For lingering yet an image in my mind To mock me under such a strange reverse. O Friend! few happier moments have been
Than that which told the downfall of this Tribe So dreaded, so abhorred. The day deserves A separate record. Over the smooth sands Of Leven's ample estuary lay
My journey, and beneath a genial sun, With distant prospect among gleams of sky And clouds, and intermingling mountain tops, In one inseparable glory clad,
Creatures of one ethereal substance met In consistory, like a diadem
Or crown of burning seraphs as they sit In the empyrean. Underneath that pomp Celestial, lay unseen the pastoral vales Among whose happy fields I had grown up From childhood. On the fulgent spectacle, That neither passed away nor changed, I gazed Enrapt; but brightest things are wont to draw Sad opposites out of the inner heart, As even their pensive influence drew from
How could it otherwise? for not in vain That very morning had I turned aside To seek the ground where, 'mid a throng of
An honoured teacher of my youth was laid, And on the stone were graven by his desire Lines from the churchyard elegy of Gray, This faithful guide, speaking from his death- bed,
Added no farewell to his parting counsel, But said to me, My head will soon lie low;"
And when I saw the turf that covered him, After the lapse of full eight years, those words, With sound of voice and countenance of the Man,
Came back upon me, so that some few tears Fell from me in my own despite. But now I thought, still traversing that widespread
With tender pleasure of the verses graven Upon his tombstone, whispering to myself: He loved the Poets, and, if now alive, Would have loved me, as one not destitute Of promise, nor belying the kind hope That he had formed, when I, at his command, Began to spin, with toil, my earliest songs.
As I advanced, all that I saw or felt Was gentleness and peace. Upon a small And rocky island near, a fragment stood (Itself like a sea rock) the low remains
Not far from that still ruin all the plain Lay spotted with a variegated crowd Of vehicles and travellers, horse and foot, Wading beneath the conduct of their guide In loose procession through the shallow stream Of inland waters; the great sea meanwhile Heaved at safe distance, far retired. I paused, Longing for skill to paint a scene so bright And cheerful, but the foremost of the band As he approache 1, no salutation given In the familiar language of the day, Cried, "Robespierre is dead!"-nor was a doubt,
That he and his supporters all were fallen. After strict question, left within my mind
To everlasting Justice, by this fiat Great was my transport, deep my gratitude
Made manifest. "Come now, ye golden times,"
A hymn of triumph: "as the morning comes Said I forth-pouring on those open sands From out the bosom of the night, come ye: Thus far our trust is verified; behold! They who with clumsy desperation brought A river of Blood, and preached that nothing else
Could cleanse the Augean stable, by the might Of their own helper have been swept away; Their madness stands declared and visible; Elsewhere will safety now be sought, and earth March firmly towards righteousness and peace."-
Then schemes I framed more calmly, when and how
The madding factions might be tranquillised, And how through hardships manifold and long The glorious renovation would proceed. Thus interrupted by uneasy bursts
Of exultation, I pursued my way
Along that very shore which I had skimmed In former days, when-spurring from the Vale Of Nightshade, and St Mary's mouldering fane,
And the stone abbot, after circuit made In wantonness of heart, a joyous band Of school-boys hastering to their distant home Along the margin of the moonlight sea- We beat with thundering hoofs the level sand
FROM that time forth, Authority in France Put on a milder face; Terror had ceased, Yet everything was wanting that might give Courage to them who looked for good by light Of rational Experience, for the shoots And hopeful blossoms of a second spring: Yet, in me, confidence was unimpaired; The Senate's language, and the public acts And measures of the Government, though both Weak, and of heartless omen, had not power
To daunt me; in the People was my trust: And, in the virtues which mine eyes had seen, I knew that wound external could not take Life from the young Republic; that new foes Would only follow, in the path of shame, Their brethren, and her triumphs be in the end Great, universal, irresistible.
This intuition led me to confound
One victory with another, higher far,— Triumphs of unambitious peace at home, And noiseless fortitude. Beholding still Resistance strong as heretofore, I thought That what was in degree the same was likewise
At gravest heads, by enmity to France Distempered, till they found, in every blast Forced from the street-disturbing newsman's horn,
For her great cause record or prophecy Of utter ruin. How might we believe That wisdom could, in any shape, come near Men clinging to delusions so insane? And thus, experience proving that no few Of our opinions had been just, we took Like credit to ourselves where less was due, And thought that other notions were as sound, Yea, could not but be right, because we saw That foolish men opposed them.
To a strain More animated I might here give way, And tell, since juvenile errors are my theme, What in those days, through Britain, was per- formed
To turn all judgments out of their right course; But this is passion over-near ourselves, Reality too close and too intense, And intermixed with something, in my mind, Of scorn and condemnation personal, That would profane the sanctity of verse. Our Shepherds, this say merely, at that time Acted, or seemed at least to act, like men Thirsting to make the guardian crook of law A tool of murder; they who ruled the State, Though with such awful proof before their eyes That he, who would sow death, reaps death, or
And can reap nothing better, child-like longed To imitate, not wise enough to avoid; Or left (by mere timidity betrayed) The plain straight road, for one no better chosen
Than if their wish had been to undermine Justice, and make an end of Liberty.
But from these bitter truths I must return To my own history. It hath been told That I was led to take an eager part In arguments of civil polity,
Abruptly, and indeed before my time :
I had approached, like other youths, the shield Of human nature from the golden side,
And would have fought, even to the death, to
The quality of the metal which I saw. What there is best in individual man,
Of wise in passion, and sublime in power, Benevolent in small societies,
And great in large ones, I had oft revolved, Felt deeply, but not thoroughly understood By reason: nay, far from it; they were yet, As cause was given me afterwards to learn, Not proof against the injuries of the day; Lodged only at the sanctuary's door, Not safe within its bosom. Thus prepared, And with such general insight into evil, And of the bounds which sever it from good, As books and common intercourse with life Must needs have given-to the inexperienced
When the world travels in a beaten road, Guide faithful as is needed-I began To meditate with ardour on the rule And management of nations; what it is And ought to be; and strove to learn how far Their power or weakness, wealth or poverty, Their happiness or misery, depends Upon their laws, and fashion of the State.
*O pleasant exercise of hope and joy! For mighty were the auxiliars which then stood Upon our side, us who were strong in love! Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive, But to be young was very Heaven! times, In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways Of custom, law, and statute, took at once The attraction of a country in romance!! When Reason seemed the most to assert her rights
When most intent on making of herself A prime enchantress-to assist the work Which then was going forward in her name! Not favoured spots alone, but the whole Earth, (As at some moments might not be unfelt The beauty wore of promise-that which sets Among the bowers of Paradise itself) The budding rose above the rose full blown What temper at the prospect did not wake To happiness unthought of? The inert Were roused, and lively natures rapt away! They who had fed their childhood upon dreams, The play-fellows of fancy, who had made All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and strength Their ministers,-who in lordly wise had stirred Among the grandest objects of the sense, As if they had within some lurking right And dealt with whatsoever they found there To wield it - they, too, who of gentle mood Had fitted their own thoughts, schemers more Had watched all gentle motions, and to these
And in the region of their peaceful selves:- Now was it that both found, the meek and lofty Did both find helpers to their hearts' desire, And stuff at hand, plastic as they could wish,- Were called upon to exercise their skill, Not in Utopia,-subterranean fields,-
Or some secreted island, Heaven knows where! But in the very world, which is the world Of all of us, the place where, in the end, We find our happiness, or not at all!
Why should I not confess that Earth was then
To me what an inheritance, new-fallen, Seems, when the first time visited, to one
Who thither comes to find in it his home! He walks about and looks upon the spot With cordial transport, moulds it and remoulds, And is half pleased with things that are amiss, "Twill be such joy to see them disappear.
An active partisan, I thus convoked From every object pleasant circumstance To suit my ends; I moved among mankind With genial feelings still predominant; When erring, erring on the better part, And in the kinder spirit; placable, Indulgent, as not uninformed that men See as they have been taught-Antiquity Gives rights to error; and aware, no less, That throwing off oppression must be work As well of License as of Liberty;
And above all--for this was more than all- Not caring if the wind did now and then Blow keen upon an eminence that gave Prospect so large into futurity;
In brief, a child of Nature, as at first, Diffusing only those affections wider
That from the cradle had grown up with me, And losing, in no other way than light Is lost in light, the weak in the more strong. In the main outline, such it might be said Was my condition, till with open war Britain opposed the liberties of France. This threw me first out of the pale of love; Soured and corrupted, upwards to the source, My sentiments; was not, as hitherto, A swallowing up of lesser things in great, But change of them into their contraries; And thus a way was opened for mistakes And false conclusions, in degree as gross, In kind more dangerous. What had been a pride
Was now a shame : my likings and my loves Ran in new channels, leaving old ones dry; And hence a blow that, in maturer age, Would but have touched the judgment, struck more deep
Into sensations near the heart: meantime, As from the first, wild theories were afloat, To whose pretensions, sedulously urged, I had but lent a careless ear, assured That time was ready to set all things right, And that the multitude, so long oppressed, Would be oppressed no more.
But when events Brought less encouragement, and unto these The immediate proof of principles no more Could be entrusted, while the events them- selves,
Worn out in greatness, stripped of novelty, Less occupied the mind, and sentiments Could through my understanding's natural growth
No longer keep their ground, by faith main
Of inward consciousness, and hope that laid Her hand upon her object- evidence Safer, of universal application, such As could not be impeached, was sought
Of contest, did opinions every day Grow into consequence, till round my mind They clung, as if they were its life, nay more, The very being of the immortal soul.
This was the time, when, all things tending fast
To depravation, speculative schemes- That promised to abstract the hopes of Man Out of his feelings, to be fixed thenceforth For ever in a purer element-
Found ready welcome. Tempting region that For Zeal to enter and refresh herself, Where passions had the privilege to work, And never hear the sound of their own names. But, speaking more in charity, the dream Flattered the young, pleased with extremes,
With that which makes our Reason's naked self The object of its fervour. What delight! How glorious! in self-knowledge and self-rule, To look through all the frailties of the world, And, with a resolute mastery shaking off Infirmities of nature, time, and place, Build social upon personal Liberty, Which, to the blind restraints of general laws Superior, magisterially adopts
One guide, the light of circumstances, flashed Upon an independent intellect.
Thus expectation rose again; thus hope, From her first ground expelled, grew proud
Oft, as my thoughts were turned to human kind, I scorned indifference; but, inflamed with thirst Of a secure intelligence, and sick
Of other longing, I pursued what seemed A more exalted nature; wished that Man Should start out of his earthy, worm-like state, And spread abroad the wings of Liberty, Lord of himself, in undisturbed delight- A noble aspiration! yet I feel (Sustained by worthier as by wiser thoughts) The aspiration, nor shall ever cease To feel it;-but return we to our course.
Enough, 'tis true-could such a plea excuse Those aberrations-had the clamorous friends Of ancient Institutions said and done Disgrace, of which, custom and written law, To bring disgrace upon their very names; And sundry moral sentiments as props Or emanations of those institutes,
Too justly bore a part. A veil had been eise-Twas even so; and sorrow for the man Uplifted; why deceive ourselves? in sooth,
But now, become oppressors in their turn, Frenchmen had changed a war of self-defence For one of conquest, losing sight of all Which they had struggled for: up mounted
Who either had not eyes wherewith to see, Or, seeing, had forgotten! A strong shock Was given to old opinions; all men's minds Had felt its power, and mine was both let loose, Let loose and goaded. After what hath been Already said of patriotic love,
Suffice it here to add, that, somewhat stern In temperament, withal a happy man, And therefore bold to look on painful things, Free likewise of the world, and thence more bold,
I summoned my best skill, and toiled, intent To anatomise the frame of social life, Yea, the whole body of society Searched to its heart. Share with me, Friend! the wish
That some dramatic tale, endued with shapes Livelier, and flinging out less guarded words Than suit the work we fashion, might set forth What then I learned, or think I learned, of truth,
And the errors into which I fell, betrayed By present objects, and by reasonings false From their beginnings, inasmuch as drawn Out of a heart that had been turned aside From Nature's way by outward accidents, And which was thus confounded, more and
Misguided, and misguiding. So I fared, Dragging all precepts, judgments, maxims, creeds,
Like culprits to the bar; calling the mind, Suspiciously, to establish in plain day Her titles and her honours; now believing, Now disbelieving; endlessly perplexed With impulse, motive, right and wrong, the ground
Of obligation, what the rule and whence The sanction; till, demanding formal proof, And seeking it in every thing, I lost All feeling of conviction, and, in fine, Sick, wearied out with contrarieties, Yielded up moral questions in despair.
This was the crisis of that strong disease, This the soul's last and lowest ebb; I drooped, Deeming our blessèd reason of least use Where wanted most: "The lordly attributes Of will and choice," I bitterly exclaimed, "What are they but a mockery of a Being Who hath in no concerns of his a test Of good and evil; knows not what to fear Or hope for, what to covet or to shun; And who, if those could be discerned, would yet Be little profited, would see, and ask Where is the obligation to enforce? And, to acknowledged law rebellious, still, As selfish passion urged, would act amiss; The dupe of folly, or the slave of crime."
Depressed, bewildered thus, I did not walk, With scoffers, seeking light and gay revenge From indiscriminate laughter, nor sate down In reconcilement with an utter waste Of intellect; such sloth I could not brook, (Too well I loved, in that my spring of life, Pains-taking thoughts, and truth, their dear reward)
But turned to abstract science, and there sought Work for the reasoning faculty enthroned Where the disturbances of space and time- Whether in matters various, properties Inherent, or from human will and power Derived find no admission. Then it was-- Thanks to the bounteous Giver of all good!- That the beloved Sister in whose sight Those days were passed, now speaking in a
Of sudden admonition-like a brook That did but cross a lonely road, and now Is seen, heard, felt, and caught at every turn, Companion never lost through many a league Maintained for me a saving intercourse With my true self; for, though bedimmed and changed
Much, as it seemed, I was no further changed Than as a clouded and a waning moon: She whispered still that brightness would return, She, in the midst of all, preserved me still A Poet, made me seek beneath that name, And that alone, my office upon earth; And, lastly, as hereafter will be shown, If willing audience fail not, Nature's self, By all varieties of human love
Assisted, led me back through opening day To those sweet counsels between head and heart
Whence grew that genuine knowledge, fraught with peace,
Which, through the later sinkings of this cause, Hath still upheld me, and upholds me now In the catastrophe (for so they dream, And nothing less), when, finally to close And seal up all the gains of France, a Pope Is summoned in, to crown an Emperor- This last opprobrium, when we see a people, That once looked up in faith, as if to Heaven For manna, take a lesson from the dog Returning to his vomit; when the sun That rose in splendour, was alive, and moved In exultation with a living pomp
Of clouds-his glory's natural retinue- Hath dropped all functions by the gods be-
And, turned into a gewgaw, a machine, Sets like an Opera phantom. Through times of honour and through times of
Descending, have I faithfully retraced The perturbations of a youthful mind Under a long-lived storm of great events- A story destined for thy ear, who now, Among the fallen of nations, dost abide His shadow stretching towards Syracuse, Where Etna, over hill and valley, casts The city of Timoleon! Righteous Heaven! How are the mighty prostrated! They first, They first of all that breathe, should have awaked
When the great voice was heard from out the tombs
Of ancient heroes. If I suffered grief For ill-requited France, by many deemed A trifler only in her proudest day; Have been distressed to think of what she once Promised, now is; a far more sober cause Thine eyes must see of sorrow in a land, To the reanimating influence lost Of memory, to virtue lost and hope, Though with the wreck of loftier years be-
But indignation works where hope is not, And thou, O Friend! wilt be refreshed. There is
One great society alone on earth: The noble Living and the noble Dead.
Thine be such converse strong and sanative,
For purpose, at a time, how different! Thou tak'st thy way, carrying the heart and soul
That Nature gives to Poets, now by thought Matured, and in the summer of their strength. Oh! wrap him in your shades, ye giant woods, On Etna's side; and thou, O flowery field Of Enna! is there not some nook of thine, From the first play-time of the infant world Kept sacred to restorative delight, When from afar invoked by anxious love?
Child of the mountains, among shepherds eared,
Ere yet familiar with the classic page, I learnt to dream of Sicily; and lo, The gloom, that, but a moment past, was deepened
At thy command, at her command gives way: A pleasant promise, wafted from her shores, Comes o'er my heart in fancy I behold Her seas yet smiling, her once happy vales: Nor can my tongue give utterance to a name Of note belonging to that honoured isle, Philosopher or Bard, Empedocles,
IMAGINATION AND TASTE, HOW IMPAIRED AND REStored.
Or Archimedes, pure abstracted soul! That doth not yield a solace to my grief: And, O Theocritus, so far have some Prevailed among the powers of heaven and earth,
By their endowments, good or great, that they
Have had, as thou reportest, miracles Wrought for them in old time: yea, not unmoved,
When thinking on my own beloved friend, I hear thee tell how bees with honey fed Divine Comates, by his impious lord Within a chest imprisoned; how they came Laden from blooming grove or flowery field, And fed him there, alive, month after month, Because the goatherd, blessed man! had lips Wet with the Muses' nectar.
Thus I soothe The pensive moments by this calm fire-side, And find a thousand bounteous images To cheer the thoughts of those I love, and
Our prayers have been accepted; thou wilt stand
On Etna's summit, above earth and sea, Triumphant, winning from the invaded heavens Thoughts without bound, magnificent designs, Worthy of poets who attuned their harps In wood or echoing cave, for discipline Of heroes; or, in reverence to the gods, 'Mid temples, served by sapient priests, and choirs
Of virgins crowned with roses. Not in vain Those temples, where they in their ruins yet
Survive for inspiration, shall attract Thy solitary steps: and on the brink Thou wilt recline of pastoral Arethuse; Or, if that fountain be in truth no more, Then, near some other spring-which by the
Thou gratulatest, willingly deceivedI see thee linger a glad votary, And not a captive pining for his home. TWELFTH.
LONG time have human ignorance and guilt Detained us, on what spectacles of woe Compelled to look, and inwardly oppres With sorrow, disappointment, vexing thoughts, Confusion of the judgment, zeal decayed, And, lastly, utter loss of hope itself And things to hope for! Not with these began Our song, and not with these our song must end.
Ye motions of delight, that haunt the sides Of the green hills; ye breezes and soft airs, Whose subtle intercourse with breathing flowers, Feelingly watched, might teach Man's haughty
How without injury to take, to give Without offence; ye who, as if to show The wondrous influence of power gently used, Bend the complying heads of lordly pines, And, with a touch, shift the stupendous clouds Through the whole compass of the sky; ye brooks,
Muttering along the stones, a busy noise By day, a quiet sound in silent night; Ye waves, that out of the great deep steal forth In a calm hour to kiss the pebbly shore, Not mute, and then retire, fearing no storm; And you, ye groves, whose ministry it is To interpose the covert of your shades, Even as a sleep, between the heart of man And outward troubles, between man himself, Not seldom, and his own uneasy heart: Oh! that I had a music and a voice Harmonious as your own, that I might tell What ye have done for me. The morning shines, Nor heedeth Man's perverseness; Spring
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