Of idle faith? Ono! with better cares
The indulgent mother, confcious how infirm
Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,
By this illuftrious image, in each kind
Still moft illuftrious where the object holds
Its native powers moft perfect, fhe by this
Illumes the headstrong impulse of desire,
And fanctifies his choice. The generous glebe
Whose bosom smiles with verdure, the clear tract 365
Of ftreams delicious to the thirsty foul,
The bloom of nectar'd fruitage ripe to sense,
And every charm of animated things,
Are only pledges of a state fincere,
The integrity and order of their frame,
When all is well within, and every end
Accomplish'd. Thus was beauty fent from heaven,
The lovely miniftress of truth and good
In this dark world: for truth and good are one,
And beauty dwells in them, and they in her,
With like participation. Wherefore then,
O fons of earth! would ye diffolve the tye?
O wherefore, with a rash impetuous aim,
Seek ye those flowery joys with which the hand
Of lavish fancy paints each flattering scene
Where beauty feems to dwell, nor once enquire
Where is the fanction of eternal truth,
Or where the feal of undeceitful good,
To fave your fearch from folly! Wanting these,
Lo! beauty withers in your void embrace,
And with the glittering of an idiot's toy
VOL. LXIII
Did fancy mock your vows.
Of youthful hope that shines upon your hearts,
Be chill'd or clouded at this awful task,
To learn the lore of undeceitful good,
And truth eternal. Though the poifonous charms
Of baleful fuperftition guide the feet
Of fervile numbers, through a dreary way
To their abode, through deferts, thorns, and mire;
And leave the wretched pilgrim all forlorn
To mufe at last, amid the ghoftly gloom
Of graves, and hoary vaults, and cloifter'd cells;
To walk with spectres through the midnight shade,
And to the screaming owl's accurfed song
Attune the dreadful workings of his heart;
Yet be not ye dismay'd. A gentler star
Your lovely fearch illumines. From the grove
Where wisdom talk'd with her Athenian fons,
Could my ambitious hand intwine a wreath
Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay.
Then fhould my powerful verfe at once difpell
Those monkish horrors: then in light divine
Disclose the Elyfian profpect, where the steps
Of those whom nature charms, through blooming walks,
Through fragrant mountains and poetic streams, 410
Amid the train of Sages, Heroes, Bards,
Led by their winged Genius and the choir
Of laurel'd science, and harmonious art,
Proceed exulting to the eternal shrine,
Where Truth confpicuous with her fifter-twins,
The undivided partners of her fway,
With Good and Beauty reigns.
Lull'd by luxurious pleasure's languid strain,
Or crouching to the frowns of bigot-rage,
O let us not a moment pause to join
That god-like band. And if the gracious power
Who first awaken'd my untutor'd fong,
Will to my invocation breathe anew
The tuneful fpirit; then through all our paths,
Ne'er fhall the found of this devoted lyre
Be wanting; whether on the rofy mead,
When fummer fmiles, to warn the melting heart
Of luxury's allurement; whether firm
Upon the lofty fummit, round her brow.
To twine the wreath of incorruptive praife ;-
To trace her hallow'd light through future worlds,
And blefs Heaven's image in the heart of man.
'Thus with a faithful aim have we prefum'd,
Adventurous, to delineate nature's form;
Whether in vast, majestic pomp array'd,
Or dreft for pleafing wonder, or ferene
In beauty's rofy fmile. It now remains,
Through various being's fair-proportion'd scale,
To trace the rifing luftre of her charms,
From their first twilight, fhining forth at length 445 To full meridian fplendour. Of degree
The leaft and lowlieft, in the effusive warmth
Of colours mingling with a random blaze,
Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the line.
And variation of determin'd shape,
Where Truth's eternal measures mark the bound
Of circle, cube, or fphere. The third afcent
Unites this varied fymmetry of parts
With colour's bland allurement; as the pearl
Shines in the concave of its azure bed,
And painted fhells indent their speckled wreath.
Then more attractive rife the blooming forms
Through which the breath of nature has infus'd
Her genial power to draw with pregnant veins
Nutritious moisture from the bounteous earth,
In fruit and feed prolific: thus the flowers
Their purple honours with the spring refume;
And fuch the stately tree with autumn bends
With blushing treafures. But more lovely ftill
Is nature's charm, where to the full confent
Of complicated members to the bloom
Of colour, and the vital change of growth,
Life's holy flame and piercing sense are given,
And active motion speaks the temper'd soul :
So moves the bird of Juno; fo the steed
With rival ardour beats the dufty plain,
And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy
Salute their fellows. Thus doth beauty dwell
There moft confpicuous, even in outward fhape,
Where dawns the high expreffion of a mind:
By steps conducting our inraptur'd fearch
To that eternal origin, whose power,
Through all the unbounded fymmetry of things,
Like rays effulging from the parent fun,
This endless mixture of her charms diffus'd.
Mind, mind alone, (bear witness, earth and heaven!)
The living fountains in itself contains
Of beauteous and fublime: here hand in hand,
Sit paramount the Graces; here inthron'd,
Cœleftial Venus, with divineft airs,
Invites the foul to never-fading joy.
Look then abroad through nature, to the range
Of planets, funs, and adamantine fpheres.
Wheeling unfhaken through the void immense;
And speak, O man! does this capacious scene
With half that kindling majesty dilate
Thy ftrong conception, as when Brutus rofe
Refulgent from the ftroke of Cæfar's fate,
Amid the croud of partriots; and his arm
Aloft extending, like eternal Jove
When guilt brings down the thunder, call'd aloud
On Tully's name, and shook his crimson fteel,
And bade the father of his country hail!
For lo! the tyrant proftrate on the dust,
And Rome again is free! Is aught fo fair
In all the dewy landscapes of the spring,
In the bright eye of Hefper or the morn,
In nature's faireft forms, is aught so fair
As virtuous friendship? as the candid blush
Of him who strives with fortune to be just?
The graceful tear that streams for others woes?
|