The Lake of Geneva a poem, moral and descriptive, in seven books. With notes historical and biographical. In two volumes. By Sir Egerton Brydges |
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DEDICATION.
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
 | The Lake of Geneva |  |
DEDICATION.
TO WILLIAM WORDSWORTH, ESQRE. AND ROBERT SOUTHEY, LLD.
Bards of immortal fame, in virtue high
As in bright genius! In a noble heart
Is worth, above all genius, and all power.
All that by labour can be done, is naught,—
And all by skill and artifice! The spell
Lies in the sentiment; the steam of truth,
That issues from the fountain of the soul
Involuntary!—it is intellect
By the heart warm'd, elated, soften'd, mellow'd!
Be curses on the flowers of poetry!
They are but idle, childish ornaments,—
Or rather meretricious! The great soul
Disdains them. By an inward light impell'd,
It echoes forth the voice of spiritual truth;
Nor in material beauty seeks its praise.
As in bright genius! In a noble heart
Is worth, above all genius, and all power.
All that by labour can be done, is naught,—
And all by skill and artifice! The spell
Lies in the sentiment; the steam of truth,
That issues from the fountain of the soul
Involuntary!—it is intellect
By the heart warm'd, elated, soften'd, mellow'd!
Be curses on the flowers of poetry!
VI
Or rather meretricious! The great soul
Disdains them. By an inward light impell'd,
It echoes forth the voice of spiritual truth;
Nor in material beauty seeks its praise.
To live amid the troubles of the world,
And learn no wisdom, is a life of scorn:
And not to glow amid the scenery
Of its stupendous beauty'; and not to burn
With indignation at the crimes and follies
Of its half-earthborn, half-celestial habitants,
Beneath our better nature is to sink!
And learn no wisdom, is a life of scorn:
And not to glow amid the scenery
Of its stupendous beauty'; and not to burn
With indignation at the crimes and follies
Of its half-earthborn, half-celestial habitants,
Beneath our better nature is to sink!
The majesty of high and daring thought,
The charm of a refin'd and melting bosom,
The force of piercing faculties of mind,
Call forth the admiration of the enlighten'd,
The just, and sound.—To think and meditate,
And rightly and unselfishly to judge,
And sympathise with human misery,
And mercy shew to man's unwilling frailties;
But tear the veil from curs'd hypocrisy;—
And meditated breach of faith, and robbery,
To Hell's enduring torments to consign,—
This, this, becomes the Muse.—She then her strain
Lifts, as a lesson to direct the paths
Of straying mortals! With the daily tasks,
And daily passions, of mankind she deals!
And not a dreamy, mystic, sickly note
She pours, which girls in a factitious humour
May wonder at, and weep upon, in vain!
The charm of a refin'd and melting bosom,
The force of piercing faculties of mind,
Call forth the admiration of the enlighten'd,
The just, and sound.—To think and meditate,
And rightly and unselfishly to judge,
And sympathise with human misery,
And mercy shew to man's unwilling frailties;
But tear the veil from curs'd hypocrisy;—
And meditated breach of faith, and robbery,
To Hell's enduring torments to consign,—
This, this, becomes the Muse.—She then her strain
Lifts, as a lesson to direct the paths
VII
And daily passions, of mankind she deals!
And not a dreamy, mystic, sickly note
She pours, which girls in a factitious humour
May wonder at, and weep upon, in vain!
It is the Sage's lore, that the ambition
Of manly genius only will aspire to;—
What teaches us to muse with rectitude
Upon th'events of ages gone away;
And by the aid of bright imagination
Revive the past, and bring the dead to life!
Once more before the judgment-seat array'd,
The spirits of antiquity come forth,
And to the censure of succeeding times,
From transient passions free, their acts submit!
Of manly genius only will aspire to;—
What teaches us to muse with rectitude
Upon th'events of ages gone away;
And by the aid of bright imagination
Revive the past, and bring the dead to life!
Once more before the judgment-seat array'd,
The spirits of antiquity come forth,
And to the censure of succeeding times,
From transient passions free, their acts submit!
All wealth is in the mind;—without the mind
This scene of things is barren. 'Tis the sentiment,
And thought annex'd, that only give it worth;
And thought without emotion is but empty,
Uncertain, and more subtle oft than wise!
This scene of things is barren. 'Tis the sentiment,
And thought annex'd, that only give it worth;
And thought without emotion is but empty,
Uncertain, and more subtle oft than wise!
Defend me from an idle play of words,
And glittering images, that tell no truth!
From metaphor, and simile, and dress
Illustrative of what is stale and hollow!
We want the substance; not a worthless figure,
By gaudy and false ornaments disguis'd!
And glittering images, that tell no truth!
From metaphor, and simile, and dress
Illustrative of what is stale and hollow!
We want the substance; not a worthless figure,
VIII
And thus I close my dedicative lay;
For too prolix the following strains have been.—
—So fate ordains it!—I have drank the cup
Of bitterness and wrong, e'en to the dregs!
For too prolix the following strains have been.—
—So fate ordains it!—I have drank the cup
Of bitterness and wrong, e'en to the dregs!
And now let Calumny', and hell-scaping Scorn
Fall foul on me again, and fix their fangs
Upon my wounded heart!—it still will beat
Mid purer air, and with untam'd emotions
Glow, and ascend on fancy's wings, to bask
On banks of waterfalls Elysian,
Beneath the fire of empyrean air!
Fall foul on me again, and fix their fangs
Upon my wounded heart!—it still will beat
Mid purer air, and with untam'd emotions
Glow, and ascend on fancy's wings, to bask
On banks of waterfalls Elysian,
Beneath the fire of empyrean air!
Then hail, ye glorious Pair, in sympathy
Of virtue, as of genius, ever fam'd!
And as, in candour, ye have breath'd of old
Your cheers to me, which charm'd away despair,
Bless me once more with your life-waking voices!
Of virtue, as of genius, ever fam'd!
And as, in candour, ye have breath'd of old
Your cheers to me, which charm'd away despair,
Bless me once more with your life-waking voices!
Thus on the verge sixty-nine sad years
I yet may fearlessly the lyre resound,
And On the Tombs of mighty Bards of yore
Sing hymns, that shall their airy Spirits soothe!
I yet may fearlessly the lyre resound,
And On the Tombs of mighty Bards of yore
Sing hymns, that shall their airy Spirits soothe!
S. E. B. Friday morning, 30 Sept. 1831.
| The Lake of Geneva | |