Nor would he scorn to stoop from high pursuits Of heavenly Truth, and practise what she taught. Vain is the tree of knowledge without fruits. Sometimes in hand the spade or plough he caught, Forth-calling all with which boon Earth is fraught; Sometimes he ply'd the strong mechanic tool, Or rear'd the fabric from the finest draught; And oft he put himself to Neptune's school, Fighting with winds and waves on the vext ocean pool.

To solace then these rougher toils, he try'd To touch the kindling canvass into life; With Nature his creating pencil vy'd, With Nature joyous at the mimic strife: Or, to such shapes as grac'd Pygmalion's wife, He hew'd the marble; or, with varied fire, He rous'd the trumpet and the martial fife, Or bade the lute sweet tenderness inspire, [lyre. Or verses fram'd that well might wake Apollo's

Accomplish'd thus he from the woods issued, Full of great aims, and bent on bold emprize; The work, which long he in his breast had brew'd, Now to perform he ardent did devise; To wit, a barbarous world to civilize. Earth was till then a boundless forest wild; Nought to be seen but savage wood, and skies; No cities nourish'd arts, no culture smil'd, No government, no laws, no gentle manners mild.

A rugged wight, the worst of brutes, was man ;
On his own wretched kind he, ruthless, prey'd :
The strongest still the weakest over-ran;
In every country mighty robbers sway'd,
And guile and ruffian force were all their trade.
Life was a scene of rapine, want, and woe;
Which this brave knight, in noble anger, made
To swear, he would the rascal rout o'erthrow,
For, by the powers divine, it should no more be so!

It would exceed the purport of my song,
To say how this best Sun from orient climes
Came beaming life and beauty all along,
Before him chasing indolence and crimes.
Still as he pass'd, the nations he sublimes,
And calls forth arts and virtues with his ray :
Then Egypt, Greece, and Rome, their golden

times,

Successive had; but now in ruins grey They lie, to slavish sloth and tyranny a prey.

To crown his toils, sir Industry then spread
The swelling sail, and made for Britain's coast.
A sylvan life till then the natives led,
In the brown shades and green-wood forest lost,
All careless rambling where it lik'd them most:
Their wealth the wild-deer bouncing through the
glade;

They lodg'd at large, and liv'd at Nature's cost;
Save spear, and bow, withouten other aid;
Yet not the Roman steel their naked breast dis
may'd.

He lik'd the soil, he lik'd the clement skies, He lik'd the verdant hills and flowery plains "Be this my great, my chosen isle," he cries, "This, whilst my labours Liberty sustains, This queen of Ocean all assault disdains." Nor lik'd he less the genius of the land, To freedom apt and persevering pains, Mild to obey, and generous to command, Temper'd by forming Heaven with kindest, firmest hand.

Here, by degrees, his master-work arose, Whatever arts and industry can frame: Whatever finish'd Agriculture knows, Fair queen of arts! from Heaven itself who came When Eden flourished in unspotted fame : And still with her sweet Innocence we find, And tender Peace, and joys without a name, That, while they ravish, tranquillize the mind: Nature and Art, at once, delight and use com bin'd.

The towns he quicken'd by mechanic arts,
And bade the fervent city glow with toil;
Bade social Commerce raise renowned marts,
Join land to land, and marry soil to soil,
Unite the Poles, and, without bloody spoil,
Bring home of either Ind the gorgeous stores;
Or, should despotic rage the world embroil,
Bade tyrants tremble on remotest shores, roars
While o'er th' encircling deep Britannia's thunder

The drooping Muses then he westward call'd,
From the fam'd city by Propontic sea,
What time the Turk th' enfeebled Grecian
thrall'd;

Thence from their cloister'd walks he set them

But now, alas! we live too late in time : Our patrons now ev'n grudge that little claim, Except to such as sleek the soothing rhyme; And yet, forsooth, they wear Mæcenas' name, Poor sons of puft-up vanity, not fame. Unbroken spirits, cheer! still, still remains Th' eternal patron, Liberty; whose flame, While she protects, inspires the noblest strains. The best, and sweetest far, are toil-created gains.

When as the knight had fram'd, in Britain-land A matchless form of glorious government, In which the sovereign laws alone command, Laws 'stablish'd by the public free consent, Whose majesty is to the sceptre lent; When this great plan, with each dependent art, Was settled firm, and to his heart's content, Then sought he from the toilsome scene to part, And let life's vacant eve breathe quiet through the heart.

For this he chose a farm in Deva's vale,
Where his long alleys peep'd upon the main.
In this calm seat he drew the healthful gale,
Here mix'd the chief, the patriot, and the swain.
The happy monarch of his sylvan train,
Here, sided by the guardians of the fold,

domain !

His days, the days of unstain'd nature, roll'd, Replete with peace and joy, like patriarchs of old.

Witness, ye lowing herds, who gave him milk;
Witness, ye flocks, whose woolly vestments far
Exceed soft India's cotton, or her silk;
Witness, with autumn charg'd, the nodding car,
That homeward came beneath sweet evening's
star,

Or of September moons the radiance mild.
O, hide thy head, abominable War!
Of crimes and ruffian-idleness the child

From Heaven this life ysprung, from Hell thy glories vild!

Nor from this deep retirement banish'd was
Th' amusing care of rural industry.
Still as with grateful change the seasons pass,
New scenes arise, new landskips strike the eye,
And all th' enliven'd country beautify:
Gay plains extend where marshes slept before;
O'er recent meads th' exulting streamlets fly;
Dark frowning heaths grow bright with Ceres'
store,
[shore.

And woods imbrown the steep, or wave along the

As nearer to his farm you made approach,
He polish'd nature with a finer hand:
Yet on her beauties durst not art incroach;
'Tis art's alone these beauties to expand.
In graceful dance immingled, o'er the land,
Pan, Paleas, Flora, and Pomona play'd:
Here too brisk gales the rude wild common fann'd
An happy place; where free, and unafraid,
Amid the flowering brakes each coyer creature
stray'd.

But in prime vigour what can last for ay?
That soul-enfeebling wizard Indolence,
I whilom sung, wrought in his works decay :
Spread far and wide was his curs'd influence;

He came, the bard, a little druid-wight, Of wither'd aspect; but his eye was keen, With sweetness mix'd. In russet brown bedight, As is his sister of the copses green, He crept along, unpromising of mien. Gross he who judges so. His soul was fair, Bright as the children of yon azure sheen. True comeliness, which nothing can impair, Dwells in the mind: all else is vanity and glare.

"Come," quoth the knight, " a voice has reach'd mine ear:

The demon Indolence threats overthrow
To all that to mankind is good and dear:
Come, Philomelus; let us instant go,
O'erturn his bowers, and lay his castle low.
Those men, those wretched men! who will be

He pranc'd along, disdaining gate or bar. Meantime, the bard on milk-white palfrey rode; An honest sober beast, that did not mar His meditations, but full softly trode ; And much they moralis'd as thus yfere they yode.

They talk'd of virtue, and of human bliss. What else so fit for man to settle well? And still their long researches met in this, This truth of truths, which nothing can refel: "From virtue's fount the purest joys out-well, Sweet rills of thought that cheer the conscious soul; [Hell, While vice, pours forth the troubled streams of The which, howe'er disguis'd, at last with dole Will, through the tortur'd breast, their fiery torrent roll."

Elate in thought, he counted them his own,
They listen'd so intent with fix'd delight:
But they instead, as if transmew'd to stone,
Marvell'd he could with such sweet art unite
The lights and shades of manners, wrong and
right.

Meantime, the silly crowd the charm devour,
Wide pressing to the gate. Swift on the knight
He darted fierce, to drag him to his bower,
Who backening shunn'd his touch, for well he knew
its power.

As in throng'd amphitheatre, of old,
The wary Retiarius trapp'd his foe;
Ev'n so the knight, returning on him bold,
At once involv'd him in the net of woe,
Whereof I mention made not long ago.
Inrag'd at first, he scorn'd so weak a jail,
And leapt, and flew, and flounced to and fro;
But when he found that nothing could avail,
He set him felly down and gnaw'd his bitter nail.

Alarm'd, th' inferior demons of the place
Rais'd rueful shrieks and hideous yells around;
Black stormy clouds deform'd the welkin's face,
And from beneath was heard a wailing sound,
As of infernal sprites in cavern bound;
A solemn sadness every creature strook,
And lightnings flash'd, and horrour rock'd the
ground:

[look, Huge crowds on crowds out-pour'd, with blemish'd As if on time's last verge this frame of things had shook.

Soon as the short-liv'd tempest was yspent, Steam'd from the jaws of vex'd Avernus' hole, And hush'd the hubbub of the rabblement, Sir Industry the first calm moment stole. "There must," he cry'd, "amidst so vast a shoal, Be some who are not tainted at the heart, Not poison'd quite by this same villain's bowl: Come then, my bard, thy heavenly fire impart; Touch soul with soul, till forth the latent spirit start."

The bard obey'd; and taking from his side, Where it in seemly sort depending hung, His British harp, its speaking strings he try'd, The which with skilful touch he deftly strung, Till tinkling in clear symphony they rung. Then, as he felt the Muses come along, Light o'er the chords his raptur'd hand he flung, And play'd a prelude to his rising song: The whilst, like midnight mute, ten thousands round him throng.

Thus, ardent, burst his strain,—

"Ye helpless race, Dire-labouring here to smother reason's ray, That lights our Maker's image in our face, And gives us wide o'er Earth unquestion'd sway; What is th' ador'd Supreme Perfection, say? What, but eternal never-resting soul,

Almighty power, and all-directing day; By whom each atom stirs, the planets roll; Who fills, surrounds, informs, and agitates the whole.

"Come, to the beaming God your hearts unfold!
Draw from its fountain life! 'tis thence, alone,
We can excel. Up from unfeeling mould,
To seraphs burning round th' Almighty's throne,

Life rising still on life, in higher tone,
Perfection forms, and with perfection bliss.
In universal nature this clear shown,

Nor needeth proof; to prove it were, I wis, To prove the beauteous world excels the brute abyss.

"Is not the field, with lively culture green, A sight more joyous than the dead morass? Do not the skies, with active ether clean, And fann'd by sprightly zephyrs, far surpass The foul November fogs, and slumberous mass, With which sad Nature veils her drooping face? Does not the mountain-stream, as clear as glass, Gay dancing on, the putrid pool disgrace? The same in all holds true, but chief in human

race.

"It was not by vile loitering in ease

That Greece obtain'd the brighter palm of art, That soft yet ardent Athens learnt to please, To keen the wit, and to sublime the heart, In all supreme! complete in every part! It was not thence majestic Rome arose, And o'er the nations shook her conquering dart: For sluggard's brow the laurel never grows; Renown is not the child of indolent repose.

"Had unambitious mortals minded nought,
But in loose joy their time to wear away;
Had they alone the lap of dalliance sought,
Pleas'd on her pillow their dull heads to lay,
Rude Nature's state had been our state to-day;
No cities e'er their towery fronts had rais'd,
No arts had made us opulent and gay;
With brother-brutes the human race had graz'd;
None e'er had soar'd to fame, none honour'd been,
none prais'd.

"Great Homer's song had never fir'd the breast
To thirst of glory, and heroic deeds;
Sweet Maro's Muse, sunk in inglorious rest,
Had silent slept amid the Mincian reeds:
The wits of modern time had told their beads,
And monkish legions been their only strains;
Our Milton's Eden had lain wrapt in weeds,
Our Shakspeare stroll'd and laugh'd with War-
wick swains,

Ne had my master Spenser charm'd his Mulla's plains.

"Dumb too had been the sage historic Muse,
And perish'd all the sons of ancient fame;
Those starry lights of virtue, that diffuse
Through the dark depth of time their vivid flame,
Had all been lost with such as have no name.
Who then had scorn'd his ease for others' good?
Who then had toil'd rapacious men to tame?
Who in the public breach devoted stood,
And for his country's cause been prodigal of blood?

"But should your hearts to fame unfeeling be,
If right I read, your pleasure all require:
Then hear how best may be obtain'd this fee,
How best enjoy'd this nature's wide desire.
Toil, and be glad! let Industry inspire
Into your quicken'd limbs her buoyant breath!
Who does not act is dead; absorpt entire
In miry sloth, no pride, no joy he hath :

O leaden-hearted men, to be in love with death!

"Ah! what avail the largest gifts of Heaven,
When drooping health and spirits go amiss?
How tasteless then whatever can be given!
Health is the vital principle of bliss,
And exercise of health. In proof of this,
Behold the wretch, who slugs his life away,
Soon swallow'd in disease's sad abyss;

While he whom toil has brac'd, or manly play, Has light as air each limb, each thought as clear as day.

"O, who can speak the vigorous joy of health? Unclogg'd the body, unobscur'd the mind: The morning rises gay, with pleasing stealth, The temperate evening falls serene and kind. In health the wiser brutes true gladness find. See! how the younglings frisk along the meads, As May comes on, and wakes the balmy wind; Rampant with life, their joy all joy exceeds: Yet what but high-strung health this dancing pleasaunce breeds?

"But here, instead, is foster'd every ill, Which or distemper'd minds or bodies know. Come then, my kindred spirits! do not spill Your talents here. This place is but a show, Whose charms delude you to the den of woe : Come, follow me, I will direct you right,

Where pleasure's roses, void of serpents, grow, Sincere as sweet; come, follow this good knight, And you will bless the day that brought him to your sight.

[camps; "Some he will lead to courts, and some to To senates some, and public sage debates, Where, by the solemn gleam of midnight-lamps, The world is pois'd, and manag'd mighty states; To high discovery some, that new-creates The face of Earth; some to the thriving mart; Some to the rural reign, and softer fates; To the sweet Muses some, who raise the heart; All glory shall be yours, all nature, and all art.

Can you renounce a fortune so sublime,

Such glorious hopes, your backward steps to steer, And roll, with vilest brutes, thro' mud and slime? No! no! - Your heaven-touch'd heart disdains the sordid crime!"

"Enough! enough!" they cry'd-straight from the crowd

The better sort on wings of transport fly : As when amid the lifeless summits proud Of Alpine cliffs, where to the gelid sky Snows pil'd on snows in wintery torpour lie, The rays divine of vernal Phoebus play; Th' awaken'd heaps, in streamlets from on high, Rous'd into action, lively leap away, [gay. Glad warbling through the vales, in their new being

Not less the life, the vivid joy serene, That lighted up these new-created men, Than that which wings th' exulting spirit clean, When, just deliver'd from his fleshly den, It soaring seeks its native skies agen: How light its essence! how unclogg'd its powers, Beyond the blazon of my mortal pen! Ev'n so we glad forsook the sinful bowers, Ev'n such enraptur'd life, such energy was ours.

But far the greater part, with rage inflam'd, Dire-mutter'd curses, and blasphem'd high Jove. "Ye sons of hate!" they bitterly exclaim'd, "What brought you to this seat of peace and love? While with kind nature, here amid the grove, We pass'd the harmless sabbath of our time, What to disturb it could, fell men, emove Your barbarous hearts? Is happiness a crime? Then do the fiends of Hell rule in yon Heaven sublime."

"Ye impious wretches," quoth the knight in wrath,

"Your happiness behold!" Then straight a wand He wav'd, an anti-magic power that hath, Truth from illusive falsehood to command. Sudden the landskip sinks on every hand; The pure quick streams are marshy puddles found; On baleful heaths the groves all blacken'd stand; And, o'er the weedy foul abhorred ground, Snakes, adders, toads, each loathsome creature crawls around.

And here and there, on trees by lightning scath'd,
Unhappy wights who loathed life yhung;
Or, in fresh gore and recent murder bath'd,
They weltering lay; or else, infuriate flung
Into the gloomy flood, while ravens sung
The funeral dirge, they down the torrent roll'd:
These, by distemper'd blood to madness stung,
Had doom'd themselves; whence oft, when night
controll'd

The world, returning hither their sad spirits howl'd.

Meantime a moving scene was open laid; That lazar-house, I whilom in my lay Depainted have, its horrours deep-display'd, And gave unnumber'd wretches to the day, Who tossing there in squalid misery lay. Soon as of sacred light th' unwonted smile Pour'd on these living catacombs its ray, Through the drear caverns stretching many a mile, The sick up-rais'd their heads, and dropp'd their woes awhile.

"O, Heaven!" they cry'd, "and do we once

more see

Yon blessed Sun, and this green Earth so fair? Are we from noisome damps of pest-house free? And drink our souls the sweet ethereal air? O, thou! or knight, or god! who holdest there That fiend, oh, keep him in eternal chains! But what for us, the children of despair, Brought to the brink of Hell, what hope remains? Repentance does itself but aggravate our pains."

The gentle knight, who saw their rueful case, Let fall adown his silver beard some tears. "Certes," quoth he, “it is not ev'n in grace, T' undo the past, and eke your broken years: Nathless, to nobler worlds Repentance rears, With humble hope, her eye; to her is given A power the truly contrite heart that cheers; She quells the brand by which the rocks are riven; She more than merely softens, she rejoices Heaven.

"Then patient bear the sufferings you have earn'd, And by these sufferings purify the mind; Let wisdom be by past misconduct learn'd: Or pious die, with penitence resign'd; And to a life more happy and refin'd, Doubt not, you shall, new creatures, yet arise. Till then, you may expect in me to find One who will wipe your sorrow from your eyes, One who will soothe your pangs, and wing you to the skies."

They silent heard, and pour'd their thanks in tears. "For you," resum'd the knight, with sterner tone,

[sears, "Whose hard dry hearts th' obdurate demon That villain's gifts will cost you many a groan; In dolorous mansion long you must bemoan His fatal charms, and weep your stains away: Till, soft and pure as infant goodness grown, You feel a perfect change: then, who can say, What grace may yet shine forth in Heaven's eternal day?"

This said, his powerful wand he wav'd anew: Instant, a glorious angel-train descends, The Charities, to wit, of rosy hue; Sweet love their looks a gentle radiance lends, And with seraphic flame compassion blends. At once, delighted, to their charge they fly: When, lo! a goodly hospital ascends; In which they bade each lenient aid be nigh, That could the sick-bed smoothe of that sad company.

It was a worthy edyfying sight,

And gives to human-kind peculiar grace,
To see kind hands attending day and night,
With tender ministry, from place to place.
Some prop the head; some from the pallid face
Wipe off the faint cold dews weak nature sheds;
Some reach the healing draught: the whilst, to
chase

The fear supreme, around their soften'd beds, Some holy man by prayer all opening Heaven dispreds.

Attended by a glad acclaiming train,
Of those he rescued had from gaping Hell,
Then turn'd the knight; and, to his hall again
Soft-pacing, sought of Peace the mossy cell: