PITY'S DESCENT TO EARTH , AND ADVICE TO FRIENDSHIP . WHEN from mount Ida " cloud-compelling Jove " Cast round his eye of universal love , And saw mankind with various ills oppress'd , A heaving sigh came labouring from his breast ; Not e'en can Jove the ills of life restrain , Nor his the power to free poor man from pain ; E'en he submits to Fate's all-powerful sway , And the three Sisters all the gods obey ; The web of life keeps them in close employ , Yet the fair web they weave but to destroy ; In vain the spindle from the distaff whirls , Lengthens by fits , and as it lengthens twirls ; The chequer'd warp , for longer days begun , With changeful shades is in succession run ; In the soft loom the silken tissue flows , And brighter hues succeed the cloud of woes . But oft as the gay shuttle glides along , Skimming with ease the lighter shades among , The fatal shears the fragile threads untie , And the cropt rose gives up her crimson dye ; The distant views that dawn'd with early morn Shut up their vistas e'er the eve's return ; Or sullen night her sable mantle shows , And round the world her long dark curtain throws ; Such is the lot of man by Fate's decree , Nor Jove himself can set the prisoner free . But still compassion touch'd the mighty mind , And thus he sorrow'd for oppress'd mankind : " Shall these poor mortals , tenants of a day , In life's rude path but tread the thorny way ? Gay fluttering insects that beneath the sky Bask in the sun , and the next moment die ! A short-liv'd being , whom , so proud of breath , A weaker insect stings to instant death ! The sport of winds , of sky , and varying showers , The jest and pity of superior powers ! Shall these who're doom'd a thousand ills to meet , And seldom see one growing wish complete , Shall they all comfortless the journey take , As onward wandering to the Stygian lake , Without the aid of some benignant power — Some heavenly hand to sooth the ruffl'd hour ! Ye blisful Synod who on Ida's height Taste but one round of interchang'd delight , Is there not one of all your blissful train Prone to arrest the flying shafts of pain ? If such compassion touch th' immortal breast , Be now the generous sentiment confess'd ; Descend to earth , and our protecting eye Shall look with pleasure as your task ye ply ! " He said : while Pity round her forehead drew Her filmy veil drench'd with her sacred dew ; But yet the filmy veil , so soft , so clear , Gave to the sight the meek retiring tear ; The half-tun'd voice in trembling cadence fell , And the long sigh on a half word would dwell . She thus , whilst kneeling to almighty Jove , Whose mind and essence is eternal love : " Permit me , sire , to quit the blest abodes , For what from Pity want the happy gods ? Not so with Man ; deceiv'd by gilded show , And painting happiness on scenes below , Gives a clear sky , till the long prospect ends , And plants a paradise for thousand friends ; But scarce the ' dawn unbars the gates of light , ' And meek Aurora dries the tears of night , ( Yet blushing dries them , lest the god of Day Should rudely brush the trembling drops away — E'en those soft drops his absence caus'd to rise , And fall from Night's too fond despairing eyes , ) Till the storm gathers , and the sun retires Muffl'd in clouds , extinguishing his fires ; E'er his blest heat the breast had taught to glow , Or the young buds , just cherish'd , bolder grow ; Then breaking forth in all his former pride , Hope , like a rainbow , brightens by his side ; Thus , thus deluded Man from day to day Hopes and despairs his lingering life away ! But as a respite for his labouring cares , And the slow growth of intermingl'd years , Shall I not call forth every latent power That knows to heal the sad distemper'd hour ? Yes ; balmy Friendship knows to cure the wound , And press the bosom till it's firmly sound ! I've trac'd her footsteps many a summer's morn , And seen her tears augment the dropping thorn ; Have seen her wander by the lonely brook , The world forsaking , by the world forsook ; Unknown her worth , they melancholy deem This lone companion of the lonely stream ; To me be't given to show her matchless worth , And softly draw her hidden virtues forth ; To teach mankind the only good they share Is Friendship strengthen'd by a soul sincere . " Thus said ; she lightly left the blessed abodes , And Earth received the handmaid of the gods . Friendship she sought amid her lonely bowers — Her silent musings and her pensive hours , Her tender feelings to herself best known , And the heart-bleedings that are all her own . " Why on these banks , " she said , " o'erhung with yew And weeping willows , shedding nightly dew , — Why o'er this stream , that deep and black appears , Drops the meek pearl , which some call trickling tears ? " " They fall to see yon willow bend so low , A lifeless picture of heart-rending woe ! " " Are not the ills to human life confined Enow to load thy melancholy mind , That thus imagin'd Sorrow claims her part , And half divides thy far too tender heart ? Haste , haste to where thy sympathy may ease The secret minings of a slow disease ; Where patient suffering makes no plaintive moan , Or pain extracts more than a smother'd groan ; There watch each cloud that labours through the sky , And the blue mist that rolls his damps on high ; Blame that or this for every growing pain , The sunbeam's sultry heat , or cooling rain ; Marking each wish the weak voice cannot frame , And feel a want before it takes a name : But , above all , the drooping spirits raise , And talk with certainty of better days ; Nor seem to doubt , or else the nerve will start , Spreading its tremour to the trembling heart ; The trembling heart cold faintness shall surprise , And , for a moment , close the sinking eyes . " But to preserve the needful balm of rest , Of all Health's cordials still the last and best , Haste to sweet Slumber ; softly at her gate Tap with thy finger , and admittance wait ; Quick is her ear , for e'en the softest tread Wakes every nerve , and thunders through the head ; Whilst startling Dreams their fluttering pinions lend , Till vapoury visions in strange forms descend ; Sometimes a fairy land invites the sight , And glow-worm prospects brighten in the night ; Sometimes she wanders through the world alone , Or from the towering precipice is thrown ; Or wades through waters where no shore is near , And feels a death in every deadly fear ; Demons and goblins point the dire abode , And hissing snakes entwine the hideous road ; Lions and tigers stand with open jaw , And flashing eyes , to fix the eager claw ; Till cheerful Health , with all her airy train , Dispels the mists that settle on the brain , — Removes the poppies on her temples spread , And from translucent springs refreshment sheds . The droning beetle , whose deep-booming horn Deaden'd the soft voice of the whispering morn , Wheels off in haste , nor lets his bugle sound When Day's sweet concert wakes the world around ; The murmuring stream , that kept a dying fall , No more complains , but from the mansion all In secret channels hides from cheerful day , And silent works his subterraneous way ; The mournful evergreens that crowd the door , And wander all the gloomy garden o'er , All creep about where cheering light should stray And boldly venture into open day ; Through whose dark shades the lulling winds would sound , Kiss the tall grass , and sigh along the ground ; The early bird , that rises with the day , Rock'd by soft zephyrs slept the morn away ; And drizzling rain left such a weight on air , That owls at midnight nod in ivy chair ; These Health destroy'd ; for , from their bending boughs , Nightly the noxious dew distils , and throws Its baneful influence o'er the powers of rest , For those who sleep but little sleep the best : Not drowsy beings that , till noon-tide pours His sultry steam , and drinks the breath of flowers , Know the full rigour of a nerve unstrung , Or , while in youth — as ought the being young — Know not that breezes rising with the morn Make them as light as dew-drops on the thorn , — As gay as larks that , warbling as they fly , Bear the first message to the morning sky ; — Fleet as the roe , that o'er the mountain bounds When first his ear is threaten'd by the hounds ; — Cheerful as sunbeams that with lilies play , Tinging with gold their paler looks away . Thus , when weak mortals feel thy power to charm , And the cold bosom grows a little warm , 'Tis then thy influence the mind must share , Moulding to virtue , and the bliss of prayer , — To moral duties by Religion taught , Till the blest man becomes the man he ought . This is thy charge , by Jove himself design'd ; Thou , next the gods , the good of all mankind ; Soothing thy manners , yet thy words sincere , Speaking all truths the sickly soul can bear . Nor ruffle thou the spirit of the proud , Who never yet have to instruction bow'd ; But wind about their errors as you may , And with sweet counsel weed their faults away ; By slow degrees Perfection must be wrought , For slow's the growth of weak bewilder'd Thought ; Nor will one manner work alike with all , Some in soft whispers thou must gently call ; Nor censure harsh , nor mark with critic eye Those little faults that under virtues lie . Others , again , thy freer speech demand , And the correction of a bolder hand , — Must have their vices marshall'd in their view , And every error plainly pointed to ; Others , from seeming love , will hear thy voice , And fondly think that virtue is their choice ; But should'st thou thwart them with a word more hard , Or seem t' abate thy tender , warm regard , Rage would run back to all the follies past , And every day grow faultier than the last ; Such is thy task , congenial to thy mind , The Friend , the Lover , of forlorn Mankind !