BOOK II.DIET.

Enough of air. A desart subject now,Rougher and wilder, rises to my sight.A barren waste, where not a garland growsTo bind the muse’s brow; not even a proudStupendous solitude frowns o’er the heath,5To rouse a noble horror in the soul:But rugged paths fatigue, and error leadsThro’ endless labyrinths the devious feet.Farewel, etherial fields! the humbler artsOf life; the table and the homely Gods,10Demand my song. Elysian gales adieu!The blood, the fountain whence the spirits flow,The generous stream that waters every part,And motion, vigor, and warm life conveysTo every particle that moves or lives;15This vital fluid, thro’ unnumber’d tubesPour’d by the heart, and to the heart againRefunded; scourg’d for ever round and round,Enrag’d with heat and toil, at last forgetsIts balmy nature; virulent and thin20It grows; and now, but that a thousand gatesAre open to its flight, it would destroyThe parts it cherish’d and repair’d before.Besides, the flexible and tender tubesMelt in the mildest, most nectareous tide25That ripening nature rolls; as in the streamIts crumbling banks; but what the vital forceOf plastic fluids hourly batters down,That very force, those plastic particlesRebuild: So mutable the state of man.30For this the watchful appetite was giv’n,Daily with fresh materials to repairThis unavoidable expence of life,This necessary waste of flesh and blood.Hence the concoctive powers, with various art,35Subdue the cruder aliments to chyle;The chyle to blood; the foamy purple tideTo liquors, which thro’ finer arteriesTo different parts their winding course pursue;To try new changes, and new forms put on,40Or for the public, or some private use.Nothing so foreign but th’ athletic hindCan labour into blood. The hungry mealAlone he fears, or aliments too thin,By violent powers too easily subdu’d,45Too soon expell’d. His daily labour thaws,To friendly chyle, the most rebellious massThat salt can harden, or the smoke of years;Nor does his gorge the rancid bacon rue,Nor that which Cestria sends, tenacious paste50Of solid milk. But ye of softer clayInfirm and delicate! and ye who wasteWith pale and bloated sloth the tedious day!Avoid the stubborn aliment, avoidThe full repast; and let sagacious age55Grow wiser, lesson’d by the dropping teeth.Half subtiliz’d to chyle, the liquid foodReadiest obeys th’ assimilating powers;And soon the tender vegetable massRelents; and soon the young of those that tread60The stedfast earth, or cleave the green abyss,Or pathless sky. And if the Steer must fall,In youth and vigor glorious let him die;Nor stay till rigid age, or heavy ails,Absolve him ill-requited from the yoke.65Some with high forage, and luxuriant ease,Indulge the veteran Ox; but wiser thou,From the bleak mountain or the barren downs,Expect the flocks by frugal nature fed;A race of purer blood, with exercise70Refin’d and scanty fare: For, old or young,The stall’d are never healthy; nor the cramm’d.Not all the culinary arts can tame,To wholsome food, th’ abominable growthOf rest and gluttony; the prudent taste75Rejects like bane such loathsome lusciousness.The languid stomach curses even the pureDelicious fat, and all the race of oil;For more the oily aliments relaxIts feeble tone; and with the eager lymph80(Fond to incorporate with all it meets)Coily they mix; and shun with slippery wilesThe wooed embrace. Th’ irresoluble oil,So gentle late and blandishing, in floodsOf rancid bile o’erflows: What tumults hence,85What horrors rise, were nauseous to relate.Chuse leaner viands, ye of jovial make!Chuse sober meals; and rouse to active lifeYour cumbrous clay; nor on th’ enfeebling down,Irresolute, protract the morning hours.90But let the man, whose bones are thinly clad,With chearful ease, and succulent repastImprove his slender habit. Each extremeFrom the blest mean of sanity departs.I could relate what table this demands,95Or that complexion; what the various powersOf various foods: But fifty years would roll,And fifty more, before the tale were done.Besides, there often lurks some nameless, strange,Peculiar thing; nor on the skin display’d,100Felt in the pulse, nor in the habit seen;Which finds a poison in the food that mostThe temp’rature affects. There are, whose bloodImpetuous rages thro’ the turgid veins,Who better bear the fiery fruits of Ind,105Than the moist Melon, or pale Cucumber.Of chilly nature others fly the boardSupply’d with slaughter, and the vernal pow’rsFor cooler, kinder, sustenance implore.Some even the generous nutriment detest110Which, in the shell, the sleeping Embryo rears.Some, more unhappy still, repent the giftsOf Pales; soft, delicious and benign:The balmy quintescence of every flower,And every grateful herb that decks the spring;115The fost’ring dew of tender sprouting life;The best reflection of declining age;The kind restorative of those who lieHalf-dead and panting, from the doubtful strifeOf nature struggling in the grasp of death.120Try all the bounties of this fertile globe,There is not such a salutary food,As suits with every stomach. But (except,Amid the mingled mass of fish and fowl,And boil’d and bak’d, you hesitate by which125You sunk oppress’d, or whether not by all;)Taught by experience soon you may discernWhat pleases, what offends. Avoid the catesThat lull the sicken’d appetite too long;Or heave with feverish flushings all the face,130Burn in the palms, and parch the roughning tongue;Or much diminish or too much increaseTh’ expence which nature’s wise oeconomy,Without or waste or avarice, maintains.Such cates abjur’d, let prouling hunger loose,135And bid the curious palate roam at will;They scarce can err amid the various storesThat burst the teeming entrails of the world.Led by sagacious taste, the ruthless kingOf beasts on blood and slaughter only lives:140The tyger, form’d alike to cruel meals,Would at the manger starve: Of milder seeds,The generous horse to herbage and to grainConfines his wish; tho’ fabling Greece resoundThe Thracian steeds with human carnage wild.145Prompted by instinct’s never-erring power,Each creature knows its proper aliment;But man, th’ inhabitant of every clime,With all the commoners of nature feeds.Directed, bounded, by this pow’r within,150Their cravings are well-aim’d: Voluptous manIs by superior faculties misled;Misled from pleasure even in quest of joy.Sated with nature’s boons, what thousands seek,With dishes tortur’d from their native taste,155And mad variety, to spur beyondIts wiser will the jaded appetite!Is this for pleasure? Learn a juster taste;And know, that temperance is true luxury.Or is it pride? Pursue some nobler aim.160Dismiss your parasites, who praise for hire;And earn the fair esteem of honest men,Whose praise is fame. Form’d of such clay as yours,The sick, the needy, shiver at your gates.Even modest want may bless your hand unseen,165Tho’ hush’d in patient wretchedness at home.Is there no virgin, grac’d with every charmBut that which binds the mercenary vow?No youth of genius, whose neglected bloomUnfoster’d sickens in the barren shade?170No worthy man, by fortune’s random blows,Or by a heart too generous and humane,Constrain’d to leave his happy natal seat,And sigh for wants more bitter than his own?There are, while human miseries abound,175A thousand ways to waste superfluous wealth,Without one fool or flatterer at your board,Without one hour of sickness or disgust.But other ills th’ ambiguous feast pursue,Besides provoking the lascivious taste.180Such various foods, tho’ harmless each alone,Each other violate; and oft we seeWhat strife is brew’d, and what pernicious bane,From combinations of innoxious things.Th’ unbounded taste I mean not to confine185To hermit’s diet, needlessly severe.But would you long the sweets of health enjoy,Or husband pleasure; at one impious mealExhaust not half the bounties of the year,And of each realm. It matters not mean while190How much to morrow differ from to day;So far indulge: ’tis fit, besides, that man,To change obnoxious, be to change inur’d.But stay the curious appetite, and tasteWith caution fruits you never tried before.195For want of use the kindest alimentSometimes offends; while custom tames the rageOf poison to mild amity with life.So heav’n has form’d us to the general tasteOf all its gifts; so custom has improv’d200This bent of nature; that few simple foods,Of all that earth, or air, or ocean yield,But by excess offend. Beyond the senseOf light refection, at the genial boardIndulge not often; nor protract the feast205To dull satiety; till soft and slowA drowzy death creeps on, th’ expansive soulOppress’d, and smother’d the celestial fire.The stomach, urg’d beyond its active tone,Hardly to nutrimental chyle subdues210The softest food: unfinish’d and deprav’d,The chyle, in all its future wand’rings, ownsIts turbid fountain; not by purer streamsSo to be clear’d, but foulness will remain.To sparkling wine what ferment can exalt215Th’ unripen’d grape? Or what mechanic skillFrom the crude ore can spin the ductile gold?Gross riot treasures up a wealthy fundOf plagues: but more immedicable illsAttend the lean extreme. For physic knows220How to disburden the too tumid veins,Even how to ripen the half-labour’d blood;But to unlock the elemental tubes,Collaps’d and shrunk with long inanity,And with balsamic nutriment repair225The dried and worn-out habit, were to bidOld age grow green, and wear a second spring;Or the tall ash, long ravish’d from the soil,Thro’ wither’d veins imbibe the vernal dew.When hunger calls, obey; nor often wait230Till hunger sharpen to corrosive pain:For the keen appetite will feast beyondWhat nature well can bear; and one extremeNe’er without danger meets its own reverse.Too greedily th’ exhausted veins absorb235The recent chyle, and load enfeebled powersOft to th’ extinction of the vital flame.To the pale cities, by the firm-set siegeAnd famine humbled, may this verse be borne;And hear, ye hardiest sons that Albion breeds,240Long toss’d and famish’d on the wintry main;The war shook off, or hospitable shoreAttain’d, with temperance bear the shock of joy;Nor crown with festive rites th’ auspicious day:Such feast might prove more fatal than the waves,245Than war, or famine. While the vital fireBurns feebly, heap not the green fuel on;But prudently foment the wandering sparkWith what the soonest feels its kindred touch:Be frugal ev’n of that: a little give250At first; that kindled, add a little more;Till, by deliberate nourishing, the flameReviv’d, with all its wonted vigor glows.But tho’ the two (the full and the jejune)Extremes have each their vice; it much avails255Ever with gentle tide to ebb and flowFrom this to that: So nature learns to bearWhatever chance or headlong appetiteMay bring. Besides, a meagre day subduesThe cruder clods by sloth or luxury260Collected; and unloads the wheels of life.Sometimes a coy aversion to the feastComes on, while yet no blacker omen lours;Then is a time to shun the tempting board,Were it your natal or your nuptial day.265Perhaps a fast so seasonable starvesThe latent seeds of woe, which rooted onceMight cost you labour. But the day return’dOf festal luxury, the wise indulgeMost in the tender vegetable breed:270Then chiefly when the summer’s beams inflameThe brazen heavens; or angry Syrius shedsA feverish taint thro’ the still gulph of air.The moist cool viands then, and flowing cupFrom the fresh dairy-virgin’s liberal hand,275Will save your head from harm, tho’ round the worldThe dreaded Causos3roll his wasteful fires.Pale humid Winter loves the generous board.The meal more copious, and a warmer fare;And longs, with old wood and old wine, to cheer280His quaking heart. The seasons which divideTh’ empires of heat and cold; by neither claim’d.Influenc’d by both; a middle regimenImpose. Thro’ autumn’s languishing domainDescending, nature by degrees invites285To glowing luxury. But from the depthOf winter, when th’ invigorated yearEmerges; when Favonius flush’d with love,Toyful and young, in every breeze descendsMore warm and wanton on his kindling bride;290Then, shepherds, then begin to spare your flocks;And learn, with wise humanity, to checkThe lust of blood. Now pregnant earth commitsA various offspring to th’ indulgent sky:Now bounteous nature feeds with lavish hand295The prone creation; yields what once suffic’dTheir dainty sovereign, when the world was young;E’re yet the barbarous thirst of blood had seiz’dThe human breast. Each rolling month maturesThe food that suits it most; so does each clime.300Far in the horrid realms of winter, whereTh’ establish’d ocean heaps a monstrous wasteOf shining rocks and mountains to the pole;There lives a hardy race, whose plainest wantsRelentless earth, their cruel step-mother,305Regards not. On the waste of iron fields,Untam’d, untractable, no harvests wave:Pomona hates them, and the clownish GodWho tends the garden. In this frozen worldSuch cooling gifts were vain: a fitter meal310Is earn’d with ease; for here the fruitful spawnOf Ocean swarms, and heaps their genial boardWith generous fare and luxury profuse.These are their bread, the only bread they know;These, and their willing slave the deer, that crops315The shrubby herbage on their meager hills.Girt by the burning zone, not thus the southHer swarthy sons, in either Ind, maintains:Or thirsty Lybia; from whose fervid loinsThe lion bursts, and every fiend that roams320Th’ affrighted wilderness. The mountain herd,Adust and dry, no sweet repast affords;Nor does the tepid main such kinds produce,So perfect, so delicious, as the storesOf icy Zembla. Rashly where the blood325Brews feverish frays; where scarce the tubes sustainIts tumid fervor and tempestuous course;Kind nature tempts not to such gifts as these.But here in livid ripeness melts the grape;Here, finish’d by invigorating suns,330Thro’ the green shade the golden Orange glows;Spontaneous here the turgid Melon yieldsA generous pulp; the Coco swells on highWith milky riches; and in horrid mailThe soft Ananas wraps its tender sweets.335Earth’s vaunted progeny: In ruder airToo coy to flourish, even to proud to live;Or hardly rais’d by artificial fireTo vapid life. Here with a mother’s smileGlad Amalthea pours her copious horn.340Here buxom Ceres reigns: Th’ autumnal seaIn boundless billows fluctuates o’er their plains.What suits the climate best, what suits the men,Nature profuses most, and most the tasteDemands. The fountain, edg’d with racy wine345Or acid fruit, bedews their thirsty souls.The breeze eternal breathing round their limbsSupports in else intolerable air:While the cool Palm, the Plantain, and the groveThat waves on gloomy Lebanon, assuage350The torrid hell that beams upon their heads.Now come, ye Naiads, to the fountains lead;Now let me wander thro’ your gelid reign.I burn to view th’ enthusiastic wildsBy mortal else untrod. I hear the din355Of waters thundering o’er the ruin’d cliffs.With holy rev’rence I approach the rocksWhence glide the streams renown’d in ancient song.Here from the desart down the rumbling steepFirst springs the Nile; here bursts the sounding Po360In angry waves; Euphrates hence devolvesA mighty flood to water half the East;And there, in Gothic solitude reclin’d,The chearless Tanais pours his hoary urn.What solemn twilight! What stupendous shades365Enwarp these infant floods! Thro’ every nerveA sacred horror thrills, a pleasing fearGlides o’er my frame. The forest deepens round;And more gigantic still th’ impending treesStretch their extravagant arms athwart the gloom.370Are these the confines of some fairy world?A land of Genii? Say, beyond these wildsWhat unknown nations? If indeed beyondAught habitable lies. And whither leads,To what strange regions, or of bliss or pain,375That subterraneous way? Propitious maids,Conduct me, while with fearful steps I treadThis trembling ground. The task remains to singYour gifts, (so Pæon, so the powers of healthCommand) to praise your chrystal element:380The chief ingredient in heaven’s various works;Whose flexile genius sparkles in the gem,Grows firm in oak, and fugitive in wine;The vehicle, the source, of nutrimentAnd life, to all that vegitate or live.385O comfortable streams? With eager lipsAnd trembling hand the languid thirsty quaffNew life in you; fresh vigor fills their veins.No warmer cups the rural ages knew;None warmer sought the sires of human-kind.390Happy in temperate peace! Their equal daysFelt not th’ alternate fits of feverish mirth,And sick dejection. Still serene and pleas’d,They knew no pains but what the tender soulWith pleasure yields to, and would ne’er forget.395Blest with divine immunity from ails,Long centuries they liv’d; their only fateWas ripe old age, and rather sleep than death.Oh! could those worthies from the world of GodsReturn to visit their degenerate sons,400How would they scorn the joys of modern time,With all our art and toil improv’d to pain!Too happy they! But wealth brought luxury,And luxury on sloth begot disease.405Learn temperance, friends; and hear without disdainThe choice of water. Thus the Coan4sageOpin’d, and thus the learn’d of every school.What least of foreign principles partakesIs best: The lightest then; what bears the touchOf fire the least, and soonest mounts in air;410The most insipid; the most void of smell.Such the rude mountain from his horrid sidesPours down; such waters in the sandy valeFor ever boil, alike of winter frostsAnd summer’s heat secure. The lucid stream,415O’er rocks resounding, or for many a mileHurl’d down the pebbly channel, wholesome yieldsAnd mellow draughts; except when winter thaws,And half the mountains melt into the tide.Tho’ thirst were ne’er so resolute, avoid420The sordid lake, and all such drowsy floodsAs fill from Lethe Belgia’s slow canals;(With rest corrupt, with vegetation green;Squalid with generation, and the birthOf little monsters;) till the power of fire425Has from profane embraces disengag’dThe violated lymph. The virgin streamIn boiling wastes its finer soul in air.Nothing like simple element dilutesThe food, or gives the chyle so soon to flow.430But where the stomach, indolently given,Toys with its duty, animate with wineTh’ insipid stream: Tho’ golden Ceres yieldsA more voluptuous, a more sprightly draught;Perhaps more active. Wine unmix’d, and all435The gluey floods that from the vex’d abyssOf fermentation spring; with spirit fraught,And furious with intoxicating fire;Retard concoction, and preserve unthaw’dTh’ embodied mass. You see what countless years,450Embalm’d in fiery quintescence of wine,The puny wonders of the reptile world,The tender rudiments of life, the slimUnrav’lings of minute anatomy,Maintain their texture, and unchang’d remain!455We curse not wine: The vile excess we blame;More fruitful, than th’ accumulated board,Of pain and misery. For the subtle draughtFaster and surer swells the vital tide;And with more active poison, than the floods460Of grosser crudity convey, pervadesThe far-remote meanders of our frame.Ah! sly deceiver! Branded o’er and o’er,Yet still believ’d! Exulting o’er the wreckOf sober Vows! But the Parnassian maids465Another time perhaps shall sing the joys,The fatal charms, the many woes of wine;Perhaps its various tribes, and various powers.Meantime, I would not always dread the bowl,Nor every trespass shun. The feverish strife,470Rous’d by the rare debauch, subdues, expellsThe loitering crudities, that burthen life;And, like a torrent full and rapid, clearsTh’ obstructed tubes. Besides, this restless worldIs full of chances, which by habit’s power475To learn to bear is easier than to shun.Ah! when ambition, meagre love of gold,Or sacred country calls, with mellowing wineTo moisten well the thirsty suffrages;Say how, unseason’d to the midnight frays480Of Comus and his rout, wilt thou contendWith Centaurs long to hardy deeds inur’d?Then learn to revel; but by slow degrees:By slow degrees the liberal arts are won;And Hercules grew strong. But when you smooth485The brows of care, indulge your festive veinIn cups by well-inform’d experience foundThe least your bane; and only with your friends.There are sweet follies, frailties to be seenBy friends alone, and men of generous minds.490Oh! seldom may the fated hours returnOf drinking deep! I would not daily taste,Except when life declines, even sober cups.Weak withering age no rigid law forbids,With frugal nectar, smooth and slow with balm,495The sapless habit daily to bedew,And give the hesitating wheels of lifeGliblier to play. But youth has better joys;And is it wise when youth with pleasure flows,To squander the reliefs of age and pain?500What dext’rous thousands just within the goalOf wild debauch direct their nightly course!Perhaps no sickly qualms bedim their days,No morning admonitions shock the head.But ah! what woes remain! Life rolls apace,505And that incurable disease old age,In youthful bodies more severely felt,More sternly active, shakes their blasted prime:Except kind nature by some hasty blowPrevent the lingering fates. For know, whate’er510Beyond its natural fervor hurries onThe sanguine tide; whether the frequent bowl,High-season’d fare, or exercise to toilProtracted; spurs to its last stage tir’d life,And sows the temples with untimely snow.When life is new, the ductile fibres feel515The heart’s increasing force; and, day by day,The growth advances; till the larger tubes,Acquiring (from their elemental5veins,Condens’d to solid chords) a firmer tone,Sustain, and just sustain, th’ impetuous blood.520Here stops the growth. With overbearing pulseAnd pressure, still the great destroy the small;Still with the ruins of the small grow strong.Life glows mean time, amid the grinding forceOf viscous fluids and elastic tubes;525Its various functions vigorously are pliedBy strong machinery; and in solid healthThe man confirm’d long triumphs o’er disease.But the full ocean ebbs: There is a point,By nature fix’d, whence life must downwards tend.530For still the beating tide consolidatesThe stubborn vessels, more reluctant still,To the weak throbbings of th’ enfeebled heart.This languishing, these strengthning by degreesTo hard unyielding unelastic bone,535Thro’ tedious channels the congealing floodCrawls lazily, and hardly wanders on;It loiters still: And now it stirs no more.This is the period few attain; the deathOf nature: Thus (so heav’n ordain’d it) life540Destroys itself; and could these laws have chang’d,Nestor might now the fates of Troy relate;And Homer live immortal as his song.What does not fade? The tower that long had stoodThe crush of thunder, and the warring winds,545Shook by the slow but sure destroyer Time,Now hangs in doubtful ruins o’er its base.And flinty pyramids, and walls of brass,Descend; the Babylonian spires are sunk;Achaia, Rome, and Egypt moulder down.550Time shakes the liable tyranny of thrones,And tottering empires rush by their own weight.This huge rotundity we tread grows old;And all those worlds that roll around the sun,The sun himself, shall die; and ancient Night555Again involve the desolate abyss:Till the greatFatherthro’ the lifeless gloomExtend his arm to light another world,And bid new planets roll by other laws.For thro’ the regions of unbounded space,560Where unconfin’d omnipotence has room,Being, in various systems, fluctuates stillBetween creation and abhorr’d decay;It ever did; perhaps and ever will.New worlds are still emerging from the deep;565The old descending, in their turns to rise.

Enough of air. A desart subject now,

Rougher and wilder, rises to my sight.

A barren waste, where not a garland grows

To bind the muse’s brow; not even a proud

Stupendous solitude frowns o’er the heath,5

To rouse a noble horror in the soul:

But rugged paths fatigue, and error leads

Thro’ endless labyrinths the devious feet.

Farewel, etherial fields! the humbler arts

Of life; the table and the homely Gods,10

Demand my song. Elysian gales adieu!

The blood, the fountain whence the spirits flow,The generous stream that waters every part,And motion, vigor, and warm life conveysTo every particle that moves or lives;15This vital fluid, thro’ unnumber’d tubesPour’d by the heart, and to the heart againRefunded; scourg’d for ever round and round,Enrag’d with heat and toil, at last forgetsIts balmy nature; virulent and thin20It grows; and now, but that a thousand gatesAre open to its flight, it would destroyThe parts it cherish’d and repair’d before.Besides, the flexible and tender tubesMelt in the mildest, most nectareous tide25That ripening nature rolls; as in the streamIts crumbling banks; but what the vital forceOf plastic fluids hourly batters down,That very force, those plastic particlesRebuild: So mutable the state of man.30For this the watchful appetite was giv’n,Daily with fresh materials to repairThis unavoidable expence of life,This necessary waste of flesh and blood.Hence the concoctive powers, with various art,35Subdue the cruder aliments to chyle;The chyle to blood; the foamy purple tideTo liquors, which thro’ finer arteriesTo different parts their winding course pursue;To try new changes, and new forms put on,40Or for the public, or some private use.

The blood, the fountain whence the spirits flow,

The generous stream that waters every part,

And motion, vigor, and warm life conveys

To every particle that moves or lives;15

This vital fluid, thro’ unnumber’d tubes

Pour’d by the heart, and to the heart again

Refunded; scourg’d for ever round and round,

Enrag’d with heat and toil, at last forgets

Its balmy nature; virulent and thin20

It grows; and now, but that a thousand gates

Are open to its flight, it would destroy

The parts it cherish’d and repair’d before.

Besides, the flexible and tender tubes

Melt in the mildest, most nectareous tide25

That ripening nature rolls; as in the stream

Its crumbling banks; but what the vital force

Of plastic fluids hourly batters down,

That very force, those plastic particles

Rebuild: So mutable the state of man.30

For this the watchful appetite was giv’n,

Daily with fresh materials to repair

This unavoidable expence of life,

This necessary waste of flesh and blood.

Hence the concoctive powers, with various art,35

Subdue the cruder aliments to chyle;

The chyle to blood; the foamy purple tide

To liquors, which thro’ finer arteries

To different parts their winding course pursue;

To try new changes, and new forms put on,40

Or for the public, or some private use.

Nothing so foreign but th’ athletic hindCan labour into blood. The hungry mealAlone he fears, or aliments too thin,By violent powers too easily subdu’d,45Too soon expell’d. His daily labour thaws,To friendly chyle, the most rebellious massThat salt can harden, or the smoke of years;Nor does his gorge the rancid bacon rue,Nor that which Cestria sends, tenacious paste50Of solid milk. But ye of softer clayInfirm and delicate! and ye who wasteWith pale and bloated sloth the tedious day!Avoid the stubborn aliment, avoidThe full repast; and let sagacious age55Grow wiser, lesson’d by the dropping teeth.

Nothing so foreign but th’ athletic hind

Can labour into blood. The hungry meal

Alone he fears, or aliments too thin,

By violent powers too easily subdu’d,45

Too soon expell’d. His daily labour thaws,

To friendly chyle, the most rebellious mass

That salt can harden, or the smoke of years;

Nor does his gorge the rancid bacon rue,

Nor that which Cestria sends, tenacious paste50

Of solid milk. But ye of softer clay

Infirm and delicate! and ye who waste

With pale and bloated sloth the tedious day!

Avoid the stubborn aliment, avoid

The full repast; and let sagacious age55

Grow wiser, lesson’d by the dropping teeth.

Half subtiliz’d to chyle, the liquid foodReadiest obeys th’ assimilating powers;And soon the tender vegetable massRelents; and soon the young of those that tread60The stedfast earth, or cleave the green abyss,Or pathless sky. And if the Steer must fall,In youth and vigor glorious let him die;Nor stay till rigid age, or heavy ails,Absolve him ill-requited from the yoke.65Some with high forage, and luxuriant ease,Indulge the veteran Ox; but wiser thou,From the bleak mountain or the barren downs,Expect the flocks by frugal nature fed;A race of purer blood, with exercise70Refin’d and scanty fare: For, old or young,The stall’d are never healthy; nor the cramm’d.Not all the culinary arts can tame,To wholsome food, th’ abominable growthOf rest and gluttony; the prudent taste75Rejects like bane such loathsome lusciousness.The languid stomach curses even the pureDelicious fat, and all the race of oil;For more the oily aliments relaxIts feeble tone; and with the eager lymph80(Fond to incorporate with all it meets)Coily they mix; and shun with slippery wilesThe wooed embrace. Th’ irresoluble oil,So gentle late and blandishing, in floodsOf rancid bile o’erflows: What tumults hence,85What horrors rise, were nauseous to relate.Chuse leaner viands, ye of jovial make!Chuse sober meals; and rouse to active lifeYour cumbrous clay; nor on th’ enfeebling down,Irresolute, protract the morning hours.90But let the man, whose bones are thinly clad,With chearful ease, and succulent repastImprove his slender habit. Each extremeFrom the blest mean of sanity departs.

Half subtiliz’d to chyle, the liquid food

Readiest obeys th’ assimilating powers;

And soon the tender vegetable mass

Relents; and soon the young of those that tread60

The stedfast earth, or cleave the green abyss,

Or pathless sky. And if the Steer must fall,

In youth and vigor glorious let him die;

Nor stay till rigid age, or heavy ails,

Absolve him ill-requited from the yoke.65

Some with high forage, and luxuriant ease,

Indulge the veteran Ox; but wiser thou,

From the bleak mountain or the barren downs,

Expect the flocks by frugal nature fed;

A race of purer blood, with exercise70

Refin’d and scanty fare: For, old or young,

The stall’d are never healthy; nor the cramm’d.

Not all the culinary arts can tame,

To wholsome food, th’ abominable growth

Of rest and gluttony; the prudent taste75

Rejects like bane such loathsome lusciousness.

The languid stomach curses even the pure

Delicious fat, and all the race of oil;

For more the oily aliments relax

Its feeble tone; and with the eager lymph80

(Fond to incorporate with all it meets)

Coily they mix; and shun with slippery wiles

The wooed embrace. Th’ irresoluble oil,

So gentle late and blandishing, in floods

Of rancid bile o’erflows: What tumults hence,85

What horrors rise, were nauseous to relate.

Chuse leaner viands, ye of jovial make!

Chuse sober meals; and rouse to active life

Your cumbrous clay; nor on th’ enfeebling down,

Irresolute, protract the morning hours.90

But let the man, whose bones are thinly clad,

With chearful ease, and succulent repast

Improve his slender habit. Each extreme

From the blest mean of sanity departs.

I could relate what table this demands,95Or that complexion; what the various powersOf various foods: But fifty years would roll,And fifty more, before the tale were done.Besides, there often lurks some nameless, strange,Peculiar thing; nor on the skin display’d,100Felt in the pulse, nor in the habit seen;Which finds a poison in the food that mostThe temp’rature affects. There are, whose bloodImpetuous rages thro’ the turgid veins,Who better bear the fiery fruits of Ind,105Than the moist Melon, or pale Cucumber.Of chilly nature others fly the boardSupply’d with slaughter, and the vernal pow’rsFor cooler, kinder, sustenance implore.Some even the generous nutriment detest110Which, in the shell, the sleeping Embryo rears.Some, more unhappy still, repent the giftsOf Pales; soft, delicious and benign:The balmy quintescence of every flower,And every grateful herb that decks the spring;115The fost’ring dew of tender sprouting life;The best reflection of declining age;The kind restorative of those who lieHalf-dead and panting, from the doubtful strifeOf nature struggling in the grasp of death.120Try all the bounties of this fertile globe,There is not such a salutary food,As suits with every stomach. But (except,Amid the mingled mass of fish and fowl,And boil’d and bak’d, you hesitate by which125You sunk oppress’d, or whether not by all;)Taught by experience soon you may discernWhat pleases, what offends. Avoid the catesThat lull the sicken’d appetite too long;Or heave with feverish flushings all the face,130Burn in the palms, and parch the roughning tongue;Or much diminish or too much increaseTh’ expence which nature’s wise oeconomy,Without or waste or avarice, maintains.Such cates abjur’d, let prouling hunger loose,135And bid the curious palate roam at will;They scarce can err amid the various storesThat burst the teeming entrails of the world.

I could relate what table this demands,95

Or that complexion; what the various powers

Of various foods: But fifty years would roll,

And fifty more, before the tale were done.

Besides, there often lurks some nameless, strange,

Peculiar thing; nor on the skin display’d,100

Felt in the pulse, nor in the habit seen;

Which finds a poison in the food that most

The temp’rature affects. There are, whose blood

Impetuous rages thro’ the turgid veins,

Who better bear the fiery fruits of Ind,105

Than the moist Melon, or pale Cucumber.

Of chilly nature others fly the board

Supply’d with slaughter, and the vernal pow’rs

For cooler, kinder, sustenance implore.

Some even the generous nutriment detest110

Which, in the shell, the sleeping Embryo rears.

Some, more unhappy still, repent the gifts

Of Pales; soft, delicious and benign:

The balmy quintescence of every flower,

And every grateful herb that decks the spring;115

The fost’ring dew of tender sprouting life;

The best reflection of declining age;

The kind restorative of those who lie

Half-dead and panting, from the doubtful strife

Of nature struggling in the grasp of death.120

Try all the bounties of this fertile globe,

There is not such a salutary food,

As suits with every stomach. But (except,

Amid the mingled mass of fish and fowl,

And boil’d and bak’d, you hesitate by which125

You sunk oppress’d, or whether not by all;)

Taught by experience soon you may discern

What pleases, what offends. Avoid the cates

That lull the sicken’d appetite too long;

Or heave with feverish flushings all the face,130

Burn in the palms, and parch the roughning tongue;

Or much diminish or too much increase

Th’ expence which nature’s wise oeconomy,

Without or waste or avarice, maintains.

Such cates abjur’d, let prouling hunger loose,135

And bid the curious palate roam at will;

They scarce can err amid the various stores

That burst the teeming entrails of the world.

Led by sagacious taste, the ruthless kingOf beasts on blood and slaughter only lives:140The tyger, form’d alike to cruel meals,Would at the manger starve: Of milder seeds,The generous horse to herbage and to grainConfines his wish; tho’ fabling Greece resoundThe Thracian steeds with human carnage wild.145Prompted by instinct’s never-erring power,Each creature knows its proper aliment;But man, th’ inhabitant of every clime,With all the commoners of nature feeds.Directed, bounded, by this pow’r within,150Their cravings are well-aim’d: Voluptous manIs by superior faculties misled;Misled from pleasure even in quest of joy.Sated with nature’s boons, what thousands seek,With dishes tortur’d from their native taste,155And mad variety, to spur beyondIts wiser will the jaded appetite!Is this for pleasure? Learn a juster taste;And know, that temperance is true luxury.Or is it pride? Pursue some nobler aim.160Dismiss your parasites, who praise for hire;And earn the fair esteem of honest men,Whose praise is fame. Form’d of such clay as yours,The sick, the needy, shiver at your gates.Even modest want may bless your hand unseen,165Tho’ hush’d in patient wretchedness at home.Is there no virgin, grac’d with every charmBut that which binds the mercenary vow?No youth of genius, whose neglected bloomUnfoster’d sickens in the barren shade?170No worthy man, by fortune’s random blows,Or by a heart too generous and humane,Constrain’d to leave his happy natal seat,And sigh for wants more bitter than his own?There are, while human miseries abound,175A thousand ways to waste superfluous wealth,Without one fool or flatterer at your board,Without one hour of sickness or disgust.

Led by sagacious taste, the ruthless king

Of beasts on blood and slaughter only lives:140

The tyger, form’d alike to cruel meals,

Would at the manger starve: Of milder seeds,

The generous horse to herbage and to grain

Confines his wish; tho’ fabling Greece resound

The Thracian steeds with human carnage wild.145

Prompted by instinct’s never-erring power,

Each creature knows its proper aliment;

But man, th’ inhabitant of every clime,

With all the commoners of nature feeds.

Directed, bounded, by this pow’r within,150

Their cravings are well-aim’d: Voluptous man

Is by superior faculties misled;

Misled from pleasure even in quest of joy.

Sated with nature’s boons, what thousands seek,

With dishes tortur’d from their native taste,155

And mad variety, to spur beyond

Its wiser will the jaded appetite!

Is this for pleasure? Learn a juster taste;

And know, that temperance is true luxury.

Or is it pride? Pursue some nobler aim.160

Dismiss your parasites, who praise for hire;

And earn the fair esteem of honest men,

Whose praise is fame. Form’d of such clay as yours,

The sick, the needy, shiver at your gates.

Even modest want may bless your hand unseen,165

Tho’ hush’d in patient wretchedness at home.

Is there no virgin, grac’d with every charm

But that which binds the mercenary vow?

No youth of genius, whose neglected bloom

Unfoster’d sickens in the barren shade?170

No worthy man, by fortune’s random blows,

Or by a heart too generous and humane,

Constrain’d to leave his happy natal seat,

And sigh for wants more bitter than his own?

There are, while human miseries abound,175

A thousand ways to waste superfluous wealth,

Without one fool or flatterer at your board,

Without one hour of sickness or disgust.

But other ills th’ ambiguous feast pursue,Besides provoking the lascivious taste.180Such various foods, tho’ harmless each alone,Each other violate; and oft we seeWhat strife is brew’d, and what pernicious bane,From combinations of innoxious things.Th’ unbounded taste I mean not to confine185To hermit’s diet, needlessly severe.But would you long the sweets of health enjoy,Or husband pleasure; at one impious mealExhaust not half the bounties of the year,And of each realm. It matters not mean while190How much to morrow differ from to day;So far indulge: ’tis fit, besides, that man,To change obnoxious, be to change inur’d.But stay the curious appetite, and tasteWith caution fruits you never tried before.195For want of use the kindest alimentSometimes offends; while custom tames the rageOf poison to mild amity with life.

But other ills th’ ambiguous feast pursue,

Besides provoking the lascivious taste.180

Such various foods, tho’ harmless each alone,

Each other violate; and oft we see

What strife is brew’d, and what pernicious bane,

From combinations of innoxious things.

Th’ unbounded taste I mean not to confine185

To hermit’s diet, needlessly severe.

But would you long the sweets of health enjoy,

Or husband pleasure; at one impious meal

Exhaust not half the bounties of the year,

And of each realm. It matters not mean while190

How much to morrow differ from to day;

So far indulge: ’tis fit, besides, that man,

To change obnoxious, be to change inur’d.

But stay the curious appetite, and taste

With caution fruits you never tried before.195

For want of use the kindest aliment

Sometimes offends; while custom tames the rage

Of poison to mild amity with life.

So heav’n has form’d us to the general tasteOf all its gifts; so custom has improv’d200This bent of nature; that few simple foods,Of all that earth, or air, or ocean yield,But by excess offend. Beyond the senseOf light refection, at the genial boardIndulge not often; nor protract the feast205To dull satiety; till soft and slowA drowzy death creeps on, th’ expansive soulOppress’d, and smother’d the celestial fire.The stomach, urg’d beyond its active tone,Hardly to nutrimental chyle subdues210The softest food: unfinish’d and deprav’d,The chyle, in all its future wand’rings, ownsIts turbid fountain; not by purer streamsSo to be clear’d, but foulness will remain.To sparkling wine what ferment can exalt215Th’ unripen’d grape? Or what mechanic skillFrom the crude ore can spin the ductile gold?Gross riot treasures up a wealthy fundOf plagues: but more immedicable illsAttend the lean extreme. For physic knows220How to disburden the too tumid veins,Even how to ripen the half-labour’d blood;But to unlock the elemental tubes,Collaps’d and shrunk with long inanity,And with balsamic nutriment repair225The dried and worn-out habit, were to bidOld age grow green, and wear a second spring;Or the tall ash, long ravish’d from the soil,Thro’ wither’d veins imbibe the vernal dew.When hunger calls, obey; nor often wait230Till hunger sharpen to corrosive pain:For the keen appetite will feast beyondWhat nature well can bear; and one extremeNe’er without danger meets its own reverse.Too greedily th’ exhausted veins absorb235The recent chyle, and load enfeebled powersOft to th’ extinction of the vital flame.To the pale cities, by the firm-set siegeAnd famine humbled, may this verse be borne;And hear, ye hardiest sons that Albion breeds,240Long toss’d and famish’d on the wintry main;The war shook off, or hospitable shoreAttain’d, with temperance bear the shock of joy;Nor crown with festive rites th’ auspicious day:Such feast might prove more fatal than the waves,245Than war, or famine. While the vital fireBurns feebly, heap not the green fuel on;But prudently foment the wandering sparkWith what the soonest feels its kindred touch:Be frugal ev’n of that: a little give250At first; that kindled, add a little more;Till, by deliberate nourishing, the flameReviv’d, with all its wonted vigor glows.

So heav’n has form’d us to the general taste

Of all its gifts; so custom has improv’d200

This bent of nature; that few simple foods,

Of all that earth, or air, or ocean yield,

But by excess offend. Beyond the sense

Of light refection, at the genial board

Indulge not often; nor protract the feast205

To dull satiety; till soft and slow

A drowzy death creeps on, th’ expansive soul

Oppress’d, and smother’d the celestial fire.

The stomach, urg’d beyond its active tone,

Hardly to nutrimental chyle subdues210

The softest food: unfinish’d and deprav’d,

The chyle, in all its future wand’rings, owns

Its turbid fountain; not by purer streams

So to be clear’d, but foulness will remain.

To sparkling wine what ferment can exalt215

Th’ unripen’d grape? Or what mechanic skill

From the crude ore can spin the ductile gold?

Gross riot treasures up a wealthy fund

Of plagues: but more immedicable ills

Attend the lean extreme. For physic knows220

How to disburden the too tumid veins,

Even how to ripen the half-labour’d blood;

But to unlock the elemental tubes,

Collaps’d and shrunk with long inanity,

And with balsamic nutriment repair225

The dried and worn-out habit, were to bid

Old age grow green, and wear a second spring;

Or the tall ash, long ravish’d from the soil,

Thro’ wither’d veins imbibe the vernal dew.

When hunger calls, obey; nor often wait230

Till hunger sharpen to corrosive pain:

For the keen appetite will feast beyond

What nature well can bear; and one extreme

Ne’er without danger meets its own reverse.

Too greedily th’ exhausted veins absorb235

The recent chyle, and load enfeebled powers

Oft to th’ extinction of the vital flame.

To the pale cities, by the firm-set siege

And famine humbled, may this verse be borne;

And hear, ye hardiest sons that Albion breeds,240

Long toss’d and famish’d on the wintry main;

The war shook off, or hospitable shore

Attain’d, with temperance bear the shock of joy;

Nor crown with festive rites th’ auspicious day:

Such feast might prove more fatal than the waves,245

Than war, or famine. While the vital fire

Burns feebly, heap not the green fuel on;

But prudently foment the wandering spark

With what the soonest feels its kindred touch:

Be frugal ev’n of that: a little give250

At first; that kindled, add a little more;

Till, by deliberate nourishing, the flame

Reviv’d, with all its wonted vigor glows.

But tho’ the two (the full and the jejune)Extremes have each their vice; it much avails255Ever with gentle tide to ebb and flowFrom this to that: So nature learns to bearWhatever chance or headlong appetiteMay bring. Besides, a meagre day subduesThe cruder clods by sloth or luxury260Collected; and unloads the wheels of life.Sometimes a coy aversion to the feastComes on, while yet no blacker omen lours;Then is a time to shun the tempting board,Were it your natal or your nuptial day.265Perhaps a fast so seasonable starvesThe latent seeds of woe, which rooted onceMight cost you labour. But the day return’dOf festal luxury, the wise indulgeMost in the tender vegetable breed:270Then chiefly when the summer’s beams inflameThe brazen heavens; or angry Syrius shedsA feverish taint thro’ the still gulph of air.The moist cool viands then, and flowing cupFrom the fresh dairy-virgin’s liberal hand,275Will save your head from harm, tho’ round the worldThe dreaded Causos3roll his wasteful fires.Pale humid Winter loves the generous board.The meal more copious, and a warmer fare;And longs, with old wood and old wine, to cheer280His quaking heart. The seasons which divideTh’ empires of heat and cold; by neither claim’d.Influenc’d by both; a middle regimenImpose. Thro’ autumn’s languishing domainDescending, nature by degrees invites285To glowing luxury. But from the depthOf winter, when th’ invigorated yearEmerges; when Favonius flush’d with love,Toyful and young, in every breeze descendsMore warm and wanton on his kindling bride;290Then, shepherds, then begin to spare your flocks;And learn, with wise humanity, to checkThe lust of blood. Now pregnant earth commitsA various offspring to th’ indulgent sky:Now bounteous nature feeds with lavish hand295The prone creation; yields what once suffic’dTheir dainty sovereign, when the world was young;E’re yet the barbarous thirst of blood had seiz’dThe human breast. Each rolling month maturesThe food that suits it most; so does each clime.300

But tho’ the two (the full and the jejune)

Extremes have each their vice; it much avails255

Ever with gentle tide to ebb and flow

From this to that: So nature learns to bear

Whatever chance or headlong appetite

May bring. Besides, a meagre day subdues

The cruder clods by sloth or luxury260

Collected; and unloads the wheels of life.

Sometimes a coy aversion to the feast

Comes on, while yet no blacker omen lours;

Then is a time to shun the tempting board,

Were it your natal or your nuptial day.265

Perhaps a fast so seasonable starves

The latent seeds of woe, which rooted once

Might cost you labour. But the day return’d

Of festal luxury, the wise indulge

Most in the tender vegetable breed:270

Then chiefly when the summer’s beams inflame

The brazen heavens; or angry Syrius sheds

A feverish taint thro’ the still gulph of air.

The moist cool viands then, and flowing cup

From the fresh dairy-virgin’s liberal hand,275

Will save your head from harm, tho’ round the world

The dreaded Causos3roll his wasteful fires.

Pale humid Winter loves the generous board.

The meal more copious, and a warmer fare;

And longs, with old wood and old wine, to cheer280

His quaking heart. The seasons which divide

Th’ empires of heat and cold; by neither claim’d.

Influenc’d by both; a middle regimen

Impose. Thro’ autumn’s languishing domain

Descending, nature by degrees invites285

To glowing luxury. But from the depth

Of winter, when th’ invigorated year

Emerges; when Favonius flush’d with love,

Toyful and young, in every breeze descends

More warm and wanton on his kindling bride;290

Then, shepherds, then begin to spare your flocks;

And learn, with wise humanity, to check

The lust of blood. Now pregnant earth commits

A various offspring to th’ indulgent sky:

Now bounteous nature feeds with lavish hand295

The prone creation; yields what once suffic’d

Their dainty sovereign, when the world was young;

E’re yet the barbarous thirst of blood had seiz’d

The human breast. Each rolling month matures

The food that suits it most; so does each clime.300

Far in the horrid realms of winter, whereTh’ establish’d ocean heaps a monstrous wasteOf shining rocks and mountains to the pole;There lives a hardy race, whose plainest wantsRelentless earth, their cruel step-mother,305Regards not. On the waste of iron fields,Untam’d, untractable, no harvests wave:Pomona hates them, and the clownish GodWho tends the garden. In this frozen worldSuch cooling gifts were vain: a fitter meal310Is earn’d with ease; for here the fruitful spawnOf Ocean swarms, and heaps their genial boardWith generous fare and luxury profuse.These are their bread, the only bread they know;These, and their willing slave the deer, that crops315The shrubby herbage on their meager hills.Girt by the burning zone, not thus the southHer swarthy sons, in either Ind, maintains:Or thirsty Lybia; from whose fervid loinsThe lion bursts, and every fiend that roams320Th’ affrighted wilderness. The mountain herd,Adust and dry, no sweet repast affords;Nor does the tepid main such kinds produce,So perfect, so delicious, as the storesOf icy Zembla. Rashly where the blood325Brews feverish frays; where scarce the tubes sustainIts tumid fervor and tempestuous course;Kind nature tempts not to such gifts as these.But here in livid ripeness melts the grape;Here, finish’d by invigorating suns,330Thro’ the green shade the golden Orange glows;Spontaneous here the turgid Melon yieldsA generous pulp; the Coco swells on highWith milky riches; and in horrid mailThe soft Ananas wraps its tender sweets.335Earth’s vaunted progeny: In ruder airToo coy to flourish, even to proud to live;Or hardly rais’d by artificial fireTo vapid life. Here with a mother’s smileGlad Amalthea pours her copious horn.340Here buxom Ceres reigns: Th’ autumnal seaIn boundless billows fluctuates o’er their plains.What suits the climate best, what suits the men,Nature profuses most, and most the tasteDemands. The fountain, edg’d with racy wine345Or acid fruit, bedews their thirsty souls.The breeze eternal breathing round their limbsSupports in else intolerable air:While the cool Palm, the Plantain, and the groveThat waves on gloomy Lebanon, assuage350The torrid hell that beams upon their heads.

Far in the horrid realms of winter, where

Th’ establish’d ocean heaps a monstrous waste

Of shining rocks and mountains to the pole;

There lives a hardy race, whose plainest wants

Relentless earth, their cruel step-mother,305

Regards not. On the waste of iron fields,

Untam’d, untractable, no harvests wave:

Pomona hates them, and the clownish God

Who tends the garden. In this frozen world

Such cooling gifts were vain: a fitter meal310

Is earn’d with ease; for here the fruitful spawn

Of Ocean swarms, and heaps their genial board

With generous fare and luxury profuse.

These are their bread, the only bread they know;

These, and their willing slave the deer, that crops315

The shrubby herbage on their meager hills.

Girt by the burning zone, not thus the south

Her swarthy sons, in either Ind, maintains:

Or thirsty Lybia; from whose fervid loins

The lion bursts, and every fiend that roams320

Th’ affrighted wilderness. The mountain herd,

Adust and dry, no sweet repast affords;

Nor does the tepid main such kinds produce,

So perfect, so delicious, as the stores

Of icy Zembla. Rashly where the blood325

Brews feverish frays; where scarce the tubes sustain

Its tumid fervor and tempestuous course;

Kind nature tempts not to such gifts as these.

But here in livid ripeness melts the grape;

Here, finish’d by invigorating suns,330

Thro’ the green shade the golden Orange glows;

Spontaneous here the turgid Melon yields

A generous pulp; the Coco swells on high

With milky riches; and in horrid mail

The soft Ananas wraps its tender sweets.335

Earth’s vaunted progeny: In ruder air

Too coy to flourish, even to proud to live;

Or hardly rais’d by artificial fire

To vapid life. Here with a mother’s smile

Glad Amalthea pours her copious horn.340

Here buxom Ceres reigns: Th’ autumnal sea

In boundless billows fluctuates o’er their plains.

What suits the climate best, what suits the men,

Nature profuses most, and most the taste

Demands. The fountain, edg’d with racy wine345

Or acid fruit, bedews their thirsty souls.

The breeze eternal breathing round their limbs

Supports in else intolerable air:

While the cool Palm, the Plantain, and the grove

That waves on gloomy Lebanon, assuage350

The torrid hell that beams upon their heads.

Now come, ye Naiads, to the fountains lead;Now let me wander thro’ your gelid reign.I burn to view th’ enthusiastic wildsBy mortal else untrod. I hear the din355Of waters thundering o’er the ruin’d cliffs.With holy rev’rence I approach the rocksWhence glide the streams renown’d in ancient song.Here from the desart down the rumbling steepFirst springs the Nile; here bursts the sounding Po360In angry waves; Euphrates hence devolvesA mighty flood to water half the East;And there, in Gothic solitude reclin’d,The chearless Tanais pours his hoary urn.What solemn twilight! What stupendous shades365Enwarp these infant floods! Thro’ every nerveA sacred horror thrills, a pleasing fearGlides o’er my frame. The forest deepens round;And more gigantic still th’ impending treesStretch their extravagant arms athwart the gloom.370Are these the confines of some fairy world?A land of Genii? Say, beyond these wildsWhat unknown nations? If indeed beyondAught habitable lies. And whither leads,To what strange regions, or of bliss or pain,375That subterraneous way? Propitious maids,Conduct me, while with fearful steps I treadThis trembling ground. The task remains to singYour gifts, (so Pæon, so the powers of healthCommand) to praise your chrystal element:380The chief ingredient in heaven’s various works;Whose flexile genius sparkles in the gem,Grows firm in oak, and fugitive in wine;The vehicle, the source, of nutrimentAnd life, to all that vegitate or live.385

Now come, ye Naiads, to the fountains lead;

Now let me wander thro’ your gelid reign.

I burn to view th’ enthusiastic wilds

By mortal else untrod. I hear the din355

Of waters thundering o’er the ruin’d cliffs.

With holy rev’rence I approach the rocks

Whence glide the streams renown’d in ancient song.

Here from the desart down the rumbling steep

First springs the Nile; here bursts the sounding Po360

In angry waves; Euphrates hence devolves

A mighty flood to water half the East;

And there, in Gothic solitude reclin’d,

The chearless Tanais pours his hoary urn.

What solemn twilight! What stupendous shades365

Enwarp these infant floods! Thro’ every nerve

A sacred horror thrills, a pleasing fear

Glides o’er my frame. The forest deepens round;

And more gigantic still th’ impending trees

Stretch their extravagant arms athwart the gloom.370

Are these the confines of some fairy world?

A land of Genii? Say, beyond these wilds

What unknown nations? If indeed beyond

Aught habitable lies. And whither leads,

To what strange regions, or of bliss or pain,375

That subterraneous way? Propitious maids,

Conduct me, while with fearful steps I tread

This trembling ground. The task remains to sing

Your gifts, (so Pæon, so the powers of health

Command) to praise your chrystal element:380

The chief ingredient in heaven’s various works;

Whose flexile genius sparkles in the gem,

Grows firm in oak, and fugitive in wine;

The vehicle, the source, of nutriment

And life, to all that vegitate or live.385

O comfortable streams? With eager lipsAnd trembling hand the languid thirsty quaffNew life in you; fresh vigor fills their veins.No warmer cups the rural ages knew;None warmer sought the sires of human-kind.390Happy in temperate peace! Their equal daysFelt not th’ alternate fits of feverish mirth,And sick dejection. Still serene and pleas’d,They knew no pains but what the tender soulWith pleasure yields to, and would ne’er forget.395Blest with divine immunity from ails,Long centuries they liv’d; their only fateWas ripe old age, and rather sleep than death.Oh! could those worthies from the world of GodsReturn to visit their degenerate sons,400How would they scorn the joys of modern time,With all our art and toil improv’d to pain!Too happy they! But wealth brought luxury,And luxury on sloth begot disease.

O comfortable streams? With eager lips

And trembling hand the languid thirsty quaff

New life in you; fresh vigor fills their veins.

No warmer cups the rural ages knew;

None warmer sought the sires of human-kind.390

Happy in temperate peace! Their equal days

Felt not th’ alternate fits of feverish mirth,

And sick dejection. Still serene and pleas’d,

They knew no pains but what the tender soul

With pleasure yields to, and would ne’er forget.395

Blest with divine immunity from ails,

Long centuries they liv’d; their only fate

Was ripe old age, and rather sleep than death.

Oh! could those worthies from the world of Gods

Return to visit their degenerate sons,400

How would they scorn the joys of modern time,

With all our art and toil improv’d to pain!

Too happy they! But wealth brought luxury,

And luxury on sloth begot disease.

405Learn temperance, friends; and hear without disdainThe choice of water. Thus the Coan4sageOpin’d, and thus the learn’d of every school.What least of foreign principles partakesIs best: The lightest then; what bears the touchOf fire the least, and soonest mounts in air;410The most insipid; the most void of smell.Such the rude mountain from his horrid sidesPours down; such waters in the sandy valeFor ever boil, alike of winter frostsAnd summer’s heat secure. The lucid stream,415O’er rocks resounding, or for many a mileHurl’d down the pebbly channel, wholesome yieldsAnd mellow draughts; except when winter thaws,And half the mountains melt into the tide.Tho’ thirst were ne’er so resolute, avoid420The sordid lake, and all such drowsy floodsAs fill from Lethe Belgia’s slow canals;(With rest corrupt, with vegetation green;Squalid with generation, and the birthOf little monsters;) till the power of fire425Has from profane embraces disengag’dThe violated lymph. The virgin streamIn boiling wastes its finer soul in air.

Learn temperance, friends; and hear without disdain

The choice of water. Thus the Coan4sage

Opin’d, and thus the learn’d of every school.

What least of foreign principles partakes

Is best: The lightest then; what bears the touch

Of fire the least, and soonest mounts in air;410

The most insipid; the most void of smell.

Such the rude mountain from his horrid sides

Pours down; such waters in the sandy vale

For ever boil, alike of winter frosts

And summer’s heat secure. The lucid stream,415

O’er rocks resounding, or for many a mile

Hurl’d down the pebbly channel, wholesome yields

And mellow draughts; except when winter thaws,

And half the mountains melt into the tide.

Tho’ thirst were ne’er so resolute, avoid420

The sordid lake, and all such drowsy floods

As fill from Lethe Belgia’s slow canals;

(With rest corrupt, with vegetation green;

Squalid with generation, and the birth

Of little monsters;) till the power of fire425

Has from profane embraces disengag’d

The violated lymph. The virgin stream

In boiling wastes its finer soul in air.

Nothing like simple element dilutesThe food, or gives the chyle so soon to flow.430But where the stomach, indolently given,Toys with its duty, animate with wineTh’ insipid stream: Tho’ golden Ceres yieldsA more voluptuous, a more sprightly draught;Perhaps more active. Wine unmix’d, and all435The gluey floods that from the vex’d abyssOf fermentation spring; with spirit fraught,And furious with intoxicating fire;Retard concoction, and preserve unthaw’dTh’ embodied mass. You see what countless years,450Embalm’d in fiery quintescence of wine,The puny wonders of the reptile world,The tender rudiments of life, the slimUnrav’lings of minute anatomy,Maintain their texture, and unchang’d remain!455

Nothing like simple element dilutes

The food, or gives the chyle so soon to flow.430

But where the stomach, indolently given,

Toys with its duty, animate with wine

Th’ insipid stream: Tho’ golden Ceres yields

A more voluptuous, a more sprightly draught;

Perhaps more active. Wine unmix’d, and all435

The gluey floods that from the vex’d abyss

Of fermentation spring; with spirit fraught,

And furious with intoxicating fire;

Retard concoction, and preserve unthaw’d

Th’ embodied mass. You see what countless years,450

Embalm’d in fiery quintescence of wine,

The puny wonders of the reptile world,

The tender rudiments of life, the slim

Unrav’lings of minute anatomy,

Maintain their texture, and unchang’d remain!455

We curse not wine: The vile excess we blame;More fruitful, than th’ accumulated board,Of pain and misery. For the subtle draughtFaster and surer swells the vital tide;And with more active poison, than the floods460Of grosser crudity convey, pervadesThe far-remote meanders of our frame.Ah! sly deceiver! Branded o’er and o’er,Yet still believ’d! Exulting o’er the wreckOf sober Vows! But the Parnassian maids465Another time perhaps shall sing the joys,The fatal charms, the many woes of wine;Perhaps its various tribes, and various powers.

We curse not wine: The vile excess we blame;

More fruitful, than th’ accumulated board,

Of pain and misery. For the subtle draught

Faster and surer swells the vital tide;

And with more active poison, than the floods460

Of grosser crudity convey, pervades

The far-remote meanders of our frame.

Ah! sly deceiver! Branded o’er and o’er,

Yet still believ’d! Exulting o’er the wreck

Of sober Vows! But the Parnassian maids465

Another time perhaps shall sing the joys,

The fatal charms, the many woes of wine;

Perhaps its various tribes, and various powers.

Meantime, I would not always dread the bowl,Nor every trespass shun. The feverish strife,470Rous’d by the rare debauch, subdues, expellsThe loitering crudities, that burthen life;And, like a torrent full and rapid, clearsTh’ obstructed tubes. Besides, this restless worldIs full of chances, which by habit’s power475To learn to bear is easier than to shun.Ah! when ambition, meagre love of gold,Or sacred country calls, with mellowing wineTo moisten well the thirsty suffrages;Say how, unseason’d to the midnight frays480Of Comus and his rout, wilt thou contendWith Centaurs long to hardy deeds inur’d?Then learn to revel; but by slow degrees:By slow degrees the liberal arts are won;And Hercules grew strong. But when you smooth485The brows of care, indulge your festive veinIn cups by well-inform’d experience foundThe least your bane; and only with your friends.There are sweet follies, frailties to be seenBy friends alone, and men of generous minds.490

Meantime, I would not always dread the bowl,

Nor every trespass shun. The feverish strife,470

Rous’d by the rare debauch, subdues, expells

The loitering crudities, that burthen life;

And, like a torrent full and rapid, clears

Th’ obstructed tubes. Besides, this restless world

Is full of chances, which by habit’s power475

To learn to bear is easier than to shun.

Ah! when ambition, meagre love of gold,

Or sacred country calls, with mellowing wine

To moisten well the thirsty suffrages;

Say how, unseason’d to the midnight frays480

Of Comus and his rout, wilt thou contend

With Centaurs long to hardy deeds inur’d?

Then learn to revel; but by slow degrees:

By slow degrees the liberal arts are won;

And Hercules grew strong. But when you smooth485

The brows of care, indulge your festive vein

In cups by well-inform’d experience found

The least your bane; and only with your friends.

There are sweet follies, frailties to be seen

By friends alone, and men of generous minds.490

Oh! seldom may the fated hours returnOf drinking deep! I would not daily taste,Except when life declines, even sober cups.Weak withering age no rigid law forbids,With frugal nectar, smooth and slow with balm,495The sapless habit daily to bedew,And give the hesitating wheels of lifeGliblier to play. But youth has better joys;And is it wise when youth with pleasure flows,To squander the reliefs of age and pain?500

Oh! seldom may the fated hours return

Of drinking deep! I would not daily taste,

Except when life declines, even sober cups.

Weak withering age no rigid law forbids,

With frugal nectar, smooth and slow with balm,495

The sapless habit daily to bedew,

And give the hesitating wheels of life

Gliblier to play. But youth has better joys;

And is it wise when youth with pleasure flows,

To squander the reliefs of age and pain?500

What dext’rous thousands just within the goalOf wild debauch direct their nightly course!Perhaps no sickly qualms bedim their days,No morning admonitions shock the head.But ah! what woes remain! Life rolls apace,505And that incurable disease old age,In youthful bodies more severely felt,More sternly active, shakes their blasted prime:Except kind nature by some hasty blowPrevent the lingering fates. For know, whate’er510Beyond its natural fervor hurries onThe sanguine tide; whether the frequent bowl,High-season’d fare, or exercise to toilProtracted; spurs to its last stage tir’d life,And sows the temples with untimely snow.When life is new, the ductile fibres feel515The heart’s increasing force; and, day by day,The growth advances; till the larger tubes,Acquiring (from their elemental5veins,Condens’d to solid chords) a firmer tone,Sustain, and just sustain, th’ impetuous blood.520Here stops the growth. With overbearing pulseAnd pressure, still the great destroy the small;Still with the ruins of the small grow strong.Life glows mean time, amid the grinding forceOf viscous fluids and elastic tubes;525Its various functions vigorously are pliedBy strong machinery; and in solid healthThe man confirm’d long triumphs o’er disease.But the full ocean ebbs: There is a point,By nature fix’d, whence life must downwards tend.530For still the beating tide consolidatesThe stubborn vessels, more reluctant still,To the weak throbbings of th’ enfeebled heart.This languishing, these strengthning by degreesTo hard unyielding unelastic bone,535Thro’ tedious channels the congealing floodCrawls lazily, and hardly wanders on;It loiters still: And now it stirs no more.This is the period few attain; the deathOf nature: Thus (so heav’n ordain’d it) life540Destroys itself; and could these laws have chang’d,Nestor might now the fates of Troy relate;And Homer live immortal as his song.

What dext’rous thousands just within the goal

Of wild debauch direct their nightly course!

Perhaps no sickly qualms bedim their days,

No morning admonitions shock the head.

But ah! what woes remain! Life rolls apace,505

And that incurable disease old age,

In youthful bodies more severely felt,

More sternly active, shakes their blasted prime:

Except kind nature by some hasty blow

Prevent the lingering fates. For know, whate’er510

Beyond its natural fervor hurries on

The sanguine tide; whether the frequent bowl,

High-season’d fare, or exercise to toil

Protracted; spurs to its last stage tir’d life,

And sows the temples with untimely snow.

When life is new, the ductile fibres feel515

The heart’s increasing force; and, day by day,

The growth advances; till the larger tubes,

Acquiring (from their elemental5veins,

Condens’d to solid chords) a firmer tone,

Sustain, and just sustain, th’ impetuous blood.520

Here stops the growth. With overbearing pulse

And pressure, still the great destroy the small;

Still with the ruins of the small grow strong.

Life glows mean time, amid the grinding force

Of viscous fluids and elastic tubes;525

Its various functions vigorously are plied

By strong machinery; and in solid health

The man confirm’d long triumphs o’er disease.

But the full ocean ebbs: There is a point,

By nature fix’d, whence life must downwards tend.530

For still the beating tide consolidates

The stubborn vessels, more reluctant still,

To the weak throbbings of th’ enfeebled heart.

This languishing, these strengthning by degrees

To hard unyielding unelastic bone,535

Thro’ tedious channels the congealing flood

Crawls lazily, and hardly wanders on;

It loiters still: And now it stirs no more.

This is the period few attain; the death

Of nature: Thus (so heav’n ordain’d it) life540

Destroys itself; and could these laws have chang’d,

Nestor might now the fates of Troy relate;

And Homer live immortal as his song.

What does not fade? The tower that long had stoodThe crush of thunder, and the warring winds,545Shook by the slow but sure destroyer Time,Now hangs in doubtful ruins o’er its base.And flinty pyramids, and walls of brass,Descend; the Babylonian spires are sunk;Achaia, Rome, and Egypt moulder down.550Time shakes the liable tyranny of thrones,And tottering empires rush by their own weight.This huge rotundity we tread grows old;And all those worlds that roll around the sun,The sun himself, shall die; and ancient Night555Again involve the desolate abyss:Till the greatFatherthro’ the lifeless gloomExtend his arm to light another world,And bid new planets roll by other laws.For thro’ the regions of unbounded space,560Where unconfin’d omnipotence has room,Being, in various systems, fluctuates stillBetween creation and abhorr’d decay;It ever did; perhaps and ever will.New worlds are still emerging from the deep;565The old descending, in their turns to rise.

What does not fade? The tower that long had stood

The crush of thunder, and the warring winds,545

Shook by the slow but sure destroyer Time,

Now hangs in doubtful ruins o’er its base.

And flinty pyramids, and walls of brass,

Descend; the Babylonian spires are sunk;

Achaia, Rome, and Egypt moulder down.550

Time shakes the liable tyranny of thrones,

And tottering empires rush by their own weight.

This huge rotundity we tread grows old;

And all those worlds that roll around the sun,

The sun himself, shall die; and ancient Night555

Again involve the desolate abyss:

Till the greatFatherthro’ the lifeless gloom

Extend his arm to light another world,

And bid new planets roll by other laws.

For thro’ the regions of unbounded space,560

Where unconfin’d omnipotence has room,

Being, in various systems, fluctuates still

Between creation and abhorr’d decay;

It ever did; perhaps and ever will.

New worlds are still emerging from the deep;565

The old descending, in their turns to rise.

Back to Index Next