With radiant finger points to Heaven again. The generous Ashley* thine, the friend of man; Who scann'd his nature with a brother's eye, His weakness prompt to shade, to raise his aim, To touch the finer movements of the mind, And with the moral beauty charm the heart. Why need I name thy Boyle, whose pious search Amid the dark recesses of his works, The great Creator sought? And why thy Locke, Who made the whole internal world his own? Let Newton, pure intelligence, whom God To mortals lent, to trace His boundless works From laws sublimely simple, speak thy fame In all philosophy. For lofty sense, Creative fancy, and inspection keen Through the deep windings of the human heart, Is not wild Shakspeare thine and Nature's boast? Is not each great, each amiable Muse Of classic ages in thy Milton met? A genius universal as his theme; Astonishing as chaos, as the bloom
Of blowing Eden fair, as Heaven sublime! Nor shall my verse that elder bard forget, The gentle Spenser, fancy's pleasing son; Who, like a copious river, pour'd his song O'er all the mazes of enchanted ground; Nor thee, his ancient master, laughing sage, Chaucer, whose native manners-painting verse, Well moralised, shines through the gothic cloud Of time and language o'er thy genius thrown. May my song soften as thy daughters I, Britannia, hail! for beauty is their own, The feeling heart, simplicity of life, And elegance and taste: the faultless form, Shaped by the hand of harmony; the cheek, Where the live crimson, through the native white Soft-shooting, o'er the face diffuses bloom, And every nameless grace; the parted lip, Like the red rose bud moist with morning dew, Breathing delight; and, under flowing jet, Or sunny ringlets, or of circling brown, The neck slight-shaded, and the swelling breast; The look resistless, piercing to the soul, And by the soul inform'd, when dress'd in love She sits high smiling in the conscious eye.
Island of bliss! amid the subject seas, That thunder round thy rocky coast, set up, At once the wonder, terror, and delight Of distant nations; whose remotest shores Can soon be shaken by thy naval arm; Not to be shook thyself, but all assaults Baffling, as thy hoar cliffs the loud sea-wave. O Thou! by whose Almighty nod the scale Of empire rises, or alternate falls,
Send forth the saving Virtues round the land, In bright patrol: white Peace and social Love; The tender-looking Charity, intent
Anthony Ashley Cooper, Earl of Shaftesbury.
|On gentle deeds, and shedding tears through smiles; Undaunted Truth, and Dignity of mind: Courage composed, and keen: sound Temperance, Healthful in heart and look; clear Chastity, With blushes reddening as she moves along, Disorder'd at the deep regard she draws; Rough Industry; Activity untired, With copious life inform'd, and all awake: While in the radiant front, superior shines That first paternal virtue, Public Zeal; Who throws o'er all an equal wide survey, And, ever musing on the common weal, Still labours glorious with some great design.
Low walks the sun, and broadens by degrees, Just o'er the verge of day. The shifting clouds Assembled gay, a richly gorgeous train, In all their pomp attend his setting throne. Air, earth, and ocean, smile immense. And now, As if his weary chariot sought the bowers Of Amphitrite, and her tending nymphs, (So Grecian fable sung) he dips his orb; Now half-immersed; and now a golden curve Gives one bright glance, then total disappears. For ever running an enchanted round Passes the day, deceitful, vain, and void; As fleets the vision o'er the formful brain, This moment hurrying wild the impassion'd soul, The next in nothing lost. 'Tis so to him, The dreamer of this earth, an idle blank: A sight of horror to the cruel wretch, Who all day long in sordid pleasure roll'd, Himself a useless load, has squander'd vile, Upon his scoundrel train, what might have cheer'd A drooping family of modest worth. But to the generous still-improving mind, That gives the hopeless heart to sing for joy, Diffusing kind beneficence around, Boastless, as now descends the silent dew; To him the long review of order'd life Is inward rapture, only to be felt.
Confess'd from yonder slow-extinguish'd clouds, All ether softening, sober Evening takes Her wonted station in the middle air; A thousand shadows at her beck. First this She sends on earth; then that of deeper dye Steals soft behind; and then a deeper still, In circle following circle, gathers round, To close the face of things. A fresher gale Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream, Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn, While the quail clamours for his running mate. Wide o'er the thistly lawn, as swells the breeze, A whitening shower of vegetable down Amusive floats. The kind impartial care Of Nature nought disdains: thoughtful to feed Her lowest sons, and clothe the coming year, From field to field the feather'd seed she wings, His folded flock secure, the shepherd home |Hies, merry-hearted; and by turns relieves
The ruddy milk-maid of her brimming pail; The beauty whom perhaps his witless heart, Unknowing what the joy-mix'd anguish means, Sincerely loves, by that best language shown Of cordial glances, and obliging deeds. Onward they pass, o'er many a panting height, And valley sunk, and unfrequented; where At fall of eve the fairy people throng, In various game, and revelry, to pass The summer night, as village stories tell. But far about they wander from the grave Of him, whom his ungentle fortune urged Against his own sad breast to lift the hand Of impious violence. The lonely tower Is also shunn'd; whose mournful chambers hold, So night-struck Fancy dreams, the yelling ghost. Among the crooked lanes, on every hedge, The glow-worm lights his gem; and through the
A moving radiance twinkles. Evening yields The world to Night; not in her winter-robe Of massy stygian woof, but loose array'd In mantle dun. A faint erroneous ray, Glanced from the imperfect surfaces of things, Flings half an image on the straining eye; While wavering woods, and villages, and streams, And rocks, and mountain-tops, that long retain'd The ascending gleam, are all one swimming scene, Uncertain if beheld. Sudden to Heaven Thence weary vision turns; where, leading soft The silent hours of love, with purest ray Sweet Venus shines; and from her genial rise, When day-light sickens till it springs afresh, Unrival'd reigns the fairest lamp of Night. As thus the effulgence tremulous I drink,
They see the blazing wonder rise anew, In seeming terror clad, but kindly bent To work the will of all-sustaining Love: From his huge vapoury train perhaps to shake Reviving moisture on the numerous orbs, Through which his long ellipsis wind; perhaps To lend new fuel to declining suns,
To light up worlds, and feed the eternal fire. With thee, serene Philosophy, with thee, And thy bright garland, let me crown my song! Effusive source of evidence, and truth! A lustre shedding o'er the ennobled mind, Stronger than summer-noon; and pure as that, Whose mild vibrations sooth the parted soul, New to the dawning of celestial day. Hence through her nourish'd powers, enlarged by thee,
She springs aloft, with elevated pride, Above the tangling mass of low desires, That bind the fluttering crowd; and, angel. wing'd,
The heights of science and of virtue gains, Where all is calm and clear; with Nature round, Or in the starry regions, or the abyss, To Reason's and to Fancy's eye display'd: The First up-tracing, from the dreary void, The chain of causes and effects to Him, The world-producing Essence, who alone Possesses being; while the Last receives The whole magnificence of heaven and earth, And every beauty, delicate or bold, Obvious or more remote, with livelier sense, Diffusive painted on the rapid mind.
Tutor'd by thee, hence Poetry exalts Her voice to ages; and informs the page
With cherish'd gaze, the lambent lightnings shoot With music, image, sentiment, and thought, Across the sky; or horizontal dart
Never to die! the treasure of mankind!
In wondrous shapes: by fearful murmuring Their highest honour, and their truest joy! crowds
Portentous deem'd. Amid the radiant orbs, That more than deck, that animate the sky, The life-infusing suns of other worlds: Lo! from the dread immensity of space Returning, with accelerated course, The rushing comet to the sun descends; And as he sinks below the shading earth, With awful train projected o'er the heavens, The guilty nations tremble. But, above Those superstitious horrors that enslave The fond sequacious herd, to mystic faith
Without thee what were unenlightened Man? A savage roaming through the woods and wilds, In quest of prey; and with the unfashion'd fur Rough-clad; devoid of every finer art, And elegance of life. Nor happiness Domestic, mix'd of tenderness and care, Nor moral excellence, nor social bliss, Nor guardian law were his; nor various skill To turn the furrow, or to guide the tool Mechanic; nor the heaven-conducted prow Of navigation bold, that fearless braves The burning line or dares the wintry pole;
And blind amazement prone, the enlighten'd few, Mother severe of infinite delights!
Whose godlike minds philosophy exalts, The glorious stranger hail. They feel a joy Divinely great; they in their powers exult, That wondrous force of thought, which mounting
This dusky spot, and measures all the sky; Whiie, from his far excursion through the wilds Of barren ether, faithful to his time,
Nothing, save rapine, indolence, and guile, And woes on woes, a still-revolving train! Whose horrid circle had made human life Than non-existence worse: but, taught by thee, Ours are the plans of policy and peace; To live like brothers, and conjunctive all Embellish life. While thus laborious crowds Ply the tough oar, Philosophy directs
The ruling helm; or like the liberal breath Of potent Heaven, invisible, the sail Swells out, and bears the inferior world along. Nor to this evanescent speck of earth Poorly confined, the radiant tracts on high Are her exalted range; intent to gaze Creation through; and, from that full complex Of never ending wonders, to conceive
Of the Sole Being right, who spoke the Word, And Nature moved complete. With inward view,
Thence on the ideal kingdom swift she turns Her eye; and instant, at her powerful glance, The obedient phantoms vanish or appear;
Compound, divide, and into order shift, Each to his rank, from plain perception up To the fair forms of Fancy's fleeting train: To reason then, deducing truth from truth; And notion quite abstract; where first begins The world of spirits, action all, and life Unfetter'd, and unmixt. But here the cloud, (So wills Eternal Providence) sits deep. Enough for us to know that this dark state In wayward passions lost and vain pursuits, This Infancy of Being, cannot prove The final issue of the works of God, By boundless Love and perfect Wisdom form'd, And ever rising with the rising mind
INSCRIBED TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE ARTHUR ONSLOW, ESQ.
SPEAKER OF THE HOUSE OF COMMONS.
The subject proposed. Addressed to Mr. Onslow. A prospect of the Fields ready for Harvest. Reflections in praise of Industry raised by that view. Reaping. A Tale relative to it A Harvest Storm. Shooting and Hunting; their barba rity. A ludicrous account of Foxhunting. A view of an Orchard. Wall Fruit. A Vineyard. A description of Fogs, frequent in the latter part of Autumn; whence a digression, inquiring into the rise of Fountains and Rivers. Birds of season considered, that now shift their Habitation. The prodigious number of them that cover the Northern and Western Isles of Scotland. Hence a view of the Country. A prospect of the discoloured, fading Woods. After a gentle dusky day, Moonlight. Autumnal Meteors. Morning: to which succeeds a calm, pure, sunshiny Day, such as usually shuts up the season. The Harvest being gathered in, the Country dissolved in joy. The whole concludes with a Panegyric on a philo sophical Country Life.
CROWN'D with the sickle and the wheaten sheaf, While Autumn, nodding o'er the yellow plain, Comes jovial on; the Doric reed once more, Well pleas'd, I tune. Whate'er the wintry frost Nitrous prepared; the various blossom'd Spring Put in white promise forth; and Summer-suns Concocted strong, rush boundless now to view, Full, perfect all, and swell my glorious theme. Onslow! the Muse, ambitious of thy name, To grace, inspire, and dignify her song, Would from the public voice thy gentle ear A while engage. Thy noble cares she knows, The patriot virtues that distend thy thought, Spread on thy front, and in thy bosom glow; While listening senates hang upon thy tongue, Devolving through the maze of eloquence A roll of periods, sweeter than her song. But she too pants for public virtue, she, Though weak of power, yet strong in ardent will, Whene'er her country rushes on her heart, Assumes a bolder note, and fondly tries To mix the patriot's with the poet's flame. When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days,
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year; From Heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence
Of parting Summer, a serener blue,
With golden light enliven'd, wide invests
|The happy world. Attemper'd suns arise, Sweet-beam'd, and shedding oft through lucid clouds
A pleasing calm; while broad, and brown, below Extensive harvests hang the heavy head. Rich, silent, deep, they stand; for not a gale Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain; A calm of plenty! till the ruffled air Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow. Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky; The clouds fly different; and the sudden sun By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field, And black by fits the shadows sweep along A gaily chequer'd heart-expanding view, Far as the circling eye can shoot around, Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn, These are thy blessings, Industry! rough power! Whom labour still attends, and sweat, and pain; Yet the kind source of every gentle art, And all the soft civility of life:
Raiser of human kind! by Nature cast, Naked, and helpless, out amid the woods And wilds, to rude inclement elements; With various seeds of art deep in the mind Implanted, and profusely pour'd around Materials infinite, but idle all.
Still unexerted, in the conscious breast, Slept the lethargic powers; Corruption still, Voracious, swallow'd what the liberal hand
Of bounty scatter'd o'er the savage year: And still the sad barbarian, roving, mix'd With beasts of prey; or for his acorn meal Fought the fierce tusky boar; a shivering wretch! Aghast, and comfortless, when the bleak north, With Winter charged, let the mix'd tempest fly, Hail, rain, and snow, and bitter-breathing frost: Then to the shelter of the hut he fled; And the wild season, sordid, pined away. For home he had not; home is the resort Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where, Supporting and supported, polish'd friends, And dear relations mingle into bliss. But this the rugged savage never felt, E'en desolate in crowds; and thus his days Roll'd heavy, dark, and unenjoy'd along: A waste of time! till Industry approach'd,. And roused him from his miserable sloth: His faculties unfolded; pointed out, Where lavish Nature the directing hand Of art demanded; show'd him how to raise His feeble force by the mechanic powers, To dig the mineral from the vaulted earth, On what to turn the piercing rage of fire, On what the torrent, and the gather'd blast; Gave the tall ancient forest to his axe; Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone, Till by degrees the finishi'd fabric rose; Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur, And wrapt them in the woolly vestment warm, Or bright in glossy silk, and flowing lawn; With wholesome viands fill'd his table, pour'd The generous glass around, inspired to wake The life-refining soul of decent wit: Nor stopp'd at barren bare necessity; But still advancing bolder, led him on To pomp, to pleasure, elegance, and grace; And, breathing high ambition through his soul, Set science, wisdom, glory, in his view, And bade him be the Lord of all below.
In beauteous pride her tower-encircled head; And, stretching street on street, by thousands drew,
From twining woody haunts, or the tough yew To bows strong-straining, her aspiring sons.
Then Commerce brought into the public walk The busy merchant; the big warehouse built; Raised the strong crane; choked up the loaded
With foreign plenty; and thy stream, O Thames, Large, gentle, deep, majestic, king of floods! Chose for his grand resort. On either hand, Like a long wintry forest, groves of masts Shot up their spires; the bellying sheet between Possess'd the breezy void; the sooty hulk Steer'd sluggish on; the splendid barge along Row'd, regular, to harmony; around,
The boat, light-skimming, stretch'd its oary wings; While deep the various voice of fervent toil From bank to bank increased; whence ribb'd with oak,
To bear the British thunder, black, and bold, The roaring vessel rush'd into the main.
Then too the pillar'd dome, magnific, heaved Its ample roof; and Luxury within Pour'd out her glittering stores: the canvass smooth,
With glowing life protuberant, to the view Embodied rose; the statue seem'd to breathe, And soften into flesh; beneath the touch Of forming art, imagination-flush'd.
All is the gift of Industry; whate'er Exalts, embellishes, and renders life Delightful. Pensive Winter cheer'd by him Sits at the social fire, and happy hears The excluded tempest idly rave along; His harden'd fingers deck the gaudy Spring; Without him Summer were an arid waste; Nor to the Autumnal months could thus transmit Those full, mature, immeasurable stores,
Then gathering men their natural powers com- That, waving round, recall my wandering song.
And form'd a Public; to the general good Submitting, aiming, and conducting all. For this the Patriot-Council met, the full, The free, and fairly represented Whole; For this they plann'd the holy guardian laws, Distinguish'd orders, animated arts, And with joint force Oppression chaining, set Imperial Justice at the helm; yet still To them accountable: nor slavish dream'd That toiling millions must resign their weal, And all the honey of their search, to such As for themselves alone themselves have raised. Hence every form of cultivated life In order set, protected, and inspired, Into perfection wrought. Uniting all, Society grew numerous, high, polite, And happy. Nurse of art! the city rear'd
Soon as the morning trembles o'er the sky, And, unperceived, unfolds the spreading day; Before the ripen'd field the reapers stand, In fair array, each by the lass he loves, To bear the rougher part, and mitigate By nameless gentle offices her toil.
At once they stoop, and swell the lusty sheaves; While through their cheerful band the rural talk, The rural scandal, and the rural jest, Fly harmless, to deceive the tedious time, And steal unfelt the sultry hours away. Behind the master walks, builds up the shocks; And, conscious, glancing oft on every side His sated eye, feels his heart heave with joy. The gleaners spread around, and here and there, Spike after spike, their scanty harvest pick. Be not too narrow, husbandmen! but fling 'From the full sheaf, with charitable stealth,
The liberal handful. Think, oh grateful think! How good the God of Harvest is to you; Who pours abundance o'er your flowing fields; While these unhappy partners of your kind Wide-hover round you, like the fowls of heaven, And ask their humble dole. The various turns Of fortune ponder; that your sons may want What now, with hard reluctance, faint, ye give. The lovely young Lavinia once had friends; And Fortune smiled, deceitful, on her birth. For, in her helpless years deprived of all, Of every stay, save Innocence and Heaven, She with her widow'd mother, feeble, old, And poor, lived in a cottage, far retired Among the windings of a woody vale; By solitude and deep surrounding shades, But more by bashful modesty, conceal'd. Together thus they shunn'd the cruel scorn Which virtue, sunk to poverty, would meet From giddy passion and low-minded pride: Almost on Nature's common bounty fed; Like the gay birds that sung them to repose, Content, and careless of to-morrow's fare. Her form was fresher than the morning rose, When the dew wets its leaves; unstain'd and pure As is the lily, or the mountain snow. The modest Virtues mingled in her eyes, Still on the ground dejected, darting all Their humid beams into the blooming flowers: Or when the mournful tale her mother told, Of what her faithless fortune promised once, Thrill'd in her thought, they, like the dewy star Of evening, shone in tears. A native grace Sat fair-proportion'd on her polish'd limbs, Veil'd in a simple robe, their best attire, Beyond the pomp of dress; for loveliness Needs not the foreign aid of ornament, But is when unadorn'd, adorn'd the most. Thoughtless of beauty, she was Beauty's self, Recluse amid the close-embowering woods. As in the hollow breast of Appenine, Beneath the shelter of encircling hills, A myrtle rises, far from human eye, And breathes its balmy fragrance o'er the wild; So flourish'd blooming, and unseen by all, The sweet Lavinia; till, at length, compell'd By strong Necessity's supreme command, With smiling patience in her looks, she went To glean Palemon's fields. The pride of swains Palemon was, the generous, and the rich; Who led the rural life in all its joy And elegance, such as Arcadian song Transmits from ancient uncorrupted times; When tyrant custom had not shackled man, But free to follow Nature was the mode. He then, his fancy with autumnal scenes Amusing, chanced beside his reaper-train To walk, when poor Lavinia drew his eye; Unconscious of her power, and turning quick
With unaffected blushes from his gaze:
He saw her charming, but he saw not half The charms her down-cast modesty conceal'd. That very moment love and chaste desire Sprung in his bosom, to himself unknown; For still the world prevail'd and its dread laugh, Which scarce the firm philosopher can scorn, Should his heart own a gleaner in the field; And thus in secret to his soul he sigh'd:-
"What pity! that so delicate a form, By beauty kindled, where enlivening sense And more than vulgar goodness seem to dwell, Should be devoted to the rude embrace Of some indecent clown! She looks, mcthinks, Of old Acasto's line; and to my mind Recalls that patron of my happy life, From whom my liberal fortune took its rise; Now to the dust gone down; his houses, lands, And once fair-spreading family, dissolved. 'Tis said that in some lone obscure retreat, Urged by remembrance sad, and decent pride, Far from those scenes which knew their better days, His aged widow and his daughter live, Whom yet my fruitless search could never find. Romantic wish! would this the daughter were !"
When, strict inquiring, from herself he found She was the same, the daughter of his friend, Of bountiful Acasto; who can speak
The mingled passions that surprised his heart, And through his nerves in shivering transport ran? Then blazed his smother'd flame, avow'd, and bold; And as he view'd her, ardent, o'er and o'er, Love, gratitude, and pity wept at once. Confused, and frighten'd at his sudden tears, Her rising beauties flush'd a higher bloom As thus Palemon, passionate and just, Pour'd out the pious rapture of his soul
"And art thou then Acasto's dear remains? She, whom my restless gratitude has sought, So long in vain? O heavens! the very same, The soften'd image of my noble friend; Alive his every look, his every feature, More elegantly touch'd. Sweeter than Spring! Thou sole surviving blossomn from the root That nourish'd up my fortune! say, ah where, In what sequester'd desert hast thou drawn The kindest aspect of delighted Heaven? Into such beauty spread, and blown so fair; Though Poverty's cold wind and crushing rain Beat keen and heavy on thy tender years? O let me now into a richer soil Transplant thee safe! where vernal suns and showers
Diffuse their warmest, largest influence; And of my garden be the pride and joy! Ill it befits thee, oh, it ill befits Acasto's daughter, his, whose open stores, Though vast, were little to his ampler heart. The father of a country, thus to pick
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