Obrazy na stronie
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And least be threaten'd in the fields and groves?
Possess ye, therefore, ye, who, borne about
In chariots and sedans, know no fatigue
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
The pensive wand'rer in their shades. At eve
The moon-beam, 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
Our softer satellite. Your songs confound
Our more harmonious notes ; the thrush departs
Scar'd, and th' offended nightingale is mute.
There is a public mischief in your mirth ;
It plagues your country. Folly such as yours,
Grac'd with a sword, and worthier of a fan,

A mutilated structure, soon to fall.

ARGUMENT OF THE SECOND BOOK.

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 secondary causes reproved. Our own late miscarriages accounted for.Satirical notice taken of our trips to Fontainbleau.But the pulpit, not satire, the proper engine of reformation. The Reve erend Advertiser of engraved sermons.-Petitmaitre Parson. The good preacher.- Pictares of a theatrical clerical coxcomb.-Story-tellers amd jesters in the pulpit reproved.- Apostrophe to popular applause.-Retailers of ancient philosophy expostulated with.-Sum of the whole matter.Effects of sacerdotal mismanagement on the laity.Their folly and extravagance. The mischiefs of profusion.-Profusion itself, with all its consequent evils, ascribed, as to its principal cause, to the want of discipline in the universities.

THE TASK.

BOOK 11.

THE TIME-PIECE.

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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,
My soul is sick, with ev'ry 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 nat’ral bond
Of brotherhood is sever'd as the flax
That falls asunder at the touch of fire.
He finds his fellow guilty of a skin
Not colour'd like his own ! and, having pow?r
T enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause
Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey.
Lands intersected by a narrow frith

VOL. 11.

Abhor each other. Mountains interpos’d
Make enemies of nations, who had else,
Like kindred drops, been mingled into one. .
Thus man devotes his brother, and destroys;
And, worse than all, and most to be deplor'd,
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.
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,
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 priz'd above all price,
I had much rather be myself the slave,
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 loos’d.
Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs
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 ev'ry vein

Of all your empire ; that where Britain's pow'r
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.

Sure there is need of social intercourse,
Benevolence, and peace, and mutual aid,
Between the nations, in a world that seems
To toll the death-bell of its own decease,
And by the voice of all its elements
To preach the gen’ral doom.* When were the winds.
Let slip with such a warrant to destroy ?
When did the waves so haughtily o’erleap
Their ancient barriers, deluging the dry ?
Fires from beneath, and meteorst from above,
Portentous, unexampled, unexplain’d,
Have kindled beacons in the skies; and th' old
And crazy earth has had her shaking fits
More frequent, and forgone her usual rest.
Is it a time to wrangle, when the props
And pillars of our planet seem to fail,
And nature with a dim and sickly eyef
To wait the close of all? But grant her end
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.

* Alluding to the calamities at Jamaica. . August 18, 1783.

Alluding to the fog that cover'd both Europe and Asia during the whole summer of 1783.

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