THE BEGINNING

OF THE FOURTH BOOK

OF THE

PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION.

ONE effort more, one cheerful sally more,

Our destin'd course will finish; and in peace
Then for an off'ring sacred to the pow'rs
Who lent us gracious guidance, we will then
Inscribe a monument of deathless praise,
O my advent'rous Song! With steady speed
Long hast thou, on an untry'd voyage bound,
Sail'd between earth and heav'n; hast now survey'd
Stretch'd out beneath thee all the mazy tracks
Of passion and opinion, like a waste

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Of sands, and flow'ry lawns, and tangling woods,

Where mortals roam bewilder'd; and hast now
Exulting soar'd among the worlds above,

Or hover'd near th' eternal gates of heav'n,

If haply the discourses of the gods

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A curious but an unpresuming guest

Thou might'st partake, and carry back some strain

Of divine wisdom, lawful to repeat,

And apt to be conceiv'd, of man below.

A diff'rent task remains, the secret paths

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Of early genius to explore, to trace

Those haunts where Fancy her predestin'd sons,

Like to the demi-gods of old, doth nurse

Remote from eye profane. Ye happy souls!

Who now her tender discipline obey,

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Where dwell ye? what wild river's brink at eve
Imprint your steps? what solemn groves at noon
Use ye to visit, often breaking forth

In rapture 'mid your dilatory walk,

Or musing as in slumber on the green?
-Would I again were with you!-O ye Dales

Of Tyne! and ye most ancient Woodlands! where
Oft' as the giant flood obliquely strides,
And his banks open and his lawns extend,
Stops short the pleased traveller to view
Presiding o'er the scene some rustic tow'r
Founded by Norman or by Saxon hands;
O ye Northumbrian shades! which overlook
The rocky pavement and the mossy falls
Of solitary Wensbeck's limpid stream,
How gladly I recall your well-known seats
Belov'd of old. and that delightful time
When all alone, for many a summer's day,
I wander'd thro' your calm recesses, led
In silence by some pow'rful hand unseen.

Nor will I e'er forget you; nor shall e'er
The graver tasks of manhood, or th' advice
Of vulgar wisdom, move me to disclaim
Those studies which possess'd me in the dawn
Of life, and fix'd the colour of my mind

For ev'ry future year; whence even now

From sleep I rescue the clear hours of morn,

And while the world around lies overwhelm'd

In idle darkness, am alive to thoughts

Of honourable fame, of truth divine

Or moral, and of minds to virtue won

By the sweet magic of harmonious verse,

The themes which now expect us. For thus far
On gen'ral habits, and on arts which grow
Spontaneous in the minds of all mankind,
Hath dwelt our argument; and how self-taught,
Tho' seldom conscious of their own employ,
In Nature's or in Fortune's changeful scene,

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Men learn to judge of beauty, and acquire
Those forms set up as idols in the soul
For love and zealous praise. Yet indistinct
In vulgar bosoms and unnotic'd lie

These pleasing stores, unless the casual force
Of things external prompt the heedless mind
To recognize her wealth. But some there are
Conscious of Nature, and the rule which man
O'er Nature holds; some who, within themselves
Retiring from the trivial scenes of chance
And momentary passion, can at will
Call up these fair exemplars of the mind,
Review their features, scan the secret laws
Which bind them to each other, and display,
By forms, or sounds, or colours, to the sense
Of all the world, their latent charms display;
E'en as in Nature's frame (if such a word,
If such a word, so bold, may from the lips
Of man proceed) as in the outward frame
Of things the Great Artificer pourtrays
His own immense idea. Various names
These among mortals bear, as various signs
They use, and by peculiar organs speak

To human sense. There are who, by the flight

Of air thro' tubes with moving stops distinct,

Or by extended chords in measure taught
To vibrate, can assemble pow'rful sounds,
Expressing ev'ry temper of the mind

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From ev'ry cause, and charming all the soul
With passion void of care: others mean-time
The rugged mass of metal, wood, or stone,
Patiently taming, or with easier hand.

Describing lines, and with more ample scope
Uniting colours, can to gen'ral sight
Produce those permanent and perfect forms,
Those characters of heroes and of gods,
Which from the crude materials of the worlds
Their own high minds created. But the chief

Are poets, eloquent men, who dwell on earth

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To clothe whate'er the soul admires or loves

With language and with numbers: hence to these
A field is open'd wide as Nature's sphere,
Nay wider; various as the sudden acts
Of human wit, and vast as the demands

Of human will. The bard nor length, nor depth,
Nor place, nor form, controuls. To eyes, to ears,
To ev'ry organ of the copious mind,

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He offereth all its treasures. Him the hours,
The seasons him obey; and changeful Time
Sees him at will keep measure with his flight,
At will outstrip it. To enhance his toil,

He summoneth from th' uttermost extent

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Of things which God hath taught him ev'ry form
Auxiliar, ev'ry pow'r, and all beside

Excludes imperious. His prevailing band

Gives to corporeal essence life and sense,

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And ev'ry stately function of the soul.
The soul itself to him obsequious lies,
Like matter's passive heap, and, as he wills,
To reason and affection he assigns
Their just alliances, their just degrees;
Whence his peculiar bonours, whence the race
Of men who people his delightful world,
Men genuine and according to themselves,
Transcend as far th' uncertain sons of earth,
As earth itself to his delightful world

The palm of spotless beauty doth resign.

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