When thought has raised itself by just degrees,
From valleys crown’d with flowers, and hills with trees,
From smoking minerals, and from rising streams,
From fattening Nilus, or victorious Thames;
From all the living that four-footed move
Along the shore, the meadow, or the grove;
From all that can with fins or feathers fly
Through the aerial or the watery sky;
From the poor reptile with a reasoning soul,
That miserable master of the whole;
From this great object of the body’s eye,
This fair half-round, this ample azure sky,
Terribly large, and wonderfully bright,
With stars unnumber’d, and unmeasured light:
From essences unseen, celestial names,
Enlightening spirits, and ministerial flames,
Angels, Dominions, Potentates, and Thrones,
All that in each decree the name of creature owns:
Lift we our reason to that sovereign cause
Who bless’d the whole with life and bounded it with laws;
Who forth from nothing call’d this comely frame,
His will and act, his word and work the same;
To whom a thousand years are but a day;
Who bade the Light her genial beams display,
And set the moon, and taught the sun his way;
Who waking Time, his creature, from the source
Primeval, order’d his predestined course,
Himself, as in the hollow of his hand,
Holding obedient to his high command,
The deep abyss, the long continued store,
Where months, and days, and hours, and minutes, pour
Their floating parts, and thenceforth are no more:
This Alpha and Omega, First and Last,
Who, like the potter, in a mould has cast
The world’s great frame, commanding it to be
Such as the eyes of Sense and Reason see:
Yet if he wills may change or spoil the whole,
May take yon beauteous, mystic, starry roll,
And burn it like a useless parchment scroll;
May from its basis in one moment pour
This melted earth -
Like liquid metal, and like burning ore;
Who, sole in power, at the beginning said,
Let sea, and air, and earth, and heaven, be made,
And it was so - And when he shall ordain
In other sort, has but to speak again,
And they shall be no more: of this great theme,
This glorious, hallow’d, everlasting Name,
This God, I would discourse-
The learned Elders sat appall’d, amazed,
And each with mutual look on other gazed;
Nor speech they meditate, nor answer frame;
Too plain, alas! their silence spake their shame
Till one in whom an outward mien appear’d
And turn superior to the vulgar herd,
Began: That human learning’s furthest reach
Was but to note the doctrines I could teach;
That mine to speak, and theirs was to obey,
For I in knowledge more than your power did sway,
And the astonish’d world in me beheld
Moses eclipsed, and Jesse’s son excell’d.
Humble a second bow’d, and took the word,
Foresaw my name by future age adored;
O live, said he, thou wisest of the wise;
As none has equall’d, none shall ever rise
Excelling thee -
Parent of wicked, bane of honest deeds,
Pernicious Flattery! thy malignant seeds
In an ill hour, and by a fatal hand,
Sadly diffused o’er Virtue’s gleby land,
With rising pride amidst the corn appear,
And choke the hopes and harvest of the year.
And now the whole perplex’d ignoble crowd,
Mute to my questions, in my praises loud,
Echo’d the word: whence things arose, or how
They thus exist, the aptest nothing know:
What yet is not, but is ordain’d to be,
All veil of doubt apart, the dullest see.
My Prophets and my Sophists finish’d here
Their civil efforts of the verbal war:
Not so my Rabbins and Logicians yield;
Retiring, still they combat: from the field
Of open arms unwilling they depart,
And sculk behind the subterfuge of art.
To speak one thing mix’d dialects they join,
Divide the simple, and the plain define:
Fix fancied laws, and form imagined rules,
Terms of their art, and jargon of their schools,
Ill-ground maxims, by false gloss enlarged,
And captious science against reason charged.
O wretched impotence of human mind!
We, erring, still excuse for error find,
And darkling grope, not knowing we are blind.
Vain man! Since first the blushing sire essay’d
His folly with connected leaves to shade,
How does the crime of thy resembling race,
With like attempt, that pristine error trace?
Too plain thy nakedness of soul espied,
Why dost thou strive the conscious shame to hide,
By masks of eloquence and veils of pride?
With outward smiles their flattery I received,
Own’d my sick mind by their discourse relieved;
But bent, and inward to myself, again
Perplex’d, these matters I resolved in vain.
My search still tired, my labour still renew’d,
At length I Ignorance and Knowledge view’d
Impartial; both in equal balance laid,
Light flew the knowing scale, the doubtful heavy weigh’d.
Forced by reflective reason, I confess
That human science is uncertain guess.
Alas! we grasp at clouds, and beat the air,
Vexing that spirit we intend to clear.
Can thought beyond the bounds of matter climb?
Or who shall tell me what is space or time?
In vain we lift up our presumptuous eyes
To what our Maker to their ken denies:
The searcher follows fast, the object faster flies.
The little which imperfectly we find
Seduces only the bewildered mind
To fruitless search of something yet behind.
Various discussions tear our heated brain:
Opinions often turn; still doubts remain;
And who indulges thought increases pain.
How narrow limits were to Wisdom given?
Earth she surveys; she thence would measure heaven:
Through mists obscure now wings her tedious way
Now wanders, dazzled with too bright a day,
And from the summit of a pathless coast
Sees infinite, and in that sight is lost.
Remember that the cursed desire to know,
Offspring of Adam, was thy source of wo;
Why wilt thou then renew the vain pursuit,
And rashly catch at the forbidden fruit?
With empty labour and eluded strife
Seeking by knowledge to attain to life,
For ever from that fatal tree debarr’d,
Which flaming swords and angry cherubs guard.
BOOK II.
The Argument
Solomon, again seeking happiness, inquires if wealth and greatness can produce it: begins with the magnificence of gardens and buildings; the luxury of music and feasting; and proceeds to the hopes and desires of love. In two episodes are shown the follies and troubles of that passion. Solomon, still disappointed, falls under the temptations of libertinism and idolatry; recovers his thought; reasons aright; and conc
ludes that, as to the pursuit of pleasure and sensual delight, All Is Vanity and Vexation of Spirit.
Try then, O man, the moments to deceive
That from the womb attend thee to the grave:
For wearied Nature find some apter scheme;
Health be thy hope, and pleasure be thy theme;
From the perplexing and unequal ways
Where Study brings thee from the endless maze
Which Doubt persuades o run, forewarn’d, recede
To the gay field, and flowery path, that lead
To jocund mirth, soft joy, and careless ease:
Forsake what my instruct for what may please:
Essay amusing art and proud expense,
And make thy reason subject to thy sense.
I communed thus: the power of wealth I tried,
And all the various luxe of costly pride;
Artists and plans relieved my solemn hours:
I founded palaces and planted bowers,
Birds, fishes, beasts, of exotic kind
I to the limits of my court confined,
To trees transferr’d I gave a second birth,
And bade a foreign shade grace Judah’s earth.
Fish-ponds were made where former forests grew
And hills were levell’d to extend the view.
Rivers, diverted from their native course,
And bound with chains of artificial force,
From large cascades in pleasing tumult roll’d,
Or rose through figured stone or breathing gold.
From furthest Africa’s tormented womb
The marble brought, erects the spacious dome,
Or forms the pillars’ long-extended rows,
On which the planted grove and pensile garden grows.
The workmen here obey the master’s call,
To gild the turret and to paint the wall;
To mark the pavement there with various stone,
And on the jasper steps to rear the throne:
The spreading cedar, that an age had stood,
Supreme of trees, and mistress of the wood,
Cut down and carved, my shining roof adorns,
And Lebanon his ruin’d honour mourns.
A thousand artists show their cunning powers
To raise the wonders of the ivory towers:
A thousand maidens ply the purple loom
To weave the bed and deck the regal room;
Till Tyre confesses her exhausted store,
That on her coast the murex is no more;
Till from the Paian isle and Liby’s coast
The mountains grieve their hopes of marble lost
And India’s woods return their just complaint,
Their brood decay’d, and want of elephant.
My full design with vast expense achieved,
I came, beheld, admired, reflected, grieved:
I chid the folly of my thoughtless haste,
For, the work perfected, the joy was past.
To my new courts sad Thought did still repair,
And round my gilded roofs hung hovering Care.
In vain on silken beds I sought repose,
And Restless oft from purple couches rose;
Vexatious Thought still found my flying mind,
Nor bound by limits nor to place confined:
Haunted my nights, and terrified my days,
Stalk’d through my gardens, and pursued my ways,
Nor shut from artful bower, nor lost in winding maze.
Yet take thy bent, my soul; another sense
Indulge: add music to magnificence:
Essay if harmony may grief control,
Or power of sound prevail upon the soul.
Often our seers and poets have confess’d
That music’s force can tame the furious beast;
Can make the wolf or foaming boar restrain
His rage, the lion drop his crested main,
Attentive to the song; the lynx forget
His wrath to man, and lick the minstrel’s feet.
Are we, alas! less savage yet than these?
Else music sure may human cares appease.
I spake my purpose, and the cheerful choir
Parted their shares of harmony: the lyre
Soften’d the timbrel’s noise; the trumpet’s sound
Provoked the Dorian flute, (both sweeter found
When mix’d) the fife the viol’s notes refined,
And every strength with every grace was join’d:
Each morn they waked me with a sprightly lay;
Each evening their repeated skill express’d
Scenes of repose and images of rest;
Yet still in vain; for music gather’d thought;
But how unequal the effects it brought?
The soft ideas of the cheerful note,
Lightly received, were easily forgot;
The solemn violence of the graver sound
Knew to strike deep, and leave a lasting wound.
And now reflecting, I with grief descry
The sickly lust of the fantastic eye;
How the weak organ is with seeing cloy’d,
Flying ere night what it at noon enjoy’d.
And now (unhappy search of thought!) I found
The fickle ear soon glutted with the sound,
Condemn’d eternal changes to pursue,
Tired with the last and eager of the new.
I bade the virgins and the youth advance,
To temper music with the sprightly dance.
In vain! too low the mimic motions seem;
What takes our heart must merit our esteem.
Nature, I thought, perform’d too mean a part,
Forming her movements to the rules of art;
And vex’d I found that the musician’s hand
Had o’er the dancer’s mind too great command.
I drank; I liked it not: ’twas rage, ’twas noise;
An airy scene of transitory joys,
In vain I trusted that the flowing bowl
Would banish sorrow and enlarge the soul.
To the late revel and protracted feast
Wild dreams succeeded and disorder’d rest;
And as at dawn of morn fair reason’s light
Broke through the fumes and phantoms of the night,
What had been said, I ask’d my soul, what done?
How flow’d our mirth, and whence the source begun?
Perhaps the jest that charm’d the sprightly crowd,
And made the jovial table laugh so loud,
To some false notion owed its poor pretence,
To an ambiguous word’s percerted sense,
To a wild sonnet, or a wanton air,
Offence and torture to the sober ear,
Perhaps, alas! the pleasing stream was brought
From this man’s error, from another’s fault;
From topics which good-nature would forget,
And prudence mention with the last regret.
Add yet unnumber’d ills that lie unseen
In the pernicious draught; the word obscene
Or harsh, which once elanced must ever fly
Irrevocable: the too prompt reply,
Seed of severe distrust and fierce debate,
What we should shun, and what we ought to hate.
Add, too, the blood impoverish’d, and the course
Of health suppress’d by wine’s continued course.
Unhappy man! whom sorrow thus and rage
To different ills alternately engage;
Who drinks, alas! but to forget; nor sees
That melancholy sloth, severe disease,
Memory confused, and interrupted thought,
Death’s harbingers, lie latent in the draught;
And in the flowers that wreath the sparkling bowl
Fell adders hiss, and poisonous serpents roll.
Remains there ought untried that may remove
Si
ckness of mind, and heal the bosom? - Love!
Love yet remains; indulge his genial fire,
Cherish fair Hope, solicit young Desire,
And boldly bid thy anxious soul explore
This last great remedy’s mysterious power.
Why, therefore, hesitates my doubtful breast?
Why ceases it one moment to be bless’d?
Fly swift, my Friends; my Servants fly; employ
Your instant pains to bring our master joy.
Let all my wives and concubines be dress’d;
Let them to-night attend the royal feast;
All Israel’s beauty, all the foreign fair,
The gifts of princes, or the spoils of war:
Before their monarch they shall singly pass,
And the most worthy shall obtain the grace.
I said: the feast was served; the bowl was crown’d;
To the King’s pleasure went the mirthful round.
The women came: as custom wills they pass’d:
On one (O that distinguish’d one!) I cast
The favourite glance? O! yet my mind retains
That fond beginning of my infant pains.
Mature the virgin was, of Egypt’s race,
Grace shaped her limbs and beauty deck’d her face:
Easy her motion seem’d, serene her air;
Full, though unzoned, her bosom rose; her hair
Untied, and, ignorant of artful aid,
Adown her shoulders loosely lay display’d,
And in the jetty curls ten thousand cupids play’d.
Fix’d on her charms, and pleased that I could love,
Aid me, my Friends, contribute to improve
Your monarch’s bliss, I said: fresh roses bring
To strew my bed, till the impoverish’d Spring
Confess her want: around my amorous head
Be dropping myrrh and liquid amber shed
Till Arab has no more; from the soft lyre,
Sweet flute, and ten-string’d instrument require
Sounds of delight: and thou, fair Nymph, draw nigh,
Thou in whose graceful form and potent eye,
Thy master’s joy, long sought, at length is found,
And, as thy brow, let my desires be crown’d.
O favourite virgin, that hast warm’d the breast,
Whose sovereign dictates subjugate the East!
I said: and sudden from the golden throne,
Complete Works of Matthew Prior Page 32
