The poetical works: of Mark Akenside. In two volumes. With the life of the author. ... [pt.1]

Table of contents

- [frontispiece]

- [frontispiecetovol.1]

- [titlepage]

- [titlepage]

- THE LIFE OF MARK AKENSIDE.

- ADVERTISEMENT TO THE EDITION 1772.

- [poem]

- THE DESIGN.

- THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.

- BOOK I.

- THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. BOOK II.

- THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. BOOK III.

- THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.

- The General Argument.

- [bodyofpoem]

- THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. BOOK I. MDCCLVII.

- THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. BOOK II.

- THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. BOOK III. MDCCLXX.

- THE BEGINNING OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION. MDCCLXX.

- CONTENTS.

- [colophon]

- [frontispiecetovol.2]

C•… Sc.

Printed for John Bell British Library Strand London. Jany. 21st. 178•
AKENSIDE

S•… del.

D•… Sc.

Printed for John Bell, British Library Strand, London. Jany. 25th. 1782.
BELL'S EDITION. The POETS of GREAT BRITAIN COMPLETE FROM CHAUCER to CHURCHILL.AKENSIDE, VOL. I.
Indulgent Fancy! from the fruitful banks

Fresh flow'rs and dews to sprinkle on the turf

Where Shakespeare lies.
Page ••

THE POETICAL WORKS OF MARK AKENSIDE.

IN TWO VOLUMES.

WITH THE LIFE OF THE AUTHOR.

Genius of ancient Greece! whose faithful steps

Have led us to these awful solitudes

Of Nature and of Science; Nurse rever'd

Of gen'rous counsels and heroick deeds.

O let some portion of thy matchless praise

Dwell in my breast, and teach me to adorn

This unattempted theme!—Let me

With blameless hand from thy unenvious fields

Transplant some living blossoms to adorn

My native clime—while to my compatriot youth

I point the great example of thy sons,

And tune to Attick themes the British lyre.

PLEAS. OF IMAG. ENLARGED.

Come, AKENSIDE! come with thine Attick urn,

Fill'd from Ilissus by the Naiad's hand.

Thy harp was tun'd to Freedom—Strains like thine,

When Asia's lord bor'd the huge mountain's side

And bridg'd the sea, battle rous'd the tribes

Of ancient Greece.—

ANONYM.

VOL. I.

EDINBURG: AT THE Apollo Press, BY THE MARTINS. Anno 1781.

THE POETICAL WORKS OF MARK AKENSIDE.

VOL. I.

CONTAINING HIS PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION, &c. &c. &c.

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 Pow'rs!

Ye Guardians of the sacred task! attend

Propitious: hand in hand around your Bard

Move in majestick measures.—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.—

O! attend, whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch,

Whom Nature's aspect, Nature's simple garb,

Can thus command: O! 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.

PLEAS. OF IMAG. ENLARGED.

EDINBURG: AT THE Apollo Press, BY THE MARTINS. Anno 1781.

THE LIFE OF MARK AKENSIDE.

MARK AKENSIDE, an eminent poet and physician, was born at Newcastle upon Tyne the 9th Nov. 1721. He was second son of Mark Akenside, a substantial butcher of that town: his mother's name was Mary Lumsden. At the freeschool of Newcastle young Akenside received the first part of his education; he was next committed to the care of Mr. Wilson, a dissenting clergyman who kept a private academy at Newcastle.

About the eighteenth year of his age our Author was sent to the university of Edinburgh, in the view of qualifying himself for the duties of a Presbyterian pastor, his parents and relations in general being of the Presbyterian sect. Mr. Akenside received some assistance from the funds which the English Dissenters employ in educating young men of no opulent fortunes; but his views as to the ministry altering, he bent his studies towards physick, and honestly repaid to his benefactors the money they had advanced for him, which being contributed for a different purpose than promoting the study of physick he thought it dishonourable to retain. Whether in relinquishing his design of being a Dissenting clergyman he also ceased to be a Dissenter is not certainly known.

Akenside's genius and taste for poetry displayed themselves early when at Newcastle school, and during his continuance at Mr. Wilson's academy. His Pleasures of Imagination, with several other poems, 〈◊〉 said, were first written by him at Morpeth while upon a visit to his relations, and before he went to the university of Edinburgh, where he also distinguished himself by his poetical compositions. His Ode on the Winter Solstice, which is dated 1740, was certainly composed at that place.

After three years study at Edinburgh Mr. Akenside went (1741) to Leyden, where on 16th May 1744 he took his degree of Doctor in Physick. Same year appeared his Pleasures of Imagination, a poem which procured him some emolument and much reputation. This poem was followed by An Epistle to Curio, an acrimonious attack on the political conduct of William Pulteney Earl of Bath, whom he stigmatizes under the name of Curio as the betrayer of his country, also published in the 1744. Akenside dissatisfied with this performance altered it exceedingly: he converted the Epistle into an Ode, and reduced it to less than half the number of lines of which it originally consisted. In the 1745 he published his first Collection of Odes, ten in number. In 1748 came out his Ode to the Earl of Huntingdon; and in 1758 he attempted to rouse the national spirit by An Ode to the Country Gentlemen of England. Few of his remaining poems were published separately, excepting the Ode to Thomas Edwards, Esq. which though written in 1751 was not printed till the year 1766. The rest of Dr. Akenside's poems which appeared in his lifetime were given, at least for the most part, in the sixth volume of Dodsley's Collection.

Soon after his return from Leyden he commenced physician at Northampton, where Dr. Stonehouse then practised with reputation and success. Whilst here he carried on an amicable debate with Dr. Doddridge concerning the opinions of the ancient philosophers with regard to a future state of rewards and punishments, in which Dr. Akenside supported the firm belief of Cicero in particular in this great article of natural religion. Not meeting with sufficient encouragement at Northampton, or being ambitious of a larger field in which to display his talents, he removed to Hampstead, where he resided upwards of two years, and then finally fixed himself in London.

At London he was well known as a poet, but had still to force his way as a physician. At first he had but little practice, and would probably have been reduced to difficulties had not Mr. Dyson, his intimate friend, generously allowed him 300l. a year, which enabled him to make a proper appearance in the world. In time the Doctor acquired considerable reputation and practice, and arrived at most of the honours incident to his profession: he became a Fellow of the Royal Society, a Physician to St. Thomas's Hospital, was admitted by mandamus to the degree of Doctor in Physick in the university of Cambridge, and elected a Fellow of the Royal College of Physicians in London, and upon the settlement of the Queen's household was appointed one of the Physicians to her Majesty. He perhaps might have still rose to a greater elevation of character had not his studies ended with his life by a putrid fever 23d June 1770, in the 49th year of his age. He was buried in the parish of St. James's Westminster.

Dr. Akenside was much devoted to the study of ancient literature, and was a great admirer of Plato, Cicero, and the best philosophers of antiquity. His knowledge and taste in this respect are conspicuous in his poems, and in the Notes and Illustrations which he hath annexed to them. That he had a sincere reverence for the great and fundamental principles of religion is apparent from numberless passages in his writings. His high veneration for the Supreme Being, his noble sentiments of the wisdom and benevolence of the Divine Providence, and his zeal for the cause of virtue, are conspicuous in all his poems. His regard to the Christian revelation, and his solicitude to have it preserved in its native purity, are displayed in the Ode to the Bishop of Winchester, His attachment to the cause of civil and religious liberty is a distinguished feature in the character of his poetical writings: he embraces every occasion of displaying his ardour concerning this subject; and two of his Odes, those to the Earl of Huntingdon and the Bishop of Winchester, are directly consecrated to it.

Dr. Akenside is to be considered as a didactick and lyrick poet. His chief work, The Pleasures of Imagination, was received with great applause, and raised the Author's reputation high in the poetical world. Pope, on looking into the manuscript before publication, is reported to have said "That the Author was no every-day writer." Mr. Cooper, in his Letters concerning Taste, speaks of Akenside in the following strain of commendation: "For my part I am of opinion that there is now living a poet of as genuine a genius as this kingdom ever produced, Shakespeare alone excepted. By poetical genius I do not mean the mere talent of making verses, but that glorious enthusiasm of soul, that fine phrensy, in which the poet's eye rowling glances from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven, as Shakespeare feelingly describes it. This alone is poetry; aught else is a mechanical art of putting syllables harmonicusly together. The gentleman I mean is Dr. Akenside, the worthy Author of The Pleasures of Imagination, the most beautiful didactick poem that ever adorned the English language." On the other hand the late Mr. Gray, in a letter to Mr. Wharton of Old Park near Durham, dated Peterhouse 26th April 1744, (Mason's 4to edit. of Gray, p. 178.) says, "You desire to know, it seems, what character the poem of your young friend (Dr. Akenside) bears here. I wonder that you ask the opinion of a nation where those who pretend to judge do not judge at all, and the rest (the wiser part) wait to catch the judgment of the world immediately above them, that is, Dick's and the Rainbow coffeehouses. Your readier way would be to ask the ladies who keep the bars in those two theatres of criticism. However, to shew you that I am a judge as well as my countrymen, I will tell you, though I have rather turned it over than read it, (Pleasures of Imagination) but no matter, no more have they, that 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, and too much infected with the Hutchinson jargon. In short, its great fault is that it was published at least nine years too early. And so methinks, in a few words, a la mode du Temple. I have very prettily dispatched what perhaps may for several years have employed a very ingenious man worth fifty of myself."

"As these observations were hastily delivered in a private letter, before the poem had been maturely examined, we may be allowed (say the writers of The Biographia to think them too severe, and to steer a middle course between Mr. Gray and Mr. Cooper. The obscurity of The Pleasures of Imagination, when read with attention, will chiefly be found in the allegory of the second book, which we freely confess we could never understand. It might likewise have been better if the peculiar language of Hutchinson, or rather of Shaftesbury, had sometimes been omitted. Nevertheless we cannot but regard it as a noble and beautiful poem, exhibiting many bright displays of genius and fancy, and holding out sublime views of Nature, Providence, and morality. We concur with Mr. Gray in thinking it was published too early: the Author himself became afterwards of the same sentiment; he was convinced that the poem was defective in some respects, and redundant in others." "That it wanted revision and correction," says Mr. Dyson, his editor, "he was sufficiently sensible; but so quick was the demand for several successive republications, that in any of the intervals to have completed the whole of his corrections was utterly impossible; and yet to have gone on from time to time in making farther improvements in every new edition would, he thought, have had the appearance at least of abusing the favour of the publick: he chose therefore to continue for some time reprinting it without alteration, and to forbear publishing any corrections or improvements until he should be able at once to give them to the publick complete: and with this view he went on for several years to review and correct his poem at leisure, till at length he found the task grow so much upon his hands, that despairing of ever being able to execute if sufficiently to his own satisfction he abandoned the purpose of correcting, and resolved to write the poem over anew, upon a somewhat different and an enlarged plan."

Dr. Akenside did not live to finish the whole of his plan: that part of it which is carried into execution occurs next in this edition, and the reader may judge of the Doctor's intentions by having recourse to the General Argument prefixed to the poem. He designed at first to compromise the whole of his subject, according to a new plan, in four books; but he afterwards changed his purpose, and determined to distribute The Pleasures of Imagination into a greater number of books. How far his scheme would have carried him, if he had lived to complete it, is uncertain, for at his death he had only finished the first and second books, a considerable part of the third, and the introduction to the fourth. The first book of the improved work bears a nearer resemblance to the first book of the former editions than any of the rest do to each other: there are nevertheless in this book a great number of corrections and alterations, and several considerable additions. Dr Akenside has introduced a tribute of respect and affection to his friend Mr. Dyson; he has referred The Pleasures of Imagination to two sources only, Greatness and Beauty, and not to three, as he had heretofore done: his delineation of beautiful objects is much enlarged; and, upon the whole, the first book seems to have received no small degree of improvement. The second book is very different from the second book of the preceeding editions: the difference indeed is so great that they cannot be compared together. The Author enters into a display of Truth and its three classes, matter of Fact, experimental or scientifical Truth, and universal Truth. He treats likewise of Virtue, as existing in the Divine Mind, of human virtue, of Vice and its origin, of Ridicule, and of the Passions. What he hath said upon the subject of ridicule is greatly and advantageously reduced from what it was in the former copies. The enumeration of the different sources of ridicule is left out, and consequently somelines which had given offence to Dr. Warburton. The allegorical Vision which heretofore constituted a principal part of the second book is likewise omitted. The poetical character of the second book, as it now stands, is, that it is correct, moral, and noble. The third book is an episode, in which Solon the Athenian lawgiver is the chief character; and the design of it seems to be, to shew the great influence of poetry in enforcing the cause of Liberty. This part is entirely new, and if it had been finished would have proved a beautiful addition to the poem. It is greatly to be regretted that Dr. Akenside did not live to complete his design; nevertheless we should have been sorry to have had the original poem entirely superseded. Whatever may be its faults there is in it a certain brightness and brilliancy of imagination, and a certain degree of enthusiasm, which the Doctor did not seem to have possessed in equal vigour in the latter part of his life. Years, and an application to scientifick studies, appear in some measure to have turned his mind from sound to things, from fancy to the understanding.

Dr. Johnson, in his life of Akenside, says of this poem, "It has undoubtedly a just claim to very particular notice, as an example of great felicity of genius, and uncommon amplitude of acquisitions, of a young mind stored with images, and much exercised in combining and comparing them." Of the altered work he adds, "He seems to have somewhat contracted his diffusion; but I know not whether he has gained in closeness what he has lost in splendour."

"To The Pleasures of Imagination," continue the authors of The Biographia, "succeed two books of Odes, the first containing eighteen, the second fifteen odes. It was Dr. Akenside's intention, if he had lived, to have made each book consist of twenty odes. Those which had been formerly published are greatly altered and improved. The Doctor's odes are not equal to the beautiful productions of Mr Gray, nor perhaps to those of one or two living writers; but still there is in them a noble vein of poetry, united with manly sense, and applied to excellent purposes. This encomium cannot be extended to the whole of the odes without exception: Dr. Akenside does not always preserve the dignity of the lyrick Muse: he is defective in the pathetick even upon a subject which peculiarly required it, and where it might have been most expected, the death of his mistress, we mean his Ode to the Evening Star. However, his Hymn to Cheerfulness, and his Odes on leaving Holland, on Lyrick Poetry, to the Earl of Huntingdon, and on Recovering from a sit of Sickness, justly entitle him to a place among the principal Lyrick writers of this country."

"Of his Odes," says Dr. Johnson, "nothing favourable can be said.—To examine such compositions singly cannot be required; they have doubtless brighter and darker parts; but when they are once found to be generally dull all further labour may be spared: for to what use can the work be criticised that will not be read?" In this diversity of opinions the reader will determine for himself.

Dr. Akenside's principal medical performance was, 1. His Dissertatio de Dysenteria, published in 1764, which has been commended as an elegant specimen of Latinity: it was twice translated into English. He also wrote, 2. Observations on the Origin and Use of the Lymphatick Vessels in Animals. 3. An Account of a Blow on the Heart, and its Effects. 4. Oratio Anniversaria, ex Instituto Harveii, in Theatro Collegii Regalis Modicorum Londinensis habita, Anno 1759. 5. Observations on Cancers. 6. Of the Use of Ipecacuanha in Asthmas. 7. A Method of treating White Swellings of the Joints. Besides these he read at the College some Practical Observations made at St. Thomas's Hospital on the putrid Erysipelas, which he intended forthe second volume of The Medical Transactions. This paper he carried home with a design to correct it, but it was not returned at the time of his death. Being appointed Cronian Lecturer he chose for his subject "The History of the Revival of Learning," and read three lectures on it before the College, but from which he soon desisted, it was supposed in disgust, some one of the College having objected that he had chosen a subject foreign to the institution. Most of the above pieces were published in The Philosophical and Medical Transactions.

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE EDITION 1772.

THIS volume contains a complete collection of the poems of the late Dr. Akenside, either reprinted from the original editions, or faithfully published from copies which had been prepared by himself for publication.

That the principal poem should appear in so disadvantageous a state may require some explanation. The first publication of it was at a very early part of the Author's life; that it wanted revision and correction he was sufficiently sensible; but so quick was the demand for several successive republications, that in any of the intervals to have completed the whole of his corrections was utterly impossible; and yet to have gone on from time to time in making farther improvements in every new edition would, he thought, have had the appearance at least of abusing the favour of the publick: he chose therefore to continue for some time reprinting it without alteration, and to forbear publishing any corrections or improvements until he should be able at once to give them to the publick complete: and with this view he went on for several years to review and correct his poem at leisure, till at length he found the task grow so much upon his hands, that despairing of ever being able to execute it sufficiently to his own satisfaction he abandoned the purpose of correcting, and resolved to write the poem over anew upon a somewhat different and an enlarged plan: and in the execution of this design he had made a considerable progress. What reason there may be to regret that he did not live to execute the whole of it will best appear from the perusal of the plan itself, as stated in the General Argument, and of the parts which he had executed, and which are here published: for the person[*] to whom he intrusted the disposal of his papers would have thought himself wanting as well to the service of the publick as to the fame of his friend if he had not produced as much of the work as appeared to have been prepared for publication. In this light he considered the entire first and second books, of which a few copies had been printed for the use only of the Author and certain friends; also a very considerable part of the third book, which had been transcribed in order to its being printed in the same manner; and to these is added the introduction to a subsequent book, which in the manuscript is called the fourth, and which appears to have been composed at the time when the Author intended to comprise the whole in four books; but which, as he had afterwards determined to distribute the poem into more books, might perhaps more properly be called the last book. And this is all that is executed of the new work, which although it appeared to the editor too valuable, even in its imperfect state, to be withholden from the publick, yet (he conceives) takes in by much too small a part of the original poem to supply its place, and to supersede the republication of it; for which reason both the poems are inserted in this Collection.

Of Odes the Author had designed to make up two books, consisting of twenty odes each, including the several odes which he had before published at different times.

The Hymn to the Naiads is reprinted from the sixth volume of Dodsley's Miscellanies, with a few corrections, and the addition of some Notes. To the Inscriptions, taken from the same volume, three new Inscriptions are added, the last of which is the only instance wherein a liberty has been taken of inserting any thing in this Collection which did not appear to have been intended by the Author for publication[*], among whose papers no copy of this was found, but it is printed from a copy which he had many years since given to the editor.

Notes

*
The Right Hon. Jeremiah Dyson, by whom this Advertisement was written.
↵

*
In the present edition a few pieces are added which are known to be genuine, and which certainly are no discredit to
•
heir Author.

↵

THE DESIGN.

THERE are certain powers in human nature which seem to hold a middle place between the organs of bodly 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 recal 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 musick 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 a• the instrument by which it imitates, is consequently become an unlimited representative of every speci•… 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 cours• retain their original character, and all the differen• 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, musick, 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 characterize 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 analyze 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 th•se 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 didactick 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 comick 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 eithe• into the gigantick expressions of the mock heroick, 〈◊〉 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 Georgicks, 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 publick 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, pathetick, 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 harmonize 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. It is 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 sentiment• which may perhaps be looked upon as not quite direct to the subject; but since they bear an obvious re¦lation to it the authority of Virgil, the faultless mo¦del of didactick poetry, will best support him in th•… particular: for the sentiments themselves he make• no apology.

THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉

EPICT. apud Arrian. II. 23.

BOOK I.

The Argument.

THE subjet 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 〈◊〉 from the perception of greatness, or wonderfulness, or beauty, in objects. The Pleasure from greatness, with its final cause: Pleasure from novelty or wondefulness, 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 Pow'rs

Of Musical delight! and while I sing

Your gifts, your honours, dance around my strain.

Thou, smiling queen of ev'ry tuneful breast,

Indulgent Fancy! from the fruitful banks

Of Avon, whence thy rosy •ingers cull

Fresh flow'rs and dews to sprinkle on the turf

Where Shakespeare lies, be present; and with thee

Let Fiction come, upon her vagrant wings

Wafting ten thousand colours thro' the air,

Which by the glances of her magick eye

She blends and shifts at will thro countless forms,

Her wild creation. Goddess of the Lyre,

Which rules the accents of the moving sphere,

Wilt thou, eternal Harmony! descend

And join this festive train? for with thee comes

The guide the guardian of their lovely sports,

Majestick Truth! and where Truth deigns to come

Her sister Liberty will not be far.

Be present all ye Genii! who conduct

The wand'ring 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.

Oft' have the laws of each poetick strain

The critick verse employ'd; yet still unsung

Lay this prime subject, tho' importing most

A Poet's name: for fruitless is th' 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

High as the summit, there to breathe at large

Ethereal air with bards and sages old,

Immortal sons of praise! These flatt'ring 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 subtle and mysterious things

Give colour, strength, and motion. But the love

Of Nature and the Muses bids explore,

Thro' secret paths erewhile untrod by man,

The fair poetick region, to detect

Untasted springs, to drink inspiring draughts,

And shade my temples with unfading flow'rs

Cull'd from the laureate vale's profound recess,

Where never poet gain'd a wreath before.

From Heav'n my strains begin; from Heav'n descends

The flame of genius to the human breast,

And love, and beauty, and poetick joy,

And inspiration. Ere the radiant sun

Sprang from the east, or 'mid the vault of night

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 liv'd th' Almighty One; then deep-retir'd

In his unsathom'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, therowling globe,

And Wisdom's mien celestial. From the first

Of days on them his love divine he fix'd,

His admiration, till in time complete

What he admir'd and lov'd his vital smile

Unfolded into being. Hence the breath

Of life informing each organick frame,

Hence the green earth and wild resounding waves,

Hence light and shade alternate, warmth and cold,

And clear autumnal skies and vernal show'rs,

And all the fair variety of things.

But not alike to ev'ry mortal eye

Is this great scene unveil'd; for since the claims

Of social life to diff'rent labours urge

The active pow'rs of man, with wise intent

The hand of Nature on peculiar minds

Imprints a diff'rent bias, and to each

Decrees its province in the common toil.

To some she taught the fabrick of the sphere,

The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,

The golden zones of heav'n: to some she gave

To weigh the moment of eternal things,

Of time, and space, and Fate's unbroken chain,

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 flow'rs, or what the beams of morn

Draw forth, distilling from the clifted rind

In balmy tears. But some to higher hopes

Were destin'd; 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

The transcript of himself. On ev'ry 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 th' eternal joy.

For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd

By fabling Nilus, to the quiv'ring touch

Of Titan's ray with each repulsive string

Consenting founded thro' the warbling air

Unbidden strains; ev'n so did Nature's hand

To certain species of external things

Attune the finer organs of the mind:

So the glad impulse of congenial pow'rs,

Or of sweet sound or fair proportion'd form,

The grace of motion, or the bloom of light,

Thrills thro' Imagination's tender frame

From nerve to nerve: all naked and alive

They catch the spreading rays, till now the soul

At length discloses ev'ry 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 pow'r

Bends from his awful throne a wond'ring ear,

And smiles: the passions, gently sooth'd away,

Sink to divine repose, and love and joy

Alone are waking; love and joy serene

As airs that fan the summer. O! attend,

Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch,

Whose candid bosom the refining love

Of Nature warms; O! listen to my Song,

And I will guide thee to her fav'rite 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 mimick Art's reflected forms,

With love and admiration thus inflame

The pow'rs 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 foreheed thro' the gates of morn

To lead the train of Phoebus and the spring.

Say, why was man so eminently rais'd[1]

Amid the vast creation? why ordain'd

Thro' life and death to dart his piercing eye,

With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame,

But that th' Omnipotent might send him forth,

In sight of mortal and immortal pow'rs,

As on a boundless theatre, to run

The great career of justice, to exalt

His gen'rous aim to all diviner deeds,

To chase each partial purpose from his breast,

And thro' the mists of passion and of sense,

And thro' the tossing tide of chance and pain,

To hold his course unfault'ring, while the voice

Of Truth and Virtue up the steep ascent

Of Nature calls him to his high reward,

Th' applauding smile of Heav'n? 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

Majestick 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 heav'n's broad fire his unconstrained view

Than to the glimm'ring of a waxen flame?

Who that from Alpine heights his lab'ring eye

Shoots round the wide horizon to survey

Nilus or Ganges rowling his bright wave

Thro' mountains, plains, thro' empires black with shade,

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 heav'n-aspiring wing

Beneath its native quarry. Tir'd of earth

And this diurnal scene, she springs aloft

Thro' fields of air, pursues the flying storm,

Rides on the volly'd lightning thro' the heav'ns,

Or yok'd with whirlwinds and the northern blast

Sweeps the long track of day. Then high she soars

The blue profound, and hov'ring 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 effus'd

She darts her swiftness up the long career

Of devious comets, thro' 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

Invests the orient. Now amaz'd she views

The empyreal waste, where happy spirits hold[2]

Beyond this concave heav'n their calm abode,

And fields of radiance whose unfading light[3]

Has travell'd the profound six thousand years,

Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things.

Ev'n on the barriers of the world untir'd

She meditates th' eternal depth below,

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 Sovran Maker said

That not in humble nor in brief delight,

Not in the fading echoes of renown,

Pow'rs purple robes nor Pleasure's flow'ry lap,

The soul should find enjoyment; but from these

Turning disdainful to an equal good

Thro' all th' ascent of things enlarge her view,

Till ev'ry bound at length should disappear,

And infinite perfection close the scene.

Call now to mind what high capacious pow'rs

Lie folded up in man; how far beyond

The praise of mortals may th' 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

Th' obedient heart far otherwise incline;

Witness the sprightly joy when aught unknown

Strikes the quick sense, and wakes each active pow'r

To brisker measures; witness the neglect

Of all familiar prospects, tho' beheld[4]

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 Heav'n,

In ev'ry breast implanting this desire[5]

Of objects new and strange, 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 pow'r? 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 untir'd

The virgin follows, with enchanted step,

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 ev'ry maid

With envy pin'd. 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 deathbed call

Of him who robb'd the widow and devour'd

The orphan's portion, of unquiet souls

Ris'n 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 murd'rer's bed:

At ev'ry solemn pause the crowd recoil,

Gazing each other speechless, and congeal'd

With shiv'ring sighs till, eager for th' event,

Around the beldame all erect they hang,

Each trembling heart with grateful terrours quell'd.

But lo! disclos'd 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 enliv'ning ray

The mossy roofs adore: thou, better sun!

For ever beamest on th' enchanted heart

Love, and harmonious wonder, and delight

Poetick. Brightest progeny of Heav'n!

How shall I trace thy features? where select

The roseate hues to emulate thy bloom?

Haste then, my Song! thro' 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 th'Atlantick isles,

And range with him th' Hesperian field, and see

Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove

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 ev'ning sky?

Or wilt thou rather stoop thy vagrant plume

Where gliding thro' his daughter's honour'd shades

The smooth Peneus from his glassy flood

Reflects purpureal Tempe's pleasant scene?

Fair Tempe! haunt belov'd of sylvan pow'rs,

Of Nymphs and Fauns, where in the Golden Age

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 flow'ry store

To thee nor Tempe shall refuse nor watch

Of winged Hydra guard Hesperian fruits

From thy free spoil. O! bear then unreprov'd

Thy smiling treasures to the green recess

Where young Dione stays: with sweetest airs

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

With sanctity and wisdom temp'ring blend

Their soft allurement: then the pleasing force

Of Nature, and her kind parental care,

Worthier I'd sing; then all th' 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 smil'd

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 seck th' Idalian bow'r. Ye smiling band

Of Youths and Virgins! who thro' 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.

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 Thund'rer fire the heav'ns,

Or shapes insernal rend the groaning earth,

To fright you from your joys: my cheerful Song

With better omens calls you to the field,

Pleas'd with your gen'rous ardour in the chase,

And warm like you. Then tell me, for ye know,

Does Beauty ever deign to dwell where health

And active use are strangers? is her charm

Confest 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? O no! with better cares

Th' indulgent mother, conscious how infirm

Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,

By this illustrious image, in each kind

Still most illustrious where the object holds

Its native pow'rs most perfect, she by this

Illumes the headstrong impulse of Desire,

And sanctifies his choice. The gen'rous glebe

Whose bosom smiles with verdure, the clear track

Of streams delicious to the thirsty soul,

The bloom of nectar'd fruitage ripe to sense,

And ev'ry charm of animated things,

Are only pledges of a state sincere,

Th' integrity and order of their frame

When all is well within, and ev'ry end

Accomplish'd. Thus was Beauty sent from Heav'n

The lovely ministress of Truth and Good

In this dark world; for Truth and Good are one,[6]

And Beauty dwells in them and they in her

With like participation: wherefore then,

O Sons of Earth! would ye dissolve the tie?

O! wherefore with a rash impetuous aim

Seek ye those flow'ry joys with which the hand

Of lavish Fancy paints each flatt'ring scene

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 glitt'ring 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

And truth eternal. Tho' the pois'nous charms

Of baleful superstition guide the feet

Of servile numbers thro' a dreary way

To their abode, thro' 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 thro' the midnight shade,

And to the screaming owl's accursed song

Attune the dreadful workings of his heart,

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 intwine a wreath

Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay,

Then should my pow'rful Verse at once dispel

Those monkish horrours, then in light divine

Disclose th' Elysian prospect, where the steps

Of those whom Nature charms thro' blooming walks,

Thro' fragrant mountains and poetick streams,

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 th' eternal shrine

Where Truth conspic'ous with her sister twins,

The undivided partners of her sway,

With Good and Beauty reigns. O let not us,

Lull'd by luxurious Pleasure's languid strain,

Or crouching to the frowns of bigot Rage,

O let us not a moment pause to join

That godlike band! and if the gracious pow'r

Who first awaken'd my untutor'd song

Will to my invocation breathe anew

The tuneful spirit, then thro' 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,

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 thro' future worlds,

And bless Heav'n's image in the heart of man.

Thus with a faithful aim have we presum'd

Advent'rous to delineate Nature's form,

Whether in vast majestick pomp array'd,

Or drest for pleasing wonder, or serene

In Beauty's rosy smile. It now remains

Thro' 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 th' effusive warmth

Of colours mingling with a random blaze

Doth Beauty dwell; then higher in the line

And variation of determin'd shape,

Where Truth's eternal measures mark the bound

Of circle, cube, or sphere: the third ascent

Unites this vary'd 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

Thro' which the breath of Nature has infus'd

Her genial pow'r to draw with pregnant veins

Nutricious moisture from the bounteous earth

In fruit and seed prolisick; thus the flow'rs

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 giv'n,

And active motion speaks the temper'd soul:

So moves the bird of Juno, so the steed

With rival ardour beats the dusty plain,

And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy

Salute their fellows. Thus doth Beauty dwell

There most conspic'ous, ev'n in outward shape,

Where dawns the high expression of a mind,

By steps conducting our enraptur'd search

To that Eternal Origin whose pow'r

Thro' all th' unbounded symmetry of things,

Like rays effulging from the parent sun,

This endless mixture of her charms diffus'd.

Mind, mind alone, (bear witness Earth and Heav'nl)

The living fountains in itself contains

Of beauteous and sublime: here hand in hand

Sit paramount the Graces, here enthron'd

Celestical Venus with divinest airs

Invites the soul to never fading joy.

Look then abroad thro' Nature, to the range

Of planets, suns, and adamantine spheres,

Wheeling unshaken thro' the void immense,

And speak, O Man! does this capacious scene

With half that kindling majesty dilate

Thy strong conception as when Brutus rose[8]

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 bad the father of his country Hail!

For lo the tyrant prostrate on the dust!

And Rome again is free? Is aught so fair

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 lib'ral hands effuse

Unenvy'd treasures, and the snowy wings

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 th' 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

Attentive turn; from dim oblivion call

Her fleet ideal band, and bid them go;

Break thro' time's barrier, and o'ertake the hour

That saw the heav'ns 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,

And satiate soon, and pall the languid eye.

Not so the moral species, nor the powers

Of genius and design: th' ambitious Mind

There sees herself; by these congenial forms

Touch'd and awaken'd, with intenser act

She bends each nerve, and meditates wellpleas'd

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

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[9]

Of Truth's mysterious bosom doth forsake

Th' unadorn'd condition of her birth,

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

Th' 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

Indignant flashes on the patriot's eye,

And thro' the rolls of memory appeals

To ancient honour, or, in act serene

Yet watchful, raises the majestick sword

Of publick pow'r, from dark Ambition's reach

To guard the sacred volume of the laws.

Genius of ancient Greece! whose faithful steps

Wellpleas'd I follow thro' the sacred paths

Of Nature and of Science; Nurse divine

Of all heroick deeds and fair desires!

O 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 sooths this vernal ev'ning 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 profan'd.

Descend propitious to my favour'd eye!

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 plams, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs,

Thy smiling band of arts, thy godlike sires

Of civil wisdom, thy heroick youth,

Warm from the schools of glory. Guide my way

Thro' fair Lyceum's walk, the green retreats[10]

Of Academus, and the thymy vale[11]

Where o•… enchanted with Socratick sounds

Ilissus pure devolv'd his tuneful stream[12]

In gentler murmurs. From the blooming store

Of th•se a aspicious fields may I unblam'd

Transplant some living blossoms to adorn

My native clime; while sar above the flight

Of fancy's plume aspiring I unlock

The springs of ancient wisdom; while I join

Thy name, thrice honour'd! with th'immortal praise

Of Nature; while to my compatriot youth

I point the high example of thy sons,

And tune to Attick themes the British lyre.

END OF BOOK FIRST.

THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.
BOOK II.

The 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 publick 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, terrour, and indignation.

WHEN shall the laurel and the vocal string

Resume their honours? when shall we behold

The tuneful tongue, the Promethean hand,

Aspire to ancient praise? Alas! how saint,

How slow, the dawn of beauty and of truth

Breaks the reluctant shades of Gothick night

Which yet involve the nations! Long they groan'd

Beneath the furies of rapacious Force

Oft' as the gloomy North with iron swarms

Tempest'ous pouring from her frozen caves

Blasted the Italian shore, and swept the works

Of Liberty and Wisdom down the gulf

Of alldevouring Night. As long immur'd

In noontide darkness by the glimm'ring lamp

Each Muse and each fair Science pin'd away

The sordid hours, while foul Barbarian hands

Their mysteries prosan'd, unstrung the lyre,

And chain'd the soaring pinion down to earth.

At last the Muses rose and spurn'd their bonds,[13]

And wildly warbling scatter'd as they flew

Their blooming wreaths from fair Valclusa's bow'rs[14]

To Arno's myrtle border and the shore[15]

Of soft Parthenope. But still the rage[16] [17]

Of dire Ambition and gigantick Pow'r

From publick 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[18]

Of mimick 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 tun'd for slavish Paeans at the throne

Of tinsel Pomp, and Raphael's magick hand

Effus'd its fair creation to enchant

The fond adoring herd in Latian •anes

To blind belief, while on their prostrate necks

The sable tyrant plants his heel secure.

But now, behold! the radiant era dawns

When Freedom's ample fabrick, fix'd at length

For endless years on Albion's happy shore,

In full proportion once more shall extend

To all the kindred pow'rs 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,

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 philosophick eye,

The patriot bosom; then no more the paths

Of publick care or intellectual toil

Alone by footsteps haughty and severe

In gloomy state be trod: th' harmonious Muse

And her persuasive sisters then shall plant

Their shelt'ring laurels o'er the bleak ascent,

And scatter flow'rs along the rugged way.

Arm'd with the lyre already have we dar'd

To pierce divine Philosophy's retreats

And teach the Muse her lore, already strove

Their long divided honours to unite,

While temp'ring 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

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 thro' the trickling herbage, to the thirst

Of summer yielding the delicious draught

Of cool refreshment, o'er the mossy brink

Shines not the surface clearer, and the waves

With sweeter musick 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 diff'rent hour

Would pass unheeded. Fair the face of spring

When rural songs and odours wake the Morn

To ev'ry eye; but how much more to his

Round whom the bed of sickness long diffus'd

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 majestick pomp on Beauty's frame?

For man loves knowledge, and the beams of truth

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-tinctur'd hues

To me have shone so pleasing as when first

The hand of Science pointed out the path

In which the sunbeams gleaming from the west

Fall on the wat'ry cloud whose darksome veil

Involves the orient, and that trickling show'r

Piercing thro' ev'ry crystalline convex

Of clust'ring dewdrops to their flight oppos'd

Recoil at length where concave all behind

Th' 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 diff'rent lines the gazer's obvious eye

Assume a diff'rent lustre thro' the brede

Of colours changing from the splendid rose

To the pale violet's dejected hue.

Or shall we touch that kind access of joy

That springs to each fair object while we trace

Thro' all its fabrick Wisdom's artful aim

Disposing ev'ry part, and gaining still

By means proportion'd her benignant end?

Speak ye the pure delight whose favour'd steps

The lamp of Science thro' the jealous maze

Of Nature guides when haply you reveal

Her secret honours, whether in the sky,

The beauteous laws of light, the central pow'rs

That wheel the pensile planets round the year,

Whether in wonders of the rowling deep,

Or the rich fruits of allsustaining 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 thro' 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?

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

Ev'n to the base, from ev'ry naked sense

Of pain or pleasure dissipating all

Opinion's feeble cov'rings, 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,

Big with the very motion of their souls,

Declare with what accumulated force

Th' impetuous nerve of passion urges on

The native weight and energy of things.

Ye• more her honours: where nor beauty claims

Nor shews of good the thirsty sense allure

From passion's pow'r alone our nature holds[19]

Essential Pleasure. Passion's fierce illapse

Rouses the mind's whole fabrick, with supplies

Of daily impulse keeps th' elastick pow'rs

Intensely poiz'd, and polishes anew,

By that collision, all the fine machine;

Else rust would rise, and foulness, by degrees

Incumb'ring, choke at last what Heav'n design'd

For ceaseless motion and a round of toil.

—But say, does ev'ry passion thus to man

Administer delight? That name indeed

Becomes the rosy breath of Love, becomes

The radiant smiles of Joy, th' applauding hand

Of Admiration; but the bitter show'r

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

Th' unalter'd will of Heav'n 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-whisp'ring voice

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 stol'n 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,

"Musing! rov'd. Of good and evil much,

"And much of mortal man, my thought revolv'd;

"When starting full on Fancy's gushing eye

"The mournful image of Parthenia's fate

"That hour, O long belov'd and long deplor'd!

"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 agonizing looks, thy last farewell,

"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 murm'ring shook the branchess. 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 Pow'r

"Here sits enthron'd with blood; the baleful charms

"Of Superstition there infect the skies,

"And turn the sun to horrour. Gracious Heav'n!

"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 crueltie 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 effus'd

"A flashing torrent of celestial day

"Burst thro' the shadowy void. With slow descent

"A purple cloud came floating thro' the sky,

"And pois'd at length within the circling trees

"Hung obvious to my view, till op'ning wide

"Its lucid orb a more than human form

"Emerging lean'd majestick 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.

"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

"Ethereal; there in mystick signs engrav'd

"I read his office high and sacred name,

"Genius of Humankind. Appall'd I gaz'd

"The godlike presence, for athwart his brow

"Displeasure temper'd with a mild concern

"Look'd down reluctant on me, and his words

"Like distant thunders broke the murm'ring 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 allsufficient? Thou, alas!

"Dost thou aspire to judge between the Lord

"Of Nature and his works? to lift thy voice

"Against the sovran order he decreed,

"All good and lovely? to blaspheme the bands

"Of tenderness innate and social love,

"Holiest of things! by which the gen'ral orb

"Of being, as by adamantine links,

"Was drawn to perfect union, and sustain'd

"From everlasting? Hast thou felt the pangs

"Of soft'ning 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?

"O fair benevolence of gen'rous 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 aw'd

"Before his presence, tho' 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 cry'd,

"And let thy sense convince thy erring tongue."

"I look'd, and lo! the former scene was chang'd,

"For verdant alleys and surrounding trees

"A solitary prospect wide and wild

"Rush'd on my senses. 'Twas an horrid pile

"Of hills with many a shaggy forest mix'd,

"With many a sable cliff and glitt'ring stream.

"Most recumbent o'er the hanging ridge

"The brown woods wav'd, while ever-trickling springs

"Wash'd from the naked roots of oak and pine

"The crumbling soil, and still at ev'ry fail

"Down the steep windings of the channell'd rock

"Remurm'ring 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 confin'd

"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

"As in a sylvan theatre enclos'd

"That flow'ry level. On the river's brink

"I spy'd a fair pavilion, which diffus'd

"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 list'ning pow'rs

"Were aw'd, and ev'ry thought in silence hung

"And wond'ring expectation• then the voice

"Of that celestial pow'r the mystick show

"Declaring, thus my deep attention call'd:"

"Inhabitant of earth, to whom is giv'n[20]

"The gracious ways of Providence to learn,

"Receive my sayings with a stedfast ear.—

"Know then the Sovran Spirit of the world,

"Tho' self-collected from eternal time

"Within his own deep essence he beheld

"The bounds of true felicity complete,

"Yet by immense benignity inclin'd

"To spread around him that primeval joy

"Which fill'd himself, he rais'd his plastick arm

"And sounded thro' the hollow depth of space

"The strong creative mandate; straight arose

"These heav'nly orbs, the glad abodes of life

"Effusive kindled by his breath divine

"Thro' endless forms of being: each inhal'd

"From him its portion of the vital flame,

"In measure such that from the wide complex

"Of coexistent orders one might rise,[21]

"One order, 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 thro' the sum

"Of possible existence, he at once

"Down the long series of eventful time

"So fix'd the dates of being, so dispos'd

"To ev'ry living soul of ev'ry kind

"The field of motion and the hour of rest,

"That all conspir'd to his supreme design,

"To universal good; with full accord

"Answ'ring the mighty model he had chosen,

"The best and fairest of unnumber'd worlds[22]

"That lay from everlasting in the store

"Of his divine conceptions. Nor content

"By one exertion of creative pow'r

"His goodness to reveal, thro' ev'ry age,

"Thro' ev'ry moment up the track of time,

"His parent hand with ever-new increase

"Of happiness and virtue has adorn'd

"The vast harmonious frame: his parent hand

"From the mute shellfish gasping on the shore

"To men, to angels, to celestial minds,

"For ever leads the generations on

"To higher scenes of being, while supply'd

"From day to day with his enliv'ning breath

"Inferiour orders in succession rise

"To sill the void below. As flame ascends,[23]

"As bodies to their proper centre move,

"As the pois'd ocean to th' attracting moon

"Obedient swells, and ev'ry 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 Heav'n withheld

"From granting to the task proportion'd aid,

"That in their stations all may persevere

"To climb th' 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 diffus'd

"Along the shady brink, in this recess

"To wear th' appointed season of his youth,

"Till riper hours should open to his toil

"The high communion of superiour 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 lov'd, the Sovran Fair,

"The effluence of his glory, whom he plac'd

"Before his eyes for ever to behold,

"The goddess from whose inspiration flows

"The toil of patriots, the delight of friends,

"Without whose work divine in heav'n or earth

"Nought lovely, nought propitious, comes to pass,

"Nor hope, nor praise, nor honour. Her the Sire

"Gave it in charge to reap the blooming mind,

"The folded pow'rs to open, to direct

"The growth luxuriant of his young desires,

"And from the laws of this majestick world

"To teach him what was good. As thus the nymph

"Her daily care attended, by her side

"With constant steps her gay companion stay'd,

"The fair Euphrosyne! the gentle queen

"Of smiles, and graceful gladness, and delights

"That cheer alike the hearts of mortal men

"And pow'rs immortal. See the shining Pair!

"Behold where from his dwelling now disclos'd

"They quit their youthful charge and seek the skies."

"I look'd, and on the flow'ry turf there stood

"Between two radiant forms a smiling youth

"Whose tender cheeks display'd the vernal flow'r

"Of beauty, sweetest innocence illum'd

"His bashful eyes, and on his polish'd brow

"Sat young Simplicity. With fond regard

"He view'd th' associates as their steps they mov'd;

"The younger chief his ardent eyes detain'd,

"With mild regret invoking her return:

"Bright as the star of ev'ning she appear'd

"Amid the dusky scene: eternal youth

"O'er all her form its glowing honours breath'd,

"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 heav'n had shed its blushing spoils

"To bind her sable tresses; full diffus'd

"Her yellow mantle floated in the breeze,

"And in her hand she wav'd a living branch

"Rich with immortal fruits of pow'r to calm

"The wrathful heart, and from the bright'ning eyes

"To chase the cloud of sadness. More sublime

"The heav'nly partner mov'd: the prime of age

"Compos'd her steps: the presence of a god,

"High on the circle of her brow enthron'd,

"From each majestick 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 pois'd the sword

"Of chaste dominion: an heroick crown

"Display'd the old simplicity of pomp

"Around her honour'd head: a matron's robe

"White as the sunshine streams thro' vernal clouds

"Her stately form invested. Hand in hand

"Th' immortal pair forsook th' enamell'd green,

"Ascending slowly: rays of limpid light

"Gleam'd round their path; celestial sounds were heard,

"And thro' 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

"Of empyrean flame, where spent and drown'd

"Afflicted vision plung'd in vain to scan

"What object it involv'd. My feeble eyes

"Endur'd not. Bending down to earth I stood

"With dumb attention. Soon a female voice,

"As wat'ry murmurs sweet or warbling shades,

"With sacred invocation thus began:"

"Father of gods and mortals! whose right arm

"With reins eternal guides the moving heav'ns,

"Bend thy propitious ear: behold wellpleas'd

"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 gen'rous 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,

"Th' associate thou hast giv'n 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 farther aided in the work divine."

"She ceas'd; a voice more awful thus reply'd:"

"O thou! in whom for ever I delight,

"Fairer than all th' inhabitants of heav'n,

"Best image of thy Author! far from thee

"Be disappointment, or distaste, or blame,

"Who soon or late shalt ev'ry work fulfil,

"And no resistance find. If man refuse

"To hearken to thy dictates, or allur'd

"By meaner joys to any other pow'r

"Transfer the honours due to thee alone,

"That joy which he pursues he ne'er shall taste,

"That pow'r in whom delighteth ne'er behold.

"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,

"Fierce to exhaust the tempest of his wrath

"On yon' devoted head. But thou, my Child!

"Control his cruel phrensy, and protect

"Thy tender charge, that when despair shall grasp

"His agonizing 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

"Th' energy of thy superiour charms

"With mildest awe triumphant o'er his rage,

"And shining clearer in the horrid gloom."

"Here ceas'd that awful voice, and soon I felt

"The cloudy curtain of refreshing eve

"Was clos'd once more, from that immortal fire

"Shelt'ring my eyelids. Looking up I view'd

"A vast gigantick spectre striding on

"Thro' murm'ring thunders and a waste of clouds

"With dreadful action. Black as night his brow

"Relentless frowns involv'd: his savage limbs

"With sharp impatience violent he writh'd

"As thro' convulsive anguish; and his hand,

"Arm'd with a scorpion lash, full oft' he rais'd

"In madness to his bosom; while his eyes

"Rain'd bitter tears, and bellowing loud he shook

"The void with horrour. 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

"Upon the river bank, and now to hail

"His wonted guests with eager steps advanc'd

"The unsuspecting inmate of the shade.

"As when a famish'd wolf that all night long

"Had rang'd 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

"The monster sprung remorseless on his prey.

"Amaz'd 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 terrour, and with looks of tend'rest care

"Advanc'd to save him. Soon the tyrant felt

"Her awful pow'r: his keen tempest'ous arm

"Hung nerveless, nor descended where his rage

"Had aim'd the deadly blow, then dumb retir'd

"With sullen rancour. Lo! the sovran 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.

"O 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? O let thy soul

"Remember what the will of Heav'n ordains

"Is ever good for all, and if for all

"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 unpractis'd views

"Of reason wander thro' 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 errour did it never lull

"Thy wishes? has thy constant heart refus'd

"The silken fetters of delicious ease?

"Or when divine Euphrosyne 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,

"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 belov'd!

"Let not this headlong terrour quite o'erwhelm

"Thy scatter'd pow'rs, nor fatal deem the rage

"Of this tormentor, nor his proud assault,

"While I am here to vindicate thy toil,

"Above the gen'rous 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 inur'd,

"By watchful danger, by unceasing toil,

"Th' immortal mind superiour to his fate,

"Amid the outrage of external things

"Firm as the solid base of this great world,

"Rests on his own foundations. Blow ye Winds!

"Ye Waves! ye Thunders! rowl 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

"Th' unconquer'd mind looks down upon the wreck,

"And ever stronger as the storms advance

"Firm thro' the closing ruin holds his way

"Where Nature calls him, to the destin'd goal."

"So spake the goddess, while thro' all her frame

"Celestial raptures •low'd, in ev'ry word,

"In ev'ry motion, kindling warmth divine

"To seize who listen'd. Vehement and swift

"As lightning fires th' aromatick shade

"In Ethiopian 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 terrour be upon me, if I shrink

"To meet the storm, or faulter in my strength

"When hardest it besets me. Do not think

"That I am fearful and infirm of soul,

"As late thy eyes beheld, for thou hast chang'd

"My nature; thy commanding voice has wak'd

"My languid pow'rs to bear me boldly on

"Where'er the will divine my path ordains

"Thro' toil or peril; only do not thou

"Forsake me: O! be thou for ever near,

"That I may listen to thy sacred voice,

"And guide by thy decrees my constant feet.

"But say, for ever are my eyes bere•t?

"Say, shall the fair Euphrosyne not once

"Appear again to charm me? Thou in heav'n,

"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 ev'ry morn o'ercast

"The cheerful dawn, and ev'ry ev'ning damp

"With double night my dwelling; I will learn

"To hail them both, and unrepining bear

"His hateful presence; but permit my tongue

"One glad request, and if my deeds may find

"Thy awful eye propitious, O restore

"The rosy-featur'd maid again to cheer

"This lonely •eat, and bless me with her smiles!"

"He spoke; when instant thro' the sable glooms

"With which that furious presence had involv'd

"The ambient air a flood of radiance came

"Swift as the lightning flash; the melting clouds

"Flew diverse, and amid the blue serene

"Euphrosyne appear'd. With sprightly step

"The nymph alighted on th' irrig'ous lawn,

"And to her wond'ring 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 thro' the cliffs, and murm'ring o'er the stream

"Repeats the accents, We shall part no more!

"O my delightful Friends! wellpleas'd on high

"The Father has beheld you while the might

"Of that stern foe with bitter trial prov'd

"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 th' abode of man

"Alone endure the rancour of his arm,

"Or leave thy lov'd Euphrosyne behind."

"She ended, and the whole romantick scene

"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. A while I stood

"Perplex'd and giddy, till the radiant pow'r

"Who bad 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

"Of Heav'n's eternal destiny to man

"For ever just, benevolent, and wise,

"That Virtue's awful steps, howe'er pursu'd

"By vexing Fortune and intrusive Pain,

"Should never be divided from her chaste,

"Her fair, attendant Pleasure. Need I urge

"Thy tardy thought thro' all the various round

"Of this existence, that thy soft'ning soul

"At length may learn what energy the hand

"Of Virtue mingles in the bitter tide

"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 lov'd

"So often fills his arms, so often draws

"His lonely footsteps at the silent hour

"To pay the mournful tribute of his tears?

"O! 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

"Of care and envy, sweet remembrance sooths

"With Virtue's kindest looks his aking breast,

"And turns his tears to rapture.—Ask the crowd

"Which flies impatient from the village walk

"To climb the neighb'ring cliffs when far below

"The cruel winds have hurl'd upon the coast

"Some helpless bark, while sacred Pity melts

"The gen'ral eye, or Terrour's icy hand

"Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair,

"While ev'ry mother closer to her breast

"Catches her child, and pointing where the waves

"Foam thro' 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! O! deemst thou indeed

"No kind endearment here by Nature giv'n

"To mutual terrour and Compassion's tears?

"No sweetly melting softness which attracts,

"O'er all that edge of pain, the social pow'rs

"To this their proper action and their end?

"Ask thy own heart when at the midnight hour

"Slow thro' that studious gloom thy pausing eye,

"Led by the glimm'ring 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 pow'r

"Of heav'n and earth surveys th' immortal page,

"Ev'n as a father blessing while he reads

"The praises of his son, if then thy soul,

"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 heroick states

"Mourn in the dust, and tremble at the frown

"Of curst Ambition; when the pious band

"Of youths who fought for freedom, and their sires,

"〈◊〉 side by side in gore; when ru••ian Pride

"Usurps the throne of Justice, turns the pomp

"Of publick pow'r, the majesty of rule,

"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 story'd arch, to glut the coward-rage

"Of regal envy strew the publick way

"With hallow'd ruins; when the Muses' haunt,

"The marble Porch where Wisdom wont to talk

"With Socrates or Tully, hears no more

"Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks,

"Or female Superstition's midnight pray'r;

"When ruthless Rapine from the hand of Time

"Tears the destroying sithe, 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 thro' hoary weeds

"That clasp the mould'ring column: thus defac'd,

"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 brow,[24]

"Or dash Octavius from the trophy'd 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

"Of mute Barbarians bending to his nod,

"And bears alost his gold-invested front,

"And says within himself, "I am a king,

"And wherefore should the clam'rous voice of Wo

"Intrude upon mine ear?"—The baleful dregs

"Of these late ages, this inglorious draught

"Of servitude and solly, have not yet,

"Blest be th' Eternal Ruler of the world!

"Defil'd to such a depth of sordid shame

"The native honours of the human soul,

"Nor so effac'd the image of its Sire."

THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.
BOOK III.

The Argument.

PLEASURE in observing the tempers and manners of men, even where 〈◊〉 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 wellformed Imagination.

WHAT wonder therefore since th' endearing ties

Of passion link the universal kind

Of man so close, what wonder if to search

This common nature thro' 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

As man to man; nor only where the smiles

Of love invite, nor only where th' applause

Of cordial honour turns th' attentive eye

On Virtue's graceful deeds; for since the course

Of things external acts in diff'rent ways

On human apprehensions, as the hand

Of Nature temper'd to a diff'rent frame

Peculiar minds, so haply where the pow'rs[25]

Of fancy neither lessen nor enlarge

The images of things, but paint in all

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.

Is there a man who at the sound of death

Sees ghastly shapes of terrour conjur'd up

And black before him, nought but deathbed groans

And fearful pray'rs, 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

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 chuse to be a wretch and live?

Here vice begins then. From th' enchanting cup

Which Fancy holds to all th' unwary thirst

Of youth oft' swallows a Circean draught

That sheds a baleful tincture o'er the eye

Of Reason, till no longer he discerns,

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 murd'rous 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 scene

The Tragick Muse discloses, under shapes

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 driv'n

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 anticks like a queen.

A thousand garbs she wears, a thousand ways

She wheels her giddy empire.—Lo! thus far

With bold adventure to the Mantuan lyre

I sing of Nature's charms, and touch wellpleas'd

A stricter note: now haply must my song

Unbend her serious measure, and reveal

In lighter strains how Folly's awkward arts[26]

Excite impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke,

The sportive province of the Comick Muse.

See in what crowds the uncouth forms advance!

Each would outstrip the other, each prevent

Our careful search, and offer to your gaze

Unask'd his motley features. Wait a while

My curious Friends! and let us first arrange

In proper order your promisc'ous throng.

Behold the foremost band, of slender thought[27]

And easy faith, whom flatt'ring Fancy sooths

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

Of wishful Envy draws their joy-bright eyes,

And lifts with selfapplause 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-cinctur'd gown,

And rags of mouldy volumes; some, elate

With martial splendour, steely pikes and swords

Of costly frame, and gay Phoenician robes

Inwrought with flow'ry gold, assume the port

Of stately Valour; list'ning 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 sulph'rous mines, and ambush! then at once

Breaks off, and smiles to see her look so pale,

And asks some wond'ring question of her fears!

Others of graver mien; behold adorn'd

With holy ensigns how sublime they move,

And bending oft' their sanctimonious eyes

Take homage of the simple-minded throng;

Ambassadors of Heav'n! nor much unlike

Is he whose visage in the lazy mist

That mantles ev'ry feature hides a brood

Of politick conceits, of whispers, nods,

And hints deep omen'd with unwieldy schemes,

And dark portents of state! Ten thousand more

Prodigious habits and tumult'ous tongues

Pour dauntless in and swell the boastful band.

Then comes the second order, all who seek[28]

The debt of praise, where watchful Unbelief

Darts thro' the thin pretence her squinting eye

On some retir'd appearance which belies

The boasted virtue, or annuls th' applause

That Justice else would pay. Here side by side

I see two leaders of the solemn train

Approaching, one a female old and grey,

With eyes demure and wrinkle-furrow'd brow,

Pale as the cheeks of Death; yet still she stuns

The sick'ning audience with a nauseus tale:

How many youths her myrtle-chains have worn,

How many virgins at her triumphs pin'd!

Yet how resolv'd she guards her cautious heart!

Such is her terrour 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 magnisick praise

The vanity of riches, the contempt

Of pomp and pow'r. 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

The price of riches and the end of pow'r.

Another tribe succeeds; deluded long[29]

By Fancy's dazzling opticks 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,

And serious Manhood from the tow'ring aim

Of Wisdom stoops to emulate the boast

Of childish Toil. Behold yon' mystick form

Bedeck'd with feathers, insects, weeds, and shells!

Not with intenser view the Samian sage

Bent his fixt eye on heav'n'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 flow'rs and myrtles crown'd

Attends that virgin form, and blushing kneels,

With fondest gesture and a supplia•t'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! wand'ring here,

Thee, dreaded Censor! oft' have I beheld

Bewilder'd unawares: alas! too long

Flush'd with thy comick triumphs and the spoils

Of sly Derision! till on ev'ry 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 mock'ry bandy'd from the lips

Of all the vengeful brotherhood around,

So oft' the patient victims of thy scorn.

But now ye Gay! to whom indulgent Fate[30]

Of all the Muses' empire hath assign'd

The fields of folly, hither each advance

Your sickles; here the teeming soil affords

Its richest growth. A fav'rite brood appears,

In whom the demon with a mother's joy

Views all her charms reflected, all her cares

At full repaid. Ye most illustr'ous Band!

Who, scorning Reason's tame pedantick rules

And Order's vulgar bondage, never meant

For souls sublime as yours, with gen'rous zeal

Pay Vice the rev'rence 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 th' unequal province of your praise.

Thus far triumphant in the pleasing guile[31]

Of bland Imagination Folly's train

Have dar'd our search; but now a dastard kind

Advance reluctant, and with falt'ring feet

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,

Fantastick and delusive. Here the slave

Who droops abash'd when sullen Pomp surveys

His humbler habit; here the trembling wretch,

Unnerv'd and struck with Terrour's icy bolts,

Spent in weak wailings, drown'd in shameful tears,

At ev'ry dream of danger; here, subdu'd

By frontless Laughter and the hardy scorn

Of old unfeeling Vice, the abject soul

Who, blushing, half resigns the candid praise

Of temp'rance and honour, half disowns

A freeman's hatred of tyrannick pride,

And hears with sickly smiles the venal mouth

With foulest licence mock the patriot's name.

Last of the motley bands on whom the pow'r[32]

Of gay Derision bends her hostile aim

Is that where shameful Ignorance presides.

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. Thro' many a maze

Perplex'd they struggle, changing ev'ry path,

O'erturning ev'ry purpose, then at last

Sit down dismay'd, and leave th' entangled scene

For Scorn to sport with. Such then is th' abode

Of Folly in the mind, and such the shapes

In which she governs her obsequious train.

Thro' ev'ry scene of ridicule in things

To lead the tenour of my devious lay,

Thro ev'ry 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[33]

Where'er the pow'r of Ridicule displays

Her quaint-ey'd visage some incongr'ous form,

Some stubborn dissonance of things combin'd,

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 loth'd

Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien,

The charms of Beauty or the boast of Praise.

Ask we for what fair end th'Almighty Sire[34]

In mortal bosoms wakes this gay contempt,

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? Tho' the light

Of truth slow dawning on th' inquiring mind

At length unfolds thro' many a subtle tie

How these uncouth disorders end at last

In publick evil, yet benignant Heav'n;

Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears

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 •…amp'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 heav'nly genius whose unclouded thoughts

Attain that secret harmony which blends

Th' ethereal spirit with its mould of clay,

O! 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 of himself,[35]

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 rev'rend form

Of Minos or of Numa should forsake

Th' Elysian seats and down th' embow'ring glade

Move to your pausing eye! behold th' expanse

Of yon' gay landscape, where the silver clouds

Flit o'er the heav'ns before the sprightly breeze;

Now their grey cincture skirts the doubtful sun,

Now streams of splendour thro' their op'ning veil

Effulgent sweep from off the gilded lawn

Th' aerial shadows on the curling brook

And on the shady margin's quiv'ring leaves

With quickest lustre glancing: while you view

The prospect, say, within your cheerful breast

Plays not the lively sense of winning Mirth

With clouds and sunshine checker'd, while the round

Of social converse to th' inspiring tongue

Of some gay nymph amid her subject train

Moves all obsequious? Whence is this effect,

This kindred pow'r of such discordant things?

Or flows their semblance from that mystick tone

To which the newborn mind's harmonious pow'rs

At first were strung? or rather from the links

Which artful Custom twines around her frame?

For when the diff'rent images of things

By Chance combin'd have struck th' attentive soul

With deeper impulse, or connected long

Have drawn her frequent eye, howe'er distinct

Th' 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 confed'rates rise,

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 from th' informing touch[36]

Of the same parent-stone together drew

Its mystick virtue, and at first conspir'd

With fatal impulse quiv'ring to the pole;

Then tho' disjoin'd by kingdoms, tho' the main

Rowl'd its broad surge betwixt, and diff'rent stars

Beheld their wakeful motions, yet preserv'd

The former friendship, and remember'd still

Th' 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 four d its path, and fix'd unerring there.

Such is the secret union when we feel

A song, a flow'r, a name, at once restore

Those long-connected scenes where first they mov'd

Th' attention, backward thro' 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 list'ning mind.

By these mysterious ties the busy pow'r[37]

Of Mem'ry her ideal train preserves

Entire, or when they would elude her watch

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 mimick 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 th' expanse

Of living lakes in summer's noontide calm

Reflects the bord'ring shade and sunbright heav'ns

With fairer semblance, not the sculptur'd gold

More faithful keeps the graver's lively trace,

Than he whose birth the sister pow'rs 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 unchang'd

Her form remains; the balmy walks of May

There breathe perennial sweets, the trembling chord

Resounds for ever in th' abstracted ear

Melodious, and the virgin's radiant eye,

Superiour 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 mixt 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

Feels her young nerves dilate, the plastick pow'rs

Labour for action, blind emotions heave

His bosom, and with loveliest frenzy caught

From earth to heav'n he rowls his daring eye,

From heav'n 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: th' eternal heav'ns

Disclose their splendours, and the dark abyss

Pours out her births unknown. With fixed gaze

He marks the rising phantoms, now compares

Their diff'rent forms, now blends them, now divides,

Enlarges and extenuates by turns;

Opposes, ranges in fantastick 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

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 ev'ry image on its neighbour smiles.

A while he stands, and with a father's joy

Contemplates, then with Promethean art

Into its proper vehicle he breathes[38]

The fair conception, which imbody'd thus

And permanent becomes to eyes or ears

An object ascertain'd; while thus inform'd

The various organs of his mimick skill,

The consonance of sounds, the featur'd rock,

The shadowy picture and impassion'd verse,

Beyond their proper pow'rs attract the soul

By that expressive semblance, while in sight

Of Nature's great original we scan

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 wav'ring hangs, applauding love

Doubts where to chuse, and mortal man aspires

To tempt creative praise. As when a cloud

Of gath'ring hail with limpid crusts of ice

Enclos'd, and obvious to the beaming sun,

Collects his large effulgence, straight the heav'ns

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 welltun'd heart enjoys

Favour'd of Heav'n, while plung'd in sordid cares

Th' unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine,

And harsh Austerity, from whose rebuke

Young Love and smiling Wonder shrink away,

Abash'd and chill of heart, with sager frowns

Condemns the fair enchantment. On my strain

Perhaps ev'n 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

Whose eye ne'er open'd on the light of heav'n

Might smile with scorn while raptur'd 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 fabrick of the mind

The deep-felt joys and harmony of sound

Result from airy motion, and from shape

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 rowl his fiery orb, nor yet the soul

Thus feel her frame expanded, and her pow'rs

Exulting in the splendour she beholds,

Like a young conq'ror moving thro' the pomp

Of some triumphal day. When join'd at eve

Soft-murm'ring streams and gales of gentlest breath

Melodious Philomela's wakeful strain

Attempter, could not man's discerning ear

Thro' all its tones the sympathy pursue,

Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joy

Steal thro' his veins and fan th' awaken'd heart,

Mild as the breeze yet rapt'rous as the song?

But were not Nature still endow'd at large

With all which life requires tho' unadorn'd

With such enchantment? Wherefore then her form

So exquisitely fair? her breath persum'd

With such ethereal sweetness? whence her voice

Inform'd at will to raise or to depress

Th' 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 everflowing love!

And thy unmeasur'd goodness? Not content

With ev'ry sood of life to nourish man,

By kind illusions of the wond'ring sense

Thou mak'st all Nature beauty to his eye

Or musick to his ear: wellpleas'd he scans

The goodly prospect, and with inward smiles

Treads the gay verdure of the painted plain,

Beholds the azure canopy of heav'n,

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 errour of his thought,

Nor doubts the painted green or azure arch,

Nor questions more the musick's mingling sounds

Than space or motion, or eternal time;

So sweet he feels their influence to attract

The sixed soul, to brighten the dull glooms

Of care, and make the destin'd road of life

Delightful to his feet. So fables tell

Th' advent'rous hero bound on hard exploits

Beholds with glad surprise, by secret spells

Of some kind sage the patron of his toils,

A visionary paradise disclos'd

Amid the dubious wild; with streams, and shades,

And airy songs, th' enchanted landscape smiles,

Cheers his long labours, and renews his frame.

What then is taste, but these internal pow'rs

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 disarrang'd, or gross

In species? This nor gems, nor stores of gold,

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 heav'n,

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 thro' amber clouds

O'er all the western sky? full soon, I ween,

His rude expression and untutor'd airs

Beyond the pow'r of language will unfold

The form of Beauty smiling at his heart,

How lovely, how commanding! But tho' Heav'n

In ev'ry breast hath sown these early seeds

Of love and admiration, yet in vain

Without fair culture's kind parental aid,

Without enliv'ning suns and genial show'rs,

And shelter from the blast, in vain we hope

The tender plant should rear its blooming head,

Or yield the harvest promis'd in its spring.

Nor yet will ev'ry soil with equal stores

Repay the tiller's labour, or attend

His will obsequious, whether to produce

The olive or the laurel. Diff'rent minds

Incline to diff'rent objects; one pursues

The vast alone, the wonderful, the wild;[39]

Another sighs for harmony, and grace,

And gentlest beauty. Hence when lightning fires

The arch of heav'n, and thunders rock the ground,

When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,

And ocean groaning from his lowest bed

Heaves his tempest'ous billows to the sky,

Amid the mighty uproar while below

The nations tremble, Shakespeare looks abroad

From some high cliff superiour, and enjoys

The elemental war; but Waller longs[40]

All on the margin of some flow'ry stream

To spread his careless limbs amid the cool

Of plantane shades, and to the list'ning 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 blest of Heav'n! whom not the languid songs

Of Luxury the Siren, not the bribes

Of sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils

Of pageant Honour, can seduce to leave

Those ever-blooming sweets which from the store

Of Nature fair Imagination culls

To charm th' enliven'd soul! What tho' not all

Of mortal offspring can attain the heights

Of envy'd life, tho' 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

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 sculptur'd 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 ev'ry fertile branch

With blooming gold and blushes like the Morn.

Each passing Hour sheds tribute from her wings,

And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,

And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze[41]

I lies 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 unreprov'd: nor thence partakes

Fresh pleasure only, for th' attentive mind

By this harmonious action on her pow'rs

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 inspir'd delight: her temper'd pow'rs

Refine at length, and ev'ry passion wears

A chaster, milder, more attractive, mien.

But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze

On Nature's form, where negligent of all

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 gen'rous pow'rs?

Would sordid policies, the barb'rous growth

Of Ignorance and Rapine, bow her down

To tame pursuits, to indolence and fear?

Lo! she appeals to Nature, to the winds

And rowling waves, the sun's unweary'd course,

The elements and seasons. All declare

For what th' Eternal Maker has ordain'd

The pow'rs 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 gen'ral 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

Hold converse, grow familiar day by day

With his conceptions, act upon his plan,

And form to his the relish of their souls.

END OF BOOK THIRD.

Notes

1
℣. 151. Say, why was man, &c.] In apologizing for the frequent negligences of the sublimest authors of Greece,
"〈◊〉 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 heroick 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 every thing great and exalted, of every thing 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 thro 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," &c. Dionys. Longin. de Sublim. sect. xxiv.

↵

2
℣. 202. The empyreal waste, &c.]
"Ne se peut-il point qu'il y a un grand espace au dela de la region des etoiles? Que se soit le ciel empyree, ou non, toujours cet espace immense qui environne toute cette region, pourra etre rempli de bonheur et de gloire. Il pourra etre concu comme l'ocean, ou se rendent les fleuves de toutes les creatures bienheureuses, quand elles seront venues a leur perfection dans le systeme des etoiles." Leibnitz dans la Theodicee, part. I. sect. 19.

↵

3
℣. 204. —whose unfading light, &c.] 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.
↵

4

℣. 234. —the neglect—Of all familiar prospects, &c.] It is here said that in consequence of the love of novelty objects which at first were highly delightful to the mind lose that •…¦sect by repeated attention to them; but the instance of 〈◊〉 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 pleasureable 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, lasly, 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.

↵

5
℣. 240. —this desire—Of objects new and sstrange, &c.] These two ideas are often 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 wellknown 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.
↵

6

℣. 374. —Truth and Good are one,—And Beauty dweils in them. &c.] "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 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." Xenoph. Memorab. Socrat. lib. iii. cap. 8.

This excellent observation has been illustrated and extended by the noble restorer of ancient philosophy. See The Characteristicks, vol. ii. p. 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. sect. 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 •ame 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 having 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. Polycietus, 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.

↵

*
This the Athenians did in a peculiar manner by the words
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
.

↵

8
℣. 492. As when Brutus rose, &c.] Cicero himself describes this fact—
"Caesare interfecto—statim cruentum alte extollens M. Brutus pugionem, Ciceronem nominatim exclamavit, atque ei recuperatam libertatem est gratulatus." Cic. Philipp. ii. 12.

↵

9
℣. 548. Where Virtue rising from the awful depth—Of Truth•… mys•erious bosom, &c.] According to the opinion of those who a
•…
ert moral obligation to be founded on an immutable and universal law, and that which is usually called the moral

〈◊〉

to be determined by the peculiar temper of the Imaginat
•…
the earliest associations of ideas.
↵

10
℣. 591. Lyceum.] The school of Aristotle.
↵

11
℣. 592. Academus.] The school of Plato.
↵

12
℣. 594. Ilissus.] One of the rivers on which Athens was s
•
∣tuated. Plato in some of his finest Dialogues lays the scene the conversation with Socrates on its banks.

↵

13
℣. 19. At last the Muses rose, &c.] 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 rhapodists, who went about the courts of princes and noblemen entertaining them at festivals with musick and poetry. They attempted both the epick, ode, and satire, and abounded in a wild and fantastick 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 Bolardo, Bernardo, Tasso, Ariosto, &c.
↵

14
℣. 21. Valclusa.] The famous retreat of Francisco Petrarcha, the father of Italian poetry, and his mistress Laura, a lady of Avignon.
↵

15
℣. 22. Arno.] The river which runs by Florence, the birthplace of Dante and Boccacio.
↵

16
℣. 23. Parthenope.] Or Naples, the birth-place of Sannazaro. The great Torquato Tasso was born at Sorrento in the kingdom of Naples.
↵

17
Ibid.—the rage—Of dire Ambition, &c.] This relates to the cruel wars among the republicks of Italy, and abominable politicks 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.
↵

18
℣. 30. Thus from their guardians torn the tender arts, &c.] Nor were they only losers by the separation; for philosophy itself, to use the words of a noble philosopher, ‘"being thus severed by the sprightly arts and sciences, must consequently grow dronish, insipid, pedantick, 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 publick 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 publick.
↵

19
℣. 157. From passion's pow'r alone, &c.] 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 selflove:
"Suave mari magno," &c.
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 Poesie 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 epick deserved a very particular consideration in this poem.

↵

20

℣. 304. Inhabitant of earth, &c] The account of the •…∣nomy of Providence here introduced, as the most 〈…〉 and satisfy the mind when under the compunction 〈◊〉 private evils, seems to have come originally from the Pythagorean school; but of the ancient philosophers Plato 〈…〉 largely insisted upon it, has established it with all the 〈…〉 capacious understanding, and ennobled it with 〈◊〉 magnificence of his divine imagination. He has one passage 〈◊〉 full and clear on this head that I am persuaded the reader 〈◊〉 be pleased to see it here tho' somewhat long. Addressing 〈◊〉 self to such as are not satisfied concerning divine Provide•…; "The being who presides over the whole," says he, "•…∣posed and complicated all things for the happiness and •…∣tue 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 your's, O unhappy man! which 〈…〉 itself most inconsiderable and minute, yet being connected with the universe ever seeks to cooperate with that supreme order. You in the mean-time 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 con•… 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 v•… 〈◊〉 energy of creation and the common laws of Nature there•… a constant provision of that which is best at the same time for you and for the whole.—For the governing Intelligen•… clearly beholding all the actions of animated and •…∣ving creatures, and that mixture of good and evil which 〈◊〉 versifies 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 fabrick, and through what variety of circumstances it should proceed in the whole tenour 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 harmonized 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.

↵

21
℣. 321. —one might rise—One order, &c.] See

The Meditations of Antoninus,

and

The Characteristicks, passim.

↵

22
℣. 335. The best and fairest, &c.] This opinion is so old that Timaeus Locrus calls the Supreme Being
〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉
, ‘"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 remain, as it was at first, perfect in beauty, and will never stand 〈◊〉 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 Theodicee of Leibnitz.

↵

23
℣. 350. As flame ascends, &c.] This opinion, though not held by Plato nor any of the Ancients, is yet a very natural cousequence of his principles: but the disquisition is too complex and extensive to be entered upon here.
↵

24
℣. 755. Philip.] The Macedonian.
↵

25

℣. 18. —where the pow'rs—Of fancy, &c.] 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 everycircumstance of action or pleasure. Let any man, even of the coldest head and soberest industry, analyze 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 selfdenial. 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 odious 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 heroick 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 domestick 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 Socratick school, yet the Stoicks 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. Laert. l. vii. The Meditations of M. Aurelius, and The Discourses of Epictetus, are full of the same sentiment, insomuch that the latter makes the 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, 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 frantick. Arrian. l. i. c. 12. and l. ii. c. 22. See also The Characteristicks, vol. I. from p. 313 to 321. where this stoical doctrine is embellished with all the elegance and graces of Plato.

↵

26
℣. 75. —how Folly's awkward arts, &c.] 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.
↵

27
℣. 84. Behold the foremost band, &c.] The first and most general source of ridicule in the characters of men is vanity or selfapplause for some desirable quality or possession which evidently does not belong to those who assume it.
↵

28
℣. 121. Then comes the second order, &c.] 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.
↵

29
℣. 152. Another tribe suceeds, &c.] Ridicule from a notion of ex
•…
ence in particular objects disproportioned to their intrinsick value, and inconsistent w

•

th the order of Nature.
↵

30
℣. 191. But now ye Gay! &c.] 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 a
•
∣

•…

tation of diseases or vices.
↵

31
℣. 207. Thus far triumphant, &c.] Ridicule from false shame or groundless fear.
↵

32
℣. 228. Last of the, &c.] Ridicule from the ignorance of such things as our circumstances require us to know.
↵

33

℣. 248. —Suffice it to have said &c.] By comparing these general sources of ridicule with each other, and examining the ridiculous in other objects, we may obtain a general de•…∣•…tion of it equally applicable to every species. The most important circumstance of this de•…ition 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; 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, says he, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉:
"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, farther, 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 terrour 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 publick 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 •ounded 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 terrour, 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.

↵

34

℣. 259. Ask we for what fair end, &c.] 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 publick, 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 errour 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 sat•… 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.

↵

35
℣. 285. The inexpressive semblance, &c.] This similitude is the foundation of almost all the ornaments of poetick diction.
↵

36
℣. 326. Two faithful needles, &c.] See the elegant poem recited by Cardinal Bembo in the character of Lucretius, 〈…〉 vi. 〈◊〉 2. c. v.
↵

37
℣. 348. By these mysterious ties, &c.] The act of remembering seems almost wholly to depend on the association of ideas.
↵

38
℣. 411. Into its proper vehicle, &c.] 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 musick, by lines and shadows in painting, by diction in poetry, &c.
↵

39
℣. 547. —one pursues—The vast alone, &c] See the note to ℣. 18. of this book.
↵

40
℣. 558. Waller longs, &c.]

"O! how I long my careless limbs to lay

"Under the plantain shade, and all the day

"With am'rous airs my fancy entertain," &c.

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," &c.

At Penshurst.

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41
℣. 593. —Not a breeze, &c.] 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 to partiality in the case, that he reckons it among those
•
avours 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 dscern 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. Ant. iii. 2.

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THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.

The 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 〈◊〉, a picture, a poem. In treating of th•se 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 musick, 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 encite in us pity, fear, and the other passions. Th•se 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 abovementioned causes of Pleasure, which are universal in the course of human life, and appertain to our higher faculties, many others do generally concur, more limited in their operation, or of an inferiour 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.

THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.
BOOK I.
MDCCLVII.

The Argument.

THE subject proposed. Dedication. The ideas of the Supreme Being the exemplar• 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[*] and good. The different orders of beauty in different objects. The infinite and allcomprehending form of beauty, which belongs to the Divine Mind. The partial and artificial forms of beauty which belong to inferiour 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

•or 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 Pow'rs!

Ye Guardians of the sacred task! attend

Propitious: hand in hand around your Bard

Move in majestick measures, leading on

His doubtful step thro' 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, ador'd

By Grecian prophets, to the sons of Heav'n

Known while with deep amazement thou dost there

The perfect counsels read, th' ideas old

Of thine Omniscient Father, known on earth

By the still horrour and the blissful tear

With which thou seizest on the soul of man,

Thou chief, Poetick Spirit! from the banks

Of Avon, whence thy holy singers cull

Fresh flow'rs and dews to sprinkle on the turf

Where Shakespeare lies, be present; and with thee

Let Fiction come, on her aerial wings

Wasting ten thousand colours, which in sport

By the light glances of her magick eye

She blends and shifts at will thro' 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 mystick rites,

Wise Order; and where Order deigns to come

Her sister Liberty will not be far.

Be present all ye Genii! who conduct

Of youthful bards the lonely wand'ring 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! to the lay refuse

Thy wonted partial audience. What tho' first

In years unseason'd, haply ere the sports

Of childhood yet were o'er, the advent rous lay

With many splendid prospects, many charms,

Allur'd 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,

The busy paths, my unaccustom'd feet

Preserving; nor to truth's recess divine

Thro' this wide argument's unbeaten space

Withholding surer guidance, while by turns

We trac'd 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

Inclin'd her sceptre favouring. Now the Fates

Have other tasks impos'd. To thee, my Friend!

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

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. Mean-while, O my faithful Friend!

O early chosen, ever found the same,

And trusted and belov'd! once more the verse

Long destin'd, always obvious to thine ear,

Attend indulgent: so in latest years,

When Time thy head with honours shall have cloth'd

Sacred to even Virtue, may thy mind

Amid the calm review of seasons past,

Fair offices of friendship, or kind peace

Or publick zeal, may then thy mind wellpleas'd

Recall these happy studies of our prime!

From Heav'n my strains begin, from Heav'n descends

The flame of genius to the chosen breast,

And beauty, with poetick wonder join'd

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

Of earth, of heav'n, of Nature. From the first

On that full scene his love divine he fix'd,

His admiration, till in time complete

What he admir'd and lov'd his vital pow'r

Unfolded into being. Hence the breath

Of life informing each organick frame,

Hence the green earth, and wild resounding waves,

Hence light and shade alternate, warmth and cold,

And bright autumnal skies and vernal show'rs,

And all the fair variety of things.

But not alike to ev'ry mortal eye

Is this great scene unveil'd; for while the claims

Of social life to diff'rent labours urge

The active pow'rs 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 fabrick of the sphere,

The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,

The golden zones of heav'n: to some she gave

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 ev'ry vein

Of herbs or trees. But some to nobler hopes

Were destin'd; 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

This picture of the world. Thro' ev'ry part

They trace the lofty sketches of his hand;

In earth or air, the meadow's flow'ry 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 th' eternal joy.

For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd

Thro' fabling Egypt, at the genial touch

Of morning from its inmost frame sent forth

Spontaneous musick, 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 pow'rs

(Of form, of colour's cheerful pomp, of sound

Melodious, or of motion aptly sped)

Detains th' enliven'd sense, till soon the soul

Feels the deep concord, and assents thro' all

Her functions. Then the charm by Fate prepar'd

Diffuseth its enchantment; Fancy dreams,

Rapt into high discourse with prophets old,

And wand'ring thro' 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 pow'r

On the mind's throne suspends his graver cares,

And smiles: the passions to divine repose

Persuaded yield, and love and joy alone

Are waking; love and joy, such as await

An angel's meditation. O! attend,

Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch,

Whom Nature's aspect, Nature's simple garb,

Can thus command: O! 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,

Whate'er of mimick art's reflected scenes,

With love and admiration thus inspire

Attentive Fancy, her delighted sons

In two illustrious orders comprehend

Selftaught. From him whose rustick 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,

More lovely than when Lucifer displays

His glitt'ring forehead thro' the gates of morn

To lead the train of Phoebus and the spring!

Say, why was man so eminently rais'd

Amid the vast creation? why empower'd

Thro' life and death to dart his watchful eye,

With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame,

But that th' Omnipotent might send him forth,

In sight of angels and immortal minds,

As on an ample theatre, to join

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 sovran good to learn,

To chase each meaner purpose from his breast,

And thro' the mists of passion and of sense,

And thro' the pelting storms of chance and pain,

To hold straight on, with constant heart and eye

Still fix'd upon his everlasting palm,

Th' approving smile of Heav'n? Else wherefore burns

In mortal bosoms this unquenched hope

That seeks from day to day sublimer ends,

Happy tho' 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

Pull on her temper like a twice told tale;

Her temper, still demanding to be free,

Spurning the rude control of wilful Might,

Proud of her dangers brav'd, her griefs endur'd,

Her strength severely prov'd? To these high aims

Which reason and affection prompt in man

Not adverse nor unapt hath Nature fram'd

His bold Imagination; for amid

The various forms which this full world presents

Like rivala to his choice, what human breast

E'er doubts before the transient and minute

To prize the vast, the stable, the sublime?

Who that from heights aerial sends his eye

Around a wild horizon, and surveys

Indus or Ganges rolling his broad wave

Thro' mountains, plains, thro' spacious cities old,

And regions dark with woods, will turn away

To mark the path of some penurious rill

Which murm'reth at his feet? Where does the Soul

Consent her soaring fancy to restrain,

Which bears her up as on an eagle's wings

Destin'd for highest heav'n? or which of Fate's

Tremend'ous 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

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 lostier views

She darts advent'rous up the long career

Of comets, thro' 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. Empyrean tracks,

Where happy souls beyond this concave heav'n

Abide, she then explores, whence purer light

For countless ages travels thro' th' abyss,

Nor hath in sight of mortals yet arriv'd:

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 th' unfathomable gulf

Where God alone hath being; there her hopes

Rest at the fated goal: for from the birth

Of humankind the Sovran Maker said

That not in humble nor in brief delight,

Not in the fleeting echoes of Renown,

Pow'rs purple robes, nor Pleasure's flow'ry lap,

The soul should find contentment, but from these

Turning disdainful to an equal good,

Thro' Nature's op'ning walks enlarge her aim

Till ev'ry bound at length should disappear

And infinite perfection fill the scene.

But lo! where Beauty dress'd in gentler pomp

With comely steps advancing claims the verse

Her charms inspire. O Beauty! source of praise,

Of honour, ev'n 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

Thy form divine! for thee the mind alone

Beholds, nor half thy brightness can reveal

Thro' 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 thro' wide Nature's bounds

Expatiate with glad step, and chuse at will

Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains,

Whate'er the waters or the liquid air,

To manifest unblemish'd Beauty's praise,

And o'er the breasts of mortals to extend

Her gracious empire. Wilt thou to the isles

Atlantick, 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 clusters swell,

Turning aside their foliage, and come forth

In purple lights, till ev'ry hillock glows

As with the blushes of an ev'ning sky?

Or wilt thou that Thessalian landscape trace

Where slow Peneus his clear glassy tide

Draws smooth along, between the winding cliffs

Of Ossa and the pathless woods unshorn

That wave o'er huge Olympus? Down the stream

Look how the mountains with their double range

Embrace the vale of Tempe, from each side

Ascending steep to heav'n a rocky mound

Cover'd with ivy and the laurel boughs

That crown'd young Phoebus for the Python slain.

Fair Tempe! on whose primrose banks the morn

Awoke most fragrant, and the noon repos'd

In pomp of lights and shadows most sublime;

Whose lawns, whose glades, ere human footsteps yet

Had trac'd an entrance, were the hallow'd haunt

Of sylvan pow'rs immortal, where they sat

Oft' in the Golden Age, the Nymphs and Fauns,

Beneath some arbour branching o'er the flood,

And leaning round hung on th' instructive lips

Of hoary Pan, or o'er some open dale

Danc'd in light measures to his sev'nfold pipe,

While Zephyr's wanton hand along their path

Flung show'rs of painted blossoms, fertile dews,

And one perpetual spring. But if our task

More lofty rites demand, with all good vows

Then let us hasten to the rural haunt

Where young Melissa dwells; nor thou refuse

The voice which calls thee from thy lov'd retreat,

But hither, gentle Maid! thy sootsteps turn;

Here to thy own unquestionable theme

O fair! O graceful! bend thy polish'd brow,

Assenting, and the gladness of thy eyes

Impart to me, like morning's wished light

Seen thro' the vernal air. By yonder stream,

Where beech and elm along the bord'ring mead

Send forth wild melody from ev'ry bough

Together let us wander, where the hills

Cover'd with fleeces to the lowing vale

Reply, where tidings of content and peace

Each echo brings. Lo how the western fun

O'er fields and floods, o'er ev'ry living soul,

Diffuseth glad repose! There while I speak

Of Beauty's honours thou, Melissa! thou

Shalt hearken, not unconscious, while I tell

How first from heav'n she came, how after all

The works of life, the elemental scenes,

The hours, the seasons, she had oft' explor'd,

At length her fav'rite mansion and her throne

She fix'd in woman's form; what pleasing ties

To virtue bind her, what effectual aid

They lend each other's pow'r, and how divine

Their union, should some unambitious maid

To all th' enchantment of th' Idalian queen

Add sanctity and wisdom. While my tongue

Prolongs the tale, Melissa! thou may'st feign

To wonder whence my rapture is inspir'd;

But soon the smile which dawns upon thy lip

Shall tell it, and the tend'rer bloom o'er all

That soft cheek springing to the marble neck,

Which bends aside in vain, revealing more

What it would thus keep silent, and in vain

The sense of praise dissembling. Then my song

Great Nature's winning arts, which thus inform

With joy and love the ragged bread of man,

Should sound in numbers worthy of such a theme;

While all whose souls have ever felt the force

Of those enchanting p•…ons to my lyre

Should throng attentive, and receive once more

Their influence, unobscur'd by any cloud

Of vulgar care, and purer than the hand

Of Fortune can bestow: nor to confirm

Their sway should awful Contemplation scorn

To join his dictate• to the genuine strain

Of Pleasure's tongue, nor yet •…ould Pleasure's ear

Be much averse. Ye chiefly, gentle band

Of Youths and Virgins! who thro' many a wish

And many a fond pursuit, as in some scene

Of magick bright and fleeting are allur'd

By various beauty, if the pleasing toil

Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn

Your favourable ear, and trust my words.

I do not mean on bless'd Religion's seat

Presenting Superstition's gloomy form

To dash your soothing hopes; I do not mean

To bid the jealous Thund'rer fire the heav'ns,

Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth,

And scare you from your joys. My cheerful song

With happier omens calls you to the field,

Pleas'd with your gen'rous ardour in the chase,

And warm like you. Then tell me, (for ye know)

Doth Beauty ever deign to dwell where use

And aptitude are strangers? is her praise

Confes'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 win each fond admirer into s•ares,

Foil'd, bassled? No: with better providence

The gen'ral Mother, conscious how infirm

Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,

Thus to the choice of credulous desire

Doth objects the completest of their tribe

Distinguish and commend. Yon' flow'ry bank

Cloth'd in the soft magnificence of spring

Will not the flocks approve it? will they ask

The reedy fen for pasture? That clear rill

Which trickleth murm'ring from the mossy rock,

Yields it less wholesome bev'rage to the worn

And thirsty trav'ller than the standing pool

With muddy weeds o'ergrown? Yon' ragged vine,

Whose lean and sullen clusters mourn the rage

Of Eurus, will the winepress or the bowl

Report of her as of the swelling grape

Which glitters thro' the tendrils like a gem

When first it meets the sun? Or what are all

The various charms to life and sense adjoin'd?

Are they not pledges of a state entire,

Where native order reigns, with ev'ry part

In health and ev'ry function well perform'd?

Thus then at first was Beauty sent from heav'n,

The lovely ministress of Truth and Good

In this dark world; for Truth and Good are one,

And Beauty dwells in them and they in her

With like participation. Wherefore then,

O Sons of Earth! would ye dissolve the tie?

O! wherefore with a rash and greedy aim

Seek ye to rove thro' ev'ry flatt'ring scene

Which Beauty seems to deck, nor once inquire

Where is the suffrage 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 glitt'ring of an idiot's toy

Did fancy mock your vows. Nor yet let hope,

That kindliest inmate of the youthful breast,

Be hence appall'd, be turn'd to coward sloth,

Sitting in silence with dejected eyes,

Incurious, and with folded hands: far less

Let scorn of wild fantastick folly's dreams,

Or hatred of the bigot's savage pride,

Persuade you e'er that Beauty, or the love

Which waits on Beauty, may not brook to hear

The sacred lore of undeceitful good

And truth eternal. From the vulgar crowd•

Tho' Superstition, tyranness abhorr'd!

The rev'rence due to this majestick pair

With threats and execration still demands;

Tho' the tame wretch who asks of her the way

To their celestial dwelling she constrains

To quench or set at nought the lamp of God

Within his frame; thro' many a cheerless wild

Tho' forth she leads him credulous and dark,

And aw'd with dubious notion; tho' at length

Haply she plunge him into cloister'd cells

And mansions unrelenting as the grave,

But void of quiet, there to watch the hours

Of midnight, there amid the screaming owl's

Dire song with spectres or with guilty shades

To talk of pangs and everlasting wo;

Yet be not ye dismay'd; a gentler star

Presides o'er your adventure. From the bow'r

Where Wisdom sat with her Athenian sons

Could but my happy hand intwine a wreath

Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay,

Then (for what need of cruel fear to you,

To you whom godlike love can well command?)

Then should my pow'rful voice at once dispel

Those monkish horrours; should in words divine

Relate how favour'd minds like you inspir'd,

And taught their inspiration to conduct

By ruling Heav'n's decree, thro' various walks,

And prospects various, but delightful all,

Move onward; while now myrtle groves appear

Now arms and radiant trophies, now the rods

Of empire with the curule throne, or now

The domes of Contemplation and the Muse.

Led by that hope sublime whose cloudless eye

Thro' the fair toils and ornaments of earth

Discerns the nobler life reserv'd for heav'n,

•…eat'd alike they worship round the shrine

Where Truth conspic'ous with her sister-twins,

The undivided partners of her sway,

With Good and Beauty reigns. O! let not us

By Pleasure's lying blandishments detain'd,

Or crouching to the frowns of bigot Rage,

O! let not us one moment pause to join

That chosen band: and if the gracious Pow'r

Who first awaken'd my untutor'd song

Will to my invocation grant anew

The tuneful spirit, then thro' 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 free Virtue's steps, and to her side

Summon that strong divinity of soul

Which conquers Chance and Fate, or on the height,

The goal assign'd her, haply to proclaim

Her triumph, on her brow to place the crown

Of uncorrupted praise, thro' future worlds

To follow her interminated way,

And bless Heav'n's image in the heart of man.

Such is the worth of Beauty, such her pow'r,

So blameless, so rever'd. It now remains

In just gradation thro' the various ranks

Of being to contemplate how her gifts

Rise in due measure, watchful to attend

The steps of rising Nature. Last and least

In colours mingling with a random blaze

Doth Beauty dwell: then higher in the forms

Of simplest easiest measure, in the bounds

Of circle, cube, or sphere: the third ascent

To symmetry adds colour: thus the pearl

Shines in the concave of its purple bed,

And painted shells along some winding shore

Catch with indented folds the glancing sun.

Next as we rise appear the blooming tribes

Which clothe the fragrant earth, which draw from her

Their own nutrition, which are born and die,

Yet in their seed immortal: such the flow'rs

With which young Maia pays the village maids

That hail her natal morn, and such the groves

Which blithe Pomona rears on Vaga's bank

To seed the bowl of Ariconian swains

Who quaff beneath her branches. Nobler still

Is Beauty's name where to the full consent

Of members and of features, to the pride

Of colour and the vital change of growth,

Life's holy flame with piercing sense is giv'n,

While active motion speaks the temper'd soul:

So moves the bird of Juno, so the steed

With rival swiftness heats the dusty plain,

And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy

Salute their fellows. What sublimer pomp

Adorns the seat where Virtue dwells on earth

And Truth's eternal daylight shines around;

What palm belongs to man's imperial front,

And woman, pow'rful with becoming smiles,

Chief of terrestrial natures! need we now

Strive to inculcate? Thus hath Beauty there

Her most conspic'ous praise to Matter lent

Where most conspic'ous thro' that shadowy 〈◊〉

Breaks forth the bright expression of a mind

By steps directing our enraptur'd search

To him the first of minds, the chief, the sole,

From whom thro' this wide complicated world

Did all her various lineaments begin;

To whom alone, consenting and entire,

At once their mutual influence all display.

He, God most high, (bear witness Earth and Heav'n!)

The living fountains in himself contains

Of beauteous and sublime. With him inthron'd

Ere days or years trod their ethereal way,

In his supreme intelligence inthron'd,

The queen of Love holds her unclouded state,

Urania. Thee, O Father! this extent

Of matter, thee the sluggish earth and track

Of seas, the heav'ns and heav'nly splendours, feel

Pervading, quick'ning, moving. From the depth

Of thy great essence forth didst thou conduct

Eternal Form, and there where Chaos reign'd

Gav'st her dominion to erect her seat

And sanctify the mansion. All her works

Wellpleas'd thou didst behold; the gloomy fires

Of storm or earthquake, and the purest light

Of summer; soft Campania's newborn rose,

And the slow weed which pines on Russian hills,

Comely alike to thy full vision stand;

To thy surrounding vision, which unites

All essences and pow'rs of the great world

In one sole order, fair alike they stand,

As features well consenting, and alike

Requir'd by Nature ere she could attain

Her just resemblance to the perfect shape

Of universal Beauty, which with thee

Dwelt from the first. Thou also, Ancient Mind!

Whom love and free beneficence await

In all thy doings, to inferiour minds

Thy offspring, and to man thy youngest son,

Refusing no convenient gift nor good,

Their eyes didst open in this earth, yon' heav'n,

Those starry worlds, the countenance divine

Of Beauty to behold: but not to them

Didst thou her awful magnitude reveal

Such as before thine own unbounded sight

She stands, (for never shall created soul

Conceive that object) nor to all their kinds

The same in shape or features didst thou frame

Her image. Measuring well their diff'rent spheres

Of sense and action, thy paternal hand

Hath for each race prepar'd a diff'rent test

Of Beauty, own'd and reverenc'd as their guide

Most apt, most faithful. Thence inform'd they scan

The objects that surround them, and select,

Since the great whole disclaims their scanty view,

Each for himself selects, peculiar parts

Of Nature, what the standard fix'd by Heav'n

Within his breast approves; acquiring thus

A partial beauty which becomes his lot,

A beauty which his eye may comprehend,

His hand may copy; leaving, O Supreme!

O thou whom none hath utter'd! leaving all

To thee that infinite consummate form

Which the great pow'rs, the gods around thy throne

And nearest to thy counsels, know with thee

For ever to have been, but who she is

Or what her likeness know not. Man surveys

A narrower scene, where by the mix'd effect

Of things corporeal on his passive mind

He judgeth what is fair. Corporeal things

The mind of man impel with various pow'rs,

And various features to his eye disclose.

The pow'rs which move his sense with instant joy,

The features which attract his heart to love,

He marks, combines, reposits. Other pow'rs

And features of the selfsame thing (unless

The beauteous form, the creature of his mind,

Request their close alliance) he o'erlooks

Forgotten, or with self-beguiling zeal

Whene'er his passions mingle in the work

Half alters, half disowns. The tribes of men

Thus from their diff'rent functions, and the shapes

Familiar to their eye, with art obtain,

Unconscious of their purpose, yet with art

Obtain the Beauty fitting man to love,

Whose proud desires from Nature's homely toil

Oft' turn away fastidious, asking still

His mind's high aid to purify the form

From matter's gross communion, to secure

For ever from the meddling hand of Change

Or rude Decay her features, and to add

Whatever ornaments may suit her mien

Whate'er he finds them scatter'd thro' the paths

Of Nature or of Fortune; then he seats

Th' accomplish'd image deep within his breast,

Reviews it, and accounts it good and fair.

Thus the one Beauty of the world entire,

The universal Venus, far beyond

The keenest effort of created eyes

And their most wide horizon dwells inthron'd

In ancient silence: at her footstool stands

An altar burning with eternal fire

Unsully'd, unconsum'd. Here ev'ry hour,

Here ev'ry moment, in their turns arrive

Her offspring, an innumerable band

Of sisters, comely all, but diff'ring far

In age, in stature, and expressive mien,

More than bright Helen from her newborn babe.

To this maternal shrine in turns they come,

Each with her sacred lamp, that from the source

Of living flame which here immortal slows

Their portions of its lustre they may draw

For days, or months, or years, for ages some,

As their great parent's discipline requires;

Then to their sev'ral mansions they depart,

In stars, in planets, thro' the unknown shores

Of yon' ethereal ocean. Who can tell

Ev'n on the surface of this rowling earth

How many make abode? The fields, the groves,

The winding rivers, and the azure main,

Are render'd solemn by their frequent feet,

Their rites sublime. There each her destin'd home

Informs with that pure radiance from the skies

Brought down, and shines thro'out her little sphere

Exulting. Straight as travellers by night

Turn toward a distant flame, so some fit eye

Among the various tenants of the scene

Discerns the heav'n-born phantom seated there,

And owns her charms: hence the wide universe

Thro' all the seasons of revolving worlds

Bears witness with its people, gods and men,

To Beauty's blissful pow'r, and with the voice

Of grateful admiration still resounds;

That voice to which is Beauty's frame divine

As is the cunning of the master's hand

To the sweet accent of the welltun'd lyre.

Genius of ancient Greece! whose faithful steps

Have led us to these awful solitudes

Of Nature and of Science; Nurse rever'd

Of gen'rous counsels and heroick deeds!

O let some portion of thy matchless praise

Dwell in my breast, and teach me to adorn

This unattempted theme! Nor be my thoughts

Presumpt'ous counted if amid the calm

Which Hesper sheds along the vernal heav'n

If I from vulgar Superstition's walk

Impatient steal, and from th' unseemly rites

Of splendid Adulation, to attend

With hymns thy presence in the sylvan shade,

By their malignant footsteps unprofan'd.

Come, O renowned Pow'r! thy glowing mien

Such, and so elevated all thy form,

As when the great barbarick lord, again

And yet again diminish'd, hid his face

Among the herd of satraps and of kings,

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 arts, thy godlike sires

Of civil wisdom, thy unconquer'd youth,

After some glorious day rejoicing round

Their new-erected trophy. Guide my feet

Thro' fair Lyceum's walk, the olive shades

Of academus, and the sacred vale

Haunted by steps divine, where once beneath

That ever-living platane's ample boughs

Ilissus, by Socratick sounds detain'd,

On his neglected urn attentive lay,

While Boreas ling'ring on the neighb'ring steep

With beauteous Orithyia his lovetale

In silent awe suspended: there let me

With blameless hand from thy unenvious fields

Transplant some living blossoms to adorn

My native clime, while far beyond the meed

Of Fancy's toil aspiring I unlock

The springs of ancient wisdom, while I add

(What cannot be disjoin'd from Beauty's praise)

Thy name and native dress, thy works belov'd

And honour'd, while to my compatriot youth

I point the great example of thy sons,

And tune to Attick themes the British lyre.

END OF BOOK FIRST.

THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.
BOOK II.

The Argument.

INTRODUCTION to this more difficult part of the subject. Of truth and its three classes, matter of fact, experimental or scientifical truth, (cont•… distinguished from opinion) and universal truth; which last is either metaphysical or geometrical, either purely intellectual or perfectly a•…acted. On the power of discerning truth depends that of acting with the view of an end, a circumstance essential to virtue. Of virtue, considered in the Divine Mind as a perpetual and universal beneficence. Of human virtue, considered as a sysem of particular sentiments and actions, suitable to the design of Providence and the condition of man, to whom it constitutes the chief good and the first beauty. Of vice and its origin. Of ridicule; its general nature and final cause• Of the passions, particularly of those which relate to evil natural or moral, and which are generally accounted painful, though not always unattended with Pleasure.

THUS far of Beauty and the pleasing forms

Which man's untutor'd fancy from the scenes

Imperfect of this ever-changing world

Creates and views enamour'd. Now my song

Severer themes demand, mysterious truth,

And virtue, sovran good; the spells, the trains,

The progeny, of Errour; the dread sway

Of Passion, and whatever hidden stores

From her own lofty deeds and from herself

The mind acquires. Severer argument,

Not less attractive nor deserving less

A constant ear: for what are all the forms

Educ'd by fancy from corporeal things,

Greatness, or pomp, or symmetry of parts?

Not tending to the heart soon seeble grows,

As the blunt arrow 'gainst the knotty trunk,

Their impulse on the sense, while the pall'd eye

Expects in vain its tribute, asks in vain

Where are the ornaments it once admir'd?

Not so the moral species, nor the pow'rs

Of passion and of thought Th' ambitious mind

With objects boundless as her own desires

Can there converse: by these unfading forms

Touch'd and awaken'd still, with eager act

She bends each nerve, and meditates wellpleas'd

Her gifts, her godlike fortune. Such the seenes

Now op'ning round us: may the destin'd Verse

Maintain its equal tenour, tho' in tracks

Obscure and ard'ous! may the Source of Light,

Allpresent, allsufficient, guide our steps

Thro' ev'ry maze! and whom in childish years

From the loud throng, the beaten paths of wealth

And pow'r, thou didst apart send forth to speak

In tuneful words concerning highest things,

Him still do thou, O Father! at those hours

Of pensive freedom, when the human soul

Shuts out the rumour of the world, him still

Touch thou with secret lessons; call thou back

Each erring thought, and let the yielding strains

From his full bosom like a welcome rill

Spontaneous from its healthy fountain flow!

But from what name, what favourable sign,

What heav'nly auspice, rather shall I date

My perilous excursion than from truth,

That nearest inmate of the human soul,

Estrang'd from whom the countenance divine

Of man dissigur'd and dishonour'd, sinks

Among inferiour things? for to the brutes

Perception and the transient boons of sense

Hath Fate imparted, but to man alone

Of sublunary beings was it giv'n

Each fleeting impulse on the sensual pow'rs

At leisure to review, with equal eye

To sean the passion of the stricken nerve,

Or the vague object striking, to conduct

From sense, the portal turbulent and loud,

Into the mind's wide palace one by one

The frequent, pressing, fluctuating, forms,

And question and compare them. Thus he learns

Their birth and fortunes, how ally'd they haunt

The avenues of sense, what laws direct

Their union, and what various discords rise

Or fix'd or casual; which when his clear thought

Retains, and when his faithful words express,

That living image of th' external scene,

As in a polish'd mirror held to view,

Is truth; where'er it varies from the shape

And hue of its exemplar, in that part

Dim errour lurks. Moreover, from without

When oft' the same society of forms

In the same order have approach'd his mind,

He deigns no more their steps with curious heed

To trace; no more their features or their garb

He now examines, but of them and their

Condition, as with some diviner's tongue,

Affirms what Heav'n in ev'ry distant place

Thro' ev'ry future season will decree:

This too is truth: where'er his prudent lips

Wait till experience diligent and flow

Has authoris'd their sentence, this is truth;

A second higher kind; the parent this

Of Science, or the losty pow'r herself,

Science herself, on whom the wants and cares

Of social life depend, the substitute

Of God's own wisdom in this toilsome world,

The providence of man. Yet ost' in vain

To earn her aid with fix'd and anxious eye

He looks on Nature's and on Fortune's course,

Too much in vain: his duller visual ray

The stillness and the persevering acts

Of Nature oft' elude, and Fortune oft'

With step fantastick from her wonted walk

Turns into mazes dim: his sight is foil'd,

And the crude sentence of his falt'ring tongue

Is but Opinion's verdict half believ'd,

And prone to change. Here thou who feelst thine ear

Congenial to my lyre's profounder tone

Pause and be watchful. Hitherto the stores

Which feed thy mind and exercise her pow'rs

Partake the relish of their native soil,

Their parent earth: but know a nobler dow'r

Her sire at birth decreed her, purer gifts

From his own treasure, forms which never deign'd

In eyes or ears to dwell within the sense

Of earthly organs, but sublime were plac'd

In his essential reason, leading there

That vast ideal host which all his works

Thro' endless ages never will reveal.

Thus then endow'd the feeble creature man,

The slave of hunger and the prey of Death,

Even now, even here, in earth's dim prison bound,

The language of intelligence divine

Attains, repeating oft' concerning one

And many, past and present, parts and whole,

Those sovran dictates which in farthest heav'n,

Where no orb rowls, Eternity's fix'd ear

Hears from coeval truth, when Chance nor Change,

Nature's loud progeny, nor Nature's self,

Dares intermeddle or approach her throne.

Ere long o'er this corporeal world he learns

T' extend her sway, while calling from the deep,

From earth and air, their multitudes untold

Of figures and of motions round his walk,

For each wide family some single birth

He sets in view, th' impartial type of all

Its brethren, suff'ring it to claim beyond

Their common heritage no private gift,

No proper fortune. Then whate'er his eye

In this discerns his bold unerring tongue

Pronounceth of the kindred without bound,

Without condition. Such the rise of forms

Sequester'd far from sense, and ev'ry spot

Peculiar in the realms of space or time;

Such is the throne which man for Truth amid

The paths of mutability hath built

Secure, unshaken, still, and whence he views

In matter's mould'ring structures the pure forms

Of triangle or circle, cube or cone,

Impassive all, whose attributes nor Force

Nor Fate can alter: there he first conceives

True being and an intellectual world,

The same this hour and ever: thence he deems

Of his own lot above the painted shapes

That fleeting move o'er this terrestrial scene,

Looks up, beyond the adamantine gates

Of death expatiates, as his birthright claims

Inheritance in all the works of God,

Prepares for endless time his plan of life,

And counts the universe itself his home.

Whence also but from truth, the light of minds,

Is human fortune gladden'd with the rays

Of virtue? with the moral colours thrown

On ev'ry walk of this our social scene,

Adorning for the eye of gods and men

The passions, actions, habitudes of life,

And rend'ring earth like heav'n, a sacred place

Where Love and Praise may take delight to dwell?

Let none with heedless tongue from Truth disjoin

The reign of Virtue. Ere the dayspring flow'd

Like sisters link'd in Concord's golden chain

They stood before the great Eternal Mind,

Their common parent, and by him were both

Sent forth among his creatures hand in hand,

Inseparably join'd; nor e'er did Truth

Find an apt ear to listen to her lore

Which knew not Virtue's voice; nor save where Truth's

Majestick words are heard and understood

Doth Virtue deign t' inhabit. Go, inquire

Of Nature, not among Tartarean rocks,

Whither the hungry vulture with its prey

Returns, not where the lion's sullen roar

At noon resounds along the lonely banks

Of ancient Tigris, but her gentler scenes,

The dovecote and the shepherd's fold at morn

Consult; or by the meadow's fragrant hedge,

In springtime when the woodlands first are green,

Attend the linnet singing to his mate

Couch'd o'er their tender young. To this fond care

Thou dost not Virtue's honourable name

Attribute; wherefore, save that not one gleam

Of truth did e'er discover to themselves

Their little hearts, or teach them by th' effects

Of that parental love the love itself

To judge, and measure its officious deeds?

But man, whose eyelids Truth has fill'd with day,

Discerns how skilfully to bounteous ends

His wise affections move, with free accord

Adopts their guidance, yields himself secure

To Nature's prudent impulse, and converts

Instinct to duty and to sacred law:

Hence right and fit on earth, while thus to man

Th' Almighty Legislator hath explain'd

The springs of action fix'd within his breast,

Hath giv'n him pow'r to slacken or restrain

Their effort, and hath shewn him how they join

Their partial movements with the master-wheel

Of the great world, and serve that sacred end

Which he th' Unerring Reason keeps in view.

For (if a mortal tongue may speak of him

And his dread ways) ev'n as his boundless eye

Connecting ev'ry form and ev'ry change

Beholds the perfect beauty, so his will

Thro' ev'ry hour producing good to all

The family of creatures is itself

The perfect virtue. Let the grateful swain

Remember this as oft' with joy and praise

He looks upon the falling dews which clothe

His lawns with verdure, and the tender seed

Nourish within his surrows; when between

Dead seas and burning skies, where long unmov'd

The bark had languish'd, now a rustling gale

Lifts o'er the fickle waves the dancing prow,

Let the glad pilot bursting out in thanks

Remember this, lest blind o'erweening pride

Pollute their off'rings, lest their selfish heart

Say to the heav'nly Ruler "At our call

"Relents thy pow'r; by us thy arm is mov'd."

Fools! who of God as of each other deem,

Who his invariable acts deduce

From sudden counsels transient as their own,

No• farther of his bounty than th' event,

Which haply meets their loud and eager pray'r,

Acknowledge, nor beyond the drop minute,

Which haply they have tasted, heed the source

That flows for all, the fountain of his love,

Which from the summit where he sits inthron'd

Pours health and joy, un•ailing streams, thro'out

The spacious region flourishing in view,

The goodly work of his eternal day,

His own fair universe, on which alone

His counsels •ix, and whence alone his will

Assumes her strong direction. Such is now

His sovran purpose, such it was before

All multitude of years: for his right arm

Was never idle; his bestowing love

Knew no beginning; was not as a change

Of mood that woke at last and started up

After a deep and solitary sloth

Of boundless ages: no; he now is good;

He ever was. The feet of hoary Time

Thro' their eternal course have travell'd o'er

No speechless lifeless desert, but thro' scenes

Cheerful with bounty still, among a pomp

Of worlds for gladness round the Maker's throne

Loud shouting, or in many dialects

Of hope and filial trust imploring thence

The fortunes of their people, where so fix'd

Were all the dates of being, so dispos'd

To ev'ry living soul of ev'ry kind

The field of motion and the hour of rest,

That each the gen'ral happiness might serve,

And by the discipline of laws divine

Convinc'd of folly or chastiz'd from guilt

Each might at length be happy. What remains

Shall be like what is pass'd, but fairer still,

And still increasing in the godlike gifts

Of life and truth. The same paternal hand

From the mute shellfish gasping on the shore

To men, to angels, to celestial minds,

Will ever lead the generations on

Thro' higher scenes of being, while supply'd

From day to day by his enliv'ning breath

Inferiour orders in succession rise

To fill the void below. As flame ascends,

As vapours to the earth in show'rs return,

As the pois'd ocean tow'rd th' attracting moon

Swells, and the ever list'ning planets charm'd

By the sun's call their onward pace incline,

So all things which have life aspire to God,

Exhaustless fount of intellectual day,

Centre of souls! Nor doth the mast'ring voice

Of Nature cease within to prompt aright

Their steps, nor is the care of Heav'n withheld

From sending to the toil external aid,

That in their stations all may persevere

To climb th' ascent of being, and approach

For ever nearer to the life divine.

But this eternal fabrick was not rais'd

For man's inspection. Tho' to some be giv'n

To catch a transient visionary glimpse

Of that majestick scene which boundless pow'r

Prepares for perfect goodness, yet in vain

Would human life her faculties expand

T' imbosom such an object, nor could e'er

Virtue or praise have touch'd the hearts of men

Had not the Sovran Guide thro' ev'ry stage

Of this their various journey pointed out

New hopes, new toils, which to their humble sphere

Of sight and strength might such importance hold

As doth the wide creation to his own:

Hence all the little charities of life,

With all their duties, hence that fav'rite palm

Of human will when duty is suffic'd,

And still the lib'ral soul in ampler deeds

Would manifest herself, that sacred sign

Of her rever'd affinity to him

Whose bounties are his own, to whom none said

"Create the wisest, fullest, fairest, world,

"And make its offspring happy;" who intent

Some likeness of himself among his works

To view, hath pour'd into the human breast

A ray of knowledge and of love which guides

Earth's feeble race to act their Maker's part,

Self-judging, self-oblig'd, while from before

That godlike function the gigantick pow'r•

Necessity, tho' wont to curb the force

Of Chaos and the savage elements,

Retires abash'd, as from a scene too high

For her brute tyranny, and with her bears

Her scorn'd followers Terrour and base Awe,

Who blinds herself, and that ill-suited pair,

Obedience link'd with Hatred. Then the soul

Arises in her strength, and looking round

Her busy sphere, whatever work she views,

Whatever counsel, bearing any trace

Of her Creator's likeness, whether apt

To aid her fellows or preserve herself

In her superiour functions unimpair'd,

Thither she turns exulting; that she claims

As her peculiar good; on that thro' all

The fickle seasons of the day she looks

With rev'rence still; to that as to a sence

Against affliction and the darts of pain

Her drooping hopes repair; and once oppos'd

To that all other pleasure, other wealth,

Vile as the dross upon the molten gold

Appears, and loathsome as the briny sea

To him who languishes with thirst and sighs

For some known fountain pure. For what can strive

With virtue? which of Nature's regions vast

Can in so many forms produce to sight

Such pow'rful beauty? beauty which the eye

Of Hatred cannot look upon secure,

Which Envy's self contemplates, and is turn'd

Ere long to tenderness, to infant smiles,

Or tears of humblest love. Is aught so fair

In all the dewy landscapes of the spring,

The summer's noontide groves, the purple eve

At harvest-home, or in the frosty moon

Glitt'ring on some smooth sea, is aught so fair

As virtuous friendship? as the honour'd roof

Whither from highest heav'n immortal Love

His torch ethereal and his golden bow

Propitious brings, and there a temple holds

To whose unspotted service gladly vow'd

The social band of parent, brother, child,

With smiles and sweet discourse and gentle deeds

Adore his pow'r? What gift of richest clime

E'er drew such eager eyes, or prompted such

Deep wishes, as the zeal that snatcheth back

From Slander's pois'nous tooth a foe's renown,

Or crosseth danger in his lion walk

A rival's life to rescue? as the young

Athenian warriour sitting down in bonds

That his great father's body might not want

A peaceful, humble, tomb? the Roman wife

Teaching her lord how harmless was the wound

Of death, how impotent the tyrant's rage,

Who nothing more could threaten to afflict

Their faithful love? Or is there in th' abyss,

Is there among the adamantine spheres

Wheeling unshaken thro' the boundless void

Aught that with half such majesty can fill

The human bosom as when Brutus rose

Refulgent from the stroke of Caesar's sate

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 the crimson sword

Of justice in his rapt astonish'd eye,

And bad the father of his country Hail!

For lo the tyrant prostrate on the dust,

And Rome again is free? Thus thro' the paths

Of human life, in various pomp array'd,

Walks the wise daughter of the Judge of Heav'n,

Fair Virtue! from her Father's throne supreme

Sent down to utter laws such as on earth

Most apt he knew, most pow'rful, to promote

The weal of all his works, the gracious end

Of his dread empire. And tho' haply man's

Obscurer sight so far beyond himself

And the brief labours of his little home

Extends not, yet by the bright presence won

Of this divine instructress, to her sway

Pleas'd he assents, nor heeds the distant goal

To which her voice conducts him. Thus hath God,

Still looking tow'rd his own high purpose, fix'd

The virtues of his creatures, thus he rules

The parent's fondness and the patriot's zeal,

Thus the warm sense of honour and of shame,

The vows of gratitude, the faith of love,

And all the comely intercourse of praise,

The joy of human life, the earthly heav'n.

How far unlike them must the lot of guilt

Be found! or what terrestrial wo can match

The self-convicted bosom which hath wrought

The bane of others, or enslav'd itself

With shackles vile? Not poison nor sharp fire,

Nor the worst pangs that ever monkish hate

Suggested, or despotick Rage impos'd,

Were at that season an unwish'd exchange,

When the soul loathes herself, when flying thence

To crowds on ev'ry brow she sees portray'd

Fell demons, Hate or Scorn, which drive her back

To solitude, her Judge's voice divine

To hear in secret, haply sounding thro'

The troubled dreams of midnight, and still, still

Demanding for his violated laws

Fit recompense, or charging her own tongue

To speak th' award of justice on herself;

For well she knows what faithful hints within

Were whisper'd to beware the lying forms

Which turn'd her footsteps from the safer way,

What cautions to suspect their painted dress,

And look with steady eyelid on their smiles,

Their frowns, their tears. In vain: the dazzling hues

Of Fancy and Opinion's eager voice

Too much prevail'd; for mortals tread the path

In which Opinion says they follow good

Or fly from evil; and Opinion gives

Report of good or evil as the scene

Was drawn by Fancy, pleasing or deform'd:

Thus her report can never there be true

Where Fancy cheats the intellectual eye

With glaring colours and distorted lines.

Is there a man to whom the name of death

Brings terrour's ghastly pageants conjur'd up

Before him, deathbed groans and dismal vows,

And the frail soul plung'd headlong from the brink

Of life and daylight down the gloomy air

An unknown depth to gulfs of tort'ring sire

Unvisited by mercy? then what hand

Can snatch this dreamer from the fatal toils

Which Fancy' and Opinion thus conspire

To twine around his heart? or who shall hush

Their clamour when they tell him that to die,

To risk those horrours, is a direr curse

Than basest life can bring? Tho' Love with pray'rs

Most tender, with Affliction's sacred tears,

Beseech his aid, tho' Gratitude and Faith

Condemn each step which loiters, yet let none

Make answer for him that if any frown

Of danger thwart his path he will not stay

Content, and be a wretch to be secure.

Here vice begins then: at the gate of life,

Ere the young multitude to diverse roads

Part, like fond pilgrims on a journey unknown,

Sits Fancy, deep enchantress! and to each

With kind maternal looks presents her bowl,

A potent bev'rage. Heedless they comply,

Till the whole soul from that mysterious draught

Is ting'd, and ev'ry transient thought imbibes

Of gladness or disgust, desire or fear,

One homebred colour, which not all the lights

Of science e'er shall change, not all the storms

Of adverse fortune wash away, nor yet

The robe of purest virtue quite conceal,

Thence on they pass, where meeting frequent shapes

Of good and evil, cunning phantoms apt

To fire or freeze the breast, with them they join

In dang'rous parley, list'ning oft', and oft'

Gazing with reckless passion, while its garb

The spectre heightens, and its pompous tale

Repeats with some new circumstance to suit

That early tincture of the hearer's soul.

And should the guardian Reason but for one

Short moment yield to this illusive scene

His ear and eye, th' intoxicating charm

Involves him, till no longer he discerns,

Or only guides to err. Then revel forth

A furious band that spurn him from the throne,

And all is uproar: hence Ambition climbs

With sliding feet and hands impure to grasp

Those solemn toys which glitter in his view

On Fortune's rugged steep; hence pale Revenge

Unsheaths her murd'rous dagger; Rapine hence,

And envious Lust, by venal Fraud upborne,

Surmount the rev'rend barrier of the laws,

Which kept them from their prey: hence all the crimes

That e'er defil'd the earth, and all the plagues

That follow them for vengeance, in the guise

Of honour, safety, pleasure, ease, or pomp,

Stole first into the fond believing mind.

Yet not by Fancy's witchcraft on the brain

Are always the tumult'ous passions driv'n

To guilty deeds, nor Reason bound in chains

That Vice alone may lord it: oft' adorn'd

With motley pageants Folly mounts his throne,

And plays her idiot anticks like a queen.

A thousand garbs she wears, a thousand ways

She whirls her giddy empire.—Lo! thus far

With hold adventure to the Mantuan lyre

I sing for contemplation link'd with love

A pensive theme: now haply should my song

Unbend that serious count'nance, and learn

Thalia's tripping gait, her shrill-ton'd voice,

Her wiles familiar, whether scorn she darts

In wanton ambush from her lip or eye,

Or whether with a sad disguise of care

O'ermantling her gay brow she acts in sport

The deeds of Folly, and from all sides round

Calls forth impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke,

Her province. But thro' ev'ry comick scene

To lead my Muse with her light pencil arm'd,

Thro' ev'ry swift occasion which the hand

Of Laughter points at when the mirthful sting

Distends her lab'ring sides and chokes her tongue,

Were endless as to sound each grating note

With which the rooks and chatt'ring daws, and grave

Unwieldy inmates of the village pond,

The changing seasons of the sky proclaim

Sun, cloud, or show'r. Suffice it to have said

Where'r the pow'r of Ridicule displays

Her quaint-ey'd visage some incongr'ous form,

Some stubborn dissonance of things combin'd,

Strikes on her quick perception, whether Pomp,

Or Praise, or Beauty, be dragg'd in and shown

Where sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds,

Where foul Deformity, is wont to dwell,

Or whether these with shrewd and wayward spite

Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien,

The charms of Beauty or the boast of Praise.

Ask we for what fair end th' Almighty Sire

In mortal bosoms stirs this gay contempt,

These grateful pangs 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

Wild Folly's aims? for tho' the sober light

Of Truth slow dawning on the watchful mind

At length unfolds thro' many a subtle tie

How these uncouth disorders end at last

In publick evil, yet benignant Heav'n,

Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appears

To thousands, conscious what a scanty pause

From labour and from care the wider lot

Of humble life affords for studious thought

To scan the maze of Nature, therefore stamp'd

These glaring scenes with characters of scorn

As broad, as obvious, to the passing clown

As to the letter'd sage's curious eye.

But other evils o'er the steps of man

Thro' all his walks impend, against whose might

The slender darts of laughter nought avail;

A trivial warfare. Some like cruel guards

On Nature's ever-moving throne attend,

With mischief arm'd for him whoe'er shall thwart

The path of her inexorable wheels,

While she pursues the work that must be done

Thro' ocean, earth, and air: hence frequent forms

Of wo, the merchant with his wealthy bark

Bury'd by dashing waves, the traveller

Pierc'd by the pointed lightning in his haste,

And the poor husbandman with folded arms

Surveying his lost labours and a heap

Of blasted chaff, the product of the field,

Whence he expected bread. But worse than these

I deem, far worse, that other race of ills

Which humankind rear up among themselves,

That horrid off•pring which misgovern'd Will

B•…s to fantastick Errour; Vices, Crimes,

Furies that curse the earth, and make the blows,

The heaviest blows, of Nature's innocent hand

Seem sport; which are indeed but as the care

Of a wise parent, who solicits good

To all her house, tho' haply at the price

Of tears, and froward wailing, and reproach,

From some unthinking child, whom not the less

Its mother destines to be happy still.

These sources then of pain, this double lot

Of evil in th' inheritance of man,

Requir'd for his protection no slight force,

No careless watch, and therefore was his breast

Fenc'd round with passions quick to be alarm'd,

Or stubborn to oppose; with fear more swift

Than beacons catching flame from hill to hill

Where armies land, with anger uncontroll'd

As the young lion bounding on his prey,

With sorrow that locks up the struggling heart,

And shame that overcasts the drooping eye

As with a cloud of lightning. These the part

Perform of eager monitors, and goad

The soul more sharply than with points of steel

Her enemies to shun or to resist:

And as those passions that converse with good

Are good themselves, as hope, and love, and joy,

Among the fairest and the sweetest boons

Of life we rightly count, so these which guard

Against invading evil still excite

Some pain, some tumult; these within the mind

Too oft' admitted or too long retain'd

Shock their frail •eat, and by their uncurb'd rage

To savages more fell than Libya breeds

Transform themselves, till human thought becomes

A gloomy ruin, haunt of shapes unbless'd,

Of self-tormenting fiends, Horrour, Despair,

Hatred, and wicked Envy, foes to all

The works of Nature and the gifts of Heav'n.

But when thro' blameless paths to righteous ends

Those keener passions urge th' awaken'd soul,

I would not as ungracious violence

Their sway describe, nor from their free career

The fellowship of Pleasure quite exclude:

For what can render to the self-approv'd

Their temper void of comfort tho' in pain?

Who knows not with what majesty divine

The forms of Truth and Justice to the mind

Appear, ennobling oft' the sharpest wo

With triumph and rejoicing? Who that bears

A human bosom hath not often felt

How dear are all those ties which bind our race

In gentleness together, and how sweet

Their force, let Fortune's wayward hand the while

Be kind or cruel? Ask the faithful youth

Why the cold urn of her whom long he lov'd

So often fills his arms, so often draws

His lonely footsteps silent and unseen

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

Those sacred hours when, stealing from the noise

Of care and envy, sweet remembrance sooths

With virtue's kindest looks his aking breast,

And turns his tears to rapture. Ask the crowd

Which flies impatient from the village walk

To climb the neighb'ring cliffs when far below

The savage winds have hurl'd upon the coast

Some helpless bark, while holy Pity melts

The gen'ral eye, or Terrour's icy hand

Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair,

While ev'ry mother closer to her breast

Catcheth her child, and pointing where the waves

Foam thro' the shatter'd vessel, shrieks aloud

As one poor wretch who spreads his piteous arms

For succour swallow'd by the roaring surge,

As now another dash'd against the rock

Drops lifeless down. O! deemest thou indeed

No pleasing influence here by Nature giv'n

To mutual terrour and Compassion's tears?

No tender charm mysterious which attracts

O'er all that edge of pain the social pow'rs

To this their proper action and their end?

Ask thy own heart when at the midnight hour

Slow thro' that pensive gloom thy pausing eye,

Led by the glimm'ring taper, moves around

The rev'rend volumes of the dead, the songs

Of Grecian hards, and records writ by Fame

For Grecian heroes, where the Sovran Pow'r

Of heav'n and earth surveys th' immortal page,

Ev'n as a father meditating all

The praises of his son, and bids the rest

Of mankind there the fairest model learn

Of their own nature, and the noblest deeds

Which yet the world hath seen: if then thy soul

Join in the lot of those diviner men,

Say, when the prospect darkens on thy view,

When sunk by many a wound heroick states

Mourn in the dust, and tremble at the frown

Of hard Ambition; when the gen'rous band

Of youths who fought for freedom and their fires

Lie side by side in death; when brutal Force

Usurps the throne of Justice, turns the pomp

Of guardian pow'r, the majesty of rule,

The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe,

To poor dishonest pageants, to adorn

A robber's walk, and glitter in the eyes

Of such as bow the knee; when beauteous works,

Rewards of virtue, sculptur'd forms, which deck'd

With more than human grace the warriour's arch

Or patriot's tomb now victims to appease

Tyrannick Envy strew the common path

With awful ruins; when the Muses' haunt,

The marble Porch where Wisdom wont to talk

With Socrates or Tully, hears no more

Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks,

Or f•…ale Supe•…tion's midnight pray'r;

When ruthless Havock from the hand of Time

Tears the destroying sithe, with surer stroke

To mow the monuments of glory down,

Till Desolation o'er the grass-grown street

Expands her raven wings, and from the gate

Where senates once the weal of nations plann'd

Hisseth the gliding snake thro' hoary weeds

That clasp the mould'ring column: thus when all

The widely mournful scene is fix'd within

Thy throbbing 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 brow,

Or dash Octavius from the trophy'd car,

Say, doth 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

Of silent flatt'rers bending to his nod,

And o'er them like a giant casts his eye,

And says within himself, "I am a king,

"And wherefore should the clam'rous voice of Wo

"Intrude upon mine ear?" The dregs corrupt

Of barb'rous ages, that Circean draught

Of servitude and folly, have not yet,

Bless'd be th' Eternal Ruler of the world!

Yet have not so dishonour'd, so deform'd,

The native judgment of the human soul,

Nor so effac'd the image of her Sire.

THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.
BOOK III.
MDCCLXX.

WHAT tongue then may explain the various fate

Which reigns o'er earth? or who to mortal eyes

Illustrate this perplexing labyrinth

Of joy and wo thro' which the feet of man

Are doom'd to wander? That Eternal Mind,

From passions, wants, and envy, far estrang'd;

Who built the spacious universe, and deck'd

Each part so richly with whate'er pertains

To life, to health, to pleasure, why bad he

The viper Evil creeping in pollute

The goodly scene, and with insidious rage,

While the poor inmate looks around and smiles,

Dart her fell sting with poision to his soul?

Hard is the question, and from ancient days

Hath still oppress'd with care the sage's thought,

Hath drawn forth accents from the poet's lyre

Too sad, too deeply plaintive; nor did e'er

Those chiefs of humankind from whom the light

Of heav'nly truth first gleam'd on barb'rous lands

Forget this dreadful secret when they told

What wondrous things had to their favour'd eyes

And ears on cloudy mountain been reveal'd,

Or in deep cave by nymph or pow'r divine,

Portentous oft' and wild: yet one I know,

Could I the speech of lawgivers assume,

One old and splendid tale I would record

With which the Muse of Solon in sweet strains

Adorn'd this theme profound, and render'd all

Its darkness, all its terrours, bright as noon,

Or gentle as the golden star of eve.

Who knows not Solon? last and wisest far

Of those whom Greece triumphant in the height

Of glory styl'd her Fathers? him whose voice

Thro' Athens hush'd the storm of civil wrath,

Taught envious Want and cruel Wealth to join

In friendship, and with sweet compalsion tam'd

Minerva's eager people to his laws,

Which their own goddess in his breast inspir'd?

'Twas now the time when his heroick task

Seem'd but perform'd in vain, when sooth'd by years

Of satt'ring service the fond multitude

Hung with their sudden counsels on the breath

Of great Pisistratus, that chief renown'd

Whom Hermes and th' Idalian queen had train'd

Ev'n from his birth to ev'ry pow'rful art

Of pleasing and persuading, from whose lips

Flow'd eloquence which like the vows of love

Could steal away suspicion from the hearts

Of all who listen'd. Thus from day to day

He won the gen'ral suff'rage, and beheld

Each rival overshadow'd and depress'd

Beneath his ampler state, yet oft' complain'd

As one less kindly treated who had hop'd

To merit favour, but submits perforce

To find another's services preferr'd,

Nor yet relaxeth aught of faith or zeal.

Then tales were scatter'd of his envious foes,

Of snares that watch'd his fame, of daggers aim'd

Against his life. At last with trembling limbs,

His hair diffus'd and wild, his garments loose,

And stain'd with blood from self-inflicted wounds,

He burst into the publick place, as there,

There only, were his refuge, and declar'd

In broken words, with sighs of deep regret,

The mortal danger he had scarce repell'd.

Fir'd with his tragick tale th' indignant crowd

To guard his steps forthwith a menial band

Array'd beneath his eye for deeds of war

Decree: O still too lib'ral of their trust

And oft' betray'd by over-grateful love

The gen'rous people! Now behold him fenc'd

By mercenary weapons, like a king

Forth issuing from the city gate at eve

To seek his rural mansion, and with pomp

Crowding the publick road. The swain stops short,

And sighs, th' officious townsmen stand at gaze,

And shrinking give the sullen pageant room.

Yet not the less obsequious was his brow,

Nor less profuse of courteous words his tongue,

Of gracious gifts his hand, the while by stealth,

Like a small torrent fed with ev'ning show'rs,

His train increas'd; till at that satal time,

Just as the publick eye with doubt and shame

Startled began to question what it saw,

Swift as the sound of earthquakes rush'd a voice

Thro' Athens that Pisistratus had fill'd

The rocky citadel with hostile arms,

Had barr'd the steep ascent, and sat within

Amid his hirelings meditating death

To all whose stubborn necks his yoke resus'd.

Where then was Solon? After ten long years

Of absence full of haste from foreign shores

The sage, the lawgiver, had now arriv'd;

Arriv'd, alas! to see that Athens, that

Fair temple rais'd by him, and sacred call'd

To Liberty and Concord, now profan'd

By savage hate, or sunk into a den

Of slaves who crouch beneath the master's scourge,

And deprecate his wrath and court his chains.

Yet did not the wise patriot's grief impede

His virt'ous will, nor was his heart inclin'd

One moment with such womanlike distress

To view the transient storms of civil war

As thence to yield his country and her hopes

To all-devouring bondage. His bright helm,

Ev'n while the traitor's impious act is told,

He buckles on his hoary head, he girds

With mail his stooping breast, the shield, the spear,

He snatcheth, and with swift indignant strides

Wh• assembled people seeks, proclaims aloud

It was no time for counsel, in their spears

Lay all their prudence now; the tyrant yet

Was not so firmly seated on his throne

But that one shock of their united force

Would dash him from the summit of his pride

Headlong and grov'lling in the dust. What else

Can reassert the lost Athenian name,

So cheaply to the laughter of the world

Betray'd, by guile beneath an infant's faith

So mock'd and scorn'd? Away then; Freedom now

And Safety dwell not but with fame in arms;

Myself will shew you where their mansion lies,

And thro' the walks of danger or of death

Conduct you to them. While he spake thro' all

Their crowded ranks his quick sagacious eye

He darted, where no cheerful voice was heard

Of social daring, no stretch'd arm was seen

Hast'ning their common task, but pale mistrust

Wrinkled each brow: theyshook their heads and down

Their slack hands hung: cold sighs and whisper'd doubts

From breath to breath stole round. The sage mean-time

Look'd speechless on, while his big bosom heav'd

Struggling with shame and sorrow, till at last

A tear broke forth; and "O immortal Shades!

"O Theseus!" he exclaim'd, "O Codrus! where,

"Where are ye now? behold for what ye toil'd

"Thro' life! behold for whom ye chose to die!"

No more he added, but with lonely steps

Weary and slow, his silver beard depress'd,

And his stern eyes bent heedless on the ground,

Back to his silent dwelling he repair'd;

There o'er the gate his armour, as a man

Whom from the service of the war his chief

Dismisseth after no inglorious toil,

He fix'd in gen'ral view: one wishful look

He sent unconscious tow'rd the publick place

At parting, then beneath his quiet roof

Without a word, without a sigh, retir'd.

Scarce had the morrow's sun his golden rays

From sweet Hymettus darted o'er the fanes

Of Cecrops to the Salaminian shores

When lo! on Solon's threshold met the feet

Of four Athenians, by the same sad care

Conducted all, than whom the state beheld

None nobler. First came Megacles, the son

Of great Alemeon, whom the Lydian king,

The mild unhappy Croesus, in his days

Of glory had with costly gifts adorn'd,

Fair vessels, splendid garments, tinctur'd webs,

And heaps of treasur'd gold beyond the lot

Of many sovrans, thus requiting well

That hospitable favour which erewhile

Alemeon to his messengers had shewn,

Whom he with off'rings worthy of the god

Sent from his throne in Sardis to revere

Apollo's Delphick shrine. With Megacles

Approach'd his son, whom Agarista bore,

The virtuous child of Clisthenes, whose hand

Of Grecian sceptres the most ancient far

In Sicyon sway'd; but greater fame he drew

From arms controll'd by justice, from the love

Of the wise Muses, and the unenvy'd wreath

Which gla• Olympia gave; for thither once

His warlike steeds the hero led, and there

Contended thro' the tumult of the course

With skilful wheels. Then victor at the goal

Amid th' applauses of assembled Greece

High on his car he stood, and wav'd his arm:

Silence ensu'd, when straight the herald's voice

Was heard inviting ev'ry Grecian youth,

Whom Clisthenes content might call his son,

To visit ere twice thirty days were pass'd

The towers of Sicyon. There the chief decreed

Within the circuit of the following year

To join at Hymen's altar hand in hand

With his fair daughter him among the guests

Whom worthiest he should deem. Forthwith from all

The bounds of Greece th' ambitious wooers came;

From rich Hesperia, from th' Illyrian shore,

Where Epidamnus over Adria's surge

Looks on the setting sun, from those brave tribes

Chaonian or Molossian whom the race

Of great Achilles governs, glorying still

In Troy o'erthrown, from rough Aetolia, nurse

Of men who first among the Greeks threw off

The yoke of kings, to commerce and to arms

Devoted, from Thessalia's fertile meads,

Where flows Peneus near the lofty walls

Of Cranon old, from strong Eretria, queen

Of all Euboean cities, who sublime

On the steep margin of Euripus views

Across the tide the Marathonian plain,

Not yet the haunt of glory; Athens too,

Minerva's care, among her graceful sons

Found equal lovers for the princely maid;

Nor was proud Argos wanting, nor the domes

Of sacred Elis, nor th'Arcadian groves

That overshade Alpheus, echoing oft'

Some shepherd's song. But thro' th' illustrious band

Was none who might with Megacles compare

In all the honours of unblemish'd youth.

His was the beauteous bride; and now their son,

Young Clisthenes, betimes at Solon's gate

Stood anxious, leaning forward on the arm

Of his great sire, with earnest eyes that ask'd

When the slow hinge would turn, with restless feet,

And cheeks now pale, now glowing; for his heart

Throbb'd, full of bursting passions, anger, grief,

With scorn imbitter'd, by the gen'rous boy

Scarce understood, but which, like noble seeds,

Are destin'd for his country and himself

In riper years to bring forth fruits divine

Of liberty and glory. Next appear'd

Two brave companions, whom one mother bore

To diff'rent lords, but whom the better ties

Of firm esteem and friendship render'd more

Than brothers; first Miltiades, who drew

From godlike Aeacus his ancient line,

That Aeacus whose unimpeach'd renown

For sanctity and justice won the lyre

Of elder bards to celebrate him thron'd

In Hades o'er the dead, where his decrees

The guilty soul within the burning gates

Of Tartarus compel, or send the good

T' inhabit with eternal health and peace

The vallies of Elysium. From a stem

So sacred ne'er could worthier scion spring

Than this Miltiades, whose aid ere long

The chiefs of Thrace, already on their ways

Sent by th' inspir'd foreknowing maid who sits

Upon the Delphick tripod, shall implore

To wield their sceptre, and the rural wealth

Of fruitful Chersonesus to protect

With arms and laws: but nothing careful now

Save for his injur'd country, here he stands

In deep solicitude with Cimon join'd,

Unconscious both what widely diff'rent lots

Await them, taught by Nature as they are

To know one common good, one common ill:

For Cimon not his valour, not his birth,

Deriv'd from Codrus, not a thousand gifts

Dealt round him with a wise benignant hand,

No, not th' Olympick olive, by himself

From his own brow transferr'd to sooth the mind

Of this Pisistratus, can long preserve

From the sell envy of the tyrant's sons

And their assassin dagger. But if death

Obscure upon his gentle steps attend;

Yet Fate an ample recompense prepares

In his victorious son, that other great

Miltiades who o'er the very throne

Of glory shall with Time's assiduous hand

In adamantine characters engrave

The name of Athens, and by Freedom arm'd

'Gainst the gigantick pride of Asia's king

Shall all th' achievements of the heroes old

Surmount, of Hercules, of all who sail'd

From Thessaly with Jason, all who fought

For empire or for fame at Thebes or Troy.

Such were the patriots who within the porch

Of Solon had assembled: but the gate

Now opens, and across the ample floor

Straight they proceed into an open space

Bright with the beams of morn, a verdant spot,

Where stands a rural altar pil'd with sods

Cut from the grassy turf, and girt with wreaths

Of branching palm. Here Solon's self they found

Clad in a robe of purple pure, and deck'd

With leaves of olive on his rev'rend brow.

He bow'd before the altar, and o'er cakes

Of barley from two earthen vessels pour'd

Of honey and of milk a plenteous stream,

Calling mean-time the Muses to accept

His simple off'ring, by no victim ting'd

With blood, nor sully'd by destroying fire,

But such as for himself Apollo claims

In his own Delos, where his fav'rite haunt

Is thence the altar of the Pious nam'd.

Unseen the guests drew near, and silent view'd

That worship, till the hero priest his eye

Turn'd tow'rd a seat on which prepar'd there lay

A branch of laurel; then his friends confess'd

Before him stood. Backward his step he drew,

As loth that care or tumult should approach

Those early rites divine; but soon their looks

So anxious, and their hands held forth with such

Desponding gesture, bring him on perforce

To speak to their affliction. "Are ye come,"

He cry'd, "to mourn with me this common shame?

"Or ask ye some new effort which may break

"Our fetters? Know then of the publick cause

"Not for yon' traitor's cunning or his might

"Do I despair; nor could I wish from Jove

"Aught dearer than at this late hour of life

"As once by laws so now by strenuous arms

"From impious violation to assert

"The rights our fathers left us. But, alas!

"What arms? or who shall wield them? Ye beheld

"Th' Athenian people. Many bitter days

"Must pass, and many wounds from cruel Pride

"Be felt, ere yet their partial hearts find room

"For just resentment, or their hands endure

"To smite this tyrant brood, so near to all

"Their hopes, so oft' admir'd, so long belov'd.

"That time will come however. Be it yours

"To watch its fair approach, and urge it on

"With honest prudence: me it ill beseems

"Again to supplicate th unwilling crowd

"To rescue from a vile deceiver's hold

"That envy'd pow'r which once with eager ze•l

"They offer'd to myself; nor can I plunge

"In counsels deep and various, nor prepare

"For distant wars, thus falt'ring as I tread

"On life's last verge, ere long to join the shades

"Of Minos and Lycurgus. But behold

"What care employs me now. My vows I pay

"To the sweet Muses, teachers of my youth,

"And solace of my age. If right I deem•

"Of the still voice that whispers at my heart

"Th' immortal Sisters have not quite withdrawn

"Their old harmonious influence. Let your tongues

"With sacred silence favour what I speak,

"And haply shall my faithful lips be taught

"T' unfold celestial counsels, which may arm

"As with impenetrable steel your breasts

"For the long strife before you, and repel

"The darts of adverse Fate." He said, and snatch'd

The laurel bough, and sat in silence down,

Fix'd, wrapp'd in solemn musing, full before

The sun, who now from all his radiant orb

Drove the grey clouds, and pour'd his genial light

Upon the breast of Solon. Solon rais'd

Aloft the leasy rod, and thus began:

"Ye beauteous offspring of Olympian Jove

"And Memory divine, Pierian Maids!

"Hear me propitious. In the morn of life,

"When hope shone bright and all the prospect smil'd,

"To your sequester'd mansion oft' my steps

"Were turn'd, O Muses! and within your gate

"My off'rings paid. Ye taught me then with strains

"Of flowing harmony to soften War's

"Dire voice, or in fair colours that might charm

"The publick eye to clothe the form austere

"Of civil counsel. Now my feeble age

"Neglected, and supplanted of the hope

"On which it lean'd, yet sinks not, but to you,

"To your mild wisdom, flies, refuge belov'd

"Of solitude and silence Ye can teach

"The visions of my bed whate'er the gods

"In the rude ages of the world inspir'd,

"Or the first herdes acted; ye can make

"The morning light more gladsome to my sense

"Than ever it appear'd to active youth

"Pursuing careless pleasure; ye can give

"To this long leisure, these unheeded hours,

"A labour as sublime as when the sons

"Of Athens throng'd and speechless round me stood

"To hear pronounc'd for all their future deeds

"The bounds of right and wrong. Celestial Pow'rs!

"I feel that ye are near me; and behold

"To meet your energy divine I bring

"A high and sacred theme, not less than those

"Which to th' eternal custody of Fame

"Your lips intrusted, when of old ye deign'd

"With Orpheus or with Homer to frequent

"The groves of Hemus or the Chian shore.

"Ye know, harmonious Maids! (for what of all

"My various life was e'er from you estrang'd?)

"Oft' hath my solitary song to you

"Reveal'd that duteous pride which turn'd my steps

"To willing exile, earnest to withdraw

"From envy and the disappointed thirst

"Of lucre, lest the bold familiar strife

"Which in the eye of Athens they upheld

"Against her legislator should impair

"With trivial doubt the rev'rence of his laws:

"To Egypt therefore thro' th' Aegean isles

"My course I steer'd, and by the banks of Nile

"Dwelt in Canopus: thence the hallow'd domes

"Of Sais, and the rites to Isis paid,

"I sought, and in her temple's silent courts

"Thro' many changing moons attentive heard

"The venerable Sonchis, while his tongue

"At morn or midnight the deep story told

"Of her who represents whate'er has been,

"Or is, or shall be, whose mysterious veil

"No mortal hand hath ever yet remov'd.

"By him exhorted southward to the walls

"Of On I pass'd, the city of the Sun,

"The ever youthful god: 't was there amid

"His priests and sages, who the livelong night

"Watch the dread movements of the starry sphere,

"Or who in wondrous fables half disclose

"The secrets of the elements, it was there

"That great Psenophis taught my raptur'd ears

"The same of old Atlantis, of her chiefs,

"And her pure laws, the first which earth obey'd.

"Deep in my bosom sunk the noble tale,

"And often while I listen'd did my mind

"Foretel with what delight her own free lyre

"Should some time for an Attick audience raise

"Anew that losty scene, and from their tombs

"Call forth those ancient demigods to speak

"Of justice and the hidden providence

"That walks among mankind. But yet mean-time

"The mystick pomp of Ammon's gloomy sons

"Became less pleasing: with contempt I gaz'd

"On that tame garb and those unvarying paths

"To which the double yoke of king and priest

"Had cramp'd the sullen race. At last with hymns

"Invoking our own Pallas and the gods

"Of cheerful Greece, a glad farewell I gave

"To Egypt, and before the southern wind

"Spread my full fails. What climes I then survey'd,

"What fortunes I encounter'd in the realm

"Of Croesus, or upon the Cyprian shore,

"The Muse who prompts my bosom doth not now

"Consent that I reveal. But when at length

"Ten times the sun returning from the south

"Hadstrow'dwith flow'rs the verdant earth, and fill'd

"The groves with musick, pleas'd I then beheld

"The term of those long errours drawing nigh.

"Nor yet, I said, will I sit down within

"The walls of Athens till my seet have trod

"The Cretan soil, have pierc'd those rev'rend haunts

"Whence Law and civil Concord issu'd forth

"As from their ancient home, and still to Greece

"Their wisest loftiest discipline proclaim.

"Straight where Amnisus, mart of wealthy ships,

"Appears beneath sam'd Gnossus and her tow'rs,

"Like the fair handmaid of a stately queen,

"I check'd my prow, and thence with eager steps

"The city' of Minos enter'd. O ye Gods!

"Who taught the leaders of the simpler time

"By written words to curb the untow'rd will

"Of mortals, how within that gen'rous isle

"Have ye the triumphs of your pow'r display'd

"Munificent! Those splendid merchants, lords

"Of traffick and the sea, with what delight

"I saw them at their publick meal, like sons

"Of the same household, join the plainer sort,

"Whose wealth was only freedom! whence to those

"Vile envy and to those fantastick pride

"Alike was strange, but noble concord still

"Cherish'd the strength untam'd, the rustick faith,

"Of their first fathers. Then the growing race

"How pleasing to behold them in their schools,

"Their sports, their labours, ever plac'd within

"O shade of Minos! thy controlling eye?

"Here was a docile band in tuneful tones

"Thy laws pronouncing, or with lofty hymns

"Praising the bounteous gods, or to preserve

"Their country's heroes from oblivious night

"Resounding what the Muse inspir'd of old:

"There on the verge of manhood others met

"In heavy armour thro' the heats of noon

"To march, the rugged mountain's height to climb

"With measur'd swiftness, from the hardbent bow

"To send resistless arrows to their mark,

"Or for the fame of prowess to contend,

"Now wrestling, now with fists and staves oppos'd,

"Now with the biting falchion, and the fence

"Of brazen shields, while still the warbling flute

"Presided o'er the combat, breathing strains

"Grave, solemn, soft, and changing headlong spite

"To thoughtful resolution cool and clear.

"Such I beheld those islanders renown'd,

"So tutor'd from their birth to meet in war

"Each bold invader, and in peace to guard

"That living flame of rev'rence for their laws

"Which nor the storms of Fortune nor the flood

"Of foreign wealth diffus'd o'er all the land

"Could quench or slacken. First of human names

"In ev'ry Cretan's heart was Minos still,

"And holiest far of what the sun surveys

"Thro' his whole course were those primeval seats

"Which with religious footsteps he had taught

"Their sires t' approach, the wild Dictean cave

"Where Jove was born, the ever verdant meads

"Of Ida, and the spacious grotto where

"His active youth he pass'd, and where his throne

"Yet stands mysterious, whither Minos came

"Each ninth returning year the king of gods

"And mortals there in secret to consult

"On justice, and the tables of his law

"T' inscribe anew: oft' also with like zeal

"Great Rhea's mansion from the Gnossian gates

"Men visit, nor less oft' the antick fane

"Built on that sacred spot along the banks

"Of shady Theron where benignant Jove

"And his majestick consort join'd their hands

"And spoke their nuptial vows. Alas! it was there

"That the dire same of Athens sunk in bonds

"I first receiv'd, what time an annual feast

"Had summon'd all the genial country round

"By sacrifice and pomp to bring to mind

"That first great spousal, while th' enamour'd youths

"And virgins with the priest before the shrine

"Observe the same pure ritual, and invoke

"The same glad omens. There among the crowd

"Of strangers from those naval cities drawn

"Which deck like gems the island's northern shore

"A merchant of Aegina I descry'd,

"My ancient host; but forward as I sprung

"To meet him he with dark dejected brow

"Stopp'd half averse; and "O Athenian guest!"

"He said, "art thou in Crete these joyful rites

"Partaking? Know thy laws are blotted out;

"Thy Country kneels before a tyrant's throne."

"He added names of men, with hostile deeds

"Disastrous, which obscure and indistinct

"I heard, for while he spake my heart grew cold

"And my eyes dim; the altars and their train

"No more were present to me: how I far'd

"Or whither turn'd I know not, nor recall

"Aught of those moments other than the sense

"Of one who struggles in oppressive sleep,

"And from the toils of some distressful dream

"To break away, with palpitating heart,

"Weak limbs, and temples bath'd in deathlike dew,

"Makes many a painful effort. When at last

"The sun and Nature's face again appear'd

"Not far I found me, where the publick path

"Winding thro' cypress groves and swelling meads

"From Gnossus to the cave of Jove ascends:

"Heedless I follow'd on till soon the skirts

"Of Ida rose before me, and the vault

"Wide-op'ning pierc'd the mountain's rocky side.

"Ent'ring within the threshold on the ground

"I slung me, sad, faint, overworn with toil.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

THE BEGINNING OF THE FOURTH BOOK OF THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.
MDCCLXX.

ONE effort more, one cheerful sally more,

Our destin'd course will finish; and in peace

Then for an off'ring sacred to the pow'rs

Who lent us gracious guidance we will then

Inscribe a monument of deathless praise,

O my advent'rous Song! With steady speed

Long hast thou, on an untry'd voyage bound,

Sail'd between earth and heav'n; hast now survey'd

Stretch'd out beneath thee all the mazy tracks

Of passion and opinion, like a waste

Of sands, and flow'ry lawns, and tangling woods,

Where mortals roam bewilder'd; and hast now

Exulting soar'd among the worlds above,

Or hover'd near th' eternal gates of heav'n,

If haply the discourses of the gods

A curious but an unpresuming guest

Thou might'st partake, and carry back some strain

Of divine wisdom lawful to repeat

And apt to be conceiv'd of man below.

A diff'rent task remains, the secret paths

Of early genius to explore, to trace

Those haunts where Fancy her predestin'd sons,

Like to the demigods of old, doth nurse

Remote from eyes profane. Ye happy Souls!

Who now her tender discipline obey,

Where dwell ye? what wild river's brink at eve

Imprint your steps? what solemn groves at noon

Use ye to visit, often breaking forth

In rapture 'mid your dilatory walk,

Or musing as in slumber on the green?

—Would I again were with you!—O ye Dales

Of Tyne! and ye most ancient Woodlands! where

Oft' as the giant flood obliquely strides

And his banks open and his lawns extend

Stops short the pleased traveller to view

Presiding o'er the scene some rustick tow'r

Founded by Norman or by Saxon hands;

O ye Northumbrian Shades! which overlook

The rocky pavement and the mossy falls

Of solitary Wensbeck's limpid stream,

How gladly I recall your wellknown seats

Belov'd of old, and that delightful time

When all alone for many a summer's day

I wander'd thro' your calm recesses, led

In silence by some pow'rful hand unseen.

Nor will I e'er forget you; nor shall e'er

The graver tasks of manhood or th' advice

Of vulgar wisdom move me to disclaim

Those studies which possess'd me in the dawn

Of life, and fix'd the colour of my mind

For ev'ry future year; whence even now

From sleep I rescue the clear hours of morn,

And while the world around lies overwhelm'd

In idle darkness am alive to thoughts

Of honourable fame, of truth divine

Or moral, and of minds to virtue won

By the sweet magick of harmonious verse,

The themes which now expect us. For thus far

On gen'ral habits, and on arts which grow

Spontaneous in the minds of all mankind,

Hath dwelt our argument; and how selftaught,

Tho' seldom conscious of their own employ,

In Nature's or in Fortune's changeful scene

Men learn to judge of beauty, and acquire

Those forms set up as idols in the soul

For love and zealous praise. Yet indistinct

In vulgar bosoms and unnotic'd lie

These pleasing stores, unless the casual force

Of things external prompt the heedless mind

To recognize her wealth. But some there are

Conscious of Nature and the rule which man

O'er Nature holds; some who within themselves

Retiring from the trivial scenes of chance

And momentary passion can at will

Call up these fair exemplars of the mind,

Review their features, scan the secret laws

Which bind them to each other, and display

By forms, or sounds, or colours, to the sense

Of all the world, their latent charms display;

Ev'n as in Nature's frame (if such a word,

If such a word, so bold, may from the lips

Of man proceed) as in this outward frame

Of things the Great Artificer portrays

His own immense idea. Various names

Th•se among mortals bear, as various signs

They use, and by peculiar organs speak

To human sense. There are who by the flight

Of air thro' tubes with moving stops distinct,

Or by extended chords in measure taught

To vibrate, can assemble pow'rful sounds

Expressing ev'ry temper of the mind

From ev'ry cause, and charming all the soul

With passion void of care: others mean-time

The rugged mass of metal, wood, or stone,

Patiently taming, or with easier hand

Describing lines, and with more ample scope

Uniting colours, can to gen'ral sight

Produce those permanent and perfect forms,

Those characters of heroes and of gods,

Which from the crude materials of the world

Their own high minds created. But the chief

Are poets, eloquent men, who dwell on earth

To clothe whate'er the soul admires or loves

With language and with numbers: hence to these

A field is open'd wide as Nature's sphere,

Nay wider; various as the sudden acts

Of human wit, and vast as the demands

Of human will. The bard nor length, nor depth,

Nor place, nor form, controls. To eyes, to ears,

To ev'ry organ of the copious mind,

He offereth all its treasures. Him the hours,

The seasons him, obey; and changeful Time

Sees him at will keep measure with his flight,

At will outstrip it. To enhance his toil

He summoneth from th' uttermost extent

Of things which God hath taught him ev'ry form

Auxiliar, ev'ry pow'r, and all beside

Excludes imperious. His prevailing hand

Gives to corporeal essence life and sense,

And ev'ry stately function of the soul.

The soul itself to him obsequious lies,

Like matter's passive heap, and as he wills

To reason and affection he assigns

Their just alliances, their just degrees;

Whence his peculiar honours, whence the race

Of men who people his delightful world,

Men genuine and according to themselves,

Transcend as far th' uncertain sons of earth

As earth itself to his delightful world

The palm of spotless beauty doth resign.

* * * * * * * * *

Notes

*
Truth is here taken not in a logical but in a mixed and popular sense, or for what has been called the truth of things, denoting as well their natural and regular condition as a proper estimate or judgment concerning them.
↵

CONTENTS.

- The Life of the Author, Page 5

- Advertisement, 17

- The Design, 20

- The Pleasures of Imagination, Book I. 25

- The Pleasures of Imagination, Book II. 51

- The Pleasures of Imagination, Book III. 83

- General Argument to the Pleasures of Imagination enlarged, 114

- The Pleasures of Imagination enlarged, Book I. 116

- The Pleasures of Imagination enlarged, Book II. 143

- The Pleasures of Imagination enlarged, Book III. 168

- Beginning of Book IV. 187

From the APOLLO PRESS, by the MARTINS, Nov. •. 1781.

END OF VOLUME FIRST.

S•… del.

D•… Sc.

Printed for John Bell British Library Strand London. Feby. 7th. 1782.
BELL'S EDITION. The POETS of GREAT BRITAIN COMPLETE FROM CHAUCER to CHURCHILL.AKENSIDE, VOL. II.
Who, Sappho, wounds thy tender breast

Say, flies he?

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The poetical works: of Mark Akenside. In two volumes. With the life of the author. ... [pt.1]

Akenside, Mark, 1721-1770.

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http://ota.ox.ac.uk/id/4718

ID [isbn10]

110601717X

ID [isbn13]

9781106017178

ID [TCP]

K071066.001

ID [BIBNO]

CW3310493607

ID [ECLL]

0184600601

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— The poetical works: of Mark Akenside. In two volumes. With the life of the author. ..., Akenside, Mark, 1721-1770.. 2v.,plates : port. ; 18⁰. Edinburg :: at the Apollo Press, by the Martins. Anno,. 1781 [1782]. [In: 'The poets of Great Britain complete from Chaucer to Churchill', Bell's edition, London, printed for John Bell.] [With engraved collective titlepages dated 1782.] [Each volume has an additional letterpress titlepage.] [Colophon dated 1781.] [Reproduction of original from the British Library.] [English Short Title Catalog, ESTCT87422.] [Electronic data. Farmington Hills, Mich. : Thomson Gale, 2003. Page image (PNG). Digitized image of the microfilm version produced in Woodbridge, CT by Research Publications, 1982-2002 (later known as Primary Source Microfilm, an imprint of the Gale Group).]

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