Nor art nor learning wish'd assistance lends, But Nature, Love and Music, are my friends. 26 AN EPISTLE TO MR. JOHN DYER, AUTHOR OF GRONGAR HILL, In answer to his from the country. Now various birds in melting concert sing, 5 10 Oh! could my soul thro' depths of knowledge see, Could I read Nature and mankind like thee, I should o'ercome, or bear the rocks of Fate, And draw ev'n Envy to the humblest state. Thou canst raise honour from each ill event, From shocks gain vigour, and from want content. Think not light poetry my life's chief care; The Muse's mansion is at best but air: But if more solid works my meaning forms, Th' unfinish'd structures fall by Fortune's storms. Oft' have I said we falsely those accuse Whose godlike souls life's middle state refuse. Self-love, I cry'd, there seeks ignoble rest; 35 19 Mean let me shrink, or spread sweet shade o'er all, Low as the shrub, or as the cedar tall!— 'Twas vain! 't was wild!—I sought the middle state, And found the good, and found the truly great. Tho' verse can never give my soul her aim; 25 Tho' action only claims substantial fame; Tho' Fate denies what my proud wants require, Yet grant me, Heav'n! by knowledge to aspire : Thus to inquiry let me prompt the mind; 29 Thus clear dimm'd Truth, and bid her bless mankind! 35 Say, what have honours to allure the mind, Which he gains most who least has serv'd mankind? Titles when worn by fools I dare despise ; 41 Yet they claim homage when they crown the wise. Nor view an equal's hope with jealous eyes, 55 In wealth and want true minds preserve their weight; Meek tho' exalted; tho' disgrac'd elate: 60 Gen'rous and grateful, wrong'd or help'd, they live, Grateful to serve, and gen'rous to forgive, This may they learn who close thy life attend, Which, dear in mem'ry, still instructs thy friend. Tho' cruel distance bars my grosser eye, 65 My soul, clear-sighted, draws thy virtue nigh; GRONGAR HILL. SILENT Nymph! with curious eye, Draw the landscape bright and strong; Sat upon a flow'ry bed, With my hand beneath my head, While stray'd my eyes o'er Towsy's flood, From house to house, from hill to hill, About his chequer'd sides I wind, 25 30 40 Still it widens, widens still, Now I gain the mountain's brow, What a landscape lies below! Does the face of Nature show Old castles on the cliffs arise, 45 50 |