Poems, moral and descriptive By the late Richard Jago ... (Prepared for the press, and improved by the author, before his death.) To which is added, some account of the life and writings of Mr. Jago |
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73
BOOK III. AFTERNOON.
74
Argument to Book the Third.
Address to the Right Hon. the Earl of Clarendon. Metaphysical Subtleties exploded. Philosophical Account of Vision, and Optic Glasses. Objects of Sight not sufficiently regarded on Account of their being common. Story relative thereto. Return to the Mid-Scene. Solihul. School-Scene. Bremicham. Its Manufactures. Coal-Mines. Iron-Ore. Process of it. Panegyric upon Iron.
75
Again, the Muse her airy flight essays.
Will Villers, skill'd alike in classic song,
Or, with a critic's eye, to trace the charms
Of Nature's beauteous scenes, attend the lay?
Will he, accustom'd to soft Latian climes,
As to their softer numbers, deign awhile
To quit the Mantuan Bard's harmonious strain,
By sweet attraction of the theme allur'd?
The Latian Poet's song is still the same.
Not so the Latian fields. The gentle Arts
That made those fields so fair, when Gothic Rule,
And Superstition, with her bigot train,
Fixt there their gloomy seat, to this fair Isle
Retir'd, with Freedom's gen'rous sons to dwell,
To grace her cities, and her smiling plains
With plenty cloathe, and crown the rural toil.
Will Villers, skill'd alike in classic song,
Or, with a critic's eye, to trace the charms
Of Nature's beauteous scenes, attend the lay?
Will he, accustom'd to soft Latian climes,
As to their softer numbers, deign awhile
To quit the Mantuan Bard's harmonious strain,
By sweet attraction of the theme allur'd?
The Latian Poet's song is still the same.
76
That made those fields so fair, when Gothic Rule,
And Superstition, with her bigot train,
Fixt there their gloomy seat, to this fair Isle
Retir'd, with Freedom's gen'rous sons to dwell,
To grace her cities, and her smiling plains
With plenty cloathe, and crown the rural toil.
Nor hath he found, throughout those spacious realms
Where Albis flows, and Ister's stately flood,
More verdant meads, or more superb remains
Of old magnificence, than his own fields
Display, where Clinton's venerable walls
In ruin, still their ancient grandeur tell.
Where Albis flows, and Ister's stately flood,
More verdant meads, or more superb remains
Of old magnificence, than his own fields
Display, where Clinton's venerable walls
In ruin, still their ancient grandeur tell.
Requires there aught of learning's pompous aid
To prove that all this outward frame of things
Is what it seems, not unsubstantial air,
Ideal vision, or a waking dream,
Without existence, save what Fancy gives?
Shall we, because we strive in vain to tell
How Matter acts on incorporeal Mind,
Or how, when sleep has lock'd up ev'ry sense,
Or fevers rage, Imagination paints
Unreal scenes, reject what sober sense,
And calmest thought attest? Shall we confound
States wholly diff'rent? Sleep with wakeful life?
Disease with health? This were to quit the day,
And seek our path at midnight. To renounce
Man's surest evidence, and idolize
Imagination. Hence then banish we
These metaphysic subtleties, and mark
The curious structure of these visual orbs,
The windows of the mind; substance how clear,
Aqueous, or crystalline! through which the soul,
As thro' a glass, all outward things surveys.
To prove that all this outward frame of things
Is what it seems, not unsubstantial air,
Ideal vision, or a waking dream,
77
Shall we, because we strive in vain to tell
How Matter acts on incorporeal Mind,
Or how, when sleep has lock'd up ev'ry sense,
Or fevers rage, Imagination paints
Unreal scenes, reject what sober sense,
And calmest thought attest? Shall we confound
States wholly diff'rent? Sleep with wakeful life?
Disease with health? This were to quit the day,
And seek our path at midnight. To renounce
Man's surest evidence, and idolize
Imagination. Hence then banish we
These metaphysic subtleties, and mark
The curious structure of these visual orbs,
The windows of the mind; substance how clear,
Aqueous, or crystalline! through which the soul,
As thro' a glass, all outward things surveys.
See, while the sun gilds, with his golden beam,
Yon' distant pile, which Hyde, with care refin'd,
From plunder guards, its form how beautiful!
Anon some cloud his radiance intercepts,
And all the splendid object fades away.
Or, if some incrustation o'er the sight
Its baleful texture spread, like a clear lens,
With filth obscur'd! no more the sensory,
Thro' the thick film, imbibes the chearful day,
‘But cloud instead, and ever-during night
Surround it.’ So, when on some weighty truth
A beam of heav'nly light its lustre sheds,
To Reason's eye it looks supremely fair.
But if foul Passion, or distemper'd Pride,
Impede its search, or Phrenzy seize the brain,
Then Ignorance a gloomy darkness spreads,
Or Superstition, with mishapen forms,
Erects its savage empire in the mind.
Yon' distant pile, which Hyde, with care refin'd,
From plunder guards, its form how beautiful!
Anon some cloud his radiance intercepts,
And all the splendid object fades away.
78
Its baleful texture spread, like a clear lens,
With filth obscur'd! no more the sensory,
Thro' the thick film, imbibes the chearful day,
‘But cloud instead, and ever-during night
Surround it.’ So, when on some weighty truth
A beam of heav'nly light its lustre sheds,
To Reason's eye it looks supremely fair.
But if foul Passion, or distemper'd Pride,
Impede its search, or Phrenzy seize the brain,
Then Ignorance a gloomy darkness spreads,
Or Superstition, with mishapen forms,
Erects its savage empire in the mind.
The vulgar race of men, like herds that graze,
On Instinct live, not knowing how they live;
While Reason sleeps, or waking stoops to Sense.
But sage Philosophy explores the cause
Of each phænomenon of sight, or sound,
Taste, touch, or smell; each organ's inmost frame,
And correspondence with external things:
Explains how diff'rent texture of their parts
Excites sensations diff'rent, rough, or smooth,
Bitter, or sweet, fragrance, or noisome scent:
How various streams of undulating air,
Thro' the ear's winding labyrinth convey'd,
Cause all the vast variety of sounds.
Hence too the subtle properties of light,
And sev'n-fold colour are distinctly view'd
In the prismatic glass, and outward forms
Shewn fairly drawn, in miniature divine,
On the transparent eye's membraneous cell.
By combination hence of diff'rent orbs,
Convex, or concave, thro' their crystal pores,
Transmitting variously the solar ray,
With line oblique, the telescopic tube
Reveals the wonders of the starry sphere,
Worlds above worlds; or, in a single grain,
Or watry drop, the penetrative eye
Discerns innumerable inhabitants
Of perfect structure, imperceptible
To naked view. Hence each defect of sense
Obtains relief; hence to the palsy'd ear
New impulse, vision new to languid sight,
Surprize to both, and youthful joys restor'd!
On Instinct live, not knowing how they live;
While Reason sleeps, or waking stoops to Sense.
But sage Philosophy explores the cause
Of each phænomenon of sight, or sound,
Taste, touch, or smell; each organ's inmost frame,
And correspondence with external things:
Explains how diff'rent texture of their parts
Excites sensations diff'rent, rough, or smooth,
79
How various streams of undulating air,
Thro' the ear's winding labyrinth convey'd,
Cause all the vast variety of sounds.
Hence too the subtle properties of light,
And sev'n-fold colour are distinctly view'd
In the prismatic glass, and outward forms
Shewn fairly drawn, in miniature divine,
On the transparent eye's membraneous cell.
By combination hence of diff'rent orbs,
Convex, or concave, thro' their crystal pores,
Transmitting variously the solar ray,
With line oblique, the telescopic tube
Reveals the wonders of the starry sphere,
Worlds above worlds; or, in a single grain,
Or watry drop, the penetrative eye
Discerns innumerable inhabitants
Of perfect structure, imperceptible
To naked view. Hence each defect of sense
Obtains relief; hence to the palsy'd ear
New impulse, vision new to languid sight,
Surprize to both, and youthful joys restor'd!
80
Cheap is the bliss we never knew to want!
So graceless spendthrifts waste unthankfully
Those sums, which Merit often seeks in vain,
And Poverty wou'd kneel to call its own.
So objects, hourly seen, unheeded pass,
At which the new-created sight would gaze
With exquisite delight. Doubt ye this truth?
A tale shall place it fairer to your view.
So graceless spendthrifts waste unthankfully
Those sums, which Merit often seeks in vain,
And Poverty wou'd kneel to call its own.
So objects, hourly seen, unheeded pass,
At which the new-created sight would gaze
With exquisite delight. Doubt ye this truth?
A tale shall place it fairer to your view.
A youth
there was, a youth of lib'ral mind,
And fair proportion in each lineament
Of outward form; but dim suffusion veil'd
His sightless orbs, which roll'd, and roll'd in vain
To find the blaze of day. From infancy,
Till full maturity glow'd on his cheek,
The long, long night its gloomy empire held,
And mock'd each gentle effort, lotions,
Or cataplasms, by parental hands,
With fruitless care employ'd. At length a Leech,
Of skill profound, well-vers'd in optic lore,
An arduous task devis'd aside to draw
The veil, which, like a cloud, hung o'er his sight,
And ope a lucid passage to the sun.
Instant the Youth the promis'd blessing craves.
But first his parents, with uplifted hands,
The healing Pow'rs invoke, and pitying friends
With sympathizing heart, the rites prepare:
'Mongst these, who well deserv'd the important trust,
A gentle Maid there was, that long had wail'd
His hapless fate. Full many a tedious hour
Had she, with converse, and instructive song,
Beguil'd. Full many a step darkling her arm
Sustain'd him; and, as they their youthful days
In friendly deeds, and mutual intercourse
Of sweet endearment pass'd, love in each breast
His empire fix'd; in her's with pity join'd,
In his with gratitude, and deep regard.
And fair proportion in each lineament
Of outward form; but dim suffusion veil'd
His sightless orbs, which roll'd, and roll'd in vain
To find the blaze of day. From infancy,
Till full maturity glow'd on his cheek,
The long, long night its gloomy empire held,
And mock'd each gentle effort, lotions,
Or cataplasms, by parental hands,
With fruitless care employ'd. At length a Leech,
Of skill profound, well-vers'd in optic lore,
81
The veil, which, like a cloud, hung o'er his sight,
And ope a lucid passage to the sun.
Instant the Youth the promis'd blessing craves.
But first his parents, with uplifted hands,
The healing Pow'rs invoke, and pitying friends
With sympathizing heart, the rites prepare:
'Mongst these, who well deserv'd the important trust,
A gentle Maid there was, that long had wail'd
His hapless fate. Full many a tedious hour
Had she, with converse, and instructive song,
Beguil'd. Full many a step darkling her arm
Sustain'd him; and, as they their youthful days
In friendly deeds, and mutual intercourse
Of sweet endearment pass'd, love in each breast
His empire fix'd; in her's with pity join'd,
In his with gratitude, and deep regard.
The friendly wound was giv'n; th'obstructing film
Drawn artfully aside; and, on his sight
Burst the full tide of day. Surpriz'd he stood,
Not knowing where he was, nor what he saw!
The skilful artist first, as first in place
He view'd, then seiz'd his hand, then felt his own,
Then mark'd their near resemblance, much perplex'd,
And still the more perplex'd, the more he saw.
Drawn artfully aside; and, on his sight
Burst the full tide of day. Surpriz'd he stood,
Not knowing where he was, nor what he saw!
The skilful artist first, as first in place
82
Then mark'd their near resemblance, much perplex'd,
And still the more perplex'd, the more he saw.
Now silence first th'impatient mother broke,
And, as her eager looks on him she bent,
“My son,” she cried, “my son!” On her he gaz'd
With fresh surprize. And, what? he cried, art thou
My mother? for thy voice bespeaks thee such,
Tho' to my sight unknown. Thy mother I!
She quick reply'd, thy sister, brother these—
O! 'tis too much, he said; too soon to part,
Ere well we meet! But this new flood of day
O'erpow'rs me, and I feel a death-like damp
Chill all my frame, and stop my fault'ring tongue.
And, as her eager looks on him she bent,
“My son,” she cried, “my son!” On her he gaz'd
With fresh surprize. And, what? he cried, art thou
My mother? for thy voice bespeaks thee such,
Tho' to my sight unknown. Thy mother I!
She quick reply'd, thy sister, brother these—
O! 'tis too much, he said; too soon to part,
Ere well we meet! But this new flood of day
O'erpow'rs me, and I feel a death-like damp
Chill all my frame, and stop my fault'ring tongue.
Now Lydia, so they call'd his gentle friend,
Who, with averted eye, but, in her soul,
Had felt the lancing steel, her aid apply'd,
And stay, dear youth, she said, or with thee take
Thy Lydia, thine alike in life, or death.
Who, with averted eye, but, in her soul,
Had felt the lancing steel, her aid apply'd,
And stay, dear youth, she said, or with thee take
Thy Lydia, thine alike in life, or death.
At Lydia's name, at Lydia's well-known voice,
He strove again to raise his drooping head,
And ope his closing eye, but strove in vain,
And on her trembling bosom sunk away.
He strove again to raise his drooping head,
83
And on her trembling bosom sunk away.
Now other fears distract his weeping friends.
But short this grief! for soon his life return'd,
And, with return of life, return'd their peace.
Yet, for his safety, they resolve awhile
His infant sense from day's bright beams to guard,
Ere yet again they tempt such dang'rous joy.
But short this grief! for soon his life return'd,
And, with return of life, return'd their peace.
Yet, for his safety, they resolve awhile
His infant sense from day's bright beams to guard,
Ere yet again they tempt such dang'rous joy.
As, when from some transporting dream awak'd,
We fondly on the sweet delusion dwell,
And, with intense reflection, to our minds
Picture th'enchanted scene—angelic forms—
Converse sublime—and more than waking bliss!
Till the coy vision, as the more we strive
To paint it livelier on th'enraptur'd sense,
Still fainter grows, and dies at last away:
So dwelt the Youth on his late transient joy,
So long'd the dear remembrance to renew.
We fondly on the sweet delusion dwell,
And, with intense reflection, to our minds
Picture th'enchanted scene—angelic forms—
Converse sublime—and more than waking bliss!
Till the coy vision, as the more we strive
To paint it livelier on th'enraptur'd sense,
Still fainter grows, and dies at last away:
So dwelt the Youth on his late transient joy,
So long'd the dear remembrance to renew.
At length, again the wish'd-for day arriv'd.
The task was Lydia's! her's the charge, alone
From dangers new to guard the dear delight;
But first th'impatient Youth she thus address'd.
The task was Lydia's! her's the charge, alone
From dangers new to guard the dear delight;
But first th'impatient Youth she thus address'd.
84
Dear Youth! my trembling hands but ill essay
This tender task, and with unusual fear,
My flutt'ring heart forebodes some danger nigh.
This tender task, and with unusual fear,
My flutt'ring heart forebodes some danger nigh.
Dismiss thy fears, he cried, nor think so ill
I con thy lessons, as still need be taught
To hail, with caution, the new-coming day.
Then loose these envious folds, and teach my sight,
If more can be, to make thee more belov'd.
I con thy lessons, as still need be taught
To hail, with caution, the new-coming day.
Then loose these envious folds, and teach my sight,
If more can be, to make thee more belov'd.
Ah! there's my grief, she cried: 'tis true our hearts
With mutual passion burn, but then 'tis true
Thou ne'er hast known me by that subtle sense
Thro' which love most an easy passage finds;
That sense! which soon may shew thee many a maid
Fairer than Lydia, tho' more faithful none.
And may she not cease then to be belov'd?
May she not then, when less thou need'st her care,
Give place to some new charmer? 'Tis for this
I sigh; for this my sad foreboding fears
New terrors form. And can'st thou then, he cried,
Want aught that might endear thee to my soul?
Art thou not excellence? Art thou not all
That man cou'd wish? Goodness, and gentlest love?
Can I forget thy long assiduous care?
Thy morning-tendance, surest mark to me
Of day's return, of night thy late adieu?
Do I need aught to make my bliss compleat,
When thou art by me? when I press thy hand?
When I breath fragrance at thy near approach;
And hear the sweetest music in thy voice?
Can that, which to each other sense is dear,
So wond'rous dear, be otherwise to sight?
Or can sight make, what is to reason good,
And lovely, seem less lovely, and less good?
Perish the sense, that wou'd make Lydia such!
Perish its joys, those joys however great!
If to be purchas'd with the loss of thee.
O my dear Lydia! if there be indeed
The danger thou report'st, O! by our love,
Our mutual love, I charge thee, ne'er unbind
These hapless orbs, or tear them from their seat,
Ere they betray me thus to worse than death.
With mutual passion burn, but then 'tis true
Thou ne'er hast known me by that subtle sense
Thro' which love most an easy passage finds;
That sense! which soon may shew thee many a maid
Fairer than Lydia, tho' more faithful none.
And may she not cease then to be belov'd?
May she not then, when less thou need'st her care,
Give place to some new charmer? 'Tis for this
I sigh; for this my sad foreboding fears
New terrors form. And can'st thou then, he cried,
Want aught that might endear thee to my soul?
Art thou not excellence? Art thou not all
That man cou'd wish? Goodness, and gentlest love?
85
Thy morning-tendance, surest mark to me
Of day's return, of night thy late adieu?
Do I need aught to make my bliss compleat,
When thou art by me? when I press thy hand?
When I breath fragrance at thy near approach;
And hear the sweetest music in thy voice?
Can that, which to each other sense is dear,
So wond'rous dear, be otherwise to sight?
Or can sight make, what is to reason good,
And lovely, seem less lovely, and less good?
Perish the sense, that wou'd make Lydia such!
Perish its joys, those joys however great!
If to be purchas'd with the loss of thee.
O my dear Lydia! if there be indeed
The danger thou report'st, O! by our love,
Our mutual love, I charge thee, ne'er unbind
These hapless orbs, or tear them from their seat,
Ere they betray me thus to worse than death.
No, Heav'n forbid! she cried, for Heav'n hath heard
Thy parents pray'rs, and many a friend now waits
To mingle looks of cordial love with thine.
And shou'd I rob them of the sacred bliss?
Shou'd I deprive thee of the rapt'rous sight?
No! be thou happy; happy be thy friends;
Whatever fate attends thy Lydia's love;
Thy hapless Lydia!—Hapless did I say?
Ah! wherefore? wherefore wrong I thus thy worth?
Why doubt thy well-known truth, and constant mind?
No, happiest she of all the happy train,
In mutual vows, and plighted faith secure!
Thy parents pray'rs, and many a friend now waits
To mingle looks of cordial love with thine.
86
Shou'd I deprive thee of the rapt'rous sight?
No! be thou happy; happy be thy friends;
Whatever fate attends thy Lydia's love;
Thy hapless Lydia!—Hapless did I say?
Ah! wherefore? wherefore wrong I thus thy worth?
Why doubt thy well-known truth, and constant mind?
No, happiest she of all the happy train,
In mutual vows, and plighted faith secure!
So saying, she the silken bandage loos'd,
Nor added further speech, prepar'd to watch
The new surprize, and guide the doubtful scene,
By silence more than tenfold night conceal'd.
When thus the Youth. And is this then the world,
In which I am to live? Am I awake?
Or do I dream? Or hath some pow'r unknown,
Far from my friends, far from my native home;
Convey'd me to these radiant seats? O thou!
Inhabitant of this enlighten'd world!
Whose heav'nly softness far transcends his shape,
By whom this miracle was first atchiev'd,
O! deign thou to instruct me where I am;
And how to name thee by true character,
Angel, or mortal! Once I had a friend,
Who, but till now, ne'er left me in distress.
Her speech was harmony, at which my heart
With transport flutter'd; and her gracious hand
Supplied me with whate'er my wish cou'd form;
Supply, and transport ne'er so wish'd before!
Never, when wanted, yet, so long denied!
Why is she silent now, when most I long
To hear her heav'nly voice? why flies she not
With more than usual speed to crown my bliss?
Ah! did I leave her in that darksome world?
Or rather dwells she not in these bright realms,
Companion fit for such fair forms as thine?
O! teach me, if thou canst, how I may find
This gentle counsellor; when found, how know
By this new sense, which, better still to rate
Her worth, I chiefly wish'd. The lovely form
Replied, In me behold that gentle friend,
If still thou own'st me such. O! yes, 'tis she,
He cried; 'tis Lydia! 'tis her charming voice!
O! speak again; O! let me press thy hand:
On these I can rely. This new-born sense
May cheat me. Yet so much I prize thy form,
I willingly would think it tells me true—
Nor added further speech, prepar'd to watch
The new surprize, and guide the doubtful scene,
By silence more than tenfold night conceal'd.
When thus the Youth. And is this then the world,
In which I am to live? Am I awake?
Or do I dream? Or hath some pow'r unknown,
Far from my friends, far from my native home;
Convey'd me to these radiant seats? O thou!
Inhabitant of this enlighten'd world!
Whose heav'nly softness far transcends his shape,
By whom this miracle was first atchiev'd,
O! deign thou to instruct me where I am;
87
Angel, or mortal! Once I had a friend,
Who, but till now, ne'er left me in distress.
Her speech was harmony, at which my heart
With transport flutter'd; and her gracious hand
Supplied me with whate'er my wish cou'd form;
Supply, and transport ne'er so wish'd before!
Never, when wanted, yet, so long denied!
Why is she silent now, when most I long
To hear her heav'nly voice? why flies she not
With more than usual speed to crown my bliss?
Ah! did I leave her in that darksome world?
Or rather dwells she not in these bright realms,
Companion fit for such fair forms as thine?
O! teach me, if thou canst, how I may find
This gentle counsellor; when found, how know
By this new sense, which, better still to rate
Her worth, I chiefly wish'd. The lovely form
Replied, In me behold that gentle friend,
If still thou own'st me such. O! yes, 'tis she,
He cried; 'tis Lydia! 'tis her charming voice!
O! speak again; O! let me press thy hand:
88
May cheat me. Yet so much I prize thy form,
I willingly would think it tells me true—
Ha! what are these? Are they not they, of whom
Thou warn'dst me? Yes—true—they are beautiful.
But have they lov'd like thee, like thee convers'd?
They move not as we move, they bear no part
In my new bliss. And yet methinks, in one,
Her form I can descry, tho' now so calm!
Who call'd me son. Mistaken Youth! she cried,
These are not what they seem; are not as we,
Not living substances, but pictur'd shapes,
Resemblances of life! by mixture form'd
Of light, and shade, in sweet proportion join'd.
But hark! I hear, without, thy longing friends,
Who wait my summons, and reprove my stay.
Thou warn'dst me? Yes—true—they are beautiful.
But have they lov'd like thee, like thee convers'd?
They move not as we move, they bear no part
In my new bliss. And yet methinks, in one,
Her form I can descry, tho' now so calm!
Who call'd me son. Mistaken Youth! she cried,
These are not what they seem; are not as we,
Not living substances, but pictur'd shapes,
Resemblances of life! by mixture form'd
Of light, and shade, in sweet proportion join'd.
But hark! I hear, without, thy longing friends,
Who wait my summons, and reprove my stay.
To thy direction, cried th'enraptur'd Youth,
To thy direction I commit my steps.
Lead on, be thou my guide, as late, so now,
In this new world, and teach me how to use
This wond'rous faculty; which thus, so soon
Mocks me with phantoms. Yet enough for me!
That all my past experience joins with this
To tell me I am happier than I know.
To tell me thou art Lydia! From whose side
I never more will part! with whom compar'd,
All others of her sex, however fair,
Shall be like painted, unsubstantial forms.
To thy direction I commit my steps.
Lead on, be thou my guide, as late, so now,
In this new world, and teach me how to use
This wond'rous faculty; which thus, so soon
Mocks me with phantoms. Yet enough for me!
89
To tell me I am happier than I know.
To tell me thou art Lydia! From whose side
I never more will part! with whom compar'd,
All others of her sex, however fair,
Shall be like painted, unsubstantial forms.
So when the soul, inflam'd with strong desire
Of purer bliss, its earthly mansion leaves,
Perhaps some friendly genius, wont to steer
With ministerial charge, his dang'rous steps;
Perhaps some gentle partner of his toil,
More early blest, in radiant lustre clad,
And form celestial, meets his dazzled sight;
And guides his way, thro' trackless fields of air,
To join, with rapt'rous joy, th'ethereal train.
Of purer bliss, its earthly mansion leaves,
Perhaps some friendly genius, wont to steer
With ministerial charge, his dang'rous steps;
Perhaps some gentle partner of his toil,
More early blest, in radiant lustre clad,
And form celestial, meets his dazzled sight;
And guides his way, thro' trackless fields of air,
To join, with rapt'rous joy, th'ethereal train.
Now to the midland search the Muse returns.
For more, and still more busy scenes remain;
The promis'd schools of wise artificers
In brass, and iron. But another school
Of gentler arts demands the Muse's song,
Where first she learn'd to scan the measur'd verse,
And aukwardly her infant notes essay'd.
For more, and still more busy scenes remain;
The promis'd schools of wise artificers
In brass, and iron. But another school
Of gentler arts demands the Muse's song,
Where first she learn'd to scan the measur'd verse,
And aukwardly her infant notes essay'd.
90
Hail Solihul! respectful I salute
Thy walls; more awful once! when, from the sweets
Of festive freedom, and domestic ease,
With throbbing heart, to the stern discipline
Of pædagogue morose I sad return'd.
But tho' no more his brow severe, nor dread
Of birchen sceptre awes my riper age,
A sterner tyrant rises to my view,
With deadlier weapon arm'd. Ah! Critic! spare,
O! spare the Muse, who feels her youthful fears
On thee transfer'd, and trembles at thy lash.
Against the venal tribe, that prostitutes
The tuneful art, to sooth the villain's breast,
To blazon fools, or feed the pamper'd lust
Of bloated vanity; against the tribe
Which casts its wanton jests at holy truths,
Or clothes, with virtue's garb, th'accursed train
Of loathsome vices, lift thy vengeful arm,
And all thy just severity exert.
Enough to venial faults, and hapless want
Of animated numbers, such as breathe
The soul of epic song, hath erst been paid
Within these walls, still stain'd with infant blood.
Thy walls; more awful once! when, from the sweets
Of festive freedom, and domestic ease,
With throbbing heart, to the stern discipline
Of pædagogue morose I sad return'd.
But tho' no more his brow severe, nor dread
Of birchen sceptre awes my riper age,
A sterner tyrant rises to my view,
With deadlier weapon arm'd. Ah! Critic! spare,
O! spare the Muse, who feels her youthful fears
On thee transfer'd, and trembles at thy lash.
Against the venal tribe, that prostitutes
The tuneful art, to sooth the villain's breast,
To blazon fools, or feed the pamper'd lust
Of bloated vanity; against the tribe
Which casts its wanton jests at holy truths,
Or clothes, with virtue's garb, th'accursed train
Of loathsome vices, lift thy vengeful arm,
And all thy just severity exert.
Enough to venial faults, and hapless want
Of animated numbers, such as breathe
91
Within these walls, still stain'd with infant blood.
Yet may I not forget the pious care
Of love parental, anxious to improve
My youthful mind. Nor yet the debt disown
Due to severe restraint, and rigid laws,
The wholesome curb of Passion's headstrong reign.
To them I owe that ere, with painful toil,
Thro' Priscian's crabbed rules, laborious task!
I held my course, till the dull, tiresome road
Plac'd me on classic ground, that well repaid
The labours of the way. To them I owe
The pleasing knowledge of my youthful mates
Matur'd in age, and honours. These among,
I gratulate whom Augusta's senate hails
Father! and, in each charge, and high employ,
Found worthy all her love, with amplest trust,
And dignity invests. And well I ween,
Her tribunitial pow'r, and purple pomp
On thee confers, in living manners school'd
To guard her weal, and vindicate her rights,
O Ladbroke! once in the same fortunes class'd
Of early life; with count'nance unestrang'd,
For ev'ry friendly deed still vacant found!
Of love parental, anxious to improve
My youthful mind. Nor yet the debt disown
Due to severe restraint, and rigid laws,
The wholesome curb of Passion's headstrong reign.
To them I owe that ere, with painful toil,
Thro' Priscian's crabbed rules, laborious task!
I held my course, till the dull, tiresome road
Plac'd me on classic ground, that well repaid
The labours of the way. To them I owe
The pleasing knowledge of my youthful mates
Matur'd in age, and honours. These among,
I gratulate whom Augusta's senate hails
Father! and, in each charge, and high employ,
Found worthy all her love, with amplest trust,
And dignity invests. And well I ween,
Her tribunitial pow'r, and purple pomp
On thee confers, in living manners school'd
To guard her weal, and vindicate her rights,
O Ladbroke! once in the same fortunes class'd
92
For ev'ry friendly deed still vacant found!
Nor can the Muse, while she these scenes surveys,
Forget her Shenstone, in the youthful toil
Associate; whose bright dawn of genius oft
Smooth'd my incondite verse; whose friendly voice
Call'd me from giddy sports to follow him
Intent on better themes—call'd me to taste
The charms of British song, the pictur'd page
Admire, or mark his imitative skill;
Or with him range in solitary shades,
And scoop rude grottos in the shelving bank.
Such were the joys that cheer'd life's early morn!
Such the strong sympathy of soul, that knit
Our hearts congenial in sweet amity!
On Cherwel's banks, by kindred science nurs'd;
And well-matur'd in life's advancing stage,
When, on Ardenna's plain, we fondly stray'd,
With mutual trust, and amicable thought;
Or in the social circle gaily join'd:
Or round his Leasowe's happy circuit rov'd;
On hill, and dale invoking ev'ry Muse,
Nor Tempe's shade, nor Aganippe's fount
Envied; so willingly the Dryads nurs'd
His groves; so lib'rally their crystal urns
The Naiads pour'd, enchanted with his spells;
And pleas'd to see their ever-flowing streams
Led by his hand, in many a mazy line;
Or, in the copious tide, collected large,
Or tumbling from the rock, in sportive falls,
Now, from the lofty bank, precipitate;
And now, in gentler course, with murmurs soft
Soothing the ear; and now, in concert join'd,
Fall above fall, oblique, and intricate,
Among the twisted roots. Ah! whilst I write,
In deeper murmur flows the sadning stream;
Wither the groves; and from the beauteous scene,
Its soft enchantments fly. No more for me
A charm it wears, since he alas! is gone,
Whose genius plann'd it, and whose spirit grac'd.
Ah! hourly does the fatal doom, pronounc'd
Against rebellious sin, some social band
Dissolve, and leave a thousand friends to weep,
Soon such themselves, as those they now lament!
This mournful tribute to thy mem'ry paid!
The Muse pursues her solitary way;
But heavily pursues, since thou art gone,
Whose counsel brighten'd, and whose friendship shar'd
The pleasing task. Now Bremicham! to thee
She steers her flight, and, in thy busy scenes,
Seeks to restrain awhile the starting tear.
Forget her Shenstone, in the youthful toil
Associate; whose bright dawn of genius oft
Smooth'd my incondite verse; whose friendly voice
Call'd me from giddy sports to follow him
Intent on better themes—call'd me to taste
The charms of British song, the pictur'd page
Admire, or mark his imitative skill;
Or with him range in solitary shades,
And scoop rude grottos in the shelving bank.
Such were the joys that cheer'd life's early morn!
Such the strong sympathy of soul, that knit
Our hearts congenial in sweet amity!
On Cherwel's banks, by kindred science nurs'd;
And well-matur'd in life's advancing stage,
When, on Ardenna's plain, we fondly stray'd,
With mutual trust, and amicable thought;
Or in the social circle gaily join'd:
Or round his Leasowe's happy circuit rov'd;
On hill, and dale invoking ev'ry Muse,
93
Envied; so willingly the Dryads nurs'd
His groves; so lib'rally their crystal urns
The Naiads pour'd, enchanted with his spells;
And pleas'd to see their ever-flowing streams
Led by his hand, in many a mazy line;
Or, in the copious tide, collected large,
Or tumbling from the rock, in sportive falls,
Now, from the lofty bank, precipitate;
And now, in gentler course, with murmurs soft
Soothing the ear; and now, in concert join'd,
Fall above fall, oblique, and intricate,
Among the twisted roots. Ah! whilst I write,
In deeper murmur flows the sadning stream;
Wither the groves; and from the beauteous scene,
Its soft enchantments fly. No more for me
A charm it wears, since he alas! is gone,
Whose genius plann'd it, and whose spirit grac'd.
Ah! hourly does the fatal doom, pronounc'd
Against rebellious sin, some social band
Dissolve, and leave a thousand friends to weep,
Soon such themselves, as those they now lament!
94
The Muse pursues her solitary way;
But heavily pursues, since thou art gone,
Whose counsel brighten'd, and whose friendship shar'd
The pleasing task. Now Bremicham! to thee
She steers her flight, and, in thy busy scenes,
Seeks to restrain awhile the starting tear.
Yet ere her song describes the smoky forge,
Or sounding anvil, to the dusky heath
Her gentle train she leads. What? tho' no grain,
Or herbage sweet, or waving woods adorn
Its dreary surface, yet it bears, within,
A richer treasury. So worthy minds
Oft lurk beneath a rude, unsightly form.
More hapless they! that few observers search,
Studious to find this intellectual ore,
And stamp, with gen'rous deed, its current worth.
Here many a merchant turns adventurer,
Encourag'd, not disgusted. Interest thus,
On sordid minds, with stronger impulse works,
Than virtue's heav'nly flame. Yet Providence
Converts to gen'ral use man's selfish ends.
Hence are the hungry fed, the naked cloath'd,
The wintry damps dispell'd, and social mirth
Exults, and glows before the blazing hearth.
Or sounding anvil, to the dusky heath
Her gentle train she leads. What? tho' no grain,
Or herbage sweet, or waving woods adorn
Its dreary surface, yet it bears, within,
A richer treasury. So worthy minds
Oft lurk beneath a rude, unsightly form.
More hapless they! that few observers search,
Studious to find this intellectual ore,
And stamp, with gen'rous deed, its current worth.
Here many a merchant turns adventurer,
Encourag'd, not disgusted. Interest thus,
On sordid minds, with stronger impulse works,
Than virtue's heav'nly flame. Yet Providence
Converts to gen'ral use man's selfish ends.
95
The wintry damps dispell'd, and social mirth
Exults, and glows before the blazing hearth.
When likely signs th'adventrous search invite,
A cunning artist tries the latent soil:
And if his subtle engine, in return,
A brittle mass contains of sable hue,
Strait he prepares th'obstructing earth to clear,
And raise the crumbling rock. A narrow pass
Once made, wide, and more wide the gloomy cave
Stretches its vaulted isles, by num'rous hands
Hourly extended. Some the pick-axe ply,
Loos'ning the quarry from its native bed.
Some waft it into light. Thus the grim ore,
Here useless, like the miser's brighter hoard,
Is from its prison brought, and sent abroad,
The frozen hours to cheer, to minister
To needful sustenance, and polish'd arts.
Mean while the subterraneous city spreads
Its covert streets, and echoes with the noise
Of swarthy slaves, and instruments of toil.
They, such the force of Custom's pow'rful laws!
Pursue their sooty labours, destitute
Of the sun's cheering light, and genial warmth.
And oft a chilling damp, or unctuous mist,
Loos'd from the crumbly caverns, issues forth,
Stopping the springs of life. And oft the flood,
Diverted from its course, in torrents pours,
Drowning the nether world. To cure these ills
Philosophy two curious arts supplies,
To drain th'imprison'd air, and, in its place,
More pure convey, or, with impetuous force,
To raise the gath'ring torrents from the deep.
One from the wind its salutary pow'r
Derives, thy charity to sick'ning crowds,
From cheerful haunts, and Nature's balmy draughts
Confin'd; O friend of man, illustrious Hales!
That, stranger still! its influence owes to air ,
By cold, and heat alternate now condens'd,
Now rarefied . Agent! to vulgar thought
How seeming weak, in act how pow'rful seen!
So Providence, by instruments despis'd,
All human force, and policy confounds.
A cunning artist tries the latent soil:
And if his subtle engine, in return,
A brittle mass contains of sable hue,
Strait he prepares th'obstructing earth to clear,
And raise the crumbling rock. A narrow pass
Once made, wide, and more wide the gloomy cave
Stretches its vaulted isles, by num'rous hands
Hourly extended. Some the pick-axe ply,
Loos'ning the quarry from its native bed.
Some waft it into light. Thus the grim ore,
Here useless, like the miser's brighter hoard,
Is from its prison brought, and sent abroad,
The frozen hours to cheer, to minister
To needful sustenance, and polish'd arts.
Mean while the subterraneous city spreads
Its covert streets, and echoes with the noise
Of swarthy slaves, and instruments of toil.
They, such the force of Custom's pow'rful laws!
96
Of the sun's cheering light, and genial warmth.
And oft a chilling damp, or unctuous mist,
Loos'd from the crumbly caverns, issues forth,
Stopping the springs of life. And oft the flood,
Diverted from its course, in torrents pours,
Drowning the nether world. To cure these ills
Philosophy two curious arts supplies,
To drain th'imprison'd air, and, in its place,
More pure convey, or, with impetuous force,
To raise the gath'ring torrents from the deep.
One from the wind its salutary pow'r
Derives, thy charity to sick'ning crowds,
From cheerful haunts, and Nature's balmy draughts
Confin'd; O friend of man, illustrious Hales!
That, stranger still! its influence owes to air ,
By cold, and heat alternate now condens'd,
Now rarefied . Agent! to vulgar thought
97
So Providence, by instruments despis'd,
All human force, and policy confounds.
But who that fiercer element can rule?
When, in the nitrous cave, the kindling flame,
By pitchy vapours fed, from cell to cell,
With fury spreads, and the wide fewell'd earth,
Around, with greedy joy, receives the blaze.
By its own entrails nourish'd, like those mounts
Vesuvian, or Ætnean, still it wastes,
And still new fewel for its rapine finds
Exhaustless. Wretched he! who journeying late,
O'er the parch'd heath, bewilder'd, seeks his way.
Oft will his snorting steed, with terror struck,
His wonted speed refuse, or start aside,
With rising smoak, and ruddy flame annoy'd.
While, at each step, his trembling rider quakes,
Appall'd with thoughts of bog, or cavern'd pit,
Or treach'rous earth, subsiding where they tread,
Tremendous passage to the realms of death!
When, in the nitrous cave, the kindling flame,
By pitchy vapours fed, from cell to cell,
With fury spreads, and the wide fewell'd earth,
Around, with greedy joy, receives the blaze.
By its own entrails nourish'd, like those mounts
Vesuvian, or Ætnean, still it wastes,
And still new fewel for its rapine finds
Exhaustless. Wretched he! who journeying late,
O'er the parch'd heath, bewilder'd, seeks his way.
Oft will his snorting steed, with terror struck,
His wonted speed refuse, or start aside,
With rising smoak, and ruddy flame annoy'd.
While, at each step, his trembling rider quakes,
Appall'd with thoughts of bog, or cavern'd pit,
Or treach'rous earth, subsiding where they tread,
Tremendous passage to the realms of death!
Yet want there not ev'n here some lucid spots
The smoaky scene to cheer, and, by contrast,
More fair. Such Dartmouth's cultivated
lawns!
Himself, distinguish'd more with ornament
Of cultur'd manners, and supernal light!
Such thine, O Bridgman! Such—but envious time
Forbids the Muse to these fair scenes to rove,
Still minding her of her unfinish'd theme,
From russet heaths, and smould'ring furnaces,
To trace the progress of thy steely arts,
Queen of the sounding anvil! Aston thee,
And Edgbaston with hospitable shade,
And rural pomp invest. O! warn thy sons;
When, for a time, their labours they forget,
Not to molest these peaceful solitudes.
So may the masters of the beauteous scene,
Protect thy commerce, and their toil reward.
The smoaky scene to cheer, and, by contrast,
98
Himself, distinguish'd more with ornament
Of cultur'd manners, and supernal light!
Such thine, O Bridgman! Such—but envious time
Forbids the Muse to these fair scenes to rove,
Still minding her of her unfinish'd theme,
From russet heaths, and smould'ring furnaces,
To trace the progress of thy steely arts,
Queen of the sounding anvil! Aston thee,
And Edgbaston with hospitable shade,
And rural pomp invest. O! warn thy sons;
When, for a time, their labours they forget,
Not to molest these peaceful solitudes.
So may the masters of the beauteous scene,
Protect thy commerce, and their toil reward.
99
Nor does the barren soil conceal alone
The sable rock inflammable. Oft-times
More pond'rous ore beneath its surface lies,
Compact, metallic, but with earthy parts
Incrusted. These the smoaky kiln consumes,
And to the furnace's impetuous rage
Consigns the solid ore. In the fierce heat
The pure dissolves, the dross remains behind.
This push'd aside, the trickling metal flows
Thro' secret valves along the channel'd floor,
Where in the mazy moulds of figur'd sand,
Anon it hardens. Now the busy forge
Reiterates its blows, to form the bar
Large, massy, strong. Another art expands,
Another yet divides the yielding mass
To many a taper length, fit to receive
The artist's will, and take its destin'd form.
The sable rock inflammable. Oft-times
More pond'rous ore beneath its surface lies,
Compact, metallic, but with earthy parts
Incrusted. These the smoaky kiln consumes,
And to the furnace's impetuous rage
Consigns the solid ore. In the fierce heat
The pure dissolves, the dross remains behind.
This push'd aside, the trickling metal flows
Thro' secret valves along the channel'd floor,
Where in the mazy moulds of figur'd sand,
Anon it hardens. Now the busy forge
Reiterates its blows, to form the bar
Large, massy, strong. Another art expands,
Another yet divides the yielding mass
To many a taper length, fit to receive
The artist's will, and take its destin'd form.
Soon o'er thy furrow'd pavement, Bremicham!
Ride the loose bars obstrep'rous; to the sons
Of languid sense, and frame too delicate
Harsh noise perchance, but harmony to thine.
Ride the loose bars obstrep'rous; to the sons
Of languid sense, and frame too delicate
Harsh noise perchance, but harmony to thine.
100
Instant innumerable hands prepare
To shape, and mould the malleable ore.
Their heavy sides th'inflated bellows heave,
Tugged by the pulley'd line, and, with their blast
Continuous, the sleeping embers rouse,
And kindle into life. Strait the rough mass,
Plung'd in the blazing hearth, its heat contracts,
And glows transparent. Now, Cyclopean chief!
Quick on the anvil lay the burning bar,
And with thy lusty fellows, on its sides
Impress the weighty stroke. See, how they strain
The swelling nerve, and lift the sinewy arm
In measur'd time; while with their clatt'ring blows,
From street to street the propagated sound
Increasing echoes, and, on ev'ry side,
The tortur'd metal spreads a radiant show'r.
To shape, and mould the malleable ore.
Their heavy sides th'inflated bellows heave,
Tugged by the pulley'd line, and, with their blast
Continuous, the sleeping embers rouse,
And kindle into life. Strait the rough mass,
Plung'd in the blazing hearth, its heat contracts,
And glows transparent. Now, Cyclopean chief!
Quick on the anvil lay the burning bar,
And with thy lusty fellows, on its sides
Impress the weighty stroke. See, how they strain
The swelling nerve, and lift the sinewy arm
In measur'd time; while with their clatt'ring blows,
From street to street the propagated sound
Increasing echoes, and, on ev'ry side,
The tortur'd metal spreads a radiant show'r.
'Tis noise, and hurry all! The thronged street,
The close-piled warehouse, and the busy shop!
With nimble stroke the tinkling hammers move;
While slow, and weighty the vast sledge descends,
In solemn base responsive, or apart,
Or socially conjoin'd in tuneful peal.
The rough file grates; yet useful is its touch,
As sharp corrosives to the schirrhous flesh,
Or, to the stubborn temper, keen rebuke.
The close-piled warehouse, and the busy shop!
101
While slow, and weighty the vast sledge descends,
In solemn base responsive, or apart,
Or socially conjoin'd in tuneful peal.
The rough file grates; yet useful is its touch,
As sharp corrosives to the schirrhous flesh,
Or, to the stubborn temper, keen rebuke.
How the coarse metal brightens into fame
Shap'd by their plastic hands! what ornament!
What various use! See there the glitt'ring knife
Of temper'd edge! The scissars' double shaft,
Useless apart, in social union join'd,
Each aiding each! Emblem how beautiful
Of happy nuptial leagues! The button round,
Plain, or imbost, or bright with steely rays!
Or oblong buckle, on the lacker'd shoe,
With polish'd lustre, bending elegant
Its shapely rim. But who can count the forms
That hourly from the glowing embers rise,
Or shine attractive thro' the glitt'ring pane,
And emulate their parent fires? what art
Can, in the scanty bounds of measur'd verse,
Display the treasure of a thousand mines
To wond'rous shapes by stubborn labour wrought?
Shap'd by their plastic hands! what ornament!
What various use! See there the glitt'ring knife
Of temper'd edge! The scissars' double shaft,
Useless apart, in social union join'd,
Each aiding each! Emblem how beautiful
Of happy nuptial leagues! The button round,
Plain, or imbost, or bright with steely rays!
Or oblong buckle, on the lacker'd shoe,
With polish'd lustre, bending elegant
Its shapely rim. But who can count the forms
102
Or shine attractive thro' the glitt'ring pane,
And emulate their parent fires? what art
Can, in the scanty bounds of measur'd verse,
Display the treasure of a thousand mines
To wond'rous shapes by stubborn labour wrought?
Nor this alone thy praise. Of various grains
Thy sons a compound form, and to the fire
Commit the precious mixture, if perchance
Some glitt'ring mass may bless their midnight toil,
Or glossy varnish, or enamel fair,
To shame the pride of China, or Japan.
Nor wanting is the graver's pointed steel,
Nor pencil, wand'ring o'er the polish'd plate,
With glowing tints, and mimic life endued.
Thine too, of graceful form, the letter'd type!
The friend of learning, and the poet's pride!
Without thee what avail his splendid aims,
And midnight labours? Painful drudgery!
And pow'rless effort! But that thought of thee
Imprints fresh vigour on his panting breast,
As thou ere long shalt on his work impress;
And, with immortal fame, his praise repay.
Thy sons a compound form, and to the fire
Commit the precious mixture, if perchance
Some glitt'ring mass may bless their midnight toil,
Or glossy varnish, or enamel fair,
To shame the pride of China, or Japan.
Nor wanting is the graver's pointed steel,
Nor pencil, wand'ring o'er the polish'd plate,
With glowing tints, and mimic life endued.
Thine too, of graceful form, the letter'd type!
The friend of learning, and the poet's pride!
Without thee what avail his splendid aims,
103
And pow'rless effort! But that thought of thee
Imprints fresh vigour on his panting breast,
As thou ere long shalt on his work impress;
And, with immortal fame, his praise repay.
Hail, native British Ore! of thee possess'd,
We envy not Golconda's sparkling mines,
Nor thine Potosi! nor thy kindred hills,
Teeming with gold. What? tho' in outward form
Less fair? not less thy worth. To thee we owe
More riches than Peruvian mines can yield,
Or Motezuma's crowded magazines,
And palaces cou'd boast, though roof'd with gold.
Splendid barbarity! and rich distress!
Without the social arts, and useful toil;
That polish life, and civilize the mind!
These are thy gifts, which gold can never buy.
We envy not Golconda's sparkling mines,
Nor thine Potosi! nor thy kindred hills,
Teeming with gold. What? tho' in outward form
Less fair? not less thy worth. To thee we owe
More riches than Peruvian mines can yield,
Or Motezuma's crowded magazines,
And palaces cou'd boast, though roof'd with gold.
Splendid barbarity! and rich distress!
Without the social arts, and useful toil;
That polish life, and civilize the mind!
These are thy gifts, which gold can never buy.
Thine is the praise to cultivate the soil;
To bare its inmost strata to the sun;
To break, and meliorate the stiffen'd clay,
And, from its close confinement, set at large
Its vegetative virtue. Thine it is
The with'ring hay, and ripen'd grain to sheer,
And waft the joyous harvest round the land.
To bare its inmost strata to the sun;
To break, and meliorate the stiffen'd clay,
And, from its close confinement, set at large
Its vegetative virtue. Thine it is
104
And waft the joyous harvest round the land.
Go now, and see if, to the Silver's edge,
The reedy stalk will yield its bearded store,
In weighty sheafs. Or if the stubborn marle,
In sidelong rows, with easy force will rise
Before the Silver plowshare's glitt'ring point.
Or wou'd your gen'rous horses tread more safe
On plated Gold? Your wheels, with swifter force
On golden axles move? Then grateful own,
Britannia's sons! Heav'n's providential love,
That gave you real wealth, not wealth in shew,
Whose price in bare imagination lies,
And artificial compact. Thankful ply
Your Iron arts, and rule the vanquish'd world.
The reedy stalk will yield its bearded store,
In weighty sheafs. Or if the stubborn marle,
In sidelong rows, with easy force will rise
Before the Silver plowshare's glitt'ring point.
Or wou'd your gen'rous horses tread more safe
On plated Gold? Your wheels, with swifter force
On golden axles move? Then grateful own,
Britannia's sons! Heav'n's providential love,
That gave you real wealth, not wealth in shew,
Whose price in bare imagination lies,
And artificial compact. Thankful ply
Your Iron arts, and rule the vanquish'd world.
Hail, native Ore! without thy pow'rful aid,
We still had liv'd in huts, with the green sod,
And broken branches roof'd. Thine is the plane,
The chissel thine; which shape the well-arch'd dome,
The graceful portico; and sculptur'd walls.
We still had liv'd in huts, with the green sod,
And broken branches roof'd. Thine is the plane,
The chissel thine; which shape the well-arch'd dome,
The graceful portico; and sculptur'd walls.
Wou'd ye your coarse, unsightly mines exchange
For Mexiconian hills? to tread on gold,
As vulgar sand? with naked limbs, to brave
The cold, bleak air? to urge the tedious chace,
By painful hunger stung, with artless toil,
Thro' gloomy forests, where the sounding axe,
To the sun's beam, ne'er op'd the cheerful glade,
Nor culture's healthful face was ever seen?
In squalid huts to lay your weary limbs,
Bleeding, and faint, and strangers to the bliss
Of home-felt ease, which British swains can earn,
With a bare spade; but ill alas! cou'd earn,
With spades of gold? Such the poor Indian's lot!
Who starves 'midst gold, like misers o'er their bags;
Not with like guilt! Hail, native British Ore!
For thine is trade, that with its various stores,
Sails round the world, and visits ev'ry clime,
And makes the treasures of each clime her own,
By gainful commerce of her woolly vests,
Wrought by the spiky comb; or steely wares,
From the coarse mass, by stubborn toil, refin'd.
Such are thy peaceful gifts! And War to thee
Its best support, and deadliest horror owes,
The glitt'ring faulchion, and the thund'ring tube!
At whose tremendous gleam, and volley'd fire,
Barbarian kings fly from their useless hoards,
And yield them all to thy superior pow'r.
For Mexiconian hills? to tread on gold,
105
The cold, bleak air? to urge the tedious chace,
By painful hunger stung, with artless toil,
Thro' gloomy forests, where the sounding axe,
To the sun's beam, ne'er op'd the cheerful glade,
Nor culture's healthful face was ever seen?
In squalid huts to lay your weary limbs,
Bleeding, and faint, and strangers to the bliss
Of home-felt ease, which British swains can earn,
With a bare spade; but ill alas! cou'd earn,
With spades of gold? Such the poor Indian's lot!
Who starves 'midst gold, like misers o'er their bags;
Not with like guilt! Hail, native British Ore!
For thine is trade, that with its various stores,
Sails round the world, and visits ev'ry clime,
And makes the treasures of each clime her own,
By gainful commerce of her woolly vests,
Wrought by the spiky comb; or steely wares,
From the coarse mass, by stubborn toil, refin'd.
Such are thy peaceful gifts! And War to thee
Its best support, and deadliest horror owes,
106
At whose tremendous gleam, and volley'd fire,
Barbarian kings fly from their useless hoards,
And yield them all to thy superior pow'r.
END OF BOOK THE THIRD.
| Poems, moral and descriptive | |