31.

Yet couldst thou learn, that thus it fares with age,
When pleasure, wealth, or power, the bosom warm,
This baffled hope might tame thy manhood's rage,
And disappointment of her sting disarm.-

But why should foresight thy fond heart alarm?
Perish the lore that deadens young desire!
Pursue, poor imp, the imaginary charm,
Indulge gay Hope, and Fancy's pleasing fire:
Fancy and hope too soon shall of themselves expire.

32.

When the long-sounding curfew from afar*
Loaded with loud lament the lonely gale,

J

Young Edwin, lighted by the evening star,

Lingering and listening, wandered down the vale.

1

* I believe I took notice, before, of this excess of alliteration, long, loaded, loud lament, lonely, lighted, lingering, listening; though the verses are otherwise very good, it looks like affectation.-Gray.

Upon this Dr. Beattie remarks: "It does so, and yet it is not affected. I have endeavoured once and again to clear this passage of those obnoxious letters, but I never could please myself. Alliteration has great authorities on its side, but I would never seek for it; nay, except on some very particular occasions, I would rather avoid it. When Mr. Gray, once before, told me of my propensity to alliteration, I repeated to him one of his own lines, which is indeed one of the finest in poetry

Nor cast one longing lingering look behind."

There would he dream of graves, and corses palė;
And ghosts, that to the charnel-dungeon throng,
And drag a length of clanking chain, and wail,
Till silenc'd by the owl's terrific song,

Or blast, that shrieks, by fits, the shuddering aisles along,

33.

Or, when the setting moon, in crimson dy'à, Hung o'er the dark and melancholy deep, To haunted stream, remote from man he hied, Where Fays of yore their revels wont to keep; And there let Fancy roam at large, till sleep A vision brought to his entranced sight. And first, a wildly-murmuring wind 'gan creep, Shrill to his ringing ear; then tapers bright, With instantaneous gleam, illum'd the vault of Night.

34.

Anon, in view, a portal's blazon'd arch
Arose; the trumpet bids the valves unfold,
And forth a host of little warriors march,
Grasping the diamond lance, and targe of gold.
Their look was gentle, their demeanor bold,
And green their helms, and green their silk attire;
And here and there, right venerably old,

The long-rob'd minstrels wake the warbling wire, And some with mellow breath the martial pipe inspire.

35.

With merriment, and song, and timbrels clear,
A troop of dames from myrtle bowers advance ;

The little warriors doff the targe and spear,

And loud enlivening strains provoke the dance.

They meet, they dart away, they wheel askance;
To right, to left, they thrid the flying maze;
Now bound aloft with vigorous spring, then glance
Rapid along with many-colour'd,rays

Of tapersy gems, and gold, the echoing forests blaze.

36.*

The dream is filed. Proud harbinger of day,
Who scar'dst the vision with thy clarion shrill,
Fell chanticleer!t who oft has reft away
My fancied good, and brought substantial ill!

* St. 34, 35, 36. Sure you go too far in lengthening a stroke of Edwin's character and disposition into a direct narrative, as of a fact. In the mean time, the poem stands still, and the reader grows impatient. Do you not, in general, indulge a little too much in description and reflection? This is not my remark only; I have heard it observed by others; and I take notice of it here, because these are among the stanzas that might be spared: they are good, nevertheless, and might be laid by, and employed elsewhere to advantage.-Gray.

Upon this Dr. Beattie observes, "This remark is perfectly just. All I can say is, that I meant, from the beginning, to take some latitude in the composition of this poem, and not to confine myself to the epical rules for narrative. In an epic poem, these digressions and reflections, &c. would be unpardonable."

+ This expression, says Sir W. Forbes, alludes to a singular, but deep-rooted aversion, which Dr. Beattie all his life evinced for the crowing of a cock.

O to thy cursed scream, discórdant still,
Let Harmony aye shut her gentle ear;

Thy boastful mirth let jealous rivals spill, 2014
Insult thy crest, and glossy pinions tear,

And ever in thy dreams the ruthless fox appear..

Forbear, my Muse. Let love attune thy line.
Revoke the spell. Thine Edwin frets not so.
For how should he at wicked chance repine,
Who feels from every change amusement flow?
Even now his eyes with smiles of rapture glow,
As on he wanders thro' the scenes of morn,
Where the fresh flowers in living lustre blow,
Where thousand pearls the dewy lawns adorn,
A thousand notes of joy in every breeze are borne.

But who the melodies of morn can tell?

The wild brook babbling down the mountain side;

The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell;

The pipe of early shepherd dim descried

In the lone valley; echoing far and wide
The clamorous horn along the cliffs above;
The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide;

The hum of bees, the linnet's lay of love,
And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.

39.

The cottage curs at early pilgrim bark;
Crown'd with her pail the tripping milk-maid sings;
The whistling ploughman stalks afield; and, hark!
Down the rough slope the ponderous waggon rings;

Thro' rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs; Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour; The partridge bursts away on whirring wings; Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower, And shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tour

40.

O Nature, how in every charm supreme!
Whose votaries feast on raptures ever new!
O for the voice and fire of seraphim,
To sing thy glories with devotion due!
Blest be the day I 'scaped the wrangling crew,
From Pyrrho's maze, and Epicurus' sty;
And held high converse with the godlike few,
Who to th' enraptur'd heart, and ear,
and eye,
Teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody.

41.

Hence! ye, who snare and stupify the mind,
Sophists! of beauty, virtue, joy, the bane!
Greedy and fell, tho' impotent and blind,
Who spread your filthy nets in Truth's fair fane,
And ever ply your venom'd fangs amain !

Hence to dark Error's den, whose rankling slime

First gave you form! hence! lest the Muse should deign (Tho' loth on theme so mean to waste a rhyme,) With vengeance to pursue your sacrilegious crime.

* Spite of what I have just now said, this digression pleases me so well, that I cannot spare it.-Gray.