First covered, and here taught this aged Tree 10 With its dark arms to form a circling bower, I well remember.-He was one who owned No common soul. In youth by science nursed, And led by nature into a wild scene
Of lofty hopes, he to the world went forth
A favoured Being, knowing no desire Which genius did not hallow; 'gainst the taint Of dissolute tongues, and jealousy, and hate, And scorn, against all enemies prepared. All but neglect. The world, for so it thought, 20 Owed him no service; wherefore he at once With indignation turned himself away, And with the food of pride sustained his soul In solitude. Stranger! these gloomy boughs Had charms for him; and here he loved to sit, His only visitants a straggling sheep, The stone-chat, or the glancing sand-piper: And on these barren rocks, with fern and heath, And juniper and thistle, sprinkled o'er, Fixing his downcast eye, he many an hour A morbid pleasure nourished, tracing here An emblem of his own unfruitful life: And, lifting up his head, he then would gaze On the more distant scene,-how lovely 't is Thou seest, and he would gaze till it became Far lovelier, and his heart could not sustain The beauty, still more beauteous! Nor, that time,
When nature had subdued him to herself, Would he forget those Beings to whose minds. .Warm from the labours of benevolence,
The world, and human life, appeared a scene Of kindred loveliness: then he would sigh, Inly disturbed, to think that others felt What he must never feel: and so, lost Man! On visionary views would fancy feed,
Till his eye streamed with, tears. In this deep vale
He died, this seat his only monument.
If Thou be one whose heart the holy forms Of young imagination have kept pure,
Stranger! henceforth be warned; and know that
Howe'er disguised in its own majesty,
Is littleness; that he, who feels contempt
For any living thing, hath faculties
Which he has never used; that thought with him Is in its infancy. The man whose eye
Is ever on himself doth look on one,
The least of Nature's words, one who might
The wise man to that scorn which wisdom holds
Unlawful, ever. O be wiser, Thou!
Instructed that true knowledge leads to love; 60 True dignity abides with him alone
Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, Can still suspect, and still revere himself,
In lowliness of heart.
WHAT is House and what is Home, Where with freedom thou hast room, And may'st to all tyrants say, This you cannot take away?
'T is no thing with doors and walls, Which at every earthquake falls; No fair towers, whose princely fashion Is but Plunder's invitation;
No stout marble structure, where Walls Eternity do dare;
No brass gates, no bars of steel, Tho' Time's teeth they scorn to feel: Brass is not so bold as Pride,
If on Power's wings it ride ; Marble 's not so hard as Spite
Arm'd with lawless Strength and Might.
Right and just Possession, be Potent names, when Laws stand free: But if once that rampart fall, Stoutest thieves inherit all: To be rich and weak 's a sure And sufficient forfeiture.
Seek no more abroad, say I, House and Home, but turn thine eye
Inward, and observe thy breast; There alone dwells solid Rest. That's a close immured tower Which can mock all hostile power. To thyself a tenant be,
And inhabit safe and free.
Say not that this House is small,
Girt up in a narrow wall: In a cleanly sober mind
Heaven itself full room doth find. Th' Infinite Creator can Dwell in it; and may not Man? Here content make thy abode With thyself and with thy God. Here in this sweet privacy May'st thou with thyself agree, And keep House in peace, tho' all Th' Universe's fabric fall.
No disaster can distress thee, Nor no Fury dispossess thee:
Let all war and plunder come,
Still may'st thou dwell safe at Home.
Home is everywhere to thee, Who canst thine own dwelling be; Yea, tho' ruthless Death assail thee, Still thy lodging will not fail thee: Still thy Soul's thine own; and she To an House removed shall be; An eternal House above,
Wall'd, and roof'd, and paved with Love.
There shall these mud-walls of thine, Gallantly repair'd, out-shine
Mortal Stars;-No Star shall be
In that Heaven but such as Thee.
How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another's will; Whose armour is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill;
Whose passions not his masters are; Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care
Of public fame or private breath;
Who envies none that chance doth raise, Nor vice; who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise; Nor rules of state, but rules of good;
Who hath his life from rumours freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great;
Who God doth late and early pray More of His grace than gifts to lend;
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