Grace him again with long-forgotten arts, Reclaim his taste, and brighten up his parts, Make him athletic as in days of old, Learn'd at the bar, in the palæstra bold, Divest the rougher sex of female airs, And teach the softer not to copy theirs: The change shall please, nor shall it matter aught Who works the wonder, if it be but wrought. "Tis time, however, if the case stands thus, For us plain folks, and all who side with us, To build our altar, confident and bold, And say as stern Elijah said of old, The strife now stands upon a fair award, If Israel's Lord be God, then serve the Lord: If he be silent, faith is all a whim, Then Baal is the God, and worship him.
Digression is so much in modern use, Thought is so rare, and fancy so profuse, Some never seem so wide of their intent, As when returning to the theme they meant; As mendicants, whose business is to roam, Make ev'ry parish but their own their home. Though such continual zigzags in a book, Such drunken reelings, have an awkward look, And I had rather creep to what is true, Than rove and stagger with no mark in view; Yet to consult a little, seem'd no crime, The freakish humor of the present time: But now to gather up what seems dispers'd, And touch the subject I design'd at first, May prove, though much beside the rules of art, Best for the public, and my wisest part. And first let no man charge me, that I mean To close in sable ev'ry social scene, And give good company a face severe, As if they met around a father's bier; For tell some men, that pleasure all their bent, And laughter all their work, is life misspent, Their wisdom bursts into this sage reply, "Then mirth is sin, and we should always cry." To find the medium asks some share of wit, And therefore 'tis a mark fools never hit: But though life's valley be a vale of tears, A brighter scene beyond that vale appears, Whose glory with a light, that never fades, Shoots between scatter'd rocks and op'ning shades, And, while it shows the land the soul desires, The language of the land she seeks inspires. Thus touch'd, the tongue receives a sacred cure Of all that was absurd, profane, impure; Held within modest bounds, the tide of speech Pursues the course that Truth and Nature teach; No longer labors merely to produce The pomp of sound, or tinkle without use: Where'er it winds, the salutary stream, Sprightly and fresh, enriches ev'ry theme, While all the happy man possess'd before, The gift of Nature, or the classic store, Is made subservient to the grand design For which Heav'n form'd the faculty divine. So should an idiot, while at large he strays, Find the sweet lyre, on which an artist plays, With rash and awkward force the chord he shakes, And grins with wonder at the jar he makes; But let the wise and well-instructed hand Once take the shell beneath his just command, In gentle sounds it seems as it complain'd Of the rude injuries it late sustain'd, Till tun'd at length to some immortal song, It sounds Jehovah's name, and pours his praise along.
SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY ALEXANDER SELKIRK, DURING HIS SOLITARY ABODE IN THE ISLAND OF JUAN FERNANDEZ.
I AM monarch of all I survey,
My right there is none to dispute; From the centre all round to the sea, I am lord of the fowl and the brute. O Solitude! where are the charms That sages have seen in thy face? Better dwell in the midst of alarms, Than reign in this horrible place.
I am out of humanity's reach,
I must finish my journey alone, Never hear the sweet music of speech,
I start at the sound of my own. The beasts, that roam over the plain, My form with indifference see; They are so unacquainted with man, Their tameness is shocking to me.
Society, friendship, and love, Divinely bestow'd upon man, O, had I the wings of a dove, How soon would I taste you again! My sorrows I then might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth, Might learn from the wisdom of age, And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth
Religion! what treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word! More precious than silver and gold, Or all that this Earth can afford. But the sound of the church-going bell These valleys and rocks never heard, Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell, Or smil'd when a sabbath appear'd.
Ye winds, that have made me your sport, Convey to this desolate shore Some cordial endearing report
Of a land, I shall visit no more. My friends, do they now and then send A wish or a thought after me? O tell me I yet have a friend,
Though a friend I am never to see.
How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compar'd with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.
But the sea-fowl is gone to her nest, The beast is laid down in his lair;
Even here is a season of rest, And I to my cabin repair. There's mercy in every place, And mercy, encouraging thought! Gives even affliction a grace, And reconciles man to his lot.
SHOWING HOW HE WENT FARTHER THAN HE INTENDED, AND CAME SAFE HOME AGAIN.
JOHN GILPIN was a citizen Of credit and renown,
A train-band captain eke was he Of famous London town.
John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear, "Though wedded we have been These twice ten tedious years, yet we No holiday have seen.
"To-morrow is our wedding-day,
And we will then repair Unto the Bell at Edmonton All in a chaise and pair.
"My sister, and my sister's child,
Myself, and children three, Will fill the chaise; so you must ride On horseback after we."
He soon replied, "I do admire Of woman-kind but one,
And you are she, my dearest dear, Therefore it shall be done.
"I am a linen-draper bold, As all the world doth know, And my good friend the calender
Will lend his horse to go."
Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, "That's well said; And, for that wine is dear, We will be furnish'd with our own, Which is both bright and clear."
John Gilpin kiss'd his loving wife; O'erjoy'd was he to find,
That, though on pleasure she was bent, She had a frugal mind.
The morning came, the chaise was brought,
But yet was not allow'd
To drive up to the door, lest all
Should say that she was proud.
So three doors off the chaise was stay'd,
Where they did all get in;
Six precious souls, and all agog
To dash through thick and thin.
Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, Were never folk so glad, The stones did rattle underneath, As if Cheapside were mad.
John Gilpin at his horse's side Seiz'd fast the flowing mane, And up he got, in haste to ride, But soon came down again;
For saddle-tree scarce reach'd had he, His journey to begin,
When turning round his head, he saw Three customers come in.
So down he came for loss of time, Although it griev'd him sore; Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, Would trouble him much more.
"Twas long before the customers Were suited to their mind, When Betty screaming came down stairs. "The wine is left behind!"
"Good lack!" quoth he-" yet bring it me. My leathern belt likewise, In which I bear my trusty sword, When I do exercise."
Now Mistress Gilpin (careful soul!) Had two stone bottles found, To hold the liquor that he lov'd, And keep it safe and sound.
Each bottle had a curling ear, Through which the belt he drew, And hung a bottle on each side, To make his balance true.
Then over all, that he might be Equipp'd from top to toe,
His long red cloak, well brush'd and neat, He manfully did throw.
Now see him mounted once again Upon his nimble steed, Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, With caution and good heed.
But finding soon a smoother road Beneath his well-shod feet, The snorting beast began to trot, Which gall'd him in his seat.
So, "Fair and softly," John he cried. But John he cried in vain; That trot became a gallop soon, In spite of curb and rein.
So stooping down, as needs he must
Who cannot sit upright,
He grasp'd the mane with both his hands,
And eke with all his might.
His horse, who never in that sort Had handled been before, What thing upon his back had got Did wonder more and more.
Away went Gilpin, neck or nought; Away went hat and wig; He little dreamt, when he set out, Of running such a rig.
The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, Like streamer long and gay, Till, loop and button failing both, At last it flew away.
Then might all people well discern The bottles he had slung; A bottle swinging at each side, As hath been said or sung.
The youth did ride, and soon did meet John coming back amain; Whom in a trice he tried to stop, By catching at his rein;
But not performing what he meant, And gladly would have done, The frighted steed he frighted more, And made him faster run.
Away went Gilpin, and away Went postboy at his heels, The postboy's horse right glad to miss The lumb'ring of the wheels.
Six gentlemen upon the road, Thus seeing Gilpin fly, With postboy scamp'ring in the rear, They rais'd the hue and cry:
"Stop thief! stop thief!-a highwayman!" Not one of them was mute; And all and each that pass'd that way Did join in the pursuit.
And now the turnpike gates again Flew open in short space; The toll-men thinking, as before, That Gilpin rode a race.
And so he did, and won it too, For he got first to town;
Nor stopp'd till where he had got up He did again get down.
Now let us sing, Long live the King, And Gilpin long live he; And, when he next doth ride abroad, May I be there to see!
Dreading a negative, and overaw'd Lest he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad. "Go, fellow!-whither?"-turning short about"Nay. Stay at home-you're always going out." ""Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end." "For what?"-" An' please you, sir, to see a friend" "A friend!" Horatio cried, and seem'd to start"Yea marry shalt thou, and with all my heartAnd fetch my cloak; for, though the night be ram I'll see him too-the first I ever saw."
I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, And was his plaything often when a child; But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him elose, Else he was seldom bitter or morose. Perhaps his confidence just then betray'd, His grief might prompt him with the speech he made, Perhaps 'twas mere good-humor gave it birth, The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth. Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind, Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind.
But not to moralize too much, and strain, To prove an evil, of which all complain, (I hate long arguments verbosely spun,) One story more, dear Hill, and I have done. Once on a time an emp'ror, a wise man, No matter where, in China, or Japan, Decreed, that whosoever should offend Against the well-known duties of a friend, Convicted once should ever after wear But half a coat, and show his bosom bare. The punishment importing this, no doubt, That all was naught within, and all found out.
O happy Britain! we have not to fear Such hard and arbitrary measure here; Else, could a law, like that which I relate, Once have the sanction of our triple state, Some few, that I have known in days of old. Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold; While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow Might traverse England safely to and fro, An honest man, close-button'd to the chin, Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within
JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.
DEAR JOSEPH-five-and-twenty years ago- Alas, how time escapes!-'tis even so- With frequent intercourse, and always sweet, And always friendly, we were wont to cheat A tedious hour-and now we never meet! As some grave gentleman in Terence says, ('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days,) Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings- Strange fluctuation of all human things! True. Changes will befall, and friends may part, But distance only cannot change the heart: And, were I call'd to prove th' assertion true, One proof should serve a reference to you.
SURVIVOR sole, and hardly such, of all That once liv'd here, thy brethren, at my birth, (Since which I number threescore winters past. A shatter'd vet'ran, hollow-trunk'd perhaps, As now, and with excoriate forks deform, Relics of ages! Could a mind, imbued With truth from Heaven, created thing adore, I might with rev'rence kneel, and worship thee.
It seems idolatry with some excuse, When our forefather Druids in their oaks Imagined sanctity. The conscience, yet Unpurified by an authentic act Of amnesty, the meed of blood divine, Lov'd not the light, but, gloomy, into gloom
Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life, Of thickest shades, like Adam after taste
Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife, We find the friends we fancied we had won, Though num'rous once, reduc'd to few or none ? Can gold grow worthless, that has stood the touch? No; gold they seem'd, but they were never such. Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe, Swinging the parlor-door upon its hinge,
Of fruit proscrib'd, as to a refuge, fled.
Thou wast a bauble once; a cup and ball, Which babes might play with; and the thievish jay Seeking her food, with ease might have purloin'd The auburn nut that held thee, swallowing down Thy yet close-folded latitude of boughs
And all thine embryo vastness at a gulp. But Fate thy growth decreed; autumnal rains Beneath thy parent tree mellow'd the soil Design'd thy cradle; and a skipping deer, With pointed hoof dibbling the glebe, prepar'd The soft receptacle, in which, secure, Thy rudiments should sleep the winter through.
So Fancy dreams. Disprove it, if ye can, Ye reas'ners broad awake, whose busy search Of argument, employ'd too oft amiss, Sifts half the pleasures of short life away!
Thou fell'st mature; and in the loamy clod Swelling with vegetative force instinct Didst burst thine egg, as theirs the fabled Twins, Now stars; two lobes, protruding, pair'd exact; A leaf succeeded, and another leaf, And, all the elements thy puny growth Fost'ring propitious, thou becam'st a twig.
Delight in agitation, yet sustain The force that agitates, not unimpair'd; But, worn by frequent impulse, to the cause Of their best tone their dissolution owe.
Thought cannot spend itself, comparing still The great and little of thy lot, thy growth From almost nullity into a state Of matchless grandeur, and declension thence, Slow, into such magnificent decay. Time was, when, settling on thy leaf, a fly Could shake thee to the root and time has been When tempests could not. At thy firmest age Thou hadst within thy bole solid contents, That might have ribb'd the sides and plank'd the deck Of some flagg'd admiral; and tortuous arms, The shipwright's darling treasure, didst present To the four-quarter'd winds, robust and bold, Warp'd into tough knee-timber,* many a load! But the ax spar'd thee. In those thriftier days, Oaks fell not, hewn by thousands, to supply
Who liv'd, when thou wast such? O couldst thou The bottomless demands of contest, wag'd
As in Dodona once thy kindred trees Oracular, I would not curious ask The future, best unknown, but at thy mouth Inquisitive, the less ambiguous past.
By thee I might correct, erroneous oft, The clock of history, facts and events Timing more punctual, unrecorded facts Recov'ring, and misstated setting right- Desp'rate attempt, till trees shall speak again!
Time made thee what thou wast, king of the wood;
And Time hath made thee what thou art-a cave For owls to roost in. Once thy spreading boughs O'erhung the champaign; and the num'rous flocks, That graz'd it, stood beneath that ample cope Uncrowded, yet safe-shelter'd from the storm. No flock frequents thee now. Thou hast outliv'd Thy popularity, and art become (Unless verse rescue thee awhile) a thing Forgotten, as the foliage of thy youth.
While thus through all the stages thou hast push'd Of treeship-first a seedling, hid in grass; Then twig; then sapling; and, as cent'ry roll'd Slow after century, a giant-bulk
Of girth enormous, with moss-cushion'd root Upheav'd above the soil, and sides emboss'd With prominent wens globose-till at the last The rottenness, which time is charged to inflict On other mighty ones, found also thee.
What exhibitions various hath the world Witness'd of mutability, in all That we account most durable below! Change is the diet on which all subsist, Created changeable, and change at last Destroys them. Skies uncertain now the heat Transmitting cloudless, and the solar beam Now quenching in a boundless sea of clouds- Calm and alternate storm, moisture and drought, Invigorate by turns the springs of life In all that live, plant, animal, and man, And in conclusion mar them. Nature's threads, Fine passing thought, e'en in her coarsest works,
For senatorial honors. Thus to Time The task was left to whittle thee away With his sly scythe, whose ever-nibbling edge, Noiseless, an atom, and an atom more, Disjoining from the rest, has, unobserv'd, Achiev'd a labor, which had far and wide, By man perform'd, made all the forest ring.
Embowel'd now, and of thy ancient self Possessing nought, but the scoop'd rind, that seems An huge throat, calling to the clouds for drink, Thou temptest none, but rather much forbidd'st Which it would give in rivulets to thy root, The feller's toil, which thou couldst ill requite. Yet is thy root sincere, sound as the rock, Which, crook'd into a thousand whimsies, clasp A quarry of stout spurs, and knotted fangs, The stubborn soil, and hold thee still erect.
So stands a kingdom, whose foundation yet Fails not, in virtue and in wisdom laid, Though all the superstructure, by the tooth Pulveriz'd of venality, a shell Stands now, and semblance only of itself!
Thine arms have left thee. Winds have rent
Long since, and rovers of the forest wild, With bow and shaft, have burnt them. Some have left A splinter'd stump, bleach'd to a snowy white; And some, memorial none, where once they grew. Yet life still lingers in thee, and puts forth Proof not contemptible of what she can, Even where death predominates. The spring Finds thee not less alive to her sweet force, Than yonder upstarts of the neighb'ring wood, So much thy juniors, who their birth receiv'd Half a millennium since the date of thine.
But since, although well qualified by age To teach, no spirit dwells in thee, nor voice May be expected from thee, seated here
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