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The hair in curls luxuriant now
Around their temples spread;
The tail, that whilom hung below,
Now dangled from the head.
The head remains unchang'd within,
Nor alter'd much the face;
It still retains its native grin,
And all its old grimace.
Thus half transformi'd, and half the same,
Jove bade them take their place
(Restoring them their antient claim)
Among the human race.
Man with contempt the brute survey'd,
Nor would a name bestow;
But woman lik'd the motley breed,
And call'd the thing a beau.
$304. Know Thyself. Arbuthnot. WHAT am I? how produc'd? and for what end?
Whence drew I being? to what period tend?
Am I th' abandon'd orphan of blind chance,
Dropp'd by wild atoms in disorder'd dance?
Or from an endless chain of causes wrought,
And of unthinking substance, born with thought?
By motion which began without a cause,
Supremely wise, without design or laws?
Am I but what I seem, mere flesh and blood?
A branching channel, with a mazy flood?
The purple stream that through my vessels glides,
Dull and unconscious flows, like common tides;
The pipes through which the circling juices stray,
Are not that thinking I, no more than they:
This frame, compacted with transcendent skill
Of moving joints obedient to my will,
Nurs'd from the fruitful glebe, like yonder tree,
Waxes and wastes; I call it mine, not me.
New matter still the mould'ring mass sustains:
The mansion chang'd, the tenant still remains,
And from the fleeting stream repair'd by food,
Distinct, as is the swimmer from the food.
What am I then? sure of a noble birth;
By parents' right, I own as mother, Earth;
But claim superior lineage by my sire,
Who warm'd th' unthinking clod with heavenly
Essence divine, with lifeless clay allay'd, [fire;
By double nature, double instinct sway'd:
With look erect, I dart my longing eve,
Seem wing'd to part, and gain my native sky;
I strive to mount, but strive, alas! in vain,'
Tied to this massy globe with magic chain.
Now with swift thought I range from pole to pole,
View worlds around their flaming centres roll:
What steady pow'rs their endless motions guide
Through the same trackless paths of boundless
I trace the blazing comet's fiery tail, [void!
And weigh the whirling planets in a scale;
These godlike thoughts while eager I pursue,
Some glitt'ring trifler offer'd to my view,
A gnat, an insect of the meanest kind,
Erase the new-born image from my mind:
Some beastly want, craving, importunate,
Vile as the grinning mastiff at my gate,
Calls off from heavenly truth this reas'ning me,
And tells me I'm a brute as much as he.
If, on sublimer wings of love and praise,
My soul above the starry vault I raise,
Lur'd by some vain conceit, or shameful lust,
I flag, I drop, and flutter in the dust.
The tow'ring lark thus, from her lofty strain,
Stoops to an emmet, or a barley grain.
By adverse gusts of jarring instincts test,
I rove to one, now to the other coast;
To bliss unknown my lofty soul aspires,
My lot unequal to my vast desires.
As 'mongst the hinds a child of royal birth
Finds his high pedigree by conscious worth;
So man, amongst his fellow brutes expos'd,
Sees he's a king, but 'tis a king depos'd.
Pity him beasts! you by no law confin'd,
And barr'd from devious paths by being blind;
Whilst man, through op'uing views of various
Confounded, by the aid of knowledge strays;
Too weak to choose, yet choosing still in haste,
One moment gives the pleasure and distaste;
Bilk'd by past minutes, while the present cloy,
The flatt'ring future still must give the joy :
Not happy, but amus'd upon the road,
And (like you) thoughtless of his last abode,
Whether next sun his being shall restrain
To endless nothing, happiness, or pain,
Around me, lo! the thinking thoughtless crew
(Bewilder'd each) their diff'rent paths pursue ;
Of them I ask the way; the first replies,
Thou art a god; and sends me to the skies:
Down on the turf, the next, two two-legg'd beast,
There fix thy lot, thy bliss and endless rest :
Between these wide extremes the length is such,
I find I know too little or too much.
Almighty Pow'r, by whose most wise com
Helpless, forlorn, uncertain here I stand;
Take this faint glimm'ring of thyself away,
Or break into my soul with perfect day!'
This said, expanded lay the sacred text,
The balin, the light, the guide of souls perplex'd.
Thus the benighted traveller, that strays
Through doubtful paths, enjoys the inorning
The nightly mist, and thick descending dew,
Parting, unfolds the fields and vaulted blue.
O Truth divine! enlighten'd by thy ray,
grope and guess no more, but see my way.
Thou clear'dst the secret of my high descent,
Andtold'st me what those mystic tokens meant;
Marks of my birth, which I had worn in vain,
Too hard for worldly sages to explain.
Zeno's were vain, vain Epicurus' schemes,
Their systems false, delusive were their dreams;
Unskill'd my two-fold nature to divide, [pride;
One nurs'd my pleasure, and one nurs'd my
Those jarring truths which human art beguile,
Thy sacred page thus bids me reconcile."
Offspring of God, no less thy pedigree, [be,]
What thou once wert, art now, and still inay
Thy God alone can tell, alone decree ;
Faultless thou dropp'dst from his unerring skill,
With the bare pow'r to sin, since free of will:
Yet charge not with thy guilt his bounteous love,
For who has pow'r to walk has pow'r to rove:
Who acts by force impell'd can nought deserve;
And wisdom short of infinite may swerve.
Borne on thy new-imp'd wings, thou took'st thy
Left thy Creator, and the realms of light; [flight,
Disdain'd his gentle precept to fulfil,
And thought to grow a god by doing ill:
Tho' by foul guilt thy heav'nly form defac'd,
In nature chang'd, from happy mansions chas'd,
Thou still retain'st some sparks of heav'nly fire,
Too faint to mount, yet restless to aspire;
Angel enough to seek thy bliss again,
And brute enough to make thy scarch in vain.
The creatures now withdraw their kindly use,
Some fly thee, some torment, and some seduce;
Repast ill-suited to such diff'rent guests,
For what thy sense desires, thy soul distastes:
Thy lust, thy curiosity, thy pride,
Curb'd or indulg'd, or baulk'd or gratified,
and make thee equally unbless'd [sess'd,
In what thou want'st, and what thou hast pos-
In vain thou hop'st for bliss on this poor clod;
Return and seek thy Father and thy God;
Yet think not to regain thy native sky,
Borne on the wings of vain philosophy!
Mysterious passage! hid from human eyes
Soaring you'll sink, and sinking you will rise:
Let humble thoughts thy weary footsteps guide;
Repair by meekness what you lost by pride.
$305. Lessons of Wisdom. Armstrong.
How to live happiest; how avoid the pains,
The disappointments, and disgusts of those
Who would in pleasure all their hours employ
The precepts here of a divine old man
I could recite. Tho' old, he still retain'd
His manly sense, and energy of mind.
Virtuous and wise he was, but not severe;
He still remember'd that he once was young;
His easy presence check'd no decent joy.
Him even the dissolute admir'd, for he
A graceful looseness when he pleas'd put on,
And laughing could instruct. Much had he read,
Much more had seen; he studied from the life,
And in th' original perus'd mankind.
Our narrow luxuries would soon be stale.
Were these exhaustless, Nature would grow sick,
And, cloy'd with pleasure, squeamishly complain
That all was vanity, and life a dream.
Let nature rest: be busy for yourself,
And for your friend; be busy even in vain,
Rather than tease her sated appetites.
Who never fasts, no banquet e'er enjoys;
Who never toils or watches, never sleeps.
Let nature rest: and when the taste of joy
Grows keen, indulge; but shun satiety.
'Tis not for mortals always to be blest.
But him the least the dull or painful hours
Of life oppress, whom sober Sense conducts,
And Virtue, thro' this labyrinth we tread.
Virtue and Sense I mean not to disjoin ;
Virtue and Sense are one: and, trust me, he
Who has not virtue, is not truly wise.
Virtue (for mere Good-nature is a fool)
Is sense and spirit, with humanity:
'Tis sometimes angry, and its frown confounds
'Tis e'en vindictive, but in vengeance just.
Knaves fain would laugh at it; some great ones
But at his heart the most undaunted son [dare;
Of fortune dreads its name and awful charms.
To noblest uses this determines wealth;
This is the solid pomp of prosperous days,
The peace and shelter of adversity;
And if you pant for glory, build your fame
On this foundation, which the secret shock
Defies of Envy and all-sapping Time.
The gaudy gloss of Fortune only strikes
The vulgar eye: the suffrage of the wise,
The praise that's worth ambition, is attain'd
By sense alone, and dignity of mind.
Virtue, the strength and beauty of the soul,
Is the best gift of Heaven: a happiness
;That even above the smiles and frowns of fate
Exalts great Nature's favorites: a wealth
That ne'er encumbers, nor to baser hands
Can be transferr'd: it is the only good
Man justly boasts of, or can call his own.
Riches are oft by guilt and baseness earn'd;
Or dealt by chance to shield a lucky knave,
Or throw a cruel sunshine on a fool.
But for one end, one much neglected use,
Are riches worth your care (for nature's wants
Are few, and without opulence supplied)
This noble end is, to produce the Soul,
To show the virtues in their fairest light;
To make humanity the minister
Vers'd in the woes and vanities of life,
He pitied man; and much he pitied those
Whom falsely-smiling fate has curs'd with means
To dissipate their days in quest of joy.
Our aim is happiness: 'tis vours, tis mine,
He said, 'tis the pursuit of all that live;
Yet few attain it, if 'twas e'er attain'd.
But they the widest wander from the mark,
Who thro' the flow'ry paths of saunt'ring Joy
Seek this coy goddess; that from stage to stage
Invites us still, but shifts as we pursue.
For, not to name the pains that pleasure brings
To counterpoise itself, relentless Fate
Forbids that we thro' gay voluptuous wilds
Should ever roam; and were the Fates more kind,
Of bounteous Providence; and teach the breast
That generous luxury the go is enjoy. -
Thus, in his graver vein, the friendly Sage
Sometimes declaim'd. Of right and wrong he
Truths as refin'd as ever Athens heard; [taught
And(strange to telll) he practis'dwkat he preach'd.
$306. The Pain arising from virtuous Emotions
attended with Pleasure. Akenside.
BEHOLD the ways
Of Heaven's eternal destiny to man,
For ever just, benevolent and wise:
That Virtue's awful steps, howe'er pursued
By vexing Fortune and intrusive Pain,
Should never be divided from her chaste,
Her fair attendant, Pleasure. Need I urge
Thy tardy thought through all the various round
Of this existence, that thy 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,
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 aching 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 hapless bark; while sacred pity melts The gen'ral eye, or terror's icy hand Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair; While every mother closer to her breast Catches her child, and, pointing where the waves Foam through the shatter'd vessel, shrieks aloud, As one poor wretch, that spreads his piteous arms For succour, swallow'd by the roaring surge, As now another, dash'd against the rock, Drops lifeless down. O deemest thou indeed No kind endearment here by nature given To mutual terror and compassion's tears? No sweetly-melting softness which attracts, O'er all that edge of pain, the social pow'rs, To this their proper action and their end? Ask thy own heart; when at the midnight hour, Slow through that studious gloom thy pausing eye Led by the 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 heaven and earth surveys th' immortal page, F'en as a father's 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 blackeus on thy view; When rooted from the base, heroic states Mourn in the dust and tremble at the frown Of curs'd Ambition; when the pious band Of youths that fought for freedom and their sires, Lie side by side in gore ;—when ruffian pride Usurps the throne of justice, turns the pomp Of public 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 cyas Of such as bow the knee; when honor'd urns Of patriots and of chiefs, the awful bust And storied arch, to glut the coward race
Of regal envy, strew the public way
With hallow'd ruins!—when the Muse's haunt
The marble porch where wisdom, wont to talk
With Socrates or Tully, hears no more,
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 scythe, with surer blow,
To sweep the works of glory from their base,
Till desolation o'er the grass-grown street
Expands his raven-wings, and up the wall,
Where senates once the pride of monarchsdoom'd,
Hisses the gliding snake thro' hoary weeds
That clasp the mould'ringcolumn; thus defac'd,
Thus widely mournful when the prospect thrills
Thy beating bosom, when the patriot's tear
Starts from thine eve, 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 trophied car;
Say, does thy secret soul repine to taste
The big distress? Or would'st 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 aloft his gold-invested front,
And says within himself, "I am a king, [woe
"And wherefore should the clam'rous voice of
Intrude upon mine ear?" The baleful dress
Of these late ages, this inglorious draught
Of servitude and folly, have not yet,
Bless'd be th' Eternal Ruler of the world!
Defil'd to such a depth of sordid shame
The native honors of the human soul,
Nor so effac'd the image of its sire.
$307. A Paraphrase on Psalm lxxiv. 16, 17€ Miss Williams.
"The day is thine, the night also is thine; thou
"hast prepared the light and the sun.
"Thou hast set all the borders of the earth; thou
"hast made summer and winter."
My God! all nature owns thy sway,
Thou giv'st the night, and thou the day!
When all thy lov'd creation wakes,
When morning, rich in lustre, breaks,
And bathes in dew the op'ning flower,
To Thee we owe her fragrant hour;
And when she pours her choral song,
Her melodies to Thee belong!
Or when, in paler tints array'd,
The evening slowly spreads her shade;
That soothing shade, that grateful gloom,
Can more than day's enliv'ning bloom
Still ev'ry fond and vain desire,
And calmer, purer thoughts inspire;
From earth the pensive spirit free,
And lead the soften'd heart to Thee.
In ev'ry scene thy hands have dress'd,
In ev'ry form by Thee impress'd,
Upon the mountain's awful head,
Or where the shelt'ring woods are spread;
In ev'ry note that swells the gale,
Or tuneful stream that cheers the vale,
The cavern's depth, or echoing grove,
A voice is heard of praise, and love,
As o'er thy works the seasons roll,
And sooth, with change of bliss, the soul,
Oh never may their smiling train
Pass o'er the human soul in vain!
But oft, as on the charm we gaze,
Attune the wond'ring soul to praise;
And be the joys that most we prize
The joys that from thy favor rise!
$308. A Paraphrase on Isaiah xlix. 15. Miss Williams.
"Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she "should not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee."
When the vast sun shall veil his golden light
Deep in the gloom of everlasting night;
Whenwild, destructive flames shall wrap theskiet
When Chaos triumphs, and when Nature dies;
Man shall alone the wreck of worlds survive,
Midst falling spheres, immortal man shall live!
The voice which bade the last dread thunders roll,
Shall whisper to the good, and cheer their soul.
God shall himself his favor'd creature guide
Where living waters pour their blissful tide,
Where the enlarg'd, exulting, wond'ring mind
Shall soar, from weakness and from guilt refin'd;
Where perfect knowledge, bright with cloudless
Shall gild eternity's unmeasur'd days; [rays,
Where friendship, unembitter'd by distrust,
Shall in immortal bands unite the just;
Devotion, rais'd to rapture, breathe her strain,
And love in his eternal triumph reign!
HEAVEN Speaks! Oh Nature, listen and rejoice!
Oh spread from pole to pole this gracious voice!
Say every breast of human frame, that proves
The boundless force with which a parent loves;"
Say, can a mother from her yearning heart
Bid the soft image of her child depart? [bear
She! whom strong instinct arms with strength to
All forms of ill, to shield that dearest care;
She! who with anguish stung, with madness mild,
Will rush on death to save her threaten'd child;
All selfish feelings banish'd from her breast,
Her life one aim to make another's blest -
When her vex'd infant to her bosom clings,
When round her neck his eager arms he flings;
Breathes to her list'ning soul his melting sigh,
And lifts, suffus'd with tears, his asking eye!
Will she, for all ambition can attain,
The charms of pleasure, or the lures of gain,
Betray strong Nature's feelings? will she proveTo soften mis'ry by the deeds of love;
Cold to the claims of duty, and of love?
But should the mother from her yearning heart
Bid the soft image of her child depart:
When the vex'd infant to her bosom clings,
When round her neck his eager arms he flings;
Should she unpitying hear his melting sigh,
And view unmov'd the tear that fills his eye;
Should she, for all ambition can attain,
The charms of pleasure, or the lures of gain,
Betray strong Nature's feelings. -should
$309. A Paraphrase on Matt, vii, 12.
Whatsoever ye would that men should do to
you, ye even so to them."
PRECEPT divine! to earth in mercy given;
O sacred rule of action, worthy heaven!
Whose pitying love ordain'd the blest command
To bind our nature in a firmer band;
Enforce each human suff'rer's strong appeal,
And teach the selfish breast what others feel;
Wert thou the guide of life, mankind might know
A soft exemption from the worst of woe;
No more the powerful would the weak oppress,
But tyrants learn the luxury to bless;
No more would slavery bind a hopeless train
Of human victims in her galling chain:
Mercy the hard, the cruel heart would move
Cold to the claims of duty and of love!
Yet never will the God, whose word gave birth
To von illumin'd orbs, and this fair earth;
Who thro' the boundless depths of trackless space
Bade new-wak'd beauty spread each perfect grace;
Yet when he form'd the vast stupendous whole,
Shed his best bounties on the human soul;
Which reason's light illumes, which friendship
And av'rice from his hoarded treasures give,
Unask'd, the liberal boon, that want might live!
The impious tongue of falsehood then would cease
To blast, with dark suggestions, virtue's peace;
No more would spleen or passion banish rest,
And plant a pang in fond aflection's breast;
By one harsh word, one alter'd look, destroy
Her peace, and wither ev'ry op'ning joy;
Scarce can her tongue the captious wrong explain,
sheThe slight offence which gives so deep a pain!
Th' affected ease that slights her starting tear,
Thewordswhose coldness kills from lips so dear;-
The hand she loves, alone can point the dart,
Whose hidden sting could wound no otherheart→
These, of all pains the sharpest we endure,
The breast which now inflicts, would spring to
No more deserted genius then would fly [cure.→
To breathe in solitude his hopeless sigh
No more would fortune's partial smile debase
The spirit, rich in intellectual grace; [bloom,
Who views unmov'd from scenes where pleasures
The flame of genius sunk in mis'ry's gloom;
The soul heaven form'd to soar, by want deprest,
Nor heeds the wrongs that pierce a kindred breast.
Thou righteous Law, whose clear and useful light
Sheds on the mind a ray divinely bright;
Condensing in one rule whate'er the sage
Has proudly taught, in many a Jabor'd page;
Which pity softens, and which virtue charms;
Which feels the pure affections' gen'rous glow,
Shares others' joy, and bleeds for others' woe
Oh ne'er will the gen'ral Father prove
Of man forgetful, man the child of love!"
When all those planets in their ample spheres
Have] wing'd their course, and roll'd their
Bid every heart thy hallow'd voice revere,
To justice sacred, and to nature dear!
$310. Reflections on a Future State, from a
Review of Winter. Thomson.
"Tis done! dread Winter spreads his latest
And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd year.
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies!
How dumb the tuneful! Horror wide extends
His desolate domain. Behold, foud man!
See here thy pictur'd life: pass some few years,
Thy flow'ring Spring, thy Summer's ardent
Thy sober Autumn fading into age,
And pale concluding Winter comes at last,
And shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled
Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes
Of happiness? those longings after fame?
Those restless cares? those busy bustling days?
Those gay-spent, festive nights? those veering
Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me
With passions wild and strong :
And list'ning to their 'witching voice
Has often led me wrong.
Where human weakness has come short,
Or frailty stepp'd aside,
Do Thou, All-Good! for such Thou art,
In shades of darkness hide.
Where with intention I have err'd,
No other plea I have,
But, Thou art good; and goodness still
Delighteth to forgive.
$312. The Genealogy of Christ, as it is repre-
sented on the East Window of Winchester
College Chapel. Written at Winton School
by Dr. Lowth.
To elevate the mind and please the sight,
AT once to raise our rev'rence and delight,
To poor in virtue at th' attentive eye,
For this the painter's art with nature vies,
And waft the soul on wings of ecstasy;
And bids the visionary saint arise:
Who views the sacred forms in thought aspires,
Feels the same ardor to his breast convey'd ;
Catches pure zeal, and, as he gazes, fires;
Is what he sees, and emulates the shade.
deathThey check our pleasure with an awful fear;
Thy strokes, great Artist, so sublime appear,
While thro' the mortal line the God you trace,
Author himself and heir of Jesse's race,
In raptures we admire thy bold design,
While thro' thy work the rising day shall stream,
And, as the subject, own the hand divine.
So long shall last thine honor, praise, and name.
And may thy labors to the Muse impart
To animate the verse, and bid it shine
Some emanation from her sister art,
In colors easy, bright, and strong as thine!
Lost between good and ill, that shar'd thy life?
All now are vanish'd! Virtue sole survives
Immortal never-failing friend of man,
His guide to happiness on high. And see!
'Tis come, the glorious morn! the second birth
Of heaven and carth! awak'ning nature hears
The new-creating word, and starts to life,
In ev'ry heighten'd form, from pain and
For ever free. The great eternal scheme,
Involving all, and in a perfect whole
Uniting as the prospect wider spreads,
To reason's eye refin'd clears up apace.
Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous! now,
Gonfounded in the dust, adore that Pow'r
And Wisdom oft arraign'd; see now the cause
Why unassuming worth in secret liv'd,
And died neglected: why the good man's share
In life was gall and bitterness of soul:
Why the lone widow and her orphans pin'd
In starving solitude; while luxury,
In palaces, lay straining her low thought,
To form unreal wants; why heaven-born truth,
And moderation fair, wore the red marks
Of superstition's scourge: why licens'd pain,
That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe,
Embitter'd all our bliss. Ye good distress'd!
Ye noble few! who here unbending stand
Beneath life's pressure, yet
bear up. awhile,
And what your bounded view, which only saw
A little part, deem'd evil, is no more;
The storms of Wintry Time will quickly pass,
And one unbounded Spring encircle all.
$311. A Prayer in the Prospect of Death.
O THOU unknown Almighty Cause
Of all my hope and fear?
In whose dread Presence, ere an hour,
Perhaps I must appear!
If I have wander'd in those paths
Of life I ought to shun,
As Something loudly in my breast
Remonstrates I have done;
Supine on earth an awful figure lies,
While softest slumbers seem to seal his eyes;
And at his feet the watchful angel stands.
The hoary sire Heaven's guardian care demands,
The form august and large, the mien divine,
Betray the founder of Messiah's line *.
Lo! from his loins the promis'd stem ascend,
And high to Heaven its sacred boughs extend:
Each limb productive of some hero springs,
And blooms luxuriant with a race of kings.
Th' eternal plant wide spreads its arms around,
And with the mighty branch the mystic top is
And lo! the glories of th' illustrious line
At their first dawn with ripen'd splendors shine,
In David all express'd; the good, the great,
The king, the hero, and the man complete.
Serene he sits, and sweeps the golden lyre,
And blends the prophet's with the poet's fire.
See! with what art he strikes the vocal strings,
The God, his theme, inspiring what he sings!
Hark or our ears delude us from his tongue
Sweet flows,orseems to flow, some heavenly song,