Transported Athens with the moral scene; Nor those who, tuneful, waked the enchanting lyre.
First of your kind! society divine!
Still visit thus my nights, for you reserved,
And why they pine beneath the brightest skies, In Nature's richest lap. As thus we talk'd, Our hearts would burn within us, would inhale That portion of divinity, that ray
Of purest Heaven, which lights the public soul
And mount my soaring soul to thoughts like Of patriots and of heroes. But if doom'd
Silence, thou lonely power! the door be thine; See on the hallow'd hour that none intrude, Save a few chosen friends, who sometimes deign To bless my humble roof, with sense refined, Learning digested well, exalted faith, Unstudied wit, and humour ever gay.
Or from the Muses' hill will Pope descend, To raise the sacred hour, to bid it smile, And with the social spirit warm the heart? For though not sweeter his own Homer sings, Yet is his life the more endearing song.
In powerless humble fortune, to repress These ardent risings of the kindling soul; Then, even superior to ambition, we
Would learn the private virtues; how to glide Through shades and plains, along the smoothest
Of rural life: or snatch'd away by hope, Through the dim spaces of futurity, With earnest eye anticipate those scenes Of happiness and wonder; where the mind In endless growth and infinite ascent, Rises from state to state, and world to world.
Where art thou, Hammond? thou, the darling But when with these the serious though is foil'd, pride,
The friend and lover of the tuneful throng! Ah why, dear youth, in all the blooming prime Of vernal genius, where disclosing fast Each active worth, each manly virtue lay, Why wert thou ravish'd from our hope so soon? What now avails that noble thirst of fame, Which stung thy fervent breast? that treasured
Of knowledge early gain'd? that eager zeal To serve thy country, glowing in the band Of youthful patriots, who sustain her name; What ow, alas! that life-diffusing charm Of sprightly wit? that rapture for the Muse, That heart of friendship, and that soul of joy, Which bade with softest light thy virtues smile? Ah! only show'd, to check our fond pursuits, And teach our humbled hopes that life is vain! Thus in some deep retirement would I pass The winter-glooms, with friends of pliant soul, Or blithe, or solemn, as the theme inspired: With them would search, if Nature's boundless frame
Was call'd, late-rising from the void of night, Or sprung eternal from the Eternal Mind; Its life, its laws, its progress, and its end. Hence larger prospects of the beauteous whole Would, gradual, open on our opening minds; And each diffusive harmony unite
In full perfection, to the astonish'd eye.
Then would we try to scan the moral world,
We, shifting for relief, would play the shapes Of frolic fancy; and incessant form Those rapid pictures, that assembled train Of fleet ideas, never join'd before, Whence lively wit excites to gay surprise; Or folly painting humour, grave himself, Calls laughter forth, deep-shaking every nerve.
Meantime the village rouses up the fire; While well attested, and as well believed, Heard solemn, goes the goblin story round; Till surperstitious horror creeps o'er all. Or, frequent in the sounding hall, they wake The rural gambol. Rustic mirth goes round: The simple joke that takes the shepherd's heart Easily pleased; the long loud laugh, sincere; The kiss, snatch'd hasty from the side-long maid, On purpose guardless, or pretending sleep: The leap, the slap, the haul; and, shook to notes Of native music, the respondent dance. Thus jocund fleets with them the winter night. The city swarms intense. The public haunt, Full of each theme and warm with mix'd dis-
Hums indistinct. The sons of riot flow Down the loose stream of false enchanted joy, To swift destruction. On the rankled soul The gaming fury falls; and in one gulf Of total ruin, honour, virtue, peace, Friends, families, and fortune, headlong sink. Upsprings the dance along the lighted dome, Mix'd and evolved, a thousand sprightly ways.
Which, though to us it seems embroil'd, moves on The glittering court effuses every pomp;
In higher order; fitted and impell'd By Wisdom's finest hand, and issuing all In general good. The sage historic Muse Should next conduct us through the deeps
The circle deepens: beam'd from gaudy robes, Tapers, and sparkling gems, and radiant eyes A soft effulgence o'er the palace waves:
of While, a gay insect in his summer-shine, The fop, light fluttering, spreads his mealy wings. Dread o'er the scene, the ghost of Hamlet stalks;
Show us how empire grew, declined, and fell, I scatter'd states; what makes the nations smile, Iraprov their soil, and gives them double suns; 2 R2
Othello rages; poor Monimia mourns;
And Belvidera pours her soul in love. Terror alarms the breast; the comely tear Steals o'er the cheek; or else the Comic Muse Holds to the world a picture of itself, And raises sly the fair impartial laugh. Sometimes she lifts her strain, and paints the scenes Of beauteous life; whate'er can deck mankind, Or charm the heart, in generous Bevil* show'd. O thou, whose wisdom, solid yet refined, Whose patriot-virtues, and consummate skill To touch the finer springs that move the world, Join'd to whate'er the Graces can bestow, And all Apollo's animating fire, Give thee, with pleasing dignity, to shine At once the guardian, ornament, and joy, Of polish'd life; permit the rural Muse, O Chesterfield, to grace with thee her song! Ere to the shades again she humbly flies, Indulge her fond ambition, in thy train, (For every Muse has in thy train a place) To mark thy various, full-accomplish'd mind: To mark that spirit, which, with British scorn, Rejects the allurements of corrupted power; That elegant politeness, which excels, E'en in the judgment of presumptuous France, The boasted manners of her shining court; That with the vivid energy of sense, 'The truth of Nature, which with Attic point And kind well temper'd satire, smoothly keen, Steals through the soul, and without pain corrects. Or rising thence with yet a brighter flame, O let me hail thee on some glorious day, When to the listening senate, ardent, crowd Britannia's sons to hear her pleaded cause. Then dress'd by thee, more amiably fair, Truth the soft robe of mild persuasion wears: Thou to assenting reason givest again
| All Nature feels the renovating force Of Winter, only to the thoughtless eye In ruin seen. The frost-concocted glebe Draws in abundant vegetable soul, And gathers vigour for the coming year, A stronger glow sits on the lively cheek Of ruddy fire: and luculent along The purer rivers flow; their sullen deeps, Transparent, open to the shepherd's gaze, And murmur hoarser at the fixing frost.
What art thou, frost? and whence are thy keep
Derived, thou secret all-invading power, Whom e'en the illusive fluid can not fly? Is not thy potent energy, unseen, Myriads of little salts, or hook'd, or shaped Like double wedges, and diffused immense Through water, earth, and ether? hence at eve, Steam'd eager from the red horizon round, With the fierce rage of Winter deep suffused, An icy gale, oft shifting, o'er the pool Breathes a blue film, and in its mid career Arrests the bickering stream. The loosen'd ice, Let down the flood, and half dissolved by day, Rustles no more; but to the sedgy bank Fast grows, or gathers round the pointed stone, A crystal pavement, by the breath of Heaven Cemented firm; till, seized from shore to shore The whole imprison'd river growls below. Loud rings the frozen earth, and hard reflects A double noise; while, at his evening watch, The village dog deters the nightly thief; The heifer lows; the distant water-fall Swells in the breeze; and, with the hasty tread Of traveller, the hollow-sounding plain Shakes from afar. The full ethereal round, Infinite worlds disclosing to the view,
Her own enlighten'd thoughts; call'd from the Shines out intensely keen; and, all one cope heart,
The obedient passions on thy voice attend; And e'en reluctant party feels a while
Thy gracious power: as through the varied maze Of eloquence, now smooth, now quick, now strong, Profound and clear, you roll the copious flood.
To thy loved haunt return, my happy Muse: For now, behold, the joyous winter days, Frosty, succeed; and through the blue serene, For sight too fine, the ethereal nitre flies; Killing infectious damps, and the spent air Storing afresh with elemental life. Close crowds the shining atmosphere; and binds Our strengthen'd bodies in its cold embrace, Constringent; feeds, and animates our blood; Refines our spirits, through the new-strung nerves, In swifter sallies darting to the brain; Where sits the soul, intense, collected, cool, Bright as the skies, and as the season keen.
A character in the Conscious Lovers, by Sir R. Steele.
Of starry glitter, glows from pole to pole. From pole to pole the rigid influence falls, Through the still night, incessant, heavy, strong, And seizes Nature fast. It freezes on; Till Morn, late rising o'er the drooping world, Lifts her pale eye unjoyous. Then appears The various labour of the silent night: Prone from the dripping eave, and dumb cascade Whose idle torrents only seem to roar, The pendent icicle: the frost-work fair, Where transient hues, and fancied figures rise; Wide-spouted o'er the hill, the frozen brook, A livid tract, cold-gleaming on the morn; The forest bent beneath the plumy wave; And by the frost refined the whiter snow, Incrusted hard, and sounding to the tread ¡ Of early shepherd, as he pensive seeks His pining flock, or from the mountain top, Pleased with the slippery surface, swift descends On blithsome frolics bent, the youthful swains, While every work of man is laid at rest,
Fond o'er the river crowd, in various sport And revelry dissolved; where mixing glad, Happiest of all the train, the raptured boy Lashes the whirling top. Or, where the Rhine Branch'd out in many a long canal extends, From every province swarming, void of care, Batavia rushes forth; and as they sweep, On sounding skates, a thousand different ways, In circling poise, swift as the winds, along, The then gay land is madden'd all to joy. Nor less the northern courts, wide o'er the snow, Pour a new pomp. Eager, on rapid sleds, Their vigorous youth in bold contention wheel The long-resounding course. Meantime to raise The manly strife, with highly blooming charms, Flush'd by the season, Scandinavia's dames, Or Russia's buxom daughters, glow around. Pure, quick, and sportful, is the wholesome day; But soon elapsed. The horizontal sun, Broad o'er the south, hangs at his utmost noon: And, ineffectual, strikes the gelid cliff: His azure gloss the mountain still maintains, Nor feels the feeble touch. Perhaps the vale Relents awhile to the reflected ray: Or from the forest falls the clustered snow, Myriads of gems, that in the waving gleam Gay-twinkle as they scatter. Thick around Thunders the sport of those who with the gun, And dog impatient bounding at the shot, Worse than the Season, desolate the fields; And, adding to the ruins of the year, Distress the footed or the feathered game. But what is this? our infant Winter sinks, Divested of his grandeur, should our eye Astonish'd shoot into the frigid zone; Where, for relentless months, continual Night Holds o'er the glittering waste her starry reign. There, through the prison of unbounded wilds, Barr'd by the hand of Nature from escape, Wide roams the Russian exile. Nought around Strikes his sad eye, but deserts lost in snow; And heavy-loaded groves; and solid floods, That stretch athwart the solitary waste, Their icy horrors to the frozen main, And cheerless towns far distant, never bless'd, Save when its annual course the caravan Bends to the golden coast of rich Cathay,* With news of human-kind. Yet there life glows; Yet cherish'd there beneath the shining waste, The furry nations harbour: tipp'd with jet, Fair ermines, spotless as the snows they press; Sables of glossy black; and dark-embrown'd, Or beauteous freak'd with many a mingled hue, Thousands besides, the costly pride of courts. There, warm together press'd, the trooping deer Sleep on the new-fallen snows; and scarce his head
• The oid name for China.
Raised o'er the heapy wreath, the branching elk Lies slumbering sullen in the white abyss. The ruthless hunter wants nor dogs nor toils, Nor with the dread of sounding bows he drives The fearful flying race; with ponderous clubs, As weak against the mountain-heaps they push Their beating breast in vain, and piteous bray, He lays them quivering on the ensanguined snows And with loud shouts rejoicing bears them home. There through the piny forest half-absorp'd, Rough tenant of these shades, the shapeless bear, With dangling ice all horrid, stalks forlorn; Slow-paced, and sourer as the storms increase, He makes his bed beneath the inclement drift, And, with stern patience, scorning weak com- plaint,
Hardens his heart against assailing want.
Wide o'er the spacious regions of the north, That see Bootes urge his tardy wain, A boisterous race, by frosty Caurus* pierced, Who little pleasure know and fear no pain, Prolific swarm. They once relumed the flame Of lost mankind in polish'd slavery sunk; Drove martial horde on horde,t with fearful sweep
Resistless rushing o'er the enfeebled south, And gave the vanquished world another forin. Not such the sons of Lapland: wisely they Despise the insensate barbarous trade of war; They ask no more than simple Nature gives, They love their mountains, and enjoy their storms, No false desires, no pride-created wants, Disturb the peaceful current of their time; And through the restless ever tortured maze Of pleasure, or ambition, bid it rage. Their reindeer form their riches.
Their robes, their beds, and all their homely wealth Supply, their wholesome fare and cheerful cups. Obsequious at their call, the docile tribe Yield to the sled their necks, and whirl them swift O'er hill and dale, heap'd into one expanse Of marbled snow, as far as eye can sweep With a blue crust of ice unbounded glazed. By dancing meteors then, that ceaseless shake A waving blaze refracted o'er the heavens, And vivid moons, and stars that keener play With doubled lustre from the glossy waste, E'en in the depth of polar night, they find A wondrous day: enough to light the chase, Or guide their daring steps to Finland fairs. Wish'd Spring returns; and from the hazy south. While dim Aurora slowly moves before, The welcome sun, just verging up at first, By small degrees extends the swelling curve! Till seen at last for gay rejoicing months, Still round and round, his spiral course he winds,
• North-west wind. ↑ The wandering Scythian clans
And as he nearly dips his flaming orb, Wheels up again, and reascends the sky. In that glad season from the lakes and floods, Where pure Niemi's* fairy mountains rise, And fringed with roses Tengliot rolls his stream, They draw the copious fry. With these, at eve, They cheerful loaded to their tents repair; Where, all day long in useful cares employ'd, Their kind unblemish'd wives the fire prepare. Thrice happy race! by poverty secured From legal plunder and rapacious power: In whom fell interest never yet has sown The seeds of vice: whose spotless swains ne'er knew
Injurious deed, nor, blasted by the breath Of faithless love, their blooming daughters wo. Still pressing on, beyond Tornea's lake, And Hecla flaming through a waste of snow, And farthest Greenland, to the pole itself, Where, failing gradual, life at length goes out, The Muse expands her solitary flight; And, hovering o'er the wild stupendous scene, Beholds new seas beneath another sky. Throned in his palace of cerulean ice, Here Winter holds his unrejoicing court; And through the airy hall the loud misrule Of driving tempest is for ever heard; Here the grim tyrant meditates his wrath; Here arms his winds with all subduing frost; Moulds his fierce hail, and treasures up his
With which he now oppresses half the globe.
Thence winding eastward to the Tartar's coast, She sweeps the howling margin of the main; Where undissolving, from the first of time, Snows swell on snows, amazing to the sky; And icy mountains high on mountains piled, Seem to the shivering sailor from afar, Shapeless and white, an atmosphere of clouds. Projected huge, and horrid o'er the surge, Alps frown on Alps; or rushing hideous down, As if old Chaos was again return'd, Wide-rend the deep, and shake the solid pole. Ocean itself no longer can resist The binding fury: but, in all its rage Of tempest taken by the boundless frost, Is many a fathom to the bottom chain'd,
*M. de Maupertius, in his book on the Figure of the Earth, after having described the beautiful lake and mountain of Niemi, in Lapland, says, "From this height we had opportunity several times to see those vapours rise from the lake, which the people of the country call Haltios, and which they
deem to be the guardian spirits of the mountains. We had been frighted with. stories of bears that haunted this place, but saw none. It seemed rather a place of resort for fairies and genii, than bears."
The same author observes, "I was surprised to see upon we banks of this river (the Tenglio) roses of as lively a red as any that are in our gardens.
And bid to roar no more: a bleak expanse, Shagg'd o'er with wavy rocks, cheerless, and void Of every life, that from the dreary months Flies conscious southward. Miserable they! Who, here entangled in the gathering ice, Take their last look of the descending sun; While, full of death, and fierce with tenfold frost, The long long night, incumbent o'er their heads, Falls horrible. Such was the Briton's fate, As with first prow, (what have not Britons dared!, He for the passage sought, attempted since So much in vain, and seeming to be shut By jealous Nature with eternal bars. In these fell regions, in Arzina caught, And to the stony deep his idle ship Immediate seal'd, he with his hapless crew Each full exerted at his several task, Froze into statues; to the cordage glued The sailor, and the pilot to the helm.
Hard by these shores, where scarce his freezing
Rolls the wild Oby, live the last of men; And half enliven'd by the distant sun, That rears and ripens man, as well as plants, Here human nature wears its rudest form. Deep from the piercing season sunk in caves, Here by dull fires, and with unjoyous cheer, They waste the tedious gloom. Immersed in furs, Doze the gross race. Nor sprightly jest nor song, Nor tenderness they know; nor aught of life, Beyond the kindred bears that stalk without, Till morn at length, her roses drooping all, Shed a long twilight brightening o'er their fields, And calls the quiver'd savage to the chase.
What can not active government perform, New-moulding man? Wide-stretching from these shores,
A people savage from remotest time,
A huge neglected empire, one vast mind, By Heaven inspired, from gothic darkness call'd. Immortal Peter! first of monarchs! he His stubborn country tamed, her rocks, her fens, Her floods, her seas, her ill-submitting sons; And while the fierce barbarian he subdued, To more exalted soul he raised the man. Ye shades of ancient heroes, ye who toil'd Through long successive ages to build up A labouring plan of state, behold at once The wonder done! behold the matchless prince! Who left his native throne, where reign'd till then A mighty shadow of unreal power; Who greatly spurn'd the slothful pomp of courts; And roaming every land, in every port His sceptre laid aside, with glorious hand Unwearied plying the mechanić tool, Gather'd the seeds of trade, of useful arts,
Sir Hugh Willoughby, sent by Queen Elizabeth to dis cover the north-east passage.
Of civil wisdom, and of material skill. Charged with the stores of Europe home he goes! Then cities rise amid the illumined waste; O'er joyless deserts smiles the rural reign; Far distant flood to flood is social join'd; The astonish'd Euxine hears the Baltic roar; Proud navies ride on seas that never foam'd With daring keel before; and armies stretch Each way their dazzling files, repressing here The frantic Alexander of the north,
And awing there stern Othman's shrinking sons. Sloth flies the land, and Ignorance, and Vice, Of old dishonour proud: it glows around, Taught by the Royal Hand that roused the whole, One scene of arts, of arms, of rising trade: For what his wisdom plann'd, and power enforced, More potent still, his great example show'd.
Muttering, the winds at eve, with blunted point, Blow hollow blustering from the south. Subdued, The frost resolves into a trickling thaw. Spotted the mountains shine; loose sleet decends, And floods the country round. The rivers swell, Of bonds impatient. Sudden from the hills, O'er rocks and woods, in broad brown cataracts, A thousand snow-fed torrents shoot at once; And, where they rush, the wide resounding plain Is left one slimy waste. Those sullen seas, That wash'd the ungenial pole, will rest no more Beneath the shackles of the mighty north; But, rousing all their waves, resistless heave. And hark! the lengthening roar continuous runs Athwart the rifted deep: at once it bursts, And piles a thousand mountains to the clouds. Ill fares the bark with trembling wretches charged, That, toss'd amid the floating fragments, moors Beneath the shelter of an icy isle,
While night o'erwhelms the sea, and horror looks More horrible. Can human force endure The assembled mischiefs that besiege them round? Heart-gnawing hunger, fainting weariness, The roar of winds and waves, the crush of ice, Now ceasing, now renew'd with louder rage, And in dire echoes bellowing round the main. More to embroil the deep, leviathan And his unwieldy train, in dreadful sport, Tempest the loosen'd brine, while through the gloom,
Far from the bleak inhospitable shore, Loading the winds, is heard the hungry howl Of famish'd monsters, there awaiting wrecks. Yet Providence, that ever waking eye, Looks down with pity on the feeble toil Of mortals lost to hope, and lights them safe, Through all this dreary labyrinth of fate. 'Tis done! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, And reigns tremendous o'er the conquer'd Year. How dead the vegetable kingdom lies! How dumb the tuneful! horror wide extends His desolate domain. Behold, fond man!
See here thy pictured life; pass some few years, Thy flowering Spring, thy Summer's ardent strength,
Thy sober Autumn fading into age,
And pale concluding Winter comes at last, And shuts the scene. Ah! whither now are fled Those dreams of greatness? those unsolid hopes Of happiness? those longings after fame? Those restless cares? those busy bustling days? Those gay-spent, festive nights? those veering thoughts,
Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life? All now are vanish'd! Virtue sole survives, Immortal never-failing friend of man, His guide to happiness on high. And see! 'Tis come, the glorious morn! the second birth Of heaven and earth! awakening Nature hears The new creating word, and starts to life, In every heighten'd form, from pain and death For ever free. The great eternal scheme, Involving all, and in a perfect whole Uniting, as the prospect wider spreads To reason's eye refined clear up apace. Ye vainly wise! ye blind presumptuous! now, Confounded in the dust, adore that Power And Wisdom oft arraign'd: see now the cause, Why unassuming worth in secret lived, And died, neglected: why the good man's share In life was gaul and bitterness of soul: Why the lone widow and her orphans pined In starving solitude; while luxury,
In palaces, lay straining her low though To form unreal wants: why heaven-born truth, And moderation fair, wore the red marks Of superstition's scourge: why licensed pain, That cruel spoiler, that embosom'd foe, Embitter'd all our bliss. Ye good distress'd! Ye noble few! who here unbending stand Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while, And what your bounded view, which only saw A little part, deem'd evil is no more: The storms of Wintry Time will quickly pass, And one unbounded Spring encircle all.
THESE, as they change, Almighty Father, these Are but the varied God. The rolling year Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. Wide flush the fields; the softening air is balm Echo the mountains round; the forest smiles; And every sense and every heart is joy. Then comes thy glory in the Summer-months, With light and heat refulgent. Then thy sun Shoots full perfection through the rolling year: And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks: And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve,
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