The Tale opens:
There was a Youth, and we would call him poor,Save that he wished not for one Shilling more—No, not one Shilling; but th’ ambitious BoyWished for more Wealth than Mortals can enjoy:Unbounded Treasure, such as Fancy seesIn morning Dreams and musing Reveries;Such as in Eastern Tales Magicians hideFor their Unhappy Favourites to provide.Such Tales our Boy from Infancy had readWith Faith enough to turn a stronger head.
There was a Youth, and we would call him poor,Save that he wished not for one Shilling more—No, not one Shilling; but th’ ambitious BoyWished for more Wealth than Mortals can enjoy:Unbounded Treasure, such as Fancy seesIn morning Dreams and musing Reveries;Such as in Eastern Tales Magicians hideFor their Unhappy Favourites to provide.Such Tales our Boy from Infancy had readWith Faith enough to turn a stronger head.
There was a Youth, and we would call him poor,Save that he wished not for one Shilling more—No, not one Shilling; but th’ ambitious BoyWished for more Wealth than Mortals can enjoy:Unbounded Treasure, such as Fancy seesIn morning Dreams and musing Reveries;Such as in Eastern Tales Magicians hideFor their Unhappy Favourites to provide.Such Tales our Boy from Infancy had readWith Faith enough to turn a stronger head.
There was a Youth, and we would call him poor,
Save that he wished not for one Shilling more—
No, not one Shilling; but th’ ambitious Boy
Wished for more Wealth than Mortals can enjoy:
Unbounded Treasure, such as Fancy sees
In morning Dreams and musing Reveries;
Such as in Eastern Tales Magicians hide
For their Unhappy Favourites to provide.
Such Tales our Boy from Infancy had read
With Faith enough to turn a stronger head.
variant ofll. 73–4:
His Father’s Club supplied a Matchless StoreOf mental Wealth that Minds like his explore.He did as Misers yet as Spendthrifts do:Long to possess, and to Enjoy them too.
His Father’s Club supplied a Matchless StoreOf mental Wealth that Minds like his explore.He did as Misers yet as Spendthrifts do:Long to possess, and to Enjoy them too.
His Father’s Club supplied a Matchless StoreOf mental Wealth that Minds like his explore.He did as Misers yet as Spendthrifts do:Long to possess, and to Enjoy them too.
His Father’s Club supplied a Matchless Store
Of mental Wealth that Minds like his explore.
He did as Misers yet as Spendthrifts do:
Long to possess, and to Enjoy them too.
variant ofll. 98–104:
Yet would his Mind descend to humble food:He had a favourite Friend in Robin Hood;Knew Philip Quarle; in Crusoe’s Isle had strayed;}Nocturnal Visits had to Witches paid,}And gone through haunted Halls, delighted and afraid}
Yet would his Mind descend to humble food:He had a favourite Friend in Robin Hood;Knew Philip Quarle; in Crusoe’s Isle had strayed;}Nocturnal Visits had to Witches paid,}And gone through haunted Halls, delighted and afraid}
Yet would his Mind descend to humble food:He had a favourite Friend in Robin Hood;Knew Philip Quarle; in Crusoe’s Isle had strayed;}Nocturnal Visits had to Witches paid,}And gone through haunted Halls, delighted and afraid}
Yet would his Mind descend to humble food:
He had a favourite Friend in Robin Hood;
Knew Philip Quarle; in Crusoe’s Isle had strayed;}
Nocturnal Visits had to Witches paid,}
And gone through haunted Halls, delighted and afraid}
afterl. 104:
Nor fail’d Arabian Tales his mind to please,Peruvian, Persian, Turkish, and Chinese;And his chief Reading both in Prose and RhymeHe found amusing and he thought sublime.And better these, I can but think, than someWhich now are found in Miss and Master’s room.There lie the Moral Story—every ageFrom six years upwards has th’ appropriate page—And Tales to win Attention, till the MindIs train’d for Novels of superior Kind.The Heart is led on fancied Views to dote,To live in Error and to live by rote.But say that Love and all his naughty deedsAre not presented to the Child that reads—Still there’s Deception: Charles and Harry hereAre not such boys as in the World appear:They are too good, too bad, too weak, too wise;Children at once admire them or despise;And, thus instructed, they’re prepared to findTheir Heroes or their Villains in Mankind,Such Baby Wisdom in the Nursery thrivesAnd does small Service in their after lives.His Father kept an humble School, and MenProfessing Law employed his ready Pen.He measured Land, and his poor Boy with PainDrew o’er the stubbled Glebe a length of Chain.He many an hungry day his Fancy fed,And not till these his fairy Visions fled,That so much Honour, Wealth and Glory gave,Felt he for humble Food his fainting Nature crave.
Nor fail’d Arabian Tales his mind to please,Peruvian, Persian, Turkish, and Chinese;And his chief Reading both in Prose and RhymeHe found amusing and he thought sublime.And better these, I can but think, than someWhich now are found in Miss and Master’s room.There lie the Moral Story—every ageFrom six years upwards has th’ appropriate page—And Tales to win Attention, till the MindIs train’d for Novels of superior Kind.The Heart is led on fancied Views to dote,To live in Error and to live by rote.But say that Love and all his naughty deedsAre not presented to the Child that reads—Still there’s Deception: Charles and Harry hereAre not such boys as in the World appear:They are too good, too bad, too weak, too wise;Children at once admire them or despise;And, thus instructed, they’re prepared to findTheir Heroes or their Villains in Mankind,Such Baby Wisdom in the Nursery thrivesAnd does small Service in their after lives.His Father kept an humble School, and MenProfessing Law employed his ready Pen.He measured Land, and his poor Boy with PainDrew o’er the stubbled Glebe a length of Chain.He many an hungry day his Fancy fed,And not till these his fairy Visions fled,That so much Honour, Wealth and Glory gave,Felt he for humble Food his fainting Nature crave.
Nor fail’d Arabian Tales his mind to please,Peruvian, Persian, Turkish, and Chinese;And his chief Reading both in Prose and RhymeHe found amusing and he thought sublime.And better these, I can but think, than someWhich now are found in Miss and Master’s room.There lie the Moral Story—every ageFrom six years upwards has th’ appropriate page—And Tales to win Attention, till the MindIs train’d for Novels of superior Kind.The Heart is led on fancied Views to dote,To live in Error and to live by rote.But say that Love and all his naughty deedsAre not presented to the Child that reads—Still there’s Deception: Charles and Harry hereAre not such boys as in the World appear:They are too good, too bad, too weak, too wise;Children at once admire them or despise;And, thus instructed, they’re prepared to findTheir Heroes or their Villains in Mankind,Such Baby Wisdom in the Nursery thrivesAnd does small Service in their after lives.
Nor fail’d Arabian Tales his mind to please,
Peruvian, Persian, Turkish, and Chinese;
And his chief Reading both in Prose and Rhyme
He found amusing and he thought sublime.
And better these, I can but think, than some
Which now are found in Miss and Master’s room.
There lie the Moral Story—every age
From six years upwards has th’ appropriate page—
And Tales to win Attention, till the Mind
Is train’d for Novels of superior Kind.
The Heart is led on fancied Views to dote,
To live in Error and to live by rote.
But say that Love and all his naughty deeds
Are not presented to the Child that reads—
Still there’s Deception: Charles and Harry here
Are not such boys as in the World appear:
They are too good, too bad, too weak, too wise;
Children at once admire them or despise;
And, thus instructed, they’re prepared to find
Their Heroes or their Villains in Mankind,
Such Baby Wisdom in the Nursery thrives
And does small Service in their after lives.
His Father kept an humble School, and MenProfessing Law employed his ready Pen.He measured Land, and his poor Boy with PainDrew o’er the stubbled Glebe a length of Chain.He many an hungry day his Fancy fed,And not till these his fairy Visions fled,That so much Honour, Wealth and Glory gave,Felt he for humble Food his fainting Nature crave.
His Father kept an humble School, and Men
Professing Law employed his ready Pen.
He measured Land, and his poor Boy with Pain
Drew o’er the stubbled Glebe a length of Chain.
He many an hungry day his Fancy fed,
And not till these his fairy Visions fled,
That so much Honour, Wealth and Glory gave,
Felt he for humble Food his fainting Nature crave.
instead ofll. 183–6:
Mirrors of mighty Size and Pictures Rare,Statues and Busts and Tap’stried Walls were there;There Art and Nature were, ’twas said, at Strife;Views looked like Pictures, Figures looked as Life;And Men disputed where the Charms abideMost worthy Praise; but no man could decide.
Mirrors of mighty Size and Pictures Rare,Statues and Busts and Tap’stried Walls were there;There Art and Nature were, ’twas said, at Strife;Views looked like Pictures, Figures looked as Life;And Men disputed where the Charms abideMost worthy Praise; but no man could decide.
Mirrors of mighty Size and Pictures Rare,Statues and Busts and Tap’stried Walls were there;There Art and Nature were, ’twas said, at Strife;Views looked like Pictures, Figures looked as Life;And Men disputed where the Charms abideMost worthy Praise; but no man could decide.
Mirrors of mighty Size and Pictures Rare,
Statues and Busts and Tap’stried Walls were there;
There Art and Nature were, ’twas said, at Strife;
Views looked like Pictures, Figures looked as Life;
And Men disputed where the Charms abide
Most worthy Praise; but no man could decide.
afterl. 387:
“You read your Bible?” He assenting smil’dAnd grew in Favour—an improving Child.
“You read your Bible?” He assenting smil’dAnd grew in Favour—an improving Child.
“You read your Bible?” He assenting smil’dAnd grew in Favour—an improving Child.
“You read your Bible?” He assenting smil’d
And grew in Favour—an improving Child.
afterl. 668:
Figures that Fancy or the Painter drew,Profane and sacred, mingled in his View.
Figures that Fancy or the Painter drew,Profane and sacred, mingled in his View.
Figures that Fancy or the Painter drew,Profane and sacred, mingled in his View.
Figures that Fancy or the Painter drew,
Profane and sacred, mingled in his View.
variant ofll. 671–682:
The Prophet sitting in the Lions’ Den,The Mountain Loadstone, and the marble Men—Whatever yet to dreaming Man appear’d,And all that Fancy ever form’d or fear’d,And all that Reading could supply, and allThe Wonders he had view’d at Silford Hall.
The Prophet sitting in the Lions’ Den,The Mountain Loadstone, and the marble Men—Whatever yet to dreaming Man appear’d,And all that Fancy ever form’d or fear’d,And all that Reading could supply, and allThe Wonders he had view’d at Silford Hall.
The Prophet sitting in the Lions’ Den,The Mountain Loadstone, and the marble Men—Whatever yet to dreaming Man appear’d,And all that Fancy ever form’d or fear’d,And all that Reading could supply, and allThe Wonders he had view’d at Silford Hall.
The Prophet sitting in the Lions’ Den,
The Mountain Loadstone, and the marble Men—
Whatever yet to dreaming Man appear’d,
And all that Fancy ever form’d or fear’d,
And all that Reading could supply, and all
The Wonders he had view’d at Silford Hall.
afterl. 699:
At length our Traveller found, tho’ hard to find,His Home, and boasted how he fared and dined.Six Days the Lad enjoyed the Pleasures past,And slowly settled to his Work at last.His Tasks were heavy, and his Food was mean,But O! the Glories he had lately seen!Like a wild Dream upon his Mind they dwelt,And still he prayed to feel what he had felt:How blest, supremely blest, the favoured RaceWho lived and feasted in that glorious place.Where all were rich and splendid, fine and gay;}They had no Wants to fear, no Cost to pay,}But all day long were pleased and feasted every day.}But what, he thought with fresh Surprise, are theyWhom even these with all their Pride obey;Whoso greater Pleasures to themselves are known,And who can call what they behold their own?He had no Words such pleasures to express;’Twas not enough to call it Happiness.
At length our Traveller found, tho’ hard to find,His Home, and boasted how he fared and dined.Six Days the Lad enjoyed the Pleasures past,And slowly settled to his Work at last.His Tasks were heavy, and his Food was mean,But O! the Glories he had lately seen!Like a wild Dream upon his Mind they dwelt,And still he prayed to feel what he had felt:How blest, supremely blest, the favoured RaceWho lived and feasted in that glorious place.Where all were rich and splendid, fine and gay;}They had no Wants to fear, no Cost to pay,}But all day long were pleased and feasted every day.}But what, he thought with fresh Surprise, are theyWhom even these with all their Pride obey;Whoso greater Pleasures to themselves are known,And who can call what they behold their own?He had no Words such pleasures to express;’Twas not enough to call it Happiness.
At length our Traveller found, tho’ hard to find,His Home, and boasted how he fared and dined.Six Days the Lad enjoyed the Pleasures past,And slowly settled to his Work at last.His Tasks were heavy, and his Food was mean,But O! the Glories he had lately seen!Like a wild Dream upon his Mind they dwelt,And still he prayed to feel what he had felt:How blest, supremely blest, the favoured RaceWho lived and feasted in that glorious place.Where all were rich and splendid, fine and gay;}They had no Wants to fear, no Cost to pay,}But all day long were pleased and feasted every day.}But what, he thought with fresh Surprise, are theyWhom even these with all their Pride obey;Whoso greater Pleasures to themselves are known,And who can call what they behold their own?He had no Words such pleasures to express;’Twas not enough to call it Happiness.
At length our Traveller found, tho’ hard to find,
His Home, and boasted how he fared and dined.
Six Days the Lad enjoyed the Pleasures past,
And slowly settled to his Work at last.
His Tasks were heavy, and his Food was mean,
But O! the Glories he had lately seen!
Like a wild Dream upon his Mind they dwelt,
And still he prayed to feel what he had felt:
How blest, supremely blest, the favoured Race
Who lived and feasted in that glorious place.
Where all were rich and splendid, fine and gay;}
They had no Wants to fear, no Cost to pay,}
But all day long were pleased and feasted every day.}
But what, he thought with fresh Surprise, are they
Whom even these with all their Pride obey;
Whoso greater Pleasures to themselves are known,
And who can call what they behold their own?
He had no Words such pleasures to express;
’Twas not enough to call it Happiness.
the Tale closes:
Dream on, dear Boy! let pass a few brief years,Replete with troubles, comforts, hopes, and fears,Bold expectations, efforts wild and strong,And thou shalt find thy fond conjectures wrong.Imagination rules thee: thine are dreams,And every thing to thee is what it seems:Thou seest the surfaces of things, that passBefore thee, colour’d by thy fancy’s glass.The fact below is hidden! What is trueIn that fair mansion comes not in thy view;And thou would’st feel a new and strange surprise,Should all within upon thy mind arise.Thou think’st the lords of all these glorious thingsAre blest supremely! so they are—like kings!Envy them not their lofty state, my boy;They but possess the things that you enjoy.“Nay, but they’re lords of all you see around—Ring but a bell, and men obey the sound;Make but a motion, with the hand or eye,And their attendants at the signal fly.”True, my fair lad! but this is contract all,For James is paid to heed his Honour’s call.Let wages cease, and lay the livery by,And James will heed no more than you or I.Service has lawful bound, and that beyondIs no obedience—’tis not in the bond.Footman, or groom, or butler, still he knows,So does his lord, the duty that he owes.Labourers, you say, are grieved with daily toil—True—but the sweater goes not with the soil;He can change places, change his way of life,Take new employments—nay, can take a wife;If he offend, he knows the law’s decree,Nor can his judge in his accuser see;And, more than all the rest—or young or old,Useful or useless, he cannot be sold:Sorrow and want may in his cot be found,But not a Slave can live on British ground.Nor have the lords of all this wealth you see,Their perfect freedom; few are truly free;Who rank the highest find the check of fate,And kings themselves are subject to their state.Riches, and all that we desire to gain,}Bind their possessors in a golden chain—}’Tis kept in peril, and ’tis lost with pain.}And thou too, Boy! wilt pass unheeding byThe scenes that now delight thine eager eye.Dream on awhile! and there shall come a strange,And, couldst thou see it, an amazing change.Thou who wert late so happy, and so proud,To be a seat with liveried men allow’d,And would not, dared not, in thy very shame,The titles of their noble masters name—Titles that, scarcely known, upon thy tongueWith tremulous and erring accent hung—Now, when accustomed to the splendid PlaceAnd known to all of that illustrious Race;His Senses all, and most of all his Sight,Indulged with all that can a Sense delight;His partial Friends, to humble Merits kind,And to his Failings heedless if not blind;Bound to no Duty but a wish to please,And living like a Beggar at his ease—Now do these Scenes delight him, doth he gazeOn objects that enchant him and amazeIn mute Surprise? oh, no! the Time is past;Raptures and Wonders are not formed to last.Pensive, alone, he walks the Rooms aroundAnd seeks for Pleasure; but it is not found.All he can see he many times has seen,And round and round the Maze of Pleasure been.The Pictures, now familiar to the Eye,He owns their beauty, but he passes by;These stately Rooms—that Park so fenced about,Where he was free, now shut his Freedom out,And keeps, he feels—yet fears it as a Sin,And he ungrateful—Lassitude within.Himself discerning, he has learned to traceThe Signs of Languor in the loveliest face.The great, the wealthy, who cannot enjoyWhat Time brings forth, would Time himself destroy;But that a Lad from life laborious freedShould sigh for Action, this is strange indeed;And yet no Labours in the years gone byCost him the feeling witnessed in that Sigh.Lo! now they meet and greeting seem to say,“How dealt you, Friends, with Father Time to-day?”When each his warfare has with Time confest,Then all acknowledge they are yet opprest.Our Youth has wandered in his Way and seesThe Village tribe, as he conceives, at ease;All seeming well their Lot in Life to bear,Because they know not his peculiar Care.The very Beggar moves, as if he knewThat he was free his Duties to pursue;Men, Women, Children, all appear’d to say,“I know the Part that I must take to-day.”All this our Youth beheld, and, with a sighReflected, “Not a care in Life have I.”Then why not seek it? Ask the man who dinesDaily on costly food and generous Wines,Who feels no Pain, who no Complaint can make,But only feels he can no Pleasure take—And he will answer, that ’tis Fortune’s Will;He may be weary, but he must be still.Oh! had they told thee, when thou sat’st with pride,And grateful joy, at Madam Johnson’s side,And heard the lisping Flora, blue-eyed maid,Bid thee be neither bashful nor afraid,When Mrs. Jane thy burning blush had raised,Because thy modesty and sense she praised—Could’st thou have seen that in that place a roomShould be thine own, thy house, thy hall, thy home;With leave to wander as thou would’st, to readJust as thy fancy was disposed to feed,To live with those who were so far aboveThy reach, it seem’d to thee a crime to love,Or even admire, them!—Little didst thou knowHow near approach the lofty and the low!In all we dare, and all we dare not name,How much the great and little are the same!Well, thou hast tried it—thou hast closely seenWhat greatness has without it, and within;Where now the joyful expectation?—fled!The strong anticipating spirit?—dead!
Dream on, dear Boy! let pass a few brief years,Replete with troubles, comforts, hopes, and fears,Bold expectations, efforts wild and strong,And thou shalt find thy fond conjectures wrong.Imagination rules thee: thine are dreams,And every thing to thee is what it seems:Thou seest the surfaces of things, that passBefore thee, colour’d by thy fancy’s glass.The fact below is hidden! What is trueIn that fair mansion comes not in thy view;And thou would’st feel a new and strange surprise,Should all within upon thy mind arise.Thou think’st the lords of all these glorious thingsAre blest supremely! so they are—like kings!Envy them not their lofty state, my boy;They but possess the things that you enjoy.“Nay, but they’re lords of all you see around—Ring but a bell, and men obey the sound;Make but a motion, with the hand or eye,And their attendants at the signal fly.”True, my fair lad! but this is contract all,For James is paid to heed his Honour’s call.Let wages cease, and lay the livery by,And James will heed no more than you or I.Service has lawful bound, and that beyondIs no obedience—’tis not in the bond.Footman, or groom, or butler, still he knows,So does his lord, the duty that he owes.Labourers, you say, are grieved with daily toil—True—but the sweater goes not with the soil;He can change places, change his way of life,Take new employments—nay, can take a wife;If he offend, he knows the law’s decree,Nor can his judge in his accuser see;And, more than all the rest—or young or old,Useful or useless, he cannot be sold:Sorrow and want may in his cot be found,But not a Slave can live on British ground.Nor have the lords of all this wealth you see,Their perfect freedom; few are truly free;Who rank the highest find the check of fate,And kings themselves are subject to their state.Riches, and all that we desire to gain,}Bind their possessors in a golden chain—}’Tis kept in peril, and ’tis lost with pain.}And thou too, Boy! wilt pass unheeding byThe scenes that now delight thine eager eye.Dream on awhile! and there shall come a strange,And, couldst thou see it, an amazing change.Thou who wert late so happy, and so proud,To be a seat with liveried men allow’d,And would not, dared not, in thy very shame,The titles of their noble masters name—Titles that, scarcely known, upon thy tongueWith tremulous and erring accent hung—Now, when accustomed to the splendid PlaceAnd known to all of that illustrious Race;His Senses all, and most of all his Sight,Indulged with all that can a Sense delight;His partial Friends, to humble Merits kind,And to his Failings heedless if not blind;Bound to no Duty but a wish to please,And living like a Beggar at his ease—Now do these Scenes delight him, doth he gazeOn objects that enchant him and amazeIn mute Surprise? oh, no! the Time is past;Raptures and Wonders are not formed to last.Pensive, alone, he walks the Rooms aroundAnd seeks for Pleasure; but it is not found.All he can see he many times has seen,And round and round the Maze of Pleasure been.The Pictures, now familiar to the Eye,He owns their beauty, but he passes by;These stately Rooms—that Park so fenced about,Where he was free, now shut his Freedom out,And keeps, he feels—yet fears it as a Sin,And he ungrateful—Lassitude within.Himself discerning, he has learned to traceThe Signs of Languor in the loveliest face.The great, the wealthy, who cannot enjoyWhat Time brings forth, would Time himself destroy;But that a Lad from life laborious freedShould sigh for Action, this is strange indeed;And yet no Labours in the years gone byCost him the feeling witnessed in that Sigh.Lo! now they meet and greeting seem to say,“How dealt you, Friends, with Father Time to-day?”When each his warfare has with Time confest,Then all acknowledge they are yet opprest.Our Youth has wandered in his Way and seesThe Village tribe, as he conceives, at ease;All seeming well their Lot in Life to bear,Because they know not his peculiar Care.The very Beggar moves, as if he knewThat he was free his Duties to pursue;Men, Women, Children, all appear’d to say,“I know the Part that I must take to-day.”All this our Youth beheld, and, with a sighReflected, “Not a care in Life have I.”Then why not seek it? Ask the man who dinesDaily on costly food and generous Wines,Who feels no Pain, who no Complaint can make,But only feels he can no Pleasure take—And he will answer, that ’tis Fortune’s Will;He may be weary, but he must be still.Oh! had they told thee, when thou sat’st with pride,And grateful joy, at Madam Johnson’s side,And heard the lisping Flora, blue-eyed maid,Bid thee be neither bashful nor afraid,When Mrs. Jane thy burning blush had raised,Because thy modesty and sense she praised—Could’st thou have seen that in that place a roomShould be thine own, thy house, thy hall, thy home;With leave to wander as thou would’st, to readJust as thy fancy was disposed to feed,To live with those who were so far aboveThy reach, it seem’d to thee a crime to love,Or even admire, them!—Little didst thou knowHow near approach the lofty and the low!In all we dare, and all we dare not name,How much the great and little are the same!Well, thou hast tried it—thou hast closely seenWhat greatness has without it, and within;Where now the joyful expectation?—fled!The strong anticipating spirit?—dead!
Dream on, dear Boy! let pass a few brief years,Replete with troubles, comforts, hopes, and fears,Bold expectations, efforts wild and strong,And thou shalt find thy fond conjectures wrong.Imagination rules thee: thine are dreams,And every thing to thee is what it seems:Thou seest the surfaces of things, that passBefore thee, colour’d by thy fancy’s glass.The fact below is hidden! What is trueIn that fair mansion comes not in thy view;And thou would’st feel a new and strange surprise,Should all within upon thy mind arise.Thou think’st the lords of all these glorious thingsAre blest supremely! so they are—like kings!Envy them not their lofty state, my boy;They but possess the things that you enjoy.“Nay, but they’re lords of all you see around—Ring but a bell, and men obey the sound;Make but a motion, with the hand or eye,And their attendants at the signal fly.”True, my fair lad! but this is contract all,For James is paid to heed his Honour’s call.Let wages cease, and lay the livery by,And James will heed no more than you or I.Service has lawful bound, and that beyondIs no obedience—’tis not in the bond.Footman, or groom, or butler, still he knows,So does his lord, the duty that he owes.Labourers, you say, are grieved with daily toil—True—but the sweater goes not with the soil;He can change places, change his way of life,Take new employments—nay, can take a wife;If he offend, he knows the law’s decree,Nor can his judge in his accuser see;And, more than all the rest—or young or old,Useful or useless, he cannot be sold:Sorrow and want may in his cot be found,But not a Slave can live on British ground.Nor have the lords of all this wealth you see,Their perfect freedom; few are truly free;Who rank the highest find the check of fate,And kings themselves are subject to their state.Riches, and all that we desire to gain,}Bind their possessors in a golden chain—}’Tis kept in peril, and ’tis lost with pain.}And thou too, Boy! wilt pass unheeding byThe scenes that now delight thine eager eye.Dream on awhile! and there shall come a strange,And, couldst thou see it, an amazing change.Thou who wert late so happy, and so proud,To be a seat with liveried men allow’d,And would not, dared not, in thy very shame,The titles of their noble masters name—Titles that, scarcely known, upon thy tongueWith tremulous and erring accent hung—Now, when accustomed to the splendid PlaceAnd known to all of that illustrious Race;His Senses all, and most of all his Sight,Indulged with all that can a Sense delight;His partial Friends, to humble Merits kind,And to his Failings heedless if not blind;Bound to no Duty but a wish to please,And living like a Beggar at his ease—Now do these Scenes delight him, doth he gazeOn objects that enchant him and amazeIn mute Surprise? oh, no! the Time is past;Raptures and Wonders are not formed to last.Pensive, alone, he walks the Rooms aroundAnd seeks for Pleasure; but it is not found.All he can see he many times has seen,And round and round the Maze of Pleasure been.The Pictures, now familiar to the Eye,He owns their beauty, but he passes by;These stately Rooms—that Park so fenced about,Where he was free, now shut his Freedom out,And keeps, he feels—yet fears it as a Sin,And he ungrateful—Lassitude within.Himself discerning, he has learned to traceThe Signs of Languor in the loveliest face.The great, the wealthy, who cannot enjoyWhat Time brings forth, would Time himself destroy;But that a Lad from life laborious freedShould sigh for Action, this is strange indeed;And yet no Labours in the years gone byCost him the feeling witnessed in that Sigh.Lo! now they meet and greeting seem to say,“How dealt you, Friends, with Father Time to-day?”When each his warfare has with Time confest,Then all acknowledge they are yet opprest.Our Youth has wandered in his Way and seesThe Village tribe, as he conceives, at ease;All seeming well their Lot in Life to bear,Because they know not his peculiar Care.The very Beggar moves, as if he knewThat he was free his Duties to pursue;Men, Women, Children, all appear’d to say,“I know the Part that I must take to-day.”All this our Youth beheld, and, with a sighReflected, “Not a care in Life have I.”Then why not seek it? Ask the man who dinesDaily on costly food and generous Wines,Who feels no Pain, who no Complaint can make,But only feels he can no Pleasure take—And he will answer, that ’tis Fortune’s Will;He may be weary, but he must be still.Oh! had they told thee, when thou sat’st with pride,And grateful joy, at Madam Johnson’s side,And heard the lisping Flora, blue-eyed maid,Bid thee be neither bashful nor afraid,When Mrs. Jane thy burning blush had raised,Because thy modesty and sense she praised—Could’st thou have seen that in that place a roomShould be thine own, thy house, thy hall, thy home;With leave to wander as thou would’st, to readJust as thy fancy was disposed to feed,To live with those who were so far aboveThy reach, it seem’d to thee a crime to love,Or even admire, them!—Little didst thou knowHow near approach the lofty and the low!In all we dare, and all we dare not name,How much the great and little are the same!Well, thou hast tried it—thou hast closely seenWhat greatness has without it, and within;Where now the joyful expectation?—fled!The strong anticipating spirit?—dead!
Dream on, dear Boy! let pass a few brief years,
Replete with troubles, comforts, hopes, and fears,
Bold expectations, efforts wild and strong,
And thou shalt find thy fond conjectures wrong.
Imagination rules thee: thine are dreams,
And every thing to thee is what it seems:
Thou seest the surfaces of things, that pass
Before thee, colour’d by thy fancy’s glass.
The fact below is hidden! What is true
In that fair mansion comes not in thy view;
And thou would’st feel a new and strange surprise,
Should all within upon thy mind arise.
Thou think’st the lords of all these glorious things
Are blest supremely! so they are—like kings!
Envy them not their lofty state, my boy;
They but possess the things that you enjoy.
“Nay, but they’re lords of all you see around—
Ring but a bell, and men obey the sound;
Make but a motion, with the hand or eye,
And their attendants at the signal fly.”
True, my fair lad! but this is contract all,
For James is paid to heed his Honour’s call.
Let wages cease, and lay the livery by,
And James will heed no more than you or I.
Service has lawful bound, and that beyond
Is no obedience—’tis not in the bond.
Footman, or groom, or butler, still he knows,
So does his lord, the duty that he owes.
Labourers, you say, are grieved with daily toil—
True—but the sweater goes not with the soil;
He can change places, change his way of life,
Take new employments—nay, can take a wife;
If he offend, he knows the law’s decree,
Nor can his judge in his accuser see;
And, more than all the rest—or young or old,
Useful or useless, he cannot be sold:
Sorrow and want may in his cot be found,
But not a Slave can live on British ground.
Nor have the lords of all this wealth you see,
Their perfect freedom; few are truly free;
Who rank the highest find the check of fate,
And kings themselves are subject to their state.
Riches, and all that we desire to gain,}
Bind their possessors in a golden chain—}
’Tis kept in peril, and ’tis lost with pain.}
And thou too, Boy! wilt pass unheeding by
The scenes that now delight thine eager eye.
Dream on awhile! and there shall come a strange,
And, couldst thou see it, an amazing change.
Thou who wert late so happy, and so proud,
To be a seat with liveried men allow’d,
And would not, dared not, in thy very shame,
The titles of their noble masters name—
Titles that, scarcely known, upon thy tongue
With tremulous and erring accent hung—
Now, when accustomed to the splendid Place
And known to all of that illustrious Race;
His Senses all, and most of all his Sight,
Indulged with all that can a Sense delight;
His partial Friends, to humble Merits kind,
And to his Failings heedless if not blind;
Bound to no Duty but a wish to please,
And living like a Beggar at his ease—
Now do these Scenes delight him, doth he gaze
On objects that enchant him and amaze
In mute Surprise? oh, no! the Time is past;
Raptures and Wonders are not formed to last.
Pensive, alone, he walks the Rooms around
And seeks for Pleasure; but it is not found.
All he can see he many times has seen,
And round and round the Maze of Pleasure been.
The Pictures, now familiar to the Eye,
He owns their beauty, but he passes by;
These stately Rooms—that Park so fenced about,
Where he was free, now shut his Freedom out,
And keeps, he feels—yet fears it as a Sin,
And he ungrateful—Lassitude within.
Himself discerning, he has learned to trace
The Signs of Languor in the loveliest face.
The great, the wealthy, who cannot enjoy
What Time brings forth, would Time himself destroy;
But that a Lad from life laborious freed
Should sigh for Action, this is strange indeed;
And yet no Labours in the years gone by
Cost him the feeling witnessed in that Sigh.
Lo! now they meet and greeting seem to say,
“How dealt you, Friends, with Father Time to-day?”
When each his warfare has with Time confest,
Then all acknowledge they are yet opprest.
Our Youth has wandered in his Way and sees
The Village tribe, as he conceives, at ease;
All seeming well their Lot in Life to bear,
Because they know not his peculiar Care.
The very Beggar moves, as if he knew
That he was free his Duties to pursue;
Men, Women, Children, all appear’d to say,
“I know the Part that I must take to-day.”
All this our Youth beheld, and, with a sigh
Reflected, “Not a care in Life have I.”
Then why not seek it? Ask the man who dines
Daily on costly food and generous Wines,
Who feels no Pain, who no Complaint can make,
But only feels he can no Pleasure take—
And he will answer, that ’tis Fortune’s Will;
He may be weary, but he must be still.
Oh! had they told thee, when thou sat’st with pride,
And grateful joy, at Madam Johnson’s side,
And heard the lisping Flora, blue-eyed maid,
Bid thee be neither bashful nor afraid,
When Mrs. Jane thy burning blush had raised,
Because thy modesty and sense she praised—
Could’st thou have seen that in that place a room
Should be thine own, thy house, thy hall, thy home;
With leave to wander as thou would’st, to read
Just as thy fancy was disposed to feed,
To live with those who were so far above
Thy reach, it seem’d to thee a crime to love,
Or even admire, them!—Little didst thou know
How near approach the lofty and the low!
In all we dare, and all we dare not name,
How much the great and little are the same!
Well, thou hast tried it—thou hast closely seen
What greatness has without it, and within;
Where now the joyful expectation?—fled!
The strong anticipating spirit?—dead!