Puslapio vaizdai
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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 marbles and the sculptur'd gold,
Beyond the proud poffeffor's narrow claim,
His tuneful breaft enjoys. For him, the fpring
Diftils her dews, and from the filken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds: for him, the hand
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch

With blooming gold, and blufhes like the morn.
Each paffing hour fheds tribute from her wings;
And ftill new beauties meet his lonely walk,
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze
Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes
The fetting fun's effulgence, not a ftrain
From all the tenants of the warbling shade
Afcends, but whence his bofom 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 fo oft
In outward things to meditate the charm
Of facred order, foon the feeks at home
To find a kindred order, to exert
Within herself this elegance of love,
This fair-infpir'd delight: her temper'd pow'rs
Refine at length, and every paffion wears
A chafter, milder, more attractive mien.
But if to ampler profpects, if to gaze
On nature's form where, negligent of all
These leffer graces, fhe affumes the port
Of that eternal majefty 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 fervile cuftom cramp her gen'rous pow'rs?

Would fordid policies, the barb'rous growth

Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down

To tame purfuits, to indolence and fear?
Lo! fhe appeals to nature, to the winds
And rowling waves, the fun's unwearied courfe,
The elements and feafons: 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 general 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 converfe: grow familiar, day by day,
With his conceptions, act upon his plan;
And form to his, the relifh of their fouls.

ON

GREATNESS.
[AKENSIDE.]

AY, why was man fo eminently rais'd
Amid the vaft 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 fend him forth.
In fight of mortal and immortal pow'rs,
As on a boundless theatre, to run
The great career of juftice; to exalt
His gen'rous aim to all diviner deeds

To chafe each partial purpose from his breaft;
And thro' the mifts of paffion and of sense,
And thro' the toffing tide of chance and pain,
To hold his courfe unfalt'ring, while the voice
Of truth and virtue, up the fteep afcent.
Of nature, calls him to his high reward,

Th' applauding fmile of heav'n? Elfe wherefore burns
In mortal bofoms this unquenched hope,

That breathes from day to day fublimer things,

And mocks poffeffion? Wherefore darts the mind,
With fuch resistless ardour to embrace
Majestic forms: impatient to be free,
Spurning the grofs controul of wilful might
Proud of the ftrong contention of her toils;
Proud to be daring? Who but rather turns
To heav'n's broad fire his unconftrained view,
Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame?
Who that, from Alpine heights, his lab'ring eye
Shoots round the wide horizon, to furvey
Nilus or Ganges rowling his bright wave

Thro' mountains, plains, thro' empires black with fhade,
And continents of fand; will turn his gaze

To

To mark the windings of a fcanty rill
That murmurs at his feet? The high-born foul
Difdains to rest her heav'n-afpiring wing
Beneath its native quarry. Tir'd of earth
And this diurnal fcene, the fprings aloft
Thro' fields of air; purfues the flying ftorm;
Rides on the volley'd light'ning thro' the heav'ns;
Or yok'd with whirlwinds and the northern blast,
Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high the foars
The blue profound, and hovering round the fun
Beholds him pouring the redundant ftream
Of light; beholds his unrelenting sway
Bend the reluctant planets to abfolve

;

The fated rounds of time. Thence far effus'd
She darts her fwiftnefs up the long career
Of devious comets; thro' its burning figns
Exulting measures the perennial wheel
Of nature, and looks back on all the ftars,
Whose blended light, as with a milky zone,
Invests the orient. Now amaz'd fhe views
Th' empyreal wafte, where happy fpirits hold,
Beyond this concave heav'n, their calm abode
And fields of radiance, whofe unfading light
Has travell'd the profound fix thousand years,
Nor yet arrives in fight 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 fteep
She plunges; foon o'erwhelm'd and fwallow'd up
In that immenfe of being. There her hopes
Reft at the fated gaol. For from the birth
Of mortal man, the fovereign Maker faid,
That not in humble nor in brief delight,
Not in the fading echoes of renown,
Pow'r's purple robes, nor pleafure's flow'ry lap,
The foul fhould find enjoyment: but from thefe
Turning difdainful to an equal good,

Thro' all th' afcent of things enlarge her view,
Till every bound at length fhould disappear,
And infinite perfection close the scene.

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ALL now to mind what high capacious pow'rs
Lie folded up in man; how far beyond

The praife of mortals, may th' eternal growth
Of nature to perfection half divine,

Expand the blooming foul. What pity then
Should floth's unkindly fogs deprefs to earth
Her tender bloffom; choak the ftreams of life,
And blaft her fpring! Far otherwife defign'd
Almighty wifdom; nature's happy cares
Th' obedient heart far otherwife incline.
Witness the fprighly joy when aught unknown
Strikes the quick fenfe, and wakes each_active pow'r
To brifker meafures: witnefs the neglect
Of all familiar profpects, tho' beheld
With transport once; the fond attentive gaze
Of young astonishment; the fober zeal
Of age, commenting on prodigious things.
For fuch the bounteous providence of heav'n,
In every breaft implanting this defire
Of objects new and ftrange, to urge us on
With unremitted labour to purfue

Thofe facred ftores that wait the ripening foul,
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 penfive fage
Heedlefs of fleep, or midnight's harmful damp,
Hangs o'er the fickly taper; and untir'd
The virgin follows, with enchanted step,
The mazes of fome wild and wond'rous tale,
From morn to eve; unmindful of her form,
Unmindful of the happy dress that stole
The wishes of the youth, when every maid
With envy pin'd. Hence finally by night
The village-matron, round the blazing hearth,
Sufpends the infant-audience with her tales,
Breathing aftonishment! of witching rhimes,
And evil fpirits; of the death-bed call
Of him who robb'd the widow, and devour'd
The orphan's portion; of unquiet fouls

Ris'n from the grave to eafe the heavy guilt.
Of deeds in life conceal'd; of fhapes 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 folemn paufe the croud recoil

Gazing each other fpeechlefs, and congeal'd
With thiv'ring fighs: till eager for th' event,
Around the beldame all erect they hang,

Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell'd.

The PAIN arifing from VIRTUOUS EMOTIONS, attended with PLEASURE. [AKENSIDE.]

EHOLD the ways

Of heav'n's eternal destiny to man,

For ever juft, benevolent and wife:

That VIRTUE's awful fteps, howe'er purfu'd
By vexing fortune and intrufive 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 foft'ning foul
At length may learn what energy the hand
Of virtue mingles in the bitter tide
Of paffion fwelling with diftrefs and pain,
To mitigate the fharp with gracious drops
Of cordial pleasure? Afk the faithful youth,
While the cold urn of her whom long he lov'd
So often fills his arms; fo often draws
His lonely footsteps at the filent hour,
To pay the mournful tribute of his tears?
O! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worlds
Should ne'er feduce his bofom to forego
That facred hour, when ftealing from the noife
Of care and envy, fweet remembrance foothes
With virtue's kindeft looks his aching breaft,
And turns his tears to rapture?-Afk 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 coaft
Some helpless bark; while facred pity melts
The gen'ral eye, or terror's icy hand
Smites their distorted limbs and horrent hair;
While every mother clofer to her breaft

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