 | Poems (1905) |  |
EPISTLE II. [FROM THE AUTHOR.]
TO MIRA.
'Tis by Contrast we shine; without Withers and Prynne,
What had Butler or Wits of that Century been?
Or how, without Dunces, had Dryden or Pope
The strength of their great Reputation kept up?
The Pleasures we share from the Dawning of Light
Are doubled by Thoughts of its following Night;
And Virtue and Sweetness like yours shall repay us
For poring so long over Satan's Affairs.
At your Company then do not think to repine:
You the fairer appear—for by Contrast we shine.
What had Butler or Wits of that Century been?
Or how, without Dunces, had Dryden or Pope
The strength of their great Reputation kept up?
The Pleasures we share from the Dawning of Light
Are doubled by Thoughts of its following Night;
And Virtue and Sweetness like yours shall repay us
For poring so long over Satan's Affairs.
At your Company then do not think to repine:
You the fairer appear—for by Contrast we shine.
What a Life, my dear Maid, do the Heavens decree
For the Dreamers of Dreams, for the Learned—for me:
Where pale Disappointment awakes to molest
The Study-vex'd Head, and the Sorrow-torn Breast.
Pity much, though you blame, the dull Spleen of your Swain,
Who has Cause to deplore and, he thinks, to complain:
That Fortune has soil'd the gay Dress of each Dream;
That Time has o'erthrown every fairy-built Scheme;
That thinking has slacken'd the Force of his Nerves,
And his Study has met with—the Fate it deserves.
For the Dreamers of Dreams, for the Learned—for me:
Where pale Disappointment awakes to molest
The Study-vex'd Head, and the Sorrow-torn Breast.
Pity much, though you blame, the dull Spleen of your Swain,
Who has Cause to deplore and, he thinks, to complain:
That Fortune has soil'd the gay Dress of each Dream;
That Time has o'erthrown every fairy-built Scheme;
That thinking has slacken'd the Force of his Nerves,
And his Study has met with—the Fate it deserves.
What a Plague was my Meaning to add to my own
The Cares of a Kind which I need not have known!
When Nature and Fortune had given their Part,
'Twas stupid to borrow Dejection from Art,
And, with Trouble a pretty large Portion before,
To pilfer Perplexities out of her Store.
The Cares of a Kind which I need not have known!
When Nature and Fortune had given their Part,
'Twas stupid to borrow Dejection from Art,
And, with Trouble a pretty large Portion before,
To pilfer Perplexities out of her Store.
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See the Fate of Ambition—contented with Rhyme,
I had softened the Features of Sorrow and Time;
Had play'd with the Evils I might not refuse,
And soften'd their Frowns with the Tears of the Muse;
Had mov'd in Life's Path with a Sigh and a Song,
And laugh'd at her Rubs as I stumbled along.
But, smitten with Science, I've laboured to lay
A thousand impediments more in my way;
And, because my poor Muse was too gentle a Guide
To smooth the rough Way, and to sing by my Side,
I've coveted Learning, a dangerous Thing
To drag through the Road, and who never could sing.
I had softened the Features of Sorrow and Time;
Had play'd with the Evils I might not refuse,
And soften'd their Frowns with the Tears of the Muse;
Had mov'd in Life's Path with a Sigh and a Song,
And laugh'd at her Rubs as I stumbled along.
But, smitten with Science, I've laboured to lay
A thousand impediments more in my way;
And, because my poor Muse was too gentle a Guide
To smooth the rough Way, and to sing by my Side,
I've coveted Learning, a dangerous Thing
To drag through the Road, and who never could sing.
Of Substance I've thought, and the various Disputes
On the Nature of Man, and the Notions of Brutes;
Of simple and complex Ideas I've read,
How they rose into Life and spring up in my Head;
That the Frolicks I love, and the Fashions I hate,
Are from Causes without, and they rule not innate;
I've studied with stupid Attention and Skill
The Destiny's Law, and the Bounds of the Will;
On the Nature of Man, and the Notions of Brutes;
Of simple and complex Ideas I've read,
How they rose into Life and spring up in my Head;
That the Frolicks I love, and the Fashions I hate,
Are from Causes without, and they rule not innate;
I've studied with stupid Attention and Skill
The Destiny's Law, and the Bounds of the Will;
Of Systems confuted, and Systems explain'd;
Of Science disputed, and Tenets maintain'd;
How Matter and Spirit dissent or unite;
How vary the Natures of Fire and of Light;
How Bodies excentric, concentric shall be;
How Authors divide where they seem to agree;
How dissenting unite, by a Touch of the Quill
Which bodies a Meaning, in what Form they will:
These and such Speculations, on these Kind of Things,
Have robb'd my poor Muse of her Plume and her Wings;
Consum'd the Phlogiston you us'd to admire;
The Spirit extracted, extinguish'd the Fire;
Let out all the Aether so pure and refin'd,
And left but a mere Caput-Mortuum behind.
Of Science disputed, and Tenets maintain'd;
How Matter and Spirit dissent or unite;
How vary the Natures of Fire and of Light;
How Bodies excentric, concentric shall be;
How Authors divide where they seem to agree;
How dissenting unite, by a Touch of the Quill
Which bodies a Meaning, in what Form they will:
These and such Speculations, on these Kind of Things,
Have robb'd my poor Muse of her Plume and her Wings;
Consum'd the Phlogiston you us'd to admire;
The Spirit extracted, extinguish'd the Fire;
Let out all the Aether so pure and refin'd,
And left but a mere Caput-Mortuum behind.
Ah, Priestley! thou Foe to my Numbers, what need
To shock my poor Muses? Thou dost not my Creed,
With Schemes, Dissertations, and Arguments strong
Which I know not how right, and I care not how wrong.
Thou great Necessarian, must I suppose
The Flight of my Verse is o'er rul'd by thy prose;
And that Matters have been unavoidably led,
That thou must have written, and I must have read?
'Tis certain—for what but a Bias of Fate
Could have tied me so long to the Subjects I hate?
To shock my poor Muses? Thou dost not my Creed,
With Schemes, Dissertations, and Arguments strong
Which I know not how right, and I care not how wrong.
Thou great Necessarian, must I suppose
The Flight of my Verse is o'er rul'd by thy prose;
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That thou must have written, and I must have read?
'Tis certain—for what but a Bias of Fate
Could have tied me so long to the Subjects I hate?
O! blest be the Time, when, my Mira, we stray'd
Where the Nightingale perch'd, and the wanton winds play'd;
Where these were the Secrets of Nature we knew,
That her Roses were red, and her Vi'lets were blue;
That soft was the Gloom of the Summer-swell'd shade,
And melting the Fall of the dying Cascade.
Where the Nightingale perch'd, and the wanton winds play'd;
Where these were the Secrets of Nature we knew,
That her Roses were red, and her Vi'lets were blue;
That soft was the Gloom of the Summer-swell'd shade,
And melting the Fall of the dying Cascade.
Blest, the Song shall repeat, be the Pleasures that reign
In the plenty-prest Vale, on the green-vested Plain!
Give Locke to the Winds, and lay Hume on the Fire;
Let Metaphysicians in Darkness expire,
And Fatalists, Fabulists, Logicians fall by
The Laws which Necessity modulates all by;
Let the Slumber of Sense, and the Silence of Spleen,
Lay hold upon Priestley, that learned Machine;
Or, what will to us, my dear Maid, be the same,
May we cease to admire each ostensible Name,
And, blest with those Pleasures the Muses desire,
See Learning, unenvied, to Students retire!
In the plenty-prest Vale, on the green-vested Plain!
Give Locke to the Winds, and lay Hume on the Fire;
Let Metaphysicians in Darkness expire,
And Fatalists, Fabulists, Logicians fall by
The Laws which Necessity modulates all by;
Let the Slumber of Sense, and the Silence of Spleen,
Lay hold upon Priestley, that learned Machine;
Or, what will to us, my dear Maid, be the same,
May we cease to admire each ostensible Name,
And, blest with those Pleasures the Muses desire,
See Learning, unenvied, to Students retire!
| Poems (1905) | |