The Minstrel; or the Progress of Genius

‘Well pleased with all, but most with humankind;
‘When Fancy roamed through Nature’s works at will,
‘Unchecked by cold distrust, and uninformed of ill.’

XXX

‘Wouldst thou (the Sage replied) in peace return
‘To the gay dreams of fond romantic youth,
‘Leave me to hide, in this remote sojourn,
‘From every gentle ear the dreadful truth:
‘For if my desultory strain with ruth
‘And indignation make thine eyes o’erflow,
‘Alas! what comfort could thy anguish sooth,
‘Shouldst thou the extent of human folly know?
‘Be ignorance thy choice, where knowledge leads to woe.

XXXI

‘But let untender thoughts afar be driven;
‘Nor venture to arraign the dread decree:
‘For know, to man, as candidate for heaven,
‘The voice of The Eternal said, Be free:
‘And this divine prerogative to thee
‘Does virtue, happiness, and heaven convey;
‘For virtue is the child of liberty,
‘And happiness of virtue; nor can they
‘Be free to keep the path, who are not free to stray.

XXXII

‘Yet leave me not. I would allay that grief,
‘Which else might thy young virtue overpower;
‘And in thy converse I shall find relief,
‘When the dark shades of melancholy lower:
‘For solitude has many a dreary hour,
‘Even when exempt from grief, remorse, and pain:
‘Come often then; for, haply, in my bower,
‘Amusement, knowledge, wisdom, thou may’st gain:
‘If I one soul improve, I have not lived in vain.’

XXXIII

And now, at length, to Edwin’s ardent gaze
The Muse of History unrolls her page.
But few, alas! the scenes her art displays,
To charm his fancy, or his heart engage.
Here, chiefs their thirst of power in blood assuage,
And straight their flames with tenfold fierceness burn:
Here, smiling Virtue prompts the patriot’s rage,
But lo, ere long, is left alone to mourn,
And languish in the dust, and clasp the abandoned urn.

XXXIV

‘Ah, what avails (he said) to trace the springs
‘That whirl of empire the stupendous wheel!
‘Ah, what have I to do with conquering kings,
‘Hands drenched in blood, and breasts begirt with steel!
‘To those, whom Nature taught to think and feel,
‘Heroes, alas! are things of small concern.
‘Could History man’s secret heart reveal,
‘And what imports a heaven-born mind to learn,
‘Her transcripts to explore what bosom would not yearn!

XXXV

‘This praise, O Cheronean Sage, is thine.
‘(Why should this praise to thee alone belong!)
‘All else from Nature’s moral path decline,
‘Lured by the toys that captivate the throng;
‘To herd in cabinets and camps, among
‘Spoil, carnage, and the cruel pomp of pride;
‘Or chaunt of heraldry the drowsy song,
‘How tyrant blood, o’er many a region wide,
‘Rolls to a thousand thrones its execrable tide.

XXXVI

‘O, who of man the story will unfold,
‘Ere victory and empire wrought annoy,
‘In that elysian age (misnamed of gold)
‘The age of love, and innocence, and joy,
‘When all were great and free! man’s sole employ
‘To deck the bosom of his parent earth;
‘Or toward his bower the murmuring stream decoy,
‘To aid the floweret’s long-expected birth,
‘And lull the bed of peace, and crown the board of mirth.

XXXVII

‘Sweet were your shades, O ye primeval groves,
‘Whose boughs to man his food and shelter lent,
‘Pure in his pleasures, happy in his loves,
‘His eye still smiling, and his heart content.
‘Then, hand in hand, Health, Sport, and Labour went.
‘Nature supplied the wish she taught to crave.
‘None prowled for prey, none watched to circumvent.
‘To all an equal lot Heaven’s bounty gave:
‘No vassal feared his lord, no tyrant feared his slave.