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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415300" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Minstrel; or, The Progress of Genius (excerpts)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE FIRST BOOK (excerpts)</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb<br>The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!<br>Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime<br>Hath felt the influence of malignant star,<br>And wag'd with Fortune an eternal war!<br>Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,<br>And Poverty's unconquerable bar,<br>In life's low vale remote hath pin'd alone<br>Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And yet, the languor of inglorious days<br>Not equally oppressive is to all.<br>Him, who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise,<br>The silence of neglect can ne'er appal.<br>There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call,<br>Would shrink to hear th' obstreperous trump of Fame;<br>Supremely blest, if to their portion fall<br>Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim<br>Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">This sapient age disclaims all classic lore;<br>Else I should here in cunning phrase display,<br>How forth The Minstrel far'd in days of yore,<br>Right glad of heart, though homely in array;<br>His waving locks and beard all hoary grey:<br>And, from his bending shoulder, decent hung<br>His harp, the sole companion of his way,<br>Which to the whistling wind responsive rung:<br>And ever as he went some merry lay he sung.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Fret not yourselves, ye silken sons of pride,<br>That a poor Wanderer should inspire my strain.<br>The Muses Fortune's fickle smile deride,<br>Nor ever bow the knee in Mammon's fane;<br>For their delights are with the village-train,<br>Whom Nature's laws engage, and Nature's charms:<br>They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain;<br>The parasite their influence never warms,<br>Nor him whose sordid soul the love of wealth alarms.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Though richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn,<br>Yet horror screams from his discordant throat.<br>Rise, sons of harmony, and hail the morn,<br>While warbling larks on russet pinions float;<br>Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote,<br>Where the grey linnets carol from the hill.<br>O let them ne'er with artificial note,<br>To please a tyrant, strain the little bill,<br>But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander where they will.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand;<br>Nor was perfection made for man below.<br>Yet all her schemes with nicest art are plann'd,<br>Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe.<br>With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow,<br>If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise;<br>There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow;<br>Here peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies,<br>And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then grieve not, thou to whom th' indulgent Muse<br>Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire;<br>Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse<br>Th' imperial banquet, and the rich attire.<br>Know thine own worth, and reverence the lyre.<br>Wilt thou debase the heart which God refin'd?<br>No; let thy heaven-taught soul to heaven aspire,<br>To fancy, freedom, harmony, resign'd;<br>Ambition's groveling crew for ever left behind.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">...<br>But who the melodies of morn can tell?<br>The wild brook babbling down the mountain-side;<br>The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell;<br>The pipe of early shepherd dim descried<br>In the lone valley; echoing far and wide<br>The clamorous horn along the cliffs above;<br>The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide;<br>The hum of bees, and linnet's lay of love,<br>And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark;<br>Crown'd with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings;<br>The whistling plowman stalks afield; and, hark!<br>Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings;<br>Through rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs;<br>Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour;<br>The partridge bursts away on whirring wings;<br>Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower,<br>And shrill lark carols clear from her aereal tower.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Nature, how in every charm supreme!<br>Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new!<br>O for the voice and fire of seraphim,<br>To sing thy glories with devotion due!<br>Blest be the day I scap'd the wrangling crew,<br>From Pyrrho's maze, and Epicurus' sty;<br>And held high converse with the godlike few,<br>Who to th' enraptur'd heart, and ear, and eye,<br>Teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hence! ye, who snare and stupefy the mind,<br>Sophists, of beauty, virtue, joy, the bane!<br>Greedy and fell, though impotent and blind,<br>Who spread your filthy nets in Truth's fair fane,<br>And ever ply your venom'd fangs amain!<br>Hence to dark Error's den, whose rankling slime<br>First gave you form! hence! lest the Muse should deign,<br>(Though loth on theme so mean to waste a rhyme),<br>With vengeance to pursue your sacrilegious crime.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But hail, ye mighty masters of the lay,<br>Nature's true sons, the friends of man and truth!<br>Whose song, sublimely sweet, serenely gay,<br>Amus'd my childhood, and inform'd my youth.<br>O let your spirit still my bosom soothe,<br>Inspire my dreams, and my wild wanderings guide.<br>Your voice each rugged path of life can smooth;<br>For well I know, wherever ye reside,<br>There harmony, and peace, and innocence, abide.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=James+Beattie">James Beattie</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415300" data-title="The Minstrel; or, The Progress of Genius (excerpts) de James Beattie" data-description="THE FIRST BOOK (excerpts) Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar! Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime Hath felt the influence of malignant star, And wag'd with Fortune an eternal war! Check'd..."></div> </div> </div>
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