From The Rural Lyre (1796)
"To Mira, On the Care of Her Infant"
Whilst war, destruction, crimes that fiends delight,
Burst on the globe, and millions sink in night;
Whilst here a monarch, there a subject dies,
Equally dear to him who rules the skies;
Whilst man to man oppos'd wou'd shake the world,
And see vast systems into chaos hurl'd,
Rather than turn his face from yon dread field,
Or, by forgiving, teach his foe to yield:
Let us, whose sweet employ the Gods admire,
Serenely blest, to softer joys retire! 10
Spite of those wars, we will mild pleasure know--
Pleasure, that, long as woman lives, shall flow!
We are not made for Mars*; we ne'er could bear *Roman god of War
His pond'rous helmet and his burning spear;
Nor in fierce combat prostrate lay that form
That breathes affection whilst the heart is warm:--
No: whilst our heroes from their homes retire,
We'll nurse the infant, and lament the sire.
I am no Amazon*; nor would I give 20 * female warrior
One silver groat* by iron laws to live. * four pennies
Nay, if, like hers, my heart were iron-bound,
My warmth would melt the fetters to the ground.
Ah! Weep not, Mira! In this cradle view
Thy lovely charge–Amyntor's copy true;
Think, by his pledge the absent sire ensures
Thy constant memory, and thy heart secures.
And, whilst we read, reflect, by turns converse,
Comment on wars in prose or mimic verse,
Permit me, pensive friend, who long have known
A mother's duty, pleasing cares to own, 30
Teach thee to gently nurse thy beauteous boy--
Lest Custom gentle Nature's pow'r destory:
So young an infant should reposing lie,
Unswath'd* and loose, that the fair limbs may plie *swathing/swaddling bands
To every motion happy Nature tries, which restricted an infants movement.
Whilst life seems fluid, and from pressure flies.
Clothe him with easy warmth. Of ills the worst
Are cruel swathes, of infant griefs the first.
Think what the stomach feels when hardly press'd--
The breath confin'd swells high the snowy chest: 40
The pulses throb, the heart with flutt'ring beats;
The eyes roll ghastly; wind the nurture meets;
And, ere the new-born appetite hath din'd.
The food's rejected, and the head reclin'd.
Be tender, Mira!–Downy beds prepare;
To thy own bosom clasp Amynto's heir!
See not thy babe pining with speechless grief,
His thirsty lip craving thy kind relief:
Relief that Nature bids the infant claim;
Withheld by healthy mothers, to their shame. 50
Behold gay Circe in her gig!–Old Night
Hath from one moon receiv'd her valu'd light,
Since Circe's heir was with his grandsire laid;
And all her grief on rich tombstone display'd.
Her child was lovely, strong, and promis'd fair;
His looks transporting, his complexion clear;
Ardent to seek her bosom, and recline
Where dear affections makes the gift divine!
But no:–could Circe dress renounce, the ball--
For a child's humour suffer TASTE to fall? 60
Immensely monstrous! singular! she cried--
A boist'rous nurse her wish'd-for love supplied.
And soon her babe's wan look proclaim'ed the cheat:
He loath'd the bosom he was forc'd to meet;
Refus'd in silence, starv'd in robes of lace,
And oft imploring view'd his mother's face.
Too proud to nurse, maternal fevers came--
Her burthen'd bosom caught th'invited flame;
Too late she woo'd her infant to her breast,
He only sighed, and sunk to lasting rest. 70
Do thou not, Mira, follow Circe's line--
In thee, let soft maternal pleasure shine;
Pleasure that virtuous mothers highly taste,
When gen'rous Hymen makes them more than chaste.
Benign and social, new affections grow;
Their minds enlarg'd, their noblest spirits flow;
Friendship, compassion, sympathy and love,
Such as the self-corrected mind may prove,
Stamp ev'ry act.–These gen'rous joys are thine--
Wouldst thou exchange them for Golconda's mine?* 80 *celebrated diamond mine
I own such is the force of social law,
The unmarried [mother] loves her babe with awe:
Nurs'd far from public view in yon lone wild,
She sometimes strays to tremble o'er her child.
There coarse rusticity, vice, vulgar sound--
All that can sentiment or wisdom wound,
Breaks on the eye and ear–Unhappy fair!
Yet not condemn'd, if thy sweet pledge be dear--
Leave thy fond soul with him, to him return:
O let his FUTURE on thy fancy burn! 90
Quick bear him thence! Instruct him, point to Fame--
Neglected, he will moan; ay, seal thy shame!
Mira, as thy dear Edward's senses grow,
Be sure they all will seek this point–TOO KNOW:
Woo to enquiry–strictures long avoid,
By force the thirst of weakly sense is cloy'd:
Silent attend the frown, the gaze, the smile.
To grasp for objects the incessant toil;
So play life's springs with energy, and try
The unceasing thirst of knowledge to supply. 100
I saw the beauteous Caleb th'other day
Stretch forth his little hand to touch a spray,
Whilst on the grass his drowsy nurse inhal'd
The sweets of Nature as her sweets exhal'd:
But, ere the infant reach'd the playful leaf,
She pull'd him back–His eyes o'erflowed with grief,
He check'd his tears–Her fiercer passions strove,
She look'd a vulture cow'ring o'er a dove!
‘I'll teach you, brat!' The pretty trembler sigh'd
When, with a cruel shake, she hoarsely cried-- 110
‘Your mother spoils you–everything you see
You covet. It shall ne'er be so with me!
Here eat this cake, sit still, and don't you rise--
Why don't you pluck the sun down from the skies?
I'll spoil your sport–Come, laugh me in the face--
And henceforth learn to keep your proper place.
You rule me in the house!–To hush your noise
I, like a spaniel, must run for toys:
But here, Sir, let the trees alone, nor cry--
Pluck, if you dare–Who's master? You, or I?' 120
O brutal force, to check th'enquiring mind,
When it would pleasure in a rose-bud find!
Whose wondrous strength was never yet discern'd,
By millions gone, by all we yet have learn'd.
True to the sense, systematic man
Conceives himself a mighty, finish'd man
To see, to touch, to taste, and smell and hear,
He strives to prove, make full existence here:
These to the brain exquisite forms convey;
On these she works, these keep her life in play. 130
And is this all, Mira, we boast below?
Does not the soul spring forward still to KNOW;
Pant for the future as her pow'rs expand,
And pine for more than sense can understand?
Does she not, when the senses weary lie,
Paint brighter visions on some unknown sky;
Again forego her visionary joy,
To guide the senses in their strong employ;
With life's affections share their gentle flow,
But still, unsated, onward rove to KNOW? 140
In infancy, when all her force is young,
She patient waits behind the useless tongue;
Silent attunes her senses, silent sees
Objects thro' mists, plainer by swift degrees.
SOUND strikes at first on her new-organ'd ear
As if far off; monotonous comes near.
Her taste yet sleeps, no melody she owns,
Nor wakes to joyous, or to thrilling tones;
Dull indiscrimination blinds her views;
But still, the sound once caught, the ear pursues; 150
Till cadence whispers o'er the eager thought,
And human accents strike, with MEANING fraught;
Then gentle breathings in the babe inspire
Joy, pleasure, sympathy, new-born desire.
He feels instinctive happiness, and tries
To grasp her fully as she onward flies.
Hence Mira's soft endearments shall excite
In her dear Edward exquisite delight.
Wouldst thou Amyntor should adore his child;
Nurse him thyself, for thou canst make him mild; 160
Grant him the toy that suits his young desire,
Nor, when he pensive moans, his temper tire;
Keep froward* passions from his tranquil breast-- * disposed to go counter to what is
By irritation, who were ever blest?-- demanded or reasonable
Distorting frowns delirious fear create;
And blows, a sense of injury and hate.
Long--very long, should surly chiding sleep--
Nay, it were best thy babe should never weep.
No cure, no medicine fills the tear–the eye
Whose owner ne'er offended should be dry. 170
I grant, when he the distant toy would reach,
Stern self-denial maiden aunts would preach:
But, contrary to this cold maxim tried,
Bestow the gift, Indulgence be thy guide;
Ay, give unask'd; example has its kind,
Pouring its image on the ductile* mind. *malleable, flexible, tractable
Hence nobler spirits shall their likeness breed,
And ONE greater virtue take the mental lead:
Hence vice and ignorance (what ills are worse?)
Arise contagious in the artful nurse; 180
For Virtue's self she ne'er could virtue prise,
O'er THOUGHT deform'd she throws the fair disguise;
Coarse in idea–furious in her ire,
Her passions grow amid their smother'd fire.
O trust not Edward to so warm a breast,
Lest he infuse the evils you detest.
Early instruction does the infant need--
On pictured lessons we are prone to feed:
Thro' every stage, what strikes the eye bestrides
Attention, judgment follows and decides. 190
With mental vision deck th'instructive show.
Say what we will, we wish ourselves to know;
For this the child of seventy eager tries--
Explores his inward world–exploring dies!
However, early teach him mind to scan:
And when he's weary, tell him, ‘SUCH IS MAN.'
Next, try thy soothing skill–A challenge make--
An apple, orange, or some gew-gaw stake.
Which shall read best the alphabetic line,
Be his the wish'd reward–the sorrow thine. 200
This rule perhaps is contrary to those
Who on the failing babe some task impose:
Ah, too severe! They chill the struggling mind--
‘Tis hard to learn–the tutor should be kind.
When Edward fails, console him–let him see
Thou mourn'st his loss, and he will mourn with thee:
Not long he will mimic thy sorrow view:
Thy point once seen, he will that point pursue.
A rival for perfection, generous shame 210
Will touch the soul's best spark, and blaze it into fame.
Thus far I've lightly tripp'd the infant stage:
Truths bold and strong await the second age.
To ancient fathers be thy boy consign'd,
But plant thyself true virtue in his mind.
Watch his belief, his doubts, his fruitless fears;
Convince him, The frail babe of seventy years
Will unresisting slumber on the sod,
The sole undoubted property of GOD!