In study some protract the silent hours, Which others confecrate to mirth and wine; And fleep till noon, and hardly live till night. But furely this redeems not from the shades One hour of life.
The body, fresh and vigorous from repose, Defies the early fogs: but, by the toils Of wakeful day, exhausted and unstrung, Weakly refifts the night's unwholesome breath. The grand discharge, th' effusion of the skin, Slowly impair'd, the languid maladies Creep on, and thro' the sickning functions steal. So, when the chilling east invades the spring, The delicate Narcissus pines away In hectic languor; and a flow disease Taints all the family of flow'rs, condemn'd To cruel heav'ns. But why, already prone To fade, should beauty cherish its own bane? O shame! O pity! nipt with pale quadrille, And midnight cares, the bloom of Albion dies !
He then points out the reason why those who labour obtain so much refreshment from sleep, while the indolent hardly find any relief.
By toil subdu'd, the warrior and the hind Sleep faft and deep: their active functions soon With generous streams the fubtile tubes supply; And foon the tonick irritable nerves
Feel the fresh impulse and awake the foul. The fons of Indolence, with long repose, Grow torpid; and with flowest Lethe drunk, Feebly and lingringly return to life, Elunt every sense, and pow'rless every limb.
This passage he concludes, by recommending a hard matrass, or elastic couch, to those who are too much prone to fleep, in order to wean them from sloth. But he juftly observes, that some people require more, others less sleep, and that all changes of this fort are to be brought about by gentle means. And
Slow as the shadow o'er the dial moves, Slow as the stealing progress of the year.
As it was necessary under this article to say something about cloathing the body, the author makes a few just observations on the variations of the seasons; which he concludes with these lines.
The cold and torrid reigns,
The two great periods of th' important year, Are in their first approaches seldom safe : Funereal autumn all the fickly dread, And the black fates deform the lovely spring. He well advis'd who taught our wifer fires Early to borrow Muscovy's warm spoils, Ere the first frost has touch'd the tender blade; And late refign them, tho' the wanton spring Should deck her charms with all her sister's rays For while the effluence of the skin maintains Its native measure, the pleuritic spring Glides harmless by; and autumn, fick to death With sallow quartans, no contagion breathes..
We have already observed, that allusions to ancient fables or historical facts have a fine effect in preceptive poems. In this before us the author, when confidering the different shapes in which death approaches the human race, takes notice of the blood spilt by the Plantagenets, and of the sweating sickness, which swept off such amazir g numbers of Englishmen in every clime, and of Englishmen only; for foreigners, tho' residing in this country, were no ways affected with that disorder: and this, tho' a subject incapable, as it were, of ornament, he has wrought up with so much art, that it is both pathetic and pleasing.
What he has faid on the passions, the subject of the fourth book, begins with the following reflection, which is truly philosophical, and very properly introduces the sentiments that follow it.
There is, they say, (and I believe there is)
A spark within us of th' immortal fire,
That animates and moulds the grosser frame ; And when the body finks escapes to heav'n, Its native seat, and mixes with the Gods. Mean while this heav'nly particle pervades The mortal elements, in every nerve It thrills with pleasure, or grows mad with pain, And, in its secret conclave, as it feels The body's woes and joys, this ruling power Wields at its will the dull material world, And is the body's health or malady.
By its own toil the gross corporeal frame Fatigues, extenuates, or destroys itself. Nor less the labours of the mind corrode The folid fabric: for by fubtle parts, And viewless atoms, secret nature moves The mighty wheels of this stupendous world. By fubtle fluids pour'd thro' fubtle tubes The natural, vital, functions are perform'd. By these the stubborn aliments are tam'd; The toiling heart distributes life and strength; These the still-crumbling frame rebuild; and these Are loft in thinking, and dissolve in air.
But 'tis not thought, as he observes, (for every moment the mind is employ'd) 'tis painful thinking; 'tis the anxiety that attends severe study, discontent, care, love, hatred, fear and jealousy, that fatigues the foul and impairs the body.
Hence the lean gloom that melancholy wears; The lover's paleness; and the fallow hue Of envy, jealousy; the meagre stare Of fore revenge: the canker'd body hence Betrays each fretful motion of the mind.
For reading he gives us a precept that may be extremely useful to the studious.
While reading pleases, but no longer, read;
And read aloud resounding Homer's strain, And wield the thunder of Demofthenes.
The chest so exercis'd improves its strength;
And quick vibrations thro' the bowels drive The restless blood, which in unactive days Would loiter else thro' unelastic tubes. Deem it not trifling while I recommend What posture suits: To stand and sit by turns, As nature prompts, is best. But o'er your leaves To lean for ever, cramps the vital parts, And robs the fine machinery of its play.
'Tis the great art of life to manage well The restless mind. For ever on pursuit Of knowledge bent, it starves the grosser powers : Quite unemploy'd, against its own repose It turns its fatal edge, and sharper pangs Than what the body knows embitter life.
After this the poet gives us a striking picture of the dreadful effects of our misguided passions, which is heightened with many admirable reflections, some of which I shall here insert.
For while yourself you anxiously explore, Timorous self-love, with fickning fancy's aid, Presents the danger that you dread the most, And ever galls you in your tender part. Hence fome for love, and some for jealousy, For grim religion some, and some for pride, Have loft their reason some for fear of want, Want all their lives; and others every day For fear of dying suffer worse than death.
And what avails it, that indulgent heaven From mortal eyes has wrapt the woes to come; If we, ingenious to torment ourselves, Grow pale at hideous fictions of our own? Enjoy the present; nor with needless cares, Of what may spring from blind misfortune's womb, Appal the surest hour that life bestows. Serene, and master of yourself, prepare
For what may come; and leave the rest to heav'n.
And those chronic passions which spring from real woes, and from no disorder in the body, are not to be reason'd down, as he observes, but to be cured by fuch
diversions or business as will fill the mind, or remove it from the object of its concern.
Go, soft enthusiast! quit the cypress groves, Nor to the rivulet's lonely moanings tune Your fad complaint. Go, seek the chearful haunts Of men, and mingle with the bustling croud; Lay schemes for wealth, or power, or fame, the wish Of nobler minds, and push them night and day. Or join the caravan in quest of scenes New to your eyes, and shifting every hour.
He then inveighs against drinking, the common resource in disorders of this kind, and observes, that, tho' the intoxicating draught may relieve for a time; the pains will return with ten-fold rage. And this he illustrates with a beautiful fimile.
But foon your heav'n is gone, a heavier gloom Shuts o'er your head: and, as the thund'ring stream, Swoln o'er its banks with fudden mountain rain, Sinks from its tumult to a filent brook;
So, when the frantic raptures in your breast Subfide, you languish into mortal man; You fleep, and waking find yourself undone. For prodigal of life in one rash night You lavish'd more than might support three days.
He then points out the mischiefs that attend drunkenness; such as losing friends by unguarded words, or doing rash deeds that are never to be forgotten (but which may haunt a man with horror to his grave) the lofs of money, health and decay of parts; and then pays a grateful filial tribute to the memory of his father; whose advice on the conduct of life he thus recommends.
How to live happiest; how avoid the pains, The disappointments, and disgusts of those Who would in pleasure all their hours employ; The precepts here of a divine old man I could recite. Tho' old, he still retained His manly sense, and energy of mind.
« FöregåendeFortsätt » |