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Copyright ©2007, University of California
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Charlotte Payne
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September 20, 2007
Charlotte Payne
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BY THE LATE
MISS BOWDLER.
Vattene in pace alma beata e bella!
Vattene in pace a la superna sede,
E lascia al mondo esempio di tua fede!
"IT is incontrovertible," says Mr. Foster, the ingenious essayist, "that far the greatest part of what is termed polite literature, by familiarity with which taste is refined, and the moral sentiments are in a great measure formed, is hostile to the religion of Christ; partly by introducing insensibly an order of opinions unconsonant, or, at least, not identical with the principles of that religion; and still more, by training the feelings to a habit, alien from its spirit." Severe as this sentence may be thought by some of those who deeply venerate and daily consult the volume of Divine truth, and have gained some acquaintance with our popular writers, it will be acknowledged to be too well founded. When, therefore, elegant productions are sent forth into the world, which are clearly free from this heavy charge, they claim and merit the warmest encouragement. In the work here republished, the reader will find valuable principles and fine sentiments, conveyed in a diction of chaste simplicity, admirably adapted to the subjects introduced. It may indeed be granted, that neither the poems nor the essays bear the character of profound thought, or strong original genius; but they uniformly discover a highly cultivated mind, and a feeling, benevolent heart.
Affliction has been called the school of wisdom, and those, who have derived useful lessons from it, are often
As the profits arising from the sale of these poems and essays were applied to the benefit of the General Hospital at Bath, the writer's benevolent efforts seem to have been doubly useful, contributing at once to relieve the bodies and instruct the minds of her fellow-creatures. After the approving testimony of so distinguished a character as William Melmoth, Esq., and the sanction of the public by the rapid circulation of numerous and large editions, it can scarcely be necessary to add any thing commendatory. These Poems and Essays, reduced from a large into a neat and portable volume, in the CABINET LIBRARY, will form an appropriate present for young persons, and can hardly fail of giving entire satisfaction.
THE following Poems and Essays were written to relieve the tedious hours of pain and sickness. The reader, who seeks for amusement only, may possibly receive no gratification from the perusal of them; but for such readers they are not intended.
To the humble and pious Christian, who feels the pressure of distress, and seeks in religion for that support and consolation which nothing else can bestow; to him is presented an example of patience and resignation, which no sufferings could conquer.
He will not find in the following pages the pride of stoicism, or the cold precepts of unfeeling prosperity. The Author of these Essays felt, with the keenest sensibility, the uncommon misfortune which condemned her for ten years, in the prime of life, to constantly increasing sufferings: but she found, in the principles which are here laid down, such motives of consolation
They, who were present at that awful scene, can need no other evidence in support of a truth which the reader will find often repeated in these Essays, viz. that "though religion cannot prevent losses and disappointments, pains and sorrows; yet in the midst of them all, and when every earthly pleasure fails, it commands, it instructs, it enables us to be happy."
FRIEND to the wretch whose bosom knows no joy!
Parent of bliss beyond the reach of fate!
Celestial Hope! thou gift divine!
Sweet balm of grief! oh, still be mine.
When pains torment, and cares annoy,
Thou only canst their force abate,
And gild the gloom which shades this mortal state.
Though oft thy joys are false and vain,
Though anxious doubts attend thy train,
Though disappointment mock thy care,
And point the way to fell despair;
Yet still my secret soul shall own thy pow'r,
In sorrow's bitterest pang, in pleasure's gayest hour.
For from the date of reason's birth,
That wondrous pow'r was given,
To soften every grief on earth,
To raise the soul from thoughtless mirth,
And wing its flight to heaven.
Nor pain, nor pleasure, can its force destroy,
In every varied scene it points to future joy.
Fancy, wave thy airy pinions,
Bid the soft ideas rise!
Spread o'er all thy wide dominions
Vernal sweets and cloudless skies.
And lo! on yonder verdant plain
A lovely youthful train appear;
Their gentle hearts have felt no pain,
Their guiltless bosoms know no fear;
The trumpet sounds to war:
Loud shouts re-echo from the mountain's side,
The din of battle thunders from afar,
The foaming torrent rolls a crimson tide;
The youthful warrior's breast with ardour glows,
In thought he triumphs o'er ten thousand foes:
Elate with Hope, he rushes on,
The battle seems already won,
The vanquish'd host before him fly,
His heart exults in fancied victory,
Nor heeds the flying shaft, nor thinks of danger nigh.
Methinks I see him now—
Fall'n his crest—his glory gone—
The opening laurel faded on his brow.
Silent the trump of his aspiring fame!
No future age shall hear his name,
But darkness spread around her sable gloom,
And deep oblivion rest upon his tomb.
Through seas unknown, to distant lands,
In quest of gain the bold advent'rer goes,
Fearless roves o'er Afric's sands,
India's heats, or Zembla's snows:
Each rising day his dangerous toil renews;
But toils and dangers check his course in vain;
Cheer'd by Hope, he still pursues
Fancied good through real pain,
Still in thought enjoys the prize,
And future happy days in long succession rise.
Yet all his bliss a moment may destroy,
Frail are his brightest hopes, uncertain all his joy.
Hark! the sprightly voice of pleasure
Calls to yonder rosy bower,
There she scatters all her treasure,
There exerts her magic power.
Listen to the pleasing call,
Follow, mortals, follow all;
Lead the dance, and spread the feast,
Crown with roses every guest:
Now the sprightly minstrels sound,
Pleasure's voice is heard around,
And pleasure's sprightly voice the hills and dales resound.
Whence rose that secret sigh?
What sudden gloom o'erclouds thy cheerful brow?
Say, does not every pleasure wait thee now,
That ere could charm the ear, or court the eye?
In vain does nature lavish all her store;
The conscious spirit still aspires,
Still pursues some new desires,
And, every wish obtain'd, it sighs and pants for more.
Are these, O Hope! the glories of thy reign,
The airy dreams of fancy and of youth?
Must all thy boasted pleasures lead to pain:
Thy joys all vanish at the light of truth?
Must wretched man, led by a meteor fire,
To distant blessings still aspire;
Still with ardour strive to gain
Joys he oft pursues in vain,
Joys which quickly must expire;
And when at length the fatal hour is come,
And death prepares th' irrevocable doom,
Mourn all his darling hopes at once destroy'd,
And sigh to leave that bliss he ne'er enjoy'd?
Rise, heavenly visions! rise;
And every vain delusive fear control;
Let real glory charm my wond'ring eyes,
And real happiness enchant my soul!
Hail, glorious dawn of everlasting day!
Though faintly seen at distance here,
Thy beams the sinking heart can cheer,
And light the weary pilgrim on his way:
Still unmov'd, let Hope remain
Fix'd on true substantial joy;
Dangers then shall threat in vain,
Pains torment, or cares annoy:
Then shall every guiltless pleasure
Smile with charms unknown before,
Hope secure a real treasure,
Mourn her blasted joys no more.
Then through each revolving year—
Though earthly glories fade away,
Though youth, and strength, and life itself decay—
Yet still more bright the prospect shall appear;
Happier still the latest day,
Brightest far the parting ray.
O'er life's last scene celestial beams shall shine,
Till death at last shall burst the chain,
While songs of triumph sound on high;
Then shall Hope her power resign,
Lost in endless ecstacy,
And never-fading joy in heaven's full glories reign.
THE last sad rites were done—the sacred ground
Was clos'd—and Garrick's dust to dust return'd;
In life, in death, with general honours crown'd,
A nation own'd his worth—applauded —mourn'd.
For who, like him, could every sense control,
To Shakspeare's self new charms, new force impart;
Bid unknown horrors shake the firmest soul,
And unknown feelings melt the hardest heart?
Oft when his eye, with more than magic pow'r,
Gave life to thoughts which words could ne'er reveal,
The voice of praise awhile was heard no more,
All gaz'd in silence, and could only feel.
Each thought suspended in a general pause,
All shar'd his passions, and forgot their own—
Till rous'd at length, in thunders of applause,
Th' accordant dictates of each heart were known.
O lost for ever to our wond'ring view!—
Yet faithful memory shall preserve thy name;
E'en distant times thy honour shall renew,
And Garrick still shall share his Shakspeare's fame.
Thus musing through the lonely aisle I stray'd,
Recall'd the wonders of his matchless pow'rs,
And many a former scene in thought survey'd,
While all unheeded pass'd the silent hours.
With mournful awe I trod the sacred stones,
Where kings and heroes slept in long repose,
And trophies, mould'ring o'er the warrior's bones,
Proclaim how frail the life which fame bestows.
Now sunk the last faint beam of closing day,
Each form was lost, and hush'd was ev'ry sound.
All, all was silent as the sleeping clay,
And darkness spread her sable veil around.
At once, methought, a more than midnight gloom
With deathlike horror chill'd my throbbing breast,
When lo! a voice, deep murmuring from the tomb,
These awful accents on my soul imprest:—
"Vain are the glories of a nation's praise;
The boast of wit, the pride of genius, vain:
A long, long night succeeds the transient blaze,
While darkness, solitude, and silence reign.
The shouts of loud applause which thousands gave,
On me nor pride, nor pleasure, now bestow;
Like the chill blast that murmurs o'er my grave,
They pass away—nor reach the dust below.
One virtuous deed, to all the world unknown,
Outweighs the highest bliss which these can give,
Can cheer the soul when youth and strength are flown;
In sickness triumph, and in death survive.
What though to thee, in life's remotest sphere,
Nor nature's gifts, nor fortune's are consign'd;
Let brighter prospects to thy soul appear,
And hopes immortal elevate thy mind.
The sculptur'd marble shall dissolve in dust,
And fame, and wealth, and honours, pass away:
Not such the triumphs of the good and just,
Not such the glories of eternal day.
These, these shall live, when ages are no more:
With never-fading lustre still shall shine.
Go, then, to Heaven devote thy utmost pow'r,
And know—whoe'er thou art—the prize is thine."
[This little poem was occasioned by the following fact:—A Post-Boy was apprehended on suspicion of stealing a bank-note from a letter, which the author, at the request of a friend, had conveyed to the post-office. This circumstance obliged her to appear as an evidence against the unfortunate young man, where she was witness to the distress of his aged parents, who were waiting at the door of the Hall, to learn the event of a trial which was to decide on the life of an only son. The innocence of his intentions appearing very evident, the youth was acquitted.]
"RETURN, return, my hapless spouse,
Nor seek the fatal place,
Where thoughtless crowds expecting stand
To see thy child's disgrace.
Methinks I see the Judges set,
The Counsel all attend,
And Jemmy trembling at the bar,
Bereft of every friend.
How shall a mother's eye sustain
The dreadful sight to see!
Return, return, my hapless spouse,
And leave the task to me."
"Persuade me not, my faithful love,
Persuade me not to go,
But let me see my Jemmy's face,
And share in all his woe.
I'll kneel before his judge's feet,
And prayers and tears employ—
For pity take my wretched life,
But spare my darling boy.
When trembling, prostrate in the dust,
My heartfelt sorrows flow,
Sure, sure, the hardest heart will melt
To see a mother's woe.
How did I watch his infant years,
Through fond affection blind,
And hop'd the comfort of my age
In Jemmy's love to find!
Oft when he join'd the youthful train,
And rov'd the woods among,
Full many a wishful look I sent,
And thought he staid too long.
And when at length I saw my boy
Come bounding o'er the plain
(The sprightliest of the sprightly throng,
The foremost of the train),
How have I gaz'd with fond delight,
His harmless joy to see,
As home he brought a load of flow'rs,
And chose the best for me.
Why would'st thou seek the noisy town,
Where fraud and cunning dwell?
Alas! the heart that knows no guile,
Should choose the humble cell.
So might I still with eager joy
Expect my child's return;
And not, as now, his hapless fate
In bitter sorrow mourn.
Last night, when all was dark and still,
(O wondrous tale to tell!)
I heard a mournful, solemn sound—
Methought 'twas Jemmy's knell.
And oft amidst the dreary gloom
I heard a dismal groan—
And oft I felt a clay-cold hand,
Which fondly press'd my own.
Anon I heard the sound confus'd
Of all the rustic train,
And Jemmy's fainting, trembling voice
For pity begg'd in vain.
Methought I saw the fatal cord,
I saw him dragg'd along—
I saw him seiz'd—" She could no more,
For anguish stopp'd her tongue.
Her faithful partner gently strove
Her sinking heart to cheer;
Yet while his lips of comfort spoke,
He could not hide a tear.
But now the voice of joy or woe
To her alike was vain;
Her thoughts still dwelt on Jemmy's fate,
Her lips on Jemmy's name.
Thus on the mournful pair advanc'd,
And reach'd the fatal place,
Where thoughtless crowds were gather'd round
To see their child's disgrace:
Such crowds as run with idle gaze,
Alike to every show;
Nor heed a wretched father's tears,
Nor feel a mother's woe.
Sudden she stopp'd, for now in view
The crowded hall appear'd.
Chill horror seiz'd her stiffen'd frame,
Her voice no more was heard.
She could not move, she could not weep,
Her hands were clasp'd on high;
And all her soul in eager gaze
Seem'd starting from her eye.
For her the husband trembled now
With tender, anxious fear;
"O Lucy! turn and speak to me;"
But Lucy could not hear.
Still fix'd she stood in silent woe,
Still gazing on the door;
When lo! a murmur through the crowd
Proclaim'd the trial o'er.
At once the blood forsook her cheek,
Her feeble spirits fled;
When Jemmy flew into her arms,
And rais'd her drooping head.
The well-known voice recall'd her soul;
She clasp'd him to her breast:
O joy too vast for words to tell!
Let fancy paint the rest.
WITH bow unstrung, and arrows broke,
Young Cupid to his mother ran,
And tears fast flowing as he spoke,
He thus his sad complaint began:
"Ah! where is now that boasted pow'r,
Which kings and heroes once confess'd?
I try my arrows o'er and o'er,
But find they cannot reach the breast.
I seek the Rooms, the Play, the Ball,
Where Beauty spreads her brightest charms;
But lost in crowds my arrows fall,
And Pleasure slights my feeble arms.
Yet real Pleasure is not there,
A phantom still deludes their aim;
In Dissipation's careless air
They seek her charms, but seek in vain.
Here Pride essays my darts to throw,
But from her hand they ne'er can harm,
For still she turns aside the blow;
Nor Beauty's self with Pride can charm.
Coquetry here with roving eyes
Quick darts a thousand arrows round;
She thinks to conquer by surprise:
But ah! those arrows never wound.
Here Cunning boasts to guide their course
With cautious aim and sly design;
But still she checks their native force
Touch'd by her hand, they drop from mine.
Here Affectation taints the smile,
Which else had darted Love around:
The charms of Art can ne'er beguile:
But where shall Nature's charms be found?
While these their various arts essay,
And vainly strive to gain the heart,
Good-Sense disdainful turns away,
And Reason scorns my pointless dart.
Yet they to Love were once ally'd,
For Love could every joy dispense;
Sweet Pleasure smil'd by Virtue's side,
And Love was pair'd with Innocence."
Fair Venus clasp'd her darling child,
And gently sooth'd his anxious breast:
"Resume thy darts," she said, and smil'd,
"Thy wrongs shall quickly be redress'd.
With artless blush and gentle mien,
With charms unknowing pride or care,
With all the graces in her train,
My lovely Anna∗
shall appear.
Go then, my boy, to earth again,
Once more assume despotic pow'r;
For Modesty with her shall reign,
And Sense and Reason shall adore."
Miss ANNE M——LL, now Mrs. D——N.
SWEET blossom, opening to the beams of day,
Dear object of affection's tender care!
For whom she gently smooths the painful way,
Inspires the anxious wish, the ardent prayer!
How pleasing in thy infant mind to trace
The dawn of reason's force, of fancy's fire,
The soft impression of each future grace,
And all a parent's warmest hopes desire!
How sweet that smile, unknown to ev'ry art,
Inspir'd by innocence, and peace, and joy!
How pure the transports of thy guiltless heart,
Which yet no fears alarm, no cares annoy!
No airy phantoms of uncertain woe
The blessings of the present hour allay;
No empty hopes a fancy'd good bestow,
Then leave the soul to real grief a prey.
Gay pleasure sparkles in thy gentle eye;
Some new delight in every scene appears,
Yet soft affection heaves a secret sigh,
And sends an anxious look to distant years.
While those dear smiles with tender love I view,
And o'er thy infant charms in rapture bend,
Does my fond hope a real good pursue?
And do these arms embrace a future friend?
Should Heaven to me a lengthen'd date assign,
Will e'er that love thy gentle heart engage
With friendship's purest flame to answer mine,
And charm the languor of declining age.
Yet not for me these ardent wishes rise
Beyond the limits of my fleeting years;
For thee, dear babe, my prayers ascend the skies,
And pleasing hope my anxious bosom cheers.
May innocence still guard thy artless youth,
Ere vice and folly's snares thy breast alarm;
While sweetness, modesty, and spotless truth,
Beam from thy soul, and brighten ev'ry charm!
May Heav'n to thee its choicest gifts impart,
Beyond what wealth bestows, or pride pursues;
With ev'ry virtue animate thy heart,
And raise thy efforts to the noblest views.
In transport wrapt may each fond parent see
Through rising years those virtues still improve,
While every tender care now felt for thee,
Thy heart repays with never-ceasing love.
When pleasure smiles, and strews thy path with flow'rs,
And youthful fancy doubles every joy,
May brighter hopes attend thy gayest hours,
And point to bliss which time can ne'er destroy!
And when the pangs of woe thy breast must tear,
When pleasure fades, and fancy charms no more;
Still may those hopes the gloomy prospect cheer,
Unmov'd by grief, unchang'd by fortune's pow'r.
May love, esteem, and friendship, crown thy days,
With joys to guilt unknown, from doubts secure;
While heavenly truth inspires the voice of praise,
And bids that praise beyond the world endure!
Through life to virtue's sacred dictates true,
Be such thy joys as angels must approve,
Such as may lead to raptures ever new,
To endless peace and purest bliss above
"O LEND your wings, ye fav'ring gales,
And gently wave the sea;
And swell my husband's spreading sails,
And waft him home to me!
His toils and dangers all are past,
And, blest with fortune's store,
From distant climes he comes at last
To view his native shore.
And with him comes the faithful youth,
Who gain'd my daughter's love;
Whose virtue, constancy, and truth,
The coldest heart might move.
May all the graces wait around,
And heighten all her charms!
He comes, with wealth and glory crown'd,
To my Louisa's arms.
Now fancy flies to distant days,
And views the lovely pair,
And hears the voice of general praise
Their matchless worth declare.
How shall thy mother's heart expand
With joys unknown before,
When thousands bless the bounteous hand
That gave thee wealth and pow'r!
Do I not see a distant sail
O'er yonder waves appear?
Our ardent vows at length prevail,
My heart proclaims them near.
With us in every joy to share
Our much-lov'd heroes come,
Propitious Heaven, O hear our pray'r!
And guide them safely home!"
"Propitious Heaven, O hear our pray'r!"
Louisa trembling cry'd,
For ah! the chill blast wav'd her hair,
The rising cloud she spy'd.
Near and more near the tempest drew,
The clouds obscur'd the sky,
The winds in hoarser murmurs blew,
The waves were toss'd on high:
And now they dash against the shore,
And shake the solid ground;
The thunders roll, the torrents roar,
The lightnings flash around.
Ah! who can paint Louisa's fear,
Her agonies impart?—
The shrieks of death assail her ear,
And horror chills her heart.
At length, the raging tempest o'er,
She view'd the fatal coast:
A wreck appear'd upon the shore;
She sunk, in terror lost.
"My life! my joy! my only love!"
A voice at distance cries:
That voice her inmost soul could move:
She starts with wild surprise.
Now o'er the beach with eager haste
She sees her Henry fly:
No more she feels her terrors past;
'Twas bliss — 'twas ecstasy!
Her aged father too appears,
He press'd her to his heart;
But as he press'd, his streaming tears
Some secret grief impart.
His much-lov'd wife in transport flies,
In all their joy to share;
Yet views her lord with anxious eyes,
And feels a tender fear.
The fond embrace he oft renews,
And oft, with grief oppress'd,
The fatal wreck again he views,
And smites his trembling breast.
"Lo! there," he cry'd, "the sad remains
Of my once-boasted store;
For all the fruit of all our pains
Is sunk, to rise no more.
Yet should this breast ne'er heave a groan
For all my fruitless care;
Did sorrows seize on me alone,
My woes I well could bear:
But, ah! for thee my heart must grieve,
For thee I priz'd my gain:
And did I then my child deceive
With hopes believ'd in vain?
Still to our humble home confin'd,
Must rural tasks employ
A nymph to shine in courts design'd,
And brighten ev'ry joy.
In thought, by pleasing hope inspir'd,
I saw my child appear,
By all belov'd, by all admir'd,
The fairest of the fair.
I saw her rais'd to pomp and state,
And rich in fortune's store;
I heard the praises of the great,
The blessings of the poor.
With fond delight my bosom glow'd,
By soothing fancy led,
And Heav'n the wish'd success bestow'd:
But ah! the dream is fled.
And thou, dear partner of each care,
This anxious heart hast known;
Thou too, with me, hast felt thy share
Of hopes, for ever gone.
Thy thoughts, like mine, in time to come
A scene of bliss enjoy'd,
Till one sad moment's fatal doom
The airy good destroy'd.
And thou with me our loss must mourn,
Thy tears with mine descend;
And thus, alas! my wish'd return
Our transient joy must end."
While thus with agonizing sighs
They view'd the fatal place,
Louisa's mild yet stedfast eyes
Were fix'd on Henry's face.
By her own heart his heart she knew,
She read his virtues there:
Ah! blest indeed the chosen few,
Who thus each thought can share!
Serene and firm their joys shall prove,
And every change endure;
No mean suspicion taint their love,
In just esteem secure.
And now her soul with transport glows,
And animates each grace;
A smile, beyond what pleasure knows,
Adorns her lovely face.
"And is it thus, my friends," she cry'd,
"When every storm is past,
When all our fears at once subside,
Thus do we meet at last!
O lift with me your hearts to Heav'n
In strains of ardent praise,
With transport own the blessings giv'n,
To crown our future days.
How oft my fervent pray'rs arose,
While terror shook my soul,
To him who could the storm compose,
And winds and waves control!
My pray'rs are heard—my fears are gone,
My much-lov'd friends I see;
I feel a joy till now unknown,
And can ye grieve for me?
Content I shar'd an humble fate,
Nor wish'd in courts to shine;—
The airy dream which pleas'd of late,
With joy I now resign.
What though no scenes of gay delight
Amuse each idle guest,
Nor costly luxuries invite
To share the splendid feast;
Yet peace and innocence shall smile,
And purer joys afford,
And love, secure from doubt or guile,
Shall bless our humble board.
What though we boast nor wealth, nor pow'r,
Each sorrow to relieve,
A little from our little store
The poor shall yet receive;
And words of peace shall soothe the woe
Which riches could not heal;
And sweet benevolence bestow
An aid which all must feel.
Beyond the reach of fortune's pow'r
Her gentle force extends,
She cheers affliction's darkest hour,
And joy her steps attends.
Though here to narrow bounds confin'd,
Ordain'd to lowly views,
For ever free, the virtuous mind
Her glorious path pursues:
In prosp'rous state, o'er all she show'rs
The various blessings giv'n;
In humble life exerts her pow'rs
And trusts the rest to Heav'n.
The lofty dwellings of the great
Full many a wretch contain,
Who feels the cares of pomp and state,
But seeks their joys in vain:
Yet, starting from his short repose,
Alarm'd at every blast,
With anxious dread he dreads to lose
That good he ne'er could taste.
And oft beneath the silent shade
A noble heart remains,
Where Heav'n's bright image is display'd
And every virtue reigns.
Sweet peace and joy that heart shall find,
Unmov'd by grief or pain:—
Be such the lot to us assign'd,
And fortune's frowns are vain.
O ye, who taught me first to know
Bright virtue's sacred flame,
To whom far more than life I owe,
Who more than duty claim.
Ah! let me dry each tender tear,
And ev'ry doubt destroy,
Dispel at once each anxious fear,
And call you back to joy.
And thou, my Henry! dearer far
Than fortune's richest prize,
I know thy heart—and thou canst dare
Her treasures to despise:
A purer bliss that heart shall prove
From care and sorrow free,
Content with innocence and love,
With poverty and me."—
In transport lost, and freed from fears,
The happy parents smil'd,
And blushing dry'd the falling tears,
And clasp'd their matchless child.
Her Henry, fix'd in silent gaze,
Beheld his lovely bride:
"O Heav'n! accept my humble praise,"
At length entranc'd he cry'd.
"To all my storms and dangers past,
If joys like these succeed,
My utmost wish is crown'd at last,
And I am rich indeed.
Then rise, ye raging tempests! rise,
And fortune's gifts destroy;—
Thy Henry gains the noblest prize,
He feels the purest joy.
Ecstatic bliss his heart shall prove,
From care and sorrow free,
While blest with innocence and love,
With boundless wealth—in thee.
Sweet hope o'er every morn shall shed
Her soul-enlivening ray;
Celestial peace, by virtue led,
Shall cheer each closing day.
Far from ambition's train remov'd,
And pleasure's giddy throng,
Our blameless hours, by Heav'n approv'd,
Shall gently glide along.
O may I catch that sacred fire,
Which animates thy breast;
Like thee to noblest heights aspire,
Like thee be truly blest!
Thus shall the pleasing charm of love
Bright virtue's force increase —
Thus every changing scene shall prove
The road to lasting peace.
And thus, through life, our hearts shall know
A more than mortal joy,
Beyond what fortune can bestow,
Or time, or death, destroy."
[ENVY, her character; her dwelling near the road that leads to the Temple of Virtue. A fruit-tree gives shelter and refreshment to travellers; she tears all the buds to prevent it. A lamb takes shelter from the snow in her hut; she tears down the roof that it may not protect him, and leaves it so that none may ever find shelter there. Disturbs all travellers. Schemes laid to defeat her. Nothing will do but the shield of Truth, which is so bright that none dare carry it, because they cannot themselves stand it. At last, Innocence, attended by Modesty, undertakes it. Envy attacks them with fury, and throws a dart, which, instead of hurting, only strikes off the veil which hid the face of Modesty, and makes all the world admire her. Envy blushes for the first time. Innocence holds up the shield. Envy is dazzled, and becomes almost blind; she flies from them, and wanders about the world, trying to hurt every body; but being too blind to direct her darts, though they sometimes do harm, yet they always recoil upon herself, and give her the severest wounds.]
YE pleasing dreams of heavenly poesy,
Which oft have sooth'd my throbbing heart to rest,
And in soft strains of sweetest minstrelsy
Have lull'd the tumults of this anxious breast,
Or charm'd my soul with pleasures unpossess'd;
How sweet with you to wander all the day
In airy scenes, by fancy's pencil dress'd,
To trace the windings of her devious way,
To feel her magic force, and own her boundless sway.
See at her call the awful forms arise
Of ancient heroes, moulder'd in the tomb;
Again vice trembles through her deep disguise,
And virtue triumphs in a dungeon's gloom,
Or smiles undaunted at a tyrant's doom.
Again she waves on high her magic wand —
The faded glories rise of Greece and Rome,
The heavenly muses lead a tuneful band,
And freedom's fearless sons unnumber'd hosts withstand.
And now to softer scenes my steps she leads,
The sweet retreats of innocence and love,
Where freshest flow'rets deck th' enamell'd meads,
And nature's music warbles through the grove;
'Mongst rocks and caverns now she loves to rove,
And mark the torrents tumbling from on high,
And now she soars on daring wings, above
The vast expanse of yon ethereal sky,
Or darts through distant time and long futurity.
And oft, when weary nature sinks oppress'd
Beneath the load of sickness and of pain,
When sweetest music cannot lull to rest,
And present pleasure spreads her charms in vain,
Bright fancy comes, and bursts the mental chain,
And bears the soul on airy wings away:
Well pleas'd it wanders o'er her golden reign,
Enjoys the transports of some distant day,
And pain's suspended force a moment owns her sway.
Ev'n in the loneliest wild, the deepest shade,
Remote from ev'ry pleasing, social scene,
New wonders rise, by fancy's pow'r display'd;
She paints each heav'nly grace with gentle mien,
Celestial truth, and innocence serene,
And hope, exulting still in future joy,
Though dangers threat, and tempests intervene;
And patience, ever calm, though cares annoy,
And sweet benevolence, whose pleasures ne'er can cloy.
In dangers firm, in triumphs ever mild,
The awful form of fortitude appears;
Pure joy, of heavenly piety the child,
Serenely smiles, unmov'd by grief or fears;
Soft mercy dries affliction's bitter tears,
Still blest in ev'ry blessing she bestows;
While friendship's gentle voice each sorrow cheers;
Sweet are her joys, and pleasing ev'n her woes,
When warm'd by virtue's fire the sacred ardour glows.
Thus fancy's pow'r in solitude can charm,
Can rouse each latent virtue in the heart,
Preserve the heavenly spark for ever warm,
And guiltless pleasures ev'ry hour impart.
Yet oh! beware—lest Vice with fatal art
Should taint the gift for virtue's aid design'd;
Lest fancy's sting should point affliction's dart,
Or empty shadows check th' aspiring mind,
By vain delights subdu'd, or vainer fears confin'd.
For oft, when virtue prompts the gen'rous deed,
And points the way to gain the glorious prize,
Imagin'd ills her upward flight impede,
And all around fantastic terrors rise;
Ev'n vice itself can fancy's pow'r disguise
With borrow'd charms, enchanting to betray:
Oh! then let reason watch with cautious eyes,
Secure its active force in virtue's way,
Then slack the rein at will, and free let fancy stray.
Thus musing late at evening's silent hour,
My wand'ring footsteps sought the lonely shade;
And gently led by fancy's magic pow'r,
Methought at once, to distant realms convey'd,
New scenes appear'd, by mortal ne'er survey'd;
Such as were fabled erst in fairy land,
Where elfin knights their prowess oft display'd,
And mighty love
To seek adventure hard at beauty's high command.
Full many a path there was on every side,
These waste and wild, and those beset with flow'rs;
Where many a pilgrim wander'd far and wide:
Some bent to seek gay pleasure's rosy bow'rs,
And some to gain ambition's lofty tow'rs:
While others view their labours with disdain,
And prize alone the gifts which fortune show'rs:
With careless steps some wander o'er the plain,
And some with ardour strive bright virtue's hill to gain.
But many foes in ev'ry path were seen,
Who strove by ev'ry art to stop the way:
Here indolence appear'd with vacant mein,
And painted forms of terror and dismay;
And there the passions rose in dread array,
And fill'd with clouds and darkness all the air;
While empty fears and hopes alike betray,
And pride, with folly join'd, destructive pair!
Drew many from each path, then left them to despair.
Yet still distinguish'd o'er the hostile band,
By all detested, and to all a foe,
Pale Envy rose: while, trembling in her hand,
Her poison'd shaft still aim'd a deadly blow,
Her eyes still wander'd in pursuit of woe:
For her, in vain arose the cheerful morn,
In vain the flow'rs with freshest lustre glow,
Vain all the charms which nature's face adorn;
They cannot cheer a heart with ceaseless anguish torn.
Beside the way that leads to Virtue shrine
This wicked hag her fav'rite dwelling chose;
Around her walls did baneful nightshade twine,
And twisted thorns did all her hut compose;
And still from morning's dawn to ev'ning's close
Some horrid purpose would her thoughts employ;
For never could her heart enjoy repose,
Nor e'er her restless spirit taste of joy,
Save when her cruel arts could others' peace destroy.
The sprightly voice of guiltless pleasure's train,
The pleasing smile which peace and virtue wear,
Whose gentle force might charm the sense of pain,
Suspend distress, and smooth the brow of care,
Still with new pangs her cruel heart would tear:
But when she heard affliction's bitter cries,
Or view'd the horrid form of dark despair,
A transient gladness lighten'd in her eyes—
But transient still and vain are Envy's wretched joys.
'TIS past:—another year for ever gone
Proclaims the end of all;— with awful voice
It calls the soul to thought. Awhile she turns
From present scenes, and wanders o'er the past;
Or, darting forward, strives to pierce the veil
Which hides from mortal eyes the time to come.
O Thou, to grateful mem'ry ever dear!
Whom fond affection still delights to name!
Whom still my heart exults to call "My Friend!"
In fancy yet be present. Oft with Thee
In many a lonely walk and silent shade
My soul holds converse; oft recals the hours
When pleas'd attention hung upon thy voice,
While the pure dictates of celestial truth
In friendship's gentlest accents charm'd my ear,
And sooth'd each anxious thought, and show'd the way
Which leads to present peace and future bliss:
Though now far distant, yet in thought be near,
And share with me reflection's sacred hour.
And oh! to thee may each revolving year
Its choicest blessing bring! May heavenly peace,
To every thoughtless mind unknown—pursued
In vain through scenes of visionary good—
That peace which dwells with piety alone,
Still on thy steps through every stage attend!
And purest joy from virtue's sacred source,
Blest in the thought of many a well-spent day,
Blest in the prospect of unbounded bliss,
Cheer every hour, and triumph in the last!
As when a traveller, who long has rov'd
Through many a varied path, at length attains
Some eminence, from whence he views the land
Which late he pass'd—groves, streams, and lawns appear,
And hills with flocks adorn'd, and lofty woods;
And ev'ry charm which nature's hand bestows
In rich profusion decks the smiling scene.
No more he views the rugged thorny way,
The steep ascent, the slippery path, which led
High o'er the brink of some rude precipice;
Unnumber'd beauties, scarce observ'd before,
At once combine to charm his raptur'd sight,
And, backward turning, oft in transport lost,
His toils and dangers past no more are felt,
But long and tedious seems the road to come:—
Thus oft, when youth is fled, when health decays,
And cares perplex, and trifling pleasures cloy;
Sick of vain hopes, and tir'd of present scenes,
The soul returns to joys she feels no more,
And backward casts her view. Then fancy comes
In memory's form, and gilds the long-past days,
Recals the faded images of joy,
Paints every happy moment happier still;
But hides each anxious fear, and heartfelt pang.
Each pleasure lost, and hope pursu'd in vain.
Which oft o'erspread with gloom the gayest hour,
And taught ev'n youth and innocence to mourn.
O happiness, in every varied scene,
Through toil, through danger, and through pain pursu'd!
Yet oft when present scarce enjoy'd;—when past,
Recall'd to wound the heart, to blast the sweets
Yet given to life;—how are thy votaries,
Misled by vain delusions, thus deceiv'd!
Let rising Hope, for ever on the wing,
Still point to distant good, to perfect bliss;
While, conscious of superior pow'rs, the soul
Exulting hears her call, and longs to soar
To scenes of real and unfading joy.
Yet while on earth some feeble rays are shed
To cheer the mournful gloom, oh! let not man
Reject the proffer'd gift? With innocence
And gratitude enjoy'd, each present good
Beyond the fleeting moment may extend
Its pleasing force. When nature's varied charms,
Ye calm delights of innocence and peace!
Ye joys by virtue taught, by Heav'n approv'd!
Is there a heart, which, lost in selfish views,
Ne'er felt your pleasing force, ne'er knew to share
Another's joy, or heave a tender sigh
For sorrow not its own;—which all around
Beholds a dreary void, where hope perhaps
May dart a feeble ray, but knows not where
To point its aim? (For real good, unknown
When youth and pleasure gild the smiling morn,
And fancy scatters roses all around,
What blissful visions rise! In prospect bright
Awhile they charm the soul: but scarce attain'd,
The gay delusion fades. Another comes,
The soft enchantment is again renew'd,
And youth again enjoys the airy dreams
Of fancied good. But ah! how oft ev'n these
By stern affliction's hand are snatch'd away,
Ere yet experience proves them vain, and shows
That earthly pleasures to a heavenly mind
Are but the shadows of substantial bliss!
But pleasure rais'd by virtue's powerful charm,
Above each transient view, each meaner aim,
Can bless the present hour, and lead the soul
To brighter prospects, rich in every good
Which man can feel, or Heav'n itself bestow.
While thus returning o'er the long-past scenes
Of former life, the mind recals to view
The strange vicissitudes of grief and joy,
O may the grateful heart for ever own
The various blessings giv'n! nor dare repine
At ills which all must share; or deem those ills
From chance or fate (those empty names which veil
The ignorance of man) could ever flow;
Thou rising year, now opening to my view,
Yet wrapt in darkness— whither dost thou lead?
What is futurity? It is a time
When joys, unknown to former life, may shed
Their brightest beams on each succeeding day;
When health again may bloom, and pleasure smile,
(By pain no more allay'd) and new delights
On every changing season still attend!
Each morn returning wake the soul to joy
From balmy slumbers, undisturb'd by care;
Success still wait on hope; and every hour
In peace and pleasure gently glide away.—
But ah! how rare on earth are years like this!
In the dark prospect of futurity,
Far other scenes than these may yet remain:
Affliction there may aim her keenest shafts
To tear the heart; while pain and sickness waste
The feeble frame by slow-consuming pangs,
And ease and comfort lost are sought in vain;
For there, perhaps, no friendly voice may cheer
The tedious hours of grief, but all around
Expiring joys and blasted hopes appear,
New woes succeed to woes, and every good
On earth be snatch'd away. How then shall man
Salute the rising year? Shall cheerful hope
Receive the welcome guest, or terror wait
In speechless anguish the impending storm?
Presumptuous mortal cease: O turn thine eyes
On the dark mansions of the silent dead,
And check the bold inquiry;—never more
The rising sun may shed his beams on thee;
Perhaps, ev'n now, the fatal hour is come,
Which ends at once thy earthly hopes and fears,
And seals thy doom through vast eternity.
How awful is the thought! and who shall say
It is not just? What mortal shall disclose
The dark decrees of Heav'n? But grant, to life
A longer date assign'd, another year
What is futurity?—It is a time
By Heav'n in mercy giv'n where all may find
Their best, their truest good, the means, the pow'r,
To elevate their nature, to exert
Each nobler faculty, and still to rise
In ev'ry virtue. Here the best may find
Improvement: for what mortal e'er attain'd
Perfection's utmost point? And here ev'n those,
Who long, by vice and folly led astray,
Forsook the paths of wisdom and of truth,
May yet return, and with new ardour seek
That long-neglected good, which, though despis'd,
Rejected once, may here be yet attain'd.
Know then, whoe'er thou art, on whom high Heav'n
Another year of life will now bestow,
That year may lead thee to eternal peace,
May cancel follies past, redeem the time
In thoughtless dissipation once abus'd,
Dispel the shades of vice, the gloom of care,
Call forth each latent virtue, and impart
New strength, new hopes, and joys which ne'er shall fail.
Then hail, bright prospect of the rising year!
The school of virtue, and the road to bliss!
No more the shades of doubt are spread around:
No more ideal pleasures deck the scene
With airy forms of good, which Fancy's self
Scarce dares enjoy; no more by terror led
A train of woes in long succession rise,
And deepest horror o'er the time to come
Extends her baleful influence:—by the pow'r
Of truth subdued, at once they disappear,
And surer hopes and brighter views arise,
Than pleasure e'er could give, or pain destroy,
Then let affliction come:— shall man complain
Of seeming ills, which Heav'n in mercy sends
To check his vain pursuits, exalt his views,
Improve his virtues, and direct the soul
To seek that aid which ne'er can fail, that aid
Which all who seek shall find? Oh! in the hour
Of deepest horror, when the throbbing heart,
Oppress'd with anguish, can sustain no more,
May patience still, and resignation, come
To cheer the gloom!—not such as his who boasts
Superior pow'rs, a mind above the reach
Of human weakness, yet with ardour seeks
The frail support of transitory praise!—
Or his, who, trembling at an unknown pow'r,
Submits in silence to Omnipotence,
And struggling checks the murmur of his breast;—
But that sweet peace, that heartfelt confidence
(By heavenly hope, and filial love inspir'd,
In truth's inviolable word secure),
Which pain and sorrow never can destroy;
Which smile triumphant in the gloom of woe,
And own a father's power, a father's love
O'er all presiding.—Blest in thoughts like these
The mourner's heart still feels a secret joy,
Which pleasure ne'er could yield: no murmurs now
Disturb its peace; but every wish resign'd
To wisdom, power, and goodness infinite,
Celestial hope and comfort beam around
O'er all the prospect of succeeding time,
And never-fading glories close the scene.
O Thou, great source of every good! by whom
This heart was taught to beat, these thoughts to range
O'er the wide circuit of the universe,
To soar beyond the farthest bounds of time,
And pant for bliss which earth could ne'er bestow;—
While worlds unnumber'd tremble at thy power,
IT is a common observation, that in this world we stand more in need of comforts than of pleasures. Pain, sickness, losses, disappointments, sorrows of every kind, are sown so thick in the path of life, that those, who have attempted to teach the way to be happy, have in general bestowed more attention on the means of supporting evil, than of seeking good: nay, many have gone so far as to recommend insensibility as the most desirable state of mind, upon a supposition that evil (or the appearance of evil) so far predominates, that the good, in general, is not sufficient to counterbalance it; and that therefore, by lessening the sense of both, we should be gainers on the whole, and might purchase constant ease, and freedom from all anxiety, by giving up pleasures, which are always uncertain, and often lead to the severest sufferings: and this, taking all circumstances together, it has been thought would be a desirable change.
On the same principle, much serious advice has been bestowed on the young, the gay, and the happy, to teach them to be moderate in their pursuits and wishes, that they may avoid the pangs of disappointment in case they should not succeed; to allay the pleasure they might receive from the enjoyment of every good they possess, by dwelling continually on the thought of its uncertainty; to check the best affections of their hearts, in order to secure themselves from the pain they may afterwards occasion; in short, to deprive themselves of the good they might enjoy, from a fear of the evil which may follow: which is something like advising a man to keep
Those, on the other hand, who are in a state of affliction, are advised to moderate their grief, by considering, that they knew beforehand the uncertainty of every good they possessed; that nothing has befallen them but what is the common lot of mankind; that the evil consists chiefly in the opinion they form of it; that what is independent on themselves cannot really touch them, but by their own fault; and their concern cannot make things better than they are; with many other considerations of the same kind, to which probably no person under the immediate influence of real affliction ever paid the least attention; and which, even if they are allowed their greatest force, could only silence complaints, and lead the mind into a state of insensibility, but could never produce the smallest degree of comfort or of happiness.
In order to determine whether this be really the way to pass through life with the greatest ease and satisfaction, it may not be useless to inquire in what state the mind of man would be, supposing it really to have attained that insensibility, both as to pain and pleasure, which has been represented as so desirable. I speak of a mind possessed of its full powers and faculties, and capable of exerting them; for there may be some, who, from natural incapacity or want of education, are really incapable of it, and can drudge on through life with scarce any feelings or apprehensions beyond the present moment. But if these are supposed to be the happiest of mankind, then the end of the argument will be,
"In happiness the beast excels the man,
The worm excels the beast, the clod the worm."
If then we suppose the mind in full possession of its powers, is it possible to suppose, that the way to enjoy happiness, or even peace, is by preventing their exertion? If positive pain and pleasure are taken away, if all the objects proposed to it make no impression, will the mind therefore be at ease? Far from it, surely. On
Could it be possible for any person really to have attained to such a state as this, instead of finding it a state of ease and satisfaction, we should see him weary of himself and all around him; unhappy, with nothing to complain of; and without any hope of being ever otherwise, because he would have no determinate wish, in the accomplishment of which he could promise himself any enjoyment.
But, happily for mankind, a state like this is not to be attained by any thinking person; and those who place their notion of happiness in mere freedom from suffering, must be reduced to envy the happiness of the beasts of the field, for it is not the happiness of man.
Those, indeed, who from a state of excessive suffering are suddenly relieved, and restored to ease of body and mind, may, at the time, feel more joy from that ease than they would have felt from the greatest positive pleasure; but then that joy will be transient indeed, since it arises only from a comparison with past sufferings, the sense of which is quickly lost; and as soon as the mind returns to its natural state, it feels again the want of that enjoyment for which it was formed, and becomes miserable, not from any positive sufferings, but merely from the want of happiness.
Those, who take pleasure in arguments which answer no other purpose than to exercise their ingenuity, may amuse themselves with disputing whether this inextinguishable thirst after happiness be really a desirable gift, and whether it might not have been happier for man to have been formed without that activity of mind, which prompts him continually to seek for some enjoyment. But to these who feel its force, it is surely a more important point to inquire how it may best be satisfied; and whether it may not be possible to regulate those affections which they cannot suppress, and, by directing them
It must, I believe, be allowed, that every man, who reflects on his own situation, will find that it has its pleasures and its pains; unmixed happiness or misery not being the lot of this life, but reserved for a future state. The happiness of life must then be estimated by the proportion its joys bear to its sorrows; and if what has been before supposed concerning the state of the mind be just, he will not be found to be the happiest man who has the fewest sorrows, but he whose joys overbalance his sorrows in the greatest degree.
This then should be our aim in the pursuit of happiness: not to conquer the sense of suffering, for that is impossible; not to suppress our desires and hopes, for that (if it were possible) would only debase the mind, not make it happy; but to cultivate every faculty of the soul which may prove a source of innocent delight; to endeavour, as far as possible, to keep the mind open to a sense of pleasure, instead of sullenly rejecting all, because we cannot enjoy exactly what we wish; above all, to secure to ourselves a lasting fund of real pleasures, which may compensate those afflictions they cannot prevent, and make us not insensible, but happy in the midst of them.
It is very certain that nothing can fully do this except religion, and the glorious prospects it offers to our hopes; this is the only foundation of lasting happiness, the only source of never-failing comfort. While our best affections are fixed on any thing in this world, they must always give us pain, because they will find nothing which can fully satisfy them; but when once they are fixed on Infinite Perfection, as their ultimate object, the subordinate exercises of them will furnish many sources of pleasure and advantage, and should be cultivated both with a view to present and future happiness.
It seems strange to observe, that there are few, if any, in the world, who enjoy all the blessings which are bestowed upon them, and make their situation in life as happy as it might be. Wherever the selfish passions are indulged to excess, this must always be the consequence; for none can be happy while they make others miserable.
Whoever is possessed of any degree of power, from the greatest monarch on the throne to the master of the meanest cottage, must depend for his happiness on those over whom that power is exercised; and, whether he will or no, must share in the sufferings which he inflicts, and feel the want of that satisfaction, which he might have received from a different employment of his power.
The truth of this observation has been experienced by all, who ever endeavoured to purchase their own happiness at the expense of that of others. But even where this is not the case, where the intentions are good, and the pleasures of life are not embittered by the sense of guilt, it often happens that disappointments bring on disgust; the pleasures which were expected are not found, and therefore those which might be found are undervalued; the mind is dissatisfied, and seeks for reasons to justify itself for being so; and when sorrows are sought for, it is not difficult to find them.
Such a disposition can poison every pleasure, and add numberless imaginary evils to those which must inevitably be met with in the path of life. By degrees the activity of the soul is lost; every sorrow appears insupportable; every difficulty unconquerable; no object is thought worth pursuing; and life itself becomes a burthen.
To guard against the fatal effects, which disappointments are apt to have upon the mind, is a point of the utmost consequence towards passing through life with any tolerable degree of comfort and satisfaction; for disappointments, more or less, must be the lot of all.
At the first entrance into the world, when the imagination is active, the affections warm, and the heart a stranger to deceit, and consequently to suspicion, what delightful dreams of happiness are formed! Whatever may be the object in which that happiness is supposed to consist, that object is pursued with ardour; the gay and thoughtless seek for it in dissipation and amusement; the ambitious, in power, fame, and honours; the affectionate, in love and friendship: but how few are there, who find in any of these objects that happiness which they expected!
Pleasure, fame, &c., even when they are in any degree obtained, still leave a void in the soul, which continually reminds the possessor, that this is not the happiness for which he was formed; and even the best affections are
The unsuspecting heart forms attachments, before reason is capable of judging whether the objects of them are such as are qualified to make it happy; and it often happens, that the fatal truth is not discovered till the affections are engaged too far to be recalled, and then the disappointment must prove a lasting sorrow.
But it is not necessary to enumerate the disappointments, which generally attend on the pursuits of youth; and indeed the prospect is too painful to dwell upon: the intention of mentioning them is only to guard against the effects they may produce.
The imagination has painted an object, which perhaps is not to be found in this world; that object has been pursued in vain: but shall we therefore conclude, that no object is worth pursuing, and sink into a listless, inactive state, in which we must grow weary of ourselves, and all the world?
The young are too apt to fancy, that the affections of their hearts will prove the source of nothing but pleasure; those, who are farther advanced in life, are much too apt to run into the contrary extreme. The error of the first, even taking it in the worst light, is productive of some pleasure as well as pain; that of the last serves only to throw a damp over every pleasure, and can be productive of nothing but pain. It leads indeed to the most fatal consequences, since it tends to make self the only object; and the heart, which is merely selfish, must ever be incapable of virtue and of happiness, and a stranger to all the joys of affection and benevolence; without which the happiest state in this world must be insipid, and which may prove the source of many pleasures, even in the midst of the severest afflictions. In every state of life, in spite of every disappointment, these should still be cherished and encouraged; for though they may not always bestow such pleasures as the romantic imaginations of youth had painted, yet they will still bestow such as can be found in nothing else in this world; and indeed they are necessary, in order to give a relish to every enjoyment.
I mention an affectionate and a benevolent disposition together, because I believe, when they are genuine, they never can be separated; and, perhaps, the disappoint-
True friendship is not indeed less quick-sighted; it watches with a tender and anxious solicitude to promote the welfare and happiness of the object which it loves; it is a kind of microscope, which discovers every speck; but then the discovery does not excite anger and resentment, still less could it lead to unkindness and upbraidings: it inspires a concern like that which we feel for our own errors and imperfections, and produces an earnest desire and sincere endeavour to remove them. With such a friend, the heart may appear just as it is, and enjoy the pleasure of an unbounded confidence; but with those whose affection is founded on a regard to themselves, every word and action must be weighed, and the fear of giving offence must throw a restraint over every conversation.
The real friend will be disposed to love all those who are any way connected with the object of his affection; he will be sincerely interested for their welfare, and will wish to gain their affection, and promote their happiness. The selfish will view them with a jealous eye, continually apprehensive that they may rob him of some part of a treasure, which he would wish to engross.
It would be easy to carry on the contrast much farther; for indeed it might be shown in almost every instance. But what has been said may be sufficient to show how very wide is the difference between that sort of attachment of which a selfish heart is capable, and that which alone deserves the name of real friendship; though it is often too indiscriminately given to both: the one is an enemy to general benevolence; the other flows from the same source, and belongs to the same character.
Such a disposition, it must be allowed, may prove the
With such a disposition, power and riches may be real blessings; since they furnish frequent opportunities of bestowing happiness, and consequently of enjoying it in the highest degree. But even without these advantages, the truly benevolent, in whatever situation in life they may be placed, will find numberless sources of pleasure and delight, which to others must be for ever unknown. All the happiness they see becomes in some sort their own: and even under the pressure of the greatest afflictions they can rejoice at the good which others enjoy; and far from repining at the comparison, they find in the thought of it a pleasure and satisfaction, to which no sufferings of their own can render them insensible; but which, on the contrary, prove a powerful cordial to help them to support those sufferings.
Even the face of inanimate nature fills them with a satisfaction, which the insensible can never know, while they are warmed with gratitude to the Giver of every good, and joy at the thought that their fellow-creatures share those blessings with them. They may even experience something like the pleasure of bestowing happiness, while they rejoice in all that is bestowed, and feel in their hearts that they would bestow it if they could.
It is true, indeed, that they must share in the sorrows of others, as well as in their joys; but then this may often lead to the heavenly pleasure of relieving them, if not as fully as they could wish, yet at least in some degree; for true benevolence can discover numberless methods of relieving distress, which would escape the notice of the careless and insensible. When relief is not
Such a disposition will be a powerful preservative against that weariness of mind, which is so often an attendant on what is generally esteemed a happy situation in this world.
Those, who are freed from cares and anxieties, who are surrounded by all the means of enjoyment, and whose pleasures present themselves without being sought for, are often unhappy in the midst of all, merely because that activity of mind, in the proper exercise of which our happiness consists, has in them no object on which it may be employed. But when the heart is sincerely and affectionately interested for the good of others, a new scene of action is continually open; every moment may be employed in some pleasing and useful pursuit. New opportunities of doing good are continually presenting themselves; new schemes are formed and ardently pursued; and even when they do not succeed, though the disappointment may give pain, yet the pleasure of self-approbation will remain, and the pursuit will be remembered with satisfaction. The next opportunity which offers itself will be readily embraced, and will furnish a fresh supply of pleasures; such pleasures as are secure from that weariness and disgust, which sooner or later are the consequences of all such enjoyments as tend merely to gratify the selfish passions and inclinations, and which always attend on an inactive state of mind, from whatever cause it may proceed; whether it be the effect of satiety or disappointment, of prosperity or despair.
Even in the most trifling scenes of common life, the truly benevolent may find many pleasures, which would pass unnoticed by others; and in a conversation, which to the thoughtless and inattentive would afford only a
If any action be related, or any expression dropped, which indicates true goodness of heart, they will be heard with satisfaction; the most trifling instance of kindness and attention will be received with a sort of pleasure, of which the selfish can form no idea. Every appearance or description of innocent happiness will be enjoyed, every expression of real friendship and affection will be felt, even though they are not the objects of it.
In short, all the happiness and all the virtues of others are sources of delight to them: and it is a pleasing as well as useful exercise to the mind, to be employed, when engaged in society, in seeking out for these; to trace to their spring the little expressions of benevolence which often pass unnoticed; to discover real merit through the veil which humility and modesty throw over it; to admire true greatness of mind, even in the meanest situation in life, or when it exerts itself upon occasions supposed to be trifling, and therefore, in general, but little attended to.
In these, and in numberless instances of the same kind, much real pleasure might be found, which is too generally overlooked, and which might prove the source of many advantages, both to ourselves and others; for those who really enjoy the good of others, will certainly wish and endeavour to promote it.
By such exercises as these, the best affections of the heart are continually called forth to to action, and the pleasures which they afford may be enjoyed and improved in every different situation in life; for these are pleasures, which, more or less, are within the reach of all. In these, the rich and prosperous may find that satisfaction, which they have sought in vain in selfish gratifications; and the afflicted may yet enjoy that happiness, which they are too apt to imagine is entirely lost; but the selfish heart can neither enjoy prosperity,
In order to administer consolation to the afflicted, the usual methods are, either to endeavour to lessen their sense of the evil, by showing them that it is not really so great as they imagine: or by comparing it with greater evils endured by others; or else to drive it from the thought by the hurry of dissipation and amusement.
The first of these methods may serve to display the talents of the person who undertakes it; and perhaps such arguments may sometimes prevail upon vanity to assume an appearance of fortitude. But how can he, whose heart feels the pangs of real affliction, be convinced by argument that he does not feel it? or what relief can it give to his sufferings, to be told that
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