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But when Old Age has on your temples shed
Now my ambition swells, my wishes soar, Her silver-frost, there's no returning sun;
This he my kingdom ; sit above the globe, Swift flies our autumn, swift our summer's fled, My rising soul, and dress thyself around, When youth, and love, and spring, and golden joys And shine in Virtue's armour, climb the height are gone.
Of Wisdom's lofty castle, there reside Then cold, and winter, and your aged snow,
Safe from the smiling and the frowning world. Stick fast upon you; not the rich array,
Yet once a-day drop down a gentle look Not the green garland, nor the rosy bough, On the great mole-hill, and with pitying eye Shall cancel or conceal the melancholy gray. Survey the busy emmets round the heap, The chase of pleasures is not worth the pains,
Crowding and bustling in a thousand forms While the bright sands of health run wasting down; of strife and toil, to purchase wealth and fame, And honour calls you from the softer scenes,
A bubble or a dust: then call thy thoughts To sell the gaudy hour for ages of renown.
Up to thyself to feed on joys unknown,
Rich without gold, and great without renown.
My generous Muse, and sit among the stars !
Just to herself: how pobly she maintains
Her character! superior to the flesh,
She wields her passions like ber limbs, and knows 1701.
The brutal powers were only born t obey.
This is the man whom storms conld never make Crouch'd to the victor : but a steady soul
Meanly complain; nor can a flattering gale Stands firm on its own base, and reigns as wide,
Make him talk proudly: he hath no desire As absolute; and sways ten thousand slaves,
To read his secret fate: yet unconcern'd Lusts and wild fancies, with a sovereign band,
And calm could meet his unborn destiny,
In all its charming or its frightful shapes.
He that, unshrinking, and without a groan,
Bears the first wound, may finish all the war Makes Heaven its council, from the rolls above With mere courageous silence, and come off Draws its own statutes, and with joy obeys.
Conqueror: for the man that well conceals 'Tis not a troop of well-appointed guards
The heavy strokes of Fate, he bears them well. Create a monarch, not a purple robe
He, though th’ Atlantic and the Midland seas Dy'd in the people's blood, not all the crowns With adverse surges meet, and rise on high Or dazzling tiars that bend about the head, Suspended 'twixt the winds, then rush amain, Though gilt with sun-beams and set round with stars. Mingled with flames, upon his single head, A monarch he that conquers all his fears,
And clouds, and stars, and thunder, firm be stands, And treads upon them; when he stands alone, Secure of his best life; unhurt, unmuv'd; Makes his own camp; four guardian virtues wait And drops his lower nature, born for death: His nightly slumbers, and secure his dreams. Then from the lofty castle of his mind Now dawns the light; he ranges all his thoughts Sublime looks down, exulting, and surveys In square battalions, hold to meet th' attacks The ruins of creation (souls alone Of Time and Chance, himself a numerous host, Are heirs of dying worlds); a piercing glance All eye, all ear, all wakeful as the day,
Shoots upwards from between his closing lids, Firm as a rock, and moveless as the centre. To reach his birth-place, and without a sigh In vain the harlot Pleasure spreads her charms,
He bids his batter'd flesh lie gently down To lull his thoughts in Luxury's fair lap,
Amongst his native rubbish ; whilst the spirit To sensual ease (the bane of little kings,
Breathes and flies upward, an undoubted guest Monarchs whose waxen images of souls
Of the third Heaven, th' unruinable sky. Are moulded into softness); still his mind
Thither when Pate has brought our willing souls, Wears its own shape, nor can the heavenly form Stoop to be modell’d by the wild decrees
No matter whether 'twas a sharp disease Of the mad vulgar, that unthinking herd.
Or a sharp sword that help'd the travellers on,
And push'd us to our homeBear up, my friend, He lives above the crowd, nor hears the noise Serenely, and break through the stormy brine Of wars and triumphs, nor regards the shouts With steady prow; know, we shall once arrive Of popular applause, that empty sound;
At the fair haven of eternal bliss, Nor feels the flying arrows of Reproach,
To which we ever steer; whether as kings Or Spite or Envy. In himself secure,
Of wide command we've spread the spacious sen Wisdom his tower, and conscience is his shield, With a broad painted fleet, or row'd along His peace all inward, and his joys his own, 1 In a thin cock-boat with a little oar..
TO THB REVEREND
There let my native plank shift me to land, Mere Hazard first began the track, And I'll be happy: thus I'll leap ashore
Where Custom leads her thousands blind
In willing chains and strong;
Dares tread the fatal errour back,
And drag the age along.
Mortals, a savage herd, and loud
As billows on a noisy flood
In rapid order roll :
Example makes the mischief good :
With jocund heel we beat the road,
Unheedful of the goal. CUSTOM, that tyranness of fools,
Me let Ithuriel's 8 friendly wing That leads the learned round the schools,
Snatch from the crowd, and bear sublime In magic chains of forms and rules !
To Wisdom's lofty tower, My genius storms her throne:
Thence to survey that wretched thing, No more, ye slaves, with awe profound
Mankind ; and in exalted rhyme Beat the dull track, nor dance the round;
Bless the delivering Power. Loose hands, and quit th' enchanted ground:
Knowledge invites us each alone.
Forg'd by the haughty wise;
MR. JOHN HOW E.
1704, He well aveng'd his eyes.
Great man, permit the Muse to climb I love thy gentle influence, Rowe,
And seat her at thy feet, Thy gentle influence, like the Sun,
Bid her attempt a thought sublime, Only dissolves the frozen show,
And consecrate her wit. Then bids our thoughts like rivers flow,
I feel, I feel th' attractive force And choose the channels where they run.
Of thy superior soul : Thoughts should be free as fire or wind;
My chariot flies her upward course, The pinions of a single mind
The wheels divinely roll. Will through all nature fly:
Now let me chide the mean affairs Bat who can drag up to the poles
And mighty toil of men: Long fetter'd ranks of leaden souls ?
How they grow gray in trifling cares, A genius which no chain controls
Or waste the motions of the spheres Roves with delight, or deep, or high :
Upon delights as vain! Swift I survey the globe around,
A puff of honour fills the mind,
Thus, like the ass of savage kind,
Could all the choirs
That charm the poles
But strike one doleful sound,
'Twould be employ'd to mourn our souls, Rowe, if we make the crowd our guide
Souls that were fram'd of sprightly fires Through life's uncertain road,
In floods of folly drown'd. Mean is the chase ; and, wandering wide,
Souls made of glory seek a brutal joy ; We miss th' immortal good;
How they disclaim their heavenly birth, Yet if my thoughts could be confin'd
Melt their bright substance down with drossy earth, To follow any leader-mind,
And hate to be refiu'd from that impure alloy ! I'd mark thy steps, and tread the same:
Oft has thy genius rous'd us hence Drest in thy notions I'd appear
With elevated song, Not like a soul of mortal frame,
Bid us renounce this world of sense, Nor with a vulgar air.
Bid us divide th' iromortal prize Men live at random and by chance,
With the seraphic throng: * Bright Reason never leads the dance;
“ Knowledge and love make spirits blest, Wbile in the broad and beaten way
Knowledge their food, and love their rest;" O'er dales and hills from truth we stray,
But Flesh, th’unmanageable beast, To ruin we descend, to ruin we advance.
Resists the pity of thine eyes, Wisdom retires; she hates the crowd:
And music of thy tongue. And with a decent scorn
Then let the worms of grovelling mind Aloof she climbs her steepy seat,
Round the short joys of earthly kind
In restless windings roam;
8 The name of an angel in Milton's Paradise Losto
TO THE REV. MR. BENONI ROWL.
Howe hath an ample orb of soul,
“ Enough,” he cried'; “P'll drudge no more Where shining worlds of knowledge roll,
In turning the dull Stoics o'er; Where love, the centre and the pole,
Let pedants waste their hours of ease
To sweat all night at Socrates;
With greater ease the great concern
Of mortals; how we may despise Virtue, permit my fancy to impose
All the gay things below the skies. Upon my better powers :
“Methinks a mouldering pyramid She casts sweet fallacies on half our woes,
Says all that the old sages said; And gilds the gloomy hours.
For me these shatter'd tombs contain How could we bear this tedious round
More morals than the Vatican. Of waning moons, and rolling years,
The dust of heroes cast abroad, Of Aaming hopes, and chilling fears,
And kick'd and trampled in the road, If (where no sovereign cure appears)
The relics of a lofty inind,
That lately wars and crowns designd,
Bid me be humble, and forbear Young Doris, who nor guilt nor danger knows, Tall monuments of fame to rear, on the green margin stood,
They are but castles in the air.
Of smoking kingdoms and their kings,
Tell me a thousand mournful things As void of goodness as of truth,
In melancholy silence.She plunges in with heedless haste,
-He, And rears the nether mud:
That living could not bear to see Darkness and nauseous dregs arise
An equal, now lies torn and dead; O'er thy fair current, Love, with large supplies
Here bis pale trunk, and there his head; Of pain to tease the heart, and sorrow for the eyes,
Great Pompey! while I meditate, The golden bliss that charm'd her sight
With solemn horrour, thy sad fate, Is dash'd, and drown'd, and lost :
Thy carcase, scatter'd on the shore A spark, or glimmering streak at most,
Without a name, instructs me more
Than my whole library before,
And you, good Seneca, may keep
Your volumes clos'd for ever too, Grown by the disappointment wise;
I have no further use for you : And manages with art th’ unlucky cast;
For when I feel my virtue fail, When the lowering frown she spies
And my ambitious thoughts prevail, On her haughty tyrant's brow,
I'll take a turn among the tombs, With humble love she meets his wrathful eyes, And see whereto all glory comes : And makes her sovereign beauty bow;
There the vile foot of every clown Cheerful she smiles upon the grisly form ;
Tramples the sons of honour down; So shines the setting Sun on adverse skies,
Beggars with awful ashes sport,
And tread the Cæsars in the dirt.”
Beguiles th' uneasy hours:
1697, “ Tempt me no more. My soul can ne'er comport
With the gay slaveries of a court;
I've an aversion to those charms,
And hug dear Liberty in both mine arms. THE HERO'S SCHOOL' OF MORALITY,
Go, vassal-souls, go, cringe and wait,
And dance attendance at Honorio's gate, Theron, amongst his travels, found
Then run in troops before him to compose his state; A broken statue on the ground;
Move as he moves; and when he loiters, stand; And searching onward as he went
You're but the shadows of a man. He trac'd a ruin'd monument.
Bend when he speaks; and kiss the ground: Mould, moss, and shades, had overgrown
Go, catch th' impertinence of sound: The sculpture of the crumbling stone;
Adore the follies of the great; Yet ere he pass'd, with much ado,
Wait till he smiles :-But lo, the idol frown'd He guess'd, and spelld out, Sci-PI-0.
And drove them to their fate,
Thus base-borui minds : but as for me,
"Forgive, he cries, " ye saints below, I ean and will be free:
The wavering and the cold assent Like a strong mountain, or some stately tree,
I gave to themes divinely true; My soul grows firm upright,
Can you admit the blessed to repent ? And as I stand, and as I go,
Eternal darkness veil the lines It keeps my body so;
Of that unhappy book, No, I can never part with my creation-right. Where glimmering reason with false lustre shinos, Let slaves and asses stoop and bow,
Where the mortal pen mistook I cannot make this iron knee
[free." What the celestial ineant !” Bend to a meaner power than that which formd it
Thus my bild harp profusely play'd
I am not concern'd to know
What tomorrow Fate will do : Swelling like Honorio proud,
'Tis enough that I can say, Around the straws and feathers crowd,
I've possess'd myself to-day: Types of a slavish mind;
Then if haply midnight-death Cpe ards the stormy forces rise,
Seize my flesh and stop my breath,
Yet tomorrow I shall be
Glittering stones, and golden things,
Ever Auttering to be gone, Of an old oak, and all the storm defied;
I could never call my own: Ir vain the winds their forces tried,
Riches that the world bestows,
She can take, and I can lose; In vain they roar'd; the iron vak
But the treasures that are mine
Lie afar beyond her line.
And enjoy myself alone,
I'm a kingdom of my own.
I've a mighty part within RAL PARTS OF THE NEW TESTAMENT, That the world hath never seen, LEFT BEHIND AIM AT HIS DEATH.
Rich as Eden's happy ground,
And with choicer plenty crown'd. Trus Reason learns by slow degrees
Here on all the shining boughs What Faith reveals; but still complains
Knowledge fair and useless grows; Of intellectual pains,
On the same young flowery tree
All the seasons you may see;
Notions in the bloom of light,
Just disclosing to the sight;
Here are thoughts of larger growth, Ofiend and cloud her feeble sight.
Ripening into solid truth; Reason could scarce sustain to see
Fruits refin'd, of noble taste; Th' Almighty One, th' Eternal Tbree,
Seraphs feed on such repast. Or bear the infant Deity;
Here, in a green and shady grove, Scarce could her pride descend to own
Streams of pleasure mix with love: Her Maker stooping from his throne,
There beneath the smiling skies And drest in glories so unknown.
Hills of contemplation rise: A ransom'd world, a bleeding God,
Now upon some shining top
Both rejoice when there we meet.
There are endless beauties more,
Earth hath no resemblance for; To melt and bend it to obey?
Notbing like them round the pole, Twas hard to make so rich a soul submit, Nothing can describe the soul: And lay her shining honours at thy sovereign feet. 'Tis a region half unknown,
That has treasures of its own, Sister of Faith, fair Charity,
More remote from public view Show me the wondrous man on high,
Than the bowels of Peru;
Than the golden Indies are;
Cannot coast it in an age;
Harts, or horses, strong and fleet,
Behold his Muse sent out t'explore Had they wings to help their feet,
The unapparent deep where waves of chaos roar, Could not run it half way o'er
And realms of night unknown before. In ten thousand days and more.
She trac'd a glorious path unknown, [thrown, Yet the silly wandering mind,
Through fields of heavenly war, and seraphs overLoth to be too much contin'd,
Where his adventurous genius led: Roves and takes her daily tours,
Sovereign, she fram'd a model of her own, Coasting round the narrow shores,
Nor thank'd the living nor the dead. Narrow shores of flesh and sense,
The noble hater of degenerate rhyme Picking shells and pebbles thence :
Shook off the chains, and built his verse sublime, Or sbe sits at Fancy's door,
A monument too high for coupled sounds to climb. Calling shapes and shadows to her,
He mourn'd the garden lost below; Foreign visits still receiving,
(Earth is the scene for tuneful woe) And herself a stranger living.
Now bliss beats bigh in all his veins, Never, never would she buy
Now the lost Eden he regains, (strains. Indian dust, or Tyrian dye,
Keeps his own air, and triumphe in unrival'd Never trade abroad for more,
Immortal bard! Thus thy own Raphael sings, If she saw her native store;
And knows no rule but native fire : If her inward worth were known,
All Heaven sits silent, while to his sovereiga strings She might ever live alone.
He talks unutterable things;
Across the golden lyre:
Rapture, and Harmony, and Love,
O’erspread the listening choir.
With an inimitable wing:
She cleaves her wondrous way,
TO MR. NICHOLAS CLARK.
THE COMPLAINT. She nor inquires, nor knows, nor fears (sand; 'Twas in a vale where osiers grow, Where lie the pointed rocks, or where th’ingulfing By murmuring streams we told our woe, Climbing the liquid mountains of the skies,
And mingled all our cares : She meets descending angels as she flies,
Friendship sat pleas'd in both our eyes, Nor asks them where their country lies,
In both the weeping dews arise,
And drop alternate tears.
Spreads her white sails aloft, and steers, Now mounting half his morning way,
Still sickening, and decaying still, With humble toil in order creep,
Dimly he wander'd up the hill Coasting in sight of one another's oars,
With his expiring light. Nor venture through the boundless deep,
In dark eclipse his chariot rollid, Such low pretending souls are they
The queen of night obscur'd his gold Who dwell enclos'd in solid orbs of skull;
Behind her sable wheels; Plodding along their sober way,
Nature grew sad to lose the day, The snail o'ertakes them in their wildest play,
The flowery vales in mourning lay,
In mourning stood the hills.
“ Such are our sorrows, Clark,” I cried, Bound o'er the everlasting bills, [hind.
“ Clouds of the brain grow black, and hide And lose the clouds below, and leave the stars be
Our darken'd souls behind ;
In the young morning of our years
Distempering fogs have climb'd the spheres, Pursues an unatteinpted course,
And choke the labouring mind. Breaks all the critic's iron chains,
“ Lo, the gay planet rears his head, And bears to Paradise the raptur'd mind.
And overlooks the lofty shade, There Milton dwells. The mortal sung
New-brightening all the skies : Themes not presum'd by mortal tongue; Bu say, dear partner of my moan, New terrours, or new glories, shine
When will our long eclipse be gone, In every page, and flying scenes divine (along. Or when our suns arise ? Surprise the wondering sense, and draw our souls
" In vain are potent herbs applied, 1 A French critic.
Harmonious sounds in vain have tried ? An English master of music,
To make the darkness lly: