The Poetical Works of James Beattie

RETIREMENT

When in the crimson cloud of evenThe lingering light decays,And Hesper on the front of heavenHis glittering gem displays;Deep in the silent vale, unseen,Beside a lulling stream,A pensive youth of placid mienIndulg'd this tender theme:"Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur pil'dHigh o'er the glimmering dale;Ye woods, along whose windings wildMurmurs the solemn gale:Where Melancholy strays forlorn,And Woe retires to weep,What time the wan moon's yellow hornGleams on the western deep:"To you, ye wastes, whose artless charmsNe'er drew ambition's eye,Scap'd a tumultuous world's alarms,To your retreats I fly.Deep in your most sequester'd bowerLet me at last recline,Where Solitude, mild, modest power,Leans on her ivy'd shrine."How shall I woo thee, matchless fair!Thy heavenly smile how win!Thy smile that smooths the brow of CareAnd stills the storm within.O wilt thou to thy favourite groveThine ardent votary bring,And bless his hours, and bid them moveSerene, on silent wing!"Oft let Remembrance soothe his mindWith dreams of former days,When in the lap of Peace reclin'dHe fram'd his infant lays;When Fancy rov'd at large, nor CareNor cold Distrust alarm'd,Nor Envy with malignant glareHis simple youth had harm'd."'Twas then, O Solitude! to theeHis early vows were paid,From heart sincere, and warm, and free,Devoted to the shade.Ah, why did Fate his steps decoyIn stormy paths to roam,Remote from all congenial joy! —O take the wanderer home."Thy shades, thy silence now be mine,Thy charms my only theme;My haunt the hollow cliff, whose pineWaves o'er the gloomy stream,Whence the scar'd owl on pinions grayBreaks from the rustling boughs,And down the lone vale sails awayTo more profound repose."O while to thee the woodland poursIts wildly warbling song,And balmy from the bank of flowersThe Zephyr breathes along;Let no rude sound invade from far,No vagrant foot be nigh,No ray from Grandeur's gilded carFlash on the startled eye."But if some pilgrim through the gladeThy hallow'd bowers explore,O guard from harm his hoary head,And listen to his lore;For he of joys divine shall tellThat wean from earthly woe,And triumph o'er the mighty spellThat chains this heart below."For me, no more the path invitesAmbition loves to tread:No more I climb those toilsome heightsBy guileful Hope misled;Leaps my fond fluttering heart no moreTo Mirth's enlivening strain;For present pleasure soon is o'er,And all the past is vain."

ELEGY

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1758

Still shall unthinking man substantial deemThe forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream?Till at some stroke of Fate the vision flies,And sad realities in prospect rise;And, from Elysian slumbers rudely torn,The startled soul awakes, to think, and mourn.O ye, whose hours in jocund train advance,Whose spirits to the song of gladness dance,Who flowery plains in endless pomp survey,Glittering in beams of visionary day;O yet, while Fate delays th' impending woe,Be rous'd to thought, anticipate the blow;Lest, like the lightning's glance, the sudden illFlash to confound, and penetrate to kill;Lest, thus encompass'd with funereal gloom,Like me, ye bend o'er some untimely tomb,Pour your wild ravings in Night's frighted ear,And half pronounce Heaven's sacred doom severe.Wise, beauteous, good! O every grace combin'd,That charms the eye, or captivates the mind!Fresh, as the floweret opening on the morn,Whose leaves bright drops of liquid pearl adorn!Sweet, as the downy-pinion'd gale, that rovesTo gather fragrance in Arabian groves!Mild, as the melodies at close of day,That, heard remote, along the vale decay!Yet, why with these compar'd? What tints so fine,What sweetness, mildness, can be match'd with thine?Why roam abroad, since recollection trueRestores the lovely form to fancy's view?Still let me gaze, and every care beguile,Gaze on that cheek, where all the Graces smile;That soul-expressing eye, benignly bright,Where meekness beams ineffable delight;That brow, where wisdom sits enthron'd serene,Each feature forms, and dignifies the mien:Still let me listen, while her words impartThe sweet effusions of the blameless heart,Till all my soul, each tumult charm'd away,Yields, gently led, to Virtue's easy sway.By thee inspir'd, O Virtue, age is young,And music warbles from the faltering tongue:Thy ray creative cheers the clouded brow,And decks the faded cheek with rosy glow,Brightens the joyless aspect, and suppliesPure heavenly lustre to the languid eyes:But when youth's living bloom reflects thy beams,Resistless on the view the glory streams;Love, wonder, joy, alternately alarm,And beauty dazzles with angelic charm.Ah, whither fled! ye dear illusions stay!Lo, pale and silent lies the lovely clay.How are the roses on that cheek decay'd,Which late the purple light of youth display'd!Health on her form each sprightly grace bestow'd;With life and thought each speaking feature glow'd,Fair was the blossom, soft the vernal sky;Elate with hope, we deem'd no tempest nigh:When lo, a whirlwind's instantaneous gustLeft all its beauties withering in the dust.Cold the soft hand, that sooth'd Woe's weary head!And quench'd the eye, the pitying tear that shed!And mute the voice, whose pleasing accents stole,Infusing balm, into the rankled soul!O Death, why arm with cruelty thy power,And spare the idle weed, yet lop the flower!Why fly thy shafts in lawless error driven!Is Virtue then no more the care of Heaven!But peace, bold thought! be still, my bursting heart!We, not Eliza, felt the fatal dart.Escap'd the dungeon, does the slave complain,Nor bless the friendly hand that broke the chain?Say, pines not Virtue for the lingering morn,On this dark wild condemn'd to roam forlorn?Where Reason's meteor-rays, with sickly glow,O'er the dun gloom a dreadful glimmering throw;Disclosing dubious to th' affrighted eyeO'erwhelming mountains tottering from on high,Black billowy deeps in storms perpetual toss'd,And weary ways in wildering labyrinths lost?O happy stroke, that bursts the bonds of clay,Darts through the rending gloom the blaze of day,And wings the soul with boundless flight to soar,Where dangers threat, and fears alarm no more.Transporting thought! here let me wipe awayThe tear of grief, and wake a bolder lay.But ah! the swimming eye o'erflows anew;Nor check the sacred drops to pity due:Lo, where in speechless, hopeless anguish, bendO'er her lov'd dust, the parent, brother, friend!How vain the hope of man! but cease thy strain,Nor sorrow's dread solemnity profane;Mix'd with yon drooping mourners, on her bierIn silence shed the sympathetic tear.

ODE TO HOPE

I. 1O Thou, who gladd'st the pensive soul,More than Aurora's smile the swain forlorn,Left all night long to mournWhere desolation frowns, and tempests howl;And shrieks of woe, as intermits the storm,Far o'er the monstrous wilderness resound,And 'cross the gloom darts many a shapeless form,And many a fire-ey'd visage glares around;O come, and be once more my guest!Come, for thou oft thy suppliant's vow hast heardAnd oft with smiles indulgent cheer'dAnd sooth'd him into rest.I. 2Smit by thy rapture-beaming eyeDeep flashing through the midnight of their mind,The sable bands combin'd,Where Fear's black banner bloats the troubled sky,Appall'd retire. Suspicion hides her head,Nor dares the obliquely gleaming eyeball raise:Despair, with gorgon-figur'd veil o'erspread,Speeds to dark Phlegethon's detested mazeLo, startled at the heavenly ray,With speed unwonted Indolence upsprings,And, heaving, lifts her leaden wings,And sullen glides away:I. 3Ten thousand forms, by pining Fancy view'd,Dissolve. – Above the sparkling floodWhen Phœbus rears his awful brow,From lengthening lawn and valley lowThe troops of fen-born mists retire.Along the plainThe joyous swainEyes the gay villages again,And gold-illumin'd spire;While on the billowy ether borneFloats the loose lay's jovial measure;And light along the fairy Pleasure,Her green robes glittering to the morn,Wantons on silken wing. And goblins allTo the damp dungeon shrink, or hoary hall,Or westward, with impetuous flight,Shoot to the desert realms of their congenial night.II. 1When first on childhood's eager gazeLife's varied landscape, stretch'd immense around,Starts out of night profound,Thy voice incites to tempt th' untrodden maze.Fond he surveys thy mild maternal face,His bashful eye still kindling as he views,And, while thy lenient arm supports his pace,With beating heart the upland path pursues:The path that leads where, hung sublime,And seen afar, youth's gallant trophies, brightIn Fancy's rainbow ray, inviteHis wingy nerves to climb.II. 2Pursue thy pleasurable way,Safe in the guidance of thy heavenly guard,While melting airs are heard,And soft-ey'd cherub-forms around thee play:Simplicity, in careless flowers array'd,Prattling amusive in his accent meek;And Modesty, half turning as afraid,The smile just dimpling on his glowing cheek!Content and Leisure, hand in handWith Innocence and Peace, advance, and sing;And Mirth, in many a mazy ring,Frisks o'er the flowery land.II. 3Frail man, how various is thy lot below!To-day though gales propitious blow,And Peace soft gliding down the sky,Lead Love along, and Harmony,To-morrow the gay scene deforms:Then all aroundThe thunder's soundRolls rattling on through heaven's profound,And down rush all the storms.Ye days, that balmy influence shed,When sweet childhood, ever sprightly,In paths of pleasure sported lightly,Whither, ah whither are ye fled?Ye cherub train, that brought him on his wayO leave him not midst tumult and dismay;For now youth's eminence he gains:But what a weary length of lingering toil remains!III. 1They shrink, they vanish into air.Now Slander taints with pestilence the gale;And mingling cries assail,The wail of Woe, and groan of grim Despair.Lo, wizard Envy from his serpent eyeDarts quick destruction in each baleful glance;Pride smiling stern, and yellow Jealousy,Frowning Disdain, and haggard Hate advance;Behold, amidst the dire array,Pale wither'd Care his giant-stature rears,And lo, his iron hand preparesTo grasp its feeble prey.III. 2Who now will guard bewilder'd youthSafe from the fierce assault of hostile rage?Such war can Virtue wage,Virtue that bears the sacred shield of Truth?Alas! full oft on Guilt's victorious car,The spoils of Virtue are in triumph borne;While the fair captive, mark'd with many a scar,In long obscurity, oppress'd, forlorn,Resigns to tears her angel form.Ill-fated youth, then whither wilt thou fly?No friend, no shelter now is nigh,And onward rolls the stormIII. 3But whence the sudden beam that shoots along?Why shrink aghast the hostile throng?Lo, from amidst affliction's nightHope bursts all radiant on the sight:Her words the troubled bosom soothe."Why thus dismay'd?Though foes invade,Hope ne'er is wanting to their aid,Who tread the path of truth.'Tis I, who smooth the rugged way,I, who close the eyes of Sorrow,And with glad visions of to-morrowRepair the weary soul's decay.When Death's cold touch thrills to the freezing heart,Dreams of heaven's opening glories I impart,Till the freed spirit springs on highIn rapture too severe for weak mortality."

ODE ON LORD HAY'S BIRTH-DAY

A Muse, unskill'd in venal praise,Unstain'd with flattery's art;Who loves simplicity of laysBreath'd ardent from the heart;While gratitude and joy inspire,Resumes the long-unpractis'd lyre,To hail, O Hay, thy natal morn:No gaudy wreath of flowers she weaves,But twines with oak the laurel leaves,Thy cradle to adorn.For not on beds of gaudy flowersThine ancestors reclin'd,Where sloth dissolves, and spleen devoursAll energy of mind.To hurl the dart, to ride the car,To stem the deluges of war,And snatch from fate a sinking land;Trample th' invaders' lofty crest,And from his grasp the dagger wrest,And desolating brand:'Twas this that rais'd th' illustrious lineTo match the first in fame!A thousand years have seen it shineWith unabated flame;Have seen thy mighty sires appearForemost in glory's high career,The pride and pattern of the brave:Yet pure from lust of blood their fire,And from ambition's wild desire,They triumph'd but to save.The Muse with joy attends their wayThe vale of peace along;There to its lord the village gayRenews the grateful song.Yon castle's glittering towers containNo pit of woe, nor clanking chain,Nor to the suppliant's wail resound;The open doors the needy bless,Th' unfriended hail their calm recess,And gladness smiles around.There to the sympathetic heartLife's best delights belong,To mitigate the mourner's smart,To guard the weak from wrong.Ye sons of luxury, be wise:Know, happiness for ever fliesThe cold and solitary breast;Then let the social instinct glow,And learn to feel another's woe,And in his joy be blest.O yet, ere Pleasure plant her snareFor unsuspecting youth;Ere Flattery her song prepareTo check the voice of Truth;O may his country's guardian powerAttend the slumbering infant's bower,And bright, inspiring dreams impart;To rouse th' hereditary fire,To kindle each sublime desire,Exalt, and warm the heart.Swift to reward a parent's fears,A parent's hopes to crown,Roll on in peace, ye blooming years,That rear him to renown;When in his finish'd form and faceAdmiring multitudes shall traceEach patrimonial charm combin'd,The courteous yet majestic mien,The liberal smile, the look serene,The great and gentle mind.Yet, though thou draw a nation's eyes,And win a nation's love,Let not thy towering mind despiseThe village and the grove.No slander there shall wound thy fame,No ruffian take his deadly aim,No rival weave the secret snare:For Innocence with angel smile,Simplicity that knows no guile,And Love and Peace are there.When winds the mountain oak assail,And lay its glories waste,Content may slumber in the vale,Unconscious of the blast.Through scenes of tumult while we roam,The heart, alas! is ne'er at home,It hopes in time to roam no more;The mariner, not vainly brave,Combats the storm, and rides the wave,To rest at last on shore.Ye proud, ye selfish, ye severe,How vain your mask of state!The good alone have joy sincere,The good alone are great:Great, when, amid the vale of peace,They bid the plaint of sorrow cease,And hear the voice of artless praise;As when along the trophy'd plainSublime they lead the victor train,While shouting nations gaze.

THE BATTLE OF THE PIGMIES AND CRANES

FROM THE PYGMÆO-GERANO-MACHIA OF ADDISON

The pigmy-people, and the feather'd train,Mingling in mortal combat on the plain,I sing. Ye Muses, favour my designs,Lead on my squadrons, and arrange the lines;The flashing swords and fluttering wings display,And long bills nibbling in the bloody fray;Cranes darting with disdain on tiny foes,Conflicting birds and men, and war's unnumber'd woes.The wars and woes of heroes six feet longHave oft resounded in Pierian song.Who has not heard of Colchos' golden fleece,And Argo mann'd with all the flower of Greece?Of Thebes' fell brethren, Theseus stern of face,And Peleus' son, unrivall'd in the race;Æneas, founder of the Roman line,And William, glorious on the banks of Boyne?Who has not learn'd to weep at Pompey's woes,And over Blackmore's epic page to doze?'Tis I, who dare attempt unusual strains,Of hosts unsung, and unfrequented plains;The small shrill trump, and chiefs of little size,And armies rushing down the darken'd skies.Where India reddens to the early dawn,Winds a deep vale from vulgar eye withdrawn;Bosom'd in groves the lowly region lies,And rocky mountains round the border rise.Here, till the doom of fate its fall decreed,The empire flourish'd of the pigmy-breed;Here Industry perform'd, and Genius plann'd,And busy multitudes o'erspread the land.But now to these lone bounds if pilgrim stray,Tempting through craggy cliffs the desperate way,He finds the puny mansion fallen to earth,Its godlings mouldering on th' abandon'd hearth;And starts, where small white bones are spread around,"Or little footsteps lightly print the ground;"While the proud crane her nest securely builds,Chattering amid the desolated fields.But different fates befell her hostile rage,While reign'd, invincible through many an age,The dreaded pigmy: rous'd by war's alarms,Forth rush'd the madding manikin to arms.Fierce to the field of death the hero flies;The faint crane fluttering flaps the ground, and dies;And by the victor borne (o'erwhelming load!)With bloody bill loose-dangling marks the road.And oft the wily dwarf in ambush lay,And often made the callow young his prey;With slaughter'd victims heap'd his board, and smil'd,T' avenge the parent's trespass on the child.Oft, where his feather'd foe had rear'd her nest,And laid her eggs and household gods to rest,Burning for blood, in terrible array,The eighteen-inch militia burst their way;All went to wreck; the infant foeman fell,When scarce his chirping bill had broke the shell.Loud uproar hence, and rage of arms arose,And the fell rancour of encountering foes;Hence dwarfs and cranes one general havoc whelms,And Death's grim visage scares the pigmy-realms.Not half so furious blaz'd the warlike fireOf mice, high theme of the Meonian lyre;When bold to battle march'd the accoutred frogs,And the deep tumult thunder'd through the bogs.Pierc'd by the javelin bulrush on the shoreHere agonizing roll'd the mouse in gore;And there the frog, (a scene full sad to see!)Shorn of one leg, slow sprawl'd along on three:He vaults no more with vigorous hops on high,But mourns in hoarsest croaks his destiny.And now the day of woe drew on apace,A day of woe to all the pigmy-race,When dwarfs were doom'd (but penitence was vain)To rue each broken egg, and chicken slain.For, roused to vengeance by repeated wrong,From distant climes the long-bill'd legions throng:From Strymon's lake, Cayster's plashy meads,And fens of Scythia, green with rustling reeds,From where the Danube winds through many a land,And Mareotis laves th' Egyptian strand,To rendezvous they waft on eager wing,And wait assembled the returning spring.Meanwhile they trim their plumes for length of flight,Whet their keen beaks and twisting claws for fight;Each crane the pigmy power in thought o'erturns,And every bosom for the battle burns.When genial gales the frozen air unbind,The screaming legions wheel, and mount the wind:Far in the sky they form their long array,And land and ocean stretch'd immense surveyDeep deep beneath: and, triumphing in pride,With clouds and winds commix'd, innumerous ride;'Tis wild obstreperous clangour all, and heavenWhirls in tempestuous undulation driven.Nor less th' alarm that shook the world below,Where march'd in pomp of war th' embattled foe:Where manikins with haughty step advance,And grasp the shield, and couch the quivering lance:To right and left the lengthening lines they form,And rank'd in deep array await the storm.High in the midst the chieftain-dwarf was seen,Of giant stature, and imperial mien:Full twenty inches tall he strode along,And view'd with lofty eye the wondering throng:And while with many a scar his visage frown'd,Bared his broad bosom, rough with many a woundOf beaks and claws, disclosing to their sightThe glorious meed of high heroic might:For with insatiate vengeance, he pursued,And never-ending hate, the feathery brood.Unhappy they, confiding in the lengthOf horny beak, or talon's crooked strength,Who durst abide his rage; the blade descends,And from the panting trunk the pinion rends:Laid low in dust the pinion waves no more,The trunk disfigur'd stiffens in its gore.What hosts of heroes fell beneath his force!What heaps of chicken carnage mark'd his course!How oft, O Strymon, thy lone banks along,Did wailing Echo waft the funeral song!And now from far the mingling clamours rise,Loud and more loud rebounding through the skies.From skirt to skirt of heaven, with stormy sway,A cloud rolls on, and darkens all the day.Near and more near descends the dreadful shade;And now in battalions array display'd,On sounding wings, and screaming in their ire,The cranes rush onward, and the fight require.The pigmy warriors eye with fearless glareThe host thick swarming o'er the burden'd air:Thick swarming now, but to their native landDoom'd to return a scanty straggling band —When sudden, darting down the depth of heaven,Fierce on th' expecting foe the cranes are driven.The kindling frenzy every bosom warms,The region echoes to the crash of arms:Loose feathers from th' encountering armies fly,And in careering whirlwinds mount the sky.To breathe from toil upsprings the panting crane,Then with fresh vigour downward darts again.Success in equal balance hovering hangs.Here, on the sharp spear, mad with mortal pangs,The bird transfix'd in bloody vortex whirls,Yet fierce in death the threatening talon curls:There, while the life-blood bubbles from his wound,With little feet the pigmy beats the ground;Deep from his breast the short, short sob he draws,And dying curses the keen pointed claws.Trembles the thundering field, thick cover'd o'erWith falchions, mangled wings, and streaming gore,And pigmy arms, and beaks of ample size,And here a claw, and there a finger lies.Encompass'd round with heaps of slaughter'd foes,All grim in blood the pigmy champion glows,And on th' assailing host impetuous springs,Careless of nibbling bills, and flapping wings;And midst the tumult, wheresoe'er he turns,The battle with redoubled fury burns.From every side th' avenging cranes amainThrong, to o'erwhelm this terror of the plain:When suddenly (for such the will of Jove)A fowl enormous, sousing from above,The gallant chieftain clutch'd, and, soaring high,(Sad chance of battle!) bore him up the sky.The cranes pursue, and clustering in a ring,Chatter triumphant round the captive king.But ah! what pangs each pigmy bosom wrung,When, now to cranes a prey, on talons hung,High in the clouds they saw their helpless lord,His wriggling form still lessening as he soar'd.Lo! yet again, with unabated rage,In mortal strife the mingling hosts engage.The crane with darted bill assaults the foe,Hovering; then wheels aloft to scape the blow:The dwarf in anguish aims the vengeful wound;But whirls in empty air the falchion round.Such was the scene, when midst the loud alarmsSublime th' eternal Thunderer rose in arms:When Briareus, by mad ambition driven,Heav'd Pelion huge, and hurl'd it high at heaven.Jove roll'd redoubling thunders from on high,Mountains and bolts encounter'd in the sky;Till one stupendous ruin whelm'd the crew,Their vast limbs weltering wide in brimstone blue.But now at length the pigmy legions yield,And wing'd with terror fly the fatal field.They raise a weak and melancholy wail,All in distraction scattering o'er the vale.Prone on their routed rear the cranes descend;Their bills bite furious, and their talons rend:With unrelenting ire they urge the chase,Sworn to exterminate the hated race.'Twas thus the pigmy name, once great in war,For spoils of conquer'd cranes renown'd afar,Perish'd. For, by the dread decree of Heaven,Short is the date to earthly grandeur given,And vain are all attempts to roam beyondWhere fate has fix'd the everlasting bound.Fall'n are the trophies of Assyrian power,And Persia's proud dominion is no more;Yea, though to both superior far in fame,Thine empire, Latium, is an empty name.And now with lofty chiefs of ancient timeThe pigmy heroes roam'd th' Elysian clime.Or, if belief to matron-tales be due,Full oft, in the belated shepherd's view,Their frisking forms, in gentle green array'd,Gambol secure amid the moonlight glade.Secure, for no alarming cranes molest,And all their woes in long oblivion rest:Down the deep dale, and narrow winding way,They foot it featly, ranged in ringlets gay:'Tis joy and frolic all, where'er they rove,And Fairy-people is the name they love.

THE HARES

A FABLE

Yes, yes, I grant the sons of EarthAre doom'd to trouble from their birth.We all of sorrow have our share;But say, is yours without compare?Look round the world; perhaps you'll findEach individual of our kindPress'd with an equal load of ill,Equal at least. Look further still,And own your lamentable caseIs little short of happiness.In yonder hut that stands aloneAttend to Famine's feeble moan;Or view the couch where Sickness lies,Mark his pale cheek, and languid eyes,His frame by strong convulsion torn,His struggling sighs, and looks forlorn.Or see, transfix'd with keener pangs,Where o'er his hoard the miser hangs;Whistles the wind; he starts, he stares,Nor Slumber's balmy blessing shares;Despair, Remorse, and Terror roll,Their tempests on his harass'd soul.But here perhaps it may availT' enforce our reasoning with a tale.Mild was the morn, the sky serene,The jolly hunting band convene,The beagle's breast with ardour burns,The bounding steed the champaign spurns,And Fancy oft the game descriesThrough the hound's nose, and huntsman's eyes.Just then, a council of the haresHad met, on national affairs.The chiefs were set; while o'er their headThe furze its frizzled covering spread.Long lists of grievances were heard,And general discontent appear'd."Our harmless race shall every savageBoth quadruped and biped ravage?Shall horses, hounds, and hunters stillUnite their wits to work us ill?The youth, his parent's sole delight,Whose tooth the dewy lawns invite,Whose pulse in every vein beats strong,Whose limbs leap light the vales along,May yet ere noontide meet his death,And lie dismember'd on the heath.For youth, alas, nor cautious age,Nor strength, nor speed, eludes their rage.In every field we meet the foe,Each gale comes fraught with sounds of woe;The morning but awakes our fears,The evening sees us bath'd in tears.But must we ever idly grieve,Nor strive our fortunes to relieve?Small is each individual's force:To stratagem be our recourse;And then, from all our tribes combin'd,The murderer to his cost may findNo foes are weak, whom Justice arms,Whom Concord leads, and Hatred warms.Be rous'd; or liberty acquire,Or in the great attempt expire."He said no more, for in his breastConflicting thoughts the voice suppress'd:The fire of vengeance seem'd to streamFrom his swoln eyeball's yellow gleam.And now the tumults of the war,Mingling confusedly from afar,Swell in the wind. Now louder criesDistinct of hounds and men arise.Forth from the brake, with beating heart,Th' assembled hares tumultuous start,And, every straining nerve on wing,Away precipitately spring.The hunting band, a signal given,Thick thundering o'er the plain are driven;O'er cliff abrupt, and shrubby mound,And river broad, impetuous bound:Now plunge amid the forest shades,Glance through the openings of the glades;Now o'er the level valley sweep,Now with short steps strain up the steep;While backward from the hunter's eyesThe landscape like a torrent flies.At last an ancient wood they gain'd,By pruner's axe yet unprofan'd.High o'er the rest, by Nature rear'd,The oak's majestic boughs appear'd:Beneath, a copse of various hueIn barbarous luxuriance grew.No knife had curb'd the rambling sprays,No hand had wove th' implicit maze.The flowering thorn, self-taught to wind,The hazel's stubborn stem entwin'd,And bramble twigs were wreath'd around,And rough furze crept along the ground.Here sheltering, from the sons of murther,The hares drag their tir'd limbs no further.But lo, the western wind ere longWas loud, and roar'd the woods among;From rustling leaves, and crashing boughsThe sound of woe and war arose.The hares distracted scour the grove,As terror and amazement drove;But danger, wheresoe'er they fled,Still seem'd impending o'er their head.Now crowded in a grotto's gloom,All hope extinct, they wait their doom.Dire was the silence, till, at length,Even from despair deriving strength,With bloody eye and furious look,A daring youth arose and spoke."O wretched race, the scorn of Fate,Whom ills of every sort await!O, curs'd with keenest sense to feelThe sharpest sting of every ill!Say ye, who, fraught with mighty scheme,Of liberty and vengeance dream,What now remains? To what recessShall we our weary steps address,Since Fate is evermore pursuingAll ways and means to work our ruin?Are we alone, of all beneath,Condemn'd to misery worse than death?Must we, with fruitless labour, striveIn misery worse than death to live?No. Be the smaller ill our choice:So dictates Nature's powerful voice.Death's pang will in a moment cease;And then, All hail, eternal peace!"Thus while he spoke, his words impartThe dire resolve to every heart.A distant lake in prospect lay,That, glittering in the solar ray,Gleam'd through the dusky trees, and shotA trembling light along the grot.Thither with one consent they bend,Their sorrows with their lives to end,While each, in thought, already hearsThe water hissing in his ears.Fast by the margin of the lake,Conceal'd within a thorny brake,A linnet sate, whose careless layAmus'd the solitary day.Careless he sung, for on his breastSorrow no lasting trace impress'd;When suddenly he heard a soundOf swift feet traversing the ground.Quick to the neighbouring tree he flies,Thence trembling casts around his eyes;No foe appear'd, his fears were vain;Pleas'd he renews the sprightly strain.The hares, whose noise had caus'd his fright,Saw with surprise the linnet's flight."Is there on Earth a wretch," they said,"Whom our approach can strike with dread?"An instantaneous change of thoughtTo tumult every bosom wrought.So fares the system-building sage,Who, plodding on from youth to age,At last on some foundation-dreamHas rear'd aloft his goodly scheme,And prov'd his predecessors fools,And bound all nature by his rules;So fares he in that dreadful hour,When injur'd Truth exerts her power,Some new phenomenon to raise,Which, bursting on his frighted gaze,From its proud summit to the groundProves the whole edifice unsound."Children," thus spoke a hare sedate,Who oft had known th' extremes of fate,"In slight events the docile mindMay hints of good instruction find.That our condition is the worst,And we with such misfortunes curstAs all comparison defy,Was late the universal cry;When lo, an accident so slightAs yonder little linnet's flightHas made your stubborn heart confess(So your amazement bids me guess)That all our load of woes and fearsIs but a part of what he bears.Where can he rest secure from harms,Whom even a helpless hare alarms?Yet he repines not at his lot,When past, the danger is forgot:On yonder bough he trims his wings,And with unusual rapture sings:While we, less wretched, sink beneathOur lighter ills, and rush to death.No more of this unmeaning rage,But hear, my friends, the words of age."When by the winds of autumn drivenThe scatter'd clouds fly cross the heaven,Oft have we, from some mountain's head,Beheld th' alternate light and shadeSweep the long vale. Here, hovering, lowersThe shadowy cloud; there downward pours,Streaming direct, a flood of day,Which from the view flies swift away;It flies, while other shades advance,And other streaks of sunshine glance.Thus chequer'd is the life belowWith gleams of joy and clouds of woe.Then hope not, while we journey on,Still to be basking in the sun:Nor fear, though now in shades ye mourn,That sunshine will no more return.If, by your terrors overcome,Ye fly before th' approaching gloom,The rapid clouds your flight pursue,And darkness still o'ercasts your view.Who longs to reach the radiant plainMust onward urge his course amain;For doubly swift the shadow flies,When 'gainst the gale the pilgrim plies.At least be firm, and undismay'dMaintain your ground; the fleeting shadeEre long spontaneous glides away,And gives you back th' enlivening ray.Lo, while I speak, our danger past!No more the shrill horn's angry blastHowls in our ear; the savage roarOf war and murder is no more.Then snatch the moment fate allows,Nor think of past or future woes."He spoke; and hope revives; the lakeThat instant one and all forsake,In sweet amusement to employThe present sprightly hour of joy.Now from the western mountain's brow,Compass'd with clouds of various glow,The sun a broader orb displays,And shoots aslope his ruddy rays.The lawn assumes a fresher green,And dewdrops spangle all the scene;The balmy zephyr breathes along,The shepherd sings his tender song,With all their lays the groves resound,And falling waters murmur round.Discord and care were put to flight,And all was peace, and calm delight.