What wisdom can their magic force repel?
It draws this reverend hermit from his cell.
It was the time, when witty poets tell,
"That Phoebus into Thetis' bosom fell:
She blush'd at first, and then put out the light,
And drew the modest curtains of the night."
Plainly the truth to tell, the sun was set,
When to the town our wearied travellers get,*
To a lord's house, as lordly as can be,
Made for the use of pride and luxury,
They come ; the gentle courtier at the door
Stops, and will hardly enter in before.
"But 'tis, sir, your command, and being so,
I'm sworn to obedience ;" and so in they go.
Behind a hanging in a spacious room,
(The richest work of Mortlacke's noble loom)
They wait awhile their wearied limbs to rest,
Till silence should invite them to their feast.
"About the hour that Cynthia's silver light +
Had touch'd the pale meridies of the night;"
—our wearied travellers get.] He forgot his own idea of a mouse's journey, by night: nay, he forgot that such, too, was his author's idea,
"Mania nocturni surrepêre-"-Hurd.
+ About the hour that Cynthia's silver light.] These two lines on midnight, and the three, above, on sun-setting, are a fine ridicule on the prevailing taste of poetry at that time, as appears from the introduction,
and therefore, unluckily, on his own taste, when he wrote (as he often did, and as the best poets are apt to do) for present fame and reputation.-Hurd.
At last, the various supper being done,
It happen'd that the company was gone
Into a room remote, servants and all,
To please their noble fancies with a ball.
Our host leads forth his stranger, and does find,
All fitted to the bounties of his mind.
Still on the table half-fill'd dishes stood,
And with delicious bits the floor was strew'd.
The courteous mouse presents him with the best,
And both with fat varieties are bless'd;
The industrious peasant every where does range,
And thanks the gods for his life's happy change.
Lo! in the midst of a well-freighted pie,
They both at last glutted and wanton lie.
When, see the sad reverse of prosperous fate,
And what fierce storms on mortal glories wait!
With hideous noise, down the rude servants come,
Six dogs before run barking into the room;
The wretched glutions fly with wild affright,
And hate the fulness which retards their flight.
Our trembling peasant wishes now in vain,
That rocks and mountains cover'd him again.
Oh how the change of his poor life he cursed!
"This, of all lives (said he) is sure the worst.
Give me again, ye gods, my cave and wood :
With peace, let tares and acorns be my food."
Paraphrase upon the 10th Epistle of the First Book of Horace.
HORACE TO FUSCUS ARISTIUS.
HEALTH, from the lover of the country, me,
Health, to the lover of the city, thee;
A difference in our souls, this only proves;
In all things else, we agree like married doves.
But the warm nest and crowded dove-house thou
Dost like; I loosely fly from bough to bough,
And rivers drink, and all the shining day
Upon fair trees or mossy rocks I play;
In fine, I live and reign, when I retire
From all that you equal with heaven admire,
Like one at last from the priest's service fled,
Loathing the honied cakes, I long for bread.
Would I a house for happiness erect,
Nature alone should be the architect;
She'd build it more convenient than great,
And doubtless in the country choose her seat.
Is there a place doth better helps supply,
Against the wounds of winter's cruelty?
Is there an air that gentlier does assuage
The mad celestial dog's, or lion's rage?
Is it not there that sleep (and only there)
Nor noise without, nor cares within, does fear?
Does art through pipes a purer water bring,
Than that which nature strains into a spring?
Can all your tapestries, or your pictures, show
More beauties than in herbs and flowers do grow?
Fountains and trees our wearied pride do please,
Ev'n in the midst of gilded palaces,
And in your towns that prospect gives delight,
Which opens round the country to our sight.
Men to the good, from which they rashly fly,
Return at last; and their wild luxury
Does but in vain with those true joys contend,
Which nature did to mankind recommend,
The man who changes gold for burnish'd brass,
Or small right gems for larger ones of glass,
Is not, at length, more certain to be made
Ridiculous, and wretched by the trade,
Than he, who sells a solid good, to buy
The painted goods of pride and vanity.
If thou be wise, no glorious fortune choose,
Which 'tis but pain to keep, yet grief to lose.
For, when we place ev'n trifles in the heart,
With trifles, too, unwillingly we part.*
An humble roof, plain bed, and homely board,
More clear, untainted pleasures do afford,
Than all the tumult of vain greatness brings
To kings, or to the favourites of kings. †
The horned deer, by nature arm'd so well,
Did with the horse in common pasture dwell;
And when they fought, the field it always wan,
Till the ambitious horse begg'd help of man,
* [For, when we place, &c.He gives the sense of Horace,
"-si quid mirabere, pones "Invitus
but in a turn of phrase and verse more touching, and though somewhat paraphrastical, not less elegant.-Hurd. Pope, Essay on Man, iv. 205.
And took the bridle, and thenceforth did reign
Bravely alone, as lord of all the plain :
But never after could the rider get
From off his back, or from his mouth the bit.
So they, who poverty too much do fear,
To avoid that weight, a greater burden bear;
That they might power above their equals have,
To cruel masters they themselves enslave.
For gold, their liberty exchanged we see,
That fairest flower, which crowns humanity.*
And all this mischief does upon them light,
Only because they know not how, aright,
That great, but secret, happiness to prize,
That's laid up in a little, for the wise:
That is the best and easiest estate,
Which to a man sits close, but not too strait.
'Tis like a shoe; it pinches, and it burns,
Too narrow; and too large, it overturns.
My dearest friend, stop thy desires at last,
And cheerfully enjoy the wealth thou hast.
And, if me still seeking for more you see,
Chide and reproach, despise and laugh at me.
Money was made, not to command our will,
But all our lawful pleasures to fulfil.
Shame and wo to us, if we our wealth obey;
The horse doth with the horseman run away.
That fairest flower, which crowns humanity.-The poet, as usual, expresses his own feeling: but he does more, he expresses it very classically. The allusion is to the ancient custom of wearing wreaths or garlands of flowers, on any occasion of joy and festivity. Of these flowers (taken in the sense of pleasures, of which they were the emblems) the fairest, says he, that crowns the happy man, is liberty.-Hurd.
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