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Ten thousand rovers in the world at large The eyesight of discovery, and begets, Account it music; that it summons soine In those that suffer it, a sordid mind To theatre, or jocund feast or ball;

Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit The wearied hireling finds it a release To be the tenant of man's noble form. From labour; and the lover, who has chid Thee therefore still, blameworthy as thou Its long delay, feels every welcome stroke

art, Upon his heart-strings, trembling with de- With all thy loss of empire, and though light

squeezed To fly for refuge from distracting thought By public exigence till annual food To such amusements as ingenious woe Fails for the craving hunger of the State, Contrives, hard shifting and without her Thee I account still happy, and the chief 460 tools

Among the nations, seeing thou art free, To read engraven on the mouldy walls, My native nook of earth! Thy clime is rude, In staggering types, his predecessor's tale, Replete with vapours, and disposes much A sad memorial, and subjoin his own — All hearts to sadness, and none more than To turn purveyor to an overgorged

mine; And bloated spider, till the pampered pest

Tbine unadulterate manners are less soft Is made familiar, watches its approach, And plausible than social life requires, Comes at his call, and serves him for a And thou hast need of discipline and art friend

To give thee what politer France receives To wear out time in numbering to and fro From nature's bounty — that humane adThe studs that thick emboss his iron door,

dress Then downward, and then upward, then And sweetuess, without which no pleasure aslant,

is And then alternate, with a sickly hope In converse, either starved by cold reserve, By dint of change to give his tasteless Or flushed with fierce dispute, a senseless task

brawl; Some relish, till the sum exactly found Yet being free I love thee: for the sake In all directions, he begins again:

Of that one feature can be well content, Oh comfortless existence! bemmed around Disgraced as thou hast been, poor as thou With woes, which who that suffers would

art, not kneel

To seek no sublunary rest beside. And beg for exile, or the pangs of death ? But once enslaved, farewell! I could enThat man should thus encroach on fellow

dure man,

Chains nowhere patiently, and chains at Abridge bim of his just and native rights,

home, Eradicate him, tear him from his hold Where I am free by birthright, not at all. Upon the endearments of domestic life Then what were left of roughness in the And social, nip his fruitfulness and use,

grain And doom him for perhaps a heedless word Of British natures, wanting its excuse To barrenness, and solitude, and tears, 441 That it belongs to freemen, would disgust Moves indignation, makes the name of And shock me. I should then with double

king (Of king whom such prerogative can Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime; please)

And if I must bewail the blessing lost As dreadful as the Manichean God, For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys Adored through fear, strong only to de- bled, stroy.

I would at least bewail it under skies 'Tis liberty alone that gives the flower Milder, among a people less austere, Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume, In scenes which, having never known me And we are weeds without it. All con


489 straint,

Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. Except what wisdom lays on evil men, Do I forebode impossible events, Is evil; hurts the faculties, impedes And tremble at vain dreams? Heaven Their progress in the road of science; blinds grant I may!







Brt the age of virtuous politics is past, We build with what we deem eternal rock;
And we are deep in that of cold pretence. A distant age asks where the fabric stood;
Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere, And in the dust, sifted and searched in vain,
And we too wise to trust them. He that The indiscoverable secret sleeps.

But there is yet a liberty unsung
Deep in his soft credulity the stamp By poets, and by senators unpraised,
Designed by loud declaimers on the part Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the
Of liberty, themselves the slaves of lust,

powers Incurs derision for his


Of earth and hell confederate take away; And lack of knowledge, and with cause A liberty which persecution, fraud, enough:

Oppression, prisons, have no power to bind; For when was public virtue to be found Which whoso tastes can be enslaved no more. Where private was not ? Can he love the 'Tis liberty of heart, derived from Heaven, whole

Bought with His blood who gave it to manWho loves no part? He be a nation's friend kind, Who is, in truth, the friend of no man And sealed with the same token. It is held there?

By charter, and that charter sanctioned sure Can he be strenuous in his country's cause By the unimpeachable and awful oath Who slights the charities for whose dear And promise of a God. His other gifts 550 sake

All bear the royal stamp that speaks them That country, if at all, must be beloved ?

His, 'Tis therefore sober and good men are And are august, but this transcends them all. sad

His other works, the visible display For England's glory, seeing it wax pale 50 Of all-creating energy and might, And sickly, while her champions wear their Are grand, no doubt, and worthy of the hearts

Word So loose to private duty, that no brain, That, finding an interminable space Healthful and undisturbed by factious Unoccupied, has filled the void so well, fumes,

And made so sparkling what was dark beCan dream them trusty to the general weal.

fore. Such were not they of old, whose tempered But these are not his glory. Man, 'tis true, blades

Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene, 560 Dispersed the shackles of usurped control, Might well suppose the artificer divine And hewed them link from link. Then Al- Meant it eternal, had He not Himself bion's sons

Pronounced it transient, glorious as it is, Were sons indeed; they felt a filial heart And still designing a more glorious far, Beat high within them at a mother's wrongs,

Doomed it as insufficient for His praise. And shining each in his domestic sphere, These therefore are occasional, and pass; Shone brighter still, once called to public Formed for the confutation of the fool, 567 view.

Whose lying heart disputes against a God; 'Tis therefore many, whose sequestered lot That office served, they must be swept away. Forbids their interference, looking on, Not so the labours of His love: they shine Anticipate perforce some dire event; In other heavens than these that we behold, And seeing the old castle of the State, And fade not. There is paradise that fears That promised once more firmness, so as- No forfeiture, and of its fruits He sends sailed

Large prelibation oft to saints below. That all its tempest-beaten turrets shake, Of these the first in order, and the pledge Stand motionless, expectants of its fall. And confident assurance of the rest, All has its date below; the fatal hour Is liberty; a flight into His arms, Was registered in heaven ere time began. Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way, We turn to dust, and all our mightiest A clear escape from tyrannizing lust, works

And full immunity from penal woe. Die too: the deep foundations that we lay, Chains are the portion of revolted man, Time ploughs them up, and not a trace re- Stripes, and a dungeon; and his body serves mains.

The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul,




Perversely, which of late she so condemned; With shallow shifts and old devices, worn And tattered in the service of debauch, Covering his shame from his offended sight.

“ Hath God indeed given appetites to man, And stored the earth so plenteously with




Opprobrious residence he finds them all.
Propense his heart to idols, he is held
In silly dotage on created things,
Careless of their Creator. And that low
And sordid gravitation of his powers
To a vile clod so draws him, with such

Resistless, from the centre he should seek,
That he at last forgets it. All his hopes
Tend downwards; his ambition is to sink,
To reach a depth profounder still, and still
Profounder, in the fathomless abyss
Of folly, plunging in pursuit of death.
But ere he gain the comfortless repose
He seeks, and acquiescence of his soul
In heaven-renouncing exile, he endures -
What does he not? from lusts opposed in

vain, And self-reproacbing conscience. He foreThe fatal issue to his health, fame, peace, Fortune and dignity; the loss of all That can ennoble man, and make frail life, Short as it is, supportable. Still worse, Far worse than all the plagues with which

his sins Infect his happiest moments, he forebodes Ages of hopeless misery; future death, And death still future: not an hasty stroke Like that which sends him to the dusty

grave, But unrepealable enduring death. Scripture is still a trumpet to his fears: What none can prove a forgery, may be true; What none but bad men wish exploded,

must. That scruple checks him. Riot is not loud Nor drunk enough to drown it. In the midst Of laughter his compunctions are sincere, And he abhors the jest by which he shines. Remorse begets reform. His master-lust Falls first before his resolute rebuke, And seems dethroned and vanquished.

Peace ensues, But spurious and short-lived, the puny child Of self-congratulating Pride, begot On fancied Innocence. Again he falls, And fights again; but finds his best essay A presage ominous, portending still Its own dishonour by a worse relapse, Till Nature, unavailing Nature, foiled So oft, and wearied in the vain attempt, Scoffs at her own performance. Reason now Takes part with Appetite, and pleads the


To gratify the hunger of his wi
And doth He reprobate, and will He damn,
The use of His own bounty ? making first
So frail a kind, and then enacting laws 640
So strict, that less than perfect must de-

spair ? Falsehood ! which whoso but suspects of

truth Dishonours God, and makes a slave of man. Do they themselves, who undertake for hire The teacher's office, and dispense at large Their weekly dole of edifying strains, Attend to their own music ? Have they faith In what, with such solemnity of tone And gesture, they propound to our belief? Nay, - conduct hath the loudest tongue. The voice

650 Is but an instrument on which the priest May play what tune he pleases. In the deed, The unequivocal authentic deed, We find sound argument, we read the heart." Such reasoniugs (if that name must needs

belong To excuses in which reason has no part) Serve to compose a spirit well inclined To live on terms of amity with vice, And sin without disturbance. Often urged, (As often as, libidinous discourse Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes Of theological and grave import,) They gain at last bis unreserved assent; Till hardened his heart's temper in the forge Of lust, and on the anvil of despair, He slights the strokes of conscience. Noth

ing moves, Or nothing much, his constancy in ill; Vain tampering has but fostered his disease; 'Tis desperate, and he sleeps the sleep of

death. Haste now, philosopher, and set him free. Charm the deaf serpent wisely. Make him hear

671 Of rectitude and fitness; moral truth How lovely, and the moral sense how sure, Consulted and obeyed, to guide his steps Directly to THE FIRST AND ONLY FAIR. Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the











Of rant and rhapsody in virtue's praise; In confirmation of the noblest claim,
Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand, Our claim to feed upon imunortal truth,
And with poetic trappings grace thy prose, To walk with God, to be divinely free,
Till it outmantle all the pride of verse. - To soar, and to anticipate the skies.
Ah, tinkling cymbal and high-sounding Yet few remember them. They lived un-

known Smitten in vain ! such music cannot charm Till Persecution dragged them into fame, The eclipse that intercepts truth's heavenly And chased them up to heaven. Their ashes beam,

flew And chills and darkens a wide wandering No marble tells us whither. With their

soul. The still small voice is wanted. He must No bard embalms and sanctifies his song ; speak,

And history, so warm on meaner themes, Whose word leaps forth at once to its effect, Is cold on this. She execrates indeed Who calls for things that are not, and they | The tyranny that doomed them to the fire,

But gives the glorious sufferers little Grace makes the slave a freeman. Tis a

praise. change

He is the freeman whom the truth makes That turns to ridicule the turgid speech

free, And stately tone of moralists, who boast, 690 And all are slaves beside. There's not a As if, like him of fabulous renown,

chain They had indeed ability to smooth

That hellish foes confederate for his harm The shag of savage nature, and were each Can wind around him, but he casts it off An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song. With as much ease as Samson bis green But transformation of apostate man

withes. From fool to wise, from earthly to divine, He looks abroad into the varied field Is work for Him that made him. He alone, Of nature, and though poor perhaps comAnd He by means in philosophic eyes

pared Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves With those whose mansions glitter in his The wonder; humanizing what is brute 700 sight, In the lost kind, extracting from the lips Calls the delightful scenery all his own. Of asps their venom, overpowering strength His are the mountains, and the valleys his, By weakness, and hostility by love.

And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy Patriots have toiled, and in their coun- With a propriety that none can feel, try's cause

But who, with filial confidence inspired, Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they de- Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye, serve,

And smiling say — “My Father made them Receive proud recompense. We give in

all !" charge

Are they not his by a peculiar right, Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic And by an emphasis of interest his, Muse,

Whose eye they fill with tears of holy Proud of the treasure, marches with it down

joy, To latest times ; and Sculpture, in ber turn, Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted Gives bond in stone and ever-during brass 710

mind To guard them, and to immortalize her trust. With worthy thoughts of that unwearied But fairer wreaths are due, though never

love paid,

That planned, and built, and still upholds a To those who, posted at the shrine of truth,

world Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood, So clothed with beauty, for rebellious man? Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed, Yes — ye may fill your garners, ye that And for a time ensure to his loved land,

reap The sweets of liberty and equal laws; The loaded soil, and ye may waste much But martyrs struggle for a brighter prize,

good And win it with more pain. Their blood is In senseless riot; but ye will not find shed

1 See Hume.



In feast or in the chase, in song or dance,
A liberty like his, who unimpeached
Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, 760
Appropriates nature as his Father's work,
And has a richer use of yours than you.
He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth
Of no mean city, planned or ere the bills
Were built, the fountains opened, or the


And in the school of sacred wisdom taught To read His wonders, in whose thought the

world, Fair as it is, existed ere it was. Not for its own sake merely, but for His Soo Much more who fashioned it, he gives it

praise; Praise that from earth resulting, it ought, To earth's acknowledged Sovereign, finds

at once Its only just proprietor in Him. The soul that sees Him, or receives sub

limed New faculties, or learns at least to employ More worthily the powers she owned before, Discerns in all things what, with stupid gaze Of ignorance, till then she overlooked, 80g A ray of heavenly light gilding all forms Terrestrial, in the vast and the minute, The unambiguous footsteps of the God Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, And wheels His throne upon the rolling

worlds. Much conversant with Heaven, she often

holds With those fair ministers of light to man That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp, Sweet conference; enquires what strains

were they With which heaven rang, when every star,

in haste To gratulate the new-created earth, Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God Shouted for joy. “ Tell me, ye shining

hosts That navigate a sea that knows no storms, Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud, If from your elevation, whence ye view Distinctly scenes invisible to man, And systems of whose birth no tidings yet Have reached this nether world, ye spy a

With all his roaring multitude of waves.
His freedom is the same in every State,
And no condition of this changeful life,
So manifold in cares, whose every day
Brings its own evil with it, makes it less: 770
For he has wings that neither sickness, pain,
Nor penury, can cripple or confine.
No nook so narrow but he spreads them

there With ease, and is at large. The oppressor

holds His body bound, but knows not what a

range His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain, And that to bind him is a vain attempt Whom God delights in, and in whom He

dwells. Acquaint thyself with God, if thou

wouldst taste His works. Admitted once to His embrace,

780 Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind

before ; Thine eye shall be instructed, and thine

beart, Made pure,

shall relish with divine delight, Till then unfelt, what hands divine have

wrought. Brutes graze the mountain-top with faces

prone And eyes intent upon the scanty herb It yields them; or, recumbent on its brow, Ruminate heedless of the scene outspread Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away From inland regions to the distant main. Man views it and admires, but rests con

tent With what he views. The landscape has

his praise, But not its Author. Unconcerned who

formed The paradise he sees, he finds it such; And such well-pleased to find it, asks no

more. Not so the mind that has been touched from





Favoured as ours, transgressors from the womb,

829 And hasting to a grave, yet doomed to rise, And to possess a brighter heaven than yours? As one who long detained on foreign shores Pants to return, and when he sees afar His country's weather-bleached and bat

tered rocks 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 wish, your beamy fires, That show like beacons in the blue abyss,

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