All nature's incense rise!
ХАРАКТЕР ЧЕЛОВЕКА.
Know then thyself; presume not God to scan
The proper study of mankind, is man.
Plac'd on this isthmus of a middle state,
A being darkly wise, and rudely great;
With too much knowledge for the sceptic side,
With too much weakness for the stoic's pride,
He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;
In doubt, to deem himself a God, or beast;
In doubt, his mind or body to prefer;
Born, but to die; and reas'ning, but to err:
Alike in ignorance, his reason such,
Whether he thinks too little or too much:
Chaos of thought and passion, all confus'd;
Still by himself abus'd, or disabus'd:
Created, half to rise, and half to fall;
Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all:
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl'd;
The glory, jest, and riddle of the world!
ЗИМА.
See! Winter comes, to rule the varied year,
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train,
Vapours, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme;
These, that exalt the soul to solemn thought,
And heavenly musing. Welcome, kindred glooms!
Congenial horrors, hail! With frequent foot,
Pleas'd, have I, in my cheerful morn of life,
When, nurs'd by careless solitude, I liv'd,
And sung of nature with unceasing joy.
Pleas'd, have I wand'red through your rough domain;
Trod the pure virgin snows, myself as pure;
Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst;
Or seen the deep fermenting tempest brew'd
In the grim evening sky. Thus pass the time,
Till, through the lucid chambers of the south,
Look'd out the joyous spring, look'd out, and smil'd.
РАССКАЗ ДУГЛАСА О СЕБЕ.
My name is Norval. On the Grampian Hills
My father feeds his flocks; a frugal swain,
Whose constant cares were to increase his store,
And keep his only son, myself, at home.
For I had heard of battles, and I long'd
To follow to the field some warlike lord:
And heav'n soon granted what my sire deny'd.
This moon, which rose last night, round as my shield,
Had not yet fill'd her horns, when by her light,
A band of fierce barbarians, from the hills
Rush'd, like a torrent, down upon the vale,
Sweeping our flocks and herds. The shepherds fled
For safety and for succour. I alone,
With bended bow, and quiver full of arrows,
Hover'd about the enemy, and mark'd
The road he took; then hasted to my friends;
Whom, with a troop of fifty chosen men,
I met advancing. The pursuit I led,
Till we o'ertook the spoil encumber'd foe.
We fought—and conquer'd. Ere a sword was drawn,
An arrow, from my bow, had pierc'd their chief,
Who wore, that day, the arms which now I wear.
Returning home in triumph, I disdain'd
The shepherd's slothful life: and having heard
That our good king had summon'd his bold peers,
To lead their warriors to the Carron side,
I left my father's house, and took with me
A chosen servant to conduct my steps—
Yon trembling coward who forsook his master.
Journeying with this intent, I pass'd these towers;
And, heaven directed, came this day, to do
The happy deed, that gilds my humble name.
РАССКАЗ ДУГЛАСА О ТОМ, КАК ОН ОВЛАДЕЛ ИСКУССТВОМ ВОЙНЫ.
Beneath a mountain's brow, the most remote
And inaccessible by shepherds trod,
In a deep cave, dug by no mortal hand,
A hermit liv'd; a melancholy man,
Who was the wonder of our wand'ring swains,
Austere and lonely, cruel to himself,
Did they report him; the cold earth his bed,
Water his drink, his food the shepherd's alms.
I went to see him, and my heart was touch'd
With rev'rence and with pity. Mild he spake,
And, entering on discourse, such stories told,
As made me oft revisit his sad cell.
For he had been a soldier in his youth,
And fought in famous battles, when the peers
Of Europe, by the bold Godfredo led,
Against th' usurping infidel display'd
The blessed cross, and won the Holy Land.
Pleas'd with my admiration, and the fire
His speech struck from me; the old man would shake
His years away, and act his young encounters.
Then having shewn his wounds; he'd sit him down.
And all the live long day, discourse of war.
To help my fancy, in the smooth green turf
He cut the figures of the marshall'd hosts:
Describ'd the motions, and explain'd the use
Of the deep column and lengthen'd line,
The square, the crescent, and the phalanx firm;
For, all that Saracen or Christian knew
Of war's vast art, was to this hermit known.
Unhappy man!
Returning homeward by Messina's port,
Loaded with wealth and honours bravely won,
A rude and boist'rous captain of the sea
Fasten'd a quarrel on him. Fierce they fought;
The stranger fell, and with his dying breath,
Declar'd his name and lineage! Mighty God!
The soldier cry'd, my brother! Oh! my brother!
They exchanged forgiveness:
And happy, in my mind, was he that died;
For many deaths has the survivor suffer'd,
In the wild desart on a rock he sits,
Or on some nameless stream's untrodden banks,
And ruminates all day his dreadful fate.
At times, alas! not in his perfect mind!
Hold's dialogues with his lov'd brother's ghost;
And oft each night forsakes his sullen couch,
To make sad orisons for him he slew.
БАВКИДА И ФИЛЕМЕН.
In ancient times, as story tells,
The saints would often leave their cells,
And stroll about; but hide their quality,
To try good people's hospitality.
It happened, on a winter night,
As authors on the legend write,
Two brother hermits, saints by trade;
Taking their tour in masquerade,
Disguis'd in tattered habits, went
To a small village down in Kent;
Where, in the stroller's canting strain,
They begg'd from door to door, in-vain;
Tri'd every tone might pity win,
But not a soul would let them in.
Our wandering saints, in woeful state,
Treated at this ungodly rate,
Having through all the village pass'd,
To a small cottage came at last,
Where dwelt a good old honest yoeman,
Call'd in the neighbourhood, Philemon;
Who kindly did these saints invite
In his poor hut to pass the night;
And, then, the hospitable sire
Bid goody Baucis mend the fire;
While he, from out the chimney, took
A flitch of bacon off the hook,
And, freely from the fattest side,
Cut out large slices to be fry'd:
Then stept aside, to fetch them drink,
Fill'd a large jug up to the brink;
Then saw it fairly twice go round;
Yet (what is wonderful) they found,
'Twas still replenish'd to the top,
As if they had not touch'd a drop.
The good old couple were amaz'd,
And often on each other gaz'd;
For both were frighten'd to the heart,
And just began to cry—What art!
Then softly turn'd aside to view,
Whether the lights were turning blue,
The gentle pilgrims, soon aware on't,
Told them their calling and their errand;
"Good folks you need not be afraid;
"We are but saints," the hermit said;
"No hurt shall come to you or yours;
"But for that pack of churlish boors,
"Not fit to live on Christian ground,
"They, and their houses shall be drown'd;
"While you see your cottage rise,
"And grow a church before your eyes."
They scarce had spoke, when fair and soft,
The roof began to move aloft;
Aloft rose every beam and rafter;
The heavy wall climb'd slowly after.
The chimney widen'd, and grew higher,
Became a steeple with a spire.
The kettle to the top was hoist;
With upside down, doom'd there to dwell,
'Tis now no kettle, but a bell.
A wooden jack, which had almost
Lost, by disuse, the art to roast,
A sudden alteration feels,
Increas'd by new intestine wheels;
And strait against the steeple rear'd,
Became a clock, and still adher'd;
And, now, in love to household cares,
By a shrill voice the hour declares,
Warning the housemaid not to burn
The roast-meat which it cannot turn.
The easy chair began to crawl,
Like a huge snail along the wall;
There, stuck aloft in public view,
And, with small change, a pulpit grew.
A bed-stead of the antique mode,
Made up of timber many a load,
Such as our ancestors did use,
Was metamorphos'd into pews:
Which still their ancient nature keep,
By lodging folks dispos'd to sleep.
The cottage by such feats as these,
Grown to a church by just degrees,
The hermits then desir'd their host
Old goodman Dobson of the green,
Remembers, he the trees has seen;
He'll talk of them from morn to night,
And goes with folks to shew the sight.
On Sundays, after ev'ning prayer,
He gathers all the parish there;
Points out the place of either yew:
"Here Baucis, there Philemon grew;
"Till, once, a parson of our town,
"To mend his barn, cut Baucis down;
"At which, 'tis hard to be believ'd;
"How much the other tree was griev'd;
"Grew scrubby, died a-top, was stunted;
"So the next parson stubb'd, and burnt it."
О СЧАСТЬЕ.
Oh happiness! our being's end and aim;
Good, pleasure, ease, content! whate'er they name,
That something still which prompts the eternal sigh,
For which we bear to live, or dare to die:
Which still so near us, yet beyond us lies,
O'erlook'd, seen double, by the fool, and wise:
Plant of celestial seed! if drop'd below,
Say, in what mortal soil thou deign'st to grow:
Fair op'ning to some court's propitious shrine;
Or deep with di'monds in the flaming mine?
Twin'd with the wreaths Parnassian laurels yield,
Or reap'd in iron harvests of the field?
Where grows? where grows it not? If vain our toil,
We ought to blame the culture, not the soil.
Fix'd to no spot is happiness sincere?
'Tis no where to be found, or every where.
Order is heaven's first law: and this confest,
Some are, and must be, greater than the rest;
More rich, more wise. But, who infers from hence
That such are happier, shocks all common sense;
Heaven to mankind impartial we confess,
If all are equal in their happiness.
But mutual wants this happiness increase;
All natures difference keeps all natures peace.
Condition, circumstance, is not the thing;
Bliss is the same, in subject, or in king;
In who obtain defence, or who defend;
In him who is, or him who finds a friend.
Fortune her gifts may variously dispose,
And these be happy call'd, unhappy those;
But heaven's just balance equal will appear,
While those are plac'd in hope, and these in fear;
Nor present good or ill, the joy or curse,
But future views of better, or of worse.
Oh sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise,
By mountains pil'd on, mountains, to the skies?
Heaven still, with laughter, the vain toil surveys,
And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.
Know, all the good that individuals find,
Or God and nature meant to mere mankind,
Reason's whole pleasure, all the joys of sense,
Lie in three words—Health, Peace, and Competence.
РЕЧЬ АДАМА К ЕВЕ.
Now morn, her rosy steps in th' eastern clime
Advancing, sow'd the earth with orient pearl,
When Adam wak'd; so custom'd; for his sleep
Was airy light, from pure digestion bred,
And temperate vapours bland, which the only found
Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan,
Lightly dispers'd, and the thrill matin song
Of birds on ev'ry bough. So much the more
His wonder was to find unwaken'd Eve
With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek.
As through unquiet rest. He, on his side
Leaning half rais'd, with looks of cordial love,
Hung over her enamour'd; and beheld
Beauty, which, whether waking or asleep,
Shot forth peculiar graces. Then, with voice
Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes,
Her hand soft touching, whispered thus; "Awake,
"My fairest, my espous'd, my latest found:
"Heaven's last best gift, my ever new delight,
"Awake!—The morning shines, and the fresh field
"Calls us. We lose the prime; to mark how spring
"Our tended plants; how blows the citron grove:
"What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed;
"How nature paints her colours; how the bee
"Sits on the bloom, extracting liquid sweet."
МОНОЛОГ И МОЛИТВА ЭДУАРДА ЧЕРНОГО ПРИНЦА ПЕРЕД БИТВОЙ ПРИ ПУАТЬЕ.
The hour advances, the decisive hour,
That lifts me to the summit of renown,
Or leaves me on the earth a breathless corse,
The buzz and bustle of the field before me;
The twang of bow-strings, and the clash of spears:
With every circumstance of preparation;
Strike with an awful horror!—Shouts are echo'd,
To drown dismay, and blow up resolution
Even to its utmost swell.—From hearts so firm,
Whom dangers fortify, and toils inspire,
What has a leader not to hope! And, yet,
The weight of apprehension sinks me down—
"O, soul of Nature! great eternal cause,
"Who gave, and govern's all that's here below!
"'Tis by the aid of thy almighty arm
"The weak exist, the virtuous are secure.
"If, to your sacred laws obedient ever
"My sword, my soul, have own'd no other guide,
"Oh! if your honour, if the rights of men,
"My country's happiness, my king's renown,
"Were motives worthy of a warrior's zeal,
"Crown your poor servant with success this day:
"And be the praise and glory all thy own."
ПРИЗЫВ К «ПОТЕРЯННОМУ РАЮ».
Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste
Brought death into the world, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing heav'nly muse! that on the sacred top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, did'st inspire
That shepherd, who first taught the chosen seed,
In the beginning, how the heav'ns and earth
Rose out of chaos: or, if Sion hill
Delight thee more, and Silo's book that flow'd.
Fast by the oracle of God; I thence
Invoke thy aid to my advent'rous song,
That, with no middle flight, intends to soar
Above th' Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme
And chiefly thou, O Spirit! that dost prefer
Before all temples, th' upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou, from the first,
Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat'st brooding o'er the vast abyss,
And mad'st it pregnant; what in me is dark,
Illumine: what is low, raise and support;
That, to the height of this great argument,
I may assert eternal providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.
УТРЕННИЙ ГИМН.
These are thy glorious works, Parent of good!
Almighty! thine this universal frame,
Thus wond'rous fair: thyself, how wond'rous, then,
Unspeakable! who fit'st above these heav'ns,
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and pow'r divine—
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels!—for ye behold him, and, with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne, rejoicing. Ye in heav'n!—
On earth, join all ye creatures, to extol
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end,
Fairest of stars! last in the train of night,
If better then, belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou fun! of this great world both eye and foul,
Acknowledge him thy greater: found his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon has gain'd, and when thou fall'st,
Moon! that now meet'st the orient fun, now fly'st
With the fix'd stars, fix'd in their orb that flies;
And ye five other wand'ring fires! that move
In mystic dance, not without song; resound
His praise, who out of darkness, call'd up light.
Air, and ye elements! the eldest birth
Of nature's womb, that, in quaternion, run
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix
And nourish all things; let your ceaseless change
Vary, to our great Maker, still new praise,
Ye mists and exhalations! that now rise
From hill or streaming lake, dusky or grey,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great Author, rise;
Whether to deck with clouds, th' uncolour'd sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling show'rs,
Rising, or falling, still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds! that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud! and wave your tops, ye pines!
With ev'ry plant, in sign of worship, wave,
Fountains! and ye that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling, tune his praise.—-
Join voices, all ye living souls. Ye birds,
That, singing, up to heaven-gate ascend,
Bear, on your wings, and in your notes, his praise.—
Ye, that in waters glide! and ye, that walk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep!
Witness, if I be silent, morn or ev'n,
To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade,
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.—
Hail, universal Lord! be bounteous still,
To give us only good: and, if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd—
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.
ОТШЕЛЬНИК. — ДОКТОРА БИТИ.
At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still,
And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove;
When nought, but the torrent, is heard on the hill;
And nought, but the, nightingale's song, in the grove;
'Twas then, by the cave of the fountain afar;
A hermit his song of the night thus began;
No more with himself, or with nature at war,
He thought as a sage, while he felt as a man.
'Ah! why thus abandon'd to darkness and woe?
'Why thus, lonely Philomel, flows thy sad strain?
'For spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
'And thy bosom no trace of misfortune retain.
'Yet, if pity inspire thee, ah! cease not thy lay;
'Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn;
'Oh! soothe him, whose pleasures, like thine, pass away,
'Full quickly they pass—but they never return.
'Now, gliding remote, on the verge of the sky,
'The moon, half extinguish'd, her crescent displays;
'But lately I mark'd; when majestic: on high
'She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze.
'Roll on, thou fair orb! and with; gladness pursue
'The path that conducts thee to splendor again—
'But man's faded glory no change shall renew:
'Ah fool! to exult in a glory so vain.
''Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more;
'I mourn; but ye woodlands! I mourn not for you:
'For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
'Perfum'd with fresh fragrance, and glitt'ring with dew.
'Nor, yet, for the ravage of winter I mourn;
'Kind nature the embryo blossom will save—
'But, when shall spring visit the mould'ring urn?
'O! when shall it dawn on the night of the grave!'
'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd,
That leads, to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind;
My thoughts want to roam, from shade onward to shade,
Destruction before me, and sorrow behind.
'O! pity, great father of light!' then I cry'd,
'Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee;
'Lo! humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride:
F'rom doubt, and from darkness, thou only canst free.'
And darkness, and doubt, are now flying away,
No longer I roam, in conjecture forlorn,
So breaks on the traveller, faint, and astray,
The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn.
See truth, love, and mercy, in triumph descending,
And nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom!