MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS: AN ELEGY.
[]Quod tibi vitae ſors detraxit,
Fama adjiciet poſthuma laudi;
Noſtris longum tu dolor et honor.
BUCH.
THE balmy Zephyrs o'er the woodland ſtray,
And gently ſtir the boſom of the lake:
The fawns that panting in the covert lay,
Now thro' the bloomy park their revels take.
Pale riſe the rugged hills that ſkirt the North,
The wood glows yellow by the evening rays,
Silent and beauteous flows the ſilver Forth,
And Aman murmuring thro' the willows ſtrays.
[2]But ah! what means this ſilence in the grove,
Where oft the wild-notes ſooth'd the love-ſick boy?
Why ceaſe in Mary's bower the ſongs of Love,
The ſongs of Love, of Innocence, and Joy?
When bright the lake reflects the ſetting ray,
The ſportive virgins tread the flowery green;
And by the moon, full oft in chearful May,
The merry bride-maids at the dance are ſeen.
But who theſe Nymphs that thro' the copſe appear
In robes of white adorn'd with violet blue?
Fondly with purple flowers they deck yon bier,
And wave in ſolemn pomp the boughs of yew.
Supreme in grief, her eye confus'd with woe,
Appears the Lady of th' aërial train,
Tall as the ſylvan Goddeſs of the bow,
And fair as ſhe who wept Adonis ſlain.
Such was the pomp when Gilead's virgin band,
Wandering by Judah's flowery mountains, wept,
And with fair Iphis by the hallowed ſtrand
Of Siloe's brook a mournful ſabbath kept.
By the reſplendent croſs with thiſtles twin'd,
'Tis Mary's Guardian Genius loſt in woe:
" Ah ſay, what deepeſt wrongs have thus combin'd
" To heave with reſtleſs ſighs thy breaſt of ſnow!
[3]" Oh ſtay, ye Dryads, nor unfiniſh'd fly
" Your ſolemn rites; here comes no foot profane:
" The Muſes' ſon, and hallowed is his eye,
" Implores your ſtay, implores to join the ſtrain.
" See, from her cheek the glowing life-bluſh flies;
" Alas, what faultering ſounds of woe be theſe!
" Ye Nymphs, who fondly watch her languid eyes,
" Oh ſay, what muſic will her ſoul appeaſe!"
" Reſound the ſolemn dirge, the Nymphs reply,
" And let the turtles moan in Mary's bower,
" Let Grief indulge her grand ſublimity,
" And Melancholy wake her melting power:
" For Art has triumph'd; Art, that never ſtood
" On Honour's ſide, or generous tranſport knew,
" Has dy'd its haggard hands in Mary's blood,
" And o'er her fame has breath'd its blighting dew.
" But come, ye Nymphs, ye woodland Spirits, come,
" And with funereal flowers your treſſes braid,
" While in this hallowed grove we raiſe the tomb,
" And conſecrate the ſong to Mary's ſhade.
" O ſing what ſmiles her youthful morning wore,
" Her's every charm, and every livelieſt grace;
" When Nature's happieſt touch could add no more,
" Heaven lent an angel's beauty to her face.
[4]" O! whether by the moſs grown buſhy dell,
" Where from the oak depends the miſletoe,
" Where creeping ivy ſhades the Druid's cell,
" Where from the rock the gurgling waters flow;
" Or whether ſportive o'er the cowſlip beds,
" You thro' the haunted dales of Mona glide,
" Or bruſh the upland lea, when Cynthia ſheds
" Her ſilvery light on Snowdon's hoary ſide:
" Hither, ye gentle Guardians of the Fair,
" By Virtue's tears, by weeping Beauty, come;
" Unbind the feſtive robes, unbind the hair,
" And wave the cypreſs bough at Mary's tomb.
" And come, ye fleet Magicians of the air,
" The mournful Lady of the chorus cry'd,
" Your airy tints of baleful hue prepare,
" And thro' this grove bid Mary's fortunes glide:
" And let the ſong with ſolemn harping join'd,
" And wailing notes unfold the tale of woe."
She ſpoke, and waking thro' the breathing wind
From lyres unſeen the ſolemn harpings flow.
The ſong began: "How bright her early morn!
" What laſting joys her ſmiling fate portends!
" To wield the awful Britiſh ſcepters born,
" And Gaul's young heir her bridal-bed aſcends.
[5]" See, round her bed, light-floating on the air
" The little Loves their purple wings diſplay
" When ſudden, ſhrieking at the diſmal glare
" Of funeral torches, far they ſpeed away.
" Far with the Loves each bliſsful omen ſpeeds,
" Her eighteenth April hears her widow'd moan;
" The bridal bed the ſable hearſe ſucceeds,
" And ſtruggling Factions ſhake her native throne.
" No more a Goddeſs in the ſwimming dance
" Mayſt thou, O Queen, thy lovely form diſplay;
" No more thy beauty reign the charm of France,
" Nor in Verſailles' proud bowers outſhine the day.
" A nation ſtern and ſtubborn to command,
" And now convuls'd with Faction's fierceſt rage,
" Commits its ſcepter to thy gentle hand,
" And aſks a bridle from thy tender age.
" Domeſtic bliſs, that dear, that ſovereign joy,
" Far from her hearth was ſeen to ſpeed away;
" Strait dark-brow'd Factions entering in deſtroy
" The ſeeds of peace, and mark her for their prey.
" No more by moon-ſhine to the nuptial bower
" Her Francis comes, by Love's ſoft fetters led;
" Far other ſpouſe now wakes her midnight hour,
" Enrag'd, and reeking from the harlot's bed.
[6]" Ah! draw the veil," ſhrill trembles thro' the air:
The veil was drawn, but darker ſcenes aroſe,
Another nuptial couch the Fates prepare,
The baleful teeming ſource of deeper woes.
The bridal torch her Evil Angel wav'd,
Far from the couch offended Prudence fled;
Of deepeſt crimes deceitful Faction rav'd,
And rous'd her trembling from the fatal bed.
The hinds are ſeen in arms, and glittering ſpears
Inſtead of crooks the Grampian ſhepherds wield;
Fanatic rage the plowman's viſage wears,
And red with ſlaughter lies the harveſt-field.
From Borthwick field, deſerted and forlorn,
The beauteous Queen all tears is ſeen to fly;
Now thro' the ſtreets a weeping captive borne,
Her woes the triumph of the vulgar eye.
Again the viſion ſhifts the fatal ſcene;
Again forlorn from rebel arms ſhe flies,
And unſuſpecting on a ſiſter Queen
The lovely injur'd fugitive relies.
When Wiſdom baffled owns th' attempt in vain,
Heaven oft delights to ſet the virtuous free:
Some friend appears, and breaks Affliction's chain,
But ah, no generous friend appears for thee!
[7]A priſon's ghaſtly walls and grated cells
Deform'd the airy ſcenery as it paſt;
The haunt where liſtleſs Melancholy dwells,
Where every genial feeling ſhrinks aghaſt.
No female eye her ſickly bed to tend
a!
" Ah ceaſe to tell it in the female ear!
A woman's ſtern command! a proffer'd friend!
" Oh generous paſſion, peace, forbear, forbear!
" And could, oh Tudor, could thy breaſt retain
" No ſoftening thought of what thy woes had been,
" When thou, the heir of England's crown, in vain
" Didſt ſue the mercy of a tyrant Queen?
" And could no pang from tender memory wake,
" And feel thoſe woes that once had been thine own;
" No pleading tear to drop for Mary's ſake,
" For Mary's ſake, the heir of England's throne?
" Alas! no pleading pang thy memory knew,
" Dry'd were the tears which for thyſelf had flow'd;
" Dark politics alone engag'd thy view;
" With female jealouſy thy boſom glow'd.
" And ſay, did Wiſdom own thy ſtern command?
" Did Honour wave his banner o'er the deed?
" No;—Mary's fate thy name ſhall ever brand,
" And ever o'er her woes ſhall Pity bleed.
[8]" The babe that prattled on his nurſe's knee,
" When firſt thy woeful captive hours began,
" Ere heaven, oh hapleſs Mary, ſet thee free,
" That babe to battle march'd in arms a man."
An awful pauſe enſues—With ſpeaking eyes,
And hands half rais'd, the guardian Wood Nymphs wait,
While ſlow and ſad the airy ſcenes ariſe,
Stain'd with the laſt deep woes of Mary's fate.
With dreary black hung round the hall appears,
The thirſty ſaw-duſt ſtrews the marble floor,
Blue gleams the ax, the block its ſhoulders rears,
And pikes and halberts guard the iron door.
The clouded moon her dreary glimpſes ſhed,
And Mary's maids, a mournful train, paſs by;
Languid they walk, and liſtleſs hang the head,
And ſilent tears pace down from every eye.
Serene and nobly mild appears the Queen,
She ſmiles on heaven, and bows the injur'd head:
The ax is lifted—from the deathful ſcene
The Guardians turn'd, and all the picture fled:
It fled: the Wood Nymphs o'er the diſtant lawn,
As rapt in viſion, dart their earneſt eyes;
So when the huntſman hears the ruſtling ſawn,
He ſtands impatient of the ſtarting prize.
[9]The ſovereign Dame her awful eye-balls roll'd,
As Cuma's maid when by the God inſpir'd;
" The depths of ages to my ſight unfold,"
She cries, "and Mary's meed my breaſt has fir'd.
" On Tudor's throne her Sons ſhall ever reign,
" Age after age ſhall ſee their flag unfurl'd,
" With ſovereign pride, where-ever roars the main,
" Stream to the wind, and awe the trembling world.
" Nor in their Britain ſhall they reign alone,
" Age after age through lengthening time ſhall ſee
" Her branching race on Europe's every throne,
" And Goths and Vandals bend to them the knee.
" But Tudor as a fruitleſs gourd ſhall die;
" I ſee her death-ſcene—On the lowly flore
" Dreary ſhe ſits, cold Grief has glaſs'd her eye,
" And Anguiſh gnaws her till ſhe breathes no more.
But hark—loud howling thro' the midnight gloom,
Faction is rous'd, and ſends her baleful yell!
Oh ſave, ye generous few, your Mary's tomb,
Oh ſave her aſhes from the blaſting ſpell:
" And ſee where Time with brighten'd face ſerene,
" Points to yon far, but gloricus opening ſky;
" See Truth walk forth, majeſtic awful Queen,
" And Party's blackening miſts before her fly.
[10]" Falſhood unmaſk'd withdraws her ugly train,
" And Mary's virtues all illuſtrious ſhine—
" Yes, thou haſt friends, the godlike and humane
" Of lateſt ages, injur'd Queen, are thine."
The milky ſplendors of the dawning ray
Now thro' the grove a trembling radiance ſhed,
With ſprightly note the wood-lark hail'd the day,
And with the moonſhine all the viſion fled
b.
HENGIST AND MEY: A BALLAD.
[11]BY THE AUTHOR OF THE CONCUBINE.
IN antient days, when Arthur reign'd,
Sir Elmer had no peer!
And no young knight in all the land
The ladies lov'd ſo dear.
His ſiſter Mey, the faireſt maid
Of all the virgin train,
Won every heart at Arthur's court,
But all their love was vain.
In vain they lov'd, in vain they vow'd,
Her heart they could not move:
Yet at the evening hour of prayer
Her mind was loſt in love.
The Abbeſs ſaw, the Abbeſs knew,
And urg'd her to explain;
" O name the gentle youth to me,
" And his conſent I'll gain."
[12]Long urg'd, long vext, fair Mey reply'd,
" His name how can I ſay?
" An angel from the fields above
" Has rapt my heart away.
" But once, alas, and never more,
" His lovely form I ſpied,
" One evening by the ſounding ſhore,
" All by the greenwood ſide:
" His eyes to mine the love confeſt,
" That glow'd with mildeſt grace:
" His courtly mien and purple veſt
" Beſpoke his princely race.
" But when he heard my brother's horn
" Faſt to his ſhips he fled:
" Yet while I ſleep his graceful form
" Still hovers round my bed.
" Sometimes all clad in armour bright,
" He ſhakes a warlike lance;
" And now in courtly garments dight,
" He leads the ſprightly dance,
" His hair is black as raven's wing,
" His ſkin as Chriſtmas ſnow,
" His cheeks outvie the bluſh of morn,
" His lips like roſe-buds glow.
[13]" His limbs, his arms, his ſtature, ſhap'd
" By Nature's fineſt hand;
" His ſparkling eyes declare him born
" To love and to command."
The live-long year fair Mey bemoan'd
Her hopeleſs pining love:
But when the balmy Spring return'd,
And Summer cloath'd the grove;
All round by pleaſant Humber ſide
The Saxon banners flew,
And to Sir Elmer's caſtle gates
The ſpear-men came in view.
Fair bluſh'd the morn when Mey look'd o'er
The caſtle-wall ſo ſheen;
And, lo, the warlike Saxon youth
Were ſporting on the green.
There Hengiſt, Offa's eldeſt ſon,
Lean'd on his burniſh'd lance,
And all the armed youth around
Obey'd his manly glance.
His locks as black as raven's wing
Adown his ſhoulders flow'd,
His cheeks outvied the bluſh of morn,
His lips like roſe-buds glow'd,
[14]And ſoon the lovely form of Mey
Has caught his piercing eyes:
He gives the ſign, his bands retire,
While big with love he ſighs,
" Oh thou, for whom I dar'd the ſeas,
" And come with peace or war;
" Oh, by that croſs that veils thy breaſt,
" Relieve thy Lover's care!
" For thee I'll quit my father's throne,
" With thee the wilds explore;
" Or with thee ſhare the Britiſh crown,
" With thee the Croſs adore."
Beneath the timorous virgin bluſh,
With love's ſoft warmth ſhe glows:
So bluſhing thro' the dews of morn
Appears the opening roſe.
'Twas now the hour of morning prayer,
When men their ſins bewail,
That Elmer heard king Arthur's horn
Shrill ſounding thro' the dale.
The pearly tears from Mey's bright eyes
Like April dew drops fell,
When with a parting dear embrace
Her brother bade farewell.
[15]The croſs with ſparkling diamonds bright
That veil'd her ſnowy breaſt,
With prayers to heaven, her lily hands
Have fixt on Elmer's veſt.
Now with five-hundred bow-men true
He's march'd acroſs the plain,
Till with his gallant yeomandrie
He join'd king Arthur's train.
Full forty thouſand Saxon ſpears
Came glittering down the hill,
And with their ſhouts and clang of arms
The diſtant valleys fill.
Old Offa, dreſt in Odin's garb,
Aſſum'd the hoary god;
And Hengiſt, like the warlike Thor,
Before the horſemen rode.
With dreadful rage the combat burns,
The captains ſhout amain;
And Elmer's tall victorious ſpear
Far glances o'er the plain.
To ſtop its courſe young Hengiſt flew
Like lightning o'er the field;
And ſoon his eyes the well-known croſs
On Elmer's veſt beheld.
[16]The ſlighted lover ſwell'd his breaſt,
His eyes ſhot living fire,
And all his martial heat before
To this was mild deſire.
On his imagin'd rival's ſteed
With furious force he preſt,
And glancing to the ſun, his ſword
Reſounds on Elmer's creſt.
The foe gave way, the princely youth
With heedleſs rage purſu'd,
Till trembling in his cloven helm
Sir Elmer's javelin ſtood.
He bow'd his head, ſlow dropt his ſpear,
The reins ſlipt through his hand,
And ſtain'd with blood, his ſtately corſe
Lay breathleſs on the ſtrand.
" O bear me off," Sir Elmer cried,
" Before my painful ſight
" The combat ſwims—Yet Hengiſt's veſt
" I claim as victor's right."
Brave Hengiſt's fall the Saxons ſaw,
And all in terror fled.
The bow-men to his caſtle gates
The bold Sir Elmer led.
[17]" Oh waſh my wounds, my ſiſter dear,
" O pull this Saxon dart,
" That whizzing from young Hengiſt's arm
" Has almoſt pierc'd my heart.
" Yet in my hall his veſt ſhall hang,
" And Britons yet unborn
" Shall with the trophies of to-day
" Their ſolemn feaſts adorn.
All-trembling Mey beheld the veſt;
" Oh, Merlin," loud ſhe cried,
" Thy words are true—my ſlaughter'd Love
" Shall have a breathleſs bride!
" Oh, Elmer, Elmer, boaſt no more
" That low my Hengiſt lies!
" O, Hengiſt, cruel was thine arm;
" My brother bleeds and dies!"
She ſpake—the roſes left her cheek,
And Life's warm ſpirits fled:
So nipt by Winter's lingering blaſts,
The Snowdrop bows the head.
Yet parting life one ſtruggle gave,
She lifts her languid eyes;
" Return, my Hengiſt, oh return,
" My ſlaughter'd love!" ſhe cries.
[18]" Oh—ſtill he lives—he ſmiles again,
" With all his grace he moves:
" I come—I come, where bow nor ſpear
" Shall more diſturb our loves."—
She ſpake—ſhe died. The Saxon dart
Was drawn from Elmer's ſide;
And thrice he call'd his ſiſter Mey,
And thrice he groan'd, and died.
Where in the dale a moſs-grown croſs
O'erſhades an aged thorn,
Sir Elmer's and young Hengiſt's corſe
Were by the ſpearmen borne.
And there all clad in robes of white,
With many a ſigh and tear,
The village maids to Hengiſt's grave
Did Mey's fair body bear.
And there at dawn and fall of day,
All from the neighbouring groves,
The Turtles wail in widow'd notes,
And ſing their hapleſs loves.
KNOWLEDGE: AN ODE.
[19]BY THE SAME.
Ducit in èrrorem variarum ambage viarum.
OVID.
HIGH on a hill's green boſom laid,
At eaſe my careleſs Fancy ſtray'd,
And o'er the landſkip ran;
Review'd what ſcenes the ſeaſons ſhow,
And weigh'd what ſhare of joy and woe
Is doom'd to toiling Man.
The nibbling flocks around me bleat,
The oxen low beneath my feet
Along the clover'd dale;
The golden ſheaves the reapers bind,
The ploughman whiſtles near behind,
And breaks the new-mown vale.
" Hail, Knowledge, gift of heaven! I cried;
" E'en all the gifts of heaven beſide,
" Compar'd to thee, how low!
" The bleſſings of the earth and air
" The beaſts of fold and foreſt ſhare,
" But godlike Beings KNOW.
[20]" How mean the ſhort-liv'd joys of Senſe!
" But how ſublime the excellence
" Of Wiſdom's ſacred lore!
" In Death's deep ſhades what nations lie!
" Yet ſtill can Wiſdom's piercing eye
" Their mighty deeds explore.
" She ſees the little Spartan band,
" With great Leonidas, withſtand
" The Aſian world in arms;
" She hears the heavenly ſounds that hung
" On Homer's and on Plato's tongue,
" And glows at Tully's charms.
" The wonders of the ſpacious ſky
" She penetrates with Newton's eye,
" And marks the planets roll;
" The human mind with Locke ſhe ſcans;
" With Cambray Virtue's flame ſhe fans,
" And lifts to heaven the ſoul.
" How matter takes ten thouſand forms
" Of metals, plants, of men and worms,
" She joys to trace with Boyle:
" This life ſhe deems an infant ſtate,
" A gleam that bodes a light complete,
" When done the mortal toil.
[21]" What numerous ills in life befal!
" Yet Wiſdom learns to ſcorn them all,
" And arms the breaſt with ſteel:
" E'en Death's pale face no horror wears;
" But, ah, what horrid pangs and fears
" Unknowing wretches feel!
" That breaſt excels proud Ophir's mines,
" And fairer than the morning ſhines,
" Where Wiſdom's treaſures glow;
" But, ah, how void yon peaſant's mind!
" His thoughts how darken'd and confin'd!
" Nor cares he more to know.
" The laſt two tenants of the ground,
" Of antient times his hiſtory bound:
" Alas, it ſcarce goes higher.
" In vain to him is Maro's ſtrain,
" And Shakeſpeare's magic powers in vain,
" In vain is Milton's fire.
" Nor ſun by day, nor ſtars by night,
" Can give his ſoul the grand delight
" To trace almighty power:
" His team think juſt as much as he
" Of Nature's vaſt variety
" In animal and flower."
[22]As thus I ſung, a ſolemn ſound
Accoſts mine ear; I look'd around,
And, lo, an antient Sage,
Hard by an ivied oak, ſtood near,
That fenc'd the cave, where many a year
Had been his hermitage.
His mantle grey flow'd looſe behind,
His ſnowy beard wav'd to the wind,
And added ſolemn grace;
His broad bald front gave dignity,
Attention mark'd his lively eye,
And peace ſmil'd in his face.
He beckon'd with his wrinkled hand,
My ear was all at his command;
And thus the Sage began:
" Godlike it is to know, I own,
" But, oh, how little can be known
" By poor ſhort-ſighted man!
" Go mark the Schools, where letter'd Pride,
" And ſtar-crown'd Science, boaſtful guide,
" Diſplay their faireſt light:
" There led by ſome pale meteor's ray,
" That leaves them oft, the Sages ſtray,
" And grope in endleſs night.
[23]" Of Wiſdom proud, yon Sage exclaims,
" Virtue and Vice are merely names,
" And changing every hour;
" Aſhley, how loud in Virtue's praiſe!
" Yet Aſhley with a kiſs betrays
" And ſtrips her of her dower.
" Hark, Bolingbroke his God arraigns;
" Hobbs ſmiles on Vice, Deſcartes maintains:
" A godleſs paſſive cauſe;
" See, Bayle, oft ſlily ſhifting round,
" Would fondly fix on ſceptic ground,
" And wreſt th' eternal laws.
" And what the joy this lore beſtows?
" Alas, no joy, no hope it knows
" Above what Brutes may claim:
" To quench our nobleſt native fire,
" That bids to nobler worlds aſpire,
" Is all its hope, its aim.
" Not Afric's wilds, nor Babel's waſte,
" Where Ignorance her tents hath plac'd,
" More diſmal ſcene diſplay:
" A ſcene, where Virtue ſickening dies,
" Where Vice to dark extinction flies,
" And ſcorns the future day.
[24]" Wiſdom you boaſt to you is given:
" At night then mark the fires of heaven,
" And let thy mind explore;
" Swift as the lightning let it fly
" From ſtar to ſtar, from ſky to ſky,
" Still, ſtill are millions more.
" Th' immenſe ideas ſtrike the ſoul
" With pleaſing horror, and controul
" Thy Wiſdom's empty boaſt.
" What are they?—Thou canſt never ſay:
" Then ſilent adoration pay,
" And be in wonder loſt.
" Say, how the ſelf-ſame roots produce
" The wholeſome food, and poiſonous juice,
" And adders balſams yield:
" How fierce the lurking tyger glares,
" How mild the heifer with thee ſhares
" The labours of the field?
" Why growling to his den retires
" The ſullen pard, while joy inſpires
" Yon happy ſportive lambs?
" Now ſcatter'd o'er the hill they ſtray,
" Now, weary of their gambling play,
" All [...]ingle out their dams.
[25]" Inſtinct directs—But what is That?
" Fond man, thou never canſt ſay What:
" Far ſhort thy ſearches fall.
" By ſtumbling chance, and ſlow degrees,
" The uſeful arts of men increaſe,
" But this at once is all.
" A trunk firſt floats along the deep,
" Long ages ſtill improve the ſhip,
" Till ſhe commands the ſhore:
" But never bird improv'd her neſt,
" Each all at once of powers poſſeſt,
" Which ne'er can riſe to more.
" That down the ſteep the waters flow,
" That weight deſcends we ſee, and know;
" But why, can ne'er explain.
" Then humbly weighing Nature's laws,
" To God's high will aſcribe the cauſe,
" And own thy wiſdom vain.
" For ſtill the more thou knoweſt, the more
" Shalt thou the vanity deplore
" Of all thy ſoul can find:
" This life a ſickly woful dream,
" A burial of the ſoul will ſeem,
" A palſy of the mind.
[26]" Tho' Knowledge ſcorns the peaſant's fear,
" Alas, it points the ſecret ſpear
" Of many a nameleſs woe:
" Thy delicacy dips the dart
" In rankling gall, and gives a ſmart
" Beyond what he can know.
" How happy then the ſimple mind
" Of yon unknowing labouring hind,
" Where all is ſmiling peace!
" No thoughts of more exalted joy
" His preſent bliſs one hour deſtroy,
" Nor rob one moment's eaſe.
" The ſtings neglected Merit feels,
" The pangs the virtuous ſoul conceals,
" When cruſh'd by wayward fate;
" Theſe are not found below his roof,
" Againſt them all ſecurely proof,
" Heaven guards his humble ſtate.
" Knowledge or wealth to few are given;
" But, mark how juſt the ways of heaven!
" True joy to all is free:
" Nor Wealth nor Knowledge grant the boon,
" 'Tis thine, O Virtue, thine alone,
" It all belongs to thee,
[27]" With thee—how bleſt the Shepherd lives!
" Gay is his morn, his evening gives
" Content and ſweet repoſe.
" Without thee—ever, ever cloy'd,
" To ſage, or chief, one weary void
" Is all that life beſtows.
" Then wouldſt thou, Mortal, riſe divine?
" Let innocence of ſoul be thine,
" With active goodneſs join'd:
" Thy heart ſhall then confeſs thee bleſt,
" And, ever lively, joyful taſte
" The pleaſures of the mind."
So ſpake the Sage: my heart reply'd,
" How poor, how blind is human pride!
" All joy how falſe and vain,
" But that from Conſcious Worth which flows,
" Which triumphs in the midſt of woes,
" And boaſts an endleſs reign."
POLLIOc: AN ELEGIAC ODE.
WRITTEN IN THE WOOD NEAR R— CASTLE, 1762.
[28]BY THE SAME.
Haec Jovem ſentire, Deoſque cunctos,
Spem bonam certamque domum reporto.
HOR.
THE peaceful Evening breathes her balmy ſtore.
The playful ſchool-boys wanton o'er the green;
Where ſpreading poplars ſhade the cottage-door,
The villagers in ruſtic joy convene.
Amid the ſecret windings of the wood,
With ſolemn meditation let me ſtray;
This is the hour, when, to the wiſe and good,
The heavenly Maid repays the toils of day.
The river murmurs, and the breathing gale
Whiſpers the gently waving boughs among,
The ſtar of evening glimmers o'er the dale,
And leads the ſilent hoſt of heaven along.
[29]How bright, emerging o'er yon broom-clad height,
The ſilver empreſs of the night appears!
Yon limpid pool reflects a ſtream of light,
And faintly in its breaſt the woodland bears.
The waters tumbling o'er their rocky bed,
Solemn and conſtant, from yon dell reſound;
The lonely hearths blaze o'er the diſtant glade;
The bat, low-wheeling, ſkims the duſky ground.
Auguſt and hoary, o'er the ſloping dale,
The Gothic abbey rears its ſculptur'd towers;
Dull through the roofs reſounds the whiſtling gale;
Dark Solitude among the pillars lowers.
Where yon old trees bend o'er a place of graves,
And ſolemn ſhade a chapel's ſad remains,
Where yon ſcath'd poplar through the window waves,
And, twining round, the hoary arch ſuſtains;
There oft, at dawn, as one forgot behind,
Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where,
Some hoary ſhepherd, o'er his ſtaff reclin'd,
Pores on the graves, and ſighs a broken prayer.
High o'er the pines, that with their darkening ſhade
Surround yon craggy bank, the caſtle rears
Its crumbling turrets: ſtill its towery head
A warlike mien, a ſullen grandeur wears.
[30]So, midſt the ſnow of Age, a boaſtful air
Still on the war-worn veteran's brow attends;
Still his big bones his youthful prime declare,
Tho', trembling o'er the feeble crutch, he bends.
Wild round the gates the duſky wall-flowers creep,
Where oft the knights the beauteous dames have led;
Gone is the bower, the grot a ruin'd heap,
Where bays and ivy o'er the fragments ſpread.
'Twas here our ſires exulting from the fight,
Great in their bloody arms, march'd o'er the lea,
Eying their reſcu'd fields with proud delight!
Now loſt to them! and, ah how chang'd to me!
This bank, the river, and the fanning breeze,
The dear idea of my POLLIO bring;
So ſhone the moon through theſe ſoft nodding trees,
When here we wander'd in the eves of Spring.
When April's ſmiles the flowery lawn adorn,
And modeſt cowſlips deck the ſtreamlet's ſide,
When fragrant orchards to the roſeate morn
Unfold their bloom, in heaven's own colours dy'd;
So fair a bloſſom gentle POLLIO wore,
Theſe were the emblems of his healthful mind;
To him the letter'd page diſplay'd its lore,
To him bright Fancy all her wealth reſign'd:
[31]Him, with her pureſt flames the Muſe endow'd,
Flames never to th' illiberal thought allied;
The ſacred ſiſters led where Virtue glow'd
In all her charms; he ſaw, he felt, and died.
Oh partner of my infant griefs and joys!
Big with the ſcenes now paſt my heart o'erflows,
Bids each endearment, fair as once, to riſe,
And dwells luxurious on her melting woes.
Oft with the riſing ſun, when life was new,
Along the woodland have I roam'd with Thee;
Oft by the moon have bruſh'd the evening dew,
When all was fearleſs innocence and glee.
The ſainted well, where yon bleak hill declines,
Has oft been conſcious of thoſe happy hours;
But now the hill, the river crown'd with pines,
And ſainted well have loſt their cheering powers.
For Thou art gone—My guide, my friend, oh where,
Where haſt thou fled, and left me here behind!
My tendereſt wiſh, my heart to Thee was bare,
Oh, now cut off each paſſage to thy mind!
How dreary is the gulph, how dark, how void,
The trackleſs ſhores that never were repaſt!
Dread ſeparation! on the depth untry'd
Hope faulters, and the ſoul recoils aghaſt.
[32]Wide round the ſpacious heavens I caſt my eyes;
And ſhall theſe ſtars glow with immortal fire,
Still ſhine the lifeleſs glories of the ſkies,
And could thy bright, thy living ſoul expire?
Far be the thought—The pleaſures moſt ſublime,
The glow of friendſhip, and the virtuous tear,
The towering wiſh that ſcorns the bounds of time,
Chill'd in this vale of Death, but languiſh here.
So plant the vine on Norway's wintery land,
The languid ſtranger feebly buds, and dies:
Yet there's a clime where Virtue ſhall expand
With godlike ſtrength, beneath her native ſkies.
The lonely ſhepherd on the mountain's ſide,
With patience waits the roſy opening day;
The mariner at midnight's darkſome tide,
With chearful hope expects the morning ray.
Thus I, on Life's ſtorm-beaten ocean toſt,
In mental viſion view the happy ſhore,
Where POLLIO beckons to the peaceful coaſt,
Where Fate and Death divide the friends no more.
Oh that ſome kind, ſome pitying kindred ſhade,
Who now, perhaps, frequents this ſolemn grove,
Would tell the awful ſecrets of the Dead,
And from my eyes the mortal film remove!
[33]Vain is the wiſh—yet ſurely not in vain
Man's boſom glows with that celeſtial fire,
Which ſcorns earth's luxuries, which ſmiles at pain,
And wings his ſpirit with ſublime deſire.
To fan this ſpark of heaven, this ray divine,
Still, oh my ſoul! ſtill be thy dear employ;
Still thus to wander thro' the ſhades be thine,
And ſwell thy breaſt with viſionary joy.
So to the dark-brow'd wood, or ſacred mount,
In antient days, the holy Seers retir'd,
And, led in viſion, drank at Siloe's fount,
While riſing extaſies their boſoms fir'd;
Reſtor'd Creation bright before them roſe,
The burning deſarts ſmil'd as Eden's plains,
One friendly ſhade the wolf and lambkin choſe,
The flowery mountain ſung, "Meſſiah reigns!"
Tho' fainter raptures my cold breaſt inſpire,
Yet, let me oft frequent this ſolemn ſcene,
Oft to the abbey's ſhatter'd walls retire,
What time the moonſhine dimly gleams between.
There, where the croſs in hoary ruin nods,
And weeping yews o'erſhade the letter'd ſtones,
While midnight ſilence wraps theſe drear abodes,
And ſooths me wandering o'er my kindred bones,
[34]Let kindled Fancy view the glorious morn,
When from the burſting graves the juſt ſhall riſe,
All Nature ſmiling, and by angels borne,
Meſſiah's croſs far blazing o'er the ſkies.
DEATH: A POETICAL ESSAY.
FIRST PRINTED AT CAMBRIDGE, 1759.
[49]BY DR. PORTEUS.
FRIEND to the wretch, whom every friend forſakes,
I woo thee, Death! In Fancy's fairy paths
Let the gay Songſter rove, and gently trill
The ſtrain of empty joy.—Life and its joys
I leave to thoſe that prize them.—At this hour,
This ſolemn hour, when Silence rules the world,
And wearied Nature makes a general pauſe!
Wrapt in Night's ſable robe, through cloyſters drear
And charnels pale, tenanted by a throng
Of meagre phantoms ſhooting croſs my path
With ſilent glance, I ſeek the ſhadowy vale
Of Death.—Deep in a murky cave's receſs
Lav'd by Oblivion's liſtleſs ſtream, and fenc'd
By ſhelving rocks and intermingled horrors
Of yew' and cypreſs' ſhade from all intruſion
Of buſy noontide-beam, the Monarch ſits
In unſubſtantial Majeſty enthron'd.
At his right hand, neareſt himſelf in place
And frightfulneſs of form, his parent Sin
With fatal induſtry and cruel care
[50] Buſies herſelf in pointing all his ſtings,
And tipping every ſhaft with venom drawn
From her infernal ſtore: around him rang'd
In terrible array and ſtrange diverſity
Of uncouth ſhapes, ſtand his dread Miniſters:
Foremoſt Old Age, his natural ally
And firmeſt friend: next him diſeaſes thick,
A motley train; Fever with cheek of fire;
Conſumption wan; Palſy, half warm with life,
And half a clay-cold lump; joint-torturing Gout,
And ever-gnawing Rheum; Convulſion wild;
Swol'n Dropſy; panting Aſthma; Apoplex
Full-gorg'd.—There too the Peſtilence that walks
In darkneſs, and the Sickneſs that deſtroys
At broad noon-day. Theſe and a thouſand more,
Horrid to tell, attentive wait; and, when
By Heaven's command Death waves his ebon wand,
Sudden ruſh forth to execute his purpoſe,
And ſcatter deſolation o'er the Earth.
Ill-fated Man, for whom ſuch various forms
Of Miſery wait, and mark their future prey!
Ah! why, All-Righteous Father, didſt thou make
This Creature Man? why wake th' unconſcious duſt
To life and wretchedneſs? O better far
Still had he ſlept in uncreated night,
If this the Lot of Being!—Was it for this
Thy Breath divine kindled within his breaſt
[51] The vital flame? For this was thy fair image
Stampt on his ſoul in godlike lineaments?
For this dominion given him abſolute
O'er all thy creatures, only that he might reign
Supreme in woe? From the bleſt ſource of Good
Could Pain and Death proceed? Could ſuch foul Ills
Fall from fair Mercy's hands? Far be the thought,
The impious thought! God never made a Creature
But what was good. He made a living Man:
The Man of Death was made by Man himſelf.
Forth from his Maker's hands he ſprung to life,
Freſh with immortal bloom; No pain he knew,
No fear of death, no check to his deſires
Save one command. That one command (which ſtood
'Twixt him and ruin, the teſt of his obedience,)
Urg'd on by wanton curioſity
He broke.—There in one moment was undone
The faireſt of God's works. The ſame raſh hand
That pluck'd in evil hour the fatal fruit,
Unbarr'd the gates of Hell, and let looſe Sin
And Death and all the family of Pain
To prey upon Mankind. Young Nature ſaw
The monſtrous crew, and ſhook thro' all her frame.
Then fled her new-born luſtre, then begar.
Heaven's chearful face to low'r, then vapours choak'd
The troubled air, and form'd a veil of clouds
To hide the willing Sun. The Earth convuls'd
[52] With painful throes threw forth a briſtly crop
Of thorns and briars; and Inſect, Bird, and Beaſt,
That wont before with admiration fond
To gaze at Man, and fearleſs croud around him,
Now fled before his face, ſhunning in haſte
Th' infection of his miſery. He alone,
Who juſtly might, th' offended Lord of Man,
Turn'd not away his face, he full of pity
Forſook not in this uttermoſt diſtreſs
His beſt-lov'd work. That comfort ſtill remain'd,
(That beſt, that greateſt comfort in affliction)
The countenance of God, and thro' the gloom
Shot forth ſome kindly gleams, to chear and warm
Th' offender's ſinking ſoul. Hope ſent from Heaven
Uprais'd his drooping head, and ſhew'd afar
A happier ſcene of things; the Promis'd Seed
Trampling upon the Serpent's humbled creſt,
Death of his ſting diſarm'd, and the dank grave
Made pervious to the realms of endleſs day,
No more the limit but the gate of life.
Chear'd with the view, Man went to till the ground
From whence he roſe; ſentenc'd indeed to toil
As to a puniſhment, yet (ev'n in wrath
So merciful is Heaven) this toil became
The ſolace of his woes, the ſweet employ
Of many a live-long hour, and ſureſt guard
Againſt diſeaſe and Death.—Death tho' denounc'd
Was yet a diſtant Ill, by feeble arm
[53] Of Age, his ſole ſupport, led ſlowly on.
Not then, as ſince, the ſhort-liv'd ſons of men
Flock'd to his realms in countleſs multitudes;
Scarce in the courſe of twice five hundred years
One ſolitary ghoſt went ſhivering down
To his unpeopled ſhore. In ſober ſtate,
Through the ſequeſter'd vale of rural life,
The venerable Patriarch guileleſs held
The tenor of his way; Labour prepar'd
His ſimple fare, and Temperance rul'd his board.
Tir'd with his daily toil, at early eve
He ſunk to ſudden reſt; gentle and pure
As breath of evening Zephyr and as ſweet
Were all his ſlumbers; with the Sun lie roſe,
Alert and vigorous as He, to run
His deſtin'd courſe. Thus nerv'd with Giant Strength
He ſtem'd the tide of time, and ſtood the ſhock
Of ages rolling harmleſs o'er his head.
At life's meridian point arriv'd, he ſtood,
And looking round ſaw all the vallies fill'd
With nations from his loins; full-well content
To leave his race thus ſcatter'd o'er the Earth,
Along the gentle ſlope of life's decline
He bent his gradual way, till full of years
He dropt like mellow fruit into his grave.
Such in the infancy of time was Man,
So calm was life, ſo impotent was Death.
O had he but preſerv'd theſe few remains,
[54] Theſe ſhatter'd fragments of loſt happineſs,
Snatch'd by the hand of heaven from the ſad wreck
Of innocence primaeval; ſtill had he liv'd
Great ev'n in ruin; tho' fall'n, yet not forlorn;
Though mortal, yet not every where beſet
With Death in every ſhape! But He, impatient
To be compleatly wretched, haſtes to fill up
The meaſure of his woes. 'Twas Man himſelf
Brought Death into the world, And Man himſelf
Gave keenneſs to his darts, quicken'd his pace,
And multiplied deſtruction on mankind.
Firſt Envy, Eldeſt-Born of Hell, embru'd
Her hands in blood, and taught the Sons of Men
To make a Death which Nature never made,
And God abhorr'd, with violence rude to break
The thread of life ere half its length was run,
And rob a wretched brother of his being.
With joy Ambition ſaw, and ſoon improv'd
The execrable deed. 'Twas not enough
By ſubtle fraud to ſnatch a ſingle life,
Puny impiety! whole kingdoms fell
To ſate the luſt of power; more horrid ſtill,
The fouleſt ſtain and ſcandal of our nature
Became its boaſt.—One Murder made a Villain,
Millions a Hero.—Princes were privileg'd
To kill, and numbers ſanctified the crime.
Ah! why will Kings forget that they are Men?
And Men that they are brethren? Why delight
[55] In human ſacrifice? Why burſt the ties
Of Nature, that ſhould knit their ſouls together
In one ſoft bond of amity and love?
Yet ſtill they breathe deſtruction, ſtill go on
Inhumanly ingenious to find out
New pains for life, new terrors for the grave,
Artificers of Death! Still Monarchs dream
Of univerſal Empire growing up
From univerſal ruin.—Blaſt the deſign,
Great God of Hoſts, nor let thy creatures fall
Unpitied victims at Ambition's ſhrine!
Yet ſay, ſhould Tyrants learn at laſt to feel,
And the loud din of battle ceaſe to roar;
Should dove-ey'd Peace o'er all the earth extend
Her olive branch, and give the world repoſe,
Would Death be foil'd? Would health, and ſtrength, and youth
Defy his power? Has he no arts in ſtore,
No other ſhafts ſave thoſe of war?—Alas!
Ev'n in the ſmile of Peace, that ſmile which ſheds
A heavenly ſunſhine o'er the ſoul, there baſks
That ſerpent Luxury: War its thouſands ſlays,
Peace its ten thouſands: In th' embattled plain
Though Death exults, and claps his raven wings,
Yet reigns he not ev'n there ſo abſolute,
So mercileſs, as in yon frantic ſcenes
Of midnight revel and tumultuous mirth,
Where, in th' intoxicating draught conceal'd,
Or couch'd beneath the glance of lawleſs Love,
[56] He ſnares the ſimple youth, who nought ſuſpecting
Means to be bleſt—But finds himſelf undone.
Down the ſmooth ſtream of life the Stripling darts
Gay as the morn; bright glows the vernal ſky,
Hope ſwells his ſails, and Fancy ſteers his courſe;
Safe glides his little bark along the ſhore
Where Virtue takes her ſtand; but if too far
He launches forth beyond Diſcretion's mark,
Sudden the tempeſt ſcowls, the ſurges roar,
Blot his fair day, and plunge him in the deep.
O ſad but ſure miſchance! O happier far
To lie like gallant Howe midſt Indian wilds
A breathleſs corſe, cut off by ſavage hands
In earlieſt prime, a generous ſacrifice
To Freedom's holy cauſe; than ſo to fail
Tern immature from life's meridian joys,
A prey to Vice, Intemperance, and Diſeaſe.
Yet die ev'n thus, thus rather periſh ſtill,
Ye Sons of Pleaſure, by th' Almighty ſtricken,
Than ever dare (though oft, alas! ye dare)
To lift againſt yourſelves the murderous ſteel,
To wreſt from God's own hand the ſword of Juſtice,
And be your own avengers.—Hold, raſh Man,
Though with anticipating ſpeed thou'ſt rang'd
Through every region of delight, nor left
One joy to gild the evening of thy days,
Though life ſeem one uncomfortable void,
Guilt at thy heels, before thy face deſpair,
[57] Yet gay this ſcene, and light this load of woe,
Compar'd with thy hereafter. Think, O think,
And ere thou plunge into the vaſt abyſs,
Pauſe on the verge awhile, look down and ſee
Thy future manſion.—Why that ſtart of horror?
From thy ſlack hand why drops th' uplifted ſteel?
Didſt thou not think ſuch vengeance muſt await
The wretch, that with his crimes all freſh about him
Ruſhes irreverent, unprepar'd, uncall'd,
Into his Maker's preſence, throwing back
With inſolent diſdain his choiceſt gift?
Live then, while Heaven in pity lends thee life,
And think it all too ſhort to waſh away
By penitential tears and deep contrition
The ſcarlet of thy crimes. So ſhalt thou find
Reſt to thy ſoul, ſo unappall'd ſhalt meet
Death when he comes, not wantonly invite
His lingering ſtroke. Be it thy ſole concern
With innocence to live, with patience wait
Th' appointed hour; too ſoon that hour will come,
Tho' Nature run her courſe; But Nature's God,
If need require, by thouſand various ways,
Without thy aid, can ſhorten that ſhort ſpan,
And quench the lamp of life.—O when he comes,
Rous'd by the cry of wickedneſs extreme
To Heaven aſcending from ſome guilty land
Now ripe for vengeance; when he comes array'd
In all the terrors of Almighty wrath;
Forth from his boſom plucks his lingering Arm,
[58] And on the miſcreants pours deſtruction down!
Who can abide his coming? Who can bear
His whole diſpleaſure? In no common form
Death then appears, but ſtarting into Size
Enormous, meaſures with gigantic ſtride
Th' aſtoniſh'd Earth, and from his looks throws round
Unutterable horror and diſmay.
All Nature lends her aid. Each Element
Arms in his cauſe. Ope fly the doors of Heaven,
The fountains of the deep their barriers break,
Above, below, the rival torrents pour,
And drown Creation, or in floods of fire
Deſcends a livid cataract, and conſumes
An impious race.—Sometimes when all ſeems peace,
Wakes the grim whirlwind, and with rude embrace
Sweeps nations to their grave, or in the deep
Whelms the proud wooden world; full many a youth
Floats on his watery bier, or lies unwept
On ſome ſad deſert ſhore!—At dead of night
In ſullen ſilence ſtalks forth Peſtilence:
Contagion cloſe behind taints all her ſteps
With poiſonous dew; no ſmiting Hand is ſeen,
No ſound is heard; but ſoon her ſecret path
Is mark'd with deſolation; heaps on heaps
Promiſcuous drop: No friend, no refuge near;
All, all, is falſe and treacherous around,
All that they touch, or taſte, or breathe, is Death.
But ah! what means that ruinous roar? why fail
Theſe tottering feet?—Earth to its centre feels
[59] The Godhead's power, and trembling at his touch
Through all its pillars, and in every pore,
Hurls to the ground with one convulſive heave
Precipitating domes, and towns, and towers,
The work of ages. Cruſh'd beneath the weight
Of general devaſtation, millions find
One common grave; not ev'n a widow left
To wail her ſons: the houſe, that ſhould protect,
Entombs its maſter, and the faithleſs plain,
If there he flies for help, with ſudden yawn
Starts from beneath him.—Shield me, gracious Heaven!
O ſnatch me from deſtruction! If this Globe,
This ſolid Globe, which thine own hand hath made
So firm and ſure, if this my ſteps betray;
If my own mother Earth from whence I ſprung
Riſe up with rage unnatural to devour
Her wretched offspring, whither ſhall I fly?
Where look for ſuccour? Where, but up to thee,
Almighty Father? Save, O ſave thy ſuppliant
From horrors ſuch as theſe!—At thy good time
Let Death approach; I reck not—let him but come
In genuine form, not with thy vengeance arm'd,
Too much for Man to bear. O rather lend
Thy kindly aid to mitigate his ſtroke,
And at that hour when all aghaſt I ſtand,
(A trembling Candidate for thy compaſſion,)
On this World's brink, and look into the next;
When my ſoul ſtarting from the dark unknown
Caſts back a wiſhful look, and fondly clings
[60] To her frail prop, unwilling to be wrench'd
From this fair ſcene, from all her cuſtom'd joys,
And all the lovely relatives of life,
Then ſhed thy comforts o'er me; then put on
The gentleſt of thy looks. Let no dark Crimes
In all their hideous forms then ſtarting up
Plant themſelves round my couch in grim array,
And ſtab my bleeding heart with two edg'd-torture,
Senſe of paſt guilt, and dread of future woe.
Far be the ghaſtly crew! and in their ſtead,
Let chearful Memory from her pureſt cells
Lead forth a goodly train of Virtues fair
Cheriſh'd in earlieſt youth, now paying back
With tenfold uſury the pious care,
And pouring o'er my wounds the heavenly balm
Of conſcious innocence.—But chiefly, Thou,
Whom ſoft-ey'd Pity once led down from Heaven
To bleed for Man, to teach him how to live,
And, oh! ſtill harder Leſſon! how to die,
Diſdain not Thou to ſmooth the reſtleſs bed
Of Sickneſs and of Pain.—Forgive the tear
That feeble Nature drops, calm all her fears,
Wake all her hopes, and animate her faith,
Till my rapt Soul anticipating Heaven
Burſts from the thraldom of incumbering clay,
And on the wing of Extaſy upborn
Springs into Liberty, and Light, and Life.
THE DAY OF JUDGMENT: A POETICAL ESSAY.
[61]BY DR. GLYNN.
THY juſtice, heavenly King! and that great day,
When Virtue, long abandon'd and forlorn,
Shall raiſe her penſive head; and Vice, that erſt
Rang'd unreprov'd and free, ſhall ſink appall'd,
I ſing adventurous.—But what eye can pierce
The vaſt immeaſurable realms of ſpace
O'er which Meſſiah drives his flaming car
To that bright region, where enthron'd he ſits
Firſt-born of heaven, to judge aſſembled worlds,
Cloath'd in celeſtial radiance! Can the Muſe,
Her feeble wing all damp with earthly dew,
Soar to that bright empyreal, where around,
Myriads of angels, God's perpetual choir,
Hymn Halelujah's; and in concert loud
Chaunt ſongs of triumph to their Maker's praiſe?—
Yet will I ſtrive to ſing, albeit unus'd
To tread poetic ſoil. What tho' the wiles
Of Fancy me enchanted ne'er could lure
To rove o'er fairy lands; to ſwim the ſtreams
[62] That thro' her vallies weave their mazy way;
Or climb her mountain tops; yet will I raiſe
My feeble voice to tell what harmony
(Sweet as the muſic of the rolling ſpheres)
Attunes the moral world: that Virtue ſtill
May hope her promis'd crown; that Vice may dread
Vengeance, tho' late; that reaſoning Pride may own
Juſt tho' unſearchable the ways of heaven.
Sceptic! whoe'er thou art, who ſay'ſt the ſoul,
That divine particle, which God's own breath
Inſpir'd into the mortal maſs, ſhall reſt
Annihilate, 'till Duration has unroll'd
Her never-ending line; tell, if thou know'ſt,
Why every nation, every clime, tho' all
In laws, in rites, in manners diſagree,
With one conſent expect another world,
Where wickedneſs ſhall weep? Why Paynim bard [...]
Fabled Elyſian plains, Tartarean lakes,
Styx and Cocytus? Tell, why Hali's ſons
Have ſeign'd a paradiſe of mirth and love,
Banquets, and blooming nymphs? Or rather tell,
Why, on the brink of Orellana's ſtream,
Where never Science rear'd her ſacred torch,
Th' untutor'd Indian dreams of happier worlds
Behind the cloud-topt hill? why in each breaſt
Is plac'd a friendly monitor, that prompts,
Informs, directs, encourages, forbids?
Tell, why on unknown evil grief attends,
[63] Or joy on ſecret good? Why conſcience acts
With tenfold force, when ſickneſs, age, or pain,
Stands tottering on the precipice of Death?
Or why ſuch horror gnaws the guilty ſoul
Of dying ſinners; while the good man ſleeps
Peaceful and calm, and with a ſmile expires?
Look round the world, with what a partial hand
The ſcale of bliſs and miſery is ſuſtain'd!
Beneath the ſhade of cold obſcurity
Pale Virtue lies! no arm ſupports her head,
No friendly voice ſpeaks comfort to her ſoul,
Nor ſoft-ey'd Pity drops a melting tear;
But, in their ſtead, Contempt and rude Diſdain
Inſult the baniſh'd wanderer: on ſhe goes
Neglected and forlorn: Diſeaſe, and Cold,
And Famine, worſt of ills, her ſteps attend:
Yet patient, and to heaven's juſt will reſign'd,
She ne'er is ſeen to weep, or heard to ſigh.
Now turn your eyes to yon ſweet-ſmelling bower,
Where fluſh'd with all the inſolence of wealth
Sits pamper'd Vice! For him th' Arabian gale
Breathes forth delicious odours! Gallia's hills
For him pour nectar from the purple vine;
Nor think for theſe he pays the tribute due
To heaven: of heaven he never names the name,
Save when with imprecations dark and dire
He points his jeſt obſcene. Yet buxom Health
Sits on his roſy cheek; yet Honour gilds
[64] His high exploits; and downy pinion'd Sleep
Sheds a ſoft epiate o'er his peaceful couch.
See'ſt thou this, righteous Father! See'ſt thou this▪
And wilt thou ne'er repay? Shall good and ill
Be carried undiſtinguiſh'd to the land
Where all things are forgot?—Ah! no; the day
Will come, when Virtue from the cloud ſhall burſt
That long obſcur'd her beams; when Sin ſhall fly
Back to her native hell; there ſink eclips'd
In penal darkneſs; where nor ſtar ſhall riſe,
Nor ever ſunſhine pierce th' impervious gloom.
On that great day the ſolemn trump ſhall ſound,
(That trump which once in heaven on man's revolt
Convok'd the aſtoniſh'd ſeraphs) at whoſe voice
Th' unpeopled graves ſhall pour forth all their dead.
Then ſhall th' aſſembled nations of the earth
From every quarter, at the judgment-ſeat
Unite; Egyptians, Babylonians, Greeks,
Parthians, and they who dwelt on Tyber's banks,
Names fam'd of old: or who of later age,
Chineſe and Ruſſian, Mexican and Turk,
Tenant the wide Terrene; and they who pitch
Their tents on Niger's banks; or where the ſun
Pours on Golconda's ſpires his early light,
Drink Ganges' ſacred ſtream. At once ſhall riſe,
Whom diſtant ages to each other's ſight
Had long denied; before the throne ſhall kneel
[...]me great progenitor, while at his ſide
[65] Stands his deſcendant thro' a thouſand lines.
Whate'er their nation, and whate'er their rank,
Heroes and patriarchs, ſlaves and ſcepter'd kings,
With equal eye the God of all ſhall ſee;
And judge with equal love. What tho' the great
With coſtly pomp and aromatic ſweets
Embalm'd his poor remains; or thro' the dome
A thouſand tapers ſhed their gloomy light,
While ſolemn organs to his parting ſoul
Chaunted ſlow oriſons? Say, by what mark
Doſt thou diſcern him from that lowly ſwain
Whoſe mouldering bones beneath the thorn bound turf
Long lay neglected?—All at once ſhall riſe;
But not to equal glory: for, alas!
With howlings dire and execrations loud
Some wail their fatal birth.—Firſt among theſe
Behold the mighty murtherers of mankind;
They who in ſport whole kingdoms ſlew; or they
Who to the tottering pinnacle of power
Waded thro' ſeas of blood! How will they curſe
The madneſs of ambition; how lament
Their dear-bought laurels; when the widow'd wife
And childleſs mother at the judgment-ſeat
Plead trumpet-tongu'd againſt them!—Here are they
Who ſunk an aged father to the grave:
Or with unkindneſs hard and cold diſdain
Slighted a brother's ſufferings:—Here are they
Whom fraud and ſkilful treachery long ſecur'd;
[66] Who from the infant virgin tore her dower,
And eat the orphan's bread:—who ſpent their ſtores
In ſelfiſh luxury; or o'er their gold
Proſtrate and pale ador'd the uſeleſs heap.—
Here too who ſtain'd the chaſte connubial bed;—
Who mix'd the poiſonous bowl;—or broke the ties
Of hoſpitable friendſhip:—and the wretch
Whoſe liſtleſs ſoul ſick with the cares of life
Unſummon'd to the preſence of his God
Ruſh'd in with inſult rude. How would they joy
Once more to viſit earth; and, tho' oppreſs'd
With all that Pain and Famine can inflict,
Pant up the hill of life? Vain wiſh! the Judge
Pronounces doom eternal on their heads,
Perpetual puniſhment. Seek not to know
What puniſhment! for that th' Almighty Will
Has hid from mortal eyes: and ſhall vain man
With curious ſearch refin'd preſume to pry
Into thy ſecrets, Father! No: let him
With humble patience all thy works adore,
And walk in all thy paths: ſo ſhall his meed
Be great in heaven, ſo haply ſhall he 'ſcape
The immortal worm and never-ceaſing fire.
But who are they, who bound in ten-fold chains
Stand horribly aghaſt? This is the crew
Who ſtrove to pull Jehovah from his throne,
And in the place of heaven's Eternal King
Set up the phantom Chance. For them in vain
[67] Alternate ſeaſons chear'd the rolling year;
In vain the ſun o'er herb, tree, fruit, and flower
Shed genial influence, mild; and the pale moon
Repair'd her waning orb.—Next theſe is plac'd
The vile blaſphemer, he, whoſe impious wit
Profan'd the ſacred myſteries of faith,
And 'gainſt the impenetrable walls of heaven
Planted his feeble battery. By theſe ſtands
The arch Apoſtate: he with many a wile
Exhorts them ſtill to foul revolt. Alas!
No hope have they from black deſpair, no ray
Shines thro' the gloom to chear their ſinking ſouls:
In agonies of grief they curſe the hour
When firſt they left Religion's onward way.
Theſe on the left are rang'd: but on the right
A choſen band appears, who fought beneath
The banner of Jehovah, and defy'd
Satan's united legions. Some, unmov'd
At the grim tyrant's frown, o'er barbarous climes
Diffus'd the goſpel's light; ſome, long immur'd
(Sad ſervitude!) in chains and dungeons pin'd;
Or rack'd with all the agonies of pain
Breath'd out their faithful lives. Thrice happy they
Whom heaven elected to that glorious ſtrife!—
Here are they plac'd, whoſe kind munificence
Made heaven-born Science raiſe her drooping head;
And on the labours of a future race
Entail'd their juſt reward. Thou amongſt theſe
[68] Good SEATON! whoſe well-judg'd benevolence
Foſtering fair Genius bad the Poet's hand
Bring annual offerings to his Maker's ſhrine,
Shalt find the generous care was not in vain.—
Here is that favourite band, whom mercy mild,
God's beſt lov'd attribute, adorn'd; whoſe gate
Stood ever open to the ſtranger's call;
Who fed the hungry, to the thirſty lip
Reach'd out the friendly cup; whoſe care benign
From the rude blaſt ſecur'd the pilgrim's ſide;
Who heard the widow's tender tale; and ſhook
The galling ſhackle from the priſoner's feet;
Who each endearing tye, each office knew
Of meek-ey'd heaven-deſcended Charity.—
O Charity, thou nymph divinely fair!
Sweeter than thoſe whom antient Poets bound
In amity's indiſſoluble chain,
The Graces! How ſhall I eſſay to paint
Thy charms, celeſtial maid; and in rude verſe
Blazon thoſe deeds thyſelf didſt ne'er reveal?
For thee nor rankling envy can infect,
Nor rage tranſport, nor high o'erweening pride
Puff up with vain conceit; ne'er didſt thou ſmile
To ſee the ſinner as a verdant tree
Spread his luxuriant branches o'er the ſtream;
While like ſome blaſted trunk the righteous fall,
Proſtrate, forlorn. When propheſies ſhall fail,
When tongues ſhall ceaſe, when knowledge is no more,
[69] And this great day is come; thou by the throne
Shalt ſit triumphant. Thither, lovely maid,
Bear me, O bear me on thy ſoaring wing,
And thro' the adamantine gates of heaven
Conduct my ſteps, ſafe from the fiery gulph
And dark abyſs where Sin and Satan reign!
But, can the Muſe, her numbers all too weak,
Tell how that reſtleſs element of fire
Shall wage with ſeas and earth inteſtine war,
And deluge all creation? Whether (ſo
Some think) the comet, as thro' fields of air
Lawleſs he wanders, ſhall ruſh headlong on
Thwarting th' Ecliptic where th' unconſcious earth
Rolls in her wonted courſe; whether the ſun
With force centripetal into his orb
Attract her long reluctant; or the caves,
Thoſe dread Vulcanos where engendering lye
Sulphureous minerals, from their dark abyſs
Pour ſtreams of liquid fire; while from above,
As e [...]ſt on Sodom, heaven's avenging hand
Rains fierce combuſtion.—Where are now the works
Of art, the toil of ages? Where are now
Th' imperial cities, ſepulchres and domes,
Trophies and pillars?—Where is Egypt's boaſt,
Thoſe lofty pyramids, which high in air
Rear'd their aſpiring heads, to diſtant times
Of Memphian pride a laſting monument?—
Tell me where Athens rais'd her towers?—Where Thebes
[70] Open'd her hundred portals?—Tell me where
Stood ſea-girt Albion?—Where imperial Rome
Propt by ſeven hills ſat like a ſceptred Queen,
And aw'd the tributary world to peace?—
Shew me the rampart, which o'er many a hill,
Thro' many a valley ſtretch'd its wide extent,
Rais'd by that mighty monarch, to repel
The roving Tartar, when with inſult rude
'Gainſt Pekin's towers he bent th'unerring bow.
But what is mimic Art? Even Nature's works,
Seas, meadows, paſtures, the meandering ſtreams,
And everlaſting hills ſhall be no more.
No more ſhall Teneriff cloud-piercing height
O'er-hang th' Atlantic Surge.—Nor that fam'd cliff,
Thro' which the Perſian ſteer'd with many a ſail,
Throw to the Lemnian Iſle its evening ſhade
O'er half the wide Aegean.—Where are now
The Alps that confin'd with unnumber'd realms,
And from the Black Sea to the Ocean ſtream
Stretch'd their extended arms?—Where's Ararat,
That hill on which the faithful Patriarch's Ark
Which ſeven long months had voyaged o'er its top
Firſt reſted, when the Earth with all her ſons,
As now by ſtreaming cataracts of fire,
Was whelm'd by mighty waters?—All at once
Are vaniſh'd and diſſolv'd; no trace remains,
No mark of vain diſtinction: heaven itſelf
That azure vault with all thoſe radiant orbs
[71] Sinks in the univerſal ruin loſt.—
No more ſhall planets round their central ſun
Move in harmonious dance; no more the moon
Hang out her ſilver lamp; and thoſe fix'd ſtars
Spangling the golden canopy of night,
Which oft the Tuſcan with his optic glaſs
Call'd from their wonderous height, to read their names
And magnitude, ſome winged miniſter
Shall quench; and (ſureſt ſign that all on earth
Is loſt) ſhall rend from heaven the myſtic bow.
Such is that awful, that tremendous day,
Whoſe coming who ſhall tell? for as a thief
Unheard, unſeen, it ſteals with ſilent pace
Thro' night's dark gloom.—Perhaps as here I ſit
And rudely carol theſe incondite lays,
Soon ſhall the hand be check'd, and dumb the mouth
That liſps the faultering ſtrain.—O! may it ne'er
Intrude unwelcome on an ill-ſpent hour;
But find me wrapt in meditations high,
Hymning my great Creator!
" Power ſupreme!
" O Everlaſting King! to thee I kneel,
" To thee I lift my voice. With fervent heat
" Melt all ye elements? And thou, high heaven,
" Shrink, like a ſhrivell'd ſcroll? But think, O Lord,
" Think on the beſt, the nobleſt of thy works;
" Think on thine own bright Image! Think on him,
" Who died to ſave us from thy righteous wrath;
" And 'midſt the wreck of worlds remember man!"
IL BELLICOSO.
MDCCXLIV.
BY MR. MASON.
HENCE, dull lethargic Peace,
Born in ſome hoary Beadſman's cell obſcure;
Or in Circaean bower,
Where Manhood dies, and Reaſon's vigils ceaſe;
Hie to congenial climes,
Where ſome ſeraglio's downy tyrant reigns;
Or where Italian ſwains,
Midſt wavy ſhades, and myrtle-blooming bowers,
Lull their ambroſial hours,
And deck with languid trills their tinkling rhymes.
But rouſe, thou God by Furies dreſt,
In helm with Terror's plumed creſt,
In adamantine ſteel bedight,
Gliſtening formidably bright,
With ſtep unfix'd and aſpect wild;
Jealous Juno's raging child,
Who thee conceiv'd in Flora's bower,
By touch of rare Olenian flower:
[87] Oft the goddeſs ſigh'd in vain,
Envying Jove's prolific brain,
And oft ſhe ſtray'd Olympus round,
Till this ſpecific help ſhe found;
Then fruitful grown, ſhe quits the ſkies,
To Thracia's ſanguine plain ſhe hies,
There teems thee forth, of nervous mold,
Haughty, furious, ſwift and bold,
Names thee Mars, and bids thee call
The world from Pleaſure's flowery thrall.
Come then, Genius of the war,
Roll me in thy iron car;
And while thy courſers pierce the ſky,
Breathing fury as they fly,
Let Courage hurry ſwift before,
All ſtain'd around with purple gore,
And Victory follow cloſe behind,
With wreath of palm and laurel join'd,
While high above, fair Fame aſſumes
Her place, and waves her eagle plumes.
Then let the trumpet ſwell the note,
Roaring rough thro' brazen throat;
Let the drum ſonorous beat,
With thick vibrations hoarſely ſweet;
Boxen hautboys too be found,
Nor be miſs'd the fife's ſhrill ſound;
Nor yet the bagpipe's ſwelling ſtrain,
Solace ſweet to Highland ſwain,
[88] Whether on ſome mountain's brow,
Now ſqueaking high, now droning low,
He plays deft lilts to Scottiſh laſs,
Tripping it o'er the pliant graſs,
Or whether in the battle's fray,
He lively pipes a bolder lay;
The bolder lay (ſuch magic reigns
In all its moving Phrygian ſtrains)
Diſperſes ſwift to all the train,
Fury ſtern, and pale Diſdain
Strikes every fire from every mind,
Nor leaves one latent ſpark behind.
Bear me now to tented ground,
Where gaudy ſtreamers wave around,
Where Britain's enſigns high diſplay'd,
Lend the earth a ſcarlet ſhade;
And pikes, and ſpears, and lances gay,
Glitter in the ſolar ray;
Here I'll join the hardy crowd,
As they ſport in gameſome mood,
Wreſtling on the circled ground,
Wreathing limbs with limbs around,
Or as they pitch the maſſy bar,
Or teach the diſk to whizz in air;
And when night returns, regale
With chat full blunt, and chirping ale;
While ſome voice of manly baſe
Sings my darling Chevy-Chace;
[89] How the child that's yet unborn
May rue earl Percy's hound and horn;
How Witherington in doleful dumps,
Fought right valiant on his ſtumps;
And many a knight and 'ſquire full gay
At morn, at night were clad in clay;
While firſt and laſt we join and ſing,
" God proſper long our noble king!"
And when Midnight ſpreads around
Her ſable veſtments on the ground,
Hence I'll, for a ſtudious ſeat,
To ſome ſtrong citadel retreat,
By ditch and rampart high ypent,
And battery ſtrong and battlement!
There, in ſome ſtate-room richly dight
With maily coats and faulchions bright,
Emblazon'd ſhields of quaint impreſs,
And a whole army's glittering dreſs,
While the taper burneth blue,
(As Brutus erſt was wont to do)
Let me turn the ample page
Of ſome grave hiſtoric Sage;
Or in Homer's ſacred ſong,
Mix the Grecian bards among;
Neſtor wiſe with ſilver'd head,
And Ajax ſtern, and Diomed,
And many more, whoſe wonderous might
Could equal e'en the gods in fight;
[90] Or liſt to Virgil's epic lyre,
Or lofty Lucan wrapp'd in fire;
But rather far let Shakeſpeare's Muſe
Her genuine Britiſh fires diffuſe;
And briſkly with her magic ſtrain
Hurry me to Gallic plain,
Juſt when each patriot Talbot bleeds,
Or when heaven-proſper'd Harry leads
His troops with ſeven-fold courage ſteel'd,
To Agincourt's immortal field.
But when th' imbattled troops advance,
O Mars, my every thought intrance!
Guide me, thundering martial god,
Guide thro' Glory's arduous road!
While hailing bullets round me fly,
And human thunders ſhake the ſky,
While crowds of heroes heap the ground,
And dying groans are heard around,
With armour clanking, clarions ſounding,
Cannons bellowing, ſhouts rebounding;
Guide me, thundering, martial god,
Guide thro' Glory's arduous road!
But ſhould on land thy triumphs ceaſe,
Still lead me far from hated Peace;
Me bear, dread Power, for warlike ſport,
To ſome wave-incircled fort;
Or (if it yield more open ſight)
To ſome hoar promontory's height,
[91] Whoſe high-arch'd brow o'erlooks the ſcene,
Where Tritons blue and Naiads green,
Sportive from their coral cave,
Through the fluid chryſtal lave;
There eagerly I ken from far
All the waſte of naval War,
And catch a ſympathetic rage,
While the numerous fleets engage,
And every diſtant ſhore rebounds
To the cannons rattling ſounds,
And the ſulphurous fire-ſhip rends,
And thouſand fates around her ſends,
And limbs diſſever'd hurl'd on high,
Smoke amid th' affrighted ſky.
Then let black clouds above my head,
With gleams of ſcarlet thick beſpread,
With lightning's flaſh and thunder's growl,
Suit the ſpleen that ſhades my ſoul.
There too let cranes, a numerous flight,
With beaks and claws rage bloody flight,
And airy knights from every cloud
Prick forth, their armour rattling loud;
With blazing ſwords and comets drear,
Dragging a trail of flaming hair;
Such as diffus'd their baneful gleam
Over beſieg'd Jeruſalem,
Or hung o'er Rome ere Julius fell,
And if old Sages rightly ſpell,
Were ever deemed to ſoreſhow
Changes in our realms below.
[92]And when at length cold creeping Age
Freezes the torrent of my rage,
Let me live amongſt a crew
Of invalids, of kindred hue!
Of ſome main limb bereſt by War,
Or bleſt with ſome deep glorious ſcar;
Scar, that endleſs glory draws
From Liberty and Albion's cauſe:
Then oft well pleas'd with them retire
To circle round a ſea-coal fire,
And all our paſt campaigns recite,
Of Vigo's ſack and Blenheim's fight;
How valiant Rooke majeſtic trod,
How Marlbro' thunder'd; half a god!
And then, with ſage prophetic eye,
In future battles to deſcry,
That Britain ſhall not fail to yield
Equal generals for the field;
That France again ſhall pour her blood,
And Danube roll a purpled flood.
And when my children round me throng,
The ſame grand theme ſhall grace my tongue;
To teach them, ſhould fair England need
Their blood, 'tis theirs to wiſh to bleed;
And, as I ſpeak, to mark with joy
New courage ſtart in every boy;
And gladſome read in all their eyes,
Each will a future hero riſe.
Theſe delights if Mars afford,
Mars, with thee I whet my ſword.
THE DESCENT OF ODIN: AN ODE.
BY THE SAME.
UPROSE the King of Men with ſpeed,
And ſaddled ſtrait his coal-black ſteed;
Down the yawning ſteep he rode,
That leads to
q Hela's drear abode.
Him the Dog of darkneſs ſpied,
His ſhaggy throat he open'd wide,
While from his jaws, with carnage fill'd,
Foam and human gore diſtill'd:
Hoarſe he bays with hideous din,
Eyes that glow, and fangs that grin;
And long purſues, with fruitleſs yell,
The Father of the powerful ſpell.
[102] Onward ſtill his way he takes,
(The groaning earth beneath him ſhakes,)
Till full before his fearleſs eyes
The portals nine of hell ariſe.
Right againſt the eaſtern gate,
By the moſs-grown pile he ſate;
Where long of yore to ſleep was laid
The duſt of the prophetic Maid.
Facing to the northern clime,
Thrice he traced the Runic rhyme;
Thrice pronounc'd, in accents dread,
The thrilling verſe that wakes the Dead;
Till from out the hollow ground
Slowly breath'd a ſullen ſound.
PR.
What call unknown, what charms preſume
To break the quiet of the tomb?
Who thus afflicts my troubled ſprite,
And drags me from the realms of night?
Long on theſe mouldering bones have beat
The winter's ſnow, the ſummer's heat,
The drenching dews, and driving rain!
Let me, let me ſleep again.
Who is he, with voice unbleſt,
That calls me from the bed of reſt?
O.
A Traveller, to thee unknown,
Is he that calls, a Warriour's Son.
[103] Thou the deeds of light ſhalt know;
Tell me what is done below,
For whom yon glittering board is ſpread,
Dreſt for whom yon golden bed.
PR.
Mantling in the goblet ſee
The pure beverage of the bee,
O'er it hangs the ſhield of gold;
'Tis the drink of Balder bold:
Balder's head to death is given.
Pain can reach the Sons of Heaven!
Unwilling I my lips uncloſe:
Leave me, leave me to repoſe.
O.
Once again my call obey.
Propheteſs, ariſe, and ſay,
What dangers Odin's Child await,
Who the Author of his fate.
PR.
In Hoder's hand the Heroe's doom:
His brother ſends him to the tomb.
Now my weary lips I cloſe:
Leave me, leave me to repoſe.
O.
Propheteſs, my ſpell obey,
Once again ariſe, and ſay,
Who th' Avenger of his guilt,
By whom ſhall Hoder's blood be ſpilt.
PR.
[104]In the caverns of the weſt,
By Odin's fierce embrace compreſt,
A wonderous Boy ſhall Rinda bear,
Who ne'er ſhall comb his raven-hair,
Nor waſh his viſage in the ſtream,
Nor ſee the ſun's departing beam;
Till he on Hoder's corſe ſhall ſmile
Flaming on the funeral pile.
Now my weary lips I cloſe:
Leave me, leave me to repoſe.
O.
Yet a while my call obey.
Propheteſs, awake, and ſay,
What Virgins theſe, in ſpeechleſs woe,
That bend to earth their ſolemn brow,
That their flaxen treſſes tear,
And ſnowy veils, that float in air.
Tell me whence their ſorrows roſe:
Then I leave thee to repoſe.
PR.
Ha! no Traveller art thou,
King of Men! I know thee now,
Mightieſt of a mighty line—
O.
No boding Maid of ſkill divine
Art thou, nor propheteſs of good;
But mother of the giant-brood!
PR.
Hie thee hence, and boaſt at home,
That never ſhall Enquirer come
[105] To break my iron-ſleep again;
Till
r Lok has burſt his tenfold chain.
Never, till ſubſtantial Night
Has reaſſum'd her ancient right;
Till wrapp'd in flames, in ruin hurl'd,
Sinks the fabric of the world.
A FATHER's ADVICE TO HIS SON.
[112]BY JOHN GILBERT COOPER, ESQ.
DEEP in a grove by cypreſs ſhaded,
Where mid day ſun had ſeldom ſhone,
Or noiſe the ſolemn ſcene invaded,
Save ſome afflicted Muſe's moan;
A Swain towards full ag'd manhood wending,
Sat ſorrowing at the cloſe of day,
At whoſe fond ſide a Boy attending,
Liſp'd half his father's cares away.
The father's eyes no object wreſted,
But on the ſmiling prattler hung,
Till, what his throbbing heart ſuggeſted,
Theſe accents trembled from his tongue.
" My youth's firſt hopes, my manhood's treaſure,
" My prattling innocent, attend,
" Nor fear rebuke, or ſour diſpleaſure,
" A father's lovelieſt name is Friend.
" Some truths, from long experience flowing,
" Worth more than royal grants receive,
" For truths are wealth of heaven's beſtowing,
" Which kings have ſeldom power to give.
[113]" Since from an ancient race deſcended
" You boaſt an unattainted blood,
" By yours be their fair fame attended,
" And claim by birthright to be good.
" In love for every fellow-creature,
" Superior riſe above the crowd;
" What moſt ennobles human nature
" Was ne'er the portion of the croud.
" Be thine the generous heart that borrows
" From others joys a friendly glow,
" And for each hapleſs neighbour's ſorrows,
" Throbs with a ſympathetic woe.
" This is the temper moſt endearing;
" Tho' wide proud Pomp her banners ſpreads,
" An heavenlier power good-nature bearing,
" Each heart in willing thraldom leads.
" Taſte not from Fame's uncertain fountain,
" The peace-deſtroying ſtreams that flow;
" Nor from Ambition's dangerous mountain,
" Look down upon the world below.
" The princely pine on hills exalted,
" Whoſe lofty branches cleave the ſky,
" By winds long brav'd, at laſt aſſaulted,
" Is headlong whirl'd in duſt to lie;
[114]" Whilſt the mild roſe more ſafely growing
" Low in its unaſpiring vale,
" Amidſt retirement's ſhelter blowing,
" Exchanges ſweets with every gale.
" Wiſh not for Beauty's darling features,
" Moulded by Nature's fondling power;
" For faireſt forms 'mong human creatures,
" Shine but the pageants of an hour.
" I ſaw, the pride of all the meadow,
" At noon, a gay Narciſſus blow
" Upon a river's bank, whoſe ſhadow
" Bloom'd in the ſilver waves below.
" By noon-tide's heat its youth was waſted,
" The waters as they paſs'd, complain'd;
" At eve its glories all were blaſted,
" And not one former tint remain'd.
" Nor let vain Wit's deceitful glory
" Lead you from Wiſdom's path aſtray:
" What Genius lives renown'd in ſtory,
" To happineſs who found the way?
" In yonder mead behold that vapor,
" Whoſe vivid beams illuſive play,
" Far off it ſeems a friendly taper,
" To guide the traveller on his way;
[115]" But ſhould ſome hapleſs wretch purſuing,
" Tread where the treacherous meteors glow,
" He'd find, too late his raſhneſs rueing,
" That fatal quickſands lurk below.
" In life ſuch bubbles nought admiring,
" Gilt with falſe light, and fill'd with air,
" Do you, from pageant crowds retiring,
" To peace in Virtue's cot repair.
" There ſeek the never-waſted treaſure,
" Which mutual love and friendſhip give,
" Domeſtic confort, ſpotleſs pleaſure,
" And bleſs'd and bleſſing you will live.
" If Heaven with children crowns your dwelling,
" As mine its bounty does with you,
" In fondneſs fatherly excelling
" The example you have felt purſue."
He paus'd—for tenderly careſſing
The darling of his wounded heart,
Looks had means only of expreſſing
Thoughts language never could impart.
Now Night her mournful mantle ſpreading,
Had rob'd with black the horizon round,
And dank dews from her treſſes ſhedding,
With genial moiſture bath'd the ground:
[116]When back to city follies flying,
'Midſt Cuſtom's ſlaves he liv'd reſign'd,
His face array'd in ſmiles, denying
The true complexion of his mind;
For ſeriouſly around ſurveying
Each character in youth and age,
Of fools betray'd and knaves betraying,
That play'd upon this human ſtage,
(Peaceful himſelf and undeſigning)
He loath'd the ſcenes of guile and ſtrife,
And felt each ſecret wiſh inclining
To leave this fretful farce of life.
Yet to whate'er above was fated,
Obediently he bow'd his ſoul;
For, what all-bounteous Heaven created,
He thought Heaven only ſhould controul.
ON THE MUCH LAMENTED DEATH OF THE MARQUIS OF TAVISTOCKy.
[117]BY MR. A— L—.
Sunt lacrymae rerum & mentem mortalia tangunt.
VIRG.
—VIRTUOUS youth!
Thank Heaven, I knew thee not! I ne'er ſhall feel
The keen regret thy drooping friends ſuſtain;
Yet will I drop the ſympathizing tear,
And this due tribute to thy memory bring;
Not that thy noble birth provokes my ſong,
Or claims ſuch offering from the Muſes ſhrine;
But that thy ſpotleſs undiſſembling heart,
Thy unaffected manners, all unſtain'd
With pride of power, and inſolence of wealth;
Thy probity, benevolence, and truth,
(Beſt inmates of man's ſoul!) for ever loſt,
Cropt like fair flowers in Life's meridian bloom,
Fade undiſtinguiſh'd in the ſilent grave.
O BEDFORD!—pardon, if a Muſe unknown,
Smit with thy heart-felt grief, directs her way
To Sorrow's dark abode, where thee ſhe views,
Thee, wretched fire, and pitying, hears thee mourn
Thy RUSSEL's fate.—"Why was he thus belov'd?
" Why did he bleſs my life?"—Fond parent, ceaſe;
[118] Count not his virtues o'er.—Hard taſk!—Call forth
Thy firm hereditary ſtrength of mind.
Lo! where the ſhade of thy great anceſtor,
Fam'd RUSSEL, ſtands, and chides thy vain complaint;
His philoſophic ſoul, with patience arm'd
And chriſtian virtue brav'd the pangs of death:
Admir'd, belov'd, he dy'd; (if right I deem)
Not more lamented than thy virtuous Son.
Yet calm thy mind; ſo may the lenient hand
Of Time, all ſoothing Time, thy pangs aſſwage,
Heal thy ſad wound, and cloſe thy days in peace.
See where the object of his filial love,
His mother, loſt in tears, laments his doom!
Speak comfort to her ſoul.—
O! from the ſacred fount, where flow the ſtreams
Of heavenly conſolation, O! one drop,
To ſooth his hapleſs wife! Sharp ſorrow preys
Upon her tender frame.—Alas! ſhe faints—
She falls! ſtill graſping in her hand
The picture of her lord.—All-gracious Heaven!
Juſt are thy ways, and righteous thy decrees,
But dark and intricate; elſe why this meed
For tender faithful love? this ſad return
For innocence and truth? Was it for this,
By Virtue and the ſmiling Graces led,
(Fair types of long ſucceeding years of joy)
She twin'd the votive wreath at Hymen's ſhrine,
So ſoon to fade and die? Yet O! reflect,
[119] Chaſte partner of his life! you ne'er deplor'd
His alienated heart; (diſtrous ſtate!
Condition worſe than death!) the ſacred torch
Burnt to the laſt its unremitted fires!
No painful ſelf-reproach haſt thou to feel;
The conſcious thought of every duty paid,
This ſweet reflection ſhall ſupport thy mind:
Be this thy comfort.—Turn thine eyes awhile,
Nor with that lifeleſs picture feed thy woe;
Turn yet thine eyes; ſee how they court thy ſmiles;
Thoſe infant pledges of connubial joy!
Dwell on their looks; and trace his image there.
And O! ſince Heaven, in pity to thy loſs,
For thee one future bleſſing has in ſtore,
Cheriſh that tender hope.—Hear Reaſon's voice;
Huſh'd be the ſtorms that vex thy troubled breaſt,
And angels guard thee in the hour of pain.
Accept this ardent prayer; a Muſe forgive,
Who for thy ſorrows draws the penſive ſigh,
Who feels thy grief. Tho' erſt in frolic hour,
She tun'd her comic rhymes to mirth and joy,
Unſkill'd (I ween in lofty verſe, unus'd
To plaintive ſtrains, yet by ſoft Pity led,
Trembling reviſits the Pierian vale;
There culls each fragrant flower to deck the tomb
Where generous RUSSEL lies.
THE PLEASURES OF CONTEMPLATION.
[120]BY MISS WHATELY.
QUEEN of the halycon breaſt, and heavenward eye,
Sweet Contemplation, with thy ray benign
Light my lone paſſage thro' this vale of life,
And raiſe the ſiege of Care! This ſilent hour
To thee is ſacred, when the ſtar of Eve,
Like Dian's Virgins trembling ere they bathe,
Shoots o'er the Heſperian wave its quivering ray.
All Nature joins to fill my labouring breaſt
With high ſenſations: awful ſilence reigns
Above, around; the ſounding winds no more
Wild thro' the fluctuating foreſt fly
With guſt impetuous; Zephyr ſcarcely breathes
Upon the trembling foliage; flocks, and herds,
Retir'd beneath the friendly ſhade repoſe
Fann'd by Oblivion's wing. Ha! is not this,
This the dread hour, as ancient fables tell,
When flitting ſpirits from their priſons broke,
By moon-light glide along the duſky vales,
The ſolemn church-yard, or the dreary grove;
Fond to reviſit their once lov'd abodes,
And view each friendly ſcene of paſt delight?
Satyrs, and fawns, that in ſequeſter'd woods,
And deep-embowering ſhades delight to dwell;
[121] Quitting their caves, where in the reign of Day
They ſlept in ſilence, o'er the daiſied green
Purſue their gambols, and with printleſs feet
Chaſe the fleet ſhadows o'er the waving plains.
Dryads, and Naiads, from each ſpring and grove,
Trip blithſome o'er the lawns; or, near the ſide
Of moſſy fountains, ſport in Cynthia's beams.
The fairy elves, attendant on their queen,
With light ſteps bound along the velvet mead,
And leave the green impreſſion of their dance
In rings myſterious to the paſſing ſwain;
While the pellucid glow-worm kindly lends
Her ſilver lamp to light the feſtive ſcene.
From yon majeſtic pile, in ruin great,
Whoſe lofty towers once on approaching foes
Look'd ſtern defiance, the ſad bird of night
In mournful accent to the moon complains:
Thoſe towers with venerable ivy crown'd,
And mouldering into ruin, yield no more
A ſafe retirement to the hoſtile bands;
But there the lonely bat, that ſhuns the day,
Dwells in dull ſolitude; and ſcreaming thence
Wheels the night raven ſhrill, with hideous note
Portending death to the dejected ſwain.
Each plant and flowret bath'd in evening dews,
Exhale refreſhing ſweets: from the ſmooth lake,
On whoſe ſtill boſom ſleeps the tall tree's ſhade,
The moon's ſoft rays reflected mildly ſhine.
[122]Now towering Fancy takes her airy flight
Without reſtraint, and leaves this earth behind;
From pole to pole, from world to world ſhe flies;
Rocks, ſeas, nor ſkies, can interrupt her courſe.
Is this what men, to thought eſtrang'd, miſcall
Deſpondence? this dull Melancholy's ſcene?
To trace th' Eternal Cauſe thro all his works,
Minutely and magnificently wiſe?
Mark the gradations which thro' Nature's plan
Join each to each, and form the vaſt deſign?
And tho' day's glorious guide withdraws his beams
Impartial, chearing other ſkies and ſhores;
Rich intellect, that ſcorns corporeal bands,
With more than mid-day radiance gilds the ſcene:
The mind, now reſcu'd from the cares of day,
Roves unreſtrain'd thro' the wide realms of ſpace;
Where (thought ſtupendous!) ſyſtems infinite,
In regular confuſion taught to move,
Like gems beſpangle yon etherial plains.
Ye ſons of Pleaſure, and ye foes to Thought,
Who ſearch for bliſs in the capacious bowl,
And blindly woo Intemperance for Joy;
Durſt ye retire, hold converſe with yourſelves,
And in the ſilent hours of darkneſs court
Kind Contemplation with her peaceful train;
How won'd the minutes dance on downy feet,
And unperceiv'd the midnight taper waſte,
While intellectual pleaſure reign'd ſupreme!
[123]Ye Muſes, Graces, Virtues, heaven-born maids!
Who love in peaceful ſolitude to dwell
With meek-ey'd Innocence, and radiant Truth,
And bluſhing Modeſty; that frighted fly
The dark intrigue, and midnight maſquerade;
What is this pleaſure which inchants mankind?
'Tis noiſe, 'tis toil, 'tis frenzy: like the cup
Of Circe, fam'd of old, who taſtes it finds
Th' etherial ſpark divine to brute transform'd.
And now, methinks, I hear the Libertine
With ſupercilious leer cry, "Preach no more
" Your muſty morals; hence, to deſarts fly,
" And in the gloom of ſolitary caves
" Auſterely dwell: what's life, debarr'd from joy?
" Crown then the bowl; let Muſic lend her aid,
" And Beauty her's, to ſoothe my wayward cares."
Ah! little does he know the Nymph he ſtyles
A foe to pleaſure; pleaſure is not more
His aim than her's; with him ſhe joins to blame
The hermit's gloom, and ſavage penances;
Each ſocial joy approves. Oh! without thee,
Fair Friendſhip, Life were nothing; without thee,
The page of Fancy would no longer charm,
And Solitude diſguſt e'en penſive minds.
Nought I condemn but that exceſs which clouds
The mental faculties, to ſoothe the ſenſe:
Let Reaſon, Truth, and Virtue, guide thy ſteps,
And every bleſſing Heaven beſtows, be thine.
THE PRAISES OF ISIS; A POEM.
WRITTEN MDCCLV.
BY CHARLES EMILY, ESQ.
CASTALIAN goddeſs, come; nor ſlight the call
Of ſimpleſt bard; auſpicious come, and prompt
The flowing numbers; ſo may Iſis lend
Attentive ear well-pleas'd, nor with diſdain
Reject the wreath of freſheſt flowrets cull'd
From Pindus' hill to deck her lovely brow.—
Begin▪ what Muſe to Iſis ſhall deny
The votive ſong? for Iſis loves the Muſe.—
Thee, faireſt Naiad, oft at early dawn
I meditate, till Evening, matron ſtaid,
Her treſſes dripping with ambroſial dew
[132] Advance ſlow-pacing from the gilded Weſt;
Nor ceaſe I to reflect, how bleſt are they,
To envy bleſt, that in thy peaceful haunts
Hold pleaſing dalliance with the Muſes' train;
Yet tho' in other clime I reſt remote,
Ill-fated, that my wayward lot forbids
To wander thy green verge beſide, ſhalt thou
Remain unſung; while now the hoary Cam
Hard by me rolls his ſlowly-winding wave.
As where Apelles in accordance meet
Weds light to ſhade; and with Promethean art
Teaches the breathing canvas to expreſs
A furtive life; with wonder we behold
Unnumbered beauties ruſh upon the ſight,
Gazing, while on the border of the lip
Stands mute Suſpence, yet doubtful which may firſt
Demand, which laſt, the tribute of applauſe;
Thus, Iſis, while for thee I ſtring the lyre,
The tongue of praiſe awhile forgets its purpoſe,
In magic wonder bound; nor knows the Muſe
Loſt in the pleaſing labyrinth, where to bend
Her footſtep firſt.—Say, ſhall I firſt rehearſe,
How thou, a virgin yet, wert whilom wont
In Nereus' hall to join the feſtive dance
Thy ſiſter train among, the faireſt thou
Of all the Naiads, that with ſilver foot
Skim the ſmooth ſurface of the glaſſy deep?
Say, rather ſhall I ſing, how kingly Thame
[133] (If holy bards in better ages born
Have ſtory'd true) to ſhare his watery bed
Thee woo'd long loving? nor in proud diſdain
Didſt thou refuſe with kingly Thame to mix
Thy marriageable wave
z. To Neptune's court
Upon that great ſolemnity repair'd
The river gods: all that from cryſtal urn
Enrichening moiſture pour o'er Britiſh plains.
There firſt advancing with imperial port
Proud Humber came; majeſtic as the god
Whoſe mighty trident
a ſhakes the trembling earth:
Next Severn, conſcious of Sabrina's
b fate,
The king of floods; in greeniſh mantle clad
Beſpangled here and there with coſtly gems
And many a gliſtering pearl: there too was ſeen
The Medway, and the hoarſe-reſounding Trent,
The pleaſant Medway, that with conſcious pride
Beholds the glorious race
c, who long of yore
Breathing ſtern-viſag'd valour ſcorn'd to ſtoop
The ſervile neck to William's
d galling yoke,
Unconquerable ſouls: the yellow Ouſe
There came, and Towy winding up and down
His watry folds, and Deva
e held of old
[134] A ſacred current; with the blue-rob'd Dove
f,
And Derwent, ſiſter ſtreams; and Avon
g fair,
The ſilver-ſandal'd nymph: whoſe bank along
At ſilent eve in penſive poſture ſtretch'd,
Calls raptur'd Fancy from Elyſian bower
Her darling Shakeſpear's ever hallow'd ſhade.
There was the Tweed, the turret-creſted Tyne,
And Eden, famous ſtream; who hath not heard
Of Eden? there the plowman as he turns
With crooked ſhare the bordering glebe, full oft
Gauntlets and ruſt-worn ſpears and vizor'd helms,
And pond'rous ſhields with quaint device pourtray'd,
And bones enormous of gigantic ſize
With gaping wonder ſees; then calls to mind
The well known tale, how there by Britiſh knights
Was many a bold exploit and bloody fight
Atchiev'd of old.—But tedious 'twere to name
All that with one accord to Neptune's hall
Then came, when now the beauteous Iſis gave
To mix with royal Thame's uxorious flood
Her virgin ſtream. Nor on that ſolemn day
Was wanting (then with rural chaplet crown'd,
Tho' now adorn'd with many a glittering tower)
Thou, father Cam: that oft with kind attention
Haſt deign'd awhile to liſten, as I tun'd
[135] The ſimple madrigal; nor jealous he,
That now his windings intricate I trace
With muſing gait; and teach the mimic nymph,
All as ſhe ſits his flowery bank along,
To ſound the praiſes of a ſiſter flood:—
And can I ſing aught better, than thy praiſe,
O lovely Iſis? lovelier in the eye
Of Phoebus ſeen, than erſt the ſilver ſtream
Of fabled Caſtaly; and fam'd as that
Which flow'd Minerva's city
h faſt beſide,
Iliſſus, nurſe of each ingenuous art.
Should I rehearſe, or thoſe, whoſe bounty bad
The liquid mirrour of thy glaſſy wave
Yon towery manſions to reflect; or thoſe,
Thy darling progeny, who burn'd to graſp
Immortal fame, and with unwearied ſearch
Urg'd flying Science to its inmoſt maze;
Should I their names rehearſe, the ſun, that now
His mattin beam wide ſcattering tips with gold
The ragged ſkirt of yonder orient cloud,
Wou'd drink the weſtern wave, or ever ceas'd
The lengthen'd ſong.—Theſe ſtructures Bodley plann'd;
Thoſe Sheldon's bounty rear'd. That beauteous dome
iBids grateful Iſis ſtill adore the ſhade
Of Radcliffe, honour'd name: him Paean taught
(For he was lov'd of Paean) to explore
[136] The medicinal power of juicy ſhrub
And healing plant, that o'er her verdant lap
With free profuſion parent Nature ſtrews;
Nor thankleſs he; for to the god he rear'd
In pious gratitude a ſtately fane.
Whence roſe yon fabric
k, that conſpicuous lifts
Its ſky-topt dome with more majeſtic pride?
'Twas Wolſey's glorious work: to Science riſe
No towers more lov'd; for there the mitred ſage
l,
In wiſdom's lore deep ſkill'd, with kindeſt eye
Obſerves the budding Genius as it thruſts
Its youthful bloſſoms; or with conſcious joy
There oft in recollection ſweet beholds
Thoſe, (whom his honeſt nurture erſt inform'd
With all that's deem'd or excellent or fair)
O'er Britain's peaceful land their goodly beams
Diſpenſe abroad: names, that to lateſt time
Shall ſhine diſtinguiſh'd in the rolls of Fame.
Oft, as thou ſat'ſt within thy pearl pav'd grot,
With pleas'd attention, Iſis, haſt thou caught
The dulcet ſounds, when in yon ſacred grove,
To Phoebus ſacred, woo'd the Latian Muſe
Sweet Addiſon: who like the ſedulous bee
Rifled each honey-boſom'd flower, that edg'd
The fount of Helicon.—Why loves to bend
His lonely ſtep to yonder aged oak,
[137] Deep muſing, while bright Cynthia ſilvers o'er
The negro forehead of uncomely Night,
Th' enraptur'd Bard? and on the dew-ſprent turf
His temples pillowing, ſees before him dance
(Or dreams he ſees) the Muſes Nine, and glows
With inſpiration ſtrange? There Fame records
Cuſtom'd the merry Chaucer erſt to frame
His laughter-moving tale: nor, when his harp
He tun'd to notes of louder pitch, and ſung
Of ladies paſſing fair, and bloody jouſts,
And warrior ſteeds, and valour-breathing knights
For matchleſs proweſs fam'd, deſerv'd he not
The laureat wreath; for he, like Phoebus, knew
To build in numbers apt the lofty ſong.—
" Whence art thou, gracious Preſence? Art thou ſent
" From heaven, an angel miniſter, to bleſs
" Theſe favour'd ſeats? for that excelling form
" Beſpeaks thee more than man;" in wonder wrapt
Thus Iſis cry'd, while on her margent green
In youthful grace how amiable! ſtood
Britannia's riſing hope
l. With ſtedfaſt eye
Long time ſhe gaz'd unſatisfied, and mark'd
Each godlike thought, that imag'd on his look
With ſtrong reflection ſhone, the undoubted pledge
Of futu [...]e deeds: tho' yet was Creſſy's plain
Unſtain'd with ſlaughter: nor had Gallia's king
m[138] His ravag'd crown yet mourn'd; nor deem'd, that ſoon
Wou'd dawn the luckleſs day, when he muſt drag
The galling bond of ſore captivity
n,
The gaze of cluſtering multitudes, and deck
The glorious triumph of a Britiſh boy.—
Nor, while yon fair aſpiring domes adorn
Thy verge, O Iſis, ſhall unmention'd paſs
Alfred, auſpicious name: ſay, goddeſs ſay,
Burſts not thy breaſt with ſwelling raptures fraught,
While Memory with her foregeful pencil paints
The glorious portrait? On the godlike form
Advanc'd, not graceful leſs, than on the top
Of Delian Cynthus, ſteps Latona's ſon,
In mildeſt majeſty: beſide him went,
As muſing deep, an hoary-headed Sa,
Of wonderous reverence; on his broad ſmooth front
Had Wiſdom ſtampt its fair ſimilitude.
The laurel grac'd his temples: in his hand
A golden harp, Apollo's gift, he bore;
And oft with cunning finger was he wont
To rove along the ſounding ſtrings, and lift
The raviſh'd ſoul of ſtatue-fixt Attention
To the heaven of rapture—O how ſweet thy charms,
All-powerful Harmony! in years indeed
Advanc'd he ſeem'd; yet on the cheek of age
Hale vigour with unfading freſhneſs bloom'd;
Upright he ſtept in ſtately mien, and breath'd
[19] Amiable dignity: ſuch ſeem'd of yore
The ſire of Jove, what time on Latian plains
He dwelt with Janus, hoſpitable king.
Well knew, what was, what is, what is to come,
The reverend Sage; and wiſely could he treat
Of juſtice, truth, and univerſal love
From man to man; and mark the limits, when
Virtue is virtue; when its mad exceſs
Strays headlong into vice: he too could tell
How moves the planet in harmonious dance
Its central ſun around: whence Iris ſteals
The bright variety of hues, that fringe
Her humid bow; how ſprings of night and day
The due viciſſitude; why o'er the earth
Circling the year with grateful interchange
The wandering ſeaſons roll; of higher things
Nor knew not he; for of th' aetherial mind,
That beams to day, to-morrow, and for ever,
An unextinguiſh'd ſpark; of nature's laws;
And nature's God full well could he diſcourſe.
Him gracious Heaven in pity to mankind
Sent from its ſtar-pav'd court (ſo ſung beneath
His ivy'd oak of yore the Druid ſage)
And nam'd him SCIENCE: firſt on Aſian clime
He ſettled, there where proud Euphrates rolls
Amid Chaldaean plains, or on the bank
Of Pharian Nile; there he his favourite ſeat
Long chooſing, ſoften'd with refinements meet
[140] The ſavage genius of mankind, and taught
With awful laws to curb licentious guilt,
To build the wall girt city, and to frame
The peaceful league of bleſt ſociety
With all the ſweet civilities of life.
Him Greece from thence with open arms embrac'd
A welcome gueſt: but chief he lov'd to haunt
The porch of Academe; where mildly beam'd
The modeſt wiſdom of good Socrates;
Where wont the honey'd
o eloquence to flow
From Plato's ſweet-diſtilling lip; and where
The letter'd
p Stagyrite from Nature's ſource
His maxims drew. Nor on Auſonian coaſt
Was Science honour'd leſs; ſince there had come
The Samian
q ſage, who ſmit with love of knowledge
O'er many a diſtant realm had ſtretch'd his ſearch,
And climates warm'd beneath another ſun.
At length when now in more degenerate times
Had exile Freedom loath'd the Heſperian ſhore,
With crooked keel did heaven-born Science plow
The ſwelling back of Ocean, till he gain'd
Neptunian Albion's hoſpitable beech;
The nurſe of Liberty; for ill, I ween,
Can Learning thrive, if Freedom ſhall deny
[141] To cheriſh with mild ray the riſing flower;
To Albion iſle he came, what time was ſheath'd
The ſword of war; and Alfred's arm had cruſh'd
The might of Paynim foes: the gracious king
With gladneſs hail'd his venerable gueſt;
And led him forth, where thro' the flowery meads
The ſilver Iſis winds her liquid maze.
When thus the royal goodneſs ſpake benign:
" Here deign, O heaven-deſcended Sage, to fix
" Thy favourite manſion; here to lateſt times
" Inſtruct thy ſons (nor think that Britons bear
" Such ſavage-hearted natures, but will melt
" In ſoft humanity) thy ſecret ſtores
" To pierce with curious diligence, and ſnatch
" Each fair perfection, each excelling art,
" And all, that profits or delights mankind;
" Here (as reclining on the peaceful lap
" Of Leiſure not inglorious, they delight
" To muſe in calm Retirement's lonely haunt)
" Inſtruct them to purſue the unerring print
" Of Wiſdom's ſtep; or with no lowly flight,
" High borne on Contemplation's eagle wing,
" To riſe from nature up to nature's God.
" How happy they! whom thou ſhalt give to tread
" The pleaſant paths of knowledge, and to weave
" The lawrel chaplet for their honour'd brows!"
He ceas'd, with look mild as when Phoebus ſheds
His ſoft effulgence on autumnal eve.
[142] The laurel'd ſeer in thankful guiſe bow'd low
His hoary reverence: "With peculiar love
" Sure heaven then looks (he cry'd) on mortals down,
" When kings, like Alfred, riſe; whoſe patriot ſouls
" Still center in a nation's good; who live
" By glorious works to make their country great:
" Such well deſerve to rule:
r ſuch heaven beholds
" Well-pleas'd; nor grudges, that to them it gave
" Its high vicegerency.—In future time
" Some one mayhap, the whilſt he ſhall behold
" With conſcious pride, how far his native land
" Tranſcends whatever vaunts hiſtoric fame
" Of poliſh'd Athens, and imperial Rome
" The ſeat of demi-gods, in holy rapture
" Shall bleſs the name of Alfred; and relate,
" That he, ſtill anxious for his Britain's weal,
" Led Science there where thro' the flowery meads
" Her liquid maze the ſilver Iſis winds—
" Nor ſhalt thou, hoſpitable flood, where now
" I ſtay my wandering feet, a ſtranger gueſt,
" Unhonour'd flow: for on thy graſſy brim
" Full oft ſhalt thou in ſilent joy behold,
" Bards that ſhall know to bind the captiv'd ſoul
" With energy of ſong; and ſages wiſe,
" As whilom mus'd th' Athenian ſtream beſide;
" And ſtateſmen, patriot ſouls, with merit fraught
[143] " And virtue more than Roman.—Here ſhall riſe
" My beſt-lov'd progeny
s, that ſhall explore
" (Of Heaven how highly favour'd) what till then
" Stagger'd the pedant's pride, and ſlipt the graſp
" Of baffled ſophiſt: he with Truth's bright ray
" The ten-fold gloom, which darkening logic ſpread,
" Shall pierce; and, like the golden-footed morn,
" Scatter abroad the chearing beam of light.—
" Theſe are the glories, that with influence ſweet
" Shall gild thy ſhores, bleſt Iſis: theſe are they,
" With homage due that each revolving year
" Shall viſit Alfred's hallowed ſhrine, and bring
" The pledge of gratitude and filial love."
EPISTLE FROM LORD WILLIAM RUS⯑SEL TO WILLIAM LORD CAVENDISHt.
BY GEO. CANNING, ESQ.
LOST to the world, to-morrow doom'd to die,
Still for my country's weal my heart beats high.
Tho' rattling chains ring peals of horror round,
While night's black ſhades augment the ſavage ſound,
'Midſt bolts and bars the active ſoul is free,
And flies, unfetter'd, CAVENDISH, to thee.
Thou dear companion of my better days,
When hand in hand we trod the paths of Praiſe;
When, leagu'd with patriots, we maintain'd the cauſe
Of true religion, liberty, and laws,
Diſdaining down the golden ſtream to glide,
But bravely ſtemm'd Corruption's rapid tide;
Think not I come to bid thy tears to flow,
Or melt thy generous ſoul with tales of woe;
[148] No: view me firm, unſhaken, undiſmay'd,
As when the welcome mandate I obey'd—
Heavens! with what pride that moment I recall!
Who would not wiſh, ſo honour'd, thus to fall!
When England's Genius, hovering o'er, inſpir'd
Her choſen ſons, with love of Freedom fir'd,
Spite of an abject, ſervile, penſion'd train,
Minions of Power, and worſhippers of Gain,
To ſave from Bigotry its deſtin'd prey,
And ſhield three nations from tyrannick ſway.
'Twas then my CA'NDISH caught the glorious flame,
The happy omen of his future fame;
Adorn'd by Nature, perfected by Art,
The cleareſt head, and warmeſt, nobleſt heart,
His words, deep ſinking in each captiv'd ear,
Had power to make even Liberty more dear.
While I, unſkill'd in Oratory's lore,
Whoſe tongue ne'er ſpeaks but when the heart runs o'er,
In plain blunt phraſe my honeſt thoughts expreſs'd
Warm from the heart, and to the heart addreſs'd.
Juſtice prevail'd; yes Juſtice, let me ſay,
Well pois'd her ſcales on that auſpicious day.
The watchful ſhepherd ſpies the wolf afar,
Nor truſts his flock to try the unequal war;
What tho' the ſavage crouch in humble guiſe,
And check the fire that flaſhes from his eyes,
Should once his barbarous fangs the fold invade,
Vain were their cries, too late the ſhepherd's aid,
[149] Thirſting for blood, he knows not how to ſpare,
His jaws diſtend, his fiery eyeballs glare,
While ghaſtly Deſolation, ſtalking round,
With mangled limbs beſtrews the purple ground.
Now, Memory, fail! nor let my mind revolve,
How England's Peers annull'd the juſt reſolve,
Againſt her boſom aim'd a deadly blow,
And laid at once her great Palladium low!
Degenerate nobles! Yes, by Heaven I ſwear,
Had BEDFORD's ſelf appear'd delinquent there,
And join'd, forgetful of his country's claims,
To thwart the excluſion of apoſtate JAMES,
All filial ties had then been left at large,
And I myſelf the firſt to urge the charge.
Such the fix'd ſentiments that rule my ſoul,
Time cannot change, nor Tyranny controul;
While free, they hung upon my penſive brow,
Then my chief care, my pride and glory now;
Foil'd I ſubmit, nor think the meaſure hard,
For conſcious Virtue is its own reward.
Vain then is force, and vain each ſubtile art,
To wring retraction from my tortured heart;
There lie, in marks indelible engrav'd,
The means whereby my country muſt be ſav'd;
Are to thine eyes thoſe characters unknown?
To read my inmoſt heart, conſult thine own;
There wilt thou find this ſacred truth reveal'd,
Which ſhall to morrow with my blood be ſeal'd,
[150] Seek not infirm expedients to explore,
But baniſh JAMES, or England is no more.
Friendſhip her tender offices may ſpare,
Nor ſtrive to move the unforgiving pair,
Hopeleſs the tyrant's mercy-ſeat to climb—
Zeal for my country's freedom is my crime!
Ere that meets pardon, lambs with wolves ſhall range,
CHARLES be a ſaint, and JAMES his nature change.
Preſs'd by my friends, and RACHEL's fond deſires,
(Who can deny what weeping love requires!)
Frailty prevail'd, and for a moment quell'd
Th' indignant pride that in my boſom ſwell'd;
I ſued—the weak attempt I bluſh to own—
I ſued for mercy, proſtrate at the throne.
O! blot the foible out, my noble friend,
With human firmneſs human feelings blend!
When Love's endearments ſofteſt moments ſeize,
And Love's dear pledges hang upon the knees,
When Nature's ſtrongeſt ties the ſoul enthrall,
(Thou canſt conceive, for thou haſt felt them all!)
Let him reſiſt their prevalence, who can;
He muſt, indeed, be more or leſs than man.
Yet let me yield my RACHEL honour due,
The tendereſt wife, the nobleſt heroine too!
Anxious to ſave her huſband's honeſt name,
Dear was his life, but dearer ſtill his fame!
When ſuppliant prayers no pardon could obtain,
And, wonderous ſtrange! ev'n BEDFORD's gold prov'd vain,
[151] The informer's part her generous ſoul abhorr'd,
Though life preſerv'd had been the ſure reward;
Let impious ESCRICK act ſuch treacherous ſcenes,
And ſhrink from death by ſuch opprobrious means.
O! my lov'd RACHEL! all-accompliſh'd fair!
Source of my joy, and ſoother of my care!
Whoſe heavenly virtues, and unfading charms,
Have bleſs'd through happy years my peaceful arms!
Parting with thee into my cup was thrown,
Its harſheſt dregs elſe had not forc'd a groan!—
But all is o'er—theſe eyes have gaz'd their laſt—
And now the bitterneſs of death is paſt.
BURNET and TILLOTSON, with pious care,
My fleeting ſoul for heavenly bliſs prepare,
Wide to my view the glorious realms diſplay,
Pregnant with joy, and bright with endleſs day.
Charm'd, as of old when Iſrael's prophet ſung,
Whoſe words diſtill'd like manna from his tongue,
While the great bard ſublimeſt truths explor'd,
Each raviſh'd hearer wonder'd and ador'd;
So rapt, ſo charm'd, my ſoul begins to riſe,
Spurns the baſe earth, and ſeems to reach the ſkies.
But when, deſcending from the ſacred theme,
Of boundleſs power, and excellence ſupreme,
They would for man, and his precarious throne,
Exact obedience, due to Heaven alone,
Forbid reſiſtance to his worſt commands,
And place God's thunderbolts in mortal hands;
[152] The viſion ſinks to life's contracted ſpan,
And riſing paſſion ſpeaks me ſtill a man.
What! ſhall a tyrant trample on the laws,
And ſtop the ſource whence all his power he draws?
His country's rights to foreign foes betray,
Laviſh her wealth, yet ſtipulate for pay?
To ſhameful falſhoods venal ſlaves ſuborn,
And dare to laugh the virtuous man to ſcorn?
Deride Religion, Juſtice, Honour, Fame,
And hardly know of Honeſty the name?
In Luxury's lap lie ſcreen'd from cares and pains,
And only toil to forge his ſubjects chains?
And ſhall he hope the publick voice to drown,
The voice which gave, and can reſume his crown!
When Conſcience bares her horrors, and the dread
Of ſudden vengeance, burſting o'er his head,
Wrings his black ſoul; when injured nations groan,
And cries of millions ſhake his tottering throne;
Shall flattering churchmen ſoothe his guilty ears,
With tortured texts, to calm his growing fears;
Exalt his power above the Aetherial climes,
And call down Heaven to ſanctify his crimes!
O! impious doctrine!—Servile prieſts away!
Your Prince you poiſon, and your God betray.
Hapleſs the monach! who, in evil hour,
Drinks from your cup the draught of lawleſs power!
The magic potion boils within his veins,
And locks each ſenſe in adamantine chains;
[153] Reaſon revolts, inſatiate thirſt enſues,
The wild delirium each freſh draught renews;
In vain his people urge him to refrain,
His faithful ſervants ſupplicate in vain;
He quaffs at length, impatient of controul,
The bitter dregs that lurk within the bowl.
Zeal your pretence, but wealth and power your aims,
You ev'n could make a SOLOMON of JAMES.
Behold the pedant, thron'd in aukward ſtate,
Abſorb'd in pride, ridiculouſly great;
His courtiers ſeem to tremble at his nod,
His prelates call his voice the voice of God;
Weakneſs and vanity with them combine,
And JAMES believes his majeſty divine.
Preſumptuous wretch! almighty power to ſcan,
While every action proves him leſs than man.
By your deluſions to the ſcaffold led,
Martyr'd by you, a royal CHARLES has bled.
Teach then, ye ſycophants! O! teach his ſon,
The gloomy paths of tyranny to ſhun;
Teach him to prize Religion's ſacred claim,
Teach him how Virtue leads to honeſt fame,
How Freedom's wreath a monarch's brows adorns,
Nor, baſely ſawning, plant his couch with thorns.
Point to his view his people's love alone,
The ſolid baſis of his ſtedfaſt throne;
Choſen by them their deareſt rights to guard,
The bad to puniſh, and the good reward,
[154] Clement and juſt let him the ſceptre ſway,
And willing ſubjects ſhall with pride obey,
Shall vie to execute his high commands,
His throne their hearts, his ſword and ſhield their hands.
Happy the Prince! thrice firmly fix'd his crown!
Who builds on publick good his chaſte renown;
Studious to bleſs, who knows no ſecond aim,
His people's intereſt, and his own the ſame;
The eaſe of millions reſts upon his cares,
And thus Heaven's high prerogative he ſhares.
Wide from the throne the bleſt contagion ſpreads,
O'er all the land its gladdening influence ſheds,
Faction's diſcordant ſounds are heard no more,
And ſoul Corruption flies the indignant ſhore.
His miniſters with joy their courſes run,
And borrow luſtre from the royal ſun.
But ſhould ſome upſtart, train'd in Slavery's ſchool,
Learn'd in the maxims of deſpotick rule,
Full fraught with forms, and grave pedantick pride,
(Myſterious cloak! the mind's defects to hide!)
Sordid in ſmall things, prodigal in great,
Saving for minions, ſquandering for the ſtate—
Should ſuch a miſcreant, born for England's bane,
Obſcure the glories of a proſperous reign;
Gain, by the ſemblance of each praiſeful art,
A pious prince's unſuſpecting heart;
Envious of worth, and talents not his own,
Chaſe all experienc'd merit from the throne;
[155] To guide the helm a motley crew compoſe,
Servile to him, the king's and country's foes;
Meanly deſcend each paltry place to ſill,
With tools of power, and plandars to his will;
Brandiſhing high the ſcorpion ſcourage o'er all,
Except ſuch ſlaves as bow the knee to Baal—
Should Albion's fate decree the baneful hour—
Short be the date of his deteſted power!
Soon may his ſovereign break his iron rods,
And hear his people; for their voice is God's!
Ceaſe then your wiles, ye fawning courtiers! ceaſe,
Suffer your rulers to repoſe in peace;
By Reaſon led, give proper names to things,
God made them men, the people made them kings;
To all their acts but legal powers belong,
Thus England's Monarch never can do wrong;
Of right divine let ſooliſh FILMER dream,
The publick welfare is the law ſupreme.
Lives there a wretch, whoſe baſe, degenerate ſoul
Can crouch beneath a tyrant's ſtern controul?
Cringe to his nod, ignobly kiſs the hand
In galling chains that binds his native land?
Purchas'd by gold, or aw'd by ſlaviſh ſear,
Abandon all his anceſtors held dear?
Tamely behold that fruit of glorious toil,
England's Great Charter made a ruſſian's ſpoil;
Hear, unconcern'd, his injured country groan,
Nor ſtretch an arm to hurl him from the throne?
[156] Let ſuch to freedom forfeit all their claims,
And CHARLES's minious be the ſlaves of JAMES,
But ſoft awhile—Now, CAVENDISH, attend
The warm effuſions of thy dying friend;
Fearleſs who dares his inmoſt thoughts reveal,
When thus to Heaven he makes his laſt appeal.
All-gracious God! whoſe goodneſs knows no bounds!
Whoſe power the ample univerſe ſurrounds!
In whoſe great balance, infinitely juſt,
Kings are but men, and men are only duſt;
At thy tribunal low thy ſuppliant falls,
And here condemn'd, on thee for mercy calls!
Thou hear'ſt not, Lord! an hypocrite complain,
And ſure with thee hypocriſy were vain;
To thy all-piercing eye the heart lies bare,
Thou know'ſt my ſins, and, knowing, ſtill canſt ſpare!
Though partial power its miniſters may awe,
And murder here by ſpecious forms of law;
The axe, which executes the harſh decree,
But wounds the fleſh, to ſet the ſpirit free!
Well may the man a tyrant's frown deſpiſe,
Who, ſpurning earth, to Heaven for refuge flies;
And on thy mercy, when his foes prevail,
Builds his firm truſt; that rock can never fail!
Hear then, Jehovah! hear thy ſervant's prayer!
Be England's welfare thy peculiar care!
Defend her laws, her worſhip chaſte, and pure,
And guard her rights while Heaven and Earth endure!
[157] O let not ever fell Tyrannick Sway
His blood-ſtain'd ſtandard on her ſhores diſplay!
Nor fiery Zeal uſurp thy holy name,
Blinded with blood, and wrapt in rolls of flame!
In vain let Slavery ſhake her threatening chain,
And Perſecution wave her torch in vain!
Ariſe, O Lord! and hear thy people's call!
Nor for one man let three great kingdoms fall!
O! that my blood may glut the barbarous rage
Of Freedom's foes, and England's ills aſſwage!—
Grant but that prayer, I aſk for no repeal,
A willing victim for my country's weal!
With rapturous joy the crimſon ſtream ſhall flow,
And my heart leap to meet the friendly blow!
But ſhould the fiend, tho' drench'd with human gore,
Dire Bigotry, inſatiate, thirſt for more,
And, arm'd from Rome, ſeek this devoted land,
Death in her eye, and bondage in her hand—
Blaſt her fell purpoſe! blaſt her foul deſires!
Break ſhort her ſword, and quench her horrid fires!
Raiſe up ſome champion, zealous to maintain
The ſacred compact, by which monarchs reign!
Wiſe to foreſee all danger from afar,
And brave to meet the thunders of the war!
Let pure religion, not to forms confin'd,
And love of freedom fill his generous mind!
Warm let his breaſt with ſparks coeleſtial glow,
Benign to man, the tyrant's deadly foe!
[158] While ſinking nations reſt upon his arm,
Do thou the great Deliverer ſhield from harm!
Inſpire his councils! aid his righteous ſword!
Till Albion rings with Liberty reſtor'd!
Thence let her years in bright ſucceſſion run!
And Freedom reign coaeval with the ſun.
'Tis done, my CA'NDISH, Heaven has heard my prayer;
So ſpeaks my heart, for all is rapture there.
To Belgia's coaſt advert thy raviſh'd eyes,
That happy coaſt, whence all our hopes ariſe!
Behold the Prince, perhaps thy future king!
From whoſe green years matureſt bleſſings ſpring;
Whoſe youthful arm, when all-o'erwhelming Power
Ruthleſs march'd forth, his country to devour,
With firm brac'd nerve repell'd the brutal force,
And ſtopp'd th' unwieldy giant in his courſe.
Great William hail! who ſceptres could deſpiſe,
And ſpurn a crown with unretorted eyes!
O! when will princes learn to copy thee,
And leave mankind, as Heaven ordain'd them, free!
Haſte, mighty chief! our injur'd rights reſtore!
Quick ſpread thy ſails for Albion's longing ſhore!
Haſte, mighty chief! ere millions groan enſlav'd;
And add three realms to one already ſaved!
While Freedom lives, thy memory ſhall be dear,
And reap freſh honours each returning year;
Nations preſerv'd ſhall yield immortal fame,
And endleſs ages bleſs thy glorious name!
[159]Then ſhall my CA'NDISH, foremoſt in the field,
By juſtice arm'd, his ſword conſpicuous wield;
While willing legions crowd around his car,
And ruſh impetuous to the righteous war.
On that great day be every chance defied,
And think thy RUSSELL combats by thy ſide;
Nor, crown'd with victory, ceaſe thy generous toil,
Till firmeſt peace ſecure this happy iſle.
Ne'er let thine honeſt, open heart believe
Profeſſions ſpecious, forg'd but to deceive;
Fear may extort them, when reſources fail,
But O! reject the baſeleſs, flattering tale.
Think not that promiſes, or oaths can bind,
With ſolemn ties, a Rome-devoted mind;
Which yields to all the holy juggler ſaith,
And deep imbibes the bloody, damning faith.
What though the Bigot raiſe to Heaven his eyes,
And call the Almighty witneſs from the ſkies!
Soon as the wiſh'd occaſion he explores,
To plant the Roman croſs on England's ſhores,
All, all will vaniſh, while his prieſts applaud,
And ſaint the perjurer for the pious fraud.
Far let him fly theſe freedom-breathing climes,
And ſeek proud Rome, the foſterer of his crimes;
There let him ſtrive to mount the Papal chair,
And ſcatter empty thunders in the air,
Grimly preſide in Superſtition's ſchool,
And curſe thoſe kingdoms he could never rule,
[160]Here let me pauſe, and bid the world adieu,
While Heaven's bright manſions open to my view!—
Yet ſtill one care, one tender care remains;
My bounteous friend, relieve a father's pains!
Watch o'er my Son, inform his waxen youth,
And mould his mind to virtue and to truth;
Soon let him learn fair liberty to prize,
And envy him, who for his country dies;
In one ſhort ſentence to comprize the whole,
Transfuſe to his the virtues of thy ſoul.
Preſerve thy life, my too, too generous friend,
Nor ſeek with mine thy happier fate to blend!
Live for thy country, live to guard her laws,
Proceed, and proſper in the glorious cauſe;
While I, though vanquiſh'd, ſcorn the field to fly,
But boldly face my foes, and bravely die.
Let princely MONMOUTH courtly wiles beware,
Nor truſt too far to fond paternal care;
Too oft dark deeds deform the midnight cell,
Heaven only knows how noble ESSEX fell!
SIDNEY yet lives, whoſe comprehenſive mind
Ranges at large through ſyſtems unconfin'd;
Wrapt in himſelf, he ſcorns the tyrant's power,
And hurls defiance even from the Tower;
With tranquil brow awaits the unjuſt decree,
And, arm'd with virtue, looks to follow me.
CA'NDISH, farewell! may Fame our names entwine!
Through life I lov'd thee, dying I am thine;
[129] Wh pious rites let duſt to duſt be thrown,
And thus inſcribe my monumental ſtone.
" Here RUSSEL lies, enfranchis'd by the grave,
" He priz'd his birthright, nor would live a ſlave.
" Few were his words, but honeſt and ſincere,
" Dear were his friends, his country ſtill more dear;
" In parents, children, wife, ſupremely bleſs'd,
" But that one paſſion ſwallow'd all the reſt;
" To guard her freedom was his only pride,
" Such was his love, and for that love he died."
Yet fear not thou, when Liberty diſplays
Her glorious flag, to ſteer his courſe to praiſe;
For know, (whoe'er thou art that read'ſt his fate,
And think'ſt, perhaps, his ſufferings were too great,)
Bleſs'd as he was, at her imperial call,
Wife, children, parents, he reſign'd them all;
Each fond affection then forſook his ſoul,
And AMOR PATRIAE occupied the whole;
In that great cauſe he joy'd to meet his doom,
Bleſs'd the keen axe, and triumph'd o'er the tomb.
The hour draws near—But what are hours to me?
Hours, days, and years hence undiſtinguiſh'd flee!
Time, and his glaſs unheeded paſs away,
Abſorb'd, and loſt in one vaſt flood of day!
On Freedom's wings my ſoul is borne on high,
And ſoars exulting to its native ſky!
A BIRTH-DAY OFFERING TO A YOUNG LADY. FROM HER LOVER.
[162]BY THE SAME.
ERE this ſhort winter's day be gone,
My MARY ANNE is twenty one.
Of days ſtill ſhorter juſt a Lent,
Patch'd up from different years, is ſpent,
Since her Devoted fairly reckon'd
The cloſe of year the thirty-ſecond.
Bending beneath the weight of years,
Full as infirm as he appears,
What can a worn-out lover do,
With twenty-one, at thirty-two?
For ſuch a phrenzy no defence is—
The girl has clearly loſt her ſenſes.
Perhaps deceiv'd by ſome fond notion,
Embrac'd in rapture of devotion,
(I quote ſuch fancies to expoſe 'em)
She dreams of bliſs in Abraham's boſom;
And chuſes an Antique the rather,
With better grace to call him father.
Perhaps—but fiction be ſuppreſs'd,
While real joy expands my breaſt—
[163] My faithful flame her heart approves;
And O! tranſporting thought! ſhe loves.
When Souls, by impulſe ſympathetick,
By intuition moſt prophetick,
By feelings, which they cannot ſmother,
Leap at firſt glance to meet each other,
When each itſelf in t'other traces,
What matter for their different caſes?
Of kin, perhaps, in pre-exiſtence,
Without dull Reaſon's ſlow aſſiſtance,
They recollect the happy union,
And long to recommence communion.
I muſt confeſs that ſuch attraction,
For eaſe, convenience, ſatisfaction,
Were beſt if, on deliberation,
It met with Reaſon's approbation:
Not as of abſolute dominion,
To rule by dint of dark opinion;
Not as a Lord of ſovereign ſway,
Whom love muſt worſhip and obey;
But merely as the herd inferior
May judge the acts of Powers ſuperior;
As my poor intellect, or thine,
May ſcan authority divine—
In ſhort, I'd have our ſimple love,
Not againſt reaſon, but above.
Two birds, ſuppoſe, of various feather,
Hung in one room by chance together,
[164] To airs melodious tune their voices,
While each the other's ear rejoices:
If, without half a note erroneous,
The ſong be perfectly harmonious,
What matter for the forms or ages,
Of bills, of feathers, and of cages?
DEAN SWIFT, whoſe talent lives no more,
His Stella ſung at forty-four;
And breath'd an idle wiſh to ſplit
In twain her beauty, years, and wit—
Of half her charms he made a proffer
For youth; but Time diſdain'd his offer.
Far happier I, who well could ſpare,
Of each accompliſhment a ſhare,
Yet leave an ample ſtore of charms,
To bring Elyſium to my arms,
Am not reduc'd thoſe charms to barter,
And cry to heedleſs Time for quarter—
Fly, Sluggard, on thy ſwifteſt wing,
My charmer yields not All till Spring!
Then, firm in Conſtancy's reliance,
I bid thy cruel ſcythe defiance;
Deal when thou wilt the deadly blow,
Thou canſt but ſeparate below,
Thy firſt can but for moments ſever,
Thy ſecond re-unites for ever.
Perhaps, ſuſpending mortal rage,
By ſilent ſap, and creeping age,
[165] By ſubtile, ſecret, ſlow approaches,
As mildew on the blade incroaches,
Thou hop'ſt, malignant fiend! to tame
The ardour of love's fierceſt flame—
Vain ſhalt thou find thy keeneſt blaſt,
Bliſs once poſſeſs'd, thy power is paſt.
Can years, while ſenſe remains, deſtroy
The memory of tranſcendent joy?
Can years bright Innocence impair?
Can years make Virtue look leſs fair?
But Beauty, by thy influence curſt,
May ſicken—Tyrant, do thy worſt!
I know thy power, and am prepar'd
To meet thy ſharpeſt darts unſcar'd.
Though Body, Mind, thou canſt controul,
Own thy ſurvivor in the Soul;
Whoſe perfect bliſs is not enjoy'd,
Till thou art utterly deſtroy'd.
Ev'n here, as health and beauty fail,
While lilies o'er the roſe prevail,
Long ere thy menac'd ills can harm,
Though every hour ſhould ſteal a charm—
Long ere, by twenty ſtars a day,
The ſpangled Heavens would wear away.
Unconſcious of the gradual wane,
As years their empire ſlowly gain,
While my Ideas, in the race,
Obſerve a due-proportioned pace,
[166] And limbs grow cold, and ſenſes faulter,
I ſha'nt perceive her Perſon alter.
When Age her dimpled cheek beguiles,
And wrinkles plants, inſtead of ſmiles,
Though every Cupid he ſhould ſmother,
I'll think her handſome as their mother.
When, ſteady to his barbarous plan,
To ſpoil my lovely MARY ANNE,
The ſavage unrelenting creature
Has robb'd her face of every feature,
And, to conceptions merely common,
My charmer ſeems a plain old woman,
Still in my heart ſhe'll hold her throne,
Still in my eyes be twenty-one.
THE TULIP AND LILY.
BY MR. B—Y.
HIGH o'er the bed, conſpicuous ſeen,
A Tulip roſe, the garden's queen.
Never on Holland's foggy ſtrand
Was taller rear'd by Dutchman's hand:
[172] Never was Flora known t' imprint
On Tulip's leaf a brighter tint,
Or lead with more fantaſtic freak,
On Tulip's leaf the varying ſtreak.
Beneath the tow'ring Tulip's ſhade,
In nought but ſimple white array'd,
And ſhelter'd from th' intruding view,
A Lily of the valley grew;
The humbleſt plant of all the train
That deck the mountain or the plain,
Or on the river's margin blow,
And paint the dancing ſcene below.
Unenvying ſhe the praiſe could hear
Of finer flow'rs that flaunted near:
And ſhe could ſee without a ſigh
The ſaucy Zephyr paſs her by,
To woo the Pink, more gayly dreſt,
Or pant upon the Roſe's breaſt.
It chanc'd upon a May-day morn,
When bloſſoms crowd the whitening thorn,
With more than uſual luſtre bright,
The genial God of heat and light,
Thro' the blue heavens purſu'd his courſe,
And ſhone with more than Summer force.
Each flow'r that glow'd in bright array
Witneſs'd the life-imparting day:
The Tulip too, above the reſt,
The vig'rous warmth with joy confeſt.
[173] What tranſport in her boſom ſwell'd,
Each varying ſtreak when ſhe beheld
Withdraw from the purſuing eye,
And ſhift into the neighb'ring dye!
The Lily's charms, and humbler ſtate,
She view'd with boundleſs joy elate;
And thus unable to refrain,
Broke out in contumelious ſtrain:
" How vary, midſt the garden's race,
" The marks of bounteous Nature's grace!
" How boaſts th' imperial Tulip's flow'r
" The effort of her vig'rous pow'r!
" Who e'er could view without ſurpriſe,
" Th' expanded leaf, and gloſſy dyes!
" The colours that together run,
" And wave and brighten in the ſun!
" Whilſt ſhe that bloſſoms in my ſhade,
" As tho' to ſpring from earth afraid,
" No leaf expands, nor dye diſplays,
" Nor wins ſurpriſe, nor merits praiſe.
" Behold yon butterfly ſo ſine,
" Whoſe brightneſs almoſt equals mine,
" That hovers o'er the gay parterre,
" And hangs on wav'ring wings in air;
" What tho' from flow'r to flow'r he ſport,
" And pay to all a paſſing court;
" In vain with deepen'd tints they glow,
" And fletter to the flutt'ring bean,
[174] " In vain each envious rival burns,
" To kindred finery ſtill he turns,
" On me at length delights to reſt,
" And ſpread his plumage o'er my breaſt."
To theſe proud taunts, and more beſide,
The Lily not a word replied,
But hung her head with modeſt grace,
Nor look'd th' inſulter in the face.
Not ſo the Bee, who murmur'd near,
And chanc'd th' opprobrious ſtrain to hear.
Ill-pleas'd to ſee the flow'r neglected,
Which ſhe ſo honour'd and reſpected!
From whoſe full cup ſhe daily drew
So large a ſhare of precious dew;
Whilſt from her high and mighty neighbour
She ſcarcely got what paid her labour;
Thus, ſettled on the Lily's breaſt,
Her indignation ſhe expreſt:
" And whence proceeds the haughty ſtrain,
" Thou flow'r, ſo uſeleſs, and ſo vain!
" Forget you, then, from whence you ſprung,
" The tawdry child of ſordid dung!
" What tho' in varying colours bright,
" You glare awhile upon the ſight;
" The tranſient hour of blooming o'er,
" Your faded charms attract no more,
" And all your finery quite forgot:
" Unmarkt you wither, and you rot.
[175] " Now hither turn but your reflection,
" You'll kiſs the rod of my correction.
" This flow'r, on whom ſo rude you preſt,
" In Nature's ſimpleſt cloathing dreſt,
" From her our num'rous tribes derive
" The choiceſt ſweets that ſtore the hive:
" And ſhe, meek daughter of the vale,
" That growing ſcents the paſſing gale,
" Not leſs revives the raviſh'd ſenſe,
" When rooted and remov'd from hence.
" On Chloe's breaſt ſtill ſeen to blow,
" Adds whiteneſs to the dazzling ſnow:
" And dealing ſweetneſs, tho' in death,
" Perfumes e'en Chloe's fragrant breath."
KYMBER: A MONODY.
[184]BY MR. POTTER.
YET once more ye lov'd poplars, and once more
My ſilver Yare, your hallow'd haunts I tread,
The bough-inwoven bank, the damaſkt mead,
And ſeek the ſweet ſhade of the woodbine bower,
If haply here the Britiſh Muſe abide:
For not on Iſis' academic ſide,
Nor where proud Thamis rolls his royal waves
Thro' foreſt brown or ſunny meadow fair,
Her rapture-breathing voice enchants the ear:
Nor in thoſe fields that honoured Camus laves;
He, reverend ſire, the ſacred groves beneath
Oft deckt with laureat wreath,
Thro' the ſtill valleys winds his penſive way
Without the ſweet note of one warbled ſong;
Save ever and anon ſome plaintive lay
Pours its ſoft airs, the ruſtic tombs among,
To the low winds that thro' his oſiers breathe,
And murmur to the ruſtling reeds beneath.
Does ſhe o'er Cambria's rugged mountains ſtray,
Snowdon's rude cliffs, or huge Plinlimmon's height?
Or in rough Conway's foaming floods delight,
That down the ſteep rocks urge their headlong way?
[185] There chaunts the raptur'd bard in ſolemn ſtrain
Malgo's ſtrong lance, Cadwallin's puiſſant reign,
High deeds recorded yet in druid ſongs:
Or ſwells his woe-wild notes, of power to ſpread
Chill horror round the ruthleſs tyrant's head,
For Urien's fate, for bleeding Modred's wrongs,
And ſmites the harp in dreadful harmony.
Or does ſhe love to lie
In the mild ſhade of Hulla's ſofter groves,
And twine the vermeil wreath to grace the youth,
Whoſe rapt breaſt glows, as o'er the beach he roves,
Touch'd with the ſacred flame of ſtar-bright truth;
Whilſt to her lore his manly meaſure flows,
" And wakes old Humber from his deep repoſe."
Yet deign, if not to dwell, thy preſence deign
Here, heavenly viſitant; and with thee bring
The loftieſt note that ſwell'd the ſounding ſtring,
When ſtern Tyrtaeus rais'd the heroic ſtrain;
To arms the warrior poet ſmote his lyre,
And all Laconia caught the martial fire.
Thee too, harmonious Maid, the ſtrings obey;
Strike them, and bid the inſpiring numbers ſlow,
Bid Britain's ſons with Sparta's ſpirit glow,
And rouze old Albion with thy awful lay.
Thy lay ſhall well-born WODEHOUSE deign to hear,
As now with generous care
[186] From Honour's fount th' enlivening ſtreams he brings
To viſit as they flow, that ſilver bower,
Where the fair plant of publick virtue ſprings,
And breathes pure fragrance from each glowing flower;
Like heaven's own amarant th' immortal tree
Shoots, blooms, and bears; the growth of KIMBERLEY.
Haſt thou no verſe then, heavenly Virgin ſay,
By Truth attun'd on Fancy's fairy plain;
No ſolemn air, no hymn of higher vein,
To hail the bleſſed morn's auſpicious ray,
When, theſe tall towers rejoicing to behold,
Forth walk'd the orient ſun, array'd in gold,
Firſt on their glittering tops t' impreſs his beams;
Thence, glancing downwards, ſparkled on the tide
That bends along yon hoar grove's moſs-grown ſide,
And ſcattered crimſon o'er its azure ſtreams?
The Naiads, haſting from their coral caves
Beneath the chryſtal waves,
(In pearled braids their amber treſſes bound)
Thrice wav'd their hands, and hail'd the riſing towers:
The wood-nymphs too, with floriſht chaplets crown'd,
Forſook their groves, forſook their broidered bowers;
And thrice their hands they wav'd, and thrice they ſaid,
" Raiſe, ye fair ſtructures, raiſe your towery head!"
[187]Next KYMBER came, ſlow winding o'er the lea,
His beard and ſedge-crown'd locks all ſilver'd o'er
With reverend eld, as winter breathing frore
Hangs on the bare boughs of the ſpangled tree:
His urn was ſilver fretted round with gold,
With Runic rhimes imboſt, and figures old,
The illuſtrious monuments of Britiſh fame:
Here ſtout Tenantius draws his righteous ſword
To cruſh the curs'd rule of a foreign lord,
And ſpreads unconquered Freedom's ſacred flame:
There war-worn Kymbeline, by victor's power
Forth driven from princely bower,
To the thick ſhelter of theſe ſhades retir'd,
Feeding high thoughts and flames of vengeful war,
(Like a chac'd lion with fell fury fir'd)
Writhes on the lurking traitor's cloſe-couch'd ſpear,
And bids the conſcious grove, and bids the plain,
And kindred ſtream, his honoured name retain.
High on her warlike car BONDUCA ſtands,
The plumed helmet glittering on her brow,
Whilſt looſe in ſtreams of gold her treſſes flow,
The bow and pointed javelin grace her hands;
Deliberate courage lightens in her eye,
And conſcious worth, and inborn majeſty;
Heroic empreſs! as thy virtues ſpread,
Rome's ravening eagle cow'rs his quivering wings,
Hope ſmiles, fair Liberty her bleſſings brings,
And heaven-born Glory rays thy ſacred head.
[188] Grac'd with theſe ſculptur'd ſcenes of ancient fame
With ſtately ſtep he came;
Nor wanted in his way melodious ſound
From pipe or paſtoral reed, or dulcet voice
Of Nymph or Naïad him enringing round,
Or quiring birds that in his ſhade rejoice,
Or gently warbling wind, or water's fall
Soft trickling from his urn in murmurs muſical.
Then on the ſtately ſtructure's towery height
With conſcious pride he fix'd his raptur'd eyes;
And as paſt ſcenes of ancient glory riſe
Arrang'd on Fancy's field in order bright,
He paus'd; then graceful bow'd his reverend head,
And thus in lofty ſtrain due homage paid.
" Ye ſtrong-bas'd battlements, ye gorgeous walls,
" Ye princely ſtructures, that with ſplendor crown'd,
" Shine o'er your wide dominion ſtretching round,
" To you with friendly voice your KYMBER calls,
" And bids you hail! thereto he adds your name
" Renown'd in ancient ſame,
" Hail Wodehouſe-tower! To tell you with what pride,
" What triumph he your glittering ſtate ſurveys,
" That dignifies his lilly-ſilver'd ſide,
" And wakes ſweet memory of thoſe glorious days,
" When full-plum'd Victory wav'd her golden wing,
" And deckt with trophies proud his honoured ſpring.
[189]" Yes, KYMBER! now thou may'ſt with joy retrace
" The long ſucceſſion of thy patriot line;
" With joy behold the unclouded luſtre ſhine
" Which Virtue beams around her favour'd race.
" Canſt thou forget the Lord of Wodehouſe-tower,
" Whoſe ſtrong built baſtions ſcorn'd the Norman's power?
" From Deva's banks (whoſe myſtic waters glide
" By holy Whitchurch, thro' thoſe paſtur'd plains
" Long ſince the warlike Talbot's rich domains,
" When from Blackmere he brought his lovely bride,
" The fair L'Eſtrange) thou ſaw'ſt the ſtout knight lead
" To Silfield's happier mead
" His Saxon train. There Beauclerk's royal ray
" Shin'd on his battailous bold offspring, try'd
" In many a hard and chevalrous aſſay,
" When
b Neuſtria's fields with crimſon gore he dy'd,
" Spread vengeful flames revolted Bayeux round,
" And daſh'd the rampir'd pride of Caën to the ground.
" Oft as Britannia's royal enſign wav'd,
" And the ſtern clarion call'd in field to fight,
" The warlike WODEHOUSE march'd with proweſt might,
" And the rough front of deathful danger brav'd.
" Let Bara tell, and let Bodotria tell,
" Fort, lough, and river, mountain, wood, and dell,
[190] " All that from ſouthern Eiden's flowery lea
" Reaches to bleak Strathnavern's northern ſtrand,
" Was his ſword ſheath'd, when
c Edward's iron hand
" Spread deſolation wide from ſea to ſea?
" Or when the ſable warrior's lifted lance
" Glar'd in the eyes of France,
" Was WODEHOUSE wanting to the hero's fame?
" Let Crecy tell, and Poictiers purple plain,
" And captive Valois'
d hallowed oriflame,
" His dreadleſs hardiment let
e Glequin's chain
" Record, and brave
e Dandrehen's froward fate,
" And poor Caſtilia's tyrant-wielded ſtate.
" Who has not heard of Somme's affrighted flood,
" How mournfully his cumber'd ſtreams he roll'd
" O'er ſhining hauberks, ſhields, and helms of gold,
" His cryſtal current ſtain'd with prince's blood,
" When daring Delabreth in wanton pride
" The warlike Henry's way-worn troop defied?
[191] " But all this gallant trim and rich array
" Lay ſoil'd in duſt, when Bedford's burniſat ſpear
" Flam'd in their front, and thunder'd in their rear,
" And York's bright blade hew'd out his dreadful way.
" Rouze, royal England, rouze thy matchleſs might,
" And with a dragon's flight
" Sweep o'er th' enſanguin'd plains of Agincourt:
" And ſee thy WODEHOUSE, whoſe ſtrong arm ſubdu'd
" The ruin'd bulwarks of yon aged fort,
" His golden chevron charg'd with
f drops of blood,
" Reſts on the woodmen wild that bear his ſhield,
" And hails thee victor of the well fought field!
" Can I forget how blythe my eddies roll'd
" And kiſs'd their criſp'd banks, when to Tewkſbury's plain
" My gallant ſon led his
g heroic train,
" Stout earls, and princely dukes, and barons bold?
" Yet, ah for pity! theſe fierce hoſtings ceaſe,
" That maiden bloſſom wears the badge of peace,
[192] " And will you dye her white leaves red in blood?
" But if your flaming courage pricks you forth,
" See where the prowling pilferers of the North
" With inroad foul o'er Tine's forbidden flood
" Ruſh from their bleak hills, lur'd with ſcent of prey:
" Brook they your firm array?
" Far humbler thoughts on Eſke's embattail'd banks
" They learn'd, as Somerſet's victorious ſpear
" With foul diſorder broke their bleeding ranks:
" Whilſt vengeful
h Wodehouſe taught their proud hearts fear,
" And bade his thunders tell them, as they fled,
" The brother triumphs where the brother bled.
" But not on camps and fighting fields alone
" My glory reſts; when turtle-pennon'd Peace
" Huſh'd War's harſh roar, and bade his fury ceaſe,
" In theſe lov'd ſhades her ſofteſt luſtre ſhone.
" Here heaven-rapt Piety delights to dwell,
" Train'd in
i monaſtic Flitcham's holy cell;
" Here plants her palm, whoſe hallowed branches ſpread
" O'er towered
k Richmond's conſecrated ſhrine,
" And form'd the only wreath e'er taught to twine
" Round deſolate Caernarvon's hapleſs head.
[193] k " E'en that ſtrong arm, which ſtretching from a cloud
" Creſts the atchievement proud
" Impreſt with Agincourt's emblazon'd name,
" Among his laurels wove this ſacred bough,
" Ennobling valour with Devotion's flame,
"
l And taught the warbled oriſon to flow,
" As 'midſt the taper'd choir the ſolemn prieſt
" Chaunts to the victor ſaint high heaven's eternal reſt.
" Here the firm guardians of the publick weal,
" Inſpir'd with Freedom's heaven-deſcended flame,
" Roſe nobly faithful to their country's fame;
"
m In frequent ſenates pour'd their ardent zeal,
" Daſh'd the baſe bribe from curs'd Corruption's hand,
" And ſav'd from ſcepter'd Pride the ſinking land.
" Or,
n prompt to anſwer bleeding Europe's call,
" To diſtant realms bore Britain's high beheſt,
" Bade the ſword ſleep, gave gaſping nations reſt,
" And taught the doubtful balance where to fall.
[194] " But in the ſofter hour of ſocial joy,
" When ceas'd the high employ,
" Theſe woodland walks, theſe tufted dales among
" The ſilver-ſounding Muſes built their bower,
" Made vocal with the lute attemper'd ſong;
" Whilſt blooming Courteſy's gold-ſpangled flower,
" Cull'd by the Graces, ſpread its brighteſt glow
" To deck unſwerving Honour's manly brow.
" And you, age-honoured oaks! whoſe ſolemn ſhades
" Inviron this fair manſion, proudly ſtand
" The ſacred
o nourſlings of Eliza's hand,
" When ſhe with ſovereign glory grac'd your glades,
" And pleas'd beheld her
p Boleyn's kindred line
" Ennobled with your trophied honours ſhine.
" Spring creſtleſs cravens from ſuch roots as theſe?
" Aſk the pale
q Groyne, aſk Tayo's trembling tide,
" Aſk Cadiz weeping o'er her ruin'd pride,
" And Auſtria ſcourg'd o'er all the ſubject ſeas.
[195] " From this deep root my blooming branches ſpread,
" And rais'd their floriſht head,
" Chear'd with the princely
r Henry's orient ray;
" Till, riſing on the morn, importune Night
" Spreads her black veil, and blots his golden day;
" Darkneſs enſues, dark deeds, and impious might;
" Whilſt Diſcord, mounted on his iron car,
" Cries havock, and lets ſlip the dogs of war.
" What then could virtue, 'fall'n on evil days,
" On evil days thus fall'n, and evil tongues,
" With dangers compaſt,' and oppreſt with wrongs,
" Save to the wild woods breathe her plaintive lays,
" And charm the ſhades, and teach the ſtreams to flow
" With all the melting melody of woe?
" But what avail'd or voice, or tuneful hand,
" When hell bred Faction, rear'd on baleful wings,
" Stain'd with the blood of nobles and of kings,
" Spread total deſolation o'er the land?
" Ah KYMBER! where was then thy princely ſtate?
" Sunk in the general fate;
" Thy rich roofs ſunk, o'er golden pendents ſpread;
" Faſtolff's white croſlet mouldered from the wall,
" And Hamo's lion dropt his gold crown'd head;
" The ſacred chapel ſunk, the feſtive hall;
" E'en thy tall towers, majeſtic in decay,
" Like thy loſt monarch, low in ruins lay.
[196]" Thus Britain ſunk, and thus ſunk Wodehouſe tower;
" So ſinks the ſun, as o'er the turbid ſkies
" Sudden the ſtorm-engendering clouds ariſe,
" And vex with uproar wild Night's fearful hour;
" That paſt, his bright beams reſalute the day,
" And heighten'd ſplendors crown his orient ray:
" So Britain roſe, ſo roſe my princely ſtate.
" But not the ſwelling column maſſy proof,
" The moulded pediment, the fretted roof,
" Not this fair fabric proudly elevate,
" Tho' fix'd by Prowſe's juſt palladian hand
" Its towred honours ſtand;
" Not this clear lake, whoſe waving cryſtal ſpreads
" Round yon hoar iſle with awful ſhades imbrown'd:
" Not theſe pure ſtreams that vein the envermeil'd meads:
" Nor thoſe age-honoured oaks wide waving round;
" Exterior glories theſe, of humbler fame,
" Beam not that ſplendent ray which dignifies my name.
" The ſpark of honour kindling glorious thought,
" The ſoul by warm benevolence refin'd,
" The aethereal glow that melts th' empaſſion'd mind,
" And Virtue's work to fair perfection brought,
" Be theſe my glories. And thou, Power benign!
" Whoſe living ſplendors round the patriot ſhine,
" Immortal Genius of this far-fam'd land,
" This ſcepter'd iſle thron'd midſt the circling ſea,
" Seat of the brave, and fortreſs of the tree,
" Oft haſt thou deign'd to take thy hallow'd ſtand,
[197] " Theſe ſhades among; at Virtue's radiant ſhrine
" Oft caught the flame divine,
" When dark Corruption dim'd thy ſovereign light;
" Thence beam'd thy ſolemn ſoul-ennobling ray,
" To gild theſe groves with all thy luſtre bright,
" Where nobly thoughtful Mordaunt loves to ſtray,
" And manly Prowſe with every ſcience crown'd,
" In Freedom's ruſtic ſeat the poliſh'd Graces thron'd.
" And thou, to whom thy KYMBER tunes this ſtrain,
" If ſtrain like this may reach thy nicer ear,
" O deign in mine thy country's voice to hear,
" Which never to a WODEHOUSE call'd in vain!
" By the proud honours of thy martial creſt,
" The trophied tombs where thy fam'd fathers reſt,
" By Lacy's, Clervaux', Hunſdon's, Armine's name,
" By Manhood's, Glory's, Freedom's, Virtue's praiſe,
" Wake the high thought, the lofty ſpirit raiſe,
" And blazon thy hereditary fame.
" That fame ſhall live, whilſt Pride's unrighteous power,
" The pageant of an hour,
" Fades from the guilty ſcene, and ſinks in night:
" That fame ſhall live, and ſpread its conſtant rays,
" Warm like the bleſſed ſun with genial light;
" Whilſt Vice and Folly ſpend their baleful blaze,
" As meteors, glaring o'er a troubled ſky,
" Shoot their pernicious fires, amaze, and die."
[198]He ceas'd his gratulation: the high ſtrain
Pierc'd the thick gloom where Britain's Genius lay
s Cover'd with charmed cloud from view of day:
He heard, and burſting thro' the falſed train,
In all the majeſty of empire roſe,
And iſſued ſtern to quell his vaunting foes.
The Naïads ſaw, and ſwell'd their ſurging floods;
Old KYMBER ſaw, and ſmil'd; the burniſh'd glades
Rejoic'd; the groves wav'd their exulting ſhades;
And lofty Feorhou bow'd with all his woods!
The lordly lion ramping by his ſide,
He march'd in martial pride,
And pour'd his flaming ſpirit o'er the land;
The kindling hamlets rouz'd with war's alarms,
Snatch the bright faulchion from the hireling hand,
And bravely train their free-born youth to arms;
Whilſt Liberty her glittering enſign waves,
And bids each generous ſon diſdain an hoſt of ſlaves.
Then royally on the ocean wave enthron'd,
With all his terrors arm'd, he rode ſublime,
And roll'd his thunders o'er each hoſtile clime:
Seine's ſilken vaſſals trembled at the ſound;
The cloud-wrapt promontory ſhook, and all
Its rock-bas'd rampires nodded to their fall.
[199] Reign ever thus, unconquer'd Britain, reign;
Whilſt thy free ſons in firm battalions ſtand,
And guard with lion-ramp their native land:
Thus fix thy throne, thus rule the ſubject main!
So ſhall bright Victory o'er thy laurel'd head
Her eagle-pennons ſpread;
Whilſt ſoft-ey'd Peace, quitting at thy command
Her radiant orb in yon empyreal plain,
Waves o'er the willing world her myrtle wand:
So ſhall the Muſe her Doric oat diſdain,
And touch'd with ſphere-born Rapture's hallow'd fire,
Swell her triumphal notes, and ſweep the golden lyre.
ODE TO HEALTH.
BY J. H. B. ESQ.
COME, roſy Health, celeſtial maid,
On Zephyr's ſilken wing convey'd,
In ſmiles thy heavenly features dreſt,
Deſcend, thou ſweet enchanting gueſt
All charming, whether you appear
In STAMER's lovely form and air,
Or her's who yonder ſhines from far
Fair as the morning's ſilver ſtar,
[200] In youth's ſoft prime and beauty's pride,
On Shannon's flower-enamell'd ſide,
By ſhepherds, in each amorous tale,
Yclept the
s Lily of the vale.
Bright daughter of the bluſhing dawn,
Nymph of the woods, and daiſied lawn,
Who flieſt the buſy, full reſorts
Of peopled cities, revelling courts,
But, clad in ruſſet, lov'ſt to dwell
With Temperance in the rural cell,
Attend the ſheep-boy at his ſtand,
Or ploughman o'er the furrow'd land,
Or wait, at ſpring of fragrant morn,
The opening hound, and cheering horn;
Ever cheerful, ever gay.
Hither come and chaſe away,
Sorrow of dejected eye,
The plaintive tear, the ſtruggling ſigh,
Diſeaſe with ſickly yellow ſpread,
And Pain that holds the hanging head;
And in their ſtead conduct along,
Fantaſtic Dance, and airy Song,
Wit, of taſte correct and fine,
Frolic Mirth, that waits on wine,
Hope that fans the lover's fires,
Pleaſing Follies, gay Deſires,
For theſe are thine, a ſprightly train,
Without thee lifeleſs, joyleſs, vain.
[201]'Tis you who pour o'er Beauty's face
The artleſs bloom, the native grace;
You robb'd the baſhful roſe, and ſhed
Its ſoft, refin'd, delicious red
On WALLER's cheek; 'tis you beſtow
On MANSEL's lips the ripening glow;
With quickening ſpirits you ſupply
The trembling luſtre of her eye.
Through every form of myſtic birth,
The ſwarming air, the teeming earth,
Through all the fruitful deep contains,
Thy ſovereign vital influence reigns,
Mixes, ferments, inſpires the whole,
Pours the glad warmth, the genial ſoul,
Breathes in the breeze, diſtills in ſhowers,
Swells the young bud, and wakes the flowers:
With livelier green the herbage ſprings,
The violet blows, the linnet ſings,
Its richeſt colouring Nature wears,
And Pleaſure leads the wanton years.
Oh! ſee I pine diſtreſs'd, forlorn,
And ſeek in vain thy wiſh'd return:
Return then, Goddeſs, heavenly mild,
Indulgent now as once you ſmil'd,
In golden Youth's propitious May,
When jocund danc'd my hours away,
With love, and joy, and rapture bleſt,
And thou waſt there to crown the reſt.
[202] Then, as around the Seaſons range,
And years in ſweet ſucceſſion change,
On Shannon's ſilver-flowing ſtream,
I'll ſing and thou ſhalt be my theme;
Rich in my verſe, thy charms ſhall ſhine,
And HAROLD's beauties yield to thine.
MONODY TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY.
[208]BY MR. SHAW.
YET do I live! O how ſhall I ſuſtain
This vaſt unutterable weight of woe?
This worſe than hunger, poverty, or pain,
Or all the complicated ills below—
She, in whoſe life my hopes were treaſur'd all,
Is gone—for ever fled—
My deareſt EMMA's dead;
Theſe eyes, theſe tear-ſwoln eyes beheld her fall:
Ah no—ſhe lives on ſome far happier ſhore,
She lives—but (cruel thought!) ſhe lives for me no more.
I, who the tedious abſence of a day
Remov'd, wou'd languiſh for my charmer's ſight,
Wou'd chide the lingering moments for delay,
And fondly blame the ſlow return of night;
How, how ſhall I endure
(O miſery paſt a cure!)
Hours, days and years ſucceſſively to roll,
Nor ever more behold the comfort of my ſoul?
[209]Was ſhe not all my fondeſt wiſh could frame?
Did ever Mind ſo much of Heaven partake?
Did ſhe not love me with the pureſt flame,
And give up friends and fortune for my ſake?
Though mild as evening ſkies,
With downcaſt, ſtreaming eyes,
Stood the ſtern frown of ſupercilious brows,
Deaf to their brutal threats, and faithful to her vows.
Come, then, ſome Muſe, the ſaddeſt of the train,
(No more your bard ſhall dwell on idle lays)
Teach me each moving melancholy ſtrain,
And O diſcard the pageantry of phraſe:
Ill ſuit the flowers of ſpeech with woes like mine!
Thus, haply, as I paint
The ſource of my complaint,
My ſoul may own the impaſſion'd line;
A flood of tears may guſh to my relief,
And from my ſwelling heart diſcharge this load of grief.
Forbear, my fond officious friends, forbear
To wound my ears with the ſad tales you tell;
" How good ſhe was, how gentle, and how fair!"
In pity ceaſe—alas! I know too well:
How, in her ſweet, expreſſive face
Beam'd forth the beauties of her mind,
Yet heighten'd by exterior grace
Of manners moſt engaging, moſt refin'd:
[210] No piteous object could ſhe ſee,
But her ſoft boſom ſhar'd the woe,
Whilſt ſmiles of affability
Endear'd whatever boon ſhe might beſtow.
Whate'er the emotions of her heart,
Still ſhone conſpicuous in her eyes,
Stranger to every female art,
Alike to feign, or to diſguiſe:
And O the boaſt how rare!
The ſecret in her faithful breaſt repos'd,
She ne'er with lawleſs tongue diſclos'd,
In ſacred ſilence lodg'd inviolate there.
O feeble words—unable to expreſs
Her matchleſs virtues, or my own diſtreſs!
Relentleſs Death! that, ſteel'd to human woe,
With murderous hands deals havock on mankind,
Why (cruel!) ſtrike this deprecated blow,
And leave ſuch wretched multitudes behind!
Hark! Groans come wing'd on every breeze!
The ſons of Grief prefer their ardent vow;
Oppreſs'd with ſorrow, want, or dire diſeaſe,
And ſupplicate thy aid, as I do now:
In vain—Perverſe, ſtill on the unweeting head
'Tis thine thy vengeful darts to ſhed;
Hope's infant bloſſoms to deſtroy,
And drench in tears the face of joy.
[211] But oh! fell tyrant! yet expect the hour
When Virtue ſhall renounce thy power;
When thou no more ſhalt blot the face of day,
Nor mortals tremble at thy rigid ſway.
Alas! the day—where-e'er I turn my eyes,
Some ſad memento of my loſs appears;
I fly the fatal houſe—ſuppreſs my ſighs,
Reſolv'd to dry my unavailing tears:
But, ah! In vain—no change of time or place
The memory can efface
Of all that ſweetneſs, that enchanting air,
Now loſt; and nought remains but anguiſh and deſpair.
Where wer the delegates of Heaven, oh where!
Appointed Virtue's children ſafe to keep!
Had Innocence or Virtue been their care,
She had not dy'd, nor had I liv'd to weep:
Mov'd by my tears, and by her patience mov'd,
To ſee her force the endearing ſmile,
My ſorrows to beguile,
When Torture's keeneſt rage ſhe prov'd;
Sure they had warded that untimely dart,
Which broke her thread of life, and rent a huſband's heart.
How ſhall I e'er forget that dreadful hour,
When feeling Death's reſiſtleſs power,
My hand ſhe preſs'd, wet with her falling tears,
And thus, in faultering accents, ſpoke her fears!
[212] " Ah, my lov'd lord, the tranſient ſcene is o'er,
" And we muſt part (alas!) to meet no more!
" But oh! if e'er thy EMMA's name was dear,
" If e'er thy vows have charm'd my raviſh'd ear;
" If, from thy lov'd embrace my heart to gain,
" Proud friends have frown'd, and Fortune ſmil'd in vain,
" If it has been my ſole endeavour, ſtill
" To act in all, obſequious to thy will;
" To watch thy very ſmiles, thy wiſh to know,
" Then only truly bleſt when thou wert ſo:
" If I have doated with that fond exceſs,
" Nor Love could add, nor Fortune make it leſs;
" If this I've done, and more—oh then be kind
" To the dear lovely babe I leave behind.
" When time my once-lov'd memory ſhall efface,
" Some happier maid may take thy EMMA's place,
" With envious eyes thy partial fondneſs ſee,
" And hate it for the love thou bore to me:
" My deareſt S—, forgive a woman's fears,
" But one word more (I cannot bear thy tears)
" Promiſe—and I will truſt thy faithful vow,
" (Oft have I try'd, and ever ſound thee true)
" That to ſome diſtant ſpot thou wilt remove
" This fatal pledge of hapleſs EMMA's love,
" Where ſafe, thy blandiſhments it may partake,
" And oh! be tender for its mother's ſake.
" Wilt thou?—
" I know thou wilt—ſad ſilence ſpeaks aſſent,
" And in that pleaſing hope thy EMMA dies content."
[213] I, who with more than manly ſtrength have bore
The various ills impos'd by cruel Fate,
Suſtain the firmneſs of my ſoul no more,
But ſink beneath the weight:
Juſt Heaven (I cry'd) from Memory's earlieſt day
No comfort has thy wretched ſuppliant known,
Misfortune ſtill with unrelenting ſway
Has claim'd me for her own.
But O—in pity to my grief, reſtore
This only ſource of bliſs; I aſk—I aſk no more—
Vain hope—th' irrevocable doom is paſt,
Ev'n now ſhe looks—ſhe ſighs her laſt—
Vainly I ſtrive to ſtay her fleeting breath,
And, with rebellious heart, proteſt againſt her death.
When the ſtern tyrant clos'd her lovely eyes,
How did I rave, untaught to bear the blow!
With impious wiſh to tear her from the ſkies;
How curſe my fate in bitterneſs of woe!
But whither would this dreadful frenzy lead?
Fond man, forbear,
Thy fruitleſs ſorrow ſpare,
Dare not to taſk what Heaven's high will decreed;
In humble reverence kiſs th' afflictive rod,
And proſtrate bow to an offended God.
Perhaps kind Heaven in mercy dealt the blow,
Some ſaving truth thy roving ſoul to teach;
To wean thy heart from groveling views below,
And point out bliſs beyond Misfortune's reach:
[214] To ſhew that all the flattering ſchemes of joy,
Which towering Hope ſo fondly builds in air,
One fatal moment can deſtroy,
And plunge th' exulting Maniac in deſpair.
Then O! with pious fortitude ſuſtain
Thy preſent loſs—haply, thy future gain;
Nor let thy EMMA die in vain;
Time ſhall adminiſter its wonted balm,
And huſh this ſtorm of grief to no unpleaſing calm.
Thus the poor bird, by ſome diſaſtrous fate
Caught and impriſon'd in a lonely cage,
Torn from its native fields, and dearer mate,
Flutters awhile, and ſpends its little rage:
But, finding all its efforts weak and vain,
No more it pants and rages for the plain;
Moping awhile, in ſullen mood
Droops the ſweet mourner—but, ere long,
Prunes its light wings, and pecks its food,
And meditates the ſong:
Serenely ſorrowing, breathes its piteous caſe,
And with its plaintive warblings ſaddens all the place.
Forgive me, Heaven—yet—yet the tears will flow,
To think how ſoon my ſcene of bliſs is paſt!
My budding joys juſt promiſing to blow,
All nipt and wither'd by one envious blaſt!
[215] My hours, that laughing wont to fleet away,
Move heavily along;
Where's now the ſprightly jeſt, the jocund ſong;
Time creeps unconſcious of delight:
How ſhall I cheat the tedious day?
And O—the joyleſs night!
Where ſhall I reſt my weary head?
How ſhall I find repoſe on a ſad widow'd bed?
Come,
s Theban drug, the wretch's only aid,
To my torn heart its former peace reſtore;
Thy votary wrapp'd in thy Lethean ſhade,
Awhile ſhall ceaſe his ſorrows to deplore:
Haply when lock'd in Sleep's embrace,
Again I ſhall behold my EMMA's face;
Again with tranſport hear
Her voice ſoft whiſpering in my ear;
May ſteal once more a balmy kiſs,
And taſte at leaſt of viſionary bliſs.
But ah! the unwelcome morn's obtruding light
Will all my ſhadowy ſchemes of bliſs depoſe,
Will tear the dear illuſion from my ſight,
And wake me to the ſenſe of all my woes:
If to the verdant fields I ſtray,
Alas! what pleaſures now can theſe convey?
[216] Her lovely form purſues where-e'er I go,
And darkens all the ſcene with woe.
By Nature's laviſh bounties chear'd no more,
Sorrowing I rove
Thro' valley, grot, and grove;
Nought can their beauties or my loſs reſtore;
No herb, no plant, can medicine my diſeaſe,
And my ſad ſighs are borne on every paſſing breeze.
Sickneſs and ſorrow hovering round my bed,
Who now with anxious haſte ſhall bring relief,
With lenient hand ſupport my drooping head,
Aſſwage my pains, and mitigate my grief?
Should worldly buſineſs call away,
Who now ſhall in my abſence fondly mourn,
Count every minute of the loitering day,
Impatient for my quick return?
Should aught my boſom diſcompoſe,
Who now with ſweet complacent air,
Shall ſmooth the rugged brow of Care,
And ſoften all my woes?
Too faithful Memory—Ceaſe, O ceaſe—
How ſhall I e'er regain my peace?
(O to forget her)—but how vain each art,
Whilſt every virtue lives imprinted on my heart.
And thou, my little cherub, left behind,
To hear a father's plaints, to ſhare his woes,
When Reaſon's dawn informs thy infant mind,
And thy ſweet-liſping tongue ſhall aſk the cauſe,
[217] How oft with ſorrow ſhall mine eyes run o'er,
When, twining round my knees, I trace
Thy mother's ſmile upon thy face?
How oft to my full heart ſhalt thou reſtore
Sad memory of my joys—ah now no more!
By bleſſings once enjoy'd now more diſtreſt,
More beggar by the riches once poſſeſt.
My little darling!—dearer to me grown
By all the tears thou'ſt caus'd—(O ſtrange to hear!)
Bought with a life yet dearer than thy own,
Thy cradle purchas'd with thy mother's bier:
Who now ſhall ſeek with fond delight,
Thy infant ſteps to guide aright?
She, who with doating eyes, would gaze
On all thy little artleſs ways,
By all thy ſoft endearments bleſt,
And claſp thee oft with tranſport to her breaſt,
Alas! is gone—Yet ſhalt thou prove
A father's deareſt, tendereſt love:
And O! ſweet ſenſeleſs ſmiler (envied ſtate!)
As yet unconſcious of thy hapleſs fate,
When years thy judgment ſhall mature,
And Reaſon ſhews thoſe ills it cannot cure,
Wilt thou, a father's grief to aſſwage,
For virtue prove the Phoenix of the earth?
(Like her, thy mother dy'd to give thee birth)
And be the comfort of my age!
[218] When ſick and languiſhing I lie,
Wilt thou my EMMA's wonted care ſupply?
And oft, as, to thy liſtening ear,
Thy mother's virtues and her fate I tell,
Say, wilt thou drop the tender tear,
Whilſt on the mournful theme I dwell?
Then, fondly ſtealing to thy father's ſide,
Whene'er thou ſeeſt the ſoft diſtreſs,
Which I would vainly ſeek to hide,
Say, wilt thou ſtrive to make it leſs?
To ſooth my ſorrows all thy cares employ,
And in my cup of grief infuſe one drop of joy?
AN EVENING ADDRESS TO A NIGHTINGALE.
BY THE SAME.
SWEET bird! that kindly perching near,
Poureſt thy plaints melodious in mine ear,
Not, like baſe worldlings, tutor'd to forego
The melancholy haunts of Woe,
Thanks for thy ſorrow-ſoothing ſtrain:—
For ſurely, thou haſt known to prove,
Like me, the pangs of hapleſs love,
Elſe why ſo feelingly complain,
And with thy piteous notes thus ſadden all the grove?
[219] Say, doſt thou mourn thy raviſh'd mate,
That oft enamour'd on thy ſtrains has hung?
Or has the cruel hand of Fate
Bereft thee of thy darling young?
Alas, for BOTH, I weep—
In all the pride of youthful charms,
A beauteous bride torn from my circling arms!
A lovely babe that ſhould have liv'd to bleſs,
And fill my doating eyes with frequent tears,
At once the ſource of rapture and diſtreſs,
The flattering prop of my declining years!
In vain from death to reſcue I eſſay'd,
By every art that Science could deviſe,
Alas! it languiſh'd for a mother's aid,
And wing'd its flight to ſeek her in the ſkies—
Then O our comforts be the ſame,
At evening's peaceful hour,
To ſhun the noiſy paths of wealth and fame,
And breathe our ſorrows in this lonely bower.
But why alas! to thee complain!
To thee—unconſcious of my pain!
Soon ſhalt THOU ceaſe to mourn thy lot ſevere,
And hail the dawning of a happier year:
The genial warmth of joy-renewing ſpring
Again ſhall plume thy ſhatter'd wing;
Again thy little heart ſhall tranſport prove,
Again ſhall ſlow thy notes reſponſive to thy love:
[220] But O for ME in vain may ſeaſons roll,
Nought can dry up the fountain of my tears,
Deploring ſtill the COMFORT OF MY SOUL,
I count my ſorrows by encreaſing years.
Tell me, thou Syren Hope, deceiver, ſay,
Where is the promis'd period of my woes?
Full three long, lingering years have roll'd away,
And yet I weep, a ſtranger to repoſe:
O what deluſion did thy tongue employ!
" That EMMA's fatal pledge of love,
" Her laſt bequeſt—with all a mother's care,
" The bitterneſs of ſorrow ſhould remove,
" Soften the horrors of deſpair,
" And chear a heart long loſt to joy!"
How oft, when fondling in mine arms,
Gazing enraptur'd on its angel-face,
My ſoul the maze of Fate would vainly trace,
And burn with all a father's fond alarms!
And O what flattering ſcenes had Fancy feign'd,
How did I rave of bleſſings yet in ſtore!
Till every aching ſenſe was ſweetly pain'd,
And my full heart could bear, nor tongue could utter more.—
" Juſt Heaven, I cry'd"—with recent hopes elate,
" Yet I will live—will live, tho' EMMA's dead—
" So long bow'd down beneath the ſtorms of Fate,
" Yet will I raiſe my woe-dejected head!
[221] " My little EMMA, now my ALL,
" Will want a father's care,
" Her looks, her wants my raſh reſolves recal,
" And for her ſake the ills of life I'll bear:
" And oft together we'll complain,
" Complaint, the only bliſs my ſoul can know,
" From me, my child ſhall learn the mournful ſtrain,
" And prattle tales of woe;
" And O in that auſpicious hour,
" When Fate reſigns her perſecuting power,
" With duteous zeal her hand ſhall cloſe,
" No more to weep—my ſorrow-ſtreaming eyes,
" When death gives miſery repoſe,
" And opes a glorious paſſage to the ſkies.
Vain thought! it muſt not be—She too is dead—
The flattering ſcene is o'er—
My hopes for ever—ever fled—
And vengeance can no more—
Cruſh'd by misfortune—blaſted by diſeaſe—
And none—none left to bear a friendly part!
To meditate my welfare, health, or eaſe,
Or ſooth the anguiſh of an aching heart!
Now all one gloomy ſcene, till welcome death,
With lenient hand (O falſly deem'd ſevere)
Shall kindly ſtop my grief-exhauſted breath,
And dry up every tear:
[222] Perhaps, obſequious to my will,
But ah! from my affections far remov'd!
The laſt ſad office ſtrangers may fulfil,
As if I ne'er had been belov'd;
As if, unconſcious of poetic fire,
I ne'er had touch'd the trembling lyre,
As if my niggard hand ne'er dealt relief,
Nor my heart melted at another's grief.
Yet—while this weary life ſhall laſt,
While yet my tongue can form the impaſſion'd ſtrain,
In piteous accents ſhall the Muſe complain,
And dwell with fond delay on bleſſings paſt:
For O how grateful to a wounded heart,
The tale of miſery to impart!
From others' eyes bid artleſs ſorrows flow,
And raiſe eſteem upon the baſe of woe!
Even HE
t, the nobleſt of the tuneful throng,
Shall deign my love lorn tale to hear,
Shall catch the ſoft contagion of my ſong,
And pay my penſive Muſe the tribute of a tear.
THE DEATH OF ARACHNE, AN HEROI-COMI-TRAGIC-POEM.
[223]THE ſhrinking brooks and ruſſet meads complain'd
That Summer's tyrant, fervid Sirius, reign'd;
Full weſt the ſun from heaven deſcending rode,
And ſix the ſhadow on the dial ſhow'd.
Philo, tho' young, to muſing much inclin'd,
A ſhameleſs ſloven, in his gown had din'd,
From table ſneaking with a ſheepiſh face,
Before the circle was diſmiſs'd with grace,
And ſmoaking now, his deſk with books o'erſpread,
Thick clouds of incenſe roll around his head:
His head, which ſave a quarter's growth of hair,
His woollen cap long ſince ſcratch'd off, was bare:
His beard three days had grown, of golden hue,
Black was his ſhirt, uncomely to the view;
Croſs-legg'd he ſat, and his ungartered hoſe
Of each lean limb half hide, and half expoſe;
His cheek he lean'd upon his hand; below
His nut-brown ſlipper hung upon his toe.
Now with abſtracted flight he climbs apace,
High and more high, through pure unbounded ſpace;
[224] Now mere privation fails the wings of thought,
He drops down headlong through the vaſt of nought;
A friendly vapour Matheſis ſupplies,
Born on the ſurging ſmoak he joys to riſe;
Matter thro' modes and qualities purſues,
Now caught, entranc'd its naked eſſence views;
Now wakes; the viſion fading from his ſight
Leaves doubts behind, the miſts of mental night:
Exiſting not, but poſſible alone,
He deems all ſubſtance, and ſuſpects his own;
Like wave by wave impell'd, now queſtions roll—
Does ſoul in ought ſubſiſt, or all in ſoul?
Is ſpace, extenſion, nothing but a name,
And mere idea Nature's mighty frame?
All power, all forms, to intellect confin'd:
Place, agent, ſubject, inſtrument combin'd?
Is ſpirit diverſe, yet from number free,
Conjoin'd by harmony in unity?—
Truth's ſpotleſs white what piercing eye deſcries,
When the ray broken takes Opinion's dyes!—
In vain now Philo ſeeks the ſacred light,
In Chaos plung'd, where embryo ſyſtems fight.
In this dark hour, unnotic'd, Cloe came,
His ſtudy-door admits the ſhining dame;
With Nature's charms ſhe join'd the charms of art,
Wife of his choice, and miſtreſs of his heart;
What on her head ſhe wore, erect and high,
Unnam'd above, is call'd on earth a fly;
[225] In wanton ringlets her fair treſſes fell,
Her breaſts beneath tranſparent muſlin ſwell;
Studded with flaming gems a buckle bound
Th' embroidered zone her ſlender waiſt around;
Thence to her feet a vaſt rotund diſplay'd
The mingling colours of the rich brocade;
This aiding fancy, blending ſhame and pride,
Inflames with beauties it was meant to hide:
With careleſs eaſe the Nymph firſt ſnapp'd her fan,
Roll'd round her radiant eyes, and thus began;
" How canſt thou, Philo, here delight to ſit,
" Immers'd in learning, naſtineſs, and wit?
" Clean from the cheſt, where various odours breathe,
" And dying roſes their laſt ſweets bequeath,
" A ſhirt for thee, by my command, the maid
" Three hours ago before the fire diſplay'd;
" The barber, waiting to renew thy face,
" Holds thy wig powder'd in the paſte-board caſe;
" Thy ſilken breeches, and thy hoſe of thread,
" Coat, waiſtcoat, all, lie ready on the bed.
" Renounce that odious pipe, this filthy cell,
" Where ſilence, duſt, and pagan authors dwell:
" Come! ſhall the ladies wait in vain for thee?
" Come! taſte with us the charms of mirth and tea,"
As Philo heard confus'd the ſilver ſound,
His ſoul emerges from the dark profound,
On the bright viſion full he turn'd his eyes;
Touch'd, as he gaz'd, with pleaſure and ſurprize,
[226] The firſt faint dawnings of a ſmile appear'd,
And now in act to ſpeak, he ſtrok'd his beard,
When from a ſhelf juſt o'er the fair one's head,
Down dropt ARACHNE by the viſcous thread.
Back ſtarts the Nymph, with terror and diſmay,
" The Spider! oh!"—was all that ſhe could ſay.
At this the Sage reſum'd the look ſevere,
" Renounce, with woman's folly, woman's fear!"
He ſaid, and careful to the ſhelf convey'd
The hapleſs rival of the blue-ey'd maid.
Th' enormous deed aſtoniſh'd Cloe-view'd,
And rage the crimſon on her cheek renew'd.
" Muſt then, ſaid ſhe, ſuch hideous vermin crawl
" Indulg'd, protected, o'er the cobwebb'd wall?
" Deſtroy her quickly—here her life I claim,
" If not for love or decency, for ſhame."
" Shame be to guilt, replies the man of thought,
" To ſlaves of cuſtom, ne'er by reaſon taught,
" Who ſpare no life that touches not their own,
" By fear their cruelty reſtrain'd alone.
" No blameleſs inſect lives its deſtin'd hour,
" Caught in the murdering vortex of their power.
" For me, the virtues of the mind I learn
" From ſage ARACHNE, for whoſe life you burn;
" From her, when buſy all the ſummer's day
" She weaves the curious woof that ſnares her prey,
" I learn fair induſtry and art to prize,
" Admiring Nature providently wiſe,
[227] " Who, tho' her bounty unexhauſted flows,
" Not daily bread on idleneſs beſtows.
" ARACHNE, ſtill ſuperior to deſpair,
" Reſtores with art what accidents impair,
" The thouſandth time the broken thread renews,
" And one great end with fortitude purſues;
" To me her toil is ne'er renew'd in vain,
" Taught what the wiſe by perſeverance gain,
" Warm'd by example to the glorious ſtrife,
" And taught to conquer in the fight of life.
" When now with reſt amidſt her labours crown'd,
" She watchful, patient, eyes the circle round,
" I learn, when toil has well deſerv'd ſucceſs,
" Hope's placid, calm, expectance to poſſeſs,
" With care to watch, with patience ſtill to wait
" The golden moment, tho' delay'd by Fate."
Impatient Cloe thus again replied;
" How ſoon is error thro' each veil deſcried!
" Still boaſting Reaſon's power, how weak are we!
" How blind, alas! to all we would not ſee!
" Elſe how could Philo, in a Spider's cauſe,
" Talk thus of mercy with deſerv'd applauſe?
" Or call aught virtuous induſtry and ſkill,
" Exerted only to ſurprize and kill?
" The blameleſs inſect, whom no murder feeds,
" For her, the victim of her cunning, bleeds;
" Cunning! which when to wiſdom we compare,
" Is but to her, to men what monkeys are."
[228]" Hold! Philo cries, and know, the ſame decree
" Gave her the fly, which gives the lamb to thee;
" Or why thoſe wings adapted to the ſnare,
" Why interceptive hangs the net in air?
" As plain in theſe the precept, "kill and eat,"
" As in thy ſkill to carve the living treat."
To this, ſhe cries, "Perſuade me, if you can,
" Man's lord of all, and all was made for man."
" Vain thought! the child of ignorance and pride!"
" Diſdainful ſmiling, quickly he replied;
" To man, vain reptile! tell me of what uſe
" Are all that Afric's peopled waſtes produce?
" The nameleſs monſters of the ſwarming ſeas,
" The pigmy nations wafted on the breeze?
" The happy myriads, by his eyes unſeen,
" That baſk in flowers, and quicken all the green?
" Why live theſe numbers bleſt in Nature's ſtate?
" Why lives this ſpider object of thy hate?
" Why man? but life in common to poſſeſs,
" Wide to diffuſe the ſtream of happineſs;
" Bleſt ſtream! the o'erflowing of the parent mind,
" Great without pride, and without weakneſs kind."
With downcaſt eyes, and ſighs, and modeſt air,
Thus in ſoft ſounds replied the wily fair:
" This fatal ſubtilty thy books impart
" To baffle truth, when unſuſtain'd by art;
" For this, when Cloe goes at twelve to bed,
" Till three you ſit in converſe with the dead:
[229] " No wonder then, in vain my ſkill's employ'd
" To prove it beſt that vermin be deſtroy'd—
" But tho' you proudly triumph o'er my ſex,
" Joy to conſute, and reaſon but to vex,
" Yet, if you lov'd me, to oblige your wife,
" What could you leſs! you'd take a ſpider's life.
" Once to prevent my wiſhes Philo flew,
" But Time that alters all, has alter'd you.
" Yet ſtill unchang'd poor Cloe's love remains;
" Theſe tears my witneſs, which your pride diſdains;
" Theſe tears, at once my witneſs and relief."
Here paus'd the fair, all eloquent in grief.
He, who had often, and alone, o'erturn'd
Witlings, and ſophiſts, when his fury burn'd,
Now yields to love the fortreſs of his ſoul:
His eyes with vengeance on ARACHNE roll:
" Curs'd wretch, thou poiſonous quinteſſence of ill,
" Thoſe precious drops, unpuniſh'd, ſhalt thou ſpill?"
He ſaid, and ſtooping, from his foot he drew,
Black as his purpoſe, what was once a ſhoe;
Now, high in air the fatal heel aſcends,
Reaſon's laſt effort now the ſtroke ſuſpends;
In doubt he ſtood—when, breath'd from Cloe's breaſt,
A ſtruggling ſigh her inward grief expreſt.
Fir'd by the ſound, "Die, ſorcereſs, die," he cried,
And to his arm his utmoſt ſtrength applied:
Cruſh'd falls the foe, one complicated wound,
And the ſmote ſhelf returns a jarring ſound.
[230]On Ida's top thus Venus erſt prevail'd,
When all the ſapience of Minerva fail'd:
Thus to like arts a prey, as poets tell,
By Juno lov'd in vain, great Dido fell.
And thus for ever Beauty ſhall controul
The ſaint's, the ſage's, and the hero's ſoul.
But Jove with hate beheld th' atrocious deed,
And Vengeance follows with tremendous ſpeed;
In Philo's mind ſhe quench'd the ray that fir'd
With love of ſcience, and with verſe inſpir'd,
Expung'd at once the philoſophic theme,
All ſages think and all that poets dream;
Yields him thus chang'd a vaſſal to the fair;
And forth ſhe leads him with a victor's air:
Dreſt to her wiſh, he mixes with the gay,
As much a trifle, and as vain as they;
To fix their power, and rivet faſt the chain,
They lead where Pleaſure ſpreads her ſoft domain;
Where, drown'd in muſic Reaſon's hoarſer call,
Love ſmiles triumphant in thy groves, Vaux-hall.
STUDLEY.
TO MISS B— F—.
[231]NOR Phoebus, nor his tuneful choir,
To notes poetic wake my ſtring:
A mortal Muſe demands my lyre,
O, were ſhe preſent while I ſing!
To ſoar aloft, beyond the ken
Of human eyes, let others boaſt:
'Tis BETSY that directs my pen;
My verſe, not ſeen by her, were loſt.
No longer prate, ye critics vain,
That poets are not made, but born:
If BETSY ſmile upon the ſtrain,
Your cenſure's keeneſt laſh I ſcorn.
Yet were my creeping Muſe to ſoar,
Sure Reaſon's good might ſtill be given:
STUDLEY was Paradiſe before;
But BETSY's preſence made it heaven.—
[232]O for a quill pluck'd from the eagle-wing
Of bright Imagination, firſt of Powers!
Then might my earth-born Muſe aſpire to ſing
Strains not unworthy STUDLEY's charming bowers.
Come, Nymph, and with thee, Memory, kind maid,
The ſweet remembrancer of pleaſures paſt:
How there with BETSY hand in hand I ſtray'd.
Ay me, ſuch pleaſures were too great to laſt!
She comes, ſhe comes! enthron'd in F—'s eyes,
She deigns to ſmile on ſuch a wretch as me:
Her foſtering art its kindly aid ſupplies,
And from groſs film my viſual nerve ſets free.
Conduct me, Goddeſs, to that bleſt retreat,
In union fair, where all the Graces join;
Where Elegance has fix'd her beſt-lov'd ſeat,
And Taſte and Nature every power combine.
And lo! the Park firſt opens to the view!
Mark well its verdant hills, its flowery dells:
Not Windſor-foreſt nobler ſcenes can ſhew;
Not Stowe, where Cobham dwelt, where Temple dwells.
The curious eye, intranc'd in wonder, ſees
Here gurgling ſtreamlets tremble thro' the ſhade;
Here nimble ſquirrels gambol in the trees,
There bounding fawns trip wanton thro' the glade.
[233]Look back on Rippon's venerable pile!
There cloiſtered Monks their nightly veſpers ſung,
While thro' the ſolemn, gloomy, Gothic aile,
The hollow vaults reſponſive echoes rung.
See ſlopes on ſlopes th' enchanting proſpect bound,
Nor knows the dubious Fancy where to reſt:
New ſweets invite above, below, around;
Giddy with rapture, ſhe ſcarce feels ſhe's bleſt.
The gates fly ope! Elyſium ſtands confeſt,
And burſts upon us in a blaze of charms;
E'en ſuch a tranſport throbs in Damon's breaſt,
When yielding Chloe melts into his arms.
No more, ye gaudy poets, deck with flowers
Your fairy gardens on the Weſtern ſhore,
Or add freſh bloom to fam'd Alcinous' bowers;
Vain Greece, thy fabled Tempe boaſt no more.
Whate'er creation form'd, or rules could frame,
Refin'd or ſimple, natural or new,
Compound together. Can it need a name?
View STUDLEY's lawns, and own the picture true.
Where to begin? where end? the labouring ſoul,
Loſt and bewilder'd in a world of ſweets,
Vainly attempts at once to graſp the whole;
Such various joy its various ſenſes greets.
[234]Ambroſial ſcents the raviſh'd ſmell regale;
Each ſhrub around a balmy odour flings:
Such as Arabia's ſpicy groves exhale,
Wafted by Zephyrs on their roſy wings.
The birds ſalute us with their artleſs notes,
The bulfinch, linnet, nightingale, and thruſh;
Wild harmony, ſtrain'd thro' a thouſand throats,
Trills in each tree, and dies in every buſh.
Proud to adorn the pendent ſhades it laves,
Seeſt thou that lake its heaving boſom ſwell?
In headlong ſheets pour its enamour'd waves,
Amidſt ſuch beauties well content to dwell?
But other waves to other waves ſucceed,
Courſing each other to the ſeat they love;
With eager haſte they glide along the mead,
And murmuring ſtruggle thro' the grot above.
Retir'd from publick haunt one
u ſtructure ſtands,
Sacred to Comus and his feſtive train;
Where genial Freedom unreſtrain'd commands,
Where none are ſtrangers deem'd but Care and Pain.
All elegance and eaſe, without, within,
They bid defiance to the frowns of Fate;
Nor care what man goes out, or who comes in,
Whirl'd in the topſy-turvy wheel of ſtate.
[235]Climb we yon lofty ſummit, crown'd with wood,
The quivering poplar, the wide-branching oak,
The taper fir, the aſh, for all things good.
Long may they, long defy the woodman's ſtroke.
Here reſt we then—and each way turn our eyes;
No where our eyes an empty chaſm can find;
Domes, temples, obeliſks at each point ariſe;
We half forget the wonders left behind.
Objects at every point our ſight invade,
Yet the keen judgment finds not where to chide:
AISLABIE ſtill calls Nature to his aid,
Nor makes a ſacrifice of ſenſe to pride.
But can we then that ruined, reverend
x tower,
Leave undiſtinguiſh'd 'midſt the common throng,
There many a hoary devotee of yore
Awak'd the ſky-lark with his early ſong.
What tho' the lazy bat and ſcreech owl dire
Reign ſole poſſeſſors of the gloomy fane?
Souls once were there, in whom poetic fire
Beat in each pulſe, and glow'd in every vein.
Obſerve its mouldering baſe and moſs-grown head
Threaten its final diſſolution nigh!
To man what better leſſon can be read?
What moraliſt can better teach to die?
[236]Ah! let us, ere the fatal die be caſt,
Think well (for ſurely one day think we muſt)
That ſtately STUDLEY's pride muſt fall at laſt,
And lovely BETSY's form ſubmit to duſt!
TO MYRTILIS. THE NEW YEAR'S OFFERING.
[255]LONG have I look'd my tablets o'er,
And find I've much to thank you for,
Out-ſtanding debts beyond account;
And new—who knows to what amount?
Tho' ſmall my wealth, not ſmall my ſoul,
Come then, at once I'll pay the whole.
Ye Powers! I'm rich, and will command
The hoſt of ſlaves that round me ſtand;
Come, Indian, quick diſcloſe thy ſtore,
And hither bring Peruvian ore;
Let yonder negroe pierce the main,
The choiceſt, largeſt pearl to gain;
Let all my ſlaves their arts combine
To make the bluſhing ruby mine,
From eaſtern thrones the diamonds bear
To ſparkle at her breaſt and ear.
Swift, Scythian, point th' unerring dart
That ſtrikes the Ermine's little heart,
And ſearch for choiceſt furs the globe,
To make my MYRTILIS a robe.
Ah, no: Yon Indian will not go,
No Scythian deigns to bend his bow.
[256] No ſullen Negroe ſhoots the flood,
How, ſlaves!—Or am I underſtood!
All, all, my empty power diſown,
I turn, and find myſelf alone;
'Tis Fancy's vain illuſion all,
Nor Moor nor Scythian waits my call.
Call I command, can I conſign?
Alas, what earthly thing is mine!
Come then, my Muſe, companion dear
Of poverty, and ſoul ſincere,
Come dictate to my grateful mind
A gift that may acceptance find;
Come, gentle Muſe, and with thee bear
An offering worthy thee and her;
And tho' thy preſents be but poor,
My MYRTILIS will aſk no more.
An heart that ſcorns a ſhameful thing,
With love and verſe, is all I bring;
Of love and verſe the gift receive,
'Tis all thy ſervant has to give.
If all whate'er my verſe has told,
Golconda's gems, and Afric's gold,
If all were mine from pole to pole,
How large her ſhare who ſhares my ſoul?
But more than theſe may Heaven impart;
Be thine the treaſures of the heart;
Be calm, and glad thy future days
With Virtue's peace, and Virtue's praiſe.
[257] Let jealous Pride, and ſleepleſs Care,
And waſting Grief, and black Deſpair,
And languor chill, and Anguiſh fell,
For ever ſhun thy grove and cell;
There only may the happy train
Of Love, and Joy, and Peace, remain:
May Plenty, with exhauſtleſs ſtore,
Employ thy hand to feed the poor,
And ever on thy honour'd head
The prayer of Gratitude be ſhed.
A happy mother, may'ſt thou ſee
Thy ſmiling virtuous progeny,
Whoſe ſportful tricks, and airy play,
Fraternal love, and prattle gay,
Or wonderous tale, or joyful ſong,
May lure the lingering hours along;
Till Death arrive, unſelt, unſeen,
With gentle pace, and placid mien,
And waft thee to that happy ſhore
Where wiſhes can have place no more.
THE THREE WARNINGS: A TALE.
[258]BY MRS. THRALE.
THE tree of deepeſt root is found
Leaſt willing ſtill to quit the ground;
'Twas therefore ſaid by antient ſages,
That love of life increas'd with years
So much, that in our latter ſtages,
When pains grow ſharp, and ſickneſs rages,
The greateſt love of life appears.
This great affection to believe,
Which all confeſs, but few perceive,
If old aſſertions can't prevail,
Be pleas'd to hear a modern tale.
When ſports went round, and all were gay
On neighbour Dobſon's wedding-day,
Death call'd aſide the jocund groom
With him into another room:
And looking grave, "You muſt, ſays he,
" Quit your ſweet bride, and come with me."
" With you, and quit my Suſan's ſide!
" With you! the hapleſs huſband cry'd:
" Young as I am! 'tis monſtrous hard!
" Beſides, in truth, I'm not prepar'd:
[259] " My thoughts on other matters go,
" This is my wedding-night, you know."
What more he urg'd I have not heard,
His reaſons could not well be ſtronger;
So Death the poor delinquent ſpar'd,
And left to live a little longer.
Yet calling up a ſerious look,
His hour-glaſs trembled while he ſpoke,
" Neighbour, he ſaid, farewell: No more
" Shall Death diſturb your mirthful hour;
" And further, to avoid all blame
" Of cruelty upon my name,
" To give you time for preparation,
" And fit you for your future ſtation,
" Three ſeveral Warnings you ſhall have,
" Before you're ſummon'd to the grave:
" Willing for once I'll quit my prey,
" And grant a kind reprieve;
" In hopes you'll have no more to ſay,
" But when I call again this way,
" Well-pleas'd the world will leave."
To theſe conditions both conſented,
And parted perfectly contented.
What next the hero of our tale befell,
How long he liv'd, how wiſe, how well,
How roundly he purſu'd his courſe,
And ſmok'd his pipe, and ſtrok'd his horſe,
The willing Muſe ſhall tell:
[260] He chaffer'd then, he bought, he ſold,
Nor once perceiv'd his growing old,
Nor thought of Death as near;
His friends not falſe, his wife no ſhrew,
Many his gains, his children few,
He paſs'd his hours in peace;
But while he view'd his wealth increaſe,
While thus along Life's duſty road
The beaten track content he trod,
Old Time, whoſe haſte no mortal ſpares,
Uncall'd, unheeded, unawares,
Brought on his eightieth year.
And now one night in muſing mood,
As all alone he ſate,
Th' unwelcome meſſenger of Fate
Once more before him ſtood.
Half kill'd with anger and ſurprize,
" So ſoon return'd! old Dobſon cries."
" So ſoon, d'ye call it! Death replies:
" Surely, my friend, you're but in jeſt.
" Since I was here before,
" 'Tis ſix-and-thirty years at leaſt,
" And you are now fourſcore."
" So much the worſe, the Clown rejoin'd:
" To ſpare the aged would be kind:
" However, ſee your ſearch be legal;
" And your authority—Is't regal?
" Elſe you are come on a fool's errand,
" With but a ecretary's warrant.
[261] " Beſides, you promis'd me Three Warnings,
" Which I have look'd for nights and mornings.
" But for that loſs of time and eaſe,
" I can recover damages."
" I know, cries Death, that at the beſt,
" I ſeldom am a welcome gueſt;
" But don't be captious, friend, at leaſt;
" I little thought you'd ſtill be able
" To ſtump about your farm and ſtable;
" Your years have run to a great length,
" I wiſh you joy tho' of your ſtrength."
" Hold, ſays the Farmer, not ſo faſt,
" I have been lame theſe four years paſt."
" And no great wonder, Death replies,
" However, you ſtill keep your eyes;
" And ſure to ſee one's loves and friends,
" For legs and arms would make amends."
" Perhaps, ſays Dobſon, ſo it might,
" But latterly I've loſt my ſight."
" This is a ſhocking ſtory, faith,
" Yet there's ſome comfort ſtill, ſays Death;
" Each ſtrives your ſadneſs to amuſe;
" I warrant you hear all the news."
" There's none, cries he; and if there were,
" I'm grown ſo deaf I could not hear."
" Nay then, the ſpectre ſtern rejoin'd,
" Theſe are unjuſtifiable yearnings;
" If you are lame, and deaf, and blind,
" You've had your three ſufficient Warnings.
[262] " So come along, no more we'll part:"
He ſaid, and touch'd him with his dart;
And now old Dobſon turning pale,
Yields to his fate—ſo ends my tale.
THE EXCURSION.
HAPPY thrice the harmleſs ſwain,
Tenant of the peaceful plain,
Far from buſineſs, noiſe and ſtrife,
Bleſt with every ſweet of life;
Far from all the toil of ſtate,
All oppreſſions of the great;
D [...]cing blythe his Nymph he leads
O'er the carpet of the meads;
While his neighbour's pipe or horn
Lulls the night or cheers the morn:
Healthy joy from labour ſprings,
Healthy joy the wiſh of kings.
Here Providence in bounty flows,
And joys on every ſenſe beſtows;
Here Earth affords her kind increaſe,
With virtue gain'd, enjoy'd in peace;
The harveſt rich, the fruitage fair,
Repay the cultivator's care.
Hills where ſportive lambkins ſtray,
Flocks that fleecy tribute pay;
[263] Cryſtal ſtreams whoſe murmuring rills
Stray between the flowery hills,
Meeting from a hundred dells,
Till the foaming river ſwells,
Swells beyond reſtraint, and laves
Happy lands with welcome waves;
While the cryſtal of the floods
Mocks the waving of the woods.
Here flowers in ſweet confuſion ſtrown,
O'er the verdant mead are blown;
Narciſſus, near the rivers fair,
Smiles at itſelf reflected there;
Sad emblem of that lover's pride,
Who for himſelf too fondly died.
The crowfoot here with golden hue,
The cowſlips ſweet, the violets blue,
The bluſhing pinks, and lilies pale,
Like virgins fair, like virgins frail;
Soft daffodils of early bloom,
And daiſies earful of the gloom.
But ah, thoſe beauties ſoon muſt fall!
The ruthleſs ſcythe which levels all,
Muſt ſweep their harmleſs ſweets away,
And give their colours to decay.
Here lofty groves invade the ſky,
And all the tempeſt's rage defy;
The ſolid oak that awes the main,
The ſpreading elm of coarſer grain.
[264] The elaſtic eugh, whoſe diſtant wound
With England's rivals heap'd the ground;
The ſtubborn holly, rough and bold,
That ſpreads her verdure to the cold,
And boaſts her berries fair and ripe,
Beneath December's icy gripe;
All, all Deſtruction's power ſhall feel,
And fall before the fatal ſteel.
See this, ye fair, ye wiſe, ye brave,
And ſink together in the grave.
The ſquirrel climbs the nut-tree bough,
And ſtrips the cluſters as they grow;
The little mouſe with humbler hope
Taſtes Nature's bounties as they drop.
See all the feather'd warblers ſing,
To welcome the returning ſpring;
The blackbird, linnet, finch, and thruſh,
Pour out their ſongs from every buſh;
The tuneful lark, whoſe towering flight
Fatigues the diſappointed ſight;
Theſe little ſongſters mounted high,
Harmonious carrol to the ſky:
To heaven their tuneful offering pay,
And ſeem to hail the new-born day!
Sweet bird! inſtructed by thy lays,
Can man forget his Maker's praiſe?
Reviving from the ſhades of night,
Can he behold the all-quickening light,
[265] Can he uncloſe his fluggiſh eyes,
Nor ſend one rapture to the ſkies?
At eve, in ſoftly mournful ſtrains,
The love-lorn nightingale complains;
While as it ſtrains its little throat,
Pleas'd Echo dwells on every note,
And ſighs to hear the plaintive moan,
And grief expreſſive of her own.
How bleſt, my ſoul, how bleſt are thoſe
Who paſs a life in ſuch repoſe;
Who ſtill in rural ſhades abide,
Where all their hours thus ſmoothly glide;
Whoſe humble aims no higher tend,
Than to enjoy a book and friend;
Whom anxious projects ne'er moleſt,
Nor war nor love diſturb their reſt;
Who form no wiſh of riſing higher,
But learn betimes to check deſire;
Whoſe happy and yet humble ſtate
Provokes no threatening frowns of Fate:
So humble ſhrubs in ſafety grow,
When ſtorms the lofty pine o'erthrow.
O hear, ye Powers, a ſuppliant's voice,
Indulge my wiſh, approve my choice!
O grant me, whereſoe'er ye pleaſe,
A life of privacy and eaſe;
No more thoſe pleaſures to purſue,
Which Fancy paints to Folly's view;
[266] Nor falſly fond, nor idly gay,
To waſte the faſhionable day;
No more with craving heart to go
From toy to toy, from ſhow to ſhow;
All day to counterfeit delight,
And long, to end the cheat, for night.
Afford me pleaſures more ſerene:
Give me to range the ſylvan ſcene,
Where Ceres' full-ear'd ſheaves abound,
And Flora paints th' enamel'd ground;
To feel, from every preſſure free,
The joys of Truth and Poetry;
Let Contemplation ſtring my lyre,
And Zeal ſupply poetic fire;
Then let me Nature's wonders ſing,
And praiſe the power of Nature's King:
While as by chance I turn my ſight,
New objects ſtrike with new delight;
Till freſh ideas hourly ſpring,
And urge Imagination's wing.
Here Knowledge, quicken'd by Delight,
Shall rouſe the ſoul to vigorous flight:
Rapt with the thought, methinks I riſe
To meditate my kindred ſkies;
At once the paſt and preſent view,
Compare the former with the new;
Survey the world from pole to pole,
Join clime to clime, and graſp the whole;
[267] To each effect the cauſe conjoin,
And trace the Original divine;
Awaken'd Hope directs my way
Thro' all the ſpacious realms of day;
Views the reſplendent courts above,
Bleſt manſion of ſeraphic love!
Refulgent throne of power divine,
Where calm celeſtial ſplendors ſhine;
Whence beams of emanating light
From Nature chaſe retiring night.
Quick to my breaſt new beauties riſe,
I pant to range my native ſkies;
But here, encumber'd with her clay,
My Soul muſt wait the final day;
And now but ſhort excurſions make,
And joys thro' long perſpectives take;
Such joys as virtuous ſouls improve,
And heighten wonder into love.
Then fill'd with reverence and delight,
Back to the world I take my flight;
Back to my much lov'd groves again,
Where honeſt joys alternate reign;
Where thro' Creation's mighty round,
Unnumber'd miracles abound,
And, form'd inſtruction to convey,
The Almighty Father's power diſplay;
Amaz'd I view the ſplendid dye
Of this enamel'd butterfly;
[268] Amaz'd each reptile inſect ſee,
Each bleſt with life as well as we.
Wherever we direct our eyes,
Ten thouſand various forms ariſe;
On each a life of different mode
By boundleſs Providence beſtow'd;
From ſmall to leſs, from high to higher,
Till Reaſon, Senſe, and Fancy tire;
While all in due proportion ſhine,
To prove the economy divine.
With ſerious joy the enlighten'd ſoul
Surveys a part, admires the whole;
Nor always ſilently ſurveys,
But, fir'd by gratitude to praiſe,
In holy confidence is bleſt,
And calmly waits eternal reſt.
END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.
Notes
b The Author of this little Poem to the memory of an unhappy Princeſs is unwilling to enter into the controverſy reſpecting her guilt or her inno⯑cence. Suffice it only to obſerve, that the following facts may be proved to demonſtration: The Letters, which have been always eſteemed as the principal proof of Queen Mary's guilt, are forged: Buchanan, on whoſe authority Thuanus and other hiſtorians have condemned her, has fal⯑ſified ſeveral circumſtances of her hiſtory, and has cited againſt her public records which never exiſted: And, to add no more; The treatment ſhe received from her illuſtrious Couſin was dictated by a policy truly Machia⯑velian, which trampled on the obligations of Honour, of Humanity, and Morality. From whence it may be inferred, That, to expreſs the indignation at the cruel treatment of Mary which Hiſtory muſt ever inſpire, and to drop a tear on her ſufferings, is not unworthy of a writer who would appear in the cauſe of Virtue.
c It has been often ſaid, that Fiction is the moſt proper field for poetry. If it is always ſo, the writer of this little piece acknowledges it is a cir⯑cumſtance againſt him. The following Ode was firſt ſuggeſted, and the ideas contained in it raiſed, on reviſiting the ruins and woods that had been the ſcene of his early amuſements with a deſerving brother, who died in his twenty-firſt year.
d Edward III. gave the old foundation of Trinity College.
e Founded Pembroke Hall. She married an earl of Pembroke, who was killed in a tournament on his wedding-day.
f Founded Clare Hall. Her father the earl of Gloceſter married a daugh⯑ter of Edward I.
g Margaret of Anjou, wife of Henry VI. foundreſs of Queen's College.
h Elizabeth Wodeville, wife of Edward IV. augmented and improved the laſt mentioned college.
i Henry VI. founder of King's College.
k Henry VIII. enrich d and enlarged Trinity College.
l The bloods of the Stuarts and of the Tudors were united by the mar⯑riage of a King of Scotland to a daughter of Henry VII.
m The father of the laſt named king, married the daughter of Beaufort Duke of Somerſet.
n Note—The Valkyriur were female Divinities, Servants of Odin (or Woden) in the Gothic mythology. Their name ſignifies Chuſers of the ſlain. They were mounted on ſwift horſes, with drawn ſwords in their hands; and in the throng of battle ſelected ſuch as were deſtined to ſlaughter, and conducted them to Valkalla, the hall of Odin, or pa⯑radiſe of the brave; where they attended the banquet, and ſerved the de-Parted Heroes with horns of mead and ale.
o How quick they wheel'd; and flying, behind them ſhot
Sharp ſleet of arrowy ſhower—
Milton's Paradiſe Regain'd.
p The noiſe of battle hurtled in the air. Shakeſpear's Jul. Caeſar.
q Niflheimr, the hell of the Gothic nations, conſiſted of nine worlds, to which were devoted all ſuch as died of ſickneſs, old-age, or by any other means than in battle: Over it preſided Hela, the Goddeſs of Death.
r Lok is the evil Being, who continues in chains till the Twilight of the Gods approaches, when he ſhall break his bonds; the human race, the ſtars, and ſun, ſhall diſappear; the earth ſink in the ſeas, and fire conſume the ſkies: even Odin himſelf and his kindred-deities ſhall periſh. For a further explanation of this mythology, ſee Mallet's In⯑troduction to the Hiſtory of Denmark, 1755, Quarto.
s Owen ſucceeded his Father Griffin in the Principality of North-Wales, A. D. 1120. This battle was fought near forty Years afterwards.
w The red Dragon is the device of Cadwallader, which all his de⯑ſcendants bore on their banners.
y Occaſioned by a fall from his horſe,
z Vid. the marriage of the Thames and Medway in Spenſer's Faery Queen.
e Milton ſpeaks of the river Dce or Deva, in this manner:
—Where Deva ſpreads it's wizard ſtream.
Lycidas.
f Alluding to the bluiſh colour of its waters.
g Shakeſpear was buried, and has a monument erected to him at Stratford upon Avon.
l The Biſhop of Briſtol, then dean of the above cathedral.
l Edward the Black Prince.
m John, king of France taken priſoner by Edward the Black Prince.
n Alluding to the manner of a Roman triumph.
o Alluding to the fable of the bees ſettling on the lips of Plato; which was look'd on as an omen of the ſweetneſs of his diction.
p Ariſtotle, who was born at Stagyra.
q Pythagoras, born at Samos.
r Vid. the ſpeech of Sarpedon to Glaucus in Homer.
s Mr. Locke, who was of Chriſt-church college.
t This epiſtle is ſuppoſed to have been written by Lord RUSSEL, on friday night, July 20, 1683, in Newgate; that priſon having been the place of his confinement for ſome days immediately preceding his execution.
u Alluding to the Fable of Actaeon.
x See the ſtory of Hezekiah, and the dial of Ahaz, Iſaiah, ch. xxxviii ver. 8.
z Paradiſe Loſt, l. xi. v. 270.
b Sir George Wodehouſe attended Henry I. on his expedition into Normandy, A. D. 1104.
c Edward I. whom Sir Bertram de Wodehouſe accompanied in his wars in Scotland.
d The Oriflame was a banner of gold and flame-colour'd ſilk, conſe⯑crated and kept in the abbey of St. Denys. From the high opinion the French had of its virtue, it was made the royal ſtandard by Lewis VI. and continued ſuch till Charles VII. brought in uſe the white coronet.
e Two gallant commanders in the army of Henry earl of Treſtamare, whom the Black Brince (attended by the flower of the Engliſh troops, among whom was Sir William de Wodehouſe) defeated and took pri⯑ſoners on the frontiers of Caſtile, thereby reſtoring Peter, ſurnamed the Cruel.
e Two gallant commanders in the army of Henry earl of Treſtamare, whom the Black Brince (attended by the flower of the Engliſh troops, among whom was Sir William de Wodehouſe) defeated and took pri⯑ſoners on the frontiers of Caſtile, thereby reſtoring Peter, ſurnamed the Cruel.
f For this gallent action, Henry V. as a perpetual augmentation of honour, aſſigned him the creſt of an hand, ſtretched from a cloud, holding a club, and this motto, FRAPPE FORTE: and the ſavage, or wild man, holding a club, which was the antient creſt of the family, was now omitted, and two of them placed as ſupporters to the arms, which had a further augmentation of honour added in the ſhield, viz. on the Chevron Gutte de Sang, as they are born to this day.
g Sir Edward Wodehouſe, who was knighted at Tewksbury, attended Edward IV. into the North, with two hundred men at arms, furniſhed at his own charge; being attended in his own retinue with two dukes, ſeven earls, thirty-one barons, and fifty-nine knights.
h Sir William de Wodehouſe was vice-admiral of the Engliſh fleet, and knighted for his noble ſervice in the battle of Muſſelborough, where his elder brother Thomas was killed, A. D. 1547.
i Sir William de Wod houſe founded the monaſtry at Flitcham, and made a cell to Walſingham, about the year 1260.
k Roger de Wodehouſe, a younger brother, was dean, or rather arch⯑deacon, of Richmond, and chaplain to Edward II.
k See note (e) relating to the creſt and atchievement of the family: the impreſs on the ſhield is AGINCOURT.
l He obtained licence of Henry V. to found a chauntry prieſt to ſing for the ſouls of that prince, and his queen, of his beloved eſquire John Wodehouſe, and his wife, their anceſtors, and poſterity, in the cathedral church of Norwich.
m This family has ſerved with an inviolable integrity in twenty-ſeven parliaments; in ſixteen of which they have been returned for the county of Norfolk.
n Sir Thomas Wodehouſe, knight of the Bath, was ſent amba [...]ador into France by Henry VII. Another Sir Thomas was ſent into France, Spain, and Italy, to qualify himſelf for the higheſt employments, by Henry, ſon to James I.
o The oaks upon the hill, where the houſe now ſtands, were planted in honour of queen Elizabeth, the day ſhe was at Kymberley, A. D. 1578.
p Thomas Wodehouſe, who was killed at Muſſelborough, married a Shelton, whoſe mother was a Boleyn.
q Sir Philip Wodehouſe ſerved queen Elizabeth both by ſea and land, at home, in Portugal, and in Spain: he was knighted for his ſervice at Cadiz by the earls of Eſſex and Nottingham, the queen's generals.
r Sir Thomas Wodehouſe, Bart. was in great favour with prince Henry, ſon to James I. and of his bed-chamber; at whoſe deceaſe he retired to Kymberley.
s A line of Spenſer's Faery Queen.
y The author being ill of the gout.
z This Prologue and Epilogue were ſpoken by two young Gentlemen who performed ſome ſcenes from Shakeſpeare, Moliere, Zenobia, and the Mayor of Garratt, before the earl of Cheſterfield, their particular friend and patron, and a private party of other noble and illuſtrious friends.