II. The oak, whose branches shelter now the herd, Who has not felt how growing habits cast Their slight but binding chains round opening life! Each link a pigmy thread, yet holding fast The sleeping Gulliver! What toil, what strife, What effort now, to burst from bonds away, That once seemed slender as the filmy slime Arachne weaves - till hardening fast with time, The chain grows adamant, and binds, today, The heart that scorned, so late, the passion's sway, As powerless then. Youth's ductile gold, enchased By virtue's guiding hand, is shaped with ease To use and beauty; but, intent to please, If folly's legend round the gold be traced, It hardens into vice, by crime debased. IMAGINATION. I. There is a pleasure in it: Yea, when the cold blood shoots through every vein, BAILLIE. Early impressions, on the youthful mind Take firmest hold, by fear on fancy bred : My childhood heard, with mingled joy and dread, Of ghost and goblin dire,—the power combined Of evil men with evil spirits joined ; Of blood of innocence, in secret shed, As truths undoubted, all that fancy saw, II. The paths of error, winding though they seem, And oft can fiction, in wild fancy's sport, Flash light, where reason pours a feebler ray. Nor vain such tales of wonder, since they bring, Early and strongly, to the opening mind, Views of futurity, and help unbind Those clogs of earthly sense, that heavy cling To soaring thought. The mind that scorns, in youth, The world of spirits, proud, in age, will fling All reverence by, unmindful of the truth, Deepest and best assured, that fancy's wing That watched, ere yet I breathed this vital air, And still, unwearied, knows not to forget Its wonted kindness. Memory values yet, As first and choicest, mid her treasures fair, That fond maternal wisdom, rich as rare, Which all my wants with kind prevention met. Fountain of life! from thee my young lips drew Those streams of kindly nurture, which imbue Man's rugged nature, savage else and vile, With female softness; tempering heart and brain With mild yet lofty virtues, taught in vain By ought less holy than a mother's smile. II. "He knew no mother's care," Oh pardon then Vicious alike as wretched. Oft, when my sports (as youth is thoughtless still) Grew harsh or cruel, mildly hast thou said, Seek not, my son! thy cup of joy to fill From others' suffering: evil on the head Of evil doers will her vials shed Of ten fold vengeance on the vicious will; Toil, suffering, danger, in each generous cause, Thy God's, thy friends, thy country's and her laws; So shalt thou find e'en painful duty sweet, Tempered by love and crowned with just applause. THE LOVE OF NATURE. I. What call'st thou solitude? Is not the earth Replenished, and all these at thy command, I can remember, ere my years had told MILTON. Their second lustre, how I loved to be Alone among the woods; to wander free Beside the neighbouring streamlet, and behold The small fish darting, where the waters rolled Above the smooth worn stones; to stand and see The lively squirrel, on the broad beach tree, Rattling the nuts down, chittering to his mate, Or bounding, bird-like, onward; then to chase The gaudy butterfly; or pause and trace The ant-hill's busy tribe, its ordered state, And well ranked industry; an idler I, Yet busy as the blackbird chattering by, And heedless of returning soon or late. II. How lonesome! how wild! yet the wildness is rife WILSON. Chide not my wanderings, mother! nor believe - so in truth do I. III. Flowers worthy Paradise, which not nice Art, MILTON. No spot so distant, in this spacious vale, |