Classic Poem

Whence the delight, sweet Infancy,
That each fond eye derives from thee?
Each feature of thy face is fair;
But not a line of soul is there:
No sentiment those eyes display;
Nor Fancy's flame, nor Judgment's ray;
All void they roll, the blanks of mind,
Nor wit, nor wisdom, there I find:
Nor in their vacant circle lie
Or friendship, or philanthropy;
In thy contracted bosom's space
Scarce e'en thy mother holds a place:
Yet each fond eye, sweet Infancy,
Delights to bend its look on thee.

I blush to tell the reason why;
I blush for frail Humanity.
So oft the sense that time supplies
Proves but capacity of vice;
A power to love and to believe
Th' illusions that to wrong deceive;
A mental light that basely shines,
To guide the steps of dark designs;
A miner's lamp, low paths to light,
Deeds under ground, the works of night;
We turn from vice-encumber'd sense,
To smile on empty innocence.

Ah, say, — when man has mind attain'd,
What has the ripen'd creature gain'd?
What are the lines of thought he wears?
Furrows of dark, uncomely cares.
Now that it speaks, what says his eye?
Perhaps it looks the silent lie;
Or ugly Pride deforms its glance;
Or Envy bends its ray askance;
Or plotting Malice knits the brow,
And o'er the darken'd ball draws low;
Or open Fury's dreadful glare,
Darting fierce sparkles, lightens there!

This scene of things, indignant, scan,
See Man, throughout, the pest of Man!
On yon cane-planted clustering shores,
Round which the western billow roars,
That whip, whose lash so loud resounds,
'Tis MAN that lifts, 'tis MAN it wounds!
The wretch in that dark room who pines,
'Tis not Disease, 'tis MAN confines!
Those corses yonder plain that strew,
'Twas MAN , and not the tiger, slew!
Fir'd cities blacken heaven with smoke;
'Twas MAN'S red light'ning dealt the stroke,

Eager, or gold, or power to gain,
What moral checks his heat restrain?
Onward with furious haste he speeds,
And cares not over whom he treads.
When Force denies her open aid,
He asks of Fraud her coward shade.
What traps to catch his coming prey,
Wily he lays athwart the way!
See him, to win his sordid aim,
Profaning Friendship's hallowed name!
If to be servile speed his ends,
How low the servile spirit bends!
See godlike man, " erect and tall, "
Into an abject reptile fall!
The meanness that degrades his heart
Spreads vileness o'er each tainted part,
His limbs, his tongue, his face, his eyes;
He bows, and crawls, and smiles, and lies!
In Traffic's sphere, that school of snares,
Extolling, good or ill, his wares,
He learns the credulous to cheat,
With smooth and eloquent deceit.
Each rival stirs his fiercest hate;
To work his fall, he lies in wait;
Assassin-like, with secret blow,
He lays his wounded fortunes low.
If, born to lift ambitious eyes,
He seeks in mystic courts to rise,
Of his dark breast each shrouded thought
Is wrapt in all the shades of plot:
He walks, a gloomy foe to light,
Obscene of mind, a man of night.
If gold, deriv'd from human ills,
(Heart-steeling source!) his coffer fills,
Those ills he views with glistening eyes!
Exulting hails them as they rise!
And, acting all we paint of hell,
Attempts their mournful sum to swell!
If adding clouds to clouded laws,
And whitening o'er the blackest cause,
His stream of affluence supply;
Sworn foe of beauteous amity,
He smiles on all the broils of life,
And feeds, like Discord's fiend, the strife!
Or if he draw his growing wealth
From others' loss of valued health,
The sickening crowd with joy he sees;
Far more their foe than their disease!
More swift to spoil them than relieve,
Less skill'd to save them than deceive,
By other arts than those that heal,
He builds on human woes his weal.
See, when of wealth or power possest,
What hateful passions stain his breast!
Mark the proud scorn that fills his eye,
As dowerless Virtue passes by!
Behold the human spirit broke
Beneath his hard, domestic yoke!
Or, rais'd to yet more wide command,
And made the lord of all the land,
View him uprear his lofty head,
And on a prostrate nation tread,
Their hands with iron fetters bind;
With prejudice enchain their mind;
Studious to lengthen Error's shade,
Forbid the light of Truth to spread;
Least by that light the slaves should see,
They are not what they ought to be.

Hence the delight, sweet Infancy,
That each fond eye derives from thee.
Though no august, illustrious guest
Vouchsafe to lodge within thy breast;
Though Virtue's azure mantle, there,
Nor Truth with sunshine-vest appear;
Yet there we mark, with mild delight,
The Maid that wears the robe of white.

From stain thy spotless heart is free:
No tongue hath ill to tell of thee.
Nor crimes remembered bid thee weep,
Nor crimes projected break thy sleep.
No sordid passions odious heat
Hath made, as yet, thy breast its seat.
This world, our vice so dark hath made,
Owes, yet, to thine no added shade.
'Mid the wide scene of barbarous deeds,
No wound, of thy inflicting, bleeds.
Not one of all the injur'd throng
Calls thee the author of his wrong.
No wretch, to want and slavery born,
Hath had from thee a look of scorn;
Or dropt the proud indignant tear,
Thine insolence of rule to bear;
Or, with successless plaint, implor'd
A morsel from thy loaded board.
No falsehood in that aspect smiles;
Those lips no adulation oils;
Thy guileless eyes thine heart declare;
Index of all that passes there:
No physiognomy we need,
Thy bosom's bottom clear to read.

For this, each eye, sweet Infancy,
Delights to bend its look on thee!
Since stronger souls their strength employ,
And strain their powers but to destroy:
Complacence turns her view from thence
To feebleness and innocence.
Since vigorous falcons tyrants are,
The hovering terror of the air;
Since eagles dip their beaks in blood,
And make their meal on throbbing food;
From them the falling eye of Love
Drops to the weak, but harmless dove.

It glads Affection's soul to see
The sharers of her smile agree:
And he whose heart from blot is clear,
And to whose bosom both are dear,
(What seldom long remain allied,
What life's fell scenes too soon divide,)
Is pleas'd to catch, while yet he can,
United, innocence and man.