And now my eyes with transport rove
O'er all the blue expanse above,
Unbroken by a cloud!
And now beneath delighted pass,
Where winding through the deep green grass,
A full-brimmed river flowed.
I stop, I gaze, in accents rude,
To thee, serenest solitude,
Burst forth th' unbidden lay:
Begone, vile world! The learned, the wise, The great, the busy, I despise,
And pity even the gay.
"These, these are joys alone," I cry ;
"'Tis here, divine Philosophy,
Thou deign'st to fix thy throne!
Here contemplation points the road
Through nature's charms to nature's God!
These, these are joys alone!
"Adieu, ye vain, low-thoughted cares,
Ye human hopes and human fears,
Ye pleasures and ye pains!”
While thus I spake, over my soul
A philosophic calmness stole,
A stoic stillness reigns.
The tyrant passions all subdue,
Fear, anger, pity, shame, and pride,
No more my bosom move;
Yet still I felt, or seemed to feel,
A kind of visionary zeal
Of universal love.
When lo! a voice, a voice I hear.
'Twas Reason whispered in my ear
These monitory strains:
"What mean'st thou, man? Would'st thou unbind
The ties which constitute thy kind,
The pleasures and the pains?
"The same Almighty Power unseen,
Who spreads the gay or solemn scene
To contemplation's eye,
Fixed every movement of the soul,
Taught every wish its destined goal,
And quickened every joy.
“He bids the tyrant passions rage,
He bids them war external wage,
And combat each his foe;
Till from dissensions concords rise,
And beauties from deformities,
And happiness from woe.
"Art thou not man, and dar'st thou find
A bliss which leans not to mankind?
Presumptuous thought and vain!
Each bliss unshared is unenjoyed,
Each power is weak unless employed
Some social good to gain.
“Shall light and shade, and warmth and air With those exalted joys compare
Which active virtue feels,
When on she drags, as lawful prize,
Contempt and indolence and vice,
At her triumphant wheels?
"As rest to labour still succeeds
To man, whilst virtue's glorious deeds
Employ his toilsome day,
This fair variety of things
Are merely life's refreshing springs
To soothe him on his way.
“Enthusiast, go, unstring thy lyre,
In vain thou sing'st if none admire,
How sweet soe'er the strain;
And is not thy o'erflowing mind,
Unless thou mixest with thy kind,
Benevolent in vain ?
"Enthusiast, go, try every sense;
If not thy bliss, thy excellence,
Thou yet hast learned to scan;
At least thy wants, thy weakness know,
And see them all uniting show
That man was made for man."
LINES TO GARRICK.
A NATION'S taste depends on you;
Perhaps a nation's virtue, too.
O think how glorious 'twere to raise
A theatre to virtue's praise,
Where no indignant blush might rise,
Nor wit be taught to plead for vice.
But every young, attentive ear
Imbibe the precepts living there;
And every inexperienced breast
There feels its own rude hints exprest,
And, wakened by the glowing scene,
Unfold the world that lurks within.
ON ONE OF HIS LAMPOONERS.
CHURCHILL had strength of thought, had power to paint,
Nor felt from principle the least restraint.
From hell itself his characters he drew,
And christen'd them by every name he knew;
For 'twas from hearsay he picked up his tales,
Where false and true by accident prevails.
Hence, I, though older far, have lived to see
Churchill forgot, an empty shade like me.
That I'm his foe, e'en Churchill can't pretend;
But, thank my stars, he proves I am no friend.
Yet, Churchill, could an honest wish succeed,
I'd prove myself to thee a friend indeed ;
For, had I power like that which bends the spheres
To music never heard by mortal ears,
Where in his system sets the central sun
And drags reluctant planets into tune.
So would I bridle thy eccentric soul,
In reason's sober orbit bid it roll;
Spite of thyself would make thy rancour cease,
Preserve thy present fame and future peace,
And teach thy muse no vulgar place to find
In the full moral chorus of mankind.
SELECTIONS FROM THE ROMAN FATHER
THIS is true courage, not the brutal force
Of vulgar heroes, but the firm resolve
Of virtue and of reason. He who thinks
Without their aid to shine in deeds of arms,
Builds on a sandy basis his renown,
A dream, a vapour, or an ague fit
May make a coward of him.
My soul,
Like yours, is open to the charms of praise.
There is no joy beyond it, when the mind
Of him who hears it can, with honest pride,
Confess it just, and listen to its music.
SELECTIONS FROM LINES TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES TOWNSEND.
O CHARLES, in absence hear a friend complain,
Who knows thou lov'st him wheresoe'er he goes,
Yet feels uneasy starts of idle pain,
And often would be told the thing he knows.
Why then, thou loiterer, fleets the silent years,
How dar'st thou give a friend unnecessary tears?
O I remember, and with pride repeat,
The rapid progress which our friendship knew!
Even at the first with willing minds we met;
And ere the root was fix'd, the branches grew.
In vain had Fortune plac'd her weak barrier;
Clear was thy breast from pride, and mine from servile
fear.
TO LADY NUNEHAM, ON THE DEATH
SISTER, THE HONOURABLE CATHARINE VEN.
ABLES VERNON, JUNE, MDCCLXXV.
MILD as the opening morn's serenest ray,
Mild as the close of summer's softest day,
Her form, her virtues (fram'd alike to please
With artless grace and unassuming ease),
On every breast their mingling influence stole,
And in sweet union breath'd one beauteous whole.
Oft, o'er a sister's much-lamented bier,
Has genuine anguish pour'd the kindred tear:
Oft, on a dear-lov'd friend's untimely grave,
Have sunk in speechless grief, the wise and brave.
—Ah, hapless thou! for whose severer woe
Death arm'd with double force his fatal blow,
Condemn'd (just Heaven! for what mysterious end?)
To lose at once the sister and the friend!
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