I.

GASPAR MELCHOR DE JOVELLANOS.

An able and distinguished writer in the Madrid Review has observed, that if the question were asked as to which is the first great name in modern Spanish literature, the answer must unquestionably be--Jovellanos. It seems, therefore, only a just deference to his merits, though it is but a fortuitous coincidence in the order of dates, that we have to place his name first in the series of modern Spanish poets. It is, however, to his State Papers and his writings on Political Economy that he principally owes his reputation; though it is a proud consideration for Spanish literature, that, as regards him, as well as Martinez de la Rosa and the Duke de Rivas, she has to place the names of eminent statesmen among her principal poets.

Jovellanos was born the 5th of January, 1744, at Gijon, a town in the Asturias, of which his father was Regidor or one of the chief Magistrates. His family connections were of the class called Nobles, answering to the Noblesse of France, and were moreover very influential and sufficiently wealthy. To take advantage of the preferments these offered him, he was destined in early youth, being a younger son, for the church, in which he entered into the first orders for the purpose of holding several benefices that were given him. He studied consecutively at Oviedo, Avila and Osma, where he distinguished himself so much to the satisfaction of those interested in his fortunes, that he was removed, in 1764, to the University of Alcalà de Henares, and shortly afterwards to Madrid to study law. His friends and relatives, having become aware of his great talents, had now induced him to abandon the clerical profession and engage in secular pursuits. A person of his rank in those days was not at liberty to practise as an advocate, though the young Noble, under court favour, might administer the law; and thus he was, in 1767, when only in his twenty-fourth year, appointed judge of criminal cases at Seville. In this office he conducted himself with great ability and humanity, appearing to have been the first to abandon the employment of torture for obtaining confessions, which system has scarcely yet been discarded on the Continent. As characteristic of him, it may here be added, that he is reported to have been the first of the higher magistrates in Spain who gave up the use of the official wig; so that his unusual dress, combined with his youth, made him on the bench more observed than perhaps even his talents would at first have rendered him.

Whatever objections might have been made, if cause could be found, he seems, after having served nearly ten years as judge in the criminal courts, to have been advanced, with the approbation of all parties, to the office of judge in civil cases, also at Seville. This was an office much more agreeable to his inclinations, though the salary was no higher than what he had previously enjoyed. He had, however, other duties also entrusted to him of minor character, though of proportionate emolument, and thereupon he resigned his benefices in the church, which he had held till then, and to the duties of which he had strictly attended. Beyond this act of disinterestedness, he seems to have given his brother magistrates no inconsiderable inquietude at the same time by refusing some emoluments of office to which they considered themselves entitled. But their minds were soon relieved from the apprehensions his conduct might occasion them, as at the end of four years he was, in 1778, appointed judge of criminal cases at Madrid; an office generally considered of eminent promotion, but which he accepted with regret.

In after times, every letter and every notice of Jovellanos that could be found was eagerly sought and treasured up; and from these and his own memorandums, it appears he had good reason to consider the years he passed at Seville as the happiest of his life. Honoured in his public capacity and beloved in his social circle, he passed whatever time he could spare from his official or private duties in literary pursuits. It was then he wrote or prepared most of the lighter works which entitle him to be ranked among the poets of the age; the tragedy of “Pelayo,” and comedy of “The Honourable Delinquent,” both which were highly esteemed by his countrymen, as well as most of his minor poems. He did not however confine himself to such recreations, but at the same time entered on graver studies for the public service, on which his fame was eventually established.

Shortly after Jovellanos joined the courts at Seville, he had for one of his colleagues Don Luis Ignacio Aguirre, a person of high literary attainments, who had travelled much, and brought with him, as stated by Bermudez, many works in English on Political Economy. To understand these, Jovellanos immediately, under Aguirre’s guidance, proceeded to learn the English language, of which he soon obtained a competent knowledge. He then studied the science, then newly dawning, from the works his friend afforded him, and made himself a master of it, so as to give him a name among the most eminent of its professors. Not contented with these pursuits, his active mind was still further engaged in whatever could tend to the benefit of society in the place of his labours. He seems indeed to have always had before him the consideration of what might be the fullest duties his station imposed on him, beyond the mere routine of official services. Not confining himself to these, much less giving himself up to passive enjoyments, however harmless or honourable in themselves, he seemed then and through life as ever acting under the sense of a great responsibility, as of the requirements of Him “who gave his servants authority, and to every man his work.” Thus he instituted a school at Seville for children, reformed the course of practice at the hospitals, attended to the keeping of the public walks and grounds in good order, and was foremost in every case where charity called or good services were required. Artists and men of genius found in him a friend, who, by advice and other aid, was always ready to their call; and it was observed that his only passion was for the purchase of books and pictures, of which respectively he formed good collections.

On giving up his duties at Seville, Jovellanos travelled through Andalusia, and, as was his custom in all the places he visited, made notes of whatever useful information he could obtain respecting them, many of which were afterwards published in a topographical work he assisted in bringing forward. On arriving at Madrid, where his fame had preceded him, he was at once chosen member of the different learned societies, to several of which he rendered valuable services. At Seville he had already prepared a sketch of his great work, entitled “Agrarian Law,” in which he treated of the law and tenure of land, its cultivation, and other topics connected with it. This work he then published in an extended form, in which it has been reprinted several times, separately as well as in his collected works. In the several societies he also read many papers, one of which, “On Public Diversions,” deserves to be named particularly, as containing much curious information, as well as many excellent suggestions for public advantage, on points which statesmen would do well to remember more frequently than they are in the habit of doing.

On leaving Seville, Jovellanos regretted that he had to engage again in criminal cases, for which he had a natural aversion. After fulfilling these duties at Madrid a year and a half, he therefore sought another appointment, and obtained one in the Council of Military Orders, more agreeable to his inclinations. In this office it was his duty to attend to the affairs of the four military orders of Spain, and in his visits to their properties and other places on their behalf, he was entrusted with various commissions, which he fulfilled with his accustomed zeal. In those visits he had to go much to his native province, and he took advantage of his influence to make roads, which were much needed there, and the benefits of which he lived to see appreciated. He incited the members of the Patriotic Society of Oviedo, and others connected with the Asturias, to explore the mineral wealth of the country, rich in mines of coal and iron, then scarcely known. For the study of such pursuits he founded the Asturian Institute, and raised subscriptions to have two young men educated abroad in mathematics and mining, who were afterwards to teach those sciences at the Institute. Every day of his life indeed seems to have been employed on some object of public utility, or in studies connected with such objects; following the ancient maxim to do nothing trifling or imperfectly:--Μηδὲν ἐνέργημα εἰκῆ, μηδὲν ἄλλως ἢ κατὰ θεωρήμα συμπληρωτικὸν τῆς τέχνης ἐνεργεῖθω.

Though exact in the fulfilment of his official duties, and other various commissions entrusted to him by the government to report on the state of the provinces, it is wonderful to consider the industry with which he followed other pursuits. He studied botany and architecture, on which he wrote several treatises; and though each of those subjects would have been a sufficient task for ordinary men, to him they were only relaxations from his favourite science of political economy.

Bent on the promotion of law and other reforms in the state, he became connected with the Conde de Cabarrus, who, though a Frenchman by birth, had obtained high employments in Spain, and who, as a person of superior talent and discernment, was also convinced of the necessity of such measures. As too often is the case with able and honest statesmen, the Conde de Cabarrus fell, while attempting to effect these reforms, under the intrigues of his enemies, and Jovellanos became involved in his disgrace. He had been sent, in 1790, into the provinces in fulfilment of the duties of his office; when, having heard on the road of his friend’s ill fortune, he returned at once to offer him whatever assistance he might have in his power. He had, however, no sooner arrived in Madrid, where the Conde was under arrest, than, without being allowed to communicate with him, Jovellanos received a royal order to return immediately to his province.

The terms in which this order was conveyed convinced Jovellanos that he was to share in the disgrace of his friend, and to consider himself banished from court. He therefore proceeded philosophically to settle himself in his paternal abode with his brother, their father being now deceased, with his books and effects, and engaged in the improvement of their family estates. His expectations proved correct, as in this honourable exile he had to pass seven years, though not altogether unemployed, as he had several commissions entrusted to him similar to those he had previously discharged. But still Jovellanos, unbowed by political reverses, continued the same ardent promoter of public improvement. For the Asturian Institute, which he had founded for the purpose of teaching principally mineralogy and metallurgy, and which he personally superintended, he wrote his very able work on Public Instruction, and compiled elementary grammars of the French and English languages, in which he showed himself proficient to a degree truly astonishing.

In his official duties, having to go carefully in inspection over the Asturias and other neighbouring provinces, he noted his observations in diaries, which have been fortunately preserved, and which contain much valuable information. In these he has gathered all he could learn relative to the productions of the provinces, and the state in which he found them and the people, as embodied in his reports thereon to the government, with an account of the ancient remains and public buildings, making copies of whatever he found most interesting in the archives of the several convents, cathedrals and corporations. Some of these copies now possess a peculiar value, from the damages that have since accrued to many of the originals from time and the events of the subsequent wars.

If it were not for the disparagement of being considered in banishment, Jovellanos could have felt himself contented. He had not only honourable employment, as before stated, but he also received several notices of approbation from the government, especially as regarded the Institute, to which notices he perhaps paid a higher regard than they deserved. He seems himself to have felt this; for in one of his letters he writes--“I will not deny that I desire some public mark of appreciation by the government, to gain by it that kind of sanction which merit needs in the opinion of some weak minds. But I see that this is a vain suggestion, and that posterity will not judge me by my titles, but by my works.”

This was written on a rumour having reached Gijon of the probability of his being soon restored to favour at court. Those under whose intrigues he had fallen had now passed away in their turn: a favourite of a more powerful grade was in the ascendant, Godoy, the Prince of the Peace, to whose mind had been suggested the advisability of gathering round him persons of acknowledged probity and knowledge, for the support of his government. Jovellanos had returned home, in October 1797, from one of his journeys of inspection, when he found the whole town in a state of rejoicing. On inquiring the cause, he was told it was because news had been received of his nomination as ambassador to Russia. A few days afterwards the rejoicings were renewed, on the further intelligence of his being nominated a member of the government itself, as Minister of Grace and Justice.

In this office it might have been hoped that a happier career was before him; but evil fortune on the contrary now followed him, and more fatally than ever. His former banishment from court was owing to the endeavours he had made to remove those abuses into which all human institutions have a tendency to fall, rendering frequently necessary a correction of those abuses, to preserve what was most valuable in the institutions themselves. His next misfortune arose from personal differences with the reigning favourite, whose greater influence it was his error not to have perceived. Jovellanos had been restored to favour at the instance of Godoy; but as this was without his seeking, he felt himself under no obligation to maintain him as the head of the government, for which he was totally unfit. Jovellanos joined in an opposition to him, which for a short time succeeded in depriving Godoy of office. But his influence at court continued, and thus Jovellanos was in his turn dismissed, after holding the office of minister only about eight months, and ordered to return to Gijon.

Unhappily the favourite carried his resentment further; and Jovellanos was, on the 13th of March, 1801, arrested in his bed at an early hour of the morning, and sent as a prisoner through the country to Barcelona, thence to Mallorca, where first in the Carthusian convent, and afterwards in the castle of Bellver more strictly, he was closely confined, without any regard paid to his demands to know the accusation against him. Here his health was severely affected, as well as his feelings outraged, by the unjust treatment to which he was subjected. Still he was not one to sink under such evils. He was rather one of those “who, going through the valley of misery, make it a well.” He turned accordingly to the resources of literature, and employed himself in writing and translating from Latin and French several valuable treatises on architecture, and other works, on the history of the island, and of the convent, besides several poems, among which the Epistle to Bermudez, his biographer, deserves particular notice.

Another work he then wrote is no less deserving of mention, showing the attention he had paid to English affairs, entitled “A Letter on English Architecture, and that called Gothic,” in which he treated of English architecture from the time of the Druids, dividing it into the Saxon, Gothic and modern periods. He describes the buildings according to the epochs, especially St. Paul’s and others of the seventeenth century, coming down to the picturesque style of gardening then adopted in England, with notices of the different sculptors, painters and engravers, as well as architects, and also of the authors who had written on the Fine Arts in England. This work has not been published, but Bermudez states he had the manuscript.

After being seven years a prisoner, Jovellanos was in 1808 released on the abdication of Charles IV. and the consequent fall of Godoy. This release was announced to him in terms of official brevity, and he replied by an earnest demand to be subjected to a trial, for the purpose of having the cause of his imprisonment made manifest. Before, however, an answer could be returned, Ferdinand had, under Napoleon’s dictation, also ceased to reign, and Jovellanos was called upon to take a prominent place in the intrusive government of king Joseph. This he could not be supposed from his antecedent character to be willing to accept. On the contrary, being chosen by the National party a member of the Central Junta, he engaged with his accustomed energy on the other side until the Regency was formed, principally under his influence, to carry on the struggles for independence.

On this being effected, Jovellanos wished to retire to his native city apart from public affairs. At his advanced age, with cataracts formed in his eyes, and after his laborious life and painful imprisonment, rest was necessary for him; but he could not attain it. One of his first efforts in the Central Junta was to draw up a paper on the form of government to be adopted, and this he strongly recommended to be founded as nearly as possible on the model of the English constitution. But he was far too enlightened for the race of men with whom he had to act, and his prepossessions for English institutions were made a reproach against him, observes the editor of the last edition of his works, even by those who were striving to introduce the principles of the Constituent Assembly into Spain.

The miserable intrigues and jealousies of the leading members of the National party caused Jovellanos much anxiety. But he had fulfilled his duties as a Deputy, and those having ceased, he left Cadiz in February, 1810, to return to the Asturias, in a small sailing vessel. After a long and dangerous passage, during which they were in great danger of shipwreck, they arrived at Muros in Galicia, in which province he had to remain more than a year, in consequence of the Asturias being in the possession of the French, to whom he had now become doubly obnoxious.

In July, 1811, however, the French having left that part of Spain, Jovellanos was enabled to return to his native city, where he was again received as he always had been with every token of popular respect. He seems to have been always looked upon there with undeviating favour and gratitude, as their most honourable citizen and public benefactor. No one knew of his coming, says his biographer, but he was observed to enter the church, and kneel before the altar near his family burying-place, when the whole town was roused simultaneously, and a spontaneous illumination of the houses took place, with other tokens of public congratulations and rejoicing.

Here he now hoped to have a peaceful asylum for his latter years, engaged in the objects of public utility for which he had formerly laboured. But those labours were to be begun again. His favourite “Asturian Institute,” which he truly said, in one of his discourses, was identified with his existence, had been totally dismantled and used for barracks by the French. Having obtained authority from the Regency to do so, he began to put the building again into repair, and collect together the teachers and scholars. Having done this, he announced by circulars that it would be reopened the 20th of November following, when the news of the French returning compelled him again to fly on the 6th of that month. He set sail in a miserable coasting vessel for Ribadeo, where a ship was ready to take him to Cadiz or England as he might desire, in virtue of instructions given by the Regency, and in accordance with the English government. But further misfortunes only awaited him. The vessel in which he had to take refuge was cast on shore in a storm near the small port of Vega, on the confines of Asturias; and there, worn out with fatigue, and under a pulmonary affection, brought on by exposure to the weather, he died the 27th of November, 1811, a few days after his landing.

The news of his death was spread rapidly through Spain, notwithstanding the interrupted state of communications, and was everywhere received with regret as a national calamity. Those who had opposed his views did justice to the uprightness of his motives and character; and the Cortes, now assembled, passed a decree, by which in favour of his patriotism and public services, he was declared Benemerito de la Patria. This beautiful and classical acknowledgement of his worth was then also remarkable as a novelty, though it has been since rendered less honourable, by being awarded to others little deserving of peculiar distinction.

The life of Jovellanos, as intimately connected with the history of his country, is well deserving of extended study. But our province is rather to consider him as a poet. Eminent as a statesman for unimpeachable integrity and for wise administration of justice, he carried prudent reforms into every department under his control, in which, though subjected to many attacks, he proved himself, by a memoir published shortly before his death, in justification of his public conduct, to have been fully warranted. This memoir, for heartfelt eloquence, deserves to be ranked with Burke’s Letter to the Duke of Bedford. Jovellanos has been compared by his countrymen to Cicero. A writer in the Foreign Quarterly Review has instituted an ingenious parallel between him and Montesquieu. With either, or with Burke, he may be observed to have possessed the philosophy and feeling, which give eloquence its chief value and effect.

As a prose writer, Jovellanos, for elegance of style and depth of thought, may be pronounced without a rival in Spanish literature. As a dramatist, he only gave the public a tragedy and comedy, both of which continue in much favour with the public. The latter, “The Honourable Delinquent” is particularly esteemed; but it is a melodrame rather than a comedy, according to our conceptions. It turns on the principal character having been forced into fighting a duel, and who, having killed his opponent, is sentenced to die; but after the usual suspenses receives a pardon from the king. There are several interesting scenes and much good writing in the piece; but no particular delineation of character, to bring it any more than the other into the higher class of dramatic art. It has, however, been observed, that it only needs to have been written in verse to make it a perfect performance, and this alone shows the hold it must have on the Spanish reader.

As a poet, Jovellanos is chiefly to be commemorated for his Satires. Two of these, in which he lashes the vices and follies of society at Madrid,--“girt with the silent crimes of capitals,”--are pronounced by the critic in the Madrid Review to be “highly finished” compositions. They were, in fact, the only poems he himself published, and those anonymously. With the strength of Juvenal, they have also his faults, and abound too much in local allusions to be suited for translation. In somewhat the same style were several epistles he addressed to different friends, of which the one written to his friend and biographer Bermudez has been chosen for this work, as most characteristic of the author. Like his other Satires, it is written in blank verse; which style, though not entirely unknown in Spain, he had the merit of first bringing into favour. He probably gained his predilection for it from his study of Milton, for whose works he had great admiration, and of whose Paradise Lost he translated the first book into Spanish verse.

The Epistle to Bermudez is remarkable as written with much earnestness, in censure not only of the common vices and follies of mankind, but in also going beyond ordinary satirists into the sphere of the moralist, to censure the faults of the learned. What our great modern preacher Dr. Chalmers has termed the “practical atheism” of the learned, was indeed the subject of rebuke from many English writers, as Young and Cowper, but may be looked for in vain in the works of others. Jovellanos had no doubt read the former, at least in the translation of his friend Escoiquiz, and meditated on the sentiment,--“An undevout astronomer is mad,” even if not in the original. It can scarcely be supposed that he was so well acquainted with English literature as to have read Cowper; but there are several passages in his Epistles of similar sentiments. The praise of wisdom especially, in the one to Bermudez,--by which we may understand, was meant the wisdom urged by the kingly preacher of Jerusalem, or the rule of conduct founded on right principles, in opposition to mere learning,--is also that of our Christian poet:--

Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, Have ofttimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men; Wisdom in minds attentive to their own.

In his hours of leisure, Jovellanos employed himself in composing occasional verses at times, for the amusement of the society in which he lived, without thinking of their being ever sought for publication. These, however, have been lately gathered together with much industry and exactness in the last edition of his collected works, published by Mellado at Madrid in five volumes, 1845. As the last and fullest, it is also the best collection of them, four other editions of them previously published having been comparatively very deficient with regard to them. Besides those, there were various reprints of several others of his works, which were all received with much favour, both in Spain and abroad.

Jovellanos was never married, and in private life seems to have considered himself under the obligations of the profession for which he was originally intended. His character altogether is one to which it would be difficult to find a parallel, and is an honour to Spain as well as to Spanish literature. His virtues are now unreservedly admitted by all parties of his countrymen, who scarcely ever name him except with the epithet of the illustrious Jovellanos, to which designation he is indeed justly entitled, no less for his writings, than for his many public and private virtues and services to his country. These may be forgotten in the claims of other generations and succeeding statesmen; but his writings must ever remain to carry his memory wherever genius and worth can be duly appreciated.

The charge of writing a memoir of Jovellanos was entrusted by the Historical Society of Madrid to Cean Bermudez, who fulfilled it with affectionate zeal, Madrid, 1814; several other notices of his life have appeared in Spain, including that by Quintana, which has been copied by Wolf. The English reader will find an excellent one in the Foreign Quarterly Review, No. 10, February, 1830; and the Spanish scholar a further very eloquent encomium on his talents and merits in Quintana’s second Introduction to his collection of Spanish Poetry.

JOVELLANOS.

EPISTLE TO CEAN BERMUDEZ, ON THE VAIN DESIRES AND STUDIES OF MEN.

Arise, Bermudo, bid thy soul beware: Thee raging Fortune watches to ensnare; And, lulling others’ hopes in dreams supine, A fell assault she meditates on thine. The cruel blow which suffer’d from her rage Thy poor estate will not her wrath assuage, Till from thy breast her fury may depose The blissful calm to innocence it owes. Such is her nature, that she loathes the sight Of happiness for man in her despite. Thus to thine eyes insidious she presents The phantasies of good, with which she paints The road to favour, and would fain employ Her arts thy holds of virtue to destroy. Ah! heed her not. See her to rob thee stand Ev’n of the happiness now in thy hand. ’Tis not of her; she cannot it bestow: She makes men fortunate;--but happy? No. Thou think’st it strange! Dost thou the names confound Of Fortune with felicity as bound? Like the poor idiots, who so foolish gaze On the vain gifts and joys which she displays, So cunning to exchange for real good. O cheat of human wisdom! say withstood, What does she promise, but what beings born To our high destiny should hold in scorn? In reason’s balance her best offers weigh, And see what worthless lightness they betray.

There are who, burning in the track of fame, Wear themselves ruthless for a sounding name. Buy it with blood, and fire, and ruin wide; And if with horrid arm is death descried, Waving his pennon as from some high tower, Their hearts swell proud, and trampling fierce they scour The field o’er brothers’ bodies as of foes! Then sing a triumph, while in secret flows The tear they shed as from an anguish’d heart.

Less lofty, but more cunning on his part, Another sighs for ill-secure command: With flatteries solicitously plann’d, Follows the air of favour, and his pride In adulation vile he serves to hide, To exalt himself; and if he gain his end His brow on all beneath will haughty bend; And sleep, and joy, and inward peace, the price To splendour of command, will sacrifice: Yet fears the while, uncertain in his joy, Lest should some turn of Fortune’s wheel destroy His power in deep oblivion overthrown.

Another seeks, with equal ardour shown, For lands, and gold in store. Ah! lands and gold, With tears how water’d, gain’d with toils untold! His thirst unquench’d, he hoards, invests, acquires; But with his wealth increased are his desires; And so much more he gains, for more will long: Thus, key in hand, his coffers full among; Yet poor he thinks himself, and learns to know His state is poor, because he thinks it so.

Another like illusion his to roam From wife and friends, who flying light and home, To dedicate his vigils the long night In secret haunts of play makes his delight, With vile companions. Betwixt hope and fear His anxious breast is fluctuating drear. See, with a throbbing heart and trembling hand, There he has placed his fortune, all to stand Upon the turning of a die! ’Tis done: The lot is cast; what is it? has he won? Increased is his anxiety and care! But if reverse, O Heaven! in deep despair, O’erwhelm’d in ruin, he is doom’d to know A life of infamy, or death of woe.

And is he happier, who distracted lies A slave beneath the light of beauty’s eyes? Who fascinated watches, haunts, and prays, And at the cost of troubles vast essays, ’Mid doubts and fears, a fleeting joy to gain? Love leads him not: his breast could ne’er profane Admit Love’s purer flame; ’tis passion’s fire Alone that draws him, and in wild desire He blindly headlong follows in pursuit: And what for all his toils can he compute? If gain’d at length, he only finds the prize Bring death and misery ev’n in pleasure’s guise.

Then look on him, abandon’d all to sloth, Who vacant sees the hours pass long and loth O’er his so useless life. He thinks them slow, Alas! and wishes they would faster go. He knows not how to employ them; in and out He comes, and goes, and smokes, and strolls about, To gossip; turns, returns, with constant stress Wearying himself to fly from weariness. But now retired, sleep half his life employs, And fain would all the day, whose light annoys. Fool! wouldst thou know the sweetness of repose? Seek it in work. The soul fastidious grows Ever in sloth, self-gnawing and oppress’d, And finds its torment even in its rest.

But if to Bacchus and to Ceres given, Before his table laid, from morn to even, At ease he fills himself, as held in stall: See him his stomach make his god, his all! Nor earth nor sea suffice his appetite; Ill-tongued and gluttonous the like unite: With such he passes his vain days along, In drunken routs obscene, with toast and song, And jests and dissolute delights; his aim To gorge unmeasured, riot without shame. But soon with these begins to blunt and lose Stomach and appetite: he finds refuse Offended Nature, as insipid food, The savours others delicacies view’d. Vainly from either India he seeks For stimulants; in vain from art bespeaks Fresh sauces, which his palate will reject; His longings heighten’d, but life’s vigour wreck’d; And thus worn out in mid career the cost, Before life ends he finds his senses lost.

O bitter pleasures! O, what madness sore Is theirs who covet them, and such implore Humbly before a lying deity! How the perfidious goddess to agree But mocks them! Though perhaps at first she smile, Exempt from pain and misery the long while She never leaves them, and in place of joy Gives what they ask, with weariness to cloy. If trusted, soon is found experience taught What ill-foreseen condition they have sought. Niggard their wishes ever to fulfil, Fickle in favour, vacillating still, Inconstant, cruel, she afflicts today, And casts down headlong to distress a prey, Whom yesterday she flatter’d to upraise: And now another from the mire she sways Exalted to the clouds; but raised in vain, With louder noise to cast him down again. Seest thou not there a countless multitude, Thronging her temple round, and oft renew’d, Seeking admittance, and to offer fraught With horrid incense, for their idol brought? Fly from her; let not the contagion find The base example enter in thy mind. Fly, and in virtue thy asylum seek To make thee happy: trust the words I speak. There is no purer happiness to gain Than the sweet calm the just from her attain. If in prosperity their fortunes glide, She makes them free from arrogance and pride; In mid estate be tranquil and content; In adverse be resign’d whate’er the event: Implacable, if Envy’s hurricane O’erwhelm them in misfortunes, even then She hastes to save them, and its rage control; With lofty fortitude the nobler soul Enduing faithful; and if raised to sight, At length they find the just reward requite, Say is there aught to hope for prize so great As the immortal crown for which they wait?

But is this feeling then, I hear thee cry, That elevates my soul to virtue high, This anxious wish to investigate and know, Is it blameworthy as those passions low? Why not to that for happiness repair? Wilt thou condemn it? No, who would so dare, That right would learn his origin and end? Knowledge and Virtue, sisters like, descend From heaven to perfect man in nobleness; And far removing him, Bermudo, yes! From vice and error, they will make him free, Approaching even to the Deity. But seek them not, in that false path to go Which cunning Fortune will to others show. Where then? to Wisdom’s temple only haste; There thou wilt find them. Her invoke; and traced, See how she smiles! press forward; learn to use The intercession of the kindly Muse To make her be propitious. But beware, That in her favour thou escape the snare, The worship, which the vain adorer pays. She never him propitiously surveys, Who insolently seeking wealth or fame, Burns impure incense on her altar’s flame. Dost thou not see how many turn aside From her of learning void, but full of pride? Alas for him, who seeking truth, for aid Embraces only a delusive shade! In self conceit who venturing to confide, Nor virtue gain’d, nor reason for his guide, Leaves the right path, precipitate to stray Where error’s glittering phantoms lead the way! Can then the wise hope happiness to feel In the chimæras sought with so much zeal? Ah, no! they all are vanities and cheats! See him, whom anxious still the morning greets, Measuring the heavens, and of the stars that fly The shining orbits! With a sleepless eye, Hasty the night he reckons, and complains Of the day’s light his labour that detains; Again admires night’s wonders, but reflects Ne’er on the hand that fashion’d and directs. Beyond the moons of Uranus he bends His gaze; beyond the Ship, the Bear, ascends: But after all this, nothing more feels he: He measures, calculates, but does not see The heavens obeying their great Author’s will, Whirling around all silent; robbing still The hours from life, ungratefully so gone, Till one to undeceive him soon draws on.

Another, careless of the stars, descries The humble dust, to scan and analyse. His microscope he grasps, and sets, and falls On some poor atom; and a triumph calls, If should the fool the magic instrument Of life or motion slightest sign present, Its form to notice, in the glass to pore, What his deluded fancy saw before; Yields to the cheat, and gives to matter base The power, forgot the Lord of all to trace. Thus raves the ingrate. Another the meanwhile To scrutinize pretends, in learning’s style, The innate essence of the soul sublime. How he dissects it, regulates in time! As if it were a subtile fluid, known To him its action, functions, strength and tone; But his own weakness shows in this alone.

’Twas given to man to view the heavens on high, But not in them the mysteries of the sky; Yet boldly dares his reason penetrate The darksome chaos, o’er it to dilate. With staggering step, thus scorning heavenly light, In error’s paths he wanders, lost in night. Confused, but not made wise, he pores about, Betwixt opinion wavering and doubt. Seeking for light, and shadows doom’d to feel, He ponders, studies, labours to unseal The secret, and at length finds his advance; The more he learns, how great his ignorance. Of matter, form, or motion, or the soul, Or moments that away incessant roll, Or the unfathomable sea of space, Without a sky, without a shore to trace, Nothing he reaches, nothing comprehends, Nor finds its origin, nor where it tends; But only sinking, all absorb’d may see In the abysses of eternity.

Perhaps, thence stepping more disorder’d yet, He rushes his presumptuous flight to set Ev’n to the throne of God! with his dim eyes The Great Inscrutable to scrutinize; Sounding the gulf immense, that circles round The Deity, he ventures o’er its bound. What can he gain in such a pathless course But endless doubts, his ignorance the source? He seeks, proposes, argues, thinking vain. The ignorance that knew to raise, must fain Be able to resolve them. Hast thou seen Attempts that e’er have more audacious been? What! shall an atom such as he excel To comprehend the Incomprehensible? Without more light than reason him assign’d, The limits of immensity to find? Infinity’s beginning, middle, end? Dost Thou, Eternal Lord, then condescend To admit man to Thy councils, or to be With his poor reason in Thy sanctuary? A task so great as this dost Thou confide To his weak soul? ’Tis not so, be relied, My friend. To know God in His works above, To adore Him, melt in gratitude and love; The blessings o’er thee lavish’d to confess, To sing His glory, and His name to bless;-- Such be thy study, duty and employ; And of thy life and reason such the joy. Such is the course that should the wise essay, While only fools will from it turn away. Wouldst thou attain it? easy the emprise; Perfect thy being, and thou wilt be wise: Inform thy reason, that its aid impart Thee truth eternal: purify thy heart, To love and follow it: thy study make Thyself, but seek thy Maker’s light to take: There is high Wisdom’s fountain found alone: There thou thy origin wilt find thee shown; There in His glorious work to find the place ’Tis thine to occupy: there thou mayst trace Thy lofty destiny, the crown declared Of endless life, for virtue that’s prepared.

Bermudo, there ascend: there seek to find That truth and virtue in the heavenly mind, Which from His love and wisdom ever flow. If elsewhere thou dost seek to find them, know, That darkness only thou wilt have succeed, In ignorance and error to mislead. Thou of this love and wisdom mayst the rays Discern in all His works, His power and praise That tell around us, in the wondrous scale Of high perfection which they all detail; The order which they follow in the laws, That bind and keep them, and that show their cause, The ends of love and pity in their frame: These their Creator’s goodness all proclaim. Be this thy learning, this thy glory’s view; If virtuous, thou art wise and happy too. Virtue and truth are one, and in them bound Alone may ever happiness be found. And they can only, with a conscience pure, Give to thy soul to enjoy it, peace secure; True liberty in moderate desires, And joy in all to do thy work requires; To do well in content, and calmly free: All else is wind and misery, vanity.

TO GALATEA’S BIRD.

O silly little bird! who now On Galatea’s lap hast got, My unrequited love allow To envy thee thy lot.

Of the same lovely mistress both Alike the captives bound are we; But thou for thy misfortune loth, Whilst I am willingly.

Thou restless in thy prison art, Complaining ever of thy pains; While I would kisses, on my part, Ev’n lavish on my chains.

But, ah! how different treating us, Has scornful Fate the lot assign’d! With me she’s always tyrannous, But with thee just as kind.

A thousand nights of torment borne, A thousand days of martyrdom, By thousand toils and pains, her scorn I cannot overcome.

Inestimable happiness, A mere caprice for thee has got; So bathed in tears, in my distress, I envy thee thy lot.

And there the while, with daring heel, Thou tread’st in arrant confidence, Without a heart or hope to feel, Or instinct’s common sense.

In the embraces, which my thought, Not even in its boldest vein, Could scarce to hope for have been brought, Presumptuous to attain.

TO ENARDA.--I.

Lovely Enarda! young and old All quarrel with me daily: Because I write to thee they scold, Perhaps sweet verses gaily.

“A judge should be more grave,” they say, As each my song accuses; “From such pursuits should turn away As trifling with the Muses.”

“How wofully you waste your time!” Preach others; but, all slighting, The more they scold, the more I rhyme; Still I must keep on writing.

Enarda’s heart and mind to praise, All others far excelling, My rustic pipe its note shall raise, In well-toned measures telling.

I wish, extolling to the skies, Her beauty’s high perfection To sing, and all her witcheries Of feature and complexion:

With master pencil to portray Her snowy neck and forehead, And eyes that round so roguish play, And lips like carmine florid.

And let the Catos go at will, To where they most prefer it, Who withering frowns and sneerings still Give me for my demerit.

In spite of all, with wrinkled pate, The censures each rehearses, Enarda I will celebrate For ever in my verses.

TO ENARDA.--II.

Cruel Enarda! all in vain, In vain, thou view’st with joyful eyes The tears that show my grief and pain, Thyself exulting in my sighs.

The burning tears that bathe my cheek, With watching shrunk, with sorrow pale, Thy lightness and caprice bespeak, Thy guilt and perfidy bewail.

Those signs of sorrow, on my face, Are not the obsequies portray’d Of a lost good, nor yet the trace Of tribute to thy beauties paid.

They are the evidence alone There fix’d thy falsehood to proclaim; Of thy deceits the horror shown, Of my delirium the shame.

I weep not now thy rigours o’er, Nor feel regret, that lost to me Are the returns, which false before Thou gavest, or favours faithlessly.

I weep o’er my delusions blind; I mourn the sacrifices made, And incense to a god unkind On an unworthy altar laid.

I weep the memory o’er debased Of my captivity to mourn, And all the weight and shame disgraced Of such vile fetters to have borne.

Ever to my lorn mind return’d Are thoughts of homage offer’d ill, Disdains ill borne, affection spurn’d, And sighs contemn’d, recurring still.

Then, ah, Enarda! all in vain Thou think’st to please thee with my grief: Love, who now looks on me again With eyes of pity and relief,

A thousand times has me accost, As thus my tears to censure now, “To lose them thou hast nothing lost; Poor creature! why then weepest thou?”