Page:The poetical works of William Blake; a new and verbatim text from the manuscript engraved and letterpress originals (1905).djvu/76

 Poetical Sketches

My son a vine, which I commit unto

Thy care : prune all extravagant shoots, and guide

Th' ambitious tendrils in the paths of wisdom ;

Water him with thy advice ; and Heav'n

Rain fresh'ning dew upon his branches. And,

Edward, my dear son ! learn to think lowly of

Thyself, as we may all each prefer other —

Tis the best policy, and 'tis our duty.

Prince. And may our duty, Chandos, be our pleasure.

Now we are alone. Sir John, I will unburden,

And breathe my hopes into the burning air,

Where thousand deaths are posting up and down,

Commission'd to this fatal field of Cressy.

Methinks I see them arm my gallant soldiers,

And gird the sword upon each thigh, and fit

Each shining helm, and string each stubborn bow,

And dance to the neighing of our steeds.

Methinks the shout begins, the battle burns.

Methinks I see them perch on English crests,

And roar the wild flame of fierce war upon

The thronged enemy. In truth I am too full ;

It is my sin to love the noise of war.

Chandos, thou seest my weakness ; strong nature

Will bend or break us : my blood, like a springtide,

Does rise so high to overflow all bounds

Of moderation ; while Reason, in her

Frail bark, can see no shore or bound for vast

Ambition. Come, take the helm, my Chandos,

That my full-blown sails overset me not

In the wild tempest : condemn my 'ventrous youth,

That plays with danger as the inndcent child

Unthinking plays upon the viper's den :

am a coward in my reason, Chandos.

Chand You are a man, my prince, and a brave man,

If I can judge of actions ; but your heat

Is the effect of youth, and want of use :

Use makes the armed field and noisy war

Pass over as a summer cloud, unregarded,

Or but expected as a thing of course.

Age is contemplative ; each rolling year

Brings forth fruit to the mind's treasure-house:

While vacant youth doth crave and seek about

Within itself, and findeth discontent,

Then, tir'd of thought, impatient takes the wing,

Seizes the fruits of time, attacks experience.

Roams round vast Nature's forest, where no bounds

Are set, the swiftest may have room, the strongest

Find prey ; till tir'd at length, sated and tired

With the changing sameness, old variety,

We sit us down, and view our former joys