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 Who droops abash'd when sullen Pomp surveys His humbler habit; here the trembling wretch Unnerv'd and struck with Terror's icy bolts, Spent in weak wailings, drown'd in shameful tears, At every dream of danger; here subdued By frontless Laughter, and the hardy scorn Of old, unfeeling Vice, the abject soul, Who blushing half resigns the candid praise Of Temperance and Honor; half disowns A freeman's hatred of tyrannic pride; And hears with sickly smiles the venal mouth With foulest license mock the patriot's name.
Last of the motley bands on whom the power Of gay Derision bends her hostile aim, Is that where shameful Ignorance presides. Beneath her sordid banners, lo! they march, Like blind and lame. Whate'er their doubtful hands Attempt, Confusion straight appears behind, And troubles all the work. Through many a maze, Perplex'd they struggle, changing every path, O'erturning every purpose; then at last
Sit down dismay'd, and leave the entangled scene For Scorn to sport with. Such then is the abode Of Folly in the mind; and such the shapes In which she governs her obsequious train.
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 chokes her tongue; What were it but to count each crystal drop Which Morning's dewy fingers on the blooms Of May distil? Suffice it to have said, Where'er the power of Ridicule displays Her quaint-ey'd visage, some incongruous form, Some stubborn dissonance of things combin'd, Strikes on the quick observer : whether Pomp, Or Praise, or Beauty, mix their partial claim Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds, Where foul deformity, are wont to dwell; Or whether these with violation loth'd, Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien, The charms of Beauty, or the boast of Praise. Ask we for what fair end, the Almighty Sire In mortal bosoms wakes this gay contempt, These grateful stings of laughter, from disgust Educing 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 Of Truth, slow dawning on the inquiring mind, At length unfolds, through many a subtle 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 From labors and from care, the wider lot Of humble life affords for studious thought To scan the maze of Nature; therefore stamp'd The giaring scenes with characters of scorn, As broad as obvious, to the passing clown, As to the letter'd sage's curious eye.
Such are the various aspects of the mindSome heavenly genius, whose unclouded thoughts Attain that secret harmony which blends The ethereal spirit with its mould of clay;
O! teach me to reveal the graceful charm That searchless Nature o'er the sense of man Diffuses, to behold, in lifeless things, The inexpressive semblance of himself, 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 The Elysian seats, and down the embowering glade Move to your pausing eye! Behold the expanse Of yon gay landscape, where the silver clouds Flit o'er the heavens before the sprightly breeze : Now their grey cincture skirts the doubtful Sun; Now streams of splendor, through their opening veil Effulgent, sweep from off the gilded lawn The aërial shadows; on the curling brook, And on the shady margin's quivering leaves With quickest lustre glancing; while you view 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, Moves all obsequious? Whence is this effect, 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 Which artful custom twines around her frame ? For when the different images of things, By chance combin'd, have struck the attentive soul With deeper impulse, or, connected long, Have drawn her frequent eye; howe'er distinct The external scenes, yet oft the ideas gain From that conjunction an eternal tie, And sympathy unbroken. Let the mind Recall one partner of the various league, Immediate, lo! the firm confederates rise, And each his former station straight resumes. One movement governs the consenting throng, And all at once with rosy pleasures shine, Or all are sadden'd with the glooms of care. "Twas thus, if ancient Fame the truth unfold, Two faithful needles, from the informing touch Of the same parent-stone, together drew Its mystic virtue, and at first conspir'd With fatal impulse quivering to the Pole: Then, though disjoin'd by kingdoms, though the main Roll'd its broad surge betwixt, and different stars Beheld their wakeful motions, yet preserv'd The former friendship, and remember'd still The alliance of their birth: whate'er the line Which once possess'd, nor pause, nor quiet knew The sure associate, ere with trembling speed He found its path, and fix'd unerring there. Such is the secret union, when we feel A song, a flower, a name, at once restore Those long-connected scenes where first they mov'd The attention: backward through her mazy walks Guiding the wanton Fancy to her scope, To temples, courts, or fields; with all the band Of painted forms, of passions and designs Attendant: whence, if pleasing in itself, 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, 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,
And feature after feature, we refer
To that sublime exemplar whence it stole Those animating charms. Thus beauty's palm
Their largest choice: like Spring's unfolded blooms Betwixt them wavering hangs: applauding love Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee
May 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 sculptur'd gold More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace, Than he, whose birth the sister powers of Art Propitious view'd, and from his genial star Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind; Than his attemper'd bosom must preserve The seal of Nature. There alone unchang'd, Her form remains. The balmy walks of May There breathe perennial sweets: the trembling chord Resounds for ever in the abstracted ear, Melodious and the virgin's radiant eye, Superior to disease, to grief, and time, Shines with un'bating lustre. Thus at length Endow'd with all that Nature can bestow, The child of Fancy oft in silence bends O'er these mixt 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 Feels her young nerves dilate: the plastic powers Labor for action: blind emotions heave His bosom, and with loveliest frenzy caught, From Earth to Heaven he rolls his daring eye, From Heaven to Earth. Anon ten thousand shapes, Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call, Flit swift before him. From the womb of Earth, From Ocean's bed, they come; the eternal Heavens Disclose their splendors, and the dark Abyss Pours out her births unknown. With fixed gaze He marks the rising phantoms. Now compares Their different forms; now blends them, now
Enlarges, and extenuates by turns; Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands,
And infinitely varies. Hither now,
Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim,
Doubts where to choose; and mortal man aspires To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud Of gathering hail, with limpid crusts of ice Inclos'd and obvious to the beaming Sun, Collects his large effulgence; straight the Heavens With equal flames present on either hand The radiant visage: Persia stands at gaze, Appall'd; and on the brink of Ganges doubts The snowy-vested seer, in Mithra's name, To which the fragrance of the south shall burn, To which his warbled orisons ascend.
Such various bliss the well-tun'd heart enjoys, Favor'd of Heaven! while, plung'd in sordid cares The unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine: And harsh Austerity, from whose rebuke 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, 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 dullness hang too heavy on thy sense, To let her shine upon thee? So the man Whose eye ne'er open'd on the light of Heaven, Might smile with scorn while raptur'd vision tells Of the gay-color'd radiance flushing bright O'er all creation. From the wise be far Such gross unhallow'd pride; nor needs my song Descend so low; but rather now unfold, If human thought could 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 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 connexion? Sure the rising Sun O'er the cerulean convex of the sea,
With equal brightness and with equal warmth Might roll his fiery orb; nor yet the soul
With endless choice perplex'd. At length his plan | Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers
Begins to open. Lucid order dawns;
And as from Chaos old the jarring seeds Of Nature at the voice divine repair'd 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 Emerges. Colors mingle, features join; And lines converge: the fainter parts retire; The fairer eminent in light advance; And every image on its neighbor smiles. Awhile he stands, and with a father's joy Contemplates. Then with Promethean art, 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 inform'd, The various organs of his mimic skill, The consonance of sounds, the featur'd 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 The lively child of Art; while line by line,
Exulting in the splendor she beholds; ·
Like a young conqueror moving through the pom Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve, Soft murmuring streams and gales of gentlest breat Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain Attemper, could not man's discerning ear Through all its tones the sympathy pursue; Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy Steal through his veins, and fan the awaken'd hear Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song! But were not Nature still endow'd at large With all which life requires, though unadorn'd With such enchantment: wherefore then her form So exquisitely fair? her breath perfum'd With such ethereal sweetness? whence her voice Inform'd at will to raise or to repress
The impassion'd soul? and whence the robes of ligh: Which thus invest her with more lovely porap Than fancy can describe? Whence but from thee, O source divine of ever-flowing love, And thy unmeasur'd goodness? Not content With every food of life to nourish man, By kind illusions of the wondering sense Thou mak'st all nature beauty to his eye,
Or music to his ear: well-pleas'd he scans The goodly prospect; and with inward smiles Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain; Beholds the azure canopy of Heaven, And living lamps that over-arch his head 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, Nor doubts the painted green or azure arch, Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds Than space, or motion, or eternal time; So sweet he feels their influence to attract The fixed soul; to brighten the dull glooms 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, A visionary paradise disclos'd
Amid the dubious wild with streams, and shades, And airy songs, the enchanted landscape smiles, Cheers his long labors, and renews his frame.
What then is taste, but these internal powers Active, and strong, and feelingly alive To each fine impulse? a discerning sense Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust From things deform'd, or disarrang'd, or gross In species? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold, 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, Reveals the charms of Nature. Ask the swain Who journeys homeward from a summer day's Long labor, why, forgetful of his toils And due repose, he loiters to behold
The sun-shine gleaming as through amber clouds, 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 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 The tender plant should rear its blooming head, Or yield the harvest promis'd in its spring. for yet will every soil with equal stores 'epay the tiller's labor; or attend
.s will, obsequious, whether to produce The olive or the laurel. Different minds incline to different objects: one pursues The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild; Another sighs for harmony, and grace, 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 The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad From some high cliff, superior, and enjoys The elemental war. But Waller longs, All on the margin of some flowery stream, To spread his careless limbs amid the cool Of plantain shades, and to the listening deer The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain Resound soft-warbling all the livelong day:
Consenting Zephyr sighs; the weeping rill Joins in his plaint, melodious; mute the groves; 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 syren! not the bribes
Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils
Of pageant Homer, can seduce to leave Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store Of Nature fair Imagination culls
To charm the enliven'd soul! What though not a". Of mortal offspring can attain the heights Of envied life; though only few possess Patrician treasures or imperial state; Yet Nature's care, to all her children just, With richer treasures and an ampler state, Endows at large whatever happy man Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp, The rural honors his. Whate'er adorns The princely dome, the column and the arch, The breathing marbles and the sculptur'd gold, Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim, His 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. Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wigs And still new beauties meet his lonely walk, And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes The setting Sun's effulgence, not a strain From all the tenants of the warbling shade Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake Fresh pleasure, unreprov'd. Nor thence partakes Fresh pleasure only: for the attentive mind, By this harmonious action on her powers, Becomes herself harmonious: wont so oft In outward things to meditate the charm Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home To find a kindred order, to exert Within herself this elegance of love, This fair inspir'd 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 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 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 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, 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
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. 3 E 2
Whose heart must every strong emotion know, Inspir'd by Nature, 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,
Or deal their vengeance with a woman's hand!
I care not that in Arno's plain, Or on the sportive banks of Seine, From public themes the Muse's quire 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 honors to an hateful lord,
Reserv'd for angry Heaven, and scorn'd of honest Fame?
But here, where Freedom'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 farewell: Let him to fitter climes remove, Far from the hero's and the patriot's love, And lull mysterious monks to slumber in their cell.
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
Expert and bold thy country's peace to wound; Yet dreads to handle arms, nor manly counsel knows.
"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 labors, 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,
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 show to strangers passing down the vale, Where Ca'ndish, 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 plann'd for Freedom this her noblest reign.
This reign, these laws, this public care, Which Nassau gave us all to share, Had ne'er adorn'd the English name, Could Fear have silenc'd Freedom's claim But Fear in vain attempts to bind Those lofty efforts of the mind
Which social Good inspires;
Where men, for this, assault a throne, Each adds the common welfare to his own; And each unconquer'd heart the strength of all acquires.
Say, was it thus, when late we view'd Our fields in civil blood imbrued?
When Fortune crown'd the barbarous host, And half the astonish'd isle was lost?
Did one of all that 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?
Or lend his boasted name his vagrant friends to cheer?
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