The Minstrel; or the Progress of Genius Part 5

Thither he hied, enamoured of the scene: For rocks on rocks piled, as by magic spell, Here scorched with lightning, there with ivy green, Fenced from the north and east this savage dell; Southward a mountain rose with easy swell, Whose long long groves eternal murmur made; And toward the western sun a streamlet fell, Where, through the cliffs, the eye, remote, surveyed Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold arrayed.

VIII.

Along this narrow valley, you might see The wild deer sporting on the meadow ground, And, here and there, a solitary tree, Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crowned.

Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound Of parted fragments tumbling from on high; And, from the summit of that craggy mound, The perching eagle oft was heard to cry, Or on resounding wings to shoot athwart the sky.

IX.

One cultivated spot there was, that spread Its flowery bosom to the noon-day beam, Where many a rose-bud rears its blus.h.i.+ng head, And herbs, for food, with future plenty teem.

Soothed by the lulling sound of grove and stream, Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul: He minded not the sun's last trembling gleam, Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll, When slowly on his ear these moving accents stole.

X.

'Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast, 'And woo the weary to profound repose; 'Can pa.s.sion's wildest uproar lay to rest, 'And whisper comfort to the man of woes!

'Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes, 'And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.

'O Solitude, the man who thee foregoes, 'When lucre lures him, or ambition stings, 'Shall never know the source whence real grandeur springs.

XI.

'Vain man, is grandeur given to gay attire?

'Then let the b.u.t.terfly thy pride upbraid: 'To friends, attendants, armies, bought with hire?

'It is thy weakness that requires their aid: 'To palaces, with gold and gems inlaid?

'They fear the thief, and tremble in the storm: 'To hosts, through carnage who to conquest wade?

'Behold the victor vanquished by the worm!

'Behold what deeds of woe the locust can perform!

XII.

'True dignity is his, whose tranquil mind 'Virtue has raised above the things below; 'Who, every hope and fear to heaven resigned, 'Shrinks not, though Fortune aim her deadliest blow.'

This strain, from midst the rocks, was heard to flow In solemn sounds. Now beamed the evening-star; And from embattled clouds, emerging slow, Cynthia came riding on her silver car; And h.o.a.ry mountain-cliffs shone faintly from afar.

XIII.

Soon did the solemn voice its theme renew; (While Edwin, wrapt in wonder, listening stood) 'Ye tools and toys of tyranny, adieu; 'Scorned by the wise, and hated by the good!

'Ye only can engage the servile brood 'Of Levity and l.u.s.t, who, all their days, 'Ashamed of truth and liberty, have wooed, 'And hugged the chain, that, glittering on their gaze, 'Seems to outs.h.i.+ne the pomp of heaven's empyreal blaze.

XIV.

'Like them, abandoned to Ambition's sway, 'I sought for glory in the paths of guile; 'And fawned and smiled, to plunder and betray, 'Myself betrayed and plundered all the while; 'So gnawed the viper the corroding file.

'But now, with pangs of keen remorse, I rue 'Those years of trouble and debas.e.m.e.nt vile.

'Yet why should I this cruel theme pursue?

'Fly, fly, detested thoughts, for ever from my view!

XV.

'The gusts of appet.i.te, the clouds of care, 'And storms of disappointment, all o'erpast, 'Henceforth, no earthly hope with heaven shall share 'This heart, where peace serenely s.h.i.+nes at last.

'And if for me no treasure be ama.s.sed, 'And if no future age shall hear my name, 'I lurk the more secure from fortune's blast, 'And with more leisure feed this pious flame, 'Whose rapture far transcends the fairest hopes of fame.

XVI.

'The end and the reward of toil is rest.

'Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace.

'Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power possessed, 'Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease!

'Ah! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece, 'The lay, heaven-prompted, and harmonious string, 'The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece, 'All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring, 'If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride, the bosom wring!

XVII.

'Let Vanity adorn the marble tomb 'With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown, 'In the deep dungeon of some Gothic dome, 'Where night and desolation ever frown.

'Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down; 'Where a green gra.s.sy turf is all I crave, 'With here and there a violet bestrown, 'Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave; 'And many an evening sun s.h.i.+ne sweetly on my grave.

XVIII.

'And thither let the village swain repair; 'And, light of heart, the village maiden gay, 'To deck with flowers her half-dishevelled hair, 'And celebrate the merry morn of May.

'There let the shepherd's pipe, the live-long day, 'Fill all the grove with love's bewitching woe; 'And when mild Evening comes with mantle grey, 'Let not the blooming band make haste to go; 'No ghost, nor spell, my long and last abode shall know.

XIX.

'For though I fly to 'scape from fortune's rage, 'And bear the scars of envy, spite, and scorn, 'Yet with mankind no horrid war I wage, 'Yet with no impious spleen my breast is torn: 'For virtue lost, and ruined man, I mourn.

'O Man! creation's pride, heaven's darling child, 'Whom Nature's best, divinest, gifts adorn, 'Why from thy home are truth and joy exiled, 'And all thy favourite haunts with blood and tears defiled!

XX.

'Along yon glittering sky what glory streams!

'What majesty attends night's lovely queen!

'Fair laugh our vallies in the vernal beams; 'And mountains rise, and oceans roll between, 'And all conspire to beautify the scene.

'But, in the mental world, what chaos drear!

'What forms of mournful, loathsome, furious mien!

'O when shall that eternal morn appear, 'These dreadful forms to chace, this chaos dark to clear!

XXI.

'O Thou, at whose creative smile, yon heaven, 'In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light, 'Rose from the abyss; when dark Confusion, driven 'Down down the bottomless profound of night, 'Fled, where he ever flies thy piercing sight!

'O glance on these sad shades one pitying ray, 'To blast the fury of oppressive might, 'Melt the hard heart to love and mercy's sway, 'And cheer the wandering soul, and light him on the way.'