Infancy, a Didactic Poem. Book II

Are there with pride elate, who cast a glance Of supercilious scorn on strains like these, Stiling them low? While sweet Humanity Attentive listens, vain the Cynic sneer, Or Cynic frown. She, her warm cheek suffused With blushes sprung from conscious virtue, owns She thinks no task too mean, no work too low, Whose end is public good; would save a life, Rather than deck herself in glittering robes, And boast of titled honours; sooner give One ornament to grace the Common-weal, Than purchase a whole empory of wit. Come modest Dame, and o'er my numbers meek Preside; come with Simplicity, who hates The swelling phrase bombast, th' insipid term Pompously introduced, as Artists vile O'er forms uncouth their dazzling colours spread, And mock the eye: She too shall bid the train Of haughty Ignorance (for 'tis the curse Of Pride to be with Ignorance conjoined) Keep far aloof, nor read the hallow'd lay.

YET not alone to Women do We write, The Nurse or Mother. Subjects such as these Oft have the Sages old of Greece or Rome In studious mood employed; full well they knew That from the birth those Heroes must be form'd, Whom Athens might with future joy admire Or hardy Sparta: Heroes who might urge To their sublimest pitch the rights of men, Brave every danger for their Country's cause, And make the Persian tremble, tho inclosed By countless Millions: Heroes who might act Deeds which the Gracchi would not blush to own, Or Scipio, bravest, noblest of mankind. Themes such as these employ'd the generous soul Of Locke, when with the patriot spirit fired Of Plato or Lycurgus, He assay'd The manly task, from custom's harpy claws, And the soft lap of luxury, to snatch The Babe t' enervate idleness foredoom'd, Or sickly languor; to connect his mind With vigorous organs, it's impulsive will Apt to perform, and run with ease and strength The great and difficult career of life; Desirous to behold our British Youth Out-rival ancient fame. Come then ye Sires, Whom love of Offspring, or of Country sways! You will approve my verse; the Nursery's care From you will gain attention. Wisdom's voice, And deep philosophy to you have taught It's consequence, and worth. Oh! aid the toil Of a fond Mother, with your reason guide Her gentler faculties; invigorate Her virtuous weakness; to your well-known voice She will, she cannot but with pleasure yield, And follow precepts sanctisied by You. WHAT aliment the tender Babe requires, How best sustain'd, the Muse proceeds to sing. To Nature then attend: She hath prepared No food but milk alone, and if it flows In plenteous rills, abundant is the store. Thus fed, the lamb over the grassy turf Sports frolicksome; the patient ox who turns Sweltering all day the stubborn glebe, by this Nourish'd at first, his present strength acquired. And will thy Infant cease to thrive, supplied With this nepenthe? Rather He will gain New vigour every hour, and healthful smile Tho sickness scoul around. Yet some there are Who fill from morn to noon, from noon to eve, Nay thro the hours of night, the suffering Child With various cates, heedless of nature's lore, Cruelly kind, unknowing that they thus Fatten a victim for the hungry grave. For from repletion, every ill severe Which threatens childhood, arm'd with keener force, Invades the delicate frame. How oft 'twere sit The Suckling should imbibe the milky stream, From the first dawn of morning, till the sun Set in the west, experience must evince. All do not feed alike, some greedily Drain at a meal the lacteal beverage, Others more nice require the frequent treat.

YET when Night spreads her mantle o'er the Globe, And leads on sleep and silence, it is meet T' obey her mandate; rest thy careful head O Mother, let thy tender Nurseling rest. Why wilt Thou anxious to thyself create Unnecessary pain? At evening close Forth from her den starts the fell Lioness, And thro the gloomy desart urges on Eager for prey her rapid step, She leaves Her sleeping young one, nor expects he food Till she return with morning's early beam. Yet this is He, who shall hereafter reign Lord of the forest, and with kingly voice Appal his listening subjects. But thy heart Is soft, and cannot bear thy Infant's cries. Oh! Heaven forbid that I should wish thy breast Steel'd to his real misery! But these Are cries which evil custom hath begot, And blind indulgence; unalarm'd sustain A few short trials, bear unmoved the shock At first; indulged not, He will fret no more. Believe me, nor from hunger, nor from pain These wailings spring. How different is the shriek, And agonizing groan, from sobs like these, Transient, and humorsome! To cloath thy Child With health some little violence endure: Nor to the dictates plain of candid truth Thy ancient Nurse's doating saws prefer.

THE Stomach ever full, is ever weak: But from refreshing sleep and abstinence Digestion thrives, and kindliest nutriment Th' absorbent veins inhale, wherewith the warm And plastic arteries by due degrees Upbuild the human fabric; or by which Each slender thread and fibre is evolved, Gaining mysteriously their destined bulk And firm elastic motion. Robb'd of sleep The Warrior droops his head, and longs no more To plunge amid the fight: The Rustic faints Vigorous e'erwhile, nor strains his sinewy arms Holding the plough, but nerveless and unmann'd Presses his homely pallet, sending forth Vain wishes to the Power who from him flies. And can the gentle frame of Woman bear Constant disturbance and unrest? Her strength Melts down apace, the bloom forsakes her cheeks, A peevish listlessness succeeds, she pines, And over-sedulous is now unfit To fill that office which she most desires.

WOULD'ST Thou thy Child to pass the hours of night Wrapt in sleep's downy plumage? Banish far The lazy cradle, useless but to give Relief to th' indolent attendant race, Who fain would batten in perpetual sloth, Who shrink at slightest toil, and ill deserve The viands they devour. At first indeed, During the circuit of a moon or twain 'Tis fit thy Charge should only eat and sleep; Nature demands it. Afterward contract The hours of sleep by day, and in th' embrace Of carefulness let exercise divert The lively Infant; chiefly when his eye Now looks around unknowing what he sees, Now when he springs, and spreads his little arms, And smiles, and utters sounds which strike thine ear With wondrous pleasure. Tho We now permit Some added food, its quality regard, As of important consequence. We praise Above the rest, the farinaceous tribe, Bread well-fermented, unadulterate With deleterious alum, this with milk And with the limpid element decoct. Yet always mindful of the golden mean, Be even this with moderation used, Nor ever glut the stomach till it loathes, And the superfluous aliment rejects. The wrinkled Sibyl laugh to scorn, and all Her dreams fallacious, when pronouncing this A sign of health. Nature indeed is kind, And various her attempts t' evacuate What would be noxious, and 'tis well thy Child Hath still sufficing strength. But he, poor Babe, Had he the sense to guide his appetite, Would shun this consequence of mere excess, No proof of health, disgustful to the eye.

WE blame thee not for yielding to the voice Of Error; if beneath the solemn garb Of old experience hid, and self-convinced, Not meaning to deceive, how should thy young Untutor'd mind resist her lore? But when Truth meets thy sight, and pointing shews the way To Nature's bower, thy blind associate quit, Enter the hallow'd shade, converse with her Pure Nymph, peruse her lineaments divine, And to her voice impartial ope thy heart.

IT is not strange that Prejudice should gain Access to thy soft bosom. Who can boast His freedom? Wide and potent is her sway. No Fiend in stronger bonds hath held enslaved The groaning nations. In Cimmerian gloom, Where light ne'er penetrates, but Darkness sits In fixt essential majesty enthroned, Unconscious Sloth, by Ignorance compress'd, Brought forth this Monster. To the haunts of men Taking her way, the stars grew pale; her wings She spread incumbent o'er the subject world, Nor suffered men to view what slender bounds Divided them from brutes; in torpid state Plunged deep, they lay supine for many an age, Till Aegypt first rebell'd: Mother of arts, And boasted fount of wisdom. Yet, tho bold Th' adventure, She to burst the galling chain Strove unsuccessful. Mid the twilight groves Of sacred Memphis, on the banks of Nile, Prolific, wondrous stream, or round the walls Of hundred-gated Thebes, in union close With Superstition dwelt the Pest abhorr'd; And underneath her hieroglyphic veil Incongruous forms commingled. Nor in Greece Reign'd she less absolute; her Sages hence Built their fallacious systems, airy shades, And phantoms of the brain; with wordy war Fought in defence each of his waking dream, And suffer'd Truth with Socrates t' expire.

How long beneath her power did Europe bend! Prompted by her, Ambition eagle-wing'd Taught ancient Rome amid the lust of sway, Intent on crimson conquest, to neglect Humanity and virtue; till the pile By valour rear'd, fell from it's giddy height, Shatter'd within by luxury, without Assail'd by savage fierceness. Then what depth Of native gloom, of thick-incircling night, Witness'd her presence! Every art was lost, Each effort of the mind; or else sunk low Grouch'd to the yoke; while o'er the puzzled schools Exalted, shook his worse than iron rod The Tyrant Stagyrite; and Physic awed By Galen's sullen Genius dared not heal. Each lovelier grace, each elegance unknown, Each genuine ornament, till Taste, o'erwhelm'd With death-like Sleep, in Leo's age revived. Philosophy extinct, till Bacon rose The morning star of science, by whose beams Transfixt, as erst the fabled Python fell, Lay vanquish'd huge Authority. Then first Experiment with radiant lamp disclosed The stores of bigot Time, and taught with nice Laborious hand from each fictious gem To separate the true. Hence day by day The rigid shackles fall self-loosed, or brace Mankind less strictly; we for Nature's laws Read Nature only; Wisdom smiles serene, With freedom bless'd, and Fools alone are slaves.

AND say wilt Thou in this enlightened age O Mother, single stand, and lend thine ear To hoar, and quaint Tradition? Wilt thou treat Thy Child by their opinion, whose advice Thou would'st not follow in one act beside? Judge by thyself. What languor, what fatigue Attends the fuller meal! What dire effects, What tumults oft from the crude surfeit rise! And why is reason thine, if not with care To govern him whose yet unripen'd frame Of sense is vacant? Tho with greater ease, His stomach may the superplus expel, Than older gluttony; yet caution dreads Events unfortunate, the nerves convulsed, Fever, and each ill symptom which attends The growing teeth. Unskill'd to curb himself, His appetite guide thou: So, duly fed, Each meal affording what may satisfy, Not burthen nature, on thy happy Child Hygeia shall with eye propitious look. His shall be comely vigour, winning smiles, Freedom from pain, protection from disease, And stamina well-knit to undergo Each future change of ever-varying life, Each toil, each danger, nay perhaps a base On which hereafter may be firmly rear'd Each virtue, social, public, warm, resined, Each intellectual, moral excellence.

FOR tho the Child of weaker nerves may seem With quickest parts endow'd, yet should he rise Thro numerous perils to the height of Man, Oppress'd with listless torpor, how can he Brave the meridian ray of public life? Reflecting on himself, how shall his mind Expand t'ward other's feelings? Nay too oft Those blossoms immature of sense, on which We gaze with pleasure and astonishment, Spontaneous from the blighted stalk descend, Or yield harsh, tasteless fruit. This stroke severe Thou shalt avoid, more rationally kind. If form'd by nature delicate, thy love Guided by judgment, shall his strength improve; At least his weakness, or th' effects it brings, Shall not proceed from errors of thy own, Thou wilt not gorge thy Child; and all night long He sleeps serene, an interval of rest, In which the stomach clear'd of every load Fortuitous, its healthful state preserves. He wakes alert, prompted by hunger keen T' imbibe the draught nutritious. Thee too Sleep Hath charm'd with opiate rod, no froward cries, No tortures of thy Infant, caused by crude, Unwholesome, or accumulated fare, Have broke thy tranquil slumbers. Thou too seest Placid the break of morn, and to thy Babe The well-secreted, copious aliment Preparest to give; which, sad anxiety And restless hours, (in her, who idly fond, And painfully solicitous, hath watch'd The night, for other purposes design'd) Rob of its balmy essence, else derived Sprightly and plenteous from the genial chyle, A weak, thin, vapid, unsubstantial juice; Whence to the tender organs of her Babe A morbid irritation, which destroys Their natural, and necessary tone, Till haply dire disease, or death ensues.

Is there a stronger principle infix'd In human nature, than the zealous warmth A Mother t'ward her Infant feels? Yet thin Is the barrier dividing right from wrong, Virtue from vice. The noblest qualities Indulged t' excess, a different hue assume, No longer noble. Courage may be changed To brutal force; to prodigality The generous sentiment; to licence rude Freedom's bright flame; and tender nuptial love To mean uxoriousness. What siner joys Inspire the soul more exquisitely form'd, By vulgar minds unheeded! But beware Lest sensibility itself, uncheck'd, Extinguish it's delights; lest pity bleed At every pore, intolerable smart Enduring; lest the softer passion urge If unsuccessful, to the wan abode Of madness or despair; lest taste exact Turn to fastidious niceness, coveting With vain desire, among the works of men, To find perfection. Thou too curb thy zeal O Mother, that impulsive ardour rule, That love inordinate, which urges on To weakness, and perverts to criminal The sweetest, best emotions of thy soul.

WHENCE is this nameless Energy? this power So forcibly attractive? who intwined It's subtle threads? and round the willing heart Braced firm the cord mysterious? Who, but He! The prime Intelligence! Who first call'd forth From warring Chaos this fair frame of things! Who bade each part with animation glow! And what He will'd t' exist, in order due Not of continued, but successive life Will'd to preserve. Who taught the winged race 340 Among impervious shades, with matchless skill, To form their nests, and guard their callow brood. The Natives of the fields, and desart wilds, A fit retreat to seek, the rocky cave, Thicket, or mountain high. Who gives them all A thousand wiles, a thousand stratagems Of crafty policy, from hostile force To save their Young; and to defend them, fills E'en the most timid with impetuous strength, And sense of prowess never felt before. Instinct alone, their Tutoress and Guide; But Instinct and superior Reason thine.

THUS while nine Moons have known increase and wane Taught to proceed, the pleasing task of care Is still unfinish'd, much remains unsung. Now is the Season by experience deem'd Most meet, an arduous duty to attempt. Arduous to some; but not to thee, whose mind Reason enlightens with a clearer ray, Shewing the bounds between parental love, And it's fond foolish mimic. Thou canst look Beyond the present, no dull slave of sense, And for a lasting good, most willingly Endure some transient pain. Thy Child long time Fed by thy vital fluid, now requires Dismission from the breast. Yet not at once, As some have taught erroneous; such our frame That every rash and sudden change may prove The source of harm. More wise and cautious Thou Break thro the tye of habit by degrees; And ere the stream maternal be refused, His taste to different nutriment incline.

BESIDES th' increase of food ere while allow'd What diet do we grant? Some would defer To years more vigorous, all, that tyrant Man, The universal glutton, from the race That grazes on the plain, or skims the flood, Or cleaves with nimble wing the yielding air, Culls for his use; and would not that the child Should taste of aught but what the fruitful earth Plant, herb, or grain produces, with the stream The lowing kine afford. There are no doubt Who to the latest stage of life arrive, Thus always nourish'd. On the shores of Ind Check't by religious fears, whole Tribes refuse To bathe their hands in blood, lest thro the wound A kindred soul should fly; yet some pass thro A century of years (so fame reports) By sickness unsubdued. Where high ascend Our Caledonian hills, the hardy North A gallant Offspring boasts, whom Fate denies T' indulge, except in vegetable meals. Yet when their country rouses them to arms, Waving her standard to their view, they rush Impetuous forth, and terrible in war, Dread as the Lion hurt, in every clime They fight, they conquer, hearing but their name The distant Foe grows pale. Yet prone to doubt, The Sage these fair examples will not trust, Implicitly believing. He will judge Not from a race of men by habit sway'd, By custom harden'd, not from every rare Occurrence of longevity; or those The minions of their clan, who seek the fields Where rages fell Bellona. He requires A strict impartial list, to know if more Of these, compared with others, ere the force Of potent use hath nature's influence changed, Escape unhurt, and reach life's grateful prime Active, proportion'd, vigorous. And here, These distant facts still undetermined left, Th' instructive Muse shall teach from what her eyes Have clearly seen; though social, not inclined To luxury's various table, tho humane, No follower of the Samian Sect. Howe'er The Infant form'd perhaps with stronger nerves, Or of peculiar nature, may escape The blasting hand of sickness, or may thrive On vegetable fare, yet oft we view Where poverty more generous food denies, Tottering Rachitis seize it's helpless prey; Or flow-consuming Tabes; or within His mazy labyrinth, the tortuous Worm Finding a sure asylum, multiplies His noisome produce. Hence th' unwieldy head, Distended joints, limbs variously incurved. Hence the sunk cheek, the hollow lifeless eye: Hence loss of balmy sleep, and appetite, Convulsive motions, agonizing spasms, And symptoms, which in order to describe, Had foil'd the Coan Sage. For maugre those Who idly speculate, by fancy ruled, Or superstition; Nature, we assert, Form'd us, with mingled diet, herb, root, seed, And animal, to gratify our taste, Or foster life; a truth, th' Anatomist Plainly demonstrates; nor will Reason's mind Admit a doubt. The crude or sluggish juice Which vegetables yield, with toil perspired, Weakens the stomach, whose contraction fails Not justly stimulated: while the skin It's pores block'd up, or e'en it's texture changed, Is cover'd o'er with incrustations fou Scarcely, if ever, by th' abstersive wave Of tepid bath removed. But if by fate These viands are refused, condemn'd to taste Nought but bird, fish, or beast, a putrid mass Is gender'd, which pollutes the vital slood, And taints each humour, till the general frame Dissolves as in a thaw. These truths regard; By Nature heeded, when with care She form'd The lacteal fluid; a peculiar Mixt, Skilfully blended; by digestion due, Or in it's winding passage thro the glands Animalized, and render'd fit to tame The ferment of acidity, to which Childhood is prone. Whence we conclude, that now When from the breast exiled, as far as Art Her nicer laws can imitate, 'tis right T' adapt it's food, and mingle aliment Of alkalescent quality, with that Which might t' incorrigible acid turn.

THIS to prevent, haply the bounteous streams Of Pales, from each wholesome leaf, each soft And verdant shoot, secreted, which invest Grateful, the dewy meadow, tho conceived Of virtues rare, and th' intermediate link Of animal and vegetable kind, Will want sufficient power. We fear not then To bid thee from the herd or flock derive Part of thy Infant's sustenance; but still With licence circumscribed. As yet the spoon Retaining, covet not with firmer meats, To satiate hunger, till the rising teeth Spring from their latent seeds, and deck the mouth, Two rows of clearest white. The Fibres else, Impacted, will not to digestion yield, A harden'd, tough, indomitable mass: Nor will the salivary Glands emit Their needful liquid. By compulsive fire Rather extract the pure nutritious juice, Mix'd with the virgin lymph; with this combine The generous gifts of Ceres; and behold The Dairy offers it's nectareous store; And Carolina sends her pearly grain. RARE, and more rarely, now thy breast unveil, Nor to a distant day protract the time Of final separation; He requires No farther aid of thine; thee other cares Haply demand, thee other duties; go, Thou wert not form'd for One alone, tho dear; Go, bless thy Husband with a numerous race, Beauteous like this, like this with health adorn'd.

How high the rank in life of Womankind! Their station how important! Hapless He Who lives unconscious of their worth! The Fool Of grosser sense, or airy Libertine Who draws his judgment from the forward few, Or yielding weak, and dares with impious tongue Pronounce them all the slaves of vanity, By passion ever led, by flattery won. Their frame like our's, but with ethereal touch More delicately limb'd. The same their souls, More soft, more sensible, and more refined. Each uncontaminated Briton owns And feels their virtues. Polishers of life! Sweeteners of savage care! Who tune the breast To harmony, or prompt to glorious deeds And emulative toil. To friendship's flame, To gratitude, how exquisitely true! Who tender confidence repay with love, Integrity unshaken, faith most pure, Warm, zealous loyalty. With honour clad, As with a robe, and beauteous ornaments Of unaffected modesty. Well-skill'd To form the growing soul, and on its young And opening bud to fix th' impression deep Of every generous thought, which stimulates The future Man, to love of Parents, Friends, Offspring, and sacred Freedom, while as yet Corruption suffers, in her favourite Isle The Goddess to reside. Far hence, away, Ye groveling Sensualists, to Eastern climes! Where lust, and barbarous jealousy immure The passive slaves! What joy can beauty give, When strays th' unfetter'd will? Or when in calm, And thinking hour, the mind unsatisfied Contemns the looser Objects of desire, Pining for sympathy? And feels a void, Which roving licence never can supply? The wanton dance, the soft voluptuous strain Sung to the melting viol, nought inspires, But languor and disgust. Mistaken Men! Who lose the better portion of their time, The dear domestic hour; the converse bland, Fruition of the soul, love's balmy zest Which never cloys; parental cares conjoin'd; Divided griefs; reciprocal delights; The Life of Nature, Reason, Virtue, Bliss.