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COWPERS  TASK. 


BY 

WIJLLIAM    COWPER 

or   THE   IN^ER  TEMPLE. 


lONDON; 

PRIMTEU    FOR  JOHN    SHARPE.  PICCADILLY. 

1817. 


TR 


!(     AUG    9  1955 


9975  4 1  . 


THE 


T    ASK. 


WILLIAM    COW  PER, 

OF  THE  INNER  TEMPLE,  ESQ. 


I'it  surciiliifi  arbor. 

Anon. 


LONDON : 
PRINTED  FOR  JOHN   SHARPE, 

PICCADILLY; 
BY  C.  WHITTI.NGHAM,  CHISWKK. 


.M  DCCC  XVII. 


ADVERTISEMExNT. 


The  history  of  the  following  production  is  brieily 
this :  A  lady,  fond  of  blank  verse,  demanded  a  poem 
of  that  kind  from  the  author,  and  gave  him  the  Sofa 
for  a  subject.  He  obeyed;  and,  having  much  lei- 
sure, connected  another  subject  with  it;  and,  pursu- 
ing the  train  of  thought  to  which  his  situation  and 
turn  of  mind  led  him,  brought  forth  at  length,  instead 
of  the  trifle  which  he  at  first  intended,  a  serious  affair 
— a  Volume ! 

In  the  Poem  on  the  subject  of  Education,  he  would 
be  very  soiry  to  stand  suspected  of  having  aimed  his 
censure  at  any  particular  school.  His  objections  are 
such,  as  naturally  apply  themselves  to  schools  in 
general.  If  there  were  not,  as  for  the  most  part 
there  is,  wilful  neglect  in  those  who  manage  them, 
and  an  omission  even  of  such  discipline  as  they  are 
susceptible  of,  the  objects  are  yet  too  numerous  for 
minute  attention;  and  the  aching  hearts  often  thou- 
sand parents,  mourning  under  the  bitterest  of  all 
disappointments,  attest  the  truth  of  the  allegation. 
His  quarrel,  therefore,  is  with  the  mischief  at  large, 
land  not  with  any  particular  instance  of  it. 

B 


Worn  as 
!More  tatter'd 


A  tatter'd  apron  hides  , 

cloak, and  liardly  Mdes  a  g-owri 


DRAWN  BY laCHAPJi  "^VESTALLRA.  ENGRA\^D   BY  J.  H.  ROBIN  SON  ; 

PUBLISHED   BY  JOHK    SHARPS,  PICCADILLY. 

OCT.  1.1817. 


THE    TASK. 

BOOK  I. 


THE  SOFA. 


Historical  deduction  of  seats  from  the  stool  to  the  Sofa. — A  School- 
boy's ramble — A  walk  in  the  conutry. — The  scene  described. — Rural 
sounds  as  well  as  sights  delightful.— Another  walk. — Mistake  con- 
cerning the  charms  of  solitude  corrected. — Colonnades  commended. 
— Alcove,  and  the  view  from  it. — The  wilderness. — The  grove. — 
The  thresher. — The  necessity  and  the  benetits  of  exercise. — The 
works  of  nature  superior  to,  and  in  some  instances  inimitable  by, 
art. — The  wearisomeness  of  what  is  commonly  called  a  life  of 
pleasure. — Change  of  scene  sometimes  expedient. — A  common  de- 
scribed, and  the  character  of  crazy  Kate  introduced. — Gipsies. — 
The  blessings  of  civilized  life. — That  state  most  favourable  to  vir- 
tue.— The  South  Sea  islanders  compassionated,  hut  chiefly  Omai. — 
His  present  state  of  mind  supposed. — Civilized  life  friendly  to  vir- 
tue, but  not  great  cities. — Great  cities,  and  London  in  particular, 
allowed  their  due  praise,  but  censured. — Fete  champ^tre. — Thu 
book  concludes  with  a  reflection  on  the  fatal  eflects  of  dissipation 
and  ettcniinacy  upon  our  public  measures. 

I  si.vG  the  Sohi.     I,  who  lately  san^ 
Truth,  Hope,  and  Charity,  and  touch'd  with  awo 
The  solemn  chords,  and  with  a  trembling  hand, 
•^scap'd  with  pain  from  that  advent'rons  flight, 
b2 


4  THE  TASK.  BOOK  I. 

Now  seek  repose  upon  an  luiinbler  theme ; 

The  theme  though  humble,  yet  august  and  proud 

The  occasion — for  the  Fair  commands  the  song. 

Time  was,  when  clothing  sumptuous  or  for  use. 
Save  their  own  painted  skins,  our  sires  had  none. 
As  yet  black  breeches  were  not;  satin  smooth, 
Or  velvet  soft,  or  plush  with  shaggy  pile : 
The  hardy  chief  upon  the  rugged  rock 
Wash'd  by  the  sea,  or  on  the  grav'lly  bank 
Thrown  up  by  wintry  torrents  roaring  loud. 
Fearless  of  wrong,  repos'd  his  weary  strength. 
Those  barb'rous  ages  past,  succeeded  next 
The  birth-day  of  invention  ;  weak  at  first. 
Dull  in  design,  and  clumsy  to  perform. 
Joint-stools  were  then  created  ;  on  three  legs 
Upborne  they  stood.     Three  legs  upholding  firm 
A  massy  slab,  in  fashion  square  or  round. 
On  such  a  stool  immortal  Alfred  sat, 
And  sway'd  the  sceptre  of  his  infant  realms  : 
And  such  in  ancient  halls  and  mansions  drear 
May  still  be  seen ;  but  perforated  sore. 
And  drill'd  in  holes,  the  solid  oak  is  found, 
By  worms  voracious  eating  through  and  through. 

At  length  a  generation  more  refin'd 
Improved  the  simple  plan ;  made  three  legs  four. 
Gave  them  a  twisted  form  vermicular, 
And  o'er  the  seat,  with  plenteous  wadding  stuff'd, 
Induc'd  a  splendid  cover,  green  and  blue. 
Yellow  and  red,  of  tapestry  richly  wrought 
And  woven  close,  or  needle-work  sublime. 


THE  SOFA.  •> 

There  might  you  see  the  piouy  spread  wide, 
The  full-blown  rose,  the  shepherd  and  his  lass," 
Lapdog  and  lambkin  with  black  staring  eyes, 
And  parrots  with  twin  cherries  in  their  beak. 

Now  came  the  cane  from  India  smooth  and  bright 
With  Nature's  varnish ;  scvcr'd  into  stripes, 
That  interlac'd  each  otlier,  these  supplied 
Of  texture  firm  a  lattice-work,  that  brac'd 
The  new  machine,  and  it  became  a  chair.  ^^ 

But  restless  was  the  chair;  the  back  erect 
Distress'd  the  weary  loins,  tliat  felt  no  ease ;      ' 
The  slipp'ry  seat  betray'd  the  sliding  part, 
That  press'd  it,  and  the  feet  hung  dangling  dowi!, 
Anxious  in  vain  to  find  the  distant  floor. 
These  for  the  rich :  the  rest,  whom  Fate  had  plac'd 
In  modest  mediocrity,  content 
With  base  materials,  sat  on  Mell-tann'd  hides, 
Obdurate  and  unyielding,  glassy  smooth. 
With  here  and  there  a  tuft  of  crimson  yarn. 
Or  scarlet  crewel,  in  the  cushion  fix'd. 
If  cushion  might  be  call'd,  what  harder  seera'd 
Than  the  firm  oak,  of  which  the  frame  was  form'd- 
No  want  of  timber  then  was  felt  or  fear'd 
In  Albion's  happy  isle.    The  lumber  stood 
Poud'rous  and  fix'd  by  its  own  massy  weight. 
But  elbows  still  were  wanting;  these,  some  say, 
An  alderman  of  Cripplegate  coutriv'd  ; 
And  some  ascribe  th'  invention  to  a  priest, 
Burly,  and  big,  and  studious  of  his  ease. 
But,  rude  at  first,  and  not  with  easy  slope 


^eir^s^f^-  con\Hyn^  eo  cr    <~ii.y.  a  y  -^  ^^^f/z 


il  THE  TASK.  BOOK    1. 

Recediiif?  wide,  they  press'd  against  the  ribs, 
And  bruis'd  the  side;  and,  elevated  liigh, 
Tauglit  the  rais'd  shoulders  to  invade  the  ears. 
Long  time  elaps'd  or  e'er  our  rugged  sires 
Complain'd,  though  incommodiously  pent  in, 
And  ill  at  ease  behind.     The  ladies  first 
'Gan  murmur,  as  became  the  softer  sex. 
Ingenious  Fancy,  never  better  pleas'd 
Than  wlien  employ 'd  t'  accommodate  the  fair. 
Heard  the  sweet  moan  with  pity,  and  devis'd 
The  soft  settee ;  one  elbow  at  each  end, 
And  in  the  midst  an  elbow  it  receiv'd, 
United  yet  divided,  twain  at  once. 
So  sit  two  kings  of  Brentford  on  one  throne  ; 
And  so  two  citizens  who,  take  the  air, 
Close  pack'd,  and  smiling,  in  a  chaise  and  one. 
But  relaxation  of  tlic  languid  frame. 
The  soft  recumbency  of  outstretch'd  limbs, 
Was  bliss  reserv'd  for  happier  days.     So  slow 
The  growth  of  what  is  excellent ;  so  hard 
To  attain  perfection  in  this  nether  world. 
Thus  first  Necessity  invented  stools, 
Convenience  next  suggested  elbow-chairs. 
And  Luxury  th'  accomplish'd  sofa  last. 

The  nurse  sleeps  sweetly,  hir'd  to  watch  the  sick, 
Whom  snoring  she  disturbs.     As  sweetly  he. 
Who  quits  the  coach-box  at  the  midnight  hour, 
To  sleep  within  the  carriage  more  secure. 
His  legs  depending  at  the  open  door. 
Sweet  sleep  enjoys  the  curate  in  his  desk, 


THE  SOFA. 

riie  tedious  rector  drawling  o'er  his  head; 
And  sweet  the  clerk  below.     But  neither  sleep 
Of  lazy  nurse,  who  snores  the  sick  man  dead; 
Nor  his,  who  quits  the  box  at  midnight  hour, 
To  slumber  in  the  carriage  more  secure; 
Nor  sleep  enjoy'd  by  curate  in  his  desk  ; 
Nor  yet  the  dozings  of  the  clerk,  arc  sweet, 
Compar'd  with  the  repose  the  sofa  yields. 

O  may  I  live  exempted  (while  I  live 
Guiltless  of  pamper 'd  appetite  obscene) 


From  pangs  arthritic,  that  infest  the  toe      n\.Hp  O'h-" 
Of  libertine  Excess.     The  sofa  suits-      ^ 
The  gouty  limb,  'tis  true ;  but  gouty  limb, 
Though  ou  a  sofa,  may  I  never  feel :  \  \v^ 

For  I  have  lov'd  the  rural  walk  through  lanes     '-^^ 
Of  grassy  swarth,  close  cropp'd  by  nibbling  sheep, 
And  skirted  thick  with  intertexture  firm 
,  Of  thorny  boughs ;  have  lov'd  the  rural  «  alk 
O'er  hills,  through  valleys,  and  by  rivers'  brink. 
E'er  since  a  truant  boy  I  pass'd  my  bounds, 
T'  enjoy  a  ramble  on  the  banks  of  Thames ; 
And  still  remember,  nor  without  regret 
Of  hours,  that  sorrow  since  lias  nuich  endear'd. 
How  oft,  my  slice  of  pocket  store  consum'd. 
Still  hung'ring,  pennyless,  and  far  from  home, 
I  fed  on  scarlet  hips  and  stony  haws. 
Or  blushing  crabs,  or  berries,  that  emboss 
The  bramble,  black  as  jet,  or  sloes  austere. 
Hard  fare !  but  such  as  boyish  appetite 
Disdains  not;  nor  the  palate,  undeprav'd 


ft>  -    uO'T^^f'^f^rUf^ 


8  THE  TASK.  nOOK   I. 

By  culinary  arts,  unsav'ry  deems. 
No  SOFA  then  awaited  my  return ; 

■i    Nor  SOFA  then  I  needed.     Youth  repairs 
-His  wasted  spirits  quickl}',  by  long  toil 
Incurring  short  fatigue;  and,  though  our  years. 
As  life  declines,  speed  rapidly  away, 
And  not  a  year  but  pilfers  as  he  goes 
Some  youthful  grace,  that  age  would  gladly  keep ; 
A  tooth,  or  auburn  lock,  and  by  degrees 
Their  length  and  colour  from  the  locks  they  spare ; 
Th'  elastic  spring  of  an  unwearied  foot, 
That  mounts  the  stile  w  ith  ease,  or  leaps  the  fence. 
That  play  of  lungs,  inhaling  and  again 
Respiring  freely  the  fresh  air,  that  makes 
Swift  pace  or  steep  ascent  no  toil  to  me, 
Mine  have  not  pilfer'd  yet;  nor  yet  irapair'd 
My  relish  of  fair  prospect ;  scenes  that  sooth'd 
Or  charm'd  me  young,  no  longer  young,  I  find 

i   Still  soothing,  and  of  pow'r  to  charm  me  still. 

i<j  And  witness,  dear  companion  of  my  walks,  \ 
'  Whose  arm  this  twentieth  w  inter  I  perceive 
5  Fast  lock'd  in  mine,  with  pleasure  such  as  love. 
Confirm'd  by  long  experience  of  thy  worth 
And  well-tried  virtues,  could  alone  inspire — 
Witness  a  joy  that  thou  hast  doubled  long. 
Thou  know'st  my  praise  of  nature  most  sincere, 
And  that  my  raptures  are  not  conjur'd  up 
To  serve  occasions  of  poetic  pomp, 
But  genuine,  and  art  partner  of  them  all. 
How  oft  upon  yon  eminence  our  pace 


-  l6i^'^  vaio»\!t- 


TIIE  SOFA. 

Has  slacken'd  to  a  pause,  anil  we  have  borue 
The  luftling;  wind,  scarce  conscious  that  it  blew. 
While  Admiration  feeding  at  the  eye, 
And  still  unsatcil,  dwelt  upon  the  scene. 
Thence  with  wiiat  pleasure  have  we  just  discern'd 
The  distant  plough  slow  moving,  and  beside 
His  lab'ring  team,  that  swerv'd  not  from  the  track, 
The  sturdy  swain  diminish'd  to  a  boy ! 
Here  Ouse,  slow  winding  through  a  level  plain 
Of  spacious  meads  with  cattle  sprinkled  o'er. 
Conducts  the  eye  along  his  sinuous  course 
Delighted.     There,  fast  rooted  in  their  bank, 
Stand,  never  ovcrlook'd,  our  fav'rite  elms, 
That  screen  the  herdsman's  solitary  hut ; 
Viliile  far  beyond,  and  overthwart  the  stream, 
That,  as  with  molten  glass,  inlays  the  vale. 
The  sloping  land  recedes  into  the  clouds; 
Displaying  on  its  varied  side  the  grace 
Of  hedge-row  beauties  numberless,  square  tow'r, 
Tall  spire,  from  which  the  sound  of  cheerful  bells 
Just  undulates  upon  the  list'ning  ear. 
Groves,  heaths,  and  smoking  villages,  remote. 
Scenes  must  be  beautiful,  which,  daily  view'd, 
Please  daily,  and  whose  novel (y  survives 
Long  knowledge  and  the  scrutiny  of  years. 
Praise  justly  due  to  those  that  I  describe. 
Nor  rural  sights  alone,  but  rural  sounds, 
Exhilarate  the  spirit,  and  restore 
The  ton€  of  languid  Nature.     Mighty  winds. 
That  sweep  the  skirt  of  some  far-spreading  wood 
li  3 


oufc=«^a'vc>'^  o  \   <»-«AA^<^  ay    /vksrn*.-^ 


lO  i'HK  TASK.  BOOK  J. 

Of  ancient  growth,  make  music  not  unlike 
The  dash  of  Ocean  on  his  winding  shore, 
And  hill  the  spirit  while  they  fill  the  mind  ; 
Unnumbei'd  branches  waving  in  the  blast, 
And  all  their  leaves  fast  flutt'ring,  all  at  onto. 
Nor  less  composure  waits  upon  the  roar 
Of  distant  floods,  or  on  the  softer  voice 
Of  neighb'riug  fountain,  or  of  rills  that  slip 
Through  the  cleft  rock,  and,  chiming  as  they  fall 
Upon  loose  pebbles,  lose  themselves  at  length 
In  matted  grass,  that  with  a  livelier  green 
Betrays  the  secret  of  their  silent  course. 
Nature  inanimate  employs  sweet  sounds. 
But  animated  nature  sweeter  still. 
To  sooth  and  satisfy  the  human  ear. 
Ten  thousand  warblers  cheer  the  day,  and  one 
The  livelong  night :  nor  these  alone,  whose  notes 
Nice  finger'd  Art  must  emulate  in  vain, 
But  cawing  rooks,  and  kites  that  swim  sublime 
In  still  repeated  circles,  screaming  loud. 
The  jay,  the  pie,  and  ev'n  the  boding  owl. 
That  hails  the  rising  moon,  have  charms  for  me. 
Sounds  inharmonious  in  themselves  and  harsh. 
Yet  heard  in  scenes  where  peace  for  ever  reigns. 
And  only  there,  please  highly  for  their  sake. 

Peace  to  the  artist,  whose  ingenious  thought 
Uevis'd  the  weatherhouse,  that  useful  toy ! 
Fearless  of  humid  air  and  gath'ring  rains, 
Forth  steps  the  man — an  emblem  of  myself! 
More  delicate,  his  tim'rous  mate  retires. 


^J\-'^^.  (UKiJ  .  ^  sf^l    rfJn-^ 


THE  SOFA.  11 

When  winter  soaks  the  fields,  and  female  feet, 

Too  weak  to  struggle  with  tenacious  clay. 

Or  ford  the  rivulets,  are  best  at  home, 

The  task  of  new  discov'ries  falls  on  me, 

At  such  a  season,  and  with  such  a  charge. 

Once  went  I  forth;   and  found,  till  then  unknown, 

A  cottage,  whither  oft  we  since  repair: 

'Tis  perch'd  upon  the  green  hill  top,  hut  close 

Envirou'd  with  a  ring  of  branching  elms, 

That  overhang  the  thatch,  itself  unseen 

Peeps  at  the  vale  below ;  so  thick  beset 

With  foliage  of  such  dark  redundant  growth, 

I  call'd  the  low-roof 'd  lodge  the peasaufs  nest; 

And,  hidden  as  it  is,  and  far  remote 

From  such  unpleasing  sounds,  as  haunt  the  ear 

In  village  or  in  town,  the  bay  of  curs 

Incessant,  clinking  hammers,  grinding  wheels, 

And  infants  clam'rous  whether  pleas'd  or  paiu'd,  . 

Oft  have  I  wish'd  the  peaceful  covert  mine." 

Here,  I  have  said,  at  least  I  should  possess 

The  poet's  treasure,  silence,  and  indulge 

The  dreams  of  fancy,  tranquil  and  secure,     j 

i  Vain  thought !  the  dweller  in  that  still  retreat 
Dearly  obtains  the  refuge  it  affords. 
Its  elevated  site  forbids  the  wretch 

J  To  drink  sweet  waters  of  the  crystal  well; 
He  dips  his  bowl  into  the  weedy  ditch. 
And,  heavy  laden,  brings  his  bev'rage  home, 
.Far-fetch'd  and  little  worth;  nor  seldom  waits 
Dependant  on  the  baker's  punctual  call, 


12  THE  TASK.  BOOK  I. 

To  hear  his  creaking  panniers  at  the  door, 
Augry,  and  sad,  and  liis  last  crust  consum'd. 
So  farewell  envy  of  the  peasant' s  nest! 
If  solitude  make  scant  the  means  of  life, 
Society  for  me!— thou  seeming  sweet, 
Be  still  a  pleasing  object  in  my  view; 
My  visit  still,  but  never  mine  abode. 

Not  distant  far,  a  length  of  colonnade 
Invites  us.     Monument  of  ancient  taste, 
Now  scorn'd,  but  worthy  of  a  better  fate. 
Our  fathers  knew  the  value  of  a  screen 
From  sultry  suns :  and,  in  their  shaded  walks 
And  long  protracted  bow'rs,  enjoy'd  at  noon 
The  gloom  and  coolness  of  declining  day. 
We  bear  our  shades  about  us ;  self-depriv'd 
Of  other  screen,  the  thin  umbrella  spread, 
And  range  an  Indian  waste  without  a  tree. 
Thanks  to  Benevolus — he  spares  me  yet 
These  chesnuts  rang'd  in  corresponding  lines ; 
And,  though  himself  so  polish'd,  still  reprieves 
The  obsolete  prolixity  of  shade. 

Descending  now  (but  cautious,  lest  too  fast) 
A  sudden  steep,  upon  a  rustic  bridge 
We  pass  a  gulf,  in  which  the  willows  dip 
Their  pendent  boughs,  stooping  as  if  to  drink. 
Hence,  ancle  deep  in  moss  and  flow'ry  thyme. 
We  mount  again,  and  feel  at  ev'ry  step 
Our  foot  half  sunk  in  hillocks  green  and  soff, 
Rais'd  by  the  mole,  the  miner  of  the  soil. 
He,  not  unlike  the  great  ones  of  mankind. 


_C<!/ylV3»Oi    iAj/  fit/ 


THE  SOFA.  13 

Disfigures  Earth :  and,  plotting  in  the  dark, 
Toils  much  to  earn  a  monumental  pile, 
That  may  record  the  mischiefs  he  has  done. 

The  summit^ain'd,  behold  the  proud  alcove. 
That  crowns  it !  yet  not  all  its  pride  secures 
The  grand  retreat  from  injuries  inipress'd 
By  rural  carvers,  who  with  knives  deface 
The  panncls,  leaving  an  obscure,  rude  name. 
In  characters  uncouth,  and  spelt  amiss. 
So  strong  the  zeal  t'  immortalize  himself 
Beats  in  the  breast  of  man,  that  ev'n  a  few, 
Few  transient  years,  won  from  th'  abyss  abhorr'd 
Of  blank  oblivion,  seem  a  glorious  prize. 
And  even  to  a  clown.     Now  roves  the  eye  ; 
And  posted  on  this  speculative  height. 
Exults  in  its  command.     The  sheepfold  here 
Pours  out  its  tleecy  tenants  o'er  the  glebe. 
At  first,  progressive  as  a  stream,  they  seek 
The  middle  field ;  but  scatter'd  by  degrees, 
Each  to  his  choice,  soon  whiten  ail  the  land. 
There  from  the  sunburnt  hayfieid  homeward  creeps 
The  loaded  wain ;  w  hile,  lighteu'd  of  its  charge, 
The  wain  that  meets  it  passes  swiffly  by; 
The  boorish  driver  leaning  o'er  his  team 
Vocif'rous,  and  impatient  of  delay. 
Nor  less  attractive  is  the  woodland  scene. 
Diversified  with  trees  of  ev'ry  growth. 
Alike,  yet  various.     Here  the  grey  smooth  trunks- 
Of  ash,  or  lime,  or  beech,  distinctly  shine, 
Within  the  twilight  of  their  distant  shades; 


iVt  c 


14  THE  TASK.  BOOK  I. 

Tiiere,  lost  behiiul  a  rising  gioiiiid,  wood 

Seems  sunk,  and  sliorten'd  to  its  topmost  boughs. 

No  tree  in  all  tiie  grove  but  has  its  charms, 

Though  each  its  hue  peculiar;  paler  some, 

And  of  a  wannish  grey ;  the  m  illow  such, 

And  poplar,  that  with  silver  lines  his  leaf, 

And  ash  far-stretching  his  umbrageous  arm ; 

Of  deeper  green  the  elm  ;  and  deei)cr  still. 

Lord  of  the  "voods,  the  long-surviving  oak. 

Some  glossy-leav'd,  and  shining  in  the  sun, 

The  maple,  and  the  beech  of  oily  nuts 

Prolific,  and  the  lime  at  dewy  eve 

Diffusing  odours:  nor  unnoted  pass 

The  sycamore,  capricious  in  attire. 

Now  green,  now  tawny,  and,  ere  autumn  yet 

Have  chaug'd  the  woods,  in  scarlet  honours  bright. 

O'er  these,  but  far  beyond  (a  spacious  map 

Of  hill  and  valley  interpos'd  between), 

The  Ouse,  dividing  the  well-water'd  land, 

Now  glitters  in  the  sun,  and  now  retires, 

As  bashful,  yet  impatient  to  be  seen. 

Hence  the  declivity  is  sharp  and  short. 
And  such  the  reascent :  between  them  weeps 
A  little  naiad  her  impov'rish'd  urn 
All  summer  long,  which  winter  fills  again. 
The  folded  gates  would  bar  my  progress  now, 
But  that  the  lord  of  this  enclos'd  demesne, 
Communicative  of  the  good  he  owns. 
Admits  me  to  a  share;  the  guiltless  eye 
Commits  no  wrong,  nor  wastes  what  it  enjoys. 


THE  SOFA.  15 

Refreshing  change!  where  now  the  blazing  sun? 
By  short  transition  we  have  lost  his  glare, 
And  stepp'd  at  once  into  a  cooler  clime. 
Ye  lalleu  avenues!  once  more  I  mourn 
Your  fate  unmerited,  once  more  rejoice, 
That  yet  a  remnant  of  your  race  survives. 
How  airy  and  how  light  the  graceful  arch, 
Yet  awful  as  the  consecrated  roof 
Re-echoing  pious  anthems !  while  beneath 
The  checker'd  earth  seems  restless  as  a  flood 
Brush'd  by  the  wind.     So  sportive  is  the  light 
Shot  through  the  boughs,  it  dances  as  tiiey  dance. 
Shadow  and  sunshine  intermingling  quick. 
And  darkening  and  enlight'ning,  as  the  leaves 
Play  wanton,  ev'ry  moment,  ev'ry  spot. 

And  now,with  nerves new-brac'd  and  spirits  chcer'd. 
We  tread  the  wilderness,  whose  well-roU'd  walks, 
With  curvature  of  slow  and  easy  sweep — 
Deception  innocent — give  ample  space 
To  narrow  bounds.     The  grove  receives  us  next; 
Between  the  upright  shafts  of  whose  tail  elms 
We  may  discern  the  thresher  at  Jiis  task.   -^ 
Thump  after  thump  resounds  tlie  constant  flaif. 
That  seems  to  swing  uncertain,  and  yet  falls 
Full  on  the  destin'd  ear.     Wide  flies  tlic  chaff. 
The  rustling  straw  sends  up  a  frequent  mist 
Of  atoms,  sparkling  in  the  noonday  beam. 
Come  hither,  ye  that  press  your  beds  of  down. 
And  sleep  not ;  see  him  sweating  o'er  his  bread, 
Before  he  eats  it.— 'Tis  the  primal  curse, 


ir-  .A-AbrlS     "^^   f^'^^rrs 


Tff  THE  TASK.  BOOK  I. 

r^   <■  f  '^■ji/\<- 

But  softeii'd  into  mercy  ;  made  the  pledge      '^'-^ 
Of  cheeirul  days,  and  nights  without  a  groan. 

By  ceaseless  action  all  that  is  subsists. 
Constant  rotation  of  th'  unwearied  wheel, 
That  Nature  rides  upon,  maintains  her  liealth, 
Her  beauty,  her  fertility.     She  dreads 
Au  instant's  pause,  and  lives  but  while  she  moves. 
Its  own  revolvency  upholds  the  World. 
Winds  from  all  quarters  agitate  the  air, 
And  fit  the  limpid  element  for  use, 
Else  noxious :  oceans,  rivers,  lakes,  and  streams. 
All  feel  the  fresh'ning  impulse,  and  are  cleans'd 
By  restless  undulation:  e'en  the  oak 
Thrives  by  the  rude  concussion  of  the  storm : 
He  seems  indeed  indignant,  and  to  feel 
Th'  impression  of  the  blast  with  proud  disdaia, 
Frowning,  as  if  in  his  unconscious  arm 
He  held  the  thunder:  but  the  monarch  owes 
His  firm  stability  to  what  he  scorns, 

I        More  fix'd  below,  the  more  disturb'd  above. 
-The  law,  by  which  all  creatures  else  arc  bound, 
Binds  man,  the  lord  of  all.     Himself  derives 

\       No  mean  advantage  from  a  kindred  cause, 
W.From  strenuous  toil  his  hours  of  sweetest  ease. 
The  sedentary  stretch  their  lazy  length 
When  Custom  bids,  but  no  refreshment  find. 
Tor  none  they  need:  the  languid  eye,  the  cheek 
Deserted  of  its  bloom,  the  flaccid,  shrunk, 
And  vvither'd  muscle,  and  the  vapid  soul, 
Reproach  their  owner  with  that  love  of  rest. 


THE  SOFA. 


H 


^c 


17 


To  whicli  lie  Ibrfcits  e'en  the  rest  he  loves. 
Not  such  the  alert  aud  active.  ...Measure,  life 
By  its  true^wprth,  the  comfortsil  ^fiords. 
And  theirs  alone  seems  worthy  oF  the  name,    i 

:Good  healfTi,  and,  its  associate  iii  the  most, 
(xood  temper ;  spirits  prompt  to  undertake, 
And  not  soon  spent,  though  in  an  arduous  task ; 
The  pow'rs  of  fancy  and  strong  thought  are  theirs; 
Ev'n  age  itself  seems  privileg'd  in  them 
With  clear  exemption  from  its  own  defects. 
A  sparkling  eye  beneath  a  wrinkled  front 
The  vet'ran  shows,  and,  gracing  a  grey  beard 
With  youthful  smiles,  descends  toward  the  grave 
Sprightly,  aud  old  almost  without  decay. 

Like  a  coy  maiden.  Ease,  when  courted  most, 
Furthest  retires— an  idol,  at  whose  shrine 
Who  oft'nest  sacrifice  are  favour'd  least. 
The  love  of  Nature,  and  the  scenes  she  draws, 
Is  Nature's  dictate.     Strange !  there  should  be  found, 
Who,  self-imprison'd  in  their  proud  saloons. 
Renounce  the  odours  of  the  open  field 
Tor  the  unscented  fictions  of  the  loom ; 
Who,  satisfied  with  only  pencil'd  scenes 
Prefer  to  the  performance  of  a  God 
Th'  inferior  wonders  of  an  artist's  handli. 

^Lovely  indeed  the  mimic  works  of  Art; 

■:But  Nature's  works  far  lovelier.     I  admire. 
None  more  admires,  the  painter's  magic  skill,  V. 
Who  shows  me  that,  which  I  shall  never  see,  [ 
Conveys  a  distant  country  into  mine,  \ 


k^tl)^'^^ 


c 


K) 


iQ\ifV 


-'^' 


18  THE  TASK.  BOOK   I. 

X- 

And  throws  Ituliaii  light  on  English  walls; 
But  imitative  strokes  can  do  no  more 
Thau  please  the  eye — Sweet  Nature's  ev'ry  sense. 
-'The  air  salubrious  of  her  lofty  hiiis, 
The  cheering  fragrance  of  her  dewy  vales, 
And  music  of  her  woods — no  works  of  man 
May  rival  these;  these  all  bespeak  apow'r"**" 
Peculiar,  and  exclusively  her  own. 
Beneath  the  open  sky  she  spreads  the  feast ; 
^Tis  free  to  all — 'tis  ev'ry  day  renew'd ; 
Who  scorns  it  starves  deservedly  at  home. 
He  does  not  scorn  it,  who,  imprison'd  long 
In  some  unwholesome  dungeon,  and  a  prey 
To  sallow  sickness,  which  the  vapours,  dank 
And  clammy,  of  his  dark  abode  have  bred, 
Escapes  at  last  to  liberty  and  light; 
His  cheek  recovers  soon  its  healthful  hue ; 
His  eye  reluraines  its  extinguish'd  fires; 
He  walks,  he  leaps,  he  runs — is  wing'd  with  joy, 
And  riots  in  the  sweets  of  ev'ry  breeze. 
He  does  not  scorn  it,  who  has  long  endur'd 
A  fever's  agonies,  and  fed  on  drugs. 
Nor  yet  the  mariner,  his  blood  inflam'd 
With  acrid  salts ;  his  very  heart  athirst, 
To  gaze  at  Nature  in  her  green  array, 
Upon  the  ship's  tall  side  he  stands,  possess'd 
With  visions  prompted  by  intense  desire : 
Fair  fields  appear  below,  such  as  he  left 
Far  distant,  such  as  he  would  die  to  find — 
He  seeks  them  headlong,  and  is  seen  no  more. 


THE  SOFA.  10 

riic  spleen  is  seldom  felt  where  Flora  reigns ; 
The  low'ring  eye,  the  petulance,  the  frown, 
And  sullen  sadness,  that  o'ershade,  distort, 
And  mar  the  face  of  Beauty,  when  no  cause 
For  such  immeasurable  woe  appears. 
These  Flora  banishes,  and  gives  the  fair 
Sweet  smiles,  and  bloom  less  transient  than  her  own. 
It  is  the  constant  revolution,  stale 
And  tasteless,  of  the  same  repeated  joys, 
That  palls,  and  satiates,  and  makes  languid  lite 
A  pedlar's  pack,  that  bows  the  bearer  down.   , 
Health  suffers,  and  the  spiiits  ebb ;  the  heart 
I  Recoils  from  its  own  choice — at  the  full  feast 
Is  famish'd — finds  no  music  in  the  song. 
No  smartness  in  the  jest;  and  wonders  wh}'. 
Yet  thousands  still  desire  to  journey  on. 
Though  halt,  and  weary  of  the  path  they  tread. 
The  paralytic,  who  can  hold  her  cards, 
But  cannot  play  them,  borrows  a  friend's  hand. 
To  deal  and  shuffle,  to  divide  and  sort 
Her  mingled  suits  and  sequences;  and  sits. 
Spectatress  both  and  spectacle,  a  sad 
And  silent  cipher,  while  her  proxy  plays. 
Others  are  dragg'd  into  the  crowded  room 
Between  supporters ;  and,  once  seated,  sit, 
Through  downright  inability  to  rise. 
Till  the  stout  bearers  lilt  the  corpse  again. 
These  speak  a  loud  memento.     Yet  e'en  these 
Themselves  love  life,  and  cling  to  it,  as  he, 
That  overhangs  a  torrent,  to  a  twig. 


C^^^/Ao^rv-   'Ve^ot   <M^fjf^- 


20  THE  TASK,  BOOK  I. 

They  love  it,  and  yet  loath  it ;  fear  to  die, 

Yet  scorn  the  purposes,  for  which  they  live. 

Then  wherefore  not  renounce  them?  No— the  dread, 

The  slavish  dread  of  solitude,  that  breeds 

Reflection  and  remorse,  the  fear  of  shame, 

And  their  invetVate  habits,  all  forbid. 

Whom  call  we  gay  ?  That  honour  has  been  long 
J'he  boast  of  mere  pretenders  to  the  name. 
The  innocent  are  gay — the  lark  is  gay, 
That  dries  his  feathers,  saturate  with  dew, 
Beneath  the  rosy  cloud,  while  yet  the  beams 
Of  dayspring  overshoot  his  humble  nest. 
The  peasant  too,  a  witness  of  his  song, 
Himself  a  songster,  is  as  gay  as  he. 
But  save  me  from  the  gaiety  of  those. 
Whose  headaclis  nail  them  to  a  noonday  bed ; 
And  save  me  too  from  theirs,  whose  haggard  eyes 
Flash  desperation,  and  betray  their  pangs 
For  property  stripp'd  off  by  cruel  chance ; 
From  gaiety,  that  fills  the  bones  with  pain, 
The  mouth  with  blasphemy,  the  heart  with  Avoe. 
-■    The  Earth  was  made  so  variou?,  that  the  mind 
Of  desultory  man,  studious  of  change, 
And  pleas'd  with  novelty,  might  be  indulg'd. 
Prospects,  however  lovely,  may  be  seen 
Till  half  their  beauties  fade ;  the  weary  sight, 
Too  well  acquainted  with  their  smiles,  slides  off 
Fastidious,  seeking  less  familiar  scenes. 
Then  snug  enclosures  in  the  shelter'd  vale. 
Where  frequent  hedges  intercept  the  eye, 


THE  SOFA.  21 

Delight  us;  happy  to  renounce  awhile, 
Not  senseless  of  its  charms,  what  still  we  love, 
That  such  short  absence  may  endear  it  more. 
Then  forests,  or  the  savage  rock,  may  please, 
That  hides  the  seamew  in  his  hollow  clefts 
Above  the  reach  of  man.     His  hoary  head, 
Conspicuous  many  a  league,  the  mariner 
Bound  homeward,  and  in  hope  already  there, 
Greets  with  three  cheers  exulting.     At  his  waist 
A  girdle  of  half-wither'd  shruijs  he  shows, 
And  at  his  feet  the  baffled  billows  die. 
The  common,  overgrown  with  fern,  and  rough 
With  prickly  gorse,  that,  shapeless  and  deform'd, 
And  dang'rous  to  the  touch,  has  yet  its  bloom, 
And  decks  itself  with  ornaments  of  gold, 
Yields  no  unpleasing  ramble;  there  the  turf 
Smells  fresh,  and,  rich  in  odoiifVous  herbs 
And  fungous  fruits  of  earth,  regales  the  sense 
With  luxury  of  unexpected  sweets. 

There  often  wanders  one,  whom  better  days 
Saw  better  clad,  in  cloak  of  satin  trimm'd 
With  lace,  and  hat  with  splendid  riband  bound. 
A  serving-maid  was  she,  and  fell  in  love 
With  one  who  left  her,  went  to  sea,  and  died. 
Her  fancy  follow'd  him  through  foaming  waves 
To  distant  shores ;  and  she  would  sit  and  weep 
At  what  a  sailor  suffers ;  fancy  too. 
Delusive  most  where  wannest  wishes  are, 
Would  oft  anticipate  his  glad  return, 
Aud  dream  of  transports  she  was  not  to  know. 


Un. 


22  THE  TASK.  BOOK   1. 

She  Iicaid  the  doleful  tiding-s  of  his  death — 

And  never  sniil'd  again!  and  now  she  roams 

The  dreary  waste ;  there  spends  the  livelong  day, 

And  there,  unless  when  charity  forbids, 

The  livelong  night.     A  tatter'd  apron  hides, 

Worn  as  a  cloak,  and  hardly  hides,  a  gown 

More  tatter'd  still ;  and  both  but  ill  conceal 

A  bosom  heav'd  with  never-ceasing  sighs. 

She  begs  an  idle  pin  of  all  she  meets, 

And  hoards  them  in  her  sleeve ;  but  needful  food, 

Though  press'd  with  hunger  oft,  or  comelier  clothes, 

Though  pinch'd  with  cold,  asks  never. — K^te^isjeraz'd. 

^  I  see  a  column  of  slow  rising  smoke 

O'ertop  the  lofty  wood,  that  skirts  the  wild. 

A  vagabond  and  useless  tribe  there  eat 

Their  miserable  meal.     A  kettle,  slung 

Between  two  poles  upon  a  stick  transverse, 

Receives  the  morsel — flesh  obscene  of  dog, 

Or  vermin,  or  at  best  of  cock  purloin'd 

From  his  accustom'd  perch.     Hard  faring  race ! 

They  pick  their  fuel  out  of  ev'ry  hedge, 

Which,  kindled  v\ith  dry  leaves,  just  saves  unquench'd 

The  spark  of  life.     'J'he  sportive  v^ind  blows  wide 

Their  flutt'ring  rags,  and  shows  a  tawny  skin, 

The  vellum  of  the  pedigree  they  claim. 

Great  skill  have  they  in  palmistry,  and  more 

To  conjure  clean  away  the  gold  they  touch. 

Conveying  worthless  dross  into  its  place  ; 

Loud  when  they  beg,  dumb  only  when  they  steal. 

Strange!  that  a  creature  rational,  and  cast 


7 


,^.^  g?  }  ""^        T 


THE  SOFA. 

Ill  Iiiimaii  mould,  should  brulalize  by  choice 

His  nature ;  and,  (hough  capable  of  arts, 

By  which  the  world  might  profit,  and  himself, 

Self-banish'd  from  society,  prefer 

Such  squalid  sloth  to  honourable  toil! 

Yet  even  these,  though  feigning  sickiiess  oft 

They  swathe  the  jorehead,  drag  tiie  limping  limb. 

And  vex  their  flesh  with  artificial  sores, 

Can  change  their  whine  into  a  mirthlul  note, 

V^  hen  safe  occasion  olfers ;  and  w  ith  dance. 

And  music  of  the  bladder  and  the  bag, 

Beguile  their  woes,  and  make  the  woods  resound. 

Such  health  and  gaiety  of  heart  enjoy 

The  houseless  rovers  of  the  sylvan  w oild ; 

And,  breathing  wholesome  air,  and  wand'iing  mucii, 

Need  otiier  physic  none  to  heal  th'  effects 

Of  loathsome  diet,  penury,  and  cold. 

Blest  he,  though  undistinguish'd  from  the  crowd 
By  wealth  or  dignity,  who  dwells  secure, 
Where  man,  by  nature  fierce,  has  laid  aside 
His  lierceness,  having  leanit,  though  slow  to  loarn, 
;The  manners  and  the  arts  of  civil  life. 
l4His  wants  indeed  are  many ;  but  supply 
Is  obvious,  plac'd  within  the  easy  reach 
Of  temp'rate  wishes  and  industrious  hands. 
Here  virtue  thrives  as  in  her  proper  soil ; 
"Nbt  rude  and  surly,  and  beset  with  thorns, 
And  terrible  to  sight,  as  when  she  springs 
(If  e'er  she  spring  spontaneous)  in  remote 
And  barbVons  climes,  where  violence  prevails. 


24  THE  TASK.  ;jOOK   !. 

And  strength  is  lord  of  all ;  but  gentle,  kind, 
By  culture  tara'd,  by  liberty  refresirS",'"'     ' 
And  all  her  fruits  by  radiant  truth  matur'd. 
War  and  the  chase  engross  the  savage  whole ; 
War  follow'd  for  revenge,  or  to  supplant 
The  envied  tenants  of  some  hapjuer  spot: 
The  chase  for  sustenance,  precarious  trust ! 
His  hard  condition  with  severe  constraint 
Binds  all  his  faculties,  forbids  all  growth 
Of  wisdom,  proves  a  school,  in  which  he  learns 
Sly  circumvention,  unrelenting  hate. 
Mean  self-attachment,  and  scarce  aught  beside. 
Thus  fare  the  shiv'ring  natives  of  the  north. 
And  thus  the  rangers  of  the  western  world. 
Where  it  advances  far  into  the  deep, 
Tow'rds  the  antarctic.     Ev'n  the  favour'd  islefc 
So  lately  found,  although  the  constant  sun 
Cheer  all  their  seasons  with  a  grateful  smile. 
Can  boast  but  little  virtue ;  and,  inert 
Through  plenty,  lose  in  morals  what  they  gaiji 
In  manners— victims  of  luxurious  ease. 
These  therefore  I  can  pity,  plac'd  remote 
From  .all,  that  science  traces,  art  invents, 
Or  inspiration  teaches ;  and  enclos'd 
In  boundless  oceans,  never  to  be  pass'd 
By  navigators  uninform'd  as  they, 
Or  plough'd  perhaps  by  British  bark  again. 
But  far  beyond  the  rest,  and  with  most  cause, 
Thee,  gentle  savage* !  whom  no  love  of  thee 
Or  thine,  fcut  curiosity  perhaps, 
*  ODiai. 


THE  SOFA.  2-3 

Or  else  vainglory,  prompted  us  to  draw 
For<ii  IVoni  tiiy  native  bow'rs,  to  show  thee  here 
With  what  superior  skill  we  can  abuse 
The  gifts  of  Providence,  and  squander  life. 
The  dream  is  past;  and  thou  hast  found  again 
Thy  cocoas  and  bananas,  palms  and  yams,      [found 
And  homestali  thatch'd  with  leaves.     But  hast  thou 
Their  former  charms  ?  And,  having  seen  our  state, 
Our  palaces,  our  ladies,  and  our  pomp  "    "; 

Of  equipage,  our  gardens,  and  our  sports,        / 
And  heard  our  music  ;  are  thy  simple  friends,   '^-  -» 
Thy  simple  fare,  and  all  thy  plain  delights,         / 
As  dear  to  thee  as  once?  And  have  thy  joys       \ 
Lost  nothing  by  comparison  with  ours? 
Rude  as  thou  art  (for  we  return'd  thee  rude 
And  ignorant,  except  of  outward  show), 
1  cannot  think  thee  yet  so  dull  of  heart 
And  spiritless,  as  never  to  regret 
Sweets  tasted  here,  and  left  as  soon  as  known. 
Methinks  I  see  thee  straying  on  the  beach, 
And  asking  of  the  surge,  that  bathes  thy  foot, 
If  ever  it  has  wash'd  our  distant  shore. 
I  see  thee  weep,  and  thine  are  honest  tears, 
A  patriot's  for  his  country :  thou  art  sad 
At  thought  of  her  forlorn  and  abject  state. 
From  which  no  pow'r  of  thine  can  raise  her  up. 
Thus  Fancy  paints  thee,  and,  though  apt  to  err, 
Perhaps  errs  little,  when  she  paints  thee  thus. 
She  tells  me  too,  that  duly  ev'ry  morn 
Thou  climb'st  the  mountain  top,  with  eager  eye 
c 


26  THE  TASK.  BOOK  I. 

Exploring  far  and  wide  the  wat'ry  waste, 
P^or  sight  of  ship  from  England.     Ev'ry  speck 
Seen  in  the  dim  horizon  turns  thee  pale 
With  conflict  of  contending  hopes  and  fears. 
But  comes  at  last  the  dull  and  dusky  eve, 
^Ah«1  sends  thee  to  thy  cahin,  m  ell-prepar'd, 
•.^o  dream  all  night  of  what  the  day  denied. 
Alas!  expect  it  not.     We  found  no  bait 
To  tempt  us  in  thy  country.     Doing  good, 
Disinterested  good,  is  not  our  trade. 
W^e  travel  far  'tis  true,  but  not  for  nought; 
And  must  be  brib'd  to  compass  Earth  again 
J3y  other  hopes  and  richer  fruits  tiian  yours. 

But  though  true  worth  and  virtue  in  the  mild 
And  genial  soil  of  cultivated  life 
Thrive  most,  and  may  perhaps  thrive  only  there, 
Yet  not  in  cities  oft :  in  proud,  and  gay. 
And  gain-devoted  cities.     Thither  flow, 
As  to  a  common  and  most  noisome  sewer, 
The  dregs  and  fi^culence  of  ev'ry  land. 
In  cities  foul  example  on  most  minds 
»^       BegetsTtsiikeness.     Rank  abundaijce  breeds, 
/^  (^'In  gross  and  pamper'd  cities,  sloth,  and  lust, 
)("*  ^)    And  wantonness,  and  gluttonous  excess. 
r^  }■     ^  In  cities  vice  is  hidden  with  most  ease, 

Or  seen  with  least  reproach ;  and  virtue,  taught 
By  frequent  lapse,  can  hope  no  triumph  there 
Beyond  th'  achievement  of  successful  flight. 
I  do  confess  them  nurs'ries  of  the  arts. 
In  which  they  flourish  most ;  where,  in  the  beams 


THE  SOFA.  27 

Of  warm  encouragement,  and  in  the  eye 
Of  public  note,  they  reach  their  perfect  size. 
Such  London  is,  by  taste  and  wealth  proclaim'd 

The  fairest  capital  of  all  the  world,  -— ^ 

,1 — ....    _  r  >      .. 

\   By  riot  and  incontinence  the  worst,      j-'^^ 
I  I'here,  touch'd  by  Reynolds,  a  dull  blank  becomes 
A  lucid  mirror,  in  which  Nature  sees 
All  her  reflected  features.     Bacon  there 
Gives  more  than  female  beauty  to  a  stone, 
And  Chatham's  eloquence  to  marble  lips. 
Nor  does  the  chisel  occupy  alone 
The  pow'rs  of  Sculpture,  but  the  style  as  much ; 
Each  province  of  her  art  her  equal  care. 
With  nice  incision  of  her  guided  steel 
She  ploughs  a  brazen  field,  and  clothes  a  soil 
So  steril  with  what  charms  soe'er  she  will, 
The  richest  scen'ry  and  the  loveliest  forms. 
Where  finds  Philosophy  her  eagle  eye, 
With  which  she  gazes  at  yon  burning  disk 
Undazzled,  and  detects  and  counts  his  spots  ? 
In  London :  where  her  implements  exact, 
With  which  she  calculates,  computes,  and  scans, 
All  distance,  motion,  magnitude,  and  now 
Measures  an  atom,  and  now  girds  a  world  ? 
In  London.     Where  has  commerce  such  a  mart, 
So  rich,  so  throng'd,  so  drain'd,  and  so  supplied, 
As  London — opulent,  enlarg'd,  and  still 
Increasing,  London?  Babylon  of  old 
Not  more  the  glory  of  the  Earth  than  she, 
A  more  accomplish'd  world's  chief  glory  now. 
c  2 


28  THE  TASK.  BOOK  1. 

She  has  her  praise.     Now  mark  a  spot  or  two, 
That  so  much  beauty  would  do  well  to  purge ; 
jS^nd  show  this  queen  of  cities,  that  so  fair 
/'  May  yet  be  foul ;  so  witty,  yet  not  wise.        | 
^  It  is  not  seemly,  nor  of  good  report,  ^ 

That  she  is  slack  in  discipline ;  more  prompt 
T'  avenge  than  to  prevent  the  breach  of  law : 
That  she  is  rigid  in  denouncing  death 
On  petty  robbers,  and  indulges  life, 
And  liberty,  and  ofttimes  honour  too, 
To  peculators  of  the  public  gold : 
That  thieves  at  home  must  hang;  but  he  that  puts 
Into  his  overgorg'd  and  bloated  purse 
The  wealtli  of  Indian  provinces,  escapes. 
Nor  is  it  well,  nor  can  it  come  to  good, 
That,  through  profane  and  infidel  contempt 
Of  holy  writ,  she  has  presum'd  to  annul 
And  abrogate,  as  roundly  as  she  may. 
The  total  ordinance  and  m  ill  of  God ; 
Advancing  Fashion  to  the  post  of  Truth, 
And  cent'ring  all  authority  in  modes 
And  customs  of  her  own,  till  sabbath  rites 
Have  dwindled  into  unrespected  forms. 
And  knees  and  hassocks  are  well-nigh  divorc'd. 

God  made  the  country,  and  man  made  the  town.  ) 
What  wonder  then  that  health  and  virtue,  gifts, 
That  can  alone  make  sweet  the  bitter  draught. 
That  life  holds  out  to  all,  should  most  abound 
And  least  be  threaten'd  in  the  fields  and  groves? 
Possess  ye  therefore,  ye  who,  borne  about 


THE  SOFA.  2<) 

In  chariots  and  sedans,  know  no  fatigue 

But  that  of  idleness,  and  taste  no  scenes 

But  such  as  art  contrives,  possess  ye  still 

Your  element;  there  only  can  ye  shine; 

There  only  minds  like  yours  can  do  no  harm.     ,,  ; 

Our  groves  were  planted  to  console  at  noon   rJc^^ '''''*'        'sf^ 

The  pensive  wand'rer  in  their  shades.     At  eve 

The  moon-beam,  sliding  softly  in  between 

The  sleeping  leaves,  is  all  the  light  they  wish. 

Birds  warbling  all  the  music.     We  can  spare 

The  splendour  of  your  lamps;  they  but  eclipse 

Oui-  softer  satellite.     Your  songs  confound 

Our  more  harmonious  notes :  the  thrush  departs 

Scar'd,  and  th'  offended  nightingale  is  mute. 

There  is  a  public  mischief  in  your  mirth ; 

It  plagues  your  country.     Folly  such  as  yours, 

Grac'd  with  a  sword,  and  worthier  of  a  fan, 

Has  made,  what  enemies  could  ne'er  have  done, 

Our  arch  of  empire,  stedfast  but  for  you, 

A  mutilated  structure,  soon  to  falL 

^v.  ^ ,  . ...  ..  ^,.,    _  ..;  .,(.  .V.-U.   f ..  jMa"^^x^< 

.^-  ^JZi/  -'-  '^U.X'^rs^;^-    lu^c^tti^t'ij'  r^^^Qf^'^ 
^M{t:t    A^^-fj..,     ^Ciry     O^  LL 


a  <^' 


^_ -    . .  , -He   Ti^ould   stroke 

The  liead  of  Tnodest  and  ing-en-aous  -wrortli 
Tliat  "blusli'd  at  its   own  praise, ^ 


DlcAWN    BY  RICHAKU  WESTAT  .1 .  R-A.  ENGRAVED    BYWELLIAM  FINX'EN  : 
•  ^  PUBLISHED  BY  JOHN   SHARPE.  PICCADILLY 

OCT.  1.1317. 


i 


THE    TASK. 

BOOK  II. 


THE    TIME-PIECE. 


neflections  suggested  by  the  concldsiori  of  the  former  book. — Peace 
among  the  nations  recommended,  on  the  ground  of  their  common 
fellowship  ill  sorrow. — Prodigies  ennmerated. — Sicilian  earthquakes. 
— Man  rendered  obnoxious  to  these  calamities  by  sin. — God  the 
agent  in  them. — The  philosophy  that  stops  at  secondary  causes  re- 
proved  Our  own  late  miscarriages  accounted  for. — Satirical  notice 

taken  of  our  trips  to  Fontainblean. — But  the  pulpit,  not  satire,  the 
proper  engine  of  reformation. — The  Reverend  Advertiser  of  engraved 
.Sermons.— Petit-mailre  parson. — The  good  preacher. — Pictures  of  a 
theatrical  clerical  coxcomb. — Story-tellers  and  jesters  in  the  pulpit 
reproved— Apostrophe  to  popular  applause.— Retailers  of  ancient 
philosophy  expostulated  with. — Sum  of  the  whole  matter. — Effects 
of  sacerdotal  mismanagement  ou  the  laity.— Their  folly  and  extra- 
vagance.— The  mischiefs  of  profusion. — Profusion  itself,  with  all 
its  consequent  evils,  ascribed,  as  to  its  principal  cause,  to  the  want 
of  discipline  in  the  universities. 


O  FOR  a  lodge  in  some  vast  wilderness, 
Some  boundless  contiguity  of  shade, 
Where  rumour  of  oppression  and  deceit. 
Of  unsuccessful  or  successful  war, 


32  THE  TASK. 


BOOK    IX. 


Might  never  reach  me  more.     My  ear  is  paiii'd, 
My  soul  is  sick,  with  ev'ry  day's  report 
Of  wrong  aud  outrage,  with  wliich  Earth  is  fill'd. 
'  There  is  uo  tiesh  in  man's  obdurate  heart. 
It  does  not  feel  for  man ;  the  nat'ral  bond 
1  Of  brotherhood  is  sever'd  as  the  flax, 
/    That  falls  asunder  at  the  touch  of  fire. 
He  finds  his  fellow  guilty  of  a  skin 
Not  colour'd  like  his  own;  and  having  pow'r 
T'  enforce  the  wrong,  for  such  a  worthy  cause 
Dooms  and  devotes  him  as  a  lawful  prey. 
Lands  intersected  by  a  narrow  frith 
Abhor  each  other.     Mountains  interpos'd 
Make  enemies  of  nations,  who  had  else 
Like  kindred  drops  been  mingled  into  one. 
Thus  man  devotes  his  brother,  and  destroys  ; 
And,  worse  than  ail,  and  most  to  be  deplor'd 
As  human  nature's  broadest,  foulest  blot. 
Chains  him,  aud  tasks  him,  and  exacts  his  sweat 
With  stripes,  that  Mercy  with  a  bleeding  heart 
Weeps,  when  she  sees  inflicted  on  a  beast. 
Then  what  is  man?  And  what  man,  seeing  this, 
i     And  having  human  feelings,  does  not  blush, 
l^And  hang  his  head,  to  think  himself  a  man? 
I  would  not  have  a  slave  to  till  my  ground, 
To  carry  me,  to  fan  me  while  I  sleep. 
And  tremble  when  I  wake,  for  all  the  wealth. 
That  sinews  bought  and  sold  have  ever  earn'd. 
No :  dear  as  freedom  is,  and  in  my  heart's 
Just  estimation  pri^'d  above  all  price, 


'  I   'L-\    !  *-       7    lA^U^"    ^ 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  33 

I  had  much  rather  be  myself  the  slave, 
And  wear  tlie  bonds,  than  fasten  them  on  him. 
We  have  no  slaves  at  home— Then  why  abroad  ? 
And  they  themselves  once  ferried  o'er  the  wave. 
That  parts  us,  are  emancipate  and  loos'd. 
Slaves  cannot  breathe  in  England ;  if  their  lungs 
Receive  our  air,  that  moment  they  are  free ; 
They  touch  our  country,  and  their  shackles  fall. 
That's  noble,  and  bespeaks  a  nation  proud 
And  jealous  of  the  blessing.     Spread  it  then, 
And  let  it  circulate  through  ev'ry  vein 
Of  all  your  empire ;  that,  where  Britain's  povv'r 
Is  felt,  mankind  may  feel  her  mercy  too. 

Sure  there  is  need  of  social  intercourse. 
Benevolence,  and  peace,  and  mutual  aid, 
Between  the  nations  in  a  world,  that  seems 
To  toll  the  death-bell  of  its  own  decease, 
And  by  the  voice  of  all  its  elements 
To  preach  the  gen'ral  doom  *.     When  were  tiie  \\  inds 
Let  slip  with  such  a  warrant  to  destroy? 
When  did  the  waves  so  haughtily  o'erleap 
Their  ancient  barriers,  deluging  the  dry? 
Fires  from  beneath,  and  meteors  f  from  above. 
Portentous,  unexampled,  unexplain'd, 
Have  kindled  beacons  in  the  skies;  and  th'  old 
And  crazy  Earth  has  had  her  shaking  fits 
More  frequent,  and  foregone  her  usual  rest. 
Is  it  a  time  to  wrangle  when  the  props 

*  Alluding  to  the  calamities  in  Jamaica.  t  August  18,  1783. 

c  3 


34  THE  TASK.  BOOK   JI. 

And  pillars  of  our  planet  seem  to  fail. 
And  Nature  with  a  dim  and  sickly  eye  * 
To  wait  the  close  of  all  ?  But  grant  her  end 
More  distant,  and  that  prophecy  demands 
A  longer  respite,  unaccomplisli'd  yet ; 
Still  they  are  frowning  signals,  and  bespeak 
Displeasure  in  His  breast,  who  smites  the  Earth 
Or  heals  it,  makes  it  languish  or  rejoice. 
And  'tis  but  seemly,  that,  where  all  deserve 
And  stand  expos'd  by  common  peccancy 
To  what  no  few  have  fell,  there  should  be  peace, 
And  brethren  in  calamity  should  love. 
Alas  for  Sicily!  rude  fragments  now 
Lie  scatter'd,  where  the  shapely  column  stood. 
Her  palaces  are  dust.     In  all  her  streets 
The  voice  of  singing  and  the  sprightly  chord 
Are  silent.     Revelry,  and  dance,  and  show 
Suffer  a  syncope  and  solemn  pause ; 
While  God  performs  upon  the  trembling  stage 
Of  his  own  works  his  dreadful  part  alone. 
How  does  the  Earth  receive  him? — with  what  signs 
Of  gratulation  and  delight  her  king? 
Pours  she  not  all  her  choicest  fruits  abroad. 
Her  sweetest  flow'rs,  her  aromatic  gums. 
Disclosing  Paradise  where'er  he  treads? 
She  quakes  at  his  approach.     Her  hollow  womb, 
Conceiving  thunders,  through  a  thousand  deeps 
And  fiery  caverns,  roars  beneath  his  foot. 

•  AUiidiDg  to  the  fog  that  covered  both  Europe  and  Asia  diirin* 
lilt;  whole  siiitinit-r  of  178:;. 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  3> 

The  hills  move  lightly,  arul  the  mountains  smoke. 

For  he  has  touch'd  them.     From  th"  extremest  point 

Of  elevation  down  into  the  abyss 

His  wratii  is  bnsy,  and  liis  frown  is  felt. 

The  rocks  fall  headlong,  and  the  valleys  rise, 

The  rivers  die  into  offensive  pools, 

And,  charg'd  with  putrid  verdure,  breathe  a  gross 

And  mortal  nuisance  into  all  the  air. 

What  solid  was,  by  transformation  strange, 

Grows  fluid;  and  the  fix'd  and  rooted  earth, 

Tormented  into  billows,  heaves  and  swells, 

Or  with  vertiginous  and  hideous  whirl 

Sucks  down  its  prey  insatiable.     Immense 

The  tumult  and  the  overthrow,  the  pangs 

And  agonies  of  human  and  of  brute 

Multitudes,  fugitive  on  ev'ry  side. 

And  fugitive  in  vain.     The  sylvan  scene 

Migrates  uplifted;  and,  with  all  its  soil 

Alighting  in  far  distant  fields,  finds  out 

A  new  possessor,  and  survives  the  change. 

Ocean  has  caught  the  frenzy,  and  upwrought 

To  an  enormous  and  o'erbearing  height. 

Not  by  a  mighty  wind,  but  by  that  voice, 

Which  winds  and  waves  obey,  invades  the  i^hovv 

Resistless.     Never  such  a  sudden  flood, 

Upridg'd  so  high,  and  sent  on  such  a  charge, 

Possess'd  an  inland  scene.     Vv'iicre  now  the  throrg, 

That  press'd  the  beach,  and,  hasty  to  dej)art, 

Look'd  to  the  sea  for  safety  ?  They  arc  gone. 

Gone  with  the  refluent  wave  into  the  deep — 


36  THE  TASK.  BOOK  IT. 

A  prince  with  half  his  people!  Aucieiit  tow'rs. 
And  roofs  embattled  high,  the  gloomy  scenes, 
Where  beauty  oft  and  letter'd  worth  consume 
Life  in  the  unproductive  shades  of  death, 
Fall  prone :  the  pale  inhabitants  come  forth^ 
And,  ha})py  in  their  unforeseen  release 
From  all  the  rigours  of  restraint,  enjoy 
The  terrors  of  the  day,  that  sets  them  free. 
Who  then,  that  has  thee,,  would  not  hold  thee  fast. 
Freedom !  whom  they  that  lose  thee  so  regret, 
That  e'en  a  judgment,  making  way  for  thee. 
Seems  in  their  eyes  a  mercy  for  thy  sake. 

Such  evil  Sin  hath  wrought ;  and  such  a  flame 
Kindled  in  Heav'n,  that  it  burns  down  to  Earth, 
And  in  the  furious  inquest,  that  it  makes 
On  God's  behalf,  lays  waste  his  fairest  works. 
The  very  elements,  though  each  be  meant 
The  minister  of  man,  to  serve  his  wants, 
Conspire  against  him.     With  his  breath  he  draws 
A  plague  into  his  blood;  and  cannot  use 
Life's  necessary  means,  but  he  must  die. 
Storms  rise  t'  o'erwhelm  him  ;  or,  if  stormy  winds 
Rise  not,  the  waters  of  the  deep  shall  rise, 
And,  needing  none  assistance  of  the  storm, 
Shall  roll  themselves  ashore,  and  reach  him  there. 
The  earth  shall  shake  him  out  of  all  his  holds, 
Or  make  his  house  his  grave :  nor  so  content, 
Shall  counterfeit  the  motions  of  the  flood, 
And  drown  him  in  her  dry  and  dusty  gulfs. 
W'hat  tlien!— Were  they  tiie  wicked  above  all. 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  37 

And  we  the  righteous,  whose  fast  anchor'd  isle 
Mov'd  not,  while  theirs  was  roek.'d,  like  a  light  skiff^ 
The  sport  of  ev'17  wave?  No:  none  are  clear, 
And  none  than  we  more  guilty.     But,  where  all 
Stand  chargeable  with  guilt,  and  to  the  shafts 
Of  wrath  obnoxious,  God  may  choose  his  mark : 
May  punish,  if  he  please,  the  less,,  to  warn 
The  more  malignant.     If  he  spar'd  not  them, 
Tremble  and  be  amaz'd  at  thine  escape, 
Far  guiltier  England,  lest  he  spare  not  thee ! 
Happy  the  man,  who  sees  a  God  craploy'd 
In  all  the  good  and  ill,  that  checker  life! 
Resolving  all  events,  with  their  eflects 
And  manifold  results,  into  the  will 
And  arbitration  wise  of  tlie  Supreme. 
Did  not  his  eye  rule  all  things,  and  intend 
The  least  of  our  concerns  (since  from  the  least 
The  greatest  oft  originate) ;  could  chance 
Find  place  in  his  dominion,  or  dispose 
One  lawless  particle  to  thwart  his  plan ; 
Then  God  might  be  surpris'd,  and  unforeseen 
Contingence  might  alarm  him,  and  disturb 
The  smooth  and  equal  course  of  his  affairs. 
This  truth  Philosophy,  though  eagle-ey'd 
In  nature's  tendencies,  oft  overlooks ; 
And,  having  found  his  instrument,  forgets. 
Or  disregards,  or,  more  presumptuous  still. 
Denies  the  pow'r  that  wields  it.     God  proclaims 
His  hot  displeasure  against  foolish  men, 
That  live  an  atheist  litie :  involves  the  Heav'ns 


V^f,  THE  TASK.  BOOK  II. 

Ill  tempests ;  quits  his  grasp  upon  tlic  winds, 
And  gives  them  all  their  fury:  bids  a  plague 
Kindle  a  fiery  boil  upon  the  skin, 
And  putrify  the  breath  of  blooming  Health. 
He  calls  for  famine,  and  the  meagre  fiend 
Blows  mildew  from  between  his  shrivell'd  lips, 
And  taints  the  golden  ear.     He  springs  his  mines 
And  desolates  a  nation  at  a  blast. 
Forth  steps  the  spruce  philosopher,  and  tells 
Of  homogeneal  and  discordant  springs 
And  principles ;  of  causes  how  they  work 
By  necessary  laws  their  sure  effects ; 
Of  action  and  re-action:  he  has  found 
The  source  of  the  disease,  that  nature  feels, 
And  bids  the  world  take  heart  and  banish  fear. 
Thou  fool  I  will  thy  discov'ry  of  the  cause 
Suspend  th'  effect,  or  heal  it?  Has  not  God 
Still  wrought  by  means  since  first  lie  made  the  world  ? 
And  did  he  not  of  old  employ  his  means 
To  drown  it?  What  is  his  creation  less 
Than  a  capacious  reservoir  of  means 
Form'd  for  his  use,  and  ready  at  his  will?_ 
Go,  dress  thine  eyes  with  eye-salve;  ask  of  liim, 
Or  ask  of  whomsoever  he  has  taught ; 
And  learn,  though  late,  the  genuine  cause  of  all. 
England,  with  all  thy  faults,  I  love  thee  still — 
My  country !  and,  while  yet  a  nook  is  left, 
Wliere  English  minds  and  manners  may  be  found. 
Shall  be  coustrain'd  to  love  thee.    Though  thy  clime 
Be  fickle,  and  thy  year  most  part  deform'd 


THE  TIME-PIECE,  39 

With  dripping  rains,  or  wither'd  by  a  frost, 

I  would  not  J  et  exchange  thy  sullen  skies, 

And  fields  without  a  tlow'r,  for  warmer  France 

AVifh  all  her  vines;  nor  for  Ausonia's  groves 

Of  golden  fruitage,  and  her  myrtle  bow  Vs. 

To  shake  thy  senate,  and  from  heights  sublime 

Of  patriot  eloquence  to  flash  down  fire 

Upon  thy  foes,  was  never  meant  mj'^ask  ;> 

But  I  can  feel  thy  fortunes,  and  partake 

Thy  joys  and  sorrows,  with  as  true  a  heart 

As  any  thund'rer  there.     And  I  can  feel 

Thy  follies  too ;  and  with  a  just  disdain 

Frown  at  effeminates,  whose  very  looks 

Reflect  dishonour  on  the  land  I  love. 

How,  in  tJie  name  of  soldiership  and  sense, 

Should  England  prosper,  when  such  things,  as  smooth 

And  tender  as  a  girl,  all  essenc'd  o'er 

With  odours,  and  as  profligate  as  sweet ; 

Who  sell  their  laurel  for  a  myrtle  wreath, 

And  love  when  they  should  fight;  when  such  as  these 

Presume  to  lay  their  hand  upon  the  ark 

Of  her  magnificent  and  awful  cause? 

Time  was  when  it  was  praise  and  boast  enough 

In  ev'ry  clime,  and  travel  where  we  might. 

That  we  were  born  her  children.     Praise  enough 

To  fill  th'  ambition  of  a  private  man. 

That  Chatham's  language  was  his  mother  tongue, 

And  Wolfe's  great  name  compatriot  with  his  own. 

Farewell  those  honours,  and  farewell  with  them 

Tiie  hope  of  such  hereafter !  They  have  fall'n 


40  THE  TASK.  BOOK    II. 

Each  in  his  field  of  glory ;  one  in  arms, 

And  one  in  council. — Wolfe  upon  the  lap 

Of  smiling  A^ictory  that  moment  won. 

And  Chatham  heart-sick  of  his  country's  shame ! 

They  made  us  many  soldiers.     Chatham,  still 

Consulting  England's  happiness  at  home, 

Secur'd  it  by  an  unforgiving  frown, 

If  any  wrong'd  her.     \\  olfe,  where'er  he  fought, 

Put  so  much  of  his  heart  into  his  act. 

That  his  example  had  a  magnet's  force, 

And  all  were  swift  to  folloM'  whom  all  lov'd. 

Those  suns  are  set.     O  rise  some  other  such  \- 

Or  all  that  we  have  left  is  empty  talk 

Of  old  achievements,  and  despair  of  new. 

Now  hoist  the  sail,  and  let  the  streamers  float 
Upon  the  wanton  breezes.     Strew  the  deck 
With  lavender,  and  sprinkle  liquid  sweets, 
That  no  rude  savour  maritime  invade 
The  nose  of  nice  nobility !  Breathe  soft 
Ye  clarionets;  and  softer  still  ye  flutes; 
That  winds  and  waters,  lull'd  by  magic  sounds. 
May  bear  us  smoothly  to  the  Gallic  shore! 
True,  we  have  lost  aji  empire — let  it  pass. 
True ;  we  may  thank  the  perfidy  of  France, 
That  pick'd  the  jewel  out  of  England's  crown,. 
With  all  the  cunning  of  an  envious  shrew. 
And  let  that  pass— 'twas  but  a  trick  of  state — 
/~A  brave  man  knows  no  malice,  but  at  ouce 
/     Forgets  in  peace  the  injuries  of  war, 
( And  gives  his  direst  foe  a  friend's  embrace. 


'  t  at^p  c  f^n  i 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  41 

And,  sham'd  as  we  have  been,  to  the  very  beard 
Brav'd  and  defied,  and  in  our  own  sea  prov'd 
Too  weak  for  those  decisive  blows,  that  once 
Ensur'd  us  mast'i-y  there,  we  yet  retain 
Some  small  pre-eminence;  we  justly  boast 
At  least  superior  jockeyship,  and  claim 
The  honours  of  the  turf  as  all  our  own  I 
Go  then,  well  worthy  of  the  praise  ye  seek, 
And  show  the  shame,  ye  might  conceal  at  home^ 
In  foreign  eyes !  be  grooms  and  win  the  plate, 
Where  once  your  nobler  fathers  won  a  crown  !^ 
'Tis  geu'rous  to  communicate  your  skill 
To  those  that  need  it.     Folly  is  soon  learn'd : 
And  under  such  preceptors  who  can  fail ! 

There  is  a  pleasure  in  poetic  pains, 
Which  only  poets  know.     The  shifts  and  turns, 
Th'  expedients  and  inventions  multiform. 
To  which  the  mind  resorts,  iu  chase  of  terms 
Though  apt,  yet  coy,  and  difficult  to  win- 
To  arrest  tlie  fleeting  images,  that  fill 
The  mirror  of  the  mind,  and  hold  them  fast. 
And  force  them  sit,  till  he  has  pencil'd  ofi" 
A  faithful  likeness  of  the  forms  he  views; 
Then  to  dispose  his  copies  with  such  art. 
That  each  may  find  its  most  propitious  light, 
And  shine  by  situation,  hardly  less 
Than  by  the  labour  and  the  skill  it  cost ; 
Are  occupations  of  the  poet's  mind 
So  pleasing,  and  that  steal  away  the  thought 
With  such  address  from  themes  of  sad  import^ 


■^r-^-A^'V^. 


I 


42  THE  TASK.  BOOK  II. 

That,  lost  in  liis  own  nnisiiigs,  liappy  uiaii ! 
He  feels  th'  anxieties  of  life,  denied 
Their  wonted  entertainment,  all  retire. 
Such  joys  has  he  that  sings.     But  ah !  not  such, 
Or  seldom  such,  the  hearers  of  his  song. 
Fastidious,  or  else  listless,  or  perhaps 
Aware  of  nothing  arduous  in  a  task 
They  never  undertook,  they  liltle  note 
His  dangers  or  escapes,  and  haply  find 
Their  least  amusement  where  he  found  the  most. 
But  is  amusement  all?  studious  of  song. 
And  yet  ambitious  not  to  sing  in  vain, 
I  would  not  trifle  merely,  though  the  world 
Be  loudest  in  their^raise,  who  do  no  more. 
Yet  what  can^^atire,  v^vhether  grave  or  gay? 
It  may  correct  a  foiWe,  may  chastise 
The  freaks  of  fashion,  regulate  the  dress, 
Retrench  a  swordbiade,  or  displace  a  patch ; 
But  where  are  its  sublimer  trophies  found? 
What  vice  has  it  subdu'd  ?  whose  heart  reclaim'd 
;    By  rigour,  or  whom  laugh 'd  into  reform? 
/     Alas !  Leviathan  is  not  so  tam'd : 

Laugh'd  at,  he  laughs  again;  and,  stricken  hard. 
Turns  to  the  stroke  his  adamantine  scales, 
That  fear  no  discipline  of  human  hands. 

The  pulpit,  therefore  (and  I  name  it  fill'd 
With  solemn  awe,  that  bids  me  well  beware 
With  what  intent  I  touch  that  holy  thing)— 
The  pulpit  (when  the  sat'rist  has  at  last, 
Strutting  and  vap'xing  in  an  empty  school, 


^  /  /;  I  f-    fr-igr^     ^4^  /  ri^r^  ^   ^^JS^r 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  43 

Spent  all  his  force,  and  made  no  proselyte) — 
I  say  the  pulpit  (iti  the  sober  use 
Of  its  lea;ifiinate,  peculiar  pow'rs) 
Must  stand  acknowledg'd,  while  the  world  shall  stand, 
The  most  important  and  effectual  guard. 
Support,  and  ornament  of  Virtue's  cause. 
There  stands  the  messenger  of  truth:  there  stands 
The  legate  of  the  skies  !— His  theme  divine, 
His  office  sacred,  his  credentials  clear. 
By  him  the  violated  law  speaks  out 
Its  thunders ;  and  by  him,  in  strains  as  sweet 
As  angels  use,  the  Gospel  whispers  peace. 
He  stablislies  the  strong,  restores  the  weak, 
Reclaims  the  waud'rcr,  binds  the  broken  heart, 
And,  arm'd  himself  in  panoply  complete 
Of  heav'nly  temper,  furnishes  with  arms 
Bright  as  his  own,  and  trains,  by  ev'ry  rule 
Of  holy  discipline,  to  glorious  war 
The  sacramental  host  of  God's  elect ! 
Are  all  such  teachers? — would  to  Heav'u  all  were! 
But  hark — the  doctor's  voice  !— fast  wedg'd  between 
Two  empirics  he  stands,  and  with  swoln  cheeks 
Inspires  the  news,  his  trumpet.     Keener  far 
Than  all  invective  is  his  bold  harangue, 
While  through  that  public  organ  of  report 
I  He  hails  the  clergy  ;  and,  defying  shame, 
Announces  to  the  world  his  own  and  theirs ! 
He  teaches  those  to  read,  whom  schools  dismissVl, 
And  colleges,  untaught;  sells  accent,  tone, 
And  emphasis  in  score,  and  gives  to  prav'r 


44  THE  TASK.  BOOK  II. 

Th'  adagio  and  andante  it  demands. 
He  grinds  divinitj  of  other  days 
Down  into  modern  nse ;  transforms  old  print  j 

To  zigzag  manuscript,  and  cheats  the  eyes 
Of  gall'ry  critics  by  a  tliousand  arts. 
Are  there  who  purcliase  of  the  doctor's  w  are  ? 
O,  name  it  not  in  Gath  ! — it  cannot  be, 
That  grave  and  learned  clerks  should  need  such  aid. 
He  doubtless  is  in  sport,  and  does  but  droll, 
Assuming  thus  a  rank  unknown  before — 
Grand  caterer  and  dry-nurse  of  the  church  ! 
I  venerate  the  man,  whose  heart  is  warm, 
Whose  hands  are  pure,  whose  doctrine  and  whose  life. 
Coincident,  exhibit  lucid  proof. 
That  he  is  honest  in  the  sacred  cause. 
To  such  I  render  more  than  mere  respect. 
Whose  actions  say,  that  tlioy  respect  themselves. 
But  loose  in  morals,  and  in  manners  vain, 
In  conversation  frivolous,  in  dress 
Extreme,  at  once  rapacious  and  profuse ; 
Frequent  in  park  with  lady  at  his  side. 
Ambling  and  prattling  scandal  as  he  goes; 
But  rare  at  home,  and  never  at  his  books. 
Or  with  his  pen,  save  wi)eu  he  scrawls  a  card ; 
Constant  at  routs,  familiar  with  a  round 
Of  ladyships,  a  stranger  to  the  poor; 
Ambitious  of  preferment  for  its  gold. 
And  well  prepar'd,  by  ignorance  and  sloth, 
By  infidelity  and  love  of  world. 
To  make  God's  work  a  sinecure  ;  a  slave 


THE  TliME-PlECE.  4'i 

To  his  own  pleasures  and  his  patron's  pride : 
From  such  apostles,  O  je  mitred  lieads, 
Preserve  the  church !  and  lay  not  careless  liands 
On  sculls,  that  cannot  teach,  and  will  not  learn. 

Would  I  descrihe  a  preacher  such  as  Paul, 
Were  he  on  Earth,  would  hear,  approve,  and  own, 
Paul  should  himself  direct  me.     I  would  trace 
His  master-strokes,  and  draw  from  his  design. 
I  would  express  him  simple,  grave,  sincere ; 
In  doctrine  uncorrupt;  in  language  plain. 
And  plain  in  manner;  decent,  solemn,  chaste, 
And  natural  in  gesture;  much  impress'd 
Himself,  as  conscious  of  his  awful  charge, 
And  anxious  mainly  that  the  flock  he  feeds 
May  feel  it  too ;  aflectionate  in  look, 
And  tender  in  address,  as  well  becomes 
A  messenger  of  grace  to  guilty  men. 
Behold  the  picture ! — Is  it  like  ? — Like  whom  ? 
The  things  that  mount  the  rostrum  with  a  skip. 

And  then  skip  down  again ;  pronounce  a  text ; 

Cry— hem;  and  reading  what  they  never  wrote, 
i  Just  fifteen  minutes,  huddle  up  their  work, 
1  And  with  a  well-bred  whisper  close  the  scene ! 
In  man  or  woman,  but  far  most  in  man, 

And  most  of  all  in  man,  that  ministers 

And  serves  the  altar,  in  my  soul  I  loath 

All  affectation,     'Tis  my  perfect  scorn; 

Object  of  my  implacable  disgust. 

What! — will  a  man  play  tricks,  will  he  indulge 

A  silly  fond  conceit  of  his  fair  form, 


4G  THE  TASK.  BOOK  11 

And  just  proportion,  fashionable  mien, 
And  pretty  face,  in  presence  of  his  God? 
Or  will  he  seek  to  daszle  me  with  tropes, 
As  with  the  diamond  on  his  lily  band, 
And  play  his  brilliant  parts  before  my  eyes, 
When  I  am  hungry  for  the  bread  of  life  ? 
He  mocks  his  Maker,  prostitutes  and  shames 
His  noble  office,  and  instead  of  truth, 
Displaying  his  own  beauty,  starves  his  flock  ! 
Therefore  avaunt  all  attitude,  and  stare, 
And  start  theatric,  practis'd  at  the  glass ! 
I  seek  divine  simplicity  in  him, 
Who  handles  things  divine ;  and  all  besides. 
Though  learn'd  with  labour,  and  though  mucli  aduiir' 
By  curious  eyes  and  judgments  ill-inform'd, 
To  me  is  odious  as  the  nasal  twang- 
Heard  at  conventicle,  where  worthy  men. 
Misled  by  custom,  strain  celestial  themes 
Through  the  press'd  nostril,  spectacle-bestrid. 
Some  decent  in  demeanour  while  they  preach, 
That  task  perform 'd,  relapse  into  tliemselves; 
And,  having  spoken  wisely,  at  the  close 
Grow  wanton,  and  give  proof  to  ev'ry  eye, 
Whoe'er  was  edified,  themselves  were  not ! 
\^     /'^Torth  comes  the  pocket  mirror. — First  we  stroke 
j^S-v  An  eyebrow ;  next  compose  a  straggling  lock  ; 
^     J  Then  with  an  air  most  gracefully  perform 'd 


.f 


Fall  back  into  our  seat,  extend  an  arm 
And  lay  it  at  its  ease  with  gentle  care, 
-With  handkerchief  in  hand  depending  low ; 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  47 

The  better  hand  more  busy  gives  the  nose 

Its  bergamot,  or  aids  th'  indebted  eye 

With  opera-glass,  to  watch  tl)e  moving  scene, 

And  recognize  the  slow-retiring  fair. — 

Now  this  is  fulsome ;  and  oflends  me  more 

Than  in  a  churchman  slovenly  neglect 

And  rustic  coarseness  would.     A  heavenly  mind 

May  be  indift  'rent  to  her  house  of  clay. 

And  slight  the  hovel  as  beneath  her  care; 

But  how  a  body  so  fentastic,  trim, 

And  quaint  in  its  deportment  and  attire, 

Can  lodge  a  heav'niy  mind— demands  a  doubt. 

He,  that  negociates  between  God  and  man 
As  God's  ambassador,  the  grand  concerns 
Of  judgment  and  of  mercy,  should  beware 
Of  lightness  in  his  speech.     'Tis  pitiiul 
To  court  a  grin,  when  you  should  woo  a  soul ; 
To  break  a  jest,  when  pity  would  inspire 
Pathetic  exhortation  ;  and  t'  address 
The  skittish  fancy  with  facetious  tales, 
When  sent  with  God's  commission  to  the  heart ! 
So  did  not^  Paul.     Direct  me  to  a  quip 
^r  merry  turn  iu  all  hfijever  wrote, 
And  I  consent  you  take  it  for  your  text, 
YoiuL_only  one,  till  sides  and  benches  fail. 
N^:  he  w  as  serious  in  a  serious  cause, 
And  understood  too  well  the  weigiity  terms 
That  he  had  tak'n  iu  charge.     He  would  not  stoop 
Fo  conquer  those  by  jocular  exploits, 
Whom  truth  and  soberness  assail'd  in  vain. 


48  THE  TASK.  BOOK   11. 

O  Popular  Applause !  what  heart  of  man 
Is  proof  against  thy  sweet  seducing  charms? 
Tlie  w  isest  and  the  best  feel  urgent  need 
Of  all  their  caution  in  Iliy  gentlest  gales; 
But  sweil'd  into  a  gust — who  then  alas ! 
With  all  his  canvass  set,  and  inexpert, 
And  therefore  heedless,  can  withstand  thy  pow'r? 
Praise  from  the  rivell'd  lips  of  tootiiless  bald 
Decrepitude,  and  in  the  looks  of  lean 
And  craving  Poverty,  and  in  the  bow 
Respectful  of  the  smutch 'd  artificer. 
Is  oft  too  welcome,  and  may  much  disturb 
The  bias  of  the  purpose.     How  much  more, 
Pour'd  forth  by  beauty  splendid  and  polite, 
In  language  soft  as  adoration  breathes ! 
Ah  spare  your  idol !  think  iiim  human  still. 
Charms  he  may  have,  but  he  has  frailties  too ! 
Dote  not  too  much,  nor  spoil  wiiat  ye  admire. 

All  truth  is  from  the  sempiternal  source 
Of  light  divine.     But  Egypt,  Greece,  and  Rome, 
Drew  from  the  stream  below.     More  favour'd  we 
Drink,  when  we  choose  it,  at  the  fountain  head. 
To  them  it  flow'd  much  mingled  and  defil'd 
With  hurtful  error,  prejudice,  and  dreams 
Illusive  of  philosophy,  so  call'd, 
But  falsely.     Sages  after  sages  strove 
In  vain  to  filter  off  a  crystal  draught 
Pure  from  the  lees,  which  often  more  enhanc'd 
The  thirst  tliat  slak'd  it,  and  not  seldom  bred 
Intoxication  and  delirium  wild. 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  4!> 

In  vain  tliey  piishM  inquiry  to  the  biitli 
And  spiinjijtime  of  tlie  world !  ask'd,  Whence  is  man  ? 
Why  tbrra'd  at  all  ?  and  wherefore  as  lie  is  ? 
!  Where  must  he  find  his  Maker?  with  what  rites  ^- 

Adore  him  ?  \^  ill  he  hear,  accept,  and  ble^sl^y  'ijr 

Or  does  he  sit  regardless  of  his  works?         /  iA"^ 

Has  man  within  him  an  immortal  seed  ?         ^7^' 
Or  does  the  tomb  take  all?  If  he  survive  \ 

His  ashes,  where  ?  and  in  w  hat  weal  or  woe  ?  ) 
Knots  worthy  of  solution,  which  alone 
A  Deity  could  solve.     Their  answers,  va^ue 
And  all  at  random,  fabulous  and  dark, 
Left  them  as  dark  themselves.     Their  rules  of  lift- 
Defective  and  unsanction'd,  prov'd  too  weak 
To  bind  the  roving  appetite,  and  lead 
Blind  nature  to  a  God  not  yet  reveal'd, 
'Tis  Revelation  satisfies  all  doubts, 
Explains  all  mysteries,  except  her  own, 
And  so  illuminates  the  path  of  life. 
That  fools  discover  it,  and  stray  no  more. 
[Now  tell  me,  dignified  and  sapient  sir, 
ilVIy  man  of  morals,  nurtur'd  in  the  shades 
[Of  Acadcmus — is  this  false  or  true?  — 
Is  Christ  the  abler  teacher,  or  the  schools^? 
If  Clirist,  then  why  resort  at.  ev'ry  tura 
To  Athens  or  to  Koine,  for  wisdom  short 
gf  man's  occasrons,  when  in  him  reside 
jJiace,  knowledge,  comfort-^ an  unfathom'd  store? 
tlow  oft,  when  Paul  has  serv'd  us  with  a  text, 
tias  Epictetus,  Plato,  TuUy,  preach'd ! 


oO  THE  TASK.  BOOK  II. 

Men  that,  if  now  alive,  would  sit  content 
And  humble  learners  of  a  Saviour's  worth, 
Preach  it  who  might.     Such  was  their  love  of  trutJi, 
Their  thirst  of  knowledge,  and  their  candour  too! 

And  thus  it  is. — The  pastor,  either  vain 
By  nature,  or  by  flatt'ry  made  so,  taught 
To  gaze  at  his  own  splendour,  and  t'  exalt 
Absurdly,  not  his  office,  but  himself; 
Or  unenlighten'd,  and  too  proud  to  learn ; 
Or  vicious,  and  not  therefore  apt  to  teach  ; 
Perverting  often,  by  the  stress  of  lewd 
And  loose  example,  wiiom  he  should  instruct ; 
Exposes,  and  holds  up  to  broad  disgrace, 
The  noblest  function,  and  discredits  much 
The  brightest  truths,  that  man  has  ever  seen. 
For  ghostly  counsel ;  if  it  either  fall 
Below  the  exigence,  or  be  not  back'd 
With  show  of  love,  at  least  with  hopeful  proof 
Of  some  sincerity  on  the  giver's  part ; 
Or  be  dishonour'd  in  th'  exterior  form 
And  mode  of  its  conveyance  by  such  tricks, 
As  move  derision,  or  by  foppish  airs 
And  histrionic  mumm'ry,  that  let  down 
The  pulpit  to  the  level  of  the  stage ; 
Drops  from  the  lips  a  disregarded  thing. 
The  weak  perhaps  are  mov'd,  but  are  not  taught, 
While  prejudice  in  men  of  stronger  minds 
Takes  deeper  root,  confirm'd  by  what  they  see. 
A  relaxation  of  religion's  hold 
Upon  the  roving  and  untutor'd  heart 


i&-\^^  rk<.n  oj 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  SV 

Soon  follows,  and,  the  curb  of  conscience  snapp'd, 
The  laifj^run  wild. — But  do  they  now  ? 
Note  their  extravagance,  and  be  convinc'd. 

As  nations,  ignorant  of  God,  contrive 
A  wooden  one ;  so  we,  no  longer  taught 
By  monitors,  that  mother  church  supplies, 
Now  make  our  own.     Posterity  will  ask 
(If  e'er  posterity  see  verse  of  mine) 
Some  fifty  or  a  hundred  lustrums  hence, 
What  was  a  monitor  in  George's  days  ? 
My  very  gentle  reader,  yet  unborn, 

Of  whom  I  needs  must  augur  better  things,  ^ 

Since  Heav'n  would  sure  grow  weary  of  a  world-    r-") 
Productive  only  of  a  race  like  ours,  .  •^w^'*'^ 

A  monitor  is  wood — plank  shaven  thin.  ^~ 
We  wear  it  at  our  backs.     There,  closely  brac'd 
And  neatly  fitted,  it  compresses  hard 
The  prominent  and  most  unsightly  bones. 
And  binds  the  shoulder  flat.     We  prove  its  use 
Sov'reign  and  most  effectual  to  secure 
A  form,  not  now  gymnastic  as  of  yore. 
From  rickets  and  distortion,  else  our  lot. 
But,  thus  admonish'd,  we  can  walk  erect — 
One  proof  at  least  of  manhood  !  while  the  friend 
Sticks  close,  a  Mentor  worthy  of  his  charge. 
Our  habits,  costlier  than  Liicullus  wore, 
And  by  caprice  as  multiplied  as  his. 
Just  please  us  while  the  fashion  is  at  full. 
But  change  with  ev'ry  moon.    The  sycophant, 
Who  waits  to  dress  us,  arbitrates  their  date; 
d2 


52  THE  TASK.  BOOK  11. 

Surveys  his  fair  reversion  with  keen  eye ; 

Finds  one  ill  made,  another  obsolete, 

This  fits  not  nicely,  that  is  ill  conceived  ; 

And,  making  prize  of  all  that  he  condemns, 

With  our  expenditure  defrays  his  own. 

Variety's  the  very  spice  of  life, 

That  gives  it  all  its  flavour.     We  have  run 

Through  ev'ry  change,  that  Fancy,  at  the  loom 

Exhausted,  has  had  genius  to  supply ; 

And,  studious  of  mutation  still,  discard 

A  real  elegance,  a  little  us'd. 

For  monstrous  novelty  and  strange  disguise. 

We  sacrifice  to  dress,  till  liousehold  joys 

And  comforts  cease.     Dress  drains  our  cellar  dr}', 

And  keeps  our  larder  lean ;  pnls  out  our  fires  ; 

And  introduces  hunger,  frost,  and  w  oe, 

Where  peace  and  hospitahty  might  reign. 

What  man  that  lives,  and  that  knows  how  to  live 

Would  fail  t'  exhibit  at  the  public  shows 

A  form  as  splendid  as  the  proudest  there, 

Though  appetite  raise  outcries  at  the  cost? 

A  man  o'th'  town  dines  late,  but  soon  enough. 

With  reasonable  forecast  and  dispatch, 

T'  ensure  a  sidebox  station  at  half  price. 

You  think  perhaps,  so  dehcate  his  dress, 

His  daily  fare  as  delicate.     Alas! 

He  picks  clean  teeth,  and,  busy  as  he  seems 

With  an  old  tavern  quill,  is  hungry  yet!  T 

'J'he  rout  is  Folly's  circle,  w  hich  she  draws  0 

With  magic  wand.    So  potent  is  the  spell. 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  53 

That  none,  deroy'd  into  that  fatal  rin^, 

I  nless  by  Ilcav'n's  peculiar  grace,  escape. 

There  we  grow  early  grey,  but  never  wise ; 

There  form  connexions,  but  acquire  no  friend  ; 

Solicit  pleasure  hopeless  of  success  ; 

Waste  youth  in  occupations  only  fit 

For  second  childhood,  and  devote  old  age 

To  sports,  which  only  childhood  could  excuse. 

There  they  are  happiest,  who  dissemble  best 

Their  weariness  ;  and  they  the  most  polite, 

\^  iio  squander  time  and  treasure  with  a  smile. 

Though  at  their  own  destruction.     She,  that  asks 

Her  dear  five  hundred  friends,  contemns  them  all, 

And  hates  their  coming.     They  (what  can  they  less?) 

Make  just  reprisals;  and  with  cringe,  and  siirug, 

And  bow  obsequious,  hide  their  hate  of  her. 

All  catch  the  frenzy,  downward  from  her  grace, 

Whose  flambeaux  flash  against  the  morning  skies. 

And  gild  our  chamber  ceilings  as  they  pass, 

To  her,  who,  frugal  only  that  her  thrift 

May  feed  excesses  she  can  ill  aflbrd, 

Is  hackney'd  home  unlackey'd ;  who,  in  haste 

Alighting,  turns  the  key  in  her  own  door. 

And,  at  the  watchman's  lantern  borr'wing  light, 

Finds  a  cold  bed  her  only  comfort  left. 

Wives  beggar  husbands,  husbands  starve  their  wives, 

On  Fortune's  velvet  altar  off'ring  up 

Their  last  poor  pittance — Fortune,  most  severe 

Of  goddesses,  yet  known,  and  costlier  far 

Than  all,  that  held  their  routs  in  Juno's  Heav'n.— 


u4  THE  TASK.  HOOK  J  I. 

So  fare  we  in  this  prison-hQuse_tlte  Worldj,— 
And  'tis  a  fearful  spectacle  to  see  -^ 

So  many  maniacs  dancing  in  their  chains.-^ 
They  gaze  upon  tlie  links,  that  hold  them  fast, 
With  eyes  of  anguish,  execrate  their  lot, 

Lliien  shake  them  in  despair,  and  dance  again ! 
Now  basket  up  the  family  of  plagues. 
That  waste  our  vitals ;  peculation,  sale 
Of  honour,  perjury,  corruption,  frauds 
By  forgery,  by  subterfuge  of  law, 
Ry  tricks  and  lies  as  nura'rous  and  as  keen 
As  the  necessities  their  authors  feel; 
Then  cast  them,  closely  bundled,  ev'ry  brat 
hi.  the  right  door.     Profusion  is  the  sire. 

^Profusion  unrestrain'd  witii  all  that's  base 
in  character  has  litter'd  all  the  land, 
And  bred,  within  the  mem'ry  of  no  few, 
A  priesthood,  such  as  Baal's  was  of  old, 
A  people,  such  as  never  was  till  now. 
It  is  a  hungry  vice: — it  eats  up  all, 
That  gives  society  its  beauty,  strength. 
Convenience,  and  security,  and  use: 
Makes  men  mere  vermin,  worthy  to  be  trapp'd 
And  gibbeted,  as  fast  as  catchpole  claws 
Can  seize  the  slipp'ry  prey  :  unties  the  knot 

eOf  union,  and  converts  the  sacred  band,        ~> 
That  holds  mankind  together,  to  a  seourge. 
Profusion  deluging  a  state  witli  lusts 
Of  grossest  nature  and  of  worst  effects. 
Prepares  it  for  its  ruin:  hardens,  blinds. 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  OO 

And  warps,  the  conscieiices  of  public  men, 
Till  tliey  can  laugh  at  virtue;  mock  the  fools 
That  trust  them ;  and  in  th'  end  disclose  a  fixce, 
'J'hat  would  have  shock'd  Credulity  herself, 
Unraask'd,  vouchsafing  this  their  sole  excuse — 
Since  all  alike  are  seltish,  why  not  they? 
This  does  Profusion,  and  tli'  accursed  cause 
Of  such  deep  mischief  has  itself  a  cause. 
,'      In  colleges  and  halls  in  ancient  days, 
AVhen  learning,  virtue,  piety,  and  truth. 
Were  precious,  and  inculcated  with  care, 
There  dwelt  a  sage  call'd  Discipline.     His  liead, 
Not  yet  by  time  completely  silver'd  o'er, 
Bespoke  him  past  the  bounds  of  freakish  youth. 
But  strong  for  service  still,  and  unimpair'd. 
His  eye  was  meek  and  gentle,  and  a  smile 
Play'd  on  his  lips ;  and  in  his  speech  was  heard 
Paternal  sweetness,  dignity,  and  love. 
The  occupation  dcarest_tq  his  heart 
Was  toj  eiicQuxage-gpodness.     He  would  stroke 
The  hefrt  of  modest  and  ingenuous  worth, 
That  blush'd  at  its  own  praise;  and  press  the  youlli 
Close  to  his  side,  that  pleas'd  him.     Learning  grew 
Beneath  his  care  a  thriving  vig'rous  j)lant ; 
The  mind  was  well  inform'd,  the  passions  held  t  ^ 

Subordinate,  and  diligence  was  choice.  { 1^ 

If  e'^cr  it  chanc'd,  as  sometimes  chance  it  must,    "^    . 
That  one  among  so  many  overleap'd  ,  is  ''■ '  i4^ 

The  limits  of  control,  his  gentle  eye  ,       fi^ 

Grevv~SterS,~aiid  darted  a  severe  rebuke :  J- 


•J^  THE  TASK,  BOOK   li. 

His  frown  was  full  of  terror,  and  his  voice 
Shook  the  dchnquent  with  such  fits  of  awe, 
As  left  him  not,  till  penitence  had  won 
Lost  favom  back  again,  and  clos'd  the  breach. 
But  Discipline,  a  faithful  servant  long, 
Declin'd  at  length  into  the  \ale  of  years  : 
A  palsj  struck  his  arm ;  his  sparkling  eye 
Was  qucnch'd  in  rheums  of  age:  his  voice,  nnstmn 
Grew  trcmnious,  and  mov'd  derision  more 
Than  rev'rence  in  perverse  rebclhous  youth. 
So  colleges  and  halls  neglected  much 
Their  good  old  friend ;  and  Discipline  at  length, 
O'crlook'd  and  unemploy'd,  fell  sick  and  died. 
Tiien  Study  languish'd,  Enujlation  slept, 
„And  \  irtue  fled.     The  schools  became  a  scene 
Of  solemn  farce,  where  Ignorance  in  stilts, 
His  cap  well  lined  with  logic  not  his  own, 
With  parrot  tongue  perlorm'd  the  scholar's  part, 
Proceeding  soon  a  graduated  dunce. 
Then  compromise  had  place,  and  scrutiny 
Became  stone  blind;  precedence  went  in  truck. 
And  he  was  competent  whose  purse  was  so. 
A  dissolution  of  all  bonds  ensned  ; 
The  curbs  invented  for  the  mulish  moutli 
Of  headstrong  youth  were  broken  ;  bars  and  bolfs 
Grew  rusty  by  disuse  ;  and  massy  gates 
Forgot  their  office,  op'ning  with  a  touch; 
Till  gowns  at  length  are  found  mere  masquerade, 
The  tassell'd  cap  and  the  spruce  baud  a  jesr,~~ 
A  mock'ry  of  the  world!  What  need  of  these 


THE  TIME-PIECE. 

For  j!^araesters,  jockeys,  biotliellers  impure, 
Spendthrifts,  and  booted  sportsmen,  oft'ner  seen 
With  belted  waist  and  pointers  at  tlieir  heels, 
Than  in  the  bounds  of  duty?  What  vas  leamld, 
If^ught  vva§,,learji!Ui,n  cJuJdlioqd,  is.ibr^ot : 
And  such  expense,  as  piuciies  parents  bhie, 
And  mortifies  the  lib'ral  hand  of  love, 
Is  squander'd  in  pursuit  of  idle  sports 
And  vicious  pleasures :  buys  the  boy  a  name 
That  sits  a  sti?ma  on  his  father's  house, 
And  cleaves  through  life  inseparably  close 
To  him,  that  wears  it.     What  can  aftergames 
Of  riper  joys,  and  commerce  with  the  world, 
The  lewd  vain  world,  that  must  receive  liim  soon, 
Add  to  such  erudition,  thus  acquir'd, 
Where  science  and  where  virtue  are  profess'd? 
They  may  confirm  his  habits,  rivet  fast 
His  folly,  but  to  spoil  him  is  a  taskj^^ 
That  bids  defiance  to  th'  unitecTpow'rs 
Of  fashion,  dissipation,  taverns,  stews. 
Now  blame  we  most  the  nurselings  or  the  nurse  ? 
The  children  crook'd,  and  twisted,  and  deform'd, 
Througli  want  of  care ;  or  her,  whose  winking  eye 
And  slumb'riiig  oscitancy  mars  the  brood? 
The  nurse  no  doubt.     Regardless  of  her  charge. 
She  needs  herself  correction;  needs  to  learn. 
That  it  is  dang'rous  sporting  with  the  world. 
With  things  so  sacred  as  a  nation's  tnist. 
The  nurture  of  her  youtli,  her  dearest  pledge. 
AH  are  not  such,     I  had  a  brother  once — 
d3 


y 


,^>^'i«^ 


.5R  THE  TASK.  BOOK   II. 

Peace  to  the  mem'ry  of  a  man  of  worth, 

A  man  of  letters,  and  of  manners  too! 

Of  manners  sweet  as  Virtue  always  wears, 

When  gay  Good-nature  dresses  her  in  smiles. 

He  grae'd  a  college,  in  which  order  yet 

Was  sacred ;  and  was  honour'd,  lov'd,  and  wept, 

By  more  than  one,  themselves  conspicuous  there. 

Some  minds  are  temper'd  happily,  and  mix'd 

With  such  ingredients  of  good  sense,  and  taste 

Of  what  is  excellent  in  man,  they  thirst 

With  such  a  zeal  to  be  what  they  approve, 

That  no  restraints  can  circumscribe  them  more 

Than  they  themselves  by  choice,  for  wisdom's  sake. 

Nor  can  example  hurt  them:  what  they  see 

Of  vice  in  others  but  enhancing  more 

The  charms  of  virtue  in  their  just  esteem. 

If  such  escape  contagion,  and  emerge 

Pure  from  so  foul  a  pool  to  shine  abroad. 

And  give  the  world  their  talents  and  themselves. 

Small  thanks  to  those,  whose  negligence  or  sloth 

Expos'd  their  inexperience  to  the  snare, 

And  left  them  to  an  undirected  choice. 

See  then  the  quiver  broken  and  decay'd. 
In  which  are  kept  our  arrows !  Rusting  there 
In  wild  disorder,  and  unfit  for  use. 
What  wonder,  if,  discharg'd  into  the  world, 
They  shame  their  shooters  with  a  random  flight, 
Their  points  obtuse,  and  feathers  drunk  w  ith  wine ! 
Well  may  the  church  wage  unsuccessful  war 
With  such  artillery  arm'd.    Vice  panics  wide 


^>rV5  ^^^>n^    V^^   /h'^i'>^*'^ 


THE  TIME-PIECE.  59 

Til'  undreaded  volley  with  a  sword  of  straw, 
And  stands  an  impudent  and  fearless  mark. 
Have  we  not  track'd  the  felon  home,  and  fonnd 
JHis  birthplace  and  his  dam?  TJie  country  mourns, 
Mourns  because  ev'ry  plague,  that  can  infest 
.  Society,  and  that  saps  and  worms  the  base 
.  Of  th'  edifice,  that  policy  has  rais'd, 
i  Swarms  in  all  quarters :  meets  the  eye,  the  ear, 
;  And  suffocates  the  breath  at  ev'ry  turn, 
^^rofusiou  breeds  them;  and  the  cause  itself 
"Of  that  calamitous  mischief  has  been  found: 
Found  too  where  most  offensive,  in  the  skirts 
Of  the  rob'd  pedagogue !   Else  let  th'  arraign'd 
Stand  up  unconscious,  and  refute  the  charge. 
So,  when  the  Jewish  leader  stretch'd  his  arm, 
And  wav'd  his  rod  divine,  a  race  obscene, 
Spawn'd  in  the  muddy  beds  of  Nile,  came  forth, 
Polluting  Egypt :  gardens,  fields,  and  plains, 
Were  cover'd  with  the  pest;  the  streets  were  fill'd  ; 
The  croaking  nuisance  lurk'd  in  ev'ry  nook ; 
Nor  palaces,  nor  even  chambers,  'scap'd  : 
And  the  land  stank— so  num'rous  was  the  fry, 

^tflirt    <,€'■  f      .  *^  ^  ''A  ^  ^  'f^ri  t  ■  c'  ^  ,<7  (^  ^  ) 


THM  TASK, 


J    ,     _       anti  neatly  tied. 

Are  "wedded  thus  like  Ideality  to  old  age. 
For  int'rest  sake,  the  living*  to  the  dead. 


DRAIVK  BV  RICHARD  WT-STAT.T.RA.  ZTNGRAVKD    BY  J.  H.  ROBINS  OK: 
pubjj:shed  BYJOHN  SHARPE.PICCADJUL.V. 
OCT.  1.1817. 


THE    TASK 

BOOK  III. 


THE  GARDEN. 


Self-recollection,   and    reproof. — Address   to   domestic   happiness 

Some  account  of  niyiclf. — T;;e  vanity  of  many  of  their  pursuits, 
who  are  reimted  wise. — Justification  of  my  censures. — Divine  illu- 
miuation  necessary  to  the  most  expert  philosopher. — The  (juestion. 
What  is  truth  ?  answered  by  other  questious.— Domestic  happiness 
addressed  again. — Few  lovers  of  the  country — My  tame  hare. — 
Occupations  of  a  retired  gentleman  in  his  aarden. — Pruning. — 
Framing. — Greenhouse. — Sowing  of  flower  seeds. — The  country  pre- 
ferable to  the  town  even  in  the  winter. — Reasons  why  it  is  deserted 
at  that  season Ruinous  effects  of  aatning  and  of  expensive  improve- 
ment.— Book  concludes  with  an  apostrophe  to  the  metropolis. 


As  one,  who  long  in  thickets  and  in  brakes 
Entangled  winds  now  this  way  and  now  that 
His  devious  course  uncertain,  seeking  home; 
Or,  having  long  in  iniry  ways  been  ibii'd 
And  sore  discomfited,  Ironi  slough  to  slough 
Plunging  and  half-despairing  of  escape; 
If  chance  at  length  he  find  a  greensward  smooth 
And  faithful  to  the  foot,  his  spirits  rise, 


02  THE  TASK.  BOOK  III, 

He  cherups  brisk  his  ear-erecting  steed, 

And  winds  iiis  way  with  pleasure  and  with  ease; 

So  I,  designing  other  themes,  and  call'd 

T'  adorn  tlie  Sofa  with  eulogiuni  due, 

To  tell  its  slumbers,  and  to  paint  its  dreams, 

Have  rambled  wide.     In  country,  city,  seat 

Of  academic  fame  (howe'er  deserv'd), 

Long  held,  and  scarcely  disengag'd  at  last. 

But  now  with  pleasant  pace  a  cleanlier  road 

I  mean  to  tread.     I  feel  myself  at  large. 

Courageous  and  refresh'd  for  future  toil. 

If  toil  await  rac,  or  if  dangers  new. 

Since  pulpits  fail,  and  sounding  boards  reflect 
Most  part  an  empty  ineffectual  sound, 
Wliat  chance  that  I,  to  fame  so  little  known, 
Nor  conversant  with  men  or  manners  much. 
Should  speak  to  purpose,  or  with  better  hope 
Crack  the  satiric  thong?  'Twere  wiser  far 
For  me,  enamour'd  of  scquester'd  scenes. 
And  charm'd  with  rural  beauty,  to  repose. 
Where  chance  may  throw  me  beneath  elm.oj  vine, 
INIy  languid  limbs,  when  summer  sears  the  plains; 
Or,  when  rough  winter  rages,  on  tlie  soft 
And  shelter'd  Sofa,  while  the  nitrous  air 
Feeds  a  blue  flame,  and  makes  a  cheerful  hearth; 
There,  undisturb'd  by  Folly,  and  appris'd 
How  great  the  danger  of  disturbing  her, 
To  muse  in  silence,  or  at  least  confine 
Remarks,  that  gall  so  many,  to  the  few. 
My  partners  in  retreat.    Disgust  conceal'd 


"Uf 


THE  GARDEN.  (53 


Is  ofttimes  proof  of  wisdom,  when  the  fault 
Is  obstinate,  and  cure  bejond  our  reach. 
Domestic  happiness,  thou  only  blissi 
Of  Paradise,  that  has  surviv'd  the  fall! 
Though  few  now  taste  thee  unimpair'd  and  pure, 
Or  tasting  long  enjoy  thee!  too  infirm, 
Or  too  incautious,  to  preserve  thy  sweets 
Unraix'd  witli  drops  of  bitter,  which  neglect 
Or  temper  sheds  into  thy  crystal  cup  ; 
Thou  art  the  nurse  of  Virtue,  in  thine  arras 
She  smiles,  appearing,  as  in  truth  she  is, 
Heav'n-born,  and  destiu'd  to  the  skies  again. 
Thou  art  not  known  where  Pleasure  is  ador'd. 
That  reehng  goddess  with  the  zoneless  waist 
And  wand'ring  eyes,  still  leaning  on  the  arm 
Of  Novelty,  her  fickle,  frail  support ; 
For  thou  art  meek  and  constant,  hating  change, 
And  finding  in  the  calm  of  truth-tried  love 
Joys,  that  her  stormy  raptures  never  yield. 
Forsaking  thee  what  shipwreck  have  we  made 
Of  honour,  dignity,  and  fair  renown ! 
Till  prostitution  elbows  us  aside 
In  all  our  crowded  streets ;  and  senates  seem 
Conven'd  for  purposes  of  empire  less. 
Than  to  release  tli'  adultress  from  her  bond. 
Th'  adultress !  what  a  theme  for  angry  verse ! 
What  provocation  to  th'  indignant  heart, 
That  feels  for  injur'd  love !  but  I  disdain 
The  nauseous  task,  to  paint  her  as  she  is, 
Cruel,  abandon'd,  glorying  in  her  shame! 


G4  THE  TASK.  BOOK  III. 

No: — let  her  pass,  and  chariotfcd  aloug: 
In  guilty  splendour  sliake  the  public  ways ; 
The  frequency  of  crimes  lias  wash'd  them  whiie, 
And  verse  of  mine  shall  never  brand  the  wretcii, 
Whom  matrons  now  of  character  nnsmirch'd, 
And  chaste  themselves,  are  not  asliam'd  to  own. 
Virtue  and  vice  had  bound'ries  in  old  time 
Not  to  be  pass'd :  and  she,  that  had  renounc'd 
Her  sex's  honour,  was  renounc'd  herself 
By  all  that  priz'd  it ;  not  for  prud'ry's  sake, 
But  dignity's,  resentful  of  the  wrong. 
'Twas  hard  perhaps  on  here  and  there  a  waif, 
Desirous  to  return,  and  not  rcceiv'd : 
But  was  a  wholesome  rigour  in  the  main, 
,     And  taught  th'  unblemish'd  to  preserve  witli  care 
V-That  purity,  whose  loss  was  loss  of  all.     ■J\'t^^  *^^^  ' 
Men  too  were  nice  in  honour  in  those  days, 
And  judg'd  offenders  well.     Then  he  that  shar])'d, 
And  pocketfed  a  prize  by  fraud  obtaiu'd. 
Was  mark'd  and  shnnn'd  as  odious.     He  that  sold 
His  country,  or  was  slack  when  she  requir'd 
His  ev'ry  nerve  in  action  and  at  stretch, 
Paid  with  the  blood,  that  he  had  basely  spar'd, 
The  price  of  his  default.     But  now— yes,  now. 
We  are  become  so  candid  and  so  fair, 
So  lib'ral  in  construction,  and  so  rich 
In  christian  charity,  (good-natur'd  age !) 
That  they  are  safe,  sinners  of  cither  sex, 
Transgress  what  laws  they  may.     Well  drcss'd,  well 
Well  equipag'd,  is  ticket  good  enough,  [bred» 


THE  GARDET^.  05 

To  pass  us  readily  through  ev'ry  door. 

iJ\'pocrisy,  detest  her  as  we  may 

(And  no  man's  hatred  ever  wrong'd  her  yet), 

May  chiim  this  merit  still — that  she  admits 

The  worth  of  what  she  mimics  with  such  care, 

And  thus  gives  virtue  indirect  applause ; 

But  she  has  burnt  her  mask,  not  needed  here, 

Where  vice  has  such  allowance,  that  her  sliifts 

And  specious  semblances  have  lost  their  use.  ^^. 

I  was  a  stricken  deer,  that  left  the  herd*"^  O'h:'  \  ;      .. 
Long  since.     With  many  an  arrow  deep  infix'd 
My  panting  side  was  charg'd,  when  I  witlidrew 
To  seek  a  tranquil  death  in  distant  shades. 
There  was  I  found  by  one,  who  had  himself  *  > 

Been  hnrt  by  th'  archers.     In  his  side  he  bore,  .  f'^'^  ^  ^"^ 
And  in  his  hands  and  feet,  the  cruel  scars. 
With  gentle  force  soliciting  the  darts,  ^sf" 

He  drew  them  forth,  and  heal'd,  and  bade  me  livet^e-i^'^'" 
Since  tiien,  with  few  associate,  in  remote  ^'^'.U^ 

And  silent  woods  I  wander/ far  from  those  :    "''^ 

fjVIy  former  paii;ners  of  the  peopled  scene:      \' 

■>With  few  associates,  and  not  wishing  more. 
Here  much  I  ruminate,  as  much  I  may. 
With  other  view  s  of  men  and  manners  now 
Than  once,  and  others  of  a  life  to  come. 
I  see  that  all  are  wand'rers,  gone  astray  \ 
Each  in  his  own  delusions;  they  are  lost 
In  chase  of  fancied  happiness,  still  woo'd 
And  never  won.     Dream  after  dream  ensues; 
And  still  they  dream,  that  they  shall  still  succeed^ 


66  THE  TASK.  BOOK  HI. 

Aiid  still  are  disappointed.     Rings  the  world 
With  the  vain  stir.     I  sum  up  half  mankind, 
And  add  two-thirds  of  the  remaining  half, 
And  find  the  total  of  their  hopes  and  fears 
'^■-^teams,  empty  dreams.     The  million  flit  as  gay 
As  if  created  only  like  the  fly, 
That  spreads  his  motley  wings  in  th'  eye  of  noon, 
To  sport  their  season,  and  be  seen  no  more. 
^The  rest  are  sober  dreamers,  grave  and  wise. 
And  pregnant  with  discov'ries  new  and  rare. 
Some  write  a  narrative  of  wars,  and  feats 
Of  heroes  little  known ;  and  call  the  rant 
/     A  history:  describe  the  man,  of  whom 
,'  His  own  coevals  took  but  little  note, 

\         And  paint  his  person,  character,  and  views, 
\      As  they  had  known  him  from  his  mother's  \\omb. 
N^    They  disentangle  from  the  puzzled  skein, 
I    In  which  obscurity  has  wrapp'd  them  up, 
/     The  threads  of  politic  and  shrewd  design, 
/     That  ran  through  all  his  purposes,  and  charge 
/       His  mind  with  meanings  that  he  never  had, 
/        Or,  having,  kept  conceal'd.     Some  drill  and  bore 
The  solid  eailh,  and  from  the  strata  there 
Extract  a  register,  by  which  we  learn, 
;    That  he  who  made  it,  and  reveal'd  its  date 
•     To  Moses,  was  mistaken  in  its  age. 
/      Some,  more  acute,  and  more  industrious  still, 
Contrive  creation ;  travel  nature  up 
To  the  sharp  peak  of  her  sublimest  height, 
And  tell  us  whence  the  stars;  why  some  are  iix'd. 


V 


THE  GARDEN,  C7 

And  planetary  some ;  what  gave  them  first 
Rotation,  from  what  fountain  flow'd  their  light. 
Great  contest  follows,  and  much  learned  dust 
Involves  the  combatants;  each  claiming  truth. 
And  truth  disclaiming  both.     Andjlius^ej  s£end 
The  little  wickjojr,U£e!s,^jor  shallow  lamp 
In  plajuig  tricks  with  nature,  giving  laws 
To  distant  ^vaiids^aud-trifling  in  their  own. 
Is't  not  a  pity  now,  that  tickling  rheums 
Should  ever  tease  the  lungs,  and  blear  the  sight 
Of  oracles  like  these?  Great  pity  too. 
That  having  wielded  th'  elements,  and  built 
A  thousand  systems,  each  in  his  own  way. 
They  should  go  out  in  fume,  and  be  forgot  ? 
Ah !  what  is  life  thus  spent  ?  and  what  are  they 
But  frantic,  who  thus  spend  it?  all  for  smoke — 
Eternity  for  bubbles  proves  at  last 
A  senseless  bargain.     When  I  see  such  games 
Play'd  by  the  creatures  of  a  Pow'r,  who  swears 
That  he  will  judge  the  Earth,  and  call  the  fool 
To  a  sharp  reck'ning,  that  has  liv'd  in  vain ; 
And  when  I  weigh  this  seeming  wisdom  well, 
And  prove  it  in  th'  infallible  result 
So  hollow  and  so  false — I  feel  my  heart 
Dissolve  in  pity,  and  account  the  learn'j^ 
If  this  be  learning,  most  ofjaTT^ficeii^dr— "" 
Great  crimes  alarm  the  conscience,  but  it  sleeps. 
While  thoughtful  man  is  plausibly  amus'd. 
Defend  me  therefore  common  sense,^  say  I, 
E^rora  reveries  so  airy,  froIHTfie"toii 


G8  TIIK  TASK.  nOOK  III. 

1    Of  dropping  buckets  iuto  enipty  wells, 
^And  growing  old  in  drawing  notliing  up! 

'Tvvere  well,  says  onlTsag^'eiudite,  profound, 
Terribly  arch'd  and  aquiline  his  nose, 
And  overbuilt  with  uiost  impciiunig  brows, 
'Twerc  well,  could  you  jierniit  Ihe  World  to  live 
As  the  World  pleases.     \\  hat's  the  World  to  you? 
Much.     I  was  born  of  woman,  and  drew  inilk 
As  sweet  as  charity  from  human  breasts. 
I  think,  articulate,  I  laugh  and  weep. 
And  exercise  ail  functions  of  a  man. 
How  then  should  I  ami  any  man  that  lives 
Be  strangers  to  each  other?  Pierce  my  vein, 
Take  of  the  crimson  stream  mcand'ring  there, 
And  -catechise  it  well ;  apply  thy  glass, 
Search  it,  and  prove  now  if  it  be  not  blood 
Congenial  with  thine  own  :  and,  if  it  be, 
What  edge  of  subtlety  canst  thou  suppose 
Keen  enough,  wise  and  skilful  as  thou  art. 
To  cut  the  link  of  brotherhood,  by  which 
One  common  Maker  bound  me  to  the  kind? 
/       True ;  1  am  no  proficient,  I  confess, 
S      In  arts  like  yours.     1  cannot  call  the  swift 
^     And  perilous  lightnings  from  the  angry  clouds, 
And  bid  them  hide  themselves  in  earth  beneath ; 
I  cannot  analyse  the  air,  nor  catch 
The  parallax  of  yonder  lum'nous  point. 
That  seems  half  quench'd  in  the  immense  abyss: 
Such  pow'rs  I  boast  not— neither  can  I  rest 
A  silent  witness  of  the  headlong  rage, 


THE  GARDEN.  G9 

Or  heedless  folly,  by  which  thousands  die,  a 

Boue  of  my  bone,  and  kindred  souls  to  mine,'         JlvT*  > 

God  never  meant,  that  man  should  scale  the  Heav'ns 
By  strides  of  human  wisdom.     In  his  works, 
Tliough-tTOTrdfoa^^  Tie  commands  us  in  his  word 
To  seek  him  rather,  where  his  mercy  siiines. 
The  mind  indeed,  enlighten'd  from  above. 
Views  him  in  all ;  ascribes  to  the  grand  cause 
The  grand  effect;  acknowledges  with  joy 
Kis  manner,  and  with  rapture  tastes  his  style. 
But  never  yet  did  philosophic  tube, 
That  brings  the  planets  home  into  the  eye 
Of  Observation,  and  discovers,  else 
Not  visible,  his  family  of  worlds, 
Discover  him,  that  rules  them;  sucii  a  veil 
Hangs  over  mortal  eyes,  blindJbim-the-hirllV-^ 
And  dark  ia_thin^_divine.     Full  often  too 
Our  wayward  intellect,  the  more  we  learn 
Of  nature,  overlooks  her  author  more ; 
From  instrumental  causes  proud  to  draw 
Conclusions  retrograde,  and  mad  mistake. 
But  if  his  word  once  teach  us,  shoot  a  ray 
Through  all  the  heart's  dark  chambers,  and  reveal 
Truths  undiscern'd  but  by  that  holy  light; 
Then  all  is  plain.     Philosophy,  baptiz'd 
In  the  pure  fountain  of  eternal  love, 
Has  eyes  indeed  ;  and  viewing  all  she  sees 
As  meant  to  indicate  a  God  to  man, 
Gives  him  his  praise,  and  forfeits  not  her  own. 
Learning  has  borne  such  fruit  iu  other  days 


70  THE  TASK.  BOOK  III. 

On  all  lier  branches;  piety  has  found 
Friends  in  the  friends  of  science,  and  true  pray'r 
Has  flow'd  from  lips  wet  with  Castalian  dews. 
Such  was  thy  wisdom,  Newtoiv'childlike  sage ! 
Sagacious  reader  of  tlie  works  of  God, 
And  in  Jiis  word  sagacious.     Such  too  thine, 
,;;;^iVlilton,  whose  genius  had  angelic  wings, 
/tnd  fed  on  rnanna!  And  such  thine,  in  whom 
Our  British  Themis  gloried  with  just  cause. 
Immortal  Hale!  for  deep  discernment  prais'd, 
And  sound  integrity,  not  more  than  fam'd 
For  sanctity  of  manners  undefil'd. 

All  flesh  is  grass,  and  all  its  glory  fades 
Like  the  fair  flow'r  dishevell'd  in  the  wind ; 
Riches  have  wings,  and  grandeur  is  a  dream; 
The  man  we  celebrate  must  find  a  tomb, 
And  we  that  worship  him  ignoble  graves. 
Nothing  is  proof  against  the  gen'ral  ciu-sc 
Of  vanity,  that  seizes  all  below. 
The  onlj^  amaranthine  flow'r  on  Earth  _ 
Is  wtuel  th'  only  lasting  treasure,- truth/ 
But  what  is  truth?  'twas  Pilate's  question  put 
To  Trutli  itself,  that  deign'd  him  no  reply. 
And  wherefore  ?  will  not  God  impart  his  light 
To  them  that  ask  it? — Freely — 'tis  his  joy, 
His  glory,  and  his  nature,  to  impart. 
But  to  the  proud,  uncandid,  insincere, 
Or  negligent  inquirer,  not  a  spark. 
What's  that,  which  brings  contempt  upon  a  book 
j\nd  him  who  writes  it,  though  the  style  be  neat. 


.(j^\yi4r    '■^'^   <-'W"-f>- 


THE  GARDEN.  71 

The  metliod  clear,  and  argument  exact  ? 
Tbat  makes  a  minister  in  holy  things 
The  joy  of  many,  and  the  dread  of  more, 
His  name  a  theme  for  praise  and  for  reproach? — 
That,  while  it  gives  us  worth  in  God's  account, 
Depreciates  and  undoes  us  in  our  own? 
What  pearl  is  it,  that  rich  men  cannot  buy, 
That  learning  is  too  proud  to  gather  up ; 
But  which  the  poor,  and  the  despis'd  of  all, 
Seek  and  obtain,  and  often  find  unsought? 
Tell  me — and  I  will  tell  thee  what  is  truth. 

O  friendly  to  the  best  pursuits  ot  rndBT"^ 
Friendly  to  thought,  to  virtue,  and  to  peace, 
JJoffliestielife  ii^  rural  leisure  pass'd  ! 
^■FewJiaftw^t4iyyalue,  and  few  taste  thy  sweets ; 
Though  many  boast  thy  favours,  and  affect 
To  understand  and  choose  thee  for  their  own. 
But  foolish  man  foregoes  his  proper  bliss, 
Ev'n  as  his  first  progenitor,  and  quits, 
Though  plac'd  in  Paradise  (for  earth  has  still 
Some  traces  of  her  youthful  beauty  left). 
Substantial  happiness  for  transient  joy. 
Scenes  form'd  for  contemplation,  and  to  nurse 
The  growing  seeds  of  wisdom ;  that  suggest, 
By  ev'ry  pleasing  image  they  present. 
Reflections  such  as  meliorate  the  heart, 
Compose  the  passions,  and  exalt  the  mind  ; 
Scenes  such  as  these  'tis  his  supreme  delight 
To  fill  with  riot,  and  defile  with  blood. 
Should  some  contagion^  kind  to  the  poor  brutes 


'dt^  /se  Au^i^V.*  C«i  /n<*^  Ar  ^  I J 


72  THE  TASK.  BOOK   111. 

We  persecute,  annihilate  the  tribes, 
That  draw  tlie  sportsman  over  hill  and  dale 
Fearless  and  rapt  away  from  all  his  earcs; 
Should  never  game-fowl  hatch  her  eggs  again, 
Nor  baited  hook  deceive  the  fish's  eye ; 
Could  pageantry  and  dance,  and  feast  and  song. 
Be  queird  in  all  our  summer-months'  retreats ; 
How  many  self-deluded  nymphs  and  swains, 
Who  dream  they  have  a  taste  lor  fields  and  groves, 
Would  find  them  hideous  nurs'ries  of  the  spken, 
And  crowd  the  roads,  impatient  for  the  town ! 
They  lo\e  the  country,  and  none  else,  who  seek 
For  their  own  sake  its  silence  and  its  shade. 
Delights  M  Inch  who  would  leave,  that  has  a  heart 
Susceptible  of  pity,  or  a  mind 
Cultur'd  and  capable  of  sober  thought, 
For  all  the  savage  din  of  the  swift  pack,^^ 
And  clamours  of  the  field?— Detested  sporf. 
That  owes  its  pleasures  to  another's  pain ;  \ 
That  feeds  upon  the  sobs  and  dying  shrieks^ 
Of  harmless  nature,  dumb,  but  yet  endu'd  ; 
With  eloquence,  that  agonies  inspire,  i 

Of  silent  tears  and  heart-distending  sighs! 
Vain  tears,  alas,  and  sighs,  that  never  find 
A  corresponding  tone  iu  jovial  souls! 
Well — one  at  least  is  safe.     One  shelter'd  iiare 
Has  never  heard  the  sanguinary  yell 
Of  cruel  man,  exulting  in  her  woes. 
Innocent  partner  of  my  peaceful  home, 
^\'hom  tea  long  years'  experience  of  my  care 


i^rc 


THE  GARDEN.  73 

Has  made  at  last  familiar;  she  has  lost 

Much  of  her  vigilant  instinctive  dread, 

Not  needful  here,  beneath  a  roof  like  mine. 

Yes — thou  may'st  eat  thy  bread,  and  lick  the  hand 

That  feeds  thee  ;  thou  may'st  frolic  on  the  floor         ' 

At  ev'ning,  and  at  night  retire  secure 

To  thy  straw  couch,  and  slumber  unalarm'd ; 

For  I  have  gain'd  thy  confidence,  have  pledg'd 

All  that  is  human  in  me,  to  protect 

Thine  unsuspecting  gratitude  and  love. 

If  I  survive  thee,  I  will  dig  thy  grave ; 

And,  when  I  place  thee  in  it,  sighing  say,  ^ 

I  knew  at  least  one  hare  that  had  a  friend.  ^'""^ 

How  various  his  employments,  whom  the  world 
Calls  idle;  and  who  justly  in  return 
Esteems  that  busy  world  an  idler  too  ! 
Friends,  books,  a 
Delightful  industry 
And  Nature  in  her  cultivated  trim 
Dress'd  to  his  taste,  inviting  him  abroad — 
Can  he  want  occupation,  who  has  these  ? 
Will  he  be  idle,  who  has  much  t'  enjoy? 
Me  therefore  studious  of  laborious  ease. 
Not  slothful,  happy  to  deceive  the  time. 
Not  waste  it,  and  aware  that  human  life 
Is  but  a  loan  to  be  repaid  with  use. 
When  he  shall  call  his  deHofs  to  account, 
From  whom  are  all  our  blessings,  business  finds 
Ev'n  here :  while  sedulous  I  seek  t'  improve, 
At  least  neglect  not,  or  leave  unemploy'd, 

E 


garden,  and  perhaps  his  pen,  i~, 
enjoy'd  at  home,  < 


i'»\J/r!W>-T      «T«    I  f\   ^ 


\0''  \   ^<  ^^..lPi^ftXl^i^  l^f   ^^ 


'-idpSi  U) 


74  THE  TASK.  BOOK  III. 

The  mind  he  gave  me ;  driving  it,  though  slack 
Too  off,  and  much  impeded  in  its  work 
By  causes  not  to  be  divulg'd  in  vain, 
To  its  just  point — the  service  of  mankind. 
He,  that  attends  to  his  interior  self, 
That  has  a  heart,  and  keeps  it ;  has  a  mind 
That  hun<7ers,  and  supplies  it ;  and  who  seeks 
A  social,  not  a  dissipated  life, 
Has  business ;  feels  himself  engag'd  t'  achieve 
No  unimportant,  though  a  silent,\task. 
A  life  all  turbulence  and  noise  may  seem 
To  him  that  leads  it  wise,  and  to  be  prais'd; 
But  wisdom  is  a  pearl  with  most  success 
^    Soug^it  in  still  water,  and  beneath  clear  skies. 
He  that  is  ever  occupied  in  storms. 
Or  dives  not  for  it,  or  brinjrs  up  ijistead,       liA^-hi' 
Vainly  industrious,  a  disgraceful  prize.  ,.^'c^,J^ 

The  morning  finds  the  self-seciuester'd  man 
Fresh  for  his/task,  intend  what  task  he  may. 
Whether  inclement  seasons  recommend 
His  warm  but  simple  home,  where  he  enjoys 
j(     With  her,  who  shares  his  pleasures  and  his  heart. 
Sweet  converse,  sipping  calm  the  fragrant  lymph, 
I     Which  neatly  she  prepares;  then  to  his  book 
t     Well  chosen,  and  not  sullenly  perus'd 
I     In  selfish  silence,  but  imparted  oft, 
I     As  aught  occurs,  that  she  may  smile  to  hear. 
Or  turn  to  nourishment,  digested  well. 
Or  if  the  garden  with  its  many  cares, 
All  well  repaid,  demand  him,  lie  attends 


\(,<'f^    t.Q.r-isfAn^}   UUlH-.    /v^*»-ir^  S5,;if'S^*^' 


THE  GARDEN.  7-3 

"I*lie  welcome  call,  conscious  how  much  the  hand 
Of  lubbard  Labour  needs  his  watchful  eye, 
Oft  loit'ring  lazily,  if  not  o'erseen, 
Or  misapplying  his  unskilful  strength. 
Nor  does  he  govern  only  or  direct, 
But  much  performs  himself.     No  works  indeed, 
That  ask  robust,  tough  sinews,  bred  to  toil, 
Servile  employ ;  but  such  as  may  amuse. 
Not  tire,  demanding  rather  skill  than  force. 
Proud  of  his  well-spread  walls,  he  views  his  trees. 
That  meet,  no  barren  interval  betMcen, 
With  pleasure  more  than  ev'n  their  fruits  afford. 
Which,  save  himself  who  trains  them,  none  can  feel. 
These  therefore  are  his  own  peculiar  charge ; 
No  meaner  hand  may  discipline  the  shoots, 
None  but  his  steel  approach  them.     What  is  weak, 
Distemper'd,  or  has  lost  prolific  pow'rs, 
Impair'd  by  age,  his  unrelenting  hand 
Dooms  to  the  knife :  nor  does  he  spare  the  soft 
And  succxilent,  that  feeds  its  giant  growth. 
But  barren,  at  th'  expense  of  neighb'ring  twigs 
Less  ostentatious,  and  yet  studded  thick 
With  hopeful  gems.     The  rest,  no  portion  left 
That  may  disgrace  his  art,  or  disappoint 
Large  expectation,  he  disposes  neat 
At  measur'd  distances,  that  air  and  sun, 
Admitted  freely,  may  afford  their  aid. 
And  ventilate  and  warm  the  swelling  buds. 
Hence  Summer  has  her  riches,  Autumn  hence, 
.\nd  hence  ev'n  Winter  fills  his  wither'd  hand 
e2 


7(5  THE  TASK.  BOOK -III. 

Witli  blusbing  fruits,  and  plenty  not  his  own*. 
Fair  recompense  of  labour  well  bestow'd, 
And  wise  precaution ;  w  liicli  a  clime  so  rude 
Makes  needful  still,  whose  Spring  is  but  the  child 
Of  churlish  Winter,  in  her  froward  moods 
Discov'ring  much  the  temper  of  her  sire. 
For  oft,  as  if  in  her  the  stream  of  mild 
Maternal  nature  had  revers'd  its  course. 
She  brings  her  infants  forlli  with  many  smiles; 
But  once  deliver'd  kills  them  with  a  frown. 
He  therefore  timely  warn'd  himself  supplies 
Her  want  of  care,  screenmg  and  keeping  warm 
The  plenteous  bloom,  that  no  rough  blast  may  sweep 
His  garlands  from  the  boughs.     Again,  as  oft 
As  the  sun  peeps  and  vernal  airs  breathe  mild. 
The  fence  withdrawn,  he  gives  them  ev'ry  beam, 
And  spreads  his  hopes  before  the  blaze  of  day. 
To  raise  the  prickly  and  green-coated  gourd, 
So  grateful  to  the  palate,  and  w  hen  rare 
So  covetted,  else  base  and  disesteem'd — 
Food  for  the  vulgar  merely — is  an  art. 
That  toiling  ages  have  but  just  matur'd, 
And  at  this  moment  unassay'd  in  song. 
Yet  gnats  have  had,  and  frogs  and  mice,  long  since, 
Their  eulogy ;  those  sang  the  Mantuan  bard. 
And  these  the  Grecian,  in  ennobling  strains ; 
And  in  thy  numbers,  Phillips,  shines  for  aye 
The  solitary  shilling.     Pardon  then, 
Ye  sage  dispensers  of  poetic  fame, 
Th'  ambition  of  one  meaner  far,  whose  pow'rs, 

*  Miraturqiie  uovos  fructiis  ct  non  sua  poma.  Virg. 


+5*S: 


THE  GARDEN.  77 

Presuming  an  attempt  not  less  sublime, 
Pant  for  the  praise  of  dressing;  to  the  taste 
Of  critic  appetite,  no  sordid  fare, 
A  cucumber,  while  costly  yet  and  scarce. 
The  stable  yields  a  stercoraceous  heap, 
Impregnated  with  quick  fermenting  salts, 
And  potent  to  resist  the  freezing  blast: 
For,  ere  the  beech  and  elm  have  cast  their  leaf 
Deciduous,  when  now  November  dark 
Checks  vegetation  in  the  torpid  plant 
Expos'd  to  his  cold  breath,  the  task  begins. 
Warily  therefore,  and  with  prudent  lieed. 
He  seeks  a  favour'd  spot;  that  where  he  builds 
Tli'  agglomerated  pile  his  frame  may  front 
The  sun's  meridian  disk,  and  at  the  back 
Enjoy  close  shelter,  wall,-  or  reeds,  or  hedge 
Impervious  to  the  wind.     First  he  bids  spread 
Dry  fern  or  litter'd  hay,  that  may  imbibe 
Th'  ascending  damps;  then  leisurely  impose, 
And  lightly,  shaking  it  with  agile  hand 
From  the  full  fork,  the  saturated  straw. 
What  longest  binds  the  closest  forms  secure 
The  shapely  side,  that  as  it  rises  takes. 
By  just  degrees,  ar  overhanging  breadth, 
Shelt'ring  the  base  with  its  projected  eaves ; 
Th'  uplifted  frame,  compact  at  ev'ry  joint. 
And  overlaid  with  clear  translucent  glass, 
He  settles  next  upon  the  sloping  mount, 
Whose  sharp  declivity  shoots  off  secure 
From  the  dash'd  pane  the  deluge  as  it  fails. 


,^-? 


78  THE  TASK.  BOOK  111. 

He  shuts  it  close,  and  the  first  labour  ends. 
Thrice  must  tlie  voluble  and  restless  Earth 
Spin  round  upon  her  axle,  ere  the  warmth, 
Slow  gath'ring  in  the  midst,  through  the  square  mass 
DifiFus'd,  attain  the  surface :  w  hen,  behold ! 
A  pestilent  and  most  corrosive  steam, 
Like  a  gross  fog  Boeotian,  rising  fast, 
And  fast  condens'd  upon  the  dewy  sash, 
Asks  egress;  which  obtain'd,  the  overcharg'd 
And  drench'd  conservatory  breathes  abroad, 
Ih  volumes  wheeling  slow,  the  vapour  dank ; 
And,  purified,  rejoices  to  have  lost 
Its  foul  inhabitant.     But  to  assuage 
Th'  impatient  fervour,  which  it  first  conceives 
Within  its  reeking  bosom,  threat'uing  death 
To  his  young  hopes,  requires  discreet  delay. 
Experience,  slow  preceptress,  teaching  oft 
The  way  to  glory  by  miscarriage  foul. 
Must  prompt  him,  and  admonish  how  to  catch 
Th'  auspicious  moment,  when  the  temper'd  heat, 
Friendly  to  vital  motion,  may  afford 
S(ift  fomentation,  and  invite  the  seed. 
-^The  seed,  selected  wisely,  plump,  and  smooth, 
And  glossy,  he  commits  to  pots  of  size 
Diminutive,  well  fiU'd  with  well  prepar'd 
And  fruitful  soil,  that  has  been  treasur'd  long, 
And  drank  no  moisture  from  the  dripping  clouds. 
These  on  the  waim  and  genial  earth,  that  hides 
The  smoking  manure,  and  o'erspreads  it  all, 
He  places  lightly,  and,  as  time  subdues 


f7^^ 


THE  GARDEN. 

The  rage  of  feraientation,  plunges  deep 

In  the  soft  medium,  till  they  stand  immeis'd. 

Then  rise  the  tender  germes,  upstarting  quick, 

And  spreading  wide  their  spongy  lobes ;  at  first 

Pale,  wan,  and  livid ;  but  assuming  soon, 

If  faun'd  by  balmy  and  nutritious  air, 

Strain'd  through  the  friendly  mats,  a  vivid  green. 

Two  leaves  produc'd,  two  rough  indented  leaves, 

Cautious  he  pinches  from  the  second  stalk 

A  pimple,  that  portends  a  future  sprout, 

And  interdicts  its  growth.     Thence  straight  succeed 

The  brandies,  sturdy  to  his  utmost  wish; 

Prolific  all,  and  harbingers  of  more. 

The  crowded  roots  demand  enlargement  now. 

And  transplantation  in  an  ampler  space. 

Indulg'd  in  what  they  wish,  they  soon  supply 

Large  foliage,  overshad'wing  golden  flow'rs, 

Blown  on  the  summit  of  th'  apparent  fruit. 

These  have  their  sexes !  and,  when  summer  shines, 

The  bee  transports  the  fertilizing  meal 

From  flow'r  to  ilow'r,  and  ev'n  the  breathing  air 

Wafts  the  rich  prize  to  its  appointed  use.         ,,-^''- 

Not  so  when  winter  scowls.     Assisjant  art  ""  ' 

Then  acts  in  nature's  office,  brings  to  pass 

The  glad  espousals,  and  ensures  the  crop. 

Grudge  not  ye  rich  (since  Luxury  must  have 
His  dainties,  and  the  World's  more  num'rous  half 
Lives  by  contriving  delicates  for  you), 
Grudge  not  the  cost.     Ye  little  know  the  cares, 
The  vigilance,  the  labour,  and  the  skill, 


80  THE  TASK.  BOOK  III. 

That  day  aud  night  are  exercis'd,  and  hang 
Upon  the  ticklish  balance  of  suspense, 
Tliat  je  may  garnish  your  profuse  regales 
^\  ith  summer  fruits  brought  forth  by  wintry  suns. 
Ten  thousand  dangers  lie  in  wait  to  thwart 
The  process.     Heat  and  cold,  and  wind  and  steam. 
Moisture  and  drought,  mice,  worms,  and  swarming 
Minute  as  dust,  and  numberless,  oft  work         [flies, 
Dire  disappointment,  that  admits  no  cure. 
And  which  no  care  can  obviate.     It  were  long, 
Too  long,  to  tell  th'  expedients  and  the  shifts, 
Which  he  that  fights  a  season  so  severe 
Devises,  while  he  guards  his  tender  tnist; 
And  oft  at  last  in  vain.    The  learn'd  and  wise 
Sarcastic  would  exclaim,  and  judge  the  song 
Cold  as  its  theme,  and  like  its  theme  the  fruit 
Of  too  much  labour,  worthless  when  produc'd. 
Who  loves  a  garden  loves  a  greenhouse  too. 
Unconscious  of  a  less  propitious  clime. 
There  blooms  exotic  beauty,  warm  and  snug, 
AVhile  the  winds  whistle,  aud  the  snows  descend. 
The  spii7  myrtle  with  unwith'ring  leaf 
Shines  there,  and  flourishes.     The  golden  boast 
Of  Portugal  and  western  India  there. 
The  ruddier  orange,  and  the  paler  lime. 
Peep  through  their  polish'd  foliage  at  the  storm, 
And  seem  to  smile  at  what  they  need  not  fear. 
Th'  amomum  there  with  intermingling  flow'rs 
And  cherries  hangs  her  twigs.     Geranium  boasts 
Her  crimson  honours,  and  the  spangled  beaux. 


THE  GARDEN.  81 

Ficoides,  glitters  bright  the  winter  long. 
All  plants,  of  ev'ry  leaf,  that  can  endure 
The  winter's  frown,  if  screen'd  from  his  shrew'd  bite. 
Live  there,  and  prosper.    Those  Ausonia  claims, 
Levantine  regions  these  ;  th'  Azores  send 
Their  jessamine,  her  jessamine  remote 
Caifraia:  foreigners  from  many  lands. 
They  form  one  social  shade,  as  if  conven'd 
By  magic  summons  of  the  Orphean  lyre. 
Yet  just  arrangement,  rarely  brought  to  pass 
But  by  a  master's  hand,  disposing  well 
The  gay  diversities  of  leaf  and  flow'r, 
Must  lend  its  aid  t'  illustrate  all  their  charms, 
And  dress  the  regular  yet  various  scene. 
Plant  behind  plant  aspiring,  in  the  van 
The  dwarfish,  in  the  rear  retir'd,  but  still 
Sublime  above  the  rest,  the  statelier  stand. 
So  once  were  rang'd  the  SQnsj)f  ancient  Horae,^ 
A  noble  show !  while  Roscius  trod  the  stage ; 
And  so,  whi|e  Garrick,  as  renown'd  as  he, 
The  sous  of  Albion;:;  fearing  each  to  lose 
Some  note  of  Nature's  music  from  his  lips, 
And  covetous  of  Shakspeare's  beauty,  seen 
In  ev'i-y  flash  of  his  far-beaming  eye. 
Nor  taste  alone  and  well-contriv'd  display 
Suflice  to  give  the  marshall'd  ranks  the  grace 
Of  their  complete  effect.     Much  yet  remains 
Unsung,  and  many  cares  are  yet  behind, 
And  more  laborious;  cares  on  which  depend 
Their  vigour,  injur'd  soon,  not  soon  restor'd. 
E  3 


■J  '-^ 


8*2  THE  TASK.  BOOK  HI. 

The  soil  must  be  renew'd,  which  often  wash'd 
Loses  its  treasure  of  salubrious  salts, 
A  nd  disappoints  the  roots ;  the  slender  roots 
Close  interwoven,  where  they  meet  the  vase, 
Must  smooth  be  shorn  away ;  the  sapless  branch 
Must  fly  before  the  knife ;  the  wither'd  leaf 
Must  be  detach'd,  and  where  it  strews  the  floor 
Swept  with  a  woman's  neatness,  breeding  else 
Contagion,  and  disseminating  death. 
Discharge  but  these  kind  offices,  (and  who 
Would  spare,  that  loves  them,  offices  like  these?) 
Well  they  reward  the  toU.     The  sight  is  pleas'd, 
The  scent  regal'd,  each  odorif'rous  leaf, 
Each  op'ning  blossom,  freely  breathes  abroad    - 
Its  gratitude,  and  thanks  him  with  its  sweets.    \/) 
So  manifold,  all  pleasing  in  their  kiud,~^    J^  « 
All  healthful,  are  th'  employs  of  rural  Ufe,/,</  IT' 
Reiterated  as  the  wheel  of  time  -^ 

Runs  round ;  still  ending,  and  beginning  still. 
Nor  are  these  all.     To  deck  the  shapely  knoll. 
That  softly  swell'd  and  gaily  dress'd  appears 
A  flow'ry  island,  from  the  dark  green  lawn 
Emerging,  must  be  deera'd  a  labour  due 
To  no  mean  hand,  and  asks  the  touch  of  taste. 
Here  also  grateful  mixture  of  well-match'd 
And  sorted  hues  (each  giving  each  relief, 
And  by  contrasted  beauty  shining  more) 
Is  needful.    Strength  may  wield  the  pond'rous  spade, 
May  turn  the  clod,  and  wheel  the  compost  home ; 
But  elegance,  chief  grace  the  garden  shows, 


1  THE  GAROE'ti.C^Ci^'f^ 

And  most  attractive,  is  the  fair  result  ^'^ 

Of  tlioiiglit,  the  creature  of  a  polish'd  mind. 

Without  it  all  is  Gothic  as  the  scene, 

To  which  th'  insipid  citizen  resorts 

Near  yonder  heath  ;  where  Industry  mispent, 

But  proud  of  his  uncouth  ill-chosen  task,, 

Had  made  a  Heav'n  on  Earth  ;  with  suns  and  moons 

Of  close-ramm'd  stojies  has  charg'd  th'  encumber'd 

And  fairly  laid  the  zodiac  in  the  dust,  [soil, 

He  therefore,  who  would  see  his  flow'rs  dispos'd 

Sightly  and  in  just  order,  ere  he  gives 

The  beds  the  trusted  treasure  of  their  seeds, 

Forecasts  the  future  whole ;  that  when  the  scene 

Shall  break  into  its  preconceiv'd  display, 

Each  for  itself,  and  all  as  with  one  voice 

Conspiring,  may  attest  his  bright  design. 

Nor  even  then,  dismissing  as  perform'd 

His  pleasant  work,  may  be  suppose  it  done; 

Few  self-supported  flow'rs  endure  the  wind 

Uniujur'd,  but  expect  th'  upholding  aid 

Of  the  smooth-shaven  prop,  and,  neatly  tied. 

Are  wedded  thus,  like  beauty  to  old  age 

For  int'rest  sake,  the  living  to  the  dead. 

Some  clothe  the  soil  that  feeds  them,  far  diflus'd 

And  lowly  creeping,  modest  and  yet  fair, 

Like  virtue,  thriving  most  where  little  seen: 

Sonie  more  aspiring  catch  the  neighbour  shrub 

With  clasping  tendrils,  and  invest  his  branch, 

Else  unadorn'd,  with  many  a  gay  festoon 

And  fragrant  chaplet,  recompensing  well 


84  THE  TASK.  BOOK   III. 

The  strength  they  borrow  with  the  grace  they  lend. 
\A11  hate  the  rank  society  of  Meeds, 
^oisome,  and  ever  greedy  to  exhaust 
■^  Th'  impov'rish'd  earth ;  an  overbearing  race, 
/  That,  like  the  multitude  made  faction-mad, 
V^Disturb  good  ordci';  and  degrade  true  worth. 
O  blest  seclusion  from  a  jarring  world, 

AVhich  he,  thus  occupied,  enjoys !  Retreat ^ 

Cannot  indeed  to  guilty  man  restme 

Lost  innocence,  or  cancel  follies  past; 

But  it  has  peace,  and  much  secnresjhe  mind 

Froin  airassauTts  of  evil;  proving  still 

A  faithful  barrier,  not  o'erleap'd  w  Jth  ease 

By  vicious  custom,  raging  uncontroll'd^../ 

Abroad,  and  desolating  publicTTfeT" 

When  fierce  temptation,  seconded  within 

By  traitor  appetite,  and  arm'd  with  darts 

Temper'd  in  Hell,  invades  the  throbbing  breast, 

To  combat  may  be  glorious,  and  success 

Perhaps  may  crown  us ;  but  to  fly  is  safe. 

Had  I  the  choice  of  sublunary  good. 

What  could  I  v\ish,  that  I  possess  not  here? 

Health,  leisure,  means  t'  improve  it,  friendship,  peace^^ 

No  loose  or  wanton,  though  a  wand'ring,  muse, 

And  constant  occupation  without  care. 

Thus  blest  I  draw  a  picture  of  that  bliss; 

Hopeless  indeed,  that  dissipated  minds, 

And  profligate  abusers  of  a  world 

Created  fair  so  much  in  \ain  for  them, 

Should  seek  tlie  guiltless  joys,  that  I  describe, 


36^^   ^>!   y-r^\k^^   •/ Cci-..olTry   i 


THE  GARDEN.  .85 

Alhu'tl  by  my  report:  but  sure  no  less, 

That  self-coiideran'd  they  must  neglect  the  prize, 

And  what  they  will  not  taste  must  yet  approve. 

What  we  admire  we  praise ;  and  when  we  praise. 

Advance  it  into  notice,  that,  its  worth 

Acknowledg'd,  others  may  admire  it  too. 

I  therefore  recommend,  though  at  the  risk 

Of  popular  disgust,  yet  boldly  still. 

The  cause  of  piety,  and  sacred  truth. 

And  virtue,  and  those  scenes,  which  God  ordain'd 

Should  best  secure  them  and  promote  them  most ; 

Scenes  that  I  love,  and  with  regret  perceive 

Forsaken,  or  through  folly  not  enjoy'd. 

P-Uiie  is  the  nymph,  though  lib'ral  of  her  smiles,^- 

.^ndjjjastej  though  unconfin'd,  whom  I  extol.   ■ 

Not  as  the  prince  in  Shushan,  when  he  call'd. 

Vain-glorious  of  her  charms,  his  Vashti  forth 

To  grace  the  full  pavilion.     His  design 

Was  but  to  boast  his  own  peculiar  good, 

Which  all  might  view  with  envy,  none  partake. 

My  charmer  is  not  mine  alone ;  my  sweets, 

And  she  that  sweetens  all  my  bitters  too, 

Nature,  enchanting  Nature,  in  whose  form 

And  lineaments  divine  I  trace  a  hand, 

That  errs  not,  and  find  raptures  still  renew'd. 

Is  free  to  all  men— universal  prize. 

Strange  that  so  fair  a  creature  should  yet  want 

Admirers,  and  be  destin'd  to  divide 

With  meaner  objects  ev'n  the  few  she  finds ! 

Stripp'd  of  her  ornaments,  her  leaves  and  flow'r?. 


THE  TASK.  BOOK  IIT. 

She  loses  all  her  infliieiice.  ^'itie^  then 
Attract  us,  and  neglected  Nature  pines 
•.  .    Abandon'd,  as  unworthy  of  our  love. 
'^CBut  are  not  wholesome  airs,  though  unperfum'd 
-.'By  roses;  and  clear  suns,  though  scarcely  felt ; 
^  /And  groves,  if  unharmonious,  yet  secure 

From  clamour,  and  whose  very  silence  charms; 
To  be  preferr'd  to  smoke,  to  the  eclipse, 
That  Metropolitan  volcanoes  make, 
"Whose  Stygian  throats  breathe  darkness  all  day  long; 
And  to  the  stir  of  Commerce,  driving  slow, 
And  thund'ring  loud,  with  his  ten  thousand  wheels? 
They  would  be,  were  not  madness  in  the  head, 
And  folly  in  the  heart;  were  England  now, 
What  England  was,  plain,  hospitable,  kind. 
And  undebauch'd.     But  we  have  bid  farewell 
,    Tp  all  the  virtues  of  those  better  days^ 
i »       AimaTI  "flieir  honest  pleasures.     Mansions  once 

4     Knew  their  own  masters;  and  laborious  hinds, 
«        Who  had  surviv'd  the  father,  serv'd  the  son.        .^ 

;$■   Now  the  legitimate  and  rightful  lord         -V"  ■-  ^ 
vf  v-'Is  but  a  transient  guest,  newly  arriv'd,  ^^'" 
/     And  soon  to  be  supplanted.     He,  fliat  saw 
\    His  patrimoniaHimber  cast  its  le^f, 
/    Sells  the  last  scantliug,  and  transfers  the  price 
\  To  some  shrewd  sharper,  ere  it  buds  again, 
j  Estates  are  landscapes,  gaz'd  u^wn  awhile, 
I  Then  advertis'd,  and  auctioneer'd  away. 
I  The  country  starves,  and  they,  that  feed  th'  o'ercharg'd 
And  surfeited  lewd  town  with  her  fair  dues, 


C 


THE  GARDEN.  87 

By  a  just  judgment  strip  and  starve  themselves. 

The  wings,  that  waft  our  riches  out  of  sight, 

Grow  on  the  gamester's  elbows ;  and  th'  alert 

And  nimble  motion  of  those  restless  joints, 

That  never  tire,  soon  fans  them  all  away. 

Improvement  too,  the  idol  of  the  age, 

Is  fed  with  many  a  victim.     Lo,  he  comes  J 

Th'  omnipotent  magician,  Rrown,  appears! 

Down  falls  the  venerable  pile,  th'  abode 

Of  our  forefathers— a  grave  whisker'd  race. 

But  tasteless.     Springs  a  palace  in  its  stead. 

But  in  a  distant  spot;  where  more  expos'd 

It  may  enjoy  th'  advantage  of  the  north, 

And  aguish  east,  till  time  shall  have  transform'd 

Those  naked  acres  to  a  shdt'ring  grove. 

He  speaks.     The  lake  in  front  becomes  a  lawa : 

Woods  vanish,  hills  subside,  and  valleys  rise;  1 

And  streams,  as  if  created  for  his  use,  V 

Pursue  the  track  of  his  directing  wand,  ^ 

Sinuous  or  straight,  now  rapid  and  now  slow,       | 

Now  murm'ring  soft,  now  roaring  in  cascades —  \ 

Ev'n  as  he  bids !  Th'  enraptur'd  owner  smiles.      I 

'Tis  finish'd,  aiii-j;,et,  finish'd  as  it  seems. 

Still  w ants  a.'o^iacei  the  loveliest  it  could  show, 

A  mine  to  satisfy  th'  enormous  cost. 

Drain'd  to  the  last  poor  item  of  his  wealth. 

He  sighs,  departs,  and  leaves  th'  accomplish'd  plan, 

That  he  has  touch'd,  retouch'd,  many  a  long  day 

Labour'd,  and  many  a  night  pursu'd  in  dreams. 

Just  when  it  meets  his  hopes,  and  proves  the  Heav'n 

'■■    L^ 


8lk  '  THE  TASK.  BOOK  111. 

He  wanted,  for  a  wealthier  to  enjoy  ! 

And  now  perhaps  the  glorious  hour  is  come, 

When,  having  no  stake  left,  no  pledge  t'  endear 

Her  int'rests,  or  that  gives  her  sacred  cause 

A  moment's  operation  on  his  love. 

He  burns  with  most  intense"«n4-ilagrajat  zeal 

To  serve  his  country^^    Ministerial  grace^ 

Deals  him  out  money  from  the  pnhlic  ehest ; 

Or,  if  that  mine  be  shut,  some  private  purse 

Supplies  his  need  with  an  usurious  loan, 

To  be  refunded  duly,  when  his  vote 

Well-manag'd  shall  have  earn'd  its  worthy  price. 

O  innocent,  compar'd  with  arts  like  these. 

Crape,  and  cock'd  pistol,  and  the  whistling  ball 

Sent  through  the  trav'ller's  temples !  He,  that  finds 

One  drop  of  Heav'n's  sweet  mercy  in  his  cup, 

Can  dig,  beg,  rot,  and  perish,  well  content. 

So  he  may  wrap  himself  in  honest  rags 

At  his  last  gasp ;  but  could  not  for  a  world 

Fish  up  his  dirty  and  dependent  bread 

From  pools  and  ditches  of  the  commonwealth. 

Sordid  and  sick'ning  at  his  own  success. 

Ambition,  av'rice,  penury  incurr'd 
By  endless  riot,  vanity,  the  lust 
Of  pleasure  and  variety,  dispatch. 
As  duly  as  the  swallows  disappear. 
The  world  of  wand'ring  knights  and  squires  to  town. 
Loudon  ingulfs  them  all !  The  shaijk  is  there, 
AwJ-the  sliarTt's  prey ;  tlie  spendthrift,  and  the  leech 
Tliat  sucks  him.     There  the  sycophant,  and  he 


THE  GARDEN.  82) 

Who,  with  bareheaded  and  obsequious  bows, 
Begs  a  warm  office,  doora'd  to  a  cold  jail 
And  groat  per  diem,  if  his  patron  frown. 
The  levee  swarms,  as  if  in  golden  pomp 
Were  character'd  on  ev'ry  stateman's  door, 
"Batfer'dand  bankrupt  fortunes  mended  here." 
These  are  the  charms,  that  sull^nd  eclipse  ^/    •"  ;  •" 
The  charms  of  naturg.     'Tis  the  cruel  gripe, 
That  lean,  hard-handed  Poverty  inflicts, 
The  hope  of  better  things,  the  chance  to  win. 
The  wish  to  shine,  the  thirst  to  be  amus'd, 
That  at  the  sound  of  winter's  hoary  wing 
Unpeople  all  our  counties  of  such  herds 
Of  flutt'ring,  loit'ring,  cringing,  begging,  loose 
And  wanton  vagrants,  as  make  London,  vast 
And  boundless  as  it  is,  a  crowded  coop. 

O  thou,  resort  and  mart  of  all  the  Earth, 
CJCJiecker'd  with  all  complexions  of  mankind. 
And  jotted) with  all  crimes;  in  whom  I  see 
Much  tTiat  I  love,  and  more  that  I  admire,  , 

And  all  that  I  abhor;  thou  freckled  fair,  ' 

That  pieasest  and  yet  shock'st  me,  I  can  laugb, 
And  I  can  weep,  can  hope,  and  can  despond,   \^ 
Feel  wrath  and  pily,  when  I  think  on  thee !         i 
Ten  righteous  would  have  sav'd  a  city  once. 
And  thou  hast  many  righteous. — Well  for  thee — 
That  salt  preserves  thee ;  more  cojTirpted  else. 
And  therefore  more  obnoxious,  at  this  hour. 
Than  Sodom  in  her  day  had  pow'r  to  be, 
For  whom  God  heard  his  Abr'ham  plead  in  vain. 


rt/^O 


Sleep  seems  Uieir  only  i-efVig-e.    For    alas  I 
Whei-e  penury  is  felt  the  thougiit  is  chain 'd, 
AiicL  sweet  colloqiiial  pleas-ares  are^iutfew. 


:ullA^^'N  by  richard  "westailrjv.engrav^i  by  j.  h.robinson; 

PUBLISHED  BY  JOHN  SHARPE.  J^ICCADILI.Y. 
OCT.  1.1817. 


', 


r\  t<^%  ; 


rii^s- 


THE    TASK. 

BOOK  IV. 


THE  WINTER  EVENING. 


The  post  comes  in. — The  newspaper  is  rend. — The  World  contem- 
plated at  a  distiuice. — Address  to  Winter. — The  rural  amusements 
of  a  winter  evening  compared  with  the  fashionable  ones. — Address 
to  evening. — A  brown  study. — Fali  of  snow  in  the  evening. — The 
waggoner. — A  poor  family  piece. — The  rural  thief. — Public  houses. 
— The  multitude  of  them  censured. — The  farmer's  daughter:  what 
she  was— what  she  is— The  simplicity  of  country  manners  almost 
lost. — Causes  of  the  change. — Desertion  of  the  country  by  the  rich. 
— Neglect  of  magistrates.— The  militia  princi|ially  in  fault.— The 
new  recruit  and  his  transformation. — Reflection  on  bodies  corpo- 
rate.— The  I've  of  rural  objects  natural  to  all,  and  never  to  be 
totally  extinguished. 


Hark  !  'tis  the  twanging  horn  o'er  yonder  bridge, 
That  with  its  wearisome  but  needful  length 
Bestrides  the  wintry  flood,  in  which  the  moon 
Sees  her  unwrinliied  face  reflected  bright; — 
He  comes,  the  herald  of  a  noisy  world, 
With  spatter'd  boots,  strapp'd  wafsf^and  frozen  locks ; 
News  from  all  nations  lumb'ring  at  his  back. 
True  to  his  charge,  the  close  pack'd  load  behind, 


92  THE  TASK.  BOOK  IV. 

Yet  careless  what  he  bring^s,  his  one  concern 
Is  to  conduct  it  to  the  destin'd  inn ; 
And,  having  dropp'd  th'  expected  bag,  pass  on. 
He  whistles  as  he  goes,  light-hearted  wretch. 
Cold  and  yet  cheerful ;  messenger  of  grief 
Perhaps'To'ffi'ousand s,  and  of  joy  to  some; 
To  him  indiff'rent  whether  grief  or  joy. 
Houses  in  ashes,  and  the  fall  of  stocks, 
Births,  deaths,  and  marriages,  epistles  wet 
With  tears,  that  trickled  down  the  writer's  cheeks 
Fast  as  the  periods  from  his  fluent  quill. 
Or  charg'd  with  ara'rous  sighs  of  absent  swains, 
Or  nymphs  responsive,  equally  afl'ect 
His  horse  and  him,  unconscious  of  them  all. 
But  O  th'  important  budget !  usher'd  in 
With  such  heart-shaking  music,  who  can  say 
What  are  its  tidings?  have  our  troops  aAvak'd ? 
Or  do  they  still,  as  if  with  opium  drugg'd. 
Snore  to  the  murmurs  of  th'  Atlantic  wave  ? 
Is  India  free?  and  does  she  wear  her  pluni'd 
And  jewell'd  turban  with  a  smile  of  peace, 
Or  do  we  grind  her  still ?  The  giand  debate, 
The  popular  harangue,  the  tart  reply. 
The  logic,  and  the  wisdom,  and  the  wit, 
And  the  loud  laugh — I  long  to  know  them  all; 
I  burn  to  set  th'  imprison'd  wranglers  free,     ""' 
And  give  them  voice  and  utt'rance  once  again. 
Now  stir  the  fire,  and  close  the  shutters  fast, 
Let  fall  the  curtains,  wheel  the  sofa  round, 
And.  while  the  biibbliiig  and  loud  hissing  urn 


V  rN 


WINTER  EVENING.  93 

I  Throws  up  a  steamy  column,  and  the  cups.  i 

That  clieer  but  not  inebriate,  wait  on  each,    ~  t-<<<^  1 1  i 
So  let  us  welcome  peaceful  ev'ning  in. 
Not  such  his  ev'ning,  who  with  shining  face 
Sweats  in  the  crowded  theatre,  and,  squeez'd 
And  bor'd  with  elbow  points  through  both  his  sides, 
Outscolds  the  ranting  actor  on  the  stage: 
Nor  his,  who  patient  stands  till  his  feet  throb. 
And  his  head  thumps,  to  feed  upon  the  breath 
Of  patriots,  bursting  with  heroic  rage. 
Or  placemen,  all  tranquillity  and  smiles.  i^^ 

This  folio  of  four  pages,  happy  work!     •    ■-r'^--^i 
Which  not  ev'n  critics  criticise ;  that  holds 
Inquisitive  Attention,  while  I  read, 
Fast  bound  in  chains  of  silence,  which  the  fair. 
Tliough  eloquent  themselves,  yet  fear  to  break  ; 
Wliat  is  it,  but  a  map  of  busy  life, 
Its  fluctuations,  and  its  vast  concerns? 
Here  runs  the  mountainous  and  craggj'  ridge. 
That  tempts  Ambition.     On  the  summit  see 
The  seals  of  office  glitter  in  his  eyes ; 
He  climbs,  he  pants,  he  grasps  them !  At  his  heels. 
Close  at  his  heels,  a  demagogue  ascends, 
And  with  a  dext'rous  jerk  soon  twists  him  down, 
And  wins  them,  but  to  lose  them  in  his  turn. 
Here  rills  of  oily  eloquence  in  soft 
Meanders  lubricate  the  course  they  take; 
The  modest  speaker  is  asliam'd  and  griev'd, 
T'  engross  a  moment's  notice,  and  yet  begs, 
Begs  a  propitious  ear  for  his  poor  thoughts, 


94  THE  TASK.  BOOK  IV. 

However  trivial  all  tbat  he  couceives. 

Sweet  baslifulness!  it  claims  at  least  this  praise; 

The  dearth  of  iuformation  and  good  sense, 

That  it  foretels  us,  always  comes  to  pass. 

Cat'racts  of  declamation  thunder  here; 

There  forests  of  no  meaning  spread  the  page. 

In  which  ail  comprehension  wanders  lost ; 

While  fields  of  pleasantry  amuse  us  there 

With  merry  descants  on  a  nation's  woes. 

The  rest  appears  a  wilderness  of  strange 

But  gay  confusion;  roses  for  the  cheeks, 

And  lilies  for  the  brows  of  faded  age, 

Teeth  for  the  toothless,  ringlets  for  the  bald, 

Heav'u,  earth,  and  ocean,  plunder'd  of  their  sweets, 

Nectareoiis  essences,  Olympian  dews. 

Sermons,  and  city  feasts,  and  fav'rite  airs, 

^Ethereal  journies,  submarine  exploits. 

And  Katterfelto,  with  his  hair  on  end 

At  his  own  wonders,  wond'ring  for  his  bread. 

'Tis  pleasant,  through  the  loopholes  of  retreat, 
To  peep  at  such  a  world ;  to  see  the  stir 
Of  the  great  Babel,  and  not  feeTTirelcrow.d ; 
To  hear  the  roar  she  sends  through  all  her  gates 
At  a  safe  distance,  where  the  dying  sound  ^/ 

-  Falls  a  soft  murmur  on  th'  uninjur'd  ear.  ^^ 

,   Thus  sitting,  and  surveying  thus  at  ease  ■> 

j   The  globe  and  its  concerns,  I  seem  advanced  V' 
\  To  some  secure  and  more  than  mortal  heiglit^ 
That  lib'rates  and  exempts  me  from  them  all. 
It  turns  submitted  to  my  view,  turns  round 


-V  A  ^-[        f^1  7U/f  V  'n<:^ 


WINTER  EVENING.  Do 

With  all  its  generations ;  I  behold 

The  tumult,  and  am  still.     The  sound  of  war 

Has  lost  its  terrors  ere  it  reaches  me ; 

Grieves,  but  alarms  me  not.     I  mourn  the  pride 

And  av'rice  that  make  man  a  wolf  to  man ; 

Hear  the  faint  echo  of  those  brazen  throats, 

By  which  he  speaks  the  language  of  his  heart, 

And  sigh,  but  never  tremble  at  the  sound. 

He  travels  and  expatiates,  as  the  bee 

From  flow'r  to  flow'r,  so  he  from  land  to  laud; 

The  manners,  customs,  policy,  of  all 

Pay  contribution  to  the  store  he  gleans ; 

He  sucks  inteUigence  in  ev'ry  clime, 

And  spreads  the  honey  of  his  deep  research 

At  his  return — a  rich  repast  for  me. 

He  travels,  and  I  too.     I  tread  his  deck, 

Ascend  his  topmast,  through  his  peering  eyes 

Discover  countries,  with  a  kindred  heart 

Suffer  his  woes,  and  share  in  his  escapes; 

W  hile  fancy,  like  the  finger  of  a  clock, 

Runs  the  great  circuit,  and  is  still  at  home. 

O  Winter,  ruler  of  th'  inverted  year, 
Thy^catter'd  hair  with  sleet  like  ashes  fill'd, 
Thy  breath  congeal'd  upon  thy  lips,  thy  cheeks 
Fring'd  with  a  beard  made  white  with  other  snows 
Thau  those  of  age,  thy  forehead  wrapp'd  in  clouds, 
A  leafless  branch  thy  sceptre,  and  tliy  throne 
A  sliding  car,  indebted  to  no  wheels. 
But  urg'd  by  storms  along  its  slipp'ry  way, 
I  love  thee,  all  unlovely  as  thou  seem'st. 


'«*a^ 


■  r  irr\sJ-^''^-'^  ^-'^■*'^\}'^  5  >  s  '■    v^  I  y^+^^ 


'  1      \'  >' 


0(j  THE  TASK.  BOOK   J\. 

And  dreaded  as  thou  art !  Tliou  hold'st  the  sun 

A  pris'ner  in  the  yet  iindawning  east, 

Short'ning  his  jouruej'  between  morn  and  noon, 

And  hurraing  him,  impatient  of  his  stay, 

Down  to  the  rosy  west;  but  kindly  still 

Compensating  his  loss  with  added  hours 

Of  socirl  converse  and  instructive  ease. 

And  gath'ring,  at  short  notice,  in  one  group 

The  family  dispers'd,  and  Ijxing  thought, 

Not  less  dispers'd  by  daylight  and  its  cares.  • 

I  crown  thee  king  of  intimate  delights,  * 

Fireside  enjoymeuts,  hmneboin  bappiuegs, 

And  all  the  comforts,  that  the  lowly  roof 

Of  undisturb'd  Retirement,  and  the  hours 

Of  long  uninternipted  ev'ning,  know. 

No  rattling  wheels  stop  short  before  these  gates ; 

No  powder'd  pert  proficient  in  the  art 

Of  sounding  an  alarm  assaults  these  doors 

Till  the  street  rings ;  no  stationary  steeds 

Cough  their  own  knell,  while,  heedless  of  the  sound 

The  silent  circle  fan  themselves,  and  quake : 

But  here  the  needle  plies  its  busy  tasl;. 

The  pattern  grows,  the  well-depicted  flow'r,  A 

Wrought  patiently  into  the  snowy  lawn,  E' 

Unfolds  its  bosom ;  buds,  and  leaves,  and  sprigs,  '^ 

And  curling  tendrils  gracefully  dispos'd, 

Follow  the  nimble  finger  of  the  fair;  Hi 

A  wreath,  that  cannot  fade,  or  flow'rs,  that  blow 

With  most  success  when  all  besides  decay.  fc 

The  poet's  or  historiau's  page  by  one 


^^■\  ml  of  e^'y'^  ^^ 


WINTER  EVENING.  !'7 

Made  vocal  for  Ih'  amusement  of  the  rest; 

The  sprightly  lyre,  whose  treasure  of  sweet  sounds 

The  touch  from  many  a  trembling  chord  shakes  out; 

And  the  clear  voice  symphonious,  yet  distinct, 

And  in  the  charming  strife  triumphant  still ; 

Beguile  the  night,  and  set  a  keener  edge 

On  female  industry:  the  threaded  steel 

Flies  swiftl},  and  unfelt  the  task^proceeds. 

The  volume  clos'd,  the  customary  rites 

Of  the  last  meal  commence.     A  Roman  meal ; 

Such  as  the  mistress  of  the  world  once  found 

Delicious,  when  her  patriots  of  high  note. 

Perhaps  by  moonlight,  at  tlieir  humble  doors, 

And  under  an  old  oak's  domestic  shade, 

Enjoy'd,  spare  feast !  a  radish  and  an  eg^. 

Discourse  ensues,  not  trivial,  yet  not  dull. 

Nor  such  as  with  a  frown  forbids  the  play 

Of  fancy,  or  proscribes  the  sound  of  mirth ; 

Nor  do  we  madly,  like  an  impious  World, 

Who  deem  religion  frenzy,  and  the  God, 

That  made  them,  an  intruder  on  their  joys. 

Start  at  his  awful  name,  or  deem  his  praise 

A  jarring  note.     Themes  of  a  graver  tone, 

Exciting  oft  our  gratitude  and  love. 

While  we  retrace  with  Mem'ry's  pointing  wand. 

That  calls  tlie_£asjt_to_QUL,?xa?tJeview, 

The  dangers  we  have  scap'd,  the  broken  snare, 

The  disappointed  foe,  deliv'rance  found 

Unlook'd  for,  life  preserv'd  and  peace  restor'd. 

Fruits  of  omnipotent  eternal  love. 


98  THE  TASK.  BOOK  IV. 

O  ev'nings  worthy  of  the  gods !  exclaim'd 
The  Sabine  bard.     O  ev'nings,  I  reply, 
More  to  be  priz'd  and  coveted  than  yours, 
As  more  illiirain'd,  and  with  nobler  truths, 
That  I,  and  mine,  and  those  we  love,  enjoy. 

Is  Winter  hideous  in  a  garb  like  this? 
Needs  he  the  tragic  fur,  the  smoke  of  lamps. 
The  pent  up  breath  of  an  unsav'ry  throng, 
To  thaw  him  into  feeling ;  or  the  smart 
And  snappish  dialogue,  that  flippant  wits 
Call  comedy,  to  prompt  him  with  a  smile  ? 
The  self-complacent  actor,  when  he  views 
(Stealing  a  sidelong  glance  at  a  full  house) 
The  slope  of  faces,  from  the  floor  to  th'  roof 
(As  if  one  master-spring  controU'd  them  all), 
Relax'd  into  a  universal  grin; 
Sees  not  a  count'nance  there,  that  speaks  of  joy 
Half  so  refia'd  or  so  sincere  as  ours. 
Cards  were  superfluous  here,  with  all  the  tricks,  i    j 

That  idleness  has  ever  yet  contriv'd,  j    p 

To  till  the  void  of  an  unfurnish'd  brain. 
To  palliate  dulness,  and  give  time  a  shove. 
Time,  as  he  passes  us,  has  a  dove's  wing,  ;    p 

Unsoil'd,  and  swift,  and  of  a  silken  sound ;  ^j- 

But  the  World's  Time  is  Time  in  masquerade ! 
Theirs,  should  I  paint  him,  has  his  pinions  fledg'd 
With  motley  plumes ;  and,  where  the  peacock  shows  !    jf 
His  azure  eyes,  is  tinctur'd  black  and  red  |    ^: 

With  spots  quadrangular  of  diamond  form,  '    j^ 

Ensanguin'd  iiearts,  clubs  typical  of  strife,  ji, 


WINTER  EVENING.  99 

And  spades,  the  emblem  of  untimely  graves. 
What  should  be,  and  what  was  an  honi-glass  once, 
Becomes  a  dice-box,  and  a  Ijilliaid  mace 
Well  does  the  work  of  his  destnictive  sithe. 
Thus  deckVI,  he  charms  a  World  whom  Fashion  blinds 
To  his  true  w  orth,  most  pleas'd  when  idle  most ; 
Whose  only  happy  are  their  wasted  hours. 
r^Ex'n  misses,  at  whose  age  their  mothers  wore 
\_  The  backstring  and  the  bib,  assume  the  dress 
Of  wonianlioodj^sit  pnpiTslntlic  school 
Of  card-devoted  Time,  and  night  by  night 
Plac'd  at  some  vacant  corner  of  the  board, 
Learn  ev'ry  trick,  and  soon  play  all  the  game. 
But  truce  with  censure.     Roving  as  I  rove. 
Where  shall  I  find  an  end,  or  how  proceed? 
As  he  that  travels  far  oft  turns  aside. 
To  view  some  rugged  rock  or  mould'ring  tow^'r, 
Which  seen  delights  him  not;  then  coming  home 
Describes  and  prints  it,  that  the  world  may  know^ 
How  farhewent  for  what  was  nothing  worth  ;-  ^  v^"' 
So  I,  with  brush  in  hand  anTT'allet  spread, 
With  colours  mix'd  for  a  far  diff 'rent  use. 
Paint  cards,  and  dolls,  and  ev'ry  idle  thing, 
That  Fancy  finds  in  her  excursive  flights. 

Come  Ev'ning,  once  again,  season  of  peace; 
Return  sweet  Ev'ning,  and  continue  long ! 
Methinks  I  see  thee  in  the  streaky  west, 
With  matron  step  slow  moving,  while  the  night 
Treads  on  thy  sweeping  train ;  one  hand  omploy'd 
In  letting  fall  the  curtain  of  repose 
f2 


T«^M/'-i    yh^M(M^'> 


100  THE  TASK.  BOOK  lY. 

On  bird  and  beast,  the  other  charg'd  for  man 
With  sweet  oblivion  of  ihe  cares  of  day  : 
Not  sumptuously  adorn 'd,  nor  needing  aid, 
Like  homely-featur'd  Night,  of  clust'ring  gems  ; 
A  star  or  two,  just  twinkling  on  thy  brow, 
Suflices  thee ;  save  tiiat  the  moon  is  thine 
No  less  than  hers,  not  worn  indeed  on  high 
With  ostentatious  pageantry,  but  set 
With  modest  grandeur  in  thy  purple  zone, 
Resplendent  less,  but  of  an  ampler  round. 
Come  then,  and  thou  shall  find  thy  vot'ry  calm. 
Or  make  me  so.     Composure  is  thy  gift; 
And,  whether  I  devote  thy  gentle  hours 
To  books,  to  niiisic,  or  flie  poet's  toil ; 
To  weaving  nets  for  bird-alluring  fruit; 
Or  twining  silken  threads  round  iv'ry  reels, 
When  they  command  whom  man  was  boni  to  please; 
I  slight  thee  not,  but  make  thee  welcome  still. 
Just  when  our  drawing-rooms  begin  to  blaze 
With  lights,  by  clear  reflection  multiplied 
Trom  many  a  mirror,  in  which  he  of  Gath, 
(ioliah,  might  have  seen  his  giant  bulk 
Whole  without  stooping,  tow'riiig  crest  and  all, 
My  pleasures  too  begin.     But  me  perhaps 
The  glowing  hearth  may  satisfy  awhile 
With  faint  illumination,  that  uplifts 
The  shadows  to  the  ceiling,  there  by  fits 
Dancing  uneouthly  to  the  quiv'ring  flame. 
Not  undelightful  is  an  hour  to  me 
So  spent  in  parlour  twilight :  such  a  gloom 


\tcai.rr]   ^^e-\^{ 


WINTER   EVENING.  101 

Suits  well  the  thoughtful  or  unthinking  mind, 

i'iic  mind  contemplative,  Avith  some  new  theme 

Pregnant,  or  indispos'd  alike  to  all. 

Langh  ye,  who  boast  your  more  mercurial  powVs, 

That  never  feel  a  stupor,  know  no  pause. 

Nor  need  one;  I  am- conscious,  and  confess 

Fearless  a3.Q.uU-lliat  does  not  always  think. 

Me  oft  has  Fancy  ludicrous  and  wild 

Sooth'd  with  a  waking  dream  of  houses,  tow'rs. 

Frees,  churches,  and  strange  visages,  express'd 

In  the  red  cinders,  while  with  poring  eye 

1  gaz'd,  myself  creating  what  I  saw. 

Nor  less  araus'd  have  I  quiescent  watch'd 

The  sooty  films,  that  play  upon  the  bars 

Pendulous,  and  foreboding  in  the  view 

Of  superstition,  prophesying  still, 

Though  still  deceiv'd,  some  stranger's  near  approaclu 

'Tis  thus  the  understanding  takes  repose 

In  indolent  vacuity  of  thought, 

And  sleeps  and  is  refresh'd.     Meanwhile  the  face 

Conceals  the  mood  lethargic  with  a  mask 

Of  deep  deliberation,  as  the  man 

Were  task'd  to  his  full  strength,  absorb'd  and  lost. 

Thus  5f!,"  reclin'd  at  ease,  I  lose  an  hour"^      .      ^^f 

At  ev'ning,  till  at  length  the  freezing  blast,^  ''- 

That  sweeps  the  bolted  shutter,  summons  home 

The  recollected  pow'rs ;  and  snapping  short 

The  glassy  threads,  with  which  the  Fancy  weaves 

Her  brittle  toils,  restores  me  to  myself. 

How  calm  is  my  recess;  and  how  the  frost, 


102  THE  TASK.  BOOK   IV. 

Raging  abroad,  and  the  rough  wind  endear 
The  silence  and  the  warmth  enjo^'d  within ! 
I  saw  the  woods  and  fields  at  close  of  day 
A  variegated  show  ;  the  meadows  green, 
Though  faded ;  and  the  lands,  where  lately  wav'd 
The  golden  harvest,  of  a  mellow  brown, 
Upturn'd  so  lately  by  the  forceful  share, 
I  saw  far  oif  the  weedy  fallows  smile 
With  verdure  not  unprofitable,  graz'd 
By  ilotks,  fast  feeding,  and  selecting  each 
His  fa\'rite  herb;  while  all  the  leafless  groves, 
Thatskirt  th'  horizon,  wore  a  sable  hue. 
Scarce  notic'd  in  the  kindred  dusk  of  eve. 
To-morrow  brings  a  change,  a  total  change ! 
Which  even  now,  though  silently  perform'd, 
And  slowly,  and  by  most  unfelt,  the  face 
Of  universal  nature  undergoes. 
Fast  falls  a  tleecj^§lu)w'r :  the  downy  flakes 
Descending,  and  with  never-ceasing  lapse. 
Softly  alighting  upon  all  below. 
Assimilate  ail  objects.     Earth  receives 
Gladly  the  thick'ning  mantle;  and  the  green 
And  tender  blade,  that  fear'd  tiie  chilling  blast, 
Escapes  unhurt  beneath  so  warm  a  veil. 

In  such  a  world,  so  thorny,  and  where  none 
Finds  happiness  unblighted,  or,  if  found. 
Without  some  tUisjiy~-sjorr4iw  at  its  side ; 
It  seems  the  part  of  wisdom,  and  no  sin 
Against  the  law  of  love,  to  measure  lots 
With  less  distinguish'd  than  ourselves;  that  thus 


iri{Si^\^  -v  iid^S  "    ir>5  irM  i^.f'^  v«- 


WINTER  EVENING.  103         ^ 


.0 

We  may  with  patience  bear  ojjr  mod'rateJlHs,  K  ^ 

And  sjmpathize  witli  others  suff'ring  more. 

Ill  fares  the  trav'ller  now,  and  he  that  stalks 

In  poad'rous  boots  beside  his  reeking  team. 

The  wain  goes  heavily,  impeded  sore 

By  congregated  loads  adhering  close 

To  the  clogg'd  wheels;  and  in  its  sluggish  pace 

Noiseless  appears  a  moving  hill  of  snow. 

The  toiling  steeds  expand  the  nostril  wide, 

While  ev'ry  breath,  by  respiration  strong 

Forc'd  downward,  is  consolidated  soon 

Upon  their  jutting  chests.     He,  form'd  to  bear 

The  pelting  brunt  of  the  tempestuous  night, 

With  half-shut  eyes,  and  pucker'd  checks,  and  teetii 

Presented  bare  against  the  storm,  plods  on. 

One  hand  secures  his  hat,  save  when  with  both 

He  brandishes  his  pliant  length  of  whip, 

Resounding  oft,  and  never  heard  in  vain. 

O  happy;  and  in  my  account,  denied 

That  sensibility  of  pain,  with  which 

Refinement  is  endu'd,  thrice  happy  thou ! 

Thy  frame,  robust  and  hardy,  feels  indeed 

The  piercing  cold,  but  feels  it  unimpair'd. 

The  learned  finger  never  need  explore 

Thy  vig'rous  pulse;  and  the  unhealthfiil  east. 

That  breathes  the  spleen,  and  searches  ev'ry  bonf 

Of  the  nifinn,  is  wholesome  air  to  thee. 

Thy  days  roll  on  exempt  from  household  care ; 

Thy  waggon  is  thy  wife ;  and  the  poor  beasts. 

That  drag  the  dull  companion  to  and  fro. 


104  THE  TASk.  BOOK   IV 

Thine  helpless  charge,  depeiuloiit  on  lliy  care. 
Ah  treat  them  kindly !  rnde  as  thou  appear'st, 
Yet  show  that  thou  hast  mercy !   wliich  the  great. 
AVith  needless  huny  whirl'd  from  place  to  place. 
Humane  as  they  would  seem,  not  always  show. 

Poor,  yet  industrious,  modest,  quiet,  neat, 
Such  clain^  compassion  in  a  night  like  this. 
And  have  a  friend  in  ev'ry  feeling  heart. 
Warm'd,  while  it  lasts,  by  labour,  all  day  long 
They  brave  the  season,  and  yet  find  at  eve, 
111  clad  and  fed  but  sparely,  time  to  cool. 
The  frugal  housewife  trembles  when  she  lights 
Her  scanty  stock  of  brushwood,  blazing  clear^ 
But  dying  soon,  like  all  terrestrial  joys. 
I        The  few  small  embers  left  she  nurses  well ; 
\        And,  while  her  infant  race,  with  outspread  hands 
\       And  crowded  knees,  sit  cow'riiig  o'er  the  sparks, 
Retires,  conteiit_to  fjUtikCj  so  they  be  warm'd. 
The  man  feels  least,  as  more  inur'd  than  she 
To  winter,  and  the  current  in  his  veins 
More  briskly  raov'd  by  his  severer  toil ; 
Yet  he  too  finds  his  own  distress  in  theirs. 
The  taper  soon  extinguish'd,  which  I  saw 
Dangled  along  at  the  cold  finger's  end 
Just  when  the  day  declin'd  ;  and  the  brown  loaf 
Lodg'd  on  the  shelf,  half  eaten  without  sauce 
Of  sav'ry  cheese,  or  butter,  costlier  still ; 
Sleep  seems  their  onlyxftluge:  for  alas, 
Where  penury  is  felt  the  thought  is  chain'd, 
And  sweet  colloquial  pleasures  are  but  few  !, 


WINTER  EVENING,  105 

^Yitll  all  this  thrift  thcj  thrive  not.     All  the  care, 
Ingenious  Parsimony  takes,  but  just 
Saves  the  small  inventorj-,  bed,  and  stool. 
Skillet,  and  old  carv'd  chest,  from  public  sale. 
They  live,  and  live  without  extorted  alms 
From  grudging  hands ;  but  other  boast  have  none. 
To  sooth  their  honest  pride,  that  scorns  to  beg, 
Nor  comfort  else,  but  in  their  mutual  love. 
I  praise  you  much,  ye  meek  and  pjiliciit  pair, 
For  ye  are  worthy;  choosing  rather  far 
,\  dry  but  independent  crust,  hard  earn'd, 
And  eaten  with  a  sigh,  than  to  endure 
The  rugged  frowns  and  insolent  rebuffs 
Of  knaves  in  office,  partial  in  the  work 
Of  distribution ;  lib'ral  of  their  aid 
To  clam'rous  Importunity  in  rags, 
But  ofttimes  deaf  to  suppliants,  who  woukl  blush 
To  wear  a  tatter'd  garb  however  coarse. 
Whom  famine  cannot  reconcile  to  filth : 
These  ask  with  painful  shyness,  and,  refus'd 
Because  deserving,  silently  retire ! 
But  be  ye  of  good  courage !  Time  itself 
Shall  much  befriend  you.     Time  shall  give  increase; 
And  all  your  num'rous  progeny,  well-train'd 
But  helpless,  in  few  years  shall  find  their  hands, 
And  labour  too.     Meanwhile  ye  shall  not  want 
What,  conscious  of  your  virtues,  we  can  spare, 
Nor  what  a  wealthier  than  ourselves  may  send. 
I  mean  the  man,  who,  when  the  distant  poor     f 
Need  help,  denies  them  nothing  but  his  name.  | 
f3  ---J 


106 .  THE  TASK.  BOOK   IV. 

'  /  \ 

But  poverty^^ith  most,  who  wbiraper  forfli 

Their  long  complaints,  is  self-inflicted  woe ; 

The  effect  pXJazijiess  or  sottish  waste.    '>'  >  *'j^ 

Now  goes  the  nightly  thief  prowling  abroad 

For  plunder;  much  solicitous  how  best 

He  may  compensate  for  a  day  of  sloth 

By  works  of  darkness  and  nocturnal  wrong. 

Woe  to  the  gard'ner's  pale,  the  farmer's  hedge, 

Plash'd  neatly,  and  secur'd  with  driven  stakes 

Deep  in  the  loamy  bank.     Uptorn  by  strength, 

Resistless  in  so  bad  a  cause,  but  lame 

To  better  deeds,  he  bundles  up  to  the  spoil, 

An  ass's  burden,  and,  when  laden  most 

And  heaviest,  light  of  foot  steals  fast  away. 

Nor  does  the  boarded  hovel  better  guard 

The  well-stack'd  pile  of  riven  logs  and  roots 

From  his  pernicious  force.     Nor  will  he  leave 

Unwrench'd  the  door,  however  well  secur'd, 

Where  Chanticleer  amidst  his  haram  sleeps 

In  unsuspecting  pomp.     Twitch'd  from  the  perch, 

He  gives  the  princely  bird,  with  all  his  wives. 

To  his  voracious  bag,  struggling  in  vain. 

And  loudly  wond'ring  at  the  sudden  change. 

Nor  this  to  feed  his  own.     Twere  some  excuse, 

Did  pity  of  their  sufi"'rings  warp  aside 

His  principle,  and  tempt  him  into  sin 

For  their  support,  so  destitute.     But  they 

Neglected  pine  at  home ;  themselves,  as  more 

Expos'd  than  others,  with  less  scruple  made 

His  victims,  robb'd  of  tlicir  defenceless  all. 


—  ^nr,C 


WINTER   EVENING.  107 

Cruel  is  all  he  does.     Tis  quenchless  thirst 

Of  ruiuous  ebriety,  that  prompts 

His  ev'ry  action,  and  irabrutes  the  man. 

O  for  a  law  to  noose  the  villain's  neck, 

Who  starves  his  own ;  wlio  persecutes  the  blood 

He  gave  them  in  his  child rens'  veins,  and  hates 

And  wrongs  the  woman,  he  has  sworn  to  love ! 

Pass  where  we  may,  through  city  or  through  town, 
Village  or  hamlet,  of  this  meiTy  land, 
Though  lean  and  beggar'd,  ev'ry  twentieth  pace 
Conducts  th'  unguarded  nose  to  such  a  whiff 
Of  stale  debauch,  foith-issuing  from  the  styes, 
That  Law  has  licens'd,  as  makes  Temp'rance  reel. 
There  sit,  involv'd  and  lost  in  curling  clouds 
Of  Indian  fume,  and  guzzling  deep,  the  boor, 
The  lackey,  and  the  groom :  the  craftsman  there 
Takes  a  Lethean  leave  of  all  his  toil ; 
Smith,  cobbler,  joiner,  he  that  plies  the  shears, 
A«d-kelhat  kneads  tlie^dough ;  all  loud  alike, 
Allleamed,  and  all  drunk^The  liddle  screams 
"Plaintive  and  piteousTasTt  wept  and  wail'd 
Its  wasted  tones  and  harmony  unheard: 
Fierce  the  dispute  whate'er  the  theme ;  while  she, 
Fell  Discord,  arbitress  of  such  debate, 
Perch'd  on  the  signpost,  holds  with  even  hand 
Her  undecisive  scales.     In  this  she  lays 
A  weight  of  ignorance ;  in  that,  of  pride; 
And  smiles  delighted  with  the  eternal  poise. 
Dire  is  the  frcciueut  curse,  and  its  twin  sound 
The  cheek-distending  oath,  not  to  be  prais'd 


-^0 


108  THE  TASK.  BOOK   IV, 

As  ornamental,  musical,  polite, 

Like  those,  which  modern  senators  employ. 

Whose  oath  is  rhct'ric,  ami  who  swear  for  iame! 

Behold  the  schools,  in  which  plebeian  minds 

Once  simple  are  initiated  in  arts. 

Which  some  may  practise  with  politer  grace, 

But  none  with  readier  skill ! — 'tis  here  they  learn 

The  road,  that  leads  from  competence  and  peace 

To  indigence  and  rapine;  till  at  last 

Society,  grown  weary  of  the  load. 

Shakes  her  encumber'd  lap,  and  casts  them  out. 

But  censure  profits  little:  vain  th'  attempt 

To  advertise  in  verse  a  public  pest. 

That  like  the  filth,  with  which  the  peasant  feeds 

His  hungry  acres,  stinks,  and  is  of  use. 

Th'  excise  is  fatten'd  with  the  rich  result 

Of  all  this  riot ;  and  ten  thousand  casks, 

For  ever  dribbling  out  their  base  contents, 

Touch'd  by  the  Midas  finger  of  the  state. 

Bleed  gold  for  ministers  to  sport  away. 

Drink,  and  be  mad  then ;  'tis  your  country  bids  ! 

Gloriously  drunk  obey  th'  important  call ! 

Her  cause  demands  th'  assistance  of  your  throats; 

Ye  all  can  swallow,  and  she  asks  no  more. 


r- 


Would  I  had  fall'n  upon  those  happier  days,     nivn^ 


That  poets  celebrate ;  those  golden_times,,    \A'A 
And  those  Arcadian  scenes,  that  Maro  sings, 
And  Sidney,  warbler  of  poetic  prose. 
Nymphs  were  Dianas  then,  and  swains  had  hearts. 
That  felt  their  virtues ;  Innocence,  It  seems. 


WINTER  EVENING.  100 

From  courts  disniiss'd,  found  shelter  in  the  groves ; 

The  footsteps  of  Simplicitj,  impress'd 

Upon  the  yieldin«c  herMge  (so  they  sing), 

Then  were  not  all  effac'd :  then  speech  profane, 

And  manners  profligate,  were  rarely  found, 

Observ'd  as  prodigies,  and  soon  reclaim'd. 

Vain  wish!  those  days  were  never:  airy  dreams 

Sat  for  the  picture:  and  the  poeTl'hand, 

Imparting  substance  to  an  empty  shade, 

Impos'd  a  gay  delirium  for  a  truth.  "^ 

Grant  it:  I'sfTTTmust  envy  them  an  age. 

That  favourNl  suchaLdrfiani;  in  days  like  these 

Impossible,  when  Virtue  is  so  scarce, 

That  to  suppose  a  scene  where  she  presides,  ^^ 

Is  tramontane,  and  stumbles  all  belief.  v^    Z' 

No :  we  are  pjolisii'd  now.     The  rural  lassn  ''^  3  "^ 

Whom  once  her  virgin  modesty  and  grace,  I    f>^  ^  ) 

Her  artless  manners,  and  her  neat  attire,     /"  ^y     l 

So  dignified,  that  she  was  hardly  less  (        .  'v 

Than  the  fair  sheph^ttLoP*!  of- old  romance. 

Is  seen  no  more.  /  The  character  is  lost !  • 

Her  head,  adorn'd  with  lappets  pum'd  aloft. 

And  ribbands  streaming  gay,  superbly  rais'd, 

And  magnified  beyo.nd  all  human  size,  .  ; 

Indebted  to  some  smart  wig-weaver's  hand    fr'^ 

For  more  than  half  the  tresses  it  sustains ;        /^ 

Her  elbows  ruffled,  and  her  tott'ring  form  | 

III  propp'd  upon  French  heels ;  she  might  be  deem'd 

(But  that  the  basket  dangling  on  her  arm 

Interprets  her  more  truly)  of  a  rank 


a^^'^ 


.r 


110  THE  TASK.  BOOK  lY. 

Too  proud  for  dairy  work,  or  sale  of  eggs, 
^^xpect  her  soon  with  footboy  at  her  lieels, 
/No  longer  blushing  for  her  awkward  load, 
{^Her  train  and  her  umbrella  all  her  care ! 

The  town  has  tiug'd  the  couniry ;  and  the  stain 
Appears  a  spot  upon  a  vestal's  robe, 
The  worse  for  what  it  soils.     The  fashion  runs 
Down  into  scenes  still  rural ;  but  alas, 
Scenes  rarely  grac'd  with  rural  manners,  now  ! 
Time  was  when  in  the  pastoral  r<?trea.t  - 
Th'  unguarded  door  w^ safe;  men  did  not  watch 
T'  invade  another's  right,  or  guard  their  own. 
Then  sleep  was  undisturb'd  by  fear,  unscar'd 
By  drunken  bowlings;  and  the  chilling  tale 
Of  midnigiit  murder  was  a  wonder  heard 
With  doubtful  credit,  told  to  frighten  babes. 
But  farewell  now  to  unsuspicious  nights, 
And  slumbers  unalarm'd!  Now,  ere  you  sleep, 
See  that  jour  polish'd  arms  be  prim'd  with  care, 
And  drop  the  »i^lUJiolt ;— ruffians  are  abroad ; 
And  the  first  larum  of  the  cock's  shrill  throat 
May  prove  a  trumpet,  summoning  your  ear 
To  horrid  sounds  of  hostile  feet  within. 
Ev'n  daylight Jiasita^angers ;  and  the  walk 
Through  pathless  wastes  aiTd  woods,  uuconsciousonce 
Of  other  tenants  than  melodious  birds. 
Or  harmless  flocks,  is  hazardous  and  bold. 
Lamented  change!  to  which  full  many  a  cause 
"TnrvetVate,  hopeless  of  a  cure,  conspires. 
The  course  of  human  things  from  good  to  ill. 


WINTER  EVENING.  Ill 

From  ill  to  worse,  is  fatal,  never  fails.  '~~) 

Increase  of  power  begets  increase  of  ^eytji^  C,^ 
Wealth  liixUry,  and  luxury  excess;  / 

Excess,  the  scrofulous  and  itchy  plague,  ) 

That  seizes  first  the  opulent,  descends 
To  the  next  rank  contagious,  and  in  time 
Taints  downward  all  the  graduated  scale 
Of  order,  from  the  chariot  to  the  plough. 
The  rich,  and  they  that  have  an  arm  to  check 
The  license  of  the  lowest  in  degree. 
Desert  their  office ;  and  themselves,  intent 
On  pleasure,  haunt  the  capital,  and  thus 
,To  all  the  violence  of  lawless  hands 
Resign  the  scenes,  their  presence  might  protect. 
Authority  itself  not  seldom  sleeps, 
Though  resident,  and  witness  of  the  wrong. 
The  plump  convivial  parson  often  bears 
The  magisterial  sword  in  vain,  and  lays 
His  rev'rence  and  his  worship  both  to  rest 
On  the  same  cushion  of  habitual  slQth. 
Perhaps  timidity  restrains  his  arm  ; 
When  he  should  strike  he  trembles,  and  sets  free, 
Himself  enslav'd  by  terror  of  the  band, 
Th'  audacious  convict,  whom  he  dares  not  bind. 
Perhaps  though  by  profession  ghostly  pure, 
He  too  may  have  his  vice,  and  sometimes  prove 
Less  dainty  than  becomes  his  grave  outside 
In  lucrative  concerns.     Examine  well 
His  milk-white  hand ;  the  palm  is  hardly  clean — 
But  here  and  there  an  ugly  smutch  appears. 


tS,sn^<^/fO^.  s^-"*-**^  ^^^^t 


112  THE  TASK.  BOOK   IV 

FoJiX  'twas  a  bribe  tliat  left  it :  he  has  touch'd 
/"l^orruptiOs.     Whoso  seeks  an  audit  here 
^-  Propitious,  pays  his  tribute,  game  or  fish, 
Wildfowl  or  veu'son;  and  his  errand  speeds. 

But  faster  far,  and  more  tlian  all  the  rest, 
A  noble  cause,  which  none  w  ho  bears  a  spark 
Of  public  virtue,  ever  wish'd  remov'd, 
W^orks  the  deplor'd  and  mischievous  effect. 
'Tis  universal  soldiership  has  stabb'd 
The  heart  of  merit  in  the  meaner  class. 
Arms,  through  the  vanity  and  brainless  rage 
Of  those  that  bear  them,  in  whatever  cause, 
Seem  most  at  variance  with  all  moral  good. 
And  incompatible  with  serious  thought. 
The  clown,  the  child  of  nature,  without  guile, 
Blest  with  an  infant's  ignorance  of  all 
But  his  own  simple  pleasures ;  now  and  then 
A  wrestling  match,  a  foot  race,  or  a  fair; 
"Is  ballotted,  and  trembles  at  the  news: 
Sheepish  he  doffs  his  hat,  and  mumbling  swears 
A  bible-oath  to  be  whatc'er  they  please. 
To  do  he  knows  not  w  hat.    The  task  perform'd, 
That  instant  he  becomes  the  sergeant's  care, 
His  pupil,  and  his  torment,  and  his  jest. 
His  awkward  gait,  his  introverted  toes. 
Bent  knees,  round  shoulders,  and  dejected  looks, 
Procure  him  many  a  curse.     By  slow  degrees, 
Unapt  to  learn,  and  form'd  of  stubborn  stuff, 
He  yet  by  slow  degrees  puts  off  himself, 
Grows  conscious  of  a  change,  and  likes  it  well ; 


'yXJ^i' 


> 


AVINTER  EVENING.  113 

He  stands  erect;  his  slouch  becomes  a  walk; 
He  steps  rigli'f'onward,  martial  in  his  air, 
His  form,  and  movement;  is  as  smart  above 
As  meal  and  larded  locks  can  make  him ;  wears 
His  hat,  or  his  pliim'd  helmet,  with  a  grace; 
And,  his  three  years  of  heroship  expir'd, 
Returns  indignant  to  the  slighted  plough. 
He  hates  the  field  in  which  no  fife  or  drum 
Attends  him ;  drives  his  cattle  to  a  marcli ; 
And  sighs  for  the  smart  comrades  he  has  left. 
'Twere  well  if  his  exterior  change  were  all — 
But  with  his  clumsy  port  the  wretch  has  lost 
His  ignorance  and  harmless  manners  too. 
To  swear,  to  game,  to  drink ;  to  show  at  horae^ 
By  lewdness,  idleness,  and  sabbath-breach, 
The  great  proficiency  he  made  abroad : 
T'  astonish  and  to  grieve  his  gazing  friends ; 
To  break  some  maiden's  and  his  mother's  heart; 
To  be  a  pest  where  he  was  useful  once  ; 
Are  his  sole  aim,  and  all  his  glory,  now. 

Man  in  society  is  like  a  flow'r 
Blown  in  its  native  bed:  'tis  there  alone 
His  faculties,  expanded  in  full  bloom, 
Shine  out ;  there  only  reach  their  proper  use. 
But  man,  associated  and  leagu'd  with  man 
By  regal  warrant,  or  self-join'd  by  bond 
For  int'rest  sake,  or  swarming  into  clans 
Beneath  one  head  for  purposes  of  w  ar. 
Like  flow'rs  selected  from  the  rest,  and  boiuid 
And  bundled  close  to  fiH  some  crowded  vase, 


Jpy^^-T    !    v^->-'r»C  v.* 


cp\^r^^ 


114  THE  TASK.  COOK  IV. 

Fades  rapidly,  and,  by  compression  man'd, 

Contracts  defilement  not  to  be  endnr'd. 

Hence  cbarter'd  borouglis  are  such  publi^  jjlagues ; 

And  burghers,  men  immaculate  perhaps 

In  all  their  private  funclious,  once  combin'd, 

Become  a  loathsome  body,  only  fit 

For  dissolution,  hurtful  to  the  main. 

Hence  merchants,  unimpeachable  of  sin 

Against  the  charities  of  domestic  life, 

Incorporated  seem  at  once  to  lose 

Their  nature  ;  and  disclaiming  all  regard 

For  mercy  and  the  common  rights  of  man. 

Build  factories  with  blood,  conducting  trade 

At  the  sword's  point,  and  dyeing  the  white  robe 

Of  innocent  commercial  Justice  red. 

Hence  too  the  field  of  glory,  as  the  world 

Misdeems  it,  daziiled  by  its  bright  anuy. 

With  all  its  majestj  of  Ihund'ring  poinp^ 

Enchanting  music,  and  immortal  wTreaths, 

/Is  but  a  school  where  thoughtlessness  is  taught 

f  On  principle,  where  foppery  atones 
For  folly,  gallantry  for  ev'ry  vice. 

But  slighted  as  it  is,  and  by  the  great 
Abandon'd,  and,  which  still  I  more  regret. 
Infected  with  the  manners  and  the  modes, 
It  knew  not  once,  the  country  winsjne  still. 
I  never  fram'd  a  wish,  or  form'd  a  plan. 
That  flattcr'd  me  with  hopes  of  earthly  bliss. 
But  tliere  1  laid  the  scene.     There  early  stray'd 
IMy  fancy,  ere  yet  liberty  of  choice 


^ 


WINTER  EVENING.  115 

Had  found  me,  or  the  hope  of  being  free.-' 

My  very  dreams  were  rural ;  rural  too 

The  first-born  eflorts  of  my  youthful  muse, 

Sportive  and  jingling  her  poetic  bells, 

Ere  yet  her  ear  was  mistress  of  their  pow'rs. 

No  bard  could  please  me,  but  whose  lyre  was  tun'd 

To  Nature's  praises.     Heroes  and  their  feats 

Fatigu'd  me,  never  weary  of  the  pipe 

Of  Tityrus,  assembling,  as  he  sang. 

The  rustic  throng  beneath  his  fav'rite  beech. 

Then  Milton  had  indeed  a  poet's  charms : 

New  to  my  taste  his  Paradise  surpass'd 

The  struggling  efforts  of  my  boyish  tongue 

To  speak  its  excellence.     I  danc'd  for  joy. 

I  marveird  much,  that,  at  so  ripe  an  age 

As  twice  seven  years,  his  beauties  had  then  first 

Engag'd  my  wonder;  and  admiring  still. 

And  still  admiring,  with  regret  supposed 

The  joy  half  lost  because  not  sooner  found. 

There  too  enaniour'd  of  the  life  I  lov'd, 

Pathetic  in  its  praise,  in  its  pursuit 

Deterniin'd,  and  possessing  it  at  last 

With  transports,  such  as  favour'd  lovers  feel, 

I  studied,  priz'd,  and  wish'd  that  I  had  known, 

Ingenious  Cowley  !  and,  though  now  reclaim'd 

By  modern  lights  from  an  erroneous  taste, 

I  cannot  but  lament  thy  splendid  wit 

Entangled  in  the  cobwebs  of  the  schools. 

I  still  revere  thee,  courtly  though  retir'd; 

Though  stretch'd  at  ease  in  Chertsey's  silent  bow'rs. 


C^-V>-».    CA€«^ 


IIG  THE  TASK.  IJOOK   IV. 

Not  unemploy'd  ;  and  finding  rich  amends 

For  a  lost  world  in  solitude  and  verse. 

'Tis  born  vvith  all :  the  love  of  Nature's  works 

Is  an  ingredient  in  the  compound  man, 

Infus'd  at  the  creation  of  the  kind. 

And,  though  th'  Almighty  Maker  has  throughout 

Discrim'nated  each  from  each,  by  strokes 

And  touches  of  his  hand,  with  so  much  art 

Diversified,  that  two  were  never  found 

Twins  at  all  points — yet  this  obtains  in  all, 

'J'liat  all  discern  a  beauty  in  his  works, 

And  all  can  taste  tiiem:  minds,  that  have  been  form'd 

And  tutor'd,  with  a  relish  more  exact, 

J3ut  none  without  some  relish,  none  unraov'd. 

It  is  a  flame,  that  dies  not  even  there. 

Where  nothing  feeds  it:  neither  ljLUsinesSrXlovv(i£, 

Nor  habits  of  luxurious  city  life. 

Whatever  else  they  smother  of  true  worth 

In  human  bosoms ;  quench  it  or  abate. 

The  villas,  with  which  London  stands  begirt. 

Like  a  swarth  Indian  with  his  belt  of  beads, 

Prove  it.     A  breath  of  unadult'rate  air, 

The  glimpse  of  a  green  pasture,  how  they  cheer 

Ihe  citizen,  and  brace  liis  languid  frame ! 

Ev'n  in  the  stifling  bosom  of  the  town 

A  garden,  in  which  nothing  thrives,  has  charms. 

That  sooth  the  rich  possessor ;  much  consol'd 

That  here  and  there  some  sprigs  of  mournful  mint, 

Of  nightshade,  or  valerian,  grace  the  well 

He  cultivates.     These  serve  him  with  a  hint, 


lr^^i>\C     fou-^      Qr    <w*:^^'*^ 


WINTER  EVENING.  117 

That  Nalure  lives;  that  sight-refreshing  green 
Is  still  the  liv'ry  she  delights  to  wear, 
Though  sickij'  samples  of  th'  exub'rant  whole. 
What  are  the  casements  liri'd  with  creeping  herbs, 
The  prouder  sashes  fronted  with  a  range 
Of  orange,  m)rtle,  or  the  fragrant  weed. 
The  Frenchman's  darling*?  are  tliey  not  all  proofs, 
That  man,  immur'd  in  cities,  still  retains 
His  inborn  in&xti»g«ishftWe  thirst 
Of  rural  scenes,  compensating  his  loss 
By  supplemental  shifts,  the  best  he  may? 
The  most  unfuruish'd  with  the  means  of  life, 
^And  they,  that  never  pass  their  brick-wall  bounds. 
To  range  the  fields,  and  treat  their  lungs  with  air. 
Yet  feel  the  burning  instinct :  over  head 
Suspend  their  crazy  boxes,  planted  thick. 
And  water'd  duly.    There  the  pitcher  stands 
A  fragment,  and  the  spoutless  tea-pot  there ; 
Sad  witnesses  how  close-pent  man  regrets 
The  country,  with  what  ardour  he  contrives 
A  peep  at  Nature,  when  he  can  no  more. 

IJail,  therefore,  patroness  of  health,  and  ease. 
And  contemplation,  heart-consoling  joys 
And  harmless  pleasures,  in  the  throng'd  abode 
Of  multitudes  unknown;  hail,  rurallife ! 
Address  himself  who  will  to  the  pursuit 
Of  honours,  or  emolument,  or  fame;  \    /^^    f"^' 

I  shall  not  add  myself  to  such  a  chasep^/^ 
Thwart  his  attempts,  or  envy  TiTs~success. 


118  THE  TASK.  BOOK  IV 

Sonic  must  be  great.    Great  offices  will  have 
-L.,       Great  talents.     And  God  gives  to  ev'ry  man 
^       /The  virtue,  temper,  understanding,  taste, 
i^  JThat  lifts  him  into  life,  and  lets  him  fall 

—    ^ust  in  the  niche,  he  was  ordaiu'd  to  fill. 
To  the  deliv'rer  of  an  injur'd  land 
He  gives  a  tongue  t'  enlarge  upon,  a  heart 
To  feel,  and  courage  to  redress  her  wrongs ; 
To  moiiarchs  dignity  ;  to  judges  sense  ; 
To  artists  ii>seuuiih[ji.nd  skill; 
V  To  me  an  unambitious  mind,  content 
/  In  the  low  vale  of  life,  that  early  felt 
")A  wish  for  ease  and  leisure,  and  ere  long 
/  Found  here  that  leisure  and  that  ease  Iiwish'd. 


TMM  TASK 


^0@JK  V", 


'l^^r^. 


Forth  goes  the  woodman,  leaving-  unconcerned 
The  cheerful  haunts  of  man,  to  ivield  the  axe 
And  dinve  the  wedg-e  in  yonder  forest  di-ear, 


:RAVfM  BY  RICHARD  WESTALL  RJl.  ENGRAVED    BV  -F.  ENGLEHEART: 

PUBLISHED  BY  JOHN  SHARPS.  PICCADILLY. 

OCT.  1.1817. 


THE    TASK. 

BOOK  V. 


THE  WINTER  MORNING  WALK. 


\  frosty  morning. — The  fodderiug  of  catile. — The  woodman  and  his 
dug. — The  poultry. — Whimsical  effects  of  a  ^rost  at  a  waterfall. — The 
Empress  of  Russia's  palace  of  ice — Amiisemeuts  of  monarcbs. — 
War,  one  of  them. — Wars,  whence — .\nd  whence  monarchy. — The 

evils  of  it.— English  and  French  loyalty  contrasted The  Bastile, 

and  a  prisoner  there — Liberty  the  chief  recommendation  of  this 
conntry. — Modern  patriotism  questionable,  and  why. — The  perish- 
able nature  of  the  best  human  institutons.— Spiritual  liberty  not 

perishable The  slavish  stale  of  man  by  nature.— Deliver  him. 

Deist,  if  you  can. — Grace  mnst  do  it.— The  respective  merits  of 
patriots  and  martyrs  stated. — Their  different  treatment. — Happy 
freedom  of  the  man  whom  grace  makes  free.— His  relish  of  the 
works  of  God — Address  to  the  Creator. 


Tis  morning;  and  the  sun,  with  ruddy  orb 
Ascending,  lires  th'  horizon;  while  the  clouds, 
That  crowd  aw  ay  before  the  driving  wind, 
^lore  ardent  as  the  disk  emerges  more, 
Resemble  most  some  city  in  a  blaze, 
Seen  through  the  leafless  wood.     His  slanting  ray 


120  THE   TASK.  1500K   V. 

Slides  ineffectual  down  the  snowy  vale, 
And,  tinging  all  with  his  own  rosy  hue, 
From  ev'ry  herb  and  ev'ry  spiry  blade 
Stretches  a  length  of  shadow  o'er  the  field. 
Mine,  spindling  into  longitude  immense. 
In  spite  of  gravity,  and  sage  remark 
That  I  myself  am  but  a  fleeting  shade, 
Provokes  me  to  a  smile.     With  eye  askance 
I  view  the  muscular  proportion'd  limb 
Transform'd  to  a  lean  shank.     The  shapeless  pair, 
As  they  design'd  to  mock  me,  at  my  side 
Take  step  for  step ;  and,  as  I  near  approach 
The  cottage,  walk  along  the  plastcr'd  wall, 
Prepost'rous  sight!  (he  legs  without  the  man. 
The  verdure  of  the  plain  lies  buried  deep 
Beneath  the  dazzling  deluge;  and  the  bents. 
And  coarser  grass,  upspearing  o'er  the  rest, 
Of  late  unsightly  and  unseen,  now  sliine 
Conspicuous,  and  in  bright  apparel  clad, 
And,  tledg'd  with  icy  feathers,  nod  superb. 
The  cattle  mourn  in  corners,  where  the  fence 
Screens  them,  and  seem  half  petrified  to  sleep 
In  unrecumbent  sadness.     There  they  wait 
Their  wonted  fodder;  not  like  hung'ring  man. 
Fretful  if  unsupplied ;  but  silent,  meek. 
And  patient  of  the  slow-pac'd  swain's  dela\'. 
He  from  the  stack  carves  out  th'  accustom'd  load. 
Deep-plunging,  and  again  deep-plunging  oft, 
His  broad  keen  knife  into  the  solid  mass: 
Smooth  as  a  wall  the  upright  remnant  stands, 


WINTER  MORNING  WALK.  121 

With  such  undeviating  and  even  force 
He  severs  it  away :  no  needless  care, 
Lest  storms  should  overset  the  leaning  pile 
Deciduous,  or  its  own  unbalanc'd  weight. 
Forth  goes  the  woodman,  leaving  unconcern 'd 
The  cheerful  haunts  of  man ;  to  wield  the  axe, 
And  drive  the  wedge,  in  yonder  forest  drear, 
From  morn  to  eve  his  solitary  task. 
Shaggy,  and  lean,  and  shrewd,  with  pointed  ears 
And  tail  cropp'd  short,  half  lurcher  and  half  cur, 
His  dog  attends  him.     Close  behind  his  heel 
Now  creeps  he  slow  ;  and  now,  with  many  a  fiisk 
Wide-scamp'ring,  snatches  up  the  drifted  snow 
With  iv'ry  teeth,  or  ploughs  it  with  his  snout ; 
Then  shakes  his  powder'd  coat,  and  barks  for  joy. 
Heedless  of  all  his  pranks,  the  sturdy  churl 
Moves  right  toward  the  mark ;  nor  stops  for  aught, 
But  now  and  then  with  pressure  of  his  thumb 
T'  adjust  the  fragrant  charge  of  a  short  tube, 
That  fumes  beneath  his  nose:  the  trailing  cloud 
Streams  far  behind  him,  scenting  all  the  air. 
Now  from  the  roost,  or  from  the  neighb'ring  pale, 
Where,  diligent  to  catch  the  fust  faint  gleam 
Of  smiling  day,  they  gossip'd  side  by  side. 
Come  trooping  at  the  housewife's  well-known  call 
The  feather'd  tribes  domestic.     Half  on  wing, 
And  half  on  foot,  they  brush  the  fleecy  flood, 
Conscious  and  fearful  of  too  deep  a  plunge. 
The  sparrows  peep,  and  quit  the  shelt'ring  eaves. 
To  seize  the  fair  occasion ;  well  they  eye 

G 


122  THE  TASK.  BOOK  V. 

Tlie  scatter'd  grain,  and  thievishly  resolv'd 

T'  escape  th'  impending  famine,  often  scar'd 

As  oft  retnrn,  a  pert  voracious  kind. 

Clean  riddance  quickly  made,  one  only  care 

Remains  to  each,  the  search  of  sunny  nook, 

Or  shed  impervious  to  the  blast.     Resign'd 

To  sad  necessity,  the  cock  foregoes 

His  wonted  strut ;  and,  wading  at  their  head 

With  well-consider'd  steps,  seems  to  resent 

His  alter'd  gait  and  statcliness  retrench'd. 

How  find  the  myriads,  that  in  summer  cheer 

The  hills  and  valleys  with  their  ceaseless  songs, 

Due  sustenance,  or  where  subsist  they  now? 

Earth  yields  them  nought;  th'  imprison'd  worm  is  safe 

Beneath  the  frozen  clod ;  all  seeds  of  herbs 

Lie  cover'd  close ;  and  berry-bearing  thorns. 

That  feed  the  thrush  (whatever  some  suppose), 

Afford  the  smaller  minstrels  no  supply. 

The  long  protracted  ligoiu'  of  the  year 

Thins  all  their  num'rous  flocks.     In  chinks  and  holes 

Ten  thousand  seek  an  unmolested  end. 

As  instinct  prompts  ;  self-buried  ere  they  die. 

The  very  rooks  and  daws  forsake  the  fields. 

Where  neither  grub,  nor  root,  nor  earth-nut,  now 

Repays  their  labour  more ;  and  perch'd  aloft 

By  the  way  side,  or  stalking  in  the  path, 

Lean  pensioners  upon  the  traveller's  track, 

Pick  up  their  nauseous  dole,  though  sweet  to  them, 

Of  voided  pulse  or  half-digested  grain. 

The  streams  are  lost  amid  the  splendid  blank, 


WINTER  MORNING  WALK.  123 

O'envhelming  all  distinction.     On  the  flood, 
Indurated  and  fix'd,  the  snowy  weight 
Lies  undissolv'd ;  while  silently  beneath, 
And  unperceiv'd,  the  current  steals  away. 
Not  so  where,  scornful  of  a  check,  it  leaps 
The  niilldani,  dashes  on  the  restless  wheel, 
And  wantons  in  the  pebbly  gulf  below : 
No  frost  can  bind  it  there;  its  utmost  force 
Can  but  arrest  the  light  and  smoky  mist. 
That  in  its  fall  the  liquid  sheet  throws  wide. 
.  And  see  where  it  has  hung  th'  embroider'd  banks 
With  forms  so  various,  that  no  pow'rs  of  art. 
The  pencil  or  the  pen,  may  trace  the  scene ! 
Here  glitt'ring  turrets  rise,  upbearing  high 
(Fantastic  niisarrangement !)  on  the  roof 
Large  growth  of  what  may  seem  the  sparkling  trees 
And  shrubs  of  fairy  land.    The  crystal  drops. 
That  trickle  down  the  branches,  fast  congeal'd. 
Shoot  into  pillars  of  pellucid  length, 
And  prop  the  pile  they  but  adorn'd  before. 
Here  grotto  within  grotto  safe  defies 
The  sunbeam ;  there,  emboss'd  and  fretted  wild. 
The  growing  wonder  takes  a  thousand  shapes 
Capricious,  in  which  fancy  seeks  in  vain 
The  likeness  of  some  object  seen  before. 
Thus  Nature  works  as  if  to  mock  at  Art, 
And  in  defiance  of  her  rival  pow'rs  ; 
By  these  fortuitous  and  random  strokes 
Performing  such  inimitable  feats. 
As  she  with  all  her  rules  can  never  reach. 
g2 


124  THE  TASK.  BOOK  V. 

Less  worthj'  of  applause,  though  more  admir'd, 

Because  a  novelty,  the  work  of  man, 

Imperial  mistress  of  the  fur-clad  Russ, 

Tliy  most  magnificent  and  mighty  freak, 

The  wonder  of  the  North.     No  forest  fell, 

When  thou  wouldst  build ;  no  quarry  sent  its  stores, 

T'  enrich  thy  walls ;  but  thou  didst  hew  the  floods, 

And  make  thy  marble  of  the  glassy  wave. 

In  such  a  palace  Aristaeus  found 

Cyrene,  when  he  bore  the  plaintive  tale 

Of  his  lost  bees  to  her  maternal  ear: 

In  such  a  palace  Poetry  might  place 

The  armory  of  Winter ;  where  his  troops, 

The  gloomy  clouds,  find  weapons,  arrowy  sleet, 

Skin-piercing  volley,  blossom-bruising  hail. 

And  snow,  that  often  blinds  the  trav'ller's  course, 

And  \vraps  him  in  an  unexpected  tomb. 

Silently  as  a  dream  the  fabiic  rose ; 

No  sound  of  hammer  or  of  saw  was  there: 

Ice  upon  ice,  the  well-adjusted  parts 

Were  soon  conjoin'd,  nor  other  cement  ask'd 

Tlian  water  interfus'd  to  make  them  one. 

Lamps  gracefully  dispos'd,  and  of  all  hues, 

Illumin'd  ev'ry  side:  a  wat'ry  light 

Gleam'd  through  the  clear  transparency,  that  seem'd 

Another  moon  new  ris'n,  or  meteor  fall'n 

From  Heav'n  to  Earth,  of  lambent  flame  serene. 

So  stood  the  brittle  prodigy  ;  though  smooth  Si 

And  slipp'ry  the  materials,  yet  frost-bound  S( 

Firm  as  a  rock.    Nor  wanted  aught  within,  .li 


M  INTER  MORNING  WALK.  125 

That  royal  residence  might  well  befit, 

For  grandeur  or  for  use.     Loug  wavy  wreaths 

Of  llow'rs,  that  fear'd  no  enemy  but  warmth, 

Blush'd  on  the  pannels.     Mirror  needed  none 

Where  all  was  vitreous ;  but  in  order  due 

Convivial  table  and  commodious  seat 

(What  seem'd  at  least  commodious  seat)  were  there; 

Sofa,  and  couch,  and  high-built  throne  august. 

The  same  lubricity  w  as  found  in  all. 

And  all  was  moist  to  the  warm  touch ;  a  scene 

Of  evanescent  glory,  once  a  stream. 

And  soon  to  slide  into  a  stream  again. 

Alas !  'twas  but  a  mortifying  stroke 

Of  undesign'd  severity,  that  glanc'd 

(Made  by  a  monarch)  on  her  own  estate, 

On  human  grandeur  and  the  courts  of  kings. 

'Twas  transient  in  its  nature,  as  in  show 

Tm  as  durable  ;  as  w  orthless,  as  it  seem'd 

Intrinsically  precious ;  to  the  foot 

Treach'rous  and  false;  it  srail'd,  and  it  was  cold. 

Great  princes  have  great  playthings.     Some  have 
At  hewing  mountains  into  men,  and  some       [play'd 
At  building  human  wonders  mountain-high. 
Some  have  amus'd  the  dull  sad  years  of  life 
(Life  spent  in  indolence,  and  therefore  sad), 
With  schemes  of  monumental  fame ;  and  sought 
By  pyramids  and  mausolean  pomp, 
Shortliv'd  themselves,  t'  immortalize  their  bones. 
Some  seek  diversion  in  the  tented  field. 
And  make  the  sorrows  of  mankind  their  sport. 


126  THE  TASK.  BOOK  V. 

But  war's  a  game,  which,  were  their  subjects  wise, 
Kings  would  not  play  at.     Nations  would  do  well, 
T'  extort  their  truncheons  from  tlie  puny  liauds 
Of  heroes,  whose  infirm  and  baby  minds 
Are  gratified  with  mischief;  and  who  spoil, 
Because  men  suffer  it,  their  toy  the  world. 

When  Babel  was  confounded,  and  the  great 
Confed'racy  of  projectors  wild  and  vain 
Was  split  into  diversity  of  tongues. 
Then,  as  a  shepherd  separates  his  flock, 
Tliese  to  the  upland,  to  the  valley  those, 
God  drove  asunder,  and  assign'd  their  lot 
To  all  the  nations.     Ample  was  the  boon 
He  gave  them,  in  its  distribution  fair 
Aud  equal:  and  he  bade  them  dwell  in  peace. 
Peace  was  awhile  their  care :  they  plough 'd,  aud  sow'd. 
And  reap'd  their  plenty  without  grudge  or  strife. 
But  violence  can  never  longer  sleep 
Than  human  passions  please.     In  cvVy  heart 
Are  sown  the  sparks  that  kindle  fiery  war ; 
Occasion  needs  but  fan  them,  and  they  blaze. 
Cain  had  already  shed  a  brother's  blood : 
The  deluge  wash'd  it  out ;  but  left  unquench'd 
The  seeds  of  murder  in  the  breast  of  man. 
Soon  by  a  righteous  judgment  in  the  line 
Of  his  descending  progeny  was  found 
The  first  artificer  of  death ;  the  shrewd 
Contriver,  who  first  sweated  at  the  forge, 
Aud  forc'd  the  blunt  and  yet  unbloodied  steel 
To  a  keen  edge,  and  made  it  bright  for  w  ar. 


WINTER  MORNING  WALK.  1*27 

Him,  Tubal  nam'd,  the  Vulcan  of  old  times, 

The  sword  and  falchion  their  inventor  claim ; 

And  the  first  smith  was  the  tirst  murd'rer's  son. 

His  art  surviv'd  the  waters ;  and  ere  long, 

When  man  was  multiplied  and  spread  abroad 

In  tribes  and  clans,  and  had  begun  to  call 

These  meadows  and  that  range  of  hills  his  own, 

The  tasted  sweets  of  property  begat 

Desire  of  more ;  and  industry  in  some, 

T'  improve  and  cultivate  their  just  demesne, 

Made  others  covet  what  they  saw  so  fair. 

Thus  war  began  on  Earth:  these  fought  for  spoil. 

And  those  in  self-defence.     Savage  at  first 

The  onset,  and  irregular.     At  length 

One  eminent  above  the  rest  for  strength, 

For  stratagem,  for  courage,  or  for  all, 

Was  chosen  leader;  him  they  serv'd  in  war. 

And  him  in  peace,  tor  sake  of  warlike  deeds, 

Rev'reuc'd  no  less.     Who  could  with  him  compare  ? 

Or  who  so  worthy  to  control  themselves, 

As  he,  whose  prowess  had  subdu'd  their  foes? 

Thus  war,  affording  field  for  the  display 

Of  virtue,  made  one  chief,  whom  times  of  peace. 

Which  have  their  exigencies  too,  and  call 

For  skill  in  government,  at  length  made  king. 

King  was  a  name  too  proud  for  man  to  wear 

With  modesty  and  meekness ;  and  the  crown, 

So  dazzling  in  their  eyes,  who  set  it  on, 

Was  sure  t'  intoxicate  the  brows  it  bound. 

It  is  the  abject  property  of  most, 


128  THE  TASK.  BOOK   V 

That,  being  parcel  of  the  coramon  mass, 
And  destitute  of  means  to  raise  themselves, 
The)'  sink,  and  settle  lower  than  they  need. 
They  know  not  what  it  is  to  feel  within 
A  comprehensive  faculty,  that  grasps 
Great  purposes  with  ease,  that  turns  and  wield?. 
Almost  without  an  effort,  plans  too  vast 
For  their  conception,  which  they  cannot  move. 
Conscious  of  impotence  they  soon  n;row  drunk 
With  gazing,  when  they  see  an  able  man 
Step  forth  to  notice :  and  besotted  thus 
Build  him  a  pedestal,  and  say,  "  Stand  there. 
And  be  our  admiration  and  our  praise." 
They  roll  themselves  before  him  in  the  dust. 
Then  most  deserving  in  their  own  account, 
When  most  extravagant  in  his  applause, 
As  if  exalting  him  they  rais'd  themselves. 
Thus  by  degrees,  self-cheated  of  their  sound 
And  sober  judgment,  that  he  is  but  man. 
They  demi-deify  and  fume  him  so, 
That  in  due  season  he  forgets  it  too. 
Inflated  and  astrut  with  self-conceit, 
He  gulps  the  windy  diet;  and  ere  long, 
Adopting  their  mistake,  profoundly  thinks 
The  World  was  made  in  vain,  if  not  for  him. 
Thenceforth  they  are  his  cattle :  drudges,  born 
To  bear  his  burdens,  drawing  in  his  gears, 
And  sweating  in  his  service,  his  caprice 
Becomes  the  soul  that  animates  them  all. 
He  deems  a  thousand,  or  ten  thousand  lives. 


WINTER  MORNING  WALK.  129 

Spent  in  the  purchase  of  renown  for  him, 
An  easy  reck'ning;  and  they  think  the  same. 
Thus  kings  were  first  invented,  and  thus  kings 
W  ere  burnish'd  into  lieroes,  and  became 
The  arbiters  of  this  terraqueous  swamp ; 
Storks  among  frogs,  that  Iiave  but  croak'd  and  died. 
Strange,  that  such  folly,  as  lifts  bloated  man 
To  eminence  fit  only  for  a  god. 
Should  ever  drivel  out  of  human  lips. 
Even  in  the  cradled  weakness  of  the  world ! 
Still  stranger  much,  that  when  at  length  mankind 
Had  reach'd  the  sinewy  firmness  of  their  youth, 
And  could  discriminate  and  argue  well 
On  subjects  more  mysterious,  they  were  yet 
Babes  in  the  cause  of  freedom,  and  should  fear 
And  quake  before  the  gods  themselves  had  made: 
But  above  measure  strange,  that  neither  proof 
Of  sad  experience,  nor  examples  set 
By  some  whose  patriot  virtue  has  prevail'd. 
Can  even  now,  when  they  are  grown  mature 
In  wisdom,  and  with  philosophic  deeds 
Familiar,  serve  t'  emancipate  the  rest ! 
Such  dupes  are  men  to  custom,  and  so  prone 
To  rev'rence  what  is  ancient,  and  can  plead 
A  course  of  long  obsen  ance  for  its  use, 
That  even  servitude,  the  worst  of  ills, 
Because  deliver'd  down  from  sire  to  son, 
Is  kept  and  guarded  as  a  sacred  thing. 
But  is  it  fit,  or  can  it  bear  the  shock 
Of  rational  discussion,  that  a  man, 
g3 


130  THE  TASK.  BOOK   V. 

Compounded  and  made  up  like  other  men 

Of  elements  tumultuous,  in  whom  lust 

And  foil}'  in  as  ample  measure  meet, 

As  in  the  bosoms  of  the  slaves  he  rules. 

Should  be  a  despot  absolute,  and  boast 

Himself  the  only  tretman  of  his  land? 

Should,  when  he  pleases,  and  on  whom  he  will, 

Wage  wa",  with  any  or  with  no  pretence 

Of  provocation  giv'n,  or  wrong  sustain'd, 

And  force  the  beggarly  last  doit  by  means, 

That  his  own  humour  dictates,  from  the  clutch 

Of  Poverty,  that  thus  he  may  procure 

His  thousands,  weary  of  penurious  life, 

A  splendid  opportunity  to  die? 

Say  ye,  who  (with  less  prudence  than  of  old 

Jotham  ascrib'd  to  his  assembled  trees 

In  politic  convention)  put  your  trust 

I'th'  shadow  of  a  bramble,  and  rcclin'd 

In  fancied  peace  beneath  his  dang'rous  brancli. 

Rejoice  in  him,  and  celebrate  his  sway, 

Where  find  ye  passive  fortitude?  Whence  springs 

Your  self-denying  zeal,  that  holds  it  good 

To  stroke  the  prickly  grievance,  and  to  hang 

His  thorns  with  streamers  of  continual  praise? 

We  too  are  friends  to  loyalty.     We  love 

The  king,  who  loves  the  law,  respects  his  bounds. 

And  reigns  content  within  them :  him  we  serve 

Freely  and  with  delight,  who  leaves  us  free : 

But,  recollecting  still,  that  he  is  man, 

We  tnist  him  not  too  far.     King  though  he  he^ 


WINTER  MORNING  WALK.  131 

And  king  in  England  too,  he  may  be  weak, 
And  vain  enough  to  be  ambitious  still ; 
May  exercise  amiss  his  proper  pow'rs, 
Or  covet  more  than  freemen  choose  to  grant ! 
Beyond  that  mark  is  treason.     He  is  ours, 
T'  administer,  to  guard,  t'  adorn,  the  state, 
But  not  to  warp  or  change  it.     We  are  his. 
To  serve  him  nobly  in  the  common  cause, 
True  to  the  death,  but  not  to  be  his  slaves. 
Mark  now  the  difi''ren(;e,  ye  that  boast  your  love 
Of  kings,  between  your  loyalty  and  ours. 
We  love  the  man,  the  paltry  pageant  you: 
We  the  chief  patron  of  the  commonwealth. 
You  the  regardless  author  of  its  woes : 
We  for  the  sake  of  liberty  a  king. 
You  chains  and  bondage  for  a  tyrant's  sake. 
Our  love  is  principle,  and  has  its  root 
In  reason,  is  judicious,  manly,  free ; 
Yours,  a  bhnd  instinct,  crouches  to  the  rod. 
And  licks  the  foot,  that  treads  it  in  the  dust. 
W'ere  kingship  as  true  treasure  as  it  seems. 
Sterling,  and  worthy  of  a  wise  man's  wish, 
I  would  not  be  a  king  to  be  belov'd 
Causeless,  and  daub'd  with  undiscerning  praise, 
Where  love  is  mere  attachment  to  the  throne, 
Not  to  the  man,  who  fills  it  as  he  ought. 

Whose  freedom  is  by  suft'rance,  and  at  will 
Of  a  superior,  he  is  never  free. 
W^ho  lives,  and  is  not  weary  of  a  life 
Expos'd  to  manacles,  deserves  them  well. 


132  THE  TASK,  BOOK  V. 

The  state  that  strives  for  liberty,  though  foil'd, 
And  forc'd  to  abandon  what  she  bravely  souglit, 
Deserves  at  least  applause  for  her  attempt, 
And  pity  for  her  loss.     But  that's  a  cause 
Not  often  unsuccessful ;  pow'r  usurp 'd 
Is  weakness  when  oppos'd ;  conscious  of  wrong, 
'Tis  pusillanimous  and  prone  to  flight. 
But  slaves,  that  once  conceive  the  glowing  thought 
Of  freedom,  in  that  hope  itself  possess 
All  that  the  contest  calls  for ;  spirit,  strength, 
The  scorn  of  danger,  and  united  hearts; 
The  surest  presage  of  the  good  they  seek  *. 
'     Then  shame  to  manhood,  and  opprobrious  more 
To  France  than  all  her  losses  and  defeats. 
Old  or  of  later  date,  by  sea  or  land. 
Her  house  of  bondage,  worse  than  that  of  old 
Which  God  aveng'd  on  Pharaoh — the  Bastile. 
Ye  horrid  tow'rs,  the  abode  of  broken  hearts; 
Ye  dungeons,  and  ye  cages  of  despair, 
That  monarchs  have  supplied  from  age  to  age 
With  music,  such  as  suits  their  sov'reign  ears. 
The  sighs  and  groans  of  miserable  men ! 
There's  not  an  English  heart,  that  would  not  leap 
To  hear  that  ye  were  fall'n  at  last;  to  know, 
That  ev'n  our  enemies,  so  oft  employ'd 


*  The  :iiithor  hopes,  that  he  shall  not  be  censured  for  unnecessary 
warmth  upon  so  interesting  a  subject.  He  is  aware,  that  it  is  become 
almost  fashionable,  to  stigmatize  such  sentiments  as  no  better  than 
empty  declamation  ;  hut  it  is  an  ill  svniptom,  and  peculiar  to  modem 
times. 


WINTER  MORNING  WALK.  133 

In  forging  chains  for  ns,  themselves  were  free. 

For  he,  who  values  Liberty,  confines 

His  zeal  for  her  predominance  within 

No  narrow  bounds;  her  cause  engages  him 

Wherever  pleaded.     'Tis  the  cause  of  man. 

There  dwell  the  most  forlorn  of  humankind, 

Immur'd  though  unaccus'd,  condemn'd  untried, 

Cruelly  spar'd,  and  hopeless  of  escape. 

There,  like  the  visionary  emblem  seen 

By  him  of  Babylon,  life  stands  a  stump, 

And,  filletted  about  with  hoops  of  brass, 

Still  lives,  though  all  his  pleasant  boughs  are  gone. 

To  count  the  hour-bell  and  expect  no  change; 

And  ever,  as  the  sullen  sound  is  heard, 

Still  to  reflect,  that,  though  a  joyless  note 

To  him,  whose  moments  all  have  one  dull  pace, 

Ten  thousand  rovers  in  the  W  orld  at  large 

Account  it  music  ;  that  it  summons  some 

To  theatre,  or  jocund  feast,  or  ball: 

The  wearied  hireling  finds  it  a  release 

From  labour;  and  the  lover,  who  has  chid 

Its  long  delay,  feels  evVy  welcome  stroke 

Upon  his  heart-strings,  trembling  with  delight — 

To  fly  for  refuge  from  distracting  thought 

To  such  amusements,  as  ingenious  woe 

Contrives,  hard-shifting,  and  without  her  tools — 

To  read  engraven  on  the  mouldy  w  alls, 

In  stagg'ring  types,  his  predecessor's  tale, 

A  sad  memorial,  and  subjoin  his  own — 

To  turn  purveyor  to  an  overgorg'd 


134  THE  TASK.  BOOK  V. 

And  bloated  spider,  till  the  pamper'd  pest 

Is  made  familiar,  watches  his  approach. 

Comes  at  his  call,  and  serves  him  for  a  friend — 

To  wear  out  time  in  numb'ring  to  and  fro 

The  studs,  that  thick  emboss  his  iron  door; 

Then  downward  and  tiien  upward,  then  aslant 

And  then  alternate  ;  with  a  sickly  hope 

By  dint  cf  change  to  give  his  tasteless  task 

Some  relish  ;  till,  the  sum  exactly  found 

In  all  directions,  he  begins  again — 

Oh  comfortless  existence  !  henim'd  around 

With  woes,  which  who  that  suffers  would  not  kneel 

And  beg  for  exile,  or  the  pangs  of  death  ? 

That  man  should  thus  eiicroach  on  fellow  man, 

Abridge  him  of  his  just  and  native  rights, 

Eradicate  him,  tear  him  from  his  hold 

Lpon  th'  endearments  of  domestic  life 

And  social,  nip  his  fruitfulness  and  use, 

And  doom  him  for  perhaps  a  heedless  word 

To  barrenness,  and  solitude,  and  tears, 

Moves  indignation;  makes  the  name  of  king 

(Of  king  whom  such  prerogative  can  please) 

As  dreadful  as  the  Mauichean  god, 

Ador'd  tiirough  fear,  strong  only  to  destroy. 

'Tis  liberty  alone,  that  gives  the  flow'r 
Of  fleeting  life  its  lustre  and  perfume ; 
And  we  are  weeds  without  it.     All  constraint, 
Except  what  wisdom  lays  on  evil  men, 
Is  evil :  hurts  the  faculties,  impedes 
Their  progress  in  the  road  of  science ;  blinds 


AVINTER  MORNING  WALK.  135 

The  eyesight  of  Discov'ry;  and  begets 

In  those  that  sufl'er  it  a  sordid  mind 

Bestial,  a  meagre  intellect,  unfit 

To  be  the  tenant  of  man's  noble  fonn. 

Thee  therefore  still,  blameworthy  as  thon  art, 

With  all  thy  loss  of  empire,  and  though  squeezed 

By  public  exigence,  till  annual  iood 

Fails  for  the  craving  hunger  of  the  state, 

Thee  I  account  still  happy,  and  the  chief 

Among  the  nations,  seeing  thou  art  free  ; 

My  native  nook  of  earth !  Thy  clime  is  rude, 

Replete  with  vapours,  and  disposes  much 

All  hearts  to  sadness,  and  none  more  than  mine: 

Thine  unadult'rate  manners  are  less  soft 

And  plausible  than  sociai  life  requires, 

And  thou  hast  need  of  discipline  and  art. 

To  give  thee  what  politer  France  receives 

From  Nature's  bounty — that  humane  address 

And  sweetness,  without  which  no  pleasure  is 

In  converse,  either  starv'd  by  cold  reserve, 

Or  flush'd  with  fierce  dispute,  a  senseless  brawl : 

Yet  being  free  I  love  thee:   for  the  sake 

Of  that  one  feature  can  be  well  content, 

Disgrac'd  as  thou  hast  been,  poor  as  thou  art, 

To  seek  no  sublunary  rest  beside. 

But  once  enslav'd  farewell !  I  could  endure 

Chains  no  where  patiently ;  and  chains  at  home. 

Where  I  am  free  by  birthright,  not  at  all. 

Then  what  were  left  of  roughness  in  the  grain 

Of  British  natures,  wanting  its  excuse 


136  THE  TASK.  BOOK  V. 

That  it  belongs  to  freemen,  would  disgust 

And  shock  me.     I  should  then  with  double  pain 

Feel  all  the  rigour  of  thy  fickle  clime ; 

And,  if  I  must  bewail  the  blessing  lost, 

For  which  our  Hampdens  and  our  Sidneys  bled, 

I  would  at  least  bewail  it  under  skies 

Milder,  among  a  people  less  austere ; 

In  scener:.,  which,  having  never  known  me  free, 

Would  not  reproach  me  with  the  loss  I  felt. 

Do  I  forebode  impossible  events. 

And  tremble  at  vain  dreams?  Heav'n  grant  I  may! 

But  th'  age  of  virtuous  politics  is  past, 

And  we  are  deep  in  that  of  cold  pretence. 

Patriots  are  grown  too  shrewd  to  be  sincere, 

And  we  too  wise  to  tiust  them.     He  that  takes 

Deep  in  his  soft  credulity  the  stamp 

Desigii'd  by  loud  declaimers  on  tiie  part 

Of  liberty,  themselves  the  slaves  of  lust, 

Incurs  derision  for  his  easy  faith 

And  lack  of  knowledge,  and  with  cause  enough: 

For  when  was  public  virtue  to  be  found, 

Where  private  was  not?  Can  he  love  the  whole, 

Who  loves  no  part?  He  be  a  nation's  friend, 

Who  is  in  truth  the  friend  of  no  man  there? 

Can  he  be  strenuous  in  his  country's  cause, 

Who  slights  the  charities,  for  whose  dear  sake 

That  country,  if  at  all,  must  be  belov'd? 

'Tis  therefore  sober  and  good  men  are  sad 
Fcr  England's  glory,  seeding  it  wax  pale 
And  sickly,  while  her  champions  wear  their  hearts 


WINTER  MORNING  WALK.  137 

So  loose  to  private  dutj',  that  no  brain, 

Healthful  and  undisturb'd  by  factious  fumes, 

Can  dream  them  trusty  to  the  gcn'ral  weal. 

Such  were  not  they  of  old,  whose  temper'd  blades 

Dispers'd  the  shackles  of  usurp 'd  control. 

And  hew'd  them  link  from  link :  then  Albion's  sons 

Were  sons  indeed ;  they  felt  a  filial  heart 

Beat  high  within  them  at  a  mother's  wrongs ; 

And,  shining  each  in  his  domestic  sphere, 

Shone  brighter  still,  once  call'd  to  public  view. 

'Tis  therelbre  many,  whose  sequester'd  lot 

Forbids  their  interference,  looking  on, 

Anticipate  perforce  some  dire  event; 

And  seeing  the  old  castle  of  the  state, 

That  promis'd  once  more  firmness,  so  assail'd, 

That  all  its  tempest-beaten  turrets  shake, 

Stand  motionless  expectants  of  its  fall. 

All  has  its  date  below :  the  fatal  hour 

Was  register'd  in  Heav'u  ere  time  began. 

We  turn  to  dust,  and  all  our  mightiest  works 

Die  too :  the  deep  foundations  that  we  lay, 

Time  ploughs  them  up,  and  not  a  trace  remains. 

We  build  with  what  we  deem  eternal  rock : 

A  distant  age  asks  where  the  fabric  stood ; 

And  in  the  dust,  sifted  and  search'd  in  vain, 

The  undiscoverable  secret  sleeps. 

But  there  is  yet  a  liberty,  unsung 
By  poets,  and  by  senators  unprais'd, 
Which  monarchs  cannot  grant,  nor  all  the  poM'rs 
Of  Earth  and  Hell  confed'rate  take  away : 


138  THE  TASK.  BOOK  V. 

A  liberty,  which  persecution,  fraud, 
Oppression,  prisons,  have  no  pow'r  to  bind ; 
Which  whoso  tastes  can  be  enslav'd  no  more. 
'Tis  hberty  of  heart  deriv'd  from  Heav'n, 
Bought  with  HIS  blood,  who  gave  it  to  mankind. 
And  seal'd  with  the  same  token.     It  is  held 
By  charter,  and  that  charter  sanction'd  sure 
By  th'  unimpeachable  and  awful  oath 
And  promise  of  a  God.     His  otlier  gifts 
All  bear  the  royal  stamp,  that  speaks  them  his. 
And  are  august;  but  this  transcends  them  all. 
His  other  works,  the  visible  dis})lay 
Of  all-creating  energy  and  might, 
Are  grand  no  doubt,  and  worthy  of  the  word, 
That,  finding  an  interminable  space 
Unoccupied,  has  fill'd  the  void  so  well. 
And  made  so  sparkling  what  was  dark  before. 
But  these  are  not  liis  glory.     Man,  'tis  true, 
Smit  with  the  beauty  of  so  fair  a  scene, 
Might  well  suppose  th'  artificer  divine 
Meant  it  eternal,  had  he  not  himself 
Pronounc'd  it  transient,  glorious  as  it  is, 
And,  still  designing  a  more  glorious  far, 
Doom'd  it  as  insufficient  for  his  praise. 
These  therefore  are  occasional,  and  pass; 
Form'd  for  the  confutation  of  the  fool. 
Whose  lying  heart  disputes  against  a  God; 
That  oflBce  serv'd,  they  must  be  swept  away. 
Not  so  the  labours  of  his  love :  they  shine 
In  other  heav'ns  than  these  that  we  behold. 


WINTER  MORNING   WALK.  13! 

And  fade  not.    There  is  Paradise  that  fears 

No  forfeiture,  and  of  its  fiiiits  he  sends 

Large  prelibation  oft  to  saints  below. 

Of  these  the  tirst  In  order,  and  the  pledge 

And  confident  assurance  of  the  rest, 

Is  liberty;  a  flight  into  his  arms, 

Ere  yet  mortality's  fine  threads  give  way, 

A  clear  escape  from  tyrannizing  lust, 

And  full  immunity  from  penal  woe.  , 

Chains  are  the  portion  of  revolted  man, 
Stripes,  and  a  dungeon ;  and  his  body  serves 
The  triple  purpose.     In  that  sickly,  foul, 
Opprobrious  residence  he  finds  them  all. 
Propcuse  his  heart  to  idols,  he  is  held 
In  silly  dotage  on  created  things. 
Careless  of  their  Creator.     And  that  low 
And  sordid  gravitation  of  his  pow'rs 
To  a  vile  clod  so  draws  him,  with  such  force 
Resistless  from  the  centre  he  should  seek, 
That  he  at  last  forgets  it.     All  his  hopes 
Tend  downward ;  his  ambition  is  to  sink, 
To  reach  a  depth  profounder  still,  and  still 
Profounder,  in  the  fathomless  abyss 
Of  folly,  plunging  in  pursuit  of  death. 
But  ere  he  gain  the  comfortless  repose 
He  seeks,  and  acquiescence  of  his  soul 
In  Heav'n-renouncing  exile,  he  endures — 
What  does  he  not,  from  lusts  oppos'd  in  vain, 
And  self-reproaching  conscience?  He  foresees 
The  fatal  issue  to  his  health,  fame,  peace, 


liO  THE  TASK.  BOOK  V. 

Fortune,  and  dignity ;  the  loss  of  all, 
That  can  ennoble  man,  and  make  frail  life, 
Short  as  it  is,  supportable.     Still  worse, 
Far  worse  than  all  the  plagues,  with  which  his  sins 
Infect  his  happiest  moments,  he  forebodes 
Ages  of  hopeless  mis'ry.     Future  death. 
And  death  still  future.     Not  a  hasty  stroke. 
Like  that  which  seuds  him  to  the  dnsty  grave; 
But  unrepealable  enduriiig  death. 
•J      Scripture  is  still  a  trumpet  to  his  fears: 

What  none  can  prove  a  ibrg'ry  n)ay  be  true; 

What  none  but  bad  men  wish  exploded  must. 

That  scruple  checks  him.     Riot  is  not  loud. 

Nor  drunk  enough,  to  drown  it.     In  the  midst 

Of  laughter  his  compunctions  are  sincere; 

And  he  abhors  the  jest  by  which  he  shines. 

Remorse  begets  reform.     His  master-iust 

Falls  first  before  his  resolute  rebuke. 

And  seems  dethron'd  and  vanquish'd.     Peace  ensues, 

But  spurious  and  short  liv'd ;  the  puny  child 

Of  self-congratulating  Pride,  begot 

Ou  fancied  Innocence.     Again  he  falls. 

And  fights  again ;  but  finds  his  best  essay 

A  presage  ominous,  portending  still 

Its  own  dishonour  by  a  worse  relapse. 

Till  Nature,  unavailing  Nature,  foil'd 

So  oft,  and  wearied  in  the  vain  attempt, 

Scoffs  at  her  own  performance.     Reason  now 

Takes  part  with  appetite,  and  pleads  the  cause 

Perversely,  wliich  of  late  she  so  condemu'd ; 


WINTER  MORNING  WALK.  141 

With  shallow  shifts  and  old  devices,  worn 
And  tatter'd  in  the  service  of  deliancli, 
Cov'riiio:  his  siiame  from  his  oflended  sight. 

"Hath  God  indeed  giv'n  appetitf>  to  man, 
And  stor'd  the  Earth  so  plenteous!}  with  means, 
To  gratify  the  huiiicer  of  his  M'ish; 
And  doth  he  reprobate,  and  will  he  damn. 
The  use  of  iiis  own  bounty  ?  making  tirst 
So  frail  a  kind,  and  then  enacting-  laws 
So  stiict,  that  less  than  perfect  must  despair? 
Falsehood !  which  whoso  but  suspects  of  truth 
Dishonours  God,  and  makes  a  slave  of  man. 
Do  they  themselves,  who  undertake  for  hire 
The  teaciier's  office,  and  dispense  at  large 
Their  weekly  dole  of  edifying  strains. 
Attend  to  their  own  music?  have  they  faith 
In  what  with  such  solemnity  of  tone 
And  gesture  they  propound  to  our  belief? 
Nay — conduct  hath  the  loudest  tongue.     The  voice 
Is  but  an  instrument,  on  which  the  priest 
May  play  what  tune  he  pleases.     In  the  deed, 
The  unequivocal,  authentic  deed, 
We  find  sound  argument,  we  read  the  heart." 

Such  reas'nings  (if  that  name  must  needs  belong 
T'  excuses  in  which  reason  has  no  part) 
Serve  to  compose  a  spirit  well  inclin'd 
To  live  on  terms  of  amity  with  vice, 
And  sin  without  disturbance.     Often  urg'd 
(As  often  as,  libidinous  discourse 
Exhausted,  he  resorts  to  solemn  themes 


142  THE  TASK.  BOOK   \. 

Of  theological  and  grave  import), 

They  gain  at  last  his  uiireserv'd  assent; 

Till  harden'd  his  heart's  temper  in  the  forge 

Of  lust,  and  on  the  anvil  of  despair, 

He  slights  the  strokes  of  conscience.   Nothing  moves, 

Or  nothing  much,  his  constancy  in  ill ; 

Vain  tanp'ring  has  but  foster'd  his  disease ; 

'Tis  desp'rate,  and  he  sleeps  the  sleep  of  death. 

Haste  now,  philosopher,  and  set  him  free. 

Charm  the  deaf  serpent  wisely.     Make  him  hear 

Of  rectitude  and  fitness,  moral  truth 

How  lovely,  and  the  moral  sense  how  sure, 

Consulted  and  obey'd,  to  guide  his  steps 

Directly  to  the  first  and  only  fair. 

Spare  not  in  such  a  cause.     Spend  all  the  pow  'rs 

Of  rant  and  rhapsody  in  virtue's  praise: 

Be  most  sublimely  good,  verbosely  grand. 

And  with  poetic  trappings  giace  thy  prose, 

Till  it  outmantle  all  the  pride  of  verse. — 

Ah,  tinkling  cymbal,  and  high  sounding  brass, 

Smitten  in  vain  !  such  music  cannot  charm 

The  eclipse,  that  intercepts  truth's  heav'nly  beam. 

And  chills  and  darkens  a  wide-wand'ring  soul. 

The  STILL  SMALL  VOICE  is  Wanted.     He  must  speak, 

Whose  word  leaps  forth  at  once  to  its  effect; 

Who  calls  for  things  that  are  not,  and  they  come. 

Grace  makes  the  slave  a  freeman.     'Tis  a  change, 
That  turns  to  ridicule  the  turgid  speech 
And  stately  tone  of  moralists,  who  boast, 
As  if,  like  him  of  fabulous  renown. 


WINTER  MORNING  WALS.  143 

They  had  indeed  ability  to  smooth 
The  shag  of  savage  nature,  and  were  each 
An  Orpheus,  and  omnipotent  in  song: 
But  transformation  of  apostate  man 
From  fool  to  wise,  from  earthly  to  divine, 
Is  work  for  Him  that  made  him.     He  alone, 
And  he  by  means  in  philosophic  eyes 
Trivial  and  worthy  of  disdain,  achieves 
The  wonder;  humanizing  wliat  is  brute 
In  the  lost  kind,  extracting  from  the  lips 
Of  asps  their  venom,  overpow'riug  strength 
By  weakness,  and  hostility  by  love. 

Patriots  have  toil'd,  and  in  their  country's  cause 
Bled  nobly ;  and  their  deeds,  as  they  deserve, 
Receive  proud  recompense.     We  give  in  charge 
Their  names  to  the  sweet  lyre.    Th'  historic  muse. 
Proud  of  the  treasure,  marches  with  it  down 
To  latest  times ;  and  Sculpture,  in  her  turn, 
Gives  bond  in  stone  and  ever-during  brass 
I   To  guard  them,  and  immortalize  her  trust ; 
But  fairer  wreaths  are  due,  though  never  paid, 
To  those,  who,  posted  at  the  shrine  of  Truth, 
Have  fall'n  in  her  defence.     A  patriot's  blood, 
Well  spent  in  such  a  strife,  may  earn  indeed, 
And  for  a  time  ensure,  to  his  lov'd  land 
The  sweets  of  liberty,  and  equal  laws  ; 
But  martyrs  struggle  for  a  brighter  prize, 
And  win  it  with  more  pain.     Their  blood  is  shed 
In  confirmation  of  the  noblest  claim. 
Our  claim  to  feed  upon  immortal  truth, 


144  THE  TASK.  BOOK   \  . 

To  walk  with  God,  to  be  divinely  free, 

To  soar,  and  to  anticipate  the  skies. 

Yet  few  remember  them.     They  liv'd  unknown, 

Till  persecution  dragg'd  them  into  fame, 

And  chas'd  them  up  to  Heav'n.     Their  ashes  flew 

— No  marble  tells  us  whither.     With  their  names 

No  bard  embalms  and  sanctifies  his  song: 

And  Iiistoi-j',  so  w  arm  on  meaner  themes, 

Is  cold  on  this.     She  execrates  indeed 

The  tyranny  that  doom'd  them  to  the  fire, 

But  gives  the  glorious  sutf'rers  Uttle  praise. 

He  is  the  freeman,  whom  the  truth  makes  free. 
And  all  are  slaves  beside.     There's  not  a  chain, 
That  hellish  foes,  confed'rate  for  his  harm, 
Can  wind  around  him,  but  he  casts  it  ofl", 
With  as  much  ease  as  Samson  his  green  withes. 
He  looks  abroad  into  the  varied  field 
Of  nature,  and  though  poor  perhaps,  compar'd 
With  those  whose  mansions  glitter  in  his  sight, 
Calls  the  delightful  scen'ry  all  his  own. 
His  are  the  mountains,  and  the  valleys  his, 
And  the  resplendent  rivers.     His  t'  enjoy 
With  a  propriety  that  none  can  feel, 
But  who  with  filial  confidence  inspir'd, 
Can  lift  to  Heav'n  an  unpresumptuous  eye, 
And  smiling  say — "  My  Father  made  them  all  !'•' 
Are  they  not  his  by  a  peculiar  right. 
And  by  an  emphasis  of  int'rest  his, 
Whose  eye  they  fill  with  tears  of  holy  joy, 
Whose  heart  with  praise,  and  whose  exalted  mind 


WINTER  MORNING  AVALK.  145 

%^'itli  wortliy  thou|?hts  of  that  unwearied  love, 

That  plaiin'd,  and  built,  and  still  upholds^  a  world 

So  clolh'd  with  beauty  for  rebellious  man? 

Yes — ye  may  fill  your  garners,  ye  that  reap 

The  loaded  soil,  and  ye  may  waste  much  good 

In  senseless  riot;  but  ye  will  not  find 

In  feast,  or  in  the  chase,  in  song  or  dance, 

A  liberty  like  his,  who  unimpeaeh'd 

Of  usurpation,  and  to  no  man's  wrong. 

Appropriates  nature  as  his  Father's  work, 

And  has  a  richer  use  of  yours  than  you. 

He  is  indeed  a  freeman.     Free  by  birth 

Of  no  mean  city ;  plann'd  or  ere  the  hills. 

Were  built,  the  fountains  opcu'd,  or  the  sea 

With  all  his  roaring  multitude  of  waves. 

His  freedom  is  the  same  in  ev'ry  state; 

And  no  condition  of  this  changeful  life, 

So  manifold  in  cares,  whose  ev'ry  day 

Brings  its  own  evil  with  it,  makes  it  less: 

For  he  has  wings,  that  neither  sickness,  pain, 

Nor  penury,  can  cripple  or  confine. 

No  nook  so  jiarrow  but  he  spreads  them  there 

With  ease,  and  is  at  large.     Th'  oppressor  holds 

His  body  bound ;  but  knows  not  what  a  range 

His  spirit  takes,  unconscious  of  a  chain ; 

And  that  to  bind  him  is  a  vain  attempt 

Whom  God  delights  in,  and  in  whom  he  dwells. 

Acquaint  thyself  with  God,  if  thou  wouldst  taste 
His  works.     Admitted  once  to  his  embrace, 
Thou  shalt  perceive  that  thou  wast  blind  before : 

H 


14G  THE  TASK.  BOOK  V, 

Thine  eye  shall  be  instructed ;  and  thine  heart 

Made  pure  shall  relish,  with  divine  delight 

Till  then  unfelt,  what  hands  divine  have  wrought. 

Brutes  graze  the  mountain-top,  with  faces  prone 

And  eyes  intent  upon  the  scanty  herb 

It  yields  them;  or,  recumbent  on  its  brow, 

Ruminaie  heedless  of  the  scene  outspread 

Beneath,  beyond,  and  stretching  far  away 

From  inland  regions  to  the  distant  main. 

Man  views  it,  and  admires ;  but  rests  content 

With  what  he  views.     The  landscape  has  his  praise, 

But  not  its  author.     Unconcern'd  who  form'd 

The  Paradise  he  sees,  he  finds  it  such, 

And,  such  well  pleas'd  to  lind  it,  asks  no  more. 

Not  so  the  mind,  that  has  been  touch'd  from  Heav'n, 

And  in  the  school  of  sacred  wisdom  taught, 

To  read  his  wonders,  in  whose  thought  the  worlJ, 

Fair  as  it  is,  existed  ere  it  was. 

Nor  for  its  own  sake  merely,  but  for  his 

Much  more,  who  fashion'd  it,  he  gives  it  praise ; 

Praise  that  from  Earth  resulting,  as  it  ought. 

To  Earth's  acknowledg'd  sovereign,  finds  at  once, 

Its  only  just  proprietor  in  Him. 

The  soul  that  sees  him  or  receives  sublim'd 

New  faculties,  or  learns  at  least  t'  employ 

More  worthily  the  pow'rs  she  own'd  before, 

Discerns  in  all  things  what,  with  stupid  gaze 

Of  ignorance,  till  then  she  overlook'd, 

A  ray  of  heav'nly  light,  gilding  all  forms 

Terrestrial  ia  the  vast  and  the  minute; 


WINTER  MORNING  WALK.  147 

The  iiuanibiguous  footsteps  of  the  God, 
Who  gives  its  lustre  to  an  insect's  wing, 
And  wheels  his  throne  upon  the  rolling  worlds. 
Much  conversant  with  Heav'n,  she  often  holds, 
With  those  fair  ministers  of  light  to  man, 
That  fill  the  skies  nightly  with  silent  pomp, 
Sweet  conference.     Inquires  what  strains  were  they, 
With  which  Heav'n  rang,  when  ev'ry  star,  in  haste 
To  gratulate  the  new-created  Earth, 
Sent  forth  a  voice,  and  all  the  sons  of  God 
Shouted  for  joy. — "Tell  me,  ye  shining  hosts, 
That  navigate  a  sea  that  knows  no  storms, 
Beneath  a  vault  unsullied  with  a  cloud. 
If  from  your  elevation,  whence  ye  view 
Distinctly  scenes  invisible  to  man, 
And  systems,  of  whose  birdi  no  tidings  yet 
Have  reach'd  this  nether  world,  ye  spy  a  race 
Favour'd  as  ours;  transgressors  from  the  womb, 
And  hasting  to  a  grave,  yet  doom'd  to  rise. 
And  to  possess  a  brighter  Heav'n  than  yours? 
As  one,  who,  long  detain'd  on  foreign  shores, 
Pants  to  return,  and  when  he  sees  afar 
His  country's  weather-bleach'd  and  batter'd  rocks. 
From  the  green  wave  emerging,  darts  an  eye 
Radiant  with  joy  towards  the  happy  land ; 
So  I  with  animated  hopes  behold, 
And  many  an  aching  wish,  your  beamy  fires. 
That  show  like  beacons  in  the  blue  abyss, 
Ordain'd  to  guide  th'  embodied  spirit  home 
From  toilsome  life  to  never-ending  rest. 
H  2 


148  THETASK.  BOOK  V. 

Love  kindles  as  I  g'aze.     I  feel  desires, 

That  give  assurance  of  their  own  success, 

And  that,  infus'd  from  Heav'n,  must  thither  tend." 

So  reads  he  nature,  whom  the  lamp  of  truth 
Illuminates.     Thy  lamp,  mysterious  V^'ord  ! 
"Which  whoso  sees  no  longer  wanders  lost, 
With  intellects  bemaz'd  in  endless  doubt. 
But  runs  the  road  of  wisdom.     Thou  hast  built 
With  mean,  that  were  not  till  by  thee  cmplo3d, 
"N^'orlds,  that  had  never  been  hadst  thou  in  strength 
Been  less,  or  less  benevolent  than  strong. 
They  are  thy  Mitnesses,  who  sjieak  thy  pow'r 
And  goodness  infinite,  but  speak  in  ears 
That  hear  not,  or  receive  not  their  report. 
In  vain  thy  creatures  testify  of  thee, 
Till  thou  proclaim  thyself.     'J'heirs  is  indeed 
A  teaching  voice ;  but  'tis  the  praise  of  thine. 
That  whom  it  teaches  it  makes  prompt  to  learn, 
And  with  the  boon  gives  talents  for  its  use. 
Till  thou  art  heard,  imaginations  vain 
Possess  the  heart,  and  fables  false  as  Hell^ 
Yet,  deem'd  oracular,  lure  down  to  death 
The  uninform'd  and  heedless  souls  of  men. 
We  give  to  chance,  blind  chance,  ourselves  as  blind, 
The  glory  of  thy  work ;  which  yet  appears 
Perfect  and  unimpeachable  of  blame. 
Challenging  human  scrutiny,  and  prov'd 
Then  skilful  most  when  most  severely  judg'd. 
But  chance  is  not;  or  is  not  where  thou  reign'st: 
"Thy  providence  forbids  that  fickle  pow'r 


WINTER  MORNING  WALK.  140 

(li'  povv'r  she  be,  that  works  but  to  confound) 

To  mix  her  wihl  vagaries  witli  thy  laws. 

Yet  thus  we  dote,  refusing  while  we  can 

Instruction,  and  inventing  to  ourselves 

Gods  such  as  guilt  makes  welcome;  gods  that  sleep, 

Or  disregard  our  follies,  or  that  sit 

Amus'd  spectators  of  this  bustling  stage. 

Thee  we  reject,  unable  to  abide 

Thy  purity,  till  pure  as  thou  art  pure, 

Made  such  by  thee,  we  love  thee  far  that  cause, 

For  which  we  shunn'd  and  hated  thee  before. 

Then  we  are  free.     Then  liberty,  like  day. 

Breaks  on  the  soul,  and  by  a  flash  from  Heav'u 

Fires  all  the  faculties  with  glorious  joy. 

A  voice  is  heard,  that  mortal  ears  hear  not. 

Till  thou  hast  touch'd  them  ;  'tis  the  voice  of  song — 

A  loud  Hosanna  sent  from  all  thy  works ; 

Which  he  that  hears  it  with  a  shout  repeats, 

And  adds  his  rapture  to  the  genVal  praise. 

In  that  blest  moment  Nature,  throwing  wide 

Her  veil  opaque,  discloses  with  a  smile 

The  author  of  her  beauties,  who,  retir'd 

Behind  his  own  creation,  works  unseen 

By  the  impure,  and  hears  his  pow'r  denied. 

Thou  art  the  source  and  centre  of  all  minds, 

Their  only  point  of  rest,  eternal  Word! 

From  thee  departing,  they  are  lost,  and  rove 

At  random,  without  honour,  hope,  or  peace. 

From  thee  is  all,  that  sooths  the  life  of  man, 

His  high  endeavour,  and  his  glad  success, 


150  THE  TASK.  BOOK  V. 

His  strength  to  suffer,  and  his  will  to  serve. 
But  O  thou  bounteous  giver  of  all  good, 
Thou  art  of  all  thy  gifts  thyself  the  crown! 
Give  what  tiiou  canst,  without  thee  we  are  poor; 
And  with  thee  rich,  take  what  thou  wilt  away. 


That  calls  the  unwonted  villager  abroad 
TOth  an  lier  little  ones,  a  sportivE  trairL. 
To  gather  Mng'-cups  in  the  yellow  mead. 


DRAWN  BY  RICHARD  WE  S  TALL  R.  A.  EN  GRAVED    BY   GEORC7E 
PUBLISHED  BYvTOHN   SHARPE,  PICCADILLY. 
OCT.  1.1817. 


THE    TASK. 

BOOK  VI. 


THE  WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON. 


Bells  at  a  distance— Their  eflfect.— A  fine  noon  in  winter. — A  sheltered 
walk.— Meditation  better  than  books.— Our  familiarity  with  the 
course  of  i.ature  makes  it  appear  les^s  wonderful  than  it  is.— The 
transformation  that  spring  efiects  in  a  shrubbery  described.— A 
mistake  conceruina  the  course  of  nature  corrected. — God  maintains 
it  by  an  unremitted  act  —The  amusemer.ts  fa.-hionable  at  this  hour 
of  the  day  reproved. — Animals  happy,  a  delightful  sisjht. — Origin 
of  cruelty  to  animals. — That  it  is  a  great  crime  proved  from  Scrip- 
ture.—That  proof  illustrated  by  a  tale.— A  line  drawn  between  the 
lawful  and  unlawful  destruction  of  them.— Their  good  and  useful 
properties  insisted  on. — Apology  for  the  encomiums  bestowed  by 
the  author  on  animals. — Instances  of  man's  extravagant  praise  of 
man. — The  groans  of  the  creation  shall  have  an  end. — A  view  taken 
of  the  restoration  of  all  things. — An  invocation  and  an  invitation 
of  Him  who  sl.al!  biing  it  to  pass. — The  retired  man  vindicated 
from  the  charge  of  uselessuess. — Conclusion. 


There  is  in  souls  a  sympathy  with  sounds, 
And  as  the  mind  is  pitch'd  the  ear  is  pleas'd 
With  melting  airs  or  martial,  brislc  or  grave ; 
Some  chord  in  unison  with  what  we  hear 


152  THE  TASK.  BOOK  V». 

Is  touch'd  willjin  us,  and  the  heart  replies. 

How  soft  the  music  of  those  village  bells, 

Failing  at  intervals  upon  the  ear 

In  eadence  sweet,  now  djing  all  away, 

Now  pealing  loud  again,  and  louder  still, 

Clear  and  sonorous,  as  the  gale  eonies  on ! 

With  easy  force  it  opens  all  the  cells 

Where  Mem'ry  slept.     Wherever  I  have  heanl 

A  kindred  melody,  the  scene  recurs, 

And  «ith  it  all  its  pleasures  and  its  pains. 

Such  comprehensive  views  the  spirit  takes. 

That  in  a  few  short  moments  I  retrace 

(As  in  a  map  the  voyager  his  course) 

The  windings  of  my  way  through  many  years. 

Short  as  in  retrospect  the  journey  seems. 

It  seem'd  not  always  short;  llie  rugged  path, 

And  prospect  oft  so  dreary  and  forlorn, 

Mov'd  many  a  sigh  at  its  disheart'ning  length. 

Yet  feeling  present  e\iis,  while  the  past 

Faintly  impress  the  mind,  or  not  at  all, 

How  readily  we  wish  time  spent  revok'd, 

That  we  might  trj  the  ground  again,  where  onco 

(Through  inexperience,  as  we  now  perceive) 

We  miss'd  that  happiness  we  might  have  found! 

Some  friend  is  gone,  perhaps,  his  son's  best  friend, 

A  father,  whose  authority,  in  show 

When  most  severe,  and  must'ring  all  its  force. 

Was  but  the  graver  coiU)tenanec  of  love ; 

Whose  favour,  like  the  clouds  of  spring,  might  low'r, 

And  utter  now  and  then  an  awful  voice, 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.  1  53 

But  had  a  blessing;  in  its  darkest  frown, 
Tiireat'niiisf  at  once  and  uourisliino-  tlie  plant. 
We  lo\'d,  but  not  enough,  the  gentle  hand. 
That  rear'd  us.     At  a  thoughtless  age,  allnr'd 
By  evV}  gilded  folly,  we  renoiinc'd 
His  shelt'ring  side,  and  wilfully  forewent 
That  converse,  which  we  now  in  vaiu  regret. 
How  gladly  would  the  man  recall  to  life 
The  boj's  neglected  sire!  a  mother  too, 
That  softer  friend,  perhaps  more  gladly  still, 
Might  he  demand  them  at  the  gates  of  death. 
Sorrow  has,  since  they  went,  subdu'd  and  tani'd 
The  pla>ful  humour;  he  could  now  endure 
(Himself  grown  sober  in  the  vale  of  tears), 
And  feel  a  parent's  presence  no  restraint. 
But  not  to  understand  a  treasure's  worth, 
Till  time  has  stol'n  away  the  slighted  good, 
Is  cause  of  half  the  poverty  we  feel, 
And  makes  the  World  the  wilderness  it  is. 
The  few  that  pray  at  all  pray  oft  amiss. 
And  seeking  grace  t'  improve  the  prize  they  hold. 
Would  urge  a  wiser  suit  than  asking  more. 

The  night  was  winter  in  his  roughest  mood  ; 
The  morning  sharp  and  clear.     But  now  at  noon 
Upon  the  southern  side  of  the  slant  hills, 
And  where  the  woods  fence  off  the  northern  blast. 
The  season  smiles,  resigning  all  its  rage. 
And  has  the  warmth  of  May.     The  vault  is  blue 
Without  a  cloud,  and  white  without  a  speck 
The  dazzling  splendour  of  the  scene  below. 
h3 


151  THE  TASK.  BOOK  VI. 

Again  the  harmony  comes  o'er  the  vale ; 

And  through  the  trees  I  view  th'  embattled  tow'r, 

Whence  all  the  music.     I  again  perceive 

The  soothing  influence  of  the  wafted  strains, 

And  settle  in  soft  musings  as  I  tread 

The  walk,  still  verdant,  under  oaks  and  elms, 

Whose  outspread  branches  overarch  the  glade. 

The  roof,  though  mov'able  through  all  its  length 

As  the  wind  sways  it,  has  yet  well  suffic'd, 

And,  intercepting  in  their  silent  fall 

The  frequent  flakes,  has  kept  a  path  for  me. 

No  noise  is  here,  or  none  that  hinders  thought. 

The  redbreast  Marbles  slill,  but  is  content 

With  slender  notes,  and  more  than  half  suppressed : 

Pleas'd  with  his  solitude,  and  flitting  light 

From  spray  to  spray,  where'er  he  rests  he  shakes 

From  many  a  twig  the  pendent  drops  of  ice. 

That  tinkle  in  the  wither'd  leaves  below. 

Stillness,  accompanied  with  sounds  so  soft, 

Charms  more  than  silence.     Meditation  here  !    I 

May  think  down  hours  to  moments.     Here  the  heart     j    ^ 

May  give  a  useful  lesson  to  the  head. 

And  Learning  wiser  grow  without  his  books. 

Knowledge  and  AVisdom,  far  from  being  one. 

Have  ofttimes  no  connexion.     Knowledge  dwells 

In  heads  replete  with  thoughts  of  other  men ;  .1 

Wisdom  in  minds  attentive  to  their  own.  j    I 

Knowledge,  a  rude  unprofitable  mass,  '    i 

The  mere  materials  with  which  wisdom  builds,  Ti 

Till  smooth'd,  and  squar'd,  and  fitted  to  its  place. 


Vv  INTER  WALK  AT  NOON.  155 

Does  but  eiiciamber  whom  it  seems  t'  enrich. 

Knowledge  is  proud  that  he  has  learn'd  so  mucli ; 

Wisdom  is  huml)le  tliat  he  knows  no  more. 

Books  are  not  seldom  talismans  and  spells, 

By  which  the  magic  art  of  shrewder  wits 

Hold  an  unthinking  multitude  cnthrall'd. 

Some  to  (he  fascination  of  a  name 

Surrender  judgment  hoodwink'd.     Some  the  style 

Infatuates,  and  through  labyrinths  and  wilds 

Of  error  leads  them,  by  a  tune  entranc'd. 

While  sloth  seduces  more,  too  weak  to  bear 

The  insii|)portable  fatigue  of  thought, 

And  swallowing  therefore  w  ithout  pause  or  choice 

The  total  grist  unsifted,  husks  and  all. 

But  trees  and  rivulets,  whose  rapid  course 

Defies  the  check  of  winter,  haunts  of  deer, 

And  sheep-walks  populous  with  bleating  lambs, 

And  lanes,  in  which  the  primrose  ere  her  time 

Peeps  through  the  moss,that  clothes  the  hawthorn  root, 

Deceive  no  student.     Wisdom  there,  and  truth, 

Not  shy,  as  in  the  world,  and  to  be  won 

By  slow  solicitation,  seize  at  once 

The  roving  thought,  and  fix  it  on  themselves. 

What  prodigies  can  pow'r  divine  perform 
More  grand  than  it  produces  year  by  year, 
And  all  in  sight  of  inattentive  man  ? 
Familiar  with  the  effect  we  slight  the  cause, 
And  in  the  constancy  of  nature's  course, 
The  regular  return  of  genial  months. 
And  renovation  of  a  faded  world, 


1j()  the  task.  cook  vi. 

See  nought  to  wonder  at.     Should  God  again, 

As  once  in  Gibeon,  interrupt  the  race 

Of  the  undeviating  and  punctual  sun, 

How  would  the  World  admire !  But  speaks  it  less 

An  agency  divine,  to  make  him  know 

His  moment  when  to  sink  and  w hen  to  rise, 

Age  after  age,  than  to  arrest  his  course? 

All  we  behold  is  miracle;  but,  seen 

So  dniy,  all  is  miracle  in  vain. 

Where  now  the  vital  energy,  that  mov'd. 

While  summer  was,  the  pure  and  subtle  lymph 

Through  th'  imperceptible  meand'ring  veins 

Of  leaf  and  flow'r?  It  sleeps;  and  th'  icy  touch 

Of  unprolific  winter  has  impress'd 

A  cold  stagnation  on  th'  intestine  tide. 

But  let  the  months  go  round,  a  few  short  months, 

And  all  shall  be  restored.     These  naked  shof.ts, 

Barren  as  lances,  among  which  the  wind 

Makes  wintry  music,  sighing  as  it  goes, 

Shall  put  their  graceful  foliage  on  again, 

And  more  aspiring,  and  with  ampler  spread, 

Shall  boast  new  charms,  and  more  than  they  have  lo?t. 

Then  each,  in  its  peculiar  honours  clad. 

Shall  publish  even  to  the  distant  eye 

Its  family  and  tribe.     Laburnum,  rich 

In  streaming  gold  ;  syringa,  iv'ry  pure; 

The  scentless  and  the  scented  rose ;  this  red, 

And  of  an  humbler  growth,  the  other*  tall, 

And  throwing  up  into  the  darkest  gloom 

Of  neighb'riug  cypress,  or  more  sable  yew. 

»  Tlie  Guelder- rofc. 


WINTER   WALK  AT  NOON.  IjT 

Her  silver  globes,  li^ht  as  the  foamy  surf, 

That  the  wind  severs  from  the  broken  wave; 

The  lilac,  various  in  array,  now  white. 

Now  sanguine,  and  her  beauteous  head  now  set 

With  purple  spikes  pyramidal,  as  if 

Studious  of  ornament,  yet  unresolv'd 

Which  hue  she  most  approv'd,  she  chose  them  all ; 

Copious  of  tlow'rs  the  woodbine,  pale  and  wan. 

But  well  compensating  her  sickly  looks 

With  never-clo\iug  odours,  early  and  late; 

Hypericum  all  bloom,  so  thick  a  swarm 

Of  flow'rs,  like  flies  clothing  her  slender  rods. 

That  scarce  a  leaf  appears;  mezereon  too. 

Though  leafless,  well  attir'd,  and  thick  beset 

With  blushing  wreaths,  investing  ev'ry  spray; 

Althaea  with  the  purple  eye;  the  broom, 

Yellow  and  bright,  as  bullion  unalloy'd, 

Her  blossoms  ;  and  luxuriant  above  all 

The  jasmine,  throwing  wide  her  elegant  sweets. 

The  deep  dark  green  of  whose  unvarnish'd  leaf 

Makes  more  conspicuous,  and  illumines  more 

The  bright  profusion  of  her  scatter'd  stars. — 

These  have  been,  and  these  shall  be  in  their  day: 

And  all  this  uniform  uncolour'd  scene 

Shall  be  dismantled  of  its  fleecy  load, 

And  flush  into  variety  again. 

From  dearth  to  plenty,  and  from  death  to  life, 

Is  Nature's  progress,  when  she  lectures  man 

In  heav'nly  truth :  evincing,  as  she  makes 

The  grand  transition,  that  there  lives  and  works 


158  THE  TASK.  BOOK  VI. 

A  soul  in  all  things,  and  that  soul  is  God. 

The  beauties  of  the  wilderness  are  iiis, 

That  makes  so  gay  the  solitary  place, 

Where  no  eye  sees  them.     And  the  fairer  forms. 

That  cultivation  glories  in,  are  his. 

He  sets  the  bright  procession  on  its  way. 

And  marshals  all  the  order  of  the  year ; 

He  marks  the  bounds,  which  Winter  may  not  pass, 

And  blunts  his  pointed  fury  ;  in  its  case, 

Russet  and  rude,  folds  up  the  tender  germe, 

Uninjur'd,  with  inimitable  art ; 

And,  ere  one  flow'ry  season  fades  and  dies, 

Designs  the  blooming  wonders  of  the  next. 
Some  say  that  in  the  origin  of  things, 

W  hen  all  creation  started  into  birth, 

The  infant  elements  receiv'd  a  law, 

From  which  they  swerve  not  since.    That  under  force 

Of  that  controlling  ordinance  they  move. 

And  need  not  his  immediate  hand,  who  first 

Prescrib'd  their  course,  to  regulate  it  now.  ( 

Thus  dream  they,  and  contrive  to  save  a  God 

Th'  encumbrance  of  his  own  concerns,  and  spare 

The  great  artificer  of  all  that  moves  I 

The  stress  of  a  continual  act,  the  pain 

Of  unremitted  vigilance  and  care. 

As  too  laborious  and  severe  a  task. 

So  man,  the  moth,  is  not  afraid,  it  seems, 

To  span  omnipotence,  and  measure  might, 

That  knows  no  measure,  by  the  scanty  rule  IJ 

And  standard  of  liis  own,  that  is  to-day,  '    Ij 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.  159 

And  is  not,  ere  to-morrow's  sun  go  down. 

But  how  should  matter  occupy  a  charge, 

Dull  as  it  is,  and  satisfy  a  law 

So  vast  in  its  demands,  unless  impell'd 

To  ceaseless  service  by  a  ceaseless  force, 

And  under  pressure  of  some  conscious  cause? 

The  Lord  of  all,  himself  through  all  diffus'd, 

Sustains,  and  is  the  life  of  all  that  lives. 

Nature  is  but  a  name  for  an  effect, 

Whose  cause  is  God.     He  feeds  the  secret  fire, 

By  which  the  mighty  process  is  maintaiu'd. 

Who  sleeps  not,  is  not  weary ;  in  whose  sight 

Slow  circling  ages  are  as  transient  days ; 

Whose  work  is  without  labour;  whose  designs 

No  flaw  deforms,  no  difficulty  thwarts; 

And  whose  beneficence  no  charge  exhausts. 

Him  blind  antiquity  profan'd,  not  serv'd, 

With  self-taught  rites,  and  under  various  names. 

Female  and  male,  Pomona,  Pales,  Pan, 

And  Flora,  and  Vertumnus;  peopling  Earth 

With  tutelary  goddesses  and  gods. 

That  were  not;  and  commending  as  they  would 

To  each  some  province,  garden,  field,  or  grove. 

But  all  are  under  one.     One  spirit — His, 

Who  wore  the  platted  thorns  with  bleeding  brows. 

Rules  universal  nature.     Not  a  flow'r 

But  shows  some  touch,  in  freckle,  streak,  or  stain. 

Of  his  unrivall'd  pencil.     He  inspires 

Their  balmy  odours,  and  imparts  their  hues, 

And  bathes  their  eyes  with  nectar,  and  includes, 


100  THE  TASK.  DOCK   VI. 

In  grains  as  countless  as  the  sea-side  sands, 
The  forms,  with  which  he  sprinkles  all  the  Jlarfii. 
Happy  who  walks  with  him  !  whom  what  he  liiids 
Of  flavour  or  of  scent  in  fruit  or  flow'r, 
Of  what  he  views  of  beautifid  or  grand 
In  nature,  from  the  broad  majestic  oak 
To  the  green  blade,  that  twinkles  in  the  sun. 
Prompts  with  remembrance  of  a  present  CJod. 
His  presence,  who  made  all  so  fair,  perceiv'd 
Makes  all  still  fairer.     As  with  him  no  scene 
Is  drearj,  so  with  him  all  seasons  please. 
Though  winter  had  been  none,  had  man  been  true. 
And  Earth  be  punish'd  for  its  tenant's  sake, 
Yet  not  in  vengeance,  as  this  smiling  sky, 
So  soon  succeeding  such  an  angrj  night. 
And  these  dissolving  snows,  and  this  clear  stream 
Recov'ring  fast  its  licpiid  music,  ])rove. 

Who  then,  that  has  a  mind  well  strung  and  tun'd 
To  contemplation,  and  within  his  reach 
A  scene  so  friendly  to  his  fav'rite  task. 
Would  waste  attention  at  the  checker'd  board, 
His  host  of  wooden  wamors  to  and  fro 
Marching  and  countermarching,  with  an  eye 
As  fix'd  as  marble,  with  a  forehead  ridg'4 
And  furrow'd  into  storms,  and  with  a  hand 
Trembling,  as  if  eternity  were  hung 
In  balance  on  his  conduct  of  a  pin? 
Nor  envies  he  aught  more  tiieir  idle  sport. 
Who  pant  with  application  misapplied 
To  trivial  toys,  and,  pushing  iv'ry  balls 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.       161 

Across  a  velvet  level,  feel  a  joy 
Akin  to  rapture,  when  the  bauble  finds 
Its  destin'd  ^oal,  of  difficult  access. 
Nor  deems  he  wiser  him,  who  gives  his  noon 
To  raiss,  the  mercer's  plague,  from  shop  to  sho[^ 
Wand'ring-,  and  litt'ring  with  unfolded  silks 
The  polish'd  counter,  and  approving  none, 
Or  promising  with  smiles  to  call  again. 
Nor  him,  who  by  his  vanity  seduo'd, 
And  sooth'd  into  a  dream  that  he  discerns 
The  diff'rcnce  of  a  Guido  from  a  daub. 
Frequents  the  crowded  auetion :  station'd  there 
As  duly  as  the  Langfurd  of  the  show, 
With  glass  at  eye,  and  catalogue  in  hand, 
And  tongue  accomplish'd  in  the  fulsome  cant 
And  pedantry,  that  coxcombs  learn  with  ease ; 
Oft  as  the  price-deciding  hammer  falls. 
He  notes  it  in  his  book,  then  raps  his  box. 
Swears  'tis  a  bargain,  rails  at  his  hard  fate. 
That  he  has  let  it  pass — but  never  bids ! 

Here  unmolested,  through  whatever  sign 
The  sun  proceeds,  I  wander.     Neither  mist,. 
Nor  freezing  sky  nor  sultry,  checking  me, 
Nor  stranger  intermeddling  with  m)  joy. 
Ev'n  in  the  spring  and  plajtime  of  the  year. 
That  calls  th'  unwonted  villager  abroad 
With  all  her  little  ones,  a  sporti\e  train. 
To  gather  kingcups  in  the  yellow  mead, 
And  prink  their  hair  v\ith  daisies,  or  to  pick 
A  cheap  but  wholesome  salad  from  the  brook. 


162  THE  TASK.  BOOK  VI. 

These  shades  are  all  my  own.    The  tim'rous  hare 
Grown  so  familiar  with  her  IVequent  guest, 
Scarce  shuns  me;  and  the  stockdove  unalarm'd 
Sits  cooing  in  the  pinetree,  nor  suspends 
His  long  love-ditty  for  my  near  approach. 
Drawn  from  his  refuge  in  some  lonely  elm, 
That  age  or  injury  has  hollow'd  deep, 
Where,  on  his  bed  of  wool  and  matted  leaves, 
He  has  outslept  the  winter,  ventures  forth 
To  frisk  awhile,  and  bask  in  the  warm  sun. 
The  squirrel,  flippant,  pert,  and  full  of  play: 
He  sees  me,  and  at  once,  swift  as  a  bird. 
Ascends  the  neiglib'ring  beech ;  there  whisks  his  brush, 
And  perks  his  ears,  and  stamps,  and  cries  aloud. 
With  all  the  prettiness  of  fcign'd  alarm. 
And  anger  insignificantly  fierce. 

The  heart  is  hard  in  nature,  and  unfit 
For  human  fellowship,  as  being  void 
Of  sympathy,  and  therefore  dead  alike 
To  love  and  friendship  both,  that  is  not  pleas'd 
With  sight  of  animals  enjoying  life. 
Nor  feels  their  happiness  augment  his  own. 
The  bounding  fawn,  that  darts  across  the  glade 
When  none  pursues,  through  mere  delight  of  heart, 
And  spirits  buoyant  with  excess  of  glee; 
The  horse  as  wanton  and  almost  as  fleet, 
That  skims  the  spacious  meadow  at  full  speed, 
Then  stops  and  snorts,  and  throwing  high  his  heels, 
Starts  to  the  voluntary  race  again; 
The  very  kine,  that  gamble  at  high  noon, 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.       163 

The  total  herd  receiving  first  from  one, 
That  leads  the  dance,  a  summons  to  be  ga}', 
Though  wild  their  strange  vagaries,  and  uncouth 
Their  eflbrts,  yet  resolv'd  with  one  consent, 
To  give  such  act  and  utt'rance  as  they  may 
To  ecstasy  too  big  to  be  suppress'd — 
These,  and  a  thousand  images  of  bliss, 
With  which  kind  Nature  graces  ev'ry  scene, 
Where  cruel  man  defeats  not  her  design. 
Impart  to  the  benevolent,  who  wish 
All  that  are  capable  of  pleasure  pleas'd, 
A  far  superior  happiness  to  theirs. 
The  comfort  of  a  reasonable  joy. 

Man  scarce  had  ris'n,  obedient  to  his  call. 
Who  form'd  him  from  the  dust,  his  future  grave, 
When  he  was  crown'd  as  never  king  was  since. 
God  set  the  diadem  upon  his  head. 
And  angel  choirs  attended.     Wond'ring  stood 
The  new-made  monarch,  while  before  him  pass'd. 
All  happy,  and  all  perfect  in  their  kind. 
The  creatures,  summon'd  from  their  various  haunk-. 
To  see  their  sov'reign,  and  confess  his  sway, 
Vast  was  his  empire,  absolute  his  pow'r, 
Or  bounded  only  by  a  law,  whose  force 
'Twas  his  sublimest  privilege  to  feel 
And  own,  the  law  of  universal  love. 
He  ruld  with  meekness,  they  obey'd  wiih  joy; 
No  cruel  purpose  lurk'd  within  his  heart. 
And  no  distrust  of  his  intent  in  theirs. 
So  Eden  was  a  scene  of  harmless  sport, 


16-i  THE  TASK.  BOOK   VI. 

Where  kindness  on  his  part,  who  rul'd  the  whole, 

Begat  a  tranquil  confidence  in  all, 

And  fear  as  yet  was  not,  nor  cause  for  fear. 

But  sin  niarr'd  all ;  and  the  revolt  of  man. 

That  source  of  evils  not  exhausted  yet, 

Was  punish'd  with  revolt  of  his  from  him. 

Garden  oi'  God,  how  terrible  the  change 

Thy  groves  and  lawns  then  witness'd !  Ev'ry  heart. 

Each  animal,  of  ev'ry  name,  conceiv'd 

A  jealousy  and  an  instinctive  fear, 

And,  conscious  of  some  danger,  either  fled 

Precipitate  the  loath'd  abode  of  man. 

Or  growl'd  defiance  in  such  angry  sort. 

As  taught  him  too  to  tremble  in  his  turn. 

Thus  harmony  and  family  accord 

Were  driv'n  from  Paradise;  and  iu  that  hour 

The  seeds  of  cruelty,  that  since  have  swcll'd 

To  such  gigantic  and  enormous  growth. 

Were  sown  in  human  nature's  fruilful  soil. 

Hence  date  the  perseculion  and  the  pain, 

That  man  inflicts  on  all  inferior  kinds. 

Regardless  of  their  plaints.     To  make  him  sporf, 

To  gratify  the  frenzy  of  his  wrath, 

Or  his  base  gluttony,  are  causes  good 

And  just  in  his  account,  why  bird  and  beast 

Should  snfl'er  torture,  and  the  streams  be  d}ed 

^^  ith  blood  of  their  inhabitants  impal'd. 

Earth  groans  beneath  the  burden  of  a  war 

Wag'd  with  defenceless  innocence,  while  he^ 

Not  satisfied  to  jwey  on  all  around, 


I 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.  IG-J 

Adds  tenfold  bitterness  to  death  by  pangs 
Needless,  and  first  torments  ere  he  devoKrs. 
Now  hapjjiest  tliey,  that  occupy  the  scenes 
The  most  remote  from  bis  abhorr'd  resort. 
Whom  once,  as  delegate  of  God  on  Earth, 
They  fcar'd,  and  as  his  perfect  image  lov'd 
The  wilderness  is  theirs,  with  all  its  cave*. 
Its  hollow  glens,  its  thickets,  and  its  plaiiis 
Unvisited  by  man.     There  they  are  free, 
And  howi  and  roar  as  likes  them,  uncontroll'd; 
Nor  ask  his  leave  to  slumber  or  to  play. 
Woe  to  the  tyrant,  if  he  dare  intrude 
Within  the  confines  of  their  wild  domain: 
The  lion  tells  him — I  am  monarch  here — 
And,  if  he  spare  him,  spares  him  on  the  term* 
Of  royal  mercy,  and  through  gen'rous  scorn, 
To  rend  a  victim  trembling  at  his  foot. 
In  measure,  as  by  force  of  instinct  drawn, 
Or  by  necessity  constraiu'd,  they  live 
Dependent  upon  man ;  those  in  his  fields, 
These  at  his  crib,  and  some  beneath  his  roof. 
They  prove  too  often  at  how  dear  a  rate 

He  sells  protection Witness  at  his  foot 

The  spaniel  dying  for  some  venial  fault 
Under  dissection  of  the  knotted  scourge ; 
Witness  the  patient  ox,  with  stripes  and  yells 
Driv'n  to  t^ie  slaughter,  goaded,  as  he  runs, 
To  madness  ;  while  the  savage  at  his  heels 
Laughs  at  the  frantic  suff'rer's  fury,  spent 
Upon  the  guiltless  passenger  o'erthrown* 


166  THE  TASK.  r.OOK  \1. 

He  too  is  witness,  noblest  of  the  train 

That  wait  on  man,  the  flight-performing  horse : 

With  iinsHspccting  readiness  he  lakes 

His  murd'rer  on  his  back,  and,  push'd  all  day 

With  bleeding  sides  and  flanks,  that  heave  for  life, 

To  the  far  distant  goal,  arrives  and  dies. 

So  little  m?rcy  shows  who  needs  so  much! 

Does  law,  so  jealous  in  the  cause  of  man, 

Denounce  no  doom  on  the  delinquent?  None. 

He  lives,  and  o'er  his  brimming  beaker  boasts    • 

(As  if  barbarity  were  high  desert) 

Th'  inglorious  feat,  and,  clamorous  in  praise 

Of  the  poor  brute,  seems  wisely  to  suppose 

The  honours  of  his  matchless  horse  his  own. 

But  many  a  crime,  decm'd  innocent  on  Earth, 

Is  register'd  in  Heav'n ;  and  these  no  doubt 

Have  each  their  record,  with  a  curse  annex'd. 

Man  may  dismiss  compassion  from  his  heart, 

But  God  will  never.     When  he  charg'd  the  Jew, 

T'  assist  his  foe's  down-fallen  beast  to  rise; 

And  when  the  bush-exploring  boy,  that  seiz'd 

The  young,  lo  let  the  parent  bird  go  free; 

Prov'd  he  not  plainly,  that  his  meaner  works 

Are  yet  his  care,  and  have  an  int'rest  all. 

All,  in  the  universal  Father's  love? 

On  Noah,  and  in  him  on  all  mankind. 

The  charter  was  conferr'd,  by  which  we  hold 

The  flesh  of  animals  in  fee,  and  claim 

O'er  all  we  feed  on  pow'r  of  life  and  death. 

But  read  the  instrument,  and  mark  it  well: 


\VTNTER  WALK  AT  NOON.  1G7 

Th'  oppression  of  a  fyiaimous  control 
Can  find  no  warrant  there.     Feed  then,  and  yield 
Thanks  for  thy  food.     Carnivorous,  tlnongh  sin, 
Feed  on  the  slain,  but  spare  the  living  brute ! 

The  Governor  of  all,  himself  to  all 
So  bountiful,  in  whose  attentive  ear 
The  uiifledo;'d  raven  and  the  lion's  whelp 
Plead  not  in  vain  for  pity  on  the  pangs 
Of  hunger  unassuag'd  has  interpos'd, 
Not  seldom,  his  avenging  arm,  to  smite 
Th'  injurious  tranipler  upon  Nature's  law, 
That  claims  forbearance  even  for  a  brute. 
He  hates  the  hardness  of  a  Balaam's  heart ; 
And,  prophet  as  he  was,  he  might  not  strike 
The  blameless  animal,  without  rebuke. 
On  which  he  rode.     Her  opportune  oll'ence 
Sav'd  him,  or  th'  unrelenting  seer  had  died. 
He  sees  that  human  equity  is  slack 
To  interfere,  though  in  so  just  a  cause ; 
And  makes  the  task  his  own.     Inspiring  dumb 
And  helpless  victims  with  a  sense  so  keen 
Of  iiij'ry,  with  such  knowledge  of  their  strength, 
And  such  sagacity  to  take  revenge. 
That  oft  the  beast  has  seem'd  to  judge  the  man. 
An  ancient,  not  a  legendary  tale, 
By  one  of  sound  intelligence  rehears'd 
(If  such  who  plead  for  Providence  niay  seem 
In  modern  eyes),  shall  make  the  doctrine  clear. 

Where  England,  stretch'd  towards  the  setting  sun, 
Narrow  and  long,  o'erlooks  the  western  wave, 


IHB  THE  TASK.  HOOK  \  I, 

Dwelt  young  Misagathus ;  a  scorner  he 

Of  God  and  g-oodncss,  atlieist  in  ostent, 

Vicious  in  act,  in  temper  savage-iierce. 

He  jonrne)  'd  ;  and  his  chance  was  as  h«  went, 

To  join  a  trav'ilcr  of  far  different  note, 

Evander,  fam'd  for  piety,  for  years 

Deservinof  honour,  but  for  wisdom  nrore. 

Fame  had  not  left  the  venerable  man 

A  stranger  to  the  manners  of  the  youth, 

Whose  face  too  was  familiar  to  his  view. 

Their  way  was  on  the  margin  of  the  land, 

O'er  the  green  summit  of  the  rocks,  whose  base 

Beats  back  the  roaring  surge,  scarce  heard  so  high. 

The  charity,  that  warm'd  his  heart,  was  mov'd 

At  sight  of  the  man  monster.     With  a  smile 

Gentle,  and  affable,  and  full  of  grace. 

As  fearful  of  offending  whom  he  wish'd 

Much  to  persuade,  he  plied  his  ear  with  truths 

Not  harshly  thunder'd  forth,  or  rudely  press'd. 

But,  like  his  purpose,  gracious,  kind,  and  sweet. 

"And  dost  thou  dream,"  th'  impenetrable  man 

Exclaim'd,  "  that  me  the  lullabies  of  age, 

And  fantasies  of  dolards  such  as  thou, 

Can  cheat,  or  move  a  moment's  fear  in  me? 

Mark  now  the  proof  I  give  thee,  that  the  brave 

Need  no  such  aids,  as  superstition  lends. 

To  steel  their  hearts  against  the  dread  of  death.'" 

He  spoke,  and  to  the  preci|)ice  at  hand 

Push'd  with  a  madman's  fury.     Fancy  shrinks. 

And  the  blood  thrilig  and  curdles,  at  the  thought 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.  JO'i) 

Of  siicli  a  gulf  as  he  dcsign'd  his  grave. 
But,  though  the  felon  on  his  back  could  dare 
The  dreadful  leap,  more  rational,  his  steed 
Declin'd  the  death,  and  wheeling  swifliy  round. 
Or  e'er  his  hoof  had  press'd  the  crumbling  verge, 
Baffled  his  rider,  sav'd  against  his  will. 
The  frenzy  of  the  brain  may  be  redress'd 
By  med'cine  well  applied,  but  without  grace 
The  heart's  insanity  admits  no  cure. 
Enrag'd  the  more,  by  what  might  have  reform'd 
His  horrible  intent,  again  he  sought 
Destruction,  with  a  zeal  to  be  destroy'd, 
With  sounding  whip,  and  rowels  died  in  blood. 
But  still  in  vain.     The  Providence,  that  meant 
A  longer  date  to  the  far  nobler  beast, 
Spar'd  yet  again  th'  ignobler  for  his  sake. 
And  now,  his  prowess  prov'd,  and  his  sincere 
Incurable  obduracy  evinc'd. 

His  rage  grew  cool ;  and,  pleas'd  perhaps  to  have  earu'd 
So  cheaply  the  renown  of  that  attempt, 
With  looks  of  some  complacence  he  resum'd 
His  road,  deriding  much  the  blank  amaze 
Of  good  Evandcr,  still  where  he  was  left 
Fix'd  motionless,  and  petrified  with  dread. 
So  on  they  far'd.     Discourse  on  other  themes 
Ensuing  seem'd  t'  obliterate  the  past; 
And  tamer  far  for  so  much  fury  shown 
(As  is  the  course  of  rash  and  fiery  men), 
The  rude  companion  smil'd,  as  if  transform'd. 
JJut  'twas  a  transient  calm.    A  storm  was  near, 
1 


170  THE  TASK.  BOOK  VI. 

An  unsuspected  storm.     His  hour  was  come. 

The  impious  challenger  of  Pow'r  divine 

Was  now  to  learn,  that  Heav'n,  though  slow  to  wrath, 

Is  never  with  impunity  detied. 

His  horse,  as  he  had  caught  his  master's  mood, 

Snorting,  and  starting  into  sudden  rage, 

Unbidden,  and  not  now  to  be  controU'd, 

Rush'd  to  the  clifl",  and,  having  reach'd  it,  stood. 

At  once  the  shock  unseated  him :  he  flew 

Sheer  o'er  the  craggy  barrier;  and  immers'd 

Deep  in  the  flood,  found,  when  he  sought  it  not, 

The  death  he  had  deserv'd,  and  died  alone. 

So  God  wrought  double  justice;  made  the  fool 

The  victim  of  his  own  tremendous  choice. 

And  taught  a  brule  the  way  to  safe  revenge. 

I  would  not  enter  on  my  list  of  friends 
(Though  grac'd  with  polish'd  manners  and  fine  sense, 
Yet  wanting  sensibility)  the  man. 
Who  needlessly  sets  foot  upon  a  worm. 
An  inadvertent  step  may  crush  the  snail. 
That  crawls  at  ev'ning  in  the  public  path; 
But  he  that  has  humanity,  forewarn'd, 
Will  tread  aside,  and  let  the  reptile  live. 
The  creeping  vermin,  loathsome  to  the  sight. 
And  charg'd  perhaps  with  venom,  that  intrudes, 
A  visitor  unwelcome,  into  scenes 
Sacred  to  neatness  and  repose,  th'  alcove. 
The  chamber,  or  refectory,  may  die : 
A  necessary  act  incurs  no  blame. 
Not  so  when,  held  within  their  proper  bounds, 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.  171 

And  j^uiltless  of  offence,  they  range  the  air, 
Or  take  their  pastime  in  the  spacious  field  : 
There  they  are  priviieg'd ;  and  he  that  hunts 
Or  harms  them  there  is  guilty  of  a  wrong, 
Disturbs  the  economy  of  Nature's  realm, 
Who,  when  she  form'd,  design'd  them  an  abode. 
The  sum  is  this.     If  man's  convenience,  health. 
Or  safety,  interfere,  his  rights  and  claims 
Are  paramount,  and  must  extiiiguish  theirs. 
Else  they  are  all — the  meanest  things  that  are, 
As  free  to  live,  and  to  enjoy  that  life, 
As  God  was  free  to  form  them  at  the  first. 
Who  in  his  sov'reign  wisdom  made  them  all. 
Ye  therefore,  who  love  mercy,  teach  your  sons. 
To  love  it  too.     The  spring-time  of  our  years 
Is  soon  dishonom'd  and  defil'd  in  most 
By  budding  ills,  that  ask  a  prudent  hand, 
To  check  them.     But  alas !  none  sooner  shoots. 
If  unrestrain'd,  into  luxiniant  growth. 
Than  cruelty,  most  dev'lisii  of  them  all. 
Mercy  to  liim,  that  shows  it,  is  the  rule 
And  righteous  limitation  of  its  act, 
By  which  Heav'n  moves  in  pard'uing  guilty  man; 
And  he  that  shows  none,  being  ripe  in  years, 
And  conscious  of  the  outrage  he  commits, 
Shall  seek  it,  and  not  find  it,  iii  his  turn. 

Distinguish'd  much  by  reason,  and  still  more 
By  our  capacity  of  grace  divine. 
From  creatures,  that  exist  but  for  our  sake, 
Which,  having  serv'd  us,  perish,  we  are  held 
1  2 


172  THE  TASK.  BOOK  \  I. 

AccoHiilable ;  and  God  some  future  day 

AVill  reckon  with  us  roundly  for  th'  abuse 

Of  what  he  deems  uo  mean  or  trivial  trust. 

Superior  as  we  are,  they  yet  depend 

Not  more  ou  human  help  than  we  on  theirs. 

Their  strength,  or  speed,  or  vigilance,  were  giv'n 

In  aid  of  our  defects.     In  some  are  found 

Such  teachable  and  apprehensive  parts, 

That  man's  attainments  in  his  own  concerns, 

Match'd  with  th'  expertness  of  the  brutes  in  theirs, 

Are  ofttimes  vanquisli'd  and  thrown  far  behind. 

Some  show  that  nice  sagacity  of  smell, 

And  read  with  such  discernmejit,  in  the  port 

And  figure  of  the  man,  his  secret  aim. 

That  oft  we  owe  our  safety  to  a  skill 

We  could  not  teach,  and  must  despair  to  learn. 

But  learn  we  might,  if  not  too  proud  to  stoop 

To  quadruped  instructors,  many  a  good 

And  useful  quality,  and  virtue  too, 

Rarely  exemplified  among  ourselves. 

Attachment  never  to  be  wean'd,  or  chang'd 

By  any  change  of  fortune ;  proof  alike 

Against  unkindness,  absence,  and  neglect; 

Fidelity,  that  neither  bribe  nor  threat 

Can  move  or  warp ;  and  gratitude  for  small 

And  trivial  favours,  lasting  as  the  life, 

And  glist'ning  even  in  the  dying  eye. 

Man  praises  man.     Desert  in  arts  or  arms 
Wins  public  honour;  and  ten  thousand  sit 
Patiently  present  at  a  sacred  song. 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.       173 

Commemoration-mad ;  content  to  hear 

(O  wonderful  ett'ect  of  music's  power!) 

Messiah's  eulogy  for  Handel's  sake. 

But  less,  methiuks,  than  sacrilege  might  serve — 

(For  was  it  less?     What  heathen  would  have  dar'd 

To  strip  Jove's  statue  of  his  oaken  wreath, 

And  hang  it  up  in  honour  of  a  man?) 

Much  less  might  serve,  when  all  that  we  design 

Is  but  to  gratify  an  itching  ear, 

And  give  the  day  to  a  musician's  praise. 

Remember  Handel?     Who,  that  was  not  born 

Deaf  as  the  dead  to  harmony,  forgets, 

Or  can,  the  more  than  Homer  of  his  age? 

Yes — we  remember  him  ;  and  wiiile  we  praise 

A  talent  so  divine,  remember  too, 

That  His  most  holy  book,  from  whom  it  came, 

Was  iiever  meant,  was  never  us'd  before. 

To  buckram  out  the  raem'ry  of  a  man. 

But  hush  !— the  muse  perhaps  is  too  severe; 

And  with  a  gravity  beyond  the  size 

And  measure  of  th'  otfence,  rebukes  a  deed 

Less  impious  than  absurd,  and  owing  more 

To  want  of  judgment  than  to  wrong  design. 

So  in  the  chapel  of  old  Ely  House, 

When  wand'ring  Charles,  who  meant  to  be  the  third. 

Had  tied  from  William,  and  the  news  was  fresJi, 

The  simple  clerk,  but  loyal,  did  announce. 

And  eke  did  rear  right  merrily,  two  staves, 

Sung  to  the  praise  and  glory  of  King  George ! 

Man  praises  man ;  and  Garrick's  mera'ry  iiext^ 


174  THE   TASK.  BOOK  VI. 

Wiien  time  liath  somewhat  mellow'd  it,  and  made 

The  idol  of  our  worship  while  lie  liv'd 

The  god  of  our  idolatry  once  more, 

Shall  have  its  altar;  and  the  World  shall  go 

In  pilgrimage  to  bow  before  his  shrine. 

The  theatre  too  small  shall  suffocate 

Its  sque'z'd  contents,  and  more  than  it  admits 

Shall  sigli  at  their  exclusion,  and  return 

Ungratifiod  :  for  there  some  noble  lord 

Shall  stulT  his  shoulders  with  king  Richard's  bunch. 

Or  wrap  himself  in  Hamlet's  inky  cloak. 

And  strut,  and  storm,  and  straddle,  stamp  and  stare. 

To  show  the  world  how  Garrick  did  not  act. 

For  Garrick  was  a  worshipper  himself; 

He  drew  the  liturgy,  and  fram'd  the  rites 

And  solemn  ceremonial  of  the  day, 

And  call'd  the  World  to  worship  on  the  banks 

Of  Avon,  fam'd  in  song.     Ah,  pleasant  proof. 

That  piety  has  still  in  human  hearts 

Some  place,  a  spark  or  two  not  yet  extinct. 

The  mulb'rry-tree  was  hung  with  blooming  wreaths; 

The  mulb'rry-tree  stood  centre  of  the  dance; 

The  mulb'rry-tree  was  hyran'd  with  dulcet  airs; 

And  from  his  touchwood  tnink  the  mulb'rry-tree 

Supplied  such  relics  as  devotion  liolds 

Still  sacred,  and  preserves  with  pious  care. 

So  'twas  a  hallow'd  time :  decorum  reign'd, 

And  mirth  without  offence.     No  few  return 'd, 

Doubtless,  much  edified,  and  all  refresh'd. 

— Man  praises  man.    The  rabble  all  alivo 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.  Ho 

From  tippling  benches,  cellars,  stalls,  and  styes, 

Swarm  in  the  streets.    The  statesmen  of  the  day, 

A  pompous  and  slow-moving  pageant,  comes. 

Some  shout  him,  and  some  hang  upon  his  car. 

To  gaze  in's  eyes,  and  bless  him.     Maidens  wave 

Their  kerchiefs,  and  old  women  weep  for  joy: 

While  others,  not  so  satisfied,  unhorse 

The  gilded  equipage,  and  turning  loose 

His  steeds,  usurp  a  place  they  well  deserve. 

Why  ?  what  has  charm'd  them?  Hath  he  sav'd  the  state.' 

No.     Doth  he  purpose  its  salvation?    No. 

Enchanting  novelty,  that  moon  at  full. 

That  finds  out  ev'ry  crevice  of  the  head, 

Tiiat  is  not  sound  and  perfect,  hath  in  theirs 

Wrought  this  disturbance.     But  the  wane  is  near. 

And  his  own  cattle  must  suffice  him  soon. 

Thus  idly  do  we  waste  the  breath  of  praise, 

And  dedicate  a  tribute,  in  its  use 

And  just  direction  sacred,  to  a  tiling 

Doom'd  to  the  dust,  or  lodg'd  already  there. 

Encomium  in  old  time  was  poet's  work : 

But  poets,  having  lavishly  long  since 

Exhausted  all  materials  of  the  art. 

The  task  now  falls  into  the  public  hand  ; 

And  I,  contented  with  an  humbler  theme, 

Have  pour'd  my  stream  of  panegyric  down 

The  vale  of  nature,  where  it  creeps,  and  winds 

Among  her  lovely  works  with  a  secure 

And  unambitious  course,  reflecting  clear, 

If  not  the  virtues,  yel  the  worth,  of  brutes. 


17G  THE  TASK.  BOOK  VI. 

And  I  am  recompens'd,  and  deem  the  toils 
Of  poetry  not  lost,  if  verse  of  mine 
May  sland  between  an  animal  and  woe, 
And  tcacli  one  tyrant  pity  for  his  drndj^e. 

The  groans  of  nature  in  this  nether  world, 
Which  Htav'n  has  heard  for  ages,  have  an  end. 
Foretold  by  prophets,  and  by  poets  sung, 
Whose  fire  was  kindled  at  the  prophets'  lamp. 
The  time  of  rest,  the  promis'd  sabbath,  comes. 
Six  thousand  years  of  sorrow  have  well  nigh 
Fulfill'd  their  lardy  and  disastrous  course 
Over  a  sinful  world  ;  and  what  remains 
Of  this  tempestuous  state  of  human  things 
Is  merely  as  the  working  of  a  sea 
Before  a  calm,  that  rocks  itself  to  rest: 
For  He,  whose  car  the  winds  are,  and  the  clouds 
The  dust,  that  waits  upon  his  sultry  march, 
When  sin  hath  niov'd  him,  and  his  wrath  is  hot. 
Shall  visit  Earth  in  mercy  ;  shall  descend 
Propitious  in  his  chariot  pav'd  with  love  ; 
And  what  his  storms  have  blasted  and  defac'd 
For  man's  revolt  shall  with  a  smile  repair. 

Sweet  is  the  Jiarp  of  prophecy ;  too  sweet 
Not  to  be  wrong'd  by  a  mere  mortal  touch ; 
Nor  can  the  wonders  it  records  be  sung 
To  meaner  music,  and  not  suffer  loss. 
But  when  a  poet,  or  when  one  like  me, 
Happy  to  rove  among  poetic  flow'rs, 
Though  poor  in  skill  to  rear  them,  lights  at  last 
On  some  fair  theme,  some  theuie  divinely  falr^ 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON,  3  77 

Siicli  is  the  impulse  and  the  spur  he  feels, 
'J'o  give  it  praise  proportiou'd  to  its  worth, 
That  not  t'  attempt  it,  arduous  as  he  deems 
The  labour,  were  a  task  more  arduous  still. 
O  scenes  surpassing  fable,  and  yet  true, 
Scenes  of  accomplish 'd  bliss;  which  who  can  see, 
Though  but  in  distant  prospect,  and  not  feel 
His  soul  refresh'd  with  foretaste  of  the  joy? 
Rivers  of  gladness  water  all  the  Earth, 
And  clothe  all  climes  with  beauty;  the  reproach 
Of  barrenness  is  past.     The  fruitful  field 
Laughs  with  abundance ;  and  the  land,  once  lean^ 
Or  fertile  only  in  its  own  disgrace, 
Exults  to  see  its  thistly  curse  repeal'd. 
The  various  seasons  woven  into  one, 
And  that  one  season  an  eternal  spring. 
The  garden  fears  no  blight,  and  needs  no  fence. 
For  there  is  none  to  covet,  all  are  full. 
The  lion,  and  the  libbard,  and  the  bear 
Graze  with  the  fearless  flocks;  all  bask  at  noon 
Together,  or  all  gambol  in  the  shade 
Of  the  same  grove,  and  drink  one  common  stream. 
Antipathies  are  none.     No  foe  to  man 
Lurks  in  the  serpent  now  :  the  mother  sees, 
And  smiles  to  see,  her  infant's  playful  hand 
Stretch'd  forth  to  dally  with  the  crested  worm, 
To  stroke  his  azure  neck,  or  to  receive 
The  lambent  homage  of  his  arrowy  tongue. 
All  creatures  worship  man,  and  all  mankind 
One  Lord,  one  Father.     Error  has  no  place: 
1  :l 


178  THE  TASK.  COOK   V!. 

That  creeping  pestilence  is  driv'n  away ; 
The  breath  of  Heav'n  has  chas'd  it.     In  the  heart 
No  passion  touches  a  discordant  string, 
But  all  is  harmony  and  love.     Disease 
Is  not:  the  pure  and  uncontaminatc  blood 
Holds  its  due  course,  nor  fears  the  frost  of  age. 
One  song  employs  all  nations  ;  and  all  cry, 
"Worthy  the  Lamb,  for  he  was  slain  for  us!" 
The  dwellers  in  the  vales  and  on  the  rocks 
Shout  to  each  other,  and  the  mountain  tops 
From  distant  mountains  catch  the  flying  joy ; 
Till,  nation  after  nation  taught  the  strain. 
Earth  rolls  the  rapturous  Hosanna  round. 
Behold  the  measure  of  the  promise  fdl'd; 
See  Salem  built,  the  labour  of  a  God ! 
Bright  as  a  sun  the  sacred  city  shines  ; 
All  kingdoms  and  all  princes  of  the  Earth 
Flock  to  that  light ;  the  glory  of  all  lauds 
Flows  into  her;  unbounded  is  her  joy, 
And  endless  her  increase.     Thy  rams  are  there, 
Nebaioth,  and  the  flocks  of  Kedar  there*; 
The  looms  of  Ormus,  and  the  mines  of  Ind, 
And  Saba's  spicy  groves,  pay  tribute  there. 
Praise  is  in  all  her  gates;  upon  her  walls. 
And  in  her  streets,  and  in  her  spacious  courts, 
[s  heard  salvation.     Eastern  Java  there 
Kneels  with  the  native  of  the  furthest  west ; 

*  Nebaioth  and  Kedar,  the  sons  of  Isbmael,  and  progenitors  of  tlif 
Arabs,  ill  the  prophetic  Scripture  liere  alluded  to,  may  be  reasonablv 
considered  as  representatives  of  the  Gentile?  at  large. 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.  17f) 

And  .Ethiopia  spreads  abroad  the  hand, 

And  worsliips.     Her  report  has  travell'd  fortli 

Into  all  lands.     From  ev'ry  clime  they  come, 

To  see  thy  beauty,  and  to  share  thy  joy, 

O  Sion  !  an  assembly  such  as  Earth 

Saw  never,  such  as  Heav'n  sloops  down  to  see. 

Thus  Heav'nward  all  things  tend.  For  ail  were  once 
Perfect,  and  all  must  be  at  length  restor'd. 
So  God  lias  greatly  purpos'd  ;  who  would  else 
In  his  di?honour'd  works  himself  endure 
Dishonour,  and  be  wrong'd  witliout  redress. 
Haste  then,  and  wheel  away  a  shatter'd  world, 
Ye  slow  revolving  seasons!  we  would  see 
(A  sight  to  which  our  eyes  are  strangers  yet) 
A  world,  that  does  not  dread  and  hate  his  laws, 
And  suflcr  for  its  crime;  would  learn  how  fair 
The  creature  is,  that  God  pronounces  good. 
How  pleasant  in  itself  what  pleases  him. 
Here  ev'ry  drop  of  honey  hides  a  sting; 
Worms  wind  themselves  into  our  sweetest  flow'rs, 
And  ev'n  the  joy,  that  haply  some  poor  heart 
Derives  from  Heav'n,  pure  as  the  fountain  is, 
Is  sullied  in  the  stream,  taking  a  taint 
From  touch  of  human  lips,  at  best  impure. 
O  for  a  world  in  principle  as  chaste 
As  this  is  gross  and  selfish !  over  which 
Custom  and  Prejudice  shall  bear  no  sway, 
That  govern  all  tilings  liere,  should'ring  aside 
T!ie  meek  and  modest  Truth,  and  forcing  her 
To  seek  a  rcfnjre  from  the  tongue  of  strife 


180  THE  TASK.  BOOK  V(. 

In  nooks  obscure,  far  from  the  ways  of  men  : 
Where  violence  shall  never  lift  the  sword, 
Nor  cunning  justify  the  proud  man's  wrong, 
Leaving  the  poor  no  remedy  but  tears: 
Where  he,  that  fills  an  office,  shall  esteem 
Th'  occasion  it  presents  of  doing  good 
More  than  the  perquisite:  where  Law  shall  speak 
Seldom,  and  never  but  as  Wisdom  prompts 
And  Equity ;  not  jealous  more  to  guard 
A  worthless  form,  than  to  decide  aright: 
Where  Fashion  shall  not  sanctify  abuse, 
Nor  smooth  Good-breeding  (supplemental  gr;ico) 
With  lean  performance  ape  the  work  of  Love ! 
Come  then,  and  added  to  thy  many  crowns, 
Receive  yet  one,  the  crown  of  all  the  Eartli, 
Thou  who  alone  art  worthy!  It  was  thine 
By  ancient  covenant,  ere  nature's  birth ; 
And  thou  hast  made  it  thine  by  purchase  since ; 
And  overpaid  its  value  with  thy  blood. 
Thy  saints  proclaim  thee  king;  and  in  their  heasts 
Thy  title  is  engraven  with  a  pen 
Dipp'd  in  the  fountain  of  eternal  love. 
Thy  saints  proclaim  thee  king ;  and  thy  delay 
Gives  courage  to  their  foes,  who,  could  they  see 
The  dawn  of  thy  last  advent,  long  desir'd, 
Would  creep  into  the  bowels  of  the  hills. 
And  flee  for  safety  to  the  falling  rocks. 
The  very  spirit  of  the  world  is  tir'd 
Of  its  own  taunting  question,  ask'd  so  long, 
"  Where  is  the  promise  of  your  Lord's  approach ?" 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.       181 

The  infidel  bas  shot  his  bolls  away, 

Till,  his  exhausted  quiver  yielding  none, 

He  gleams  the  blunted  shafts,  tiiat  have  recoirj, 

And  aims  them  at  the  shield  of  Truth  again. 

The  veil  is  rent,  rent  too  by  priestly  hands. 

That  hides  divinity  from  mortal  eyes ; 

And  all  the  mysteries  to  faith  propos'd. 

Insulted  and  traduc'd,  are  cast  aside. 

As  useless,  to  the  moles  and  to  the  bats. 

They  now  are  deem'd  the  faithful,  and  are  praisVi, 

Who,  constant  only  in  rejecting  thee, 

Deny  thy  Godliead  with  a  martyr's  zeal, 

And  quit  their  office  for  their  error's  sake. 

Blind,  and  in  love  with  darkness!  yet  ev'n  these 

Worthy,  compar'd  with  sycophants,  who  knee 

Thy  name  adoring,  and  then  preacli  thee  man! 

So  fares  thy  church.     But  liow  thy  church  may  fare. 

The  world  takes  little  thought.    Who  will  may  preach, 

And  what  they  will.     All  pastors  are  alike 

To  vvand'ring  sheep,  resolv'd  to  follow  none. 

Two  gods  divide  them  all — Pleasure  and  Gain: 

For  these  they  live,  they  sacrifice  to  these, 

And  in  their  service  wage  perpetual  war 

With  Conscience  and  with  thee.    Lust  in  their  hearts. 

And  mischief  in  their  hands,  they  roam  the  Earth 

To  prey  upon  each  other;  stubborn,  fierce. 

High-minded,  foaming  out  their  own  disgrace. 

Thy  prophets  speak  of  such ;  and,  noting  down 

The  features  of  the  last  degen'rate  times, 

Exhibit  ev'rv  lineament  of  these. 


182  THE  TASK.  nOOK  VI. 

Come  then,  and,  added  to  thy  many  crowns, 
Receive  yet  one,  as  radiant  as  the  rest, 
Dne  to  thy  last  and  most  eflectual  work, 
T!)y  word  fulfiil'd,  the  conquest  of  a  world  ! 
He  is  the  happy  man,  whose  life  e'en  now 
Shows  somewhat  of  that  happier  life  to  come; 
W  ho,  doom'd  to  an  obscure  but  tranquil  state, 
Is  pleas'd  with  it,  and,  were  he  free  to  choose, 
Would  make  his  fate  his  choice;  whom  peace,  the  fiuit 
Of  \irtue,  and  whom  virtue,  fruit  of  faith, 
Prepare  for  happiness;  bespeak  him  one 
Content  indeed  to  sojourn  while  he  must 
Below  the  skies,  but  having  there  his  home. 
The  World  o'erlooks  him  in  her  busy  search 
Of  objects,  more  illustrious  in  her  view; 
And,  occupied  as  earnestly  as  she. 
Though  more  sublimely,  he  o'erlooks  the  World. 
She  scorns  his  pleasures,  for  she  knows  them  not; 
He  seeks  not  hers,  for  he  has  prov'd  them  vain. 
He  cannot  skim  the  ground  like  summer  birds 
Pursuing  gilded  flies ;  and  such  he  deems 
Her  honours,  her  emoluments,  her  joys. 
Therefore  in  Contemplation  is  his  bliss, 
Whose  pow'r  is  such,  that  whom  she  lifts  from  Earth 
She  makes  familiar  with  a  Heav'n  unseen. 
And  shows  him  glories  yet  lo  be  reveal'd. 
Not  slothful  he,  though  seeming  unemploy'd. 
And  ceusur'd  oft  as  useless.     Stillest  streams 
Oft  water  fairest  meadows,  and  the  bird, 
That  flutters  least,  is  longest  on  the  wing. 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.  183 

Ask  liim,  indeed,  what  fropliics  lie  lias  rais'd. 

Or  what  achievements  of  immortal  fame 

He  purposes,  and  he  shall  answer — None. 

His  warfare  is  within.     There  unfatigu'd 

His  fervent  spirit  labonrs.     There  he  fights, 

And  there  obtains  fresh  triumphs  o'er  himself, 

And  never  with'ring  wreaths,  eompar'd  with  which 

The  laurels  that  a  Caesar  reaps  are  weeds. 

Perhaps  the  self-approving  haughty  World, 

That  as  she  sweeps  him  with  her  whistling  silks 

Scarce  deigns  to  notice  him,  or,  if  she  see, 

Deems  him  a  cipher  in  the  works  of  God, 

Receives  advantage  from  his  noiseless  hours. 

Of  which  she  little  dreams.     Perhaps  she  owes 

Her  sunshine  and  her  rain,  her  blooming  spring 

And  plenteous  harvest,  to  the  pray'r  he  makes, 

When,  Isaac  like,  the  solitary  saint 

Walks  forth  to  meditate  at  eventide. 

And  think  on  her,  who  thinks  not  for  herself. 

Forgive  him  then,  thou  bustler  in  concerns 

Of  little  worth,  an  idler  in  the  best. 

If,  author  of  no  mischief  and  some  good. 

He  seek  his  proper  happiness  by  means. 

That  may  advance,  but  cannot  hinder,  thine. 

Nor,  though  he  tread  the  secret  path  of  life, 

Engage  no  notice,  and  enjoy  much  ease. 

Account  him  an  encumbrance  on  the  state. 

Receiving  benefits,  and  rend'ring  none. 

His  sphere  though  humble,  if  that  humble  sphere 

Shine  with  his  fair  example,  and  though  small 


184  THE  TASK,  BOOK  VI. 

His  influence,  if  that  influence  all  be  spent 
In  sootliing  sorrow,  and  in  quenching  strife, 
In  aiding;  helpless  indigence,  in  works. 
From  which  at  least  a  gratefnl  few  derive 
Some  taste  of  comfort  in  a  world  of  woe ; 
Then  let  the  supercilious  ^reat  confess 
He  serves  his  country,  recompenses  well 
The  state,  beneath  the  shadow  of  whose  vine 
He  sits  secure,  and  in  the  scale  of  life 
Holds  no  ignoble,  though  a  slighted,  place. 
The  man,  whose  virtues  are  more  felt  than  seen. 
Must  drop  indeed  the  hope  of  public  praise ; 
But  he  may  boast,  what  few  that  win  it  can. 
That,  if  his  country  stand  not  by  his  skill. 
At  least  his  tollies  have  not  wrought  her  fall. 
Polite  Refinement  offers  him  in  vain 
Her  golden  tube,  through  which  a  sensual  World 
Draws  gross  impurity,  and  likes  it  well, 
The  neat  conveyance  hiding  all  the  offence. 
Not  that  he  peevishly  rejects  a  mode. 
Because  that  ^^  orld  adopts  it.     If  it  bear 
The  stamp  and  clear  impression  of  good  sense^ 
And  be  not  costly  more  than  of  true  worth, 
He  puts  it  on,  and  for  decorum  sake 
Can  wear  it  e'en  as  gracctiiliy  as  she. 
She  judges  of  refinement  by  the  eye. 
He  by  the  test  of  conscience,  and  a  heart 
Not  soon  deceiv'd  ;  aware,  tiiat  what  is  base 
No  polish  can  make  sterling;  and  that  vice. 
Though  well  perfura'd  and  elegantly  dress'd.. 


WINTER  WALK  AT  NOON.       105 

f.ike  au  uiibuiied  carcass  trick'd  with  flow'rs, 

Is  but  a  gainish'd  nuisance,  fitter  far 

For  cleanly  riddance,  than  for  fair  attire. 

So  life  glides  smoothly  and  by  stealth  away. 

More  golden  than  that  age  of  fabled  gold 

Rcnown'd  in  ancient  song ;  not  vex'd  with  care 

Or  stain'd  with  guilt,  beneficent,  approv'd 

Of  God  and  man,  and  peaceful  in  its  end. 

So  glide  my  life  away !  and  so  at  last, 

My  share  of  duties  decently  fulfill'd. 

May  some  disease,  not  tardy  to  perform 

Its  destin'd  office,  yet  with  gentle  stroke, 

Dismiss  me  weary  to  a  safe  retreat. 

Beneath  the  turf,  that  I  have  often  trod. 

It  shall  not  grieve  me  then,  that  once,  when  call'd 

To  dress  a  Sofa  with  the  flow'rs  of  verse, 

I  play'd  awhile,  obedient  to  the  fair. 

With  that  light  task ;  but  soon,  to  please  her  more, 

Whom  flow'rs  alone  I  knew  would  little  please. 

Let  fall  th'  unfinish'd  wreath,  and  rov'd  for  fruit; 

Rov'd  far,  and  gather'd  much :  some  harsh,  'tis  true, 

Pick'd  from  the  thorns  and  briars  of  reproof. 

But  wholesome,  well-digested  ;  grateful  some 

To  palates,  that  can  taste  immortal  truth ; 

Insipid  else,  and  sure  to  be  despis'd. 

But  all  is  in  his  hand,  whose  praise  I  seek. 

In  vain  the  poet  sings,  and  the  World  hears, 

If  he  regard  not,  though  divine  the  theme. 

'Tis  not  in  artful  measures,  in  the  chime 


186  THE  TASK.  BOOK  VI. 

And  idle  tinkling:  of  a  minstrel's  lyre, 
To  charm  his  ear,  wiiose  eye  is  on  the  heart ; 
Whose  frown  can  di'^appoint  the  proudest  strain. 
Whose  approbation' — prosper  even  mine. 


TIROCINIUM 


\    REVIEW  OF   SCHOOLS. 


Plato. 


DroG.  Laert. 


REV.  WILLIAM  CAWTHORNE  UNWIN, 

RECTOR  OF  STOCK  IN  ESSEX, 

THE  TUTOR  OF  HIS  TWO  SONS, 

THE  FOLLOWING 

RECOMMENDING  PRIVATE  TUITION 

IN  PREFERENCE  TO 

AN  EDUCATION  AT  SCHOOL, 

IS  INSCRIBED, 
BY  HIS  AFFECTIONATE  FRIEND, 

WILLIAM  COWPER. 

Olitey,  Nov.  6,  1784. 


TIROCINIUM. 


It  is  not  from  his  form,  in  wbich  we  trace 
Strength  joiu'd  with  beauty,  dignily  with  ^race, 
That  man,  the  master  of  this  globe,  derives 
His  right  of  empire  over  all  that  lives. 
That  form  indeed,  th'  associate  of  a  mind 
Vast  in  its  pow'rs,  ethereal  in  its  kind, 
That  form,  the  labour  of  almighty  skill, 
Fram'd  for  the  service  of  a  freeborn  will, 
Asserts  precedence,  and  bespeaks  control, 
But  borrows  all  its  grandeur  from  the  soul. 
Here  is  the  state,  the  splendour,  and  the  throne. 
An  intellectual  kingdom,  all  her  own. 
For  her  the  Mem'ry  fills  her  ample  page 
With  truths  pour'd  down  from  ev'ry  distant  age ; 
For  her  amasses  an  unbounded  store, 
The  wisdom  of  great  nations,  now  no  more; 
Though  laden,  not  encumber'd  with  her  spoil; 
Laborious,  yet  unconscious  of  her  toil ; 
When  copiously  supplied,  then  most  enlarg'd ; 
Still  to  be  fed,  and  not  to  be  surcharg'd. 
For  her  the  Fancy,  roving  unconfin'd, 
The  present  muse  of  ev'ry  pensive  mind, 


190  tirocinium:  on, 

Works  magic  wonders,  adds  a  brighter  hue 
To  Nature's  scenes  than  Nature  ever  knew. 
At  her  command  winds  rise,  and  waters  roar, 
Again  she  lays  them  slumb'ring  on  the  shore ; 
With  flow'r  and  liuit  the  wilderness  supplies, 
Or  bids  the  rocks  in  ruder  pomp  arise. 
For  her  the  Judgment,  umpire  in  the  strife. 
That  Grace  and  Nature  have  to  wage  through  life, 
Quick-sighted  arbiter  of  good  and  ill. 
Appointed  sage  preceptor  to  the  Will, 
Condemns,  approves,  and  with  a  faithful  voice 
Guides  the  decision  of  a  doubtful  clioice. 

Why  did  the  fiat  of  a  God  give  birth 
To  yon  fair  Sun,  and  his  attendant  Earth  ? 
And,  when  descending  he  resigns  the  skies. 
Why  takes  the  gentler  Moon  her  turn  to  rise, 
Whom  Ocean  feels  through  all  his  countless  waves. 
And  owns  her  pow'r  on  ev'ry  shore  he  laves? 
Why  do  the  seasons  still  enrich  the  year. 
Fruitful  and  young,  as  in  their  first  career? 
Spring  hangs  her  infant  blossoms  on  the  trees, 
Rock'd  in  the  cradle  of  the  w  esteru  breeze ; 
Summer  in  haste  the  thriving  charge  receives 
Beneath  the  shade  of  her  expanded  leaves. 
Till  autumn's  fiercer  heats  and  plenteous  dews 
Dye  them  at  last  in  all  their  glowing  hues. — 
Twere  wild  profusion  all,  and  bootless  waste, 
Pow'r  misemploy'd,  munificence  misplac'd, 
Had  not  its  author  dignified  the  plan, 
And  crown'd  it  with  the  majesty  of  man. 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  1131 

Thus  form'd,  thus  plac'd,  intelligent,  and  taught, 
Look  wliere  he  will,  the  wonders  God  has  wrought, 
The  wildest  scorner  of  his  Maker's  laws 
Finds  in  a  sober  moment  time  to  pause. 
To  press  th'  important  question  on  his  heart, 
"  Whj  form'd  at  all,  and  wherefore  as  thou  art?" 
If  man  be  what  he  seems,  this  hourn  slave, 
The  next  mere  dust  and  ashes  in  the  grave; 
Endu'd  with  reason  only  to  desery 
His  crimes  and  follies  w  ith  an  aching  eye ; 
With  passions,  just  that  he  may  prove,  with  pain, 
The  force  he  spends  against  their  fury  vain ; 
And  if,  soon  after  having  burnt,  by  turns, 
With  ev'ry  lust,  with  which  frail  Nature  burns, 
His  being  end,  where  death  dissolves  the  bond, 
The  tomb  take  all,  and  all  be  blank  beyond; 
Then  he,  of  all  that  Nature  has  brought  forth, 
Stands  selt-impeach'd  the  creature  of  least  worlii, 
And  useless  while  he  lives,  and  when  he  dies. 
Brings  into  doubt  the  wisdom  of  the  skies. 

Truths  that  the  learn 'd  pursue  with  eager  thought. 
Are  not  important  always  as  dear  bought. 
Proving  at  last,  though  told  in  pompous  strains, 
A  childish  waste  of  philosophic  pains; 
But  truths  on  which  depends  our  main  concern 
That  'tis  our  shame  and  mis'ry  not  to  learn. 
Shine  by  the  side  of  evVy  path  we  tread 
With  such  a  lustre,  he  that  runs  may  read. 
'Tis  true  that,  if  to  trifle  life  away 
Down  to  the  sunset  of  their  latest  day. 


192  tirocinium:  on, 

Then  perish  on  futurif  j's  wide  shore 

Like  fleeting  exhalations,  found  no  more, 

Were  ail  that  Heav'u  reqnir'd  of  humankind, 

And  all  the  plan  their  destiny  design'd, 

What  none  could  rev'rence  all  might  justlj'  blame. 

And  man  would  breathe  but  for  his  Maker's  shame. 

But  reason  heard,  and  nature  well  perus'd, 

At  once  the  dreaming  mind  is  disabus'd. 

If  all  we  find  possessing  earth,  sea,  air, 

Reflect  his  attributes,  who  plac'd  them  there, 

Fulfil  the  purpose,  and  appear  design'd 

Proofs  of  the  w  isdom  of  th'  all-seeing  mind, 

'Tis  plain  the  creature,  whom  he  chose  t'  invest 

With  kingship  and  dominion  o'er  the  rest, 

Receiv'd  his  nobler  nature,  and  was  made 

Fit  for  the  pow'r,  in  which  he  stands  array'd, 

That  first,  or  last,  hereafter,  if  not  here. 

He  too  might  make  his  author's  wisdom  clear, 

Praise  him  on  Earth,  or,  obstinately  dumb, 

Suffer  his  justice  in  a  world  to  come. 

This  ouce  believ'd,  'twere  logic  misapplied. 

To  prove  a  couseqnence  by  none  denied, 

That  we  are  bound  to  cast  the  minds  of  youth 

Betimes  into  the  mould  of  heav'nly  truth, 

That  taught  of  God  they  may  indeed  be  wise, 

Nor  ignorantly  waud'ring  miss  the  skies. 

In  early  days  the  conscience  has  in  most 
A  quickness,  which  in  later  life  is  lost : 
Preserv'd  Qom  guilt  by  salutary  fears, 
Or  guilty  soon  relenting  into  tears. 


A   RKVIEW   OF  SCHOOLS.  193 

Too  careless  ofteu,  as  our  years  proceed. 

What  friends  we  sort  with,  or  what  books  we  read. 

Our  parents  yet  exert  a  prudent  care. 

To  feed  our  infant  minds  with  proper  fare; 

And  wisely  store  the  nnrs'ry  by  degrees 

With  wholesome  learning,  yet  acquir'd  with  case, 

Neatly  secur'd  from  Ijcing  soil'd  or  torn 

Beneath  a  pane  of  thin  translucent  horn, 

A  book  (to  please  us  at  a  tender  age 

'Tis  call'd  a  book,  though  but  a  single  page) 

Presents  the  pray'r  the  Saviour  deign'd  to  teach. 

Which  children  use,  and  parsons — when  they  preach. 

Lisping  our  syllables,  we  scramble  next 

Through  moral  narrative,  or  sacred  text  ; 

And  learn  with  wonder  how  this  world  began, 

Who  made,  who  marr'd,  and  who  has  ransom'd  man. 

Points,  which,  unless  the  Scripture  made  them  plain, 

The  wisest  heads  might  agitate  in  vain. 

0  thou,  whom,  borne  on  fancy's  eager  wing 
Back  to  the  season  of  life's  happy  spring, 

1  pleas'd  remember,  and,  while  mem'ry  yet 
Holds  fast  her  office  here,  can  ne'er  forget; 
Ingenious  dreamer,  in  whose  well-told  tale 
Sweet  fiction  and  sweet  truth  alike  prevail; 
^V'hose  hum'rous  vein,  strong  sense,  and  simple  style, 
May  teach  the  gayest,  make  the  gravest  smile; 
V/itty,  and  well  employ'd,  and,  like  thy  Lord, 
Speaking  in  parables  his  slighted  word ; 

I  name  thee  not,  lest  so  despis'd  a  name 
Should  move  a  sneer  at  thy  deserved  fame; 

K 


194  TIROCINHJM:   OK, 

Yet  ev'n  in  transitory  life's  late  day, 

Tliat  mingles  all  my  brown  with  sober  grey, 

Revere  the  man,  whose  pilgrim  marks  the  road, 

And  guides  the  progress  of  the  sonl  to  God. 

'Twere  well  with  most,  if  books,  that  could  engage 

Their  childhood,  pleas'd  them  at  a  riper  age ; 

The  man.  approving  what  had  charm'd  the  boy. 

Would  die  at  last  in  comfort,  peace,  and  joy ; 

And  not  with  curses  on  his  heart,  who  stole 

The  gem  of  truth  from  his  unguarded  soul. 

The  stamp  of  artless  piety  impress'd 

By  kind  tuition  on  his  yielding  breast, 

The  youth  now  bearded,  and  yet  pert  and  raw, 

Regards  with  scorn,  though  once  receiv'd  with  awe; 

And,  warp'd  into  the  labyrinth  of  lies. 

That  babblers,  call'd  philosophers,  devise. 

Blasphemes  his  creed,  as  founded  on  a  plan 

Replete  with  dreams,  unworthy  of  a  man. 

Touch  but  his  nature  in  its  ailing  part. 

Assert  the  native  evil  of  his  heart, 

His  pride  resents  the  charge,  although  the  proof 

Rise  in  his  forehead  *,  and  seem  rank  enough : 

Point  to  the  cure,  describe  a  Saviour's  cross 

As  God's  expedient  to  retrieve  his  loss, 

The  young  apostate  sickens  at  the  view, 

And  hates  it  with  the  malice  of  a  Jew. 

How  weak  the  barrier  of  mere  Nature  proves, 
Oppos'd  against  the  pleasures  Nature  loves! 
While  self-betray'd,  and  wilfully  undone, 
She  longs  to  yield,  no  sooner  woo'd  than  won. 

•  See  2  Chroii.  xxvi.  ver.  19. 


A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  19-3 

Try  now  the  merits  of  this  blest  exchange 

Of  modest  truth  for  wit's  eccentric  range. 

Time  was,  he  clos'd  as  he  began  the  day 

With  decent  duty,  not  asham'd  to  pray: 

Tlie  practice  was  a  bond  upon  his  heart, 

A  pledge  he  gave  for  a  consistent  part; 

Nor  could  he  dare  presumptuously  displease 

A  pow'r,  confess'd  so  lately  on  his  knees. 

But  now  farewell  all  legendary  tales, 

The  shadows  fly,  philosophy  prevails; 

Pray'r  to  the  winds,  and  caution  to  the  waves ; 

Religion  makes  the  free  by  nature  slaves. 

Priests  have  invented,  and  the  World  admir'cl 

What  knavish  priests  promulgate  as  inspir'd ; 

Till  Reason,  now  no  longer  overaw'd. 

Resumes  her  pow'rs,  and  spurns  the  clumsy  fraud ; 

And  common-sense  diffusing  real  day. 

The  meteor  of  the  Gospel  dies  away. 

Such  rhapsodies  our  shrewd  discerning  youth 

Learn  from  expert  inquirers  after  truth ; 

Whose  only  care,  might  truth  presume  to  speak. 

Is  not  to  find  what  they  profess  to  seek. 

And  thus,  well-tutor'd  only  while  we  share 

A  mother's  lectures  and  a  nurse's  care ; 

And  taught  at  schools  much  mythologic  stuff*. 

Rut  sound  religion  sparingly  enough ; 


*  Tbe  author  hrjs  leave  to  explain. — Sensible  that,  without  such 
knowledge,  neither  the  ancient  poets  nor  historians  can  be  tasted,  or  in- 
deed understood,  he  does  not  mean  to  censure  the  pains  that  are  taken 
1')  instruct  a  schoolboy  in  the  religion  of  the  Heathen,  but  merely  that 
K  2 


106  TIROCIMIM:    OR, 

Our  early  nolices  of  trntli,  dispacVl, 
Soon  lose  their  credit,  and  are  all  efi'ac'd. 

Would  you  your  son  should  be  a  sot  or  dunce, 
Lascivious,  headstronj^,  or  all  these  at  once ; 
That  in  good  time  the  stripling's  finish'd  taste 
For  loose  expense,  and  fashionable  waste. 
Should  piove  your  ruin,  and  his  own  at  last; 
Train  him  in  public  witli  a  mob  of  boys. 
Childish  in  mischief  oidy  and  in  noise, 
Else  of  a  mannish  growth,  and  five  in  ten 
In  infidelity  and  lewdness  men. 
There  shall  he  learn,  ere  sixteen  winters  old, 
That  authors  are  most  useful  pawn'd  or  sold ; 
That  pedantry  is  all  that  schools  impart, 
But  taverns  teach  the  know  ledge  of  the  heart ; 
There  waiter  Dick,  with  Bacchanalian  lays, 
Shall  win  his  heart,  and  have  his  drunken  praise, 
His  counsellor  and  bosom-friend  sliall  prove, 
And  some  street-pacing  harlot  his  first  love. 
Schools,  unless  discipline  were  doubly  strong, 
Detain  their  adolescent  charge  too  long; 
The  management  of  tiroes  of  eighteen 
Is  difficult,  their  punishment  obscene. 
'l"he  stout  tall  captain,  whose  superior  size 
The  minor  heroes  view  with  envious  eyes, 
Becomes  their  pattern,  upon  whom  they  fix 
Their  whole  attention,  and  ape  all  his  tricks. 


neglect  of  Christian  culture,  Hliich  leaves  him  shamefully  ignoiuUt  of 
liis  owu. 


A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  11)7 

His  pride,  that  scorns  t'  obey  or  to  submit, 

With  then)  is  courage  ;  Jiis  effront'ry  wit. 

His  wild  cxcursious,  window-breaking  feats, 

Robb'ry  of  gardens,  quarrels  in  the  streets. 

His  hair-breadth  'scapes,  and  all  his  daring  schemes. 

Transport  them,  and  are  made  their  fav'rite  themes. 

In  little  bosoms  such  achievements  strike 

A  kindred  spark ;  they  burn  to  do  the  like. 

Thus,  half-accomplish'd  ere  he  yet  begin 

To  show  the  peeping  down  upon  his  chin ; 

And,  as  maturity  of  years  comes  on. 

Made  just  th'  adept  that  yovi  design'd  your  son ; 

T'  ensure  the  perseverance  of  his  course. 

And  give  your  monstrous  project  all  its  force, 

Send  him  to  college.     If  he  there  be  tam'd. 

Or  in  one  article  of  vice  reclaim'd. 

Where  no  regard  of  ord'nances  is  shown 

Or  look'd  for  now,  the  fault  must  be  his  own. 

Some  sneaking  virtue  lurks  in  him,  no  doubt. 

Where  neither  strumpets'  charnrs,  nor  drinking- 

Nor  gambling  practices,  can  find  it  out.         [bout, 

Such  youths  of  spirit,  and  that  spirit  too, 

Ye  nurs'ries  of  our  boys,  we  owe  to  you : 

Though  from  ourselves  the  mischief  more  proceeds, 

For  public  schools  'tis  public  folly  feeds. 

The  slaves  of  custom  and  establish'd  mode. 

With  packhorse  constancy  we  keep  the  road. 

Crooked  or  straight,  through  quags  or  thorny  dells. 

True  to  the  jingling  of  our  leader's  bells. 

To  follow  foolish  precedents,  and  wink 

VV  ith  both  our  eyes,  is  easier  than  to  think : 


198  TIROCINIUM  :    OR, 

And  such  an  age  as  ours  baulks  no  expense, 

Except  of  caution,  and  of  common-sense ; 

Else  sure  notorious  fact,  and  proof  so  plain, 

Would  turn  our  steps  into  a  wiser  train. 

I  blame  not  those,  who  with  what  care  they  can 

O'erwatch  the  num'rous  and  unruly  elan ; 

Or,  if  I  blame,  'tis  only  that  they  dare 

Promise  a  work,  of  which  they  must  despair. 

Have  ye,  ye  sage  intendants  of  the  whole, 

A  ubiquarian  presence  and  control, 

Elisha's  eye,  that,  when  Gehazi  stray'd. 

Went  with  him,  and  saw  all  the  game  he  play'd.' 

Yes — ye  are  conscious;  and  on  all  the  shelves 

Vour  pupils  strike  upon,  have  struck  yourselves. 

Or  if,  by  nature  sober,  ye  had  then. 

Boys  as  ye  were,  tlie  gravity  of  men ; 

Ye  knew  at  least,  by  constant  proofs  address'd 

To  ears  and  eyes,  the  vices  of  the  rest. 

But  ye  connive  at  what  ye  cannot  cure, 

And  evils,  not  to  be  endur'd,  endure. 

Lest  pow'r  exerted,  but  without  success, 

Should  make  the  little  ye  retain  still  less. 

Ye  once  were  justly  fam'd  for  bringing  forth 

Undoubted  scholarship  and  genuine  worth  ; 

And  in  the  firmament  of  fame  still  shines 

A  glory,  bright  as  that  of  all  the  signs. 

Of  poets  rais'd  by  you,  and  statesmen,  and  divines. 

Peace  to  them  all!  those  brilliant  times  are  fled, 

And  no  such  lights  are  kindling  in  their  stead. 

Our  striplings  shine  indeed,  but  with  such  rays, 

As  set  the  midnight  riot  in  a  blaze; 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  190 

And  seem,  if  jndg'd  by  their  expressive  looks. 
Deeper  in  none  than  in  their  surgeons'  books. 

Say  muse  (for,  education  made  the  song. 
No  muse  can  hesitate,  or  linger  long). 
What  causes  move  us,  knowing  as  we  must. 
That  these  menageries  all  fail  their  trust. 
To  send  our  sons  to  scout  and  scamper  there. 
While  colts  and  puppies  cost  us  so  much  care  \ 

Be  it  a  weakness,  it  deserves  some  praise, 
We  love  the  play-place  of  our  early  days ; 
The  scene  is  touching,  and  the  heart  is  stone, 
That  feels  not  at  that  sight,  and  feels  at  none. 
The  wall  on  which  we  tried  our  graving  skill, 
The  very  name  we  carv'd  subsisting  still ; 
The  bench  on  which  we  sat  while  deep  eraploy'd. 
Though  mangled,  hack'd,  and  hew'd,notyetdestroyM: 
The  little  ones,  unbutton'd,  glowing  hot. 
Playing  our  games,  and  on  the  very  spot; 
As  happy  as  we  once,  to  kneel  and  draw 
The  chalky  ring,  and  knuckle  down  at  taw; 
To  pitch  the  ball  into  the  grounded  hat, 
Or  drive  it  devious  with  a  dext'rous  pat; 
The  pleasing  spectacle  at  once  excites 
Such  recollection  of  our  own  delights. 
That,  viewing  it,  we  seem  almost  t'  obtain 
Our  innocent  sweet  simple  years  again. 
This  fond  attachment  to  the  well-known  place. 
Whence  first  we  started  into  life's  long  race. 
Maintains  its  hold  with  such  unfailing  sway. 
We  feel  it  e'en  in  age,  antl  at  our  latest  day. 


200  TIROCINIUM:    OR, 

Hark!  how  (lie  sire  of  chits,  whose  future  sliarc- 
Of  classic  food  begins  to  be  his  care, 
VVitli  his  own  likeness  plac'd  on  either  knee, 
Indulges  all  a  father's  heart-felt  glee; 
And  tells  them,  as  he  strokes  their  silver  locks. 
That  they  must  soon  learn  Latin,  and  to  box; 
Then  turning  he  regales  his  list'ning  wife 
With  all  th'  adventures  of  his  early  life ; 
His  skill  in  coachmanship,  or  driving  chaise. 
In  bilking  tavern  bills,  and  spouting  plays; 
What  shifts  he  us'd,  detected  in  a  scrape, 
How  he  was  flogg'd,  or  had  the  luck  t'  escape ; 
What  sums  he  lost  at  play,  and  how  he  sold 
AVatch,  seals,  and  all — till  all  his  pranks  are  toid. 
Retracing  thus  his  frolics  ('tis  a  name 
That  palliates  deeds  of  folly  and  of  shame), 
He  gives  the  local  bias  all  its  sway ; 
Resolves  that  where  he  play'd  his  sons  shall  play. 
And  destines  their  bright  genius  to  be  showu 
Just  in  the  scene  where  he  display'd  his  own. 
The  meek  and  bashful  boy  will  soon  be  taught. 
To  be  as  bold  and  forward  as  he  ought ; 
The  rude  will  scuffle  through  with  ease  enough, 
Great  schools  suit  best  the  sturdy  and  the  rough. 
Ah  happy  designation,  prudent  choice, 
Th'  event  is  sure  ;  expect  it;  and  rejoice! 
Soon  see  your  wish  fulfill'd  in  either  child. 
The  pert  made  perter,  and  the  tame  made  wild. 

The  great  indeed,  by  titles,  riches,  birth, 
Excus'd  th'  encumbrance  of  more  solid  worth. 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  201 

Are  best  dispos'd  of  where  with  most  success 
They  may  acquire  that  confident  address, 
Those  habits  of  profuse  and  lewd  expense, 
That  scorn  of  all  delights  but  those  of  sense, 
Which,  though  in  plain  plebeians  we  condemn, 
With  so  much  reason  all  expect  from  them. 
But  families  of  less  illustrious  fame. 
Whose  chief  distinction  is  their  spotless  name, 
Whose  heirs,  their  honours  none,  their  income  small, 
Must  shine  by  true  desert,  or  not  at  all, 
\^'hat  dream  they  of,  that  with  so  little  care 
They  risk  their  hopes,  their  dearest  treasure,  there  ? 
They  dream  of  little  Charles  or  William  grac'd 
With  wig  prolix,  down  flowing  to  his  waist; 
They  see  th'  attentive  crowds  his  talents  draw, 
They  hear  him  speak — the  oracle  of  law. 
The  father,  who  designs  his  babe  a  priest, 
Dreams  him  episcopally  such  at  least; 
And,  wlii'e  the  playful  jockey  scours  the  room 
Briskly,  astride  upon  the  parlour  broom, 
In  fancy  sees  him  more  superbly  ride 
In  coach  with  purple  lin'd,  and  mitres  on  its  side. 
Events  improbable  and  strange  as  these. 
Which  only  a  parental  eye  foresees, 
A  public  school  shall  bring  to  pass  with  ease. 
But  how  ?  resides  such  virtue  in  that  air. 
As  must  create  an  appetite  for  pray'r? 
And  will  it  breatiie  into  him  all  the  zeal. 
That  candidates  for  such  a  prize  should  feel, 
k3 


} 


202  T I ROC  I N I L M  :  on , 

To  take  the  lead  and  be  the  foremost  still  |     ' 

In  all  true  worth  and  literary  skill? 

"  Ah  blind  to  bright  futurity,  untaught  ■  ' 

The  knowledge  of  the  World,  and  dull  of  thouglit ! 
Church-ladders  are  not  always  mounted  best 
By  learned  clerks,  and  Latinists  profess'd, 
Th'  exalted  prize  demands  an  upward  look, 
Not  to  be  found  by  poring  on  a  book. 
Small  skill  in  Latin,  and  still  less  in  Greek, 
Is  more  than  adequate  to  all  I  seek. 
Let  erudition  grace  him,  or  not  grace, 
I  give  the  bauble  but  the  second  place; 
His  wealth,  fame,  honours,  all  that  I  intend, 
Subsist  and  centre  in  one  point — a  friend. 
A  friend,  whate'er  he  studies  or  neglects, 
Shall  give  him  consequence,  heal  all  defects. 
His  intercourse  with  peers  and  sons  of  peers- 
There  dawns  the  splendour  of  his  future  years; 
In  that  bright  quarter  his  propitious  skies 
Shall  blush  betimes,  and  there  his  glory  rise. 
Your  Lordship,  and  Your  Grace!   what  school  can 
A  rhet'ric  equal  to  those  parts  of  speech?         [teach 
\^'liat  need  of  Homer's  verse,  or  Tully's  prose, 
Sweet  interjertions!  if  he  learn  but  those? 
Let  rev'rend  churls  his  ignorance  rebuke, 
Who  starve  upon  a  dog's-ear'd  Pentateu 
The  parson  knows  enough  who  knows 
Egregious  purpose!  worthily  begun 
In  barb'rous  prostitution  of  your  son ; 


U3V  ; 

ke,  -^ 

such,  > 

a  duke."  j 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS^  203 

Piess'd  on  Iiis  part  by  means,  that  would  disgrace 

A  scriv'ner's  clerk,  or  footman  out  of  place, 

And  ending,  if  at  last  its  end  be  gain'd, 

In  sacrilege,  in  God's  own  house  profan'd. 

It  may  succeed ;  and,  if  his  sins  should  call 

For  more  than  common  punishment,  it  shall; 

The  wretch  shall  rise,  and  be  the  thing  on  Earth 

Least  qualified  in  honour,  learning,  worth, 

To  occupy  a  sacred,  awful  post, 

In  which  the  best  and  worthiest  tremble  most. 

The  royal  letters  are  a  thing  of  course, 

A  king,  that  woxild,  might  recommend  his  horse  ; 

And  deans,  no  doubt,  and  chapters,  with  one  voice. 

As  bound  in  duty,  would  confirm  the  choice. 

Behold  yoiir  bishop  !  well  he  plays  his  part, 

Christian  in  name,  and  infidel  in  heart, 

Ghostly  in  office,  earthly  in  his  plan, 

A  slave  at  court,  elsewhere  a  lady's  man. 

Dumb  as  a  senator,  and  as  a  priest 

A  piece  of  mere  church-furniture  at  best; 

To  live  estrang'd  from  God  his  total  scope, 

And  his  end  sure,  without  one  glimpse  of  hope. 

But  fair  although  and  feasible  it  seem, 

Depend  not  much  upon  your  golden  dream ; 

For  Providence,  that  seems  concern'd  t'  exempt 

The  hallow'd  bench  from  absolute  contempt. 

In  spite  of  all  the  wrigglers  into  place. 

Still  keeps  a  seat  or  two  for  worth  and  grace; 

And  therefore  'tis,  that,  though  the  sight  be  rare. 

We  sometimes  see  a  Lowth  or  Bagot  there. 


204  tirocinium:  on, 

Besides,  school-frieiidsliips  arc  not  always  fomul. 

Though  fair  in  promise,  permanent  and  sound; 

The  most  disint'rested  and  virtuous  minds, 

In  early  years  connected,  time  unbinds; 

New  situations  give  a  diff'rent  cast 

Of  habit,  inclination,  temper,  taste  ; 

And  he,  that  seem'd  our  counterpart  at  first. 

Soon  shows  the  strong  similitude  revcrs'd. 

Young  heads  are  giddy,  and  young  hearts  arc  Murm, 

And  make  mistakes  for  manhood  to  reform. 

Boys  are  at  best  but  pretty  buds  unblown. 

Whose  scent  aud  hues  are  rather  guess'd  than  known ; 

Each  dreams  that  each  is  just  what  he  appears, 

But  learns  his  error  in  maturer  years, 

When  disposition,  like  a  sail  unfurl'd 

Shows  all  its  rents  and  patches  to  the  World. 

If,  therefore,  cv'n  when  honest  in  design, 

A  boyish  friendship  may  so  soon  decline, 

'Twere  wiser  sure  t'  inspire  a  little  heart 

With  just  abhorrence  of  so  mean  a  part, 

Than  set  your  son  to  work  at  a  vile  trade 

For  wages  so  unlikely  to  be  paid. 

Our  public  hives  of  puerile  resort. 
That  are  of  chief  and  most  approv'd  report. 
To  such  base  liopes,  in  many  a  sordid  soul. 
Owe  tlieir  repute  in  part,  but  not  the  whole. 
A  principle,  whose  proud  pretensions  pass 
Unquestion'd,  though  the  jewel  be  but  glass- 
That  with  a  world,  not  often  over-nice. 
Banks  as  a  virtue,  and  is  yet  a  vice; 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  20,j 

Or  rather  a  gross  compound,  justly  tried, 

Of  envy,  hatred,  jealousy,  and  pride — 

Contributes  most  j)erhaps  t'  enhanee  their  fame  ; 

And  emulation  is  its  specious  name. 

Boys,  once  on  fire  with  that  contentious  zeal, 

Feel  all  the  rage  that  female  rivals  feel ; 

The  prize  of  beauty  in  a  woman's  eyes 

Not  brighter  than  in  theirs  the  scholar's  prize. 

The  spirit  of  that  competition  burns 

With  all  varieties  of  ill  by  turns; 

Each  vainly  magnifies  his  own  success, 

Resents  his  fellow's,  wishes  it  were  less. 

Exults  in  his  miscarriage,  if  he  fail, 

Deems  his  reward  too  great,  if  he  prevail. 

And  labours  to  surpass  him  day  and  night, 

Less  for  improvement  than  to  tickle  spite. 

The  spur  is  pow'rful,  and  I  grant  its  force; 

It  pricks  the  genius  forward  in  its  course, 

Allow  s  short  time  for  play  and  none  for  sloth  ; 

And,  felt  alike  by  each,  advances  both : 

But  judge,  where  so  much  evil  intervenes. 

The  end,  though  plausible,  not  worth  the  means. 

Weigh,  for  a  moment,  classical  desert 

Against  a  heart  deprav'd  and  temper  hurt; 

Hurt  too  perhaps  for  life ;  for  early  wrong 

Done  to  the  nobler  part,  affects  it  long; 

And  you  are  staunch  indeed  in  learning's  cause,     ) 

If  you  can  crown  a  discipline,  that  draws  V 

Such  mischiefs  after  it,  with  much  applause.  j 


206  tirocinium:  or, 

Connexion  form'd  for  int'rest,  and  endear'd 
By  selfish  views,  tlms  censur'd  and  cashier'd ; 
And  emulation,  as  engendVing  hate, 
Doom'd  to  a  no  less  ignominious  fate ; 
The  props  of  such  proud  seminaries  fall, 
The  Jachin  and  the  Boaz  of  them  all. 
Great  schools  rejected  then,  as  those  that  swell 
Beyond  a  size  that  can  be  manag'd  well, 
Shall  royal  institutions  miss  the  bays, 
And  small  academies  win  all  the  praise? 
Force  not  my  drift  beyond  its  just  intent, 
I  praise  a  school  as  Pope  a  government ; 
So  take  my  judgment  in  his  language  dress'd, 
"  Whate'er  is  best  administer'd  is  best." 
Few  boys  are  born  with  talents  that  excel, 
But  all  arc  capable  of  living  well ; 
Then  ask  not,  Whether  limited  or  large? 
But,  Watch  they  strictly,  or  neglect  their  charge? 
If  anxious  only  that  their  boys  may  learn, 
While  morals  languish,  a  despis'd  concern, 
The  great  and  small  deserve  one  common  blame, 
Diff'rent  in  size,  but  in  eflect  the  same. 
Much  zeal  in  virtue's  cause  all  teachers  boast. 
Though  motives  of  mere  lucre  sway  the  most; 
Therefore  in  towns  and  cities  they  abound, 
For  there  the  game  they  seek  is  easiest  found ; 
Though  there,  in  spite  of  all  that  care  can  do, 
Traps  to  catch  youth  are  most  abundant  too. 
If  shrewd,  and  of  a  well  constructed  brain, 
Keen  in  pursuit,  and  vig'rous  to  retain, 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  207 

^  our  sou  come  forth  a  prodigy  of  skill; 

As,  wheresoever  taught,  so  forni'd,  he  will; 

The  pedagogue,  with  self-complaceut  air. 

Claims  more  than  half  the  praise  as  his  due  sh;irc. 

But  if,  with  all  his  genius,  he  betray, 

Not  more  intelligent  than  loose  and  gay, 

Such  vicious  habits,  as  disgrace  his  name, 

Threaten  his  health,  bis  fortune,  and  his  fame ; 

Though  want  of  due  restraint  alone  have  bred 

The  symptoms,  that  you  see  with  so  much  dread  ; 

Unenvied  there,  he  may  sustain  alone 

The  whole  reproach,  the  fault  was  all  his  own. 

O  'tis  a  sight  to  be  with  joy  perus'd, 
By  all  whom  sentiment  has  not  abus'd ; 
New-fangled  sentiment,  the  boasted  grace 
Of  those  who  never  feel  in  the  right  place ; 
A  sight  surpass'd  by  none  that  we  can  show. 
Though  Vestris  on  one  leg  still  shine  below ; 
A  father  blest  with  an  ingenuous  son, 
Father,  and  fiiend,  and  tutor,  all  in  one. 
How ! — turn  again  to  tales  long  since  forgot, 
^Esop,  and  Phaedrus,  and  the  rest?  Why  not? 
He  will  not  blush  that  has  a  father's  heart. 
To  take  in  childish  plajs  a  childish  part; 
But  bends  his  sturdy  back  to  any  toy. 
That  youth  takes  pleasure  in,  to  please  his  boy : 
Then  why  resign  into  a  stranger's  hand 
A  task  as  much  within  your  own  command. 
That  God,  and  nature,  and  your  int'rest  too. 
Seem  with  one  voice  to  delegate  to  you? 


'208  tirocinium:  or, 

Why  hire  a  lodging  in  a  house  unknown 

For  one,  whose  tcnd'rcst  thouglits  all  hover  round  your 

This  second  weaning,  needless  as  it  is,  [own? 

How  does  it  lac'rate  both  your  heart  and  his ! 

Th'  indented  stick,  that  loses  day  by  day 

Notch  after  notch,  till  all  are  smooth'd  away. 

Bears  witness,  long  ere  his  dismission  come, 

With  what  intense  desire  he  wants  his  home. 

But  though  the  joys  he  hopes  beneath  your  roof 

Bid  fair  enough  to  answer  in  the  proof, 

Harmless,  and  safe,  and  ual'ral,  as  they  are, 

A  disappointment  waits  him  even  there : 

Arriv'd,  he  feels  an  unexpected  change, 

He  blushes,  hangs  his  head,  is  shy  and  strange. 

No  longer  takes,  as  once,  his  fearless  ease, 

His  fav'rite  stand  between  his  father's  knees, 

But  seeks  the  corner  of  some  distant  seat. 

And  eyes  the  door,  and  watches  a  retreat; 

And,  least  familiar  where  he  should  be  most, 

Feels  all  his  happiest  privileges  lost. 

Alas,  poor  boy! — the  natural  effect 

Of  love  by  absence  chill'd  into  respect. 

Say,  what  accomplishments,  at  school  acquir'd, 

Brings  he,  to  sweeten  fruits  so  undesir'd  ? 

Thou  well  deserv'st  an  alienated  sou. 

Unless  thy  conscious  heart  acknowledge — none; 

None  that,  in  thy  domestic  snug  recess. 

He  had  not  made  his  own  with  more  address, 

Though  some  perhaps  that  shock  thy  feeling  mind, 

And  better  never  learn'd,  or  left  behind. 


A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  201) 

Add  too,  ttiat,  thus  estrang'd,  thou  canst  obtaio 
By  no  kind  arts  his  confidence  again ; 
That  liere  begins  with  most  that  long  complaint 
Of  fihal  frankness  lost,  and  love  grown  faint, 
Which,  oft  neglected,  in  life's  waning  years 
A  parent  ponrs  into  regardless  ears. 

Like  caterpillars,  dangling  under  trees 
By  slender  threads,  and  swinging  in  the  breeze, 
Whicli  filthily  bewray  and  sore  disgrace 
The  I)Oiighs  in  which  are  bred  th'  unseemly  race; 
While  ev'ry  worm  industriously  weaves 
And  winds  his  web  about  the  rivell'd  leaves  ; 
So  numVous  are  the  follies,  that  annoy 
The  mind  and  heart  of  ev'ry  sprightly  boy; 
Imaginations  noxious  and  perverse, 
Which  admonition  can  alone  disperse. 
Th'  encroaching  uuisaiice  asks  a  faithful  hand, 
Patient,  affectionate,  of  high  command, 
To  check  the  procreation  of  a  breed 
Sure  to  exhaust  the  plant  on  which  they  feed. 
Tis  not  enough,  that  Greek  or  Roman  page. 
At  stated  hours,  his  freakish  thoughts  engage ; 
Ev'n  in  his  pastimes  he  requires  a  friend. 
To  warn,  and  teach  him  safely  to  unbend; 
O'er  all  his  pleasures  gently  to  preside. 
Watch  his  emotions,  and  control  their  tide ; 
And  levying  thus,  and  with  an  easy  sway, 
A  tax  of  profit  from  his  very  play, 
T'  impress  a  value,  not  to  be  eras'd, 
On  moments  squandcr'd  else,  and  running  all  to  waste. 


210  TIROCINIUM:    OR, 

And  seems  it  nothing  in  a  father's  eye, 

That  unimprov'd  those  many  moments  fly? 

And  is  he  well  content  his  son  shonld  find 

No  nourishment  to  feed  his  growing  mind, 

But  cojijugated  verhs,  and  nouns  declin'd  ? 

For  such  is  all  the  mental  food  purvey'd 

By  public  haeknies  in  the  schooling  trade ; 

Who  feed  a  pupil's  intellect  with  store 

Of  syntax,  truly,  but  with  little  more ; 

Dismiss  their  cares,  when  they  dismiss  their  flock 

Machines  themselves,  and  govern'd  by  a  clock. 

Perhaps  a  father,  blest  with  any  brains, 

Would  deem  it  no  abuse,  or  waste  of  pains, 

T'  improve  this  diet,  at  no  great  expense. 

With  sav'ry  truth  and  wholesome  common  sense ; 

To  lead  his  son,  for  prospects  of  delight. 

To  some  not  steep,  though  philosophic,  height. 

Thence  to  exhibit  to  his  wond'ring  eyes 

Yon  circling  worlds,  their  distance,  and  their  size 

The  moons  of  Jove,  and  Saturn's  belted  ball, 

And  the  harmonious  order  of  them  all ; 

To  show  him  in  an  insect  or  a  tlow'r 

Such  microscopic  proof  of  skill  and  pow'r, 

As,  hid  from  ages  past,  God  now  displays 

To  combat  atheists  with  in  modern  days ; 

To  spread  the  Earth  betbre  him,  and  comuieiul, 

With  designation  of  the  finger's  end. 

Its  various  parts  to  his  attentive  note, 

Thus  brinsina:  home  to  him  the  most  remote ; 


A  REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  211 

To  teach  bis  heart  to  ^low  with  gen'rous  flame 

Caught  from  the  deeds  of  men  of  ancient  fame: 

And,  more  than  all,  with  commendation  due, 

To  set  some  Uving  worthy  in  his  view, 

Whose  fair  example  may  at  once  inspire 

A  wish  to  copy  what  he  must  admire. 

Such  knowledge  gain'd  betimes,  and  whicli  appears. 

Though  solid,  not  too  weighty  for  his  years. 

Sweet  in  itself,  and  not  forbidding  sport, 

When  health  demands  it,  of  athletic  sort, 

Would  make  him — what  some  lovely  boys  have  been, 

And  more  than  one  perhaps  that  I  have  seen — 

An  evidence  and  reprehension  both 

Of  the  mere  schoolboy's  lean  and  tardy  growtli. 

Art  thou  a  man  professedly  tied, 
With  all  thy  faculties  elsewhere  applied, 
Too  busy  to  intend  a  meaner  care. 
Than  how  t'  enrich  thyself,  and  next  thine  heir  : 
Or  art  thou  (as,  though  rich,  perhaps  thou  art) 
But  poor  in  knowledge,  having  none  t'  impart : — 
Behold  that  figure,  neat,  though  plainly  clad ; 
His  sprightly  mingled  with  a  shade  of  sad; 
Not  of  a  nimble  tongue,  though  now  and  then 
Heard  to  articulate  like  other  men ; 
No  jester,  and  yet  lively  in  discourse, 
His  phrase  well  chosen,  clear,  and  full  of  force ; 
And  his  address,  if  not  quite  French  in  ease. 
Not  English  stiff,  but  frank,  and  form'd  to  please ; 
Low  in  the  World,  because  he  scorns  its  arts; 
A  man  of  letters,  manners,  morals,  parts ; 


212  tirocinium:  or, 

Unpatroniz'd,  and  therefore  little  known ; 
Wise  for  himself  and  his  few  friends  alone — 
In  him  thy  well-appointed  proxy  sec, 
Arm'd  for  a  work  too  difficult  for  thee  ; 
Prcpar'd  by  taste,  by  learning,  and  true  worth. 
To  form  thy  son,  to  strike  his  genius  forth  ; 
Beneath  tly  roof,  beneath  thine  eye,  to  prove 
The  force  of  discipline,  when  back'd  by  love  ; 
To  double  all  thy  pleasure  in  thy  child, 
His  mind  inform'd,  his  morals  undefil'd. 
Safe  under  such  a  wing,  the  boy  shall  show 
No  spots  contracted  among  grooms  below. 
Nor  taint  his  speech  with  meannesses  design'd 
By  footman  Tom  for  witty  and  refin'd. 
There,  in  his  commerce  with  the  liv'ried  herd, 
Lurks  the  contagion  chiefly  to  be  fear'd ; 
For  since  (so  fashion  dictates)  all,  who  claim 
A  higher  than  a  mere  plebeian  fame. 
Find  it  expedient,  come  what  mischief  may. 
To  entertain  a  thief  or  two  in  pay 
(And  they  that  can  afford  th'  expense  of  more, 
Some  half  a  dozen,  and  some  half  a  score), 
Great  cause  occurs  to  save  him  from  a  band 
So  sure  to  spoil  him,  and  so  near  at  hand  ; 
A  point  secur'd,  if  once  he  be  supplied 
With  some  such  Mentor  always  at  his  side. 
Are  such  men  rare?  perhaps  they  would  aboun<lj 
Were  occupation  easier  to  be  found, 
Were  education,  else  so  sure  to  fail, 
Conducted  on  a  manageable  scale, 


A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  -I'S 

Atifl  schools,  that  have  outliv'd  all  just  esfeeni, 

Exchaiig'd  for  the  secure  domestic  scheme. — 

But,  having  found  him,  be  thou  duke  or  earl, 

Show  thou  hast  sense  enough  to  prize  the  pearl. 

And,  as  thou  vvouidst  th'  advancement  of  thine  heir 

In  all  good  faculties  beneath  his  care, 

Respect,  as  is  but  rational  and  just, 

A  man  deem'd  worthy  of  so  dear  a  trust. 

Despis'd  by  thee,  what  more  can  he  expect 

From  youthful  folly  than  the  same  neglect? 

A  flat  and  fatal  negative  obtains 

That  instant  upon  all  his  future  pains  ; 

His  lessons  tire,  his  mild  rebukes  offend,  ^ 

And  all  th'  instructions  of  thy  son's  best  friend        > 

Are  a  stream  chok'd,  or  trickling  to  no  cud.  j 

Doom  him  not  then  to  solitary  meals; 

Eut  recollect,  that  he  has  sense,  and  feels; 

And  that,  possessor  of  a  soul  refin'd, 

An  upright  heart,  and  cultivated  mind, 

His  post  not  mean,  his  talents  not  unknown, 

He  deems  it  hard  to  vegetate  alone. 

And,  if  admitted  at  thy  board  he  sit, 

Account  him  no  just  mark  for  idle  wit; 

Ofl'eud  not  him,  w  liom  modesty  restrains 

From  repartee,  with  jokes  that  he  disdains; 

Much  less  transfix  his  feelings  with  an  oath  ; 

Nor  frown,  unless  he  vanish  with  the  cloth. — 

And,  trust  me,  his  utility  may  reach 

To  more  than  he  is  hir'd  or  bound  to  teach; 

Much  trash  unutter'd,  and  some  ills  undone, 

J'hrough  rev'rence  of  the  censor  of  thy  son. 


;l 


214  tirocinium:  or,  ' 

But,  if  thy  table  be  indeed  unclean, 
Foul  with  excess,  and  with  discourse  obscene. 
And  thou  a  wretch,  whom,  foU'vving  her  old  plan, 
The  World  accounts  an  honourable  man, 
Because  forsooth  thy  courage  has  been  tried 
And  stood  the  test,  perhaps  on  the  wrong  side ; 
Though  thou  hadst  never  grace  enough  to  prove, 
"J'hat  any  thing  but  vice  could  win  thy  love; — 
Or  hast  thou  a  polite  card-playing  wife, 
Chain'd  to  the  routs  that  she  frequents  for  life; 
Who,  just  when  industry  begins  to  snore, 
riies,  wing'd  with  joy,  to  some  coach-crowded  door; 
And  thrice  in  ev'ry  winter  throngs  thine  own 
With  half  the  chariots  and  sedans  in  town, 
Thyself  meanwhile  e'en  shifting  as  thou  may's! ; 
Not  veiy  sober  though,  uor  very  chaste ; — 
Or  is  thine  house,  though  less  superb  thy  rank, 
If  not  a  scene  of  pleasure,  a  mere  blank. 
And  thou  at  best,  and  in  thy  sob'rest  mood, 
A  trifler  vain,  and  empty  of  all  good ; 
Though  mercy  for  thyself  thou  canst  have  none. 
Hear  Nature  plead,  show  mercy  to  thy  son. 
Sav'd  from  his  home,  where  ev'ry  day  brings  forth 
Some  mischief  fatal  to  his  future  worth. 
Find  him  a  better  in  a  distant  spot. 
Within  some  pious  pastor's  humble  cot, 
Where  vile  example  (yours  I  chiefly  mean. 
The  most  seducing,  and  the  oft'nest  seen) 
May  never  more  be  stamp'd  upon  his  breast, 
Not  yet  perhaps  incurably  impress'd. 


A   REVIEW  OF   SCHOOLS.  215 

Where  early  rest  makes  early  rising  sure, 

Disease  or  comes  not,  or  finds  easy  cure. 

Prevented  much  by  diet  neat  and  plain  ; 

Or,  if  it  enter,  soon  starv'd  out  again : 

Where  all  th'  attention  of  his  faithful  host, 

Discreetly  limited  to  two  at  most. 

May  raise  such  fruits  as  shall  reward  his  rare, 

And  not  at  last  evaporate  in  air: 

Where,  stillness  aiding  study,  and  his  mind 

Serene,  and  to  his  duties  much  inclin'd, 

Not  occupied  in  day-dreams,  as  at  home. 

Of  pleasures  past,  or  follies  yet  to  come, 

His  virtuous  toil  may  terminate  at  last 

In  settled  habit  and  decided  taste. — 

But  whom  do  I  advise  ?  the  fashion-led, 

Th'  incorrigibly  wrong,  the  deaf,  the  dead. 

Whom  care  and  cool  deliberation  suit 

Not  better  much  than  spectacles  a  brute ; 

Who,  if  their  sons  some  slight  tuition  share. 

Deem  it  of  no  great  moment  whose,  or  where ; 

Too  proud  t'  adopt  the  thoughts  of  one  unknown, 

And  much  too  gay  t'  have  any  of  their  own. 

But  courage,  man !  methought  the  muse  replied, 

Mankind  are  various,  and  the  World  is  wide: 

The  ostrich,  silliest  of  the  feather'd  kind, 

\nd  form'd  of  God  without  a  parent's  mind, 

( 'ommits  her  eggs,  incautious,  to  the  dust, 

Forgetful  that  the  foot  may  crush  the  trust; 

And,  while  on  public  nurs'ries  they  rely. 

Not  knowing,  and  too  oft  not  caring,  wh)', 


216  TIROCINIUM  :   OR, 

Irrational  in  what  they  thus  prefer, 
No  few,  that  would  seem  wise,  resemble  her. 
But  all  are  not  alike.     Thy  warning  voice 
May  here  and  there  prevent  erroneous  choice ; 
And  some  perhaps,  who,  busy  as  they  are, 
Yet  make  their  progeny  their  dearest  care 
(Whose  hearts  will  ache,  once  told  what  ills  may  rcacJi 
Their  offspring,  left  upon  so  wild  a  beach), 
"\^'ill  need  no  stress  of  argument  t'  enforce 
Th'  expedience  of  a  less  advent'rous  course : 
The  rest  w  ill  slight  thy  counsel,  or  condemn ; 
But  they  have  human  feelings — turn  to  them. 
To  you  then,  tenants  of  life's  middle  state. 
Securely  plac'd  between  the  small  and  great, 
Whose  character,  yet  undebauch'd,  retains 
Two-thirds  of  all  the  Airtue  that  remains. 
Who,  wise  yourselves,  desire  your  son  should  Icani 
Your  wisdom  and  your  ways — to  you  I  turn. 
Look  round  you  on  a  World  perversely  blind; 
See  what  contempt  is  fall'n  on  humankind; 
See  wealth  abus'd,  and  dignities  misplac'd, 
Great  titles,  offices,  and  trusts  disgrac'd, 
Long  lines  of  ancestry,  renown'd  of  old, 
'J'heir  noble  qualities  all  queuch'd  and  cold ; 
See  Bedlam's  closetted  and  hand-cuff'd  charge 
Surpass'd  in  frenzy  by  the  mad  at  large ; 
See  great  commanders  making  war  a  trade, 
Great  lawyers,  lawyers  wiliiout  study  made; 
Churchmen,  in  whose  esteem  their  best  employ 
Is  odious,  and  their  wages  all  their  joy, 


A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  217 

Who,  far  euough  from  furnishing  their  shelves 

With  Gospel  lore,  turn  infidels  tiicmselves ; 

See  womanhood  despis'd,  and  manhood  sham'd 

Witii  infamy  too  nauseous  to  be  uam'd, 

Fops  at  all  corners,  ladylike  in  mien, 

Ci vetted  fellows,  smelt  ere  they  are  seen. 

Else  coarse  and  rude  in  manners,  and  their  tongue 

<)n  fire  with  curses,  and  with  nonsense  hung. 

Now  flush'd  with  drunk'nuess,  now  with  whoredom 

Their  breath  a  sample  of  last  night's  regale ;     [pale. 

See  volunteers  in  all  the  vilest  arts, 

Men  well  endow'd,  of  honourable  parts, 

Design'd  by  Nature  wise,  but  self-made  fools; 

Ail  these,  and  more  like  these,  were  bred  at  schools. 

And  if  it  chance,  as  sometimes  chance  it  will, 

That  though  school-bred  the  boy  be  virtuous  still ; 

Such  rare  exceptions,  shining  in  the  dark, 

Prove,  rather  than  impeach,  the  just  remark  : 

As  here  and  there  a  twinkling  star  descried 

Serves  but  to  show  how  black  is  all  beside. 

Now  look  on  him,  whose  very  voice  in  tone 

Just  echoes  thine,  whose  features  are  thine  own, 

And  stroke  his  jMilish'd  check  of  purest  red, 

And  lay  thine  hand  upon  his  flaxen  head, 

And  say,  IMy  boy,  tii'  unwelcome  hour  is  come, 

\\  heu  thou,  transplanted  from  thy  genial  home. 

Must  find  a  colder  soil  and  bleaker  air. 

And  trust  for  safety  to  a  stranger's  care; 

W'lvAt  ciiaracter,  what  turn  thou  wilt  assume 

From  constant  converse  with  I  know  uot  whom ; 

L 


218  tirocinium:  or. 

Who  there  will  court  thy  friendship,  with  what  views. 

And,  artless  as  thou  art,  whom  thou  wilt  choose; 

Though  much  depends  on  what  thy  choice  shall  be, 

Is  all  chance-medley,  and  unknown  to  me. 

Canst  thou,  the  tear  just  trembling  on  thy  lids, 

And  while  the  dreadful  risk  foreseen  forbids; 

Free  too,  and  under  no  constraining  force, 

Unless  the  sway  of  custom  warp  thy  course  ; 

Lay  such  a  stake  upon  the  losing  side, 

Merely  to  gratify  so  blind  a  guide  ? 

Thou  canst  not!  Nature,  pulling  at  thine  heart. 

Condemns  th'  unfatlicrly,  th'  imprudent  part. 

Thou  wouldst  not,  deaf  to  Nature's  tend'rest  plea, 

Turn  him  adrift  upon  a  roUing  sea. 

Nor  say.  Go  thither,  conscious  that  there  lay 

A  brood  of  asps,  or  quicksands  in  his  way ; 

Then,  only  govcrn'd  by  the  selfsame  rule 

Of  nat'ral  pity,  send  him  not  to  school. 

No— guard  him  better.     Is  he  not  thine  own, 

Thyself  in  miniature,  thy  flesh,  thy  bone  ? 

And  hop'st  thou  not  ('tis  ev'ry  father's  hope) 

That,  since  thy  strength  must  with  thy  years  cloj)c, 

And  thou  wilt  need  some  comfort,  to  assuage 

Health's  last  farewell,  a  staff  in  thine  old  age, 

That  then,  in  recompense  of  all  thy  cares. 

Thy  child  shall  show  respect  to  thy  grey  hairs. 

Befriend  thee,  of  all  other  friends  bereft. 

And  give  thy  life  its  only  cordial  left? 

Aware  then  how  much  danger  intervenes, 

To  compass  that  good  end,  forecast  the  means. 


A   REVIEW  OF  SCHOOLS.  219 

His  heart,  now  passive,  yields  to  thy  command  ; 
Secure  it  thine,  its  key  is  in  thine  hand, 
IC  thoH  desert  thy  charge,  and  throw  it  wide, 
No  heed  what  guests  there  enter  and  abide, 
Complain  not  if  attachments  lewd  and  base 
Supplant  thee  in  it,  and  usurp  thy  place. 
But,  if  thou  guard  its  sacred  chambers  sure 
From  vicious  inmates  and  delights  impure, 
Either  his  gratitude  shall  hold  him  fast. 
And  keep  him  warm  and  filial  to  the  last ; 
Or,  if  he  prove  unkind  (as  who  can  say 
But  being  man,  and  therefore  frail,  he  may?) 
One  comfort  yet  shall  cheer  thine  aged  heart, 
Howe'er  he  slight  thee,  thou  hast  done  thy  part. 

Oh  barb'rous !  wouldst  thou  with  a  gothic  hand 
Pull  down  the  schools— what! — all  the  schools  i'th' 
Or  throw  them  up  to  liv'ry-nags  and  grooms,    [land; 
Or  turn  them  into  shops  and  auction  rooms  ? 
A  captious  question,  sir  (and  yours  is  one). 
Deserves  an  answer  similar,  or  none. 
Wouldst  thou,  possessor  of  a  (lock,  employ 
(Appris'd  that  he  is  such)  a  careless  boy, 
And  feed  him  well,  and  give  him  handsome  pay. 
Merely  to  sleep,  and  let  them  run  astray? 
Survey  our  schools  and  colleges,  and  see 
A  sight  not  much  unlike  my  simile. 
From  education,  as  the  leading  cause. 
The  public  character  its  colour  draws; 
Thence  the  prevailing  manners  take  their  cast. 
Extravagant  or  sober,  loose  or  chaste. 


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RINDING  SECT.         ^iJ^y^WSl 


PLEASE  DO  NOT  REMOVE 
CARDS  OR  SLIP<^  HIS  POCKET 


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The 

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1817 

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