Where men of judgment creep and feel their way,
  The positive pronounce without dismay,
  Their want of light and intellect supplied
  By sparks absurdity strikes out of pride: 
  Without the means of knowing right from wrong,
  They always are decisive, clear, and strong;
  Where others toil with philosophic force,
  Their nimble nonsense takes a shorter course,
  Flings at your head conviction in the lump,
  And gains remote conclusions at a jump;
  Their own defect, invisible to them,
  Seen in another, they at once condemn,
  And, though self-idolized in every case,
  Hate their own likeness in a brother’s face. 
  The cause is plain and not to be denied,
  The proud are always most provoked by pride;
  Few competitions but engender spite,
  And those the most where neither has a right.

  TO A YOUNG LADY

  Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade,
  Apt emblem of a virtuous maid—­
  Silent and chaste she steals along,
  Far from the world’s gay busy throng: 
  With gentle yet prevailing force,
  Intent upon her destined course;
  Graceful and useful all she does. 
  Blessing and blest where’er she goes;
  Pure-bosomed as that watery glass
  And Heaven reflected in her face.

  THE SHRUBBERY

  O happy shades! to me unblest! 
  Friendly to peace, but not to me! 
  How ill the scene that offers rest,
  And heart that cannot rest, agree!

  This glassy stream, that spreading pine,
  Those alders quivering to the breeze,
  Might soothe a soul less hurt than mine,
  And please, if anything could please.

  But fixed unalterable Care
  Foregoes not what she feels within,
  Shows the same sadness everywhere,
  And slights the season and the scene.

  For all that pleased in wood or lawn
  While Peace possessed these silent bowers,
  Her animating smile withdrawn,
  Has lost its beauties and its powers.

  The saint or moralist should tread
  This moss-grown alley, musing, slow,
  They seek like me the secret shade,
  But not, like me, to nourish woe!

  Me, fruitful scenes and prospects waste
  Alike admonish not to roam;
  These tell me of enjoyments past,
  And those of sorrows yet to come.

  From THE TASK

  [Love of Familiar Scenes]

  Scenes that soothed
  Or charmed me young, no longer young, I find
  Still soothing and of power to charm me still. 
  And witness, dear companion of my walks,
  Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive
  Fast locked in mine, with pleasure such as love,
  Confirmed by long experience of thy worth
  And well-tried virtues, could alone inspire,
  Witness a joy that them hast doubled long. 
  Thou knowest my praise of nature most sincere,
  And that my raptures are not conjured up
  To serve occasions of poetic pomp,
  But genuine, and art partner of them all.