Here freedom reign'd, without the least alloy; Nor goffip's tale, nor ancient maiden's gall, Nor faintly fpleen durft murmur at our joy, And with envenom'd tongue our pleasures pall. For why? there was but one great rule for all; To wit, that each fhou'd work his own defire, And eat, drink, ftudy, fleep, as it may fall, Or melt the time in love, or wake the lyre, And carol what, unbid, the muses might infpire. The rooms with coftly tapestry were hung, Where was inwoven many a gentle tale; Such as of old the rural poets fung, Or of Arcadian or Sicilian vale: Reclining lovers, in the lonely dale, Pour'd forth at large the sweetly-tortur'd heart; Or, fighing tender paffion, fwell'd the gale, And taught charm'd echo to refound their smart; While flocks, woods, ftreams, around, repofe and peace impart.

Thofe pleas'd the moft, where, by a cunning hand,

Depainted was the patriarchal age;

What time Dan Abraham left the Chaldee land, And paftur'd on from verdant stage to ftage, Where fields and fountains fresh could beft engage.

Toil was not then. Of nothing took they heed,
But with wild beafts the fylvan war to wage,
And o'er vaft plains their herds and flocks to
feed:

Het fons of Nature they! true golden age indeed!
Sometimes the pencil, in cool airy halls,
Bade the gay bloom of vernal landscapes rife,
Or autumn's varied fhades imbrown the walls:
Now the black tempeft strikes th' aftonish'd eyes,
Now down the steep the flashing torrent flies;
The trembling fun now plays o'er ocean blue,
And now rude mountains frown amid the skies;
Whate'er Lorraine light-touch'd with softening
hue,

Or favage Rofa dafh'd, or learned Pouffin drew.
Each found too here, to languifhment inclin'd,
Lull'd the weak bofom, and induced ease,
Aerial music in the warbling wind,
At diftance rifing oft by small degrees,
Nearer and nearer came, till o'er the trees
It hung, and breath'd fuch foul-diffolving airs,
As did, alas! with foft perdition please:
Entangled deep in its enchanting (nares,
The liftening heart forgot all duties and all cares.
A certain mufic, never known before,
Here lull'd the penfive melancholy mind;
Full eafily obtain'd. Behoves no more,
But fidelong, to the gently-waving wind,
To lay the well-tun'd inftrument reclin'd;
From which, with airy flying fingers light,
Beyond each mortal touch the moft refin'd,
The god of winds drew founds of deep delight:
Whence, with juft caufe, the harp of Æolus it
hight.

Ah me! what hand can touch the string so fine?
Who up
the lofty diapafan roll

Such fweet, fuch fad, fuch folemn airs divine, Then let them down again into the foul?

Now rifing love they fann'd; now pleafing dole They breath'd, in tender mufings, through the heart;

And now a graver facred ftrain they stole, As when feraphic hands an hymn impart: Wild-warbling nature all, above the reach of art! Such the gay fplendor, the luxurious state, Of Caliphs old, who on the Tygris' fhore, In mighty Bagdat, populous and great, Held their bright court, where was of ladies store;

And verse, love, mufic, still the garland wore :
When fleep was coy, the bard in waiting there,
Chear'd the lone midnight with the mufe's love:
Compofing mufic bade his dreams be fair,

And mufic lent new gladnefs to the morning air.
Near the pavilions where we flept, still ran
Soft-tinkling ftreams, and dashing waters fell,
And fobbing breezes figh'd, and oft began
(So work'd the wizard) wintery storms to fwell,
As heaven and earth they would together mell:
At doors and windows, threatening seem'd to
call

The demons of the tempeft, growling fell,

Yet the least entrance found they none at all; Whence fweeter grew our sleep, secure in massy hall.

And hither Morpheus fent his kindest dreams,
Raifing a world of gayer tinct and grace;
O'er which were fhadowy caft Elyfian gleams,
That play'd, in waving lights, from place to
place,

And shed a rofeate smile on nature's face.
Not Titian's pencil e'er could fo array,
So fierce with clouds the pure ethereal space;
Ne could it e'er fuch melting forms difplay,
As loofe on flowery beds all languishingly lay.
No, fair illufions! artful phantoms, no!

My mufe will not attempt your fairy-land ;'
She has no colours that like you can glow:
To catch your vivid fcenes too gross her hand.
But fure it is, was ne'er a subtler band

Than these same guileful angel-seeming sprights, Who thus in dreams, voluptuous, foft, and bland, Pour'd all th' Arabian Heaven upon her nights, And blefs'd them oft befides with more refin'd delights.

They were in footh a most enchanting train,
Ev'n feigning virtue; fkilful to unite
With evil good, and ftrew with pleasure pain.
But for those fiends, whom blood and broils de-
light;

Who hurl the wretch, as if to hell outright, Down, down black gulfs, where sullen waters fleep,

Or hold him clambering all the fearful night On beetling cliffs, or pent in ruins deep; They, till due time fhould ferve, were bid far hence to keep.

Ye guardian fpirits, to whom man is dear, From thefe foul demons fhield the midnight gloom:

Angels of fancy and of love, be near,

And o'er the blank of fleep diffuse a bloom ›

Evoke the facred fhades of Greece and Rome,
And let them virtue with a look impart:
But chief, a while, O! lend us from the tomb
Thefe long-loft friends for whom in love we
fmart,

And fill with pious awe and joy-mixt wọe the heart.

Or are you sportive-Bid the morn of youth
Rife to now light, and beam afresh the days
Of innocence, fimplicity, and truth;

To cares eftrang'd, and manhood's thorny ways.
What tranfport, to retrace our boyish plays,
Our cafy blifs, when each thing joy fupply'd;
The woods, the mountains, and the warbling

maze

Of the wild brooks!-But, fondly wandering wide,

My mufe, refume the task that yet doth thee abide.

One great amusement of our household was,
In a huge crystal magic globe to spy,
Still as you turn'd it, all things that do pass
Upon this ant-hill earth; where conftantly
Of idly-bufy men the restlefs fry

Run bustling to and fro with foolish hafte,

In fearch of pleafure vain that from them fly, Or which obtain'd the caitiffs dare not taste: When nothing is enjoy'd, can there be greater wafte?

"Of vanity the mirror" this was call'd. Here you a muckworm of the town might fee, At his dull desk, amid his legers ftall'd, Eat up with carking care and penurie; Moft like to carcafe parch'd on gallow-tree. "A penny faved is a penny got ;" Firm to this fcoundrel maxim keepeth he, Ne of its rigour will he bate a jot, Till it has quench'd his fire, and banish'd his pot. Strait from the filth of this low grub, behold! Comes fluttering forth a gaudy fpendthrift heir, All gloffy gay, enamel'd all with gold, The filly tenant of the fummer-air,

In folly lost, of nothing takes he care;
Pimps lawyers, itewards, harlots, flatterers vile,
And thieving tradefmen him among them fhare:
His father s ghoft from limbo-lake, the while,
Bees this, which more damnation doth upon him
pile.

This globe pourtray'd the race of learned men,
Still at their books, and turning o'er the page,
Backwards and forwards: oft they fnatch the
pen,

As if infpir'd, and in a Thefpian rage;

Then write, and blot, as would your ruth engage.

Why, authors, all this fcrawl and fcribbling fore?
To lofe the prefent, gain the future age,
Praised to be when you can hear no more,
And much enrich'd with fame, when ufelefs
worldly flore.

Then would a fplendid city rife to view,
With carts, and cars, and coaches, roaring all:
Wide pour'd abroad behold the giddy crew;
See how they dash along from wall to wall!
At every door, hark how they thundering call!
Good Lord! what can this giddy rout excite?

In comes another fett, and kicketh them down
But what mo fhew'd the vanity of life,
Was to behold the nations all on fire,
In cruel broils engag'd, and deadly ftrife:
Moft Chriftian kings, inflam'd by black defr
With honourable ruffians in their hire,
Caufe war to rage, and blood around to pour:
Of this fad work when each begins to tire,
They fit them down juft where they wer

before,

[refter Till for new scenes of woe peace fhall their for To number up the thousands dwelling here, An useless were, and eke an endless tafk; From kings, and those who at the helm appea To gypfies brown in fummer-glades who ba Yea many a man perdie I could unmask, Whose desk and table make a folemn fhow, With tape-ty'd trafh, and fuits of fools that a For place or pension laid in decent row; But thefe I paffen by, with nameless numbers mo Of all the gentle tenants of the place, There was a man of fpecial grave remark: A certain tender gloom o'erfpread his face, Penfive, not fad, in thought involv'd, not dar As foon this man could fing as morning-lark, And teach the nobleft morals of the heart: But thefe his talents were yburied stark; Of the fine ftores he nothing would impart, Which or boon Nature gave, or nature-paintin

Art.

With him was fometimes join'd, in filent walk, (Profoundly silent, for they never spoke) One flyer ftill, who quite detefted talk: Oft, ftung by fpleen, at once away he broke, To groves of pine, and broad o'erfhadowing There, inly thrill'd, he wander'd all alone, [oak; And on himself his penfive fury wroke, Ne ever atter'd word, fave when first shone The glittering ftar of eve" Thank heaven! the “day is done.”

Here lurk'd a wretch, who had not crept abroad
For forty years, ne face of mortal feen;
In chamber brooding like a loathly toad :
And fure his linen was not very clean. [been
Through fecret loop-holes, that had practis'd
Near to his bed, his dinner vile he took;
Unkempt, and rough, of squalid face and mien,
Our caffle's fhame! whence, from his filthy nook,
We drove the villain out for fitter lair to look.

One day there chaunc'd into thefe halls to rove
A joyous youth who took you at first fight;
Him the wild wave of pleasure hither drove,
Before the sprightly tempeft toffing light:
Certes, he was a moft engaging wight,

Of focial glee, and wit humane, though keen,
Turning the night to day, and day to night:
For him the merry bells had rung, I ween,
in this nook of quiet bells had ever been.

But not ev'n pleafure to excefs is good:
What most elates then finks the foul as low:
When fpring-tide joy pours in with copious
flood,

The higher still th' exulting billows flow,
The farther back again they flagging go,
And kave us groveling on the dreary fhore:
Taught by this fon of joy we found it fo;
Who, whilft he ftaid, kept in a gay uproar
Our madden'd caftle all, th' abode of fleep no

more.

As when in prime of June a burnifh'd fly, [along,
Sprung from the meads, o'er which he Tweeps
Cheer'd by the breathing bloom and vital sky,
Tunes up amid these airy halls his fong,
Soothing at first the gay reposing throng:
And oft he fips their bowl; or, nearly drown'd,
He, thence recovering, drives their beds among,
And fcares their tender fleep, with trump pro-
found;

Then out again he flies, to wing his mazy round.
Another gueft there was, of fenfe refin'd,
Who felt each worth, for every worth he had;
Serene, yet warm, humane, yet firm his mind,
As little touch'd as any man's with bad :
Him through their inmoft walks the mufes lad,
To him the facred love of nature lent,

And fometimes would he make our valley glad When as we found he would not here be pent, To him the better fort this friendly message sent. Come, dwell with us! true fon of virtue, " come!

"But if, alas! we cannot thee perfuade,
"To lie content beneath our peaceful dome,
"Ne ever more to quit our quiet glade;

Yet when at last thy toils but ill apaid [fpark,'
Shall dead thy fre, and damp its heavenly

« Thou wilt be glad to seek the rural shade, "There to indulge the mufe, and nature mark:". "We then a lodge for thee will rear in Hagley. "Park."

Here whilom ligg'd th' Efopus of the age;
But call'd by Fame, in foul ypricked deep,
A noble pride reftor'd him to the stage,
And rous'd him like a giant from his fleep.
Ev'n from his flumbers we advantage reap:
With double force th' enliven'd scene he wakes,
Yet quits not nature's bounds. He knows to
keep

Each due decorum: now the heart he shakes, And now with well-urg'd fenfe th' enlighten'd judgment takes.

A bard hear dwelt, more fat than bard befeems;
Who, void of envy, guile, and luft of gain,
On virtue ftiil, and nature's pleafing themes,
Pour'd forth his unpremeditated ftrain:
The world forfaking with a calm difdain
Here laugh'd he carelefs in his easy seat;
Here quaff'd encircled with the joyous train,
Oft moralizing fage; his ditty fweet
He loathed much to write, no cared to repeat..
Full oft by holy feet our ground was trod,
Of clerks good plenty here you mote espy.
A little, round, fat, oily man of God,
Was one I chiefly mark'd among the fry :
He had a roguifh twinkle in his eye,
And fhone all glittering with ungodly dew,
If a tight damfel chaunc'd to trippen by;
Which when obfery'd, he fhrunk into his mew,
And ftrait would recollect his piety anew.

Nor be forgot a tribe, who minded nought
(Old inmates of the place) but ftate affairs:
They look'd, perdie, as if they deeply thought;
And on their brow fat every nation's cares.
The world by them is parcell'd out in fhares,
When in the hall of fmoke they congrefs hold,
And the fage berry fun-burnt Mocha bears
Has clear'd their inward eye: then, fmoke-en-

roll'd,

Their oracles break forth mysterious as of old.
Here languid beauty kept her pale-fac'd court;
Bevies of dainty dames, of high degree,
From every quarter hither made refort;
Where, from glofs mortal care and business
free,

They lay, pour'd out in eafe and luxury:
Or fhould they a vain fhow of work affume,
Alas! and well-a-day! what can it be?
To knot, to twit, to range the vernal bloom;
But far is caft the diftaff, fpinning-wheel, and
loom.

Their only labour was to kill the time;
And labour dire it is, and weary woe.
They fit, they loll, turn o'er fome idle rhyme;
Then, rising fudden, to the glafs they go,
Or faunter forth, with tottering step and flow.
This foon too rude an exercife they find;
Strait on the couch their limbs again they throw.
* Mr. Quin.

+ This character of Mr. Thomson was written by Lord Lyttleton.

Pj

So pafs'd his youthly morning, void of care,
Wild as the colts that through the commons run;
For him no tender parents troubled were,
He of the foreft feem'd to be the fon,
And certes had been utterly undone;
But that Minerva pity of him took,
With all the gods that love the rural wonne,
That teach to tame the foil and rule the crook;
Ne did the facred nine difdain a gentle look.
Of fertile genius him they nurtur'd well,
In every science, and in every art,

By which mankind the thoughtless brutes excel,
That can or ufe, or joy, or grace impart,
Difclofing all the powers of head and heart:
Ne were the goodly exercises fpar'd,

That brace the nerves, or make the limbs alert,
And mix elaftic force with firmnefs hard:
Was never knight on ground mote be with him
compar'd.

Sometimes, with early morn, he mounted gay
The hunter-steed, exulting o'er the dale,
And drew the rofeat breath of orient day;
Sometimes, retiring to the fecret vale,
Yclad in fteel, and bright with burnish'd mail,
He ftrain'd the bow, or tofs'd the founding
fpear,

Or darting on the goal outftripp'd the gale,
Or wheel'd the chariot in its mid-career,
Or ftrenuous wrestled hard with many a tough
compeer.

At other times he pry'd through Nature's store,
Whate'er fhe in th' ethereal round contains,
Whate'er the hides beneath her verdant floor,
The vegetable and the mineral reigns; [mains,
Or elfe he fcann'd the globe, thofe fmall do-
Where restless mortals such a turmoil keep,
Its feas, its floods, its mountains, and its plains;
But more he search'd the mind, and rous'd from
fleep,

Thofe moral feeds whence we heroic actions reap.
Nor would he fcorn to stoop from high pursuits
Of heavenly truth, and practife what the taught,
Vain is the tree of knowledge without fruits.
Sometimes in hand the fpade or plough he caught,
Forth-calling all with which boon earth is
fraught;

Sometimes he ply'd the ftrong mechanic tool, Or rear'd the fabric from the finest draught; And oft he put himself to Neptune's school, Fighting with winds and waves on the vext ocean pool.

To folace then thefe rougher toils, he try'd To touch the kindling canvas into life; With nature his creating pencil vy'd, With nature joyous at the mimic ftrife: Or, to fuch fhapes as grac'd Pygmalion's wife He hew'd the marble; or, with varied fire, He rous'd the trumpet and the martial fife, Or bade the lute fweet tenderness inspire, [lyre. Or verfes fram'd that well might wake Apollo's Accomplish'd thus he from the woods iffued, Full of great aims, and bent on bold emprise; The work, which long he in his breaft had brew'd.

Now to perform he ardent did devife;

To wit, a barbarous world to civilize.

Earth was till then a boundless foreft wild; Nought to be feen but favage wood, and fkies; No cities nourish'd arts, no culture fmil'd, No government, no laws, no gentle manners mild.

A ragged wight, the worst of brutes, was man;
On his own wretched kind he, ruthless, prey'd;
The strongest still the weakest over-ran;
In every country mighty robbers fway'd,
And guile and ruffian force were all their trade.
Life was a scene of rapine, want, and woe;
Which this brave knight, in noble anger, made
To fwear, he would the rascal rout o'erthrow,
For, by the powers divine, it fhould no more be
fo!

It would exceed the purport of my fong,
To fay how this beft fun from orient clines
Came beaming life and beauty all along,
Before him chafing indolence and crimes.
Still as he pafs'd, the nations he fublimes,
And calls forth arts and virtues with his ray:
Then Egypt, Greece, and Rome, their gol-
den times

Succeffive had; but now in ruins gray
They lie, to flavish floth and tyranny a prey.
To crown his toils, Sir Industry then spread
The fwelling fail, and made for Britain's coast.
A fylvan life till then the natives led,
In the brown fhades and green-wood foreft loft,
All careless rambling where it lik'd them most:
Their wealth the wild-deer bouncing through

the glade;

They lodg'd at large, and liv'd at nature's coft; Save fpear, and bow, withouten other aid; Yet not the Roman fteel their naked breast difmay'd.

He lik'd the foil, he lik'd the clement skies, He lik'd the verdant hills and flowery plains. Be this my great, my chofen ifle (he cries), This, whilft my labours liberty fuftains, This queen of ocean all affault difdains. Nor lik'd he lefs the genius of the land, To freedom apt, and perfevering pains, Mild to obey, and generous to command, Temper'd by forming Heaven with kindest firmest

hand.

Here, by degrees, his mafter-work arofe, Whatever arts and industry can frame : Whatever finish'd agriculture knows, Fair queen of arts! from heaven itself who came, When Eden flourish'd in unspotted fame: And still with her fweet innocence we find, And tender peace, and joys without a name, That, while they ravish, tranquillize the mind: Nature and art at once, delight and ufe combin'd

The towns he quicken'd by mechanic arts, And bade the fervent city glow with toil; Bade focial commerce raise renowned marts, Join land to land, and marry foil to foil, Unite the poles, and without bloody spoil Bring home of either Ind the gorgeous ftores; Or, fhould defpotic rage the world embroil, Bade tyrants tremble on remoteft fhores, While o'er th' encircling deep Britannia's thun der roars.