Behold him seated on a mount serene,
Above the fogs of sense, and passions storm;
All the black cares and tumults of this life,
Like harmless thunders breaking at his feet,
Excite his pity, not impair his peace.

Earth's genuine sons, the sceptred, and the slave,
A mingled mob! a wand'ring herd! he sees,
Bewild'red in the vale; in all unlike!

His full reverse in all! What higher praise?
What stronger demonstration of the right?

The present all their care; the future his.
When public welfare calls, or private want,
They give to fame; his bounty he conceals.
Their virtues varnish nature; his exalt.
Mankind's esteem they court; and he his owe.
Their's the wild chace of false felicities;
His, the compos'd possession of the true.
Alike throughout is his consistent piece,
All of one colour and an even thread;
While party-colour'd shades of happiness,
With hideous gasps between, patch up for them
A madman's robe; each puff of fortune blows
The tatters by, and shows their nakedness.

He sees with other eyes than theirs; where they Behold a sun, he spies & Deity;

What makes them only smile makes him adore,
Where they see mountains, he but atoms see;
An empire in his balance, weighs a grain.
They things terrestrial worship as divine;
His hopes immortal blow them by as dust,
That dims his sight, and shortens his survey,
Which long in infinite, to lose all bound.
Titles and honours (if they prove his fate)
He lays aside to find his dignity :
No dignity they find in ought besides.
They triumph in externals, (which conceal
Man's real glory, proud of an eclipse;
Himself too much he prizes to be proud;
And nothing thinks so great in man, as mas.
Too dear he holds his int'rest to neglect
Another's welfare, or his right invade;
Their int'rest, like a lion, lives on prey.
They kindle at the shadow of a wrong;
Wrong he sustains with temper, looks on heav',

Nor stoops to think his injurer his foe:

Nought, but what wounds his virtue, wounds his peace.
A cover'd heart their character defends;
A cover'd heart denies him half his praise.
With nakedness his innocence agrees!

While their broad foilage testifies their fall!
Their no joys end, where his full feast begins.
His joys create, theirs murder, fature bliss.
To triumph in existence, his alone:
And his alone triumphantly to think
His true existence is not yet begun.

His glorious course was, yesterday, complete:
Death, then, was welcome; yet life still is sweet.

SECTION VIII.

THE PLEASURES OF RETIREMENT.

YOUNG.

O! knew he but his happiness, of men
The happiest he! who, far from public rage,
Deep in the vale, with a choice few retir'd,
Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life.
What though the dome be wanting, whose proud gate,.
Each morning vomits out the sneaking crowd
Of flatterers false, and in their turn abus'd!
Vile intercourse! What though the glit'ring robe,
Of ev'ry hue reflected light can give,

Or floated loose, or stiff with mazy gold,

The pride and gaze of fools, oppress him not? ·
What though, from utmost land and sea purvey'd,
For him each rarer tributary life.

Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps
With luxury, and death? What though his bowl
Flames not with costly juice: nor sunk in beds
Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night,
Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state?
What though he knows not those fantastic joys,
That still amuse the wanton, still deceive;
A face of pleasure, but a heart of pain;
Their hollow moments undelighted all?
Sure peace is his: a solid life estrang'd
To disappointment, and fallacious hope:
Rich in content, in nature's bounty rich,
In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the spring,

When heaven descends in showers; or bends the bough,

T

248

The English Reader.

When summer reddens, and when autumn beams;
Or in the wint❜ry glebe whatever lies
Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest sap:
These are not wanting, nor the milky drove,
Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale;
Nor bleating mountains; nor the chide of streams,
And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere
Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade,
Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay;
Nor aught beside of prospect, grove, or song,
Dim grottos, gleaming lakes, and fountains clear.
Here too dwells simple truth: plain innocence;
Unsullied beauty; sound unbroken youth,
Patient of labour; with a little pleas'd;
Health ever blooming; unambitious toil;
Calm contemplation, and poetic ease.

SECTION IX.

Part 2.

Chap

THOMSON.

THE PLEASURE AND BENEFIT OF AN IMPROVED AND WELT

DIRECTED IMAGINATION.

O! blest of Heaven, whom not the languid songs

Of luxury, the syren! 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 though not all
Of mortal offspring can attain the height
Of envied life; though only few possess
Patrician treasures, or imperial state;
Yet nature's care, to all her children just,
With richer treasures, and an ampler state,
Endows at large whatever happy man
Will deign to use them.
The rural honours his.

His the city's pomp,
Whate'er adorns

The princely dome, the column, and the arch,
The breathing marble 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

Chap. 4.

Descriptive Pieces.

Each passing hour sheds tribute from her wings:
And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze
Flies o'er the meadow; not a cloud imbibes
The setting sun's effulgence; not a strain
From all the tenants of the warbling shade
Ascends; but whence his bosom can partake
Fresh pleasure unreprov'd. Nor thence partakes
Fresh pleasures only; for th' attentive mind,
By this harmonious action on her powers,
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 powers
Refine at length, and every passion wears
A chaster, milder, more attractive mien.
But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze
On nature's form, where negligent of all
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 powers?
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 rolling waves, the suns unwearied course,
The elements and seasons; all declare
For what th' eternal MAKER has ordain'd
The powers of man: we feel within ourselves
His
energy divine: he tells the heart,

He meant, he made us to behold and love
What he beholds and loves, the general orb
Of life and being: to be great like him,
Beneficent and active. Thus the men

Whom nature's works instruct, 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.

AKENSIDE

Ar the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove;
When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove:
'Twas thus by the cave of the mountain afar,
While his heart rung symphonious, a hermit began;
Nor more with himself or with nature at war,

He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man.
"Ah! why, all abandon'd to darkness and woe;
Why, lone Philomella, that languishing fall?
For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthral.
But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,

Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn; Osooth him, whose pleasures like thine pass away: Full quickly they pass-But they never return." "Now gliding remote, on the verge of the sky, The moon, half extinguish'd, her crescent displays: But lately I mark'd, when majestic on high

She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. Roll on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue The path that conducts thee to splendour again : But man's faded glory what change shall renew! Ah fool to exult in a glory so vain!

'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more: I mourn; but ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew. Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn;

Kind nature, the embryo blossom will save; But when shall spring visit the mouldering urn! O when shall day dawn on the night of the grave?"