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We are a little kingdom; but the man
That chains his rebel will to Reason's throne
Forms it a large one, whilst his royal mind
Makes Heav'n its counsel, from the rolls above
Draws his own statutes, and with joy obeys.
'T'is not a troop of wellappointed guards
Create a monarch, not a purple robe
Ny'd in the people's blood, not all the crowns
Or dazzling tiars that bend about the head,
Tho'gilt with sunbeams and set round with stars.
A monarch he that conquers all his fears
And treads upon them; when he stands alone
Makes his own camp; four guardian Virtues wait
His nightly slunibers and secure his dreams.
Now dawns the light, he ranges all his thoughts
In square battalions, bold to meet th’attacks
Of time and chance, himself a nun'rous hoft,
All eye, all car, all wakeful as the day,
Firm as a rock, and moveless as the centre. 25
In vain the harlot Pleasure sprea:ds her charms
To lull his thoughts in Luxury's fair lap
To sensual ease; (the bane of little kings,
Monarchs whose waxen images of souls
Are moulded into softness) still his mind
Wears its own shape, nor can the heav'nly form
Stoop to be modell’d by the wild decrees
Of the mad vulgar, that unthinking herd.
He lives above the crowd, nor hears the noise
Of wars and triumphs, nor regards the shouts 35
Of popular applause, that empty sound,
Nor feels the flying arrows of reproach,
Or spite or envy; in himself secure,
Wisdom his tow'r, and conscience is his shield,
His peace all inward, and his joys his own. 40
my ambition swells, my wishes foar,
This be my kingdom : fit above the globe
My rising foul! and dress thyself around,
And shine in Virtue's armour, climb the height
Of Wisdom's lofty castle, there reside
45 Şafe from the smiling and the frowning world.
Yet once a day drop down a gentle look On the great molehill, and with pitying eye Survey the busy emmets round the heap, Crowding and bustling in a thousand forms
50 Of frife and toil to purchase wealth and fame, A bubble or a dust; then call thy thoughts Up to thyself to feed on joys unknown, Rich without gold and great without renown. $4
Honour deniands my song: forget the ground
My gen'rous Mase, and sit amongst the stars,
There sing the foul that conscious of her birth
Lives like a native of the vital world
Amongst these dying clods, and bears her state
Just to herself: how nobly she maintains
Her character superiour to the flesh!
She wields her passions like her limbs, and knows
The brutal pow'rs were only born t'obey.
This is the man whom storms could never make so
Meanly complain, nor can a flatt'ring gale
Make him talk proudly: he hath no desire
To read his secret fate; yet, unconcern'd
And calm, could mect his unborn destiny
In all its charming or its frightful shapes. IS
He that unshrinking and without a groan
Bears the first wound may finish all the war
With mere courageous silence, and come off
Conq'ror; for the man that well conceals
The heavy strokes of Fate he bears 'em well. 20
He tho' th’ Atlantick and the midland feas
With adverse surges meet and rise on high,
Suspended 'twixt the winds, then rush amain
Miogled with fames upon his single head,
And clouds, and stars, and thunder, firm he stands, 25
Secure of his best life, unhurt, unmov'd,
And drops his lower nature, born for death;
Then from the lofty castle of his mind
Sublime looks down exulting, and surveys
The ruins of creation; (souls alone
Are heirs of dying worlds) a piercing glance
Shoots upwards from between his closing lids
To reach his birthplace, and without a ligh
le bids his batter'd flesh lie gently down Amongst its native rubbish, whilıl the spirit Breathes and flies upward, an undoubted guest Of the third heav'n, th’unruinable sky.
Thither wden Fate has bronght our willing souls, No matter whether 't was a sharp aisease Or a sharp sword that help'd the travellers on And push'd us to our home, bear up my friend Serenely, and break thro' the stormy brine With steady prow: know we shall once arrive At the fair haven of eternal bliss To which we ever steer, whether as kings 45 Of wide command we ’ave spread the spacious sea With a broad painted feet, or row'd along In a thin cockboat with a little oar.
There let my native plank shift me to land And I'll be happy: thus I'll leap ashore,
50 Joyful and'fcarless, on th' immortal coast, Since all I leave is mortal, and it must be lost. 52 Tu the much honoured Mr. Tbomas Rozve, tbe director of 922y youthful fiudies.
Custom, that tyranness of fools,
That leads the learned round the schools
In magick chains of forms and rules!
My Genius sorms her throne :
No more, ye slaves, with awe profound
Beat the dull track nor dance the round;
Loose hands, and quit th'enchanted ground;
Knowledge invites us each alone.
I hate these shackles of the mind
Forg'd by the haughty wise;
Souls were not born to be confin'd,
And led like Samson blind and bound,
But when his native strength he found
He well aveng'd his eyes.
I love thy gentle influence Rowe;
Thy gentle influence, like the sun,
Only dissolves the frozen snow,
Then bids our thoughts like rivers flow
And chuse the channels where they run.
Thoughts should be free as fire or wind;
The pinions of a single mind
Will thro' all Nature fly;
But who can drag up to the poles
Long fetter'd ranks of laden souls?
A genius which no chain controls
Roves with delight or deep or high;
Swift I survey the globe around,
Dive to the centre thro' the solid ground,
Or travel o'er the sky.