BOOK I. 1757.

With what enchantment Nature's goodly scene

Attracts the sense of mortals; how the mind

For its own eye doth objects nobler still

Prepare; how men by various lessons learn

To judge of Beauty's praise; what raptures fill

The breast with fancy's native arts endow'd,

And what true culture guides it to renown,

My verse unfolds. Ye gods, or godlike powers,

Ye guardians of the sacred task, attend

Propitious. Hand in hand around your bard

Move in majestic measures, leading on

His doubtful step through many a solemn path,

Conscious of secrets which to human sight

Ye only can reveal. Be great in him:

And let your favour make him wise to speak

Of all your wondrous empire; with a voice

So temper'd to his theme, that those who hear

May yield perpetual homage to yourselves.

Thou chief, O daughter of eternal Love,

Whate'er thy name; or Muse, or Grace, adored

By Grecian prophets; to the sons of Heaven

Known, while with deep amazement thou dost there

The perfect counsels read, the ideas old,

Of thine omniscient Father; known on earth

By the still horror and the blissful tear

With which thou seizest on the soul of man;

Thou chief, Poetic Spirit, from the banks

Of Avon, whence thy holy fingers cull

Fresh flowers and dews to sprinkle on the turf

Where Shakspeare lies, be present. And with thee

Let Fiction come, on her aërial wings

Wafting ten thousand colours, which in sport,

By the light glances of her magic eye,

She blends and shifts at will through countless forms,

Her wild creation. Goddess of the lyre,

Whose awful tones control the moving sphere,

Wilt thou, eternal Harmony, descend,

And join this happy train? for with thee comes

The guide, the guardian of their mystic rites,

Wise Order: and, where Order deigns to come,

Her sister, Liberty, will not be far.

Be present all ye Genii, who conduct

Of youthful bards the lonely wandering step

New to your springs and shades; who touch their ear

With finer sounds, and heighten to their eye

The pomp of nature, and before them place

The fairest, loftiest countenance of things.

Nor thou, my Dyson,to the lay refuse

Thy wonted partial audience. What though first,

In years unseason'd, haply ere the sports

Of childhood yet were o'er, the adventurous lay

With many splendid prospects, many charms,

Allured my heart, nor conscious whence they sprung,

Nor heedful of their end? yet serious Truth

Her empire o'er the calm, sequester'd theme

Asserted soon; while Falsehood's evil brood,

Vice and deceitful Pleasure, she at once

Excluded, and my fancy's careless toil

Drew to the better cause. Maturer aid

Thy friendship added, in the paths of life,

The busy paths, my unaccustom'd feet

Preserving: nor to Truth's recess divine,

Through this wide argument's unbeaten space,

Withholding surer guidance; while by turns

We traced the sages old, or while the queen

Of sciences ( whom manners and the mind

Acknowledge ) to my true companion's voice

Not unattentive, o'er the wintry lamp

Inclined her sceptre, favouring. Now the fates

Have other tasks imposed;— to thee, my friend,

The ministry of freedom and the faith

Of popular decrees, in early youth,

Not vainly they committed; me they sent

To wait on pain, and silent arts to urge,

Inglorious; not ignoble, if my cares,

To such as languish on a grievous bed,

Ease and the sweet forgetfulness of ill

Conciliate; nor delightless, if the Muse,

Her shades to visit and to taste her springs,

If some distinguish'd hours the bounteous Muse

Impart, and grant ( what she, and she alone,

Can grant to mortals ) that my hand those wreaths

Of fame and honest favour, which the bless'd

Wear in Elysium, and which never felt

The breath of envy or malignant tongues,

That these my hand for thee and for myself

May gather. Meanwhile, O my faithful friend,

O early chosen, ever found the same,

And trusted and beloved, once more the verse

Long destined, always obvious to thine ear,

Attend, indulgent: so in latest years,

When time thy head with honours shall have clothed

Sacred to even virtue, may thy mind,

Amid the calm review of seasons past,

Fair offices of friendship, or kind peace,

Or public zeal, may then thy mind well pleased

Recall these happy studies of our prime.

From Heaven my strains begin: from Heaven descends

The flame of genius to the chosen breast,

And beauty with poetic wonder join'd,

And inspiration. Ere the rising sun

Shone o'er the deep, or‘ mid the vault of night

The moon her silver lamp suspended; ere

The vales with springs were water'd, or with groves

Of oak or pine the ancient hills were crown'd;

Then the Great Spirit, whom his works adore,

Within his own deep essence view'd the forms,

The forms eternal of created things:

The radiant sun; the moon's nocturnal lamp;

The mountains and the streams; the ample stores

Of earth, of heaven, of nature. From the first,

On that full scene his love divine he fix'd,

His admiration: till, in time complete,

What he admired and loved his vital power

Unfolded into being. Hence the breath

Of life informing each organic frame:

Hence the green earth, and wild-resounding waves:

Hence light and shade, alternate; warmth and cold;

And bright autumnal skies, and vernal showers,

And all the fair variety of things.

But not alike to every mortal eye

Is this great scene unveil'd. For while the claims

Of social life to different labours urge

The active powers of man, with wisest care

Hath Nature on the multitude of minds

Impress'd a various bias, and to each

Decreed its province in the common toil.

To some she taught the fabric of the sphere,

The changeful moon, the circuit of the stars,

The golden zones of heaven; to some she gave

To search the story of eternal thought;

Of space, and time; of fate's unbroken chain,

And will's quick movement; others by the hand

She led o'er vales and mountains, to explore

What healing virtue dwells in every vein

Of herbs or trees. But some to nobler hopes

Were destined; some within a finer mould

She wrought, and temper'd with a purer flame.

To these the Sire Omnipotent unfolds,

In fuller aspects and with fairer lights,

This picture of the world. Through every part

They trace the lofty sketches of his hand;

In earth, or air, the meadow's flowery store,

The moon's mild radiance, or the virgin's mien

Dress'd in attractive smiles, they see portray'd

( As far as mortal eyes the portrait scan )

Those lineaments of beauty which delight

The Mind Supreme. They also feel their force,

Enamour'd; they partake the eternal joy.

For as old Memnon's image, long renown'd

Through fabling Egypt, at the genial touch

Of morning, from its inmost frame sent forth

Spontaneous music, so doth Nature's hand,

To certain attributes which matter claims,

Adapt the finer organs of the mind;

So the glad impulse of those kindred powers

( Of form, of colour's cheerful pomp, of sound

Melodious, or of motion aptly sped ),

Detains the enliven'd sense; till soon the soul

Feels the deep concord, and assents through all

Her functions. Then the charm by fate prepared

Diffuseth its enchantment Fancy dreams,

Rapt into high discourse with prophets old,

And wandering through Elysium, Fancy dreams

Of sacred fountains, of o'ershadowing groves,

Whose walks with godlike harmony resound:

Fountains, which Homer visits; happy groves,

Where Milton dwells; the intellectual power,

On the mind's throne, suspends his graver cares,

And smiles; the passions, to divine repose

Persuaded yield, and love and joy alone

Are waking: love and joy, such as await

An angel's meditation. Oh! attend,

Whoe'er thou art whom these delights can touch;

Whom Nature's aspect, Nature's simple garb

Can thus command; oh! listen to my song;

And I will guide thee to her blissful walks,

And teach thy solitude her voice to hear,

And point her gracious features to thy view.

Know then, whate'er of the world's ancient store,

Whate'er of mimic Art's reflected scenes,

With love and admiration thus inspire

Attentive Fancy, her delighted sons

In two illustrious orders comprehend,

Self-taught: from him whose rustic toil the lark

Cheers warbling, to the bard whose daring thoughts

Range the full orb of being, still the form,

Which Fancy worships, or sublime or fair,

Her votaries proclaim. I see them dawn:

I see the radiant visions where they rise,

More lovely than when Lucifer displays

His glittering forehead through the gates of morn,

To lead the train of Phoebus and the Spring.

Say, why was man so eminently raised

Amid the vast creation; why empower'd

Through life and death to dart his watchful eye,

With thoughts beyond the limit of his frame;

But that the Omnipotent might send him forth,

In sight of angels and immortal minds,

As on an ample theatre to join

In contest with his equals, who shall best

The task achieve, the course of noble toils,

By wisdom and by mercy preordain'd?

Might send him forth the sovereign good to learn;

To chase each meaner purpose from his breast;

And through the mists of passion and of sense,

And through the pelting storms of chance and pain,

To hold straight on, with constant heart and eye

Still fix'd upon his everlasting palm,

The approving smile of Heaven? Else wherefore burns

In mortal bosoms this unquenchèd hope,

That seeks from day to day sublimer ends,

Happy, though restless? Why departs the soul

Wide from the track and journey of her times,

To grasp the good she knows not? In the field

Of things which may be, in the spacious field

Of science, potent arts, or dreadful arms,

To raise up scenes in which her own desires

Contented may repose; when things, which are,

Pall on her temper, like a twice-told tale:

Her temper, still demanding to be free;

Spurning the rude control of wilful might;

Proud of her dangers braved, her griefs endured,

Her strength severely proved? To these high aims,

Which reason and affection prompt in man,

Not adverse nor unapt hath Nature framed

His bold imagination. For, amid

The various forms which this full world presents

Like rivals to his choice, what human breast

E'er doubts, before the transient and minute,

To prize the vast, the stable, the sublime?

Who, that from heights aërial sends his eye

Around a wild horizon, and surveys

Indus or Ganges rolling his broad wave

Through mountains, plains, through spacious cities old,

And regions dark with woods, will turn away

To mark the path of some penurious rill

Which murmureth at his feet? Where does the soul

Consent her soaring fancy to restrain,

Which bears her up, as on an eagle's wings,

Destined for highest heaven; or which of fate's

Tremendous barriers shall confine her flight

To any humbler quarry? The rich earth

Cannot detain her; nor the ambient air

With all its changes. For a while with joy

She hovers o'er the sun, and views the small

Attendant orbs, beneath his sacred beam,

Emerging from the deep, like cluster'd isles

Whose rocky shores to the glad sailor's eye

Reflect the gleams of morning; for a while

With pride she sees his firm, paternal sway

Bend the reluctant planets to move each

Round its perpetual year. But soon she quits

That prospect; meditating loftier views,

She darts adventurous up the long career

Of comets; through the constellations holds

Her course, and now looks back on all the stars

Whose blended flames as with a milky stream

Part the blue region. Empyréan tracts,

Where happy souls beyond this concave heaven

Abide, she then explores, whence purer light

For countless ages travels through the abyss,

Nor hath in sight of mortals yet arrived.

Upon the wide creation's utmost shore

At length she stands, and the dread space beyond

Contemplates, half-recoiling: nathless, down

The gloomy void, astonish'd, yet unquell'd,

She plungeth; down the unfathomable gulf

Where God alone hath being. There her hopes

Rest at the fated goal. For, from the birth

Of human kind, the Sovereign Maker said

That not in humble, nor in brief delight,

Not in the fleeting echoes of renown,

Power's purple robes, nor Pleasure's flowery lap,

The soul should find contentment; but, from these

Turning disdainful to an equal good,

Through Nature's opening walks enlarge her aim,

Till every bound at length should disappear,

And infinite perfection fill the scene.

But lo, where Beauty, dress'd in gentler pomp,

With comely steps advancing, claims the verse

Her charms inspire. O Beauty, source of praise,

Of honour, even to mute and lifeless things;

O thou that kindlest in each human heart

Love, and the wish of poets, when their tongue

Would teach to other bosoms what so charms

Their own; O child of Nature and the soul,

In happiest hour brought forth; the doubtful garb

Of words, of earthly language, all too mean,

Too lowly I account, in which to clothe

Thy form divine; for thee the mind alone

Beholds, nor half thy brightness can reveal

Through those dim organs, whose corporeal touch

O'ershadoweth thy pure essence. Yet, my Muse,

If Fortune call thee to the task, wait thou

Thy favourable seasons; then, while fear

And doubt are absent, through wide nature's bounds

Expatiate with glad step, and choose at will

Whate'er bright spoils the florid earth contains,

Whate'er the waters, or the liquid air,

To manifest unblemish'd Beauty's praise,

And o'er the breasts of mortals to extend

Her gracious empire. Wilt thou to the isles

Atlantic, to the rich Hesperian clime,

Fly in the train of Autumn, and look on,

And learn from him; while, as he roves around,

Where'er his fingers touch the fruitful grove,

The branches bloom with gold; where'er his foot

Imprints the soil, the ripening clusters swell,

Turning aside their foliage, and come forth

In purple lights, till every hillock glows

As with the blushes of an evening sky?

Or wilt thou that Thessalian landscape trace,

Where slow Penéus his clear glassy tide

Draws smooth along, between the winding cliffs

Of Ossa and the pathless woods unshorn

That wave o'er huge Olympus? Down the stream,

Look how the mountains with their double range

Embrace the vale of Tempé: from each side

Ascending steep to heaven, a rocky mound

Cover'd with ivy and the laurel boughs

That crown'd young Phoebus for the Python slain.

Fair Tempé! on whose primrose banks the morn

Awoke most fragrant, and the noon reposed

In pomp of lights and shadows most sublime:

Whose lawns, whose glades, ere human footsteps yet

Had traced an entrance, were the hallow'd haunt

Of sylvan powers immortal: where they sate

Oft in the golden age, the Nymphs and Fauns,

Beneath some arbour branching o'er the flood,

And leaning round hung on the instructive lips

Of hoary Pan, or o'er some open dale

Danced in light measures to his sevenfold pipe,

While Zephyr's wanton hand along their path

Flung showers of painted blossoms, fertile dews,

And one perpetual spring. But if our task

More lofty rites demand, with all good vows

Then let us hasten to the rural haunt

Where young Melissa dwells. Nor thou refuse

The voice which calls thee from thy loved retreat,

But hither, gentle maid, thy footsteps turn:

Here, to thy own unquestionable theme,

O fair, O graceful, bend thy polish'd brow,

Assenting; and the gladness of thy eyes

Impart to me, like morning's wishèd light

Seen through the vernal air. By yonder stream,

Where beech and elm along the bordering mead

Send forth wild melody from every bough,

Together let us wander; where the hills

Cover'd with fleeces to the lowing vale

Reply; where tidings of content and peace

Each echo brings. Lo, how the western sun

O'er fields and floods, o'er every living soul,

Diffuseth glad repose! There,— while I speak

Of Beauty's honours, thou, Melissa, thou

Shalt hearken, not unconscious, while I tell

How first from Heaven she came: how, after all

The works of life, the elemental scenes,

The hours, the seasons, she had oft explored,

At length her favourite mansion and her throne

She fix'd in woman's form; what pleasing ties

To virtue bind her; what effectual aid

They lend each other's power; and how divine

Their union, should some unambitious maid,

To all the enchantment of the Idalian queen,

Add sanctity and wisdom; while my tongue

Prolongs the tale, Melissa, thou may'st feign

To wonder whence my rapture is inspired;

But soon the smile which dawns upon thy lip

Shall tell it, and the tenderer bloom o'er all

That soft cheek springing to the marble neck,

Which bends aside in vain, revealing more

What it would thus keep silent, and in vain

The sense of praise dissembling. Then my song

Great Nature's winning arts, which thus inform

With joy and love the rugged breast of man,

Should sound in numbers worthy such a theme:

While all whose souls have ever felt the force

Of those enchanting passions, to my lyre

Should throng attentive, and receive once more

Their influence, unobscured by any cloud

Of vulgar care, and purer than the hand

Of Fortune can bestow; nor, to confirm

Their sway, should awful Contemplation scorn

To join his dictates to the genuine strain

Of Pleasure's tongue; nor yet should Pleasure's ear

Be much averse. Ye chiefly, gentle band

Of youths and virgins, who through many a wish

And many a fond pursuit, as in some scene

Of magic bright and fleeting, are allured

By various Beauty, if the pleasing toil

Can yield a moment's respite, hither turn

Your favourable ear, and trust my words.

I do not mean on bless'd Religion's seat,

Presenting Superstition's gloomy form,

To dash your soothing hopes; I do not mean

To bid the jealous thunderer fire the heavens,

Or shapes infernal rend the groaning earth,

And scare you from your joys. My cheerful song

With happier omens calls you to the field,

Pleased with your generous ardour in the chase,

And warm like you. Then tell me ( for ye know ),

Doth Beauty ever deign to dwell where use

And aptitude are strangers? is her praise

Confess'd in aught whose most peculiar ends

Are lame and fruitless? or did Nature mean

This pleasing call the herald of a lie,

To hide the shame of discord and disease,

And win each fond admirer into snares,

Foil'd, baffled? No; with better providence

The general mother, conscious how infirm

Her offspring tread the paths of good and ill,

Thus, to the choice of credulous desire,

Doth objects the completest of their tribe

Distinguish and commend. Yon flowery bank

Clothed in the soft magnificence of Spring,

Will not the flocks approve it? will they ask

The reedy fen for pasture? That clear rill

Which trickleth murmuring from the mossy rock,

Yields it less wholesome beverage to the worn

And thirsty traveller, than the standing pool

With muddy weeds o'ergrown? Yon ragged vine

Whose lean and sullen clusters mourn the rage

Of Eurus, will the wine-press or the bowl

Report of her, as of the swelling grape

Which glitters through the tendrils, like a gem

When first it meets the sun. Or what are all

The various charms to life and sense adjoin'd?

Are they not pledges of a state entire,

Where native order reigns, with every part

In health, and every function well perform'd?

Thus, then, at first was Beauty sent from Heaven,

The lovely ministress 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 sons of earth, would ye dissolve the tie?

Oh! wherefore with a rash and greedy aim

Seek ye to rove through every flattering scene

Which Beauty seems to deck, nor once inquire

Where is the suffrage of eternal Truth,

Or where the seal of undeceitful Good,

To save your search from folly? Wanting these,

Lo, Beauty withers in your void embrace;

And with the glittering of an idiot's toy

Did Fancy mock your vows. Nor yet let hope,

That kindliest inmate of the youthful breast,

Be hence appall'd, be turn'd to coward sloth

Sitting in silence, with dejected eyes

Incurious and with folded hands; far less

Let scorn of wild fantastic folly's dreams,

Or hatred of the bigot's savage pride

Persuade you e'er that Beauty, or the love

Which waits on Beauty, may not brook to hear

The sacred lore of undeceitful Good

And Truth eternal. From the vulgar crowd

Though Superstition, tyranness abhorr'd,

The reverence due to this majestic pair

With threats and execration still demands;

Though the tame wretch, who asks of her the way

To their celestial dwelling, she constrains

To quench or set at nought the lamp of God

Within his frame; through many a cheerless wild

Though forth she leads him credulous and dark

And awed with dubious notion; though at length

Haply she plunge him into cloister'd cells

And mansions unrelenting as the grave,

But void of quiet, there to watch the hours

Of midnight; there, amid the screaming owl's

Dire song, with spectres or with guilty shades

To talk of pangs and everlasting woe;

Yet be not ye dismay'd. A gentler star

Presides o'er your adventure. From the bower

Where Wisdom sat with her Athenian sons,

Could but my happy hand entwine a wreath

Of Plato's olive with the Mantuan bay,

Then ( for what need of cruel fear to you,

To you whom godlike love can well command? ),

Then should my powerful voice at once dispel

Those monkish horrors; should in words divine

Relate how favour'd minds like you inspired,

And taught their inspiration to conduct

By ruling Heaven's decree, through various walks

And prospects various, but delightful all,

Move onward; while now myrtle groves appear,

Now arms and radiant trophies, now the rods

Of empire with the curule throne, or now

The domes of contemplation and the Muse.

Led by that hope sublime, whose cloudless eye

Through the fair toils and ornaments of earth

Discerns the nobler life reserved for heaven,

Favour'd alike they worship round the shrine

Where Truth conspicuous with her sister-twins,

The undivided partners of her sway,

With Good and Beauty reigns. Oh! let not us

By Pleasure's lying blandishments detain'd,

Or crouching to the frowns of bigot rage,

Oh! let not us one moment pause to join

That chosen band. And if the gracious Power,

Who first awaken'd my untutor'd song,

Will to my invocation grant anew

The tuneful spirit, then through all our paths

Ne'er shall the sound of this devoted lyre

Be wanting; whether on the rosy mead

When Summer smiles, to warn the melting heart

Of Luxury's allurement; whether firm

Against the torrent and the stubborn hill

To urge free Virtue's steps, and to her side

Summon that strong divinity of soul

Which conquers Chance and Fate: or on the height,

The goal assign'd her, haply to proclaim

Her triumph; on her brow to place the crown

Of uncorrupted praise; through future worlds

To follow her interminated way,

And bless Heaven's image in the heart of man.

Such is the worth of Beauty; such her power,

So blameless, so revered. It now remains,

In just gradation through the various ranks

Of being, to contemplate how her gifts

Rise in due measure, watchful to attend

The steps of rising Nature. Last and least,

In colours mingling with a random blaze,

Doth Beauty dwell. Then higher in the forms

Of simplest, easiest measure; in the bounds

Of circle, cube, or sphere. The third ascent

To symmetry adds colour: thus the pearl

Shines in the concave of its purple bed,

And painted shells along some winding shore

Catch with indented folds the glancing sun.

Next, as we rise, appear the blooming tribes

Which clothe the fragrant earth; which draw from her

Their own nutrition; which are born and die,

Yet, in their seed, immortal; such the flowers

With which young Maia pays the village maids

That hail her natal morn; and such the groves

Which blithe Pomona rears on Vaga's bank,

To feed the bowl of Ariconian swains

Who quaff beneath her branches. Nobler still

Is Beauty's name where, to the full consent

Of members and of features, to the pride

Of colour, and the vital change of growth,

Life's holy flame with piercing sense is given,

While active motion speaks the temper'd soul:

So moves the bird of Juno: so the steed

With rival swiftness beats the dusty plain,

And faithful dogs with eager airs of joy

Salute their fellows. What sublimer pomp

Adorns the seat where Virtue dwells on earth,

And Truth's eternal day-light shines around,

What palm belongs to man's imperial front,

And woman powerful with becoming smiles,

Chief of terrestrial natures, need we now

Strive to inculcate? Thus hath Beauty there

Her most conspicuous praise to matter lent,

Where most conspicuous through that shadowy veil

Breaks forth the bright expression of a mind,

By steps directing our enraptured search

To Him, the first of minds; the chief; the sole;

From whom, through this wide, complicated world,

Did all her various lineaments begin;

To whom alone, consenting and entire,

At once their mutual influence all display.

He, God most high ( bear witness, Earth and Heaven ),

The living fountains in himself contains

Of beauteous and sublime; with him enthroned

Ere days or years trod their ethereal way,

In his supreme intelligence enthroned,

The queen of love holds her unclouded state,

Urania. Thee, O Father! this extent

Of matter; thee the sluggish earth and tract

Of seas, the heavens and heavenly splendours feel

Pervading, quickening, moving. From the depth

Of thy great essence, forth didst thou conduct

Eternal Form: and there, where Chaos reign'd,

Gav'st her dominion to erect her seat,

And sanctify the mansion. All her works

Well pleased thou didst behold: the gloomy fires

Of storm or earthquake, and the purest light

Of summer; soft Campania's new-born rose,

And the slow weed which pines on Russian hills

Comely alike to thy full vision stand:

To thy surrounding vision, which unites

All essences and powers of the great world

In one sole order, fair alike they stand,

As features well consenting, and alike

Required by Nature ere she could attain

Her just resemblance to the perfect shape

Of universal Beauty, which with thee

Dwelt from the first. Thou also, ancient Mind,

Whom love and free beneficence await

In all thy doings; to inferior minds,

Thy offspring, and to man, thy youngest son,

Refusing no convenient gift nor good;

Their eyes didst open, in this earth, yon heaven,

Those starry worlds, the countenance divine

Of Beauty to behold. But not to them

Didst thou her awful magnitude reveal

Such as before thine own unbounded sight

She stands ( for never shall created soul

Conceive that object ), nor, to all their kinds,

The same in shape or features didst thou frame

Her image. Measuring well their different spheres

Of sense and action, thy paternal hand

Hath for each race prepared a different test

Of Beauty, own'd and reverenced as their guide

Most apt, most faithful. Thence inform'd, they scan

The objects that surround them; and select,

Since the great whole disclaims their scanty view,

Each for himself selects peculiar parts

Of Nature; what the standard fix'd by Heaven

Within his breast approves, acquiring thus

A partial Beauty, which becomes his lot;

A Beauty which his eye may comprehend,

His hand may copy, leaving, O Supreme,

O thou whom none hath utter'd, leaving all

To thee that infinite, consummate form,

Which the great powers, the gods around thy throne

And nearest to thy counsels, know with thee

For ever to have been; but who she is,

Or what her likeness, know not. Man surveys

A narrower scene, where, by the mix'd effect

Of things corporeal on his passive mind,

He judgeth what is fair. Corporeal things

The mind of man impel with various powers,

And various features to his eye disclose.

The powers which move his sense with instant joy,

The features which attract his heart to love,

He marks, combines, reposits. Other powers

And features of the self-same thing ( unless

The beauteous form, the creature of his mind,

Request their close alliance ) he o'erlooks

Forgotten; or with self-beguiling zeal,

Whene'er his passions mingle in the work,

Half alters, half disowns. The tribes of men

Thus from their different functions and the shapes

Familiar to their eye, with art obtain,

Unconscious of their purpose, yet with art

Obtain the Beauty fitting man to love;

Whose proud desires from Nature's homely toil

Oft turn away, fastidious, asking still

His mind's high aid, to purify the form

From matter's gross communion; to secure

For ever, from the meddling hand of Change

Or rude Decay, her features; and to add

Whatever ornaments may suit her mien,

Where'er he finds them scatter'd through the paths

Of Nature or of Fortune. Then he seats

The accomplish'd image deep within his breast,

Reviews it, and accounts it good and fair.

Thus the one Beauty of the world entire,

The universal Venus, far beyond

The keenest effort of created eyes,

And their most wide horizon, dwells enthroned

In ancient silence. At her footstool stands

An altar burning with eternal fire

Unsullied, unconsumed. Here every hour,

Here every moment, in their turns arrive

Her offspring; an innumerable band

Of sisters, comely all! but differing far

In age, in stature, and expressive mien,

More than bright Helen from her new-born babe.

To this maternal shrine in turns they come,

Each with her sacred lamp; that from the source

Of living flame, which here immortal flows,

Their portions of its lustre they may draw

For days, or months, or years; for ages, some;

As their great parent's discipline requires.

Then to their several mansions they depart,

In stars, in planets, through the unknown shores

Of yon ethereal ocean. Who can tell,

Even on the surface of this rolling earth,

How many make abode? The fields, the groves,

The winding rivers and the azure main,

Are render'd solemn by their frequent feet,

Their rites sublime. There each her destined home

Informs with that pure radiance from the skies

Brought down, and shines throughout her little sphere,

Exulting. Straight, as travellers by night

Turn toward a distant flame, so some fit eye,

Among the various tenants of the scene,

Discerns the heaven-born phantom seated there,

And owns her charms. Hence the wide universe,

Through all the seasons of revolving worlds,

Bears witness with its people, gods and men,

To Beauty's blissful power, and with the voice

Of grateful admiration still resounds:

That voice, to which is Beauty's frame divine

As is the cunning of the master's hand

To the sweet accent of the well-tuned lyre.

Genius of ancient Greece, whose faithful steps

Have led us to these awful solitudes

Of Nature and of Science; nurse revered

Of generous counsels and heroic deeds;

Oh! let some portion of thy matchless praise

Dwell in my breast, and teach me to adorn

This unattempted theme. Nor be my thoughts

Presumptuous counted, if, amid the calm

Which Hesper sheds along the vernal heaven,

If I, from vulgar Superstition's walk,

Impatient steal, and from the unseemly rites

Of splendid Adulation, to attend

With hymns thy presence in the sylvan shade,

By their malignant footsteps unprofaned.

Come, O renownèd power; thy glowing mien

Such, and so elevated all thy form,

As when the great barbaric lord, again

And yet again diminish'd, hid his face

Among the herd of satraps and of kings;

And, at the lightning of thy lifted spear,

Crouch'd like a slave. Bring all thy martial spoils,

Thy palms, thy laurels, thy triumphal songs,

Thy smiling band of Arts, thy godlike sires

Of civil wisdom, thy unconquer'd youth,

After some glorious day rejoicing round

Their new-erected trophy. Guide my feet

Through fair Lycéum's walk, the olive shades

Of Academus, and the sacred vale

Haunted by steps divine, where once, beneath

That ever living platane's ample boughs,

Ilissus, by Socratic sounds detain'd,

On his neglected urn attentive lay;

While Boreas, lingering on the neighbouring steep

With beauteous Orithyía, his love tale

In silent awe suspended. There let me

With blameless hand, from thy unenvious fields,

Transplant some living blossoms, to adorn

My native clime; while, far beyond the meed

Of Fancy's toil aspiring, I unlock

The springs of ancient wisdom; while I add

( What cannot be disjoin'd from Beauty's praise )

Thy name and native dress, thy works beloved

And honour'd; while to my compatriot youth

I point the great example of thy sons,

And tune to Attic themes the British lyre.