Led by the glimm'ring taper moves around
The facred volumes of the dead, the fongs
Of Grecian bards, and records writ by fame
For Grecian heroes, where the prefent pow'r
Of heav'n and earth surveys th' immortal page,
E'en as a father's bleffing, while he reads
The praises of his fon; if then thy foul,
Spurning the yoke of thefe inglorious days,
Mix in their deeds and kindle with their flamé :
Say, when the profpect blackens on thy view,
When rooted from the bafe, heroic states
Mourn in the duft and tremble at the frown
Of curft ambition;-when the pious band
Of youths that fought for freedom and their fires
Lie fide by fide in gore;-when ruffian pride
Ufurps the throne of justice, turns the pomp
Of public pow'r, the majefty of rule,
The fword, the laurel, and the purple robe,
To flavish empty pageants, to adorn
A tyrant's walk, and glitter in the eyes
Of fuch as bow the knee;➡when honour'd urns
Of patriots and of chiefs, the awful bust
And ftoried arch, to glut the coward rage
Of regal envy, ftrew the public way
With hallow'd ruins!-when the mufe's haunt,
The marble porch where wisdom wont to talk
With Socrates or Tully, hears no more,
Save the hoarfe jargon of contentious monks,
Of female fuperftition's midnight pray'r;
When ruthless rapine from the hand of time
Tears the deftroying feythe, with furer blow
To sweep the works of glory from their base;
Till defolation o'er the grass-grown street
Expands his raven-wings, and up the wall,
Where fenates, once the pride of monarchs doom'd,
Hiffes the gliding fnake thro' hoary weeds
That clasp the mould'ring column :-thus defac'd,
Thus widely mournful when the profpect thrills
Thy beating bofom; when the patriot's tear
Starts from thine eye, and thy extended arm
In fancy hurls the thunderbolt of Jove
To fire the impious wreath on Philip's brow,
Or dash Octavius from the trophied car ;
Say, does thy fecret foul repine to taste
The big distress? Or wouldst thou then exchange
Those heart ennobling forrows, for the lot
Of him who fits amid the gaudy herd
Of mute barbarians bending to his nod,
And bears aloft his gold-invefted front,
And fays within himself, "I am a king,
And wherefore should the clam'rous voice of woe
Intrude upon mine ear?" The baleful dregs
Of these late ages, this inglorious draught
Of fervitude and folly, have not yet,
(Bleft be th' eternal Ruler of the world!)
Defil'd to fuch a depth of fordid shame
The native honours of the human foul,
Nor fo effac'd the image of its fire.
SAY, what is tafte, but the internal pow'rs
Active, and strong, and feelingly alive
To each fine impulfe? a difcerning fenfe
Of decent and fublime, with quick difguft
From things deform'd, or difarrang'd, or grofs
In fpecies? This nor gems, nor ftores of gold,
Nor purple state, nor culture can beftow;
But God alone, when firft his active hand
Imprints the facred bias of the foul.
He, mighty Parent! wise and just in all,
Free as the vital breeze or light of heav'n
Reveals the charms of nature. Afk the fwain
Who journies homeward from a fummer day's
Long labour, why forgetful of his toils.
And due repofe, he loiters to behold
The funfhine gleaming as thro' amber clouds,
O'er all the western sky? Full foon, I ween,
His rude expreffion and untutor❜d airs,
Beyond the pow'r of language, will unfold
The form of beauty fmiling at his heart,
How lovely! how commanding! But tho' Heav'n
In every breast hath fown these early feeds
Of love and admiration, yet in vain,
Without fair culture's kind parental aid,
Without enliv'ning funs, and genial fhow'rs,
And shelter from the blaft, in vain we hope
The tender plant should rear its blooming head,
Or yield the harveft promis'd in its spring.
Nor yet will every foil with equal ftores
Repay the tiller's labour; or attend
His will, obfequious, whether to produce
The olive or the laurel diff'rent minds
Incline to diff'rent objects: one pursues
The vaft alone, the wonderful, the wild;
Another fighs for harmony, and grace,
And gentleft beauty. Hence when lightning fires
The arch of Heav'n, and thunders rock the ground;
When furious whirlwinds rend the howling air,
And ocean, groaning from his lowest bed,
Heaves his tempestuous billows to the fky;
Amid the mighty uproar, while below
The nations tremble, Shakspeare looks abroad
From fome high cliff, fuperior, and enjoys
The elemental war. But Waller longs,
All on the margin of fome flow'ry ftream,
To spread his careless limbs amid the cool
Of plantain shades, and to the lift'ning deer,
The tale of flighted vows and love's disdain
Refounds foft warbling, all the live-long day:
Confenting zephyr fighs; the weeping rill
Joins in his plaint, melodious; mute the groves;
And hill and dale with all their echoes mourn.
Such and fo various are the tastes of men.
THE PLEASURES ARISING FROM A
CULTIVATED IMAGINATION.
O BLEST of heav'n, whom not the languid fongs
Of luxury, the Siren! not the bribes
Of fordid wealth, nor all the gaudy spoils
Of pageant honour, can feduce to leave
Thofe ever-blooming fweets, which from the ftore
Of nature, fair imagination culls
To charm th' enliven'd foul! what tho' not all
Of mortal offspring can attain the height
Of envied life; tho' only few possess
Patrician treasures or imperial ftaté:
Yet nature's care, to all her children just,
With richer treasures and an ampler state
Endows at large whatever happy man
Will deign to use them.
The rural honours his.
The princely dome, the
His the city's pomp, Whate'er adorns column and the arch,
The breathing marbles and the sculptur'd gold,
Beyond the proud poffeffor's narrow claim,
His tuneful breaft enjoys. For him the spring
Diftils her dews, and from the filken gem
Its lucid leaves unfolds; for him the hand
Of autumn tinges every fertile branch
With blooming gold, and blushes like the morn.
Each paffing hour sheds tribute from her wings :
And ftill new beauties meet his lonely walk,
And loves unfelt attract him. Not a breeze
Flies o'er the meadow, not a cloud imbibes
The fetting fun's effulgence, not a strain
From all the tenants of the warbling shade
Afcends, but whence his bosom can partake
Fresh pleasure, unreprov'd. Nor then partakes
Fresh pleasure only: for th' attentive mind
By this harmonious action on her pow'rs,
Becomes herself harmonious: wont so oft
In outward things to meditate the charm
Of facred order, foon fhe feeks at home
To find a kindred order, to exert
Within herself this elegance of love,
This fair-inspir'd delight: her temper'd pow'rs
Refine at length, and every paffion wears
A chafter, milder, more attractive mien.
But if to ampler prospects, if to gaze
On nature's form, where negligent of all
These leffer graces, the affumes the port
Of that eternal Majesty that weigh'd
The world's foundations; if to these the mind
Exalts her daring eye! then mightier far
Will be the change, and nobler. Would the forms
Of fervile custom cramp her gen'rous pow'rs?
Would fordid policies, the barb'rous growth
Of ignorance and rapine, bow her down
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