Or twining silken threads round ivory reels, 265 When they command whom man was born to please: I slight thee not, but make thee welcome still. In such a world, so thorny, and where none Finds happiness unblighted, or, if found, 335 Without some thistly sorrow at its side, It seems the part of wisdom, and no sin Against the law of love, to measure lots With less distinguished than ourselves, that thus We may with patience bear our moderate ills, 340 And sympathize with others, suffering more. Ill fares the traveller now, and he that stalks In ponderous boots beside his reeking team. The wain goes heavily, impeded sore By congregated loads adhering close 345 To the clogged wheels; and in its sluggish pace Noiseless appears a moving hill of snow. The toiling steeds expand the nostril wide, 350 Upon their jutting chests. He, formed to bear The pelting brunt of the tempestuous night, With half-shut eyes and puckered cheeks, and teeth Presented bare against the storm, plods on. One hand secures his hat, save when with both 355 He brandishes his pliant length of whip, Resounding oft, and never heard in vain. Oh happy! and in my account, denied The sensibility of pain with which Refinement is endued, thrice happy thou. 360 Thy frame, robust and hardy, feels indeed The piercing cold, but feels it unimpaired. Thy vigorous pulse; and the unhealthful east, That breathes the spleen, and searches every bone 365 Of the infirm, is wholesome air to thee. Thy days roll on exempt from household care; Thy waggon is thy wife; and the poor beasts, That drag the dull companion to and fro, Thine helpless charge, dependent on thy care. 370 Ah, treat them kindly! rude as thou appearest, Yet show that thou hast mercy, which the great, With needless hurry whirled from place to place, Humane as they would seem, not always show. Poor, yet industrious, modest, quiet, neat, 375 Such claim compassion in a night like this, And have a friend in every feeling heart. BOOK VI.THE WINTER WALK AT NOON The night was winter in his roughest mood, The morning sharp and clear. But now at noon, Upon the southern side of the slant hills, 60 And where the woods fence off the northern blast, The season smiles, resigning all its rage, And has the warmth of May. The vault is blue Without a cloud, and white without a speck The dazzling splendour of the scene below. 65 Again the harmony comes o'er the vale, And through the trees I view the embattled tower Whence all the music. I again perceive The soothing influence of the wafted strains, 70 The walk, still verdant, under oaks and elms, 75 The frequent flakes, has kept a path for me. No noise is here, or none that hinders thought. Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light 80 From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes From many a twig the pendant drops of ice, That tinkle in the withered leaves below. Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft, Charms more than silence. Meditation here 85 May think down hours to moments. heart May give a useful lesson to the head, Here the And learning wiser grow without his books. Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have oftimes no connection. Knowledge dwells 90 In heads replete with thoughts of other men, Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, The mere materials with which wisdom builds, Till smoothed and squared and fitted to its place, 95 Does but encumber whom it seems to enrich. Knowledge is proud that he has learned so much; I Wisdom is humble that he knows no more. 560 I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm. An inadvertent step may crush the snail 565 That crawls at evening in the public path; But he that has humanity, forewarned, Will tread aside, and let the reptile live. The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes, 570 A visitor unwelcome, into scenes Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, Not so when, held within their proper bounds, 580 Who, when she formed, designed them an abode. The sum is this: if man's convenience, health, Or safety interfere, his rights and claims Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs. Else they are all-the meanest things that are— 585 As free to live, and to enjoy that life, As God was free to form them at the first, Who in His sovereign wisdom made them all. Ye therefore who love mercy, teach your sons To love it too. The spring-time of our years 590 Is soon dishonoured and defiled in most By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots, If unrestrained, into luxuriant growth, Than cruelty, most devilish of them all. 595 Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule And righteous limitation of its act, By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man, And he that shows none, being ripe in years, And conscious of the outrage he commits, 600 Shall seek it and not find it in his turn. Distinguished much by reason, and still more From creatures that exist but for our sake, Of what He deems no mean or trivial trust. Not more on human help than we on theirs. 610 Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given In aid of our defects. In some are found Such teachable and apprehensive parts, That man's attainments in his own concerns, Matched with the expertness of the brutes in theirs, 615 Are oftimes vanquished and thrown far behind. ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE OUT OF NORFOLK (Cir. 1790) THE GIFT OF MY COUSIN, ANN BODHAM O That those lips had language! Life has passed With me but roughly since I heard thee last. Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me; 5 Voice only fails, else how distinct they say, "Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!" The meek intelligence of those dear eyes (Blessed be the art that can immortalize, The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim 10 To quench it) here shines on me still the same. Faithful remembrancer of one so dear, O welcome guest, though unexpected here! 15 I will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly, as the precept were her own: 20 A momentary dream, that thou art she, |