Book II

When shall the laurel and the vocal stringResume their honours? When shall we beholdThe tuneful tongue, the Promethean bandAspire to ancient praise? Alas! how faint,How slow the dawn of Beauty and of TruthBreaks the reluctant shades of Gothic nightWhich yet involves the nations! Long they groan'dBeneath the furies of rapacious force;Oft as the gloomy north, with iron swarmsTempestuous pouring from her frozen caves,Blasted the Italian shore, and swept the worksOf Liberty and Wisdom down the gulfOf all-devouring night. As long immuredIn noontide darkness, by the glimmering lamp,Each Muse and each fair Science pined awayThe sordid hours: while foul, barbarian handsTheir mysteries profaned, unstrung the lyre,And chain'd the soaring pinion down to earth.At last the Muses rose, [Endnote L] and spurn'd their bonds,And, wildly warbling, scatter'd as they flew,Their blooming wreaths from fair Valclusa's [Endnote M] bowersTo Arno's [Endnote N] myrtle border and the shoreOf soft Parthenope. [Endnote O] But still the rageOf dire ambition [Endnote P] and gigantic power,From public aims and from the busy walkOf civil commerce, drove the bolder trainOf penetrating Science to the cells,Where studious Ease consumes the silent hourIn shadowy searches and unfruitful care.Thus from their guardians torn, the tender artsOf mimic fancy and harmonious joy,To priestly domination and the lustOf lawless courts, their amiable toilFor three inglorious ages have resign'd,In vain reluctant: and Torquato's tongueWas tuned for slavish pasans at the throneOf tinsel pomp: and Raphael's magic handEffused its fair creation to enchantThe fond adoring herd in Latian fanesTo blind belief; while on their prostrate necksThe sable tyrant plants his heel secure.But now, behold! the radiant era dawns,When freedom's ample fabric, fix'd at lengthFor endless years on Albion's happy shoreIn full proportion, once more shall extendTo all the kindred powers of social blissA common mansion, a parental roof.There shall the Virtues, there shall Wisdom's train,Their long-lost friends rejoining, as of old,Embrace the smiling family of Arts,The Muses and the Graces. Then no moreShall Vice, distracting their delicious giftsTo aims abhorr'd, with high distaste and scornTurn from their charms the philosophic eye,The patriot bosom; then no more the pathsOf public care or intellectual toil,Alone by footsteps haughty and severeIn gloomy state be trod: the harmonious MuseAnd her persuasive sisters then shall plantTheir sheltering laurels o'er the bleak ascent,And scatter flowers along the rugged way.Arm'd with the lyre, already have we daredTo pierce divine Philosophy's retreats,And teach the Muse her lore; already stroveTheir long-divided honours to unite,While tempering this deep argument we sangOf Truth and Beauty. Now the same glad taskImpends; now urging our ambitious toil,We hasten to recount the various springsOf adventitious pleasure, which adjoinTheir grateful influence to the prime effectOf objects grand or beauteous, and enlargeThe complicated joy. The sweets of sense,Do they not oft with kind accession flow,To raise harmonious Fancy's native charm?So while we taste the fragrance of the rose,Glows not her blush the fairer? While we viewAmid the noontide walk a limpid rillGush through the trickling herbage, to the thirstOf summer yielding the delicious draughtOf cool refreshment, o'er the mossy brinkShines not the surface clearer, and the wavesWith sweeter music murmur as they flow?

Nor this alone; the various lot of lifeOft from external circumstance assumesA moment's disposition to rejoiceIn those delights which, at a different hour,Would pass unheeded. Fair the face of Spring,When rural songs and odours wake the morn,To every eye; but how much more to hisRound whom the bed of sickness long diffusedIts melancholy gloom! how doubly fair,When first with fresh-born vigour he inhalesThe balmy breeze, and feels the blessed sunWarm at his bosom, from the springs of lifeChasing oppressive damps and languid pain!

Or shall I mention, where celestial TruthHer awful light discloses, to bestowA more majestic pomp on Beauty's frame?For man loves knowledge, and the beams of TruthMore welcome touch his understanding's eye,Than all the blandishments of sound his ear,Than all of taste his tongue. Nor ever yetThe melting rainbow's vernal-tinctured huesTo me have shown so pleasing, as when firstThe hand of Science pointed out the pathIn which the sunbeams, gleaming from the west,Fall on the watery cloud, whose darksome veilInvolves the orient; and that trickling showerPiercing through every crystalline convexOf clustering dewdrops to their flight opposed,Recoil at length where concave all behindThe internal surface of each glassy orbRepels their forward passage into air;That thence direct they seek the radiant goalFrom which their course began; and, as they strikeIn different lines the gazer's obvious eye,Assume a different lustre, through the bredeOf colours changing from the splendid roseTo the pale violet's dejected hue.

Or shall we touch that kind access of joy,That springs to each fair object, while we trace,Through all its fabric, Wisdom's artful aim,Disposing every part, and gaining still,By means proportion'd, her benignant end?Speak ye, the pure delight, whose favour'd stepsThe lamp of Science through the jealous mazeOf Nature guides, when haply you revealHer secret honours: whether in the sky,The beauteous laws of light, the central powersThat wheel the pensile planets round the year;Whether in wonders of the rolling deep,Or the rich fruits of all-sustaining earth,Or fine-adjusted springs of life and sense,Ye scan the counsels of their Author's hand.

What, when to raise the meditated scene,The flame of passion, through the struggling soulDeep-kindled, shows across that sudden blazeThe object of its rapture, vast of size,With fiercer colours and a night of shade?What, like a storm from their capacious bedThe sounding seas o'erwhelming, when the mightOf these eruptions, working from the depthOf man's strong apprehension, shakes his frameEven to the base; from every naked senseOf pain or pleasure, dissipating allOpinion's feeble coverings, and the veilSpun from the cobweb fashion of the timesTo hide the feeling heart? Then Nature speaksHer genuine language, and the words of men,Big with the very motion of their souls,Declare with what accumulated forceThe impetuous nerve of passion urges onThe native weight and energy of things.

Yet more: her honours where nor Beauty claims,Nor shows of good the thirsty sense allure,From passion's power alone [Endnote R] our nature holdsEssential pleasure. Passion's fierce illapseRouses the mind's whole fabric; with suppliesOf daily impulse keeps the elastic powersIntensely poised, and polishes anewBy that collision all the fine machine:Else rust would rise, and foulness, by degreesEncumbering, choke at last what heaven design'dFor ceaseless motion and a round of toil.--But say, does every passion thus to manAdminister delight? That name indeedBecomes the rosy breath of love; becomesThe radiant smiles of joy, the applauding handOf admiration: but the bitter showerThat sorrow sheds upon a brother's grave;But the dumb palsy of nocturnal fear,Or those consuming fires that gnaw the heartOf panting indignation, find we thereTo move delight?--Then listen while my tongueThe unalter'd will of Heaven with faithful aweReveals; what old Harmodius wont to teachMy early age; Harmodius, who had weigh'dWithin his learned mind whate'er the schoolsOf Wisdom, or thy lonely-whispering voice,O faithful Nature! dictate of the lawsWhich govern and support this mighty frameOf universal being. Oft the hoursFrom morn to eve have stolen unmark'd away,While mute attention hung upon his lips,As thus the sage his awful tale began:--

''Twas in the windings of an ancient wood,When spotless youth with solitude resignsTo sweet philosophy the studious day,What time pale Autumn shades the silent eve,Musing I roved. Of good and evil much,And much of mortal man my thought revolved;When starting full on fancy's gushing eyeThe mournful image of Parthenia's fate,That hour, O long beloved and long deplored!When blooming youth, nor gentlest wisdom's arts,Nor Hymen's honours gather'd for thy brow,Nor all thy lover's, all thy father's tearsAvail'd to snatch thee from the cruel grave;Thy agonising looks, thy last farewellStruck to the inmost feeling of my soulAs with the hand of Death. At once the shadeMore horrid nodded o'er me, and the windsWith hoarser murmuring shook the branches. DarkAs midnight storms, the scene of human thingsAppear'd before me; deserts, burning sands,Where the parch'd adder dies; the frozen south,And desolation blasting all the westWith rapine and with murder: tyrant powerHere sits enthroned with blood; the baleful charmsOf superstition there infect the skies,And turn the sun to horror. Gracious Heaven!What is the life of man? Or cannot these,Not these portents thy awful will suffice,That, propagated thus beyond their scope,They rise to act their cruelties anewIn my afflicted bosom, thus decreedThe universal sensitive of pain,The wretched heir of evils not its own?'

Thus I impatient: when, at once effused,A flashing torrent of celestial dayBurst through the shadowy void. With slow descentA purple cloud came floating through the sky,And, poised at length within the circling trees,Hung obvious to my view; till opening wideIts lucid orb, a more than human formEmerging lean'd majestic o'er my head,And instant thunder shook the conscious grove.Then melted into air the liquid cloud,And all the shining vision stood reveal'd.A wreath of palm his ample forehead bound,And o'er his shoulder, mantling to his knee,Flow'd the transparent robe, around his waistCollected with a radiant zone of goldAethereal: there in mystic signs engraved,I read his office high and sacred name,Genius of human kind! Appall'd I gazedThe godlike presence; for athwart his browDispleasure, temper'd with a mild concern,Look'd down reluctant on me, and his wordsLike distant thunders broke the murmuring air:

'Vain are thy thoughts, O child of mortal birth!And impotent thy tongue. Is thy short spanCapacious of this universal frame?--Thy wisdom all-sufficient? Thou, alas!Dost thou aspire to judge between the LordOf Nature and his works--to lift thy voiceAgainst the sovereign order he decreed,All good and lovely--to blaspheme the bandsOf tenderness innate and social love,Holiest of things! by which the general orbOf being, as by adamantine links,Was drawn to perfect union, and sustain'dFrom everlasting? Hast thou felt the pangsOf softening sorrow, of indignant zeal,So grievous to the soul, as thence to wishThe ties of Nature broken from thy frame,That so thy selfish, unrelenting heartMight cease to mourn its lot, no longer thenThe wretched heir of evils not its own?O fair benevolence of generous minds!O man by Nature form'd for all mankind!'

He spoke; abash'd and silent I remain'd,As conscious of my tongue's offence, and awedBefore his presence, though my secret soulDisdain'd the imputation. On the groundI fix'd my eyes, till from his airy couchHe stoop'd sublime, and touching with his handMy dazzling forehead, 'Raise thy sight,' he cried,'And let thy sense convince thy erring tongue.'

I look'd, and lo! the former scene was changed;For verdant alleys and surrounding trees,A solitary prospect, wide and wild,Rush'd on my senses. 'Twas a horrid pileOf hills with many a shaggy forest mix'd,With many a sable cliff and glittering stream.Aloft, recumbent o'er the hanging ridge,The brown woods waved; while ever-trickling springsWash'd from the naked roots of oak and pineThe crumbling soil; and still at every fallDown the steep windings of the channel'd rock,Remurmuring rush'd the congregated floodsWith hoarser inundation; till at lastThey reach'd a grassy plain, which from the skirtsOf that high desert spread her verdant lap,And drank the gushing moisture, where confinedIn one smooth current, o'er the lilied valeClearer than glass it flow'd. Autumnal spoilsLuxuriant spreading to the rays of morn,Blush'd o'er the cliffs, whose half-encircling moundAs in a sylvan theatre enclosedThat flowery level. On the river's brinkI spied a fair pavilion, which diffusedIts floating umbrage 'mid the silver shadeOf osiers. Now the western sun reveal'dBetween two parting cliffs his golden orb,And pour'd across the shadow of the hills,On rocks and floods, a yellow stream of lightThat cheer'd the solemn scene. My listening powersWere awed, and every thought in silence hung,And wondering expectation. Then the voiceOf that celestial power, the mystic showDeclaring, thus my deep attention call'd:--

'Inhabitant of earth, [Endnote S] to whom is givenThe gracious ways of Providence to learn,Receive my sayings with a steadfast ear--Know then, the Sovereign Spirit of the world,Though, self-collected from eternal time,Within his own deep essence he beheldThe bounds of true felicity complete,Yet by immense benignity inclinedTo spread around him that primeval joyWhich fill'd himself, he raised his plastic arm,And sounded through the hollow depths of spaceThe strong, creative mandate. Straight aroseThese heavenly orbs, the glad abodes of life,Effusive kindled by his breath divineThrough endless forms of being. Each inhaledFrom him its portion of the vital flame,In measure such, that, from the wide complexOf coexistent orders, one might rise,One order, [Endnote T] all-involving and entire.He too, beholding in the sacred lightOf his essential reason, all the shapesOf swift contingence, all successive tiesOf action propagated through the sumOf possible existence, he at once,Down the long series of eventful time,So fix'd the dates of being, so disposed,To every living soul of every kindThe field of motion and the hour of rest,That all conspired to his supreme design,To universal good: with full accordAnswering the mighty model he had chose,The best and fairest [Endnote U] of unnumber'd worldsThat lay from everlasting in the storeOf his divine conceptions. Nor content,By one exertion of creative powerHis goodness to reveal; through every age,Through every moment up the tract of time,His parent hand with ever new increaseOf happiness and virtue has adorn'dThe vast harmonious frame: his parent hand,From the mute shell-fish gasping on the shore,To men, to angels, to celestial minds,For ever leads the generations onTo higher scenes of being; while, suppliedFrom day to day with his enlivening breath,Inferior orders in succession riseTo fill the void below. As flame ascends,As bodies to their proper centre move,As the poised ocean to the attracting moonObedient swells, and every headlong streamDevolves its winding waters to the main;So all things which have life aspire to God,The sun of being, boundless, unimpair'd,Centre of souls! Nor does the faithful voiceOf Nature cease to prompt their eager stepsAright; nor is the care of Heaven withheldFrom granting to the task proportion'd aid;That in their stations all may persevereTo climb the ascent of being, and approachFor ever nearer to the life divine.--

'That rocky pile thou seest, that verdant lawnFresh-water'd from the mountains. Let the scenePaint in thy fancy the primeval seatOf man, and where the Will Supreme ordain'dHis mansion, that pavilion fair-diffusedAlong the shady brink; in this recessTo wear the appointed season of his youth,Till riper hours should open to his toilThe high communion of superior minds,Of consecrated heroes and of gods.Nor did the Sire Omnipotent forgetHis tender bloom to cherish; nor withheldCelestial footsteps from his green abode.Oft from the radiant honours of his throne,He sent whom most he loved, the sovereign fair,The effluence of his glory, whom he placedBefore his eyes for ever to behold;The goddess from whose inspiration flowsThe toil of patriots, the delight of friends;Without whose work divine, in heaven or earth,Nought lovely, nought propitious, conies to pass,Nor hope, nor praise, nor honour. Her the SireGave it in charge to rear the blooming mind,The folded powers to open, to directThe growth luxuriant of his young desires,And from the laws of this majestic worldTo teach him what was good. As thus the nymphHer daily care attended, by her sideWith constant steps her gay companion stay'd,The fair Euphrosyne, the gentle queenOf smiles, and graceful gladness, and delightsThat cheer alike the hearts of mortal menAnd powers immortal. See the shining pair!Behold, where from his dwelling now disclosedThey quit their youthful charge and seek the skies.'

I look'd, and on the flowery turf there stoodBetween two radiant forms a smiling youthWhose tender cheeks display'd the vernal flowerOf beauty: sweetest innocence illumedHis bashful eyes, and on his polish'd browSate young simplicity. With fond regardHe view'd the associates, as their steps they moved;The younger chief his ardent eyes detain'd,With mild regret invoking her return.Bright as the star of evening she appear'dAmid the dusky scene. Eternal youthO'er all her form its glowing honours breathed;And smiles eternal from her candid eyesFlow'd, like the dewy lustre of the mornEffusive trembling on the placid waves.The spring of heaven had shed its blushing spoilsTo bind her sable tresses: full diffusedHer yellow mantle floated in the breeze;And in her hand she waved a living branchRich with immortal fruits, of power to calmThe wrathful heart, and from the brightening eyesTo chase the cloud of sadness. More sublimeThe heavenly partner moved. The prime of ageComposed her steps. The presence of a god,High on the circle of her brow enthroned,From each majestic motion darted awe,Devoted awe! till, cherish'd by her looksBenevolent and meek, confiding loveTo filial rapture soften'd all the soul.Free in her graceful hand she poised the swordOf chaste dominion. An heroic crownDisplay'd the old simplicity of pompAround her honour'd head. A matron's robe,White as the sunshine streams through vernal clouds,Her stately form invested. Hand in handThe immortal pair forsook the enamel'd green,Ascending slowly. Rays of limpid lightGleam'd round their path; celestial sounds were heard,And through the fragrant air ethereal dewsDistill'd around them; till at once the clouds,Disparting wide in midway sky, withdrewTheir airy veil, and left a bright expanseOf empyrean flame, where, spent and drown'd,Afflicted vision plunged in vain to scanWhat object it involved. My feeble eyesEndured not. Bending down to earth I stood,With dumb attention. Soon a female voice,As watery murmurs sweet, or warbling shades,With sacred invocation thus began:

'Father of gods and mortals! whose right armWith reins eternal guides the moving heavens,Bend thy propitious ear. Behold well pleasedI seek to finish thy divine decree.With frequent steps I visit yonder seatOf man, thy offspring; from the tender seedsOf justice and of wisdom, to evolveThe latent honours of his generous frame;Till thy conducting hand shall raise his lotFrom earth's dim scene to these ethereal walks,The temple of thy glory. But not me,Not my directing voice he oft requires,Or hears delighted: this enchanting maid,The associate thou hast given me, her aloneHe loves, O Father! absent, her he craves;And but for her glad presence ever join'd,Rejoices not in mine: that all my hopesThis thy benignant purpose to fulfil,I deem uncertain: and my daily caresUnfruitful all and vain, unless by theeStill further aided in the work divine.'

She ceased; a voice more awful thus replied:--'O thou, in whom for ever I delight,Fairer than all the inhabitants of Heaven,Best image of thy Author! far from theeBe disappointment, or distaste, or blame;Who soon or late shalt every work fulfil,And no resistance find. If man refuseTo hearken to thy dictates; or, alluredBy meaner joys, to any other powerTransfer the honours due to thee alone;That joy which he pursues he ne'er shall taste,That power in whom delighteth ne'er behold.Go then, once more, and happy be thy toil;Go then! but let not this thy smiling friendPartake thy footsteps. In her stead, behold!With thee the son of Nemesis I send;The fiend abhorr'd! whose vengeance takes accountOf sacred order's violated laws.See where he calls thee, burning to be gone,Pierce to exhaust the tempest of his wrathOn yon devoted head. But thou, my child,Control his cruel frenzy, and protectThy tender charge; that when despair shall graspHis agonising bosom, he may learn,Then he may learn to love the gracious handAlone sufficient in the hour of ill,To save his feeble spirit; then confessThy genuine honours, O excelling fair!When all the plagues that wait the deadly willOf this avenging demon, all the stormsOf night infernal, serve but to displayThe energy of thy superior charmsWith mildest awe triumphant o'er his rage,And shining clearer in the horrid gloom.'

Here ceased that awful voice, and soon I feltThe cloudy curtain of refreshing eveWas closed once more, from that immortal fireSheltering my eyelids. Looking up, I view'dA vast gigantic spectre striding onThrough murmuring thunders and a waste of clouds,With dreadful action. Black as night his browRelentless frowns involved. His savage limbsWith sharp impatience violent he writhed,As through convulsive anguish; and his hand,Arm'd with a scorpion lash, full oft he raisedIn madness to his bosom; while his eyesRain'd bitter tears, and bellowing loud he shookThe void with horror. Silent by his sideThe virgin came. No discomposure stirr'dHer features. From the glooms which hung around,No stain of darkness mingled with the beamOf her divine effulgence. Now they stoopUpon the river bank; and now to hailHis wonted guests, with eager steps advancedThe unsuspecting inmate of the shade.

As when a famish'd wolf, that all night longHad ranged the Alpine snows, by chance at mornSees from a cliff, incumbent o'er the smokeOf some lone village, a neglected kidThat strays along the wild for herb or spring;Down from the winding ridge he sweeps amain,And thinks he tears him: so with tenfold rage,The monster sprung remorseless on his prey.Amazed the stripling stood: with panting breastFeebly he pour'd the lamentable wailOf helpless consternation, struck at once,And rooted to the ground. The Queen beheldHis terror, and with looks of tenderest careAdvanced to save him. Soon the tyrant feltHer awful power. His keen tempestuous armHung nerveless, nor descended where his rageHad aim'd the deadly blow: then dumb retiredWith sullen rancour. Lo! the sovereign maidFolds with a mother's arms the fainting boy,Till life rekindles in his rosy cheek;Then grasps his hands, and cheers him with her tongue:--

'Oh, wake thee, rouse thy spirit! Shall the spiteOf yon tormentor thus appal thy heart,While I, thy friend and guardian, am at handTo rescue and to heal? Oh, let thy soulRemember, what the will of heaven ordainsIs ever good for all; and if for all,Then good for thee. Nor only by the warmthAnd soothing sunshine of delightful things,Do minds grow up and flourish. Oft misledBy that bland light, the young unpractised viewsOf reason wander through a fatal road,Far from their native aim; as if to lieInglorious in the fragrant shade, and waitThe soft access of ever circling joys,Were all the end of being. Ask thyself,This pleasing error did it never lullThy wishes? Has thy constant heart refusedThe silken fetters of delicious ease?Or when divine Euphrosyne appear'dWithin this dwelling, did not thy desiresHang far below the measure of thy fate,Which I reveal'd before thee, and thy eyes,Impatient of my counsels, turn awayTo drink the soft effusion of her smiles?Know then, for this the everlasting SireDeprives thee of her presence, and instead,O wise and still benevolent! ordainsThis horrid visage hither to pursueMy steps; that so thy nature may discernIts real good, and what alone can saveThy feeble spirit in this hour of illFrom folly and despair. O yet beloved!Let not this headlong terror quite o'erwhelmThy scatter'd powers; nor fatal deem the rageOf this tormentor, nor his proud assault,While I am here to vindicate thy toil,Above the generous question of thy arm.Brave by thy fears and in thy weakness strong,This hour he triumphs: but confront his might,And dare him to the combat, then with easeDisarm'd and quell'd, his fierceness he resignsTo bondage and to scorn: while thus inuredBy watchful danger, by unceasing toil,The immortal mind, superior to his fate,Amid the outrage of external things,Firm as the solid base of this great world,Rests on his own foundations. Blow, ye winds!Ye waves! ye thunders! roll your tempest on;Shake, ye old pillars of the marble sky!Till all its orbs and all its worlds of fireBe loosen'd from their seats; yet still serene,The unconquer'd mind looks down upon the wreck;And ever stronger as the storms advance,Firm through the closing ruin holds his way,Where Nature calls him to the destined goal.'

So spake the goddess; while through all her frameCelestial raptures flow'd, in every word,In every motion kindling warmth divineTo seize who listen'd. Vehement and swiftAs lightning fires the aromatic shadeIn Aethiopian fields, the stripling feltHer inspiration catch his fervid soul,And starting from his languor thus exclaim'd:--

'Then let the trial come! and witness thou,If terror be upon me; if I shrinkTo meet the storm, or falter in my strengthWhen hardest it besets me. Do not thinkThat I am fearful and infirm of soul,As late thy eyes beheld: for thou hast changedMy nature; thy commanding voice has wakedMy languid powers to bear me boldly on,Where'er the will divine my path ordainsThrough toil or peril: only do not thouForsake me; Oh, be thou for ever near,That I may listen to thy sacred voice,And guide by thy decrees my constant feet.But say, for ever are my eyes bereft?Say, shall the fair Euphrosyne not onceAppear again to charm me? Thou, in heaven!O thou eternal arbiter of things!Be thy great bidding done: for who am I,To question thy appointment? Let the frownsOf this avenger every morn o'ercastThe cheerful dawn, and every evening dampWith double night my dwelling; I will learnTo hail them both, and unrepining bearHis hateful presence: but permit my tongueOne glad request, and if my deeds may findThy awful eye propitious, oh! restoreThe rosy-featured maid; again to cheerThis lonely seat, and bless me with her smiles.'

He spoke; when instant through the sable gloomsWith which that furious presence had involvedThe ambient air, a flood of radiance cameSwift as the lightning flash; the melting cloudsFlew diverse, and amid the blue sereneEuphrosyne appear'd. With sprightly stepThe nymph alighted on the irriguous lawn,And to her wondering audience thus began:--

'Lo! I am here to answer to your vows,And be the meeting fortunate! I comeWith joyful tidings; we shall part no more--Hark! how the gentle echo from her cellTalks through the cliffs, and murmuring o'er the streamRepeats the accents; we shall part no more.--O my delightful friends! well pleased on highThe Father has beheld you, while the mightOf that stern foe with bitter trial provedYour equal doings: then for ever spakeThe high decree, that thou, celestial maid!Howe'er that grisly phantom on thy stepsMay sometimes dare intrude, yet never moreShalt thou, descending to the abode of man,Alone endure the rancour of his arm,Or leave thy loved Euphrosyne behind.'

She ended, and the whole romantic sceneImmediate vanish'd; rocks, and woods, and rills,The mantling tent, and each mysterious formFlew like the pictures of a morning dream,When sunshine fills the bed. Awhile I stoodPerplex'd and giddy; till the radiant powerWho bade the visionary landscape rise,As up to him I turn'd, with gentlest looksPreventing my inquiry, thus began:--

'There let thy soul acknowledge its complaintHow blind, how impious! There behold the waysOf Heaven's eternal destiny to man,For ever just, benevolent, and wise:That Virtue's awful steps, howe'er pursuedBy vexing fortune and intrusive pain,Should never be divided from her chaste,Her fair attendant, Pleasure. Need I urgeThy tardy thought through all the various roundOf this existence, that thy softening soulAt length may learn what energy the handOf virtue mingles in the bitter tideOf passion swelling with distress and pain,To mitigate the sharp with gracious dropsOf cordial pleasure? Ask the faithful youth,Why the cold urn of her whom long he lovedSo often fills his arms; so often drawsHis lonely footsteps at the silent hour,To pay the mournful tribute of his tears?Oh! he will tell thee, that the wealth of worldsShould ne'er seduce his bosom to foregoThat sacred hour, when, stealing from the noiseOf care and envy, sweet remembrance soothesWith virtue's kindest looks his aching breast,And turns his tears to rapture.--Ask the crowdWhich flies impatient from the village walkTo climb the neighbouring cliffs, when far belowThe cruel winds have hurl'd upon the coastSome helpless bark; while sacred Pity meltsThe general eye, or Terror's icy handSmites their distorted limbs and horrent hair;While every mother closer to her breastCatches her child, and pointing where the wavesFoam through the shatter'd vessel, shrieks aloudAs one poor wretch that spreads his piteous armsFor succour, swallow'd by the roaring surge,As now another, dash'd against the rock,Drops lifeless down: Oh! deemest thou indeedNo kind endearment here by Nature givenTo mutual terror and compassion's tears?No sweetly melting softness which attracts,O'er all that edge of pain, the social powersTo this their proper action and their end?--Ask thy own heart, when, at the midnight hour,Slow through that studious gloom thy pausing eye,Led by the glimmering taper, moves aroundThe sacred volumes of the dead, the songsOf Grecian bards, and records writ by FameFor Grecian heroes, where the present powerOf heaven and earth surveys the immortal page,Even as a father blessing, while he readsThe praises of his son. If then thy soul,Spurning the yoke of these inglorious days,Mix in their deeds, and kindle with their flame,Say, when the prospect blackens on thy view,When, rooted from the base, heroic statesMourn in the dust, and tremble at the frownOf cursed ambition; when the pious bandOf youths who fought for freedom and their sires,Lie side by side in gore; when ruffian prideUsurps the throne of Justice, turns the pompOf public power, the majesty of rule,The sword, the laurel, and the purple robe,To slavish empty pageants, to adornA tyrant's walk, and glitter in the eyesOf such as bow the knee; when honour'd urnsOf patriots and of chiefs, the awful bustAnd storied arch, to glut the coward rageOf regal envy, strew the public wayWith hallow'd ruins; when the Muse's haunt,The marble porch where Wisdom wont to talkWith Socrates or Tully, hears no more,Save the hoarse jargon of contentious monks,Or female Superstition's midnight prayer;When ruthless Rapine from the hand of TimeTears the destroying scythe, with surer blowTo sweep the works of glory from their base;Till Desolation o'er the grass-grown streetExpands his raven wings, and up the wall,Where senates once the price of monarchs doom'd,Hisses the gliding snake through hoary weedsThat clasp the mouldering column; thus defaced,Thus widely mournful when the prospect thrillsThy beating bosom, when the patriot's tearStarts from thine eye, and thy extended armIn fancy hurls the thunderbolt of JoveTo fire the impious wreath on Philip's [Endnote W] brow,Or dash Octavius from the trophied car;Say, does thy secret soul repine to tasteThe big distress? Or wouldst thou then exchangeThose heart-ennobling sorrows for the lotOf him who sits amid the gaudy herdOf mute barbarians bending to his nod,And bears aloft his gold-invested front,And says within himself, I am a king,And wherefore should the clamorous voice of woeIntrude upon mine ear?--The baleful dregsOf these late ages, this inglorious draughtOf servitude and folly, have not yet,Bless'd be the eternal Ruler of the world!Defiled to such a depth of sordid shameThe native honours of the human soul,Nor so effaced the image of its Sire.'