Page images
PDF
EPUB

ARGUMENT of the SIXTH BOOK.

Bells at a diftance.-Their effect.-A fine noon in winter. -A fheltered walk.-Meditation better than books.Our familiarity with the courfe of nature makes it ap pear lefs wonderful than it is.-The transformation that spring effects in a shrubbery described.-- A mistake concerning the course of nature corre&ed.—God maintains it by an unremitted act.-The amusements fashionable at this hour of the day reproved.— Animals happy, a delightful fight.-Origin of cruelty to animals.-That it is a great crime proved from scripture. -That proof illuftrated by a tale.-A line drawn be tween the lawful and unlawful deftruction of them. -Their good and useful properties infifted on.-Apology for the encomiums bestored by the author on animals.-Inftances of man's extravagant praife of man. -The groans of the creation shall have an end. — A view taken of the reftoration of all things.-An Invocation and an Invitation of him who shall bring it to afs.-The retired man vindicated from the charge of ufelefsnefs. Conclufion.

[blocks in formation]

THE

And as the mind is pitch'd the ear is pleas'd.
With melting airs or martial, brifk or grave.
Some chord in unifon with what we hear
Is touch'd within us, and the heart replies.
How foft the mufic of thofe village bells
Falling at intervals upon the ear

In cadence sweet! now dying all away,
Now pealing loud again and louder still,
Clear and fonorous, as the gale comes on.
With eafy force it opens all the cells

Where mem'ry flept. Wherever I have heard

A kindred

A kindred melody, the fcene recurs,

And with it all its pleasures and its pains.
Such comprehenfive views the spirit takes,
That in a few short moments I retrace
(As in a map the voyager his course)
The windings of my way through many years.
Short as in retrofpe&t the journey feems,
It seem'd not always fhort: the rugged path,
And prospect oft fo dreary and forlorn,
Mov'd many a figh at its difheart'ning length.
Yet feeling present evils, while the past
Faintly imprefs the mind, or not at all.
How readily we wish time spent revok❜d,
That we might try the ground again, where once`
(Through inexperience as we now perceive)

We mifs'd that happiness we might have found!
Some friend is gone, perhaps his fon's best friend,
A father, whofe authority, in show

When moft fevere, and muft'ring all its force, Was but the graver countenance of love;

Whofe favour, like the clouds of spring, might

low'r,

And utter now and then an awful voice,

But had a bleffing in its darkeft frown,

Threat'ning at once and nourishing the plant.

We

We lov'd, but not enough, the gentle hand
That reared us. At a thoughtless age, allur'd
By ev'ry gilded folly, we renounc'd

His fhelt'ring fide, and wilfully forewent
That converse which we now in vain regret.
How gladly would the man recall to life
The boy's neglected fire! a mother too,
That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still,
Might he demand them at the gates of death.
Sorrow has, fince they went, fubdu'd and tam'd.
The playful humour; he could now endure,
(Himself grown fober in the vale of tears)
And feel a parent's prefence no restraint.
But not to understand a treasure's worth
'Till time has stol'n away the flighted good,.
Is cause of half the poverty we feel,

And makes the world the wilderness it is.
The few that pray at all pray oft amifs,

And, feeking grace t' improve the prize they hold,
Would urge a wiser fuit than asking more.

The night was winter in his roughest mood, The morning fharp and clear. But now at noon Upon the fouthern fide of the flant hills,

And where the woods fence off the northern blast, The season smiles, refigning all its rage,

And

And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue
Without a cloud, and white without a fpeck
The dazzling splendour of the fcene below.
Again the harmony comes o'er the vale,
And through the trees I view th' embattled tow'r
Whence all the mufic. I again perceive
The foothing influence of the wafted strains,
And fettle in foft mufings as I tread

The walk ftill verdant, under oaks and elms,
Whose outspread branches over-arch the glade.
The roof, though moveable through all its length
As the wind fways it, has yet well fuffic'd,
And intercepting in their filent fall

The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me.
No noise is here, or none that hinders thought.
'The red-breaft warbles ftill, but is content
With slender notes and more than half suppress'd:
Pleas'd with his folitude, and flitting light
From spray to spray, where'er he refts he shakes
From many a twig the pendent drops of ice,
That tinkle in the wither'd leaves below.
Stillness, accompanied with founds fo foft,
Charms more than filence. Meditation here
May think down hours to moments. Here the

heart

May

« PreviousContinue »