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THE TASK: 
 
 % iMtt 
 
 IN SIX BOOKS. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER, Esq. 
 
 OP THE INNEK TEMPLE. 
 
 PHILADELPHIA: 
 PUBLISHED BY URIAH HUNT & SON, 
 
 U NORTH FOURTH STREET. 
 
 1855. 
 

-u^^^'-^r^—^^^j^^^^^ 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 The history of the following production is briefly this : 
 A lady, fond of blank verse, demanded a poem of that 
 kind from the Author, and gave him the Sofa for a 
 subject. He obeyed; and having much leisure, con- 
 nected another subject with it; and, pursuing the train 
 of thought to which his situation and turn of mind led 
 him, brought forth at length, instead of the trifle which 
 he at first intended, a serious aff"air— a Volume. 
 
 (3) 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page. 
 
 " I. The ' 
 
 (I. The Time-piece 39 
 
 II. The Garden 73 
 
 V. The Winter Evening 107 
 
 V. The Winter Morning Walk 139 
 
 VI. The Winter Walk at Noon 175 
 
 1* (5) 
 
THE TASK. BOOK I. 
 
 THE SOFA. 
 
 (7) 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Historical deduction of seats, from the stool to the Sofa. A 
 schoolboy's ramble. A walk in the country. The scene described. 
 Rural sounds as well as sights delightful. Another walk. Mis- 
 take concerning the charms of solitude corrected. Colonnades 
 commended. Alcove, and the view from it. The wilderness. 
 The grove. The thresher. The necessity and the benefits of 
 exercise. The works of nature superior to, and in some instances 
 inimitable by, art. The wearisomeness of what is commonly 
 called a life of pleasure. Change of scene sometimes expedient. 
 A common described, and the character of crazy Kate introduced. 
 G-ipsies. The blessings of civilized life. That state most favour- 
 able to virtue. The South Sea islanders compassionated, but 
 chiefly Omai. His present state of mind supposed. Civilized life 
 friendly to virtue, but not great cities. Great cities, and London 
 in particular, allowed their due praise, but censured. Fete cham- 
 p^tre. The book concludes with a reflection on the effects of dis- 
 sipation and effeminacy upon our public measures. 
 
 (8) 
 
THE TASK. BOOK I. 
 THE SOFA. 
 
 I SING the Sofa. I wlio lately sang 
 
 Truth, Hope, and Charity,* and touched with awe 
 
 The solemn chords, and with a trembling hand, 
 
 Escaped with pain from that adventurous flight, 
 
 Now seek repose upon an humbler theme : 5 
 
 The theme though humble, yet august and proud 
 
 The occasion — for the Fair commands the song. 
 
 Time was, when clothing sumptuous or for use, 
 Save their own painted skins, our sires had none. 
 As yet black breeches were not ; satin smooth, 10 
 
 Or velvet soft, or plush with shaggy pile : 
 The hardy chief upon the rugged rock, 
 Wash'd by the sea, or on the gravelly bank 
 Thrown up by wintry torrents roaring loud, 
 Fearless of wrong, reposed his weary strength. 15 
 
 Those barbarous ages past, succeeded next 
 The birthday of Invention ; weak at first, 
 Dull in design, and clumsy to perform. 
 Joint-stools were then created ; on three legs 
 Upborne they stood. Three legs upholding firm 20 
 
 * See Poems, vol. i. 
 
 (9) 
 
10 THE TASK. B. T. 
 
 A massy slab, in fashion square or round. 
 
 On such a stool immortal Alfred sat, 
 
 And sway'd the sceptre of his infant realms : 
 
 And such in ancient halls and mansions drear 
 
 May still be seen ; but perforated sore, 25 
 
 And drill' d in holes, the solid oak is found, 
 
 By worms voracious eating through and through. 
 
 At length a generation more refined 
 Improved the simple plan ; made three legs four, 
 Gave them a twisted form vermicular, 30 
 
 And o'er the seat, with plenteous wadding stuiF'd, 
 Induced a splendid cover, green and blue. 
 Yellow and red, of tapestiy richly wrought 
 And woven close, or needlework sublime. 
 There might ye see the piony spread wide, 35 
 
 The full blown rose, the shepherd and his lass, 
 Lapdog and lambkin with black staring eyes. 
 And parrots with twin cherries in their beak, y 
 
 Now came the cane from India, smooth and bright 
 With Nature's varnish ; sever' d into stripes, 40 
 
 That interlaced each other, these supplied 
 Of texture firm a lattice-work, that braced 
 The new machine, and it became a chair. 
 But restless was the chair ; the back erect 
 Distress'd the weary loins, that felt no ease; 45 
 
 The slippery seat betray' d the sliding part 
 That press' d it, and the feet hung dangling down, 
 Anxious in vain to find the distant floor. 
 
THE SOFA. 
 
 11 
 
 These for the rich ; the rest, whom Fate had placed 
 In modest mediocrity, content 50 
 
 With base materials, sat on well-tann'd hides, 
 Obdurate and unyielding, glassy smooth, 
 With here and there a tuft of crimson yarn, 
 Or scarlet crewel, in the cushion fix'd, 
 *• If cushion might be call'd, what harder seem'd 55 
 Than the firm oak of which the frame was form'd. 
 No want of timber then was felt or fear'd 
 In Albion's happy isle. The lumber stood 
 Ponderous and fix'd by its own massy weight. 
 But elbows still were wanting ; these, some say, 60 
 An alderman of Cripplegate contrived; 
 And some ascribe the invention to a priest, 
 Burly and big, and studious of his ease. 
 But rude at first, and not with easy slope 
 Receding wide, they press' d against the ribs, 65 
 
 And bruised the side ; and, elevated high, 
 Tauo'ht the raised shoulders to invade the ears. 
 Long time elapsed or e'er our rugged sires 
 Complain' d, though incommodiously pent in, 
 And ill at ease behind. The ladies first 70 
 
 'Gan murmur, as became the softer sex. 
 Ingenious Fancy, never better pleased 
 Than when employ' d to accommodate the fair, 
 Heard the sweet moan with pity, and devised 
 The soft settee ; one elbow at each end, 75 
 
 And in the midst an elbow it received, 
 
12 THE TASK. B. I. 
 
 United yet divided, twain at once. 
 
 So sit two kings of Brentford on one throne ; 
 
 And so two citizens, who take the air. 
 
 Close pack'd, and smiling, in a chaise and one. 80 
 
 But relaxation of the languid frame, 
 
 By soft recumbency of outstretch' d limbs. 
 
 Was bliss reserved for happier days. So slow 
 
 The growth of what is excellent ; so hard 
 
 To attain perfection in this nether world. 85 
 
 Thus first Necessity invented stools. 
 
 Convenience next suggested elbow chairs. 
 
 And Luxury the accomplish' d Sofa last. 
 
 The nurse sleeps sweetly, hired to watch the sick. 
 Whom snoring she disturbs. As sweetly he 90 
 
 Who quits the coachbox at the midnight hour. 
 To sleep within the carriage more secure, 
 His legs depending at the open door. 
 Sweet sleep enjoys the curate in his desk. 
 The tedious rector drawling o'er his head; 95 
 
 And sweet the clerk below. But neither sleep 
 Of lazy nurse, who snores the sick man dead, 
 Nor his who quits the box at midnight hour. 
 To slumber in the open carriage more secure. 
 Nor sleep enjoy'd by curate in his desk, 100 
 
 Nor yet the dozings of the clerk are sweet, 
 Compared with the repose the Sofa yields. 
 
 may I live exempted (while I live 
 Guiltless of pamper' d appetite obscene) 
 
THE SOFA. 13 
 
 From pangs arthritic, that infest the toe 105 
 
 Of libertine Excess. The Sofa suits 
 
 The gouty limb, 'tis true ; but gouty limb, 
 
 Though on a Sofa, may I never feel : 
 
 For I have loved the rural walk through lanes 
 
 Of grassy swarth, close cropp'd by nibbling sheep, 110 
 
 And skirted thick with intertexture firm 
 
 Of thorny boughs • have loved the rural walk 
 
 O'er hills, through valleys, and by rivers' brink. 
 
 E'er since a truant boy I pass'd my bounds 
 
 To enjoy a ramble on the banks of Thames; 115 
 
 And still remember, nor without regret, 
 
 Of hours that sorrow since has much endear' d. 
 
 How oft, my slice of pocket store consumed. 
 
 Still hungering, penniless, and far from home, 
 
 I fed on scarlet lips and stony haws, 120 
 
 Or blushing crabs, or berries, that emboss 
 
 The bramble, black as jet, or sloes austere. 
 
 Hard fare ! but such as boyish appetite 
 
 Disdains not; nor the palate, undepraved 
 
 By culinary arts, unsavoury deems. 125 
 
 No Sofa then awaited my return ; 
 
 Nor Sofa then I needed. Youth repairs 
 
 His wasted spirits quickly, by long toil 
 
 Incurring short fatigue; and though our years. 
 
 As life declines, speed rapidly away, 130 
 
 And not a year but pilfers as he goes 
 
 Some youthful grace, that age would gladly keep; 
 
 2 
 
14 THE TASK. B. T. 
 
 A tootli or auburn lock, and by degrees 
 
 Their lengtli and colour from the locks they spare ; 
 
 The elastic spring of an unwearied foot, 135 
 
 That mounts the stile with ease, or leaps the fence, 
 
 That play of lungs, inhaling and again 
 
 Respiring freely the fresh air, that makes 
 
 Swift pace or steep ascent no toil to me. 
 
 Mine have not pilfer' d yet; nor yet impair' d 140 
 
 My relish of fair prospect : scenes that soothed 
 
 Or charm' d me young, no longer young, I find 
 
 Still soothing, and of power to charm me still. 
 
 And witness, dear companion of my walks, 
 
 Whose arm this twentieth winter I perceive 145 
 
 Fast lock'd in mine, with pleasure such as love, 
 
 Confirm 'd by long experience of thy worth 
 
 And well tried virtues, could alone inspire — 
 
 Witness a joy that thou hast doubled long. 
 
 Thou know'st my praise of nature most sincere, 150 
 
 And that my raptures are not conjured up 
 
 To serve occasions of poetic pomp, 
 
 But genuine, and art partner of them all. 
 
 How oft upon yon eminence our pace 
 
 Has slacken' d to a pause, and we have borne 155 
 
 The ruffling wind, scarce conscious that it blew. 
 
 While Admiration, feeding at the eye, 
 
 And still unsated, dwelt upon the scene. 
 
 Thence with what pleasure have we just discern' d 
 
 The distant plough slow moving, and beside 160 
 
THE SOFA. 15 
 
 His labouring team^ that swerved not from the track, 
 
 The sturdy swain diminish' d to a boy ! 
 
 Here Ouse, slow winding through a level plain 
 
 Of spacious meads, with cattle sprinkled o'er. 
 
 Conducts the eye along his sinuous course 165 
 
 Delighted. There, fast rooted in their bank. 
 
 Stand, never overlook' d, our favourite elms, 
 
 That screen the herdsman's solitary hut ; 
 
 While far beyond, and overthwart the stream, , 
 
 That, as with molten glass, inlays the vale, 170 
 
 The sloping land recedes into the clouds; 
 
 Displaying on its varied side the grace 
 
 Of hedge-row beauties numberless, square tower, 
 
 Tall spire, from which the sound of cheerful bells 
 
 Just undulates upon the listening ear, 175 
 
 Groves, heaths, and smoking villages, remote. 
 
 Scenes must be beautiful which, daily view'd, 
 
 Please daily, and whose novelty survives 
 
 Long knowledge and the scrutiny of years. 
 
 Praise justly due to those that I describe. 180 
 
 Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds, 
 Exhilarate the spirit, and restore 
 The tone of languid Nature. Mighty winds. 
 That sweep the skirt of some far spreading wood 
 Of ancient growth, make music not unlike 185 
 
 The dash of Ocean on his winding shore, 
 And lull the spirit while they fill the mind ; 
 Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast, 
 
16 THE TASK. B. I. 
 
 And all their leaves fast fluttering, all at once. 
 
 Nor less composure waits upon the roar 190 
 
 Of distant floods, or on the softer voice 
 
 Of neighbouring fountain, or of rills that slip 
 
 Through the cleft rock, and chiming as they fall 
 
 Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length 
 
 In matted grass, that with a livelier green 195 
 
 Betrays the secret of their silent course. 
 
 Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, 
 
 But animated nature sweeter still. 
 
 To soothe and satisfy the human ear. 
 
 Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one 200 
 
 The livelong night : nor these alone, whose notes 
 
 Nice-finger' d Art must emulate in vain, 
 
 But camng rooks, and kites that swim sublime 
 
 In still repeated circles, screaming loud, 
 
 The jay, the pie, and e'en the boding owl, 205 
 
 That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. 
 
 Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, 
 
 Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns. 
 
 And only there, please highly for their sake. 
 
 Peace to the artist, whose ingenious thought 210 
 Devised the weatherhouse, that useful toy ! 
 Fearless of humid air and gathering rains. 
 Forth steps the man — an emblem of myself ! 
 More delicate his timorous mate retires. 
 When Winter soaks the fields, and female feet, 215 
 Too weak to struggle with tenacious clay, 
 
THE SOFA. 17 
 
 Or ford the rivulets, are best at liome, 
 The task of new discoveries falls on me. 
 At such a season, and with such a charge, 
 Once went I forth ; and found, till then unknown, 220 
 A cottage, whither oft we since repair : 
 'Tis percVd upon the green hill top, but close 
 Environ' d with a ring of branching elms, 
 That overhang the thatch, itself unseen 
 Peeps at the vale below ; so thick beset 225 
 
 With foliage of such dark redundant growth, 
 I caird the low-roof 'd lodge the peasant's nest. 
 And, hidden as it is, and far remote 
 From such unpleasing sounds as haunt the ear 
 In village or in town, the bay of curs 230 
 
 Incessant, clinking hammers, grinding wheels, 
 And infants clamorous whether pleased or pain'd, 
 Oft have I wish'd the peaceful covert mine. 
 Here, I have said, at least I should possess 
 The poet's treasure, silence, and indulge 235 
 
 The dreams of fancy, tranquil and secure. 
 Vain thought ! the dweller in that still retreat 
 Dearly obtains the refuge it affords. 
 Its elevated site forbids the wretch 
 To drink sweet waters of the crystal well ; 240 
 
 He dips his bowl into the weedy ditch. 
 And, heavy laden, brings his beverage home, 
 Far fetch' d and little worth; nor seldom waits, 
 Dependent on the baker's punctual call, 
 2* 
 
18 THE TASK. B. I. 
 
 To hear his creaking panniers at the door, 245 
 
 Angry and sad, and his last crust consumed. 
 
 So farewell envy of the peasant's nest I 
 
 If solitude make scant the means of life, 
 
 Society for me ! — thou seeming sweet, 
 
 Be still a pleasing object in my view; 250 
 
 My visit still, but never mine abode. 
 
 Not distant far, a leng-th of colonnade 
 Invites us. Monument of ancient taste, 
 Now scorn' d, but worthy of a better fate. 
 Our fathers knew the value of a screen 255 
 
 From sultry suns ; and, in their shaded walks 
 And long protracted bowers, enjoyed at noon 
 The gloom and coolness of declining day. 
 We bear our shades about us ; self-deprived 
 Of other screen, the thin umbrella spread, 260 
 
 And range an Indian waste without a tree. 
 Thanks to Benevolus* — he spares me yet 
 These chestnuts ranged in corresponding lines ; 
 And, though himself so polish' d, still reprieves 
 The obsolete prolixity of shade. 265 
 
 Descending now (but cautious, lest too fast) 
 A sudden steep upon a rustic bridge. 
 We pass a gulf, in which the willows dip 
 Their pendent boughs, stooping as if to drink. 
 Hence, ankle-deep in moss and flowery thyme, 270 
 
 * John Courtney Throckmorton, Esq., of AVeston Underwood. 
 
THE SOFA. 19 
 
 We mount again, and feel at every step 
 
 Our foot half sunk in hillocks green and soft, 
 
 Kaised by the mole, the miner of the soil. 
 
 He, not unlike the great ones of mankind, 
 
 Disfigures earth : and, plotting in the dark, 275 
 
 Toils much to earn a monumental pile, 
 
 That may record the mischiefs he has done. 
 
 The summit gain'd, behold the proud alcove 
 That crowns it ! yet not all its pride secures 
 The grand retreat from injuries impressed 280 
 
 By rural carvers, who with knives deface 
 The panels, leaving an obscure, rude name, 
 In characters uncouth, and spelt amiss. 
 So strong the zeal to immortalize himself 
 Beats in the breast of man, that e'en a few, 285 
 
 Few transient years, won from the abyss abhorr'd 
 Of blank obHvion, seem a glorious prize, 
 And even to a clown. Now roves the eye j 
 A.nd, posted on this speculative height. 
 Exults in its command. The sheepfold here 290 
 
 Pours out its fleecy tenants o'er the glebe. 
 At first, progressive as a stream, they seek 
 The middle field ; but, scattered by degrees. 
 Each to his choice, soon whiten all the land. 
 Therefrom the sunburnt hay-field homeward creeps 295 
 The loaded wain ; while, lightened of its charge, 
 The wain that meets it passes swiftly by ; 
 
20 THE TASK. B. I. 
 
 The boorisli driver leaning o'er his team 
 
 VociferoiiSj and impatient of delay. 
 
 Nor less attractive is the woodland scene, 300 
 
 Diversified with trees of every growth, 
 
 Alike, yet various. Here the gray smooth trunks 
 
 Of ash, or lime, or beech, distinctly shine. 
 
 Within the twilight of their distant shades ; 
 
 There, lost behind a rising ground, the woods 305 
 
 Seem sunk, and shortened to its topmost boughs. 
 
 No tree in all the grove but has its charms. 
 
 Though each its hue peculiar ; paler some. 
 
 And of a wannish gray ; the willow such. 
 
 And poplar, that with silver lines his leaf, 310 
 
 And ash far stretching his umbrageous arm ; 
 
 Of deeper green the elm ; and deeper still. 
 
 Lord of the woods, the long surviving oak. 
 
 Some glossy leaved, and shining in the sun, 
 
 The maple, and the beech of oily nuts 315 
 
 Prolific, and the lime at dewy eve 
 
 Difi'using odours : nor unnoted pass 
 
 The sycamore, capricious in attire, 
 
 Now green, now tawny, and, ere autumn yet 
 
 Have changed the woods, in scarlet honours bright. 320 
 
 O'er these, but far beyond (a spacious map 
 
 Of hill and valley interposed between). 
 
 The Ouse, dividing the well water' d land. 
 
 Now glitters in the sun, and now retires, 
 
 As bashful, yet impatient to be seen. 325 
 
THE sorA. 21 
 
 Hence the declivity is sharp and short, 
 And such the reascent j between them weeps 
 A little naiad her impoverish' d urn 
 All summer long, which winter fills again. 
 The folded gates would bar my progress now, 330 
 
 But that the lord* of this enclosed demesne, 
 Communicative of the good he owns, 
 Admits me to a share ; the guiltless eye 
 Commits no wrong, nor wastes what it enjoys. 
 Kefreshing change ! where now. the blazing sun? 335 
 By short transition we have lost his glare. 
 And stepp'd at once into a cooler clime. 
 Ye fallen avenues ! once more I mourn 
 Your fate unmerited, once more rejoice 
 That yet a remnant of your race survives. 340 
 
 How airy and how light the graceful arch. 
 Yet awful as the consecrated roof 
 Reechoing pious anthems ! while beneath) 
 The chequer' d earth seems restless as a flood 
 Brush' d by the wind. So sportive is the light 345 
 Shot through the boughs, it dances as they dance. 
 Shadow and sunshine intermingling quick, 
 And darkening and enlightening, as the leaves 
 Play wanton, every moment, every spot. 
 
 And now, with nerves new braced and spirits 
 cheer'd, 350 
 
 * See the foregoing note. 
 
22 THE TASK. B. I. 
 
 We tread tlie wilderness, whose well roll'd walks, 
 With curvature of slow and easy sweep — 
 Deception innocent — give ample space 
 To narrow bounds. The grove receives us nest ; 
 Between the upright shafts of whose tall elms 355 
 We may discern the thresher at his task. 
 Thump after thump resounds the constant flail, 
 That seems to swing uncertain, and yet falls 
 Full on the destined ear. Wide flies the chaff; 
 The rustling straw sends up a frequent mist 360 
 
 Of atoms, sparkling in the noonday beam. 
 Come hither, ye that press your beds of down, 
 And sleep not ; see him sweating o'er his bread 
 Before he eats it. — ^Tis the primal curse, 
 But soften' d into mercy; made the pledge 365 
 
 Of cheerful days, and nights without a groan. 
 -^y ceaseless action all that is subsists. 
 Constant rotation of the unwearied wheel 
 That Nature rides upon maintains her health. 
 Her beauty, her fertility. She dreads 370 
 
 An instant's pause, and lives but while she moves. 
 Its own revolvency upholds the world. 
 Winds from all quarters agitate the air. 
 And fit the limpid element for use. 
 Else noxious : oceans, rivers, lakes, and streams, 375 
 All feel the freshening impulse, and are cleansed 
 By restless undulation ; e'en the oak 
 Thrives by the rude concussion of the storm : 
 
THE SOFA. 23 
 
 He seems indeed indignant, and to feel 
 
 The impression of tlie blast with proud disdain, 380 
 
 Frowning, as if in his unconscious arm 
 
 He held the thunder : but the monarch owes 
 
 His firm stability to what he scorns — 
 
 More fix'd below, the more disturb' d above. 
 
 The law, by which all creatures else are bound, 385 
 
 Binds man, the Lord of all. Himself derives 
 
 No mean advantage from a kindred cause. 
 
 From strenuous toil his hours of sweetest ease. 
 
 The sedentary stretch their lazy length 
 
 When Custom bids, but no refreshment find, 390 
 
 For none they need : the languid eye, the cheek 
 
 Deserted of its bloom, the flaccid, shrunk. 
 
 And withered muscle, and the vapid soul. 
 
 Reproach their owner with that love of rest 
 
 To which he forfeits e'en the rest he loves. 395 
 
 Not such the alert and active. Measure life 
 
 By its true worth, the comforts it affords, 
 
 And theirs alone seems worthy of the name. 
 
 Good health, and, its associate in the most, 
 
 Good temper ; spirits prompt to undertake, 400 
 
 And not soon spent, though in an arduous 'task ; 
 
 The powers of fancy and strong thought are theirs ; 
 
 E'en age itself seems privileged in them, 
 
 With clear exemption from its own defects, 
 
 A sparkling eye beneath a wrinkled front 405 
 
 The veteran shows, and, gracing a gray beard 
 
"^ THE TASK. B. I. 
 
 With youthful smiles, descends toward the grave 
 Sprightly, and old almost without decay. 
 ' Like a coy maiden, Ease, when courted most. 
 Farthest retires— an idol, at whose shrine 410 
 
 Who oftenest sacrifice are favour'd least. 
 The love of Nature, and the scenes she draws, 
 Is x\ature's dictate. Strange ! there should be found. 
 Who, self-imprisonM in their proud saloons. 
 Renounce the odours of the open field 415 
 
 For the unscented fictions of the loom ; 
 Who, satisfied with only pencil'd scenes. 
 Prefer to the performance of a God 
 The inferior wonders of an artist's hand ! 
 Lovely indeed the mimic works of Art ; 420 
 
 But Nature's works far lovelier. I admire, 
 None more admires, the painter's magic skill, 
 Who shows me that which I shall never see, 
 Conveys a distant country into mine. 
 And throws Italian light on English walls : 425 
 
 But imitative strokes can do no more 
 Than please the eye— sweet Nature every sense. 
 The air salubrious of her lofty hills, ' 
 
 The cheering fragrance of her dewy vales. 
 And music of her woods— no works of man 430 
 
 May rival these ; these all bespeak a power 
 Peculiar, and exclusively her own. 
 Beneath the open sky she spreads the feast; 
 ^Tis free to all— 'tis every day renew'd; 
 
THE SOFA. 25 
 
 Who scorns it starves deservedly at home. 435 
 
 He does not scorn it^ who, imprisoned long 
 
 In some unwholesome dungeon, and a prey 
 
 To sallow sickness, which the vapours dank 
 
 And clammy, of his dark, abode have bred, 
 
 Escapes at last to liberty and light : 440 
 
 His cheek recovers soon its healthful hue; 
 
 His eye relumines its extinguish' d fires; 
 
 He walks, he leaps, he runs — is wing'd with joy, 
 
 And riots in the sweets of every breeze. 
 
 He does not scorn it, who has long endured 445 
 
 A fever's agonies, and fed on drugs. 
 
 Nor yet the mariner, his blood inflamed 
 
 With acrid salts ; his very heart athirst 
 
 To gaze at Nature in her green array. 
 
 Upon the ship's tall side he stands, possess'd 450 
 
 With visions prompted by intense desire : 
 
 Fair fields appear below, such as he left 
 
 Far distant, such as he would die to find — 
 
 He seeks them headlong, and is seen no more. 
 
 The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns ; 455 
 The lowering eye, the petulance, the frown, 
 And sullen sadness, that o'ershade, distort. 
 And mar the face of Beauty, when no cause 
 For such immeasurable woe appears, 
 These Flora banishes, and gives the fair . 460 
 
 Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own. 
 It is the constant revolution, stale 
 3 
 
26 THE TASK. B. I. 
 
 And tasteless, of tlie same repeated joys, 
 
 That palls and satiates, and makes languid life 
 
 A pedlar's pack, that bows the bearer down. 465 
 
 Health suffers, and the spirits ebb ; the heart 
 
 Recoils from its own choice — at the full feast 
 
 Is famish' d — finds no music in the song, 
 
 No smartness in the jest; and wonders why, 
 
 Yet thousands still desire to journey on, 470 
 
 Though halt, and weary of the path they tread. 
 
 The paralytic, who can hold her cards. 
 
 But cannot play them, borrows a friend's hand 
 
 To deal and shuffle, to divide and sort 
 
 Her mingled suits and sequences; and sits, 475 
 
 Spectatress both and spectacle, a sad 
 
 And silent cipher, while her proxy plays. 
 
 Others are dragg'd into the crowded room 
 
 Between supporters; and, once seated, sit. 
 
 Through downright inability to rise, 480 
 
 Till the stout bearers lift the corpse again. 
 
 These speak a loud memento. Yet e'en these 
 
 Themselves love life, and cling to it, as he 
 
 That overhangs a torrent to a twig. 
 
 They love it, and yet loathe it ; fear to die, 485 
 
 Yet scorn the purposes for which they live. 
 
 Then wherefore not renounce them ? No — the dread. 
 
 The slavish dread of soHtude, that breeds 
 
 Reflection and remorse, the fear of shame, 
 
 And their inveterate habits, all forbid. 490 
 
THE SOFA. 27 
 
 Whom call we gay ? That honour has been long 
 The boast of mere pretenders to the name. 
 The innocent are gay — the lark is gay, 
 That dries his feathers, saturate with dew, 
 Beneath the rosy «loud, while yet the beams 495 
 
 Of dayspring overshoot his humble nest. 
 The peasant too, a witness of his song, 
 Himself a songster, is as gay as he. 
 But save me from the gaiety of those 
 Whose headaches nail them to a noonday bed ; 500 
 And save me too from theirs whose haggard eyes 
 Flash desperation, and betray their pangs 
 For property stripp'd off by cruel chance; '^ 
 From gaiety, that fills the bones with pain. 
 The mouth with blasphemy, the heart with woe. 505 
 
 The earth was made so various, that the mind 
 Of desultory man, studious of change, 
 And pleased with novelty, might be indulged. 
 Prospects, however lovely, may be seen 
 Till half their beauties fade; the weary sight, 510 
 
 Too well acquainted with their smiles, slides off 
 Fastidious, seeking less familiar scenes. 
 Then snug enclosures in the shelter' d vale. 
 Where frequent hedges intercept the eye. 
 Delight us ; happy to renounce awhile, 515 
 
 Not senseless of its charms, what still we love, 
 That such short absence may endear it more. 
 Then forests, or the savage rock, may please, 
 
28 THE TASK. B. I. 
 
 That hides the seainew in his hollow clefts 
 
 Above the reach of man. His hoary head, 520 
 
 Conspicuous many a league, the mariner, 
 
 Bound homeward, and in hope already there. 
 
 Greets with three cheers exulting. At his waist 
 
 A girdle of half-wither' d shrubs he shows, 
 
 And at his feet the baffled billows die. 525 
 
 The common, overgrown with fern, and rough 
 
 "With prickly gorse, that, shapeless and deform' d, 
 
 And dangerous to the touch, has yet its bloom, 
 
 And decks itself with ornaments of gold, 
 
 Yields no unpleasing ramble ; there the turf 530 
 
 Smells fresh, and, rich in odoriferous herbs 
 
 And fungous fruits of earth, regales the sense 
 
 With luxury of unexpected sweets. 
 
 There often wanders one, whom better days 
 Saw better clad, in cloak of satin trimm'd 535 
 
 With lace, and hat with splendid riband bound. 
 A serving maid was she, and fell in love 
 With one who left her, went to sea, and died. 
 Her fancy follow' d him through foaming waves 
 To distant shores ; and she would sit and weep 540 
 At what a sailor suffers ; fancy too. 
 Delusive most where warmest wishes are. 
 Would oft anticipate his glad return, 
 And dream of transports she was not to know. 
 She heard the doleful tidings of his death — 545 
 
 And never smiled again ! and now she roams 
 
THE SOFA. 29 
 
 The dreary waste ; there spends the livelong day 
 
 And there, unless when charity forbids, 
 
 jThe livelong night. A tatter' d apron hides, 
 
 Worn as a cloak, and hardly hides, a gown ^50 
 
 More tatter' d still; and both but ill conceal 
 
 A. bosom heaved with never ceasing sighs. 
 
 jhe begs an idle pin of all she meets, 
 
 And hoards them in her sleeve ; but needful food, 
 
 Though press'd with hunger oft, or comelier clothes, 555 
 
 Though pinch'd with cold, asksbever. — Kate is crazed ' 
 
 I see a column of slow rising smoke 
 O'ertop the lofty wood that skirts the wild. 
 A vagabond and useless tribe there eat 
 Their miserable meal. A kettle, slung 560 
 
 Between two poles upon a stick transverse. 
 Receives the morsel — flesh obscene of dog, 
 Or vermin, or at best of cock purloin' d 
 From his accustom'd perch. Hard-faring race ! 
 They pick their fuel out of every hedge, 565 
 
 Which, kindled with dry leaves, just saves unquench'd 
 The spark of life. The sportive wind blows wide 
 Their fluttering rags, and shows a tawny skin, 
 The vellum of the pedigree they claim. 
 Great skill have they in palmistry, and more 570 
 
 To conjure clean away the gold they touch, 
 Conveying worthless dross into its place ; 
 Loud when they beg, dumb only when they steal. 
 Strange ! that a creature rational, and ca^*"* 
 3* 
 
80 THE TASK. B. I. 
 
 In human mould, should brutalize by choice 575 
 
 His nature ; and^ though capable of arts, 
 By which the world might profit, and himself, 
 Self-banish' d from society, prefer 
 Such squalid sloth to honourable toil ! 
 Yet even these, though, feigning sickness oft, 580 
 They swathe the forehead, drag the limping limb, 
 And vex their flesh with artificial sores, 
 Can change their whine into a mirthful note 
 When safe occasion offers ; and with dance, 
 And music of the bladder and the bag, 585 
 
 ^Beguile their woes, and make the woods resound. 
 Such health and gaiety of heart enjoy 
 The houseless rovers of the sylvan world ; 
 And, breathing wholesome air, and wandering much, 
 Need other physic none to heal the effects 590 
 
 Of loathsome diet, penury, and cold. 
 
 Blest he, though undistinguished from the crowd 
 By wealth or dignity, who dwells secure. 
 Where man, by nature fierce, has laid aside 
 His fierceness, having learnt, though slow to learn, 595 
 The manners and the arts'^f civil life. 
 His wants indeed are many ; but supply 
 Is obvious, placed within the easy reach 
 Of temperate wishes and industrious hands. 
 Here \^rtue thrives as in her proper soil ; 600 
 
 Not rude and surly, and beset with thorns, 
 And terrible to sight, as when she springs 
 
THE SOFA. 31 
 
 (If e'er slie spring spontaneous) in remote 
 And barbarous climes, where violence prevails, 
 And strength is lord of all ; but gentle, kind, 605 
 By culture tamed, by liberty refresh' d, 
 And all her fruits by radiant truth matured. 
 "War and the chase engross the savage whole ; 
 War follow' d for revenge, or to supplant 
 The envied tenants of some happier spot : 610 
 
 The chase for sustenance, precarious trust ! 
 His hard condition with severer constraint 
 Binds all his faculties, forbids all growth 
 Of wisdom, proves a school, in which he leams 
 Sly circumvention, unrelenting hate, 615 
 
 ^Mean self-attachment, and scarce aught beside. 
 Thus fare the shivering natives of the north. 
 And thus the rangers of the western world. 
 Where it advances far into the deep. 
 Towards the antarctic. E'en the favour'd isles, 620 
 So lately found, although the constant sun 
 Cheer all their seasons with a grateful smile. 
 Can boast but little virtue; and, inert 
 Through plenty, lose in morals what they gain 
 In manners — victims of luxurious ease. 625 
 
 These therefore I can pity, placed remote 
 From all that science traces, art invents, 
 Or inspiration teaches ; and enclosed 
 In boundless oceans, never to be pass'd 
 By navigators uninform'd as they, 630 
 
^ 
 
 32 THE TASK. B. I. 
 
 Or plougli'd perhaps by Britisli bark again : 
 But far beyond tbe rest^ and with most cause, 
 Thee, gentle savage !* whom no love of thee 
 Or thine, but curiosity, perhaps, 
 Or else vain glory, prompted us to draw 635 
 
 Forth from thy native bowers, to show thee here 
 With what superior skill we can abuse 
 J?he gifts of Providence, and squander life. 
 The dream is past ; and thou hast found again 
 Thy cocoas and bananas, palms and yams, 640 
 
 And homestall thatch'd with leaves. But hast thou 
 
 found 
 Their former charms? and having seen our state, 
 Our palaces, our ladies, and our pomp 
 Of equipage, our gardens, and our sports. 
 And heard our music ; are thy simple friends, 645 
 Thy simple fare, and all thy plain delights 
 As dear to thee as once ? And have thy joys 
 Lost nothing by comparison with ours ? 
 Rude as thou art (for we return' d thee rude 
 And ignorant, except of outward show), 650 
 
 I cannot think thee yet so dull of heart 
 And spiritless, as never to regret 
 Sweets tasted here, and left as soon as known. 
 Methinks I see thee straying on the beach. 
 And asking of the surge that bathes thy foot, 655 
 If ever it has wash'd our distant shore. 
 * Omai. 
 
THE SOFA. 33 
 
 I see thee weep, and thine are honest tears, 
 
 A patriot's for his country : thou art sad 
 
 At thought of her forlorn and abject state, 
 
 From which no power of thine can raise her up. 660 
 
 Thus fancy paints thee, and, though apt to err, 
 
 Perhaps errs little when she paints thee thus. 
 
 She tells me, too, that duly every morn 
 
 Thou climb' st the mountain top, with eager eye 
 
 Exploring far and wide the watery waste 665 
 
 For sight of ship from England. Every speck 
 
 Seen in the dim horizon turns thee pale 
 
 With conflict of contending hopes and fears. 
 
 But comes at last the dull and dusky eve. 
 
 And sends thee to thy cabin, well prepared 670 
 
 To dream all night of what the day denied. 
 
 Alas ! expect it not. We found no bait 
 
 To tempt us in thy country. Doing good, 
 
 Disinterested good, is not our trade. 
 
 We travel far, 'tis true, but not for nought; 675 
 
 And must be bribed to compass earth again 
 
 By other hopes and richer fruits than yours. 
 
 But though true worth and virtue in the mild 
 And genial soil of cultivated life 
 Thrive most, and may perhaps thrive only there, 680 
 Yet not in cities oft : in proud, and gay, 
 And gain-devoted cities. \ Thither flow, 
 xis to a common and most noisome sewer. 
 The dregs and feculence ©f every laud. 
 
34 THE TASK. B. I. 
 
 In cities foul example on most minds 685 
 
 Begets its likeness. Rank abundance breeds, 
 
 In gross and pamper' d cities, sloth, and lust, 
 
 And wantonness, and gluttonous excess. 
 
 In cities vice is bidden with most ease. 
 
 Or seen with least reproach ; and virtue, taught 690 
 
 By frequent lapse, can hope no triumph there 
 
 Beyond the achievement of successful flight. 
 
 I do confess them nurseries of the arts, 
 
 In which they flourish most ; where, in the beams 
 
 Of warm encouragement, and in the eye 695 
 
 Of public note, they reach their perfect size. 
 
 Such London is, by taste and wealth proclaim' d 
 
 The fairest capital of all the world. 
 
 By riot and incontinence the worst. 
 
 There, touch'd by Reynolds, a dull blank becomes 700 
 
 A lucid mirror, in which Nature sees 
 
 All her reflected features. Bacon there 
 
 Gives more than female beauty to a stone, 
 
 ■ And Chatham's eloquence to marble lips. 
 
 T^Tor does the chisel occupy alone 705 
 
 The powers of sculpture, but the style as much ; 
 Each province of her art her equal care. 
 With nice incision of her guided steel 
 She ploughs a brazen field, and clothes a soil 
 So sterile with what charms soe'er she will, 710 
 
 The richest scenery and the loveliest forms. 
 Where finds Philosophy her -eagle eye. 
 
THE SOFA. 35 
 
 With which she gazes at yon burning disk 
 
 Undazzledj and detects and counts his spots ? 
 
 In London : where her implements exact, 715 
 
 With which she calculates, computes, and scans 
 
 All distance, motion, magnitude, and now 
 
 Measures an atom, and now girds a world ? 
 
 In London. Where has commerce such a mart, 
 
 So rich, so throng' d, so drain'd, and so supplied, 720 
 
 As London — opulent, enlarged, and still 
 
 Increasing London ? Babylon of old 
 
 Not more the glory of the earth than she, 
 
 A more accomplished world's chief glory now. 
 
 She has her praise. Now mark a spot or two, 725 
 That so much beauty would do well to purge ; 
 And show this queen of cities, that so fair 
 May yet be foul ; so witty, yet not wise. 
 It is not seemly, nor of good report, 
 That she is slack in discipline ; more prompt 730 
 
 To avenge than to prevent the breach of law : 
 That she is rigid in denouncing death 
 On petty robbers, and indulges life 
 And liberty, and ofttimes honour too, 
 s^^o peculators of the public gold : 735 
 
 1 That thieves at home must hang ; but he. that puts 
 Into his overgorged and bloated purse 
 The wealth of Indian provinces, escapes. 
 Nor is it well, nor can it come to good. 
 That, through profane and infidel contempt 740 
 
36 THE TASK. B. I. 
 
 Of holy writ, she lias presumed to annul 
 
 And abrogate, as roundly as she may, 
 
 The total ordinance and will of God ; 
 
 Advancing Fashion to the post of Truth, 
 
 And centring all authority in modes 745 
 
 And customs of her own, till Sabbath rites 
 
 Have dwindled into unrespected forms, 
 
 And knees and hassocks are well nigh divorced. 
 
 ■ God made the country, and man made the town. 
 What wonder then that health and virtue, gifts 750 
 That can alone make sweet the bitter draught 
 That life holds out to all, should most abound 
 And least be threatened in the fields and groves ? 
 Possess ye, therefore, ye who, borne about 
 In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue 755 
 
 But that of idleness, and taste no scenes 
 But such as art contrives, possess ye still 
 Your element ; there only can ye shine ; 
 There only minds like yours can do no harm. 
 Our groves were planted to console at noon 760 
 
 The pensive wanderer in their shades. At eve 
 The moonbeam, sliding softly in between 
 The sleeping leaves, is all the light they wish. 
 Birds warbling all the music. We can spare 
 The splendour of your lamps ; they but eclipse 765 
 Our softer satellite. Your songs confound 
 Our more harmonious notes : the thrush departs 
 Scared, and the offended nightingale is mute. 
 
THE SOFA. 37 
 
 There is a public miscliief in your mirth ; 
 
 It plagues your countiy. Folly such as yours, 770 
 
 Graced with a sword, and worthier of a fan, 
 
 Has made, what enemies could ne'er have done, 
 
 Our arch of empire, steadfast but for you, 
 
 A mutilated structure, soon to fall. 
 
THE TASK. BOOK IL 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 
 
 (39) 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Reflections suggested by the conclusion of the former book. 
 Peace among the nations recommended on the ground of their 
 common fellowship in sorrow. Prodigies enumerated. Sicilian 
 earthquakes. Man rendered obnoxious to these calamities by sin. 
 God the agent in them. The philosophy that stops at seconda«-y 
 causes reproved. Our own late miscarriages accounted for. Sati- 
 rical notice taken of our trips to Fontainbleau. But the pulpit, 
 not satire, the proper engine of reformation. The Reverend 
 Advertiser of engraved sermons. Petit-maitre parson. The good 
 preacher. Picture of a theatrical clerical coxcomb. Story tellers 
 and jesters in the pulpit reproved. Apostrophe to popular applause. 
 Retailers of ancient philosophy expostulated with. Sum of the 
 whole matter. Eflfects of sacerdotal mismanagement on the laity. 
 Their folly and extravagance. The mischiefs of profusion. Pro- 
 fusion itself, with all its consequent evils, ascribed, as to its prin- 
 cipal cause, to the want of discipline in the universities. 
 
 (40) 
 
THE TASK. BOOK II. 
 THE TIME-PIECE. 
 
 Oh for a lodge in some vast wilderness, . 
 Some boundless contiguity of shade, 
 Where rumour of oppression and deceit. 
 Of unsuccessful or successful war, 
 Might never reach me more. My ear is pain'd, 5 
 
 My soul is sick, with every day's report 
 Of wrong and outrage with which earth is fill'd. 
 There is no flesh in man's obdurate heart, 
 It does not feel for man ; the natural bond 
 Of brotherhood is sever'd as the flax 10 
 
 That falls asunder at the touch of fire. 
 He finds his fellow guilty of a skin 
 Not colour'd like his own; and having power 
 To enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause 
 Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. 15 
 
 Lands intersected by a narrow frith 
 Abhor each other. Mountains interposed 
 Make enemies of nations, who had else 
 Like kindred drops been mingled into one. 
 Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys ; 20 
 
 And, worse than all, and most to be deplored, 
 4* (41) 
 
42 THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 As human nature's broadest, foulest blot, 
 
 Chains him, and tasks him, and exacts his sweat 
 
 With stripes, that Mercy, with a bleeding heart. 
 
 Weeps when she sees inflicted on a beast. 25 
 
 Then what is man ? And what man, seeing this. 
 
 And having human feelings, does not blush. 
 
 And hang his head to think himself a man ? 
 
 I would not have a slave to till my ground, 
 
 To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, 30 
 
 And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth 
 
 That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd. 
 
 No : dear as freedom is, and in my heart's 
 
 Just estimation prized above all price, 
 
 I had much rather be myself the slave, 35 
 
 And wear the bonds, than fasten them on him. 
 
 We have no slaves at home : — Then why abroad ? 
 
 And they themselves once ferried o'er the wave 
 
 That parts us are emancipate and loosed. 
 
 Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs 40 
 
 Receive our air, that moment they are free ; 
 
 They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 
 
 That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
 
 And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then. 
 
 And let it circulate through every ve!n 45 
 
 Of all your empire j that where Britain's power 
 
 Is felt mankind may feel her mercy too. 
 
 Sure there is need of social intercourse. 
 Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid, 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 43 
 
 Between the nations in a world that seems 50 
 
 To toll the deathbell of its own decease, 
 
 And by the voice of all its elements 
 
 To preach the general doom.* When were the winds 
 
 Let slip with such a warrant to destroy ? 
 
 When did the waves so haughtily o'erleap 55 
 
 Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry ? 
 
 Fires from beneath, and meteorsf from above, 
 
 Portentous, unexampled, unexplain'd. 
 
 Have kindled beacons in the skies ; and the old 
 
 And crazy earth has had her shaking fits 60 
 
 More frequent, and foregone her usual rest. 
 
 Is it a time to wrangle, when the props 
 
 And pillars of our planet seem to fail. 
 
 And NatureJ with a dim and sickly eye 
 
 To wait the close of all ? But grant her end 65 
 
 More distant, and that prophecy demands 
 
 A longer respite, unaccomplish'd yet ; 
 
 Still they are frowning signals, and bespeak 
 
 Displeasure in His breast who smites the earth 
 
 Or heals it, makes it languish or rejoice. 70 
 
 And 'tis but seemly, that, where all deserve 
 
 And stand exposed by common peccancy 
 
 * Alluding to the calamities in Jamaica, 
 t August 18, 1783. 
 
 J Alluding to the fog that covered both Europe and Asia during 
 the whole summer of 1783. 
 
44 THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 To wliat no few have felt, there should be peace, 
 And brethren in calamity should love. 
 
 Alas for Sicily ! rude fragments now 75 
 
 Lie scatter' d where the shapely column stood. 
 Her palaces are dust. In all her streets 
 The voice of singing and the sprightly chord 
 Are silent. Revelry, and dance, and show 
 Suffer a syncope and solemn pause ; 80 
 
 "While Grod performs upon the trembling stage 
 Of his own works his dreadful part alone. 
 How does the earth receive him ?-— with what signs 
 Of gratulation and delight her King ? 
 Pours she not all her choicest fruits abroad, * 85 
 
 Her sweetest flowers, her aromatic gums, 
 Disclosing Paradise where'er he treads ? 
 She quakes at his approach. Her hollow womb, 
 Conceiving thunders, through a thousand deeps 
 And fiery caverns, roars beneath his foot. 90 
 
 The hills move lightly, and the mountains smoke. 
 For he has touch' d them. From the extremest point 
 Of elevation down into the abyss 
 His wrath is busy, and his frown is felt. 
 The rocks fall headlong, and the valleys rise, 95 
 
 The rivers die into offensive pools. 
 And, charged with putrid verdure, breathe a gross 
 And mortal nuisance into all the air. 
 What solid was, by transformation strange, 
 Grows fluid; and the fix'd and rooted earth, 100 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 45 
 
 Tormented into billows, heaves and swells, 
 
 Or witli vortiginous and hideous whirl 
 
 Sucks down its prey insatiable. Immense 
 
 The tumult and the overthrow, the pangs 
 
 And agonies of human and of brute. 105 
 
 Multitudes, fugitive on every side, 
 
 And fugitive in vain. The sylvan scene 
 
 Migrates uplifted ; and, with all its soil 
 
 Alighting in far distant fields, finds out 
 
 A new possessor, and survives the change. 110 
 
 Ocean has caught the frenzy, and, upwrought 
 
 To an enormous and o'erbearing height. 
 
 Not by a mighty wind, but by that voice 
 
 Which winds and waves obey, invades the shore 
 
 Resistless. Never such a sudden flood, 115 
 
 Upridged so high, and sent on such a charge, 
 
 Possess'd an inland scene. Where now the throng 
 
 That press' d the beach, and, hasty to depart, 
 
 Look'd to the sea for safety ? They are gone, 
 
 Gone with the refluent wave into the deep — 120 
 
 A prince with half his people ! Ancient toners, 
 
 And roofs embattled high, the gloomy scenes 
 
 Where beauty oft and letter' d worth consume 
 
 Life in the unproductive shades of death, 
 
 Fall prone : the pale inhabitants come forth, 125 
 
 And, happy in their unforeseen release 
 
 From all the rigours of restraint, enjoy 
 
 The terrors of the day that sets them free. 
 
46 THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 Who then, that has thee, would no.t hold thee fast. 
 Freedom ! whom they that lose thee so regret, 130 
 That e'en a judgment, making way for thee. 
 Seems in their eyes a mercy for thy sake. 
 
 Such evil Sin hath wrought ; and such a flame 
 Kindled in Heaven, that it burns down to earth, 
 And, in the furious inquest that it makes 135 
 
 On God's behalf, lays waste his fairest works. 
 The very elements, though each be meant 
 The minister of man, to serve his wants. 
 Conspire against him. With his breath he draws 
 A plague into his blood ; and cannot use 140 
 
 Life's necessary means, but he must die. 
 Storms rise to o'erwhelm him ; or if stormy winds 
 Rise not, the waters of the deep shall rise, 
 And, needing none assistance of the storm. 
 Shall roll themselves ashore, and reach him there. 145 
 The earth shall shake him out of all his holds. 
 Or make his house his grave : nor so content. 
 Shall counterfeit the motions of the flood, 
 And drown him in her dry and dusty gulfs. 
 What then ! — were they the wicked above all, 150 
 And we the righteous, whose fast-anchor' d isle 
 Moved not, while theirs was rocked, like a light skis', 
 The sport of evei-y wave ? No : none are clear. 
 And none than we more guilty. But, where all 
 Stand chargeable with guilt, and to the shafts 155 
 Of wrath obnoxious, Grod may choose his mark : 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 47 
 
 May punisli, if lie please, tlie less, to warn 
 
 The more malignant. If he spared not them, 
 
 Tremble and be amazed at thine escape. 
 
 Far guiltier England, lest he spare not thee ! 160 
 
 Happy the man who sees a God employ' d 
 In all the good and ill that chequer life ! 
 Resolving all events, with their effects 
 And manifold results, into the will 
 And arbitration wise of the Supreme. 165 
 
 Did not his eye rule all things, and intend 
 The least of our concerns (since from the least 
 The greatest oft originate) ; could chance 
 Find place in his dominion, or dispose 
 One lawless particle to thwart his plan; 170 
 
 Then Grod might be surprised, and unforeseen 
 Contingence might alarm him, and disturb 
 The smooth and equal course of his affairs. 
 This truth Philosophy, though eagle-eyed 
 In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks; 175 
 
 And, having found his instrument, forgets. 
 Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still. 
 Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims 
 His hot displeasure against foolish men. 
 That live an atheist life : involves the Heaven 180 
 In tempests ; quits his grasp upon the winds, 
 And gives them all their fury ; bids a plague 
 Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin. 
 And putrefy the breath of blooming Health. 
 
48 THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 He calls for Famine, and the meagre fiend 185 
 
 Blows mildew from between his shrivel' d lips, 
 
 And taints the golden ear. He springs his mines, 
 
 And desolates a nation at a blast. 
 
 Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells 
 
 Of homogeneal and discordant springs 190 
 
 And principles ; of causes, how they work 
 
 By necessary laws their sure eflfects ; 
 
 Of action and reaction. He has found 
 
 The source of the disease that nature feels, 
 
 And bids the world take heart and banish fear. 195 
 
 Thou fool ! will thy discovery of the cause 
 
 Suspend the effect, or heal it ? Has not God 
 
 Still wrought by means since first he made the world ? 
 
 And did he not of old employ his means 
 
 To drown it ? What is his creation less 200 
 
 Than a capacious reservoir of means 
 
 Form'd for his use, and ready at his will ? 
 
 Gro, dress thine eyes with eyesalve ; ask of him, 
 
 Or ask of whomsoever he has taught ; 
 
 And learn, though late, the genuine cause of all. 205 
 
 'lEngland, with all thy faults, I love thee still — 
 My country ! and, while yet a nook is left 
 Where ^English minds and manners may be found. 
 Shall be constrain'd to love thee. Though thy clime 
 Be fickle, and thy year most part deform'd 210 
 
 With dripping rains, or wither' d by a frost, 
 I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies, 
 
THE TIME-tlECE. 49 
 
 And fields witliout a flower, for warmer France 
 
 With all lier vines ; nor for Ausonia's groves 
 
 Of golden fruitage, and lier myrtle bowers. 215 
 
 To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime 
 
 Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire 
 
 Upon thy foes, was never meant my task : 
 
 But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake 
 
 Thy joys and sorrows, with as true a heart 220 
 
 As any thunderer there. And I can feel 
 
 Thy follies too; and with a just disdain 
 
 , Frown at efieminates, whose very looks 
 
 , Reflect dishonour on the land I love. 
 
 ! How, in the name of soldiership and sense> 225 
 
 , Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth 
 
 j And tender as a girl, all essenc'd o'er 
 
 ( With odours, and as profligate as sweet ; 
 
 1 Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wi'eath, 
 
 jAnd love when they should fight; when such as 
 these 2aO 
 
 I Presume to lay their hands upon the ark 
 
 i Of her magnificent and awful cause ? 
 
 I Time was when it was praise and boast enough 
 
 , In every clime, and travel where we might, 
 
 1 That we were born her children. Praise enough 23^5 
 
 ( To fill the ambition of a private man, 
 That Chatham's language was his mother tongue, 
 And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own. 
 Farewell those honours^ and farewell with them 
 5 
 
50 THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 The hope of such hereafter ! They have fallen 240 
 
 Each in his field of glory ; one in arms 
 
 And one in council — Wolfe upon the lap 
 
 Of smiling Victory that moment won, 
 
 And Chatham heart-sick of his country's shame ! 
 
 They made us many soldiers. Chatham, still 245 
 
 Consulting England's happiness at home, 
 
 Secured it by an unforgiving frown, 
 
 If any wronged her. Wolfe, where'er he fought, 
 
 Put so much of his heart into his act. 
 
 That his example had a magnet's force, 250 
 
 And all were swift to follow whom all loved. 
 
 Those suns are set. Oh, rise some other such. 
 
 Or all that we have left is empty talk 
 
 Of old achievements, and despair of new. 
 
 Now hoist the sail, and let the streamers float 255 
 Upon the wanton breezes. Strew the deck 
 With lavender, and sprinkle liquid sweets. 
 That no rude savour maritime invade 
 The nose of nice nobility ! Breathe soft, 
 Ye clarionets; and softer still, ye flutes; 260 
 
 That winds and waters, lull'd by magic sounds. 
 May bear us smoothly to the G allic shore I 
 True, we have lost an empire — let it pass. 
 True; we may thank the perfidy of France, 
 That pick'd the jewel out of England's crown, 265 
 With all the cunning of an envious shrew. 
 And let that pass — 'twas but a trick of state ! 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 51 
 
 A brave man knows no malice, but at once 
 
 Forgets in peace the injuries of war, 
 
 And gives his direst foe a friend's embrace. 270 
 
 And, shamed as we have been, to the very beard 
 
 Braved and defied, and in our own sea proved 
 
 Too weak for those decisive blows that once 
 
 Ensured us masteiy there, we yet retain 
 
 Some small pre-eminence; we justly boast 275 
 
 At least superior jockeyship, and claim 
 
 The honours of the turf as all our own ! 
 
 Go then, well worthy of the praise ye seek, 
 
 And show the shame ye might conceal at home 
 
 In foreign eyes ! — be grooms, and win the plate 280 
 
 Where once your noble fathers won a crown ! — 
 
 'Tis generous to communicate your skill 
 
 To those that need it ! Folly is soon learn' d : 
 
 And under such preceptors who can fail ? 
 
 There is a pleasure in poetic pains 285 
 
 Which only poets know. The shifts and turns. 
 The expedients and inventions multiform, 
 To which the mind resorts, in chase of terms 
 Though apt, yet coy, and difl&cult to win — 
 To arrest the fleeting images that fill 290 
 
 The mirror of the mind, and hold them fast, 
 And force them sit till he has pencil' d off 
 A faithful likeness of the forms he views ; 
 Then to dispose his copies with such art. 
 That each may find its most propitious light, 295 
 
52 THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 And shine by situation, liardly less 
 
 Than by the labour and the skill it cost ; 
 
 Are occupations of the poet's mind 
 
 So pleasing, and that steal away the thought 
 
 With such address from themes of sad import, 300 
 
 That, lost in his own musings, happy man ! 
 
 He feels the anxieties of life, denied 
 
 Their wonted entertainment, all retire. 
 
 Such joys has he that sings. But ah ! not such, 
 
 Or seldom such, the hearers of his song. 305 
 
 Fastidious, or else listless, or perhaps 
 
 Aware of nothing arduous in a task 
 
 They never undertook, they little note 
 
 His dangers or escapes, and haply find 
 
 Their least amusement where he found the most. 310 
 
 But is amusement all ? Studious of song. 
 
 And yet ambitious not to sing in vain, 
 
 I would not trifle merely, though the world 
 
 Be loudest in their praise who do no more. 
 
 Yet what can satire, whether grave or gay? 315 
 
 It may correct a foible, may chastise 
 
 The freaks of fashion, regulate the dress, 
 
 Retrench a swordblade, or displace a patch ; 
 
 But where are its sublimer trophies found ? 
 
 What vice has it subdued ? whose heart reclaim' d 320 
 
 By rigour? or whom laugh' d into reform? 
 
 Alas ! Leviathan is not so tamed : 
 
 Laugh' d at, he laughs again; and stricken hard, 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 53 
 
 Turns to tlie stroke his adamantine scales, 
 
 That fear no discipline of human hands. 325 
 
 The pulpit, therefore (and I name it fill'd 
 With solemn awe, that bids me well beware 
 With what intent I touch that holy thing) — 
 The pulpit (when the satirist has at last. 
 Strutting and vapouring in an empty school, 380 
 
 Spent all his force, and made no proselyte) — 
 I say the pulpit (in the sober use 
 Of its legitimate, peculiar powers) 
 Must stand acknowledged, while the world shall stand, 
 The most important and effectual guard, 335 
 
 Support, and ornament of virtue's cause. 
 There stands the messenger of truth : there stands 
 The legate of the skies ! — His theme divine, 
 His office sacred, his credentials clear. 
 By him the violated law speaks out 340 
 
 Its thunders ; and by him, in strains as sweet 
 As angels use, the Gospel whispers peace. 
 He stablishes the strong, restores the weak, 
 Reclaims the wanderer, binds the broken heart, 
 And, arm'd himself in panoply complete 345 
 
 Of heavenly temper, furnishes with arms 
 Bright as his own, and trains, by every rule 
 Of holy discipline, to glorious war 
 The sacramental host of God's elect ! 
 Ave all such teachers ? — would to heaven all were ! 350 
 But hark — the doctor's voice ! — fast wedged between 
 5* 
 
54 THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 Two empirics lie stands, and with swoln cheeks 
 Inspires the news, his trumpet. Keener far 
 Than all invective is his bold harangue, 
 While through that public organ of report 855 
 
 He hails the clergy ; and, defying shame. 
 Announces to the world his own and theirs ! 
 He teaches those to read, whom schools dismissed, 
 And colleges, untaught ; sells accent, tone. 
 And emphasis in score, and gives to prayer 360 
 
 The adagio and andante it demands. 
 He grinds divinity of other days 
 Down into modern use ; transforms old print 
 To zigzag manuscript, and cheats the eyes 
 Of gallery critics by a thousand arts. 365 
 
 Are there who purchase of the doctor's ware ? 
 0, name it not in G-ath ! it cannot be. 
 That grave and learned clerks should need such aid. 
 He doubtless is in sport, and does but droll, 
 Assuming thus a rank unknown before — 370 
 
 Grand caterer and drynurse of the church ! 
 I venerate the man whose heart is warm. 
 Whose hands are pure, whose doctrine and whose life. 
 Coincident, exhibit lucid proof 
 
 That he is honest in the sacred cause. 375 
 
 To such I render more than more respect. 
 Whose actions say that they respect themselves. 
 But loose in morals, and in manners vain, 
 In conversation frivolous, in dress 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 55 
 
 Extreme, at once rapacious and profuse ; 380 
 
 Frequent in park with lady at his side, 
 
 Ambling and prattling scandal as he goes ; 
 
 But rare at home, and never at his books, 
 
 Or with his pen, save when he scrawls a card ; 
 
 Constant at routs, familiar with a round 385 
 
 Of ladyships — a stranger to the poor ; 
 
 Ambitious of preferment for its gold, 
 
 And well prepared, by ignorance and sloth, 
 
 By infidelity and love of world, 
 
 To make God's work a sinecure; a slave 390 
 
 To his own pleasures and his patron's pride : — 
 
 From such apostles, ye mitred heads. 
 
 Preserve the church ! and lay not careless hands 
 
 On skulls that cannot teach, and will not learn. 
 
 Would I describe a preacher, such as Paul, 395 
 Were he on earth, would hear, approve, and own — 
 Paul should himself direct me. I would trace 
 His master strokes, and draw from his design. ^ 
 I would express him simple, grave, sincere : 
 In doctrine uncorrupt : in language plain, 400 
 
 And plain in manner ; decent, solemn, chaste. 
 And natural in gesture; much impress' d 
 Himself, as conscious of his awful charge, 
 And anxious mainly that the flock he feeds 
 May feel it too ; affectionate in look, 405 
 
 And tender in address, as well becomes 
 A messenger of grace to guilty men. 
 
56 THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 Behold tlie picture ? — Is it like ? — Like whom ? 
 The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, 
 And then skip down again ; pronounce a text ; 410 
 Cry — hem; and reading what they never wrote 
 Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work, 
 And with a well bred whisper close the scene ! 
 
 In man or woman, hut far most in man, 
 And most of all in man that ministers 415 
 
 And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe 
 All affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn; 
 Object of my implacable disgust. 
 What ! — will a man play tricks, will he indulge 
 A silly fond conceit of his fair form, 420 
 
 And just proportion, fashionable mien, 
 And pretty face, in presence of his Grod ? 
 Or will he seek to dazzle me with tropes, 
 As with the diamond on his hly hand. 
 And play his brilliant parts before my eyes, 425 
 
 When^ am hungry for the bread of life ? 
 He mocks his Maker, prostitutes and shames 
 His noble oflSce, and, instead of truth. 
 Displaying his own beauty, starves his flock ! 
 Therefore, avaunt all attitude, and stare, 430 
 
 And start theatric, practised at the glass ! 
 I seek divine simplicity in him 
 Who handles things divine ; and all besides. 
 Though learn' d with labour, and though much admired 
 By curious eyes and judgments ill informed, 435 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 
 
 57 
 
 To me is odious as tlie nasal twang 
 Heard at conventicle, where worthy men, 
 Misled by custom, strain celestial themes 
 Through the press' d nostril, spectacle-bestrid. 
 Some, decent in demeanour while they preach, 440 
 That task perform' d, relapse into themselves; 
 And, having spoken wisely, at the close 
 Grow wanton, and give proof to every eye, 
 Whoe'er was edified, themselves were not ! 
 Forth comes the pocket mirror.— First we stroke 445 
 An eyebrow; next compose a straggling lock; 
 Then with an air most gracefully performed 
 Fall back into our seat, extend an arm, 
 And lay it at its ease with gentle care, 
 With handkerchief in hand depending low : 450 
 
 The better hand more busy gives the nose 
 Its bergamot, or aids the indebted eye 
 With opera glass to watch the moving scene, 
 And recognise the slow retiring fair.— 
 Now this is fulsome; and offends me more 455 
 
 Than in a churchman slovenly neglect 
 And rustic coarseness would. A heavenly mind 
 May be indifferent to her house of clay. 
 And slight the hovel as beneath her care ; 
 But how a body so fantastic, trim, 460 
 
 And quaint, in its deportment and attire. 
 Can lodge a heavenly mind— demands a doubt. 
 He that negotiates between God and man. 
 
58 THE TASK. 
 
 B. II. 
 
 As Gqd's ambassador, the grand concerns 
 
 Of judgment and of mercy, should beware 465 
 
 Of lightness in his speech. 'Tis pitiful 
 
 To court a grin, when you should woo a soul j 
 
 To break a jest, when pity would inspire 
 
 Pathetic exhortation ; and to address 
 
 The skittish fancy with facetious tales, 470 
 
 When sent with God's commission to the heart ! 
 
 So did not Paul. Direct me to a quip 
 
 Or merry turn in all he ever wrote. 
 
 And I consent you take it for your text, 
 
 Your only one, till sides and benches fail. 475 
 
 No : he was serious in a serious cause. 
 
 And understood too well the weighty terms 
 
 That he had taken in charge. He would not stoop 
 
 To conquer those by jocular exploits 
 
 Whom truth and soberness assail'd in vain. 480 
 
 Oh Popular Applause ! what heart of man 
 Is proof against thy sweet seducing charms ? 
 The wisest and the best feel urgent need 
 Of all their caution in thy gentlest gales ; 
 But swell' d into a gust — who then, alas ! 485 
 
 With all his canvas set, and inexpert. 
 And therefore heedless, can withstand thy power ? 
 Praise from the rivel'd lips of toothless, bald 
 Decrepitude, and in the looks of lean 
 And craving Poverty, and in the bow 490 
 
 Respectful of the smutch' d artificer, 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 59 
 
 Is oft too welcome^ and may much disturb 
 
 The bias of the purpose. How much more, 
 
 Pour'd forth by beauty splendid and polite, 
 
 In language soft as Adoration breathes ? 495 
 
 Ah, spare your idol ! think him human still. 
 
 Charms he may have, but he has frailties too ! 
 
 Dote not too much, nor spoil what ye admire. 
 
 All truth is from the sempiternal source 
 Of Light Divine. But Egypt, Greece, and Rome 500 
 Drew from the stream below. More favour' d, we 
 Drink, when we choose it, at the fountain head. 
 To them it flow'd much mingled and defil'd 
 With hurtful error, prejudice, and dreams 
 Illusive of philosophy, so calFd, 505 
 
 But falsely. Sages after sages strove 
 In vain to filter off a crystal draught 
 Pure from the lees, which often more enhanced 
 The thirst than slaked it, and not seldom bred 
 Intoxication and delirium wild. 610 
 
 In vain they pusVd inquiry to the birth 
 And springtime of the world; ask'd. Whence is man? 
 Why form'd at all ? and wherefore as he is ? 
 Where must he find his Maker ? with what rites 
 Adore him ? Will he hear, accept, and bless ? 515- 
 Or does he sit regardless of his works ? 
 Has man within him an immortal seed ? 
 Or does the tomb take all ? If he survive 
 His ashes, where ? and in what weal or woe ? 
 
60 THE TASK. B. 11. 
 
 Knots worthy of solution, which alone 520 
 
 A Deity could solve. Their answers, vague 
 
 And all at random, fabulous and dark, 
 
 Left them as dark themselves./' Their rules of life, 
 
 Defective and unsanction' d, proved too weak 
 
 To bind the roving appetite, and lead 525 
 
 Blind nature to a God not yet reveal' d. 
 
 'Tis Revelation satisfies all doubts, 
 
 Explains all mysteries, except her own. 
 
 And so illuminates the path of life. 
 
 That fools discover it, and stray no more. 530 
 
 Now tell me, dignified and sapient sir. 
 
 My man of morals, nurtured in the shades 
 
 Of Academus — is this false or true ? 
 
 Is Christ the abler teacher, or the schools ? 
 
 If Christ, then why resort at every turn 535 
 
 To Athens or to Rome, for wisdom short 
 
 Of man's occasions, when in Him reside 
 
 Grace, knowledge, comfort — an unfathom'd store? 
 
 How oft, when Paul has served us with a text, 
 
 Has Epictetus, Plato, Tully, preached ! 540 
 
 Men that, if now alive, would sit content 
 
 And humble learners of a Saviour's worth. 
 
 Preach it who might. Such was their love of truth, 
 
 Their thirst of knowledge, and their candour too ! 
 
 And thus it is. — The pastor, either vain 545 
 
 By nature, or by flattery made so, taught 
 To gaze at his own splendour, and to exalt 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 61 
 
 Absurdly, not his office, but himself; 
 
 Or unenlightened, and too proud to learn ; 
 
 Or vicious, and not therefore apt to teach ; 550 
 
 Perverting often, by the stress of lewd 
 
 And loose example, whom he should instruct ; 
 
 Exposes, and holds up to broad disgrace, 
 
 The noblest function, and discredits much 
 
 The brightest truths that man has ever seen. 555 
 
 For ghostly counsel ; if it either fall 
 , Below the exigence, or be not back'd 
 I With show of love, at least with hopeful proof 
 , Of some sincerity on the giver's part ; 
 f Or be dishonour' d in the exterior form 5*60 
 
 I And mode of its conveyance by such tricks 
 j As move derision, or by foppish airs 
 ( And histrionic mummery, that let down 
 I The pulpit to the level of the stage ; 
 , Drops from the lips a disregarded thing. 565 
 
 The weak perhaps are moved, but are not taught, 
 I While prejudice in men of stronger minds 
 I Takes deeper root, confirmed by what they see. 
 
 A relaxation of religion's hold 
 
 I Upon the roving and untutor'd heart 570 
 
 j Soon follows, and, the curb of conscience snapp'd, 
 I The laity run wild. — But do they now ? 
 
 Note their extravagance, and be convinced. 
 As nations, ignorant of Grod, contrive 
 
 A wooden one, so we, no longer taught 575 
 
62 THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 By monitors that mother church supplies., 
 
 Now make our own. Posterity will ask 
 
 (If e'er posterity see verse of mine) 
 
 Some fifty or a hundred lustrums hence, 
 
 What was a monitor in George's days ? 580 
 
 My very gentle reader, yet unborn. 
 
 Of whom I needs must augur better things. 
 
 Since Heaven would sure grow weary of a world 
 
 Productive only of a race like ours, 
 
 A monitor is wood — plank shaven thin. 585 
 
 We wear it at our backs. There, closely braced 
 
 And neatly fitted, it compresses hard 
 
 The prominent and most unsightly bones, 
 
 And binds the shoulders flat. We prove its use 
 
 Sovereign and most effectual to secure 590 
 
 A form, not now gymnastic as of yore. 
 
 From rickets and distortion, else our lot. 
 
 But thus admonish' d, we can walk erect — 
 
 One proof at least of manhood ! while the friend 
 
 Sticks close, a Mentor worthy of his charge. 595 
 
 Our habits, costlier than Lucullus wore. 
 
 And by caprice as multiplied as his. 
 
 Just please us while the fashion is at full, 
 
 But change with every moon. The sycophant. 
 
 Who waits to dress us, arbitrates their date; 600 
 
 Surveys his fair reversion with keen eye ; 
 
 Finds one ill made, another obsolete, 
 
 This fits not nicely, that is ill conceived ; 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 63 
 
 And, making prize of all that he condemns, 
 
 With our expenditure defrays his own. 605 
 
 Variety's the very spice of life. 
 
 That gives it all its flavour. We have run 
 
 Through every change that Fancy, at the loom 
 
 Exhausted, has had genius to supply ; 
 
 And, studious of mutation still, discard 610 
 
 A real elegance, a little used, 
 
 For monstrous novelty and strange disguise. 
 
 We sacrifice to dress, till household joys 
 
 And comforts cease. Dress drains our cellar dry, 
 
 And keeps our larder lean; puts out our fires; 615 
 
 And introduces hunger, frost, and woe. 
 
 Where peace and hospitality might reign. 
 
 What man that lives, and that knows how to live, 
 
 Would fail to exhibit at the public shows 
 
 A form as splendid as the proudest there, 620 
 
 Though appetite raise outcries at the cost ? 
 
 A man of the town dines late, but soon enough, 
 
 With reasonable forecast and dispatch. 
 
 To insure a sidebox station at half price. 
 
 You think, perhaps, so delicate his dress, 625 
 
 His daily fare as delicate. Alas ! 
 
 He picks clean teeth, and, busy as he seems 
 
 With an old tavern quill, is hungry yet ! 
 
 The rout is Folly's circle, which she draws 
 
 With magic wand. So potent is the spell, 630 
 
 That none, decoy' d into that fatal ring. 
 
64 THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 Unless by Heaven's peculiar grace, escape. 
 
 There we grow early gray, but never wise ; 
 
 There form connexions, but acquire no friend ; 
 
 Solicit pleasure, hopeless of success ; 635 
 
 Waste youth in occupations only fit 
 
 For second childhood, and devote old age 
 
 To sports which only childhood could excuse. 
 
 There they are happiest who dissemble best 
 
 Their weariness ; and they the most polite 640 
 
 Who squander time and treasure with a smile, 
 
 Though at their own destruction. She that asks 
 
 Her dear five hundred friends contemns them all, 
 
 And hates their coming. They (what can they less ?) 
 
 Make just reprisals; and with cringe and shrug, 645 
 
 And bow obsequious, hide their hate of her. 
 
 All catch the frenzy, downward from her grace, 
 
 Whose flambeaux flash against the morning skies. 
 
 And gild our chamber ceilings as they pass, 
 
 To her, who, frugal only that her thrift 650 
 
 May feed excesses she can ill aff"ord. 
 
 Is hackney' d home unlackey'd; who, in haste 
 
 Alighting, turns the key in her own door. 
 
 And, at the watchman's lantern borrowing Hght, 
 
 Finds a cold bed her only comfort left. 655 
 
 Wives beggar husbands, husbands starve their wives, 
 
 On Fortune's velvet altar ofi'ering up 
 
 Their last poor pittance — Fortune, most severe 
 
 Of goddesses yet known, and costlier far 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 65 
 
 Than all that held their routs in Juno's heaven. — 660 
 
 So fare we in this prison house, the World; 
 
 And 'tis a fearful spectacle to see 
 
 So many maniacs dancing in their chains. 
 
 They gaze upon the links that hold them fast 
 
 With eyes of anguish, execrate their lot, 665 
 
 Then shake them in despair, and dance again ! 
 
 Now basket up the family of plagues 
 That waste our vitals ; peculation, sale 
 Of honour, perjury, corruption, frauds 
 By forgery, by subterfuge of law, 670 
 
 By tricks and lies as numerous and as keen 
 As the necessities their authors feel ; 
 Then cast them, closely bundled, every brat 
 At the right door. Profusion is the sire. 
 Profusion unrestrain'd with all that's base 675 
 
 In character has litter' d all the land, 
 And bred, within the memory of no few, 
 A priesthood such as Baal's was of old, 
 A people such as never was till now. 
 It is a hungry vice : — it eats up all 680 
 
 That gives society its beauty, strength, 
 Convenience, and security, and use : 
 Makes men mere vermin, worthy to be trapp'd 
 And gibbeted, as fast as catchpole claws 
 Can seize the slippery prey ; unties the knot 685 
 
 Of union, and converts the sacred band, 
 That holds mankind together, to a scourge. 
 6* 
 
GG THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 Profusion, deluging a state with lusts 
 
 Of grossest nature and of worst effects, 
 
 Prepares it for its min : hardens, blinds, 690 
 
 And warps the consciences of public men, 
 
 Till they can laugh at virtue ; mock the fools 
 
 That trust them ; and in the end disclose a face 
 
 That would have shock' d Credulity herself. 
 
 Unmasked, vouchsafing this their sole excuse^ 695 
 
 Since all alike are selfish, why not they ? 
 
 This does profusion, and the accursed cause 
 
 Of such deep mischief has itself a cause. 
 
 In colleges and halls in ancient days, 
 When learning, virtue, piety, and truth 700 
 
 Were precious, and inculcated with care. 
 There dwelt a sage called Discipline. His head, 
 Not yet by time completely silver' d o'er. 
 Bespoke him past the bounds of freakish youth. 
 But strong for service still, and unimpair'd. 705 
 
 His eye was meek and gentle, and a smile 
 Play'd on his lips; and in his speech was heard 
 Paternal sweetness, dignity, and love. 
 The occupation dearest to his heart 
 Was to encourage goodness. He would stroke 710 
 The head of modest and ingenuous worth. 
 That blush' d at its own praise; and press the youth 
 Close to his side that pleased him. Learning grew 
 Beneath his care a thriving vigorous plant; 
 The mind was well inform' d, the passions held 715 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 67 
 
 Subordinate, and diligence was choice. 
 If e'er it chanied, as sometimes chance it must, 
 That one among so many overleap' d 
 The limits of control, his gentle eye 
 Grew stern, and darted a severe rebuke : 720 
 
 His frown was full of terror, and his voice 
 Shook the delinquent with such fits of awe 
 ' As left him not, till penitence had won 
 Lost favour back again, and closed the breach. 
 But Discipline, a faithful servant long, 725 
 
 Declined at length into the vale of years : 
 A palsy struck his arm ; his sparkling eye 
 Was quench' d in rheums of age; his voice, unstrung, 
 Grew tremulous, and moved derision more 
 Than reverence in perverse rebellious youth. 730 
 
 So colleges and halls neglected much 
 Their good old friend ; and Discipline at length, 
 O'erlook'd and unemploy'd, fell sick, and died. 
 Then Study languish' d, Emulation slept. 
 And Virtue fled. The schools became a scene 735 
 Of solemn farce, where Ignorance in stilts, 
 His cap well lined with logic not his own, 
 With parrot tongue perform' d the scholar's part. 
 Proceeding soon a graduated dunce. 
 Then compromise had place, and scrutiny 740 
 
 Became stone blind ; precedence went in truck, 
 And he was competent whose purse was so. 
 A dissolution of all bonds ensued ; 
 
68 THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 The curbs invented for the mullsli mouth 
 
 Of headstrong youth were broken ; bars and bolts 745 
 
 Grew rusty by disuse ; and massy gates 
 
 Forgot their office, opening with a touch ; 
 
 Till gowns at length are found mere masquerade, 
 
 The tassel' d cap and the spruce band a jest, 
 
 A mockery of the world ! What need of these 750 
 
 For gamesters, jockeys, brothellers impure, 
 
 Spendthrifts, and booted sportsmen, oftener seen 
 
 With belted waist and pointers at their heels 
 
 Than in the bounds of duty? What was learn' d, 
 
 If aught was learn'd in childhood, is forgot ; 755 
 
 And such expense, as pinches parents blue, 
 
 And mortifies the liberal hand of love, 
 
 Is squander' d in pursuit of idle sports 
 
 And vicious pleasures ; buys the boy a name 
 
 That sits a stigma on his father's house, 760 
 
 And cleaves through life inseparably close 
 
 To him that wears it. What can aftergames 
 
 Of riper joys, and commerce with the world, 
 
 The lewd vain world, that must receive him soon, 
 
 Add to such erudition, thus acquired, 765 
 
 Where science and where virtue are profess' d ? 
 
 They may confirm his habits, rivet fast 
 
 His folly) but to spoil him is a task 
 
 That bids defiance to the united powers 
 
 Of fashion, dissipation, taverns, stews. 770 
 
 Now blame we most the nurslings or the nurse ? 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 69 
 
 The children, crook' d, and twisted, and deform' d, 
 Through want of care ; or her, whose winking eye 
 And slumbering oscitancy mars the brood ? 
 The nurse, no doubt. Kegardless of her charge, 775 
 She needs herself correction ; needs to learn 
 That it is dangerous sporting with the world. 
 With things so sacred as a nation's trust, 
 Th6 nurture of her youth, her dearest pledge. 
 
 All are not such. I had a brother once — 780 
 
 Peace to the memory of a man of worth, 
 A man of letters, and of manners too ! 
 Of manners sweet as A^'irtue always wears. 
 When gay good nature dresses her in smiles. 
 He graced a college,* in which ordet yet 785 
 
 Was sacred; and was honour' d, loved, and wept 
 By more than one, themselves conspicuous there. 
 Some minds are temper'd happily, and mix'd 
 With such ingredients of good sense and taste 
 Of what is excellent in man, they thirst 790 
 
 With such a zeal to be what they approve. 
 That no restraints can circumscribe them more 
 Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom's sake. 
 Nor can example hurt them : what they see 
 Of vice in others but enhancing more 795 
 
 The charms of virtue in their just esteem. 
 If such escape contagion, and emerge 
 Pure from so foul a pool to shine abroad, 
 
 * Benet College, Cambridge. 
 
70 THE TASK. B. II. 
 
 And give tlie world their talents and themselves, 
 Small thanks to those whose negligence or sloth 800 
 Exposed their inexperience to the snare, 
 And left them to an undirected choice. 
 
 See then the quiver broken and decay'd, 
 In which are kept our arrows ! Rusting there 
 In wild disorder, and unfit for use, 805 
 
 What wonder, if discharged into the world. 
 They shame their shooters with a random flight. 
 Their points obtuse, and feathers drunk with wine ! 
 Well may the church wage unsuccessful war, 
 With such artillery arm'd. Vice parries wide 810 
 The undreaded volley with a sword of straw, 
 And stands an impudent and fearless mark. 
 
 Have we not track' d the felon home, and found 
 His birthplace and his dam ? The country mourns. 
 Mourns because every plague that can infest 815 
 
 Society, and that saps and worms the base 
 Of the edifice that Policy has raised, 
 Swarms in all quarters ; meets the eye, the ear. 
 And sufi'ocates the breath at every turn. 
 Profusion breeds them ; and the cause itself 820 
 
 Of that calamitous mischief has been found : 
 Found too where most off"ensive, in the skirts 
 Of the robed pedagogue ! Else let the arraign' d 
 Stand up unconscious, and refute the charge. 
 So when the Jewish leader stretch'd his arm, 825 
 
 And waved his rod divine, a race obscene, 
 
THE TIME-PIECE. 71 
 
 Spawn' d in the muddy beds of Nile, came forth, 
 Polluting Egypt : gardens, fields, and plains 
 Were cover' d with the pest; the streets were fill'd; 
 The croaking nuisance lurk'd in every nook; 830 
 
 Nor palaces, nor even chambers, 'scaped ; 
 And the land stank — so numerous was the fry. 
 
THE TASK. BOOK III. 
 THE GARDEN. 
 
 (73) 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Selp-recollectiox and reproof. Address to domestic happiness. 
 Some account of myself. The vanity of many of their pursuits who 
 are reputed wise. Justification of my censures. Divine illumina- 
 tion necessary to the most expert philosopher. The question, 
 What is truth? answered by other questions. Domestic happiness 
 addressed again. Few lovers of the country. My tame hare. 
 Occupations of a retired gentleman in his garden. Pruning. 
 Framing. Green-house. Sowing of flower seeds. The country 
 preferable to the town even in the winter. Reasons why it is 
 deserted at that season. Ruinous effects of gaming and of expen- 
 sive improvement. Book concludes with an apostrophe to the 
 metropolis. 
 
 (74) 
 
THE TASK. BOOK III. 
 THE GARDEN. 
 
 As one who, long in thickets and in brakes 
 Entangled, winds now this way and now that 
 His devious course uncertain, seeking home ; 
 Or, having long in miry ways been foiFd, 
 And sore, discomfited, from slough to slough 6 
 
 Plunging, and half despairing of escape ; 
 If chance at length he find a greensward smooth 
 And faithful to the foot, his spirits rise, 
 He cherups brisk his ear-erecting steed, 
 And winds his way with pleasure and with ease ; 10 
 So I, designing other themes, and call'd 
 To adorn the Sofa with eulogium due. 
 To tell its slumbers, and to paint its dreams. 
 Have rambled wide. In country, city, seat 
 Of academic fame (howe'er deserved), 15 
 
 Long held, and scarcely disengaged at last. 
 But now with pleasant pace a cleanlier road 
 I mean to tread. I feel myself at large, 
 Courageous, and refreshed for future toil, 
 If toil await me, or if dangers new. 20 
 
 (75) 
 
THE TASK. B. Til. 
 
 Since pulpits fail^ and sounding boards reflect 
 Most part an empty ineffectual sound, 
 What chance that I, to fame so little known, 
 Nor conversant with men or manners much, 
 Should speak to purpose, or with better hope 25 
 
 Crack the satiric throng? 'Twere wiser far 
 For me, enamour' d of sequester' d scenes. 
 And charm' d with rural beauty, to repose, 
 Where chance may throw me, beneath elm or vine, 
 My languid limbs, when summer sears the plains ; 30 
 Or, when rough winter rages, on the soft 
 And shelter' d Sofa, while the nitrous air 
 Feeds a blue flame, and makes a cheerful hearth ; 
 There, undisturb'd by Folly, and apprised 
 How great the danger of disturbing her, 35 
 
 To muse in silence, or at least confine 
 Remarks that gall so many to the few 
 My partners in retreat. Disgust concealed 
 Is ofttimes proof of wisdom, when the fault 
 Is obstinate, and cure beyond our reach. 40 
 
 Domestic Happiness, thou only bliss 
 Of Paradise that hast survived the fall ! 
 Though few now taste thee unimpair'd and pure, 
 Or tasting long enjoy thee ! too infirm. 
 Or too incautious, to preserve thy sweets 45 
 
 Unmix' d with drops of bitter, which neglect 
 Or temper sheds into thy crystal cup ; 
 Thou art the nurse of Virtue, in thine arms 
 
THE GARDEN. 77 
 
 She smiles, appearing, as in truth she is, 
 Heaven-born, and destined to the skies again. 50 
 
 Thou art not known where Pleasure is adored, 
 That reeling goddess with the zoneless waist 
 And wandering eyes, still leaning on the arm 
 Of Novelty, her fickle, frail support ; 
 For thou art meek and constant, hating change, 55 
 And finding in the calm of truth-tried love 
 Joys that her stormy raptures never yield. 
 Forsaking thee what shipwreck have we made 
 Of honour, dignity, and fair renown ! 
 Till prostitution elbows us aside 60 
 
 In all our crowded streets ; and senates seem 
 Convened for purposes of empire less 
 Than to release the adultress from her bond. 
 The adultress I what a theme for angry verse ! 
 What provocation to the indignant heart, 65 
 
 That feels for injured love ! but I disdain 
 The nauseous task, to paint her as she is, * 
 Cruel, abandon' d, glorying in her shame I 
 No : — let her pass, and, charioted along 
 In guilty splendour, shake the public ways ; 70 
 
 The frequency of crimes has wash'd them white ! 
 And verse of mine shall never brand the wretch, 
 Whom matrons now, of character unsmirch'd. 
 And chaste themselves, are not ashamed to own. 
 Virtue and vice had boundaries in old time, 75 
 
 Not to be pass'd ; and she, that had renounced 
 7 * ^ - 
 
78 THE TASK. B. III. 
 
 Her sex's honour, was renounced herself 
 
 By all that prized it ; not for prudery's sake, 
 
 But dignity's, resentful of the wrong. 
 
 'Twas hard perhaps on here and there a waif, 80 
 
 Desirous to return, and not received ; 
 
 But was a wholesome rigour in the main, 
 
 And taught tl*e unblemish'd to preserve with care 
 
 That purity, whose loss was loss of all. 
 
 Men too were nice in honour in those days, 85 
 
 And judged offenders well. Then he that sharp' d. 
 
 And pocketed a prize by fraud obtain' d. 
 
 Was mark'd and shunn'd as odious. He that sold 
 
 His country, or was slack when she required 
 
 His every nerve in action and at stretch, 90 
 
 Paid, with the blood that he had basely spared, 
 
 The price of his default. But now — yes, now 
 
 We are become so candid and so fair, 
 
 So liberal in consti-uction, and so rich 
 
 In Christian charity, (good-natured age !) 95 
 
 That they are safe, sinners of either sex, 
 
 Transgress what laws they may. Well-dress' d, well-bred, 
 
 Well equipaged, is ticket good enough 
 
 To pass us readily through every door. 
 
 Hypocrisy, detest her as we may 100 
 
 (And no man's hatred ever wrong'd her yet). 
 
 May claim this merit still — that she admits 
 
 The worth of what she mimics with such care. 
 
 And thus gives virtue indirect applause ; 
 
THE GARDEN. 79 
 
 But she has burnt her mask, not needed here, 105 
 Where vice has such allowance, that her shifts 
 And specious semblances have lost their use. 
 
 I was a stricken deer, that left the herd 
 Long since : with many an arrow deep infix' d 
 My panting side was charged, when I withdrew, 110 
 To seek a tranquil death in distant shades. 
 There was I found by one who had himself 
 Been hurt by the archers. In his side he bore. 
 And in his hands and feet, the cruel scars. 
 With gentle force soliciting the darts, 115 
 
 He drew them forth, and heaFd, and bade me live. 
 Since then, with few associates, in remote 
 And silent woods I wander, far from those 
 My former partners of the peopled scene ; 
 With few associates, and not wishing more. 120 
 
 Here much I niminate, as much I may. 
 With other views of men and manners now 
 Than once, and others of a life to come. 
 I see that all are wanderers, gone astray 
 Each in his own delusions; they are lost 125 
 
 In chase of fancied happiness, still woo'd 
 And never won. Dream after dream ensues ; 
 And still they dream, that they shall still succeed j 
 And still are disappointed. Kings the world 
 With the vain stir. I sum up half mankind, 180 
 And add two thirds of the remaining half, 
 And find the total of their hopes and fears 
 
80 THE TASK. B. III. 
 
 Dreams, empty dreams. The million flit as gay 
 
 As if created only like tlie fly, 
 
 That spreads his motley wings in the eye of noon, 135 
 
 To sport their season, and he seen no more. 
 
 The rest are soher dreamers, grave and wise, 
 
 And pregnant with discoveries new and rare. 
 
 Some write a narrative of wars, and feats 
 
 Of heroes little known ^ and call the rant 140 
 
 A history : describe the man, of whom 
 
 His own coevals took but little note; 
 
 And paint his person, character, and views, 
 
 As they had known him from his mother's womb. 
 
 They disentangle from the puzzled skein, 145 
 
 In which obscurity has wrapp'd them up, 
 
 The threads of politic and shrewd design 
 
 That ran through all his purposes, and charge 
 
 His mind with meanings that he never had. 
 
 Or having, kept conceal' d. Some drill and bore 150 
 
 The solid earth, and from the strata there 
 
 Extract a register, by which we learn, 
 
 That he who made it, and reveal' d its date 
 
 To Moses, was mistaken in its age. 
 
 Some, more acute, and more industrious still, 155 
 
 Contrive creation ; travel nature up 
 
 To the sharp peak of her sublimest height, 
 
 And tell us whence the stars : why some are fix'd, 
 
 And planetary some -, what gave them first 
 
 Rotation, from what fountain flow'd their light. 160 
 
THE GARDEN. 81 
 
 Great contest follows, and mucli learned dust 
 
 Involves tlie combatants ; each claiming truth. 
 
 And truth disclaiming both. And thus they spend 
 
 The little wick of life's poor shallow lamp 
 
 In playing tricks with nature, giving laws 165 
 
 To distant worlds, and trifling in their own. 
 
 Is't not a pity now, that tickling rheums 
 
 Should ever tease the lungs, and blear the sight 
 
 Of oracles like these ? ' Great pity too, 
 
 That having wielded the elements, and built 170 
 
 A thousand systems, each in his. own way. 
 
 They should go out in fume, and be forgot ^.y 
 
 Ah ! what is life thus spent ? and what are they 
 
 But frantic who thus spend it ? all for smoke — 
 
 Eternity for bubbles proves at last 175 
 
 A senseless bargain. When I see such games 
 
 Played by the creatures of a Power who swears 
 
 That he will judge the earth, and call the fool 
 
 To a sharp reckoning that has lived in vain ; 
 
 And when I weigh this seeming wisdom well, 180 
 
 And prove it in the infallible result 
 
 So hollow and so false — I feel my heart 
 
 Dissolve in pity, and account the learn' d. 
 
 If this be learning, most of all deceived. 
 
 Great crimes alarm the conscience, but it sleeps 185 
 
 While thoughtful man is plausibly amused. 
 
 Defend me therefore, common sense, say I, 
 
 From reveries so airy, from the toil 
 
82 THE TASK. B. III. 
 
 Of dropping buckets into empty wells, 
 
 And growing old in drawing nothing up ! 190 
 
 ^Twere well, says one sage erudite, profound, 
 Terribly arcVd, and aquiline bis nose, 
 And overbuilt with most impending brows, 
 ^Twere well, could you permit the world to live 
 As tbe world pleases : wbat's tbe world to you ? 195 
 Mucb. I was born of woman, and drew milk 
 As sweet as cbarity from buman breasts. 
 I tbink, articulate, I laugb and weep, 
 And exercise all functions of a man. 
 How tben sbould I and any man that lives 200 
 
 Be strangers to eacb other ? Pierce my vein, 
 Take of tbe crimson stream meandering there. 
 And catechize it well ; apply thy glass, 
 Search it, and prove now if it be not blood 
 Congenial with thine own : and, if it be, 205 
 
 What edge of subtlety canst thou suppose 
 Keen enough, wise and skilful as thou art. 
 To cut the link of brotherhood, by which 
 One common Maker bound me to the kind ? 
 True -J I am no proficient, I confess, 210 
 
 In arts like yours. I cannot call the swift 
 And perilous lightnings from the angry clouds. 
 And bid them hide themselves in earth beneath ; 
 I cannot analyze the air, nor catch 
 The parallax of yonder luminous point, 215 
 
 That seems half quench' d in the immense abyss : 
 
THE GARDEN. 83 
 
 Sucli powers I boast not — neither can I rest 
 A silent witness of tlie headlong rage, 
 Or heedless folly, by which thousands die, 
 Bone of my bone, and kindred souls to mine. 220 
 
 God never meant that man should scale the Heavens 
 By strides of human wisdom. In his works, 
 Though wondrous, he commands us in his word 
 To seek him rather where his mercy shines. 
 The mind indeed, enlightened from above, 225 
 
 Views him in all ; ascribes to the grand cause 
 The grand effect ; acknowledges with joy 
 His manner, and with rapture tastes his style. 
 But never yet did philosophic tube. 
 That brings the planets home into the eye 230 
 
 Of Observation, and discovers, else 
 Not visible, his family of worlds, 
 Discover him that rules them ; such a veil 
 Hangs over mortal eyes, blind from the birth, 
 And dark in things divine. Full often too 235 
 
 Our wayward intellect, the more we learn 
 Of nature, overlooks her author more ; 
 From instrumental causes proud to draw 
 Conclusions retrograde, and mad mistake. 
 But if his word once teach us, shoot a ray 240 
 
 Through all the heart's dark chambers, and reveal 
 Truths undiscern'd but by that holy light. 
 Then all is plain. Philosophy, baptized 
 In the pure fountain of eternal love, 
 
84 THE TASK. B. III. 
 
 Has eyes indeed ; and, viewing all slie sees 245 
 
 As meant to indicate a God to man, 
 
 Grives him his praise, and forfeits not her own. 
 
 Learning has borne such fruit in other days 
 
 On all her branches : piety has found 
 
 Friends in the friends of science, and true prayer 250 
 
 Has flow'd from lips wet with Castalian dews. 
 
 Such was thy wisdom, Newton, childlike sage ! 
 
 Sagacious reader of the works of G-od, 
 
 And in his word sagacious. Such too thine, 
 
 Milton, whose genius had angelic wings, 255 
 
 And fed on manna ! And such thine, in whom 
 
 Our British Themis gloried with just cause, 
 
 Immortal Hale ! for deep discernment praised. 
 
 And sound integrity, not more than famed 
 
 For sanctity of manners un defiled. 260 
 
 All flesh is grass, and all its glory fades 
 Like the fair flower dishevell'd in the wind ; 
 Riches have wings, and grandeur is a dream. 
 The man we celebrate must find a tomb. 
 And we that worship him ignoble graves. 265 
 
 Nothing is proof against the general curse 
 Of vanity, that seizes all below. 
 The only amaranthine flower on earth 
 Is virtue; the only lasting treasure, truth. 
 But what is truth ? 'Twas Pilate's question put 270 
 To Truth itself, that deign' d him no reply. 
 And wherefore ? will not God impart his light 
 
THE GARDEN. 85 
 
 To them that ask it? — -Freely — 'tis his joy, 
 
 His glory, and his nature to impart. 
 
 But to the proud, uncandid, insincere, 275 
 
 Or negligent inquirer, not a spark. 
 
 What's that which brings contempt upon a book, 
 
 And him who writes it, though the style be neat, 
 
 The method clear, and argument exact ? 
 
 That makes a minister in holy things 280 
 
 The joy of many, and the dread of more. 
 
 His name a theme for praise and for reproach ? — 
 
 That, while it gives us worth in God's account, 
 
 Depreciates and undoes us in our own ? 
 
 What pearl is it that rich men cannot buy, 285 
 
 That learning is too proud to gather up ; 
 
 But which the poor, and the despised of all, 
 
 Seek and obtain, and often find unsought ? 
 
 Tell me — and I will tell thee what is truth. 
 
 0, friendly to the best pursuits of man, 290 
 
 Friendly to thought, to virtue, and to peace. 
 Domestic life in rural pleasure pass'd ! 
 Few know thy value, and few taste thy sweets ; 
 Though many boast thy favours, and affect 
 To understand and choose thee for their own, 295 
 
 But foolish man foregoes his proper bliss, 
 E'en as his first progenitor, and quits. 
 Though placed in Paradise (for eartb has still 
 Some traces of her youthful beauty left), 
 Substantial happiness for transient joy. 300 
 
 8 
 
86 THE TASK. B. ITI. 
 
 Scenes form'd for contemplation, and to nurse 
 
 The growing seeds of wiedom ; tliat suggest, 
 
 By every pleasing image they present. 
 
 Reflections such as meliorate the heart, 
 
 Compose the pass'ons, and exalt the mind ; 305 
 
 Scenes such as these 'tis his supreme delight 
 
 To fill with riot, and defile with blood. 
 
 Should some contagion, kind to the poor brutes 
 
 We persecute, annihilate the tribes 
 
 That draw the sportsman over hill and dale, 310 
 
 Fearless and rapt away from all his cares j 
 
 Should never game-fowl hatch her eggs again. 
 
 Nor baited hook deceive the fish's eye ; 
 
 Could pageantry and dance, and feast and song. 
 
 Be quell'd in all our summer months' retreat; 815 
 
 How many self-deluded nymphs and swains, 
 
 Wbo dream they have a taste for fields and groves, 
 
 Would find them hideous nurseries of the spleen, 
 
 And crowd the roads, impatient for the town ! 
 
 They love the country, and none else, who seek 820 
 
 For their own sake its silence and its shade. 
 
 Delights which who would leave, that has a heart 
 
 Susceptible of pity, or a mind 
 
 Cultured and capable of sober thought. 
 
 For all the savage din of the swift pack 325 
 
 And clamours of the field ?— Detested sport. 
 
 That owes its pleasures to another's pain; 
 
 That feeds upon the sobs and dying shrieks 
 
THE GARDEN. 87 
 
 Of hannless nature, dumb, but yet endued 
 
 With eloquence, that agonies inspire, 330 
 
 Of silent tears and heart-distending sighs ? 
 
 Vain tears, alas, and sighs that never find 
 
 A corresponding tone in jovial souls ! 
 
 Well — one at least is safe. One shelter' d hare 
 
 Has never heard the sanguinary yell 335 
 
 Of cruel man, exulting in her woes. 
 
 Innocent partner of my peaceful home. 
 
 Whom ten long years' experience of my care 
 
 Has made at last familiar ; she has lost 
 
 Much of her vigilant instinctive dread, 340 
 
 Not needful here, beneath a roof like mine. 
 
 Yes — thou mayst eat thy bread, and lick the hand 
 
 That feeds thee; thou mayst frolic on the floor 
 
 At evening, and at night retire secure * 
 
 To thy straw couch, and slumber unalarm'd; 345 
 
 For I have gain'd thy confidence, have pledged 
 
 All that is human in me, to protect 
 
 Thine unsuspecting gratitude and love. 
 
 If I survive thee, I will dig thy grave ; 
 
 And, when I place thee in it, sighing say, 350 
 
 I knew at least one hare that had a friend. 
 
 How various his employments whom the world 
 Calls idle ; and who justly in return 
 Esteems that busy world an idler too ! 
 Friends, books, a garden, and perhaps his pen, 355 
 
88 THE TASK. B. in. 
 
 Delightful industry enjoy' d at home, 
 
 And Nature in her cultivated trim 
 
 Dress' d to his taste, inviting him abroad — si 
 
 Can he want occupation who has these ? 
 
 Will he be idle who has much to enjoy ? 360 
 
 Me therefore studious of laborious ease. 
 
 Not slothful, happy to deceive the time, 
 
 Not waste it, and aware that human life 
 
 Is but a loan to be repaid with use, 
 
 When He shall call his debtors to account, 365 
 
 From whom are all our blessings, business finds 
 
 E'en here : while sedulous I seek to improve. 
 
 At least neglect not, or leave unemploy'd, ' 
 
 The mind he gave me ; driving it, though slack 
 
 Too oft, and much impeded in its work 370 
 
 By causes not to be divulged in vain. 
 
 To its just point — the service of mankind. 
 
 He, that attends to his interior self, 
 
 That has a heart, and keeps it ; has a mind 
 
 That hungers, and supplies it ; and who seeks 375 
 
 A social, not a dissipated life. 
 
 Has business ; feels himself engaged to achieve 
 
 No unimportant, though a silent, task. 
 
 A life all turbulence and noise may seem 
 
 To him that leads it wise, and to be praised ; 3S0 
 
 But wisdom is a pearl with most success 
 
 Sought in still water and beneath clear skies. 
 
 He that is ever occupied in storms, 
 
 il 
 
THE GARDEN. 89 
 
 Or dives not for it^ or brings up instead, 
 
 Vainly industrious, a disgraceful prize. 385 
 
 The morning finds the self-sequester' d man 
 Fresh for his task, intend what task he may. 
 Whether inclement seasons recommend 
 His warm but simple home, where he enjoys 
 With her, who shares his pleasures and his heart, 390 
 Sweet converse, sipping calm the fragrant lymph, 
 Which neatly she prepares ; then to his book 
 Well chosen, and not sullenly perused 
 In selfish silence, but imparted oft. 
 As aught occurs, that she may smile to hear, 395 
 
 Or turn to nourishment, digested well. 
 Or if the garden with its many cares. 
 All well repaid, demand him, he attends 
 The welcome call, conscious how much the hand 
 Of lubbard Labour needs his watchful eye, 400 
 
 Oft loitering lazily, if not o'erseen, 
 Or misapplying his unskilful strength. 
 Nor does he govern only or direct. 
 But much performs himself. No works, indeed, 
 That ask robust, tough sinews, bred to toil, 405 
 
 Servile employ ; but such as may amuse. 
 Not tire, demanding rather skill than force. 
 Proud of his well spread walls, he views his trees. 
 That meet no barren interval between. 
 With pleasure more than e'en their fruits afford; 410 
 Which, save himself who trains them, none can feel. 
 8* 
 
90 THE TASK. B. III. 
 
 These therefore are his own peculiar charge; 
 
 No meaner hand may discipline the shoots, 
 
 None but his steel approach them. What is weak, 
 
 Distemper' d, or has lost prolific powers, 415 
 
 Impair' d by age, his unrelenting hand 
 
 Dooms to the knife : nor does he spare the soft 
 
 And succulent, that feeds its giant growth, 
 
 But barren, at the expense of neighbouring twigs 
 
 Less ostentatious, and yet studded thick 420 
 
 With hopeful gems. The rest, no portion left 
 
 That may disgrace his art, or disappoint 
 
 Large expectation, he disposes neat 
 
 At measured distances, that air and sun. 
 
 Admitted freely, may afford their aid, 425 
 
 And ventilate and warm the swelling buds. 
 
 Hence Summer has her riches. Autumn hence, 
 
 And hence e'en Winter fills his wither' d hand 
 
 With blushing fruits, and plenty not his own.* 
 
 Fair recompense of labour well bestow' d, 430 
 
 And wise precaution ; which a clime so rude 
 
 Makes needful still, whose Spring is but the child 
 
 Of churlish Winter, in her froward moods 
 
 Discovering much the temper of her sire. 
 
 For oft, as if in her the stream of mild 435 
 
 Maternal nature had reversed its course. 
 
 She brings her infants forth with many smiles ; 
 
 But, once deliver' d, kills them with a frown. 
 
 * Miraturque novos fructus et non sua poma. — Virg. 
 
THE GARDEN. 91 
 
 He therefore, timely warnM himself, supplies 
 
 Her want of care, screening and keeping warm 440 
 
 The plenteous bloom, that no rough blast may sweep 
 
 His garlands from the boughs. Again, as oft 
 
 As the sun peeps and vernal airs breathe mild, 
 
 The fence withdrawn, he gives them every beam, 
 
 And spreads his hopes before the blaze of day. 445 
 
 To raise the prickly and green coated gourd. 
 So grateful to the palate, and when rare 
 So coveted, else base and disesteem'd — 
 
 I Food for the vulgar merely — is an art 
 
 I That toihng ages have but just matured, 450 
 
 ' And at this moment unassay'd in song. 
 
 I Yet gnats have had, and frogs and mice, long since, 
 
 I Their eulogy ; those sang the Mantuan bard, 
 
 I And these the Grecian, in ennobling strains ; 
 And in thy numbers, Phillips, shines for aye 455 
 
 I The solitary shilling. Pardon then. 
 Ye sage dispensers of poetic fame, 
 
 I The ambition of one meaner far, whose powers, 
 Presuming an attempt not less sublime, 
 
 j Pant for the praise of dressing to the taste 460 
 
 I Of critic appetite, no sordid fare, 
 A cucumber, while costly yet and scarce. 
 
 I The stable yields a stercoraceous heap. 
 Impregnated, with quick fermenting salts. 
 And potent to resist the freezing blast : 465 
 
 For, ere the beech and elm have cast their leaf 
 
92 THE TASK. B. III. 
 
 Deciduous, when now November dark 
 
 Checks vegetation in the torpid plant 
 
 Exposed to his cold breath, the task begins. 
 
 Warily therefore, and with prudent heed, 470 
 
 He seeks a favour' d spot; that where he builds 
 
 The agglomerated pile his frame may front 
 
 The sun's meridian disk, and at the back 
 
 Enjoy close shelter, wall, or reeds, or hedge 
 
 Impervious to the wind. First he bids spread 475 
 
 Dry fern or litter' d hay, that may imbibe 
 
 The ascending damps ; then leisurely impose, 
 
 And lightly, shaking it with agile hand 
 
 From the full fork, the saturated straw. 
 
 What longest binds the closest forms secure 480 
 
 The shapely side, that as it rises takes. 
 
 By just degrees, an overhanging breadth, 
 
 Sheltering the base with its projected eaves : 
 
 The uplifted frame, compact at every joint. 
 
 And overlaid with clear translucent glass, 485 
 
 He settles next upon the sloping mount. 
 
 Whose sharp declivity shoots off secure 
 
 From the dash'd pane the deluge as it falls. 
 
 He shuts it close, and the first labour ends. 
 
 Thrice must the voluble and restless earth 490 
 
 Spin round upon her axle, ere the warmth. 
 
 Slow gathering in the midst, through the square mass 
 
 Diffused, attain the surface : when, behold ! 
 
 A pestilent and most corrosive steam, 
 
THE GARDEN. 93 
 
 Like a gross fog Boeotian, rising fast, 495 
 
 And fast condensed upon the dewy sash, 
 
 Asks egress; which, obtained, the overcharged 
 
 And drench'd conservatory breathes abroad, 
 
 In volumes wheeling slow, the vapour dank ; 
 
 •And, purified, rejoices to have lost 500 
 
 Its foul inhabitant. But to assuage 
 
 The impatient fervour, which it first conceives 
 
 Within its reeking bosom, threatening death 
 
 To his young hopes, requires discreet delay. 
 
 Experience, slow preceptress, teaching oft 505 
 
 The way to glory by miscarriage foul, 
 
 Must prompt him, and admonish how to catch 
 
 The auspicious moment, when the temper' d heat, 
 
 Friendly to vital motion, may afibrd 
 
 Soft fomentation, and invite the seed. 510 
 
 The seed, selected wisely, plump, and smooth, 
 
 And glossy, he commits to pots of size 
 
 Diminutive, well fill'd with well prepared 
 
 And fruitful soil, that has been treasured long. 
 
 And drunk no moisture from the dripping clouds. 515 
 
 These on the warm and genial earth, that hides 
 
 The smoking manure, and o'erspreads it all. 
 
 He places lightly, and, as time subdues 
 
 The rage of fermentation, plunges deep 
 
 In the soft medium, till they stand immersed. 520 
 
 Then rise the tender germs, upstarting quick, 
 
 And spreading wide their spongy lobes ; at first 
 
94 THE TASK. B. III. 
 
 Pale, wan, and livid ; but assuming soon, 
 
 If fann'd by balmy and nutritious air, 
 
 Strain' d througb the friendly mats, a vivid green. 525 
 
 Two leaves produced, two rough indented leaves. 
 
 Cautious he pinches from the second stalk 
 
 A pimple, that portends a future sprout. 
 
 And interdicts its growth. Thence straight succeed 
 
 The branches, sturdy to his utmost wish j 530 
 
 Prolific all, and harbingers of more. 
 
 The crowded roots demand enlargement now, 
 
 And transplantation in an ampler space. 
 
 Indulged in what they wish, they soon supply 
 
 Large foliage, overshadowing golden flowers, 535 
 
 Blown on the summit of the apparent fruit. 
 
 These have their sexes ; and, when summer shines, 
 
 The bee transports the fertilizing meal 
 
 From flower to flower, and e'en the breathing air 
 
 Wafts the rich prize to its appointed use. 540 
 
 Not so when winter scowls. Assistant art 
 
 Then acts in Nature's office, brings to pass 
 
 The glad espousals, and insures the crop. 
 
 G-rudge not, ye rich (since Luxury must have 
 His dainties, and the World's more numerous half 545 
 Lives by contriving delicates for you), 
 Gnidge not the cost. Ye little know the cares. 
 The vigilance, the labour, and the skill, 
 That day and night are exercised, and hang 
 Upon the ticklish balance of suspense, 550 
 
THE GARDEN. 95 
 
 That ye may garnish your profuse regales 
 With summer fruits, brought forth by wintry suns. 
 Ten thousand dangers lie in wait to thwart 
 The process. Heat, and cold, and wind, and steam. 
 Moisture, and drought, mice, worms, and swarming 
 flies, 555 
 
 JVIinute as dust, and numberless, oft work 
 Dire disappointment, that admits no cure. 
 And which no care can obviate. It were long, 
 Too long, to tell the expedients and the shifts 
 Which he that fights a season so severe 560 
 
 Devises, while he guards his tender trust ; 
 And oft at last in vain. The learn'd and wise 
 Sarcastic would exclaim, and judge the song 
 Cold as its theme, and like its theme the fruit 
 Of too much labour, worthless when produced. 565 
 
 Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too. 
 Unconscious of a less propitious clime. 
 There blooms exotic beauty, wa^rm and snug, 
 While the winds whistle, and the snows descend. 
 The spiry myrtle with un withering leaf 570 
 
 Shines there, and flourishes. The golden boast 
 Of Portugal and western India there. 
 The ruddier orange, and the paler lime, 
 Peep through their polished foliage at the storm, 
 And seem to smile at what they need not fear. 575 
 The amomum there with intermingling flowers 
 And cherries hangs her twigs. Geranium boasts 
 
96 THE TASK. B. III. 
 
 Her crimson honours ; and the spangled beau, 
 
 Ficoides, glitters bright the winter long. 
 
 All plants, of every leaf, that can endure 580 
 
 The winter's frown, if screen' d from his shrewd bite, 
 
 Live there, and prosper. Those Ausonia claims, 
 
 Levantine regions these ; the Azores send 
 
 Their jessamine, her jessamine remote 
 
 Caffraria : foreigners from many lands, 585 
 
 They form one social shade, as if convened 
 
 By magic summons of the Orphean lyre. 
 
 Yet just arrangement, rarely brought to pass 
 
 But by a master's hand, disposing well 
 
 The gay diversities of leaf and flower, 590 
 
 Must lend its aid to illustrate all their charms, 
 
 And dress the regular yet various scene. 
 
 Plant behind plant aspiring, in the van 
 
 The dwarfish, in the rear retired, but still 
 
 Sublime above the rest, the statelier stand. 595 
 
 So once were ranged the sons of ancient Rome, 
 
 A noble show ! while Roscius trod the stage ; 
 
 And so, while Garrick, as renown' d as he, 
 
 The sons of Albion ; fearing each to lose 
 
 Some note of Nature's music from his lips, 600 
 
 And covetous of Shakspeare's beauty, seen 
 
 In every flash of his far beaming eye. 
 
 Nor taste alone and well contrived display 
 
 Suffice to give the marshal' d ranks the grace 
 
 Of their complete effect. Much yet remains 605 
 
THE GARDEN. 9X 
 
 Unsung, and many cares are yet behind, 
 
 And more laborious ; cares on whicb depends 
 
 Their vigour, injured soon, not soon restored. 
 
 The soil must be renew' d, which often wash'd 
 
 Loses its treasure of salubrious salts, 610 
 
 And disappoints the roots ; the slender roots 
 
 Close interwoven, where they meet the vase,. 
 
 Must smooth be shorn away; the sapless branch 
 
 Must fly before the knife; the withered leaf 
 
 Must be detach'd, and where it strews the floor 61 5- 
 
 Swept with a woman's neatness, breeding else 
 
 Contagion, and disseminating death. 
 
 Discharge but these kind offices (and who 
 
 Would spare, that loves them, offices like these ?) 
 
 Well they reward the toil. The sight is pleased, 620 
 
 The scent regaled, each odoriferous leaf, 
 1 Each opening blossom freely breathes abroad 
 
 Its gratitude, and thanks him with its sweets. 
 So manifold, all pleasing in their kind. 
 
 All healthful, are the employs of rural life, 625 
 
 Reiterated as the wheel of time 
 
 Runs round ; still ending, and beginning still. 
 ; Nor are these all. To deck the shapely knoll^ 
 
 That softly swell' d and gaily dress' d appears 
 
 A flowery island, from the dark green lawn 63G 
 
 Emerging, must be deem'd a labour due 
 
 To no mean hand, and asks the touch of taste. 
 
 Here also grateful mixture of well match' d 
 
 I 9 
 
98 THE TASK. B. m. 
 
 And sorted hues (each giving each relief, 
 
 And by contrasted beauty shining more) 635 
 
 Is needful. Strength may wield the ponderous spade, 
 
 May turn the clod, and wheel the compost home ; 
 
 But elegance, chief grace the garden shows, 
 
 And most attractive, is the fair result 
 
 Of thought, the creature of a polish' d mind. 640 
 
 Without it all is gothic as the scene 
 
 To which the insipid citizen resorts 
 
 Near yonder heath ; where Industry misspent, 
 
 But proud of his uncouth ill chosen task, 644 
 
 Has made a heaven on earth ; with suns and moons 
 
 Of close ramm'd stones has charg'd the encumber' d soil, 
 
 And fairly laid the zodiac in the dust. 
 
 He therefore, who would see his flowers disposed 
 
 Sightly and in just order, ere he gives 
 
 The beds the trusted treasure of their seeds, 650 
 
 Forecasts the future whole ; that when the scene 
 
 Shall break into its preconceived display. 
 
 Each for itself, and all as with one voice 
 
 Conspiring, may attest his bright design. 
 
 Nor even then, dismissing as perform' d 655 
 
 His pleasant work, may he suppose it done. 
 
 Few self-supported flowers endure the wind 
 
 Uninjured, but expect the upholding aid 
 
 Of the smooth-shaven prop, and, neatly tied, 
 
 Are wedded thus, like beauty to old age, 660 
 
 For interest sake, the living to the dead. 
 
THE GARDEN. 99 
 
 Some clothe the soil that feeds them, far diffused 
 
 And lowly creeping, modest and yet fair, 
 
 Like virtue, thriving most where little seen j 
 
 Some, more aspiring, catch the neighbour shrub 665 
 
 With clasping tendrils, and invest his branch 
 
 Else unadornM, with many a gay festoon 
 
 And fragrant chaplet, recompensing well 
 
 The strength they borrow with the grace they lend. 
 
 All hate the rank society of weeds, 670 
 
 Noisome, and ever greedy to exhaust 
 
 The impoverish' d earth ; an overbearing race, 
 
 That, like the multitude, made faction-mad. 
 
 Disturb good order, and degrade true worth. 
 
 blest seclusion from a jarring world, 675 
 
 Which he, thus occupied, enjoys ! Ketreat 
 Cannot indeed to guilty man restore 
 Lost innocence, or cancel follies past ; 
 But it has peace, and much secures the mind 
 From all assaults of evil; proving still 680 
 
 A faithful barrier, not o'erleap'd with ease 
 By vicious Custom, raging uncontrolFd 
 Abroad, and desolating public life. 
 When fierce temptation, seconded within 
 By traitor Appetite, and arm'd with darts 685 
 
 Temper' d in hell, invades the throbbing breast, 
 To combat may be glorious, and success 
 Perhaps may crown us ; but to fly is safe. 
 Had I the choice of sublunary good. 
 
100 THE TASK. B. III. 
 
 What could I wisli, that I possess not here ? 690 
 
 Health, leisure, means to improve it, friendship, peace, 
 
 No loose or wanton, though a wandering muse. 
 
 And constant occupation without care. 
 
 Thus blest I draw a picture of that bliss ; 
 
 Hopeless indeed, that dissipated minds, 695 
 
 And profligate abusers of a world 
 
 Created fair so much in vain for them, 
 
 Should seek the guiltless joys that I describe, 
 
 Allured by my report : but sure no less, 
 
 That self-condemn' d they must neglect the prize, 700 
 
 And what they will not taste must yet approve. 
 
 What we admire we praise ; and, when we praise, 
 
 Advance it into notice, that, its worth 
 
 Acknowledged, others may admire it too. 
 
 I therefore recommend, though at the risk 705 
 
 Of popular disgust, yet boldly still. 
 
 The cause of piety and sacred truth. 
 
 And virtue, and those scenes, which Grod ordain'd 
 
 Should best secure them, and promote them most ; 
 
 Scenes that I love, and with regret perceive 710 
 
 Forsaken, or through folly not enjoy'd. 
 
 Pure is the nymph, though liberal of her smiles. 
 
 And chaste, though unconfined, whom I extol. 
 
 Not as the prince in Shushan, when he call'd. 
 
 Vainglorious of her charms, his Vashti forth, 715 
 
 To grace the full pavilion. His design 
 
 Was but to boast his own peculiar good, 
 
THE GARDEN. 101 
 
 Which all might view with envy, none partake. 
 My charmer is not mine alone ; my sweets, 
 And she, that sweetens all my bitters too, 720 
 
 Nature, enchanting Nature, in whose form 
 And lineaments divine I trace a hand 
 That errs not, and find raptures still renew' d. 
 Is free to all men — universal prize. 
 Strange that so fair a creature should yet want 725 
 Admirere, and be destined to divide 
 With meaner objects e'en the few she finds ! 
 Stripp'd of her ornaments, her leaves, and flowers, 
 She loses all her influence. Cities then 
 Attract us, and neglected Nature pines, 730 
 
 Abandon' d, as unworthy of our love. 
 But are not wholesome airs, though unperfumed 
 By roses -, and clear suns, though scarcely felt ; 
 And groves, if unharmonious, yet secure 
 From clamour, and whose very silence charms; 735 
 To be preferr'd to smoke, to the eclipse 
 That metropolitan volcanoes make. 
 Whose Stygian throats breathe darkness all day long ; 
 And to the stir of Commerce, driving slow, 
 And thundering loud, with his ten thousand wheels ? 
 They would be, were not madness in the head, 741 
 And folly in the heart ; were England now 
 What England was, plain, hospitable, kind. 
 And undebauch'd. But we have bid farewell 
 To all the virtues of those better days, 745 
 
 9* 
 
102 THE TASK. B, III. 
 
 And all their honest pleasures. Mansions once 
 Knew their own masters ; and laborious hinds, 
 Who had survived the father, served the son. 
 Now the legitimate and rightful lord 
 Is but a transient guest, newly arrived, 750 
 
 And soon to be supplanted. He that saw 
 His patrimonial timber cast its leaf, 
 Sells the last scantling, and transfers the price 
 To some shrewd sharper, ere it buds again. 
 Estates are landscapes, gazed upon awhile, 755 
 
 Then advertised, and auctioneered away. 
 #The country starves, and they that feed the o'ercharged 
 And surfeited lewd town with her fair dues. 
 By a just judgment strip and starve themselves. 
 The wings, that waft our riches out of sight, 760 
 
 Grow on the gamester's elbows j and the alert 
 And nimble motion of those restless joints, 
 That never tire, soon fans them all away. 
 Improvement too, the idol of the age, 
 Is fed with many a victim. Lo, he comes I 765 
 
 The omnipotent magician. Brown, appears ! 
 Down falls the venerable pile, the abode 
 Of our forefathers — a grave whisker' d race, 
 But tast less. Springs a palace in its stead, 
 But in a distant spot; where more exposed 770 
 
 It may enjoy the advantage of the north. 
 And aguish east, till time shall have transformed 
 Those naked acres to a sheltering grove. 
 
THE GARDEN. 103 
 
 He speaks. The lake in front becomes a lawn ; 
 Woods vanisli, liills subside, and valleys rise; 775 
 And streams, as if created for his use, 
 Pursue the track of his directing wand, 
 Sinuous or straight, now rapid and now slow. 
 Now murmuring soft, now roaring in cascades — 
 E'en as he bids ! The enraptured owner smiles. 780 
 'Tis finish' d, and yet, finish'd as it seems. 
 Still wants a grace, the loveliest it could show, 
 A mine to satisfy the enormous cost. 
 Drain' d to the last poor item of his wealth, 784 
 
 He sighs, departs, and leaves the accomplish' d plan, 
 That he has touch' d, retouch' d, many a long day 
 Labour' d, and many a night pursued in dreams. 
 Just when it meets his hopes, and proves the heaven 
 He wanted, for a wealthier to enjoy ! 
 And now perhaps the glorious hour is come, 790 
 
 When, having no stake left, no pledge to endear 
 Her interests, or that gives her sacred cause 
 A moment's operation on his love. 
 He burns with most intense and flagrant zeal. 
 To serve his country. Ministerial grace 795 
 
 Deals him out money from the public chest ; 
 Or, if that mine be shut, some private purse 
 Supplies his need with a usurious loan, 
 To be refunded duly, when his vote 
 AVell managed shall have earu'd its worthy price. 800 
 j innocent, compared with arts like these, 
 
104 THE TASK. B. III. 
 
 Crape, and cock'd pistol, and the whistling ball 
 Sent through the traveller's temples ? He that finds 
 One drop of Heaven^s sweet mercy in his cup, 
 Can dig, beg, rot, and perish, well content, 805 
 
 So he may wrap himself in honest rags 
 At his last gasp ; but could not for a world 
 Fish up his dirty and dependent bread 
 From pools and ditches of the commonwealth, 
 Sordid and sickening at his own success. 810 
 
 Ambition, avarice, penury incuri-'d 
 By endless riot, vanity, the lust 
 Of pleasure and variety, dispatch, 
 As duly as the swallows disappear, 814 
 
 The world of wandering knights and squires to town. 
 London engulfs them all ! The shark is there, 
 And the shark's prey j the spendthrift, and the leech 
 That sucks him ; there the sycophant, and he 
 Who, with bareheaded and obsequious bows. 
 Begs a warm office, doom'd to a cold jail 820 
 
 And groat per diem, if his patron frown. 
 The levee swarms, as if in golden pomp 
 "Were character' d on every statesman's door, 
 " Batter' d and bankrupt fortunes mended here." 
 These are the charms that sully and eclipse 825 
 
 The charms of nature. 'Tis the cruel gripe 
 That lean hard-handed Poverty inflicts. 
 The hope of better things, the chance to win, 
 The wish to shine, the thirst to be amused. 
 
THE GARDEN. 105 
 
 That at the sound of Winter's hoary wing 830 
 
 Unpeople all our counties of such herds 
 
 Of fluttering, loitering, cringing, begging, loose, 
 
 And wanton vagrants, as make London, vast 
 
 And boundless as it is, a crowded coop. 
 
 thou, resort and mart of all the earth, 835 
 
 Chequer' d with all complexions of mankind. 
 And spotted with all crimes -, in whom I see 
 Much that I love, and more that I admire. 
 And all that I abhor ; thou freckled fair, 
 I That pleasest and yet shock'st me, I can laugh, 840 
 I And I can weep, can hope, and can despond, 
 ( Feel wrath and pity, when I think on thee ! 
 ' Ten righteous would have saved a city once, 
 j And thou hast many righteous. — Well for thee — 
 ( That salt preserves thee ; more corrupted else, 845 
 I And therefore more obnoxious, at this hour, 
 , Than Sodom in her day had power to be, 
 , For whom God heard his Abraham plead in vain. 
 
THE TASK. BOOK IV. 
 
 THE 
 WINTER EVENING. 
 
 (107) 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 The post comes in. The newspaper is read. The world contem- 
 plated at a distance. Address to Winter. The rural amusements 
 of a winter evening compared with the fashionable ones. Ad- 
 dress to Evening. A brown study. Fall of snow in the evening. 
 The wagoner. A poor family piece. The rural thief. Public- 
 houses. The multitude of them censured. The farmer's daughter : 
 what she was — what she is. The simplicity of country manners 
 almost lost. Causes of the change. Desertion of the country by 
 the rich. Neglect of Magistrates. The militia principally in 
 fault. The new recruit and his transformation. Reflection on 
 bodies corporate. The love of rural objects natural to all, and 
 never to be totally extinguished. 
 
 (108) 
 
THE TASK. BOOK lY. 
 THE WINTER EVENING. 
 
 Hark ! His the twanging horn o'er yonder bridge, 
 That with its wearisome but needful length 
 Bestrides the wintry flood, in which the moon 
 Sees her un wrinkled face reflected bright ;-^ 
 He comes, the herald of a noisy world, 5 
 
 With spatter' d boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks; 
 News from all nations lumbering at his back. 
 True to his charge, the close pack'd load behind. 
 Yet careless what he brings, his one concern 
 Is to conduct it to the destined inn ; 10 
 
 And, having dropp'd the expected bag, pass on. 
 He whistles as he goes, light-hearted wretch, 
 , Cold and yet cheerful : messenger of grief 
 Perhaps to thousands, and of joy to some; 
 iTo him indifferent whether grief or joy. 15 
 
 Houses in ashes, and the fall of stocks, 
 ' Births, deaths, and marriages, epistles wet 
 iWith tears, that trickled down the writer's cheeks 
 Fast as the periods from his fluent quill, 
 I Or charged with amorous sighs of absent swains, 20 
 j 10 (109) 
 
110 
 
 THE TASK. B. IV. 
 
 Or nymphs responsive, equally affect 
 
 His horse and him, unconscious of them all. 
 
 But the important budget ! usher'd in 
 
 AVith such heart-shaking music, who can say 
 
 What are its tidings ? have our troops awaked ? 25 
 
 Or do they still, as if with opium drugg'd, 
 
 Snore to the murmurs of the Atlantic wave ? 
 
 Is India free ? and does she wear her plumed 
 
 And jewel' d turban with a smile of peace, 
 
 Or do we grind her still ? The grand debate, 30 
 
 The popular harangue, the tart reply. 
 
 The logic, and the wisdom, and the wit. 
 
 And the loud laugh — I long to know them all ; 
 
 I burn to set the imprisoned wranglers free, 
 
 And give them voice and utterance once again. 35 
 
 Now stir the fire, and close the shutters fast. 
 Let fall the curtains, wheel the sofa round, 
 And while the bubbling and loud hissing urn 
 Throws up a steamy column, and the cups, 
 That cheer but not inebriate, wait on each, 40 
 
 So let us welcome peaceful evening in. 
 Not such his evening, who with shining face 
 Sweats in the crowded theatre, and, squeezed 
 And bored with elbow points through both his sides, 
 Outscolds the ranting actor on the stage : 45 
 
 Nor his, who patient stands till his feet throb, 
 And his head thumps, to feed upon the breath 
 Of patriots, bursting with heroic rage, 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. Ill 
 
 Or placemen, all tranquillity and smiles. 
 
 This folio of four pages, happy work ! 50 
 
 Which not e'en critics criticise ; that holds 
 
 Inquisitive attention, while I read, 
 
 Fast bound in chains of silence, which the fair, 
 
 Though eloquent themselves, yet fear to break ; 
 
 What is it but a map of busy life, 55 
 
 Its fluctuations, and its vast concerns ? 
 
 Here runs the mountainous and craggy ridge 
 
 That tempts Ambition. On the summit see 
 
 The seals of office glitter in his eyes ; 
 
 He climbs, he pants, he grasps them ! At his heels. 
 
 Close at his heels, a demagogue ascends, 61 
 
 And with a dexterous jerk soon twists him down. 
 
 And wins them, but to lose them in his turn. 
 
 Here rills of oily eloquence in soft 
 
 Meanders lubricate the course they take ; 65 
 
 The modest speaker is ashamed and grieved 
 
 To engross a moment's notice ; and yet begs, 
 
 Begs a propitious ear for his poor thoughts, 
 
 However trivial all that he conceives. 
 
 Sweet bashfulness ! it claims at least this praise ; 70 
 
 The dearth of information and good sense, 
 
 That it foretells us, always comes to pass. 
 
 Cataracts of declamation thunder here ; 
 
 There forests of no meaning spread the page. 
 
 In which all comprehension wanders lost; 75 
 
 While fields of pleasantry amuse us there 
 
112 THE TASK. B. IV. 
 
 With merry descants on a nation's woes. 
 
 The rest appears a wilderness of strange 
 
 But gay confusion ; roses for the cheeks, 
 
 And lilies for the brows of faded age, 80 
 
 Teeth for the toothless, ringlets for the bald, 
 
 Heaven, earth, and ocean, plunder' d of their sweets, 
 
 Nectareous essences, Olympian dews. 
 
 Sermons, and city feasts, and favourite airs, 
 
 Ethereal journeys, submarine exploits, 85 
 
 And Katerfelto, with his hair on end 
 
 At his own wonders, wondering for his bread. 
 
 'Tis pleasant, through the loopholes of retreat, 
 To peep at such a world; to see the stir 
 Of the great Babel, and not feel the crowd ; 90 
 
 To hear the roar she sends through all her gates 
 At a safe distance, where the dying sound 
 Falls a soft murmur on the uninjured ear. 
 Thus sitting, and surveying thus at ease 
 The globe and its concerns, I seem advanced 95 
 
 To some secure and more than mortal height, 
 That liberates and exempts me from them all. 
 It turns submitted to my view, turns round 
 With all its generations ; I behold 
 The tumult, and am still. The sound of war 100 
 
 Has lost its terrors ere it reaches me ; 
 Grieves, but alarms me not. I mourn the pride 
 And avarice that make man a wolf to man ; 
 Hear the faint echo of those brazen throats. 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 113 
 
 By which he speaks the language of his heart, 105 
 
 And sigh, but never tremble at the sound. 
 
 He travels and expatiates, as the bee 
 
 From flower to flower, so he from land to land ; 
 
 The manners, customs, policy of all 
 
 Pay contribution to the store he gleans ; 110 
 
 He sucks intelligence in every clime. 
 
 And spreads the honey of his deep research 
 
 At his return — a rich repast for me. 
 
 He travels, and I too. I tread his deck, 
 
 Ascend his topmast, through his peering eyes 115 
 
 Discover countries, with a kindred heart 
 
 Sufier his woes, and share in his escapes ; 
 
 While fancy, like the finger of a clock, 
 
 Runs the great circuit, and is still at home. 
 
 Winter, ruler of the inverted year, 120 
 
 Thy scatter' d hair with sleet like ashes fill'd, 
 Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
 Fringed with a beard made white with other snows 
 Than those of age, thy forehead wrapped in clouds, 
 A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 125 
 
 A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, 
 But urged by storms along its slippery way, 
 I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st. 
 And dreaded as thou art ! Thou hold'st the sun 
 A prisoner in the yet undawning east, 130 
 
 Shortening his journey between morn and noon, 
 And hurrying him, impatient of his stay, 
 10 ^t 
 
114 THE TASK. B. IV. 
 
 Down to tlie rosy west ; but kindly still 
 
 Compensating his loss with added hours 
 
 Of social converse and instructive ease, 135 
 
 And gathering, at short notice, in one group 
 
 The family dispersed, and fixing thought. 
 
 Not less dispersed by daylight and its cares. 
 
 I crown thee king of intimate delights. 
 
 Fireside enjoyments, homeborn happiness, 140 
 
 And all the- comforts that the lowly roof 
 
 Of undisturbed Retirement, and the hours 
 
 Of long uninterrupted evening know. 
 
 No rattling wheels stop short before these gates ; 
 
 No powder' d pert proficient in the art 145 
 
 Of sounding an alarm assaults these doors 
 
 Till the street rings ; no stationary steeds 
 
 Cough their own knell, while, heedless of the sound. 
 
 The silent circle fan themselves, and quake : 
 
 But here the needle plies its busy task, 150 
 
 The pattern grows, the well depicted flower, 
 
 Wrought patiently into the snowy lawn. 
 
 Unfolds its bosom j buds, and leaves, and sprigs, 
 
 And curling tendrils, gracefully disposed, 
 
 Follow the nimble finger of the fair ; 155 
 
 A wreath, that cannot fade, of flowers that blow 
 
 With most success when all besides decay. 
 
 The poet's or historian's page'by one 
 
 Made vocal for the amusement of the rest ; 
 
 The sprightly lyre, whose treasure of sweet sounds 160 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 115 
 
 The touch from many a trembling chord shakes out ; 
 
 And the clear voice, symphonious, yet distinct, 
 
 And in the charming strife triumphant still, 
 
 Beguile the night, and set a keener edge 
 
 On female industry : the threaded steel 165 
 
 Flies swiftly, and unfeit the task proceeds. 
 
 The volume closed, the customary rites 
 
 Of the last meal commence. A Roman meal, 
 
 Such as the mistress of the world once found 
 
 Delicious, when her patriots of high note, 170 
 
 Perhaps by moonlight, at their humble doors, 
 
 And under an old oak's domestic shade. 
 
 Enjoy' d, spare feast ! a radish and an egg ! 
 
 Discourse ensues, not trivial, yet not dull. 
 
 Nor such as with a frown forbids the play 175 
 
 Of fancy, or proscribes the sound of mirth : 
 
 Nor do we madly, like an impious world. 
 
 Who deem religion frenzy, and the God 
 
 That made them an intruder on their joys. 
 
 Start at his awful name, or deem his praise 180 
 
 A jarring note. Themes of a graver tone. 
 
 Exciting oft our gratitude and love. 
 
 While we retrace with Memory's pointing wand. 
 
 That calls the past to our exact review, 
 
 The dangers we have 'scaped, the broken snare, 185 
 
 The disappointed foe, deliverance found 
 
 Unlook'd for, life preserved, and peace restored, 
 
 Fruits of omnipotent eternal love. 
 
116 THE TASK. B. IV/ 
 
 evenings worthy of tlie gods ! exclaim' d 
 
 The Sabine bard. evenings, I reply, 190 
 
 More to be prized and coveted than yours, 
 
 As more illumined, and with nobler truths. 
 
 That I, and mine, and those we love, enjoy. 
 
 Is Winter hideous in a garb like this ? 
 Needs he the tragic fur, the smoke of lamps, 195 
 
 The pent-up breath of an unsavoury throng. 
 To thaw him into feeling ; or the smart 
 And snappish dialogue, that flippant wits 
 Call comedy, to prompt him with a smile ? 
 The self-complacent actor, when he views 200 
 
 (Stealing a sidelong glance at a full house) 
 The slope of faces, from the floor to the roof 
 (As if one master spring controll'd them all), 
 Kelax'd into a universal grin. 
 
 Sees not a countenance there that speaks of joy 205 
 Half so refined or so sincere as ours. 
 Cards were superfluous here, with all the tricks 
 That idleness has ever yet contrived 
 To fill the void of an unfurnish'd brain, 
 To palliate dullness, and give time a shove. 210 
 
 Time, as he passes us, has a dove's wing, 
 Unsoil'd, and swift, and of a silken sound; 
 But the World's Time is Time in masquerade ! 
 Theirs, should I paint him, has his pinions fledged 
 With motley plumes ; and, where the peacock shows 
 His azure eyes, is tinctured black and red 216 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 117 
 
 Witli spots quadrangular of diamond form, 
 
 Ensanguined hearts, clubs typical of strife, 
 
 And spades, the emblem of untimely graves. 
 
 What should be, and what was an hourglass once, 220 
 
 Becomes a dicebox, and a billiard mace 
 
 Well does the work of his destructive scythe. 
 
 Thus decFd, he charms a world whom Fashion blinds 
 
 To his true worth, most pleased when idle most ; 
 
 Whose only happy are their wasted hours. 225 
 
 E'en misses, at whose age their mothers wore 
 
 The backstring and the bib, assume the dress 
 
 Of womanhood, fit pupils in the school 
 
 Of card devoted Time^ and night by night 
 
 Placed at some vacant corner of the board, 230 
 
 Learn every trick, and soon play all the game. 
 
 But truce with censure. Roving as I rove, 
 
 I Where shall I find an end, or how proceed ? 
 
 , As he that travels far oft turns aside, 
 To view some rugged rock or mouldering tower, 235 
 Which seen delights him not ; then, coming home. 
 Describes and prints it, that the world may know 
 How far he went for what was nothing worth ; 
 So I, with brush in hand and pallet spread, 
 With colours mix'd for a far different use, 240 
 
 Paint cards and dolls, and every idle thing 
 That fancy finds in her excursive flights. 
 
 Come, Evening, once again, season of peace; 
 Return, sweet Evening, and continue long ! 
 
118 THE TASK. B. IV. 
 
 Methinks I see thee in the streaky west, 245 
 
 With matron step slow moving, while the Night 
 Treads on thy sweeping train ; one hand employed 
 In letting fall the curtain of repose 
 On bird and beast, the other charged for man 
 With sweet oblivion of the cares of day : 250 
 
 Not sumptuously adorn' d, not needing aid. 
 Like homely featured Night, of clustering gems ; 
 A star or two, just twinkling on thy brow, 
 Suffices thee ; save that the moon is thine 
 No less than hers, not worn indeed on high 255 
 
 With ostentatious pageantry, but set 
 With modest grandeur in thy purple zone. 
 Resplendent less, but of an ampler round. 
 Come then, and thou shalt find thy votary calm. 
 Or make me so. Composure is thy gift : 260 
 
 And, whether I devote thy gentle hours 
 To books, to music, or the poet's toil } 
 To weaving nets for bird-alluring fruit ; 
 Or twining silken threads round ivory reels, 264 
 
 When they command whom man was born to please ; 
 I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. 
 Just when our drawingrooms begin to blaze 
 With lights, by clear reflection multiplied 
 From many a mirror, in which he of Gath, 
 Goliath, might have seen his giant bulk 270 
 
 Whole without stooping, towering crest and all. 
 My pleasures too begin. But me perhaps 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 119 
 
 The glowing hearth may satisfy awhile 
 
 With faint illumination, that uplifts 
 
 The shadows to the ceiling, there by fits 275 
 
 Dancing uncouthly to the quivering flame. 
 
 Not undelightful is an hour to me 
 
 So spent in parlour twilight : such a gloom 
 
 Suits well the thoughtful or unthinking mind, 
 
 The mind contemplative, with some new theme 280 
 
 Pregnant, or indisposed alike to all. 
 
 Laugh ye, who boast your more mercurial powers, 
 
 That never felt a stupor, know no pause, 
 
 Nor need one ; I am conscious, and confess. 
 
 Fearless, a soul that does not always think. 285 
 
 Me oft has Fancy ludicrous and wild 
 
 Soothed with a waking dream of houses, towers, 
 
 Trees, churches, and strange visages, expressed 
 
 In the red cinders, while with poring eye 
 
 I gazed, myself creating what I saw. 290 
 
 Nor less amused, have I quiescent watch'd 
 
 The sooty films that play upon the bars. 
 
 Pendulous, and foreboding in the view 
 
 Of superstition, prophesying still, 294 
 
 Though still deceived, some stranger's near approach. 
 
 'Tis thus the understanding takes repose 
 
 In indolent vacuity of thought. 
 
 And sleeps and is refreshed. Meanwhile the face 
 
 Conceals the mood lethargic with a mask 
 
 Of deep deliberation, as the man 300 
 
^^^ THE TASK. jj jy 
 
 Were taskM to his full strength, absorbed and lost. 
 Ihus oft, reclined at ease, I lose an hour 
 At evening, till at length the freezing blast, 
 That sweeps the bolted shutter, summons home 
 , The recollected powers ; and, snapping short 305 
 
 ; Ihe glassy threads with which the Fancy weaves 
 Her brittle toils, restores me to myself. 
 How calm is my recess; and how the frost. 
 Raging abroad, and the rough wind endear 
 The silence and the warmth enjoy'd within ! 310 
 
 I saw the woods and fields at close of day 
 A variegated show; the meadows green. 
 Though faded; and the lands, where lately waved 
 The golden harvest, of a mellow brown, 
 Upturned so lately by the forceful share. 315 
 
 I saw far off the weedy fallows smile 
 With verdure not unprofitable, grazed 
 By flocks, fast feeding, and selecting each 
 His favourite herb; while all the leafless groves, 
 Ihat skirt the horizon, wore a sable hue, 320 
 
 Scarce noticed in the kindred dusk of eve. 
 To-morrow brings a change, a total change ! 
 Which even now, though silently perform^. 
 And slowly, and by most unfelt, the face 
 Of universal nature undergoes. 325 
 
 Fast falls a fleecy shower : the downy flakes 
 Descending, and with never ceasing lapse, 
 Softly alighting upon all below. 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 121 
 
 Assimilate all objects. Earth receives 
 Gladly the thickening mantle ; and the green 8S0 
 
 And tender blade, that fear'd the chilling blast, 
 Escapes unhurt beneath so warm a veil. 
 
 In such a world, so thorny, and where none 
 Finds happiness unblighted ; or, if found, 
 Without some thistly sorrow at its side; 335 
 
 It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin 
 Against the law of love, to measure lots 
 With less distinguish' d than ourselves } that thus 
 We may with patience bear our moderate ills. 
 And sympathize with others suffering more. 340 
 
 111 fares the traveller now, and he that stalks 
 In ponderous boots beside his reeking team. 
 The wain goes heavily, impeded sore 
 By congregated loads adhering close 
 To the clogg'd wheels; and in its sluggish pace 345 
 Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. 
 The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide, 
 While every breath, by respiration strong 
 Forced downward, is consolidated soon 
 Upon their jutting chests. He, form'd to bear 350 
 The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, 
 With half-shut eyes, and pucker' d cheeks, and teeth 
 Presented bare against the storm, plods on. 
 One hand secures his hat, save when with both 
 He brandishes his pliant length of whip, 355 
 
 Resounding oft, and never heard in vain. 
 11 
 
122 THE TASK. B. IV. 
 
 happy ; and, in my account, denied 
 
 That sensibility of pain with which 
 
 Refinement is endued, thrice happy thou ! 
 
 Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed 360 
 
 The piercing cold, but feels it unimpair'd. 
 
 The learned finger never need explore 
 
 Thy vigorous pulse ; and the unhealthful east, 
 
 That breathes the spleen, and searches every bone 
 
 Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. 
 
 Thy days roll on exempt from household care ; 
 
 Thy wagon is thy wife ; and the poor beasts, 
 
 That drag the dull companion to and fro. 
 
 Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care. 
 
 Ah, treat them kindly ! rude as thou appear'st, 370 
 
 Yet show that thou hast mercy ! which the great, 
 
 With needless hurry whirl' d from place to place, 
 
 Humane as they would seem, not always show. 
 
 Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, 
 Such claim compassion in a night like this, 375 
 
 And have a friend in every feeling heart. 
 Warm'd, while it lasts, by labour, all day long 
 They brave the season, and yet find at eve, 
 111 clad, and fed but sparely, time to cool. 
 The frugal housewife trembles when she lights 380 
 Her scanty stock of brushwood, blazing clear. 
 But dying soon, like all terrestrial joys. 
 The few small embers left she nurses well ^ 
 And, while her infant race, with outspread hands, 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 123 
 
 And crowded knees, sit cowering o'er the sparks, 385 
 
 Retires, content to quake, so they be warm'd. 
 
 The man feels least, as more inured than she 
 
 To winter, and the current in his veins 
 
 More briskly moved by his severer toil ; 
 
 Yet he too finds his own distress in theirs. 390 
 
 The taper soon extinguish' d, which I saw 
 
 Dangled along at the cold finger's end 
 
 Just when the day declined ; and the brown loaf 
 
 Lodged on the shelf, half eaten without sauce 
 
 Of savoury cheese, or butter, costlier still ; 395 
 
 Sleep seems their only refuge : for, alas. 
 
 Where penury is felt the thought is changed, 
 
 And sweet colloquial pleasures are but few ! 
 
 With all this thrift they thrive not. All the care, 
 
 Ingenious Parsimony takes, but just 400 
 
 Saves the small inventory, bed, and stool. 
 
 Skillet, and old carved chest, from public sale. 
 
 They live, and live without extorted alms 
 
 From grudging hands; but other boast have none 
 
 To soothe their honest pride, that scorns to beg, 405 
 
 Nor comfort else, but in their mutual love. 
 
 I praise you much, ye meek and patient pair, 
 
 For ye are worthy ; choosing rather far 
 
 A dry but independent crust, hard earn'd. 
 
 And eaten with a sigh, than to endure 410 
 
 The rugged frowns and insolent rebuffs 
 
 Of knaves in office, partial in the work 
 
124 THE TASK. B. IV. 
 
 Of distribution ; liberal of their aid 
 To clamorous importunity in rags, 
 But ofttimes deaf to suppliants, who would blush 415 
 To wear a tatter' d garb however coarse, 
 Whom famine cannot reconcile to filth : 
 These ask with painful shyness, and, refused 
 Because deserving, silently retire ! 
 But be ye of good courage ! time itself 420 
 
 Shall much befriend you. Time shall give increase ; 
 And all your numerous progeny, well train' d. 
 But helpless, in few years shall find their hands, 
 And labour too. Meanwhile ye shall not want 
 AVhat, conscious of your virtues, we can spare, 425 
 Nor what a wealthier than ourselves may send. 
 I mean the man who, when the distant poor 
 Need help, denies them nothing but his name. 
 But poverty with most, who whimper forth 
 Their long complaints, is self-inflicted woe ; 430 
 
 The effect of laziness or sottish waste. 
 Now goes the nightly thief prowling abroad 
 For plunder ; much solicitous how best 
 He may compensate for a day of sloth 
 By works of darkness and nocturnal wrong. 435 
 
 "VVoe to the gardener's pale, the farmer's hedge, 
 Plash'd neatly, and secured with driven stakes 
 Deep in the loamy bank. Uptorn by strength, 
 Resistless in so bad a cause, but lame 
 To better deeds, he bundles up the spoil, 440 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 125 
 
 An ass's burden, and, when laden most 
 
 And heaviest, light of foot steals fast away. 
 
 Nor does the boarded hovel better guard 
 
 The well stack' d pile of riven logs and roots 
 
 From his pernicious force. Nor will he leave 445 
 
 Un wrench' d the door, however well secured. 
 
 Where Chanticleer amidst his harem sleeps 
 
 In unsuspecting pomp. Twitch'd from the perch. 
 
 He gives the princely bird, with all his wives, 
 
 To his voracious bag, struggling in vain, 450 
 
 And loudly wondering at the sudden change. 
 
 Nor this to feed his own ! ^Twere some excuse, 
 
 Did pity of their sufferings warp aside 
 
 His principle, and tempt him into sin 
 
 For their support, so destitute. But they 455 
 
 Neglected pine at home ; themselves, as more 
 
 Exposed than others, with less scruple made 
 
 His victims, robb'd of their defenceless all. 
 
 Cruel is all he does. 'Tis quenchless thirst 
 
 Of ruinous ebriety that prompts 460 
 
 His every action, and imbrutes the man. 
 
 for a law to noose the villain's neck 
 
 Who starves his own ; who persecutes the blood 
 
 He gave them in his children's veins, and hates 
 
 And wrongs the woman he has sworn to love ! 465 
 
 Pass where we may, through city or through town, 
 Village, or hamlet, of this merry land. 
 Though lean and beggar' d, every twentieth pace 
 11* 
 
126 THE TASK. B. IV. 
 
 Conducts the unguarded nose to sucli a wliiff 
 
 Of stale debauch, forth issuing from the styes 470 
 
 That law has licensed, as makes temperance reel. 
 
 There sit, involved and lost in curling clouds 
 
 Of Indian fume, and guzzling deep, the boor, 
 
 The lackey, and the groom : the craftsman there 
 
 Takes a Lethean leave of all his toil ; 475 
 
 Smith, cobbler, joiner, he that plies the shears, 
 
 And he that kneads the dough ; all loud alike. 
 
 All learned, and all drunk ! the fiddle screams 
 
 Plaintive and piteous, as it wept and wail'd 
 
 Its wasted tones, and harmony unheard : 480 
 
 Fierce the dispute whatever the theme ; while she. 
 
 Fell Discord, arbitress of such debate, 
 
 Perch'd on the signpost, holds with even hand 
 
 Her undecisive scales. In this she lays 
 
 A weight of ignorance ; in that, of pride ; 485 
 
 And smiles delighted with the eternal poise. 
 
 Dire is the frequent curse, and its twin sound. 
 
 The cheek distending oath, not to be praised 
 
 As ornamental, musical, polite. 
 
 Like those which modern senators employ, 490 
 
 Whose oath is rhetoric, and who swear for fame ! 
 
 Behold the schools in which plebeian minds, 
 
 Once simple, are initiated in arts, 
 
 Which some may practise with politer grace, 
 
 But none with readier skill ! — 'tis here they learn 495 
 
 The road that leads from competence and peace 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 127 
 
 To indigence and rapine ; till at last 
 
 Society, grown weary of the load, 
 
 Shakes her encumber' d lap, and casts them out. 
 
 But censure profits little : vain the attempt 500 
 
 To advertise in verse a public pest, 
 
 That like the filth, with which the peasant feeds 
 
 His hungry acres, stinks, and is of use. 
 
 The excise is fatten' d with the rich result 
 
 Of all this riot ; and ten thousand casks, 505 
 
 For ever dribbling out their base contents, 
 
 Touched by the Midas finger of the state, 
 
 Bleed gold for ministers to sport away. 
 
 Drink, and be mad then ; 'tis your country bids ! 
 
 Gloriously drunk, obey the important call ! 510 
 
 Her cause demands the assistance of your throats ; — 
 
 Ye all can swallow, and she asks no more. 
 
 Would I had fallen upon those happier days 
 That poets celebrate ; those golden times, 
 And those Arcadian scenes, that Maro sings, 515 
 
 And Sidney, warbler of poetic prose. 
 Nymphs were Dianas then, and swains had hearts 
 That felt their virtues : Innocence, it seems. 
 From courts dismiss' d, found shelter in the groves; 
 The footsteps of Simplicity, impress' d 520 
 
 Upon the yielding herbage (so they sing), 
 Then were not all effaced : then speech profane, 
 And manners profligate, were rarely found, 
 Observed as prodigies, and soon reclaim' d. 
 
128 THE TASK. B. IV. 
 
 Vain wish ! those days were never : airy dreams 525 
 
 Sat for the picture : and the poet's hand, 
 
 Imparting substance to an empty shade, 
 
 Imposed a gay delirium for a truth. 
 
 Grant it : — I still must envy them an age 
 
 That favour'd such a dream; in days like these 530 
 
 Impossible, when virtue is so scarce, 
 
 That to suppose a scene where she presides. 
 
 Is tramontane, and stumbles all belief. 
 
 No : we are polished now ! The rural lass, 
 
 Whom once her virgin modesty and grace, 535 
 
 Her artless manners, and her neat attire. 
 
 So dignified, that she was hardly less 
 
 Than the fair shepherdess of old romance. 
 
 Is seen no more. The character is lost ! 
 
 Her head, adorn'd with lappets pinn'd aloft, 540 
 
 And ribands streaming gay, superbly raised. 
 
 And magnified beyond all human size, 
 
 Indebted to some smart wig-weaver's hand 
 
 For more than half the tresses it sustains ; 
 
 Her elbows ruffled, and her tottering form 545 
 
 111 propp'd upon French heels ; she might be deem'd 
 
 (But that the basket dangling on her arm 
 
 Interprets her more truly) of a rank 
 
 Too proud for dairy work, or sale of eggs. 
 
 Expect her soon with footboy at her heels, 550 
 
 No longer blushing for her awkward load, 
 
 Her train and her umbrella all her care I 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 129 
 
 The town has tinged the country; and the stain 
 Appears a spot upon a vestal's robe, 
 The worse for what it soils. The fashion runs ' 655 
 Down into scenes still rural ; but, alas, 
 Scenes rarely graced with rural manners now ! 
 Time was when in the pastoral retreat 
 The unguarded door was safe ; men did not watch 
 To invade another's right, or guard their own. 560 
 Then sleep was undisturb'd by fear, unscared 
 By drunken bowlings ; and the chilling tale 
 Of midnight murder was a wonder heard 
 With doubtful credit, told to frighten babes. 
 But farewell now to unsuspicious nights, 565 
 
 And slumbers unalarm'd ! Now, ere you sleep, 
 See that your polish' d arms be primed with care, 
 And drop the night-bolt ; — rufl&ans are abroad ; 
 And the first larum of the cock's shrill throat 
 May prove a trumpet, summoning your ear 570 
 
 To horrid sounds of hostile feet within. 
 E'en daylight has its dangers; and the walk 
 Through pathless wastes and woods, unconscious once 
 Of other tenants than melodious birds, 
 Or harmless flocks, is hazardous and bold. 575 
 
 Lamented change ! to which full many a cause 
 Inveterate, hopeless of a cure, conspires. 
 The course of human things from good to ill. 
 From ill to worse, is fatal, never fails. 
 Increase of power begets increase of wealth ; 580 
 
130 THE TASK. B. IV. 
 
 Wealth luxury, aud luxury excess ; 
 
 Excess, the scrofulous aud itchy plague, 
 
 That seizes first the opulent, descends 
 
 To the next rank contagious, and in time 
 
 Taints downward all the graduated scale 585 
 
 Of order, from the chariot to the plough. 
 
 The rich, aud they, that have an ai'm to check 
 
 The license of the lowest in degree. 
 
 Desert their office; and themselves, intent 
 
 On pleasure, haunt the capital, and thus 590 
 
 To all the violence of lawless hands 
 
 Resign the scenes their presence might protect. 
 
 Authority herself not seldom sleeps. 
 
 Though resident, and witness of the wrong. 
 
 The plump convivial parson often bears 595 
 
 The magisterial sword in vain, and lays 
 
 His reverence and his worship both to rest 
 
 On the same cushion of habitual sloth. 
 
 Perhaps timidity restrains his arm ; 
 
 When he should strike he trembles, and sets free, 600 
 
 Himself enslaved by terror of the band, 
 
 The audacious convict, whom he dares not bind. 
 
 Perhaps, though by profession ghostly pure. 
 
 He too may have his vice, and sometimes prove 
 
 Less dainty than becomes his grave outside 605 
 
 In lucrative concerns. Examine well 
 
 His milkwhite hand ; the palm is hardly clean — 
 
 But here and there an ugly smutch appears. 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 131 
 
 Foh ! 'twas a bribe tliat left it : he has toucli'd 
 Corruption ! Whoso seeks an audit here 610 
 
 Propitious, pays his tribute, game or fish, 
 AVild-fowl or venison ; and his errand speeds. 
 
 But faster far, and more than all the rest, 
 A noble cause, which none, who bears a spark 
 Of public virtue, ever wish'd removed, 615 
 
 Works the deplored and mischievous effect. 
 'Tis universal soldiership has stabb'd 
 The heart of merit in the meaner class. 
 Arms, through the vanity and brainless rage 
 Of those that bear them, in whatever cause, 620 
 
 Seem most at variance with all moral good, 
 And incompatible with serious thought. 
 The clown, the child of nature, without guile, 
 Blest with an infant's ignorance of all 
 But his own simple pleasures ; now and then 625 
 
 A wrestling match, a foot-race, or a fair ; 
 Is balloted, and trembles at the news : 
 Sheepish he doffs his hat, and mumbling swears 
 A bible-oath to be whatever they please, 
 To do he knows not what. The task performed, 630 
 That instant he becomes the sergeant's care, 
 His pupil, and his torment, and his jest. 
 His awkward gait, his introverted toes, 
 Bent knees, round shoulders, and dejected looks 
 Procure him many a curse. By slow degrees, 635 
 Unapt to learn, and form'd of stubborn stuff. 
 
132 THE TASK. 
 
 B. IV. 
 
 He yet by slow degrees puts off himself, 
 
 Grows conscious of a change, and likes it well : 
 
 He stands erect ; his slouch becomes a walk ; 
 
 He steps right onward, martial in his air, 640 
 
 His form, and movement ; is as smart above 
 
 As meal and larded locks can make him ; wears 
 
 His hat, or his plumed helmet, with a grace ; 
 
 And, his three years of heroship expired, 
 
 Returns indignant to the slighted plough. 645 
 
 He hates the field, in which no fife or drum 
 
 Attends him ; drives his cattle to a march ; 
 
 And sighs for the smart comrades he has left. 
 
 'Twere well if his exterior change were all — 
 
 But with his clumsy port the wretch has lost 650 
 
 His ignorance and harmless manners too. 
 
 To swear, to game, to drink ; to show at home 
 
 By lewdness, idleness, and Sabbath breach, 
 
 The great proficiency he made abroad ; 
 
 To astonish and to grieve his ga:zing friends ; 655 
 
 To break some maiden's and his mother's heart ; 
 
 To be a pest where he was useful once; 
 
 Are his sole aim, and all his glory now. 
 
 Man in society is like a flower 
 Blown in its native bed : 'tis there alone 660 
 
 His faculties, expanded in full bloom, 
 Shine out ; there only reach their proper use. 
 But man, associated and leagued with man 
 By regal warrant, or self-join' d by bond 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 133 
 
 For interest sake, or swarming into clans 665 
 
 Beneath, one head for purposes of war, 
 
 Like flowers selected from the rest, and bound 
 
 And bundled close to fill some crowded vase, 
 
 Fades rapidly, and, by compression marr'd, 
 
 Contracts defilement not to be endured. 670 
 
 Hence charter' d boroughs are such public plagues; 
 
 And burghers, men immaculate perhaps 
 
 In all their private functions, once combined. 
 
 Become a loathsome body, only fit 
 
 For dissolution, hurtful to the main. 675 
 
 Hence merchants, unimpeachable of sin 
 
 Against the charities of domestic life. 
 
 Incorporated, seem at once to lose 
 
 Their nature; and, disclaiming all regard 
 
 For mercy and the common rights of man, 680 
 
 Build factories with blood, conducting trade 
 
 At the sword's point, and dyeing the white robe 
 
 Of innocent commercial Justice red. 
 
 Hence too the field of glory, as the world 
 
 Misdeems it, dazzled by its bright array, 685 
 
 With all its majesty of thundering pomp. 
 
 Enchanting music, and immortal wreaths. 
 
 Is but a school, where thoughtlessness is taught 
 
 On principle, where foppery atones 
 
 For folly, gallantry for every vice. 690 
 
 But slighted as it is, and by the great 
 Abandoned, and, which still I more regret; 
 12 
 
134 THE TASK. B. TV. 
 
 Infected with tlie manners and the modes 
 
 It knew not once, the country wins me still. 
 
 I never framed a wish, or form'd a plan, 695 
 
 That flatter' d me with hopes of earthly bliss, 
 
 But there I laid the scene. There early stray'd 
 
 My fancy, ere yet liberty of choice 
 
 Had found me, or the hope of being free. 
 
 My very dreams were rural ; rural too 700 
 
 The firstborn efforts of my youthful muse, 
 
 Sportive and jingling her poetic bells, 
 
 Ere yet her ear was mistress of their powers. 
 
 No bard could please me but whose lyre was tuned 
 
 To Nature's praises. Heroes and their feats 705 
 
 Fatigued me, never weary of the pipe 
 
 Of Tityrus, assembling, as he sang, 
 
 The rustic throng beneath his favourite beech. 
 
 Then Milton had indeed a poet's charms ; 
 
 New to my taste his Paradise surpass' d 710 
 
 The stniggling efforts of my boyish tongue 
 
 To speak its excellence. I danced for joy. 
 
 I marvel' d much that, at so ripe an age 
 
 x\s twice seven years, his beauties had then first 
 
 Engaged my wonder; and admiring still, 715 
 
 And still admiring, with regret supposed 
 
 The joy half lost, because not sooner found. 
 
 There too, enamour' d of the life I loved, 
 
 Pathetic in its praise, in its pursuit 
 
 Determined, and possessing it at last 720 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 135 
 
 With transports, such as favour 'd lovers feel, 
 
 I studied, prized, and wish'd that I had known 
 
 Ingenious Cowlej ! and, though now reclaim' d 
 
 By modern lights from an erroneous taste, 
 
 I cannot but lament thy splendid wit 725 
 
 Entangled in the cobwebs of the schools. 
 
 I still revere thee, courtly though retired ; 
 
 Though stretch'd at ease in Chertsey's silent bowers, 
 
 Not unemploy'd; and finding rich amends 
 
 For a lost world in solitude and verse. 730 
 
 'Tis born with all : the love of Nature's works 
 
 Is an ingredient in the compound man, 
 
 Infused at the creation of the kind. 
 
 And though the Almighty Maker has throughout 
 
 Discriminated each from each, by strokes 735 
 
 And touches of his hand, with so much art 
 
 Diversified, that two were never found 
 
 Twins at all points — yet this obtains in all, 
 
 That all discern a beauty in his works, 
 
 And all can taste them : minds that have been forai'd 
 
 And tutor' d, with a relish more exact, 741 
 
 But none without some relish, none unmoved. 
 
 It is a flame that dies not even there, 
 
 Where nothing feeds it : neither business, crowds, 
 
 Nor habits of luxurious city life, 745 
 
 Whatever else they smother of true worth 
 
 In human bosoms, quench it or abate. 
 
 The villas with which London stands begirt, 
 
136 THE TASK. B. IV. 
 
 Like a swarth Indian with his belt of beads, 
 Prove it. A breath of unadulterate air, 750 
 
 The glimpse of a green pasture, how they cheer 
 The citizen, and brace his languid frame ! 
 E'en in the stifling bosom of the town 
 A garden, in which nothing thrives, has charms 
 That soothe the rich possessor,; much consoled, 755 
 That here and there some sprigs of mournful mint. 
 Of nightshade, or valerian, grace the well 
 He cultivates. These serve him with a hint 
 That nature lives j that sight-refreshing green 
 Is still the livery she delights to wear, 760 
 
 Though sickly samples of the exuberant whole. 
 What are the casements lined with creeping herbs. 
 The prouder sashes fronted with a range 
 Of orange, myrtle, or the fragrant weed. 
 The Frenchman's darling ?* are they not all proofs 
 That man, immured in cities, still retains 766 
 
 His inborn inextinguishable thirst 
 Of rural scenes, compensating his loss 
 By supplemental shifts the best he may ? 
 The most unfurnish'd with the means of life, 770 
 
 And they that never pass their brick-wall bounds 
 To range the fields, and treat their lungs with air, 
 Yet feel the burning instinct : over head 
 Suspend their crazy boxes, planted thick. 
 And water' d duly. There the pitcher stands, 775 
 * Mignonette, 
 
THE WINTER EVENING. 137 
 
 A fragment, and the spoutless teapot there ; 
 Sad witnesses how close-pent man regrets 
 The country, with what ardour he contrives 
 A peep at Nature, when he can no more. 
 
 Hail, therefore, patroness of health and ease, 780 
 And contemplation, heart-consoling joys. 
 And harmless pleasures, in the throng' d abode 
 Of multitudes unknown ! hail, rural life!. 
 Address himself who will to the pursuit 
 Of honours, or emolument, or fame; 785 
 
 I shall not add myself to such a chase, 
 Thwart his attempts, or envy his success. 
 Some must be great. Great offices will have 
 Great talents. And God gives to every man 
 The virtue, temper, understanding, taste, 790 
 
 That lifts him into life, and lets him fall 
 Just in the niche he was ordain' d to fill. 
 To the deliverer of an injured land 
 He gives a tongue to enlarge upon, a heart 
 To feel, and courage to redress her wrongs; 795 
 
 To monarchs dignity; to judges sense; ■ 
 
 To artists ingenuity and skill ; V j 
 
 To me an unambitious mind, content /\l 
 
 In the low vale of life, that early felt ' \^ 
 
 A wish for ease and leisure, and ere long SOCk 
 
 Found here that leisure and that ease I wish'd. 
 12* 
 
THE TASK. BOOK V. 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 
 
 (139) 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 A FROSTY morning. The foddering of cattle. The woodman and 
 his dog. The poultry. "Whimsical effects of frost at a waterfall. 
 The Empress of Russia's palace of ice. Amusements of monarchs. 
 War, one of them. Wars, whence. And whence monarchy. The 
 evils of it. English and French loyalty contrasted. The Bastille, 
 and a prisoner there. Liberty the chief recommendation of this 
 country. Modern patriotism questionable, and why. The perish- 
 able nature of the best human institutions. Spiritual liberty not 
 perishable. The slavish state of man by nature. Deliver him, 
 Deist, if you can. Grace must do it. The respective merits of 
 patriots and martyrs stated. Their different treatment. Happy 
 freedom of the man whom grace makes free. His relish of the 
 works of God. Address to the Creator. 
 
 (140) 
 
THE TASK. BOOK Y. 
 
 THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 
 
 'Tis morning ; and the sun, witli ruddy orb 
 Ascending, fires the horizon ; while the clouds, 
 That crowd away before the driving wind, 
 More ardent as the disk emerges more, 
 Resemble most some city in a blaze, 5 
 
 Seen through the leafless wood. His slanting ray 
 Slides ineffectual down the snowy vale. 
 And, tinging all with his own rosy hue, 
 From every herb and every spiry blade 
 Stretches a length of shadow o'er the field. 10 
 
 Mine, spindling into longitude immense. 
 In spite of gravity and sage remark, 
 That I myself am but a fleeting shade, 
 Provokes me to a smile. With eye askance 
 I view the muscular proportion^ limb 15 
 
 Transform' d to a lean shank. The shapeless pair. 
 As they design' d to mock me, at my side 
 Take step for step ; and, as I near approach 
 The cottage, walk along the plaster' d wall, 
 Preposterous sight ! the legs without the man. 20 
 
 (141) 
 
142 THE TASK. B. V. 
 
 The verdure of the plain lies buried deep 
 
 Beneath the dazzling deluge ; and the bents, 
 
 And coarser grass, upspearing o'er the rest, 
 
 Of late unsightly and unseen, now shine 
 
 Conspicuous, and in bright apparel clad, 25 
 
 And fledged with icy feathers, nod superb. 
 
 The cattle mourn in corners, where the fence 
 
 Screens them, and seem half petrified to sleep 
 
 In unrecumbent sadness. There they wait 
 
 Their wonted fodder; not like hungering man, 30 
 
 Fretful if unsupplied ; but silent, meek, 
 
 And patient of the slow-paced swain's delay. 
 
 He from the stack carves out the accustom' d load. 
 
 Deep plunging, and again deep plunging oft. 
 
 His broad keen knife into the solid mass : 35 
 
 Smooth as a wall the upright remnant stands. 
 
 With such undeviating and even force 
 
 He severs it away : no needless care, 
 
 Lest storms should overset the leaning pile 
 
 Deciduous, or its own unbalanced weight. 40 
 
 Forth goes the woodman, leaving unconcerned 
 
 The cheerful haunts of man ; to wield the axe 
 
 And drive the wedge in yonder forest drear, 
 
 From morn to eve his solitai-y task. 
 
 Shaggy, and lean, and shrewd, with pointed ears 45 
 
 And tail cropp'd short, half lurcher and half cur, 
 
 His dog attends him. Close behind his heel 
 
 Now creeps he slow ; and now, with many a frisk 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 143 
 
 Wide scampering, snatches up tlie drifted snow 
 
 With ivory teeth, or ploughs it with his snout ; 50 
 
 Then shakes his powder' d coat, and barks for joy. 
 
 Heedless of all his pranks, the sturdy churl 
 
 Moves right toward the mark ; nor stops for aught, 
 
 But now and then with pressure of his thumb 
 
 To adjust the fragrant charge of a short tube, 55 
 
 That fumes beneath his nose : the trailing cloud 
 
 Streams far behind him, scenting all the air. 
 
 Now from the roost, or from the neighbouring pale, 
 
 Where, diligent to catch the first faint gleam 
 
 Of smiling day, they gossip' d side by side, 60 
 
 Come trooping at the housewife's well known call 
 
 The feather' d tribes domestic. Half on wing. 
 
 And half on foot, they brush the fleecy flood, 
 
 Conscious and fearful of too deep a plunge. 
 
 The sparrows peep, and quit the sheltering eaves, 65 
 
 To seize the fair occasion ; well they eye 
 
 The scatter' d grain, and thievishly resolved 
 
 To escape the impending famine, often scared 
 
 As oft return, a pert voracious kind. 
 
 Clean riddance quickly made, one only care 70 
 
 Remains to each, the search of sunny nook, 
 
 Or shed impervious to the blast. Resigned 
 
 To sad necessity, the cock foregoes 
 
 His wonted strut ; and, wading at their head 
 
 With well consider'd steps, seems to resent 75 
 
 His alter'd gait and stateliness retrench'd. 
 
144 TfiE TASK. B. V. 
 
 How find tlie myriads, that in summer cheer 
 
 The hills and valleys with their ceaseless songs, 
 
 Due sustenance, or where subsist they now ? 
 
 Earth yields them nought : the imprison' d worm is safe 
 
 Beneath the frozen clod; all seeds of herbs 81 
 
 Lie cover'd close ; and berry-bearing thorns. 
 
 That feed the thrush, (whatever some suppose) 
 
 Afford the smaller minstrels no supply. 
 
 The long protracted rigour of the year 85 
 
 Thins all their numerous flocks. In chinks and holes 
 
 Ten thousand seek an unmolested end. 
 
 As instinct prompts ; self-buried ere they die. 
 
 The very rooks and daws forsake the fields, 
 
 Where neither grub, nor root, nor earth-nut, now 90 
 
 Repays their labour more; and perch'd aloft 
 
 By the wayside, or stalking in the path, 
 
 Lean pensioners upon the traveller's track. 
 
 Pick up their nauseous dole, though sweet to them. 
 
 Of voided pulse or half-digested grain. 95 
 
 The streams are lost amid the splendid blank, 
 
 O'erwhelming all distinction. On the flood. 
 
 Indurated and fix'd, the snowy weight 
 
 Lies undissolved; while silently beneath, 
 
 And unperceived, the current steals away. 100 
 
 Not so where, scornful of a check, it leaps 
 
 The mill-dam, dashes on the restless wheel," 
 
 And wantons in the pebbly gulf below : 
 
 No frost can bind it there; its utmost force 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 145 
 
 Can but arrest the light and smoky mist 105- 
 
 That in its fall the liquid sheet throws wide. 
 
 And see where it has hung the embroider' d banks 
 
 With forms so various, that no powers of art, 
 
 The pencil or the pen, may trace the scene ! 
 
 Here glittering turrets rise, upbearing high 110 
 
 (Fantastic misarrangement !) on the roof 
 
 Large growth of what may seem the sparkling trees 
 
 And shrubs of fairy land. The crystal drops 
 
 That trickle down the branches, fast congeal' d, 
 
 Shoot into pillars of pellucid length, 11& 
 
 And prop the pile they but adorn' d before. 
 
 Here grotto within grotto safe defies 
 
 The sunbeam; there, emboss' d and fretted wild, 
 
 The growing wonder takes a thousand shapes 
 
 Capricious, in which fancy seeks in vain 120 
 
 The likeness of some object seen before. 
 
 Thus Nature works as if to mock at Art^ 
 
 And in defiance of her rival powers ; 
 
 By these fortuitous and random strokes 
 
 Performing such inimitable feats 125 
 
 As she with all her rules can never reach. 
 
 Less worthy of applause, though more admired,, 
 
 Because a novelty, the work of man, 
 
 Imperial mistress of the fur-clad Russ I 
 
 Thy most magnificent and mighty freak, 130 
 
 The wonder of the North. No forest fell 
 
 When thou wouldst build | no quarry sent its stares 
 
 la 
 
146 THE TASK. B. V. 
 
 To enrich tliy walls : but thou didst hew the floods, 
 
 And make thy marble of the glassy wave. 
 
 In such a palace Aristaeus found 135 
 
 Cyrene, when he bore the plaintive tale 
 
 Of his lost bees to her maternal ear : 
 
 In such a palace Poetry might place 
 
 The armoury of Winter j where his troops, 
 
 The gloomy clouds, find weapons, arrowy sleet, 140 
 
 Skin-piercing volley, blossom-bruising hail. 
 
 And snow, that often blinds the traveller's course. 
 
 And wraps him in an unexpected tomb. 
 
 Silently as a dream the fabric rose ; 
 
 No sound of hammer or of saw was there. 146 
 
 Ice upon ice, the well adjusted parts 
 
 Were soon conjoined; nor other cement ask'd 
 
 Than water interfused to make them one. 
 
 Lamps gracefully disposed, and of all hues. 
 
 Illumined every side : a watery light 150 
 
 Gleam' d through the clear transparency, that seem'd 
 
 Another moon new risen, or meteor fallen 
 
 From Heaven to Earth, of lambent flame serene. 
 
 So stood the brittle prodigy ; though smooth 
 
 And slippery the materials, yet frost-bound 155 
 
 Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught witli^n. 
 
 That royal residence might well befit. 
 
 For grandeur or for use. Long wavy wreaths 
 
 Of flowers, that fear'd no enemy but warmth, 
 
 Blush'd on the panels. Mirror needed none 160 
 
 I 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 147 
 
 Where all was vitreous ; but in order due 
 Convivial table and commodious seat 
 (What seem'd at least commodious seat) were there ; 
 Sofa, and couch, and high built throne august, 
 The same lubricity was found in all, 165 
 
 And all was moist to the warm touch ; a scene 
 Of evanescent glory, once a stream, 
 And soon to slide into a stream again. 
 Alas V 'twas but a mortifying stroke 
 Of undesignM severity, that glanced 170 
 
 (Made by a monarch) on her own estate, 
 On human grandeur and the courts of kings. 
 'Twas transient in its nature, as in show 
 'Twas durable ; as worthless, as it seem'd 
 Intrinsically precious ; to the foot 175 
 
 Treacherous and false; it smiled, and it was cold. 
 Great princes have great playthings. Some have 
 play'd 
 At hewing mountains into men, and some 
 At building human wonders mountain high. 
 Some have amused the dull sad years of life 180 
 
 (Life spent in indolence, and therefore sad) 
 With schemes of monumental fame ; and sought 
 By pyramids and mausolean pomp. 
 Short-lived themselves, to immortalize their bones. 
 Some seek diversion in the tented field, 185 
 
 And make the sorrows of mankind their sport. 
 But war's a game which, were their subjects wise, 
 
148 THE TASK. B. V. 
 
 Kings would not play at. Nations would do well 
 To extort their truncheons from the puny hands 
 Of heroes, whose infirm and baby minds 190 
 
 Are gratified with mischief, and who spoil, 
 Because men suffer it, their toy the "World. 
 
 When Babel was confounded, and the great 
 Confederacy of projectors wild and vain 
 Was split into diversity of tongues, 195 
 
 Then, as a shepherd separates his flock, 
 These to the upland, to the valley those, 
 God drave asunder, and assigned their lot 
 To all the nations. Ample was the boon 
 He gave them, in its distribution fair 200 
 
 And equal ; and he bade them dwell in peace. 
 Peace was awhile their care : they plough' d and sow'd, 
 And reap'd their plenty without grudge or strife. 
 But violence can never longer sleep 
 Than human passions please. In every heart 205 
 Are sown the sparks that kindle fiery war ; 
 Occasion needs but fan them, and they blaze. 
 Cain had already shed a brother's blood ; 
 The deluge wash'd it out; but left unquench'd 
 The seeds of murder in the breast of man. 210 
 
 Soon by a righteous judgment in the line 
 Of his descending progeny was found 
 The first artificer of death ; the shrewd 
 Contriver, who first sweated at the forge 
 And forced the blunt and yet unblooded steel 215 
 
THE WINTER MORNIXG WALK. 149 
 
 To a keen edge, and made it briglit for war. 
 Him, Tubal named, tlie Vulcan of old times. 
 The sword and falchion their inventor claim ; 
 And the first smith was the first murderer's son. 
 His art survived the waters ; and ere long, 220 
 
 When man was multiplied and spread abroad 
 In tribes and clans, and had begun to call 
 These meadows and that range of hills his own, 
 The tasted sweets of property begat 
 Desire of more ; and industry in some, 225 
 
 To improve and cultivate their just demesne, 
 Made others covet what they saw so fair. 
 Thus war began on earth : these fought for spoil, 
 And those in self-defence. Savage at first 
 The onset, and irregular. At length 230 
 
 One eminent above the rest for strength, 
 For stratagem, or courage, or for all. 
 Was chosen leader ; him they served in war, 
 And him in peace, for sake of warlike deeds 
 Reverenced no less. Who could with him compare ? 
 Or who so worthy to control themselves, 236 
 
 As he, whose prowess had subdued their foes ? 
 Thus war, affording field for the display 
 Of virtue, made one chief, whom times of peace, 
 Which have their exigencies too, and call 240 
 
 For skill in government, at length made king. 
 King was a name too proud for man to wear 
 W^ith modesty and meekness ; and the crown, 
 13* 
 
150 THE TASK. B. V. 
 
 So dazzling in their eyes who set it on, 
 
 Was sure to intoxicate the brows it bound. 245 
 
 It is the abject property of most, 
 
 Thatj being parcel of the common mass, 
 
 And destitute of means to raise themselves, 
 
 They sink, and settle lower than they need. 
 
 They know not what it is to feel within 250 
 
 A comprehensive faculty that grasps 
 
 G-reat purposes with ease, that turns and wields, 
 
 Almost without an effort, plans too vast 
 
 For their conception, which they cannot move. 
 
 Conscious of impotence, they soon grow drunk 255 
 
 With gazing, when they see an able man 
 
 Step forth to notice ; and, besotte d thus. 
 
 Build him a pedestal, and say, " Stand there, 
 
 And be our admiration and our praise.'' 
 
 They roll themselves before him in the dust, 260 
 
 Then most deserving in their own account, 
 
 When most extravagant in his applause. 
 
 As if exalting him they raised themselves. 
 
 Thus by degrees, self-cheated of their sound 
 
 And sober judgment, that he is but man, 265 
 
 They demideify and fume him so. 
 
 That in due season he forgets it too. 
 
 Inflated and astrut with self-conceit. 
 
 He gulps the windy diet ; and ere long. 
 
 Adopting their mistake, profoundly thinks 270 
 
 The world was made in vain, if not for him. 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 151 
 
 Thencefortli they are liis cattle : drudges, born 
 
 To bear bis burdens, drawing in bis gears, 
 
 And sweating in his service, bis caprice 
 
 Becomes the soul that animates them all. 275 
 
 He deems a thousand, or ten thousand lives, 
 
 Spent in the purchase of renown for him, 
 
 An easy reckoning j and they think the same. 
 
 Thus kings were first invented, and thus kings 
 
 Were burnish' d into heroes, and became 280 
 
 The arbiters of this terraqueous swamp ; 
 
 Storks among frogs, that have but croakM and died. 
 
 Strange, that such folly, as lifts bloated man 
 
 To eminence, fit only for a god. 
 
 Should ever drivel out of human lips, 285 
 
 E'en in the cradled weakness of the world ! 
 
 Still stranger much, that when at length mankind 
 
 Had reach' d the sinewy firmness of their youth. 
 
 And could discriminate and argue well 
 
 On subjects more mysterious, they were yet 290 
 
 Babes in the cause of freedom, and should fear 
 
 And quake before the gods themselves had made. 
 
 But above measure strange, that neither proof 
 
 Of sad experience, nor examples set 
 
 By some, whose patriot virtue has prevail'd, 295 
 
 Can even now, when they are grown mature 
 
 In wisdom, and with philosophic deeds 
 
 Familiar, serve to emancipate the rest ! 
 
 Such dupes are men to custom, and so prone 
 
15C THE TASK. B. V. 
 
 To reverence what is ancient, and can plead 300 
 
 A course of long observance for its use, 
 
 That even servitude, the worst of ills, 
 
 Because delivered down from sire to son, 
 
 Is kept and guarded as a sacred thing ! 
 
 But is it fit, or can it bear the shock 805 
 
 Of rational discussion, that a man, 
 
 Compounded and made up like other men 
 
 Of elements tumultuous, in whom lust 
 
 And folly in as ample measure meet. 
 
 As in the bosoms of the slaves he rules, 310 
 
 Should be a despot absolute, and boast 
 
 Himself the only freeman of his land ? 
 
 Should, when he pleases, and on whom he will, 
 
 Wage war, with any or with no pretence 
 
 Of provocation given, or wrong sustained, 315 
 
 And force the beggarly last doit by means, 
 
 That his own humour dictates, from the clutch 
 
 Of Poverty, that thus he may procure 
 
 His thousands, weary of penurious life, 
 
 A splendid opportunity to die ? 320 
 
 Say ye, who (with less prudence than of old 
 
 Jotham ascribed to his assembled trees 
 
 Tn politic convention) put your trust 
 
 In the shadow of a bramble, and, reclined 
 
 In fancied peace beneath his dangerous branch, 325 
 
 Rejoice in him, and celebrate his sway. 
 
 Where find ye passive fortitude ? Whence springs 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. }fB 
 
 Your self-denying zeal, that holds it good 
 
 To stroke the prickly grievance, and to hang 
 
 His thorns with streamers of continual praise ? 330 
 
 We too are friends to loyalty. We love 
 
 The king who loves the law, respects his bounds, 
 
 And reigns content within them : him we serve 
 
 Freely and with delight, who leaves us free : 
 
 But recollecting still that he is man, 335 
 
 We trust him not too far. King though he be, 
 
 And king in England too, he may be weak, 
 
 And vain enough to be ambitious still ; 
 
 May exercise amiss his proper powers, 
 
 Or covet more than freemen choose to grant : 340 
 
 Beyond that mark is treason. He is ours, 
 
 To administer, to guard, to adorn the state. 
 
 But not to warp or change it. We are his, 
 
 To serve him nobly in the common cause, 
 
 True to the death, but not to be his slaves. 345 
 
 Mark now the dijfference, ye that boast your love 
 
 Of kings, between your loyalty and ours. 
 
 We love the man, the paltry pageant you : 
 
 We the chief patron of the commonwealth, 
 
 You the regardless author of its woes : 350 
 
 We for the sake of liberty a king. 
 
 You chains and bondage for a tyrant's sake. 
 
 Our love is principle, and has its root 
 
 In reason, is judicious, manly, free; 
 
 Yours, a blind instinct, crouches to the rod, 355 
 
154 THE TASK. B. V. 
 
 And licks tlie foot that treads it in the dust. 
 
 Were kingship as true treasure as it seems, 
 
 Sterling, and worthy of a wise man's wish, 
 
 I would not be a king to be beloved 
 
 Causeless, and daub'd with undiscerning praise, 360 
 
 Where love is mere attachment to the throne, 
 
 Not to the man who fills it as he ought. 
 
 Whose freedom is by sufferance, and at will 
 Of a superior, he is never free. 
 
 Who lives, and is not weary of a life 365 
 
 Exposed to manacles, deserves them well. 
 The state that strives for liberty, though foil'd, 
 And forced to abandon what she bravely sought. 
 Deserves at least applause for her attempt. 
 And pity for her loss. But that's a cause 370 
 
 Not often unsuccessful : power usurp' d 
 Is weakness when opposed ; conscious of wrong, 
 'Tis pusillanimous and prone to flight. 
 But slaves, that once conceive the glowing thought 
 Of freedom, in that hope itself possess 375 
 
 All that the contest calls for ', spirit, strength. 
 The scorn of danger, and united hearts ; 
 The surest presage of the good they seek.* 
 
 * The author hopes that he shall not be censured for unneces- 
 sary warmth upon so interesting a subject. He is aware that it is 
 become almost fashionable to stigmatize such sentiments as no 
 better than empty declamation ; but it is an ill symptom, and pe- 
 culiar to modern times. 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 155 
 
 Then shame to manhood, and opprobrious more 
 To France than all her losses and defeats, 380 
 
 Old or of later date, by sea or land, 
 Her house of bondage, worse than that of old 
 Which Grod avenged on Pharaoh — the Bastille. 
 Ye horrid towers, the abode of broken hearts ; 
 Ye dungeons, and ye cages of despair, 385 
 
 That monarchs have supplied from age to age 
 With music, such as suits their sovereign ears, 
 The sighs and groans of miserable men ! 
 There's not an English heart that would not leap 
 To hear that ye were fallen at last ; to know 390 
 
 That e'en our enemies, so oft employ' d 
 In forging chains for us, themselves were free. 
 For he who values Liberty confines 
 His zeal for her predominance within 
 No narrow bounds; her cause engages him 395 
 
 Wherever pleaded. 'Tis the cause of man. 
 There dwell the most forlorn of human kind, 
 Immured though unaccused, condemn' d untried, 
 Cruelly spared, and hopeless of escape ! 
 There, like the visionary emblem seen 400 
 
 By him of Babylon, life stands a stump, 
 And, filleted about with hoops of brass. 
 Still lives, though all his pleasant boughs are gone, 
 To count the hour-bell, and expect no change ; 
 And ever, as the sullen sound is heard, 405 
 
 Still to reflect, that though a joyless note 
 
156 THE TASK. B. V. 
 
 To him, wliose moments have all one dull pace, 
 
 Ten thousand rovers in the world at large 
 
 Account it music ; that it summons some 
 
 To theatre, or jocund feast, or ball ; 410 
 
 The wearied hireling finds it a release 
 
 From labour ; and the lover, who has chid 
 
 Its long delay, feels every welcome stroke 
 
 Upon his heart-strings, trembling with delight — 
 
 To fly for refuge from distracting thought 415 
 
 To such amusements as ingenious woe 
 
 Contrives, hard shifting, and without her tools — 
 
 To read engraven on the mouldy walls, 
 
 In staggering types, his predecessor's tale, 
 
 A sad memorial, and subjoin his own — 420 
 
 To turn purveyor to an overgorged 
 
 And bloated spider, till the pamper' d pest 
 
 Is made familiar, watches his approach. 
 
 Comes at his call, and serves him for a friend — 
 
 To wear out time in numbering to and fro 425 
 
 The studs that thick emboss his iron door ; 
 
 Then downward and then upward, then aslant, 
 
 And then alternative ; with a sickly hope 
 
 By dint of change to give his tasteless task 
 
 Some relish; till the sum, exactly found 430 
 
 In all directions, he begins again — 
 
 Oh comfortless existence ! hemm'd around 
 
 With woes, which who that suffers would not kneel 
 
 And beg for exile, or the pangs of death ? 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 157 
 
 That man should tlius encroach on fellow man, 435 
 
 Abridge him of his just and native rights, 
 
 Eradicate him, tear him from his hold 
 
 Upon the endearments of domestic life 
 
 And social, nip his fruitfulness and use, 
 
 And doom him for perhaps a heedless word 440 
 
 To barrenness, and solitude, and tears. 
 
 Moves indignation, makes the name of king 
 
 (Of king whom such prerogative can please) 
 
 As dreadful as the Manichean god. 
 
 Adored through fear, strong only to destroy. 445 
 
 ^Tis liberty alone that gives the flower 
 Of fleeting life its lustre and perfume ; 
 And we are weeds without it. All constraint, 
 Except what wisdom lays on evil men. 
 Is evil ; hurts the faculties, impedes 450 
 
 Their progress in the road of science ; blinds 
 The eyesight of Discovery ; and begets, 
 In those that sufl'er it, a sordid mind 
 Bestial, a meagre intellect, unfit 
 To be the tenant of man's noble form. 455 
 
 Thee therefore still, blameworthy as thou art. 
 With all thy loss of empire, and though squeezed 
 By public exigence, till annual food 
 Fails for the craving hunger of the state. 
 Thee I account still happy, and the chief 460 
 
 Among the nations, seeing thou art free : 
 My native nook of earth ! Thy clime is rude, 
 14 
 
158 THE TASK. B. V- 
 
 Replete with vapours, and disposes much 
 
 All hearts to sadness, and none more than mine : 
 
 Thine uuadulterate manners are less soft 465 
 
 And plausible than social life requires, 
 
 And thou hast need of discipline and art 
 
 To give thee what politer France receives 
 
 From nature's bounty — that humane address 
 
 And sweetness, without which no pleasure is 470 
 
 In converse, either starved by cold reserve, 
 
 Or flushed with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl. 
 
 Yet being free I love thee : for the sake 
 
 Of that one feature can be well- content, 
 
 Disgraced as thou hast been, poor as thou art, 475 
 
 To seek no sublunary rest beside. 
 
 But once enslaved, farewell ! I could endure 
 
 Chains nowhere patiently ; and chains at home. 
 
 Where I am free by birthright, not at all. 
 
 Then what were left of roughness in the grain 480 
 
 Of British natures, wanting its excuse 
 
 That it belongs to freemen, would disgust 
 
 And shock me. I should then with double pain 
 
 Feel all the rigour of thy fickle clime ; 
 
 And, if I must bewail the blessing lost, 485 
 
 For which our Hampdens and our Sidneys bled, 
 
 I would at least bewail it under skies 
 
 Milder, among a people less austere ; 
 
 In scenes which, having never known me free, 
 
 Would not reproach me with the loss I felt. 490 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 159 
 
 Do I forbode impossible events, 
 
 And tremble at vain dreams ? Heaven grant I may 1 
 
 But the age of virtuous politics is past, 
 
 And we are deep in that of cold pretence. 
 
 Patriots are grown too shrewd to be sincere, 495 
 
 And we too wise to trust them. He that takes 
 
 Deep in his soft credulity the stamp 
 
 Designed by loud declaimers on the part 
 
 Of liberty, themselves the slaves of lust. 
 
 Incurs derision for his easy faith 500 
 
 And lack of knowledge, and with cause enough : 
 
 For when was public virtue to be found 
 
 Where private was not ? Can he love the whole 
 
 Who loves no part ? He be a nation's friend 
 
 Who is, in truth, the friend of no man there ? 505 
 
 Can he be strenuous in his country's cause 
 
 Who slights the charities for whose dear sake 
 
 That country, if at all, must be beloved ? 
 
 'Tis therefore sober and good men are sad 
 For England's glory, seeing it wax pale 510 
 
 And sickly, while her champions wear their hearts 
 So loose to private duty, that no brain. 
 Healthful and undisturb'd by factious fumes, 
 Can dream them trusty to the general weal. 
 Such were not they of old, whose temper' d blades 515 
 Pispersed the shackles of usurp' d control, 
 And hew'd them link from link; then Albion's sons 
 Were sons indeed; they felt a filial heart 
 
160 THE TASK. B. V. 
 
 Beat higli within tliem at a mother's wrongs; 
 
 And, shining each in his domestic sphere, 520 
 
 Shone brighter still, once call'd to public view. 
 
 'Tis therefore many, whose sequester' d lot 
 
 Forbids their interference, looking on. 
 
 Anticipate perforce some dire event; 
 
 And, seeing the old castle of the state, 525 
 
 That promised once more firmness, so assail'd 
 
 That all its tempest-beaten turrets shake, 
 
 Stand motionless expectants of its fall. 
 
 All has its date below ; the fatal hour 
 
 Was registered in Heaven ere time began. 530 
 
 We turn to dust, and all our mightiest works 
 
 Die too : the deep foundations that we lay. 
 
 Time ploughs them up, and not a trace remains. 
 
 We build with what we deem eternal rock : 
 
 A distant age asks where the fabric stood ; 535 
 
 And in the dust, sifted and search' d in vain, 
 
 The undiscoverable secret sleeps. 
 
 But there is yet a liberty, unsung 
 By poets, and by senators unpraised. 
 Which monarchs cannot grant, nor all the powers 540 
 Of earth and hell confederate take away : 
 A liberty which persecution, fraud. 
 Oppression, prisons, have no power to bind : 
 Which whoso tastes can be enslaved no more. 
 'Tis liberty of heart, derived from Heaven, 545 
 
 Bought with his blood who gave it to mankind. 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 161 
 
 And seal'd with the same token. It is held 
 By charter, and that charter sanction' d sure 
 By the unimpeachable and awful oath 
 And promise of a G-od. His other gifts 550 
 
 All bear the royal stamp that speaks them his, 
 And are august ; but this transcends them all. 
 His other works, the visible display 
 Of all-creating energy and might, 
 Are grand, no doubt, and worthy of the word 555 
 That, finding an interminable space 
 Unoccupied, has fill'd the void so well. 
 And made so sparkling what was dark before. 
 But these are not his glory. Man, 'tis true, 
 Smit with the beauty of so fair a scene, 560 
 
 Might well suppose the artificer divine 
 Meant it eternal, had he not himself 
 Pronounced it transient, glorious as it is, 
 And, still designing a more glorious far, 
 Doom'd it as insufficient for his praise. 565 
 
 These, therefore, are occasional, and pass; 
 Form'd for the confutation of the fool, 
 Whose lying heart disputes against a God ; 
 That office served, they must be swept away. 
 Not so the labours of his love : they shine 570 
 
 In other heavens than these that we behold. 
 And fade not. There is Paradise that fears 
 No forfeiture, and of its fruits he sends 
 Large prelibation oft to saints below. 
 14* 
 
162 THE TASK. B. V. 
 
 Of these, tlie first in order, and the pledge 575 
 
 And confident assurance of the rest, 
 
 Is liberty ; a flight into his arms. 
 
 Ere yet mortality's fine threads give way. 
 
 A clear escape from tyrannizing lust, 
 
 And full immunity from penal woe. 580 
 
 Chains are the portion of revolted man, 
 
 Stripes, and a dungeon ; and his body serves 
 
 The triple purpose. In that sickly, foul, 
 
 Opprobrious residence he finds them all. 
 
 Propense his heart to idols, he is held 585 
 
 In silly dotage on created things. 
 
 Careless of their Creator. And that low 
 
 And sordid gravitation of his powers 
 
 To a vile clod so draws him, with such force 
 
 Resistless from the centre he should seek, 590 
 
 That he at last forgets it. All his hopes 
 
 Tend downward ; his ambition is to sink. 
 
 To reach a depth profounder still, and still 
 
 Profounder, in the fathomless abyss 
 
 Of folly, plunging in pursuit of death. 595 
 
 But, ere he gain the comfortless repose 
 
 He seeks, and acquiescence of his soul. 
 
 In heaven-renouncing exile, he endures — 
 
 What does he not, from lusts opposed in vain, 
 
 And self-reproaching conscience ? He foresees 600 
 
 The fatal issue to his health, fame, peace. 
 
 Fortune, and dignity ; the loss of all 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 163 
 
 That can ennoble man, and make frail life, 
 
 Short as it is, supportable. Still worse, 
 
 Far worse than all the plagues, with which his sins 
 
 Infect his happiest moments, he forebodes 606 
 
 Ages of hopeless misery. Future death. 
 
 And death still future. Not a hasty stroke, 
 
 Like that which sends him to the dusty grave ; 
 
 But unrepealable enduring death. 610 
 
 Scripture is still a trumpet to his fears : 
 
 What none can prove a forgery may be true ; 
 
 What none but bad men wish exploded must. 
 
 That scruple checks him. Kiot is not loud 
 
 Nor drunk enough to drown it. In the midst 615 
 
 Of laughter his compunctions are sincere ; 
 
 And he abhors the jest by which he shines. 
 
 Remorse begets reform. His master-lust 
 
 Falls first before his resolute rebuke, 619 
 
 And seems dethroned and vanquished. Peace ensues, 
 
 But spurious and short-lived ; the puny child 
 
 Of self-congratulating pride, begot 
 
 On fancied innocence. Again he falls. 
 
 And fights again ; but finds his best essay 
 
 A presage ominous, portending still 625 
 
 Its own dishonour by a worse relapse. 
 
 Till Nature, unavailing Nature, foil'd 
 
 So oft, and wearied in the vain attempt, 
 
 Scoifs at her own performance. Reason now 
 
 Takes part with appetite, and pleads the cause 630 
 
164 THE TASK. B. V. 
 
 Perversely, whicli of late she so condemn'd; 
 Witli shallow shifts and old devices, worn 
 And tatter' d in the service of debauch, 
 Covering his shame from his offended sight. 
 
 '^ Hath God indeed given appetites to man, 635 
 And stored the earth so plenteously with means 
 To gratify the hunger of his wish ; 
 And doth he reprobate, and will he damn 
 The use of his own bounty ? making first 
 So frail a kind, and then enacting laws 640 
 
 So strict, that less than perfect must despair ? 
 Falsehood ! which whoso but suspects of truth 
 Dishonours God, and makes a slave of man. 
 Do they themselves, who undertake for hire 
 The teacher's office, and dispense at large 645 
 
 Their weekly dole of edifying strains, 
 Attend to their own music ? have they faith 
 In what, with such solemnity of tone 
 And gesture, they propound to our belief? 
 Nay — conduct hath the loudest tongue. The voice 650 
 Is but an instrument, on which the priest 
 May play what tune he pleases. In the deed. 
 The unequivocal, authentic deed. 
 We find sound argument, we read the heart." 
 
 Such reasonings (if that name must needs belong 
 To excuses in which reason has no part) 656 
 
 Serve to compose a spirit well inclined 
 To live on terms of amity with vice, 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 165 
 
 And sill without disturbance. Often urged, 
 
 (As often as libidinous discourse 660 
 
 Exhausted, he resorts to solemn themes 
 
 Of theological and grave import) 
 
 They gain at last his unreserved assent ; 
 
 Till, harden' d his heart's temper in the forge 
 
 Of lust, and on the anvil of despair, 665 
 
 He slights the strokes of conscience. Nothing moves, 
 
 Or nothing much, his constancy in ill ; 
 
 Vain tampering has but foster' d his disease ; 
 
 'Tis desperate, and he sleeps the sleep of death. 
 
 Haste now, philosopher, and set him free. 670 
 
 Charm the deaf serpent wisely. Make him hear 
 
 Of rectitude and fitness, moral truth 
 
 How lovely, and the moral sense how sure, 
 
 Consulted and obeyed, to guide his steps 
 
 Directly to the First and Only Fair. 675 
 
 Spare not in such a cause. Spend all the powers 
 
 Of rant and rhapsody in virtue's praise : 
 
 Be most sublimely good, verbosely grand. 
 
 And with poetic trappings grace thy prose. 
 
 Till it outmantle all the pride of verse. 680 
 
 Ah, tinkling cymbal, and high sounding brass, 
 
 Smitten in vain ! such music cannot charm 
 
 The eclipse that intercepts truth's heavenly beam, 
 
 And chills and darkens a wide wandering soul. 
 
 The still small voice is wanted. He must speak, 685 
 
1^^ THE TASK. B. y. 
 
 Whose word leaps forth at once to its effect; 
 
 Who calls for things that are not, and they come. 
 Grace makes the slave a freeman. 'Tis a change 
 
 That turns to ridicule the turgid speech 
 
 And stately tone of moralists, who boast, C90 
 
 As if, like him of fabulous renown. 
 
 They had indeed ability to smooth 
 
 The shag of savage nature, and were each 
 
 An Orpheus, and omnipotent in song : 
 
 But transformation of apostate m^n 695 
 
 From fool to wise, from earthly to divine, 
 
 Is work for Him that made him. He alone, 
 
 And he by means in philosophic eyes 
 
 Trivial and worthy of disdain, achieves 
 
 The wonder; humanizing what is brute 700 
 
 In the lost kind, extracting from the lips 
 
 Of asps their venom, overpowering strength 
 By weakness, and hostility by love. 
 
 Patriots have toil'd, and in their country's cause 
 Bled nobly; and their deeds, as they deserve, 705 
 Receive proud recompense. We give in charge 
 Their names to the sweet lyre. The historic Muse, 
 Proud of the treasure, marches with it down 
 To latest times ; and Sculpture, in her turn, 
 Grives bond in stone and ever during brass 710 
 
 To guard them, and to immortalize her trust : 
 But fairer wreaths are due, though never paid 
 To those who, posted at the shrine of Truth 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 167 
 
 Have fallen in her defence. A patriot's blood, 
 
 Well spent in such a strife, may earn indeed, 715 
 
 And for a time insure, to his loved land 
 
 The sweets of liberty and equal laws ; 
 
 But martyrs stiniggle for a brighter prize, 
 
 And win it with more pain. Their blood is shed 
 
 In confirmation of the noblest claim — 720 
 
 Our claim to feed upon immortal truth, 
 
 To walk with Grod, to be divinely free. 
 
 To soar, and to anticipate the skies. 
 
 Yet few remember them. They lived unknown 
 
 Till Persecution dragged them into fame, 725 
 
 And chased them up to Heaven. Their ashes flew 
 
 — No marble tells us whither. With their names 
 
 No bard embalms and sanctifies his song : 
 
 And history, so warm on meaner themes, 
 
 Is cold on this. She execrates indeed 730 
 
 The tyranny that doom'd them to the fire. 
 
 But gives the glorious sufferers little praise.* 
 
 He is the freeman whom the truth makes free. 
 And all are slaves beside. There's not a chain 
 That hellish foes, confederate for his harm, 735 
 
 Can wind around him, but he casts it off 
 With as much ease as Samsos his green withes. 
 He looks abroad into the varied field 
 Of nature, and, though poor perhaps compared 
 With those whose mansions glitter in his sight, 740 
 
 * See Hume. 
 
168 THE TASK. 
 
 B. V 
 
 Calls the delightful scenery all his OTvn. 
 
 His are the mountains, and the valleys his, 
 
 And the resplendent rivers. His to enjoy 
 
 With a propriety that none can feel, 
 
 But who, with filial confidence inspired, 745 
 
 Can lift to Heaven an unpresumptuous eye, 
 
 And smiling say — " My Father made them all !" 
 
 Are they not his by a peculiar right. 
 
 And by an emphasis of interest his. 
 
 Whose eye they fill with tears of holy joy, 750 
 
 Whose heart with praise, and whose exalted mind 
 
 With worthy thoughts of that unwearied love 
 
 That plann'd, and built, and still upholds a world 
 
 So clothed with beauty for rebellious man ? 
 
 Yes — ye may fill your garners, ye that reap 755 
 
 The loaded soil, and ye may waste much good 
 
 In senseless riot ; but ye will not find, 
 
 In feasts, or in the chase, in song or dance, 
 
 A liberty like his who, unimpeach'd 
 
 Of usurpation, and to no man's wrong, 760 
 
 Appropriates nature as his Father's work. 
 
 And has a richer use of yours than you. 
 
 He is indeed a freeman. Free by birth 
 
 Of no mean city ; plann'd or ere the hills 
 
 Were built, the fountains open'd, or the sea 765 
 
 With all his roaring multitude of waves. 
 
 His freedom is the same in every state ; 
 
 And no condition of this chanceful life. 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 169 
 
 So manifold in cares, whose every day 
 
 Brings its own evil with it, makes it less; 770 
 
 For he has wings that neither sickness, pain, 
 
 Nor penury, can cripple or confine. 
 
 No nook so narrow but he spreads them there 
 
 With ease, and is at large. The oppressor holds 
 
 His body bound ; but knows not what a range 775 
 
 His spirit takes, unconscious of a chain ; 
 
 And that to bind him is a vain attempt. 
 
 Whom God delights in, and in whom he dwells. 
 
 Acquaint thyself with G-od, if thou wouldst taste 
 His works. Admitted once to his embrace, 780 
 
 Thou shalt perceive that thou wast blind before : 
 Thine eye shall be instructed ; and thine heart 
 Made pure shall relish, with divine delight 
 'Till then unfelt, what hands divine have wrought. 
 Brutes graze the mountain-top, with faces prone, 785 
 And eyes intent upon the scanty herb 
 It yields them ; or, recumbent on its brow, 
 Ruminate heedless of the scene outspread 
 Beneath, beyond, and stretching far away 
 From inland regions to the distant main. 790 
 
 Man views it, and admires ; but rests content 
 With what he views. The landscape has his praise, 
 But not its Author. Unconcerned who formed 
 The paradise he sees, he finds it such. 
 And, such well pleased to find it, asks no more. 796 
 Not so the mind that has been touchM from Heaven, 
 15 
 
170 THE TASK. B. V. 
 
 And in the scliool of sacred wisdom taught 
 
 To read his wonders, in whose thought the world, 
 
 Fair as it is, existed ere it was. 
 
 Not for its own sake merely, but for his 800 
 
 Much more who fashion' d it, he gives it praise ; 
 
 Praise that, from earth resulting, as it ought, 
 
 To earth's acknowledged Sovereign, finds at once 
 
 Its only just proprietor in Him. 
 
 The soul that sees him or receives sublimed 805 
 
 New faculties, or learns at least to employ 
 
 More worthily the powers she own'd before, 
 
 Discerns in all things what, with stupid gaze 
 
 Of ignorance, till then she overlook' d, 
 
 A ray of heavenly light, gilding all forms 810 
 
 Terrestrial in the vast and the minute ; 
 
 The unambiguous footsteps of the God, 
 
 Who gives its lustre to an insect's wing, 
 
 And wheels his throne upon the rolling worlds. 
 
 Much conversant with Heaven, she often holds 415 
 
 With those fair ministers ^f light to man. 
 
 That fill the skies nightly with silent pomp, 
 
 Sweet conference. Inquii-es what strains were they 
 
 With which Heaven rang, when every star, in haste 
 
 To gratulate the new-created earth, 820 
 
 Sent forth a voice, and all the sons of God 
 
 Shouted for joy.^" Tell me, ye shining hosts. 
 
 That navigate a sea that knows no storms, 
 
 Beneath a vault unsullied with a cloud, 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 171 
 
 If from your elevation, whence ye view 825 
 
 Distinctly scenes invisible to man, 
 
 And systems, of whose birth no tidings yet 
 
 Have reach' d this nether world, ye spy a race 
 
 Favour' d as ours; transgressors from the womb, 
 
 And hasting to a grave, yet doomed to rise, 830 
 
 And to possess a brighter Heaven than yours ? 
 
 As one who, long detained on foreign shores, 
 
 Pants to return, and when he sees afar 
 
 His country's weather-bleach' d and batter' d rocks, 
 
 From the green wave emerging, darts an eye 8o5 
 
 Radiant with joy towards the happy land; 
 
 So I with animated hopes behold. 
 
 And many an aching wish, your beamy fires, 
 
 That show like beacons in the blue abyss. 
 
 Ordain' d to guide the embodied spirit home $40 
 
 From toilsome life to never ending rest. 
 
 Love kindles as I gaze. I feel desires 
 
 That give assurance of their own success, 
 
 And that, infused from Heaven, must thither tend/' 
 
 So reads he nature, whom the lamp of truth 845 
 Illuminates. Thy lamp, mysterious Word ! 
 Which whoso sees no longer wanders lost. 
 With intellects bemazed in endless doubt, 
 But runs the road of wisdom. Thou hast built, 
 W^ith means that were not till by thee employ' d, 850 
 Worlds that had never been hadst thou in strength 
 Been less, or less benevolent than strong. 
 
172 THE TASK. B. V. 
 
 They are thy witnesses, who speak thy power 
 
 And goodness infinite, but speak in ears 
 
 That hear not, or receive not their report. 855 
 
 In vain thy creatures testify of thee, 
 
 Till thou proclaim thyself. Theirs is indeed 
 
 A teaching voice : but His the praise of thine 
 
 That whom it teaches it makes prompt to learn, 
 
 And with the boon gives talents for its use. 860 
 
 Till thou art heard, imaginations vain 
 
 Possess the heart, and fables false as hell ', 
 
 Yet, deem'd oracular, lure down to death 
 
 The uninform'd and heedless souls of men. 
 
 We give to chance, blind chance, ourselves as blind, 
 
 The glory of thy work ; which yet appears 866 
 
 Perfect and unimpeachable of blame, 
 
 Challenging human scrutiny, and proved 
 
 Then skilful most when most severely judged. 
 
 But chance is not ; or is not where thou reign' st : 870 
 
 Thy providence forbids that fickle power 
 
 (If power she be that works but to confound) 
 
 To mix her wild vagaries with thy laws. 
 
 Yet thus we dote, refusing while we can 
 
 Instruction, and inventing to ourselves 875 
 
 Gods such as guilt makes welcome ; gods that sleep. 
 
 Or disregard our follies, or that sit 
 
 Amused spectators of this bustling stage. 
 
 Thee we reject, unable to abide 
 
 Thy purity, till pure as thou art pure; 880 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 173 
 
 Made sucli by tliee, we love thee for that cause, 
 
 For which we shunn'd and hated thee before. 
 
 Then we are free. Then Hberty, like, day, 
 
 Breaks on the soul, and by a flash from Heaven 
 
 Fires all the faculties with glorious joy. 885 
 
 A voice is heard that mortal ears hear not, 
 
 Till thou hast touched them; ^tis the voice of song, 
 
 A loud Hosanna sent from all thy works ; 
 
 Which he that hears it with a shout repeats, 
 
 And adds his rapture to the general praise. 890 
 
 In that blest moment Nature, throwing wide 
 
 Her veil opaque, discloses with a smile 
 
 The Author of her beauties, who, retired 
 
 Behind his own creation, works unseen 
 
 By the impure, and hears his power denied. 895 
 
 Thou art the source and centre of all minds. 
 
 Their only point of rest, eternal Word ! 
 
 From thee departing they are lost, and rove 
 
 At random without honour, hope, or peace. 
 
 From thee is all that soothes the life of man, 900 
 
 His high endeavour, and his glad success, 
 
 His strength to suffer, and his will to serve. 
 
 But, thou bounteous giver of all good, 
 
 Thou art of all thy gifts thyself the crown ! 
 
 Give what thou canst, without thee we are poor ; 905 
 
 And with thee rich, take what thou wilt away. 
 
 15 
 
THE TASK. BOOK VI. 
 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 
 
 (175) 
 
ARGUMENT. 
 
 Bells at a distance. Their effect. A fine noon in winter. A 
 eheltered walk. Meditation better than books. Our familiarity 
 with the course of nature makes it appear less wonderful than it 
 is. The transformation that spring effects in a shrubbery described. 
 A mistake concerning the course of nature corrected. God main- 
 tains it by an unremitted act. The amusements fashionable at 
 this hour of the day reproved. Animals happy, a delightful sight. 
 Origin of cruelty to animals. That it is a great crime proved from 
 scripture. That proof illustrated by a tale. A line drawn between 
 the lawful and unlawful destruction of thorn. Their good and 
 useful properties insisted on. Apology for the encomiums bestowed 
 by the author on animals. Instances of man's extravagant praise 
 of man. The groans of the creation shall have an end. A view 
 taken of the restoration of all things. An invocation and an 
 invitation of Him who shall bring it to pass. The retired man 
 vindicated from the charge of uselessness. Conclusion. 
 
 (176) 
 
THE TASK. BOOK VI. 
 THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 
 
 There is in souls a sympathy with sounds ; 
 And as the mind is pitch' d the ear is pleased 
 With melting airs, or martial, brisk, or grave : 
 Some chord in unison with what we hear 
 Is touch' d within us, and the heart replies. 5 
 
 How soft the music of those village hells, 
 Falling at intervals upon the ear 
 In cadence sweet, now dying all away, 
 Now pealing loud again, and louder still. 
 Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on ! 10 
 
 With easy force it opens all the cells 
 Where Memory slept. Wherever I have heard 
 A kindred melody, the scene recurs, 
 And with it all its pleasures and its pains. 
 Such comprehensive views the spirit takes, 15 
 
 That in a few short moments I retrace 
 (As in a map the voyager his course) 
 The windings of my way thi'ough many years. 
 Short as in retrospect the journey seems. 
 It seem'd not always short; the rugged path, 20 
 
 (177) 
 
178 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 And prospect oft so dreary and forlorn, 
 
 Moved many a sigh at its disheartening length. 
 
 Yet feeling present evils, while the past 
 
 Faintly impress the mind, or not at all. 
 
 How readily we wish time spent revoked, 25 
 
 That we might try the ground again, where once 
 
 (Through inexperience, as we now perceive) 
 
 We miss'd that happiness we might have found ! 
 
 Some friend is gone, perhaps his son's best friend, 
 
 A father, whose authority, in show 30 
 
 When most severe, and mustering all its force, 
 
 Was but the graver countenance of love : 
 
 Whose favour, like the clouds of spring, might lower, 
 
 And utter now and then an awful voice, 
 
 But had a blessing in its darkest frown, 35 
 
 Threatening at once and nourishing the plant. 
 
 We loved, but not enough, the gentle hand 
 
 That rear'd us. At a thoughtless age, allured 
 
 By every gilded folly, we renounced 
 
 His sheltering side, and wilfully forewent 40 
 
 That converse, which we now in vain regret. 
 
 How gladly would the man recall to life 
 
 The boy's neglected sire ! a mother too. 
 
 That softer friend, perhaps more gladly still, 
 
 Might he demand them at the gates of death. 45 
 
 Sorrow has, since they went, subdued and tamed 
 
 The playful humour j he could now endure 
 
 (Himself grown sober in the vale of tears) 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 179 
 
 And feel a parent's presence no restraint. 
 
 But not to understand a treasure's worth 50 
 
 Till time has stolen away the slighted good, 
 
 Is cause of half the poverty we feel, 
 
 And makes the world the wilderness it is. 
 
 The few that pray at all pray oft amiss, 
 
 And, seeking grace to improve the prize they hold, 55 
 
 Would urge a wiser suit than asking more. 
 
 The night was winter in its roughest mood ; 
 The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon 
 Upon the southern side of the slant hills. 
 And where the woods fence off the northern blast, 60 
 The season smiles, resigning all its rage. 
 And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue 
 Without a cloud, and white without a speck 
 The dazzling splendour of the scene below. 
 Again the harmony comes o'er the vale ; G5 
 
 And through the trees I view the embattled tower 
 Whence all the music. I again perceive 
 The soothing influence of the wafted strains, 
 And settle in soft musings as I tread 
 The walk, still verdant, under oaks and elms, 70 
 
 Whose outspread branches overarch the glade. 
 The roof, though movable through all its length 
 As the wind sways it, has yet well sufficed. 
 And, intercepting in their silent fall 
 The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. 75 
 
 No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. 
 
180 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 d: 
 
 J 
 
 The redbreast warbles still, but is content 
 
 With slender notes, and more than half suppress' d : 
 
 Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light 
 
 From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes 
 
 From many a twig the pendent drops of ice 
 
 That tinkle in the wither' d leaves below. 
 
 Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft. 
 
 Charms more than silence. Meditation here 
 
 May think down hours to moments. Here the heart 
 
 May give a useful lesson to the head, 86 
 
 And Learning wiser grow without his books. 
 
 Knowledge and Wisdom, far from being one, 
 
 Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells 
 
 In heads replete with thoughts of other men ; 90 
 
 Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. 
 
 Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass. 
 
 The mere materials with which Wisdom builds, 
 
 Till smoothed, and squared, and fitted to its place, 
 
 Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. 95 
 
 Knowledge is proud that he has learn'd so much; 
 
 Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. 
 
 Books are not seldom talismans and spells. 
 
 By which the magic art of shrewder wits 
 
 Holds an unthinking multitude enthrall' d. 100 
 
 Some to the fascination of a name 
 
 Surrender judgment hoodwink'd. Some the style 
 
 Infatuates, and through labyrinths and wilds 
 
 Of error leads them, by a tune entranced. 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 181 
 
 While slotli seduces more, too weak to bear 105 
 
 The insupportable fatigue of thought, 
 
 And swallowing therefore without pause or choice 
 
 The total grist unsifted, husks and all. 
 
 But trees, and rivulets, whose rapid course 
 
 Defies the check of winter, haunts of deer, 110 
 
 And sheepwalks populous with bleating lambs, 
 
 And lanes, in which the primrose ere her time 
 
 Peeps through the moss that clothes the hawthorn root, 
 
 Deceive no student. Wisdom there, and truth, 
 
 Not shy, as in the world, and to be won 116 
 
 By slow solicitation, seize at once 
 
 The roving thought, and fix it on themselves. 
 
 What prodigies can power divine perform 
 More grand than it produces year by year. 
 And all in sigrht of inattentive man ? 120 
 
 o 
 
 Familiar with the effect we slight the cause. 
 And, in the constancy of nature's course, 
 The resrular return of s^enial months. 
 And renovation of a faded world. 
 See nought to wonder at. Should Grod again, 125 
 As once in Gibeon, interrupt the race 
 Of the undeviating and punctual sun. 
 How would the world admire ! but speaks it less 
 An agency divine, to make him know 
 His moment when to sink and when to rise, 130 
 
 Age after age, than to arrest his course ? 
 All we behold is miracle ; but, seen 
 16 
 
182 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 So duly, all is miracle in vain. 
 
 "Where now the vital energy that moved 
 
 While summer was, the pure and subtle lymph 135 
 
 Through the imperceptible meandering veins 
 
 Of leaf and flower? It sleeps ; and the icy touch 
 
 Of unprolific winter has impress' d 
 
 A cold stagnation on the intestine tide. 
 
 But let the months go round, a few short months, 140 
 
 And all shall be restored. These naked shoots, 
 
 Barren as lances, among which the wind 
 
 Makes wintry music, sighing as it goes. 
 
 Shall put their graceful foliage on again. 
 
 And more aspiring, and with ampler spread, 145 
 
 Shall boast new charms, and more than they have lost. 
 
 Then each, in its peculiar honours clad, 
 
 Shall publish, even to the distant eye, 
 
 Its family and tribe. Laburnum, rich 
 
 In streaming gold; syringa, ivory pure; 150 
 
 The scentless and the scented rose; this red, 
 
 And of an humbler growth, the other* tall, 
 
 And throwing up into the darkest gloom 
 
 Of neighbouring cypress, or more sable yew, 
 
 Her silver globes, light as the foamy surf, 155 
 
 That the wind severs from the broken wave ; 
 
 The lilac, various in array, now white, 
 
 Now sanguine, and her beauteous head now set 
 
 With purple spikes pyramidal, as if, 
 
 * The Guelder rose- 
 
 I 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 183 
 
 Studious of ornament; yet unresolved 160 
 
 Which hue she most approved, she chose them all; 
 
 Copious of flowers the woodbine, pale and wan, 
 
 But well compensating her sickly looks 
 
 With never cloying odours, early and late ; 
 
 Hypericum all bloom, so thick a swarm 165 
 
 Of flowers, like flies clothing her slender rods, 
 
 That scarce a leaf appears ; mezereon too, 
 
 Though leafless, well attired, and thick beset 
 
 With blushing wreaths, investing every spray ; 
 
 Althaea with the purple eye ; the broom, 170 
 
 Yellow and bright, as bullion unalloy'd. 
 
 Her blossoms ; and luxuriant above all 
 
 The jasmine, throwing wide her elegant sweets. 
 
 The deep dark green of whose unvarnish'd leaf 
 
 Makes more conspicuous, and illumines more 175 
 
 The bright profusion of her scattered stars. — 
 
 These have been, and these shall be in their day ; 
 
 And all this uniform uncolour'd scene 
 
 Shall be dismantled of its fleecy load. 
 
 And flush into variety again. 180 
 
 From dearth to plenty, and from death to life. 
 
 Is Nature's progress, when she lectures man 
 
 In heavenly truth ; evincing, as she makes 
 
 The grand transition, that there lives and works 
 
 A soul in all things, and that soul is God. 185 
 
 The beauties of the wilderness are his. 
 
 That makes so gay the solitary place, 
 
184 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 Where no eye sees them. And the fairer forms, 
 
 That cultivation glories in, are his. 
 
 He sets the bright procession on its way, 190 
 
 And marshals all the order of the year; 
 
 He marks the bounds which Winter may not pass, 
 
 And blunts his pointed fury ; in its case. 
 
 Russet and rude, folds up the tender germ. 
 
 Uninjured, with inimitable art; 195 
 
 And, ere one flowery season fades and dies, 
 
 Designs the blooming wonders of the next. 
 
 Some say that in the origin of things. 
 When all creation started into birth, 
 The infant elements received a law, 200 
 
 From which they swerve not since. That under force 
 Of that controlling ordinance they move, 
 And need not his immediate hand, who first 
 Prescribed their course, to regulate it now. 
 Thus dream they, and contrive to save a God 205 
 
 The incumbrance of his own concerns, and spare 
 The great artificer of all that moves 
 The stress of a continual act, the pain 
 Of unremitted vigilance and care. 
 As too laborious and severe a task. 210 
 
 So man, the moth, is not afraid, it seems, 
 To span omnipotence, and measure might. 
 That knows no measure, by the scanty rule 
 And standard of his own, that is to-day. 
 And is not ere to-morrow's sun go down. 215 
 
 ^1 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 185 
 
 But how should matter occupy a charge, 
 Dull as it is, and satisfy a law 
 So vast in its demands, unless impelled 
 To ceaseless service by a ceaseless force. 
 And under pressure of some conscious cause ? 220 
 The Lord of all, himself through all diflFused, 
 Sustains, and is the life of all that lives. 
 Nature is but a name for an effect. 
 Whose cause is God. He feeds the secret fire. 
 By which the mighty process is maintained, 225 
 
 Who sleeps not, is not weary; in whose sight 
 Slow circling ages are as transient days ; 
 Whose work is without labour ; whose designs 
 No flaw deforms, no difficulty thwarts ; 
 And whose beneficence no charge exhausts. 230 
 
 Him blind antiquity profaned, not served. 
 With self-taught rites, and under various names. 
 Female and male, Pomona, Pales, Pan, 
 And Flora, and Vertumnus ; peopling earth 
 With tutelary goddesses and gods 235 
 
 That were not ; and commending as they would 
 To each some province, garden, field, or grove. 
 But all are under one. One spirit, His 
 Who wore the platted thorns with bleeding brows, 
 Rules universal nature. Not a flower 240 
 
 But shows some touch, in freckle, streak, or stain, 
 Of his unrivaird pencil. He inspires 
 Their balmy odours, and imparts their hues, 
 16* 
 
186 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 And bathes their eyes with nectar, and includes, 
 
 In grains as countless as the seaside sands, 245 
 
 The forms with which he sprinkles all the earth. 
 
 Happy who walks with him ! whom what he finds 
 
 Of flavour or of scent in fruit or flower. 
 
 Or what he views of beautiful or grand 
 
 In nature, from the broad majestic oak 250 
 
 To the green blade that twinkles in the sun, 
 
 Prompts with remembrance of a present God. 
 
 His presence, who made all so fair, perceived 
 
 Makes all still fairer. As with him no scene 
 
 Is dreary, so with him all seasons please. 255 
 
 Though winter had been none, had man been true. 
 
 And earth be punish' d for its tenant's sake, 
 
 Yet not in vengeance ; as this smiling sky. 
 
 So soon succeeding such an angry night, 
 
 And these dissolving snows, and this clear stream 260 
 
 Recovering fast its liquid music, prove. 
 
 Who then, that has a mind well strung and tuned 
 To contemplation, and within his reach 
 A scene so friendly to his favourite task. 
 Would waste attention at the checker' d board, 265 
 His host of wooden warriors to and fro 
 Marching and countermarching, with an eye 
 As fix'd as marble, with a forehead ridged 
 And furrow' d into storms, and with a hand 
 Trembling, as if eternity were hung 270 
 
 In balance on his conduct of a pin ? 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 187 
 
 Nor envies lie aught more their idle sport, 
 
 Who pant with application misapplied 
 
 To trivial joys, and, pushing ivory balls 
 
 Across a velvet level, feel a joy 275 
 
 Akin to rapture, when the bauble finds 
 
 Its destined goal of difficult access. 
 
 Nor deems he wiser him, who gives his noon 
 
 To miss, the mercer's plague, from shop to shop 
 
 Wandering, and littering with unfolded silks 280 
 
 The polish' d counter, and approving none, 
 
 Or promising with smiles to call again. 
 
 Nor him who, by his vanity seduced. 
 
 And soothed into a dream that he discerns 
 
 The difference of a Guido from a daub, 285 
 
 Frequents the crowded auction : station^ there 
 
 As duly as the Langford of the show, 
 
 With glass at eye, and catalogue in hand. 
 
 And tongue accomplish' d in the fulsome cant 
 
 And pedantry that coxcombs learn with ease : 290 
 
 Oft as the price-deciding hammer falls. 
 
 He notes it in his book, then raps his box. 
 
 Swears 'tis a bargain, rails at his hard fate 
 
 That he has let it pass — ^but never bids. 
 
 Here unmolested, through whatever sign 295 
 
 The sun proceeds, I wander. Neither mist. 
 Nor freezing sky nor sultry, checking me. 
 Nor stranger intermeddling with my joy. 
 E'en in the spring and playtime of the year. 
 
188 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 That calls tlie unwonted villager abroad 300 
 
 With all her little ones, a sportive train, 
 
 To gather kingcups in the yellow mead, 
 
 And prink their hair with daisies, or to pick 
 
 A cheap but wholesome salad from the brook. 
 
 These shades are all my own. The timorous hare, 305 
 
 G-rown so familiar with her frequent guest, 
 
 Scarce shuns me; and the stockdove unalarm'd 
 
 Sits cooing in the pine-tree, nor suspends 
 
 His long love-ditty for my near approach. 
 
 Drawn from his refuge in some lonely elm, 310 
 
 That age or injury has hollow'd deep. 
 
 Where, on his bed of wool and matted leaves, 
 
 He has outslept the winter, ventures forth 
 
 To frisk awhile, and bask in the warm sun, 
 
 The squirrel, flippant, pert, and full of play : 315 
 
 He sees me, and at once, swift as a bird. 
 
 Ascends the neighbouring beech; there whisks his 
 
 brush. 
 And perks his ears, and stamps, and cries aloud, 
 AVith all the prettiness of feign' d alarm. 
 And anger insignificantly fierce. 320 
 
 The heart is hard in nature, and unfit 
 For human fellowship, as being void 
 Of sympathy, and therefore dead alike 
 To love and friendship both, that is not pleased 
 With sight of animals enjoying life, 325 
 
 Nor feels their happiness augment his own. 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 189 
 
 The bounding fawn, that darts across the glade 
 
 "When none pursues, through mere delight of heart, 
 
 And spirits buoyant with excess of glee; 
 
 The horse as wanton, and almost as jfleet, 330 
 
 That skims the spacious meadow at full speed. 
 
 Then stops and snorts, and, throwing high his heels, 
 
 Starts to the voluntary race again ; 
 
 The very kine that gambol at high noon, 
 
 The total herd receiving first from one 335 
 
 That leads the dance a summons to be gay. 
 
 Though wild their strange vagaries, and uncouth 
 
 Their efforts, yet resolved with one consent 
 
 To give such act and utterance as they may 
 
 To ecstasy too big to be suppressed — 340 
 
 These, and a thousand images of bliss. 
 
 With which kind Nature graces every scene. 
 
 Where cruel man defeats not her design, 
 
 Impart to the benevolent, who wish 
 
 All that are capable of pleasure pleased, 345 
 
 A far superior happiness to theirs, 
 
 The comfort of a reasonable joy. 
 
 Man scarce had risen, obedient to his call, 
 AVho form'd him from the dust, his future grave. 
 When he was crown' d as never king was since. 350 
 God set the diadem upon his head, 
 And angel choirs attended. Wondering stood 
 The new made monarch, while before him pass'd. 
 All happy, and all perfect in their kind, 
 
190 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 The creatures, summon' d from their various hauuts 
 
 To see their sovereign, and confess his sway. 356 
 
 Vast was his empire, absolute his power. 
 
 Or bounded only by a law, whose force 
 
 'Twas his sublimest privilege to feel 
 
 And own, the law of universal love. 360 
 
 He ruled with meekness, they obey'd with joy; 
 
 No cruel purpose lurk'd within his heart, 
 
 And no distrust of his intent in theirs. 
 
 So Eden was a scene of harmless sport, 
 
 Where kindness on his part, who ruled the whole, 365 
 
 Begat a tranquil confidence in all. 
 
 And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear. 
 
 But sin marr'd all ; and the revolt of man. 
 
 That source of evils not exhausted yet, 
 
 "Was punish' d with revolt of his from him. 370 
 
 Garden of God, how terrible the change 
 
 Thy groves and lawns then witness'd ! Every heart. 
 
 Each animal, of every name, conceived 
 
 A jealousy and an instinctive fear. 
 
 And, conscious of some danger, either fled 375 
 
 Precipitate the loathed abode of man. 
 
 Or growl'd defiance in such angry sort. 
 
 As taught him too to tremble in his turn. 
 
 Thus harmony and family accord 
 
 Were driven from Paradise; and in that hour 380 
 
 The seeds of cruelty, that since have swell' d 
 
 To such gigantic and enormous growth 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 191 
 
 Were sown in human nature's fruitful soil. 
 
 Hence date the persecution and the pain 
 
 That man inflicts on all inferior kinds, 385 
 
 Regardless of their plaints. To make him sport, 
 
 To gratify the frenzy of his wrath, 
 
 Or his base gluttony, are causes good 
 
 And just in his account, why bird and beast 
 
 Should suffer torture, and the streams be dyed 390 
 
 With blood of their inhabitants impaled. 
 
 Earth groans beneath the burden of a war 
 
 Waged with defenceless innocence, while he, 
 
 Not satisfied to prey on all around. 
 
 Adds tenfold bitterness to death by pangs 395 
 
 Needless, and first torments ere he devours. 
 
 Now happiest they that occupy the scenes 
 
 The most remote from his abhorr'd resort, 
 
 Whom once, as delegate of Grod on earth. 
 
 They fear'd, and as his perfect image loved. 400 
 
 The wilderness is theirs, with all its caves. 
 
 Its hollow glens, its thickets, and its plains, 
 
 Unvisited by man. There they are free. 
 
 And howl and roar as likes them, uncontroU'd; 
 
 Nor ask his leave to slumber or to play. 405 
 
 Woe to the tyrant, if he dare intrude 
 
 Within the confines of their wild domain : 
 
 The lion tells him — I am monarch here ! 
 
 And, if he spare him, spares him on the terms 
 
 Of royal mercy, and through generous scorn 410 
 
192 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 To rend a victim trembling at his foot. 
 
 In measure, as by force of instinct drawn, 
 
 Or by necessity constrained, tbey live 
 
 Dependent upon man ; those in his fields. 
 
 These at his crib, and some beneath his roof. 415 
 
 They prove too often at how dear a rate 
 
 He sells protection. Witness at his foot 
 
 The spaniel dying for some venial fault, 
 
 Under dissection of the knotted scourge ; 
 
 Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells 420 
 
 Driven to the slaughter, goaded, as he runs, 
 
 To madness ; while the savage at his heels 
 
 Laughs at the frantic sufi'erer's fury, spent 
 
 Upon the guiltless passenger o'erthrown. 
 
 He too is witness, noblest of the train 425 
 
 That wait on man, the flight performing horse ; 
 
 With unsuspecting readiness he takes 
 
 His murderer on his back, and, push'd all day, 
 
 With bleeding sides and flanks that heave for life 
 
 To the far distant goal, arrives and dies. 430 
 
 So little mercy shows who needs so much ! 
 
 Does law, so jealous in the cause of man, 
 
 Denounce no doom on the delinquent ? None. 
 
 He lives, and o'er his brimming beaker boasts 
 
 (As if barbarity were high desert) 435 
 
 The inglorious feat, and, clamorous in praise 
 
 Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose 
 
 The honours of his matchless horse his own. 
 
THE WINTER MORNING WALK. 193 
 
 But many a crime deem'd innocent on earth 
 
 Is register'd in heaven ; and these no doubt 440 
 
 Have each their record, with a curse annex' d. 
 
 Man may dismiss compassion from his heart, 
 
 But God will never. When he charged the Jew 
 
 To assist his foe's down-fallen beast to rise ; 
 
 And when the bush-exploring boy, that seized 445 
 
 The young, to let the parent bird go free ; 
 
 Proved he not plainly that his meaner works 
 
 Are yet his care, and have an interest all, 
 
 x\ll, in the universal Father's love ? 
 
 On Noah, and in him on all mankind, 450 
 
 The charter was conferr'd, by which we hold 
 
 The flesh of animals in fee, and claim 
 
 O'er all we feed on power of life and death. 
 
 But read the instrument, and mark it well : 
 
 The oppression of a tyrannous control 455 
 
 Can find no warrant there. Feed then, and yield 
 
 Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous, through sin, 
 
 Feed on the slain, but spare the living brute ! 
 
 The Grovernor of all, himself to all 
 So bountiful, in whose attentive ear 460 
 
 The unfledged raven and the lion's whelp 
 Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs 
 Of hunger unassuaged, has interposed. 
 Not seldom, his avenging arm, to smite 
 The injurious trampler upon Nature's law, 465 
 
 That claims forbearance even for a brute. 
 17 
 
194 THE TASK. B. VI 
 
 He hates the hardness of a Balaam's heart ; 
 And, prophet as he was, he might not strike 
 The blameless animal, without rebnke, i 
 
 On which he rode. Her opportune offence 470^ 
 
 Saved him, or the unrelenting seer had died. 
 He sees that human equity is slack 
 To interfere, though in so just a cause ; 
 And makes the task his own. Inspiring dumb 
 And helpless victims with a sense so keen 47( 
 
 Of injury, with such knowledge of their strength, 
 And such sagacity to take revenge, 
 That oft the beast has seem'd to judge the man. 
 An ancient, not a legendary tale. 
 By one of sound intelligence rehearsed 480 
 
 (If such who plead for Providence may seem 
 In modern eyes), shall make the doctrine clear. 
 Where England, stretch' d towards the setting sun. 
 
 Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave, 
 
 Dwelt young Misagathus ; a scorner he 485 
 
 Of God and goodness, atheist in ostent. 
 
 Vicious in act, in temper savage fierce. 
 
 He journey'd j and his chance was as he went 
 
 To join a traveller, of far different note, 
 
 Evander, famed for piety, for years 490 
 
 Deserving honour, but for wisdom more. 
 
 Fame had not left the venerable man 
 
 A stranger to the manners of the youth. 
 
 Whose face too was familiar to his view. 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 195 
 
 Their way was on the margin of the land, 495 
 
 O'er the green summit of the rocks, whose base 
 Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high. 
 The charity that warm'd his heart was moved 
 At sight of the man monster. With a smile 
 Gentle, and affable, and full of grace, 500 
 
 As fearful of offending whom he wished 
 Much to persuade, he plied his ear with truths 
 Not harshly thunder' d forth, or rudely press' d. 
 But, like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet. 
 " And dost thou dream," the impenetrable man 505 
 Exclaim'd, '' that me the lullabies of age, 
 And fantasies of dotards such as thou. 
 Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me ? 
 Mark now the proof I give thee, that the brave 
 Need no such aids as superstition lends, 510 
 
 To steel their hearts against the dread of death." 
 He spoke, and to the precipice at hand 
 Push'd with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks, 
 And the blood thrills and curdles at the thought 
 Of such a gulf as he design'd his grave. 515 
 
 But though the felon on his back could dare 
 The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed 
 Declined the death, and wheeling swiftly round, 
 Or e'er his hoof had press' d the crumbling verge, 
 Baffled his rider, saved against his will. 520 
 
 The frenzy of the brain may be redress'd 
 By medicine well applied, but without grace 
 
196 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 The heart's insanity admits no cure. 
 
 Enraged the more by what might have reformed 
 
 His horrible intent, again he sought 525 
 
 Destruction, with a zeal to be destroy' d, 
 
 With sounding whip, and rowels dyed in blood. 
 
 But still in vain. The Providence, that meant 
 
 A longer date to the far nobler beast, 
 
 Spared yet again the ignobler for his sake. 530 
 
 And now, his prowess proved, and his sincere 
 
 Incurable obduracy evinced, 
 
 His rage grew cool ; and pleased perhaps to have earn'd 
 
 So cheaply the renown of that attempt. 
 
 With looks of some complacence he resumed 535 
 
 His road, deriding much the blank amaze 
 
 Of good Evander, still where he was left 
 
 Fix'd motionless, and petrified with dread. 
 
 So on they fared. Discourse on other themes 
 
 Ensuing seem'd to obliterate the past; 540 
 
 And tamer far for so much fury shown 
 
 (As is the course of rash and fiery men). 
 
 The rude companion smiled, as if transformed. 
 
 But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near, 
 
 An unsuspected storm. His hour was come. 545 
 
 The impious challenger of power divine 
 
 Was now to learn that Heaven, though slow to wrath, 
 
 Is never with impunity defied. 
 
 His horse, as he had caught his master's mood. 
 
 Snorting, and starting into sudden rage, 550 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 197 
 
 Unbidden, and not now to be controll'd, 
 
 Rush'd to tbe cliff, and, having reach' d it, stood. 
 
 At once the shock unseated him : he flew 
 
 Sheer o'er the craggy barrier; and, immersed 
 
 Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not, 555 
 
 The death he had deserved, and died alone. 
 
 So God wrought double justice; made the fool 
 
 The victim of his own treniendous choice, 
 
 And taught a brute the way to safe revenge. 
 
 I would not enter on my list of friends 560 
 
 (Though graced with polish' d manners and fine sense. 
 Yet wanting sensibility) the man 
 Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. 
 An inadvertent step may crush the snail 
 That crawls at evening in the public path ; 565 
 
 But he that has humanity, forewarn' d. 
 Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. 
 The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, 
 And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, 
 A visitor unwelcome, into scenes 570 
 
 Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, 
 The chamber, or refectory, may die : 
 A necessary act incurs no blame. 
 Not so when, held within their proper bounds, 
 And guiltless of offence, they range the air, 575 
 
 Or take their pastime in the spacious field : 
 There they are privileged ; and he that hunts 
 Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong, 
 17* 
 
198 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm, 
 
 Who, when she form'd, design'd them an abode. 580 
 
 The sum is this. If man's convenience, health, 
 
 Or safety interfere, his rights and claims 
 
 Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. 
 
 Else they are all — the meanest things that are. 
 
 As free to live, and to enjoy that life, 585 
 
 As Grod was free to form them at the first, 
 
 Who in his sovereign wisdom made them all. 
 
 Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons 
 
 To love it too. The springtime of our years 
 
 Is soon dishonour' d and defil'd in most 590 
 
 By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand 
 
 To check them. But, alas ! none sooner shoots, 
 
 If unrestrain'd, into luxuriant growth, 
 
 Than ciTielty, most devilish of them all. 
 
 Mercy to him that shows it is the rule 595 
 
 And righteous limitation of its act. 
 
 By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man ; 
 
 And he that shows none, being ripe in years, 
 
 And conscious of the outrage he commits, 
 
 Shall seek it, and not find it, in his turn. 600 
 
 Distinguish' d much by reason, and still more 
 By our capacity of grace divine, 
 From creatures that exist but for our sake, 
 Which, having served us, perish, we are held 
 Accountable ; and God, some future day, 605 
 
 Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 199 
 
 Of what he deems no mean or trivial trust. 
 
 Superior as we are, they yet depend 
 
 Not more on human help than we on theirs. 
 
 Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given 610 
 
 In aid of our defects. In some are found 
 
 Such teachable and apprehensive parts, 
 
 That man's attainments in his own concerns, 
 
 Match' d with the expertnesS of the brutes in theirs, 
 
 Are ofttimes vanquished and thrown far behind. 615 
 
 Some show that nice sagacity of smell. 
 
 And read with such discernment, in the port 
 
 And figure of the man, his secret aim. 
 
 That oft we owe our safety to a skill 
 
 We could not teach, and must despair to learn. 620 
 
 But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop 
 
 To quadruped instructors, many a good 
 
 And useful quality, and virtue too, 
 
 Rarely exemplified among ourselves. 
 
 Attachment never to be wean'd or changed 625 
 
 By any change of fortune ; proof alike 
 
 Against unkindness, absence, and neglect; 
 
 Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat 
 
 Can move or warp ; and gratitude for small 
 
 And trivial favours, lasting as the life, 630 
 
 And glistening even in the dying eye. 
 
 Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms 
 Wins public honour; and ten thousand sit 
 Patiently present at a sacred song. 
 
200 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 Commemoration mad; content to hear 635 
 
 (0 wonderful eflfect of music's power I) 
 
 Messiah's eulogy for Handel's sake. 
 
 But lesSj methinks, than sacrilege might serve — 
 
 (For was it less, what heathen would have dared 
 
 To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath, 640 
 
 And hang it up in honour of a man ?) 
 
 Much less might serve, when all that we design 
 
 Is but to gratify an itching ear, 
 
 And give the day to a musician's praise. 
 
 Remember Handel ? Who, that was not born 645 
 
 Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets. 
 
 Or can, the more than Homer of his age ? 
 
 Yes — we remember him ; and while we praise 
 
 A talent so divine, remember too 
 
 That His most holy book, from whom it came, 650 
 
 Was never meant, was never used before. 
 
 To buckram out the memory of a man. 
 
 But hush ! — the muse perhaps is too severe ; 
 
 And with a gravity beyond the size 
 
 And measure of the offence, rebukes a deed 655 
 
 Less impious than absurd, and owing more 
 
 To want of judgment than to wrong design. 
 
 So in the chapel of old Ely House, 
 
 When wandering Charles, who meant to be the third, 
 
 Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, 660 
 
 The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce. 
 
 And eke did rear right merrily, two staves. 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 201 
 
 Sung to the praise and glory of king George ! 
 
 Man praises man ; and Garrick's memory next, 
 
 When time hath somewhat mellow'd it, and made 665 
 
 The idol of our worship while he lived 
 
 The god of our idolatry once more, 
 
 Shall have its altar ; and the world shall go 
 
 In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine. 
 
 The theatre, too small, shall suffocate 670 
 
 Its squeezed contents, and more than it admits 
 
 Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return 
 
 Ungratified : for there some noble lord 
 
 Shall stuff his shoulders with king Ilichard's bunch, 
 
 Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak, 675 
 
 And strut, and storm, and straddle, stamp, and stare, 
 
 To show the world how Garrick did not act — 
 
 For Garrick was a worshipper himself; 
 
 He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites 
 
 And solemn ceremonial of the day, 680 
 
 And call'd the world to worship on the banks 
 
 Of Avon, famed in song. Ah, pleasant proof 
 
 That piety has still in human hearts 
 
 Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct. 684 
 
 The mulberry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths ; 
 
 The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance ; 
 
 The mulberry-tree was hymn'd with dulcet airs; 
 
 And from his touch-wood trunk the mulberry-tree 
 
 Supplied such relics as devotion holds 
 
 Still sacred, and preserves with pious care. 690 
 
202 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 So 'twas a hallow'd time : decorum reign'd, 
 
 And mirth without offence. No few return' d, 
 
 Doubtless, much edified, and all refresh'd. 
 
 Man praises man. The rabble, all alive 
 
 From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, 695 
 
 Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the da}^, 
 
 A pompous and show-moving pageant, comes. 
 
 Some shout him, and some hang upon his car. 
 
 To gaze in his eyes, and bless him. Maidens wave 
 
 Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy ; 700 
 
 While others, not so satisfied, unhorse 
 
 The gilded equipage, and turning loose 
 
 His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve. 
 
 Why ? what has charm'd them ? Hath he saved the 
 
 state ? 
 No. Doth he purpose its salvation ? No. 705 
 
 Enchanting novelty, that moon at full, 
 That finds out every crevice of the head 
 That is not sound and perfect, hath in theirs 
 Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near, 
 And his own cattle must suffice him soon. 710 
 
 Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise, 
 And dedicate a tribute, in its use 
 And just direction sacred, to a thing 
 Doom'd to the dust, or lodged already there. 
 Encomium in old time was poet's work ; 715 
 
 But poets, having lavishly long since 
 Exhausted all materials of the art, 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 203 
 
 The task now falls into the public hand ; 
 
 And I, contented with an humble theme, 
 
 Have pour'd my stream of panegyric down 720 
 
 The vale of Nature, where it creeps and winds 
 
 Among her lovely works with a secure 
 
 And unambitious course, reflecting clear, 
 
 If not the virtues, yet the worth of brutes. 
 
 And I am recompensed, and* deem the toils 725 
 
 Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine 
 
 May stand between an animal and woe. 
 
 And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge. 
 
 The groans of Nature in this nether world. 
 Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end. 730 
 Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung. 
 Whose fire was kindled at the prophet's lamp. 
 The time of rest, the promised Sabbath, comes. 
 Six thousand years of sorrow have well nigh 
 Fulfill' d their tardy and disastrous course 735 
 
 Over a sinful world ; and what remains 
 Of this tempestuous state of human things 
 Is merely as the working of a sea 
 Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest : 
 For he, whose car the winds are, and the clouds 740 
 The dust that waits upon his sultry march, 
 When sin hath moved him, and his wrath is hot, 
 Shall visit earth in mercy ; shall descend 
 Propitious in his chariot paved with love ; 
 
204 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 And what his storms have blasted and defaced 745 
 For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair. 
 
 Sweet is the harp of prophecy ; too sweet 
 Not to be wrong' d by a mere mortal touch : 
 Nor can the wonders it records be sung 
 To meaner music, and not suffer loss. 750 
 
 Eut when a poet, or when one like me, 
 Happy to rove among poetic flowers, 
 Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last 
 On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, 
 Such is the impulse and the spur he feels, 755 
 
 To give it praise proportion' d to its worth. 
 That not to attempt it, arduous as he deems 
 The labour, were a task more arduous still. 
 
 scenes surpassing fable, and yet true, 
 Scenes of accomplish'd bliss! which who can see, 760 
 Though but in distant prospect, and not feel 
 His soul refresh^ with foretaste of the joy ? 
 Kivers of gladness water all the earth, 
 And clothe all climes with beauty ; the reproach 
 Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field 765 
 
 Laughs with abundance ; and the land, once lean, 
 Or fertile only in its own disgrace. 
 Exults to see its thistly curse repeal' d. 
 The various seasons woven into one, 
 And that one season an eternal spring, 770 
 
 The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, 
 For there is none to covet, all are full. 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 205 
 
 The lion, and the libbard, and the bear 
 Graze with the fearless flocks ; all bask at noon 
 Together, or all gambol in the shade 7 Id' 
 
 Of the same grove, and drink one common stream. 
 Antipathies are none. No foe to man 
 Lurks in the serpent now : the mother sees, 
 And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand 
 Stretch' d forth to dally with the crested worm, 780' 
 To stroke his azure neck, or to receive 
 The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue. 
 All creatures worship man, and all mankind 
 One Lord, one Father. Error has no place ; 
 That creeping pestilence is driven away; 785 
 
 The breath of Heaven has chased it. In the heart 
 No passion touches a discordant string. 
 But all is harmony and love. Disease 
 Is not : the pure and uncontaminate blood 
 Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age. 790 
 One song employs all nations ; and all cry, 
 *' Worthy the Lamb, for he was slain for us V 
 The dwellers in the vales and on the roeks 
 Shout to each other, and the mountain tops 
 From distant mountains catch the flying joy ; 795 
 
 Till, nation after nation taught the strain, 
 Earth rolls the rapturous hosanna round. 
 Behold the measure of the promise filled ; 
 See Salem built, the labour of a God ! 
 Bright as a sun the sacred city shines; 800 
 
 18 
 
206 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 All kingdoms and all princes of the earth 
 
 Flock to that light : the glory of all lands 
 
 Flows into her j unbounded is her joy, 
 
 And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, 
 
 Nebaioth, and the flocks of Kedar there ;* 805 
 
 The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, 
 
 And Saba's spicy groves, pay tribute there. 
 
 Praise is in all her gates : upon her walls. 
 
 And in her streets, and in her spacious courts 
 
 Is heard salvation. Eastern Java there 810 
 
 Kneels with the native of the farthest west; 
 
 And iEthiopia spreads abroad the hand. 
 
 And worships. Her report has travell'd forth 
 
 Into all lands. From every clime they come 
 
 To see thy beauty, and to share thy joy, 815 
 
 Sion ! an assembly such as earth 
 
 Saw never, such as Heaven stoops down to see. 
 
 Thus Heavenward all things tend. For all were 
 once 
 Perfect, and all must be at length restored. 
 So God has greatly purposed ; who would else 820 
 In his dishonour' d works himself endure 
 Dishonour, and be wrong'd without redress. 
 Haste, then, and wheel away a shatter' d world. 
 Ye slow-revolving seasons ! we would see 
 
 * Nebaioth and Kedar, the sons of Ishmael, and progenitors of 
 the Arabs, in the prophetic scripture here alluded to, may be rea- 
 sonably considered as representatives of the Gentiles at large. 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 207 
 
 (A sight to which our eyes are strangers yet) 825 
 
 A world that does not dread and hate his laws, 
 
 And suffer for its crime ; would learn how fair 
 
 The creature is that God pronounces good, 
 
 How pleasant in itself what pleases him. 
 
 Here every drop of honey hides a sting ; 830 
 
 Worms wind themselves ii^to our sweetest flowers ; 
 
 And e'en the joy that haply some poor heart 
 
 Derives from Heaven, pure as the fountain is, 
 
 Is sullied in the stream, taking a taint 
 
 From touch of human lips, at best impure. 835 
 
 for a world in principle as chaste 
 
 As this is gross and selfish ! over which 
 
 Custom and prejudice shall bear no sway, 
 
 That govern all things here, shouldering aside 
 
 The meek and* modest Truth, and forcing her 840 
 
 To seek a refuge from the tongue of Strife 
 
 In nooks obscure, far from the ways of men : 
 
 Where Violence shall never lift the sword. 
 
 Nor Cunning justify the proud man's wrong, 
 
 Leaving the poor no remedy but tears : 845 
 
 Where he, that fills an office, shall esteem 
 
 The occasion it presents of doing good 
 
 More than the perquisite : where Law shall speak 
 
 Seldom, and never but as Wisdom prompts 
 
 And Equity ; not jealous more to guard 850 
 
 A worthless form, than to decide aright : — 
 
 Where Fashion shall not sanctify abuse, 
 
208 THE TASK. B. YI. 
 
 Nor smooth Good-breeding (supplemental grace) 
 With lean performance ape the work of Love ! 
 
 Come then, and, added to thy many crowns, 855 
 Receive yet one, the crown of all the Earth, 
 Thou who alone art worthy ! It was thine 
 By ancient covenant ere Nature's birth ; 
 And thou hast made it thine by purchase since, 
 And overpaid its value with thy blood. 860 
 
 Thy saints proclaim thee king ; and in their hearts 
 Thy title is engraven with a pen 
 Dipp'd in the fountain of eternal love. 
 Thy saints proclaim thee king ; and thy delay 
 Gives courage to their foes, who, could they see 865 
 The dawn of thy last advent, long desired. 
 Would creep into the bowels of the hills, 
 And flee for safety to the falling rocks. * 
 The very spirit of the world is tired 
 Of its own taunting question, ask'd so long, 870 
 
 '■' Where is the promise of your Lord's approach ?" 
 The infidel has shot his bolts away. 
 Till, his exhausted quiver yielding none, 
 He gleans the blunted shafts that have recoil' d. 
 And aims them at the shield of Truth again. 875 
 
 The veil is rent, rent too by priestly hands. 
 That hides divinity from mortal eyes -, 
 And all the mysteries to faith proposed. 
 Insulted and traduced, are cast aside, 
 As useless, to the moles and to the bats. 880 
 
 i 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 209 
 
 They now are deem'd the faithful, and are praised, 
 
 Who, constant only in rejecting thee, 
 
 Deny thy Godhead with a martyr's zeal, 
 
 And quit their ofl&ce for their error's sake. 
 
 Blind, and in love with darkness ! yet e'en these 885 
 
 Worthy, compared with sycophants, who knee 
 
 Thy name adoring, and then preach thee man ! 
 
 So fares thy church. But how thy church may fare 
 
 The world takes little thought. Who will may preach, 
 
 And what they will. All pastors are alike 890 
 
 To wandering sheep, resolved to follow none. 
 
 Two gods divide them all — Pleasure and Gain : 
 
 For these they live, they sacrifice to these, 
 
 And in their service wage perpetual war 
 
 With Conscience and with thee. Lust in their hearts. 
 
 And mischief in their hands, they roam the earth 896 
 
 To prey upon each other : stubborn, fierce, 
 
 High-minded, foaming out their own disgrace. 
 
 Thy prophets speak of such ; and, noting down 
 
 The features of the last degenerate times, 900 
 
 Exhibit every lineament of these. 
 
 Come then, and, added to thy many crowns, 
 
 Receive yet one, as radiant as the rest. 
 
 Due to thy last and most effectual work, 
 
 Thy word fulfill' d, the conquest of a world ! 905 
 
 He is the happy man whose life e'en now 
 Shows somewhat of that happier life to come ; 
 Who doom'd to an obscure but tranquil state, 
 18* 
 
210 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 Is pleased with it, and, were lie free to choose, 
 
 Would make his fate his choice ; whom peace, the fruit 
 
 Of virtue, and whom virtue, fruit of faith, 911 
 
 Prepare for happiness ; bespeak him one 
 
 Content indeed to sojourn while he must 
 
 Below the skies, but having there his home. 
 
 The world o'erlooks him in her busy search 915 
 
 Of objects, more illustrious in her view; 
 
 And, occupied as earnestly as she. 
 
 Though more sublimely, he o'erlooks the world. 
 
 She scorns his pleasures, for she knows them not ; 
 
 He seeks not hers, for he has proved them vain. 920 
 
 He cannot skim the ground like summer birds 
 
 Pursuing gilded flies ; and such he deems 
 
 Her honours, her emoluments, her joys. 
 
 Therefore in contemplation is his bliss, 
 
 Whose power is such, that whom she lifts from earth 
 
 She makes familiar with a Heaven unseen, 926 
 
 And shows him glories yet to be reveal' d. 
 
 Not slothful he, though seeming unemployed. 
 
 And censured oft as useless. Stillest streams 
 
 Oft water fairest meadows, and the bird 930 
 
 That flutters least is longest on the wing. 
 
 Ask him, indeed, what trophies he has raised, 
 
 Or what achievements of immortal fame 
 
 He purposes, and he shall answer — None. 
 
 His warfare is within. There unfatigued 935 
 
 His fervent spirit labours. There he fights, 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 211 
 
 And there obtains fresh triumphs o'er himself, 
 And never withering wreaths, compared with which 
 The laurels that a Cassar reaps are weeds. 
 'Perhaps the self-approving haughty world, 940 
 
 That as she sweeps him with her whistling silks 
 Scarce deigns to notice him, or, if she see, 
 Deems him a cipher in the. works of God,' 
 Receives advantage from his noiseless hours, 
 Of which she little dreams.- Perhaps she Jwes 945 
 Her sunshine and her rain, her blooming spring 
 And plenteous harvest, to the prayer he makes'^ 
 When, Isaaclike, the solitary saint 
 Walks forth to meditate at eventide. 
 And think on her, who thinks not for herself. 950 
 Forgive him, then, thou bustler in concerns 
 Of little worth, an idler in the best. 
 If, author of no mischief and some good. 
 He seek his proper happiness by means ' 
 That may advance, but cannot hinder, thine. 955 
 
 Nor, though he tread the secret path of life, 
 Engage no notice, and enjoy much ease, 
 Account him an encumbrance on the state, 
 Receiving benefits, and rendering none. 
 His sphere though humble, if that humble sphere 960 
 Shme with his fair example, and thou-h small 
 His influence, if that influence all be spent 
 In soothing sorrow and in quenching strife, 
 In aiding helpless indigence, in works 
 
212 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 From whicli at least a grateful few derive 965 
 
 Some taste of comfort in a world of woe ; 
 Then let the supercilious great confess 
 He serves his country, recompenses well 
 The state, beneath the shadow of whose vine 
 
 He sits secure, and in the scale of lif e — — 9-7#^ 
 
 Holds no ignoble, though a slighted, place. 
 
 The man, whose virtues are more felt than seen, 
 
 Must drop indeed the hope of public praise; 
 
 But he may boast, what few that win it can, 
 
 That, if his country stand not by his skill, 975 
 
 At least his follies have not wrought her fall. 
 
 Polite Refinement offers him in vain 
 
 Her golden tube, through which a sensual world 
 
 Draws gross impurity, and likes it well. 
 
 The neat conveyance hiding all the offence. 980 
 
 Not that he peevishly rejects a mode 
 
 Because that world adopts it. If it bear 
 
 The stamp and clear impression of good sense, 
 
 And be not costly more than of true worth, 
 
 He puts it on, and, for decorum sake, 985 
 
 Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she. 
 
 She judges of refinement by the eye. 
 
 He by the test of conscience, and a heart 
 
 Not soon deceived ; aware that what is base 
 
 No polish can make sterling ; and that vice, 990 
 
 Though well perfumed and elegantly dress' d, 
 
 Like an unburied carcass trick' d with flowers. 
 
THE WINTER WALK AT NOON. 213 
 
 Is but a garnish' d nuisance, fitter far 
 
 For cleanly riddance than for fair attire. 
 
 So life glides smoothly and by stealth away, 995 
 
 More golden than that age of fabled gold 
 
 Renown' d in ancient song; not vex'd with care 
 
 Or stain' d with guilt, beneficent, approved 
 
 Of God and man, and peaceful in its end. 
 
 So glide my life away ! and so at last, lOl'O 
 
 My share of duties decently fulfill' d. 
 
 May some disease, not tardy to perform 
 
 Its destined office, yet with gentle stroke. 
 
 Dismiss me weary to a safe retreat. 
 
 Beneath the turf that I have often trod. 1005 
 
 It shall not grieve me, then, that once, when call'd 
 
 To dress a Sofa with the flowers of verse, 
 
 I play'd awhile, obedient to the fair, 
 
 With that light task ; but soon, to please her more, 
 
 AVhom flowers alone I know would little please, 1010 
 
 Let fall the unfinish'd wreath, and roved for fruit ; 
 
 Koved far, and gather' d much : some harsh, 'tis true, 
 
 Pick'd from the thorns and briers of reproof. 
 
 But wholesome, well digested ; grateful some 
 
 To palates that can taste immortal truth; 1015 
 
 Insipid else, and sure to be despised. 
 
 But all is in His hand, whose praise I seek. 
 
 In vain the poet sings,* and the world hears, 
 
 If he regard not, though divine the theme. 
 
 'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime 1020 
 
214 THE TASK. B. VI. 
 
 And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre, 
 To charm his ear, whose eye is on the heart ; 
 Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, 
 Whose approbation — prosper even mine. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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