In nature all that's beautifully fair and grand!
Or let his musing soul from these delights expand,
Over the yet unsounded limitless Sublime!
Which carves its footmarks in the sandy veins of Time-
And on the Past-for which Oblivion opes its tomb-
And on the Future-hid in Fate's prolific womb,
Until Time shall call it from its embryo state,
To herald Freedom through Progression's regal gate-
On Life and Death it sets the impress of its seal,
And weds the dimly seen of man's immortal weal;
Conveys his thoughts amid the labyrinths of Space,
And tracks the INFINITE in each mysterious place!
What soul can muse on Nature's grand ethereal plan,
And then deny the God who made the world for man?
Beneath an elm-tree's shade, at ev'ning's tranquil hour, A youth delighted gazed upon a beauteous flower, That, peering far above its sweetly-colour'd kind, Sway'd to and fro at the soft fanning of the wind: It was a wild primrose, attir'd in virgin bloom, Amid a thousand flowers emitting sweet perfume, That here and there in glorious profusion sprung In each untrodden spot, where trees their shadows flung. He gazed awhile, enrapt in a sweet delicious trance, Then o'er the distant fields he threw an eager glance, And thought of one resembling that fair primrose wild, Fragile in form, and beautiful and sweet and mild; He thought how summer blossoms gem the vernal glade, For a season short remain, then gradually fade, How gusts of wind, or storms, or piercing frosts will kill The beauty-flowers of earth, with unrestricted will. "And should some deadly blight, or human storm descend, "And cause her loveliness to fade, her form to bend, "Or prematurely snatch from out her snowy breast "Those pearls of price studding the front of Virtue's crest, "And make that sylph-like form, that being of my life, "A demon wand'rer thro' the maze of mortal strife! "The summer of her life encircles her with flowers, "But winter has to come with his unwelcome dowers.
"I know that youth cannot for ever with her stay,
"That the darkness comes as the daylight dies away!
"But yet I fear some brooding ill unseen may hide,
"To cloud our sunny hopes-our loving hearts divide."
'Twas thus the youth, engaged in thought, the time beguil'd, 'Till back returned his thoughts to the fair primrose wild,
And as he viewed the beauty in creation round,
Lit with delight, his soul another theme had found:
The fructile fields displayed the rustic farmer's hand,
His skill and hardy toil in tilling of the land;
His constant care to aid the future crops to rise,
And ripen 'neath the radiant splendour of the skies!
The youth walk'd slowly on, still feeling fresh delight,
As each new prospect open'd on his wand'ring sight;
Now a river, winding its narrow course, was seen,
Between its meadow margins, carpeted with green,
Serenely gliding, with its silver-crested surge,
That gently dashing struck the river's rugged verge!
Now crowded hills rising in grandeur huge and steep,
And forests thick from unseen distances upleap,
To dimly pierce the "shades of night," now "falling fast,"
For the sun hath set, and the day will soon be past!
He gains the spot, for which his loit'ring feet were bent,
Recalls the happy hours with his dear Ellen spent,
Pauses, ere he lightly taps th' yet unclosed door,
And thinks how hard must be the suff'rings of the poor.
He knew not of the quagmires which beset their way,
Into which they sink as the means of life decay;
For he had not the peasant's weary toil to bear,
Nor of his hard-earned bread to claim a stinted share:
His was a lot there be but few in life can claim
To live, without the need for toil or search for fame.
His father years long past had felt the pauper's pains
Coil round his heart, to suck the blood within his veins;
Had known the want of friends to solace and to cheer,
When clouding sorrow came, or misery caused a tear:
Possess'd with lively wit and learning's pow'rful aid,
At length, by much incessant toil, a way was made
To pass the dens and filth of poverty's domain,
And float along the track of wealth's unholy main.
A barrister, who'd read the products of his pen,
Sparkling with knowledge great of "manners and of men,"
Propos'd that he should study for the English law,
And plead for vice or virtue, whether rich or poor,
According to the means to pay the counsel's fee,
Which rise above the reach of struggling poverty.
He who had known the pauper's comfortless despair,
Friendless had roamed the world, depress'd by mortal care,
Saw not the lamp of virtue glim'ring 'mid the dark,
That he might then, illumin'd by a single spark,
Bid Hope to settle, with its bright ethereal wings,
And point in virtue's track a better state of things,
At once, with pleasure, grappled at the proffer'd plan,
And with ambitious aim the wily task began.
And now, equipp'd for service, in his wig and gown,
He soon attains a practice in the midst of town;
Gains clients from among the lordling sons of earth,
Made so by titled wealth, and not by natural birth.
And oft, when gold would lead the dark beclouded way,
The innocent in heart he'd lure but to betray,
And use his pow'rs of speech, with pre-thought lies to friend
A cause of guilt, which human art could ne'er extend.
And thus, while rolling years their onward march pursue,
He pleads, unstay'd by conscience, keeping Gold in view.
Now fairly in the track of wealth, he gains a name
That speedily ascends the ladder steps of Fame,
And whisp'ring tongues, that in his wealthy circle move,
At once, by facts, beyond dispute, his greatness prove.
The Patron, who at first from out his pauper state
Aided to place him with the wealth-acquiring great,
Had a beauteous daughter, a girl of winning smiles,
A creature made for love, not man's deceitful wiles;
Her name was Agnes, and her nicely-moulded shape,
Sparkling eyes, whose mystic language could ne'er escape
The gaze of one possess'd of Feeling's natural glow,
And then her artless ways, and mind scarce touch'd by woe,
Gave Guilt remorse and Innocence a sweeter bliss.
Her father loved her, and often her brow he'd kiss,
And feel a thrill of happiness vibrate his heart,
Which to his life a sense of duty would impart.
He'd promis'd of't, the man who'd risen to his side,
If he should win her heart, Agnes should be his bride.
Long in tedious hours, while musing o'er some brief,
His jaded soul had vainly sought and wish'd relief,
And yet his moral courage fail'd to snap the spell,
Which bound his cringing soul in wealth's heart-gnawing hell.
He'd thought of love, but had not felt its holy touch;
Of marriage, too, he'd ponder'd oft and wish'd for much,
But never, 'till the hour when Agnes with him walk'd,
And of a thousand simple things in fondness talk'd,
Had he known the hallow'd bliss Woman can impart,
When virgin love enthron'd directs her trusting heart.
No sordid motive nestled in his hardy breast,
When whisp'ring in her ear he fervently confess't
His burning love, and passionately begg'd to learn
If she could e'er, with half the zeal, that love return.
She mus'd and blush'd awhile, then modestly replied,
"That in his manly breast she'd honestly confide."
A few more weeks, and then their lives were closer join'd,
Their souls in new delights and wedded love were coin'd;
Agnes receiv'd an ample share of treasur'd gold,
The marriage portion which her father's gains had told.
They quit the scene of London's business-breeding care
To breathe the country's pure and odour-scented air-
A mansion which, for years, untenated had stood,
Near a hill, uprising 'neath the shadows of a wood,
Was soon repaired and fitted for their country seat,
Forming a magnificent and beautiful retreat.
And as days, weeks, and months, are quickly borne away, And happiness, like beauty, visits night and day,
Agnes the wife, affectionate and kind and mild,
Gives birth to a beautiful and sweetly-temper'd child,
And nought seems wanting now within their blest retreat
To fill their cup of joy and make their bliss complete.
Agnes employs her time with all a mother's truth,
To mould the pliant mind of Alfred's tender youth;
And he, possess'd of nature's pure and sweetest dower,
Divulges quick the influence of a mother's power.
A mother's power! oh, what can mould the future man,
For good or ill to influence the human clan,
Like her first lessons from life's ever changing page!
Be they good-what glorious feelings thrill the age-
And lend a sweet enchantment to the eager mind,
Restless to rise to moral worth, and leave behind
The trammels forged by vice to shackle human thought,
And keep the servile soul in virtue's ways untaught !
Be they ill-what hearts are sated in th' pools of sin-
What base desires enlarge 'mid strife's continual din-
Keeping moral excellence with all its joys at bay,
That the soul may wallow 'mid the ruins and decay
Of human aspirations-shatter'd and destroy'd,
That Vice with all its low delights might fill the void!
Young Alfred, as his years increase, at school is found,
Nor long remains 'ere he his fellow boys astound
By his progressive march in learning's mazy track;
Nor with all their varied arts can they make him slack
His pace, for duty to his mother leads the way,
And nought from her commands could lead his mind astray.
The veil of ignorance, on whence his father sprung,
Upon his genial youth a pierceless shadow hung;
He strove by all the arts that restless youth can gain,
To obtain the clue to his father's birth, in vain ;
And thus the wealth his parents freely made away,
In balls by night and dinners sumptuous by day,
Became a source of wonder to his ardent mind,
Which could not pierce the veil that hid the undivin'd.
His mother ever kind, in hours of peace and joy,
Ne'er fail'd by varied means to elevate her boy;
Some simple story, bearing virtue's vestal test,
Whose fancied heroes won her son's admiring breast,
Unsullied yet by cunning's fierce distorting brand,
Or roughly knotch'd by vice's hard unfeeling hand,
She'd read; and struggling poverty within the tale,
Painted in truthful character, they'd both bewail :
And oft, to change the mournful feelings of her son,
She'd playfully recite some brief tirade of fun,
And gaily laugh at each amusing joke exprest,
As tho' all care and trouble ceased to haunt her breast;
Anon with joyful music's thrilling tones she'd charm,
And change tumultuous mirth to an enchanting calm,
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