§132. Happy the Freedom of the Man whom With what he views. The landscape has his
Grace makes free- His relish of the Works
of God — Address to the Creator. CowPER.
He is the freeman whom the truth makes free,
And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain
That hellish foes confed'rate for his harm
Can wind around him, but he casts it off
With as much ease as Saison his green withes.
He looks abroad into the varied field
Of Nature; and tho' poor, perhaps, compar'd
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight,
Calls the delightful scen'ry all his own.
His are the mountains, and the valleys his,
And the resplendent rivers; his t' enjoy
With a propriety that none can feel,
But who, with filial confidence inspir'd,
Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say- My Father made them all:
Are they not his by a peculiar right?
And by an emphasis of int'rest his,
Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy,
Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind
With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love
That plann'd, and built, and still upholds a world
So cloath'd with beauty, for rebellious man?
Yes-ye may fill your garners; ye that reap
The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good
In senseless riot; but ye will not find
In feast or in the chace, in song or dance,
A liberty like his, who, unimpeach'd
Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong,
Appropriates nature as his Father's work,
And has a richer use of yours than you.
He is indeed a freeman; free by birth
Of no mean city, plann'd or ere the hills
Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea,
With all his roaring multitude of waves.
His freedom is the same in ev'ry state;
And no condition of this changeful life,
So manifold in cares, whose ev'ry day
Brings its own evil with it, makes it less :
For he has wings that neither sickness, pain,
Nor penary can cripple or confine;
No nook so narrow but he spreads them there
With ease, and is at large. Th' oppressor holds
His body bound, but knows not what a range
His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain;
And that to bind him is a vain attempt,
Whom God delights in, and in whom hedwells.
Acquaint thyself with God, if thou would'st"

praise,

But not its Author. Unconcern'd who form'd
The paradise he sees, he finds it such;
And, such well-pleas'd to find it, asks no more.
Not so the mind thathasbeen touch'dfrom Heav'n,
And in the school of sacred wisdom taught
To read his wonders, in whose thought the world,
Fair as it is, existed ere it was:
Not for its own sake merely, but for his
Much more who fashion'd it, he gives it praise;
Praise that, from earth resulting, as it ought,
To earth's acknowledg'd Sovereign, finds at

once

Its only just proprietor in Him.

The soul that sees him, or receives sublim'd
New faculties, or learns at least t' employ
More worthily the pow'rs she own'd before,
Discerns in all things, what, with stupid gaze
Of ignorance, till then she overlook'd,"
Array of heavenly light gilding all forins
Terrestrial, in the vast and the minute,
The unambiguous footsteps of the God
Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing,
And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds.
Much conversant with Heaven, she often holds
With those fair ininisters of light to man,
That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp,
Sweet conference! inquires what strains were

they

With which Heaven rang, when ev'ry star, in' haste

To gratulate the new created earth,
Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God
Shouted for joy-"Tell me ye shining hosts,
"That navigate a sea that knows no storms,
"Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud,
"If from your elevation, whence ye view
"Distinctly scenes invisible to man,
"And systems, of whose birth no tidings yet
"Have reach'd this nether world, ye spy a race

Favor'd as ours, transgressors from the womb, "And hasting to a grave, yet doom'd to rise, "And to possess a brighter Heaven than yours? "As one who, long detain'd on foreign shores, Pants to return, and when he sees afar "His country's weather bleach'd and batter'd rocks

"From the green wave emerging, darts an eye
Radiant with joy towards the happy land;'
So I with animated hopes behold,
"And many an aching wish, your beamy fires,
"That show like beacons in the blue abyss,

Ordain'd to guide th' embodied spirit home

"From toilsome life to never-ending rest.
"Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires
"That give assurance of their own success,
And that infus'd from Heav'n must thither

tend."

taste

His works. Admitted once to his embrace,
Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before:
Thine eye shall be instructed; and thine heart,
Made pure, shall relish with divine delight,
Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought.
Brutes graze the mountain-top with faces prone,"
eyes intent upon the scanty herb
It yields them; or, recumbent on its brow,
Ruminate, heedless of the scene outspread
Beneath, berond, and stretching far away
From inland regions to the distant main.
Man views it and admires, but rests content

And

So reads he nature, whom the lamp of truth
Illuminates; thy lamp, mysterious Word!
Which whoso sees no longer wanders lost,
With intellects bemaz'd, in endless doubt,
But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built,
LI
With

With means that were not, till by thee employ'd,

Worlds that had never beeu, hadst thou in§ 133. That Philosophy which stops at Secon
strength
dary Causes reproved. CowPER.

Been less, or less benevolent than strong.
They are thy witnesses, who speak thy pow'r
And goodness infinite, but speak in ears
That hear not, or receive not their report.
In vain thy creatures testify of thee
Till thou proclaim thyself. Theirs is indeed
A teaching voice; but 'tis the praise of thine,
That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn,
And with the boon gives talents for its use.
Till then art heard, imaginations vain
Possess the heart, and fables false as hell,
Yet deem'd oracular, lure down to death
The uninform'd and heedless sons of men.
We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves
blind,

as

HAPPY the man who sees a God employ'd
In all the good and ill that chequer life!
Resolving all events, with their effects
And manifold results, into the will
And arbitration wise of the Supreme.
Did not his eye rule all things and intend
The least of our concerns (since from the least
The greatest oft originate); could chance
Find place in his dominion, or dispose
One lawless particle to thwart his plau ;
Then God might be surpris'd, and unforeseen
Contingence might alarm him, and disturb
The smooth and equal course of his affairs,
This truth, philosophy, though eagle-eyed
In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks;
And, having found his instrument, forgets
Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still,
Denies the pow'r that weilds it. God proclaims
His hot displeasure against foolish men
That live an atheist life; involves the heaven
In tempests; quits his grasp upon the winds,
And gives them all their fury bids a plague
Kindle a fiery bile upon the skin,
And putrefy the breath of blooming health.
He calls for famine; and the meagre fiend
Blows mildew from between his shrivell'd lips,
And taints the golden ear: he springs his
mines,

The glory of thy work, which yet appears
Perfect and unimpeachable of blame,
Challenging human scrutiny, and prov'd
Then skilful most when most severely judg'd.
But chance is not, or is not where thou reign'st:
Thy providence forbids that fickle pow'r
(If pow'r she be that works but to confound)
To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws.
Yet thus we dote, refusing, while we can,
Instruction, and inventing to ourselves
Gods such as guilt makes welcome, Gods that
sleep,

Or disregard our follies, or that fit
Amus'd spectators of this bustling stage.
Thee we reject, unable to abide
Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure,
Made such by thee, we love thee for that cause
For which we shunn'd and hated thee before.
Then we are free: then liberty, like day,
Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from Hea-

ven

Fires all the faculties with glorious joy.
A voice is heard, that mortal ears hear not

Till thou hast touch'd them; 'tis the voice of Thou fool! will thy discovery of the etuse

Suspend th' effect, or heal it? Has not God
Still wrought by means since first he made the

world?

And did he not of old employ his means
To drown it? What is his creation less
Than a capacious reservoir of means
Form'd for his use, and ready at his will?
Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve; æsk of
hima

song,

A loud Hosanna sent from all thy works,
Which he that hears it with a shout repeats,
And adds his rapture to the gen'ral praise.
In that blest moment, Nature, throwing wide
Her veil opake, discloses with a smile
The Author of her beauties, who, retir'd
Behind his own creation, works unseen
By the impure, and hears his pow'r denied.
Thou art the source and centre of all minds,
Their only point of rest, Eternal Word!
From thee departing, they are lost, to rove
At random, without honor, hope, of peace.
From thee is all that sooths the life of man,
His high endeavour, and his glad suecess,
His strength to suffer, and his will to serve.
But, O! thou bounteous Giver of all good,
Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown!
Give what thou canst, without thee we are

wilt

poor; And with thee rich, take what thou

away.

And desolates a nation at a blast.
Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells
Of homogeneal and discordant springs
And principles; of causes, how they work
By necessary laws their sure effects,
Of action, and re-action. He has found
The source of the disease that Nature feels,
And bids the world take heart and banish
fear.

Or ask of whomsoever he has taught,
And learn, tho' late, the genuine cause of all.

It is the constant revolution, stale
And tasteless, of the sanie repeated joys,
That palls and satiates, and makes languid

life

A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down.
Health suffers, and the spirits ebb; the heart
Recoils from its own choice at the full feast
Is famish'd-finds no music in the song,
No smartness in the jest, and wonders why.
Yet thousands still desire to journey on,
Though halt, and weary of the path they

They love it, and yet loath it; fear to die,
Yet scorn the purposes for which they live.
Then wherefore not renounce them! No-
the dread,

tread.

The paralytic, who can hold her cards,
But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand
To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort
Her mingled suits and sequences, and sits,
Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad
And silent cypher, while her proxy plays.
Others are dragg'd into the crowded room
Between supporters; and, once seated, sit,
Through downright inability to rise,
Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again,
These speak a loud memento. Yet even these
Themselves love life, and cling to it; as he
That overhangs a torrent, to a twig.

The slavish dread of solitude, that breeds
Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame,
And their invet'rate habits-all forbid.

Whom call we gay? That honor has been
long

The boast of mere pretenders to the name.
The innocent are gay- the lark is gay,
That dries his feathers, saturate with dew,
Beneath the rosy cloud, while yet the beams
Of day-spring overshoot his humble nest.
The peasant too, a witness of his song,
Himself a songster, is as gay as he.
But save me from the gaiety of those
Whose head-achs nail them to a noon-day bed;
And save me too from theirs whose haggard

eyes

$135
The Wearisomeness of what is com-Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float
monly called a Life of Pleasure. CoWPER. Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck
THE spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns; That no rude favor maritime invade
With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets,
The low'ring eye, the petulance, the frown,
The noise of nice nobility. Breathe soft
And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort
Ye clarionets, and softer still
And mar the face of beauty, where no cause
ye Autes,
For such immeasurable woe appears;
That winds and waters, lull'd by magic sounds,
These Flora banishes, and gives the fair
May bare us smoothly to the Gallic shore.
True, we have lost an empire-let it pass.

Sweet smiles and bloom, less transient than her True, we may thank the perfidy of France,

own.

That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown,
With all the cunning of an envious shrew :
A brave man knows no malice, but at once
And let that pass-'twas but a trick of state.
Forgets in peace the injuries of war,
And gives his distrest foe a friend's embrace.
And, sham'd as we have been, to the very

beard

-

Flash desperation, and betray their pangs
For property stript off by cruel chance;
From gaiety that fills the bones with pain,
The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with

woe.

§ 136. Satirical Review of our Trips to France. COWPER.

Brav'd and defied, and in our own sea prov'd
Too weak for those decisive blows that once
Some small pre-eminence: we justly boast
Insur'd us mast'ry there, we yet retain
At least superior jockeyship, and claim
The honors of the turf as all our own.

Go then, well worthy of the praise ye seek,
And show the shame ye niight conceal, at

home,

In foreign eyes!-be grooms, and win the
plate,
Where once your nobler fathers won a crown!

§ 137. The Pulpit the Engine of Reformation.

COWPER.

THE Pulpit therefore (and I name it, fill'd
With solemn awe, that bids me well beware
L12
With

With what intent I touch the holy thing)-
The Pulpit (when the sat'rist has at last,
Strutting and vap'ring in an empty school,
Spent all his force and made no proselyte)-
say the Pulpit (in the sober use
Of its legitimate peculiar pow'rs)
Must stand acknowledg'd while the world
shall stand

The most important and effectual guard,
Support and ornament of virtue's cause.
There stands the messenger of truth; there
stands

The legate of the skies: his theme divine,
His office sacred, his credentials clear.
By him the violated law speaks out

Its thunders, and by him in strains as sweet
As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace.
He stablishes the strong, restores the weak,
Reclaims the wand'rer, binds the broken
heart,

And, arm'd himself in panoply complete,
Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms
Bright as his own; and trains, by ev'ry rule
Of holy discipline, to glorious war,
The sacramental host of God's clect.

$138. The Petit-Maitre Clergyman. CowPER. I VENERATE the man whose heart is warm, Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and

whose life

If haply from his guarded breast
Should steal the unsuspected sigh;
And Memory, an unbidden guest,
With former passions fill'd his eye ·
Then pious hope and duty prais'd

The wisdom of th' unerring sway;
And while his eye to heaven he rais'd,
Its silent waters sunk away.

$139. Armine and Elvira, a Legendary Tale. CARTWRIGHT.

PART I.

A HERMIT on the banks of Trent,

Far from the world's bewildering maze, To humbler scenes of calm content

Had fled, from brighter, busier days.

Coincident, exhibit lucid proof
That he is honest in the sacred cause.
To such I render inore than mere respect,
Whose actions say that they respect themselves,
But, loose in morals, and in manners vain,
In conversation frivolous, in dress
Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse;
Frequent in park, with lady at his side,
Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes;
But rare at home, and never at his books,
Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card;
Constant at routs, familiar with a round
Of ladyship's, a stranger to the
poor;
Ambitious of preferment, for its gold,
And well prepar'd by ignorance and sloth,
By infidelity and love o' th' world
To make God's work a sinecure: a slave

Nor yet neglected were the charms
To polish'd life that grace impart :

To his own pleasures, and his patrons pride-Virtue, he knew, but feebly warnis
From such apostles, O ye mitred heads,
Preserve the church! and lay not careless

Till science humanize the heart.
And, when he saw the lawless train

hands
On seulls that cannot teach, and will not
learn.

Of passions in the youthful breast,
He curb'd them not with rigid rein,

But strove to sooth them into rest.

"And sure that heaven my hopes shall bless,
"And make thee fam'd for virtues fair,
And happy too, if happiness
"Depend upon a parent's pray'r:
"Last hope of life's departing day,

"In whom its future scenes I see!
"No truant thought shall ever stray

"From this lone hermitage and thee.” Thus, to his humble fate resign'd,

His breast each anxious care foregoes:
All but the care of Armine's mind,

The dearest task a parent knows!
And well were all his cares repaid;

In Armine's breast each virtue grew,
In full maturity display'd

To fond Affection 's anxious view.

"Think not, my son, in this," he cry'd, "A father's precept shall displease; "No-be each passion gratify'd

That tends to happiness or ease.

"Nor shall th' ungrateful task be mine
"Their native gen'rous warmth to blame,
“That warmth if reason's suffrage join

64

To point the object and the aim.