What tho' he knows not those fantastic joys, In herbs and fruits; whatever greens the spring, Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies Conceal'd, and fattens with the richest sap: Nor ought besides of prospect, grove, or song," SECTION IX. THOMSON. The pleasure and benefit of an improved and well-directed imagination. 1. OH! blest of Heaven, who not the languid songs Of luxury, the siren ! not the bribes 2. 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 His the city's pomp, The princely dome, the column, and the arch, 3. The breathing marble and the sculptur'd gold, With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn. Not a breeze 1 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 pleasure 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 pow'rs Refine at length and every passion wears A chaster, milder, more attractive mien. 4. But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze On natures 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 forins Of servile customs 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; 5. Lo! she appeals to nature, to the winds. And rolling waves, the sun's 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, Whom nature's works instruct, with God himself Pathetic Pieccs. SECTION 1. The Hermit. AKENSIDE 1. 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 harp rung symphonious, a hermit began a No more with himself or with nature at war, He thought as a sage, tho' he felt as a man. Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourkj 4. 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 1 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 !" 5. ""Twas thus by the glare of false science betray'd, That leads to bewilder; and dazzles to blind: My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, Thy creature who fain would not wander from thee! Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride: From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free." 6." And darkness and doubt are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn: So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blendi SECTION II. The Beggar's Petition. 1. PITY the sorrows of a poor old man, か BEATTIE. Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door; Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span ; Oh! give relief, and heav'n will bless your store. 2. These tatter'd clothes my poverty bespeak, These hoary locks proclaim my lengthen'd years; 3. Yon house, erected on the rising ground, 4. Hard is the fate of the infirm and poor! 5. Oh! take me to your hospitable dome; Keen blows the wind, and piercing is the cold! 6. Should I reveal the sources of my grief, If soft humanity e'er touch'd your breast, Your hands would not withhold the kind relief, And tears of pity would not be represt. 7. Heav'n sends misfortunes; why should we repine? "Tis Heav'n has brought me to the state you see; 1 And your condition may be soon like mine, 2. A little farm was my paternal lot; Then like the lark I sprightly hail'd the morn : 10. My tender wife, sweet soother of my care! And left the world to wretchedness and me. 11. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door; 1. How shocking must thy summons be, O Death! O might she stay to wash away her stains; SECTION IV. R. BLAIR. 1. HAIL, lovely pow'r! whose bosom heaves the sigh, When fancy paints the scene of deep distress; |