Here while he bends at Wisdom's silvan shrine,
In solemn musings rapt, with drops divine
From her ethereal well she clears away
The mists that cloud his intellectual ray,
Till Truth, fair-dawning with increasing light,
Pours her full glories on the gladden'd sight.
Touch'd by her energy, his curious mind
Wanders through fields of science unconfined;
Now boldly soars among the stars to stray,
While Newton's mighty genius points the way:
Through Nature's dread immense he darts his eyes,
And sees unnumber'd wonders round him rise;
What well proportion'd powers the planets roll;
How various parts compose one beauteous whole;
While in her centre throned, bless'd Harmony
Tunes her immortal strings and charms them to
The Sun himself, intolerably bright, [agree.
Dims the weak eye with mere excess of light;
While in his Sister's softer looks express'd
His image we admire in gentler glories dress'd.
Thus though no mortal eye the God survey,
Veiled in the blaze of his essential day,
Diffused o'er Nature's various form we find
The fair reflection of her Maker's mind,
And in his works the Parent Beauty trace,
Majestic grandeur with enchanting grace.
While rapt he views the vast sublime design,
On his own mind he marks the plan divine;
He fain would imitate the Sovereign Fair,
And emulate the eternal order there,
Bids Reason take her sceptre and her sway,
And bend each rebel passion to obey;
Bids all his powers within their orbits roll,
And form the harmonious music of the soul,
Where sweetly blended meet in mode and time
The just, the good, the graceful, and sublime:
Enthusiastic heaves his ardent breast,
And shares and tastes the pleasures of the bless'd.
For not the Bard, who on the ecstatic lyre,
While his warm fancy flames ethereal fire,
Warbles the soft or sounds the lofty lay,
And lifts or swells or melts the soul away;
Not the gay tints that arch the showery bow,
Blaze in the gem, or in the floweret glow,
Or tinge Aurora's dewy cheek with red,
Or dye the blushes of the bridal maid,
Or nobly ranged by Raphael's hand divine
Give form and spirit to some bold design,
Bid each impassion'd figure breathe and move,
Or frown in rage, or languish into love;
Not mother Nature, nor her daughter Art
Such joys to fancy or to sense impart
As to the Soul's quick eye and ear refined
The nobler grace and music of the mind.
Thus half-inspired his warm ideas rise,
Soar o'er the azure vault and gain the skies;
Faith opens to his view her realms on high,
And Heaven's own splendours burst upon his eye;
Thence, like a seraph seated on his sphere,
He marks the course of human motions here,
Treats with a just disdain the toys of state,
And looks with pity on the proud and great;
He feels, like Ammon's son, his mighty mind
Within this globe's too narrow verge confined,
For other worlds with nobler ardour sighs,
For realms and thrones eternal in the skies.
Such is the path that saints and sages trod,
The path to reason and the path to God.
O, give me thus the rural scenes to rove!
And visit Nature in her native grove!
May thus in easy flow my minutes glide;
No stormy passion toss the tranquil tide;
No vain ambition swell my lonely breast,
Content with Virtue humbly to be bless'd.
Her blossoms wither or to wildness run,
Too near the blaze of Fortune's scorching sun;
Too far removed they languish, pine, and die
Beneath the rigour of too cold a sky;
But in her milder zone and temperate air [fair.
They breathe and bloom, more fragrant and more
When the Sun, sunk beneath his watery bed,
Yet gilds with dying gleams the mountain head,
And yet the clouds retain a crimson glow,
That faintly blushes on the lake below,
While sober Cynthia lifts her solemn beam,
With lustre quivering on the sparkling stream,
And with a radiant band of silver light
Inwreathes the jetty tresses of the night;
Then Contemplation, sweet ecstatic maid!
I seek thy mild, thy care-composing aid
Amid the moss-clad walls and roofless aisle
Of yon lone abbey's venerable pile, [thrown,
Whose towers, by Time's relentless hand o'er-
Lie low with ivy and with thorn o'ergrown,
Where Superstition, Ignorance's child,
Once dream'd her dreams and saw her visions wild,
Her aves muttered and her beads retold,
And bow'd to silver saints and shrines of gold,
With holy dread the darksome cloisters trod,
And offer'd living victims to her God:
There by the glimmering lamp the pale-eyed maid
Sobb'd as she sung, and trembled as she pray'd,
Severe religion, passion unrepress'd,
Like meeting currents, struggling in her breast:
In youth's enlivening warmth, in beauty's bloom,
Betray'd to ceaseless solitude and gloom,
She bade the world adieu-ah, vows how vain!
While stubborn Nature still maintain'd her reign.
Still fond affection heaved the hopeless sigh,
And tears too tender glisten'd in her eye.
No more are heard the vocal walls along,
The deep-toned organ or the matin song,
Nor midnight bell, whose slow and solemn toll
Sent a chill horror through the shuddering soul;
All silent now-save when through ruins hoar
And hollow-sounding cells the rude winds roar;
Save the lone owl that hoots her dirges shrill,
And the hoarse music of the murmuring rill.
There moping Melancholy loves to come,
And sadly pore upon the time-worn tomb;
Brooding on grief, she sits in trance profound.
Nor Superstition yet has left the ground;
Strange shapes, 'tis said, the village maid affright,
And doleful sounds are heard at dead of night;
Pale ghosts amid the nodding piles are seen,
Flit o'er the walls and gleam athwart the green;
There hags, 'tis thought, their works of horror ply,
And the swain trembles as he hastens by.
Among the mouldering aisles I musing go, Wandering with solitary steps and slow; Far from the senseless clamours of the crowd, Far from the insulting splendour of the proud; No smile of friendship feign'd, no gilded care, No lip of scorn, no laugh of folly there : The solemn scenes around and silent hour Calm the wild passions with mysterious power,
Mild awe diffusing, and the heart impress
With a soft, sad, but pleasing pensiveness:
Sublimely painting to the mental eye
The wreck of time and man's mortality.
At once the world's delusive spell is o'er,
Her glittering vanities can charm no more:
Far nobler themes invite, enlarged, refined,
That suit the' immortal dignity of mind,
Powerful the stubborn passions to control,
And give new strength and energy to soul.
Above all sublunary scenes I rise,
With ardent hope high-soaring to the skies;
With Conscience now, my guardian Genius, talk,
And meet my God along the lonely walk;
To the first Beauty bid my thoughts aspire,
And from his glories catch a kindred fire.
O, come, mild Wisdom, come, celestial guest!
And shed thy sacred beam upon my breast;
Bid there each pure, each kind affection roll,
And with the joys of reason feast my soul!
Come, to this lowly grassy couch repair!
Let Zephyr's gentle breath invite thee there;
No pompous trifles here profane the shade,
No spouting fountain and no forced cascade:
Here rove the rills at will, their woods between,
Dash down the vale, and glitter o'er the green;
The vine and winding woodbine arching o'er
From sultry rays defend the cooling bower:
Here bring the tuneful Muses' raptured choir ;
Each Muse for thee shall touch the charming lyre:
Bring Truth and Sciences' instructive band;
The Grecian Graces dancing hand in hand;
Content with plain attire and cheerful air;
Friendship exalting joy and soothing care;
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