ERRATA

To every class we have a school assign'd,Rules for all ranks and food for every mind;Yet one there is, that small regard to ruleOr study pays, and still is deem'd a school:That, where a deaf, poor, patient widow sits,And awes some thirty infants as she knits;Infants of humble, busy wives, who paySome trifling price for freedom through the day.At this good matron's hut the children meet,10Who thus becomes the mother of the street.Her room is small, they cannot widelystray—Her threshold high, they cannot run away;Though deaf, she sees the rebel-heroesshout;—Though lame, her white rod nimbly walks about;With band of yarn she keeps offenders in,And to her gown the sturdiest rogue can pin.Aided by these, and spells, and tell-tale birds,Her power they dread and reverence her words.To learning's second seats we now proceed,20Where humming students gilded primers read;Or books with letters large and pictures gay,To make their reading but a kind ofplay—"Reading made Easy," so the titles tell;But they who read must first begin to spell.There may be profit in these arts, but stillLearning is labour, call it what youwill—Upon the youthful mind a heavy load;Nor must we hope to find the royal road.Some will their easy steps to science show,30And some to heav'n itself their by-way know;Ah! trust them not;—who fame or bliss would share,Must learn by labour, and must live by care.Another matron of superior kindFor higher schools prepares the rising mind;Preparatoryshe her learning calls,The step first made to colleges and halls.She early sees to what the mind will grow,Nor abler judge of infant-powers I know;She sees what soon the lively will impede,40And how the steadier will in turn succeed;Observes the dawn of wisdom, fancy, taste,And knows what parts will wear and what will waste:She marks the mind too lively, and at onceSees the gay coxcomb and the rattling dunce.Long has she lived, and much she loves to traceHer former pupils, now a lordly race;Whom when she sees rich robes and furs bedeck,She marks the pride which once she strove to check.A burgess comes, and she remembers well50How hard her task to make his worship spell;Cold, selfish, dull, inanimate, unkind,'Twas but by anger he display'd a mind;Now civil, smiling, complaisant, and gay,The world has worn th' unsocial crust away;That sullen spirit now a softness wears,And, save by fits, e'en dulness disappears:But still the matron can the man behold,Dull, selfish, hard, inanimate, and cold.A merchant passes;—"probity and truth,60Prudence and patience, mark'd thee from thy youth."Thus she observes, but oft retains her fearsFor him, who now with name unstain'd appears;Nor hope relinquishes for one who yetIs lost in error and involved in debt;For latent evil in that heart she found,More open here, but here the core was sound.Various our day-schools: here behold we oneEmpty and still;—the morning duties done,Soil'd, tatter'd, worn, and thrown in various heaps,70Appear their books, and there confusion sleeps;The workmen all are from the Babel fled,And lost their tools, till the return they dread.Meantime the master, with his wig awry,Prepares his books for business by-and-by.Now all th' insignia of the monarch laidBeside him rest, and none stand by afraid;He, while his troop light-hearted leap and play,Is all intent on duties of the day;No more the tyrant stern or judge severe,80He feels the father's and the husband's fear.Ah! little think the timid trembling crowd,That one so wise, so powerful, and so proud,Should feel himself, and dread the humble illsOf rent-day charges and of coalman's bills;That, while they mercy from their judge implore,He fears himself—a knocking at the door;And feels the burthen as his neighbour statesHis humble portion to the parish-rates.They sit th' allotted hours, then eager run,90Rushing to pleasure when the duty's done;His hour of leisure is of different kind,Then cares domestic rush upon his mind;And half the ease and comfort he enjoys,Is when surrounded by slates, books, and boys.Poor Reuben Dixon has the noisiest schoolOf ragged lads, who ever bow'd to rule;Low in his price—the men who heave our coals,And clean our causeways, send him boys in shoals.To see poor Reuben, with his frybeside—100Their half-check'd rudeness and his half-scorn'd pride—Their room, the sty in which th' assembly meet,In the close lane behind the Northgate-street;T' observe his vain attempts to keep the peace,Till tolls the bell, and strife and troubles cease,Calls for our praise; his labour praise deserves,But not our pity; Reuben has no nerves.'Mid noise and dirt, and stench, and play, and prate,He calmly cuts the pen or views the slate.But Leonard!—yes, for Leonard's fate I grieve,110Who loathes the station which he dares not leave;He cannot dig, he will not beg his bread;All his dependence rests upon his head;And, deeply skill'd in sciences and arts,On vulgar lads he wastes superior parts.Alas! what grief that feeling mind sustains,In guiding hands and stirring torpid brains;He whose proud mind from pole to pole will move,And view the wonders of the worlds above;Who thinks and reasons strongly—hard his fate,120Confined for ever to the pen and slate.True, he submits, and when the long dull dayHas slowly pass'd, in weary tasks, away,To other worlds with cheerful view he looks,And parts the night between repose and books.Amid his labours, he has sometimes triedTo turn a little from his cares aside;Pope, Milton, Dryden, with delight has seized,His soul engaged and of his trouble eased.When, with a heavy eye and ill-done sum,130No part conceived, a stupid boy will come;Then Leonard first subdues the rising frown,And bids the blockhead lay his blunders down;}O'er which disgusted he will turn his eye,}To his sad duty his sound mind apply,}And, vex'd in spirit, throw his pleasures by.Turn we to schools which more than theseafford—The sound instruction and the wholesome board;And first our school for ladies:—pity callsFor one soft sigh, when we behold these walls,140Placed near the town, and where, from window high,The fair, confined, may our free crowds espy,With many a stranger gazing up and down,And all the envied tumult of the town;May, in the smiling summer-eve, when theyAre sent to sleep the pleasant hours away,Behold the poor (whom they conceive the bless'd)Employ'd for hours, and grieved they cannot rest.Here the fond girl, whose days are sad and fewSince dear mamma pronounced the last adieu,150Looks to the road, and fondly thinks she hearsThe carriage-wheels, and struggles with her tears.All yet is new, the misses great and small,Madam herself, and teachers, odious all;From laughter, pity, nay command, she turns,But melts in softness, or with anger burns;Nauseates her food, and wonders who can sleepOn such mean beds, where she can only weep.She scorns condolence—but to all she hatesSlowly at length her mind accommodates;160Then looks on bondage with the same concernAs others felt, and finds that she must learnAs others learn'd—the common lot to share,To search for comfort and submit to care.There are, 'tis said, who on these seats attend,And to these ductile minds destruction vend;Wretches (to virtue, peace, and nature, foes)To these soft minds, their wicked trash expose;Seize on the soul, ere passions take the sway,And lead the heart, ere yet it feels, astray:170Smugglers obscene!—and can there be who takeInfernal pains, the sleeping vice to wake?Can there be those, by whom the thought defiledEnters the spotless bosom of a child?}By whom the ill is to the heart convey'd,}Who lend the foe, not yet in arms, their aid,}And sap the city-walls before the siege be laid?Oh! rather skulking in the by-ways steal,And rob the poorest traveller of his meal;Burst through the humblest trader's bolted door;180Bear from the widow's hut her winter-store;With stolen steed on highways take your stand,Your lips with curses arm'd, with death yourhand;—}Take all but life—the virtuous more would say,}Take life itself, dear as it is, away,}Rather than guilty thus the guileless soul betray.Years, pass away—let us suppose them past,Th' accomplish'd nymph for freedom looks at last;All hardships over, which a school contains,The spirit's bondage and the body's pains;190Where teachers make the heartless, trembling setOf pupils suffer for their own regret;Where winter's cold, attack'd by one poor fire,Chills the fair child, commanded to retire;She felt it keenly in the morning air,Keenly she felt it at the evening prayer.More pleasant summer; but then walks were madeNot a sweet ramble, but a slow parade;They moved by pairs beside the hawthorn-hedge,Only to set their feelings on an edge;200And now at eve, when all their spirits rise,Are sent to rest, and all their pleasure dies;Where yet they all the town alert can see,And distant plough-boys pacing o'er the lea.These and the tasks successive mastersbrought—The French they conn'd, the curious works they wrought,The hours they made their taper fingers strike,Note after note, all dull to them alike;Their drawings, dancings on appointed days,Playing with globes, and getting parts of plays;210The tender friendships made 'twixt heart and heart,When the dear friends had nothing toimpart:—All! all! are over;—now th' accomplished maidLongs for the world, of nothing there afraid.Dreams of delight invade her gentle breast,And fancied lovers rob the heart of rest;At the paternal door a carriage stands,Love knits their hearts, and Hymen joins their hands.Ah!—world unknown! how charming is thy view,Thy pleasures many, and each pleasure new!220Ah!—world experienced! what of thee is told?How few thy pleasures, and those few how old!Within a silent street, and far apartFrom noise of business, from a quay or mart,Stands an old spacious building, and the dinYou hear without, explains the work within;Unlike the whispering of the nymphs, this noiseLoudly proclaims a "boarding-school for boys."The master heeds it not, for thirty yearsHave render'd all familiar to his ears;230He sits in comfort, 'mid the various soundOf mingled tones for ever flowing round;Day after day he to his taskattends—Unvaried toil, and care that never ends.Boys in their works proceed; while his employAdmits no change, or changes but the boy;Yet time has made it easy;—he besideHas power supreme, and power is sweet to pride.But grant him pleasure;—what can teachers feel,Dependent helpers always at the wheel?240Their power despised, their compensation small,Their labour dull, their life laborious all;Set after set, the lower lads to makeFit for the class which their superiors take;The road of learning for a time to trackIn roughest state, and then again go back;Just the same way on other troops towait—Attendants fix'd at learning's lower gate.The day-tasks now are over;—to their groundRush the gay crowd with joy-compelling sound;250Glad to [elude] the burthens of the day,The eager parties hurry to their play.Then in these hours of liberty we findThe native bias of the opening mind;They yet possess not skill the mask to place,And hide the passions glowing in the face;Yet some are found—the close, the sly, the mean,Who know already all must not be seen.Lo! one who walks apart, although so young,He lays restraint upon his eye and tongue;260Nor will he into scrapes or dangers get,And half the school are in the stripling's debt.Suspicious, timid, he is much afraidOf trick and plot—he dreads to be betray'd;He shuns all friendship, for he finds they lend,When lads begin to call each other friend.Yet self with self has war; the tempting sightOf fruit on sale provokes hisappetite;—}See! how, he walks the sweet seduction by;}That he is tempted, costs him first a sigh—}270'Tis dangerous to indulge, 'tis grievous to deny!This he will choose, and whispering asks the price.The purchase dreadful, but the portion nice;Within the pocket he explores the pence;Without, temptation strikes on either sense,The sight, the smell;—but then he thinks againOf money gone! while fruit nor taste remain.Meantime there comes an eager thoughtless boy,Who gives the price and only feels the joy:Example dire! the youthful miser stops,280And slowly back the treasured coinage drops.Heroic deed! for should he now comply,Can he to-morrow's appetite deny?Beside, these spendthrifts who so friendly live,Cloy'd with their purchase, will a portiongive.—Here ends debate, he buttons up his store,And feels the comfort that it burns no more,Unlike to him the tyrant-boy, whose swayAll hearts acknowledge; him the crowds obey:At his command they break through every rule;290Whoever governs, he controls the school;'Tis not the distant emperor moves their fear,But the proud viceroy who is ever near.Verres could do that mischief in a day,For which not Rome, in all its power, could pay;And these boy-tyrants will their slaves distress,And do the wrongs no master can redress.}The mind they load with fear; it feels disdain}For its own baseness; yet it tries in vain}To shake th' admitted power;—the coward comes again.300'Tis more than present pain these tyrants give,Long as we've life some strong impressions live;And these young ruffians in the soul will sowSeeds of all vices that on weakness grow.Hark! at his word the trembling younglings flee;Where he is walking none must walk but he;See! from the winter-fire the weak retreat;His the warm corner, his the favourite seat,Save when he yields it to some slave to keepAwhile, then back, at his return, to creep.310At his command his poor dependents fly,And humbly bribe him as a proud ally;Flatter'd by all, the notice he bestowsIs gross abuse, and bantering and blows;Yet he's a dunce, and, spite of all his fameWithout the desk, within he feels his shame:For there the weaker boy, who felt his scorn,For him corrects the blunders of the morn;And he is taught, unpleasant truth! to findThe trembling body has the prouder mind.320Hark to that shout, that burst of empty noise,From a rude set of bluff, obstreperous boys;They who, like colts let loose, with vigour bound,And thoughtless spirit, o'er the beaten ground;Fearless they leap, and every youngster feelsHis Alma active in his hands and heels.These are the sons of farmers, and they comeWith partial fondness for the joys of home;Their minds are coursing in their fathers' fields,And e'en the dream a lively pleasure yields;330They, much enduring, sit th' allotted hours,And o'er a grammar waste their sprightly powers;They dance; but them can measured steps delight,Whom horse and hounds to daring deeds excite?Nor could they bare to wait from meal to meal,Did they not slyly to the chamber steal,And there the produce of the basket seize,The mother's gift! still studious of their ease.Poor Alma, thus oppress'd, forbears to rise,But rests or revels in the arms and thighs[72].340"But is it sure that study will repayThe more attentive and forbearing?"—Nay!The farm, the ship, the humble shop have eachGains which severest studies seldom reach.At college place a youth, who means to raiseHis state by merit and his name by praise;Still much he hazards; there is serious strifeIn the contentions of a scholar's life.Not all the mind's attention, care, distress,Nor diligence itself, ensure success;350His jealous heart a rival's power may dread,Till its strong feelings have confused his head,And, after days and months, nay, years of pain,He finds just lost the object he would gain.But, grant him this and all such life can give,For other prospects he begins to live;Begins to feel that man was form'd to lookAnd long for other objects than a book.In his mind's eye his house and glebe he sees,And farms and talks with farmers at his ease;360And time is lost, till fortune sends him forthTo a rude world unconscious of his worth;There in some petty parish to reside,The college-boast, then turn'd the village-guide;And, though awhile his flock and dairy please,He soon reverts to former joys and ease:Glad when a friend shall come to break his rest,And speak of all the pleasures theypossess'd—Of masters, fellows, tutors, all with whomThey shared those pleasures, never more to come;370Till both conceive the times by bliss endear'd,Which once so dismal and so dull appear'd.But fix our scholar, and suppose him crown'dWith all the glory gain'd on classic ground;Suppose the world without a sigh resign'd,And to his college all his care confined;Give him all honours that such states allow,The freshman's terror and the tradesman's bow;Let his apartments with his taste agree,And all his views be those he loves to see;380Let him each day behold the savoury treat,For which he pays not, but is paid to eat;These joys and glories soon delight no more,Although, withheld, the mind is vex'd and sore;The honour too is to the place confined;Abroad they know not each superior mind:Strangers nowranglersin these figures see,Nor give they worship to a high degree.Unlike the prophet's is the scholar's case,His honour all is in his dwelling-place;390And there such honours are familiar things;What is a monarch in a crowd of kings?Like other sovereigns he's by forms address'd,By statutes govern'd and with rules oppress'd.When all these forms and duties die away,And the day passes like the former day,Then, of exterior things at once bereft,He's to himself and one attendant left;Nay, John too goes; nor aught of service moreRemains for him; he gladly quits the door,400And, as he whistles to the college-gate,He kindly pities his poor master's fate.Books cannot always please, however good;Minds are not ever craving for their food;But sleep will soon the weary soul prepareFor cares to-morrow that were this day's care;For forms, for feasts, that sundry times have past,And formal feasts that will for ever last."But then from study will no comforts rise?"Yes! such as studious minds alone can prize;410Comforts, yea! joys ineffable they find,Who seek the prouder pleasures of the mind:The soul, collected in those happy hours,Then makes her efforts, then enjoys her powers;And in those seasons feels herself repaid,For labours past and honours long delay'd.No! 'tis not worldly gain, although by chanceThe sons of learning may to wealth advance;Nor station high, though in some favouring hourThe sons of learning may arrive at power;420Nor is it glory, though the public voiceOf honest praise will make the heart rejoice;But 'tis the mind's own feelings give the joy,Pleasures she gathers in her ownemploy—Pleasures that gain or praise cannot bestow,Yet can dilate and raise them when they flow.For this the poet looks the world around,Where form and life and reasoning man are found.He loves the mind in all its modes to trace,And all the manners of the changing race;430Silent he walks the road of life along,And views the aims of its tumultuous throng;He finds what shapes the Proteus-passions take,And what strange waste of life and joy they make,And loves to show them in their varied ways,With honest blame or with unflattering praise.'Tis good to know, 'tis pleasant to impart,These turns and movements of the human heart;The stronger features of the soul to paint,And make distinct the latent and the faint;440Man as he is, to place in all men's view,Yet none with rancour, none with scorn pursue;Nor be it ever of my portraitstold,—"Here the strong lines of malice webehold."—This let me hope, that when in public viewI bring my pictures, men may feel them true;"This is a likeness," may they all declare,"And I have seen him, but I know not where;"For I should mourn the mischief I had done,If as the likeness all would fix on one.450Man's vice and crime I combat as I can,But to hisGodand conscience leave the man;I search (a [Quixote!]) all the land about,To find its giants and enchanters out,(The giant-folly, the enchanter-vice,Whom doubtless I shall vanquish in a trice;)But is there man whom I would injure?—no!I am to him a fellow, not afoe—A fellow-sinner, who must rather dreadThe bolt, than hurl it at another's head.460No! let the guiltless, if there such be found,Launch forth the spear, and deal the deadly wound;How can I so the cause of virtue aid,Who am myself attainted and afraid?Yet, as I can, I point the powers of rhyme,And, sparing criminals, attack the crime.

To every class we have a school assign'd,

Rules for all ranks and food for every mind;

Yet one there is, that small regard to rule

Or study pays, and still is deem'd a school:

That, where a deaf, poor, patient widow sits,

And awes some thirty infants as she knits;

Infants of humble, busy wives, who pay

Some trifling price for freedom through the day.

At this good matron's hut the children meet,

Who thus becomes the mother of the street.

Her room is small, they cannot widelystray—

Her threshold high, they cannot run away;

Though deaf, she sees the rebel-heroesshout;—

Though lame, her white rod nimbly walks about;

With band of yarn she keeps offenders in,

And to her gown the sturdiest rogue can pin.

Aided by these, and spells, and tell-tale birds,

Her power they dread and reverence her words.

To learning's second seats we now proceed,

Where humming students gilded primers read;

Or books with letters large and pictures gay,

To make their reading but a kind ofplay—

"Reading made Easy," so the titles tell;

But they who read must first begin to spell.

There may be profit in these arts, but still

Learning is labour, call it what youwill—

Upon the youthful mind a heavy load;

Nor must we hope to find the royal road.

Some will their easy steps to science show,

And some to heav'n itself their by-way know;

Ah! trust them not;—who fame or bliss would share,

Must learn by labour, and must live by care.

Another matron of superior kind

For higher schools prepares the rising mind;

Preparatoryshe her learning calls,

The step first made to colleges and halls.

She early sees to what the mind will grow,

Nor abler judge of infant-powers I know;

She sees what soon the lively will impede,

And how the steadier will in turn succeed;

Observes the dawn of wisdom, fancy, taste,

And knows what parts will wear and what will waste:

She marks the mind too lively, and at once

Sees the gay coxcomb and the rattling dunce.

Long has she lived, and much she loves to trace

Her former pupils, now a lordly race;

Whom when she sees rich robes and furs bedeck,

She marks the pride which once she strove to check.

A burgess comes, and she remembers well

How hard her task to make his worship spell;

Cold, selfish, dull, inanimate, unkind,

'Twas but by anger he display'd a mind;

Now civil, smiling, complaisant, and gay,

The world has worn th' unsocial crust away;

That sullen spirit now a softness wears,

And, save by fits, e'en dulness disappears:

But still the matron can the man behold,

Dull, selfish, hard, inanimate, and cold.

A merchant passes;—"probity and truth,

Prudence and patience, mark'd thee from thy youth."

Thus she observes, but oft retains her fears

For him, who now with name unstain'd appears;

Nor hope relinquishes for one who yet

Is lost in error and involved in debt;

For latent evil in that heart she found,

More open here, but here the core was sound.

Various our day-schools: here behold we one

Empty and still;—the morning duties done,

Soil'd, tatter'd, worn, and thrown in various heaps,

Appear their books, and there confusion sleeps;

The workmen all are from the Babel fled,

And lost their tools, till the return they dread.

Meantime the master, with his wig awry,

Prepares his books for business by-and-by.

Now all th' insignia of the monarch laid

Beside him rest, and none stand by afraid;

He, while his troop light-hearted leap and play,

Is all intent on duties of the day;

No more the tyrant stern or judge severe,

He feels the father's and the husband's fear.

Ah! little think the timid trembling crowd,

That one so wise, so powerful, and so proud,

Should feel himself, and dread the humble ills

Of rent-day charges and of coalman's bills;

That, while they mercy from their judge implore,

He fears himself—a knocking at the door;

And feels the burthen as his neighbour states

His humble portion to the parish-rates.

They sit th' allotted hours, then eager run,

Rushing to pleasure when the duty's done;

His hour of leisure is of different kind,

Then cares domestic rush upon his mind;

And half the ease and comfort he enjoys,

Is when surrounded by slates, books, and boys.

Poor Reuben Dixon has the noisiest school

Of ragged lads, who ever bow'd to rule;

Low in his price—the men who heave our coals,

And clean our causeways, send him boys in shoals.

To see poor Reuben, with his frybeside—

100

Their half-check'd rudeness and his half-scorn'd pride—

Their room, the sty in which th' assembly meet,

In the close lane behind the Northgate-street;

T' observe his vain attempts to keep the peace,

Till tolls the bell, and strife and troubles cease,

Calls for our praise; his labour praise deserves,

But not our pity; Reuben has no nerves.

'Mid noise and dirt, and stench, and play, and prate,

He calmly cuts the pen or views the slate.

But Leonard!—yes, for Leonard's fate I grieve,

110

Who loathes the station which he dares not leave;

He cannot dig, he will not beg his bread;

All his dependence rests upon his head;

And, deeply skill'd in sciences and arts,

On vulgar lads he wastes superior parts.

Alas! what grief that feeling mind sustains,

In guiding hands and stirring torpid brains;

He whose proud mind from pole to pole will move,

And view the wonders of the worlds above;

Who thinks and reasons strongly—hard his fate,

120

Confined for ever to the pen and slate.

True, he submits, and when the long dull day

Has slowly pass'd, in weary tasks, away,

To other worlds with cheerful view he looks,

And parts the night between repose and books.

Amid his labours, he has sometimes tried

To turn a little from his cares aside;

Pope, Milton, Dryden, with delight has seized,

His soul engaged and of his trouble eased.

When, with a heavy eye and ill-done sum,

130

No part conceived, a stupid boy will come;

Then Leonard first subdues the rising frown,

And bids the blockhead lay his blunders down;

}

O'er which disgusted he will turn his eye,

}

To his sad duty his sound mind apply,

}

And, vex'd in spirit, throw his pleasures by.

Turn we to schools which more than theseafford—

The sound instruction and the wholesome board;

And first our school for ladies:—pity calls

For one soft sigh, when we behold these walls,

140

Placed near the town, and where, from window high,

The fair, confined, may our free crowds espy,

With many a stranger gazing up and down,

And all the envied tumult of the town;

May, in the smiling summer-eve, when they

Are sent to sleep the pleasant hours away,

Behold the poor (whom they conceive the bless'd)

Employ'd for hours, and grieved they cannot rest.

Here the fond girl, whose days are sad and few

Since dear mamma pronounced the last adieu,

150

Looks to the road, and fondly thinks she hears

The carriage-wheels, and struggles with her tears.

All yet is new, the misses great and small,

Madam herself, and teachers, odious all;

From laughter, pity, nay command, she turns,

But melts in softness, or with anger burns;

Nauseates her food, and wonders who can sleep

On such mean beds, where she can only weep.

She scorns condolence—but to all she hates

Slowly at length her mind accommodates;

160

Then looks on bondage with the same concern

As others felt, and finds that she must learn

As others learn'd—the common lot to share,

To search for comfort and submit to care.

There are, 'tis said, who on these seats attend,

And to these ductile minds destruction vend;

Wretches (to virtue, peace, and nature, foes)

To these soft minds, their wicked trash expose;

Seize on the soul, ere passions take the sway,

And lead the heart, ere yet it feels, astray:

170

Smugglers obscene!—and can there be who take

Infernal pains, the sleeping vice to wake?

Can there be those, by whom the thought defiled

Enters the spotless bosom of a child?

}

By whom the ill is to the heart convey'd,

}

Who lend the foe, not yet in arms, their aid,

}

And sap the city-walls before the siege be laid?

Oh! rather skulking in the by-ways steal,

And rob the poorest traveller of his meal;

Burst through the humblest trader's bolted door;

180

Bear from the widow's hut her winter-store;

With stolen steed on highways take your stand,

Your lips with curses arm'd, with death yourhand;—

}

Take all but life—the virtuous more would say,

}

Take life itself, dear as it is, away,

}

Rather than guilty thus the guileless soul betray.

Years, pass away—let us suppose them past,

Th' accomplish'd nymph for freedom looks at last;

All hardships over, which a school contains,

The spirit's bondage and the body's pains;

190

Where teachers make the heartless, trembling set

Of pupils suffer for their own regret;

Where winter's cold, attack'd by one poor fire,

Chills the fair child, commanded to retire;

She felt it keenly in the morning air,

Keenly she felt it at the evening prayer.

More pleasant summer; but then walks were made

Not a sweet ramble, but a slow parade;

They moved by pairs beside the hawthorn-hedge,

Only to set their feelings on an edge;

200

And now at eve, when all their spirits rise,

Are sent to rest, and all their pleasure dies;

Where yet they all the town alert can see,

And distant plough-boys pacing o'er the lea.

These and the tasks successive mastersbrought—

The French they conn'd, the curious works they wrought,

The hours they made their taper fingers strike,

Note after note, all dull to them alike;

Their drawings, dancings on appointed days,

Playing with globes, and getting parts of plays;

210

The tender friendships made 'twixt heart and heart,

When the dear friends had nothing toimpart:—

All! all! are over;—now th' accomplished maid

Longs for the world, of nothing there afraid.

Dreams of delight invade her gentle breast,

And fancied lovers rob the heart of rest;

At the paternal door a carriage stands,

Love knits their hearts, and Hymen joins their hands.

Ah!—world unknown! how charming is thy view,

Thy pleasures many, and each pleasure new!

220

Ah!—world experienced! what of thee is told?

How few thy pleasures, and those few how old!

Within a silent street, and far apart

From noise of business, from a quay or mart,

Stands an old spacious building, and the din

You hear without, explains the work within;

Unlike the whispering of the nymphs, this noise

Loudly proclaims a "boarding-school for boys."

The master heeds it not, for thirty years

Have render'd all familiar to his ears;

230

He sits in comfort, 'mid the various sound

Of mingled tones for ever flowing round;

Day after day he to his taskattends—

Unvaried toil, and care that never ends.

Boys in their works proceed; while his employ

Admits no change, or changes but the boy;

Yet time has made it easy;—he beside

Has power supreme, and power is sweet to pride.

But grant him pleasure;—what can teachers feel,

Dependent helpers always at the wheel?

240

Their power despised, their compensation small,

Their labour dull, their life laborious all;

Set after set, the lower lads to make

Fit for the class which their superiors take;

The road of learning for a time to track

In roughest state, and then again go back;

Just the same way on other troops towait—

Attendants fix'd at learning's lower gate.

The day-tasks now are over;—to their ground

Rush the gay crowd with joy-compelling sound;

250

Glad to [elude] the burthens of the day,

The eager parties hurry to their play.

Then in these hours of liberty we find

The native bias of the opening mind;

They yet possess not skill the mask to place,

And hide the passions glowing in the face;

Yet some are found—the close, the sly, the mean,

Who know already all must not be seen.

Lo! one who walks apart, although so young,

He lays restraint upon his eye and tongue;

260

Nor will he into scrapes or dangers get,

And half the school are in the stripling's debt.

Suspicious, timid, he is much afraid

Of trick and plot—he dreads to be betray'd;

He shuns all friendship, for he finds they lend,

When lads begin to call each other friend.

Yet self with self has war; the tempting sight

Of fruit on sale provokes hisappetite;—

}

See! how, he walks the sweet seduction by;

}

That he is tempted, costs him first a sigh—

}

270

'Tis dangerous to indulge, 'tis grievous to deny!

This he will choose, and whispering asks the price.

The purchase dreadful, but the portion nice;

Within the pocket he explores the pence;

Without, temptation strikes on either sense,

The sight, the smell;—but then he thinks again

Of money gone! while fruit nor taste remain.

Meantime there comes an eager thoughtless boy,

Who gives the price and only feels the joy:

Example dire! the youthful miser stops,

280

And slowly back the treasured coinage drops.

Heroic deed! for should he now comply,

Can he to-morrow's appetite deny?

Beside, these spendthrifts who so friendly live,

Cloy'd with their purchase, will a portiongive.—

Here ends debate, he buttons up his store,

And feels the comfort that it burns no more,

Unlike to him the tyrant-boy, whose sway

All hearts acknowledge; him the crowds obey:

At his command they break through every rule;

290

Whoever governs, he controls the school;

'Tis not the distant emperor moves their fear,

But the proud viceroy who is ever near.

Verres could do that mischief in a day,

For which not Rome, in all its power, could pay;

And these boy-tyrants will their slaves distress,

And do the wrongs no master can redress.

}

The mind they load with fear; it feels disdain

}

For its own baseness; yet it tries in vain

}

To shake th' admitted power;—the coward comes again.

300

'Tis more than present pain these tyrants give,

Long as we've life some strong impressions live;

And these young ruffians in the soul will sow

Seeds of all vices that on weakness grow.

Hark! at his word the trembling younglings flee;

Where he is walking none must walk but he;

See! from the winter-fire the weak retreat;

His the warm corner, his the favourite seat,

Save when he yields it to some slave to keep

Awhile, then back, at his return, to creep.

310

At his command his poor dependents fly,

And humbly bribe him as a proud ally;

Flatter'd by all, the notice he bestows

Is gross abuse, and bantering and blows;

Yet he's a dunce, and, spite of all his fame

Without the desk, within he feels his shame:

For there the weaker boy, who felt his scorn,

For him corrects the blunders of the morn;

And he is taught, unpleasant truth! to find

The trembling body has the prouder mind.

320

Hark to that shout, that burst of empty noise,

From a rude set of bluff, obstreperous boys;

They who, like colts let loose, with vigour bound,

And thoughtless spirit, o'er the beaten ground;

Fearless they leap, and every youngster feels

His Alma active in his hands and heels.

These are the sons of farmers, and they come

With partial fondness for the joys of home;

Their minds are coursing in their fathers' fields,

And e'en the dream a lively pleasure yields;

330

They, much enduring, sit th' allotted hours,

And o'er a grammar waste their sprightly powers;

They dance; but them can measured steps delight,

Whom horse and hounds to daring deeds excite?

Nor could they bare to wait from meal to meal,

Did they not slyly to the chamber steal,

And there the produce of the basket seize,

The mother's gift! still studious of their ease.

Poor Alma, thus oppress'd, forbears to rise,

But rests or revels in the arms and thighs[72].

340

"But is it sure that study will repay

The more attentive and forbearing?"—Nay!

The farm, the ship, the humble shop have each

Gains which severest studies seldom reach.

At college place a youth, who means to raise

His state by merit and his name by praise;

Still much he hazards; there is serious strife

In the contentions of a scholar's life.

Not all the mind's attention, care, distress,

Nor diligence itself, ensure success;

350

His jealous heart a rival's power may dread,

Till its strong feelings have confused his head,

And, after days and months, nay, years of pain,

He finds just lost the object he would gain.

But, grant him this and all such life can give,

For other prospects he begins to live;

Begins to feel that man was form'd to look

And long for other objects than a book.

In his mind's eye his house and glebe he sees,

And farms and talks with farmers at his ease;

360

And time is lost, till fortune sends him forth

To a rude world unconscious of his worth;

There in some petty parish to reside,

The college-boast, then turn'd the village-guide;

And, though awhile his flock and dairy please,

He soon reverts to former joys and ease:

Glad when a friend shall come to break his rest,

And speak of all the pleasures theypossess'd—

Of masters, fellows, tutors, all with whom

They shared those pleasures, never more to come;

370

Till both conceive the times by bliss endear'd,

Which once so dismal and so dull appear'd.

But fix our scholar, and suppose him crown'd

With all the glory gain'd on classic ground;

Suppose the world without a sigh resign'd,

And to his college all his care confined;

Give him all honours that such states allow,

The freshman's terror and the tradesman's bow;

Let his apartments with his taste agree,

And all his views be those he loves to see;

380

Let him each day behold the savoury treat,

For which he pays not, but is paid to eat;

These joys and glories soon delight no more,

Although, withheld, the mind is vex'd and sore;

The honour too is to the place confined;

Abroad they know not each superior mind:

Strangers nowranglersin these figures see,

Nor give they worship to a high degree.

Unlike the prophet's is the scholar's case,

His honour all is in his dwelling-place;

390

And there such honours are familiar things;

What is a monarch in a crowd of kings?

Like other sovereigns he's by forms address'd,

By statutes govern'd and with rules oppress'd.

When all these forms and duties die away,

And the day passes like the former day,

Then, of exterior things at once bereft,

He's to himself and one attendant left;

Nay, John too goes; nor aught of service more

Remains for him; he gladly quits the door,

400

And, as he whistles to the college-gate,

He kindly pities his poor master's fate.

Books cannot always please, however good;

Minds are not ever craving for their food;

But sleep will soon the weary soul prepare

For cares to-morrow that were this day's care;

For forms, for feasts, that sundry times have past,

And formal feasts that will for ever last.

"But then from study will no comforts rise?"

Yes! such as studious minds alone can prize;

410

Comforts, yea! joys ineffable they find,

Who seek the prouder pleasures of the mind:

The soul, collected in those happy hours,

Then makes her efforts, then enjoys her powers;

And in those seasons feels herself repaid,

For labours past and honours long delay'd.

No! 'tis not worldly gain, although by chance

The sons of learning may to wealth advance;

Nor station high, though in some favouring hour

The sons of learning may arrive at power;

420

Nor is it glory, though the public voice

Of honest praise will make the heart rejoice;

But 'tis the mind's own feelings give the joy,

Pleasures she gathers in her ownemploy—

Pleasures that gain or praise cannot bestow,

Yet can dilate and raise them when they flow.

For this the poet looks the world around,

Where form and life and reasoning man are found.

He loves the mind in all its modes to trace,

And all the manners of the changing race;

430

Silent he walks the road of life along,

And views the aims of its tumultuous throng;

He finds what shapes the Proteus-passions take,

And what strange waste of life and joy they make,

And loves to show them in their varied ways,

With honest blame or with unflattering praise.

'Tis good to know, 'tis pleasant to impart,

These turns and movements of the human heart;

The stronger features of the soul to paint,

And make distinct the latent and the faint;

440

Man as he is, to place in all men's view,

Yet none with rancour, none with scorn pursue;

Nor be it ever of my portraitstold,—

"Here the strong lines of malice webehold."—

This let me hope, that when in public viewI bring my pictures, men may feel them true;"This is a likeness," may they all declare,"And I have seen him, but I know not where;"For I should mourn the mischief I had done,If as the likeness all would fix on one.450Man's vice and crime I combat as I can,But to hisGodand conscience leave the man;I search (a [Quixote!]) all the land about,To find its giants and enchanters out,(The giant-folly, the enchanter-vice,Whom doubtless I shall vanquish in a trice;)But is there man whom I would injure?—no!I am to him a fellow, not afoe—A fellow-sinner, who must rather dreadThe bolt, than hurl it at another's head.460No! let the guiltless, if there such be found,Launch forth the spear, and deal the deadly wound;How can I so the cause of virtue aid,Who am myself attainted and afraid?Yet, as I can, I point the powers of rhyme,And, sparing criminals, attack the crime.

This let me hope, that when in public view

I bring my pictures, men may feel them true;

"This is a likeness," may they all declare,

"And I have seen him, but I know not where;"

For I should mourn the mischief I had done,

If as the likeness all would fix on one.

450

Man's vice and crime I combat as I can,

But to hisGodand conscience leave the man;

I search (a [Quixote!]) all the land about,

To find its giants and enchanters out,

(The giant-folly, the enchanter-vice,

Whom doubtless I shall vanquish in a trice;)

But is there man whom I would injure?—no!

I am to him a fellow, not afoe—

A fellow-sinner, who must rather dread

The bolt, than hurl it at another's head.

460

No! let the guiltless, if there such be found,

Launch forth the spear, and deal the deadly wound;

How can I so the cause of virtue aid,

Who am myself attainted and afraid?

Yet, as I can, I point the powers of rhyme,

And, sparing criminals, attack the crime.

FOOTNOTES:[72]Should any of my readers find themselves at a loss in this place, I beg leave to refer them to a poem of Prior, called Alma, or the Progress of the Mind.

FOOTNOTES:

[72]Should any of my readers find themselves at a loss in this place, I beg leave to refer them to a poem of Prior, called Alma, or the Progress of the Mind.

[Except in the case of short poems with unnumbered lines, or in that of prefaces, mottos, notes &c. the line of the poem, not the line of the page, is cited.]

Finirent multi letho mala; credula vitamSpes alit, et melius cras fore semper ait.

Finirent multi letho mala; credula vitam

Spes alit, et melius cras fore semper ait.

'Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit.'

The (mis)quotation from Ovid in p. 5 cannot be identified; the lines quoted on p. 284 as 'Pope's Homer's Iliad, bk. vi. line 45' are not to be found in that work; and the stanza attributed on p. 294 to Percy is not traceable to theReliques.

POEMS.Dedication and Preface. Variants in edition of 1807 (first edition).

Dedication:

Preface:

THE LIBRARY.Variants in edition of 1781 (first edition).

Come then, and entering view this spacious scene,This sacred dome, this noble magazine;

Come then, and entering view this spacious scene,

This sacred dome, this noble magazine;

In this selection, which the human mindWith care has made; for Glory has design'd,All should be perfect; or at least appearFrom falshood, vanity, and passion clear:But man's best efforts taste of man, and showThe poor and troubled source from whence they flow;His very triumphs his defeats must speak,And ev'n his wisdom serves to prove him weak.Fashion, though Folly's child, and guide of fools,Rules e'en the wisest, and in Learning rules;From courts and crowds to Wisdom's seat she goes,And reigns triumphant o'er her mother's foes:Yon Folios, once the darlings of the mode,Now lie neglected like the birth-day ode;There Learning, stuff'd with maxims trite though sage,Makes Indigestion yawn at every page;Chain'd like Prometheus, lo! the mighty trainBrave Time's fell tooth, and live and die again;And now the scorn of men and now the pride,The sires respect them, and the sons deride.

In this selection, which the human mind

With care has made; for Glory has design'd,

All should be perfect; or at least appear

From falshood, vanity, and passion clear:

But man's best efforts taste of man, and show

The poor and troubled source from whence they flow;

His very triumphs his defeats must speak,

And ev'n his wisdom serves to prove him weak.

Fashion, though Folly's child, and guide of fools,

Rules e'en the wisest, and in Learning rules;

From courts and crowds to Wisdom's seat she goes,

And reigns triumphant o'er her mother's foes:

Yon Folios, once the darlings of the mode,

Now lie neglected like the birth-day ode;

There Learning, stuff'd with maxims trite though sage,

Makes Indigestion yawn at every page;

Chain'd like Prometheus, lo! the mighty train

Brave Time's fell tooth, and live and die again;

And now the scorn of men and now the pride,

The sires respect them, and the sons deride.

}But ne'er, discourag'd, fair attempts lay by,}For Reason views them with approving eye,}And Candour yields what cavillers deny.She sees the struggles of the soul to steerThrough clouds and darkness, which surround us here,And, though the long research has ne'er prevail'd,Applauds the trial and forgets it fail'd.

}

But ne'er, discourag'd, fair attempts lay by,

}

For Reason views them with approving eye,

}

And Candour yields what cavillers deny.

She sees the struggles of the soul to steer

Through clouds and darkness, which surround us here,

And, though the long research has ne'er prevail'd,

Applauds the trial and forgets it fail'd.

Wits, Bards and Idlers fill a tatter'd row;And the vile Vulgar lie disdain'd below.Amid these works, on which the eager eyeDelights to fix, or glides reluctant byWhere all combin'd their decent pomp display,Where shall we first our early offering pay?To thee Philosophy! to thee, the light,The guide of mortals through their mental night,By whom the world in all its views is shown,Our guide through Nature's works, and in our own;}Who place in order Being's wondrous chain,}Save where those puzzling, stubborn links remain,}By art divine involv'd, which man can ne'er explain.These are thy volumes; and in these we look,As abstracts drawn from Nature's larger book;Here first describ'd the humble glebe appears,Unconscious of the gaudy robe it wears;All that the earth's profound recesses hide,And all that roll beneath the raging tide;The sullen gem that yet disdains to shine,And all the ductile matter of the mine.Next to the vegetable tribes they lead,Whose fruitful beds o'er every balmy meedTeem with new life, and hills, and vales, and groves,Feed the still flame, and nurse the silent loves;Which, when the Spring calls forth their genial powerSwell with the seed, and flourish in the flower:There, with the husband-slaves, in royal pride,Queens, like the Amazons of old, reside;There, like the Turk, the lordly husband lives,And joy to all the gay seraglio gives;There, in the secret chambers, veil'd from sight,A bashful tribe in hidden flames delight;There, in the open day, and gaily deck'd,The bolder brides their distant lords expect;Who with the wings of love instinctive rise,And on prolific winds each ardent bridegroom flies.Next are that tribe whom life and sense inform,The torpid beetle, and the shrinking worm;And insects, proud to spread their brilliant wing,To catch the fostering sunbeams of the spring;That feather'd race, which late from winter fled,To dream an half-existence with the dead;Who now, returning from their six months' sleep,Dip their black pinions in the slumbering deep;Where, feeling life from stronger beams of day,The scaly myriads of the ocean play.Then led by Art through Nature's maze, we traceThe sullen people of the savage race;And see a favourite tribe mankind attend,And in the fawning follower find the friend.

Wits, Bards and Idlers fill a tatter'd row;And the vile Vulgar lie disdain'd below.

Wits, Bards and Idlers fill a tatter'd row;

And the vile Vulgar lie disdain'd below.

Amid these works, on which the eager eyeDelights to fix, or glides reluctant byWhere all combin'd their decent pomp display,Where shall we first our early offering pay?

Amid these works, on which the eager eye

Delights to fix, or glides reluctant by

Where all combin'd their decent pomp display,

Where shall we first our early offering pay?

To thee Philosophy! to thee, the light,The guide of mortals through their mental night,By whom the world in all its views is shown,Our guide through Nature's works, and in our own;}Who place in order Being's wondrous chain,}Save where those puzzling, stubborn links remain,}By art divine involv'd, which man can ne'er explain.These are thy volumes; and in these we look,As abstracts drawn from Nature's larger book;Here first describ'd the humble glebe appears,Unconscious of the gaudy robe it wears;All that the earth's profound recesses hide,And all that roll beneath the raging tide;The sullen gem that yet disdains to shine,And all the ductile matter of the mine.Next to the vegetable tribes they lead,Whose fruitful beds o'er every balmy meedTeem with new life, and hills, and vales, and groves,Feed the still flame, and nurse the silent loves;Which, when the Spring calls forth their genial powerSwell with the seed, and flourish in the flower:There, with the husband-slaves, in royal pride,Queens, like the Amazons of old, reside;There, like the Turk, the lordly husband lives,And joy to all the gay seraglio gives;There, in the secret chambers, veil'd from sight,A bashful tribe in hidden flames delight;There, in the open day, and gaily deck'd,The bolder brides their distant lords expect;Who with the wings of love instinctive rise,And on prolific winds each ardent bridegroom flies.Next are that tribe whom life and sense inform,The torpid beetle, and the shrinking worm;And insects, proud to spread their brilliant wing,To catch the fostering sunbeams of the spring;That feather'd race, which late from winter fled,To dream an half-existence with the dead;Who now, returning from their six months' sleep,Dip their black pinions in the slumbering deep;Where, feeling life from stronger beams of day,The scaly myriads of the ocean play.Then led by Art through Nature's maze, we traceThe sullen people of the savage race;And see a favourite tribe mankind attend,And in the fawning follower find the friend.

To thee Philosophy! to thee, the light,

The guide of mortals through their mental night,

By whom the world in all its views is shown,

Our guide through Nature's works, and in our own;

}

Who place in order Being's wondrous chain,

}

Save where those puzzling, stubborn links remain,

}

By art divine involv'd, which man can ne'er explain.

These are thy volumes; and in these we look,

As abstracts drawn from Nature's larger book;

Here first describ'd the humble glebe appears,

Unconscious of the gaudy robe it wears;

All that the earth's profound recesses hide,

And all that roll beneath the raging tide;

The sullen gem that yet disdains to shine,

And all the ductile matter of the mine.

Next to the vegetable tribes they lead,

Whose fruitful beds o'er every balmy meed

Teem with new life, and hills, and vales, and groves,

Feed the still flame, and nurse the silent loves;

Which, when the Spring calls forth their genial power

Swell with the seed, and flourish in the flower:

There, with the husband-slaves, in royal pride,

Queens, like the Amazons of old, reside;

There, like the Turk, the lordly husband lives,

And joy to all the gay seraglio gives;

There, in the secret chambers, veil'd from sight,

A bashful tribe in hidden flames delight;

There, in the open day, and gaily deck'd,

The bolder brides their distant lords expect;

Who with the wings of love instinctive rise,

And on prolific winds each ardent bridegroom flies.

Next are that tribe whom life and sense inform,

The torpid beetle, and the shrinking worm;

And insects, proud to spread their brilliant wing,

To catch the fostering sunbeams of the spring;

That feather'd race, which late from winter fled,

To dream an half-existence with the dead;

Who now, returning from their six months' sleep,

Dip their black pinions in the slumbering deep;

Where, feeling life from stronger beams of day,

The scaly myriads of the ocean play.

Then led by Art through Nature's maze, we trace

The sullen people of the savage race;

And see a favourite tribe mankind attend,

And in the fawning follower find the friend.

Ere laws arose, ere tyrants bade them rise;

Bound by no tyes but those by nature made,Virtue was law, and gifts prevented trade.

Bound by no tyes but those by nature made,

Virtue was law, and gifts prevented trade.

Taught by some conquering friends who came as foes.

Now turn from these, to view yon ampler space,There rests a sacred, grave and solemn race;There the devout an awful station keep,Vigils advise and yet dispose to sleep;}There might they long in lasting peace abide}But controversial authors lie beside,}Who friend from friend and sire from son divide:Endless disputes around the world they causeCreating now, and now controuling laws.

Now turn from these, to view yon ampler space,

There rests a sacred, grave and solemn race;

There the devout an awful station keep,

Vigils advise and yet dispose to sleep;

}

There might they long in lasting peace abide

}

But controversial authors lie beside,

}

Who friend from friend and sire from son divide:

Endless disputes around the world they cause

Creating now, and now controuling laws.

Calvin grows gentle in this silent coast,Nor finds a single heretic to roast:Here, their fierce rage subdu'd, and lost their prideThe Pope and Luther slumber side by side:

Calvin grows gentle in this silent coast,

Nor finds a single heretic to roast:

Here, their fierce rage subdu'd, and lost their pride

The Pope and Luther slumber side by side:

And let them lie—for lo! yon gaudy frames.

THE VILLAGE.Variants in edition of 1783 (first edition).

Book I.

Fled are those times, if e'er such times were seen,When rustic poets prais'd their native green;

Fled are those times, if e'er such times were seen,

When rustic poets prais'd their native green;

They ask no thought, require no deep design,But swell the song and liquefy the line;The gentle lover takes the rural strain.

They ask no thought, require no deep design,

But swell the song and liquefy the line;

The gentle lover takes the rural strain.

And foil'd beneath the young Ulysses fell;When peals of praise the merry mischief tell?

And foil'd beneath the young Ulysses fell;

When peals of praise the merry mischief tell?

Like him to make the plenteous harvest grow,And yet not share the plenty they bestow;

Like him to make the plenteous harvest grow,

And yet not share the plenty they bestow;

Or will you urge their homely, plenteous fare,Healthy and plain and still the poor man's share?

Or will you urge their homely, plenteous fare,

Healthy and plain and still the poor man's share?

As you who envy would disdain to touch.

Sure in his shot his game he seldom mist,And seldom fail'd to win his game at whist;

Sure in his shot his game he seldom mist,

And seldom fail'd to win his game at whist;

THE VILLAGE.

Book II.

How their maids languish, while their men run loose,And leave them scarce a damsel to seduce.

How their maids languish, while their men run loose,

And leave them scarce a damsel to seduce.

One cup, and that just serves to make them foes;

Who gave up pleasures you could never share,For pain which you are seldom doom'd to bear,

Who gave up pleasures you could never share,

For pain which you are seldom doom'd to bear,

But Rutland's virtues shall his griefs restrain,And join to heal the bosom where they reign.

But Rutland's virtues shall his griefs restrain,

And join to heal the bosom where they reign.

But 'tis the spirit that is mounting high.

Victims victorious, who with him shall standIn Fame's fair book the guardians of the land;

Victims victorious, who with him shall stand

In Fame's fair book the guardians of the land;

THE NEWSPAPER.Variants in edition of 1785 (first edition).

(While your choice works on quiet shelves remain,Or grace the windows of the trade in vain;Where ev'n their fair and comely sculptures fail,Engrav'd by Grignion, and design'd by Wale)—

(While your choice works on quiet shelves remain,

Or grace the windows of the trade in vain;

Where ev'n their fair and comely sculptures fail,

Engrav'd by Grignion, and design'd by Wale)—

But lend your aid to make my prowess known,And puff my labours as ye puff your own.

But lend your aid to make my prowess known,

And puff my labours as ye puff your own.

Gray evening comes, and comes not evening grayWith all the trifling tidings of the day?

Gray evening comes, and comes not evening gray

With all the trifling tidings of the day?

Yet soon each reptile tribe is lost but these,In the first brushing of the wintry breeze;

Yet soon each reptile tribe is lost but these,

In the first brushing of the wintry breeze;

(The Oglio now appears, a rival name,Of bolder manners, tho' of younger fame);

(The Oglio now appears, a rival name,

Of bolder manners, tho' of younger fame);

Tomorrow Woodfall, and the world below.

Soon as the chiefs, whom once they choose, lie low,Their praise too slackens, and their aid moves slow;Not so, when leagu'd with rising powers, their rageThen wounds th' unwary foe, and burns along the page.

Soon as the chiefs, whom once they choose, lie low,

Their praise too slackens, and their aid moves slow;

Not so, when leagu'd with rising powers, their rage

Then wounds th' unwary foe, and burns along the page.

Or are there those, who ne'er their friends forsook,Lur'd by no promise, by no danger shook?Then bolder bribes the venal aid procure,And golden letters make the faithless sure:For those who deal in flattery or abuse,Will sell them when they can the most produce.

Or are there those, who ne'er their friends forsook,

Lur'd by no promise, by no danger shook?

Then bolder bribes the venal aid procure,

And golden letters make the faithless sure:

For those who deal in flattery or abuse,

Will sell them when they can the most produce.

Here comes the neighbouring Squire, with gracious air,To stamp opinions, and to take the chair;

Here comes the neighbouring Squire, with gracious air,

To stamp opinions, and to take the chair;

"Strive but for power, and parley but for place;"Yet hopes, good man! "that all may still be well,"And thanks the stars that he's a vote to sell.

"Strive but for power, and parley but for place;"

Yet hopes, good man! "that all may still be well,"

And thanks the stars that he's a vote to sell.

While thus he reads or raves, around him waitA rustic band and join in each debate;Partake his manly spirit, and delightTo praise or blame, to judge of wrong or right;Measures to mend, and ministers to make,Till all go madding for their country's sake.

While thus he reads or raves, around him wait

A rustic band and join in each debate;

Partake his manly spirit, and delight

To praise or blame, to judge of wrong or right;

Measures to mend, and ministers to make,

Till all go madding for their country's sake.

Studious we toil, correct, amend, retouch,Take much away, yet mostly leave too much;

Studious we toil, correct, amend, retouch,

Take much away, yet mostly leave too much;

While the sly widow, and the coxcomb sleek,Dive deep for scandal through a hint oblique.

While the sly widow, and the coxcomb sleek,

Dive deep for scandal through a hint oblique.

Hence on that morn no welcome post appears,That luckless mind a sullen aspect wears;

Hence on that morn no welcome post appears,

That luckless mind a sullen aspect wears;

Such powers have things so vile, and they can boastThat those peruse them who despise them most.

Such powers have things so vile, and they can boast

That those peruse them who despise them most.

Such tales as these with joy the many read,And paragraphs on paragraphs succeed;Then add the common themes that never ceaseThe tide-like Stocks, their ebb and their increase;

Such tales as these with joy the many read,

And paragraphs on paragraphs succeed;

Then add the common themes that never cease

The tide-like Stocks, their ebb and their increase;

And nameless murder'd in the face of day.

Such are their puffs, and would they all were such,Then should the verse no poet's laurel touch;

Such are their puffs, and would they all were such,

Then should the verse no poet's laurel touch;

Nameless you this way print your idle rhymes,A thousand view them, you a thousand times:

Nameless you this way print your idle rhymes,

A thousand view them, you a thousand times:

The following footnotes appear in the first edition ofThe Newspaper,but were not reprinted:

THE PARISH REGISTER.Variants in edition of 1807 (first edition).

Part I.

Above the mantel bound with ribband blue,The Swain's emblazon'd Arms demand our view.In meadowVert, there feeds inGulesa cow,Beneath anArgentshare andSableplough;While for a crest, anAzurearm sustainsInOra wheatsheaf, rich with bristling grains.

Above the mantel bound with ribband blue,

The Swain's emblazon'd Arms demand our view.

In meadowVert, there feeds inGulesa cow,

Beneath anArgentshare andSableplough;

While for a crest, anAzurearm sustains

InOra wheatsheaf, rich with bristling grains.

And here will soon that other fleet be shown,That Nelson made the ocean's and our own.

And here will soon that other fleet be shown,

That Nelson made the ocean's and our own.

These hear the parent Swain, reclin'd at easeWith half his listening offspring on his knees.

These hear the parent Swain, reclin'd at ease

With half his listening offspring on his knees.

Day after day were past in grief and pain,Week after week, nor came the Youth again;

Day after day were past in grief and pain,

Week after week, nor came the Youth again;

Few were their Acres,—but they, well content,Were on each pay-day, ready with their rent;

Few were their Acres,—but they, well content,

Were on each pay-day, ready with their rent;

'Far other thoughts, your Reverence, caus'd the ill,'Twas pure good-nature, not a wanton will;}They urg'd me, paid me, beg'd me to comply,}Not hard of heart, or slow to yield am I,}But prone to grant as melting charity.For wanton wishes, let the frail-ones smart,But all my failing is a tender heart.'

'Far other thoughts, your Reverence, caus'd the ill,

'Twas pure good-nature, not a wanton will;

}

They urg'd me, paid me, beg'd me to comply,

}

Not hard of heart, or slow to yield am I,

}

But prone to grant as melting charity.

For wanton wishes, let the frail-ones smart,

But all my failing is a tender heart.'

Seven have I nam'd, and but six years have pastBy him and Judith since I bound them fast.

Seven have I nam'd, and but six years have past

By him and Judith since I bound them fast.

To prove these arrows of the giants' hand,Are not for man to stay or to command.

To prove these arrows of the giants' hand,

Are not for man to stay or to command.

Of news or nothing, she by looks compel.

"But haste and bear them to their spouse away;In a like bed you'll see that spouse reclin'd,(Oh! haste and bear them, they like love are blind,)

"But haste and bear them to their spouse away;

In a like bed you'll see that spouse reclin'd,

(Oh! haste and bear them, they like love are blind,)

The straitest furrow lifts the ploughman's heart,Or skill allow'd firm in the bruiser's art.

The straitest furrow lifts the ploughman's heart,

Or skill allow'd firm in the bruiser's art.

Part II.

If Poor, Delay shall for that Want prepare,That, on the hasty, brings a World of Care;

If Poor, Delay shall for that Want prepare,

That, on the hasty, brings a World of Care;

Yet thee too long, let not thy Fears detain

Fie, Nathan! fie! to let a sprightly JadeLeer on thy Bed, then ask thee how 'twas madeAnd lingering walk around at Head and Feet,To see thy nightly Comforts all complete;Then waiting seek—not what she said she sought,And bid a Penny for her Master'sThought;—(A Thought she knew, and thou could'st not send hence,Well as thou lov'dst them, for ten thousand Pence!)And thus with some bold Hint she would retire,That wak'd the idle Wish and stirr'd the slumbering Fire;}Didst thou believe thy Passion all so laid}That thou might'st trifle with thy wanton Maid,}And feel amus'd, and yet not feel afraid?The dryest Faggot, Nathan, once was green,And laid on Embers, still some Sap is seen;Oaks, bald like thee above, that cease to grow,Feel yet the Warmth of Spring and Bud below;More senseless thou than Faggot on the FireFor thou could'st feel and yet would'st not retire;}Less provident than dying Trees,—for they}Some vital Strength, some living Fire display,}But none that tend to wear the Life itself away.Ev'n now I see thee to the Altar come;Downcast thou wert and conscious of thy Doom:I see thee glancing on that Shape aside,With blended Looks of Jealousy and Pride;But growing Fear has long the Pride supprest,And but one Tyrant rankles in thy Breast;Now of her Love, a second Pledge appears,And Doubts on Doubts arise, and Fears on Fears;Yet Fear defy, and be of Courage stout,Another Pledge will banish every Doubt;Thine Age advancing as thy Powers retire,Will make thee sure—What more would'st thou require?

Fie, Nathan! fie! to let a sprightly Jade

Leer on thy Bed, then ask thee how 'twas made

And lingering walk around at Head and Feet,

To see thy nightly Comforts all complete;

Then waiting seek—not what she said she sought,

And bid a Penny for her Master'sThought;—

(A Thought she knew, and thou could'st not send hence,

Well as thou lov'dst them, for ten thousand Pence!)

And thus with some bold Hint she would retire,

That wak'd the idle Wish and stirr'd the slumbering Fire;

}

Didst thou believe thy Passion all so laid

}

That thou might'st trifle with thy wanton Maid,

}

And feel amus'd, and yet not feel afraid?

The dryest Faggot, Nathan, once was green,

And laid on Embers, still some Sap is seen;

Oaks, bald like thee above, that cease to grow,

Feel yet the Warmth of Spring and Bud below;

More senseless thou than Faggot on the Fire

For thou could'st feel and yet would'st not retire;

}

Less provident than dying Trees,—for they

}

Some vital Strength, some living Fire display,

}

But none that tend to wear the Life itself away.

Ev'n now I see thee to the Altar come;

Downcast thou wert and conscious of thy Doom:

I see thee glancing on that Shape aside,

With blended Looks of Jealousy and Pride;

But growing Fear has long the Pride supprest,

And but one Tyrant rankles in thy Breast;

Now of her Love, a second Pledge appears,

And Doubts on Doubts arise, and Fears on Fears;

Yet Fear defy, and be of Courage stout,

Another Pledge will banish every Doubt;

Thine Age advancing as thy Powers retire,

Will make thee sure—What more would'st thou require?

Is it that strong and sturdy in the FieldThey scorn the Arms of idle Men to wieldOr give that Hand to guide the Goosequill Tip,That rules a Team, and brandishes a whip?The Lions they, whom conscious Powerforbid,—To play the Ape and "dandle with the Kid."

Is it that strong and sturdy in the Field

They scorn the Arms of idle Men to wield

Or give that Hand to guide the Goosequill Tip,

That rules a Team, and brandishes a whip?

The Lions they, whom conscious Powerforbid,—

To play the Ape and "dandle with the Kid."

So two dried Sticks, all fled the vital juice,When rubb'd and chaf'd, their latent Heat produce;All in one part unite the cheering Rays,And kindling burn with momentary Blaze.

So two dried Sticks, all fled the vital juice,

When rubb'd and chaf'd, their latent Heat produce;

All in one part unite the cheering Rays,

And kindling burn with momentary Blaze.

No more she plays, no more attempts to fitHer Steps responsive to the squeaking Kit,

No more she plays, no more attempts to fit

Her Steps responsive to the squeaking Kit,

Nor these alone, (though favour'd more) are blest;In time, the Rash, in time, the Wretched rest;They first-sad years of Want and Anguish know,Their Joys come seldom, and their Pains pass slow;

Nor these alone, (though favour'd more) are blest;

In time, the Rash, in time, the Wretched rest;

They first-sad years of Want and Anguish know,

Their Joys come seldom, and their Pains pass slow;

When Life's Afflictions long with dread endur'd,By Time are lessen'd, or by Caution cur'd;

When Life's Afflictions long with dread endur'd,

By Time are lessen'd, or by Caution cur'd;

For me, (he thinks,) shall soon this Deed be done,A few steps forward, and my Race is run;

For me, (he thinks,) shall soon this Deed be done,

A few steps forward, and my Race is run;

Who caus'd the Anguish they disdain'd to heal,Have at some time, the Power of Virtue known,And felt another's good promote their own:

Who caus'd the Anguish they disdain'd to heal,

Have at some time, the Power of Virtue known,

And felt another's good promote their own:

Part III.

Like that industrious Kind, no thoughts of SexNo cares of Love, could her chaste Soul perplex.

Like that industrious Kind, no thoughts of Sex

No cares of Love, could her chaste Soul perplex.

Blest is the Nurseling never taught to sing,But thrust untimely from its Mother's Wing;Or the grown Warbler, who, with grateful Voice,Sings its own Joy and makes the Grove rejoice;Because, ere yet he charm'd th' attentive Ear.

Blest is the Nurseling never taught to sing,

But thrust untimely from its Mother's Wing;

Or the grown Warbler, who, with grateful Voice,

Sings its own Joy and makes the Grove rejoice;

Because, ere yet he charm'd th' attentive Ear.

By the new Light, to the new Waydirect;—"Mine now are Faith and Hope," he said; "Adieu!I fear to lose them, in a way so new."

By the new Light, to the new Waydirect;—

"Mine now are Faith and Hope," he said; "Adieu!

I fear to lose them, in a way so new."

His honest Fame he yet retain'd; no more,His wife was buried, and his Children poor;

His honest Fame he yet retain'd; no more,

His wife was buried, and his Children poor;

And all was Terror, till all Hope was gone;Was silent Terror, where that Hope grew weak,Look'd on the Sick, and was asham'd to speak.

And all was Terror, till all Hope was gone;

Was silent Terror, where that Hope grew weak,

Look'd on the Sick, and was asham'd to speak.

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