The Minstrel; or the Progress of Genius

But now and then the shades of life explore;
Though many a sound and sight of woe annoy,
And many a qualm of care his rising hopes destroy.

V

Vigour from toil, from trouble patience grows.
The weakly blossom, warm in summer bower,
Some tints of transient beauty may disclose;
But ah, it withers in the chilling hour.
Mark yonder oaks! Superior to the power
Of all the warring winds of heaven, they rise,
And from the stormy promontory tower,
And toss their giant arms amid the skies,
While each assailing blast increase of strength supplies.

VI

And now the downy cheek and deepened voice
Gave dignity to Edwin’s blooming prime;
And walks of wider circuit were his choice,
And vales more wild, and mountains more sublime.
One evening, as he framed the careless rhyme,
It was his chance to wander far abroad,
And o’er a lonely eminence to climb,
Which heretofore his foot had never trode;
A vale appeared below, a deep retired abode.

VII

Thither he hied, enamoured of the scene:
For rocks on rocks piled, as by magic spell,
Here scorched with lightning, there with ivy green,
Fenced from the north and east this savage dell;
Southward a mountain rose with easy swell,
Whose long long groves eternal murmur made;
And toward the western sun a streamlet fell,
Where, through the cliffs, the eye, remote, surveyed
Blue hills, and glittering waves, and skies in gold arrayed.

VIII

Along this narrow valley, you might see
The wild deer sporting on the meadow ground,
And, here and there, a solitary tree,
Or mossy stone, or rock with woodbine crowned.
Oft did the cliffs reverberate the sound
Of parted fragments tumbling from on high;
And, from the summit of that craggy mound,
The perching eagle oft was heard to cry,
Or on resounding wings to shoot athwart the sky.

IX

One cultivated spot there was, that spread
Its flowery bosom to the noon-day beam,
Where many a rose-bud rears its blushing head,
And herbs, for food, with future plenty teem.
Soothed by the lulling sound of grove and stream,
Romantic visions swarm on Edwin’s soul:
He minded not the sun’s last trembling gleam,
Nor heard from far the twilight curfew toll,
When slowly on his ear these moving accents stole.

X

‘Hail, awful scenes, that calm the troubled breast,
‘And woo the weary to profound repose;
‘Can passion’s wildest uproar lay to rest,
‘And whisper comfort to the man of woes!
‘Here Innocence may wander, safe from foes,
‘And Contemplation soar on seraph wings.
‘O Solitude, the man who thee foregoes,
‘When lucre lures him, or ambition stings,
‘Shall never know the source whence real grandeur springs.

XI

‘Vain man, is grandeur given to gay attire?
‘Then let the butterfly thy pride upbraid:
‘To friends, attendants, armies, bought with hire?
‘It is thy weakness that requires their aid:
‘To palaces, with gold and gems inlaid?
‘They fear the thief, and tremble in the storm:
‘To hosts, through carnage who to conquest wade?
‘Behold the victor vanquished by the worm!
‘Behold what deeds of woe the locust can perform!

XII

‘True dignity is his, whose tranquil mind
‘Virtue has raised above the things below;
‘Who, every hope and fear to heaven resigned,
‘Shrinks not, though Fortune aim her deadliest blow.’
This strain, from midst the rocks, was heard to flow
In solemn sounds. Now beamed the evening-star;
And from embattled clouds, emerging slow,
Cynthia came riding on her silver car;
And hoary mountain-cliffs shone faintly from afar.