BOOK ELEVENTH.

From that time forth, Authority in France

Put on a milder face; Terror had ceased,

Yet every thing was wanting that might give

Courage to them who looked for good by light

Of rational Experience, for the shoots

And hopeful blossoms of a second spring:

Yet, in me, confidence was unimpaired;

The Senate's language, and the public acts

And measures of the Government, though both

Weak, and of heartless omen, had not power

To daunt me; in the People was my trust,

And, in the virtues which mine eyes had seen.

I knew that wound external could not take

Life from the young Republic; that new foes

Would only follow, in the path of shame,

Their brethren, and her triumphs be in the end

Great, universal, irresistible.

This intuition led me to confound

One victory with another, higher far,—

Triumphs of unambitious peace at home,

And noiseless fortitude. Beholding still

Resistance strong as heretofore, I thought

That what was in degree the same was likewise

The same in quality,— that, as the worse

Of the two spirits then at strife remained

Untired, the better, surely, would preserve

The heart that first had roused him. Youth maintains,

In all conditions of society,

Communion more direct and intimate

With Nature,— hence, ofttimes, with reason too —

Than age or manhood, even. To Nature, then,

Power had reverted: habit, custom, law,

Had left an interregnum's open space

For her to move about in, uncontrolled.

Hence could I see how Babel-like their task,

Who, by the recent deluge stupified,

With their whole souls went culling from the day

Its petty promises, to build a tower

For their own safety; laughed with my compeers

At gravest heads, by enmity to France

Distempered, till they found, in every blast

Forced from the street-disturbing newsman's horn,

For her great cause record or prophecy

Of utter ruin. How might we believe

That wisdom could, in any shape, come near

Men clinging to delusions so insane?

And thus, experience proving that no few

Of our opinions had been just, we took

Like credit to ourselves where less was due,

And thought that other notions were as sound,

Yea, could not but be right, because we saw

That foolish men opposed them.

To a strain

More animated I might here give way,

And tell, since juvenile errors are my theme,

What in those days, through Britain, was performed

To turn all judgments out of their right course;

But this is passion over-near ourselves,

Reality too close and too intense,

And intermixed with something, in my mind,

Of scorn and condemnation personal,

That would profane the sanctity of verse.

Our Shepherds, this say merely, at that time

Acted, or seemed at least to act, like men

Thirsting to make the guardian crook of law

A tool of murder; they who ruled the State,

Though with such awful proof before their eyes

That he, who would sow death, reaps death, or worse,

And can reap nothing better, child-like longed

To imitate, not wise enough to avoid;

Or left ( by mere timidity betrayed )

The plain straight road, for one no better chosen

Than if their wish had been to undermine

Justice, and make an end of Liberty.

But from these bitter truths I must return

To my own history. It hath been told

That I was led to take an eager part

In arguments of civil polity,

Abruptly, and indeed before my time:

I had approached, like other youths, the shield

Of human nature from the golden side,

And would have fought, even to the death, to attest

The quality of the metal which I saw.

What there is best in individual man,

Of wise in passion, and sublime in power,

Benevolent in small societies,

And great in large ones, I had oft revolved,

Felt deeply, but not thoroughly understood

By reason: nay, far from it; they were yet,

As cause was given me afterwards to learn,

Not proof against the injuries of the day;

Lodged only at the sanctuary's door,

Not safe within its bosom. Thus prepared,

And with such general insight into evil,

And of the bounds which sever it from good,

As books and common intercourse with life

Must needs have given — to the inexperienced mind,

When the world travels in a beaten road,

Guide faithful as is needed — I began

To meditate with ardour on the rule

And management of nations; what it is

And ought to be; and strove to learn how far

Their power or weakness, wealth or poverty,

Their happiness or misery, depends

Upon their laws, and fashion of the State.

O pleasant exercise of hope and joy!

For mighty were the auxiliars which then stood

Upon our side, us who were strong in love!

Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,

But to be young was very Heaven! O times,

In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways

Of custom, law, and statute, took at once

The attraction of a country in romance!

When Reason seemed the most to assert her rights

When most intent on making of herself

A prime enchantress — to assist the work,

Which then was going forward in her name!

Not favoured spots alone, but the whole Earth,

The beauty wore of promise — that which sets

( As at some moments might not be unfelt

Among the bowers of Paradise itself )

The budding rose above the rose full blown.

What temper at the prospect did not wake

To happiness unthought of? The inert

Were roused, and lively natures rapt away!

They who had fed their childhood upon dreams,

The play-fellows of fancy, who had made

All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and strength

Their ministers,— who in lordly wise had stirred

Among the grandest objects of the sense,

And dealt with whatsoever they found there

As if they had within some lurking right

To wield it;— they, too, who of gentle mood

Had watched all gentle motions, and to these

Had fitted their own thoughts, schemers more mild,

And in the region of their peaceful selves;—

Now was it that both found, the meek and lofty

Did both find helpers to their hearts’ desire,

And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish,—

Were called upon to exercise their skill,

Not in Utopia,— subterranean fields,—

Or some secreted island, Heaven knows where!

But in the very world, which is the world

Of all of us,— the place where, in the end,

We find our happiness, or not at all!

Why should I not confess that Earth was then

To me, what an inheritance, new-fallen,

Seems, when the first time visited, to one

Who thither comes to find in it his home?

He walks about and looks upon the spot

With cordial transport, moulds it and remoulds,

And is half pleased with things that are amiss,

‘ Twill be such joy to see them disappear.

An active partisan, I thus convoked

From every object pleasant circumstance

To suit my ends; I moved among mankind

With genial feelings still predominant;

When erring, erring on the better part,

And in the kinder spirit; placable,

Indulgent, as not uninformed that men

See as they have been taught — Antiquity

Gives rights to error; and aware, no less,

That throwing off oppression must be work

As well of License as of Liberty;

And above all — for this was more than all —

Not caring if the wind did now and then

Blow keen upon an eminence that gave

Prospect so large into futurity;

In brief, a child of Nature, as at first,

Diffusing only those affections wider

That from the cradle had grown up with me,

And losing, in no other way than light

Is lost in light, the weak in the more strong.

In the main outline, such it might be said

Was my condition, till with open war

Britain opposed the liberties of France.

This threw me first out of the pale of love;

Soured and corrupted, upwards to the source,

My sentiments; was not, as hitherto,

A swallowing up of lesser things in great,

But change of them into their contraries;

And thus a way was opened for mistakes

And false conclusions, in degree as gross,

In kind more dangerous. What had been a pride,

Was now a shame; my likings and my loves

Ran in new channels, leaving old ones dry;

And hence a blow that, in maturer age,

Would but have touched the judgment, struck more deep

Into sensations near the heart: meantime,

As from the first, wild theories were afloat,

To whose pretensions, sedulously urged,

I had but lent a careless ear, assured

That time was ready to set all things right,

And that the multitude, so long oppressed,

Would be oppressed no more.

But when events

Brought less encouragement, and unto these

The immediate proof of principles no more

Could be entrusted, while the events themselves,

Worn out in greatness, stripped of novelty,

Less occupied the mind, and sentiments

Could through my understanding's natural growth

No longer keep their ground, by faith maintained

Of inward consciousness, and hope that laid

Her hand upon her object — evidence

Safer, of universal application, such

As could not be impeached, was sought elsewhere.

But now, become oppressors in their turn,

Frenchmen had changed a war of self-defence

For one of conquest, losing sight of all

Which they had struggled for: now mounted up,

Openly in the eye of earth and heaven,

The scale of liberty. I read her doom,

With anger vexed, with disappointment sore,

But not dismayed, nor taking to the shame

Of a false prophet. While resentment rose

Striving to hide, what nought could heal, the wounds

Of mortified presumption, I adhered

More firmly to old tenets, and, to prove

Their temper, strained them more; and thus, in heat

Of contest, did opinions every day

Grow into consequence, till round my mind

They clung, as if they were its life, nay more,

The very being of the immortal soul.

This was the time, when, all things tending fast

To depravation, speculative schemes —

That promised to abstract the hopes of Man

Out of his feelings, to be fixed thenceforth

For ever in a purer element —

Found ready welcome. Tempting region that

For Zeal to enter and refresh herself,

Where passions had the privilege to work,

And never hear the sound of their own names.

But, speaking more in charity, the dream

Flattered the young, pleased with extremes, nor least

With that which makes our Reason's naked self

The object of its fervour. What delight!

How glorious! in self-knowledge and self-rule,

To look through all the frailties of the world,

And, with a resolute mastery shaking off

Infirmities of nature, time, and place,

Build social upon personal Liberty,

Which, to the blind restraints of general laws

Superior, magisterially adopts

One guide, the light of circumstances, flashed

Upon an independent intellect.

Thus expectation rose again; thus hope,

From her first ground expelled, grew proud once more.

Oft, as my thoughts were turned to human kind,

I scorned indifference; but, inflamed with thirst

Of a secure intelligence, and sick

Of other longing, I pursued what seemed

A more exalted nature; wished that Man

Should start out of his earthy, worm-like state,

And spread abroad the wings of Liberty,

Lord of himself, in undisturbed delight —

A noble aspiration! yet I feel

( Sustained by worthier as by wiser thoughts )

The aspiration, nor shall ever cease

To feel it;— but return we to our course.

Enough,‘ tis true — could such a plea excuse

Those aberrations — had the clamorous friends

Of ancient Institutions said and done

To bring disgrace upon their very names;

Disgrace, of which, custom and written law,

And sundry moral sentiments as props

Or emanations of those institutes,

Too justly bore a part. A veil had been

Uplifted; why deceive ourselves? in sooth,

‘ Twas even so; and sorrow for the man

Who either had not eyes wherewith to see,

Or, seeing, had forgotten! A strong shock

Was given to old opinions; all men's minds

Had felt its power, and mine was both let loose,

Let loose and goaded. After what hath been

Already said of patriotic love,

Suffice it here to add, that, somewhat stern

In temperament, withal a happy man,

And therefore bold to look on painful things,

Free likewise of the world, and thence more bold,

I summoned my best skill, and toiled, intent

To anatomise the frame of social life,

Yea, the whole body of society

Searched to its heart. Share with me, Friend! the wish

That some dramatic tale, endued with shapes

Livelier, and flinging out less guarded words

Than suit the work we fashion, might set forth

What then I learned, or think I learned, of truth,

And the errors into which I fell, betrayed

By present objects, and by reasonings false

From their beginnings, inasmuch as drawn

Out of a heart that had been turned aside

From Nature's way by outward accidents,

And which was thus confounded, more and more

Misguided, and misguiding. So I fared,

Dragging all precepts, judgments, maxims, creeds,

Like culprits to the bar; calling the mind,

Suspiciously, to establish in plain day

Her titles and her honours; now believing,

Now disbelieving; endlessly perplexed

With impulse, motive, right and wrong, the ground

Of obligation, what the rule and whence

The sanction; till, demanding formal proof,

And seeking it in every thing, I lost

All feeling of conviction, and, in fine,

Sick, wearied out with contrarieties,

Yielded up moral questions in despair.

This was the crisis of that strong disease,

This the soul's last and lowest ebb; I drooped,

Deeming our blessed reason of least use

Where wanted most: “The lordly attributes

Of will and choice,” I bitterly exclaimed,

“What are they but a mockery of a Being

Who hath in no concerns of his a test

Of good and evil; knows not what to fear

Or hope for, what to covet or to shun;

And who, if those could be discerned, would yet

Be little profited, would see, and ask

Where is the obligation to enforce?

And, to acknowledged law rebellious, still,

As selfish passion urged, would act amiss;

The dupe of folly, or the slave of crime.”

Depressed, bewildered thus, I did not walk

With scoffers, seeking light and gay revenge

From indiscriminate laughter, nor sate down

In reconcilement with an utter waste

Of intellect; such sloth I could not brook,

( Too well I loved, in that my spring of life,

Pains-taking thoughts, and truth, their dear reward )

But turned to abstract science, and there sought

Work for the reasoning faculty enthroned

Where the disturbances of space and time —

Whether in matters various, properties

Inherent, or from human will and power

Derived — find no admission. Then it was —

Thanks to the bounteous Giver of all good!—

That the beloved Sister in whose sight

Those days were passed, now speaking in a voice

Of sudden admonition — like a brook

That did but cross a lonely road, and now

Is seen, heard, felt, and caught at every turn,

Companion never lost through many a league —

Maintained for me a saving intercourse

With my true self; for, though bedimmed and changed

Much, as it seemed, I was no further changed

Than as a clouded and a waning moon:

She whispered still that brightness would return,

She, in the midst of all, preserved me still

A Poet, made me seek beneath that name,

And that alone, my office upon earth;

And, lastly, as hereafter will be shown,

If willing audience fail not, Nature's self,

By all varieties of human love

Assisted, led me back through opening day

To those sweet counsels between head and heart

Whence grew that genuine knowledge, fraught with peace,

Which, through the later sinkings of this cause,

Hath still upheld me, and upholds me now

In the catastrophe ( for so they dream,

And nothing less ), when, finally to close

And seal up all the gains of France, a Pope

Is summoned in, to crown an Emperor —

This last opprobrium, when we see a people,

That once looked up in faith, as if to Heaven

For manna, take a lesson from the dog

Returning to his vomit; when the sun

That rose in splendour, was alive, and moved

In exultation with a living pomp

Of clouds — his glory's natural retinue —

Hath dropped all functions by the gods bestowed,

And, turned into a gewgaw, a machine,

Sets like an Opera phantom.

Thus, O Friend!

Through times of honour and through times of shame

Descending, have I faithfully retraced

The perturbations of a youthful mind

Under a long-lived storm of great events —

A story destined for thy ear, who now,

Among the fallen of nations, dost abide

Where Etna, over hill and valley, casts

His shadow stretching towards Syracuse,

The city of Timoleon! Righteous Heaven!

How are the mighty prostrated! They first,

They first of all that breathe should have awaked

When the great voice was heard from out the tombs

Of ancient heroes. If I suffered grief

For ill-requited France, by many deemed

A trifler only in her proudest day;

Have been distressed to think of what she once

Promised, now is; a far more sober cause

Thine eyes must see of sorrow in a land.

To the reanimating influence lost

Of memory, to virtue lost and hope,

Though with the wreck of loftier years bestrewn.

But indignation works where hope is not,

And thou, O Friend! wilt be refreshed. There is

One great society alone on earth:

The noble Living and the noble Dead.

Thine be such converse strong and sanative,

A ladder for thy spirit to reascend

To health and joy and pure contentedness;

To me the grief confined, that thou art gone

From this last spot of earth, where Freedom now

Stands single in her only sanctuary;

A lonely wanderer art gone, by pain

Compelled and sickness, at this latter day,

This sorrowful reverse for all mankind.

I feel for thee, must utter what I feel:

The sympathies erewhile in part discharged,

Gather afresh, and will have vent again:

My own delights do scarcely seem to me

My own delights; the lordly Alps themselves,

Those rosy peaks, from which the Morning looks

Abroad on many nations, are no more

For me that image of pure gladsomeness

Which they were wont to be. Through kindred scenes,

For purpose, at a time, how different!

Thou tak'st thy way, carrying the heart and soul

That Nature gives to Poets, now by thought

Matured, and in the summer of their strength.

Oh! wrap him in your shades, ye giant woods,

On Etna's side; and thou, O flowery field

Of Enna! is there not some nook of thine,

From the first play-time of the infant world

Kept sacred to restorative delight,

When from afar invoked by anxious love?

Child of the mountains, among shepherds reared,

Ere yet familiar with the classic page,

I learnt to dream of Sicily; and lo,

The gloom, that, but a moment past, was deepened

At thy command, at her command gives way;

A pleasant promise, wafted from her shores,

Comes o'er my heart: in fancy I behold

Her seas yet smiling, her once happy vales;

Nor can my tongue give utterance to a name

Of note belonging to that honoured isle,

Philosopher or Bard, Empedocles,

Or Archimedes, pure abstracted soul!

That doth not yield a solace to my grief:

And, O Theocritus, so far have some

Prevailed among the powers of heaven and earth,

By their endowments, good or great, that they

Have had, as thou reportest, miracles

Wrought for them in old time: yea, not unmoved,

When thinking on my own beloved friend,

I hear thee tell how bees with honey fed

Divine Comates, by his impious lord

Within a chest imprisoned; how they came

Laden from blooming grove or flowery field,

And fed him there, alive, month after month,

Because the goatherd, blessed man! had lips

Wet with the Muses’ nectar.

Thus I soothe

The pensive moments by this calm fire-side,

And find a thousand bounteous images

To cheer the thoughts of those I love, and mine.

Our prayers have been accepted; thou wilt stand

On Etna's summit, above earth and sea,

Triumphant, winning from the invaded heavens

Thoughts without bound, magnificent designs,

Worthy of poets who attuned their harps

In wood or echoing cave, for discipline

Of heroes; or, in reverence to the gods,

‘ Mid temples, served by sapient priests, and choirs

Of virgins crowned with roses. Not in vain

Those temples, where they in their ruins yet

Survive for inspiration, shall attract

Thy solitary steps: and on the brink

Thou wilt recline of pastoral Arethuse;

Or, if that fountain be in truth no more,

Then, near some other spring — which, by the name

Thou gratulatest, willingly deceived —

I see thee linger a glad votary,

And not a captive pining for his home.