40

O Nature, how in every charm supreme!

Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new!

O for the voice and fire of seraphim, To sing thy glories with devotion due!

Blest be the day I 'scaped the wrangling crew, From Pyrrho's maze, and Epicurus' sty; And held high converse with the G.o.dlike few, Who to the enraptured heart, and ear, and eye, Teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody.

41

Hence! ye, who snare and stupify the mind, Sophists! of beauty, virtue, joy, the bane!

Greedy and fell, though impotent and blind, Who spread your filthy nets in Truth's fair fane, And ever ply your venom'd fangs amain!

Hence to dark Error's den, whose rankling slime First gave you form! Hence! lest the Muse should deign (Though loth on theme so mean to waste a rhyme), With vengeance to pursue your sacrilegious crime.

42

But hail, ye mighty masters of the lay, Nature's true sons, the friends of man and truth!

Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay, Amused my childhood, and inform'd my youth.

O let your spirit still my bosom soothe, Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings guide; Your voice each rugged path of life can smooth, For well I know, wherever ye reside, There harmony, and peace, and innocence abide.

43

Ah me! neglected on the lonesome plain, As yet poor Edwin never knew your lore, Save when against the winter's drenching rain, And driving snow, the cottage shut the door.

Then, as instructed by tradition h.o.a.r, Her legend when the beldam 'gan impart, Or chant the old heroic ditty o'er, Wonder and joy ran thrilling to his heart; Much he the tale admired, but more the tuneful art.

44

Various and strange was the long-winded tale; And halls, and knights, and feats of arms display'd; Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale, And sing enamour'd of the nut-brown maid; The moonlight revel of the fairy glade; Or hags, that suckle an infernal brood, And ply in caves the unutterable trade, [3]

'Midst fiends and spectres quench the Moon in blood, Yell in the midnight storm, or ride the infuriate flood.

45

But when to horror his amazement rose, A gentler strain the beldam would rehea.r.s.e, A tale of rural life, a tale of woes, The orphan babes, and guardian uncle fierce.

O cruel! will no pang of pity pierce That heart, by l.u.s.t of lucre sear'd to stone?

For sure, if aught of virtue last, or verse, To latest times shall tender souls bemoan Those hopeless orphan babes by thy fell arts undone.

46

Behold, with berries smear'd, with brambles torn, [4]

The babes, now famish'd, lay them down to die: Amidst the howl of darksome woods forlorn, Folded in one another's arms they lie; Nor friend, nor stranger, hears their dying cry: "For from the town the man returns no more."

But thou, who Heaven's just vengeance dar'st defy, This deed with fruitless tears shalt soon deplore, When Death lays waste thy house, and flames consume thy store.

47

A stifled smile of stern vindictive joy Brighten'd one moment Edwin's starting tear,-- "But why should gold man's feeble mind decoy, And innocence thus die by doom severe?"

O Edwin! while thy heart is yet sincere, The a.s.saults of discontent and doubt repel: Dark even at noontide is our mortal sphere; But let us hope; to doubt is to rebel: Let us exult in hope, that all shall yet be well.

48

Nor be thy generous indignation check'd, Nor check'd the tender tear to Misery given; From Guilt's contagious power shall _that_ protect, _This_ soften and refine the soul for Heaven.

But dreadful is their doom whom doubt has driven To censure Fate, and pious Hope forego: Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven, Perfection, beauty, life, they never know, But frown on all that pa.s.s, a monument of woe.

49

Shall he whose birth, maturity, and age Scarce fill the circle of one summer day, Shall the poor gnat, with discontent and rage, Exclaim that Nature hastens to decay, If but a cloud obstruct the solar ray, If but a momentary shower descend?

Or shall frail man Heaven's dread decree gainsay, Which bade the series of events extend Wide through unnumber'd worlds, and ages without end?

50

One part, one little part, we dimly scan Through the dark medium of life's feverish dream; Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan, If but that little part incongruous seem.

Nor is that part perhaps what mortals deem; Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise.

O, then, renounce that impious self-esteem, That aims to trace the secrets of the skies: For thou art but of dust; be humble, and be wise.

51

Thus Heaven enlarged his soul in riper years.

For Nature gave him strength and fire, to soar On Fancy's wing above this vale of tears; Where dark cold-hearted sceptics, creeping, pore Through microscope of metaphysic lore; And much they grope for Truth, but never hit.

For why? Their powers, inadequate before, This idle art makes more and more unfit; Yet deem they darkness light, and their vain blunders wit.

52

Nor was this ancient dame a foe to mirth.

Her ballad, jest, and riddle's quaint device Oft cheer'd the shepherds round their social hearth; Whom levity or spleen could ne'er entice To purchase chat or laughter, at the price Of decency. Nor let it faith exceed, That Nature forms a rustic taste so nice.

Ah! had they been of court or city breed, Such delicacy were right marvellous indeed.

53

Oft when the winter storm had ceased to rave, He roam'd the snowy waste at even, to view The cloud stupendous, from the Atlantic wave High-towering, sail along the horizon blue; Where, 'midst the changeful scenery, ever new, Fancy a thousand wondrous forms descries, More wildly great than ever pencil drew, Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size, And glittering cliffs on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise.

54

Thence musing onward to the sounding sh.o.r.e, The lone enthusiast oft would take his way, Listening, with pleasing dread, to the deep roar Of the wide-weltering waves. In black array, When sulphurous clouds roll'd on the autumnal day, Even then he hasten'd from the haunt of man, Along the trembling wilderness to stray, What time the lightning's fierce career began, And o'er heaven's rending arch the rattling thunder ran.

55

Responsive to the lively pipe, when all In sprightly dance the village youth were join'd, Edwin, of melody aye held in thrall, From the rude gambol far remote reclined, Soothed with the soft notes warbling in the wind, Ah! then all jollity seem'd noise and folly, To the pure soul by Fancy's fire refined; Ah! what is mirth but turbulence unholy, When with the charm compared of heavenly melancholy?