Book III

What wonder therefore, since the endearing tiesOf passion link the universal kindOf man so close, what wonder if to searchThis common nature through the various changeOf sex, and age, and fortune, and the frameOf each peculiar, draw the busy mindWith unresisted charms? The spacious west,And all the teeming regions of the south,Hold not a quarry, to the curious flightOf Knowledge, half so tempting or so fair,As man to man. Nor only where the smilesOf Love invite; nor only where the applauseOf cordial Honour turns the attentive eyeOn Virtue's graceful deeds. For, since the courseOf things external acts in different waysOn human apprehensions, as the handOf Nature temper'd to a different framePeculiar minds; so haply where the powersOf Fancy [Endnote X] neither lessen nor enlargeThe images of things, but paint in allTheir genuine hues, the features which they woreIn Nature; there Opinion will be true,And Action right. For Action treads the pathIn which Opinion says he follows good,Or flies from evil; and Opinion givesReport of good or evil, as the sceneWas drawn by Fancy, lovely or deform'd:Thus her report can never there be trueWhere Fancy cheats the intellectual eye,With glaring colours and distorted lines.Is there a man, who, at the sound of death,Sees ghastly shapes of terror conjured up,And black before him; nought but death-bed groansAnd fearful prayers, and plunging from the brinkOf light and being, down the gloomy air,An unknown depth? Alas! in such a mind,If no bright forms of excellence attendThe image of his country; nor the pompOf sacred senates, nor the guardian voiceOf Justice on her throne, nor aught that wakesThe conscious bosom with a patriot's flame;Will not Opinion tell him, that to die,Or stand the hazard, is a greater illThan to betray his country? And in actWill he not choose to be a wretch and live?Here vice begins then. From the enchanting cupWhich Fancy holds to all, the unwary thirstOf youth oft swallows a Circaean draught,That sheds a baleful tincture o'er the eyeOf Reason, till no longer he discerns,And only guides to err. Then revel forthA furious band that spurn him from the throne,And all is uproar. Thus Ambition graspsThe empire of the soul; thus pale RevengeUnsheaths her murderous dagger; and the handsOf Lust and Rapine, with unholy arts,Watch to o'erturn the barrier of the lawsThat keeps them from their prey; thus all the plaguesThe wicked bear, or o'er the trembling sconeThe tragic Muse discloses, under shapesOf honour, safety, pleasure, ease, or pomp,Stole first into the mind. Yet not by allThose lying forms, which Fancy in the brainEngenders, are the kindling passions drivenTo guilty deeds; nor Reason bound in chains,That Vice alone may lord it: oft adorn'dWith solemn pageants, Folly mounts the throne,And plays her idiot antics, like a queen.A thousand garbs she wears; a thousand waysShe wheels her giddy empire.--Lo! thus farWith bold adventure, to the Mantuan lyreI sing of Nature's charms, and touch well pleasedA stricter note: now haply must my songUnbend her serious measure, and revealIn lighter strains, how Folly's awkward artsExcite impetuous Laughter's gay rebuke;The sportive province of the comic Muse.

See! in what crowds the uncouth forms advance:Each would outstrip the other, each preventOur careful search, and offer to your gaze,Unask'd, his motley features. Wait awhile,My curious friends! and let us first arrangeIn proper order your promiscuous throng.

Behold the foremost band; [Endnote Z] of slender thought,And easy faith; whom flattering Fancy soothesWith lying spectres, in themselves to viewIllustrious forms of excellence and good,That scorn the mansion. With exulting heartsThey spread their spurious treasures to the sun,And bid the world admire! But chief the glanceOf wishful Envy draws their joy-bright eyes,And lifts with self-applause each lordly brow.In number boundless as the blooms of Spring,Behold their glaring idols, empty shadesBy Fancy gilded o'er, and then set upFor adoration. Some in Learning's garb,With formal band, and sable-cinctured gown,And rags of mouldy volumes. Some elateWith martial splendour, steely pikes and swordsOf costly frame, and gay Phoenician robesInwrought with flowery gold, assume the portOf stately Valour: listening by his sideThere stands a female form; to her, with looksOf earnest import, pregnant with amaze,He talks of deadly deeds, of breaches, storms,And sulphurous mines, and ambush: then at onceBreaks off, and smiles to see her look so pale,And asks some wondering question of her fears.Others of graver mien; behold, adorn'dWith holy ensigns, how sublime they move,And bending oft their sanctimonious eyesTake homage of the simple-minded throng;Ambassadors of Heaven! Nor much unlikeIs he, whose visage in the lazy mistThat mantles every feature, hides a broodOf politic conceits, of whispers, nods,And hints deep omen'd with unwieldy schemes,And dark portents of state. Ten thousand more,Prodigious habits and tumultuous tongues,Pour dauntless in and swell the boastful band.

Then comes the second order; [Endnote AA] all who seekThe debt of praise, where watchful UnbeliefDarts through the thin pretence her squinting eyeOn some retired appearance which beliesThe boasted virtue, or annuls the applauseThat Justice else would pay. Here side by sideI see two leaders of the solemn trainApproaching: one a female old and gray,With eyes demure, and wrinkle-furrow'd brow,Pale as the cheeks of death; yet still she stunsThe sickening audience with a nauseous tale,How many youths her myrtle chains have worn,How many virgins at her triumphs pined!Yet how resolved she guards her cautious heart;Such is her terror at the risks of love,And man's seducing tongue! The other seemsA bearded sage, ungentle in his mien,And sordid all his habit; peevish WantGrins at his heels, while down the gazing throngHe stalks, resounding in magnific praiseThe vanity of riches, the contemptOf pomp and power. Be prudent in your zeal,Ye grave associates! let the silent graceOf her who blushes at the fond regardHer charms inspire, more eloquent unfoldThe praise of spotless honour: let the man,Whose eye regards not his illustrious pompAnd ample store, but as indulgent streamsTo cheer the barren soil and spread the fruitsOf joy, let him by juster measures fixThe price of riches and the end of power.

Another tribe succeeds; [Endnote BB] deluded longBy Fancy's dazzling optics, these beholdThe images of some peculiar thingsWith brighter hues resplendent, and portray'dWith features nobler far than e'er adorn'dTheir genuine objects. Hence the fever'd heartPants with delirious hope for tinsel charms;Hence oft obtrusive on the eye of scorn,Untimely zeal her witless pride betrays!And serious manhood from the towering aimOf wisdom, stoops to emulate the boastOf childish toil. Behold yon mystic formBedeck'd with feathers, insects, weeds, and shells!Not with intenser view the Samian sageBent his fix'd eye on heaven's intenser fires,When first the order of that radiant sceneSwell'd his exulting thought, than this surveysA muckworm's entrails, or a spider's fang.Next him a youth, with flowers and myrtles crown'd,Attends that virgin form, and blushing kneels,With fondest gesture and a suppliant's tongue,To win her coy regard: adieu, for him,The dull engagements of the bustling world!Adieu the sick impertinence of praise!And hope, and action! for with her alone,By streams and shades, to steal these sighing hours,Is all he asks, and all that fate can give!Thee too, facetious Momion, wandering here,Thee, dreaded censor, oft have I beheldBewilder'd unawares: alas! too longFlush'd with thy comic triumphs and the spoilsOf sly derision! till on every sideHurling thy random bolts, offended TruthAssign'd thee here thy station with the slavesOf Folly. Thy once formidable nameShall grace her humble records, and be heardIn scoffs and mockery bandied from the lipsOf all the vengeful brotherhood around,So oft the patient victims of thy scorn.

But now, ye gay! [Endnote CC] to whom indulgent fate,Of all the Muse's empire hath assign'dThe fields of folly, hither each advanceYour sickles; here the teeming soil affordsIts richest growth. A favourite brood appears,In whom the demon, with a mother's joy,Views all her charms reflected, all her caresAt full repaid. Ye most illustrious band!Who, scorning Reason's tame, pedantic rules,And Order's vulgar bondage, never meantFor souls sublime as yours, with generous zealPay Vice the reverence Virtue long usurp'd,And yield Deformity the fond applauseWhich Beauty wont to claim, forgive my song,That for the blushing diffidence of youth,It shuns the unequal province of your praise.

Thus far triumphant [Endnote DD] in the pleasing guileOf bland Imagination, Folly's trainHave dared our search: but now a dastard kindAdvance reluctant, and with faltering feetShrink from the gazer's eye: enfeebled heartsWhom Fancy chills with visionary fears,Or bends to servile tameness with conceitsOf shame, of evil, or of base defect,Fantastic and delusive. Here the slaveWho droops abash'd when sullen Pomp surveysHis humbler habit; here the trembling wretchUnnerved and struck with Terror's icy bolts,Spent in weak wailings, drown'd in shameful tears,At every dream of danger: here, subduedBy frontless laughter and the hardy scornOf old, unfeeling vice, the abject soul,Who, blushing, half resigns the candid praiseOf Temperance and Honour; half disownsA freeman's hatred of tyrannic pride;And hears with sickly smiles the venal mouthWith foulest licence mock the patriot's name.

Last of the motley bands [Endnote EE] on whom the powerOf gay Derision bends her hostile aim,Is that where shameful Ignorance presides.Beneath her sordid banners, lo! they marchLike blind and lame. Whate'er their doubtful handsAttempt, Confusion straight appears behind,And troubles all the work. Through many a maze,Perplex'd they struggle, changing every path,O'erturning every purpose; then at lastSit down dismay'd, and leave the entangled sceneFor Scorn to sport with. Such then is the abodeOf Folly in the mind; and such the shapesIn which she governs her obsequious train.

Through every scene of ridicule in thingsTo lead the tenor of my devious lay;Through every swift occasion, which the handOf Laughter points at, when the mirthful stingDistends her sallying nerves and chokes her tongue;What were it but to count each crystal dropWhich Morning's dewy fingers on the bloomsOf May distil? Suffice it to have said,Where'er the power of Ridicule displaysHer quaint-eyed visage, some incongruous form,Some stubborn dissonance of things combined,Strikes on the quick observer: whether Pomp,Or Praise, or Beauty, mix their partial claimWhere sordid fashions, where ignoble deeds,Where foul Deformity are wont to dwell;Or whether these with violation loathed,Invade resplendent Pomp's imperious mien,The charms of Beauty, or the boast of Praise.

Ask we for what fair end, [Endnote GG] the Almighty SireIn mortal bosoms wakes this gay contempt,These grateful stings of laughter, from disgustEducing pleasure? Wherefore, but to aidThe tardy steps of Reason, and at onceBy this prompt impulse urge us to depressThe giddy aims of Folly? Though the lightOf Truth slow dawning on the inquiring mind,At length unfolds, through many a subtile tie,How these uncouth disorders end at lastIn public evil! yet benignant Heaven,Conscious how dim the dawn of truth appearsTo thousands; conscious what a scanty pauseFrom labours and from care, the wider lotOf humble life affords for studious thoughtTo scan the maze of Nature; therefore stamp'dThe glaring scenes with characters of scorn,As broad, as obvious, to the passing clown,As to the letter'd sage's curious eye.

Such are the various aspects of the mind--Some heavenly genius, whose unclouded thoughtsAttain that secret harmony which blendsThe etherial spirit with its mould of clay,Oh! teach me to reveal the grateful charmThat searchless Nature o'er the sense of manDiffuses, to behold, in lifeless things,The inexpressive semblance [Endnote HH] of himself,Of thought and passion. Mark the sable woodsThat shade sublime yon mountain's nodding brow:With what religious awe the solemn sceneCommands your steps! as if the reverend formOf Minos or of Numa should forsakeThe Elysian seats, and down the embowering gladeMove to your pausing eye! Behold the expanseOf yon gay landscape, where the silver cloudsFlit o'er the heavens before the sprightly breeze:Now their gray cincture skirts the doubtful sun;Now streams of splendour, through their opening veilEffulgent, sweep from off the gilded lawnThe aerial shadows, on the curling brook,And on the shady margin's quivering leavesWith quickest lustre glancing; while you viewThe prospect, say, within your cheerful breastPlays not the lively sense of winning mirthWith clouds and sunshine chequer'd, while the roundOf social converse, to the inspiring tongueOf some gay nymph amid her subject train,Moves all obsequious? Whence is this effect,This kindred power of such discordant things?Or flows their semblance from that mystic toneTo which the new-born mind's harmonious powersAt first were strung? Or rather from the linksWhich artful custom twines around her frame?

For when the different images of things,By chance combined, have struck the attentive soulWith deeper impulse, or, connected long,Have drawn her frequent eye; howe'er distinctThe external scenes, yet oft the ideas gainFrom that conjunction an eternal tie,And sympathy unbroken. Let the mindRecall one partner of the various league,Immediate, lo! the firm confederates rise,And each his former station straight resumes:One movement governs the consenting throng,And all at once with rosy pleasure shine,Or all are sadden'd with the glooms of care.'Twas thus, if ancient fame the truth unfold,Two faithful needles, [Endnote II] from the informing touchOf the same parent stone, together drewIts mystic virtue, and at first conspiredWith fatal impulse quivering to the pole:Then, though disjoin'd by kingdoms, though the mainRoll'd its broad surge betwixt, and different starsBeheld their wakeful motions, yet preservedThe former friendship, and remember'd stillThe alliance of their birth: whate'er the lineWhich one possess'd, nor pause, nor quiet knewThe sure associate, ere with trembling speedHe found its path and fix'd unerring there.Such is the secret union, when we feelA song, a flower, a name, at once restoreThose long-connected scenes where first they movedThe attention, backward through her mazy walksGuiding the wanton fancy to her scope,To temples, courts, or fields, with all the bandOf painted forms, of passions and designsAttendant; whence, if pleasing in itself,The prospect from that sweet accession gainsRedoubled influence o'er the listening mind.

By these mysterious ties, [Endnote JJ] the busy powerOf Memory her ideal train preservesEntire; or when they would elude her watch,Reclaims their fleeting footsteps from the wasteOf dark oblivion; thus collecting allThe various forms of being to present,Before the curious aim of mimic art,Their largest choice; like Spring's unfolded bloomsExhaling sweetness, that the skilful beeMay taste at will, from their selected spoilsTo work her dulcet food. For not the expanseOf living lakes in Summer's noontide calm,Reflects the bordering shade, and sun-bright heavens,With fairer semblance; not the sculptured goldMore faithful keeps the graver's lively trace,Than he whose birth the sister powers of ArtPropitious view'd, and from his genial starShed influence to the seeds of fancy kind,Than his attemper'd bosom must preserveThe seal of Nature. There alone unchanged,Her form remains. The balmy walks of MayThere breathe perennial sweets; the trembling chordResounds for ever in the abstracted ear,Melodious; and the virgin's radiant eye,Superior to disease, to grief, and time,Shines with unbating lustre. Thus at lengthEndow'd with all that nature can bestow,The child of Fancy oft in silence bendsO'er these mix'd treasures of his pregnant breastWith conscious pride. From them he oft resolvesTo frame he knows not what excelling things,And win he knows not what sublime rewardOf praise and wonder. By degrees, the mindFeels her young nerves dilate: the plastic powersLabour for action: blind emotions heaveHis bosom; and with loveliest frenzy caught,From earth to heaven he rolls his daring eye,From heaven to earth. Anon ten thousand shapes,Like spectres trooping to the wizard's call,Flit swift before him. From the womb of earth,From ocean's bed they come: the eternal heavensDisclose their splendours, and the dark abyssPours out her births unknown. With fixed gazeHe marks the rising phantoms. Now comparesTheir different forms; now blends them, now divides,Enlarges and extenuates by turns;Opposes, ranges in fantastic bands,And infinitely varies. Hither now,Now thither fluctuates his inconstant aim,With endless choice perplex'd. At length his planBegins to open. Lucid order dawns;And as from Chaos old the jarring seedsOf Nature at the voice divine repair'dEach to its place, till rosy earth unveil'dHer fragrant bosom, and the joyful sunSprung up the blue serene; by swift degreesThus disentangled, his entire designEmerges. Colours mingle, features join,And lines converge: the fainter parts retire;The fairer eminent in light advance;And every image on its neighbour smiles.Awhile he stands, and with a father's joyContemplates. Then with Promethean art,Into its proper vehicle [Endnote KK] he breathesThe fair conception; which, embodied thus,And permanent, becomes to eyes or earsAn object ascertain'd: while thus inform'd,The various organs of his mimic skill,The consonance of sounds, the featured rock,The shadowy picture and impassion'd verse,Beyond their proper powers attract the soulBy that expressive semblance, while in sightOf Nature's great original we scanThe lively child of Art; while line by line,And feature after feature we referTo that sublime exemplar whence it stoleThose animating charms. Thus Beauty's palmBetwixt them wavering hangs: applauding LoveDoubts where to choose; and mortal man aspiresTo tempt creative praise. As when a cloudOf gathering hail, with limpid crusts of iceEnclosed and obvious to the beaming sun,Collects his large effulgence; straight the heavensWith equal flames present on either handThe radiant visage; Persia stands at gaze,Appall'd; and on the brink of Ganges doubtsThe snowy-vested seer, in Mithra's name,To which the fragrance of the south shall burn,To which his warbled orisons ascend.

Such various bliss the well-tuned heart enjoys,Favour'd of Heaven! while, plunged in sordid cares,The unfeeling vulgar mocks the boon divine;And harsh Austerity, from whose rebukeYoung Love and smiling Wonder shrink awayAbash'd and chill of heart, with sager frownsCondemns the fair enchantment. On my strain,Perhaps even now, some cold, fastidious judgeCasts a disdainful eye; and calls my toil,And calls the love and beauty which I sing,The dream of folly. Thou, grave censor! say,Is Beauty then a dream, because the gloomsOf dulness hang too heavy on thy sense,To let her shine upon thee? So the manWhose eye ne'er open'd on the light of heaven,Might smile with scorn while raptured vision tellsOf the gay-colour'd radiance flushing brightO'er all creation. From the wise be farSuch gross unhallow'd pride; nor needs my songDescend so low; but rather now unfold,If human thought could reach, or words unfold,By what mysterious fabric of the mind,The deep-felt joys and harmony of soundResult from airy motion; and from shapeThe lovely phantoms of sublime and fair.By what fine ties hath God connected thingsWhen present in the mind, which in themselvesHave no connexion? Sure the rising sunO'er the cerulean convex of the sea,With equal brightness and with equal warmthMight roll his fiery orb, nor yet the soulThus feel her frame expanded, and her powersExulting in the splendour she beholds,Like a young conqueror moving through the pompOf some triumphal day. When join'd at eve,Soft murmuring streams and gales of gentlest breathMelodious Philomela's wakeful strainAttemper, could not man's discerning earThrough all its tones the sympathy pursue,Nor yet this breath divine of nameless joySteal through his veins and fan the awaken'd heart,Mild as the breeze, yet rapturous as the song?

But were not Nature still endow'd at largeWith all that life requires, though unadorn'dWith such enchantment? Wherefore then her formSo exquisitely fair? her breath perfumedWith such ethereal sweetness? whence her voiceInform'd at will to raise or to depressThe impassion'd soul? and whence the robes of lightWhich thus invest her with more lovely pompThan Fancy can describe? Whence but from Thee,O source divine of ever-flowing love!And Thy unmeasured goodness? Not contentWith every food of life to nourish man,By kind illusions of the wondering senseThou mak'st all Nature beauty to his eye,Or music to his ear; well pleased he scansThe goodly prospect, and with inward smilesTreads the gay verdure of the painted plain,Beholds the azure canopy of heaven,And living lamps that over-arch his headWith more than regal splendour; bends his earsTo the full choir of water, air, and earth;Nor heeds the pleasing error of his thought,Nor doubts the painted green or azure arch,Nor questions more the music's mingling sounds,Than space, or motion, or eternal time;So sweet he feels their influence to attractThe fixed soul, to brighten the dull gloomsOf care, and make the destined road of lifeDelightful to his feet. So fables tell,The adventurous hero, bound on hard exploits,Beholds with glad surprise, by secret spellsOf some kind sage, the patron of his toils,A visionary paradise disclosedAmid the dubious wild; with streams, and shades,And airy songs, the enchanted landscape smiles,Cheers his long labours and renews his frame.

What then is taste, but these internal powersActive, and strong, and feelingly aliveTo each fine impulse,--a discerning senseOf decent and sublime, with quick disgustFrom things deform'd, or disarranged, or grossIn species? This, nor gems, nor stores of gold,Nor purple state, nor culture can bestow;But God alone, when first His active handImprints the secret bias of the soul.He, mighty Parent! wise and just in all,Free as the vital breeze or light of heaven,Reveals the charms of Nature. Ask the swainWho journeys homeward from a summer day'sLong labour, why, forgetful of his toilsAnd due repose, he loiters to beholdThe sunshine gleaming as through amber clouds,O'er all the western sky; full soon, I ween,His rude expression and untutor'd airs,Beyond the power of language, will unfoldThe form of beauty, smiling at his heart,How lovely! how commanding! But though HeavenIn every breast hath sown these early seedsOf love and admiration, yet in vain,Without fair culture's kind parental aid,Without enlivening suns, and genial showers,And shelter from the blast, in vain we hopeThe tender plant should rear its blooming head,Or yield the harvest promised in its spring.Nor yet will every soul with equal storesRepay the tiller's labour, or attendHis will, obsequious, whether to produceThe olive or the laurel. Different mindsIncline to different objects; one pursuesThe vast alone, [Endnote LL] the wonderful, the wild;Another sighs for harmony, and grace,And gentlest beauty. Hence, when lightning firesThe arch of heaven, and thunders rock the ground,When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed,Heaves his tempestuous billows to the sky;Amid the mighty uproar, while belowThe nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroadProm some high cliff, superior, and enjoysThe elemental war. But Waller longs,All on the margin of some flowery streamTo spread his careless limbs amid the coolOf plantane shades, and to the listening deerThe tale of slighted vows and love's disdainResound soft-warbling all the livelong day;Consenting Zephyr sighs; the weeping rillJoins in his plaint, melodious; mute the groves;And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn.Such and so various are the tastes of men.

Oh! bless'd of Heaven, whom not the languid songsOf Luxury, the siren! not the bribesOf sordid Wealth, nor all the gaudy spoilsOf pageant Honour, can seduce to leaveThose ever-blooming sweets, which from the storeOf Nature fair Imagination cullsTo charm the enliven'd soul! What though not allOf mortal offspring can attain the heightsOf envied life; though only few possessPatrician treasures or imperial state;Yet Nature's care, to all her children just,With richer treasures and an ampler state,Endows at large whatever happy manWill deign to use them. His the city's pomp,The rural honours his. Whate'er adornsThe princely dome, the column, and the arch,The breathing marbles and the sculptured gold,Beyond the proud possessor's narrow claim,His tuneful breast enjoys. For him, the SpringDistils her dews, and from the silken gemIts lucid leaves unfolds; for him, the handOf Autumn tinges every fertile branchWith blooming gold and blushes like the morn.Each passing Hour sheds tribute from her wings;And still new beauties meet his lonely walk,And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breezeFlies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibesThe setting sun's effulgence, not a strainFrom all the tenants of the warbling shadeAscends, but whence his bosom can partakeFresh pleasure, unreproved. Nor thence partakesFresh pleasure only; for the attentive mind,By this harmonious action on her powersBecomes herself harmonious; wont so oftIn outward things to meditate the charmOf sacred order, soon she seeks at homeTo find a kindred order, to exertWithin herself this elegance of love,This fair-inspired delight; her temper'd powersRefine at length, and every passion wearsA chaster, milder, more attractive mien.But if to ampler prospects, if to gazeOn Nature's form, where, negligent of allThese lesser graces, she assumes the portOf that Eternal Majesty that weigh'dThe world's foundations, if to these the mindExalts her daring eye, then mightier farWill be the change, and nobler. Would the formsOf servile custom cramp her generous powers?Would sordid policies, the barbarous growthOf ignorance and rapine, bow her downTo tame pursuits, to indolence and fear?Lo! she appeals to Nature, to the windsAnd rolling waves, the sun's unwearied course,The elements and seasons; all declareFor what the Eternal Maker has ordain'dThe powers of man; we feel within ourselvesHis energy divine; he tells the heart,He meant, he made us to behold and loveWhat he beholds and loves, the general orbOf life and being; to be great like him,Beneficent and active. Thus the menWhom Nature's works can charm, with God himselfHold converse; grow familiar, day by day,With his conceptions, act upon his plan;And form to his, the relish of their souls.