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 5. Nature and Art  For an Album  "Man goeth forth" [n.] with reckless trust Upon his wealth of mind, As if in self a thing of dust Creative skill might find; He schemes and toils; stone, wood and ore Subject or weapon of His power.  By arch and spire, by tower-girt heights, He would his boast fulfil; By marble births, and mimic lights, Yet lacks one secret still; Where is the master-hand shall give To breathe, to move, to speak, to live?  O take away this shade of might, The puny toil of man, And let great Nature in my sight Unroll her gorgeous plan; I cannot bear those sullen walls, Those eyeless towers, those tongueless halls.  Art's labour'd toys of highest name Are nerveless, cold, and dumb; And man is fitted but to frame A coffin or a tomb; Well suits, when sense is pass'd away, Such lifeless works the lifeless clay.  Here let me sit where wooded hills Skirt yon far-reaching plain; While cattle bank its winding rills, And suns embrown its grain; Such prospect is to me right dear, For freedom, health, and joy are here.  There is a spirit ranging through The earth, the stream, the air; Ten thousand shapes, garbs ever new, That busy One doth wear; In colour, scent, and taste, and sound The energy of Life is found.  The leaves are rustling in the breeze, The bird renews her song; From field to brook, o'er heath, o'er trees, The sunbeam glides along; The insect, happy in its hour, Floats softly by, or sips the flower.  Now dewy rain descends, and now Brisk showers the welkin shroud; I care not, though with angry brow Frowns the red thunder-cloud; Let hail-storm pelt, and lightning harm, 'Tis Nature's work, and has its charm.  Ah! lovely Nature! others dwell Full favour'd in thy court; I of thy smiles but hear them tell, And feed on their report, Catching what glimpse an Ulcombe yields To strangers loitering in her fields.  I go where form has ne'er unbent The sameness of its sway; Where iron rule, stern precedent, Mistreat the graceful day; To pine as prisoner in his cell, And yet be thought to love it well.  Yet so His high dispose has set, Who binds on each his part; Though absent, I may cherish yet An Ulcombe of the heart; Calm verdant hope divinely given, And suns of peace, and scenes of heaven;  A soul prepared His will to meet, Full fix'd His work to do; Not laboured into sudden heat, But inly born anew. So living Nature, not dull Art, Shall plan my ways and rule my heart.

   Ulcombe .  September, 1826.

 Note

 Psalm civ. [ciii.] 23.