SOLITUDE. An ODE.

SOLITUDE . An ODE . By Dr. GRAINGER . I. O Solitude , romantic Maid , Whether by nodding towers you tread , Or haunt the desart's trackless gloom , Or hover o'er the yawning tomb , Or climb the Andes' clifted side , Or by the Nile's coy source abide , Or starting from your half-year's sleep From Hecla view the thawing deep , Or Tadmor's marble wastes survey , Or in yon roofless cloyster stray ; You , Recluse , again I woo , And again your steps pursue . II . Plum'd Conceit himself surveying , Folly with her shadow playing , Purse-proud , elbowing Insolence , Bloated empirick , puff'd Pretence , Noise that thro' a trumpet speaks , Laughter in loud peals that breaks , Intrusion with a fopling's face , ( Ignorant of time and place ) Sparks of fire Dissention blowing , Ductile , court-bred Flattery , bowing , Restraint's stiff neck , Grimace's leer , Squint-ey'd Censure's artful sneer , Ambition's buskins steep'd in blood , Fly thy presence , Solitude . III . Sage Reflection bent with years , Conscious Virtue void of fears , Muffled Silence , wood-nymph shy , Meditation's piercing eye , Halcyon Peace on moss reclin'd , Retrospect that scans the mind , Rapt earth-gazing Revery , Blushing artless Modesty , Health that snuffs the morning air , Full-ey'd Truth with bosom bare , Inspiration , Nature's child , Seek the solitary wild . IV . You with the tragic Muse In the island Salamis . retir'd The wise Euripides inspir'd , You taught the sadly-pleasing air That See Plutarch in the life of Lysander . Athens sav'd from ruins bare . You gave the Cean's tears to flow , And Simonides . unlock'd the springs of woe ; You penn'd what exil'd Naso thought , And pour'd the melancholy note . With Petrarch o'er Valcluse you stray'd , When Death snatch'd his Laura , twenty years , and ten after her death . long-lov'd maid ; You taught the rocks her loss to mourn , Ye strew'd with flowers her virgin urn . And late in Monody on the death of Mrs. Lyttelton . Hagley you were seen , With bloodshed eyes , and sombre mien , Hymen his yellow vestment tore , And Dirge a wreath of cypress wore . But chief your own the solemn lay That wept Narcissa young and gay , Darkness clap'd her sable wing , While you touch'd the mournful string , Anguish left the pathless wild , Grim-fac'd Melancholy smil'd , Drowsy Midnight ceas'd to yawn , The starry host put back the dawn , Aside their harps ev'n Seraphs flung To hear thy sweet complaint , O Young . V. When all Nature's hush'd asleep , Nor Love nor Guilt their vigils keep , Soft you leave your cavern'd den , And wander o'er the works of men , But when Phosphor brings the dawn By her dappled coursers drawn , Again you to the wild retreat And the early huntsman meet , Where as you pensive pace along , You catch the distant shepherd's song , Or brush from herbs the pearly dew , Or the rising primrose view . Devotion lends her heaven-plum'd wings , You mount , and Nature with you sings . But when mid-day fervors glow , To upland airy shades you go , Where never sunburnt woodman came , Nor sportsman chas'd the timid game ; And there beneath an oak reclin'd , With drowsy waterfalls behind , You sink to rest . 'Till the tuneful bird of night From the neighb'ring poplars height Wake you with her solemn strain , And teach pleas'd Echo to complain . VI . With you roses brighter bloom Sweeter every sweet perfume , Purer every fountain flows Stronger every wilding grows . VII . Let those toil for gold who please , Or for fame renounce their ease . What is fame ? an empty bubble , Gold ? a transient , shining trouble . Let them for their country bleed , What was Sidney's , Raleigh's meed ? Man's not worth a moment's pain , Base , ungrateful , fickle , vain . Then let me , sequester'd fair , To your Sibyl grot repair , On yon hanging cliff it stands Scoop'd by Nature's salvage hands , Bosom'd in the gloomy shade Of cypress not with age decay'd . Where the owl still-hooting sits , Where the bat incessant flits , There in loftier strains I'll sing Whence the changing seasons spring , Tell how storms deform the skies , Whence the waves subside and rise , Trace the comet's blazing tail , Weigh the planets in a scale ; Bend , great God , before thy shrine , The bournless macrocosm's thine . VIII . Save me ! what's yon shrouded shade ? That wanders in the dark-brown glade . It beckons me ! — vain fears adieu , Mysterious ghost , I follow you . Ah me ! too well that gait I know , My youth's first friend , my manhood's woe ! Its breast it bares ! what ! stain'd with blood ? Quick let me stanch the vital flood . Oh spirit , whither art thou flown ? Why left me comfortless alone ? O Solitude , on me bestow The heart-felt harmony of woe , Such , such , as on th' Ausonian shore , Sweet See Idyll . Dorian Moschus trill'd of yore : No time should cancel thy desert , More , more , than Alluding to the death of a friend . Bion was , thou wert . IX . O goddess of the tearful eye , The never-ceasing stream supply . Let us with Retirement go To charnels , and the house of woe , O'er Friendship's herse low-drooping mourn , Where the sickly tapers burn , Where Death and , nun-clad Sorrow dwell , And nightly ring the solemn knell . The gloom dispels , the charnel smiles , Light flashes thro' the vaulted iles . Blow silky soft , thou western gale , O goddess of the desert , hail ! She bursts from yon cliff-riven cave , Insulted by the wintry wave ; Her brow an ivy garland binds , Her tresses wanton with the winds , A lion's spoils , without a zone , Around her limbs are careless thrown ; Her right hand wields a knotted mace , Her eyes roll wild , a stride her pace ; Her left a magic mirror holds , In which she oft herself beholds . O goddess of the desert , hail ! And softer blow , thou western gale ! Since in each scheme of life I've fail'd , And disappointment seems entail'd ; Since all on earth I valued most , My guide , my stay , my friend is lost ; You , only you , can make me blest , And hush the tempest in my breast . Then gently deign to guide my feet To your hermit-trodden seat , Where I may live at last my own , Where I at last may die unknown . I spoke , she twin'd her magic ray , And thus she said , or seem'd to say . Youth , you're mistaken , if you think to find In shades a medicine for a troubled mind ; Wan Grief will haunt you wheresoe'er you go , Sigh in the breeze , and in the streamlet flow , There pale Inaction pines his life away , And , satiate , curses the return of day : There naked Frenzy laughing wild with pain , Or bares the blade , or plunges in the main : There Superstition broods o'er all her fears , And yells of daemons in the Zephyr hears . But if a hermit you're resolv'd to dwell , And bid to social life a last farewell ; 'Tis impious . — God never made an independent man , 'Twould jarr the concord of his general plan : See every part of that stupendous whole , " Whose body Nature is , and God the soul ; " To one great end , the general good , conspire , From matter , brute , to man , to seraph , fire . Should man thro' Nature solitary roam , His will his sovereign , every where his home , What force wou'd guard him from the lion's jaw ? What swiftness wing him from the panther's paw ? Or should Fate lead him to some safer shore , Where panthers never prowl , nor lions roar ; Where liberal Nature all her charms bestows , Suns shine , birds sing , flowers bloom , and water flows , Fool , dost thou think he'd revel on the store , Absolve the care of Heaven , nor ask for more ? Tho' waters flow'd , flow'rs bloom'd , and Phoebus shone , He'd sigh , he'd murmur that he was alone . For know , the Maker on the human breast A sense of kindred , country , man , imprest ; And social life to better , aid , adorn , With proper faculties each mortal's born . Tho' Nature's works the ruling mind declare , And well deserve enquiry's serious care , The God ( whate'er Misanthrophy may say ) Shines , beams in man with most unclouded ray . What boots it thee to fly from pole to pole ? Hang o'er the sun , and with the planets roll ? What boots thro' space's furthest bourns to roam ? If thou , O man , a stranger art at home . Then know thyself , the human mind survey , The use , the pleasure will the toil repay . Hence Inspiration plans his manner'd lays , Hence Homer's crown , and Shakespear hence thy bays , Hence he , the pride of Athens and the shame , The best and wisest of mankind became . Nor study only , practise what you know , Your life , your knowledge , to mankind you owe . With Plato's olive wreath the bays entwine : Those who in study , shou'd in practice shine . Say , does the learned Lord of Hagley's shade , Charm man so much by mossy fountains laid , As when arouz'd , he stems Corruption's course , And shakes the senate with a Tully's force ? When Freedom gasp'd beneath a Caesar's feet , Then publick Virtue might to shades retreat ; But where she breathes , the least may useful be , And Freedom , Britain , still belong to thee . Tho' man's ungrateful , or tho' Fortune frown ; Is the reward of worth a song , or crown ? Nor yet unrecompens'd are Virtue's pains , Good Allen lives , and bounteous Brunswick reigns . On each condition disappointments wait , Enter the hut , and force the guarded gate . Nor dare repine , tho' early Friendship bleed , From love , the world , and all its cares he's freed . But know , Adversity's the child of God ; Whom Heaven approves of most , most feel her rod . When smooth old Ocean and each storm's asleep , Then Ignorance may plough the watery deep ; But when the daemons of the tempest rave , Skill must conduct the vessel thro' the wave . Sidney , what good man envies not thy blow ? Who wou'd not wish One of the accusers of Socrates . Anytus for a foe ? Intrepid Virtue triumphs over Fate , The good can never be unfortunate . And be this maxim graven in thy mind , The height of virtue is to serve mankind . But when old age has silver'd o'er thy head , When memory fails , and all thy vigour's fled , Then may'st thou seek the stillness of retreat , Then hear aloof the human tempest beat , Then will I greet thee to my woodland cave , Allay the pangs of age , and smooth thy grave .