That life holds out to all, should most abound And least be threatened in the fields and groves? Possess ye therefore, ye who, borne about In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue But that of idleness, and taste no scenes But such as art contrives, possess ye still Your element; there only ye can shine, There only minds like yours can do no harm. Our groves were planted to console at noon The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve The moonbeam, sliding softly in between The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish, Birds warbling all the music. We can spare The splendour of your lamps, they but eclipse Our softer satellite. Your songs confound Our more harmonious notes: the thrush departs Scared, and the offended nightingale is mute. There is a public mischief in your mirth,
It plagues your country. Folly such as yours Graced with a sword, and worthier of a fan, Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done, Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you, A mutilated structure, soon to fall.
ARGUMENT.-Reflectións suggested by the conclusion of the former book-Peace among the nations recommended on the ground of their common fellowship in sorrow-Prodigies enumerated-Sicilian earthquakes-Man rendered obnoxious to these calamities by sin-God the agent in them-The philosophy that stops at secondary causes reproved-Our own late miscarriages accounted for-Satirical notice taken of our trips to Fontainbleau-But the pulpit, not satire, the proper engine of reformation-The reverend advertiser of engraved sermons-Petitmaître parson-The good preacher-Picture of a theatrical clerical coxcomb-Story-tellers and jesters in the pulpit reproved-Apostrophe to popular applause-Retailers of ancient philosophy expostulated with-Sum of the whole matter-Effects of sacerdotal mismanagement on the laity -Their folly and extravagance-The mischiefs of profusion-Profusion itself, with all its consequent evils, ascribed, as to its principal cause, to the want of discipline in the universities.
OH for a lodge in some vast wilderness, Some boundless contiguity of shade, Where rumour of oppression and deceit,
Of unsuccessful or successful war,
Might never reach me more! My ear is pained, My soul is sick with every day's report
Of wrong and outrage with which earth is filled. There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart,
It does not feel for man; the natural bond
Of brotherhood is severed as the flax That falls asunder at the touch of fire. He finds his fellow guilty of a skin
Not coloured like his own, and having power To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. Lands intersected by a narrow frith Abhor each other. Mountains interposed Make enemies of nations who had else Like kindred drops been mingled into one. Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys; And worse than all, and most to be deplored, As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat With stripes that Mercy, with a bleeding heart, Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. Then what is man? And what man seeing this, And having human feelings, does not blush And hang his head, to think himself a man? I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earned. No: dear as freedom is, and in my heart's Just estimation prized above all price, I had much rather be myself the slave And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. We have no slaves at home.-Then why abroad? And they themselves once ferried o'er the wave That parts us, are emancipate and loosed. Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free, They touch our country, and their shackles fall. That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, And let it circulate through every vein
Of all your empire; that where Britain's power Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.
Sure there is need of social intercourse, Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid, Between the nations, in a world that seems To toll the death-bell of its own decease; And by the voice of all its element, To preach the general doom.* Let slip with such a warrant to destroy? When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry? Fires from beneath, and meteors + from above, Portentous, unexampled, unexplained,
* Alluding to the late calamities in Jamaica. + Aug. 18, 1783.
Have kindled beacons in the skies, and the old And crazy earth has had her shaking fits More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. Is it a time to wrangle, when the props And pillars of our planet seem to fail, And Nature with a dim and sickly eye To wait the close of all? But grant her end More distant, and that prophecy demands A longer respite, unaccomplished yet; Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak Displeasure in His breast who smites the earth Or heals it, makes it languish or rejoice. And 'tis but seemly that, where all deserve And stand exposed by common peccancy To what no few have felt, there should be peace, And brethren in calamity should love.
Alas for Sicily! rude fragments now
Lie scattered where the shapely column stood. Her palaces are dust. In all her streets The voice of singing and the sprightly chord Are silent. Revelry and dance and show Suffer a syncope and solemn pause,
While God performs upon the trembling stage Of His own works His dreadful part alone.
How does the earth receive Him ?-with what signs Of gratulation and delight, her King?
Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad, Her sweetest flowers, her aromatic gums, Disclosing Paradise where'er He treads?
She quakes at His approach. Her hollow womb Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps And fiery caverns, roars beneath His foot.
The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke,
For He has touched them. From the extremest point
Of elevation down into the abyss,
His wrath is busy and His frown is felt.
The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise,
The rivers die into offensive pools,
And, charged with putrid verdure, breathe a gross And mortal nuisance into all the air.
What solid was, by transformation strange Grows fluid, and the fixed and rooted earth, Tormented into billows, heaves and swells, Or with vortiginous and hideous whirl Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs And agonies of human and of brute Multitudes, fugitive on every side, And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene Migrates uplifted, and with all its soil
* Alluding to the fog that covered both Europe and Asia during the whole summer of 1783.
Alighting in far distant fields, finds out A new possessor, and survives the change. Ocean has caught the frenzy, and upwrought To an enormous and o'erbearing height, Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, Upridged so high, and sent on such a charge, Possessed an inland scene. Where now the throng That pressed the beach, and hasty to depart Looked to the sea for safety? They are gone, Gone with the refluent wave into the deep- A prince with half his people! Ancient towers, And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes Where beauty oft and lettered worth consume Life in the unproductive shades of death, Fall prone; the pale inhabitants come forth, And, happy in their unforeseen release From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy
The terrors of the day that sets them free.
Who then that has thee would not hold thee fast, Freedom! whom they that lose thee, so regret, That even a judgment making way for thee Seems in their eyes a mercy, for thy sake.
Such evil sin hath wrought; and such a flame Kindled in heaven, that it burns down to earth, And in the furious inquest that it makes
On God's behalf, lays waste His fairest works. The very elements, though each be meant The minister of man, to serve his wants,
Conspire against him. With his breath he draws A plague into his blood; and cannot use Life's necessary means, but he must die.
Storms rise to o'erwhelm him: or if stormy winds Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise, And needing none assistance of the storm, Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there. The earth shall shake him out of all his holds, Or make his house his grave: nor so content, Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood, And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs. What then?-were they the wicked above all, And we the righteous, whose fast-anchored isle Moved not, while theirs was rocked like a light skiff, The sport of every wave? No: none are clear, And none than we more guilty. But where all Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts Of wrath obnoxious, God may choose His mark, May punish, if He please, the less, to warn The more malignant. If He spared not them, Tremble and be amazed at thine escape, Far guiltier England! lest He spare not thee.
Happy the man who sees a God employed In all the good and ill that chequer life! Resolving all events, with their effects And manifold results, into the will And arbitration wise of the Supreme. Did not His eye rule all things, and intend The least of our concerns, (since from the least The greatest oft originate,) could chance Find place in His dominion, or dispose One lawless particle to thwart His plan, Then God might be surprised, and unforeseen Contingence might alarm Him, and disturb The smooth and equal course of His affairs. This truth Philosophy, though eagle-eyed In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks, And, having found His instrument, forgets Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still, Denies the power that wills it. God proclaims
His hot displeasure against foolish men That live an atheist life: involves the heaven In tempests; quits His grasp upon the winds, And gives them all their fury; bids a plague Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin,
And putrefy the breath of blooming health. He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend
Blows mildew from between his shrivelled lips,
And taints the golden ear. He springs His mines, And desolates a nation it a blast.
And bids the world take heart and banish fear.
Thou fool! will thy discovery of the cause
Suspend the effect, or heal it? Has not God
Still wrought by means since first He made the world, And did He not of old employ His means
To drown it? What is His creation less
Than a capacious reservoir of means
Formed for His use, and ready at His will?
Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve, ask of Him, Or ask of whomsoever He has taught,
And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. England, with all thy faults, I love thee still,
My country! and, while yet a nook is left Where English minds and manners may be found,
Shall be constrained to love thee. Though thy clime
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