That Philosophy, which stops at secondary causes, reproved.
HAPPY the man who sees a God employ'd In all the good and ill that chequer life! Resolving all events, with their effects And manifold results, into the will And arbitration wise of the Supreme.
Did not his eye rule all things, and intend The least of our concerns, (since from the least The greatest oft originate;) could chance Find place in his dominion, or dispose One lawless particle to thwart his plan; Then God might be surpris'd, and unforeseen Contingence might alarm him, and disturb The smooth and equal course of his affairs. This truth, philosophy, though eagle-eyed In nature's tendencies, oft overlooks; And having found his instrument, forgets Or disregards, or, more presumptuous still, Denies the power that wields it. God proclaims His hot displeasure against foolish men
That live an atheist life; involves the heav'n In tempests; quits his grasp upon the winds, And gives them all their fury; bids a plague Kindle a fiery boil upon the skin,
And putrify the breath of blooming health. He calls for famine, and the meagre fiend Blows mildew from between his shrivel'd lips, And taints the golden ear; he springs his mines, And desolates a nation at a blast;
Forth steps the spruce philosopher, and tells Of homogenial and discordant springs And principles; of causes, how they work By necessary laws their sure effects,
Of action and re-action. He has found The source of the disease that nature feels; And bids the world take heart and banish fear. Thou fool! will thy discovery of the cause Suspend th' effect, or heal it? Has not God Still wrought by means since first he made the world?
And did he not of old employ his means To drown it? What is his creation less Than a capacious reservoir of means, Form'd for his use, and ready at his will? Go, dress thine eyes with eye-salve; ask of him, Or ask of whomsoever he has taught;
And learn, tho' late, the genuine cause of all.
Indignant sentiments on National prejudices and hatred; and on Slavery.
On 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 every 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.
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 color'd like his own; and having power T'enforce the wrong, for such a worthy cause Dooms and devotes him as his lawful prey. Lands intersected by a narrow frith, 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 bis 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, that 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 every vein Of all your empire; that when Britain's power Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too.
The Morning in Summer.
THE meek-ey'd morn appears, mother of dews,
At first faint gleaming in the dappled east ; Till far o'er ether spreads the wid'ning glow; And from before the lustre of her face
White break the clouds away. With quicken'd step Brown night retires: young day pours in apace, And opens all the lawny prospect wide. The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top, Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. Blue, thro' the dusk, the smoking currents shine; And from the bladed field the fearful hare Limps, aukward: while along the forest glade The wild dear trip, and often turning, gaze At early passenger. Music awakes The native voice of undissembled joy ; And thick around the woodland hymns arise. Rous'd by the cock, the soon clad shepherd leaves His mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells; And from the crowded fold, in order, drives His flock to taste the verdure of the morn. Falsely xurious, will not man awake; And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy
The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour, To meditation due and sacred song?
For is there ought in sleep can charm the wise? To lie in dead oblivion, losing half
The fleeting moments of too short a life; Total extinction of the enlightened soul! Or else to feverish vanity alive,
Wilder'd, and tossing thro' distemper'd dreams? Who would in such a gloomy state, remain Longer than nature craves; when ev'ry muse And ev'ry blooming pleasure waits without, To bless the wildly devious morning walk?
Rural Sounds, as well as rural Sights, delightful.
NOR rural sights, but rural sounds Exhilarate the spirit, and restore
The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds, That sweep the skirt of some far spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music, not unlike The dash of ocean on his winding shore, And lull the spirit while they fill the mind, Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast, And all their leaves fast flutt'ring all at once. Nor less composure waits upon the roar Of distant floods; or on the softer voice Of neighb'ring fountain; or of rills that slip Thro' the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length In matted grass, that, with a livelier green, Betrays the secret of their silent course. Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, But animated nature sweeter still, To soothe and satisfy the human ear.
Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one The live long night. Northese alone, whose notes Nice finger'd art must emulate in vain, But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime, In still repeated circles, screaming loud,
The jay, the pye, and ev'n the boding owl That bails the rising moon, have charms for me. Sounds inharmonious in themselves, and harsh, Yet heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, And only there, please highly for their sake.
THE rose had been wash'd, just wash'd in a shower, Which Mary to Anna convey'd;
A plentiful moisture encumber'd the flower," And weigh'd down its beautiful head.
The cup was all fill'd, and the leaves were all wet,
And it seem'd to a fanciful view,
To weep for the buds it had left with regret, On the flourishing bush where it grew.
1 hastily seiz'd it, unfit as it was
For a nosegay, so dripping and drown'd; And swinging it rudely, too rudely, alas ! I snapp'd it; it fell to the ground.
And such, I exclaim'd, is the pitiless part Some act by the delicate mind, Regardless of wringing and breaking a heart, Already to sorrow resign'd.
This elegant rose, had I shake it less,
Might have bloom'd with its owner awhile; And the tear that is wip'd with a little address, May be follow'd perhaps by a smile.
Care of Birds for their young.
As thus the patient dam assiduous sits, Not to be tempted from her tender task, Or by sharp hunger, or by smooth delight, Tho' the whole loosen'd spring around her blows, Her sympathizing partner takes his stand High on the opponent bank, and ceaseless sings
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