The Task, and Other Poems Part 10

He ruled with meekness, they obeyed with joy.

No cruel purpose lurked within his heart, And no distrust of his intent in theirs.

So Eden was a scene of harmless sport, Where kindness on his part who ruled the whole Begat a tranquil confidence in all, And fear as yet was not, nor cause for fear.

But sin marred all; and the revolt of man, That source of evils not exhausted yet, Was punished with revolt of his from him.

Garden of G.o.d, how terrible the change Thy groves and lawns then witnessed! every heart, Each animal of every name, conceived A jealousy and an instinctive fear, And, conscious of some danger, either fled Precipitate the loathed abode of man, Or growled defiance in such angry sort, As taught him too to tremble in his turn.

Thus harmony and family accord Were driven from Paradise; and in that hour The seeds of cruelty, that since have swelled To such gigantic and enormous growth, Were sown in human nature's fruitful soil.

Hence date the persecution and the pain That man inflicts on all inferior kinds, Regardless of their plaints. To make him sport, To gratify the frenzy of his wrath, Or his base gluttony, are causes good And just in his account, why bird and beast Should suffer torture, and the streams be dyed With blood of their inhabitants impaled.

Earth groans beneath the burden of a war Waged with defenceless innocence, while he, Not satisfied to prey on all around, Adds tenfold bitterness to death by pangs Needless, and first torments ere he devours.

Now happiest they that occupy the scenes The most remote from his abhorred resort, Whom once as delegate of G.o.d on earth They feared, and as His perfect image loved.

The wilderness is theirs with all its caves, Its hollow glens, its thickets, and its plains Unvisited by man. There they are free, And howl and roar as likes them, uncontrolled, Nor ask his leave to slumber or to play.

Woe to the tyrant, if he dare intrude Within the confines of their wild domain; The lion tells him, "I am monarch here;"

And if he spares him, spares him on the terms Of royal mercy, and through generous scorn To rend a victim trembling at his foot.

In measure, as by force of instinct drawn, Or by necessity constrained, they live Dependent upon man, those in his fields, These at his crib, and some beneath his roof; They prove too often at how dear a rate He sells protection. Witness, at his foot The spaniel dying for some venial fault, Under dissection of the knotted scourge; Witness the patient ox, with stripes and yells Driven to the slaughter, goaded as he runs To madness, while the savage at his heels Laughs at the frantic sufferer's fury spent Upon the guiltless pa.s.senger o'erthrown.

He too is witness, n.o.blest of the train That wait on man, the flight-performing horse: With unsuspecting readiness he takes His murderer on his back, and, pushed all day, With bleeding sides, and flanks that heave for life, To the far-distant goal, arrives and dies.

So little mercy shows who needs so much!

Does law, so jealous in the cause of man, Denounce no doom on the delinquent? None.

He lives, and o'er his br.i.m.m.i.n.g beaker boasts (As if barbarity were high desert) The inglorious feat, and, clamorous in praise Of the poor brute, seems wisely to suppose The honours of his matchless horse his own.

But many a crime, deemed innocent on earth, Is registered in heaven, and these, no doubt, Have each their record, with a curse annexed.

Man may dismiss compa.s.sion from his heart, But G.o.d will never. When He charged the Jew To a.s.sist his foe's down-fallen beast to rise, And when the bush-exploring boy that seized The young, to let the parent bird go free, Proved He not plainly that His meaner works Are yet His care, and have an interest all, All, in the universal Father's love?

On Noah, and in him on all mankind, The charter was conferred by which we hold The flesh of animals in fee, and claim, O'er all we feed on, power of life and death.

But read the instrument, and mark it well; The oppression of a tyrannous control Can find no warrant there. Feed then, and yield Thanks for thy food. Carnivorous, through sin, Feed on the slain, but spare the living brute.

The Governor of all, Himself to all So bountiful, in whose attentive ear The unfledged raven and the lion's whelp Plead not in vain for pity on the pangs Of hunger una.s.suaged, has interposed, Not seldom, His avenging arm, to smite The injurious trampler upon nature's law, That claims forbearance even for a brute.

He hates the hardness of a Balaam's heart, And, prophet as he was, he might not strike The blameless animal, without rebuke, On which he rode. Her opportune offence Saved him, or the unrelenting seer had died.

He sees that human equity is slack To interfere, though in so just a cause, And makes the task His own; inspiring dumb And helpless victims with a sense so keen Of injury, with such knowledge of their strength, And such sagacity to take revenge, That oft the beast has seemed to judge the man.

An ancient, not a legendary tale, By one of sound intelligence rehea.r.s.ed, (If such, who plead for Providence may seem In modern eyes) shall make the doctrine clear.

Where England, stretched towards the setting sun, Narrow and long, o'erlooks the western wave, Dwelt young Misagathus; a scorner he Of G.o.d and goodness, atheist in ostent, Vicious in act, in temper savage-fierce.

He journeyed, and his chance was, as he went, To join a traveller of far different note-- Evander, famed for piety, for years Deserving honour, but for wisdom more.

Fame had not left the venerable man A stranger to the manners of the youth, Whose face, too, was familiar to his view.

Their way was on the margin of the land, O'er the green summit of the rocks whose base Beats back the roaring surge, scarce heard so high.

The charity that warmed his heart was moved At sight of the man-monster. With a smile Gentle and affable, and full of grace, As fearful of offending whom he wished Much to persuade, he plied his ear with truths Not harshly thundered forth or rudely pressed, But, like his purpose, gracious, kind, and sweet.

"And dost thou dream," the impenetrable man Exclaimed, "that me the lullabies of age, And fantasies of dotards such as thou, Can cheat, or move a moment's fear in me?

Mark now the proof I give thee, that the brave Need no such aids as superst.i.tion lends To steel their hearts against the dread of death."

He spoke, and to the precipice at hand Pushed with a madman's fury. Fancy shrinks, And the blood thrills and curdles at the thought Of such a gulf as he designed his grave.

But though the felon on his back could dare The dreadful leap, more rational, his steed Declined the death, and wheeling swiftly round, Or ere his hoof had pressed the crumbling verge, Baffled his rider, saved against his will.

The frenzy of the brain may be redressed By medicine well applied, but without grace The heart's insanity admits no cure.

Enraged the more by what might have reformed His horrible intent, again he sought Destruction, with a zeal to be destroyed, With sounding whip and rowels dyed in blood.

But still in vain. The Providence that meant A longer date to the far n.o.bler beast, Spared yet again the ign.o.bler for his sake.

And now, his prowess proved, and his sincere, Incurable obduracy evinced, His rage grew cool; and, pleased perhaps to have earned So cheaply the renown of that attempt, With looks of some complacence he resumed His road, deriding much the blank amaze Of good Evander, still where he was left Fixed motionless, and petrified with dread.

So on they fared; discourse on other themes Ensuing, seemed to obliterate the past, And tamer far for so much fury shown (As is the course of rash and fiery men) The rude companion smiled as if transformed.

But 'twas a transient calm. A storm was near, An unsuspected storm. His hour was come.

The impious challenger of power divine Was now to learn that Heaven, though slow to wrath, Is never with impunity defied.

His horse, as he had caught his master's mood, Snorting, and starting into sudden rage, Unbidden, and not now to be controlled, Rushed to the cliff, and having reached it, stood.

At once the shock unseated him; he flew Sheer o'er the craggy barrier, and, immersed Deep in the flood, found, when he sought it not, The death he had deserved, and died alone.

So G.o.d wrought double justice; made the fool The victim of his own tremendous choice, And taught a brute the way to safe revenge.

I would not enter on my list of friends (Though graced with polished manners and fine sense, Yet wanting sensibility) the man Who needlessly sets foot upon a worm.

An inadvertent step may crush the snail That crawls at evening in the public path; But he that has humanity, forewarned, Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.

The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight, And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudes A visitor unwelcome into scenes Sacred to neatness and repose, the alcove, The chamber, or refectory, may die.

A necessary act incurs no blame.

Not so when, held within their proper bounds And guiltless of offence, they range the air, Or take their pastime in the s.p.a.cious field.

There they are privileged; and he that hunts Or harms them there is guilty of a wrong, Disturbs the economy of Nature's realm, Who, when she formed, designed them an abode.

The sum is this: if man's convenience, health, Or safety interfere, his rights and claims Are paramount, and must extinguish theirs.

Else they are all--the meanest things that are-- As free to live and to enjoy that life, As G.o.d was free to form them at the first, Who in His sovereign wisdom made them all.

Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sons To love it too. The spring-time of our years Is soon dishonoured and defiled in most By budding ills, that ask a prudent hand To check them. But, alas! none sooner shoots, If unrestrained, into luxuriant growth, Than cruelty, most devilish of them all.

Mercy to him that shows it, is the rule And righteous limitation of its act, By which Heaven moves in pardoning guilty man; And he that shows none, being ripe in years, And conscious of the outrage he commits, Shall seek it and not find it in his turn.

Distinguished much by reason, and still more By our capacity of grace divine, From creatures that exist but for our sake, Which having served us, perish, we are held Accountable, and G.o.d, some future day, Will reckon with us roundly for the abuse Of what He deems no mean or trivial trust.

Superior as we are, they yet depend Not more on human help, than we on theirs.

Their strength, or speed, or vigilance, were given In aid of our defects. In some are found Such teachable and apprehensive parts, That man's attainments in his own concerns, Matched with the expertness of the brutes in theirs, Are ofttimes vanquished and thrown far behind.

Some show that nice sagacity of smell, And read with such discernment, in the port And figure of the man, his secret aim, That oft we owe our safety to a skill We could not teach, and must despair to learn.

But learn we might, if not too proud to stoop To quadruped instructors, many a good And useful quality, and virtue too, Rarely exemplified among ourselves; Attachment never to be weaned, or changed By any change of fortune, proof alike Against unkindness, absence, and neglect; Fidelity, that neither bribe nor threat Can move or warp; and grat.i.tude for small And trivial favours, lasting as the life, And glistening even in the dying eye.

Man praises man. Desert in arts or arms Wins public honour; and ten thousand sit Patiently present at a sacred song, Commemoration-mad; content to hear (Oh wonderful effect of music's power!) Messiah's eulogy, for Handel's sake.

But less, methinks, than sacrilege might serve-- (For was it less? What heathen would have dared To strip Jove's statue of his oaken wreath And hang it up in honour of a man?) Much less might serve, when all that we design Is but to gratify an itching ear, And give the day to a musician's praise.

Remember Handel! who, that was not born Deaf as the dead to harmony, forgets, Or can, the more than Homer of his age?

Yes--we remember him; and, while we praise A talent so divine, remember too That His most holy Book from whom it came Was never meant, was never used before To buckram out the memory of a man.

But hush!--the muse perhaps is too severe, And with a gravity beyond the size And measure of the offence, rebukes a deed Less impious than absurd, and owing more To want of judgment than to wrong design.

So in the chapel of old Ely House, When wandering Charles, who meant to be the third, Had fled from William, and the news was fresh, The simple clerk, but loyal, did announce, And eke did rear right merrily, two staves, Sung to the praise and glory of King George.

--Man praises man; and Garrick's memory next, When time has somewhat mellowed it, and made The idol of our worship while he lived The G.o.d of our idolatry once more, Shall have its altar; and the world shall go In pilgrimage to bow before his shrine.

The theatre, too small, shall suffocate Its squeezed contents, and more than it admits Shall sigh at their exclusion, and return Ungratified. For there some n.o.ble lord Shall stuff his shoulders with King Richard's bunch, Or wrap himself in Hamlet's inky cloak, And strut, and storm, and straddle, stamp, and stare, To show the world how Garrick did not act, For Garrick was a worshipper himself; He drew the liturgy, and framed the rites And solemn ceremonial of the day, And called the world to worship on the banks Of Avon famed in song. Ah! pleasant proof That piety has still in human hearts Some place, a spark or two not yet extinct.

The mulberry-tree was hung with blooming wreaths, The mulberry-tree stood centre of the dance, The mulberry-tree was hymned with dulcet airs, And from his touchwood trunk the mulberry-tree Supplied such relics as devotion holds Still sacred, and preserves with pious care.

So 'twas a hallowed time: decorum reigned, And mirth without offence. No few returned Doubtless much edified, and all refreshed.

--Man praises man. The rabble all alive, From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and styes, Swarm in the streets. The statesman of the day, A pompous and slow-moving pageant, comes; Some shout him, and some hang upon his car To gaze in his eyes and bless him. Maidens wave Their kerchiefs, and old women weep for joy While others not so satisfied unhorse The gilded equipage, and, turning loose His steeds, usurp a place they well deserve.

Why? what has charmed them? Hath he saved the state?

No. Doth he purpose its salvation? No.

Enchanting novelty, that moon at full That finds out every crevice of the head That is not sound and perfect, hath in theirs Wrought this disturbance. But the wane is near, And his own cattle must suffice him soon.

Thus idly do we waste the breath of praise, And dedicate a tribute, in its use And just direction sacred, to a thing Doomed to the dust, or lodged already there.

Encomium in old time was poet's work; But, poets having lavishly long since Exhausted all materials of the art, The task now falls into the public hand; And I, contented with a humble theme, Have poured my stream of panegyric down The vale of Nature, where it creeps and winds Among her lovely works, with a secure And unambitious course, reflecting clear If not the virtues yet the worth of brutes.

And I am recompensed, and deem the toil Of poetry not lost, if verse of mine May stand between an animal and woe, And teach one tyrant pity for his drudge.

The groans of Nature in this nether world, Which Heaven has heard for ages, have an end.

Foretold by prophets, and by poets sung, Whose fire was kindled at the prophets' lamp, The time of rest, the promised Sabbath, comes.

Six thousand years of sorrow have well-nigh Fulfilled their tardy and disastrous course Over a sinful world; and what remains Of this tempestuous state of human things, Is merely as the working of a sea Before a calm, that rocks itself to rest.

For He, whose car the winds are, and the clouds The dust that waits upon His sultry march, When sin hath moved Him, and His wrath is hot, Shall visit earth in mercy; shall descend Propitious, in His chariot paved with love, And what His storms have blasted and defaced For man's revolt, shall with a smile repair.

Sweet is the harp of prophecy; too sweet Not to be wronged by a mere mortal touch; Nor can the wonders it records be sung To meaner music, and not suffer loss.

But when a poet, or when one like me, Happy to rove among poetic flowers, Though poor in skill to rear them, lights at last On some fair theme, some theme divinely fair, Such is the impulse and the spur he feels To give it praise proportioned to its worth, That not to attempt it, arduous as he deems The labour, were a task more arduous still.

Oh scenes surpa.s.sing fable, and yet true, Scenes of accomplished bliss! which who can see, Though but in distant prospect, and not feel His soul refreshed with foretaste of the joy?

Rivers of gladness water all the earth, And clothe all climes with beauty; the reproach Of barrenness is past. The fruitful field Laughs with abundance, and the land once lean, Or fertile only in its own disgrace, Exults to see its thistly curse repealed.

The various seasons woven into one, And that one season an eternal spring, The garden fears no blight, and needs no fence, For there is none to covet, all are full.

The lion and the libbard and the bear Graze with the fearless flocks. All bask at noon Together, or all gambol in the shade Of the same grove, and drink one common stream.

Antipathies are none. No foe to man Lurks in the serpent now. The mother sees, And smiles to see, her infant's playful hand Stretched forth to dally with the crested worm, To stroke his azure neck, or to receive The lambent homage of his arrowy tongue.

All creatures worship man, and all mankind One Lord, one Father. Error has no place; That creeping pestilence is driven away, The breath of heaven has chased it. In the heart No pa.s.sion touches a discordant string, But all is harmony and love. Disease Is not. The pure and uncontaminated blood Holds its due course, nor fears the frost of age.

One song employs all nations; and all cry, "Worthy the Lamb, for He was slain for us!"

The dwellers in the vales and on the rocks Shout to each other, and the mountain-tops From distant mountains catch the flying joy, Till nation after nation taught the strain, Each rolls the rapturous Hosanna round.

Behold the measure of the promise filled, See Salem built, the labour of a G.o.d!

Bright as a sun the sacred city shines; All kingdoms and all princes of the earth Flock to that light; the glory of all lands Flows into her, unbounded is her joy And endless her increase. Thy rams are there, Nebaioth,* and the flocks of Kedar there; The looms of Ormus, and the mines of Ind, And Saba's spicy groves pay tribute there.