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The Poetical Works of Mark Akenside

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Title: The Poetical Works of Mark Akenside

Author: Mark Akenside

Editor: George Gilfillan


        
Release date: February 1, 2006 [eBook #9814]
                Most recently updated: December 26, 2020

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE POETICAL WORKS OF MARK AKENSIDE ***




Produced by Jonathon Ingram, Robert Prince and the Online
Distribted Proofreading Team









THE

POETICAL WORKS

OF

MARK AKENSIDE.



REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN.


THE LIFE OF AKENSIDE.


Mark Akenside was born at Newcastle-upon-Tyne on the 9th of November
1721. His family were Presbyterian Dissenters, and on the 30th of
that month he was baptized in the meeting, then held in Hanover
Square, by a Mr. Benjamin Bennet. His father, Mark, was a butcher in
respectable circumstances--his mother's name was Mary Lumsden. There
may seem something grotesque in finding the author of the "Pleasures
of Imagination" born in a place usually thought so anti-poetical as
a butcher's shop. And yet similar anomalies abound in the histories
of men of genius. Henry Kirke White, too, was a butcher's son, and
for some time carried his father's basket. The late Thomas Atkinson,
a very clever _littérateur_ of the West of Scotland, was also what
the Scotch call a "flesher's" son. The case of Cardinal Wolsey is
well known. Indeed, we do not understand why any decent calling
should be inimical to the existence--however it may be to the
adequate development--of genius. That is a spark of supernal
inspiration, lighting where it pleases, often conforming, and always
striving to conform, circumstances to itself, and sometimes even
strengthened and purified by the contradictions it meets in life. Nay,
genius has sprung up in stranger quarters than in butcher's shops or
tailor's attics--it has lived and nourished in the dens of robbers,
and in the gross and fetid atmosphere of taverns. There was an
Allen-a-Dale in Robin Hood's gang; it was in the Bell Inn, at
Gloucester, that George Whitefield, the most gifted of popular
orators, was reared; and Bunyan's Muse found him at the
disrespectable trade of a tinker, and amidst the clatter of pots,
and pans, and vulgar curses, made her whisper audible in his ear,
"Come up hither to the Mount of Vision--to the summit of Mount Clear!"

It is said that Akenside was ashamed of his origin--and if so, he
deserved the perpetual recollection of it, produced by a life-long
lameness, originating in a cut from his father's cleaver. It is
fitting that men, and especially great men, should suffer through
their smallnesses of character. The boy was first sent to the
Free School of Newcastle, and thence to a private academy kept by
Mr. Wilson, a Dissenting minister of the place. He began rather early
to display a taste for poetry and verse-writing; and, in April 1737,
we find in the _Gentleman's Magazine_ a set of stanzas, entitled,
"The Virtuoso, in imitation of Spenser's style and stanza," prefaced
by a letter signed Marcus, in which the author, while requesting the
insertion of his piece, pleads the apology of his extreme youth. One
may see something of the future political zeal of the man in the
boy's selection of one of the names of Brutus. The _Gentleman's
Magazine_ was then rising toward that character of a readable medley
and agreeable _olla podrida_, which it long bore, although its
principal contributor--Johnson--did not join its staff till the next
year. Its old numbers will even still repay perusal--at least we
seldom enjoyed a greater treat than when in our boyhood we lighted
on and read some twenty of its brown-hued, stout-backed,
strong-bound volumes, filled with the debates in the Senate of
Lilliput--with Johnson's early Lives and Essays--with mediocre
poetry--interesting scraps of meteorological and scientific
information--ghost stories and fairy tales--alternating with timid
politics, and with sarcasms at the great, veiled under initials,
asterisks, and innuendoes; and even now many, we believe, feel it
quite a luxury to recur from the personalities and floridities of
modern periodicals to its quiet, cool, sober, and sensible pages. To
it Akenside contributed afterwards a fable, called "Ambition and
Content," a "Hymn to Science," and a few more poetical pieces
(written not, as commonly said, in Edinburgh, but in Newcastle, in
1739). It has been asserted that he composed his "Pleasures of
Imagination" while visiting some relations at Morpeth, when only
seventeen years of age; but although he himself assures us that he
spent many happy and inspired hours in that region,

                            "Led
  In silence by some powerful hand unseen,"

there is no direct evidence that he then fixed his vague, tumultuous,
youthful impressions in verse. Indeed, the texture and style of the
"Pleasures" forbid the thought that it was a hasty improvisation.
When nearly eighteen years old, Akenside was sent to Edinburgh, to
commence his studies for the pulpit, and received some pecuniary
assistance from the Dissenters' Society. One winter, however, served
to disgust him with the prospects of the profession--which he
resigned for the pursuit of medicine, repaying the contribution he
had received from the society. We know a similar case in the present
day of a well-known, able _littérateur_--once the editor of the
_Westminster Review_--who had been educated at the expense of the
Congregational body in Scotland, but who, after a change of
religious view and of profession, honourably refunded the whole sum.
What were the special reasons why Akenside turned aside from the
Church we are not informed. Perhaps he had fallen into youthful
indiscretions or early scepticism; or perhaps he felt that the
business of a Dissenting pastor was not then, any more than it is now,
a very lucrative one. Presbyterian Dissent at that time, besides,
did not stand very high in England. The leading Dissenting divines
were Independents--and the Presbyterian body was fast sinking into
Unitarian or Arian heresy. On the other hand, the Church of England
was in the last state of lukewarmness; the Church of Scotland was
groaning under the load of patronage; and the Secession body was
newly formed, and as yet insignificant. In such circumstances we
cannot wonder that an ardent, ambitious mind like that of Akenside
should revolt from divinity as a study, and the pulpit as a goal,
although some may think it strange how the pursuit of medicine
should commend itself instead to a genial and poetic mind. Yet let
us remember that some eminent poets have been students or practisers
of the art of medicine. Such--to name only a few--were Armstrong,
Smollett, Crabbe, Darwin, Delta, Keats, and the two Thomas Browns,
the Knight of the "Religio Medici," and the Philosopher of the
"Lectures," both genuine poets, although their best poetry is in
prose. There are, besides, connected with medicine, some departments
of thought and study peculiarly exciting to the imagination. Such is
anatomy, with its sad yet instructive revelations of the structure
of the human frame--so "fearfully and wonderfully made"--wielding in
its hand a scalpel which at first seems ruthless and disenchanting
as the scythe of death, but which afterwards becomes a key to unlock
some of the deepest mysteries, and leads us down whole galleries of
wonder. There is botany, culling from every nook and corner of the
earth weeds which are flowers, and flowers of all hues, and every
plant, from the "cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop which springs out of
the wall," and finding a terrible and imaginative pleasure in
handling the fell family of poisons, and in deriving the means of
protracting life and healing sickness from the very blossoms of death.
And there is chemistry, most poetical save astronomy of all the
sciences, seeking to spiritualise the material--to hunt the atom to
the point where it trembles over the gulf of nonentity--to weigh
gases in scales, and the elements in a balance, and, in its more
transcendental and daring shape, trying to interchange one kind of
metal with another, and all kinds of forms with all, as in a
music-led and mystic dance. Hence we find that such men as Beddoes,
the author of the "Bride's Tragedy," have turned away from poetry to
physiology, and found in it a grander if also ghastlier stimulus to
their imaginative faculty. Hence Crabbe delighted to load himself
with grasses and duckweed, and Goëthe to fill his carriage with
every variety of plant and mountain flower. Hence Davy, and the late
lamented Samuel Brown, analysed, in the spirit of poets as well as
of philosophers, and gave to the crucible what it had long lost,
something of the air of a weird cauldron, bubbling over with magical
foam, and shining, not so much in the severe light of science as in
the

  "Light that never was on sea or shore.
  The consecration and the poet's dream."

And hence, in the then state of Church matters, and of his own
effervescent soul, Akenside felt probably in medicine a deeper charm
than in theology, and imagined that it opened up a more congenial
field for his powers both of reason and of imagination.

In December 1740, Akenside was elected a member of the Edinburgh
Medical Society. This society held meetings for discussion, and
in them our poet set himself to shine as a speaker. His ambition,
it is said, at this time, was to be a member of Parliament; and
Dr. Robertson, then a student in the University, used to attend the
meetings of the society chiefly to hear the speeches of the young
and fiery Southron. Indeed, the rhetoric of the "Pleasures of
Imagination" is finer than its poetry; and none but an orator could
have painted Brutus rising "refulgent from the stroke" which slew
Caesar, when he

                  "Call'd on Tully's name,
  And bade the father of his country hail!"

Englishmen are naturally more eloquent than the Scotch; and once and
again has the Mark Akenside, the Joseph Gerald, or the George
Thompson overpowered and captivated even the sober and critical
children of the Modern Athens. While electrifying the Medical Society,
Akenside did not neglect, if he did not eminently excel in his
professional studies; and he continued to write sonorous verse, some
specimens of which, including an "Ode on the Winter Solstice," and
"Love, an Elegy," he is said to have printed for private distribution.

In Edinburgh he became acquainted with Jeremiah Dyson, a young
law-student of fortune, who was afterwards our poet's principal
patron. He seems to have returned to Newcastle in 1741; and we find
him dating a letter to Dyson thence on the 18th of August 1742, and
directing his correspondent to address his reply to him as "Surgeon,
in Newcastle-upon-Tyne." It is doubtful, however, if he had yet
begun to practise; and there is reason to believe that he was busily
occupied with his great poem. This he completed in the close of 1743.
He offered the manuscript to Dodsley for £150. The bookseller,
although a liberal and generous man, was disposed at first to
_boggle_ a little at such a price for a didactic poem by an
unknown man. He carried the "Pleasures of Imagination" to Pope, who
glanced at it, saw its merit, and advised Dodsley not to make a
niggardly offer--for "this was no everyday writer." It appeared in
January 1744, and, in spite of its faults, nay, perhaps, partly in
consequence of them, was received with loud applause; and the
author--only twenty-three years of age--"awoke one morning, and found
himself famous;" for although his name was not attached to the poem,
it soon transpired. One Rolt, an obscure scribbler, then in Ireland,
claimed the authorship, transcribed the poem with his own hand; nay,
according to Dr. Johnson, published an edition with his own name,
and was invited to the best tables as the ingenious Mr. Rolt. His
conversation did not indeed sparkle with poetic fire, nor was his
appearance that of a poet, but people remembered that both Dryden
and Addison were dull or silent in company till warmed with wine, and
that it was not uncommon for authors to have sold all their thoughts
to their booksellers. Akenside, hearing of this, was obliged to
vindicate his claims by printing the next edition with his name, and
then the bubble of the ingenious Mr. Rolt burst.

All fame, and especially all sudden fame, has its drawbacks. Gray
read the poem, and wrote of it to his friends, in a style thought at
the time depreciatory, although it comes pretty near the truth. He
says, "It seems to me above the middling, and now and then for a
little while rises even to the best, particularly in description. It
is often obscure and even unintelligible. In short, its great fault
is, that it was published at least nine years too early." Gray,
however, had not as yet himself emerged as a poet, and his word had
chiefly weight with his friends. Warburton was a more formidable
opponent. This divine acted then a good deal in the style of a
gigantic Church-bully, and seemed disposed to knock down all and
sundry who differed from him either on great or small theological
matters; and Humes, Churchills, Jortins, Middletons, Lowths,
Shaftesburys, Wesleys, Whitefields, and Akensides all felt the fury
of his onset, and the force of the "punishment" inflicted by his
strong fists. Akenside, in his poem, and in one of his notes, had
defended Shaftesbury's ridiculous notion that ridicule is the test
of truth, and for this Warburton assailed him in the preface to
"Remarks in Answer to Dr. Middleton." In this, while indirectly
disparaging the poem, he accuses the poet of infidelity, atheism,
and insulting the clergy. The preface appeared in March 1744, and in
the following May (Akenside being then in Holland) came forth a reply,
in "An Epistle to the Rev. Mr. Warburton, occasioned by his
Treatment of the Author of the Pleasures of Imagination," which had
been concocted between Dyson and our poet. This pamphlet was written
with considerable spirit; and although it left the question where it
found it, it augured no little courage on the part of the young
physician and the young lawyer mating themselves against the matured
author of the "Divine Legation of Moses." As to the question in
dispute, Johnson disposes of it satisfactorily in a single sentence.
"If ridicule be applied to any position as the test of truth, it
will then become a question whether such ridicule be just, and this
can only be decided by the application of truth as the test of
ridicule." How easy to make any subject or any person ridiculous! To
hold that ridicule is paramount to the discovery or attestation of
truth, is to exalt the ape-element in man above the human and the
angelic principles, which also belong to his nature, and to enthrone
a Voltaire over a Newton or a Milton. Those who laugh proverbially
do not always win, nor do they always deserve to win. Do we think
less of "Paradise Lost," and Shakspeare, because Cobbett has derided
both, or of the Old and New Testaments, because Paine has subjected
parts of them to his clumsy satire? When we find, indeed, a system
such as Jesuitism blasted by the ridicule of Pascal, we conclude
that it was not true,--but why? not merely because ridicule assailed
it, for ridicule has assailed ten thousand systems which never even
shook in the storm, but because, in the view of all candid and
liberal thinkers, the ridicule _prevailed_. Should it be said that
the question still recurs, How are we to be certain of the candour
and liberality of the men who think that Pascal's satire damaged
Jesuitism? we simply say, that it is not ridicule, but some stricter
and more satisfactory method that can determine _this_ inquiry. It
is remarkable that Akenside modified his statements on this subject
in his after revision of his poem.

In April 1744 we find our bard in Leyden, and Mr. Dyce has published
some interesting letters dated thence to Mr. Dyson. He does not seem
to have admired Holland much, whether in its scenery, manners, taste,
or genius. On the 16th of May, he took his degree of Doctor of
Physic at Leyden, the subject of his Dissertation (which, according
to the usual custom, he published) being the "Origin and Growth of
the Human Foetus," in which he is reported to have opposed the views
then prevalent, and to have maintained the theory which is now
generally held. As soon as he received his diploma he returned to
England, signalising his departure by an "Ode to Holland," as dull
as any ditch in that country itself. In June he settled as a
physician in Northampton, where the eminent Doddridge was at the
time labouring. With him he is said to have held a friendly contest
about the opinions of the old heathens in reference to a future state,
Akenside, in keeping with the whole tenor of his intellectual history,
supporting the side of the ancients. Indeed, he never appears to
have had much religion, except that of the Pagan philosophy, Plato
being his Paul, and Socrates his Christ; and most cordially would he
have joined in Thorwaldsen's famous toast (announced at an evening
party in Rome, while the planet Jupiter was shining in great glory),
"Here's in honour of the ancient gods." In Northampton, partly owing
to the overbearing influence of Dr. Stonehouse, a long-established
practitioner, and partly to his violent political zeal, he did not
prosper. While residing there he produced his manly and spirited
"Epistle to Curio." Curio was Pulteney, who had been a flaming
patriot, but who, like the majority of such characters, had, for the
sake of a title--the earldom of Bath--subsided into a courtier. Him
Akenside lashes with unsparing energy. He committed afterwards an
egregious blunder in reference to this production. He frittered it
down into a stupid ode. Indeed, he had always an injudicious
trick--whether springing from fastidiousness or undue ambition--of
tinkering and tampering with his very best poems.

In March 1745 he collected his odes into a quarto tract. It appeared
at a time when lyrical poetry was all but extinct. Dryden was gone;
Collins and Gray had not yet published their odes; and hence, and
partly too from the prestige of his former poem, Akenside's odes,
poor as they now seem, met with considerable acceptance, although
they did not reach a new edition till 1760. In 1747 his friend Dyson,
having been elected clerk to the House of Commons, took Akenside with
him to his house at Northend, Hampstead. Here, however, he felt
himself out of place, and in fine, in 1748, he settled down in
Bloomsbury Square, London, where Dyson very generously allowed him
£300 a-year, which, being equal to the value of twice that sum now,
enabled him to keep a chariot, and live like a gentleman. During the
years 1746, 1747, 1748, he composed a number of pieces, both in
prose and verse--his "Hymn to the Naiads," his "Ode to the Evening
Star," and several essays in _Dodsley's Museum_; such as these,
"On Correctness;" "The Table of Modern Fame, a Vision;" "Letter from
a Swiss Gentleman on English Liberty;" and "The Balance of Poets;"
besides an ode to Caleb Hardinge, M. D., and another to the Earl of
Huntingdon, which has been esteemed one of his best lyric poems. In
London he did not attain rapidly a good practice, nor was it ever
extensive. But for Mr. Dyson's aid he might have written a chapter on
"Early Struggles," nearly as rich and interesting as that famous one
in Warren's "Diary of a late Physician." Even his poetical name was
adverse to his prospects. His manners, too, were unconciliating and
haughty. At Tom's Coffeehouse, in Devereux Court, night after night,
appeared the author of the "Pleasures of Imagination," full of
knowledge, dogmatism, and a love of self-display; eager for talk,
fond of arguing--especially on politics and literature--and sometimes
narrowly escaping duels and other misadventures springing from his
hot and imperious temper. In sick chambers he was stiff, formal, and
reserved, carrying a frown about with him, which itself damped the
spirits and accelerated the pulse of his patients. It was only among
intimate friends that he descended to familiarity, and even then it
was with

  "Compulsion and laborious flight."

One of these intimates for a while was Charles Townshend, a man
whose name now lives chiefly in the glowing encomium of Burke, a
part of which we may quote:--"Before this splendid orb (Lord Chatham)
was entirely set, and while the western horizon was in a blaze with
his descending glory, on the opposite quarter of the heavens arose
another luminary, and for his hour became lord of the ascendant.
Townshend was the delight and ornament of this House, and the charm
of every private society which he honoured with his presence.
Perhaps there never arose in this country, nor in any country, a man
of more pointed and finished wit, and of a more refined, exquisite,
and penetrating judgment. He stated his matter skilfully and
powerfully. He particularly excelled in a most luminous explanation
and display of the subject. His style of argument was neither trite
and vulgar, nor subtle and abstruse. He hit the House between wind
and water. He had no failings which were not owing to a noble cause,
to an ardent, generous, perhaps an immoderate passion for fame; a
passion which is the instinct of all great souls. He worshipped that
goddess wheresoever she appeared: but he paid his particular
devotions to her in her favourite habitation, in her chosen temple,
the House of Commons." With this distinguished man Akenside was for
some time on friendly terms, but for causes not well known, their
friendship came to an abrupt termination; it might have been owing
to Townshend's rapid rise, or to Akenside's presumptuous and
overbearing disposition. Two odes, addressed by the latter to the
former, immortalise this incomplete and abortive amity.

The years 1750 and 1751 were only signalised in Akenside's history
by one or two dull odes from his pen. But if not witty at that time
himself, he gave occasion to wit in others. Smollett, provoked, it
is said, by some aspersions Akenside had in conversation cast on
Scotland, and at all times prone to bitter and sarcastic views of
men and manners, fell foul of him in "Peregrine Pickle." If our
readers care for wading through that filthy novel--the most
disagreeable, although not the dullest of Smollett's fictions--they
will find a caricature of our poet in the character of the "Doctor,"
who talks nonsense about liberty, quotes and praises his own poetry,
and invites his friends to an entertainment in the manner of the
ancients--a feast hideously accurate in its imitation of antique
cookery, and forming, if not an "entertainment" to the guests, a very
rich one to the readers of the tale. How Akenside bore this we are
not particularly informed. Probably he writhed in secret, but was
too proud to acknowledge his feelings. In 1753 he was consoled by
receiving a doctor's degree from Cambridge, and by being elected
Fellow of the Royal Society. The next year he became Fellow of the
College of Physicians.

In June 1755 he read the Galstonian lectures in anatomy before the
College of Physicians, and in the next year the Croonian lectures
before the same institution. The subject of the latter course was
the "History of the Revival of Letters," which some of the learned
Thebans thought not germane to the matter; and, consequently, after
he had delivered three lectures, he desisted in disgust. This fact
seems somewhat to contradict Dr. Johnson's assertion, that "Akenside
appears not to have been wanting to his own success, and placed
himself in view by all the common methods." Had he been a thoroughly
self-seeking man, he never would have committed the blunder of
choosing literature as a subject of predilection to men who were
probably most of them materialists, or at least destitute of
literary taste. The Doctor says also, "He very eagerly forced
himself into notice, by an ambitious ostentation of elegance and
literature." But surely the author of such a popular poem as the
"Pleasures of Imagination" had no need to claim notice by an
ostentatious display of his parts, and had too much good sense to
imagine that such a vain display would conciliate any acute and
sensible person. Johnson, in fact, throughout his cursory and
careless "Life of Akenside," is manifestly labouring under deep
prejudice against the poet--prejudice founded chiefly on Akenside's
political sentiments.

In 1759 our poet was appointed physician to St. Thomas's Hospital,
and afterwards to Christ's Hospital. Here he ruled the patients and
the under officials with a rod of iron. Dr. Lettsom became a
surgeon's dresser in St. Thomas's Hospital. He was an admirer of
poetry, especially of the "Pleasures of Imagination," and
anticipated much delight from intercourse with the author. He was
disappointed first of all with his personal appearance. He found him
a stiff-limbed, starched personage, with a lame foot, a pale
strumous face, a long sword, and a large white wig. Worse than this,
he was cruel, almost barbarous, to the patients, particularly to
females. Owing to an early love-disappointment, he had contracted a
disgust and aversion to the sex, and chose to express it in a
callous and cowardly harshness to those under his charge. It is
possible, however, that Lettsom might be influenced by some private
pique. Nothing is more common than for the hero-worshipper,
disenchanted of his early idolatry, to rush to the opposite extreme,
and to become the hero-hater; and the fault is as frequently
his own as that of his idol. And it must be granted that an
hospital--especially of that age--was no congenial atmosphere for a
poet so Platonic and ideal as Akenside.

In October 1759 he delivered the Harveian oration before the College
of Physicians, and by their order it was published the next year. In
1761 Mr. T. Hollis presented him with a bed which had once belonged
to Milton, on the condition that he would write an ode to the memory
of that great poet. Akenside joyfully accepted the bed, had it set
up in his house, and, we suppose, slept in it; but the muse forgot
to visit _his_ "slumbers nightly," and no ode was ever produced.
We think that Akenside had sympathy enough with Milton's politics and
poetry to have written a fine blank-verse tribute to his memory,
resembling that of Thomson to Sir Isaac Newton; but odes of much
merit he could not produce, and yet at odes he was always sweltering

  "With labour dire and weary woe."

In 1760, George the Third mounted the throne, and the author of the
"Epistle to Curio" began to follow the precise path of Pulteney. In
this he was preceded by Dyson, who became suddenly a supporter of
Lord Bute, and drew his friend in his train. By Dyson's influence
Akenside was appointed, in 1761, physician to the Queen. His
secession from the Whig ranks cost him a great deal of obloquy.
Dr. Hardinge had told the two turncoats long before "that, like a
couple of idiots, they did not leave themselves a loophole--they
could not _sidle away_ into the opposite creed." He never, however,
became a violent Tory partisan. It is singular how Johnson, with all
his aversion to Akenside, has no allusion to his apostasy, in which
we might have _à priori_ expected him to glory, as a proof of the
poet's inconsistency, if not corruption.

In one point Akenside differed from the majority of his tuneful
brethren, before, then, or since. He was a warm and wide-hearted
commender of the works of other poets. Most of our sweet singers
rather resemble birds of prey than nightingales or doves, and are at
least as strong in their talons as they are musical in their tongues.
And hence the groves of Parnassus have in all ages rung with the
screams of wrath and contest, frightfully mingling with the melodies
of song. Akenside, by a felicitous conjunction of elements, which
you could not have expected from other parts of his character, was
entirely exempted from this defect, and not only warmly admired Pope,
Young, Thomson, and Dyer, whose "Fleece" he corrected, but had kind
words to spare for even such "small deer" as Welsted and Fenton.

In 1763, he read a paper before the Royal Society, on the "Effects
of a Blow on the Heart," which was published in the _Philosophical
Transactions_ of the year. And, in 1764 he established his character
as a medical writer by an elegant and elaborate treatise on
"The Dysentery," still, we believe, consulted for its information,
and studied for the purity and precision of its Latin style. About
this time, too, he commenced a recasting of his "Pleasures of
Imagination," which he did not live to finish; and in which, on the
whole, there is more of laborious alteration than of felicitous
improvement. In 1766, Warburton, his old foe, who had now been made a
bishop, reprinted, in a new edition of his "Divine Legation of Moses,"
his attack on Akenside's notions about ridicule, without deigning to
take any notice of the explanations he had given in his reply. This
renewal of hostilities, coming, especially as it did, from the
vantage ground of the Episcopal bench, enraged our poet, and, by way
of rejoinder, he issued a lyrical satire which he had had lying past
him in pickle for fifteen years, and which nothing but a fresh
provocation would have induced him to publish. It was entitled
"An Ode to the late Thomas Edwards, Esq." Edwards had opposed
Warburton ably in a book entitled "Canons of Criticism," and was
himself a poet. The real sting of this attack lay in Akenside's
production of a letter from Warburton to Concanen, dated 2d January
1726, which had fallen accidentally into the hands of our poet; and
in which Warburton had accused Addison of plagiarism, and said that
when "Pope borrows it is from want of genius." Concanen was one of
the "Dunces," and it was, of course, Akenside's purpose to shew
Warburton's inconsistency in the different opinions he had expressed
at different times of them and of their great adversary. We know not
if the sturdy bishop took any notice of this ode. Even his Briarean
arms were sometimes too full of the controversial work which his
overbearing temper and fierce passions were constantly giving him.

In 1766, Akenside received the thanks of the College of Physicians
for an edition of Harvey's works, which he prepared for the press,
and to which he had prefixed a preface. In June 1767 he read before
the College two papers, one on "Cancers and Asthmas," and the other
on "White Swelling of the Joints," both of which were published the
next year in the first volume of the _Medical Transactions_. In the
same year, one Archibald Campbell, a Scotchman, a purser in the navy,
and called, from his ungainly countenance, "horrible Campbell,"
produced a small _jeu d'esprit_, entitled "Lexiphanes, imitated from
Lucian, and suited to the present times," in which he tries to
ridicule Johnson's prose and Akenside's poetry. His object was
probably to attract their notice, but both passed over this grin of
the "Grim Feature" in silent contempt. Akenside was still busy with
the revisal of his poem, had finished two books, "made considerable
progress with the third, and written a fragment of the fourth;" but
death stepped in and blighted his prospects, both as a physician,
with increasing practice and reputation, and as a poet, whose
favourite work was approaching what he deemed perfection. He was
seized with putrid fever; and, after a short illness, died on the 23
d June 1770 at an age when many men are in their very prime, both of
body and mind--that of 49. He died in his house in Burlington Street,
and was buried on the 28th in St. James's Church.

Akenside had been, notwithstanding his many acquaintances and friends,
on the whole, a lonely man; without domestic connexions, and having,
so far as we are informed, either no surviving relations or no
intercourse with those who might be still alive. He was not
especially loved in society; he wanted humour and good-humour both,
and had little of that frank cordiality which, according to Sidney
Smith, "warms and cheers more than meat or wine." He had far less
geniality than genius. Yet, in certain select circles, his mind,
which was richly stored with all knowledge, opened delightfully, and
men felt that he _was_ the author of his splendid poem. One of his
biographers gives him the palm for learning, next to Ben Jonson,
Milton, and Gray (he might perhaps have also excepted Landor and
Coleridge), over all our English poets.

In 1772, Mr. Dyson published an edition of his friend's poems,
containing the original form of the "Pleasures of Imagination," as
well as its half-finished second shape; his "Odes," "Inscriptions,"
"Hymn to the Naiads," etc., omitting, however, his poem to Curio in
its first and best version, and some of his smaller pieces. This
edition, too, contained an account of Akenside's life by his friend,
so short and so cold as either to say little for Dyson's heart, or a
great deal for his modesty and reticence. His uniform and munificent
kindness to the poet during his lifetime, however, determines us in
favour of the latter side of the alternative.

Of Akenside, as a man, our previous remarks have perhaps indicated
our opinion. He was rather a scholar somewhat out of his element,
and unreconciled to the world, than a thorough gentleman; irritable,
vehement, and proud--his finer traits were only known to his
intimates, who probably felt that in Wordsworth's words,

  "You must love him ere to you
  He doth, seem worthy of your love."

In religion his opinions seem to have been rather unsettled; but, of
whatever doubts he had, he gave the benefit latterly to the
Christian side--at least he was ever ready to rebuke noisy and
dogmatic infidelity. It is said that he intended to have included
the doctrine of immortality in his later version of the "Pleasures
of Imagination"--and even as the poem is, it contains some transient
allusions to that great object of human hope, although none, it must
be admitted, to its special Christian grounds.

We have now a very few sentences to enounce about his poetry, or,
more properly speaking, about his two or three good poems, for we
must dismiss the most of his odes, in their deep-sounding dulness,
as nearly unworthy of their author's genius. Up to the days of
Keats' "Endymion" and "Hyperion," Akenside's "Hymn to the Naiads"
was thought one of the best attempts to reproduce the classical
spirit and ideas. It now takes a secondary place; and at no time
could be compared to an actual hymn of Callimachus or Pindar, any
more than Smollett's "Supper after the Manner of the Ancients" was
equal to a real Roman Coena, the ideal of which Croly has so
superbly described in "Salathiel." His "Epistle to Curio" is a
masterpiece of vigorous composition, terse sentiment, and glowing
invective. It gathers around Pulteney as a ring of fire round the
scorpion, and leaves him writhing and shrivelled. Out of Dryden and
Pope, it is perhaps the best satiric piece in our poetry.

Of the "Pleasures of Imagination," it is not necessary to say a
great deal. A poem that has been so widely circulated, so warmly
praised, so frequently quoted and imitated--the whole of which
nearly a man like Thomas Brown has quoted in the course of his
lectures--must possess no ordinary merit. Its great beauty is its
richness of description and language--its great fault is its
obscurity; a beauty and a fault closely connected together, even as
the luxuriance of a tropical forest implies intricacy, and its
lavish loveliness creates a gloom. His attempt to express Plato's
philosophy in blank verse is not always successful. Perhaps prose
might better have answered his purpose in expressing the awfully
sublime thought of the "archetypes of all things existing in God."
We know that in certain objects of nature--in certain rocks, for
instance (such as Coleridge describes in his "Wanderings of Cain")--
there lie silent prefigurations and aboriginal types of artificial
objects, such as ships, temples, and other orders of architecture;
and it is so also in certain shells, woods, and even in clouds. How
interesting and beautiful those painted prophecies of nature, those
quiet hieroglyphics of God, those mystic letters, which, unlike
those on the Babylonian wall, do _not_,

           "Careering shake,
  And blaze IMPATIENT to be read,"

but bide calmly the time when their artificial archetypes shall
appear, and the "wisdom" in them shall be "justified" in these its
children! So, according to Plato, comparing great to small things,
there lay in the Divine mind the archetypes of all that was to be
created, with this important difference, that they lay in God
_spiritually_ and consciously. How poetical and how solemn to
approach, under the guidance of this thought, and gaze on the mind
of God as on an ancient awful mirror; and even as in a clear lake we
behold the forms of the surrounding scenery reflected from the white
strip of pebbled shore up to the gray scalp of the mountain summit,
and tremble as we look down on the "skies of a far nether world," on
an inverted sun, and on snow unmelted amidst the water; so to see
the entire history of man, from the first glance of life in the eye
of Adam, down to the last sparkle of the last ember of the general
conflagration, lying silently and inverted there--how sublime, but
at the same time how bewildering and how appalling! Our readers will
find, in the "Pleasures of Imagination," an expansion--perhaps they
may think it a dilution--of this Platonic idea.

They will find there, too, the germ of the famous theory of Alison
and Jeffrey about Beauty. These theorists held 'that beauty resides
not so much in the object as in the mind; that we receive but what
we give; that our own soul is the urn whence beauty is showered over
the universe; that flower and star are lovely because the mind has
breathed on them; that the imagination and the heart of man are the
twin beautifiers of creation; that the dwelling of beauty is not in
the light of setting suns, nor in the beams of morning stars, nor in
the waves of summer seas, but in the human spirit; that sublimity
tabernacles not in the palaces of the thunder, walks not on the
wings of the wind, rides not on the forked lightning, but that it is
the soul which is lifted up there; that it is the soul which, in its
high aspirings,'

  "Yokes with whirlwinds and the northern blast,
   and scatters grandeur around it on its way."

All this seems anticipated, and, as it were, coiled up in the words
of our poet:--

  "Mind, mind alone (bear witness earth and heaven!)
  The living fountains in itself contains
  Of beauteous and sublime."

That Akenside was a real poet many expressions in his "Pleasures of
Imagination" prove, such as that just quoted--

  "Yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blast
  Sweeps the long tract of day;"

but, taking his poem as a whole, it is rather a tissue of eloquence
and philosophical declamation than of imagination. He deals rather
in sheet lightning than in forked flashes. As a didactic poem it has
a high, but not the highest place. It must not be named beside the
"De Rerum Natura" of Lucretius, or the "Georgics" of Virgil, or the
"Night Thoughts" of Young; and in poetry, yields even to the
"Queen Mab" of Shelley. It ranks high, however, amongst that fine
class of works which have called themselves, by no misnomer,
"Pleasures;" and to recount all the names of which were to give an
"enumeration of sweets" as delightful as that in "Don Juan." How
cheering to think of that beautiful bead-roll--of which the
"Pleasures of Memory," "Pleasures of Hope," "Pleasures of Melancholy,"
"Pleasures of Imagination," are only a few! We may class, too, with
them, Addison's essays on the "Pleasures of Imagination" in _The
Spectator_, which, although in prose, glow throughout with the
mildest and truest spirit of poetry; and if inferior to Akenside in
richness and swelling pomp of words, and in dashing rhetorical force,
far excel him in clearness, in chastened beauty, and in those
inimitable touches and unconscious felicities of thought and
expression which drop down, like ripe apples falling suddenly across
your path from a laden bough, and which could only have proceeded
from Addison's exquisite genius.




CONTENTS.


THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.

  Book I.

  Book II.

  Book III.

  Notes to Book I.

  Notes to Book II.

  Notes to Book III.


THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION.

  Book I.

  Book II.

  Book III.

  Book IV.


ODES ON SEVERAL SUBJECTS:--

  Book I.--

  Ode I. Preface.

  Ode II. On the Winter-solstice, 1740.

  Ode II. For the Winter-solstice, December 11, 1740.
     As originally written.

  Ode III. To a Friend, Unsuccessful in Love.

  Ode IV. Affected Indifference. To the same.

  Ode V. Against Suspicion.

  Ode VI. Hymn to Cheerfulness.

  Ode VII. On the Use of Poetry.

  Ode VIII. On leaving Holland.

  Ode IX. To Curio.

  Ode X. To the Muse.

  Ode XI. On Love. To a Friend.

  Ode XII. To Sir Francis Henry Drake, Baronet.

  Ode XIII. On Lyric Poetry.

  Ode XIV. To the Honourable Charles Townshend; from the
  Country.

  Ode XV. To the Evening Star.

  Ode XVI. To Caleb Hardinge, M. D.

  Ode XVII. On a Sermon against Glory.

  Ode XVIII. To the Right Honourable Francis, Earl of Huntingdon.



Book II.--

  Ode I. The Remonstrance of Shakspeare.

  Ode II. To Sleep.

  Ode III. To the Cuckoo.

  Ode IV. To the Honourable Charles Townshend; in the Country.

  Ode V. On Love of Praise.

  Ode VI. To William Hall, Esquire; with the Works of
  Chaulieu.

  Ode VII. To the Right Reverend Benjamin, Lord Bishop of
  Winchester.

  Ode VIII.

  Ode IX. At Study.

  Ode X. To Thomas Edwards, Esq.; on the late Edition
      of Mr. Pope's Works.

  Ode XI. To the Country Gentlemen of England.

  Ode XII. On Recovering from a Fit of Sickness; in the
  Country.

  Ode XIII. To the Author of Memoirs of the House of Brandenburg.

  Ode XIV. The Complaint.

  Ode XV. On Domestic Manners.

  Notes to Book I.

  Notes to Book II.


  HYMN TO THE NAIADS.

  Notes.




INSCRIPTIONS:--

  I. For a Grotto.

  II. For a Statue of Chaucer at Woodstock.

  III.

  IV.

  V.

  VI. For a Column at Runnymede.

  VII. The Wood Nymph.

  VIII.

  IX.


AN EPISTLE TO CURIO.

THE VIRTUOSO.

AMBITION AND CONTENT. A FABLE.

THE POET. A RHAPSODY.

A BRITISH PHILIPPIC.

HYMN TO SCIENCE.

LOVE. AN ELEGY.

TO CORDELIA.

SONG.





AKENSIDE'S POETICAL WORKS.


THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.

    A POEM, IN THREE BOOKS.

   [Greek: 'Asebous men 'estin 'anthropou tas para tou theou
     charitas 'atimazein.]
           EPICT. apud Arrian. II. 23.


THE DESIGN.

There are certain powers in human nature which seem to hold a middle
place between the organs of bodily sense and the faculties of moral
perception: they have been called by a very general name, the Powers
of Imagination. Like the external senses, they relate to matter and
motion; and, at the same time, give the mind ideas analogous to
those of moral approbation and dislike. As they are the inlets of
some of the most exquisite pleasures with which we are acquainted,
it has naturally happened that men of warm and sensible tempers have
sought means to recall the delightful perceptions which they afford,
independent of the objects which originally produced them. This gave
rise to the imitative or designing arts; some of which, as painting
and sculpture, directly copy the external appearances which were
admired in nature; others, as music and poetry, bring them back to
remembrance by signs universally established and understood.

But these arts, as they grew more correct and deliberate, were, of
course, led to extend their imitation beyond the peculiar objects of
the imaginative powers; especially poetry, which, making use of
language as the instrument by which it imitates, is consequently
become an unlimited representative of every species and mode of being.
Yet as their intention was only to express the objects of imagination,
and as they still abound chiefly in ideas of that class, they, of
course, retain their original character; and all the different
pleasures which they excite, are termed, in general, Pleasures of
Imagination.

The design of the following poem is to give a view of these in the
largest acceptation of the term; so that whatever our imagination
feels from the agreeable appearances of nature, and all the various
entertainment we meet with, either in poetry, painting, music, or
any of the elegant arts, might be deducible from one or other of
those principles in the constitution of the human mind which are
here established and explained.

In executing this general plan, it was necessary first of all to
distinguish the imagination from our other faculties; and in the
next place to characterise those original forms or properties of
being, about which it is conversant, and which are by nature adapted
to it, as light is to the eyes, or truth to the understanding. These
properties Mr. Addison had reduced to the three general classes of
greatness, novelty, and beauty; and into these we may analyse every
object, however complex, which, properly speaking, is delightful to
the imagination. But such an object may also include many other
sources of pleasure; and its beauty, or novelty, or grandeur, will
make a stronger impression by reason of this concurrence. Besides
which, the imitative arts, especially poetry, owe much of their
effect to a similar exhibition of properties quite foreign to the
imagination, insomuch that in every line of the most applauded poems,
we meet with either ideas drawn from the external senses, or truths
discovered to the understanding, or illustrations of contrivance and
final causes, or, above all the rest, with circumstances proper to
awaken and engage the passions. It was, therefore, necessary to
enumerate and exemplify these different species of pleasure;
especially that from the passions, which, as it is supreme in the
noblest work of human genius, so being in some particulars not a
little surprising, gave an opportunity to enliven the didactic turn
of the poem, by introducing an allegory to account for the appearance.

After these parts of the subject which hold chiefly of admiration,
or naturally warm and interest the mind, a pleasure of a very
different nature, that which arises from ridicule, came next to be
considered. As this is the foundation of the comic manner in all the
arts, and has been but very imperfectly treated by moral writers, it
was thought proper to give it a particular illustration, and to
distinguish the general sources from which the ridicule of
characters is derived. Here, too, a change of style became necessary;
such a one as might yet be consistent, if possible, with the general
taste of composition in the serious parts of the subject: nor is it
an easy task to give any tolerable force to images of this kind,
without running either into the gigantic expressions of the mock
heroic, or the familiar and poetical raillery of professed satire;
neither of which would have been proper here.

The materials of all imitation being thus laid open, nothing now
remained but to illustrate some particular pleasures which arise
either from the relations of different objects one to another, or
from the nature of imitation itself. Of the first kind is that
various and complicated resemblance existing between several parts
of the material and immaterial worlds, which is the foundation of
metaphor and wit. As it seems in a great measure to depend on the
early association of our ideas, and as this habit of associating is
the source of many pleasures and pains in life, and on that account
bears a great share in the influence of poetry and the other arts,
it is therefore mentioned here, and its effects described. Then
follows a general account of the production of these elegant arts,
and of the secondary pleasure, as it is called, arising from the
resemblance of their imitations to the original appearances of nature.
After which, the work concludes with some reflections on the general
conduct of the powers of imagination, and on their natural and moral
usefulness in life.

Concerning the manner or turn of composition which prevails in this
piece, little can be said with propriety by the author. He had two
models; that ancient and simple one of the first Grecian poets, as
it is refined by Virgil in the Georgics, and the familiar epistolary
way of Horace. This latter has several advantages. It admits of a
greater variety of style; it more readily engages the generality of
readers, as partaking more of the air of conversation; and,
especially with the assistance of rhyme, leads to a closer and more
concise expression. Add to this the example of the most perfect of
modern poets, who has so happily applied this manner to the noblest
parts of philosophy, that the public taste is in a great measure
formed to it alone. Yet, after all, the subject before us, tending
almost constantly to admiration and enthusiasm, seemed rather to
demand a more open, pathetic, and figured style. This, too, appeared
more natural, as the author's aim was not so much to give formal
precepts, or enter into the way of direct argumentation, as, by
exhibiting the most engaging prospects of nature, to enlarge and
harmonise the imagination, and by that means insensibly dispose the
minds of men to a similar taste and habit of thinking in religion,
morals, and civil life. 'Tis on this account that he is so careful
to point out the benevolent intention of the Author of Nature in
every principle of the human constitution here insisted on; and also
to unite the moral excellencies of life in the same point of view
with the mere external objects of good taste; thus recommending them
in common to our natural propensity for admiring what is beautiful
and lovely. The same views have also led him to introduce some
sentiments which may perhaps be looked upon as not quite direct to
the subject; but since they bear an obvious relation to it, the
authority of Virgil, the faultless model of didactic poetry, will
best support him in this particular. For the sentiments themselves
he makes no apology.




BOOK I.


ARGUMENT.

The subject proposed. Difficulty of treating it poetically. The
ideas of the Divine Mind the origin of every quality pleasing to the
imagination. The natural variety of constitution in the minds of men;
with its final cause. The idea of a fine imagination, and the state
of the mind in the enjoyment of those pleasures which it affords.
All the primary pleasures of the imagination result from the
perception of greatness, or wonderfulness, or beauty in objects. The
pleasure from greatness, with its final cause. Pleasure from novelty
or wonderfulness, with its final cause. Pleasure from beauty, with
its final cause. The connexion of beauty with truth and good,
applied to the conduct of life. Invitation to the study of moral
philosophy. The different degrees of beauty in different species of
objects; colour, shape, natural concretes, vegetables, animals, the
mind. The sublime, the fair, the wonderful of the mind. The
connexion of the imagination and the moral faculty. Conclusion.

  With what attractive charms this goodly frame
  Of Nature touches the consenting hearts
  Of mortal men; and what the pleasing stores
  Which beauteous Imitation thence derives
  To deck the poet's or the painter's toil,
  My verse unfolds. Attend, ye gentle Powers
  Of musical delight! and while I sing
  Your gifts, your honours, dance around my strain.
  Thou, smiling queen of every tuneful breast,
  Indulgent Fancy! from the fruitful banks                      10
  Of Avon, whence thy rosy fingers cull
  Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf
  Where Shakspeare lies, be present: and with thee
  Let Fiction come, upon her vagrant wings
  Wafting ten thousand colours through the air,
  Which, by the glances of her magic eye,
  She blends and shifts at will, through countless forms,
  Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre,
  Which rules the accents of the moving sphere,
  Wilt thou, eternal Harmony, descend                           20
  And join this festive train? for with thee comes
  The guide, the guardian of their lovely sports,
  Majestic Truth; and where Truth deigns to come,
  Her sister Liberty will not be far.
  Be present all ye Genii, who conduct
  The wandering footsteps of the youthful bard,
  New to your springs and shades: who touch his ear
  With finer sounds: who heighten to his eye
  The bloom of Nature, and before him turn
  The gayest, happiest attitude of things.                      30
    Oft have the laws of each poetic strain
  The critic-verse employ'd; yet still unsung
  Lay this prime subject, though importing most
  A poet's name: for fruitless is the attempt,
  By dull obedience and by creeping toil
  Obscure to conquer the severe ascent
  Of high Parnassus. Nature's kindling breath
  Must fire the chosen genius; Nature's hand
  Must string his nerves, and imp his eagle-wings,
  Impatient of the painful steep, to soar                       40
  High as the summit; there to breathe at large
  AEthereal air, with bards and sages old,
  Immortal sons of praise. These flattering scenes,
  To this neglected labour court my song;
  Yet not unconscious what a doubtful task
  To paint the finest features of the mind,
  And to most subtile and mysterious things
  Give colour, strength, and motion. But the love
  Of Nature and the Muses bids explore,
  Through secret paths erewhile untrod by man,                  50
  The fair poetic region, to detect
  Untasted springs, to drink inspiring draughts,
  And shade my temples with unfading flowers
  Cull'd from the laureate vale's profound recess,
  Where never poet gain'd a wreath before.
    From Heaven my strains begin: from Heaven descends
  The flame of genius to the human breast,
  And love and beauty, and poetic joy
  And inspiration. Ere the radiant sun
  Sprang from the east, or 'mid the vault of night              60
  The moon suspended her serener lamp;
  Ere mountains, woods, or streams adorn'd the globe,
  Or Wisdom taught the sons of men her lore;
  Then lived the Almighty One: then, deep retired
  In his unfathom'd essence, view'd the forms,
  The forms eternal of created things;
  The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp,
  The mountains, woods, and streams, the rolling globe,
  And Wisdom's mien celestial. From the first
  Of days, on them his love divine he fix'd,                    70
  His admiration: till in time complete
  What he admired and loved, his vital smile
  Unfolded into being. Hence the breath
  Of life informing each organic frame;
  Hence the green earth, and wild resounding wares;
  Hence light and shade alternate, warmth and cold,
  And clear autumnal skies and vernal showers,
  And all the fair variety of things.
    But not alike to every mortal eye
  Is this great scene unveil'd. For, since the claims           80
  Of social life to different labours urge
  The active powers of man, with wise intent
  The hand of Nature on peculiar minds
  Imprints a different bias, and to each
  Decrees its province in the common toil.
  To some she taught the fabric of the sphere,
  The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,
  The golden zones of heaven; to some she gave
  To weigh the moment of eternal things,
  Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken chain,                90
  And will's quick impulse; others by the hand
  She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore
  What healing virtue swells the tender veins
  Of herbs and flowers; or what the beams of morn
  Draw forth, distilling from the clifted rind
  In balmy tears. But some, to higher hopes
  Were destined; some within a finer mould
  She wrought and temper'd with a purer flame.
  To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds
  The world's harmonious volume, there to read                  100
  The transcript of Himself. On every part
  They trace the bright impressions of his hand:
  In earth or air, the meadow's purple stores,
  The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's form
  Blooming with rosy smiles, they see portray'd
  That uncreated beauty, which delights
  The Mind Supreme. They also feel her charms,
  Enamour'd; they partake the eternal joy.

  For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd
  By fabling Nilus, to the quivering touch                      110
  Of Titan's ray, with each repulsive string
  Consenting, sounded through the warbling air
  Unbidden strains, even so did Nature's hand
  To certain species of external things,
  Attune the finer organs of the mind;
  So the glad impulse of congenial powers,
  Or of sweet sound, or fair proportion'd form,
  The grace of motion, or the bloom of light,
  Thrills through Imagination's tender frame,
  From nerve to nerve; all naked and alive                      120
  They catch the spreading rays; till now the soul
  At length discloses every tuneful spring,
  To that harmonious movement from without
  Responsive. Then the inexpressive strain
  Diffuses its enchantment: Fancy dreams
  Of sacred fountains and Elysian groves,
  And vales of bliss: the intellectual power
  Bends from his awful throne a wondering ear,
  And smiles: the passions, gently soothed away,
  Sink to divine repose, and love and joy                       130
  Alone are waking; love and joy, serene
  As airs that fan the summer. Oh! attend,
  Whoe'er thou art, whom these delights can touch,
  Whose candid bosom the refining love
  Of Nature warms, oh! listen to my song;
  And I will guide thee to her favourite walks,
  And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,
  And point her loveliest features to thy view.

  Know then, whate'er of Nature's pregnant stores,
  Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected forms                       140
  With love and admiration thus inflame
  The powers of Fancy, her delighted sons
  To three illustrious orders have referr'd;
  Three sister graces, whom the painter's hand,
  The poet's tongue confesses--the Sublime,
  The Wonderful, the Fair. I see them dawn!
  I see the radiant visions, where they rise,
  More lovely than when Lucifer displays
  His beaming forehead through the gates of morn,
  To lead the train of Phoebus and the spring.                  150

  Say, why was man [Endnote A] so eminently raised
  Amid the vast Creation; why ordain'd
  Through life and death to dart his piercing eye,
  With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame;
  But that the Omnipotent might send him forth
  In sight of mortal and immortal powers,
  As on a boundless theatre, to run
  The great career of justice; to exalt
  His generous aim to all diviner deeds;
  To chase each partial purpose from his breast;                160
  And through the mists of passion and of sense,
  And through the tossing tide of chance and pain,
  To hold his course unfaltering, while the voice
  Of truth and virtue, up the steep ascent
  Of nature, calls him to his high reward,
  The applauding smile of Heaven? Else wherefore burns
  In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope,
  That breathes from day to day sublimer things,
  And mocks possession? Wherefore darts the mind,
  With such resistless ardour to embrace                        170
  Majestic forms; impatient to be free,
  Spurning the gross control of wilful might;
  Proud of the strong contention of her toils;
  Proud to be daring? Who but rather turns
  To heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view,                175
  Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame?
  Who that, from Alpine heights, his labouring eye
  Shoots round the wide horizon, to survey
  Nilus or Ganges rolling his bright wave
  Through mountains, plains, through empires black with shade,  180
  And continents of sand, will turn his gaze
  To mark the windings of a scanty rill
  That murmurs at his feet? The high-born soul
  Disdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wing
  Beneath its native quarry. Tired of earth
  And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft
  Through fields of air; pursues the flying storm;
  Rides on the vollied lightning through the heavens;
  Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blast,
  Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high she soars             190
  The blue profound, and hovering round the sun
  Beholds him pouring the redundant stream
  Of light; beholds his unrelenting sway
  Bend the reluctant planets to absolve
  The fated rounds of Time. Thence far effused
  She darts her swiftness up the long career
  Of devious comets; through its burning signs
  Exulting measures the perennial wheel
  Of Nature, and looks back on all the stars,
  Whose blended light, as with a milky zone,                    200
  Invests the orient. Now amazed she views
  The empyreal waste, [Endnote B] where happy spirits hold,
  Beyond this concave heaven, their calm abode;
  And fields of radiance, whose unfading light [Endnote C]

  Has travell'd the profound six thousand years,
  Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things.
  Even on the barriers of the world untired
  She meditates the eternal depth below;                        208
  Till, half recoiling, down the headlong steep
  She plunges; soon o'erwhelm'd and swallow'd up
  In that immense of being. There her hopes
  Rest at the fated goal. For from the birth
  Of mortal man, the Sovereign Maker said,
  That not in humble nor in brief delight,
  Not in the fading echoes of renown,
  Power's purple robes, nor pleasure's flowery lap,
  The soul should find enjoyment: but from these
  Turning disdainful to an equal good,
  Through all the ascent of things enlarge her view,
  Till every bound at length should disappear,                  220
  And infinite perfection close the scene.

  Call now to mind what high capacious powers
  Lie folded up in man; how far beyond
  The praise of mortals, may the eternal growth
  Of Nature to perfection half divine,
  Expand the blooming soul! What pity then
  Should sloth's unkindly fogs depress to earth
  Her tender blossom; choke the streams of life,
  And blast her spring! Far otherwise design'd
  Almighty Wisdom; Nature's happy cares                         230
  The obedient heart far otherwise incline.
  Witness the sprightly joy when aught unknown
  Strikes the quick sense, and wakes each active power
  To brisker measures: witness the neglect
  Of all familiar prospects, [Endnote D] though beheld
  With transport once; the fond attentive gaze
  Of young astonishment; the sober zeal
  Of age, commenting on prodigious things.
  For such the bounteous providence of Heaven,
  In every breast implanting this desire                        240
  Of objects new and strange, [Endnote E] to urge us on
  With unremitted labour to pursue
  Those sacred stores that wait the ripening soul,
  In Truth's exhaustless bosom. What need words
  To paint its power? For this the daring youth
  Breaks from his weeping mother's anxious arms,
  In foreign climes to rove; the pensive sage,
  Heedless of sleep, or midnight's harmful damp,
  Hangs o'er the sickly taper; and untired
  The virgin follows, with enchanted step,                      250
  The mazes of some wild and wondrous tale,
  From morn to eve; unmindful of her form,
  Unmindful of the happy dress that stole
  The wishes of the youth, when every maid
  With envy pined. Hence, finally, by night
  The village matron, round the blazing hearth,
  Suspends the infant audience with her tales,
  Breathing astonishment! of witching rhymes,
  And evil spirits; of the death-bed call
  Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd                     260
  The orphan's portion; of unquiet souls
  Risen from the grave to ease the heavy guilt
  Of deeds in life conceal'd; of shapes that walk
  At dead of night, and clank their chains, and wave
  The torch of hell around the murderer's bed.
  At every solemn pause the crowd recoil,
  Gazing each other speechless, and congeal'd
  With shivering sighs: till eager for the event,
  Around the beldame all erect they hang,
  Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell'd.           270

  But lo! disclosed in all her smiling pomp,
  Where Beauty onward moving claims the verse
  Her charms inspire: the freely-flowing verse
  In thy immortal praise, O form divine,
  Smooths her mellifluent stream. Thee, Beauty, thee
  The regal dome, and thy enlivening ray
  The mossy roofs adore: thou, better sun!
  For ever beamest on the enchanted heart
  Love, and harmonious wonder, and delight
  Poetic. Brightest progeny of Heaven!                          280
  How shall I trace thy features? where select
  The roseate hues to emulate thy bloom?
  Haste then, my song, through Nature's wide expanse,
  Haste then, and gather all her comeliest wealth,
  Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains,
  Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air,
  To deck thy lovely labour. Wilt thou fly
  With laughing Autumn to the Atlantic isles,
  And range with him the Hesperian field, and see
  Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove,                290
  The branches shoot with gold; where'er his step
  Marks the glad soil, the tender clusters grow
  With purple ripeness, and invest each hill
  As with the blushes of an evening sky?
  Or wilt thou rather stoop thy vagrant plume,
  Where gliding through his daughters honour'd shades,
  The smooth Penéus from his glassy flood
  Reflects purpureal Tempo's pleasant scene?
  Fair Tempe! haunt beloved of sylvan Powers,
  Of Nymphs and Fauns; where in the golden age                  300
  They play'd in secret on the shady brink
  With ancient Pan: while round their choral steps
  Young Hours and genial Gales with constant hand
  Shower'd blossoms, odours, shower'd ambrosial dews,
  And spring's Elysian bloom. Her flowery store
  To thee nor Tempe shall refuse; nor watch
  Of winged Hydra guard Hesperian fruits
  From thy free spoil. Oh, bear then, unreproved,
  Thy smiling treasures to the green recess
  Where young Dione stays. With sweetest airs                   310
  Entice her forth to lend her angel form
  For Beauty's honour'd image. Hither turn
  Thy graceful footsteps; hither, gentle maid,
  Incline thy polish'd forehead: let thy eyes
  Effuse the mildness of their azure dawn;
  And may the fanning breezes waft aside
  Thy radiant locks: disclosing, as it bends
  With airy softness from the marble neck,
  The cheek fair-blooming, and the rosy lip,
  Where winning smiles and pleasures sweet as love,             320
  With sanctity and wisdom, tempering blend
  Their soft allurement. Then the pleasing force
  Of Nature, and her kind parental care
  Worthier I'd sing: then all the enamour'd youth,
  With each admiring virgin, to my lyre
  Should throng attentive, while I point on high
  Where Beauty's living image, like the Morn
  That wakes in Zephyr's arms the blushing May,
  Moves onward; or as Venus, when she stood
  Effulgent on the pearly car, and smiled,                      330
  Fresh from the deep, and conscious of her form,
  To see the Tritons tune their vocal shells,
  And each cerulean sister of the flood
  With loud acclaim attend her o'er the waves,
  To seek the Idalian bower. Ye smiling band
  Of youths and virgins, who through all the maze
  Of young desire with rival steps pursue
  This charm of Beauty, if the pleasing toil
  Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn
  Your favourable ear, and trust my words.                      340
  I do not mean to wake the gloomy form
  Of Superstition dress'd in Wisdom's garb,
  To damp your tender hopes; I do not mean
  To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens,
  Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth
  To fright you from your joys: my cheerful song
  With better omens calls you to the field,
  Pleased with your generous ardour in the chase,
  And warm like you. Then tell me, for ye know,
  Does Beauty ever deign to dwell where health                  350
  And active use are strangers? Is her charm
  Confess'd in aught, whose most peculiar ends
  Are lame and fruitless? Or did Nature mean
  This pleasing call the herald of a lie,
  To hide the shame of discord and disease,
  And catch with fair hypocrisy the heart
  Of idle faith? Oh, no! with better cares
  The indulgent mother, conscious how infirm
  Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,
  By this illustrious image, in each kind                       360
  Still most illustrious where the object holds
  Its native powers most perfect, she by this
  Illumes the headstrong impulse of desire,
  And sanctifies his choice. The generous glebe
  Whose bosom smiles with verdure, the clear tract
  Of streams delicious to the thirsty soul,
  The bloom of nectar'd fruitage ripe to sense,
  And every charm of animated things,
  Are only pledges of a state sincere,
  The integrity and order of their frame,                       370
  When all is well within, and every end
  Accomplish'd. Thus was Beauty sent from heaven,
  The lovely ministries of Truth and Good
  In this dark world: for Truth and Good are one,
  And Beauty dwells in them, [Endnote F] and they in her,
  With like participation. Wherefore then,
  O sons of earth! would ye dissolve the tie?
  Oh! wherefore, with a rash impetuous aim,
  Seek ye those flowery joys with which the hand
  Of lavish Fancy paints each flattering scene                  380
  Where Beauty seems to dwell, nor once inquire
  Where is the sanction of eternal Truth,
  Or where the seal of undeceitful Good,
  To save your search from folly! Wanting these,
  Lo! Beauty withers in your void embrace,
  And with the glittering of an idiot's toy
  Did Fancy mock your vows. Nor let the gleam
  Of youthful hope that shines upon your hearts,
  Be chill'd or clouded at this awful task,
  To learn the lore of undeceitful Good,                        390
  And Truth eternal. Though the poisonous charms
  Of baleful Superstition guide the feet
  Of servile numbers, through a dreary way
  To their abode, through deserts, thorns, and mire;
  And leave the wretched pilgrim all forlorn
  To muse at last, amid the ghostly gloom
  Of graves, and hoary vaults, and cloister'd cells;
  To walk with spectres through the midnight shade,
  And to the screaming owl's accursed song
  Attune the dreadful workings of his heart;                    400
  Yet be not ye dismay'd. A gentler star
  Your lovely search illumines. From the grove
  Where Wisdom talk'd with her Athenian sons,
  Could my ambitious hand entwine a wreath
  Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay,
  Then should my powerful verse at once dispel
  Those monkish horrors: then in light divine
  Disclose the Elysian prospect, where the steps
  Of those whom Nature charms, through blooming walks,
  Through fragrant mountains and poetic streams,                410
  Amid the train of sages, heroes, bards,
  Led by their winged Genius, and the choir
  Of laurell'd science and harmonious art,
  Proceed exulting to the eternal shrine,
  Where Truth conspicuous with her sister-twins,
  The undivided partners of her sway,
  With Good and Beauty reigns. Oh, let not us,
  Lull'd by luxurious Pleasure's languid strain,
  Or crouching to the frowns of bigot rage,
  Oh, let us not a moment pause to join                         420
  That godlike band. And if the gracious Power
  Who first awaken'd my untutor'd song,
  Will to my invocation breathe anew
  The tuneful spirit; then through all our paths,
  Ne'er shall the sound of this devoted lyre
  Be wanting; whether on the rosy mead,
  When summer smiles, to warn the melting heart
  Of luxury's allurement; whether firm
  Against the torrent and the stubborn hill
  To urge bold Virtue's unremitted nerve,                       430
  And wake the strong divinity of soul
  That conquers chance and fate; or whether struck
  For sounds of triumph, to proclaim her toils
  Upon the lofty summit, round her brow
  To twine the wreath of incorruptive praise;
  To trace her hallow'd light through future worlds,
  And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man.

  Thus with a faithful aim have we presumed,
  Adventurous, to delineate Nature's form;
  Whether in vast, majestic pomp array'd,                       440
  Or dress'd for pleasing wonder, or serene
  In Beauty's rosy smile. It now remains,
  Through various being's fair proportion'd scale,
  To trace the rising lustre of her charms,
  From their first twilight, shining forth at length
  To full meridian splendour. Of degree
  The least and lowliest, in the effusive warmth
  Of colours mingling with a random blaze,
  Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the line
  And variation of determined shape,                            450
  Where Truth's eternal measures mark the bound
  Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascent
  Unites this varied symmetry of parts
  With colour's bland allurement; as the pearl
  Shines in the concave of its azure bed,
  And painted shells indent their speckled wreath.
  Then more attractive rise the blooming forms
  Through which the breath of Nature has infused
  Her genial power to draw with pregnant veins
  Nutritious moisture from the bounteous earth,                 460
  In fruit and seed prolific: thus the flowers
  Their purple honours with the Spring resume;
  And such the stately tree which Autumn bends
  With blushing treasures. But more lovely still
  Is Nature's charm, where to the full consent
  Of complicated members, to the bloom
  Of colour, and the vital change of growth,
  Life's holy flame and piercing sense are given,
  And active motion speaks the temper'd soul:
  So moves the bird of Juno; so the steed                       470
  With rival ardour beats the dusty plain,
  And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy
  Salute their fellows. Thus doth Beauty dwell
  There most conspicuous, even in outward shape,
  Where dawns the high expression of a mind:
  By steps conducting our enraptured search
  To that eternal origin, whose power,
  Through all the unbounded symmetry of things,
  Like rays effulging from the parent sun,
  This endless mixture of her charms diffused.                  480
  Mind, mind alone, (bear witness, earth and heaven!)
  The living fountains in itself contains
  Of beauteous and sublime: here hand in hand,
  Sit paramount the Graces; here enthroned,
  Celestial Venus, with divinest airs,
  Invites the soul to never-fading joy.
  Look then abroad through nature, to the range
  Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres
  Wheeling unshaken through the void immense;
  And speak, O man! does this capacious scene                   490
  With half that kindling majesty dilate
  Thy strong conception, as when Brutus rose [Endnote G]
  Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate,
  Amid the crowd of patriots; and his arm
  Aloft extending, like eternal Jove
  When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud
  On Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel,
  And bade the father of his country, hail!
  For lo! the tyrant prostrate on the dust,
  And Rome again is free! Is aught so fair                      500
  In all the dewy landscapes of the Spring,
  In the bright eye of Hesper, or the morn,
  In Nature's fairest forms, is aught so fair
  As virtuous friendship? as the candid blush
  Of him who strives with fortune to be just?
  The graceful tear that streams for others' woes?
  Or the mild majesty of private life,
  Where Peace with ever blooming olive crowns
  The gate; where Honour's liberal hands effuse
  Unenvied treasures, and the snowy wings                       510
  Of Innocence and Love protect the scene?
  Once more search, undismay'd, the dark profound
  Where Nature works in secret; view the beds
  Of mineral treasure, and the eternal vault
  That bounds the hoary ocean; trace the forms
  Of atoms moving with incessant change
  Their elemental round; behold the seeds
  Of being, and the energy of life
  Kindling the mass with ever-active flame;
  Then to the secrets of the working mind                       520
  Attentive turn; from dim oblivion call
  Her fleet, ideal band; and bid them, go!
  Break through time's barrier, and o'ertake the hour
  That saw the heavens created: then declare
  If aught were found in those external scenes
  To move thy wonder now. For what are all
  The forms which brute, unconscious matter wears,
  Greatness of bulk, or symmetry of parts?
  Not reaching to the heart, soon feeble grows
  The superficial impulse; dull their charms,                   530
  And satiate soon, and pall the languid eye.
  Not so the moral species, nor the powers
  Of genius and design; the ambitious mind
  There sees herself: by these congenial forms
  Touch'd and awaken'd, with intenser act
  She bends each nerve, and meditates well pleased
  Her features in the mirror. For, of all
  The inhabitants of earth, to man alone
  Creative Wisdom gave to lift his eye
  To Truth's eternal measures; thence to frame                  540
  The sacred laws of action and of will,
  Discerning justice from unequal deeds,
  And temperance from folly. But beyond
  This energy of Truth, whose dictates bind
  Assenting reason, the benignant Sire,
  To deck the honour'd paths of just and good,
  Has added bright Imagination's rays:
  Where Virtue, rising from the awful depth
  Of Truth's mysterious bosom, [Endnote H] doth forsake
  The unadorn'd condition of her birth;                         550
  And dress'd by Fancy in ten thousand hues,
  Assumes a various feature, to attract,
  With charms responsive to each gazer's eye,
  The hearts of men. Amid his rural walk,
  The ingenuous youth, whom solitude inspires
  With purest wishes, from the pensive shade
  Beholds her moving, like a virgin muse
  That wakes her lyre to some indulgent theme
  Of harmony and wonder: while among
  The herd of servile minds, her strenuous form                 560
  Indignant flashes on the patriot's eye,
  And through the rolls of memory appeals
  To ancient honour; or in act serene,
  Yet watchful, raises the majestic sword
  Of public Power, from dark Ambition's reach
  To guard the sacred volume of the laws.

  Genius of ancient Greece! whose faithful steps
  Well pleased I follow through the sacred paths
  Of Nature and of Science; nurse divine
  Of all heroic deeds and fair desires!                         570
  Oh! let the breath of thy extended praise
  Inspire my kindling bosom to the height
  Of this untempted theme. Nor be my thoughts
  Presumptuous counted, if, amid the calm
  That soothes this vernal evening into smiles,
  I steal impatient from the sordid haunts
  Of strife and low ambition, to attend
  Thy sacred presence in the sylvan shade,
  By their malignant footsteps ne'er profaned.
  Descend, propitious, to my favour'd eye!                      580
  Such in thy mien, thy warm, exalted air,
  As when the Persian tyrant, foil'd and stung
  With shame and desperation, gnash'd his teeth
  To see thee rend the pageants of his throne;
  And at the lightning of thy lifted spear
  Crouch'd like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils,
  Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs,
  Thy smiling band of art, thy godlike sires
  Of civil wisdom, thy heroic youth
  Warm from the schools of glory. Guide my way                  590
  Through fair Lycéum's [Endnote I] walk, the green retreats
  Of Academus, [Endnote J] and the thymy vale,
  Where oft enchanted with Socratic sounds,
  Ilissus [Endnote K] pure devolved his tuneful stream
  In gentler murmurs. From the blooming store
  Of these auspicious fields, may I unblamed
  Transplant some living blossoms to adorn
  My native clime: while far above the flight
  Of Fancy's plume aspiring, I unlock
  The springs of ancient wisdom! while I join                   600
  Thy name, thrice honour'd! with the immortal praise
  Of Nature; while to my compatriot youth
  I point the high example of thy sons,
  And tune to Attic themes the British lyre.





BOOK II.


ARGUMENT.

The separation of the works of Imagination from Philosophy, the
cause of their abuse among the moderns. Prospect of their reunion
under the influence of public Liberty. Enumeration of accidental
pleasures, which increase the effect of objects delightful to the
Imagination. The pleasures of sense. Particular circumstances of the
mind. Discovery of truth. Perception of contrivance and design.
Emotion of the passions. All the natural passions partake of a
pleasing sensation; with the final cause of this constitution
illustrated by an allegorical vision, and exemplified in sorrow, pity,
terror, and indignation.

  When shall the laurel and the vocal string
  Resume their honours? When shall we behold
  The tuneful tongue, the Promethéan band
  Aspire to ancient praise? Alas! how faint,
  How slow the dawn of Beauty and of Truth
  Breaks the reluctant shades of Gothic night
  Which yet involves the nations! Long they groan'd
  Beneath the furies of rapacious force;
  Oft as the gloomy north, with iron swarms
  Tempestuous pouring from her frozen caves,                    10
  Blasted the Italian shore, and swept the works
  Of Liberty and Wisdom down the gulf
  Of all-devouring night. As long immured
  In noontide darkness, by the glimmering lamp,
  Each Muse and each fair Science pined away
  The sordid hours: while foul, barbarian hands
  Their mysteries profaned, unstrung the lyre,
  And chain'd the soaring pinion down to earth.
  At last the Muses rose, [Endnote L] and spurn'd their bonds,
  And, wildly warbling, scatter'd as they flew,                 20
  Their blooming wreaths from fair Valclusa's [Endnote M] bowers
  To Arno's [Endnote N] myrtle border and the shore
  Of soft Parthenopé. [Endnote O] But still the rage
  Of dire ambition [Endnote P] and gigantic power,
  From public aims and from the busy walk
  Of civil commerce, drove the bolder train
  Of penetrating Science to the cells,
  Where studious Ease consumes the silent hour
  In shadowy searches and unfruitful care.
  Thus from their guardians torn, the tender arts [Endnote Q]   30
  Of mimic fancy and harmonious joy,
  To priestly domination and the lust
  Of lawless courts, their amiable toil
  For three inglorious ages have resign'd,
  In vain reluctant: and Torquato's tongue
  Was tuned for slavish pasans at the throne
  Of tinsel pomp: and Raphael's magic hand
  Effused its fair creation to enchant
  The fond adoring herd in Latian fanes
  To blind belief; while on their prostrate necks               40
  The sable tyrant plants his heel secure.
  But now, behold! the radiant era dawns,
  When freedom's ample fabric, fix'd at length
  For endless years on Albion's happy shore
  In full proportion, once more shall extend
  To all the kindred powers of social bliss
  A common mansion, a parental roof.
  There shall the Virtues, there shall Wisdom's train,
  Their long-lost friends rejoining, as of old,
  Embrace the smiling family of Arts,                           50
  The Muses and the Graces. Then no more
  Shall Vice, distracting their delicious gifts
  To aims abhorr'd, with high distaste and scorn
  Turn from their charms the philosophic eye,
  The patriot bosom; then no more the paths
  Of public care or intellectual toil,
  Alone by footsteps haughty and severe
  In gloomy state be trod: the harmonious Muse
  And her persuasive sisters then shall plant
  Their sheltering laurels o'er the bleak ascent,               60
  And scatter flowers along the rugged way.
  Arm'd with the lyre, already have we dared
  To pierce divine Philosophy's retreats,
  And teach the Muse her lore; already strove
  Their long-divided honours to unite,
  While tempering this deep argument we sang
  Of Truth and Beauty. Now the same glad task
  Impends; now urging our ambitious toil,
  We hasten to recount the various springs
  Of adventitious pleasure, which adjoin                        70
  Their grateful influence to the prime effect
  Of objects grand or beauteous, and enlarge
  The complicated joy. The sweets of sense,
  Do they not oft with kind accession flow,
  To raise harmonious Fancy's native charm?
  So while we taste the fragrance of the rose,
  Glows not her blush the fairer? While we view
  Amid the noontide walk a limpid rill
  Gush through the trickling herbage, to the thirst
  Of summer yielding the delicious draught                      80
  Of cool refreshment, o'er the mossy brink
  Shines not the surface clearer, and the waves
  With sweeter music murmur as they flow?

  Nor this alone; the various lot of life
  Oft from external circumstance assumes
  A moment's disposition to rejoice
  In those delights which, at a different hour,
  Would pass unheeded. Fair the face of Spring,
  When rural songs and odours wake the morn,
  To every eye; but how much more to his                        90
  Round whom the bed of sickness long diffused
  Its melancholy gloom! how doubly fair,
  When first with fresh-born vigour he inhales
  The balmy breeze, and feels the blessed sun
  Warm at his bosom, from the springs of life
  Chasing oppressive damps and languid pain!

  Or shall I mention, where celestial Truth
  Her awful light discloses, to bestow
  A more majestic pomp on Beauty's frame?
  For man loves knowledge, and the beams of Truth               100
  More welcome touch his understanding's eye,
  Than all the blandishments of sound his ear,
  Than all of taste his tongue. Nor ever yet
  The melting rainbow's vernal-tinctured hues
  To me have shown so pleasing, as when first
  The hand of Science pointed out the path
  In which the sunbeams, gleaming from the west,
  Fall on the watery cloud, whose darksome veil
  Involves the orient; and that trickling shower
  Piercing through every crystalline convex                     110
  Of clustering dewdrops to their flight opposed,
  Recoil at length where concave all behind
  The internal surface of each glassy orb
  Repels their forward passage into air;
  That thence direct they seek the radiant goal
  From which their course began; and, as they strike
  In different lines the gazer's obvious eye,
  Assume a different lustre, through the brede
  Of colours changing from the splendid rose
  To the pale violet's dejected hue.                            120

  Or shall we touch that kind access of joy,
  That springs to each fair object, while we trace,
  Through all its fabric, Wisdom's artful aim,
  Disposing every part, and gaining still,
  By means proportion'd, her benignant end?
  Speak ye, the pure delight, whose favour'd steps
  The lamp of Science through the jealous maze
  Of Nature guides, when haply you reveal
  Her secret honours: whether in the sky,
  The beauteous laws of light, the central powers               130
  That wheel the pensile planets round the year;
  Whether in wonders of the rolling deep,
  Or the rich fruits of all-sustaining earth,
  Or fine-adjusted springs of life and sense,
  Ye scan the counsels of their Author's hand.

  What, when to raise the meditated scene,
  The flame of passion, through the struggling soul
  Deep-kindled, shows across that sudden blaze
  The object of its rapture, vast of size,
  With fiercer colours and a night of shade?                    140
  What, like a storm from their capacious bed
  The sounding seas o'erwhelming, when the might
  Of these eruptions, working from the depth
  Of man's strong apprehension, shakes his frame
  Even to the base; from every naked sense
  Of pain or pleasure, dissipating all
  Opinion's feeble coverings, and the veil
  Spun from the cobweb fashion of the times
  To hide the feeling heart? Then Nature speaks
  Her genuine language, and the words of men,                   150
  Big with the very motion of their souls,
  Declare with what accumulated force
  The impetuous nerve of passion urges on
  The native weight and energy of things.

  Yet more: her honours where nor Beauty claims,
  Nor shows of good the thirsty sense allure,
  From passion's power alone [Endnote R] our nature holds
  Essential pleasure. Passion's fierce illapse
  Rouses the mind's whole fabric; with supplies
  Of daily impulse keeps the elastic powers                     160
  Intensely poised, and polishes anew
  By that collision all the fine machine:
  Else rust would rise, and foulness, by degrees
  Encumbering, choke at last what heaven design'd
  For ceaseless motion and a round of toil.--
  But say, does every passion thus to man
  Administer delight? That name indeed
  Becomes the rosy breath of love; becomes
  The radiant smiles of joy, the applauding hand
  Of admiration: but the bitter shower                          170
  That sorrow sheds upon a brother's grave;
  But the dumb palsy of nocturnal fear,
  Or those consuming fires that gnaw the heart
  Of panting indignation, find we there
  To move delight?--Then listen while my tongue
  The unalter'd will of Heaven with faithful awe
  Reveals; what old Harmodius wont to teach
  My early age; Harmodius, who had weigh'd
  Within his learned mind whate'er the schools
  Of Wisdom, or thy lonely-whispering voice,                    180
  O faithful Nature! dictate of the laws
  Which govern and support this mighty frame
  Of universal being. Oft the hours
  From morn to eve have stolen unmark'd away,
  While mute attention hung upon his lips,
  As thus the sage his awful tale began:--

  ''Twas in the windings of an ancient wood,
  When spotless youth with solitude resigns
  To sweet philosophy the studious day,
  What time pale Autumn shades the silent eve,                  190
  Musing I roved. Of good and evil much,
  And much of mortal man my thought revolved;
  When starting full on fancy's gushing eye
  The mournful image of Parthenia's fate,
  That hour, O long beloved and long deplored!
  When blooming youth, nor gentlest wisdom's arts,
  Nor Hymen's honours gather'd for thy brow,
  Nor all thy lover's, all thy father's tears
  Avail'd to snatch thee from the cruel grave;
  Thy agonising looks, thy last farewell                        200
  Struck to the inmost feeling of my soul
  As with the hand of Death. At once the shade
  More horrid nodded o'er me, and the winds
  With hoarser murmuring shook the branches. Dark
  As midnight storms, the scene of human things
  Appear'd before me; deserts, burning sands,
  Where the parch'd adder dies; the frozen south,
  And desolation blasting all the west
  With rapine and with murder: tyrant power
  Here sits enthroned with blood; the baleful charms            210
  Of superstition there infect the skies,
  And turn the sun to horror. Gracious Heaven!
  What is the life of man? Or cannot these,
  Not these portents thy awful will suffice,
  That, propagated thus beyond their scope,
  They rise to act their cruelties anew
  In my afflicted bosom, thus decreed
  The universal sensitive of pain,
  The wretched heir of evils not its own?'

  Thus I impatient: when, at once effused,                      220
  A flashing torrent of celestial day
  Burst through the shadowy void. With slow descent
  A purple cloud came floating through the sky,
  And, poised at length within the circling trees,
  Hung obvious to my view; till opening wide
  Its lucid orb, a more than human form
  Emerging lean'd majestic o'er my head,
  And instant thunder shook the conscious grove.
  Then melted into air the liquid cloud,
  And all the shining vision stood reveal'd.                    230
  A wreath of palm his ample forehead bound,
  And o'er his shoulder, mantling to his knee,
  Flow'd the transparent robe, around his waist
  Collected with a radiant zone of gold
  Aethereal: there in mystic signs engraved,
  I read his office high and sacred name,
  Genius of human kind! Appall'd I gazed
  The godlike presence; for athwart his brow
  Displeasure, temper'd with a mild concern,
  Look'd down reluctant on me, and his words                    240
  Like distant thunders broke the murmuring air:

  'Vain are thy thoughts, O child of mortal birth!
  And impotent thy tongue. Is thy short span
  Capacious of this universal frame?--
  Thy wisdom all-sufficient? Thou, alas!
  Dost thou aspire to judge between the Lord
  Of Nature and his works--to lift thy voice
  Against the sovereign order he decreed,
  All good and lovely--to blaspheme the bands
  Of tenderness innate and social love,                         250
  Holiest of things! by which the general orb
  Of being, as by adamantine links,
  Was drawn to perfect union, and sustain'd
  From everlasting?  Hast thou felt the pangs
  Of softening sorrow, of indignant zeal,
  So grievous to the soul, as thence to wish
  The ties of Nature broken from thy frame,
  That so thy selfish, unrelenting heart
  Might cease to mourn its lot, no longer then
  The wretched heir of evils not its own?                       260
  O fair benevolence of generous minds!
  O man by Nature form'd for all mankind!'

  He spoke; abash'd and silent I remain'd,
  As conscious of my tongue's offence, and awed
  Before his presence, though my secret soul
  Disdain'd the imputation. On the ground
  I fix'd my eyes, till from his airy couch
  He stoop'd sublime, and touching with his hand
  My dazzling forehead, 'Raise thy sight,' he cried,
  'And let thy sense convince thy erring tongue.'               270

  I look'd, and lo! the former scene was changed;
  For verdant alleys and surrounding trees,
  A solitary prospect, wide and wild,
  Rush'd on my senses. 'Twas a horrid pile
  Of hills with many a shaggy forest mix'd,
  With many a sable cliff and glittering stream.
  Aloft, recumbent o'er the hanging ridge,
  The brown woods waved; while ever-trickling springs
  Wash'd from the naked roots of oak and pine
  The crumbling soil; and still at every fall                   280
  Down the steep windings of the channel'd rock,
  Remurmuring rush'd the congregated floods
  With hoarser inundation; till at last
  They reach'd a grassy plain, which from the skirts
  Of that high desert spread her verdant lap,
  And drank the gushing moisture, where confined
  In one smooth current, o'er the lilied vale
  Clearer than glass it flow'd. Autumnal spoils
  Luxuriant spreading to the rays of morn,
  Blush'd o'er the cliffs, whose half-encircling mound          290
  As in a sylvan theatre enclosed
  That flowery level. On the river's brink
  I spied a fair pavilion, which diffused
  Its floating umbrage 'mid the silver shade
  Of osiers. Now the western sun reveal'd
  Between two parting cliffs his golden orb,
  And pour'd across the shadow of the hills,
  On rocks and floods, a yellow stream of light
  That cheer'd the solemn scene. My listening powers
  Were awed, and every thought in silence hung,                 300
  And wondering expectation. Then the voice
  Of that celestial power, the mystic show
  Declaring, thus my deep attention call'd:--

  'Inhabitant of earth, [Endnote S] to whom is given
  The gracious ways of Providence to learn,
  Receive my sayings with a steadfast ear--
  Know then, the Sovereign Spirit of the world,
  Though, self-collected from eternal time,
  Within his own deep essence he beheld
  The bounds of true felicity complete,                         310
  Yet by immense benignity inclined
  To spread around him that primeval joy
  Which fill'd himself, he raised his plastic arm,
  And sounded through the hollow depths of space
  The strong, creative mandate. Straight arose
  These heavenly orbs, the glad abodes of life,
  Effusive kindled by his breath divine
  Through endless forms of being. Each inhaled
  From him its portion of the vital flame,
  In measure such, that, from the wide complex                  320
  Of coexistent orders, one might rise,
  One order, [Endnote T] all-involving and entire.
  He too, beholding in the sacred light
  Of his essential reason, all the shapes
  Of swift contingence, all successive ties
  Of action propagated through the sum
  Of possible existence, he at once,
  Down the long series of eventful time,
  So fix'd the dates of being, so disposed,
  To every living soul of every kind                            330
  The field of motion and the hour of rest,
  That all conspired to his supreme design,
  To universal good: with full accord
  Answering the mighty model he had chose,
  The best and fairest [Endnote U] of unnumber'd worlds
  That lay from everlasting in the store
  Of his divine conceptions. Nor content,
  By one exertion of creative power
  His goodness to reveal; through every age,
  Through every moment up the tract of time,                    340
  His parent hand with ever new increase
  Of happiness and virtue has adorn'd
  The vast harmonious frame: his parent hand,
  From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore,
  To men, to angels, to celestial minds,
  For ever leads the generations on
  To higher scenes of being; while, supplied
  From day to day with his enlivening breath,
  Inferior orders in succession rise
  To fill the void below. As flame ascends, [Endnote V]         350
  As bodies to their proper centre move,
  As the poised ocean to the attracting moon
  Obedient swells, and every headlong stream
  Devolves its winding waters to the main;
  So all things which have life aspire to God,
  The sun of being, boundless, unimpair'd,
  Centre of souls! Nor does the faithful voice
  Of Nature cease to prompt their eager steps
  Aright; nor is the care of Heaven withheld
  From granting to the task proportion'd aid;                   360
  That in their stations all may persevere
  To climb the ascent of being, and approach
  For ever nearer to the life divine.--

  'That rocky pile thou seest, that verdant lawn
  Fresh-water'd from the mountains. Let the scene
  Paint in thy fancy the primeval seat
  Of man, and where the Will Supreme ordain'd
  His mansion, that pavilion fair-diffused
  Along the shady brink; in this recess
  To wear the appointed season of his youth,                    370
  Till riper hours should open to his toil
  The high communion of superior minds,
  Of consecrated heroes and of gods.
  Nor did the Sire Omnipotent forget
  His tender bloom to cherish; nor withheld
  Celestial footsteps from his green abode.
  Oft from the radiant honours of his throne,
  He sent whom most he loved, the sovereign fair,
  The effluence of his glory, whom he placed
  Before his eyes for ever to behold;                           380
  The goddess from whose inspiration flows
  The toil of patriots, the delight of friends;
  Without whose work divine, in heaven or earth,
  Nought lovely, nought propitious, conies to pass,
  Nor hope, nor praise, nor honour. Her the Sire
  Gave it in charge to rear the blooming mind,
  The folded powers to open, to direct
  The growth luxuriant of his young desires,
  And from the laws of this majestic world
  To teach him what was good. As thus the nymph                 390
  Her daily care attended, by her side
  With constant steps her gay companion stay'd,
  The fair Euphrosyné, the gentle queen
  Of smiles, and graceful gladness, and delights
  That cheer alike the hearts of mortal men
  And powers immortal. See the shining pair!
  Behold, where from his dwelling now disclosed
  They quit their youthful charge and seek the skies.'

  I look'd, and on the flowery turf there stood
  Between two radiant forms a smiling youth                     400
  Whose tender cheeks display'd the vernal flower
  Of beauty: sweetest innocence illumed
  His bashful eyes, and on his polish'd brow
  Sate young simplicity. With fond regard
  He view'd the associates, as their steps they moved;
  The younger chief his ardent eyes detain'd,
  With mild regret invoking her return.
  Bright as the star of evening she appear'd
  Amid the dusky scene. Eternal youth
  O'er all her form its glowing honours breathed;               410
  And smiles eternal from her candid eyes
  Flow'd, like the dewy lustre of the morn
  Effusive trembling on the placid waves.
  The spring of heaven had shed its blushing spoils
  To bind her sable tresses: full diffused
  Her yellow mantle floated in the breeze;
  And in her hand she waved a living branch
  Rich with immortal fruits, of power to calm
  The wrathful heart, and from the brightening eyes
  To chase the cloud of sadness. More sublime                   420
  The heavenly partner moved. The prime of age
  Composed her steps. The presence of a god,
  High on the circle of her brow enthroned,
  From each majestic motion darted awe,
  Devoted awe! till, cherish'd by her looks
  Benevolent and meek, confiding love
  To filial rapture soften'd all the soul.
  Free in her graceful hand she poised the sword
  Of chaste dominion. An heroic crown
  Display'd the old simplicity of pomp                          430
  Around her honour'd head. A matron's robe,
  White as the sunshine streams through vernal clouds,
  Her stately form invested. Hand in hand
  The immortal pair forsook the enamel'd green,
  Ascending slowly. Rays of limpid light
  Gleam'd round their path; celestial sounds were heard,
  And through the fragrant air ethereal dews
  Distill'd around them; till at once the clouds,
  Disparting wide in midway sky, withdrew
  Their airy veil, and left a bright expanse                    440
  Of empyrean flame, where, spent and drown'd,
  Afflicted vision plunged in vain to scan
  What object it involved. My feeble eyes
  Endured not. Bending down to earth I stood,
  With dumb attention. Soon a female voice,
  As watery murmurs sweet, or warbling shades,
  With sacred invocation thus began:

  'Father of gods and mortals! whose right arm
  With reins eternal guides the moving heavens,
  Bend thy propitious ear. Behold well pleased                  450
  I seek to finish thy divine decree.
  With frequent steps I visit yonder seat
  Of man, thy offspring; from the tender seeds
  Of justice and of wisdom, to evolve
  The latent honours of his generous frame;
  Till thy conducting hand shall raise his lot
  From earth's dim scene to these ethereal walks,
  The temple of thy glory. But not me,
  Not my directing voice he oft requires,
  Or hears delighted: this enchanting maid,                     460
  The associate thou hast given me, her alone
  He loves, O Father! absent, her he craves;
  And but for her glad presence ever join'd,
  Rejoices not in mine: that all my hopes
  This thy benignant purpose to fulfil,
  I deem uncertain: and my daily cares
  Unfruitful all and vain, unless by thee
  Still further aided in the work divine.'

  She ceased; a voice more awful thus replied:--
  'O thou, in whom for ever I delight,                          470
  Fairer than all the inhabitants of Heaven,
  Best image of thy Author! far from thee
  Be disappointment, or distaste, or blame;
  Who soon or late shalt every work fulfil,
  And no resistance find. If man refuse
  To hearken to thy dictates; or, allured
  By meaner joys, to any other power
  Transfer the honours due to thee alone;
  That joy which he pursues he ne'er shall taste,
  That power in whom delighteth ne'er behold.                   480
  Go then, once more, and happy be thy toil;
  Go then! but let not this thy smiling friend
  Partake thy footsteps. In her stead, behold!
  With thee the son of Nemesis I send;
  The fiend abhorr'd! whose vengeance takes account
  Of sacred order's violated laws.
  See where he calls thee, burning to be gone,
  Pierce to exhaust the tempest of his wrath
  On yon devoted head. But thou, my child,
  Control his cruel frenzy, and protect                         490
  Thy tender charge; that when despair shall grasp
  His agonising bosom, he may learn,
  Then he may learn to love the gracious hand
  Alone sufficient in the hour of ill,
  To save his feeble spirit; then confess
  Thy genuine honours, O excelling fair!
  When all the plagues that wait the deadly will
  Of this avenging demon, all the storms
  Of night infernal, serve but to display
  The energy of thy superior charms                             500
  With mildest awe triumphant o'er his rage,
  And shining clearer in the horrid gloom.'

  Here ceased that awful voice, and soon I felt
  The cloudy curtain of refreshing eve
  Was closed once more, from that immortal fire
  Sheltering my eyelids. Looking up, I view'd
  A vast gigantic spectre striding on
  Through murmuring thunders and a waste of clouds,
  With dreadful action. Black as night his brow
  Relentless frowns involved. His savage limbs                  510
  With sharp impatience violent he writhed,
  As through convulsive anguish; and his hand,
  Arm'd with a scorpion lash, full oft he raised
  In madness to his bosom; while his eyes
  Rain'd bitter tears, and bellowing loud he shook
  The void with horror. Silent by his side
  The virgin came. No discomposure stirr'd
  Her features. From the glooms which hung around,
  No stain of darkness mingled with the beam
  Of her divine effulgence. Now they stoop                      520
  Upon the river bank; and now to hail
  His wonted guests, with eager steps advanced
  The unsuspecting inmate of the shade.

  As when a famish'd wolf, that all night long
  Had ranged the Alpine snows, by chance at morn
  Sees from a cliff, incumbent o'er the smoke
  Of some lone village, a neglected kid
  That strays along the wild for herb or spring;
  Down from the winding ridge he sweeps amain,
  And thinks he tears him: so with tenfold rage,                530
  The monster sprung remorseless on his prey.
  Amazed the stripling stood: with panting breast
  Feebly he pour'd the lamentable wail
  Of helpless consternation, struck at once,
  And rooted to the ground. The Queen beheld
  His terror, and with looks of tenderest care
  Advanced to save him. Soon the tyrant felt
  Her awful power. His keen tempestuous arm
  Hung nerveless, nor descended where his rage
  Had aim'd the deadly blow: then dumb retired                  540
  With sullen rancour. Lo! the sovereign maid
  Folds with a mother's arms the fainting boy,
  Till life rekindles in his rosy cheek;
  Then grasps his hands, and cheers him with her tongue:--

  'Oh, wake thee, rouse thy spirit! Shall the spite
  Of yon tormentor thus appal thy heart,
  While I, thy friend and guardian, am at hand
  To rescue and to heal? Oh, let thy soul
  Remember, what the will of heaven ordains
  Is ever good for all; and if for all,                         550
  Then good for thee. Nor only by the warmth
  And soothing sunshine of delightful things,
  Do minds grow up and flourish. Oft misled
  By that bland light, the young unpractised views
  Of reason wander through a fatal road,
  Far from their native aim; as if to lie
  Inglorious in the fragrant shade, and wait
  The soft access of ever circling joys,
  Were all the end of being. Ask thyself,
  This pleasing error did it never lull                         560
  Thy wishes? Has thy constant heart refused
  The silken fetters of delicious ease?
  Or when divine Euphrosyné appear'd
  Within this dwelling, did not thy desires
  Hang far below the measure of thy fate,
  Which I reveal'd before thee, and thy eyes,
  Impatient of my counsels, turn away
  To drink the soft effusion of her smiles?
  Know then, for this the everlasting Sire
  Deprives thee of her presence, and instead,                  570
  O wise and still benevolent! ordains
  This horrid visage hither to pursue
  My steps; that so thy nature may discern
  Its real good, and what alone can save
  Thy feeble spirit in this hour of ill
  From folly and despair. O yet beloved!
  Let not this headlong terror quite o'erwhelm
  Thy scatter'd powers; nor fatal deem the rage
  Of this tormentor, nor his proud assault,
  While I am here to vindicate thy toil,                        580
  Above the generous question of thy arm.
  Brave by thy fears and in thy weakness strong,
  This hour he triumphs: but confront his might,
  And dare him to the combat, then with ease
  Disarm'd and quell'd, his fierceness he resigns
  To bondage and to scorn: while thus inured
  By watchful danger, by unceasing toil,
  The immortal mind, superior to his fate,
  Amid the outrage of external things,
  Firm as the solid base of this great world,                   590
  Rests on his own foundations. Blow, ye winds!
  Ye waves! ye thunders! roll your tempest on;
  Shake, ye old pillars of the marble sky!
  Till all its orbs and all its worlds of fire
  Be loosen'd from their seats; yet still serene,
  The unconquer'd mind looks down upon the wreck;
  And ever stronger as the storms advance,
  Firm through the closing ruin holds his way,
  Where Nature calls him to the destined goal.'

  So spake the goddess; while through all her frame             600
  Celestial raptures flow'd, in every word,
  In every motion kindling warmth divine
  To seize who listen'd. Vehement and swift
  As lightning fires the aromatic shade
  In Aethiopian fields, the stripling felt
  Her inspiration catch his fervid soul,
  And starting from his languor thus exclaim'd:--

  'Then let the trial come! and witness thou,
  If terror be upon me; if I shrink
  To meet the storm, or falter in my strength                   610
  When hardest it besets me. Do not think
  That I am fearful and infirm of soul,
  As late thy eyes beheld: for thou hast changed
  My nature; thy commanding voice has waked
  My languid powers to bear me boldly on,
  Where'er the will divine my path ordains
  Through toil or peril: only do not thou
  Forsake me; Oh, be thou for ever near,
  That I may listen to thy sacred voice,
  And guide by thy decrees my constant feet.                    620
  But say, for ever are my eyes bereft?
  Say, shall the fair Euphrosyné not once
  Appear again to charm me? Thou, in heaven!
  O thou eternal arbiter of things!
  Be thy great bidding done: for who am I,
  To question thy appointment? Let the frowns
  Of this avenger every morn o'ercast
  The cheerful dawn, and every evening damp
  With double night my dwelling; I will learn
  To hail them both, and unrepining bear                        630
  His hateful presence: but permit my tongue
  One glad request, and if my deeds may find
  Thy awful eye propitious, oh! restore
  The rosy-featured maid; again to cheer
  This lonely seat, and bless me with her smiles.'

  He spoke; when instant through the sable glooms
  With which that furious presence had involved
  The ambient air, a flood of radiance came
  Swift as the lightning flash; the melting clouds
  Flew diverse, and amid the blue serene                        640
  Euphrosyné appear'd. With sprightly step
  The nymph alighted on the irriguous lawn,
  And to her wondering audience thus began:--

  'Lo! I am here to answer to your vows,
  And be the meeting fortunate! I come
  With joyful tidings; we shall part no more--
  Hark! how the gentle echo from her cell
  Talks through the cliffs, and murmuring o'er the stream
  Repeats the accents; we shall part no more.--
  O my delightful friends! well pleased on high                 650
  The Father has beheld you, while the might
  Of that stern foe with bitter trial proved
  Your equal doings: then for ever spake
  The high decree, that thou, celestial maid!
  Howe'er that grisly phantom on thy steps
  May sometimes dare intrude, yet never more
  Shalt thou, descending to the abode of man,
  Alone endure the rancour of his arm,
  Or leave thy loved Euphrosyné behind.'

  She ended, and the whole romantic scene                       660
  Immediate vanish'd; rocks, and woods, and rills,
  The mantling tent, and each mysterious form
  Flew like the pictures of a morning dream,
  When sunshine fills the bed. Awhile I stood
  Perplex'd and giddy; till the radiant power
  Who bade the visionary landscape rise,
  As up to him I turn'd, with gentlest looks
  Preventing my inquiry, thus began:--

  'There let thy soul acknowledge its complaint
  How blind, how impious! There behold the ways                 670
  Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man,
  For ever just, benevolent, and wise:
  That Virtue's awful steps, howe'er pursued
  By vexing fortune and intrusive pain,
  Should never be divided from her chaste,
  Her fair attendant, Pleasure. Need I urge
  Thy tardy thought through all the various round
  Of this existence, that thy softening soul
  At length may learn what energy the hand
  Of virtue mingles in the bitter tide                          680
  Of passion swelling with distress and pain,
  To mitigate the sharp with gracious drops
  Of cordial pleasure? Ask the faithful youth,
  Why the cold urn of her whom long he loved
  So often fills his arms; so often draws
  His lonely footsteps at the silent hour,
  To pay the mournful tribute of his tears?
  Oh! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds
  Should ne'er seduce his bosom to forego
  That sacred hour, when, stealing from the noise               690
  Of care and envy, sweet remembrance soothes
  With virtue's kindest looks his aching breast,
  And turns his tears to rapture.--Ask the crowd
  Which flies impatient from the village walk
  To climb the neighbouring cliffs, when far below
  The cruel winds have hurl'd upon the coast
  Some helpless bark; while sacred Pity melts
  The general eye, or Terror's icy hand
  Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair;
  While every mother closer to her breast                       700
  Catches her child, and pointing where the waves
  Foam through the shatter'd vessel, shrieks aloud
  As one poor wretch that spreads his piteous arms
  For succour, swallow'd by the roaring surge,
  As now another, dash'd against the rock,
  Drops lifeless down: Oh! deemest thou indeed
  No kind endearment here by Nature given
  To mutual terror and compassion's tears?
  No sweetly melting softness which attracts,
  O'er all that edge of pain, the social powers                 710
  To this their proper action and their end?--
  Ask thy own heart, when, at the midnight hour,
  Slow through that studious gloom thy pausing eye,
  Led by the glimmering taper, moves around
  The sacred volumes of the dead, the songs
  Of Grecian bards, and records writ by Fame
  For Grecian heroes, where the present power
  Of heaven and earth surveys the immortal page,
  Even as a father blessing, while he reads
  The praises of his son. If then thy soul,                     720
  Spurning the yoke of these inglorious days,
  Mix in their deeds, and kindle with their flame,
  Say, when the prospect blackens on thy view,
  When, rooted from the base, heroic states
  Mourn in the dust, and tremble at the frown
  Of cursed ambition; when the pious band
  Of youths who fought for freedom and their sires,
  Lie side by side in gore; when ruffian pride
  Usurps the throne of Justice, turns the pomp
  Of public power, the majesty of rule,                         730
  The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe,
  To slavish empty pageants, to adorn
  A tyrant's walk, and glitter in the eyes
  Of such as bow the knee; when honour'd urns
  Of patriots and of chiefs, the awful bust
  And storied arch, to glut the coward rage
  Of regal envy, strew the public way
  With hallow'd ruins; when the Muse's haunt,
  The marble porch where Wisdom wont to talk
  With Socrates or Tully, hears no more,                        740
  Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks,
  Or female Superstition's midnight prayer;
  When ruthless Rapine from the hand of Time
  Tears the destroying scythe, with surer blow
  To sweep the works of glory from their base;
  Till Desolation o'er the grass-grown street
  Expands his raven wings, and up the wall,
  Where senates once the price of monarchs doom'd,
  Hisses the gliding snake through hoary weeds
  That clasp the mouldering column; thus defaced,               750
  Thus widely mournful when the prospect thrills
  Thy beating bosom, when the patriot's tear
  Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm
  In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of Jove
  To fire the impious wreath on Philip's [Endnote W] brow,
  Or dash Octavius from the trophied car;
  Say, does thy secret soul repine to taste
  The big distress? Or wouldst thou then exchange
  Those heart-ennobling sorrows for the lot
  Of him who sits amid the gaudy herd                           760
  Of mute barbarians bending to his nod,
  And bears aloft his gold-invested front,
  And says within himself, I am a king,
  And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woe
  Intrude upon mine ear?--The baleful dregs
  Of these late ages, this inglorious draught
  Of servitude and folly, have not yet,
  Bless'd be the eternal Ruler of the world!
  Defiled to such a depth of sordid shame
  The native honours of the human soul,                         770
  Nor so effaced the image of its Sire.'





BOOK III.


ARGUMENT.

Pleasure in observing the tempers and manners of men, even where
vicious or absurd. The origin of Vice, from false representations of
the fancy, producing false opinions concerning good and evil.
Inquiry into ridicule. The general sources of ridicule in the minds
and characters of men, enumerated. Final cause of the sense of
ridicule. The resemblance of certain aspects of inanimate things to
the sensations and properties of the mind. The operations of the
mind in the production of the works of Imagination, described. The
secondary pleasure from Imitation. The benevolent order of the world
illustrated in the arbitrary connexion of these pleasures with the
objects which excite them. The nature and conduct of taste.
Concluding with an account of the natural and moral advantages
resulting from a sensible and well formed imagination.

  What wonder therefore, since the endearing ties
  Of passion link the universal kind
  Of man so close, what wonder if to search
  This common nature through the various change
  Of sex, and age, and fortune, and the frame
  Of each peculiar, draw the busy mind
  With unresisted charms? The spacious west,
  And all the teeming regions of the south,
  Hold not a quarry, to the curious flight
  Of Knowledge, half so tempting or so fair,                    10
  As man to man. Nor only where the smiles
  Of Love invite; nor only where the applause
  Of cordial Honour turns the attentive eye
  On Virtue's graceful deeds. For, since the course
  Of things external acts in different ways
  On human apprehensions, as the hand
  Of Nature temper'd to a different frame
  Peculiar minds; so haply where the powers
  Of Fancy [Endnote X] neither lessen nor enlarge
  The images of things, but paint in all                        20
  Their genuine hues, the features which they wore
  In Nature; there Opinion will be true,
  And Action right. For Action treads the path
  In which Opinion says he follows good,
  Or flies from evil; and Opinion gives
  Report of good or evil, as the scene
  Was drawn by Fancy, lovely or deform'd:
  Thus her report can never there be true
  Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye,
  With glaring colours and distorted lines.                     30
  Is there a man, who, at the sound of death,
  Sees ghastly shapes of terror conjured up,
  And black before him; nought but death-bed groans
  And fearful prayers, and plunging from the brink
  Of light and being, down the gloomy air,
  An unknown depth? Alas! in such a mind,
  If no bright forms of excellence attend
  The image of his country; nor the pomp
  Of sacred senates, nor the guardian voice
  Of Justice on her throne, nor aught that wakes               40
  The conscious bosom with a patriot's flame;
  Will not Opinion tell him, that to die,
  Or stand the hazard, is a greater ill
  Than to betray his country? And in act
  Will he not choose to be a wretch and live?
  Here vice begins then. From the enchanting cup
  Which Fancy holds to all, the unwary thirst
  Of youth oft swallows a Circaean draught,
  That sheds a baleful tincture o'er the eye
  Of Reason, till no longer he discerns,                        50
  And only guides to err. Then revel forth
  A furious band that spurn him from the throne,
  And all is uproar. Thus Ambition grasps
  The empire of the soul; thus pale Revenge
  Unsheaths her murderous dagger; and the hands
  Of Lust and Rapine, with unholy arts,
  Watch to o'erturn the barrier of the laws
  That keeps them from their prey; thus all the plagues
  The wicked bear, or o'er the trembling scone
  The tragic Muse discloses, under shapes                       60
  Of honour, safety, pleasure, ease, or pomp,
  Stole first into the mind. Yet not by all
  Those lying forms, which Fancy in the brain
  Engenders, are the kindling passions driven
  To guilty deeds; nor Reason bound in chains,
  That Vice alone may lord it: oft adorn'd
  With solemn pageants, Folly mounts the throne,
  And plays her idiot antics, like a queen.
  A thousand garbs she wears; a thousand ways
  She wheels her giddy empire.--Lo! thus far                    70
  With bold adventure, to the Mantuan lyre
  I sing of Nature's charms, and touch well pleased
  A stricter note: now haply must my song
  Unbend her serious measure, and reveal
  In lighter strains, how Folly's awkward arts [Endnote Y]
  Excite impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke;
  The sportive province of the comic Muse.

  See! in what crowds the uncouth forms advance:
  Each would outstrip the other, each prevent
  Our careful search, and offer to your gaze,                   80
  Unask'd, his motley features. Wait awhile,
  My curious friends! and let us first arrange
  In proper order your promiscuous throng.

  Behold the foremost band; [Endnote Z] of slender thought,
  And easy faith; whom flattering Fancy soothes
  With lying spectres, in themselves to view
  Illustrious forms of excellence and good,
  That scorn the mansion. With exulting hearts
  They spread their spurious treasures to the sun,
  And bid the world admire! But chief the glance                90
  Of wishful Envy draws their joy-bright eyes,
  And lifts with self-applause each lordly brow.
  In number boundless as the blooms of Spring,
  Behold their glaring idols, empty shades
  By Fancy gilded o'er, and then set up
  For adoration. Some in Learning's garb,
  With formal band, and sable-cinctured gown,
  And rags of mouldy volumes. Some elate
  With martial splendour, steely pikes and swords
  Of costly frame, and gay Phoenician robes                     100
  Inwrought with flowery gold, assume the port
  Of stately Valour: listening by his side
  There stands a female form; to her, with looks
  Of earnest import, pregnant with amaze,
  He talks of deadly deeds, of breaches, storms,
  And sulphurous mines, and ambush: then at once
  Breaks off, and smiles to see her look so pale,
  And asks some wondering question of her fears.
  Others of graver mien; behold, adorn'd
  With holy ensigns, how sublime they move,                     110
  And bending oft their sanctimonious eyes
  Take homage of the simple-minded throng;
  Ambassadors of Heaven! Nor much unlike
  Is he, whose visage in the lazy mist
  That mantles every feature, hides a brood
  Of politic conceits, of whispers, nods,
  And hints deep omen'd with unwieldy schemes,
  And dark portents of state. Ten thousand more,
  Prodigious habits and tumultuous tongues,
  Pour dauntless in and swell the boastful band.                120

  Then comes the second order; [Endnote AA] all who seek
  The debt of praise, where watchful Unbelief
  Darts through the thin pretence her squinting eye
  On some retired appearance which belies
  The boasted virtue, or annuls the applause
  That Justice else would pay. Here side by side
  I see two leaders of the solemn train
  Approaching: one a female old and gray,
  With eyes demure, and wrinkle-furrow'd brow,
  Pale as the cheeks of death; yet still she stuns              130
  The sickening audience with a nauseous tale,
  How many youths her myrtle chains have worn,
  How many virgins at her triumphs pined!
  Yet how resolved she guards her cautious heart;
  Such is her terror at the risks of love,
  And man's seducing tongue! The other seems
  A bearded sage, ungentle in his mien,
  And sordid all his habit; peevish Want
  Grins at his heels, while down the gazing throng
  He stalks, resounding in magnific praise                      140
  The vanity of riches, the contempt
  Of pomp and power. Be prudent in your zeal,
  Ye grave associates! let the silent grace
  Of her who blushes at the fond regard
  Her charms inspire, more eloquent unfold
  The praise of spotless honour: let the man,
  Whose eye regards not his illustrious pomp
  And ample store, but as indulgent streams
  To cheer the barren soil and spread the fruits
  Of joy, let him by juster measures fix                        150
  The price of riches and the end of power.

  Another tribe succeeds; [Endnote BB] deluded long
  By Fancy's dazzling optics, these behold
  The images of some peculiar things
  With brighter hues resplendent, and portray'd
  With features nobler far than e'er adorn'd
  Their genuine objects. Hence the fever'd heart
  Pants with delirious hope for tinsel charms;
  Hence oft obtrusive on the eye of scorn,
  Untimely zeal her witless pride betrays!                      160
  And serious manhood from the towering aim
  Of wisdom, stoops to emulate the boast
  Of childish toil. Behold yon mystic form
  Bedeck'd with feathers, insects, weeds, and shells!
  Not with intenser view the Samian sage
  Bent his fix'd eye on heaven's intenser fires,
  When first the order of that radiant scene
  Swell'd his exulting thought, than this surveys
  A muckworm's entrails, or a spider's fang.
  Next him a youth, with flowers and myrtles crown'd,           170
  Attends that virgin form, and blushing kneels,
  With fondest gesture and a suppliant's tongue,
  To win her coy regard: adieu, for him,
  The dull engagements of the bustling world!
  Adieu the sick impertinence of praise!
  And hope, and action! for with her alone,
  By streams and shades, to steal these sighing hours,
  Is all he asks, and all that fate can give!
  Thee too, facetious Momion, wandering here,
  Thee, dreaded censor, oft have I beheld                       180
  Bewilder'd unawares: alas! too long
  Flush'd with thy comic triumphs and the spoils
  Of sly derision! till on every side
  Hurling thy random bolts, offended Truth
  Assign'd thee here thy station with the slaves
  Of Folly. Thy once formidable name
  Shall grace her humble records, and be heard
  In scoffs and mockery bandied from the lips
  Of all the vengeful brotherhood around,
  So oft the patient victims of thy scorn.                      190

  But now, ye gay! [Endnote CC] to whom indulgent fate,
  Of all the Muse's empire hath assign'd
  The fields of folly, hither each advance
  Your sickles; here the teeming soil affords
  Its richest growth. A favourite brood appears,
  In whom the demon, with a mother's joy,
  Views all her charms reflected, all her cares
  At full repaid. Ye most illustrious band!
  Who, scorning Reason's tame, pedantic rules,
  And Order's vulgar bondage, never meant                       200
  For souls sublime as yours, with generous zeal
  Pay Vice the reverence Virtue long usurp'd,
  And yield Deformity the fond applause
  Which Beauty wont to claim, forgive my song,
  That for the blushing diffidence of youth,
  It shuns the unequal province of your praise.

  Thus far triumphant [Endnote DD] in the pleasing guile
  Of bland Imagination, Folly's train
  Have dared our search: but now a dastard kind
  Advance reluctant, and with faltering feet                    210
  Shrink from the gazer's eye: enfeebled hearts
  Whom Fancy chills with visionary fears,
  Or bends to servile tameness with conceits
  Of shame, of evil, or of base defect,
  Fantastic and delusive. Here the slave
  Who droops abash'd when sullen Pomp surveys
  His humbler habit; here the trembling wretch
  Unnerved and struck with Terror's icy bolts,
  Spent in weak wailings, drown'd in shameful tears,
  At every dream of danger: here, subdued                       220
  By frontless laughter and the hardy scorn
  Of old, unfeeling vice, the abject soul,
  Who, blushing, half resigns the candid praise
  Of Temperance and Honour; half disowns
  A freeman's hatred of tyrannic pride;
  And hears with sickly smiles the venal mouth
  With foulest licence mock the patriot's name.

  Last of the motley bands [Endnote EE] on whom the power
  Of gay Derision bends her hostile aim,
  Is that where shameful Ignorance presides.                    230
  Beneath her sordid banners, lo! they march
  Like blind and lame. Whate'er their doubtful hands
  Attempt, Confusion straight appears behind,
  And troubles all the work. Through many a maze,
  Perplex'd they struggle, changing every path,
  O'erturning every purpose; then at last
  Sit down dismay'd, and leave the entangled scene
  For Scorn to sport with. Such then is the abode
  Of Folly in the mind; and such the shapes
  In which she governs her obsequious train.                    240

  Through every scene of ridicule in things
  To lead the tenor of my devious lay;
  Through every swift occasion, which the hand
  Of Laughter points at, when the mirthful sting
  Distends her sallying nerves and chokes her tongue;
  What were it but to count each crystal drop
  Which Morning's dewy fingers on the blooms
  Of May distil? Suffice it to have said, [Endnote FF]
  Where'er the power of Ridicule displays
  Her quaint-eyed visage, some incongruous form,                250
  Some stubborn dissonance of things combined,
  Strikes on the quick observer: whether Pomp,
  Or Praise, or Beauty, mix their partial claim
  Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds,
  Where foul Deformity are wont to dwell;
  Or whether these with violation loathed,
  Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien,
  The charms of Beauty, or the boast of Praise.

  Ask we for what fair end, [Endnote GG] the Almighty Sire
  In mortal bosoms wakes this gay contempt,                     260
  These grateful stings of laughter, from disgust
  Educing pleasure? Wherefore, but to aid
  The tardy steps of Reason, and at once
  By this prompt impulse urge us to depress
  The giddy aims of Folly? Though the light
  Of Truth slow dawning on the inquiring mind,
  At length unfolds, through many a subtile tie,
  How these uncouth disorders end at last
  In public evil! yet benignant Heaven,
  Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears                   270
  To thousands; conscious what a scanty pause
  From labours and from care, the wider lot
  Of humble life affords for studious thought
  To scan the maze of Nature; therefore stamp'd
  The glaring scenes with characters of scorn,
  As broad, as obvious, to the passing clown,
  As to the letter'd sage's curious eye.

  Such are the various aspects of the mind--
  Some heavenly genius, whose unclouded thoughts
  Attain that secret harmony which blends                       280
  The etherial spirit with its mould of clay,
  Oh! teach me to reveal the grateful charm
  That searchless Nature o'er the sense of man
  Diffuses, to behold, in lifeless things,
  The inexpressive semblance [Endnote HH] of himself,
  Of thought and passion. Mark the sable woods
  That shade sublime yon mountain's nodding brow:
  With what religious awe the solemn scene
  Commands your steps! as if the reverend form
  Of Minos or of Numa should forsake                            290
  The Elysian seats, and down the embowering glade
  Move to your pausing eye! Behold the expanse
  Of yon gay landscape, where the silver clouds
  Flit o'er the heavens before the sprightly breeze:
  Now their gray cincture skirts the doubtful sun;
  Now streams of splendour, through their opening veil
  Effulgent, sweep from off the gilded lawn
  The aërial shadows, on the curling brook,
  And on the shady margin's quivering leaves
  With quickest lustre glancing; while you view                 300
  The prospect, say, within your cheerful breast
  Plays not the lively sense of winning mirth
  With clouds and sunshine chequer'd, while the round
  Of social converse, to the inspiring tongue
  Of some gay nymph amid her subject train,
  Moves all obsequious? Whence is this effect,
  This kindred power of such discordant things?
  Or flows their semblance from that mystic tone
  To which the new-born mind's harmonious powers
  At first were strung? Or rather from the links                310
  Which artful custom twines around her frame?

  For when the different images of things,
  By chance combined, have struck the attentive soul
  With deeper impulse, or, connected long,
  Have drawn her frequent eye; howe'er distinct
  The external scenes, yet oft the ideas gain
  From that conjunction an eternal tie,
  And sympathy unbroken. Let the mind
  Recall one partner of the various league,
  Immediate, lo! the firm confederates rise,                    320
  And each his former station straight resumes:
  One movement governs the consenting throng,
  And all at once with rosy pleasure shine,
  Or all are sadden'd with the glooms of care.
  'Twas thus, if ancient fame the truth unfold,
  Two faithful needles, [Endnote II] from the informing touch
  Of the same parent stone, together drew
  Its mystic virtue, and at first conspired
  With fatal impulse quivering to the pole:
  Then, though disjoin'd by kingdoms, though the main           330
  Roll'd its broad surge betwixt, and different stars
  Beheld their wakeful motions, yet preserved
  The former friendship, and remember'd still
  The alliance of their birth: whate'er the line
  Which one possess'd, nor pause, nor quiet knew
  The sure associate, ere with trembling speed
  He found its path and fix'd unerring there.
  Such is the secret union, when we feel
  A song, a flower, a name, at once restore
  Those long-connected scenes where first they moved            340
  The attention, backward through her mazy walks
  Guiding the wanton fancy to her scope,
  To temples, courts, or fields, with all the band
  Of painted forms, of passions and designs
  Attendant; whence, if pleasing in itself,
  The prospect from that sweet accession gains
  Redoubled influence o'er the listening mind.

  By these mysterious ties, [Endnote JJ] the busy power
  Of Memory her ideal train preserves
  Entire; or when they would elude her watch,                   350
  Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the waste
  Of dark oblivion; thus collecting all
  The various forms of being to present,
  Before the curious aim of mimic art,
  Their largest choice; like Spring's unfolded blooms
  Exhaling sweetness, that the skilful bee
  May taste at will, from their selected spoils
  To work her dulcet food. For not the expanse
  Of living lakes in Summer's noontide calm,
  Reflects the bordering shade, and sun-bright heavens,         360
  With fairer semblance; not the sculptured gold
  More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace,
  Than he whose birth the sister powers of Art
  Propitious view'd, and from his genial star
  Shed influence to the seeds of fancy kind,
  Than his attemper'd bosom must preserve
  The seal of Nature. There alone unchanged,
  Her form remains. The balmy walks of May
  There breathe perennial sweets; the trembling chord
  Resounds for ever in the abstracted ear,                      370
  Melodious; and the virgin's radiant eye,
  Superior to disease, to grief, and time,
  Shines with unbating lustre. Thus at length
  Endow'd with all that nature can bestow,
  The child of Fancy oft in silence bends
  O'er these mix'd treasures of his pregnant breast
  With conscious pride. From them he oft resolves
  To frame he knows not what excelling things,
  And win he knows not what sublime reward
  Of praise and wonder. By degrees, the mind                    380
  Feels her young nerves dilate: the plastic powers
  Labour for action: blind emotions heave
  His bosom; and with loveliest frenzy caught,
  From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye,
  From heaven to earth. Anon ten thousand shapes,
  Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call,
  Flit swift before him. From the womb of earth,
  From ocean's bed they come: the eternal heavens
  Disclose their splendours, and the dark abyss
  Pours out her births unknown. With fixed gaze                 390
  He marks the rising phantoms. Now compares
  Their different forms; now blends them, now divides,
  Enlarges and extenuates by turns;
  Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands,
  And infinitely varies. Hither now,
  Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim,
  With endless choice perplex'd. At length his plan
  Begins to open. Lucid order dawns;
  And as from Chaos old the jarring seeds
  Of Nature at the voice divine repair'd                        400
  Each to its place, till rosy earth unveil'd
  Her fragrant bosom, and the joyful sun
  Sprung up the blue serene; by swift degrees
  Thus disentangled, his entire design
  Emerges. Colours mingle, features join,
  And lines converge: the fainter parts retire;
  The fairer eminent in light advance;
  And every image on its neighbour smiles.
  Awhile he stands, and with a father's joy
  Contemplates. Then with Promethéan art,                       410
  Into its proper vehicle [Endnote KK] he breathes
  The fair conception; which, embodied thus,
  And permanent, becomes to eyes or ears
  An object ascertain'd: while thus inform'd,
  The various organs of his mimic skill,
  The consonance of sounds, the featured rock,
  The shadowy picture and impassion'd verse,
  Beyond their proper powers attract the soul
  By that expressive semblance, while in sight
  Of Nature's great original we scan                            420
  The lively child of Art; while line by line,
  And feature after feature we refer
  To that sublime exemplar whence it stole
  Those animating charms. Thus Beauty's palm
  Betwixt them wavering hangs: applauding Love
  Doubts where to choose; and mortal man aspires
  To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud
  Of gathering hail, with limpid crusts of ice
  Enclosed and obvious to the beaming sun,
  Collects his large effulgence; straight the heavens           430
  With equal flames present on either hand
  The radiant visage; Persia stands at gaze,
  Appall'd; and on the brink of Ganges doubts
  The snowy-vested seer, in Mithra's name,
  To which the fragrance of the south shall burn,
  To which his warbled orisons ascend.

  Such various bliss the well-tuned heart enjoys,
  Favour'd of Heaven! while, plunged in sordid cares,
  The unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine;
  And harsh Austerity, from whose rebuke                        440
  Young Love and smiling Wonder shrink away
  Abash'd and chill of heart, with sager frowns
  Condemns the fair enchantment. On my strain,
  Perhaps even now, some cold, fastidious judge
  Casts a disdainful eye; and calls my toil,
  And calls the love and beauty which I sing,
  The dream of folly. Thou, grave censor! say,
  Is Beauty then a dream, because the glooms
  Of dulness hang too heavy on thy sense,
  To let her shine upon thee? So the man                        450
  Whose eye ne'er open'd on the light of heaven,
  Might smile with scorn while raptured vision tells
  Of the gay-colour'd radiance flushing bright
  O'er all creation. From the wise be far
  Such gross unhallow'd pride; nor needs my song
  Descend so low; but rather now unfold,
  If human thought could reach, or words unfold,
  By what mysterious fabric of the mind,
  The deep-felt joys and harmony of sound
  Result from airy motion; and from shape                       460
  The lovely phantoms of sublime and fair.
  By what fine ties hath God connected things
  When present in the mind, which in themselves
  Have no connexion? Sure the rising sun
  O'er the cerulean convex of the sea,
  With equal brightness and with equal warmth
  Might roll his fiery orb, nor yet the soul
  Thus feel her frame expanded, and her powers
  Exulting in the splendour she beholds,
  Like a young conqueror moving through the pomp                470
  Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve,
  Soft murmuring streams and gales of gentlest breath
  Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain
  Attemper, could not man's discerning ear
  Through all its tones the sympathy pursue,
  Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy
  Steal through his veins and fan the awaken'd heart,
  Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song?

  But were not Nature still endow'd at large
  With all that life requires, though unadorn'd                 480
  With such enchantment? Wherefore then her form
  So exquisitely fair? her breath perfumed
  With such ethereal sweetness? whence her voice
  Inform'd at will to raise or to depress
  The impassion'd soul? and whence the robes of light
  Which thus invest her with more lovely pomp
  Than Fancy can describe? Whence but from Thee,
  O source divine of ever-flowing love!
  And Thy unmeasured goodness? Not content
  With every food of life to nourish man,                       490
  By kind illusions of the wondering sense
  Thou mak'st all Nature beauty to his eye,
  Or music to his ear; well pleased he scans
  The goodly prospect, and with inward smiles
  Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain,
  Beholds the azure canopy of heaven,
  And living lamps that over-arch his head
  With more than regal splendour; bends his ears
  To the full choir of water, air, and earth;
  Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought,                  500
  Nor doubts the painted green or azure arch,
  Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds,
  Than space, or motion, or eternal time;
  So sweet he feels their influence to attract
  The fixed soul, to brighten the dull glooms
  Of care, and make the destined road of life
  Delightful to his feet. So fables tell,
  The adventurous hero, bound on hard exploits,
  Beholds with glad surprise, by secret spells
  Of some kind sage, the patron of his toils,                   510
  A visionary paradise disclosed
  Amid the dubious wild; with streams, and shades,
  And airy songs, the enchanted landscape smiles,
  Cheers his long labours and renews his frame.

  What then is taste, but these internal powers
  Active, and strong, and feelingly alive
  To each fine impulse,--a discerning sense
  Of decent and sublime, with quick disgust
  From things deform'd, or disarranged, or gross
  In species? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold,               520
  Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow;
  But God alone, when first His active hand
  Imprints the secret bias of the soul.
  He, mighty Parent! wise and just in all,
  Free as the vital breeze or light of heaven,
  Reveals the charms of Nature. Ask the swain
  Who journeys homeward from a summer day's
  Long labour, why, forgetful of his toils
  And due repose, he loiters to behold
  The sunshine gleaming as through amber clouds,                530
  O'er all the western sky; full soon, I ween,
  His rude expression and untutor'd airs,
  Beyond the power of language, will unfold
  The form of beauty, smiling at his heart,
  How lovely! how commanding! But though Heaven
  In every breast hath sown these early seeds
  Of love and admiration, yet in vain,
  Without fair culture's kind parental aid,
  Without enlivening suns, and genial showers,
  And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope                   540
  The tender plant should rear its blooming head,
  Or yield the harvest promised in its spring.
  Nor yet will every soul with equal stores
  Repay the tiller's labour, or attend
  His will, obsequious, whether to produce
  The olive or the laurel. Different minds
  Incline to different objects; one pursues
  The vast alone, [Endnote LL] the wonderful, the wild;
  Another sighs for harmony, and grace,
  And gentlest beauty. Hence, when lightning fires              550
  The arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground,
  When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,
  And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed,
  Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky;
  Amid the mighty uproar, while below
  The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad
  Prom some high cliff, superior, and enjoys
  The elemental war. But Waller longs, [Endnote MM]
  All on the margin of some flowery stream
  To spread his careless limbs amid the cool                    560
  Of plantane shades, and to the listening deer
  The tale of slighted vows and love's disdain
  Resound soft-warbling all the livelong day;
  Consenting Zephyr sighs; the weeping rill
  Joins in his plaint, melodious; mute the groves;
  And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn.
  Such and so various are the tastes of men.

  Oh! bless'd of Heaven, whom not the languid songs
  Of Luxury, the siren! not the bribes
  Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils                    570
  Of pageant Honour, can seduce to leave
  Those ever-blooming sweets, which from the store
  Of Nature fair Imagination culls
  To charm the enliven'd soul! What though not all
  Of mortal offspring can attain the heights
  Of envied life; though only few possess
  Patrician treasures or imperial state;
  Yet Nature's care, to all her children just,
  With richer treasures and an ampler state,
  Endows at large whatever happy man                            580
  Will deign to use them. His the city's pomp,
  The rural honours his. Whate'er adorns
  The princely dome, the column, and the arch,
  The breathing marbles and the sculptured gold,
  Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim,
  His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the Spring
  Distils her dews, and from the silken gem
  Its lucid leaves unfolds; for him, the hand
  Of Autumn tinges every fertile branch
  With blooming gold and blushes like the morn.                 590
  Each passing Hour sheds tribute from her wings;
  And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,
  And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze [Endnote NN]
  Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes
  The setting sun's effulgence, not a strain
  From all the tenants of the warbling shade
  Ascends, but whence his bosom can partake
  Fresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence partakes
  Fresh pleasure only; for the attentive mind,
  By this harmonious action on her powers                       600
  Becomes herself harmonious; wont so oft
  In outward things to meditate the charm
  Of sacred order, soon she seeks at home
  To find a kindred order, to exert
  Within herself this elegance of love,
  This fair-inspired delight; her temper'd powers
  Refine at length, and every passion wears
  A chaster, milder, more attractive mien.
  But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze
  On Nature's form, where, negligent of all                     610
  These lesser graces, she assumes the port
  Of that Eternal Majesty that weigh'd
  The world's foundations, if to these the mind
  Exalts her daring eye, then mightier far
  Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms
  Of servile custom cramp her generous powers?
  Would sordid policies, the barbarous growth
  Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down
  To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear?
  Lo! she appeals to Nature, to the winds                       620
  And rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course,
  The elements and seasons; all declare
  For what the Eternal Maker has ordain'd
  The powers of man; we feel within ourselves
  His energy divine; he tells the heart,
  He meant, he made us to behold and love
  What he beholds and loves, the general orb
  Of life and being; to be great like him,
  Beneficent and active. Thus the men
  Whom Nature's works can charm, with God himself               630
  Hold converse; grow familiar, day by day,
  With his conceptions, act upon his plan;
  And form to his, the relish of their souls.





_NOTES_

       *       *       *       *       *


BOOK FIRST.


ENDNOTE A.

   _'Say why was man'_, etc.--P.8.

In apologising for the frequent negligences of the sublimest authors
of Greece, 'Those godlike geniuses,' says Longinus, 'were well
assured, that Nature had not intended man for a low-spirited or
ignoble being: but bringing us into life and the midst of this wide
universe, as before a multitude assembled at some heroic solemnity,
that we might be spectators of all her magnificence, and candidates
high in emulation for the prize of glory; she has therefore
implanted in our souls an inextinguishable love of everything great
and exalted, of everything which appears divine beyond our
comprehension. Whence it comes to pass, that even the whole world is
not an object sufficient for the depth and rapidity of human
imagination, which often sallies forth beyond the limits of all that
surrounds us. Let any man cast his eye through the whole circle of
our existence, and consider how especially it abounds in excellent
and grand objects, he will soon acknowledge for what enjoyments
and pursuits we were destined. Thus by the very propensity of
nature we are led to admire, not little springs or shallow rivulets,
however clear and delicious, but the Nile, the Rhine, the Danube,
and, much more than all, the Ocean,' etc.
   --_Dionys. Longin. de Sublim_. ss. xxiv.


ENDNOTE B.

   _'The empyreal waste'_.--P. 9.

'Ne se peut-il point qu'il y a un grand espace au-delà de la région
des étoiles? Que ce soit le ciel empyrée, ou non, toujours cet
espace immense quî environne toute cette region, pourra être rempli
de bonheur et de gloire. Il pourra être conçu comme l'océan, òu se
rendent les fleuves de toutes les créatures bienheureuses, quand
elles seront venues à leur perfection dans le système des étoiles.'
   --_Leibnitz dans la Theodicée_, part i. par. 19.


ENDNOTE C.

   _'Whose unfading light'_, etc.--P. 9.

It was a notion of the great Mr. Huygens, that there may be fixed
stars at such a distance from our solar system, as that their light
should not have had time to reach us, even from the creation of the
world to this day.



ENDNOTE D.

                   _'The neglect
  Of all familiar prospects'_, etc.--P. 10.

It is here said, that in consequence of the love of novelty, objects
which at first were highly delightful to the mind, lose that effect
by repeated attention to them. But the instance of habit is opposed
to this observation; for there, objects at first distasteful are in
time rendered entirely agreeable by repeated attention.

The difficulty in this case will be removed if we consider, that,
when objects at first agreeable, lose that influence by frequently
recurring, the mind is wholly passive, and the perception involuntary;
but habit, on the other hand, generally supposes choice and activity
accompanying it: so that the pleasure arises here not from the object,
but from the mind's conscious determination of its own activity; and
consequently increases in proportion to the frequency of that
determination.

It will still be urged perhaps, that a familiarity with disagreeable
objects renders them at length acceptable, even when there is no
room for the mind to resolve or act at all. In this case, the
appearance must be accounted for one of these ways.

The pleasure from habit may be merely negative. The object at first
gave uneasiness: this uneasiness gradually wears off as the object
grows familiar: and the mind, finding it at last entirely removed,
reckons its situation really pleasurable, compared with what it had
experienced before.

The dislike conceived of the object at first, might be owing to
prejudice or want of attention. Consequently the mind being
necessitated to review it often, may at length perceive its own
mistake, and be reconciled to what it had looked on with aversion.
In which case, a sort of instinctive justice naturally leads it to
make amends for the injury, by running toward the other extreme of
fondness and attachment.

Or lastly, though the object itself should always continue
disagreeable, yet circumstances of pleasure or good fortune may
occur along with it. Thus an association may arise in the mind, and
the object never be remembered without those pleasing circumstances
attending it; by which means the disagreeable impression which it at
first occasioned will in time be quite obliterated.



ENDNOTE E.

                        _'This desire
  Of objects new and strange'_.--P. 10.

These two ideas are oft confounded; though it is evident the mere
novelty of an object makes it agreeable, even where the mind is not
affected with the least degree of wonder: whereas wonder indeed
always implies novelty, being never excited by common or well-known
appearances. But the pleasure in both cases is explicable from the
same final cause, the acquisition of knowledge and enlargement of
our views of nature: on this account it is natural to treat of them
together.



ENDNOTE F.

          _'Truth and Good are one,
  And Beauty dwells in them'_, etc.--P. 14.

'Do you imagine,' says Socrates to Aristippus, 'that what is good is
not beautiful? Have you not observed that these appearances always
coincide? Virtue, for instance, in the same respect as to which we
call it good, is ever acknowledged to be beautiful also. In the
characters of men we always [1] join the two denominations together.
The beauty of human bodies corresponds, in like manner, with that
economy of parts which constitutes them good; and in every
circumstance of life, the same object is constantly accounted both
beautiful and good, inasmuch as it answers the purposes for which it
was designed.'
   --_Xenophont. Memorab. Socrat_. 1.iii.c.8.

This excellent observation has been illustrated and extended by the
noble restorer of ancient philosophy. (See the _Characteristics_, vol.
ii., pp. 339 and 422, and vol. iii., p. 181.) And another ingenious
author has particularly shewn, that it holds in the general laws of
nature, in the works of art, and the conduct of the sciences
(_Inquiry into the Original of our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue_,
treat, i. Section 8). As to the connexion between beauty and truth,
there are two opinions concerning it. Some philosophers assert an
independent and invariable law in nature, in consequence of which
all rational beings must alike perceive beauty in some certain
proportions, and deformity in the contrary. And this necessity being
supposed the same with that which commands the assent or dissent of
the understanding, it follows, of course, that beauty is founded on
the universal and unchangeable law of truth.

But others there are who believe beauty to be merely a relative and
arbitrary thing; that, indeed, it was a benevolent provision in
nature to annex so delightful a sensation to those objects which are
best and most perfect in themselves, that so we might be engaged to
the choice of them at once, and without staying to infer their
usefulness from their structure and effects; but that it is not
impossible, in a physical sense, that two beings, of equal
capacities for truth, should perceive, one of them beauty, and the
other deformity, in the same proportions. And upon this supposition,
by that truth which is always connected with beauty, nothing more
can be meant than the conformity of any object to those proportions
upon which, after careful examination, the beauty of that species is
found to depend. Polycletus, for instance, a famous ancient sculptor,
from an accurate mensuration of the several parts of the most perfect
human bodies, deduced a canon or system of proportions, which was
the rule of all succeeding artists. Suppose a statue modelled
according to this: a man of mere natural taste, upon looking at it,
without entering into its proportions, confesses and admires its
beauty; whereas a professor of the art applies his measures to the
head, the neck, or the hand, and, without attending to its beauty,
pronounces the workmanship to be just and true.

[Footnote 1: This the Athenians did in a peculiar manner, by the
words [Greek: kalokagathus] and [Greek: kalokagathia].]


ENDNOTE G.

   '_As when Brutus rose_,' etc.--P. 18.

Cicero himself describes this fact--'Cassare interfecto--statim
cruentum alte extollens M. Brutus pugionem, Ciceronem nominatim
exclamavit, atque ei recuperatam libertatem est gratulatus.'
  --_Cic. Philipp_. ii. 12.


ENDNOTE H.

  '_Where Virtue rising from the awful depth
  Of Truth's mysterious bosom_,' etc.--P. 20.

According to the opinion of those who assert moral obligation to be
founded on an immutable and universal law; and that which is usually
called the moral sense, to be determined by the peculiar temper of
the imagination and the earliest associations of ideas.


ENDNOTE I.

   '_Lycéum_.'--P. 21.

The school of Aristotle.


ENDNOTE J.

   '_Academus_.'--P. 21.

The school of Plato.


ENDNOTE K.

   '_Ilissus_.'--P. 21.

One of the rivers on which Athens was situated. Plato, in some of
his finest dialogues, lays the scene of the conversation with
Socrates on its banks.

       *       *       *       *       *


BOOK SECOND.


ENDNOTE L

  '_At last the Muses rose_,' etc.--P. 22.

About the age of Hugh Capet, founder of the third race of French
kings, the poets of Provence were in high reputation; a sort of
strolling bards or rhapsodists, who went about the courts of princes
and noblemen, entertaining them at festivals with music and poetry.
They attempted both the epic, ode, and satire; and abounded in a
wild and fantastic vein of fable, partly allegorical, and partly
founded on traditionary legends of the Saracen wars. These were the
rudiments of Italian poetry. But their taste and composition must
have been extremely barbarous, as we may judge by those who followed
the turn of their fable in much politer times; such as Boiardo,
Bernardo, Tasso, Ariosto, etc.


ENDNOTE M.

   '_Valclusa_.'--P. 22.

The famous retreat of Francisco Petrarcha, the father of Italian
poetry, and his mistress, Laura, a lady of Avignon.


ENDNOTE N.

   '_Arno_.'--P. 22.

The river which runs by Florence, the birth-place of Dante and
Boccaccio.


ENDNOTE O.

   '_Parthenopé_.'--P. 23.

Or Naples, the birth-place of Sannazaro. The great Torquato Tasso was
born at Sorrento in the kingdom of Naples.


ENDNOTE P.

       '_The rage
  Of dire ambition_,' etc.--P. 23.

This relates to the cruel wars among the republics of Italy, and
abominable politics of its little princes, about the fifteenth
century. These, at last, in conjunction with the papal power,
entirely extinguished the spirit of liberty in that country, and
established that abuse of the fine arts which has been since
propagated over all Europe.


ENDNOTE Q.

   '_Thus from their guardians torn, the tender arts_,' etc.--P. 23.

Nor were they only losers by the separation. For philosophy itself,
to use the words of a noble philosopher, 'being thus severed from
the sprightly arts and sciences, must consequently grow dronish,
insipid, pedantic, useless, and directly opposite to the real
knowledge and practice of the world.' Insomuch that 'a gentleman,'
says another excellent writer, 'cannot easily bring himself to like
so austere and ungainly a form: so greatly is it changed from what
was once the delight of the finest gentlemen of antiquity, and their
recreation after the hurry of public affairs! From this condition it
cannot be recovered but by uniting it once more with the works of
imagination; and we have had the pleasure of observing a very great
progress made towards their union in England within these few years.
It is hardly possible to conceive them at a greater distance from
each other than at the Revolution, when Locke stood at the head of
one party, and Dryden of the other. But the general spirit of liberty,
which has ever since been growing, naturally invited our men of wit
and genius to improve that influence which the arts of persuasion
gave them with the people, by applying them to subjects of
importance to society. Thus poetry and eloquence became considerable;
and philosophy is now, of course, obliged to borrow of their
embellishments, in order even to gain audience with the public.


ENDNOTE R.

   '_From passion's power alone_,' etc.--P. 26.

This very mysterious kind of pleasure, which is often found in the
exercise of passions generally counted painful, has been taken
notice of by several authors. Lucretius resolves it into self-love:--

  'Suave mari magno,' etc., lib. ii. 1.

As if a man was never pleased in being moved at the distress of a
tragedy, without a cool reflection that though these fictitious
personages were so unhappy, yet he himself was perfectly at ease and
in safety. The ingenious author of the _Reflections Critiques sur la
Poésie et sur la Peinture_ accounts for it by the general delight
which the mind takes in its own activity, and the abhorrence it
feels of an indolent and inattentive state: and this, joined with the
moral approbation of its own temper, which attends these emotions
when natural and just, is certainly the true foundation of the
pleasure, which, as it is the origin and basis of tragedy and epic,
deserved a very particular consideration in this poem.


ENDNOTE S.

   '_Inhabitant of earth_,' etc.--P. 31.

The account of the economy of Providence here introduced, as the
most proper to calm and satisfy the mind when under the compunction
of private evils, seems to have come originally from the Pythagorean
school: but of the ancient philosophers, Plato has most largely
insisted upon it, has established it with all the strength of his
capacious understanding, and ennobled it with all the magnificence
of his divine imagination. He has one passage so full and clear on
this head, that I am persuaded the reader will be pleased to see it
here, though somewhat long. Addressing himself to such as are not
satisfied concerning divine Providence: 'The Being who presides over
the whole,' says he, 'has disposed and complicated all things for
the happiness and virtue of the whole, every part of which,
according to the extent of its influence, does and suffers what is
fit and proper. One of these parts is yours, O unhappy man, which
though in itself most inconsiderable and minute, yet being connected
with the universe, ever seeks to co-operate with that supreme order.
You in the meantime are ignorant of the very end for which all
particular natures are brought into existence, that the
all-comprehending nature of the whole may be perfect and happy;
existing, as it does, not for your sake, but the cause and reason of
your existence, which, as in the symmetry of every artificial work,
must of necessity concur with the general design of the artist, and
be subservient to the whole of which it is a part. Your complaint
therefore is ignorant and groundless; since, according to the
various energy of creation, and the common laws of nature, there is
a constant provision of that which is best at the same time for you
and for the whole.--For the governing intelligence clearly beholding
all the actions of animated and self-moving creatures, and that
mixture of good and evil which diversifies them, considered first of
all by what disposition of things, and by what situation of each
individual in the general system, vice might be depressed and subdued,
and virtue made secure of victory and happiness with the greatest
facility and in the highest degree possible. In this manner he
ordered through the entire circle of being, the internal
constitution of every mind, where should be its station in the
universal fabric, and through what variety of circumstances it
should proceed in the whole tenor of its existence.' He goes on in
his sublime manner to assert a future state of retribution, 'as well
for those who, by the exercise of good dispositions being harmonised
and assimilated into the divine virtue, are consequently removed to
a place of unblemished sanctity and happiness; as of those who by
the most flagitious arts have risen from contemptible beginnings to
the greatest affluence and power, and whom you therefore look upon
as unanswerable instances of negligence in the gods, because you are
ignorant of the purposes to which they are subservient, and in what
manner they contribute to that supreme intention of good to the whole.'
   --_Plato de Leg_. x. 16.

This theory has been delivered of late, especially abroad, in a
manner which subverts the freedom of human actions; whereas Plato
appears very careful to preserve it, and has been in that respect
imitated by the best of his followers.

ENDNOTE T.

  '_One might rise,
  One order_,' etc.--P. 31.

See the _Meditations_ of Antoninus and the _Characteristics_, passim.

ENDNOTE U.

   '_The best and fairest_,' etc.--P. 32.

This opinion is so old, that Timaeus Locrus calls the Supreme Being
[Greek: demiourgos tou beltionos], the artificer of that which is
best; and represents him as resolving in the beginning to produce
the most excellent work, and as copying the world most exactly from
his own intelligible and essential idea; 'so that it yet remains, as
it was at first, perfect in beauty, and will never stand in need of
any correction or improvement.' There can be no room for a caution
here, to understand the expressions, not of any particular
circumstances of human life separately considered, but of the sum or
universal system of life and being. See also the vision at the end
of the _Theodicée_ of Leibnitz.

ENDNOTE V.

   '_As flame ascends_,' etc.--P. 32.

This opinion, though not held by Plato nor any of the ancients, is
yet a very natural consequence of his principles. But the
disquisition is too complex and extensive to be entered upon here.

ENDNOTE W.

   '_Philip_.'--P. 44.

The Macedonian.


BOOK THIRD.

ENDNOTE X.

  '_Where the powers
  Of Fancy_,' etc.--P. 46.

The influence of the imagination on the conduct of life is one of
the most important points in moral philosophy. It were easy, by an
induction of facts, to prove that the imagination directs almost all
the passions, and mixes with almost every circumstance of action or
pleasure. Let any man, even of the coldest head and soberest industry,
analyse the idea of what he calls his interest; he will find that it
consists chiefly of certain degrees of decency, beauty, and order,
variously combined into one system, the idol which he seeks to enjoy
by labour, hazard, and self-denial. It is, on this account, of the
last consequence to regulate these images by the standard of nature
and the general good; otherwise the imagination, by heightening some
objects beyond their real excellence and beauty, or by representing
others in a more odions or terrible shape than they deserve, may, of
course, engage us in pursuits utterly inconsistent with the moral
order of things.

If it be objected that this account of things supposes the passions
to be merely accidental, whereas there appears in some a natural and
hereditary disposition to certain passions prior to all
circumstances of education or fortune, it may be answered, that
though no man is born ambitious or a miser, yet he may inherit from
his parents a peculiar temper or complexion of mind, which shall
render his imagination more liable to be struck with some particular
objects, consequently dispose him to form opinions of good and ill,
and entertain passions of a particular turn. Some men, for instance,
by the original frame of their minds, are more delighted with the
vast and magnificent, others, on the contrary, with the elegant and
gentle aspects of nature. And it is very remarkable, that the
disposition of the moral powers is always similar to this of the
imagination; that those who are most inclined to admire prodigious
and sublime objects in the physical world, are also most inclined to
applaud examples of fortitude and heroic virtue in the moral. While
those who are charmed rather with the delicacy and sweetness of
colours, and forms, and sounds, never fail in like manner to yield
the preference to the softer scenes of virtue and the sympathies of
a domestic life. And this is sufficient to account for the objection.

Among the ancient philosophers, though we have several hints
concerning this influence of the imagination upon morals among the
remains of the Socratic school, yet the Stoics were the first who
paid it a due attention. Zeno, their founder, thought it impossible
to preserve any tolerable regularity in life, without frequently
inspecting those pictures or appearances of things, which the
imagination offers to the mind (_Diog. Laërt_. I. vii.) The
meditations of M. Aurelius, and the discourses of Epictetus, are
full of the same sentiment; insomuch that the latter makes the
[Greek: Chresis oia dei, fantasion], or right management of the
fancies, the only thing for which we are accountable to Providence,
and without which a man is no other than stupid or frantic (_Arrian_.
I. i. c. 12. and I. ii. c. 22). See also the _Characteristics_,
vol. i. from p. 313 to 321, where this Stoical doctrine is embellished
with all the elegance and graces of Plato.

ENDNOTE Y.

   '_How Folly's awkward arts_,' etc.--P. 47.

Notwithstanding the general influence of ridicule on private and
civil life, as well as on learning and the sciences, it has been
almost constantly neglected or misrepresented, by divines especially.
The manner of treating these subjects in the science of human nature,
should be precisely the same as in natural philosophy; from
particular facts to investigate the stated order in which they appear,
and then apply the general law, thus discovered, to the explication
of other appearances and the improvement of useful arts.

ENDNOTE Z.

   '_Behold the foremost band_,' etc.--P. 48.

The first and most general source of ridicule in the characters
of men, is vanity or self-applause for some desirable quality or
possession which evidently does not belong to those who assume it.


ENDNOTE AA.

   '_Then comes the second order_,' etc.--P, 49.

Ridicule from the same vanity, where, though the possession be real,
yet no merit can arise from it, because of some particular
circumstances, which, though obvious to the spectator, are yet
overlooked by the ridiculous character.


ENDNOTE BB.

   '_Another tribe succeeds_,' etc.--P. 50.

Ridicule from a notion of excellence in particular objects
disproportioned to their intrinsic value, and inconsistent with the
order of nature.


ENDNOTE CC.

   '_But now, ye gay_,' etc.--P. 51.

Ridicule from a notion of excellence, when the object is absolutely
odious or contemptible. This is the highest degree of the ridiculous;
as in the affectation of diseases or vices.


ENDNOTE DD.

   '_Thus far triumphant_,' etc.--P. 51

Ridicule from false shame or groundless fear.


ENDNOTE EE.

   '_Last of the motley bands_,' etc.--P. 52.

Ridicule from the ignorance of such things as our circumstances
require us to know.


ENDNOTE FF.

   '_Suffice it to have said_,' etc.--P. 52.

By comparing these general sources of ridicule with each other, and
examining the ridiculous in other objects, we may obtain a general
definition of it, equally applicable to every species. The most
important circumstance of this definition is laid down in the lines
referred to; but others more minute we shall subjoin here.
Aristotle's account of the matter seems both imperfect and false.
[Greek: To ghar geloion], says he, [Greek: estin hamartaema ti kai
aischos]: 'The ridiculous is some certain fault or turpitude without
pain, and not destructive to its subject' (_Poet_. c. 5). For
allowing it to be true, as it is not, that the ridiculous is never
accompanied with pain, yet we might produce many instances of such a
fault or turpitude which cannot with any tolerable propriety be
called ridiculous. So that the definition does not distinguish the
thing designed. Nay, further, even when we perceive the turpitude
tending to the destruction of its subject, we may still be sensible
of a ridiculous appearance, till the ruin become imminent, and the
keener sensations of pity or terror banish the ludicrous
apprehension from our minds; for the sensation of ridicule is not a
bare perception of the agreement or disagreement of ideas, but a
passion or emotion of the mind consequential to that perception; so
that the mind may perceive the agreement or disagreement, and yet
not feel the ridiculous, because it is engrossed by a more violent
emotion. Thus it happens that some men think those objects ridiculous,
to which others cannot endure to apply the name, because in them
they excite a much intenser and more important feeling. And this
difference, among other causes, has brought a good deal of confusion
into this question.

'That which makes objects ridiculous is some ground of admiration or
esteem connected with other more general circumstances comparatively
worthless or deformed; or it is some circumstance of turpitude or
deformity connected with what is in general excellent or beautiful:
the inconsistent properties existing either in the objects themselves,
or in the apprehension of the person to whom they relate, belonging
always to the same order or class of being, implying sentiment or
design, and exciting no acute or vehement emotion of the heart.'

To prove the several parts of this definition: 'The appearance of
excellence or beauty connected with a general condition
comparatively sordid or deformed' is ridiculous; for instance,
pompous pretensions of wisdom joined with ignorance or folly in the
Socrates of Aristophanes, and the ostentations of military glory
with cowardice and stupidity in the Thraso of Terence.

'The appearance of deformity or turpitude in conjunction with what
is in general excellent or venerable,' is also ridiculous: for
instance, the personal weaknesses of a magistrate appearing in the
solemn and public functions of his station.

'The incongruous properties may either exist in the objects
themselves, or in the apprehension of the person to whom they relate:'
in the last--mentioned instance, they both exist in the objects; in
the instances from Aristophanes and Terence, one of them is
objective and real, the other only founded in the apprehension of
the ridiculous character.

'The inconsistent properties must belong to the same order or class
of being.' A coxcomb in fine clothes, bedaubed by accident in foul
weather, is a ridiculous object, because his general apprehension of
excellence and esteem is referred to the splendour and expense of
his dress. A man of sense and merit, in the same circumstances, is
not counted ridiculous, because the general ground of excellence and
esteem in him is, both in fact and in his own apprehension, of a
very different species.

'Every ridiculous object implies sentiment or design.' A column
placed by an architect without a capital or base is laughed at: the
same column in a ruin causes a very different sensation.

And lastly, 'the occurrence must excite no acute or vehement emotion
of the heart,' such as terror, pity, or indignation; for in that case,
as was observed above, the mind is not at leisure to contemplate the
ridiculous. Whether any appearance not ridiculous be involved in
this description, and whether it comprehend every species and form
of the ridiculous, must be determined by repeated applications of it
to particular instances.


ENDNOTE GG.

   _'Ask we for what fair end'_, etc.--P. 53.

Since it is beyond all contradiction evident that we have a natural
sense or feeling of the ridiculous, and since so good a reason may
be assigned to justify the supreme Being for bestowing it, one cannot,
without astonishment, reflect on the conduct of those men who
imagine it is for the service of true religion to vilify and blacken
it without distinction, and endeavour to persuade us that it is
never applied but in a bad cause. Ridicule is not concerned with
mere speculative truth or falsehood. It is not in abstract
propositions or theorems, but in actions and passions, good and evil,
beauty and deformity, that we find materials for it; and all these
terms are relative, implying approbation or blame. To ask them
whether ridicule be a test of truth, is, in other words, to ask
whether that which is ridiculous can be morally true, can be just and
becoming; or whether that which is just and becoming can be
ridiculous?--a question that does not deserve a serious answer. For
it is most evident, that, as in a metaphysical proposition offered
to the understanding for its assent, the faculty of reason examines
the terms of the proposition, and finding one idea, which was
supposed equal to another, to be in fact unequal, of consequence
rejects the proposition as a falsehood; so, in objects offered to
the mind for its esteem or applause, the faculty of ridicule,
finding an incongruity in the claim, urges the mind to reject it
with laughter and contempt. When, therefore, we observe such a claim
obtruded upon mankind, and the inconsistent circumstances carefully
concealed from the eye of the public, it is our business, if the
matter be of importance to society, to drag out those latent
circumstances, and, by setting them in full view, to convince the
world how ridiculous the claim is: and thus a double advantage is
gained; for we both detect the moral falsehood sooner than in the
way of speculative inquiry, and impress the minds of men with a
stronger sense of the vanity and error of its authors. And this, and
no more, is meant by the application of ridicule.

But it is said, the practice is dangerous, and may be inconsistent
with the regard we owe to objects of real dignity and excellence. I
answer, the practice fairly managed can never be dangerous; men may
be dishonest in obtruding circumstances foreign to the object, and
we may be inadvertent in allowing those circumstances to impose upon
us: but the sense of ridicule always judges right. The Socrates of
Aristophanes is as truly ridiculous a character as ever was drawn:
--true; but it is not the character of Socrates, the divine moralist
and father of ancient wisdom. What then? did the ridicule of the
poet hinder the philosopher from detecting and disclaiming those
foreign circumstances which he had falsely introduced into his
character, and thus rendered the satirist doubly ridiculous in his
turn? No; but it nevertheless had an ill influence on the minds of
the people. And so has the reasoning of Spinoza made many atheists:
he has founded it, indeed, on suppositions utterly false; but allow
him these, and his conclusions are unavoidably true. And if we must
reject the use of ridicule, because, by the imposition of false
circumstances, things may be made to seem ridiculous, which are not
so in themselves; why we ought not in the same manner to reject the
use of reason, because, by proceeding on false principles,
conclusions will appear true which are impossible in nature, let the
vehement and obstinate declaimers against ridicule determine.


ENDNOTE HH.

   _'The inexpressive semblance'_, etc.--P. 53.

This similitude is the foundation of almost all the ornaments of
poetic diction.


ENDNOTE II.

   _'Two faithful needles'_, etc.--P. 55.

See the elegant poem recited by Cardinal Bembo in the character of
Lucretius.-_Strada Prolus_. vi. _Academ_. 2. c. v.


ENDNOTE JJ.

   _'By these mysterious ties'_, etc.--P. 55.

The act of remembering seems almost wholly to depend on the
association of ideas.


ENDNOTE KK.

   _'Into its proper vehicle'_, etc.--P. 57.

This relates to the different sorts of corporeal mediums, by which
the ideas of the artists are rendered palpable to the senses: as by
sounds, in music; by lines and shadows, in painting; by diction, in
poetry, etc.


ENDNOTE LL.

      _'One pursues
  The vast alone'_, etc.--P. 61.

See the note to ver. 18 of this book.


ENDNOTE MM.

   _'Waller longs'_, etc.--P. 61.

  Oh! how I long my careless limbs to lay
  Under the plantane shade; and all the day
  With amorous airs my fancy entertain, etc.
      _WALLER, Battle of the Summer-Islands_, Canto I.

  And again,
              While in the park I sing, the list'ning deer
              Attend my passion, and forget to fear, etc.
                                              At Pens-hurst.

ENDNOTE NN.

   _'Not a breeze'_, etc.--P. 63.

That this account may not appear rather poetically extravagant than
just in philosophy, it may be proper to produce the sentiment of one
of the greatest, wisest, and best of men on this head; one so little
to be suspected of partiality in the case, that he reckons it among
those favours for which he was especially thankful to the gods, that
they had not suffered him to make any great proficiency in the arts
of eloquence and poetry, lest by that means he should have been
diverted from pursuits of more importance to his high station.
Speaking of the beauty of universal nature, he observes, that there
'is a pleasing and graceful aspect in every object we perceive,'
when once we consider its connexion with that general order. He
instances in many things which at first sight would be thought
rather deformities; and then adds, 'that a man who enjoys a
sensibility of temper with a just comprehension of the universal
order--will discern many amiable things, not credible to every mind,
but to those alone who have entered into an honourable familiarity
with nature and her works.'
    --_M. Antonin_. iii. 2.




THE

PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION.


A POEM.

GENERAL ARGUMENT.

The pleasures of the imagination proceed either from natural objects,
as from a flourishing grove, a clear and murmuring fountain, a calm
sea by moonlight; or from works of art, such as a noble edifice, a
musical tune, a statue, a picture, a poem. In treating of these
pleasures, we must begin with the former class; they being original
to the other; and nothing more being necessary, in order to explain
them, than a view of our natural inclination toward greatness and
beauty, and of those appearances, in the world around us, to which
that inclination is adapted. This is the subject of the first book
of the following poem.

But the pleasures which we receive from the elegant arts, from music,
sculpture, painting, and poetry, are much more various and
complicated. In them (besides greatness and beauty, or forms proper
to the imagination) we find interwoven frequent representations of
truth, of virtue and vice, of circumstances proper to move us with
laughter, or to excite in us pity, fear, and the other passions.
These moral and intellectual objects are described in the second book;
to which the third properly belongs as an episode, though too large
to have been included in it.

With the above-mentioned causes of pleasure, which are universal in
the course of human life, and appertain to our higher faculties,
many others do generally occur, more limited in their operation, or
of an inferior origin: such are the novelty of objects, the
association of ideas, affections of the bodily senses, influences of
education, national habits, and the like. To illustrate these, and
from the whole to determine the character of a perfect taste, is the
argument of the fourth book.

Hitherto the pleasures of the imagination belong to the human
species in general. But there are certain particular men whose
imagination is endowed with powers, and susceptible of pleasures,
which the generality of mankind never participate. These are the men
of genius, destined by nature to excel in one or other of the arts
already mentioned. It is proposed, therefore, in the last place, to
delineate that genius which in some degree appears common to them all;
yet with a more peculiar consideration of poetry: inasmuch as poetry
is the most extensive of those arts, the most philosophical, and the
most useful.




BOOK I. 1757.


ARGUMENT.

The subject proposed. Dedication. The ideas of the Supreme Being, the
exemplars of all things. The variety of constitution in the minds of
men; with its final cause. The general character of a fine
imagination. All the immediate pleasures of the human imagination
proceed either from Greatness or Beauty in external objects. The
pleasure from Greatness; with its final cause. The natural connexion
of Beauty with truth [2] and good. The different orders of Beauty in
different objects. The infinite and all-comprehending form of Beauty,
which belongs to the Divine Mind. The partial and artificial forms
of Beauty, which belong to inferior intellectual beings. The origin
and general conduct of beauty in man. The subordination of local
beauties to the beauty of the Universe. Conclusion.

  With what enchantment Nature's goodly scene
  Attracts the sense of mortals; how the mind
  For its own eye doth objects nobler still
  Prepare; how men by various lessons learn
  To judge of Beauty's praise; what raptures fill
  The breast with fancy's native arts endow'd,
  And what true culture guides it to renown,
  My verse unfolds. Ye gods, or godlike powers,
  Ye guardians of the sacred task, attend
  Propitious. Hand in hand around your bard                     10
  Move in majestic measures, leading on
  His doubtful step through many a solemn path,
  Conscious of secrets which to human sight
  Ye only can reveal. Be great in him:
  And let your favour make him wise to speak
  Of all your wondrous empire; with a voice
  So temper'd to his theme, that those who hear
  May yield perpetual homage to yourselves.
  Thou chief, O daughter of eternal Love,
  Whate'er thy name; or Muse, or Grace, adored                  20
  By Grecian prophets; to the sons of Heaven
  Known, while with deep amazement thou dost there
  The perfect counsels read, the ideas old,
  Of thine omniscient Father; known on earth
  By the still horror and the blissful tear
  With which thou seizest on the soul of man;
  Thou chief, Poetic Spirit, from the banks
  Of Avon, whence thy holy fingers cull
  Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf
  Where Shakspeare lies, be present. And with thee              30
  Let Fiction come, on her aërial wings
  Wafting ten thousand colours, which in sport,
  By the light glances of her magic eye,
  She blends and shifts at will through countless forms,
  Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre,
  Whose awful tones control the moving sphere,
  Wilt thou, eternal Harmony, descend,
  And join this happy train? for with thee comes
  The guide, the guardian of their mystic rites,
  Wise Order: and, where Order deigns to come,                  40
  Her sister, Liberty, will not be far.
  Be present all ye Genii, who conduct
  Of youthful bards the lonely wandering step
  New to your springs and shades; who touch their ear
  With finer sounds, and heighten to their eye
  The pomp of nature, and before them place
  The fairest, loftiest countenance of things.

  Nor thou, my Dyson, [3] to the lay refuse
  Thy wonted partial audience. What though first,
  In years unseason'd, haply ere the sports                     50
  Of childhood yet were o'er, the adventurous lay
  With many splendid prospects, many charms,
  Allured my heart, nor conscious whence they sprung,
  Nor heedful of their end? yet serious Truth
  Her empire o'er the calm, sequester'd theme
  Asserted soon; while Falsehood's evil brood,
  Vice and deceitful Pleasure, she at once
  Excluded, and my fancy's careless toil
  Drew to the better cause. Maturer aid
  Thy friendship added, in the paths of life,                   60
  The busy paths, my unaccustom'd feet
  Preserving: nor to Truth's recess divine,
  Through this wide argument's unbeaten space,
  Withholding surer guidance; while by turns
  We traced the sages old, or while the queen
  Of sciences (whom manners and the mind
  Acknowledge) to my true companion's voice
  Not unattentive, o'er the wintry lamp
  Inclined her sceptre, favouring. Now the fates
  Have other tasks imposed;--to thee, my friend,                70
  The ministry of freedom and the faith
  Of popular decrees, in early youth,
  Not vainly they committed; me they sent
  To wait on pain, and silent arts to urge,
  Inglorious; not ignoble, if my cares,
  To such as languish on a grievous bed,
  Ease and the sweet forgetfulness of ill
  Conciliate; nor delightless, if the Muse,
  Her shades to visit and to taste her springs,
  If some distinguish'd hours the bounteous Muse                80
  Impart, and grant (what she, and she alone,
  Can grant to mortals) that my hand those wreaths
  Of fame and honest favour, which the bless'd
  Wear in Elysium, and which never felt
  The breath of envy or malignant tongues,
  That these my hand for thee and for myself
  May gather. Meanwhile, O my faithful friend,
  O early chosen, ever found the same,
  And trusted and beloved, once more the verse
  Long destined, always obvious to thine ear,                   90
  Attend, indulgent: so in latest years,
  When time thy head with honours shall have clothed
  Sacred to even virtue, may thy mind,
  Amid the calm review of seasons past,
  Fair offices of friendship, or kind peace,
  Or public zeal, may then thy mind well pleased
  Recall these happy studies of our prime.
    From Heaven my strains begin: from Heaven descends
  The flame of genius to the chosen breast,
  And beauty with poetic wonder join'd,                         100
  And inspiration. Ere the rising sun
  Shone o'er the deep, or 'mid the vault of night
  The moon her silver lamp suspended; ere
  The vales with springs were water'd, or with groves
  Of oak or pine the ancient hills were crown'd;
  Then the Great Spirit, whom his works adore,
  Within his own deep essence view'd the forms,
  The forms eternal of created things:
  The radiant sun; the moon's nocturnal lamp;
  The mountains and the streams; the ample stores               110
  Of earth, of heaven, of nature. From the first,
  On that full scene his love divine he fix'd,
  His admiration: till, in time complete,
  What he admired and loved his vital power
  Unfolded into being. Hence the breath
  Of life informing each organic frame:
  Hence the green earth, and wild-resounding waves:
  Hence light and shade, alternate; warmth and cold;
  And bright autumnal skies, and vernal showers,
  And all the fair variety of things.                           120
    But not alike to every mortal eye
  Is this great scene unveil'd. For while the claims
  Of social life to different labours urge
  The active powers of man, with wisest care
  Hath Nature on the multitude of minds
  Impress'd a various bias, and to each
  Decreed its province in the common toil.
  To some she taught the fabric of the sphere,
  The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,
  The golden zones of heaven; to some she gave                  130
  To search the story of eternal thought;
  Of space, and time; of fate's unbroken chain,
  And will's quick movement; others by the hand
  She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore
  What healing virtue dwells in every vein
  Of herbs or trees. But some to nobler hopes
  Were destined; some within a finer mould
  She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame.
  To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds,
  In fuller aspects and with fairer lights,                     140
  This picture of the world. Through every part
  They trace the lofty sketches of his hand;
  In earth, or air, the meadow's flowery store,
  The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's mien
  Dress'd in attractive smiles, they see portray'd
  (As far as mortal eyes the portrait scan)
  Those lineaments of beauty which delight
  The Mind Supreme. They also feel their force,
  Enamour'd; they partake the eternal joy.

  For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd                      150
  Through fabling Egypt, at the genial touch
  Of morning, from its inmost frame sent forth
  Spontaneous music, so doth Nature's hand,
  To certain attributes which matter claims,
  Adapt the finer organs of the mind;
  So the glad impulse of those kindred powers
  (Of form, of colour's cheerful pomp, of sound
  Melodious, or of motion aptly sped),
  Detains the enliven'd sense; till soon the soul
  Feels the deep concord, and assents through all               160
  Her functions. Then the charm by fate prepared
  Diffuseth its enchantment  Fancy dreams,
  Rapt into high discourse with prophets old,
  And wandering through Elysium, Fancy dreams
  Of sacred fountains, of o'ershadowing groves,
  Whose walks with godlike harmony resound:
  Fountains, which Homer visits; happy groves,
  Where Milton dwells; the intellectual power,
  On the mind's throne, suspends his graver cares,
  And smiles; the passions, to divine repose                    170
  Persuaded yield, and love and joy alone
  Are waking: love and joy, such as await
  An angel's meditation. Oh! attend,
  Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch;
  Whom Nature's aspect, Nature's simple garb
  Can thus command; oh! listen to my song;
  And I will guide thee to her blissful walks,
  And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,
  And point her gracious features to thy view.

  Know then, whate'er of the world's ancient store,             180
  Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected scenes,
  With love and admiration thus inspire
  Attentive Fancy, her delighted sons
  In two illustrious orders comprehend,
  Self-taught: from him whose rustic toil the lark
  Cheers warbling, to the bard whose daring thoughts
  Range the full orb of being, still the form,
  Which Fancy worships, or sublime or fair,
  Her votaries proclaim. I see them dawn:
  I see the radiant visions where they rise,                    190
  More lovely than when Lucifer displays
  His glittering forehead through the gates of morn,
  To lead the train of Phoebus and the Spring.

  Say, why was man so eminently raised
  Amid the vast creation; why empower'd
  Through life and death to dart his watchful eye,
  With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame;
  But that the Omnipotent might send him forth,
  In sight of angels and immortal minds,
  As on an ample theatre to join                                200
  In contest with his equals, who shall best
  The task achieve, the course of noble toils,
  By wisdom and by mercy preordain'd?
  Might send him forth the sovereign good to learn;
  To chase each meaner purpose from his breast;
  And through the mists of passion and of sense,
  And through the pelting storms of chance and pain,
  To hold straight on, with constant heart and eye
  Still fix'd upon his everlasting palm,
  The approving smile of Heaven? Else wherefore burns           210
  In mortal bosoms this unquenchèd hope,
  That seeks from day to day sublimer ends,
  Happy, though restless? Why departs the soul
  Wide from the track and journey of her times,
  To grasp the good she knows not? In the field
  Of things which may be, in the spacious field
  Of science, potent arts, or dreadful arms,
  To raise up scenes in which her own desires
  Contented may repose; when things, which are,
  Pall on her temper, like a twice-told tale:                   220
  Her temper, still demanding to be free;
  Spurning the rude control of wilful might;
  Proud of her dangers braved, her griefs endured,
  Her strength severely proved? To these high aims,
  Which reason and affection prompt in man,
  Not adverse nor unapt hath Nature framed
  His bold imagination. For, amid
  The various forms which this full world presents
  Like rivals to his choice, what human breast
  E'er doubts, before the transient and minute,                 230
  To prize the vast, the stable, the sublime?
  Who, that from heights aërial sends his eye
  Around a wild horizon, and surveys
  Indus or Ganges rolling his broad wave
  Through mountains, plains, through spacious cities old,
  And regions dark with woods, will turn away
  To mark the path of some penurious rill
  Which murmureth at his feet? Where does the soul
  Consent her soaring fancy to restrain,
  Which bears her up, as on an eagle's wings,                   240
  Destined for highest heaven; or which of fate's
  Tremendous barriers shall confine her flight
  To any humbler quarry? The rich earth
  Cannot detain her; nor the ambient air
  With all its changes. For a while with joy
  She hovers o'er the sun, and views the small
  Attendant orbs, beneath his sacred beam,
  Emerging from the deep, like cluster'd isles
  Whose rocky shores to the glad sailor's eye
  Reflect the gleams of morning; for a while                    250
  With pride she sees his firm, paternal sway
  Bend the reluctant planets to move each
  Round its perpetual year. But soon she quits
  That prospect; meditating loftier views,
  She darts adventurous up the long career
  Of comets; through the constellations holds
  Her course, and now looks back on all the stars
  Whose blended flames as with a milky stream
  Part the blue region. Empyréan tracts,
  Where happy souls beyond this concave heaven                  260
  Abide, she then explores, whence purer light
  For countless ages travels through the abyss,
  Nor hath in sight of mortals yet arrived.
  Upon the wide creation's utmost shore
  At length she stands, and the dread space beyond
  Contemplates, half-recoiling: nathless, down
  The gloomy void, astonish'd, yet unquell'd,
  She plungeth; down the unfathomable gulf
  Where God alone hath being. There her hopes
  Rest at the fated goal. For, from the birth                   270
  Of human kind, the Sovereign Maker said
  That not in humble, nor in brief delight,
  Not in the fleeting echoes of renown,
  Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap,
  The soul should find contentment; but, from these
  Turning disdainful to an equal good,
  Through Nature's opening walks enlarge her aim,
  Till every bound at length should disappear,
  And infinite perfection fill the scene.

  But lo, where Beauty, dress'd in gentler pomp,                280
  With comely steps advancing, claims the verse
  Her charms inspire. O Beauty, source of praise,
  Of honour, even to mute and lifeless things;
  O thou that kindlest in each human heart
  Love, and the wish of poets, when their tongue
  Would teach to other bosoms what so charms
  Their own; O child of Nature and the soul,
  In happiest hour brought forth; the doubtful garb
  Of words, of earthly language, all too mean,
  Too lowly I account, in which to clothe                       290
  Thy form divine; for thee the mind alone
  Beholds, nor half thy brightness can reveal
  Through those dim organs, whose corporeal touch
  O'ershadoweth thy pure essence. Yet, my Muse,
  If Fortune call thee to the task, wait thou
  Thy favourable seasons; then, while fear
  And doubt are absent, through wide nature's bounds
  Expatiate with glad step, and choose at will
  Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains,
  Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air,                       300
  To manifest unblemish'd Beauty's praise,
  And o'er the breasts of mortals to extend
  Her gracious empire. Wilt thou to the isles
  Atlantic, to the rich Hesperian clime,
  Fly in the train of Autumn, and look on,
  And learn from him; while, as he roves around,
  Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove,
  The branches bloom with gold; where'er his foot
  Imprints the soil, the ripening cl

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