"The Mind herself, best judge of her own state, / Is feelingly convinced; nor to be moved / By subtle words, that may perplex the head, / But ne'er persuade the heart."
— Crowe, William (1745-1829)
Author
Work Title
Place of Publication
Oxford
Publisher
Printed at the Clarendon Press
Date
1788
Metaphor
"The Mind herself, best judge of her own state, / Is feelingly convinced; nor to be moved / By subtle words, that may perplex the head, / But ne'er persuade the heart."
Metaphor in Context
So to thine early grave didst thou run on,
Spotless Francesca, so, after short course,
Thine innocent and playful infancy
Was swallowed up in death, and thy pure spirit
In that illimitable gulf which bounds
Our mortal continent. But not there lost,
Not there extinguish'd, as some falsely teach,
Who can talk much and learnedly of life,
Who know our frame and fashion, who can tell
The substance and the properties of man,
As they had seen him made,--aye and stood by
Spies on Heaven's work. They also can discourse
Wisely, to prove that what must be must be,
And show how thoughts are jogg'd out of the brain
By a mechanical impulse; pushing on
The minds of us, poor unaccountables,
To fatal resolution. Know they not,
That in this mortal life, whate'er it be,
We take the path that leads to good or evil,
And therein find our bliss or misery?
And this includes all reasonable ends
Of knowledge or of being; farther to go
Is toil unprofitable, and th' effect
Most perilous wandering. Yet of this be sure,
Where freedom is not, there no virtue is:
If there be none, this world is all a cheat,
And the divine stability of Heaven
(That assured seat for good men after death)
Is but a transient cloud, display'd so fair
To cherish virtuous hope, but at our need
Eludes the sense, and fools our honest faith,
Vanishing in a lie. If this be so,
Were it not better to be born a beast,
Only to feel what is, and thus to 'scape
The aguish fear that shakes the afflicted breast
With sore anxiety of what shall be--
And all for nought? Since our most wicked act
Is not our sin, and our religious awe
Delusion, if that strong Necessity
Chains up our will. But that the mind is free,
The Mind herself, best judge of her own state,
Is feelingly convinced; nor to be moved
By subtle words, that may perplex the head,
But ne'er persuade the heart. Vain argument,
That with false weapons of Philosophy
Fights against Hope, and Sense, and Nature's strength!
(pp. 8-10)
Spotless Francesca, so, after short course,
Thine innocent and playful infancy
Was swallowed up in death, and thy pure spirit
In that illimitable gulf which bounds
Our mortal continent. But not there lost,
Not there extinguish'd, as some falsely teach,
Who can talk much and learnedly of life,
Who know our frame and fashion, who can tell
The substance and the properties of man,
As they had seen him made,--aye and stood by
Spies on Heaven's work. They also can discourse
Wisely, to prove that what must be must be,
And show how thoughts are jogg'd out of the brain
By a mechanical impulse; pushing on
The minds of us, poor unaccountables,
To fatal resolution. Know they not,
That in this mortal life, whate'er it be,
We take the path that leads to good or evil,
And therein find our bliss or misery?
And this includes all reasonable ends
Of knowledge or of being; farther to go
Is toil unprofitable, and th' effect
Most perilous wandering. Yet of this be sure,
Where freedom is not, there no virtue is:
If there be none, this world is all a cheat,
And the divine stability of Heaven
(That assured seat for good men after death)
Is but a transient cloud, display'd so fair
To cherish virtuous hope, but at our need
Eludes the sense, and fools our honest faith,
Vanishing in a lie. If this be so,
Were it not better to be born a beast,
Only to feel what is, and thus to 'scape
The aguish fear that shakes the afflicted breast
With sore anxiety of what shall be--
And all for nought? Since our most wicked act
Is not our sin, and our religious awe
Delusion, if that strong Necessity
Chains up our will. But that the mind is free,
The Mind herself, best judge of her own state,
Is feelingly convinced; nor to be moved
By subtle words, that may perplex the head,
But ne'er persuade the heart. Vain argument,
That with false weapons of Philosophy
Fights against Hope, and Sense, and Nature's strength!
(pp. 8-10)
Categories
Provenance
Searching "mind" and "judge" in HDIS (Poetry)
Citation
2 entries in ESTC (1788). [2 editions in 1788.]
See Lewesdon Hill. A Poem. (Oxford: at the Clarendon Press, MDCCLXXXVIII. Sold by D. Prince and J. Cooke, Oxford: J. F. and C. Rivington, T. Cadell, and R. Faulder, London, 1788). <Link to ESTC><Link to Google Books>
Text from Lewesdon Hill, With Other Poems. By the Rev. William Crowe (London: John Murray, 1827). ["A corrected and much enlarged edition, with notes."] <Link to LION><Link to 1827 edition in Google Books>
See Lewesdon Hill. A Poem. (Oxford: at the Clarendon Press, MDCCLXXXVIII. Sold by D. Prince and J. Cooke, Oxford: J. F. and C. Rivington, T. Cadell, and R. Faulder, London, 1788). <Link to ESTC><Link to Google Books>
Text from Lewesdon Hill, With Other Poems. By the Rev. William Crowe (London: John Murray, 1827). ["A corrected and much enlarged edition, with notes."] <Link to LION><Link to 1827 edition in Google Books>
Date of Entry
08/31/2004
Date of Review
07/14/2011
