The Book opens:
The evening came: “My Brother, what employs Thy mind?” said Richard; “what disturbs thy joys? Hast thou not all the good the world can give, And liv’st a life that kings might sigh to live? Can nothing please thee? Thou wert wont to seize On passing themes, and make the trifles please. Thy Muse has many a pleasant fancy bred, And clothed in lively manner!—--is she dead?” “Not dead but sick, and I too weary grow Of reaping nothing from the things I sow. What is the pleasure—thou perhaps canst say— Of playing tunes, if none can hear thee play? Timid and proud, the world I cannot court, Nor show my labours for the critic’s sport. Hast thou the courage, Richard? hast thou tried An Author’s perils? hast thou felt his pride? For vain the efforts, and they quickly tire, If we alone our precious things admire.” “Not so,” said Richard, and acquired a look That some expression from his feelings took; “Oh! my dear Brother, if this Muse of mine, Who prompts the idle thought, the trifling line, If she who calmly looks around, nor more Muse of the Mad, the Foolish, and the Poor, If she can pleasure—and she can—impart, Can wing the fancy, can enlarge the heart; What must a Muse of strength, of force, of fire, In the true Poet’s ample mind inspire? What must he feel, who can the soul express Of saint or hero?—he must be no less. Nor less of evil minds he knows the pain, But quickly lost the anguish and the stain, While with the wisest, happiest, purest, best, His soul assimilates and loves to rest. Crowns would I spurn, and empires would I lose, For inspiration from the sacred Muse.” “A song,” said George, “and I my secret store, Confined in dust and darkness, will explore. Poet with poet, bard and critic too, We fear no censure, and dread no review. A judge so placed must be to errors kind, And yield the mercy that he hopes to find; Begin then, Richard, put thy fears aside;} Shall I condemn, who must myself be tried? } In me at least my Brother may confide.} In hope of wearing, I shall yield the bays, And my self-love shall give my rival praise.” (O.M.)
instead of ll. 18-30:
“Wilt thou explain? I shall not grieve to share A lover’s sorrow, or a husband’s care?” Kindness like this had moved a sterner man, Richard much more. He smiled, and thus began:— “No more I loved the sea; that plunge had tamed My blood, by youth in idleness inflamed: To my affairs I forced my mind t’ attend, And sought the town to counsel with a friend. Much we debated—Could I now resign My earthly views, and look to things divine? Could I to merchandise my mind persuade, And wait in patience for the gain of trade? Or if I could not early habits quit, Had I a stock, and could subsist on wit? “Measures like these became my daily themes, My airy castles, my projector’s dreams. But health, so long neglected, now became No more the blessing of my failing frame: A fever seized it, of that dangerous kind, That while it taints the blood, infects the mind. I traced her flight as Reason slowly fled, And her last act assured me Hope was dead: But Reason err’d, and when she came again To aid the senses and direct the brain, She found a body weak, but well disposed For life’s enjoyments, and the grave was closed. But danger past, and my recovery slow,} I sought the health that mountain gales bestow, } And quiet walks where peace and violets grow. } “Now, my dear Brother, when the languid frame Has this repose, and when the blood is tame, Yet strength increasing, and when every hour Gives some increase of pleasure and of power, When every sense partakes of fresh delight, And every object wakes an appetite; When the mind rests not, but for ever roves On all around, and as it meets approves; Then feels the heart its bliss, that season then is love. “Think of me thus disposed, and think me then Retired from crowded streets and busy men, In a neat cottage, by the sweetest stream That ever warbled in a poet’s dream; An ancient wood behold, so vast, so deep, That hostile armies might in safety sleep, Where loving pairs had no observers near, And fearing not themselves, had none to fear; There to fair walks, fresh meadows, and clear skies, I fled as flee the weary and the wise.” (O.M.)
instead of ll. 174-5:
“With whom she tarried, a delighted guest! Delightful ever! blessing still and bless’d.” (O.M.)
Book VII.
Instead of ll. 533-4:
And thus she said, and with an air designed To look and be affectionate and kind. (U.P.)