Book I

With what attractive charms this goodly frameOf Nature touches the consenting heartsOf mortal men; and what the pleasing storesWhich beauteous Imitation thence derivesTo deck the poet's or the painter's toil,My verse unfolds. Attend, ye gentle PowersOf musical delight! and while I singYour gifts, your honours, dance around my strain.Thou, smiling queen of every tuneful breast,Indulgent Fancy! from the fruitful banksOf Avon, whence thy rosy fingers cullFresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turfWhere Shakspeare lies, be present: and with theeLet Fiction come, upon her vagrant wingsWafting ten thousand colours through the air,Which, by the glances of her magic eye,She blends and shifts at will, through countless forms,Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre,Which rules the accents of the moving sphere,Wilt thou, eternal Harmony, descendAnd join this festive train? for with thee comesThe guide, the guardian of their lovely sports,Majestic Truth; and where Truth deigns to come,Her sister Liberty will not be far.Be present all ye Genii, who conductThe wandering footsteps of the youthful bard,New to your springs and shades: who touch his earWith finer sounds: who heighten to his eyeThe bloom of Nature, and before him turnThe gayest, happiest attitude of things.Oft have the laws of each poetic strainThe critic-verse employ'd; yet still unsungLay this prime subject, though importing mostA poet's name: for fruitless is the attempt,By dull obedience and by creeping toilObscure to conquer the severe ascentOf high Parnassus. Nature's kindling breathMust fire the chosen genius; Nature's handMust string his nerves, and imp his eagle-wings,Impatient of the painful steep, to soarHigh as the summit; there to breathe at largeAEthereal air, with bards and sages old,Immortal sons of praise. These flattering scenes,To this neglected labour court my song;Yet not unconscious what a doubtful taskTo paint the finest features of the mind,And to most subtile and mysterious thingsGive colour, strength, and motion. But the loveOf Nature and the Muses bids explore,Through secret paths erewhile untrod by man,The fair poetic region, to detectUntasted springs, to drink inspiring draughts,And shade my temples with unfading flowersCull'd from the laureate vale's profound recess,Where never poet gain'd a wreath before.From Heaven my strains begin: from Heaven descendsThe flame of genius to the human breast,And love and beauty, and poetic joyAnd inspiration. Ere the radiant sunSprang from the east, or 'mid the vault of nightThe moon suspended her serener lamp;Ere mountains, woods, or streams adorn'd the globe,Or Wisdom taught the sons of men her lore;Then lived the Almighty One: then, deep retiredIn his unfathom'd essence, view'd the forms,The forms eternal of created things;The radiant sun, the moon's nocturnal lamp,The mountains, woods, and streams, the rolling globe,And Wisdom's mien celestial. From the firstOf days, on them his love divine he fix'd,His admiration: till in time completeWhat he admired and loved, his vital smileUnfolded into being. Hence the breathOf life informing each organic frame;Hence the green earth, and wild resounding wares;Hence light and shade alternate, warmth and cold,And clear autumnal skies and vernal showers,And all the fair variety of things.But not alike to every mortal eyeIs this great scene unveil'd. For, since the claimsOf social life to different labours urgeThe active powers of man, with wise intentThe hand of Nature on peculiar mindsImprints a different bias, and to eachDecrees its province in the common toil.To some she taught the fabric of the sphere,The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,The golden zones of heaven; to some she gaveTo weigh the moment of eternal things,Of time, and space, and fate's unbroken chain,And will's quick impulse; others by the handShe led o'er vales and mountains, to exploreWhat healing virtue swells the tender veinsOf herbs and flowers; or what the beams of mornDraw forth, distilling from the clifted rindIn balmy tears. But some, to higher hopesWere destined; some within a finer mouldShe wrought and temper'd with a purer flame.To these the Sire Omnipotent unfoldsThe world's harmonious volume, there to readThe transcript of Himself. On every partThey trace the bright impressions of his hand:In earth or air, the meadow's purple stores,The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's formBlooming with rosy smiles, they see portray'dThat uncreated beauty, which delightsThe Mind Supreme. They also feel her charms,Enamour'd; they partake the eternal joy.

For as old Memnon's image, long renown'dBy fabling Nilus, to the quivering touchOf Titan's ray, with each repulsive stringConsenting, sounded through the warbling airUnbidden strains, even so did Nature's handTo certain species of external things,Attune the finer organs of the mind;So the glad impulse of congenial powers,Or of sweet sound, or fair proportion'd form,The grace of motion, or the bloom of light,Thrills through Imagination's tender frame,From nerve to nerve; all naked and aliveThey catch the spreading rays; till now the soulAt length discloses every tuneful spring,To that harmonious movement from withoutResponsive. Then the inexpressive strainDiffuses its enchantment: Fancy dreamsOf sacred fountains and Elysian groves,And vales of bliss: the intellectual powerBends from his awful throne a wondering ear,And smiles: the passions, gently soothed away,Sink to divine repose, and love and joyAlone are waking; love and joy, sereneAs airs that fan the summer. Oh! attend,Whoe'er thou art, whom these delights can touch,Whose candid bosom the refining loveOf Nature warms, oh! listen to my song;And I will guide thee to her favourite walks,And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,And point her loveliest features to thy view.

Know then, whate'er of Nature's pregnant stores,Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected formsWith love and admiration thus inflameThe powers of Fancy, her delighted sonsTo three illustrious orders have referr'd;Three sister graces, whom the painter's hand,The poet's tongue confesses--the Sublime,The Wonderful, the Fair. I see them dawn!I see the radiant visions, where they rise,More lovely than when Lucifer displaysHis beaming forehead through the gates of morn,To lead the train of Phoebus and the spring.

Say, why was man [Endnote A] so eminently raisedAmid the vast Creation; why ordain'dThrough life and death to dart his piercing eye,With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame;But that the Omnipotent might send him forthIn sight of mortal and immortal powers,As on a boundless theatre, to runThe great career of justice; to exaltHis generous aim to all diviner deeds;To chase each partial purpose from his breast;And through the mists of passion and of sense,And through the tossing tide of chance and pain,To hold his course unfaltering, while the voiceOf truth and virtue, up the steep ascentOf nature, calls him to his high reward,The applauding smile of Heaven? Else wherefore burnsIn mortal bosoms this unquenched hope,That breathes from day to day sublimer things,And mocks possession? Wherefore darts the mind,With such resistless ardour to embraceMajestic forms; impatient to be free,Spurning the gross control of wilful might;Proud of the strong contention of her toils;Proud to be daring? Who but rather turnsTo heaven's broad fire his unconstrained view,Than to the glimmering of a waxen flame?Who that, from Alpine heights, his labouring eyeShoots round the wide horizon, to surveyNilus or Ganges rolling his bright waveThrough mountains, plains, through empires black with shade,And continents of sand, will turn his gazeTo mark the windings of a scanty rillThat murmurs at his feet? The high-born soulDisdains to rest her heaven-aspiring wingBeneath its native quarry. Tired of earthAnd this diurnal scene, she springs aloftThrough fields of air; pursues the flying storm;Rides on the vollied lightning through the heavens;Or, yoked with whirlwinds and the northern blast,Sweeps the long tract of day. Then high she soarsThe blue profound, and hovering round the sunBeholds him pouring the redundant streamOf light; beholds his unrelenting swayBend the reluctant planets to absolveThe fated rounds of Time. Thence far effusedShe darts her swiftness up the long careerOf devious comets; through its burning signsExulting measures the perennial wheelOf Nature, and looks back on all the stars,Whose blended light, as with a milky zone,Invests the orient. Now amazed she viewsThe empyreal waste, [Endnote B] where happy spirits hold,Beyond this concave heaven, their calm abode;And fields of radiance, whose unfading light

Has travell'd the profound six thousand years,Nor yet arrives in sight of mortal things.Even on the barriers of the world untiredShe meditates the eternal depth below;Till, half recoiling, down the headlong steepShe plunges; soon o'erwhelm'd and swallow'd upIn that immense of being. There her hopesRest at the fated goal. For from the birthOf mortal man, the Sovereign Maker said,That not in humble nor in brief delight,Not in the fading echoes of renown,Power's purple robes, nor pleasure's flowery lap,The soul should find enjoyment: but from theseTurning disdainful to an equal good,Through all the ascent of things enlarge her view,Till every bound at length should disappear,And infinite perfection close the scene.

Call now to mind what high capacious powersLie folded up in man; how far beyondThe praise of mortals, may the eternal growthOf Nature to perfection half divine,Expand the blooming soul! What pity thenShould sloth's unkindly fogs depress to earthHer tender blossom; choke the streams of life,And blast her spring! Far otherwise design'dAlmighty Wisdom; Nature's happy caresThe obedient heart far otherwise incline.Witness the sprightly joy when aught unknownStrikes the quick sense, and wakes each active powerTo brisker measures: witness the neglectOf all familiar prospects, [Endnote D] though beheldWith transport once; the fond attentive gazeOf young astonishment; the sober zealOf age, commenting on prodigious things.For such the bounteous providence of Heaven,In every breast implanting this desireOf objects new and strange, [Endnote E] to urge us onWith unremitted labour to pursueThose sacred stores that wait the ripening soul,In Truth's exhaustless bosom. What need wordsTo paint its power? For this the daring youthBreaks from his weeping mother's anxious arms,In foreign climes to rove; the pensive sage,Heedless of sleep, or midnight's harmful damp,Hangs o'er the sickly taper; and untiredThe virgin follows, with enchanted step,The mazes of some wild and wondrous tale,From morn to eve; unmindful of her form,Unmindful of the happy dress that stoleThe wishes of the youth, when every maidWith envy pined. Hence, finally, by nightThe village matron, round the blazing hearth,Suspends the infant audience with her tales,Breathing astonishment! of witching rhymes,And evil spirits; of the death-bed callOf him who robb'd the widow, and devour'dThe orphan's portion; of unquiet soulsRisen from the grave to ease the heavy guiltOf deeds in life conceal'd; of shapes that walkAt dead of night, and clank their chains, and waveThe torch of hell around the murderer's bed.At every solemn pause the crowd recoil,Gazing each other speechless, and congeal'dWith shivering sighs: till eager for the event,Around the beldame all erect they hang,Each trembling heart with grateful terrors quell'd.

But lo! disclosed in all her smiling pomp,Where Beauty onward moving claims the verseHer charms inspire: the freely-flowing verseIn thy immortal praise, O form divine,Smooths her mellifluent stream. Thee, Beauty, theeThe regal dome, and thy enlivening rayThe mossy roofs adore: thou, better sun!For ever beamest on the enchanted heartLove, and harmonious wonder, and delightPoetic. Brightest progeny of Heaven!How shall I trace thy features? where selectThe roseate hues to emulate thy bloom?Haste then, my song, through Nature's wide expanse,Haste then, and gather all her comeliest wealth,Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains,Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air,To deck thy lovely labour. Wilt thou flyWith laughing Autumn to the Atlantic isles,And range with him the Hesperian field, and seeWhere'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove,The branches shoot with gold; where'er his stepMarks the glad soil, the tender clusters growWith purple ripeness, and invest each hillAs with the blushes of an evening sky?Or wilt thou rather stoop thy vagrant plume,Where gliding through his daughters honour'd shades,The smooth Peneus from his glassy floodReflects purpureal Tempo's pleasant scene?Fair Tempe! haunt beloved of sylvan Powers,Of Nymphs and Fauns; where in the golden ageThey play'd in secret on the shady brinkWith ancient Pan: while round their choral stepsYoung Hours and genial Gales with constant handShower'd blossoms, odours, shower'd ambrosial dews,And spring's Elysian bloom. Her flowery storeTo thee nor Tempe shall refuse; nor watchOf winged Hydra guard Hesperian fruitsFrom thy free spoil. Oh, bear then, unreproved,Thy smiling treasures to the green recessWhere young Dione stays. With sweetest airsEntice her forth to lend her angel formFor Beauty's honour'd image. Hither turnThy graceful footsteps; hither, gentle maid,Incline thy polish'd forehead: let thy eyesEffuse the mildness of their azure dawn;And may the fanning breezes waft asideThy radiant locks: disclosing, as it bendsWith airy softness from the marble neck,The cheek fair-blooming, and the rosy lip,Where winning smiles and pleasures sweet as love,With sanctity and wisdom, tempering blendTheir soft allurement. Then the pleasing forceOf Nature, and her kind parental careWorthier I'd sing: then all the enamour'd youth,With each admiring virgin, to my lyreShould throng attentive, while I point on highWhere Beauty's living image, like the MornThat wakes in Zephyr's arms the blushing May,Moves onward; or as Venus, when she stoodEffulgent on the pearly car, and smiled,Fresh from the deep, and conscious of her form,To see the Tritons tune their vocal shells,And each cerulean sister of the floodWith loud acclaim attend her o'er the waves,To seek the Idalian bower. Ye smiling bandOf youths and virgins, who through all the mazeOf young desire with rival steps pursueThis charm of Beauty, if the pleasing toilCan yield a moment's respite, hither turnYour favourable ear, and trust my words.I do not mean to wake the gloomy formOf Superstition dress'd in Wisdom's garb,To damp your tender hopes; I do not meanTo bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens,Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earthTo fright you from your joys: my cheerful songWith better omens calls you to the field,Pleased with your generous ardour in the chase,And warm like you. Then tell me, for ye know,Does Beauty ever deign to dwell where healthAnd active use are strangers? Is her charmConfess'd in aught, whose most peculiar endsAre lame and fruitless? Or did Nature meanThis pleasing call the herald of a lie,To hide the shame of discord and disease,And catch with fair hypocrisy the heartOf idle faith? Oh, no! with better caresThe indulgent mother, conscious how infirmHer offspring tread the paths of good and ill,By this illustrious image, in each kindStill most illustrious where the object holdsIts native powers most perfect, she by thisIllumes the headstrong impulse of desire,And sanctifies his choice. The generous glebeWhose bosom smiles with verdure, the clear tractOf streams delicious to the thirsty soul,The bloom of nectar'd fruitage ripe to sense,And every charm of animated things,Are only pledges of a state sincere,The integrity and order of their frame,When all is well within, and every endAccomplish'd. Thus was Beauty sent from heaven,The lovely ministries of Truth and GoodIn this dark world: for Truth and Good are one,And Beauty dwells in them, [Endnote F] and they in her,With like participation. Wherefore then,O sons of earth! would ye dissolve the tie?Oh! wherefore, with a rash impetuous aim,Seek ye those flowery joys with which the handOf lavish Fancy paints each flattering sceneWhere Beauty seems to dwell, nor once inquireWhere is the sanction of eternal Truth,Or where the seal of undeceitful Good,To save your search from folly! Wanting these,Lo! Beauty withers in your void embrace,And with the glittering of an idiot's toyDid Fancy mock your vows. Nor let the gleamOf youthful hope that shines upon your hearts,Be chill'd or clouded at this awful task,To learn the lore of undeceitful Good,And Truth eternal. Though the poisonous charmsOf baleful Superstition guide the feetOf servile numbers, through a dreary wayTo their abode, through deserts, thorns, and mire;And leave the wretched pilgrim all forlornTo muse at last, amid the ghostly gloomOf graves, and hoary vaults, and cloister'd cells;To walk with spectres through the midnight shade,And to the screaming owl's accursed songAttune the dreadful workings of his heart;Yet be not ye dismay'd. A gentler starYour lovely search illumines. From the groveWhere Wisdom talk'd with her Athenian sons,Could my ambitious hand entwine a wreathOf Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay,Then should my powerful verse at once dispelThose monkish horrors: then in light divineDisclose the Elysian prospect, where the stepsOf those whom Nature charms, through blooming walks,Through fragrant mountains and poetic streams,Amid the train of sages, heroes, bards,Led by their winged Genius, and the choirOf laurell'd science and harmonious art,Proceed exulting to the eternal shrine,Where Truth conspicuous with her sister-twins,The undivided partners of her sway,With Good and Beauty reigns. Oh, let not us,Lull'd by luxurious Pleasure's languid strain,Or crouching to the frowns of bigot rage,Oh, let us not a moment pause to joinThat godlike band. And if the gracious PowerWho first awaken'd my untutor'd song,Will to my invocation breathe anewThe tuneful spirit; then through all our paths,Ne'er shall the sound of this devoted lyreBe wanting; whether on the rosy mead,When summer smiles, to warn the melting heartOf luxury's allurement; whether firmAgainst the torrent and the stubborn hillTo urge bold Virtue's unremitted nerve,And wake the strong divinity of soulThat conquers chance and fate; or whether struckFor sounds of triumph, to proclaim her toilsUpon the lofty summit, round her browTo twine the wreath of incorruptive praise;To trace her hallow'd light through future worlds,And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man.

Thus with a faithful aim have we presumed,Adventurous, to delineate Nature's form;Whether in vast, majestic pomp array'd,Or dress'd for pleasing wonder, or sereneIn Beauty's rosy smile. It now remains,Through various being's fair proportion'd scale,To trace the rising lustre of her charms,From their first twilight, shining forth at lengthTo full meridian splendour. Of degreeThe least and lowliest, in the effusive warmthOf colours mingling with a random blaze,Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the lineAnd variation of determined shape,Where Truth's eternal measures mark the boundOf circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascentUnites this varied symmetry of partsWith colour's bland allurement; as the pearlShines in the concave of its azure bed,And painted shells indent their speckled wreath.Then more attractive rise the blooming formsThrough which the breath of Nature has infusedHer genial power to draw with pregnant veinsNutritious moisture from the bounteous earth,In fruit and seed prolific: thus the flowersTheir purple honours with the Spring resume;And such the stately tree which Autumn bendsWith blushing treasures. But more lovely stillIs Nature's charm, where to the full consentOf complicated members, to the bloomOf colour, and the vital change of growth,Life's holy flame and piercing sense are given,And active motion speaks the temper'd soul:So moves the bird of Juno; so the steedWith rival ardour beats the dusty plain,And faithful dogs with eager airs of joySalute their fellows. Thus doth Beauty dwellThere most conspicuous, even in outward shape,Where dawns the high expression of a mind:By steps conducting our enraptured searchTo that eternal origin, whose power,Through all the unbounded symmetry of things,Like rays effulging from the parent sun,This endless mixture of her charms diffused.Mind, mind alone, (bear witness, earth and heaven!)The living fountains in itself containsOf beauteous and sublime: here hand in hand,Sit paramount the Graces; here enthroned,Celestial Venus, with divinest airs,Invites the soul to never-fading joy.Look then abroad through nature, to the rangeOf planets, suns, and adamantine spheresWheeling unshaken through the void immense;And speak, O man! does this capacious sceneWith half that kindling majesty dilateThy strong conception, as when Brutus roseRefulgent from the stroke of Caesar's fate,Amid the crowd of patriots; and his armAloft extending, like eternal JoveWhen guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloudOn Tully's name, and shook his crimson steel,And bade the father of his country, hail!For lo! the tyrant prostrate on the dust,And Rome again is free! Is aught so fairIn all the dewy landscapes of the Spring,In the bright eye of Hesper, or the morn,In Nature's fairest forms, is aught so fairAs virtuous friendship? as the candid blushOf him who strives with fortune to be just?The graceful tear that streams for others' woes?Or the mild majesty of private life,Where Peace with ever blooming olive crownsThe gate; where Honour's liberal hands effuseUnenvied treasures, and the snowy wingsOf Innocence and Love protect the scene?Once more search, undismay'd, the dark profoundWhere Nature works in secret; view the bedsOf mineral treasure, and the eternal vaultThat bounds the hoary ocean; trace the formsOf atoms moving with incessant changeTheir elemental round; behold the seedsOf being, and the energy of lifeKindling the mass with ever-active flame;Then to the secrets of the working mindAttentive turn; from dim oblivion callHer fleet, ideal band; and bid them, go!Break through time's barrier, and o'ertake the hourThat saw the heavens created: then declareIf aught were found in those external scenesTo move thy wonder now. For what are allThe forms which brute, unconscious matter wears,Greatness of bulk, or symmetry of parts?Not reaching to the heart, soon feeble growsThe superficial impulse; dull their charms,And satiate soon, and pall the languid eye.Not so the moral species, nor the powersOf genius and design; the ambitious mindThere sees herself: by these congenial formsTouch'd and awaken'd, with intenser actShe bends each nerve, and meditates well pleasedHer features in the mirror. For, of allThe inhabitants of earth, to man aloneCreative Wisdom gave to lift his eyeTo Truth's eternal measures; thence to frameThe sacred laws of action and of will,Discerning justice from unequal deeds,And temperance from folly. But beyondThis energy of Truth, whose dictates bindAssenting reason, the benignant Sire,To deck the honour'd paths of just and good,Has added bright Imagination's rays:Where Virtue, rising from the awful depthOf Truth's mysterious bosom, [Endnote H] doth forsakeThe unadorn'd condition of her birth;And dress'd by Fancy in ten thousand hues,Assumes a various feature, to attract,With charms responsive to each gazer's eye,The hearts of men. Amid his rural walk,The ingenuous youth, whom solitude inspiresWith purest wishes, from the pensive shadeBeholds her moving, like a virgin museThat wakes her lyre to some indulgent themeOf harmony and wonder: while amongThe herd of servile minds, her strenuous formIndignant flashes on the patriot's eye,And through the rolls of memory appealsTo ancient honour; or in act serene,Yet watchful, raises the majestic swordOf public Power, from dark Ambition's reachTo guard the sacred volume of the laws.

Genius of ancient Greece! whose faithful stepsWell pleased I follow through the sacred pathsOf Nature and of Science; nurse divineOf all heroic deeds and fair desires!Oh! let the breath of thy extended praiseInspire my kindling bosom to the heightOf this untempted theme. Nor be my thoughtsPresumptuous counted, if, amid the calmThat soothes this vernal evening into smiles,I steal impatient from the sordid hauntsOf strife and low ambition, to attendThy sacred presence in the sylvan shade,By their malignant footsteps ne'er profaned.Descend, propitious, to my favour'd eye!Such in thy mien, thy warm, exalted air,As when the Persian tyrant, foil'd and stungWith shame and desperation, gnash'd his teethTo see thee rend the pageants of his throne;And at the lightning of thy lifted spearCrouch'd like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils,Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs,Thy smiling band of art, thy godlike siresOf civil wisdom, thy heroic youthWarm from the schools of glory. Guide my wayThrough fair Lyceum's [Endnote I] walk, the green retreatsOf Academus, [Endnote J] and the thymy vale,Where oft enchanted with Socratic sounds,Ilissus [Endnote K] pure devolved his tuneful streamIn gentler murmurs. From the blooming storeOf these auspicious fields, may I unblamedTransplant some living blossoms to adornMy native clime: while far above the flightOf Fancy's plume aspiring, I unlockThe springs of ancient wisdom! while I joinThy name, thrice honour'd! with the immortal praiseOf Nature; while to my compatriot youthI point the high example of thy sons,And tune to Attic themes the British lyre.