The following sections of this BookRags Literature Study Guide is offprint from Gale's For Students Series: Presenting Analysis, Context, and Criticism on Commonly Studied Works: Introduction, Author Biography, Plot Summary, Characters, Themes, Style, Historical Context, Critical Overview, Criticism and Critical Essays, Media Adaptations, Topics for Further Study, Compare & Contrast, What Do I Read Next?, For Further Study, and Sources.
(c)1998-2002; (c)2002 by Gale. Gale is an imprint of The Gale Group, Inc., a division of Thomson Learning, Inc. Gale and Design and Thomson Learning are trademarks used herein under license.
The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Encyclopedia of Popular Fiction: "Social Concerns", "Thematic Overview", "Techniques", "Literary Precedents", "Key Questions", "Related Titles", "Adaptations", "Related Web Sites". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
The following sections, if they exist, are offprint from Beacham's Guide to Literature for Young Adults: "About the Author", "Overview", "Setting", "Literary Qualities", "Social Sensitivity", "Topics for Discussion", "Ideas for Reports and Papers". (c)1994-2005, by Walton Beacham.
All other sections in this Literature Study Guide are owned and copyrighted by BookRags, Inc.
Table of Contents | |
Section | Page |
Start of eBook | 1 |
ESSAY ON WAR | 1 |
ELEGY | 8 |
THE CULPRIT. | 10 |
YORKSHIRE DIP. | 14 |
LOVE’S TRIUMPH: | 16 |
THE PROVERBS OF THREESCORE: | 18 |
MORE BREAD AND CHEESE. | 19 |
LYRIC ADDRESS TO DR. JENNER. | 20 |
[War for room required by encreased Population.—With Arts of Use and Comfort spring those of War.—Blessings of the Infant State of Society.—Peace cannot last beyond the Infancy of Society.—War defined to preserve the equilibrium of Population.—War between hords of emigrating Stranger Nations.—Invasions on account of violated Women.—Love the strongest and most natural cause of War.—Violence of conflicting Passions at sight of an Enemy.—Solitary wounded Combatant amid the Dying and Dead.—Female Friends seeking for Dead or Wounded Relatives.—Morning after the Battle—Sympathy—Compassion.—Long remembrance of the Horrors of War.—Gunpowder; it’s tremendous effects.—Gunpowder, a humane discovery.—Castles &c. proofs of the continued prevalence of War.—Men quit a peaceful Country to seek War abroad.—History full of War.—Slavish Peace more cruel and more horrid than War.—Obligations of Peace to the active Virtues of War.—Havock of Peace more shocking than that of War.—War between Man and the rest of the animal Creation.—War of the Elements and natural Powers.—Recapitulation.... Conclusion.]
* * * * *
Man’s sad necessity, destructive War,
Sweeps to the grave the surplus of his sons,
Where’er the kindly clime and soil invite
To Love; and multiply the Human Race.
Around the World, in every happier spot
Where Earth spontaneous gives nutritious fruits.
Her softest verdure courting human feet,
And mossy grot’s, beneath protecting shades,
The Stranger’s envy, the Possessor’s pride;
There, as increasing numbers throng each bower.
Frequent and fatal rivalships arise;
And ruthless War erects his hideous crest.
Soon as Appropriation’s iron hand
Assays to grasp the Produce of the Earth;
And youths assert hereditary power,
Propriety exclusive, and in arms
League to defend their patrimonial rights,
Indisputable claim of Fruits and Fields
Contending, oft their massive clubs they raise
Against each other’s life: often, alas,
The needy cravings of the unportion’d poor
Provoke their jealous wrath; relentlessly
Tenacious of their store, they shut him out,
’Midst desart Famine, and ferocious Beasts,
To guard his life and till the steril soil;
And thus extend the range of human feet.
Still as Experience, in her tardy school,
Instructs the Shepherd and the Husbandman
To great increase their flocks and herds to rear,
To till the ground, and plant the fruitful tree
In slow progression rising into use,
Nurtur’d by Her the infant Arts appear.
While sage Experience thus teaches Man
The useful and the pleasant Arts of Life,
She in harsh lectures, in the frequent broil,
Enjoins her Pupil still to cultivate
The fatal, necessary Art of War.
The Artizan, who from metallic ores
Forms the sharp implements to dress the glebe,
From obvious truths my Song has aim’d
to shew
That War is an inevitable Ill;
An Ill through Nature’s various Realms diffus’d;
An Ill subservient to the General Good.
With sympathetic sense of human woes
Deeply impress’d, the melancholy Muse
With modesty asserts this mournful Truth:
’Tis not in human wisdom to avert,
Though every feeling heart must sure lament,
The SAD NECESSITY of FATAL WAR.
* * * * *
ON THE ENCLOSURE OF HONINGTON GREEN.
[Motives of Enclosure.—Natural Pleasures and humble Convenience lost by it.—Recollections of the Spot.... The Mother.—The Father.—Character of his Mind.—The Widow.... Maternal Cares.—The Green.... It’s Beauties and Pleasures.—The Enclosure in general less an object to the Poor.—Under whatever Change the Man will adapt itself.—The new Scene will find it’s Admirers.—Pleasures are as the Mind and it’s Habits.]
* * * * *
1
Improvement extends it’s domain;
The Shepherds of Britain deplore
That the Coulter has furrow’d each
plain,
And their calling is needful
no more.
“Enclosing Land doubles its use;
When cultur’d, the heath
and the moor
Will the Riches of Ceres produce,
Yet feed as large flocks as
before.”
2
Such a lucrative maxim as this
The Lords of the Land all
pursue,
For who such advantage wou’d miss?
Self-int’rest we all
keep in view.
By it, they still more wealth amass,
Who possess’d great
abundance before;
It gives pow’r to the Great, but
alas!
Still poorer it renders the
Poor.
3
Taste spreads, her refinements around,
Enriching her favourite Land
With prospects of beautified ground,
Where, cinctur’d, the
spruce Villas stand;
On the causeways, that never are foul,
Marshal’d bands may
with measur’d pace tread;
The soft Car of Voluptuousness roll,
And the proud Steed of Greatness
parade.
4
Those fenc’d ways that so even are
made,
The pedestrian traveler bemoans;
He no more the green carpet may tread,
But plod on, ’midst
the gravel and stones:
And if he would rest with his load,
No green hillock presents
him a seat,
But long, hard, tiresome sameness of road
Fatigues both the eye and
the feet.
5
Sighs speak the poor Labourers’
pain,
While the new mounds and fences
they rear,
Intersecting their dear native plain,
To divide to each rich Man
his share;
It cannot but grieve them to see,
Where so freely they rambled
before,
What a bare narrow track is left free
To the foot of the unportion’d
Poor.
6
The proud City’s gay wealthy train.
Who nought but refinements
adore,
May wonder to hear me complain
That Honington Green is no
more;
But if to the Church you e’er went,
If you knew what the village
has been,
You will sympathize, while I lament
The Enclosure of Honington
Green.
7
That no more upon Honington Green
Dwells the Matron whom most
I revere,
If by pert observation unseen,
I e’en now could indulge
a fond tear.
E’er her bright Morn of Life was
o’ercast,
When my senses first woke
to the scene,
Some short happy hours she had past
On the margin of Honington
Green.
8
Her Parents with Plenty were blest,
And nume’rous her Children,
and young,
Youth’s Blossoms her cheek yet possest,
And Melody woke when she sung:
A Widow so youthful to leave,
(Early clos’d the blest
days he had seen)
My Father was laid in his grave,
In the Church-yard on Honington
Green.
9
I faintly remember the Man,
Who died when I was but a Child;
But far as my young mind could scan,
His manners were gentle and mild:
He won infant ears with his lore,
Nor let young ideas run wild,
Tho’ his hand the severe rod of pow’r
Never sway’d o’er a trembling Child.
10
Not anxiously careful for pelf,
Melancholic and thoughtful, his mind
Look’d inward and dwelt on itself,
Still pensive, pathetic, and kind;
Yet oft in despondency drown’d,
He from friends, and from converse would fly.
In weeping a luxury found,
And reliev’d others’ woes with a sigh.
11
In solitude long would he stay,
And long lock’d in silence his tongue;
Then he humm’d an elegiac lay,
Or a Psalm penitential he sung:
But if with his Friends he regal’d,
His Mirth, as his Griefs, knew no bounds;
In no Tale of Mark Sargent he sail’d,
Nor in all Robin Hood’s Derry-downs.
12
Thro’ the poor Widow’s
long lonely years,
Her Father supported us all:
Yet sure she was loaded with cares,
Being left with six Children so small.
Meagre Want never lifted her latch;
Her cottage was still tight and clean;
And the casement beneath it’s low thatch
Commanded a view o’er the Green.
13
O’er the Green, where so often
she blest
The return of a Husband or Son,
Coming happily home to their rest,
At night, when their labour, was done:
Where so oft in her earlier years,
She, with transport maternal, has seen
(While plying her housewifely cares)
Her Children all safe on the Green.
14
The Green was our pride through the
year,
For in Spring, when the wild flow’rets blew,
Tho’ many rich pastures were near,
Where Cowslips and Daffodils grew;
And tho’ such gallant flow’rs were our
choice,
It was bliss interrupted by Fear—
The Fear of their Owner’s dread voice,
Harshly bawling “You’ve no business
here.”
15
While the Green, tho’ but Daisies
it’s boast,
Was free as the Flow’rs to the Bee;
In all seasons the Green we lov’d most,
Because on the Green we were free;
’Twas the prospect that first met my eyes,
And Memory still blesses the scene;
For early my heart learnt to prize
The Freedom of Honington Green.
16
No Peasant had pin’d at his
lot,
Tho’ new fences the lone Heath enclose:
For, alas! the blest days are forgot,
When poor Men had their Sheep and their Cows.
Still had Labour been blest with Content,
Still Competence happy had been,
Nor Indigence utter’d a plaint,
Had Avarice spar’d but the Green.
17
Not Avarice itself could be mov’d
By desire of a morsel so small:
It could not be lucre he lov’d;
But to rob the poor folk of their all.
He in wantonness ope’d his wide jaws,
As a Shark may disport with the Fry;
Or a Lion, when licking his paws,
May wantonly snap at a Fly.
18
Could there live such an envious
Man,
Who endur’d not the halcyon scene?
When the infantine Peasantry ran,
And roll’d on the daisy-deck’d Green:
Ah! sure ’twas fell Envy’s despite,
Lest Indigence tasted of Bliss,
That sternly decreed they’ve no right
To innocent pleasure like this.
19
Tho’ the Youth of to-day must
deplore—
The rough mounds that now sadden the scene,
The vain stretch of Misanthropy’s Power,
The Enclosure of Honington Green.
Yet when not a green turf is left free,
When not one odd nook is left wild,
Will the Children of Honington be
Less blest than when I was a Child?
20
No! ... Childhood shall find
the scene fair,
Then here let me cease my complaint;
Still shall Health be inhal’d with the Air,
Which at Honington cannot be taint:
And tho’ Age may still talk of the Green,
Of the Heath, and free Commons of yore,
Youth shall joy in the new-fangled scene,
And boast of that change we deplore.
21
Dear to me was the wild-thorny Hill,
And dear the brown Heath’s sober scene;
And Youth shall find Happiness still,
Tho’ he roves not on Common or Green:
Tho’ the pressure of Wealth’s lordly
hand
Shall give Emulation no scope,
And tho’ all the’ appropriate Land
Shall leave Indigence nothing to hope.
22
So happily flexile Man’s make.
So pliantly docile his mind,
Surrounding impressions we take,
And bliss in each circumstance find.
The Youths of a more polish’d Age
Shall not wish these rude Commons to see;
To the Bird that’s inur’d to the Cage,
It would not be Bills to be free.
* * * * *
“Man hard of heart to Man! ... of horrid things Most horrid; midst stupendous highly strange: Yet oft his courtesies are smoother wrongs; Pride brandishes the favours he confers, And contumelious his Humanity. What then his vengeance? hear it not, ye Stars, And thou, pale Moon, turn paler at the sound: ... Man is to Man the sorest, surest Ill.”
YOUNG.
* * * * *
[His Reflections on the Propensity to gaze on Misery.—Military Punishments.—Eager Curiosity of Spectators.—Theatric Amusements.—He examines the Motives where the Distress is real.—His Dread from the Disposition of Mankind.—The Jury withdrawn.... His Reflections.—Full of apprehension.... effect of Pride in maintaing an opinion.—His fears from the diminished regard of an Oath.—This idea pursued.—Instance of false Shame.... of contempt of Shame.—Perjury.—Duty of Deliberation.... Misbodings.—Hopes from mild and conscientious feelings.—Conflict of Hope, Doubt, and Fear.—The Verdict.]
* * * * *
’Man hard of heart! of horrid things
Most horrid! and of strange
most strange:’...
Thus the mournful Poet sings,
Experienc’d in Life’s
various range.
In the hopeful morn of Youth,
This serious Song I lov’d
and learn’d,
Nor ever thought the mournful truth
Would ever thus by me be mourn’d.
Ne’er thought I ever thus should
stand,
The butt of every tearful
eye;
To raise the Culprit’s trembling
hand,
To heave the Culprit’s
anxious sigh.
Now the mournful truth to prove,
Gazing crouds around I see,
For sure ’tis cruel selfish love
That brings them here to gaze
on me.
’Tis thus wherever human woe,
Wherever deep distress appears;
Thither curious gazers go,
To’ insult the wretched
with their tears.
E’en where hostile armies join
In the horrid frightful fray,
Where groaning mortals life resign,
I’ve heard their fellow-mortal
say—
’Oh! for a safe and lofty stand,
Where I the Battle’s
rage might see;
When Carnage, with relentless hand,
Strews the Ground, or stains
the Sea.’[9]
When list’ning, with suspended breath,
A wretch his dreadful sentence
hears,
In Martial Court, where worse than Death
The Military Culprit fears.
And when encircled by the band,
Lingering torments, public
shame,
Severity’s most ruthless hand
Lacerates his manly frame:
When many a hardy Soldier weeps,
And grieves that he’s
compell’d to stay;
Who perforce his station keeps,
Or would soon be far away;
Yet see beyond the circling guard,
Idle gazers flocking round,
To see and hear are pressing hard,
As if the spot were fairy
ground.
What is it that a charm imparts?
Why do they press to hear
and see?
Can it be that human hearts
Delight in human misery?
When the inexorable hour
Chills the hopeless convict’s
blood;
When sunk and drown’d his eve’ry
power,
In sorrow’s overwhelming
flood:
To view the scene the many run,
And o’er the hapless
wretch to sigh:
Nor once enquire the crime he’ has
done; ...
They only come to see him
die.
Various cares mankind employ;
But to gaze on human woe
Seems the universal joy,
For which they all their cares
forego.
Each from his pursuit departs,
Suffering, dying Man to see;
Surely there are human hearts
That joy in human misery.
Where fictitious tragic woe
Entertains the gaudy ring,
Each the horror can forego,
And instant mental comfort
bring.
When the spirits take alarm,
Prompt to anger, grief, or
spleen,
Reason can dissolve the charm,
And say, ’tis a fictitious
scene.
But to scenes of real woe,
Where a wretch is truely dying,
Wherefore do such numbers go,
What can be the joy of sighing?
Men of thought, who soar serene,
And loftily philosophize,
Will say they seek the solemn scene,
To contemplate and sympathize.
And all the throng will tell you so:
...
’Tis sympathy that brings
them there;
They love to weep for others’ woe,
And come but to enjoy a tear.
If to enjoy the tear that starts,
They run the sorrow’d
scene to see—
Alas! for pity ... human hearts
Delight in human misery.
Still my wretched thought thus strays,
’Midst gloomy scenes
and prospects drear;
My weary mind, in various ways
Seeking Hope, still finds
Despair.
This thought a weight of woe imparts,
At once to sink a wretch like
me;
What can I hope, if human hearts
Delight in human misery?
Tortur’d by severe suspense,
I the Jurors’ Verdict
wait,
Ere I may depart from hence,
Their decision seals my fate.
Now withdrawn, their close debate
Admits no curious, list’ening
ear,
But the result’s so big with fate,
The Culprit must in thought
be there.
And now, led on by sad despair,
Does a frightful form obtrude;
Vindictive Spleen assumes the air
Of noble, manly Fortitude.
And thus I hear the Demon say,
’Let us not abuse our
trust;
’We must not be led away
‘For mercy’s sake,
to be unjust.’
Yet he’ll profess no wrath to feel
’Gainst such a hapless
wretch as I;
No! ... but for the public weal,
’Tis expedient that
I die.
And this his judgment once made known,
Self-love and self-conceit’s
so strong,
He’ll rather let me die than own
That his opinion could be
wrong.
Ye who the lore of distant climes
Canvass, latent truth to find;
Who hail our philosophic times,
And Man’s emancipated
mind:
Oh! ye who boast the enlighten’d
age,
Who boast your right of thinking
free ...
If e’er ye learn the lessons sage,
Taught in affliction’s
school like me,
Should you e’er a Culprit stand,
You’ll wish mankind
all Christians then;
If e’er you raise the Culprit’s
hand,
You’ll wish the Jurors
Christian Men.
When at the dread Confessional,
Men trembled from their early
youth,
Taught to fear, on pain of Hell,
To utter more or less than
Truth.
Then Faith could sharpest trials stand,
Man at threat’ning Death
could smile,
If but his Pastor’s lenient hand
Toucht him with the Holy Oil.
Full faith the solemn Oath obtain’d,
Man’s mind was aw’d
by priestly rule;
Steady to Truth he still remain’d,
Unless to priestly fraud a
tool.
But where Church Discipline has ceas’d
To train men’s minds
in early youth,
Hard indeed the Culprit’s case,
Whose fate depends on others’
truth.
Even the man whose ways are wise,
Whose life is rul’d
by Honour’s laws;
Who owns, in philosophic guise,
A Deity ... a first great
cause: ...
Yet boasts his mind no shackles wears:
...
’Tis hard his solemn
Oath to trust;
For, without future hopes and fears,
Know I if Conscience makes
him just? ...
And then, the’ admitted evidence
...
Ye Jurors, can his word be
true?
Tempted, in his own defence,
To feign another’s crime
to you.
When venial crimes in Love’s gay
spring,
Prompt the youthful Female’s
sigh;
When her roses all take wing,
And Matrons sage her plight
descry;
Blushing, weeping, she’ll confess
The fault her faded cheeks
discover:
But, to make her crime the less,
Imputes an outrage to her
Lover.
So strong the power of pride and shame,
Her frailty she will still
deny;
Rather than own herself to blame,
She lets the hapless Lover
die.
Is Merit from his right debarr’d;
Or guiltless charg’d
with foul offence?
A Knave but speaks the perjur’d
word,
And laughs at injur’d
Innocence.
Laughs he at detection too?
Yes ... for he’ll be
but expos’d;
But set up to public view,
Should his falshood be disclos’d.
He such exposure dares defy,
Public shame is not his fear;
He who can vouch the solemn lie,
Would shew his forehead any
where.
While Innocence meets punishment,
While Falshood can produce
such woes,
Mercy’s self must needs lament
Perjury not more punish’d
goes.
Dubious may be the Culprit’s case,
Though clear and open all
his ways;
What Life is proof ’gainst dire
disgrace,
If guileful hate his act pourtrays?
Ye Jurors cautiously proceed,
When the question’s
left to you,
Not ‘Has the Culprit done the deed?’
But ’Was the deed a
crime to do?’[10]
Grudge not deliberation’s time,
Lest you should be too severe;
When Justice must believe a crime,
She lends it her most tardy
ear.
How short is this momentous hour!
O! how swift the minutes fly!
Soon the Jurors, arm’d with power,
Will come to bid me live or
die.
Pointed thoughts of Life and Death,
Anxious sore solicitude,
Shake my frame, suspend my breath,
When Terror’s gloomy
shades protrude.
But when Hope cheers me with the sound
Of Mercy’s voice, of
Mercy’s plea,
And tells me Mercy will be found
Amongst the twelve to speak
for me,
Rapt Fancy hears the Cherub plead:
...
Propitious is the Culprit’s
fate,
If one, by tender mercy sway’d,
Amongst the Jurors takes his
seat.
One who will meek-ey’d Mercy’s
laws
Oppose to Rigour’s doubtful
rule ...
Nor quit the hapless Culprit’s cause,
Though sterner Judgements
deem him fool.
Blessings that wait his heart, his tongue,
Cannot elate his tranquil
breast:
He courts no blessing from the throng;
He is, and ever will be, blest.
He shall win the Jury’s ear,
Pity glist’ning in his
eye;
Let us not be too severe....
If we let the Culprit die,
Fruitlessly we may bewail
In future, should our hearts
relent:
O! then let Mercy’s voice prevail;
Mercy we can ne’er repent.
Mercy smiles, and every face
Reflects the Cherub’s
aspect meek;
Glowing with her resistless grace,
Mercy beams on every cheek.
Hope, thy presage cannot fail.
Bid my Mary cease to mourn;
Surely Mercy shall prevail,
And I to Love and Life return.
Shall I the lenient Verdict hear,
Thrilling through my shivering
frame?
Ye Jurors, clad in smiles appear,
To realize this happy dream.
Their Deliberation’s o’er,
How shall I the Crisis meet?
Hark! I hear the opening door:
...
Silence and Awe attend their
feet!
They enter ... though no voice is heard,
Mercy in each face I see;
They speak ... and in the single word
Is Life, and Love, and Liberty!
* * * * *
[Footnote 9: The sentiment of Lucretius—
Suave etiam Martis certamina magna
tueri
Per campos instructa, tuo fine parte
percli.
Sweet to behold the Martial Contest spread
Wide o’er the Plains, without thy
share of Ill.
But the Philosophic Poet accounts for it by the heightened sense of safety; and not on the principle of Malevolence.]
[Footnote 10: This Question may come before the Jury in Cases of Homicide, Assault and Battery, and other charges of that nature, which may be justifiable on circumstances: but in many if the fact is found, as in Forgery, &c. the criminality, with some very rare exceptions, is a legal inference necessarily resulting from the fact. C.L.]
* * * * *
[The Country Ramble of Jupiter.—The Feast: ... It’s Music, and Gaiety.—The Dip makes it’s appearance.—The Consequence.]
* * * * *
Once on a time, old Legends say,
’Twas on a sultry Summer’s
day,
A Grecian God forsook the Skies,
To taste of Earth’s felicities.
Clad like a rusticated elf,
(Perhaps incog. ’twas Jove
himself)
He travers’d hills, and glens, and
woods,
And verdant lawns, by crystal floods;
For sure, said he, if Earth has joys,
They dwell remote from pomp and noise.
He loitering pass’d
the vacant hour,
For Strawberries stoop’d, or pluck’d
a Flower,
And snuff’d the Zephyrs as they
play’d,
In wanton curves beneath the shade.
’Till having every sweet
pursued,
That leisure finds in solitude,
Resolving now to seek Mankind,
And new delights in converse find,
He left the woods, he cross’d the
plain,
And join’d the Reapers’ jolly
train;
With Men and Maids he talk’d and
toil’d,
While jocund mirth the hours beguil’d;
For Maids the cheerful labour shar’d,
And blooming health their rich reward.
When noon advanc’d,
Sol’s downward rays
Shedding intolerable blaze,
Compel the Labourers’ retreat,
To shelter from the fervent heat;
The copse that skirts the irriguous mead
Affords a welcome cooling shade.
A Damsel from the careful
Dame
With wholesome viands loaded came;
Though coarse and homely was their meal,
Though brown their bread, and mild their
ale,
Gladly they view’d the plenteous
store,
Dispos’d on Nature’s verdant
floor.
The aerial Stranger soon made
free,
Nor miss’d Apollo’s minstrelsy;
For chirping Grasshoppers were heard,
With dulcet notes of many a Bird
That sought at noon the umbrageous glade
And softly sung beneath the shade.
He took his place upon the ground,
With Lads and Lasses circling round;
He sat as they sat, fed as they fed,
Drank ale, and laugh’d, and talk’d,
as they did;
Each playful wile, by Love employ’d,
He by kind sympathy enjoy’d;
The Lover’s extasies he caught,
When looks convey’d th’ enamour’d
thought;
From breast to breast while raptures bound,
He prais’d the varied prospects
round,
Compar’d each Lass to Beauty’s
Queen,
And own’d it an Elysian scene,
The jolly God smil’d
all propitious,
But ah! how fatally capricious....
It chanc’d, amidst this
humble Feast,
A cup of YORKSHIRE DIP was plac’d
...
A pudding-sauce well-known of yore,
When folks were frugal, though not poor;
An olio mixt of sweet and sour.
Soon as this touch’d his laughing
lip,
That unmixt Nectar us’d to sip,
He rose, and with a threat’ning
frown
Of direful Anger[11], dash’d it
down,
And swore, departing in a huff,
I’ll make your lives like that d——d
stuff.
Too sure the Malediction fell,
As every mortal wight can tell:
For HUMAN LIFE, to this bless’d
hour,
Like Yorkshire Dip, is SWEET AND
SOUR.
* * * * *
[Footnote 11: Gods partial, changeful, passionate, unjust.[12] POPE.]
[Footnote 12: The Poet has drawn his Jupiter according to the Homeric Model, in it’s least divine features. Yet I wish he had not. The Yorkshire Dip (the mixture of sweet and sour) might have remained a type of Life, temper’d in like manner: not by the wrath but by the benevolence of Jupiter.
... Who hath will’d
That Pleasure be co-mate of Toil and Pain,
Lest Joy should sink in listless apathy.
_... Curit acuens mortalia corda,_
Nec torpere gravi passus fua Regna
Veterno.
GEORG. I.
And accordingly the next Poem. C.L.]
* * * * *
AN ELEGIAC BALLAD.
[The Expostulation.—Continued.—Fears of Poverty.—Encouragement.—Baldwin’s Song.—Deceitfulness of visions indulgence.—Tormenting distressing Passions.—Comforts of a low Fortune.—Poverty in England contrasted with other Countries.—The Question.... The Conclusion.]
* * * * *
1
Come, let us seek the woodland shade,
And leave this view of towns
and towers:
Sweeter far the verdant mead,
And lonely dell’s sequester’d
bowers.
2
Why does my Love this walk prefer;
This hill, so near the public
way?
Why is this prospect dear to her?
Where Villas proud their pomp
display?
3
Ah! why does Mary sometimes sigh,
Surveying this magnific scene;
The seats of Grandeur tow’ring high,
With Rivers, Groves, and Lawns
between?
4
On splendid Cars, that smoothly move,
With high-born Youths gay
Damsels ride;
By the encircling arm of Love
Press’d to the wealthy
Lover’s side.
5
Why turn to view their easy state,
As the long glittering train
moves by?
And when they reach the pompous gate,
Ah! why does youthful Mary
sigh?
6
Doth Envy that fond bosom heave?
Repining at her humble lot
...
Alas! does Mary long to leave
The lonely Dale and lowly
Cot?
7
Pure and sincere is Mary’s Love:
Words were superfluous to
tell;
A thousand tendernesses prove
That Mary loves her Stephen
well.
8
When list’ning to the Stockdove’s
moan,
Far in the deep sequester’d
grove,
The blush that whisper’d, “We’re
alone,”
Sweetly confess the power
of Love.
9
Exalted Love concealment mocks,
This feign’d indifference does but prove
That was I Lord of Fields and Flocks,
My Mary’s Lips would own her Love.
10
Doth Poverty create the fears
That o’er your love their shadows fling?
...
The silence of those falling tears
Confesses all the truth I sing.
11
O! Mary, let not empty shew,
Let not the pride of gaudy dress,
Thus cloud thy morn of life with woe,
And blight it’s future happiness.
12
Trust the monition Baldwin gave,
Our future bliss it’s truth shall prove,
Life’s cares the Lovers who dare brave,
Shall find their rich reward in Love:
13
Baldwin, the hoary-headed Bard,
I still consult when cares annoy:
He own’d for me a fond regard;
And calls me still his darling Boy.
14
His mind is fraught with spoils of
Time;
He’s wise and good, though known to few;
He gave me this advice in rhyme,
And here I’ll read the Song to you:—
15
“Though envious Age affects
to deem thee Boy,
Lose not one day, one hour, of proffer’d
bliss;
In youth grasp every unoffending joy,
And wing’d with rapture snatch the bridal
kiss.
16
“Let not this chief of blessings
be deferr’d,
Till you your humble fortunes can improve;
None’s poor but he, by sordid fears deterr’d,
Who dares not claim the matchless wealth of Love.
17
“Virtue can make most rich
thy little store;
Virtue can make most bright thy lowly state:
Murmur not then that virtuous thou art poor,
While prosperous Vice can make men rich and great.
18
“The bad man may, his every
sense to please,
Each soft indulging luxury employ:
The plenitude of elegance and ease
He may possess; but never can enjoy.
19
“No ... though his goods, and
flocks, and herds abound;
His wide demesne to fair profusion grown;
Though proud his lofty mansion looks around,
On hills, and fields, and forests, all his owns
20
“Tho’ this may tempt
thee, murmuring to complain,
With conscience clear, and life void of offence,
’Verily, then, I’ve cleans’d my
heart in vain;
In vain have wash’d my hands in Innocence.’
21
“Yet could’st thou closely
mark the envied Man,
See how desires ungovern’d mar his peace;
Or had’st thou power his inward mind to scan,
How soon in pity would thy envy cease!
22
“Envenom’d Passions all
his thoughts unhinge!
The Slave of Vice must thy companion move;
If still he burns with thirst of dire Revenge,
Lawless Ambition, or unhallow’d Love.
23
“’Midst gayest scenes
he wean a gloomy frown:
Vain is the splendour that his dome adorns;
While he reclines on silky heaps of down,
His tortur’d mind is weltering on thorns.
24
“To prove that man opprest
with mental pain,
The goods of Fortune have no power to please,
Even Suicide has oft been known to stain
The downy couch of most luxurious case.
25
“The active life of Labour
gives no room
To that dull spleen the Indolent endure;
Generous cares dispel our mental gloom,
And Industry is Melancholy’s cure.
26
“Repine not then, that low
thy lot is cast;
Health gives to life or high or low it’s
zest;
’Tis Appetite that seasons our repast,
And Weariness still finds the softest rest.
27
“For all thy blessings thankfulness
to wake,
Think of less cultur’d lands, less peaceful
times;
Our coarsest fare, when sparingly we take,
’Tis luxury, compar’d with other climes.
28
“Think of the poor Greenlanders’
dismal caves,
Where thro’ their long, long Night they
buried lie;
Or the more wretched lands where hapless slaves
Hopelessly toil beneath the fervid Sky.
29
“In Britain ... blest with
peace and competence,
Rich Fortune’s favours could impart no more:
...
Heaven’s blessings equal happiness dispense;
Believe my words, for I am old and poor.
30
“Many who drudge in Labour’s
roughest ways,
By whom Life’s simplest, lowliest walks
are trod,
Happily live, to honor’d length of days,
Blessing kind Nature, and kind Nature’s
God.”
31
What think you, is sage Baldwin right?
Should Spring-tide Love endure delay?
And shall our bliss be seal’d ere Night?
Say, lovely Mary, softly say?
32
Why starts my Love? ... why rise
to go?
Will Mary then my suit deny?
Sweet is the smile that answers, No!
By Heaven, there’s rapture in her eye!
* * * * *
AFFECTIONATELY ADDRESSED TO EIGHTEEN.
[The Contrast.—Encouragement.—The Admonition.]
* * * * *
1
Have you seen the delightless abode,
Where Penury nurses Despair;
Where comfortless Life is a load,
Age wishes no longer to bear.
Ah! who, in this lazerhouse pent,
His lone wailings sends up
to the skies?
’Tis the Man whose young prime was
mispent;
’Tis he who so bitterly
sighs.
2
His Youth, sunk in profligate waste,
Lest no Comforts Life’s
evening to cheer;
He must only it’s bitterness taste,
No Friend, no kind relative
near.
His Children by want forc’d to roam,
Are aliens wherever they are:
They have long left his desolate home;
Have left him alone to despair.
3
Have you seen the delectable place,
Where honor’d Age loves
to abide;
Where Plenty, and Pleasure, and Peace,
With Virtue and Wisdom reside?
Autumn’s Fruits he has carefully
stor’d;
His Herds willing tributes
abound:
And the smiles of his plenteous board,
By his Children’s Children
are crown’d.
4
And his is the Godlike delight,
The power to relieve the distress’d!
...
Who can contemplate blessings so bright,
And not wish to be equally
bless’d.
Then let not the means be forgot:
Remember, and mark this great
truth;
’Twas not Chance fix’d his
prosp’rous Lot,
’Twas the Virtues of
provident Youth.
5
If such a bright prospect can charm,
If you feel emulation arise,
If your juvenile bosom is warm,
With the hope to be wealthy
and wise;
O cherish the noble design,
The maxims of Prudence pursue,
Application and Industry join,
’Tis the way fickle
Fortune to woo.
6
Early cultivate Virtue’s rich seeds;
These will fruits in Life’s
winter display:
Ne’er defer till to-morrow good
deeds,
That as well might be finish’d
to-day.
For Age and Experience can tell,
And you’ll find, when
you grow an old man,
Though it’s never too late to do
well,
You will wish you had sooner
began.
* * * * *
A NEW SONG,
Written in the Beginning of the Year 1793.
[The Balance of Population and Supply.—The Overstock’d Hive.—The Source of War.]
* * * * *
TO THE TUNE OF “NOTTINGHAM ALE.”
1
My Brothers of this world, of ev’ry
Nation,
Some maxims of prudence the Muse would
inspire.
Now restlessness reigns throughout every
station;
The low would be high, and the high would
be higher;
Now
Freedom’s the word,
That
unsheaths ev’ry sword,
But don’t be deceiv’d by such
pretexts as these:
’Tis
not Freedom, nor Slavery,
That
calls for your Bravery;
’Tis, only a Scramble for more Bread
and Cheese.
2
When others some party are venting their
rage on,
Inflam’d by the news from Versailles
or the Hague,
Let Mum be your maxim ... beware of contagion
...
For Anger is catching as Fever or Plague:
Now
Victuals is scanty,
And
Eaters are plenty,
The former must rise, or the latter decrease;
If
in War they’re employ’d,
Till
one half are destroy’d,
The few that are left will have more Bread
and Cheese.
3
Think not that Employment’s the
grand requisition;
That if men had work it would make the
times good;
No man would want work if he lack’d
not provision;
The cry for Employ is the cry for more
Food.
Now
every Trade,
From
the Gown to the Spade,
Oppress’d by it’s numbers
feels Scarcity’s squeeze;
From
the Prince to the Peasant,
‘Tis
true, tho’ unpleasant,
There must be fewer mouths, or else more
Bread and Cheese.
4
Now our Hive is so pinch’d, both
for room and for honey,
The industrious Bees would fain kick out
the Drones:
But expose not your Life, for victuals
nor money;
’Tis better you supperless sleep
with whole bones,
Then
shuffle, and hustle,
Keep
clear of the bustle,
Step out of the way-when they kick up
a breeze:
Preserve
your own Life,
Till
the end of the strife:
Then the few that are left will have more
Bread and Cheese.
5
Think not Hell is let loose with a terrible
mission,
To punish a world for incor’gible
Sin.
Not from angry Gods, nor from deep Politicians,
War nat’rally springs from the Passions
of Men[13]:
’Tis
for room and for food,
That
Men fight and shed blood[14];
When sufficiently thinn’d the inducement
will cease:
There’ll
be room for us all,
When
our numbers are small:
And the few that are left will have more
Bread and Cheese.
[Footnote 13: So hath said the APOSTLE. Ja: iv. 1 But then these warring Passions are something very like national Sins. C.L.]
[Footnote 14: Bad as this would be, it would be well if they made not War on Motives less naturally urgent than these: “glandem atque ambilia propter.” It is worse to make Wars of Heroical, still worse of Ministerial, and worst of all of Commercial Speculation. C.L.]
* * * * *
[Vaccine Inoculation.—Distress and Terrors of the Small Pox.—Dangers of Delay.]
* * * * *
1
Rejoice, rejoice, Humanity!
The fell, destructive, sore
Disease,
The pest of ages, now can be,
Repell’d with safety
and with ease.
2
He well deserves his Country’s Meed,
By whom the peerless blessing
came;
And thousands from destruction freed,
Shall raptur’d speak
of JENNER’S name.
3
Yes, JENNER’S vigilance is crown’d;
A sovereign antidote is given:
The Blessing flows the Nations round;
Free he diffus’d the
gift of Heaven.
4
So well approv’d it’s sure
effect,
To turn aside the’ impending
harm;
And shall parental Love neglect
To minister the precious balm?
5
Oh! no; beware of dire Delay,
Ye, who caress your Infants
dear:
Defer it not from day to day,
From month to month, from
year to year:
6
Lest you, like me, too late lament,
Your Life bereft of all it’s
joy;
Clasp now the Gift so kindly sent,
Lest you behold your dying
Boy!
7
Lest you see with trembling Fear,
With inexpressible Distress;
The purple spots of Death appear,
To blast your Hopes and Happiness:
8
Lest your keenest grief to wake,
Like mine your suffering prattler
say,
’Go, bid my Father come and take
‘These frightful Spots
and Sores away.’
9
Quickly from such fears be free:
Oh! there is Danger in Delay!
Say not to-morrow it shall be: ...
To-morrow! no; to-day, to-day.
10
Embrace the Blessing Heaven hath
sent;
So shall you ne’er such pangs endure:
Oh! give a Trifle to prevent,
What you would give a World to cure.