But what most shew'd the vanity of life,
Was to behold the nations all on fire,
In cruel broils engag'd, and deadly ftrife,
Moft Chriftian kings, inflam'd by black defire,
With honourable ruffians in their hire,
Caufe war to rage, and blood around to pour:
Of this fad work when each begins to tire,
They fit them down juft where they were before,
Till for new fcenes of woe peace fhall their fores
reftore.
To number up the thousands dwelling here,
An ufclefs were, and eke an endless task;
From kings, and those who at the helm appear,
To gipfics brown in fummer-glades who bask.
Yea many a man, perdie, I could unmask,
Whofe defk and table make a folemn fhow,
With tape-ty'd trash, and suits of fools, that ask.
For place or penfion, laid in decent row;
But thefe I paffen by, with nameless numbers moe.
LVII.
Of all the gentle tenants of the place,
There was a man of special grave remark;
A certain tender gloom o'erfpread his face,
Penfive, not fad; in thought involv'd, not dark;
As foot this man could fing as morning lark,
And teach the nobleft morals of the heart;
But thefe his talents were yburied stark ;
Of the fine ftores he nothing would impart,
Which or boon Nature gave, or nature-painting
To noontide fhades incontinent he ran,
Where purls the brook with fleep-inviting found,
Or when Dan Sol to flope his wheels began,
Amid the broom he bafk'd him on the ground,
Where the wild thyme and camomoil are found;
There would he linger till the latest ray
Of light fate trembling on the welkin's bound,
Then homeward thro' the twilight fhadows ftray,
Sauntering and flow: fo had he paffed many a day.
Yet not in thoughtless flumber were they past;
For oft' the heavenly fire, that lay conceal'd
Beneath the fleeping embers, mounted faft,
And all its native light anew reveal'd;
Oft' as he travers'd the cerulean field,
And markt the clouds that drove before the wind,
Ten thoufand glorious fyftems would he build,
Ten thousand great ideas fill'd his mind:
But with the clouds they fled, and left no trace
behind.
With him was fometimes join'd, in filent walk,
(Profoundly filent, for they never spoke)
One fhyer ftill, who quite detefted talk;
Oft' ftung by spleen, at once away he broke
To groves of pine and broad o'ershadowing oak;
There inly thrill'd, he wander'd all alone,
And on himself his penfive fury woke,
Ne ever utter'd word, fave when firft fhone
The glittering ftar of eve-" Thank Heaven! the
day is done."
Here lurk'd a wretch who had not crept abroad
For forty years, ne face of mortal feen;
In chamber brooding like a loathly toad,
And fure his linen was not very clean.
Through fecret loop-holes, that had practis'd been
Near to his bed, his dinner vile he took;
Unkempt and rough, of fqualid face and mien,
Our Cattle's fhame! whence, from his filthy nook,
We drove the villain out for fitter lair to look.
One day there chaunc'd into thefe halls to rove
A joyous youth, who took you at first sight;
Him the wild wave of pleafure hither drove,
Before the fprightly tempeft toffing light;
Certes, he was a moft engaging wight,
Of focial glee, and wit humane, tho' keen,
Turning the night to day, and day to night:
For him the merry bells had rung, I ween,
If in this nook of quiet bells had ever been.
But not c'en pleasure to excefs is good:
What moft elates then finks the foul as low:
When fpring-tide joy pours in with copious flood,
The higher ftill th' exulting billows flow,
The farther back again they flagging go,
And leave us grovelling on the dreary fhore.
Taught by this fon of Joy, we found it fo,
Who, whilft he ftaid, kept in a gay uproar,
Full oft' by holy feet our ground was trod,
Of clerks good plenty here you mote efpy;
A little, round, fat, oily man of God,
Was one I chiefly mark'd among the fry:
He had a roguish twinkle in his eye,
Our madden'd Caftle all, the abode of Sleep no And thone all glittering with ungodly dew,
If a tight damfel chaunc'd to trippen by; Which when obferv'd, he flirunk into his mew, And ftrait would recollect his piety anew.
Nor be forgot a tribe who minded nought
(Old inmates of the place) but ftate-affairs;
They look'd, perdie, as if they deeply thought,
And on their brow fat every nation's cares.
The world by them is parcell'd out in fhares,
When in the Hall of Smoke they congrefs hold,
And the fage berry fun-burnt Mocha bears
Has clear'd their inward eye: then, imoke-en-
roll'd,
Their oracles break forth myfterious as of old.
Here languid Beauty kept her pale-fac'd court:
Bevies of dainty dames, of high degree,
From every quarter hither made refort,
Where, from grofs mortal care and bufinefs free,
They lay, pour'd out in eafe and luxury:
Or should they a vain fhew of work affume,
Alas! and well-a-day! what can it be?
To knot, to twift, to range the vernal bloom;
But far is caft the distaff, spinning-wheel, and loom.
* Mr. Quin.
The following lines of this fianza were writ by a friend of the Author!
Now must I mark the villainy we found;
But, ah too late, as fhall eftfoons be shewn.
A place here was, deep, dreary, under ground,
Where still our inmates, when unpleafing grown,
Difeas'd, and loathfome, privily were thrown.
Far from the light of heaven, they languish'd there,
Unpity'd uttering many a bitter groan;
For of these wretches taken was no care;
The Knight of Arts and Industry,
And his achievements fair,
That by his Gafile's overthrow
Secur'd and crowned were.
SCAP'D the Caftle of the fire of Sin,
Ah! where fhall I fo fweet a dwelling find?
For all around, without, and all within,
Nothing fave what delightful was and kind,
Of goodness favouring and a tender mind,
E'er rofe to view: but now another strain,
Of doleful note, alas! remains behind :
I now muft fing of pleasure turn'd to pain,
And of the falfe enchanter Indolence complain.
Is there no patron to protect the Mufe, Fierce fiends and hags of hell their only nurfes were. And fence for her Parnaffus' barren foil?
Alas! the change! from scenes of joy and reft,
To this dark den, where Sicknefs tofs'd alway.
Here Lethargy, with deadly fleep oppreft,
Stretch'd on his back, a mighty lubbard, lay
Heaving his fides, and fnored night and day;
To ftir him from his traunce it was not eath,
And his half-open'd eyne he fhut ftraitway;
He led, I wot, the fofteft way to death,
To every labour its reward accrues,
And they are fure of bread who fwink and moil;
But a fell tribe th' Aonian hive defpoil,
As ruthlefs wafps oft' rob the painful bee:
Thus while the laws not guard that noblest toil,
Ne for the Mufes other meed decree,
They praised are alone, and starve right merrily.
I care not, Fortune! what you me deny;
And taught withouten pain and ftrife to yield the You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace;
Of limbs enormous, but withal unfound,
Soft-fwoln and pale, here lay the Hydropfy;
Unwieldy man! with belly monftrous round,
For ever fed with watery fupply:
For ftill he drank, and yet he ftill was dry.
And moping here did Hypochondria fit,
Mother of Spleen, in robes of various dye,
Who vexed was full oft' with ugly fit;
And fome her frantic deem'd, and fome her deem'd
a wit.
A lady, proud she was, of ancient blood,
Yet oft' her fear her pride made crouchen low;
She felt, or fancy'd, in her fluttering mood,
All the difeafes which the fpittles know,
And fought all phyfick which the shops bestow,
And still new leaches and new drugs would try,
Her humour ever wavering to and fro;
For fometimes he would laugh, and fometimes cry,
Then fudden waxed wroth, and all the knew not
why.
Faft by her fide a liftlefs maiden pin'd,
With aching head, and fqueamish heart-burnings;
Pale, bloated, cold, fhe feem'd to hate mankind,
Yet lov'd in fecret all forbidden things.
And here the Tertian shakes his chilling wings:
The fleepless Gout here counts the crowing cocks;
A wolf now gnaws him, now a ferpent ftings;
Whilft Apoplexy cramm'd Intemperance knocks
Down to the ground at once, as butcher felleth ox.
You cannot fhut the windows of the sky,
Thro' which Aurora fhews her brightening face;
You cannot bar my conftant feet to trace
The woods and lawns, by living ftream, at eve:
Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace,
And I their toys to the great children leave:
Of fancy, reafon, virtue, nought can me bereave.
Come then, my Mufe! and raise a bolder fong;
Come, lig no more upon the bed of floth,
Dragging the lazy languid line along,
Fond to begin, but still to finish loath,
Thy half-writ fcrolls all eaten by the moth
Arife, and fing that generous imp of fame,"
Who with the fons of Softnefs nobly wroth,
To fweep away this human lumber came,
Or in a chofen few to roufe the flumbering flame.
In Fairy-land there liv'd a knight of old,
Of features fern, Selvaggio well yclep'd,
A rough unpolish'd man, robust and bold,
But wondrous poor: he neither fow'd nor reap'd
Ne ftores in fummer for cold winter heap'd;
In hunting all his days away he wore;
Now fcorch'd by June, now in November steep'd,
Now pinch'd by biting January fore,
He fill in woods purfu'd the libbard and the boar.
As he one morning, long before the dawn,
Prick'd thro' the foreft to diflodge his prey,
Deep in the winding bofom of a lawn,
With wood wild-fring'd, he mark'd a taper's ray,
That from the beating rain and wintry fray
Did to a lonely cot his fteps decoy;
There, up to earn the needments of the day,
He found Dame Poverty, nor fair nor coy;
Her he comprefs'd, and fill'd her with a lufty boy.
VII.
Amid the green-wood fhade this boy was bred,
And grew at last a knight of muckel fame,
Of active mind and vigorous luftyhed,
The Knight of Arts and Industry by name.
Earth was his bed, the boughs his roof did frame;
He knew no beverage but the flowing stream;
His tafteful well-carn'd food the fylvan game,
Or the brown fruit with which the woodlands
Nor would he fcorn to stoop from high purfuits
Of heavenly Truth, and practife what the taught.
Vain is the tree of Knowledge without, fruits,
Sometimes in hand the fpade or plough he caught,
Forth-calling all with which boon-earth is fraught;
Sometimes he ply'd the ftrong mechanic tool,
Or rear'd the fabric from, the finest draught;
And oft' he put himself to Neptune's fchool,
Fighting with winds and waves on the vext ocean
pool.
To folace then thefe tougher tolls, he try'd
To touch the kindling canvafs into life;
With Nature his creating pencil vy'd,
With Nature, joyous at the mimic ftrife;
Or, to fuch fhapes as grac'd Pygmalion's wife
He hew'd the marble; or with varied fire,
He rous'd the trumpet and the martial fife ;
Or bade the lute sweet tenderness infpire;
Or verfes fram'd that well might wake Apollo's
lyre.
All careless rambling where it lik'd them moft: Their wealth the wild deer bouncing thro' the glade ;.
They lodg'd at large, and liv'd at Nature's coft; Save fpear and bow, withouten other aid,
Yet not the Roman fteel their naked breast difmay'd.
He lik'd the foil, he lik'd the clement skies,
He lik'd the verdant hills and flowery plains.
Be this my great, my choten Ifle (he cries,)
This, whilft my labours Liberty fuftains,
This Queen of Ocean all affault difdains.
Nor lik'd he lefs the genius of the land,
To freedom apt and perfevering pains,
Mild to obey, and generous to command,
Temper'd by forming Heaven with kindeft, firmest
hand.
Here, by degrees, his master-work arose, Whatever Arts and Industry can frame; Whatever finish'd Agriculture knows,
When as the knight had fram'd, in Britain land,
Fair Queen of Arts! from Heaven itself who A matchless form of glorious government,
In which the fovereign laws alone command,
Laws ftablish'd by the public free confent,
Whofe majefty is to the fceptre lent;
When this great plan, with each dependent art,
Was fettled firm, and to his heart's content,
Then fought he from the toilfome scene to part,
And let life's vacant eve breathe quiet thro' the
heart.
For this he chofe a farm in Deva's vale,
Where his long allics peep'd upon the main:
In this calm feat he drew the healthful gale;
Here mix'd the chief, the patriot, and the fwain,
The happy monarch of his fylvan train;
Here, fided by the guardians of the fold,
He walk'd his rounds, and cheer'd his bleft do-
main:
His days, the days of unftain'd Nature, roll'd,
Replete with peace and joy, like patriarchs of old.
Witnefs, ye lowing Herds! who gave him milk;
Witness, ye Flocks! whofe woolly veftments far
Exceeds foft India's cotton or her filk;
Witness, with autumn charg'd, the nodding car,
Thence from their cloifter'd walks he fet them That homeward came beneath fweet evening's
Or of September moons the radiance mild :
O hide thy head, abominable War!
Of crimes and ruffian idlenefs the child: From heaven this life yfprung, from hell thy glories vild.
|