The search after happiness :: :: University of Virginia Library

The search after happiness

a pastoral drama

More, Hannah (1745-1833)

THE Search after Happiness.

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[dedication]

PROLOGUE. (Spoken by a Young Lady at a private Representation.)

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EPILOGUE. [Spoken by two young Ladies.]

INSCRIPTION In a beautiful Retreat, called Fairy Bower.

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Scene, the Grove. URANIA, SYLVIA, ELIZA.
A SONG BY SYLVIA.

I.

SWEET Solitude, thou placid Queen
Of modest air, and brow serene!
'Tis thou inspir'st the Sage's themes;
The Poet's visionary dreams.

II.

Parent of Virtue, Nurse of Thought!
By thee were Saints and Patriarchs taught;
Wisdom from thee her treasures drew,
And in thy lap fair Science grew.

III.

Whate'er exalts, refines, and charms,
Invites to thought, to virtue warms;
Whate'er is perfect, fair, and good,
We owe to thee, sweet Solitude!

IV.

In these blest shades, O still maintain
Thy peaceful, unmolested reign!

Let no disorder'd thoughts intrude
On thy repose, sweet Solitude!

V.

With thee the charm of life shall last,
E'en when its rosy bloom is past;
And when slow pacing Time shall spread
Its silver blossoms o'er my head,

VI.

No more with this vain world perplex'd,
Thou shalt prepare me for the next;
The springs of life shall gently cease,
And Angels point the way to peace.

URANIA.
Ye tender objects of maternal love,
Ye dearest joys Urania e'er can prove,
Come, taste the glories of the new-born day,
And grateful homage to its Author pay!
O! ever may this animating sight
Convey instruction while it sheds delight!
Does not that Sun, whose cheering beams impart
Joy's glad emotions to the poor of heart;
Does not that vivid pow'r teach ev'ry mind
To be as warm, benevolent, and kind;

To burn with unremitted ardor still,
Like him to execute their Maker's will?
Then let us, Pow'r Supreme! thy will adore,
Invoke thy mercies, and proclaim thy pow'r.
Shalt thou these benefits in vain bestow?
Shall we forget the Source from whence they flow?
Teach us thro' these to lift our hearts to Thee,
And in the gift the bounteous Giver see.
To view Thee as thou art, all good and wise,
Nor let thy blessings hide Thee from our eyes.
From all obstructions clear our mental sight;
Pour on our souls thy beatific light!
Teach us thy wond'rous goodness to revere,
With love to worship, and with rev'rence fear!
In the mild works of thy benignant hand,
As in the thunder of thy dread command.
In common objects we neglect thy pow'r,
Nor heed a miracle in ev'ry slow'r;
Yet neither hurricanes nor storms proclaim
In plainer language thy Almighty Name.
—Tell me, my first, my last, my darling care,
If you this morn have rais'd your hearts in pray'r?
Say, did you rise from the sweet bed of rest,
Your God unprais'd, his holy name unblest?

SYLVIA.
Our minds with gratitude and rev'rence fraught,
By those pure precepts you have ever taught;
By your example more than precept strong,
Of pray'r and praise have tun'd our matin song.

ELIZA.
And now, with ever new delight, attend
The counsels of our fond maternal friend.

Enter Florella, with Euphelia, Cleora, Pastorella, Laurinda.
FLORELLA.
(Aside to the Ladies.)
See how the goodly dame, with pious art,
Makes ev'ry thing a lesson to the heart!
Observe the duteous list'ners, how they stand!
Improvement and delight go hand in hand.

URANIA.
But where's Florella?

FLORELLA.
Here's the happy she,
Whom Heav'n most favour'd when it gave her thee.

URANIA.
But who are these, in whose attractive mien,
So sweetly blended, ev'ry grace is seen?

Speak, my Florella, say the cause why here
These beauteous damsels on our plains appear?

FLORELLA.
Invited hither by Urania's fame,
To seek her friendship, to these shades they came.
Straying alone at morning's earliest dawn,
I met them wand'ring on the verdant lawn.
Their courteous manners soon engag'd my love:
I've brought them here your sage advice to prove.

URANIA.
Tell me, ye gentle nymphs, the reason tell,
Which brings such guests to grace my lowly cell?
Ask what we have to give—it is not ours:
Heav'n has but lent it us to make it yours.

CLEORA.
Your counsel, your advice, is all we ask;
And for Urania that's no irksome task.
'Tis Happiness we seek: O deign to tell
Where the coy fugitive delights to dwell!

URANIA.
Ah, rather say, where you have sought this guest,
This lovely inmate of the virtuous breast?

Declare the various methods you've essay'd
To court and win the bright celestial maid.
But first, tho' harsh the task, each beauteous fair
Her ruling passion must with truth declare.

EUPHELIA.
Bred in the regal splendors of a court,
Where Pleasures, dress'd in ev'ry shape, resort,
I try'd the pow'r of pomp and costly glare,
Nor e'er found room for thought, or time for pray'r;
In diff'rent follies ev'ry hour I spent;
Without reflection whence could rise content?
My hours were shar'd betwixt the Park and Play,
And music serv'd to waste the tedious day;
Yet softest airs no more with joy I heard,
Soon as some sweeter warbler was preferr'd;
The dance succeeded, and, succeeding, tir'd,
If some more graceful dancer was admir'd.
No sounds but flatt'ry ever sooth'd my ear:
Ungentle truths I knew not how to bear.
The anxious day induc'd the sleepless night,
And my vex'd spirit never knew delight.
Coy Pleasure mock'd me with delusive charms;
Still the thin shadow fled my clasping arms:
Or if some actual joy I seem'd to taste,
Another's pleasures laid my blessings waste:

A fairer face would rob my soul of rest,
And fix a scorpion in my wounded breast.
Or, if my elegance of form prevail'd,
And haply her inferior graces fail'd;
Yet still some cause of wretchedness I found,
Some barbed shaft my shatter'd peace to wound.
Perhaps her gay attire exceeded mine—
When she was finer, how could I be fine?

SYLVIA.
Pardon my interruption, beauteous maid!
Can truth have prompted what you just have said?
Do you believe it possible, that dress
Can lessen or advance your Happiness?
Or that your robes, tho' splendid, rich, and fine,
Possess intrinsic value more than mine?

URANIA.
So close our nature is to vice ally'd,
Our very comforts are the source of pride;
Too much we move by Custom's slavish rule;
Too often Fashion constitutes the fool.

CLEORA.
Of Happiness unfound I too complain,
Sought in a diff'rent path, but sought in vain:

I sigh'd for Fame, I languish'd for renown,
I would be prais'd, caress'd, admir'd, and known.
On daring wing my mounting spirit soar'd,
And Science through her boundless fields explor'd:
I scorn'd the salique laws of pedant schools,
Which chain our genius down by tasteless rules:
I long'd to burst these female bonds, which held
My sex in awe, by vanity impell'd.
To boast each various faculty of mind,
Thy graces, Pope! with Johnson's learning join'd:
Like Swift, with strongly pointed ridicule,
To brand the villain, and abash the fool:
To judge with taste, with spirit to compose,
Now mount in epic, now descend to prose;
To join, like Burke, the Beauteous and Sublime,
Or build, with Milton's art, “the lofty rhyme;”
Thro' Fancy's fields I rang'd; I strove to hit
Melmoth's chaste style, and Colman's easy wit:
Thy classic graces, Mason, to display,
And court the Muse of Elegy with Gray:
I rav'd of Shakespeare's flame, and Dryden's rage,
And long'd for ev'ry charm of Otway's melting page.
I talk'd by rote the jargon of the schools,
Of critic laws, and Aristotle's rules;

Of passion, sentiment, and style, and grace,
And unities of action, time, and place.
Howe'er the conduct of my life might err,
Still my dramatic plans were regular.

URANIA.
Who aims at ev'ry science, soon will find
The field how vast, how limited the mind!

CLEORA.
Abstruser studies soon my fancy caught,
The poet in th'astronomer forgot:
The schoolmens systems now my mind employ'd,
Their chrystal Spheres, their Atoms and their Void.
Newton and Halley all my soul inspir'd,
And numbers less than calculations fir'd;
Descartes, and Euclid shar'd my varying breast,
And plans and problems all my soul possess'd.
Less pleas'd to sing inspiring Phœbus' ray
Than mark the flaming comet's devious way.
The pale moon dancing on the silver stream,
And the mild lustre of her trembling beam,
No more could charm my philosophic pride,
Which sought her influence on the flowing tide.
No more ideal beauties fir'd my thought,
Which only facts and demonstrations sought.

Let common eyes, I said, with transport view
The earth's bright verdure, or the heav'n's soft blue,
False is the pleasure, the delight is vain,
Colours exist but in the vulgar brain.
I now with Locke trod metaphysic soil,
Now chas'd coy Nature thro' the tracts of Boyle;
Sigh' for their fame, but fear'd to share their toil.
The laurel wreath, Ambition fondly twin'd,
To deck my youthful temples I design'd;
Some learn'd authority I still would bring
To grace my talk, and prove—the plainest thing:
This the chief transport I from science drew,
That all might know how much Cleora knew.
Not love, but wonder, I aspir'd to raise,
And miss'd affection, while I grasp'd at praise.

PASTORELLA.
To me, no joys could pomp or fame impart:
Far softer thoughts possess'd my virgin heart.
No prudent parent form'd my ductile youth,
Nor pointed out the lovely paths of truth.
Left to myself to cultivate my mind,
Pernicious Novels their soft entrance find:
Their pois'nous influence led my mind astray:
I sigh'd for something; what, I could not say.

I fancy'd virtues which were never seen,
And dy'd for heroes who have never been;
I sicken'd with disgust at sober sense,
And loath'd the pleasures worth and truth dispense;
I scorn'd the manners of the world I saw;
My guide was fiction, and romance my law.
Distemper'd thoughts my wand'ring fancy fill,
Each wind a zephyr, and each brook a rill;
I found adventures in each common tale,
And talk'd and sigh'd to ev'ry passing gale;
Convers'd with echoes, woods, and shades, and bow'rs,
Cascades, and grottos, fields, and streams, and flow'rs.
Retirement, more than crowds, had learn'd to please;
For treach'rous Leisure feeds the soft disease.
There, plastic Fancy ever moulds at will
Th'obedient image with a dang'rous skill;
The charming fiction, with alluring art,
Awakes the passions, and infects the heart.
A fancy'd heroine an ideal wife;
I loath'd the offices of real life:
Each duty to perform observant still
But those which God and Nature bade me fill.

ELIZA.
(To Urania.)
Preserve me from the errors of deceit,
And all the dangers wealth and beauty meet!

PASTORELLA.

Reason perverted, Fancy on her throne,
My soul to all my sex's softness prone;
I neither spoke nor look'd as mortal ought;
By Sense abandon'd, and by Folly taught:
A victim to Imagination's sway,
Which stole my health, and rest, and peace away:
Professions, void of meaning, I receiv'd,
And still I found them false—and still believ'd:
Imagin'd all who courted me approv'd;
Who prais'd, esteem'd me; and who flatter'd, lov'd.
Fondly I hop'd (now vain those hopes appear)
Each man was faithful, and each maid sincere.
Still Disappointment mock'd the ling'ring day;
Still new-born wishes led my soul astray.

When in the rolling year no joy I find,
I trust the next, the next will sure be kind.
The next, fallacious as the last appears,
And sends me on to still remoter years.

They come, they promise—but forget to give:
I live not, but I still intend to live.

At length, deceiv'd in all my schemes of bliss,
I join'd these three in search of Happiness.

ELIZA.
Is this the world of which we want a sight?
Are these the beings who are call'd polite?

SYLVIA.
If so, oh gracious Heav'n! hear Sylvia's prayer:
Preserve me still in humble virtue here!
Far from such baneful pleasures may I live,
And keep, O keep me, from the taint they give!

LAURINDA.
No love of Fame my torpid bosom warms,
No Fancy sooths me, and no Pleasure charms;
Yet still remote from Happiness I stray,
No guiding star illumes my trackless way.
Tho' neither Wit misleads, nor Passion goads,
The deadly rust of Indolence corrodes;
This eating canker, with malignant stealth,
Destroys the vital pow'rs of moral health.

ELIZA.
(To Urania.)
Preserve me from the errors of deceit,
And all the dangers wealth and beauty meet!

PASTORELLA.

When in the rolling year no joy I find,
I trust the next, the next will sure be kind.
The next, fallacious as the last appears,
And sends me on to still remoter years.

They come, they promise—but forget to give:
I live not, but I still intend to live.

At length, deceiv'd in all my schemes of bliss,
I join'd these three in search of Happiness.

No love of Fame my torpid bosom warms,
No Fancy sooths me, and no Pleasure charms;
Yet still remote from Happiness I stray,
No guiding star illumes my trackless way.
Tho' neither Wit misleads, nor Passion goads,
The deadly rust of Indolence corrodes;
This eating canker, with malignant stealth,
Destroys the vital pow'rs of moral health.

Till now, I've slept on Life's tumultuous tide,
No principle of action for my guide.
From Ignorance my chief misfortunes flow;
I never wish'd to learn, or car'd to know.
With ev'ry folly slow-pac'd Time beguil'd:
In size a woman, but in soul a child.
In slothful ease my moments crept away,
And busy trifles fill'd the tedious day;
I liv'd extempore, as Fancy fir'd,
As Chance directed, or Caprice inspir'd.
Too indolent to think, too weak to chuse,
Too soft to blame, too gentle to refuse;
My character was stamp'd from those around:
The figures they, my mind the simple ground.
Fashion, with monstrous forms, the canvas stain'd,
Till nothing of my genuine self remain'd;
My pliant soul from Chance receiv'd its bent,
And neither good perform'd, or evil meant.
From right to wrong, from vice to virtue thrown,
No character possessing of its own.
To shun fatigue I made my only law;
Yet ev'ry night my wasted spirits saw.
No energy inform'd my languid mind;
No joy the idle e'er must hope to find.

Weak indecision all my actions sway'd;
The day was lost before the choice was made.

Tho' more to folly than to guilt inclin'd,
A dear vacuity possess'd my mind.
Too old with infant sports to be amus'd,
Unfit for converse, and to books unus'd,
The wise avoided me, they could not hear
My senseless prattle with a patient ear.
I sought retreat, but found, with strange surprise,
Retreat is pleasant only to the wise;
The crowded world by vacant minds is sought,
Because it saves th'expence and pain of thought.

Disgusted, restless, ev'ry plan amiss,
I come with these in search of Happiness.

URANIA.
O happy they for whom, in early age,
Enlight'ning knowledge spreads her letter'd page!
Teaches each headstrong passion to controul,
And pours her lib'ral lesson on the soul!
Ideas grow from books, their nat'ral food,
As aliment is chang'd to vital blood.
Tho' faithless Fortune strip her vot'ry bare,
Tho' Malice haunt him, and tho' Envy tear,

Nor time, nor chance, nor want, can e'er destroy
This soul-felt solace, and this bosom joy!

CLEORA.
We thus, united by one common fate,
Resolv'd on virtue, if not yet too late,
Have form'd a friendship, which thro' life shall last,
And vows, and choice, and love have bound it fast.
Each left her title and exchang'd her name;
For Virtue panting, careless now of Fame.

URANIA.

Your candour, beauteous damsels, I approve,
Your foibles pity, and your merits love.

How few, O sacred Virtue! can acquire
That heartfelt transport thy pure flames inspire!
But ere I say the methods you must try
To gain the glorious prize for which you sigh,
Your fainting strength and spirits must be cheer'd
With a plain meal, by Temperance prepar'd.

FLORELLA.
No luxury our humble board attends;
But Love and Concord are its smiling friends.

A SONG BY FLORELLA.

I.

HAIL, artless Simplicity, beautiful maid,
In the genuine attractions of Nature array'd;
Let the rich and the proud, and the gay and the vain,
Still laugh at the graces that move in thy train.

II.

No charm in thy modest allurements they find;
The pleasures they follow a sting leave behind.
Can criminal passion enrapture the breast
Like virtue, with peace and serenity blest?

III.

O would you Simplicity's precepts attend,
Like us, with delight at her altar you'd bend;
The pleasures she yields would with joy be embrac'd;
You'd practise from virtue, and love them from taste.

IV.

The linnet enchants us the bushes among:
Tho' cheap the musician, yet sweet is the song;
We catch the soft warbling in air as it floats,
And with ecstacy hang on the ravishing notes.

V.

Our water is drawn from the clearest of springs,
And our food, nor disease nor satiety brings;
Our mornings are cheerful, our labours are blest,
Our ev'nings are pleasant, our nights crown'd with rest.

VI.

From our culture yon garden its ornament finds,
And we catch at the hint for improving our minds;
To live to some purpose we constantly try,
And we mark by our actions the days as they fly.

VII.

Since such are the joys that Simplicity yields,
We may well be content with our woods and our fields:
How useless to us then, ye great, were your wealth,
When without it we purchase both pleasure and health!

[They retire into the Cottage.