PART II. (Whilst I sit musing by this limpid…)

Whilst I sit musing by this limpid stream, The leafy hazels shade from piercing rays, Here gentle zephyrs temperate the heat; The purling rill, the distant water-fall, Stills every passion rude, and spreads a calm Solemnly pleasing; the delightful scene, Diversified around, outvies the pomp, The empty gew-gaws of the vain Beau-Monde. O for a L—or—r, some other friend, As true as they unrotten at the core, To stray with me aside the mazy stream, Along the sylvan groves or hazel copse, To share the pleasures of the gilded morn, And taste the simple joy of rural scenes. What, am I then alone! millions around, Of various beings, swarm the grove, and spread The grassy hillock, skim the mantling stream, Partake the boon the God of nature sheds On fair creation, and they all rejoice In his beneficence, express his praise. All nature's big with life, earth, air and sea With beings teem; gradations infinite Of size and species, in each element. Perhaps there's fish to whom a sprat's a whale; Insects as small to mites, as mites to men, To whom a Millet-seed may be a globe, Proportionate, as large as this to man.

Now drowsy citizens begin to rise, Ope wide the shop, expose their tinsel wares; The ribbon curious wrought, th' embroider'd silk, To attract the passing croud; now various schemes, Planned in the zenith of old night's domain, To accumulate the pelf of golden ore, Or right or wrong, or honest or unjust, With unrelenting ardour are pursued. The knavish dealer, BROKER, BULL or BEAR. Law is his gospel; lawyers are his priests— Proteus like, transform'd to ev'ry shape, The likeness of a saint as near assumes As Satan does the angels form and light. Morose or placid, arrogant or meek— The place of sense effrontery supplies; Of reason, of religion, honesty; Conscience is banish'd when she can't approve, The petty-fogger then supplies her place; The cause his business, if, or right or wrong, To plead, maintain, his client pays the score; Base int'rest is his guide, yea 'tis his god, He worships her; Indians adore the sun; The Indian's ignorant, but he's a knave; Foments contention, blows it to a flame, Then keeps it living by the quirks of law.

Descanting on the vices of the times, A trade most infamous must not escape My justest censure—Negroe traffic, vile! The wide extended coast of Africa's Patrol'd by monsters, Christian cannibals, The natives quarrels to perpetuate, On either side their toys to truck for men. When Afric's flames of war but languid blaze, Nor hopes of sudden freight their minds elate, European, Christian policy, supplies Fresh fuel, throws it on the dying fire. O what a sight!—see! human beings rang'd, Expos'd to sale, as horses at a fair; Creolan salesmen exercise the whip, Or make them run, or walk, or shew their teeth; The bargain struck, they're doom'd to slavery, To proud, despotic planters, men devoid Of ev'ry right to rule, but power usurp'd— Of social virtues, all humanity, To virtue dead, alive to ev'ry vice, Reduc'd by luxury to walking ghosts— Of men but shadows, or the imps of ***; The cruel tyrants take the man for beast; As such he's us'd, if different, 'tis worse. One Lord, in power, in wisdom infinite, Of one blood all the diff'rent nations made— All claim relation equal to the source— The common father of the human race— The common parent's gracious unto all; Nor hue, nor clime, nor wealth, degree nor power, Dominion gives a brother to inthral. Brethren we are, from pole to pole, o'erspread The ant-hill surface of this little globe, And here we ought in amity to creep, Till wisdom infinite shall summons hence— Strip off our clay, and mount us 'bove the world. Slave! human nature scorns the abject name; Apply it rightly, stamp it on the beast; The beast's to bear it, and that's Heaven's decree; His course invert! thou vain, presumptuous worm; His laws and natures violate! high treason! God will avenge the cause of the oppress'd.

O Europe! Christendom! what is a NAME! Compare this traffic with the Christian law, A law, worthy indeed of God to give, Man to obey—hear! even as thou would Be done unto, so unto others do. Recal the C****c t***e, nor vainly dream Of making converts in a distant clime Where this is known; the Christians deal in slaves! What thinks the Indian, what the Mussulman, Or what the Heathen? What the scatter'd Jews? The climes idolatrous, of civiliz'd? First proselyte the infidels at home— First cruel sons instruct in that grand law, Charity, offspring divine, from Heaven gave, In goodness gave, the rugged nature of The man to smooth, to perfect human kind This is neglected; why? Base int'rest reigns.

See! many rise in pomp, add house to house, Estate unto estate on rent rolls add By mere deceit, o'er-reaching, private frauds— Oppressions gain their swelling coffers fill.

See! proud Glorio rolls along in state, Close at his heels a pompous equipage; Giant in power—in virtue but a dwarf: Amongst the gaping throng, where'er he goes He scatters terror with indignant glance; Like Leviathans, in the northern seas, Preys on his fellow creatures; he devours The widow and the orphan—lo! his pride, Leagu'd with his power, stalks lordly through the land. See! the industrious tradesman haunts his porch, Beseeching payment of an ancient debt— With suppliant knee he begs—but for his due, Unhear'd, unnotic'd begs—but begs in vain. Pufft up with pride—with th' empty dignity Of sounding titles—down the putrid stream Of luxury he swims, along the vale To vast eternity; yet unperceives The quick succession of protuding hours, Frail nature urging, onward to the brink Of that tremendous precipice of death. All his old follies gather strength from age, And each new wrinkle brings a new desire. Beloved ****, and a vile romance, In deep oblivion bury thoughts of death. O! what a sight! behold the youthful lust, Fresh, blooming still upon the hoary head, Whose dim eyes sunk, must soon for ever close To all terrestrial glory—all its bliss— The pomp of courts—the glitter of a ball— Delusive pleasures and the feasts of sense! O! foolish Glorio! when wilt thou be wise— Correct thy errors, and prepare to DIE.

Of those who live in state, in chariots loll, Half drown'd in luxury, and drunk with pride, How many now (conscience recall'd) must blush To trace their labour'd steps back to the vale Of penury; or to review the means By which they climb'd the slipp'ry mount of wealth: Th' ideal ghosts of orphans, widows, poor Laborious mechanics they'ave oppress'd, Would then appear in view, in every place, Whilst living, haunt them, in the hour of death, The soul itself would shudder with despair, And trembling, drop into the deep abyss, Where's weeping, wailing, gnashing of the teeth.

Where is the honest, where's th' ingenuous man, Who squares his actions by the golden rule, Whose heart is free from ev'ry paltry bribe; Ev'ry oppressive means of gain despise, And make his fellow creatures case his own? "The world's all title page, there's no contents; "The world's all face, the man who shews his heart "Is whooted for his nudities and scorn'd." Why, here and there we see one 'mongst the croud, Like glow-worms scatter'd o'er the parched turf, Or in the thicket blazing as a star; Nor wonder then, the honest and the brave, The man that's just beyond a point of law, The world writes on his forehead fool or mad; He's an exception 'gainst TOO GENERAL RULES.

Methinks, on wings of contemplation rais'd, I have now a prospect of the busy world, See multitudes with multitudes commix'd; Towards th' enchanted golden mount they press, With furious ardor—how they force their way, Run o'er the widows, push the orphans down; See! tender Virtue's almost press'd to death; She cries aloud, but who regards her cry? What mingled plaints approach the car divine— From the oppressed! real plaints ascend From the oppressor's hypocritic forms, To blind his neighbour, and effect his end. See! father 'gainst his son, and, in his turn, The son against his father; and the brother, By int'rest blinded, strives to cheat his brother. Nor only social bonds, the stronger tie Of relative affection, is dissolved; The torrent of mere mercenary thoughts Have drowned love; have sympathy repress'd. Lo! one for one his private int'rest seeks; Religion, truth, all that is sacred too Is call'd upon to cloak the foulest schemes, And vouch the purity of hypocrites; The tinsel shrine of INT'REST is ador'd: Some of the r******* t***e, C*n***c class, Lay prostrate at her feet, they beg her aid To guide them to a benefice; to crown Their learned heads with m*****, and to clothe Their nakedness and poverty in lawn. O how my soul's convuls'd, to view from hence The various means of craft, chicanery, Which various men, their various ends to gain, Adopt, yea consecrate, beneath the cloak Of truth, religion, honour, public good.

See! what a hideous monster yonder struts, Goliah's size—MONOPOLY by name— Stalks ghastly 'mongst the throng, his rolling eyes Flash baneful avarice at every glance, At ev'ry step wide devastation spreads! Pale, meagre FAMINE, follow'ng at his heels; No seed of virtue's living in his soul, Meek sympathy, benevolence and truth— The common feelings of humanity Are banish'd—Int'rest's base, mere selfish laws, Guides ev'ry step, and ev'ry act inspires. See! in his hand a cruel scythe he holds, Now sweeps it 'mongst the pigmy multitude, Destruction's dealt around at every sweep, And thousands fall fast-by his pond'rous side; See! thunder-struck the gaping throng aghast, Stand trembling—boldly he defies the world, And glories in his conquests—where's the youth By virtue strength'ned, and by wisdom taught, Dare now step forth, and give the monster fight. Yon legislature has him in his eye— The monster huge Monopoly pursues; His coward heart already quakes for fear, See paleness gathers on the giant's brow, Whilst ev'ry Israelite exulting, shouts.

Hear, all ye worldings! hear, ye men of PREY! Of every name, of every place and trade, Who eat, and then in vain attempt to hide, Th' omniscient God explores your very souls Through all the trappings of a pompous shew, Or painted garbs of vile hypocrisy; Nor is unseen the deepest, dark recess, Or schemes in embryo concealed there.

Come, all ye knaves, come, summons all your art, Take to your nitre; wash yourselves with soap; Try all expedients sophistry affords, Or syllogisms logic can produce, Your sins are seen, iniquities are mark'd; Omniscience, nor only what you seem, But what you really are, his eye beholds! To flee his presence whither will ye go? Ascend to Heaven, lo! a God is there; Or to the depths descend, a God is there; Or to the ocean's bounds—he's every where; The darkness and the light's the same to him.

Hear, all ye worldlings—hear, ye men of prey— Nor think you there's a God, hereafter too? Nor think you e'er of judgment after death? You know, you feel those poignant, solemn truths; Awake they haunt you—haunt nocturnal dreams, Tread on your heels, and whisper on your ears; E'en at the banquet house sometimes they're heard— A hand is seen to write, as on the wall, When mirth and jolitry reigns noisy round, You would efface it, would expel the thoughts, Flee their Conviction, fain elude their force, Or, like a Felix, beg them to depart; Yet still they haunt you—would you lay the ghosts, Repent, amend, they'll vanish and be gone. Be wise; consider; live as man ought live; Correct your errors—peace will then attend.

Come ye, the gleanings of a guilty land, Whoe'er you are, or wheresoe'er you dwell, (The friends to real truth, the friends of man) Untainted yet with vices popular, Who walk in innocence, the paths of peace— Are strangers to the pleasure and the pain The vicious multitude enjoy, and rue; May I be your companion through the vale Of present life, and yours in future too, When this frail body, bore down with disease, Shall to its center drop, a ghastly corpse, And some kind friend turn up the turf, and hide My putrid carcase in the silent grave, To lay and rot amongst the ancient dead; O! what a chill the thought sends thro' my blood!

The libertine, be his to sneer at God, Deride his providence, deny his laws— Curse Virtue when he meets her in the street; Invention torture, rack his very brains T' invent diversions for his guilty soul, And 'bate the force of constitutions fears, He'll find they are wove into his very soul. Be yours, as beings rational and free, To contemplate the man, explore yourselves; To contemplate the deity; to read His wisdom, power, in th' objects all around; Adore him, fear him, and observe his law— His laws—the grand palladium of our bliss, The ruling principle in nature's scenes, Ought be the ruling principles of man. But where to read his law? They're wrote within; Nor need we ransack the huge tow'ring pile Of mighty volumes to find out his law— Respecting man, a being rational; In our own breasts, in the fair open page Of conscience they are wrote, there we should read. What matter then tho' infidels may laugh, Or the licentious puff an empty blast Of foulest ridicule, sarcastic fleers, And passing hiss you, 'tis beneath the man, By virtue crown'd with her triumphant wreath, To fear the idle censures of the world. Immanuel sustain'd the CRUCIFY; Upon his head they plac'd a crown of thorns: Be yours to learn of him; forgive the wrong; Pray even for your enemies—o'ercome The malice, pride and envy of the world, By meekness, patience, faith and charity. The Christians weapons these, his armour too, His breast-plate and his shield impregnable; A meek forbearance's better than revenge. The means to help ourselves, reform the man, By passion overcome—our enemy. If just the censure; then remove the cause, Correct thy errors; if unjust, increase Thy watchfulness; be more upon thy guard In every step; assert thy innocence, And let thy conduct give report the lie; Defeat th' intent of every enemy, The craft of knaves, and ignorance of fools. By injuries we even may improve! The day of trial is the test of faith! These are occasions to call forth to view The latent Christian virtues in the soul, And give a striking proof of virtue's pow'r; As men acquit yourselves—you're in the field, Time is the day of battle, urge the fight; Within, without your enemies in arms; Man's greatest enemies are in his house, And in his house appears his greatest friend; If any man is tempted, 'tis by lusts; If any man is saved, 'tis by grace, And this salvation hath appear'd to all.

Remember life's a scene probationate, Afflictions various await us here; The alternates of health, disease and pain, Vicissitudes of day, of night, of heat, Of cold, of summer, winter, alternates Fill up our time, uncertain too, what in Th' approaching moment—life or sudden death!

The cup of pleasure's mingled with the gall Of disappointment; pain and pale disease Of ev'ry rank and age, degree in life, None here exempt, the Wormwood's dealt to all. The life of man is like a nat'ral day; The sun of happiness is often hid Behind a cloud of vapours from the earth. O! for those purer realms, mansions divine! Nor sun, nor moon, nor stars are wanted there; Refulgent lights, to which th' unclouded sun In full meridian glory is opaque, Where God, the Lamb, at once are light and joy, And constitute an everlasting day— Now adverse gales, now prosperous attend, We're now elated, then again depress'd, Like ships at sea; we, in the storm of life, Now are uplift high on the mountain waves, Descending swiftly, then the yawning gulf, The hull's immerg'd, the labouring vessel heaves, Th' affrighted pilot lashes to the helm; Addresses him who walks on wings of wind, Whose chariots are the clouds, to still the waves; (Invoked in the storm, in calms forgot) Rough, strong, keen, loud tho' Boreas may blow, A dreary, stormy blast, low'ring and black, The clouds may gather, from the East may dart, Bright coruscations, or the thunder roll From pole to pole terrifick, torrents pour From clouds capacious, waves with fury foam, 'Tis God Almighty ruleth in the storm; Nor murmur then, submit, yea kiss the rod, A moment bear discordant elements— Bear nature's clash, the din will soon be o'er, And then ensues an everlasting calm— But O! how hard to human nature, in the hour When she aghast seems trembling on the verge Of vast eternity, to cast the eye Towards the Lord of Heaven, earth and sea, Of all creation—say thy will be done— O! for a tabernacle on the mount— But human nature shudders at these thoughts, The Garden—Calvary, and Golgotha.

The honest, virtuous man, has nought to fear, Or in life's vale, or in the vale of death; Before a tyrant, even on the rack, His nature shrinks, his conscience wears a smile, The paltry arts of torture with disdain Looks down upon—Endures the moment strife Of human frailty, with disease's rage; His cause refers to God, and in the hour Of fell excruciating pangs of death, Supports a dignity becoming man. He meets the King of Terrors with a smile— He welcomes him, as a redeeming angel, By heaven sent to call to perfect day, To perfect liberty and happiness. To break the heavy fetters of this clay, Incrusting thick th' inhabitant within, To loose her from captivity, to range In spheres celestial, permanent above, T' ascend that holy, fair, celestial mount, The habitation of celestial souls, With them to feast, enraptur'd, who surround The awful throne—who prostrate in the blaze Of his refulgent glory—ever live, To sing the Hallelujah's—themes divine!

The honest, virtuous man, hath nought to fear; He bears about a heaven in his soul, Who dares to meet his naked heart alone, With her communes, without a sickly pale, Nor feels his blood run trembling to its source, And knows her testimony's on his side— Confides in God—hath hope, nor feareth man.

Would'st thou be happy here, hereafter too; Would'st thou be wise, be rich, be full, be safe? Unmoved hear the praise and scorn of man; Unmoved see him smile, or see him frown; Nor praise nor obloquy take for thy rule Through life to steer; within thou hast a guide; A faithful monitor—a trusty friend: Make Conscience then thy test; ask her report Of all that's past; she'll faithfully report; She will not flatter, nor she cannot lie; What friend's beside so perfect sound at core, What friend so wise, so honest, so sincere, To speak the truth, the whole, nor more nor less? How loth are friends to probe the wounds of friends! The wounds of friends how apt we are to heal Deceitfully—t' extenuate their guilt. Where is the man impartial to his friend In ev'ry case, or to his enemy? Affection's biass on the judgment hung, Inclines the scale in favour of the man At once we wish to serve and pleasure too. That task how difficult to execute! Trust not in man—Vain is the help of man, Tho' honour'd with a robe, a wand or staff, A title, coronet or blazing star, Surrounded with a numerous cringing train Of fawning sycophants, at core decay'd; They'll bless and c—, as interest may urge. The title dignified; they are but men; They're incident to pain, disease and death— Death presses through the herd of hangers on, Above, e'en ceremonies of a court, Pass by the page, the lord in waiting, and Invalidates the plea of privilege, Arrests the peer, deep sinks the fatal dart; In vain sagacious SMITH, that favour'd son Of Hipp'crates prescribes; alas! he dies. Above there's no distinction made between The peasant and the prince; there titles drop— Nor in the grave beneath—th' inhabitants Of dreary, gloomy mansions of the dead Know no distinction; merciless to all, They prey upon the MONARCH and the Slave.

Trust not to man, he's like a broken reed, Nor lean thereon, 'twill pierce thee to the heart; Oft make a pause amidst tumultuous life, And feel the pulse of Conscience, how it beats; And oft withdraw from all the noisy world To Solitude's instructive, pleasing vale; Walk silent, pensive there—there ruminate On past occurrences—there trace the spring Of ev'ry action, and explore thyself. In night's zenith, when thou art reclin'd On downy plumes, forget th' alluring toys— All glittering objects, transitory, vain, When on thy bed—with thy own heart commune! Be thine to act the open honest man, (Nor take th' advantage mere contingence gives, In midst of plenty to proclaim a dearth, T'ingross, monopolize, send through the land The ghost of Famine, or distress the poor, Increase their wants, and prey upon their fears.)

The honest humble man's desires are few, And therefore few his wants, kind providence Has put within his reach those few for him: The wants of nature are but few, 'tis PRIDE Increases them almost to INFINITE— Pride sends us o'er the globe from pole to pole, To rake the mines of Peru—to import The tinsels of the Indies—'Tis our pride That swells enormously the heart's desires For mere terrestrial superfluities; Mere superfluities, not worth a wish; They are but trifles, vain, sublunary. To act as children's seemly in a child, Toys are adapted to infantile years; To act as children, and to play with toys, Disgraces manhood—Superfluities Divert th'attention from important truths, Subjects sublime, adapt to Reason's eye, Distract our thoughts, plague even whilst they please.

Nor let me now, descanting on the Times— Whilst pointing out the vices of the age; In blackest shades painting the sensualist, Lashing the hypocrite, that formal shrew, A Churchill like, too rapid in my song To make exceptions as I go along; Forget t' applaud, where 'plause is justly due, I rev'rence merit wheresoe'er she dwells, Or in a mansion, or the rural cot, The good I honour, but I hate the knave; Not hate the man, his vices 'tis I hate: Though low indeed—exceeding low the cause Of true religion—yet of every class Of clergy, laity—rulers and the rul'd, There are a few who, bound to virtue's cause, Are friends of truth, of reason, and of man; There are, and may their number still increase, Men who deserve to rule, to be obey'd, As constellations deck the azure sky, (Their brilliant virtues) grace the church and state: Come then, ye virt'us, let's forget a name— Let's close unite in virtue's sacred cause, And make a stand against licentiousness. On that fair, firm, that everlasting ground, Charity! tongues, prophecies, will cease; Charity never fails, it is the soul Of all religion, worship—'tis the soul, Th' inspiring soul of Heaven's holy song, Accentuates the hallelujah there.

O! thou Almighty Being, pierce my soul, Lay bare my heart, present it to my view, Nor let me, blind to self, indulge one vice My pen is drawn to censure in the world. Lord! let a reverential awe possess The inmost, deep recesses of my soul; O! light up there a pure, a holy flame, Purge off the dregs of ev'ry secret thought, And every sin in embryo consume: Nor let me only see the secret fault, Deep rooted in the mental ground within, But ere it peeps in act, O! lay thine hand Upon it, tho' in judgment; extirpate The root of evil from my very soul. Methinks, this moment, lashing bold the age, My imperfections stare me in the face; The latent weakness hid from mortal eye, In full view rise—ah what a humbling sight! O truth, thy kindness calls for loudest praise! Nor let thy mercy unimprov'd escape, Or, like a shadow, in a moment flee; What man ought be, that let me strive to be; And honour human nature; honour thee; Write then my errors on my very heart, As with a pen of iron 'grave them there, Until reform'd; let mercy then expunge The dread hand-writing, and forget my sins. Nor let a vain, deluded, empty world's Harsh censure, nor its frothy sounding praise, Awake my fears, light up hope's lamp, or warp The virtuous purpose of my cool resolve, To follow Truth wherever she may lead; May thou, but O! I shudder at the thought, The spirit's willing, human nature's weak, When my last awful day shall dawn, or in The bloom of life, meridian, or old age, Ancient of Days be with me, stay my mind In humble trust, and confidence in thee, The darksome dreary valley to illume! When pale disease, exulting on my brow, Shall mock the feeble power of medicine, And death's cold sweat shall trickle down my face, Bear up my soul with thy Almighty pow'r O'er death, the grave and hell to triumph then, In hope of blessed immortality— In full assurance of ETERNAL BLISS.