THE POETICAL WORKS OF MARY HOWITT. The Seven Temptations. What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted. Burns. TO ALARIC A. WATTS, ESQ. THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED, BY HIS SINCERE FRIEND, THE AUTHOR. PREFACE. THE idea of this poem originated in a strong impres sion of the immense value of the human soul, and of all the varied modes of its trials, according to its own infinitely varied modifications, as existing in different individuals. We see the awful mass of sorrow and of crime in the world, but we know only in part-in a very small degree, the fearful weight of solicitations and impulses of passion, and the vast constraint of circumstances, that are brought into play against suffering humanity. In the luminous words of my motto, 'What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted.' degree, at the shapes of atrocity into which some of them are transformed; and learn to bear with others as brethren, who have been tried tenfold beyond our own experience, or perhaps our strength. The evil agent whom I have employed for the working out of this moral process, in this poem, may either be regarded literally, as he is represented, according to the popular creed; or simply, as a personification of the principle of temptation, as each individual reader's own bias of sentiment may lead him to prefer: for my own part, I regard him in the latter point of view. There may be some who may not approve of the extent of crime which I have brought into action in the course of these dramas. They may deem the experiment especially dubious in a female writer. Thus, without sufficient reflection, we are furnished But let such reflect, that without high temptation with data on which to condemn our fellow-creatures, there could be no high crime; without high crime but without sufficient grounds for their palliation and there could be no actual and adequate representation commiseration. It is necessary for the acquisition of human nature, as we know it to exist. And of that charity, which is the soul of Christianity, for therefore to have flinched in this respect, would have us to descend into the depths of our own nature; to been to defeat the whole object of my work. Let put ourselves into many imaginary and untried situa- those reflect also, that it has not been my plan to tions, that we may enable ourselves to form some render the description of crime alluring. In that tolerable notion how we might be affected by them; case I should have deserved, not only all the blame how far we might be tempted-how far deceived-the timid or the rigidly righteous could heap upon how far we might have occasion to lament the evil me, but also that of the philosophical observer of our power of circumstances, to weep over our own weak-nature; for my view of it then would have been ness, and pray for the pardon of our crimes; that, having raised up this vivid perception of what we might do, suffer and become, we may apply the rule to our fellows, and cease to be astonished in some false and injust. But I have painted the career of crime such as it is one uniform downward tendency to degradation and ruinous misery; and have thereby held up to young and old, to strong and weak, to the high and the lowly of earth, the most important moral lesson that the light and darkness of this strange life can teach to tried, allured, rational yet corruptible, intellectual yet sense-involved beings the most important we are capable of giving or receiving. The scenes, characters, and events in these dramas are, as in human life, exceedingly various, and exceedingly diversified in their degrees of moral purity or turpitude; but if they are allowed only to be such as fall really within the scope of our nature, they need no defence, for they must be full of lessons of wisdom and of stimulus to good. THE SEVEN TEMPTATIONS. In a gloomy chaotic region of universal space inhabited by the Spirits of Evil, who, enraged at their expulsion from heaven, still endeavoured to revenge themselves upon the justice of God, by overturning or defacing the beauty of his moral creation in the spirit of man, sate three of the lower order of Spirits. Among them was, Achzib the liar, or the runner to and fro,-a restless, ambitious spirit, who, hating good, coveted distinction among the bad. For a long time they had sate in silence, each occupied by his own cogitations; and there is no telling how much longer they might have remained so, had not the attention of the youngest been diverted by a gloomily magnificent procession, which was dimly seen passing in the distance. Achzib was upon earth. He took up his abode in a famous city, and assuming the character of a philosopher, inquired out their most learned men. All told him of a poor scholar. Achzib saw him and conversed with him. He found him young, worn out with study, and as simple, unpractised and inexpe rienced in the ways of men as a child. This shall be my first essay, said Achziband accordingly, accumulating learned treatises and immeasurably long parchments of puzzling but unsound philosophy, he made his attempt. Whether Achzib or the Poor Scholar triumphed, shall be seen. "Another of the favoured ones," said he, "is this unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the day crowned!" "But, if thou have failed to do this,' rejoined the other, "thou canst not have deserved the distinction thou desirest!" "But that is soon done!" answered Achzib. "Not so soon!" interrupted the youngest spirit. "I have tried to prove it till I am weary; and now I unreluctantly make the confession, that though we are mighty, God is mightier than we-his mercy is stronger than our hate, his integrity than our craft!" "I deny all this," said Achzib, "and I will prove it beyond controversy! I will directly ascend to the earth and of the human spirits whom I will tempt, I will win the greater number, if not all of them, to their ruin!" "If thou do this," said the eldest spirit, "thou wilt indeed deserve to be crowned like him whose hon world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer, I have overcome the world." Here endeth the 16th chapter of the Gospel according to St. John. Poor Scholar. Most precious words! Now go your way; The summer fields are green and bright; Your tasks are done. Why do you stay? Christ give his peace to you: Good night! Sir, when my mother has been ill, Schol. Thank you! but yet you must not stay; Still, still my boy, before we part Receive my blessing-'tis my last! I feel Death's hand is on my heart, And my life's sun is sinking fast; Yet mark me, child, I have no fear, Fear God, all-wise, omnipotent, In him we live and have our being; The poet's soul, the sage's sense, And these demand thy reverence. But, boy, remember this, e'en then Revere the gifts, but not the men! Obey thy parents; they are given To guide our inexperienced youth; Types are they of the One in heaven, Chastising but in love and truth! Keep thyself pure-sin doth efface The beauty of our spiritual life: The mental power which God has given, Thy soul to God! and ever take In his good book delight; there lies The highest knowledge, which will make The city of his rest! My boy Farewell I have had joy in thee; I go to higher joy-oh, follow me! Boy. Kind sir, good night! I will return with morning light. [He goes out. [The Poor Scholar sits for some time as in meditation, then rising and putting away all his books, except the Bible, he sits down again. Life cannot comprehend thee, though thou showest The golden rooms of state, and all perforce The locked-up soul of sordid ignorance The ardent soul as the sun lures the eagle; Oh I should long for death, but for one tie, I have derived from her! has she not laboured Schol. Now, now I need them not, I've done with Some irremediable woe befals! them. I need not blind philosophy, nor dreams Of speculating men, entangling truth One word read by that child is worth them all! Surely ere long thou wilt be at my side, That I have asked thy presence! Oh! come, come, After your health. I saw your class depart, Schol. To-night I must decline your friendship, sir. Just tottering on eternity! Delusion, Are they not full of lofty argument Pardon me, sir, Schol. More innocent, and yet more filled with wisdom, morals? Schol. And where is the Utopian code of morals For knowing as I do your graceful mind, Schol. I cannot praise-I cannot say one word In commendation of your misspent labours. Oh, surely it was not a friendly part "Tis all delusion! while my soul abhorred, My heart was wounded at the traitorous act! Philos. Come, come, my friend, this is mere declamation; You have misunderstood both them and me! Philos. Nay, but my friend, For your Schol. Can such poor, empty honours compensate Unto a childless mother for her son? You know her not, and me you know not either! Philos. But think you, my young friend, learning is honoured By every honour paid to its disciples: Philos. Not to be great – Schol. Sir, had the will of God ordained a wider, A nobler sphere of usefulness on earth, He would have given me strength, and health, and power For its accomplishment. I murmur not |