From a clear fountain flowing, he looks round And seeks for good; and finds the good he seeks : Until abhorrence and contempt are things He only knows by name; and, if he hear, From other mouths, the language which they speak, He is compassionate; and has no thought, No feeling which can overcome his love.
And further! by contemplating these Forms In the relations which they bear to man, He shall discern, how, through the various means Which silently they yield, are multiplied The spiritual presences of absent things. Trust me, that for the instructed, time will come When they shall meet no object but may teach Some acceptable lesson to their minds
Of human suffering or of human joy.
So shall they learn, while all things speak of man, Their duties from all forms; and general laws, And local accidents, shall tend alike To rouse, to urge; and, with the will, confer The ability to spread the blessings wide Of true philanthropy. The light of love Not failing, perseverance from their steps. Departing not, for them shall be confirmed The glorious habit by which sense is made Subservient still to moral purposes,
Auxiliar to divine. That change shall clothe The naked spirit, ceasing to deplore The burthen of existence. Science then Shall be a precious visitant; and then, And only then, be worthy of her name: For then her heart shall kindle; her dull eye, Dull and inanimate, no more shall hang
Bounty and government, that filled their hearts With joy, and gratitude, and fear, and love; And from their fervent lips drew hymns of praise, That through the desert rang. Though favored less Far less, than these, yet such, in their degree, Were those bewildered Pagans of old time. Beyond their own poor natures and above They looked; were humbly thankful for the good Which the warm sun solicited, and earth Bestowed; were gladsome,—and their moral sense They fortified with reverence for the Gods; And they had hopes that overstepped the Grave.
whose pains
Now, shall our great Discoverers," he exclaimed, Raising his voice triumphantly, "obtain From sense and reason less than these obtained, Though far misled? Shall men for whom our age Unbaffled powers of vision hath prepared, To explore the world without and world within, Be joyless as the blind? Ambitious spirits- Whom earth, at this late season, hath produced To regulate the moving spheres, and weigh The planets in the hollow of their hand; And they who rather dive than soar, Have solved the elements, or analysed The thinking principle-shall they in fact Prove a degraded Race! and what avails Renown, if their presumption make them such? Oh! there is laughter at their work in heaven! Inquire of ancient Wisdom; go, demand Of mighty Nature, if 'twas ever meant That we should pry far off yet be unraised; That we should pore, and dwindle as we pore, Viewing all objects unremittingly
In disconnexion dead and spiritless; And still dividing, and dividing still, Break down all grandeur, still unsatisfied With the perverse attempt, while littleness May yet become more little; waging thus An impious warfare with the very life Of our own souls!
And if indeed there be
An all-pervading Spirit, upon whom Our dark foundations rest, could he design That this magnificent effect of power, The earth we tread, the sky that we behold By day, and all the pomp which night reveals; That these and that superior mystery Our vital frame, so fearfully devised,
And the dread soul within it-should exist Only to be examined, pondered, searched, Probed, vexed, and criticised ?-Accuse me not Of arrogance, unknown Wanderer as I am, If, having walked with Nature threescore years, And offered, far as frailty would allow, My heart a daily sacrifice to Truth, I now affirm of Nature, and of Truth, Whom I have served, that their DIVINITY Revolts, offended at the ways of men Swayed by such motives, to such ends employed; Philosophers, who, though the human soul Be of a thousand faculties composed, And twice ten thousand interests, do yet prize This soul, and the transcendent universe, No more than as a mirror that reflects To proud Self-love her own intelligence; That one, poor, finite object, in the abyss Of infinite Being, twinkling restlessly!
Nor higher place can be assigned to him And his compeers-the laughing Sage of France.- Crowned was he, if my memory do not err, With laurel planted upon hoary hairs, In sign of conquest by his wit achieved And benefits his wisdom had conferred; His stooping body tottered with wreaths of flowers Opprest, far less becoming ornaments
Than Spring oft twines about a mouldering tree ; Yet so it pleased a fond, a vain, old Man, And a most frivolous people. Him I mean Who penned, to ridicule confiding faith, This sorry Legend; which by chance we found Piled in a nook, through malice, as might seem, Among more innocent rubbish."-Speaking thus, With a brief notice when, and how, and where, We had espied the book, he drew it forth; And courteously, as if the act removed,
At once, all traces from the good Man's heart Of unbenign aversion or contempt, Restored to its owner. "Gentle Friend," Herewith he grasped the Solitary's hand,
"You have known lights and guides better than these.
Ah! let not aught amiss within dispose A noble mind to practise on herself, And tempt opinion to support the wrongs Of passion: whatsoe'er be felt or feared, From higher judgment-seats make no appeal To lower; can you question that the soul Inherits an allegiance, not by choice To be cast off, upon an oath proposed By each new upstart notion? In the ports Of levity no refuge can be found,
No shelter, for a spirit in distress. He, who by wilful disesteem of life And proud insensibility to hope, Affronts the eye of Solitude, shall learn That her mild nature can be terrible; That neither she nor Silence lack the power To avenge their own insulted majesty.
O blest seclusion! when the mind admits The law of duty; and can therefore move Through each vicissitude of loss and gain, Linked in entire complacence with her choice; When youth's presumptuousness is mellowed down, And manhood's vain anxiety dismissed; When wisdom shows her seasonable fruit, Upon the boughs of sheltering leisure hung In sober plenty; when the spirit stoops To drink with gratitude the crystal stream Of unreproved enjoyment; and is pleased To muse, and be saluted by the air Of meek repentance, wafting wall-flower scents From out the crumbling ruins of fallen pride And chambers of transgression, now forlorn. O, calm contented days, and peaceful nights! Who, when such good can be obtained, would strive To reconcile his manhood to a couch
Soft, as may seem, but, under that disguise, Stuffed with the thorny substance of the past For fixed annoyance; and full oft beset With floating dreams, black and disconsolate, The vapory phantoms of futurity?
Within the soul a faculty abides, That with interpositions, which would hide
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