<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=415301" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Minstrel; Or, The Progress Of Genius : Book I.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I.<br>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">II.<br>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">III. <br>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">IV. <br>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">V.<br>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">VI.<br>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">VII.<br>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">VIII.<br>Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul,<br>In each fine sense so exquisitely keen,<br>On the dull couch of Luxury to loll,<br>Stung with disease and stupified with spleen;<br>Fain to implore the aid of Flattery's screen,<br>Even from thyself thy loathsome heart to hide<br>(The mansion then no more of joys serene)<br>Where fear, distrust, malevolence, abide,<br>And impotent desire, and disappointed pride?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">IX.<br>O how canst thou renounce the boundless store<br>Of charms which Nature to her votary yields!<br>The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,<br>The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields;<br>All that the genial ray of morning gilds,<br>And all that echoes to the song of even,<br>All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,<br>And all that dread magnificence of heaven,<br>O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">X.<br>These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health,<br>And love, and gentleness, and joy, impart.<br>But these thou must renounce, if lust or wealth<br>E'er win its way to thy corrupted heart;<br>For, ah! it poisons like a scorpion's dart,<br>Prompting th' ungenerous wish, the selfish scheme,<br>The stern resolve, unmoved by pity a smart,<br>The troublous day, and long distressful dream -<br>Return my roving Muse, resume thy purposed theme.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XI.<br>There lived in Gothic days, as legends tell,<br>A shepherd-swain, a man of low degree;<br>Whose sires, perchance, in Fairyland might dwell,<br>Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady;<br>But he, I ween, was of the north country:<br>A nation famed for song, and beauty's charms;<br>Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;<br>Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms;<br>Inflexible in faith; invincible in arms.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XII.<br>The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made,<br>On Scotia's mountains fed his little flock;<br>The sickle, sithe, or plough, he never sway'd:<br>An honest heart was almost all his stock;<br>His drink the living water from the rock:<br>The milky dams supplied his board, and lent<br>Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's shock:<br>And he, though oft with dust and sweat besprent,<br>Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoe'er they went.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIII.<br>From labour health, from health contentment springs,<br>Contentment opes the source of every joy.<br>He envied not, he never thought of kings;<br>Nor form those appetites sustain'd annoy,<br>That chance may frustrate, or indulgence cloy:<br>Nor fate his calm and humble hopes beguiled;<br>He morn'd no recreant friend, nor mistress coy,<br>For on his vows the blameless Phoebe smiled,<br>And her alone he loved, and loved her from a child.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIV.<br>No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast,<br>Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife;<br>Each season look'd delightful, as it pass'd,<br>To the fond husband, and the faithful wife.<br>Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd life<br>They never roam'd; secure beneath the storm<br>Which in ambition's lofty land is rife, <br>Where peace and love are canker'd by the worm<br>Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to deform.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XV.<br>The wight, whose tales these artless lines unfold,<br>Was all the offspring of this humble pair.<br>His birth no oracle or seer foretold:<br>No prodigy appear'd in death or air,<br>Nor aught that might a strange event declare.<br>You guess each circumstance of Edwin's birth;<br>The parent's transport, and the parent's care;<br>The gossip's prayer for wealth, and wit, and worth:<br>And one long summer-day of indolence and mirth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVI. <br>And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy;<br>Deep thought oft seem'd to fix his infant eye.<br>Dainties he heeded not, nor gaude, nor toy,<br>Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy. <br>Silent when glad; affectionate, though shy;<br>And now his look was most demurely sad,<br>And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew why.<br>The neighbours stared and sigh'd, yet bless'd the lad;<br>Some deem'd him wonderous wise, and some believed him mad.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVII. <br>But why should I his childish feats display?<br>Concourse, and noise, and toil, he ever fled;<br>Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray<br>Of squabbling imps, but to the forest sped,<br>Or roam'd at large the lonely mountain's head;<br>Or, where the maze of some bewilder'd stream<br>To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led,<br>There would he wander wild, 'till Phoebus' beam,<br>Shot from the western cliff, released the weary team.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XVIII.<br>Th' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed,<br>To him nor vanity nor joy could bring.<br>His heart, from cruel sport estranged, would bleed<br>To work the wo of any living thing,<br>By trap, or net; by arrow, or by sling;<br>These he detested, those he scorn'd to wield:<br>He wish'd to be the guardian, not the king.<br>Tyrant far less, or traitor of the field.<br>And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XIX. <br>Lo! where the stripling, wrapp'd in wonder, roves<br>Beneath the precipice o'er hung with pine;<br>And sees, on high, amidst th' encircling groves,<br>From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine:<br>While waters, woods, and winds, in concert join,<br>And Echo swells the chorus to the skies.<br>Would Edwin this majestic scene resign<br>For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies?<br>Ah! no: he better knows great Nature's charms to prize.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XX.<br>And oft he traced the uplands, to survey,<br>When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn,<br>The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain gray,<br>And lake, dim gleaming on the smoky lawn;<br>Far to the west the long, long vale withdrawn,<br>Where twilight loves to linger for a while;<br>And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn,<br>And villager abroad at early toil. -<br>But, lo! the sun appears! and heaven, earth, ocean, smile.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXI. <br>And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb,<br>When all in mist the world below was lost.<br>What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime,<br>Like shipwreck'd mariners on desert coast,<br>And view th' enormous waste of vapour, toss'd<br>In billows, lengthening to th' horizon round<br>Now scoop'd in gulphs, with mountains now emboss'd!<br>And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound,<br>Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXII.<br>In truth he was a strange and wayward wight,<br>Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene.<br>In darkness, and in storm, he found delight:<br>Nor less, than when on ocean wave serene<br>The southern sun diffused his dazzling sheen.<br>Even sad vicissitude amused his soul:<br>And if a sigh would sometimes intervene,<br>And down his cheek a tear of pity roll,<br>A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wish'd not to control.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIII.<br>'O ye wild groves, O where is now your bloom!'<br>(The Muse interprets thus his tender thought).<br>'Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom,<br>Of late so grateful in the hour of drought!<br>Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought<br>To all your bowers, their mansions now forsake?<br>Ah! why has fickle chance this ruin wrought?<br>For now the storm howls mournful thro' the brake,<br>And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIV.<br>'Where now the rill, melodious, pure, and cool,<br>And meads, with Life, and mirth, and beauty crown'd!<br>Ah! see, th' unsightly slime, and sluggish pool,<br>Have all the solitary vale imbrown'd;<br>Fled each fair form, and mute each melting sound,<br>The raven croaks forlorn on naked spray:<br>And, hark! the river, bursting every mound,<br>Down the vale thunders; and, with wasteful sway,<br>Uproots the grove, and rolls the shatter'd rocks away.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXV.<br>'Yet such the destiny of all on earth;<br>So flourishes and fades majestic man.<br>Fair is the bud his vernal morn brings forth,<br>And fostering gales a while the nursling fan.<br>O smile, ye heavens, serene; ye mildews wan,<br>Ye blighting whirlwinds, spare his balmy prime,<br>Nor lessen of his life the little span.<br>Borne on the swift, though silent, wings of Time,<br>Old age comes on apace to ravage all the clime.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVI.<br>'And be it so. Let those deplore their doom,<br>Whose hope still grovels in the dark sojourn.<br>But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb,<br>Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.<br>Shall spring to these sad scenes no more return?<br>Is yonder wave the sun's eternal bed? -<br>Soon shall the orient with new lustre burn,<br>And spring shall soon her vital influence shed,<br>Again attune the grove, again adorn the mead.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVII.<br>'Shall I be left abandon'd in the dust, <br>When Fate, relenting, let's the flower revive?<br>Shall Nature's voice, to man alone unjust,<br>Bid him, though doom'd to perish, hope to live?<br>Is it for this fair virtue oft must strive<br>With disappointment, penury, and pain?<br>No: Heaven's immortal spring shall yet arrive;<br>And man's majestic beauty bloom again,<br>Bright through th' eternal year of Love's triumphant reign.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXVIII.<br>This truth, sublime his simple sire had taught,<br>In sooth, 'twas almost all the shepherd knew.<br>No subtle nor superfluous lore he sought,<br>Nor ever wish'd his Edwin to pursue.<br>'Let man's own sphere (quoth he) confine his view,<br>Be man's peculiar work his sole delight.'<br>And much, and oft, he warn'd him to eschew<br>Falsehood and guile, and aye maintain the right,<br>By pleasure unseduced, unawed by lawless might.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXIX.<br>'And, from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Wo,<br>O never, never turn away thine ear.<br>Forlorn in this bleak wilderness below,<br>Ah! what were man, should heaven refuse to hear!<br>To others do (the law is not severe)<br>What to thyself thou wishest to be done.<br>Forgive thy foes; and love thy parent's dear,<br>And friends, and native land; nor those alone;<br>All human weal and wo learn thou to make thine own.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXX.<br>See in the rear of the warm sunny shower,<br>The visionary boy from shelter fly!<br>For now the storm of summer-rain is o'er,<br>And cool, and fresh, and fragrant, is the sky!<br>And, lo! in the dark east, expanded high,<br>The rainbow brightens to the setting sun:<br>Fond fool, that deem'st the streaming glory nigh,<br>How vain the chase thine ardour has begun!<br>'Tis fled afar, ere half thy purposed race be run.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXI. <br>Yet couldst thou learn, that thus it fares with age,<br>When pleasure, wealth, or power, the bosom warm,<br>This baffled hope might tame thy manhood's rage,<br>And disappointment of her sting disarm. -<br>But why should foresight thy fond heart alarm?<br>Perish the lore that deadens young desire!<br>Pursue, poor imp, th' imaginary charm,<br>Indulge gay Hope, and Fancy's pleasing fire:<br>Fancy and Hope too soon shall of themselves expire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXII. <br>When the long-sounding curfew from afar<br>Loaded with loud lament the lonely gale,<br>Young Edwin, lighted by the evening star,<br>Lingering and listening wander'd down the vale.<br>There would he dream of graves, and corses pale;<br>And ghosts, that to the charnel-dungeon throng,<br>And drag a length of clanking chain, and wail, <br>Till silenced by the owl's terrific song,<br>Or blast that shrieks by fits the shuddering aisles along.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIII.<br>Or when the setting moon, in crimon died,<br>Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep,<br>To haunted stream, remote from man he hied,<br>Where Fays of yore their revels wont to keep;<br>And there let Fancy roam at large, till sleep<br>A vision brought to his entraced sight.<br>And first, a wildly-murmuring wind 'gan creep<br>Shrill to his ringing ear; then tapers bright,<br>With instantaneous gleam, illumed the vault of Night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXIV.<br>Anon in view a portal's blazon'd arch<br>Arose; the trumpet bids the valves unfold;<br>And forth a host of little warriors march,<br>Grasping the diamond lance, and targe of gold.<br>Their look was gentle, their demeanour bold,<br>And green their healms, and green their silk attire.<br>And here and there, right venerably old,<br>The long-robed minstrels wake the warbling wire,<br>And some with mellow breath the martial pipe inspire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXV.<br>With merriment, and song, and timbrels clear,<br>A troop of dames from myrtle bowers advance:<br>The little warriors doff the targe and spear,<br>And loud enlivening strains provoke the dance.<br>They meet, they dart away, they wheek askance<br>To right, to left, they thrid the flying maze;<br>Now bound aloft with vigorous spring, then glance<br>Rapid along: with many-colour'd rays<br>Of tapers, gems, and gold, and echoing forests blaze.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXVI.<br>The dream is fled. Proud harbinger of day,<br>Who scar'dst the vision with thy clarion shrill,<br>Fell chanticleer! who oft has reft away<br>My fancied good, and brought substantial ill!<br>O to thy cursed scream, discordant still,<br>Let Harmony aye shut her gentle ear:<br>Thy boastful mirth let jealous rivals spill, <br>Insult thy crest, and glossy pinions tear,<br>And ever in thy dream the ruthless fox appear!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXVII.<br>Forbear, my Muse. Let Love attune thy line.<br>Revoke the spell. Thine Edwin frets not so.<br>For how should he at wicked chance repine,<br>Who feels from every change amusement flow?<br>Even now his eyes with smiles of rapture glow,<br>As on he wanders through the scenes of morn,<br>Where the fresh flowers in living lustre blow,<br>Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn,<br>A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are borne.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XXXVIII <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">XXXIX<br>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">XL.<br>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">XLI.<br>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">XLII.<br>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">XLIII. <br>Ah me! abandon'd on the lonesome plain, <br>As yet poor Edwin never knew your lore,<br>Save when against the winter's drenching rain,<br>And driving snow, the cottage shut the door.<br>Then as instructed by tradition hoar,<br>Her legend when the Beldam 'gan impart,<br>Or chant the old heroic ditty o'er, <br>Wonder and joy ran thrilling to his heart;<br>Much he the tale admired, but more the tuneful art.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLIV.<br>Various and strange was the long-winded tale;<br>And halls, and knights, and feats of arms, display'd;<br>Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale,<br>And sing, enamour'd of the nut-brown maid;<br>The moonlight revel of the fairy glade;<br>Or hags, that suckle the infernal brood,<br>And ply in caves th' unutterable trade,<br>'Midst fiends and spectres, quench the moon in blood,<br>Yell in the midnight storm, or ride th' infuriate flood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLV.<br>But when to horror his amazement rose,<br>A gentler strain the Beldam would rehearse,<br>A tale of rural life, a tale of woes,<br>The orphan-babes, and guardian uncle fierce.<br>O cruel! will no pang of pity pierce<br>That heart by lust of lucre sear'd to stone!<br>For sure, if aught of virtue last, or verse,<br>To latest times shall tender soul bemoan<br>Those helpless orphan-babes by thy fell arts undone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLVI.<br>Behold, with berries smear'd, with brambles torn,<br>The babes now famish'd lay them down to die,<br>'Midst the wild howl of darksome woods forlorn,<br>Folded in one another's arms they lie;<br>Nor friend, nor stranger, hears their dying cry:<br>'For from the town the man returns no more.'<br>But thou, who Heaven's just vengeance dar'st defy <br>This deed with fruitless tears shalt soon deplore,<br>When Death lays waste thy house, and flames consume thy store.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLVII. <br>A stifled of stern vindictive joy<br>Brighten'd one moment Edwin's starting tear. -<br>'But why should gold man's feeble mind decoy,<br>And innocence thus die by doom severe?'<br>O Edwin! while thy heart is yet sincere,<br>Th' assaults of discontent and doubt repel:<br>Dark even at noontide is our mortal sphere;<br>But let us hope, - to doubt, is to rebel, -<br>Let us exult in hope, that all shall yet be well.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLVIII.<br>Nor be thy generous indignation check'd,<br>Nor check'd the tender tear to Misery given;<br>From Guilt's contagious power shall that protect,<br>This soften and refine the soul for Heaven.<br>But dreadful is their doom, whom doubt has driven<br>To censure Fate, and pious Hope forego:<br>Like yonder blasted boughs by lightning riven,<br>Perfection, beauty, life, they never know, <br>But frown on all that pass, a monument of wo.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">XLIX. <br>Shall he, whose birth, maturity, and age,<br>Scarce fill the circle of one summer day,<br>Shall the poor gnat with discontent and rage<br>Exclaim, that Nature hastens to decay,<br>If but a cloud obstruct the solar ray,<br>If but a momentary shower descend!<br>Or shall frail man Heaven's dread decree gainsay<br>Which bade the series of events extend<br>Wide through unnumber'd worlds, and wages without end!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">L. <br>One part, one little part, we dimly scan<br>Thro' the dark medium of life's feverish dream;<br>Yet dare arraign the whole stupendous plan,<br>If but that little part incongruous seem.<br>Nor is that part perhaps what mortals deem;<br>Oft from apparent ill our blessings rise.<br>O then renounce that impious self-esteem,<br>That alms to trace the secrets of the skies:<br>For thou art but of dust; be humble, and be wise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LI.<br>Thus Heaven enlarged his soul in riper years<br>For Nature gave him strength and fire, to soar<br>On Fancy's wing above this vale of tears;<br>Where dark, cold-hearted sceptics, creeping, pore<br>Through microscope of metaphysic lore:<br>And much they grope for truth, but never hit. <br>For why? their powers, inadequate before,<br>This art preposterous renders more unfit;<br>Yet deem they darkness light, and their vain blunders wit.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LII.<br>Nor was this ancient dame a foe to mirth.<br>Her ballad, jest, and riddle's quaint device<br>Oft cheer'd the shepherds round their social hearth,<br>Whom levity or spleen could ne'er entice<br>To purchase chat or laughter, at the price<br>Of decency. Nor let it faith exceed,<br>That Nature forms a rustic taste so nice.<br>Ah! had they been of court or city breed,<br>Such delicacy were right marvellous indeed.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LIII.<br>Oft when winter-storm had ceased to rave,<br>He roam'd the snowy waste at even, to view<br>The cloud stupendous, from th' Atlantic wave<br>High-towering, sail along th' horizon blue:<br>Where 'midst the changeful scenery ever new<br>Fancy a thousand wondrous forms descries<br>More wildly great than ever pencil drew,<br>Rocks, torrents, gulfs, and shapes of giant size,<br>And glittering cliffs on cliffs, and fiery ramparts rise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LIV. <br>Thence musing onward to the sounding shore,<br>The lone enthusiast oft would take his way,<br>Listening with pleasing dread to the deep roar<br>Of the wide-weltering waves. In black array<br>When sulphurous clouds roll'd on the vernal day,<br>Even then he hasten'd from the haunt of man,<br>Along the trembling wilderness to stray,<br>What time the lightnings fierce career began,<br>And o'er heaven's rending arch the rattling thunder ran.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LV. <br>Responsive to the sprightly pipe when all<br>In sprightly dance the village-youth were join'd, <br>Edwin of melody aye held in thrall,<br>From the rude gambol far remote reclined,<br>Soothed with the soft notes warbling in the wind.<br>Ah then, all jollity seem'd noise and folly,<br>To the pure soul by Fancy's fire refined,<br>Ah, what is mirth but turbulence unholy,<br>When with the charm compared of heavenly melancholy!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LVI.<br>Is there a heart that music cannot melt?<br>Alas! how is that rugged heart forlorn!<br>Is there, who ne'er those mystic transports felt<br>Of solitude and melancholy born?<br>He needs not woo the Muse; he is her scorn.<br>The sophist's rope of cobweb he shall twine;<br>Mope o'er the schoolman's peevish page; or mourn,<br>And delve for life in Mammon's dirty mine;<br>Sneak with the scoundrel fox, or grunt with glutton swine.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LVII.<br>For Edwin Fate a nobler doom had plann'd;<br>Song was his favourite and first pursuit.<br>The wild harp rang to his breath the plaintive hand,<br>And languish'd to his breath the plaintive flute.<br>His infant muse, though artless, was not mute:<br>Of elegance as yet he took no care;<br>For this of time and culture is the fruit;<br>And Edwin gain'd at last this fruit so rare:<br>As in some future verse I suppose to declare.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LVIII.<br>Meanwhile, whate'er of beautiful, or new,<br>Sublime, or dreadful, in earth, sea, or sky,<br>By chance, or search, was offer'd to his view;<br>He scann'd with curious and romantic eye.<br>Whate'er of lore tradition could supply<br>From Gothic tale, or song, or fable old,<br>Roused him, still keen to listen and to pry.<br>At last, though long by penury controll'd, <br>And solitude, his soul her graces 'gan unfold.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LIX.<br>Thus on the chill Lapponian's dreary land,<br>For many a long month lost in snow profound,<br>When Sol from Cancer sends the season bland,<br>And in their northern cave the storms are bound;<br>From silent mountains, straight, with starting sound<br>Torrents are hurl'd; green hills emerge; and lo,<br>The trees with foliage, cliffs with flowers are crown'd;<br>Pure rills through vales of verdure warbling go:<br>And wonder, love, and joy, the peasant's heart o'erflow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">LX. <br>Here pause, my Gothic lyre, a little while,<br>The leisure hour is all that thou canst claim;<br>But on this verse of Montague should smile,<br>New strains ere long shall animate thy frame:<br>And her applause to me is more than fame;<br>For still with truth accords her taste refined.<br>At lucre or renown let others aim,<br>I only wish to please the gentle mind,<br>Whom Nature's charms inspire, and love of human kind.</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=415301" data-title="The Minstrel; Or, The Progress Of Genius : Book I. de James Beattie" data-description="I. 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 by the scoff of Pr..."></div> </div> </div>

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