The Minstrel; or the Progress of Genius

THE MINSTREL; BOOK SECOND

 
Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam,
Rectique cultus pectora roborant.
 

Horat.

THE MINSTREL; OR, THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS.
BOOK SECOND

I

 
Of chance or change, O let not man complain,
Else shall he never never cease to wail:
For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain
Rears the lone cottage in the silent dale,
All feel the assault of fortune’s fickle gale;
Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doomed;
Earthquakes have raised to heaven the humble vale;
And gulfs the mountain’s mighty mass entombed;
And where the Atlantic rolls wide continents have bloomed.
 

II

 
But sure to foreign climes we need not range,
Nor search the ancient records of our race,
To learn the dire effects of time and change,
Which in ourselves, alas! we daily trace.
Yet, at the darkened eye, the withered face,
Or hoary hair, I never will repine:
But spare, O Time, whate’er of mental grace,
Of candour, love, or sympathy divine,
Whate’er of fancy’s ray, or friendship’s flame, is mine.
 

III

 
So I, obsequious to Truth’s dread command,
Shall here, without reluctance, change my lay,
And smite the Gothic lyre with harsher hand;
Now when I leave that flowery path, for aye,
Of childhood, where I sported many a day,
Warbling, and sauntering carelessly along;
Where every face was innocent and gay,
Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue,
Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwin’s infant song.
 

IV

 
‘Perish the lore that deadens young desire,’
Is the soft tenor of my song no more.
Edwin, though loved of heaven, must not aspire
To bliss, which mortals never knew before.
On trembling wings let youthful fancy soar,
Nor always haunt the sunny realms of joy,
But now and then the shades of life explore;
Though many a sound and sight of woe annoy,
And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy.
 

V

 
Vigour from toil, from trouble patience grows.
The weakly blossom, warm in summer bower,
Some tints of transient beauty may disclose;
But ah, it withers in the chilling hour.
Mark yonder oaks! Superior to the power
Of all the warring winds of heaven, they rise,
And from the stormy promontory tower,
And toss their giant arms amid the skies,
While each assailing blast increase of strength supplies.
 

VI

 
And now the downy cheek and deepened voice
Gave dignity to Edwin’s blooming prime;
And walks of wider circuit were his choice,
And vales more wild, and mountains more sublime.
One evening, as he framed the careless rhyme,
It was his chance to wander far abroad,
And o’er a lonely eminence to climb,
Which heretofore his foot had never trode;
A vale appeared below, a deep retired abode.
 

VII

 
Thither he hied, enamoured of the scene:
For rocks on rocks piled, as by magic spell,
Here scorched with lightning, there with ivy green,
Fenced from the north and east this savage dell;
Southward a mountain rose with easy swell,
Whose long long groves eternal murmur made;
And toward the western sun a streamlet fell,
Where, through the cliffs, the eye, remote, surveyed
Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold arrayed.
 

VIII

 
Along this narrow valley, you might see
The wild deer sporting on the meadow ground,
And, here and there, a solitary tree,
Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crowned.
Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound
Of parted fragments tumbling from on high;
And, from the summit of that craggy mound,
The perching eagle oft was heard to cry,
Or on resounding wings to shoot athwart the sky.
 

IX

 
One cultivated spot there was, that spread
Its flowery bosom to the noon-day beam,
Where many a rose-bud rears its blushing head,
And herbs, for food, with future plenty teem.
Soothed by the lulling sound of grove and stream,
Romantic visions swarm on Edwin’s soul:
He minded not the sun’s last trembling gleam,
Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll,
When slowly on his ear these moving accents stole.
 

X

 
‘Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast,
‘And woo the weary to profound repose;
‘Can passion’s wildest uproar lay to rest,
‘And whisper comfort to the man of woes!
‘Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes,
‘And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.
‘O Solitude, the man who thee foregoes,
‘When lucre lures him, or ambition stings,
‘Shall never know the source whence real grandeur springs.
 

XI

 
‘Vain man, is grandeur given to gay attire?
‘Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid:
‘To friends, attendants, armies, bought with hire?
‘It is thy weakness that requires their aid:
‘To palaces, with gold and gems inlaid?
‘They fear the thief, and tremble in the storm:
‘To hosts, through carnage who to conquest wade?
‘Behold the victor vanquished by the worm!
‘Behold what deeds of woe the locust can perform!
 

XII

 
‘True dignity is his, whose tranquil mind
‘Virtue has raised above the things below;
‘Who, every hope and fear to heaven resigned,
‘Shrinks not, though Fortune aim her deadliest blow.’
This strain, from midst the rocks, was heard to flow
In solemn sounds. Now beamed the evening-star;
And from embattled clouds, emerging slow,
Cynthia came riding on her silver car;
And hoary mountain-cliffs shone faintly from afar.
 

XIII

 
Soon did the solemn voice its theme renew;
(While Edwin, wrapt in wonder, listening stood)
‘Ye tools and toys of tyranny, adieu;
‘Scorned by the wise, and hated by the good!
‘Ye only can engage the servile brood
‘Of Levity and Lust, who, all their days,
‘Ashamed of truth and liberty, have wooed,
‘And hugged the chain, that, glittering on their gaze,
‘Seems to outshine the pomp of heaven’s empyreal blaze.
 

XIV

 
‘Like them, abandoned to Ambition’s sway,
‘I sought for glory in the paths of guile;
‘And fawned and smiled, to plunder and betray,
‘Myself betrayed and plundered all the while;
‘So gnawed the viper the corroding file.
‘But now, with pangs of keen remorse, I rue
‘Those years of trouble and debasement vile.
‘Yet why should I this cruel theme pursue?
‘Fly, fly, detested thoughts, for ever from my view!
 

XV

 
‘The gusts of appetite, the clouds of care,
‘And storms of disappointment, all o’erpast,
‘Henceforth, no earthly hope with heaven shall share
‘This heart, where peace serenely shines at last.
‘And if for me no treasure be amassed,
‘And if no future age shall hear my name,
‘I lurk the more secure from fortune’s blast,
‘And with more leisure feed this pious flame,
‘Whose rapture far transcends the fairest hopes of fame.
 

XVI

 
‘The end and the reward of toil is rest.
‘Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace.
‘Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power possessed,
‘Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease!
‘Ah! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece,
‘The lay, heaven-prompted, and harmonious string,
‘The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece,
‘All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring,
‘If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride, the bosom wring!
 

XVII

 
‘Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb
‘With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown,
‘In the deep dungeon of some Gothic dome,
‘Where night and desolation ever frown.
‘Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;
‘Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,
‘With here and there a violet bestrown,
‘Fast by a brook, or fountain’s murmuring wave;
‘And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.
 

XVIII

 
‘And thither let the village swain repair;
‘And, light of heart, the village maiden gay,
‘To deck with flowers her half-dishevelled hair,
‘And celebrate the merry morn of May.
‘There let the shepherd’s pipe, the live-long day,
‘Fill all the grove with love’s bewitching woe;
‘And when mild Evening comes with mantle grey,
‘Let not the blooming band make haste to go;
‘No ghost, nor spell, my long and last abode shall know.
 

XIX

 
‘For though I fly to ’scape from fortune’s rage,
‘And bear the scars of envy, spite, and scorn,
‘Yet with mankind no horrid war I wage,
‘Yet with no impious spleen my breast is torn:
‘For virtue lost, and ruined man, I mourn.
‘O Man! creation’s pride, heaven’s darling child,
‘Whom Nature’s best, divinest, gifts adorn,
‘Why from thy home are truth and joy exiled,
‘And all thy favourite haunts with blood and tears defiled!
 

XX

 
‘Along yon glittering sky what glory streams!
‘What majesty attends night’s lovely queen!
‘Fair laugh our vallies in the vernal beams;
‘And mountains rise, and oceans roll between,
‘And all conspire to beautify the scene.
‘But, in the mental world, what chaos drear!
‘What forms of mournful, loathsome, furious mien!
‘O when shall that eternal morn appear,
‘These dreadful forms to chace, this chaos dark to clear!
 

XXI

 
‘O Thou, at whose creative smile, yon heaven,
‘In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light,
‘Rose from the abyss; when dark Confusion, driven
‘Down down the bottomless profound of night,
‘Fled, where he ever flies thy piercing sight!
‘O glance on these sad shades one pitying ray,
‘To blast the fury of oppressive might,
‘Melt the hard heart to love and mercy’s sway,
‘And cheer the wandering soul, and light him on the way.’
 

XXII

 
Silence ensued: and Edwin raised his eyes
In tears, for grief lay heavy at his heart.
‘And is it thus in courtly life,’ (he cries)
‘That man to man acts a betrayer’s part?
‘And dares he thus the gifts of heaven pervert,
‘Each social instinct, and sublime desire?
‘Hail Poverty! if honour, wealth, and art,
‘If what the great pursue, and learned admire,
‘Thus dissipate and quench the soul’s ethereal fire!’
 

XXIII

 
He said, and turned away; nor did the Sage
O’erhear, in silent orisons employed.
The Youth, his rising sorrow to assuage,
Home as he hied, the evening scene enjoyed:
For now no cloud obscures the starry void;
The yellow moonlight sleeps on all the hills;
Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoyed;
A soothing murmur the lone region fills,
Of groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills.
 

XXIV

 
But he, from day to day, more anxious grew.
The voice still seemed to vibrate on his ear.
Nor durst he hope the Hermit’s tale untrue;
For man he seemed to love, and heaven to fear;
And none speaks false, where there is none to hear.
‘Yet, can man’s gentle heart become so fell?
‘No more in vain conjecture let me wear
‘My hours away, but seek the Hermit’s cell;
‘Tis he my doubt can clear, perhaps my care dispel.’
 

XXV

 
At early dawn the youth his journey took,
And many a mountain passed, and valley wide,
Then reached the wild; where, in a flowery nook,
And seated on a mossy stone, he spied
An ancient man: his harp lay him beside.
A stag sprang from the pasture at his call,
And, kneeling, licked the withered hand, that tied
A wreath of woodbine round his antlers tall,
And hung his lofty neck with many a floweret small.
 

XXVI

 
And now the hoary Sage arose, and saw
The wanderer approaching: innocence
Smiled on his glowing cheek, but modest awe
Depressed his eye, that feared to give offence.
‘Who art thou, courteous stranger? and from whence?
‘Why roam thy steps to this abandoned dale?’
‘A shepherd-boy (the Youth replied), far hence
‘My habitation; hear my artless tale;
‘Nor levity nor falsehood shall thine ear assail.
 

XXVII

 
‘Late as I roamed, intent on Nature’s charms,
‘I reached, at eve, this wilderness profound;
‘And, leaning where yon oak expands her arms,
‘Heard these rude cliffs thine awful voice rebound,
‘(For, in thy speech, I recognise the sound.)
‘You mourned for ruined man, and virtue lost,
‘And seemed to feel of keen remorse the wound,
‘Pondering on former days, by guilt engrossed,
‘Or in the giddy storm of dissipation tossed.
 

XXVIII

 
‘But say, in courtly life can craft be learned,
‘Where knowledge opens, and exalts the soul?
‘Where Fortune lavishes her gifts unearned,
‘Can selfishness the liberal heart controul?
‘Is glory there achieved by arts, as foul
‘As those which felons, fiends, and furies plan?
‘Spiders ensnare, snakes poison, tygers prowl;
‘Love is the godlike attribute of man.
‘O teach a simple Youth this mystery to scan!
 

XXIX

 
‘Or else the lamentable strain disclaim,
‘And give me back the calm, contented mind;
‘Which, late, exulting, viewed, in Nature’s frame,
‘Goodness untainted, wisdom unconfined,
‘Grace, grandeur, and utility combined.
‘Restore those tranquil days, that saw me still
‘Well pleased with all, but most with humankind;
‘When Fancy roamed through Nature’s works at will,
‘Unchecked by cold distrust, and uninformed of ill.’
 

XXX

 
‘Wouldst thou (the Sage replied) in peace return
‘To the gay dreams of fond romantic youth,
‘Leave me to hide, in this remote sojourn,
‘From every gentle ear the dreadful truth:
‘For if my desultory strain with ruth
‘And indignation make thine eyes o’erflow,
‘Alas! what comfort could thy anguish sooth,
‘Shouldst thou the extent of human folly know?
‘Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads to woe.
 

XXXI

 
‘But let untender thoughts afar be driven;
‘Nor venture to arraign the dread decree:
‘For know, to man, as candidate for heaven,
‘The voice of The Eternal said, Be free:
‘And this divine prerogative to thee
‘Does virtue, happiness, and heaven convey;
‘For virtue is the child of liberty,
‘And happiness of virtue; nor can they
‘Be free to keep the path, who are not free to stray.
 

XXXII

 
‘Yet leave me not. I would allay that grief,
‘Which else might thy young virtue overpower;
‘And in thy converse I shall find relief,
‘When the dark shades of melancholy lower:
‘For solitude has many a dreary hour,
‘Even when exempt from grief, remorse, and pain:
‘Come often then; for, haply, in my bower,
‘Amusement, knowledge, wisdom, thou may’st gain:
‘If I one soul improve, I have not lived in vain.’
 

XXXIII

 
And now, at length, to Edwin’s ardent gaze
The Muse of History unrolls her page.
But few, alas! the scenes her art displays,
To charm his fancy, or his heart engage.
Here, chiefs their thirst of power in blood assuage,
And straight their flames with tenfold fierceness burn:
Here, smiling Virtue prompts the patriot’s rage,
But lo, ere long, is left alone to mourn,
And languish in the dust, and clasp the abandoned urn.
 

XXXIV

 
‘Ah, what avails (he said) to trace the springs
‘That whirl of empire the stupendous wheel!
‘Ah, what have I to do with conquering kings,
‘Hands drenched in blood, and breasts begirt with steel!
‘To those, whom Nature taught to think and feel,
‘Heroes, alas! are things of small concern.
‘Could History man’s secret heart reveal,
‘And what imports a heaven-born mind to learn,
‘Her transcripts to explore what bosom would not yearn!
 

XXXV

 
‘This praise, O Cheronean Sage, is thine.
‘(Why should this praise to thee alone belong!)
‘All else from Nature’s moral path decline,
‘Lured by the toys that captivate the throng;
‘To herd in cabinets and camps, among
‘Spoil, carnage, and the cruel pomp of pride;
‘Or chaunt of heraldry the drowsy song,
‘How tyrant blood, o’er many a region wide,
‘Rolls to a thousand thrones its execrable tide.
 

XXXVI

 
‘O, who of man the story will unfold,
‘Ere victory and empire wrought annoy,
‘In that elysian age (misnamed of gold)
‘The age of love, and innocence, and joy,
‘When all were great and free! man’s sole employ
‘To deck the bosom of his parent earth;
‘Or toward his bower the murmuring stream decoy,
‘To aid the floweret’s long-expected birth,
‘And lull the bed of peace, and crown the board of mirth.
 

XXXVII

 
‘Sweet were your shades, O ye primeval groves,
‘Whose boughs to man his food and shelter lent,
‘Pure in his pleasures, happy in his loves,
‘His eye still smiling, and his heart content.
‘Then, hand in hand, Health, Sport, and Labour went.
‘Nature supplied the wish she taught to crave.
‘None prowled for prey, none watched to circumvent.
‘To all an equal lot Heaven’s bounty gave:
‘No vassal feared his lord, no tyrant feared his slave.
 

XXXVIII

 
‘But ah! the Historic Muse has never dared
‘To pierce those hallowed bowers: ’tis Fancy’s beam,
‘Poured on the vision of the enraptured Bard,
‘That paints the charms of that delicious theme.
‘Then hail sweet Fancy’s ray! and hail the dream
‘That weans the weary soul from guilt and woe!
‘Careless what others of my choice may deem,
‘I long where Love and Fancy lead to go,
‘And meditate on heaven; enough of earth I know.’
 

XXXIX

 
‘I cannot blame thy choice (the Sage replied),
‘For soft and smooth are Fancy’s flowery ways.
‘And yet, even there, if left without a guide,
‘The young adventurer unsafely plays.
‘Eyes, dazzled long by Fiction’s gaudy rays,
‘In modest Truth no light nor beauty find.
‘And who, my child, would trust the meteor-blaze,
‘That soon must fail, and leave the wanderer blind,
‘More dark and helpless far, than if it ne’er had shined?
 

XL

 
‘Fancy enervates, while it sooths, the heart,
‘And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight:
‘To joy each heightening charm it can impart,
‘But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night.
‘And often, where no real ills affright,
‘Its visionary fiends, an endless train,
‘Assail with equal or superior might,
‘And through the throbbing heart, and dizzy brain,
‘And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than mortal pain.
 

XLI

 
‘And yet, alas! the real ills of life
‘Claim the full vigour of a mind prepared;
‘Prepared for patient, long, laborious strife,
‘Its guide Experience, and Truth its guard.
‘We fare on earth, as other men have fared:
‘Were they successful? Let not us despair.
‘Was disappointment oft their sole reward?
‘Yet shall their tale instruct, if it declare,
‘How they have borne the load ourselves are doomed to bear.
 

XLII

 
‘What charms the Historic Muse adorn, from spoils,
‘And blood, and tyrants, when she wings her flight,
‘To hail the patriot Prince, whose pious toils
‘Sacred to science, liberty, and right,
‘And peace, through every age divinely bright,
‘Shall shine the boast and wonder of mankind!
‘Sees yonder sun, from his meridian height,
‘A lovelier scene, than Virtue thus inshrined
‘In power, and man with man for mutual aid combine!
 

XLIII

 
‘Hail, sacred Polity, by Freedom reared!
‘Hail, sacred Freedom, when by Law restrained!
‘Without you what were man? A grovelling herd,
‘In darkness, wretchedness, and want enchained.
‘Sublimed by you, the Greek and Roman reigned
‘In arts unrivalled: O, to latest days,
‘In Albion may your influence, unprofaned,
‘To godlike worth the generous bosom raise,
‘And prompt the Sage’s lore, and fire the Poet’s lays.
 

XLIV

 
‘But now let other themes our care engage.
‘For lo, with modest, yet majestic grace,
‘To curb Imagination’s lawless rage,
‘And from within the cherished heart to brace,
‘Philosophy appears. The gloomy race,
‘By Indolence and moping Fancy bred,
‘Fear, Discontent, Solicitude give place,
‘And Hope and Courage brighten in their stead,
‘While on the kindling soul her vital beams are shed.
 

XLV

 
‘Then waken from long lethargy to life
‘The seeds of happiness, and powers of thought;
‘Then jarring appetites forego their strife,
‘A strife by ignorance to madness wrought.
‘Pleasure by savage man is dearly bought
‘With fell revenge, lust that defies controul,
‘With gluttony and death. The mind untaught,
‘Is a dark waste, where fiends and tempests howl;
‘As Phœbus to the world, is Science to the soul.
 

XLVI

 
‘And Reason, now, through Number, Time, and Space,
‘Darts the keen lustre of her serious eye,
‘And learns, from facts compared, the laws to trace,
‘Whose long progression leads to Deity.
‘Can mortal strength presume to soar so high?
‘Can mortal sight, so oft bedimmed with tears,
‘Such glory bear? – for lo, the shadows fly
‘From Nature’s face; Confusion disappears,
‘And order charms the eyes, and harmony the ears.
 

XLVII

 
‘In the deep windings of the grove, no more
‘The hag obscene, and grisly phantom dwell;
‘Nor in the fall of mountain-stream, or roar
‘Of winds, is heard the angry spirit’s yell;
‘No wizard mutters the tremendous spell,
‘Nor sinks convulsive in prophetic swoon;
‘Nor bids the noise of drums and trumpets swell,
‘To ease of fancied pangs the labouring moon,
‘Or chace the shade that blots the blazing orb of noon.
 

XLVIII

 
‘Many a long lingering year, in lonely isle,
‘Stunned with the eternal turbulence of waves,
‘Lo, with dim eyes, that never learned to smile,
‘And trembling hands, the famished native craves
‘Of Heaven his wretched fare: shivering in caves,
‘Or scorched on rocks, he pines from day to day;
‘But Science gives the word; and lo, he braves
‘The surge and tempest, lighted by her ray,
‘And to a happier land wafts merrily away.
 

XLIX

 
‘And even where Nature loads the teeming plain
‘With the full pomp of vegetable store,
‘Her bounty, unimproved, is deadly bane:
‘Dark woods and rankling wilds, from shore to shore,
‘Stretch their enormous gloom; which, to explore,
‘Even Fancy trembles, in her sprightliest mood;
‘For there, each eyeball gleams with lust of gore,
‘Nestles each murderous and each monstrous brood,
‘Plague lurks in every shade, and streams from every flood.
 

L

 
‘’Twas from Philosophy man learned to tame
‘The soil, by plenty to intemperance fed.
‘Lo, from the echoing axe, and thundering flame,
‘Poison, and plague, and yelling rage, are fled.
‘The waters, bursting from their slimy bed,
‘Bring health and melody to every vale:
‘And, from the breezy main, and mountain’s head,
‘Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale,
‘To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering gale.
 

LI

 
‘What dire necessities, on every hand,
‘Our art, our strength, our fortitude, require!
‘Of foes intestine, what a numerous band
‘Against this little throb of life conspire!
‘Yet Science can elude their fatal ire
‘Awhile, and turn aside Death’s levelled dart,
‘Sooth the sharp pang, allay the fever’s fire,
‘And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the heart,
‘And yet a few soft nights and balmy days impart.
 

LII

 
‘Nor less to regulate man’s moral frame
‘Science exerts her all-composing sway.
‘Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame,
‘Or pines, to indolence and spleen a prey,
‘Or avarice, a fiend more fierce than they?
‘Flee to the shade of Academus’ grove;
‘Where cares molest not, discord melts away
‘In harmony, and the pure passions prove,
‘How sweet the words of truth, breathed from the lips of Love.
 

LIII

 
‘What cannot Art and Industry perform,
‘When Science plans the progress of their toil!
‘They smile at penury, disease, and storm;
‘And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil.
‘When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroil
‘A land, or when the rabble’s headlong rage
‘Order transforms to anarchy and spoil,
‘Deep-versed in man, the philosophic Sage
‘Prepares, with lenient hand, their phrenzy to assuage.
 

LIV

 
‘’Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind,
‘From situation, temper, soil, and clime
‘Explored, a nation’s various powers can bind,
‘And various orders, in one form sublime
‘Of polity, that, midst the wrecks of time,
‘Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fear
‘The assault of foreign or domestic crime,
‘While public Faith, and public Love sincere,
‘And Industry and Law maintain their sway severe.’
 

LV

 
Enraptured by the Hermit’s strain, the Youth
Proceeds the path of science to explore.
And now, expanding to the beams of truth,
New energies, and charms unknown before,
His mind discloses: Fancy now no more
Wantons on fickle pinion through the skies;
But, fixed in aim, and conscious of her power,
Sublime from cause to cause exults to rise,
Creation’s blended stores arranging as she flies.
 

LVI

 
Nor love of novelty alone inspires,
Their laws and nice dependencies to scan;
For, mindful of the aids that life requires,
And of the services man owes to man,
He meditates new arts on Nature’s plan;
The cold desponding breast of Sloth to warm,
The flame of Industry and Genius fan,
And Emulation’s noble rage alarm,
And the long hours of Toil and Solitude to charm.
 

LVII

 
But She, who set on fire his infant heart,
And all his dreams, and all his wanderings shared
And blessed, the Muse, and her celestial art,
Still claim the Enthusiast’s fond and first regard.
From Nature’s beauties variously compared,
And variously combined, he learns to frame
Those forms of bright perfection, which the Bard,
While boundless hopes and boundless views inflame,
Enamoured consecrates to never-dying fame.
 

LVIII

 
Of late, with cumbersome, though pompous show,
Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface,
Through ardour to adorn; but Nature now
To his experienced eye a modest grace
Presents, where Ornament the second place
Holds, to intrinsic worth and just design
Subservient still. Simplicity apace
Tempers his rage: he owns her charm divine,
And clears the ambiguous phrase, and lops the unwieldy line.
 

LIX

 
Fain would I sing (much yet unsung remains)
What sweet delirium o’er his bosom stole,
When the great Shepherd of the Mantuan plains
His deep majestic melody ’gan roll:
Fain would I sing, what transport stormed his soul,
How the red current throbbed his veins along,
When, like Pelides, bold beyond controul,
Gracefully terrible, sublimely strong,
Homer raised high to heaven the loud, the impetuous song.
 

LX

 
And how his lyre, though rude her first essays,
Now skilled to sooth, to triumph, to complain,
Warbling at will through each harmonious maze,
Was taught to modulate the artful strain,
I fain would sing: but ah! I strive in vain.
Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound.
With trembling step, to join yon weeping train,
I haste, where gleams funereal glare around,
And, mixed with shrieks of woe, the knells of death resound.
 

LXI

 
Adieu, ye lays, that fancy’s flowers adorn,
The soft amusement of the vacant mind!
He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn,
He, whom each virtue fired, each grace refined,
Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind!
He sleeps in dust. Ah! how should I pursue
My theme! To heart-consuming grief resigned,
Here, on his recent grave I fix my view,
And pour my bitter tears. – Ye flowery lays, adieu!
 

LXII

 
Art thou, my Gregory, for ever fled!
And am I left to unavailing woe!
When fortune’s storms assail this weary head,
Where cares long since have shed untimely snow,
Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go!
No more thy soothing voice my anguish chears:
Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow,
My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears.
’Tis meet that I should mourn: – flow forth afresh my tears.