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God made the country,and man made the town. What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts That can alone make sweet the bitter draught That life holds out to all, fhould most abound, And leaft be threaten'd, in the fields and groves? Poffefs ye therefore, ye who, borne about In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue But that of idlenefs, and tafte no scenes But fuch as art contrives, possess ye still Your element; there only ye can fhine, There only minds like yours can do no harm. Our groves were planted to confole at noon The penfive wand'rer in their fhades. At eve The moon-beam, fliding foftly in between The fleeping leaves, is all the light they wish; Birds warbling, all the mufic. We can fpare The fplendour of your lamps; they but eclipse Our fofter fatellite. Your fongs confound Our more harmonious notes. The thrush departs Scar'd, and th' offended nightingale is mute. There is a public mifchief in your mirth; It plagues your country. Folly fuch as yours, Grac'd with a fword, and worthier of a fan, Has made, which enemies could ne'er have done, Our arch of empire, fteadfaft but for you, A mutilated ftructure, foon to fall.
IN colleges and halls, in ancient days,
When learning, virtue, piety, and truth,
Were precious, and inculcated with care,
There dwelt a fage call'd Difcipline. His head
Not yet by time completely filver'd o'er,
Betpoke him paft the bounds of freakish youth,
But ftrong for fervice ftill, and unimpair'd.
His eye was meck and gentle, and a fimile
Play'd on his lips, and in his fpeech was heard
Paternal fweetnefs, dignity, and love.
The occupation dearest to his heart
Was to encourage goodnets. He would stroke
The head of modeft and ingenuous worth
That blush'd at its own praife, and prefs the youth
Clofe to his fide that pleas'd him. Learning grew,
Beneath his care, a thriving vigorous plant;
The mind was well inform'd, the pallions held
Subordinate, and diligence was choice.
If e'er it chanc'd, as fometimes chance it must,
That one among fo many overleap'd
The limits of controul, his gentle eye
Grew ftern, and darted a fevere rebuke;
His frown was full of terror, and his voice
Shook the delinquent with fuch fits of awe,
As left him not till penitence had won
Loft favour back again, and clos'd the breach.
But Difcipline, a faithful fervant long,
Declin'd at length into the vale of
A palfy ftruck his arm; his fparkling eye
Was quench'd in rheums of age; his voice un-
Grew tremulous, and mov'd derifion more
Than rev'rence in perverfe rebellious youth.
So colleges and halls neglected much
Their good old friend; and Difcipline at length,
O'erlook'd and unemploy'd, fell fick and died.
Then Study languifh'd, Emulation flept,
And Virtue fled. The fchools became a scene
Of folemn farce, where ignorance in stilts,
His cap well lin'd with logic not his own,
With parrot tongue perform'd the scholar's part,
Proceeding foon a graduated Dunce.
Then Compromife had place, and Scrutiny
Became ftone-blind, Precedence went in truck,
And he was competent whose purse was so.
A diffolution of all bonds enfued:
The curbs invented for the mulish mouth
Of headstrong youth were broken; bars and bolts
Grew rusty by disuse; and maffy gates
Forgot their office, op'ning with a touch;
Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade;
The taffel'd capland the fpruce band a jeft,
A mock'ry of the world. What need of these
For gamefters, joekies, brothellers impure,
Spendthrifts, and booted sportsmen, oft'ner seen
With belted waift, and pointers at their heels,
Than in the bounds of duty? What was learn'd,
If aught was learn'd in childhood, is forgot;
And fuch expence as pinches parents blue,
And mortifies the lib'ral hand of love,
Is fquander'd in purfuit of idle sports
And vicious pleasures; buys the boy a name,
That fits a ftigma on his father's houfe,
And cleaves through life infeparably close
To him that wears it. What can after-games
Of riper joys, and commerce with the world,
The lewd vain world that must receive him foon,
Add to fuch crudition thus acquir'd,
Where fcience and where virtue are profefs'd?
They may confirm his habits, rivet fast
His folly; but to fpoil him is a tafsk
That bids defiance to th' united pow'rs
Of fashion, diffipation, taverns, ftews.
Now, blame we moft the nurflings or the nurfe?
The children crook'd, and twisted, and deform'd
Through want of care, or her whose winking eye
And flumb'ring ofcitancy mars the brood?
The nurfe no doubt, Regardless of her charge,
That it is dang'rous fporting with the world,
She needs herself correction; needs to learn,
With things fo facred as a nation's truft,
The nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge.
§ 134. Happy the Freedom of the Man whom Grace makes free-His Relifh of the Works of God-Address to the Creator. COW PER. HE is the freeman whom the truth makes free,
And all are flaves befide. There's not a chain That heliifh foes confed'rate for his harm Can wind around him, but he cafts it off With as much ease as Samfon his green withes. He looks abroad into the varied field Of Nature; and tho' poor, perhaps, compar'd With those whofe manfions glitter in his fight, Calls the delightful fcen'ry all his own. His are the mountains, and the valleys his, And the refplendent rivers; his t'enjoy With a propriety that none can feel,
But who, with filial confidence infpir'd,
Can lift to Heaven an unprefumptuous eye,
And fmiling fay-My Father made them all :
Are they not his by a peculiar right?
And by an emphafis of int'reft his,
Whofe eye they fill with tears of holy joy,
Whole heart with praife, and whofe exalted mind
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love
That plann'd, and built, and still upholds a world,
So cloth'd with beauty, for rebellious man?
Yes-ye may nil your garners, ye that reap
The loaded foil, and ye may wafte much good
In fenfelefs riot; but ye will not find
In feaft or in the chace, in fong or dance,
A liberty like his, who, unimpeach'd
Of ufurpation, and to no man's wrong,
Appropriates nature as his Father's work,
And has a richer ufe of yours than you.
He is indeed a freeman; free by birth
Of no mean city, plann'd or e'er the hills
Were built, the fountains open'd, or the fea
With all his roaring multitude of waves.
His freedom is the fame in ev'ry state,
And no condition of this changeful life,
So manifold in cares, whofe ev'ry day
Brings its own evil with it, makes it lefs:
For he has wings that neither fick nefs, pain,
Nor penury, can cripple or confine;
No nook fo narrow but he fpreads them there
With cafe, and is at large. Th' oppreffor holds
His body bound, but knows not what a range
His fpirit takes, unconscious of a chain;
And that to bind him is a vain attempt,
Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells.
Acquaint thyfelf with God, if thou wouldst tafte
His works. Admitted once to his embrace,
Thou shalt perceive that thou waft blind before:
Thine eye thall be inftructed; and thine heart,
Made pure, fhall relifh with divine delight,
Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought.
Brutes graze the mountain-top with faces prone,
And eyes intent upon the fcanty herb
It yields them; or, recumbent on its brow,
Ruminate, heedless of the feene outípread
Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away
From inland regions to the diftant main.
Man views it and admires, but refts content
With what he views. The landfcape has his praife,
But not its Author. Unconcern'd who form'd
The paradife he fees, he finds it fuch;
And, fuch well-pleas'd to find it, afks no more.
Not fo the mind that has been touch'd from Heaven,
And in the fchool of facred wildom taught
To read his wonders, in whose thought the world,
Fair as it is, exifted ere it was:
Not for its own fake merely, but for his
Much more who fafhion'd it, he gives it praife;
Praife that, from earth refulting, as it ought,
To earth's acknowledg'd Sovereign, finds at once
Irs only just proprictor in Him.
The foul that fees him, or receives fublim'd
New faculties, or learns at leaft t'employ
More worthily the pow'rs the own'd before,
Difcerns in all things, what with ftupid gaze
Of ignorance till then the overlook'd,
A ray of heavenly light gilding all forms
Terreftrial, in the vaft and the minute,
The unambiguous footsteps of the God
Who gives its luftre to an infect's wing,
And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds.
Much converfant with Heaven, fhe often holds
With thofe fair minifters of light to man,
That fill the fkies nightly with filent pomp,
Sweet conference; enquires what ftrains were they
With which heaven rang, when ev'ry star, in hafte
To gratulate the new-created carth,
Sent forth a voice, and all the fons of God
Shouted for joy-"Tell me, ye fhining hosts,
"That navigate a fea that knows no storms,
"Beneath a vault unfullied with a cloud,
"If from your elevation, whence ye view
"Diftinctly fcenes invifible to man,
"And fyftems of whofe birth no tidings yet
"Have reach'd this nether world, ye fpy a race
"Favour'd as ours, tranfgrefors from the womb,
"And hafting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise,
"And to poffefs a brighter heaven than yours?
"As one who, long detain'd on foreign fhores
"Pants to return, and when he fees afar [rocks
"His country's weather-bleach'd and batter'd
"From the green wave emerging, darts an eye
"Radiant with joy towards the happy land;
"So I with animated hopes behold,
"And many an aching with, your beamy fires,
"That fhew like beacons in the blue abyfs,
"Ordain'd to guide th' embodied spirit home
"From toilfome life to never-ending reft.
"Love kindles as I gaze. I feel defires
"That give affurance of their own fuccefs,
"And that infus'd from heaven muft thither tend."
So reads he nature, whom the lamp of truth
Illuminates; thy lamp, myfterious word!
Which whoto fees no longer wanders loft,
With intellects bemaz`d, in endless doubt,
But runs the road of wifdom. Thou haft built,
With means that were not till by thee employ'd,
Worlds that had never been, hadft thou in ftrength
Been lefs, or lefs benevolent than strong.
They are thy witneffes, who speak thy pow'r
And goodnels infinite, but speak in cars
That hear not, or receive not their report.
In vain thy creatures teftify of thee
Till thou proclaim thyfelf. Theirs is indeed
A teaching voice; but 'tis the praife of thine,
That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn,
And with the boon gives talents for its ufe.
Till thou art heard, imaginations vain
Poffefs the heart, and fables false as hell,
Yet deem'd oracular, lure down to death
The uninform'd and heedlefs fons of men.
We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind,
The glory of thy work, which yet appears
Perfect and unimpeachable of blame,
Challenging human fcrutiny, and prov'd
Then fkilful moft when moft feverely judg'd.
Bur chance is not, or is not where tliou reign'ft:
Thy providence forbids that fickle pow'r
(If pow'r fhe be that works but to confound)
To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws.
Yet thus we doat, refusing while we can
Inftruction, and inventing to ourselves
Gods fuch as guilt makes welcome, Gods that fleep,
Or difregard our follies, or that fit
Amus'd fpectators of this bustling stage,
Thee we reject, unable to abide
Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure,
Made fuch by thee, we love thee for that cause
For which we fhunn'd and hated thee before.
Then we are free: then liberty like day
Breaks on the foul, and by a flash from Heaven
Fires all the faculties with glorious joy.
A voice is heard that mortal ears hear not
Till thou haft touch'd them; 'tis the voice of fong,
A loud Hofanna fent from all thy works,
Which he that hears it with a fhout repeats,
And adds his rapture to the gen'ral praife.
In that bleft moment, Nature throwing wide
Her veil opake, difclofes with a smile
The Author of her beauties, who, retir'd
Behind his own creation, works unfeen
By the impure, and hears his pow'r denied.
Thou art the fource and centre of all minds,
Their only point of reft, Eternal Word!
From thee departing, they are loft, and rove
At random, without honour, hope, or peace.
From thee is all that foothes the life of man,
His high endeavour, and his glad fuccefs,
Ilis ftrength to fuffer, and his will to ferve.
But, O! thou bounteous Giver of all good,
Thou art of all thy gifts thyfelf the crown!
Give what thou canft, without thee we are poor;
And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away.
HAPPY the man who fees a God employ'd
In all the good and ill that chequer life!
Refolving all events, with their effects
And manifold refults, into the will.
And arbitration wife of the Supreme.
Did not his eye rule all things, and intend
The leaft of our concerns (fince from the leaft
The greatest oft originate); could chance
Find place in his dominion, or difpofe
One lawlef's particle to thwart his plan;
Then God might be furpris'd, and unforescen
Contingence might alarm him, and disturb
The fmooth and equal courfe of his affairs.
This truth, philofophy, though eagle-eyed
In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks;
And, having found his inftrument, forgets
Or difregards, or, more prefumptuous ftill,
Denies the pow'r that wields it. God proclaims
His hot difpleafure against foolish men
That live an atheift life; involves the heaven
In tempefts; quits his grafp upon the winds,
And gives them all their fury; bids a plague
Kindle a fiery bile upon the skin,
And putrefy the breath of blooming health.
He calls for famine; and the meagre fiend
Jows mildew from between his fhrivell'd lips,
And taints the golden ear: he springs his mines,
And defolates a nation at a blast.
Forth steps the fpruce philofopher, and tells
Of homogeneal and difcordant fprings
And principles; of caufes, how they work
By neceffary laws their fure effects,
Of action and re-action. He has found
The fource of the difeafe that Nature feels,
And bids the world take heart, and banith fear.
Thou fool! will thy difcovery of the cause
Sufpend th'effect or heal it? Has not God
Still wrought by means fince firft he made theworld?
And did he not of old employ his means
To drown it? What is his creation lefs
Than a capacious reservoir of means
Form'd for his ufe, and ready at his will?
Go, drefs thine eyes with cyc-falve; ask of him,
Or afk of whomfoever he has taught,
And learn, tho' late, the genuine caufe of all.
§ 136. Rural Sounds as well as Sights delightful. COWPER.
NOR rural fights alone, but rural founds
Exhilarate the fpirit, and restore
The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds,
That fweep the fkirt of fome far-fpreading wood
Of ancient growth, make mufic not unlike
The dash of ocean on his winding thore,
And lull the fpirit while they fill the mind,
Unnumber'd branches waving in the blaft,
And all their leaves faft flutt'ring all at once.
Nor lefs compofure waits upon the roar
Of diftant floods, or on the fofter voice
Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that flip
Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall
Upon loofe pebbles, lofe themselves at length
In matted grafs, that with a livelier green
Betrays the fecret of their filent courfe.
Nature inanimate employs fweet founds,
But animated nature tweeter ftill,
To footh and fatisfy the human ear.
Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one
The live-long night: nor thefe alone, whofe notes
Nice-finger d art muft emulate in vain,
But cawing rooks, and kites that swim fublime
In ftill repeated circles, screaming loud,
The jay, the pye, and even the boding ow!
That hails the rifing moon, have charms for me.
Sounds inharmonious in themfelves and harfh,
Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns,
And only there, please highly for their fake.
$137. The Wearifomeness of what is commonly, COW PER. called a Life of Pleasure. THE pleen is feldom felt where Flora reigns;
The lowring eye, the petulance, the frown, And fullen fadnefs, that o'erfhade, distort, And mar the face of beauty, when no cause For fuch immeasurable woe appears; Thefe Flora banifhes, and gives the fair Sweet fmiles and bloom, lefs tranfient than her own. It is the conftant revolution, ftale And tastelefs, of the fame repeated joys, That palls and fatiates, and makes languid life A pedlar's
A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down.
Health fuffers, and the fpirits ebb; the heart
Recoils from its own choice-at the full feaft
Is famish'd-finds no mufic in the fong,
No smartness in the jeft, and wonders why.
Yet thousands ftill defire to journey on,
Though halt and weary of the path they tread.
The paralytic, who can hold her cards,
But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand
To deal and fhuffle, to divide and fort
Her mingled fuits and fequences, and fits
Spectatrefs both and spectacle, a fad
And filent cypher, while her proxy plays.
Others are dragg'd into the crowded rooin
Between fupporters; and, once feated, fit,
Through downright inability to rife,
Till the ftout bearers lift the corpse again.
Thefe fpeak a loud memento. Yet even thefe
Themfelves love life, and cling to it; as he
That overhangs, a torrent, to a twig.
They love it, and yet loath it; fear to die,
Yet fcorn the purposes for which they live.
Then wherefore not renounce them? No-the
The flavish dread of folitude, that breeds
Reflection and remorfe, the fear of fhame,
And their invet'rate habits--all forbid.
Whom call we gay? That honour has been long
The boaft of mere pretenders to the name.
The innocent are gay-the lark is gay,
That dries his feathers, faturate with dew,
Beneath the rofy cloud, while yet the beams
Of day-fpring overfhoot his humble neft.
The peafant too, a witnefs of his fong,
Himfelf a fongfter, is as gay as he.
But fave me from the gaiety of those
Whofe head-achs nail them to a noon-day bed;
And fave me too from theirs whofe haggard eyes
Flash defperation, and betray their pangs
For property ftripp'd off by cruel chance;
From gaiety that fills the bones with pain,
The mouth with blafphemy, the heart with woe.
$138. Satirical Review of our Trips to France.
NOW hoift the fail, and let the ftreamers float
Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck
With lavender, and fprinkle liquid fweets,
That no rude favour maritime invade
The note of nice nobility. Breathe foft
Ye clarionets, and fofter ftill ye flutes,
That winds and waters, lull'd by magic founds,
May bear us fmoothly to the Gallic thore.
True, we have loft an empire-let it pafs.
True, we may thank the perfidy of France,
That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown,
With all the cunning of an envious fhrew :
And let that pafs-twas but a trick of state.
A brave man knows no malice, but at once
Forgets, in peace, the injuries of war,
And gives his direft foe a friend's embrace.
And, sham'd as we have been, to the very beard
Brav'd and defied, and in our own fea prov'd
Too weak for thofe decifive blows, that once
Infur'd us maft'ry there, we yet retain
Some fmall pre-eminence; we justly boast
At least fuperior jockeyfhip, and claim
The honours of the turf as all our own.
Go then, well worthy of the praise ye feck,
And fhew the fhame ye might conceal at home,
In foreign eyes!-be grooms, and win the plate,
Where once your nobler fathers won a crown!
139. The Pulpit the Engine of Reformation.
THE pulpit therefore (and I name it, fill d
With folemn awe, that bids me well beware
With what intent I touch the holy thing)—
The pulpit (when the fatʼrift has at laft,
Strutting and vap'ring in an empty school,
Spent all his force and made no profelyte)-
I fay the pulpit (in the fober use
Of its legitimate peculiar pow'rs) [ftand,
The most important and effectual guard,
Muft ftand acknowledg'd, while the world thall
Support, and ornament, of virtue's caufe.
There ftands the meffenger of truth; there stands
The legate of the fkics: his theme divine,
His office facred, his credentials clear.
By him the violated law fpeaks out
Its thunders; and by him, in ftrains as sweet
As angels ufe, the gofpel whispers peace.
He ftablishes the ftrong, reftores the weak,
Reclaims the wand'rer, binds the broken heart,
And, arm'd himself in panoply complete
Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms
Bright as his own; and trains, by ev'ry rule
The facramental hoft of God's elect.
Of holy difcipline, to glorious war,
To fuch I render more than mere refpect,
Whofe actions fay that they refpect themselves,
But loofe in morals, and in manners vain,
|❘ In conversation frivolous, in dress
Extreme, at once rapacious and profufe;
Frequent in park, with lady at his fide,
Ambling and prattling fcandal as he goes;
But rare at home, and never at his books
Or with his pen, fave when he fcrawls a card;
Conftant at routs, familiar with a round
Of lady fhips, a ftranger to the poor;
Ambitious of preferment for its gold,
And well prepar'd by ignorance and floth,
By infidelity and love o' th' world,
To make God's work a finecure: a flave
To his own pleafures, and his patron's pride→
From fuch apoftles, O ye mitred heads,
Preferve the church! and lay not careless hands
On fculls that cannot teach, and will not learn,
END OF THE SECOND BOOK.
Elegant, Instructive. & Entertaining.
Brooks Third Fourth & Softhe
Aut prodesse volunt, aut delectare Poeta :
Aut simul & jucunda & idonea dicere Vita.
London: Printed for Mefs. Rivingtons Longman, Law, Dodsley, Whites, Johnson,
• Robinsons, Cadell, Murray. Richardson, Baldwin, Bew, Goldsmith, Faulder, Hayes,
A.Bent, Scatcherd CVernor, Wynne, Wilkie, Lowndes, Evans, & Kearsley.