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.
IRIS TO PHILUS.
[36]BY THE SAME.
IF ſlighted Iris can your pity move;
If ſlighted Iris can recall your love;
If e'er with joy you heard her ſofteſt vow,
Renew the dear idea, hear her now.
You once was faithful, oh the tender bliſs!
The ſweet endearment, and the thrilling kiſs!
Theſe witneſs'd once, when I, for ever true,
Plighted my heart, a prey to love and you;
And you, untainted by the vice of art,
Yielded to me, in ſolemn faith, your heart.
Oh ſay the cauſe, the cauſe I long to find,
You dear deceitful man, why now unkind?
Hath Iris for her Philus now no charms?
For him no pleaſures in her vacant arms?
Methinks I ſee, while torture wounds my reſt,
Methinks I ſee you claſping to your breaſt
Some roſy blooming maid, whoſe beating veins
Throb with ſoft tumults, with extatic pains,
While on her cheeks the deepening bluſhes riſe,
And melting raptures ſparkle in her eyes.
[37] Such were the joys, when I, incautious maid,
Too fondly truſting, was by you betray'd.
Such were the joys, oh, call the ſcene to mind!
When Iris yielding, all her ſoul reſign'd.
Ah! then you ſwore (the accents now I hear,
Your turtles, conſtant, coo them to my ear)
That hoary Time, and joy-conſuming Age,
The ardors of your flame ſhould ne'er aſſwage.
But tho' unchang'd by age, or hoary time,
You ſlight my ripen'd charms, my bluſhing prime.
All fondneſs, once upon my breaſt you lay,
And ſweetly ſigh'd the haſty hours away;
But, ah! how chang'd my fate, forlorn I'm left,
Of every kindly-ſoothing hope bereft!
Whate'er was wont to court the roving eye,
Now ſwells the tear, and heaves th' unbidden ſigh;
Where'er I turn, all Nature's charms ſeem fled,
The ſun withdrawn, the ſun-flower droops her head;
Robb'd of the prop, where once ſhe fondly clung,
The faded woodbine trails the earth along;
Unchang'd alone the mournful yew remains,
And midſt each varying blaſt its hue retains;
Its leaves unchang'd, my faithleſs ſwain reprove,
But, ah! they cannot teach him how to love!
If e'er for her you felt the ſlighteſt care,
Whoſe form, too often, you've pronounc'd moſt fair,
Whene'er I die, and die, ah ſoon I muſt!
Whene'er this body moulders into duſt,
[38] This only favour at your hands I crave,
With mournful yews to ſhade my untimely grave:
Theſe mournful yews ſhall this memorial bear,
Iris lov'd Philus, and ſhe dy'd ſincere.
TO COLONEL R—S.
BY S—. B—. ESQ.
ERE this can drown the tendereſt huſband's eyes,
And rend the fondeſt lover's heart with ſighs,
No more ſhall thoſe dear names my rapture move,
Low in the grave, and deaf to thee and Love.
Firm in thy country's cauſe, thy king's defence,
When Honour call'd thy patriot virtues hence;
The ſlow diſeaſe which tainted then my blood,
In vain by all the powers of art withſtood,
Aided by grief more deadly, creeps at length
Thro' every vein, and undermines my ſtrength.
Already Death hath ſummon'd me away,
And Love, fond Love, ſcarce gains an hour's delay,
Yet without dread Death's awful call I hear,
No dark preſages chill my ſoul with fear,
[42] No unrepented follies dread the grave,
And one ſhort moment more, with anguiſh crave,
Prepar'd I'm call'd, from every terror free,
Save that for ever I muſt part from thee.
But when on thee my thoughts reflecting rove,
And all the pleaſures of our virtuous love;
To think how bleſt we were, how ſoon muſt part,
One deep-felt pang would pierce the dulleſt heart;
To caſt one longing, lingering look behind,
Can be no guilty weakneſs of the mind;
Methinks when heaven hath kindly bleſt us here,
Fond Love, at parting, ſheds a pious tear.
Still with each comfort will I cheer my heart,
Reſign'd to God, tho' trembling to depart.
Short is man's knowledge of a future ſtate,
Perplex'd with doubts, and ignorant of fate;
This one important truth we only know.
Bliſs waits the good, the bad, eternal woe.
But what thoſe bleſſings, what thoſe woes ſhall be,
Thro' Life's dull caſement ſince no eye can ſee,
Let Fancy paint the raptures of the ſkies,
And ſcenes of viſionary tranſport riſe.
Still, as was ever here my fondeſt joy,
Let me for thee my every care employ;
Still let me ſerve, and tho' unſeen, be near,
Not life itſelf imparts a charm more dear.
From every dangerous ſtep thoſe feet to guide,
Which here to follow was my virtuous pride;
[43] When wrath provokes, or fortune proves unkind,
To lull the raging tumults of thy mind:
The ſweets around of balmy ſleep to ſhed,
When Sickneſs binds thee to her painful bed;
To guard thee ſafely thro' the dreadful day,
When Slaughter ſtalks from rank to rank for prey;
Still from thy breaſt to avert the death-fraught ball,
And bid th' uplifted weapon guiltleſs fall:
Still at thy ſide, as was my wiſh below,
Your Guardian-angel whereſoe'er you go.
With thoughts like theſe my drooping ſoul I warm,
Plume every hope, and every fear diſarm.
But, ah! to think what thy fond heart muſt feel,
When firſt theſe lines the fatal news reveal,
What pangs of grief will rend thy gentle breaſt,
Sinks my ſad ſoul, with pain and love oppreſt.
But let me from the tender theme refrain,
While every word but ſharpens every pain;
For when the hand that wounds would heal the fore,
The generous heart will only bleed the more.
My lateſt breath for thee a prayer ſhall ſigh,
If not deſerted by myſelf, I die.
No more ſhall I thy much-lov'd face review;
Adieu, for ever, beſt of friends, adieu!
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.