deceits of pleasure, and not pleasures; and that it was the novelty which pleased, and not the quality: and therefore we see that voluptuous men turn friars, and ambitious princes turn melancholy. But of knowledge there is no satiety, but satisfaction and appetite are perpetually interchangeable; and therefore appeareth to be good in itself simply, without fallacy or accident. Neither is that pleasure of small efficacy and contentment to the mind of man, which the poet Lucretius describeth elegantly, "Suave mari magno, turbantibus æquora ventis," &c. "It is a view of delight," saith he, "to stand or walk upon the shore side, and to see a ship tossed with tempest upon the sea; or to be in a fortified tower, and to see two battles join upon a plain; but it is a pleasure incomparable, for the mind of man to be settled, landed, and fortified in the certainty of truth; and from thence to descry and behold the errors, perturbations, labours, and wanderings up and down of other men." Lastly, leaving the vulgar arguments, that by learning man excelleth man in that wherein man excelleth beasts; that by learning man ascendeth to the heavens and their motions, where in body he cannot come, and the like; let us conclude with the dignity and excellency of knowledge and learning in that whereunto man's nature doth most aspire, which is, immortality or continuance: for to this tendeth generation, and raising of houses and families; to this buildings, foundations, and monuments; to this tendeth the desire of memory, fame, and celebration, and in effect the strength of all other human desires. We see then how far the monuments of wit and learning are more durable than the monuments of power or of the hands. For have not the verses of Homer continued twenty-five hundred years, or more, without the loss of a syllable or letter; during which time, infinite palaces, temples, castles, cities, have been decayed and demolished? It is not possible to have the true pictures or statues of Cyrus, Alexander, Cæsar; no, nor of the kings or great personages of much later years; for the originals cannot last, and the copies cannot but lose of the life and truth. But the images of men's wits and knowledges remain in books, exempted from the wrong of time, and capable of perpetual renovation. Neither are they fitly to be called images, because they generate still, and cast their seeds in the minds VOL. IV. P P of others, provoking and causing infinite actions and opinions in succeeding ages: so that, if the invention of the ship was thought so noble, which carrieth riches and commodities from place to place, and consociateth the most remote regions in participation of their fruits, how much more are letters to be magnified, which, as ships, pass through the vast seas of time, and make ages so distant to participate of the wisdom, illuminations, and inventions, the one of the other. 365. Hymn on the Seasons. THOMSON. [WE conclude this series with a Half-Hour' from one who was once, and who to a great extent still is, the most popular poet in our language. To be the most popular poet, it is not necessary that he should be the highest; but still, there cannot be an enduring popularity without merit of the highest order. Truly, and in the spirit of a generous criticism, does Professor Wilson say (and he. in his mature wisdom, is always generous)," Thomson, a great poet, poured his genius over a subject of universal interest; and the Seasons,' from that hour to this, then, now, and for ever,—have been, are, and will be, loved and admired by all the world."] These, as they change, Almighty Father, these In Winter awful thou! with clouds and storms Mysterious round! what skill, what force divine, Deep-felt, in these appear! a simple train, Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art, Such beauty and beneficence combined; Shade unperceived, so softening into shade; And all so forming a harmonious whole, That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. But wandering oft, with rude unconscious gaze, Man marks not thee, marks not the mighty hand That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres; Works in the secret deep; shoots steaming thence The fair profusion that o'erspreads the spring; Flings from the sun direct the flaming day; Feeds every creature; hurls the tempest forth, And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, With transport touches all the springs of life. Nature, attend! join, every living soul Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, In adoration join; and ardent raise One general song! To Him, ye vocal gales, Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes. Oh, talk of Him in solitary glooms, Where o'er the rock the scarcely waving pine Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, Who shake the astonished world, lift high to heaven Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound; Along the vale; and thou majestic main, Sound His stupendous praise, whose greater voice The long resounding voice, oft breaking clear, And find a fane in every sacred grove, Should Fate command me to the farthest verge Of the green earth, to distant barbarous climes, Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam Flames on the Atlantic isles, 'tis nought to me; Since God is ever present, ever felt, In the void waste as in the city full; And where He vital breathes, there must be joy. Myself in Him, in light ineffable! Come, then, expressive silence, muse His praise. THE END. |