| |
| NOT in the lucid intervals of life | |
| That come but as a curse to party strife; | |
| Not in some hour when Pleasure with a sigh | |
| Of languor puts his rosy garland by; | |
| Not in the breathing-times of that poor slave | 5 |
| Who daily piles up wealth in Mammon’s cave— | |
| Is Nature felt, or can be; nor do words, | |
| Which practised talent readily affords, | |
| Prove that her hand has touched responsive chords; | |
| Nor has her gentle beauty power to move | 10 |
| With genuine rapture and with fervent love | |
| The soul of genius, if he dare to take | |
| Life’s rule from passion craved for passion’s sake; | |
| Untaught that meekness is the cherished bent | |
| Of all the truly great and all the innocent. | 15 |
| |
| But who is innocent? By grace divine, | |
| Not otherwise, O Nature, we are thine, | |
| Through good and evil thine, in just degree | |
| Of rational and manly sympathy. | |
| To all that earth from pensive hearts is stealing, | 20 |
| And Heaven is now to gladdened eyes revealing, | |
| Add every charm the universe can show | |
| Through every change its aspects undergo; | |
| Care may be respited, but not repealed; | |
| No perfect cure grows on that bounded field. | 25 |
| Vain is the pleasure, a false calm the peace, | |
| If He, through whom alone our conflicts cease, | |
| Our virtuous hopes without relapse advance, | |
| Come not to speed the Soul’s deliverance; | |
| To the distempered Intellect refuse | 30 |
| His gracious help, or give what we abuse. | |
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