The Poetical Works of James Beattie
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THE MINSTREL
BOOK II
THE MINSTREL; OR, THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS.
BOOK II
IOf chance or change O let not man complain,Else shall he never never cease to wail:For, from the imperial dome, to where the swainRears the lone cottage in the silent dale,All feel th' assault of fortune's fickle gale;Art, empire, earth itself, to change are doom'd;Earthquakes have rais'd to heaven the humble vale:And gulfs the mountain's mighty mass entomb'd,And where th' Atlantic rolls wide continents have bloom'd.36IIBut sure to foreign climes we need not range,Nor search the ancient records of our race,To learn the dire effects of time and change,Which in ourselves, alas! we daily trace.Yet at the darken'd eye, the wither'd face,Or hoary hair, I never will repine:But spare, O Time, whate'er of mental grace,Of candour, love, or sympathy divine,Whate'er of fancy's ray, or friendship's flame is mine!IIISo I, obsequious to truth's dread command,Shall here without reluctance change my lay,And smite the gothic lyre with harsher hand;Now when I leave that flowery path for ayeOf childhood, where I sported many a day,Warbling and sauntering carelessly along;Where every face was innocent and gay,Each vale romantic, tuneful every tongue,Sweet, wild, and artless all, as Edwin's infant song.IV"Perish the lore that deadens young desire,"Is the soft tenor of my song no more.Edwin, though lov'd of Heaven, must not aspireTo bliss, which mortals never knew before.On trembling wings let youthful fancy soar,Nor always haunt the sunny realms of joy:But now and then the shades of life explore;Though many a sound and sight of woe annoy,And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy.VVigour from toil, from trouble patience grows,The weakly blossom, warm in summer bower,Some tints of transient beauty may disclose;But soon it withers in the chilling hour.Mark yonder oaks! Superior to the powerOf all the warring winds of heaven they rise,And from the stormy promontory tower,And toss their giant arms amid the skies,While each assailing blast increase of strength supplies.VIAnd now the downy cheek and deepen'd voiceGave dignity to Edwin's blooming prime;And walks of wider circuit were his choice,And vales more wild, and mountains more sublime.One evening, as he fram'd the careless rhyme,It was his chance to wander far abroad,And o'er a lonely eminence to climb,Which heretofore his foot had never trode;A vale appear'd below, a deep retir'd abode.VIIThither he hied, enamour'd of the scene.For rocks on rocks piled, as by magic spell,Here scorch'd with lightning, there with ivy green,Fenc'd from the north and east this savage dell.Southward a mountain rose with easy swell,Whose long long groves eternal murmur made:And toward the western sun a streamlet fell,Where, through the cliffs, the eye, remote, survey'dBlue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold array'd.VIIIAlong this narrow valley you might seeThe wild deer sporting on the meadow ground,And, here and there, a solitary tree,Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crown'd.Oft did the cliffs reverberate the soundOf parted fragments tumbling from on high;And from the summit of that craggy moundThe perching eagle oft was heard to cry,Or on resounding wings, to shoot athwart the sky.IXOne cultivated spot there was, that spreadIts flowery bosom to the noonday beam,Where many a rosebud rears its blushing head,And herbs for food with future plenty teem.Sooth'd by the lulling sound of grove and stream,Romantic visions swarm on Edwin's soul:He minded not the sun's last trembling gleam,Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll;When slowly on his ear these moving accents Stole:X"Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast,And woo the weary to profound repose!Can passion's wildest uproar lay to rest,And whisper comfort to the man of woes!Here innocence may wander, safe from foes,And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.O Solitude! the man who thee foregoes,When lucre lures him, or ambition stings,Shall never know the source whence real grandeur springs.XI"Vain man! is grandeur given to gay attire?Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid:To friends, attendants, armies, bought with hire?It is thy weakness that requires their aid:To palaces, with gold and gems inlaid?They fear the thief and tremble in the storm:To hosts, through carnage who to conquest wade?Behold the victor vanquish'd by the worm!Behold, what deeds of woe the locust can perform!XII"True dignity is his whose tranquil mindVirtue has raised above the things below;Who every hope and fear to Heaven resign'd,Shrinks not, though Fortune aim her deadliest blow."This strain from 'midst the rocks was heard to flowIn solemn sounds. Now beam'd the evening star;And from embattled clouds emerging slowCynthia came riding on her silver car;And hoary mountain-cliffs shone faintly from afar.XIIISoon did the solemn voice its theme renew;(While Edwin wrapt in wonder listening stood)"Ye tools and toys of tyranny, adieu,Scorn'd by the wise, and hated by the good!Ye only can engage the servile broodOf Levity and Lust, who all their days,Asham'd of truth and liberty, have woo'dAnd hugg'd the chain that, glittering on their gaze,Seems to outshine the pomp of heaven's empyreal blaze.XIV"Like them, abandon'd to Ambition's sway,I sought for glory in the paths of guile;And fawn'd and smil'd, to plunder and betray,Myself betray'd and plunder'd all the while;So gnaw'd the viper the corroding file:But now, with pangs of keen remorse, I rueThose years of trouble and debasement vile.Yet why should I this cruel theme pursue!Fly, fly, detested thoughts, for ever from my view!XV"The gusts of appetite, the clouds of care,And storms of disappointment, all o'erpast,Henceforth no earthly hope with Heaven shall shareThis heart, where peace serenely shines at last.And if for me no treasure be amass'd,And if no future age shall hear my name,I lurk the more secure from fortune's blast,And with more leisure feed this pious flame,Whose rapture far transcends the fairest hopes of fame.XVI"The end and the reward of toil is rest.Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace.Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power possess'd,Who ever felt his weight of woe decrease!Ah! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece,The lay heaven-prompted, and harmonious string,The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece,All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring,If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride, the bosom wring!XVII"Let Vanity adorn the marble tombWith trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown,In the deep dungeon of some gothic dome,Where night and desolation ever frown.Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down;Where a green grassy turf is all I crave,With here and there a violet bestrown,Fast by a brook or fountain's murmuring wave;And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave.XVIII"And thither let the village swain repair;And, light of heart, the village maiden gay,To deck with flowers her half-dishevel'd hair,And celebrate the merry morn of May.There let the shepherd's pipe the livelong dayFill all the grove with love's bewitching woe;And when mild Evening comes in mantle gray,Let not the blooming band make haste to go;No ghost, nor spell, my long, my last abode shall know.XIX"For though I fly to 'scape from Fortune's rage,And bear the scars of envy, spite, and scorn,Yet with mankind no horrid war I wage,Yet with no impious spleen my breast is torn:For virtue lost, and ruin'd man, I mourn.O man! creation's pride, Heaven's darling child,Whom Nature's best, divinest gifts adorn,Why from thy home are truth and joy exil'd,And all thy favourite haunts with blood and tears defil'd?XX"Along yon glittering sky what glory streams!What majesty attends Night's lovely queen!Fair laugh our valleys in the vernal beams;And mountains rise, and oceans roll between,And all conspire to beautify the scene.But, in the mental world, what chaos drear!What forms of mournful, loathsome, furious mien!O when shall that eternal morn appear,These dreadful forms to chase, this chaos dark to clear!XXI"O Thou, at whose creative smile, yon heaven,In all the pomp of beauty, life, and light,Rose from th' abyss; when dark Confusion, drivenDown, down the bottomless profound of night,Fled, where he ever flies thy piercing sight!O glance on these sad shades one pitying ray,To blast the fury of oppressive might,Melt the hard heart to love and mercy's sway,And cheer the wandering soul, and light him on the way!"XXIISilence ensu'd; and Edwin rais'd his eyesIn tears, for grief lay heavy at his heart."And is it thus in courtly life," he cries,"That man to man acts a betrayer's part?And dares he thus the gifts of Heaven pervert,Each social instinct, and sublime desire?Hail Poverty, if honour, wealth, and art,If what the great pursue, and learn'd admire,Thus dissipate and quench the soul's ethereal fire!"XXIIIHe said, and turn'd away; nor did the sageO'erhear, in silent orisons employ'd.The youth, his rising sorrow to assuage,Home as he hied, the evening scene enjoy'd:For now no cloud obscures the starry void;The yellow moonlight sleeps on all the hills;37Nor is the mind with startling sounds annoy'd,A soothing murmur the lone region fills,Of groves, and dying gales, and melancholy rills.XXIVBut he from day to day more anxious grew,The voice still seem'd to vibrate on his ear.Nor durst he hope the hermit's tale untrue;For man he seem'd to love, and Heaven to fear;And none speaks false, where there is none to hear."Yet can man's gentle heart become so fell!No more in vain conjecture let me wearMy hours away, but seek the hermit's cell;'Tis he my doubt can clear, perhaps my care dispel."XXVAt early dawn the youth his journey took,And many a mountain pass'd and valley wide,Then reach'd the wild; where, in a flowery nook,And seated on a mossy stone, he spiedAn ancient man: his harp lay him beside.A stag sprang from the pasture at his call,And, kneeling, lick'd the wither'd hand that tiedA wreath of woodbine round his antlers tall,And hung his lofty neck with many a flow'ret small.XXVIAnd now the hoary sage arose, and sawThe wanderer approaching: innocenceSmil'd on his glowing cheek, but modest aweDepress'd his eye, that fear'd to give offence."Who art thou, courteous stranger? and from whence?Why roam thy steps to this sequester'd dale?""A shepherd-boy," the youth replied, "far henceMy habitation; hear my artless tale;Nor levity nor falsehood shall thine ear assail.XXVII"Late as I roam'd, intent on Nature's charms,I reach'd at eve this wilderness profound;And, leaning where yon oak expands her arms,Heard these rude cliffs thine awful voice rebound:(For in thy speech I recognize the sound).You mourn'd for ruin'd man, and virtue lost,And seem'd to feel of keen remorse the wound,Pondering on former days by guilt engross'd,Or in the giddy storm of dissipation toss'd.XXVIII"But say, in courtly life can craft be learn'd,Where knowledge opens, and exalts the soul?Where Fortune lavishes her gifts unearn'd,Can selfishness the liberal heart control?Is glory there achiev'd by arts, as foulAs those that felons, fiends, and furies plan?Spiders ensnare, snakes poison, tigers prowl;Love is the godlike attribute of man.O teach a simple youth this mystery to scan!XXIX"Or else the lamentable strain disclaim,And give me back the calm, contented mind;Which, late exulting, view'd in Nature's frame,Goodness untainted, wisdom unconfin'd,Grace, grandeur, and utility combin'd.Restore those tranquil days, that saw me stillWell pleas'd with all, but most with humankind;When Fancy roam'd through Nature's works at will,Uncheck'd by cold distrust, and uninform'd of ill."XXX"Wouldst thou," the sage replied, "in peace returnTo the gay dreams of fond romantic youth,Leave me to hide, in this remote sojourn,From every gentle ear the dreadful truth:For if my desultory strain with ruthAnd indignation make thine eyes o'erflow,Alas! what comfort could thy anguish soothe,Shouldst thou th' extent of human folly know.Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads to woe.XXXI"But let untender thoughts afar be driven;Nor venture to arraign the dread decree.For know, to man, as candidate for heaven,The voice of the Eternal said, Be free:And this divine prerogative to theeDoes virtue, happiness, and heaven convey;For virtue is the child of liberty,And happiness of virtue; nor can theyBe free to keep the path, who are not free to stray.XXXII"Yet leave me not. I would allay that grief,Which else might thy young virtue overpower;And in thy converse I shall find relief;When the dark shades of melancholy lower;For solitude has many a dreary hour,Even when exempt from grief, remorse, and pain:Come often then; for, haply, in my bower,Amusement, knowledge, wisdom thou may'st gain:If I one soul improve, I have not liv'd in vain."XXXIIIAnd now, at length, to Edwin's ardent gazeThe Muse of history unrolls her page.But few, alas! the scenes her art displays,To charm his fancy, or his heart engage.Here chiefs their thirst of power in blood assuage,And straight their flames with tenfold fierceness burn:Here smiling Virtue prompts the patriot's rage,But lo, ere long, is left alone to mourn,And languish in the dust, and clasp the abandon'd urn!XXXIV"Ambition's slippery verge shall mortals tread,Where ruin's gulf unfathom'd yawns beneath?Shall life, shall liberty be lost," he said,"For the vain toys that pomp and power bequeath?The car of victory, the plume, the wreath,Defend not from the bolt of fate the brave:No note the clarion of renown can breathe,To alarm the long night of the lonely grave,Or check the headlong haste of time's o'erwhelming wave.XXXV"Ah, what avails it to have trac'd the springsThat whirl of empire the stupendous wheel!Ah, what have I to do with conquering kings,Hands drench'd in blood, and breasts begirt with steel!To those whom Nature taught to think and feel,Heroes, alas! are things of small concern.Could History man's secret heart reveal,And what imports a heaven-born mind to learn,Her transcripts to explore what bosom would not yearn!XXXVI"This praise, O Cheronean sage,38 is thine!(Why should this praise to thee alone belong?)All else from Nature's moral path decline,Lur'd by the toys that captivate the throng;To herd in cabinets and camps, amongSpoil, carnage, and the cruel pomp of pride;Or chant of heraldry the drowsy song,How tyrant blood, o'er many a region wide,Rolls to a thousand thrones its execrable tide.XXXVII"O who of man the story will unfold,Ere victory and empire wrought annoy,In that elysian age (misnam'd of gold),The age of love, and innocence, and joy,When all were great and free! man's sole employTo deck the bosom of his parent earth;Or toward his bower the murmuring stream decoy,To aid the floweret's long-expected birth,And lull the bed of peace, and crown the board of mirth.XXXVIII"Sweet were your shades, O ye primeval groves!Whose boughs to man his food and shelter lent,Pure in his pleasures, happy in his loves,His eyes still smiling, and his heart content.Then, hand in hand, health, sport, and labour went.Nature supply'd the wish she taught to crave.None prowl'd for prey, none watch'd to circumvent.To all an equal lot Heaven's bounty gave:No vassal fear'd his lord, no tyrant fear'd his slave.XXXIX"But ah! th' historic Muse has never dar'dTo pierce those hallow'd bowers: 'tis Fancy's beamPour'd on the vision of th' enraptur'd bard,That paints the charms of that delicious theme.Then hail sweet Fancy's ray! and hail the dreamThat weans the weary soul from guilt and woe!Careless what others of my choice may deem,I long, where Love and Fancy lead, to goAnd meditate on Heaven; enough of Earth I know."XL"I cannot blame thy choice," the sage replied,"For soft and smooth are Fancy's flowery ways.And yet, even there, if left without a guide,The young adventurer unsafely plays.Eyes dazzled long by fiction's gaudy raysIn modest truth no light nor beauty find.And who, my child, would trust the meteor-blaze,That soon must fail, and leave the wanderer blind,More dark and helpless far, than if it ne'er had shin'd?XLI"Fancy enervates, while it soothes, the heart,And, while it dazzles, wounds the mental sight:To joy each heightening charm it can impart,But wraps the hour of woe in tenfold night.And often, where no real ills affright,Its visionary fiends, an endless train,Assail with equal or superior might,And through the throbbing heart, and dizzy brain,And shivering nerves, shoot stings of more than mortal pain.XLII"And yet, alas! the real ills of lifeClaim the full vigour of a mind prepar'd,Prepared for patient, long, laborious strife,Its guide experience, and truth its guard.We fare on Earth as other men have far'd.Were they successful? Let not us despair.Was disappointment oft their sole reward?Yet shall their tale instruct, if it declareHow they have borne the load ourselves are doom'd to bear.XLIII"What charms th' historic Muse adorn, from spoils,And blood, and tyrants, when she wings her flight,To hail the patriot prince, whose pious toils,Sacred to science, liberty, and right,And peace, through every age divinely brightShall shine the boast and wonder of mankind!Sees yonder Sun, from his meridian height,A lovelier scene, than virtue thus enshrin'dIn power, and man with man for mutual aid combin'd?XLIV"Hail sacred Polity, by Freedom rear'd!Hail sacred Freedom, when by law restrain'd!Without you what were man? A grovelling herd,In darkness, wretchedness, and want enchain'd.Sublim'd by you, the Greek and Roman reign'dIn arts unrivall'd: O, to latest days,In Albion may your influence unprofan'dTo godlike worth the generous bosom raise,And prompt the sage's lore, and fire the poet's lays!XLV"But how let other themes our care engage.For lo, with modest yet majestic grace,To curb Imagination's lawless rage,And from within the cherish'd heart to brace,Philosophy appears. The gloomy raceBy Indolence and moping Fancy bred,Fear, Discontent, Solicitude, give place,And Hope and Courage brighten in their stead,While on the kindling soul her vital beams are shed.XLVI"Then waken from long lethargy to life39The seeds of happiness, and powers of thought;Then jarring appetites forego their strife,A strife by ignorance to madness wrought.Pleasure by savage man is dearly boughtWith fell revenge, lust that defies control,With gluttony and death. The mind untaughtIs a dark waste where fiends and tempests howl:As Phœbus to the world, is science to the soul.XLVII"And reason now through number, time, and space,Darts the keen lustre of her serious eye,And learns from facts compar'd, the laws to trace,Whose long progression leads to Deity.Can mortal strength presume to soar so high!Can mortal sight, so oft bedimm'd with tears,Such glory bear! – for lo, the shadows flyFrom Nature's face; confusion disappears,And order charms the eye, and harmony the ears.XLVIII"In the deep windings of the grove, no moreThe hag obscene and grisly phantom dwell;Nor in the fall of mountain-stream, or roarOf winds, is heard the angry spirit's yell;No wizard mutters the tremendous spell,Nor sinks convulsive in prophetic swoon;Nor bids the noise of drums and trumpets swell,To ease of fancied pangs the labouring Moon,Or chase the shade that blots the blazing orb of noon.XLIX"Many a long-lingering year, in lonely isle,Stunn'd with th' eternal turbulence of waves,Lo, with dim eyes, that never learn'd to smile,And trembling hands, the famish'd native cravesOf Heaven his wretched fare: shivering in caves,Or scorch'd on rocks, he pines from day to day;But Science gives the word; and lo, he bravesThe surge and tempest, lighted by her ray,And to a happier land wafts merrily away!L"And even where Nature loads the teeming plainWith the full pomp of vegetable store,Her bounty unimprov'd, is deadly bane.Dark woods and rankling wilds, from shore to shore,Stretch their enormous gloom; which to exploreEven Fancy trembles, in her sprightliest mood;For there each eyeball gleams with lust of gore,Nestless each murderous and each monstrous brood,Plague lurks in every shade, and steams from every flood.LI"Twas from Philosophy man learn'd to tameThe soil, by plenty to intemperance fed.Lo, from the echoing axe, and thundering flame,Poison and plague and yelling rage are fled!The waters, bursting from their slimy bed,Bring health and melody to every vale:And, from the breezy main, and mountain's head,Ceres and Flora, to the sunny dale,To fan their glowing charms, invite the fluttering gale.LIIWhat dire necessities on every handOur art, our strength, our fortitude require!Of foes intestine what a numerous bandAgainst this little throb of life conspire!Yet Science can elude their fatal ireAwhile, and turn aside Death's levell'd dart,Soothe the sharp pang, allay the fever's fire,And brace the nerves once more, and cheer the heart,And yet a few soft nights and balmy days impart.LIII"Nor less to regulate man's moral frameScience exerts her all-composing sway.Flutters thy breast with fear, or pants for fame,Or pines, to indolence and spleen a prey,Or avarice, a fiend more fierce than they?Flee to the shade of Academus' grove;Where cares molest not, discord melts awayIn harmony, and the pure passions proveHow sweet the words of Truth breath'd from the lips of Love.LIV"What cannot Art and Industry perform,When Science plans the progress of their toil!They smile at penury, disease, and storm;And oceans from their mighty mounds recoil.When tyrants scourge, or demagogues embroilA land, or when the rabble's headlong rageOrder transforms to anarchy and spoil,Deep-vers'd in man the philosophic sagePrepares with lenient hand their frenzy to assuage.LV"'Tis he alone, whose comprehensive mind,From situation, temper, soil, and climeExplor'd, a nation's various powers can bind,And various orders, in one form sublimeOf polity, that, midst the wrecks of time,Secure shall lift its head on high, nor fearTh' assault of foreign or domestic crime,While public faith, and public love sincere,And industry and law maintain their sway severe."LVIEnraptur'd by the hermit's strain, the youthProceeds the path of Science to explore.And now, expanded to the beams of truth,New energies and charms unknown beforeHis mind discloses: Fancy now no moreWantons on fickle pinion through the skies;But, fix'd in aim, and conscious of her power,Aloft from cause to cause exults to rise,Creation's blended stores arranging as she flies.LVIINor love of novelty alone inspires,Their laws and nice dependencies to scan;For, mindful of the aids that life requires,And of the services man owes to man,He meditates new arts on Nature's plan;The cold desponding breast of sloth to warm,The flame of industry and genius fan,And emulation's noble rage alarm,And the long hours of toil and solitude to charm.LVIIIBut she, who set on fire his infant heart,And all his dreams, and all his wanderings shar'dAnd bless'd, the Muse, and her celestial art,Still claim th' enthusiast's fond and first regard.From Nature's beauties variously compar'dAnd variously combin'd, he learns to frameThose forms of bright perfection,40 which the bard,While boundless hopes and boundless views inflame,Enamour'd consecrates to never-dying fame.LIXOf late, with cumbersome, tho' pompous show,Edwin would oft his flowery rhyme deface,Through ardour to adorn: but Nature nowTo his experienc'd eye a modest gracePresents, where ornament the second placeHolds, to intrinsic worth and just designSubservient still. Simplicity apaceTempers his rage; he owns her charm divine,And clears th' ambiguous phrase, and lops th' unwieldy line.LXFain would I sing (much yet unsung remains)What sweet delirium o'er his bosom stole,When the great shepherd of the Mantuan plains41His deep majestic melody 'gan roll:Fain would I sing what transport storm'd his soul,How the red current throbb'd his veins along,When, like Pelides, bold beyond control,Without art graceful, without effort strong,Homer rais'd high to Heaven the loud, th' impetuous song.LXIAnd how his lyre, though rude her first essays,Now skill'd to soothe, to triumph, to complain,Warbling at will through each harmonious maze,Was taught to modulate the artful strain,I fain would sing: – but ah! I strive in vain.Sighs from a breaking heart my voice confound.With trembling step, to join yon weeping train,I haste, where gleams funereal glare around,And, mix'd with shrieks of woe, the knells of death resound.LXIIAdieu, ye lays, that Fancy's flowers adorn,The soft amusement of the vacant mind!He sleeps in dust, and all the Muses mourn,He, whom each virtue fir'd, each grace refin'd,Friend, teacher, pattern, darling of mankind!He sleeps in dust.42 Ah, how shall I pursueMy theme! To heart-consuming grief resign'd,Here on his recent grave I fix my view,And pour my bitter tears. Ye flowery lays, adieu!LXIIIArt thou, my Gregory, for ever fled!And am I left to unavailing woe!When fortune's storms assail this weary head,Where cares long since have shed untimely snow!Ah, now for comfort whither shall I go!No more thy soothing voice my anguish cheers:Thy placid eyes with smiles no longer glow,My hopes to cherish, and allay my fears.'Tis meet that I should mourn; flow forth afresh, my tears.