 
 Of sense and action, thy paternal hand 
 Hath for each race prepared a different test 
 Of Beauty, own'd and reverenced as their guide 605 
 jMost apt, most faithful. Thence inform 'd, they scan 
 The objects that surround them ; and select. 
 Since the great whole disclaims their scanty view. 
 Each for himself selects peculiar parts 
 Of Nature ; what the standard fix'd by Heaven 610 
 Within his breast approves : acquiring thus 
 h. partial Beauty, which becomes his lot; 
 A Beauty which his eye may comprehend. 
 His hand may copy : leaving, O Supbeme ! 
 O thou whom none hath utter'd ! leaving all 615 
 To THEE, that infinite, consummate form. 
 Which the great powers, the gods around thy throne. 
 And nearest to thy counsels, know with thee 
 For ever to have been ; but who she is. 
 Or what hek likeness, know not. Man surveys 620 
 A narrower scene, where, by the mix'd effect 
 Of things corporeal on his passive mind. 
 He judgeth what is fair. Corporeal things 
 The mind of man impel with various powers. 
 And various features to his eye disclose. 625 
 
 The powers which move his sense with instant joy. 
 The features which attract his heart to love. 
 He marks, combines, reposits. Other powers 
 And features of the self-same thing (unless 
 llie beauteous form, the creature of his mind, 630 
 
 Request their close alliance) he o'erlooks 
 I'orgotten ; or with self-ljcguiling ;^eal. 
 Whene'er his passions mingle in the work, 
 1 lalf alters, half disowns. The tribes of men 
 K
 
 110 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Thus from their diflerent functions, and the shapes. 
 
 Familiar to their eye, with art obtain, 636 
 
 Unconscious of their purpose, yet with art 
 
 Obtain the Beauty fitting man to love : 
 
 Whose proud Desires, from Nature's homely toil 
 
 Oft turn away fastidious; asking still 640 
 
 The mind's high aid, to purify the form 
 
 From matter's gross communion ; to secure 
 
 For ever, from the meddling hand of Change 
 
 Or rude Decay, her features ; and to add 
 
 Whatever ornaments may suit her mien, 64-5 
 
 Where'er he finds them scatter'd through the paths 
 
 Of Nature or of Fortune : then he seats 
 
 The accomplish'd image deep within his breast. 
 
 Reviews it, and accounts it good and fair. 
 
 Thus the one Beauty of the world entire, 630 
 
 The universal Venus, far beyond 
 Tlie keenest etFort of created eyes. 
 And their most wide horizon, dwells inthroned 
 In ancient silence : at her footstool stands 
 An altar, burning with eternal fire, 655 
 
 UnsuUy'd, unconsumed. Here every hour. 
 Here every moment, in their turns arrive 
 Her offspring; an innumerable band 
 Of sisters, comely all ; but differing far 
 In age, in stature, and expressive mien, 660 
 
 More than bright Helen from her new-born babe. 
 To this maternal shrine in turns they come, 
 Each with her sacred lamp ; that from the source 
 Of living fiame, which here immortal flows. 
 Their portions of its lustre they may draw QG5 
 
 For days, or months, or years ; for ages some ;
 
 IMAGINATION BOOK I. Ill 
 
 As their great parent's discipline requires : 
 
 ITien to their several mansions they depart. 
 
 In stars, in planets, through the unknown shores 
 
 Of yon ethereal ocean. Who can tell 670 
 
 Even on the surface of this rolling earth, 
 
 How many make abode ? The fields, the groves. 
 
 The winding rivers, and the azure main. 
 
 Are render'd solemn by their frequent feet. 
 
 Their rites sublime. There, each her destin'd home 
 
 Informs with that pure radiance from the skies 676 
 
 Brought down, and shines throughout her little sphere 
 
 Exulting. Straight, as travellers by night 
 
 Turn towards a distant flame, so some tit eye, 
 
 Among the various tenants of the scene, 680 
 
 Discerns the heaven-born phantom seated there. 
 
 And owns her charms : hence the wide universe. 
 
 Through all the seasons of revolving worlds. 
 
 Bears witness with its people, gods, and men. 
 
 To Beauty's blissful power ; and with the voice 685 
 
 Of grateful admiration still resounds : 
 
 That voice, to which is Beauty's frame divine. 
 
 As is the cunning of the master's hand 
 
 To the sweet accent of the well-tuned lyre. 
 
 Genius * of ancient Greece ! whose faithful steps 
 Have led us to these awful solitudes 691 
 
 Of Nature and of Science ; Nurse revered 
 Of generous counsels and heroic deeds ! 
 O let some portion of thy matchless praise 
 Dwell in my breast, and teach me to adorn 695 
 
 This unattempted theme ! Nor be my thoughts 
 Presumptuous counted, if, aniid the calm 
 Which Hesper sheds along the vernal heaven, 
 lioofc I, line 501.
 
 112 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 If I, from vulgar Superstition's walk 
 Impatient steal, and from the unseemly rites 700 
 
 Of splendid Adulation, to attend 
 With hymns thy presence in the sylvan shade. 
 By their malignant footsteps unprofaned. 
 Come, O renowned Power ! thy glowing mien 
 Such, and so elevated all thy form, 705 
 
 As when the great barbaric lord, again 
 And yet again diminish'd, hid his face 
 Among the herd of satraps and of kings ; 
 And at the lightning of thy lifted spear, 
 Crouch'd hke a slave. Bring all thy martial Spoils, 
 Thy Palms, thy Lauuels, thy triumphal Songs, 7 1 1 
 Thy smiling band of Arts, thy godlike SinEs 
 Of civil wisdom, thy unconquer'd Youth, 
 After some glorious day, rejoicing round 
 Their new-elected trophy. * Guide my feet 715 
 
 Through fair Lyceum's walk, the olive shades 
 Of Academus, and the sacred vale 
 Haunted by steps divine, where once, beneath 
 That ever-living plantane's ample boughs, 720 
 
 Ilissus, by Socratic sounds detain'd. 
 On his neglected urn attentive lay ; 
 While Boreas, lingering on the neighbouring steep, 
 With beauteous Orithyia, his love-tale 
 In silent awe suspended : there let me 
 With blameless hand, from thy unenvious fields, 725 
 Transplant some living blossoms, to adorn 
 IMy native clime : while, far beyond the me^d 
 Of Fancy's toil aspiring, I unlock 
 The springs of ancient wisdom : while I add 
 (What cannot be disjoin'd from Beavty's praise) 730 
 * Book I, line 590,
 
 IMAGINATION. B.I. 113 
 
 Thy name and native dress ; thy works beloved 
 
 And honour'd : while to my compatriot youth 
 
 I point the great example of thy sons. 
 
 And tune to Attic themes the British lyre. 734. 
 
 THE END OF BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 K2
 
 ARGUMENT 
 
 THE SECOND BOOK. 
 
 Introduction to this more difficult part of the subject. Of truth and 
 its three classes, matter of fact, experimental or scientifical truth, 
 (contra-distinguished from opinion) and universal truth : which 
 last is either metaphysical or geometrical, either purely intellect- 
 ual or perfectly abstracted. On the power of discerning truth 
 depends that of acting with the view of an endj a circumstance 
 essential to virtue. Of virtue, considered in the divine mind as 
 a perpetual and universal beneficence. Of human virtue, con- 
 sidered as a system of particular sentiments and actions, suitable 
 to the design of proTideace and the condition of man ; to whom 
 it constitutes the chief good and the first beauty. Of vice and 
 its origin. Of ridicule j its general nature and final cause. Of 
 the passions ; particularly of those which relate to evil, natural 
 or moral, and which are generally accounted painful^ though not 
 always unattended with pleasure.
 
 THE 
 
 PLEASURES 
 
 IMAGINATION: 
 
 BOOK THE SECOND, 
 MDCCLXV. 
 
 Thus for of beauty and the pleasing Forms 
 
 Which man's untutor'd fancy, from the scenes 
 
 Imperfect of this ever-changing world. 
 
 Creates ; and views, enamoured. Now my song 
 
 Severer themes demand : mysterious Truth ; 5 
 
 And Virtue, sovran good; the spells, the trains. 
 
 The progeny of Error ; the dread sway 
 
 Of Passion ; and whatever hidden stores 
 
 From her own lofty deeds and from herself 
 
 The mind acquires. Severer argument : 10 
 
 Not less attractive ; nor deserving less 
 
 A constant ear. * For what are all the forms 
 
 Educed by fancy from corporeal things. 
 
 Greatness, or pomp, or symmetry of parts ? 
 
 Not tending to the heart, soon feeble grows, 15 
 
 As the blunt arrow 'gainst the knotty trunk. 
 
 Their impulse on the sense; while the pall'd eye 
 
 Expects in vain its tribute ; anks in ' ain, 
 
 Book I, line 526.
 
 116 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Where are the ornaments it once admired ? 
 
 Not * so the MOUAL species, nor the powers 20 
 
 Of Passion and of Thought. The ambitious mind 
 
 With objects boundless as her own desires 
 
 Can there converse : by these unfading forms 
 
 Touch'd and awaken'd, still with eager act 
 
 She bends each nerve, and meditates well-pleased 25 
 
 Her gifts, her godlike fortune. Such the scenes 
 
 Now opening round us. May the destined verse 
 
 Maintain its equal tenor, though in tracts 
 
 Obscure and arduous. May the Source of light 
 
 All-present, all-sufficient, guide our steps 30 
 
 Through every maze : and whom in childish years 
 
 From the loud throng, the beaten paths of wealth 
 
 And power, thou did'st apart send forth to speak 
 
 In tuneful words concerning highest things ; 
 
 Him still do thou, O Father, at those hours ^5 
 
 Of pensive freedom, when the human soul 
 
 Shuts out the rumour of the world, him still 
 
 Touch thou with secret lessons ; call thou back 
 
 Each erring thought ; and let the yielding strains 
 
 From his full bosom, like a welcome rill, *^ 
 
 Spontaneous from its healthy fountain, flow. 
 
 But from what name, what favourable sign. 
 What heavenly auspice, rather shall 1 date 
 My perilous excursion, than from Truth, 
 That nearest inmate of the human soul ? 45 
 
 Estranged from whom, the countenance divine 
 Of man, disfigured and dishonour'd, sinks 
 Among inte.iur things : for to the brutes 
 Percept.cn, and the transient b'>ons ol sense 
 Bool 1, line 532.
 
 IMAGINATION. B. 11. 117 
 
 Hath Fate imparted : but to man alone ' 50 
 
 Of sublunary beings was it given 
 
 Each fleeting impulse on the sensual powers 
 
 At leisure to review ; with equal eye 
 
 To scan the passion of the stricken nerve 
 
 Or the vague object striking : to conduct . 55 
 
 From sense, the portal turbulent and loud. 
 
 Into the Mind's wide palace one by one. 
 
 The frequent, pressing, fluctuating forms j 
 
 And question and compare them. Thus he learns 
 
 Their birth and fortunes ; how allied they haunt 60 
 
 The avenues of sense ; what laws direct 
 
 Their union ; and what various discords rise. 
 
 Or fix'd or casual : which when his clear thought 
 
 Retains, and when his faithful words express. 
 
 That living image of the external scene, 65 
 
 As in a polish'd mirror held to view. 
 
 Is Truth : where'er it varies from the shape 
 
 And hue of its exemplar, in that part 
 
 Dim ERROR lurks. Moreover, from without 
 
 When oft the same society of forms 70 
 
 In the same order have approach'd his mind. 
 
 He deigns no more their steps with curious heed 
 
 To trace ; no more their features or their garb 
 
 He now examines ; but of them and their 
 
 Condition, as with some diviner's tongue, 75 
 
 Aflirms what Heaven in every distant place, 
 
 Through every future season, will decree; 
 
 This too is Truth : where'er his prudent lips 
 
 Wait till Experience, diligent and slow. 
 
 Has authorized their sentence, this is Truth ; 80 
 
 A second, higher kind : the parent this
 
 1J8 THE PLEASURES OT THE 
 
 Of Science; or the lofty powr herself. 
 
 Science herself; on whom the wants and cares 
 
 Of social life depend ; the substitute 
 
 Of God's own wisdom in this toilsome world ; 85 
 
 The providence of man. Yet oft in vain 
 
 To earn her aid, with fix'd and anxious eye 
 
 He looks on Nature's and on Fortune's course : 
 
 Too much in vain : his duller visual ray 
 
 The stillness and the persevering acts 90 
 
 Of Nature oft elude ; and Fortune oft 
 
 With step fantastic from her wonted walk 
 
 Turns into mazes dim : his sight is foil'd. 
 
 And the crude sentence of his faltering tongue. 
 
 Is but Opinion's verdict ; half believed, 95 
 
 And prone to change. Here thou, who feel'st thine ear 
 
 Congenial to my lyre's profounder tone. 
 
 Pause and be watchful. Hitherto the stores. 
 
 Which feed thy mind and exercise her powers. 
 
 Partake the relish of their native soil, 100 
 
 Their parent earth : but know a nobler dower 
 
 Her siKE at birth decreed her; purer gifts 
 
 From his own treasure ; forms which never deign'd 
 
 In eyes or ears to dwell ; within the sense 
 
 Of earthly organs; but sublime were placed 105 
 
 In his essential reason ; leading there 
 
 That vast ideal host, which all his works 
 
 Through endless ages never will reveal. 
 
 Thus then endow'd, the feeble creature man. 
 
 The slave of hunger and the prey of death, 1 10 
 
 I'A'en now, even here, in earth's dim prison bound. 
 
 The language of intelugence divine 
 
 Attains ; rcpcatitig oft, concerning one
 
 .:'.-'. IMAGINATION. B. II. 1J9 
 
 And many, past and present, parts and whole, 
 
 Tliose sovran dictates, wbich in farthest heaven, 1 15 
 
 Where no orb rolls, Eternity's fix'd ear 
 
 Hears from coeval tklth, when Chance nor Change, 
 
 Nature's loud progeny, nor Nature's self 
 
 Dares intermeddle, or approach her throne. 
 
 Ere long o'er this corporeal world he learns 1 20 
 
 To extend her sway ; while calling from the deep. 
 
 From earth and air, their multitudes untohl 
 
 Of figures and of motions round his walk; 
 
 For each wide family some single birth . 
 
 He sets in view, the impartial type of all 125 
 
 Its brethern : suffering it to claim, beyond 
 
 Their common heritage, no private gift. 
 
 No proper fortune. Then whate'er his eye 
 
 In this discerns, his bold unerring tongue 
 
 Pronounceth of the kindred, without bound, 130 
 
 Without condition. Such the rise of forms 
 
 Sequcster'd far from sense, and every spot 
 
 Peculiar in the realms of space or time : . 
 
 Such is the throne which man for truth, amid 
 
 The paths of mutability hath built, 135 
 
 Secure, unshaken, still ; and whence he views. 
 
 In matter's mouldering structures, the pure forms 
 
 Of triangle or circle, cube or cone, 
 
 Im})a&sive all ; whose attributes nor Force 
 
 Nor Fate can alter : there he first conceives 1 !() 
 
 True being, and an intellectual world, 
 
 The same this hour and ever : thence iir. dlkm* 
 
 Of his own lot : alxjve the painted shapes 
 
 That ilecting move o'er this terrestrial scene 
 
 Looks up; beyond the adamantine gates I 15
 
 120 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Of death expatiates j as his birthright claims 
 Inheritance in all the works of God ; 
 Prepares for endless time his plan of life. 
 And counts the universe itself his home. 
 
 Whence also but from Tuuth, the light of minds. 
 Is human fortune gladden'd with the rays 1 5 1 
 
 Of Virtue ? with the moral colours, tlu^own 
 On every walk of this our social scene ; * 
 
 Adorning for the eyes of gods and men 
 The PASSIONS, ACTIONS, HABITUDES of life, \65 
 
 And rendering earth like heaven, a sacx'ed place. 
 Where Love and Praise may take delight to dwell ? 
 Let none with heedless tongue from Truth disjoin 
 Tlie reign of Virtue : ere the <iay-spring flow'd. 
 Like sisters link'd in Concord's golden chain, IGO 
 
 They stood before the great eternal Mind, 
 Their common parent ; and by him were both 
 Sent forth among his creatures, hand in hand. 
 Inseparably join'd ; nor e'er did Truth 
 Find an apt ear to listen to her lore, 165 
 
 Which knew not Virtue's voice ; nor, save where Truth's 
 Majestic words are heard and understood. 
 Doth Virtue deign to inhabit. Go, inquire 
 Of Nature ; not among Tartarian rocks. 
 Whither the hungry vulture with its prty 170 
 
 Returns : not where the lion's sullen roar 
 At noon resounds along the lonely banks 
 Of ancient Tigris : but her gentler scenes. 
 The dove-cote and the shepherd's fold at morn. 
 Consult; or by the meadow's fragrant hedge, 175 
 
 In spring-time when the woodlands first are green. 
 Attend the linnet singing to his mate.
 
 1 M A G I N A r I O X. . II. 121 
 
 Couch 'd o'er their tender young. To this fond care 
 
 Thou dost not Virtue's honourable name 
 
 Attribute ; wherefore, save that not one gleam 1 SO 
 
 Of Truth did e'er discover to themselves 
 
 Their little hearts, or teach them by the effects 
 
 Of that parental love, the love itself 
 
 To judge, and measure its officious deeds ? 
 
 But man, uAose eyelids Truth has fill' d with day, IS.5 
 
 Discerns how skilfully to bounteous ends 
 
 His wise affections move ; with fi-ee accord 
 
 Adopts their guidance ; yields himself secure 
 
 To Nature's prudent impulse ; and converts 
 
 Instinct to duty and to sacred law. 1 90 
 
 Hence right and fit on earth : while thus to man 
 
 The Almighty Legislator hath explain'd 
 
 The springs of action fix'd within his breast ; 
 
 Hath given him power to slacken, or restrain 
 
 Their effort ; and hath shewn him how they join 195 
 
 Their partial movements with the master-wheel 
 
 Of the great world, and serve that sacred end 
 
 Which he, the Unerring Reason, keeps in view. 
 
 For (if a mortal tongue may speak of him 
 And his dread ways) even as his boundless eye, 200 
 Connecting every form and every change. 
 Beholds the perfect Beauty ; so his will. 
 Through every hour producing good to all 
 The family of creatures, is itself 
 
 The perfect Virtu i:. Ix:t the grateful swain 205 
 
 Remember this, as oft with joy and piai.^e 
 He looks upon the falling dews which clothe 
 His lawns with verdure, and the tender seed 
 Nouri.-h within his furrow-. : when bftwcen 
 L
 
 122 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Dead seas and burning skies, where long unmoved 219 
 
 The bark had languish'd, now a rustling gale 
 
 Lifts o'er the fickle waves her dancing prow j 
 
 Let the glad pilot, bursting out in thanks. 
 
 Remember this : lest blind o'erweening pride 
 
 Pollute their offerings : lest their selfish heart 215 
 
 Say to the heavenly Ruler, " At our call 
 
 " Relents thy power ; by us thy arm is naoved/* 
 
 Fools ! who of God as of each other deem : 
 
 And HIS invariable acts deduce 
 
 From sudden counsels, transient as their own j 220 
 
 Nor farther of his bounty, than the event. 
 
 Which haply meets their loud and eager prayer. 
 
 Acknowledge ; nor beyond the drop minute. 
 
 Which haply they have tasted, heed the source 
 
 That flows for all; the fountain of his love, 225 
 
 Which, from the summit where he sits inthroned. 
 
 Pours health and joy, unfailing streams, throughout 
 
 The spacious region flourishing in view. 
 
 The goodly work of his eternal day. 
 
 His own fair universe ; on which alone 230 
 
 His counsels fix, and whence alone his will 
 
 Assumes her strong direction. Such is now 
 
 His sovran purpose; such it was before 
 
 All multitude of years : for his right arm 
 
 Was never idle ; his bestowing love 235 
 
 Knew no beginning ; was not as a change 
 
 Of mood that woke at last, and started up. 
 
 After a deep and solitary sloth 
 
 Of boundless ages. No : he now is good ; 
 
 He EVEu WAS. The feet of hoary Time 240 
 
 Through their eternal course have travell'd o'er
 
 IMAGINATION. B. II. 123 
 
 No speechless, lifeless desert ; but through scenes 
 
 Cheerful with bounty still ; among a pomp 
 
 Of worlds, for gladness round the Maker's throne 
 
 Loud shouting; or, in many dialects 24-5 
 
 Of hope and filial trust, imploring thence 
 
 The fortunes of their people : where so * fix'd 
 
 Were all the dates of being, so disposed -' 
 
 To every living soul of every kind 
 
 The field of motion, and the hour of rest, 250 
 
 That each the general happiness might serre ; 
 
 And by the discipline of laws divine. 
 
 Convinced of folly, or chastised from guilt. 
 
 Each might at length be happy. What remains 
 
 Shall be like what is past, but fairer still, 265 
 
 And still increasing in the godlike gifts 
 
 Of Life and Truth. Tlie same t paternal band. 
 
 From the mute shellfish gasping on the shore. 
 
 To men, to angels, to celestial minds, 
 
 Will ever lead the generations on 260 
 
 Through higher scenes of being : while, supply'd 
 
 From day to day by his enlivening breath. 
 
 Inferior orders in succession rise 
 
 To fill the void below. As flame ascends. 
 
 As vapours to the earth in showers return, 265 
 
 As the poised ocean toward the attracting moon 
 
 Swells, and the ever-listening planets, charm'd 
 
 By the sun's call, their onward pace incline ; 
 
 So I all things which have life aspire to God ; 
 
 Exhaustlcss fount of intellectual day, 270 
 
 Centre of souls ! Nor doth the mastering voice 
 
 Of Nature cease within to prompt aright 
 
 Book IT, line 329 f Vock U, line 24'3. + Book If, line 555.
 
 124 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Their steps; nor is the care of Heaven withheld 
 
 From sending to the toil external aid ; 
 
 That in their stations all may persevere 27 j 
 
 To climb the ascent of being, and approach 
 
 For ever nearer to the Life divine. 
 
 But this ETERNAL FABRIC was not raised 
 F^or man^s inspection. Though to some be given 
 To catch a transient visionary glimpse 280 
 
 Of that majestic scene which boundless power 
 Prepares for perfect goodness, yet in vain 
 Would human life her faculties expand 
 To imbosom such an object. Nor could e'er 
 Virtue or praise have touch'd the hearts of men, 285 
 Had not the Sovran Guide, through every stage 
 Of this their various journey, pointed out 
 Xew hopes, new toils, which to tueir humble sphere 
 Of sight and strength might such importance hold 
 As doth the wide creation to his own. 290 
 
 Hence all the little charities of life. 
 With all their duties : hence that favourite palm 
 Of human will, when duty is sufficed. 
 And still the liberal soul in ampler deeds 
 Would manifest herself; that sacred sign 295 
 
 Of her revered affinity to him 
 Whose bounties are his own ; to whom none said, 
 " Create the wisest, fullest, fairest world., 
 " And make its offspring happy ;" who, intent 
 8ome likeness of himself among his works 300 
 
 To view, hath pour'd into the human breast 
 A ray of knowledge and of love, which guides 
 F2arlh's feeble race to act their maker's {)art, 
 ^>ELF jLDGiNG; sELF-oBi.iCED : while, from before
 
 IMAGINATION, B. II. 125 
 
 That godlike function, the gigantic power 305 
 
 Necessity, though wont to curb the force 
 Of Chaos and the savage elements. 
 Retires abash'd, as from a scene too high 
 For her brute tyranny, and with her bears 
 Her scorned followers, Tekror, and base Awe 310 
 
 Who blinds herself, and that ill-suited pair. 
 Obedience link'd with Hatred. Then the soul 
 Arises in her strength ; and, looking round 
 Her busy sphere, whatever work she views. 
 Whatever counsel bearing any trace 315 
 
 Of her creator's likeness, whether apt 
 To aid her fellows or preserve herself 
 In her superior functions unimpair'd, / 
 
 Thither she turns exulting : that she claims 
 As her peculiar good : on that, through all 320 
 
 The fickle seasons of the day, she looks 
 With reverence still : to that as to a fence 
 Against affliction and the darts of pain. 
 Her drooping hopes repair : and, once opposed 
 To that, all other pleasure, other wealth, 325 
 
 Vile as the dross upon the molten gold 
 Appears, and loathsome as the briny sea 
 To him who languishes with thirst, and sighs 
 For some known fountain pure. For what can strive 
 With Virtue r Which of nature's regions vast 330 
 
 Can in so many forms produce to sight 
 Such powerful Beauty ? Beauty, which the eye 
 Of IIatkld cannot look upon secure : 
 Which Envy's self contemplates, and is turn'd 
 Ere long to tenderness, to infant smiles, 335 
 
 Or tears of humblest love. * Is aught so fair 
 Book I, line 500. L 'Z
 
 12(5 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 In all the dewy landscapes of the spring. 
 The summer's noontide groves, the purple eve 
 At harvest-home, or in the frosty moon 
 Glittering on some smooth sea, is aught so fair 310 
 As Virtuous Friendship ? as the honour'd roof 
 Whither from highest heaven immortal Love 
 His torch ethereal and his golden bow 
 Propitious brings, and there a temple holds 
 To whose unspotted service gladly vow'd 34*5 
 
 The social band of Parent, Brother, Child, 
 With smiles and sweet discourse and gentle deeds- 
 Adore his power ? What gift of richest clime 
 E'er drew such eager eyes, or prompted such 
 \Deep wishes, as the zeal that snatcheth back 350 
 
 From Slander's poisonous tooth a Foe's renown j 
 Or crosseth danger in his lion walk, 
 A Rival's life to rescue ? as the young 
 Athenian warrior sitting down in bonds. 
 That his great father's body might not want 3,55- 
 
 A peaceful, humble tomb ? the Roman wife 
 Teaching her lord how harmless was the wound 
 Of death, how impotent the tyrant's rage. 
 Who nothing more could threaten to afflict 
 Their faithful love ? Or is there in the abyss, SCO 
 
 Is * there, among the adamantine spheres 
 Wheeling unshaken through the boundless void. 
 Aught that with half such majesty can fill 
 The human bosom, as when Brutus rose 
 Refulgent from the stroke of C.?sar's fate 363 
 
 Amid the crowd of patriots ; and, his arm 
 Aloft extending like eternal Jove 
 Book I, line 488.
 
 IMAGINATION. B. II. 127 
 
 When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud 
 On Tully's name, and shook the crimson sword 
 Of justice in bis rapt astonish'd eye, 370 
 
 And bade the father of his country hail. 
 For lo the tyrant prostrate on the dust. 
 And Rome again is free ? Thus, through the paths 
 Of human life, in various pomp array'd 
 Walks the wise daughter of the judge of heaven, 375 
 Fair Virtue ; from her father's throne supreme 
 Sent down to utter laws, such as on earth 
 Most apt he knew, most powerful to promote 
 The weal of all his works, the gracious end 
 Of his dread empire. And tliough haply, man's 380 
 Obscurer sight, so far beyond himself ^ 
 
 And the brief labours of his little home. 
 Extends not ; yet, by the bright presence won 
 Of this divine instnictress, to her sway 
 Pleased he assents, nor heeds the distant goal 385 
 
 To which her voice conducts him. Thus hath God, 
 Still looking toward his own high purpose, fix'd 
 The virtues of his creatures ; thus he rules 
 The parent's fondness and the patriot's zeal ; 
 Thus the warm sense of honour and of shame ; 390 
 Th vows of gratitude, the faith of love ; 
 And all the comely intercourse of praise. 
 The joy of human life, the earthly heaven. 
 
 How far unhke them must the lot of guilt 
 Be found ! Or what terrestrial woe can match 393 
 The SELF-CONVICTED BOSOM, which had) wrought 
 The bane of others or inslaved itself 
 With shackles vile ? Not poison, nor sharp fire. 
 Nor the worst pangh that ever inoukisli hate
 
 128 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Suggested, or despotic rage imposed, 400 
 
 Were at that season an unwish'd exchange ; 
 When the soul loaths herself: when, flying thence 
 To crowds, on every brow she sees portray'd 
 Fell demons, hate or scorn, which drive her back 
 To solitude, her judge's Voice divine 405 
 
 To hear in secret, haply sounding through 
 The troubled dreams of midnight, and still, still 
 Demanding for his violated Laws 
 Fit recompence, or charging her own tongue 
 To speak the award of justice on herself. 410 
 
 For well she knows what faithful hints within 
 Were whisper'd, to beware the lying forms 
 Which turned her footsteps from the safer way : 
 What cautions to suspect their painted dress. 
 And look with steady eyelid on their smiles, 415 
 
 Their frowns, their tears. In vain : the dazzling hues 
 Of Fancv, and Opinion's eager voice. 
 Too much prevail'd. * For mortals tread the path 
 In which Opinion says they follow good 
 Or fly from evil : and Opinion gives 420 
 
 Report of good or evil, as the scene 
 Was drawn by Fancy, pleasing or deform 'd : 
 Thus her report can never there be true 
 Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye 
 With glaring colours and distorted lines. 425 
 
 Is there a t man to whom the name of death 
 Brings terror's ghastly pageants conjured up 
 Before him, death-bed groans, and dismal vows. 
 And the frail soul plunged headlong from the brink 
 Of life and daylight down the gloomy air, 430 
 
 * Book III, line 23. f Book III, li-ie 31.
 
 IMAGINATION. B. II. 129 
 
 An unknown depth, to gulphs of torturing fire 
 Unvisited by mercy ? Then what hand 
 Can snatch this dreamer from the fatal toils 
 Which Fancy and Opinion thus conspire 
 To twine around his heart ? or who shjfll hush 435 
 Their clamor, when they tell him that to die. 
 To risk those horrors, * is a direr curse 
 Than basest life can bring r Though Love with prayers 
 Most tender, with affliction's sacred tears. 
 Beseech his aid ; though gratitude and faith 440 
 
 Condemn each step which loiters ; yet let none 
 Make answer for him that, if any frown 
 Of Danger thwart his path, he will not stay 
 Content, and be a wretch to be secure. 
 Here Vice begins then : at the gate of life, 445 
 
 Ere the young multitude to diverse roads 
 Part, like fond pilgrims on a journey unknown. 
 Sits Fancy, deep inchantress ; and to each 
 With kind maternal looks presents her bowl, 
 A potent beverage. Heedless they comply : 450 
 
 Till the whole soul from that mysterious draught 
 Is tinged, and every transient thought imbibes 
 Of gladness or disgust, desire or fear. 
 One home-bred colour : which not all the lights 
 Of Science e'er shall change; not all the storms 453 
 Of ADVEusE FoRTi-'NE wasli away, nor yet 
 The robe of purest Virtue quite conceal. 
 Thence on they pass, where meeting frequent shapes 
 Of good and evil, ciinnin;^^ phantoms apt 
 To fire or freeze the breast, with them they join 4tJ0 
 In dangerous parley ; listening oft, and oft 
 * Jhvk III, line 43.
 
 J30 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Gazing with reckless passion, while its garb 
 
 The spectre heightens, and its pompous tale 
 
 Repeats with some new circumstance, to suit 
 
 Tliat early tincture of the hearer's soul. 465 
 
 And should the guardian Reason, but for one 
 
 Short moment yield to this illusive scene 
 
 His ear and eye, the intoxicating charm 
 
 Involves him, till no longer he discerns. 
 
 Or only guides to err. * Then revel forth 470 
 
 A furious band that spurn him from the throne. 
 
 And all is uproar. Hence ambition climbs 
 
 With sliding feet and hands impure, to grasp 
 
 Those solemn toys which glitter in his view 
 
 On fortune's rugged steep : hence pale Revenge 475 
 
 Unsheaths her murderous dagger : Rapine hetice 
 
 And envious Lust, by venal fraud upborne. 
 
 Surmount the reverend barrier of the laws 
 
 Which kept them from their prey : hence all the Crimes 
 
 That e'er defiled the earth, and all the Plagues 48Q 
 
 That follow them for vengeance, in the guise 
 
 Of Honour, Safety, Pleasure, Ease, or Pomp, 
 
 Stole first into the fond believing mind. 
 
 Yet not by Fancy's witchcraft, on the brain 
 Are always the tumultuous Passions driven 485 
 
 To guilty deeds, nor Reason bound in chains 
 That Vice alone may lord it. f Oft, adora'd 
 With motley pageants, Folly mounts his throne. 
 And plays her ideot antics, like a queen. 
 A thousand garbs she wears : a thousand ways 490 
 She whirls her giddy empire. Lo, thus far 
 With bold adventure to the INIantuan lyre 
 
 * Mi'oh JII, lina 51, -t Bo'A III, line r,7.
 
 IMAOINATION. B. U. ISl 
 
 I sing for contemplation link'd with love, 
 
 A pensive theme. Now haplj' should my song 
 
 Unbend that serious countenance, and learn 49S 
 
 Thalia's tripping gait, her shrill-toned voice. 
 
 Her wiles familiar i whether, scorn she darts 
 
 In wanton ambush from her lip or eye. 
 
 Or whether, with a sad disguise of care 
 
 O'ermantling her gay brow, she acts in sport 500 
 
 The deeds of Folly, and from all sides round 
 
 Calls forth impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke ; 
 
 Her province. * But through every comic scene 
 
 To lead my Muse with her light pencil arm'd ; 
 
 Through every swift occason which the hand 505 
 
 Of Laughter points at, when the mirthful sting 
 
 Distends her labouring sides and chokes her tongue ; 
 
 Were endless as to sound each grating note 
 
 With which the rooks, and chattering daws, atid grave 
 
 Unwieldy inmates of the village pond, 510 
 
 The changing seasons of the sky proclaim ; 
 
 Sun, cloud, or shower, t Suffice it to have said. 
 
 Where'er the power of Ridicule displays 
 
 Her quaint-eyed visage, some incongruous form 
 
 Some stubborn dissonance of things combined 515 
 
 Strikes on her quick perception : whether pomp. 
 
 Or praise, or beauty, be dragg'd in and shown. 
 
 Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds. 
 
 Where foul deformity is wont to dwell j 
 
 Or whether these, with shrewd and wayward spite, 520 
 
 Invade resplendent pomp's imperious mien. 
 
 The charms of beauty, or the boast of praise. 
 
 Ask 4 we for what fair end the almighty Sire 
 Ikok ill, Imc 241. f Book III, tine 2ib. + Book III, line 259.
 
 132 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 In mortal bosoms stirs this g^ay contempt. 
 
 These grateful pangs of laughter ; from disgust 525 
 
 Educing pleasure ? Wherefore, but to aid 
 
 The tardy steps of Reason, and at once 
 
 By this prompt impulse urge us to depress 
 
 Wild Folly's aims? For though the sober lisjht 
 
 Of Truth slow-dawning on the watchful mind 530 
 
 At Jength unfolds, through many a subtile tie. 
 
 How these uncouth disorders end at last 
 
 In public evil ; yet benignant Heaven, 
 
 Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears 
 
 To thousands, conscious what a scanty pause 55 j 
 
 From labour and from care the wider lot 
 
 Of humble life affords for studious thought 
 
 To scan the maze of nature, therefore stamp 'd 
 
 These glaring scenes with characters of scorn. 
 
 As broad, as obvious to the passing clown SM 
 
 As to the letterM sage's curious eye. 
 
 But other evils o'er the steps of man 
 Through all his walks impend ; against whose might 
 The slender darts of laughter nought avail : 
 A trivial warfare. Some, like cruel guards, 54-5 
 
 On Nature's ever-moving throne attend ; 
 With mischief arm'd for him whoe'er shall thwart 
 The path of her inexorable wheels. 
 While she pursues the work that must be done 51-i> 
 Through ocean, earth, and air. Hence frequent forms 
 Of woe; the merchant, with his wealthy bark. 
 Buried by dashing waves ; the traveller 
 Pierced by the pointed lightning in his haste ; 
 And the poor husbandman, with folded arms, 
 ^Jurveying his lost labours, and a heap 555
 
 IMAGINATION. B. II. 133 
 
 Of blasted chaff the product of the field 
 
 Whence he expected bread. But worse than these 
 
 I deem, far worse, that other race of ills 
 
 Which human kind rear up among themselves ; 
 
 That horrid offspring which mhgovcrn'd ivill 5Q0 
 
 Bears to fantastic error; VICES, CRIMES : 
 
 Furies that curse the earth, and make the blows. 
 
 The heaviest blows, of Nature's innocent hand 
 
 Seem sport : which are indeed but as the care 
 
 Of a wise parent, who solicits good 565 
 
 To all her house, though haply at the price 
 
 Of tears and froward wailing and reproach 
 
 From some unthinking child, whom not the less 
 
 Its mother destines to be happy still. 
 
 These sources then of pain, this double lot 570 
 
 Of evil in the inheritance of man. 
 Required for his protection no slight force. 
 No careless watch. And therefore was his breast 
 Fenced round with passions, quick to be alarm'd. 
 Or stubborn to oppose ; with Fear, more swift 575 
 Than beacons catching fhme from hill to hill. 
 Where armies land ; with Anger, uncontrci'd 
 As the young lion bounding on his prey ; 
 With SoRnow, that locks up the struggling heart, 
 And Shamp, that overcasts the drooping eye 580 
 
 As with a cloud of lightening. These the part 
 Perform of eager monitors, and goad 
 The soul more sharply than with points of steel. 
 Her enemies to shun or to resist. 
 
 And as those passions, that converse with guoi!, 535 
 Are good themselves ; as Move and Lovk and Joy, 
 Among the fairest and the sweetest boons 
 M
 
 134. THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Of life, we rightly count; so these, which guard 
 
 Against invading Evil, still excite 
 
 Some pain, some tumult : these, within the mind 590 
 
 Too oft admitted or too long retain'd. 
 
 Shock their frail seat, and by their uncurb'd rage 
 
 To savages more fell than Libya breeds. 
 
 Transform themselves : till human thought becomes 
 
 A gloomy ruin, haunt of shapes unbless'd, 595 
 
 Of self-tormenting fiends ; Horror, Despair, 
 
 Hatred, and wicked Envy : foes to all 
 
 The works of Nature and the gifts of Heaven. 
 
 But when through blameless paths to righteous ends 
 Those keener passions urge the awaken'd soul, 600 
 
 I would not, as ungracious violence. 
 Their sway describe, nor from their free career 
 The fellowship of pleasure quite exclude. 
 For what can render, to the self-approved. 
 Their temper void of comfort, though in pain ? 605 
 Who * knows not with what majesty divine 
 The forms of Truth and Justice to the mind 
 Appear, ennobling oft the sharpest woe 
 With triumph and rejoicing ? Who, that bears 
 A human bosom, hath not often felt CIO 
 
 How dear are all those ties which bind our race 
 In gentleness together, and how sweet 
 Their force, let Fortune's wayward hand the while 
 Be kind or cruel ? t Ask the faithful youth 
 Why the cold urn, of her whom long he loved, 01') 
 So often fills his arms ; so often draws 
 His lonely footsteps, silent and unseen. 
 To pay the mournful tribute of his tears ? 
 
 Book II, line 673. f ^(">i ^^ ''' <583.
 
 IMAGINATION. B. II. 135 
 
 O ! he will tell thee that the wealth of worlds 
 Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego 620 
 
 Those sacff d hours ; when, stealing from the noise 
 Of care and envy, sweet remembrance sooths 
 With Virtue's kindest looks his aking breast. 
 And turns his tears to rapture. * Ask the crowd, 
 Which flies impatient from the village walk 625 
 
 To climb the neighbouring cliffs, vyhen far below 
 The savage winds have hurl'd upon the coast 
 Some helpless bark ; while holy Pity melts 
 The general eye, or Tebkor's icy hijnd 
 Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair ; 6 JO 
 
 While every mother closer to her breast 
 Catcheth her child, and, pointing where the waves 
 Foam through the shatter'd vessel, shrieks aloud 
 As one poor wretch, who spreads his piteous arms 
 For succour, swallow'd by the roaring surge ; 635 
 
 As now another, dash'd against the rock. 
 Drops lifeless down. O ! deemest thou indeed 
 No pleasing influence here by Nature given 
 To mutual terror and compassion's tears ? 
 No tender charm mysterious, which attracts 640 
 
 O'er all that edge of pain the social powers. 
 To this their proper action and their end ? 
 Ask t thy own heart; when, at the midnight hour. 
 Slow through that pensive gloom thy pausing eye. 
 Led by the glimmering taper, moves around 6i5 
 
 The reverend volumes of the dead, the songs 
 Of Grecian bards, and records writ by fame 
 For Grecian heroes, where the Sovran Power 
 Of heaven and earth surveys the immortal page, 
 *ooi II, line 693. ^ Book II, line 712,
 
 136 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Even as a father meditating all 650 
 
 The praises of his son ; and bids the rest 
 Of mankind there the fairest model learn 
 Of their own nature, and the noblest deeds 
 Which yet the world hath seen ; if then thy soul 
 Join in the lot of those diviner men ? 655 
 
 Say ; when the prospect darkens on thy view ; 
 When sunk by many a wound, heroic states 
 Mourn in the dust and tremble at the frown 
 Of hard ambition ; * when the generous band 
 Of youths who fougjit for freedom and their sires 660 
 Lie side by side in death ; when brutal force 
 Usurps the throne of justice, turns the pomp 
 Of guardian power, the majesty of rule. 
 The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe. 
 To poor dishonest pageants, to adorn 665 
 
 A robber's walk, and glitter in the eyes 
 Of such as bow the knee; t when beauteous works. 
 Rewards of virtue, sculptured forms, which deck'd 
 With more than human grace the warrior's arch, 
 Or patiiot's tomb, now victims to appease G70 
 
 Tyrannic envy, strew the comijion path 
 With awful ruins; when the Muse's haunt. 
 The marble porch, where wisdom wont to talk 
 With Socrates or Tllly, hears no more. 
 Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks, 675 
 
 Or female superstition's midnight prayer ; 
 When ruthless havoc from the hand of Time 
 Tears the destroying scythe, with surer stroke 
 To mow the monuments of glory down; 
 Till desolation o'er the grass-grown street 630 
 
 * Bwi II, li>!c 72C. t Hook II, line 734.
 
 IMAGINATION. B. II. 137 
 
 Expands her raven wings, and, from the gate 
 
 W^here * senates once the weal of nations plann'd, 
 
 llisseth the gUding snake through hoary weeds 
 
 'J'Lal clasp the mouldering column : thus when all 
 
 The widely-mournful scene is fix'd within 685 
 
 Thy throbbing bosom ; when the patriot's tear 
 
 Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm 
 
 In fancy, hurls the thunderbolt of Jove 
 
 To fire the impious wreath on Philip's brow. 
 
 Or dash Octavics from the trophied car; 690 
 
 Say, t doth thy secret soul repine to taste 
 
 The big distress ? or vvould'st thou then exchange 
 
 Those heart-ennobling sorrows for the lot 
 
 Of him who sits amid the gaudy herd 
 
 Of silent lldtterers bending to his nod, 695 
 
 And o'er them, like a giant, casts his eye. 
 
 And says within himself, " I am a king, 
 
 *' And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woe 
 
 " Intrude upon mine ear?" The dregs corrupt 
 
 Of barbarous ages, that Circa;an draught 700 
 
 Of servitude and folly, have not yet. 
 
 Bless 'd be the IvrEUNAL litLcr. of the world ! 
 
 Yet have not so dishonour'd, so deform'd 
 
 The native judgment of the human soul. 
 
 Nor so eilaced the iaiage of her sire. 705 
 
 * Book II, line 748 f Hoai II, line ~'j~. 
 
 THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 M 2
 
 THE 
 
 PLEASURES 
 
 IMAGINATION; 
 
 ' BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 A FRA GHENT. 
 
 MDCCLXX. 
 
 VV Hx\T tongue then may explain the various fate 
 
 Which reigns o'er earth ? or who to mortal eyes 
 
 Illustrate this perplexing labyrinth 
 
 Of joy and woe through which the feet of man 
 
 Are doom'd to wander ? That Eternal Misd 5 
 
 From passions, wants, and envy, far estranged, " 
 
 Who built the spacious universe, and deck'd 
 
 Each part so richly with wbate'er pertains 
 
 To life, to health, to pleasure ; why bade he 
 
 The viper EVIL, creeping in, pollute 10 
 
 The goodly scene, and with insidious rage. 
 
 While the poor inmate looks around and smiles. 
 
 Dart her fell sting with poison to his soul ? 
 
 Hard is the question, and from ancient days 
 
 Hath still oppress'd with care the sage's thought; 15 
 
 Hath drawn forth accents from the poet's lyre 
 
 Too sad, too deeply plaintive : nor did e'er
 
 THE PLEASURES, &c. 139 
 
 Those chiefs of human kind, from whom the light 
 Of heavenly truth first gleam'd on barbarous lands. 
 Forget this dreadful secret, when they told 20 
 
 What wonderous things had to their favoured eyes 
 And ears on cloudy mountain been reveal'd. 
 Or in deep cave by nymph or power divine ; 
 Portentous oft and wild. Yet one I know. 
 Could I the speech of lawgivers assume, 25 
 
 One old and splendid tale I would record 
 With which the Muse of Solon in sweet strains 
 Adorn'd this theme profound, and rendered all 
 Its darkness, all its terrors, bright as noon. 
 Or gentle as the golden star of eve. 30 
 
 Who knows not Solon ? last, and wisest far. 
 Of those whom Greece triumphant in the height 
 Of glory, styled her fathers ? him whose voice 
 Through Athens hush'd the storm of civil wrath ; 
 Taught ENVIOUS Want and cruel Wealth to join 35 
 In friendship ; and, with sweet compulsion, tamed 
 Minerva's eager people to his laws. 
 Which their own goddess in his breast inspired ? 
 
 'Twas now the time when his heroic task 
 Seem'd but perform 'd in vain : when sooth'd by years 
 Of flattering service, the fond multitude 41 
 
 Hung with their sudden counsels on the breath 
 Of great Pisistratus : that chief renown'd. 
 Whom Hermes and the Idalian queen had train'd 
 Even from his birth to every powerful art 45 
 
 Of pleasing and persuading: from whose lips 
 Flow'd eloquence, which like the vows of love 
 Could steal away suspicion from the hearts 
 Of all who listened. Thus from day to day
 
 140 THE PLEx\SURES OF THE 
 
 He won the general suffrage, and beheld 50 
 
 Each rival overshadovv'd and depress'd 
 
 Beneath his ampler state : yet oft complain'd. 
 
 As one less kindly treated, who had hoped 
 
 To merit favour, but submits perforce 
 
 To find another's services preferr'd ; 55 
 
 Nor yet relaxeth aught of faith or zeal. 
 
 Then tales were scatter 'd of his envious foes. 
 
 Of snares that watch'd his fame, of daggers aim'd 
 
 Against his life. At last with trembling limbs. 
 
 His hair diftused and wild, his garments loose, CO 
 
 And stain'd with blood from self-inllicted wounds. 
 
 He burst into the public place, as there. 
 
 There only, were his refuge ; and declared 
 
 In broken words, with sighs of deep regret. 
 
 The mortal danger he had scarce repell'd. (j5 
 
 Fired with his tragic tale, the indignant crowd. 
 
 To guard his steps, forthwitn a menial band, 
 
 Array'd beneath his eye for deeds of war. 
 
 Decree. O still too liberal of their trust. 
 
 And oft betray' d by over-grateful love, 70 
 
 The generous people .' Now behold him fenced 
 
 By mercenary weapons, like a king. 
 
 Forth issuing from the city gate at eve 
 
 To seek his rural mansion, and with pomp 
 
 Crowding the public road. The swain stops short, 75 
 
 And sighs : the officious townsmen stand at gaze 
 
 And shrinking give the sullen pageant room. 
 
 Yet not the less obsequious was his brow ; 
 
 Nor less profuse of courteous words his tongue. 
 
 Of gracious gifts his hand : the while by stealth, S<) 
 
 Like a small torrent fed with evening showers.
 
 IMAGINATION. B. III. 141 
 
 His train increased. Till, at that fatal time 
 
 Just as the public eye, with doubt and shame 
 
 Startled, began to question what it saw. 
 
 Swift as the sound of earthquakes rush'd a voice 85 
 
 Through Athens, that Pisistratus had fiU'd 
 
 The rocky citadel with hostile arms. 
 
 Had barr'd the steep ascent, and sate within 
 
 Amid his hirelings, meditating death 
 
 To all whose stubborn necks his yoke refused. 90 
 
 Where then was Solon ? After ten long years 
 
 Of absence, full of haste from foreign shores 
 
 The sage, the lawgiver had now arrived : 
 
 Arrived, alas, to see that Athens, that 
 
 Fair temple raised by him, and sacred call'd 95 
 
 To LiEEUTY and Concord, now profaned 
 
 By savage hate, or sunk into a den 
 
 Of slaves, who crouch beneath the master's scourge. 
 
 And deprecate his wrath and court his chains. 
 
 Yet did not the wise patriot's grief impede 100 
 
 His virtuous will, nor was his heart inclined 
 
 One moment with such woman-like distress 
 
 To view the transiait storms of civil war. 
 
 As thence to yield his country and her hopes 
 
 To all-devouring bondage. His bright helm, 105 
 
 Even while the traitor's impious act is told. 
 
 He buckles on his hoary head : he girds 
 
 With mail his stooping breast : the shield, the spear 
 
 He snatcheth ; and with swift indignant strides 
 
 The assembled people seeks : proclaims aloud 110 
 
 It was no time for counsel : in their spears 
 
 Lay all their prudence now : the tyrant yet 
 
 Was not so firmly seated on his throne,
 
 U2 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 But that one shock of their united force 
 Would dash hinti from the summit of his pride 115 
 Headlong and groveling in the dust. What else 
 Can re-assert the lost Athenian name 
 So cheaply to the laughter of the world 
 Betray'd ; by guile beneath an infant's faith 
 So mock'd and scorn'd ? Away then : Freedom now 
 And Safety dwell not but with Fame in arms : 121 
 Myself will shew you where their mansion lies. 
 And through the walks of Danger or of Death 
 Conduct you to them. While he spake, through all 
 Their crowded ranks his quick sagacious eye 125 
 
 He darted ; where no cheerful voice w as heard 
 Of social daring ; no stretch'd arm was seen 
 Hastening their common task : but pale mistrust 
 Wrinkled each brow : they shook their heads, and dO'Wn 
 Their slack hands hung : colds sighs and vvhisper'd 
 doubts 130 
 
 From breath to breath stole round. The sage mean time 
 Look'd speechless on, while his big bosom heaved. 
 Struggling with sharne and sorrow : till at last 
 A tear broke forth ; and, O immortal shades, 
 O Theseus, he exclaim'd, O Coduus, where, 135 
 
 W^here are ye now ? behold for what ye toil'd 
 Through life ? behold for whom ye chose to die. 
 No more he added ; but with lonely steps 
 Weary and slow, his silver beard depress'd. 
 And his stern eyes bent heedless on the ground, 140 
 Back to his silent dwelling he repair'd. 
 There o'er the gate, his armour, as a man 
 Whom from the service of the war his chief 
 Dismisseth after no inglorious toil.
 
 IMAGINATION. B. III. 143 
 
 He fix'd in general view. One wishful look 145 
 
 He sent, unconscious, toward the public place 
 At parting : then beneath his quiet roof 
 Without a word, without a sigh, retired. 
 
 Scarce had the morrow's sun his golden rays 
 From, sweet Hymettus darted o'er the fanes 150 
 
 Of Cecrops to the Salaminian shores. 
 When, lo, on Solon's threshold met the feet 
 Of four Athenians, by the same sad care 
 Conducted all ; than whom the state beheld 
 None nobler. First came Megacles, the son 155 
 
 Of great ALCMiEON, whom the Lydian king 
 The mild, unhappy Crcesus, in his days 
 Of glory had with costly gifts adorn 'd, 
 I^air vessels, splendid garments, tinctured webs ' 
 
 And heaps of treasured gold beyond the lot 1 60 
 
 Of many sovereigns ; thus requiting well 
 That hospitable favour which erewhile 
 Alcm.'eon to his messengers had shewn, 
 Whom he with offerings woithy of the god 
 Sent from his throne in Sardis to revere 165 
 
 Apollo's Delphic shrine. With Megacles 
 Approach'd his son, whom Agauista bore. 
 The virtuous child of Clisthenes, whose hand 
 Of Grecian sceptres the most ancient far 
 In Sicyon sway'd : but greater fame he drew 170 
 
 From arms control'd by justice, from the love 
 Of the wise Muses, and the unenvied wreath 
 Which glad Olympia gave. For thither once 
 His warlike steeds the hero led, and there 
 Contended through the tumult of the course 175 
 
 With skilful wheels. Then victor at the goal.
 
 U+ THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Amid the applauses of assembled Greece, 
 
 High on his car he stood and waved his arm. 
 
 Silence ensued : when strait the herald's voice 
 
 Was heard, inviting every Grecian youth, 180 
 
 Whom Clisthenes content might call his son. 
 
 To visit, ere twice thirty days were past. 
 
 The towers of Sicyon. There the chief decreed. 
 
 Within the circuit of the following year. 
 
 To join at Hymen's altar, hand in hand 185 
 
 With his fair daughter, him among the guests 
 
 Whom worthiest he should deem. Forthwith from all 
 
 The bounds of Greece the ambitious wooers came : 
 
 From rich Hesperia j from the lllyrian shore 
 
 Where Epidamnus over Adria's surge 1 90 
 
 Looks on the setting sun ; from those brave tribes 
 
 Chaonian or Molossian, whom the race 
 
 Of great Achilles governs, glorying still 
 
 In Troy o'erthrown ; from rough j^itolia, nurse 
 
 Of men who first among the Greeks threw off 195 
 
 The yoke of kings, to commerce and to arms 
 
 Devoted; from Thessalia's fertile meads. 
 
 Where flows Peneus near the lofty walls 
 
 Of Cranon old ; from strong Eretria, queen 
 
 Of all Eubcean cities, who, sublime 200 
 
 On the steep margin of Euripus, views 
 
 Across the tide the Marathonian plain. 
 
 Not yet the haunt of glory. Athens too, 
 
 Minerva's care, among her graceiul sons 
 
 Found equal lovers for the princely maid : 203 
 
 Nor was proud Argos wanting ; nor the domes 
 
 Of sacred Elis; nor the Arcadian groves 
 
 That oversl'.ade Alpheus, echoing o(l
 
 IMAGINATION. B. HI. l i^" 
 
 Some shepherd's song. But through the illustrious band 
 Was none who might with Megacles compare 210 
 In all the honours of unblemish'd youth. 
 His was the beauteous bride : and now their son. 
 Young Clisthenes, betimes, at Solon's gate 
 Stood anxious ; leaning forward on the arm 
 Of his great sire, with earnest eyes that ask'd 215 
 
 When the slow hinge would turn, with restless feet. 
 And cheeks now pale, now glowing : for his heart 
 Tkrobb'd, full of bursting passions ; anger, grief 
 With scorn imbitter'd, by the generous boy 
 Scarce understood, but which, like noble seeds, 220 
 Are destined for his country and himself 
 In riper years to bring forth fruits divine 
 Of libefty and glory. Next appear'd 
 Two brave companions whom one mother bore 
 To difterent lords ; but whom the better ties 225 
 
 Of firm esteem and friendship render'd more 
 Than brothers : first Miltiades, who drew 
 From godlike TEacus his ancient line ; 
 That ^Acus whose imimpeach'd renown 
 For sanctity and justice won the lyre 230 
 
 Of elder bards to celebrate him throned 
 In Hades o'er the dead, where his decrees 
 The guilty soul within the burning gates 
 Of Tartarus compel, or send the good 
 To inhabit with eternal health and peace 235 
 
 llie vallies of Elysium. From a stem 
 So sacred, ne'er could worthier scyon spring 
 Than this Miltiades ; whose aid ere-long 
 'Fhe chiefs of Thrace, already on their ways 
 Sent by the inspired foreknowing maid, who sits 210 
 N
 
 liG THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Upon the Delphic tripod, shall implore 
 
 To wield their sceptre, and the rural wealth 
 
 Of fruitful Chersonesus to protect 
 
 With arms and laws. But, nothing careful now 
 
 Save for his injured country, here he stands 245 
 
 In deep solicitude with Cimon joinM : 
 
 Unconscious both what widely-different lots. 
 
 Await them, taught by nature as they are 
 
 To know one common good, one common ill. 
 
 For CnioN, not his valour, not his birth 250 
 
 Derived from Codrus, not a thousand gifts 
 
 Dealt round him with a wise, benignant hand. 
 
 No, nor the Olympic olive by himself 
 
 From his own brow transferr'd to soolh the mind 
 
 Of this PisisTRATUs, can long preserve * 255 
 
 From the fell envy of the Tyrant's sons. 
 
 And their assassin dagger. But if death 
 
 Obscure upon his gentle steps attend. 
 
 Yet fate an ample recompense prepares 
 
 In his victorious son, that other great 26 
 
 INIiLTiADEs, who o'er the very throne 
 
 Of glory shall svith Time's assiduous hand 
 
 In adamantine characters engrave 
 
 The name of Athens ; and by freedom arm'd 
 
 'Gainst the gigantic pride of Asia's King, 2G5 
 
 Shall all the atchievements of the heroes old 
 
 Surmount; of Hercules, of all who sail'd 
 
 From Thessaly with Jason, all who fought 
 
 For empire or for fame, at Thebes or Troy. 
 
 Such were the patriots who within the porch 270 
 Of Solon had assembled. But the gate 
 Now opens, and across the ample floor
 
 IMAGINATION. B. III. U7 
 
 Straight they proceed into an open space 
 
 Bright with the beams of morn : a verdant spot. 
 
 Where stands a rural altar, piled with sods 275 
 
 Cut from the grassy turf and girt with wreaths 
 
 Of branching palm. Here SotON's self they found 
 
 Clad in a robe of purple pure, and deck'd 
 
 With leaves of clive on his reverend brow. 
 
 He bow'd before the altar, and o'er cakes 280 
 
 Of barley from two earthen vessels pour'd 
 
 Of honey and of milk a plenteous strean) ; 
 
 Calling meantime the Muses to accept 
 
 His siinple offering, by no victim tinged 
 
 With blood, nor sullied by destroying fire ; 285 
 
 But such as for himself Apollo claims 
 
 In his own Delos, where his favourite haunt 
 
 Is thence the "Altar of the Pious" named. 
 
 Unseen the guests drew near, and silent view'd 
 
 That worship; till the hero-priest his eye 290 
 
 Turn'd toward a seat on which prepared there lay 
 
 A branch of laurel. Then his friends confcss'd 
 
 Before him stood. Backward his step he drew. 
 
 As loath that care or tumult should approach 
 
 Tho>e early rites divine : but soon their looks, 295 
 
 ik> anxious, and their hands, held forth with such 
 
 Desponding gesture, bring him on perforce 
 
 To speak to their a/fliction. Are ye come. 
 
 He cried, to mourn with me this common shame ? 
 
 Or ask ye some new efibrt which may break SOU 
 
 Our fetters ? Know then, of the public cause 
 
 Not for yon traitor's cunning, or his might 
 
 Do I despair : nor could I wish from Jove 
 
 Aught dearer, than at this late hour of life.
 
 148 THE PLEASURES OF THE ' 
 
 As once by laws, so now by strenuous arms 305 
 
 From impious violation to assert 
 
 The rights our fathers left us. But, alas ! 
 
 What arms ? or who shall wield them ? Ye beheld 
 
 The Athenian people. Many bitter days 
 
 IMust pass, and many wounds from cruel pride 310 
 
 Be felt, ere yet their partial hearts find room 
 
 For just resentment, or tlieir hands indure 
 
 To smite this tyrant brood, so near to all 
 
 Their hopes, so oft admired, so long beloved. 
 
 That TIME WILL COME, however. Be it yours 315 
 
 To watch its fair approach, and urge it on 
 
 With honest prwdence : me it ill beseems 
 
 Again to supplicate the unwilling crowd 
 
 To rescue from a vile deceiver's hold 
 
 That envied power which once with eager zeal 320 
 
 They olFer'd to mj'self ; nor can I plunge 
 
 In counsels deep and various, nor prepare 
 
 For distant wars, thus faltering as I tread 
 
 On life's last verge, ere-long to join the shades 
 
 Of Mi:;o9 and Lvcurgus. But behold 325 
 
 What care employs me now. My vows I pay 
 
 To the sweet Muses, teachers of my youth 
 
 And solace of my age. If right I deem 
 
 Of the still voice that whispers at my heart. 
 
 The immortal sisters have not quite withdrawn ' 330 
 
 Their old harmonious influence. Let your tongues 
 
 With sacred silence favour what I speak. 
 
 And haply shall my faithful lips be taught 
 
 To unfold celestial counsels, which may arm. 
 
 As with impenetrable steel, your breasts 335 
 
 For the long strife before you, and repel
 
 IMAGINATION BOOK III. 149 
 
 The darts of adverse fate. He said, and snatch'd 
 
 The laurel bough, and sate in silence down, 
 
 Fix'd, vvrapp'd in solemn musing, full before 
 
 The sun, who now from all his radiant orb 340 
 
 Drove the gray clouds, and pour'd his genial light 
 
 Upon the breast of Solon. Solon raised 
 
 Aloft the leafy rod, and thus began. 
 
 Ye beauteous offspring of Olympian Jove 
 And Memory divine, Pierian Maids, 345 
 
 Hear me, propitious. In the morn of life. 
 When hope shone bright and all the prospect smiled. 
 To your sequester *d mansion oft my steps 
 Were turn'd, O Mt-sES, and within your gate 
 My offerings paid. Ye taught me then, with strains 
 Of flowing harmony to soften war's 351 
 
 Dire voice, or in fair colours, that might charm 
 The public eye, to clothe the form austere 
 Of civil counsel. Now my feeble age 
 Neglected, and supplanted of the hope 355 
 
 On which it lean'd, yet sinks not ; but to you. 
 To your mild wisdom flies, refuge beloved 
 Ot solitude and silence. Ye can teach "^ 
 
 The visions of my betd, whate'er the" gods 
 In the rude ages of the world inspired, 30O 
 
 Or the first heroes acted : ye can make 
 The morning light more gladsome to my sense. 
 Than ever it appear'd to active youth 
 Pursuing careless plea-sure : ye can give 
 To this long leisure, these unheeded hours, 3(J5 
 
 A labour as sublime, as when the sons 
 Of Athens, throug'd and s})eechless, round me stood 
 To hear pronounced for all their future deeds
 
 150 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 The bounds of Right and Wrong. Celestial Poweks. 
 
 I feel that ye are near me : and behold, 370 
 
 To meet your energy divine, I bring 
 
 A high and sacred theme ; not le^s than those 
 
 Which to the eternal custody of Fame 
 
 Your lips intrusted, when of old ye deign'd 
 
 With Ohpheus or with Homer to frequent 375 
 
 The groves of Haemus or the Chian shore. 
 
 Ye know. Harmonious Maids ! (for w hat of all 
 My various life was e'er from-you estranged ?) 
 Oft hath my solitary song to you 
 Reveal'd that duteous pride, which turn'd my steps 
 To willing exile ; earnest to withdraw 38 1 
 
 From envy and the disappointed thirst 
 Of lucre J lest the bold familiar strife. 
 Which in the eye of Athens tbey upheld 
 Against her legislator, should impair 38.5 
 
 With trivial doubt the reverence of his laws. 
 To Egypt therefore through the ^gean isles 
 My course I steer'd, and by the banks of Nile 
 Dwelt in Canopus, Thence the hallow 'd domes 
 Of Sais, and the rites to Isis paid, 390 
 
 I sought, and in her temple's silent courts. 
 Through many changing moons, attentive beard 
 The venerable Sonchis, while his tongue 
 At morn or midnight the deep story told 
 Of her who represents whate'er has been, 395 
 
 Or Is, or shall be ; whose mysterious veil 
 ?so mortal hand hath ever yet removed. 
 By him exhorted, southward to the walls 
 Of On I pass'd, the city of the sun. 
 The cver-youtbful god. 'Tvvas there amid 400
 
 IMAGINATION. B. III. 151 
 
 His priests and sages, who the live-long night 
 
 Watch the di-ead movement? of the starrj' sphere. 
 
 Or who in vvonderous fables half disclose 
 
 The secrets of the elements, 'twas there 
 
 That great Pse.vophis taught my raptured ears 405 
 
 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 
 
 Foretel with what delight her own free lyre 410 
 
 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 walks among mankind. But yet meantime 415 
 
 The mystic pomp of Ammon's gloomy sons 
 
 Became less pleasing. With contempt I gazed 
 
 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 421 
 
 Of cheerful Greece, a glad farewell I gave 
 
 To Egypt, and before the southern wind 
 
 Spread my full sails. What climes 1 then surveyed. 
 
 What fortunes I encounter 'd in the realm 425 
 
 Of Cuoisus or upon the Cyprian shore. 
 
 The Muse, who prompts my Iwsom, doth not now 
 
 Consent that I reveal. But when at length 
 
 Ten times the sun returning from the south 429 
 
 Had strow'd with flowers the verdant earth, and fiU'U 
 
 The groves with music, pleased I then beheld 
 
 'I he term of those long errors drawing nigh.
 
 152 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Nor yet, I said, will I sit down within 
 
 The walls of Athens, till my feet have trod 
 
 The Cretan soil, have pierced those reverend haunts 
 
 Whence law and civil concord issued forth 436 
 
 As from their ancient home, and still to Greece 
 
 Their wisest, loftiest discipline proclaim. 
 
 Strait where Amnisus, mart of wealthy ships. 
 
 Appears beneath famed Cnossus and her towers. 440 
 
 Like the fair handmaid of a stately queen, 
 
 I check'd my prow, and thence with eager steps 
 
 The city of Mjnos enter'd. O ye gods. 
 
 Who taught the leaders of the simpler time 
 
 By WRITTEN WORDS to curb the untoward will 445 
 
 Of mortals! how within that generous isle 
 
 Have ye the triumphs of your power display'd 
 
 Munificent ! Those splendid merchants, lords 
 
 Of traffic and the sea, with what delight 
 
 I saw them at their public meal, like sons 450 
 
 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 untamed, the rustic faith, 455 
 
 Of their first fathers. Then the growing race. 
 
 How pleasing to behold them in their schools. 
 
 Their sports, their labours, ever placed within, 
 
 O shade of Minos, thy controling eye ! 
 
 Here was a docile band in tuneful tones 460 
 
 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 inspired of old ;
 
 "IMAGINATION. B. III. 155 
 
 There, on the verge of manhood, others met, ^65 
 
 In heavy armour through the heats of noon 
 
 To march, the rugged mountains height to climb 
 
 With measured swiftness, from the hard- bent bow 
 
 To send resistless arrows to their mark. 
 
 Or for the fame of prowess to contend, 470 
 
 Now wrestling, now with fists and staves opposed. 
 
 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 475 
 
 To thoughtful resolution cool and clear. 
 
 Such I beheld those islanders renown'd. 
 
 So tutorM from their birth to meet in war 
 
 Each bold invader, and in peace to guard 
 
 That living flame of reverence for their laics 480 
 
 Which nor the storms of fortune, nor the flood 
 
 Of foreign wealth diffused o'er all the land. 
 
 Could quench or slacken. First of human names 
 
 In every Cretan's heart was Minos still ; 485 
 
 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 Dictaean cave 
 
 Where Jove was born ; the eververdant meads 490 
 
 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 495 
 
 On Justice, and the tables of his law 
 
 To inscribe anew. Oft also with like zeal
 
 I3t THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Great Rhea's mansion from the Cnossian gates 
 
 Men visit ; nor less oft the antique fane 
 
 Built on that sacred spot, along the banks 500 
 
 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 received; what time an annual feast 505 
 
 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 510 
 
 The same glad omens. There, among the crowd 
 
 Of strangers from those naval cities drawn, 
 
 '^"bich deck, like gems, the island's northern shore, 
 
 A merchant of ^Egina I descried. 
 
 My ancient host. But, forward as I sprung 515 
 
 To meet him, he, with dark dejected brow, 
 
 Stopp'd half-averse; and, O i^thenian 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. 520 
 
 He added names of men, with hostile deeds 
 
 Disastrous; which obscure and indistinct 
 
 1 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 fared, 525 
 
 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
 
 IMAGINATION, B. III. 155 
 To break away, with palpitating heart, 5^0 
 
 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. 530 
 
 Heedless I followed on ; till soon the skirts 
 Of Ida rose before me, and the vault 
 Wide-opening, pierced the mountain's rocky side. 
 Entering within the threshold, on the ground 540 
 
 I flung me, sad, faint, overworn with toil.
 
 THE 
 PLEASURES 
 
 IMAGINATION: 
 
 BOOK THE FOURTH. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 MDCCLXX. 
 
 V/NE effort more, one cheerful sally more. 
 
 Our destined 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 ; 5 
 
 O my adventurous song ! with steady speed 
 
 Long hast thou, on an untried voyage bound, 
 
 Saird between earth and heaven : hast now survey'd, 
 
 Stretch'd out beneath thee, all the mazy tracts 
 
 Of Passion and Opinion; like a waste 10 
 
 Of sands and flowery lawns and tangling woodsy 
 
 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, ] 5 
 
 A curious, but an unpresuming guest. 
 
 Thou might'st partake j and carry back some strain
 
 THE PLEASURES, '&c. 157 
 
 Of divine wisdom, lawful to repeat. 
 
 And apt to be conceived of man below. 
 
 A different task remains; the secret paths 20 
 
 Of early genius to explore : to trace 
 
 Those haunts where Fancy her predestined sons, 
 
 Like to the Demigods of old, doth nurse 
 
 Remote from eyes profane. Ye happy souls. 
 
 Who now her tender discipline obey, 25 
 
 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 ? SO 
 
 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 55 
 
 Presiding o'er the scene some rustic tower 
 
 Founded by Norman or by Saxon hands : 
 
 ye Northumbrian shades, which overlook 
 The rocky pavement and the mossy falls 
 
 Of solitary Wensbeck's limpid stream; 40 
 
 How gladly I recall your well-known seats 
 Beloved of old, and thai delightful time 
 When all alone, for many a summer's dav, 
 
 1 wander'd through your calm recesses, led 
 
 In silence by some powerful hand unseen. 4.5 
 
 Nor will I e'er forget you. Nor shall e'er 
 The graver tasks of manhood, or the advice 
 Of vulgar wisdom, move me to disclaim 
 Those studies which pcssess'd me in the dawn 
 O
 
 158 THE PLEASURES OF THE 
 
 Of life, and fix'd the colour of my mind 50 
 
 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 " 55 
 
 Or Moral, and of Minds to Virtue won 
 
 By the sweet magic of harmonious verse ; 
 
 Tlie themes which now expect us. For thus far 
 
 On general habits, and on arts which grow 
 
 Spontaneous in the minds of all mankind, 60 
 
 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 65 
 
 For love and zealous praise. Yet indistinct. 
 
 In vulgar bosoms, and unnoticed lie 
 
 These pleasing stores, unless the casual force 
 
 Of ihings external prompt the heedless mind 
 
 To recognize her wealth. But some there are 70 
 
 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 ; 75 
 
 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, 80 
 
 If such a word, so bold, may from the lips
 
 IMAGINATION. B. IV. 159 
 
 Of man proceed) as in this outward frame 
 
 Of things, the great Artificer pourtrays 
 
 flis own immense idea. Various names 
 
 These among mortals bear, as various signs 85 
 
 They use, and by peculiar organs speak 
 
 To human sense. 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 90 
 
 Expressing every temper of the mind 
 
 From every cause, and charming all the soul 
 
 With passion void of care. Others mean time 
 
 The rugged mass of metal, wood, or stone 
 
 Patiently taming ; or with easier hand 95 
 
 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 100 
 
 Their own high minds created. But the chief 
 
 Are Poets ; eloquent men, who dwell on earth 
 
 To clothe wliateVr the soul admires or loves 
 
 With LANGUAGE and with numbers. Hence to these 
 
 A field is open'd wide as nature's sphere j 105 
 
 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, 1 10 
 
 He ollereth all his treasures. Him the hours. 
 
 The seasons him obey : and changeful Time 
 
 Sees him at will keep measure with bis flight.
 
 160 THE PLEASURES &c. 
 
 At will outstrip it. To enhance his toil. 
 
 He summoneth, from the uttermost extent 1 15 
 
 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. 120 
 
 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 123 
 
 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.
 
 HYMN 
 
 NAIADS, 
 
 MDCCXLVI. 
 
 ARGUMENT. 
 
 The Nymphs, who preside over springs and rivulets, are addressed 
 at day-break, in honour cf their several functions, and of the 
 relations which they bfar to the natural and to the moral workl. 
 Their or'gin is deduced from the firFt allegorical dfities, <r powers 
 f nature} according to the doctrine of the old niythoJosical jwets, 
 concerning the generation of the gods and the rise of things. They 
 are then successively considered, as giving motion to the air and 
 exciting summtT-breczes ; as nourishing and beautifying the ve- 
 getable creation; as cuntribating to the fulness of navir;ab!e rivers 
 and consequently to the maintenance of commerce ; and by that 
 means, to the maritime part of military power. Ne.\t is repre- 
 sented their favourable influence upon hcaltli, when assisted by 
 reral exercise : which introduces tiieir connection with the art 
 of physic, and the happy tfTccts of mineral medicinal springs. 
 Lastly they are celebrated for the fricndshit) vhich the Muses 
 bear them, and for the true inspiration which temperance only 
 can receive : in opposition to the enthusiasm of the more licen- 
 tious poets, 
 
 ' -^'ER ponder eastern hill the twilight pale 
 Walks forth from darkness; and the (icd of day, 
 With bright Abtraia seated by liis t-ide, 
 Wait> yet to leave the ocean. 'I'arry, Nymphs, 
 Yc Nympus, ye bluc-cycd progeny of Thames, b 
 
 O 2
 
 162 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 
 
 Who now the mazes of this rugged heath 
 
 Trace with your fleeting steps; who all night long 
 
 Repeat, anaid tlie cool and tranquil air. 
 
 Your lonely murmurs, tarry : and receive 
 
 My offer'd lay. To pay you homage due, 10 
 
 I leave the gates of sleep ; nor shall my lyre 
 
 Too far into the splendid hours of morn 
 
 Engage your audience : my observant hand 
 
 Shall close the strain ere any sultry beam 
 
 Approach you. To your subterranean haunts 15 
 
 Ye then may timely steal ; to pace with care 
 
 The humid sands; to loosen from the soil 
 
 The bubbling sources ; to direct the rills 
 
 To meet in wider channels ; or beneath 
 
 Some grotto's dripping arch, at height of noon 20 
 
 To slumber, Rhelter'd from the burning lieaven. 
 
 Where shall my song begin, ye Nymphs ? or end ? 
 Wide is your praise and copious First of things. 
 First of the lonely powers, ere Time arose. 
 Were Love and Chaos. Love, the sire of Fate ; 25 
 Elder than Chaos. Born of Fate was Time, 
 
 V. 25. Love 
 
 Elder than Chaos.'] Hcsiod, in his Theos^ontj, gives a different ac- 
 count, and makes ChaOS the eldest of beings ; though he assigns to 
 Love neither father nor superior : which circumstance is particular- 
 ly mentioned by Phadni^, 'n Plato's Banquet, as being observable 
 not only in Heiiod, but in all other writers both of verse and prose: 
 and on the same occasion he cites a line from Purmenidcs, in which 
 Love is expressly stiled the eldest of all the gods. Yet Aristophanes, 
 in The Birds, affirms that " Chaos, and Night, and Erebus, and Tar- 
 "tarus, were first; and that Love was produced from an egg, which 
 " the sable-winged night depositpd in the immense bosom of Ere- 
 " bus." But it must be observed, that the Love designed by this 
 comic poet was ahvays distinguished from the other, from that ori- 
 ginal and jelf-e\istcnt being the TO ON or AFAGON of Plato, and 
 meant only the AHMIOTPrOZ or second person of the old Grip- 
 cicoi trinity; to v.hom is inscribed a hymn among thage which
 
 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 163 
 
 Who many sons and many comely births 
 Devour'd, relentless father : 'till the child 
 
 pass UD ler the name of Orpheus, where he is called Protogonos, or 
 the first- begotten, is said to have been born of an egg, and is rep- 
 resented as the principal or origin of all these external appearances 
 of nature. In the fragments of Or/>Ae.y, collected hy Henry Ste- 
 phens, he is named Pliunes, the discoverer or discloser; who unfold- 
 ed the ideas of the supreme intelligence, and exposed them to the 
 perception of inferior beings in this visible frame of the world; as 
 Macrobius, and Proclus, and Athenagvras all agree to interpret the 
 several passages of Orpheus which they have preserved. 
 
 But the Love designed in our text, is the one self-existent and 
 infinite mind, whom if the generality of anciect mythol"gists have 
 not Introduced or truly described in accounting fjr the production 
 of the world and its appearances; yet, to a modem poet, it can be 
 no objection that he hath ventured to differ from them in this par- 
 ticular; though, in other respects, he professeth to imitate their 
 manner and conform to their opinions. For, in these great points 
 of natural theology, they differ no less remarkably among thc-.n- 
 selves; and are perpetually confounding the philosophical relations 
 of things with the traditionary circumstances of mUhic history; 
 ypon whi.^h very account, Callimachus, in his hymn to Jupilei; de- 
 clareth his dissent firom them concernirg even an article of the na- 
 tional creed ; adding, that the ancient bards were by no means to 
 be depended on. And yet in the exordium of the old Argonautk 
 poem, ascribed to Orpheus, it is said, that " Love, whom mortals in 
 'later times call Phanes, was the father of the eternally-begotten 
 ' Night ;" who is generally represented by these mythological poets, 
 as being herself the parent of all things ; and who, in the Indigita- 
 iventa, or Orphic Hymns, is said to be the same witlj Cypris, or Love 
 itself. Moreover, in the body of this Argonautk poem, where the 
 personated Orpheus introduceth himself singing to his lyre in reply 
 to Chiron, he celebrateth "the obscure memory of Chaos, and the 
 " natures which it contained within itself in a state of perpetual vi- 
 "cissitudc; how the heaven had its boundary determined; the gen- 
 "eration of the earth; the depth of the ocean; and also the sapi- 
 " ent Love, the most ancient, the self-sufficient ; with all the beings 
 " which he produced when he separated one thing from another." 
 Which noble passage is more directly to Aristotle's purpose in the 
 first boijk of his metjphysics than any of those which he has there 
 quoted, to s!iew that the ancient \y>ets and mytholngists agr> el with 
 limnedodcs, Anaragoras, and the other more s<ber philosopht is, in 
 that natural anticipation and cummun notion of mankind concern- 
 ing the necessity of mind and reason to account for the connexion, 
 motion, and g'> Jd order of the -.vorld. Fur, though m iMier this p<.cm, 
 nor the hymns which pass under the >-anie imn:e, are, it sliouid seem, 
 the work of the real (hpheuj; yet iK-yond all question, they arc very 
 ancient. The hymns, more p:irticularly, are allowed to be uldir 
 than the invasion of Greece by Xerxes} and were probably a set
 
 164. HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 
 
 Of Rhba drove him from the upper sky. 
 
 And queil'd his deadly might. Then social reign'd 
 
 of public and solemn forms of devotion : as appears bv a passage in 
 one of t!iem, which Demosthenes hath almost literally cite<l in his 
 first oration against Amtoiiitun, as the saving of Orp/icus, the found- 
 er of their most huly mystei-ie?. On this" account, they are of high- 
 er authority than any other mythological work now extant, tiie 
 T:eogony of llesiod itself not excepted. The poetry of them is 
 often extremely noble J and the mysterious air which prevails in 
 them, together with its delightful impression upon the m!r;d, can- 
 not be better expressed than in that remarkable descripti ,n with 
 which they inspired the fjerman editor f-'ickenbac.':, when he acci- 
 dentally met with thcin at I.eipsic: "Thesaiirum nie reptris-te cre- 
 d.di, says he, & profecto thesaurnra repeii. Incredibile dlctu quo 
 me sacro horrore afflaverint indigitamenti ista deorum : nam et 
 tenipus ad iliorum lectionem cligere cogebar, quod vel solum hor- 
 rorem incutere animo potest, noctumr.m; cum euim totam diem 
 coasumserim in ccntemplando urbis splendare, & in adt undis, qui- 
 bns scatet urbs ilia, viris doctis; sola nox restabat, quam Orphco 
 onsecrare potui. In abyssum quendam mysteriorum vcnerandae 
 antiquitatis descendere videbar, quutiosciinqiie bilente mitndo, solis 
 vigikatib-as astris et luna, it.ikccn'firiii istos hymnos ad manus 
 sumsi." 
 
 V. 25. Chaos.'] The unformed, undigested mass of Moses and 
 Plato: which Milton calls 
 
 " The womb of nature." 
 
 V. 25. Lo-je, ike sire of Fuie.] Faie is the universal system of 
 natural causes J the work of the Omnipotent Mind, or of L<ve: so 
 Minuci'is Felir : " Quid enim aliud est fatum, quam qncxt d uno- 
 quoque nostrum deus fatus est." Stj also Cicero, in The Jint Book 
 on. Divination: "Fatum autem id appello, quod Graci eipmap- 
 MSNH.N; id est, oidiriem serienique causaruni, cum causa causae 
 nexa rem_ ex se gignat ex quo intelligitar, ut fatum sit non id quod 
 superstitiose, sed id quod physice dicitur causa aelerna rerum." To 
 the same purpose is the doctrine of Hicrocles, in that excellent frag- 
 ment concerning Providence and Destiny. As to the three Fates, 
 or Destinies of the poets, they represented that part of the general 
 fystem of natural causes which relates to man, and to otlier mortal 
 beings; for so we aie told in the hyirm addressed to them among 
 the Vrphic Iruligitameiitu, where they are called the daiij;ht<;rs of 
 Night (or Love), and, contrary to the volicar notion, are di^tinsnish- 
 ed by the epithets of gentle, a:id tender-bearted. According to Hes- 
 rjl, Theog. ver. 904, they were the daughters ^A Jupiter nA^Themis: 
 but in the Or;>hic IJumn to Venus, or Uiye, that (J< ddess is directly 
 stiled the mother of Necessity, and is represented, immediately 
 after, as governing the three De-tinics, and conducting the whole 
 system of natural causes. 
 
 V. 2i". Born of Fate xsas Jin:e.'] Cronos, Saturn, or Time, was.
 
 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 165 
 
 The kindred powers, Tethys, and reverend Ops, 3 1 
 
 And spotless Vesta ; while supreme of sway 
 
 Remain'd the Cloud-compeller. From the couch 
 
 Of Tethys sprang the sedgy-crowned race. 
 
 Who from a thousand urns, o'er every clime, ^ 35. 
 
 Send tribute to their parent; and from them 
 
 Are ye, O NAIADS : Arethusa fair, 
 
 according to Apollodorus, iae son of Ceelum and Telltis. But the 
 authoY of the hymns gives it quite undisguised by mj'thologioal lan- 
 guage, and calls him plainly the ofispring of the earth and the star- 
 ry heaven J that is, of Fate, as explained in the preceding not<. 
 
 V. 27. Who many sons devoured.'] The knoTn fable of Saturn 
 devouring his children was certainly meant to imply the dissolution 
 of natural bodies; which are produced and destroyed by Time. 
 
 V. 29. the child of Rhea. 3 Jupiter, so called by Pindar. 
 
 V. 29. Drove him from the upper shj.'] That Jupiter dethroned 
 his father Satttrn, is recorded by all the mythologists. Phurmi- 
 tus, or Cormitus, the author of a little (heek trcati.-e, on the nature 
 of the gods, informs us, that by Jupiter was meant the vegetable soul 
 of the world, which restrained and prevented those uncertain altera- 
 tions which Saturn, or Time, used formerly to cause in the mun- 
 dane system. 
 
 V. 50. Then social reign'd."] Our mythology here supposeth, that 
 before the establishment of the vital, vegetative, plastic nature (re- 
 presented by Jupiter I, the fjur elements were in a variable and 
 unsettled condition j but afterwards, well-;lisposed and at peace 
 among themselves, tethys was the wife of the Ocean ; Ops, or Jihea, 
 the Earth; Vesta, the eldest daughter of f^aturn. Fire; and the 
 cloud -comf)eller, or Zsu; nl^iXrc/i^irn;, the Air : though he also rep- 
 resented the plastic principle of nature, as may be seen in the Or- 
 phic hymn inscribed to him. 
 
 V. 34. The seduy crowned race."] The rivrr-gods; who, accor- 
 ding to Hesiud^s Theogoiiy, were the sons of Qceanus and Tethys. 
 
 V. 36, 37. From them, are yi; O Xuiads.'] The descent of the Nai- 
 ads is less certain than most ix>intsof the Greek mythology. Homer, 
 Odyss. x'ui- x-5;o(,t Aii;. firuH'^n The Eighth Uouk of the JF.neid, 
 speaks as if th(r Nymphs, or Naiads, were the parents of the rivers : 
 but in this ho contradicts the testimony of Heiitxl, and evidently 
 departs from the orthodox system, which rcprespntoth several 
 nymphs as pertaining to every single river. On tlie other hand, Cal- 
 limachus, who was very learned in all the school-divinity of those 
 time.-i, in hi.> hymn to fh'lo^, maketh Pcncus, the great. Thessalian 
 river-go<l, the father of his nymphs: and Ovitl, m The Fourteenth 
 Book of his Melunutrphosirs, mentions the Naiads of I atinm as the 
 immediate daughters of the neighbouring river-gods. A<'Conlingly, 
 tje Naiads of particular rivers arc occaiionally, both by Oml and
 
 16(3 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 
 
 And tuneful Agamppe ; that sweet name, 
 
 Bandusia ; that soft family which dwelt 
 
 With Syrian Daphne ; and the honour'd tribes 40 
 
 Beloved of P^on. Listen to my strain. 
 
 Daughters of Tethys : listen to your praise, 
 "iou, Nympbs ! the winged offspring, which of old 
 
 Aurora to divine Astr^us bore. 
 
 Owns, and your aid bcseechetb. When the might 
 
 Of HypERi'oN, from his noontide throne, 46 
 
 Unbends their languid pinions, aid from you 
 They ask : Favonius and the mild South-west 
 From you relief implore. Your sallying streams 
 Fresh vigour to their weary wings impart. 50 
 
 Again they fly, disporting ; from the mead 
 Half ripen'd and the tender blades of corn. 
 To sweep the noxious mildew ; or dispel 
 Contagious steams, which oft the parched earth 
 Breathes on her fainting sons. Fiom noon to eve, 55 
 Along the river and the paved brook, 
 
 Statius, called by a patronymic, from the name of the river to which 
 they belong. 
 
 V. 40. Swian Daphne.] The grove of Daphne in Syria near 4n. 
 tioch, was famous for its delightful fountains. 
 
 y. 40, 41. Ike tribes beloved by Paon. Mineral and medicinal 
 spnngs. Fcron was Ihe phj'sician of the gods. 
 
 V. 43. The u;in<ied offspring.'] The AVind.sj who, according to 
 besioil and Apullodoms, were the sons of Aitrans and Aurora. 
 
 V. 46. Hyperion.'] A son of Ctplum and IcUm, and father of the 
 Sun, w)io is thence called, by Pindar, Hyperionrhs. But Hyperiort 
 IS put by Homer in the same manner as here, for the Son himself. 
 
 V. 49. Your sallying streams.'] The state of the atmosphere with 
 resjiect to rest and moti-n is, in several ways, affected by rivers and 
 running streams; and that more especially in hot seasons : first 
 they destroy its equiiibr^un^ by cooling those parts of it with which 
 they are in contact; and secondly, they communicate their own 
 motion ; and the air which is thus moved by them, bein;^ left heat- 
 ed, is of consequence more clastic than other parts of "the atmos- 
 phere, and therefore fitter to preserve and to propogatc that motion.
 
 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 167 
 
 Ascend the cheerful breezes : hail'd of bards 
 Who, fast by learned Cam, the iEolian lyre 
 Solicit ; nor unwelcome to the youth 
 
 Who on the heights of Tibur, all inclined GO 
 
 O'er rushing Anio, with a pious hand 
 
 The reverend scene delineates, broken fanes. 
 
 Or tombs, or pillar'd aqueducts, the pomp 
 
 Of ancient Time; and haply, while be scans 
 
 The ruins, with a silent tear revolves Q5 
 
 The fame and fortune of imperious Rome. 
 
 You too, O Nymphs, and your unenvious aid 
 The rural powers confess ; and sUll prepare 
 For you their choicest treasures. Pan commands. 
 Oft as the Delian King with Sirius holds 70 
 
 The central heavens, the father of the grove 
 Commands his Dryahs over your abodes 
 To spread their deepest umbrage. Well the o-od 
 Remembereth how indulgent ye supplied 
 Your genial dews to nurse them in their prime. 75 
 
 Pales, the pasture's queen, where'er ye stray. 
 Pursues your steps, delighted ; and the path 
 With living verdure clothes. Around your haunts 
 The laughing Chloris, with profusest hand. 
 Throws wide her blooms, her odours. Still with you 
 Pomona seeks to dwell : and o'er the lawns, 8 1 
 
 And o'er the vale of Richmond, where with Thames 
 \e love to wander, Amauhea pours 
 
 In X' '^r F''^"" ^'"^-^ ^""^ ""^ ^^^ <'P^''<''S of ApoPo. or the Sun 
 in the Orphr hymn inncribed u> him. ^ ' 
 
 V. 79. r, oris.] '1-he aiK-ic/.t Ureek nP.mc for Flori. 
 
 V. '. Amaltn.a.l^ The m .thor of the lirst !icd,us uHosp hlns 
 
 and-iucat-on wxs written, as IM.rus 6. ./., iXms us h the 
 
 old P.;lasgic character, by Th orates iira,.,' ,nV 7 ' 
 
 contcmoorarvuith ri/ '"'^''', braii..:,..n tj Luomcio',, and 
 
 onicmporarj ith Or,Ue'u. lljmates iiud travelled over /,// to
 
 163 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 
 
 Well pleas'd the wealth of that Ammonian horn. 
 
 Her dower; unmindful of the fragrant isles 85 
 
 Nysaean or Atlantic. Nor can'st thou, 
 
 (Albeit oft ungrateful, thou dost mock 
 
 The beverage of the sober Naiad's urn, 
 
 O Bromius, O Len^an) nor can'st thou 
 
 Disown the powers whose bounty, ill repaid, 90 
 
 With nectar feeds thy tendrils. Yet from me. 
 
 Yet, blameless Nymphs, from my delighted lyre. 
 
 Accept the rites your bounty well may claim ; 
 
 Nor heed the scoffmgs of the Edonian band. 
 
 For better praise awaits you. Thames, your sire. 
 As down the verdant slope your duteous rills 96 
 
 Descend ; the tribute stately Thames receives. 
 Delighted; and your piety applauds; 
 And bids his copious tide roll on secure, 
 
 the country which borders on the western ocean; there he saw the 
 island of Xt/sa, and learned from the inhabitants, that " Amnion, 
 " king of Libya, was married iu former ages to Rhea sister of Saturn 
 "and the Titans: that he afterwards fell in love with a beautiful 
 " virgin whose, name was Amallhea; had by her a son, and ga%-e her 
 " possession of a neighbouring tract of land, ;)nderfully fertile ; 
 " which in shape nearly resembling the horn of an ox, was thence 
 " called the Hesperian horn, and afterwards the horn of Amaltkea : 
 " that fearing the jealousy of Rhea, he concealed the young Bac- 
 " chus, with his mother, in the island of Nysa;" the beauty of which, 
 Diodorus describes with great dignity and pomp of style. This fable 
 is one of the noblest in all the ancient mytho!ogj% and seems to 
 have made a particular impression on the imagination of Milton j 
 the only modem poet (unless perhaps it be necessary to except 
 S!>e ser) who, in these mysterious traditions of the poetic story, had 
 a heart to feel, and words to express, the simple and solitary genius 
 of antiquity. To raise the idea of his Paradise, he prefers it even to 
 
 " that Sysean isle 
 
 Girt by the river 7',itn, whore old Cham, 
 (Wh. m (ieutdes Ammon call, and Libyan Jove) 
 Ilid Amalthctt, and her florid son, 
 Younp Pacchuf, from his tepdame Rhea^s eye." 
 V. 94. Fdomian banf'."] The priestesses and other ministers of 
 Vacckus ; so railed from Edonus, a mountain of Thrace, where his 
 rites were cc ebrated.
 
 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 109 
 
 For faithful are his daughters; and with words 100 
 
 Auspcious gratulates the bark which, now 
 
 His banks forsaking, her adventurous wings 
 
 Yields to the breeze, with Albion's happy gifts 
 
 Extremest isles to bless. And oft at morn. 
 
 When Hermes, from Olympus beat, o'er earth 105 
 
 To bear the words of Jove, on yonder hiil 
 
 Stoops lightly-sailing; oft, intent your springs 
 
 He views : and waving o'er some new-born stream 
 
 His blest pacific wand, " And yet,'' he cries, 
 
 " Yet," cries the son of Maia, " though recluse 110 
 
 " And silent be your stores, from you, fair Nymphs, 
 
 " Flows wealth and kind society to men. 
 
 " By you my function and my honour'd name 
 
 " Do 1 possess ; while o'er the Beetle vale, 
 
 ' Or through the towers of Miiraphis, or the palms 
 
 " By sacred Ganges water 'd, I conduct 1 10 
 
 " The English raerch^int ; with the buxom fleece 
 
 " Of fertile Ariconium while I clothe 
 
 " Sarmatian kings ; or to the household gods 
 
 " Of Syria, from the bleak Cornubian shore, 120 
 
 *' Dispense the mineral treasure which of old 
 
 " Sidonian pilots sought, when this fair land 
 
 " Was yet unconscious of those generous arts 
 
 " Which wise Phoenicia from their native clime 
 
 "'Transplanted to a more indulgcr.t heaven." 125 
 
 V. 105. H^'hen ITermes.'] H'.' mes, or Mercury, was the patron 
 of cooiTiMTCP ; in which benevolent character he is addre^jsed by the 
 author of the Indigit'tmentr'f in these beautiful lines : 
 E^juflVEu 'sroivluv, K fUiAVo^t \va>jxi.^ii..n, 
 
 V. 121. Thsnen e tin- mintral treasuve.] 'I'he merchants of .9?rfo;? and 
 '2'jit ma<le fr(t]tifnt voyages to the ci' st of Cornuall, from w} e -ce 
 tboy carried botnc gr'^t quantities of tin. 
 
 P
 
 170 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 
 
 Such are the words of Hermes : such the praise, 
 O Naiads, which from tongues celestial waits 
 Your bounteous deeds. From bounty issueth power : 
 And those who, sedulous in prudent works. 
 Relieve the wants of Nature, Jove repays 1 30 
 
 With noble wealth, and his own seat on earth. 
 Fit judgments to pronounce, and curb the might 
 Of wicked men. Your kind unfailing urns 
 Not vainly to the hospitable arts 
 Of Hermes yield their store. For, O ye Nyiviphs, 
 Hath he not won the unconquerable queen 136 
 
 Of arms to court your friendship r You she owns 
 The fair associates who extend her sway 
 Wide o'er the mighty deep ; and grateful things 
 Of you she uttereth, oft as from the shore 1 40 
 
 Of Thames, or Medway's vale, or the green banks 
 Of Vecta, she her thundering navy leads 
 To Calpe's foaming channel, or Ihe rough 
 Cantabrian surge ; her auspices divine 
 Imparting to the senate and the prince 1 45 
 
 Of Albion, to dismay barbaric kings. 
 The Iberian or the Celt. The pride of kings 
 Was ever scorn'd by Pallas : and old 
 Rejoiced the virgin, from the brazen prow 
 Of Athens o'er ^gina's gloomy surge, 150 
 
 v. 136. Hath he not won.'] Mercury, the patron of commerce, 
 being so greatly dependent on the gocd offices of the Naiads, m re- 
 turn obtains for them the friendship of Minerva, the goddess of 
 war : for military {wwer, at least the naval part of it, hath constant- 
 ly followed the establij;hment of trade j which exemplifies the pre- 
 ceding observation, that "from bounty issueth power." 
 
 V. 143. 144. Calpe Cantabrian surge."^ Gibralter and the Bay of 
 Biscay. 
 
 V.150. j3Sgina's gloomy surge.'] Near this island, the Athenians 
 obtained the victory of Salamis, over the Persian navy.
 
 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 171 
 
 To drive her clouds and storms : o erwhelming all 
 
 The Persian's promised glory, when the realms 
 
 Of Indus and the soft Ionian clime, 
 
 \Vhen Libya's torrid champain and the rocks 
 
 Of cold Imaiis join'd their ser\'ile hands. 155 
 
 To sweep the sons of liberty fiom earth. 
 
 In vain : Minerva on the bounding prow 
 
 Of Athens stood, and with the thunder's voice 
 
 Denounced her terrors on their impious heads, 
 
 And shook her burning segis. Xerxes saw : 160 
 
 f From Heracleum, on the mountain's height, 
 
 I Throned in his golden car, he knew the sign 
 
 '- Celestial ; felt unrighteous hope forsake 
 
 His faltering heart, and tiirn'd his face with shame. 
 Hail, ye who share the stern Minerva's power; 
 Who arm the hand of liberty for war : 166 
 
 ; And give to the renown'd Britannic name 
 To awe contending monarchs : yet benign. 
 Yet mild of nature : to the works of peace 
 More prone, and lenient of the many ills 170 
 
 Which wait on human life. Your gentle aid 
 IIvGEiA we!! caa witness; she who saves, 
 I'rom poifonous cates and cups of pleasing bane. 
 The wretch devoted to the intangling snares 
 Of Bacchl; and of Co.Mus. Him she leads 175 
 
 To Cynthia's lonely haunts. To spread the toils ; 
 To beat the coverts ; with the jovial horn 
 
 j At dawn of day to summon the loud hounds ; 
 She calls the lingering sluggard from his dreams : 
 
 V. 160. Xerxes iaui.'\ This circumstance is recorded in that pa s- 
 saip, perhaps tlic most splendid among all the remains of ancient 
 history, where Pivtarch, in his Ijje of Themistucles, describes the 
 ,-a-fights of Arlen.inum aud Salamis.
 
 172 HYMN TO THE KAIADS. 
 
 And where his breast may drink the mountain breeze, 
 
 And where the fervor of the sunny vale 1 8 1 
 
 May beat upon his brow, through devious paths 
 
 Bjckons his rapid coui-ser. Nvr when ease. 
 
 Cool ease and welcome slumbers have becalm'd 
 
 His eajer bosom, does the queen of health 1 35 
 
 Her pleasing care withhold. His decent board 
 
 She guards, presiding ; and the frugal powers 
 
 With joy sedate leads in : and while the brown 
 
 Ennmean dame, with Pan presents her stores ; 
 
 While changing still, and comely in the change, 190 
 
 VERTUMNiis and the Hours before him spread 
 
 The garden's banquet ; you to crown his feast. 
 
 To crown his feast, O Naiads ! you the fair 
 
 Hygeia calls : and from your shelving seats. 
 
 And groves of poplar, plenteous cups ye bring, 1 95 
 
 To slake his veins : till soon a purer tide 
 
 Flows down those loaded channels ; washeth off 
 
 The dregs of luxury, the lurking seeds 
 
 Of crude disease; and through the abodes of life 
 
 Sends vigour, sends repose. Hail ! Naiads : hail ! 
 
 Who give, to labour, health ; to stooping age, 201 
 
 The joys which youth had squander'd. Oft your urns 
 
 ^\ ill I invoke ; and frequent in your praise, 
 
 Abash the frantic Thyrsus with my song. 
 
 For not estranged from your benignant arts 20' 
 Is he, the god, to whose mysterious shrine 
 "My youth was sacred, and my votive cares 
 Belong ; the learned P^ox. Oft, when all 
 His cordial treasures he hath search'd in vain ; 
 
 v. 204. Thyrsus'] A staff, or spear, wreathed round with ivy : 
 of constant use in th ; bacchanalian mysteries.
 
 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 173 
 
 When herbs, and potent trees, and drops of balm. 
 
 Rich with the genial influence of the sun ; 211 
 
 To rouse dark fancy-from her plaintive dreams. 
 
 To brace the nerveless arm, with food to win 
 
 Sick appetite, or hush the unquiet breast 
 
 Which pines with silent passion, he in vain 213 
 
 Hath proved; to your deep mansions he descends; 
 
 Your gates of humid rock, yom' dim arcades. 
 
 He entereth ; where impurpled veins of ore 
 
 Gleam on the roof; where through the rigid mine 
 
 Your trickling rills insinuate. Thei'e the god, 220 
 
 From your indulgent hands the streaming bowl 
 
 Wafts to his pale-eyed suppliants ; wafts the seeds 
 
 jNIetallic and the elemental salts, 
 
 Wash'd fron> the pregnant glebe. They drink : and soon 
 
 Hies pain ; Hies inauspicious care : and soon 225 
 
 The social liaurit or unfreqt>nted shade 
 
 Hears lo, lo P.t.vN ; as of old. 
 
 When PvTHON fell. And, O propitious Nymphs ! 
 
 Oft as for hapless mortals 1 implore 
 
 Your salutary springs, through every urn 230 
 
 Oh shed your healing treasures. With the first 
 
 And finest breath, which from the genial strife 
 
 Of mineral fermentation springs, like I'ght 
 
 O'er the fresh morning's vapours ; lustrate then 
 
 The fountain, and inform the rising wave. 23 5 
 
 My lyre ihall pay your bounty. Scorn not ye 
 That hwnble tribute. Though a mortal hand 
 I'^xcite the strings to utterance, yet for themes 
 Not unregarded of celestial pov. crs, 
 
 V. 227, lo, Fcpan"] An ox' liimation of victory and triiun{>h, 
 d(.ri\0'l IVom Jj/atlo's cnc'junUr ith Pythm. 
 
 P 2
 
 174 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 
 
 I frame their language ; and the Muses deign 2 1'^' 
 
 To guide the pious tenor of my lay. 
 
 The Muf^es (sacred by their gifts divine) 
 
 In early days did to my wondering sense 
 
 Their secrets oft reveal ; oft my raised ear 
 
 In slumber felt their music : oft, at noon 245 
 
 Or hour of sunset, by seme lonely stream. 
 
 In field or shady grove, they taught me words 
 
 Of power from death and envy to preserve 
 
 The good man's name. Whence yet with grateful mind 
 
 And offerings unprofaned b}^ ruder eye, ' 2pO 
 
 My vows I send, my homage, to the seats 
 
 Of rocky Cirrha, where with you they dwell : 
 
 Where you, their chaste companions, they admit 
 
 Through all the hallow'd scene : where oft intent. 
 
 And leaning o'er Castalia's mossy verge, 255 
 
 They mark the cadence of your confluent urns. 
 
 How tuneful ! yielding gratefullest repose 
 
 To their consorted measure : 'till again. 
 
 With emulation all the sounding choir. 
 
 And bright Apollo, leader of the song, 26 
 
 Their voices through the liquid air exalt, 
 
 And sweep their lofty strings : those powerful strings 
 
 That charm the mind of gods : that fill the courts 
 
 Of wide Olympus with oblivion sweet 
 
 Of evils, with immortal rest from cares ; 265 
 
 Assuage the terrors of the throne of Jove ; 
 
 V. 552. Cirrha.'] One of the summits of Parnassus, and sacred 
 to Apollo. Near it were several fountains, said to be frequented by 
 the Muses. Nysa, the other eminence of the same mountain, uas 
 dedicated to Bacchus. 
 
 V. 263. Charm th,- mind of go(h.'] This whole passage, concern- 
 ing the effects of sacred rflusic among the gods, is taken from Pin- 
 dar's first Pijthian ode.
 
 HYMN TO TH NAIADS. il5 
 
 And quench Uie formidable thunderbolt 
 Of unrelenting fire. With slacken'd wings. 
 While now tiir? solemn concert breathes around, 
 Incuml>ent o'er the sceptre of his lord 270 
 
 Sleeps the stern eagle ; by the number'd notes, 
 Poisess'd ; and satiate with the melting tone : 
 Sovereign of birds. The furious god of war. 
 His darts forgetting, and the winged wheels 
 That bear him vengeful o'er the embattled plain, 27j 
 Kelents, and sooths his own fierce heart to ease. 
 Most welcome ease. The sire of gods and men. 
 In that great moment of divine delight. 
 Looks down on all that livej and whatsoe'er 
 He loves not, o'er the peopled earth and o'er 280 
 
 The interminated ocean; he beholds 
 Cursed with abhorrence by his doom severe. 
 And troubled at the sound. Ye Naiads, ye 
 With ravish'd ears the melody attend. 
 Worthy of sacred silence. But the slaves 285 
 
 Of Bacchus, with tempestuous clamours strive 
 To drown the heavenly strains ; of highest Jove, 
 Irreverent ; and by mad presumption fired. 
 Their own discordant raptures to advance 
 With hostile emulation. Down they rush 290 
 
 From Nysa's vine-impurpled cliff, the dames 
 Of Thrace, the Satyrsj^and the unruly Fauns, 
 With old Silenus, reeling through the crowd 
 Which gambols round him, in convulsions wild 
 Tossing their limbs, and brandishing in air 295 
 
 The ivy-mantled thyrsus, or the torch 
 Through black smoke flaming, to the Phrygian pipe's 
 
 V. 297. Phryi^an pipe's."] The Phrygian nmsic was fantastic 
 and turbulent, anJ fit to excite disorderly pas'tions.
 
 ^76 HYxMN TO THE NAIADS. 
 
 Shrill voice, and to the clashing cymbals j mix'd 
 
 With shrieks and frantic uproar. May the gods 
 
 From every unpolluted ear avert 300 
 
 Their orgies ! If within the seats of men. 
 
 Within the walls, the gates, where Pallas holds 
 
 The guardian key, if haply there be found 
 
 Who loves to mingle with the revel-band 
 
 And hearken to their accents ; who aspires 305 
 
 From such instructers to inform his breast 
 
 With verse; let him, fit votarist, implore 
 
 Their inspiration. He, perchance, the gifts 
 
 Of voung Lyaeus, and the dread exploits, 
 
 May sing in attest numbers : he, the fate 310 
 
 Of sober Pentheus, he, the Paphian Fite> 
 
 And naked Mars with Cytherea chain'd. 
 
 And strong Alcides in the spinster's robes, 
 
 3Iay celebrate, applauded. But with you 
 
 O Naiads, far from that unhallovv'd rout, 315 
 
 Must dwell the man, whoe'er to praised themes 
 
 Invokes the immortal Muse. The immortal Muse 
 
 To your calm habitations, to the cave 
 
 Corycian or the Delphic mount, will guide 
 
 V. 302. The gates where Palldt holds 
 
 7^e guardian iey."^ It was the office of Mirerva to be 
 the guardian of walled cities ; whence she was named TIOAIAS 
 and nOAIOTXOS, and had her statues place! in their gates, 
 being supposed to keep the kej's ; and on that account sriled 
 KAHAOYXOS. 
 
 V. 311. Fate of ioher Pentheus.'] Pentheus v as torn in pieces 
 by the bacchanalian priests and women, for despising their m\'sferies. 
 
 V. 319 T'/ie cave Corycitin.'] Of this cave Pavsanias, in his 
 Tenth B'Jok, gives lh following descripiion : " Relween Delphi and 
 " the eminences of Parhas ti.', is a road to the grotto of itirycivm, 
 " which has its name from the nymph Curt/da, and is by far the 
 " most remarkable which I have seen. One may walk a great way 
 " into it without a torch. 'Tis of a considerable height, and hath
 
 HYMN TO THE NAIADS. 177 
 
 His footsteps ; and with your unsullied streams 320 
 
 His lips will bathe : whether the eternal lore 
 
 Of Themis, or the majesty of Jove, 
 
 To mortals he reveal ; or teach his lyre 
 
 The unenvied guerdon of the patriot's toils. 
 
 In those unfading islands of the bless'd, 325 
 
 Where sacred Bards abide. Hail, honoured Nymphs ! 
 
 Thrice hail ! For you the Cyrenaic shell 
 
 Behold, I touch, revering. To my songs 
 
 Be present ye, with favourable feet. 
 
 And all profaner audience far remove. 530 
 
 " several spring? within it ; and yet a much greatrr quantity of 
 "water distills from the shell and rcxjf, so as to be continually 
 "dropping on the ground. The people round Parnassus hold it 
 " sacred to the Corycian nymphs and to Fan." 
 
 V. 319. Delphic mount -2 PdpM, the seat and oracle of >(/)o//o, 
 had a moimtaineons and rjck^' situation, on the skirts ot Parnassus. 
 
 V. 527. Cyrenaic shell.'^ Tyrewe was the native country of Cc/- 
 limachus, whose hymns are the most remarkable example of that 
 m\lhGli>gical passion which is assumed in the preceding' poem, and 
 have always aJTorded particular pleasure to the author of it, by 
 reason cf the mysterious solemnity with which they afitct the mind. 
 <>n this account he was induced to attempt somewhat in the same 
 manner J solely by way of exercise : the manner itself being now 
 almost entirely abandoned in poctrs". And as the nmrc genealogy, 
 or the personal adventures of heatlicn gods, could have been but 
 little interesting to a modern reader; it was therefore thought pro- 
 per to select some convenient part of the history of nature, and to 
 employ these ancient divinities as it is i)robabie they were firtt em- 
 ployed; to wit, in personifying natural ca'ise;, awl in representing 
 tlie mutual agreement or cppohition of the corporeal and moral pow- 
 ers of the world; which hath been accounted the very highest oflice 
 of p'oetry. 
 
 HYMN TO SCIENCE. 
 
 " O vitxphilosophiadux! O virtu t is indagatrix, expultrixq' vltiorum. 
 '' Tu urbes pepcriiti; tu inveiitrix legum, tu magistra morum et 
 " discipline fuLsti : ad tc confugimus, a te opem p< iinus." 
 
 CIC. Tusc 2ursl. 
 
 Science ! thou feir efiusive ray. 
 From the great Source cf mental day.
 
 178 HYMN TO SCIENCE. 
 
 Free, generous, and refined. 
 Descend with all thy treasures fraught. 
 Illumine each bewilder'd thought. 
 
 And bless my labouring mind. G 
 
 But first with thy resistless light 
 Disperse those phantoms from my sight. 
 
 Those mimic shades of thee, 
 The scholiast's learning, sophist's cant. 
 The visionary bigot's rant. 
 
 The monk's philosophy. 12 
 
 O let thy powerful charms impart 
 The patient head, the candid heart. 
 
 Devoted to thy sway. 
 Which no weak passions e'er mislead. 
 Which still with dauntless steps proceed 
 
 Where Reason points the way ! 18 
 
 Give me to learn each secret cause ; 
 Let Numlier's, Figure's, Motion's laws 
 
 Reveal'd before me stand ; 
 These to great Nature's scenes apply. 
 And round the globe and through the sky 
 
 Disclose her working hand. 24- 
 
 Next, to thy nobler search resign'd. 
 The busy, restless, human mind 
 
 Through every maze pursue ; 
 Detect Perception, where it lies. 
 Catch the ideas as they rise. 
 
 And all their changes view. 39 
 
 Say from what simple springs began 
 The vast ambitious thoughts of Man, 
 
 Which range beyond control ; 
 Which seek eternity to trace.
 
 48 
 
 MYMN TO SCIENCE \ld 
 
 Dive through the infinity of space. 
 
 And strain to grasp the whole ? 56 
 
 Her secret stores let Memory tell ; 
 Bid Fancy quit her fairy cell. 
 
 In all her colours drest ; 
 While prompt, her sallies to control. 
 Reason, the judge, recalls the soul 
 
 To Truth's severest test. 42 
 
 Then launch through Being's wide extent ; 
 Let the fair scale with just ascent 
 
 And cautious steps he trod. 
 And from the dead corporeal mass. 
 Through each progressive order pass 
 
 To Instinct, Reason, GO0. 
 There, Science ! veil thy daring eye. 
 No dive too deep, nor soar too high. 
 
 In that divine abyss ; 
 To Faith, content thy beams to lend, 
 Her hopes to assure, her steps befriend, 
 
 And light her way to bliss. 
 
 Then downwards take thy flight again. 
 Mix with the policies of men. 
 
 And social Nature's ties ; 
 The plan, the genius of each state. 
 Its interest, and its powers, relate. 
 
 Its fortunes, and its rise. 00 
 
 Through private life pursue thy course, ) 
 
 Trace every action to its source. 
 
 And means and motives weigh; 
 I*ut tempers, passions. In the .scale, 
 Mark what degrees in each prevail. 
 
 And fix the doubtful sway. ^jq 
 
 54.
 
 186 HYMN TO SCIENCE. 
 
 That last, best effort of thy skill. 
 
 To FORM THE LIFE, and RULE THE WILL, 
 
 Propitious Power ! ini|.'art ; 
 Teach nie to cool my passion's fires, 
 Make me the judge of my desires. 
 
 The master of my heart. 72 
 
 Raise me above the vulga)\'i breath, 
 Pursuit'of fortune, fear of death. 
 
 And all in life that's mean : 
 Still true to Reason be my plan, 
 Still let my actions speak the Man 
 
 Through every various scene. 78 
 
 Hail ! queen of Manners, light of Truth ; 
 Hail ! charm of age, and guide of youth ; 
 
 Sweet refuge of diNtress ; 
 In business thou, exact, polite ; 
 Thou givesl Retirement its delight. 
 
 Prosperity its grace. 81 
 
 Of wealth, power, freedom, thou the cause j 
 Foundress of order, cities, laws ; 
 
 Of arts inventress, thou ! 
 Without thee, what were humankind ? 
 How vast their wants, their thoughts how blind. 
 
 Their joys how mean ! how few ! QC 
 
 Sux OF THE Soul ! thy beams unveil ; 
 Let others spread the daring sail 
 
 On Fortune's faithless sea, 
 '^ While undeluded, happier, I 
 From the vain tumult timely fly. 
 
 And sit in peace with thee, 96 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 CONTENT S. 
 
 VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Life of Akinside t- v 
 
 Essay on the Pleasures of Imagination xiii 
 
 The Design 1 
 
 The Pleasurfs of Imagination Book the First 7 
 
 Ibid. Book the Second 31 
 
 Ibid. Book thf Third 69 
 
 The Pleasures of the Imagination, Enlarged. 85 
 
 Book the First 89 
 
 Ibid. Book the Second 115 
 
 Ibid. Book the Third. A Fragment 138 
 
 Idid. Book the Fourth. do. 1.56 
 
 Hymn to the Naiads IGl 
 
 Hymn to Science 177 
 
 VOLUMESECOND- 
 
 ODES. BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 Ode I. Preface ~ 3 
 
 II. No. I. For the Winter Solstice 5 
 
 No, 2, On the Winter Solstice 7 
 
 III. To a Friend. Unsuccessful in Love 1 1 
 
 IV. Aflected Indifierence 1 t 
 V. Against Suspicion 15 
 
 VI. Hymn to Clieerfulness ^ 17 
 
 VII. On the Use of Pwtry 23 
 
 VHI. On leaving Holland 25 
 
 IX. To Curio __ _ 28 
 
 X. To the Muse 34 
 
 XI. On Love to a Friend 35 
 
 XII. To Sir Francis Henry Drake Baronet 37 
 
 XHI. On Lyric Poetry _- 40 
 
 XIV^ To the Honourable Charles Towns- 
 
 hend : From the Country ^ 45 
 
 XV. To the Evening-.Star 47 
 
 XVf. To Caleb llardmgc, M. I). 50 
 
 XVn. (>ri a Sermon against (ilory 52 
 
 XV'III. To the Right Honourable Francis Earl 
 
 of Huntingdon - 53 
 
 ODKS. HOOK THL Sl.COXn. 
 
 I. The ReiTionstrancc of Shakespeare 6-i'
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ODES. BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 Ode II. To Sleep 67 
 
 III. To the Cuckow 70 
 
 IV. To the Honourable Charles Townshend 
 
 in the Country 71 
 
 V. On Love of Praise 78 
 VI. To William Hall Esquire : with the 
 
 Works ofChaulieu 19 
 VII. To the Right Reverend Benjamin Lord 
 
 Bishop of Winchester - 81 
 
 VIII.* To Amoret 81. 
 
 IX. At Study 86 
 X. To Thomas Edwards, Esqr. on the late 
 
 Edition of Mr. Pope's Works 87 
 XI. To the Country Gentlemen of England 90 
 XII. On recovering from a fit of Sickness 
 
 in the Country 06 
 
 XIII. To the Author of Memoirs of the House 
 
 of Brandenburgh 99 
 
 XIV. The Complaint 101 
 XV. On Domestic Manners 102 
 
 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 An Epistle to Curio 104- 
 
 Love. An Elegv 115 
 
 A British Philipic 120 
 
 The Virtuoso 125 
 
 The Poet ; a Rhapsody 129 
 
 To Cordelia ' 1 35 
 
 A Song 1 36 
 
 INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 I. For a Grotto 1 37 
 
 II. For a Statue of Chaucer at Woodstock 1 37 
 
 m. 138 
 
 IV. For bhakespeare's Monument ' 139 
 
 V. For a Statue of William III 140 
 
 VI. For a Column at Ruunvmede 140 
 
 VII. The W.od Nymph ' 14-1 
 
 VIII. 142 
 
 IX. 143 
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 On Correctness 145 
 
 Th(j ' dhU; )(' Mc(^rn raiiie. A Vision 131 
 
 The iJalai.cc of x'^^ets 161-
 
 THE 
 
 WORKS 
 
 MARK AKINSIDE, M. D. 
 
 FERSE AND PROSE. 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
 ."..HM"H- 
 
 " In prophetic dreams he saxo 
 " The race unborn Kith pious an-e 
 "' Imbibe each xirtuefrom his heavenhj pagr.'' 
 Book II, Ode II, 
 
 NEfV-BRV'NS fVICK, NEW- JERSEY, 
 
 PriiUerl by William Elliot. 
 
 SoiDiN New-vork, by T. and J. Swords; in PiiiLADEtniiA, bt 
 !j*m(jf.l F- ERADrcRP; and is Boston, by Thomas and Andrews. 
 
 1808.
 
 ODES 
 
 SEVERAL SUBJECTS, 
 IN TWO BOOKS. 
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 MDCCXLIV. 
 O D E I. 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 Ego, apis Matinee 
 More, modogue, S^c. 
 
 Horace. Lib. IV. Ode 11. 
 
 I. 
 
 viN yonder verdant hilloc laidj 
 Where oaks and elms, a friendly shade, 
 
 O'erlook the falling stream ; 
 O master of the Latin lyre, 
 A while with thee will I retire 
 
 From summer's noontide beam. , 
 
 JI. 
 And, lo, within my lonely bower, 
 
 The industrious BEE from many a flower 
 
 Collects her balmy dews : 
 " For me," she sings, " the gems are born, 
 " For me their silken robe adorn, 
 
 " Their fragrant breath diffuse. " 12
 
 O D E I. 
 
 III. 
 
 Sweet murmurer ! may no rude storm 
 
 This hospitable scene deform. 
 
 Nor check thy gladsome toils ; 
 Still may the buds unsullied spring. 
 Still showers and sunshine court thy wing- 
 To these ambrosial spoils. 1 3 
 
 IV. 
 
 Nor shall my Muse hereafter fail 
 
 Her fellow-labourer thee to hail ; 
 
 And lucky be the strains ! 
 For long ago did Nature frame 
 Your seasons and your arts the same. 
 
 Your pleasures and your pains. 24 
 
 V. 
 Like thee, in lowly, sylvan scenes. 
 
 On river -banks and flowery greens 
 
 My Muse delighted plays ; 
 Nor through the desart of the air. 
 Though swans or eagles triumph there. 
 
 With fond ambition strays. 30 
 
 VI. 
 
 Nor where the boding raven chaunts. 
 Nor near the owl's unhallovv'd haunts 
 
 Will she her cares employ ; 
 But flies from ruins and from tombs. 
 From superstition's horrid glooms. 
 
 To day-light and to joy. 36 
 
 VII. 
 
 Nor will she tempt the barren waste ; 
 
 Nor deign the lurking strength to taste 
 Of any noxious thing;
 
 BOOKTHEFIRST. 5 
 
 But leaves with scorn to envy's use 
 The insipid nightshade's baneful juice, 
 
 The nettle's sordid sting. 42 
 
 VIII. 
 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. 48 
 
 ODE II. No. I. 
 
 FOR THE WINTER SOLSTICE. 
 
 DEC. II, MDCCXL.* 
 
 IN OW to the utmo?t southern goal 
 
 'I'he Sun has traced his annual way. 
 
 And backward now j>repares to roll. 
 
 And bless the North with earlier day. 
 
 Prone on Potosi's lofty brow. 
 
 Floods of sublimer splendor flow. 
 
 Ripening the latent seeds of gold, 
 
 Whilst, panting in the lonely shade. 
 
 The ainicted Indian hides his head. 
 
 Nor darts the blaze of noon behold. 10 
 
 '< This Ode was afterwards cntinily altcri'd; as may be seen ia 
 I he following poem. The ri.-ad'.r will not be displeased to s>;e it as 
 it uaj uriirinaily written, 
 
 A a 2
 
 ODE II, No. 1 . 
 
 11. 
 
 But lo ! on this deserted coast. 
 
 How faint the light ! how chill the air ! 
 
 Lo ! arm'd with whirlwind, hail, and frost,. 
 
 Fierce winter desolates the year. 
 
 The fields resign their cheerful bloom ; 
 
 No more the breezes breathe perfume ; 
 
 No more the warbling waters roll : 
 
 Desarts of snow fatigue the eye ; 
 
 Successive tempests bloat the sky. 
 
 And gloomy damps oppress the soul. 20 
 
 III. 
 But let my drooping genius rise. 
 
 And hail the Sun's remotest ray : 
 
 Now, now he climbs the northern skies. 
 
 To-morrow nearer than to-day. 
 
 Then, louder howl the stormy waste. 
 
 Be land and ocean worse defaced. 
 
 Yet brighter hours are on the wing. 
 
 And Fancy, through the wintry gloom. 
 
 Radiant with dews and flowers in bloom. 
 
 Already hails the emerging Spring. 30 
 
 IV. 
 
 O fountain of the golden day ! 
 
 Could mortal vows but urge tty speed. 
 
 How soon, before thy vernal ray. 
 
 Should each unkindly damp recede ! 
 
 How soon each tempest hovering fly, i 
 
 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 ! 40
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 7 
 
 V. 
 
 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 sovran cause; 
 
 Secure that from ttje 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. 50 
 
 VI. 
 Even now how sweet the wintry night 
 
 Spent with the old illustrious dead ! 
 
 While, by the taper's trembling light, 
 
 I seem those awful courts to tread 
 
 Where chiefs and legislators lie. 
 
 Whose triumphs move before my eye. 
 
 With every laurel fresh displayed : 
 
 While, charm'd, I rove in classic song. 
 
 Or bend to Freedom's fearless tongue. 
 
 Or walk the academic shade. 60 
 
 ODE II, No. 2. 
 
 ON THE WINTER SOLSTICE, 
 MDCCXL. 
 
 I. 
 
 T 
 
 -* HE radiant ruler of the year 
 At length bis wintry goal attains ;
 
 O D E II. No. 2. 
 
 Soon to reverse the long career. 
 
 And northward bend his steady reins. 
 
 Now, piercing half Potosi's height. 
 
 Prone rush tlie fiery floods of hght 
 
 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, 10 
 
 II. 
 
 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. 20 
 
 III. 
 
 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. 30
 
 BOOKTHEFIRST. 9 
 
 IV. 
 
 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 aerial waste. 
 
 Be earth with keener cold imbraced. 
 
 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. 40 
 
 V. 
 
 O fountain of the golden day ! 
 
 Could mortal vows pi'omote 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 ! 60 
 
 VI. 
 
 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. 60
 
 10 ODE II. No. 2. 
 
 VII. 
 
 How pleasing wears the wintry 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. 70 
 
 VIII. 
 But should some cheerful, equal friend 
 
 Bid leave the studious page awhile. 
 
 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. 80 
 
 IX. 
 
 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, 
 
 * Var. When, the dear place which gave her birth, 
 Restore Lucinda to my eyes ?
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. li 
 
 Ye tender smiles, ye chaste desires. 
 
 Fond hope and mutual faith, repair. 90 
 
 X. 
 
 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, attuned 
 
 To thy true ear, with sweeter sound 
 
 Pursue the free Horatian song : 
 
 Old Tyne shall listen to ray tale. 
 
 And echo, down the bordering vale. 
 
 The liquid melody prolong. 100 
 
 ODE III. 
 
 TO A FRIEiND, UNSUCCESSFUL IN LOVE. 
 
 I 
 
 Indeed, my Phaedria, 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. 7 
 
 n. 
 
 Yet I perhaps mistake the case- 
 Say, though with this heroic air. 
 Like one that holds a nobler chace. 
 You try the tender loss to bear, 
 Does not your heart renounce your tongue ?
 
 12 ODE III. 
 
 Seems not my censure strangely wrong 
 
 To count it such a slight affair ? 14- 
 
 III. 
 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. 21 
 
 IV. 
 Then tell roe, 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 .'' 28 
 
 V. 
 
 Away with this unmanly mood ! 
 
 See where the hoary churl appears. 
 
 Whose hand hath seized the favourite good 
 
 Which you reserved for happier years : 
 
 While, side by side, the blushing maid 
 
 Shrinks from his visage, half afraid. 
 
 Spite of the sickly joy she wears. 35 
 
 vr. 
 
 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
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. IS 
 
 Well-buried in a dotard's arms ! 
 
 O equal price of beauty sold t 42 
 
 VII. 
 Cease then to gaze with looks of love : 
 
 Bid her adieu, the venal fair : 
 
 Unworthy she your bliss to prove ; 
 
 Then wherefore should she prove your care ? 
 
 No : lay your myrtle garland down ; 
 
 And let awhile the willow's crown 
 
 With luckier omens bind your hair. 49 
 
 VIII. 
 O just escaped 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. ,56 
 
 IX. 
 
 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, 
 
 Inthrone within your heart and head 
 
 Some happier love, some truer fair. G3 
 
 B
 
 14 ODE IV. 
 
 ODE IV. 
 
 AFFECTED INDIFFERENCE, 
 
 TO THE SAME. 
 J. 
 
 X ES : you contemn the purjured 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. 
 Or 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, H 
 
 II. 
 Yet tell me, Phaedria, 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 ? 20
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 15 
 
 O D E V. 
 
 AGAINST SUSPICION. 
 
 I. 
 
 wH 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. 6 
 
 ir. 
 
 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. 12 
 
 III. 
 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. 18 
 
 IV. 
 
 No more can faith or candour move ; 
 
 But each ingenuous deed of love. 
 
 Which reason would applaud. 
 Now, smiling o'er her dark distress, 
 Fancy malignant strives to dress 
 
 Like injury and fraud, 21-
 
 IG O D E V. 
 
 V. 
 
 Farewell to virtue's peaceful times : 
 Soon will you stoop to act the crimes 
 
 Which thus you stoop to fear : 
 Guilt follows guilt ; and where the train 
 Begins with wrongs of such a gtain> 
 
 What horrora form the rear ! 20 
 
 VI. 
 'Tis thus to work her baleful power 
 
 Suspicion waits the sullen hour 
 
 Of fretfulness and strife. 
 When care the infirraer bosom wrings. 
 Or EuRUs wav^es his murky wings 
 
 To damp the seats of life. 36 
 
 VII. 
 But comcj forsake the scene unbless'd 
 
 Which first beheld your faithful breast 
 
 To groundless fears a prey : 
 Come, where with my prevailing lyre 
 The skies, the streams, the groves conspire 
 
 To charm your doubts away. 42 
 
 VIII. 
 Throned in the sun's descending car, 
 
 What power unseen diffuseth far 
 
 This tenderness of mind ? 
 What Genius smiles on yonder flood ? 
 What God, in whispers from the wood. 
 
 Bids every thought be kind ? i 
 
 IX. 
 
 O THOU whate'er thy awful name. 
 
 Whose wisdom our untoward frame 
 With social love restrains ;
 
 BOOK THE tIRST. 17 
 
 Thou, who by fair affection's ties 
 Givest us to double all our joys 
 
 And half disarm our pains ; 5* 
 
 *X. 
 If far from Dyson and from me 
 
 Suspicion took, by thy decree. 
 
 Her everlasting flight ; 
 If firm on virtue's ample base 
 Thy parent hand has deign'd to raise 
 
 Our friendship's honour'd height j 60 
 
 XL 
 
 Let universal candour still. 
 
 Clear as yon heaven-reflecting rill. 
 
 Preserve tny open mind ; 
 Nor this nor that man's crooked ways 
 One sordid doubt within me raise 
 
 To injure human kind. 6G 
 
 ' This staraa Kasfozuid in a copy presented by Akinside. 
 
 ODE VI. 
 
 HYMN TO CHEERFULNESS. 
 
 JljLOW thick the shades of evening close ! 
 How pale the sky with weight of snows I 
 Haste, light the tapers, urge the fire. 
 And bid the joyless day retire. 
 
 'Alas, in vain I try within 
 
 To brighten the dejected scene, 
 While, roused by grief, these fiery pains 
 'J ear the frail texture of my veins ; 
 While winter's voice, that storms around^ 
 Bb 2
 
 18 ODE VI. *' 
 
 And yon deep death-bell's groaning sound lyC 
 
 Renew my mind's oppressive gloom. 
 Till starting horror shakes the room. 
 
 Is there in nature no kind power 
 To sooth affliction's lonely hour ? 
 To blunt the edge of dire disease. 
 And teach these wintry shades to please ? 
 Come, CHEERFULNESS, triimiphant fair. 
 Shine through the hovering cloud of care : 
 O sweet of language, mild of mien, 
 O virtue's friend and pleasure's queen, 20 
 
 Assuage the flames that burn my breast. 
 Compose my jarring thoughts to rest; 
 And while thy gracious gifts I feel. 
 My song shall all thy praise reveal. 
 
 As once ('twas in Astraja's reign) 
 The vernal powers renew'd their train, 
 It happen'd that immortal Love 
 Was ranging through the spheres above, 
 And downward hither cast his eye 
 The year's returning pomp to spy. 30 
 
 He saw the radiant god of day. 
 Waft in his car the rosy May ; 
 The fragrant Airs and genial Hours 
 Were shedding round him dews and flowers ; 
 Before his wheels Aurora pass'd. 
 And Hesper's golden lamp was last. 
 But, fairest of the blooming throng. 
 When Health majestic moved along. 
 Delighted to survey below 
 
 The joys which from her presence flow, 40 
 
 While earth enliven'd hears her voice.
 
 BbOK THE FIRST. t^ 
 
 And swains, and flocks, and fields rejoice ; 
 Then mighty Love her charms confessed. 
 And soon his vows inclined her breast. 
 And, known from that auspicious morn. 
 The pleasing Cheerfulness was born. 
 
 Thou, Cheerfulness, by Heaven design 'd 
 To sway the movements of the mind. 
 Whatever fretful passion springs. 
 Whatever wayward fortune brings 50 
 
 To disarrange the power within. 
 And strain the musical machine : 
 ITiou, Goddess, thy attempering hand 
 Doth each discordant string command. 
 Refines the soft, and swells the strong ; 
 And joining Nature's general song. 
 Through many a varying tone, unfolds 
 The harmony of human soulsv 
 
 Fair guardian of domestic life. 
 Kind banisher of homebred strife, 60 
 
 Nor sullen lip, nor taunting eye 
 Deforms the scene where thou art by : 
 No sickening husband damns the hour 
 Which bound his joys to female power j 
 No pining mother weeps the cares 
 Which parents waste on thankless heirs ; 
 The officious daughters pleased attend ; 
 The brother adds the name of friend : 
 By thee with flowers their board is crown'd. 
 With songs from thee tlieir walks resound ; 70 
 And morn with welcome lustre shines. 
 And evening unperceived declines.
 
 20 O D E VI. 
 
 Is there a youth, whose anxious heart 
 Labours with Love's unpitied smart ? 
 Though now he stray by rills and bovvers. 
 And weeping waste the lonely hours. 
 Or if the nymph her audience deign. 
 Debase the story of his pain 
 With slavish looks, discolour'd eyes. 
 And accents faltering into sighs ; 8(J 
 
 Yet thou, auspicious power, with ease 
 Can'st yield him happier arts to please. 
 Inform his mien with manlier charms. 
 Instruct his tongue with nobler arms. 
 With more commanding passion move 
 And teach the dignity of Love. 
 
 Friend to the Muse and all her train. 
 For thee I court the Muse again : 
 The Muse for thee may well exert 
 Her pomp, her charms, her fondest art, 90 
 
 Who owes to thee that pleasing sway 
 Which earth and peopled heaven obey. 
 Let melancholy's plaintive tongue 
 Repeat what la^er bards have sung ; 
 But thine was Homek's ancient might. 
 And thine victorious Pindar's flight : 
 Thy hand each * Lesbian wreath attired : 
 Thy lip t Sicilian reeds inspired : 
 Thy spirit lent the glad perfume 
 Whence yet the flowers of j Teos bloom ; 100 
 Whence yet from Tibur's Sabine vale 
 Delicious blows the enlivening gale, 
 
 Alco'us and Sappko. f Theocritus- ^ Anacreon- 
 
 Var. V, 94. Instruct the nighihj strains of Young,
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 21 
 
 While Horace calls thy sportife choir. 
 Heroes and nymphs, around his lyre. 
 
 But see where yonder pensive sage 
 (A prey perhaps to fortune's rage, 
 l^erhaps by tender griefs oppressed. 
 Or glooms congenial to his breast) 
 Retires, in desart scenes to dwell. 
 And bids the joyless world farewell. 1 10 
 
 Alone, he treads the autumnal shade. 
 Alone, beneath the mountain laid 
 He sees the nightly damps ascend. 
 And gathering storms aloft impend ; 
 He hears the neighbouring surges roll. 
 And raging thunders shake the pole : 
 Then, struck by every object round. 
 And stunn'd by every horrid sound. 
 He asks a clue for Nature's ways j 
 But EVIL haunts him through the maze : 120 
 
 He sees ten thousand demons rise 
 To wield the empire of the skies. 
 And Chance and Fate assume the rod. 
 And Malice blot the throne of God. 
 O THOU, whose pleasing power I sing. 
 Thy lenient influence hither bring ; 
 Compose the storm, dispel the gloom. 
 Till Nature wear her wonted bloom. 
 Till fields and shades their sweets exhale. 
 And music swell each opening gale : I'oO 
 
 Then o'er his breast thy softness pour. 
 And let him learn the timely hour
 
 22 ODE VI. 
 
 To trace the world's benignant laws. 
 
 And judge of that presiding cavse 
 
 Who founds on discord, beauty's reign. 
 
 Converts to pleasure every pain. 
 
 Subdues each hostile form to rest, 
 
 And bids the universe be bless'd. 
 
 O THOU, whose pleasing power I sing. 
 If right I touch the votive string, 140 
 
 If equal praise I yield thy name. 
 Still govern thou thy poet's flame ; 
 Still with the Muse my bosom share. 
 And sooth to peace intruding care. 
 But most exert thy pleasing power 
 On Friendship's consecrated hour ; 
 And while my Dyson points the road 
 To godlike wisdom's calm abode. 
 Or warm in freedom's ancipnt cause 
 Traceth the source of Albion's laws, 150 
 
 Add Thou o'er all the generous toil 
 The light of thy unclouded smile. 
 But, if by fortune's stubborn sway 
 From him and friendship torn away, 
 I court the Muse's healing spell 
 For griefs that still with absence dwell. 
 Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams 
 To such indulgent, placid themes. 
 As just the struggling breast may cheer 
 And just suspend the starting tear, 160 
 
 Yet leave that sacred sense of woe 
 Which none but friends and lovers know.
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 23 
 
 ODE VII. 
 
 ON THE USE OF POETRY. 
 
 I. 
 
 ^ OT for themselves did human kind 
 Contrive the parts by Heaven assigned 
 
 On life's wide scene to play : 
 Not SciPio's force, nor Cesar's skill 
 Can conquer glory's arduous hill. 
 
 If Fortune close the way. 6 
 
 H. 
 
 Yet still the self-depending soul. 
 
 Though last and least in fortune's roll. 
 
 His proper sphere commands ; 
 And knows what Nature's seal bestow 'd. 
 And sees, before the throne of God, 
 
 The rank in which he stands. 12 
 
 HI. 
 Who train'd by laws the future age. 
 
 Who rescued nations from the rage 
 
 Of partial, factious power. 
 My heart with distant homage views ; 
 Content if thou, celestial Mlsk, 
 
 Did'st rule my natal hour. ; g 
 
 IV. 
 Not far l)eneath the Hero's fctf. 
 Nor from the Legislatok's seat 
 
 Stands far remote the Bahu. 
 Though not with laiblic terrors crown'd.
 
 24- ODE VIL 
 
 Yet wider shall his rule be found. 
 
 More lastiHg his award. St 
 
 V. 
 
 Lycukcus fashion'd Sparta's fame. 
 
 And PoMPEY to the Roman name 
 
 Gave universal sway : 
 Where are they ? Homer's reverend page 
 Holds empire to the thirtieth age. 
 
 And tongues and climes obey. 30 
 
 VI. 
 
 And thus when William's acts divine 
 
 No longer shall from Bourson's line 
 
 Draw one vindictive vow ; 
 When Sidney shall with Cato rest. 
 And RussEL move the patriot's breast 
 No more than Brutus now j S6 
 
 vn. 
 
 Yet then shall Shakespeare's powerful art 
 \ O'er every passion, every heart. 
 
 Confirm his awful throne : 
 Tyrants shall bow before his laws ; 
 And freedom's, glory's, virtue's cause. 
 
 Their dread assertor own. 12
 
 25 
 
 ODE VIII. 
 
 ON LEAVING HOLLAND. 
 
 L ]. 
 
 Jr AREWELL to Lejden's lonely bound. 
 The Belgian Muse's sober seat ; 
 Where dealing frugal gifts around 
 To all the favourites at her feet. 
 She trains the body's bulky frame 
 For passive, persevering toils ; 
 And lest, from any prouder aim. 
 The daring mind should scorn her homely spoils. 
 She breathes maternal fogs to damp its restless flame. 
 
 L 2. 
 Farewell the grave, pacific air, 10 
 
 Where never mountain zephyr blew : 
 
 The marshy levels lank and bare, 
 
 W'hich Pan, which Ccre^ never knew : 
 
 The Naiads, with obscene attire. 
 
 Urging in vain their urns to flow ; 
 
 While round them chant the croaking choir, 
 
 And haply sooth some lover's prudent woe, 17 
 
 Or prompt some restive bard and modulate his lyre. 
 
 L 3. 
 Farewell, ye nymphs ! whom sober care of gain 
 
 Snatch'd in your cradles from the god of love : 
 
 She render'd all his boasted arrows vain ; ^ 
 
 And all his gifts did he in spite remove. 
 
 Yc too, the slow-eyed fathers of the land. 
 
 With whom dominion steals from hand to hand, 
 
 Unown'd, undignified by public choice, 
 
 Cc
 
 26 ODE VIII. 
 
 I go where Liberty to all is known. 
 And tells a monarch on his throne. 
 He reigns not but by her preserving voice. 28 
 
 II. 1. 
 O my loved England, when with thee 
 
 Shall I sit down to part no more ? 
 
 Far from this pale discolour'd sea, 
 
 ,That sleeps upon the reedy shore : 
 
 When shall I plough thy azure tide ? 
 
 When on thy hills the flocks admire. 
 
 Like mountain snows ; till down their side 
 
 I trace the village and the sacred spire, 36 
 
 While bowers and copses green the golden slope divide ? j 
 
 II. 2. 1 
 
 Ye nymphs, who guard the pathless grove. 
 Ye blue-eyed sisters of the streams. 
 With whom I wont at morn to rove. 
 With whom at noon I talk'd in dreams ; 
 O take me to your haunts again. 
 The rocky spring, the greenwoodfglade. 
 To guide my lonely footsteps deign, 4 1 
 
 To prompt my slumbers in the murmuring shade. 
 And sooth my vacant ear with many an airy strain. 
 
 IL 3. 
 And thou, my faithful harp, no longer mourn 
 Thy drooping master's inauspicious hand ; 
 Now brighter skies and fresher gales return. 
 Now fairer maids thy melody demand. 
 Daughters of Albion, listen to my lyre ! 
 O Phcebus, guardian of the Aonian choir. 
 Why sounds not mine harmonious as thy own.. 
 When all the virgin deities above
 
 BOOKTHEFIRST. 27 
 
 With Venus and with Juno move 
 In concert round the Olympian father's throne ! 56 
 
 111. 1. 
 Thee too, protectress of my lays. 
 
 Elate with whose majestic call 
 
 Above degenerate Latium's praise. 
 
 Above the slavish boast of Gaul, 
 
 I dare from impious thrones reclaim. 
 
 And wanton sloth's ignoble charms. 
 
 The honours of a poet's name 
 
 To Somer's counsels, or to Hamden's arms, 64' 
 
 Thee Freedom, I rejoin, and bless thy genuine flame. 
 
 III. 2. 
 Great Citizen of Albion ! thee 
 
 Heroic valour still attends. 
 
 And useful Science pleased to see 
 
 How Art her studious toil extends. 
 
 While Truth, diffusing from on high 
 
 A lustre unconfined as day, 
 
 Fills and commands the public eye ; 
 
 Till, pierced and sinking by her powerful ray, 7 3 
 
 Tame faith and monkish awe, like nightly demons, fly. 
 
 III. 3. 
 Hence the whole land the Patriot's ardour shares : 
 
 Hence dread religion dwells with social joy j 
 
 And holy passions and unsullied cares. 
 
 In youth, in age, domestic life employ. 
 
 O fair Britannia, hail ! With partial love 
 
 The tril>es of men their native seats approve. 
 
 Unjust and hostile to each foreign fame : 
 
 But when for generous minds and manly laws 
 
 A nation holds her prime applause. 
 
 There public zeal shall all reproof disclaim. 84
 
 28 
 
 ODE IX. 
 
 TO CURIO.* 
 
 I. 
 
 1 IIRICE hath the spring beheld thy faded fame 
 Since I exulting grasp'd the tuneful shell : 
 Eager through endless years to sound thy name. 
 Proud that my memory with thine should dwell. 
 How hast thou stain'd the splendor of my choice ! 
 Those godlike forms which hover'd round thy voice. 
 Laws, freedom, glory, whither are they flown ? 
 What can I now of thee to Time report. 
 Save thy fond country made thy impious sport. 
 Her fortune and her hope the victims of thy own ? 10 
 
 ir. 
 
 There are with eyes unmoved and reckless heart 
 Who saw thee from thy summit fall thus low; 
 Who deem'd thy arm extended but to dart 
 The public vengeance on thy private foe. 
 But, spite of every gloss of envious minds. 
 The owl-eyed race whom virtue's lustre blinds. 
 Who sagely prove that each man hath his price, 
 I still believed thy aim from blemish free ; 
 I yet, even yet believe it, spite of thee 
 And all thy painted pleas to greatness and to vice. 26 
 
 See the Epistle to "Corio'' at the end cf the Odes : it was 
 first published in 1744, when a celebrated statesman, Pullfiey Farl 
 of Bath (after a long and at last a successful opposition to an unj opi'- 
 lar minister) had deserted the cause of his countrj-, and become the 
 foremo t in support of the same measures he had for a length 
 of time contended against. It was afterwards altered into this 
 Ode: a performance, in the judgment of Dr. Johnson, disgraceful 
 only to its author!! The Epistle is too curious to be omitted.
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 2d 
 
 m. 
 
 'Thou didst not dream of liberty decay'd, 
 " Nor wish to make her guardian laws more strong ; 
 " But the rash many, first by thee misled, 
 " Bore thee at length unwillingly along." 
 Rise from your sad abodes, ye curst of old 
 For faith deserted, or for cities sold. 
 Own here one untried, unexampled deed ; 
 One mystery of shame from Cuuio learn. 
 To beg the infamy he did not earn, 29 
 
 And 'scape in guilt's disguise from virtue's ofTer'd meed. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For saw we not that dangerous power avow'd 
 
 Whom treedom oft hath found her mortal bane. 
 
 Whom public wisdom ever strove to exclude. 
 
 And but with blushes sufl'ereth in her train ? 
 
 Corruption vaunted her bewitching spoils. 
 
 O'er court, o'er senate, spread in pomp her toils. 
 
 And called herself the state's directing soul : 
 
 Till Curio, like a good magician tried 
 
 With eloquence and reason at his 'side, 39 
 
 By strength of holier spells the inchantress to control. 
 
 V. 
 
 Soon with thy country's hope thy fame extends : 
 
 The rescued merchant oil thy words resounds : 
 
 Thee and thy cause the rural hearth defends : 
 
 Ilis bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns : 
 
 The learn'd recluse, with awful zeal who read 
 
 Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots, dead. 
 
 Now with like awe doth living merit scan : 
 
 While he, whom virtue in his blest retreat 
 
 Bade social ease and public passions meet. 
 
 Ascends the civil scene, and knows to l)e a man. 50 
 Cc 2
 
 30 O D E IX. 
 
 VI. 
 
 At length in view the glorious end appear'cl ; 
 
 We saw thy spirit through the senate reign ; 
 And freedom's friends thy instant onoen heard 
 Of laws for which their fathers bled in vain. 
 Waked in the strife the public Genius rose 
 More keen, more ardent, from his long repose : 
 Deep through her bounds the city felt his call : 
 Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power. 
 And murmuring challeng'd the deciding hour 
 Of that too vast event, the hope and dread of all. 60 
 
 VII. 
 O ye good powers, who look on human kind. 
 
 Instruct the mighty moments as they roll : 
 
 And watch the fleeting shapes in Curio's mind. 
 
 And steer his passions steady to the goal. 
 
 O Alfred, father of the English name, 
 
 O valiant Edward, first in civil fame, 
 
 O William, height of public virtue pure, 
 
 Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye 
 
 Behold the sum of all your labours nigh, 69 
 
 Your plans of law complete, your ends of rule secure. 
 
 VIII. 
 'Twas then O shame ! O soul from faith estranged ! 
 O Albion, oft to flattering vows a prey ! 
 'Twas then Thy thought what sudden frenzy 
 
 changed ? 
 What rushing palsy took thy strength away ? 
 Is this the man in freedom's cause approved ? 
 The man so great, so honour 'd, so beloved ? 
 Whom the dead envied and the living bless'd ? 
 This patient slave by tinsel bonds allured ?
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 31 
 
 This wretched suitor for a boon abjured ? 
 Whom those, that feared him, scorn ; that trusted him, 
 detest ? 80 
 
 IX. 
 
 O lost alike to action and repose ! 
 
 With all that habit of familiar fame. 
 Sold to the mockery of relentless foes 
 And doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in shame. 
 To act with burning brow and throbbing heart 
 A poor deserter's dull exploded part. 
 To slight the favour thou canst hope no more, 
 Renoimce the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind. 
 Charge thy own lightness on thy country's mind, 89 
 And from her voice appeal to each tame foreign shore. 
 
 X. 
 
 But England's sons, to purchace thence applause. 
 
 Shall ne'er the loyalty of slaves pretend-. 
 By courtly passions try the public cause ; 
 Nor to the forms of rule betray the end. 
 O race erect ! by manliest passions moved. 
 The labours which to virtue stand approved. 
 Prompt with a lover's fondness to survey ; 
 Yet, where injustice works her wilful claim. 
 Fierce as the flight of Jove's destroying flame. 
 Impatient to confront, and dreadful to repay. 100 
 
 XI. 
 
 These thy heart owns no longer. In their room 
 
 See the grave queen of pageants. Honour, dwell 
 Couch'd in thy bosom's deep lempestuous gloom 
 Like some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell. 
 Before her rights thy sickening reason flew. 
 Divine persuasion from thy tongue withdrew.
 
 32 O D E IX. ^ 
 
 While laughter mock'd, or pity stole a sigh : 
 Can wit her tender movements rightly frame 
 Where the prime function of the soul is lame ? 109 
 Can Fancy's feeble springs the force of Truth supply ? 
 
 XII. 
 But come : 'tis time : strong Destiny impends 
 
 To shut thee from the joys thou hast betray 'd ; ' 
 
 With princes fill'd, the solemn fane ascends. 
 
 By Infamy, the mindful demon, sway'd. 
 
 There vengeful vows for guardian laws effaced. 
 
 From nations fetter'd, and from towns laid waste. 
 
 For ever through the spacious courts resound : 
 
 Tliere long posterity's united groan 
 
 And the sad charge of horrors not their own, 1 1 9 
 
 Assail the giant chiefs, and press them to the ground. 
 
 XIII. 
 In sight old Time, imperious judge, awaits : 
 
 Above revenge, or fear, or pity, just. 
 He urgeth onward to those guilty gates 
 The Great,* the Sage, the Happy, and August. 
 And still he asks them of the hidden plan 
 Whence every treaty, every war began. 
 Evolves their secrets and their guilt proclaims : 
 And still his hands despoil them on the road 
 Of each vain wreath by lying bards bestow'd, 129 
 And crush their tiophies huge, and rase their sculp- 
 tured names. 
 
 XIV. 
 Ye mighty shades, arise, give place, attend : 
 
 Here his eternal mansion Curio seeks : 
 
 * V. 124. Titles which have been generally ascribed to the most 
 pernicious of men.
 
 BOOKTHEFIRST. 33 
 
 Low doth proud Wentworth to the stranger bend. 
 And his dire welconae hardy Cufford speaks : 
 " He comes, rvhom fate with surer arts prepared 
 " To accomplish all which we but vainly dared ; 
 " Whom o'er the stubborn herd she taught to reign : 
 " Who sooth'd with gaudy dreams their raging power 
 " Even to its last irrevocable hour ; 
 " Then baffled their rude strength, and broke them to 
 " the chain." 140 
 
 XV. 
 
 But ye, whom yet wise Liberty inspires. 
 
 Whom for her champions o'er the world she claims, 
 (That household godhead whom of old your sires 
 Sought in the woods of Elbe and bore to Thames) 
 Drive ye this hostile omen far away ; 
 Their own fell efforts on ker foes repay; 
 Your wealth, your arts, your fame, be her's alone ; 
 Still gird your swords to combat on her side ; 1 4-8 
 Still frame your laws her generous test to abide j 
 And win to her defence the Altar, and the Throne.. 
 
 XVI. 
 Protect her from vourselvks, ere yet the flood 
 
 Of golden Luxury, which Commerce pours. 
 
 Hath spread that selfish fierceness through your blood. 
 
 Which not her lightest discipline indures : 
 
 Snatch ivomfantaatic demagogues her cause : 
 
 Dream not of NuMA'd manners, Plato's laws : 
 
 A wiser Founder, and a nobler plan, 
 
 O sons of Alfked, were for you assign'd ; 
 
 Bring lo that birthright but an equal mind. 
 
 And no sublimcr let will fate reserve for man. 160
 
 54 
 
 ODE X. 
 
 TO THE MUSE. 
 
 Qi 
 
 'UEEN of my songs, harmonious maid ! 
 Ah why hast thou withdrawn thy aid ? 
 Ah why forsaken thus my breast 
 With inauspicious damps oppress'd ? 
 Where is the dread prophetic heat. 
 With which my bosom wont to beat ? 
 Where all the bright mysterious dreams 
 Of haunted groves and tuneful streams. 
 That woo'd my genius to divinest themes ? 9 
 
 II. 
 
 Say, goddess, can the festal board, 
 
 Or young Olympia's form adored. 
 Say, can the pomp of promised fame 
 Relume thy faint, thy dying flame ? 
 Or have melodious airs the power 
 
 To give one free, poetic hour ? 
 Or, from amid the Elysian train. 
 The soul of Milton shall I gain. 
 To win thee, back with some celestial strain ? 18 
 
 III. 
 
 powerful strain ! 6 sacred soul ! 
 
 His numbers every sense control : 
 And now again my bosom burns ; 
 The Muse, the Muse herself returns. 
 Such on the banks of Tyne, confessed 
 
 1 hail'd the fair immortal guest.
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 35 
 
 When first she seal'd me for her own. 
 Made all her blissful treasures known. 
 And bade me swear to follow her alone. 27 
 
 ODE XI. 
 
 ON LOVE, TO A FRIEND. 
 L 
 
 No. 
 
 foolish youth to virtuous fame. 
 If now thy early hopes be vow'd, 
 If true Ambition's nobler flame 
 Command thy footsteps from the crowd ; 
 Lean not to Love's inchanting snare ; 
 His songs, his words, his looks beware. 
 Nor join his votaries, the young and fair. 7 
 
 II. 
 
 By thought, by dangers, and by toils. 
 
 The wreath of just renown is worn ; 
 Nor will Ambition's awful spoils 
 The flowery pomp of ease adorn : 
 But Love unbends the force of thought ; 
 By Love unmanly fears are taught ; 
 And Love's reward with gaudy sloth is boufht. 14. 
 
 III. 
 Yet thou hast read in tuneful lays. 
 
 And heard from many a zealous breast, 
 
 Tke pleasing tale of beauty's praise 
 
 In wisdom's lofty language dress'd 
 
 Of beauty powerful to impart 
 
 Each finer sense, each comlier art. 
 
 And sooth and polish man's ungentle heart. 21
 
 56 O D E XL 
 
 IV. 
 If then, from Love's deceit secure, 
 
 Thus far alone thy wishes tend. 
 
 Go ; see the white-wing'd evening hour 
 
 On Delia's vernal walk descend ; , 
 
 Go, while the golden light serene. 
 
 The grove, the lawn, the soflen'd scene 
 
 Becomes the presence of the rural queen. 28 
 
 V. 
 Attend, while that harmonious tongue 
 
 Each bosom, each desire commands : 
 
 Apollo's lute by Hermes strung 
 
 And touch'd by chaste Minerva's hands. 
 
 Attend. I feel a force divine, 
 
 O Delia, win my thonghts to thine ; 
 
 That half the colour of thy life is mine. 35 
 
 VI. 
 
 Yet conscious of the dangerous charm. 
 
 Soon would I turn my steps away ; 
 Nor oft provoke the lovely harm. 
 Nor lull my reason's watchful sway. 
 But thou, my friend ^I hear thy sighs : 
 Alas, I read tliy downcast eyes ; 
 And thy tongue falters ; and thy colour flies. 4f 
 
 VII. 
 So soon again to meet the fair ? 
 
 So pensive all this absent hour ? 
 
 O yet, unlucky youth, beware. 
 
 While yet to think is in thy power. 
 
 In vain with Friendship's flattering name 
 
 Thy passion veils its inward shame ; 
 
 Friendship, the treJicherous fuel of thy flame ! 49
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 37 
 
 VIII. 
 Once, I remember, new to love. 
 
 And dreading liis tyrannic chain, 
 
 I sought a gentle maid to prove 
 
 What peaceful joys in friendship reign : 
 
 Whence we forsooth might safely stand. 
 
 And pitying view the lovesick band. 
 
 And mock the winged boy's malicious hand. 56 
 
 IX. 
 
 Thus frequent pass'd the cloudless day. 
 
 To smiles and sweet discourse resign'd ; 
 
 While I exulted to survey 
 
 One generous woman's real mind : 
 
 Till friendship soon my languid breast 
 
 Each night with unknown cares possess'd, 
 
 Dash'd my coy slumbers, or my dreams distressed. 63 
 
 X. 
 Fool that I was- 'And now, even now 
 
 While thus I preach the Stoic strain. 
 
 Unless I shun Olympia's view. 
 
 An hour unsays it all again. 
 
 O friend I when Love directs her eyes 
 
 To pierce where every passion lies. 
 
 Where is the firm, the cautious, or the wise ? 70 
 
 ODE XII. 
 
 TO SIR FRANCIS HENRY DRAKE, 
 B A R O N E T. 
 
 I. 
 
 Behold ; the Balance in the sky 
 Swilt on the wintry scale inclines: 
 Dd
 
 38 ODE XII. 
 
 To earthy caves the Dryads fly. 
 And the bare pastures Pan resigns. 
 Late did the farmer's fork o'erspread 
 With recent soil the twice-mown mead. 
 Tainting the bloom which autumn knows 
 He whets the rusty coulter now. 
 He binds his oxen to the plough. 
 And wide his future harvest throws. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now, Loudon's busy confines round. 
 
 By Kensington's imperial towers, 
 From Highgate's rough descent profound, 
 Essexian heaths, or Kentish bowers. 
 Where'er I pass, I see approach 
 Some rural statesman's eager coach 
 Hurried by senatorial cares : 
 While rural nymphs (alike, witljin, 
 Aspiring courtly praise to win) 
 Debate their drese, reform their airs. 
 
 HI. 
 &iy, w'nat can now the country boast, 
 
 Dkake, thy footsteps to detain. 
 When peevish winds and gloomy frost 
 The sunshine of the temper stain ? 
 Say, are the priests of Devon grown 
 I'iientlij to this tolerating throne. 
 Champions for George's legal right ? 
 Have general Freeeom, equal Law, 
 Won to the glory of Nassau 
 
 Each bold Wessexian squire and knight r 
 
 IV. 
 
 1 doubt it much ; and guess at least
 
 BOOKTHEFIRST. 39 
 
 That when the day, which made us free. 
 
 Shall next return, that sacred feast 
 
 Thou better may'st observe with me. 
 
 With me the sulphurous treason old 
 
 A far inferior part shall hold 
 
 In that glad day's triumphal strain ; 
 
 And generous William be revered. 
 
 Nor one untimely accent heard 
 
 Of James, or his ignoble reign. 4-0 
 
 V. 
 Then, while the Gascon's fragrant wine] 
 
 With modest cups our joy supplies. 
 
 We'll truly thank the power divine 
 
 Who bade the chief, the patriot rise ; 
 
 Rise from heroic ease (the spoil 
 
 Due, for his youth's Herculean toil. 
 
 From Belgium to her saviour son) 
 
 Rise with the same unconquer'd zeal 
 
 For our Britannia's injured weal. 
 
 Her laws defaced, her shrines o'erthrown. 50 
 
 VI. 
 He came. The Tyrant from our shore. 
 
 Like a forbidden demon, lied ; 
 
 And to eternal exile bore 
 
 Pon(ific rage and vassal dread. 
 
 There sunk the mouldering Gothic reign : 
 
 New years came forth, a liberal train, 
 
 Call'd by the People's great decree. 
 
 'ITiat day, my friend, let blessings crown : 
 
 Fill, to the Demicjod's renown 
 
 From whom thou hast that thou art free. CO 
 
 VII. 
 Then, Drake, (for wherefore should we part
 
 40 ODE XIL 
 
 The public and the private weal ?) 
 
 In vows to her who sways thy heart. 
 
 Fair health, glad fortune, will we deal. 
 
 Whether Aglaia's blooming cheek. 
 
 Or the soft ornaments that speak 
 
 So eloquent in Daphne's smile. 
 
 Whether the piercing lights that fly 
 
 From the dark heaven of Mykto's eye. 
 
 Haply thy fancy then beguile. 70 
 
 viir. 
 
 For so it is ; thy stubborn breast. 
 
 Though touch'd by many a slighter wound. 
 
 Hath no full conquest yet confessed. 
 
 Nor the one fatal charmer found. 
 
 While I, a true and loyal swain. 
 
 My fair Olympia's gentle reign 
 
 Through all the varying seasons own. 
 
 Her genius still my bosom warms : 
 
 No other maid for me hath charms. 
 
 Or I have eyes for her alone. 80 
 
 ODE XIII. 
 
 ON LYRIC POETRY. 
 I. 1. 
 
 v/NCE more I join the Thespian choir, 
 And taste the inspiring fount again : 
 O parent of the Grecian Lyre, 
 Admit me to thy powerful strain 
 And lo, with ease my step invades.
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 41 
 
 The pathless vale and opening shades. 
 
 Till now 1 spy her verdant seat ; 
 
 And now at large I drink the sound. 
 
 While these her offspring, listening round. 
 
 By turns her melody repeat. 10 
 
 I. 2. 
 I see Anacreon smile and sing. 
 
 His silver tresses breathe perfume ; 
 
 His cheek displays a second spring 
 
 Of roses taught by wine to bloom. 
 
 Away, deceitful cares, away. 
 
 And let me listen to his lay ; 
 
 Let me the wanton pomp enjoy. 
 
 While in smooth dance the light- win g'd Hours 
 
 Lead round his lyre its patron powers. 
 
 Kind laughter and convivial joy. 20 
 
 L 3. 
 Broke from the fetters of his native land. 
 Devoting shame and vengeance to her lords. 
 With louder impulse and a threatening hand 
 The * Lesbian patriot smites the sounding chords : 
 
 Ye wretches, ye perfidious train, 
 
 Ye cursed of gods and freeborn men. 
 Ye murderers of the laws, 
 
 Tliough now ye glory in your lust. 
 Though now ye tread the feeble neck in dust. 
 Yet Time and righteous Jove will judge your dread- 
 ful cause. ' 30 
 
 II. 1. 
 But lo, to Sappho's melting airs 
 
 Descends the radiant queen of love : 
 
 .She smile;', and aaks u hat fonder cares 
 
 Alcacuj:. 
 
 D ci li
 
 42 ODE XIII. 
 
 Her suppliant's plaintive measures move : 
 
 Why is my faithful maid distress'd ? 
 
 Who, Sappho, wounds thy tender breast ? 
 
 Say, flies he ? Soon he shall pursue : 
 
 Shuns he thy gifts He soon shall give : 
 
 Slights he thy sorrows ? He shall grieve. 
 
 And soon to all thy wishes bow, 40 
 
 II. 2. 
 But, O Melpomene, for whom 
 
 Awakes thy golden shell again ? 
 
 What mortal breath shall e'er presume 
 
 To echo that unbounded strain ? 
 
 Majestic in the frown of years. 
 
 Behold, the * Man of Thebes appears : 
 
 For some there are, whose mighty frame 
 
 The hand of Jove at birth endow'd 
 
 With hopes that mock the gazing crowd ; 
 
 As eagles drink the noontide flame, 50 
 
 II. 3. 
 
 While the dim raven beats her weary wings. 
 
 And clamours far below. Propitious Muse, 
 While I so late unlock thy purer springs. 
 And breathe wliate'er thy ancient airs infuse. 
 Wilt thou for Albion's sons around 
 (Ne'er had'st tbou audientie more renown'd) 
 
 Thy charming arts employ. 
 As when the winds from shore to shore 58 
 
 Thro' Greece thy lyre's persuasive language bore, 
 Till towns, and isles, and seas, return'd the vocal joy ? 
 
 III. 1. 
 
 Yet then did pleasure's lawless throng. 
 
 Oft rushing forth in loose attire, 
 * Pindar,
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 43 
 
 Thy virgin dance, thy graceful song 
 
 Pollute with impious revels dire. 
 
 O fair, O chaste, thy echoing shade 
 
 May no foul discord here invade : 
 
 Nor let thy strings one * accent move. 
 
 Except what earth's untroubled ear 
 
 'Mid all her social tribes may bear. 
 
 And heaven's unerring throne approve. 70 
 
 III. 2. 
 Queen of the Lyre, in thy retreat 
 The fairest flowers of Pindus glow; 
 The vine aspires to crown thy seat. 
 And myrtles round thy laurel grow. 
 Thy strings adapt their varied strain 
 To every pleasure, every pain. 
 Which mortal tribes were born lo prove ; 
 And strait our passions rise or fall. 
 As at the wind's imperious call 
 The ocean swelU, the billows move. 80 
 
 III. 3. 
 When midnight listens o'er the slumbering earth. 
 Let me, O Mlse, thy solemn whispers hear : 
 When morning sends her fragrant breezes forth. 
 With airy murmurs touch my opening ear. 
 And ever watchful at thy side. 
 Let Wisdom's awful suffrage guide 
 
 The tenor of thy lay : 
 To HER of old by Jove was given 
 To judge the various deeds of earth and heaven ; 
 'Twas THINE by gentle arts to win us to her sway. 90 
 
 One line which dying he would wiih lo blot."
 
 4* ODE XIII. 
 
 IV. 1. 
 
 Oft as, to well-earn'd ease reslgn'd, 
 
 I quit the maze where Science toils. 
 
 Do thou refresh roy yielding mind 
 
 With all thy gay, delusive spoils. 
 
 But, O indulgent, come not nigh 
 
 The busy steps, the jealous eye 
 
 Of wealthy care or gainful age ; 
 
 Whose barren souls thy joys disdain. 
 
 And hold as foes to reason's reign 
 
 Whome'er thy lovely works engage. 100 
 
 IV. 2. 
 When Friendship, and when letter'd mirth 
 Haply partake my simple board. 
 Then let thy blameless hand call forth 
 The music of the Teian chord. 
 Or if invoked at softer hours, 
 O ! seek with me the happy bowers 
 That hear Olympia's gentle tongue ; 
 To beauty link'd with virtue's train. 
 To love devoid of jealous pain, 
 ThereXei the SAPPHiclute be strung. 110 
 
 IV. 3. 
 But when from envy and from death to claim 
 
 A hero bleeding for his native land ; 
 
 When to throw incense on the vestal flame 
 
 Of Liberty my genius gives command. 
 
 Nor Theban voice nor Lesbian lyre \ 
 
 Prom thee, O Muse, do 1 require; 
 
 While my presaging mind. 
 
 Conscious of powers she never knew, 
 
 Astonish'd grasps at things beyond her view. 
 
 Nor by another's fate submits to be confined. 1 20
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 45 
 
 ODE XIV. 
 
 TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES 
 TOWNSHEND: 
 
 FROM THE COUNTRY. 
 
 I. 
 
 J^AY, TowNsHEND, what can London boast 
 To pay thee for the pleasures lost. 
 
 The health to-day resign'd. 
 When spring from this her favourite seat 
 Bade winter hasten his retreat. 
 
 And met the western wind. <i 
 
 n. 
 
 Oh knew'st thou how the balmy air. 
 The sun, the azure heavens prepare 
 
 To heal thy languid frame. 
 No more would noisy courts engage ; 
 In vain would lying Factions rage 
 
 Thy sacred leisure claim. 12 
 
 IIL 
 Oft I look'd forth, and oft admired ; 
 Till with the studious volume tired 
 
 I sought the o[)en d ay ; 
 And, sure, I cry'd, the rural gods 
 Expect me in their green abodes, 
 
 And chide my tardy lay. 18 
 
 IV. 
 But ah ! in vain my restless feet 
 
 Traced every silent shad^ scat
 
 413 ODE XIV. 
 
 Which knew their forms of old : 
 Nor Naiad, by her fountain laid. 
 Nor Wood-nymph, tripping through her glade. 
 
 Did now their rites unfold ; 24- 
 
 V. 
 Whether to nurse some infant oak 
 
 They turn the slowly-tinkling brook 
 
 And catch the pearly showers ; 
 Or brush the mildew from the woods. 
 Or paint with noontide beams the buds. 
 
 Or breathe on opening flowers. 30 
 
 VI. 
 
 Such rites, which they with spring renew. 
 
 The eyes of care can never view ; 
 
 And care hath long been mine : 
 And hence offended vs ith their guest. 
 Since grief of love my soul oppressed. 
 
 They hide their toils divine. '3d 
 
 VII. 
 But soon shall thy enlivening tongue 
 
 This heart, by dear aftliction wrung. 
 
 With noble hope inspire : 
 Then will the sylvan powers again 
 Receive me in their genial train. 
 
 And listen to my lyre. 42 
 
 VIII. 
 Beneath yon Dryad's lonely shade 
 
 A rustic altar shall be paid. 
 
 Of turf with laurel framed : 
 And thou the inscription wilt approve ; 
 *' This for the peace which, lost by love, 
 
 " By friendship was reclaim'd." 4i^
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 47 
 
 ODE XV. 
 
 TO THE EVENING-STAR. 
 
 I. 
 
 -I 0-NIGHT, retired, the queen of heaven 
 
 With young Endymion stays : 
 And now to Hi-.sper it is given 
 Awhile to rule the vacant sky. 
 Till she shall to her lamp t-upply 
 
 A stream of brighter rays. 
 
 H. 
 O Hesper, while the starry throng 
 
 With awe thy path surrounds. 
 Oh listen to my suppliant song. 
 If haply now the vocal sphere 
 Can suffer thy delighted ear 
 
 To stoop to mortal sounds. i 2 
 
 III.^ 
 So may the bridegroom's genial strain 
 
 Thee still ipvoke to shine : 
 So may the bride's unmarried train 
 To livME.v chaunt their flattering vow. 
 Still thai his lucky torch may glow, 
 
 Wjth lustre pure as thine, 18 
 
 IV. 
 Far other vow< must I prefer 
 
 To thy indulgent power. 
 
 Alas, but now 1 paid my tear
 
 48 ODE XV. 
 
 On fair Olympia's virgin tomb : 
 And ]o, from thence, in quest I roam 
 
 Of Philomela's bower. 24 
 
 V. 
 
 Propitious send thy golden ray. 
 
 Thou purest light above : 
 Let no false flame seduce to stray 
 Where gulph or steep lie hid for harm : 
 But lead where music's healing charm 
 
 May sooth afflicted love. 3G 
 
 VI. 
 
 To them, by many a grateful song 
 
 In happier seasons vow'd. 
 These lawns, Olympia's haunt, belong : 
 Oft by yon silver stream we walk'd. 
 Or tix'd, while Philomela talk'd. 
 
 Beneath yon copses stood. 3Q 
 
 VII. 
 
 Nor seldom, where the beachen boughs 
 
 That roofless tower invade. 
 We came, while her enchanting Muse 
 The radiant moon above us held : 
 Till by a clamorous Owl compell'd 
 
 She fled the solemn shade. 42 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But hark ; I hear her liquid tone. 
 
 Now, Hesper, guide my feet 
 Down the red marie with moss o'ergrown ; 
 Through yon wild thicket next the plain. 
 Whose hawthorns choke the winding lane 
 
 Which leads to her retreat, 48
 
 BOOKTHEFIRST. 4-9 
 
 IX. 
 
 See the green space : on either hand. 
 
 Enlarged it spreads around : 
 See in the midst she takes her stand, 
 Where one old oak his awful shade 
 Extends o'er half the level mead 
 
 Inclosed in woods profound. 54 
 
 X. 
 
 Hark, how through many a melting note 
 
 She now prolongs her lays : 
 How sweetly down the void they float ! 
 The breeze their magic path attends : 
 The stars shine out : the forest bends : 
 
 The wakeful heifers gaze. CO 
 
 XI. 
 Whoe'er thou art whom chance may bring 
 
 To this sequester'd spot. 
 It then the plaintive Syren sing. 
 Oh softly tread beneath her bower. 
 And think of heaven's disposing power. 
 
 Of man's uncertain lot. 06 
 
 XII. 
 
 Oh think, o'er all this mortal stage. 
 
 What mournful scenes arise : 
 What ruin waits on kingly rage : 
 How often virtue dwells witii woe : 
 How many griefs from knowledge flow : 
 
 How swiftly pleasure flies. 72 
 
 xiir. 
 
 O sacred bird, let me at eve. 
 
 Thus wandering all alone. 
 Thy tender counsel oft receive, 
 Ee
 
 50 ODE XVI. 
 
 Bear witness to thy pensive airs. 
 And pity Nature's common cares 
 
 Till I forget my own. 78 
 
 ODE XVI. 
 
 TO CALEB HARDINGE, M. D. 
 
 I. 
 
 VV ITII sordid floods the wintry * Urn 
 Hath stain'd fair Richmond's level green ; 
 Her naked hill the Dryads mourn. 
 No longer a poetic scene. 
 !No longer there thy raptured eye 
 The beauleous forms of earth or sky 
 Surveys as in their Author's mind : 
 And London shelters from the year 
 Thopc uliom thy social hours to share 
 
 Ihe Attic Muse desiga'd. 10 
 
 n. 
 
 From Hampstead's airy summit me 
 Her guest the city shall behold. 
 What day the people's stern decree 
 To unbelieving kings is told, 
 V/hen common men (the dread of fame) 
 Adjudged as one of evil name. 
 Before the sun, the anointed head. 
 Then s^eek thou too the pious town, 
 With no unworthy cares to crown 
 
 Thai evening's awful shade. 20 
 
 Aquarius.
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 51 
 
 in. 
 
 Deem not I call thee to deplore 
 The sacred martyr of the day. 
 By fast and penitential lore 
 To purge our ancient guilt away. 
 For this, on humble faith I rest 
 That still our advocate, the priest. 
 From heavenly wrath will save the land j 
 Nor ask what rights our pardon gain. 
 Nor how his potent sounds restrain 
 
 The thunderer's lifted hand. 30 
 
 IV. 
 
 No, Hardinge ; peace to church and state ! 
 
 That evening let the Muse give law : 
 While I anew the theme relate 
 Which my fifst youth inamour'd saw. 
 Then will I oft explore thy thought. 
 What to reject which Locke hath taught. 
 What to pursue in Virgil's lay : 
 Till hope ascends to loftiest things. 
 Nor envies demagogues or kings 
 
 Their frail and vulgar sway. 40 
 
 V. 
 O versed in all the human frame. 
 
 Lead thou where'er my labour lies. 
 
 And English fancy's eager flame 
 
 To Grecian purity chastize : 
 
 While hand in hand, at wisdom's shrine. 
 
 Beauty with Truth I strive to join. 
 
 And grave assent with glad applause ; 
 
 To paint the story of the soul,
 
 52 ODE XVII. 
 
 And Plato's visions to control 
 
 By t Verulamian laws. 50 
 
 ODE XVII. 
 
 ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY. 
 MDCCXLVII. 
 
 I. 
 
 V^OME then, tell me, sage divine, 
 Is it an offence to own 
 That our bosoms e'er incline 
 Toward immortal Glory's throne ? 
 For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure, 
 Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure. 
 So can fancy's dream rejoice. 
 So conciliate reason's choice. 
 As one approving word of her impartial voice. 9 
 
 II. 
 
 If to spurn at noble praise 
 
 Be the pass-port to thy heaven. 
 Follow thou those gloomy ways ; 
 No such law to me was given. 
 Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me. 
 Faring like my friends before me; 
 Nor an holier place desire 
 Than Timoleon's arms acquire. 
 And TuUy's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre. 18 
 
 f Verulam gave one of his titles to Francis Bacon, author of the 
 Novum Organum.
 
 BOOKTHE FIRST. 53 
 
 ODE XVIII. 
 
 lO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE 
 
 FRANCIS EARL OF HUNTINGDON. 
 
 iMDCCXLVIII. 
 
 I. 1. 
 
 1 HE wise and great of every clime, 
 Through all the spacious walks of Time, 
 Where'er the Muse her power display 'd 
 With joy have listen'd and obey'd. 
 lor, taught of heaven, the sacred Nine 
 Persuasive numbers, forms divine, 
 To mortal sense inij)art : 
 'I'hcy best the soul with glory fire ; 
 Thoy noblest counsels, boldest deeds inspire ; 9 
 And high o'er Fortune's rage iiithrone the fixed heart. 
 
 I. 2. 
 Nor less prevailing it their charm 
 The vengeful lx)Som to disaini ; 
 To melt the proud with human woe, 
 And promf)t unwilling tears to flow . 
 Can wealth a power like tliis afibrd ? 
 Can Cromwell's arts, or IMarlborough';> .>vvord. 
 
 An equal empire claim.: 
 No, ll\-/iiS(;3. Thou my words wilt own : 
 T!iy breast the gifts of every Muse hath kr.own ; 
 Nor shall the giver's love di-g.'-ace thy noble name. 20 
 lie 2
 
 64 ODE XVIII. 
 
 I. 3. 
 The Muse's awful art. 
 
 And the blest function of the Poet's tongue. 
 
 Ne'er shalt thou blush to honour ; to assert 
 
 From all that scorned vice or slavish fear hath sung. 
 
 Nor shall the blandishment of Tuscan strings 
 
 Warbling at will in pleasure's myrtie bower j 
 
 Nor shall the servile notes to Celtic kings 
 
 By flatteiing minstrels paid in evil hour. 
 
 Move thee to spurn the heavenly Muse's reign. 
 
 A different strain 30 
 
 And other themes 
 From her prophetic shades and h^low'd streams 
 (Thou well can'st witness) meet the purged ear : 
 Such, as when Greece to her immortal shell 
 Rejoicing listen'd, godlike sounds to hear; 
 
 To hear the sweet instructress tell 
 (While men and heroes throng'd around) 
 How life its noblest use may find. 
 How well for freedom be resign 'd ; 
 And how, by glory, virtue shall be crown'd. 40 
 
 II. 1. 
 
 Such was the * Chian father's strain 
 To many a kind domestic train. 
 Whose pious hearth and genial bowl 
 Had cheer'd the reverend pilgrim's soul ; 
 When, every hospitable rite 
 With equal bounty to requite. 
 
 He struck his magic strings ; 
 And pour'd spontaneous numbers forth, 48 
 
 And seized their ears with tales of ancient worth. 
 And fiU'd their musing hearts with vast heroic things - 
 * Homer.
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 55 
 
 II. 2. 
 Now oft, where happy spirits dwell. 
 
 Where yet he tunes his charming shell, 
 
 Oft near him, with applauding hands. 
 
 The Genius of his country stands. 
 
 To listening gods he makes him known. 
 
 That MAN DIVINE by whom were sown 
 
 - The seeds of Grecian fame ; 
 
 Who first the race with freedom fired ; 58 
 
 From whom * Lycurgus Sparta's sons inspired ; 
 
 From whom Platsean palms and Cyprian trophies came. 
 
 Verse 59. 3 * Lycurfpis the Lacedcpmonion 
 
 law-piver brought into Greece from Asia Minor the first complete copy 
 of Homer's works. At Plat^a was fought the decisive battle between 
 the Persian army and the united militia of Oreece under Pausnnias 
 and Arislidei. Cimon, the Athenian, erected a trophy in Cyprus for 
 two great victories gained on the same day over the Persians by sea 
 and land. Diodorus Siculu.i has presented the inscription which the 
 Athenians di(fi\ed to the xonec rated spoils, after this great success; 
 in which it is very remarkable, that the greatness of the occasion 
 has raised the manner of expression above the usual simplicity and 
 mnlesty of all other ancient inscriptions. It is this : 
 
 EH. OY. r . ETPnnHN. AIIAS. AIXA. nONTOS. ENEIME. 
 
 KAI. nOAEAS. NHTON. OYPOS. APH::. EHEXEr. 
 
 OTAEN nn. TOIOYTON- EniXONinN. TENET'. ANAPQN. 
 
 EPrON EN HnElPHI. KAI. KATA. nONTON. AMA. 
 
 OIAE. TAP. EN. KVnPrJ. MHAOTS. nOAAOTS. 
 
 OAEi: ANTES. 
 
 DOlNIKftN. EKATON. NAT>;. EAON. EN. nEAAFEl. 
 
 ANAPilN. nAHeOrZAZ. META. A'. ESTENEN. AXIS. 
 
 rn'. AYTfiN. 
 
 nAHFElI'. AM^DOTEPAI :. XEPSI. KPATEI. nOAEMOT. 
 
 The following translation is almost literal : 
 
 Since first the sea from Aiin's hostile coast 
 
 Dividr<l I'urotif, and the god of war 
 
 As'wiI'd imperious citie.?; never yet, 
 
 At one.'! ami<l the waves and on the shore, 
 
 Hath such .T Libour Ijcen atchievcr) hy men 
 
 Who earth inhabit. They, whose arms the Medcs 
 
 In ('ifpriit fclr peniicif)tis. tlicv, the ame, 
 
 Have <);i from skilf :1 'f'/'r an h m'lre<| ^hlps 
 
 Crowded witli warrinr,-;. .hia grian. in )x)!h 
 
 llcr hands sore smitten, by the might of war.
 
 56 ODE xviir. 
 
 II. 3. 
 O noblest, happiest age ! 
 When AmsTiDEs rul'd, and Cimon fought ; 
 When all the generous fruits of Homer's page 
 Exulting * Pindar saw to full perfection brought. 
 O Pindar, oft shalt thou be hail'd of me : 
 Not that Apollo fed thee from his shrine ; 
 Not that thy lips drank sweetness from the bee ; 
 Nor yet that, studious of thy notes divine. 
 Pan danced their measure with the sylvan throng : 
 
 Verse 64. 3 Pindar was cotemporary with Aristides and Cimon , 
 in whom the glory of ancient Greece, was at its height. When Xer- 
 aes invaded Greece, Pindar was tnie to the common interest of his 
 countrj- ; though his fellow citizens, the Thebaiu, had sold them- 
 selves to the Persian kinsr. In one of his odes he expresses the trvrat 
 dist-ess and anxiety of his mind, occasioned by the vast preparations 
 of AVt against Greece {Isfhm.8.) In another he celebrates the 
 victories of Salamis, Plataa, and Himera. (Pylh. 1. ) It v. ill he 
 necessary to add two or three other particulars of bis life, real or 
 fabulous, in order to explain what follows in the text concerning him. 
 First then, he was thought to be so great a favourite of Ajtollo, that 
 the priests of that deity allotted him a constant share of their offer- 
 ings. It was said of him, as of some other illustrious men, that at 
 his birth a swarm of I)ees lighted on his lip, and fed him with their 
 honey. It was also a tradition concerning him, that Pan was heard 
 to recite his poetry, and seen dancing to own of his hj'mns on the 
 mountains near Thebes. But a real historit'al fact in his life is, that 
 the Thebans imposed a large fine ujwn him on account of the ven- 
 eration which he expressed in his poems for that heroic spirit, shewn 
 by the people of Athens in defence of the common liberty, which his 
 own fellw citizens had shamefidiy Ix-trayed. Au-i, as the argument 
 of this ode implies, that great poetical talents, and hi^h sentiments of 
 liberty, do reciprocally proflucc and asust each cthc , so Pindar is per- 
 haps the most exemplary proof of this connection, which occurs in 
 history. The Thebans were remarkable, in general, for a slavish dis- 
 position through all the fortunes of their common-wealth; at the 
 time of its ruin by Philip; and even in its best state, unier the ad- 
 ministration of Pe.'opidas and Fpaminondai : and e\eryone knows, 
 tliey were no less renr^rkable for gre.it dnltjess, and want of all gen- 
 ius. Tiiat Pindar should have equally distinguished himself from 
 tie re^t of hi-; fellow citizens in both these respect-, seems some- 
 what extraordinary, and is scarce to be accounted for but by the pre- 
 cediiig objervation.
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. ^7 
 
 But that thy song 70 
 
 Was proud to unfold 
 What thy base rulers trembled to behold ; 
 Amid corrupted Thebes was proud to tell 
 The deeds of Athens and the Persian shame : 
 Hence on thy head their impious vengeance fell. 
 
 But thou, faithful to thy fame> 
 
 The Muse's law didst rightly know ; 
 
 That who would animate his lays. 
 
 And other minds to virtue raise. 
 Must feel his own with all her spirit glow. 80 
 
 m. 1. 
 
 Are there, approved of later times. 
 Whose verse adorn'd a * tyrant's crimes ? 
 Who saw majestic Rome betray'd. 
 And lent the imperial ruffian aid ? 
 Alas ! not one polluted Bard, 
 No, not the strains that Mincius heard. 
 
 Or Tibur's hills replied. 
 Dare to the Muse's ear aspire ; 
 Save that, instructed by the Grecian lyre. 
 With Freedom's ancient notes their shameful task they 
 hide. 90 
 
 HI. 2. 
 Mark, how the tlread Pantheon stands, 
 
 Amid the domes of modern hands : 
 
 Amid the toys of idle state, 
 
 How simply, how severely great ! 
 
 Then turn, and, while each western clime 
 
 Present* her tuneful sons to Time, 
 
 So mark thou Milton's name ; 
 
 Octa^ianus Caesar.
 
 58 ODE XVIII. 
 
 And add, " Thus differs from the throng 
 " The spirit which inform'd thy awful song, 99 
 
 " Which bade thy potent voice protect * thy country's 
 " fame." 
 
 III. 3. 
 Yet hence barbaric zeal 
 His memory with unholy rage pursues : 
 
 While from these arduous cares of public weal 
 
 She bids each Bard begone, and rest him with his Muse. 
 
 O fool ! to think the man, whose ample mind 
 
 Must grasp at all that yonder stars survey ; 
 
 Must join the noblest Forms of every kind. 
 
 The world's most perfect image to diplay. 
 
 Can e'er his country's majesty behold. 
 
 Unmoved or cold ! 110 
 
 O fool ! to deem 
 
 That he, whose thought must visit every theme. 
 
 Whose heart must every strong emotion know 
 
 Inspired by IV'ature, or by Fortune taught ; 
 
 That he, if haply some presumptuous foe. 
 
 With false ignoble science fraught, 
 
 Shall spurn at Freedom's faithful band ; 
 
 That he their dear defence will shun. 
 
 Or hide their glories from the sun, 1 1 9 
 
 Or deal their vengeance with a woman's hand ! 
 
 IV. 1. 
 
 1 care not that in Arno's plain 
 
 Or on the sportive banks of Seine, 
 From public themes the Muse's quire, 
 
 Verse 100.] * Alluding to his Defence of tho people of England 
 against Salmasius. See particularly the manner in which he him- 
 self speaks of that undertaking;, in the introduction to his reply to 
 Jilorus,
 
 BOOK TWE first. . M 
 
 Content with polish'd ease retire. 
 
 Where priests the studious head command. 
 
 Where tyrants bow the warlike hand 
 
 To vile ambition's aim. 
 Say, what can public themes afford. 
 Save venal honours to a hateful lord, 129 
 
 Reserved for angry heaven and scorn'd of honest fame ? 
 
 IV. 2. 
 But here, where Fkeedom's equal throne 
 To all her valiant sons is known ; 
 Where, all are conscious of her cares. 
 And each the power that rules him, shares ; 
 Here let the Bard, whose dastard tongue 
 Leaves public arguments unsung. 
 
 Bid public praise farewel : 
 Let him to fitter climes remove. 
 Far from the hero's and the patriot's love, 139 
 
 And lull mysterious monks to slumber in their cell. 
 
 IV. 3. 
 
 O Hastings, not to all 
 Can ruling Heaven the same endowments lend : 
 
 Yet still doth Nature to her olispring call. 
 
 That to one general weal their different powers they 
 
 bend, 
 
 Unenvious. Thus alone, though strains divine 
 
 Inform the bosom of the Muse's son ; 
 
 Though with new honours the patrician's line 
 
 Advance from age to age ; yet thus alone 
 
 They win the suffrage of impartial fame. 
 
 * The poet's name 150 
 
 He best shall prove. 
 
 Whose lays the ouul with noblest passions move.
 
 60 ODE XVIII. 
 
 But thee, O progeny of heroes old. 
 
 Thee to severer toils thy fate requires : 
 
 The fate which form'd thfee in a chosen mould 
 
 The grateful country of thy sires. 
 
 Thee to sublimer paths demand ; 
 
 Subhmer than thy sires could trace. 
 
 Or thy own * Edward teach his race, 1 59 
 
 Though Gaul's proud Genius sank beneath his hand. 
 
 V. ]. 
 From rich domains and subject farms. 
 
 They led the rustic youth to arms ; 
 
 And kings their stern atchievements fear'd ; 
 
 While private strife their banners rear'd. 
 
 But loftier scenes to thee are shown. 
 
 Where empire's wideestablish'd throne 
 
 No private master fills : 
 
 Where, long foretold, the People reigns : 1 63 
 
 Where each a vassal's humble heart disdains ; 
 
 - And judgeth what he sees ; and, as he judgeth, wills. 
 
 V. 2. 
 Here, be it thine to calm and guide ; 
 
 The swelling democratic tide ; 
 
 To watch the state's uncertain frame. 
 
 And baffle Faction's partial aim : 
 
 But chiefly, with determin'd zeal. 
 
 To quell that servile band, who kneel 
 
 To freedom's banish'd foes ; 
 
 That monster, which is daily found 178 
 
 Expert and bold thy country's peace to wound ; 
 
 Yet dreads to handle arms, nor manly counsel knows. 
 
 Verse 159.3 * Edviiard the third ; from whom descended ILmri/ 
 Hastings, third Earl of Huntingdon, hy the daughter of the Duke of 
 Clarence, brother to Ednard the Fourth.
 
 BOOK THE FIRSJ. 1 
 
 V. 3. 
 'Tis highest Heaven's command. 
 
 That guilty aims should sordid paths pursue ; 
 
 That what ensnares the heart should maim the hand. 
 
 And virtue's worthless foes be false to glory too. 
 
 But look on Freedom. See, through every age. 
 
 What labours, perils, griefs, hath she disdain'd ! 
 
 What arms, what regal pride, what priestly rage, 
 
 , Have her dread offspring conquer'd or sustain'd ! 
 
 For Albion well have conquer'd. Let the strains 
 
 Of happy swains, 190 
 
 Which now resound 
 
 Where *Scarsdale's cliffs the swelling pastures bound. 
 
 Bear witness. There, oft let the farmer hail 
 
 The sacred orchard which embowers his gate. 
 
 And shew to strangers passing down the vale. 
 
 Where Candish, Booth, and Osborne sate ; 
 
 When bursting from their country's chain. 
 
 Even in the midst of deadly harms. 
 
 Of papal snares and lawless arms. 
 
 They p'jnn'd for Freedom this her noblest reign. 200 
 
 \T. 1 . 
 
 Tljis reign, these laws, this public care. 
 
 Which Nassau gave us all to share. 
 Had ne'er adorn'd the English name, 
 Could Fear have silenced iTcedom's claim. 
 But Fear in vain attempts to bind 
 Those lofty efforts of the mind 
 
 V. 191.] At irkitlii's'on, a village on the cJg<^ ut Scarsdale in 
 Derbifshire, the Earls of Devomhlre an<\ Danbij, with the Lord Del- 
 amerc, privately concerted the plan of the Revolution. The house 
 in which they met is at present a Farm-bousie, and the countrj' peo- 
 ple tlistinguish the room where they sat, by the name of the plotiin^ 
 parlour. 
 
 Ff
 
 62 ODE XVIII. 
 
 Which social good, inspires ; 
 Where men, for this, assault a throne. 
 Each adds the common welfare to his own ; 209 
 
 And each unconquer'd heart the strength of all acquires. 
 
 VI. 2. 
 Say, was it thus, when late we view'd 
 Our fields in civil blood imbrued ? 
 WTien fortune crown'd the barbarous host. 
 And half the astonish'd isle was lost ? 
 Did one of all their vaunting train. 
 Who dare affront a peaceful reign. 
 
 Durst one in arms appear ? 
 Durst one in counsels pledge his life ? 
 Stake his luxurious fortunes in the strife ? 219 
 
 Or lend his boasted name his vagrant friends to cheer ? 
 
 VI. 3. 
 Ytt, Hastings, these are they 
 Who challenge to themselves thy country's lovej 
 The true ; the constant : who alone can weigh. 
 What glory should demand, or liberty approve ! 
 But let their works declare them. Thy free powers. 
 The generous powers of thy prevailing mind. 
 Not for the tasks of their confederate hours, 
 I.ewd brawls and lurking slander, were design'd. 
 Be thou thy own approver. Honest praise 
 
 Oft nobly sways 230 
 
 Ingenuous youth : 
 But sought from cowards and the lying mouth. 
 Praise is reproach. Eternal God alone 
 For mortals fixeth that sublime award. 
 He, from the faithful records of his throne. 
 Bids the Historian and the Bard
 
 BOOKTHEFIRST. 63 
 
 Dispose of honour and of scorn ; ' 
 Discern the patriot from the slave ; 
 And write the Good, the Wise, the Brave, 
 For lssons to the multitude unborn. 240 
 
 THE END OF BOOK THE FIRST.
 
 ODES, 
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 II iLiiji DC iTci I ! 
 
 O D E I. 
 
 THE REMONSTRANCE OF SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 Supposed to have been spoken at the Theatre Royal, 
 while the French Comedians were acting by Subscription. 
 
 MDCCXLIX. 
 
 If, yet regardful of your native land. 
 
 Old Shakespeare's tongue you deign to understand, 
 
 Lo, from the blissful bowers where Heaven rewards 
 
 Instructive sages and unblemished bards, 
 
 I come, the ancient founder of the stage. 
 
 Intent to learn, in this discerning age. 
 
 What form of wit your fancies have embraced. 
 
 And whither tends your elegance of taste. 
 
 That thus at length our homely toils you spurn. 
 
 That thus to foreign scenes you proudly turn, 10 
 
 That from my brow the laurel wreath you claim 
 
 To crown the rivals of your country's fame. 
 
 What, though the footsteps of my devious Muse 
 The measured walks of Grecian art refuse ; 
 Or though the frankness of my hardy style 
 Mock the nice touches of the critic's file ? 
 Yet, what my age and climate held to view. 
 Impartial I survey'd, and fearless drew.
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 65 
 
 And say, ye skilful in the human heart. 
 Who know to prize a Poet's noblest part, 20 
 
 What age, what clime, could e'er an ampler field 
 For lofty thought, for daring fancy, yield ? 
 I saw this England break the shameful bands 
 Forged for the souls of men by sacred hands : 
 I saw each groaning realm her aid implore ; 
 Her sons the heroes of each warlike shore ; 
 Her NAVAL STANDARD (the dire Spaniard's [)ane) 
 Obey'd through all the circuit of the main. 
 Then too great commerce, for a late-found world. 
 Around your coast her eager sails unfurl'd : 30 
 
 New hopes, new passions, thence the bosom fired ; 
 New plans, new arts, the genius thence inspired ; 
 Thence, every scene which private fortune knows. 
 In stronger life, with bolder spirit, rose. 
 
 Disgraced I this full prospect which I drew ? 
 My colours languid, or my strokes untrue ? 
 Have not your sages, warriors, swains, and kings, 
 Confess'd the living draught of men and things ? 
 What other Bard in any clime appears 
 Alike the master of your smiles and tears ? 40 
 
 Yet have I deigii'd your audience to entice 
 With wretched bribes to luxury and vice ? 
 Or have my various scenes a purpose known 
 Which Freedom, Virtue, Glory, might not own ? 
 
 Such from the first was my dramatic plan ; 
 
 It should be yours to crown what 1 began : 
 
 And now that England spurns her Gothic chain. 
 
 And equal laws and social science reign, 
 
 I thought. Now surely shall my zealous eyes 
 
 View nobler Bards and juster Critics rise, 50 
 
 Ff2
 
 66 O D E I. 
 
 Intent with learned labour to refine 
 
 ITie copious ore of Albion's native Mine, 
 
 Our stately Muse more graceful airs to teachy 
 
 And fonn her tongue to more attractive speech,^ 
 
 Till rival nations listen at her feet. 
 
 And own her polish'd as they own'd her great. 
 
 But do you thus my favourite hopes fulfil ? 
 Is France at last the standard of your skill ? 
 Alas for you ! that so betray a mind 
 Of art unconscious and to beauty blind. 60 
 
 Say ; does her language your ambition raise. 
 Her barren, trivial, unharraonious phrase. 
 Which fetters eloquence to scantiest bounds. 
 And maims the cadence of poetic sounds ? 
 Say ; does your humble admiration chuse 
 The gentle prattle of her Comic Muse, 
 While wits, plain-dealers, fops, and fools appear. 
 Charged to say nought but what the king may hear ? 
 Or rather melt your sympathizing hearts 
 Won by her tragic scene's romantic arts, 70 
 
 Where old and young declaim on soft desire. 
 And heroes never, but for love, expire ? 
 
 No. Though the charms of novelty, awhile. 
 Perhaps too fondly win your thoughtless smile. 
 Yet not for you design'd indulgent fate 
 The modes or manners of the Bourbon state. 
 And ill your minds ray partial judgment reads. 
 And many an augury my hope misleads. 
 If the fair maids of yonder blooming train 
 To their light courtship would an audience deign, 80 
 Or those chaste matrons, a Parisian luife 
 Chuse for the model of domestic life ;
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 67 
 
 Or if one youth of all that generous band, 
 llie strength and splendor of their native land. 
 Would yield his portion of his country's fame. 
 And quit old Fheedom's patrimonial claim. 
 With lying smiles oppression's pomp to see. 
 And judge of glory by a king's decree. 
 
 O blest at home with justly-envied laws, 
 O long the chiefs of Europe's general cause, 90 
 
 Whom Heaven hath chosen at each dangerous hour 
 To check the inroads of barbaric power. 
 The rights of trampled nations to reclaim. 
 And guard the social world from bonds and shame ; 
 Oh let not luxury's fantastic charms 
 Thus give the lie to your heroic arms : 
 Nor for the ornaments of life, embrace 
 Dishonest lessons from that vaunting race. 
 Whom fate's dread laws (for, in eternal fate 
 Despotic rule uas heir to freedom's hate) 10(J 
 
 Whom in each warlike, each commercial part. 
 In civil counsel, and in pleasing art. 
 The judge of earth predestined for your foes. 
 And made it fame and virtue to oppose. 104- 
 
 ODE II. 
 
 TO S L E E P. 
 
 I. 
 
 X HOU SILENT powEK, whose welcome sway 
 Charms every anxious thought away j 
 In whose divine oblivion drown'd 
 Sore pain and weary toil grow mild,
 
 (i8 ODE 11. 
 
 Love is with kinder looks beguiled, 
 And grief forgets her fondly-cherish'd wound; 
 Oh whither hast thou flown, indulgent god ? 
 God of kind shadows and of healing dews. 
 Whom dost thou touch with thy Lethaean rod i 
 Around whose temples now thy opiate airs diffuse ? 10 
 
 II. 
 
 Lo, midnight from her starry reign 
 
 Looks awful down on earth and main. 
 
 The tuneful birds lie hush'd in sleep. 
 
 With all that crop the verdant food. 
 
 With all that skim the crystal flood. 
 Or haunt the caverns of the rocky steep. 
 No rushing winds disturb the tufted bowers ; 
 No wakeful sound the moon-light valley knows. 
 Save where the brook its liquid murmur pours, 1 9 
 And lulls the waving scene lo more profound repose. 
 
 III. 
 Oh let not me alone complain, 
 
 Alone invoke thy power in vain ! 
 
 Descend, propitious, on my eyes ; 
 
 Not from the couch that bears a crown. 
 
 Not from the courtly statesman's down. 
 Nor where the miser and his treasure lies : 
 Bring not the shapes that break the murderer's rest. 
 Nor those the hireling soldier loves lo see, 2S 
 
 Nor those which haunt the bigot's gloomy breast : 
 Far be their guilty nights, and far their dreams from me ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Nor yet those awful forms present. 
 
 For chiefs and heroes only meant : 
 The figured brass, the choral song,.
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 69 
 
 The rescued people's glad applause. 
 
 The listening senate, and the laws 
 Fix'd by the counsels of * Timoleon's tongue. 
 Are scenes too grand for fortune's private ways ; 
 And though they shine in youth's ingenuous view, 
 The sober gainful arts of modern days 
 To such romantic thoughts have bid a long adieu . 40 
 
 V. 
 
 I ask not, God of dreams, thy care 
 
 To banish Love's presentments fair : 
 
 Nor rosy cheek nor radiant eye 
 
 Can arm him with such strong command 
 
 That the young sorcerer's fatal hand 
 Should round my soul his pleasing fetters tie. 
 Nor yet the courtiers hope, the giving smile 
 (A lighter phantom, and a baser chain) 
 Did e'er in slum!)er my proud lyre l)eguile 49 
 
 To lend the pomp of thronps her ill-according strain. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But Morpheus, on thy balmy wing. 
 
 Such honourable visions bring. 
 
 As sooth'd great Milton's injured age. 
 
 When in prophetic dreams he saw 
 
 The race unborn with pious awe 
 Imbibe each virtue from his heavenly page : 
 Or such as Mead's benignant fancy knows 
 When health's deep treasures, by his art explored. 
 Have saved the infant from an orphan's woes. 
 Or to the trembling sire his age's hope restored. (JO 
 
 After Timolcon bad delivered Syracuse from the tyranny of Dio- 
 nyjiius, the people on every iinpf)rtant delilwration sent for him into 
 the public a^icoibly, asked his advice, and voted according to i^ 
 
 PlLTARCa.
 
 7'0 
 
 ODE III. 
 
 TO THE CUCKOW. 
 
 K} rustic herald of the spring. 
 At length in yonder woody vale 
 Fast by the brook I hear thee sing ; 
 And studious of thy homely tale. 
 Amid the vespers of the grove. 
 Amid the chaunting choir of love. 
 
 Thy sage responses hail. 7 
 
 II. 
 
 The time has been when I have frown'd 
 
 To hear thy voice the woods invade ; 
 And while thy solemn accent drown'd 
 Some sweeter poet of the shade^ 
 Thus, thought I, thus the sons of care 
 Some constant youth or generous fair 
 
 With dull advice upbraid. It 
 
 III. 
 I said. ". While Philomela's song 
 
 " Proclaims the passion of the grove, 
 
 " It ill beseems a Cuckow's tongue 
 
 " Her charming language to reprove" 
 
 Alas, how much a lover's ear 
 
 Hates all the sober truth to hear. 
 
 The sober truth of love ! 21 
 
 IV. 
 
 When hearts are in each other bless'd, 
 
 When nought but lofty faith can rule
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 71 
 
 The nymph's and swain's consenting breast. 
 How CucKow-LiKE in Cupid's school. 
 With store of grave prudential saws. 
 On fortune's power and custom's laws. 
 
 Appears each friendly fool ! 28 
 
 V. 
 
 Yet think betimes, ye gentle train 
 
 Whom love, and hope, and fancy, sway. 
 Who every harsher care disdain. 
 Who by the morning judge the day j 
 Think, that in April's fairest hours, 
 - To warbling shades and painted flowers 
 
 The Ct'CKOw joins his lay. 5:5 
 
 ODE IV. 
 
 TO THE 
 
 HONOURABLE CHARLES TOWNSHEND 
 
 IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 M D C C L. 
 
 L 1. 
 
 How oft shall I survey 
 Tliis humble roof, the lawn, the greenwood shade, 
 
 Tlie vale with sheaves o'erspread, 
 TTie glassy brook, tlie flocks which round thee stray ? 
 
 When will thy cheerful mind 
 Of these have utter'd all her dear esteem ? 
 
 Or, tell me, dost thou deem
 
 72 ODE IV. 
 
 No more to join in glory's toilsome racj, 
 
 But here content embrac-e 
 That happy leisure which thou had'st rcsign'd ? 10 
 
 I. 2. 
 Alas, ye happy hours, 
 
 Wlien books and youthful sport the soul could share, 
 
 Ere one ambitious care 
 Of civil life had awed her simpler powers; 
 
 Oft as your winged train 
 Revisit here my friend in white array. 
 
 Oh fail not to display 
 Each fairer scene where I perchance had part. 
 
 That so his generous heart 
 The abode of even friendship may remain. 20 
 
 I. 3. 
 
 For not imprudent of my loss to come, 
 
 I saw from contemplation's quiet cell 
 His feet ascending to another home 
 Where public praise and envied greatness dwell. 
 But shall we therefore, O my lyre. 
 Reprove ambition's best desire ? 
 Extinguish glory's flame ? 
 Far other was the task enjoin'd 28 
 
 When to my hand thy strings were first assign'd : 
 Far other faith belongs to friendship's honour'd name. 
 
 II. I. 
 Thee Townshend, not the arras 
 
 Of slumbering ease, nor pleasure's rosy chain. 
 
 Were destined to detain : 
 No, nor bright science, nor the Muse's charms. 
 
 For them high Heaven prepares 
 Their proper votaries, an humbler Band ;
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 73 
 
 And ne'er would Spenser's hand 
 Have deign'd to strike the warbling Tuscan shell. 
 
 Nor Harrington to tell 
 What hebit an immortal city wears, 40 
 
 II. 2. 
 Had THIS, been born to shield 
 
 The cause which Cromwell's impious hand betray'd> 
 
 Or THAT, like Verb, display'd 
 His red -cross banner o'er the Belgian field. 
 
 Yet where the will divine 
 Hath shut those loftiest paths, it next remains, 
 
 With Reason, clad in strains 
 Of Harmony, selected minds to inspire. 
 
 And Virtue's living fire 
 To feed and eternize in hearts like thine. JO 
 
 II. 3. 
 For never shall the herd, whom envy sways. 
 
 So quell my purpose, or my tongue control. 
 
 That I should fear illustrious Worth to praise. 
 
 Because its master's friendship moved my soul. 
 
 Yet, if this undissembling strain 
 
 Should now perhaps thine ear detain 
 
 With any pleasing sound. 
 
 Remember thou that righteous Fame 
 
 From hoary Age a strict account will claim 50 
 
 Of each auspicious palm with which thy Youth was 
 
 crown'd. 
 
 m. 1. 
 
 Nor obvious is the way 
 Where Heaven expects thee, nor the traveller leads. 
 
 Through flowers on fragrant meads. 
 Or groves that hark to Philomela's lay.
 
 74. ODE IV. ^ 
 
 The impartial laws of fate 
 To ivohler virtues wed severer cares. 
 
 Is there a man who shares 
 The summit next where heavenly natures dwell ? 
 
 Ask him (for he can tell) 69 
 
 What storms beat round that rough laborious height. 
 
 III. 2. 
 Ye heroes, who of old 
 
 Did generous England freedom's throne ordain j 
 
 From Alfred's parent reign 
 To Nassau, great deliverer, wise and boldj 
 
 I know your perils hard. 
 Your wounds your painful marches, wintry seas. 
 
 The night estranged from ease. 
 The day by cowardice and falsehood vex'd. 
 
 The head with doubt perplex'd, 79 
 
 The indignant heart disdaining the reward, 
 
 III. 3. 
 Which envy hardly grants. But, O kenown, 
 
 O praise from judging Heaven and virtuous men, 
 
 ]f thus they purchased thy divinest crown, 
 
 Say, who shall hesitate ? or who complain ? 
 
 And now they sit on thrones above : 
 
 And when among the gods they move 
 
 Before the Sovran mind 
 
 " Lo these," he saith, *' lo, these are tnty 
 
 " Who to the laws of mine eternal sway 8i> 
 
 " From violence and fear asserted human kind." 
 
 IV. 1. 
 Thus honour'd, while the train 
 
 Of LEGisLATous in his presence dwell ; 
 
 If I may aught foretel.
 
 B00KTHE3EC0ND. 75 
 
 The STATESMAN shall the second palm obtain. 
 
 For dreadful deeds of arms 
 Let vulgar Bards, with undiscerning praise. 
 
 More glittering trophies raise: 
 But wisest Heaven what deeds may chiefly move 
 
 To favour and to love ? 99 
 
 .What, save wide blessings, or averted harms ? 
 
 IV. 2. 
 
 Nor to the embatiled field 
 
 Shall these atchievments of the peaceful gotvn 
 
 The green immortal crown 
 Of Valour, or the songs of Conquest, yield. 
 
 Not Fairfax wildly bold. 
 While bare of crest he hew'd his fatal way, 
 
 Through Nasesby's firm array. 
 To heavier dangers did his breast oppose. 
 
 Than Pym's free virtue chose. 
 When the proud force of Strafford he control'd. 10) 
 
 IV. 3. 
 But what is man, at enmity with truth ? 
 
 What were the fruits of Wextwouth's copious mind 
 
 When (blighted all the promise of his youth) 
 
 The patriot in a tyrant's league had join'd ? 
 
 l^t Ireland's loud-lamenting plains, 
 
 Let Tyne's and Humber's trampled swains. 
 
 Let menaced London tell, 
 
 I low impious Guile made Wisdom base; 
 
 How generous Zeal to cruel Rage gave place ; 119 
 
 And how unbless'd he lived, and how dishonour'd fell. 
 
 V. 1. 
 Thence never hath the Muse 
 
 Around his tomb Pierian roses flung;
 
 76 O D E IV. 
 
 Nor shall one poet's tongue 
 His name for music's pleasing labour chuse. 
 
 And sure, when Nature kind 
 Hath deck'd some favour'd breast above the throng. 
 
 That man with grievous wrong 
 AiFronts and wounds his genius, if he bends 
 
 To guilt's ignoble ends 12St 
 
 The functions of his ill -submitting mind. 
 
 V. 2. 
 For worthy of the wise 
 
 Nothing can seem but virtue ; nor earth yield 
 
 Their fame an equal field. 
 Save where, impartial, freedom gives the prize. 
 
 There Someus fix'd his name, 
 InroH'd the next to William. There shall Time 
 
 To every wondering clime 
 Point out that Somers, who from Faction's crowd. 
 
 The slanderous and the loud, 139 
 
 Could fair assent and modest reverence claim. 
 
 V. 3. 
 
 Nor aught did laws or social arts acquire. 
 
 Nor this majestic weal of Albion's land 
 Did aught accomplish, or to aught aspire. 
 Without HIS guidance, his superior hand 
 And rightly shall the Muse's care 
 Wreaths like her own for him prepare. 
 
 Whose mind's inamour'd aim 
 Could Forms of civil beauty draw. 
 Sublime as ever sage or poet saw, i+f) 
 
 Yet still to life's rude scene the proud ideas tame. 
 
 VI. I. 
 Let none prophane be near ! 
 The Muse was never foreign to his breast :
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 77 
 
 On power's grave seat confess'd. 
 Still to her voice he bent a lover's ear. 
 
 And if the blessed know 
 Their antient cares, even now the unfading groves. 
 
 Where haply Milton roves 
 With Spenser, hear the inchanted echoes round 
 
 Through farthest heaven resound 
 Wise SOMERS, guardian of their fame belovr. 1 60 
 
 VI. 2. 
 Hb knew, the patriot knew, 
 
 ITiat LETTERS and the Muse's powerful art 
 
 Exalt the ingenuous heart. 
 And brighten every form of Just and True. 
 
 They lend a nobler sway 
 To civil wisdom, than corruption's lure 
 
 Could ever yet procure : 
 They too from envy's pale malignant light 
 
 Conduct her forth to sight 
 Cloth'd in the fairest colours of the day. 170 
 
 VI. 3. 
 O Townshend ! thus may Time, the judge severe. 
 Instruct my happy tongue of thee to tell : 
 And when I speak of one to fiieedom dear. 
 For planning wisely and for acting well. 
 Of one whom gloky loves to own. 
 Who still by liberal means alone 
 Hath liberal ends pursued ; 
 Then, for the guerdon of my lay, 178 
 
 "This rnan with faithful friendship," will I say, 
 " From youth to honour'd age my arts and mc hath 
 "view'd." 
 
 Gg2 '
 
 78 
 
 O D E V. 
 
 ON LOVE OF PRAISE. 
 
 I. 
 
 \JF all the springs within the mind 
 Which prompt her steps in fortune's maze. 
 
 From none more pleasing aid we find 
 Than from the genuine love of Pkaise. 4 
 
 ir. 
 
 Nor any partial, private end 
 
 Such reverence to the public bears ; 
 Nor any passion, virtue's friend. 
 
 So like to virtue's self appeal's. 3 
 
 III. 
 
 For who in glory can delight 
 
 Without delight in glorious deeds ? 
 What man a charming voice can slight. 
 
 Who courts the echo that succeeds ? 12 
 
 IV. 
 But not the echo on the voice 
 
 More, than on Virtue, praise depends ; 
 
 To which of course, its real price 
 
 The judgement of the praiser lends. 1 > 
 
 V. 
 
 If PRAISE then, with religious awe. 
 
 From the sole perfect judge be sought, 
 
 A nobler aim, a purer law 
 
 Nor Priest, nor Bard, nor Sage hath taught. 20 
 
 VI. 
 
 With which in character the same,
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 79 
 
 Tlio* in an humbler sphere it lies, 
 I count that soul of human Fame, 
 The suffrage of the good and wise. 2* 
 
 ODE VL 
 
 TO WILLIAM HALL, ESQUIRE: 
 
 WITH THE WORKS OF CHAULIEU- 
 
 I. 
 
 Attend to Chauueu's wanton lyre j 
 While, fluent as the sky-lark sings 
 When first the morn allures its wings. 
 The EPICURE his theme pursues : 
 And tell me if, among the choir 
 Whose music charms the banks of Seine, 
 So full, so free, so rich a strain 
 
 E'er dictated the warbling Muse. 3 
 
 II. 
 Yet Hall, while thy judicious ear 
 
 Admires the well-dissembled art 
 
 That can such harmony impart 
 
 To the lame pace of Gallic rhymes ; 
 
 While wit from atfectation clear. 
 
 Bright images, and passions true. 
 
 Recall to thy assenting view 
 
 The envied bards of nobler times j 1 6 
 
 III. 
 Say, is not oft his doctrine wrong ? 
 
 This priest of Pleasure, who aspires 
 
 To lead us to her sacred fires, 
 
 W. Hall was the author of some witty, but licentious iX)Cin=; 
 which makes thig ode appropriate. E.
 
 80 O D E VI. 
 
 Knows he the ritual of her shrine; 
 
 Say, (her sweet influence to thy song 
 
 So may the goddess still afford) 
 
 Doth she consent to be adored 
 
 With shameless lovs dSidi frantic wine^ 2 If 
 
 IV. 
 
 Nor Cato, nor Chrysip{)U8 here 
 
 Need we in high indignant phrase 
 
 From their Elysian quiet raise j 
 
 But Pleasure's oracle alone 
 
 Consult J attentive, not severe. 
 
 O Pleasure I we blaspheme not thee ; 
 
 Nor emulate the rigid knee 
 
 Which bends but at the Stoic throne. 52 
 
 V. 
 
 We own had Fate to man assign'd 
 
 Nor sense, nor wish but what obey 
 
 Or Venus soft or Bacchus gay. 
 
 Then might our bakd's voluptuous creed 
 
 Most aptly govern human-kind : 
 
 Unless perchance what he hath sung 
 
 Of tortured joints and nerves unstrung. 
 
 Some nr angling heretic should plead. 40 
 
 VI. 
 
 But now with all these proud desires 
 
 For dauntless Truth and honest Famey 
 
 With that strong master of our frame, 
 
 TTie inexorable judge xvithin, 
 
 What can be done .' Alas, ye fires 
 
 Of love; alas, ye rosy smiles. 
 
 Ye nectar'd cups from happier soils, 
 
 Ye have no bribe his grace to win. 48
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. %l 
 
 ODE VII. 
 
 TO THE RIGHT REVEREND 
 
 BENJAMIN LORD BISHOP OF 
 WINCHESTER. 
 
 MDCCLIV. 
 
 I. 1. 
 
 Jr OR toils which patriots have endured. 
 For treason quell'd and laws secured, 
 In every nation Time displays 
 The palm of honourable praise. 
 Envy may rail ; and Faction fierce 
 May strive : but what, alas, can those 
 (The' bold, yet blind and sordid foes) 
 To Gratitude and Love oppose. 
 To faithful story, and persuasive verse ? 9* 
 
 I. 2. 
 O nurse of freedom, Albion, say, 
 
 ITjou tamer of despotic sway. 
 
 What man, among thy sons around. 
 
 Thus heir to glory hast thou found ? 
 
 What page, in all thy annals bright. 
 
 Hast thou with purer joy suney'd 
 
 Thati that where truth, by HOADLEY'S aid. 
 
 Shines through imposture's solemn shade. 
 
 Through kingly and through sacerdotal night r 18- 
 
 I. 3. 
 To him the Teacher bless 'd. 
 
 Who sent religion, from the palmy field
 
 82 ODE vrr. 
 
 By Jordan like the mo^n to cheer the wesf. 
 
 And lifted up the veil which heaven from earth con- 
 ceal'd. 
 To HoADLT thus his mandate he addressed : 
 " Go thou^ and rescue my dishonour'd law 
 " From hands rapacious and from tongues impure : 
 " Let not my peaceful name be made a lure 
 " Fell persecution's mortal snares to aid : 
 " Let not my words be impious chains to draw 
 " The freeborn soul in more than brutal awe, 29 
 " To FAITH without assent, allegiance unrepaid." 
 
 n. I. 
 No cold or unperforming hand 
 
 Was arm'd by Heaven with this command. 
 
 The world soon fell it ; and, on high. 
 
 To William's ear with welcome joy 
 
 Did * Locke among the blest unfold 
 
 The rising hope of Hoadley's name. 
 
 GoDOLPHiN then confirm'd the same ; 
 
 And Somers, when from earth he came, 3 
 
 And generous Stanhope the fair sequel told. 
 
 II. 2. 
 Then drew the lawgivers around, 
 
 (Sires of the Grecian name renown'd) 
 
 And listening ask'd, and wondering knew 
 
 What private force could thus subdue 
 
 The vulgar and the great combined ; 
 
 * V. 55.3 Mr. Loche A'iqA in 1704, when Mr. IloatU;/ was be- 
 j^inning to distinguish himself in the cause of civil and religious lib- 
 erty: Lord Godolpkin ill 1712, when the doctrines of the Jacobite 
 faction s\ere chiefly favoured by those in power : Lord Somers in 
 1716, amid the practices of the nonjurinj clergy against the pro- 
 testant establishment ; and Lord Stan/wpe in 1721, during the con- 
 troversy with the lower house of convocation.
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 89, 
 
 Oould war with sacred folly wage ; 
 Could a whole nation disengage 
 From the dread bonds of many an age. 
 And lo new habits mould the public mind. 48 
 
 II. 3. 
 
 For not a conqueror's sword. 
 
 Nor the strong powers to civil founders known, 
 Were his : but Truth by faithful search explored 
 And social sense, like seed, in genial plenty sown. 
 Wherever it took root, the soul (restored 
 To freedom) freedom too for others sought. 
 Not monkish craft the tyrant's claim divine. 
 Not regal zeal the bigot's cruel shrine 
 Could longer guard from reason's warfare sage; 
 Not the tuild rabhk to sedition wrought. 
 Nor Synods by the papal Genius taught, 
 >s'or St. John's spirit loose, nor Atterbury's rage. 60 
 
 III. I . 
 
 But where shall recompenc6 be found ? 
 Or how such arduous merit crown'd ? 
 For look on life's laborious scene : 
 What nigged spaces lie between 
 Adventurous virtue's early toils 
 And her triumphal throne ! The shade 
 Of death, mean time, does oft invade 
 Iler progress ; nor, to us display'd. 
 Wears the bright Heuoine her expected spoils. G9 
 
 III. 2. 
 Yet bom to conquer is her power : 
 
 .0 HoADLY, if that favourite hour 
 
 On earth arrive, with thankful awe 
 
 We own just Heaven's indulgent law.
 
 4 ODE VMl. 
 
 And proBdly thy success behold ; 
 We attend thy reverend length of days 
 With benediction and with praise. 
 And hail thee in our public ways 
 Like some great spirit famed in ages old. 78 
 
 III. 3. 
 While thus our vows prolong 
 
 Thy steps on earth, and when by us resign 'd 8 1 
 
 Thou join'st thy seniors, that heroic throng 
 
 Who rescued or preserved the rights of human -kind, 
 O ! not unworthy may thy Albion's tongue 
 ITiee still, her friend and benefactor, name : 
 O ! never, Hoadly, in thy country's eyes. 
 May impious gold, or pleasure's gaudy prize. 
 Make public virtue, public Jreedom, vile ; 
 Nor our own manners tempt us to disclaim 
 That HERITAGE, our noblest wealth and fame. 
 
 Which THOU hast kept entire from Force and Faction's 
 guile. 90 
 
 ODE VIII. 
 
 > I. 
 
 If rightly tuneful Bards decide. 
 If it be fix'd in Love's decrees. 
 
 That Beauty ought not to be tried 
 But by its native power to please. 
 
 Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell. 
 
 What fair can Amoret excel ?
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 85 
 
 II. 
 
 Behold that bright unsuHied smile. 
 
 And wisdom speaking in her mien : 
 Yet (she so artless all the whik. 
 
 So little studious to be seen) 
 We nought but instant gladness know, 
 Nor think to whom the gift we owe. 1 2 
 
 III. 
 But neither music, nor the powers 
 
 Oi youth and mirth and frolic cheer, 
 Add half that sunshine to the hours. 
 
 Or make life's prospect half so clear, 
 As memory brings it to the eye 
 IVom scenes where Amoret was by. I S 
 
 IV. 
 Yet not a Satirist could there 
 
 Or fault or indiscretion find ; 
 Nor any prouder Sage declare 
 
 One virtue, pictured in his mind. 
 Whose Form with lovelier colours glows 
 Than Amoret's demeanor shows. 2 } 
 
 V. 
 
 This sure is Beauty's happiest part : 
 
 This gives the most unbounded sway : 
 7'///* shall inchant the subject heart 
 
 W'iicn rose and lily fade away; 
 And she be still, in spite of time, 
 iSweet Amop.et in all her prime. CO 
 
 !Ih
 
 8(5 
 
 ODE IX. 
 
 AT STUDY. 
 
 I. 
 
 Whither aid my fancy stray ? 
 By what magic drawn away 
 
 Have I left my studious theme ? 
 From the philo?oi>hic i>age, 
 From the ))roblcniH of the sage. 
 
 Wandering tln-o' a pleasing dream ? 
 
 IT. 
 
 *Tis in vain, alas ! I find. 
 Much in vain, my zealous mind 
 
 Would to learned W^isdom's throne 
 Dedicate each thoughtful hour : 
 Nature bids a softer power 
 
 Claim some inimitcs for hi-s own. ii' 
 
 HI. 
 
 Let the bii^y or the wise 
 
 View him with contemptuous eyes j 
 
 Lovr. is native to the heart : 
 Guide its wishes as you will ; 
 Without [,ovi: you'll hud it still 
 
 Void in one essential part. IS 
 
 IV. 
 
 Me, though no peculiar fair 
 Touches with a lover's cart ; 
 
 'I'hough the pride of my desire 
 Asks immortal friendship's name, 
 Afcks ihc palm of honest fame, 
 
 And the old heroic lyre ; 24
 
 BOOK THE SECOND, 87 
 
 V. 
 Though the day have smoothly gone. 
 
 Or to letter' d leisure known. 
 
 Or in social duty spent ; 
 Yet at eve my lonely breast 
 Seeks in vain for perfect rest ; 
 
 Languishes fur true content. 30 
 
 O D E X. 
 
 T O 
 THOMAS EDWARDS, ESQUIRE: 
 
 ON THE LATE EDITION OF 
 
 MR. POPE'S WORKS. 
 MDCCLI. 
 I. 
 
 IjELIEVE me, Edwards, to restrain 
 The licence of a railer's tongue 
 Is what but seldom men obtain 
 By sense or wit, by prose or song : 
 A task for more Herculean powers, 
 Nor suited to the sacred hours 
 Of leisure in the Muse's bowers. 
 
 H. 
 In bowers where laurel weds with palm, 
 
 The Muse, the blameless queen, resides : 
 
 Fair Fame attends, and Wisdom calm 
 
 Her eloquence harmonious guides : 
 
 While, shut for ever from her gate.
 
 88 OBEX. 
 
 Oft trying, still repining, wait 
 
 Fierce Envy and calumnious Hate. 14 
 
 III. 
 Who then from her delightful bounds 
 
 Would step one moment forth to heed 
 
 What impotent and savage sounds 
 
 From their unhappy mouths proceed ? 
 
 No : rather Spenxer's lyre again 
 
 Prepare, and let thy "pious strain 
 
 For Pope's dishonoured shade complain. 2 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 Tell how displeased was every Bard, 
 
 When lately in the Elysian grove 
 
 They of his Muse's guardian heard> 
 
 His delegate to fame above; 
 
 And what with one accord they said 
 
 Of wit in drooping age misled. 
 
 And Warburton's officious aid : * 28^ 
 
 V. 
 
 How Virgil mourn'd the sordid fate 
 
 To that melodious lyre assigned 
 Beneath a tutor who so late 
 With Midas and his rout combined 
 By spiteful clamor to confound 
 
 * v. 2S. During Mr. Pope's war with TheohaTd, Coneanen, ami 
 the rest of their tribe, Mr. [i'arburtnn, the present Lord Bishop ui 
 GlouceUer,A'n\ with great zeal cultivate their friendship; havin;,- 
 been introduced, forsooth, at the meetings of that respectable con- 
 federacy : a favour which he afterwards spoke of in very high terms 
 of complacency and thankfulness. At the same time in liis inter- 
 co'irse with them he treated Mr. Pope in a most contemptuous man- 
 ner, and as a writer witho\it p;enius. Of the truth of these assertions 
 his Lordship can have fjO doubt, if he recollect bis own correspond- 
 ence with Coneanen ; a part of which is still in beinir, and will ptii. 
 bably be remembered an long as any of this prelate's writings.
 
 BOOK THE SECOND 89 
 
 That very lyre's enchanting sound. 
 
 Though listening realms admired around : 35 
 
 VI. 
 How Horace own'd he thought the fire 
 
 Of his friend Pope's satiric line 
 
 Did farther fuel scarce require 
 
 From such a militant divine : 
 
 How Milton scorn'd the sophist vain 
 
 Wlio durst approach his hallowM strain 
 
 With unwash'd hands and lips profane. 42 
 
 VII. 
 Then Siiakespeahe debonnair and mild 
 
 Erought that strange comment forth to view j 
 
 Conceits more deep, he said and smiled. 
 
 Than his own fools or madmen knew ; 
 
 Rut thank'd a. generous friend above. 
 
 Who did with free adventurous love 
 
 Such pageants from his tomb remove. 49 
 
 VIII. 
 And if to Pope, in equal need. 
 The same kind office thou would'st pay. 
 Then Edwahds, all the P>and decreed 
 That future Bards with frequent lay 
 Should call on thy auspicious name. 
 From each absurd intruder's claim 
 T) keep inviolate their Fame. jQ 
 
 II h 2
 
 90 
 
 ODE XL 
 
 TO THE 
 
 COUNTRY GENTLEMEN 
 
 OF ENGLAND. 
 
 MDCCLVIIL 
 
 I. 
 
 W HITHER is Europe's ancient spirit fled ? 
 Where are those valiant tenants of her shore. 
 Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped;, 
 Or with firm hand the rapid pole-ax bore ? 
 Freeman and Soldier was their common name ; 
 Who late with reapers to the furi'ow came. 
 Now in the front of battle charged the foe : 
 Who taught the steer the wintry plough to indure. 
 Now in full councils checked incroaching power, 
 And gave the guardian laws their majesty to know. 
 
 n. 
 
 But who are ye ? from Ebro's loitering sons 
 To Tiber's pageants* to the sports of Seine ; 
 From Rhine's frail palaces to Danube's thrones 
 And cities looking on the Cimbric main. 
 Ye lost, ye self-deserted ? whose proud lords 
 Have baffled your tame hands, and given your swords 
 To slavish ruffians, hired for their command : 
 These at some greedy monk's or harlot's nod. 
 See rifled nations crouch beneath their rod : ID 
 
 These are the public will, the reason of the land.
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 9i 
 
 III. 
 Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas, the while 
 
 Dost thou presume i O inexpert in arms. 
 
 Yet vain of fre.dom, how dost thou beguile. 
 
 With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms ? 
 
 Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd. 
 
 The praise and envy of the nations round. 
 
 What care ha^t thou to guard from Fortune's sway ? 
 
 Amid the storms of w ar, how soon may all 
 
 The lofty pile from its foundations fall. 
 
 Of AGES the proud toil, the ruin of a day ? 3 
 
 IV. 
 
 No : thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales 
 
 Add Industry's wise gifts to Nature's store : 
 And every port is crowded with thy sails. 
 And every wave throws treasure on thy shore. 
 What boots it ? If luxurious plenty charm 
 Thy selfibh heart from gloky, if thy arm 
 Shrink at the frowns of danger and of pain. 
 Those Gifts, that Treasure is no longer thine. 
 Oh rather far be poor. Thy gold will shine 39 
 
 Tempting the eye of Force, and deck thee to thy bane. 
 
 V. 
 
 But what hath Force or War to do with thee ? 
 
 Girt by the azure tide and throned sublime 
 Amid thy floating bulwarks, thou canst see. 
 With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime 
 Dash'd ere it reach thee. Sacred from the foe 
 Are thy fair fields. Athwart thy guardian prow 
 No bold invader's foot shall tempt the strand^ 
 Yet say, my country, \Nill the waves and wind 
 Obey thee ? Hast tliou all Ihy hopes resign'd 49 
 To the skip's fickle faith ? the pilot's ixavering hand ?
 
 9^ ODE XL 
 
 VL 
 
 For oh may neither Fear nor stronger Love 
 
 (Love, by thy virtuous princes nobly won) 
 
 Thee, last of many wretched nations, move. 
 
 With mighty armies station'd round the throne 
 
 To trust thy safety. Then, farewell the claims 
 
 Of FREEDOM ! Her proud records to the flames. 
 
 Then bear, an offering at ambition's shrine ; 
 
 Whate'er thy antient patriots dared demand 53 
 
 From furious John's, or faithless Charles's hand. 
 
 Or what great William seal'd for his adopted line. 
 
 VII. 
 But if thy sons be worthy of their name. 
 
 If liberal laws with liberal hearts they prize. 
 
 Let them from conquest, and from servile shame 
 
 In War's glad school their own protectors rise. 
 
 Ye chiefly, heirs of Albion's cultured plains. 
 
 Ye LEADERS of her bold and faithful swains. 
 
 Now not unequal to your birth be found : 
 
 The public voice bids arm your rural state. 
 
 Paternal hamlets for your ensigns wait, 69 
 
 And grange and fold prepare to pour their youth around. 
 
 VIII. 
 Why are ye tardy r what inglorious care 
 
 Detains you from their head, your native post; 
 
 Who mot their country's Fai7ic and Fortune share, 
 
 'Tis theirs to share her Toils, her Perils most. 
 
 Each man his task in social life sustains. 
 
 With partial labours, with domestic gains 
 
 Let others dwell : to you indulgent Heaven 
 
 By counsel and by arms the public cavse 
 
 To serve for public love and love's applause, 7!) 
 
 The first employment far, the noblest h:re, hath given.
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 93 
 
 IX. 
 Have ye not heard of Laced^mon's fame ? 
 
 Of Attic chiefs in Freedom's war divine ? 
 
 Of Rome's dread generals ? the Valerian name ? 
 
 The Fabian sons ? the Scipios' matchless line ? 
 
 Your lot was theirs. The Farmer and the Swain 
 
 Met his loved Patron's summons from the plain ; 
 
 The legions gather'd ; the bright eagles flew : 
 
 Barbarian monarchs in the triumphs mourn'd ; 
 
 The coNftt'ERORs to their household gods return'd, 89 
 
 And fed Calabrian flocks, and steer'd the Sabine plough. 
 
 X. 
 
 Shall then this glory of the antique age. 
 
 This pride of men, be lost among mankind ? 
 Shall war's heroic arts no more engage 
 The unhought hand, the unsuhjected mind ? 
 Doth valour to the race no more belong ? 
 No more with scorn of violence and wrong 
 Doth forming Nature now her sons inspire. 
 That, like some mystery to few reveal'd. 
 The skill of arms abash 'd and awed they yield, 99 
 And from their own defence with hopeless hearts retire? 
 
 XI. 
 
 O shame to human life, to human laws ! 
 
 The loose adventurer, hireling- of a day. 
 Who his fell sword without aftection draws. 
 Whose God, whose country is a tyrant's pay. 
 This man the lessons of the field can learn ; 
 Can every palm, \\hicli decks a warrior, earn. 
 And every pledge of conquest ; while in vain. 
 To guard your altars, your paternal land.. 
 Are social arm? held out to your free hand^ : JO'; 
 
 T*o arduous is the lorej too irksome were the paii*.
 
 4 o D E xr. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Meantime by pleasure's lying tales allured^ 
 
 From the bright sun and living breeze ye stray ;. 
 
 And deep in London's gloomy haunts immured. 
 
 Brood o'er your fortune's, freedom's, health's decay. 
 
 O blind of choice and to yourselves untrue 1 
 
 The young grove shoots, their bloom the fields renew. 
 
 The MANSION asks its lord, the swains their friend ; 
 
 While HE doth riot's orgies haply share, 
 
 Or tempt the gamester's dark, destroying snare, 119 
 
 Or at some courtly shrine with slavish incense bend. 
 
 XIII. 
 And yet full oft your anxious tongues complain. 
 
 That lawless tumult prompts the rustic throng ; 
 
 That the rude village-inmates now disdain 
 
 Those homely ties which ruled their fathers long. 
 
 Alas, your fathers did by other arts 
 
 Draw those kind ties around their simple hearts,. 
 
 And led in other paths their ductile will ; 
 
 By succour, faithful counsel, courteous cheer, 128 
 
 Won them the ancient manners to revere, [fulfil. 
 
 To prize their country's peace and heaven's due rites 
 
 XIV. 
 But mark the judgment of experienced Time, 
 
 Tutor of nations. Doth light discord tear 
 
 A state ? and impotent seditions crime ? 
 
 The powers of warlike prudence dwell not there ; 
 
 The powers who to command and to obey. 
 
 Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway 
 
 The rising race to manly concord tame ? 
 
 Oft let the marshal'd field their steps unite. 
 
 And in glad splendor bring before their sight 
 
 O.NE common cause and one hereditary fame. 140
 
 BOOK THE SECOND: 95 
 
 XV. 
 
 Nor yet be awed, nor yet your task disown. 
 
 Though war's proud votaries look on severe ; 
 Though secrets, taught erewliile to them alone, 
 They deem profaned by your intruding ear. 
 Let them in vain, your martial hope to quell. 
 Of new refinements, fiercer weapons tell. 
 And mock the old simplicity, in vain : 
 To the time's warfare, simple or refined. 
 The time itself adapts the warrior's mind ; 11-9 
 
 And equal prowess still shall equal palms obtain. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Say then ; if England's youth, in earlier days. 
 
 On glory'.* field with well-train'd armies vied. 
 
 Why shall they now renounce that generous praise ? 
 
 Why dread the foreign mercenary's pride? 
 
 Though Valois braved young Euwakd's gentle hand. 
 
 And Albret rush'd on Hexky's way-worn band. 
 
 With Europe's' chosen sons in arms renown'd. 
 
 Yet not on Vekf.'s bold archers long they look'd : 
 
 ISov Audley's squires nor Mowbray's yeomen brook'd: 
 
 They saw their standard fall, and left their Monarch 
 
 bound. leo 
 
 XVI. 
 Such were the laurels which your fathers won ; 
 
 Such glory's dictates in their dauntless breast : 
 
 Is there no voice that '^[)fcaks to every son i 
 
 No nobler, holier call to you address'd ? 
 
 O ! by majestic freedom, righteous laws. 
 
 By heavenly truth ';<, by manly reason's cause. 
 
 Awake; attend ; be indolent no more, 
 
 liy friendship, social peace, domestic love, 
 
 Rise ; arm j your country's living safety prove ; IGO 
 
 And train her valiant youth, and watch around her shore.
 
 96 
 
 ODE XIl. 
 
 ON RECOVERING FROM AFIT OF 
 
 SICKNESS, 
 
 IN THE COUNTRY. 
 
 MDCCLVIII. 
 
 I. 
 
 X IIY verdant scenes, O Goulder's hill. 
 Once more I seek, a languid guest : 
 With throbbing temples and with burden'd breast 
 Once more I climb thy steep aerial way. 
 O faithful cure of ofl-returning ill. 
 Now call thy sprightly breezes round. 
 Dissolve this rigid cough profound 7 
 
 And bid the springs of life with gentler movement play. 
 
 J I. 
 How gladly 'mid the dews of dawn 
 
 My weary lungs thy healing gale. 
 The balmy west or the fresh north, inhale ! 
 How gladly, while my musing footsteps rove 
 Round the cool orchard or the sunny lawn. 
 
 Awaked I stop, and look to find 
 
 What shrub perfumes the pleasant wind, 1 5 
 
 Or what wild songster charms the Dryads of the grove. 
 
 III. 
 
 Now ere the morning walk is done. 
 
 The distant voice of HEALTH I hear 
 Welcome as beauty's to the lover's ear, 
 " Droop not, nor doubt of my return," she cries ; 
 " Here will I, 'mid the radiant calm of noon.
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 97 
 
 ' Meet thee beneath yon chesnut bovver, 
 " And lenienl on thy bosom pour 23 
 
 *' That indolence divine which lulls the earth and skies." 
 
 IV. 
 
 The goddess promised not in vain. 
 
 I found her at my favorite time. 
 Nor wish'd to breathe in any softer clime, 
 While (half-reclined, half slumbering as I lay) 
 She hover'd o'er me. Then, among her train 
 Of nymphs and zephyrs, to my view 
 Thy gracious form appcar'd anew, 5 1 
 
 Then first, O heavenly INIuse, unseen for many a day. 
 V. 
 In that soft pomp the tuneful maid 
 
 Shone like the golden star of love. 
 I saw her hand in careless measures move ; 
 1 beard sweet preludes dancing on her lyre. 
 While my whole frame the sacred sound obey'd. 
 New sunshine o'er my fancy springs. 
 New colours clothe external things, 59 
 
 \nd the last glooms of pain and sickly plaint retire. 
 
 VI. 
 
 GoLLDKi'/s lULL, by thee rcstored 
 
 Once more to this enliven'd hand. 
 My HARP, which late resounded o'er the land 
 The voice of glory, solemn and severe, 
 My Dorian harv shall now with mild accord 
 
 To TiiLE her joyful tribute ])ay. 
 
 And send a less-ambitious lay 4-7 
 
 Oi friendship and of love to greet thy master's ear, 
 
 VII. 
 
 1 or when within lljy sb.^dy seat 
 
 First from the suhry town he chost, 
 
 1 i t
 
 08 ODE XII. 
 
 And the tired senate's cares, his wish'd reposSj, 
 Then wast thou mine ; to ine a happier home 
 For social leisure : where my welcome feet. 
 Estranged from all the entangling ways. 
 In which the restless vulgar strays. 
 Through Nature's simple paths, with ancient faith 
 might roam. 56 
 
 VIII. 
 And while around his sylvan scene 
 
 My Dyson led the white-wing'd hours. 
 Oft from the Athenian Academic bowers 
 Their saoes came : ofl heard our lingering walk 
 The Mantuan music warbling o'er the green : 
 And oft did Tilly's reverend shade. 
 Though much for liberty afraid, 63 
 
 With us of letter 'd ease or virtuous glory talk. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But other guests were on their way. 
 
 And reach 'd erelong this favoured grove ; 
 Even the celestial progeny of Jove, 
 Brighl Venls, with her all-subduing son. 
 Whose golden shaft most willingly obey 
 
 The best and wisest. As they came, (3;> 
 
 Clad Hymen waved his genial flame, [throne, 
 
 And sang- their happy gifts, and praised their spotless 
 
 X. 
 
 I saw when through yon festive gate 
 
 He led along his chosen maid, 
 And to my friend with smiles presenting said j 
 " Receive that fairest wealth which Heaven assign d 
 " To human fortune. Did thy lonely state 
 
 " One wish, one utmost hope confess ? 
 " Behold, she comes, to adorn and bless : 73 
 
 " Comes, worthy ofiby heart, and equal to thy mind."
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. '99 
 
 ODE XIIL 
 
 TO THE AUTHOR OF MEMOIRS OF THE 
 HOUSE OF BRANDENBURGH : 
 
 M D C C L I. 
 
 I. 
 
 1 HE men renown'd as chiefs of human race,* 
 And born to lead in counsels or in arms. 
 Have seldom turn'd their feet from glory's chace 
 To dwell with books, or court the Muse's charms. 
 Yet, to our eyes if haply Time hath brought 
 Some genuine transcript of their calmer thought. 
 There still we own the wise, the great, or good; 
 And Cesar there and Xesophon are seen. 
 As clear in spirit and sublime of mien. 
 As on Pharsalian plains, or by the Assyrian flood. 10 
 
 II. 
 
 Say thou too, Fcederic, was not this thy aim ? 
 
 Thy vigils could the student's lamp engage, 
 
 V. l.] In the year 1751 apprarcd a very splemlid editim, in 
 quarto, of Memoirs pour servir a I' Hutiire de in A^aion ds ISrundi:- 
 bourg, a Berlin <3f a / Uatje ^ t^ith a privil'>ge signed iRtuER.c; tho 
 game being engrarrH in imitation of hand-writin?. In this edition, 
 aiTii>ng other cxtmordinary passages, are the two following, to which 
 the third stanza of this ode more particularly rcfi-rs : 
 
 Page 1 63.] II .* ft une migration (the author is speaking of 
 v.hat happfnrd on the revocation of the edict of Aan/c^j dont on 
 n'avoit giierc vi d^creraples dans Vhisto'ire: tin peuple cnlicr sorlit du 
 royaume p-iv rerprit de parti en haine du pupc, Sf fniur rectvoir sous 
 vn autre del la communion ious les deux especes. Jiuatre ctns milU 
 ttmes i'cxpatrierent aiHsi t^ abandonntrenl toua leur biens jmur de/oH' 
 ncr danf d'ai^tres temples Ics viiux pseaumes de Clement M'.rol. 
 
 Pagf; 242.] la crainie donna le jour a la credulity, ^ I'amuur 
 propre inieressa bicntot le del au destin des hommes.
 
 ^^ ODE XIII. 
 
 Except for this ? except that future Fame 
 Might read thy genius in the faithful page ? 
 That if hereafter Envy shall presume 
 With words irreverent to inscribe thy tombi 
 And baser weeds upon thy palms to fling. 
 That hence posterity may try thy reign. 
 Assert thy treaties, and thy wars explain. 
 And view in native lights the Htno and the king. 20 
 
 III. 
 O evil foresight and pernicious care !' 
 Wilt thou indeed abide by this appeal ? 
 Shall we the lessons of thy pen compare 
 With private honour or with public zeal ? 
 Whence then at things divine those darts of scorn ? 
 Why are the woes, which virtuous men have borne 
 For sacred truth, a prey to laughter given ? 
 What fiend, what foe of Nature urged thy arm 
 The Almighty of his sceptre to disarm ? 29 
 
 To push this earth adrift and leave it loose from heaven? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye god-like shades of legislators old. 
 
 Ye who made Rome victorious, Athens wise. 
 Ye first of mortals with the bless'd inroll'd. 
 Say did not horror in your bosoms rise. 
 When thus by impious vanity impell'd 
 A MAGISTRATE, a MONARCH, yc beheld 
 Alfronting civil order's holiest bands ? 
 Those bands which ye so labour'd to improve .' 
 'I'hose ho})es and fears of justice from above, 
 ^^'hith tamed the savage world to your divine com- 
 mands ? 4Q
 
 Wl 
 
 ODE XIV. 
 
 THE COMPLAINT. 
 I. 
 
 AwAY! Away! 
 Tempt me no more, insidious love : 
 
 Thy soothing sway 
 Long^ did my youthful bosom prove : 
 At length thy treason is discern'd. 
 At length some dear-bought caution earu'il : 
 Away ! nor hope my ripei age to move. 7 
 
 II. 
 I know, I see 
 
 Her merit : needs it now be shewn, 
 
 Alas, to me ? 
 
 How often, to myself unknown. 
 
 The graceful, gentle, virtuous maid 
 
 Have I adraired! How often said, 
 
 What joy to call a heart like her's one'? own ! 1 1 
 
 HI. 
 But, flattering god, 
 
 O squanderer of content and case I 
 
 In thy abode 
 
 Will cart's rude lesson learn to please ? 
 
 () say, deceiver, hast thou won, 
 
 Proud fortune to attend thy throne. 
 
 Or {)laced thy friends above her stern decrees ? 21 
 
 Ii2
 
 102 
 
 ODE XV, 
 
 ON DOMESTIC MANNERS. 
 
 [ UNFINISHED. ] 
 I. 
 
 IVJEEK honour, female shame, 
 O! whither, sweetest offspring of the sky. 
 
 From Albion dost thou fly ; 
 Of Albion*s daughters once the favourite fame ^ 
 
 O beauty's only friend. 
 Who givesther pleasing reverence to inspire; 
 
 Who selfish, bold desire 
 Dost to esteem and dear affection turn ; 
 
 Alas, of thee forlorn 9^ 
 
 What joy, what praise, what hope can life pretend? 
 
 IJ. 
 
 Behold ; our youths in vain 
 
 Concerning nuptial happiness inquire : 
 
 Our maids no more aspire 
 The arts of bashful Hymen to attain ; 
 
 But with triumphant eyes 
 And cheeks impassive, as they move along. 
 
 Ask homage of the throng. 
 The lover swears that in a harlot's arms 
 
 Are found the self-same charms. 
 And worthless and deserted lives and dies. 20 
 
 III. 
 Behold : unbless'd at home. 
 
 The father of the cheerless household mourns ;
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 103 
 
 The night in vain returns, 
 For love and glad content at distance roam ', 
 
 While she, in whom his mind 
 Seeks refuge from the day's dull task of cares. 
 
 To meet him she prepares. 
 Through noise and spleen and all the gamester's art, 
 
 A listless, harrass'd heart, 29 
 
 Where not one tender thought can welcome find. 
 
 lY. 
 'Twas thus, along the shore 
 
 Of Thames, Britannia's guardian Genius heard. 
 
 From many a tongue preferr'd. 
 Of strife and grief the fond invective lore : 
 
 At which the queen divine 
 Indignant, with her adamantine spear 
 
 Like thunder sounding near. 
 Smote the red cross upon her silver shield. 
 
 And thus her wrath reveal'd. 39 
 
 (I watch'd her awful words and made them mine.) 
 
 THE END OF BOOK THE SECOND.
 
 104 
 
 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 AN EPISTLE TO CURIO. * 
 MDCCXLIV. 
 
 Neqiie tarn ulciscendi causa dixi, quam ut Sf in prasena 
 sceleratos cives timore ab impugnanda patria detine- 
 rem ; <^ in posterum, documcntum statuercm, ne qids 
 talem amentiam vdkt imitari. Tull. 
 
 i HRICE has the spring beheld thy faded fame. 
 And the fourth winter rises on thy shame. 
 Since I exulting grasped the votive shell. 
 In sounds of triumph all thy praise to tell ; 
 Blest could my skill through ages make thee shine, 5 
 And proud to mix my memory, with thine. 
 But now the cause that waked my song before. 
 With praise, with triumph, crowns the toil no more. 
 If to the glorious man whose faithful cares. 
 Nor quell'd by malice, nor relax'd by years, 10 
 
 Had awed Ambition's wild audacious hate ; 
 And dragg'd at length Corruption to her fate ; 
 If every tongue its large applauses owed, 
 And well-earn'd laurels every Muse bestow 'd. 
 If p\iblic justice urged the high reward, 15 
 
 And Freedom smiled on the devoted bard ; 
 Say then, to him whose levity or lust 
 Laid all a people's generous hopes in dust ; 
 
 See the note to the Ode to Curio, page 28,
 
 EPISTLE TO CURIO. 105 
 
 Who taught Ambition firmer heights of power, 
 
 And saved Corruption at her hopeless hour ; 20 
 
 Does not each tongue its execrations owe ? 
 
 Shall not each Muse a wreath of shame bestow ? 
 
 And public justice sanctify the award ? 
 
 And Freedom's hand protect the impartial bard? 
 
 Yet, long reluctant, I forbore thy name, 25 
 
 Long watch'd thy virtue like a dying flame. 
 Hung o'er each glimmering spark with anxious eyes^ 
 And wish'd and hoped the light again would risoii 
 But since thy guilt still more entire appears. 
 Since no art hides, no supposition clears ; 30 
 
 Since vengeful Slander now too sinks her blast. 
 And the first rage of party-hate is past ; 
 Calm as the judge of Truth, at length I con>e. 
 To weigh thy merits, and pronounce thy doom : 
 So may my trust from all reproach be free, 25 
 
 And Earth and Time confirm the fair decree. 
 
 There are who say they view'd without amaze 
 The sad reverse of all thy former praise ; 
 That through the pageants of a patriot's name. 
 They pierced the foulness of thy secret aim j 40 
 
 Or deem'd thy arm exalted but to throw 
 The public thunder on a private foe : 
 But I, whose soul consented to thy cause. 
 Who felt thy genius stamp its own applause. 
 Who saw the spirits of each glorious age 45 
 
 Move in thy bosom, and direct thy rage ; 
 I scorn 'd the ungenerous gloss of slavish minds. 
 The owl-eyed race, whom Virtue's lustre blinds ; 
 Spite of the learned in the ways of vice. 
 And all who prove that each man has his price, 50
 
 JOO MISCELLANIES. 
 
 I still believed thy end was just and free ^ 
 
 And yet, even yet believe it spite of thee. 
 
 Even though thy mouth impure has dared disclaim. 
 
 Urged by the wretched impotence of shame. 
 
 Whatever filial cares thy zeal bad paid 5 J 
 
 To laws infirm, and liberty decay 'd ; 
 
 Has begg'd Ambition to forgive the show ; 
 
 Has told Corruption thou wert ne'er her foe ; 
 
 Has boasted in thy country's awful ear, 
 
 Mer gross delusion when she held thee dear ; 60 
 
 How tame she foUow'd thy tempestuous call. 
 
 And heard thy pompous tales, and trusted all 
 
 Rise from your sad abodes, ye curst of old. 
 
 For laws subverted, and for cities sold ! 
 
 Paint all the noblest trophies of your guilt, 65 
 
 The oaths you perjured, and the blood you spilt j 
 
 Yet must you one untempted vileness own. 
 
 One dreadful palm reserved for him alone ; 
 
 With studied arts his country*s praise to spurn. 
 
 To beg the infamy he did not earn, 70 
 
 To challenge hate when honour was his due. 
 
 And plead his crimes, where all his virtue knew. 
 
 Do robes of state the guarded heart inclose 
 From each fair feeling human nature knows ? 
 Can pompous titles stun the enchanted ear 75 
 
 To all that reason, all that sense would hear ? 
 Else couldst thou e'er desert thy sacred post. 
 In such unthankful baseness to be lost ? 
 Else cculdst thou wed the emptiness of vice. 
 And yiaW thy glories at an idiot's price? SO 
 
 When they who loud for liberty and laws. 
 In doubtful times bad fought their country's cause.
 
 EPISTLE TO CURIO. 107 
 
 When now of conquest and dominioti sure. 
 
 They sought alone to hold their fruits secure ; 
 
 When taught by these. Oppression hid the face 85 
 
 To leave Corruption stronger in her place. 
 
 By silent spells to work the public fate. 
 
 And taint the vitals of the passive state. 
 
 Till healing Wisdom should avail no more. 
 
 And Freedom loathe to tread the poison 'd shore; 90 
 
 Then, like some guardian god, that flies to save 
 
 The weary pilgrim from an instant grave. 
 
 Whom, sleeping and secure, the guileful snake 
 
 Steals near and nearer through the peaceful brake ; 
 
 Then Curio rose, to ward the public woe f 3 
 
 To wake the heedless and incite the slow. 
 
 Against Corruption Liberty to arm. 
 
 And quell the enchantress by a mightier charm. 
 
 Swift o'er the land the fair contagion flew. 
 And with thy country's hopes thy honours grew : 100 
 Thee, Patriot, the patrician roof confestj 
 Tby i^owerful voice the rescued merchant bleet ; 
 Of thee with awe the rural hearth resounds; 
 Tlie bowl to thee the grateful sailor crowns : 
 Touch'd in the sighing shade with manlier fires, 10 5 
 To trace thy steps the love-sick youth aspires ; 
 . The learn'd recluse, who oft amazed had read 
 j Of Grecian heroes, Roman patriots dead. 
 
 With new amazement hears a living name 
 I Pretend to share in such forgotten fame; ] 10 
 
 I "And he who, scorning courts and courtly ways, 
 Left the tame track of these dejected days. 
 The lite of nobler ages to renew. 
 In virtues sacred from a monarch's view.
 
 108 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Roused by thy labours from the blest retreat, 1 15 
 
 Where social ease, and public passions meet, 
 Again ascending treads the civil scene. 
 To act and be a Man, as thou had'st been. 
 
 Thus by degrees thy cause superior grew. 
 And the great End appear'd at last in view : 120 
 
 We heard the people. in thy hopes rejoice; 
 We saw the senate bending to thy voice ; 
 The Friends of Freedom hail'd the approaching reign 
 Of laws for which our fathers bled in vain ; 
 While venal Faction, struck with new dismay, 125 
 
 Shrunk at their frown, and self-abandon'd lay. 
 Waked in the shock, the public genius rose, 
 Abash'd, and keener from his long repose ; 
 Sublime in ancient pride, he raised the spear 
 Which slaves and tyrants long were wont to fear : 130 
 The city felt his call : from man to man. 
 From street to street the glorious horror ran; 
 Each crowded haunt was stirr'd beneath his power. 
 And mumuring challenged the deciding hour. 
 
 Lo ! the deciding hour at last appears; 135 
 
 The hour of every freeman's hopes and fears ! 
 Thou, Genius ! guardian of the Roman name, 
 O ever prompt tyrannic rage to tame ! 
 Instruct the mighty moments as they roll. 
 And guide each movement steady to the goal, lio 
 
 Ye spirits, by whose providential art 
 Succeeding motives turn the changeful heart, 
 Keep, keep the best in view to Clrio's mind. 
 And watch his fancy and his passions bind ! 
 Ye shades immortal, who, by Freedom led, i \5 
 
 Or in the field or on the scaffold bled,
 
 EPISTLE TO CURIO. 109 
 
 Bend from your radiant seats a joyful eye. 
 
 And view the crown of all your labours nigh. 
 
 See Freedom mounting her eternal throne ! 
 
 The sword submitted and the laws her own : 150 
 
 See ! public power chastised beneath her stands. 
 
 With eyes intent and uncorrupted hands : 
 
 See private life by wisest arts reclaim'd ! 
 
 See ardent youth to noblest manners framed ! 
 
 See us acquire whate'er was sought by you, 155 
 
 If CuKio, only Curio will be true. 
 
 'Twas then O shame ! O trust, how ill repaid ! 
 O Latium oft by faithless sons betray 'd ! 
 'Twas then What frenzy on thy reason stole ? 
 What spells unsinew'd thy determin'd soul ? 1 60 
 
 Is this the man in freedom's cause approved ? 
 The man so great, so honour'd, so beloved r 
 This patient slave by tinsel Chains allured ? 
 Tliis wretched suitor for a boon abjured ? 
 This Curio, hated and despised by all ? 3 05 
 
 Who lell himself, to work his country's fall ? 
 
 O lost alike to action and repose ! 
 Unown'd, unpitied in the worst of woes ! 
 With all that conscious, undissemblcd pride. 
 Sold to the insults of a foe defy'd ! 170 
 
 With ill that habit of familiar fame, 
 Doom'd to exhaust the dregs of life in shame ! 
 The sole sad refuge of tljy baflled .art. 
 To act a statesman's dull, exploded part, 
 Renounce the praise no longer in thy power, 175 
 
 Display thy virtue though without a Dower, 
 Contemn the giddy crowd, the vulgar wind. 
 And shut thy eyes that others may be blind. 
 Kk
 
 110 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 ~Forgive me, Romans, that I bear to smile 
 
 When shameless mouths your majesty defile, 1 80 
 
 Paint you a thoughtless, frantic, headlong crew. 
 
 And cast their own impieties on you. 
 
 For witness. Freedom, to whose sacred power 
 
 My soul was vow'd Irom reason's earliest hour. 
 
 How have I stood exulting to survey 185 
 
 My country's virtues opening in thy ray ! 
 
 Mow, with the sons of every foreign shore 
 
 The more I match'd them, honour'd hers the more ! 
 
 O race erect I whose native strength of soul. 
 
 Which kings, nor priests, nor sordid laws control, 190 
 
 Bursts the tame round of animal affairs. 
 
 And seeks a nobler center for its cares; 
 
 Intent the laws of life to comprehend. 
 
 And fix dominion's limits by its end. 
 
 Who bold and equal in their love or hate, IQ5 
 
 By conscious Reason judging every state. 
 
 The tnan forget not, though in rags he lies. 
 
 And know the mortal through a crown's disguise : 
 
 Thence prompt alike with witty scorn to view 
 
 Fastidious Grandeur lift his solemn brow, 200 
 
 Or all-awake at Pity's soft command. 
 
 Bend the mild ear and stretch the gracious hand : 
 
 Thence large of heart, from envy far removed. 
 
 When public toils to virtue stand approved. 
 
 Not the young lover fonder to admire, 205 
 
 Nor more indulgent the delighted Sire ; 
 
 Yet high and jealous of their freeborn name. 
 
 Fierce as the flight oi Jove's destroying flame. 
 
 Where'er Oppression works her wanton sway. 
 
 Proud to confront, and dreadful to repay. 210
 
 EPISTLE TO CURIO. HI 
 
 But if to purchase Curio's sage applause. 
 
 My country must with him renounce her cause. 
 
 Quit with a slave the path a patriot trod. 
 
 Bow the meek knee and kiss the regal rod ; 
 
 Then still, ye powers, instruct his tongue to rail, 215 
 
 Nor let his zeal, nor let his subject fail : 
 
 Else ere he change the syle, bear me away 
 
 To where the * Gracchi, where the Bruti stay ! 
 
 O long revered and late resign'd to shame 1 
 If this uncourtly page thy notice claim 220 
 
 When the loud cares of business are withdrawn. 
 Nor well-drest beggars round thy footsteps fawn ; 
 In that still, thoughtful, solitary hour. 
 When Truth exerts her unresisted power. 
 Breaks the false optics tinged with Fortune's glare, 225 
 Unlocks the- breast and lays the passions bare j 
 Then turn thy eyes on that important scene. 
 And ask thyself -if all be well within. 
 Where is the heart-felt worth and weight of soul. 
 Which labour could not stop, nor fear control ? 230 
 Where the known dignity, the stamp of awe, 
 Whic!), half abash'd, the proud and venal^aw ? 
 Where the calm triumphs of an honest cause ? 
 Where the delightful taste of just applause ? 
 Wliere the strong reason, the commanding tongue. 
 On which the Senate fired or trembhng hung ? 236 
 All vanish'd, all are sold And in their room, 
 Couch'd in ihy bosom's deep, distracted gloom, 
 
 Vcr. 218. 3 The two brothers, Ttbcmis and Cuius Gracchus lost 
 their lives in attempting to intro<luce the only regulation tliat could 
 give stability and good order to the Jioman republic. 
 
 L. Jun. Brutus founded the commonwealth, and died in its 
 defence.
 
 112 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 See the pale form of barbarous Grandeur dwell, 
 
 LUvc some grim idol in a sorcerer's cell ! 210 
 
 To her in chains thy dignity was led ; 
 
 At her polluted shrine thy honour bled; 
 
 With blasted weeds thy awful brow she crown'd. 
 
 Thy powerful tongue with poison'd philters bound. 
 
 That baffled Reason straight imlignaut flew, 245 
 
 And fair Persuasion from her seat withdrew ; 
 
 For now no longer Truth supports thy cause ; 
 
 No longer Glory prompts thee to applause ; 
 
 No longer Virtue breathing in thy breast. 
 
 With all her conscious majesty confest, 250 
 
 Still bright and brighter wakes the almighty flame 
 
 To rouse the feeble and the wilful tame. 
 
 And where she sees the catching glimpses roll. 
 
 Spreads the strong blaze and ail involves the soul ; 
 
 But cold restraints thy conscious Fancy chill, 255 
 
 And formal passions mock thy struggling will; 
 
 Or, if thy Genius e'er forget his chain. 
 
 And reach impatient at a nobler strain. 
 
 Soon the sad bodings of contemptuous mirth 259 
 
 Shoot through thy breast and stab the generous birth. 
 
 Till, blind with smart, from truth to frenzy tost, 
 
 And all the tenor of thy reason lost ; 
 
 Perhaps thy anguish drains a real tear ; 
 
 While some with pity, some with laughter hear. 
 
 Can art, alas ! or genius guide the head, 265 
 
 Where truth and freedom from the heart are fled ? 
 
 Can lesser wheels repeat their native stroke. 
 
 When the prime function of the soul is broke ? 
 
 But come, unhappy Man ! thy fates impend ; 
 Come, quit thy friends, if yet thou hast a friend : 270
 
 EPISTLE TO CURIO. 113 
 
 Turn from the poor rewards of guilt like thine. 
 
 Renounce thy titles and thy robes resign ; 
 
 For see the hand of destiny dispiay'd 
 
 To shut thee from the joys thou hast betray'd ! 
 
 See the dire fane of Infamy arise ! 275 
 
 Dark as the grave, and spacious as the skies ; 
 
 Where from the first of time, thy kindred train. 
 
 The chiefs and princes of the unjust remain. 
 
 Internal barriers guard the pathless road 
 
 To warn the wanderer of the curst abode; 280 
 
 But prone as whirlwinds scour the passive sky. 
 
 The heights surmounted, down the steep they fly. 
 
 There black with frowns, relentless Time awaits. 
 
 And goads their footsteps to the guilty gates ; 
 
 And still be asks them of their unknown aims, 285 
 
 Evolves their secrets and their guilt proclaims ; 
 
 And still his hands despoil them on the road 
 
 Uf each vain wreath by lying bards bestovv'd. 
 
 Break their proud marbles, crush their festal cars. 
 
 And rend the lawless trophies of their wars. 290 
 
 At last the gates his potent voice obey ; 
 
 Vierce to their dark ahode he drives his prey. 
 
 Where, ever arm'd with adamantine chains. 
 
 The watchful d^mon o'er her vassals reigns. 
 
 O'er mighty names and giant-powers of kst, C}j 
 
 The Great, the Sac!;t', the ITfippjj and Auirus^. * 
 
 No gleam of hojie their baleful man>'ioii chears 
 
 No sound of honour hails their uublc.-t ears; 
 
 But dire reproaches from the friend betniyM, 
 
 The childless sire and violated uiaid ; 300 
 
 * Vor. 19h. ] Tlfl''s whith Iiavo !>ecn generally ascrii^e<! to the 
 most ^(orrii clous of mer.. 
 
 Kk2
 
 114- MISCELLANIES, 
 
 But vengeful vows for guardian laws effaced. 
 
 From towns inslaved and continents laid waste; 
 
 But long Posterity's united groan. 
 
 And the sad charge of horrors not their own. 
 
 For ever through the trembling space resound, 305 
 
 And sink each impious forehead to the ground. 
 
 Ye mighty foes of Liberty and Rest, 
 Give way, do homage to a migtitier guest ! 
 Ye daring spirits of the Roman race. 
 See Curio's toil your proudest claims efface ! 310 
 
 Awed at the name, fierce * Appius rising bends. 
 And hardy Cinna from his throne attends : 
 " He comes," they cry " to whom the Fates assigned 
 " With surer arts to work what we design'd, 
 " From year to year the stubborn herd to sway, 3 15 
 *' Mouth all their wrongs, and all their rage obey ; 
 " Till, own'd their guide and trusted with their power, 
 " He mock'd their hopes in one decisive hour ; 
 " Then, tired and yielding, led them to the chain, 
 " And quench'd the spirit we provoked in vain." 320 
 
 But thou. Supreme, by whose eternal hands 
 Fair Liberty's heroic empire stands j 
 Whose thunders the rebellious deep control. 
 And quell the triumphs of the traitor's soul, 
 O turn this dreadful omen far away I 325 
 
 On Freedom's foes their own attempts repay; 
 Relume her sacred fire so near supprest. 
 And fix her shrine in every Roman breast. 
 Though bold Corruption boast around the land, 
 " Let Virtue, if she can, my baits withstand !" 330 
 
 Ver. 311, 312. ] Appius Claudius the decemvir and L. Corne- 
 lius Cinna both attempted to establish a tyrannical dominion in 
 Home, and both perished by the treason.
 
 EPISTLE TO CURIO. 115 
 
 Though bolder now she urge the accursed claim. 
 
 Gay with her trophies raised on Curio's shame ; 
 
 Yet some there are who scorn her impious mirth. 
 
 Who know what conscience and a heart are worth. 
 
 O friend and father of the human mind, 335 
 
 Whose art for noblest ends our frame design'd ! 
 
 If I, though fated to the studious shade 
 
 Which party-htrrfc nor anxious power invade. 
 
 If 1 aspire in public Virtue's cause. 
 
 To guide the Muses by sublimer laws, 340 
 
 Do thou her own authority impart. 
 
 And give my numbers entrance to the heart. 
 
 Perhaps the verse might rouse her smother'd flame. 
 
 And snatch the fainting patriot back to fame ; 
 
 Perhaps by worthy thoughts of human kind, 345 
 
 To worthy deeds exalt the conscious mind ; 
 
 Or dash Corruption in her proud career. 
 
 And teach her slaves that Vice was born to fear. 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 AN ELEGY. 
 
 A. GO much my heart of Beauty's power hath known^ 
 Too long to Love hath Reason left her throne ; 
 Too long my Genius mourn'd his myrtle chain. 
 And three rich years of youth consumed in vain. 
 My wishes, lull'd with soft inglorious dreams, 6 
 
 Forgot the patriot's and the sage's themes } 
 Through each Elysian vale and Fairy grove. 
 Through all the enchanted paradise of Love,
 
 Il*6 MISCELLAxNIES. 
 
 Misled by sickly Hope's deceitful flame. 
 
 Averse to action, and renouncing fame. 10 
 
 At last the visionary scenes decay, 
 My eyes, exulting, bless the newborn day. 
 Whose faithful beams detect the dangerous road 
 In which my heedless feet securely trod. 
 And strip the phantoms of their lying charms, 13 
 
 That lured my soul from Wisdom's ptacefid arms. 
 
 For silver streams and banks bespread with flowers, 
 For mossy couches and harmonious bowers, 
 Lo ! barren heaths appear, and pathless woods. 
 And rocks hung dreadful o'er unfathomed floods : 20 
 For openness of heart, for tender smiles, 
 Looks fraught with love, and wrath-disarming wiles, 
 Lo! sullen Spite, and perjured Lust of Gain, 
 And cruel Pride, and crueller Disdain ; 
 Lo! cordial Faith, to idiot airs refined, 2? 
 
 Now coolly civil, now transporting kind. 
 For graceful Ease, lo ! Afiectation walks ; 
 And dull Half-sense for Wit and W^isdom talks : 
 New to each hour, what low delight succeeds. 
 What precious furniture of hearts and heads ! 30 
 
 By nought their prudence, but by getting, known. 
 And all their courage in deceiving shown. 
 
 See next what plagues attend the lover's state. 
 What frightful forms of Teri-or, Scorn, and Hate ! 
 See burning Fury heaven and earth defy ! 3i 
 
 See dumb Despair in icy fetters lie ! 
 See black Suspicion bend his gloomy brow. 
 The hideous image of himself to view ! 
 And fond Belief, vv-ith all a lover's flame, 9,0 
 
 Sink in thusc arms that point his bead with bliame !
 
 LOVE. AN ELEGY. 117 
 
 There wan Dejection, faltering as he goes. 
 
 In shades and silence vainly seeks repose. 
 
 Musing through pathless wilds, consumes the day. 
 
 Then lost in darkness, weeps the houis away. 
 
 Here the gay crowd of Luxury advance ; 4 .5 
 
 Some touch the lyre, and others urge the dance; 
 
 On every head the rosy garland glows, 
 
 I n every hand the golden goblet flows ; 
 
 The Syren views them with exulting eyes. 
 
 And laughs at bashful Virtue as she flies. 50 
 
 But see behind, where Scoi'n and Want appear, 
 
 Th e grave remonstrance and the witty sneer ; 
 
 See fell Remorse, in action prompt to dart 
 
 Iler snaky poison through the conscious heart ! 
 
 And Sloth, to cancel, with oblivious shame, 55 
 
 The fair memorial of recording Fame. 
 
 Are these delights that one would wi.-h to gain ? 
 Is this the Elysium of a sober brain ? 
 To wait for happiness in female smiles. 
 Bear all her scorn, be caught with all her wiles; CO 
 With prayers, with bribes, with lies, her pity crave. 
 Bless her hard bonds, and boast to be her slave ; 
 To feci for trifles a distracting train 
 Of hopes and terrors equally in vain ; 
 This hour to tremble, and the next to glow ; G5 
 
 Can Piidc, can Sense, can Reason, stoop so low ? 
 When Virtue at an easier price displays 
 The sacred wreaths of honourable praise. 
 When Wisdom utters her divine decree. 
 To laugh at pompous I-'oUy and be free. 70 
 
 I bid adi(U, then, to those woful scenes; 
 1 bid qdieu to all the sex of queens;
 
 J'8 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Adieu to every suffering, simple soul 
 
 That lets a woman's will his ease control. 
 
 There laugh, ye witty ! and rebuke, ye grave ! 75 
 
 For me, I scorn to boast that I'm a slave ; 
 
 I bid the whining brotherhood be gone, 
 
 Joy to my heart ! my wishes are my own. 
 
 Farewell the female heaven, the female hell. 
 
 To the great god of Love a glad farewell. 80 
 
 Is this the triumph of thy awful name ? 
 
 Are these the splendid hopes that urged thy aim. 
 
 When first my bosom own'd thy haughty sway ? 
 
 When thus Minerva heard thee boasting say, 
 
 " Go martial Maid ! elsewhere Ihy arts employ, 85 
 
 " Nor hope to shelter that devoted boy ; 
 
 " Go teach the solemn sons of Care and Age, 
 
 "The pensive statesman and the midnight sage; 
 
 " The young with me must other lessons prore ; 
 
 " Youth calls for Pleasure, Pleasure calls for Love j 90 
 
 " Behold his heart thy grave advice disdains, 
 
 " Behold I bind him in eternal chains. 
 
 Alas ! great Love, how idle was the boast ! 
 Thy chains are broken, and thy lessons lost; 
 Thy wilful rage has tired my suffering heart, Q5 
 
 And passion, reason, forced thee to depart. 
 
 But wherefore dost thou linger on thy way ? 
 Why vainly search for some pretence to stay. 
 When crowds of vassals court thy pleasing yoke, 
 And countless victims bow them to the stroke > lOo 
 Lo! round thy shrine a thousand youths advance. 
 Warm with the gentle ardours of romance ; 
 Each longs to assert thy cause with feats of arms. 
 And make the world confess Dulcineu's charms.
 
 LOVE. AN ELEGY. UO 
 
 Ten thousand girls, with flowery chaplets crown'd, 105 
 To groves and streams thy tender triumph sound; 
 Each bids the stream in murmurs speak her flame. 
 Each calls the grove to sigh her shepherd's name : 
 But, if thy pride such easy honours scorn. 
 If nobler trophies must thy toil adora, 110 
 
 Behold yon flowery antiquated maid 
 Bright in the bloom of threescore years display'd ; 
 Her shalt thou bind in thy delightful chains, 
 And thrill with gentle pangs her wither'd veins. 
 Her frosty cheek with crimson blushes dye, 1 15 
 
 With dreams of rapture melt her maudlin eye. 
 Turn then thy labours to the servile crowd. 
 Entice the wary and control the proud ; 
 Make the sad miser his best gains forego. 
 The solemn statesman sigh to be a beau, 1 20 
 
 The bold coquette with fondest passion burn. 
 The Bacchanalian o'er his bottle mourn ; 
 And that chief glory of thy power maintain, 
 " To poise ambition in a female brain." 
 Be these thy triuniphs ; but no more presume 1 'JJ 
 
 That my rebellious heart will yield thee room : 
 I know thy puny force, thy simple wiles, 
 I break triumphant through thy flimsy toils : 
 I sec thy dying lamp's last languid glow, 
 Thy arrows blunted, and unbraced thy bow ; , 1 Ju 
 I feel diviner fires my breat inflame. 
 To active science, and ingenuous fame : 
 Resume the paths my earlie.-t choice began, 
 And lose, with pride, the lover in the man. 1^1.
 
 120 
 
 A BRITISH PHILIPPIC, 
 
 OCCASIONED BY THE INSULTS OF THE SPANIARDS, AND THE 
 PRESENT PREPARATIONS FOR WAR, 1738. 
 
 W HENCE this unwonted transport in my breast ? 
 Why glow my thoughts ? and whither would the Mus^ 
 Aspire with rapid wing? Her country's cause 
 Demands her effbr-ts : at that sacred call 
 She summons all her ardour, throws aside 5 
 
 The trembling lyre, and with the warrior's trump 
 She means to thunder in each British ear ; 
 And if one spark of honour or of fame. 
 Disdain of insult, dread of infamy. 
 One thought of public virtue, yet survive, 10 
 
 She means to wake it, rouse the generous tlante. 
 With patriot zeal inspirit every breast. 
 And fire each British heart with British wrongs. 
 
 Alas, the vain attempt ! What influence now 
 Can the Muse boast? or what attention now 15 
 
 Is paid to fame or virtue ? Where is now 
 The British spirit, generous, warm, and brave. 
 So frequent wont from tyranny and woe 
 To free the suppliant nations ? Where indeed! 
 If that protection, once to strangers given, 20 
 
 Be now with-heid from sons? Each nobler thought. 
 That vvarm'd our sires, is lost and buried now 
 In luxury and avarice. Baneful vice ! 
 How it unmans a nation ! Yet Til try, 
 I'll aim to shake this vile degenerate f-loth ; 25 
 
 I'll dare to rouse Britannia's dreaming sons 
 To fame, to virtue, and impart around
 
 A BRITISH PHILIPPIC. 121 
 
 A generous feeling of compatriot woes. 
 
 ComCj then, the various powers of forceful speech. 
 All that can move, awaken, fire, transport i 30 
 
 Come the bold ardour of the Theban bard ! 
 The arousing thunder of the patriot Greek ! 
 The soft persuasion of the Roman sage ! 
 Come all ! and raise me to an equal height, 
 A rapture worthy of my glorious cause ! 35 
 
 Lest my best eflbrts failing should debase 
 The sacred theme ; for with no common wing 
 The Muse attempts to soar. Yet what need these ? 
 INIy country's fame, my free-born British heart. 
 Shall be my best inspirers, raise my flight 40 
 
 High as the Theban's pinion, and with more 
 'I'han Creek or Roman flame exalt my soul. 
 Oh ! could I give the vast ideas birth. 
 Expressive of the thoughts that flame within. 
 No more should lazy luxury detain 4j 
 
 Our ardent youth ; no mure should Britain's sons 
 Sit tamely passive by, and careless hear 
 The prayers, sighs, groans (immortal infamy !) 
 Of fellow Britons, with oppression sunk, ' 
 In bitterness of soul demanding aid, 50 
 
 Calling on Britain, their dear native land. 
 The land of Liberty, so greatly famed 
 For just redress; the land so often dyed 
 With her l>est blood, for that arousing cause 
 The freedom of her sons ; those sons that now, 55 
 
 Far from the manly blessings of her sway. 
 Drag the vile fetters of a Spanish lord. 
 And dare they, dare the vanquish'd sons of Spain 
 Enslave a Briton ? Have they then forgot, 
 LI*
 
 122 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 So soon forgot, the great, the immortal day, 60 
 
 When rescued Sicily with joy beheld 
 
 The swifl-wing'd thunder of the British arm 
 
 Disperse their navies ? when their coward bands 
 
 Fled, like the raven from the bird of Jove, 
 
 From swift impending vengeance fled in vain ? 05 
 
 Are these our lords ? and can Britannia see 
 
 Her foes oft vanquish'd, thus defy her power, 
 
 Iisult her standard, and enslave her sons. 
 
 And not arise to justice? Did our sires, 
 
 Unawed by chains, by exile, or by death, 70 
 
 Preserve inviolate her guardian rights. 
 
 To Britons ever sacred, that their sons 
 
 flight give them up to Spaniards ?-^Turn your eyes, 
 
 Turn ye degenerate 1 who with haughty boast 
 
 Call yourselves Britons, to that dismal gloom, 75 
 
 That dungeon dajk and deep, where never thought 
 
 Of joy or peace can enter; see the gates 
 
 Harsh-creaking open ; what an hideous void ! 
 
 Dark as the yawning grave ! while still as death 
 
 A frightful silence reigns : there on the ground 80 
 
 Behold your brethren chain'd like beasts of prey ; 
 
 There, mark your numerous glories ; there, behold 
 
 The look that speiks unutterable woe; 
 
 The mangled limb, the faint, the deathful eye, 
 
 With famine sunk, the deep heart-bursting groan US 
 
 Suppress'd in silence ; view the loathsome food 
 
 Refused by dogs ; and, oh ! the stinging thought I 
 
 View the dark Spaniard gloryijig in their wrongs ; 
 
 The deadly priest triumphant in their woes. 
 
 And thundering worse damnation on their souls : 90 
 
 While that pale f<>rm, in all the pangs of death.
 
 A BRITISH PHILIPPIC. 123 
 
 Too faint to speak, yet eloquent of all, 
 
 Ilis native British spirit yet untamed. 
 
 Raises his head, and with indignant frowns. 
 
 Of great dcHance and su{>erior scorn, 9-5 
 
 Looks up and dies. Oh ! I am all on fire ! 
 
 I'ut let me spare the theme, lest future times . 
 
 Should b!u>h to hear that either, coiKjoer'd Spain 
 
 Durst offer Britain such outrageous wrong. 
 
 Or Britain tamely bore it 100 
 
 Descend, ye guardian Heroes of the land ! 
 
 Scourges of Spain, descend ! behold your sons j 
 
 See how they run the same heroic race ; 
 
 How prompt, how ardent in their country's cause. 
 
 How greatly proud to assert their British blood, 105 
 
 And in their deeds reflect their fathers' fame ! 
 
 Ah ! would to heaven ye did not rather see 
 
 How dead to virtue in the public cause. 
 
 How cold, how careless, l>ow to glory deaf. 
 
 They shame your laurels, and belye their birth ! 110 
 
 Come ye great spirits. Cavendish, Rawleigh, Blake ! 
 And ye of later name, your country's pride. 
 Oh come ! disperse these lazy fumes of sloth ; 
 Teach British hearts with British fires to glow; 
 la wiikening whis[iers rouse our ardent j'otith ; 1\3 
 
 Blazon the triumphs of your better days ; 
 Paint all the glorious scenes of rightful war 
 In all its splendors ; to their swelling souls 
 Say, how ye bow'd the insulting Spaniard's pride ; 
 Say, how ye thunder'd o'er their prostrate heads ; 1 20 
 Say, how ye broke their lines and iired their ports; 
 Say, how not death, in all its frightful shapes. 
 Could damp your souls, or shake the great resolve
 
 J2* MISCELLANIES. 
 
 For Right and Britain : then display the joys 
 The patriot's soul exalting, while he views I25 
 
 Transported millions hail with loud acclaim 
 The guardian of their civil, sacred rights; 
 How greatly welcome to the virtuous man 
 Is death for others' good ! the radiant thoughts 
 That beam celestial on his passing soul, 130 
 
 The unfading crowns awaiting him above. 
 The exalting plaudit of the Great Supreme, 
 Who in his actions with complacence views 
 Ilis own reflected splendor ; then descend, 
 Though to a lower, yet a nobler scene ; 135 
 
 Paint the just honours to, his relics paid. 
 Shew grateful millions weeping o'er his grave. 
 While his fair fame in each progressive ao-e 
 For ever brightens ; and the wise and good 
 Of every land in universal choir UO 
 
 With richest incense of undying praise 
 His urn encircle ; to the wondering world 
 His numerous triumphs blazon ; while with awe. 
 With filial reverence, in his steps they tread j 
 And copying every virtue, every fame, Ii5 
 
 Transplant his glories into second life. 
 And witii unsparing hand, make nations blest 
 r5y his example. Vast immense rewards ! 
 For all the turmoils which the virtuous mind 
 lliicounters here. Yet, Britons ! are ye cold ? 150 
 
 Yet deaf to glory, virtue, and the call 
 Of your poor injured countrymen ? Ah! no : 
 I see ye are not ; every bosom glows 
 With native greatness, and in all its state 
 The British spirit rises. Glorious change ! 155
 
 A BRITISH PHILIPPIC. 125 
 
 Fame, Virtue, Freedom, welcome ! Oh ! forgive 
 The Muse, that, ardent in her sacred cause. 
 Your glory question'd ; she beholds with joy. 
 She owns, she triumphs, in her wish'd mistake. 
 
 See from her sea-ljeat throne, in awful march, lOO 
 Britannia towers ! upon her laurel crest 
 The plumes majestic nod ! behold, she heares 
 Her guardian shield, and, terrible in arms. 
 Fur battle shakes her adamantine spear; 
 Loud at her foot the Britisli Lion roars, 163 
 
 Frighting the nations : haughty Sjiain full soon 
 Shall hear and tremble. Go then, Britons, forth. 
 Your country's daring champions; tell your Jots, 
 Tell them in thunders o'er their prostrate land, 
 You were not lx)rn for slaves : let all your deeds 170 
 Shew that the sons of those immortal men. 
 The stars ol shining story, are not slow 
 In virtue's path to emulate their sires. 
 To assert their country's rights, avenge her sons, 
 And burl the bolts of Justice on her foes. ] 73 
 
 T HE VI E T U O S O; 
 
 IN JMITATION OF SpENCKu's SIYLi: .\ND STANZA. 
 
 April 23, MDCCXXXVIl. 
 
 Vidcnms 
 
 . Nuguri solitos. Peicsils. 
 
 VV HILOM by silver Thames'^ gentle stream, 
 
 In London town there dwelt a subtile wight ; 
 A wight of mickle wealth, and mickle fame. 
 
 Book-learn 'd and quaint ; a Vnncoso hight. 
 Uncuiuinon tliing>s and rare were his delight ; 
 L I 2
 
 12e MISCELLANIES. 
 
 From musings deep his brain ne'er gotten ease. 
 Nor ceasen he from study, day or night ; 
 
 Until (advancing onward by degrees) 
 He knevv whatever breeds on earth, or air, or seas. 
 
 He many a creature did anatomize. 
 
 Almost unpeopling water, air, and land ; 
 Beasts, fishes, birds, snails, caterpillars, flies. 
 
 Were laid full low by his relentless hand. 
 That oft with gory crimson was distain'd : 
 
 He many a dog destroy 'd, and many a cat ; 
 Of fleas his bed, of frogs the marshes drain'd. 
 
 Could tellen if a mite were lean or fat. 
 
 And read a lecture o'er the entrails of a gnat. 1 8 
 
 He knew the various modes of ancient times. 
 Their arts and fashions of each different guise ; 
 
 Their weddings, funerals, punishments for crimes. 
 Their strength, their learning eke, and rarities j 
 
 Of old habiliments, each sort and size, 
 
 Male, femaje, high and low to him were known ; 
 
 Each gladiator-dress, and stage-disguise ; 25 
 
 With learned clerkly phrase he could have shewn 
 How the Greek tunic differ'd from the Roman gown. 
 
 A curious medalist, I wot, he was. 
 
 And boasted many a course of ancient coin ; 
 Well as his wife's he knewen every face. 
 
 From Julius Casar down to Constantine : 
 For some rare sculpture he would oft ypine, 
 (As green-sick damosels for husbands do j) 
 And when obtained, with enraptured eyne. 
 
 He'd run it o'er and o'er with greedy view, 35 
 
 And look, and look again, as he would look it thro'.
 
 TllE VIRTUOSO. 127 
 
 His rich musBcum, of dimensions fair. 
 
 With goods that spoke the owner's mind was fraught; 
 Things ancient, curious, value-worth, and rare, 
 
 From sea and land, from Greece and Rome were brought. 
 Which he with mighty sums of gold had bought : 
 
 On these all tydes with joyous eyes he pored ; 
 And, sooth to say, himself he greater thought. 
 
 When he beheld his cabinets thus stored, 41- 
 
 Than if he'd been o{ Albion's wealthy cities lord. 
 
 Here in a corner stood a rich 'scrutoire. 
 
 With many a curiosity replete ; 
 In seemly order furnish'd every drawer, 
 
 Products of art or nature as was meet; 
 Air-pumps and prisms were placed beneath his feet, 
 
 A Meniphian mummy-king hung o'er his head ; 
 Here, phials with live insects small and great. 
 
 There, stood a tripod of the Pythian maid ; 
 
 Above, a crocodile diffused a grateful shade. 54 
 
 Fast by the window did a table stand. 
 
 Where hodiern and antique rareties. 
 From i^gypi, Greece, and Rome, from sea and land. 
 
 Were thick besprent of every sort and size : 
 Here a Ba/iu/uan-fpldtT'o carcase lies. 
 
 There a dire f^erpent's golden skin doth shine ; 
 Here Indian feathers, fruits, and glittering flies; 
 
 There gums and amber found beneath the line, 
 
 Tlie beak of Ibis here, and there an Antoninc. G > 
 
 Close at his back, or whispering in liis car. 
 There stood a upright jclepcd rhantaxj/ ; 
 
 Which, wheresoe'er he went, was always near : 
 Her look was wild, and roving was her eye ;
 
 IQi MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Her hair was clad with flowers of every dye ; 
 Her ghstering robes were of more various hue. 
 Than the fair bow that paints the cloudy sky, 
 
 Or all the spangled drops of morning dew ; 7 1 
 
 Tlieir colour changing still at every diflcrent view. 
 
 Yet in this shape all tydes she did not stay ; 
 
 Various as the chamaelion that she bore. 
 Now a grand monarch with a crown of bay. 
 
 Now mendicant in silks, and golden ore : 
 A statesman, now equipp'd to chase the boar. 
 
 Or cowled monk, lean, feeble, and unfed ; 
 A elown-like lord, or swain of courtly lore ; 
 
 Now scribbling(dunce in sacred laurel clad. 
 
 Or Papal-father now, in homely weeds array 'd. SI 
 
 The wight whose brain this Phanlo?7i's power doth fill. 
 On whom she doth with constant care attend. 
 
 Will for a dreadful giant take a mill. 
 Or a grand palace in a hog-stie find : 
 
 (From her dire influence me may Heaven defend 1) 
 All things with vitiated sight he spies ; 
 
 Neglects his family, forgets his friend. 
 Seeks painted ti'ifles, and fantastic toy?. 
 And eagerly pursues imaginary joys. 90 
 
 RrmaiJi. This was probably \\\sJl/\-t poetic flight, and will be 
 valued as a proof of his early geiii'is; it was addressed, as ah^ij tlie 
 next poem, to the Editor of the " Gentleman's Matjazine," from 
 whence both are now copied : this was accomjjanied by the follow- 
 ing note. '*^ 
 
 T hope, nr, t/ou'll e.rcuse the fvlloii'mg l-ccm (helng the pafvimance 
 cf one in his sixteenth year) and insert it in yj'ti next r/tagurini', 
 uhich u;',ll oblige 
 
 yo'/r\ &:r. MARCUS 
 
 Newcastle upon-Tyne, April 25, ITo".
 
 129 
 THE POET; 
 
 A RHAPSODY. 
 July, MDCCXXXVII. 
 
 V/F all the various lots around the ball, 
 . Which Fate to man distributes absolute ;. 
 Avert, ye Gods ! that of the Muse's son. 
 Cursed with dire poverty ! poor hungry wretch ! 
 What shall he do for life ? he cannot work 5 
 
 With manual labour: shall those sacred hands. 
 That brought the counsels of the gods to light ; 
 Shall that inspired tongue, which every Muse 
 Has touch 'd divine, to charm the sons of men : 
 These hallow 'd organs ! these! l)e prostitute 10 
 
 To the vile service of some fool in power ; 
 All his behests submissive to perform, 
 Howe'er to him ingrateful ? Oh ! he scorns 
 The ignoble thought ; with generous disdain. 
 More eligible deeming it to starve, 15 
 
 Like his famed ancestors renown'd in verse. 
 Than poorly bend to be another's slave, 
 Than feed and fatten in obscurity. 
 These are his firm resolves, which fate nor time. 
 Nor poverty can sh:ike. Exalted high 20 
 
 III garret vile he lives ; with remnants hung 
 Of tapestry: But, oh ! precarious state 
 Of this vain transient world ! all powerful time ! 
 What do>t thou not subdue r See what a chasm 
 Gapes witle, tremendous ! see where Saul enraged, 5 
 High on liis throne, cncompass'd by his guards. 
 With levell'd spear, and arm extended ^its, 
 Ready to pierce old Jesse's valiant son. 
 Spoil'd of his nose ! around, in tottering ranks.
 
 130 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 On shelves pulverulent, majestic stands 30 
 
 His library ; in ragged plight, and old ; 
 
 Replete with many a load of criticism. 
 
 Elaborate products of the midnight toil 
 
 Of Belgian brains ; snatch'd from the deadly hands 
 
 Of murderous grocer; or the careful wight, 3b 
 
 Who vends the plant, that clads the happy shore 
 
 Of Indian Patomack ; which citizens 
 
 In balmy fumes exhale, when, o'er a pot 
 
 Of sage-inspiring coffee, they dispose 
 
 Of kings and crowns, and settle Europe's fate. 4-0 
 
 Elsewhere, the dome is fill'd with various heaps 
 Of old domestic lumber; that huge chair 
 Has seen six monarchs fill the British throne : 
 Here, a broad massy table stands, o'erspread 44 
 
 With ink and pens, and scrolls replete with rhyme j 
 Chests, tools, old rasors, fractured jars half full 
 Of muddy Zythufn, sour and spiritless. 
 Fragments of verse, hose, sandals, utensils 
 Of various fashion, and of various use. 
 With friendly influence hide the sable floor. iO 
 
 This is the bard's musaeum, this the fane 
 To Phahits sacred, and the Aonian maids : 
 But oh ! it stabs his heart, that niggard fate 
 To him in such small measure should dispense 
 Her better gifts : to him ! whose generous soul 55 
 
 Could relish, with as fine an elegance. 
 The golden joys of grandeur, and of wealth ; 
 He who could tyrannise o'er menial slaves. 
 Or swell beneath a coronet of state. 
 Or grace a gilded chariot with a mien, 60 
 
 Grand as the hauahtiest Timon of them all
 
 THE POET; A RHAPSODY. 131 
 
 But 'tis in vain to rave at destiny ; 
 Here lie must rest and brook the best he can. 
 To live remote from grandeur, Uaming, wit ; 
 I^nmured amongst the ignoble, vulgar herd, 65 
 
 Of lowest intellect, whose stupid souls 
 But half inform their bodies ; brains of lead 
 And tongues of thunder : whose insensate l>reasts 
 Ne'er felt the rapturous, soul-entrancing fire 
 Of the coelestial Muse ; whose savage ears 70 
 
 Ne'er heard the sacred rules, nor even tlie names. 
 Of the Venusian ha.vd, or critic sage 
 Full-famed of Stugyra ; whose clamoi-ous tongues 
 Stun the tormented ear with colloquy. 
 Vociferate, trivial, or impertinent ; 75 
 
 Replete with boorisli scandal : yet, alas ! 
 This, this ! he must endure, or muse alone, 
 Pensive and moping o'er the stubborn rhyme. 
 Or line imperfect No I the door is free. 
 And calls him to evade their deafening clang, SO 
 
 I5y private ambulation ; 'tis resolved : 
 OlFfrom his waist he throws the tatttr'd gown. 
 Beheld with indignation ; and unloads 
 His pericranium of the weighty cap. 
 With sweat and grease discolcur'd : then explores 85 
 Tlie spacious chest, and from its hollow womb 
 Draws his best robe, yet not from tiiiclurc free 
 Of age's reverend russet, scant and bare ; 
 Then down his meagre. visage waving flows 
 The shadowy perruque ; crouu'd with gummy hat 90 
 Clean brush'd; a cane supports him. Thus ecjuip'd 
 He sallies forth ; swift traverses the s-f reels. 
 And seeks the lonely walk ; Uail .i^'lvan scenes,
 
 13e MISCELLANIES. 
 
 Ye groves, ye valleys, ye meandering brooks. 
 
 Admit me to your joys, in rapturous phrase, !>iJ 
 
 Loud he exclaims; while with the inspiring Muse 
 
 His bosom labours ; and all other thoughts. 
 
 Pleasure and wealthy and poverty itself, 
 
 Before her influence vanish. Rapt in thought. 
 
 Fancy presents before his ravish 'd eyes 100 
 
 J3istant posterity, upon his page 
 
 With transport dwelling ; while bright learning's sons 
 
 That, ages hence, must tread this earthly ball. 
 
 Indignant seem to curse the thankless age. 
 
 That starved such merit. Meantime swallow'd up 
 
 Iti meditation deep, he wanders en, 106 
 
 Unweeting of his way. But ah ! he starts ! 
 
 With sudden fright ! his glaring ej-e-balls rdl> 
 
 Pale turn his cheeks, and shake his loosen'd joints : 
 
 His cogitations vanish into air, 1 10 
 
 Like painted bubbles, or a morning dream. 
 
 Behold the cause ! see ! through the opening glade. 
 
 With rosy visage, and abdomen grand, 
 
 A cit, a dun ! As in Apulia's wilds. 
 
 Or where the Thrucian Htbrus rolls his wave, 1 15 
 
 A heedless kid, disportive, roves around. 
 
 Unheeding, till upon the hideous cave 
 
 Of the dire wolf she treads; half dead she views 
 
 His bloodshot eye-balls, and his dreadful fang:., 
 
 And swift as Eiirus from the monster flies. 120 
 
 So fares the trembling bard ; amazed he turns. 
 
 Scarce by his legs upborn ; yet fear supplies 
 
 The place of strength; straight home he bends his course, 
 
 Kor looks behind him till he safe regain 
 
 His faithful citadel ; there spent, fatigued, 125
 
 THE POET; A RHAPSODY. 133 
 
 He lays him down to ease his heaving hings. 
 Quaking and of his safety scarce convinced. 
 Soon as the Panick leaves his panting breast, 
 Down to the Muse's sacred rites he sits. 
 Volumes piled round him ; see ! upon his brow 1 30 
 Perplex'd anxiety, and struggling thought. 
 Painful as female throes : whether the bard 
 Display the deeds of Heroes ; or the fall 
 Of Vice, in lay dramatic ; or expand 
 The lyric wing ; or in elegiac strains 135 
 
 Lament the Fair ; or lash the stubborn age. 
 With laughing satire ; or in rural scenes 
 With shepherds sport; or rack his hard-bound brain* 
 For the unexpected turn. Arachne so. 
 In dusty kitchen corner, from her bowels 140 
 
 Spins the fine web ; but spins with better fate. 
 Than the poor bard : she ! caitiff! spreads her snares, 
 /Vnd with their aid enjoys luxurious life ; 
 Bloated with fat of insects, flesh'd in blood : 
 He ! hard, hard lot ! for all his toil and care, 1 1* 
 
 And painful vvatchings, scarce protracts a while 
 His meagre, hungry days ! ungrateful world I 
 If with his drama he adorn the stage ; 
 No worth-discerning concourse pays the charge. 
 Or of the orchestra, or the enlightening torch. 150 
 
 He who supports the luxury and pride 
 Of craving Lais ; he ! whose carnage fills 
 Dogs, eagles, lions ; has not yet enough. 
 Wherewith to satisfy the greedier maw 
 Of that most ravenous, that devouring beast, 155 
 
 Yclcp'd a Poet. What new Halifax, 
 What Somers, or what Dorset can'st thou find. 
 Mm
 
 134 MISCELLANiES. 
 
 Thou hungry mortal ? break, wretch, break thy quill. 
 
 Blot out the studied image ; to the flames 
 
 Commit the Stagyrite; leave this thankless trade; 160 \ 
 
 Erect some pedling stall, with trinkets stock'd, ! 
 
 There, earn thy daily half-pence, nor again 
 Trust the false Muse : so shall the cleanly meal 
 
 Repel intruding hunger. Oh ! 'tis vain. 
 
 The friendly admonition's all in vain ; 165 
 
 The scribbling itch has seized him, he is lost 
 To all advice ; and starves for starving's sake. 
 
 Thus sung the sportful Muse, in mirthful mood. 
 Indulging gay the frolic vein of youth; 
 But oh ! ye Gods, avert the impending stroke, 170 
 
 This luckless omen threatens ! hark ! methinks, 
 1 hear my better angel cry. Retreat, 
 Rash youth ! in time retreat ! let those peor Bards, 
 Who slighted all, all > for the Jlattering Bluse, \ 
 
 Yet cursed v:ith pining xvant, as land-?nark$ stand, 175 
 To zvarn theefrotn the service of the rngrate.
 
 TO CORDELIA. 
 July, MDCCXL. 
 
 r ROM pompous life's dull masquerade. 
 
 From pride's pursuits, and passion's war. 
 
 Far, my Cordelia, very far ! 
 To thee and me may Heaven assign. 
 The silent pleasures of the shade. 
 The joys of peace, unenvied, though divine. 6 
 
 Safe in the calm embowering grove. 
 
 As thy own lovely brow serene ; 
 
 Behold the world's fantastic scene ! 
 What low pursuits employ the great. 
 What tinsel things their wishes move. 
 The forms of Fashion, and the toys of State, 1 2 
 In vain are all Contentment's charms. 
 
 Her placid mien, her cheerful eye. 
 
 For look, Cordelia, how they fly ! 
 Allured by Power, Applause, or Gain, 
 They fly her kind protecting arms ; 
 Ah, blind to pleasure, and in love with pain ! 1 8 
 Turn and indulge a fairer view. 
 
 Smile on the joys which here conspire; 
 
 O joys harmonious as my lyre ! 
 O prospect of inchanting things. 
 As ever slumbering Poet kiiew 23 
 
 When Love and Fancy wrapt him in their wings ! 
 Here, no rude storm of passion blows. 
 
 But sports, and smiles, and virtues play, 
 
 Cheer'd by affection's purest ray ; 
 The air still breathes contentment's balm. 
 And the clear stream of pleasure flows 
 For ever active, yet for ever calm. 30
 
 136 MISCELLANIES. 
 
 A S O N G 
 
 X HE shape alone let others prize, 
 
 'The features of the fair; 
 1 look for spirit in her eyes. 
 
 And meaning in her air. 4 
 
 A damask Cheek, and ivory Arm, 
 
 Shall ne'er my wishes win. 
 Give me an animated form, 
 
 Tbat speaks a mind within. 8 
 
 A face where awful Honour shines. 
 Where sense and sweetness move. 
 
 And angel innocence refines. 
 
 The tenderness of Love. 12 
 
 These ai-e the soul of Beauty's frame. 
 
 Without whose vital aid, 
 Unfinish'd all her features seem. 
 
 And all her roses dead. 16 
 
 But ah I * where both their charms unite. 
 
 How perfect is the view. 
 With every image of delight. 
 
 With graces ever new. 20 
 
 Of power to charm the greatest woe. 
 
 The wildest rage control. 
 Diffusing mildness o'er the brow. 
 
 And rapture through the soul. 24 
 
 Their power but faintly to express. 
 
 All language must despair. 
 But go behold Arpusia's face. 
 
 And read it perfect there. 28 
 
 * Pk'isuies vf the Imagination, Book I, line 362.
 
 137 
 
 INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 FOR A GROTTO. 
 
 1 O me, whom in their lays the shepherds call 
 Actiiia, dau<Thter of the neighbouring- stream. 
 This cave belongs. The fig-tree and the vine. 
 Which o'er the rocky entrance downward shoot. 
 Were placed by Glycon. He with cowslips pale, 5 
 Primsose, and purple lychnis, deck'd the green 
 Before my threshold, and my shelving walls 
 With honeysuckle cover'd. Here at noon, 
 Lull'd by the murmur of my rising fount, 
 I slumbtr : here my clustering fruits I tend : 10 
 
 Or from the humid flowers, at break of day. 
 Fresh garlands weave, and chace from all my bounds 
 Fach thing impure or noxious. Enter in, 
 O stranger, undismay'd. Mor bat, nor toad 
 Here lurks : and if thy breast of blameless thoughts 15 
 Approve thee, not unwelcome shalt thou tread 
 |(Iy quiet mansion : chiefly, if thy name 
 Wise Pallas and the immortal muses own. 
 
 II. 
 
 FOR A STATUE OF CHAUCER, 
 AT WOODSTOCK. 
 
 oUClI was old CHAUCER, such the placid mien 
 Of him who first with harmony inform 'd 
 Til'.' 'a:"" Miai'' nfo'''.' r'/'if--. II' r" hv (V.wlt.
 
 138 INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 For many a cheerful day. These ancient walls 
 
 Have often heard hiui, while his legends blithe . 5 
 
 He sang; of love, or knighthood, or the wiles 
 
 Of iiomely life : through each estate and age. 
 
 The fashions and the follies of the world 
 
 With cunning hand portraying. Though per chance 
 
 From Blenheim's towers, O stranger, thou art come 10 
 
 Glowing with Churchill's trophies j yet in vain 
 
 Dost thou applaud them, if thy breast be cold 
 
 To him, this other hero ; who, in times 
 
 Dark and untaught, began with charming verse 
 
 To tame the rudeness of his native land. 15 
 
 III. 
 
 Whoe'er thou art whose path in summer lies 
 
 Through yonder village, turn thee where the grove 
 
 Of branching oaks a rural palace old 
 
 Imbosoms. There dwells Albert, generous lord 
 
 Of all the harvest round. And onward thence 5 
 
 A low plain chapel fronts the morning light 
 
 Fast by a silent rivulet. Humbly walk, 
 
 O stranger, o'er the consecrated ground ; 
 
 And on that verdant hilloc, which thou see'st 
 
 Beset with osiers, let thy pious hand 10 
 
 Sprinkle fresh water from the brook and strew 
 
 Sweet-smelling flowers. For there doth Edmund rest. 
 
 The learned shepherd ; for each rural art 
 
 Famed, and for songs harmonious, and the woes 
 
 Of ill-requited love. The faithless pride Ij 
 
 Of fair Matilda sank him to the grave 
 
 In manhood's prime. But soon did righteous Heaven 
 
 With tears, with sharp remorse, and pining care.
 
 INSCRIPTIONS. 139 
 
 Avenge her falshood. Nor could all the gold 
 
 And nuptial pomp, which lured her plighted faith 
 
 Fronn Edmund to a loftier husband's home> 21 
 
 Relieve her breaking heart, or turn aside 
 
 The strokes of death. Go, traveller; relate 
 
 The mournful story. Haply some fair maid 
 
 May hold it in remembrance, and be taught 
 
 That riches cannot pay for truth or love. 26 
 
 IV. 
 FOR SHAKESPEARE'S MONUMENT. 
 
 O YOUTHS and virgins : O declining eld : 
 
 O pale misfortune's slaves : O ye who dwell 
 
 Unknown with humble quiet; ye who wait 
 
 In courts; or fill the golden seat of kings : 
 
 O sons of SPORT and pleasure : O thou wretch 5 
 
 That weep'st for jealous love ; or the sore wounds 
 
 Of CONSCIOUS GUILT ; Or death's rapacious hand 
 
 Which left thee void of hope : O ye who roam 
 
 In exile ; ye who through the embattled field 
 
 Seek bright renown; or who for nobler palms 10 
 
 Contend, the leaders of a public cause ; 
 
 Approach : behold this marble. Know ye not 
 
 The features ? Hath not oft his faithful tongue 
 
 Told you the fashion of your own estate, 
 
 The secrets of your bosom? Here then, round ].5 
 
 His MONUMENT with reverencc while ye stand. 
 
 Say to each other : " This was SIIAKKSPMAllE'S form ; 
 
 " Who walk'd in every path of human life, 
 
 " Felt every Passion ; and to all mankind 
 
 " Doth now, will ever, that experience yield 20 
 
 " Which his own genius only could acquire."
 
 140 INSCRIPTIONS. 
 
 V. 
 
 GVLIELINIVS III. FORTIS, PIVS, LIBERATOR, CVM 
 INEVNTE AETATE PATRIAE LABENTI ADFV- 
 ISSET SALVS IPSEVNICA; CVM MOX ITIDEM 
 REIPVBLICAE BRITANNICAE VINDEX REiNVN- 
 CIATVS ESSET ATQVE STATOR ; TVM DENI- 
 QVE AD ID SE NATVM RECOGNOVIT ET REGEM 
 FACTVM,VT CVRARET NE DOMINO IMPOTEN- 
 TI CEDERENT PAX, FIDES, FORTVNA, GENE- 
 RIS HVMANI. AVCTORI PVBLICAE FELICITA- 
 TIS*P. G. A. M. A. 
 
 VI. 
 FOR A COLUMN A.T RUNNYMEDE. 
 
 X HOU, who the verdant plain dost traverse here. 
 While Thames among his willows from thy view 
 Retires ; O stranger, stay thee, and the scene 
 Around contemplate well. This is the place 
 Where England's ancient barons, clad in arms 5 
 
 And stern with conquest, from their tyrant king 
 (Then render'd tame) did challenge and secure 
 The charter of thy freedom. Pass not on 
 Till thou hast bless'd their memory, and paid 
 Those thanks which God appointed the reward 19 
 
 Of public virtue. And if chance thy home 
 Salute thee with a father's honour'd name. 
 Go, call thy sons : instruct them what a debt 
 They owe their ancestors ; and make them swear 
 To pay it, by transmitting down intire 
 Those sacred rights to which themselves were born. 16 
 
 * POSUIT GRATUS ANGIAS MaHCIS AkINSIDF.. '
 
 INSCRIPTIONS. HI 
 
 VII. 
 THE WOOD NYMPH. 
 
 Approach in silence, 'tis no vulgar tale 
 Which I, the Dryad of this hoary oak. 
 Pronounce to mortal ears. The second age 
 Now hasteneth to its period, since I rose 
 On this fair lawn. The groves of yonder vale 5 
 
 Are, all, my oilspring '. and each Nymph, who guards 
 The copses and the furrow'd fields beyond. 
 Obeys me. Many changes have I seen 
 In human things ; and many awful- deeds 
 Of justice, when the ruling hand of Jove 10 
 
 Against the tyrants of the land, against 
 The unhallow'd sons of luxury and guile. 
 Was arm'd for retribution. Thus at length 
 Expert in laws divine, I know the paths 
 Of wisdom ; and erroneous folly's end 15 
 
 Have oft presaged : and now well-pleased I wait 
 Each evening till a noble youth, who loves 
 "My shade, awhile released from public cares. 
 Yon peaceful gate shall enter, and sit down 
 Beneath my branches. Then his musing mind 20 
 
 I prompt, unseen ; and place before his view 
 Sincerest forms of Good; and move his heart 
 With the dread bounties of the sire supreme 
 Of gods and men, with freedom's generous deeds. 
 The lofty voice of glory and the faith 25 
 
 Of sacred friendship. Stranger, I have told 
 My function. If within thy bosom dwell 
 Aught which may challenge praise, thou wilt not leave 
 X'^nhonour'd my abode, nor shall I hear 
 A sparing benediction from thy tongue. 30
 
 142 INSCRIPTIONS 
 
 VIII. 
 
 X E POWERS UNSEEN, to whoiT), the bards of Grcce 
 Erected altars j ye who to the mind 
 More lofty views unfold, and prompt the heart 
 With more divine emotions; if erewhile 
 Not quite unpleasing have my votive rites 5 
 
 Of you been deem'd, when oft this lonely seat 
 To you I consecrated ; then vouchsafe 
 Here with your instant energy to crown 
 My happy solitude; It is the hour 
 When most I love to invoke you, and have felt 10 
 
 Most frequent your glad ministry divine. 
 The air is calm : the sun's unveiled orb 
 Shines in the middle heaven. The harvest round 
 Stands quiet, and among the golden sheaves 
 The reapers lie reclined. The neighbouring groves 15 
 Are mute ; nor even a linnet's random strain 
 Echotth amid the silence. Let me feel 
 Your influence, ye kind powers. Aloft in heaveri. 
 Abide ye ? or on those transparent clouds 
 Pass ye from hill to hill ? or on the shades 20 
 
 Which yonder elms cast o'er the lake below 
 Do you converse retired ? f>om what loved haunt 
 Shall I expect you ? Let me once more feel 
 Your influence, O ye kind inspiring powers : 
 And I will guard it well ; nor shall a thought 25 
 
 Rise in my mind, nor shall a passion move 
 Across my bosom unobserved, unstored 
 By faithful memory. And then at some 
 
 More active moment, will I call them forth
 
 INSCRIPTIONS. 143 
 
 Anew ; and join them in majestic forms, 30 
 
 And g^ve them utterance in harmonious strains; 
 That all mankind shall wonder at your sway. 
 
 IX. 
 
 IVlE though in life's sequester'd vale 
 
 The Almighty Sire ordain'd to dwell. 
 
 Remote from Glory's toilsome ways. 
 
 And the great scenes of public praise ; 
 
 Yet let me still with grateful pride 5 
 
 Remember how my infant frame 
 
 He temper'd with prophetic flame. 
 
 And early music to my tongue supplied. 
 
 'Twas then my future fate he weigh'd. 
 
 And this be thy concern he said, 10 
 
 At once with Passion's keen alarms. 
 
 And Beauty's pleasurable charms. 
 
 And sacred Truth's eternal light, 
 
 To move the various mind of Man ; 
 
 Till under one unblemish'd plan. 
 
 His Reason, Fancy, and his Heart unite, ir 
 
 END OF THE POEMS.
 
 ESSAYS. 
 
 ON CORRECTNESS. 
 April MCCXLVI. 
 
 In conversations that turn upon the state of polite 
 learning among the several nations of Europe, one hears 
 nothing so frequently as complaints of the Incorrectness 
 of our English authors. And of all our neighbours, the 
 French are universally acknowledged our superiors" in 
 this respect, to the highest degree. I have seldom 
 dared to oppose so general a decision, among men of 
 taste ; though it is to be wished they would tell us the 
 precise meaning of the word Correctness ; for till that 
 be done, a true-born Englishman may fairly refuse his 
 vote, and stand up for the honour of old England in 
 tliis particular, against a nation which his wiser proge- 
 nitors were not wont to look upon as their superior. 
 
 'Twill be allowed, I believe, that an author is cor- 
 rect, in proportion as he avoids those blemishes which 
 are most repugnant to the perfection of his particular 
 species of writing. But the several species of writing 
 are themselves very greatly to be distinguis^hed, in point 
 of eminence and dignity. He is a strange critic who 
 thinks a Sonnet or INIadrigal as much to be regarded as 
 a Tragedy, or who talks as .seriously of an Eclof^ue to 
 Lis, as of an Epic Potm. It .>-hould seem then, that the 
 comparative Correctness of iw^f'/t/j and French authors 
 N n
 
 J*6 E S S A Y I. 
 
 in general, is proportionable to their comparative de- 
 grees of perfection in the highest kinds of composition. 
 
 I was expressing myself in this manner, before a cer- 
 tain company, when Pollio interrupted me. Pollio has 
 a nice taste rather than a good one. I see, said he, 
 whither you are going. You would entitle England to 
 more Correctness than France, because Epic Poetry i 
 the highest species of composition, and the French have 
 no Epic Poet so perfect as Milton. But remember that 
 Correctness consists in being free from blemishes, and 
 then even this point will be denied you. What think 
 you of the Henrlade ? Did you ever there meet with 
 blemishes so shocking as in the Paradise Lost ? 
 
 For my part, said I, the greatest and most shockmg 
 blemish of any poem seems to me to be the want of 
 such beauties as are most characteristic and essential to 
 its kind. And in this light, Voltaire s " Pretty Thing" is 
 full of the most incorrigible, unpardonable blemishes. 
 / sing that Hero tcho reign'd in France, both by right of 
 birth, and by right oj conquest. Is this the exordium of an 
 Epic Poem, or of an engrossed Parchment ? J should 
 not have laid hold of so minute a point, had the <yeneral 
 style and manner of the poem deserved more indul- 
 gence. I allow it to be very prettily, if you will, to be 
 finely written. Many of the descriptions are elegant; 
 many of the characters are well drawn. But an Epic 
 Poem requires, not fne writing, but a simplicity and 
 dignity of expression that disdains to \\e,xv finer clothes 
 than that Nature which it represents. An Epic Poem 
 requires, not elegant descriptions of objects, but the 
 action, the reality of objects ; the parts w hich they play 
 in nature, not the appearances they make to tlje Poet's
 
 ON CORRECTNESS. 147 
 
 reflex attention. To draw direct characters of persons, 
 is the work of an Historian ; tlie Epic Poet should set 
 them before your eyes, and bid their actions and their 
 h)oks tell you their characters. In short, I esteem the 
 llenriade as in the same class of poetry with Dri/dens 
 Fables, and there it gives me pleasure. But if you pro- 
 duce it as an Epic Poem, it is to me an unanswerable 
 proof, that the French taste in Epic Poetry is extremely 
 incorrect and barbarous. 
 
 The genius of their language, replied Pollio, is per- 
 haps an unsurmountable obstacle to their attaining the 
 utmost heights of the Epic species. Tragedy is the 
 next in dignity, and there 1 am sure you must allow 
 their superior Correctness and purer taste. To oppose 
 the irregular starts and sallies of the English drama to 
 the unity, truth, and just oeconomy of the French, is to 
 prefer the vast heaps of rock in a quairy, or craggy 
 shore, to the proportions of a beautiful temple or theatre. 
 
 To Unity and Truth, said I, in works of Art, I am as 
 warmly attached as any man. But as Tragic Poetry is 
 multiform and various, so one part of it may be cou- 
 fitructed according to the laws of Unity and Truth, 
 while another perhaps directly contradicts them. 
 There is a Unity of Fable, in which it may be allowed 
 the French greatly exceed us. But in my opinion, the 
 Unity of Character is prior in dignity ; and there, I 
 think, we as greatly exceed them. I am not accusing 
 the French tragedians of inconsistence, or poetical false- 
 hood in their characters ; but I say their characters are 
 not always capable of inconsistence : I mean they are 
 often so vague and undetermined, that you hardly 
 know what they should say, or what they should not.
 
 148 E S S A Y I. 
 
 Compare them in this respect with our English poet?, 
 with Shakespeare especially, and 
 
 You are still, interrupted my friend, for shifting the 
 question. We are disputing about the comparative- 
 Purity and Correctness of the French and English wri- 
 ters; not about their comparative genius or natural 
 talents. The Unity of Character in Shakespeare, and 
 his vast insight into human passions, I dare not call in 
 tjuestion ; I know the good company would exclaim 
 against me, should I but mention a competitor with him 
 in that particular. But this is wholly the energy of nat- 
 ural genius, and in no degree an argument of Correct- 
 ness. Correctness always supposes reflection, and an 
 industrious enquiry by what culture you can best ren- 
 <ler your work perfect. 
 
 Be it so, said I ; I am highly obliged to you, Pollio, 
 for the observation. If then to be correct, supposes de- 
 liberation and industry, 'tis evident that an author who 
 applies his industry to the most important parts of his 
 work, is more correct than another who rather attends 
 to the minute and trivial. For nothing can be a clearer 
 proof of incorrectness and want of taste, than to neglect 
 the chief beauties of your art for the sake of partial and 
 childish refinements. In the general ceconoray of their 
 fable, in the mechanical connection of their scenes, and 
 in the temperance of poetical diiicourse, the French are 
 allowed to be evidently our superiors. But are there 
 no points of as great consequence in dramatic poetry, 
 wltere we can retort the charge of barbarism and an un- 
 finished taste? What think you of the versification, 
 the rhyme of their tragedies ? Is that an instance either 
 of a correct musical ear, or of good judgment in the
 
 ON CORRECTNESS. 149 
 
 Verisimilitude of imitation, one of the chief articles of 
 established and authentic criticism ? What think you 
 of those lon^ declamatory speeches so frequent in their 
 Tragic Poets r where the Poet forgets he is imitating, 
 and says pompous things in his proper person, where 
 he ought to say only natural things and suitable to the 
 condition of his actor : a sure proof of a young, raw 
 judgment, both in the Poet who writes so, and in the 
 Audience who suft'ers him ! And accordingly, both in 
 the Grecian theatre and in the English, we find this 
 theconstant practice of their earliest writers, and gra- 
 dually wearing olF as the national taste grew mature ; 
 just as in the last century, rhyme was the mode in tra- 
 gedy for a while, till our countrymen approached to a 
 more manly judgement, and then even Dtyden was 
 ashamed to patronize it, though supported by French 
 Correcluess and the authority of Corneille and Racine. 
 But their most flagrant ill ta<te and crudeness of imi- 
 tation appears in the frenchijied air of all their drama- 
 tic personages. Let the scene be India, Constantinople, 
 or ancient Rome, the Poet always composes in Paris. 
 The prettiness of French manners is al>ove conforming 
 to the custom of the country, but converts a turban, a 
 wreath of feathers, or w<x>llen Toga, into the toupee, 
 the solitaire, and brocade in fashion. Thii^ is mere 
 want of CorrectnesH and true taste ; and shocks one at 
 least as much as any Flemish or Venetian picture, 
 where a Jcivish or Grecian subject is reprc'iented in 
 ruffs and whiskers, in S-wiss hats and Spanish breeches. 
 An instance of unskilfulness and barbnrism, far beyond 
 the broken scenes and frequent change of place on tl;e 
 English theatre : these indeed shew a deficiency or ne- 
 N n 2
 
 150 E S S A Y I. 
 
 gleet of mechanical contrivance, but the other strikes at 
 the truth, beauty and utility of poetic imitation ia its 
 most essential part. 
 
 It wer easy to produce instances of a very incorrect 
 taste among the French even in little things, as well as 
 in these more important points of criticism. Were I a 
 Frenchman, concerned for the poetical glory of my 
 country, I should lament its unmusical language, and 
 the imposibility of forming it to numbers or harmony. 
 The French Ode is an uncei'tain mixture of different 
 feet, changing at random the rhythmus or movement of 
 the verse, and disappointing one's ear, just as if a dan- 
 cer in the midst of a minuet should fall a capering in 
 the harlequin step, or break out into a Lancashire horn- 
 pipe. Their Alexandrine measure, which they call 
 heroic, has its pause or caesura in every line at the 
 same place ; so that two hammers on a smith's anvil 
 make just as much music as Raoine or Boileau. If this 
 be without remedy in the French language, their lan- 
 guage is very unfortunate for poetry ; but is it not di- 
 verting to hear these finished critics and masters of 
 Correctness valuing themselves upon this wretched, un- 
 musical poverty in their verse, and blaming the licen- 
 tiousness of English poetry, because it allows a variation 
 of the pause, and a suspension of the period from one 
 verse into any part of another ? without which poetry- 
 has less harmony than prose. 
 
 It is hard to conceive by what means the French ac- 
 quired this character of superior Correctness. We have 
 classic authors in English, older than in any modern 
 language, except the Italian ; and Spencer and Sidney 
 wrote with the truest taste, when the French had not
 
 ON CORRECTNESS. 151 
 
 one great Poet they can bear to read. Milton and 
 Chapdain were contemporaries : the Pucelle and Para- 
 dise Lost were in hand perhaps frequently at the self- 
 same hour. One of them was executed in such a man- 
 ner, that an Athenian of Menander's age would have 
 .turned his eyes from the Minerva of Phidias, or the 
 Venus of Apelles, to obtain more perfect conceptions of 
 Beauty from the English Poet ; the other, though fost- 
 ered by the French court for twenty years with the ut- 
 most indulgence, does honour to the Leonine and the Ru- 
 nic poetry. It was too great an attention to French criti- 
 cism, that hindered our Poets in Charles Il's time from 
 comprehending the genius, and acknowledging the au- 
 thority of Milton; else, without looking abroad, they 
 might have acquired a manner more correct dinA perfect, 
 than French authors could or can teach them. In 
 short, unless Correctness signify a freedom from little 
 faults, without inquiring after the most essential beau- 
 ties, it scarce appears on what foundation the French 
 claim to that character is established. 
 
 THE TABLE OF MODERN FAME. 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 September, MDCCXLVI. 
 
 i-<AST night after leaving the company where I had 
 spent the evening, I took up a volume of the Tatler to 
 conclude the day. I liap|)ened to light on that admir- 
 ed paper, where the mo>t celebraLcd per>oiia^c!i of an- 
 tiquity are represented at the Table of Fume. 1 was
 
 152 E S S A Y II. 
 
 very agreeably amused with the venerable assembly, 
 and the pleasing inanner in which they are introduced; 
 till I had formed my own mind to that composure and 
 stilness, which is the best preparative to a happy repose. 
 As soon as I fell asleep, raethought I was walking in an 
 immense plain, where I met a Figure of great dignity, 
 representing a man in the full vigour of his age, cloath- 
 ed in a purple garment, with a rod of silver in his band ; 
 he accosted me, and I learned from his discourse, that 
 he had formerly lived \ipon our earth ; but that now, he 
 was raised to the enjoyment of that felicity, which God 
 has appointed for the reward of Prudence and Virtue. 
 I see, said he, young man, that you are just returned 
 from the mansion of Ancient Faine ; and I perceive by 
 your countenance, that you have not been thoroughly 
 satisfied with the goddess of the place, or with the or- 
 der of that assembly over which she presides. You mor- 
 tals are prone to imagine that the smiles of Fame, are 
 always bestowed according to the suffrage of virtue; but 
 in this you find you are mistaken. If your curiosity 
 incline you to enquire into the management oi Modern 
 Fame, the younger Sister, follow me, and I will con- 
 duct you to her abode. 
 
 immediately he led me to a very spacious building, 
 of a mixed and crude sort of architecture, where, though 
 I admired the expensiveness of the materials, yet the 
 ornaments methought were ill designed, and of a vulgar 
 taste ; like a clumsy ungraceful person dressed out in 
 Jewels and embroidery. I was particularly disgusted 
 to see among the ancient festoons of flowers, Pipes and 
 musical Reeds, which were adjusted to the columns of 
 the temple ; to see Mitres, and triple Crowns, Crosiers,
 
 TABLE OF MODERN FAME. 153 
 
 ascl other ensigns of ecclesiastical discipline. This build- 
 ing was surrounded with an innumerable crowd of peo- 
 ple ; and at each of the spacious doors, which opened 
 on every side of it, I observed a tall majestical Woman, 
 attended with a crowd of Figures, some like men with 
 large volumes in their hands, and others resembling the 
 descriptions which Poets have given us of the Muses. 
 These Women, as my conductor informed me, were the 
 Guardians or Genii of the several nations of the world. 
 The Historians and the Muses were continually moving 
 from one to another, yet I observed that they never 
 visited some of the gates, where the Women were almost 
 naked or dressed in turbans and painted feathers. We 
 entered the Temple : at the upper end sate the Goddess, 
 on a throne of a very uncommon structure; it was com- 
 posed of different materials, laid up in a beautiful archi- 
 tectonic manner : I observed that military instruments, 
 as standards, swords, and pieces of artillery, most fre- 
 quently appeared in the architecture ; yet I likewise 
 cast my eye on Telescopes, Rudders, painting Pallets, 
 geometrical schemes, and instruments of handicraft. 
 By the looks and motions of people within the Temple, 
 I guessed that we were come just in time to be present 
 at some great ceremony ; for I observed the Muses and 
 Historians stepping ever and anon from some or other 
 of the gates, and whispering the Goddess, who gave each 
 of them directions, which I could not hear. I a^ked 
 my conductor the purpose of this great preparation ; 
 and what meant the tn^enty thrones which I counted 
 round the Temple, and why some of them were quite 
 empty, while others were laid hold of by certain per- 
 sons, who stood bcbirnl Ihcm, as if they were waiting for
 
 154. ESSAY II. 
 
 leave to sit down. He answered me in the following- 
 manner : " You are come from the Table of Ancient 
 " Fame, the goddess there disposed of her honours with- 
 " out reserve or conditional change ; her younger Sister 
 " is not so constant ; once in every century she reviews 
 " her assembly, and frequently makes great alterations, 
 " removing her subjects from one seat to a lower, or a 
 " higher; admitting strangers, or entirely excluding her 
 " former favourites. To-day is the anniversary of her 
 " great establishment : the empty seats formerly belong- 
 " ed to those whom she has now entirely banished from 
 " her palace. Those persons whom you see standing 
 " behind some of the thrones, have leave to renew their 
 " claim, and, if no other candidates obtain their place, 
 " will continue in the order which formerly belonged 
 " to them." While he was speaking the Goddess rose 
 from her seat, and commanded the several nations in 
 her presence, to introduce their candidates in the order 
 which she had injoined them. Upon this all the crowd 
 of spectators disappeared, and the Temple was left quite 
 empty. After a short pause the trumpet of the Goddess 
 soviuded, the whole fabric shook, and my heart was fill- 
 ed with a rapture and astonishment, which I never felt 
 before. 
 
 Immediately the Temple was crowded again, and from 
 the uppermost gate entered the most beautiful of those 
 divine Women; the Genius o( Jia'i/ ; she led in a mid- 
 dle aged man, in a very plain dress, who held in his 
 hand a mariner's Compass. The spectators, whose coun- 
 tenances expressed the most impatient suspense, gave a 
 confused acclamation, and I heard at once from an hun- 
 dred mouths, iheivdmeof Columbus. He advanced towards
 
 TABLE OF MODERN FAME. 135 
 
 the Goddess, and sat down on the highest place, with an 
 air of ease, as if that seat had been long familiar to him. 
 That, said my conductor, is the man who has enabled 
 history to outdo fable ; nor are the actions of the Gre- 
 cian Hercules, either for greatness of imagination, or for 
 boldness, or utility, comparable to the discovery of the 
 New World ; yet perhaps, you will this day see another 
 take place of him. 
 
 The trumpet sounded a second time ; while I was ex- 
 pecting some other personage from the gates nearest to 
 the Goddess, I observed a great hurry at the very lowest 
 end of the Temple. A Woman, whom I had before taken 
 notice of among those who appeared almost naked and 
 wild, advanced from her gate in a robe of furs, and other 
 skins, and approached towards the Goddess. The Genii 
 at the upper end expressed a mixture of surprize and 
 indignation, that so savage a figure should now dare to 
 step before them. As she drew near, I observed the 
 person whom she conducted ; he was a robust man in 
 armour, with his own hair, a black eagle on his breast, 
 and a carpenter's axe in his hand : I knew his habit 
 and with the crowd pronounced hastily, the name of 
 Peter the Great, He sat down on the second throne, 
 and I could not help applauding the justice of the 
 Goddess. 
 
 The third person who appeared, was conducted by 
 the representative of Italy, but the moment he set his 
 foot within the temple, the Muses and all the attendant 
 powers from the other gates ran up at once to usher 
 him; he seemed between thirty and forty years of age. 
 The lyric, the comic, and the heroic Muse, a winged 
 Virgin with a lyre, another with a pallet, a tfiird with
 
 156 ESSAY II. 
 
 a cbissel and block of marble, and an infinite number of 
 beautiful young figures did him honour as he passed ; 
 he returned their congratulations with smiles of the 
 highest complacence, and seemed pleased with his in- 
 troduction, chiefly as it secured him such amiable com- 
 panions : by his pontifical robes, I knew him for Leo X. 
 But our next personage was ushered in a very different 
 manner ; he entered from the German gate ; a great 
 noise of disputants and logical terms preceeded him, 
 his face had a very bold, eager cast, his eyes were keen, 
 and his dress monkish. When he came to sit down, 
 seeiing Leo on the throne next above him, he fell into 
 a violent rage, and would needs have rose again. Leo 
 on the other hand, turned from him with a smile of high 
 contempt, and begged of the beautiful powers, who 
 stood around him, that they would hide that rude crea- 
 ture from his eyes, and defend his ears with their har- 
 mony, from the jargon which he uttered. I was vexed 
 at his being thrust into so unsuitable a neighbourhood, 
 and asked my guide, who he was ? " His name, said he, 
 " is Martin Luther ; he has done more good to man- 
 " kind than most of those whose intentions were the best 
 " and mos^^t heroic ; his character, his views, and pas- 
 " sions were contemptible and hateful. Remember what 
 " I told you. Fame does not proceed on the award of 
 " Wisdom or Virtue, but is governed solely by the Re- 
 " volutions of mortal things." 
 
 I was angry and disappointed t,hat I had yet seen 
 none of my countrymen, when the trumpet sounded, 
 and I beheld a Figure enternig from one of the upper 
 gates, with a red cross upon her shield, leading a ven- 
 erable man in the decline of life. I remembered the
 
 TABLE OF MODERN FAME. 157 
 
 face of Sir Isaac Nexvton ; he advanced in a very com - 
 posed manner, without speaking a word, or seeming to 
 take notice of the acclamations which came from every 
 part of the temple. All eyes were fixed upon him, 
 and all were proud that they had seen him ; yet I ob- 
 served a man at the French gate, dressed in a very gaudy 
 fantastic habit, who repined bitterly that his place was 
 taken from him ; while the guardian deity of his nation, 
 seemed to be musing upon a thousand schemes liow to 
 regain it. There was a man too who advanced impu- 
 dently from the German gate, and would have driven 
 Neivton, by force from his seat : he was a very odd fig- 
 ure, with a night-cap on his head, a mathematical dia- 
 gram in one hand, and a bottle of Rhenish in the other. 
 The Goddess ordered him to be chastised for a robber, 
 and turned out with infamy. 
 
 At the next trumpet, the gay lady v\hose robes were 
 flowered with lilie^,, left her favourite Des Cartes, about 
 whom, till that moment she had been so solicitous, and 
 turned to introduce a tall graceful man, who walked 
 along in a fuU-boitomed wig, with infinite self-applause. 
 When he saw Leo, he made a very complaisant bow j 
 yet, as Shakespeare says, he quenched his familiar smile, 
 ivith an austere regard of control. I suppose it was 
 Lei:;is XIV. and complained to my guide, that such 
 a man should be so honoured. " li.ivc patience ; said 
 " he, meet me here an hundred years hence, and you 
 " shall see the Goddess order him under ground, to the 
 " house of Evil Fame ; at present, she must have her 
 " way. Look round, and see if you are better satisfied 
 " with him who comes next." I saw a composed mat- 
 ron-like figure, bring in a man in armour, with signs of 
 Oo
 
 158 ESSAY II. 
 
 the highest veneration and gratitude. " That, said my 
 " conductor, is William I. Prince of Orange, a name 
 " that must be venerable upon your globe, as long as 
 " public virtue is rememlered among you ; and of 
 *' this divine man 1 can prophesy, that he will never 
 " lose his place. The youth who is now entering, will 
 " perhaps give you more pleasure ; and indee<l, though 
 " his merits and actions are not of so high a kind, yet 
 " his virtue shone perhaps in a more severe trial, in a 
 " course of uninterupted prosperity : so that if his times 
 " had given him an opportunity, he was equal to any 
 " thing v,hich can be acted by a man and a soldier." 
 I looked round, and beheld from the English gate, a 
 young man in armour, with a Spear of Ebony, and 
 beautiful as Raphael or B'lilton could imagine. You 
 need not, said I, tell me who this is ; I see the motto of 
 IVnlex on his shield, and the Sable Spear in his hand, 
 vihich has rendered the name of Edivnrd or of Plantage- 
 ^ei, u>c1p$<. All hail ! thou blameless ornament of my na- 
 tive country. I was going on in a kind of enthusiasm 
 when my conductor checked me, and bade me take no- 
 tice of the next who entered. I found a greater noise 
 and disorder than I had observed before. GernuiTii/ and 
 Spain l::id joined to introduce a coarse, robust man ; 
 and Frar.ce endeavoured to place before him a tall ma- 
 jestic person, with a crown on his head, who looked 
 upon his antagorjist with an air of reproach and dis- 
 dain. This was Francis I. However his opponent got 
 the Ix-ttrr, and took his place accordingly. By the 
 Imperial Eagle, which he wore at his breast, I sup- 
 posed it to he Charles V. At sitting down he laughed 
 at his adversary, " And, said he, if I must have given
 
 TABLE OF MODERN FAME. 159 
 
 " way, it should never have been to that doughty, ro- 
 " mantic Knight, my prisoner ; but to this great man, 
 " who gave me immortahty," pointing to Titian, who 
 stood in the crowd of bis attendants. 
 
 The next person that entered, was dressed in a morn- 
 ing gown, and ushered in by the lady of the Red-cross. 
 He had no Bymbol nor instrument in his liand ; but 
 shewed a very thoughtful and penetrating countenance. 
 lie walketl up in a profound silence, and made no re- 
 turn, but a look of grave displeasure, to the salutation 
 of his next neighbour. However he took very respect- 
 ful notice of some at the Table, particularly of Columbus 
 and Newton. Z.eo seemed afraid of him, L/Aer made 
 him a very gracious bow, and would have been 
 extremely intimate with him ; but received a cold, for- 
 bidding frown. By this account of him, the reader will 
 know as well as I did, who saw what passed, that this 
 was Locke. The next entrance was made from the 
 Italian gate, and there appeared a thin meagre man, 
 whose countenance expressed great pain and dejection 
 of spirit, as if he had been worn out with famine and 
 torture. He held in his hand a telescope; and my 
 conductor tohl me it was Galileo, whose face retained 
 those indelible marks of the blind, brutal zeal of his 
 ghostly tormentors. He sat down by Locke, who 
 seemed infinitely pleased with his company, and told 
 him that he had been endeavouring to cure mankind of 
 that stupid reverence for Ruffians and Murderers, who 
 masked their inhumanity with the name of Religion. 
 After the next trumpet there was a long pause, and no 
 body appeared. I heard a great bustle at the German 
 gate. The Goddess asked what was the matter. The
 
 160 
 
 ESSAY II. 
 
 robust German Tutelary made answer, that she was in- 
 troducing one, who, if useful discoveries could challenge 
 respect in that place, was perhaps intitled to the highest 
 seat. Immediately I heard words of a very rough 
 sound i Guttemberg, Fust, Mmtz, Strasburgh ! I then 
 understood that the crowd of Gennan^ at that gate, 
 were disputing which of them should enter as the dis- 
 coverer of Printing. The contest continued a long time, 
 and grew still more violent. Upon which the Goddess 
 spoke out, that when they could agree about the in- 
 ventor, she would frankly allow his claim ; but that till 
 then, she would put in his place, one whose merit and 
 whose glory as now unquestionably established, after 
 as great disputes about it, as had ever divided her sub- 
 jects. Upon this, she made a sign to the Red-cross 
 lady, who accordingly introduced a venerable old man, 
 whom I did not at all know. He was attended by a 
 f'male figure with a Patera in her hand, resembling the 
 ancient figures of Salus. I was surprised at the sight of 
 an English worthy, with whom I was not acquainted ; 
 but my guide informed me that his name was Harvey : 
 " And see, said he, how enviously those other Tutelar 
 " Genii regard him," pointing to France and Italy, 
 
 'J he trumpet again sounded, and the guardian of Ita- 
 Jy moved. As soon as she returned, there was a con- 
 fused noise of. Evil Fame ! and doivnward with him ! 
 A great herd of Priests, and Monks, and prime Minis- 
 ters joined in the cry; and among them was a young 
 man, with a crown on his head, who made the loudest 
 noise, and who assured the Goddess of Fame that the 
 person coming in, was an abandoned profligate, and 
 that he himself bad a nriuch better title to the next va.
 
 TABT.E OF MODERN FAME. 161 
 
 cant seat. The Goddess looked on him with great con- 
 tempt, and bid him hold his peace, else she would order 
 him below stairs, and put him again under his father's 
 tuition. At this he was silent, and Machiavel appear- 
 ed. Leo gave him a very familiar look, as if he was glad 
 to see him, and congratulated him upon the honour which 
 he had now obtained, of being seated at the same Table 
 with one of the great family, who had been his old pat- 
 rons. But Machiavel answered him only with a look 
 of shame, dislike, and indignation. The Italian Genius 
 moved again towards the gate, and returned with two 
 men, not being able to resolve which of them should 
 enter. These were Tasso and Ariosto. She herself in- 
 clined chiefly to the latter; but the majority of the spec- 
 tators opposed it, and Tusso took his place. At the next 
 trumpet the Tutelary of France went out with the as- 
 sured air that was natural to her, and brought in a tall, 
 slender man, in a large wig, with a very fine sneer upon 
 his face. She said his name was Boileau, and that no 
 body could pretend to dispute that place with him. 
 However the stately Genius of England opposed her; 
 her remonstrances prevailed, and Pope took the place 
 which Boileau thought belonged to him. Upon thi^, 
 there arose among the other Genii a great clamour 
 against the Red-cross lady, mixed with many signs of 
 ridicule and scorn. She asked what they were displeas- 
 ed at : they answered, that she should contend so eager- 
 ly for her own glory, and yet so obstinately neglect a 
 claim upon which she might best found it ; and which, 
 whenever she adv.anted it, they would all give way to. 
 She turned round, and !aw IXacon ready to enter, with- 
 out asking her to conduct h'm. She looked at hi
 
 162 ESSAY If. 
 
 with great disgust; yet with such an air as a tender 
 mother discovers, when her favourite child is guilty of 
 some inexcusable fault. She led him in with great re- 
 luctance, and shewed him his place, the next vacant one 
 below Pope. He stood, and looked upon it, and all the 
 spectators seemed ashamed that he had not a higher 
 seat. Locke, Neivton, Harvej/, and Machiavd, all cried 
 out to Pope to rise, and give place ; but he took no no- 
 tice of them, only he turned his head another way ; and 
 I beard him mutter the words, xoisest, brightest, vieanest. 
 Upon this. Bacon looked around, and drew the eyes of 
 all the assembly. His presence, at that time, had an 
 effect upon them, like the presence of a descended God 
 upon those mortals whom he favours with his converse. 
 Then raising his head, " Sure I am," said he, with a 
 " voice of authority, and a most graceful manner, "Sure 
 " I am, that if there be any place belonging to me in 
 " this assembly, it must be one, nearest to the Goddess ; 
 "and one where I may best avail myself of her power." 
 Immediately the assembly with one accord invited him 
 forward ; the Goddess beckoned him to draw near, and 
 seated him on the highest throne. Columbus himself 
 officiously gave way ; telling him, that the discovery of 
 a New World was but a slender acquisition of crude 
 materials, to be improved and perfected in that immense 
 World of human Knowledge and human Power, which 
 he had first discovered, and through which he had taught 
 other mortals to travel with security. 
 
 The next that entered was a man in irr.i armour, 
 with a baskct-hiited sword. Fya)id^, C-viavy, and Italy 
 turned pale at the sight of him; and I heard them 
 whisper the name of G'<'stavus AdoJphus. He was fol-
 
 TABLE OF MODERN FAME. l65 
 
 lowed by a beautiful youth, of a very sweet and gentle 
 aspect. As he drew nearer, I knew him to be Raphael. 
 Leo heard of his admission with an extravagant joy, 
 and could hardly be restrained from quitting his place, 
 that he might sit next him. Then appeared a blind, old 
 man, with the air of an ancient prophet, supported and 
 led in by the Genius of England. When I knew him, 
 I was extremely discontented, that no more honourable 
 place had been reserved for Milton. " You forget, said 
 "my conductor, that the lowest place in this assembly, 
 " is one of twenty, the most honourable gifts, which 
 " Fame has to bestow among the whole human species. 
 " Milton is now admitted for the first time, and was 
 "not but with difficulty admitted at all. But have pa- 
 " tience for a it\y years longer ; he will be continually 
 " ascending in the Goddess's favour, and may perhaps at 
 " last obtain the highest, or at least the second place 
 " in these her solemnities. In the mean time, see how 
 " he is received, by the man who is best qualified here 
 " to judge of his dignity." I looked at him again, and 
 saw Raphael making him the most aflectionate congrat- 
 ulations, accounting himself happy that he was seated 
 next him, and insisting on his taking the superior hand. 
 There now remained but one ]>lace to be disposed of. 
 The Tutelar deity of Spain led in, towards it, a slender 
 man, with black piercing eyes, an aquiline nose, and a 
 swarthy complexion. He had lost one of his hand*;, by 
 which mark I knew him to he Cervantes. He expected 
 no opposition, as the place had fonnerly belonged to 
 him ; but in this point he was mistaken. For Molicrc 
 advanced from the French entrance, and disputed the 
 chair, with infinite pleasantry and good humour. Cer-
 
 164 ESSAY III. 
 
 vantes however kept his place ; but while their contro- 
 versy was hardly yet decided, a third candidate appear- 
 ed with a great shout of clamorous mirth from the whole 
 assembly. They told me he had brushed in by stealth, 
 and in spite of the grave lady who conducted his coun- 
 trymen. I knew the arch leer, the nut-brown bays, and 
 the Foppington step of my facetious friend, CoUey Cibber. 
 But his appearance, his arguments, and the eloquence 
 with which he delivered them, quite disjointed the re- 
 mainder of my dream, and I waked in a very hearty fit 
 of laughter. 
 
 THE BALANCE OF POETS. 
 December, MDCCXLVI. 
 
 iW . De Piles is one of the most judicious authors on 
 the art of Painting. He has added to his treatise on 
 that subject, a very curious paper, which he calls The 
 Balance of the Painters. He divides the whole art of 
 Painting into four heads; Composition, Design or Draw- 
 ing, Colouring, and Expression ; under each of which, 
 he assigns the degree of perfection which the several 
 masters have attained. To this end he first settles the 
 degree of sovereign perfection, which has never been 
 attained, and which is beyond even the ta.ste or know- 
 ledge of the best critics at present ; this he rates as* the 
 twentieth degree. The nineteenth degree is the high- 
 est of which the human mind has any comprehension, 
 but which has not yet been expressed or executed by 
 the greatest mat-ters. The eighteenth is that to which 
 the greattat masters have actually attained; and so
 
 THE BALANCE OF POETS. 105 
 
 downwards according to their comparative Genius and 
 Skill. Monsieur de Piles makes four columns of big 
 four chief articles or parts of painting ; and opposite to 
 the names of the great Masters, writes their several de. 
 gress of perfection in each article. The thought is very 
 ingenious; and had it been executed with accuracy, 
 and a just rigour of taste, would have been of the great . 
 est use to the lovers of that noble Art. But we can 
 hardly expect that any man should be exactly right in 
 his judgment, through such a multiplicity of the most 
 delicate ideas. 
 
 J have often wished to see a balance of this kind, that 
 might help to settle our comparative esteem of the 
 greater Poeis in the several polite lan;i,uages. But as 
 1 have never seen nor heard of any such design, I have 
 here attempted it myself, according to the best infor- 
 mation which my private ta-^te could aflbrd me. I shall 
 be extremely glad if any of your ingenious correspon- 
 dents will correct me where I am wrong ; and in the 
 mean time shall explain the general foundations of my 
 scheme, where itdifi'ers from that of the French Author. 
 For he has not taken in a sufficient number of articles, 
 to form a complete judgment of the art of Painting ; 
 and though he had, yet Poetry requires many more. 
 I shall retain his numbers, and suppose twenty to be the 
 degree of absolute perfection ; and eighteen the highest 
 that any Poet has attained. 
 
 His first article is Composition ; in which his balance 
 is quite equivocal and uncertain. For there are, in 
 painting, two sorts of Composition, utterly difierent from 
 each other. One relates tjnly to the eye, the other to 
 the passions ; so that the former may not improperly be
 
 166 ESSAY III. 
 
 stiled Picturesque Composition, and is concerned only 
 with such a disposition of the figures, as may render 
 the whole group of the picture intire and well united ; 
 the latter is concerned with such attitudes and connec- 
 tions of the figures, as may effectually touch the pas- 
 sions of the spectator. There are, in Poetry, two analo- 
 gous kinds of Composition or Ordonnance; one of which 
 belongs to the general plan or structure of the work, 
 and is an object of the cool judgment of a connoisseur ; 
 the other relates to the most striking situations, and the 
 most moving incidents. And though the.e are most 
 strictly connected in truth and in the principles of art, 
 yet in fact, we see them very frequently disjoined; and 
 they depend indeed on different powers of the mind. 
 Sir Richard Blackmore, a name for contempt, or for ob- 
 livion in the commonwealth of Poetry, had more of the 
 former than Shakespeare ; who had more of the latter 
 than any man that ever lived. The former we shall 
 call Critical Ordonnance, the latter Pathetic. And these 
 make the two first columns of our Balance. 
 
 It may perhaps be necessary to observe here, that 
 though literally speaking, these two articles relate only 
 to Epic and Dramatic Poetry ; yet we shall apply them 
 to every other species. For in Lyric Poetry, in Satire, 
 in Comedy, in the Ethic Epistle, one author may excel 
 another in the general plan and disposition of his work ; 
 and yet fall short of him in the arguments, allusions, and 
 other circumstances, which he employs to move his 
 reader, and to obtain the end of his particular compo- 
 sition. 
 
 Our next article answers to that which Monsieur de 
 Piles calls Expression ; but this likewise, in Poetry, re-
 
 THE BALANCE OF POETS. 167 
 
 quires two columns. Painting repressents only a single 
 instant of time; consequently it expresses only a pre- 
 sent passion, without giving any idea of the general 
 Character or turn of mind. But Poetry expresses this 
 part, as well as the other ; and the same Poet is not 
 equally excellent in both. Homer far surpasses Virgil 
 in the general delineation of Characters and Manners; 
 but there are, in Virgil, some expressions of particular 
 Passions, greatly superior to any in Homer. I shall 
 therefore divide this head of Expression, and call the for- 
 mer part Dramatic Expression, and the latter Incidental. 
 Our next article answers to what the painters call 
 Design, Or the purity, beauty, and grandeur of the 
 outline in drawing; to which the taste of Beauty in 
 description, and the truth of expression, are analogous 
 in Poetry. But as the term Design, except among 
 painters, is generally supposed to mean the general 
 plan and contrivance of a work ; I shall therefore omit 
 it to prevent mistakes ; and substitute instead of it, The 
 Truth of Juste, by which to distinguish the fifth column. 
 And indeed, this article would likewi.-^e admit of several 
 subdivisions; for some Poets are excellent for the gran- 
 deur of their taste, others for its beauty, and others for 
 a kind of neatness. But they may all be ranged under 
 the same head ; as Michael Angela, Raphael, and Pous- 
 sin are all characterized from their Design. The Truth 
 of Taste will, ccEteris paribus, belong to the first, in the 
 highest degree : but we must always remember that 
 there can be no greatness without justness and deco- 
 rum ; which is the reason that Raphael is counted high- 
 er in Design than Michael Angela. For though tlii^ 
 latter had a grander and more masculine Ta&t< , yet
 
 168 ESSAY III. 
 
 Raphael, with a truely grand one, was incomparably 
 more correct and true. 
 
 It is not easy to assign that part of Poetry, which 
 answers to the colouring of a painter. A very good 
 judge of painting, calls Xhe Colouring, the procuress of 
 her sister. Design ; who gains admirers for her, that 
 otherwise might not perhaps be captivated with her 
 charms. If we trace this idea through Poetry, we shall 
 perhaps determine poetical Colouring to be such a gen- 
 eral choice of words, such an order of grammatical 
 construction, and such a movement and turn of the 
 Verse, as are most favourble to the Poet's intention, 
 distinct from the ideas which those words convey. For 
 whoever has reflected much on the pleasure which Poe- 
 try communicates, will recollect many words which, 
 taken singly, excite very similar ideas, but which have 
 very different effects, according to their situation and 
 connection in a period. It is impossible to read Virgil, 
 but especially Milton, without making this observation 
 a thousand times. The sixth column of the Balance 
 shall therefore be named from this Poetical Colouring. 
 
 As for Versification, its greatest merit is already pro- 
 vided for by the last article; but as it would seem 
 strange to many, should we entirely omit it, the seventh 
 column i'hall therefore be allotted for it, as far as it re- 
 lates to the mere harmony of sound. 
 
 The eighth article belongs to the Moral of the several 
 Poets, or to the truth and merit of the sentiments which 
 they express, or the dispositions which they inculcate, 
 with respect to Religion, Civil Society, or Private Life. 
 The reader must not be surprized, if he find the Hea- 
 then Poets not so much degraded as he might expect
 
 THE BALANCE OF POETS. 100 
 
 in this particular; for though their representations. of 
 Divine Providence be so absurd and shocking, yet this 
 article is intended to characterise the comparative good- 
 ness of their moral intention^ and not the comparative 
 soundness of their speculative opinions. Where little is 
 Siteh, little is required. 
 
 The ninth and last column contains an estimate of 
 their comparative value and eminence zipon the whole. 
 This is greatly wanting in the French author. The de- 
 grees of perfection which he assigns to Rubens, make 
 up a sum, when the four articles are added to each other, 
 exactly equal to what he calculates for Raphael; so that 
 one, not greatly versed in the study of pictures, might 
 imagine from thence that Rubens was as great a painter 
 as Raphael. This general estimate is also more neces- 
 sary in the present scheme, as some of the articles, par- 
 ticularly that of Ordonnance, are applied equally to 
 every species of Poetry ; so that a Satirist uill be rated 
 as high, in that article, as an Epic Poet; provided his 
 Ordonnance be as perfect for Satire, as that of the other 
 is for Heroic Poetry. Upon this account, justice to the 
 manes of the divine Poets requires that we should ac- 
 knowledge their ])re-eminence upon the whole, after 
 having thus set their inferiors upon a level with them 
 in particular parts. 
 
 You see this general method is here applied to a ftw 
 the greater names of Pottry in most polite languages. 
 I have avoitled to bring in any living authors, In-cause 
 I know the vanity and emulation of the Poetical Tribe; 
 which I mention, Itst the reader should find i'ault with 
 me for omitting Voltaire, Metastasis, or any favourite 
 author of our own nation. 
 
 Pp
 
 ESSAY III. 
 
 THE BALANCE 
 OF POETS. 
 
 ArJosto - - 
 Boileau - - 
 Cervantes - - 
 Corneille - - 
 Daute - - - 
 Euripides - - 
 Homer - - - 
 Horace - - 
 Lucretius - . 
 Milton - . - 
 Moliere - - 
 Pindar - - - 
 Pope - - - 
 Racine - - - 
 Shakespeare - 
 Sophocles - - 
 Spenser - - 
 Tasso - - - 
 Terence - - 
 Virgil - - - 
 
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 F I N I S.
 
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