Poem by William Collins

The Manners

          AN ODE.

  Farewell, for clearer ken design'd,
  The dim-discover'd tracts of mind;
  Truths which, from action's paths retired,
  My silent search in vain required!
  No more my sail that deep explores; 
  No more I search those magic shores;
  What regions part the world of soul,
  Or whence thy streams, Opinion, roll:
  If e'er I round such fairy field,
  Some power impart the spear and shield, 
  At which the wizard Passions fly;
  By which the giant Follies die!

    Farewell the porch whose roof is seen
  Arch'd with the enlivening olive's green:
  Where Science, prank'd in tissued vest, 
  By Reason, Pride, and Fancy drest,
  Comes, like a bride, so trim array'd,
  To wed with Doubt in Plato's shade!

    Youth of the quick uncheated sight,
  Thy walks, Observance, more invite! 
  O thou who lovest that ampler range,
  Where life's wide prospects round thee change,
  And, with her mingling sons allied,
  Throw'st the prattling page aside,
  To me, in converse sweet, impart 
  To read in man the native heart;
  To learn, where Science sure is found,
  From Nature as she lives around;
  And, gazing oft her mirror true,
  By turns each shifting image view! 
  Till meddling Art's officious lore
  Reverse the lessons taught before;
  Alluring from a safer rule,
  To dream in her enchanted school:
  Thou, Heaven, whate'er of great we boast, 
  Hast blest this social science most.

    Retiring hence to thoughtful cell,
  As Fancy breathes her potent spell,
  Not vain she finds the charmful task,
  In pageant quaint, in motley mask; 
  Behold, before her musing eyes,
  The countless Manners round her rise;
  While, ever varying as they pass,
  To some Contempt applies her glass:
  With these the white-robed maids combine;
  And those the laughing satyrs join!
  But who is he whom now she views,
  In robe of wild contending hues?
  Thou by the Passions nursed, I greet
  The comic sock that binds thy feet! 
  O Humour, thou whose name is known
  To Britain's favour'd isle alone:
  Me too amidst thy band admit;
  There where the young-eyed healthful Wit,
  (Whose jewels in his crispéd hair 
  Are placed each other's beams to share;
  Whom no delights from thee divide)
  In laughter loosed, attends thy side.

    By old Miletus,[34] who so long
  Has ceased his love-inwoven song;
  By all you taught the Tuscan maids,
  In changed Italia's modern shades;
  By him[35] whose knight's distinguish'd name
  Refined a nation's lust of fame;
  Whose tales e'en now, with echoes sweet,
  Castilia's Moorish hills repeat;
  Or him[36] whom Seine's blue nymphs deplore,
  In watchet weeds on Gallia's shore;
  Who drew the sad Sicilian maid,
  By virtues in her sire betray'd. 

    O Nature boon, from whom proceed
  Each forceful thought, each prompted deed;
  If but from thee I hope to feel,
  On all my heart imprint thy seal!
  Let some retreating cynic find 
  Those oft-turn'd scrolls I leave behind:
  The Sports and I this hour agree,
  To rove thy scene-full world with thee!


FOOTNOTES:

1. Abra; or, The Georgian Sultana
2. Selim; or, The Shepherd's Moral
3. Ode to Simplicity
4. Ode on the Grave of Thomson
5. An Epistle, Addressed to Sir Thomas Hanmer, on His Edition of Shakespeare's Works

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