FAR from those green retreats, that peaceful shade, Those fields through which my early childhood strayed,
Far from the vale beneath whose poplars glide
The smooth meanders of still Wever's tide,
How pants my soul 'midst Revelry's rude noise,
Midst Dissipation's round, for gentler joys,
For holy calms that dwell in silent dales,
Nursed by soft sounds, and fed by murmuring gales!
And thou, Lorenzo, candid and sincere,
Thou whom of Heaven's dear boons I hold most
From whose prized friendship and sweet converse
The purest joys my grateful heart can know,
Dost thou not ask, through what gay pleasures bend
The wandering footsteps of thy absent friend?
If still this heart, to Nature's impulse true,
Retains the taste of those soft joys it knew
When scenes of peace and gentleness impressed
A kindred feeling on my tranquil breast?
Ah me, my friend! how vain the wish to find
Joy in the painful study of mankind!
Once, lured by flattering hopes, I fondly deemed
The book of man with crowded beauties teemed;
Then too the wild enthusiast, Fancy, drew
Scenes bright and fair, too lovely to be true;
For Fraud, and Pride, and Avarice, and Rage,
And Lust, and Jealousy, defile the page;
Stretch their long trains, and scarce leave vacant
For one short trait of Virtue or of Grace.
Already sickening o'er the loathsome scene
Where Vice and Folly all their powers convene,
I sigh for some retreat, some secret cell,
Whence I may bid the stormy world farewell,
Bless the kind heaven that bears me to the shore,
And swear to tempt the dangerous waves no more.
How sweet, my friend, how pleasant were those
We shared together in our native bowers,
When, wandering with light feet the woods among,
We first essayed our imitative song,
Formed plans of future happiness and joy,
And fondly deemed life's gold had no alloy.
Then all was fair; our inexperienced eyes
Knew not to pierce of craft the close disguise ;
Bright shone the world with beauties not its own,
And man was fair, for man was then unknown.
Oh dear Experience, thou whom man can gain
Only by bosom-sorrow, tears, and pain,
Already, Power unerring, has thy sway
Shown to my early years how idly gay,
How empty the romantic dreams of youth,
And how they fade before the touch of Truth.
Oh ye mistaken! whose too partial sight Views man encompassed but by virtue's light, Who, nursed 'mid groves, and shades, and murmuring streams,
As yet have breathed where nought but beauty
Who think, because his paths you never trod,
Man beauteous as the other works of God!
Like you I hoped, how vain that hope! to find
Goodness unmixed and virtue in mankind,
Nursed the good-natured folly in my breast,
Nor dreamed I nursed a foe to future rest.
Short was my sojourn in this busy world
Ere from these high-flown hopes my heart was hurled ;
Truth rent the vail, dispelled the circling shade, And man in all his horrors stood displayed.
Though Pride and Power, vain-glorious and elate,
With vaunting tongue their fancied joys relate,
Derive from wealth and show a gaudy blaze,
And dazzle foolish eyes with gold's false rays,
Yet deem those joys but feigned and insincere ;
Where shall joy come, if virtue is not there?
The humble swain that from the stubborn soil
Earns his hard fare by sweat and ceaseless toil,
If Virtue's sacred fire within his breast
Burns clear and bright, lives then more fully blest
Than he whose heart, to Virtue's charms unknown,
Builds all its hopes of bliss on Power alone.
But now examine we with nearer eyes
Those joys that Pride and Power so highly prize;
Then let us ask how far their taste excels
The placid pleasure that with Virtue dwells.
Thee, CLODIUS, to the public bar I call,
By thee the cause I plead shall stand or fall :
Then come thou forth to public view displayed,
Come forth in colours all thine own arrayed;
Strip off thy gilded trappings for a while,
The wealth, the rank, the state that fools beguile;
Off with them all, stand forth without disguise,
That all may see thee with undazzled eyes!
Thee not by Truth or Virtue I adjure,
By Fame unsullied, Honour bright and pure,
By Candour, Charity, or honest pride,
By aught to nobleness of soul allied,
By aught that good and virtuous men adore;
Know'st thou the names of these? thou know'st no
Oh old in shame and baseness which in vain
Scoundrels in little labour to obtain!
Oh rich in infamy! oh meanly great,
And poor in all the pageantry of state!
Though wealth, that knows no limits, o'er thee
All the false glare and splendour wealth e'er brings, Though rank its honours adds, though round thee. shine
Titles and names ne'er infamous till thine,*
Say, have thy wealth, thy titles, and thy power,
E'en in thy fortune's most propitious hour,
E'er bribed one tongue that yet could condescend
To hail thee by the sacred name of friend?
a "A name glorious till yours." JUNIUS.
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